The Complete Works of

PLATO

(423–348 BC)

Contents

The Translations

EUTHYPHRO

APOLOGY

CRITO

HIPPIAS MAJOR

HIPPIAS MINOR

FIRST ALCIBIADES

CHARMIDES

LACHES

LYSIS

ION

PHAEDO

CRATYLUS

EUTHYDEMUS

PROTAGORAS

GORGIAS

MENO

MENEXENUS

SYMPOSIUM

THE REPUBLIC

PHAEDRUS

PARMENIDES

THEAETETUS

CLITOPHON

TIMAEUS

CRITIAS

SOPHIST

STATESMAN

PHILEBUS

LAWS

The Spurious Works

SECOND ALCIBIADES

HIPPARCHUS

THE RIVAL LOVERS

THEAGES

MINOS

EPINOMIS

SISYPHUS

AXIOCHUS

DEMODOCUS

ERYXIAS

HALCYON

ON JUSTICE

ON VIRTUE

DEFINITIONS

EPIGRAMS

The Epistles

LIST OF EPISTLES

The Greek Texts

PRONOUNCING ANCIENT GREEK

LIST OF GREEK TEXTS

The Criticism

PLATO AND PLATONISM by Walter Horatio Pater

INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY AND WRITINGS OF PLATO by Thomas Taylor

Extract from ‘REPRESENTATIVE MEN’ by Ralph Waldo Emerson

PLATO: LITTLE JOURNEYS TO THE HOMES OF GREAT TEACHERS by Elbert Hubbard

The Biographies

PLATO: LIVES OF THE EMINENT PHILOSOPHERS by Diogenes Laërtius

THE LIFE OF PLATO by Hesychius of Miletus

THE LIFE OF PLATO by Olympiodorus

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

© Delphi Classics 2015

Version 2

The Complete Works of

PLATO

By Delphi Classics, 2015

COPYRIGHT

Complete Works of Plato

First published in the United Kingdom in 2015 by Delphi Classics.

© Delphi Classics, 2015.

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The Translations

Plato’s birthplace — Athens

EUTHYPHRO

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This is one of Plato’s earliest dialogues, which is dated after 399 BC. Taking place during the weeks leading up to Socrates’ trial, the dialogue features Socrates and Euthyphro, a man well-known for claiming to be a religious expert. The crux of the dialogue is identifying a definition for piety. The dialogue is set near the king-archon’s court, where the two men encounter each other. They are both there for preliminary hearings before possible trials .

The argument of this dialogue is based largely on “definition by division”. Socrates goads Euthyphro to offer one definition after another for the word piety. The hope is to use a clear definition as the basis for Euthyphro to teach Socrates the answer to the question, “What is piety?”, ostensibly so that Socrates can use this to defend himself against the charge of impiety. It is clear that Socrates wants a definition of piety that will be universally true, against which all actions can be measured to determine whether or not they are pious.

Bust of Socrates

INTRODUCTION.

In the Meno, Anytus had parted from Socrates with the significant words: ‘That in any city, and particularly in the city of Athens, it is easier to do men harm than to do them good;’ and Socrates was anticipating another opportunity of talking with him. In the Euthyphro, Socrates is awaiting his trial for impiety. But before the trial begins, Plato would like to put the world on their trial, and convince them of ignorance in that very matter touching which Socrates is accused. An incident which may perhaps really have occurred in the family of Euthyphro, a learned Athenian diviner and soothsayer, furnishes the occasion of the discussion.

This Euthyphro and Socrates are represented as meeting in the porch of the King Archon. (Compare Theaet.) Both have legal business in hand. Socrates is defendant in a suit for impiety which Meletus has brought against him (it is remarked by the way that he is not a likely man himself to have brought a suit against another); and Euthyphro too is plaintiff in an action for murder, which he has brought against his own father. The latter has originated in the following manner: — A poor dependant of the family had slain one of their domestic slaves in Naxos. The guilty person was bound and thrown into a ditch by the command of Euthyphro’s father, who sent to the interpreters of religion at Athens to ask what should be done with him. Before the messenger came back the criminal had died from hunger and exposure.

This is the origin of the charge of murder which Euthyphro brings against his father. Socrates is confident that before he could have undertaken the responsibility of such a prosecution, he must have been perfectly informed of the nature of piety and impiety; and as he is going to be tried for impiety himself, he thinks that he cannot do better than learn of Euthyphro (who will be admitted by everybody, including the judges, to be an unimpeachable authority) what piety is, and what is impiety. What then is piety?

Euthyphro, who, in the abundance of his knowledge, is very willing to undertake all the responsibility, replies: That piety is doing as I do, prosecuting your father (if he is guilty) on a charge of murder; doing as the gods do — as Zeus did to Cronos, and Cronos to Uranus.

Socrates has a dislike to these tales of mythology, and he fancies that this dislike of his may be the reason why he is charged with impiety. ‘Are they really true?’ ‘Yes, they are;’ and Euthyphro will gladly tell Socrates some more of them. But Socrates would like first of all to have a more satisfactory answer to the question, ‘What is piety?’ ‘Doing as I do, charging a father with murder,’ may be a single instance of piety, but can hardly be regarded as a general definition.

Euthyphro replies, that ‘Piety is what is dear to the gods, and impiety is what is not dear to them.’ But may there not be differences of opinion, as among men, so also among the gods? Especially, about good and evil, which have no fixed rule; and these are precisely the sort of differences which give rise to quarrels. And therefore what may be dear to one god may not be dear to another, and the same action may be both pious and impious; e.g. your chastisement of your father, Euthyphro, may be dear or pleasing to Zeus (who inflicted a similar chastisement on his own father), but not equally pleasing to Cronos or Uranus (who suffered at the hands of their sons).

Euthyphro answers that there is no difference of opinion, either among gods or men, as to the propriety of punishing a murderer. Yes, rejoins Socrates, when they know him to be a murderer; but you are assuming the point at issue. If all the circumstances of the case are considered, are you able to show that your father was guilty of murder, or that all the gods are agreed in approving of our prosecution of him? And must you not allow that what is hated by one god may be liked by another? Waiving this last, however, Socrates proposes to amend the definition, and say that ‘what all the gods love is pious, and what they all hate is impious.’ To this Euthyphro agrees.

Socrates proceeds to analyze the new form of the definition. He shows that in other cases the act precedes the state; e.g. the act of being carried, loved, etc. precedes the state of being carried, loved, etc., and therefore that which is dear to the gods is dear to the gods because it is first loved of them, not loved of them because it is dear to them. But the pious or holy is loved by the gods because it is pious or holy, which is equivalent to saying, that it is loved by them because it is dear to them. Here then appears to be a contradiction, — Euthyphro has been giving an attribute or accident of piety only, and not the essence. Euthyphro acknowledges himself that his explanations seem to walk away or go round in a circle, like the moving figures of Daedalus, the ancestor of Socrates, who has communicated his art to his descendants.

Socrates, who is desirous of stimulating the indolent intelligence of Euthyphro, raises the question in another manner: ’Is all the pious just?’ ‘Yes.’ ’Is all the just pious?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then what part of justice is piety?’ Euthyphro replies that piety is that part of justice which ‘attends’ to the gods, as there is another part of justice which ‘attends’ to men. But what is the meaning of ‘attending’ to the gods? The word ‘attending,’ when applied to dogs, horses, and men, implies that in some way they are made better. But how do pious or holy acts make the gods any better? Euthyphro explains that he means by pious acts, acts of service or ministration. Yes; but the ministrations of the husbandman, the physician, and the builder have an end. To what end do we serve the gods, and what do we help them to accomplish? Euthyphro replies, that all these difficult questions cannot be resolved in a short time; and he would rather say simply that piety is knowing how to please the gods in word and deed, by prayers and sacrifices. In other words, says Socrates, piety is ‘a science of asking and giving’ — asking what we want and giving what they want; in short, a mode of doing business between gods and men. But although they are the givers of all good, how can we give them any good in return? ‘Nay, but we give them honour.’ Then we give them not what is beneficial, but what is pleasing or dear to them; and this is the point which has been already disproved.

Socrates, although weary of the subterfuges and evasions of Euthyphro, remains unshaken in his conviction that he must know the nature of piety, or he would never have prosecuted his old father. He is still hoping that he will condescend to instruct him. But Euthyphro is in a hurry and cannot stay. And Socrates’ last hope of knowing the nature of piety before he is prosecuted for impiety has disappeared. As in the Euthydemus the irony is carried on to the end.

The Euthyphro is manifestly designed to contrast the real nature of piety and impiety with the popular conceptions of them. But when the popular conceptions of them have been overthrown, Socrates does not offer any definition of his own: as in the Laches and Lysis, he prepares the way for an answer to the question which he has raised; but true to his own character, refuses to answer himself.

Euthyphro is a religionist, and is elsewhere spoken of, if he be the same person, as the author of a philosophy of names, by whose ‘prancing steeds’ Socrates in the Cratylus is carried away. He has the conceit and self-confidence of a Sophist; no doubt that he is right in prosecuting his father has ever entered into his mind. Like a Sophist too, he is incapable either of framing a general definition or of following the course of an argument. His wrong-headedness, one-sidedness, narrowness, positiveness, are characteristic of his priestly office. His failure to apprehend an argument may be compared to a similar defect which is observable in the rhapsode Ion. But he is not a bad man, and he is friendly to Socrates, whose familiar sign he recognizes with interest. Though unable to follow him he is very willing to be led by him, and eagerly catches at any suggestion which saves him from the trouble of thinking. Moreover he is the enemy of Meletus, who, as he says, is availing himself of the popular dislike to innovations in religion in order to injure Socrates; at the same time he is amusingly confident that he has weapons in his own armoury which would be more than a match for him. He is quite sincere in his prosecution of his father, who has accidentally been guilty of homicide, and is not wholly free from blame. To purge away the crime appears to him in the light of a duty, whoever may be the criminal.

Thus begins the contrast between the religion of the letter, or of the narrow and unenlightened conscience, and the higher notion of religion which Socrates vainly endeavours to elicit from him. ‘Piety is doing as I do’ is the idea of religion which first occurs to him, and to many others who do not say what they think with equal frankness. For men are not easily persuaded that any other religion is better than their own; or that other nations, e.g. the Greeks in the time of Socrates, were equally serious in their religious beliefs and difficulties. The chief difference between us and them is, that they were slowly learning what we are in process of forgetting. Greek mythology hardly admitted of the distinction between accidental homicide and murder: that the pollution of blood was the same in both cases is also the feeling of the Athenian diviner. He had not as yet learned the lesson, which philosophy was teaching, that Homer and Hesiod, if not banished from the state, or whipped out of the assembly, as Heracleitus more rudely proposed, at any rate were not to be appealed to as authorities in religion; and he is ready to defend his conduct by the examples of the gods. These are the very tales which Socrates cannot abide; and his dislike of them, as he suspects, has branded him with the reputation of impiety. Here is one answer to the question, ‘Why Socrates was put to death,’ suggested by the way. Another is conveyed in the words, ‘The Athenians do not care about any man being thought wise until he begins to make other men wise; and then for some reason or other they are angry:’ which may be said to be the rule of popular toleration in most other countries, and not at Athens only. In the course of the argument Socrates remarks that the controversial nature of morals and religion arises out of the difficulty of verifying them. There is no measure or standard to which they can be referred.

The next definition, ‘Piety is that which is loved of the gods,’ is shipwrecked on a refined distinction between the state and the act, corresponding respectively to the adjective (philon) and the participle (philoumenon), or rather perhaps to the participle and the verb (philoumenon and phileitai). The act is prior to the state (as in Aristotle the energeia precedes the dunamis); and the state of being loved is preceded by the act of being loved. But piety or holiness is preceded by the act of being pious, not by the act of being loved; and therefore piety and the state of being loved are different. Through such subtleties of dialectic Socrates is working his way into a deeper region of thought and feeling. He means to say that the words ‘loved of the gods’ express an attribute only, and not the essence of piety.

Then follows the third and last definition, ‘Piety is a part of justice.’ Thus far Socrates has proceeded in placing religion on a moral foundation. He is seeking to realize the harmony of religion and morality, which the great poets Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Pindar had unconsciously anticipated, and which is the universal want of all men. To this the soothsayer adds the ceremonial element, ‘attending upon the gods.’ When further interrogated by Socrates as to the nature of this ‘attention to the gods,’ he replies, that piety is an affair of business, a science of giving and asking, and the like. Socrates points out the anthropomorphism of these notions, (compare Symp.; Republic; Politicus.) But when we expect him to go on and show that the true service of the gods is the service of the spirit and the co-operation with them in all things true and good, he stops short; this was a lesson which the soothsayer could not have been made to understand, and which every one must learn for himself.

There seem to be altogether three aims or interests in this little Dialogue: (1) the dialectical development of the idea of piety; (2) the antithesis of true and false religion, which is carried to a certain extent only; (3) the defence of Socrates.

The subtle connection with the Apology and the Crito; the holding back of the conclusion, as in the Charmides, Lysis, Laches, Protagoras, and other Dialogues; the deep insight into the religious world; the dramatic power and play of the two characters; the inimitable irony, are reasons for believing that the Euthyphro is a genuine Platonic writing. The spirit in which the popular representations of mythology are denounced recalls Republic II. The virtue of piety has been already mentioned as one of five in the Protagoras, but is not reckoned among the four cardinal virtues of Republic IV. The figure of Daedalus has occurred in the Meno; that of Proteus in the Euthydemus and Io. The kingly science has already appeared in the Euthydemus, and will reappear in the Republic and Statesman. But neither from these nor any other indications of similarity or difference, and still less from arguments respecting the suitableness of this little work to aid Socrates at the time of his trial or the reverse, can any evidence of the date be obtained.

EUTHYPHRO

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, Euthyphro.

SCENE: The Porch of the King Archon.

EUTHYPHRO: Why have you left the Lyceum, Socrates? and what are you doing in the Porch of the King Archon? Surely you cannot be concerned in a suit before the King, like myself?

SOCRATES: Not in a suit, Euthyphro; impeachment is the word which the Athenians use.

EUTHYPHRO: What! I suppose that some one has been prosecuting you, for I cannot believe that you are the prosecutor of another.

SOCRATES: Certainly not.

EUTHYPHRO: Then some one else has been prosecuting you?

SOCRATES: Yes.

EUTHYPHRO: And who is he?

SOCRATES: A young man who is little known, Euthyphro; and I hardly know him: his name is Meletus, and he is of the deme of Pitthis. Perhaps you may remember his appearance; he has a beak, and long straight hair, and a beard which is ill grown.

EUTHYPHRO: No, I do not remember him, Socrates. But what is the charge which he brings against you?

SOCRATES: What is the charge? Well, a very serious charge, which shows a good deal of character in the young man, and for which he is certainly not to be despised. He says he knows how the youth are corrupted and who are their corruptors. I fancy that he must be a wise man, and seeing that I am the reverse of a wise man, he has found me out, and is going to accuse me of corrupting his young friends. And of this our mother the state is to be the judge. Of all our political men he is the only one who seems to me to begin in the right way, with the cultivation of virtue in youth; like a good husbandman, he makes the young shoots his first care, and clears away us who are the destroyers of them. This is only the first step; he will afterwards attend to the elder branches; and if he goes on as he has begun, he will be a very great public benefactor.

EUTHYPHRO: I hope that he may; but I rather fear, Socrates, that the opposite will turn out to be the truth. My opinion is that in attacking you he is simply aiming a blow at the foundation of the state. But in what way does he say that you corrupt the young?

SOCRATES: He brings a wonderful accusation against me, which at first hearing excites surprise: he says that I am a poet or maker of gods, and that I invent new gods and deny the existence of old ones; this is the ground of his indictment.

EUTHYPHRO: I understand, Socrates; he means to attack you about the familiar sign which occasionally, as you say, comes to you. He thinks that you are a neologian, and he is going to have you up before the court for this. He knows that such a charge is readily received by the world, as I myself know too well; for when I speak in the assembly about divine things, and foretell the future to them, they laugh at me and think me a madman. Yet every word that I say is true. But they are jealous of us all; and we must be brave and go at them.

SOCRATES: Their laughter, friend Euthyphro, is not a matter of much consequence. For a man may be thought wise; but the Athenians, I suspect, do not much trouble themselves about him until he begins to impart his wisdom to others, and then for some reason or other, perhaps, as you say, from jealousy, they are angry.

EUTHYPHRO: I am never likely to try their temper in this way.

SOCRATES: I dare say not, for you are reserved in your behaviour, and seldom impart your wisdom. But I have a benevolent habit of pouring out myself to everybody, and would even pay for a listener, and I am afraid that the Athenians may think me too talkative. Now if, as I was saying, they would only laugh at me, as you say that they laugh at you, the time might pass gaily enough in the court; but perhaps they may be in earnest, and then what the end will be you soothsayers only can predict.

EUTHYPHRO: I dare say that the affair will end in nothing, Socrates, and that you will win your cause; and I think that I shall win my own.

SOCRATES: And what is your suit, Euthyphro? are you the pursuer or the defendant?

EUTHYPHRO: I am the pursuer.

SOCRATES: Of whom?

EUTHYPHRO: You will think me mad when I tell you.

SOCRATES: Why, has the fugitive wings?

EUTHYPHRO: Nay, he is not very volatile at his time of life.

SOCRATES: Who is he?

EUTHYPHRO: My father.

SOCRATES: Your father! my good man?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And of what is he accused?

EUTHYPHRO: Of murder, Socrates.

SOCRATES: By the powers, Euthyphro! how little does the common herd know of the nature of right and truth. A man must be an extraordinary man, and have made great strides in wisdom, before he could have seen his way to bring such an action.

EUTHYPHRO: Indeed, Socrates, he must.

SOCRATES: I suppose that the man whom your father murdered was one of your relatives — clearly he was; for if he had been a stranger you would never have thought of prosecuting him.

EUTHYPHRO: I am amused, Socrates, at your making a distinction between one who is a relation and one who is not a relation; for surely the pollution is the same in either case, if you knowingly associate with the murderer when you ought to clear yourself and him by proceeding against him. The real question is whether the murdered man has been justly slain. If justly, then your duty is to let the matter alone; but if unjustly, then even if the murderer lives under the same roof with you and eats at the same table, proceed against him. Now the man who is dead was a poor dependant of mine who worked for us as a field labourer on our farm in Naxos, and one day in a fit of drunken passion he got into a quarrel with one of our domestic servants and slew him. My father bound him hand and foot and threw him into a ditch, and then sent to Athens to ask of a diviner what he should do with him. Meanwhile he never attended to him and took no care about him, for he regarded him as a murderer; and thought that no great harm would be done even if he did die. Now this was just what happened. For such was the effect of cold and hunger and chains upon him, that before the messenger returned from the diviner, he was dead. And my father and family are angry with me for taking the part of the murderer and prosecuting my father. They say that he did not kill him, and that if he did, the dead man was but a murderer, and I ought not to take any notice, for that a son is impious who prosecutes a father. Which shows, Socrates, how little they know what the gods think about piety and impiety.

SOCRATES: Good heavens, Euthyphro! and is your knowledge of religion and of things pious and impious so very exact, that, supposing the circumstances to be as you state them, you are not afraid lest you too may be doing an impious thing in bringing an action against your father?

EUTHYPHRO: The best of Euthyphro, and that which distinguishes him, Socrates, from other men, is his exact knowledge of all such matters. What should I be good for without it?

SOCRATES: Rare friend! I think that I cannot do better than be your disciple. Then before the trial with Meletus comes on I shall challenge him, and say that I have always had a great interest in religious questions, and now, as he charges me with rash imaginations and innovations in religion, I have become your disciple. You, Meletus, as I shall say to him, acknowledge Euthyphro to be a great theologian, and sound in his opinions; and if you approve of him you ought to approve of me, and not have me into court; but if you disapprove, you should begin by indicting him who is my teacher, and who will be the ruin, not of the young, but of the old; that is to say, of myself whom he instructs, and of his old father whom he admonishes and chastises. And if Meletus refuses to listen to me, but will go on, and will not shift the indictment from me to you, I cannot do better than repeat this challenge in the court.

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, indeed, Socrates; and if he attempts to indict me I am mistaken if I do not find a flaw in him; the court shall have a great deal more to say to him than to me.

SOCRATES: And I, my dear friend, knowing this, am desirous of becoming your disciple. For I observe that no one appears to notice you — not even this Meletus; but his sharp eyes have found me out at once, and he has indicted me for impiety. And therefore, I adjure you to tell me the nature of piety and impiety, which you said that you knew so well, and of murder, and of other offences against the gods. What are they? Is not piety in every action always the same? and impiety, again — is it not always the opposite of piety, and also the same with itself, having, as impiety, one notion which includes whatever is impious?

EUTHYPHRO: To be sure, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And what is piety, and what is impiety?

EUTHYPHRO: Piety is doing as I am doing; that is to say, prosecuting any one who is guilty of murder, sacrilege, or of any similar crime — whether he be your father or mother, or whoever he may be — that makes no difference; and not to prosecute them is impiety. And please to consider, Socrates, what a notable proof I will give you of the truth of my words, a proof which I have already given to others: — of the principle, I mean, that the impious, whoever he may be, ought not to go unpunished. For do not men regard Zeus as the best and most righteous of the gods? — and yet they admit that he bound his father (Cronos) because he wickedly devoured his sons, and that he too had punished his own father (Uranus) for a similar reason, in a nameless manner. And yet when I proceed against my father, they are angry with me. So inconsistent are they in their way of talking when the gods are concerned, and when I am concerned.

SOCRATES: May not this be the reason, Euthyphro, why I am charged with impiety — that I cannot away with these stories about the gods? and therefore I suppose that people think me wrong. But, as you who are well informed about them approve of them, I cannot do better than assent to your superior wisdom. What else can I say, confessing as I do, that I know nothing about them? Tell me, for the love of Zeus, whether you really believe that they are true.

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, Socrates; and things more wonderful still, of which the world is in ignorance.

SOCRATES: And do you really believe that the gods fought with one another, and had dire quarrels, battles, and the like, as the poets say, and as you may see represented in the works of great artists? The temples are full of them; and notably the robe of Athene, which is carried up to the Acropolis at the great Panathenaea, is embroidered with them. Are all these tales of the gods true, Euthyphro?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, Socrates; and, as I was saying, I can tell you, if you would like to hear them, many other things about the gods which would quite amaze you.

SOCRATES: I dare say; and you shall tell me them at some other time when I have leisure. But just at present I would rather hear from you a more precise answer, which you have not as yet given, my friend, to the question, What is ‘piety’? When asked, you only replied, Doing as you do, charging your father with murder.

EUTHYPHRO: And what I said was true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: No doubt, Euthyphro; but you would admit that there are many other pious acts?

EUTHYPHRO: There are.

SOCRATES: Remember that I did not ask you to give me two or three examples of piety, but to explain the general idea which makes all pious things to be pious. Do you not recollect that there was one idea which made the impious impious, and the pious pious?

EUTHYPHRO: I remember.

SOCRATES: Tell me what is the nature of this idea, and then I shall have a standard to which I may look, and by which I may measure actions, whether yours or those of any one else, and then I shall be able to say that such and such an action is pious, such another impious.

EUTHYPHRO: I will tell you, if you like.

SOCRATES: I should very much like.

EUTHYPHRO: Piety, then, is that which is dear to the gods, and impiety is that which is not dear to them.

SOCRATES: Very good, Euthyphro; you have now given me the sort of answer which I wanted. But whether what you say is true or not I cannot as yet tell, although I make no doubt that you will prove the truth of your words.

EUTHYPHRO: Of course.

SOCRATES: Come, then, and let us examine what we are saying. That thing or person which is dear to the gods is pious, and that thing or person which is hateful to the gods is impious, these two being the extreme opposites of one another. Was not that said?

EUTHYPHRO: It was.

SOCRATES: And well said?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, Socrates, I thought so; it was certainly said.

SOCRATES: And further, Euthyphro, the gods were admitted to have enmities and hatreds and differences?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, that was also said.

SOCRATES: And what sort of difference creates enmity and anger? Suppose for example that you and I, my good friend, differ about a number; do differences of this sort make us enemies and set us at variance with one another? Do we not go at once to arithmetic, and put an end to them by a sum?

EUTHYPHRO: True.

SOCRATES: Or suppose that we differ about magnitudes, do we not quickly end the differences by measuring?

EUTHYPHRO: Very true.

SOCRATES: And we end a controversy about heavy and light by resorting to a weighing machine?

EUTHYPHRO: To be sure.

SOCRATES: But what differences are there which cannot be thus decided, and which therefore make us angry and set us at enmity with one another? I dare say the answer does not occur to you at the moment, and therefore I will suggest that these enmities arise when the matters of difference are the just and unjust, good and evil, honourable and dishonourable. Are not these the points about which men differ, and about which when we are unable satisfactorily to decide our differences, you and I and all of us quarrel, when we do quarrel? (Compare Alcib.)

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, Socrates, the nature of the differences about which we quarrel is such as you describe.

SOCRATES: And the quarrels of the gods, noble Euthyphro, when they occur, are of a like nature?

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly they are.

SOCRATES: They have differences of opinion, as you say, about good and evil, just and unjust, honourable and dishonourable: there would have been no quarrels among them, if there had been no such differences — would there now?

EUTHYPHRO: You are quite right.

SOCRATES: Does not every man love that which he deems noble and just and good, and hate the opposite of them?

EUTHYPHRO: Very true.

SOCRATES: But, as you say, people regard the same things, some as just and others as unjust, — about these they dispute; and so there arise wars and fightings among them.

EUTHYPHRO: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then the same things are hated by the gods and loved by the gods, and are both hateful and dear to them?

EUTHYPHRO: True.

SOCRATES: And upon this view the same things, Euthyphro, will be pious and also impious?

EUTHYPHRO: So I should suppose.

SOCRATES: Then, my friend, I remark with surprise that you have not answered the question which I asked. For I certainly did not ask you to tell me what action is both pious and impious: but now it would seem that what is loved by the gods is also hated by them. And therefore, Euthyphro, in thus chastising your father you may very likely be doing what is agreeable to Zeus but disagreeable to Cronos or Uranus, and what is acceptable to Hephaestus but unacceptable to Here, and there may be other gods who have similar differences of opinion.

EUTHYPHRO: But I believe, Socrates, that all the gods would be agreed as to the propriety of punishing a murderer: there would be no difference of opinion about that.

SOCRATES: Well, but speaking of men, Euthyphro, did you ever hear any one arguing that a murderer or any sort of evil-doer ought to be let off?

EUTHYPHRO: I should rather say that these are the questions which they are always arguing, especially in courts of law: they commit all sorts of crimes, and there is nothing which they will not do or say in their own defence.

SOCRATES: But do they admit their guilt, Euthyphro, and yet say that they ought not to be punished?

EUTHYPHRO: No; they do not.

SOCRATES: Then there are some things which they do not venture to say and do: for they do not venture to argue that the guilty are to be unpunished, but they deny their guilt, do they not?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then they do not argue that the evil-doer should not be punished, but they argue about the fact of who the evil-doer is, and what he did and when?

EUTHYPHRO: True.

SOCRATES: And the gods are in the same case, if as you assert they quarrel about just and unjust, and some of them say while others deny that injustice is done among them. For surely neither God nor man will ever venture to say that the doer of injustice is not to be punished?

EUTHYPHRO: That is true, Socrates, in the main.

SOCRATES: But they join issue about the particulars — gods and men alike; and, if they dispute at all, they dispute about some act which is called in question, and which by some is affirmed to be just, by others to be unjust. Is not that true?

EUTHYPHRO: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Well then, my dear friend Euthyphro, do tell me, for my better instruction and information, what proof have you that in the opinion of all the gods a servant who is guilty of murder, and is put in chains by the master of the dead man, and dies because he is put in chains before he who bound him can learn from the interpreters of the gods what he ought to do with him, dies unjustly; and that on behalf of such an one a son ought to proceed against his father and accuse him of murder. How would you show that all the gods absolutely agree in approving of his act? Prove to me that they do, and I will applaud your wisdom as long as I live.

EUTHYPHRO: It will be a difficult task; but I could make the matter very clear indeed to you.

SOCRATES: I understand; you mean to say that I am not so quick of apprehension as the judges: for to them you will be sure to prove that the act is unjust, and hateful to the gods.

EUTHYPHRO: Yes indeed, Socrates; at least if they will listen to me.

SOCRATES: But they will be sure to listen if they find that you are a good speaker. There was a notion that came into my mind while you were speaking; I said to myself: ‘Well, and what if Euthyphro does prove to me that all the gods regarded the death of the serf as unjust, how do I know anything more of the nature of piety and impiety? for granting that this action may be hateful to the gods, still piety and impiety are not adequately defined by these distinctions, for that which is hateful to the gods has been shown to be also pleasing and dear to them.’ And therefore, Euthyphro, I do not ask you to prove this; I will suppose, if you like, that all the gods condemn and abominate such an action. But I will amend the definition so far as to say that what all the gods hate is impious, and what they love pious or holy; and what some of them love and others hate is both or neither. Shall this be our definition of piety and impiety?

EUTHYPHRO: Why not, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Why not! certainly, as far as I am concerned, Euthyphro, there is no reason why not. But whether this admission will greatly assist you in the task of instructing me as you promised, is a matter for you to consider.

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, I should say that what all the gods love is pious and holy, and the opposite which they all hate, impious.

SOCRATES: Ought we to enquire into the truth of this, Euthyphro, or simply to accept the mere statement on our own authority and that of others? What do you say?

EUTHYPHRO: We should enquire; and I believe that the statement will stand the test of enquiry.

SOCRATES: We shall know better, my good friend, in a little while. The point which I should first wish to understand is whether the pious or holy is beloved by the gods because it is holy, or holy because it is beloved of the gods.

EUTHYPHRO: I do not understand your meaning, Socrates.

SOCRATES: I will endeavour to explain: we, speak of carrying and we speak of being carried, of leading and being led, seeing and being seen. You know that in all such cases there is a difference, and you know also in what the difference lies?

EUTHYPHRO: I think that I understand.

SOCRATES: And is not that which is beloved distinct from that which loves?

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Well; and now tell me, is that which is carried in this state of carrying because it is carried, or for some other reason?

EUTHYPHRO: No; that is the reason.

SOCRATES: And the same is true of what is led and of what is seen?

EUTHYPHRO: True.

SOCRATES: And a thing is not seen because it is visible, but conversely, visible because it is seen; nor is a thing led because it is in the state of being led, or carried because it is in the state of being carried, but the converse of this. And now I think, Euthyphro, that my meaning will be intelligible; and my meaning is, that any state of action or passion implies previous action or passion. It does not become because it is becoming, but it is in a state of becoming because it becomes; neither does it suffer because it is in a state of suffering, but it is in a state of suffering because it suffers. Do you not agree?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Is not that which is loved in some state either of becoming or suffering?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the same holds as in the previous instances; the state of being loved follows the act of being loved, and not the act the state.

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And what do you say of piety, Euthyphro: is not piety, according to your definition, loved by all the gods?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Because it is pious or holy, or for some other reason?

EUTHYPHRO: No, that is the reason.

SOCRATES: It is loved because it is holy, not holy because it is loved?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And that which is dear to the gods is loved by them, and is in a state to be loved of them because it is loved of them?

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then that which is dear to the gods, Euthyphro, is not holy, nor is that which is holy loved of God, as you affirm; but they are two different things.

EUTHYPHRO: How do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I mean to say that the holy has been acknowledged by us to be loved of God because it is holy, not to be holy because it is loved.

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: But that which is dear to the gods is dear to them because it is loved by them, not loved by them because it is dear to them.

EUTHYPHRO: True.

SOCRATES: But, friend Euthyphro, if that which is holy is the same with that which is dear to God, and is loved because it is holy, then that which is dear to God would have been loved as being dear to God; but if that which is dear to God is dear to him because loved by him, then that which is holy would have been holy because loved by him. But now you see that the reverse is the case, and that they are quite different from one another. For one (theophiles) is of a kind to be loved cause it is loved, and the other (osion) is loved because it is of a kind to be loved. Thus you appear to me, Euthyphro, when I ask you what is the essence of holiness, to offer an attribute only, and not the essence — the attribute of being loved by all the gods. But you still refuse to explain to me the nature of holiness. And therefore, if you please, I will ask you not to hide your treasure, but to tell me once more what holiness or piety really is, whether dear to the gods or not (for that is a matter about which we will not quarrel); and what is impiety?

EUTHYPHRO: I really do not know, Socrates, how to express what I mean. For somehow or other our arguments, on whatever ground we rest them, seem to turn round and walk away from us.

SOCRATES: Your words, Euthyphro, are like the handiwork of my ancestor Daedalus; and if I were the sayer or propounder of them, you might say that my arguments walk away and will not remain fixed where they are placed because I am a descendant of his. But now, since these notions are your own, you must find some other gibe, for they certainly, as you yourself allow, show an inclination to be on the move.

EUTHYPHRO: Nay, Socrates, I shall still say that you are the Daedalus who sets arguments in motion; not I, certainly, but you make them move or go round, for they would never have stirred, as far as I am concerned.

SOCRATES: Then I must be a greater than Daedalus: for whereas he only made his own inventions to move, I move those of other people as well. And the beauty of it is, that I would rather not. For I would give the wisdom of Daedalus, and the wealth of Tantalus, to be able to detain them and keep them fixed. But enough of this. As I perceive that you are lazy, I will myself endeavour to show you how you might instruct me in the nature of piety; and I hope that you will not grudge your labour. Tell me, then — Is not that which is pious necessarily just?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is, then, all which is just pious? or, is that which is pious all just, but that which is just, only in part and not all, pious?

EUTHYPHRO: I do not understand you, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And yet I know that you are as much wiser than I am, as you are younger. But, as I was saying, revered friend, the abundance of your wisdom makes you lazy. Please to exert yourself, for there is no real difficulty in understanding me. What I mean I may explain by an illustration of what I do not mean. The poet (Stasinus) sings —

‘Of Zeus, the author and creator of all these things, You will not tell: for where there is fear there is also reverence.’

Now I disagree with this poet. Shall I tell you in what respect?

EUTHYPHRO: By all means.

SOCRATES: I should not say that where there is fear there is also reverence; for I am sure that many persons fear poverty and disease, and the like evils, but I do not perceive that they reverence the objects of their fear.

EUTHYPHRO: Very true.

SOCRATES: But where reverence is, there is fear; for he who has a feeling of reverence and shame about the commission of any action, fears and is afraid of an ill reputation.

EUTHYPHRO: No doubt.

SOCRATES: Then we are wrong in saying that where there is fear there is also reverence; and we should say, where there is reverence there is also fear. But there is not always reverence where there is fear; for fear is a more extended notion, and reverence is a part of fear, just as the odd is a part of number, and number is a more extended notion than the odd. I suppose that you follow me now?

EUTHYPHRO: Quite well.

SOCRATES: That was the sort of question which I meant to raise when I asked whether the just is always the pious, or the pious always the just; and whether there may not be justice where there is not piety; for justice is the more extended notion of which piety is only a part. Do you dissent?

EUTHYPHRO: No, I think that you are quite right.

SOCRATES: Then, if piety is a part of justice, I suppose that we should enquire what part? If you had pursued the enquiry in the previous cases; for instance, if you had asked me what is an even number, and what part of number the even is, I should have had no difficulty in replying, a number which represents a figure having two equal sides. Do you not agree?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, I quite agree.

SOCRATES: In like manner, I want you to tell me what part of justice is piety or holiness, that I may be able to tell Meletus not to do me injustice, or indict me for impiety, as I am now adequately instructed by you in the nature of piety or holiness, and their opposites.

EUTHYPHRO: Piety or holiness, Socrates, appears to me to be that part of justice which attends to the gods, as there is the other part of justice which attends to men.

SOCRATES: That is good, Euthyphro; yet still there is a little point about which I should like to have further information, What is the meaning of ‘attention’? For attention can hardly be used in the same sense when applied to the gods as when applied to other things. For instance, horses are said to require attention, and not every person is able to attend to them, but only a person skilled in horsemanship. Is it not so?

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: I should suppose that the art of horsemanship is the art of attending to horses?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Nor is every one qualified to attend to dogs, but only the huntsman?

EUTHYPHRO: True.

SOCRATES: And I should also conceive that the art of the huntsman is the art of attending to dogs?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: As the art of the oxherd is the art of attending to oxen?

EUTHYPHRO: Very true.

SOCRATES: In like manner holiness or piety is the art of attending to the gods? — that would be your meaning, Euthyphro?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is not attention always designed for the good or benefit of that to which the attention is given? As in the case of horses, you may observe that when attended to by the horseman’s art they are benefited and improved, are they not?

EUTHYPHRO: True.

SOCRATES: As the dogs are benefited by the huntsman’s art, and the oxen by the art of the oxherd, and all other things are tended or attended for their good and not for their hurt?

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly, not for their hurt.

SOCRATES: But for their good?

EUTHYPHRO: Of course.

SOCRATES: And does piety or holiness, which has been defined to be the art of attending to the gods, benefit or improve them? Would you say that when you do a holy act you make any of the gods better?

EUTHYPHRO: No, no; that was certainly not what I meant.

SOCRATES: And I, Euthyphro, never supposed that you did. I asked you the question about the nature of the attention, because I thought that you did not.

EUTHYPHRO: You do me justice, Socrates; that is not the sort of attention which I mean.

SOCRATES: Good: but I must still ask what is this attention to the gods which is called piety?

EUTHYPHRO: It is such, Socrates, as servants show to their masters.

SOCRATES: I understand — a sort of ministration to the gods.

EUTHYPHRO: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Medicine is also a sort of ministration or service, having in view the attainment of some object — would you not say of health?

EUTHYPHRO: I should.

SOCRATES: Again, there is an art which ministers to the ship-builder with a view to the attainment of some result?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, Socrates, with a view to the building of a ship.

SOCRATES: As there is an art which ministers to the house-builder with a view to the building of a house?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And now tell me, my good friend, about the art which ministers to the gods: what work does that help to accomplish? For you must surely know if, as you say, you are of all men living the one who is best instructed in religion.

EUTHYPHRO: And I speak the truth, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Tell me then, oh tell me — what is that fair work which the gods do by the help of our ministrations?

EUTHYPHRO: Many and fair, Socrates, are the works which they do.

SOCRATES: Why, my friend, and so are those of a general. But the chief of them is easily told. Would you not say that victory in war is the chief of them?

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Many and fair, too, are the works of the husbandman, if I am not mistaken; but his chief work is the production of food from the earth?

EUTHYPHRO: Exactly.

SOCRATES: And of the many and fair things done by the gods, which is the chief or principal one?

EUTHYPHRO: I have told you already, Socrates, that to learn all these things accurately will be very tiresome. Let me simply say that piety or holiness is learning how to please the gods in word and deed, by prayers and sacrifices. Such piety is the salvation of families and states, just as the impious, which is unpleasing to the gods, is their ruin and destruction.

SOCRATES: I think that you could have answered in much fewer words the chief question which I asked, Euthyphro, if you had chosen. But I see plainly that you are not disposed to instruct me — clearly not: else why, when we reached the point, did you turn aside? Had you only answered me I should have truly learned of you by this time the nature of piety. Now, as the asker of a question is necessarily dependent on the answerer, whither he leads I must follow; and can only ask again, what is the pious, and what is piety? Do you mean that they are a sort of science of praying and sacrificing?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, I do.

SOCRATES: And sacrificing is giving to the gods, and prayer is asking of the gods?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Upon this view, then, piety is a science of asking and giving?

EUTHYPHRO: You understand me capitally, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Yes, my friend; the reason is that I am a votary of your science, and give my mind to it, and therefore nothing which you say will be thrown away upon me. Please then to tell me, what is the nature of this service to the gods? Do you mean that we prefer requests and give gifts to them?

EUTHYPHRO: Yes, I do.

SOCRATES: Is not the right way of asking to ask of them what we want?

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And the right way of giving is to give to them in return what they want of us. There would be no meaning in an art which gives to any one that which he does not want.

EUTHYPHRO: Very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then piety, Euthyphro, is an art which gods and men have of doing business with one another?

EUTHYPHRO: That is an expression which you may use, if you like.

SOCRATES: But I have no particular liking for anything but the truth. I wish, however, that you would tell me what benefit accrues to the gods from our gifts. There is no doubt about what they give to us; for there is no good thing which they do not give; but how we can give any good thing to them in return is far from being equally clear. If they give everything and we give nothing, that must be an affair of business in which we have very greatly the advantage of them.

EUTHYPHRO: And do you imagine, Socrates, that any benefit accrues to the gods from our gifts?

SOCRATES: But if not, Euthyphro, what is the meaning of gifts which are conferred by us upon the gods?

EUTHYPHRO: What else, but tributes of honour; and, as I was just now saying, what pleases them?

SOCRATES: Piety, then, is pleasing to the gods, but not beneficial or dear to them?

EUTHYPHRO: I should say that nothing could be dearer.

SOCRATES: Then once more the assertion is repeated that piety is dear to the gods?

EUTHYPHRO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And when you say this, can you wonder at your words not standing firm, but walking away? Will you accuse me of being the Daedalus who makes them walk away, not perceiving that there is another and far greater artist than Daedalus who makes them go round in a circle, and he is yourself; for the argument, as you will perceive, comes round to the same point. Were we not saying that the holy or pious was not the same with that which is loved of the gods? Have you forgotten?

EUTHYPHRO: I quite remember.

SOCRATES: And are you not saying that what is loved of the gods is holy; and is not this the same as what is dear to them — do you see?

EUTHYPHRO: True.

SOCRATES: Then either we were wrong in our former assertion; or, if we were right then, we are wrong now.

EUTHYPHRO: One of the two must be true.

SOCRATES: Then we must begin again and ask, What is piety? That is an enquiry which I shall never be weary of pursuing as far as in me lies; and I entreat you not to scorn me, but to apply your mind to the utmost, and tell me the truth. For, if any man knows, you are he; and therefore I must detain you, like Proteus, until you tell. If you had not certainly known the nature of piety and impiety, I am confident that you would never, on behalf of a serf, have charged your aged father with murder. You would not have run such a risk of doing wrong in the sight of the gods, and you would have had too much respect for the opinions of men. I am sure, therefore, that you know the nature of piety and impiety. Speak out then, my dear Euthyphro, and do not hide your knowledge.

EUTHYPHRO: Another time, Socrates; for I am in a hurry, and must go now.

SOCRATES: Alas! my companion, and will you leave me in despair? I was hoping that you would instruct me in the nature of piety and impiety; and then I might have cleared myself of Meletus and his indictment. I would have told him that I had been enlightened by Euthyphro, and had given up rash innovations and speculations, in which I indulged only through ignorance, and that now I am about to lead a better life.

APOLOGY

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This is a copy of the speech given by Socrates when he unsuccessfully defended himself against the charges of “corrupting the young, and by not believing in the gods in whom the city believes” in 399BC. Plato’s Apology is generally regarded as the most reliable source of information about Socrates’ trial.

Except for two brief exchanges with Meletus, where the monologue becomes a dialogue, the text is written in the first person from Socrates’ point of view, as though it were his actual speech at the trial. During the course of the speech, Socrates twice mentions Plato as being present.

The Apology begins with Socrates saying he doubts whether the men of Athens (the jury) have been truly persuaded by his accusers. Socrates goes on to suggest that philosophy begins with a sincere admission of ignorance; he later clarifies this, stating that whatever wisdom he has, comes from his knowledge that he knows nothing.

Socrates’ speech proves how he was a master orator, who is eloquent, persuasive and wise. Nevertheless, the speech (which we can only trust to being what Socrates really said) did not win him acquittal and so he was sentenced to death.

A Victorian depiction of Socrates’ trial

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION.

APOLOGY

Another depiction of Socrates’ trial

INTRODUCTION.

In what relation the Apology of Plato stands to the real defence of Socrates, there are no means of determining. It certainly agrees in tone and character with the description of Xenophon, who says in the Memorabilia that Socrates might have been acquitted ‘if in any moderate degree he would have conciliated the favour of the dicasts;’ and who informs us in another passage, on the testimony of Hermogenes, the friend of Socrates, that he had no wish to live; and that the divine sign refused to allow him to prepare a defence, and also that Socrates himself declared this to be unnecessary, on the ground that all his life long he had been preparing against that hour. For the speech breathes throughout a spirit of defiance, (ut non supplex aut reus sed magister aut dominus videretur esse judicum’, Cic. de Orat.); and the loose and desultory style is an imitation of the ‘accustomed manner’ in which Socrates spoke in ‘the agora and among the tables of the money-changers.’ The allusion in the Crito may, perhaps, be adduced as a further evidence of the literal accuracy of some parts. But in the main it must be regarded as the ideal of Socrates, according to Plato’s conception of him, appearing in the greatest and most public scene of his life, and in the height of his triumph, when he is weakest, and yet his mastery over mankind is greatest, and his habitual irony acquires a new meaning and a sort of tragic pathos in the face of death. The facts of his life are summed up, and the features of his character are brought out as if by accident in the course of the defence. The conversational manner, the seeming want of arrangement, the ironical simplicity, are found to result in a perfect work of art, which is the portrait of Socrates.

Yet some of the topics may have been actually used by Socrates; and the recollection of his very words may have rung in the ears of his disciple. The Apology of Plato may be compared generally with those speeches of Thucydides in which he has embodied his conception of the lofty character and policy of the great Pericles, and which at the same time furnish a commentary on the situation of affairs from the point of view of the historian. So in the Apology there is an ideal rather than a literal truth; much is said which was not said, and is only Plato’s view of the situation. Plato was not, like Xenophon, a chronicler of facts; he does not appear in any of his writings to have aimed at literal accuracy. He is not therefore to be supplemented from the Memorabilia and Symposium of Xenophon, who belongs to an entirely different class of writers. The Apology of Plato is not the report of what Socrates said, but an elaborate composition, quite as much so in fact as one of the Dialogues. And we may perhaps even indulge in the fancy that the actual defence of Socrates was as much greater than the Platonic defence as the master was greater than the disciple. But in any case, some of the words used by him must have been remembered, and some of the facts recorded must have actually occurred. It is significant that Plato is said to have been present at the defence (Apol.), as he is also said to have been absent at the last scene in the Phaedo. Is it fanciful to suppose that he meant to give the stamp of authenticity to the one and not to the other? — especially when we consider that these two passages are the only ones in which Plato makes mention of himself. The circumstance that Plato was to be one of his sureties for the payment of the fine which he proposed has the appearance of truth. More suspicious is the statement that Socrates received the first impulse to his favourite calling of cross-examining the world from the Oracle of Delphi; for he must already have been famous before Chaerephon went to consult the Oracle (Riddell), and the story is of a kind which is very likely to have been invented. On the whole we arrive at the conclusion that the Apology is true to the character of Socrates, but we cannot show that any single sentence in it was actually spoken by him. It breathes the spirit of Socrates, but has been cast anew in the mould of Plato.

There is not much in the other Dialogues which can be compared with the Apology. The same recollection of his master may have been present to the mind of Plato when depicting the sufferings of the Just in the Republic. The Crito may also be regarded as a sort of appendage to the Apology, in which Socrates, who has defied the judges, is nevertheless represented as scrupulously obedient to the laws. The idealization of the sufferer is carried still further in the Gorgias, in which the thesis is maintained, that ‘to suffer is better than to do evil;’ and the art of rhetoric is described as only useful for the purpose of self-accusation. The parallelisms which occur in the so-called Apology of Xenophon are not worth noticing, because the writing in which they are contained is manifestly spurious. The statements of the Memorabilia respecting the trial and death of Socrates agree generally with Plato; but they have lost the flavour of Socratic irony in the narrative of Xenophon.

The Apology or Platonic defence of Socrates is divided into three parts: 1st. The defence properly so called; 2nd. The shorter address in mitigation of the penalty; 3rd. The last words of prophetic rebuke and exhortation.

The first part commences with an apology for his colloquial style; he is, as he has always been, the enemy of rhetoric, and knows of no rhetoric but truth; he will not falsify his character by making a speech. Then he proceeds to divide his accusers into two classes; first, there is the nameless accuser — public opinion. All the world from their earliest years had heard that he was a corrupter of youth, and had seen him caricatured in the Clouds of Aristophanes. Secondly, there are the professed accusers, who are but the mouth-piece of the others. The accusations of both might be summed up in a formula. The first say, ‘Socrates is an evil-doer and a curious person, searching into things under the earth and above the heaven; and making the worse appear the better cause, and teaching all this to others.’ The second, ‘Socrates is an evil-doer and corrupter of the youth, who does not receive the gods whom the state receives, but introduces other new divinities.’ These last words appear to have been the actual indictment (compare Xen. Mem.); and the previous formula, which is a summary of public opinion, assumes the same legal style.

The answer begins by clearing up a confusion. In the representations of the Comic poets, and in the opinion of the multitude, he had been identified with the teachers of physical science and with the Sophists. But this was an error. For both of them he professes a respect in the open court, which contrasts with his manner of speaking about them in other places. (Compare for Anaxagoras, Phaedo, Laws; for the Sophists, Meno, Republic, Tim., Theaet., Soph., etc.) But at the same time he shows that he is not one of them. Of natural philosophy he knows nothing; not that he despises such pursuits, but the fact is that he is ignorant of them, and never says a word about them. Nor is he paid for giving instruction — that is another mistaken notion: — he has nothing to teach. But he commends Evenus for teaching virtue at such a ‘moderate’ rate as five minae. Something of the ‘accustomed irony,’ which may perhaps be expected to sleep in the ear of the multitude, is lurking here.

He then goes on to explain the reason why he is in such an evil name. That had arisen out of a peculiar mission which he had taken upon himself. The enthusiastic Chaerephon (probably in anticipation of the answer which he received) had gone to Delphi and asked the oracle if there was any man wiser than Socrates; and the answer was, that there was no man wiser. What could be the meaning of this — that he who knew nothing, and knew that he knew nothing, should be declared by the oracle to be the wisest of men? Reflecting upon the answer, he determined to refute it by finding ‘a wiser;’ and first he went to the politicians, and then to the poets, and then to the craftsmen, but always with the same result — he found that they knew nothing, or hardly anything more than himself; and that the little advantage which in some cases they possessed was more than counter-balanced by their conceit of knowledge. He knew nothing, and knew that he knew nothing: they knew little or nothing, and imagined that they knew all things. Thus he had passed his life as a sort of missionary in detecting the pretended wisdom of mankind; and this occupation had quite absorbed him and taken him away both from public and private affairs. Young men of the richer sort had made a pastime of the same pursuit, ‘which was not unamusing.’ And hence bitter enmities had arisen; the professors of knowledge had revenged themselves by calling him a villainous corrupter of youth, and by repeating the commonplaces about atheism and materialism and sophistry, which are the stock-accusations against all philosophers when there is nothing else to be said of them.

The second accusation he meets by interrogating Meletus, who is present and can be interrogated. ‘If he is the corrupter, who is the improver of the citizens?’ (Compare Meno.) ‘All men everywhere.’ But how absurd, how contrary to analogy is this! How inconceivable too, that he should make the citizens worse when he has to live with them. This surely cannot be intentional; and if unintentional, he ought to have been instructed by Meletus, and not accused in the court.

But there is another part of the indictment which says that he teaches men not to receive the gods whom the city receives, and has other new gods. ’Is that the way in which he is supposed to corrupt the youth?’ ‘Yes, it is.’ ‘Has he only new gods, or none at all?’ ‘None at all.’ ‘What, not even the sun and moon?’ ‘No; why, he says that the sun is a stone, and the moon earth.’ That, replies Socrates, is the old confusion about Anaxagoras; the Athenian people are not so ignorant as to attribute to the influence of Socrates notions which have found their way into the drama, and may be learned at the theatre. Socrates undertakes to show that Meletus (rather unjustifiably) has been compounding a riddle in this part of the indictment: ‘There are no gods, but Socrates believes in the existence of the sons of gods, which is absurd.’

Leaving Meletus, who has had enough words spent upon him, he returns to the original accusation. The question may be asked, Why will he persist in following a profession which leads him to death? Why? — because he must remain at his post where the god has placed him, as he remained at Potidaea, and Amphipolis, and Delium, where the generals placed him. Besides, he is not so overwise as to imagine that he knows whether death is a good or an evil; and he is certain that desertion of his duty is an evil. Anytus is quite right in saying that they should never have indicted him if they meant to let him go. For he will certainly obey God rather than man; and will continue to preach to all men of all ages the necessity of virtue and improvement; and if they refuse to listen to him he will still persevere and reprove them. This is his way of corrupting the youth, which he will not cease to follow in obedience to the god, even if a thousand deaths await him.

He is desirous that they should let him live — not for his own sake, but for theirs; because he is their heaven-sent friend (and they will never have such another), or, as he may be ludicrously described, he is the gadfly who stirs the generous steed into motion. Why then has he never taken part in public affairs? Because the familiar divine voice has hindered him; if he had been a public man, and had fought for the right, as he would certainly have fought against the many, he would not have lived, and could therefore have done no good. Twice in public matters he has risked his life for the sake of justice — once at the trial of the generals; and again in resistance to the tyrannical commands of the Thirty.

But, though not a public man, he has passed his days in instructing the citizens without fee or reward — this was his mission. Whether his disciples have turned out well or ill, he cannot justly be charged with the result, for he never promised to teach them anything. They might come if they liked, and they might stay away if they liked: and they did come, because they found an amusement in hearing the pretenders to wisdom detected. If they have been corrupted, their elder relatives (if not themselves) might surely come into court and witness against him, and there is an opportunity still for them to appear. But their fathers and brothers all appear in court (including ‘this’ Plato), to witness on his behalf; and if their relatives are corrupted, at least they are uncorrupted; ‘and they are my witnesses. For they know that I am speaking the truth, and that Meletus is lying.’

This is about all that he has to say. He will not entreat the judges to spare his life; neither will he present a spectacle of weeping children, although he, too, is not made of ‘rock or oak.’ Some of the judges themselves may have complied with this practice on similar occasions, and he trusts that they will not be angry with him for not following their example. But he feels that such conduct brings discredit on the name of Athens: he feels too, that the judge has sworn not to give away justice; and he cannot be guilty of the impiety of asking the judge to break his oath, when he is himself being tried for impiety.

As he expected, and probably intended, he is convicted. And now the tone of the speech, instead of being more conciliatory, becomes more lofty and commanding. Anytus proposes death as the penalty: and what counter-proposition shall he make? He, the benefactor of the Athenian people, whose whole life has been spent in doing them good, should at least have the Olympic victor’s reward of maintenance in the Prytaneum. Or why should he propose any counter-penalty when he does not know whether death, which Anytus proposes, is a good or an evil? And he is certain that imprisonment is an evil, exile is an evil. Loss of money might be an evil, but then he has none to give; perhaps he can make up a mina. Let that be the penalty, or, if his friends wish, thirty minae; for which they will be excellent securities.

(He is condemned to death.)

He is an old man already, and the Athenians will gain nothing but disgrace by depriving him of a few years of life. Perhaps he could have escaped, if he had chosen to throw down his arms and entreat for his life. But he does not at all repent of the manner of his defence; he would rather die in his own fashion than live in theirs. For the penalty of unrighteousness is swifter than death; that penalty has already overtaken his accusers as death will soon overtake him.

And now, as one who is about to die, he will prophesy to them. They have put him to death in order to escape the necessity of giving an account of their lives. But his death ‘will be the seed’ of many disciples who will convince them of their evil ways, and will come forth to reprove them in harsher terms, because they are younger and more inconsiderate.

He would like to say a few words, while there is time, to those who would have acquitted him. He wishes them to know that the divine sign never interrupted him in the course of his defence; the reason of which, as he conjectures, is that the death to which he is going is a good and not an evil. For either death is a long sleep, the best of sleeps, or a journey to another world in which the souls of the dead are gathered together, and in which there may be a hope of seeing the heroes of old — in which, too, there are just judges; and as all are immortal, there can be no fear of any one suffering death for his opinions.

Nothing evil can happen to the good man either in life or death, and his own death has been permitted by the gods, because it was better for him to depart; and therefore he forgives his judges because they have done him no harm, although they never meant to do him any good.

He has a last request to make to them — that they will trouble his sons as he has troubled them, if they appear to prefer riches to virtue, or to think themselves something when they are nothing.

‘Few persons will be found to wish that Socrates should have defended himself otherwise,’ — if, as we must add, his defence was that with which Plato has provided him. But leaving this question, which does not admit of a precise solution, we may go on to ask what was the impression which Plato in the Apology intended to give of the character and conduct of his master in the last great scene? Did he intend to represent him (1) as employing sophistries; (2) as designedly irritating the judges? Or are these sophistries to be regarded as belonging to the age in which he lived and to his personal character, and this apparent haughtiness as flowing from the natural elevation of his position?

For example, when he says that it is absurd to suppose that one man is the corrupter and all the rest of the world the improvers of the youth; or, when he argues that he never could have corrupted the men with whom he had to live; or, when he proves his belief in the gods because he believes in the sons of gods, is he serious or jesting? It may be observed that these sophisms all occur in his cross-examination of Meletus, who is easily foiled and mastered in the hands of the great dialectician. Perhaps he regarded these answers as good enough for his accuser, of whom he makes very light. Also there is a touch of irony in them, which takes them out of the category of sophistry. (Compare Euthyph.)

That the manner in which he defends himself about the lives of his disciples is not satisfactory, can hardly be denied. Fresh in the memory of the Athenians, and detestable as they deserved to be to the newly restored democracy, were the names of Alcibiades, Critias, Charmides. It is obviously not a sufficient answer that Socrates had never professed to teach them anything, and is therefore not justly chargeable with their crimes. Yet the defence, when taken out of this ironical form, is doubtless sound: that his teaching had nothing to do with their evil lives. Here, then, the sophistry is rather in form than in substance, though we might desire that to such a serious charge Socrates had given a more serious answer.

Truly characteristic of Socrates is another point in his answer, which may also be regarded as sophistical. He says that ‘if he has corrupted the youth, he must have corrupted them involuntarily.’ But if, as Socrates argues, all evil is involuntary, then all criminals ought to be admonished and not punished. In these words the Socratic doctrine of the involuntariness of evil is clearly intended to be conveyed. Here again, as in the former instance, the defence of Socrates is untrue practically, but may be true in some ideal or transcendental sense. The commonplace reply, that if he had been guilty of corrupting the youth their relations would surely have witnessed against him, with which he concludes this part of his defence, is more satisfactory.

Again, when Socrates argues that he must believe in the gods because he believes in the sons of gods, we must remember that this is a refutation not of the original indictment, which is consistent enough— ‘Socrates does not receive the gods whom the city receives, and has other new divinities’ — but of the interpretation put upon the words by Meletus, who has affirmed that he is a downright atheist. To this Socrates fairly answers, in accordance with the ideas of the time, that a downright atheist cannot believe in the sons of gods or in divine things. The notion that demons or lesser divinities are the sons of gods is not to be regarded as ironical or sceptical. He is arguing ‘ad hominem’ according to the notions of mythology current in his age. Yet he abstains from saying that he believed in the gods whom the State approved. He does not defend himself, as Xenophon has defended him, by appealing to his practice of religion. Probably he neither wholly believed, nor disbelieved, in the existence of the popular gods; he had no means of knowing about them. According to Plato (compare Phaedo; Symp.), as well as Xenophon (Memor.), he was punctual in the performance of the least religious duties; and he must have believed in his own oracular sign, of which he seemed to have an internal witness. But the existence of Apollo or Zeus, or the other gods whom the State approves, would have appeared to him both uncertain and unimportant in comparison of the duty of self-examination, and of those principles of truth and right which he deemed to be the foundation of religion. (Compare Phaedr.; Euthyph.; Republic.)

The second question, whether Plato meant to represent Socrates as braving or irritating his judges, must also be answered in the negative. His irony, his superiority, his audacity, ‘regarding not the person of man,’ necessarily flow out of the loftiness of his situation. He is not acting a part upon a great occasion, but he is what he has been all his life long, ‘a king of men.’ He would rather not appear insolent, if he could avoid it (ouch os authadizomenos touto lego). Neither is he desirous of hastening his own end, for life and death are simply indifferent to him. But such a defence as would be acceptable to his judges and might procure an acquittal, it is not in his nature to make. He will not say or do anything that might pervert the course of justice; he cannot have his tongue bound even ‘in the throat of death.’ With his accusers he will only fence and play, as he had fenced with other ‘improvers of youth,’ answering the Sophist according to his sophistry all his life long. He is serious when he is speaking of his own mission, which seems to distinguish him from all other reformers of mankind, and originates in an accident. The dedication of himself to the improvement of his fellow-citizens is not so remarkable as the ironical spirit in which he goes about doing good only in vindication of the credit of the oracle, and in the vain hope of finding a wiser man than himself. Yet this singular and almost accidental character of his mission agrees with the divine sign which, according to our notions, is equally accidental and irrational, and is nevertheless accepted by him as the guiding principle of his life. Socrates is nowhere represented to us as a freethinker or sceptic. There is no reason to doubt his sincerity when he speculates on the possibility of seeing and knowing the heroes of the Trojan war in another world. On the other hand, his hope of immortality is uncertain; — he also conceives of death as a long sleep (in this respect differing from the Phaedo), and at last falls back on resignation to the divine will, and the certainty that no evil can happen to the good man either in life or death. His absolute truthfulness seems to hinder him from asserting positively more than this; and he makes no attempt to veil his ignorance in mythology and figures of speech. The gentleness of the first part of the speech contrasts with the aggravated, almost threatening, tone of the conclusion. He characteristically remarks that he will not speak as a rhetorician, that is to say, he will not make a regular defence such as Lysias or one of the orators might have composed for him, or, according to some accounts, did compose for him. But he first procures himself a hearing by conciliatory words. He does not attack the Sophists; for they were open to the same charges as himself; they were equally ridiculed by the Comic poets, and almost equally hateful to Anytus and Meletus. Yet incidentally the antagonism between Socrates and the Sophists is allowed to appear. He is poor and they are rich; his profession that he teaches nothing is opposed to their readiness to teach all things; his talking in the marketplace to their private instructions; his tarry-at-home life to their wandering from city to city. The tone which he assumes towards them is one of real friendliness, but also of concealed irony. Towards Anaxagoras, who had disappointed him in his hopes of learning about mind and nature, he shows a less kindly feeling, which is also the feeling of Plato in other passages (Laws). But Anaxagoras had been dead thirty years, and was beyond the reach of persecution.

It has been remarked that the prophecy of a new generation of teachers who would rebuke and exhort the Athenian people in harsher and more violent terms was, as far as we know, never fulfilled. No inference can be drawn from this circumstance as to the probability of the words attributed to him having been actually uttered. They express the aspiration of the first martyr of philosophy, that he would leave behind him many followers, accompanied by the not unnatural feeling that they would be fiercer and more inconsiderate in their words when emancipated from his control.

The above remarks must be understood as applying with any degree of certainty to the Platonic Socrates only. For, although these or similar words may have been spoken by Socrates himself, we cannot exclude the possibility, that like so much else, e.g. the wisdom of Critias, the poem of Solon, the virtues of Charmides, they may have been due only to the imagination of Plato. The arguments of those who maintain that the Apology was composed during the process, resting on no evidence, do not require a serious refutation. Nor are the reasonings of Schleiermacher, who argues that the Platonic defence is an exact or nearly exact reproduction of the words of Socrates, partly because Plato would not have been guilty of the impiety of altering them, and also because many points of the defence might have been improved and strengthened, at all more conclusive. (See English Translation.) What effect the death of Socrates produced on the mind of Plato, we cannot certainly determine; nor can we say how he would or must have written under the circumstances. We observe that the enmity of Aristophanes to Socrates does not prevent Plato from introducing them together in the Symposium engaged in friendly intercourse. Nor is there any trace in the Dialogues of an attempt to make Anytus or Meletus personally odious in the eyes of the Athenian public.

APOLOGY

How you, O Athenians, have been affected by my accusers, I cannot tell; but I know that they almost made me forget who I was — so persuasively did they speak; and yet they have hardly uttered a word of truth. But of the many falsehoods told by them, there was one which quite amazed me; — I mean when they said that you should be upon your guard and not allow yourselves to be deceived by the force of my eloquence. To say this, when they were certain to be detected as soon as I opened my lips and proved myself to be anything but a great speaker, did indeed appear to me most shameless — unless by the force of eloquence they mean the force of truth; for is such is their meaning, I admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way from theirs! Well, as I was saying, they have scarcely spoken the truth at all; but from me you shall hear the whole truth: not, however, delivered after their manner in a set oration duly ornamented with words and phrases. No, by heaven! but I shall use the words and arguments which occur to me at the moment; for I am confident in the justice of my cause (Or, I am certain that I am right in taking this course.): at my time of life I ought not to be appearing before you, O men of Athens, in the character of a juvenile orator — let no one expect it of me. And I must beg of you to grant me a favour: — If I defend myself in my accustomed manner, and you hear me using the words which I have been in the habit of using in the agora, at the tables of the money-changers, or anywhere else, I would ask you not to be surprised, and not to interrupt me on this account. For I am more than seventy years of age, and appearing now for the first time in a court of law, I am quite a stranger to the language of the place; and therefore I would have you regard me as if I were really a stranger, whom you would excuse if he spoke in his native tongue, and after the fashion of his country: — Am I making an unfair request of you? Never mind the manner, which may or may not be good; but think only of the truth of my words, and give heed to that: let the speaker speak truly and the judge decide justly.

And first, I have to reply to the older charges and to my first accusers, and then I will go on to the later ones. For of old I have had many accusers, who have accused me falsely to you during many years; and I am more afraid of them than of Anytus and his associates, who are dangerous, too, in their own way. But far more dangerous are the others, who began when you were children, and took possession of your minds with their falsehoods, telling of one Socrates, a wise man, who speculated about the heaven above, and searched into the earth beneath, and made the worse appear the better cause. The disseminators of this tale are the accusers whom I dread; for their hearers are apt to fancy that such enquirers do not believe in the existence of the gods. And they are many, and their charges against me are of ancient date, and they were made by them in the days when you were more impressible than you are now — in childhood, or it may have been in youth — and the cause when heard went by default, for there was none to answer. And hardest of all, I do not know and cannot tell the names of my accusers; unless in the chance case of a Comic poet. All who from envy and malice have persuaded you — some of them having first convinced themselves — all this class of men are most difficult to deal with; for I cannot have them up here, and cross-examine them, and therefore I must simply fight with shadows in my own defence, and argue when there is no one who answers. I will ask you then to assume with me, as I was saying, that my opponents are of two kinds; one recent, the other ancient: and I hope that you will see the propriety of my answering the latter first, for these accusations you heard long before the others, and much oftener.

Well, then, I must make my defence, and endeavour to clear away in a short time, a slander which has lasted a long time. May I succeed, if to succeed be for my good and yours, or likely to avail me in my cause! The task is not an easy one; I quite understand the nature of it. And so leaving the event with God, in obedience to the law I will now make my defence.

I will begin at the beginning, and ask what is the accusation which has given rise to the slander of me, and in fact has encouraged Meletus to proof this charge against me. Well, what do the slanderers say? They shall be my prosecutors, and I will sum up their words in an affidavit: ‘Socrates is an evil-doer, and a curious person, who searches into things under the earth and in heaven, and he makes the worse appear the better cause; and he teaches the aforesaid doctrines to others.’ Such is the nature of the accusation: it is just what you have yourselves seen in the comedy of Aristophanes (Aristoph., Clouds.), who has introduced a man whom he calls Socrates, going about and saying that he walks in air, and talking a deal of nonsense concerning matters of which I do not pretend to know either much or little — not that I mean to speak disparagingly of any one who is a student of natural philosophy. I should be very sorry if Meletus could bring so grave a charge against me. But the simple truth is, O Athenians, that I have nothing to do with physical speculations. Very many of those here present are witnesses to the truth of this, and to them I appeal. Speak then, you who have heard me, and tell your neighbours whether any of you have ever known me hold forth in few words or in many upon such matters...You hear their answer. And from what they say of this part of the charge you will be able to judge of the truth of the rest.

As little foundation is there for the report that I am a teacher, and take money; this accusation has no more truth in it than the other. Although, if a man were really able to instruct mankind, to receive money for giving instruction would, in my opinion, be an honour to him. There is Gorgias of Leontium, and Prodicus of Ceos, and Hippias of Elis, who go the round of the cities, and are able to persuade the young men to leave their own citizens by whom they might be taught for nothing, and come to them whom they not only pay, but are thankful if they may be allowed to pay them. There is at this time a Parian philosopher residing in Athens, of whom I have heard; and I came to hear of him in this way: — I came across a man who has spent a world of money on the Sophists, Callias, the son of Hipponicus, and knowing that he had sons, I asked him: ‘Callias,’ I said, ‘if your two sons were foals or calves, there would be no difficulty in finding some one to put over them; we should hire a trainer of horses, or a farmer probably, who would improve and perfect them in their own proper virtue and excellence; but as they are human beings, whom are you thinking of placing over them? Is there any one who understands human and political virtue? You must have thought about the matter, for you have sons; is there any one?’ ‘There is,’ he said. ‘Who is he?’ said I; ‘and of what country? and what does he charge?’ ‘Evenus the Parian,’ he replied; ‘he is the man, and his charge is five minae.’ Happy is Evenus, I said to myself, if he really has this wisdom, and teaches at such a moderate charge. Had I the same, I should have been very proud and conceited; but the truth is that I have no knowledge of the kind.

I dare say, Athenians, that some one among you will reply, ‘Yes, Socrates, but what is the origin of these accusations which are brought against you; there must have been something strange which you have been doing? All these rumours and this talk about you would never have arisen if you had been like other men: tell us, then, what is the cause of them, for we should be sorry to judge hastily of you.’ Now I regard this as a fair challenge, and I will endeavour to explain to you the reason why I am called wise and have such an evil fame. Please to attend then. And although some of you may think that I am joking, I declare that I will tell you the entire truth. Men of Athens, this reputation of mine has come of a certain sort of wisdom which I possess. If you ask me what kind of wisdom, I reply, wisdom such as may perhaps be attained by man, for to that extent I am inclined to believe that I am wise; whereas the persons of whom I was speaking have a superhuman wisdom which I may fail to describe, because I have it not myself; and he who says that I have, speaks falsely, and is taking away my character. And here, O men of Athens, I must beg you not to interrupt me, even if I seem to say something extravagant. For the word which I will speak is not mine. I will refer you to a witness who is worthy of credit; that witness shall be the God of Delphi — he will tell you about my wisdom, if I have any, and of what sort it is. You must have known Chaerephon; he was early a friend of mine, and also a friend of yours, for he shared in the recent exile of the people, and returned with you. Well, Chaerephon, as you know, was very impetuous in all his doings, and he went to Delphi and boldly asked the oracle to tell him whether — as I was saying, I must beg you not to interrupt — he asked the oracle to tell him whether anyone was wiser than I was, and the Pythian prophetess answered, that there was no man wiser. Chaerephon is dead himself; but his brother, who is in court, will confirm the truth of what I am saying.

Why do I mention this? Because I am going to explain to you why I have such an evil name. When I heard the answer, I said to myself, What can the god mean? and what is the interpretation of his riddle? for I know that I have no wisdom, small or great. What then can he mean when he says that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god, and cannot lie; that would be against his nature. After long consideration, I thought of a method of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser than myself, then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I should say to him, ‘Here is a man who is wiser than I am; but you said that I was the wisest.’ Accordingly I went to one who had the reputation of wisdom, and observed him — his name I need not mention; he was a politician whom I selected for examination — and the result was as follows: When I began to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and still wiser by himself; and thereupon I tried to explain to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really wise; and the consequence was that he hated me, and his enmity was shared by several who were present and heard me. So I left him, saying to myself, as I went away: Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is, — for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows; I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then I went to another who had still higher pretensions to wisdom, and my conclusion was exactly the same. Whereupon I made another enemy of him, and of many others besides him.

Then I went to one man after another, being not unconscious of the enmity which I provoked, and I lamented and feared this: but necessity was laid upon me, — the word of God, I thought, ought to be considered first. And I said to myself, Go I must to all who appear to know, and find out the meaning of the oracle. And I swear to you, Athenians, by the dog I swear! — for I must tell you the truth — the result of my mission was just this: I found that the men most in repute were all but the most foolish; and that others less esteemed were really wiser and better. I will tell you the tale of my wanderings and of the ‘Herculean’ labours, as I may call them, which I endured only to find at last the oracle irrefutable. After the politicians, I went to the poets; tragic, dithyrambic, and all sorts. And there, I said to myself, you will be instantly detected; now you will find out that you are more ignorant than they are. Accordingly, I took them some of the most elaborate passages in their own writings, and asked what was the meaning of them — thinking that they would teach me something. Will you believe me? I am almost ashamed to confess the truth, but I must say that there is hardly a person present who would not have talked better about their poetry than they did themselves. Then I knew that not by wisdom do poets write poetry, but by a sort of genius and inspiration; they are like diviners or soothsayers who also say many fine things, but do not understand the meaning of them. The poets appeared to me to be much in the same case; and I further observed that upon the strength of their poetry they believed themselves to be the wisest of men in other things in which they were not wise. So I departed, conceiving myself to be superior to them for the same reason that I was superior to the politicians.

At last I went to the artisans. I was conscious that I knew nothing at all, as I may say, and I was sure that they knew many fine things; and here I was not mistaken, for they did know many things of which I was ignorant, and in this they certainly were wiser than I was. But I observed that even the good artisans fell into the same error as the poets; — because they were good workmen they thought that they also knew all sorts of high matters, and this defect in them overshadowed their wisdom; and therefore I asked myself on behalf of the oracle, whether I would like to be as I was, neither having their knowledge nor their ignorance, or like them in both; and I made answer to myself and to the oracle that I was better off as I was.

This inquisition has led to my having many enemies of the worst and most dangerous kind, and has given occasion also to many calumnies. And I am called wise, for my hearers always imagine that I myself possess the wisdom which I find wanting in others: but the truth is, O men of Athens, that God only is wise; and by his answer he intends to show that the wisdom of men is worth little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is only using my name by way of illustration, as if he said, He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing. And so I go about the world, obedient to the god, and search and make enquiry into the wisdom of any one, whether citizen or stranger, who appears to be wise; and if he is not wise, then in vindication of the oracle I show him that he is not wise; and my occupation quite absorbs me, and I have no time to give either to any public matter of interest or to any concern of my own, but I am in utter poverty by reason of my devotion to the god.

There is another thing: — young men of the richer classes, who have not much to do, come about me of their own accord; they like to hear the pretenders examined, and they often imitate me, and proceed to examine others; there are plenty of persons, as they quickly discover, who think that they know something, but really know little or nothing; and then those who are examined by them instead of being angry with themselves are angry with me: This confounded Socrates, they say; this villainous misleader of youth! — and then if somebody asks them, Why, what evil does he practise or teach? they do not know, and cannot tell; but in order that they may not appear to be at a loss, they repeat the ready-made charges which are used against all philosophers about teaching things up in the clouds and under the earth, and having no gods, and making the worse appear the better cause; for they do not like to confess that their pretence of knowledge has been detected — which is the truth; and as they are numerous and ambitious and energetic, and are drawn up in battle array and have persuasive tongues, they have filled your ears with their loud and inveterate calumnies. And this is the reason why my three accusers, Meletus and Anytus and Lycon, have set upon me; Meletus, who has a quarrel with me on behalf of the poets; Anytus, on behalf of the craftsmen and politicians; Lycon, on behalf of the rhetoricians: and as I said at the beginning, I cannot expect to get rid of such a mass of calumny all in a moment. And this, O men of Athens, is the truth and the whole truth; I have concealed nothing, I have dissembled nothing. And yet, I know that my plainness of speech makes them hate me, and what is their hatred but a proof that I am speaking the truth? — Hence has arisen the prejudice against me; and this is the reason of it, as you will find out either in this or in any future enquiry.

I have said enough in my defence against the first class of my accusers; I turn to the second class. They are headed by Meletus, that good man and true lover of his country, as he calls himself. Against these, too, I must try to make a defence: — Let their affidavit be read: it contains something of this kind: It says that Socrates is a doer of evil, who corrupts the youth; and who does not believe in the gods of the state, but has other new divinities of his own. Such is the charge; and now let us examine the particular counts. He says that I am a doer of evil, and corrupt the youth; but I say, O men of Athens, that Meletus is a doer of evil, in that he pretends to be in earnest when he is only in jest, and is so eager to bring men to trial from a pretended zeal and interest about matters in which he really never had the smallest interest. And the truth of this I will endeavour to prove to you.

Come hither, Meletus, and let me ask a question of you. You think a great deal about the improvement of youth?

Yes, I do.

Tell the judges, then, who is their improver; for you must know, as you have taken the pains to discover their corrupter, and are citing and accusing me before them. Speak, then, and tell the judges who their improver is. — Observe, Meletus, that you are silent, and have nothing to say. But is not this rather disgraceful, and a very considerable proof of what I was saying, that you have no interest in the matter? Speak up, friend, and tell us who their improver is.

The laws.

But that, my good sir, is not my meaning. I want to know who the person is, who, in the first place, knows the laws.

The judges, Socrates, who are present in court.

What, do you mean to say, Meletus, that they are able to instruct and improve youth?

Certainly they are.

What, all of them, or some only and not others?

All of them.

By the goddess Here, that is good news! There are plenty of improvers, then. And what do you say of the audience, — do they improve them?

Yes, they do.

And the senators?

Yes, the senators improve them.

But perhaps the members of the assembly corrupt them? — or do they too improve them?

They improve them.

Then every Athenian improves and elevates them; all with the exception of myself; and I alone am their corrupter? Is that what you affirm?

That is what I stoutly affirm.

I am very unfortunate if you are right. But suppose I ask you a question: How about horses? Does one man do them harm and all the world good? Is not the exact opposite the truth? One man is able to do them good, or at least not many; — the trainer of horses, that is to say, does them good, and others who have to do with them rather injure them? Is not that true, Meletus, of horses, or of any other animals? Most assuredly it is; whether you and Anytus say yes or no. Happy indeed would be the condition of youth if they had one corrupter only, and all the rest of the world were their improvers. But you, Meletus, have sufficiently shown that you never had a thought about the young: your carelessness is seen in your not caring about the very things which you bring against me.

And now, Meletus, I will ask you another question — by Zeus I will: Which is better, to live among bad citizens, or among good ones? Answer, friend, I say; the question is one which may be easily answered. Do not the good do their neighbours good, and the bad do them evil?

Certainly.

And is there anyone who would rather be injured than benefited by those who live with him? Answer, my good friend, the law requires you to answer — does any one like to be injured?

Certainly not.

And when you accuse me of corrupting and deteriorating the youth, do you allege that I corrupt them intentionally or unintentionally?

Intentionally, I say.

But you have just admitted that the good do their neighbours good, and the evil do them evil. Now, is that a truth which your superior wisdom has recognized thus early in life, and am I, at my age, in such darkness and ignorance as not to know that if a man with whom I have to live is corrupted by me, I am very likely to be harmed by him; and yet I corrupt him, and intentionally, too — so you say, although neither I nor any other human being is ever likely to be convinced by you. But either I do not corrupt them, or I corrupt them unintentionally; and on either view of the case you lie. If my offence is unintentional, the law has no cognizance of unintentional offences: you ought to have taken me privately, and warned and admonished me; for if I had been better advised, I should have left off doing what I only did unintentionally — no doubt I should; but you would have nothing to say to me and refused to teach me. And now you bring me up in this court, which is a place not of instruction, but of punishment.

It will be very clear to you, Athenians, as I was saying, that Meletus has no care at all, great or small, about the matter. But still I should like to know, Meletus, in what I am affirmed to corrupt the young. I suppose you mean, as I infer from your indictment, that I teach them not to acknowledge the gods which the state acknowledges, but some other new divinities or spiritual agencies in their stead. These are the lessons by which I corrupt the youth, as you say.

Yes, that I say emphatically.

Then, by the gods, Meletus, of whom we are speaking, tell me and the court, in somewhat plainer terms, what you mean! for I do not as yet understand whether you affirm that I teach other men to acknowledge some gods, and therefore that I do believe in gods, and am not an entire atheist — this you do not lay to my charge, — but only you say that they are not the same gods which the city recognizes — the charge is that they are different gods. Or, do you mean that I am an atheist simply, and a teacher of atheism?

I mean the latter — that you are a complete atheist.

What an extraordinary statement! Why do you think so, Meletus? Do you mean that I do not believe in the godhead of the sun or moon, like other men?

I assure you, judges, that he does not: for he says that the sun is stone, and the moon earth.

Friend Meletus, you think that you are accusing Anaxagoras: and you have but a bad opinion of the judges, if you fancy them illiterate to such a degree as not to know that these doctrines are found in the books of Anaxagoras the Clazomenian, which are full of them. And so, forsooth, the youth are said to be taught them by Socrates, when there are not unfrequently exhibitions of them at the theatre (Probably in allusion to Aristophanes who caricatured, and to Euripides who borrowed the notions of Anaxagoras, as well as to other dramatic poets.) (price of admission one drachma at the most); and they might pay their money, and laugh at Socrates if he pretends to father these extraordinary views. And so, Meletus, you really think that I do not believe in any god?

I swear by Zeus that you believe absolutely in none at all.

Nobody will believe you, Meletus, and I am pretty sure that you do not believe yourself. I cannot help thinking, men of Athens, that Meletus is reckless and impudent, and that he has written this indictment in a spirit of mere wantonness and youthful bravado. Has he not compounded a riddle, thinking to try me? He said to himself: — I shall see whether the wise Socrates will discover my facetious contradiction, or whether I shall be able to deceive him and the rest of them. For he certainly does appear to me to contradict himself in the indictment as much as if he said that Socrates is guilty of not believing in the gods, and yet of believing in them — but this is not like a person who is in earnest.

I should like you, O men of Athens, to join me in examining what I conceive to be his inconsistency; and do you, Meletus, answer. And I must remind the audience of my request that they would not make a disturbance if I speak in my accustomed manner:

Did ever man, Meletus, believe in the existence of human things, and not of human beings?...I wish, men of Athens, that he would answer, and not be always trying to get up an interruption. Did ever any man believe in horsemanship, and not in horses? or in flute-playing, and not in flute-players? No, my friend; I will answer to you and to the court, as you refuse to answer for yourself. There is no man who ever did. But now please to answer the next question: Can a man believe in spiritual and divine agencies, and not in spirits or demigods?

He cannot.

How lucky I am to have extracted that answer, by the assistance of the court! But then you swear in the indictment that I teach and believe in divine or spiritual agencies (new or old, no matter for that); at any rate, I believe in spiritual agencies, — so you say and swear in the affidavit; and yet if I believe in divine beings, how can I help believing in spirits or demigods; — must I not? To be sure I must; and therefore I may assume that your silence gives consent. Now what are spirits or demigods? Are they not either gods or the sons of gods?

Certainly they are.

But this is what I call the facetious riddle invented by you: the demigods or spirits are gods, and you say first that I do not believe in gods, and then again that I do believe in gods; that is, if I believe in demigods. For if the demigods are the illegitimate sons of gods, whether by the nymphs or by any other mothers, of whom they are said to be the sons — what human being will ever believe that there are no gods if they are the sons of gods? You might as well affirm the existence of mules, and deny that of horses and asses. Such nonsense, Meletus, could only have been intended by you to make trial of me. You have put this into the indictment because you had nothing real of which to accuse me. But no one who has a particle of understanding will ever be convinced by you that the same men can believe in divine and superhuman things, and yet not believe that there are gods and demigods and heroes.

I have said enough in answer to the charge of Meletus: any elaborate defence is unnecessary, but I know only too well how many are the enmities which I have incurred, and this is what will be my destruction if I am destroyed; — not Meletus, nor yet Anytus, but the envy and detraction of the world, which has been the death of many good men, and will probably be the death of many more; there is no danger of my being the last of them.

Some one will say: And are you not ashamed, Socrates, of a course of life which is likely to bring you to an untimely end? To him I may fairly answer: There you are mistaken: a man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or wrong — acting the part of a good man or of a bad. Whereas, upon your view, the heroes who fell at Troy were not good for much, and the son of Thetis above all, who altogether despised danger in comparison with disgrace; and when he was so eager to slay Hector, his goddess mother said to him, that if he avenged his companion Patroclus, and slew Hector, he would die himself— ‘Fate,’ she said, in these or the like words, ‘waits for you next after Hector;’ he, receiving this warning, utterly despised danger and death, and instead of fearing them, feared rather to live in dishonour, and not to avenge his friend. ‘Let me die forthwith,’ he replies, ‘and be avenged of my enemy, rather than abide here by the beaked ships, a laughing-stock and a burden of the earth.’ Had Achilles any thought of death and danger? For wherever a man’s place is, whether the place which he has chosen or that in which he has been placed by a commander, there he ought to remain in the hour of danger; he should not think of death or of anything but of disgrace. And this, O men of Athens, is a true saying.

Strange, indeed, would be my conduct, O men of Athens, if I who, when I was ordered by the generals whom you chose to command me at Potidaea and Amphipolis and Delium, remained where they placed me, like any other man, facing death — if now, when, as I conceive and imagine, God orders me to fulfil the philosopher’s mission of searching into myself and other men, I were to desert my post through fear of death, or any other fear; that would indeed be strange, and I might justly be arraigned in court for denying the existence of the gods, if I disobeyed the oracle because I was afraid of death, fancying that I was wise when I was not wise. For the fear of death is indeed the pretence of wisdom, and not real wisdom, being a pretence of knowing the unknown; and no one knows whether death, which men in their fear apprehend to be the greatest evil, may not be the greatest good. Is not this ignorance of a disgraceful sort, the ignorance which is the conceit that a man knows what he does not know? And in this respect only I believe myself to differ from men in general, and may perhaps claim to be wiser than they are: — that whereas I know but little of the world below, I do not suppose that I know: but I do know that injustice and disobedience to a better, whether God or man, is evil and dishonourable, and I will never fear or avoid a possible good rather than a certain evil. And therefore if you let me go now, and are not convinced by Anytus, who said that since I had been prosecuted I must be put to death; (or if not that I ought never to have been prosecuted at all); and that if I escape now, your sons will all be utterly ruined by listening to my words — if you say to me, Socrates, this time we will not mind Anytus, and you shall be let off, but upon one condition, that you are not to enquire and speculate in this way any more, and that if you are caught doing so again you shall die; — if this was the condition on which you let me go, I should reply: Men of Athens, I honour and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy, exhorting any one whom I meet and saying to him after my manner: You, my friend, — a citizen of the great and mighty and wise city of Athens, — are you not ashamed of heaping up the greatest amount of money and honour and reputation, and caring so little about wisdom and truth and the greatest improvement of the soul, which you never regard or heed at all? And if the person with whom I am arguing, says: Yes, but I do care; then I do not leave him or let him go at once; but I proceed to interrogate and examine and cross-examine him, and if I think that he has no virtue in him, but only says that he has, I reproach him with undervaluing the greater, and overvaluing the less. And I shall repeat the same words to every one whom I meet, young and old, citizen and alien, but especially to the citizens, inasmuch as they are my brethren. For know that this is the command of God; and I believe that no greater good has ever happened in the state than my service to the God. For I do nothing but go about persuading you all, old and young alike, not to take thought for your persons or your properties, but first and chiefly to care about the greatest improvement of the soul. I tell you that virtue is not given by money, but that from virtue comes money and every other good of man, public as well as private. This is my teaching, and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the youth, I am a mischievous person. But if any one says that this is not my teaching, he is speaking an untruth. Wherefore, O men of Athens, I say to you, do as Anytus bids or not as Anytus bids, and either acquit me or not; but whichever you do, understand that I shall never alter my ways, not even if I have to die many times.

Men of Athens, do not interrupt, but hear me; there was an understanding between us that you should hear me to the end: I have something more to say, at which you may be inclined to cry out; but I believe that to hear me will be good for you, and therefore I beg that you will not cry out. I would have you know, that if you kill such an one as I am, you will injure yourselves more than you will injure me. Nothing will injure me, not Meletus nor yet Anytus — they cannot, for a bad man is not permitted to injure a better than himself. I do not deny that Anytus may, perhaps, kill him, or drive him into exile, or deprive him of civil rights; and he may imagine, and others may imagine, that he is inflicting a great injury upon him: but there I do not agree. For the evil of doing as he is doing — the evil of unjustly taking away the life of another — is greater far.

And now, Athenians, I am not going to argue for my own sake, as you may think, but for yours, that you may not sin against the God by condemning me, who am his gift to you. For if you kill me you will not easily find a successor to me, who, if I may use such a ludicrous figure of speech, am a sort of gadfly, given to the state by God; and the state is a great and noble steed who is tardy in his motions owing to his very size, and requires to be stirred into life. I am that gadfly which God has attached to the state, and all day long and in all places am always fastening upon you, arousing and persuading and reproaching you. You will not easily find another like me, and therefore I would advise you to spare me. I dare say that you may feel out of temper (like a person who is suddenly awakened from sleep), and you think that you might easily strike me dead as Anytus advises, and then you would sleep on for the remainder of your lives, unless God in his care of you sent you another gadfly. When I say that I am given to you by God, the proof of my mission is this: — if I had been like other men, I should not have neglected all my own concerns or patiently seen the neglect of them during all these years, and have been doing yours, coming to you individually like a father or elder brother, exhorting you to regard virtue; such conduct, I say, would be unlike human nature. If I had gained anything, or if my exhortations had been paid, there would have been some sense in my doing so; but now, as you will perceive, not even the impudence of my accusers dares to say that I have ever exacted or sought pay of any one; of that they have no witness. And I have a sufficient witness to the truth of what I say — my poverty.

Some one may wonder why I go about in private giving advice and busying myself with the concerns of others, but do not venture to come forward in public and advise the state. I will tell you why. You have heard me speak at sundry times and in divers places of an oracle or sign which comes to me, and is the divinity which Meletus ridicules in the indictment. This sign, which is a kind of voice, first began to come to me when I was a child; it always forbids but never commands me to do anything which I am going to do. This is what deters me from being a politician. And rightly, as I think. For I am certain, O men of Athens, that if I had engaged in politics, I should have perished long ago, and done no good either to you or to myself. And do not be offended at my telling you the truth: for the truth is, that no man who goes to war with you or any other multitude, honestly striving against the many lawless and unrighteous deeds which are done in a state, will save his life; he who will fight for the right, if he would live even for a brief space, must have a private station and not a public one.

I can give you convincing evidence of what I say, not words only, but what you value far more — actions. Let me relate to you a passage of my own life which will prove to you that I should never have yielded to injustice from any fear of death, and that ‘as I should have refused to yield’ I must have died at once. I will tell you a tale of the courts, not very interesting perhaps, but nevertheless true. The only office of state which I ever held, O men of Athens, was that of senator: the tribe Antiochis, which is my tribe, had the presidency at the trial of the generals who had not taken up the bodies of the slain after the battle of Arginusae; and you proposed to try them in a body, contrary to law, as you all thought afterwards; but at the time I was the only one of the Prytanes who was opposed to the illegality, and I gave my vote against you; and when the orators threatened to impeach and arrest me, and you called and shouted, I made up my mind that I would run the risk, having law and justice with me, rather than take part in your injustice because I feared imprisonment and death. This happened in the days of the democracy. But when the oligarchy of the Thirty was in power, they sent for me and four others into the rotunda, and bade us bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis, as they wanted to put him to death. This was a specimen of the sort of commands which they were always giving with the view of implicating as many as possible in their crimes; and then I showed, not in word only but in deed, that, if I may be allowed to use such an expression, I cared not a straw for death, and that my great and only care was lest I should do an unrighteous or unholy thing. For the strong arm of that oppressive power did not frighten me into doing wrong; and when we came out of the rotunda the other four went to Salamis and fetched Leon, but I went quietly home. For which I might have lost my life, had not the power of the Thirty shortly afterwards come to an end. And many will witness to my words.

Now do you really imagine that I could have survived all these years, if I had led a public life, supposing that like a good man I had always maintained the right and had made justice, as I ought, the first thing? No indeed, men of Athens, neither I nor any other man. But I have been always the same in all my actions, public as well as private, and never have I yielded any base compliance to those who are slanderously termed my disciples, or to any other. Not that I have any regular disciples. But if any one likes to come and hear me while I am pursuing my mission, whether he be young or old, he is not excluded. Nor do I converse only with those who pay; but any one, whether he be rich or poor, may ask and answer me and listen to my words; and whether he turns out to be a bad man or a good one, neither result can be justly imputed to me; for I never taught or professed to teach him anything. And if any one says that he has ever learned or heard anything from me in private which all the world has not heard, let me tell you that he is lying.

But I shall be asked, Why do people delight in continually conversing with you? I have told you already, Athenians, the whole truth about this matter: they like to hear the cross-examination of the pretenders to wisdom; there is amusement in it. Now this duty of cross-examining other men has been imposed upon me by God; and has been signified to me by oracles, visions, and in every way in which the will of divine power was ever intimated to any one. This is true, O Athenians, or, if not true, would be soon refuted. If I am or have been corrupting the youth, those of them who are now grown up and have become sensible that I gave them bad advice in the days of their youth should come forward as accusers, and take their revenge; or if they do not like to come themselves, some of their relatives, fathers, brothers, or other kinsmen, should say what evil their families have suffered at my hands. Now is their time. Many of them I see in the court. There is Crito, who is of the same age and of the same deme with myself, and there is Critobulus his son, whom I also see. Then again there is Lysanias of Sphettus, who is the father of Aeschines — he is present; and also there is Antiphon of Cephisus, who is the father of Epigenes; and there are the brothers of several who have associated with me. There is Nicostratus the son of Theosdotides, and the brother of Theodotus (now Theodotus himself is dead, and therefore he, at any rate, will not seek to stop him); and there is Paralus the son of Demodocus, who had a brother Theages; and Adeimantus the son of Ariston, whose brother Plato is present; and Aeantodorus, who is the brother of Apollodorus, whom I also see. I might mention a great many others, some of whom Meletus should have produced as witnesses in the course of his speech; and let him still produce them, if he has forgotten — I will make way for him. And let him say, if he has any testimony of the sort which he can produce. Nay, Athenians, the very opposite is the truth. For all these are ready to witness on behalf of the corrupter, of the injurer of their kindred, as Meletus and Anytus call me; not the corrupted youth only — there might have been a motive for that — but their uncorrupted elder relatives. Why should they too support me with their testimony? Why, indeed, except for the sake of truth and justice, and because they know that I am speaking the truth, and that Meletus is a liar.

Well, Athenians, this and the like of this is all the defence which I have to offer. Yet a word more. Perhaps there may be some one who is offended at me, when he calls to mind how he himself on a similar, or even a less serious occasion, prayed and entreated the judges with many tears, and how he produced his children in court, which was a moving spectacle, together with a host of relations and friends; whereas I, who am probably in danger of my life, will do none of these things. The contrast may occur to his mind, and he may be set against me, and vote in anger because he is displeased at me on this account. Now if there be such a person among you, — mind, I do not say that there is, — to him I may fairly reply: My friend, I am a man, and like other men, a creature of flesh and blood, and not ‘of wood or stone,’ as Homer says; and I have a family, yes, and sons, O Athenians, three in number, one almost a man, and two others who are still young; and yet I will not bring any of them hither in order to petition you for an acquittal. And why not? Not from any self-assertion or want of respect for you. Whether I am or am not afraid of death is another question, of which I will not now speak. But, having regard to public opinion, I feel that such conduct would be discreditable to myself, and to you, and to the whole state. One who has reached my years, and who has a name for wisdom, ought not to demean himself. Whether this opinion of me be deserved or not, at any rate the world has decided that Socrates is in some way superior to other men. And if those among you who are said to be superior in wisdom and courage, and any other virtue, demean themselves in this way, how shameful is their conduct! I have seen men of reputation, when they have been condemned, behaving in the strangest manner: they seemed to fancy that they were going to suffer something dreadful if they died, and that they could be immortal if you only allowed them to live; and I think that such are a dishonour to the state, and that any stranger coming in would have said of them that the most eminent men of Athens, to whom the Athenians themselves give honour and command, are no better than women. And I say that these things ought not to be done by those of us who have a reputation; and if they are done, you ought not to permit them; you ought rather to show that you are far more disposed to condemn the man who gets up a doleful scene and makes the city ridiculous, than him who holds his peace.

But, setting aside the question of public opinion, there seems to be something wrong in asking a favour of a judge, and thus procuring an acquittal, instead of informing and convincing him. For his duty is, not to make a present of justice, but to give judgment; and he has sworn that he will judge according to the laws, and not according to his own good pleasure; and we ought not to encourage you, nor should you allow yourselves to be encouraged, in this habit of perjury — there can be no piety in that. Do not then require me to do what I consider dishonourable and impious and wrong, especially now, when I am being tried for impiety on the indictment of Meletus. For if, O men of Athens, by force of persuasion and entreaty I could overpower your oaths, then I should be teaching you to believe that there are no gods, and in defending should simply convict myself of the charge of not believing in them. But that is not so — far otherwise. For I do believe that there are gods, and in a sense higher than that in which any of my accusers believe in them. And to you and to God I commit my cause, to be determined by you as is best for you and me.

There are many reasons why I am not grieved, O men of Athens, at the vote of condemnation. I expected it, and am only surprised that the votes are so nearly equal; for I had thought that the majority against me would have been far larger; but now, had thirty votes gone over to the other side, I should have been acquitted. And I may say, I think, that I have escaped Meletus. I may say more; for without the assistance of Anytus and Lycon, any one may see that he would not have had a fifth part of the votes, as the law requires, in which case he would have incurred a fine of a thousand drachmae.

And so he proposes death as the penalty. And what shall I propose on my part, O men of Athens? Clearly that which is my due. And what is my due? What return shall be made to the man who has never had the wit to be idle during his whole life; but has been careless of what the many care for — wealth, and family interests, and military offices, and speaking in the assembly, and magistracies, and plots, and parties. Reflecting that I was really too honest a man to be a politician and live, I did not go where I could do no good to you or to myself; but where I could do the greatest good privately to every one of you, thither I went, and sought to persuade every man among you that he must look to himself, and seek virtue and wisdom before he looks to his private interests, and look to the state before he looks to the interests of the state; and that this should be the order which he observes in all his actions. What shall be done to such an one? Doubtless some good thing, O men of Athens, if he has his reward; and the good should be of a kind suitable to him. What would be a reward suitable to a poor man who is your benefactor, and who desires leisure that he may instruct you? There can be no reward so fitting as maintenance in the Prytaneum, O men of Athens, a reward which he deserves far more than the citizen who has won the prize at Olympia in the horse or chariot race, whether the chariots were drawn by two horses or by many. For I am in want, and he has enough; and he only gives you the appearance of happiness, and I give you the reality. And if I am to estimate the penalty fairly, I should say that maintenance in the Prytaneum is the just return.

Perhaps you think that I am braving you in what I am saying now, as in what I said before about the tears and prayers. But this is not so. I speak rather because I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged any one, although I cannot convince you — the time has been too short; if there were a law at Athens, as there is in other cities, that a capital cause should not be decided in one day, then I believe that I should have convinced you. But I cannot in a moment refute great slanders; and, as I am convinced that I never wronged another, I will assuredly not wrong myself. I will not say of myself that I deserve any evil, or propose any penalty. Why should I? because I am afraid of the penalty of death which Meletus proposes? When I do not know whether death is a good or an evil, why should I propose a penalty which would certainly be an evil? Shall I say imprisonment? And why should I live in prison, and be the slave of the magistrates of the year — of the Eleven? Or shall the penalty be a fine, and imprisonment until the fine is paid? There is the same objection. I should have to lie in prison, for money I have none, and cannot pay. And if I say exile (and this may possibly be the penalty which you will affix), I must indeed be blinded by the love of life, if I am so irrational as to expect that when you, who are my own citizens, cannot endure my discourses and words, and have found them so grievous and odious that you will have no more of them, others are likely to endure me. No indeed, men of Athens, that is not very likely. And what a life should I lead, at my age, wandering from city to city, ever changing my place of exile, and always being driven out! For I am quite sure that wherever I go, there, as here, the young men will flock to me; and if I drive them away, their elders will drive me out at their request; and if I let them come, their fathers and friends will drive me out for their sakes.

Some one will say: Yes, Socrates, but cannot you hold your tongue, and then you may go into a foreign city, and no one will interfere with you? Now I have great difficulty in making you understand my answer to this. For if I tell you that to do as you say would be a disobedience to the God, and therefore that I cannot hold my tongue, you will not believe that I am serious; and if I say again that daily to discourse about virtue, and of those other things about which you hear me examining myself and others, is the greatest good of man, and that the unexamined life is not worth living, you are still less likely to believe me. Yet I say what is true, although a thing of which it is hard for me to persuade you. Also, I have never been accustomed to think that I deserve to suffer any harm. Had I money I might have estimated the offence at what I was able to pay, and not have been much the worse. But I have none, and therefore I must ask you to proportion the fine to my means. Well, perhaps I could afford a mina, and therefore I propose that penalty: Plato, Crito, Critobulus, and Apollodorus, my friends here, bid me say thirty minae, and they will be the sureties. Let thirty minae be the penalty; for which sum they will be ample security to you.

Not much time will be gained, O Athenians, in return for the evil name which you will get from the detractors of the city, who will say that you killed Socrates, a wise man; for they will call me wise, even although I am not wise, when they want to reproach you. If you had waited a little while, your desire would have been fulfilled in the course of nature. For I am far advanced in years, as you may perceive, and not far from death. I am speaking now not to all of you, but only to those who have condemned me to death. And I have another thing to say to them: you think that I was convicted because I had no words of the sort which would have procured my acquittal — I mean, if I had thought fit to leave nothing undone or unsaid. Not so; the deficiency which led to my conviction was not of words — certainly not. But I had not the boldness or impudence or inclination to address you as you would have liked me to do, weeping and wailing and lamenting, and saying and doing many things which you have been accustomed to hear from others, and which, as I maintain, are unworthy of me. I thought at the time that I ought not to do anything common or mean when in danger: nor do I now repent of the style of my defence; I would rather die having spoken after my manner, than speak in your manner and live. For neither in war nor yet at law ought I or any man to use every way of escaping death. Often in battle there can be no doubt that if a man will throw away his arms, and fall on his knees before his pursuers, he may escape death; and in other dangers there are other ways of escaping death, if a man is willing to say and do anything. The difficulty, my friends, is not to avoid death, but to avoid unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death. I am old and move slowly, and the slower runner has overtaken me, and my accusers are keen and quick, and the faster runner, who is unrighteousness, has overtaken them. And now I depart hence condemned by you to suffer the penalty of death, — they too go their ways condemned by the truth to suffer the penalty of villainy and wrong; and I must abide by my award — let them abide by theirs. I suppose that these things may be regarded as fated, — and I think that they are well.

And now, O men who have condemned me, I would fain prophesy to you; for I am about to die, and in the hour of death men are gifted with prophetic power. And I prophesy to you who are my murderers, that immediately after my departure punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will surely await you. Me you have killed because you wanted to escape the accuser, and not to give an account of your lives. But that will not be as you suppose: far otherwise. For I say that there will be more accusers of you than there are now; accusers whom hitherto I have restrained: and as they are younger they will be more inconsiderate with you, and you will be more offended at them. If you think that by killing men you can prevent some one from censuring your evil lives, you are mistaken; that is not a way of escape which is either possible or honourable; the easiest and the noblest way is not to be disabling others, but to be improving yourselves. This is the prophecy which I utter before my departure to the judges who have condemned me.

Friends, who would have acquitted me, I would like also to talk with you about the thing which has come to pass, while the magistrates are busy, and before I go to the place at which I must die. Stay then a little, for we may as well talk with one another while there is time. You are my friends, and I should like to show you the meaning of this event which has happened to me. O my judges — for you I may truly call judges — I should like to tell you of a wonderful circumstance. Hitherto the divine faculty of which the internal oracle is the source has constantly been in the habit of opposing me even about trifles, if I was going to make a slip or error in any matter; and now as you see there has come upon me that which may be thought, and is generally believed to be, the last and worst evil. But the oracle made no sign of opposition, either when I was leaving my house in the morning, or when I was on my way to the court, or while I was speaking, at anything which I was going to say; and yet I have often been stopped in the middle of a speech, but now in nothing I either said or did touching the matter in hand has the oracle opposed me. What do I take to be the explanation of this silence? I will tell you. It is an intimation that what has happened to me is a good, and that those of us who think that death is an evil are in error. For the customary sign would surely have opposed me had I been going to evil and not to good.

Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is great reason to hope that death is a good; for one of two things — either death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another. Now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain. For if a person were to select the night in which his sleep was undisturbed even by dreams, and were to compare with this the other days and nights of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he had passed in the course of his life better and more pleasantly than this one, I think that any man, I will not say a private man, but even the great king will not find many such days or nights, when compared with the others. Now if death be of such a nature, I say that to die is gain; for eternity is then only a single night. But if death is the journey to another place, and there, as men say, all the dead abide, what good, O my friends and judges, can be greater than this? If indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is delivered from the professors of justice in this world, and finds the true judges who are said to give judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus and Aeacus and Triptolemus, and other sons of God who were righteous in their own life, that pilgrimage will be worth making. What would not a man give if he might converse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true, let me die again and again. I myself, too, shall have a wonderful interest in there meeting and conversing with Palamedes, and Ajax the son of Telamon, and any other ancient hero who has suffered death through an unjust judgment; and there will be no small pleasure, as I think, in comparing my own sufferings with theirs. Above all, I shall then be able to continue my search into true and false knowledge; as in this world, so also in the next; and I shall find out who is wise, and who pretends to be wise, and is not. What would not a man give, O judges, to be able to examine the leader of the great Trojan expedition; or Odysseus or Sisyphus, or numberless others, men and women too! What infinite delight would there be in conversing with them and asking them questions! In another world they do not put a man to death for asking questions: assuredly not. For besides being happier than we are, they will be immortal, if what is said is true.

Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer about death, and know of a certainty, that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere chance. But I see clearly that the time had arrived when it was better for me to die and be released from trouble; wherefore the oracle gave no sign. For which reason, also, I am not angry with my condemners, or with my accusers; they have done me no harm, although they did not mean to do me any good; and for this I may gently blame them.

Still I have a favour to ask of them. When my sons are grown up, I would ask you, O my friends, to punish them; and I would have you trouble them, as I have troubled you, if they seem to care about riches, or anything, more than about virtue; or if they pretend to be something when they are really nothing, — then reprove them, as I have reproved you, for not caring about that for which they ought to care, and thinking that they are something when they are really nothing. And if you do this, both I and my sons will have received justice at your hands.

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways — I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows.

CRITO

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This is a short but important dialogue, which relates a conversation between Socrates and his wealthy friend Crito, whilst Socrates awaits his execution.  The dialogue concerns the theme of justice and how injustice should be dealt with. Socrates argues that injustice should not be answered with injustice, and refuses Crito’s offer to finance his escape from prison. The dialogue also contains an ancient statement of the social contract theory of government.

The dialogue begins with Socrates waking up to the presence of Crito in his prison cell and inquires whether it is early in the day. Crito informs Socrates that it is indeed early and that he, Crito, chose to let Socrates sleep in peace, especially given Socrates’ current distressful circumstance of awaiting his own execution. Crito explains that he admires the peaceful manner in which Socrates has heretofore lived and the level of calm that Socrates displays in the face of death. Socrates replies that it is only fitting that he react in such a manner given his age and expresses surprise that the guard has let Crito in to his cell at such an early hour. Crito informs Socrates that he is well-acquainted with the guard and has done him a certain benefaction.

Prison of Socrates, on the south-western edge of the Agora, Athens

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CRITO

ENDNOTES.

INTRODUCTION

The Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light only, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in the will of heaven, but simply as the good citizen, who having been unjustly condemned is willing to give up his life in obedience to the laws of the state . . .

The days of Socrates are drawing to a close; the fatal ship has been seen off Sunium, as he is informed by his aged friend and contemporary Crito, who visits him before the dawn has broken; he himself has been warned in a dream that on the third day he must depart. Time is precious, and Crito has come early in order to gain his consent to a plan of escape. This can be easily accomplished by his friends, who will incur no danger in making the attempt to save him, but will be disgraced for ever if they allow him to perish. He should think of his duty to his children, and not play into the hands of his enemies. Money is already provided by Crito as well as by Simmias and others, and he will have no difficulty in finding friends in Thessaly and other places.

Socrates is afraid that Crito is but pressing upon him the opinions of the many; whereas, all his life long he has followed the dictates of reason only and the opinion of the one wise or skilled man. There was a time when Crito himself had allowed the propriety of this. And although someone will say ‘the many can kill us,’ that makes no difference; but a good life, in other words, a just and honourable life, is alone to be valued. All considerations of loss of reputation or injury to his children should be dismissed: the only question is whether he would be right in attempting to escape. Crito, who is a disinterested person not having the fear of death before his eyes, shall answer this for him. Before he was condemned they had often held discussions, in which they agreed that no man should either do evil, or return evil for evil, or betray the right. Are these principles to be altered because the circumstances of Socrates are altered? Crito admits that they remain the same. Then is his escape consistent with the maintenance of them? To this Crito is unable or unwilling to reply.

Socrates proceeds: — Suppose the Laws of Athens to come and remonstrate with him: they will ask, ‘Why does he seek to overturn them?’ and if he replies, ‘They have injured him,’ will not the Laws answer, ‘Yes, but was that the agreement? Has he any objection to make to them which would justify him in overturning them? Was he not brought into the world and educated by their help, and are they not his parents? He might have left Athens and gone where he pleased, but he has lived there for seventy years more constantly than any other citizen.’ Thus he has clearly shown that he acknowledged the agreement, which he cannot now break without dishonour to himself and danger to his friends. Even in the course of the trial he might have proposed exile as the penalty, but then he declared that he preferred death to exile. And whither will he direct his footsteps? In any well-ordered state the Laws will consider him as an enemy. Possibly in a land of misrule like Thessaly he may be welcomed at first, and the unseemly narrative of his escape will be regarded by the inhabitants as an amusing tale. But if he offends them he will have to learn another sort of lesson. Will he continue to give lectures in virtue? That would hardly be decent. And how will his children be the gainers if he takes them into Thessaly, and deprives them of Athenian citizenship? Or if he leaves them behind, does he expect that they will be better taken care of by his friends because he is in Thessaly? Will not true friends care for them equally whether he is alive or dead?

Finally, they exhort him to think of justice first, and of life and children afterwards. He may now depart in peace and innocence, a sufferer and not a doer of evil. But if he breaks agreements, and returns evil for evil, they will be angry with him while he lives; and their brethren the Laws of the world below will receive him as an enemy. Such is the mystic voice which is always murmuring in his ears.

That Socrates was not a good citizen was a charge made against him during his lifetime, which has been often repeated in later ages. The crimes of Alcibiades, Critias, and Charmides, who had been his pupils, were still recent in the memory of the now restored democracy. The fact that he had been neutral in the death-struggle of Athens was not likely to conciliate popular good-will. Plato, writing probably in the next generation, undertakes the defence of his friend and master in this particular, not to the Athenians of his day, but to posterity and the world at large.

Whether such an incident ever really occurred as the visit of Crito and the proposal of escape is uncertain; Plato could easily have invented far more than that; 1 and in the selection of Crito, the aged friend, as the fittest person to make the proposal to Socrates, we seem to recognize the hand of the artist. Whether anyone who has been subjected by the laws of his country to an unjust judgment is right in attempting to escape, is a thesis about which casuists might disagree. Shelley 2 is of opinion that Socrates ‘did well to die,’ but not for the ‘sophistical’ reasons which Plato has put into his mouth. And there would be no difficulty in arguing that Socrates should have lived and preferred to a glorious death the good which he might still be able to perform. ‘A rhetorician would have had much to say upon that point.’ It may be observed however that Plato never intended to answer the question of casuistry, but only to exhibit the ideal of patient virtue which refuses to do the least evil in order to avoid the greatest, and to show his master maintaining in death the opinions which he had professed in his life. Not ‘the world,’ but the ‘one wise man,’ is still the paradox of Socrates in his last hours. He must be guided by reason, although her conclusions may be fatal to him. The remarkable sentiment that the wicked can do neither good nor evil is true, if taken in the sense, which he means, of moral evil; in his own words, ‘they cannot make a man wise or foolish.’

This little dialogue is a perfect piece of dialectic, in which granting the ‘common principle,’ there is no escaping from the conclusion. It is anticipated at the beginning by the dream of Socrates and the parody of Homer. The personification of the Laws, and of their brethren the Laws in the world below, is one of the noblest and boldest figures of speech which occur in Plato.

CRITO

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:
Socrates, Crito.

SCENE: The Prison of Socrates.

SOCRATES: Why have you come at this hour, Crito? it must be quite early?

CRITO: Yes, certainly.

SOCRATES: What is the exact time?

CRITO: The dawn is breaking.

SOCRATES: I wonder that the keeper of the prison would let you in.

CRITO: He knows me, because I often come, Socrates; moreover, I have done him a kindness.

SOCRATES: And are you only just arrived?

CRITO: No, I came some time ago.

SOCRATES: Then why did you sit and say nothing, instead of at once awakening me?

CRITO: I should not have liked myself, Socrates, to be in such great trouble and unrest as you are — indeed I should not: I have been watching with amazement your peaceful slumbers; and for that reason I did not awake you, because I wished to minimize the pain. I have always thought you to be of a happy disposition; but never did I see anything like the easy, tranquil manner in which you bear this calamity.

SOCRATES: Why, Crito, when a man has reached my age he ought not to be repining at the approach of death.

CRITO: And yet other old men find themselves in similar misfortunes, and age does not prevent them from repining.

SOCRATES: That is true. But you have not told me why you come at this early hour.

CRITO: I come to bring you a message which is sad and painful; not, as I believe, to yourself, but to all of us who are your friends, and saddest of all to me.

SOCRATES: What? Has the ship come from Delos, on the arrival of which I am to die?

CRITO: No, the ship has not actually arrived, but she will probably be here to-day, as persons who have come from Sunium tell me that they have left her there; and therefore to-morrow, Socrates, will be the last day of your life.

SOCRATES: Very well, Crito; if such is the will of God, I am willing; but my belief is that there will be a delay of a day.

CRITO: Why do you think so?

SOCRATES: I will tell you. I am to die on the day after the arrival of the ship?

CRITO: Yes; that is what the authorities say.

SOCRATES: But I do not think that the ship will be here until to-morrow; this I infer from a vision which I had last night, or rather only just now, when you fortunately allowed me to sleep.

CRITO: And what was the nature of the vision?

SOCRATES: There appeared to me the likeness of a woman, fair and comely, clothed in bright raiment, who called to me and said: O Socrates,

‘The third day hence to fertile Phthia shalt thou go.’ 3

CRITO: What a singular dream, Socrates!

SOCRATES: There can be no doubt about the meaning, Crito, I think.

CRITO: Yes; the meaning is only too clear. But, oh! my beloved Socrates, let me entreat you once more to take my advice and escape. For if you die I shall not only lose a friend who can never be replaced, but there is another evil: people who do not know you and me will believe that I might have saved you if I had been willing to give money, but that I did not care. Now, can there be a worse disgrace than this — that I should be thought to value money more than the life of a friend? For the many will not be persuaded that I wanted you to escape, and that you refused.

SOCRATES: But why, my dear Crito, should we care about the opinion of the many? Good men, and they are the only persons who are worth considering, will think of these things truly as they occurred.

CRITO: But you see, Socrates, that the opinion of the many must be regarded, for what is now happening shows that they can do the greatest evil to anyone who has lost their good opinion.

SOCRATES: I only wish it were so, Crito; and that the many could do the greatest evil; for then they would also be able to do the greatest good — and what a fine thing this would be! But in reality they can do neither; for they cannot make a man either wise or foolish; and whatever they do is the result of chance.

CRITO: Well, I will not dispute with you; but please to tell me, Socrates, whether you are not acting out of regard to me and your other friends: are you not afraid that if you escape from prison we may get into trouble with the informers for having stolen you away, and lose either the whole or a great part of our property; or that even a worse evil may happen to us? Now, if you fear on our account, be at ease; for in order to save you, we ought surely to run this, or even a greater risk; be persuaded, then, and do as I say.

SOCRATES: Yes, Crito, that is one fear which you mention, but by no means the only one.

CRITO: Fear not — there are persons who are willing to get you out of prison at no great cost; and as for the informers, they are far from being exorbitant in their demands — a little money will satisfy them. My means, which are certainly ample, are at your service, and if you have a scruple about spending all mine, here are strangers who will give you the use of theirs; and one of them, Simmias the Theban, has brought a large sum of money for this very purpose; and Cebes and many others are prepared to spend their money in helping you to escape. I say, therefore, do not hesitate on our account, and do not say, as you did in the court 4 that you will have a difficulty in knowing what to do with yourself anywhere else. For men will love you in other places to which you may go, and not in Athens only; there are friends of mine in Thessaly, if you like to go to them, who will value and protect you, and no Thessalian will give you any trouble. Nor can I think that you are at all justified, Socrates, in betraying your own life when you might be saved; in acting thus you are playing into the hands of your enemies, who are hurrying on your destruction. And further I should say that you are deserting your own children; for you might bring them up and educate them; instead of which you go away and leave them, and they will have to take their chance; and if they do not meet with the usual fate of orphans, there will be small thanks to you. No man should bring children into the world who is unwilling to persevere to the end in their nurture and education. But you appear to be choosing the easier part, not the better and manlier, which would have been more becoming in one who professes to care for virtue in all his actions, like yourself. And indeed, I am ashamed not only of you, but of us who are your friends, when I reflect that the whole business will be attributed entirely to our want of courage. The trial need never have come on, or might have been managed differently; and this last act, or crowning folly, will seem to have occurred through our negligence and cowardice, who might have saved you, if we had been good for anything; and you might have saved yourself, for there was no difficulty at all. See now, Socrates, how sad and discreditable are the consequences, both to us and you. Make up your mind then, or rather have your mind already made up, for the time of deliberation is over, and there is only one thing to be done, which must be done this very night, and, if we delay at all, will be no longer practicable or possible; I beseech you therefore, Socrates, be persuaded by me, and do as I say.

SOCRATES: Dear Crito, your zeal is invaluable, if a right one; but if wrong, the greater the zeal the greater the danger; and therefore we ought to consider whether I shall or shall not do as you say. For I am and always have been one of those natures who must be guided by reason, whatever the reason may be which upon reflection appears to me to be the best; and now that this chance has befallen me, I cannot repudiate my own words: the principles which I have hitherto honoured and revered I still honour, and unless we can at once find other and better principles, I am certain not to agree with you; no, not even if the power of the multitude could inflict many more imprisonments, confiscations, deaths, frightening us like children with hobgoblin terrors. 5 What will be the fairest way of considering the question? Shall I return to your old argument about the opinions of men? — we were saying that some of them are to be regarded, and others not. Now were we right in maintaining this before I was condemned? And has the argument which was once good now proved to be talk for the sake of talking — mere childish nonsense? That is what I want to consider with your help, Crito: — whether, under my present circumstances, the argument appears to be in any way different or not; and is to be allowed by me or disallowed. That argument, which, as I believe, is maintained by many persons of authority, was to the effect, as I was saying, that the opinions of some men are to be regarded, and of other men not to be regarded. Now you, Crito, are not going to die to-morrow — at least, there is no human probability of this — and therefore you are disinterested and not liable to be deceived by the circumstances in which you are placed. Tell me then, whether I am right in saying that some opinions, and the opinions of some men only, are to be valued, and that other opinions, and the opinions of other men, are not to be valued. I ask you whether I was right in maintaining this?

CRITO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The good are to be regarded, and not the bad?

CRITO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the opinions of the wise are good, and the opinions of the unwise are evil?

CRITO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And what was said about another matter? Is the pupil who devotes himself to the practice of gymnastics supposed to attend to the praise and blame and opinion of every man, or of one man only — his physician or trainer, whoever he may be?

CRITO: Of one man only.

SOCRATES: And he ought to fear the censure and welcome the praise of that one only, and not of the many?

CRITO: Clearly so.

SOCRATES: And he ought to act and train, and eat and drink in the way which seems good to his single master who has understanding, rather than according to the opinion of all other men put together?

CRITO: True.

SOCRATES: And if he disobeys and disregards the opinion and approval of the one, and regards the opinion of the many who have no understanding, will he not suffer evil?

CRITO: Certainly he will.

SOCRATES: And what will the evil be, whither tending and what affecting, in the disobedient person?

CRITO: Clearly, affecting the body; that is what is destroyed by the evil.

SOCRATES: Very good; and is not this true, Crito, of other things which we need not separately enumerate? In questions of just and unjust, fair and foul, good and evil, which are the subjects of our present consultation, ought we to follow the opinion of the many and to fear them; or the opinion of the one man who has understanding? ought we not to fear and reverence him more than all the rest of the world: and if we desert him shall we not destroy and injure that principle in us which may be assumed to be improved by justice and deteriorated by injustice — there is such a principle?

CRITO: Certainly there is, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Take a parallel instance: — if, acting under the advice of those who have no understanding, we destroy that which is improved by health and is deteriorated by disease, would life be worth having? And that which has been destroyed is — the body?

CRITO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Could we live, having an evil and corrupted body?

CRITO: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And will life be worth having, if that higher part of man be destroyed, which is improved by justice and depraved by injustice? Do we suppose that principle, whatever it may be in man, which has to do with justice and injustice, to be inferior to the body?

CRITO: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: More honourable than the body?

CRITO: Far more.

SOCRATES: Then, my friend, we must not regard what the many say of us; but what he, the one man who has understanding of just and unjust, will say, and what the truth will say. And therefore you begin in error when you advise that we should regard the opinion of the many about just and unjust, good and evil, honourable and dishonourable.— ‘Well,’ someone will say, ‘but the many can kill us.’

CRITO: Yes, Socrates; that will clearly be the answer.

SOCRATES: And it is true; but still I find with surprise that the old argument is unshaken as ever. And I should like to know whether I may say the same of another proposition — that not life, but a good life, is to be chiefly valued?

CRITO: Yes, that also remains unshaken.

SOCRATES: And a good life is equivalent to a just and honourable one — that holds also?

CRITO: Yes, it does.

SOCRATES: From these premises I proceed to argue the question whether I ought or ought not to try and escape without the consent of the Athenians: and if I am clearly right in escaping, then I will make the attempt; but if not, I will abstain. The other considerations which you mention, of money and loss of character and the duty of educating one’s children, are, I fear, only the doctrines of the multitude, who would be as ready to restore people to life, if they were able, as they are to put them to death — and with as little reason. But now, since the argument has thus far prevailed, the only question which remains to be considered is whether we shall do rightly either in escaping or in suffering others to aid in our escape and paying them in money and thanks, or whether in reality we shall not do rightly; and if the latter, then death or any other calamity which may ensue on my remaining here must not be allowed to enter into the calculation.

CRITO: I think that you are right, Socrates; how then shall we proceed?

SOCRATES: Let us consider the matter together, and do you either refute me if you can, and I will be convinced; or else cease, my dear friend, from repeating to me that I ought to escape against the wishes of the Athenians: for I highly value your attempts to persuade me to do so, but I may not be persuaded against my own better judgment. And now please to consider my first position, and try how you can best answer me.

CRITO: I will.

SOCRATES: Are we to say that we are never intentionally to do wrong, or that in one way we ought and in another way we ought not to do wrong, or is doing wrong always evil and dishonourable, as I was just now saying, and as has been already acknowledged by us? Are all our former admissions which were made within a few days to be thrown away? And have we, at our age, been earnestly discoursing with one another all our life long only to discover that we are no better than children? Or, in spite of the opinion of the many, and in spite of consequences whether better or worse, shall we insist on the truth of what was then said, that injustice is always an evil and dishonour to him who acts unjustly? Shall we say so or not?

CRITO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then we must do no wrong?

CRITO: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Nor, when injured, injure in return, as the many imagine; for we must injure no one at all? 6

CRITO: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: Again, Crito, may we do evil?

CRITO: Surely not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And what of doing evil in return for evil, which is the morality of the many — is that just or not?

CRITO: Not just.

SOCRATES: For doing evil to another is the same as injuring him?

CRITO: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then we ought not to retaliate or render evil for evil to anyone, whatever evil we may have suffered from him. But I would have you consider, Crito, whether you really mean what you are saying. For this opinion has never been held, and never will be held, by any considerable number of persons; and those who are agreed and those who are not agreed upon this point have no common ground, and can only despise one another when they see how widely they differ. Tell me, then, whether you agree with and assent to my first principle, that neither injury nor retaliation nor warding off evil by evil is ever right. And shall that be the premise of our argument? Or do you decline and dissent from this? For so I have ever thought, and continue to think; but, if you are of another opinion, let me hear what you have to say. If, however, you remain of the same mind as formerly, I will proceed to the next step.

CRITO: You may proceed, for I have not changed my mind.

SOCRATES: Then I will go on to the next point, which may be put in the form of a question: — Ought a man to do what he admits to be right, or ought he to betray the right?

CRITO: He ought to do what he thinks right.

SOCRATES: But if this is true, what is the application? In leaving the prison against the will of the Athenians, do I wrong any? or rather do I not wrong those whom I ought least to wrong? Do I not desert the principles which were acknowledged by us to be just — what do you say?

CRITO: I cannot tell, Socrates; for I do not know.

SOCRATES: Then consider the matter in this way: — Imagine that I am about to play truant (you may call the proceeding by any name which you like), and the laws and the government come and interrogate me: ‘Tell us, Socrates,’ they say; ‘what are you about? are you not going by an act of yours to overturn us — the laws, and the whole state, as far as in you lies? Do you imagine that a state can subsist and not be overthrown, in which the decisions of law have no power, but are set aside and trampled upon by individuals?’ What will be our answer, Crito, to these and the like words? Anyone, and especially a rhetorician, will have a good deal to say on behalf of the law which requires a sentence to be carried out. He will argue that this law should not be set aside; and shall we reply, ‘Yes; but the state has injured us and given an unjust sentence.’ Suppose I say that?

CRITO: Very good, Socrates.

SOCRATES: ‘And was that our agreement with you?’ the law would answer; ‘or were you to abide by the sentence of the state?’ And if I were to express my astonishment at their words, the law would probably add: ‘Answer, Socrates, instead of opening your eyes — you are in the habit of asking and answering questions. Tell us, — What complaint have you to make against us which justifies you in attempting to destroy us and the state? In the first place did we not bring you into existence? Your father married your mother by our aid and begat you. Say whether you have any objection to urge against those of us who regulate marriage?’ None, I should reply. ‘Or against those of us who after birth regulate the nurture and education of children, in which you also were trained? Were not the laws, which have the charge of education, right in commanding your father to train you in music and gymnastic?’ Right, I should reply. ‘Well then, since you were brought into the world and nurtured and educated by us, can you deny in the first place that you are our child and slave, as your fathers were before you? And if this is true you are not on equal terms with us; nor can you think that you have a right to do to us what we are doing to you. Would you have any right to strike or revile or do any other evil to your father or your master, if you had one, because you have been struck or reviled by him, or received some other evil at his hands? You would not say this. And because we think right to destroy you, do you think that you have any right to destroy us in return, and your country as far as in you lies? Will you, O professor of true virtue, pretend that you are justified in this? Has a philosopher like you failed to discover that our country is more to be valued and higher and holier far than mother or father or any ancestor, and more to be regarded in the eyes of the gods and of men of understanding? also to be soothed, and gently and reverently entreated when angry, even more than a father, and either to be persuaded, or if not persuaded, to be obeyed? And when we are punished by her, whether with imprisonment or stripes, the punishment is to be endured in silence; and if she lead us to wounds or death in battle, thither we follow as is right; neither may anyone yield or retreat or leave his rank, but whether in battle or in a court of law, or in any other place, he must do what his city and his country order him; or he must change their view of what is just: and if he may do no violence to his father or mother, much less may he do violence to his country.’ What answer shall we make to this, Crito? Do the laws speak truly, or do they not?

CRITO: I think that they do.

SOCRATES: Then the laws will say: ‘Consider, Socrates, if we are speaking truly that in your present attempt you are going to do us an injury. For, having brought you into the world, and nurtured and educated you, and given you and every other citizen a share in every good which we had to give, we further proclaim to any Athenian by the liberty which we allow him, that if he does not like us when he has become of age and has seen the ways of the city, and made our acquaintance, he may go where he pleases and take his goods with him. None of us laws will forbid him or interfere with him. Anyone who does not like us and the city, and who wants to emigrate to a colony or to any other city, may go where he likes, retaining his property. But he who has experience of the manner in which we order justice and administer the state, and still remains, has entered into an implied contract that he will do as we command him. And he who disobeys us is, as we maintain, thrice wrong; first, because in disobeying us he is disobeying his parents; secondly, because we are the authors of his education; thirdly, because he has made an agreement with us that he will duly obey our commands; and he neither obeys them nor convinces us that our commands are unjust; and we do not rudely impose them, but give him the alternative of obeying or convincing us; — that is what we offer, and he does neither. These are the sort of accusations to which, as we were saying, you, Socrates, will be exposed if you accomplish your intentions; you, above all other Athenians.’

Suppose now I ask, why I rather than anybody else? they will justly retort upon me that I above all other men have acknowledged the agreement. ‘There is clear proof,’ they will say, ‘Socrates, that we and the city were not displeasing to you. Of all Athenians you have been the most constant resident in the city, which, as you never leave, you may be supposed to love. 7 For you never went out of the city either to see the games, except once when you went to the Isthmus, or to any other place unless when you were on military service; nor did you travel as other men do. Nor had you any curiosity to know other states or their laws: your affections did not go beyond us and our state; we were your especial favourites, and you acquiesced in our government of you; and here in this city you begat your children, which is a proof of your satisfaction. Moreover, you might in the course of the trial, if you had liked, have fixed the penalty at banishment; the state which refuses to let you go now would have let you go then. But you pretended that you preferred death to exile, 8 and that you were not unwilling to die. And now you have forgotten these fine sentiments, and pay no respect to us the laws, of whom you are the destroyer; and are doing what only a miserable slave would do, running away and turning your back upon the compacts and agreements which you made as a citizen. And first of all answer this very question: Are we right in saying that you agreed to be governed according to us in deed, and not in word only? Is that true or not?’ How shall we answer, Crito? Must we not assent?

CRITO: We cannot help it, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then will they not say: ‘You, Socrates, are breaking the covenants and agreements which you made with us at your leisure, not in any haste or under any compulsion or deception, but after you have had seventy years to think of them, during which time you were at liberty to leave the city, if we were not to your mind, or if our covenants appeared to you to be unfair. You had your choice, and might have gone either to Lacedaemon or Crete, both which states are often praised by you for their good government, or to some other Hellenic or foreign state. Whereas you, above all other Athenians, seemed to be so fond of the state, or, in other words, of us, her laws (and who would care about a state which has no laws?), that you never stirred out of her; the halt, the blind, the maimed were not more stationary in her than you were. And now you run away and forsake your agreements. Not so, Socrates, if you will take our advice; do not make yourself ridiculous by escaping out of the city.

‘For just consider, if you transgress and err in this sort of way, what good will you do either to yourself or to your friends? That your friends will be driven into exile and deprived of citizenship, or will lose their property, is tolerably certain; and you yourself, if you fly to one of the neighbouring cities, as, for example, Thebes or Megara, both of which are well governed, will come to them as an enemy, Socrates, and their government will be against you, and all patriotic citizens will cast an evil eye upon you as a subverter of the laws, and you will confirm in the minds of the judges the justice of their own condemnation of you. For he who is a corrupter of the laws is more than likely to be a corrupter of the young and foolish portion of mankind. Will you then flee from well-ordered cities and virtuous men? and is existence worth having on these terms? Or will you go to them without shame, and talk to them, Socrates? And what will you say to them? What you say here about virtue and justice and institutions and laws being the best things among men? Would that be decent of you? Surely not. But if you go away from well-governed states to Crito’s friends in Thessaly, where there is great disorder and licence, they will be charmed to hear the tale of your escape from prison, set off with ludicrous particulars of the manner in which you were wrapped in a goatskin or some other disguise, and metamorphosed as the manner is of runaways; but will there be no one to remind you that in your old age you were not ashamed to violate the most sacred laws from a miserable desire of a little more life? Perhaps not, if you keep them in a good temper; but if they are out of temper you will hear many degrading things; you will live, but how? — as the flatterer of all men, and the servant of all men; and doing what? — eating and drinking in Thessaly, having gone abroad in order that you may get a dinner. And where will be your fine sentiments about justice and virtue? Say that you wish to live for the sake of your children — you want to bring them up and educate them — will you take them into Thessaly and deprive them of Athenian citizenship? Is this the benefit which you will confer upon them? Or are you under the impression that they will be better cared for and educated here if you are still alive, although absent from them; for your friends will take care of them? Do you fancy that if you are an inhabitant of Thessaly they will take care of them, and if you are an inhabitant of the other world that they will not take care of them? Nay; but if they who call themselves friends are good for anything, they will — to be sure they will.

‘Listen, then, Socrates, to us who have brought you up. Think not of life and children first, and of justice afterwards, but of justice first, that you may be justified before the princes of the world below. For neither will you nor any that belong to you be happier or holier or juster in this life, or happier in another, if you do as Crito bids. Now you depart in innocence, a sufferer and not a doer of evil; a victim, not of the laws, but of men. But if you go forth, returning evil for evil, and injury for injury, breaking the covenants and agreements which you have made with us, and wronging those whom you ought least of all to wrong, that is to say, yourself, your friends, your country, and us, we shall be angry with you while you live, and our brethren, the laws in the world below, will receive you as an enemy; for they will know that you have done your best to destroy us. Listen, then, to us and not to Crito.’

This, dear Crito, is the voice which I seem to hear murmuring in my ears, like the sound of the flute in the ears of the mystic; that voice, I say, is humming in my ears, and prevents me from hearing any other. And I know that anything more which you may say will be vain. Yet speak, if you have anything to say.

CRITO: I have nothing to say, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Leave me then, Crito, to fulfil the will of God, and to follow whither he leads.

ENDNOTES.

1.  See Phaedrus
2.  See Prose Works
3.  Homer, Iliad, IX
4.  Cp. Apology
5.  Cp. Apology
6.  Cp. Republic
7.  Cp. Phaedrus
8.  Cp. Apology

HIPPIAS MAJOR

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This early dialogue was written circa 390 BC, though its authenticity has been doubted.  It concerns Socrates and Hippias (the late 5th century BC Sophist), who endeavour to find a definition for beauty. The actual Greek term that is used in the dialogue is καλόν, which as an adjective can also mean ‘fine’ or ‘noble’, as well as beautiful.

The concept of something being good in and of itself makes its first appearance in this work. The dialogue can be read as much as a serious philosophical work as a light satirical comedy with two actors.

HIPPIAS MAJOR

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

SOCRATES

HIPPIAS.

Socrates: Hippias, beautiful and wise, what a long time it is since you have put in at the port of Athens!

Hippias: I am too busy, Socrates. For whenever Elis needs to have any business transacted with any of the states, she always comes to me first of her citizens and chooses me as envoy, thinking that I am the ablest judge and messenger of the words that are spoken by the several states. So I have often gone as envoy to other states, but most often and concerning the most numerous and important matters to Lacedaemon. For that reason, then, since you ask me, I do not often come to this neighborhood.

Socrates: That’s what it is, Hippias, to be a truly wise and perfect man! For you are both in your private capacity able to earn much money from the young and to confer upon them still greater benefits than you receive, and in public affairs you are able to benefit your own state, as a man must who is to be not despised but held in high repute among the many. And yet, Hippias, what in the world is the reason why those men of old whose names are called great in respect to wisdom — Pittacus, and Bias, and the Milesian Thales with his followers and also the later ones, down to Anaxagoras, are all, or most of them, found to refrain from affairs of state?

Hippias: What else do you suppose, Socrates, than that they were not able to compass by their wisdom both public and private matters?

Socrates: Then for Heaven’s sake, just as the other arts have progressed, and the ancients are of no account in comparison with the artisans of today, shall we say that your art also has progressed and those of the ancients who were concerned with wisdom are of no account in comparison with you?

Hippias: Yes, you are quite right.

Socrates: Then, Hippias, if Bias were to come to life again now, he would be a laughing-stock in comparison with you, just as the sculptors say that Daedalus, if he were to be born now and were to create such works as those from which he got his reputation, would be ridiculous.

Hippias: That, Socrates, is exactly as you say. I, however, am in the habit of praising the ancients and our predecessors rather than the men of the present day, and more greatly, as a precaution against the envy of the living and through fear of the wrath of those who are dead.

Socrates: Yours, Hippias, is a most excellent way, at any rate, of speaking about them and of thinking, it seems to me and I can bear you witness that you speak the truth, and that your art really has progressed in the direction of ability to carry on public together with private affairs. For this man Gorgias, the sophist from Leontini, came here from home in the public capacity of envoy, as being best able of all the citizens of Leontini to attend to the interests of the community, and it was the general opinion that he spoke excellently in the public assembly, and in his private capacity, by giving exhibitions and associating with the young, he earned and received a great deal of money from this city; or, if you like, our friend here, Prodicus, often went to other places in a public capacity, and the last time, just lately, when he came here in a public capacity from Ceos, he gained great reputation by his speaking before the Council, and in his private capacity, by giving exhibitions and associating with the young, he received a marvellous sum of money; but none of those ancients ever thought fit to exact the money as payment for his wisdom or to give exhibitions among people of various places; so simple-minded were they, and so unconscious of the fact that money is of the greatest value. But either of these two has earned more money from his wisdom than any artisan from his art. And even before these Protagoras did so.

Hippias: Why, Socrates, you know nothing of the beauties of this. For if you were to know how much money I have made, you would be amazed. I won’t mention the rest, but once, when I went to Sicily, although Protagoras was staying there and had a great reputation and was the older, I, who was much younger, made in a very short time more than one hundred and fifty minas, and in one very small place, Inycus, more than twenty minas; and when I came home, I took this and gave it to my father, so that he and the other citizens were overwhelmed with amazement. And I pretty well think I have made more money than any other two sophists together.

Socrates: That’s a fine thing you say, Hippias, and strong testimony to your wisdom and that of the men of today and to their great superiority to the ancients. For the earlier sophists of the school of Anaxagoras must have been very ignorant to judge from what is said, according to your view; for they say that what happened to Anaxagoras was the opposite of what happens to you; for though much money was left him, he neglected it and lost it all so senseless was his wisdom. And they tell similar tales about others among the ancients. So this seems to me fine testimony that you adduce for the wisdom of the men of today as compared with the earlier men, and many people agree with me that the wise man must be wise for himself especially; and the test of this is, who makes the most money. Well, so much for that. But tell me this: at which of the cities that you go to did you make the most money? Or are we to take it that it was at Lacedaemon, where your visits have been most frequent?

Hippias: No, by Zeus, it was not, Socrates.

Socrates: What’s that you say? But did you make least there?

Hippias: Why, I never made anything at all.

Socrates: That is a prodigious marvel that you tell, Hippias; and say now: is not your wisdom such as to make those who are in contact with it and learn it, better men in respect to virtue?

Hippias: Yes, much better, Socrates.

Socrates: But you were able to make the sons of the Inycenes better, and had no power to improve the sons of the Spartans?

Hippias: That is far from true.

Socrates: Well, then, the Siceliotes desire to become better, and the Lacedaemonians do not?

Hippias: No certainly, Socrates, the Lacedaemonians also desire it.

Socrates: Then it was for lack of money that they avoided intercourse with you?

Hippias: Not at all, since they have plenty of money.

Socrates: What, then, could be the reason, that when they desired it and had money, and you had power to confer upon them the greatest benefits, they did not send you away loaded with money? But I see; perhaps the Lacedaemonians might educate their own children better than you? Shall we state it so, and do you agree?

Hippias: Not in the least.

Socrates: Then were you not able to persuade the young men at Lacedaemon that they would make more progress towards virtue by associating with you than with their own people, or were you powerless to persuade their fathers that they ought rather to hand them over to you than to care for them themselves, if they are at all concerned for their sons? For surely they did not begrudge it to their children to become as good as possible.

Hippias: I do not think they begrudged it.

Socrates: But certainly Lacedaemon is well governed.

Hippias: Of course it is.

Socrates: And in well-governed states virtue is most highly honored.

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: And you know best of all men how to transmit that to another.

Hippias: Much best, Socrates.

Socrates: Well, he who knows best how to transmit horsemanship would be most honored in Thessaly of all parts of Greece and would receive most money — and anywhere else where horsemanship is a serious interest, would he not?

Hippias: Very likely.

Socrates: Then will not he who is able to transmit the doctrines that are of most value for the acquisition of virtue be most highly honored in Lacedaemon and make most money, if he so wishes, and in any other of the Greek states that is well governed? But do you, my friend, think he will fare better in Sicily and at Inycus? Are we to believe that, Hippias? For if you tell us to do so, we must believe it.

Hippias: Yes, for it is not the inherited usage of the Lacedaemonians to change their laws or to educate their children differently from what is customary.

Socrates: What? For the Lacedaemonians is it the hereditary usage not to act rightly, but to commit errors?

Hippias: I wouldn’t say so, Socrates.

Socrates: Would they, then, not act rightly in educating the young men better, but not in educating them worse?

Hippias: Yes, they would; but it is not lawful for them to give them a foreign education; for you may be sure that if anybody had ever received money there in payment for education, I should have received by far the most; they certainly enjoy hearing me and they applaud me; but, as I say, it is not the law.

Socrates: But, Hippias, do you say that law is an injury to the state, or a benefit?

Hippias: It is made, I think, with benefit in view, but sometimes, if the law is badly made, it is injurious.

Socrates: Well, then, is it not true that those who make the law make it as the greatest good to the state, and that without this it is impossible to enjoy good government?

Hippias: What you say is true.

Socrates: Then, when those who make the laws miss the good, they have missed the lawful and the law; or what do you say?

Hippias: Speaking accurately, Socrates, that is true; however, men are not accustomed to think so.

Socrates: The men who know, Hippias, or those who do not know?

Hippias: The many.

Socrates: Are these, the many, those who know the truth?

Hippias: Certainly not.

Socrates: But surely those who know, think that in truth for all men that which is more beneficial is more lawful than that which is less beneficial; or do you not agree?

Hippias: Yes, I agree that they think it is so in truth.

Socrates: Well, it actually is as those who know think it is, is it not?

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: But or the Lacedaemonians, as you say, it is more beneficial to be educated in your education, which is foreign, than in the local education.

Hippias: Yes, and what I say is true.

Socrates: And do you say this also, Hippias, that beneficial things are more lawful?

Hippias: Yes, I said so.

Socrates: Then, according to what you say, it is more lawful for the sons of the Lacedaemonians to be educated by Hippias and less lawful for them to be educated by their fathers, if in reality they will be more benefited by you.

Hippias: But certainly they will be benefited, Socrates.

Socrates: Then the Lacedaemonians in not giving you money and entrusting their sons to you, act contrary to law.

Hippias: I agree to that; for you seem to be making your argument in my favour, and there is no need of my opposing it.

Socrates: Then my friends, we find that the Lacedaemonians are law-breakers, and that too in the most important affairs — they who are regarded as the most law-abiding of men. But then, for Heaven’s sake, Hippias, what sort of discourses are those for which they applaud you and which they enjoy hearing? Or are they evidently those which you understand most admirably, those about the stars and the phenomena of the heavens?

Hippias: Not in the least; they won’t even endure those.

Socrates: But they enjoy hearing about geometry?

Hippias: Not at all, since one might say that many of them do not even know how to count.

Socrates: Then they are far from enduring a lecture by you on the processes of thought.

Hippias: Far from it indeed, by Zeus.

Socrates: Well, then, those matters which you of all men know best how to discuss, concerning the value of letters and syllables and rhythms and harmonies?

Hippias: Harmonies indeed, my good fellow, and letters!

Socrates: But then what are the things about which they like to listen to you and which they applaud? Tell me yourself, for I cannot discover them.

Hippias: They are very fond of hearing about the genealogies of heroes and men, Socrates, and the foundations of cities in ancient times and, in short, about antiquity in general, so that for their sake I have been obliged to learn all that sort of thing by heartand practise it thoroughly.

Socrates: By Zeus, Hippias, it is lucky for you that the Lacedaemonians do not enjoy hearing one recite the list of our archons from Solon’s time; if they did, you would have trouble in learning it by heart.

Hippias: How so, Socrates? After hearing them once, I can remember fifty names.

Socrates: True, but I did not understand that you possess the science of memory; and so I understand that the Lacedaemonians naturally enjoy you as one who knows many things, and they make use of you as children make use of old women, to tell stories agreeably.

Hippias: And by Zeus, Socrates, I have just lately gained reputation there by telling about noble or beautiful pursuits, recounting what those of a young man should be. For I have a very beautiful discourse composed about them, well arranged in its words and also in other respects. And the plan of the discourse, and its beginning, is something like this: After the fall of Troy, the story goes that Neoptolemus asked Nestor what the noble and beautiful pursuits were, by following which a young man would become most famous; so after that we have Nestor speaking and suggesting to him very many lawful and most beautiful pursuits. That discourse, then, I delivered there and intend to deliver here the day after tomorrow in Pheidostratus’s schoolroom, with many other things worth hearing; for Eudicus, the son of Apemantus, asked me to do so. Now be sure to be there yourself and to bring others who are able to judge of discourses that they hear.

Socrates: Well, that shall be done, God willing, Hippias. Now, however, give me a brief answer to a question about your discourse, for you reminded me of the beautiful just at the right moment. For recently, my most excellent friend, as I was finding fault with some things in certain speeches as ugly and praising other things as beautiful, a man threw me into confusion by questioning me very insolently somewhat after this fashion: “How, if you please, do you know, Socrates,” said he, “what sort of things are beautiful and ugly? For, come now, could you tell me what the beautiful is?” And I, being of no account, was at a loss and could not answer him properly; and so, as I was going away from the company, I was angry with myself and reproached myself, and threatened that the first time I met one of you wise men, I would hear and learn and practise and then go back to the man who questioned me to renew the wordy strife. So now, as I say, you have come at the right moment; just teach me satisfactorily what the absolute beautiful is, and try in replying to speak as accurately as possible, that I may not be confuted a second time and be made ridiculous again. For you doubtless know clearly, and this would doubtless be but a small example of your wide learning.

Hippias: Yes, surely, by Zeus, a small one, Socrates, and, I may say, of no value.

Socrates: Then I shall learn it easily, and nobody will confute me any more.

Hippias: Nobody, surely; for in that case my profession would be worthless and ordinary.

Socrates: That is good, by Hera, Hippias, if we are to worst the fellow. But may I without hindering you imitate him, and when you answer, take exception to what you say, in order that you may give me as much practice as possible? For I am more or less experienced in taking exceptions. So, if it is all the same to you, I wish to take exceptions, that I may learn more vigorously.

Hippias: Oh yes, take exceptions. For, as I said just now, the question is no great matter, but I could teach you to answer much harder ones than this, so that nobody in the world could confute you.

Socrates: Oh how good that is! But come, since you tell me to do so, now let me try to play that man’s part, so far as possible, and ask you questions. For if you were to deliver for him this discourse that you mention, the one about beautiful pursuits, when he had heard it, after you had stopped speaking, the very first thing he would ask about would be the beautiful; for he has that sort of habit, and he would say, “Stranger from Elis, is it not by justice that the just are just?” So answer, Hippias, as though he were asking the question.

Hippias: I shall answer that it is by justice.

Socrates: “Then this — I mean justice — is something?”

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: “Then, too, by wisdom the wise are wise and by the good all things are good, are they not?”

Hippias: Of course.

Socrates: “And justice, wisdom, and so forth are something; for the just, wise, and so forth would not be such by them, if they were not something.”

Hippias: To be sure, they are something.

Socrates: “Then are not all beautiful things beautiful by the beautiful?”

Hippias: Yes, by the beautiful.

Socrates: “By the beautiful, which is something?”

Hippias: Yes, for what alternative is there?

Socrates: “Tell me, then, stranger,” he will say, “what is this, the beautiful?”

Hippias: Well, Socrates, does he who asks this question want to find out anything else than what is beautiful?

Socrates: I do not think that is what he wants to find out, but what the beautiful is.

Hippias: And what difference is there between the two?

Socrates: Do you think there is none?

Hippias: Yes, for there is no difference.

Socrates: Well, surely it is plain that you know best; but still, my good friend, consider; for he asked you, not what is beautiful, but what the beautiful is.

Hippias: I understand, my good friend, and I will answer and tell him what the beautiful is, and I shall never be confuted. For be assured, Socrates, if I must speak the truth, a beautiful maiden is beautiful.

Socrates: Beautifully answered, Hippias, by the dog, and notably! Then if I give this answer, I shall have answered the question that was asked, and shall have answered it correctly, and shall never be confuted?

Hippias: Yes, for how could you, Socrates, be confuted, when you say what everybody thinks, and when all who hear it will bear witness that what you say is correct?

Socrates: Very well; certainly. Come, then, Hippias, let me rehearse to myself what you say. The man will question me in some such fashion as this: “Come Socrates, answer me. All these things which you say are beautiful, if the absolute beautiful is anything, would be beautiful?” And I shall say that if a beautiful maiden is beautiful, there is something by reason of which these things would be beautiful.

Hippias: Do you think, then, that he will still attempt to refute you and to show that what you say is not beautiful, or, if he does attempt it, that he will not be ridiculous?

Socrates: That he will attempt it, my admirable friend, I am sure but whether the attempt will make him ridiculous, the event will show. However, I should like to tell you what he will ask.

Hippias: Do so.

Socrates: “How charming you are, Socrates!” he will say. “But is not a beautiful mare beautiful, which even the god praised in his oracle?” What shall we say, Hippias? Shall we not say that the mare is beautiful, I mean the beautiful mare? For how could we dare to deny that the beautiful thing is beautiful?

Hippias: Quite true, Socrates for what the god said is quite correct, too; for very beautiful mares are bred in our country.

Socrates: “Very well,” he will say, “and how about a beautiful lyre? Is it not beautiful?” Shall we agree, Hippias?

Hippias: Yes.

Socrates: After this, then, the man will ask, I am sure, judging by his character: “You most excellent man, how about a beautiful pot? Is it, then, not beautiful?”

Hippias: Socrates, who is the fellow? What an uncultivated person, who has the face to mention such worthless things in a dignified discussion!

Socrates: That’s the kind of person he is, Hippias, not elegant, but vulgar, thinking of nothing but the truth. But nevertheless the man must be answered, and I will declare my opinion beforehand: if the pot were made by a good potter, were smooth and round and well fired, as are some of the two-handled pots, those that hold six choes, very beautiful ones — if that were the kind of pot he asked about, we must agree that it is beautiful; for how could we say that being beautiful it is not beautiful?

Hippias: We could not at all, Socrates.

Socrates: “Then,” he will say, “a beautiful pot also is beautiful, is it not?” Answer.

Hippias: Well, Socrates, it is like this, I think. This utensil, when well wrought, is beautiful, but absolutely considered it does not deserve to be regarded as beautiful in comparison with a mare and a maiden and all the beautiful things.

Socrates: Very well I understand, Hippias, that the proper reply to him who asks these questions is this: “Sir, you are not aware that the saying of Heracleitus is good, that ‘the most beautiful of monkeys is ugly compared with the race of man,’ and the most beautiful of pots is ugly compared with the race of maidens, as Hippias the wise man says.” Is it not so, Hippias?

Hippias: Certainly, Socrates; you replied rightly.

Socrates: Listen then. For I am sure that after this he will say: “Yes, but, Socrates, if we compare maidens with gods, will not the same thing happen to them that happened to pots when compared with maidens? Will not the most beautiful maiden appear ugly? Or does not Heracleitus, whom you cite, mean just this, that the wisest of men, if compared with a god, will appear a monkey, both in wisdom and in beauty and in everything else?” Shall we agree, Hippias, that the most beautiful maiden is ugly if compared with the gods?

Hippias: Yes, for who would deny that, Socrates?

Socrates: If, then, we agree to that, he will laugh and say: “Socrates, do you remember the question you were asked?” “I do,” I shall say, “the question was what the absolute beautiful is.” “Then,” he will say, “when you were asked for the beautiful, do you give as your reply what is, as you yourself say, no more beautiful than ugly?” “So it seems,” I shall say; or what do you, my friend, advise me to say?

Hippias: That is what I advise; for, of course, in saying that the human race is not beautiful in comparison with gods, you will be speaking the truth.

Socrates: “But if I had asked you,” he will say, “in the beginning what is beautiful and ugly, if you had replied as you now do, would you not have replied correctly? But do you still think that the absolute beautiful, by the addition of which all other things are adorned and made to appear beautiful, when its form is added to any of them — do you think that is a maiden or a mare or a lyre?”

Hippias: Well, certainly, Socrates, if that is what he is looking for, nothing is easier than to answer and tell him what the beautiful is, by which all other things are adorned and by the addition of which they are made to appear beautiful. So the fellow is very simple-minded and knows nothing about beautiful possessions. For if you reply to him: “This that you ask about, the beautiful, is nothing else but gold,” he will be thrown into confusion and will not attempt to confute you. For we all know, I fancy, that wherever this is added, even what before appears ugly will appear beautiful when adorned with gold.

Socrates: You don’t know the man, Hippias, what a wretch he is, and how certain not to accept anything easily.

Hippias: What of that, then, Socrates? For he must perforce accept what is correct, or if he does not accept it, be ridiculous.

Socrates: This reply, my most excellent friend, he not only will certainly not accept, but he will even jeer at me grossly and will say: “You lunatic, do you think Pheidias is a bad craftsman?” And I shall say, “Not in the least.”

Hippias: And you will be right, Socrates.

Socrates: Yes, to be sure. Consequently when I agree that Pheidias is a good craftsman, “Well, then,” he will say, “do you imagine that Pheidias did not know this beautiful that you speak of?” “Why do you ask that?” I shall say. “Because,” he will say, “he did not make the eyes of his Athena of gold, nor the rest of her face, nor her hands and feet, if, that is, they were sure to appear most beautiful provided only they were made of gold, but he made them of ivory; evidently he made this mistake through ignorance, not knowing that it is gold which makes everything beautiful to which it is added.” When he says that, what reply shall we make to him, Hippias?

Hippias: That is easy; for we shall say that Pheidias did right; for ivory, I think, is beautiful.

Socrates: “Why, then,” he will say, “did he not make the middle parts of the eyes also of ivory, but of stone, procuring stone as similar as possible to the ivory? Or is beautiful stone also beautiful?” Shall we say that it is, Hippias?

Hippias: Surely we shall say so, that is, where it is appropriate.

Socrates: “But ugly when not appropriate?” Shall I agree, or not?

Hippias: Agree, that is, when it is not appropriate.

Socrates: “What then? Do not gold and ivory,” he will say, “when they are appropriate, make things beautiful, and when they are not appropriate, ugly?” Shall we deny that, or agree that what he says is correct?

Hippias: We shall agree to this, at any rate, that whatever is appropriate to any particular thing makes that thing beautiful.

Socrates: “Well, then,” he will say, “when some one has boiled the pot of which we were speaking just now, the beautiful one, full of beautiful soup, is a golden ladle appropriate to it, or one made of fig wood?”

Hippias: Heracles! What a fellow this is that you speak of! Won’t you tell me who he is?

Socrates: You would not know him if I should tell you his name.

Hippias: But even now I know that he is an ignoramus.

Socrates: He is a great nuisance, Hippias, but yet, what shall we say? Which of the two ladles shall we say is appropriate to the soup and the pot? Is it not evidently the one of fig wood? For it is likely to make the soup smell better, and besides, my friend, it would not break the pot, thereby spilling the soup, putting out the fire, and making those who are to be entertained go without their splendid soup; whereas the golden ladle would do all those things, so that it seems to me that we must say that the wooden ladle is more appropriate than the golden one, unless you disagree.

Hippias: No, for it is more appropriate, Socrates; however, I, for my part, would not talk with the fellow when he asks such questions.

Socrates: Quite right, my friend; for it would not be appropriate for you to be filled up with such words, you who are so beautifully clad, so beautifully shod, and so famous for your wisdom among all the Greeks; but for me it doesn’t matter if I do associate with the fellow; so instruct me and for my sake answer him. “For if the wooden one is more appropriate than the golden one,” the fellow will say, “would it not be more beautiful, since you agreed, Socrates, that the appropriate is more beautiful than that which is not appropriate?” Shall we not agree, Hippias, that the wooden one is more beautiful than the golden?

Hippias: Do you wish me to tell you, Socrates, what definition of the beautiful will enable you to free yourself from long discussion?

Socrates: Certainly; but not until after you have told me which of the two ladles I just spoke of I shall reply is appropriate and more beautiful.

Hippias: Well, if you like, reply to him that it is the one made of fig wood.

Socrates: Now, then, say what you were just now going to say. For by this reply, if I say that the beautiful is gold, it seems to me that gold will be shown to be no more beautiful than fig wood; but what do you now, once more, say that the beautiful is?

Hippias: I will tell you; for you seem to me to be seeking to reply that the beautiful is something of such sort that it will never appear ugly anywhere to anybody.

Socrates: Certainly, Hippias; now you understand beautifully.

Hippias: Listen, then; for, mind you, if anyone has anything to say against this, you may say I know nothing at all.

Socrates: Then for Heaven’s sake, speak as quickly as you can.

Hippias: I say, then, that for every man and everywhere it is most beautiful to be rich and healthy, and honored by the Greeks, to reach old age, and, after providing a beautiful funeral for his deceased parents, to be beautifully and splendidly buried by his own offspring.

Socrates: Bravo, bravo, Hippias! You have spoken in a way that is wonderful and great and worthy of you; and now, by Hera, I thank you, because you are kindly coming to my assistance to the best of your ability. But our shots are not hitting the man; no, he will laugh at us now more than ever, be sure of that.

Hippias: A wretched laugh, Socrates; for when he has nothing to say to this, but laughs, he will be laughing at himself and will himself be laughed at by those present.

Socrates: Perhaps that is so perhaps, however, after this reply, he will, I foresee, be likely to do more than laugh at me.

Hippias: Why do you say that, pray?

Socrates: Because, if he happens to have a stick, unless I get away in a hurry, he will try to fetch me a good one.

Hippias: What? Is the fellow some sort of master of yours, and if he does that, will he not be arrested and have to pay for it? Or does your city disregard justice and allow the citizens to beat one another unjustly?

Socrates: Oh no that is not allowed at all.

Hippias: Then he will have to pay a penalty for beating you unjustly.

Socrates: I do not think so, Hippias. No, if I were to make that reply, the beating would be just, I think.

Hippias: Then I think so, too, Socrates, since that is your own belief.

Socrates: Shall I, then, not tell you why it is my own belief that the beating would be just, if I made that reply? Or will you also beat me without trial? Or will you listen to what I have to say?

Hippias: It would be shocking if I would not listen; but what have you to say?

Socrates: I will tell you, imitating him in the same way as a while ago, that I may not use to you such harsh and uncouth words as he uses to me. For you may be sure, “Tell me, Socrates,” he will say, “do you think it would be unjust if you got a beating for singing such a long dithyramb so unmusically and so far from the question?” “How so?” I shall say. “How so?” he will say; “are you not able to remember that I asked for the absolute beautiful, by which everything to which it is added has the property of being beautiful, both stone and stick and man and god and every act and every acquisition of knowledge? For what I am asking is this, man: what is absolute beauty? and I cannot make you hear what I say any more than if you were a stone sitting beside me, and a millstone at that, having neither ears nor brain.” Would you, then, not be angry, Hippias, if I should be frightened and should reply in this way? “Well, but Hippias said that this was the beautiful; and yet I asked him, just as you asked me, what is beautiful to all and always.” What do you say? Will you not be angry if I say that?

Hippias: I know very well, Socrates, that this which I said was beautiful is beautiful to all and will seem so.

Socrates: And will it be so, too he will say for the beautiful is always beautiful, is it not?

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: “Then was it so, too?” he will say.

Hippias: It was so, too.

Socrates: “And,” he will say, “did the stranger from Elis say also that for Achilles it was beautiful to be buried later than his parents, and for his grandfather Aeacus, and all the others who were born of gods, and for the gods themselves?”

Hippias: What’s that? Confound it! These questions of the fellow’s are not even respectful to religion.

Socrates: Well, then, when another asks the question, perhaps it is not quite disrespectful to religion to say that these things are so?

Hippias: Perhaps.

Socrates: “Perhaps, then, you are the man,” he will say, “who says that it is beautiful for every one and always to be buried by one’s offspring, and to bury one’s parents; or was not Heracles included in ‘every one,’ he and all those whom we just now mentioned?”

Hippias: But I did not say it was so for the gods.

Socrates: “Nor for the heroes either, apparently.”

Hippias: Not those who were children of gods.

Socrates: “But those who were not?”

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: “Then again, according to your statement, among the heroes it is terrible and impious and disgraceful for Tantalus and Dardanus and Zethus, but beautiful for Pelops and the others who were born as he was?”

Hippias: I think so.

Socrates: “You think, then, what you did not say just now, that to bury one’s parents and be buried by one’s offspring is sometimes and for some persons disgraceful; and it is still more impossible, as it seems, for this to become and to be beautiful for all, so that the same thing has happened to this as to the things we mentioned before, the maiden and the pot, in a still more ridiculous way than to them; it is beautiful for some and not beautiful for others. And you are not able yet, even today, Socrates,” he will say, “to answer what is asked about the beautiful, namely what it is.” With these words and the like he will rebuke me, if I reply to him in this way. For the most part, Hippias, he talks with me in some such way as that but sometimes, as if in pity for my inexperience and lack of training, he himself volunteers a question, and asks whether I think the beautiful is so and so or whatever else it is which happens to be the subject of our questions and our discussion.

Hippias: What do you mean by that, Socrates?

Socrates: I will tell you. “Oh, my dear Socrates,” he says, “stop making replies of this sort and in this way — for they are too silly and easy to refute; but see if something like this does not seem to you to be beautiful, which we got hold of just now in our reply, when we said that gold was beautiful for those things for which it was appropriate, but not for those for which it was not, and that all the other things were beautiful to which this quality pertains; so examine this very thing, the appropriate, and see if it is perchance the beautiful.” Now I am accustomed to agree to such things every time for I don’t know what to say; but now does it seem to you that the appropriate is the beautiful?

Hippias: Yes, certainly, Socrates.

Socrates: Let us consider, lest we make a mistake somehow.

Hippias: Yes, we must consider.

Socrates: See, then; do we say that the appropriate is that which, when it is added, makes each of those things to which it is added appear beautiful, or which makes them be beautiful, or neither of these?

Hippias: I think so.

Socrates: Which?

Hippias: That which makes them appear beautiful; as when a man takes clothes or shoes that fit, even if he be ridiculous, he appears more beautiful.

Socrates: Then if the appropriate makes him appear more beautiful than he is, the appropriate would be a sort of deceit in respect to the beautiful, and would not be that which we are looking for, would it, Hippias? For we were rather looking for that by which all beautiful things are beautiful — like that by which all great things are great, that is, excess; for it is by this that all great things are great; for even if they do not appear great, but exceed, they are of necessity great; so, then, we say, what would the beautiful be, by which all things are beautiful, whether they appear so or not? For it could not be the appropriate, since that, by your statement, makes things appear more beautiful than they are, but does not let them appear such as they are. But we must try to say what that is which makes things be beautiful, as I said just now, whether they appear so or not; for that is what we are looking for, since we are looking for the beautiful.

Hippias: But the appropriate, Socrates, makes things both be and appear beautiful by its presence.

Socrates: Is it impossible, then, for things which are really beautiful not to appear to be beautiful, at any rate when that is present which makes them appear so?

Hippias: It is impossible.

Socrates: Shall we, then, agree to this, Hippias, that all things which are really beautiful, both uses and pursuits, are always believed to be beautiful by all, and appear so to them, or, quite the contrary, that people are ignorant about them, and that there is more strife and contention about them than about anything else, both in private between individuals and in public between states?

Hippias: The latter rather, Socrates; that people are ignorant about them.

Socrates: They would not be so, if the appearance of beauty were added to them; and it would be added, if the appropriate were beautiful and made things not only to be beautiful, but also to appear so. So that the appropriate, if it is that which makes things be beautiful, would be the beautiful which we are looking for, but would not be that which makes things appear beautiful; but if, on the other hand, the appropriate is that which makes things appear beautiful, it would not be the beautiful for which we are looking. For that makes things be beautiful, but the same element could not make things both appear and be beautiful, nor could it make them both appear and be anything else whatsoever. Let us choose, then, whether we think that the appropriate is that which makes things appear or be beautiful.

Hippias: That which makes them appear so, in my opinion, Socrates.

Socrates: Whew! Our perception of what the beautiful is has fled away and gone, Hippias, since the appropriate has been found to be something other than the beautiful.

Hippias: Yes, by Zeus, Socrates, and to me that is very queer.

Socrates: However, my friend, let us not yet give it up, for I still have hopes that what the beautiful is will be made clear.

Hippias: Certainly, to be sure, Socrates, for it is not hard to find. Now I know that if I should go away into solitude and meditate alone by myself, I could tell it to you with the most perfect accuracy.

Socrates: Ah, don’t boast, Hippias. You see how much trouble it has caused us already; I’m afraid it may get angry and run away more than ever. And yet that is nonsense; for you, I think, will easily find it when you go away by yourself. But for Heaven’s sake, find it in my presence, or, if you please, join me, as you are now doing, in looking for it. And if we find it, that will be splendid, but if we do not, I shall, I suppose, accept my lot, and you will go away and find it easily. And if we find it now, I shall certainly not be a nuisance to you by asking what that was which you found by yourself; but now once more see if this is in your opinion the beautiful : I say, then, that it is — but consider, paying close attention to me, that I may not talk nonsense — for I say, then, whatever is useful shall be for us beautiful. But I said it with this reason for my thought; beautiful eyes, we say, are not such as seem to be so, which are unable to see, but those which are able and useful for seeing. Is that right?

Hippias: Yes.

Socrates: Then, too, in the same way we say that the whole body is beautiful, part of it for running, part for wrestling; and again all the animals, a beautiful horse or cock or quail and all utensils and land vehicles, and on the sea freight-ships and ships of war; and all instruments in music and in the other arts, and, if you like, customs and laws also — pretty well all these we call beautiful in the same way looking at each of them — how it is formed by nature, how it is wrought, how it has been enacted — the useful we call beautiful, and beautiful in the way in which it is useful, and for the purpose for which it is useful, and at the time when it is useful; and that which is in all these aspects useless we say is ugly. Now is not this your opinion also, Hippias?

Hippias: It is.

Socrates: Then are we right in saying that the useful rather than everything else is beautiful?

Hippias: We are right, surely, Socrates.

Socrates: Now that which has power to accomplish anything is useful for that for which it has power, but that which is powerless is useless, is it not?

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: Power, then, is beautiful, and want of power is disgraceful or ugly.

Hippias: Decidedly. Now other things, Socrates, testify for us that this is so, but especially political affairs; for in political affairs and in one’s own state to be powerful is the most beautiful of all things, but to be powerless is the most disgraceful of all.

Socrates: Good! Then, for Heaven’s sake, Hippias, is wisdom also for this reason the most beautiful of all things and ignorance the most disgraceful of all things?

Hippias: Well, what do you suppose, Socrates?

Socrates: Just keep quiet, my dear friend; I am so afraid and wondering what in the world we are saying again.

Hippias: What are you afraid of again, Socrates, since now your discussion has gone ahead most beautifully?

Socrates: I wish that might be the case; but consider this point with me: could a person do what he did not know how and was utterly powerless to do?

Hippias: By no means; for how could he do what he was powerless to do?

Socrates: Then those who commit errors and accomplish and do bad things involuntarily, if they were powerless to do those things, would not do them?

Hippias: Evidently not.

Socrates: But yet it is by power that those are powerful who are powerful for surely it is not by powerlessness.

Hippias: Certainly not.

Socrates: And all who do, have power to do what they do?

Hippias: Yes.

Socrates: Men do many more bad things than good, from childhood up, and commit many errors involuntarily.

Hippias: That is true.

Socrates: Well, then, this power and these useful things, which are useful for accomplishing something bad — shall we say that they are beautiful, or far from it?

Hippias: Far from it, in my opinion, Socrates.

Socrates: Then, Hippias, the powerful and the useful are not, as it seems, our beautiful.

Hippias: They are, Socrates, if they are powerful and useful for good.

Socrates: Then that assertion, that the powerful and useful are beautiful without qualification, is gone; but was this, Hippias, what our soul wished to say, that the useful and the powerful for doing something good is the beautiful?

Hippias: Yes, in my opinion.

Socrates: But surely this is beneficial; or is it not?

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: So by this argument the beautiful persons and beautiful customs and all that we mentioned just now are beautiful because they are beneficial.

Hippias: Evidently.

Socrates: Then the beneficial seems to us to be the beautiful, Hippias.

Hippias: Yes, certainly, Socrates.

Socrates: But the beneficial is that which creates good.

Hippias: Yes, it is.

Socrates: But that which creates is nothing else than the cause; am I right?

Hippias: It is so.

Socrates: Then the beautiful is the cause of the good.

Hippias: Yes, it is.

Socrates: But surely, Hippias, the cause and that of which the cause is the cause are different; for the cause could not well be the cause of the cause. But look at it in this way was not the cause seen to be creating?

Hippias: Yes, certainly.

Socrates: By that which creates, then, only that is created which comes into being, but not that which creates. Is not that true?

Hippias: That is true.

Socrates: The cause, then, is not the cause of the cause, but of that which comes into being through it.

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: If, then, the beautiful is the cause of good, the good would come into being through the beautiful; and this is why we are eager for wisdom and all the other beautiful things, because their offspring, the good, is worthy of eagerness, and, from what we are finding, it looks as if the beautiful were a sort of father of the good.

Hippias: Certainly for what you say is well said, Socrates.

Socrates: Then is this well said, too, that the father is not the son, and the son not father?

Hippias: To be sure it is well said.

Socrates: And neither is the cause that which comes into being, nor is that which comes into being the cause.

Hippias: True.

Socrates: By Zeus, my good friend, then neither is the beautiful good, nor the good beautiful; or does it seem to you possible, after what has been said?

Hippias: No, by Zeus, it does not appear so to me.

Socrates: Does it please us, and should we be willing to say that the beautiful is not good, and the good not beautiful?

Hippias: No, by Zeus, it does not please me at all.

Socrates: Right, by Zeus, Hippias! And it pleases me least of all the things we have said.

Hippias: Yes, that is likely.

Socrates: Then there is a good chance that the statement that the beneficial and the useful and the powerful to create something good are beautiful, is not, as it appeared to be, the most beautiful of of statements, but, if that be possible, is even more ridiculous than those first ones in which we thought the maiden was the beautiful, and each of the various other things we spoke of before.

Hippias: That is likely.

Socrates: And Hippias, I no longer know where to turn; I am at a loss; but have you anything to say?

Hippias: Not at the moment, but, as I said just now, I am sure I shall find it after meditation.

Socrates: But it seems to me that I am so eager to know that I cannot wait for you while you delay; for I believe I have just now found a way out. Just see; how would it help us towards our goal if we were to say that that is beautiful which makes us feel joy; I do not mean all pleasures, but that which makes us feel joy through hearing and sight? For surely beautiful human beings, Hippias, and all decorations and paintings and works of sculpture which are beautiful, delight us when we see them; and beautiful sounds and music in general and speeches and stories do the same thing, so that if we were to reply to that impudent fellow, “My excellent man, the beautiful is that which is pleasing through hearing and sight,” don’t you think that we should put a stop to his impudence?

Hippias: To me, at any rate, Socrates, it seems that the nature of the beautiful is now well stated.

Socrates: But what then? Shall we say, Hippias, that beautiful customs and laws are beautiful because they are pleasing through hearing and sight, or that they have some other form of beauty?

Hippias: Perhaps, Socrates, these things might slip past the man unnoticed.

Socrates: No, by dog, Hippias — not past the man before whom I should be most ashamed of talking nonsenseand pretending that I was talking sense when I was not.

Hippias: What man is that?

Socrates: Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, who would no more permit me to say these things carelessly without investigation than to say that I know what I do not know.

Hippias: But certainly I also, now that you have mentioned it, think that this about the laws is something different.

Socrates: Not too fast, Hippias; for very likely we have fallen into the same perplexity about the beautiful in which we were a while ago, although we think we have found another way out.

Hippias: What do you mean by that, Socrates?

Socrates: I will tell you what presents itself to me, if perhaps there may be some sense in it. For perhaps these matters of laws and customs might be shown to be not outside of the perception which we have through hearing and sight; but let us stick to the statement that that which is pleasing through the senses is beautiful, without interjecting the matter of the laws. But if this man of whom I speak, or anyone else whosoever, should ask us: “Hippias and Socrates, did you make the distinction that in the category of the pleasing that which is pleasing in the way you mention is beautiful, whereas you say that that which is pleasing according to the other senses — those concerned with food and drink and sexual love and all such things — is not beautiful? Or do you say that such things are not even pleasing and that there is no pleasure at all in them, nor in anything else except sight and hearing?” What shall we say, Hippias?

Hippias: Certainly, by all means, Socrates, we shall say that there are very great pleasures in the other things also.

Socrates: “Why, then,” he will say, “if they are pleasures no less than the others, do you take from them this designation and deprive them of being beautiful?” “Because,” we shall say, “everybody would laugh at us if we should say that eating is not pleasant but is beautiful, and that a pleasant odor is not pleasant but is beautiful; and as to the act of sexual love, we should all, no doubt, contend that it is most pleasant, but that one must, if he perform it, do it so that no one else shall see, because it is most repulsive to see.” If we say this, Hippias, “I too understand,” he will perhaps say, “that you have all along been ashamed to say that these pleasures are beautiful, because they do not seem so to people; but that is not what I asked, what seems to most people to be beautiful, but what is so.” We shall, then, I fancy, say, as we suggested, “We say that that part of the pleasant which comes by sight and hearing is beautiful.” Do you think the statement is of any use, Hippias, or shall we say something else?

Hippias: Inevitably, in view of what has been said, Socrates, we must say just that.

Socrates: “Excellent!” he will say. “Then if that which is pleasant through sight and hearing is beautiful, that among pleasant things which does not happen to be of that sort would evidently not be beautiful?” Shall we agree?

Hippias: Yes.

Socrates: “Is, then, that which is pleasant through sight,” he will say, “pleasant through sight and hearing, or is that which is pleasant through hearing pleasant through hearing and sight?” “No,” we shall say, “that which is pleasant through each of these would not in the least be pleasant through both — for that is what you appear to us to mean — but we said that either of these pleasant things would be beautiful alone by itself, and both together.” Is not that the reply we shall make?

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: “Does, then,” he will say, “any pleasant thing whatsoever differ from any pleasant thing whatsoever by this, by being pleasant? I ask not whether any pleasure is greater or smaller or more or less, but whether it differs by just this very thing, by the fact that one of the pleasures is a pleasure and the other is not a pleasure.” “We do not think so.” Do we?

Hippias: No, we do not.

Socrates: “Is it not,” then, he will say, “for some other reason than because they are pleasures that you chose these pleasures out from the other pleasures — it was because you saw some quality in both, since they have something different from the others, in view of which you say that they are beautiful? For the reason why that which is pleasant through sight is beautiful, is not, I imagine, because it is through sight; for if that were the cause of its being beautiful, the other pleasure, that through hearing, would not be beautiful; it certainly is not pleasure through sight.” Shall we say “What you say is true”?

Hippias: Yes, we shall.

Socrates: “Nor, again, is the pleasure through hearing beautiful for the reason that it is through hearing; for in that case, again, the pleasure through sight would not be beautiful; it certainly is not pleasure through hearing.” Shall we say, Hippias, that the man who says that speaks the truth?

Hippias: Yes, he speaks the truth.

Socrates: “But yet both are beautiful, as you say.” We do say that, do we not?

Hippias: We do.

Socrates: “They have, then, something identical which makes them to be beautiful, this common quality which pertains to both of them in common and to each individually; for otherwise they would not both collectively and each individually be beautiful.” Answer me, as if you were answering him.

Hippias: I answer, and I think it is as you say.

Socrates: If, then, these pleasures are both affected in any way collectively, but each individually is not so affected, it is not by this affection that they would be beautiful.

Hippias: And how could that be, Socrates, when neither of them individually is affected by some affection or other, that then both are affected by that affection by which neither is affected?

Socrates: You think it cannot be?

Hippias: I should have to be very inexperienced both in the nature of these things and in the language of our present discussion.

Socrates: Very pretty, Hippias. But there is a chance that I think I see a case of that kind which you say is impossible, but do not really see it.

Hippias: There’s no chance about it, Socrates, but you quite purposely see wrongly.

Socrates: And certainly many such cases appear before my mind, but I mistrust them because they do not appear to you, a man who has made more money by wisdom than anyone now living, but to me who never made any money at all; and the thought disturbs me that you are playing with me and purposely deceiving me, they appear to me in such numbers and with such force.

Hippias: Nobody, Socrates, will know better than you whether I am playing with you or not, if you proceed to tell these things that appear to you; for it will be apparent to you that you are talking nonsense. For you will never find that you and I are both affected by an affection by which neither of us is affected.

Socrates: What are you saying, Hippias? Perhaps you are talking sense, and I fail to understand; but let me tell more clearly what I wish to say. For it appears to me that it is possible for us both to be so affected as to be something which I am not so affected as to be, and which I am not and you are not either; and again for neither of us to be so affected as to be other things which we both are.

Hippias: Your reply, Socrates, seems to involve miracles again even greater than those of your previous reply. For consider: if we are both just, would not each of us be just also, and if each is unjust, would not both again also be unjust, or if both are healthy, each of us also? Or if each of us were to be tired or wounded or struck or affected in any other way whatsoever, should we not both of us be affected in the same way? Then, too, if we were to be golden or of silver or of ivory, or, if you please, noble or wise or honored or old or young or whatever else you like of all that flesh is heir to, is it not quite inevitable that each of us be that also?

Socrates: Absolutely.

Hippias: But you see, Socrates, you do not consider the entirety of things, nor do they with whom you are in the habit of conversing, but you all test the beautiful and each individual entity by taking them separately and cutting them to pieces. For this reason you fail to observe that embodiments of reality are by nature so great and undivided. And now you have failed to observe to such a degree that you think there is some affection or reality which pertains to both of these together, but not to each individually, or again to each, but not to both; so unreasoning and undiscerning and foolish and unreflecting is your state of mind.

Socrates: Human affairs, Hippias, are not what a man wishes, but what he can, as the proverb goes which people are constantly citing; but you are always aiding us with admonitions. For now too, until we were admonished by you of our foolish state of mind — shall I continue to speak and make you a still further exhibition of our thoughts on the subject, or shall I not speak?

Hippias: You will speak to one who knows, Socrates, for I know the state of mind of all who are concerned with discussions; but nevertheless, if you prefer, speak.

Socrates: Well, I do prefer. For we, my friend, were so stupid, before you spoke, as to have an opinion concerning you and me, that each of us was one, but that we were not both that which each of us was — for we are not one, but two — so foolish were we. But now we have been taught by you that if we are both two, then each of us is inevitably two, and if each is one, then both are inevitably one; for it is impossible, by the continuous doctrine of reality according to Hippias, that it be otherwise, but what we both are, that each is, and what each is, both are. So now I have been convinced by you, and I hold this position. But first, Hippias, refresh my memory: Are you and I one, or are you two and I two?

Hippias: What do you mean, Socrates?

Socrates: Just what I say; for I am afraid to speak plainly to you, because you are vexed with me, when you think you are talking sensibly; however, tell me further: is not each of us one and affected in such a way as to be one?

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: Then each of us, if one, would be an odd number; or do you not consider one an odd number?

Hippias: I do.

Socrates: Then are we both an odd number, being two?

Hippias: That could not be, Socrates.

Socrates: But we are both an even number, are we not?

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: Then because we are both even, is each of us on that account even?

Hippias: No, surely not.

Socrates: Then it is not absolutely inevitable, as you said just now, that what both are, each is, and what each is, both are.

Hippias: Not things of this sort, but such as I mentioned before.

Socrates: That suffices, Hippias; for even this is welcome, since it appears that some things are so and some are not so. For I said, if you remember the beginning of this discussion, that pleasure through sight and through hearing were beautiful, not by that by which each of them was so affected as to be beautiful, but not both, nor both but not each, but by that by which both and each were so affected, because you conceded that both and each were beautiful. For this reason I thought that if both are beautiful they must be beautiful by that essence which belongs to both, but not by that which is lacking in each; and I still think so. But tell me, as in the beginning: If pleasure through sight and pleasure through hearing are both and each beautiful, does not that which makes them beautiful belong to both and to each?

Hippias: Certainly.

Socrates: Is it, then, for this reason, because each is a pleasure and both are pleasures, that they would be beautiful? Or would all other pleasures be for this reason no less beautiful than they? For we saw, if you remember, that they were no less pleasures.

Hippias: Yes, I remember.

Socrates: But for this reason, because these pleasures were through sight and hearing, it was said that they are beautiful.

Hippias: Yes, that is what was said.

Socrates: See if what I say is true. For it was said, if my memory serves me, that this “pleasant” was beautiful, not all “pleasant,” but that which is through sight and hearing.

Hippias: True.

Socrates: Now this quality belongs to both, but not to each, does it not? For surely each of them, as was said before, is not through both senses, but both are through both, and each is not. Is that true?

Hippias: It is.

Socrates: Then it is not by that which does not belong to each that each of them is beautiful; for “both” does not belong to each; so that it is possible, according to our hypothesis, to say that they both are beautiful, but not to say that each is so; or what shall we say? Is that not inevitable?

Hippias: It appears so.

Socrates: Shall we say, then, that both are beautiful, but that each is not?

Hippias: What is to prevent?

Socrates: This seems to me, my friend, to prevent, that there were some attributes thus belonging to individual things, which belonged, we thought, to each, if they belonged to both, and to both, if they belonged to each — I mean all those attributes which you specified. Am I right?

Hippias: Yes.

Socrates: But those again which I specified did not; and among those were precisely “each” and “both”. Is that so?

Hippias: It is.

Socrates: To which group, then, Hippias, does the beautiful seem to you to belong? To the group of those that you mentioned? If I am strong and you also, are we both collectively strong, and if I am just and you also, are we both collectively just, and if both collectively, then each individually so, too, if I am beautiful and you also, are we both collectively beautiful, and if both collectively, then each individually? Or is there nothing to prevent this, as in the case that when given things are both collectively even, they may perhaps individually be odd, or perhaps even, and again, when things are individually irrational quantities they may perhaps both collectively be rational, or perhaps irrational, and countless other cases which, you know, I said appeared before my mind? To which group do you assign the beautiful? Or have you the same view about it as I? For to me it seems great foolishness that we collectively are beautiful, but each of us is not so, or that each of us is so, but both are not, or anything else of that sort. Do you choose in this way, as I do, or in some other way?

Hippias: In this way, Socrates.

Socrates: You choose well, Hippias, that we may be free from the need of further search; for if the beautiful is in this group, that which is pleasing through sight and hearing would no longer be the beautiful. For the expression through sight and hearing makes both collectively beautiful, but not each individually; and this was impossible, as you and I agree.

Hippias: Yes, we agree.

Socrates: It is, then, impossible that the pleasant through sight and hearing be the beautiful, since in becoming beautiful it offers an impossibility.

Hippias: That is true.

Socrates: “Then tell us again,” he will say, “from the beginning, since you failed this time; what do you say that this ‘beautiful’, belonging to both the pleasures, is, on account of which you honored them before the rest and called them beautiful?” It seems to me, Hippias, inevitable that we say that these are the most harmless and the best of pleasures, both of them collectively and each of them individually; or have you anything else to suggest, by which they excel the rest?

Hippias: Not at all; for really they are the best.

Socrates: “This, then,” he will say, “you say is the beautiful, beneficial pleasure?” “It seems that we do,” I shall say; and you?

Hippias: I also.

Socrates: “Well, then,” he will say, “beneficial is that which creates the good, but that which creates and that which is created were just now seen to be different, and our argument has come round to the earlier argument, has it not? For neither could the good be beautiful nor the beautiful good, if each of them is different from the other.” “Absolutely true,” we shall say, if we are reasonable; for it is inadmissible to disagree with him who says what is right.

Hippias: But now, Socrates, what do you think all this amounts to? It is mere scrapings and shavings of discourse, as I said a while ago, divided into bits; but that other ability is beautiful and of great worth, the ability to produce a discourse well and beautifully in a court of law or a council-house or before any other public body before which the discourse may be delivered, to convince the audience and to carry off, not the smallest, but the greatest of prizes, the salvation of oneself, one’s property, and one’s friends. For these things, therefore, one must strive, renouncing these petty arguments, that one may not, by busying oneself, as at present, with mere talk and nonsense, appear to be a fool.

Socrates: My dear Hippias, you are blessed because you know the things a man ought to practise, and have, as you say, practised them satisfactorily. But I, as it seems, am possessed by some accursed fortune, so that I am always wandering and perplexed, and, exhibiting my perplexity to you wise men, am in turn reviled by you in speech whenever I exhibit it. For you say of me, what you are now saying, that I busy myself with silly little matters of no account; but when in turn I am convinced by you and say what you say, that it is by far the best thing to be able to produce a discourse well and beautifully and gain one’s end in a court of law or in any other assemblage, I am called everything that is bad by some other men here and especially by that man who is continually refuting me; for he is a very near relative of mine and lives in the same house. So whenever I go home to my own house, and he hears me saying these things, he asks me if I am not ashamed that I have the face to talk about beautiful practices, when it is so plainly shown, to my confusion, that I do not even know what the beautiful itself is. “And yet how are you to know,” he will say, “either who produced a discourse, or anything else whatsoever, beautifully, or not, when you are ignorant of the beautiful? And when you are in such a condition, do you think it is better for you to be alive than dead?” So it has come about, as I say, that I am abused and reviled by you and by him. But perhaps it is necessary to endure all this, for it is quite reasonable that I might be benefited by it. So I think, Hippias, that I have been benefited by conversation with both of you; for I think I know the meaning of the proverb “beautiful things are difficult”.

HIPPIAS MINOR

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

In this early dialogue, Socrates matches wits with the arrogant Sophist and critic Hippias, who believes that Homer’s works can be taken as entirely truthful.  Socrates argues with Hippias about which kind of liar is the best, the man who deliberately contrives a lie, or the man who lies unwittingly, from not paying attention to what he is saying, or changing his mind. Socrates argues that the voluntary lie is better than the involuntary lie.

The debate is rooted in a literary question about who Homer intended to portray as the better man, Achilles or Odysseus. Socrates says he has heard Eudicus’ father, Apemantus, declare that there is a parallel analogy between the artistic quality of the Iliad and the moral quality of its main character, Achilles, and the quality of the Odyssey and the quality of its main character, Odysseus. The men do not pursue this thesis, that the moral status of the characters in a work of literature has some bearing on its artistry. Socrates does resurrect the idea in the Republic, however, when he argues that Homer’s classics would be better books if Achilles and the other warriors were presented as always righteous. Socrates says that they ought to be rewritten to this effect.

An idealised portrayal of Homer, the legendary epic poet discussed in this dialogue

HIPPIAS MINOR

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

SOCRATES

HIPPIAS.

EUDICUS: Why are you silent, Socrates, after the magnificent display which Hippias has been making? Why do you not either refute his words, if he seems to you to have been wrong in any point, or join with us in commending him? There is the more reason why you should speak, because we are now alone, and the audience is confined to those who may fairly claim to take part in a philosophical discussion.

SOCRATES: I should greatly like, Eudicus, to ask Hippias the meaning of what he was saying just now about Homer. I have heard your father, Apemantus, declare that the Iliad of Homer is a finer poem than the Odyssey in the same degree that Achilles was a better man than Odysseus; Odysseus, he would say, is the central figure of the one poem and Achilles of the other. Now, I should like to know, if Hippias has no objection to tell me, what he thinks about these two heroes, and which of them he maintains to be the better; he has already told us in the course of his exhibition many things of various kinds about Homer and divers other poets.

EUDICUS: I am sure that Hippias will be delighted to answer anything which you would like to ask; tell me, Hippias, if Socrates asks you a question, will you answer him?

HIPPIAS: Indeed, Eudicus, I should be strangely inconsistent if I refused to answer Socrates, when at each Olympic festival, as I went up from my house at Elis to the temple of Olympia, where all the Hellenes were assembled, I continually professed my willingness to perform any of the exhibitions which I had prepared, and to answer any questions which any one had to ask.

SOCRATES: Truly, Hippias, you are to be congratulated, if at every Olympic festival you have such an encouraging opinion of your own wisdom when you go up to the temple. I doubt whether any muscular hero would be so fearless and confident in offering his body to the combat at Olympia, as you are in offering your mind.

HIPPIAS: And with good reason, Socrates; for since the day when I first entered the lists at Olympia I have never found any man who was my superior in anything. (Compare Gorgias.)

SOCRATES: What an ornament, Hippias, will the reputation of your wisdom be to the city of Elis and to your parents! But to return: what say you of Odysseus and Achilles? Which is the better of the two? and in what particular does either surpass the other? For when you were exhibiting and there was company in the room, though I could not follow you, I did not like to ask what you meant, because a crowd of people were present, and I was afraid that the question might interrupt your exhibition. But now that there are not so many of us, and my friend Eudicus bids me ask, I wish you would tell me what you were saying about these two heroes, so that I may clearly understand; how did you distinguish them?

HIPPIAS: I shall have much pleasure, Socrates, in explaining to you more clearly than I could in public my views about these and also about other heroes. I say that Homer intended Achilles to be the bravest of the men who went to Troy, Nestor the wisest, and Odysseus the wiliest.

SOCRATES: O rare Hippias, will you be so good as not to laugh, if I find a difficulty in following you, and repeat my questions several times over? Please to answer me kindly and gently.

HIPPIAS: I should be greatly ashamed of myself, Socrates, if I, who teach others and take money of them, could not, when I was asked by you, answer in a civil and agreeable manner.

SOCRATES: Thank you: the fact is, that I seemed to understand what you meant when you said that the poet intended Achilles to be the bravest of men, and also that he intended Nestor to be the wisest; but when you said that he meant Odysseus to be the wiliest, I must confess that I could not understand what you were saying. Will you tell me, and then I shall perhaps understand you better; has not Homer made Achilles wily?

HIPPIAS: Certainly not, Socrates; he is the most straight-forward of mankind, and when Homer introduces them talking with one another in the passage called the Prayers, Achilles is supposed by the poet to say to Odysseus: —

‘Son of Laertes, sprung from heaven, crafty Odysseus, I will speak out plainly the word which I intend to carry out in act, and which will, I believe, be accomplished. For I hate him like the gates of death who thinks one thing and says another. But I will speak that which shall be accomplished.’

Now, in these verses he clearly indicates the character of the two men; he shows Achilles to be true and simple, and Odysseus to be wily and false; for he supposes Achilles to be addressing Odysseus in these lines.

SOCRATES: Now, Hippias, I think that I understand your meaning; when you say that Odysseus is wily, you clearly mean that he is false?

HIPPIAS: Exactly so, Socrates; it is the character of Odysseus, as he is represented by Homer in many passages both of the Iliad and Odyssey.

SOCRATES: And Homer must be presumed to have meant that the true man is not the same as the false?

HIPPIAS: Of course, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And is that your own opinion, Hippias?

HIPPIAS: Certainly; how can I have any other?

SOCRATES: Well, then, as there is no possibility of asking Homer what he meant in these verses of his, let us leave him; but as you show a willingness to take up his cause, and your opinion agrees with what you declare to be his, will you answer on behalf of yourself and him?

HIPPIAS: I will; ask shortly anything which you like.

SOCRATES: Do you say that the false, like the sick, have no power to do things, or that they have the power to do things?

HIPPIAS: I should say that they have power to do many things, and in particular to deceive mankind.

SOCRATES: Then, according to you, they are both powerful and wily, are they not?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And are they wily, and do they deceive by reason of their simplicity and folly, or by reason of their cunning and a certain sort of prudence?

HIPPIAS: By reason of their cunning and prudence, most certainly.

SOCRATES: Then they are prudent, I suppose?

HIPPIAS: So they are — very.

SOCRATES: And if they are prudent, do they know or do they not know what they do?

HIPPIAS: Of course, they know very well; and that is why they do mischief to others.

SOCRATES: And having this knowledge, are they ignorant, or are they wise?

HIPPIAS: Wise, certainly; at least, in so far as they can deceive.

SOCRATES: Stop, and let us recall to mind what you are saying; are you not saying that the false are powerful and prudent and knowing and wise in those things about which they are false?

HIPPIAS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And the true differ from the false — the true and the false are the very opposite of each other?

HIPPIAS: That is my view.

SOCRATES: Then, according to your view, it would seem that the false are to be ranked in the class of the powerful and wise?

HIPPIAS: Assuredly.

SOCRATES: And when you say that the false are powerful and wise in so far as they are false, do you mean that they have or have not the power of uttering their falsehoods if they like?

HIPPIAS: I mean to say that they have the power.

SOCRATES: In a word, then, the false are they who are wise and have the power to speak falsely?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then a man who has not the power of speaking falsely and is ignorant cannot be false?

HIPPIAS: You are right.

SOCRATES: And every man has power who does that which he wishes at the time when he wishes. I am not speaking of any special case in which he is prevented by disease or something of that sort, but I am speaking generally, as I might say of you, that you are able to write my name when you like. Would you not call a man able who could do that?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And tell me, Hippias, are you not a skilful calculator and arithmetician?

HIPPIAS: Yes, Socrates, assuredly I am.

SOCRATES: And if some one were to ask you what is the sum of 3 multiplied by 700, you would tell him the true answer in a moment, if you pleased?

HIPPIAS: certainly I should.

SOCRATES: Is not that because you are the wisest and ablest of men in these matters?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And being as you are the wisest and ablest of men in these matters of calculation, are you not also the best?

HIPPIAS: To be sure, Socrates, I am the best.

SOCRATES: And therefore you would be the most able to tell the truth about these matters, would you not?

HIPPIAS: Yes, I should.

SOCRATES: And could you speak falsehoods about them equally well? I must beg, Hippias, that you will answer me with the same frankness and magnanimity which has hitherto characterized you. If a person were to ask you what is the sum of 3 multiplied by 700, would not you be the best and most consistent teller of a falsehood, having always the power of speaking falsely as you have of speaking truly, about these same matters, if you wanted to tell a falsehood, and not to answer truly? Would the ignorant man be better able to tell a falsehood in matters of calculation than you would be, if you chose? Might he not sometimes stumble upon the truth, when he wanted to tell a lie, because he did not know, whereas you who are the wise man, if you wanted to tell a lie would always and consistently lie?

HIPPIAS: Yes, there you are quite right.

SOCRATES: Does the false man tell lies about other things, but not about number, or when he is making a calculation?

HIPPIAS: To be sure; he would tell as many lies about number as about other things.

SOCRATES: Then may we further assume, Hippias, that there are men who are false about calculation and number?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Who can they be? For you have already admitted that he who is false must have the ability to be false: you said, as you will remember, that he who is unable to be false will not be false?

HIPPIAS: Yes, I remember; it was so said.

SOCRATES: And were you not yourself just now shown to be best able to speak falsely about calculation?

HIPPIAS: Yes; that was another thing which was said.

SOCRATES: And are you not likewise said to speak truly about calculation?

HIPPIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then the same person is able to speak both falsely and truly about calculation? And that person is he who is good at calculation — the arithmetician?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Who, then, Hippias, is discovered to be false at calculation? Is he not the good man? For the good man is the able man, and he is the true man.

HIPPIAS: That is evident.

SOCRATES: Do you not see, then, that the same man is false and also true about the same matters? And the true man is not a whit better than the false; for indeed he is the same with him and not the very opposite, as you were just now imagining.

HIPPIAS: Not in that instance, clearly.

SOCRATES: Shall we examine other instances?

HIPPIAS: Certainly, if you are disposed.

SOCRATES: Are you not also skilled in geometry?

HIPPIAS: I am.

SOCRATES: Well, and does not the same hold in that science also? Is not the same person best able to speak falsely or to speak truly about diagrams; and he is — the geometrician?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: He and no one else is good at it?

HIPPIAS: Yes, he and no one else.

SOCRATES: Then the good and wise geometer has this double power in the highest degree; and if there be a man who is false about diagrams the good man will be he, for he is able to be false; whereas the bad is unable, and for this reason is not false, as has been admitted.

HIPPIAS: True.

SOCRATES: Once more — let us examine a third case; that of the astronomer, in whose art, again, you, Hippias, profess to be a still greater proficient than in the preceding — do you not?

HIPPIAS: Yes, I am.

SOCRATES: And does not the same hold of astronomy?

HIPPIAS: True, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And in astronomy, too, if any man be able to speak falsely he will be the good astronomer, but he who is not able will not speak falsely, for he has no knowledge.

HIPPIAS: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: Then in astronomy also, the same man will be true and false?

HIPPIAS: It would seem so.

SOCRATES: And now, Hippias, consider the question at large about all the sciences, and see whether the same principle does not always hold. I know that in most arts you are the wisest of men, as I have heard you boasting in the agora at the tables of the money-changers, when you were setting forth the great and enviable stores of your wisdom; and you said that upon one occasion, when you went to the Olympic games, all that you had on your person was made by yourself. You began with your ring, which was of your own workmanship, and you said that you could engrave rings; and you had another seal which was also of your own workmanship, and a strigil and an oil flask, which you had made yourself; you said also that you had made the shoes which you had on your feet, and the cloak and the short tunic; but what appeared to us all most extraordinary and a proof of singular art, was the girdle of your tunic, which, you said, was as fine as the most costly Persian fabric, and of your own weaving; moreover, you told us that you had brought with you poems, epic, tragic, and dithyrambic, as well as prose writings of the most various kinds; and you said that your skill was also pre-eminent in the arts which I was just now mentioning, and in the true principles of rhythm and harmony and of orthography; and if I remember rightly, there were a great many other accomplishments in which you excelled. I have forgotten to mention your art of memory, which you regard as your special glory, and I dare say that I have forgotten many other things; but, as I was saying, only look to your own arts — and there are plenty of them — and to those of others; and tell me, having regard to the admissions which you and I have made, whether you discover any department of art or any description of wisdom or cunning, whichever name you use, in which the true and false are different and not the same: tell me, if you can, of any. But you cannot.

HIPPIAS: Not without consideration, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Nor will consideration help you, Hippias, as I believe; but then if I am right, remember what the consequence will be.

HIPPIAS: I do not know what you mean, Socrates.

SOCRATES: I suppose that you are not using your art of memory, doubtless because you think that such an accomplishment is not needed on the present occasion. I will therefore remind you of what you were saying: were you not saying that Achilles was a true man, and Odysseus false and wily?

HIPPIAS: I was.

SOCRATES: And now do you perceive that the same person has turned out to be false as well as true? If Odysseus is false he is also true, and if Achilles is true he is also false, and so the two men are not opposed to one another, but they are alike.

HIPPIAS: O Socrates, you are always weaving the meshes of an argument, selecting the most difficult point, and fastening upon details instead of grappling with the matter in hand as a whole. Come now, and I will demonstrate to you, if you will allow me, by many satisfactory proofs, that Homer has made Achilles a better man than Odysseus, and a truthful man too; and that he has made the other crafty, and a teller of many untruths, and inferior to Achilles. And then, if you please, you shall make a speech on the other side, in order to prove that Odysseus is the better man; and this may be compared to mine, and then the company will know which of us is the better speaker.

SOCRATES: O Hippias, I do not doubt that you are wiser than I am. But I have a way, when anybody else says anything, of giving close attention to him, especially if the speaker appears to me to be a wise man. Having a desire to understand, I question him, and I examine and analyse and put together what he says, in order that I may understand; but if the speaker appears to me to be a poor hand, I do not interrogate him, or trouble myself about him, and you may know by this who they are whom I deem to be wise men, for you will see that when I am talking with a wise man, I am very attentive to what he says; and I ask questions of him, in order that I may learn, and be improved by him. And I could not help remarking while you were speaking, that when you recited the verses in which Achilles, as you argued, attacks Odysseus as a deceiver, that you must be strangely mistaken, because Odysseus, the man of wiles, is never found to tell a lie; but Achilles is found to be wily on your own showing. At any rate he speaks falsely; for first he utters these words, which you just now repeated, —

‘He is hateful to me even as the gates of death who thinks one thing and says another:’ —

And then he says, a little while afterwards, he will not be persuaded by Odysseus and Agamemnon, neither will he remain at Troy; but, says he, —

‘To-morrow, when I have offered sacrifices to Zeus and all the Gods, having loaded my ships well, I will drag them down into the deep; and then you shall see, if you have a mind, and if such things are a care to you, early in the morning my ships sailing over the fishy Hellespont, and my men eagerly plying the oar; and, if the illustrious shaker of the earth gives me a good voyage, on the third day I shall reach the fertile Phthia.’

And before that, when he was reviling Agamemnon, he said, —

‘And now to Phthia I will go, since to return home in the beaked ships is far better, nor am I inclined to stay here in dishonour and amass wealth and riches for you.’

But although on that occasion, in the presence of the whole army, he spoke after this fashion, and on the other occasion to his companions, he appears never to have made any preparation or attempt to draw down the ships, as if he had the least intention of sailing home; so nobly regardless was he of the truth. Now I, Hippias, originally asked you the question, because I was in doubt as to which of the two heroes was intended by the poet to be the best, and because I thought that both of them were the best, and that it would be difficult to decide which was the better of them, not only in respect of truth and falsehood, but of virtue generally, for even in this matter of speaking the truth they are much upon a par.

HIPPIAS: There you are wrong, Socrates; for in so far as Achilles speaks falsely, the falsehood is obviously unintentional. He is compelled against his will to remain and rescue the army in their misfortune. But when Odysseus speaks falsely he is voluntarily and intentionally false.

SOCRATES: You, sweet Hippias, like Odysseus, are a deceiver yourself.

HIPPIAS: Certainly not, Socrates; what makes you say so?

SOCRATES: Because you say that Achilles does not speak falsely from design, when he is not only a deceiver, but besides being a braggart, in Homer’s description of him is so cunning, and so far superior to Odysseus in lying and pretending, that he dares to contradict himself, and Odysseus does not find him out; at any rate he does not appear to say anything to him which would imply that he perceived his falsehood.

HIPPIAS: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Did you not observe that afterwards, when he is speaking to Odysseus, he says that he will sail away with the early dawn; but to Ajax he tells quite a different story?

HIPPIAS: Where is that?

SOCRATES: Where he says, —

‘I will not think about bloody war until the son of warlike Priam, illustrious Hector, comes to the tents and ships of the Myrmidons, slaughtering the Argives, and burning the ships with fire; and about my tent and dark ship, I suspect that Hector, although eager for the battle, will nevertheless stay his hand.’

Now, do you really think, Hippias, that the son of Thetis, who had been the pupil of the sage Cheiron, had such a bad memory, or would have carried the art of lying to such an extent (when he had been assailing liars in the most violent terms only the instant before) as to say to Odysseus that he would sail away, and to Ajax that he would remain, and that he was not rather practising upon the simplicity of Odysseus, whom he regarded as an ancient, and thinking that he would get the better of him by his own cunning and falsehood?

HIPPIAS: No, I do not agree with you, Socrates; but I believe that Achilles is induced to say one thing to Ajax, and another to Odysseus in the innocence of his heart, whereas Odysseus, whether he speaks falsely or truly, speaks always with a purpose.

SOCRATES: Then Odysseus would appear after all to be better than Achilles?

HIPPIAS: Certainly not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Why, were not the voluntary liars only just now shown to be better than the involuntary?

HIPPIAS: And how, Socrates, can those who intentionally err, and voluntarily and designedly commit iniquities, be better than those who err and do wrong involuntarily? Surely there is a great excuse to be made for a man telling a falsehood, or doing an injury or any sort of harm to another in ignorance. And the laws are obviously far more severe on those who lie or do evil, voluntarily, than on those who do evil involuntarily.

SOCRATES: You see, Hippias, as I have already told you, how pertinacious I am in asking questions of wise men. And I think that this is the only good point about me, for I am full of defects, and always getting wrong in some way or other. My deficiency is proved to me by the fact that when I meet one of you who are famous for wisdom, and to whose wisdom all the Hellenes are witnesses, I am found out to know nothing. For speaking generally, I hardly ever have the same opinion about anything which you have, and what proof of ignorance can be greater than to differ from wise men? But I have one singular good quality, which is my salvation; I am not ashamed to learn, and I ask and enquire, and am very grateful to those who answer me, and never fail to give them my grateful thanks; and when I learn a thing I never deny my teacher, or pretend that the lesson is a discovery of my own; but I praise his wisdom, and proclaim what I have learned from him. And now I cannot agree in what you are saying, but I strongly disagree. Well, I know that this is my own fault, and is a defect in my character, but I will not pretend to be more than I am; and my opinion, Hippias, is the very contrary of what you are saying. For I maintain that those who hurt or injure mankind, and speak falsely and deceive, and err voluntarily, are better far than those who do wrong involuntarily. Sometimes, however, I am of the opposite opinion; for I am all abroad in my ideas about this matter, a condition obviously occasioned by ignorance. And just now I happen to be in a crisis of my disorder at which those who err voluntarily appear to me better than those who err involuntarily. My present state of mind is due to our previous argument, which inclines me to believe that in general those who do wrong involuntarily are worse than those who do wrong voluntarily, and therefore I hope that you will be good to me, and not refuse to heal me; for you will do me a much greater benefit if you cure my soul of ignorance, than you would if you were to cure my body of disease. I must, however, tell you beforehand, that if you make a long oration to me you will not cure me, for I shall not be able to follow you; but if you will answer me, as you did just now, you will do me a great deal of good, and I do not think that you will be any the worse yourself. And I have some claim upon you also, O son of Apemantus, for you incited me to converse with Hippias; and now, if Hippias will not answer me, you must entreat him on my behalf.

EUDICUS: But I do not think, Socrates, that Hippias will require any entreaty of mine; for he has already said that he will refuse to answer no man. — Did you not say so, Hippias?

HIPPIAS: Yes, I did; but then, Eudicus, Socrates is always troublesome in an argument, and appears to be dishonest. (Compare Gorgias; Republic.)

SOCRATES: Excellent Hippias, I do not do so intentionally (if I did, it would show me to be a wise man and a master of wiles, as you would argue), but unintentionally, and therefore you must pardon me; for, as you say, he who is unintentionally dishonest should be pardoned.

EUDICUS: Yes, Hippias, do as he says; and for our sake, and also that you may not belie your profession, answer whatever Socrates asks you.

HIPPIAS: I will answer, as you request me; and do you ask whatever you like.

SOCRATES: I am very desirous, Hippias, of examining this question, as to which are the better — those who err voluntarily or involuntarily? And if you will answer me, I think that I can put you in the way of approaching the subject: You would admit, would you not, that there are good runners?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And there are bad runners?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he who runs well is a good runner, and he who runs ill is a bad runner?

HIPPIAS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And he who runs slowly runs ill, and he who runs quickly runs well?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then in a race, and in running, swiftness is a good, and slowness is an evil quality?

HIPPIAS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: Which of the two then is a better runner? He who runs slowly voluntarily, or he who runs slowly involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: He who runs slowly voluntarily.

SOCRATES: And is not running a species of doing?

HIPPIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And if a species of doing, a species of action?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then he who runs badly does a bad and dishonourable action in a race?

HIPPIAS: Yes; a bad action, certainly.

SOCRATES: And he who runs slowly runs badly?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then the good runner does this bad and disgraceful action voluntarily, and the bad involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: That is to be inferred.

SOCRATES: Then he who involuntarily does evil actions, is worse in a race than he who does them voluntarily?

HIPPIAS: Yes, in a race.

SOCRATES: Well, but at a wrestling match — which is the better wrestler, he who falls voluntarily or involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: He who falls voluntarily, doubtless.

SOCRATES: And is it worse or more dishonourable at a wrestling match, to fall, or to throw another?

HIPPIAS: To fall.

SOCRATES: Then, at a wrestling match, he who voluntarily does base and dishonourable actions is a better wrestler than he who does them involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: That appears to be the truth.

SOCRATES: And what would you say of any other bodily exercise — is not he who is better made able to do both that which is strong and that which is weak — that which is fair and that which is foul? — so that when he does bad actions with the body, he who is better made does them voluntarily, and he who is worse made does them involuntarily.

HIPPIAS: Yes, that appears to be true about strength.

SOCRATES: And what do you say about grace, Hippias? Is not he who is better made able to assume evil and disgraceful figures and postures voluntarily, as he who is worse made assumes them involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: True.

SOCRATES: Then voluntary ungracefulness comes from excellence of the bodily frame, and involuntary from the defect of the bodily frame?

HIPPIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And what would you say of an unmusical voice; would you prefer the voice which is voluntarily or involuntarily out of tune?

HIPPIAS: That which is voluntarily out of tune.

SOCRATES: The involuntary is the worse of the two?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And would you choose to possess goods or evils?

HIPPIAS: Goods.

SOCRATES: And would you rather have feet which are voluntarily or involuntarily lame?

HIPPIAS: Feet which are voluntarily lame.

SOCRATES: But is not lameness a defect or deformity?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is not blinking a defect in the eyes?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And would you rather always have eyes with which you might voluntarily blink and not see, or with which you might involuntarily blink?

HIPPIAS: I would rather have eyes which voluntarily blink.

SOCRATES: Then in your own case you deem that which voluntarily acts ill, better than that which involuntarily acts ill?

HIPPIAS: Yes, certainly, in cases such as you mention.

SOCRATES: And does not the same hold of ears, nostrils, mouth, and of all the senses — those which involuntarily act ill are not to be desired, as being defective; and those which voluntarily act ill are to be desired as being good?

HIPPIAS: I agree.

SOCRATES: And what would you say of instruments; — which are the better sort of instruments to have to do with? — those with which a man acts ill voluntarily or involuntarily? For example, had a man better have a rudder with which he will steer ill, voluntarily or involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: He had better have a rudder with which he will steer ill voluntarily.

SOCRATES: And does not the same hold of the bow and the lyre, the flute and all other things?

HIPPIAS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And would you rather have a horse of such a temper that you may ride him ill voluntarily or involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: I would rather have a horse which I could ride ill voluntarily.

SOCRATES: That would be the better horse?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then with a horse of better temper, vicious actions would be produced voluntarily; and with a horse of bad temper involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And that would be true of a dog, or of any other animal?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is it better to possess the mind of an archer who voluntarily or involuntarily misses the mark?

HIPPIAS: Of him who voluntarily misses.

SOCRATES: This would be the better mind for the purposes of archery?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then the mind which involuntarily errs is worse than the mind which errs voluntarily?

HIPPIAS: Yes, certainly, in the use of the bow.

SOCRATES: And what would you say of the art of medicine; — has not the mind which voluntarily works harm to the body, more of the healing art?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then in the art of medicine the voluntary is better than the involuntary?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well, and in lute-playing and in flute-playing, and in all arts and sciences, is not that mind the better which voluntarily does what is evil and dishonourable, and goes wrong, and is not the worse that which does so involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: That is evident.

SOCRATES: And what would you say of the characters of slaves? Should we not prefer to have those who voluntarily do wrong and make mistakes, and are they not better in their mistakes than those who commit them involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And should we not desire to have our own minds in the best state possible?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And will our minds be better if they do wrong and make mistakes voluntarily or involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: O, Socrates, it would be a monstrous thing to say that those who do wrong voluntarily are better than those who do wrong involuntarily!

SOCRATES: And yet that appears to be the only inference.

HIPPIAS: I do not think so.

SOCRATES: But I imagined, Hippias, that you did. Please to answer once more: Is not justice a power, or knowledge, or both? Must not justice, at all events, be one of these?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But if justice is a power of the soul, then the soul which has the greater power is also the more just; for that which has the greater power, my good friend, has been proved by us to be the better.

HIPPIAS: Yes, that has been proved.

SOCRATES: And if justice is knowledge, then the wiser will be the juster soul, and the more ignorant the more unjust?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But if justice be power as well as knowledge — then will not the soul which has both knowledge and power be the more just, and that which is the more ignorant be the more unjust? Must it not be so?

HIPPIAS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And is not the soul which has the greater power and wisdom also better, and better able to do both good and evil in every action?

HIPPIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The soul, then, which acts ill, acts voluntarily by power and art — and these either one or both of them are elements of justice?

HIPPIAS: That seems to be true.

SOCRATES: And to do injustice is to do ill, and not to do injustice is to do well?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And will not the better and abler soul when it does wrong, do wrong voluntarily, and the bad soul involuntarily?

HIPPIAS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And the good man is he who has the good soul, and the bad man is he who has the bad?

HIPPIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then the good man will voluntarily do wrong, and the bad man involuntarily, if the good man is he who has the good soul?

HIPPIAS: Which he certainly has.

SOCRATES: Then, Hippias, he who voluntarily does wrong and disgraceful things, if there be such a man, will be the good man?

HIPPIAS: There I cannot agree with you.

SOCRATES: Nor can I agree with myself, Hippias; and yet that seems to be the conclusion which, as far as we can see at present, must follow from our argument. As I was saying before, I am all abroad, and being in perplexity am always changing my opinion. Now, that I or any ordinary man should wander in perplexity is not surprising; but if you wise men also wander, and we cannot come to you and rest from our wandering, the matter begins to be serious both to us and to you.

FIRST ALCIBIADES

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This early dialogue features the charismatic young politician Alcibiades in conversation with Socrates. The first topic they discuss is the essence of politics, war and peace. Prodded by Socrates’ questioning Alcibiades admits that he has never learned the nature of justice from a master nor has discovered it by himself. Alcibiades suggests that politics is not about justice, but expediency and the two principles could be opposed. Socrates persuades him that he was mistaken, and there is no expediency without justice. The humiliated youth concedes that he knows nothing about politics.  Later Alcibiades says that he is not concerned about his ignorance because all the other Athenian politicians are ignorant. Socrates reminds him that his true rivals are the kings of Sparta and Persia. He delivers a long lecture about the careful education, glorious might and unparalleled richness of these foreign rulers. Alcibiades has got cold feet which was exactly the purpose of Socrates’ speech.

A papyrus fragment of the dialogue

‘Socrates dragging Alcibiades from the Embrace of Sensual Pleasure’ by Jean-Baptiste Regnault 1791

ALCIBIADES I

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

ALCIBIADES

SOCRATES

SOCRATES: I dare say that you may be surprised to find, O son of Cleinias, that I, who am your first lover, not having spoken to you for many years, when the rest of the world were wearying you with their attentions, am the last of your lovers who still speaks to you. The cause of my silence has been that I was hindered by a power more than human, of which I will some day explain to you the nature; this impediment has now been removed; I therefore here present myself before you, and I greatly hope that no similar hindrance will again occur. Meanwhile, I have observed that your pride has been too much for the pride of your admirers; they were numerous and high-spirited, but they have all run away, overpowered by your superior force of character; not one of them remains. And I want you to understand the reason why you have been too much for them. You think that you have no need of them or of any other man, for you have great possessions and lack nothing, beginning with the body, and ending with the soul. In the first place, you say to yourself that you are the fairest and tallest of the citizens, and this every one who has eyes may see to be true; in the second place, that you are among the noblest of them, highly connected both on the father’s and the mother’s side, and sprung from one of the most distinguished families in your own state, which is the greatest in Hellas, and having many friends and kinsmen of the best sort, who can assist you when in need; and there is one potent relative, who is more to you than all the rest, Pericles the son of Xanthippus, whom your father left guardian of you, and of your brother, and who can do as he pleases not only in this city, but in all Hellas, and among many and mighty barbarous nations. Moreover, you are rich; but I must say that you value yourself least of all upon your possessions. And all these things have lifted you up; you have overcome your lovers, and they have acknowledged that you were too much for them. Have you not remarked their absence? And now I know that you wonder why I, unlike the rest of them, have not gone away, and what can be my motive in remaining.

ALCIBIADES: Perhaps, Socrates, you are not aware that I was just going to ask you the very same question — What do you want? And what is your motive in annoying me, and always, wherever I am, making a point of coming? (Compare Symp.) I do really wonder what you mean, and should greatly like to know.

SOCRATES: Then if, as you say, you desire to know, I suppose that you will be willing to hear, and I may consider myself to be speaking to an auditor who will remain, and will not run away?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly, let me hear.

SOCRATES: You had better be careful, for I may very likely be as unwilling to end as I have hitherto been to begin.

ALCIBIADES: Proceed, my good man, and I will listen.

SOCRATES: I will proceed; and, although no lover likes to speak with one who has no feeling of love in him (compare Symp.), I will make an effort, and tell you what I meant: My love, Alcibiades, which I hardly like to confess, would long ago have passed away, as I flatter myself, if I saw you loving your good things, or thinking that you ought to pass life in the enjoyment of them. But I shall reveal other thoughts of yours, which you keep to yourself; whereby you will know that I have always had my eye on you. Suppose that at this moment some God came to you and said: Alcibiades, will you live as you are, or die in an instant if you are forbidden to make any further acquisition? — I verily believe that you would choose death. And I will tell you the hope in which you are at present living: Before many days have elapsed, you think that you will come before the Athenian assembly, and will prove to them that you are more worthy of honour than Pericles, or any other man that ever lived, and having proved this, you will have the greatest power in the state. When you have gained the greatest power among us, you will go on to other Hellenic states, and not only to Hellenes, but to all the barbarians who inhabit the same continent with us. And if the God were then to say to you again: Here in Europe is to be your seat of empire, and you must not cross over into Asia or meddle with Asiatic affairs, I do not believe that you would choose to live upon these terms; but the world, as I may say, must be filled with your power and name — no man less than Cyrus and Xerxes is of any account with you. Such I know to be your hopes — I am not guessing only — and very likely you, who know that I am speaking the truth, will reply, Well, Socrates, but what have my hopes to do with the explanation which you promised of your unwillingness to leave me? And that is what I am now going to tell you, sweet son of Cleinias and Dinomache. The explanation is, that all these designs of yours cannot be accomplished by you without my help; so great is the power which I believe myself to have over you and your concerns; and this I conceive to be the reason why the God has hitherto forbidden me to converse with you, and I have been long expecting his permission. For, as you hope to prove your own great value to the state, and having proved it, to attain at once to absolute power, so do I indulge a hope that I shall be the supreme power over you, if I am able to prove my own great value to you, and to show you that neither guardian, nor kinsman, nor any one is able to deliver into your hands the power which you desire, but I only, God being my helper. When you were young (compare Symp.) and your hopes were not yet matured, I should have wasted my time, and therefore, as I conceive, the God forbade me to converse with you; but now, having his permission, I will speak, for now you will listen to me.

ALCIBIADES: Your silence, Socrates, was always a surprise to me. I never could understand why you followed me about, and now that you have begun to speak again, I am still more amazed. Whether I think all this or not, is a matter about which you seem to have already made up your mind, and therefore my denial will have no effect upon you. But granting, if I must, that you have perfectly divined my purposes, why is your assistance necessary to the attainment of them? Can you tell me why?

SOCRATES: You want to know whether I can make a long speech, such as you are in the habit of hearing; but that is not my way. I think, however, that I can prove to you the truth of what I am saying, if you will grant me one little favour.

ALCIBIADES: Yes, if the favour which you mean be not a troublesome one.

SOCRATES: Will you be troubled at having questions to answer?

ALCIBIADES: Not at all.

SOCRATES: Then please to answer.

ALCIBIADES: Ask me.

SOCRATES: Have you not the intention which I attribute to you?

ALCIBIADES: I will grant anything you like, in the hope of hearing what more you have to say.

SOCRATES: You do, then, mean, as I was saying, to come forward in a little while in the character of an adviser of the Athenians? And suppose that when you are ascending the bema, I pull you by the sleeve and say, Alcibiades, you are getting up to advise the Athenians — do you know the matter about which they are going to deliberate, better than they? — How would you answer?

ALCIBIADES: I should reply, that I was going to advise them about a matter which I do know better than they.

SOCRATES: Then you are a good adviser about the things which you know?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And do you know anything but what you have learned of others, or found out yourself?

ALCIBIADES: That is all.

SOCRATES: And would you have ever learned or discovered anything, if you had not been willing either to learn of others or to examine yourself?

ALCIBIADES: I should not.

SOCRATES: And would you have been willing to learn or to examine what you supposed that you knew?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then there was a time when you thought that you did not know what you are now supposed to know?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: I think that I know tolerably well the extent of your acquirements; and you must tell me if I forget any of them: according to my recollection, you learned the arts of writing, of playing on the lyre, and of wrestling; the flute you never would learn; this is the sum of your accomplishments, unless there were some which you acquired in secret; and I think that secrecy was hardly possible, as you could not have come out of your door, either by day or night, without my seeing you.

ALCIBIADES: Yes, that was the whole of my schooling.

SOCRATES: And are you going to get up in the Athenian assembly, and give them advice about writing?

ALCIBIADES: No, indeed.

SOCRATES: Or about the touch of the lyre?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And they are not in the habit of deliberating about wrestling, in the assembly?

ALCIBIADES: Hardly.

SOCRATES: Then what are the deliberations in which you propose to advise them? Surely not about building?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: For the builder will advise better than you will about that?

ALCIBIADES: He will.

SOCRATES: Nor about divination?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: About that again the diviner will advise better than you will?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Whether he be little or great, good or ill-looking, noble or ignoble — makes no difference.

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: A man is a good adviser about anything, not because he has riches, but because he has knowledge?

ALCIBIADES: Assuredly.

SOCRATES: Whether their counsellor is rich or poor, is not a matter which will make any difference to the Athenians when they are deliberating about the health of the citizens; they only require that he should be a physician.

ALCIBIADES: Of course.

SOCRATES: Then what will be the subject of deliberation about which you will be justified in getting up and advising them?

ALCIBIADES: About their own concerns, Socrates.

SOCRATES: You mean about shipbuilding, for example, when the question is what sort of ships they ought to build?

ALCIBIADES: No, I should not advise them about that.

SOCRATES: I suppose, because you do not understand shipbuilding: — is that the reason?

ALCIBIADES: It is.

SOCRATES: Then about what concerns of theirs will you advise them?

ALCIBIADES: About war, Socrates, or about peace, or about any other concerns of the state.

SOCRATES: You mean, when they deliberate with whom they ought to make peace, and with whom they ought to go to war, and in what manner?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And they ought to go to war with those against whom it is better to go to war?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And when it is better?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And for as long a time as is better?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: But suppose the Athenians to deliberate with whom they ought to close in wrestling, and whom they should grasp by the hand, would you, or the master of gymnastics, be a better adviser of them?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly, the master of gymnastics.

SOCRATES: And can you tell me on what grounds the master of gymnastics would decide, with whom they ought or ought not to close, and when and how? To take an instance: Would he not say that they should wrestle with those against whom it is best to wrestle?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And as much as is best?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And at such times as are best?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Again; you sometimes accompany the lyre with the song and dance?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: When it is well to do so?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And as much as is well?

ALCIBIADES: Just so.

SOCRATES: And as you speak of an excellence or art of the best in wrestling, and of an excellence in playing the lyre, I wish you would tell me what this latter is; — the excellence of wrestling I call gymnastic, and I want to know what you call the other.

ALCIBIADES: I do not understand you.

SOCRATES: Then try to do as I do; for the answer which I gave is universally right, and when I say right, I mean according to rule.

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And was not the art of which I spoke gymnastic?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And I called the excellence in wrestling gymnastic?

ALCIBIADES: You did.

SOCRATES: And I was right?

ALCIBIADES: I think that you were.

SOCRATES: Well, now, — for you should learn to argue prettily — let me ask you in return to tell me, first, what is that art of which playing and singing, and stepping properly in the dance, are parts, — what is the name of the whole? I think that by this time you must be able to tell.

ALCIBIADES: Indeed I cannot.

SOCRATES: Then let me put the matter in another way: what do you call the Goddesses who are the patronesses of art?

ALCIBIADES: The Muses do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Yes, I do; and what is the name of the art which is called after them?

ALCIBIADES: I suppose that you mean music.

SOCRATES: Yes, that is my meaning; and what is the excellence of the art of music, as I told you truly that the excellence of wrestling was gymnastic — what is the excellence of music — to be what?

ALCIBIADES: To be musical, I suppose.

SOCRATES: Very good; and now please to tell me what is the excellence of war and peace; as the more musical was the more excellent, or the more gymnastical was the more excellent, tell me, what name do you give to the more excellent in war and peace?

ALCIBIADES: But I really cannot tell you.

SOCRATES: But if you were offering advice to another and said to him — This food is better than that, at this time and in this quantity, and he said to you — What do you mean, Alcibiades, by the word ‘better’? you would have no difficulty in replying that you meant ‘more wholesome,’ although you do not profess to be a physician: and when the subject is one of which you profess to have knowledge, and about which you are ready to get up and advise as if you knew, are you not ashamed, when you are asked, not to be able to answer the question? Is it not disgraceful?

ALCIBIADES: Very.

SOCRATES: Well, then, consider and try to explain what is the meaning of ‘better,’ in the matter of making peace and going to war with those against whom you ought to go to war? To what does the word refer?

ALCIBIADES: I am thinking, and I cannot tell.

SOCRATES: But you surely know what are the charges which we bring against one another, when we arrive at the point of making war, and what name we give them?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, certainly; we say that deceit or violence has been employed, or that we have been defrauded.

SOCRATES: And how does this happen? Will you tell me how? For there may be a difference in the manner.

ALCIBIADES: Do you mean by ‘how,’ Socrates, whether we suffered these things justly or unjustly?

SOCRATES: Exactly.

ALCIBIADES: There can be no greater difference than between just and unjust.

SOCRATES: And would you advise the Athenians to go to war with the just or with the unjust?

ALCIBIADES: That is an awkward question; for certainly, even if a person did intend to go to war with the just, he would not admit that they were just.

SOCRATES: He would not go to war, because it would be unlawful?

ALCIBIADES: Neither lawful nor honourable.

SOCRATES: Then you, too, would address them on principles of justice?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: What, then, is justice but that better, of which I spoke, in going to war or not going to war with those against whom we ought or ought not, and when we ought or ought not to go to war?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But how is this, friend Alcibiades? Have you forgotten that you do not know this, or have you been to the schoolmaster without my knowledge, and has he taught you to discern the just from the unjust? Who is he? I wish you would tell me, that I may go and learn of him — you shall introduce me.

ALCIBIADES: You are mocking, Socrates.

SOCRATES: No, indeed; I most solemnly declare to you by Zeus, who is the God of our common friendship, and whom I never will forswear, that I am not; tell me, then, who this instructor is, if he exists.

ALCIBIADES: But, perhaps, he does not exist; may I not have acquired the knowledge of just and unjust in some other way?

SOCRATES: Yes; if you have discovered them.

ALCIBIADES: But do you not think that I could discover them?

SOCRATES: I am sure that you might, if you enquired about them.

ALCIBIADES: And do you not think that I would enquire?

SOCRATES: Yes; if you thought that you did not know them.

ALCIBIADES: And was there not a time when I did so think?

SOCRATES: Very good; and can you tell me how long it is since you thought that you did not know the nature of the just and the unjust? What do you say to a year ago? Were you then in a state of conscious ignorance and enquiry? Or did you think that you knew? And please to answer truly, that our discussion may not be in vain.

ALCIBIADES: Well, I thought that I knew.

SOCRATES: And two years ago, and three years ago, and four years ago, you knew all the same?

ALCIBIADES: I did.

SOCRATES: And more than four years ago you were a child — were you not?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And then I am quite sure that you thought you knew.

ALCIBIADES: Why are you so sure?

SOCRATES: Because I often heard you when a child, in your teacher’s house, or elsewhere, playing at dice or some other game with the boys, not hesitating at all about the nature of the just and unjust; but very confident — crying and shouting that one of the boys was a rogue and a cheat, and had been cheating. Is it not true?

ALCIBIADES: But what was I to do, Socrates, when anybody cheated me?

SOCRATES: And how can you say, ‘What was I to do’? if at the time you did not know whether you were wronged or not?

ALCIBIADES: To be sure I knew; I was quite aware that I was being cheated.

SOCRATES: Then you suppose yourself even when a child to have known the nature of just and unjust?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly; and I did know then.

SOCRATES: And when did you discover them — not, surely, at the time when you thought that you knew them?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And when did you think that you were ignorant — if you consider, you will find that there never was such a time?

ALCIBIADES: Really, Socrates, I cannot say.

SOCRATES: Then you did not learn them by discovering them?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: But just before you said that you did not know them by learning; now, if you have neither discovered nor learned them, how and whence do you come to know them?

ALCIBIADES: I suppose that I was mistaken in saying that I knew them through my own discovery of them; whereas, in truth, I learned them in the same way that other people learn.

SOCRATES: So you said before, and I must again ask, of whom? Do tell me.

ALCIBIADES: Of the many.

SOCRATES: Do you take refuge in them? I cannot say much for your teachers.

ALCIBIADES: Why, are they not able to teach?

SOCRATES: They could not teach you how to play at draughts, which you would acknowledge (would you not) to be a much smaller matter than justice?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And can they teach the better who are unable to teach the worse?

ALCIBIADES: I think that they can; at any rate, they can teach many far better things than to play at draughts.

SOCRATES: What things?

ALCIBIADES: Why, for example, I learned to speak Greek of them, and I cannot say who was my teacher, or to whom I am to attribute my knowledge of Greek, if not to those good-for-nothing teachers, as you call them.

SOCRATES: Why, yes, my friend; and the many are good enough teachers of Greek, and some of their instructions in that line may be justly praised.

ALCIBIADES: Why is that?

SOCRATES: Why, because they have the qualities which good teachers ought to have.

ALCIBIADES: What qualities?

SOCRATES: Why, you know that knowledge is the first qualification of any teacher?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And if they know, they must agree together and not differ?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And would you say that they knew the things about which they differ?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: Then how can they teach them?

ALCIBIADES: They cannot.

SOCRATES: Well, but do you imagine that the many would differ about the nature of wood and stone? are they not agreed if you ask them what they are? and do they not run to fetch the same thing, when they want a piece of wood or a stone? And so in similar cases, which I suspect to be pretty nearly all that you mean by speaking Greek.

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: These, as we were saying, are matters about which they are agreed with one another and with themselves; both individuals and states use the same words about them; they do not use some one word and some another.

ALCIBIADES: They do not.

SOCRATES: Then they may be expected to be good teachers of these things?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if we want to instruct any one in them, we shall be right in sending him to be taught by our friends the many?

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: But if we wanted further to know not only which are men and which are horses, but which men or horses have powers of running, would the many still be able to inform us?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And you have a sufficient proof that they do not know these things and are not the best teachers of them, inasmuch as they are never agreed about them?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And suppose that we wanted to know not only what men are like, but what healthy or diseased men are like — would the many be able to teach us?

ALCIBIADES: They would not.

SOCRATES: And you would have a proof that they were bad teachers of these matters, if you saw them at variance?

ALCIBIADES: I should.

SOCRATES: Well, but are the many agreed with themselves, or with one another, about the justice or injustice of men and things?

ALCIBIADES: Assuredly not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: There is no subject about which they are more at variance?

ALCIBIADES: None.

SOCRATES: I do not suppose that you ever saw or heard of men quarrelling over the principles of health and disease to such an extent as to go to war and kill one another for the sake of them?

ALCIBIADES: No indeed.

SOCRATES: But of the quarrels about justice and injustice, even if you have never seen them, you have certainly heard from many people, including Homer; for you have heard of the Iliad and Odyssey?

ALCIBIADES: To be sure, Socrates.

SOCRATES: A difference of just and unjust is the argument of those poems?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Which difference caused all the wars and deaths of Trojans and Achaeans, and the deaths of the suitors of Penelope in their quarrel with Odysseus.

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And when the Athenians and Lacedaemonians and Boeotians fell at Tanagra, and afterwards in the battle of Coronea, at which your father Cleinias met his end, the question was one of justice — this was the sole cause of the battles, and of their deaths.

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: But can they be said to understand that about which they are quarrelling to the death?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: And yet those whom you thus allow to be ignorant are the teachers to whom you are appealing.

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: But how are you ever likely to know the nature of justice and injustice, about which you are so perplexed, if you have neither learned them of others nor discovered them yourself?

ALCIBIADES: From what you say, I suppose not.

SOCRATES: See, again, how inaccurately you speak, Alcibiades!

ALCIBIADES: In what respect?

SOCRATES: In saying that I say so.

ALCIBIADES: Why, did you not say that I know nothing of the just and unjust?

SOCRATES: No; I did not.

ALCIBIADES: Did I, then?

SOCRATES: Yes.

ALCIBIADES: How was that?

SOCRATES: Let me explain. Suppose I were to ask you which is the greater number, two or one; you would reply ‘two’?

ALCIBIADES: I should.

SOCRATES: And by how much greater?

ALCIBIADES: By one.

SOCRATES: Which of us now says that two is more than one?

ALCIBIADES: I do.

SOCRATES: Did not I ask, and you answer the question?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then who is speaking? I who put the question, or you who answer me?

ALCIBIADES: I am.

SOCRATES: Or suppose that I ask and you tell me the letters which make up the name Socrates, which of us is the speaker?

ALCIBIADES: I am.

SOCRATES: Now let us put the case generally: whenever there is a question and answer, who is the speaker, — the questioner or the answerer?

ALCIBIADES: I should say, Socrates, that the answerer was the speaker.

SOCRATES: And have I not been the questioner all through?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And you the answerer?

ALCIBIADES: Just so.

SOCRATES: Which of us, then, was the speaker?

ALCIBIADES: The inference is, Socrates, that I was the speaker.

SOCRATES: Did not some one say that Alcibiades, the fair son of Cleinias, not understanding about just and unjust, but thinking that he did understand, was going to the assembly to advise the Athenians about what he did not know? Was not that said?

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then, Alcibiades, the result may be expressed in the language of Euripides. I think that you have heard all this ‘from yourself, and not from me’; nor did I say this, which you erroneously attribute to me, but you yourself, and what you said was very true. For indeed, my dear fellow, the design which you meditate of teaching what you do not know, and have not taken any pains to learn, is downright insanity.

ALCIBIADES: But, Socrates, I think that the Athenians and the rest of the Hellenes do not often advise as to the more just or unjust; for they see no difficulty in them, and therefore they leave them, and consider which course of action will be most expedient; for there is a difference between justice and expediency. Many persons have done great wrong and profited by their injustice; others have done rightly and come to no good.

SOCRATES: Well, but granting that the just and the expedient are ever so much opposed, you surely do not imagine that you know what is expedient for mankind, or why a thing is expedient?

ALCIBIADES: Why not, Socrates? — But I am not going to be asked again from whom I learned, or when I made the discovery.

SOCRATES: What a way you have! When you make a mistake which might be refuted by a previous argument, you insist on having a new and different refutation; the old argument is a worn-our garment which you will no longer put on, but some one must produce another which is clean and new. Now I shall disregard this move of yours, and shall ask over again, — Where did you learn and how do you know the nature of the expedient, and who is your teacher? All this I comprehend in a single question, and now you will manifestly be in the old difficulty, and will not be able to show that you know the expedient, either because you learned or because you discovered it yourself. But, as I perceive that you are dainty, and dislike the taste of a stale argument, I will enquire no further into your knowledge of what is expedient or what is not expedient for the Athenian people, and simply request you to say why you do not explain whether justice and expediency are the same or different? And if you like you may examine me as I have examined you, or, if you would rather, you may carry on the discussion by yourself.

ALCIBIADES: But I am not certain, Socrates, whether I shall be able to discuss the matter with you.

SOCRATES: Then imagine, my dear fellow, that I am the demus and the ecclesia; for in the ecclesia, too, you will have to persuade men individually.

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is not the same person able to persuade one individual singly and many individuals of the things which he knows? The grammarian, for example, can persuade one and he can persuade many about letters.

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And about number, will not the same person persuade one and persuade many?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And this will be he who knows number, or the arithmetician?

ALCIBIADES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And cannot you persuade one man about that of which you can persuade many?

ALCIBIADES: I suppose so.

SOCRATES: And that of which you can persuade either is clearly what you know?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the only difference between one who argues as we are doing, and the orator who is addressing an assembly, is that the one seeks to persuade a number, and the other an individual, of the same things.

ALCIBIADES: I suppose so.

SOCRATES: Well, then, since the same person who can persuade a multitude can persuade individuals, try conclusions upon me, and prove to me that the just is not always expedient.

ALCIBIADES: You take liberties, Socrates.

SOCRATES: I shall take the liberty of proving to you the opposite of that which you will not prove to me.

ALCIBIADES: Proceed.

SOCRATES: Answer my questions — that is all.

ALCIBIADES: Nay, I should like you to be the speaker.

SOCRATES: What, do you not wish to be persuaded?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly I do.

SOCRATES: And can you be persuaded better than out of your own mouth?

ALCIBIADES: I think not.

SOCRATES: Then you shall answer; and if you do not hear the words, that the just is the expedient, coming from your own lips, never believe another man again.

ALCIBIADES: I won’t; but answer I will, for I do not see how I can come to any harm.

SOCRATES: A true prophecy! Let me begin then by enquiring of you whether you allow that the just is sometimes expedient and sometimes not?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And sometimes honourable and sometimes not?

ALCIBIADES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I am asking if you ever knew any one who did what was dishonourable and yet just?

ALCIBIADES: Never.

SOCRATES: All just things are honourable?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And are honourable things sometimes good and sometimes not good, or are they always good?

ALCIBIADES: I rather think, Socrates, that some honourable things are evil.

SOCRATES: And are some dishonourable things good?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: You mean in such a case as the following: — In time of war, men have been wounded or have died in rescuing a companion or kinsman, when others who have neglected the duty of rescuing them have escaped in safety?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And to rescue another under such circumstances is honourable, in respect of the attempt to save those whom we ought to save; and this is courage?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But evil in respect of death and wounds?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the courage which is shown in the rescue is one thing, and the death another?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then the rescue of one’s friends is honourable in one point of view, but evil in another?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And if honourable, then also good: Will you consider now whether I may not be right, for you were acknowledging that the courage which is shown in the rescue is honourable? Now is this courage good or evil? Look at the matter thus: which would you rather choose, good or evil?

ALCIBIADES: Good.

SOCRATES: And the greatest goods you would be most ready to choose, and would least like to be deprived of them?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: What would you say of courage? At what price would you be willing to be deprived of courage?

ALCIBIADES: I would rather die than be a coward.

SOCRATES: Then you think that cowardice is the worst of evils?

ALCIBIADES: I do.

SOCRATES: As bad as death, I suppose?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And life and courage are the extreme opposites of death and cowardice?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And they are what you would most desire to have, and their opposites you would least desire?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Is this because you think life and courage the best, and death and cowardice the worst?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And you would term the rescue of a friend in battle honourable, in as much as courage does a good work?

ALCIBIADES: I should.

SOCRATES: But evil because of the death which ensues?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Might we not describe their different effects as follows: — You may call either of them evil in respect of the evil which is the result, and good in respect of the good which is the result of either of them?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And they are honourable in so far as they are good, and dishonourable in so far as they are evil?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Then when you say that the rescue of a friend in battle is honourable and yet evil, that is equivalent to saying that the rescue is good and yet evil?

ALCIBIADES: I believe that you are right, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Nothing honourable, regarded as honourable, is evil; nor anything base, regarded as base, good.

ALCIBIADES: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: Look at the matter yet once more in a further light: he who acts honourably acts well?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he who acts well is happy?

ALCIBIADES: Of course.

SOCRATES: And the happy are those who obtain good?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And they obtain good by acting well and honourably?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then acting well is a good?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And happiness is a good?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then the good and the honourable are again identified.

ALCIBIADES: Manifestly.

SOCRATES: Then, if the argument holds, what we find to be honourable we shall also find to be good?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And is the good expedient or not?

ALCIBIADES: Expedient.

SOCRATES: Do you remember our admissions about the just?

ALCIBIADES: Yes; if I am not mistaken, we said that those who acted justly must also act honourably.

SOCRATES: And the honourable is the good?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the good is expedient?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then, Alcibiades, the just is expedient?

ALCIBIADES: I should infer so.

SOCRATES: And all this I prove out of your own mouth, for I ask and you answer?

ALCIBIADES: I must acknowledge it to be true.

SOCRATES: And having acknowledged that the just is the same as the expedient, are you not (let me ask) prepared to ridicule any one who, pretending to understand the principles of justice and injustice, gets up to advise the noble Athenians or the ignoble Peparethians, that the just may be the evil?

ALCIBIADES: I solemnly declare, Socrates, that I do not know what I am saying. Verily, I am in a strange state, for when you put questions to me I am of different minds in successive instants.

SOCRATES: And are you not aware of the nature of this perplexity, my friend?

ALCIBIADES: Indeed I am not.

SOCRATES: Do you suppose that if some one were to ask you whether you have two eyes or three, or two hands or four, or anything of that sort, you would then be of different minds in successive instants?

ALCIBIADES: I begin to distrust myself, but still I do not suppose that I should.

SOCRATES: You would feel no doubt; and for this reason — because you would know?

ALCIBIADES: I suppose so.

SOCRATES: And the reason why you involuntarily contradict yourself is clearly that you are ignorant?

ALCIBIADES: Very likely.

SOCRATES: And if you are perplexed in answering about just and unjust, honourable and dishonourable, good and evil, expedient and inexpedient, the reason is that you are ignorant of them, and therefore in perplexity. Is not that clear?

ALCIBIADES: I agree.

SOCRATES: But is this always the case, and is a man necessarily perplexed about that of which he has no knowledge?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly he is.

SOCRATES: And do you know how to ascend into heaven?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And in this case, too, is your judgment perplexed?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: Do you see the reason why, or shall I tell you?

ALCIBIADES: Tell me.

SOCRATES: The reason is, that you not only do not know, my friend, but you do not think that you know.

ALCIBIADES: There again; what do you mean?

SOCRATES: Ask yourself; are you in any perplexity about things of which you are ignorant? You know, for example, that you know nothing about the preparation of food.

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And do you think and perplex yourself about the preparation of food: or do you leave that to some one who understands the art?

ALCIBIADES: The latter.

SOCRATES: Or if you were on a voyage, would you bewilder yourself by considering whether the rudder is to be drawn inwards or outwards, or do you leave that to the pilot, and do nothing?

ALCIBIADES: It would be the concern of the pilot.

SOCRATES: Then you are not perplexed about what you do not know, if you know that you do not know it?

ALCIBIADES: I imagine not.

SOCRATES: Do you not see, then, that mistakes in life and practice are likewise to be attributed to the ignorance which has conceit of knowledge?

ALCIBIADES: Once more, what do you mean?

SOCRATES: I suppose that we begin to act when we think that we know what we are doing?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: But when people think that they do not know, they entrust their business to others?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And so there is a class of ignorant persons who do not make mistakes in life, because they trust others about things of which they are ignorant?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Who, then, are the persons who make mistakes? They cannot, of course, be those who know?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: But if neither those who know, nor those who know that they do not know, make mistakes, there remain those only who do not know and think that they know.

ALCIBIADES: Yes, only those.

SOCRATES: Then this is ignorance of the disgraceful sort which is mischievous?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And most mischievous and most disgraceful when having to do with the greatest matters?

ALCIBIADES: By far.

SOCRATES: And can there be any matters greater than the just, the honourable, the good, and the expedient?

ALCIBIADES: There cannot be.

SOCRATES: And these, as you were saying, are what perplex you?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: But if you are perplexed, then, as the previous argument has shown, you are not only ignorant of the greatest matters, but being ignorant you fancy that you know them?

ALCIBIADES: I fear that you are right.

SOCRATES: And now see what has happened to you, Alcibiades! I hardly like to speak of your evil case, but as we are alone I will: My good friend, you are wedded to ignorance of the most disgraceful kind, and of this you are convicted, not by me, but out of your own mouth and by your own argument; wherefore also you rush into politics before you are educated. Neither is your case to be deemed singular. For I might say the same of almost all our statesmen, with the exception, perhaps of your guardian, Pericles.

ALCIBIADES: Yes, Socrates; and Pericles is said not to have got his wisdom by the light of nature, but to have associated with several of the philosophers; with Pythocleides, for example, and with Anaxagoras, and now in advanced life with Damon, in the hope of gaining wisdom.

SOCRATES: Very good; but did you ever know a man wise in anything who was unable to impart his particular wisdom? For example, he who taught you letters was not only wise, but he made you and any others whom he liked wise.

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And you, whom he taught, can do the same?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And in like manner the harper and gymnastic-master?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: When a person is enabled to impart knowledge to another, he thereby gives an excellent proof of his own understanding of any matter.

ALCIBIADES: I agree.

SOCRATES: Well, and did Pericles make any one wise; did he begin by making his sons wise?

ALCIBIADES: But, Socrates, if the two sons of Pericles were simpletons, what has that to do with the matter?

SOCRATES: Well, but did he make your brother, Cleinias, wise?

ALCIBIADES: Cleinias is a madman; there is no use in talking of him.

SOCRATES: But if Cleinias is a madman and the two sons of Pericles were simpletons, what reason can be given why he neglects you, and lets you be as you are?

ALCIBIADES: I believe that I am to blame for not listening to him.

SOCRATES: But did you ever hear of any other Athenian or foreigner, bond or free, who was deemed to have grown wiser in the society of Pericles, — as I might cite Pythodorus, the son of Isolochus, and Callias, the son of Calliades, who have grown wiser in the society of Zeno, for which privilege they have each of them paid him the sum of a hundred minae (about 406 pounds sterling) to the increase of their wisdom and fame.

ALCIBIADES: I certainly never did hear of any one.

SOCRATES: Well, and in reference to your own case, do you mean to remain as you are, or will you take some pains about yourself?

ALCIBIADES: With your aid, Socrates, I will. And indeed, when I hear you speak, the truth of what you are saying strikes home to me, and I agree with you, for our statesmen, all but a few, do appear to be quite uneducated.

SOCRATES: What is the inference?

ALCIBIADES: Why, that if they were educated they would be trained athletes, and he who means to rival them ought to have knowledge and experience when he attacks them; but now, as they have become politicians without any special training, why should I have the trouble of learning and practising? For I know well that by the light of nature I shall get the better of them.

SOCRATES: My dear friend, what a sentiment! And how unworthy of your noble form and your high estate!

ALCIBIADES: What do you mean, Socrates; why do you say so?

SOCRATES: I am grieved when I think of our mutual love.

ALCIBIADES: At what?

SOCRATES: At your fancying that the contest on which you are entering is with people here.

ALCIBIADES: Why, what others are there?

SOCRATES: Is that a question which a magnanimous soul should ask?

ALCIBIADES: Do you mean to say that the contest is not with these?

SOCRATES: And suppose that you were going to steer a ship into action, would you only aim at being the best pilot on board? Would you not, while acknowledging that you must possess this degree of excellence, rather look to your antagonists, and not, as you are now doing, to your fellow combatants? You ought to be so far above these latter, that they will not even dare to be your rivals; and, being regarded by you as inferiors, will do battle for you against the enemy; this is the kind of superiority which you must establish over them, if you mean to accomplish any noble action really worthy of yourself and of the state.

ALCIBIADES: That would certainly be my aim.

SOCRATES: Verily, then, you have good reason to be satisfied, if you are better than the soldiers; and you need not, when you are their superior and have your thoughts and actions fixed upon them, look away to the generals of the enemy.

ALCIBIADES: Of whom are you speaking, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Why, you surely know that our city goes to war now and then with the Lacedaemonians and with the great king?

ALCIBIADES: True enough.

SOCRATES: And if you meant to be the ruler of this city, would you not be right in considering that the Lacedaemonian and Persian king were your true rivals?

ALCIBIADES: I believe that you are right.

SOCRATES: Oh no, my friend, I am quite wrong, and I think that you ought rather to turn your attention to Midias the quail-breeder and others like him, who manage our politics; in whom, as the women would remark, you may still see the slaves’ cut of hair, cropping out in their minds as well as on their pates; and they come with their barbarous lingo to flatter us and not to rule us. To these, I say, you should look, and then you need not trouble yourself about your own fitness to contend in such a noble arena: there is no reason why you should either learn what has to be learned, or practise what has to be practised, and only when thoroughly prepared enter on a political career.

ALCIBIADES: There, I think, Socrates, that you are right; I do not suppose, however, that the Spartan generals or the great king are really different from anybody else.

SOCRATES: But, my dear friend, do consider what you are saying.

ALCIBIADES: What am I to consider?

SOCRATES: In the first place, will you be more likely to take care of yourself, if you are in a wholesome fear and dread of them, or if you are not?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly, if I have such a fear of them.

SOCRATES: And do you think that you will sustain any injury if you take care of yourself?

ALCIBIADES: No, I shall be greatly benefited.

SOCRATES: And this is one very important respect in which that notion of yours is bad.

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: In the next place, consider that what you say is probably false.

ALCIBIADES: How so?

SOCRATES: Let me ask you whether better natures are likely to be found in noble races or not in noble races?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly in noble races.

SOCRATES: Are not those who are well born and well bred most likely to be perfect in virtue?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then let us compare our antecedents with those of the Lacedaemonian and Persian kings; are they inferior to us in descent? Have we not heard that the former are sprung from Heracles, and the latter from Achaemenes, and that the race of Heracles and the race of Achaemenes go back to Perseus, son of Zeus?

ALCIBIADES: Why, so does mine go back to Eurysaces, and he to Zeus!

SOCRATES: And mine, noble Alcibiades, to Daedalus, and he to Hephaestus, son of Zeus. But, for all that, we are far inferior to them. For they are descended ‘from Zeus,’ through a line of kings — either kings of Argos and Lacedaemon, or kings of Persia, a country which the descendants of Achaemenes have always possessed, besides being at various times sovereigns of Asia, as they now are; whereas, we and our fathers were but private persons. How ridiculous would you be thought if you were to make a display of your ancestors and of Salamis the island of Eurysaces, or of Aegina, the habitation of the still more ancient Aeacus, before Artaxerxes, son of Xerxes. You should consider how inferior we are to them both in the derivation of our birth and in other particulars. Did you never observe how great is the property of the Spartan kings? And their wives are under the guardianship of the Ephori, who are public officers and watch over them, in order to preserve as far as possible the purity of the Heracleid blood. Still greater is the difference among the Persians; for no one entertains a suspicion that the father of a prince of Persia can be any one but the king. Such is the awe which invests the person of the queen, that any other guard is needless. And when the heir of the kingdom is born, all the subjects of the king feast; and the day of his birth is for ever afterwards kept as a holiday and time of sacrifice by all Asia; whereas, when you and I were born, Alcibiades, as the comic poet says, the neighbours hardly knew of the important event. After the birth of the royal child, he is tended, not by a good-for-nothing woman-nurse, but by the best of the royal eunuchs, who are charged with the care of him, and especially with the fashioning and right formation of his limbs, in order that he may be as shapely as possible; which being their calling, they are held in great honour. And when the young prince is seven years old he is put upon a horse and taken to the riding-masters, and begins to go out hunting. And at fourteen years of age he is handed over to the royal schoolmasters, as they are termed: these are four chosen men, reputed to be the best among the Persians of a certain age; and one of them is the wisest, another the justest, a third the most temperate, and a fourth the most valiant. The first instructs him in the magianism of Zoroaster, the son of Oromasus, which is the worship of the Gods, and teaches him also the duties of his royal office; the second, who is the justest, teaches him always to speak the truth; the third, or most temperate, forbids him to allow any pleasure to be lord over him, that he may be accustomed to be a freeman and king indeed, — lord of himself first, and not a slave; the most valiant trains him to be bold and fearless, telling him that if he fears he is to deem himself a slave; whereas Pericles gave you, Alcibiades, for a tutor Zopyrus the Thracian, a slave of his who was past all other work. I might enlarge on the nurture and education of your rivals, but that would be tedious; and what I have said is a sufficient sample of what remains to be said. I have only to remark, by way of contrast, that no one cares about your birth or nurture or education, or, I may say, about that of any other Athenian, unless he has a lover who looks after him. And if you cast an eye on the wealth, the luxury, the garments with their flowing trains, the anointings with myrrh, the multitudes of attendants, and all the other bravery of the Persians, you will be ashamed when you discern your own inferiority; or if you look at the temperance and orderliness and ease and grace and magnanimity and courage and endurance and love of toil and desire of glory and ambition of the Lacedaemonians — in all these respects you will see that you are but a child in comparison of them. Even in the matter of wealth, if you value yourself upon that, I must reveal to you how you stand; for if you form an estimate of the wealth of the Lacedaemonians, you will see that our possessions fall far short of theirs. For no one here can compete with them either in the extent and fertility of their own and the Messenian territory, or in the number of their slaves, and especially of the Helots, or of their horses, or of the animals which feed on the Messenian pastures. But I have said enough of this: and as to gold and silver, there is more of them in Lacedaemon than in all the rest of Hellas, for during many generations gold has been always flowing in to them from the whole Hellenic world, and often from the barbarian also, and never going out, as in the fable of Aesop the fox said to the lion, ‘The prints of the feet of those going in are distinct enough;’ but who ever saw the trace of money going out of Lacedaemon? And therefore you may safely infer that the inhabitants are the richest of the Hellenes in gold and silver, and that their kings are the richest of them, for they have a larger share of these things, and they have also a tribute paid to them which is very considerable. Yet the Spartan wealth, though great in comparison of the wealth of the other Hellenes, is as nothing in comparison of that of the Persians and their kings. Why, I have been informed by a credible person who went up to the king (at Susa), that he passed through a large tract of excellent land, extending for nearly a day’s journey, which the people of the country called the queen’s girdle, and another, which they called her veil; and several other fair and fertile districts, which were reserved for the adornment of the queen, and are named after her several habiliments. Now, I cannot help thinking to myself, What if some one were to go to Amestris, the wife of Xerxes and mother of Artaxerxes, and say to her, There is a certain Dinomache, whose whole wardrobe is not worth fifty minae — and that will be more than the value — and she has a son who is possessed of a three-hundred acre patch at Erchiae, and he has a mind to go to war with your son — would she not wonder to what this Alcibiades trusts for success in the conflict? ‘He must rely,’ she would say to herself, ‘upon his training and wisdom — these are the things which Hellenes value.’ And if she heard that this Alcibiades who is making the attempt is not as yet twenty years old, and is wholly uneducated, and when his lover tells him that he ought to get education and training first, and then go and fight the king, he refuses, and says that he is well enough as he is, would she not be amazed, and ask ‘On what, then, does the youth rely?’ And if we replied: He relies on his beauty, and stature, and birth, and mental endowments, she would think that we were mad, Alcibiades, when she compared the advantages which you possess with those of her own people. And I believe that even Lampido, the daughter of Leotychides, the wife of Archidamus and mother of Agis, all of whom were kings, would have the same feeling; if, in your present uneducated state, you were to turn your thoughts against her son, she too would be equally astonished. But how disgraceful, that we should not have as high a notion of what is required in us as our enemies’ wives and mothers have of the qualities which are required in their assailants! O my friend, be persuaded by me, and hear the Delphian inscription, ‘Know thyself’ — not the men whom you think, but these kings are our rivals, and we can only overcome them by pains and skill. And if you fail in the required qualities, you will fail also in becoming renowned among Hellenes and Barbarians, which you seem to desire more than any other man ever desired anything.

ALCIBIADES: I entirely believe you; but what are the sort of pains which are required, Socrates, — can you tell me?

SOCRATES: Yes, I can; but we must take counsel together concerning the manner in which both of us may be most improved. For what I am telling you of the necessity of education applies to myself as well as to you; and there is only one point in which I have an advantage over you.

ALCIBIADES: What is that?

SOCRATES: I have a guardian who is better and wiser than your guardian, Pericles.

ALCIBIADES: Who is he, Socrates?

SOCRATES: God, Alcibiades, who up to this day has not allowed me to converse with you; and he inspires in me the faith that I am especially designed to bring you to honour.

ALCIBIADES: You are jesting, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Perhaps, at any rate, I am right in saying that all men greatly need pains and care, and you and I above all men.

ALCIBIADES: You are not far wrong about me.

SOCRATES: And certainly not about myself.

ALCIBIADES: But what can we do?

SOCRATES: There must be no hesitation or cowardice, my friend.

ALCIBIADES: That would not become us, Socrates.

SOCRATES: No, indeed, and we ought to take counsel together: for do we not wish to be as good as possible?

ALCIBIADES: We do.

SOCRATES: In what sort of virtue?

ALCIBIADES: Plainly, in the virtue of good men.

SOCRATES: Who are good in what?

ALCIBIADES: Those, clearly, who are good in the management of affairs.

SOCRATES: What sort of affairs? Equestrian affairs?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: You mean that about them we should have recourse to horsemen?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well, naval affairs?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: You mean that we should have recourse to sailors about them?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then what affairs? And who do them?

ALCIBIADES: The affairs which occupy Athenian gentlemen.

SOCRATES: And when you speak of gentlemen, do you mean the wise or the unwise?

ALCIBIADES: The wise.

SOCRATES: And a man is good in respect of that in which he is wise?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And evil in respect of that in which he is unwise?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The shoemaker, for example, is wise in respect of the making of shoes?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then he is good in that?

ALCIBIADES: He is.

SOCRATES: But in respect of the making of garments he is unwise?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then in that he is bad?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then upon this view of the matter the same man is good and also bad?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But would you say that the good are the same as the bad?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then whom do you call the good?

ALCIBIADES: I mean by the good those who are able to rule in the city.

SOCRATES: Not, surely, over horses?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: But over men?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: When they are sick?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: Or on a voyage?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: Or reaping the harvest?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: When they are doing something or nothing?

ALCIBIADES: When they are doing something, I should say.

SOCRATES: I wish that you would explain to me what this something is.

ALCIBIADES: When they are having dealings with one another, and using one another’s services, as we citizens do in our daily life.

SOCRATES: Those of whom you speak are ruling over men who are using the services of other men?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Are they ruling over the signal-men who give the time to the rowers?

ALCIBIADES: No; they are not.

SOCRATES: That would be the office of the pilot?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: But, perhaps you mean that they rule over flute-players, who lead the singers and use the services of the dancers?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: That would be the business of the teacher of the chorus?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then what is the meaning of being able to rule over men who use other men?

ALCIBIADES: I mean that they rule over men who have common rights of citizenship, and dealings with one another.

SOCRATES: And what sort of an art is this? Suppose that I ask you again, as I did just now, What art makes men know how to rule over their fellow-sailors, — how would you answer?

ALCIBIADES: The art of the pilot.

SOCRATES: And, if I may recur to another old instance, what art enables them to rule over their fellow-singers?

ALCIBIADES: The art of the teacher of the chorus, which you were just now mentioning.

SOCRATES: And what do you call the art of fellow-citizens?

ALCIBIADES: I should say, good counsel, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And is the art of the pilot evil counsel?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: But good counsel?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, that is what I should say, — good counsel, of which the aim is the preservation of the voyagers.

SOCRATES: True. And what is the aim of that other good counsel of which you speak?

ALCIBIADES: The aim is the better order and preservation of the city.

SOCRATES: And what is that of which the absence or presence improves and preserves the order of the city? Suppose you were to ask me, what is that of which the presence or absence improves or preserves the order of the body? I should reply, the presence of health and the absence of disease. You would say the same?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if you were to ask me the same question about the eyes, I should reply in the same way, ‘the presence of sight and the absence of blindness;’ or about the ears, I should reply, that they were improved and were in better case, when deafness was absent, and hearing was present in them.

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And what would you say of a state? What is that by the presence or absence of which the state is improved and better managed and ordered?

ALCIBIADES: I should say, Socrates: — the presence of friendship and the absence of hatred and division.

SOCRATES: And do you mean by friendship agreement or disagreement?

ALCIBIADES: Agreement.

SOCRATES: What art makes cities agree about numbers?

ALCIBIADES: Arithmetic.

SOCRATES: And private individuals?

ALCIBIADES: The same.

SOCRATES: And what art makes each individual agree with himself?

ALCIBIADES: The same.

SOCRATES: And what art makes each of us agree with himself about the comparative length of the span and of the cubit? Does not the art of measure?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Individuals are agreed with one another about this; and states, equally?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the same holds of the balance?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But what is the other agreement of which you speak, and about what? what art can give that agreement? And does that which gives it to the state give it also to the individual, so as to make him consistent with himself and with another?

ALCIBIADES: I should suppose so.

SOCRATES: But what is the nature of the agreement? — answer, and faint not.

ALCIBIADES: I mean to say that there should be such friendship and agreement as exists between an affectionate father and mother and their son, or between brothers, or between husband and wife.

SOCRATES: But can a man, Alcibiades, agree with a woman about the spinning of wool, which she understands and he does not?

ALCIBIADES: No, truly.

SOCRATES: Nor has he any need, for spinning is a female accomplishment.

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And would a woman agree with a man about the science of arms, which she has never learned?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: I suppose that the use of arms would be regarded by you as a male accomplishment?

ALCIBIADES: It would.

SOCRATES: Then, upon your view, women and men have two sorts of knowledge?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then in their knowledge there is no agreement of women and men?

ALCIBIADES: There is not.

SOCRATES: Nor can there be friendship, if friendship is agreement?

ALCIBIADES: Plainly not.

SOCRATES: Then women are not loved by men when they do their own work?

ALCIBIADES: I suppose not.

SOCRATES: Nor men by women when they do their own work?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: Nor are states well administered, when individuals do their own work?

ALCIBIADES: I should rather think, Socrates, that the reverse is the truth. (Compare Republic.)

SOCRATES: What! do you mean to say that states are well administered when friendship is absent, the presence of which, as we were saying, alone secures their good order?

ALCIBIADES: But I should say that there is friendship among them, for this very reason, that the two parties respectively do their own work.

SOCRATES: That was not what you were saying before; and what do you mean now by affirming that friendship exists when there is no agreement? How can there be agreement about matters which the one party knows, and of which the other is in ignorance?

ALCIBIADES: Impossible.

SOCRATES: And when individuals are doing their own work, are they doing what is just or unjust?

ALCIBIADES: What is just, certainly.

SOCRATES: And when individuals do what is just in the state, is there no friendship among them?

ALCIBIADES: I suppose that there must be, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then what do you mean by this friendship or agreement about which we must be wise and discreet in order that we may be good men? I cannot make out where it exists or among whom; according to you, the same persons may sometimes have it, and sometimes not.

ALCIBIADES: But, indeed, Socrates, I do not know what I am saying; and I have long been, unconsciously to myself, in a most disgraceful state.

SOCRATES: Nevertheless, cheer up; at fifty, if you had discovered your deficiency, you would have been too old, and the time for taking care of yourself would have passed away, but yours is just the age at which the discovery should be made.

ALCIBIADES: And what should he do, Socrates, who would make the discovery?

SOCRATES: Answer questions, Alcibiades; and that is a process which, by the grace of God, if I may put any faith in my oracle, will be very improving to both of us.

ALCIBIADES: If I can be improved by answering, I will answer.

SOCRATES: And first of all, that we may not peradventure be deceived by appearances, fancying, perhaps, that we are taking care of ourselves when we are not, what is the meaning of a man taking care of himself? and when does he take care? Does he take care of himself when he takes care of what belongs to him?

ALCIBIADES: I should think so.

SOCRATES: When does a man take care of his feet? Does he not take care of them when he takes care of that which belongs to his feet?

ALCIBIADES: I do not understand.

SOCRATES: Let me take the hand as an illustration; does not a ring belong to the finger, and to the finger only?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the shoe in like manner to the foot?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And when we take care of our shoes, do we not take care of our feet?

ALCIBIADES: I do not comprehend, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But you would admit, Alcibiades, that to take proper care of a thing is a correct expression?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And taking proper care means improving?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And what is the art which improves our shoes?

ALCIBIADES: Shoemaking.

SOCRATES: Then by shoemaking we take care of our shoes?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And do we by shoemaking take care of our feet, or by some other art which improves the feet?

ALCIBIADES: By some other art.

SOCRATES: And the same art improves the feet which improves the rest of the body?

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Which is gymnastic?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then by gymnastic we take care of our feet, and by shoemaking of that which belongs to our feet?

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And by gymnastic we take care of our hands, and by the art of graving rings of that which belongs to our hands?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And by gymnastic we take care of the body, and by the art of weaving and the other arts we take care of the things of the body?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Then the art which takes care of each thing is different from that which takes care of the belongings of each thing?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Then in taking care of what belongs to you, you do not take care of yourself?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: For the art which takes care of our belongings appears not to be the same as that which takes care of ourselves?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: And now let me ask you what is the art with which we take care of ourselves?

ALCIBIADES: I cannot say.

SOCRATES: At any rate, thus much has been admitted, that the art is not one which makes any of our possessions, but which makes ourselves better?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But should we ever have known what art makes a shoe better, if we did not know a shoe?

ALCIBIADES: Impossible.

SOCRATES: Nor should we know what art makes a ring better, if we did not know a ring?

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: And can we ever know what art makes a man better, if we do not know what we are ourselves?

ALCIBIADES: Impossible.

SOCRATES: And is self-knowledge such an easy thing, and was he to be lightly esteemed who inscribed the text on the temple at Delphi? Or is self-knowledge a difficult thing, which few are able to attain?

ALCIBIADES: At times I fancy, Socrates, that anybody can know himself; at other times the task appears to be very difficult.

SOCRATES: But whether easy or difficult, Alcibiades, still there is no other way; knowing what we are, we shall know how to take care of ourselves, and if we are ignorant we shall not know.

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Well, then, let us see in what way the self-existent can be discovered by us; that will give us a chance of discovering our own existence, which otherwise we can never know.

ALCIBIADES: You say truly.

SOCRATES: Come, now, I beseech you, tell me with whom you are conversing? — with whom but with me?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: As I am, with you?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: That is to say, I, Socrates, am talking?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And Alcibiades is my hearer?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And I in talking use words?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And talking and using words have, I suppose, the same meaning?

ALCIBIADES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And the user is not the same as the thing which he uses?

ALCIBIADES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I will explain; the shoemaker, for example, uses a square tool, and a circular tool, and other tools for cutting?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: But the tool is not the same as the cutter and user of the tool?

ALCIBIADES: Of course not.

SOCRATES: And in the same way the instrument of the harper is to be distinguished from the harper himself?

ALCIBIADES: It is.

SOCRATES: Now the question which I asked was whether you conceive the user to be always different from that which he uses?

ALCIBIADES: I do.

SOCRATES: Then what shall we say of the shoemaker? Does he cut with his tools only or with his hands?

ALCIBIADES: With his hands as well.

SOCRATES: He uses his hands too?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And does he use his eyes in cutting leather?

ALCIBIADES: He does.

SOCRATES: And we admit that the user is not the same with the things which he uses?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then the shoemaker and the harper are to be distinguished from the hands and feet which they use?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And does not a man use the whole body?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And that which uses is different from that which is used?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Then a man is not the same as his own body?

ALCIBIADES: That is the inference.

SOCRATES: What is he, then?

ALCIBIADES: I cannot say.

SOCRATES: Nay, you can say that he is the user of the body.

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the user of the body is the soul?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, the soul.

SOCRATES: And the soul rules?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Let me make an assertion which will, I think, be universally admitted.

ALCIBIADES: What is it?

SOCRATES: That man is one of three things.

ALCIBIADES: What are they?

SOCRATES: Soul, body, or both together forming a whole.

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But did we not say that the actual ruling principle of the body is man?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, we did.

SOCRATES: And does the body rule over itself?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: It is subject, as we were saying?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then that is not the principle which we are seeking?

ALCIBIADES: It would seem not.

SOCRATES: But may we say that the union of the two rules over the body, and consequently that this is man?

ALCIBIADES: Very likely.

SOCRATES: The most unlikely of all things; for if one of the members is subject, the two united cannot possibly rule.

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But since neither the body, nor the union of the two, is man, either man has no real existence, or the soul is man?

ALCIBIADES: Just so.

SOCRATES: Is anything more required to prove that the soul is man?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not; the proof is, I think, quite sufficient.

SOCRATES: And if the proof, although not perfect, be sufficient, we shall be satisfied; — more precise proof will be supplied when we have discovered that which we were led to omit, from a fear that the enquiry would be too much protracted.

ALCIBIADES: What was that?

SOCRATES: What I meant, when I said that absolute existence must be first considered; but now, instead of absolute existence, we have been considering the nature of individual existence, and this may, perhaps, be sufficient; for surely there is nothing which may be called more properly ourselves than the soul?

ALCIBIADES: There is nothing.

SOCRATES: Then we may truly conceive that you and I are conversing with one another, soul to soul?

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And that is just what I was saying before — that I, Socrates, am not arguing or talking with the face of Alcibiades, but with the real Alcibiades; or in other words, with his soul.

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Then he who bids a man know himself, would have him know his soul?

ALCIBIADES: That appears to be true.

SOCRATES: He whose knowledge only extends to the body, knows the things of a man, and not the man himself?

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Then neither the physician regarded as a physician, nor the trainer regarded as a trainer, knows himself?

ALCIBIADES: He does not.

SOCRATES: The husbandmen and the other craftsmen are very far from knowing themselves, for they would seem not even to know their own belongings? When regarded in relation to the arts which they practise they are even further removed from self-knowledge, for they only know the belongings of the body, which minister to the body.

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Then if temperance is the knowledge of self, in respect of his art none of them is temperate?

ALCIBIADES: I agree.

SOCRATES: And this is the reason why their arts are accounted vulgar, and are not such as a good man would practise?

ALCIBIADES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Again, he who cherishes his body cherishes not himself, but what belongs to him?

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: But he who cherishes his money, cherishes neither himself nor his belongings, but is in a stage yet further removed from himself?

ALCIBIADES: I agree.

SOCRATES: Then the money-maker has really ceased to be occupied with his own concerns?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And if any one has fallen in love with the person of Alcibiades, he loves not Alcibiades, but the belongings of Alcibiades?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But he who loves your soul is the true lover?

ALCIBIADES: That is the necessary inference.

SOCRATES: The lover of the body goes away when the flower of youth fades?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But he who loves the soul goes not away, as long as the soul follows after virtue?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And I am the lover who goes not away, but remains with you, when you are no longer young and the rest are gone?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, Socrates; and therein you do well, and I hope that you will remain.

SOCRATES: Then you must try to look your best.

ALCIBIADES: I will.

SOCRATES: The fact is, that there is only one lover of Alcibiades the son of Cleinias; there neither is nor ever has been seemingly any other; and he is his darling, — Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus and Phaenarete.

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And did you not say, that if I had not spoken first, you were on the point of coming to me, and enquiring why I only remained?

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: The reason was that I loved you for your own sake, whereas other men love what belongs to you; and your beauty, which is not you, is fading away, just as your true self is beginning to bloom. And I will never desert you, if you are not spoiled and deformed by the Athenian people; for the danger which I most fear is that you will become a lover of the people and will be spoiled by them. Many a noble Athenian has been ruined in this way. For the demus of the great-hearted Erechteus is of a fair countenance, but you should see him naked; wherefore observe the caution which I give you.

ALCIBIADES: What caution?

SOCRATES: Practise yourself, sweet friend, in learning what you ought to know, before you enter on politics; and then you will have an antidote which will keep you out of harm’s way.

ALCIBIADES: Good advice, Socrates, but I wish that you would explain to me in what way I am to take care of myself.

SOCRATES: Have we not made an advance? for we are at any rate tolerably well agreed as to what we are, and there is no longer any danger, as we once feared, that we might be taking care not of ourselves, but of something which is not ourselves.

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: And the next step will be to take care of the soul, and look to that?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Leaving the care of our bodies and of our properties to others?

ALCIBIADES: Very good.

SOCRATES: But how can we have a perfect knowledge of the things of the soul? — For if we know them, then I suppose we shall know ourselves. Can we really be ignorant of the excellent meaning of the Delphian inscription, of which we were just now speaking?

ALCIBIADES: What have you in your thoughts, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I will tell you what I suspect to be the meaning and lesson of that inscription. Let me take an illustration from sight, which I imagine to be the only one suitable to my purpose.

ALCIBIADES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Consider; if some one were to say to the eye, ‘See thyself,’ as you might say to a man, ‘Know thyself,’ what is the nature and meaning of this precept? Would not his meaning be: — That the eye should look at that in which it would see itself?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And what are the objects in looking at which we see ourselves?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly, Socrates, in looking at mirrors and the like.

SOCRATES: Very true; and is there not something of the nature of a mirror in our own eyes?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Did you ever observe that the face of the person looking into the eye of another is reflected as in a mirror; and in the visual organ which is over against him, and which is called the pupil, there is a sort of image of the person looking?

ALCIBIADES: That is quite true.

SOCRATES: Then the eye, looking at another eye, and at that in the eye which is most perfect, and which is the instrument of vision, will there see itself?

ALCIBIADES: That is evident.

SOCRATES: But looking at anything else either in man or in the world, and not to what resembles this, it will not see itself?

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then if the eye is to see itself, it must look at the eye, and at that part of the eye where sight which is the virtue of the eye resides?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And if the soul, my dear Alcibiades, is ever to know herself, must she not look at the soul; and especially at that part of the soul in which her virtue resides, and to any other which is like this?

ALCIBIADES: I agree, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And do we know of any part of our souls more divine than that which has to do with wisdom and knowledge?

ALCIBIADES: There is none.

SOCRATES: Then this is that part of the soul which resembles the divine; and he who looks at this and at the whole class of things divine, will be most likely to know himself?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And self-knowledge we agree to be wisdom?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But if we have no self-knowledge and no wisdom, can we ever know our own good and evil?

ALCIBIADES: How can we, Socrates?

SOCRATES: You mean, that if you did not know Alcibiades, there would be no possibility of your knowing that what belonged to Alcibiades was really his?

ALCIBIADES: It would be quite impossible.

SOCRATES: Nor should we know that we were the persons to whom anything belonged, if we did not know ourselves?

ALCIBIADES: How could we?

SOCRATES: And if we did not know our own belongings, neither should we know the belongings of our belongings?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: Then we were not altogether right in acknowledging just now that a man may know what belongs to him and yet not know himself; nay, rather he cannot even know the belongings of his belongings; for the discernment of the things of self, and of the things which belong to the things of self, appear all to be the business of the same man, and of the same art.

ALCIBIADES: So much may be supposed.

SOCRATES: And he who knows not the things which belong to himself, will in like manner be ignorant of the things which belong to others?

ALCIBIADES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And if he knows not the affairs of others, he will not know the affairs of states?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then such a man can never be a statesman?

ALCIBIADES: He cannot.

SOCRATES: Nor an economist?

ALCIBIADES: He cannot.

SOCRATES: He will not know what he is doing?

ALCIBIADES: He will not.

SOCRATES: And will not he who is ignorant fall into error?

ALCIBIADES: Assuredly.

SOCRATES: And if he falls into error will he not fail both in his public and private capacity?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, indeed.

SOCRATES: And failing, will he not be miserable?

ALCIBIADES: Very.

SOCRATES: And what will become of those for whom he is acting?

ALCIBIADES: They will be miserable also.

SOCRATES: Then he who is not wise and good cannot be happy?

ALCIBIADES: He cannot.

SOCRATES: The bad, then, are miserable?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, very.

SOCRATES: And if so, not he who has riches, but he who has wisdom, is delivered from his misery?

ALCIBIADES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Cities, then, if they are to be happy, do not want walls, or triremes, or docks, or numbers, or size, Alcibiades, without virtue? (Compare Arist. Pol.)

ALCIBIADES: Indeed they do not.

SOCRATES: And you must give the citizens virtue, if you mean to administer their affairs rightly or nobly?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But can a man give that which he has not?

ALCIBIADES: Impossible.

SOCRATES: Then you or any one who means to govern and superintend, not only himself and the things of himself, but the state and the things of the state, must in the first place acquire virtue.

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: You have not therefore to obtain power or authority, in order to enable you to do what you wish for yourself and the state, but justice and wisdom.

ALCIBIADES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: You and the state, if you act wisely and justly, will act according to the will of God?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: As I was saying before, you will look only at what is bright and divine, and act with a view to them?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: In that mirror you will see and know yourselves and your own good?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And so you will act rightly and well?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: In which case, I will be security for your happiness.

ALCIBIADES: I accept the security.

SOCRATES: But if you act unrighteously, your eye will turn to the dark and godless, and being in darkness and ignorance of yourselves, you will probably do deeds of darkness.

ALCIBIADES: Very possibly.

SOCRATES: For if a man, my dear Alcibiades, has the power to do what he likes, but has no understanding, what is likely to be the result, either to him as an individual or to the state — for example, if he be sick and is able to do what he likes, not having the mind of a physician — having moreover tyrannical power, and no one daring to reprove him, what will happen to him? Will he not be likely to have his constitution ruined?

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Or again, in a ship, if a man having the power to do what he likes, has no intelligence or skill in navigation, do you see what will happen to him and to his fellow-sailors?

ALCIBIADES: Yes; I see that they will all perish.

SOCRATES: And in like manner, in a state, and where there is any power and authority which is wanting in virtue, will not misfortune, in like manner, ensue?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Not tyrannical power, then, my good Alcibiades, should be the aim either of individuals or states, if they would be happy, but virtue.

ALCIBIADES: That is true.

SOCRATES: And before they have virtue, to be commanded by a superior is better for men as well as for children? (Compare Arist. Pol.)

ALCIBIADES: That is evident.

SOCRATES: And that which is better is also nobler?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And what is nobler is more becoming?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then to the bad man slavery is more becoming, because better?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Then vice is only suited to a slave?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And virtue to a freeman?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And, O my friend, is not the condition of a slave to be avoided?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And are you now conscious of your own state? And do you know whether you are a freeman or not?

ALCIBIADES: I think that I am very conscious indeed of my own state.

SOCRATES: And do you know how to escape out of a state which I do not even like to name to my beauty?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, I do.

SOCRATES: How?

ALCIBIADES: By your help, Socrates.

SOCRATES: That is not well said, Alcibiades.

ALCIBIADES: What ought I to have said?

SOCRATES: By the help of God.

ALCIBIADES: I agree; and I further say, that our relations are likely to be reversed. From this day forward, I must and will follow you as you have followed me; I will be the disciple, and you shall be my master.

SOCRATES: O that is rare! My love breeds another love: and so like the stork I shall be cherished by the bird whom I have hatched.

ALCIBIADES: Strange, but true; and henceforward I shall begin to think about justice.

SOCRATES: And I hope that you will persist; although I have fears, not because I doubt you; but I see the power of the state, which may be too much for both of us.

CHARMIDES

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This dialogue features Socrates in conversation with a handsome and popular boy about the meaning of ‘temperance’.  Socrates narrates the dialogue, explaining that he has just returned from a battle at Potidaea, which was besieged and conquered by the Athenians at the beginning of the Peloponnesian War. Socrates has sought out his habitual conversations by heading to the town centre of Taureas, a wrestling school where boys gathered. With the help of Chaerephon, who pushes him for details about the battle, he finds his way to Critias and asks him about affairs at home, the present state of philosophy, and whether any of the boys had distinguished himself for wisdom or beauty, or both. Critias answers that Socrates will soon get to know the beauties firsthand, for Charmides and his entourage have just arrived.

The dialogue is notable for the introduction of Socrates’ argument that ignorance is to the philosopher what disease is to the physician, which recurs in later dialogues.

INTRODUCTION.

The subject of the Charmides is Temperance or (Greek), a peculiarly Greek notion, which may also be rendered Moderation (Compare Cic. Tusc. ‘(Greek), quam soleo equidem tum temperantiam, tum moderationem appellare, nonnunquam etiam modestiam.’), Modesty, Discretion, Wisdom, without completely exhausting by all these terms the various associations of the word. It may be described as ‘mens sana in corpore sano,’ the harmony or due proportion of the higher and lower elements of human nature which ‘makes a man his own master,’ according to the definition of the Republic. In the accompanying translation the word has been rendered in different places either Temperance or Wisdom, as the connection seemed to require: for in the philosophy of Plato (Greek) still retains an intellectual element (as Socrates is also said to have identified (Greek) with (Greek): Xen. Mem.) and is not yet relegated to the sphere of moral virtue, as in the Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle.

The beautiful youth, Charmides, who is also the most temperate of human beings, is asked by Socrates, ‘What is Temperance?’ He answers characteristically, (1) ‘Quietness.’ ‘But Temperance is a fine and noble thing; and quietness in many or most cases is not so fine a thing as quickness.’ He tries again and says (2) that temperance is modesty. But this again is set aside by a sophistical application of Homer: for temperance is good as well as noble, and Homer has declared that ‘modesty is not good for a needy man.’ (3) Once more Charmides makes the attempt. This time he gives a definition which he has heard, and of which Socrates conjectures that Critias must be the author: ‘Temperance is doing one’s own business.’ But the artisan who makes another man’s shoes may be temperate, and yet he is not doing his own business; and temperance defined thus would be opposed to the division of labour which exists in every temperate or well-ordered state. How is this riddle to be explained?

Critias, who takes the place of Charmides, distinguishes in his answer between ‘making’ and ‘doing,’ and with the help of a misapplied quotation from Hesiod assigns to the words ‘doing’ and ‘work’ an exclusively good sense: Temperance is doing one’s own business; — (4) is doing good.

Still an element of knowledge is wanting which Critias is readily induced to admit at the suggestion of Socrates; and, in the spirit of Socrates and of Greek life generally, proposes as a fifth definition, (5) Temperance is self-knowledge. But all sciences have a subject: number is the subject of arithmetic, health of medicine — what is the subject of temperance or wisdom? The answer is that (6) Temperance is the knowledge of what a man knows and of what he does not know. But this is contrary to analogy; there is no vision of vision, but only of visible things; no love of loves, but only of beautiful things; how then can there be a knowledge of knowledge? That which is older, heavier, lighter, is older, heavier, and lighter than something else, not than itself, and this seems to be true of all relative notions — the object of relation is outside of them; at any rate they can only have relation to themselves in the form of that object. Whether there are any such cases of reflex relation or not, and whether that sort of knowledge which we term Temperance is of this reflex nature, has yet to be determined by the great metaphysician. But even if knowledge can know itself, how does the knowledge of what we know imply the knowledge of what we do not know? Besides, knowledge is an abstraction only, and will not inform us of any particular subject, such as medicine, building, and the like. It may tell us that we or other men know something, but can never tell us what we know.

Admitting that there is a knowledge of what we know and of what we do not know, which would supply a rule and measure of all things, still there would be no good in this; and the knowledge which temperance gives must be of a kind which will do us good; for temperance is a good. But this universal knowledge does not tend to our happiness and good: the only kind of knowledge which brings happiness is the knowledge of good and evil. To this Critias replies that the science or knowledge of good and evil, and all the other sciences, are regulated by the higher science or knowledge of knowledge. Socrates replies by again dividing the abstract from the concrete, and asks how this knowledge conduces to happiness in the same definite way in which medicine conduces to health.

And now, after making all these concessions, which are really inadmissible, we are still as far as ever from ascertaining the nature of temperance, which Charmides has already discovered, and had therefore better rest in the knowledge that the more temperate he is the happier he will be, and not trouble himself with the speculations of Socrates.

In this Dialogue may be noted (1) The Greek ideal of beauty and goodness, the vision of the fair soul in the fair body, realised in the beautiful Charmides; (2) The true conception of medicine as a science of the whole as well as the parts, and of the mind as well as the body, which is playfully intimated in the story of the Thracian; (3) The tendency of the age to verbal distinctions, which here, as in the Protagoras and Cratylus, are ascribed to the ingenuity of Prodicus; and to interpretations or rather parodies of Homer or Hesiod, which are eminently characteristic of Plato and his contemporaries; (4) The germ of an ethical principle contained in the notion that temperance is ‘doing one’s own business,’ which in the Republic (such is the shifting character of the Platonic philosophy) is given as the definition, not of temperance, but of justice; (5) The impatience which is exhibited by Socrates of any definition of temperance in which an element of science or knowledge is not included; (6) The beginning of metaphysics and logic implied in the two questions: whether there can be a science of science, and whether the knowledge of what you know is the same as the knowledge of what you do not know; and also in the distinction between ‘what you know’ and ‘that you know,’ (Greek;) here too is the first conception of an absolute self-determined science (the claims of which, however, are disputed by Socrates, who asks cui bono?) as well as the first suggestion of the difficulty of the abstract and concrete, and one of the earliest anticipations of the relation of subject and object, and of the subjective element in knowledge — a ‘rich banquet’ of metaphysical questions in which we ‘taste of many things.’ (7) And still the mind of Plato, having snatched for a moment at these shadows of the future, quickly rejects them: thus early has he reached the conclusion that there can be no science which is a ‘science of nothing’ (Parmen.). (8) The conception of a science of good and evil also first occurs here, an anticipation of the Philebus and Republic as well as of moral philosophy in later ages.

The dramatic interest of the Dialogue chiefly centres in the youth Charmides, with whom Socrates talks in the kindly spirit of an elder. His childlike simplicity and ingenuousness are contrasted with the dialectical and rhetorical arts of Critias, who is the grown-up man of the world, having a tincture of philosophy. No hint is given, either here or in the Timaeus, of the infamy which attaches to the name of the latter in Athenian history. He is simply a cultivated person who, like his kinsman Plato, is ennobled by the connection of his family with Solon (Tim.), and had been the follower, if not the disciple, both of Socrates and of the Sophists. In the argument he is not unfair, if allowance is made for a slight rhetorical tendency, and for a natural desire to save his reputation with the company; he is sometimes nearer the truth than Socrates. Nothing in his language or behaviour is unbecoming the guardian of the beautiful Charmides. His love of reputation is characteristically Greek, and contrasts with the humility of Socrates. Nor in Charmides himself do we find any resemblance to the Charmides of history, except, perhaps, the modest and retiring nature which, according to Xenophon, at one time of his life prevented him from speaking in the Assembly (Mem.); and we are surprised to hear that, like Critias, he afterwards became one of the thirty tyrants. In the Dialogue he is a pattern of virtue, and is therefore in no need of the charm which Socrates is unable to apply. With youthful naivete, keeping his secret and entering into the spirit of Socrates, he enjoys the detection of his elder and guardian Critias, who is easily seen to be the author of the definition which he has so great an interest in maintaining. The preceding definition, ‘Temperance is doing one’s own business,’ is assumed to have been borrowed by Charmides from another; and when the enquiry becomes more abstract he is superseded by Critias (Theaet.; Euthyd.). Socrates preserves his accustomed irony to the end; he is in the neighbourhood of several great truths, which he views in various lights, but always either by bringing them to the test of common sense, or by demanding too great exactness in the use of words, turns aside from them and comes at last to no conclusion.

The definitions of temperance proceed in regular order from the popular to the philosophical. The first two are simple enough and partially true, like the first thoughts of an intelligent youth; the third, which is a real contribution to ethical philosophy, is perverted by the ingenuity of Socrates, and hardly rescued by an equal perversion on the part of Critias. The remaining definitions have a higher aim, which is to introduce the element of knowledge, and at last to unite good and truth in a single science. But the time has not yet arrived for the realization of this vision of metaphysical philosophy; and such a science when brought nearer to us in the Philebus and the Republic will not be called by the name of (Greek). Hence we see with surprise that Plato, who in his other writings identifies good and knowledge, here opposes them, and asks, almost in the spirit of Aristotle, how can there be a knowledge of knowledge, and even if attainable, how can such a knowledge be of any use?

The difficulty of the Charmides arises chiefly from the two senses of the word (Greek), or temperance. From the ethical notion of temperance, which is variously defined to be quietness, modesty, doing our own business, the doing of good actions, the dialogue passes onto the intellectual conception of (Greek), which is declared also to be the science of self-knowledge, or of the knowledge of what we know and do not know, or of the knowledge of good and evil. The dialogue represents a stage in the history of philosophy in which knowledge and action were not yet distinguished. Hence the confusion between them, and the easy transition from one to the other. The definitions which are offered are all rejected, but it is to be observed that they all tend to throw a light on the nature of temperance, and that, unlike the distinction of Critias between (Greek), none of them are merely verbal quibbles, it is implied that this question, although it has not yet received a solution in theory, has been already answered by Charmides himself, who has learned to practise the virtue of self-knowledge which philosophers are vainly trying to define in words. In a similar spirit we might say to a young man who is disturbed by theological difficulties, ‘Do not trouble yourself about such matters, but only lead a good life;’ and yet in either case it is not to be denied that right ideas of truth may contribute greatly to the improvement of character.

The reasons why the Charmides, Lysis, Laches have been placed together and first in the series of Platonic dialogues, are: (i) Their shortness and simplicity. The Charmides and the Lysis, if not the Laches, are of the same ‘quality’ as the Phaedrus and Symposium: and it is probable, though far from certain, that the slighter effort preceded the greater one. (ii) Their eristic, or rather Socratic character; they belong to the class called dialogues of search (Greek), which have no conclusion. (iii) The absence in them of certain favourite notions of Plato, such as the doctrine of recollection and of the Platonic ideas; the questions, whether virtue can be taught; whether the virtues are one or many. (iv) They have a want of depth, when compared with the dialogues of the middle and later period; and a youthful beauty and grace which is wanting in the later ones. (v) Their resemblance to one another; in all the three boyhood has a great part. These reasons have various degrees of weight in determining their place in the catalogue of the Platonic writings, though they are not conclusive. No arrangement of the Platonic dialogues can be strictly chronological. The order which has been adopted is intended mainly for the convenience of the reader; at the same time, indications of the date supplied either by Plato himself or allusions found in the dialogues have not been lost sight of. Much may be said about this subject, but the results can only be probable; there are no materials which would enable us to attain to anything like certainty.

The relations of knowledge and virtue are again brought forward in the companion dialogues of the Lysis and Laches; and also in the Protagoras and Euthydemus. The opposition of abstract and particular knowledge in this dialogue may be compared with a similar opposition of ideas and phenomena which occurs in the Prologues to the Parmenides, but seems rather to belong to a later stage of the philosophy of Plato.

CHARMIDES.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, who is the narrator, Charmides, Chaerephon, Critias.

SCENE: The Palaestra of Taureas, which is near the Porch of the King Archon.

Yesterday evening I returned from the army at Potidaea, and having been a good while away, I thought that I should like to go and look at my old haunts. So I went into the palaestra of Taureas, which is over against the temple adjoining the porch of the King Archon, and there I found a number of persons, most of whom I knew, but not all. My visit was unexpected, and no sooner did they see me entering than they saluted me from afar on all sides; and Chaerephon, who is a kind of madman, started up and ran to me, seizing my hand, and saying, How did you escape, Socrates? — (I should explain that an engagement had taken place at Potidaea not long before we came away, of which the news had only just reached Athens.)

You see, I replied, that here I am.

There was a report, he said, that the engagement was very severe, and that many of our acquaintance had fallen.

That, I replied, was not far from the truth.

I suppose, he said, that you were present.

I was.

Then sit down, and tell us the whole story, which as yet we have only heard imperfectly.

I took the place which he assigned to me, by the side of Critias the son of Callaeschrus, and when I had saluted him and the rest of the company, I told them the news from the army, and answered their several enquiries.

Then, when there had been enough of this, I, in my turn, began to make enquiries about matters at home — about the present state of philosophy, and about the youth. I asked whether any of them were remarkable for wisdom or beauty, or both. Critias, glancing at the door, invited my attention to some youths who were coming in, and talking noisily to one another, followed by a crowd. Of the beauties, Socrates, he said, I fancy that you will soon be able to form a judgment. For those who are just entering are the advanced guard of the great beauty, as he is thought to be, of the day, and he is likely to be not far off himself.

Who is he, I said; and who is his father?

Charmides, he replied, is his name; he is my cousin, and the son of my uncle Glaucon: I rather think that you know him too, although he was not grown up at the time of your departure.

Certainly, I know him, I said, for he was remarkable even then when he was still a child, and I should imagine that by this time he must be almost a young man.

You will see, he said, in a moment what progress he has made and what he is like. He had scarcely said the word, when Charmides entered.

Now you know, my friend, that I cannot measure anything, and of the beautiful, I am simply such a measure as a white line is of chalk; for almost all young persons appear to be beautiful in my eyes. But at that moment, when I saw him coming in, I confess that I was quite astonished at his beauty and stature; all the world seemed to be enamoured of him; amazement and confusion reigned when he entered; and a troop of lovers followed him. That grown-up men like ourselves should have been affected in this way was not surprising, but I observed that there was the same feeling among the boys; all of them, down to the very least child, turned and looked at him, as if he had been a statue.

Chaerephon called me and said: What do you think of him, Socrates? Has he not a beautiful face?

Most beautiful, I said.

But you would think nothing of his face, he replied, if you could see his naked form: he is absolutely perfect.

And to this they all agreed.

By Heracles, I said, there never was such a paragon, if he has only one other slight addition.

What is that? said Critias.

If he has a noble soul; and being of your house, Critias, he may be expected to have this.

He is as fair and good within, as he is without, replied Critias.

Then, before we see his body, should we not ask him to show us his soul, naked and undisguised? he is just of an age at which he will like to talk.

That he will, said Critias, and I can tell you that he is a philosopher already, and also a considerable poet, not in his own opinion only, but in that of others.

That, my dear Critias, I replied, is a distinction which has long been in your family, and is inherited by you from Solon. But why do you not call him, and show him to us? for even if he were younger than he is, there could be no impropriety in his talking to us in the presence of you, who are his guardian and cousin.

Very well, he said; then I will call him; and turning to the attendant, he said, Call Charmides, and tell him that I want him to come and see a physician about the illness of which he spoke to me the day before yesterday. Then again addressing me, he added: He has been complaining lately of having a headache when he rises in the morning: now why should you not make him believe that you know a cure for the headache?

Why not, I said; but will he come?

He will be sure to come, he replied.

He came as he was bidden, and sat down between Critias and me. Great amusement was occasioned by every one pushing with might and main at his neighbour in order to make a place for him next to themselves, until at the two ends of the row one had to get up and the other was rolled over sideways. Now I, my friend, was beginning to feel awkward; my former bold belief in my powers of conversing with him had vanished. And when Critias told him that I was the person who had the cure, he looked at me in such an indescribable manner, and was just going to ask a question. And at that moment all the people in the palaestra crowded about us, and, O rare! I caught a sight of the inwards of his garment, and took the flame. Then I could no longer contain myself. I thought how well Cydias understood the nature of love, when, in speaking of a fair youth, he warns some one ‘not to bring the fawn in the sight of the lion to be devoured by him,’ for I felt that I had been overcome by a sort of wild-beast appetite. But I controlled myself, and when he asked me if I knew the cure of the headache, I answered, but with an effort, that I did know.

And what is it? he said.

I replied that it was a kind of leaf, which required to be accompanied by a charm, and if a person would repeat the charm at the same time that he used the cure, he would be made whole; but that without the charm the leaf would be of no avail.

Then I will write out the charm from your dictation, he said.

With my consent? I said, or without my consent?

With your consent, Socrates, he said, laughing.

Very good, I said; and are you quite sure that you know my name?

I ought to know you, he replied, for there is a great deal said about you among my companions; and I remember when I was a child seeing you in company with my cousin Critias.

I am glad to find that you remember me, I said; for I shall now be more at home with you and shall be better able to explain the nature of the charm, about which I felt a difficulty before. For the charm will do more, Charmides, than only cure the headache. I dare say that you have heard eminent physicians say to a patient who comes to them with bad eyes, that they cannot cure his eyes by themselves, but that if his eyes are to be cured, his head must be treated; and then again they say that to think of curing the head alone, and not the rest of the body also, is the height of folly. And arguing in this way they apply their methods to the whole body, and try to treat and heal the whole and the part together. Did you ever observe that this is what they say?

Yes, he said.

And they are right, and you would agree with them?

Yes, he said, certainly I should.

His approving answers reassured me, and I began by degrees to regain confidence, and the vital heat returned. Such, Charmides, I said, is the nature of the charm, which I learned when serving with the army from one of the physicians of the Thracian king Zamolxis, who are said to be so skilful that they can even give immortality. This Thracian told me that in these notions of theirs, which I was just now mentioning, the Greek physicians are quite right as far as they go; but Zamolxis, he added, our king, who is also a god, says further, ‘that as you ought not to attempt to cure the eyes without the head, or the head without the body, so neither ought you to attempt to cure the body without the soul; and this,’ he said, ’is the reason why the cure of many diseases is unknown to the physicians of Hellas, because they are ignorant of the whole, which ought to be studied also; for the part can never be well unless the whole is well.’ For all good and evil, whether in the body or in human nature, originates, as he declared, in the soul, and overflows from thence, as if from the head into the eyes. And therefore if the head and body are to be well, you must begin by curing the soul; that is the first thing. And the cure, my dear youth, has to be effected by the use of certain charms, and these charms are fair words; and by them temperance is implanted in the soul, and where temperance is, there health is speedily imparted, not only to the head, but to the whole body. And he who taught me the cure and the charm at the same time added a special direction: ‘Let no one,’ he said, ‘persuade you to cure the head, until he has first given you his soul to be cured by the charm. For this,’ he said, ’is the great error of our day in the treatment of the human body, that physicians separate the soul from the body.’ And he added with emphasis, at the same time making me swear to his words, ‘Let no one, however rich, or noble, or fair, persuade you to give him the cure, without the charm.’ Now I have sworn, and I must keep my oath, and therefore if you will allow me to apply the Thracian charm first to your soul, as the stranger directed, I will afterwards proceed to apply the cure to your head. But if not, I do not know what I am to do with you, my dear Charmides.

Critias, when he heard this, said: The headache will be an unexpected gain to my young relation, if the pain in his head compels him to improve his mind: and I can tell you, Socrates, that Charmides is not only pre-eminent in beauty among his equals, but also in that quality which is given by the charm; and this, as you say, is temperance?

Yes, I said.

Then let me tell you that he is the most temperate of human beings, and for his age inferior to none in any quality.

Yes, I said, Charmides; and indeed I think that you ought to excel others in all good qualities; for if I am not mistaken there is no one present who could easily point out two Athenian houses, whose union would be likely to produce a better or nobler scion than the two from which you are sprung. There is your father’s house, which is descended from Critias the son of Dropidas, whose family has been commemorated in the panegyrical verses of Anacreon, Solon, and many other poets, as famous for beauty and virtue and all other high fortune: and your mother’s house is equally distinguished; for your maternal uncle, Pyrilampes, is reputed never to have found his equal, in Persia at the court of the great king, or on the continent of Asia, in all the places to which he went as ambassador, for stature and beauty; that whole family is not a whit inferior to the other. Having such ancestors you ought to be first in all things, and, sweet son of Glaucon, your outward form is no dishonour to any of them. If to beauty you add temperance, and if in other respects you are what Critias declares you to be, then, dear Charmides, blessed art thou, in being the son of thy mother. And here lies the point; for if, as he declares, you have this gift of temperance already, and are temperate enough, in that case you have no need of any charms, whether of Zamolxis or of Abaris the Hyperborean, and I may as well let you have the cure of the head at once; but if you have not yet acquired this quality, I must use the charm before I give you the medicine. Please, therefore, to inform me whether you admit the truth of what Critias has been saying; — have you or have you not this quality of temperance?

Charmides blushed, and the blush heightened his beauty, for modesty is becoming in youth; he then said very ingenuously, that he really could not at once answer, either yes, or no, to the question which I had asked: For, said he, if I affirm that I am not temperate, that would be a strange thing for me to say of myself, and also I should give the lie to Critias, and many others who think as he tells you, that I am temperate: but, on the other hand, if I say that I am, I shall have to praise myself, which would be ill manners; and therefore I do not know how to answer you.

I said to him: That is a natural reply, Charmides, and I think that you and I ought together to enquire whether you have this quality about which I am asking or not; and then you will not be compelled to say what you do not like; neither shall I be a rash practitioner of medicine: therefore, if you please, I will share the enquiry with you, but I will not press you if you would rather not.

There is nothing which I should like better, he said; and as far as I am concerned you may proceed in the way which you think best.

I think, I said, that I had better begin by asking you a question; for if temperance abides in you, you must have an opinion about her; she must give some intimation of her nature and qualities, which may enable you to form a notion of her. Is not that true?

Yes, he said, that I think is true.

You know your native language, I said, and therefore you must be able to tell what you feel about this.

Certainly, he said.

In order, then, that I may form a conjecture whether you have temperance abiding in you or not, tell me, I said, what, in your opinion, is Temperance?

At first he hesitated, and was very unwilling to answer: then he said that he thought temperance was doing things orderly and quietly, such things for example as walking in the streets, and talking, or anything else of that nature. In a word, he said, I should answer that, in my opinion, temperance is quietness.

Are you right, Charmides? I said. No doubt some would affirm that the quiet are the temperate; but let us see whether these words have any meaning; and first tell me whether you would not acknowledge temperance to be of the class of the noble and good?

Yes.

But which is best when you are at the writing-master’s, to write the same letters quickly or quietly?

Quickly.

And to read quickly or slowly?

Quickly again.

And in playing the lyre, or wrestling, quickness or sharpness are far better than quietness and slowness?

Yes.

And the same holds in boxing and in the pancratium?

Certainly.

And in leaping and running and in bodily exercises generally, quickness and agility are good; slowness, and inactivity, and quietness, are bad?

That is evident.

Then, I said, in all bodily actions, not quietness, but the greatest agility and quickness, is noblest and best?

Yes, certainly.

And is temperance a good?

Yes.

Then, in reference to the body, not quietness, but quickness will be the higher degree of temperance, if temperance is a good?

True, he said.

And which, I said, is better — facility in learning, or difficulty in learning?

Facility.

Yes, I said; and facility in learning is learning quickly, and difficulty in learning is learning quietly and slowly?

True.

And is it not better to teach another quickly and energetically, rather than quietly and slowly?

Yes.

And which is better, to call to mind, and to remember, quickly and readily, or quietly and slowly?

The former.

And is not shrewdness a quickness or cleverness of the soul, and not a quietness?

True.

And is it not best to understand what is said, whether at the writing-master’s or the music-master’s, or anywhere else, not as quietly as possible, but as quickly as possible?

Yes.

And in the searchings or deliberations of the soul, not the quietest, as I imagine, and he who with difficulty deliberates and discovers, is thought worthy of praise, but he who does so most easily and quickly?

Quite true, he said.

And in all that concerns either body or soul, swiftness and activity are clearly better than slowness and quietness?

Clearly they are.

Then temperance is not quietness, nor is the temperate life quiet, — certainly not upon this view; for the life which is temperate is supposed to be the good. And of two things, one is true, — either never, or very seldom, do the quiet actions in life appear to be better than the quick and energetic ones; or supposing that of the nobler actions, there are as many quiet, as quick and vehement: still, even if we grant this, temperance will not be acting quietly any more than acting quickly and energetically, either in walking or talking or in anything else; nor will the quiet life be more temperate than the unquiet, seeing that temperance is admitted by us to be a good and noble thing, and the quick have been shown to be as good as the quiet.

I think, he said, Socrates, that you are right.

Then once more, Charmides, I said, fix your attention, and look within; consider the effect which temperance has upon yourself, and the nature of that which has the effect. Think over all this, and, like a brave youth, tell me — What is temperance?

After a moment’s pause, in which he made a real manly effort to think, he said: My opinion is, Socrates, that temperance makes a man ashamed or modest, and that temperance is the same as modesty.

Very good, I said; and did you not admit, just now, that temperance is noble?

Yes, certainly, he said.

And the temperate are also good?

Yes.

And can that be good which does not make men good?

Certainly not.

And you would infer that temperance is not only noble, but also good?

That is my opinion.

Well, I said; but surely you would agree with Homer when he says,

‘Modesty is not good for a needy man’?

Yes, he said; I agree.

Then I suppose that modesty is and is not good?

Clearly.

But temperance, whose presence makes men only good, and not bad, is always good?

That appears to me to be as you say.

And the inference is that temperance cannot be modesty — if temperance is a good, and if modesty is as much an evil as a good?

All that, Socrates, appears to me to be true; but I should like to know what you think about another definition of temperance, which I just now remember to have heard from some one, who said, ‘That temperance is doing our own business.’ Was he right who affirmed that?

You monster! I said; this is what Critias, or some philosopher has told you.

Some one else, then, said Critias; for certainly I have not.

But what matter, said Charmides, from whom I heard this?

No matter at all, I replied; for the point is not who said the words, but whether they are true or not.

There you are in the right, Socrates, he replied.

To be sure, I said; yet I doubt whether we shall ever be able to discover their truth or falsehood; for they are a kind of riddle.

What makes you think so? he said.

Because, I said, he who uttered them seems to me to have meant one thing, and said another. Is the scribe, for example, to be regarded as doing nothing when he reads or writes?

I should rather think that he was doing something.

And does the scribe write or read, or teach you boys to write or read, your own names only, or did you write your enemies’ names as well as your own and your friends’?

As much one as the other.

And was there anything meddling or intemperate in this?

Certainly not.

And yet if reading and writing are the same as doing, you were doing what was not your own business?

But they are the same as doing.

And the healing art, my friend, and building, and weaving, and doing anything whatever which is done by art, — these all clearly come under the head of doing?

Certainly.

And do you think that a state would be well ordered by a law which compelled every man to weave and wash his own coat, and make his own shoes, and his own flask and strigil, and other implements, on this principle of every one doing and performing his own, and abstaining from what is not his own?

I think not, he said.

But, I said, a temperate state will be a well-ordered state.

Of course, he replied.

Then temperance, I said, will not be doing one’s own business; not at least in this way, or doing things of this sort?

Clearly not.

Then, as I was just now saying, he who declared that temperance is a man doing his own business had another and a hidden meaning; for I do not think that he could have been such a fool as to mean this. Was he a fool who told you, Charmides?

Nay, he replied, I certainly thought him a very wise man.

Then I am quite certain that he put forth his definition as a riddle, thinking that no one would know the meaning of the words ‘doing his own business.’

I dare say, he replied.

And what is the meaning of a man doing his own business? Can you tell me?

Indeed, I cannot; and I should not wonder if the man himself who used this phrase did not understand what he was saying. Whereupon he laughed slyly, and looked at Critias.

Critias had long been showing uneasiness, for he felt that he had a reputation to maintain with Charmides and the rest of the company. He had, however, hitherto managed to restrain himself; but now he could no longer forbear, and I am convinced of the truth of the suspicion which I entertained at the time, that Charmides had heard this answer about temperance from Critias. And Charmides, who did not want to answer himself, but to make Critias answer, tried to stir him up. He went on pointing out that he had been refuted, at which Critias grew angry, and appeared, as I thought, inclined to quarrel with him; just as a poet might quarrel with an actor who spoiled his poems in repeating them; so he looked hard at him and said —

Do you imagine, Charmides, that the author of this definition of temperance did not understand the meaning of his own words, because you do not understand them?

Why, at his age, I said, most excellent Critias, he can hardly be expected to understand; but you, who are older, and have studied, may well be assumed to know the meaning of them; and therefore, if you agree with him, and accept his definition of temperance, I would much rather argue with you than with him about the truth or falsehood of the definition.

I entirely agree, said Critias, and accept the definition.

Very good, I said; and now let me repeat my question — Do you admit, as I was just now saying, that all craftsmen make or do something?

I do.

And do they make or do their own business only, or that of others also?

They make or do that of others also.

And are they temperate, seeing that they make not for themselves or their own business only?

Why not? he said.

No objection on my part, I said, but there may be a difficulty on his who proposes as a definition of temperance, ‘doing one’s own business,’ and then says that there is no reason why those who do the business of others should not be temperate.

Nay (The English reader has to observe that the word ‘make’ (Greek), in Greek, has also the sense of ‘do’ (Greek).), said he; did I ever acknowledge that those who do the business of others are temperate? I said, those who make, not those who do.

What! I asked; do you mean to say that doing and making are not the same?

No more, he replied, than making or working are the same; thus much I have learned from Hesiod, who says that ‘work is no disgrace.’ Now do you imagine that if he had meant by working and doing such things as you were describing, he would have said that there was no disgrace in them — for example, in the manufacture of shoes, or in selling pickles, or sitting for hire in a house of ill-fame? That, Socrates, is not to be supposed: but I conceive him to have distinguished making from doing and work; and, while admitting that the making anything might sometimes become a disgrace, when the employment was not honourable, to have thought that work was never any disgrace at all. For things nobly and usefully made he called works; and such makings he called workings, and doings; and he must be supposed to have called such things only man’s proper business, and what is hurtful, not his business: and in that sense Hesiod, and any other wise man, may be reasonably supposed to call him wise who does his own work.

O Critias, I said, no sooner had you opened your mouth, than I pretty well knew that you would call that which is proper to a man, and that which is his own, good; and that the makings (Greek) of the good you would call doings (Greek), for I am no stranger to the endless distinctions which Prodicus draws about names. Now I have no objection to your giving names any signification which you please, if you will only tell me what you mean by them. Please then to begin again, and be a little plainer. Do you mean that this doing or making, or whatever is the word which you would use, of good actions, is temperance?

I do, he said.

Then not he who does evil, but he who does good, is temperate?

Yes, he said; and you, friend, would agree.

No matter whether I should or not; just now, not what I think, but what you are saying, is the point at issue.

Well, he answered; I mean to say, that he who does evil, and not good, is not temperate; and that he is temperate who does good, and not evil: for temperance I define in plain words to be the doing of good actions.

And you may be very likely right in what you are saying; but I am curious to know whether you imagine that temperate men are ignorant of their own temperance?

I do not think so, he said.

And yet were you not saying, just now, that craftsmen might be temperate in doing another’s work, as well as in doing their own?

I was, he replied; but what is your drift?

I have no particular drift, but I wish that you would tell me whether a physician who cures a patient may do good to himself and good to another also?

I think that he may.

And he who does so does his duty?

Yes.

And does not he who does his duty act temperately or wisely?

Yes, he acts wisely.

But must the physician necessarily know when his treatment is likely to prove beneficial, and when not? or must the craftsman necessarily know when he is likely to be benefited, and when not to be benefited, by the work which he is doing?

I suppose not.

Then, I said, he may sometimes do good or harm, and not know what he is himself doing, and yet, in doing good, as you say, he has done temperately or wisely. Was not that your statement?

Yes.

Then, as would seem, in doing good, he may act wisely or temperately, and be wise or temperate, but not know his own wisdom or temperance?

But that, Socrates, he said, is impossible; and therefore if this is, as you imply, the necessary consequence of any of my previous admissions, I will withdraw them, rather than admit that a man can be temperate or wise who does not know himself; and I am not ashamed to confess that I was in error. For self-knowledge would certainly be maintained by me to be the very essence of knowledge, and in this I agree with him who dedicated the inscription, ‘Know thyself!’ at Delphi. That word, if I am not mistaken, is put there as a sort of salutation which the god addresses to those who enter the temple; as much as to say that the ordinary salutation of ‘Hail!’ is not right, and that the exhortation ‘Be temperate!’ would be a far better way of saluting one another. The notion of him who dedicated the inscription was, as I believe, that the god speaks to those who enter his temple, not as men speak; but, when a worshipper enters, the first word which he hears is ‘Be temperate!’ This, however, like a prophet he expresses in a sort of riddle, for ‘Know thyself!’ and ‘Be temperate!’ are the same, as I maintain, and as the letters imply (Greek), and yet they may be easily misunderstood; and succeeding sages who added ‘Never too much,’ or, ‘Give a pledge, and evil is nigh at hand,’ would appear to have so misunderstood them; for they imagined that ‘Know thyself!’ was a piece of advice which the god gave, and not his salutation of the worshippers at their first coming in; and they dedicated their own inscription under the idea that they too would give equally useful pieces of advice. Shall I tell you, Socrates, why I say all this? My object is to leave the previous discussion (in which I know not whether you or I are more right, but, at any rate, no clear result was attained), and to raise a new one in which I will attempt to prove, if you deny, that temperance is self-knowledge.

Yes, I said, Critias; but you come to me as though I professed to know about the questions which I ask, and as though I could, if I only would, agree with you. Whereas the fact is that I enquire with you into the truth of that which is advanced from time to time, just because I do not know; and when I have enquired, I will say whether I agree with you or not. Please then to allow me time to reflect.

Reflect, he said.

I am reflecting, I replied, and discover that temperance, or wisdom, if implying a knowledge of anything, must be a science, and a science of something.

Yes, he said; the science of itself.

Is not medicine, I said, the science of health?

True.

And suppose, I said, that I were asked by you what is the use or effect of medicine, which is this science of health, I should answer that medicine is of very great use in producing health, which, as you will admit, is an excellent effect.

Granted.

And if you were to ask me, what is the result or effect of architecture, which is the science of building, I should say houses, and so of other arts, which all have their different results. Now I want you, Critias, to answer a similar question about temperance, or wisdom, which, according to you, is the science of itself. Admitting this view, I ask of you, what good work, worthy of the name wise, does temperance or wisdom, which is the science of itself, effect? Answer me.

That is not the true way of pursuing the enquiry, Socrates, he said; for wisdom is not like the other sciences, any more than they are like one another: but you proceed as if they were alike. For tell me, he said, what result is there of computation or geometry, in the same sense as a house is the result of building, or a garment of weaving, or any other work of any other art? Can you show me any such result of them? You cannot.

That is true, I said; but still each of these sciences has a subject which is different from the science. I can show you that the art of computation has to do with odd and even numbers in their numerical relations to themselves and to each other. Is not that true?

Yes, he said.

And the odd and even numbers are not the same with the art of computation?

They are not.

The art of weighing, again, has to do with lighter and heavier; but the art of weighing is one thing, and the heavy and the light another. Do you admit that?

Yes.

Now, I want to know, what is that which is not wisdom, and of which wisdom is the science?

You are just falling into the old error, Socrates, he said. You come asking in what wisdom or temperance differs from the other sciences, and then you try to discover some respect in which they are alike; but they are not, for all the other sciences are of something else, and not of themselves; wisdom alone is a science of other sciences, and of itself. And of this, as I believe, you are very well aware: and that you are only doing what you denied that you were doing just now, trying to refute me, instead of pursuing the argument.

And what if I am? How can you think that I have any other motive in refuting you but what I should have in examining into myself? which motive would be just a fear of my unconsciously fancying that I knew something of which I was ignorant. And at this moment I pursue the argument chiefly for my own sake, and perhaps in some degree also for the sake of my other friends. For is not the discovery of things as they truly are, a good common to all mankind?

Yes, certainly, Socrates, he said.

Then, I said, be cheerful, sweet sir, and give your opinion in answer to the question which I asked, never minding whether Critias or Socrates is the person refuted; attend only to the argument, and see what will come of the refutation.

I think that you are right, he replied; and I will do as you say.

Tell me, then, I said, what you mean to affirm about wisdom.

I mean to say that wisdom is the only science which is the science of itself as well as of the other sciences.

But the science of science, I said, will also be the science of the absence of science.

Very true, he said.

Then the wise or temperate man, and he only, will know himself, and be able to examine what he knows or does not know, and to see what others know and think that they know and do really know; and what they do not know, and fancy that they know, when they do not. No other person will be able to do this. And this is wisdom and temperance and self-knowledge — for a man to know what he knows, and what he does not know. That is your meaning?

Yes, he said.

Now then, I said, making an offering of the third or last argument to Zeus the Saviour, let us begin again, and ask, in the first place, whether it is or is not possible for a person to know that he knows and does not know what he knows and does not know; and in the second place, whether, if perfectly possible, such knowledge is of any use.

That is what we have to consider, he said.

And here, Critias, I said, I hope that you will find a way out of a difficulty into which I have got myself. Shall I tell you the nature of the difficulty?

By all means, he replied.

Does not what you have been saying, if true, amount to this: that there must be a single science which is wholly a science of itself and of other sciences, and that the same is also the science of the absence of science?

Yes.

But consider how monstrous this proposition is, my friend: in any parallel case, the impossibility will be transparent to you.

How is that? and in what cases do you mean?

In such cases as this: Suppose that there is a kind of vision which is not like ordinary vision, but a vision of itself and of other sorts of vision, and of the defect of them, which in seeing sees no colour, but only itself and other sorts of vision: Do you think that there is such a kind of vision?

Certainly not.

Or is there a kind of hearing which hears no sound at all, but only itself and other sorts of hearing, or the defects of them?

There is not.

Or take all the senses: can you imagine that there is any sense of itself and of other senses, but which is incapable of perceiving the objects of the senses?

I think not.

Could there be any desire which is not the desire of any pleasure, but of itself, and of all other desires?

Certainly not.

Or can you imagine a wish which wishes for no good, but only for itself and all other wishes?

I should answer, No.

Or would you say that there is a love which is not the love of beauty, but of itself and of other loves?

I should not.

Or did you ever know of a fear which fears itself or other fears, but has no object of fear?

I never did, he said.

Or of an opinion which is an opinion of itself and of other opinions, and which has no opinion on the subjects of opinion in general?

Certainly not.

But surely we are assuming a science of this kind, which, having no subject-matter, is a science of itself and of the other sciences?

Yes, that is what is affirmed.

But how strange is this, if it be indeed true: we must not however as yet absolutely deny the possibility of such a science; let us rather consider the matter.

You are quite right.

Well then, this science of which we are speaking is a science of something, and is of a nature to be a science of something?

Yes.

Just as that which is greater is of a nature to be greater than something else? (Socrates is intending to show that science differs from the object of science, as any other relative differs from the object of relation. But where there is comparison — greater, less, heavier, lighter, and the like — a relation to self as well as to other things involves an absolute contradiction; and in other cases, as in the case of the senses, is hardly conceivable. The use of the genitive after the comparative in Greek, (Greek), creates an unavoidable obscurity in the translation.)

Yes.

Which is less, if the other is conceived to be greater?

To be sure.

And if we could find something which is at once greater than itself, and greater than other great things, but not greater than those things in comparison of which the others are greater, then that thing would have the property of being greater and also less than itself?

That, Socrates, he said, is the inevitable inference.

Or if there be a double which is double of itself and of other doubles, these will be halves; for the double is relative to the half?

That is true.

And that which is greater than itself will also be less, and that which is heavier will also be lighter, and that which is older will also be younger: and the same of other things; that which has a nature relative to self will retain also the nature of its object: I mean to say, for example, that hearing is, as we say, of sound or voice. Is that true?

Yes.

Then if hearing hears itself, it must hear a voice; for there is no other way of hearing.

Certainly.

And sight also, my excellent friend, if it sees itself must see a colour, for sight cannot see that which has no colour.

No.

Do you remark, Critias, that in several of the examples which have been recited the notion of a relation to self is altogether inadmissible, and in other cases hardly credible — inadmissible, for example, in the case of magnitudes, numbers, and the like?

Very true.

But in the case of hearing and sight, or in the power of self-motion, and the power of heat to burn, this relation to self will be regarded as incredible by some, but perhaps not by others. And some great man, my friend, is wanted, who will satisfactorily determine for us, whether there is nothing which has an inherent property of relation to self, or some things only and not others; and whether in this class of self-related things, if there be such a class, that science which is called wisdom or temperance is included. I altogether distrust my own power of determining these matters: I am not certain whether there is such a science of science at all; and even if there be, I should not acknowledge this to be wisdom or temperance, until I can also see whether such a science would or would not do us any good; for I have an impression that temperance is a benefit and a good. And therefore, O son of Callaeschrus, as you maintain that temperance or wisdom is a science of science, and also of the absence of science, I will request you to show in the first place, as I was saying before, the possibility, and in the second place, the advantage, of such a science; and then perhaps you may satisfy me that you are right in your view of temperance.

Critias heard me say this, and saw that I was in a difficulty; and as one person when another yawns in his presence catches the infection of yawning from him, so did he seem to be driven into a difficulty by my difficulty. But as he had a reputation to maintain, he was ashamed to admit before the company that he could not answer my challenge or determine the question at issue; and he made an unintelligible attempt to hide his perplexity. In order that the argument might proceed, I said to him, Well then Critias, if you like, let us assume that there is this science of science; whether the assumption is right or wrong may hereafter be investigated. Admitting the existence of it, will you tell me how such a science enables us to distinguish what we know or do not know, which, as we were saying, is self-knowledge or wisdom: so we were saying?

Yes, Socrates, he said; and that I think is certainly true: for he who has this science or knowledge which knows itself will become like the knowledge which he has, in the same way that he who has swiftness will be swift, and he who has beauty will be beautiful, and he who has knowledge will know. In the same way he who has that knowledge which is self-knowing, will know himself.

I do not doubt, I said, that a man will know himself, when he possesses that which has self-knowledge: but what necessity is there that, having this, he should know what he knows and what he does not know?

Because, Socrates, they are the same.

Very likely, I said; but I remain as stupid as ever; for still I fail to comprehend how this knowing what you know and do not know is the same as the knowledge of self.

What do you mean? he said.

This is what I mean, I replied: I will admit that there is a science of science; — can this do more than determine that of two things one is and the other is not science or knowledge?

No, just that.

But is knowledge or want of knowledge of health the same as knowledge or want of knowledge of justice?

Certainly not.

The one is medicine, and the other is politics; whereas that of which we are speaking is knowledge pure and simple.

Very true.

And if a man knows only, and has only knowledge of knowledge, and has no further knowledge of health and justice, the probability is that he will only know that he knows something, and has a certain knowledge, whether concerning himself or other men.

True.

Then how will this knowledge or science teach him to know what he knows? Say that he knows health; — not wisdom or temperance, but the art of medicine has taught it to him; — and he has learned harmony from the art of music, and building from the art of building, — neither, from wisdom or temperance: and the same of other things.

That is evident.

How will wisdom, regarded only as a knowledge of knowledge or science of science, ever teach him that he knows health, or that he knows building?

It is impossible.

Then he who is ignorant of these things will only know that he knows, but not what he knows?

True.

Then wisdom or being wise appears to be not the knowledge of the things which we do or do not know, but only the knowledge that we know or do not know?

That is the inference.

Then he who has this knowledge will not be able to examine whether a pretender knows or does not know that which he says that he knows: he will only know that he has a knowledge of some kind; but wisdom will not show him of what the knowledge is?

Plainly not.

Neither will he be able to distinguish the pretender in medicine from the true physician, nor between any other true and false professor of knowledge. Let us consider the matter in this way: If the wise man or any other man wants to distinguish the true physician from the false, how will he proceed? He will not talk to him about medicine; and that, as we were saying, is the only thing which the physician understands.

True.

And, on the other hand, the physician knows nothing of science, for this has been assumed to be the province of wisdom.

True.

And further, since medicine is science, we must infer that he does not know anything of medicine.

Exactly.

Then the wise man may indeed know that the physician has some kind of science or knowledge; but when he wants to discover the nature of this he will ask, What is the subject-matter? For the several sciences are distinguished not by the mere fact that they are sciences, but by the nature of their subjects. Is not that true?

Quite true.

And medicine is distinguished from other sciences as having the subject-matter of health and disease?

Yes.

And he who would enquire into the nature of medicine must pursue the enquiry into health and disease, and not into what is extraneous?

True.

And he who judges rightly will judge of the physician as a physician in what relates to these?

He will.

He will consider whether what he says is true, and whether what he does is right, in relation to health and disease?

He will.

But can any one attain the knowledge of either unless he have a knowledge of medicine?

He cannot.

No one at all, it would seem, except the physician can have this knowledge; and therefore not the wise man; he would have to be a physician as well as a wise man.

Very true.

Then, assuredly, wisdom or temperance, if only a science of science, and of the absence of science or knowledge, will not be able to distinguish the physician who knows from one who does not know but pretends or thinks that he knows, or any other professor of anything at all; like any other artist, he will only know his fellow in art or wisdom, and no one else.

That is evident, he said.

But then what profit, Critias, I said, is there any longer in wisdom or temperance which yet remains, if this is wisdom? If, indeed, as we were supposing at first, the wise man had been able to distinguish what he knew and did not know, and that he knew the one and did not know the other, and to recognize a similar faculty of discernment in others, there would certainly have been a great advantage in being wise; for then we should never have made a mistake, but have passed through life the unerring guides of ourselves and of those who are under us; and we should not have attempted to do what we did not know, but we should have found out those who knew, and have handed the business over to them and trusted in them; nor should we have allowed those who were under us to do anything which they were not likely to do well; and they would be likely to do well just that of which they had knowledge; and the house or state which was ordered or administered under the guidance of wisdom, and everything else of which wisdom was the lord, would have been well ordered; for truth guiding, and error having been eliminated, in all their doings, men would have done well, and would have been happy. Was not this, Critias, what we spoke of as the great advantage of wisdom — to know what is known and what is unknown to us?

Very true, he said.

And now you perceive, I said, that no such science is to be found anywhere.

I perceive, he said.

May we assume then, I said, that wisdom, viewed in this new light merely as a knowledge of knowledge and ignorance, has this advantage: — that he who possesses such knowledge will more easily learn anything which he learns; and that everything will be clearer to him, because, in addition to the knowledge of individuals, he sees the science, and this also will better enable him to test the knowledge which others have of what he knows himself; whereas the enquirer who is without this knowledge may be supposed to have a feebler and weaker insight? Are not these, my friend, the real advantages which are to be gained from wisdom? And are not we looking and seeking after something more than is to be found in her?

That is very likely, he said.

That is very likely, I said; and very likely, too, we have been enquiring to no purpose; as I am led to infer, because I observe that if this is wisdom, some strange consequences would follow. Let us, if you please, assume the possibility of this science of sciences, and further admit and allow, as was originally suggested, that wisdom is the knowledge of what we know and do not know. Assuming all this, still, upon further consideration, I am doubtful, Critias, whether wisdom, such as this, would do us much good. For we were wrong, I think, in supposing, as we were saying just now, that such wisdom ordering the government of house or state would be a great benefit.

How so? he said.

Why, I said, we were far too ready to admit the great benefits which mankind would obtain from their severally doing the things which they knew, and committing the things of which they are ignorant to those who were better acquainted with them.

Were we not right in making that admission?

I think not.

How very strange, Socrates!

By the dog of Egypt, I said, there I agree with you; and I was thinking as much just now when I said that strange consequences would follow, and that I was afraid we were on the wrong track; for however ready we may be to admit that this is wisdom, I certainly cannot make out what good this sort of thing does to us.

What do you mean? he said; I wish that you could make me understand what you mean.

I dare say that what I am saying is nonsense, I replied; and yet if a man has any feeling of what is due to himself, he cannot let the thought which comes into his mind pass away unheeded and unexamined.

I like that, he said.

Hear, then, I said, my own dream; whether coming through the horn or the ivory gate, I cannot tell. The dream is this: Let us suppose that wisdom is such as we are now defining, and that she has absolute sway over us; then each action will be done according to the arts or sciences, and no one professing to be a pilot when he is not, or any physician or general, or any one else pretending to know matters of which he is ignorant, will deceive or elude us; our health will be improved; our safety at sea, and also in battle, will be assured; our coats and shoes, and all other instruments and implements will be skilfully made, because the workmen will be good and true. Aye, and if you please, you may suppose that prophecy, which is the knowledge of the future, will be under the control of wisdom, and that she will deter deceivers and set up the true prophets in their place as the revealers of the future. Now I quite agree that mankind, thus provided, would live and act according to knowledge, for wisdom would watch and prevent ignorance from intruding on us. But whether by acting according to knowledge we shall act well and be happy, my dear Critias, — this is a point which we have not yet been able to determine.

Yet I think, he replied, that if you discard knowledge, you will hardly find the crown of happiness in anything else.

But of what is this knowledge? I said. Just answer me that small question. Do you mean a knowledge of shoemaking?

God forbid.

Or of working in brass?

Certainly not.

Or in wool, or wood, or anything of that sort?

No, I do not.

Then, I said, we are giving up the doctrine that he who lives according to knowledge is happy, for these live according to knowledge, and yet they are not allowed by you to be happy; but I think that you mean to confine happiness to particular individuals who live according to knowledge, such for example as the prophet, who, as I was saying, knows the future. Is it of him you are speaking or of some one else?

Yes, I mean him, but there are others as well.

Yes, I said, some one who knows the past and present as well as the future, and is ignorant of nothing. Let us suppose that there is such a person, and if there is, you will allow that he is the most knowing of all living men.

Certainly he is.

Yet I should like to know one thing more: which of the different kinds of knowledge makes him happy? or do all equally make him happy?

Not all equally, he replied.

But which most tends to make him happy? the knowledge of what past, present, or future thing? May I infer this to be the knowledge of the game of draughts?

Nonsense about the game of draughts.

Or of computation?

No.

Or of health?

That is nearer the truth, he said.

And that knowledge which is nearest of all, I said, is the knowledge of what?

The knowledge with which he discerns good and evil.

Monster! I said; you have been carrying me round in a circle, and all this time hiding from me the fact that the life according to knowledge is not that which makes men act rightly and be happy, not even if knowledge include all the sciences, but one science only, that of good and evil. For, let me ask you, Critias, whether, if you take away this, medicine will not equally give health, and shoemaking equally produce shoes, and the art of the weaver clothes? — whether the art of the pilot will not equally save our lives at sea, and the art of the general in war?

Quite so.

And yet, my dear Critias, none of these things will be well or beneficially done, if the science of the good be wanting.

True.

But that science is not wisdom or temperance, but a science of human advantage; not a science of other sciences, or of ignorance, but of good and evil: and if this be of use, then wisdom or temperance will not be of use.

And why, he replied, will not wisdom be of use? For, however much we assume that wisdom is a science of sciences, and has a sway over other sciences, surely she will have this particular science of the good under her control, and in this way will benefit us.

And will wisdom give health? I said; is not this rather the effect of medicine? Or does wisdom do the work of any of the other arts, — do they not each of them do their own work? Have we not long ago asseverated that wisdom is only the knowledge of knowledge and of ignorance, and of nothing else?

That is obvious.

Then wisdom will not be the producer of health.

Certainly not.

The art of health is different.

Yes, different.

Nor does wisdom give advantage, my good friend; for that again we have just now been attributing to another art.

Very true.

How then can wisdom be advantageous, when giving no advantage?

That, Socrates, is certainly inconceivable.

You see then, Critias, that I was not far wrong in fearing that I could have no sound notion about wisdom; I was quite right in depreciating myself; for that which is admitted to be the best of all things would never have seemed to us useless, if I had been good for anything at an enquiry. But now I have been utterly defeated, and have failed to discover what that is to which the imposer of names gave this name of temperance or wisdom. And yet many more admissions were made by us than could be fairly granted; for we admitted that there was a science of science, although the argument said No, and protested against us; and we admitted further, that this science knew the works of the other sciences (although this too was denied by the argument), because we wanted to show that the wise man had knowledge of what he knew and did not know; also we nobly disregarded, and never even considered, the impossibility of a man knowing in a sort of way that which he does not know at all; for our assumption was, that he knows that which he does not know; than which nothing, as I think, can be more irrational. And yet, after finding us so easy and good-natured, the enquiry is still unable to discover the truth; but mocks us to a degree, and has gone out of its way to prove the inutility of that which we admitted only by a sort of supposition and fiction to be the true definition of temperance or wisdom: which result, as far as I am concerned, is not so much to be lamented, I said. But for your sake, Charmides, I am very sorry — that you, having such beauty and such wisdom and temperance of soul, should have no profit or good in life from your wisdom and temperance. And still more am I grieved about the charm which I learned with so much pain, and to so little profit, from the Thracian, for the sake of a thing which is nothing worth. I think indeed that there is a mistake, and that I must be a bad enquirer, for wisdom or temperance I believe to be really a great good; and happy are you, Charmides, if you certainly possess it. Wherefore examine yourself, and see whether you have this gift and can do without the charm; for if you can, I would rather advise you to regard me simply as a fool who is never able to reason out anything; and to rest assured that the more wise and temperate you are, the happier you will be.

Charmides said: I am sure that I do not know, Socrates, whether I have or have not this gift of wisdom and temperance; for how can I know whether I have a thing, of which even you and Critias are, as you say, unable to discover the nature? — (not that I believe you.) And further, I am sure, Socrates, that I do need the charm, and as far as I am concerned, I shall be willing to be charmed by you daily, until you say that I have had enough.

Very good, Charmides, said Critias; if you do this I shall have a proof of your temperance, that is, if you allow yourself to be charmed by Socrates, and never desert him at all.

You may depend on my following and not deserting him, said Charmides: if you who are my guardian command me, I should be very wrong not to obey you.

And I do command you, he said.

Then I will do as you say, and begin this very day.

You sirs, I said, what are you conspiring about?

We are not conspiring, said Charmides, we have conspired already.

And are you about to use violence, without even going through the forms of justice?

Yes, I shall use violence, he replied, since he orders me; and therefore you had better consider well.

But the time for consideration has passed, I said, when violence is employed; and you, when you are determined on anything, and in the mood of violence, are irresistible.

Do not you resist me then, he said.

I will not resist you, I replied.

LACHES

This early dialogue concerns various characters, including amongst others Socrates and Nicias, a famous general of the time.  The group of men hold a discussion regarding the concept of courage and they compete to identify a suitable definition.

Socrates questions the initial purpose of schooling children. Once the group determine that the purpose is to instil virtue, and more specifically courage, Socrates discusses with Laches and Nicias what exactly courage is. The bulk of the dialogue is their discussion of definitions for courage.

Socrates uses a medical analogy to help define goodness: If eyes can be improved by adding sight to them, then a boys’ character can be improved by adding goodness to it. As knowledge of what sight is necessary before it can be considered as an improvement, so too it is necessary to have knowledge of what good is before it is used to improve a character. Rather than try to define what the whole of goodness is, Socrates thinks it would be easier to define an aspect of goodness that is relevant to the question; namely bravery.

An Athenian general, possibly Nicias

INTRODUCTION.

Lysimachus, the son of Aristides the Just, and Melesias, the son of the elder Thucydides, two aged men who live together, are desirous of educating their sons in the best manner. Their own education, as often happens with the sons of great men, has been neglected; and they are resolved that their children shall have more care taken of them, than they received themselves at the hands of their fathers.

At their request, Nicias and Laches have accompanied them to see a man named Stesilaus fighting in heavy armour. The two fathers ask the two generals what they think of this exhibition, and whether they would advise that their sons should acquire the accomplishment. Nicias and Laches are quite willing to give their opinion; but they suggest that Socrates should be invited to take part in the consultation. He is a stranger to Lysimachus, but is afterwards recognised as the son of his old friend Sophroniscus, with whom he never had a difference to the hour of his death. Socrates is also known to Nicias, to whom he had introduced the excellent Damon, musician and sophist, as a tutor for his son, and to Laches, who had witnessed his heroic behaviour at the battle of Delium (compare Symp.).

Socrates, as he is younger than either Nicias or Laches, prefers to wait until they have delivered their opinions, which they give in a characteristic manner. Nicias, the tactician, is very much in favour of the new art, which he describes as the gymnastics of war — useful when the ranks are formed, and still more useful when they are broken; creating a general interest in military studies, and greatly adding to the appearance of the soldier in the field. Laches, the blunt warrior, is of opinion that such an art is not knowledge, and cannot be of any value, because the Lacedaemonians, those great masters of arms, neglect it. His own experience in actual service has taught him that these pretenders are useless and ridiculous. This man Stesilaus has been seen by him on board ship making a very sorry exhibition of himself. The possession of the art will make the coward rash, and subject the courageous, if he chance to make a slip, to invidious remarks. And now let Socrates be taken into counsel. As they differ he must decide.

Socrates would rather not decide the question by a plurality of votes: in such a serious matter as the education of a friend’s children, he would consult the one skilled person who has had masters, and has works to show as evidences of his skill. This is not himself; for he has never been able to pay the sophists for instructing him, and has never had the wit to do or discover anything. But Nicias and Laches are older and richer than he is: they have had teachers, and perhaps have made discoveries; and he would have trusted them entirely, if they had not been diametrically opposed.

Lysimachus here proposes to resign the argument into the hands of the younger part of the company, as he is old, and has a bad memory. He earnestly requests Socrates to remain; — in this showing, as Nicias says, how little he knows the man, who will certainly not go away until he has cross-examined the company about their past lives. Nicias has often submitted to this process; and Laches is quite willing to learn from Socrates, because his actions, in the true Dorian mode, correspond to his words.

Socrates proceeds: We might ask who are our teachers? But a better and more thorough way of examining the question will be to ask, ‘What is Virtue?’ — or rather, to restrict the enquiry to that part of virtue which is concerned with the use of weapons— ‘What is Courage?’ Laches thinks that he knows this: (1) ‘He is courageous who remains at his post.’ But some nations fight flying, after the manner of Aeneas in Homer; or as the heavy-armed Spartans also did at the battle of Plataea. (2) Socrates wants a more general definition, not only of military courage, but of courage of all sorts, tried both amid pleasures and pains. Laches replies that this universal courage is endurance. But courage is a good thing, and mere endurance may be hurtful and injurious. Therefore (3) the element of intelligence must be added. But then again unintelligent endurance may often be more courageous than the intelligent, the bad than the good. How is this contradiction to be solved? Socrates and Laches are not set ‘to the Dorian mode’ of words and actions; for their words are all confusion, although their actions are courageous. Still they must ‘endure’ in an argument about endurance. Laches is very willing, and is quite sure that he knows what courage is, if he could only tell.

Nicias is now appealed to; and in reply he offers a definition which he has heard from Socrates himself, to the effect that (1) ‘Courage is intelligence.’ Laches derides this; and Socrates enquires, ‘What sort of intelligence?’ to which Nicias replies, ‘Intelligence of things terrible.’ ‘But every man knows the things to be dreaded in his own art.’ ‘No they do not. They may predict results, but cannot tell whether they are really terrible; only the courageous man can tell that.’ Laches draws the inference that the courageous man is either a soothsayer or a god.

Again, (2) in Nicias’ way of speaking, the term ‘courageous’ must be denied to animals or children, because they do not know the danger. Against this inversion of the ordinary use of language Laches reclaims, but is in some degree mollified by a compliment to his own courage. Still, he does not like to see an Athenian statesman and general descending to sophistries of this sort. Socrates resumes the argument. Courage has been defined to be intelligence or knowledge of the terrible; and courage is not all virtue, but only one of the virtues. The terrible is in the future, and therefore the knowledge of the terrible is a knowledge of the future. But there can be no knowledge of future good or evil separated from a knowledge of the good and evil of the past or present; that is to say, of all good and evil. Courage, therefore, is the knowledge of good and evil generally. But he who has the knowledge of good and evil generally, must not only have courage, but also temperance, justice, and every other virtue. Thus, a single virtue would be the same as all virtues (compare Protagoras). And after all the two generals, and Socrates, the hero of Delium, are still in ignorance of the nature of courage. They must go to school again, boys, old men and all.

Some points of resemblance, and some points of difference, appear in the Laches when compared with the Charmides and Lysis. There is less of poetical and simple beauty, and more of dramatic interest and power. They are richer in the externals of the scene; the Laches has more play and development of character. In the Lysis and Charmides the youths are the central figures, and frequent allusions are made to the place of meeting, which is a palaestra. Here the place of meeting, which is also a palaestra, is quite forgotten, and the boys play a subordinate part. The seance is of old and elder men, of whom Socrates is the youngest.

First is the aged Lysimachus, who may be compared with Cephalus in the Republic, and, like him, withdraws from the argument. Melesias, who is only his shadow, also subsides into silence. Both of them, by their own confession, have been ill-educated, as is further shown by the circumstance that Lysimachus, the friend of Sophroniscus, has never heard of the fame of Socrates, his son; they belong to different circles. In the Meno their want of education in all but the arts of riding and wrestling is adduced as a proof that virtue cannot be taught. The recognition of Socrates by Lysimachus is extremely graceful; and his military exploits naturally connect him with the two generals, of whom one has witnessed them. The characters of Nicias and Laches are indicated by their opinions on the exhibition of the man fighting in heavy armour. The more enlightened Nicias is quite ready to accept the new art, which Laches treats with ridicule, seeming to think that this, or any other military question, may be settled by asking, ‘What do the Lacedaemonians say?’ The one is the thoughtful general, willing to avail himself of any discovery in the art of war (Aristoph. Aves); the other is the practical man, who relies on his own experience, and is the enemy of innovation; he can act but cannot speak, and is apt to lose his temper. It is to be noted that one of them is supposed to be a hearer of Socrates; the other is only acquainted with his actions. Laches is the admirer of the Dorian mode; and into his mouth the remark is put that there are some persons who, having never been taught, are better than those who have. Like a novice in the art of disputation, he is delighted with the hits of Socrates; and is disposed to be angry with the refinements of Nicias.

In the discussion of the main thesis of the Dialogue— ‘What is Courage?’ the antagonism of the two characters is still more clearly brought out; and in this, as in the preliminary question, the truth is parted between them. Gradually, and not without difficulty, Laches is made to pass on from the more popular to the more philosophical; it has never occurred to him that there was any other courage than that of the soldier; and only by an effort of the mind can he frame a general notion at all. No sooner has this general notion been formed than it evanesces before the dialectic of Socrates; and Nicias appears from the other side with the Socratic doctrine, that courage is knowledge. This is explained to mean knowledge of things terrible in the future. But Socrates denies that the knowledge of the future is separable from that of the past and present; in other words, true knowledge is not that of the soothsayer but of the philosopher. And all knowledge will thus be equivalent to all virtue — a position which elsewhere Socrates is not unwilling to admit, but which will not assist us in distinguishing the nature of courage. In this part of the Dialogue the contrast between the mode of cross-examination which is practised by Laches and by Socrates, and also the manner in which the definition of Laches is made to approximate to that of Nicias, are worthy of attention.

Thus, with some intimation of the connexion and unity of virtue and knowledge, we arrive at no distinct result. The two aspects of courage are never harmonized. The knowledge which in the Protagoras is explained as the faculty of estimating pleasures and pains is here lost in an unmeaning and transcendental conception. Yet several true intimations of the nature of courage are allowed to appear: (1) That courage is moral as well as physical: (2) That true courage is inseparable from knowledge, and yet (3) is based on a natural instinct. Laches exhibits one aspect of courage; Nicias the other. The perfect image and harmony of both is only realized in Socrates himself.

The Dialogue offers one among many examples of the freedom with which Plato treats facts. For the scene must be supposed to have occurred between B.C. 424, the year of the battle of Delium, and B.C. 418, the year of the battle of Mantinea, at which Laches fell. But if Socrates was more than seventy years of age at his trial in 399 (see Apology), he could not have been a young man at any time after the battle of Delium.

LACHES

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Lysimachus, son of Aristides.

Melesias, son of Thucydides.

Their sons.

Nicias, Laches, Socrates.

LYSIMACHUS: You have seen the exhibition of the man fighting in armour, Nicias and Laches, but we did not tell you at the time the reason why my friend Melesias and I asked you to go with us and see him. I think that we may as well confess what this was, for we certainly ought not to have any reserve with you. The reason was, that we were intending to ask your advice. Some laugh at the very notion of advising others, and when they are asked will not say what they think. They guess at the wishes of the person who asks them, and answer according to his, and not according to their own, opinion. But as we know that you are good judges, and will say exactly what you think, we have taken you into our counsels. The matter about which I am making all this preface is as follows: Melesias and I have two sons; that is his son, and he is named Thucydides, after his grandfather; and this is mine, who is also called after his grandfather, Aristides. Now, we are resolved to take the greatest care of the youths, and not to let them run about as they like, which is too often the way with the young, when they are no longer children, but to begin at once and do the utmost that we can for them. And knowing you to have sons of your own, we thought that you were most likely to have attended to their training and improvement, and, if perchance you have not attended to them, we may remind you that you ought to have done so, and would invite you to assist us in the fulfilment of a common duty. I will tell you, Nicias and Laches, even at the risk of being tedious, how we came to think of this. Melesias and I live together, and our sons live with us; and now, as I was saying at first, we are going to confess to you. Both of us often talk to the lads about the many noble deeds which our own fathers did in war and peace — in the management of the allies, and in the administration of the city; but neither of us has any deeds of his own which he can show. The truth is that we are ashamed of this contrast being seen by them, and we blame our fathers for letting us be spoiled in the days of our youth, while they were occupied with the concerns of others; and we urge all this upon the lads, pointing out to them that they will not grow up to honour if they are rebellious and take no pains about themselves; but that if they take pains they may, perhaps, become worthy of the names which they bear. They, on their part, promise to comply with our wishes; and our care is to discover what studies or pursuits are likely to be most improving to them. Some one commended to us the art of fighting in armour, which he thought an excellent accomplishment for a young man to learn; and he praised the man whose exhibition you have seen, and told us to go and see him. And we determined that we would go, and get you to accompany us; and we were intending at the same time, if you did not object, to take counsel with you about the education of our sons. That is the matter which we wanted to talk over with you; and we hope that you will give us your opinion about this art of fighting in armour, and about any other studies or pursuits which may or may not be desirable for a young man to learn. Please to say whether you agree to our proposal.

NICIAS: As far as I am concerned, Lysimachus and Melesias, I applaud your purpose, and will gladly assist you; and I believe that you, Laches, will be equally glad.

LACHES: Certainly, Nicias; and I quite approve of the remark which Lysimachus made about his own father and the father of Melesias, and which is applicable, not only to them, but to us, and to every one who is occupied with public affairs. As he says, such persons are too apt to be negligent and careless of their own children and their private concerns. There is much truth in that remark of yours, Lysimachus. But why, instead of consulting us, do you not consult our friend Socrates about the education of the youths? He is of the same deme with you, and is always passing his time in places where the youth have any noble study or pursuit, such as you are enquiring after.

LYSIMACHUS: Why, Laches, has Socrates ever attended to matters of this sort?

LACHES: Certainly, Lysimachus.

NICIAS: That I have the means of knowing as well as Laches; for quite lately he supplied me with a teacher of music for my sons, — Damon, the disciple of Agathocles, who is a most accomplished man in every way, as well as a musician, and a companion of inestimable value for young men at their age.

LYSIMACHUS: Those who have reached my time of life, Socrates and Nicias and Laches, fall out of acquaintance with the young, because they are generally detained at home by old age; but you, O son of Sophroniscus, should let your fellow demesman have the benefit of any advice which you are able to give. Moreover I have a claim upon you as an old friend of your father; for I and he were always companions and friends, and to the hour of his death there never was a difference between us; and now it comes back to me, at the mention of your name, that I have heard these lads talking to one another at home, and often speaking of Socrates in terms of the highest praise; but I have never thought to ask them whether the son of Sophroniscus was the person whom they meant. Tell me, my boys, whether this is the Socrates of whom you have often spoken?

SON: Certainly, father, this is he.

LYSIMACHUS: I am delighted to hear, Socrates, that you maintain the name of your father, who was a most excellent man; and I further rejoice at the prospect of our family ties being renewed.

LACHES: Indeed, Lysimachus, you ought not to give him up; for I can assure you that I have seen him maintaining, not only his father’s, but also his country’s name. He was my companion in the retreat from Delium, and I can tell you that if others had only been like him, the honour of our country would have been upheld, and the great defeat would never have occurred.

LYSIMACHUS: That is very high praise which is accorded to you, Socrates, by faithful witnesses and for actions like those which they praise. Let me tell you the pleasure which I feel in hearing of your fame; and I hope that you will regard me as one of your warmest friends. You ought to have visited us long ago, and made yourself at home with us; but now, from this day forward, as we have at last found one another out, do as I say — come and make acquaintance with me, and with these young men, that I may continue your friend, as I was your father’s. I shall expect you to do so, and shall venture at some future time to remind you of your duty. But what say you of the matter of which we were beginning to speak — the art of fighting in armour? Is that a practice in which the lads may be advantageously instructed?

SOCRATES: I will endeavour to advise you, Lysimachus, as far as I can in this matter, and also in every way will comply with your wishes; but as I am younger and not so experienced, I think that I ought certainly to hear first what my elders have to say, and to learn of them, and if I have anything to add, then I may venture to give my opinion to them as well as to you. Suppose, Nicias, that one or other of you begin.

NICIAS: I have no objection, Socrates; and my opinion is that the acquirement of this art is in many ways useful to young men. It is an advantage to them that among the favourite amusements of their leisure hours they should have one which tends to improve and not to injure their bodily health. No gymnastics could be better or harder exercise; and this, and the art of riding, are of all arts most befitting to a freeman; for they only who are thus trained in the use of arms are the athletes of our military profession, trained in that on which the conflict turns. Moreover in actual battle, when you have to fight in a line with a number of others, such an acquirement will be of some use, and will be of the greatest whenever the ranks are broken and you have to fight singly, either in pursuit, when you are attacking some one who is defending himself, or in flight, when you have to defend yourself against an assailant. Certainly he who possessed the art could not meet with any harm at the hands of a single person, or perhaps of several; and in any case he would have a great advantage. Further, this sort of skill inclines a man to the love of other noble lessons; for every man who has learned how to fight in armour will desire to learn the proper arrangement of an army, which is the sequel of the lesson: and when he has learned this, and his ambition is once fired, he will go on to learn the complete art of the general. There is no difficulty in seeing that the knowledge and practice of other military arts will be honourable and valuable to a man; and this lesson may be the beginning of them. Let me add a further advantage, which is by no means a slight one, — that this science will make any man a great deal more valiant and self-possessed in the field. And I will not disdain to mention, what by some may be thought to be a small matter; — he will make a better appearance at the right time; that is to say, at the time when his appearance will strike terror into his enemies. My opinion then, Lysimachus, is, as I say, that the youths should be instructed in this art, and for the reasons which I have given. But Laches may take a different view; and I shall be very glad to hear what he has to say.

LACHES: I should not like to maintain, Nicias, that any kind of knowledge is not to be learned; for all knowledge appears to be a good: and if, as Nicias and as the teachers of the art affirm, this use of arms is really a species of knowledge, then it ought to be learned; but if not, and if those who profess to teach it are deceivers only; or if it be knowledge, but not of a valuable sort, then what is the use of learning it? I say this, because I think that if it had been really valuable, the Lacedaemonians, whose whole life is passed in finding out and practising the arts which give them an advantage over other nations in war, would have discovered this one. And even if they had not, still these professors of the art would certainly not have failed to discover that of all the Hellenes the Lacedaemonians have the greatest interest in such matters, and that a master of the art who was honoured among them would be sure to make his fortune among other nations, just as a tragic poet would who is honoured among ourselves; which is the reason why he who fancies that he can write a tragedy does not go about itinerating in the neighbouring states, but rushes hither straight, and exhibits at Athens; and this is natural. Whereas I perceive that these fighters in armour regard Lacedaemon as a sacred inviolable territory, which they do not touch with the point of their foot; but they make a circuit of the neighbouring states, and would rather exhibit to any others than to the Spartans; and particularly to those who would themselves acknowledge that they are by no means first-rate in the arts of war. Further, Lysimachus, I have encountered a good many of these gentlemen in actual service, and have taken their measure, which I can give you at once; for none of these masters of fence have ever been distinguished in war, — there has been a sort of fatality about them; while in all other arts the men of note have been always those who have practised the art, they appear to be a most unfortunate exception. For example, this very Stesilaus, whom you and I have just witnessed exhibiting in all that crowd and making such great professions of his powers, I have seen at another time making, in sober truth, an involuntary exhibition of himself, which was a far better spectacle. He was a marine on board a ship which struck a transport vessel, and was armed with a weapon, half spear, half scythe; the singularity of this weapon was worthy of the singularity of the man. To make a long story short, I will only tell you what happened to this notable invention of the scythe spear. He was fighting, and the scythe was caught in the rigging of the other ship, and stuck fast; and he tugged, but was unable to get his weapon free. The two ships were passing one another. He first ran along his own ship holding on to the spear; but as the other ship passed by and drew him after as he was holding on, he let the spear slip through his hand until he retained only the end of the handle. The people in the transport clapped their hands, and laughed at his ridiculous figure; and when some one threw a stone, which fell on the deck at his feet, and he quitted his hold of the scythe-spear, the crew of his own trireme also burst out laughing; they could not refrain when they beheld the weapon waving in the air, suspended from the transport. Now I do not deny that there may be something in such an art, as Nicias asserts, but I tell you my experience; and, as I said at first, whether this be an art of which the advantage is so slight, or not an art at all, but only an imposition, in either case such an acquirement is not worth having. For my opinion is, that if the professor of this art be a coward, he will be likely to become rash, and his character will be only more notorious; or if he be brave, and fail ever so little, other men will be on the watch, and he will be greatly traduced; for there is a jealousy of such pretenders; and unless a man be pre-eminent in valour, he cannot help being ridiculous, if he says that he has this sort of skill. Such is my judgment, Lysimachus, of the desirableness of this art; but, as I said at first, ask Socrates, and do not let him go until he has given you his opinion of the matter.

LYSIMACHUS: I am going to ask this favour of you, Socrates; as is the more necessary because the two councillors disagree, and some one is in a manner still needed who will decide between them. Had they agreed, no arbiter would have been required. But as Laches has voted one way and Nicias another, I should like to hear with which of our two friends you agree.

SOCRATES: What, Lysimachus, are you going to accept the opinion of the majority?

LYSIMACHUS: Why, yes, Socrates; what else am I to do?

SOCRATES: And would you do so too, Melesias? If you were deliberating about the gymnastic training of your son, would you follow the advice of the majority of us, or the opinion of the one who had been trained and exercised under a skilful master?

MELESIAS: The latter, Socrates; as would surely be reasonable.

SOCRATES: His one vote would be worth more than the vote of all us four?

MELESIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And for this reason, as I imagine, — because a good decision is based on knowledge and not on numbers?

MELESIAS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: Must we not then first of all ask, whether there is any one of us who has knowledge of that about which we are deliberating? If there is, let us take his advice, though he be one only, and not mind the rest; if there is not, let us seek further counsel. Is this a slight matter about which you and Lysimachus are deliberating? Are you not risking the greatest of your possessions? For children are your riches; and upon their turning out well or ill depends the whole order of their father’s house.

MELESIAS: That is true.

SOCRATES: Great care, then, is required in this matter?

MELESIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Suppose, as I was just now saying, that we were considering, or wanting to consider, who was the best trainer. Should we not select him who knew and had practised the art, and had the best teachers?

MELESIAS: I think that we should.

SOCRATES: But would there not arise a prior question about the nature of the art of which we want to find the masters?

MELESIAS: I do not understand.

SOCRATES: Let me try to make my meaning plainer then. I do not think that we have as yet decided what that is about which we are consulting, when we ask which of us is or is not skilled in the art, and has or has not had a teacher of the art.

NICIAS: Why, Socrates, is not the question whether young men ought or ought not to learn the art of fighting in armour?

SOCRATES: Yes, Nicias; but there is also a prior question, which I may illustrate in this way: When a person considers about applying a medicine to the eyes, would you say that he is consulting about the medicine or about the eyes?

NICIAS: About the eyes.

SOCRATES: And when he considers whether he shall set a bridle on a horse and at what time, he is thinking of the horse and not of the bridle?

NICIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And in a word, when he considers anything for the sake of another thing, he thinks of the end and not of the means?

NICIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And when you call in an adviser, you should see whether he too is skilful in the accomplishment of the end which you have in view?

NICIAS: Most true.

SOCRATES: And at present we have in view some knowledge, of which the end is the soul of youth?

NICIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And we are enquiring, Which of us is skilful or successful in the treatment of the soul, and which of us has had good teachers?

LACHES: Well but, Socrates; did you never observe that some persons, who have had no teachers, are more skilful than those who have, in some things?

SOCRATES: Yes, Laches, I have observed that; but you would not be very willing to trust them if they only professed to be masters of their art, unless they could show some proof of their skill or excellence in one or more works.

LACHES: That is true.

SOCRATES: And therefore, Laches and Nicias, as Lysimachus and Melesias, in their anxiety to improve the minds of their sons, have asked our advice about them, we too should tell them who our teachers were, if we say that we have had any, and prove them to be in the first place men of merit and experienced trainers of the minds of youth and also to have been really our teachers. Or if any of us says that he has no teacher, but that he has works of his own to show; then he should point out to them what Athenians or strangers, bond or free, he is generally acknowledged to have improved. But if he can show neither teachers nor works, then he should tell them to look out for others; and not run the risk of spoiling the children of friends, and thereby incurring the most formidable accusation which can be brought against any one by those nearest to him. As for myself, Lysimachus and Melesias, I am the first to confess that I have never had a teacher of the art of virtue; although I have always from my earliest youth desired to have one. But I am too poor to give money to the Sophists, who are the only professors of moral improvement; and to this day I have never been able to discover the art myself, though I should not be surprised if Nicias or Laches may have discovered or learned it; for they are far wealthier than I am, and may therefore have learnt of others. And they are older too; so that they have had more time to make the discovery. And I really believe that they are able to educate a man; for unless they had been confident in their own knowledge, they would never have spoken thus decidedly of the pursuits which are advantageous or hurtful to a young man. I repose confidence in both of them; but I am surprised to find that they differ from one another. And therefore, Lysimachus, as Laches suggested that you should detain me, and not let me go until I answered, I in turn earnestly beseech and advise you to detain Laches and Nicias, and question them. I would have you say to them: Socrates avers that he has no knowledge of the matter — he is unable to decide which of you speaks truly; neither discoverer nor student is he of anything of the kind. But you, Laches and Nicias, should each of you tell us who is the most skilful educator whom you have ever known; and whether you invented the art yourselves, or learned of another; and if you learned, who were your respective teachers, and who were their brothers in the art; and then, if you are too much occupied in politics to teach us yourselves, let us go to them, and present them with gifts, or make interest with them, or both, in the hope that they may be induced to take charge of our children and of yours; and then they will not grow up inferior, and disgrace their ancestors. But if you are yourselves original discoverers in that field, give us some proof of your skill. Who are they who, having been inferior persons, have become under your care good and noble? For if this is your first attempt at education, there is a danger that you may be trying the experiment, not on the ‘vile corpus’ of a Carian slave, but on your own sons, or the sons of your friend, and, as the proverb says, ‘break the large vessel in learning to make pots.’ Tell us then, what qualities you claim or do not claim. Make them tell you that, Lysimachus, and do not let them off.

LYSIMACHUS: I very much approve of the words of Socrates, my friends; but you, Nicias and Laches, must determine whether you will be questioned, and give an explanation about matters of this sort. Assuredly, I and Melesias would be greatly pleased to hear you answer the questions which Socrates asks, if you will: for I began by saying that we took you into our counsels because we thought that you would have attended to the subject, especially as you have children who, like our own, are nearly of an age to be educated. Well, then, if you have no objection, suppose that you take Socrates into partnership; and do you and he ask and answer one another’s questions: for, as he has well said, we are deliberating about the most important of our concerns. I hope that you will see fit to comply with our request.

NICIAS: I see very clearly, Lysimachus, that you have only known Socrates’ father, and have no acquaintance with Socrates himself: at least, you can only have known him when he was a child, and may have met him among his fellow-wardsmen, in company with his father, at a sacrifice, or at some other gathering. You clearly show that you have never known him since he arrived at manhood.

LYSIMACHUS: Why do you say that, Nicias?

NICIAS: Because you seem not to be aware that any one who has an intellectual affinity to Socrates and enters into conversation with him is liable to be drawn into an argument; and whatever subject he may start, he will be continually carried round and round by him, until at last he finds that he has to give an account both of his present and past life; and when he is once entangled, Socrates will not let him go until he has completely and thoroughly sifted him. Now I am used to his ways; and I know that he will certainly do as I say, and also that I myself shall be the sufferer; for I am fond of his conversation, Lysimachus. And I think that there is no harm in being reminded of any wrong thing which we are, or have been, doing: he who does not fly from reproof will be sure to take more heed of his after-life; as Solon says, he will wish and desire to be learning so long as he lives, and will not think that old age of itself brings wisdom. To me, to be cross-examined by Socrates is neither unusual nor unpleasant; indeed, I knew all along that where Socrates was, the argument would soon pass from our sons to ourselves; and therefore, I say that for my part, I am quite willing to discourse with Socrates in his own manner; but you had better ask our friend Laches what his feeling may be.

LACHES: I have but one feeling, Nicias, or (shall I say?) two feelings, about discussions. Some would think that I am a lover, and to others I may seem to be a hater of discourse; for when I hear a man discoursing of virtue, or of any sort of wisdom, who is a true man and worthy of his theme, I am delighted beyond measure: and I compare the man and his words, and note the harmony and correspondence of them. And such an one I deem to be the true musician, attuned to a fairer harmony than that of the lyre, or any pleasant instrument of music; for truly he has in his own life a harmony of words and deeds arranged, not in the Ionian, or in the Phrygian mode, nor yet in the Lydian, but in the true Hellenic mode, which is the Dorian, and no other. Such an one makes me merry with the sound of his voice; and when I hear him I am thought to be a lover of discourse; so eager am I in drinking in his words. But a man whose actions do not agree with his words is an annoyance to me; and the better he speaks the more I hate him, and then I seem to be a hater of discourse. As to Socrates, I have no knowledge of his words, but of old, as would seem, I have had experience of his deeds; and his deeds show that free and noble sentiments are natural to him. And if his words accord, then I am of one mind with him, and shall be delighted to be interrogated by a man such as he is, and shall not be annoyed at having to learn of him: for I too agree with Solon, ‘that I would fain grow old, learning many things.’ But I must be allowed to add ‘of the good only.’ Socrates must be willing to allow that he is a good teacher, or I shall be a dull and uncongenial pupil: but that the teacher is younger, or not as yet in repute — anything of that sort is of no account with me. And therefore, Socrates, I give you notice that you may teach and confute me as much as ever you like, and also learn of me anything which I know. So high is the opinion which I have entertained of you ever since the day on which you were my companion in danger, and gave a proof of your valour such as only the man of merit can give. Therefore, say whatever you like, and do not mind about the difference of our ages.

SOCRATES: I cannot say that either of you show any reluctance to take counsel and advise with me.

LYSIMACHUS: But this is our proper business; and yours as well as ours, for I reckon you as one of us. Please then to take my place, and find out from Nicias and Laches what we want to know, for the sake of the youths, and talk and consult with them: for I am old, and my memory is bad; and I do not remember the questions which I am going to ask, or the answers to them; and if there is any interruption I am quite lost. I will therefore beg of you to carry on the proposed discussion by your selves; and I will listen, and Melesias and I will act upon your conclusions.

SOCRATES: Let us, Nicias and Laches, comply with the request of Lysimachus and Melesias. There will be no harm in asking ourselves the question which was first proposed to us: ‘Who have been our own instructors in this sort of training, and whom have we made better?’ But the other mode of carrying on the enquiry will bring us equally to the same point, and will be more like proceeding from first principles. For if we knew that the addition of something would improve some other thing, and were able to make the addition, then, clearly, we must know how that about which we are advising may be best and most easily attained. Perhaps you do not understand what I mean. Then let me make my meaning plainer in this way. Suppose we knew that the addition of sight makes better the eyes which possess this gift, and also were able to impart sight to the eyes, then, clearly, we should know the nature of sight, and should be able to advise how this gift of sight may be best and most easily attained; but if we knew neither what sight is, nor what hearing is, we should not be very good medical advisers about the eyes or the ears, or about the best mode of giving sight and hearing to them.

LACHES: That is true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And are not our two friends, Laches, at this very moment inviting us to consider in what way the gift of virtue may be imparted to their sons for the improvement of their minds?

LACHES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then must we not first know the nature of virtue? For how can we advise any one about the best mode of attaining something of which we are wholly ignorant?

LACHES: I do not think that we can, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then, Laches, we may presume that we know the nature of virtue?

LACHES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And that which we know we must surely be able to tell?

LACHES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: I would not have us begin, my friend, with enquiring about the whole of virtue; for that may be more than we can accomplish; let us first consider whether we have a sufficient knowledge of a part; the enquiry will thus probably be made easier to us.

LACHES: Let us do as you say, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then which of the parts of virtue shall we select? Must we not select that to which the art of fighting in armour is supposed to conduce? And is not that generally thought to be courage?

LACHES: Yes, certainly.

SOCRATES: Then, Laches, suppose that we first set about determining the nature of courage, and in the second place proceed to enquire how the young men may attain this quality by the help of studies and pursuits. Tell me, if you can, what is courage.

LACHES: Indeed, Socrates, I see no difficulty in answering; he is a man of courage who does not run away, but remains at his post and fights against the enemy; there can be no mistake about that.

SOCRATES: Very good, Laches; and yet I fear that I did not express myself clearly; and therefore you have answered not the question which I intended to ask, but another.

LACHES: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I will endeavour to explain; you would call a man courageous who remains at his post, and fights with the enemy?

LACHES: Certainly I should.

SOCRATES: And so should I; but what would you say of another man, who fights flying, instead of remaining?

LACHES: How flying?

SOCRATES: Why, as the Scythians are said to fight, flying as well as pursuing; and as Homer says in praise of the horses of Aeneas, that they knew ‘how to pursue, and fly quickly hither and thither’; and he passes an encomium on Aeneas himself, as having a knowledge of fear or flight, and calls him ‘an author of fear or flight.’

LACHES: Yes, Socrates, and there Homer is right: for he was speaking of chariots, as you were speaking of the Scythian cavalry, who have that way of fighting; but the heavy-armed Greek fights, as I say, remaining in his rank.

SOCRATES: And yet, Laches, you must except the Lacedaemonians at Plataea, who, when they came upon the light shields of the Persians, are said not to have been willing to stand and fight, and to have fled; but when the ranks of the Persians were broken, they turned upon them like cavalry, and won the battle of Plataea.

LACHES: That is true.

SOCRATES: That was my meaning when I said that I was to blame in having put my question badly, and that this was the reason of your answering badly. For I meant to ask you not only about the courage of heavy-armed soldiers, but about the courage of cavalry and every other style of soldier; and not only who are courageous in war, but who are courageous in perils by sea, and who in disease, or in poverty, or again in politics, are courageous; and not only who are courageous against pain or fear, but mighty to contend against desires and pleasures, either fixed in their rank or turning upon their enemy. There is this sort of courage — is there not, Laches?

LACHES: Certainly, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And all these are courageous, but some have courage in pleasures, and some in pains: some in desires, and some in fears, and some are cowards under the same conditions, as I should imagine.

LACHES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Now I was asking about courage and cowardice in general. And I will begin with courage, and once more ask, What is that common quality, which is the same in all these cases, and which is called courage? Do you now understand what I mean?

LACHES: Not over well.

SOCRATES: I mean this: As I might ask what is that quality which is called quickness, and which is found in running, in playing the lyre, in speaking, in learning, and in many other similar actions, or rather which we possess in nearly every action that is worth mentioning of arms, legs, mouth, voice, mind; — would you not apply the term quickness to all of them?

LACHES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And suppose I were to be asked by some one: What is that common quality, Socrates, which, in all these uses of the word, you call quickness? I should say the quality which accomplishes much in a little time — whether in running, speaking, or in any other sort of action.

LACHES: You would be quite correct.

SOCRATES: And now, Laches, do you try and tell me in like manner, What is that common quality which is called courage, and which includes all the various uses of the term when applied both to pleasure and pain, and in all the cases to which I was just now referring?

LACHES: I should say that courage is a sort of endurance of the soul, if I am to speak of the universal nature which pervades them all.

SOCRATES: But that is what we must do if we are to answer the question. And yet I cannot say that every kind of endurance is, in my opinion, to be deemed courage. Hear my reason: I am sure, Laches, that you would consider courage to be a very noble quality.

LACHES: Most noble, certainly.

SOCRATES: And you would say that a wise endurance is also good and noble?

LACHES: Very noble.

SOCRATES: But what would you say of a foolish endurance? Is not that, on the other hand, to be regarded as evil and hurtful?

LACHES: True.

SOCRATES: And is anything noble which is evil and hurtful?

LACHES: I ought not to say that, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then you would not admit that sort of endurance to be courage — for it is not noble, but courage is noble?

LACHES: You are right.

SOCRATES: Then, according to you, only the wise endurance is courage?

LACHES: True.

SOCRATES: But as to the epithet ‘wise,’ — wise in what? In all things small as well as great? For example, if a man shows the quality of endurance in spending his money wisely, knowing that by spending he will acquire more in the end, do you call him courageous?

LACHES: Assuredly not.

SOCRATES: Or, for example, if a man is a physician, and his son, or some patient of his, has inflammation of the lungs, and begs that he may be allowed to eat or drink something, and the other is firm and refuses; is that courage?

LACHES: No; that is not courage at all, any more than the last.

SOCRATES: Again, take the case of one who endures in war, and is willing to fight, and wisely calculates and knows that others will help him, and that there will be fewer and inferior men against him than there are with him; and suppose that he has also advantages of position; would you say of such a one who endures with all this wisdom and preparation, that he, or some man in the opposing army who is in the opposite circumstances to these and yet endures and remains at his post, is the braver?

LACHES: I should say that the latter, Socrates, was the braver.

SOCRATES: But, surely, this is a foolish endurance in comparison with the other?

LACHES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Then you would say that he who in an engagement of cavalry endures, having the knowledge of horsemanship, is not so courageous as he who endures, having no such knowledge?

LACHES: So I should say.

SOCRATES: And he who endures, having a knowledge of the use of the sling, or the bow, or of any other art, is not so courageous as he who endures, not having such a knowledge?

LACHES: True.

SOCRATES: And he who descends into a well, and dives, and holds out in this or any similar action, having no knowledge of diving, or the like, is, as you would say, more courageous than those who have this knowledge?

LACHES: Why, Socrates, what else can a man say?

SOCRATES: Nothing, if that be what he thinks.

LACHES: But that is what I do think.

SOCRATES: And yet men who thus run risks and endure are foolish, Laches, in comparison of those who do the same things, having the skill to do them.

LACHES: That is true.

SOCRATES: But foolish boldness and endurance appeared before to be base and hurtful to us.

LACHES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Whereas courage was acknowledged to be a noble quality.

LACHES: True.

SOCRATES: And now on the contrary we are saying that the foolish endurance, which was before held in dishonour, is courage.

LACHES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And are we right in saying so?

LACHES: Indeed, Socrates, I am sure that we are not right.

SOCRATES: Then according to your statement, you and I, Laches, are not attuned to the Dorian mode, which is a harmony of words and deeds; for our deeds are not in accordance with our words. Any one would say that we had courage who saw us in action, but not, I imagine, he who heard us talking about courage just now.

LACHES: That is most true.

SOCRATES: And is this condition of ours satisfactory?

LACHES: Quite the reverse.

SOCRATES: Suppose, however, that we admit the principle of which we are speaking to a certain extent.

LACHES: To what extent and what principle do you mean?

SOCRATES: The principle of endurance. We too must endure and persevere in the enquiry, and then courage will not laugh at our faint-heartedness in searching for courage; which after all may, very likely, be endurance.

LACHES: I am ready to go on, Socrates; and yet I am unused to investigations of this sort. But the spirit of controversy has been aroused in me by what has been said; and I am really grieved at being thus unable to express my meaning. For I fancy that I do know the nature of courage; but, somehow or other, she has slipped away from me, and I cannot get hold of her and tell her nature.

SOCRATES: But, my dear friend, should not the good sportsman follow the track, and not be lazy?

LACHES: Certainly, he should.

SOCRATES: And shall we invite Nicias to join us? he may be better at the sport than we are. What do you say?

LACHES: I should like that.

SOCRATES: Come then, Nicias, and do what you can to help your friends, who are tossing on the waves of argument, and at the last gasp: you see our extremity, and may save us and also settle your own opinion, if you will tell us what you think about courage.

NICIAS: I have been thinking, Socrates, that you and Laches are not defining courage in the right way; for you have forgotten an excellent saying which I have heard from your own lips.

SOCRATES: What is it, Nicias?

NICIAS: I have often heard you say that ‘Every man is good in that in which he is wise, and bad in that in which he is unwise.’

SOCRATES: That is certainly true, Nicias.

NICIAS: And therefore if the brave man is good, he is also wise.

SOCRATES: Do you hear him, Laches?

LACHES: Yes, I hear him, but I do not very well understand him.

SOCRATES: I think that I understand him; and he appears to me to mean that courage is a sort of wisdom.

LACHES: What can he possibly mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: That is a question which you must ask of himself.

LACHES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Tell him then, Nicias, what you mean by this wisdom; for you surely do not mean the wisdom which plays the flute?

NICIAS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Nor the wisdom which plays the lyre?

NICIAS: No.

SOCRATES: But what is this knowledge then, and of what?

LACHES: I think that you put the question to him very well, Socrates; and I would like him to say what is the nature of this knowledge or wisdom.

NICIAS: I mean to say, Laches, that courage is the knowledge of that which inspires fear or confidence in war, or in anything.

LACHES: How strangely he is talking, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Why do you say so, Laches?

LACHES: Why, surely courage is one thing, and wisdom another.

SOCRATES: That is just what Nicias denies.

LACHES: Yes, that is what he denies; but he is so silly.

SOCRATES: Suppose that we instruct instead of abusing him?

NICIAS: Laches does not want to instruct me, Socrates; but having been proved to be talking nonsense himself, he wants to prove that I have been doing the same.

LACHES: Very true, Nicias; and you are talking nonsense, as I shall endeavour to show. Let me ask you a question: Do not physicians know the dangers of disease? or do the courageous know them? or are the physicians the same as the courageous?

NICIAS: Not at all.

LACHES: No more than the husbandmen who know the dangers of husbandry, or than other craftsmen, who have a knowledge of that which inspires them with fear or confidence in their own arts, and yet they are not courageous a whit the more for that.

SOCRATES: What is Laches saying, Nicias? He appears to be saying something of importance.

NICIAS: Yes, he is saying something, but it is not true.

SOCRATES: How so?

NICIAS: Why, because he does not see that the physician’s knowledge only extends to the nature of health and disease: he can tell the sick man no more than this. Do you imagine, Laches, that the physician knows whether health or disease is the more terrible to a man? Had not many a man better never get up from a sick bed? I should like to know whether you think that life is always better than death. May not death often be the better of the two?

LACHES: Yes certainly so in my opinion.

NICIAS: And do you think that the same things are terrible to those who had better die, and to those who had better live?

LACHES: Certainly not.

NICIAS: And do you suppose that the physician or any other artist knows this, or any one indeed, except he who is skilled in the grounds of fear and hope? And him I call the courageous.

SOCRATES: Do you understand his meaning, Laches?

LACHES: Yes; I suppose that, in his way of speaking, the soothsayers are courageous. For who but one of them can know to whom to die or to live is better? And yet Nicias, would you allow that you are yourself a soothsayer, or are you neither a soothsayer nor courageous?

NICIAS: What! do you mean to say that the soothsayer ought to know the grounds of hope or fear?

LACHES: Indeed I do: who but he?

NICIAS: Much rather I should say he of whom I speak; for the soothsayer ought to know only the signs of things that are about to come to pass, whether death or disease, or loss of property, or victory, or defeat in war, or in any sort of contest; but to whom the suffering or not suffering of these things will be for the best, can no more be decided by the soothsayer than by one who is no soothsayer.

LACHES: I cannot understand what Nicias would be at, Socrates; for he represents the courageous man as neither a soothsayer, nor a physician, nor in any other character, unless he means to say that he is a god. My opinion is that he does not like honestly to confess that he is talking nonsense, but that he shuffles up and down in order to conceal the difficulty into which he has got himself. You and I, Socrates, might have practised a similar shuffle just now, if we had only wanted to avoid the appearance of inconsistency. And if we had been arguing in a court of law there might have been reason in so doing; but why should a man deck himself out with vain words at a meeting of friends such as this?

SOCRATES: I quite agree with you, Laches, that he should not. But perhaps Nicias is serious, and not merely talking for the sake of talking. Let us ask him just to explain what he means, and if he has reason on his side we will agree with him; if not, we will instruct him.

LACHES: Do you, Socrates, if you like, ask him: I think that I have asked enough.

SOCRATES: I do not see why I should not; and my question will do for both of us.

LACHES: Very good.

SOCRATES: Then tell me, Nicias, or rather tell us, for Laches and I are partners in the argument: Do you mean to affirm that courage is the knowledge of the grounds of hope and fear?

NICIAS: I do.

SOCRATES: And not every man has this knowledge; the physician and the soothsayer have it not; and they will not be courageous unless they acquire it — that is what you were saying?

NICIAS: I was.

SOCRATES: Then this is certainly not a thing which every pig would know, as the proverb says, and therefore he could not be courageous.

NICIAS: I think not.

SOCRATES: Clearly not, Nicias; not even such a big pig as the Crommyonian sow would be called by you courageous. And this I say not as a joke, but because I think that he who assents to your doctrine, that courage is the knowledge of the grounds of fear and hope, cannot allow that any wild beast is courageous, unless he admits that a lion, or a leopard, or perhaps a boar, or any other animal, has such a degree of wisdom that he knows things which but a few human beings ever know by reason of their difficulty. He who takes your view of courage must affirm that a lion, and a stag, and a bull, and a monkey, have equally little pretensions to courage.

LACHES: Capital, Socrates; by the gods, that is truly good. And I hope, Nicias, that you will tell us whether these animals, which we all admit to be courageous, are really wiser than mankind; or whether you will have the boldness, in the face of universal opinion, to deny their courage.

NICIAS: Why, Laches, I do not call animals or any other things which have no fear of dangers, because they are ignorant of them, courageous, but only fearless and senseless. Do you imagine that I should call little children courageous, which fear no dangers because they know none? There is a difference, to my way of thinking, between fearlessness and courage. I am of opinion that thoughtful courage is a quality possessed by very few, but that rashness and boldness, and fearlessness, which has no forethought, are very common qualities possessed by many men, many women, many children, many animals. And you, and men in general, call by the term ‘courageous’ actions which I call rash; — my courageous actions are wise actions.

LACHES: Behold, Socrates, how admirably, as he thinks, he dresses himself out in words, while seeking to deprive of the honour of courage those whom all the world acknowledges to be courageous.

NICIAS: Not so, Laches, but do not be alarmed; for I am quite willing to say of you and also of Lamachus, and of many other Athenians, that you are courageous and therefore wise.

LACHES: I could answer that; but I would not have you cast in my teeth that I am a haughty Aexonian.

SOCRATES: Do not answer him, Laches; I rather fancy that you are not aware of the source from which his wisdom is derived. He has got all this from my friend Damon, and Damon is always with Prodicus, who, of all the Sophists, is considered to be the best puller to pieces of words of this sort.

LACHES: Yes, Socrates; and the examination of such niceties is a much more suitable employment for a Sophist than for a great statesman whom the city chooses to preside over her.

SOCRATES: Yes, my sweet friend, but a great statesman is likely to have a great intelligence. And I think that the view which is implied in Nicias’ definition of courage is worthy of examination.

LACHES: Then examine for yourself, Socrates.

SOCRATES: That is what I am going to do, my dear friend. Do not, however, suppose I shall let you out of the partnership; for I shall expect you to apply your mind, and join with me in the consideration of the question.

LACHES: I will if you think that I ought.

SOCRATES: Yes, I do; but I must beg of you, Nicias, to begin again. You remember that we originally considered courage to be a part of virtue.

NICIAS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And you yourself said that it was a part; and there were many other parts, all of which taken together are called virtue.

NICIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Do you agree with me about the parts? For I say that justice, temperance, and the like, are all of them parts of virtue as well as courage. Would you not say the same?

NICIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Well then, so far we are agreed. And now let us proceed a step, and try to arrive at a similar agreement about the fearful and the hopeful: I do not want you to be thinking one thing and myself another. Let me then tell you my own opinion, and if I am wrong you shall set me right: in my opinion the terrible and the hopeful are the things which do or do not create fear, and fear is not of the present, nor of the past, but is of future and expected evil. Do you not agree to that, Laches?

LACHES: Yes, Socrates, entirely.

SOCRATES: That is my view, Nicias; the terrible things, as I should say, are the evils which are future; and the hopeful are the good or not evil things which are future. Do you or do you not agree with me?

NICIAS: I agree.

SOCRATES: And the knowledge of these things you call courage?

NICIAS: Precisely.

SOCRATES: And now let me see whether you agree with Laches and myself as to a third point.

NICIAS: What is that?

SOCRATES: I will tell you. He and I have a notion that there is not one knowledge or science of the past, another of the present, a third of what is likely to be best and what will be best in the future; but that of all three there is one science only: for example, there is one science of medicine which is concerned with the inspection of health equally in all times, present, past, and future; and one science of husbandry in like manner, which is concerned with the productions of the earth in all times. As to the art of the general, you yourselves will be my witnesses that he has an excellent foreknowledge of the future, and that he claims to be the master and not the servant of the soothsayer, because he knows better what is happening or is likely to happen in war: and accordingly the law places the soothsayer under the general, and not the general under the soothsayer. Am I not correct in saying so, Laches?

LACHES: Quite correct.

SOCRATES: And do you, Nicias, also acknowledge that the same science has understanding of the same things, whether future, present, or past?

NICIAS: Yes, indeed Socrates; that is my opinion.

SOCRATES: And courage, my friend, is, as you say, a knowledge of the fearful and of the hopeful?

NICIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the fearful, and the hopeful, are admitted to be future goods and future evils?

NICIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And the same science has to do with the same things in the future or at any time?

NICIAS: That is true.

SOCRATES: Then courage is not the science which is concerned with the fearful and hopeful, for they are future only; courage, like the other sciences, is concerned not only with good and evil of the future, but of the present and past, and of any time?

NICIAS: That, as I suppose, is true.

SOCRATES: Then the answer which you have given, Nicias, includes only a third part of courage; but our question extended to the whole nature of courage: and according to your view, that is, according to your present view, courage is not only the knowledge of the hopeful and the fearful, but seems to include nearly every good and evil without reference to time. What do you say to that alteration in your statement?

NICIAS: I agree, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But then, my dear friend, if a man knew all good and evil, and how they are, and have been, and will be produced, would he not be perfect, and wanting in no virtue, whether justice, or temperance, or holiness? He would possess them all, and he would know which were dangers and which were not, and guard against them whether they were supernatural or natural; and he would provide the good, as he would know how to deal both with gods or men.

NICIAS: I think, Socrates, that there is a great deal of truth in what you say.

SOCRATES: But then, Nicias, courage, according to this new definition of yours, instead of being a part of virtue only, will be all virtue?

NICIAS: It would seem so.

SOCRATES: But we were saying that courage is one of the parts of virtue?

NICIAS: Yes, that was what we were saying.

SOCRATES: And that is in contradiction with our present view?

NICIAS: That appears to be the case.

SOCRATES: Then, Nicias, we have not discovered what courage is.

NICIAS: We have not.

LACHES: And yet, friend Nicias, I imagined that you would have made the discovery, when you were so contemptuous of the answers which I made to Socrates. I had very great hopes that you would have been enlightened by the wisdom of Damon.

NICIAS: I perceive, Laches, that you think nothing of having displayed your ignorance of the nature of courage, but you look only to see whether I have not made a similar display; and if we are both equally ignorant of the things which a man who is good for anything should know, that, I suppose, will be of no consequence. You certainly appear to me very like the rest of the world, looking at your neighbour and not at yourself. I am of opinion that enough has been said on the subject which we have been discussing; and if anything has been imperfectly said, that may be hereafter corrected by the help of Damon, whom you think to laugh down, although you have never seen him, and with the help of others. And when I am satisfied myself, I will freely impart my satisfaction to you, for I think that you are very much in want of knowledge.

LACHES: You are a philosopher, Nicias; of that I am aware: nevertheless I would recommend Lysimachus and Melesias not to take you and me as advisers about the education of their children; but, as I said at first, they should ask Socrates and not let him off; if my own sons were old enough, I would have asked him myself.

NICIAS: To that I quite agree, if Socrates is willing to take them under his charge. I should not wish for any one else to be the tutor of Niceratus. But I observe that when I mention the matter to him he recommends to me some other tutor and refuses himself. Perhaps he may be more ready to listen to you, Lysimachus.

LYSIMACHUS: He ought, Nicias: for certainly I would do things for him which I would not do for many others. What do you say, Socrates — will you comply? And are you ready to give assistance in the improvement of the youths?

SOCRATES: Indeed, Lysimachus, I should be very wrong in refusing to aid in the improvement of anybody. And if I had shown in this conversation that I had a knowledge which Nicias and Laches have not, then I admit that you would be right in inviting me to perform this duty; but as we are all in the same perplexity, why should one of us be preferred to another? I certainly think that no one should; and under these circumstances, let me offer you a piece of advice (and this need not go further than ourselves). I maintain, my friends, that every one of us should seek out the best teacher whom he can find, first for ourselves, who are greatly in need of one, and then for the youth, regardless of expense or anything. But I cannot advise that we remain as we are. And if any one laughs at us for going to school at our age, I would quote to them the authority of Homer, who says, that

‘Modesty is not good for a needy man.’

Let us then, regardless of what may be said of us, make the education of the youths our own education.

LYSIMACHUS: I like your proposal, Socrates; and as I am the oldest, I am also the most eager to go to school with the boys. Let me beg a favour of you: Come to my house to-morrow at dawn, and we will advise about these matters. For the present, let us make an end of the conversation.

SOCRATES: I will come to you to-morrow, Lysimachus, as you propose, God willing.

LYSIS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This early dialogue concerns the nature of friendship, featuring Socrates, the boys Lysis and Menexenus who are friends, and Hippothales, who is in unrequited love with Lysis.  Throughout the dialogue, Socrates explores the various type of friendship that are ideal.

Bust of Socrates, now housed in the Vatican Museum

INTRODUCTION.

No answer is given in the Lysis to the question, ‘What is Friendship?’ any more than in the Charmides to the question, ‘What is Temperance?’ There are several resemblances in the two Dialogues: the same youthfulness and sense of beauty pervades both of them; they are alike rich in the description of Greek life. The question is again raised of the relation of knowledge to virtue and good, which also recurs in the Laches; and Socrates appears again as the elder friend of the two boys, Lysis and Menexenus. In the Charmides, as also in the Laches, he is described as middle-aged; in the Lysis he is advanced in years.

The Dialogue consists of two scenes or conversations which seem to have no relation to each other. The first is a conversation between Socrates and Lysis, who, like Charmides, is an Athenian youth of noble descent and of great beauty, goodness, and intelligence: this is carried on in the absence of Menexenus, who is called away to take part in a sacrifice. Socrates asks Lysis whether his father and mother do not love him very much? ‘To be sure they do.’ ‘Then of course they allow him to do exactly as he likes.’ ‘Of course not: the very slaves have more liberty than he has.’ ‘But how is this?’ ‘The reason is that he is not old enough.’ ‘No; the real reason is that he is not wise enough: for are there not some things which he is allowed to do, although he is not allowed to do others?’ ‘Yes, because he knows them, and does not know the others.’ This leads to the conclusion that all men everywhere will trust him in what he knows, but not in what he does not know; for in such matters he will be unprofitable to them, and do them no good. And no one will love him, if he does them no good; and he can only do them good by knowledge; and as he is still without knowledge, he can have as yet no conceit of knowledge. In this manner Socrates reads a lesson to Hippothales, the foolish lover of Lysis, respecting the style of conversation which he should address to his beloved.

After the return of Menexenus, Socrates, at the request of Lysis, asks him a new question: ‘What is friendship? You, Menexenus, who have a friend already, can tell me, who am always longing to find one, what is the secret of this great blessing.’

When one man loves another, which is the friend — he who loves, or he who is loved? Or are both friends? From the first of these suppositions they are driven to the second; and from the second to the third; and neither the two boys nor Socrates are satisfied with any of the three or with all of them. Socrates turns to the poets, who affirm that God brings like to like (Homer), and to philosophers (Empedocles), who also assert that like is the friend of like. But the bad are not friends, for they are not even like themselves, and still less are they like one another. And the good have no need of one another, and therefore do not care about one another. Moreover there are others who say that likeness is a cause of aversion, and unlikeness of love and friendship; and they too adduce the authority of poets and philosophers in support of their doctrines; for Hesiod says that ‘potter is jealous of potter, bard of bard;’ and subtle doctors tell us that ‘moist is the friend of dry, hot of cold,’ and the like. But neither can their doctrine be maintained; for then the just would be the friend of the unjust, good of evil.

Thus we arrive at the conclusion that like is not the friend of like, nor unlike of unlike; and therefore good is not the friend of good, nor evil of evil, nor good of evil, nor evil of good. What remains but that the indifferent, which is neither good nor evil, should be the friend (not of the indifferent, for that would be ‘like the friend of like,’ but) of the good, or rather of the beautiful?

But why should the indifferent have this attachment to the beautiful or good? There are circumstances under which such an attachment would be natural. Suppose the indifferent, say the human body, to be desirous of getting rid of some evil, such as disease, which is not essential but only accidental to it (for if the evil were essential the body would cease to be indifferent, and would become evil) — in such a case the indifferent becomes a friend of the good for the sake of getting rid of the evil. In this intermediate ‘indifferent’ position the philosopher or lover of wisdom stands: he is not wise, and yet not unwise, but he has ignorance accidentally clinging to him, and he yearns for wisdom as the cure of the evil. (Symp.)

After this explanation has been received with triumphant accord, a fresh dissatisfaction begins to steal over the mind of Socrates: Must not friendship be for the sake of some ulterior end? and what can that final cause or end of friendship be, other than the good? But the good is desired by us only as the cure of evil; and therefore if there were no evil there would be no friendship. Some other explanation then has to be devised. May not desire be the source of friendship? And desire is of what a man wants and of what is congenial to him. But then the congenial cannot be the same as the like; for like, as has been already shown, cannot be the friend of like. Nor can the congenial be the good; for good is not the friend of good, as has been also shown. The problem is unsolved, and the three friends, Socrates, Lysis, and Menexenus, are still unable to find out what a friend is.

Thus, as in the Charmides and Laches, and several of the other Dialogues of Plato (compare especially the Protagoras and Theaetetus), no conclusion is arrived at. Socrates maintains his character of a ‘know nothing;’ but the boys have already learned the lesson which he is unable to teach them, and they are free from the conceit of knowledge. (Compare Chrm.) The dialogue is what would be called in the language of Thrasyllus tentative or inquisitive. The subject is continued in the Phaedrus and Symposium, and treated, with a manifest reference to the Lysis, in the eighth and ninth books of the Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle. As in other writings of Plato (for example, the Republic), there is a progress from unconscious morality, illustrated by the friendship of the two youths, and also by the sayings of the poets (‘who are our fathers in wisdom,’ and yet only tell us half the truth, and in this particular instance are not much improved upon by the philosophers), to a more comprehensive notion of friendship. This, however, is far from being cleared of its perplexity. Two notions appear to be struggling or balancing in the mind of Socrates: — First, the sense that friendship arises out of human needs and wants; Secondly, that the higher form or ideal of friendship exists only for the sake of the good. That friends are not necessarily either like or unlike, is also a truth confirmed by experience. But the use of the terms ‘like’ or ‘good’ is too strictly limited; Socrates has allowed himself to be carried away by a sort of eristic or illogical logic against which no definition of friendship would be able to stand. In the course of the argument he makes a distinction between property and accident which is a real contribution to the science of logic. Some higher truths appear through the mist. The manner in which the field of argument is widened, as in the Charmides and Laches by the introduction of the idea of knowledge, so here by the introduction of the good, is deserving of attention. The sense of the inter-dependence of good and evil, and the allusion to the possibility of the non-existence of evil, are also very remarkable.

The dialectical interest is fully sustained by the dramatic accompaniments. Observe, first, the scene, which is a Greek Palaestra, at a time when a sacrifice is going on, and the Hermaea are in course of celebration; secondly, the ‘accustomed irony’ of Socrates, who declares, as in the Symposium, that he is ignorant of all other things, but claims to have a knowledge of the mysteries of love. There are likewise several contrasts of character; first of the dry, caustic Ctesippus, of whom Socrates professes a humorous sort of fear, and Hippothales the flighty lover, who murders sleep by bawling out the name of his beloved; there is also a contrast between the false, exaggerated, sentimental love of Hippothales towards Lysis, and the childlike and innocent friendship of the boys with one another. Some difference appears to be intended between the characters of the more talkative Menexenus and the reserved and simple Lysis. Socrates draws out the latter by a new sort of irony, which is sometimes adopted in talking to children, and consists in asking a leading question which can only be answered in a sense contrary to the intention of the question: ‘Your father and mother of course allow you to drive the chariot?’ ‘No they do not.’ When Menexenus returns, the serious dialectic begins. He is described as ‘very pugnacious,’ and we are thus prepared for the part which a mere youth takes in a difficult argument. But Plato has not forgotten dramatic propriety, and Socrates proposes at last to refer the question to some older person.

SOME QUESTIONS RELATING TO FRIENDSHIP.

The subject of friendship has a lower place in the modern than in the ancient world, partly because a higher place is assigned by us to love and marriage. The very meaning of the word has become slighter and more superficial; it seems almost to be borrowed from the ancients, and has nearly disappeared in modern treatises on Moral Philosophy. The received examples of friendship are to be found chiefly among the Greeks and Romans. Hence the casuistical or other questions which arise out of the relations of friends have not often been considered seriously in modern times. Many of them will be found to be the same which are discussed in the Lysis. We may ask with Socrates, 1) whether friendship is ‘of similars or dissimilars,’ or of both; 2) whether such a tie exists between the good only and for the sake of the good; or 3) whether there may not be some peculiar attraction, which draws together ‘the neither good nor evil’ for the sake of the good and because of the evil; 4) whether friendship is always mutual, — may there not be a one-sided and unrequited friendship? This question, which, like many others, is only one of a laxer or stricter use of words, seems to have greatly exercised the minds both of Aristotle and Plato.

5) Can we expect friendship to be permanent, or must we acknowledge with Cicero, ‘Nihil difficilius quam amicitiam usque ad extremum vitae permanere’? Is not friendship, even more than love, liable to be swayed by the caprices of fancy? The person who pleased us most at first sight or upon a slight acquaintance, when we have seen him again, and under different circumstances, may make a much less favourable impression on our minds. Young people swear ‘eternal friendships,’ but at these innocent perjuries their elders laugh. No one forms a friendship with the intention of renouncing it; yet in the course of a varied life it is practically certain that many changes will occur of feeling, opinion, locality, occupation, fortune, which will divide us from some persons and unite us to others. 6) There is an ancient saying, Qui amicos amicum non habet. But is not some less exclusive form of friendship better suited to the condition and nature of man? And in those especially who have no family ties, may not the feeling pass beyond one or a few, and embrace all with whom we come into contact, and, perhaps in a few passionate and exalted natures, all men everywhere? 7) The ancients had their three kinds of friendship, ‘for the sake of the pleasant, the useful, and the good:’ is the last to be resolved into the two first; or are the two first to be included in the last? The subject was puzzling to them: they could not say that friendship was only a quality, or a relation, or a virtue, or a kind of virtue; and they had not in the age of Plato reached the point of regarding it, like justice, as a form or attribute of virtue. They had another perplexity: 8) How could one of the noblest feelings of human nature be so near to one of the most detestable corruptions of it? (Compare Symposium; Laws).

Leaving the Greek or ancient point of view, we may regard the question in a more general way. Friendship is the union of two persons in mutual affection and remembrance of one another. The friend can do for his friend what he cannot do for himself. He can give him counsel in time of difficulty; he can teach him ‘to see himself as others see him’; he can stand by him, when all the world are against him; he can gladden and enlighten him by his presence; he ‘can divide his sorrows,’ he can ‘double his joys;’ he can anticipate his wants. He will discover ways of helping him without creating a sense of his own superiority; he will find out his mental trials, but only that he may minister to them. Among true friends jealousy has no place: they do not complain of one another for making new friends, or for not revealing some secret of their lives; (in friendship too there must be reserves;) they do not intrude upon one another, and they mutually rejoice in any good which happens to either of them, though it may be to the loss of the other. They may live apart and have little intercourse, but when they meet, the old tie is as strong as ever — according to the common saying, they find one another always the same. The greatest good of friendship is not daily intercourse, for circumstances rarely admit of this; but on the great occasions of life, when the advice of a friend is needed, then the word spoken in season about conduct, about health, about marriage, about business, — the letter written from a distance by a disinterested person who sees with clearer eyes may be of inestimable value. When the heart is failing and despair is setting in, then to hear the voice or grasp the hand of a friend, in a shipwreck, in a defeat, in some other failure or misfortune, may restore the necessary courage and composure to the paralysed and disordered mind, and convert the feeble person into a hero; (compare Symposium).

It is true that friendships are apt to be disappointing: either we expect too much from them; or we are indolent and do not ‘keep them in repair;’ or being admitted to intimacy with another, we see his faults too clearly and lose our respect for him; and he loses his affection for us. Friendships may be too violent; and they may be too sensitive. The egotism of one of the parties may be too much for the other. The word of counsel or sympathy has been uttered too obtrusively, at the wrong time, or in the wrong manner; or the need of it has not been perceived until too late. ‘Oh if he had only told me’ has been the silent thought of many a troubled soul. And some things have to be indicated rather than spoken, because the very mention of them tends to disturb the equability of friendship. The alienation of friends, like many other human evils, is commonly due to a want of tact and insight. There is not enough of the Scimus et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim. The sweet draught of sympathy is not inexhaustible; and it tends to weaken the person who too freely partakes of it. Thus we see that there are many causes which impair the happiness of friends.

We may expect a friendship almost divine, such as philosophers have sometimes dreamed of: we find what is human. The good of it is necessarily limited; it does not take the place of marriage; it affords rather a solace than an arm of support. It had better not be based on pecuniary obligations; these more often mar than make a friendship. It is most likely to be permanent when the two friends are equal and independent, or when they are engaged together in some common work or have some public interest in common. It exists among the bad or inferior sort of men almost as much as among the good; the bad and good, and ‘the neither bad nor good,’ are drawn together in a strange manner by personal attachment. The essence of it is loyalty, without which it would cease to be friendship.

Another question 9) may be raised, whether friendship can safely exist between young persons of different sexes, not connected by ties of relationship, and without the thought of love or marriage; whether, again, a wife or a husband should have any intimate friend, besides his or her partner in marriage. The answer to this latter question is rather perplexing, and would probably be different in different countries (compare Sympos.). While we do not deny that great good may result from such attachments, for the mind may be drawn out and the character enlarged by them; yet we feel also that they are attended with many dangers, and that this Romance of Heavenly Love requires a strength, a freedom from passion, a self-control, which, in youth especially, are rarely to be found. The propriety of such friendships must be estimated a good deal by the manner in which public opinion regards them; they must be reconciled with the ordinary duties of life; and they must be justified by the result.

Yet another question, 10). Admitting that friendships cannot be always permanent, we may ask when and upon what conditions should they be dissolved. It would be futile to retain the name when the reality has ceased to be. That two friends should part company whenever the relation between them begins to drag may be better for both of them. But then arises the consideration, how should these friends in youth or friends of the past regard or be regarded by one another? They are parted, but there still remain duties mutually owing by them. They will not admit the world to share in their difference any more than in their friendship; the memory of an old attachment, like the memory of the dead, has a kind of sacredness for them on which they will not allow others to intrude. Neither, if they were ever worthy to bear the name of friends, will either of them entertain any enmity or dislike of the other who was once so much to him. Neither will he by ‘shadowed hint reveal’ the secrets great or small which an unfortunate mistake has placed within his reach. He who is of a noble mind will dwell upon his own faults rather than those of another, and will be ready to take upon himself the blame of their separation. He will feel pain at the loss of a friend; and he will remember with gratitude his ancient kindness. But he will not lightly renew a tie which has not been lightly broken...These are a few of the Problems of Friendship, some of them suggested by the Lysis, others by modern life, which he who wishes to make or keep a friend may profitably study. (Compare Bacon, Essay on Friendship; Cic. de Amicitia.)

LYSIS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, who is the narrator, Menexenus, Hippothales, Lysis, Ctesippus.

SCENE: A newly-erected Palaestra outside the walls of Athens.

I was going from the Academy straight to the Lyceum, intending to take the outer road, which is close under the wall. When I came to the postern gate of the city, which is by the fountain of Panops, I fell in with Hippothales, the son of Hieronymus, and Ctesippus the Paeanian, and a company of young men who were standing with them. Hippothales, seeing me approach, asked whence I came and whither I was going.

I am going, I replied, from the Academy straight to the Lyceum.

Then come straight to us, he said, and put in here; you may as well.

Who are you, I said; and where am I to come?

He showed me an enclosed space and an open door over against the wall. And there, he said, is the building at which we all meet: and a goodly company we are.

And what is this building, I asked; and what sort of entertainment have you?

The building, he replied, is a newly erected Palaestra; and the entertainment is generally conversation, to which you are welcome.

Thank you, I said; and is there any teacher there?

Yes, he said, your old friend and admirer, Miccus.

Indeed, I replied; he is a very eminent professor.

Are you disposed, he said, to go with me and see them?

Yes, I said; but I should like to know first, what is expected of me, and who is the favourite among you?

Some persons have one favourite, Socrates, and some another, he said.

And who is yours? I asked: tell me that, Hippothales.

At this he blushed; and I said to him, O Hippothales, thou son of Hieronymus! do not say that you are, or that you are not, in love; the confession is too late; for I see that you are not only in love, but are already far gone in your love. Simple and foolish as I am, the Gods have given me the power of understanding affections of this kind.

Whereupon he blushed more and more.

Ctesippus said: I like to see you blushing, Hippothales, and hesitating to tell Socrates the name; when, if he were with you but for a very short time, you would have plagued him to death by talking about nothing else. Indeed, Socrates, he has literally deafened us, and stopped our ears with the praises of Lysis; and if he is a little intoxicated, there is every likelihood that we may have our sleep murdered with a cry of Lysis. His performances in prose are bad enough, but nothing at all in comparison with his verse; and when he drenches us with his poems and other compositions, it is really too bad; and worse still is his manner of singing them to his love; he has a voice which is truly appalling, and we cannot help hearing him: and now having a question put to him by you, behold he is blushing.

Who is Lysis? I said: I suppose that he must be young; for the name does not recall any one to me.

Why, he said, his father being a very well-known man, he retains his patronymic, and is not as yet commonly called by his own name; but, although you do not know his name, I am sure that you must know his face, for that is quite enough to distinguish him.

But tell me whose son he is, I said.

He is the eldest son of Democrates, of the deme of Aexone.

Ah, Hippothales, I said; what a noble and really perfect love you have found! I wish that you would favour me with the exhibition which you have been making to the rest of the company, and then I shall be able to judge whether you know what a lover ought to say about his love, either to the youth himself, or to others.

Nay, Socrates, he said; you surely do not attach any importance to what he is saying.

Do you mean, I said, that you disown the love of the person whom he says that you love?

No; but I deny that I make verses or address compositions to him.

He is not in his right mind, said Ctesippus; he is talking nonsense, and is stark mad.

O Hippothales, I said, if you have ever made any verses or songs in honour of your favourite, I do not want to hear them; but I want to know the purport of them, that I may be able to judge of your mode of approaching your fair one.

Ctesippus will be able to tell you, he said; for if, as he avers, the sound of my words is always dinning in his ears, he must have a very accurate knowledge and recollection of them.

Yes, indeed, said Ctesippus; I know only too well; and very ridiculous the tale is: for although he is a lover, and very devotedly in love, he has nothing particular to talk about to his beloved which a child might not say. Now is not that ridiculous? He can only speak of the wealth of Democrates, which the whole city celebrates, and grandfather Lysis, and the other ancestors of the youth, and their stud of horses, and their victory at the Pythian games, and at the Isthmus, and at Nemea with four horses and single horses — these are the tales which he composes and repeats. And there is greater twaddle still. Only the day before yesterday he made a poem in which he described the entertainment of Heracles, who was a connexion of the family, setting forth how in virtue of this relationship he was hospitably received by an ancestor of Lysis; this ancestor was himself begotten of Zeus by the daughter of the founder of the deme. And these are the sort of old wives’ tales which he sings and recites to us, and we are obliged to listen to him.

When I heard this, I said: O ridiculous Hippothales! how can you be making and singing hymns in honour of yourself before you have won?

But my songs and verses, he said, are not in honour of myself, Socrates.

You think not? I said.

Nay, but what do you think? he replied.

Most assuredly, I said, those songs are all in your own honour; for if you win your beautiful love, your discourses and songs will be a glory to you, and may be truly regarded as hymns of praise composed in honour of you who have conquered and won such a love; but if he slips away from you, the more you have praised him, the more ridiculous you will look at having lost this fairest and best of blessings; and therefore the wise lover does not praise his beloved until he has won him, because he is afraid of accidents. There is also another danger; the fair, when any one praises or magnifies them, are filled with the spirit of pride and vain-glory. Do you not agree with me?

Yes, he said.

And the more vain-glorious they are, the more difficult is the capture of them?

I believe you.

What should you say of a hunter who frightened away his prey, and made the capture of the animals which he is hunting more difficult?

He would be a bad hunter, undoubtedly.

Yes; and if, instead of soothing them, he were to infuriate them with words and songs, that would show a great want of wit: do you not agree.

Yes.

And now reflect, Hippothales, and see whether you are not guilty of all these errors in writing poetry. For I can hardly suppose that you will affirm a man to be a good poet who injures himself by his poetry.

Assuredly not, he said; such a poet would be a fool. And this is the reason why I take you into my counsels, Socrates, and I shall be glad of any further advice which you may have to offer. Will you tell me by what words or actions I may become endeared to my love?

That is not easy to determine, I said; but if you will bring your love to me, and will let me talk with him, I may perhaps be able to show you how to converse with him, instead of singing and reciting in the fashion of which you are accused.

There will be no difficulty in bringing him, he replied; if you will only go with Ctesippus into the Palaestra, and sit down and talk, I believe that he will come of his own accord; for he is fond of listening, Socrates. And as this is the festival of the Hermaea, the young men and boys are all together, and there is no separation between them. He will be sure to come: but if he does not, Ctesippus with whom he is familiar, and whose relation Menexenus is his great friend, shall call him.

That will be the way, I said. Thereupon I led Ctesippus into the Palaestra, and the rest followed.

Upon entering we found that the boys had just been sacrificing; and this part of the festival was nearly at an end. They were all in their white array, and games at dice were going on among them. Most of them were in the outer court amusing themselves; but some were in a corner of the Apodyterium playing at odd and even with a number of dice, which they took out of little wicker baskets. There was also a circle of lookers-on; among them was Lysis. He was standing with the other boys and youths, having a crown upon his head, like a fair vision, and not less worthy of praise for his goodness than for his beauty. We left them, and went over to the opposite side of the room, where, finding a quiet place, we sat down; and then we began to talk. This attracted Lysis, who was constantly turning round to look at us — he was evidently wanting to come to us. For a time he hesitated and had not the courage to come alone; but first of all, his friend Menexenus, leaving his play, entered the Palaestra from the court, and when he saw Ctesippus and myself, was going to take a seat by us; and then Lysis, seeing him, followed, and sat down by his side; and the other boys joined. I should observe that Hippothales, when he saw the crowd, got behind them, where he thought that he would be out of sight of Lysis, lest he should anger him; and there he stood and listened.

I turned to Menexenus, and said: Son of Demophon, which of you two youths is the elder?

That is a matter of dispute between us, he said.

And which is the nobler? Is that also a matter of dispute?

Yes, certainly.

And another disputed point is, which is the fairer?

The two boys laughed.

I shall not ask which is the richer of the two, I said; for you are friends, are you not?

Certainly, they replied.

And friends have all things in common, so that one of you can be no richer than the other, if you say truly that you are friends.

They assented. I was about to ask which was the juster of the two, and which was the wiser of the two; but at this moment Menexenus was called away by some one who came and said that the gymnastic-master wanted him. I supposed that he had to offer sacrifice. So he went away, and I asked Lysis some more questions. I dare say, Lysis, I said, that your father and mother love you very much.

Certainly, he said.

And they would wish you to be perfectly happy.

Yes.

But do you think that any one is happy who is in the condition of a slave, and who cannot do what he likes?

I should think not indeed, he said.

And if your father and mother love you, and desire that you should be happy, no one can doubt that they are very ready to promote your happiness.

Certainly, he replied.

And do they then permit you to do what you like, and never rebuke you or hinder you from doing what you desire?

Yes, indeed, Socrates; there are a great many things which they hinder me from doing.

What do you mean? I said. Do they want you to be happy, and yet hinder you from doing what you like? for example, if you want to mount one of your father’s chariots, and take the reins at a race, they will not allow you to do so — they will prevent you?

Certainly, he said, they will not allow me to do so.

Whom then will they allow?

There is a charioteer, whom my father pays for driving.

And do they trust a hireling more than you? and may he do what he likes with the horses? and do they pay him for this?

They do.

But I dare say that you may take the whip and guide the mule-cart if you like; — they will permit that?

Permit me! indeed they will not.

Then, I said, may no one use the whip to the mules?

Yes, he said, the muleteer.

And is he a slave or a free man?

A slave, he said.

And do they esteem a slave of more value than you who are their son? And do they entrust their property to him rather than to you? and allow him to do what he likes, when they prohibit you? Answer me now: Are you your own master, or do they not even allow that?

Nay, he said; of course they do not allow it.

Then you have a master?

Yes, my tutor; there he is.

And is he a slave?

To be sure; he is our slave, he replied.

Surely, I said, this is a strange thing, that a free man should be governed by a slave. And what does he do with you?

He takes me to my teachers.

You do not mean to say that your teachers also rule over you?

Of course they do.

Then I must say that your father is pleased to inflict many lords and masters on you. But at any rate when you go home to your mother, she will let you have your own way, and will not interfere with your happiness; her wool, or the piece of cloth which she is weaving, are at your disposal: I am sure that there is nothing to hinder you from touching her wooden spathe, or her comb, or any other of her spinning implements.

Nay, Socrates, he replied, laughing; not only does she hinder me, but I should be beaten if I were to touch one of them.

Well, I said, this is amazing. And did you ever behave ill to your father or your mother?

No, indeed, he replied.

But why then are they so terribly anxious to prevent you from being happy, and doing as you like? — keeping you all day long in subjection to another, and, in a word, doing nothing which you desire; so that you have no good, as would appear, out of their great possessions, which are under the control of anybody rather than of you, and have no use of your own fair person, which is tended and taken care of by another; while you, Lysis, are master of nobody, and can do nothing?

Why, he said, Socrates, the reason is that I am not of age.

I doubt whether that is the real reason, I said; for I should imagine that your father Democrates, and your mother, do permit you to do many things already, and do not wait until you are of age: for example, if they want anything read or written, you, I presume, would be the first person in the house who is summoned by them.

Very true.

And you would be allowed to write or read the letters in any order which you please, or to take up the lyre and tune the notes, and play with the fingers, or strike with the plectrum, exactly as you please, and neither father nor mother would interfere with you.

That is true, he said.

Then what can be the reason, Lysis, I said, why they allow you to do the one and not the other?

I suppose, he said, because I understand the one, and not the other.

Yes, my dear youth, I said, the reason is not any deficiency of years, but a deficiency of knowledge; and whenever your father thinks that you are wiser than he is, he will instantly commit himself and his possessions to you.

I think so.

Aye, I said; and about your neighbour, too, does not the same rule hold as about your father? If he is satisfied that you know more of housekeeping than he does, will he continue to administer his affairs himself, or will he commit them to you?

I think that he will commit them to me.

Will not the Athenian people, too, entrust their affairs to you when they see that you have wisdom enough to manage them?

Yes.

And oh! let me put another case, I said: There is the great king, and he has an eldest son, who is the Prince of Asia; — suppose that you and I go to him and establish to his satisfaction that we are better cooks than his son, will he not entrust to us the prerogative of making soup, and putting in anything that we like while the pot is boiling, rather than to the Prince of Asia, who is his son?

To us, clearly.

And we shall be allowed to throw in salt by handfuls, whereas the son will not be allowed to put in as much as he can take up between his fingers?

Of course.

Or suppose again that the son has bad eyes, will he allow him, or will he not allow him, to touch his own eyes if he thinks that he has no knowledge of medicine?

He will not allow him.

Whereas, if he supposes us to have a knowledge of medicine, he will allow us to do what we like with him — even to open the eyes wide and sprinkle ashes upon them, because he supposes that we know what is best?

That is true.

And everything in which we appear to him to be wiser than himself or his son he will commit to us?

That is very true, Socrates, he replied.

Then now, my dear Lysis, I said, you perceive that in things which we know every one will trust us, — Hellenes and barbarians, men and women, — and we may do as we please about them, and no one will like to interfere with us; we shall be free, and masters of others; and these things will be really ours, for we shall be benefited by them. But in things of which we have no understanding, no one will trust us to do as seems good to us — they will hinder us as far as they can; and not only strangers, but father and mother, and the friend, if there be one, who is dearer still, will also hinder us; and we shall be subject to others; and these things will not be ours, for we shall not be benefited by them. Do you agree?

He assented.

And shall we be friends to others, and will any others love us, in as far as we are useless to them?

Certainly not.

Neither can your father or mother love you, nor can anybody love anybody else, in so far as they are useless to them?

No.

And therefore, my boy, if you are wise, all men will be your friends and kindred, for you will be useful and good; but if you are not wise, neither father, nor mother, nor kindred, nor any one else, will be your friends. And in matters of which you have as yet no knowledge, can you have any conceit of knowledge?

That is impossible, he replied.

And you, Lysis, if you require a teacher, have not yet attained to wisdom.

True.

And therefore you are not conceited, having nothing of which to be conceited.

Indeed, Socrates, I think not.

When I heard him say this, I turned to Hippothales, and was very nearly making a blunder, for I was going to say to him: That is the way, Hippothales, in which you should talk to your beloved, humbling and lowering him, and not as you do, puffing him up and spoiling him. But I saw that he was in great excitement and confusion at what had been said, and I remembered that, although he was in the neighbourhood, he did not want to be seen by Lysis; so upon second thoughts I refrained.

In the meantime Menexenus came back and sat down in his place by Lysis; and Lysis, in a childish and affectionate manner, whispered privately in my ear, so that Menexenus should not hear: Do, Socrates, tell Menexenus what you have been telling me.

Suppose that you tell him yourself, Lysis, I replied; for I am sure that you were attending.

Certainly, he replied.

Try, then, to remember the words, and be as exact as you can in repeating them to him, and if you have forgotten anything, ask me again the next time that you see me.

I will be sure to do so, Socrates; but go on telling him something new, and let me hear, as long as I am allowed to stay.

I certainly cannot refuse, I said, since you ask me; but then, as you know, Menexenus is very pugnacious, and therefore you must come to the rescue if he attempts to upset me.

Yes, indeed, he said; he is very pugnacious, and that is the reason why I want you to argue with him.

That I may make a fool of myself?

No, indeed, he said; but I want you to put him down.

That is no easy matter, I replied; for he is a terrible fellow — a pupil of Ctesippus. And there is Ctesippus himself: do you see him?

Never mind, Socrates, you shall argue with him.

Well, I suppose that I must, I replied.

Hereupon Ctesippus complained that we were talking in secret, and keeping the feast to ourselves.

I shall be happy, I said, to let you have a share. Here is Lysis, who does not understand something that I was saying, and wants me to ask Menexenus, who, as he thinks, is likely to know.

And why do you not ask him? he said.

Very well, I said, I will; and do you, Menexenus, answer. But first I must tell you that I am one who from my childhood upward have set my heart upon a certain thing. All people have their fancies; some desire horses, and others dogs; and some are fond of gold, and others of honour. Now, I have no violent desire of any of these things; but I have a passion for friends; and I would rather have a good friend than the best cock or quail in the world: I would even go further, and say the best horse or dog. Yea, by the dog of Egypt, I should greatly prefer a real friend to all the gold of Darius, or even to Darius himself: I am such a lover of friends as that. And when I see you and Lysis, at your early age, so easily possessed of this treasure, and so soon, he of you, and you of him, I am amazed and delighted, seeing that I myself, although I am now advanced in years, am so far from having made a similar acquisition, that I do not even know in what way a friend is acquired. But I want to ask you a question about this, for you have experience: tell me then, when one loves another, is the lover or the beloved the friend; or may either be the friend?

Either may, I should think, be the friend of either.

Do you mean, I said, that if only one of them loves the other, they are mutual friends?

Yes, he said; that is my meaning.

But what if the lover is not loved in return? which is a very possible case.

Yes.

Or is, perhaps, even hated? which is a fancy which sometimes is entertained by lovers respecting their beloved. Nothing can exceed their love; and yet they imagine either that they are not loved in return, or that they are hated. Is not that true?

Yes, he said, quite true.

In that case, the one loves, and the other is loved?

Yes.

Then which is the friend of which? Is the lover the friend of the beloved, whether he be loved in return, or hated; or is the beloved the friend; or is there no friendship at all on either side, unless they both love one another?

There would seem to be none at all.

Then this notion is not in accordance with our previous one. We were saying that both were friends, if one only loved; but now, unless they both love, neither is a friend.

That appears to be true.

Then nothing which does not love in return is beloved by a lover?

I think not.

Then they are not lovers of horses, whom the horses do not love in return; nor lovers of quails, nor of dogs, nor of wine, nor of gymnastic exercises, who have no return of love; no, nor of wisdom, unless wisdom loves them in return. Or shall we say that they do love them, although they are not beloved by them; and that the poet was wrong who sings —

‘Happy the man to whom his children are dear, and steeds having single hoofs, and dogs of chase, and the stranger of another land’?

I do not think that he was wrong.

You think that he is right?

Yes.

Then, Menexenus, the conclusion is, that what is beloved, whether loving or hating, may be dear to the lover of it: for example, very young children, too young to love, or even hating their father or mother when they are punished by them, are never dearer to them than at the time when they are being hated by them.

I think that what you say is true.

And, if so, not the lover, but the beloved, is the friend or dear one?

Yes.

And the hated one, and not the hater, is the enemy?

Clearly.

Then many men are loved by their enemies, and hated by their friends, and are the friends of their enemies, and the enemies of their friends. Yet how absurd, my dear friend, or indeed impossible is this paradox of a man being an enemy to his friend or a friend to his enemy.

I quite agree, Socrates, in what you say.

But if this cannot be, the lover will be the friend of that which is loved?

True.

And the hater will be the enemy of that which is hated?

Certainly.

Yet we must acknowledge in this, as in the preceding instance, that a man may be the friend of one who is not his friend, or who may be his enemy, when he loves that which does not love him or which even hates him. And he may be the enemy of one who is not his enemy, and is even his friend: for example, when he hates that which does not hate him, or which even loves him.

That appears to be true.

But if the lover is not a friend, nor the beloved a friend, nor both together, what are we to say? Whom are we to call friends to one another? Do any remain?

Indeed, Socrates, I cannot find any.

But, O Menexenus! I said, may we not have been altogether wrong in our conclusions?

I am sure that we have been wrong, Socrates, said Lysis. And he blushed as he spoke, the words seeming to come from his lips involuntarily, because his whole mind was taken up with the argument; there was no mistaking his attentive look while he was listening.

I was pleased at the interest which was shown by Lysis, and I wanted to give Menexenus a rest, so I turned to him and said, I think, Lysis, that what you say is true, and that, if we had been right, we should never have gone so far wrong; let us proceed no further in this direction (for the road seems to be getting troublesome), but take the other path into which we turned, and see what the poets have to say; for they are to us in a manner the fathers and authors of wisdom, and they speak of friends in no light or trivial manner, but God himself, as they say, makes them and draws them to one another; and this they express, if I am not mistaken, in the following words: —

‘God is ever drawing like towards like, and making them acquainted.’

I dare say that you have heard those words.

Yes, he said; I have.

And have you not also met with the treatises of philosophers who say that like must love like? they are the people who argue and write about nature and the universe.

Very true, he replied.

And are they right in saying this?

They may be.

Perhaps, I said, about half, or possibly, altogether, right, if their meaning were rightly apprehended by us. For the more a bad man has to do with a bad man, and the more nearly he is brought into contact with him, the more he will be likely to hate him, for he injures him; and injurer and injured cannot be friends. Is not that true?

Yes, he said.

Then one half of the saying is untrue, if the wicked are like one another?

That is true.

But the real meaning of the saying, as I imagine, is, that the good are like one another, and friends to one another; and that the bad, as is often said of them, are never at unity with one another or with themselves; for they are passionate and restless, and anything which is at variance and enmity with itself is not likely to be in union or harmony with any other thing. Do you not agree?

Yes, I do.

Then, my friend, those who say that the like is friendly to the like mean to intimate, if I rightly apprehend them, that the good only is the friend of the good, and of him only; but that the evil never attains to any real friendship, either with good or evil. Do you agree?

He nodded assent.

Then now we know how to answer the question ‘Who are friends?’ for the argument declares ‘That the good are friends.’

Yes, he said, that is true.

Yes, I replied; and yet I am not quite satisfied with this answer. By heaven, and shall I tell you what I suspect? I will. Assuming that like, inasmuch as he is like, is the friend of like, and useful to him — or rather let me try another way of putting the matter: Can like do any good or harm to like which he could not do to himself, or suffer anything from his like which he would not suffer from himself? And if neither can be of any use to the other, how can they be loved by one another? Can they now?

They cannot.

And can he who is not loved be a friend?

Certainly not.

But say that the like is not the friend of the like in so far as he is like; still the good may be the friend of the good in so far as he is good?

True.

But then again, will not the good, in so far as he is good, be sufficient for himself? Certainly he will. And he who is sufficient wants nothing — that is implied in the word sufficient.

Of course not.

And he who wants nothing will desire nothing?

He will not.

Neither can he love that which he does not desire?

He cannot.

And he who loves not is not a lover or friend?

Clearly not.

What place then is there for friendship, if, when absent, good men have no need of one another (for even when alone they are sufficient for themselves), and when present have no use of one another? How can such persons ever be induced to value one another?

They cannot.

And friends they cannot be, unless they value one another?

Very true.

But see now, Lysis, whether we are not being deceived in all this — are we not indeed entirely wrong?

How so? he replied.

Have I not heard some one say, as I just now recollect, that the like is the greatest enemy of the like, the good of the good? — Yes, and he quoted the authority of Hesiod, who says:

‘Potter quarrels with potter, bard with bard, Beggar with beggar;’

and of all other things he affirmed, in like manner, ‘That of necessity the most like are most full of envy, strife, and hatred of one another, and the most unlike, of friendship. For the poor man is compelled to be the friend of the rich, and the weak requires the aid of the strong, and the sick man of the physician; and every one who is ignorant, has to love and court him who knows.’ And indeed he went on to say in grandiloquent language, that the idea of friendship existing between similars is not the truth, but the very reverse of the truth, and that the most opposed are the most friendly; for that everything desires not like but that which is most unlike: for example, the dry desires the moist, the cold the hot, the bitter the sweet, the sharp the blunt, the void the full, the full the void, and so of all other things; for the opposite is the food of the opposite, whereas like receives nothing from like. And I thought that he who said this was a charming man, and that he spoke well. What do the rest of you say?

I should say, at first hearing, that he is right, said Menexenus.

Then we are to say that the greatest friendship is of opposites?

Exactly.

Yes, Menexenus; but will not that be a monstrous answer? and will not the all-wise eristics be down upon us in triumph, and ask, fairly enough, whether love is not the very opposite of hate; and what answer shall we make to them — must we not admit that they speak the truth?

We must.

They will then proceed to ask whether the enemy is the friend of the friend, or the friend the friend of the enemy?

Neither, he replied.

Well, but is a just man the friend of the unjust, or the temperate of the intemperate, or the good of the bad?

I do not see how that is possible.

And yet, I said, if friendship goes by contraries, the contraries must be friends.

They must.

Then neither like and like nor unlike and unlike are friends.

I suppose not.

And yet there is a further consideration: may not all these notions of friendship be erroneous? but may not that which is neither good nor evil still in some cases be the friend of the good?

How do you mean? he said.

Why really, I said, the truth is that I do not know; but my head is dizzy with thinking of the argument, and therefore I hazard the conjecture, that ‘the beautiful is the friend,’ as the old proverb says. Beauty is certainly a soft, smooth, slippery thing, and therefore of a nature which easily slips in and permeates our souls. For I affirm that the good is the beautiful. You will agree to that?

Yes.

This I say from a sort of notion that what is neither good nor evil is the friend of the beautiful and the good, and I will tell you why I am inclined to think so: I assume that there are three principles — the good, the bad, and that which is neither good nor bad. You would agree — would you not?

I agree.

And neither is the good the friend of the good, nor the evil of the evil, nor the good of the evil; — these alternatives are excluded by the previous argument; and therefore, if there be such a thing as friendship or love at all, we must infer that what is neither good nor evil must be the friend, either of the good, or of that which is neither good nor evil, for nothing can be the friend of the bad.

True.

But neither can like be the friend of like, as we were just now saying.

True.

And if so, that which is neither good nor evil can have no friend which is neither good nor evil.

Clearly not.

Then the good alone is the friend of that only which is neither good nor evil.

That may be assumed to be certain.

And does not this seem to put us in the right way? Just remark, that the body which is in health requires neither medical nor any other aid, but is well enough; and the healthy man has no love of the physician, because he is in health.

He has none.

But the sick loves him, because he is sick?

Certainly.

And sickness is an evil, and the art of medicine a good and useful thing?

Yes.

But the human body, regarded as a body, is neither good nor evil?

True.

And the body is compelled by reason of disease to court and make friends of the art of medicine?

Yes.

Then that which is neither good nor evil becomes the friend of good, by reason of the presence of evil?

So we may infer.

And clearly this must have happened before that which was neither good nor evil had become altogether corrupted with the element of evil — if itself had become evil it would not still desire and love the good; for, as we were saying, the evil cannot be the friend of the good.

Impossible.

Further, I must observe that some substances are assimilated when others are present with them; and there are some which are not assimilated: take, for example, the case of an ointment or colour which is put on another substance.

Very good.

In such a case, is the substance which is anointed the same as the colour or ointment?

What do you mean? he said.

This is what I mean: Suppose that I were to cover your auburn locks with white lead, would they be really white, or would they only appear to be white?

They would only appear to be white, he replied.

And yet whiteness would be present in them?

True.

But that would not make them at all the more white, notwithstanding the presence of white in them — they would not be white any more than black?

No.

But when old age infuses whiteness into them, then they become assimilated, and are white by the presence of white.

Certainly.

Now I want to know whether in all cases a substance is assimilated by the presence of another substance; or must the presence be after a peculiar sort?

The latter, he said.

Then that which is neither good nor evil may be in the presence of evil, but not as yet evil, and that has happened before now?

Yes.

And when anything is in the presence of evil, not being as yet evil, the presence of good arouses the desire of good in that thing; but the presence of evil, which makes a thing evil, takes away the desire and friendship of the good; for that which was once both good and evil has now become evil only, and the good was supposed to have no friendship with the evil?

None.

And therefore we say that those who are already wise, whether Gods or men, are no longer lovers of wisdom; nor can they be lovers of wisdom who are ignorant to the extent of being evil, for no evil or ignorant person is a lover of wisdom. There remain those who have the misfortune to be ignorant, but are not yet hardened in their ignorance, or void of understanding, and do not as yet fancy that they know what they do not know: and therefore those who are the lovers of wisdom are as yet neither good nor bad. But the bad do not love wisdom any more than the good; for, as we have already seen, neither is unlike the friend of unlike, nor like of like. You remember that?

Yes, they both said.

And so, Lysis and Menexenus, we have discovered the nature of friendship — there can be no doubt of it: Friendship is the love which by reason of the presence of evil the neither good nor evil has of the good, either in the soul, or in the body, or anywhere.

They both agreed and entirely assented, and for a moment I rejoiced and was satisfied like a huntsman just holding fast his prey. But then a most unaccountable suspicion came across me, and I felt that the conclusion was untrue. I was pained, and said, Alas! Lysis and Menexenus, I am afraid that we have been grasping at a shadow only.

Why do you say so? said Menexenus.

I am afraid, I said, that the argument about friendship is false: arguments, like men, are often pretenders.

How do you mean? he asked.

Well, I said; look at the matter in this way: a friend is the friend of some one; is he not?

Certainly he is.

And has he a motive and object in being a friend, or has he no motive and object?

He has a motive and object.

And is the object which makes him a friend, dear to him, or neither dear nor hateful to him?

I do not quite follow you, he said.

I do not wonder at that, I said. But perhaps, if I put the matter in another way, you will be able to follow me, and my own meaning will be clearer to myself. The sick man, as I was just now saying, is the friend of the physician — is he not?

Yes.

And he is the friend of the physician because of disease, and for the sake of health?

Yes.

And disease is an evil?

Certainly.

And what of health? I said. Is that good or evil, or neither?

Good, he replied.

And we were saying, I believe, that the body being neither good nor evil, because of disease, that is to say because of evil, is the friend of medicine, and medicine is a good: and medicine has entered into this friendship for the sake of health, and health is a good.

True.

And is health a friend, or not a friend?

A friend.

And disease is an enemy?

Yes.

Then that which is neither good nor evil is the friend of the good because of the evil and hateful, and for the sake of the good and the friend?

Clearly.

Then the friend is a friend for the sake of the friend, and because of the enemy?

That is to be inferred.

Then at this point, my boys, let us take heed, and be on our guard against deceptions. I will not again repeat that the friend is the friend of the friend, and the like of the like, which has been declared by us to be an impossibility; but, in order that this new statement may not delude us, let us attentively examine another point, which I will proceed to explain: Medicine, as we were saying, is a friend, or dear to us for the sake of health?

Yes.

And health is also dear?

Certainly.

And if dear, then dear for the sake of something?

Yes.

And surely this object must also be dear, as is implied in our previous admissions?

Yes.

And that something dear involves something else dear?

Yes.

But then, proceeding in this way, shall we not arrive at some first principle of friendship or dearness which is not capable of being referred to any other, for the sake of which, as we maintain, all other things are dear, and, having there arrived, we shall stop?

True.

My fear is that all those other things, which, as we say, are dear for the sake of another, are illusions and deceptions only, but where that first principle is, there is the true ideal of friendship. Let me put the matter thus: Suppose the case of a great treasure (this may be a son, who is more precious to his father than all his other treasures); would not the father, who values his son above all things, value other things also for the sake of his son? I mean, for instance, if he knew that his son had drunk hemlock, and the father thought that wine would save him, he would value the wine?

He would.

And also the vessel which contains the wine?

Certainly.

But does he therefore value the three measures of wine, or the earthen vessel which contains them, equally with his son? Is not this rather the true state of the case? All his anxiety has regard not to the means which are provided for the sake of an object, but to the object for the sake of which they are provided. And although we may often say that gold and silver are highly valued by us, that is not the truth; for there is a further object, whatever it may be, which we value most of all, and for the sake of which gold and all our other possessions are acquired by us. Am I not right?

Yes, certainly.

And may not the same be said of the friend? That which is only dear to us for the sake of something else is improperly said to be dear, but the truly dear is that in which all these so-called dear friendships terminate.

That, he said, appears to be true.

And the truly dear or ultimate principle of friendship is not for the sake of any other or further dear.

True.

Then we have done with the notion that friendship has any further object. May we then infer that the good is the friend?

I think so.

And the good is loved for the sake of the evil? Let me put the case in this way: Suppose that of the three principles, good, evil, and that which is neither good nor evil, there remained only the good and the neutral, and that evil went far away, and in no way affected soul or body, nor ever at all that class of things which, as we say, are neither good nor evil in themselves; — would the good be of any use, or other than useless to us? For if there were nothing to hurt us any longer, we should have no need of anything that would do us good. Then would be clearly seen that we did but love and desire the good because of the evil, and as the remedy of the evil, which was the disease; but if there had been no disease, there would have been no need of a remedy. Is not this the nature of the good — to be loved by us who are placed between the two, because of the evil? but there is no use in the good for its own sake.

I suppose not.

Then the final principle of friendship, in which all other friendships terminated, those, I mean, which are relatively dear and for the sake of something else, is of another and a different nature from them. For they are called dear because of another dear or friend. But with the true friend or dear, the case is quite the reverse; for that is proved to be dear because of the hated, and if the hated were away it would be no longer dear.

Very true, he replied: at any rate not if our present view holds good.

But, oh! will you tell me, I said, whether if evil were to perish, we should hunger any more, or thirst any more, or have any similar desire? Or may we suppose that hunger will remain while men and animals remain, but not so as to be hurtful? And the same of thirst and the other desires, — that they will remain, but will not be evil because evil has perished? Or rather shall I say, that to ask what either will be then or will not be is ridiculous, for who knows? This we do know, that in our present condition hunger may injure us, and may also benefit us: — Is not that true?

Yes.

And in like manner thirst or any similar desire may sometimes be a good and sometimes an evil to us, and sometimes neither one nor the other?

To be sure.

But is there any reason why, because evil perishes, that which is not evil should perish with it?

None.

Then, even if evil perishes, the desires which are neither good nor evil will remain?

Clearly they will.

And must not a man love that which he desires and affects?

He must.

Then, even if evil perishes, there may still remain some elements of love or friendship?

Yes.

But not if evil is the cause of friendship: for in that case nothing will be the friend of any other thing after the destruction of evil; for the effect cannot remain when the cause is destroyed.

True.

And have we not admitted already that the friend loves something for a reason? and at the time of making the admission we were of opinion that the neither good nor evil loves the good because of the evil?

Very true.

But now our view is changed, and we conceive that there must be some other cause of friendship?

I suppose so.

May not the truth be rather, as we were saying just now, that desire is the cause of friendship; for that which desires is dear to that which is desired at the time of desiring it? and may not the other theory have been only a long story about nothing?

Likely enough.

But surely, I said, he who desires, desires that of which he is in want?

Yes.

And that of which he is in want is dear to him?

True.

And he is in want of that of which he is deprived?

Certainly.

Then love, and desire, and friendship would appear to be of the natural or congenial. Such, Lysis and Menexenus, is the inference.

They assented.

Then if you are friends, you must have natures which are congenial to one another?

Certainly, they both said.

And I say, my boys, that no one who loves or desires another would ever have loved or desired or affected him, if he had not been in some way congenial to him, either in his soul, or in his character, or in his manners, or in his form.

Yes, yes, said Menexenus. But Lysis was silent.

Then, I said, the conclusion is, that what is of a congenial nature must be loved.

It follows, he said.

Then the lover, who is true and no counterfeit, must of necessity be loved by his love.

Lysis and Menexenus gave a faint assent to this; and Hippothales changed into all manner of colours with delight.

Here, intending to revise the argument, I said: Can we point out any difference between the congenial and the like? For if that is possible, then I think, Lysis and Menexenus, there may be some sense in our argument about friendship. But if the congenial is only the like, how will you get rid of the other argument, of the uselessness of like to like in as far as they are like; for to say that what is useless is dear, would be absurd? Suppose, then, that we agree to distinguish between the congenial and the like — in the intoxication of argument, that may perhaps be allowed.

Very true.

And shall we further say that the good is congenial, and the evil uncongenial to every one? Or again that the evil is congenial to the evil, and the good to the good; and that which is neither good nor evil to that which is neither good nor evil?

They agreed to the latter alternative.

Then, my boys, we have again fallen into the old discarded error; for the unjust will be the friend of the unjust, and the bad of the bad, as well as the good of the good.

That appears to be the result.

But again, if we say that the congenial is the same as the good, in that case the good and he only will be the friend of the good.

True.

But that too was a position of ours which, as you will remember, has been already refuted by ourselves.

We remember.

Then what is to be done? Or rather is there anything to be done? I can only, like the wise men who argue in courts, sum up the arguments: — If neither the beloved, nor the lover, nor the like, nor the unlike, nor the good, nor the congenial, nor any other of whom we spoke — for there were such a number of them that I cannot remember all — if none of these are friends, I know not what remains to be said.

Here I was going to invite the opinion of some older person, when suddenly we were interrupted by the tutors of Lysis and Menexenus, who came upon us like an evil apparition with their brothers, and bade them go home, as it was getting late. At first, we and the by-standers drove them off; but afterwards, as they would not mind, and only went on shouting in their barbarous dialect, and got angry, and kept calling the boys — they appeared to us to have been drinking rather too much at the Hermaea, which made them difficult to manage — we fairly gave way and broke up the company.

I said, however, a few words to the boys at parting: O Menexenus and Lysis, how ridiculous that you two boys, and I, an old boy, who would fain be one of you, should imagine ourselves to be friends — this is what the by-standers will go away and say — and as yet we have not been able to discover what is a friend!

ION

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This short dialogue concerns Socrates and Ion, a professional poet and lecturer on Homer.  They debate the question of whether a poet gives his performance on account of his skill and knowledge or by virtue of divine possession.

Ion has just come from a festival of Asclepius at the city of Epidaurus, after having won first prize in the competition. Socrates engages Ion in a philosophical discussion. Ion admits when Socrates asks, that his skill in performance recitation is limited to Homer, and that all other poets bore him. Socrates finds this puzzling, and sets out to solve the ‘riddle’ of Ion’s limited expertise. He points out to Ion that art critics and judges of sculpture normally do not limit themselves to judging the work of only a single artist, but can criticize the art no matter who the particular artist.

INTRODUCTION.

The Ion is the shortest, or nearly the shortest, of all the writings which bear the name of Plato, and is not authenticated by any early external testimony. The grace and beauty of this little work supply the only, and perhaps a sufficient, proof of its genuineness. The plan is simple; the dramatic interest consists entirely in the contrast between the irony of Socrates and the transparent vanity and childlike enthusiasm of the rhapsode Ion. The theme of the Dialogue may possibly have been suggested by the passage of Xenophon’s Memorabilia in which the rhapsodists are described by Euthydemus as ‘very precise about the exact words of Homer, but very idiotic themselves.’ (Compare Aristotle, Met.)

Ion the rhapsode has just come to Athens; he has been exhibiting in Epidaurus at the festival of Asclepius, and is intending to exhibit at the festival of the Panathenaea. Socrates admires and envies the rhapsode’s art; for he is always well dressed and in good company — in the company of good poets and of Homer, who is the prince of them. In the course of conversation the admission is elicited from Ion that his skill is restricted to Homer, and that he knows nothing of inferior poets, such as Hesiod and Archilochus; — he brightens up and is wide awake when Homer is being recited, but is apt to go to sleep at the recitations of any other poet. ‘And yet, surely, he who knows the superior ought to know the inferior also; — he who can judge of the good speaker is able to judge of the bad. And poetry is a whole; and he who judges of poetry by rules of art ought to be able to judge of all poetry.’ This is confirmed by the analogy of sculpture, painting, flute-playing, and the other arts. The argument is at last brought home to the mind of Ion, who asks how this contradiction is to be solved. The solution given by Socrates is as follows: —

The rhapsode is not guided by rules of art, but is an inspired person who derives a mysterious power from the poet; and the poet, in like manner, is inspired by the God. The poets and their interpreters may be compared to a chain of magnetic rings suspended from one another, and from a magnet. The magnet is the Muse, and the ring which immediately follows is the poet himself; from him are suspended other poets; there is also a chain of rhapsodes and actors, who also hang from the Muses, but are let down at the side; and the last ring of all is the spectator. The poet is the inspired interpreter of the God, and this is the reason why some poets, like Homer, are restricted to a single theme, or, like Tynnichus, are famous for a single poem; and the rhapsode is the inspired interpreter of the poet, and for a similar reason some rhapsodes, like Ion, are the interpreters of single poets.

Ion is delighted at the notion of being inspired, and acknowledges that he is beside himself when he is performing; — his eyes rain tears and his hair stands on end. Socrates is of opinion that a man must be mad who behaves in this way at a festival when he is surrounded by his friends and there is nothing to trouble him. Ion is confident that Socrates would never think him mad if he could only hear his embellishments of Homer. Socrates asks whether he can speak well about everything in Homer. ‘Yes, indeed he can.’ ‘What about things of which he has no knowledge?’ Ion answers that he can interpret anything in Homer. But, rejoins Socrates, when Homer speaks of the arts, as for example, of chariot-driving, or of medicine, or of prophecy, or of navigation — will he, or will the charioteer or physician or prophet or pilot be the better judge? Ion is compelled to admit that every man will judge of his own particular art better than the rhapsode. He still maintains, however, that he understands the art of the general as well as any one. ‘Then why in this city of Athens, in which men of merit are always being sought after, is he not at once appointed a general?’ Ion replies that he is a foreigner, and the Athenians and Spartans will not appoint a foreigner to be their general. ‘No, that is not the real reason; there are many examples to the contrary. But Ion has long been playing tricks with the argument; like Proteus, he transforms himself into a variety of shapes, and is at last about to run away in the disguise of a general. Would he rather be regarded as inspired or dishonest?’ Ion, who has no suspicion of the irony of Socrates, eagerly embraces the alternative of inspiration.

The Ion, like the other earlier Platonic Dialogues, is a mixture of jest and earnest, in which no definite result is obtained, but some Socratic or Platonic truths are allowed dimly to appear.

The elements of a true theory of poetry are contained in the notion that the poet is inspired. Genius is often said to be unconscious, or spontaneous, or a gift of nature: that ‘genius is akin to madness’ is a popular aphorism of modern times. The greatest strength is observed to have an element of limitation. Sense or passion are too much for the ‘dry light’ of intelligence which mingles with them and becomes discoloured by them. Imagination is often at war with reason and fact. The concentration of the mind on a single object, or on a single aspect of human nature, overpowers the orderly perception of the whole. Yet the feelings too bring truths home to the minds of many who in the way of reason would be incapable of understanding them. Reflections of this kind may have been passing before Plato’s mind when he describes the poet as inspired, or when, as in the Apology, he speaks of poets as the worst critics of their own writings — anybody taken at random from the crowd is a better interpreter of them than they are of themselves. They are sacred persons, ‘winged and holy things’ who have a touch of madness in their composition (Phaedr.), and should be treated with every sort of respect (Republic), but not allowed to live in a well-ordered state. Like the Statesmen in the Meno, they have a divine instinct, but they are narrow and confused; they do not attain to the clearness of ideas, or to the knowledge of poetry or of any other art as a whole.

In the Protagoras the ancient poets are recognized by Protagoras himself as the original sophists; and this family resemblance may be traced in the Ion. The rhapsode belongs to the realm of imitation and of opinion: he professes to have all knowledge, which is derived by him from Homer, just as the sophist professes to have all wisdom, which is contained in his art of rhetoric. Even more than the sophist he is incapable of appreciating the commonest logical distinctions; he cannot explain the nature of his own art; his great memory contrasts with his inability to follow the steps of the argument. And in his highest moments of inspiration he has an eye to his own gains.

The old quarrel between philosophy and poetry, which in the Republic leads to their final separation, is already working in the mind of Plato, and is embodied by him in the contrast between Socrates and Ion. Yet here, as in the Republic, Socrates shows a sympathy with the poetic nature. Also, the manner in which Ion is affected by his own recitations affords a lively illustration of the power which, in the Republic, Socrates attributes to dramatic performances over the mind of the performer. His allusion to his embellishments of Homer, in which he declares himself to have surpassed Metrodorus of Lampsacus and Stesimbrotus of Thasos, seems to show that, like them, he belonged to the allegorical school of interpreters. The circumstance that nothing more is known of him may be adduced in confirmation of the argument that this truly Platonic little work is not a forgery of later times.

ION

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, Ion.

SOCRATES: Welcome, Ion. Are you from your native city of Ephesus?

ION: No, Socrates; but from Epidaurus, where I attended the festival of Asclepius.

SOCRATES: And do the Epidaurians have contests of rhapsodes at the festival?

ION: O yes; and of all sorts of musical performers.

SOCRATES: And were you one of the competitors — and did you succeed?

ION: I obtained the first prize of all, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Well done; and I hope that you will do the same for us at the Panathenaea.

ION: And I will, please heaven.

SOCRATES: I often envy the profession of a rhapsode, Ion; for you have always to wear fine clothes, and to look as beautiful as you can is a part of your art. Then, again, you are obliged to be continually in the company of many good poets; and especially of Homer, who is the best and most divine of them; and to understand him, and not merely learn his words by rote, is a thing greatly to be envied. And no man can be a rhapsode who does not understand the meaning of the poet. For the rhapsode ought to interpret the mind of the poet to his hearers, but how can he interpret him well unless he knows what he means? All this is greatly to be envied.

ION: Very true, Socrates; interpretation has certainly been the most laborious part of my art; and I believe myself able to speak about Homer better than any man; and that neither Metrodorus of Lampsacus, nor Stesimbrotus of Thasos, nor Glaucon, nor any one else who ever was, had as good ideas about Homer as I have, or as many.

SOCRATES: I am glad to hear you say so, Ion; I see that you will not refuse to acquaint me with them.

ION: Certainly, Socrates; and you really ought to hear how exquisitely I render Homer. I think that the Homeridae should give me a golden crown.

SOCRATES: I shall take an opportunity of hearing your embellishments of him at some other time. But just now I should like to ask you a question: Does your art extend to Hesiod and Archilochus, or to Homer only?

ION: To Homer only; he is in himself quite enough.

SOCRATES: Are there any things about which Homer and Hesiod agree?

ION: Yes; in my opinion there are a good many.

SOCRATES: And can you interpret better what Homer says, or what Hesiod says, about these matters in which they agree?

ION: I can interpret them equally well, Socrates, where they agree.

SOCRATES: But what about matters in which they do not agree? — for example, about divination, of which both Homer and Hesiod have something to say, —

ION: Very true:

SOCRATES: Would you or a good prophet be a better interpreter of what these two poets say about divination, not only when they agree, but when they disagree?

ION: A prophet.

SOCRATES: And if you were a prophet, would you not be able to interpret them when they disagree as well as when they agree?

ION: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But how did you come to have this skill about Homer only, and not about Hesiod or the other poets? Does not Homer speak of the same themes which all other poets handle? Is not war his great argument? and does he not speak of human society and of intercourse of men, good and bad, skilled and unskilled, and of the gods conversing with one another and with mankind, and about what happens in heaven and in the world below, and the generations of gods and heroes? Are not these the themes of which Homer sings?

ION: Very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And do not the other poets sing of the same?

ION: Yes, Socrates; but not in the same way as Homer.

SOCRATES: What, in a worse way?

ION: Yes, in a far worse.

SOCRATES: And Homer in a better way?

ION: He is incomparably better.

SOCRATES: And yet surely, my dear friend Ion, in a discussion about arithmetic, where many people are speaking, and one speaks better than the rest, there is somebody who can judge which of them is the good speaker?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he who judges of the good will be the same as he who judges of the bad speakers?

ION: The same.

SOCRATES: And he will be the arithmetician?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well, and in discussions about the wholesomeness of food, when many persons are speaking, and one speaks better than the rest, will he who recognizes the better speaker be a different person from him who recognizes the worse, or the same?

ION: Clearly the same.

SOCRATES: And who is he, and what is his name?

ION: The physician.

SOCRATES: And speaking generally, in all discussions in which the subject is the same and many men are speaking, will not he who knows the good know the bad speaker also? For if he does not know the bad, neither will he know the good when the same topic is being discussed.

ION: True.

SOCRATES: Is not the same person skilful in both?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: And you say that Homer and the other poets, such as Hesiod and Archilochus, speak of the same things, although not in the same way; but the one speaks well and the other not so well?

ION: Yes; and I am right in saying so.

SOCRATES: And if you knew the good speaker, you would also know the inferior speakers to be inferior?

ION: That is true.

SOCRATES: Then, my dear friend, can I be mistaken in saying that Ion is equally skilled in Homer and in other poets, since he himself acknowledges that the same person will be a good judge of all those who speak of the same things; and that almost all poets do speak of the same things?

ION: Why then, Socrates, do I lose attention and go to sleep and have absolutely no ideas of the least value, when any one speaks of any other poet; but when Homer is mentioned, I wake up at once and am all attention and have plenty to say?

SOCRATES: The reason, my friend, is obvious. No one can fail to see that you speak of Homer without any art or knowledge. If you were able to speak of him by rules of art, you would have been able to speak of all other poets; for poetry is a whole.

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: And when any one acquires any other art as a whole, the same may be said of them. Would you like me to explain my meaning, Ion?

ION: Yes, indeed, Socrates; I very much wish that you would: for I love to hear you wise men talk.

SOCRATES: O that we were wise, Ion, and that you could truly call us so; but you rhapsodes and actors, and the poets whose verses you sing, are wise; whereas I am a common man, who only speak the truth. For consider what a very commonplace and trivial thing is this which I have said — a thing which any man might say: that when a man has acquired a knowledge of a whole art, the enquiry into good and bad is one and the same. Let us consider this matter; is not the art of painting a whole?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: And there are and have been many painters good and bad?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: And did you ever know any one who was skilful in pointing out the excellences and defects of Polygnotus the son of Aglaophon, but incapable of criticizing other painters; and when the work of any other painter was produced, went to sleep and was at a loss, and had no ideas; but when he had to give his opinion about Polygnotus, or whoever the painter might be, and about him only, woke up and was attentive and had plenty to say?

ION: No indeed, I have never known such a person.

SOCRATES: Or did you ever know of any one in sculpture, who was skilful in expounding the merits of Daedalus the son of Metion, or of Epeius the son of Panopeus, or of Theodorus the Samian, or of any individual sculptor; but when the works of sculptors in general were produced, was at a loss and went to sleep and had nothing to say?

ION: No indeed; no more than the other.

SOCRATES: And if I am not mistaken, you never met with any one among flute-players or harp-players or singers to the harp or rhapsodes who was able to discourse of Olympus or Thamyras or Orpheus, or Phemius the rhapsode of Ithaca, but was at a loss when he came to speak of Ion of Ephesus, and had no notion of his merits or defects?

ION: I cannot deny what you say, Socrates. Nevertheless I am conscious in my own self, and the world agrees with me in thinking that I do speak better and have more to say about Homer than any other man. But I do not speak equally well about others — tell me the reason of this.

SOCRATES: I perceive, Ion; and I will proceed to explain to you what I imagine to be the reason of this. The gift which you possess of speaking excellently about Homer is not an art, but, as I was just saying, an inspiration; there is a divinity moving you, like that contained in the stone which Euripides calls a magnet, but which is commonly known as the stone of Heraclea. This stone not only attracts iron rings, but also imparts to them a similar power of attracting other rings; and sometimes you may see a number of pieces of iron and rings suspended from one another so as to form quite a long chain: and all of them derive their power of suspension from the original stone. In like manner the Muse first of all inspires men herself; and from these inspired persons a chain of other persons is suspended, who take the inspiration. For all good poets, epic as well as lyric, compose their beautiful poems not by art, but because they are inspired and possessed. And as the Corybantian revellers when they dance are not in their right mind, so the lyric poets are not in their right mind when they are composing their beautiful strains: but when falling under the power of music and metre they are inspired and possessed; like Bacchic maidens who draw milk and honey from the rivers when they are under the influence of Dionysus but not when they are in their right mind. And the soul of the lyric poet does the same, as they themselves say; for they tell us that they bring songs from honeyed fountains, culling them out of the gardens and dells of the Muses; they, like the bees, winging their way from flower to flower. And this is true. For the poet is a light and winged and holy thing, and there is no invention in him until he has been inspired and is out of his senses, and the mind is no longer in him: when he has not attained to this state, he is powerless and is unable to utter his oracles. Many are the noble words in which poets speak concerning the actions of men; but like yourself when speaking about Homer, they do not speak of them by any rules of art: they are simply inspired to utter that to which the Muse impels them, and that only; and when inspired, one of them will make dithyrambs, another hymns of praise, another choral strains, another epic or iambic verses — and he who is good at one is not good at any other kind of verse: for not by art does the poet sing, but by power divine. Had he learned by rules of art, he would have known how to speak not of one theme only, but of all; and therefore God takes away the minds of poets, and uses them as his ministers, as he also uses diviners and holy prophets, in order that we who hear them may know them to be speaking not of themselves who utter these priceless words in a state of unconsciousness, but that God himself is the speaker, and that through them he is conversing with us. And Tynnichus the Chalcidian affords a striking instance of what I am saying: he wrote nothing that any one would care to remember but the famous paean which is in every one’s mouth, one of the finest poems ever written, simply an invention of the Muses, as he himself says. For in this way the God would seem to indicate to us and not allow us to doubt that these beautiful poems are not human, or the work of man, but divine and the work of God; and that the poets are only the interpreters of the Gods by whom they are severally possessed. Was not this the lesson which the God intended to teach when by the mouth of the worst of poets he sang the best of songs? Am I not right, Ion?

ION: Yes, indeed, Socrates, I feel that you are; for your words touch my soul, and I am persuaded that good poets by a divine inspiration interpret the things of the Gods to us.

SOCRATES: And you rhapsodists are the interpreters of the poets?

ION: There again you are right.

SOCRATES: Then you are the interpreters of interpreters?

ION: Precisely.

SOCRATES: I wish you would frankly tell me, Ion, what I am going to ask of you: When you produce the greatest effect upon the audience in the recitation of some striking passage, such as the apparition of Odysseus leaping forth on the floor, recognized by the suitors and casting his arrows at his feet, or the description of Achilles rushing at Hector, or the sorrows of Andromache, Hecuba, or Priam, — are you in your right mind? Are you not carried out of yourself, and does not your soul in an ecstasy seem to be among the persons or places of which you are speaking, whether they are in Ithaca or in Troy or whatever may be the scene of the poem?

ION: That proof strikes home to me, Socrates. For I must frankly confess that at the tale of pity my eyes are filled with tears, and when I speak of horrors, my hair stands on end and my heart throbs.

SOCRATES: Well, Ion, and what are we to say of a man who at a sacrifice or festival, when he is dressed in holiday attire, and has golden crowns upon his head, of which nobody has robbed him, appears weeping or panic-stricken in the presence of more than twenty thousand friendly faces, when there is no one despoiling or wronging him; — is he in his right mind or is he not?

ION: No indeed, Socrates, I must say that, strictly speaking, he is not in his right mind.

SOCRATES: And are you aware that you produce similar effects on most of the spectators?

ION: Only too well; for I look down upon them from the stage, and behold the various emotions of pity, wonder, sternness, stamped upon their countenances when I am speaking: and I am obliged to give my very best attention to them; for if I make them cry I myself shall laugh, and if I make them laugh I myself shall cry when the time of payment arrives.

SOCRATES: Do you know that the spectator is the last of the rings which, as I am saying, receive the power of the original magnet from one another? The rhapsode like yourself and the actor are intermediate links, and the poet himself is the first of them. Through all these the God sways the souls of men in any direction which he pleases, and makes one man hang down from another. Thus there is a vast chain of dancers and masters and under-masters of choruses, who are suspended, as if from the stone, at the side of the rings which hang down from the Muse. And every poet has some Muse from whom he is suspended, and by whom he is said to be possessed, which is nearly the same thing; for he is taken hold of. And from these first rings, which are the poets, depend others, some deriving their inspiration from Orpheus, others from Musaeus; but the greater number are possessed and held by Homer. Of whom, Ion, you are one, and are possessed by Homer; and when any one repeats the words of another poet you go to sleep, and know not what to say; but when any one recites a strain of Homer you wake up in a moment, and your soul leaps within you, and you have plenty to say; for not by art or knowledge about Homer do you say what you say, but by divine inspiration and by possession; just as the Corybantian revellers too have a quick perception of that strain only which is appropriated to the God by whom they are possessed, and have plenty of dances and words for that, but take no heed of any other. And you, Ion, when the name of Homer is mentioned have plenty to say, and have nothing to say of others. You ask, ‘Why is this?’ The answer is that you praise Homer not by art but by divine inspiration.

ION: That is good, Socrates; and yet I doubt whether you will ever have eloquence enough to persuade me that I praise Homer only when I am mad and possessed; and if you could hear me speak of him I am sure you would never think this to be the case.

SOCRATES: I should like very much to hear you, but not until you have answered a question which I have to ask. On what part of Homer do you speak well? — not surely about every part.

ION: There is no part, Socrates, about which I do not speak well: of that I can assure you.

SOCRATES: Surely not about things in Homer of which you have no knowledge?

ION: And what is there in Homer of which I have no knowledge?

SOCRATES: Why, does not Homer speak in many passages about arts? For example, about driving; if I can only remember the lines I will repeat them.

ION: I remember, and will repeat them.

SOCRATES: Tell me then, what Nestor says to Antilochus, his son, where he bids him be careful of the turn at the horserace in honour of Patroclus.

ION: ‘Bend gently,’ he says, ‘in the polished chariot to the left of them, and urge the horse on the right hand with whip and voice; and slacken the rein. And when you are at the goal, let the left horse draw near, yet so that the nave of the well-wrought wheel may not even seem to touch the extremity; and avoid catching the stone (Il.).’

SOCRATES: Enough. Now, Ion, will the charioteer or the physician be the better judge of the propriety of these lines?

ION: The charioteer, clearly.

SOCRATES: And will the reason be that this is his art, or will there be any other reason?

ION: No, that will be the reason.

SOCRATES: And every art is appointed by God to have knowledge of a certain work; for that which we know by the art of the pilot we do not know by the art of medicine?

ION: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Nor do we know by the art of the carpenter that which we know by the art of medicine?

ION: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And this is true of all the arts; — that which we know with one art we do not know with the other? But let me ask a prior question: You admit that there are differences of arts?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: You would argue, as I should, that when one art is of one kind of knowledge and another of another, they are different?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: Yes, surely; for if the subject of knowledge were the same, there would be no meaning in saying that the arts were different, — if they both gave the same knowledge. For example, I know that here are five fingers, and you know the same. And if I were to ask whether I and you became acquainted with this fact by the help of the same art of arithmetic, you would acknowledge that we did?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: Tell me, then, what I was intending to ask you, — whether this holds universally? Must the same art have the same subject of knowledge, and different arts other subjects of knowledge?

ION: That is my opinion, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then he who has no knowledge of a particular art will have no right judgment of the sayings and doings of that art?

ION: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then which will be a better judge of the lines which you were reciting from Homer, you or the charioteer?

ION: The charioteer.

SOCRATES: Why, yes, because you are a rhapsode and not a charioteer.

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the art of the rhapsode is different from that of the charioteer?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if a different knowledge, then a knowledge of different matters?

ION: True.

SOCRATES: You know the passage in which Hecamede, the concubine of Nestor, is described as giving to the wounded Machaon a posset, as he says,

‘Made with Pramnian wine; and she grated cheese of goat’s milk with a grater of bronze, and at his side placed an onion which gives a relish to drink (Il.).’

Now would you say that the art of the rhapsode or the art of medicine was better able to judge of the propriety of these lines?

ION: The art of medicine.

SOCRATES: And when Homer says,

‘And she descended into the deep like a leaden plummet, which, set in the horn of ox that ranges in the fields, rushes along carrying death among the ravenous fishes (Il.),’ —

will the art of the fisherman or of the rhapsode be better able to judge whether these lines are rightly expressed or not?

ION: Clearly, Socrates, the art of the fisherman.

SOCRATES: Come now, suppose that you were to say to me: ‘Since you, Socrates, are able to assign different passages in Homer to their corresponding arts, I wish that you would tell me what are the passages of which the excellence ought to be judged by the prophet and prophetic art’; and you will see how readily and truly I shall answer you. For there are many such passages, particularly in the Odyssee; as, for example, the passage in which Theoclymenus the prophet of the house of Melampus says to the suitors: —

‘Wretched men! what is happening to you? Your heads and your faces and your limbs underneath are shrouded in night; and the voice of lamentation bursts forth, and your cheeks are wet with tears. And the vestibule is full, and the court is full, of ghosts descending into the darkness of Erebus, and the sun has perished out of heaven, and an evil mist is spread abroad (Od.).’

And there are many such passages in the Iliad also; as for example in the description of the battle near the rampart, where he says: —

‘As they were eager to pass the ditch, there came to them an omen: a soaring eagle, holding back the people on the left, bore a huge bloody dragon in his talons, still living and panting; nor had he yet resigned the strife, for he bent back and smote the bird which carried him on the breast by the neck, and he in pain let him fall from him to the ground into the midst of the multitude. And the eagle, with a cry, was borne afar on the wings of the wind (Il.).’

These are the sort of things which I should say that the prophet ought to consider and determine.

ION: And you are quite right, Socrates, in saying so.

SOCRATES: Yes, Ion, and you are right also. And as I have selected from the Iliad and Odyssee for you passages which describe the office of the prophet and the physician and the fisherman, do you, who know Homer so much better than I do, Ion, select for me passages which relate to the rhapsode and the rhapsode’s art, and which the rhapsode ought to examine and judge of better than other men.

ION: All passages, I should say, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Not all, Ion, surely. Have you already forgotten what you were saying? A rhapsode ought to have a better memory.

ION: Why, what am I forgetting?

SOCRATES: Do you not remember that you declared the art of the rhapsode to be different from the art of the charioteer?

ION: Yes, I remember.

SOCRATES: And you admitted that being different they would have different subjects of knowledge?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then upon your own showing the rhapsode, and the art of the rhapsode, will not know everything?

ION: I should exclude certain things, Socrates.

SOCRATES: You mean to say that you would exclude pretty much the subjects of the other arts. As he does not know all of them, which of them will he know?

ION: He will know what a man and what a woman ought to say, and what a freeman and what a slave ought to say, and what a ruler and what a subject.

SOCRATES: Do you mean that a rhapsode will know better than the pilot what the ruler of a sea-tossed vessel ought to say?

ION: No; the pilot will know best.

SOCRATES: Or will the rhapsode know better than the physician what the ruler of a sick man ought to say?

ION: He will not.

SOCRATES: But he will know what a slave ought to say?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: Suppose the slave to be a cowherd; the rhapsode will know better than the cowherd what he ought to say in order to soothe the infuriated cows?

ION: No, he will not.

SOCRATES: But he will know what a spinning-woman ought to say about the working of wool?

ION: No.

SOCRATES: At any rate he will know what a general ought to say when exhorting his soldiers?

ION: Yes, that is the sort of thing which the rhapsode will be sure to know.

SOCRATES: Well, but is the art of the rhapsode the art of the general?

ION: I am sure that I should know what a general ought to say.

SOCRATES: Why, yes, Ion, because you may possibly have a knowledge of the art of the general as well as of the rhapsode; and you may also have a knowledge of horsemanship as well as of the lyre: and then you would know when horses were well or ill managed. But suppose I were to ask you: By the help of which art, Ion, do you know whether horses are well managed, by your skill as a horseman or as a performer on the lyre — what would you answer?

ION: I should reply, by my skill as a horseman.

SOCRATES: And if you judged of performers on the lyre, you would admit that you judged of them as a performer on the lyre, and not as a horseman?

ION: Yes.

SOCRATES: And in judging of the general’s art, do you judge of it as a general or a rhapsode?

ION: To me there appears to be no difference between them.

SOCRATES: What do you mean? Do you mean to say that the art of the rhapsode and of the general is the same?

ION: Yes, one and the same.

SOCRATES: Then he who is a good rhapsode is also a good general?

ION: Certainly, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And he who is a good general is also a good rhapsode?

ION: No; I do not say that.

SOCRATES: But you do say that he who is a good rhapsode is also a good general.

ION: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And you are the best of Hellenic rhapsodes?

ION: Far the best, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And are you the best general, Ion?

ION: To be sure, Socrates; and Homer was my master.

SOCRATES: But then, Ion, what in the name of goodness can be the reason why you, who are the best of generals as well as the best of rhapsodes in all Hellas, go about as a rhapsode when you might be a general? Do you think that the Hellenes want a rhapsode with his golden crown, and do not want a general?

ION: Why, Socrates, the reason is, that my countrymen, the Ephesians, are the servants and soldiers of Athens, and do not need a general; and you and Sparta are not likely to have me, for you think that you have enough generals of your own.

SOCRATES: My good Ion, did you never hear of Apollodorus of Cyzicus?

ION: Who may he be?

SOCRATES: One who, though a foreigner, has often been chosen their general by the Athenians: and there is Phanosthenes of Andros, and Heraclides of Clazomenae, whom they have also appointed to the command of their armies and to other offices, although aliens, after they had shown their merit. And will they not choose Ion the Ephesian to be their general, and honour him, if he prove himself worthy? Were not the Ephesians originally Athenians, and Ephesus is no mean city? But, indeed, Ion, if you are correct in saying that by art and knowledge you are able to praise Homer, you do not deal fairly with me, and after all your professions of knowing many glorious things about Homer, and promises that you would exhibit them, you are only a deceiver, and so far from exhibiting the art of which you are a master, will not, even after my repeated entreaties, explain to me the nature of it. You have literally as many forms as Proteus; and now you go all manner of ways, twisting and turning, and, like Proteus, become all manner of people at once, and at last slip away from me in the disguise of a general, in order that you may escape exhibiting your Homeric lore. And if you have art, then, as I was saying, in falsifying your promise that you would exhibit Homer, you are not dealing fairly with me. But if, as I believe, you have no art, but speak all these beautiful words about Homer unconsciously under his inspiring influence, then I acquit you of dishonesty, and shall only say that you are inspired. Which do you prefer to be thought, dishonest or inspired?

ION: There is a great difference, Socrates, between the two alternatives; and inspiration is by far the nobler.

SOCRATES: Then, Ion, I shall assume the nobler alternative; and attribute to you in your praises of Homer inspiration, and not art.

PHAEDO

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This famous dialogue depicts the death of Socrates and is the last dialogue to concern the philosopher’s final days.  In the dialogue, Socrates discusses the nature of the afterlife before being executed by drinking hemlock. Socrates has been imprisoned and sentenced to death by an Athenian jury for not believing in the gods of the state and for corrupting the youth of the city. The dialogue is told from the perspective of one of Socrates’ students, Phaedo of Elis. Having been present at Socrates’ death bed, Phaedo relates the dialogue from that day to Echecrates, a fellow philosopher. By engaging in dialectic with a group of Socrates’ friends, including the Thebans Cebes and Simmias, Socrates explores various arguments for the soul’s immortality in order to show that there is an afterlife in which the soul will dwell following death. Phaedo tells the story that following the discussion, he and the others were there to witness the death of Socrates.

One of the main themes in the Phaedo is the idea that the soul is immortal. Socrates offers four arguments for the soul’s immortality:

1) The Cyclical Argument, explains that Forms are eternal and unchanging, and as the soul always brings life, then it must not die, and is necessarily “imperishable”. As the body is mortal and is subject to physical death, the soul must be its indestructible opposite. Plato then suggests the analogy of fire and cold. If the form of cold is imperishable, and fire, its opposite, was within close proximity, it would have to withdraw intact as does the soul during death. This could be likened to the idea of the opposite charges of magnets.

2) The Theory of Recollection explains that we possess some non-empirical knowledge (e.g. The Form of Equality) at birth, implying the soul existed before birth to carry that knowledge. Another account of the theory is found in Plato’s Meno, although in that case Socrates implies Anamnesis (previous knowledge of everything) whereas he is not so bold in Phaedo.

3) The Affinity Argument, explains that invisible, immortal, and incorporeal things are different from visible, mortal, and corporeal things. Our soul is of the former, while our body is of the latter, so when our bodies die and decay, our soul will continue to live.

4) The Argument from Form of Life, or The Final Argument explains that the Forms, incorporeal and static entities, are the cause of all things in the world, and all things participate in Forms. For example, beautiful things participate in the Form of Beauty; the number four participates in the Form of the Even, etc. The soul, by its very nature, participates in the Form of Life, which means the soul can never die.

The scene begins at Compoton where Echecrates meets Phaedo and asks for news about the last days of Socrates. Phaedo explains why a delay occurred between his trial and his death, and describes the scene in a prison at Athens on the final day, naming those present. He tells how he had visited Socrates early in the morning with the others. Socrates’ wife, Xanthippe was there, but was very distressed and Socrates asked that she be taken away. Socrates’ relates how, bidden by a recurring dream to “make and cultivate music”, he wrote a hymn and then began writing poetry based on Aesop’s Fables.

‘The Death of Socrates’ by Jacques-Louis David (1787)

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION.

PHAEDO

INTRODUCTION.

After an interval of some months or years, and at Phlius, a town of Peloponnesus, the tale of the last hours of Socrates is narrated to Echecrates and other Phliasians by Phaedo the ‘beloved disciple.’ The Dialogue necessarily takes the form of a narrative, because Socrates has to be described acting as well as speaking. The minutest particulars of the event are interesting to distant friends, and the narrator has an equal interest in them.

During the voyage of the sacred ship to and from Delos, which has occupied thirty days, the execution of Socrates has been deferred. (Compare Xen. Mem.) The time has been passed by him in conversation with a select company of disciples. But now the holy season is over, and the disciples meet earlier than usual in order that they may converse with Socrates for the last time. Those who were present, and those who might have been expected to be present, are mentioned by name. There are Simmias and Cebes (Crito), two disciples of Philolaus whom Socrates ‘by his enchantments has attracted from Thebes’ (Mem.), Crito the aged friend, the attendant of the prison, who is as good as a friend — these take part in the conversation. There are present also, Hermogenes, from whom Xenophon derived his information about the trial of Socrates (Mem.), the ‘madman’ Apollodorus (Symp.), Euclid and Terpsion from Megara (compare Theaet.), Ctesippus, Antisthenes, Menexenus, and some other less-known members of the Socratic circle, all of whom are silent auditors. Aristippus, Cleombrotus, and Plato are noted as absent. Almost as soon as the friends of Socrates enter the prison Xanthippe and her children are sent home in the care of one of Crito’s servants. Socrates himself has just been released from chains, and is led by this circumstance to make the natural remark that ‘pleasure follows pain.’ (Observe that Plato is preparing the way for his doctrine of the alternation of opposites.) ‘Aesop would have represented them in a fable as a two-headed creature of the gods.’ The mention of Aesop reminds Cebes of a question which had been asked by Evenus the poet (compare Apol.): ‘Why Socrates, who was not a poet, while in prison had been putting Aesop into verse?’— ‘Because several times in his life he had been warned in dreams that he should practise music; and as he was about to die and was not certain of what was meant, he wished to fulfil the admonition in the letter as well as in the spirit, by writing verses as well as by cultivating philosophy. Tell this to Evenus; and say that I would have him follow me in death.’ ‘He is not at all the sort of man to comply with your request, Socrates.’ ‘Why, is he not a philosopher?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then he will be willing to die, although he will not take his own life, for that is held to be unlawful.’

Cebes asks why suicide is thought not to be right, if death is to be accounted a good? Well, (1) according to one explanation, because man is a prisoner, who must not open the door of his prison and run away — this is the truth in a ‘mystery.’ Or (2) rather, because he is not his own property, but a possession of the gods, and has no right to make away with that which does not belong to him. But why, asks Cebes, if he is a possession of the gods, should he wish to die and leave them? For he is under their protection; and surely he cannot take better care of himself than they take of him. Simmias explains that Cebes is really referring to Socrates, whom they think too unmoved at the prospect of leaving the gods and his friends. Socrates answers that he is going to other gods who are wise and good, and perhaps to better friends; and he professes that he is ready to defend himself against the charge of Cebes. The company shall be his judges, and he hopes that he will be more successful in convincing them than he had been in convincing the court.

The philosopher desires death — which the wicked world will insinuate that he also deserves: and perhaps he does, but not in any sense which they are capable of understanding. Enough of them: the real question is, What is the nature of that death which he desires? Death is the separation of soul and body — and the philosopher desires such a separation. He would like to be freed from the dominion of bodily pleasures and of the senses, which are always perturbing his mental vision. He wants to get rid of eyes and ears, and with the light of the mind only to behold the light of truth. All the evils and impurities and necessities of men come from the body. And death separates him from these corruptions, which in life he cannot wholly lay aside. Why then should he repine when the hour of separation arrives? Why, if he is dead while he lives, should he fear that other death, through which alone he can behold wisdom in her purity?

Besides, the philosopher has notions of good and evil unlike those of other men. For they are courageous because they are afraid of greater dangers, and temperate because they desire greater pleasures. But he disdains this balancing of pleasures and pains, which is the exchange of commerce and not of virtue. All the virtues, including wisdom, are regarded by him only as purifications of the soul. And this was the meaning of the founders of the mysteries when they said, ‘Many are the wand-bearers but few are the mystics.’ (Compare Matt. xxii.: ‘Many are called but few are chosen.’) And in the hope that he is one of these mystics, Socrates is now departing. This is his answer to any one who charges him with indifference at the prospect of leaving the gods and his friends.

Still, a fear is expressed that the soul upon leaving the body may vanish away like smoke or air. Socrates in answer appeals first of all to the old Orphic tradition that the souls of the dead are in the world below, and that the living come from them. This he attempts to found on a philosophical assumption that all opposites — e.g. less, greater; weaker, stronger; sleeping, waking; life, death — are generated out of each other. Nor can the process of generation be only a passage from living to dying, for then all would end in death. The perpetual sleeper (Endymion) would be no longer distinguished from the rest of mankind. The circle of nature is not complete unless the living come from the dead as well as pass to them.

The Platonic doctrine of reminiscence is then adduced as a confirmation of the pre-existence of the soul. Some proofs of this doctrine are demanded. One proof given is the same as that of the Meno, and is derived from the latent knowledge of mathematics, which may be elicited from an unlearned person when a diagram is presented to him. Again, there is a power of association, which from seeing Simmias may remember Cebes, or from seeing a picture of Simmias may remember Simmias. The lyre may recall the player of the lyre, and equal pieces of wood or stone may be associated with the higher notion of absolute equality. But here observe that material equalities fall short of the conception of absolute equality with which they are compared, and which is the measure of them. And the measure or standard must be prior to that which is measured, the idea of equality prior to the visible equals. And if prior to them, then prior also to the perceptions of the senses which recall them, and therefore either given before birth or at birth. But all men have not this knowledge, nor have any without a process of reminiscence; which is a proof that it is not innate or given at birth, unless indeed it was given and taken away at the same instant. But if not given to men in birth, it must have been given before birth — this is the only alternative which remains. And if we had ideas in a former state, then our souls must have existed and must have had intelligence in a former state. The pre-existence of the soul stands or falls with the doctrine of ideas.

It is objected by Simmias and Cebes that these arguments only prove a former and not a future existence. Socrates answers this objection by recalling the previous argument, in which he had shown that the living come from the dead. But the fear that the soul at departing may vanish into air (especially if there is a wind blowing at the time) has not yet been charmed away. He proceeds: When we fear that the soul will vanish away, let us ask ourselves what is that which we suppose to be liable to dissolution? Is it the simple or the compound, the unchanging or the changing, the invisible idea or the visible object of sense? Clearly the latter and not the former; and therefore not the soul, which in her own pure thought is unchangeable, and only when using the senses descends into the region of change. Again, the soul commands, the body serves: in this respect too the soul is akin to the divine, and the body to the mortal. And in every point of view the soul is the image of divinity and immortality, and the body of the human and mortal. And whereas the body is liable to speedy dissolution, the soul is almost if not quite indissoluble. (Compare Tim.) Yet even the body may be preserved for ages by the embalmer’s art: how unlikely, then, that the soul will perish and be dissipated into air while on her way to the good and wise God! She has been gathered into herself, holding aloof from the body, and practising death all her life long, and she is now finally released from the errors and follies and passions of men, and for ever dwells in the company of the gods.

But the soul which is polluted and engrossed by the corporeal, and has no eye except that of the senses, and is weighed down by the bodily appetites, cannot attain to this abstraction. In her fear of the world below she lingers about the sepulchre, loath to leave the body which she loved, a ghostly apparition, saturated with sense, and therefore visible. At length entering into some animal of a nature congenial to her former life of sensuality or violence, she takes the form of an ass, a wolf or a kite. And of these earthly souls the happiest are those who have practised virtue without philosophy; they are allowed to pass into gentle and social natures, such as bees and ants. (Compare Republic, Meno.) But only the philosopher who departs pure is permitted to enter the company of the gods. (Compare Phaedrus.) This is the reason why he abstains from fleshly lusts, and not because he fears loss or disgrace, which is the motive of other men. He too has been a captive, and the willing agent of his own captivity. But philosophy has spoken to him, and he has heard her voice; she has gently entreated him, and brought him out of the ‘miry clay,’ and purged away the mists of passion and the illusions of sense which envelope him; his soul has escaped from the influence of pleasures and pains, which are like nails fastening her to the body. To that prison-house she will not return; and therefore she abstains from bodily pleasures — not from a desire of having more or greater ones, but because she knows that only when calm and free from the dominion of the body can she behold the light of truth.

Simmias and Cebes remain in doubt; but they are unwilling to raise objections at such a time. Socrates wonders at their reluctance. Let them regard him rather as the swan, who, having sung the praises of Apollo all his life long, sings at his death more lustily than ever. Simmias acknowledges that there is cowardice in not probing truth to the bottom. ‘And if truth divine and inspired is not to be had, then let a man take the best of human notions, and upon this frail bark let him sail through life.’ He proceeds to state his difficulty: It has been argued that the soul is invisible and incorporeal, and therefore immortal, and prior to the body. But is not the soul acknowledged to be a harmony, and has she not the same relation to the body, as the harmony — which like her is invisible — has to the lyre? And yet the harmony does not survive the lyre. Cebes has also an objection, which like Simmias he expresses in a figure. He is willing to admit that the soul is more lasting than the body. But the more lasting nature of the soul does not prove her immortality; for after having worn out many bodies in a single life, and many more in successive births and deaths, she may at last perish, or, as Socrates afterwards restates the objection, the very act of birth may be the beginning of her death, and her last body may survive her, just as the coat of an old weaver is left behind him after he is dead, although a man is more lasting than his coat. And he who would prove the immortality of the soul, must prove not only that the soul outlives one or many bodies, but that she outlives them all.

The audience, like the chorus in a play, for a moment interpret the feelings of the actors; there is a temporary depression, and then the enquiry is resumed. It is a melancholy reflection that arguments, like men, are apt to be deceivers; and those who have been often deceived become distrustful both of arguments and of friends. But this unfortunate experience should not make us either haters of men or haters of arguments. The want of health and truth is not in the argument, but in ourselves. Socrates, who is about to die, is sensible of his own weakness; he desires to be impartial, but he cannot help feeling that he has too great an interest in the truth of the argument. And therefore he would have his friends examine and refute him, if they think that he is in error.

At his request Simmias and Cebes repeat their objections. They do not go to the length of denying the pre-existence of ideas. Simmias is of opinion that the soul is a harmony of the body. But the admission of the pre-existence of ideas, and therefore of the soul, is at variance with this. (Compare a parallel difficulty in Theaet.) For a harmony is an effect, whereas the soul is not an effect, but a cause; a harmony follows, but the soul leads; a harmony admits of degrees, and the soul has no degrees. Again, upon the supposition that the soul is a harmony, why is one soul better than another? Are they more or less harmonized, or is there one harmony within another? But the soul does not admit of degrees, and cannot therefore be more or less harmonized. Further, the soul is often engaged in resisting the affections of the body, as Homer describes Odysseus ‘rebuking his heart.’ Could he have written this under the idea that the soul is a harmony of the body? Nay rather, are we not contradicting Homer and ourselves in affirming anything of the sort?

The goddess Harmonia, as Socrates playfully terms the argument of Simmias, has been happily disposed of; and now an answer has to be given to the Theban Cadmus. Socrates recapitulates the argument of Cebes, which, as he remarks, involves the whole question of natural growth or causation; about this he proposes to narrate his own mental experience. When he was young he had puzzled himself with physics: he had enquired into the growth and decay of animals, and the origin of thought, until at last he began to doubt the self-evident fact that growth is the result of eating and drinking; and so he arrived at the conclusion that he was not meant for such enquiries. Nor was he less perplexed with notions of comparison and number. At first he had imagined himself to understand differences of greater and less, and to know that ten is two more than eight, and the like. But now those very notions appeared to him to contain a contradiction. For how can one be divided into two? Or two be compounded into one? These are difficulties which Socrates cannot answer. Of generation and destruction he knows nothing. But he has a confused notion of another method in which matters of this sort are to be investigated. (Compare Republic; Charm.)

Then he heard some one reading out of a book of Anaxagoras, that mind is the cause of all things. And he said to himself: If mind is the cause of all things, surely mind must dispose them all for the best. The new teacher will show me this ‘order of the best’ in man and nature. How great had been his hopes and how great his disappointment! For he found that his new friend was anything but consistent in his use of mind as a cause, and that he soon introduced winds, waters, and other eccentric notions. (Compare Arist. Metaph.) It was as if a person had said that Socrates is sitting here because he is made up of bones and muscles, instead of telling the true reason — that he is here because the Athenians have thought good to sentence him to death, and he has thought good to await his sentence. Had his bones and muscles been left by him to their own ideas of right, they would long ago have taken themselves off. But surely there is a great confusion of the cause and condition in all this. And this confusion also leads people into all sorts of erroneous theories about the position and motions of the earth. None of them know how much stronger than any Atlas is the power of the best. But this ‘best’ is still undiscovered; and in enquiring after the cause, we can only hope to attain the second best.

Now there is a danger in the contemplation of the nature of things, as there is a danger in looking at the sun during an eclipse, unless the precaution is taken of looking only at the image reflected in the water, or in a glass. (Compare Laws; Republic.) ‘I was afraid,’ says Socrates, ‘that I might injure the eye of the soul. I thought that I had better return to the old and safe method of ideas. Though I do not mean to say that he who contemplates existence through the medium of ideas sees only through a glass darkly, any more than he who contemplates actual effects.’

If the existence of ideas is granted to him, Socrates is of opinion that he will then have no difficulty in proving the immortality of the soul. He will only ask for a further admission: — that beauty is the cause of the beautiful, greatness the cause of the great, smallness of the small, and so on of other things. This is a safe and simple answer, which escapes the contradictions of greater and less (greater by reason of that which is smaller!), of addition and subtraction, and the other difficulties of relation. These subtleties he is for leaving to wiser heads than his own; he prefers to test ideas by the consistency of their consequences, and, if asked to give an account of them, goes back to some higher idea or hypothesis which appears to him to be the best, until at last he arrives at a resting-place. (Republic; Phil.)

The doctrine of ideas, which has long ago received the assent of the Socratic circle, is now affirmed by the Phliasian auditor to command the assent of any man of sense. The narrative is continued; Socrates is desirous of explaining how opposite ideas may appear to co-exist but do not really co-exist in the same thing or person. For example, Simmias may be said to have greatness and also smallness, because he is greater than Socrates and less than Phaedo. And yet Simmias is not really great and also small, but only when compared to Phaedo and Socrates. I use the illustration, says Socrates, because I want to show you not only that ideal opposites exclude one another, but also the opposites in us. I, for example, having the attribute of smallness remain small, and cannot become great: the smallness which is in me drives out greatness.

One of the company here remarked that this was inconsistent with the old assertion that opposites generated opposites. But that, replies Socrates, was affirmed, not of opposite ideas either in us or in nature, but of opposition in the concrete — not of life and death, but of individuals living and dying. When this objection has been removed, Socrates proceeds: This doctrine of the mutual exclusion of opposites is not only true of the opposites themselves, but of things which are inseparable from them. For example, cold and heat are opposed; and fire, which is inseparable from heat, cannot co-exist with cold, or snow, which is inseparable from cold, with heat. Again, the number three excludes the number four, because three is an odd number and four is an even number, and the odd is opposed to the even. Thus we are able to proceed a step beyond ‘the safe and simple answer.’ We may say, not only that the odd excludes the even, but that the number three, which participates in oddness, excludes the even. And in like manner, not only does life exclude death, but the soul, of which life is the inseparable attribute, also excludes death. And that of which life is the inseparable attribute is by the force of the terms imperishable. If the odd principle were imperishable, then the number three would not perish but remove, on the approach of the even principle. But the immortal is imperishable; and therefore the soul on the approach of death does not perish but removes.

Thus all objections appear to be finally silenced. And now the application has to be made: If the soul is immortal, ‘what manner of persons ought we to be?’ having regard not only to time but to eternity. For death is not the end of all, and the wicked is not released from his evil by death; but every one carries with him into the world below that which he is or has become, and that only.

For after death the soul is carried away to judgment, and when she has received her punishment returns to earth in the course of ages. The wise soul is conscious of her situation, and follows the attendant angel who guides her through the windings of the world below; but the impure soul wanders hither and thither without companion or guide, and is carried at last to her own place, as the pure soul is also carried away to hers. ‘In order that you may understand this, I must first describe to you the nature and conformation of the earth.’

Now the whole earth is a globe placed in the centre of the heavens, and is maintained there by the perfection of balance. That which we call the earth is only one of many small hollows, wherein collect the mists and waters and the thick lower air; but the true earth is above, and is in a finer and subtler element. And if, like birds, we could fly to the surface of the air, in the same manner that fishes come to the top of the sea, then we should behold the true earth and the true heaven and the true stars. Our earth is everywhere corrupted and corroded; and even the land which is fairer than the sea, for that is a mere chaos or waste of water and mud and sand, has nothing to show in comparison of the other world. But the heavenly earth is of divers colours, sparkling with jewels brighter than gold and whiter than any snow, having flowers and fruits innumerable. And the inhabitants dwell some on the shore of the sea of air, others in ‘islets of the blest,’ and they hold converse with the gods, and behold the sun, moon and stars as they truly are, and their other blessedness is of a piece with this.

The hollows on the surface of the globe vary in size and shape from that which we inhabit: but all are connected by passages and perforations in the interior of the earth. And there is one huge chasm or opening called Tartarus, into which streams of fire and water and liquid mud are ever flowing; of these small portions find their way to the surface and form seas and rivers and volcanoes. There is a perpetual inhalation and exhalation of the air rising and falling as the waters pass into the depths of the earth and return again, in their course forming lakes and rivers, but never descending below the centre of the earth; for on either side the rivers flowing either way are stopped by a precipice. These rivers are many and mighty, and there are four principal ones, Oceanus, Acheron, Pyriphlegethon, and Cocytus. Oceanus is the river which encircles the earth; Acheron takes an opposite direction, and after flowing under the earth through desert places, at last reaches the Acherusian lake, — this is the river at which the souls of the dead await their return to earth. Pyriphlegethon is a stream of fire, which coils round the earth and flows into the depths of Tartarus. The fourth river, Cocytus, is that which is called by the poets the Stygian river, and passes into and forms the lake Styx, from the waters of which it gains new and strange powers. This river, too, falls into Tartarus.

The dead are first of all judged according to their deeds, and those who are incurable are thrust into Tartarus, from which they never come out. Those who have only committed venial sins are first purified of them, and then rewarded for the good which they have done. Those who have committed crimes, great indeed, but not unpardonable, are thrust into Tartarus, but are cast forth at the end of a year by way of Pyriphlegethon or Cocytus, and these carry them as far as the Acherusian lake, where they call upon their victims to let them come out of the rivers into the lake. And if they prevail, then they are let out and their sufferings cease: if not, they are borne unceasingly into Tartarus and back again, until they at last obtain mercy. The pure souls also receive their reward, and have their abode in the upper earth, and a select few in still fairer ‘mansions.’

Socrates is not prepared to insist on the literal accuracy of this description, but he is confident that something of the kind is true. He who has sought after the pleasures of knowledge and rejected the pleasures of the body, has reason to be of good hope at the approach of death; whose voice is already speaking to him, and who will one day be heard calling all men.

The hour has come at which he must drink the poison, and not much remains to be done. How shall they bury him? That is a question which he refuses to entertain, for they are burying, not him, but his dead body. His friends had once been sureties that he would remain, and they shall now be sureties that he has run away. Yet he would not die without the customary ceremonies of washing and burial. Shall he make a libation of the poison? In the spirit he will, but not in the letter. One request he utters in the very act of death, which has been a puzzle to after ages. With a sort of irony he remembers that a trifling religious duty is still unfulfilled, just as above he desires before he departs to compose a few verses in order to satisfy a scruple about a dream — unless, indeed, we suppose him to mean, that he was now restored to health, and made the customary offering to Asclepius in token of his recovery.

1. The doctrine of the immortality of the soul has sunk deep into the heart of the human race; and men are apt to rebel against any examination of the nature or grounds of their belief. They do not like to acknowledge that this, as well as the other ‘eternal ideas; of man, has a history in time, which may be traced in Greek poetry or philosophy, and also in the Hebrew Scriptures. They convert feeling into reasoning, and throw a network of dialectics over that which is really a deeply-rooted instinct. In the same temper which Socrates reproves in himself they are disposed to think that even fallacies will do no harm, for they will die with them, and while they live they will gain by the delusion. And when they consider the numberless bad arguments which have been pressed into the service of theology, they say, like the companions of Socrates, ‘What argument can we ever trust again?’ But there is a better and higher spirit to be gathered from the Phaedo, as well as from the other writings of Plato, which says that first principles should be most constantly reviewed (Phaedo and Crat.), and that the highest subjects demand of us the greatest accuracy (Republic); also that we must not become misologists because arguments are apt to be deceivers.

2. In former ages there was a customary rather than a reasoned belief in the immortality of the soul. It was based on the authority of the Church, on the necessity of such a belief to morality and the order of society, on the evidence of an historical fact, and also on analogies and figures of speech which filled up the void or gave an expression in words to a cherished instinct. The mass of mankind went on their way busy with the affairs of this life, hardly stopping to think about another. But in our own day the question has been reopened, and it is doubtful whether the belief which in the first ages of Christianity was the strongest motive of action can survive the conflict with a scientific age in which the rules of evidence are stricter and the mind has become more sensitive to criticism. It has faded into the distance by a natural process as it was removed further and further from the historical fact on which it has been supposed to rest. Arguments derived from material things such as the seed and the ear of corn or transitions in the life of animals from one state of being to another (the chrysalis and the butterfly) are not ‘in pari materia’ with arguments from the visible to the invisible, and are therefore felt to be no longer applicable. The evidence to the historical fact seems to be weaker than was once supposed: it is not consistent with itself, and is based upon documents which are of unknown origin. The immortality of man must be proved by other arguments than these if it is again to become a living belief. We must ask ourselves afresh why we still maintain it, and seek to discover a foundation for it in the nature of God and in the first principles of morality.

3. At the outset of the discussion we may clear away a confusion. We certainly do not mean by the immortality of the soul the immortality of fame, which whether worth having or not can only be ascribed to a very select class of the whole race of mankind, and even the interest in these few is comparatively short-lived. To have been a benefactor to the world, whether in a higher or a lower sphere of life and thought, is a great thing: to have the reputation of being one, when men have passed out of the sphere of earthly praise or blame, is hardly worthy of consideration. The memory of a great man, so far from being immortal, is really limited to his own generation: — so long as his friends or his disciples are alive, so long as his books continue to be read, so long as his political or military successes fill a page in the history of his country. The praises which are bestowed upon him at his death hardly last longer than the flowers which are strewed upon his coffin or the ‘immortelles’ which are laid upon his tomb. Literature makes the most of its heroes, but the true man is well aware that far from enjoying an immortality of fame, in a generation or two, or even in a much shorter time, he will be forgotten and the world will get on without him.

4. Modern philosophy is perplexed at this whole question, which is sometimes fairly given up and handed over to the realm of faith. The perplexity should not be forgotten by us when we attempt to submit the Phaedo of Plato to the requirements of logic. For what idea can we form of the soul when separated from the body? Or how can the soul be united with the body and still be independent? Is the soul related to the body as the ideal to the real, or as the whole to the parts, or as the subject to the object, or as the cause to the effect, or as the end to the means? Shall we say with Aristotle, that the soul is the entelechy or form of an organized living body? or with Plato, that she has a life of her own? Is the Pythagorean image of the harmony, or that of the monad, the truer expression? Is the soul related to the body as sight to the eye, or as the boatman to his boat? (Arist. de Anim.) And in another state of being is the soul to be conceived of as vanishing into infinity, hardly possessing an existence which she can call her own, as in the pantheistic system of Spinoza: or as an individual informing another body and entering into new relations, but retaining her own character? (Compare Gorgias.) Or is the opposition of soul and body a mere illusion, and the true self neither soul nor body, but the union of the two in the ‘I’ which is above them? And is death the assertion of this individuality in the higher nature, and the falling away into nothingness of the lower? Or are we vainly attempting to pass the boundaries of human thought? The body and the soul seem to be inseparable, not only in fact, but in our conceptions of them; and any philosophy which too closely unites them, or too widely separates them, either in this life or in another, disturbs the balance of human nature. No thinker has perfectly adjusted them, or been entirely consistent with himself in describing their relation to one another. Nor can we wonder that Plato in the infancy of human thought should have confused mythology and philosophy, or have mistaken verbal arguments for real ones.

5. Again, believing in the immortality of the soul, we must still ask the question of Socrates, ‘What is that which we suppose to be immortal?’ Is it the personal and individual element in us, or the spiritual and universal? Is it the principle of knowledge or of goodness, or the union of the two? Is it the mere force of life which is determined to be, or the consciousness of self which cannot be got rid of, or the fire of genius which refuses to be extinguished? Or is there a hidden being which is allied to the Author of all existence, who is because he is perfect, and to whom our ideas of perfection give us a title to belong? Whatever answer is given by us to these questions, there still remains the necessity of allowing the permanence of evil, if not for ever, at any rate for a time, in order that the wicked ‘may not have too good a bargain.’ For the annihilation of evil at death, or the eternal duration of it, seem to involve equal difficulties in the moral government of the universe. Sometimes we are led by our feelings, rather than by our reason, to think of the good and wise only as existing in another life. Why should the mean, the weak, the idiot, the infant, the herd of men who have never in any proper sense the use of reason, reappear with blinking eyes in the light of another world? But our second thought is that the hope of humanity is a common one, and that all or none will be partakers of immortality. Reason does not allow us to suppose that we have any greater claims than others, and experience may often reveal to us unexpected flashes of the higher nature in those whom we had despised. Why should the wicked suffer any more than ourselves? had we been placed in their circumstances should we have been any better than they? The worst of men are objects of pity rather than of anger to the philanthropist; must they not be equally such to divine benevolence? Even more than the good they have need of another life; not that they may be punished, but that they may be educated. These are a few of the reflections which arise in our minds when we attempt to assign any form to our conceptions of a future state.

There are some other questions which are disturbing to us because we have no answer to them. What is to become of the animals in a future state? Have we not seen dogs more faithful and intelligent than men, and men who are more stupid and brutal than any animals? Does their life cease at death, or is there some ‘better thing reserved’ also for them? They may be said to have a shadow or imitation of morality, and imperfect moral claims upon the benevolence of man and upon the justice of God. We cannot think of the least or lowest of them, the insect, the bird, the inhabitants of the sea or the desert, as having any place in a future world, and if not all, why should those who are specially attached to man be deemed worthy of any exceptional privilege? When we reason about such a subject, almost at once we degenerate into nonsense. It is a passing thought which has no real hold on the mind. We may argue for the existence of animals in a future state from the attributes of God, or from texts of Scripture (‘Are not two sparrows sold for one farthing?’ etc.), but the truth is that we are only filling up the void of another world with our own fancies. Again, we often talk about the origin of evil, that great bugbear of theologians, by which they frighten us into believing any superstition. What answer can be made to the old commonplace, ’Is not God the author of evil, if he knowingly permitted, but could have prevented it?’ Even if we assume that the inequalities of this life are rectified by some transposition of human beings in another, still the existence of the very least evil if it could have been avoided, seems to be at variance with the love and justice of God. And so we arrive at the conclusion that we are carrying logic too far, and that the attempt to frame the world according to a rule of divine perfection is opposed to experience and had better be given up. The case of the animals is our own. We must admit that the Divine Being, although perfect himself, has placed us in a state of life in which we may work together with him for good, but we are very far from having attained to it.

6. Again, ideas must be given through something; and we are always prone to argue about the soul from analogies of outward things which may serve to embody our thoughts, but are also partly delusive. For we cannot reason from the natural to the spiritual, or from the outward to the inward. The progress of physiological science, without bringing us nearer to the great secret, has tended to remove some erroneous notions respecting the relations of body and mind, and in this we have the advantage of the ancients. But no one imagines that any seed of immortality is to be discerned in our mortal frames. Most people have been content to rest their belief in another life on the agreement of the more enlightened part of mankind, and on the inseparable connection of such a doctrine with the existence of a God — also in a less degree on the impossibility of doubting about the continued existence of those whom we love and reverence in this world. And after all has been said, the figure, the analogy, the argument, are felt to be only approximations in different forms to an expression of the common sentiment of the human heart. That we shall live again is far more certain than that we shall take any particular form of life.

7. When we speak of the immortality of the soul, we must ask further what we mean by the word immortality. For of the duration of a living being in countless ages we can form no conception; far less than a three years’ old child of the whole of life. The naked eye might as well try to see the furthest star in the infinity of heaven. Whether time and space really exist when we take away the limits of them may be doubted; at any rate the thought of them when unlimited us so overwhelming to us as to lose all distinctness. Philosophers have spoken of them as forms of the human mind, but what is the mind without them? As then infinite time, or an existence out of time, which are the only possible explanations of eternal duration, are equally inconceivable to us, let us substitute for them a hundred or a thousand years after death, and ask not what will be our employment in eternity, but what will happen to us in that definite portion of time; or what is now happening to those who passed out of life a hundred or a thousand years ago. Do we imagine that the wicked are suffering torments, or that the good are singing the praises of God, during a period longer than that of a whole life, or of ten lives of men? Is the suffering physical or mental? And does the worship of God consist only of praise, or of many forms of service? Who are the wicked, and who are the good, whom we venture to divide by a hard and fast line; and in which of the two classes should we place ourselves and our friends? May we not suspect that we are making differences of kind, because we are unable to imagine differences of degree? — putting the whole human race into heaven or hell for the greater convenience of logical division? Are we not at the same time describing them both in superlatives, only that we may satisfy the demands of rhetoric? What is that pain which does not become deadened after a thousand years? or what is the nature of that pleasure or happiness which never wearies by monotony? Earthly pleasures and pains are short in proportion as they are keen; of any others which are both intense and lasting we have no experience, and can form no idea. The words or figures of speech which we use are not consistent with themselves. For are we not imagining Heaven under the similitude of a church, and Hell as a prison, or perhaps a madhouse or chamber of horrors? And yet to beings constituted as we are, the monotony of singing psalms would be as great an infliction as the pains of hell, and might be even pleasantly interrupted by them. Where are the actions worthy of rewards greater than those which are conferred on the greatest benefactors of mankind? And where are the crimes which according to Plato’s merciful reckoning, — more merciful, at any rate, than the eternal damnation of so-called Christian teachers, — for every ten years in this life deserve a hundred of punishment in the life to come? We should be ready to die of pity if we could see the least of the sufferings which the writers of Infernos and Purgatorios have attributed to the damned. Yet these joys and terrors seem hardly to exercise an appreciable influence over the lives of men. The wicked man when old, is not, as Plato supposes (Republic), more agitated by the terrors of another world when he is nearer to them, nor the good in an ecstasy at the joys of which he is soon to be the partaker. Age numbs the sense of both worlds; and the habit of life is strongest in death. Even the dying mother is dreaming of her lost children as they were forty or fifty years before, ‘pattering over the boards,’ not of reunion with them in another state of being. Most persons when the last hour comes are resigned to the order of nature and the will of God. They are not thinking of Dante’s Inferno or Paradiso, or of the Pilgrim’s Progress. Heaven and hell are not realities to them, but words or ideas; the outward symbols of some great mystery, they hardly know what. Many noble poems and pictures have been suggested by the traditional representations of them, which have been fixed in forms of art and can no longer be altered. Many sermons have been filled with descriptions of celestial or infernal mansions. But hardly even in childhood did the thought of heaven and hell supply the motives of our actions, or at any time seriously affect the substance of our belief.

8. Another life must be described, if at all, in forms of thought and not of sense. To draw pictures of heaven and hell, whether in the language of Scripture or any other, adds nothing to our real knowledge, but may perhaps disguise our ignorance. The truest conception which we can form of a future life is a state of progress or education — a progress from evil to good, from ignorance to knowledge. To this we are led by the analogy of the present life, in which we see different races and nations of men, and different men and women of the same nation, in various states or stages of cultivation; some more and some less developed, and all of them capable of improvement under favourable circumstances. There are punishments too of children when they are growing up inflicted by their parents, of elder offenders which are imposed by the law of the land, of all men at all times of life, which are attached by the laws of nature to the performance of certain actions. All these punishments are really educational; that is to say, they are not intended to retaliate on the offender, but to teach him a lesson. Also there is an element of chance in them, which is another name for our ignorance of the laws of nature. There is evil too inseparable from good (compare Lysis); not always punished here, as good is not always rewarded. It is capable of being indefinitely diminished; and as knowledge increases, the element of chance may more and more disappear.

For we do not argue merely from the analogy of the present state of this world to another, but from the analogy of a probable future to which we are tending. The greatest changes of which we have had experience as yet are due to our increasing knowledge of history and of nature. They have been produced by a few minds appearing in three or four favoured nations, in a comparatively short period of time. May we be allowed to imagine the minds of men everywhere working together during many ages for the completion of our knowledge? May not the science of physiology transform the world? Again, the majority of mankind have really experienced some moral improvement; almost every one feels that he has tendencies to good, and is capable of becoming better. And these germs of good are often found to be developed by new circumstances, like stunted trees when transplanted to a better soil. The differences between the savage and the civilized man, or between the civilized man in old and new countries, may be indefinitely increased. The first difference is the effect of a few thousand, the second of a few hundred years. We congratulate ourselves that slavery has become industry; that law and constitutional government have superseded despotism and violence; that an ethical religion has taken the place of Fetichism. There may yet come a time when the many may be as well off as the few; when no one will be weighed down by excessive toil; when the necessity of providing for the body will not interfere with mental improvement; when the physical frame may be strengthened and developed; and the religion of all men may become a reasonable service.

Nothing therefore, either in the present state of man or in the tendencies of the future, as far as we can entertain conjecture of them, would lead us to suppose that God governs us vindictively in this world, and therefore we have no reason to infer that he will govern us vindictively in another. The true argument from analogy is not, ‘This life is a mixed state of justice and injustice, of great waste, of sudden casualties, of disproportionate punishments, and therefore the like inconsistencies, irregularities, injustices are to be expected in another;’ but ‘This life is subject to law, and is in a state of progress, and therefore law and progress may be believed to be the governing principles of another.’ All the analogies of this world would be against unmeaning punishments inflicted a hundred or a thousand years after an offence had been committed. Suffering there might be as a part of education, but not hopeless or protracted; as there might be a retrogression of individuals or of bodies of men, yet not such as to interfere with a plan for the improvement of the whole (compare Laws.)

9. But some one will say: That we cannot reason from the seen to the unseen, and that we are creating another world after the image of this, just as men in former ages have created gods in their own likeness. And we, like the companions of Socrates, may feel discouraged at hearing our favourite ‘argument from analogy’ thus summarily disposed of. Like himself, too, we may adduce other arguments in which he seems to have anticipated us, though he expresses them in different language. For we feel that the soul partakes of the ideal and invisible; and can never fall into the error of confusing the external circumstances of man with his higher self; or his origin with his nature. It is as repugnant to us as it was to him to imagine that our moral ideas are to be attributed only to cerebral forces. The value of a human soul, like the value of a man’s life to himself, is inestimable, and cannot be reckoned in earthly or material things. The human being alone has the consciousness of truth and justice and love, which is the consciousness of God. And the soul becoming more conscious of these, becomes more conscious of her own immortality.

10. The last ground of our belief in immortality, and the strongest, is the perfection of the divine nature. The mere fact of the existence of God does not tend to show the continued existence of man. An evil God or an indifferent God might have had the power, but not the will, to preserve us. He might have regarded us as fitted to minister to his service by a succession of existences, — like the animals, without attributing to each soul an incomparable value. But if he is perfect, he must will that all rational beings should partake of that perfection which he himself is. In the words of the Timaeus, he is good, and therefore he desires that all other things should be as like himself as possible. And the manner in which he accomplishes this is by permitting evil, or rather degrees of good, which are otherwise called evil. For all progress is good relatively to the past, and yet may be comparatively evil when regarded in the light of the future. Good and evil are relative terms, and degrees of evil are merely the negative aspect of degrees of good. Of the absolute goodness of any finite nature we can form no conception; we are all of us in process of transition from one degree of good or evil to another. The difficulties which are urged about the origin or existence of evil are mere dialectical puzzles, standing in the same relation to Christian philosophy as the puzzles of the Cynics and Megarians to the philosophy of Plato. They arise out of the tendency of the human mind to regard good and evil both as relative and absolute; just as the riddles about motion are to be explained by the double conception of space or matter, which the human mind has the power of regarding either as continuous or discrete.

In speaking of divine perfection, we mean to say that God is just and true and loving, the author of order and not of disorder, of good and not of evil. Or rather, that he is justice, that he is truth, that he is love, that he is order, that he is the very progress of which we were speaking; and that wherever these qualities are present, whether in the human soul or in the order of nature, there is God. We might still see him everywhere, if we had not been mistakenly seeking for him apart from us, instead of in us; away from the laws of nature, instead of in them. And we become united to him not by mystical absorption, but by partaking, whether consciously or unconsciously, of that truth and justice and love which he himself is.

Thus the belief in the immortality of the soul rests at last on the belief in God. If there is a good and wise God, then there is a progress of mankind towards perfection; and if there is no progress of men towards perfection, then there is no good and wise God. We cannot suppose that the moral government of God of which we see the beginnings in the world and in ourselves will cease when we pass out of life.

11. Considering the ‘feebleness of the human faculties and the uncertainty of the subject,’ we are inclined to believe that the fewer our words the better. At the approach of death there is not much said; good men are too honest to go out of the world professing more than they know. There is perhaps no important subject about which, at any time, even religious people speak so little to one another. In the fulness of life the thought of death is mostly awakened by the sight or recollection of the death of others rather than by the prospect of our own. We must also acknowledge that there are degrees of the belief in immortality, and many forms in which it presents itself to the mind. Some persons will say no more than that they trust in God, and that they leave all to Him. It is a great part of true religion not to pretend to know more than we do. Others when they quit this world are comforted with the hope ‘That they will see and know their friends in heaven.’ But it is better to leave them in the hands of God and to be assured that ‘no evil shall touch them.’ There are others again to whom the belief in a divine personality has ceased to have any longer a meaning; yet they are satisfied that the end of all is not here, but that something still remains to us, ‘and some better thing for the good than for the evil.’ They are persuaded, in spite of their theological nihilism, that the ideas of justice and truth and holiness and love are realities. They cherish an enthusiastic devotion to the first principles of morality. Through these they see, or seem to see, darkly, and in a figure, that the soul is immortal.

But besides differences of theological opinion which must ever prevail about things unseen, the hope of immortality is weaker or stronger in men at one time of life than at another; it even varies from day to day. It comes and goes; the mind, like the sky, is apt to be overclouded. Other generations of men may have sometimes lived under an ‘eclipse of faith,’ to us the total disappearance of it might be compared to the ‘sun falling from heaven.’ And we may sometimes have to begin again and acquire the belief for ourselves; or to win it back again when it is lost. It is really weakest in the hour of death. For Nature, like a kind mother or nurse, lays us to sleep without frightening us; physicians, who are the witnesses of such scenes, say that under ordinary circumstances there is no fear of the future. Often, as Plato tells us, death is accompanied ‘with pleasure.’ (Tim.) When the end is still uncertain, the cry of many a one has been, ‘Pray, that I may be taken.’ The last thoughts even of the best men depend chiefly on the accidents of their bodily state. Pain soon overpowers the desire of life; old age, like the child, is laid to sleep almost in a moment. The long experience of life will often destroy the interest which mankind have in it. So various are the feelings with which different persons draw near to death; and still more various the forms in which imagination clothes it. For this alternation of feeling compare the Old Testament, — Psalm vi.; Isaiah; Eccles.

12. When we think of God and of man in his relation to God; of the imperfection of our present state and yet of the progress which is observable in the history of the world and of the human mind; of the depth and power of our moral ideas which seem to partake of the very nature of God Himself; when we consider the contrast between the physical laws to which we are subject and the higher law which raises us above them and is yet a part of them; when we reflect on our capacity of becoming the ‘spectators of all time and all existence,’ and of framing in our own minds the ideal of a perfect Being; when we see how the human mind in all the higher religions of the world, including Buddhism, notwithstanding some aberrations, has tended towards such a belief — we have reason to think that our destiny is different from that of animals; and though we cannot altogether shut out the childish fear that the soul upon leaving the body may ‘vanish into thin air,’ we have still, so far as the nature of the subject admits, a hope of immortality with which we comfort ourselves on sufficient grounds. The denial of the belief takes the heart out of human life; it lowers men to the level of the material. As Goethe also says, ‘He is dead even in this world who has no belief in another.’

13. It is well also that we should sometimes think of the forms of thought under which the idea of immortality is most naturally presented to us. It is clear that to our minds the risen soul can no longer be described, as in a picture, by the symbol of a creature half-bird, half-human, nor in any other form of sense. The multitude of angels, as in Milton, singing the Almighty’s praises, are a noble image, and may furnish a theme for the poet or the painter, but they are no longer an adequate expression of the kingdom of God which is within us. Neither is there any mansion, in this world or another, in which the departed can be imagined to dwell and carry on their occupations. When this earthly tabernacle is dissolved, no other habitation or building can take them in: it is in the language of ideas only that we speak of them.

First of all there is the thought of rest and freedom from pain; they have gone home, as the common saying is, and the cares of this world touch them no more. Secondly, we may imagine them as they were at their best and brightest, humbly fulfilling their daily round of duties — selfless, childlike, unaffected by the world; when the eye was single and the whole body seemed to be full of light; when the mind was clear and saw into the purposes of God. Thirdly, we may think of them as possessed by a great love of God and man, working out His will at a further stage in the heavenly pilgrimage. And yet we acknowledge that these are the things which eye hath not seen nor ear heard and therefore it hath not entered into the heart of man in any sensible manner to conceive them. Fourthly, there may have been some moments in our own lives when we have risen above ourselves, or been conscious of our truer selves, in which the will of God has superseded our wills, and we have entered into communion with Him, and been partakers for a brief season of the Divine truth and love, in which like Christ we have been inspired to utter the prayer, ‘I in them, and thou in me, that we may be all made perfect in one.’ These precious moments, if we have ever known them, are the nearest approach which we can make to the idea of immortality.

14. Returning now to the earlier stage of human thought which is represented by the writings of Plato, we find that many of the same questions have already arisen: there is the same tendency to materialism; the same inconsistency in the application of the idea of mind; the same doubt whether the soul is to be regarded as a cause or as an effect; the same falling back on moral convictions. In the Phaedo the soul is conscious of her divine nature, and the separation from the body which has been commenced in this life is perfected in another. Beginning in mystery, Socrates, in the intermediate part of the Dialogue, attempts to bring the doctrine of a future life into connection with his theory of knowledge. In proportion as he succeeds in this, the individual seems to disappear in a more general notion of the soul; the contemplation of ideas ‘under the form of eternity’ takes the place of past and future states of existence. His language may be compared to that of some modern philosophers, who speak of eternity, not in the sense of perpetual duration of time, but as an ever-present quality of the soul. Yet at the conclusion of the Dialogue, having ‘arrived at the end of the intellectual world’ (Republic), he replaces the veil of mythology, and describes the soul and her attendant genius in the language of the mysteries or of a disciple of Zoroaster. Nor can we fairly demand of Plato a consistency which is wanting among ourselves, who acknowledge that another world is beyond the range of human thought, and yet are always seeking to represent the mansions of heaven or hell in the colours of the painter, or in the descriptions of the poet or rhetorician.

15. The doctrine of the immortality of the soul was not new to the Greeks in the age of Socrates, but, like the unity of God, had a foundation in the popular belief. The old Homeric notion of a gibbering ghost flitting away to Hades; or of a few illustrious heroes enjoying the isles of the blest; or of an existence divided between the two; or the Hesiodic, of righteous spirits, who become guardian angels, — had given place in the mysteries and the Orphic poets to representations, partly fanciful, of a future state of rewards and punishments. (Laws.) The reticence of the Greeks on public occasions and in some part of their literature respecting this ‘underground’ religion, is not to be taken as a measure of the diffusion of such beliefs. If Pericles in the funeral oration is silent on the consolations of immortality, the poet Pindar and the tragedians on the other hand constantly assume the continued existence of the dead in an upper or under world. Darius and Laius are still alive; Antigone will be dear to her brethren after death; the way to the palace of Cronos is found by those who ‘have thrice departed from evil.’ The tragedy of the Greeks is not ‘rounded’ by this life, but is deeply set in decrees of fate and mysterious workings of powers beneath the earth. In the caricature of Aristophanes there is also a witness to the common sentiment. The Ionian and Pythagorean philosophies arose, and some new elements were added to the popular belief. The individual must find an expression as well as the world. Either the soul was supposed to exist in the form of a magnet, or of a particle of fire, or of light, or air, or water; or of a number or of a harmony of number; or to be or have, like the stars, a principle of motion (Arist. de Anim.). At length Anaxagoras, hardly distinguishing between life and mind, or between mind human and divine, attained the pure abstraction; and this, like the other abstractions of Greek philosophy, sank deep into the human intelligence. The opposition of the intelligible and the sensible, and of God to the world, supplied an analogy which assisted in the separation of soul and body. If ideas were separable from phenomena, mind was also separable from matter; if the ideas were eternal, the mind that conceived them was eternal too. As the unity of God was more distinctly acknowledged, the conception of the human soul became more developed. The succession, or alternation of life and death, had occurred to Heracleitus. The Eleatic Parmenides had stumbled upon the modern thesis, that ‘thought and being are the same.’ The Eastern belief in transmigration defined the sense of individuality; and some, like Empedocles, fancied that the blood which they had shed in another state of being was crying against them, and that for thirty thousand years they were to be ‘fugitives and vagabonds upon the earth.’ The desire of recognizing a lost mother or love or friend in the world below (Phaedo) was a natural feeling which, in that age as well as in every other, has given distinctness to the hope of immortality. Nor were ethical considerations wanting, partly derived from the necessity of punishing the greater sort of criminals, whom no avenging power of this world could reach. The voice of conscience, too, was heard reminding the good man that he was not altogether innocent. (Republic.) To these indistinct longings and fears an expression was given in the mysteries and Orphic poets: a ‘heap of books’ (Republic), passing under the names of Musaeus and Orpheus in Plato’s time, were filled with notions of an under-world.

16. Yet after all the belief in the individuality of the soul after death had but a feeble hold on the Greek mind. Like the personality of God, the personality of man in a future state was not inseparably bound up with the reality of his existence. For the distinction between the personal and impersonal, and also between the divine and human, was far less marked to the Greek than to ourselves. And as Plato readily passes from the notion of the good to that of God, he also passes almost imperceptibly to himself and his reader from the future life of the individual soul to the eternal being of the absolute soul. There has been a clearer statement and a clearer denial of the belief in modern times than is found in early Greek philosophy, and hence the comparative silence on the whole subject which is often remarked in ancient writers, and particularly in Aristotle. For Plato and Aristotle are not further removed in their teaching about the immortality of the soul than they are in their theory of knowledge.

17. Living in an age when logic was beginning to mould human thought, Plato naturally cast his belief in immortality into a logical form. And when we consider how much the doctrine of ideas was also one of words, it is not surprising that he should have fallen into verbal fallacies: early logic is always mistaking the truth of the form for the truth of the matter. It is easy to see that the alternation of opposites is not the same as the generation of them out of each other; and that the generation of them out of each other, which is the first argument in the Phaedo, is at variance with their mutual exclusion of each other, whether in themselves or in us, which is the last. For even if we admit the distinction which he draws between the opposites and the things which have the opposites, still individuals fall under the latter class; and we have to pass out of the region of human hopes and fears to a conception of an abstract soul which is the impersonation of the ideas. Such a conception, which in Plato himself is but half expressed, is unmeaning to us, and relative only to a particular stage in the history of thought. The doctrine of reminiscence is also a fragment of a former world, which has no place in the philosophy of modern times. But Plato had the wonders of psychology just opening to him, and he had not the explanation of them which is supplied by the analysis of language and the history of the human mind. The question, ‘Whence come our abstract ideas?’ he could only answer by an imaginary hypothesis. Nor is it difficult to see that his crowning argument is purely verbal, and is but the expression of an instinctive confidence put into a logical form:— ‘The soul is immortal because it contains a principle of imperishableness.’ Nor does he himself seem at all to be aware that nothing is added to human knowledge by his ‘safe and simple answer,’ that beauty is the cause of the beautiful; and that he is merely reasserting the Eleatic being ‘divided by the Pythagorean numbers,’ against the Heracleitean doctrine of perpetual generation. The answer to the ‘very serious question’ of generation and destruction is really the denial of them. For this he would substitute, as in the Republic, a system of ideas, tested, not by experience, but by their consequences, and not explained by actual causes, but by a higher, that is, a more general notion. Consistency with themselves is the only test which is to be applied to them. (Republic, and Phaedo.)

18. To deal fairly with such arguments, they should be translated as far as possible into their modern equivalents. ‘If the ideas of men are eternal, their souls are eternal, and if not the ideas, then not the souls.’ Such an argument stands nearly in the same relation to Plato and his age, as the argument from the existence of God to immortality among ourselves. ‘If God exists, then the soul exists after death; and if there is no God, there is no existence of the soul after death.’ For the ideas are to his mind the reality, the truth, the principle of permanence, as well as of intelligence and order in the world. When Simmias and Cebes say that they are more strongly persuaded of the existence of ideas than they are of the immortality of the soul, they represent fairly enough the order of thought in Greek philosophy. And we might say in the same way that we are more certain of the existence of God than we are of the immortality of the soul, and are led by the belief in the one to a belief in the other. The parallel, as Socrates would say, is not perfect, but agrees in as far as the mind in either case is regarded as dependent on something above and beyond herself. The analogy may even be pressed a step further: ‘We are more certain of our ideas of truth and right than we are of the existence of God, and are led on in the order of thought from one to the other.’ Or more correctly: ‘The existence of right and truth is the existence of God, and can never for a moment be separated from Him.’

19. The main argument of the Phaedo is derived from the existence of eternal ideas of which the soul is a partaker; the other argument of the alternation of opposites is replaced by this. And there have not been wanting philosophers of the idealist school who have imagined that the doctrine of the immortality of the soul is a theory of knowledge, and that in what has preceded Plato is accommodating himself to the popular belief. Such a view can only be elicited from the Phaedo by what may be termed the transcendental method of interpretation, and is obviously inconsistent with the Gorgias and the Republic. Those who maintain it are immediately compelled to renounce the shadow which they have grasped, as a play of words only. But the truth is, that Plato in his argument for the immortality of the soul has collected many elements of proof or persuasion, ethical and mythological as well as dialectical, which are not easily to be reconciled with one another; and he is as much in earnest about his doctrine of retribution, which is repeated in all his more ethical writings, as about his theory of knowledge. And while we may fairly translate the dialectical into the language of Hegel, and the religious and mythological into the language of Dante or Bunyan, the ethical speaks to us still in the same voice, and appeals to a common feeling.

20. Two arguments of this ethical character occur in the Phaedo. The first may be described as the aspiration of the soul after another state of being. Like the Oriental or Christian mystic, the philosopher is seeking to withdraw from impurities of sense, to leave the world and the things of the world, and to find his higher self. Plato recognizes in these aspirations the foretaste of immortality; as Butler and Addison in modern times have argued, the one from the moral tendencies of mankind, the other from the progress of the soul towards perfection. In using this argument Plato has certainly confused the soul which has left the body, with the soul of the good and wise. (Compare Republic.) Such a confusion was natural, and arose partly out of the antithesis of soul and body. The soul in her own essence, and the soul ‘clothed upon’ with virtues and graces, were easily interchanged with one another, because on a subject which passes expression the distinctions of language can hardly be maintained.

21. The ethical proof of the immortality of the soul is derived from the necessity of retribution. The wicked would be too well off if their evil deeds came to an end. It is not to be supposed that an Ardiaeus, an Archelaus, an Ismenias could ever have suffered the penalty of their crimes in this world. The manner in which this retribution is accomplished Plato represents under the figures of mythology. Doubtless he felt that it was easier to improve than to invent, and that in religion especially the traditional form was required in order to give verisimilitude to the myth. The myth too is far more probable to that age than to ours, and may fairly be regarded as ‘one guess among many’ about the nature of the earth, which he cleverly supports by the indications of geology. Not that he insists on the absolute truth of his own particular notions: ‘no man of sense will be confident in such matters; but he will be confident that something of the kind is true.’ As in other passages (Gorg., Tim., compare Crito), he wins belief for his fictions by the moderation of his statements; he does not, like Dante or Swedenborg, allow himself to be deceived by his own creations.

The Dialogue must be read in the light of the situation. And first of all we are struck by the calmness of the scene. Like the spectators at the time, we cannot pity Socrates; his mien and his language are so noble and fearless. He is the same that he ever was, but milder and gentler, and he has in no degree lost his interest in dialectics; he will not forego the delight of an argument in compliance with the jailer’s intimation that he should not heat himself with talking. At such a time he naturally expresses the hope of his life, that he has been a true mystic and not a mere retainer or wand-bearer: and he refers to passages of his personal history. To his old enemies the Comic poets, and to the proceedings on the trial, he alludes playfully; but he vividly remembers the disappointment which he felt in reading the books of Anaxagoras. The return of Xanthippe and his children indicates that the philosopher is not ‘made of oak or rock.’ Some other traits of his character may be noted; for example, the courteous manner in which he inclines his head to the last objector, or the ironical touch, ‘Me already, as the tragic poet would say, the voice of fate calls;’ or the depreciation of the arguments with which ‘he comforted himself and them;’ or his fear of ‘misology;’ or his references to Homer; or the playful smile with which he ‘talks like a book’ about greater and less; or the allusion to the possibility of finding another teacher among barbarous races (compare Polit.); or the mysterious reference to another science (mathematics?) of generation and destruction for which he is vainly feeling. There is no change in him; only now he is invested with a sort of sacred character, as the prophet or priest of Apollo the God of the festival, in whose honour he first of all composes a hymn, and then like the swan pours forth his dying lay. Perhaps the extreme elevation of Socrates above his own situation, and the ordinary interests of life (compare his jeu d’esprit about his burial, in which for a moment he puts on the ‘Silenus mask’), create in the mind of the reader an impression stronger than could be derived from arguments that such a one has in him ‘a principle which does not admit of death.’

The other persons of the Dialogue may be considered under two heads: (1) private friends; (2) the respondents in the argument.

First there is Crito, who has been already introduced to us in the Euthydemus and the Crito; he is the equal in years of Socrates, and stands in quite a different relation to him from his younger disciples. He is a man of the world who is rich and prosperous (compare the jest in the Euthydemus), the best friend of Socrates, who wants to know his commands, in whose presence he talks to his family, and who performs the last duty of closing his eyes. It is observable too that, as in the Euthydemus, Crito shows no aptitude for philosophical discussions. Nor among the friends of Socrates must the jailer be forgotten, who seems to have been introduced by Plato in order to show the impression made by the extraordinary man on the common. The gentle nature of the man is indicated by his weeping at the announcement of his errand and then turning away, and also by the words of Socrates to his disciples: ‘How charming the man is! since I have been in prison he has been always coming to me, and is as good as could be to me.’ We are reminded too that he has retained this gentle nature amid scenes of death and violence by the contrasts which he draws between the behaviour of Socrates and of others when about to die.

Another person who takes no part in the philosophical discussion is the excitable Apollodorus, the same who, in the Symposium, of which he is the narrator, is called ‘the madman,’ and who testifies his grief by the most violent emotions. Phaedo is also present, the ‘beloved disciple’ as he may be termed, who is described, if not ‘leaning on his bosom,’ as seated next to Socrates, who is playing with his hair. He too, like Apollodorus, takes no part in the discussion, but he loves above all things to hear and speak of Socrates after his death. The calmness of his behaviour, veiling his face when he can no longer restrain his tears, contrasts with the passionate outcries of the other. At a particular point the argument is described as falling before the attack of Simmias. A sort of despair is introduced in the minds of the company. The effect of this is heightened by the description of Phaedo, who has been the eye-witness of the scene, and by the sympathy of his Phliasian auditors who are beginning to think ‘that they too can never trust an argument again.’ And the intense interest of the company is communicated not only to the first auditors, but to us who in a distant country read the narrative of their emotions after more than two thousand years have passed away.

The two principal interlocutors are Simmias and Cebes, the disciples of Philolaus the Pythagorean philosopher of Thebes. Simmias is described in the Phaedrus as fonder of an argument than any man living; and Cebes, although finally persuaded by Socrates, is said to be the most incredulous of human beings. It is Cebes who at the commencement of the Dialogue asks why ‘suicide is held to be unlawful,’ and who first supplies the doctrine of recollection in confirmation of the pre-existence of the soul. It is Cebes who urges that the pre-existence does not necessarily involve the future existence of the soul, as is shown by the illustration of the weaver and his coat. Simmias, on the other hand, raises the question about harmony and the lyre, which is naturally put into the mouth of a Pythagorean disciple. It is Simmias, too, who first remarks on the uncertainty of human knowledge, and only at last concedes to the argument such a qualified approval as is consistent with the feebleness of the human faculties. Cebes is the deeper and more consecutive thinker, Simmias more superficial and rhetorical; they are distinguished in much the same manner as Adeimantus and Glaucon in the Republic.

Other persons, Menexenus, Ctesippus, Lysis, are old friends; Evenus has been already satirized in the Apology; Aeschines and Epigenes were present at the trial; Euclid and Terpsion will reappear in the Introduction to the Theaetetus, Hermogenes has already appeared in the Cratylus. No inference can fairly be drawn from the absence of Aristippus, nor from the omission of Xenophon, who at the time of Socrates’ death was in Asia. The mention of Plato’s own absence seems like an expression of sorrow, and may, perhaps, be an indication that the report of the conversation is not to be taken literally.

The place of the Dialogue in the series is doubtful. The doctrine of ideas is certainly carried beyond the Socratic point of view; in no other of the writings of Plato is the theory of them so completely developed. Whether the belief in immortality can be attributed to Socrates or not is uncertain; the silence of the Memorabilia, and of the earlier Dialogues of Plato, is an argument to the contrary. Yet in the Cyropaedia Xenophon has put language into the mouth of the dying Cyrus which recalls the Phaedo, and may have been derived from the teaching of Socrates. It may be fairly urged that the greatest religious interest of mankind could not have been wholly ignored by one who passed his life in fulfilling the commands of an oracle, and who recognized a Divine plan in man and nature. (Xen. Mem.) And the language of the Apology and of the Crito confirms this view.

The Phaedo is not one of the Socratic Dialogues of Plato; nor, on the other hand, can it be assigned to that later stage of the Platonic writings at which the doctrine of ideas appears to be forgotten. It belongs rather to the intermediate period of the Platonic philosophy, which roughly corresponds to the Phaedrus, Gorgias, Republic, Theaetetus. Without pretending to determine the real time of their composition, the Symposium, Meno, Euthyphro, Apology, Phaedo may be conveniently read by us in this order as illustrative of the life of Socrates. Another chain may be formed of the Meno, Phaedrus, Phaedo, in which the immortality of the soul is connected with the doctrine of ideas. In the Meno the theory of ideas is based on the ancient belief in transmigration, which reappears again in the Phaedrus as well as in the Republic and Timaeus, and in all of them is connected with a doctrine of retribution. In the Phaedrus the immortality of the soul is supposed to rest on the conception of the soul as a principle of motion, whereas in the Republic the argument turns on the natural continuance of the soul, which, if not destroyed by her own proper evil, can hardly be destroyed by any other. The soul of man in the Timaeus is derived from the Supreme Creator, and either returns after death to her kindred star, or descends into the lower life of an animal. The Apology expresses the same view as the Phaedo, but with less confidence; there the probability of death being a long sleep is not excluded. The Theaetetus also describes, in a digression, the desire of the soul to fly away and be with God— ‘and to fly to him is to be like him.’ The Symposium may be observed to resemble as well as to differ from the Phaedo. While the first notion of immortality is only in the way of natural procreation or of posthumous fame and glory, the higher revelation of beauty, like the good in the Republic, is the vision of the eternal idea. So deeply rooted in Plato’s mind is the belief in immortality; so various are the forms of expression which he employs.

As in several other Dialogues, there is more of system in the Phaedo than appears at first sight. The succession of arguments is based on previous philosophies; beginning with the mysteries and the Heracleitean alternation of opposites, and proceeding to the Pythagorean harmony and transmigration; making a step by the aid of Platonic reminiscence, and a further step by the help of the nous of Anaxagoras; until at last we rest in the conviction that the soul is inseparable from the ideas, and belongs to the world of the invisible and unknown. Then, as in the Gorgias or Republic, the curtain falls, and the veil of mythology descends upon the argument. After the confession of Socrates that he is an interested party, and the acknowledgment that no man of sense will think the details of his narrative true, but that something of the kind is true, we return from speculation to practice. He is himself more confident of immortality than he is of his own arguments; and the confidence which he expresses is less strong than that which his cheerfulness and composure in death inspire in us.

Difficulties of two kinds occur in the Phaedo — one kind to be explained out of contemporary philosophy, the other not admitting of an entire solution. (1) The difficulty which Socrates says that he experienced in explaining generation and corruption; the assumption of hypotheses which proceed from the less general to the more general, and are tested by their consequences; the puzzle about greater and less; the resort to the method of ideas, which to us appear only abstract terms, — these are to be explained out of the position of Socrates and Plato in the history of philosophy. They were living in a twilight between the sensible and the intellectual world, and saw no way of connecting them. They could neither explain the relation of ideas to phenomena, nor their correlation to one another. The very idea of relation or comparison was embarrassing to them. Yet in this intellectual uncertainty they had a conception of a proof from results, and of a moral truth, which remained unshaken amid the questionings of philosophy. (2) The other is a difficulty which is touched upon in the Republic as well as in the Phaedo, and is common to modern and ancient philosophy. Plato is not altogether satisfied with his safe and simple method of ideas. He wants to have proved to him by facts that all things are for the best, and that there is one mind or design which pervades them all. But this ‘power of the best’ he is unable to explain; and therefore takes refuge in universal ideas. And are not we at this day seeking to discover that which Socrates in a glass darkly foresaw?

Some resemblances to the Greek drama may be noted in all the Dialogues of Plato. The Phaedo is the tragedy of which Socrates is the protagonist and Simmias and Cebes the secondary performers, standing to them in the same relation as to Glaucon and Adeimantus in the Republic. No Dialogue has a greater unity of subject and feeling. Plato has certainly fulfilled the condition of Greek, or rather of all art, which requires that scenes of death and suffering should be clothed in beauty. The gathering of the friends at the commencement of the Dialogue, the dismissal of Xanthippe, whose presence would have been out of place at a philosophical discussion, but who returns again with her children to take a final farewell, the dejection of the audience at the temporary overthrow of the argument, the picture of Socrates playing with the hair of Phaedo, the final scene in which Socrates alone retains his composure — are masterpieces of art. And the chorus at the end might have interpreted the feeling of the play: ‘There can no evil happen to a good man in life or death.’

‘The art of concealing art’ is nowhere more perfect than in those writings of Plato which describe the trial and death of Socrates. Their charm is their simplicity, which gives them verisimilitude; and yet they touch, as if incidentally, and because they were suitable to the occasion, on some of the deepest truths of philosophy. There is nothing in any tragedy, ancient or modern, nothing in poetry or history (with one exception), like the last hours of Socrates in Plato. The master could not be more fitly occupied at such a time than in discoursing of immortality; nor the disciples more divinely consoled. The arguments, taken in the spirit and not in the letter, are our arguments; and Socrates by anticipation may be even thought to refute some ‘eccentric notions; current in our own age. For there are philosophers among ourselves who do not seem to understand how much stronger is the power of intelligence, or of the best, than of Atlas, or mechanical force. How far the words attributed to Socrates were actually uttered by him we forbear to ask; for no answer can be given to this question. And it is better to resign ourselves to the feeling of a great work, than to linger among critical uncertainties.

PHAEDO

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Phaedo, who is the narrator of the dialogue to Echecrates of Phlius. Socrates, Apollodorus, Simmias, Cebes, Crito and an Attendant of the Prison.

SCENE: The Prison of Socrates.

PLACE OF THE NARRATION: Phlius.

ECHECRATES: Were you yourself, Phaedo, in the prison with Socrates on the day when he drank the poison?

PHAEDO: Yes, Echecrates, I was.

ECHECRATES: I should so like to hear about his death. What did he say in his last hours? We were informed that he died by taking poison, but no one knew anything more; for no Phliasian ever goes to Athens now, and it is a long time since any stranger from Athens has found his way hither; so that we had no clear account.

PHAEDO: Did you not hear of the proceedings at the trial?

ECHECRATES: Yes; some one told us about the trial, and we could not understand why, having been condemned, he should have been put to death, not at the time, but long afterwards. What was the reason of this?

PHAEDO: An accident, Echecrates: the stern of the ship which the Athenians send to Delos happened to have been crowned on the day before he was tried.

ECHECRATES: What is this ship?

PHAEDO: It is the ship in which, according to Athenian tradition, Theseus went to Crete when he took with him the fourteen youths, and was the saviour of them and of himself. And they were said to have vowed to Apollo at the time, that if they were saved they would send a yearly mission to Delos. Now this custom still continues, and the whole period of the voyage to and from Delos, beginning when the priest of Apollo crowns the stern of the ship, is a holy season, during which the city is not allowed to be polluted by public executions; and when the vessel is detained by contrary winds, the time spent in going and returning is very considerable. As I was saying, the ship was crowned on the day before the trial, and this was the reason why Socrates lay in prison and was not put to death until long after he was condemned.

ECHECRATES: What was the manner of his death, Phaedo? What was said or done? And which of his friends were with him? Or did the authorities forbid them to be present — so that he had no friends near him when he died?

PHAEDO: No; there were several of them with him.

ECHECRATES: If you have nothing to do, I wish that you would tell me what passed, as exactly as you can.

PHAEDO: I have nothing at all to do, and will try to gratify your wish. To be reminded of Socrates is always the greatest delight to me, whether I speak myself or hear another speak of him.

ECHECRATES: You will have listeners who are of the same mind with you, and I hope that you will be as exact as you can.

PHAEDO: I had a singular feeling at being in his company. For I could hardly believe that I was present at the death of a friend, and therefore I did not pity him, Echecrates; he died so fearlessly, and his words and bearing were so noble and gracious, that to me he appeared blessed. I thought that in going to the other world he could not be without a divine call, and that he would be happy, if any man ever was, when he arrived there, and therefore I did not pity him as might have seemed natural at such an hour. But I had not the pleasure which I usually feel in philosophical discourse (for philosophy was the theme of which we spoke). I was pleased, but in the pleasure there was also a strange admixture of pain; for I reflected that he was soon to die, and this double feeling was shared by us all; we were laughing and weeping by turns, especially the excitable Apollodorus — you know the sort of man?

ECHECRATES: Yes.

PHAEDO: He was quite beside himself; and I and all of us were greatly moved.

ECHECRATES: Who were present?

PHAEDO: Of native Athenians there were, besides Apollodorus, Critobulus and his father Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes, Aeschines, Antisthenes; likewise Ctesippus of the deme of Paeania, Menexenus, and some others; Plato, if I am not mistaken, was ill.

ECHECRATES: Were there any strangers?

PHAEDO: Yes, there were; Simmias the Theban, and Cebes, and Phaedondes; Euclid and Terpison, who came from Megara.

ECHECRATES: And was Aristippus there, and Cleombrotus?

PHAEDO: No, they were said to be in Aegina.

ECHECRATES: Any one else?

PHAEDO: I think that these were nearly all.

ECHECRATES: Well, and what did you talk about?

PHAEDO: I will begin at the beginning, and endeavour to repeat the entire conversation. On the previous days we had been in the habit of assembling early in the morning at the court in which the trial took place, and which is not far from the prison. There we used to wait talking with one another until the opening of the doors (for they were not opened very early); then we went in and generally passed the day with Socrates. On the last morning we assembled sooner than usual, having heard on the day before when we quitted the prison in the evening that the sacred ship had come from Delos, and so we arranged to meet very early at the accustomed place. On our arrival the jailer who answered the door, instead of admitting us, came out and told us to stay until he called us. ‘For the Eleven,’ he said, ‘are now with Socrates; they are taking off his chains, and giving orders that he is to die to-day.’ He soon returned and said that we might come in. On entering we found Socrates just released from chains, and Xanthippe, whom you know, sitting by him, and holding his child in her arms. When she saw us she uttered a cry and said, as women will: ‘O Socrates, this is the last time that either you will converse with your friends, or they with you.’ Socrates turned to Crito and said: ‘Crito, let some one take her home.’ Some of Crito’s people accordingly led her away, crying out and beating herself. And when she was gone, Socrates, sitting up on the couch, bent and rubbed his leg, saying, as he was rubbing: How singular is the thing called pleasure, and how curiously related to pain, which might be thought to be the opposite of it; for they are never present to a man at the same instant, and yet he who pursues either is generally compelled to take the other; their bodies are two, but they are joined by a single head. And I cannot help thinking that if Aesop had remembered them, he would have made a fable about God trying to reconcile their strife, and how, when he could not, he fastened their heads together; and this is the reason why when one comes the other follows, as I know by my own experience now, when after the pain in my leg which was caused by the chain pleasure appears to succeed.

Upon this Cebes said: I am glad, Socrates, that you have mentioned the name of Aesop. For it reminds me of a question which has been asked by many, and was asked of me only the day before yesterday by Evenus the poet — he will be sure to ask it again, and therefore if you would like me to have an answer ready for him, you may as well tell me what I should say to him: — he wanted to know why you, who never before wrote a line of poetry, now that you are in prison are turning Aesop’s fables into verse, and also composing that hymn in honour of Apollo.

Tell him, Cebes, he replied, what is the truth — that I had no idea of rivalling him or his poems; to do so, as I knew, would be no easy task. But I wanted to see whether I could purge away a scruple which I felt about the meaning of certain dreams. In the course of my life I have often had intimations in dreams ‘that I should compose music.’ The same dream came to me sometimes in one form, and sometimes in another, but always saying the same or nearly the same words: ‘Cultivate and make music,’ said the dream. And hitherto I had imagined that this was only intended to exhort and encourage me in the study of philosophy, which has been the pursuit of my life, and is the noblest and best of music. The dream was bidding me do what I was already doing, in the same way that the competitor in a race is bidden by the spectators to run when he is already running. But I was not certain of this, for the dream might have meant music in the popular sense of the word, and being under sentence of death, and the festival giving me a respite, I thought that it would be safer for me to satisfy the scruple, and, in obedience to the dream, to compose a few verses before I departed. And first I made a hymn in honour of the god of the festival, and then considering that a poet, if he is really to be a poet, should not only put together words, but should invent stories, and that I have no invention, I took some fables of Aesop, which I had ready at hand and which I knew — they were the first I came upon — and turned them into verse. Tell this to Evenus, Cebes, and bid him be of good cheer; say that I would have him come after me if he be a wise man, and not tarry; and that to-day I am likely to be going, for the Athenians say that I must.

Simmias said: What a message for such a man! having been a frequent companion of his I should say that, as far as I know him, he will never take your advice unless he is obliged.

Why, said Socrates, — is not Evenus a philosopher?

I think that he is, said Simmias.

Then he, or any man who has the spirit of philosophy, will be willing to die, but he will not take his own life, for that is held to be unlawful.

Here he changed his position, and put his legs off the couch on to the ground, and during the rest of the conversation he remained sitting.

Why do you say, enquired Cebes, that a man ought not to take his own life, but that the philosopher will be ready to follow the dying?

Socrates replied: And have you, Cebes and Simmias, who are the disciples of Philolaus, never heard him speak of this?

Yes, but his language was obscure, Socrates.

My words, too, are only an echo; but there is no reason why I should not repeat what I have heard: and indeed, as I am going to another place, it is very meet for me to be thinking and talking of the nature of the pilgrimage which I am about to make. What can I do better in the interval between this and the setting of the sun?

Then tell me, Socrates, why is suicide held to be unlawful? as I have certainly heard Philolaus, about whom you were just now asking, affirm when he was staying with us at Thebes: and there are others who say the same, although I have never understood what was meant by any of them.

Do not lose heart, replied Socrates, and the day may come when you will understand. I suppose that you wonder why, when other things which are evil may be good at certain times and to certain persons, death is to be the only exception, and why, when a man is better dead, he is not permitted to be his own benefactor, but must wait for the hand of another.

Very true, said Cebes, laughing gently and speaking in his native Boeotian.

I admit the appearance of inconsistency in what I am saying; but there may not be any real inconsistency after all. There is a doctrine whispered in secret that man is a prisoner who has no right to open the door and run away; this is a great mystery which I do not quite understand. Yet I too believe that the gods are our guardians, and that we are a possession of theirs. Do you not agree?

Yes, I quite agree, said Cebes.

And if one of your own possessions, an ox or an ass, for example, took the liberty of putting himself out of the way when you had given no intimation of your wish that he should die, would you not be angry with him, and would you not punish him if you could?

Certainly, replied Cebes.

Then, if we look at the matter thus, there may be reason in saying that a man should wait, and not take his own life until God summons him, as he is now summoning me.

Yes, Socrates, said Cebes, there seems to be truth in what you say. And yet how can you reconcile this seemingly true belief that God is our guardian and we his possessions, with the willingness to die which we were just now attributing to the philosopher? That the wisest of men should be willing to leave a service in which they are ruled by the gods who are the best of rulers, is not reasonable; for surely no wise man thinks that when set at liberty he can take better care of himself than the gods take of him. A fool may perhaps think so — he may argue that he had better run away from his master, not considering that his duty is to remain to the end, and not to run away from the good, and that there would be no sense in his running away. The wise man will want to be ever with him who is better than himself. Now this, Socrates, is the reverse of what was just now said; for upon this view the wise man should sorrow and the fool rejoice at passing out of life.

The earnestness of Cebes seemed to please Socrates. Here, said he, turning to us, is a man who is always inquiring, and is not so easily convinced by the first thing which he hears.

And certainly, added Simmias, the objection which he is now making does appear to me to have some force. For what can be the meaning of a truly wise man wanting to fly away and lightly leave a master who is better than himself? And I rather imagine that Cebes is referring to you; he thinks that you are too ready to leave us, and too ready to leave the gods whom you acknowledge to be our good masters.

Yes, replied Socrates; there is reason in what you say. And so you think that I ought to answer your indictment as if I were in a court?

We should like you to do so, said Simmias.

Then I must try to make a more successful defence before you than I did when before the judges. For I am quite ready to admit, Simmias and Cebes, that I ought to be grieved at death, if I were not persuaded in the first place that I am going to other gods who are wise and good (of which I am as certain as I can be of any such matters), and secondly (though I am not so sure of this last) to men departed, better than those whom I leave behind; and therefore I do not grieve as I might have done, for I have good hope that there is yet something remaining for the dead, and as has been said of old, some far better thing for the good than for the evil.

But do you mean to take away your thoughts with you, Socrates? said Simmias. Will you not impart them to us? — for they are a benefit in which we too are entitled to share. Moreover, if you succeed in convincing us, that will be an answer to the charge against yourself.

I will do my best, replied Socrates. But you must first let me hear what Crito wants; he has long been wishing to say something to me.

Only this, Socrates, replied Crito: — the attendant who is to give you the poison has been telling me, and he wants me to tell you, that you are not to talk much, talking, he says, increases heat, and this is apt to interfere with the action of the poison; persons who excite themselves are sometimes obliged to take a second or even a third dose.

Then, said Socrates, let him mind his business and be prepared to give the poison twice or even thrice if necessary; that is all.

I knew quite well what you would say, replied Crito; but I was obliged to satisfy him.

Never mind him, he said.

And now, O my judges, I desire to prove to you that the real philosopher has reason to be of good cheer when he is about to die, and that after death he may hope to obtain the greatest good in the other world. And how this may be, Simmias and Cebes, I will endeavour to explain. For I deem that the true votary of philosophy is likely to be misunderstood by other men; they do not perceive that he is always pursuing death and dying; and if this be so, and he has had the desire of death all his life long, why when his time comes should he repine at that which he has been always pursuing and desiring?

Simmias said laughingly: Though not in a laughing humour, you have made me laugh, Socrates; for I cannot help thinking that the many when they hear your words will say how truly you have described philosophers, and our people at home will likewise say that the life which philosophers desire is in reality death, and that they have found them out to be deserving of the death which they desire.

And they are right, Simmias, in thinking so, with the exception of the words ‘they have found them out’; for they have not found out either what is the nature of that death which the true philosopher deserves, or how he deserves or desires death. But enough of them: — let us discuss the matter among ourselves: Do we believe that there is such a thing as death?

To be sure, replied Simmias.

Is it not the separation of soul and body? And to be dead is the completion of this; when the soul exists in herself, and is released from the body and the body is released from the soul, what is this but death?

Just so, he replied.

There is another question, which will probably throw light on our present inquiry if you and I can agree about it: — Ought the philosopher to care about the pleasures — if they are to be called pleasures — of eating and drinking?

Certainly not, answered Simmias.

And what about the pleasures of love — should he care for them?

By no means.

And will he think much of the other ways of indulging the body, for example, the acquisition of costly raiment, or sandals, or other adornments of the body? Instead of caring about them, does he not rather despise anything more than nature needs? What do you say?

I should say that the true philosopher would despise them.

Would you not say that he is entirely concerned with the soul and not with the body? He would like, as far as he can, to get away from the body and to turn to the soul.

Quite true.

In matters of this sort philosophers, above all other men, may be observed in every sort of way to dissever the soul from the communion of the body.

Very true.

Whereas, Simmias, the rest of the world are of opinion that to him who has no sense of pleasure and no part in bodily pleasure, life is not worth having; and that he who is indifferent about them is as good as dead.

That is also true.

What again shall we say of the actual acquirement of knowledge? — is the body, if invited to share in the enquiry, a hinderer or a helper? I mean to say, have sight and hearing any truth in them? Are they not, as the poets are always telling us, inaccurate witnesses? and yet, if even they are inaccurate and indistinct, what is to be said of the other senses? — for you will allow that they are the best of them?

Certainly, he replied.

Then when does the soul attain truth? — for in attempting to consider anything in company with the body she is obviously deceived.

True.

Then must not true existence be revealed to her in thought, if at all?

Yes.

And thought is best when the mind is gathered into herself and none of these things trouble her — neither sounds nor sights nor pain nor any pleasure, — when she takes leave of the body, and has as little as possible to do with it, when she has no bodily sense or desire, but is aspiring after true being?

Certainly.

And in this the philosopher dishonours the body; his soul runs away from his body and desires to be alone and by herself?

That is true.

Well, but there is another thing, Simmias: Is there or is there not an absolute justice?

Assuredly there is.

And an absolute beauty and absolute good?

Of course.

But did you ever behold any of them with your eyes?

Certainly not.

Or did you ever reach them with any other bodily sense? — and I speak not of these alone, but of absolute greatness, and health, and strength, and of the essence or true nature of everything. Has the reality of them ever been perceived by you through the bodily organs? or rather, is not the nearest approach to the knowledge of their several natures made by him who so orders his intellectual vision as to have the most exact conception of the essence of each thing which he considers?

Certainly.

And he attains to the purest knowledge of them who goes to each with the mind alone, not introducing or intruding in the act of thought sight or any other sense together with reason, but with the very light of the mind in her own clearness searches into the very truth of each; he who has got rid, as far as he can, of eyes and ears and, so to speak, of the whole body, these being in his opinion distracting elements which when they infect the soul hinder her from acquiring truth and knowledge — who, if not he, is likely to attain the knowledge of true being?

What you say has a wonderful truth in it, Socrates, replied Simmias.

And when real philosophers consider all these things, will they not be led to make a reflection which they will express in words something like the following? ‘Have we not found,’ they will say, ‘a path of thought which seems to bring us and our argument to the conclusion, that while we are in the body, and while the soul is infected with the evils of the body, our desire will not be satisfied? and our desire is of the truth. For the body is a source of endless trouble to us by reason of the mere requirement of food; and is liable also to diseases which overtake and impede us in the search after true being: it fills us full of loves, and lusts, and fears, and fancies of all kinds, and endless foolery, and in fact, as men say, takes away from us the power of thinking at all. Whence come wars, and fightings, and factions? whence but from the body and the lusts of the body? wars are occasioned by the love of money, and money has to be acquired for the sake and in the service of the body; and by reason of all these impediments we have no time to give to philosophy; and, last and worst of all, even if we are at leisure and betake ourselves to some speculation, the body is always breaking in upon us, causing turmoil and confusion in our enquiries, and so amazing us that we are prevented from seeing the truth. It has been proved to us by experience that if we would have pure knowledge of anything we must be quit of the body — the soul in herself must behold things in themselves: and then we shall attain the wisdom which we desire, and of which we say that we are lovers, not while we live, but after death; for if while in company with the body, the soul cannot have pure knowledge, one of two things follows — either knowledge is not to be attained at all, or, if at all, after death. For then, and not till then, the soul will be parted from the body and exist in herself alone. In this present life, I reckon that we make the nearest approach to knowledge when we have the least possible intercourse or communion with the body, and are not surfeited with the bodily nature, but keep ourselves pure until the hour when God himself is pleased to release us. And thus having got rid of the foolishness of the body we shall be pure and hold converse with the pure, and know of ourselves the clear light everywhere, which is no other than the light of truth.’ For the impure are not permitted to approach the pure. These are the sort of words, Simmias, which the true lovers of knowledge cannot help saying to one another, and thinking. You would agree; would you not?

Undoubtedly, Socrates.

But, O my friend, if this is true, there is great reason to hope that, going whither I go, when I have come to the end of my journey, I shall attain that which has been the pursuit of my life. And therefore I go on my way rejoicing, and not I only, but every other man who believes that his mind has been made ready and that he is in a manner purified.

Certainly, replied Simmias.

And what is purification but the separation of the soul from the body, as I was saying before; the habit of the soul gathering and collecting herself into herself from all sides out of the body; the dwelling in her own place alone, as in another life, so also in this, as far as she can; — the release of the soul from the chains of the body?

Very true, he said.

And this separation and release of the soul from the body is termed death?

To be sure, he said.

And the true philosophers, and they only, are ever seeking to release the soul. Is not the separation and release of the soul from the body their especial study?

That is true.

And, as I was saying at first, there would be a ridiculous contradiction in men studying to live as nearly as they can in a state of death, and yet repining when it comes upon them.

Clearly.

And the true philosophers, Simmias, are always occupied in the practice of dying, wherefore also to them least of all men is death terrible. Look at the matter thus: — if they have been in every way the enemies of the body, and are wanting to be alone with the soul, when this desire of theirs is granted, how inconsistent would they be if they trembled and repined, instead of rejoicing at their departure to that place where, when they arrive, they hope to gain that which in life they desired — and this was wisdom — and at the same time to be rid of the company of their enemy. Many a man has been willing to go to the world below animated by the hope of seeing there an earthly love, or wife, or son, and conversing with them. And will he who is a true lover of wisdom, and is strongly persuaded in like manner that only in the world below he can worthily enjoy her, still repine at death? Will he not depart with joy? Surely he will, O my friend, if he be a true philosopher. For he will have a firm conviction that there and there only, he can find wisdom in her purity. And if this be true, he would be very absurd, as I was saying, if he were afraid of death.

He would, indeed, replied Simmias.

And when you see a man who is repining at the approach of death, is not his reluctance a sufficient proof that he is not a lover of wisdom, but a lover of the body, and probably at the same time a lover of either money or power, or both?

Quite so, he replied.

And is not courage, Simmias, a quality which is specially characteristic of the philosopher?

Certainly.

There is temperance again, which even by the vulgar is supposed to consist in the control and regulation of the passions, and in the sense of superiority to them — is not temperance a virtue belonging to those only who despise the body, and who pass their lives in philosophy?

Most assuredly.

For the courage and temperance of other men, if you will consider them, are really a contradiction.

How so?

Well, he said, you are aware that death is regarded by men in general as a great evil.

Very true, he said.

And do not courageous men face death because they are afraid of yet greater evils?

That is quite true.

Then all but the philosophers are courageous only from fear, and because they are afraid; and yet that a man should be courageous from fear, and because he is a coward, is surely a strange thing.

Very true.

And are not the temperate exactly in the same case? They are temperate because they are intemperate — which might seem to be a contradiction, but is nevertheless the sort of thing which happens with this foolish temperance. For there are pleasures which they are afraid of losing; and in their desire to keep them, they abstain from some pleasures, because they are overcome by others; and although to be conquered by pleasure is called by men intemperance, to them the conquest of pleasure consists in being conquered by pleasure. And that is what I mean by saying that, in a sense, they are made temperate through intemperance.

Such appears to be the case.

Yet the exchange of one fear or pleasure or pain for another fear or pleasure or pain, and of the greater for the less, as if they were coins, is not the exchange of virtue. O my blessed Simmias, is there not one true coin for which all things ought to be exchanged? — and that is wisdom; and only in exchange for this, and in company with this, is anything truly bought or sold, whether courage or temperance or justice. And is not all true virtue the companion of wisdom, no matter what fears or pleasures or other similar goods or evils may or may not attend her? But the virtue which is made up of these goods, when they are severed from wisdom and exchanged with one another, is a shadow of virtue only, nor is there any freedom or health or truth in her; but in the true exchange there is a purging away of all these things, and temperance, and justice, and courage, and wisdom herself are the purgation of them. The founders of the mysteries would appear to have had a real meaning, and were not talking nonsense when they intimated in a figure long ago that he who passes unsanctified and uninitiated into the world below will lie in a slough, but that he who arrives there after initiation and purification will dwell with the gods. For ‘many,’ as they say in the mysteries, ‘are the thyrsus-bearers, but few are the mystics,’ — meaning, as I interpret the words, ‘the true philosophers.’ In the number of whom, during my whole life, I have been seeking, according to my ability, to find a place; — whether I have sought in a right way or not, and whether I have succeeded or not, I shall truly know in a little while, if God will, when I myself arrive in the other world — such is my belief. And therefore I maintain that I am right, Simmias and Cebes, in not grieving or repining at parting from you and my masters in this world, for I believe that I shall equally find good masters and friends in another world. But most men do not believe this saying; if then I succeed in convincing you by my defence better than I did the Athenian judges, it will be well.

Cebes answered: I agree, Socrates, in the greater part of what you say. But in what concerns the soul, men are apt to be incredulous; they fear that when she has left the body her place may be nowhere, and that on the very day of death she may perish and come to an end — immediately on her release from the body, issuing forth dispersed like smoke or air and in her flight vanishing away into nothingness. If she could only be collected into herself after she has obtained release from the evils of which you are speaking, there would be good reason to hope, Socrates, that what you say is true. But surely it requires a great deal of argument and many proofs to show that when the man is dead his soul yet exists, and has any force or intelligence.

True, Cebes, said Socrates; and shall I suggest that we converse a little of the probabilities of these things?

I am sure, said Cebes, that I should greatly like to know your opinion about them.

I reckon, said Socrates, that no one who heard me now, not even if he were one of my old enemies, the Comic poets, could accuse me of idle talking about matters in which I have no concern: — If you please, then, we will proceed with the inquiry.

Suppose we consider the question whether the souls of men after death are or are not in the world below. There comes into my mind an ancient doctrine which affirms that they go from hence into the other world, and returning hither, are born again from the dead. Now if it be true that the living come from the dead, then our souls must exist in the other world, for if not, how could they have been born again? And this would be conclusive, if there were any real evidence that the living are only born from the dead; but if this is not so, then other arguments will have to be adduced.

Very true, replied Cebes.

Then let us consider the whole question, not in relation to man only, but in relation to animals generally, and to plants, and to everything of which there is generation, and the proof will be easier. Are not all things which have opposites generated out of their opposites? I mean such things as good and evil, just and unjust — and there are innumerable other opposites which are generated out of opposites. And I want to show that in all opposites there is of necessity a similar alternation; I mean to say, for example, that anything which becomes greater must become greater after being less.

True.

And that which becomes less must have been once greater and then have become less.

Yes.

And the weaker is generated from the stronger, and the swifter from the slower.

Very true.

And the worse is from the better, and the more just is from the more unjust.

Of course.

And is this true of all opposites? and are we convinced that all of them are generated out of opposites?

Yes.

And in this universal opposition of all things, are there not also two intermediate processes which are ever going on, from one to the other opposite, and back again; where there is a greater and a less there is also an intermediate process of increase and diminution, and that which grows is said to wax, and that which decays to wane?

Yes, he said.

And there are many other processes, such as division and composition, cooling and heating, which equally involve a passage into and out of one another. And this necessarily holds of all opposites, even though not always expressed in words — they are really generated out of one another, and there is a passing or process from one to the other of them?

Very true, he replied.

Well, and is there not an opposite of life, as sleep is the opposite of waking?

True, he said.

And what is it?

Death, he answered.

And these, if they are opposites, are generated the one from the other, and have there their two intermediate processes also?

Of course.

Now, said Socrates, I will analyze one of the two pairs of opposites which I have mentioned to you, and also its intermediate processes, and you shall analyze the other to me. One of them I term sleep, the other waking. The state of sleep is opposed to the state of waking, and out of sleeping waking is generated, and out of waking, sleeping; and the process of generation is in the one case falling asleep, and in the other waking up. Do you agree?

I entirely agree.

Then, suppose that you analyze life and death to me in the same manner. Is not death opposed to life?

Yes.

And they are generated one from the other?

Yes.

What is generated from the living?

The dead.

And what from the dead?

I can only say in answer — the living.

Then the living, whether things or persons, Cebes, are generated from the dead?

That is clear, he replied.

Then the inference is that our souls exist in the world below?

That is true.

And one of the two processes or generations is visible — for surely the act of dying is visible?

Surely, he said.

What then is to be the result? Shall we exclude the opposite process? And shall we suppose nature to walk on one leg only? Must we not rather assign to death some corresponding process of generation?

Certainly, he replied.

And what is that process?

Return to life.

And return to life, if there be such a thing, is the birth of the dead into the world of the living?

Quite true.

Then here is a new way by which we arrive at the conclusion that the living come from the dead, just as the dead come from the living; and this, if true, affords a most certain proof that the souls of the dead exist in some place out of which they come again.

Yes, Socrates, he said; the conclusion seems to flow necessarily out of our previous admissions.

And that these admissions were not unfair, Cebes, he said, may be shown, I think, as follows: If generation were in a straight line only, and there were no compensation or circle in nature, no turn or return of elements into their opposites, then you know that all things would at last have the same form and pass into the same state, and there would be no more generation of them.

What do you mean? he said.

A simple thing enough, which I will illustrate by the case of sleep, he replied. You know that if there were no alternation of sleeping and waking, the tale of the sleeping Endymion would in the end have no meaning, because all other things would be asleep, too, and he would not be distinguishable from the rest. Or if there were composition only, and no division of substances, then the chaos of Anaxagoras would come again. And in like manner, my dear Cebes, if all things which partook of life were to die, and after they were dead remained in the form of death, and did not come to life again, all would at last die, and nothing would be alive — what other result could there be? For if the living spring from any other things, and they too die, must not all things at last be swallowed up in death? (But compare Republic.)

There is no escape, Socrates, said Cebes; and to me your argument seems to be absolutely true.

Yes, he said, Cebes, it is and must be so, in my opinion; and we have not been deluded in making these admissions; but I am confident that there truly is such a thing as living again, and that the living spring from the dead, and that the souls of the dead are in existence, and that the good souls have a better portion than the evil.

Cebes added: Your favorite doctrine, Socrates, that knowledge is simply recollection, if true, also necessarily implies a previous time in which we have learned that which we now recollect. But this would be impossible unless our soul had been in some place before existing in the form of man; here then is another proof of the soul’s immortality.

But tell me, Cebes, said Simmias, interposing, what arguments are urged in favour of this doctrine of recollection. I am not very sure at the moment that I remember them.

One excellent proof, said Cebes, is afforded by questions. If you put a question to a person in a right way, he will give a true answer of himself, but how could he do this unless there were knowledge and right reason already in him? And this is most clearly shown when he is taken to a diagram or to anything of that sort. (Compare Meno.)

But if, said Socrates, you are still incredulous, Simmias, I would ask you whether you may not agree with me when you look at the matter in another way; — I mean, if you are still incredulous as to whether knowledge is recollection.

Incredulous, I am not, said Simmias; but I want to have this doctrine of recollection brought to my own recollection, and, from what Cebes has said, I am beginning to recollect and be convinced; but I should still like to hear what you were going to say.

This is what I would say, he replied: — We should agree, if I am not mistaken, that what a man recollects he must have known at some previous time.

Very true.

And what is the nature of this knowledge or recollection? I mean to ask, Whether a person who, having seen or heard or in any way perceived anything, knows not only that, but has a conception of something else which is the subject, not of the same but of some other kind of knowledge, may not be fairly said to recollect that of which he has the conception?

What do you mean?

I mean what I may illustrate by the following instance: — The knowledge of a lyre is not the same as the knowledge of a man?

True.

And yet what is the feeling of lovers when they recognize a lyre, or a garment, or anything else which the beloved has been in the habit of using? Do not they, from knowing the lyre, form in the mind’s eye an image of the youth to whom the lyre belongs? And this is recollection. In like manner any one who sees Simmias may remember Cebes; and there are endless examples of the same thing.

Endless, indeed, replied Simmias.

And recollection is most commonly a process of recovering that which has been already forgotten through time and inattention.

Very true, he said.

Well; and may you not also from seeing the picture of a horse or a lyre remember a man? and from the picture of Simmias, you may be led to remember Cebes?

True.

Or you may also be led to the recollection of Simmias himself?

Quite so.

And in all these cases, the recollection may be derived from things either like or unlike?

It may be.

And when the recollection is derived from like things, then another consideration is sure to arise, which is — whether the likeness in any degree falls short or not of that which is recollected?

Very true, he said.

And shall we proceed a step further, and affirm that there is such a thing as equality, not of one piece of wood or stone with another, but that, over and above this, there is absolute equality? Shall we say so?

Say so, yes, replied Simmias, and swear to it, with all the confidence in life.

And do we know the nature of this absolute essence?

To be sure, he said.

And whence did we obtain our knowledge? Did we not see equalities of material things, such as pieces of wood and stones, and gather from them the idea of an equality which is different from them? For you will acknowledge that there is a difference. Or look at the matter in another way: — Do not the same pieces of wood or stone appear at one time equal, and at another time unequal?

That is certain.

But are real equals ever unequal? or is the idea of equality the same as of inequality?

Impossible, Socrates.

Then these (so-called) equals are not the same with the idea of equality?

I should say, clearly not, Socrates.

And yet from these equals, although differing from the idea of equality, you conceived and attained that idea?

Very true, he said.

Which might be like, or might be unlike them?

Yes.

But that makes no difference; whenever from seeing one thing you conceived another, whether like or unlike, there must surely have been an act of recollection?

Very true.

But what would you say of equal portions of wood and stone, or other material equals? and what is the impression produced by them? Are they equals in the same sense in which absolute equality is equal? or do they fall short of this perfect equality in a measure?

Yes, he said, in a very great measure too.

And must we not allow, that when I or any one, looking at any object, observes that the thing which he sees aims at being some other thing, but falls short of, and cannot be, that other thing, but is inferior, he who makes this observation must have had a previous knowledge of that to which the other, although similar, was inferior?

Certainly.

And has not this been our own case in the matter of equals and of absolute equality?

Precisely.

Then we must have known equality previously to the time when we first saw the material equals, and reflected that all these apparent equals strive to attain absolute equality, but fall short of it?

Very true.

And we recognize also that this absolute equality has only been known, and can only be known, through the medium of sight or touch, or of some other of the senses, which are all alike in this respect?

Yes, Socrates, as far as the argument is concerned, one of them is the same as the other.

From the senses then is derived the knowledge that all sensible things aim at an absolute equality of which they fall short?

Yes.

Then before we began to see or hear or perceive in any way, we must have had a knowledge of absolute equality, or we could not have referred to that standard the equals which are derived from the senses? — for to that they all aspire, and of that they fall short.

No other inference can be drawn from the previous statements.

And did we not see and hear and have the use of our other senses as soon as we were born?

Certainly.

Then we must have acquired the knowledge of equality at some previous time?

Yes.

That is to say, before we were born, I suppose?

True.

And if we acquired this knowledge before we were born, and were born having the use of it, then we also knew before we were born and at the instant of birth not only the equal or the greater or the less, but all other ideas; for we are not speaking only of equality, but of beauty, goodness, justice, holiness, and of all which we stamp with the name of essence in the dialectical process, both when we ask and when we answer questions. Of all this we may certainly affirm that we acquired the knowledge before birth?

We may.

But if, after having acquired, we have not forgotten what in each case we acquired, then we must always have come into life having knowledge, and shall always continue to know as long as life lasts — for knowing is the acquiring and retaining knowledge and not forgetting. Is not forgetting, Simmias, just the losing of knowledge?

Quite true, Socrates.

But if the knowledge which we acquired before birth was lost by us at birth, and if afterwards by the use of the senses we recovered what we previously knew, will not the process which we call learning be a recovering of the knowledge which is natural to us, and may not this be rightly termed recollection?

Very true.

So much is clear — that when we perceive something, either by the help of sight, or hearing, or some other sense, from that perception we are able to obtain a notion of some other thing like or unlike which is associated with it but has been forgotten. Whence, as I was saying, one of two alternatives follows: — either we had this knowledge at birth, and continued to know through life; or, after birth, those who are said to learn only remember, and learning is simply recollection.

Yes, that is quite true, Socrates.

And which alternative, Simmias, do you prefer? Had we the knowledge at our birth, or did we recollect the things which we knew previously to our birth?

I cannot decide at the moment.

At any rate you can decide whether he who has knowledge will or will not be able to render an account of his knowledge? What do you say?

Certainly, he will.

But do you think that every man is able to give an account of these very matters about which we are speaking?

Would that they could, Socrates, but I rather fear that to-morrow, at this time, there will no longer be any one alive who is able to give an account of them such as ought to be given.

Then you are not of opinion, Simmias, that all men know these things?

Certainly not.

They are in process of recollecting that which they learned before?

Certainly.

But when did our souls acquire this knowledge? — not since we were born as men?

Certainly not.

And therefore, previously?

Yes.

Then, Simmias, our souls must also have existed without bodies before they were in the form of man, and must have had intelligence.

Unless indeed you suppose, Socrates, that these notions are given us at the very moment of birth; for this is the only time which remains.

Yes, my friend, but if so, when do we lose them? for they are not in us when we are born — that is admitted. Do we lose them at the moment of receiving them, or if not at what other time?

No, Socrates, I perceive that I was unconsciously talking nonsense.

Then may we not say, Simmias, that if, as we are always repeating, there is an absolute beauty, and goodness, and an absolute essence of all things; and if to this, which is now discovered to have existed in our former state, we refer all our sensations, and with this compare them, finding these ideas to be pre-existent and our inborn possession — then our souls must have had a prior existence, but if not, there would be no force in the argument? There is the same proof that these ideas must have existed before we were born, as that our souls existed before we were born; and if not the ideas, then not the souls.

Yes, Socrates; I am convinced that there is precisely the same necessity for the one as for the other; and the argument retreats successfully to the position that the existence of the soul before birth cannot be separated from the existence of the essence of which you speak. For there is nothing which to my mind is so patent as that beauty, goodness, and the other notions of which you were just now speaking, have a most real and absolute existence; and I am satisfied with the proof.

Well, but is Cebes equally satisfied? for I must convince him too.

I think, said Simmias, that Cebes is satisfied: although he is the most incredulous of mortals, yet I believe that he is sufficiently convinced of the existence of the soul before birth. But that after death the soul will continue to exist is not yet proven even to my own satisfaction. I cannot get rid of the feeling of the many to which Cebes was referring — the feeling that when the man dies the soul will be dispersed, and that this may be the extinction of her. For admitting that she may have been born elsewhere, and framed out of other elements, and was in existence before entering the human body, why after having entered in and gone out again may she not herself be destroyed and come to an end?

Very true, Simmias, said Cebes; about half of what was required has been proven; to wit, that our souls existed before we were born: — that the soul will exist after death as well as before birth is the other half of which the proof is still wanting, and has to be supplied; when that is given the demonstration will be complete.

But that proof, Simmias and Cebes, has been already given, said Socrates, if you put the two arguments together — I mean this and the former one, in which we admitted that everything living is born of the dead. For if the soul exists before birth, and in coming to life and being born can be born only from death and dying, must she not after death continue to exist, since she has to be born again? — Surely the proof which you desire has been already furnished. Still I suspect that you and Simmias would be glad to probe the argument further. Like children, you are haunted with a fear that when the soul leaves the body, the wind may really blow her away and scatter her; especially if a man should happen to die in a great storm and not when the sky is calm.

Cebes answered with a smile: Then, Socrates, you must argue us out of our fears — and yet, strictly speaking, they are not our fears, but there is a child within us to whom death is a sort of hobgoblin; him too we must persuade not to be afraid when he is alone in the dark.

Socrates said: Let the voice of the charmer be applied daily until you have charmed away the fear.

And where shall we find a good charmer of our fears, Socrates, when you are gone?

Hellas, he replied, is a large place, Cebes, and has many good men, and there are barbarous races not a few: seek for him among them all, far and wide, sparing neither pains nor money; for there is no better way of spending your money. And you must seek among yourselves too; for you will not find others better able to make the search.

The search, replied Cebes, shall certainly be made. And now, if you please, let us return to the point of the argument at which we digressed.

By all means, replied Socrates; what else should I please?

Very good.

Must we not, said Socrates, ask ourselves what that is which, as we imagine, is liable to be scattered, and about which we fear? and what again is that about which we have no fear? And then we may proceed further to enquire whether that which suffers dispersion is or is not of the nature of soul — our hopes and fears as to our own souls will turn upon the answers to these questions.

Very true, he said.

Now the compound or composite may be supposed to be naturally capable, as of being compounded, so also of being dissolved; but that which is uncompounded, and that only, must be, if anything is, indissoluble.

Yes; I should imagine so, said Cebes.

And the uncompounded may be assumed to be the same and unchanging, whereas the compound is always changing and never the same.

I agree, he said.

Then now let us return to the previous discussion. Is that idea or essence, which in the dialectical process we define as essence or true existence — whether essence of equality, beauty, or anything else — are these essences, I say, liable at times to some degree of change? or are they each of them always what they are, having the same simple self-existent and unchanging forms, not admitting of variation at all, or in any way, or at any time?

They must be always the same, Socrates, replied Cebes.

And what would you say of the many beautiful — whether men or horses or garments or any other things which are named by the same names and may be called equal or beautiful, — are they all unchanging and the same always, or quite the reverse? May they not rather be described as almost always changing and hardly ever the same, either with themselves or with one another?

The latter, replied Cebes; they are always in a state of change.

And these you can touch and see and perceive with the senses, but the unchanging things you can only perceive with the mind — they are invisible and are not seen?

That is very true, he said.

Well, then, added Socrates, let us suppose that there are two sorts of existences — one seen, the other unseen.

Let us suppose them.

The seen is the changing, and the unseen is the unchanging?

That may be also supposed.

And, further, is not one part of us body, another part soul?

To be sure.

And to which class is the body more alike and akin?

Clearly to the seen — no one can doubt that.

And is the soul seen or not seen?

Not by man, Socrates.

And what we mean by ‘seen’ and ‘not seen’ is that which is or is not visible to the eye of man?

Yes, to the eye of man.

And is the soul seen or not seen?

Not seen.

Unseen then?

Yes.

Then the soul is more like to the unseen, and the body to the seen?

That follows necessarily, Socrates.

And were we not saying long ago that the soul when using the body as an instrument of perception, that is to say, when using the sense of sight or hearing or some other sense (for the meaning of perceiving through the body is perceiving through the senses) — were we not saying that the soul too is then dragged by the body into the region of the changeable, and wanders and is confused; the world spins round her, and she is like a drunkard, when she touches change?

Very true.

But when returning into herself she reflects, then she passes into the other world, the region of purity, and eternity, and immortality, and unchangeableness, which are her kindred, and with them she ever lives, when she is by herself and is not let or hindered; then she ceases from her erring ways, and being in communion with the unchanging is unchanging. And this state of the soul is called wisdom?

That is well and truly said, Socrates, he replied.

And to which class is the soul more nearly alike and akin, as far as may be inferred from this argument, as well as from the preceding one?

I think, Socrates, that, in the opinion of every one who follows the argument, the soul will be infinitely more like the unchangeable — even the most stupid person will not deny that.

And the body is more like the changing?

Yes.

Yet once more consider the matter in another light: When the soul and the body are united, then nature orders the soul to rule and govern, and the body to obey and serve. Now which of these two functions is akin to the divine? and which to the mortal? Does not the divine appear to you to be that which naturally orders and rules, and the mortal to be that which is subject and servant?

True.

And which does the soul resemble?

The soul resembles the divine, and the body the mortal — there can be no doubt of that, Socrates.

Then reflect, Cebes: of all which has been said is not this the conclusion? — that the soul is in the very likeness of the divine, and immortal, and intellectual, and uniform, and indissoluble, and unchangeable; and that the body is in the very likeness of the human, and mortal, and unintellectual, and multiform, and dissoluble, and changeable. Can this, my dear Cebes, be denied?

It cannot.

But if it be true, then is not the body liable to speedy dissolution? and is not the soul almost or altogether indissoluble?

Certainly.

And do you further observe, that after a man is dead, the body, or visible part of him, which is lying in the visible world, and is called a corpse, and would naturally be dissolved and decomposed and dissipated, is not dissolved or decomposed at once, but may remain for a for some time, nay even for a long time, if the constitution be sound at the time of death, and the season of the year favourable? For the body when shrunk and embalmed, as the manner is in Egypt, may remain almost entire through infinite ages; and even in decay, there are still some portions, such as the bones and ligaments, which are practically indestructible: — Do you agree?

Yes.

And is it likely that the soul, which is invisible, in passing to the place of the true Hades, which like her is invisible, and pure, and noble, and on her way to the good and wise God, whither, if God will, my soul is also soon to go, — that the soul, I repeat, if this be her nature and origin, will be blown away and destroyed immediately on quitting the body, as the many say? That can never be, my dear Simmias and Cebes. The truth rather is, that the soul which is pure at departing and draws after her no bodily taint, having never voluntarily during life had connection with the body, which she is ever avoiding, herself gathered into herself; — and making such abstraction her perpetual study — which means that she has been a true disciple of philosophy; and therefore has in fact been always engaged in the practice of dying? For is not philosophy the practice of death? —

Certainly —

That soul, I say, herself invisible, departs to the invisible world — to the divine and immortal and rational: thither arriving, she is secure of bliss and is released from the error and folly of men, their fears and wild passions and all other human ills, and for ever dwells, as they say of the initiated, in company with the gods (compare Apol.). Is not this true, Cebes?

Yes, said Cebes, beyond a doubt.

But the soul which has been polluted, and is impure at the time of her departure, and is the companion and servant of the body always, and is in love with and fascinated by the body and by the desires and pleasures of the body, until she is led to believe that the truth only exists in a bodily form, which a man may touch and see and taste, and use for the purposes of his lusts, — the soul, I mean, accustomed to hate and fear and avoid the intellectual principle, which to the bodily eye is dark and invisible, and can be attained only by philosophy; — do you suppose that such a soul will depart pure and unalloyed?

Impossible, he replied.

She is held fast by the corporeal, which the continual association and constant care of the body have wrought into her nature.

Very true.

And this corporeal element, my friend, is heavy and weighty and earthy, and is that element of sight by which a soul is depressed and dragged down again into the visible world, because she is afraid of the invisible and of the world below — prowling about tombs and sepulchres, near which, as they tell us, are seen certain ghostly apparitions of souls which have not departed pure, but are cloyed with sight and therefore visible.

(Compare Milton, Comus: —

‘But when lust,

By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,

But most by lewd and lavish act of sin,

Lets in defilement to the inward parts,

The soul grows clotted by contagion,

Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose,

The divine property of her first being.

Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp

Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres,

Lingering, and sitting by a new made grave,

As loath to leave the body that it lov’d,

And linked itself by carnal sensuality

To a degenerate and degraded state.’)

That is very likely, Socrates.

Yes, that is very likely, Cebes; and these must be the souls, not of the good, but of the evil, which are compelled to wander about such places in payment of the penalty of their former evil way of life; and they continue to wander until through the craving after the corporeal which never leaves them, they are imprisoned finally in another body. And they may be supposed to find their prisons in the same natures which they have had in their former lives.

What natures do you mean, Socrates?

What I mean is that men who have followed after gluttony, and wantonness, and drunkenness, and have had no thought of avoiding them, would pass into asses and animals of that sort. What do you think?

I think such an opinion to be exceedingly probable.

And those who have chosen the portion of injustice, and tyranny, and violence, will pass into wolves, or into hawks and kites; — whither else can we suppose them to go?

Yes, said Cebes; with such natures, beyond question.

And there is no difficulty, he said, in assigning to all of them places answering to their several natures and propensities?

There is not, he said.

Some are happier than others; and the happiest both in themselves and in the place to which they go are those who have practised the civil and social virtues which are called temperance and justice, and are acquired by habit and attention without philosophy and mind. (Compare Republic.)

Why are they the happiest?

Because they may be expected to pass into some gentle and social kind which is like their own, such as bees or wasps or ants, or back again into the form of man, and just and moderate men may be supposed to spring from them.

Very likely.

No one who has not studied philosophy and who is not entirely pure at the time of his departure is allowed to enter the company of the Gods, but the lover of knowledge only. And this is the reason, Simmias and Cebes, why the true votaries of philosophy abstain from all fleshly lusts, and hold out against them and refuse to give themselves up to them, — not because they fear poverty or the ruin of their families, like the lovers of money, and the world in general; nor like the lovers of power and honour, because they dread the dishonour or disgrace of evil deeds.

No, Socrates, that would not become them, said Cebes.

No indeed, he replied; and therefore they who have any care of their own souls, and do not merely live moulding and fashioning the body, say farewell to all this; they will not walk in the ways of the blind: and when philosophy offers them purification and release from evil, they feel that they ought not to resist her influence, and whither she leads they turn and follow.

What do you mean, Socrates?

I will tell you, he said. The lovers of knowledge are conscious that the soul was simply fastened and glued to the body — until philosophy received her, she could only view real existence through the bars of a prison, not in and through herself; she was wallowing in the mire of every sort of ignorance; and by reason of lust had become the principal accomplice in her own captivity. This was her original state; and then, as I was saying, and as the lovers of knowledge are well aware, philosophy, seeing how terrible was her confinement, of which she was to herself the cause, received and gently comforted her and sought to release her, pointing out that the eye and the ear and the other senses are full of deception, and persuading her to retire from them, and abstain from all but the necessary use of them, and be gathered up and collected into herself, bidding her trust in herself and her own pure apprehension of pure existence, and to mistrust whatever comes to her through other channels and is subject to variation; for such things are visible and tangible, but what she sees in her own nature is intelligible and invisible. And the soul of the true philosopher thinks that she ought not to resist this deliverance, and therefore abstains from pleasures and desires and pains and fears, as far as she is able; reflecting that when a man has great joys or sorrows or fears or desires, he suffers from them, not merely the sort of evil which might be anticipated — as for example, the loss of his health or property which he has sacrificed to his lusts — but an evil greater far, which is the greatest and worst of all evils, and one of which he never thinks.

What is it, Socrates? said Cebes.

The evil is that when the feeling of pleasure or pain is most intense, every soul of man imagines the objects of this intense feeling to be then plainest and truest: but this is not so, they are really the things of sight.

Very true.

And is not this the state in which the soul is most enthralled by the body?

How so?

Why, because each pleasure and pain is a sort of nail which nails and rivets the soul to the body, until she becomes like the body, and believes that to be true which the body affirms to be true; and from agreeing with the body and having the same delights she is obliged to have the same habits and haunts, and is not likely ever to be pure at her departure to the world below, but is always infected by the body; and so she sinks into another body and there germinates and grows, and has therefore no part in the communion of the divine and pure and simple.

Most true, Socrates, answered Cebes.

And this, Cebes, is the reason why the true lovers of knowledge are temperate and brave; and not for the reason which the world gives.

Certainly not.

Certainly not! The soul of a philosopher will reason in quite another way; she will not ask philosophy to release her in order that when released she may deliver herself up again to the thraldom of pleasures and pains, doing a work only to be undone again, weaving instead of unweaving her Penelope’s web. But she will calm passion, and follow reason, and dwell in the contemplation of her, beholding the true and divine (which is not matter of opinion), and thence deriving nourishment. Thus she seeks to live while she lives, and after death she hopes to go to her own kindred and to that which is like her, and to be freed from human ills. Never fear, Simmias and Cebes, that a soul which has been thus nurtured and has had these pursuits, will at her departure from the body be scattered and blown away by the winds and be nowhere and nothing.

When Socrates had done speaking, for a considerable time there was silence; he himself appeared to be meditating, as most of us were, on what had been said; only Cebes and Simmias spoke a few words to one another. And Socrates observing them asked what they thought of the argument, and whether there was anything wanting? For, said he, there are many points still open to suspicion and attack, if any one were disposed to sift the matter thoroughly. Should you be considering some other matter I say no more, but if you are still in doubt do not hesitate to say exactly what you think, and let us have anything better which you can suggest; and if you think that I can be of any use, allow me to help you.

Simmias said: I must confess, Socrates, that doubts did arise in our minds, and each of us was urging and inciting the other to put the question which we wanted to have answered and which neither of us liked to ask, fearing that our importunity might be troublesome under present at such a time.

Socrates replied with a smile: O Simmias, what are you saying? I am not very likely to persuade other men that I do not regard my present situation as a misfortune, if I cannot even persuade you that I am no worse off now than at any other time in my life. Will you not allow that I have as much of the spirit of prophecy in me as the swans? For they, when they perceive that they must die, having sung all their life long, do then sing more lustily than ever, rejoicing in the thought that they are about to go away to the god whose ministers they are. But men, because they are themselves afraid of death, slanderously affirm of the swans that they sing a lament at the last, not considering that no bird sings when cold, or hungry, or in pain, not even the nightingale, nor the swallow, nor yet the hoopoe; which are said indeed to tune a lay of sorrow, although I do not believe this to be true of them any more than of the swans. But because they are sacred to Apollo, they have the gift of prophecy, and anticipate the good things of another world, wherefore they sing and rejoice in that day more than they ever did before. And I too, believing myself to be the consecrated servant of the same God, and the fellow-servant of the swans, and thinking that I have received from my master gifts of prophecy which are not inferior to theirs, would not go out of life less merrily than the swans. Never mind then, if this be your only objection, but speak and ask anything which you like, while the eleven magistrates of Athens allow.

Very good, Socrates, said Simmias; then I will tell you my difficulty, and Cebes will tell you his. I feel myself, (and I daresay that you have the same feeling), how hard or rather impossible is the attainment of any certainty about questions such as these in the present life. And yet I should deem him a coward who did not prove what is said about them to the uttermost, or whose heart failed him before he had examined them on every side. For he should persevere until he has achieved one of two things: either he should discover, or be taught the truth about them; or, if this be impossible, I would have him take the best and most irrefragable of human theories, and let this be the raft upon which he sails through life — not without risk, as I admit, if he cannot find some word of God which will more surely and safely carry him. And now, as you bid me, I will venture to question you, and then I shall not have to reproach myself hereafter with not having said at the time what I think. For when I consider the matter, either alone or with Cebes, the argument does certainly appear to me, Socrates, to be not sufficient.

Socrates answered: I dare say, my friend, that you may be right, but I should like to know in what respect the argument is insufficient.

In this respect, replied Simmias: — Suppose a person to use the same argument about harmony and the lyre — might he not say that harmony is a thing invisible, incorporeal, perfect, divine, existing in the lyre which is harmonized, but that the lyre and the strings are matter and material, composite, earthy, and akin to mortality? And when some one breaks the lyre, or cuts and rends the strings, then he who takes this view would argue as you do, and on the same analogy, that the harmony survives and has not perished — you cannot imagine, he would say, that the lyre without the strings, and the broken strings themselves which are mortal remain, and yet that the harmony, which is of heavenly and immortal nature and kindred, has perished — perished before the mortal. The harmony must still be somewhere, and the wood and strings will decay before anything can happen to that. The thought, Socrates, must have occurred to your own mind that such is our conception of the soul; and that when the body is in a manner strung and held together by the elements of hot and cold, wet and dry, then the soul is the harmony or due proportionate admixture of them. But if so, whenever the strings of the body are unduly loosened or overstrained through disease or other injury, then the soul, though most divine, like other harmonies of music or of works of art, of course perishes at once, although the material remains of the body may last for a considerable time, until they are either decayed or burnt. And if any one maintains that the soul, being the harmony of the elements of the body, is first to perish in that which is called death, how shall we answer him?

Socrates looked fixedly at us as his manner was, and said with a smile: Simmias has reason on his side; and why does not some one of you who is better able than myself answer him? for there is force in his attack upon me. But perhaps, before we answer him, we had better also hear what Cebes has to say that we may gain time for reflection, and when they have both spoken, we may either assent to them, if there is truth in what they say, or if not, we will maintain our position. Please to tell me then, Cebes, he said, what was the difficulty which troubled you?

Cebes said: I will tell you. My feeling is that the argument is where it was, and open to the same objections which were urged before; for I am ready to admit that the existence of the soul before entering into the bodily form has been very ingeniously, and, if I may say so, quite sufficiently proven; but the existence of the soul after death is still, in my judgment, unproven. Now my objection is not the same as that of Simmias; for I am not disposed to deny that the soul is stronger and more lasting than the body, being of opinion that in all such respects the soul very far excels the body. Well, then, says the argument to me, why do you remain unconvinced? — When you see that the weaker continues in existence after the man is dead, will you not admit that the more lasting must also survive during the same period of time? Now I will ask you to consider whether the objection, which, like Simmias, I will express in a figure, is of any weight. The analogy which I will adduce is that of an old weaver, who dies, and after his death somebody says: — He is not dead, he must be alive; — see, there is the coat which he himself wove and wore, and which remains whole and undecayed. And then he proceeds to ask of some one who is incredulous, whether a man lasts longer, or the coat which is in use and wear; and when he is answered that a man lasts far longer, thinks that he has thus certainly demonstrated the survival of the man, who is the more lasting, because the less lasting remains. But that, Simmias, as I would beg you to remark, is a mistake; any one can see that he who talks thus is talking nonsense. For the truth is, that the weaver aforesaid, having woven and worn many such coats, outlived several of them, and was outlived by the last; but a man is not therefore proved to be slighter and weaker than a coat. Now the relation of the body to the soul may be expressed in a similar figure; and any one may very fairly say in like manner that the soul is lasting, and the body weak and shortlived in comparison. He may argue in like manner that every soul wears out many bodies, especially if a man live many years. While he is alive the body deliquesces and decays, and the soul always weaves another garment and repairs the waste. But of course, whenever the soul perishes, she must have on her last garment, and this will survive her; and then at length, when the soul is dead, the body will show its native weakness, and quickly decompose and pass away. I would therefore rather not rely on the argument from superior strength to prove the continued existence of the soul after death. For granting even more than you affirm to be possible, and acknowledging not only that the soul existed before birth, but also that the souls of some exist, and will continue to exist after death, and will be born and die again and again, and that there is a natural strength in the soul which will hold out and be born many times — nevertheless, we may be still inclined to think that she will weary in the labours of successive births, and may at last succumb in one of her deaths and utterly perish; and this death and dissolution of the body which brings destruction to the soul may be unknown to any of us, for no one of us can have had any experience of it: and if so, then I maintain that he who is confident about death has but a foolish confidence, unless he is able to prove that the soul is altogether immortal and imperishable. But if he cannot prove the soul’s immortality, he who is about to die will always have reason to fear that when the body is disunited, the soul also may utterly perish.

All of us, as we afterwards remarked to one another, had an unpleasant feeling at hearing what they said. When we had been so firmly convinced before, now to have our faith shaken seemed to introduce a confusion and uncertainty, not only into the previous argument, but into any future one; either we were incapable of forming a judgment, or there were no grounds of belief.

ECHECRATES: There I feel with you — by heaven I do, Phaedo, and when you were speaking, I was beginning to ask myself the same question: What argument can I ever trust again? For what could be more convincing than the argument of Socrates, which has now fallen into discredit? That the soul is a harmony is a doctrine which has always had a wonderful attraction for me, and, when mentioned, came back to me at once, as my own original conviction. And now I must begin again and find another argument which will assure me that when the man is dead the soul survives. Tell me, I implore you, how did Socrates proceed? Did he appear to share the unpleasant feeling which you mention? or did he calmly meet the attack? And did he answer forcibly or feebly? Narrate what passed as exactly as you can.

PHAEDO: Often, Echecrates, I have wondered at Socrates, but never more than on that occasion. That he should be able to answer was nothing, but what astonished me was, first, the gentle and pleasant and approving manner in which he received the words of the young men, and then his quick sense of the wound which had been inflicted by the argument, and the readiness with which he healed it. He might be compared to a general rallying his defeated and broken army, urging them to accompany him and return to the field of argument.

ECHECRATES: What followed?

PHAEDO: You shall hear, for I was close to him on his right hand, seated on a sort of stool, and he on a couch which was a good deal higher. He stroked my head, and pressed the hair upon my neck — he had a way of playing with my hair; and then he said: To-morrow, Phaedo, I suppose that these fair locks of yours will be severed.

Yes, Socrates, I suppose that they will, I replied.

Not so, if you will take my advice.

What shall I do with them? I said.

To-day, he replied, and not to-morrow, if this argument dies and we cannot bring it to life again, you and I will both shave our locks; and if I were you, and the argument got away from me, and I could not hold my ground against Simmias and Cebes, I would myself take an oath, like the Argives, not to wear hair any more until I had renewed the conflict and defeated them.

Yes, I said, but Heracles himself is said not to be a match for two.

Summon me then, he said, and I will be your Iolaus until the sun goes down.

I summon you rather, I rejoined, not as Heracles summoning Iolaus, but as Iolaus might summon Heracles.

That will do as well, he said. But first let us take care that we avoid a danger.

Of what nature? I said.

Lest we become misologists, he replied, no worse thing can happen to a man than this. For as there are misanthropists or haters of men, there are also misologists or haters of ideas, and both spring from the same cause, which is ignorance of the world. Misanthropy arises out of the too great confidence of inexperience; — you trust a man and think him altogether true and sound and faithful, and then in a little while he turns out to be false and knavish; and then another and another, and when this has happened several times to a man, especially when it happens among those whom he deems to be his own most trusted and familiar friends, and he has often quarreled with them, he at last hates all men, and believes that no one has any good in him at all. You must have observed this trait of character?

I have.

And is not the feeling discreditable? Is it not obvious that such an one having to deal with other men, was clearly without any experience of human nature; for experience would have taught him the true state of the case, that few are the good and few the evil, and that the great majority are in the interval between them.

What do you mean? I said.

I mean, he replied, as you might say of the very large and very small, that nothing is more uncommon than a very large or very small man; and this applies generally to all extremes, whether of great and small, or swift and slow, or fair and foul, or black and white: and whether the instances you select be men or dogs or anything else, few are the extremes, but many are in the mean between them. Did you never observe this?

Yes, I said, I have.

And do you not imagine, he said, that if there were a competition in evil, the worst would be found to be very few?

Yes, that is very likely, I said.

Yes, that is very likely, he replied; although in this respect arguments are unlike men — there I was led on by you to say more than I had intended; but the point of comparison was, that when a simple man who has no skill in dialectics believes an argument to be true which he afterwards imagines to be false, whether really false or not, and then another and another, he has no longer any faith left, and great disputers, as you know, come to think at last that they have grown to be the wisest of mankind; for they alone perceive the utter unsoundness and instability of all arguments, or indeed, of all things, which, like the currents in the Euripus, are going up and down in never-ceasing ebb and flow.

That is quite true, I said.

Yes, Phaedo, he replied, and how melancholy, if there be such a thing as truth or certainty or possibility of knowledge — that a man should have lighted upon some argument or other which at first seemed true and then turned out to be false, and instead of blaming himself and his own want of wit, because he is annoyed, should at last be too glad to transfer the blame from himself to arguments in general: and for ever afterwards should hate and revile them, and lose truth and the knowledge of realities.

Yes, indeed, I said; that is very melancholy.

Let us then, in the first place, he said, be careful of allowing or of admitting into our souls the notion that there is no health or soundness in any arguments at all. Rather say that we have not yet attained to soundness in ourselves, and that we must struggle manfully and do our best to gain health of mind — you and all other men having regard to the whole of your future life, and I myself in the prospect of death. For at this moment I am sensible that I have not the temper of a philosopher; like the vulgar, I am only a partisan. Now the partisan, when he is engaged in a dispute, cares nothing about the rights of the question, but is anxious only to convince his hearers of his own assertions. And the difference between him and me at the present moment is merely this — that whereas he seeks to convince his hearers that what he says is true, I am rather seeking to convince myself; to convince my hearers is a secondary matter with me. And do but see how much I gain by the argument. For if what I say is true, then I do well to be persuaded of the truth, but if there be nothing after death, still, during the short time that remains, I shall not distress my friends with lamentations, and my ignorance will not last, but will die with me, and therefore no harm will be done. This is the state of mind, Simmias and Cebes, in which I approach the argument. And I would ask you to be thinking of the truth and not of Socrates: agree with me, if I seem to you to be speaking the truth; or if not, withstand me might and main, that I may not deceive you as well as myself in my enthusiasm, and like the bee, leave my sting in you before I die.

And now let us proceed, he said. And first of all let me be sure that I have in my mind what you were saying. Simmias, if I remember rightly, has fears and misgivings whether the soul, although a fairer and diviner thing than the body, being as she is in the form of harmony, may not perish first. On the other hand, Cebes appeared to grant that the soul was more lasting than the body, but he said that no one could know whether the soul, after having worn out many bodies, might not perish herself and leave her last body behind her; and that this is death, which is the destruction not of the body but of the soul, for in the body the work of destruction is ever going on. Are not these, Simmias and Cebes, the points which we have to consider?

They both agreed to this statement of them.

He proceeded: And did you deny the force of the whole preceding argument, or of a part only?

Of a part only, they replied.

And what did you think, he said, of that part of the argument in which we said that knowledge was recollection, and hence inferred that the soul must have previously existed somewhere else before she was enclosed in the body?

Cebes said that he had been wonderfully impressed by that part of the argument, and that his conviction remained absolutely unshaken. Simmias agreed, and added that he himself could hardly imagine the possibility of his ever thinking differently.

But, rejoined Socrates, you will have to think differently, my Theban friend, if you still maintain that harmony is a compound, and that the soul is a harmony which is made out of strings set in the frame of the body; for you will surely never allow yourself to say that a harmony is prior to the elements which compose it.

Never, Socrates.

But do you not see that this is what you imply when you say that the soul existed before she took the form and body of man, and was made up of elements which as yet had no existence? For harmony is not like the soul, as you suppose; but first the lyre, and the strings, and the sounds exist in a state of discord, and then harmony is made last of all, and perishes first. And how can such a notion of the soul as this agree with the other?

Not at all, replied Simmias.

And yet, he said, there surely ought to be harmony in a discourse of which harmony is the theme.

There ought, replied Simmias.

But there is no harmony, he said, in the two propositions that knowledge is recollection, and that the soul is a harmony. Which of them will you retain?

I think, he replied, that I have a much stronger faith, Socrates, in the first of the two, which has been fully demonstrated to me, than in the latter, which has not been demonstrated at all, but rests only on probable and plausible grounds; and is therefore believed by the many. I know too well that these arguments from probabilities are impostors, and unless great caution is observed in the use of them, they are apt to be deceptive — in geometry, and in other things too. But the doctrine of knowledge and recollection has been proven to me on trustworthy grounds; and the proof was that the soul must have existed before she came into the body, because to her belongs the essence of which the very name implies existence. Having, as I am convinced, rightly accepted this conclusion, and on sufficient grounds, I must, as I suppose, cease to argue or allow others to argue that the soul is a harmony.

Let me put the matter, Simmias, he said, in another point of view: Do you imagine that a harmony or any other composition can be in a state other than that of the elements, out of which it is compounded?

Certainly not.

Or do or suffer anything other than they do or suffer?

He agreed.

Then a harmony does not, properly speaking, lead the parts or elements which make up the harmony, but only follows them.

He assented.

For harmony cannot possibly have any motion, or sound, or other quality which is opposed to its parts.

That would be impossible, he replied.

And does not the nature of every harmony depend upon the manner in which the elements are harmonized?

I do not understand you, he said.

I mean to say that a harmony admits of degrees, and is more of a harmony, and more completely a harmony, when more truly and fully harmonized, to any extent which is possible; and less of a harmony, and less completely a harmony, when less truly and fully harmonized.

True.

But does the soul admit of degrees? or is one soul in the very least degree more or less, or more or less completely, a soul than another?

Not in the least.

Yet surely of two souls, one is said to have intelligence and virtue, and to be good, and the other to have folly and vice, and to be an evil soul: and this is said truly?

Yes, truly.

But what will those who maintain the soul to be a harmony say of this presence of virtue and vice in the soul? — will they say that here is another harmony, and another discord, and that the virtuous soul is harmonized, and herself being a harmony has another harmony within her, and that the vicious soul is inharmonical and has no harmony within her?

I cannot tell, replied Simmias; but I suppose that something of the sort would be asserted by those who say that the soul is a harmony.

And we have already admitted that no soul is more a soul than another; which is equivalent to admitting that harmony is not more or less harmony, or more or less completely a harmony?

Quite true.

And that which is not more or less a harmony is not more or less harmonized?

True.

And that which is not more or less harmonized cannot have more or less of harmony, but only an equal harmony?

Yes, an equal harmony.

Then one soul not being more or less absolutely a soul than another, is not more or less harmonized?

Exactly.

And therefore has neither more nor less of discord, nor yet of harmony?

She has not.

And having neither more nor less of harmony or of discord, one soul has no more vice or virtue than another, if vice be discord and virtue harmony?

Not at all more.

Or speaking more correctly, Simmias, the soul, if she is a harmony, will never have any vice; because a harmony, being absolutely a harmony, has no part in the inharmonical.

No.

And therefore a soul which is absolutely a soul has no vice?

How can she have, if the previous argument holds?

Then, if all souls are equally by their nature souls, all souls of all living creatures will be equally good?

I agree with you, Socrates, he said.

And can all this be true, think you? he said; for these are the consequences which seem to follow from the assumption that the soul is a harmony?

It cannot be true.

Once more, he said, what ruler is there of the elements of human nature other than the soul, and especially the wise soul? Do you know of any?

Indeed, I do not.

And is the soul in agreement with the affections of the body? or is she at variance with them? For example, when the body is hot and thirsty, does not the soul incline us against drinking? and when the body is hungry, against eating? And this is only one instance out of ten thousand of the opposition of the soul to the things of the body.

Very true.

But we have already acknowledged that the soul, being a harmony, can never utter a note at variance with the tensions and relaxations and vibrations and other affections of the strings out of which she is composed; she can only follow, she cannot lead them?

It must be so, he replied.

And yet do we not now discover the soul to be doing the exact opposite — leading the elements of which she is believed to be composed; almost always opposing and coercing them in all sorts of ways throughout life, sometimes more violently with the pains of medicine and gymnastic; then again more gently; now threatening, now admonishing the desires, passions, fears, as if talking to a thing which is not herself, as Homer in the Odyssee represents Odysseus doing in the words —

‘He beat his breast, and thus reproached his heart: Endure, my heart; far worse hast thou endured!’

Do you think that Homer wrote this under the idea that the soul is a harmony capable of being led by the affections of the body, and not rather of a nature which should lead and master them — herself a far diviner thing than any harmony?

Yes, Socrates, I quite think so.

Then, my friend, we can never be right in saying that the soul is a harmony, for we should contradict the divine Homer, and contradict ourselves.

True, he said.

Thus much, said Socrates, of Harmonia, your Theban goddess, who has graciously yielded to us; but what shall I say, Cebes, to her husband Cadmus, and how shall I make peace with him?

I think that you will discover a way of propitiating him, said Cebes; I am sure that you have put the argument with Harmonia in a manner that I could never have expected. For when Simmias was mentioning his difficulty, I quite imagined that no answer could be given to him, and therefore I was surprised at finding that his argument could not sustain the first onset of yours, and not impossibly the other, whom you call Cadmus, may share a similar fate.

Nay, my good friend, said Socrates, let us not boast, lest some evil eye should put to flight the word which I am about to speak. That, however, may be left in the hands of those above, while I draw near in Homeric fashion, and try the mettle of your words. Here lies the point: — You want to have it proven to you that the soul is imperishable and immortal, and the philosopher who is confident in death appears to you to have but a vain and foolish confidence, if he believes that he will fare better in the world below than one who has led another sort of life, unless he can prove this; and you say that the demonstration of the strength and divinity of the soul, and of her existence prior to our becoming men, does not necessarily imply her immortality. Admitting the soul to be longlived, and to have known and done much in a former state, still she is not on that account immortal; and her entrance into the human form may be a sort of disease which is the beginning of dissolution, and may at last, after the toils of life are over, end in that which is called death. And whether the soul enters into the body once only or many times, does not, as you say, make any difference in the fears of individuals. For any man, who is not devoid of sense, must fear, if he has no knowledge and can give no account of the soul’s immortality. This, or something like this, I suspect to be your notion, Cebes; and I designedly recur to it in order that nothing may escape us, and that you may, if you wish, add or subtract anything.

But, said Cebes, as far as I see at present, I have nothing to add or subtract: I mean what you say that I mean.

Socrates paused awhile, and seemed to be absorbed in reflection. At length he said: You are raising a tremendous question, Cebes, involving the whole nature of generation and corruption, about which, if you like, I will give you my own experience; and if anything which I say is likely to avail towards the solution of your difficulty you may make use of it.

I should very much like, said Cebes, to hear what you have to say.

Then I will tell you, said Socrates. When I was young, Cebes, I had a prodigious desire to know that department of philosophy which is called the investigation of nature; to know the causes of things, and why a thing is and is created or destroyed appeared to me to be a lofty profession; and I was always agitating myself with the consideration of questions such as these: — Is the growth of animals the result of some decay which the hot and cold principle contracts, as some have said? Is the blood the element with which we think, or the air, or the fire? or perhaps nothing of the kind — but the brain may be the originating power of the perceptions of hearing and sight and smell, and memory and opinion may come from them, and science may be based on memory and opinion when they have attained fixity. And then I went on to examine the corruption of them, and then to the things of heaven and earth, and at last I concluded myself to be utterly and absolutely incapable of these enquiries, as I will satisfactorily prove to you. For I was fascinated by them to such a degree that my eyes grew blind to things which I had seemed to myself, and also to others, to know quite well; I forgot what I had before thought self-evident truths; e.g. such a fact as that the growth of man is the result of eating and drinking; for when by the digestion of food flesh is added to flesh and bone to bone, and whenever there is an aggregation of congenial elements, the lesser bulk becomes larger and the small man great. Was not that a reasonable notion?

Yes, said Cebes, I think so.

Well; but let me tell you something more. There was a time when I thought that I understood the meaning of greater and less pretty well; and when I saw a great man standing by a little one, I fancied that one was taller than the other by a head; or one horse would appear to be greater than another horse: and still more clearly did I seem to perceive that ten is two more than eight, and that two cubits are more than one, because two is the double of one.

And what is now your notion of such matters? said Cebes.

I should be far enough from imagining, he replied, that I knew the cause of any of them, by heaven I should; for I cannot satisfy myself that, when one is added to one, the one to which the addition is made becomes two, or that the two units added together make two by reason of the addition. I cannot understand how, when separated from the other, each of them was one and not two, and now, when they are brought together, the mere juxtaposition or meeting of them should be the cause of their becoming two: neither can I understand how the division of one is the way to make two; for then a different cause would produce the same effect, — as in the former instance the addition and juxtaposition of one to one was the cause of two, in this the separation and subtraction of one from the other would be the cause. Nor am I any longer satisfied that I understand the reason why one or anything else is either generated or destroyed or is at all, but I have in my mind some confused notion of a new method, and can never admit the other.

Then I heard some one reading, as he said, from a book of Anaxagoras, that mind was the disposer and cause of all, and I was delighted at this notion, which appeared quite admirable, and I said to myself: If mind is the disposer, mind will dispose all for the best, and put each particular in the best place; and I argued that if any one desired to find out the cause of the generation or destruction or existence of anything, he must find out what state of being or doing or suffering was best for that thing, and therefore a man had only to consider the best for himself and others, and then he would also know the worse, since the same science comprehended both. And I rejoiced to think that I had found in Anaxagoras a teacher of the causes of existence such as I desired, and I imagined that he would tell me first whether the earth is flat or round; and whichever was true, he would proceed to explain the cause and the necessity of this being so, and then he would teach me the nature of the best and show that this was best; and if he said that the earth was in the centre, he would further explain that this position was the best, and I should be satisfied with the explanation given, and not want any other sort of cause. And I thought that I would then go on and ask him about the sun and moon and stars, and that he would explain to me their comparative swiftness, and their returnings and various states, active and passive, and how all of them were for the best. For I could not imagine that when he spoke of mind as the disposer of them, he would give any other account of their being as they are, except that this was best; and I thought that when he had explained to me in detail the cause of each and the cause of all, he would go on to explain to me what was best for each and what was good for all. These hopes I would not have sold for a large sum of money, and I seized the books and read them as fast as I could in my eagerness to know the better and the worse.

What expectations I had formed, and how grievously was I disappointed! As I proceeded, I found my philosopher altogether forsaking mind or any other principle of order, but having recourse to air, and ether, and water, and other eccentricities. I might compare him to a person who began by maintaining generally that mind is the cause of the actions of Socrates, but who, when he endeavoured to explain the causes of my several actions in detail, went on to show that I sit here because my body is made up of bones and muscles; and the bones, as he would say, are hard and have joints which divide them, and the muscles are elastic, and they cover the bones, which have also a covering or environment of flesh and skin which contains them; and as the bones are lifted at their joints by the contraction or relaxation of the muscles, I am able to bend my limbs, and this is why I am sitting here in a curved posture — that is what he would say, and he would have a similar explanation of my talking to you, which he would attribute to sound, and air, and hearing, and he would assign ten thousand other causes of the same sort, forgetting to mention the true cause, which is, that the Athenians have thought fit to condemn me, and accordingly I have thought it better and more right to remain here and undergo my sentence; for I am inclined to think that these muscles and bones of mine would have gone off long ago to Megara or Boeotia — by the dog they would, if they had been moved only by their own idea of what was best, and if I had not chosen the better and nobler part, instead of playing truant and running away, of enduring any punishment which the state inflicts. There is surely a strange confusion of causes and conditions in all this. It may be said, indeed, that without bones and muscles and the other parts of the body I cannot execute my purposes. But to say that I do as I do because of them, and that this is the way in which mind acts, and not from the choice of the best, is a very careless and idle mode of speaking. I wonder that they cannot distinguish the cause from the condition, which the many, feeling about in the dark, are always mistaking and misnaming. And thus one man makes a vortex all round and steadies the earth by the heaven; another gives the air as a support to the earth, which is a sort of broad trough. Any power which in arranging them as they are arranges them for the best never enters into their minds; and instead of finding any superior strength in it, they rather expect to discover another Atlas of the world who is stronger and more everlasting and more containing than the good; — of the obligatory and containing power of the good they think nothing; and yet this is the principle which I would fain learn if any one would teach me. But as I have failed either to discover myself, or to learn of any one else, the nature of the best, I will exhibit to you, if you like, what I have found to be the second best mode of enquiring into the cause.

I should very much like to hear, he replied.

Socrates proceeded: — I thought that as I had failed in the contemplation of true existence, I ought to be careful that I did not lose the eye of my soul; as people may injure their bodily eye by observing and gazing on the sun during an eclipse, unless they take the precaution of only looking at the image reflected in the water, or in some similar medium. So in my own case, I was afraid that my soul might be blinded altogether if I looked at things with my eyes or tried to apprehend them by the help of the senses. And I thought that I had better have recourse to the world of mind and seek there the truth of existence. I dare say that the simile is not perfect — for I am very far from admitting that he who contemplates existences through the medium of thought, sees them only ‘through a glass darkly,’ any more than he who considers them in action and operation. However, this was the method which I adopted: I first assumed some principle which I judged to be the strongest, and then I affirmed as true whatever seemed to agree with this, whether relating to the cause or to anything else; and that which disagreed I regarded as untrue. But I should like to explain my meaning more clearly, as I do not think that you as yet understand me.

No indeed, replied Cebes, not very well.

There is nothing new, he said, in what I am about to tell you; but only what I have been always and everywhere repeating in the previous discussion and on other occasions: I want to show you the nature of that cause which has occupied my thoughts. I shall have to go back to those familiar words which are in the mouth of every one, and first of all assume that there is an absolute beauty and goodness and greatness, and the like; grant me this, and I hope to be able to show you the nature of the cause, and to prove the immortality of the soul.

Cebes said: You may proceed at once with the proof, for I grant you this.

Well, he said, then I should like to know whether you agree with me in the next step; for I cannot help thinking, if there be anything beautiful other than absolute beauty should there be such, that it can be beautiful only in as far as it partakes of absolute beauty — and I should say the same of everything. Do you agree in this notion of the cause?

Yes, he said, I agree.

He proceeded: I know nothing and can understand nothing of any other of those wise causes which are alleged; and if a person says to me that the bloom of colour, or form, or any such thing is a source of beauty, I leave all that, which is only confusing to me, and simply and singly, and perhaps foolishly, hold and am assured in my own mind that nothing makes a thing beautiful but the presence and participation of beauty in whatever way or manner obtained; for as to the manner I am uncertain, but I stoutly contend that by beauty all beautiful things become beautiful. This appears to me to be the safest answer which I can give, either to myself or to another, and to this I cling, in the persuasion that this principle will never be overthrown, and that to myself or to any one who asks the question, I may safely reply, That by beauty beautiful things become beautiful. Do you not agree with me?

I do.

And that by greatness only great things become great and greater greater, and by smallness the less become less?

True.

Then if a person were to remark that A is taller by a head than B, and B less by a head than A, you would refuse to admit his statement, and would stoutly contend that what you mean is only that the greater is greater by, and by reason of, greatness, and the less is less only by, and by reason of, smallness; and thus you would avoid the danger of saying that the greater is greater and the less less by the measure of the head, which is the same in both, and would also avoid the monstrous absurdity of supposing that the greater man is greater by reason of the head, which is small. You would be afraid to draw such an inference, would you not?

Indeed, I should, said Cebes, laughing.

In like manner you would be afraid to say that ten exceeded eight by, and by reason of, two; but would say by, and by reason of, number; or you would say that two cubits exceed one cubit not by a half, but by magnitude?-for there is the same liability to error in all these cases.

Very true, he said.

Again, would you not be cautious of affirming that the addition of one to one, or the division of one, is the cause of two? And you would loudly asseverate that you know of no way in which anything comes into existence except by participation in its own proper essence, and consequently, as far as you know, the only cause of two is the participation in duality — this is the way to make two, and the participation in one is the way to make one. You would say: I will let alone puzzles of division and addition — wiser heads than mine may answer them; inexperienced as I am, and ready to start, as the proverb says, at my own shadow, I cannot afford to give up the sure ground of a principle. And if any one assails you there, you would not mind him, or answer him, until you had seen whether the consequences which follow agree with one another or not, and when you are further required to give an explanation of this principle, you would go on to assume a higher principle, and a higher, until you found a resting-place in the best of the higher; but you would not confuse the principle and the consequences in your reasoning, like the Eristics — at least if you wanted to discover real existence. Not that this confusion signifies to them, who never care or think about the matter at all, for they have the wit to be well pleased with themselves however great may be the turmoil of their ideas. But you, if you are a philosopher, will certainly do as I say.

What you say is most true, said Simmias and Cebes, both speaking at once.

ECHECRATES: Yes, Phaedo; and I do not wonder at their assenting. Any one who has the least sense will acknowledge the wonderful clearness of Socrates’ reasoning.

PHAEDO: Certainly, Echecrates; and such was the feeling of the whole company at the time.

ECHECRATES: Yes, and equally of ourselves, who were not of the company, and are now listening to your recital. But what followed?

PHAEDO: After all this had been admitted, and they had that ideas exist, and that other things participate in them and derive their names from them, Socrates, if I remember rightly, said: —

This is your way of speaking; and yet when you say that Simmias is greater than Socrates and less than Phaedo, do you not predicate of Simmias both greatness and smallness?

Yes, I do.

But still you allow that Simmias does not really exceed Socrates, as the words may seem to imply, because he is Simmias, but by reason of the size which he has; just as Simmias does not exceed Socrates because he is Simmias, any more than because Socrates is Socrates, but because he has smallness when compared with the greatness of Simmias?

True.

And if Phaedo exceeds him in size, this is not because Phaedo is Phaedo, but because Phaedo has greatness relatively to Simmias, who is comparatively smaller?

That is true.

And therefore Simmias is said to be great, and is also said to be small, because he is in a mean between them, exceeding the smallness of the one by his greatness, and allowing the greatness of the other to exceed his smallness. He added, laughing, I am speaking like a book, but I believe that what I am saying is true.

Simmias assented.

I speak as I do because I want you to agree with me in thinking, not only that absolute greatness will never be great and also small, but that greatness in us or in the concrete will never admit the small or admit of being exceeded: instead of this, one of two things will happen, either the greater will fly or retire before the opposite, which is the less, or at the approach of the less has already ceased to exist; but will not, if allowing or admitting of smallness, be changed by that; even as I, having received and admitted smallness when compared with Simmias, remain just as I was, and am the same small person. And as the idea of greatness cannot condescend ever to be or become small, in like manner the smallness in us cannot be or become great; nor can any other opposite which remains the same ever be or become its own opposite, but either passes away or perishes in the change.

That, replied Cebes, is quite my notion.

Hereupon one of the company, though I do not exactly remember which of them, said: In heaven’s name, is not this the direct contrary of what was admitted before — that out of the greater came the less and out of the less the greater, and that opposites were simply generated from opposites; but now this principle seems to be utterly denied.

Socrates inclined his head to the speaker and listened. I like your courage, he said, in reminding us of this. But you do not observe that there is a difference in the two cases. For then we were speaking of opposites in the concrete, and now of the essential opposite which, as is affirmed, neither in us nor in nature can ever be at variance with itself: then, my friend, we were speaking of things in which opposites are inherent and which are called after them, but now about the opposites which are inherent in them and which give their name to them; and these essential opposites will never, as we maintain, admit of generation into or out of one another. At the same time, turning to Cebes, he said: Are you at all disconcerted, Cebes, at our friend’s objection?

No, I do not feel so, said Cebes; and yet I cannot deny that I am often disturbed by objections.

Then we are agreed after all, said Socrates, that the opposite will never in any case be opposed to itself?

To that we are quite agreed, he replied.

Yet once more let me ask you to consider the question from another point of view, and see whether you agree with me: — There is a thing which you term heat, and another thing which you term cold?

Certainly.

But are they the same as fire and snow?

Most assuredly not.

Heat is a thing different from fire, and cold is not the same with snow?

Yes.

And yet you will surely admit, that when snow, as was before said, is under the influence of heat, they will not remain snow and heat; but at the advance of the heat, the snow will either retire or perish?

Very true, he replied.

And the fire too at the advance of the cold will either retire or perish; and when the fire is under the influence of the cold, they will not remain as before, fire and cold.

That is true, he said.

And in some cases the name of the idea is not only attached to the idea in an eternal connection, but anything else which, not being the idea, exists only in the form of the idea, may also lay claim to it. I will try to make this clearer by an example: — The odd number is always called by the name of odd?

Very true.

But is this the only thing which is called odd? Are there not other things which have their own name, and yet are called odd, because, although not the same as oddness, they are never without oddness? — that is what I mean to ask — whether numbers such as the number three are not of the class of odd. And there are many other examples: would you not say, for example, that three may be called by its proper name, and also be called odd, which is not the same with three? and this may be said not only of three but also of five, and of every alternate number — each of them without being oddness is odd, and in the same way two and four, and the other series of alternate numbers, has every number even, without being evenness. Do you agree?

Of course.

Then now mark the point at which I am aiming: — not only do essential opposites exclude one another, but also concrete things, which, although not in themselves opposed, contain opposites; these, I say, likewise reject the idea which is opposed to that which is contained in them, and when it approaches them they either perish or withdraw. For example; Will not the number three endure annihilation or anything sooner than be converted into an even number, while remaining three?

Very true, said Cebes.

And yet, he said, the number two is certainly not opposed to the number three?

It is not.

Then not only do opposite ideas repel the advance of one another, but also there are other natures which repel the approach of opposites.

Very true, he said.

Suppose, he said, that we endeavour, if possible, to determine what these are.

By all means.

Are they not, Cebes, such as compel the things of which they have possession, not only to take their own form, but also the form of some opposite?

What do you mean?

I mean, as I was just now saying, and as I am sure that you know, that those things which are possessed by the number three must not only be three in number, but must also be odd.

Quite true.

And on this oddness, of which the number three has the impress, the opposite idea will never intrude?

No.

And this impress was given by the odd principle?

Yes.

And to the odd is opposed the even?

True.

Then the idea of the even number will never arrive at three?

No.

Then three has no part in the even?

None.

Then the triad or number three is uneven?

Very true.

To return then to my distinction of natures which are not opposed, and yet do not admit opposites — as, in the instance given, three, although not opposed to the even, does not any the more admit of the even, but always brings the opposite into play on the other side; or as two does not receive the odd, or fire the cold — from these examples (and there are many more of them) perhaps you may be able to arrive at the general conclusion, that not only opposites will not receive opposites, but also that nothing which brings the opposite will admit the opposite of that which it brings, in that to which it is brought. And here let me recapitulate — for there is no harm in repetition. The number five will not admit the nature of the even, any more than ten, which is the double of five, will admit the nature of the odd. The double has another opposite, and is not strictly opposed to the odd, but nevertheless rejects the odd altogether. Nor again will parts in the ratio 3:2, nor any fraction in which there is a half, nor again in which there is a third, admit the notion of the whole, although they are not opposed to the whole: You will agree?

Yes, he said, I entirely agree and go along with you in that.

And now, he said, let us begin again; and do not you answer my question in the words in which I ask it: let me have not the old safe answer of which I spoke at first, but another equally safe, of which the truth will be inferred by you from what has been just said. I mean that if any one asks you ‘what that is, of which the inherence makes the body hot,’ you will reply not heat (this is what I call the safe and stupid answer), but fire, a far superior answer, which we are now in a condition to give. Or if any one asks you ‘why a body is diseased,’ you will not say from disease, but from fever; and instead of saying that oddness is the cause of odd numbers, you will say that the monad is the cause of them: and so of things in general, as I dare say that you will understand sufficiently without my adducing any further examples.

Yes, he said, I quite understand you.

Tell me, then, what is that of which the inherence will render the body alive?

The soul, he replied.

And is this always the case?

Yes, he said, of course.

Then whatever the soul possesses, to that she comes bearing life?

Yes, certainly.

And is there any opposite to life?

There is, he said.

And what is that?

Death.

Then the soul, as has been acknowledged, will never receive the opposite of what she brings.

Impossible, replied Cebes.

And now, he said, what did we just now call that principle which repels the even?

The odd.

And that principle which repels the musical, or the just?

The unmusical, he said, and the unjust.

And what do we call the principle which does not admit of death?

The immortal, he said.

And does the soul admit of death?

No.

Then the soul is immortal?

Yes, he said.

And may we say that this has been proven?

Yes, abundantly proven, Socrates, he replied.

Supposing that the odd were imperishable, must not three be imperishable?

Of course.

And if that which is cold were imperishable, when the warm principle came attacking the snow, must not the snow have retired whole and unmelted — for it could never have perished, nor could it have remained and admitted the heat?

True, he said.

Again, if the uncooling or warm principle were imperishable, the fire when assailed by cold would not have perished or have been extinguished, but would have gone away unaffected?

Certainly, he said.

And the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also imperishable, the soul when attacked by death cannot perish; for the preceding argument shows that the soul will not admit of death, or ever be dead, any more than three or the odd number will admit of the even, or fire or the heat in the fire, of the cold. Yet a person may say: ‘But although the odd will not become even at the approach of the even, why may not the odd perish and the even take the place of the odd?’ Now to him who makes this objection, we cannot answer that the odd principle is imperishable; for this has not been acknowledged, but if this had been acknowledged, there would have been no difficulty in contending that at the approach of the even the odd principle and the number three took their departure; and the same argument would have held good of fire and heat and any other thing.

Very true.

And the same may be said of the immortal: if the immortal is also imperishable, then the soul will be imperishable as well as immortal; but if not, some other proof of her imperishableness will have to be given.

No other proof is needed, he said; for if the immortal, being eternal, is liable to perish, then nothing is imperishable.

Yes, replied Socrates, and yet all men will agree that God, and the essential form of life, and the immortal in general, will never perish.

Yes, all men, he said — that is true; and what is more, gods, if I am not mistaken, as well as men.

Seeing then that the immortal is indestructible, must not the soul, if she is immortal, be also imperishable?

Most certainly.

Then when death attacks a man, the mortal portion of him may be supposed to die, but the immortal retires at the approach of death and is preserved safe and sound?

True.

Then, Cebes, beyond question, the soul is immortal and imperishable, and our souls will truly exist in another world!

I am convinced, Socrates, said Cebes, and have nothing more to object; but if my friend Simmias, or any one else, has any further objection to make, he had better speak out, and not keep silence, since I do not know to what other season he can defer the discussion, if there is anything which he wants to say or to have said.

But I have nothing more to say, replied Simmias; nor can I see any reason for doubt after what has been said. But I still feel and cannot help feeling uncertain in my own mind, when I think of the greatness of the subject and the feebleness of man.

Yes, Simmias, replied Socrates, that is well said: and I may add that first principles, even if they appear certain, should be carefully considered; and when they are satisfactorily ascertained, then, with a sort of hesitating confidence in human reason, you may, I think, follow the course of the argument; and if that be plain and clear, there will be no need for any further enquiry.

Very true.

But then, O my friends, he said, if the soul is really immortal, what care should be taken of her, not only in respect of the portion of time which is called life, but of eternity! And the danger of neglecting her from this point of view does indeed appear to be awful. If death had only been the end of all, the wicked would have had a good bargain in dying, for they would have been happily quit not only of their body, but of their own evil together with their souls. But now, inasmuch as the soul is manifestly immortal, there is no release or salvation from evil except the attainment of the highest virtue and wisdom. For the soul when on her progress to the world below takes nothing with her but nurture and education; and these are said greatly to benefit or greatly to injure the departed, at the very beginning of his journey thither.

For after death, as they say, the genius of each individual, to whom he belonged in life, leads him to a certain place in which the dead are gathered together, whence after judgment has been given they pass into the world below, following the guide, who is appointed to conduct them from this world to the other: and when they have there received their due and remained their time, another guide brings them back again after many revolutions of ages. Now this way to the other world is not, as Aeschylus says in the Telephus, a single and straight path — if that were so no guide would be needed, for no one could miss it; but there are many partings of the road, and windings, as I infer from the rites and sacrifices which are offered to the gods below in places where three ways meet on earth. The wise and orderly soul follows in the straight path and is conscious of her surroundings; but the soul which desires the body, and which, as I was relating before, has long been fluttering about the lifeless frame and the world of sight, is after many struggles and many sufferings hardly and with violence carried away by her attendant genius, and when she arrives at the place where the other souls are gathered, if she be impure and have done impure deeds, whether foul murders or other crimes which are the brothers of these, and the works of brothers in crime — from that soul every one flees and turns away; no one will be her companion, no one her guide, but alone she wanders in extremity of evil until certain times are fulfilled, and when they are fulfilled, she is borne irresistibly to her own fitting habitation; as every pure and just soul which has passed through life in the company and under the guidance of the gods has also her own proper home.

Now the earth has divers wonderful regions, and is indeed in nature and extent very unlike the notions of geographers, as I believe on the authority of one who shall be nameless.

What do you mean, Socrates? said Simmias. I have myself heard many descriptions of the earth, but I do not know, and I should very much like to know, in which of these you put faith.

And I, Simmias, replied Socrates, if I had the art of Glaucus would tell you; although I know not that the art of Glaucus could prove the truth of my tale, which I myself should never be able to prove, and even if I could, I fear, Simmias, that my life would come to an end before the argument was completed. I may describe to you, however, the form and regions of the earth according to my conception of them.

That, said Simmias, will be enough.

Well, then, he said, my conviction is, that the earth is a round body in the centre of the heavens, and therefore has no need of air or any similar force to be a support, but is kept there and hindered from falling or inclining any way by the equability of the surrounding heaven and by her own equipoise. For that which, being in equipoise, is in the centre of that which is equably diffused, will not incline any way in any degree, but will always remain in the same state and not deviate. And this is my first notion.

Which is surely a correct one, said Simmias.

Also I believe that the earth is very vast, and that we who dwell in the region extending from the river Phasis to the Pillars of Heracles inhabit a small portion only about the sea, like ants or frogs about a marsh, and that there are other inhabitants of many other like places; for everywhere on the face of the earth there are hollows of various forms and sizes, into which the water and the mist and the lower air collect. But the true earth is pure and situated in the pure heaven — there are the stars also; and it is the heaven which is commonly spoken of by us as the ether, and of which our own earth is the sediment gathering in the hollows beneath. But we who live in these hollows are deceived into the notion that we are dwelling above on the surface of the earth; which is just as if a creature who was at the bottom of the sea were to fancy that he was on the surface of the water, and that the sea was the heaven through which he saw the sun and the other stars, he having never come to the surface by reason of his feebleness and sluggishness, and having never lifted up his head and seen, nor ever heard from one who had seen, how much purer and fairer the world above is than his own. And such is exactly our case: for we are dwelling in a hollow of the earth, and fancy that we are on the surface; and the air we call the heaven, in which we imagine that the stars move. But the fact is, that owing to our feebleness and sluggishness we are prevented from reaching the surface of the air: for if any man could arrive at the exterior limit, or take the wings of a bird and come to the top, then like a fish who puts his head out of the water and sees this world, he would see a world beyond; and, if the nature of man could sustain the sight, he would acknowledge that this other world was the place of the true heaven and the true light and the true earth. For our earth, and the stones, and the entire region which surrounds us, are spoilt and corroded, as in the sea all things are corroded by the brine, neither is there any noble or perfect growth, but caverns only, and sand, and an endless slough of mud: and even the shore is not to be compared to the fairer sights of this world. And still less is this our world to be compared with the other. Of that upper earth which is under the heaven, I can tell you a charming tale, Simmias, which is well worth hearing.

And we, Socrates, replied Simmias, shall be charmed to listen to you.

The tale, my friend, he said, is as follows: — In the first place, the earth, when looked at from above, is in appearance streaked like one of those balls which have leather coverings in twelve pieces, and is decked with various colours, of which the colours used by painters on earth are in a manner samples. But there the whole earth is made up of them, and they are brighter far and clearer than ours; there is a purple of wonderful lustre, also the radiance of gold, and the white which is in the earth is whiter than any chalk or snow. Of these and other colours the earth is made up, and they are more in number and fairer than the eye of man has ever seen; the very hollows (of which I was speaking) filled with air and water have a colour of their own, and are seen like light gleaming amid the diversity of the other colours, so that the whole presents a single and continuous appearance of variety in unity. And in this fair region everything that grows — trees, and flowers, and fruits — are in a like degree fairer than any here; and there are hills, having stones in them in a like degree smoother, and more transparent, and fairer in colour than our highly-valued emeralds and sardonyxes and jaspers, and other gems, which are but minute fragments of them: for there all the stones are like our precious stones, and fairer still (compare Republic). The reason is, that they are pure, and not, like our precious stones, infected or corroded by the corrupt briny elements which coagulate among us, and which breed foulness and disease both in earth and stones, as well as in animals and plants. They are the jewels of the upper earth, which also shines with gold and silver and the like, and they are set in the light of day and are large and abundant and in all places, making the earth a sight to gladden the beholder’s eye. And there are animals and men, some in a middle region, others dwelling about the air as we dwell about the sea; others in islands which the air flows round, near the continent: and in a word, the air is used by them as the water and the sea are by us, and the ether is to them what the air is to us. Moreover, the temperament of their seasons is such that they have no disease, and live much longer than we do, and have sight and hearing and smell, and all the other senses, in far greater perfection, in the same proportion that air is purer than water or the ether than air. Also they have temples and sacred places in which the gods really dwell, and they hear their voices and receive their answers, and are conscious of them and hold converse with them, and they see the sun, moon, and stars as they truly are, and their other blessedness is of a piece with this.

Such is the nature of the whole earth, and of the things which are around the earth; and there are divers regions in the hollows on the face of the globe everywhere, some of them deeper and more extended than that which we inhabit, others deeper but with a narrower opening than ours, and some are shallower and also wider. All have numerous perforations, and there are passages broad and narrow in the interior of the earth, connecting them with one another; and there flows out of and into them, as into basins, a vast tide of water, and huge subterranean streams of perennial rivers, and springs hot and cold, and a great fire, and great rivers of fire, and streams of liquid mud, thin or thick (like the rivers of mud in Sicily, and the lava streams which follow them), and the regions about which they happen to flow are filled up with them. And there is a swinging or see-saw in the interior of the earth which moves all this up and down, and is due to the following cause: — There is a chasm which is the vastest of them all, and pierces right through the whole earth; this is that chasm which Homer describes in the words, —

‘Far off, where is the inmost depth beneath the earth;’

and which he in other places, and many other poets, have called Tartarus. And the see-saw is caused by the streams flowing into and out of this chasm, and they each have the nature of the soil through which they flow. And the reason why the streams are always flowing in and out, is that the watery element has no bed or bottom, but is swinging and surging up and down, and the surrounding wind and air do the same; they follow the water up and down, hither and thither, over the earth — just as in the act of respiration the air is always in process of inhalation and exhalation; — and the wind swinging with the water in and out produces fearful and irresistible blasts: when the waters retire with a rush into the lower parts of the earth, as they are called, they flow through the earth in those regions, and fill them up like water raised by a pump, and then when they leave those regions and rush back hither, they again fill the hollows here, and when these are filled, flow through subterranean channels and find their way to their several places, forming seas, and lakes, and rivers, and springs. Thence they again enter the earth, some of them making a long circuit into many lands, others going to a few places and not so distant; and again fall into Tartarus, some at a point a good deal lower than that at which they rose, and others not much lower, but all in some degree lower than the point from which they came. And some burst forth again on the opposite side, and some on the same side, and some wind round the earth with one or many folds like the coils of a serpent, and descend as far as they can, but always return and fall into the chasm. The rivers flowing in either direction can descend only to the centre and no further, for opposite to the rivers is a precipice.

Now these rivers are many, and mighty, and diverse, and there are four principal ones, of which the greatest and outermost is that called Oceanus, which flows round the earth in a circle; and in the opposite direction flows Acheron, which passes under the earth through desert places into the Acherusian lake: this is the lake to the shores of which the souls of the many go when they are dead, and after waiting an appointed time, which is to some a longer and to some a shorter time, they are sent back to be born again as animals. The third river passes out between the two, and near the place of outlet pours into a vast region of fire, and forms a lake larger than the Mediterranean Sea, boiling with water and mud; and proceeding muddy and turbid, and winding about the earth, comes, among other places, to the extremities of the Acherusian Lake, but mingles not with the waters of the lake, and after making many coils about the earth plunges into Tartarus at a deeper level. This is that Pyriphlegethon, as the stream is called, which throws up jets of fire in different parts of the earth. The fourth river goes out on the opposite side, and falls first of all into a wild and savage region, which is all of a dark-blue colour, like lapis lazuli; and this is that river which is called the Stygian river, and falls into and forms the Lake Styx, and after falling into the lake and receiving strange powers in the waters, passes under the earth, winding round in the opposite direction, and comes near the Acherusian lake from the opposite side to Pyriphlegethon. And the water of this river too mingles with no other, but flows round in a circle and falls into Tartarus over against Pyriphlegethon; and the name of the river, as the poets say, is Cocytus.

Such is the nature of the other world; and when the dead arrive at the place to which the genius of each severally guides them, first of all, they have sentence passed upon them, as they have lived well and piously or not. And those who appear to have lived neither well nor ill, go to the river Acheron, and embarking in any vessels which they may find, are carried in them to the lake, and there they dwell and are purified of their evil deeds, and having suffered the penalty of the wrongs which they have done to others, they are absolved, and receive the rewards of their good deeds, each of them according to his deserts. But those who appear to be incurable by reason of the greatness of their crimes — who have committed many and terrible deeds of sacrilege, murders foul and violent, or the like — such are hurled into Tartarus which is their suitable destiny, and they never come out. Those again who have committed crimes, which, although great, are not irremediable — who in a moment of anger, for example, have done violence to a father or a mother, and have repented for the remainder of their lives, or, who have taken the life of another under the like extenuating circumstances — these are plunged into Tartarus, the pains of which they are compelled to undergo for a year, but at the end of the year the wave casts them forth — mere homicides by way of Cocytus, parricides and matricides by Pyriphlegethon — and they are borne to the Acherusian lake, and there they lift up their voices and call upon the victims whom they have slain or wronged, to have pity on them, and to be kind to them, and let them come out into the lake. And if they prevail, then they come forth and cease from their troubles; but if not, they are carried back again into Tartarus and from thence into the rivers unceasingly, until they obtain mercy from those whom they have wronged: for that is the sentence inflicted upon them by their judges. Those too who have been pre-eminent for holiness of life are released from this earthly prison, and go to their pure home which is above, and dwell in the purer earth; and of these, such as have duly purified themselves with philosophy live henceforth altogether without the body, in mansions fairer still which may not be described, and of which the time would fail me to tell.

Wherefore, Simmias, seeing all these things, what ought not we to do that we may obtain virtue and wisdom in this life? Fair is the prize, and the hope great!

A man of sense ought not to say, nor will I be very confident, that the description which I have given of the soul and her mansions is exactly true. But I do say that, inasmuch as the soul is shown to be immortal, he may venture to think, not improperly or unworthily, that something of the kind is true. The venture is a glorious one, and he ought to comfort himself with words like these, which is the reason why I lengthen out the tale. Wherefore, I say, let a man be of good cheer about his soul, who having cast away the pleasures and ornaments of the body as alien to him and working harm rather than good, has sought after the pleasures of knowledge; and has arrayed the soul, not in some foreign attire, but in her own proper jewels, temperance, and justice, and courage, and nobility, and truth — in these adorned she is ready to go on her journey to the world below, when her hour comes. You, Simmias and Cebes, and all other men, will depart at some time or other. Me already, as the tragic poet would say, the voice of fate calls. Soon I must drink the poison; and I think that I had better repair to the bath first, in order that the women may not have the trouble of washing my body after I am dead.

When he had done speaking, Crito said: And have you any commands for us, Socrates — anything to say about your children, or any other matter in which we can serve you?

Nothing particular, Crito, he replied: only, as I have always told you, take care of yourselves; that is a service which you may be ever rendering to me and mine and to all of us, whether you promise to do so or not. But if you have no thought for yourselves, and care not to walk according to the rule which I have prescribed for you, not now for the first time, however much you may profess or promise at the moment, it will be of no avail.

We will do our best, said Crito: And in what way shall we bury you?

In any way that you like; but you must get hold of me, and take care that I do not run away from you. Then he turned to us, and added with a smile: — I cannot make Crito believe that I am the same Socrates who have been talking and conducting the argument; he fancies that I am the other Socrates whom he will soon see, a dead body — and he asks, How shall he bury me? And though I have spoken many words in the endeavour to show that when I have drunk the poison I shall leave you and go to the joys of the blessed, — these words of mine, with which I was comforting you and myself, have had, as I perceive, no effect upon Crito. And therefore I want you to be surety for me to him now, as at the trial he was surety to the judges for me: but let the promise be of another sort; for he was surety for me to the judges that I would remain, and you must be my surety to him that I shall not remain, but go away and depart; and then he will suffer less at my death, and not be grieved when he sees my body being burned or buried. I would not have him sorrow at my hard lot, or say at the burial, Thus we lay out Socrates, or, Thus we follow him to the grave or bury him; for false words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil. Be of good cheer, then, my dear Crito, and say that you are burying my body only, and do with that whatever is usual, and what you think best.

When he had spoken these words, he arose and went into a chamber to bathe; Crito followed him and told us to wait. So we remained behind, talking and thinking of the subject of discourse, and also of the greatness of our sorrow; he was like a father of whom we were being bereaved, and we were about to pass the rest of our lives as orphans. When he had taken the bath his children were brought to him — (he had two young sons and an elder one); and the women of his family also came, and he talked to them and gave them a few directions in the presence of Crito; then he dismissed them and returned to us.

Now the hour of sunset was near, for a good deal of time had passed while he was within. When he came out, he sat down with us again after his bath, but not much was said. Soon the jailer, who was the servant of the Eleven, entered and stood by him, saying: — To you, Socrates, whom I know to be the noblest and gentlest and best of all who ever came to this place, I will not impute the angry feelings of other men, who rage and swear at me, when, in obedience to the authorities, I bid them drink the poison — indeed, I am sure that you will not be angry with me; for others, as you are aware, and not I, are to blame. And so fare you well, and try to bear lightly what must needs be — you know my errand. Then bursting into tears he turned away and went out.

Socrates looked at him and said: I return your good wishes, and will do as you bid. Then turning to us, he said, How charming the man is: since I have been in prison he has always been coming to see me, and at times he would talk to me, and was as good to me as could be, and now see how generously he sorrows on my account. We must do as he says, Crito; and therefore let the cup be brought, if the poison is prepared: if not, let the attendant prepare some.

Yet, said Crito, the sun is still upon the hill-tops, and I know that many a one has taken the draught late, and after the announcement has been made to him, he has eaten and drunk, and enjoyed the society of his beloved; do not hurry — there is time enough.

Socrates said: Yes, Crito, and they of whom you speak are right in so acting, for they think that they will be gainers by the delay; but I am right in not following their example, for I do not think that I should gain anything by drinking the poison a little later; I should only be ridiculous in my own eyes for sparing and saving a life which is already forfeit. Please then to do as I say, and not to refuse me.

Crito made a sign to the servant, who was standing by; and he went out, and having been absent for some time, returned with the jailer carrying the cup of poison. Socrates said: You, my good friend, who are experienced in these matters, shall give me directions how I am to proceed. The man answered: You have only to walk about until your legs are heavy, and then to lie down, and the poison will act. At the same time he handed the cup to Socrates, who in the easiest and gentlest manner, without the least fear or change of colour or feature, looking at the man with all his eyes, Echecrates, as his manner was, took the cup and said: What do you say about making a libation out of this cup to any god? May I, or not? The man answered: We only prepare, Socrates, just so much as we deem enough. I understand, he said: but I may and must ask the gods to prosper my journey from this to the other world — even so — and so be it according to my prayer. Then raising the cup to his lips, quite readily and cheerfully he drank off the poison. And hitherto most of us had been able to control our sorrow; but now when we saw him drinking, and saw too that he had finished the draught, we could no longer forbear, and in spite of myself my own tears were flowing fast; so that I covered my face and wept, not for him, but at the thought of my own calamity in having to part from such a friend. Nor was I the first; for Crito, when he found himself unable to restrain his tears, had got up, and I followed; and at that moment, Apollodorus, who had been weeping all the time, broke out in a loud and passionate cry which made cowards of us all. Socrates alone retained his calmness: What is this strange outcry? he said. I sent away the women mainly in order that they might not misbehave in this way, for I have been told that a man should die in peace. Be quiet, then, and have patience. When we heard his words we were ashamed, and refrained our tears; and he walked about until, as he said, his legs began to fail, and then he lay on his back, according to the directions, and the man who gave him the poison now and then looked at his feet and legs; and after a while he pressed his foot hard, and asked him if he could feel; and he said, No; and then his leg, and so upwards and upwards, and showed us that he was cold and stiff. And he felt them himself, and said: When the poison reaches the heart, that will be the end. He was beginning to grow cold about the groin, when he uncovered his face, for he had covered himself up, and said — they were his last words — he said: Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt? The debt shall be paid, said Crito; is there anything else? There was no answer to this question; but in a minute or two a movement was heard, and the attendants uncovered him; his eyes were set, and Crito closed his eyes and mouth.

Such was the end, Echecrates, of our friend; concerning whom I may truly say, that of all the men of his time whom I have known, he was the wisest and justest and best.

CRATYLUS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This dialogue concerns etymology and the intrinsic meanings of words. In the dialogue, Socrates is asked by Cratylus and Hermogenes to explain whether names are “conventional” or “natural”, that is, whether language is a system of arbitrary signs or whether words have an intrinsic relation to the things they signify.

When discussing how a word would relate to its subject, Socrates compares the original creation of a word to the work of an artist. An artist uses colour to express the essence of his subject in a painting. In much the same way, the creator of words uses letters containing certain sounds to express the essence of a word’s subject. There is a letter that is best for soft things, one for liquid things, and so on. He comments, “the best possible way to speak consists in using names all which are like the things they name, while the worst is to use the opposite kind of names.”

‘Plato in his Academy’ by Carl Johan Wahlbom

INTRODUCTION.

The Cratylus has always been a source of perplexity to the student of Plato. While in fancy and humour, and perfection of style and metaphysical originality, this dialogue may be ranked with the best of the Platonic writings, there has been an uncertainty about the motive of the piece, which interpreters have hitherto not succeeded in dispelling. We need not suppose that Plato used words in order to conceal his thoughts, or that he would have been unintelligible to an educated contemporary. In the Phaedrus and Euthydemus we also find a difficulty in determining the precise aim of the author. Plato wrote satires in the form of dialogues, and his meaning, like that of other satirical writers, has often slept in the ear of posterity. Two causes may be assigned for this obscurity: 1st, the subtlety and allusiveness of this species of composition; 2nd, the difficulty of reproducing a state of life and literature which has passed away. A satire is unmeaning unless we can place ourselves back among the persons and thoughts of the age in which it was written. Had the treatise of Antisthenes upon words, or the speculations of Cratylus, or some other Heracleitean of the fourth century B.C., on the nature of language been preserved to us; or if we had lived at the time, and been ‘rich enough to attend the fifty-drachma course of Prodicus,’ we should have understood Plato better, and many points which are now attributed to the extravagance of Socrates’ humour would have been found, like the allusions of Aristophanes in the Clouds, to have gone home to the sophists and grammarians of the day.

For the age was very busy with philological speculation; and many questions were beginning to be asked about language which were parallel to other questions about justice, virtue, knowledge, and were illustrated in a similar manner by the analogy of the arts. Was there a correctness in words, and were they given by nature or convention? In the presocratic philosophy mankind had been striving to attain an expression of their ideas, and now they were beginning to ask themselves whether the expression might not be distinguished from the idea? They were also seeking to distinguish the parts of speech and to enquire into the relation of subject and predicate. Grammar and logic were moving about somewhere in the depths of the human soul, but they were not yet awakened into consciousness and had not found names for themselves, or terms by which they might be expressed. Of these beginnings of the study of language we know little, and there necessarily arises an obscurity when the surroundings of such a work as the Cratylus are taken away. Moreover, in this, as in most of the dialogues of Plato, allowance has to be made for the character of Socrates. For the theory of language can only be propounded by him in a manner which is consistent with his own profession of ignorance. Hence his ridicule of the new school of etymology is interspersed with many declarations ‘that he knows nothing,’ ‘that he has learned from Euthyphro,’ and the like. Even the truest things which he says are depreciated by himself. He professes to be guessing, but the guesses of Plato are better than all the other theories of the ancients respecting language put together.

The dialogue hardly derives any light from Plato’s other writings, and still less from Scholiasts and Neoplatonist writers. Socrates must be interpreted from himself, and on first reading we certainly have a difficulty in understanding his drift, or his relation to the two other interlocutors in the dialogue. Does he agree with Cratylus or with Hermogenes, and is he serious in those fanciful etymologies, extending over more than half the dialogue, which he seems so greatly to relish? Or is he serious in part only; and can we separate his jest from his earnest? — Sunt bona, sunt quaedum mediocria, sunt mala plura. Most of them are ridiculously bad, and yet among them are found, as if by accident, principles of philology which are unsurpassed in any ancient writer, and even in advance of any philologer of the last century. May we suppose that Plato, like Lucian, has been amusing his fancy by writing a comedy in the form of a prose dialogue? And what is the final result of the enquiry? Is Plato an upholder of the conventional theory of language, which he acknowledges to be imperfect? or does he mean to imply that a perfect language can only be based on his own theory of ideas? Or if this latter explanation is refuted by his silence, then in what relation does his account of language stand to the rest of his philosophy? Or may we be so bold as to deny the connexion between them? (For the allusion to the ideas at the end of the dialogue is merely intended to show that we must not put words in the place of things or realities, which is a thesis strongly insisted on by Plato in many other passages)...These are some of the first thoughts which arise in the mind of the reader of the Cratylus. And the consideration of them may form a convenient introduction to the general subject of the dialogue.

We must not expect all the parts of a dialogue of Plato to tend equally to some clearly-defined end. His idea of literary art is not the absolute proportion of the whole, such as we appear to find in a Greek temple or statue; nor should his works be tried by any such standard. They have often the beauty of poetry, but they have also the freedom of conversation. ‘Words are more plastic than wax’ (Rep.), and may be moulded into any form. He wanders on from one topic to another, careless of the unity of his work, not fearing any ‘judge, or spectator, who may recall him to the point’ (Theat.), ‘whither the argument blows we follow’ (Rep.). To have determined beforehand, as in a modern didactic treatise, the nature and limits of the subject, would have been fatal to the spirit of enquiry or discovery, which is the soul of the dialogue...These remarks are applicable to nearly all the works of Plato, but to the Cratylus and Phaedrus more than any others. See Phaedrus, Introduction.

There is another aspect under which some of the dialogues of Plato may be more truly viewed: — they are dramatic sketches of an argument. We have found that in the Lysis, Charmides, Laches, Protagoras, Meno, we arrived at no conclusion — the different sides of the argument were personified in the different speakers; but the victory was not distinctly attributed to any of them, nor the truth wholly the property of any. And in the Cratylus we have no reason to assume that Socrates is either wholly right or wholly wrong, or that Plato, though he evidently inclines to him, had any other aim than that of personifying, in the characters of Hermogenes, Socrates, and Cratylus, the three theories of language which are respectively maintained by them.

The two subordinate persons of the dialogue, Hermogenes and Cratylus, are at the opposite poles of the argument. But after a while the disciple of the Sophist and the follower of Heracleitus are found to be not so far removed from one another as at first sight appeared; and both show an inclination to accept the third view which Socrates interposes between them. First, Hermogenes, the poor brother of the rich Callias, expounds the doctrine that names are conventional; like the names of slaves, they may be given and altered at pleasure. This is one of those principles which, whether applied to society or language, explains everything and nothing. For in all things there is an element of convention; but the admission of this does not help us to understand the rational ground or basis in human nature on which the convention proceeds. Socrates first of all intimates to Hermogenes that his view of language is only a part of a sophistical whole, and ultimately tends to abolish the distinction between truth and falsehood. Hermogenes is very ready to throw aside the sophistical tenet, and listens with a sort of half admiration, half belief, to the speculations of Socrates.

Cratylus is of opinion that a name is either a true name or not a name at all. He is unable to conceive of degrees of imitation; a word is either the perfect expression of a thing, or a mere inarticulate sound (a fallacy which is still prevalent among theorizers about the origin of language). He is at once a philosopher and a sophist; for while wanting to rest language on an immutable basis, he would deny the possibility of falsehood. He is inclined to derive all truth from language, and in language he sees reflected the philosophy of Heracleitus. His views are not like those of Hermogenes, hastily taken up, but are said to be the result of mature consideration, although he is described as still a young man. With a tenacity characteristic of the Heracleitean philosophers, he clings to the doctrine of the flux. (Compare Theaet.) Of the real Cratylus we know nothing, except that he is recorded by Aristotle to have been the friend or teacher of Plato; nor have we any proof that he resembled the likeness of him in Plato any more than the Critias of Plato is like the real Critias, or the Euthyphro in this dialogue like the other Euthyphro, the diviner, in the dialogue which is called after him.

Between these two extremes, which have both of them a sophistical character, the view of Socrates is introduced, which is in a manner the union of the two. Language is conventional and also natural, and the true conventional-natural is the rational. It is a work not of chance, but of art; the dialectician is the artificer of words, and the legislator gives authority to them. They are the expressions or imitations in sound of things. In a sense, Cratylus is right in saying that things have by nature names; for nature is not opposed either to art or to law. But vocal imitation, like any other copy, may be imperfectly executed; and in this way an element of chance or convention enters in. There is much which is accidental or exceptional in language. Some words have had their original meaning so obscured, that they require to be helped out by convention. But still the true name is that which has a natural meaning. Thus nature, art, chance, all combine in the formation of language. And the three views respectively propounded by Hermogenes, Socrates, Cratylus, may be described as the conventional, the artificial or rational, and the natural. The view of Socrates is the meeting-point of the other two, just as conceptualism is the meeting-point of nominalism and realism.

We can hardly say that Plato was aware of the truth, that ‘languages are not made, but grow.’ But still, when he says that ‘the legislator made language with the dialectician standing on his right hand,’ we need not infer from this that he conceived words, like coins, to be issued from the mint of the State. The creator of laws and of social life is naturally regarded as the creator of language, according to Hellenic notions, and the philosopher is his natural advisor. We are not to suppose that the legislator is performing any extraordinary function; he is merely the Eponymus of the State, who prescribes rules for the dialectician and for all other artists. According to a truly Platonic mode of approaching the subject, language, like virtue in the Republic, is examined by the analogy of the arts. Words are works of art which may be equally made in different materials, and are well made when they have a meaning. Of the process which he thus describes, Plato had probably no very definite notion. But he means to express generally that language is the product of intelligence, and that languages belong to States and not to individuals.

A better conception of language could not have been formed in Plato’s age, than that which he attributes to Socrates. Yet many persons have thought that the mind of Plato is more truly seen in the vague realism of Cratylus. This misconception has probably arisen from two causes: first, the desire to bring Plato’s theory of language into accordance with the received doctrine of the Platonic ideas; secondly, the impression created by Socrates himself, that he is not in earnest, and is only indulging the fancy of the hour.

1. We shall have occasion to show more at length, in the Introduction to future dialogues, that the so-called Platonic ideas are only a semi-mythical form, in which he attempts to realize abstractions, and that they are replaced in his later writings by a rational theory of psychology. (See introductions to the Meno and the Sophist.) And in the Cratylus he gives a general account of the nature and origin of language, in which Adam Smith, Rousseau, and other writers of the last century, would have substantially agreed. At the end of the dialogue, he speaks as in the Symposium and Republic of absolute beauty and good; but he never supposed that they were capable of being embodied in words. Of the names of the ideas, he would have said, as he says of the names of the Gods, that we know nothing. Even the realism of Cratylus is not based upon the ideas of Plato, but upon the flux of Heracleitus. Here, as in the Sophist and Politicus, Plato expressly draws attention to the want of agreement in words and things. Hence we are led to infer, that the view of Socrates is not the less Plato’s own, because not based upon the ideas; 2nd, that Plato’s theory of language is not inconsistent with the rest of his philosophy.

2. We do not deny that Socrates is partly in jest and partly in earnest. He is discoursing in a high-flown vein, which may be compared to the ‘dithyrambics of the Phaedrus.’ They are mysteries of which he is speaking, and he professes a kind of ludicrous fear of his imaginary wisdom. When he is arguing out of Homer, about the names of Hector’s son, or when he describes himself as inspired or maddened by Euthyphro, with whom he has been sitting from the early dawn (compare Phaedrus and Lysias; Phaedr.) and expresses his intention of yielding to the illusion to-day, and to-morrow he will go to a priest and be purified, we easily see that his words are not to be taken seriously. In this part of the dialogue his dread of committing impiety, the pretended derivation of his wisdom from another, the extravagance of some of his etymologies, and, in general, the manner in which the fun, fast and furious, vires acquirit eundo, remind us strongly of the Phaedrus. The jest is a long one, extending over more than half the dialogue. But then, we remember that the Euthydemus is a still longer jest, in which the irony is preserved to the very end. There he is parodying the ingenious follies of early logic; in the Cratylus he is ridiculing the fancies of a new school of sophists and grammarians. The fallacies of the Euthydemus are still retained at the end of our logic books; and the etymologies of the Cratylus have also found their way into later writers. Some of these are not much worse than the conjectures of Hemsterhuis, and other critics of the last century; but this does not prove that they are serious. For Plato is in advance of his age in his conception of language, as much as he is in his conception of mythology. (Compare Phaedrus.)

When the fervour of his etymological enthusiasm has abated, Socrates ends, as he has begun, with a rational explanation of language. Still he preserves his ‘know nothing’ disguise, and himself declares his first notions about names to be reckless and ridiculous. Having explained compound words by resolving them into their original elements, he now proceeds to analyse simple words into the letters of which they are composed. The Socrates who ‘knows nothing,’ here passes into the teacher, the dialectician, the arranger of species. There is nothing in this part of the dialogue which is either weak or extravagant. Plato is a supporter of the Onomatopoetic theory of language; that is to say, he supposes words to be formed by the imitation of ideas in sounds; he also recognises the effect of time, the influence of foreign languages, the desire of euphony, to be formative principles; and he admits a certain element of chance. But he gives no imitation in all this that he is preparing the way for the construction of an ideal language. Or that he has any Eleatic speculation to oppose to the Heracleiteanism of Cratylus.

The theory of language which is propounded in the Cratylus is in accordance with the later phase of the philosophy of Plato, and would have been regarded by him as in the main true. The dialogue is also a satire on the philological fancies of the day. Socrates in pursuit of his vocation as a detector of false knowledge, lights by accident on the truth. He is guessing, he is dreaming; he has heard, as he says in the Phaedrus, from another: no one is more surprised than himself at his own discoveries. And yet some of his best remarks, as for example his view of the derivation of Greek words from other languages, or of the permutations of letters, or again, his observation that in speaking of the Gods we are only speaking of our names of them, occur among these flights of humour.

We can imagine a character having a profound insight into the nature of men and things, and yet hardly dwelling upon them seriously; blending inextricably sense and nonsense; sometimes enveloping in a blaze of jests the most serious matters, and then again allowing the truth to peer through; enjoying the flow of his own humour, and puzzling mankind by an ironical exaggeration of their absurdities. Such were Aristophanes and Rabelais; such, in a different style, were Sterne, Jean Paul, Hamann, — writers who sometimes become unintelligible through the extravagance of their fancies. Such is the character which Plato intends to depict in some of his dialogues as the Silenus Socrates; and through this medium we have to receive our theory of language.

There remains a difficulty which seems to demand a more exact answer: In what relation does the satirical or etymological portion of the dialogue stand to the serious? Granting all that can be said about the provoking irony of Socrates, about the parody of Euthyphro, or Prodicus, or Antisthenes, how does the long catalogue of etymologies furnish any answer to the question of Hermogenes, which is evidently the main thesis of the dialogue: What is the truth, or correctness, or principle of names?

After illustrating the nature of correctness by the analogy of the arts, and then, as in the Republic, ironically appealing to the authority of the Homeric poems, Socrates shows that the truth or correctness of names can only be ascertained by an appeal to etymology. The truth of names is to be found in the analysis of their elements. But why does he admit etymologies which are absurd, based on Heracleitean fancies, fourfold interpretations of words, impossible unions and separations of syllables and letters?

1. The answer to this difficulty has been already anticipated in part: Socrates is not a dogmatic teacher, and therefore he puts on this wild and fanciful disguise, in order that the truth may be permitted to appear: 2. as Benfey remarks, an erroneous example may illustrate a principle of language as well as a true one: 3. many of these etymologies, as, for example, that of dikaion, are indicated, by the manner in which Socrates speaks of them, to have been current in his own age: 4. the philosophy of language had not made such progress as would have justified Plato in propounding real derivations. Like his master Socrates, he saw through the hollowness of the incipient sciences of the day, and tries to move in a circle apart from them, laying down the conditions under which they are to be pursued, but, as in the Timaeus, cautious and tentative, when he is speaking of actual phenomena. To have made etymologies seriously, would have seemed to him like the interpretation of the myths in the Phaedrus, the task ‘of a not very fortunate individual, who had a great deal of time on his hands.’ The irony of Socrates places him above and beyond the errors of his contemporaries.

The Cratylus is full of humour and satirical touches: the inspiration which comes from Euthyphro, and his prancing steeds, the light admixture of quotations from Homer, and the spurious dialectic which is applied to them; the jest about the fifty-drachma course of Prodicus, which is declared on the best authority, viz. his own, to be a complete education in grammar and rhetoric; the double explanation of the name Hermogenes, either as ‘not being in luck,’ or ‘being no speaker;’ the dearly-bought wisdom of Callias, the Lacedaemonian whose name was ‘Rush,’ and, above all, the pleasure which Socrates expresses in his own dangerous discoveries, which ‘to-morrow he will purge away,’ are truly humorous. While delivering a lecture on the philosophy of language, Socrates is also satirizing the endless fertility of the human mind in spinning arguments out of nothing, and employing the most trifling and fanciful analogies in support of a theory. Etymology in ancient as in modern times was a favourite recreation; and Socrates makes merry at the expense of the etymologists. The simplicity of Hermogenes, who is ready to believe anything that he is told, heightens the effect. Socrates in his genial and ironical mood hits right and left at his adversaries: Ouranos is so called apo tou oran ta ano, which, as some philosophers say, is the way to have a pure mind; the sophists are by a fanciful explanation converted into heroes; ‘the givers of names were like some philosophers who fancy that the earth goes round because their heads are always going round.’ There is a great deal of ‘mischief’ lurking in the following: ‘I found myself in greater perplexity about justice than I was before I began to learn;’ ‘The rho in katoptron must be the addition of some one who cares nothing about truth, but thinks only of putting the mouth into shape;’ ‘Tales and falsehoods have generally to do with the Tragic and goatish life, and tragedy is the place of them.’ Several philosophers and sophists are mentioned by name: first, Protagoras and Euthydemus are assailed; then the interpreters of Homer, oi palaioi Omerikoi (compare Arist. Met.) and the Orphic poets are alluded to by the way; then he discovers a hive of wisdom in the philosophy of Heracleitus; — the doctrine of the flux is contained in the word ousia (= osia the pushing principle), an anticipation of Anaxagoras is found in psuche and selene. Again, he ridicules the arbitrary methods of pulling out and putting in letters which were in vogue among the philologers of his time; or slightly scoffs at contemporary religious beliefs. Lastly, he is impatient of hearing from the half-converted Cratylus the doctrine that falsehood can neither be spoken, nor uttered, nor addressed; a piece of sophistry attributed to Gorgias, which reappears in the Sophist. And he proceeds to demolish, with no less delight than he had set up, the Heracleitean theory of language.

In the latter part of the dialogue Socrates becomes more serious, though he does not lay aside but rather aggravates his banter of the Heracleiteans, whom here, as in the Theaetetus, he delights to ridicule. What was the origin of this enmity we can hardly determine: — was it due to the natural dislike which may be supposed to exist between the ‘patrons of the flux’ and the ‘friends of the ideas’ (Soph.)? or is it to be attributed to the indignation which Plato felt at having wasted his time upon ‘Cratylus and the doctrines of Heracleitus’ in the days of his youth? Socrates, touching on some of the characteristic difficulties of early Greek philosophy, endeavours to show Cratylus that imitation may be partial or imperfect, that a knowledge of things is higher than a knowledge of names, and that there can be no knowledge if all things are in a state of transition. But Cratylus, who does not easily apprehend the argument from common sense, remains unconvinced, and on the whole inclines to his former opinion. Some profound philosophical remarks are scattered up and down, admitting of an application not only to language but to knowledge generally; such as the assertion that ‘consistency is no test of truth:’ or again, ‘If we are over-precise about words, truth will say “too late” to us as to the belated traveller in Aegina.’

The place of the dialogue in the series cannot be determined with certainty. The style and subject, and the treatment of the character of Socrates, have a close resemblance to the earlier dialogues, especially to the Phaedrus and Euthydemus. The manner in which the ideas are spoken of at the end of the dialogue, also indicates a comparatively early date. The imaginative element is still in full vigour; the Socrates of the Cratylus is the Socrates of the Apology and Symposium, not yet Platonized; and he describes, as in the Theaetetus, the philosophy of Heracleitus by ‘unsavoury’ similes — he cannot believe that the world is like ‘a leaky vessel,’ or ‘a man who has a running at the nose’; he attributes the flux of the world to the swimming in some folks’ heads. On the other hand, the relation of thought to language is omitted here, but is treated of in the Sophist. These grounds are not sufficient to enable us to arrive at a precise conclusion. But we shall not be far wrong in placing the Cratylus about the middle, or at any rate in the first half, of the series.

Cratylus, the Heracleitean philosopher, and Hermogenes, the brother of Callias, have been arguing about names; the former maintaining that they are natural, the latter that they are conventional. Cratylus affirms that his own is a true name, but will not allow that the name of Hermogenes is equally true. Hermogenes asks Socrates to explain to him what Cratylus means; or, far rather, he would like to know, What Socrates himself thinks about the truth or correctness of names? Socrates replies, that hard is knowledge, and the nature of names is a considerable part of knowledge: he has never been to hear the fifty-drachma course of Prodicus; and having only attended the single-drachma course, he is not competent to give an opinion on such matters. When Cratylus denies that Hermogenes is a true name, he supposes him to mean that he is not a true son of Hermes, because he is never in luck. But he would like to have an open council and to hear both sides.

Hermogenes is of opinion that there is no principle in names; they may be changed, as we change the names of slaves, whenever we please, and the altered name is as good as the original one.

You mean to say, for instance, rejoins Socrates, that if I agree to call a man a horse, then a man will be rightly called a horse by me, and a man by the rest of the world? But, surely, there is in words a true and a false, as there are true and false propositions. If a whole proposition be true or false, then the parts of a proposition may be true or false, and the least parts as well as the greatest; and the least parts are names, and therefore names may be true or false. Would Hermogenes maintain that anybody may give a name to anything, and as many names as he pleases; and would all these names be always true at the time of giving them? Hermogenes replies that this is the only way in which he can conceive that names are correct; and he appeals to the practice of different nations, and of the different Hellenic tribes, in confirmation of his view. Socrates asks, whether the things differ as the words which represent them differ: — Are we to maintain with Protagoras, that what appears is? Hermogenes has always been puzzled about this, but acknowledges, when he is pressed by Socrates, that there are a few very good men in the world, and a great many very bad; and the very good are the wise, and the very bad are the foolish; and this is not mere appearance but reality. Nor is he disposed to say with Euthydemus, that all things equally and always belong to all men; in that case, again, there would be no distinction between bad and good men. But then, the only remaining possibility is, that all things have their several distinct natures, and are independent of our notions about them. And not only things, but actions, have distinct natures, and are done by different processes. There is a natural way of cutting or burning, and a natural instrument with which men cut or burn, and any other way will fail; — this is true of all actions. And speaking is a kind of action, and naming is a kind of speaking, and we must name according to a natural process, and with a proper instrument. We cut with a knife, we pierce with an awl, we weave with a shuttle, we name with a name. And as a shuttle separates the warp from the woof, so a name distinguishes the natures of things. The weaver will use the shuttle well, — that is, like a weaver; and the teacher will use the name well, — that is, like a teacher. The shuttle will be made by the carpenter; the awl by the smith or skilled person. But who makes a name? Does not the law give names, and does not the teacher receive them from the legislator? He is the skilled person who makes them, and of all skilled workmen he is the rarest. But how does the carpenter make or repair the shuttle, and to what will he look? Will he not look at the ideal which he has in his mind? And as the different kinds of work differ, so ought the instruments which make them to differ. The several kinds of shuttles ought to answer in material and form to the several kinds of webs. And the legislator ought to know the different materials and forms of which names are made in Hellas and other countries. But who is to be the judge of the proper form? The judge of shuttles is the weaver who uses them; the judge of lyres is the player of the lyre; the judge of ships is the pilot. And will not the judge who is able to direct the legislator in his work of naming, be he who knows how to use the names — he who can ask and answer questions — in short, the dialectician? The pilot directs the carpenter how to make the rudder, and the dialectician directs the legislator how he is to impose names; for to express the ideal forms of things in syllables and letters is not the easy task, Hermogenes, which you imagine.

‘I should be more readily persuaded, if you would show me this natural correctness of names.’

Indeed I cannot; but I see that you have advanced; for you now admit that there is a correctness of names, and that not every one can give a name. But what is the nature of this correctness or truth, you must learn from the Sophists, of whom your brother Callias has bought his reputation for wisdom rather dearly; and since they require to be paid, you, having no money, had better learn from him at second-hand. ‘Well, but I have just given up Protagoras, and I should be inconsistent in going to learn of him.’ Then if you reject him you may learn of the poets, and in particular of Homer, who distinguishes the names given by Gods and men to the same things, as in the verse about the river God who fought with Hephaestus, ‘whom the Gods call Xanthus, and men call Scamander;’ or in the lines in which he mentions the bird which the Gods call ‘Chalcis,’ and men ‘Cymindis;’ or the hill which men call ‘Batieia,’ and the Gods ‘Myrinna’s Tomb.’ Here is an important lesson; for the Gods must of course be right in their use of names. And this is not the only truth about philology which may be learnt from Homer. Does he not say that Hector’s son had two names —

‘Hector called him Scamandrius, but the others Astyanax’?

Now, if the men called him Astyanax, is it not probable that the other name was conferred by the women? And which are more likely to be right — the wiser or the less wise, the men or the women? Homer evidently agreed with the men: and of the name given by them he offers an explanation; — the boy was called Astyanax (‘king of the city’), because his father saved the city. The names Astyanax and Hector, moreover, are really the same, — the one means a king, and the other is ‘a holder or possessor.’ For as the lion’s whelp may be called a lion, or the horse’s foal a foal, so the son of a king may be called a king. But if the horse had produced a calf, then that would be called a calf. Whether the syllables of a name are the same or not makes no difference, provided the meaning is retained. For example; the names of letters, whether vowels or consonants, do not correspond to their sounds, with the exception of epsilon, upsilon, omicron, omega. The name Beta has three letters added to the sound — and yet this does not alter the sense of the word, or prevent the whole name having the value which the legislator intended. And the same may be said of a king and the son of a king, who like other animals resemble each other in the course of nature; the words by which they are signified may be disguised, and yet amid differences of sound the etymologist may recognise the same notion, just as the physician recognises the power of the same drugs under different disguises of colour and smell. Hector and Astyanax have only one letter alike, but they have the same meaning; and Agis (leader) is altogether different in sound from Polemarchus (chief in war), or Eupolemus (good warrior); but the two words present the same idea of leader or general, like the words Iatrocles and Acesimbrotus, which equally denote a physician. The son succeeds the father as the foal succeeds the horse, but when, out of the course of nature, a prodigy occurs, and the offspring no longer resembles the parent, then the names no longer agree. This may be illustrated by the case of Agamemnon and his son Orestes, of whom the former has a name significant of his patience at the siege of Troy; while the name of the latter indicates his savage, man-of-the-mountain nature. Atreus again, for his murder of Chrysippus, and his cruelty to Thyestes, is rightly named Atreus, which, to the eye of the etymologist, is ateros (destructive), ateires (stubborn), atreotos (fearless); and Pelops is o ta pelas oron (he who sees what is near only), because in his eagerness to win Hippodamia, he was unconscious of the remoter consequences which the murder of Myrtilus would entail upon his race. The name Tantalus, if slightly changed, offers two etymologies; either apo tes tou lithou talanteias, or apo tou talantaton einai, signifying at once the hanging of the stone over his head in the world below, and the misery which he brought upon his country. And the name of his father, Zeus, Dios, Zenos, has an excellent meaning, though hard to be understood, because really a sentence which is divided into two parts (Zeus, Dios). For he, being the lord and king of all, is the author of our being, and in him all live: this is implied in the double form, Dios, Zenos, which being put together and interpreted is di on ze panta. There may, at first sight, appear to be some irreverence in calling him the son of Cronos, who is a proverb for stupidity; but the meaning is that Zeus himself is the son of a mighty intellect; Kronos, quasi koros, not in the sense of a youth, but quasi to katharon kai akeraton tou nou — the pure and garnished mind, which in turn is begotten of Uranus, who is so called apo tou oran ta ano, from looking upwards; which, as philosophers say, is the way to have a pure mind. The earlier portion of Hesiod’s genealogy has escaped my memory, or I would try more conclusions of the same sort. ‘You talk like an oracle.’ I caught the infection from Euthyphro, who gave me a long lecture which began at dawn, and has not only entered into my ears, but filled my soul, and my intention is to yield to the inspiration to-day; and to-morrow I will be exorcised by some priest or sophist. ‘Go on; I am anxious to hear the rest.’ Now that we have a general notion, how shall we proceed? What names will afford the most crucial test of natural fitness? Those of heroes and ordinary men are often deceptive, because they are patronymics or expressions of a wish; let us try gods and demi-gods. Gods are so called, apo tou thein, from the verb ‘to run;’ because the sun, moon, and stars run about the heaven; and they being the original gods of the Hellenes, as they still are of the Barbarians, their name is given to all Gods. The demons are the golden race of Hesiod, and by golden he means not literally golden, but good; and they are called demons, quasi daemones, which in old Attic was used for daimones — good men are well said to become daimones when they die, because they are knowing. Eros (with an epsilon) is the same word as eros (with an eta): ‘the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair;’ or perhaps they were a species of sophists or rhetoricians, and so called apo tou erotan, or eirein, from their habit of spinning questions; for eirein is equivalent to legein. I get all this from Euthyphro; and now a new and ingenious idea comes into my mind, and, if I am not careful, I shall be wiser than I ought to be by to-morrow’s dawn. My idea is, that we may put in and pull out letters at pleasure and alter the accents (as, for example, Dii philos may be turned into Diphilos), and we may make words into sentences and sentences into words. The name anthrotos is a case in point, for a letter has been omitted and the accent changed; the original meaning being o anathron a opopen — he who looks up at what he sees. Psuche may be thought to be the reviving, or refreshing, or animating principle — e anapsuchousa to soma; but I am afraid that Euthyphro and his disciples will scorn this derivation, and I must find another: shall we identify the soul with the ‘ordering mind’ of Anaxagoras, and say that psuche, quasi phuseche = e phusin echei or ochei? — this might easily be refined into psyche. ‘That is a more artistic etymology.’

After psuche follows soma; this, by a slight permutation, may be either = (1) the ‘grave’ of the soul, or (2) may mean ‘that by which the soul signifies (semainei) her wishes.’ But more probably, the word is Orphic, and simply denotes that the body is the place of ward in which the soul suffers the penalty of sin, — en o sozetai. ‘I should like to hear some more explanations of the names of the Gods, like that excellent one of Zeus.’ The truest names of the Gods are those which they give themselves; but these are unknown to us. Less true are those by which we propitiate them, as men say in prayers, ‘May he graciously receive any name by which I call him.’ And to avoid offence, I should like to let them know beforehand that we are not presuming to enquire about them, but only about the names which they usually bear. Let us begin with Hestia. What did he mean who gave the name Hestia? ‘That is a very difficult question.’ O, my dear Hermogenes, I believe that there was a power of philosophy and talk among the first inventors of names, both in our own and in other languages; for even in foreign words a principle is discernible. Hestia is the same with esia, which is an old form of ousia, and means the first principle of things: this agrees with the fact that to Hestia the first sacrifices are offered. There is also another reading — osia, which implies that ‘pushing’ (othoun) is the first principle of all things. And here I seem to discover a delicate allusion to the flux of Heracleitus — that antediluvian philosopher who cannot walk twice in the same stream; and this flux of his may accomplish yet greater marvels. For the names Cronos and Rhea cannot have been accidental; the giver of them must have known something about the doctrine of Heracleitus. Moreover, there is a remarkable coincidence in the words of Hesiod, when he speaks of Oceanus, ‘the origin of Gods;’ and in the verse of Orpheus, in which he describes Oceanus espousing his sister Tethys. Tethys is nothing more than the name of a spring — to diattomenon kai ethoumenon. Poseidon is posidesmos, the chain of the feet, because you cannot walk on the sea — the epsilon is inserted by way of ornament; or perhaps the name may have been originally polleidon, meaning, that the God knew many things (polla eidos): he may also be the shaker, apo tou seiein, — in this case, pi and delta have been added. Pluto is connected with ploutos, because wealth comes out of the earth; or the word may be a euphemism for Hades, which is usually derived apo tou aeidous, because the God is concerned with the invisible. But the name Hades was really given him from his knowing (eidenai) all good things. Men in general are foolishly afraid of him, and talk with horror of the world below from which no one may return. The reason why his subjects never wish to come back, even if they could, is that the God enchains them by the strongest of spells, namely by the desire of virtue, which they hope to obtain by constant association with him. He is the perfect and accomplished Sophist and the great benefactor of the other world; for he has much more than he wants there, and hence he is called Pluto or the rich. He will have nothing to do with the souls of men while in the body, because he cannot work his will with them so long as they are confused and entangled by fleshly lusts. Demeter is the mother and giver of food — e didousa meter tes edodes. Here is erate tis, or perhaps the legislator may have been thinking of the weather, and has merely transposed the letters of the word aer. Pherephatta, that word of awe, is pheretapha, which is only an euphonious contraction of e tou pheromenou ephaptomene, — all things are in motion, and she in her wisdom moves with them, and the wise God Hades consorts with her — there is nothing very terrible in this, any more than in the her other appellation Persephone, which is also significant of her wisdom (sophe). Apollo is another name, which is supposed to have some dreadful meaning, but is susceptible of at least four perfectly innocent explanations. First, he is the purifier or purger or absolver (apolouon); secondly, he is the true diviner, Aplos, as he is called in the Thessalian dialect (aplos = aplous, sincere); thirdly, he is the archer (aei ballon), always shooting; or again, supposing alpha to mean ama or omou, Apollo becomes equivalent to ama polon, which points to both his musical and his heavenly attributes; for there is a ‘moving together’ alike in music and in the harmony of the spheres. The second lambda is inserted in order to avoid the ill-omened sound of destruction. The Muses are so called — apo tou mosthai. The gentle Leto or Letho is named from her willingness (ethelemon), or because she is ready to forgive and forget (lethe). Artemis is so called from her healthy well-balanced nature, dia to artemes, or as aretes istor; or as a lover of virginity, aroton misesasa. One of these explanations is probably true, — perhaps all of them. Dionysus is o didous ton oinon, and oinos is quasi oionous because wine makes those think (oiesthai) that they have a mind (nous) who have none. The established derivation of Aphrodite dia ten tou athrou genesin may be accepted on the authority of Hesiod. Again, there is the name of Pallas, or Athene, which we, who are Athenians, must not forget. Pallas is derived from armed dances — apo tou pallein ta opla. For Athene we must turn to the allegorical interpreters of Homer, who make the name equivalent to theonoe, or possibly the word was originally ethonoe and signified moral intelligence (en ethei noesis). Hephaestus, again, is the lord of light — o tou phaeos istor. This is a good notion; and, to prevent any other getting into our heads, let us go on to Ares. He is the manly one (arren), or the unchangeable one (arratos). Enough of the Gods; for, by the Gods, I am afraid of them; but if you suggest other words, you will see how the horses of Euthyphro prance. ‘Only one more God; tell me about my godfather Hermes.’ He is ermeneus, the messenger or cheater or thief or bargainer; or o eirein momenos, that is, eiremes or ermes — the speaker or contriver of speeches. ‘Well said Cratylus, then, that I am no son of Hermes.’ Pan, as the son of Hermes, is speech or the brother of speech, and is called Pan because speech indicates everything — o pan menuon. He has two forms, a true and a false; and is in the upper part smooth, and in the lower part shaggy. He is the goat of Tragedy, in which there are plenty of falsehoods.

‘Will you go on to the elements — sun, moon, stars, earth, aether, air, fire, water, seasons, years?’ Very good: and which shall I take first? Let us begin with elios, or the sun. The Doric form elios helps us to see that he is so called because at his rising he gathers (alizei) men together, or because he rolls about (eilei) the earth, or because he variegates (aiolei = poikillei) the earth. Selene is an anticipation of Anaxagoras, being a contraction of selaenoneoaeia, the light (selas) which is ever old and new, and which, as Anaxagoras says, is borrowed from the sun; the name was harmonized into selanaia, a form which is still in use. ‘That is a true dithyrambic name.’ Meis is so called apo tou meiousthai, from suffering diminution, and astron is from astrape (lightning), which is an improvement of anastrope, that which turns the eyes inside out. ‘How do you explain pur n udor?’ I suspect that pur, which, like udor n kuon, is found in Phrygian, is a foreign word; for the Hellenes have borrowed much from the barbarians, and I always resort to this theory of a foreign origin when I am at a loss. Aer may be explained, oti airei ta apo tes ges; or, oti aei rei; or, oti pneuma ex autou ginetai (compare the poetic word aetai). So aither quasi aeitheer oti aei thei peri ton aera: ge, gaia quasi genneteira (compare the Homeric form gegaasi); ora (with an omega), or, according to the old Attic form ora (with an omicron), is derived apo tou orizein, because it divides the year; eniautos and etos are the same thought — o en eauto etazon, cut into two parts, en eauto and etazon, like di on ze into Dios and Zenos.

‘You make surprising progress.’ True; I am run away with, and am not even yet at my utmost speed. ‘I should like very much to hear your account of the virtues. What principle of correctness is there in those charming words, wisdom, understanding, justice, and the rest?’ To explain all that will be a serious business; still, as I have put on the lion’s skin, appearances must be maintained. My opinion is, that primitive men were like some modern philosophers, who, by always going round in their search after the nature of things, become dizzy; and this phenomenon, which was really in themselves, they imagined to take place in the external world. You have no doubt remarked, that the doctrine of the universal flux, or generation of things, is indicated in names. ‘No, I never did.’ Phronesis is only phoras kai rou noesis, or perhaps phoras onesis, and in any case is connected with pheresthai; gnome is gones skepsis kai nomesis; noesis is neou or gignomenon esis; the word neos implies that creation is always going on — the original form was neoesis; sophrosune is soteria phroneseos; episteme is e epomene tois pragmasin — the faculty which keeps close, neither anticipating nor lagging behind; sunesis is equivalent to sunienai, sumporeuesthai ten psuche, and is a kind of conclusion — sullogismos tis, akin therefore in idea to episteme; sophia is very difficult, and has a foreign look — the meaning is, touching the motion or stream of things, and may be illustrated by the poetical esuthe and the Lacedaemonian proper name Sous, or Rush; agathon is ro agaston en te tachuteti, — for all things are in motion, and some are swifter than others: dikaiosune is clearly e tou dikaiou sunesis. The word dikaion is more troublesome, and appears to mean the subtle penetrating power which, as the lovers of motion say, preserves all things, and is the cause of all things, quasi diaion going through — the letter kappa being inserted for the sake of euphony. This is a great mystery which has been confided to me; but when I ask for an explanation I am thought obtrusive, and another derivation is proposed to me. Justice is said to be o kaion, or the sun; and when I joyfully repeat this beautiful notion, I am answered, ‘What, is there no justice when the sun is down?’ And when I entreat my questioner to tell me his own opinion, he replies, that justice is fire in the abstract, or heat in the abstract; which is not very intelligible. Others laugh at such notions, and say with Anaxagoras, that justice is the ordering mind. ‘I think that some one must have told you this.’ And not the rest? Let me proceed then, in the hope of proving to you my originality. Andreia is quasi anpeia quasi e ano roe, the stream which flows upwards, and is opposed to injustice, which clearly hinders the principle of penetration; arren and aner have a similar derivation; gune is the same as gone; thelu is derived apo tes theles, because the teat makes things flourish (tethelenai), and the word thallein itself implies increase of youth, which is swift and sudden ever (thein and allesthai). I am getting over the ground fast: but much has still to be explained. There is techne, for instance. This, by an aphaeresis of tau and an epenthesis of omicron in two places, may be identified with echonoe, and signifies ‘that which has mind.’

‘A very poor etymology.’ Yes; but you must remember that all language is in process of change; letters are taken in and put out for the sake of euphony, and time is also a great alterer of words. For example, what business has the letter rho in the word katoptron, or the letter sigma in the word sphigx? The additions are often such that it is impossible to make out the original word; and yet, if you may put in and pull out, as you like, any name is equally good for any object. The fact is, that great dictators of literature like yourself should observe the rules of moderation. ‘I will do my best.’ But do not be too much of a precisian, or you will paralyze me. If you will let me add mechane, apo tou mekous, which means polu, and anein, I shall be at the summit of my powers, from which elevation I will examine the two words kakia and arete. The first is easily explained in accordance with what has preceded; for all things being in a flux, kakia is to kakos ion. This derivation is illustrated by the word deilia, which ought to have come after andreia, and may be regarded as o lian desmos tes psuches, just as aporia signifies an impediment to motion (from alpha not, and poreuesthai to go), and arete is euporia, which is the opposite of this — the everflowing (aei reousa or aeireite), or the eligible, quasi airete. You will think that I am inventing, but I say that if kakia is right, then arete is also right. But what is kakon? That is a very obscure word, to which I can only apply my old notion and declare that kakon is a foreign word. Next, let us proceed to kalon, aischron. The latter is doubtless contracted from aeischoroun, quasi aei ischon roun. The inventor of words being a patron of the flux, was a great enemy to stagnation. Kalon is to kaloun ta pragmata — this is mind (nous or dianoia); which is also the principle of beauty; and which doing the works of beauty, is therefore rightly called the beautiful. The meaning of sumpheron is explained by previous examples; — like episteme, signifying that the soul moves in harmony with the world (sumphora, sumpheronta). Kerdos is to pasi kerannumenon — that which mingles with all things: lusiteloun is equivalent to to tes phoras luon to telos, and is not to be taken in the vulgar sense of gainful, but rather in that of swift, being the principle which makes motion immortal and unceasing; ophelimon is apo tou ophellein — that which gives increase: this word, which is Homeric, is of foreign origin. Blaberon is to blamton or boulomenon aptein tou rou — that which injures or seeks to bind the stream. The proper word would be boulapteroun, but this is too much of a mouthful — like a prelude on the flute in honour of Athene. The word zemiodes is difficult; great changes, as I was saying, have been made in words, and even a small change will alter their meaning very much. The word deon is one of these disguised words. You know that according to the old pronunciation, which is especially affected by the women, who are great conservatives, iota and delta were used where we should now use eta and zeta: for example, what we now call emera was formerly called imera; and this shows the meaning of the word to have been ‘the desired one coming after night,’ and not, as is often supposed, ‘that which makes things gentle’ (emera). So again, zugon is duogon, quasi desis duein eis agogen — (the binding of two together for the purpose of drawing.) Deon, as ordinarily written, has an evil sense, signifying the chain (desmos) or hindrance of motion; but in its ancient form dion is expressive of good, quasi diion, that which penetrates or goes through all. Zemiodes is really demiodes, and means that which binds motion (dounti to ion): edone is e pros ten onrsin teinousa praxis — the delta is an insertion: lupe is derived apo tes dialuseos tou somatos: ania is from alpha and ienai, to go: algedon is a foreign word, and is so called apo tou algeinou: odune is apo tes enduseos tes lupes: achthedon is in its very sound a burden: chapa expresses the flow of soul: terpsis is apo tou terpnou, and terpnon is properly erpnon, because the sensation of pleasure is likened to a breath (pnoe) which creeps (erpei) through the soul: euphrosune is named from pheresthai, because the soul moves in harmony with nature: epithumia is e epi ton thumon iousa dunamis: thumos is apo tes thuseos tes psuches: imeros — oti eimenos pei e psuche: pothos, the desire which is in another place, allothi pou: eros was anciently esros, and so called because it flows into (esrei) the soul from without: doxa is e dioxis tou eidenai, or expresses the shooting from a bow (toxon). The latter etymology is confirmed by the words boulesthai, boule, aboulia, which all have to do with shooting (bole): and similarly oiesis is nothing but the movement (oisis) of the soul towards essence. Ekousion is to eikon — the yielding — anagke is e an agke iousa, the passage through ravines which impede motion: aletheia is theia ale, divine motion. Pseudos is the opposite of this, implying the principle of constraint and forced repose, which is expressed under the figure of sleep, to eudon; the psi is an addition. Onoma, a name, affirms the real existence of that which is sought after — on ou masma estin. On and ousia are only ion with an iota broken off; and ouk on is ouk ion. ‘And what are ion, reon, doun?’ One way of explaining them has been already suggested — they may be of foreign origin; and possibly this is the true answer. But mere antiquity may often prevent our recognizing words, after all the complications which they have undergone; and we must remember that however far we carry back our analysis some ultimate elements or roots will remain which can be no further analyzed. For example; the word agathos was supposed by us to be a compound of agastos and thoos, and probably thoos may be further resolvable. But if we take a word of which no further resolution seems attainable, we may fairly conclude that we have reached one of these original elements, and the truth of such a word must be tested by some new method. Will you help me in the search?

All names, whether primary or secondary, are intended to show the nature of things; and the secondary, as I conceive, derive their significance from the primary. But then, how do the primary names indicate anything? And let me ask another question, — If we had no faculty of speech, how should we communicate with one another? Should we not use signs, like the deaf and dumb? The elevation of our hands would mean lightness — heaviness would be expressed by letting them drop. The running of any animal would be described by a similar movement of our own frames. The body can only express anything by imitation; and the tongue or mouth can imitate as well as the rest of the body. But this imitation of the tongue or voice is not yet a name, because people may imitate sheep or goats without naming them. What, then, is a name? In the first place, a name is not a musical, or, secondly, a pictorial imitation, but an imitation of that kind which expresses the nature of a thing; and is the invention not of a musician, or of a painter, but of a namer.

And now, I think that we may consider the names about which you were asking. The way to analyze them will be by going back to the letters, or primary elements of which they are composed. First, we separate the alphabet into classes of letters, distinguishing the consonants, mutes, vowels, and semivowels; and when we have learnt them singly, we shall learn to know them in their various combinations of two or more letters; just as the painter knows how to use either a single colour, or a combination of colours. And like the painter, we may apply letters to the expression of objects, and form them into syllables; and these again into words, until the picture or figure — that is, language — is completed. Not that I am literally speaking of ourselves, but I mean to say that this was the way in which the ancients framed language. And this leads me to consider whether the primary as well as the secondary elements are rightly given. I may remark, as I was saying about the Gods, that we can only attain to conjecture of them. But still we insist that ours is the true and only method of discovery; otherwise we must have recourse, like the tragic poets, to a Deus ex machina, and say that God gave the first names, and therefore they are right; or that the barbarians are older than we are, and that we learnt of them; or that antiquity has cast a veil over the truth. Yet all these are not reasons; they are only ingenious excuses for having no reasons.

I will freely impart to you my own notions, though they are somewhat crude: — the letter rho appears to me to be the general instrument which the legislator has employed to express all motion or kinesis. (I ought to explain that kinesis is just iesis (going), for the letter eta was unknown to the ancients; and the root, kiein, is a foreign form of ienai: of kinesis or eisis, the opposite is stasis). This use of rho is evident in the words tremble, break, crush, crumble, and the like; the imposer of names perceived that the tongue is most agitated in the pronunciation of this letter, just as he used iota to express the subtle power which penetrates through all things. The letters phi, psi, sigma, zeta, which require a great deal of wind, are employed in the imitation of such notions as shivering, seething, shaking, and in general of what is windy. The letters delta and tau convey the idea of binding and rest in a place: the lambda denotes smoothness, as in the words slip, sleek, sleep, and the like. But when the slipping tongue is detained by the heavier sound of gamma, then arises the notion of a glutinous clammy nature: nu is sounded from within, and has a notion of inwardness: alpha is the expression of size; eta of length; omicron of roundness, and therefore there is plenty of omicron in the word goggulon. That is my view, Hermogenes, of the correctness of names; and I should like to hear what Cratylus would say. ‘But, Socrates, as I was telling you, Cratylus mystifies me; I should like to ask him, in your presence, what he means by the fitness of names?’ To this appeal, Cratylus replies ‘that he cannot explain so important a subject all in a moment.’ ‘No, but you may “add little to little,” as Hesiod says.’ Socrates here interposes his own request, that Cratylus will give some account of his theory. Hermogenes and himself are mere sciolists, but Cratylus has reflected on these matters, and has had teachers. Cratylus replies in the words of Achilles: ‘“Illustrious Ajax, you have spoken in all things much to my mind,” whether Euthyphro, or some Muse inhabiting your own breast, was the inspirer.’ Socrates replies, that he is afraid of being self-deceived, and therefore he must ‘look fore and aft,’ as Homer remarks. Does not Cratylus agree with him that names teach us the nature of things? ‘Yes.’ And naming is an art, and the artists are legislators, and like artists in general, some of them are better and some of them are worse than others, and give better or worse laws, and make better or worse names. Cratylus cannot admit that one name is better than another; they are either true names, or they are not names at all; and when he is asked about the name of Hermogenes, who is acknowledged to have no luck in him, he affirms this to be the name of somebody else. Socrates supposes him to mean that falsehood is impossible, to which his own answer would be, that there has never been a lack of liars. Cratylus presses him with the old sophistical argument, that falsehood is saying that which is not, and therefore saying nothing; — you cannot utter the word which is not. Socrates complains that this argument is too subtle for an old man to understand: Suppose a person addressing Cratylus were to say, Hail, Athenian Stranger, Hermogenes! would these words be true or false? ‘I should say that they would be mere unmeaning sounds, like the hammering of a brass pot.’ But you would acknowledge that names, as well as pictures, are imitations, and also that pictures may give a right or wrong representation of a man or woman: — why may not names then equally give a representation true and right or false and wrong? Cratylus admits that pictures may give a true or false representation, but denies that names can. Socrates argues, that he may go up to a man and say ‘this is year picture,’ and again, he may go and say to him ‘this is your name’ — in the one case appealing to his sense of sight, and in the other to his sense of hearing; — may he not? ‘Yes.’ Then you will admit that there is a right or a wrong assignment of names, and if of names, then of verbs and nouns; and if of verbs and nouns, then of the sentences which are made up of them; and comparing nouns to pictures, you may give them all the appropriate sounds, or only some of them. And as he who gives all the colours makes a good picture, and he who gives only some of them, a bad or imperfect one, but still a picture; so he who gives all the sounds makes a good name, and he who gives only some of them, a bad or imperfect one, but a name still. The artist of names, that is, the legislator, may be a good or he may be a bad artist. ‘Yes, Socrates, but the cases are not parallel; for if you subtract or misplace a letter, the name ceases to be a name.’ Socrates admits that the number 10, if an unit is subtracted, would cease to be 10, but denies that names are of this purely quantitative nature. Suppose that there are two objects — Cratylus and the image of Cratylus; and let us imagine that some God makes them perfectly alike, both in their outward form and in their inner nature and qualities: then there will be two Cratyluses, and not merely Cratylus and the image of Cratylus. But an image in fact always falls short in some degree of the original, and if images are not exact counterparts, why should names be? if they were, they would be the doubles of their originals, and indistinguishable from them; and how ridiculous would this be! Cratylus admits the truth of Socrates’ remark. But then Socrates rejoins, he should have the courage to acknowledge that letters may be wrongly inserted in a noun, or a noun in a sentence; and yet the noun or the sentence may retain a meaning. Better to admit this, that we may not be punished like the traveller in Egina who goes about at night, and that Truth herself may not say to us, ‘Too late.’ And, errors excepted, we may still affirm that a name to be correct must have proper letters, which bear a resemblance to the thing signified. I must remind you of what Hermogenes and I were saying about the letter rho accent, which was held to be expressive of motion and hardness, as lambda is of smoothness; — and this you will admit to be their natural meaning. But then, why do the Eritreans call that skleroter which we call sklerotes? We can understand one another, although the letter rho accent is not equivalent to the letter s: why is this? You reply, because the two letters are sufficiently alike for the purpose of expressing motion. Well, then, there is the letter lambda; what business has this in a word meaning hardness? ‘Why, Socrates, I retort upon you, that we put in and pull out letters at pleasure.’ And the explanation of this is custom or agreement: we have made a convention that the rho shall mean s and a convention may indicate by the unlike as well as by the like. How could there be names for all the numbers unless you allow that convention is used? Imitation is a poor thing, and has to be supplemented by convention, which is another poor thing; although I agree with you in thinking that the most perfect form of language is found only where there is a perfect correspondence of sound and meaning. But let me ask you what is the use and force of names? ‘The use of names, Socrates, is to inform, and he who knows names knows things.’ Do you mean that the discovery of names is the same as the discovery of things? ‘Yes.’ But do you not see that there is a degree of deception about names? He who first gave names, gave them according to his conception, and that may have been erroneous. ‘But then, why, Socrates, is language so consistent? all words have the same laws.’ Mere consistency is no test of truth. In geometrical problems, for example, there may be a flaw at the beginning, and yet the conclusion may follow consistently. And, therefore, a wise man will take especial care of first principles. But are words really consistent; are there not as many terms of praise which signify rest as which signify motion? There is episteme, which is connected with stasis, as mneme is with meno. Bebaion, again, is the expression of station and position; istoria is clearly descriptive of the stopping istanai of the stream; piston indicates the cessation of motion; and there are many words having a bad sense, which are connected with ideas of motion, such as sumphora, amartia, etc.: amathia, again, might be explained, as e ama theo iontos poreia, and akolasia as e akolouthia tois pragmasin. Thus the bad names are framed on the same principle as the good, and other examples might be given, which would favour a theory of rest rather than of motion. ‘Yes; but the greater number of words express motion.’ Are we to count them, Cratylus; and is correctness of names to be determined by the voice of a majority?

Here is another point: we were saying that the legislator gives names; and therefore we must suppose that he knows the things which he names: but how can he have learnt things from names before there were any names? ‘I believe, Socrates, that some power more than human first gave things their names, and that these were necessarily true names.’ Then how came the giver of names to contradict himself, and to make some names expressive of rest, and others of motion? ‘I do not suppose that he did make them both.’ Then which did he make — those which are expressive of rest, or those which are expressive of motion?...But if some names are true and others false, we can only decide between them, not by counting words, but by appealing to things. And, if so, we must allow that things may be known without names; for names, as we have several times admitted, are the images of things; and the higher knowledge is of things, and is not to be derived from names; and though I do not doubt that the inventors of language gave names, under the idea that all things are in a state of motion and flux, I believe that they were mistaken; and that having fallen into a whirlpool themselves, they are trying to drag us after them. For is there not a true beauty and a true good, which is always beautiful and always good? Can the thing beauty be vanishing away from us while the words are yet in our mouths? And they could not be known by any one if they are always passing away — for if they are always passing away, the observer has no opportunity of observing their state. Whether the doctrine of the flux or of the eternal nature be the truer, is hard to determine. But no man of sense will put himself, or the education of his mind, in the power of names: he will not condemn himself to be an unreal thing, nor will he believe that everything is in a flux like the water in a leaky vessel, or that the world is a man who has a running at the nose. This doctrine may be true, Cratylus, but is also very likely to be untrue; and therefore I would have you reflect while you are young, and find out the truth, and when you know come and tell me. ‘I have thought, Socrates, and after a good deal of thinking I incline to Heracleitus.’ Then another day, my friend, you shall give me a lesson. ‘Very good, Socrates, and I hope that you will continue to study these things yourself.’

We may now consider (I) how far Plato in the Cratylus has discovered the true principles of language, and then (II) proceed to compare modern speculations respecting the origin and nature of language with the anticipations of his genius.

I. (1) Plato is aware that language is not the work of chance; nor does he deny that there is a natural fitness in names. He only insists that this natural fitness shall be intelligibly explained. But he has no idea that language is a natural organism. He would have heard with surprise that languages are the common work of whole nations in a primitive or semi-barbarous age. How, he would probably have argued, could men devoid of art have contrived a structure of such complexity? No answer could have been given to this question, either in ancient or in modern times, until the nature of primitive antiquity had been thoroughly studied, and the instincts of man had been shown to exist in greater force, when his state approaches more nearly to that of children or animals. The philosophers of the last century, after their manner, would have vainly endeavoured to trace the process by which proper names were converted into common, and would have shown how the last effort of abstraction invented prepositions and auxiliaries. The theologian would have proved that language must have had a divine origin, because in childhood, while the organs are pliable, the intelligence is wanting, and when the intelligence is able to frame conceptions, the organs are no longer able to express them. Or, as others have said: Man is man because he has the gift of speech; and he could not have invented that which he is. But this would have been an ‘argument too subtle’ for Socrates, who rejects the theological account of the origin of language ‘as an excuse for not giving a reason,’ which he compares to the introduction of the ‘Deus ex machina’ by the tragic poets when they have to solve a difficulty; thus anticipating many modern controversies in which the primary agency of the divine Being is confused with the secondary cause; and God is assumed to have worked a miracle in order to fill up a lacuna in human knowledge. (Compare Timaeus.)

Neither is Plato wrong in supposing that an element of design and art enters into language. The creative power abating is supplemented by a mechanical process. ‘Languages are not made but grow,’ but they are made as well as grow; bursting into life like a plant or a flower, they are also capable of being trained and improved and engrafted upon one another. The change in them is effected in earlier ages by musical and euphonic improvements, at a later stage by the influence of grammar and logic, and by the poetical and literary use of words. They develope rapidly in childhood, and when they are full grown and set they may still put forth intellectual powers, like the mind in the body, or rather we may say that the nobler use of language only begins when the frame-work is complete. The savage or primitive man, in whom the natural instinct is strongest, is also the greatest improver of the forms of language. He is the poet or maker of words, as in civilised ages the dialectician is the definer or distinguisher of them. The latter calls the second world of abstract terms into existence, as the former has created the picture sounds which represent natural objects or processes. Poetry and philosophy — these two, are the two great formative principles of language, when they have passed their first stage, of which, as of the first invention of the arts in general, we only entertain conjecture. And mythology is a link between them, connecting the visible and invisible, until at length the sensuous exterior falls away, and the severance of the inner and outer world, of the idea and the object of sense, becomes complete. At a later period, logic and grammar, sister arts, preserve and enlarge the decaying instinct of language, by rule and method, which they gather from analysis and observation.

(2) There is no trace in any of Plato’s writings that he was acquainted with any language but Greek. Yet he has conceived very truly the relation of Greek to foreign languages, which he is led to consider, because he finds that many Greek words are incapable of explanation. Allowing a good deal for accident, and also for the fancies of the conditores linguae Graecae, there is an element of which he is unable to give an account. These unintelligible words he supposes to be of foreign origin, and to have been derived from a time when the Greeks were either barbarians, or in close relations to the barbarians. Socrates is aware that this principle is liable to great abuse; and, like the ‘Deus ex machina,’ explains nothing. Hence he excuses himself for the employment of such a device, and remarks that in foreign words there is still a principle of correctness, which applies equally both to Greeks and barbarians.

(3) But the greater number of primary words do not admit of derivation from foreign languages; they must be resolved into the letters out of which they are composed, and therefore the letters must have a meaning. The framers of language were aware of this; they observed that alpha was adapted to express size; eta length; omicron roundness; nu inwardness; rho accent rush or roar; lambda liquidity; gamma lambda the detention of the liquid or slippery element; delta and tau binding; phi, psi, sigma, xi, wind and cold, and so on. Plato’s analysis of the letters of the alphabet shows a wonderful insight into the nature of language. He does not expressively distinguish between mere imitation and the symbolical use of sound to express thought, but he recognises in the examples which he gives both modes of imitation. Gesture is the mode which a deaf and dumb person would take of indicating his meaning. And language is the gesture of the tongue; in the use of the letter rho accent, to express a rushing or roaring, or of omicron to express roundness, there is a direct imitation; while in the use of the letter alpha to express size, or of eta to express length, the imitation is symbolical. The use of analogous or similar sounds, in order to express similar analogous ideas, seems to have escaped him.

In passing from the gesture of the body to the movement of the tongue, Plato makes a great step in the physiology of language. He was probably the first who said that ‘language is imitative sound,’ which is the greatest and deepest truth of philology; although he is not aware of the laws of euphony and association by which imitation must be regulated. He was probably also the first who made a distinction between simple and compound words, a truth second only in importance to that which has just been mentioned. His great insight in one direction curiously contrasts with his blindness in another; for he appears to be wholly unaware (compare his derivation of agathos from agastos and thoos) of the difference between the root and termination. But we must recollect that he was necessarily more ignorant than any schoolboy of Greek grammar, and had no table of the inflexions of verbs and nouns before his eyes, which might have suggested to him the distinction.

(4) Plato distinctly affirms that language is not truth, or ‘philosophie une langue bien faite.’ At first, Socrates has delighted himself with discovering the flux of Heracleitus in language. But he is covertly satirising the pretence of that or any other age to find philosophy in words; and he afterwards corrects any erroneous inference which might be gathered from his experiment. For he finds as many, or almost as many, words expressive of rest, as he had previously found expressive of motion. And even if this had been otherwise, who would learn of words when he might learn of things? There is a great controversy and high argument between Heracleiteans and Eleatics, but no man of sense would commit his soul in such enquiries to the imposers of names...In this and other passages Plato shows that he is as completely emancipated from the influence of ‘Idols of the tribe’ as Bacon himself.

The lesson which may be gathered from words is not metaphysical or moral, but historical. They teach us the affinity of races, they tell us something about the association of ideas, they occasionally preserve the memory of a disused custom; but we cannot safely argue from them about right and wrong, matter and mind, freedom and necessity, or the other problems of moral and metaphysical philosophy. For the use of words on such subjects may often be metaphorical, accidental, derived from other languages, and may have no relation to the contemporary state of thought and feeling. Nor in any case is the invention of them the result of philosophical reflection; they have been commonly transferred from matter to mind, and their meaning is the very reverse of their etymology. Because there is or is not a name for a thing, we cannot argue that the thing has or has not an actual existence; or that the antitheses, parallels, conjugates, correlatives of language have anything corresponding to them in nature. There are too many words as well as too few; and they generalize the objects or ideas which they represent. The greatest lesson which the philosophical analysis of language teaches us is, that we should be above language, making words our servants, and not allowing them to be our masters.

Plato does not add the further observation, that the etymological meaning of words is in process of being lost. If at first framed on a principle of intelligibility, they would gradually cease to be intelligible, like those of a foreign language, he is willing to admit that they are subject to many changes, and put on many disguises. He acknowledges that the ‘poor creature’ imitation is supplemented by another ‘poor creature,’ — convention. But he does not see that ‘habit and repute,’ and their relation to other words, are always exercising an influence over them. Words appear to be isolated, but they are really the parts of an organism which is always being reproduced. They are refined by civilization, harmonized by poetry, emphasized by literature, technically applied in philosophy and art; they are used as symbols on the border-ground of human knowledge; they receive a fresh impress from individual genius, and come with a new force and association to every lively-minded person. They are fixed by the simultaneous utterance of millions, and yet are always imperceptibly changing; — not the inventors of language, but writing and speaking, and particularly great writers, or works which pass into the hearts of nations, Homer, Shakespear, Dante, the German or English Bible, Kant and Hegel, are the makers of them in later ages. They carry with them the faded recollection of their own past history; the use of a word in a striking and familiar passage gives a complexion to its use everywhere else, and the new use of an old and familiar phrase has also a peculiar power over us. But these and other subtleties of language escaped the observation of Plato. He is not aware that the languages of the world are organic structures, and that every word in them is related to every other; nor does he conceive of language as the joint work of the speaker and the hearer, requiring in man a faculty not only of expressing his thoughts but of understanding those of others.

On the other hand, he cannot be justly charged with a desire to frame language on artificial principles. Philosophers have sometimes dreamed of a technical or scientific language, in words which should have fixed meanings, and stand in the same relation to one another as the substances which they denote. But there is no more trace of this in Plato than there is of a language corresponding to the ideas; nor, indeed, could the want of such a language be felt until the sciences were far more developed. Those who would extend the use of technical phraseology beyond the limits of science or of custom, seem to forget that freedom and suggestiveness and the play of association are essential characteristics of language. The great master has shown how he regarded pedantic distinctions of words or attempts to confine their meaning in the satire on Prodicus in the Protagoras.

(5) In addition to these anticipations of the general principles of philology, we may note also a few curious observations on words and sounds. ‘The Eretrians say sklerotes for skleroter;’ ‘the Thessalians call Apollo Amlos;’ ‘The Phrygians have the words pur, udor, kunes slightly changed;’ ‘there is an old Homeric word emesato, meaning “he contrived”;’ ‘our forefathers, and especially the women, who are most conservative of the ancient language, loved the letters iota and delta; but now iota is changed into eta and epsilon, and delta into zeta; this is supposed to increase the grandeur of the sound.’ Plato was very willing to use inductive arguments, so far as they were within his reach; but he would also have assigned a large influence to chance. Nor indeed is induction applicable to philology in the same degree as to most of the physical sciences. For after we have pushed our researches to the furthest point, in language as in all the other creations of the human mind, there will always remain an element of exception or accident or free-will, which cannot be eliminated.

The question, ‘whether falsehood is impossible,’ which Socrates characteristically sets aside as too subtle for an old man (compare Euthyd.), could only have arisen in an age of imperfect consciousness, which had not yet learned to distinguish words from things. Socrates replies in effect that words have an independent existence; thus anticipating the solution of the mediaeval controversy of Nominalism and Realism. He is aware too that languages exist in various degrees of perfection, and that the analysis of them can only be carried to a certain point. ‘If we could always, or almost always, use likenesses, which are the appropriate expressions, that would be the most perfect state of language.’ These words suggest a question of deeper interest than the origin of language; viz. what is the ideal of language, how far by any correction of their usages existing languages might become clearer and more expressive than they are, more poetical, and also more logical; or whether they are now finally fixed and have received their last impress from time and authority.

On the whole, the Cratylus seems to contain deeper truths about language than any other ancient writing. But feeling the uncertain ground upon which he is walking, and partly in order to preserve the character of Socrates, Plato envelopes the whole subject in a robe of fancy, and allows his principles to drop out as if by accident.

II. What is the result of recent speculations about the origin and nature of language? Like other modern metaphysical enquiries, they end at last in a statement of facts. But, in order to state or understand the facts, a metaphysical insight seems to be required. There are more things in language than the human mind easily conceives. And many fallacies have to be dispelled, as well as observations made. The true spirit of philosophy or metaphysics can alone charm away metaphysical illusions, which are always reappearing, formerly in the fancies of neoplatonist writers, now in the disguise of experience and common sense. An analogy, a figure of speech, an intelligible theory, a superficial observation of the individual, have often been mistaken for a true account of the origin of language.

Speaking is one of the simplest natural operations, and also the most complex. Nothing would seem to be easier or more trivial than a few words uttered by a child in any language. Yet into the formation of those words have entered causes which the human mind is not capable of calculating. They are a drop or two of the great stream or ocean of speech which has been flowing in all ages. They have been transmitted from one language to another; like the child himself, they go back to the beginnings of the human race. How they originated, who can tell? Nevertheless we can imagine a stage of human society in which the circle of men’s minds was narrower and their sympathies and instincts stronger; in which their organs of speech were more flexible, and the sense of hearing finer and more discerning; in which they lived more in company, and after the manner of children were more given to express their feelings; in which ‘they moved all together,’ like a herd of wild animals, ‘when they moved at all.’ Among them, as in every society, a particular person would be more sensitive and intelligent than the rest. Suddenly, on some occasion of interest (at the approach of a wild beast, shall we say?), he first, they following him, utter a cry which resounds through the forest. The cry is almost or quite involuntary, and may be an imitation of the roar of the animal. Thus far we have not speech, but only the inarticulate expression of feeling or emotion in no respect differing from the cries of animals; for they too call to one another and are answered. But now suppose that some one at a distance not only hears the sound, but apprehends the meaning: or we may imagine that the cry is repeated to a member of the society who had been absent; the others act the scene over again when he returns home in the evening. And so the cry becomes a word. The hearer in turn gives back the word to the speaker, who is now aware that he has acquired a new power. Many thousand times he exercises this power; like a child learning to talk, he repeats the same cry again, and again he is answered; he tries experiments with a like result, and the speaker and the hearer rejoice together in their newly-discovered faculty. At first there would be few such cries, and little danger of mistaking or confusing them. For the mind of primitive man had a narrow range of perceptions and feelings; his senses were microscopic; twenty or thirty sounds or gestures would be enough for him, nor would he have any difficulty in finding them. Naturally he broke out into speech — like the young infant he laughed and babbled; but not until there were hearers as well as speakers did language begin. Not the interjection or the vocal imitation of the object, but the interjection or the vocal imitation of the object understood, is the first rudiment of human speech.

After a while the word gathers associations, and has an independent existence. The imitation of the lion’s roar calls up the fears and hopes of the chase, which are excited by his appearance. In the moment of hearing the sound, without any appreciable interval, these and other latent experiences wake up in the mind of the hearer. Not only does he receive an impression, but he brings previous knowledge to bear upon that impression. Necessarily the pictorial image becomes less vivid, while the association of the nature and habits of the animal is more distinctly perceived. The picture passes into a symbol, for there would be too many of them and they would crowd the mind; the vocal imitation, too, is always in process of being lost and being renewed, just as the picture is brought back again in the description of the poet. Words now can be used more freely because there are more of them. What was once an involuntary expression becomes voluntary. Not only can men utter a cry or call, but they can communicate and converse; they can not only use words, but they can even play with them. The word is separated both from the object and from the mind; and slowly nations and individuals attain to a fuller consciousness of themselves.

Parallel with this mental process the articulation of sounds is gradually becoming perfected. The finer sense detects the differences of them, and begins, first to agglomerate, then to distinguish them. Times, persons, places, relations of all kinds, are expressed by modifications of them. The earliest parts of speech, as we may call them by anticipation, like the first utterances of children, probably partook of the nature of interjections and nouns; then came verbs; at length the whole sentence appeared, and rhythm and metre followed. Each stage in the progress of language was accompanied by some corresponding stage in the mind and civilisation of man. In time, when the family became a nation, the wild growth of dialects passed into a language. Then arose poetry and literature. We can hardly realize to ourselves how much with each improvement of language the powers of the human mind were enlarged; how the inner world took the place of outer; how the pictorial or symbolical or analogical word was refined into a notion; how language, fair and large and free, was at last complete.

So we may imagine the speech of man to have begun as with the cries of animals, or the stammering lips of children, and to have attained by degrees the perfection of Homer and Plato. Yet we are far from saying that this or any other theory of language is proved by facts. It is not difficult to form an hypothesis which by a series of imaginary transitions will bridge over the chasm which separates man from the animals. Differences of kind may often be thus resolved into differences of degree. But we must not assume that we have in this way discovered the true account of them. Through what struggles the harmonious use of the organs of speech was acquired; to what extent the conditions of human life were different; how far the genius of individuals may have contributed to the discovery of this as of the other arts, we cannot say: Only we seem to see that language is as much the creation of the ear as of the tongue, and the expression of a movement stirring the hearts not of one man only but of many, ‘as the trees of the wood are stirred by the wind.’ The theory is consistent or not inconsistent with our own mental experience, and throws some degree of light upon a dark corner of the human mind.

In the later analysis of language, we trace the opposite and contrasted elements of the individual and nation, of the past and present, of the inward and outward, of the subject and object, of the notional and relational, of the root or unchanging part of the word and of the changing inflexion, if such a distinction be admitted, of the vowel and the consonant, of quantity and accent, of speech and writing, of poetry and prose. We observe also the reciprocal influence of sounds and conceptions on each other, like the connexion of body and mind; and further remark that although the names of objects were originally proper names, as the grammarian or logician might call them, yet at a later stage they become universal notions, which combine into particulars and individuals, and are taken out of the first rude agglomeration of sounds that they may be replaced in a higher and more logical order. We see that in the simplest sentences are contained grammar and logic — the parts of speech, the Eleatic philosophy and the Kantian categories. So complex is language, and so expressive not only of the meanest wants of man, but of his highest thoughts; so various are the aspects in which it is regarded by us. Then again, when we follow the history of languages, we observe that they are always slowly moving, half dead, half alive, half solid, half fluid; the breath of a moment, yet like the air, continuous in all ages and countries, — like the glacier, too, containing within them a trickling stream which deposits debris of the rocks over which it passes. There were happy moments, as we may conjecture, in the lives of nations, at which they came to the birth — as in the golden age of literature, the man and the time seem to conspire; the eloquence of the bard or chief, as in later times the creations of the great writer who is the expression of his age, became impressed on the minds of their countrymen, perhaps in the hour of some crisis of national development — a migration, a conquest, or the like. The picture of the word which was beginning to be lost, is now revived; the sound again echoes to the sense; men find themselves capable not only of expressing more feelings, and describing more objects, but of expressing and describing them better. The world before the flood, that is to say, the world of ten, twenty, a hundred thousand years ago, has passed away and left no sign. But the best conception that we can form of it, though imperfect and uncertain, is gained from the analogy of causes still in action, some powerful and sudden, others working slowly in the course of infinite ages. Something too may be allowed to ‘the persistency of the strongest,’ to ‘the survival of the fittest,’ in this as in the other realms of nature.

These are some of the reflections which the modern philosophy of language suggests to us about the powers of the human mind and the forces and influences by which the efforts of men to utter articulate sounds were inspired. Yet in making these and similar generalizations we may note also dangers to which we are exposed. (1) There is the confusion of ideas with facts — of mere possibilities, and generalities, and modes of conception with actual and definite knowledge. The words ‘evolution,’ ‘birth,’ ‘law,’ development,’ ‘instinct,’ ‘implicit,’ ‘explicit,’ and the like, have a false clearness or comprehensiveness, which adds nothing to our knowledge. The metaphor of a flower or a tree, or some other work of nature or art, is often in like manner only a pleasing picture. (2) There is the fallacy of resolving the languages which we know into their parts, and then imagining that we can discover the nature of language by reconstructing them. (3) There is the danger of identifying language, not with thoughts but with ideas. (4) There is the error of supposing that the analysis of grammar and logic has always existed, or that their distinctions were familiar to Socrates and Plato. (5) There is the fallacy of exaggerating, and also of diminishing the interval which separates articulate from inarticulate language — the cries of animals from the speech of man — the instincts of animals from the reason of man. (6) There is the danger which besets all enquiries into the early history of man — of interpreting the past by the present, and of substituting the definite and intelligible for the true but dim outline which is the horizon of human knowledge.

The greatest light is thrown upon the nature of language by analogy. We have the analogy of the cries of animals, of the songs of birds (‘man, like the nightingale, is a singing bird, but is ever binding up thoughts with musical notes’), of music, of children learning to speak, of barbarous nations in which the linguistic instinct is still undecayed, of ourselves learning to think and speak a new language, of the deaf and dumb who have words without sounds, of the various disorders of speech; and we have the after-growth of mythology, which, like language, is an unconscious creation of the human mind. We can observe the social and collective instincts of animals, and may remark how, when domesticated, they have the power of understanding but not of speaking, while on the other hand, some birds which are comparatively devoid of intelligence, make a nearer approach to articulate speech. We may note how in the animals there is a want of that sympathy with one another which appears to be the soul of language. We can compare the use of speech with other mental and bodily operations; for speech too is a kind of gesture, and in the child or savage accompanied with gesture. We may observe that the child learns to speak, as he learns to walk or to eat, by a natural impulse; yet in either case not without a power of imitation which is also natural to him — he is taught to read, but he breaks forth spontaneously in speech. We can trace the impulse to bind together the world in ideas beginning in the first efforts to speak and culminating in philosophy. But there remains an element which cannot be explained, or even adequately described. We can understand how man creates or constructs consciously and by design; and see, if we do not understand, how nature, by a law, calls into being an organised structure. But the intermediate organism which stands between man and nature, which is the work of mind yet unconscious, and in which mind and matter seem to meet, and mind unperceived to herself is really limited by all other minds, is neither understood nor seen by us, and is with reluctance admitted to be a fact.

Language is an aspect of man, of nature, and of nations, the transfiguration of the world in thought, the meeting-point of the physical and mental sciences, and also the mirror in which they are reflected, present at every moment to the individual, and yet having a sort of eternal or universal nature. When we analyze our own mental processes, we find words everywhere in every degree of clearness and consistency, fading away in dreams and more like pictures, rapidly succeeding one another in our waking thoughts, attaining a greater distinctness and consecutiveness in speech, and a greater still in writing, taking the place of one another when we try to become emancipated from their influence. For in all processes of the mind which are conscious we are talking to ourselves; the attempt to think without words is a mere illusion, — they are always reappearing when we fix our thoughts. And speech is not a separate faculty, but the expression of all our faculties, to which all our other powers of expression, signs, looks, gestures, lend their aid, of which the instrument is not the tongue only, but more than half the human frame.

The minds of men are sometimes carried on to think of their lives and of their actions as links in a chain of causes and effects going back to the beginning of time. A few have seemed to lose the sense of their own individuality in the universal cause or nature. In like manner we might think of the words which we daily use, as derived from the first speech of man, and of all the languages in the world, as the expressions or varieties of a single force or life of language of which the thoughts of men are the accident. Such a conception enables us to grasp the power and wonder of languages, and is very natural to the scientific philologist. For he, like the metaphysician, believes in the reality of that which absorbs his own mind. Nor do we deny the enormous influence which language has exercised over thought. Fixed words, like fixed ideas, have often governed the world. But in such representations we attribute to language too much the nature of a cause, and too little of an effect, — too much of an absolute, too little of a relative character, — too much of an ideal, too little of a matter-of-fact existence.

Or again, we may frame a single abstract notion of language of which all existent languages may be supposed to be the perversion. But we must not conceive that this logical figment had ever a real existence, or is anything more than an effort of the mind to give unity to infinitely various phenomena. There is no abstract language ‘in rerum natura,’ any more than there is an abstract tree, but only languages in various stages of growth, maturity, and decay. Nor do other logical distinctions or even grammatical exactly correspond to the facts of language; for they too are attempts to give unity and regularity to a subject which is partly irregular.

We find, however, that there are distinctions of another kind by which this vast field of language admits of being mapped out. There is the distinction between biliteral and triliteral roots, and the various inflexions which accompany them; between the mere mechanical cohesion of sounds or words, and the ‘chemical’ combination of them into a new word; there is the distinction between languages which have had a free and full development of their organisms, and languages which have been stunted in their growth, — lamed in their hands or feet, and never able to acquire afterwards the powers in which they are deficient; there is the distinction between synthetical languages like Greek and Latin, which have retained their inflexions, and analytical languages like English or French, which have lost them. Innumerable as are the languages and dialects of mankind, there are comparatively few classes to which they can be referred.

Another road through this chaos is provided by the physiology of speech. The organs of language are the same in all mankind, and are only capable of uttering a certain number of sounds. Every man has tongue, teeth, lips, palate, throat, mouth, which he may close or open, and adapt in various ways; making, first, vowels and consonants; and secondly, other classes of letters. The elements of all speech, like the elements of the musical scale, are few and simple, though admitting of infinite gradations and combinations. Whatever slight differences exist in the use or formation of these organs, owing to climate or the sense of euphony or other causes, they are as nothing compared with their agreement. Here then is a real basis of unity in the study of philology, unlike that imaginary abstract unity of which we were just now speaking.

Whether we regard language from the psychological, or historical, or physiological point of view, the materials of our knowledge are inexhaustible. The comparisons of children learning to speak, of barbarous nations, of musical notes, of the cries of animals, of the song of birds, increase our insight into the nature of human speech. Many observations which would otherwise have escaped us are suggested by them. But they do not explain why, in man and in man only, the speaker met with a response from the hearer, and the half articulate sound gradually developed into Sanscrit and Greek. They hardly enable us to approach any nearer the secret of the origin of language, which, like some of the other great secrets of nature, — the origin of birth and death, or of animal life, — remains inviolable. That problem is indissolubly bound up with the origin of man; and if we ever know more of the one, we may expect to know more of the other. (Compare W. Humboldt, ‘Ueber die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues;’ M. Muller, ‘Lectures on the Science of Language;’ Steinthal, ‘Einleitung in die Psychologie und Sprachwissenschaft.’)

It is more than sixteen years since the preceding remarks were written, which with a few alterations have now been reprinted. During the interval the progress of philology has been very great. More languages have been compared; the inner structure of language has been laid bare; the relations of sounds have been more accurately discriminated; the manner in which dialects affect or are affected by the literary or principal form of a language is better understood. Many merely verbal questions have been eliminated; the remains of the old traditional methods have died away. The study has passed from the metaphysical into an historical stage. Grammar is no longer confused with language, nor the anatomy of words and sentences with their life and use. Figures of speech, by which the vagueness of theories is often concealed, have been stripped off; and we see language more as it truly was. The immensity of the subject is gradually revealed to us, and the reign of law becomes apparent. Yet the law is but partially seen; the traces of it are often lost in the distance. For languages have a natural but not a perfect growth; like other creations of nature into which the will of man enters, they are full of what we term accident and irregularity. And the difficulties of the subject become not less, but greater, as we proceed — it is one of those studies in which we seem to know less as we know more; partly because we are no longer satisfied with the vague and superficial ideas of it which prevailed fifty years ago; partly also because the remains of the languages with which we are acquainted always were, and if they are still living, are, in a state of transition; and thirdly, because there are lacunae in our knowledge of them which can never be filled up. Not a tenth, not a hundredth part of them has been preserved. Yet the materials at our disposal are far greater than any individual can use. Such are a few of the general reflections which the present state of philology calls up.

(1) Language seems to be composite, but into its first elements the philologer has never been able to penetrate. However far he goes back, he never arrives at the beginning; or rather, as in Geology or in Astronomy, there is no beginning. He is too apt to suppose that by breaking up the existing forms of language into their parts he will arrive at a previous stage of it, but he is merely analyzing what never existed, or is never known to have existed, except in a composite form. He may divide nouns and verbs into roots and inflexions, but he has no evidence which will show that the omega of tupto or the mu of tithemi, though analogous to ego, me, either became pronouns or were generated out of pronouns. To say that ‘pronouns, like ripe fruit, dropped out of verbs,’ is a misleading figure of speech. Although all languages have some common principles, there is no primitive form or forms of language known to us, or to be reasonably imagined, from which they are all descended. No inference can be drawn from language, either for or against the unity of the human race. Nor is there any proof that words were ever used without any relation to each other. Whatever may be the meaning of a sentence or a word when applied to primitive language, it is probable that the sentence is more akin to the original form than the word, and that the later stage of language is the result rather of analysis than of synthesis, or possibly is a combination of the two. Nor, again, are we sure that the original process of learning to speak was the same in different places or among different races of men. It may have been slower with some, quicker with others. Some tribes may have used shorter, others longer words or cries: they may have been more or less inclined to agglutinate or to decompose them: they may have modified them by the use of prefixes, suffixes, infixes; by the lengthening and strengthening of vowels or by the shortening and weakening of them, by the condensation or rarefaction of consonants. But who gave to language these primeval laws; or why one race has triliteral, another biliteral roots; or why in some members of a group of languages b becomes p, or d, t, or ch, k; or why two languages resemble one another in certain parts of their structure and differ in others; or why in one language there is a greater development of vowels, in another of consonants, and the like — are questions of which we only ‘entertain conjecture.’ We must remember the length of time that has elapsed since man first walked upon the earth, and that in this vast but unknown period every variety of language may have been in process of formation and decay, many times over.

(Compare Plato, Laws): —

‘ATHENIAN STRANGER: And what then is to be regarded as the origin of government? Will not a man be able to judge best from a point of view in which he may behold the progress of states and their transitions to good and evil?

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN STRANGER: I mean that he might watch them from the point of view of time, and observe the changes which take place in them during infinite ages.

CLEINIAS: How so?

ATHENIAN STRANGER: Why, do you think that you can reckon the time which has elapsed since cities first existed and men were citizens of them?

CLEINIAS: Hardly.

ATHENIAN STRANGER: But you are quite sure that it must be vast and incalculable?

CLEINIAS: No doubt.

ATHENIAN STRANGER: And have there not been thousands and thousands of cities which have come into being and perished during this period? And has not every place had endless forms of government, and been sometimes rising, and at other times falling, and again improving or waning?’

Aristot. Metaph.: —

‘And if a person should conceive the tales of mythology to mean only that men thought the gods to be the first essences of things, he would deem the reflection to have been inspired and would consider that, whereas probably every art and part of wisdom had been DISCOVERED AND LOST MANY TIMES OVER, such notions were but a remnant of the past which has survived to our day.’)

It can hardly be supposed that any traces of an original language still survive, any more than of the first huts or buildings which were constructed by man. Nor are we at all certain of the relation, if any, in which the greater families of languages stand to each other. The influence of individuals must always have been a disturbing element. Like great writers in later times, there may have been many a barbaric genius who taught the men of his tribe to sing or speak, showing them by example how to continue or divide their words, charming their souls with rhythm and accent and intonation, finding in familiar objects the expression of their confused fancies — to whom the whole of language might in truth be said to be a figure of speech. One person may have introduced a new custom into the formation or pronunciation of a word; he may have been imitated by others, and the custom, or form, or accent, or quantity, or rhyme which he introduced in a single word may have become the type on which many other words or inflexions of words were framed, and may have quickly ran through a whole language. For like the other gifts which nature has bestowed upon man, that of speech has been conveyed to him through the medium, not of the many, but of the few, who were his ‘law-givers’— ‘the legislator with the dialectician standing on his right hand,’ in Plato’s striking image, who formed the manners of men and gave them customs, whose voice and look and behaviour, whose gesticulations and other peculiarities were instinctively imitated by them, — the ‘king of men’ who was their priest, almost their God...But these are conjectures only: so little do we know of the origin of language that the real scholar is indisposed to touch the subject at all.

(2) There are other errors besides the figment of a primitive or original language which it is time to leave behind us. We no longer divide languages into synthetical and analytical, or suppose similarity of structure to be the safe or only guide to the affinities of them. We do not confuse the parts of speech with the categories of Logic. Nor do we conceive languages any more than civilisations to be in a state of dissolution; they do not easily pass away, but are far more tenacious of life than the tribes by whom they are spoken. ‘Where two or three are gathered together,’ they survive. As in the human frame, as in the state, there is a principle of renovation as well as of decay which is at work in all of them. Neither do we suppose them to be invented by the wit of man. With few exceptions, e.g. technical words or words newly imported from a foreign language, and the like, in which art has imitated nature, ‘words are not made but grow.’ Nor do we attribute to them a supernatural origin. The law which regulates them is like the law which governs the circulation of the blood, or the rising of the sap in trees; the action of it is uniform, but the result, which appears in the superficial forms of men and animals or in the leaves of trees, is an endless profusion and variety. The laws of vegetation are invariable, but no two plants, no two leaves of the forest are precisely the same. The laws of language are invariable, but no two languages are alike, no two words have exactly the same meaning. No two sounds are exactly of the same quality, or give precisely the same impression.

It would be well if there were a similar consensus about some other points which appear to be still in dispute. Is language conscious or unconscious? In speaking or writing have we present to our minds the meaning or the sound or the construction of the words which we are using? — No more than the separate drops of water with which we quench our thirst are present: the whole draught may be conscious, but not the minute particles of which it is made up: So the whole sentence may be conscious, but the several words, syllables, letters are not thought of separately when we are uttering them. Like other natural operations, the process of speech, when most perfect, is least observed by us. We do not pause at each mouthful to dwell upon the taste of it: nor has the speaker time to ask himself the comparative merits of different modes of expression while he is uttering them. There are many things in the use of language which may be observed from without, but which cannot be explained from within. Consciousness carries us but a little way in the investigation of the mind; it is not the faculty of internal observation, but only the dim light which makes such observation possible. What is supposed to be our consciousness of language is really only the analysis of it, and this analysis admits of innumerable degrees. But would it not be better if this term, which is so misleading, and yet has played so great a part in mental science, were either banished or used only with the distinct meaning of ‘attention to our own minds,’ such as is called forth, not by familiar mental processes, but by the interruption of them? Now in this sense we may truly say that we are not conscious of ordinary speech, though we are commonly roused to attention by the misuse or mispronunciation of a word. Still less, even in schools and academies, do we ever attempt to invent new words or to alter the meaning of old ones, except in the case, mentioned above, of technical or borrowed words which are artificially made or imported because a need of them is felt. Neither in our own nor in any other age has the conscious effort of reflection in man contributed in an appreciable degree to the formation of language. ‘Which of us by taking thought’ can make new words or constructions? Reflection is the least of the causes by which language is affected, and is likely to have the least power, when the linguistic instinct is greatest, as in young children and in the infancy of nations.

A kindred error is the separation of the phonetic from the mental element of language; they are really inseparable — no definite line can be drawn between them, any more than in any other common act of mind and body. It is true that within certain limits we possess the power of varying sounds by opening and closing the mouth, by touching the palate or the teeth with the tongue, by lengthening or shortening the vocal instrument, by greater or less stress, by a higher or lower pitch of the voice, and we can substitute one note or accent for another. But behind the organs of speech and their action there remains the informing mind, which sets them in motion and works together with them. And behind the great structure of human speech and the lesser varieties of language which arise out of the many degrees and kinds of human intercourse, there is also the unknown or over-ruling law of God or nature which gives order to it in its infinite greatness, and variety in its infinitesimal minuteness — both equally inscrutable to us. We need no longer discuss whether philology is to be classed with the Natural or the Mental sciences, if we frankly recognize that, like all the sciences which are concerned with man, it has a double aspect, — inward and outward; and that the inward can only be known through the outward. Neither need we raise the question whether the laws of language, like the other laws of human action, admit of exceptions. The answer in all cases is the same — that the laws of nature are uniform, though the consistency or continuity of them is not always perceptible to us. The superficial appearances of language, as of nature, are irregular, but we do not therefore deny their deeper uniformity. The comparison of the growth of language in the individual and in the nation cannot be wholly discarded, for nations are made up of individuals. But in this, as in the other political sciences, we must distinguish between collective and individual actions or processes, and not attribute to the one what belongs to the other. Again, when we speak of the hereditary or paternity of a language, we must remember that the parents are alive as well as the children, and that all the preceding generations survive (after a manner) in the latest form of it. And when, for the purposes of comparison, we form into groups the roots or terminations of words, we should not forget how casual is the manner in which their resemblances have arisen — they were not first written down by a grammarian in the paradigms of a grammar and learned out of a book, but were due to many chance attractions of sound or of meaning, or of both combined. So many cautions have to be borne in mind, and so many first thoughts to be dismissed, before we can proceed safely in the path of philological enquiry. It might be well sometimes to lay aside figures of speech, such as the ‘root’ and the ‘branches,’ the ‘stem,’ the ‘strata’ of Geology, the ‘compounds’ of Chemistry, ‘the ripe fruit of pronouns dropping from verbs’ (see above), and the like, which are always interesting, but are apt to be delusive. Yet such figures of speech are far nearer the truth than the theories which attribute the invention and improvement of language to the conscious action of the human mind...Lastly, it is doubted by recent philologians whether climate can be supposed to have exercised any influence worth speaking of on a language: such a view is said to be unproven: it had better therefore not be silently assumed.

‘Natural selection’ and the ‘survival of the fittest’ have been applied in the field of philology, as well as in the other sciences which are concerned with animal and vegetable life. And a Darwinian school of philologists has sprung up, who are sometimes accused of putting words in the place of things. It seems to be true, that whether applied to language or to other branches of knowledge, the Darwinian theory, unless very precisely defined, hardly escapes from being a truism. If by ‘the natural selection’ of words or meanings of words or by the ‘persistence and survival of the fittest’ the maintainer of the theory intends to affirm nothing more than this — that the word ‘fittest to survive’ survives, he adds not much to the knowledge of language. But if he means that the word or the meaning of the word or some portion of the word which comes into use or drops out of use is selected or rejected on the ground of economy or parsimony or ease to the speaker or clearness or euphony or expressiveness, or greater or less demand for it, or anything of this sort, he is affirming a proposition which has several senses, and in none of these senses can be assisted to be uniformly true. For the laws of language are precarious, and can only act uniformly when there is such frequency of intercourse among neighbours as is sufficient to enforce them. And there are many reasons why a man should prefer his own way of speaking to that of others, unless by so doing he becomes unintelligible. The struggle for existence among words is not of that fierce and irresistible kind in which birds, beasts and fishes devour one another, but of a milder sort, allowing one usage to be substituted for another, not by force, but by the persuasion, or rather by the prevailing habit, of a majority. The favourite figure, in this, as in some other uses of it, has tended rather to obscure than explain the subject to which it has been applied. Nor in any case can the struggle for existence be deemed to be the sole or principal cause of changes in language, but only one among many, and one of which we cannot easily measure the importance. There is a further objection which may be urged equally against all applications of the Darwinian theory. As in animal life and likewise in vegetable, so in languages, the process of change is said to be insensible: sounds, like animals, are supposed to pass into one another by imperceptible gradation. But in both cases the newly-created forms soon become fixed; there are few if any vestiges of the intermediate links, and so the better half of the evidence of the change is wanting.

(3) Among the incumbrances or illusions of language may be reckoned many of the rules and traditions of grammar, whether ancient grammar or the corrections of it which modern philology has introduced. Grammar, like law, delights in definition: human speech, like human action, though very far from being a mere chaos, is indefinite, admits of degrees, and is always in a state of change or transition. Grammar gives an erroneous conception of language: for it reduces to a system that which is not a system. Its figures of speech, pleonasms, ellipses, anacolutha, pros to semainomenon, and the like have no reality; they do not either make conscious expressions more intelligible or show the way in which they have arisen; they are chiefly designed to bring an earlier use of language into conformity with the later. Often they seem intended only to remind us that great poets like Aeschylus or Sophocles or Pindar or a great prose writer like Thucydides are guilty of taking unwarrantable liberties with grammatical rules; it appears never to have occurred to the inventors of them that these real ‘conditores linguae Graecae’ lived in an age before grammar, when ‘Greece also was living Greece.’ It is the anatomy, not the physiology of language, which grammar seeks to describe: into the idiom and higher life of words it does not enter. The ordinary Greek grammar gives a complete paradigm of the verb, without suggesting that the double or treble forms of Perfects, Aorists, etc. are hardly ever contemporaneous. It distinguishes Moods and Tenses, without observing how much of the nature of one passes into the other. It makes three Voices, Active, Passive, and Middle, but takes no notice of the precarious existence and uncertain character of the last of the three. Language is a thing of degrees and relations and associations and exceptions: grammar ties it up in fixed rules. Language has many varieties of usage: grammar tries to reduce them to a single one. Grammar divides verbs into regular and irregular: it does not recognize that the irregular, equally with the regular, are subject to law, and that a language which had no exceptions would not be a natural growth: for it could not have been subjected to the influences by which language is ordinarily affected. It is always wanting to describe ancient languages in the terms of a modern one. It has a favourite fiction that one word is put in the place of another; the truth is that no word is ever put for another. It has another fiction, that a word has been omitted: words are omitted because they are no longer needed; and the omission has ceased to be observed. The common explanation of kata or some other preposition ‘being understood’ in a Greek sentence is another fiction of the same kind, which tends to disguise the fact that under cases were comprehended originally many more relations, and that prepositions are used only to define the meaning of them with greater precision. These instances are sufficient to show the sort of errors which grammar introduces into language. We are not considering the question of its utility to the beginner in the study. Even to him the best grammar is the shortest and that in which he will have least to unlearn. It may be said that the explanations here referred to are already out of date, and that the study of Greek grammar has received a new character from comparative philology. This is true; but it is also true that the traditional grammar has still a great hold on the mind of the student.

Metaphysics are even more troublesome than the figments of grammar, because they wear the appearance of philosophy and there is no test to which they can be subjected. They are useful in so far as they give us an insight into the history of the human mind and the modes of thought which have existed in former ages; or in so far as they furnish wider conceptions of the different branches of knowledge and of their relation to one another. But they are worse than useless when they outrun experience and abstract the mind from the observation of facts, only to envelope it in a mist of words. Some philologers, like Schleicher, have been greatly influenced by the philosophy of Hegel; nearly all of them to a certain extent have fallen under the dominion of physical science. Even Kant himself thought that the first principles of philosophy could be elicited from the analysis of the proposition, in this respect falling short of Plato. Westphal holds that there are three stages of language: (1) in which things were characterized independently, (2) in which they were regarded in relation to human thought, and (3) in relation to one another. But are not such distinctions an anachronism? for they imply a growth of abstract ideas which never existed in early times. Language cannot be explained by Metaphysics; for it is prior to them and much more nearly allied to sense. It is not likely that the meaning of the cases is ultimately resolvable into relations of space and time. Nor can we suppose the conception of cause and effect or of the finite and infinite or of the same and other to be latent in language at a time when in their abstract form they had never entered into the mind of man...If the science of Comparative Philology had possessed ‘enough of Metaphysics to get rid of Metaphysics,’ it would have made far greater progress.

(4) Our knowledge of language is almost confined to languages which are fully developed. They are of several patterns; and these become altered by admixture in various degrees, — they may only borrow a few words from one another and retain their life comparatively unaltered, or they may meet in a struggle for existence until one of the two is overpowered and retires from the field. They attain the full rights and dignity of language when they acquire the use of writing and have a literature of their own; they pass into dialects and grow out of them, in proportion as men are isolated or united by locality or occupation. The common language sometimes reacts upon the dialects and imparts to them also a literary character. The laws of language can be best discerned in the great crises of language, especially in the transitions from ancient to modern forms of them, whether in Europe or Asia. Such changes are the silent notes of the world’s history; they mark periods of unknown length in which war and conquest were running riot over whole continents, times of suffering too great to be endured by the human race, in which the masters became subjects and the subject races masters, in which driven by necessity or impelled by some instinct, tribes or nations left their original homes and but slowly found a resting-place. Language would be the greatest of all historical monuments, if it could only tell us the history of itself.

(5) There are many ways in which we may approach this study. The simplest of all is to observe our own use of language in conversation or in writing, how we put words together, how we construct and connect sentences, what are the rules of accent and rhythm in verse or prose, the formation and composition of words, the laws of euphony and sound, the affinities of letters, the mistakes to which we are ourselves most liable of spelling or pronunciation. We may compare with our own language some other, even when we have only a slight knowledge of it, such as French or German. Even a little Latin will enable us to appreciate the grand difference between ancient and modern European languages. In the child learning to speak we may note the inherent strength of language, which like ‘a mountain river’ is always forcing its way out. We may witness the delight in imitation and repetition, and some of the laws by which sounds pass into one another. We may learn something also from the falterings of old age, the searching for words, and the confusion of them with one another, the forgetfulness of proper names (more commonly than of other words because they are more isolated), aphasia, and the like. There are philological lessons also to be gathered from nicknames, from provincialisms, from the slang of great cities, from the argot of Paris (that language of suffering and crime, so pathetically described by Victor Hugo), from the imperfect articulation of the deaf and dumb, from the jabbering of animals, from the analysis of sounds in relation to the organs of speech. The phonograph affords a visible evidence of the nature and divisions of sound; we may be truly said to know what we can manufacture. Artificial languages, such as that of Bishop Wilkins, are chiefly useful in showing what language is not. The study of any foreign language may be made also a study of Comparative Philology. There are several points, such as the nature of irregular verbs, of indeclinable parts of speech, the influence of euphony, the decay or loss of inflections, the elements of syntax, which may be examined as well in the history of our own language as of any other. A few well-selected questions may lead the student at once into the heart of the mystery: such as, Why are the pronouns and the verb of existence generally more irregular than any other parts of speech? Why is the number of words so small in which the sound is an echo of the sense? Why does the meaning of words depart so widely from their etymology? Why do substantives often differ in meaning from the verbs to which they are related, adverbs from adjectives? Why do words differing in origin coalesce in the same sound though retaining their differences of meaning? Why are some verbs impersonal? Why are there only so many parts of speech, and on what principle are they divided? These are a few crucial questions which give us an insight from different points of view into the true nature of language.

(6) Thus far we have been endeavouring to strip off from language the false appearances in which grammar and philology, or the love of system generally, have clothed it. We have also sought to indicate the sources of our knowledge of it and the spirit in which we should approach it, we may now proceed to consider some of the principles or natural laws which have created or modified it.

i. The first and simplest of all the principles of language, common also to the animals, is imitation. The lion roars, the wolf howls in the solitude of the forest: they are answered by similar cries heard from a distance. The bird, too, mimics the voice of man and makes answer to him. Man tells to man the secret place in which he is hiding himself; he remembers and repeats the sound which he has heard. The love of imitation becomes a passion and an instinct to him. Primitive men learnt to speak from one another, like a child from its mother or nurse. They learnt of course a rudimentary, half-articulate language, the cry or song or speech which was the expression of what we now call human thoughts and feelings. We may still remark how much greater and more natural the exercise of the power is in the use of language than in any other process or action of the human mind.

ii. Imitation provided the first material of language: but it was ‘without form and void.’ During how many years or hundreds or thousands of years the imitative or half-articulate stage continued there is no possibility of determining. But we may reasonably conjecture that there was a time when the vocal utterance of man was intermediate between what we now call language and the cry of a bird or animal. Speech before language was a rudis indigestaque materies, not yet distributed into words and sentences, in which the cry of fear or joy mingled with more definite sounds recognized by custom as the expressions of things or events. It was the principle of analogy which introduced into this ‘indigesta moles’ order and measure. It was Anaxagoras’ omou panta chremata, eita nous elthon diekosmese: the light of reason lighted up all things and at once began to arrange them. In every sentence, in every word and every termination of a word, this power of forming relations to one another was contained. There was a proportion of sound to sound, of meaning to meaning, of meaning to sound. The cases and numbers of nouns, the persons, tenses, numbers of verbs, were generally on the same or nearly the same pattern and had the same meaning. The sounds by which they were expressed were rough-hewn at first; after a while they grew more refined — the natural laws of euphony began to affect them. The rules of syntax are likewise based upon analogy. Time has an analogy with space, arithmetic with geometry. Not only in musical notes, but in the quantity, quality, accent, rhythm of human speech, trivial or serious, there is a law of proportion. As in things of beauty, as in all nature, in the composition as well as in the motion of all things, there is a similarity of relations by which they are held together.

It would be a mistake to suppose that the analogies of language are always uniform: there may be often a choice between several, and sometimes one and sometimes another will prevail. In Greek there are three declensions of nouns; the forms of cases in one of them may intrude upon another. Similarly verbs in -omega and -mu iota interchange forms of tenses, and the completed paradigm of the verb is often made up of both. The same nouns may be partly declinable and partly indeclinable, and in some of their cases may have fallen out of use. Here are rules with exceptions; they are not however really exceptions, but contain in themselves indications of other rules. Many of these interruptions or variations of analogy occur in pronouns or in the verb of existence of which the forms were too common and therefore too deeply imbedded in language entirely to drop out. The same verbs in the same meaning may sometimes take one case, sometimes another. The participle may also have the character of an adjective, the adverb either of an adjective or of a preposition. These exceptions are as regular as the rules, but the causes of them are seldom known to us.

Language, like the animal and vegetable worlds, is everywhere intersected by the lines of analogy. Like number from which it seems to be derived, the principle of analogy opens the eyes of men to discern the similarities and differences of things, and their relations to one another. At first these are such as lie on the surface only; after a time they are seen by men to reach farther down into the nature of things. Gradually in language they arrange themselves into a sort of imperfect system; groups of personal and case endings are placed side by side. The fertility of language produces many more than are wanted; and the superfluous ones are utilized by the assignment to them of new meanings. The vacuity and the superfluity are thus partially compensated by each other. It must be remembered that in all the languages which have a literature, certainly in Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, we are not at the beginning but almost at the end of the linguistic process; we have reached a time when the verb and the noun are nearly perfected, though in no language did they completely perfect themselves, because for some unknown reason the motive powers of languages seem to have ceased when they were on the eve of completion: they became fixed or crystallized in an imperfect form either from the influence of writing and literature, or because no further differentiation of them was required for the intelligibility of language. So not without admixture and confusion and displacement and contamination of sounds and the meanings of words, a lower stage of language passes into a higher. Thus far we can see and no further. When we ask the reason why this principle of analogy prevails in all the vast domain of language, there is no answer to the question; or no other answer but this, that there are innumerable ways in which, like number, analogy permeates, not only language, but the whole world, both visible and intellectual. We know from experience that it does not (a) arise from any conscious act of reflection that the accusative of a Latin noun in ‘us’ should end in ‘um;’ nor (b) from any necessity of being understood, — much less articulation would suffice for this; nor (c) from greater convenience or expressiveness of particular sounds. Such notions were certainly far enough away from the mind of primitive man. We may speak of a latent instinct, of a survival of the fittest, easiest, most euphonic, most economical of breath, in the case of one of two competing sounds; but these expressions do not add anything to our knowledge. We may try to grasp the infinity of language either under the figure of a limitless plain divided into countries and districts by natural boundaries, or of a vast river eternally flowing whose origin is concealed from us; we may apprehend partially the laws by which speech is regulated: but we do not know, and we seem as if we should never know, any more than in the parallel case of the origin of species, how vocal sounds received life and grew, and in the form of languages came to be distributed over the earth.

iii. Next in order to analogy in the formation of language or even prior to it comes the principle of onomatopea, which is itself a kind of analogy or similarity of sound and meaning. In by far the greater number of words it has become disguised and has disappeared; but in no stage of language is it entirely lost. It belongs chiefly to early language, in which words were few; and its influence grew less and less as time went on. To the ear which had a sense of harmony it became a barbarism which disturbed the flow and equilibrium of discourse; it was an excrescence which had to be cut out, a survival which needed to be got rid of, because it was out of keeping with the rest. It remained for the most part only as a formative principle, which used words and letters not as crude imitations of other natural sounds, but as symbols of ideas which were naturally associated with them. It received in another way a new character; it affected not so much single words, as larger portions of human speech. It regulated the juxtaposition of sounds and the cadence of sentences. It was the music, not of song, but of speech, in prose as well as verse. The old onomatopea of primitive language was refined into an onomatopea of a higher kind, in which it is no longer true to say that a particular sound corresponds to a motion or action of man or beast or movement of nature, but that in all the higher uses of language the sound is the echo of the sense, especially in poetry, in which beauty and expressiveness are given to human thoughts by the harmonious composition of the words, syllables, letters, accents, quantities, rhythms, rhymes, varieties and contrasts of all sorts. The poet with his ‘Break, break, break’ or his e pasin nekuessi kataphthimenoisin anassein or his ‘longius ex altoque sinum trahit,’ can produce a far finer music than any crude imitations of things or actions in sound, although a letter or two having this imitative power may be a lesser element of beauty in such passages. The same subtle sensibility, which adapts the word to the thing, adapts the sentence or cadence to the general meaning or spirit of the passage. This is the higher onomatopea which has banished the cruder sort as unworthy to have a place in great languages and literatures.

We can see clearly enough that letters or collocations of letters do by various degrees of strength or weakness, length or shortness, emphasis or pitch, become the natural expressions of the finer parts of human feeling or thought. And not only so, but letters themselves have a significance; as Plato observes that the letter rho accent is expressive of motion, the letters delta and tau of binding and rest, the letter lambda of smoothness, nu of inwardness, the letter eta of length, the letter omicron of roundness. These were often combined so as to form composite notions, as for example in tromos (trembling), trachus (rugged), thrauein (crush), krouein (strike), thruptein (break), pumbein (whirl), — in all which words we notice a parallel composition of sounds in their English equivalents. Plato also remarks, as we remark, that the onomatopoetic principle is far from prevailing uniformly, and further that no explanation of language consistently corresponds with any system of philosophy, however great may be the light which language throws upon the nature of the mind. Both in Greek and English we find groups of words such as string, swing, sling, spring, sting, which are parallel to one another and may be said to derive their vocal effect partly from contrast of letters, but in which it is impossible to assign a precise amount of meaning to each of the expressive and onomatopoetic letters. A few of them are directly imitative, as for example the omega in oon, which represents the round form of the egg by the figure of the mouth: or bronte (thunder), in which the fulness of the sound of the word corresponds to the thing signified by it; or bombos (buzzing), of which the first syllable, as in its English equivalent, has the meaning of a deep sound. We may observe also (as we see in the case of the poor stammerer) that speech has the co-operation of the whole body and may be often assisted or half expressed by gesticulation. A sound or word is not the work of the vocal organs only; nearly the whole of the upper part of the human frame, including head, chest, lungs, have a share in creating it; and it may be accompanied by a movement of the eyes, nose, fingers, hands, feet which contributes to the effect of it.

The principle of onomatopea has fallen into discredit, partly because it has been supposed to imply an actual manufacture of words out of syllables and letters, like a piece of joiner’s work, — a theory of language which is more and more refuted by facts, and more and more going out of fashion with philologians; and partly also because the traces of onomatopea in separate words become almost obliterated in the course of ages. The poet of language cannot put in and pull out letters, as a painter might insert or blot out a shade of colour to give effect to his picture. It would be ridiculous for him to alter any received form of a word in order to render it more expressive of the sense. He can only select, perhaps out of some dialect, the form which is already best adapted to his purpose. The true onomatopea is not a creative, but a formative principle, which in the later stage of the history of language ceases to act upon individual words; but still works through the collocation of them in the sentence or paragraph, and the adaptation of every word, syllable, letter to one another and to the rhythm of the whole passage.

iv. Next, under a distinct head, although not separable from the preceding, may be considered the differentiation of languages, i.e. the manner in which differences of meaning and form have arisen in them. Into their first creation we have ceased to enquire: it is their aftergrowth with which we are now concerned. How did the roots or substantial portions of words become modified or inflected? and how did they receive separate meanings? First we remark that words are attracted by the sounds and senses of other words, so that they form groups of nouns and verbs analogous in sound and sense to one another, each noun or verb putting forth inflexions, generally of two or three patterns, and with exceptions. We do not say that we know how sense became first allied to sound; but we have no difficulty in ascertaining how the sounds and meanings of words were in time parted off or differentiated. (1) The chief causes which regulate the variations of sound are (a) double or differing analogies, which lead sometimes to one form, sometimes to another (b) euphony, by which is meant chiefly the greater pleasure to the ear and the greater facility to the organs of speech which is given by a new formation or pronunciation of a word (c) the necessity of finding new expressions for new classes or processes of things. We are told that changes of sound take place by innumerable gradations until a whole tribe or community or society find themselves acquiescing in a new pronunciation or use of language. Yet no one observes the change, or is at all aware that in the course of a lifetime he and his contemporaries have appreciably varied their intonation or use of words. On the other hand, the necessities of language seem to require that the intermediate sounds or meanings of words should quickly become fixed or set and not continue in a state of transition. The process of settling down is aided by the organs of speech and by the use of writing and printing. (2) The meaning of words varies because ideas vary or the number of things which is included under them or with which they are associated is increased. A single word is thus made to do duty for many more things than were formerly expressed by it; and it parts into different senses when the classes of things or ideas which are represented by it are themselves different and distinct. A figurative use of a word may easily pass into a new sense: a new meaning caught up by association may become more important than all the rest. The good or neutral sense of a word, such as Jesuit, Puritan, Methodist, Heretic, has been often converted into a bad one by the malevolence of party spirit. Double forms suggest different meanings and are often used to express them; and the form or accent of a word has been not unfrequently altered when there is a difference of meaning. The difference of gender in nouns is utilized for the same reason. New meanings of words push themselves into the vacant spaces of language and retire when they are no longer needed. Language equally abhors vacancy and superfluity. But the remedial measures by which both are eliminated are not due to any conscious action of the human mind; nor is the force exerted by them constraining or necessary.

(7) We have shown that language, although subject to laws, is far from being of an exact and uniform nature. We may now speak briefly of the faults of language. They may be compared to the faults of Geology, in which different strata cross one another or meet at an angle, or mix with one another either by slow transitions or by violent convulsions, leaving many lacunae which can be no longer filled up, and often becoming so complex that no true explanation of them can be given. So in language there are the cross influences of meaning and sound, of logic and grammar, of differing analogies, of words and the inflexions of words, which often come into conflict with each other. The grammarian, if he were to form new words, would make them all of the same pattern according to what he conceives to be the rule, that is, the more common usage of language. The subtlety of nature goes far beyond art, and it is complicated by irregularity, so that often we can hardly say that there is a right or wrong in the formation of words. For almost any formation which is not at variance with the first principles of language is possible and may be defended.

The imperfection of language is really due to the formation and correlation of words by accident, that is to say, by principles which are unknown to us. Hence we see why Plato, like ourselves unable to comprehend the whole of language, was constrained to ‘supplement the poor creature imitation by another poor creature convention.’ But the poor creature convention in the end proves too much for all the rest: for we do not ask what is the origin of words or whether they are formed according to a correct analogy, but what is the usage of them; and we are compelled to admit with Hermogenes in Plato and with Horace that usage is the ruling principle, ‘quem penes arbitrium est, et jus et norma loquendi.’

(8) There are two ways in which a language may attain permanence or fixity. First, it may have been embodied in poems or hymns or laws, which may be repeated for hundreds, perhaps for thousands of years with a religious accuracy, so that to the priests or rhapsodists of a nation the whole or the greater part of a language is literally preserved; secondly, it may be written down and in a written form distributed more or less widely among the whole nation. In either case the language which is familiarly spoken may have grown up wholly or in a great measure independently of them. (1) The first of these processes has been sometimes attended by the result that the sound of the words has been carefully preserved and that the meaning of them has either perished wholly, or is only doubtfully recovered by the efforts of modern philology. The verses have been repeated as a chant or part of a ritual, but they have had no relation to ordinary life or speech. (2) The invention of writing again is commonly attributed to a particular epoch, and we are apt to think that such an inestimable gift would have immediately been diffused over a whole country. But it may have taken a long time to perfect the art of writing, and another long period may have elapsed before it came into common use. Its influence on language has been increased ten, twenty or one hundred fold by the invention of printing.

Before the growth of poetry or the invention of writing, languages were only dialects. So they continued to be in parts of the country in which writing was not used or in which there was no diffusion of literature. In most of the counties of England there is still a provincial style, which has been sometimes made by a great poet the vehicle of his fancies. When a book sinks into the mind of a nation, such as Luther’s Bible or the Authorized English Translation of the Bible, or again great classical works like Shakspere or Milton, not only have new powers of expression been diffused through a whole nation, but a great step towards uniformity has been made. The instinct of language demands regular grammar and correct spelling: these are imprinted deeply on the tablets of a nation’s memory by a common use of classical and popular writers. In our own day we have attained to a point at which nearly every printed book is spelt correctly and written grammatically.

(9) Proceeding further to trace the influence of literature on language we note some other causes which have affected the higher use of it: such as (1) the necessity of clearness and connexion; (2) the fear of tautology; (3) the influence of metre, rhythm, rhyme, and of the language of prose and verse upon one another; (4) the power of idiom and quotation; (5) the relativeness of words to one another.

It has been usual to depreciate modern languages when compared with ancient. The latter are regarded as furnishing a type of excellence to which the former cannot attain. But the truth seems to be that modern languages, if through the loss of inflections and genders they lack some power or beauty or expressiveness or precision which is possessed by the ancient, are in many other respects superior to them: the thought is generally clearer, the connexion closer, the sentence and paragraph are better distributed. The best modern languages, for example English or French, possess as great a power of self-improvement as the Latin, if not as the Greek. Nor does there seem to be any reason why they should ever decline or decay. It is a popular remark that our great writers are beginning to disappear: it may also be remarked that whenever a great writer appears in the future he will find the English language as perfect and as ready for use as in the days of Shakspere or Milton. There is no reason to suppose that English or French will ever be reduced to the low level of Modern Greek or of Mediaeval Latin. The wide diffusion of great authors would make such a decline impossible. Nor will modern languages be easily broken up by amalgamation with each other. The distance between them is too wide to be spanned, the differences are too great to be overcome, and the use of printing makes it impossible that one of them should ever be lost in another.

The structure of the English language differs greatly from that of either Latin or Greek. In the two latter, especially in Greek, sentences are joined together by connecting particles. They are distributed on the right hand and on the left by men, de, alla, kaitoi, kai de and the like, or deduced from one another by ara, de, oun, toinun and the like. In English the majority of sentences are independent and in apposition to one another; they are laid side by side or slightly connected by the copula. But within the sentence the expression of the logical relations of the clauses is closer and more exact: there is less of apposition and participial structure. The sentences thus laid side by side are also constructed into paragraphs; these again are less distinctly marked in Greek and Latin than in English. Generally French, German, and English have an advantage over the classical languages in point of accuracy. The three concords are more accurately observed in English than in either Greek or Latin. On the other hand, the extension of the familiar use of the masculine and feminine gender to objects of sense and abstract ideas as well as to men and animals no doubt lends a nameless grace to style which we have a difficulty in appreciating, and the possible variety in the order of words gives more flexibility and also a kind of dignity to the period. Of the comparative effect of accent and quantity and of the relation between them in ancient and modern languages we are not able to judge.

Another quality in which modern are superior to ancient languages is freedom from tautology. No English style is thought tolerable in which, except for the sake of emphasis, the same words are repeated at short intervals. Of course the length of the interval must depend on the character of the word. Striking words and expressions cannot be allowed to reappear, if at all, except at the distance of a page or more. Pronouns, prepositions, conjunctions may or rather must recur in successive lines. It seems to be a kind of impertinence to the reader and strikes unpleasantly both on the mind and on the ear that the same sounds should be used twice over, when another word or turn of expression would have given a new shade of meaning to the thought and would have added a pleasing variety to the sound. And the mind equally rejects the repetition of the word and the use of a mere synonym for it, — e.g. felicity and happiness. The cultivated mind desires something more, which a skilful writer is easily able to supply out of his treasure-house.

The fear of tautology has doubtless led to the multiplications of words and the meanings of words, and generally to an enlargement of the vocabulary. It is a very early instinct of language; for ancient poetry is almost as free from tautology as the best modern writings. The speech of young children, except in so far as they are compelled to repeat themselves by the fewness of their words, also escapes from it. When they grow up and have ideas which are beyond their powers of expression, especially in writing, tautology begins to appear. In like manner when language is ‘contaminated’ by philosophy it is apt to become awkward, to stammer and repeat itself, to lose its flow and freedom. No philosophical writer with the exception of Plato, who is himself not free from tautology, and perhaps Bacon, has attained to any high degree of literary excellence.

To poetry the form and polish of language is chiefly to be attributed; and the most critical period in the history of language is the transition from verse to prose. At first mankind were contented to express their thoughts in a set form of words having a kind of rhythm; to which regularity was given by accent and quantity. But after a time they demanded a greater degree of freedom, and to those who had all their life been hearing poetry the first introduction of prose had the charm of novelty. The prose romances into which the Homeric Poems were converted, for a while probably gave more delight to the hearers or readers of them than the Poems themselves, and in time the relation of the two was reversed: the poems which had once been a necessity of the human mind became a luxury: they were now superseded by prose, which in all succeeding ages became the natural vehicle of expression to all mankind. Henceforward prose and poetry formed each other. A comparatively slender link between them was also furnished by proverbs. We may trace in poetry how the simple succession of lines, not without monotony, has passed into a complicated period, and how in prose, rhythm and accent and the order of words and the balance of clauses, sometimes not without a slight admixture of rhyme, make up a new kind of harmony, swelling into strains not less majestic than those of Homer, Virgil, or Dante.

One of the most curious and characteristic features of language, affecting both syntax and style, is idiom. The meaning of the word ‘idiom’ is that which is peculiar, that which is familiar, the word or expression which strikes us or comes home to us, which is more readily understood or more easily remembered. It is a quality which really exists in infinite degrees, which we turn into differences of kind by applying the term only to conspicuous and striking examples of words or phrases which have this quality. It often supersedes the laws of language or the rules of grammar, or rather is to be regarded as another law of language which is natural and necessary. The word or phrase which has been repeated many times over is more intelligible and familiar to us than one which is rare, and our familiarity with it more than compensates for incorrectness or inaccuracy in the use of it. Striking expressions also which have moved the hearts of nations or are the precious stones and jewels of great authors partake of the nature of idioms: they are taken out of the sphere of grammar and are exempt from the proprieties of language. Every one knows that we often put words together in a manner which would be intolerable if it were not idiomatic. We cannot argue either about the meaning of words or the use of constructions that because they are used in one connexion they will be legitimate in another, unless we allow for this principle. We can bear to have words and sentences used in new senses or in a new order or even a little perverted in meaning when we are quite familiar with them. Quotations are as often applied in a sense which the author did not intend as in that which he did. The parody of the words of Shakspere or of the Bible, which has in it something of the nature of a lie, is far from unpleasing to us. The better known words, even if their meaning be perverted, are more agreeable to us and have a greater power over us. Most of us have experienced a sort of delight and feeling of curiosity when we first came across or when we first used for ourselves a new word or phrase or figure of speech.

There are associations of sound and of sense by which every word is linked to every other. One letter harmonizes with another; every verb or noun derives its meaning, not only from itself, but from the words with which it is associated. Some reflection of them near or distant is embodied in it. In any new use of a word all the existing uses of it have to be considered. Upon these depends the question whether it will bear the proposed extension of meaning or not. According to the famous expression of Luther, ‘Words are living creatures, having hands and feet.’ When they cease to retain this living power of adaptation, when they are only put together like the parts of a piece of furniture, language becomes unpoetical, in expressive, dead.

Grammars would lead us to suppose that words have a fixed form and sound. Lexicons assign to each word a definite meaning or meanings. They both tend to obscure the fact that the sentence precedes the word and that all language is relative. (1) It is relative to its own context. Its meaning is modified by what has been said before and after in the same or in some other passage: without comparing the context we are not sure whether it is used in the same sense even in two successive sentences. (2) It is relative to facts, to time, place, and occasion: when they are already known to the hearer or reader, they may be presupposed; there is no need to allude to them further. (3) It is relative to the knowledge of the writer and reader or of the speaker and hearer. Except for the sake of order and consecutiveness nothing ought to be expressed which is already commonly or universally known. A word or two may be sufficient to give an intimation to a friend; a long or elaborate speech or composition is required to explain some new idea to a popular audience or to the ordinary reader or to a young pupil. Grammars and dictionaries are not to be despised; for in teaching we need clearness rather than subtlety. But we must not therefore forget that there is also a higher ideal of language in which all is relative — sounds to sounds, words to words, the parts to the whole — in which besides the lesser context of the book or speech, there is also the larger context of history and circumstances.

The study of Comparative Philology has introduced into the world a new science which more than any other binds up man with nature, and distant ages and countries with one another. It may be said to have thrown a light upon all other sciences and upon the nature of the human mind itself. The true conception of it dispels many errors, not only of metaphysics and theology, but also of natural knowledge. Yet it is far from certain that this newly-found science will continue to progress in the same surprising manner as heretofore; or that even if our materials are largely increased, we shall arrive at much more definite conclusions than at present. Like some other branches of knowledge, it may be approaching a point at which it can no longer be profitably studied. But at any rate it has brought back the philosophy of language from theory to fact; it has passed out of the region of guesses and hypotheses, and has attained the dignity of an Inductive Science. And it is not without practical and political importance. It gives a new interest to distant and subject countries; it brings back the dawning light from one end of the earth to the other. Nations, like individuals, are better understood by us when we know something of their early life; and when they are better understood by us, we feel more kindly towards them. Lastly, we may remember that all knowledge is valuable for its own sake; and we may also hope that a deeper insight into the nature of human speech will give us a greater command of it and enable us to make a nobler use of it. (Compare again W. Humboldt, ‘Ueber die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues;’ M. Muller, ‘Lectures on the Science of Language;’ Steinthal, ‘Einleitung in die Psychologie und Sprachwissenschaft:’ and for the latter part of the Essay, Delbruck, ‘Study of Language;’ Paul’s ‘Principles of the History of Language:’ to the latter work the author of this Essay is largely indebted.)

CRATYLUS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, Hermogenes, Cratylus.

HERMOGENES: Suppose that we make Socrates a party to the argument?

CRATYLUS: If you please.

HERMOGENES: I should explain to you, Socrates, that our friend Cratylus has been arguing about names; he says that they are natural and not conventional; not a portion of the human voice which men agree to use; but that there is a truth or correctness in them, which is the same for Hellenes as for barbarians. Whereupon I ask him, whether his own name of Cratylus is a true name or not, and he answers ‘Yes.’ And Socrates? ‘Yes.’ Then every man’s name, as I tell him, is that which he is called. To this he replies— ‘If all the world were to call you Hermogenes, that would not be your name.’ And when I am anxious to have a further explanation he is ironical and mysterious, and seems to imply that he has a notion of his own about the matter, if he would only tell, and could entirely convince me, if he chose to be intelligible. Tell me, Socrates, what this oracle means; or rather tell me, if you will be so good, what is your own view of the truth or correctness of names, which I would far sooner hear.

SOCRATES: Son of Hipponicus, there is an ancient saying, that ‘hard is the knowledge of the good.’ And the knowledge of names is a great part of knowledge. If I had not been poor, I might have heard the fifty-drachma course of the great Prodicus, which is a complete education in grammar and language — these are his own words — and then I should have been at once able to answer your question about the correctness of names. But, indeed, I have only heard the single-drachma course, and therefore, I do not know the truth about such matters; I will, however, gladly assist you and Cratylus in the investigation of them. When he declares that your name is not really Hermogenes, I suspect that he is only making fun of you; — he means to say that you are no true son of Hermes, because you are always looking after a fortune and never in luck. But, as I was saying, there is a good deal of difficulty in this sort of knowledge, and therefore we had better leave the question open until we have heard both sides.

HERMOGENES: I have often talked over this matter, both with Cratylus and others, and cannot convince myself that there is any principle of correctness in names other than convention and agreement; any name which you give, in my opinion, is the right one, and if you change that and give another, the new name is as correct as the old — we frequently change the names of our slaves, and the newly-imposed name is as good as the old: for there is no name given to anything by nature; all is convention and habit of the users; — such is my view. But if I am mistaken I shall be happy to hear and learn of Cratylus, or of any one else.

SOCRATES: I dare say that you may be right, Hermogenes: let us see; — Your meaning is, that the name of each thing is only that which anybody agrees to call it?

HERMOGENES: That is my notion.

SOCRATES: Whether the giver of the name be an individual or a city?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well, now, let me take an instance; — suppose that I call a man a horse or a horse a man, you mean to say that a man will be rightly called a horse by me individually, and rightly called a man by the rest of the world; and a horse again would be rightly called a man by me and a horse by the world: — that is your meaning?

HERMOGENES: He would, according to my view.

SOCRATES: But how about truth, then? you would acknowledge that there is in words a true and a false?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And there are true and false propositions?

HERMOGENES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And a true proposition says that which is, and a false proposition says that which is not?

HERMOGENES: Yes; what other answer is possible?

SOCRATES: Then in a proposition there is a true and false?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But is a proposition true as a whole only, and are the parts untrue?

HERMOGENES: No; the parts are true as well as the whole.

SOCRATES: Would you say the large parts and not the smaller ones, or every part?

HERMOGENES: I should say that every part is true.

SOCRATES: Is a proposition resolvable into any part smaller than a name?

HERMOGENES: No; that is the smallest.

SOCRATES: Then the name is a part of the true proposition?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Yes, and a true part, as you say.

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is not the part of a falsehood also a falsehood?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then, if propositions may be true and false, names may be true and false?

HERMOGENES: So we must infer.

SOCRATES: And the name of anything is that which any one affirms to be the name?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And will there be so many names of each thing as everybody says that there are? and will they be true names at the time of uttering them?

HERMOGENES: Yes, Socrates, I can conceive no correctness of names other than this; you give one name, and I another; and in different cities and countries there are different names for the same things; Hellenes differ from barbarians in their use of names, and the several Hellenic tribes from one another.

SOCRATES: But would you say, Hermogenes, that the things differ as the names differ? and are they relative to individuals, as Protagoras tells us? For he says that man is the measure of all things, and that things are to me as they appear to me, and that they are to you as they appear to you. Do you agree with him, or would you say that things have a permanent essence of their own?

HERMOGENES: There have been times, Socrates, when I have been driven in my perplexity to take refuge with Protagoras; not that I agree with him at all.

SOCRATES: What! have you ever been driven to admit that there was no such thing as a bad man?

HERMOGENES: No, indeed; but I have often had reason to think that there are very bad men, and a good many of them.

SOCRATES: Well, and have you ever found any very good ones?

HERMOGENES: Not many.

SOCRATES: Still you have found them?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And would you hold that the very good were the very wise, and the very evil very foolish? Would that be your view?

HERMOGENES: It would.

SOCRATES: But if Protagoras is right, and the truth is that things are as they appear to any one, how can some of us be wise and some of us foolish?

HERMOGENES: Impossible.

SOCRATES: And if, on the other hand, wisdom and folly are really distinguishable, you will allow, I think, that the assertion of Protagoras can hardly be correct. For if what appears to each man is true to him, one man cannot in reality be wiser than another.

HERMOGENES: He cannot.

SOCRATES: Nor will you be disposed to say with Euthydemus, that all things equally belong to all men at the same moment and always; for neither on his view can there be some good and others bad, if virtue and vice are always equally to be attributed to all.

HERMOGENES: There cannot.

SOCRATES: But if neither is right, and things are not relative to individuals, and all things do not equally belong to all at the same moment and always, they must be supposed to have their own proper and permanent essence: they are not in relation to us, or influenced by us, fluctuating according to our fancy, but they are independent, and maintain to their own essence the relation prescribed by nature.

HERMOGENES: I think, Socrates, that you have said the truth.

SOCRATES: Does what I am saying apply only to the things themselves, or equally to the actions which proceed from them? Are not actions also a class of being?

HERMOGENES: Yes, the actions are real as well as the things.

SOCRATES: Then the actions also are done according to their proper nature, and not according to our opinion of them? In cutting, for example, we do not cut as we please, and with any chance instrument; but we cut with the proper instrument only, and according to the natural process of cutting; and the natural process is right and will succeed, but any other will fail and be of no use at all.

HERMOGENES: I should say that the natural way is the right way.

SOCRATES: Again, in burning, not every way is the right way; but the right way is the natural way, and the right instrument the natural instrument.

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: And this holds good of all actions?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And speech is a kind of action?

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: And will a man speak correctly who speaks as he pleases? Will not the successful speaker rather be he who speaks in the natural way of speaking, and as things ought to be spoken, and with the natural instrument? Any other mode of speaking will result in error and failure.

HERMOGENES: I quite agree with you.

SOCRATES: And is not naming a part of speaking? for in giving names men speak.

HERMOGENES: That is true.

SOCRATES: And if speaking is a sort of action and has a relation to acts, is not naming also a sort of action?

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: And we saw that actions were not relative to ourselves, but had a special nature of their own?

HERMOGENES: Precisely.

SOCRATES: Then the argument would lead us to infer that names ought to be given according to a natural process, and with a proper instrument, and not at our pleasure: in this and no other way shall we name with success.

HERMOGENES: I agree.

SOCRATES: But again, that which has to be cut has to be cut with something?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And that which has to be woven or pierced has to be woven or pierced with something?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And that which has to be named has to be named with something?

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: What is that with which we pierce?

HERMOGENES: An awl.

SOCRATES: And with which we weave?

HERMOGENES: A shuttle.

SOCRATES: And with which we name?

HERMOGENES: A name.

SOCRATES: Very good: then a name is an instrument?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Suppose that I ask, ‘What sort of instrument is a shuttle?’ And you answer, ‘A weaving instrument.’

HERMOGENES: Well.

SOCRATES: And I ask again, ‘What do we do when we weave?’ — The answer is, that we separate or disengage the warp from the woof.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And may not a similar description be given of an awl, and of instruments in general?

HERMOGENES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And now suppose that I ask a similar question about names: will you answer me? Regarding the name as an instrument, what do we do when we name?

HERMOGENES: I cannot say.

SOCRATES: Do we not give information to one another, and distinguish things according to their natures?

HERMOGENES: Certainly we do.

SOCRATES: Then a name is an instrument of teaching and of distinguishing natures, as the shuttle is of distinguishing the threads of the web.

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the shuttle is the instrument of the weaver?

HERMOGENES: Assuredly.

SOCRATES: Then the weaver will use the shuttle well — and well means like a weaver? and the teacher will use the name well — and well means like a teacher?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And when the weaver uses the shuttle, whose work will he be using well?

HERMOGENES: That of the carpenter.

SOCRATES: And is every man a carpenter, or the skilled only?

HERMOGENES: Only the skilled.

SOCRATES: And when the piercer uses the awl, whose work will he be using well?

HERMOGENES: That of the smith.

SOCRATES: And is every man a smith, or only the skilled?

HERMOGENES: The skilled only.

SOCRATES: And when the teacher uses the name, whose work will he be using?

HERMOGENES: There again I am puzzled.

SOCRATES: Cannot you at least say who gives us the names which we use?

HERMOGENES: Indeed I cannot.

SOCRATES: Does not the law seem to you to give us them?

HERMOGENES: Yes, I suppose so.

SOCRATES: Then the teacher, when he gives us a name, uses the work of the legislator?

HERMOGENES: I agree.

SOCRATES: And is every man a legislator, or the skilled only?

HERMOGENES: The skilled only.

SOCRATES: Then, Hermogenes, not every man is able to give a name, but only a maker of names; and this is the legislator, who of all skilled artisans in the world is the rarest.

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: And how does the legislator make names? and to what does he look? Consider this in the light of the previous instances: to what does the carpenter look in making the shuttle? Does he not look to that which is naturally fitted to act as a shuttle?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And suppose the shuttle to be broken in making, will he make another, looking to the broken one? or will he look to the form according to which he made the other?

HERMOGENES: To the latter, I should imagine.

SOCRATES: Might not that be justly called the true or ideal shuttle?

HERMOGENES: I think so.

SOCRATES: And whatever shuttles are wanted, for the manufacture of garments, thin or thick, of flaxen, woollen, or other material, ought all of them to have the true form of the shuttle; and whatever is the shuttle best adapted to each kind of work, that ought to be the form which the maker produces in each case.

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the same holds of other instruments: when a man has discovered the instrument which is naturally adapted to each work, he must express this natural form, and not others which he fancies, in the material, whatever it may be, which he employs; for example, he ought to know how to put into iron the forms of awls adapted by nature to their several uses?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And how to put into wood forms of shuttles adapted by nature to their uses?

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: For the several forms of shuttles naturally answer to the several kinds of webs; and this is true of instruments in general.

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then, as to names: ought not our legislator also to know how to put the true natural name of each thing into sounds and syllables, and to make and give all names with a view to the ideal name, if he is to be a namer in any true sense? And we must remember that different legislators will not use the same syllables. For neither does every smith, although he may be making the same instrument for the same purpose, make them all of the same iron. The form must be the same, but the material may vary, and still the instrument may be equally good of whatever iron made, whether in Hellas or in a foreign country; — there is no difference.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And the legislator, whether he be Hellene or barbarian, is not therefore to be deemed by you a worse legislator, provided he gives the true and proper form of the name in whatever syllables; this or that country makes no matter.

HERMOGENES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: But who then is to determine whether the proper form is given to the shuttle, whatever sort of wood may be used? the carpenter who makes, or the weaver who is to use them?

HERMOGENES: I should say, he who is to use them, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And who uses the work of the lyre-maker? Will not he be the man who knows how to direct what is being done, and who will know also whether the work is being well done or not?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And who is he?

HERMOGENES: The player of the lyre.

SOCRATES: And who will direct the shipwright?

HERMOGENES: The pilot.

SOCRATES: And who will be best able to direct the legislator in his work, and will know whether the work is well done, in this or any other country? Will not the user be the man?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And this is he who knows how to ask questions?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And how to answer them?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And him who knows how to ask and answer you would call a dialectician?

HERMOGENES: Yes; that would be his name.

SOCRATES: Then the work of the carpenter is to make a rudder, and the pilot has to direct him, if the rudder is to be well made.

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: And the work of the legislator is to give names, and the dialectician must be his director if the names are to be rightly given?

HERMOGENES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Then, Hermogenes, I should say that this giving of names can be no such light matter as you fancy, or the work of light or chance persons; and Cratylus is right in saying that things have names by nature, and that not every man is an artificer of names, but he only who looks to the name which each thing by nature has, and is able to express the true forms of things in letters and syllables.

HERMOGENES: I cannot answer you, Socrates; but I find a difficulty in changing my opinion all in a moment, and I think that I should be more readily persuaded, if you would show me what this is which you term the natural fitness of names.

SOCRATES: My good Hermogenes, I have none to show. Was I not telling you just now (but you have forgotten), that I knew nothing, and proposing to share the enquiry with you? But now that you and I have talked over the matter, a step has been gained; for we have discovered that names have by nature a truth, and that not every man knows how to give a thing a name.

HERMOGENES: Very good.

SOCRATES: And what is the nature of this truth or correctness of names? That, if you care to know, is the next question.

HERMOGENES: Certainly, I care to know.

SOCRATES: Then reflect.

HERMOGENES: How shall I reflect?

SOCRATES: The true way is to have the assistance of those who know, and you must pay them well both in money and in thanks; these are the Sophists, of whom your brother, Callias, has — rather dearly — bought the reputation of wisdom. But you have not yet come into your inheritance, and therefore you had better go to him, and beg and entreat him to tell you what he has learnt from Protagoras about the fitness of names.

HERMOGENES: But how inconsistent should I be, if, whilst repudiating Protagoras and his truth (‘Truth’ was the title of the book of Protagoras; compare Theaet.), I were to attach any value to what he and his book affirm!

SOCRATES: Then if you despise him, you must learn of Homer and the poets.

HERMOGENES: And where does Homer say anything about names, and what does he say?

SOCRATES: He often speaks of them; notably and nobly in the places where he distinguishes the different names which Gods and men give to the same things. Does he not in these passages make a remarkable statement about the correctness of names? For the Gods must clearly be supposed to call things by their right and natural names; do you not think so?

HERMOGENES: Why, of course they call them rightly, if they call them at all. But to what are you referring?

SOCRATES: Do you not know what he says about the river in Troy who had a single combat with Hephaestus?

‘Whom,’ as he says, ‘the Gods call Xanthus, and men call Scamander.’

HERMOGENES: I remember.

SOCRATES: Well, and about this river — to know that he ought to be called Xanthus and not Scamander — is not that a solemn lesson? Or about the bird which, as he says,

‘The Gods call Chalcis, and men Cymindis:’

to be taught how much more correct the name Chalcis is than the name Cymindis — do you deem that a light matter? Or about Batieia and Myrina? (Compare Il. ‘The hill which men call Batieia and the immortals the tomb of the sportive Myrina.’) And there are many other observations of the same kind in Homer and other poets. Now, I think that this is beyond the understanding of you and me; but the names of Scamandrius and Astyanax, which he affirms to have been the names of Hector’s son, are more within the range of human faculties, as I am disposed to think; and what the poet means by correctness may be more readily apprehended in that instance: you will remember I dare say the lines to which I refer? (Il.)

HERMOGENES: I do.

SOCRATES: Let me ask you, then, which did Homer think the more correct of the names given to Hector’s son — Astyanax or Scamandrius?

HERMOGENES: I do not know.

SOCRATES: How would you answer, if you were asked whether the wise or the unwise are more likely to give correct names?

HERMOGENES: I should say the wise, of course.

SOCRATES: And are the men or the women of a city, taken as a class, the wiser?

HERMOGENES: I should say, the men.

SOCRATES: And Homer, as you know, says that the Trojan men called him Astyanax (king of the city); but if the men called him Astyanax, the other name of Scamandrius could only have been given to him by the women.

HERMOGENES: That may be inferred.

SOCRATES: And must not Homer have imagined the Trojans to be wiser than their wives?

HERMOGENES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: Then he must have thought Astyanax to be a more correct name for the boy than Scamandrius?

HERMOGENES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And what is the reason of this? Let us consider: — does he not himself suggest a very good reason, when he says,

‘For he alone defended their city and long walls’?

This appears to be a good reason for calling the son of the saviour king of the city which his father was saving, as Homer observes.

HERMOGENES: I see.

SOCRATES: Why, Hermogenes, I do not as yet see myself; and do you?

HERMOGENES: No, indeed; not I.

SOCRATES: But tell me, friend, did not Homer himself also give Hector his name?

HERMOGENES: What of that?

SOCRATES: The name appears to me to be very nearly the same as the name of Astyanax — both are Hellenic; and a king (anax) and a holder (ektor) have nearly the same meaning, and are both descriptive of a king; for a man is clearly the holder of that of which he is king; he rules, and owns, and holds it. But, perhaps, you may think that I am talking nonsense; and indeed I believe that I myself did not know what I meant when I imagined that I had found some indication of the opinion of Homer about the correctness of names.

HERMOGENES: I assure you that I think otherwise, and I believe you to be on the right track.

SOCRATES: There is reason, I think, in calling the lion’s whelp a lion, and the foal of a horse a horse; I am speaking only of the ordinary course of nature, when an animal produces after his kind, and not of extraordinary births; — if contrary to nature a horse have a calf, then I should not call that a foal but a calf; nor do I call any inhuman birth a man, but only a natural birth. And the same may be said of trees and other things. Do you agree with me?

HERMOGENES: Yes, I agree.

SOCRATES: Very good. But you had better watch me and see that I do not play tricks with you. For on the same principle the son of a king is to be called a king. And whether the syllables of the name are the same or not the same, makes no difference, provided the meaning is retained; nor does the addition or subtraction of a letter make any difference so long as the essence of the thing remains in possession of the name and appears in it.

HERMOGENES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: A very simple matter. I may illustrate my meaning by the names of letters, which you know are not the same as the letters themselves with the exception of the four epsilon, upsilon, omicron, omega; the names of the rest, whether vowels or consonants, are made up of other letters which we add to them; but so long as we introduce the meaning, and there can be no mistake, the name of the letter is quite correct. Take, for example, the letter beta — the addition of eta, tau, alpha, gives no offence, and does not prevent the whole name from having the value which the legislator intended — so well did he know how to give the letters names.

HERMOGENES: I believe you are right.

SOCRATES: And may not the same be said of a king? a king will often be the son of a king, the good son or the noble son of a good or noble sire; and similarly the offspring of every kind, in the regular course of nature, is like the parent, and therefore has the same name. Yet the syllables may be disguised until they appear different to the ignorant person, and he may not recognize them, although they are the same, just as any one of us would not recognize the same drugs under different disguises of colour and smell, although to the physician, who regards the power of them, they are the same, and he is not put out by the addition; and in like manner the etymologist is not put out by the addition or transposition or subtraction of a letter or two, or indeed by the change of all the letters, for this need not interfere with the meaning. As was just now said, the names of Hector and Astyanax have only one letter alike, which is tau, and yet they have the same meaning. And how little in common with the letters of their names has Archepolis (ruler of the city) — and yet the meaning is the same. And there are many other names which just mean ‘king.’ Again, there are several names for a general, as, for example, Agis (leader) and Polemarchus (chief in war) and Eupolemus (good warrior); and others which denote a physician, as Iatrocles (famous healer) and Acesimbrotus (curer of mortals); and there are many others which might be cited, differing in their syllables and letters, but having the same meaning. Would you not say so?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: The same names, then, ought to be assigned to those who follow in the course of nature?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And what of those who follow out of the course of nature, and are prodigies? for example, when a good and religious man has an irreligious son, he ought to bear the name not of his father, but of the class to which he belongs, just as in the case which was before supposed of a horse foaling a calf.

HERMOGENES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Then the irreligious son of a religious father should be called irreligious?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: He should not be called Theophilus (beloved of God) or Mnesitheus (mindful of God), or any of these names: if names are correctly given, his should have an opposite meaning.

HERMOGENES: Certainly, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Again, Hermogenes, there is Orestes (the man of the mountains) who appears to be rightly called; whether chance gave the name, or perhaps some poet who meant to express the brutality and fierceness and mountain wildness of his hero’s nature.

HERMOGENES: That is very likely, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And his father’s name is also according to nature.

HERMOGENES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Yes, for as his name, so also is his nature; Agamemnon (admirable for remaining) is one who is patient and persevering in the accomplishment of his resolves, and by his virtue crowns them; and his continuance at Troy with all the vast army is a proof of that admirable endurance in him which is signified by the name Agamemnon. I also think that Atreus is rightly called; for his murder of Chrysippus and his exceeding cruelty to Thyestes are damaging and destructive to his reputation — the name is a little altered and disguised so as not to be intelligible to every one, but to the etymologist there is no difficulty in seeing the meaning, for whether you think of him as ateires the stubborn, or as atrestos the fearless, or as ateros the destructive one, the name is perfectly correct in every point of view. And I think that Pelops is also named appropriately; for, as the name implies, he is rightly called Pelops who sees what is near only (o ta pelas oron).

HERMOGENES: How so?

SOCRATES: Because, according to the tradition, he had no forethought or foresight of all the evil which the murder of Myrtilus would entail upon his whole race in remote ages; he saw only what was at hand and immediate, — or in other words, pelas (near), in his eagerness to win Hippodamia by all means for his bride. Every one would agree that the name of Tantalus is rightly given and in accordance with nature, if the traditions about him are true.

HERMOGENES: And what are the traditions?

SOCRATES: Many terrible misfortunes are said to have happened to him in his life — last of all, came the utter ruin of his country; and after his death he had the stone suspended (talanteia) over his head in the world below — all this agrees wonderfully well with his name. You might imagine that some person who wanted to call him Talantatos (the most weighted down by misfortune), disguised the name by altering it into Tantalus; and into this form, by some accident of tradition, it has actually been transmuted. The name of Zeus, who is his alleged father, has also an excellent meaning, although hard to be understood, because really like a sentence, which is divided into two parts, for some call him Zena, and use the one half, and others who use the other half call him Dia; the two together signify the nature of the God, and the business of a name, as we were saying, is to express the nature. For there is none who is more the author of life to us and to all, than the lord and king of all. Wherefore we are right in calling him Zena and Dia, which are one name, although divided, meaning the God through whom all creatures always have life (di on zen aei pasi tois zosin uparchei). There is an irreverence, at first sight, in calling him son of Cronos (who is a proverb for stupidity), and we might rather expect Zeus to be the child of a mighty intellect. Which is the fact; for this is the meaning of his father’s name: Kronos quasi Koros (Choreo, to sweep), not in the sense of a youth, but signifying to chatharon chai acheraton tou nou, the pure and garnished mind (sc. apo tou chorein). He, as we are informed by tradition, was begotten of Uranus, rightly so called (apo tou oran ta ano) from looking upwards; which, as philosophers tell us, is the way to have a pure mind, and the name Uranus is therefore correct. If I could remember the genealogy of Hesiod, I would have gone on and tried more conclusions of the same sort on the remoter ancestors of the Gods, — then I might have seen whether this wisdom, which has come to me all in an instant, I know not whence, will or will not hold good to the end.

HERMOGENES: You seem to me, Socrates, to be quite like a prophet newly inspired, and to be uttering oracles.

SOCRATES: Yes, Hermogenes, and I believe that I caught the inspiration from the great Euthyphro of the Prospaltian deme, who gave me a long lecture which commenced at dawn: he talked and I listened, and his wisdom and enchanting ravishment has not only filled my ears but taken possession of my soul, and to-day I shall let his superhuman power work and finish the investigation of names — that will be the way; but to-morrow, if you are so disposed, we will conjure him away, and make a purgation of him, if we can only find some priest or sophist who is skilled in purifications of this sort.

HERMOGENES: With all my heart; for am very curious to hear the rest of the enquiry about names.

SOCRATES: Then let us proceed; and where would you have us begin, now that we have got a sort of outline of the enquiry? Are there any names which witness of themselves that they are not given arbitrarily, but have a natural fitness? The names of heroes and of men in general are apt to be deceptive because they are often called after ancestors with whose names, as we were saying, they may have no business; or they are the expression of a wish like Eutychides (the son of good fortune), or Sosias (the Saviour), or Theophilus (the beloved of God), and others. But I think that we had better leave these, for there will be more chance of finding correctness in the names of immutable essences; — there ought to have been more care taken about them when they were named, and perhaps there may have been some more than human power at work occasionally in giving them names.

HERMOGENES: I think so, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Ought we not to begin with the consideration of the Gods, and show that they are rightly named Gods?

HERMOGENES: Yes, that will be well.

SOCRATES: My notion would be something of this sort: — I suspect that the sun, moon, earth, stars, and heaven, which are still the Gods of many barbarians, were the only Gods known to the aboriginal Hellenes. Seeing that they were always moving and running, from their running nature they were called Gods or runners (Theous, Theontas); and when men became acquainted with the other Gods, they proceeded to apply the same name to them all. Do you think that likely?

HERMOGENES: I think it very likely indeed.

SOCRATES: What shall follow the Gods?

HERMOGENES: Must not demons and heroes and men come next?

SOCRATES: Demons! And what do you consider to be the meaning of this word? Tell me if my view is right.

HERMOGENES: Let me hear.

SOCRATES: You know how Hesiod uses the word?

HERMOGENES: I do not.

SOCRATES: Do you not remember that he speaks of a golden race of men who came first?

HERMOGENES: Yes, I do.

SOCRATES: He says of them —

‘But now that fate has closed over this race They are holy demons upon the earth, Beneficent, averters of ills, guardians of mortal men.’ (Hesiod, Works and Days.)

HERMOGENES: What is the inference?

SOCRATES: What is the inference! Why, I suppose that he means by the golden men, not men literally made of gold, but good and noble; and I am convinced of this, because he further says that we are the iron race.

HERMOGENES: That is true.

SOCRATES: And do you not suppose that good men of our own day would by him be said to be of golden race?

HERMOGENES: Very likely.

SOCRATES: And are not the good wise?

HERMOGENES: Yes, they are wise.

SOCRATES: And therefore I have the most entire conviction that he called them demons, because they were daemones (knowing or wise), and in our older Attic dialect the word itself occurs. Now he and other poets say truly, that when a good man dies he has honour and a mighty portion among the dead, and becomes a demon; which is a name given to him signifying wisdom. And I say too, that every wise man who happens to be a good man is more than human (daimonion) both in life and death, and is rightly called a demon.

HERMOGENES: Then I rather think that I am of one mind with you; but what is the meaning of the word ‘hero’? (Eros with an eta, in the old writing eros with an epsilon.)

SOCRATES: I think that there is no difficulty in explaining, for the name is not much altered, and signifies that they were born of love.

HERMOGENES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Do you not know that the heroes are demigods?

HERMOGENES: What then?

SOCRATES: All of them sprang either from the love of a God for a mortal woman, or of a mortal man for a Goddess; think of the word in the old Attic, and you will see better that the name heros is only a slight alteration of Eros, from whom the heroes sprang: either this is the meaning, or, if not this, then they must have been skilful as rhetoricians and dialecticians, and able to put the question (erotan), for eirein is equivalent to legein. And therefore, as I was saying, in the Attic dialect the heroes turn out to be rhetoricians and questioners. All this is easy enough; the noble breed of heroes are a tribe of sophists and rhetors. But can you tell me why men are called anthropoi? — that is more difficult.

HERMOGENES: No, I cannot; and I would not try even if I could, because I think that you are the more likely to succeed.

SOCRATES: That is to say, you trust to the inspiration of Euthyphro.

HERMOGENES: Of course.

SOCRATES: Your faith is not vain; for at this very moment a new and ingenious thought strikes me, and, if I am not careful, before to-morrow’s dawn I shall be wiser than I ought to be. Now, attend to me; and first, remember that we often put in and pull out letters in words, and give names as we please and change the accents. Take, for example, the word Dii Philos; in order to convert this from a sentence into a noun, we omit one of the iotas and sound the middle syllable grave instead of acute; as, on the other hand, letters are sometimes inserted in words instead of being omitted, and the acute takes the place of the grave.

HERMOGENES: That is true.

SOCRATES: The name anthropos, which was once a sentence, and is now a noun, appears to be a case just of this sort, for one letter, which is the alpha, has been omitted, and the acute on the last syllable has been changed to a grave.

HERMOGENES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean to say that the word ‘man’ implies that other animals never examine, or consider, or look up at what they see, but that man not only sees (opope) but considers and looks up at that which he sees, and hence he alone of all animals is rightly anthropos, meaning anathron a opopen.

HERMOGENES: May I ask you to examine another word about which I am curious?

SOCRATES: Certainly.

HERMOGENES: I will take that which appears to me to follow next in order. You know the distinction of soul and body?

SOCRATES: Of course.

HERMOGENES: Let us endeavour to analyze them like the previous words.

SOCRATES: You want me first of all to examine the natural fitness of the word psuche (soul), and then of the word soma (body)?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: If I am to say what occurs to me at the moment, I should imagine that those who first used the name psuche meant to express that the soul when in the body is the source of life, and gives the power of breath and revival (anapsuchon), and when this reviving power fails then the body perishes and dies, and this, if I am not mistaken, they called psyche. But please stay a moment; I fancy that I can discover something which will be more acceptable to the disciples of Euthyphro, for I am afraid that they will scorn this explanation. What do you say to another?

HERMOGENES: Let me hear.

SOCRATES: What is that which holds and carries and gives life and motion to the entire nature of the body? What else but the soul?

HERMOGENES: Just that.

SOCRATES: And do you not believe with Anaxagoras, that mind or soul is the ordering and containing principle of all things?

HERMOGENES: Yes; I do.

SOCRATES: Then you may well call that power phuseche which carries and holds nature (e phusin okei, kai ekei), and this may be refined away into psuche.

HERMOGENES: Certainly; and this derivation is, I think, more scientific than the other.

SOCRATES: It is so; but I cannot help laughing, if I am to suppose that this was the true meaning of the name.

HERMOGENES: But what shall we say of the next word?

SOCRATES: You mean soma (the body).

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: That may be variously interpreted; and yet more variously if a little permutation is allowed. For some say that the body is the grave (sema) of the soul which may be thought to be buried in our present life; or again the index of the soul, because the soul gives indications to (semainei) the body; probably the Orphic poets were the inventors of the name, and they were under the impression that the soul is suffering the punishment of sin, and that the body is an enclosure or prison in which the soul is incarcerated, kept safe (soma, sozetai), as the name soma implies, until the penalty is paid; according to this view, not even a letter of the word need be changed.

HERMOGENES: I think, Socrates, that we have said enough of this class of words. But have we any more explanations of the names of the Gods, like that which you were giving of Zeus? I should like to know whether any similar principle of correctness is to be applied to them.

SOCRATES: Yes, indeed, Hermogenes; and there is one excellent principle which, as men of sense, we must acknowledge, — that of the Gods we know nothing, either of their natures or of the names which they give themselves; but we are sure that the names by which they call themselves, whatever they may be, are true. And this is the best of all principles; and the next best is to say, as in prayers, that we will call them by any sort or kind of names or patronymics which they like, because we do not know of any other. That also, I think, is a very good custom, and one which I should much wish to observe. Let us, then, if you please, in the first place announce to them that we are not enquiring about them; we do not presume that we are able to do so; but we are enquiring about the meaning of men in giving them these names, — in this there can be small blame.

HERMOGENES: I think, Socrates, that you are quite right, and I would like to do as you say.

SOCRATES: Shall we begin, then, with Hestia, according to custom?

HERMOGENES: Yes, that will be very proper.

SOCRATES: What may we suppose him to have meant who gave the name Hestia?

HERMOGENES: That is another and certainly a most difficult question.

SOCRATES: My dear Hermogenes, the first imposers of names must surely have been considerable persons; they were philosophers, and had a good deal to say.

HERMOGENES: Well, and what of them?

SOCRATES: They are the men to whom I should attribute the imposition of names. Even in foreign names, if you analyze them, a meaning is still discernible. For example, that which we term ousia is by some called esia, and by others again osia. Now that the essence of things should be called estia, which is akin to the first of these (esia = estia), is rational enough. And there is reason in the Athenians calling that estia which participates in ousia. For in ancient times we too seem to have said esia for ousia, and this you may note to have been the idea of those who appointed that sacrifices should be first offered to estia, which was natural enough if they meant that estia was the essence of things. Those again who read osia seem to have inclined to the opinion of Heracleitus, that all things flow and nothing stands; with them the pushing principle (othoun) is the cause and ruling power of all things, and is therefore rightly called osia. Enough of this, which is all that we who know nothing can affirm. Next in order after Hestia we ought to consider Rhea and Cronos, although the name of Cronos has been already discussed. But I dare say that I am talking great nonsense.

HERMOGENES: Why, Socrates?

SOCRATES: My good friend, I have discovered a hive of wisdom.

HERMOGENES: Of what nature?

SOCRATES: Well, rather ridiculous, and yet plausible.

HERMOGENES: How plausible?

SOCRATES: I fancy to myself Heracleitus repeating wise traditions of antiquity as old as the days of Cronos and Rhea, and of which Homer also spoke.

HERMOGENES: How do you mean?

SOCRATES: Heracleitus is supposed to say that all things are in motion and nothing at rest; he compares them to the stream of a river, and says that you cannot go into the same water twice.

HERMOGENES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Well, then, how can we avoid inferring that he who gave the names of Cronos and Rhea to the ancestors of the Gods, agreed pretty much in the doctrine of Heracleitus? Is the giving of the names of streams to both of them purely accidental? Compare the line in which Homer, and, as I believe, Hesiod also, tells of

‘Ocean, the origin of Gods, and mother Tethys (Il. — the line is not found in the extant works of Hesiod.).’

And again, Orpheus says, that

‘The fair river of Ocean was the first to marry, and he espoused his sister Tethys, who was his mother’s daughter.’

You see that this is a remarkable coincidence, and all in the direction of Heracleitus.

HERMOGENES: I think that there is something in what you say, Socrates; but I do not understand the meaning of the name Tethys.

SOCRATES: Well, that is almost self-explained, being only the name of a spring, a little disguised; for that which is strained and filtered (diattomenon, ethoumenon) may be likened to a spring, and the name Tethys is made up of these two words.

HERMOGENES: The idea is ingenious, Socrates.

SOCRATES: To be sure. But what comes next? — of Zeus we have spoken.

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then let us next take his two brothers, Poseidon and Pluto, whether the latter is called by that or by his other name.

HERMOGENES: By all means.

SOCRATES: Poseidon is Posidesmos, the chain of the feet; the original inventor of the name had been stopped by the watery element in his walks, and not allowed to go on, and therefore he called the ruler of this element Poseidon; the epsilon was probably inserted as an ornament. Yet, perhaps, not so; but the name may have been originally written with a double lamda and not with a sigma, meaning that the God knew many things (Polla eidos). And perhaps also he being the shaker of the earth, has been named from shaking (seiein), and then pi and delta have been added. Pluto gives wealth (Ploutos), and his name means the giver of wealth, which comes out of the earth beneath. People in general appear to imagine that the term Hades is connected with the invisible (aeides) and so they are led by their fears to call the God Pluto instead.

HERMOGENES: And what is the true derivation?

SOCRATES: In spite of the mistakes which are made about the power of this deity, and the foolish fears which people have of him, such as the fear of always being with him after death, and of the soul denuded of the body going to him (compare Rep.), my belief is that all is quite consistent, and that the office and name of the God really correspond.

HERMOGENES: Why, how is that?

SOCRATES: I will tell you my own opinion; but first, I should like to ask you which chain does any animal feel to be the stronger? and which confines him more to the same spot, — desire or necessity?

HERMOGENES: Desire, Socrates, is stronger far.

SOCRATES: And do you not think that many a one would escape from Hades, if he did not bind those who depart to him by the strongest of chains?

HERMOGENES: Assuredly they would.

SOCRATES: And if by the greatest of chains, then by some desire, as I should certainly infer, and not by necessity?

HERMOGENES: That is clear.

SOCRATES: And there are many desires?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And therefore by the greatest desire, if the chain is to be the greatest?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is any desire stronger than the thought that you will be made better by associating with another?

HERMOGENES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And is not that the reason, Hermogenes, why no one, who has been to him, is willing to come back to us? Even the Sirens, like all the rest of the world, have been laid under his spells. Such a charm, as I imagine, is the God able to infuse into his words. And, according to this view, he is the perfect and accomplished Sophist, and the great benefactor of the inhabitants of the other world; and even to us who are upon earth he sends from below exceeding blessings. For he has much more than he wants down there; wherefore he is called Pluto (or the rich). Note also, that he will have nothing to do with men while they are in the body, but only when the soul is liberated from the desires and evils of the body. Now there is a great deal of philosophy and reflection in that; for in their liberated state he can bind them with the desire of virtue, but while they are flustered and maddened by the body, not even father Cronos himself would suffice to keep them with him in his own far-famed chains.

HERMOGENES: There is a deal of truth in what you say.

SOCRATES: Yes, Hermogenes, and the legislator called him Hades, not from the unseen (aeides) — far otherwise, but from his knowledge (eidenai) of all noble things.

HERMOGENES: Very good; and what do we say of Demeter, and Here, and Apollo, and Athene, and Hephaestus, and Ares, and the other deities?

SOCRATES: Demeter is e didousa meter, who gives food like a mother; Here is the lovely one (erate) — for Zeus, according to tradition, loved and married her; possibly also the name may have been given when the legislator was thinking of the heavens, and may be only a disguise of the air (aer), putting the end in the place of the beginning. You will recognize the truth of this if you repeat the letters of Here several times over. People dread the name of Pherephatta as they dread the name of Apollo, — and with as little reason; the fear, if I am not mistaken, only arises from their ignorance of the nature of names. But they go changing the name into Phersephone, and they are terrified at this; whereas the new name means only that the Goddess is wise (sophe); for seeing that all things in the world are in motion (pheromenon), that principle which embraces and touches and is able to follow them, is wisdom. And therefore the Goddess may be truly called Pherepaphe (Pherepapha), or some name like it, because she touches that which is in motion (tou pheromenon ephaptomene), herein showing her wisdom. And Hades, who is wise, consorts with her, because she is wise. They alter her name into Pherephatta now-a-days, because the present generation care for euphony more than truth. There is the other name, Apollo, which, as I was saying, is generally supposed to have some terrible signification. Have you remarked this fact?

HERMOGENES: To be sure I have, and what you say is true.

SOCRATES: But the name, in my opinion, is really most expressive of the power of the God.

HERMOGENES: How so?

SOCRATES: I will endeavour to explain, for I do not believe that any single name could have been better adapted to express the attributes of the God, embracing and in a manner signifying all four of them, — music, and prophecy, and medicine, and archery.

HERMOGENES: That must be a strange name, and I should like to hear the explanation.

SOCRATES: Say rather an harmonious name, as beseems the God of Harmony. In the first place, the purgations and purifications which doctors and diviners use, and their fumigations with drugs magical or medicinal, as well as their washings and lustral sprinklings, have all one and the same object, which is to make a man pure both in body and soul.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And is not Apollo the purifier, and the washer, and the absolver from all impurities?

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then in reference to his ablutions and absolutions, as being the physician who orders them, he may be rightly called Apolouon (purifier); or in respect of his powers of divination, and his truth and sincerity, which is the same as truth, he may be most fitly called Aplos, from aplous (sincere), as in the Thessalian dialect, for all the Thessalians call him Aplos; also he is aei Ballon (always shooting), because he is a master archer who never misses; or again, the name may refer to his musical attributes, and then, as in akolouthos, and akoitis, and in many other words the alpha is supposed to mean ‘together,’ so the meaning of the name Apollo will be ‘moving together,’ whether in the poles of heaven as they are called, or in the harmony of song, which is termed concord, because he moves all together by an harmonious power, as astronomers and musicians ingeniously declare. And he is the God who presides over harmony, and makes all things move together, both among Gods and among men. And as in the words akolouthos and akoitis the alpha is substituted for an omicron, so the name Apollon is equivalent to omopolon; only the second lambda is added in order to avoid the ill-omened sound of destruction (apolon). Now the suspicion of this destructive power still haunts the minds of some who do not consider the true value of the name, which, as I was saying just now, has reference to all the powers of the God, who is the single one, the everdarting, the purifier, the mover together (aplous, aei Ballon, apolouon, omopolon). The name of the Muses and of music would seem to be derived from their making philosophical enquiries (mosthai); and Leto is called by this name, because she is such a gentle Goddess, and so willing (ethelemon) to grant our requests; or her name may be Letho, as she is often called by strangers — they seem to imply by it her amiability, and her smooth and easy-going way of behaving. Artemis is named from her healthy (artemes), well-ordered nature, and because of her love of virginity, perhaps because she is a proficient in virtue (arete), and perhaps also as hating intercourse of the sexes (ton aroton misesasa). He who gave the Goddess her name may have had any or all of these reasons.

HERMOGENES: What is the meaning of Dionysus and Aphrodite?

SOCRATES: Son of Hipponicus, you ask a solemn question; there is a serious and also a facetious explanation of both these names; the serious explanation is not to be had from me, but there is no objection to your hearing the facetious one; for the Gods too love a joke. Dionusos is simply didous oinon (giver of wine), Didoinusos, as he might be called in fun, — and oinos is properly oionous, because wine makes those who drink, think (oiesthai) that they have a mind (noun) when they have none. The derivation of Aphrodite, born of the foam (aphros), may be fairly accepted on the authority of Hesiod.

HERMOGENES: Still there remains Athene, whom you, Socrates, as an Athenian, will surely not forget; there are also Hephaestus and Ares.

SOCRATES: I am not likely to forget them.

HERMOGENES: No, indeed.

SOCRATES: There is no difficulty in explaining the other appellation of Athene.

HERMOGENES: What other appellation?

SOCRATES: We call her Pallas.

HERMOGENES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And we cannot be wrong in supposing that this is derived from armed dances. For the elevation of oneself or anything else above the earth, or by the use of the hands, we call shaking (pallein), or dancing.

HERMOGENES: That is quite true.

SOCRATES: Then that is the explanation of the name Pallas?

HERMOGENES: Yes; but what do you say of the other name?

SOCRATES: Athene?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: That is a graver matter, and there, my friend, the modern interpreters of Homer may, I think, assist in explaining the view of the ancients. For most of these in their explanations of the poet, assert that he meant by Athene ‘mind’ (nous) and ‘intelligence’ (dianoia), and the maker of names appears to have had a singular notion about her; and indeed calls her by a still higher title, ‘divine intelligence’ (Thou noesis), as though he would say: This is she who has the mind of God (Theonoa); — using alpha as a dialectical variety for eta, and taking away iota and sigma (There seems to be some error in the MSS. The meaning is that the word theonoa = theounoa is a curtailed form of theou noesis, but the omitted letters do not agree.). Perhaps, however, the name Theonoe may mean ‘she who knows divine things’ (Theia noousa) better than others. Nor shall we be far wrong in supposing that the author of it wished to identify this Goddess with moral intelligence (en ethei noesin), and therefore gave her the name ethonoe; which, however, either he or his successors have altered into what they thought a nicer form, and called her Athene.

HERMOGENES: But what do you say of Hephaestus?

SOCRATES: Speak you of the princely lord of light (Phaeos istora)?

HERMOGENES: Surely.

SOCRATES: Ephaistos is Phaistos, and has added the eta by attraction; that is obvious to anybody.

HERMOGENES: That is very probable, until some more probable notion gets into your head.

SOCRATES: To prevent that, you had better ask what is the derivation of Ares.

HERMOGENES: What is Ares?

SOCRATES: Ares may be called, if you will, from his manhood (arren) and manliness, or if you please, from his hard and unchangeable nature, which is the meaning of arratos: the latter is a derivation in every way appropriate to the God of war.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And now, by the Gods, let us have no more of the Gods, for I am afraid of them; ask about anything but them, and thou shalt see how the steeds of Euthyphro can prance.

HERMOGENES: Only one more God! I should like to know about Hermes, of whom I am said not to be a true son. Let us make him out, and then I shall know whether there is any meaning in what Cratylus says.

SOCRATES: I should imagine that the name Hermes has to do with speech, and signifies that he is the interpreter (ermeneus), or messenger, or thief, or liar, or bargainer; all that sort of thing has a great deal to do with language; as I was telling you, the word eirein is expressive of the use of speech, and there is an often-recurring Homeric word emesato, which means ‘he contrived’ — out of these two words, eirein and mesasthai, the legislator formed the name of the God who invented language and speech; and we may imagine him dictating to us the use of this name: ‘O my friends,’ says he to us, ‘seeing that he is the contriver of tales or speeches, you may rightly call him Eirhemes.’ And this has been improved by us, as we think, into Hermes. Iris also appears to have been called from the verb ‘to tell’ (eirein), because she was a messenger.

HERMOGENES: Then I am very sure that Cratylus was quite right in saying that I was no true son of Hermes (Ermogenes), for I am not a good hand at speeches.

SOCRATES: There is also reason, my friend, in Pan being the double-formed son of Hermes.

HERMOGENES: How do you make that out?

SOCRATES: You are aware that speech signifies all things (pan), and is always turning them round and round, and has two forms, true and false?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Is not the truth that is in him the smooth or sacred form which dwells above among the Gods, whereas falsehood dwells among men below, and is rough like the goat of tragedy; for tales and falsehoods have generally to do with the tragic or goatish life, and tragedy is the place of them?

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then surely Pan, who is the declarer of all things (pan) and the perpetual mover (aei polon) of all things, is rightly called aipolos (goat-herd), he being the two-formed son of Hermes, smooth in his upper part, and rough and goatlike in his lower regions. And, as the son of Hermes, he is speech or the brother of speech, and that brother should be like brother is no marvel. But, as I was saying, my dear Hermogenes, let us get away from the Gods.

HERMOGENES: From these sort of Gods, by all means, Socrates. But why should we not discuss another kind of Gods — the sun, moon, stars, earth, aether, air, fire, water, the seasons, and the year?

SOCRATES: You impose a great many tasks upon me. Still, if you wish, I will not refuse.

HERMOGENES: You will oblige me.

SOCRATES: How would you have me begin? Shall I take first of all him whom you mentioned first — the sun?

HERMOGENES: Very good.

SOCRATES: The origin of the sun will probably be clearer in the Doric form, for the Dorians call him alios, and this name is given to him because when he rises he gathers (alizoi) men together or because he is always rolling in his course (aei eilein ion) about the earth; or from aiolein, of which the meaning is the same as poikillein (to variegate), because he variegates the productions of the earth.

HERMOGENES: But what is selene (the moon)?

SOCRATES: That name is rather unfortunate for Anaxagoras.

HERMOGENES: How so?

SOCRATES: The word seems to forestall his recent discovery, that the moon receives her light from the sun.

HERMOGENES: Why do you say so?

SOCRATES: The two words selas (brightness) and phos (light) have much the same meaning?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: This light about the moon is always new (neon) and always old (enon), if the disciples of Anaxagoras say truly. For the sun in his revolution always adds new light, and there is the old light of the previous month.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: The moon is not unfrequently called selanaia.

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: And as she has a light which is always old and always new (enon neon aei) she may very properly have the name selaenoneoaeia; and this when hammered into shape becomes selanaia.

HERMOGENES: A real dithyrambic sort of name that, Socrates. But what do you say of the month and the stars?

SOCRATES: Meis (month) is called from meiousthai (to lessen), because suffering diminution; the name of astra (stars) seems to be derived from astrape, which is an improvement on anastrope, signifying the upsetting of the eyes (anastrephein opa).

HERMOGENES: What do you say of pur (fire) and udor (water)?

SOCRATES: I am at a loss how to explain pur; either the muse of Euthyphro has deserted me, or there is some very great difficulty in the word. Please, however, to note the contrivance which I adopt whenever I am in a difficulty of this sort.

HERMOGENES: What is it?

SOCRATES: I will tell you; but I should like to know first whether you can tell me what is the meaning of the pur?

HERMOGENES: Indeed I cannot.

SOCRATES: Shall I tell you what I suspect to be the true explanation of this and several other words? — My belief is that they are of foreign origin. For the Hellenes, especially those who were under the dominion of the barbarians, often borrowed from them.

HERMOGENES: What is the inference?

SOCRATES: Why, you know that any one who seeks to demonstrate the fitness of these names according to the Hellenic language, and not according to the language from which the words are derived, is rather likely to be at fault.

HERMOGENES: Yes, certainly.

SOCRATES: Well then, consider whether this pur is not foreign; for the word is not easily brought into relation with the Hellenic tongue, and the Phrygians may be observed to have the same word slightly changed, just as they have udor (water) and kunes (dogs), and many other words.

HERMOGENES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Any violent interpretations of the words should be avoided; for something to say about them may easily be found. And thus I get rid of pur and udor. Aer (air), Hermogenes, may be explained as the element which raises (airei) things from the earth, or as ever flowing (aei rei), or because the flux of the air is wind, and the poets call the winds ‘air-blasts,’ (aetai); he who uses the term may mean, so to speak, air-flux (aetorroun), in the sense of wind-flux (pneumatorroun); and because this moving wind may be expressed by either term he employs the word air (aer = aetes rheo). Aither (aether) I should interpret as aeitheer; this may be correctly said, because this element is always running in a flux about the air (aei thei peri tou aera reon). The meaning of the word ge (earth) comes out better when in the form of gaia, for the earth may be truly called ‘mother’ (gaia, genneteira), as in the language of Homer (Od.) gegaasi means gegennesthai.

HERMOGENES: Good.

SOCRATES: What shall we take next?

HERMOGENES: There are orai (the seasons), and the two names of the year, eniautos and etos.

SOCRATES: The orai should be spelt in the old Attic way, if you desire to know the probable truth about them; they are rightly called the orai because they divide (orizousin) the summers and winters and winds and the fruits of the earth. The words eniautos and etos appear to be the same,— ‘that which brings to light the plants and growths of the earth in their turn, and passes them in review within itself (en eauto exetazei)’: this is broken up into two words, eniautos from en eauto, and etos from etazei, just as the original name of Zeus was divided into Zena and Dia; and the whole proposition means that his power of reviewing from within is one, but has two names, two words etos and eniautos being thus formed out of a single proposition.

HERMOGENES: Indeed, Socrates, you make surprising progress.

SOCRATES: I am run away with.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: But am not yet at my utmost speed.

HERMOGENES: I should like very much to know, in the next place, how you would explain the virtues. What principle of correctness is there in those charming words — wisdom, understanding, justice, and the rest of them?

SOCRATES: That is a tremendous class of names which you are disinterring; still, as I have put on the lion’s skin, I must not be faint of heart; and I suppose that I must consider the meaning of wisdom (phronesis) and understanding (sunesis), and judgment (gnome), and knowledge (episteme), and all those other charming words, as you call them?

HERMOGENES: Surely, we must not leave off until we find out their meaning.

SOCRATES: By the dog of Egypt I have a not bad notion which came into my head only this moment: I believe that the primeval givers of names were undoubtedly like too many of our modern philosophers, who, in their search after the nature of things, are always getting dizzy from constantly going round and round, and then they imagine that the world is going round and round and moving in all directions; and this appearance, which arises out of their own internal condition, they suppose to be a reality of nature; they think that there is nothing stable or permanent, but only flux and motion, and that the world is always full of every sort of motion and change. The consideration of the names which I mentioned has led me into making this reflection.

HERMOGENES: How is that, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Perhaps you did not observe that in the names which have been just cited, the motion or flux or generation of things is most surely indicated.

HERMOGENES: No, indeed, I never thought of it.

SOCRATES: Take the first of those which you mentioned; clearly that is a name indicative of motion.

HERMOGENES: What was the name?

SOCRATES: Phronesis (wisdom), which may signify phoras kai rhou noesis (perception of motion and flux), or perhaps phoras onesis (the blessing of motion), but is at any rate connected with pheresthai (motion); gnome (judgment), again, certainly implies the ponderation or consideration (nomesis) of generation, for to ponder is the same as to consider; or, if you would rather, here is noesis, the very word just now mentioned, which is neou esis (the desire of the new); the word neos implies that the world is always in process of creation. The giver of the name wanted to express this longing of the soul, for the original name was neoesis, and not noesis; but eta took the place of a double epsilon. The word sophrosune is the salvation (soteria) of that wisdom (phronesis) which we were just now considering. Epioteme (knowledge) is akin to this, and indicates that the soul which is good for anything follows (epetai) the motion of things, neither anticipating them nor falling behind them; wherefore the word should rather be read as epistemene, inserting epsilon nu. Sunesis (understanding) may be regarded in like manner as a kind of conclusion; the word is derived from sunienai (to go along with), and, like epistasthai (to know), implies the progression of the soul in company with the nature of things. Sophia (wisdom) is very dark, and appears not to be of native growth; the meaning is, touching the motion or stream of things. You must remember that the poets, when they speak of the commencement of any rapid motion, often use the word esuthe (he rushed); and there was a famous Lacedaemonian who was named Sous (Rush), for by this word the Lacedaemonians signify rapid motion, and the touching (epaphe) of motion is expressed by sophia, for all things are supposed to be in motion. Good (agathon) is the name which is given to the admirable (agasto) in nature; for, although all things move, still there are degrees of motion; some are swifter, some slower; but there are some things which are admirable for their swiftness, and this admirable part of nature is called agathon. Dikaiosune (justice) is clearly dikaiou sunesis (understanding of the just); but the actual word dikaion is more difficult: men are only agreed to a certain extent about justice, and then they begin to disagree. For those who suppose all things to be in motion conceive the greater part of nature to be a mere receptacle; and they say that there is a penetrating power which passes through all this, and is the instrument of creation in all, and is the subtlest and swiftest element; for if it were not the subtlest, and a power which none can keep out, and also the swiftest, passing by other things as if they were standing still, it could not penetrate through the moving universe. And this element, which superintends all things and pierces (diaion) all, is rightly called dikaion; the letter k is only added for the sake of euphony. Thus far, as I was saying, there is a general agreement about the nature of justice; but I, Hermogenes, being an enthusiastic disciple, have been told in a mystery that the justice of which I am speaking is also the cause of the world: now a cause is that because of which anything is created; and some one comes and whispers in my ear that justice is rightly so called because partaking of the nature of the cause, and I begin, after hearing what he has said, to interrogate him gently: ‘Well, my excellent friend,’ say I, ‘but if all this be true, I still want to know what is justice.’ Thereupon they think that I ask tiresome questions, and am leaping over the barriers, and have been already sufficiently answered, and they try to satisfy me with one derivation after another, and at length they quarrel. For one of them says that justice is the sun, and that he only is the piercing (diaionta) and burning (kaonta) element which is the guardian of nature. And when I joyfully repeat this beautiful notion, I am answered by the satirical remark, ‘What, is there no justice in the world when the sun is down?’ And when I earnestly beg my questioner to tell me his own honest opinion, he says, ‘Fire in the abstract’; but this is not very intelligible. Another says, ‘No, not fire in the abstract, but the abstraction of heat in the fire.’ Another man professes to laugh at all this, and says, as Anaxagoras says, that justice is mind, for mind, as they say, has absolute power, and mixes with nothing, and orders all things, and passes through all things. At last, my friend, I find myself in far greater perplexity about the nature of justice than I was before I began to learn. But still I am of opinion that the name, which has led me into this digression, was given to justice for the reasons which I have mentioned.

HERMOGENES: I think, Socrates, that you are not improvising now; you must have heard this from some one else.

SOCRATES: And not the rest?

HERMOGENES: Hardly.

SOCRATES: Well, then, let me go on in the hope of making you believe in the originality of the rest. What remains after justice? I do not think that we have as yet discussed courage (andreia), — injustice (adikia), which is obviously nothing more than a hindrance to the penetrating principle (diaiontos), need not be considered. Well, then, the name of andreia seems to imply a battle; — this battle is in the world of existence, and according to the doctrine of flux is only the counterflux (enantia rhon): if you extract the delta from andreia, the name at once signifies the thing, and you may clearly understand that andreia is not the stream opposed to every stream, but only to that which is contrary to justice, for otherwise courage would not have been praised. The words arren (male) and aner (man) also contain a similar allusion to the same principle of the upward flux (te ano rhon). Gune (woman) I suspect to be the same word as goun (birth): thelu (female) appears to be partly derived from thele (the teat), because the teat is like rain, and makes things flourish (tethelenai).

HERMOGENES: That is surely probable.

SOCRATES: Yes; and the very word thallein (to flourish) seems to figure the growth of youth, which is swift and sudden ever. And this is expressed by the legislator in the name, which is a compound of thein (running), and allesthai (leaping). Pray observe how I gallop away when I get on smooth ground. There are a good many names generally thought to be of importance, which have still to be explained.

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: There is the meaning of the word techne (art), for example.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: That may be identified with echonoe, and expresses the possession of mind: you have only to take away the tau and insert two omichrons, one between the chi and nu, and another between the nu and eta.

HERMOGENES: That is a very shabby etymology.

SOCRATES: Yes, my dear friend; but then you know that the original names have been long ago buried and disguised by people sticking on and stripping off letters for the sake of euphony, and twisting and bedizening them in all sorts of ways: and time too may have had a share in the change. Take, for example, the word katoptron; why is the letter rho inserted? This must surely be the addition of some one who cares nothing about the truth, but thinks only of putting the mouth into shape. And the additions are often such that at last no human being can possibly make out the original meaning of the word. Another example is the word sphigx, sphiggos, which ought properly to be phigx, phiggos, and there are other examples.

HERMOGENES: That is quite true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And yet, if you are permitted to put in and pull out any letters which you please, names will be too easily made, and any name may be adapted to any object.

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: Yes, that is true. And therefore a wise dictator, like yourself, should observe the laws of moderation and probability.

HERMOGENES: Such is my desire.

SOCRATES: And mine, too, Hermogenes. But do not be too much of a precisian, or ‘you will unnerve me of my strength (Iliad.).’ When you have allowed me to add mechane (contrivance) to techne (art) I shall be at the top of my bent, for I conceive mechane to be a sign of great accomplishment — anein; for mekos has the meaning of greatness, and these two, mekos and anein, make up the word mechane. But, as I was saying, being now at the top of my bent, I should like to consider the meaning of the two words arete (virtue) and kakia (vice); arete I do not as yet understand, but kakia is transparent, and agrees with the principles which preceded, for all things being in a flux (ionton), kakia is kakos ion (going badly); and this evil motion when existing in the soul has the general name of kakia, or vice, specially appropriated to it. The meaning of kakos ienai may be further illustrated by the use of deilia (cowardice), which ought to have come after andreia, but was forgotten, and, as I fear, is not the only word which has been passed over. Deilia signifies that the soul is bound with a strong chain (desmos), for lian means strength, and therefore deilia expresses the greatest and strongest bond of the soul; and aporia (difficulty) is an evil of the same nature (from a (alpha) not, and poreuesthai to go), like anything else which is an impediment to motion and movement. Then the word kakia appears to mean kakos ienai, or going badly, or limping and halting; of which the consequence is, that the soul becomes filled with vice. And if kakia is the name of this sort of thing, arete will be the opposite of it, signifying in the first place ease of motion, then that the stream of the good soul is unimpeded, and has therefore the attribute of ever flowing without let or hindrance, and is therefore called arete, or, more correctly, aeireite (ever-flowing), and may perhaps have had another form, airete (eligible), indicating that nothing is more eligible than virtue, and this has been hammered into arete. I daresay that you will deem this to be another invention of mine, but I think that if the previous word kakia was right, then arete is also right.

HERMOGENES: But what is the meaning of kakon, which has played so great a part in your previous discourse?

SOCRATES: That is a very singular word about which I can hardly form an opinion, and therefore I must have recourse to my ingenious device.

HERMOGENES: What device?

SOCRATES: The device of a foreign origin, which I shall give to this word also.

HERMOGENES: Very likely you are right; but suppose that we leave these words and endeavour to see the rationale of kalon and aischron.

SOCRATES: The meaning of aischron is evident, being only aei ischon roes (always preventing from flowing), and this is in accordance with our former derivations. For the name-giver was a great enemy to stagnation of all sorts, and hence he gave the name aeischoroun to that which hindered the flux (aei ischon roun), and that is now beaten together into aischron.

HERMOGENES: But what do you say of kalon?

SOCRATES: That is more obscure; yet the form is only due to the quantity, and has been changed by altering omicron upsilon into omicron.

HERMOGENES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: This name appears to denote mind.

HERMOGENES: How so?

SOCRATES: Let me ask you what is the cause why anything has a name; is not the principle which imposes the name the cause?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And must not this be the mind of Gods, or of men, or of both?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Is not mind that which called (kalesan) things by their names, and is not mind the beautiful (kalon)?

HERMOGENES: That is evident.

SOCRATES: And are not the works of intelligence and mind worthy of praise, and are not other works worthy of blame?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Physic does the work of a physician, and carpentering does the works of a carpenter?

HERMOGENES: Exactly.

SOCRATES: And the principle of beauty does the works of beauty?

HERMOGENES: Of course.

SOCRATES: And that principle we affirm to be mind?

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then mind is rightly called beauty because she does the works which we recognize and speak of as the beautiful?

HERMOGENES: That is evident.

SOCRATES: What more names remain to us?

HERMOGENES: There are the words which are connected with agathon and kalon, such as sumpheron and lusiteloun, ophelimon, kerdaleon, and their opposites.

SOCRATES: The meaning of sumpheron (expedient) I think that you may discover for yourself by the light of the previous examples, — for it is a sister word to episteme, meaning just the motion (pora) of the soul accompanying the world, and things which are done upon this principle are called sumphora or sumpheronta, because they are carried round with the world.

HERMOGENES: That is probable.

SOCRATES: Again, cherdaleon (gainful) is called from cherdos (gain), but you must alter the delta into nu if you want to get at the meaning; for this word also signifies good, but in another way; he who gave the name intended to express the power of admixture (kerannumenon) and universal penetration in the good; in forming the word, however, he inserted a delta instead of a nu, and so made kerdos.

HERMOGENES: Well, but what is lusiteloun (profitable)?

SOCRATES: I suppose, Hermogenes, that people do not mean by the profitable the gainful or that which pays (luei) the retailer, but they use the word in the sense of swift. You regard the profitable (lusiteloun), as that which being the swiftest thing in existence, allows of no stay in things and no pause or end of motion, but always, if there begins to be any end, lets things go again (luei), and makes motion immortal and unceasing: and in this point of view, as appears to me, the good is happily denominated lusiteloun — being that which looses (luon) the end (telos) of motion. Ophelimon (the advantageous) is derived from ophellein, meaning that which creates and increases; this latter is a common Homeric word, and has a foreign character.

HERMOGENES: And what do you say of their opposites?

SOCRATES: Of such as are mere negatives I hardly think that I need speak.

HERMOGENES: Which are they?

SOCRATES: The words axumphoron (inexpedient), anopheles (unprofitable), alusiteles (unadvantageous), akerdes (ungainful).

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: I would rather take the words blaberon (harmful), zemiodes (hurtful).

HERMOGENES: Good.

SOCRATES: The word blaberon is that which is said to hinder or harm (blaptein) the stream (roun); blapton is boulomenon aptein (seeking to hold or bind); for aptein is the same as dein, and dein is always a term of censure; boulomenon aptein roun (wanting to bind the stream) would properly be boulapteroun, and this, as I imagine, is improved into blaberon.

HERMOGENES: You bring out curious results, Socrates, in the use of names; and when I hear the word boulapteroun I cannot help imagining that you are making your mouth into a flute, and puffing away at some prelude to Athene.

SOCRATES: That is the fault of the makers of the name, Hermogenes; not mine.

HERMOGENES: Very true; but what is the derivation of zemiodes?

SOCRATES: What is the meaning of zemiodes? — let me remark, Hermogenes, how right I was in saying that great changes are made in the meaning of words by putting in and pulling out letters; even a very slight permutation will sometimes give an entirely opposite sense; I may instance the word deon, which occurs to me at the moment, and reminds me of what I was going to say to you, that the fine fashionable language of modern times has twisted and disguised and entirely altered the original meaning both of deon, and also of zemiodes, which in the old language is clearly indicated.

HERMOGENES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I will try to explain. You are aware that our forefathers loved the sounds iota and delta, especially the women, who are most conservative of the ancient language, but now they change iota into eta or epsilon, and delta into zeta; this is supposed to increase the grandeur of the sound.

HERMOGENES: How do you mean?

SOCRATES: For example, in very ancient times they called the day either imera or emera (short e), which is called by us emera (long e).

HERMOGENES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Do you observe that only the ancient form shows the intention of the giver of the name? of which the reason is, that men long for (imeirousi) and love the light which comes after the darkness, and is therefore called imera, from imeros, desire.

HERMOGENES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But now the name is so travestied that you cannot tell the meaning, although there are some who imagine the day to be called emera because it makes things gentle (emera different accents).

HERMOGENES: Such is my view.

SOCRATES: And do you know that the ancients said duogon and not zugon?

HERMOGENES: They did so.

SOCRATES: And zugon (yoke) has no meaning, — it ought to be duogon, which word expresses the binding of two together (duein agoge) for the purpose of drawing; — this has been changed into zugon, and there are many other examples of similar changes.

HERMOGENES: There are.

SOCRATES: Proceeding in the same train of thought I may remark that the word deon (obligation) has a meaning which is the opposite of all the other appellations of good; for deon is here a species of good, and is, nevertheless, the chain (desmos) or hinderer of motion, and therefore own brother of blaberon.

HERMOGENES: Yes, Socrates; that is quite plain.

SOCRATES: Not if you restore the ancient form, which is more likely to be the correct one, and read dion instead of deon; if you convert the epsilon into an iota after the old fashion, this word will then agree with other words meaning good; for dion, not deon, signifies the good, and is a term of praise; and the author of names has not contradicted himself, but in all these various appellations, deon (obligatory), ophelimon (advantageous), lusiteloun (profitable), kerdaleon (gainful), agathon (good), sumpheron (expedient), euporon (plenteous), the same conception is implied of the ordering or all-pervading principle which is praised, and the restraining and binding principle which is censured. And this is further illustrated by the word zemiodes (hurtful), which if the zeta is only changed into delta as in the ancient language, becomes demiodes; and this name, as you will perceive, is given to that which binds motion (dounti ion).

HERMOGENES: What do you say of edone (pleasure), lupe (pain), epithumia (desire), and the like, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I do not think, Hermogenes, that there is any great difficulty about them — edone is e (eta) onesis, the action which tends to advantage; and the original form may be supposed to have been eone, but this has been altered by the insertion of the delta. Lupe appears to be derived from the relaxation (luein) which the body feels when in sorrow; ania (trouble) is the hindrance of motion (alpha and ienai); algedon (distress), if I am not mistaken, is a foreign word, which is derived from aleinos (grievous); odune (grief) is called from the putting on (endusis) sorrow; in achthedon (vexation) ‘the word too labours,’ as any one may see; chara (joy) is the very expression of the fluency and diffusion of the soul (cheo); terpsis (delight) is so called from the pleasure creeping (erpon) through the soul, which may be likened to a breath (pnoe) and is properly erpnoun, but has been altered by time into terpnon; eupherosune (cheerfulness) and epithumia explain themselves; the former, which ought to be eupherosune and has been changed euphrosune, is named, as every one may see, from the soul moving (pheresthai) in harmony with nature; epithumia is really e epi ton thumon iousa dunamis, the power which enters into the soul; thumos (passion) is called from the rushing (thuseos) and boiling of the soul; imeros (desire) denotes the stream (rous) which most draws the soul dia ten esin tes roes — because flowing with desire (iemenos), and expresses a longing after things and violent attraction of the soul to them, and is termed imeros from possessing this power; pothos (longing) is expressive of the desire of that which is not present but absent, and in another place (pou); this is the reason why the name pothos is applied to things absent, as imeros is to things present; eros (love) is so called because flowing in (esron) from without; the stream is not inherent, but is an influence introduced through the eyes, and from flowing in was called esros (influx) in the old time when they used omicron for omega, and is called eros, now that omega is substituted for omicron. But why do you not give me another word?

HERMOGENES: What do you think of doxa (opinion), and that class of words?

SOCRATES: Doxa is either derived from dioxis (pursuit), and expresses the march of the soul in the pursuit of knowledge, or from the shooting of a bow (toxon); the latter is more likely, and is confirmed by oiesis (thinking), which is only oisis (moving), and implies the movement of the soul to the essential nature of each thing — just as boule (counsel) has to do with shooting (bole); and boulesthai (to wish) combines the notion of aiming and deliberating — all these words seem to follow doxa, and all involve the idea of shooting, just as aboulia, absence of counsel, on the other hand, is a mishap, or missing, or mistaking of the mark, or aim, or proposal, or object.

HERMOGENES: You are quickening your pace now, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Why yes, the end I now dedicate to God, not, however, until I have explained anagke (necessity), which ought to come next, and ekousion (the voluntary). Ekousion is certainly the yielding (eikon) and unresisting — the notion implied is yielding and not opposing, yielding, as I was just now saying, to that motion which is in accordance with our will; but the necessary and resistant being contrary to our will, implies error and ignorance; the idea is taken from walking through a ravine which is impassable, and rugged, and overgrown, and impedes motion — and this is the derivation of the word anagkaion (necessary) an agke ion, going through a ravine. But while my strength lasts let us persevere, and I hope that you will persevere with your questions.

HERMOGENES: Well, then, let me ask about the greatest and noblest, such as aletheia (truth) and pseudos (falsehood) and on (being), not forgetting to enquire why the word onoma (name), which is the theme of our discussion, has this name of onoma.

SOCRATES: You know the word maiesthai (to seek)?

HERMOGENES: Yes; — meaning the same as zetein (to enquire).

SOCRATES: The word onoma seems to be a compressed sentence, signifying on ou zetema (being for which there is a search); as is still more obvious in onomaston (notable), which states in so many words that real existence is that for which there is a seeking (on ou masma); aletheia is also an agglomeration of theia ale (divine wandering), implying the divine motion of existence; pseudos (falsehood) is the opposite of motion; here is another ill name given by the legislator to stagnation and forced inaction, which he compares to sleep (eudein); but the original meaning of the word is disguised by the addition of psi; on and ousia are ion with an iota broken off; this agrees with the true principle, for being (on) is also moving (ion), and the same may be said of not being, which is likewise called not going (oukion or ouki on = ouk ion).

HERMOGENES: You have hammered away at them manfully; but suppose that some one were to say to you, what is the word ion, and what are reon and doun? — show me their fitness.

SOCRATES: You mean to say, how should I answer him?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: One way of giving the appearance of an answer has been already suggested.

HERMOGENES: What way?

SOCRATES: To say that names which we do not understand are of foreign origin; and this is very likely the right answer, and something of this kind may be true of them; but also the original forms of words may have been lost in the lapse of ages; names have been so twisted in all manner of ways, that I should not be surprised if the old language when compared with that now in use would appear to us to be a barbarous tongue.

HERMOGENES: Very likely.

SOCRATES: Yes, very likely. But still the enquiry demands our earnest attention and we must not flinch. For we should remember, that if a person go on analysing names into words, and enquiring also into the elements out of which the words are formed, and keeps on always repeating this process, he who has to answer him must at last give up the enquiry in despair.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And at what point ought he to lose heart and give up the enquiry? Must he not stop when he comes to the names which are the elements of all other names and sentences; for these cannot be supposed to be made up of other names? The word agathon (good), for example, is, as we were saying, a compound of agastos (admirable) and thoos (swift). And probably thoos is made up of other elements, and these again of others. But if we take a word which is incapable of further resolution, then we shall be right in saying that we have at last reached a primary element, which need not be resolved any further.

HERMOGENES: I believe you to be in the right.

SOCRATES: And suppose the names about which you are now asking should turn out to be primary elements, must not their truth or law be examined according to some new method?

HERMOGENES: Very likely.

SOCRATES: Quite so, Hermogenes; all that has preceded would lead to this conclusion. And if, as I think, the conclusion is true, then I shall again say to you, come and help me, that I may not fall into some absurdity in stating the principle of primary names.

HERMOGENES: Let me hear, and I will do my best to assist you.

SOCRATES: I think that you will acknowledge with me, that one principle is applicable to all names, primary as well as secondary — when they are regarded simply as names, there is no difference in them.

HERMOGENES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: All the names that we have been explaining were intended to indicate the nature of things.

HERMOGENES: Of course.

SOCRATES: And that this is true of the primary quite as much as of the secondary names, is implied in their being names.

HERMOGENES: Surely.

SOCRATES: But the secondary, as I conceive, derive their significance from the primary.

HERMOGENES: That is evident.

SOCRATES: Very good; but then how do the primary names which precede analysis show the natures of things, as far as they can be shown; which they must do, if they are to be real names? And here I will ask you a question: Suppose that we had no voice or tongue, and wanted to communicate with one another, should we not, like the deaf and dumb, make signs with the hands and head and the rest of the body?

HERMOGENES: There would be no choice, Socrates.

SOCRATES: We should imitate the nature of the thing; the elevation of our hands to heaven would mean lightness and upwardness; heaviness and downwardness would be expressed by letting them drop to the ground; if we were describing the running of a horse, or any other animal, we should make our bodies and their gestures as like as we could to them.

HERMOGENES: I do not see that we could do anything else.

SOCRATES: We could not; for by bodily imitation only can the body ever express anything.

HERMOGENES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And when we want to express ourselves, either with the voice, or tongue, or mouth, the expression is simply their imitation of that which we want to express.

HERMOGENES: It must be so, I think.

SOCRATES: Then a name is a vocal imitation of that which the vocal imitator names or imitates?

HERMOGENES: I think so.

SOCRATES: Nay, my friend, I am disposed to think that we have not reached the truth as yet.

HERMOGENES: Why not?

SOCRATES: Because if we have we shall be obliged to admit that the people who imitate sheep, or cocks, or other animals, name that which they imitate.

HERMOGENES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Then could I have been right in what I was saying?

HERMOGENES: In my opinion, no. But I wish that you would tell me, Socrates, what sort of an imitation is a name?

SOCRATES: In the first place, I should reply, not a musical imitation, although that is also vocal; nor, again, an imitation of what music imitates; these, in my judgment, would not be naming. Let me put the matter as follows: All objects have sound and figure, and many have colour?

HERMOGENES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But the art of naming appears not to be concerned with imitations of this kind; the arts which have to do with them are music and drawing?

HERMOGENES: True.

SOCRATES: Again, is there not an essence of each thing, just as there is a colour, or sound? And is there not an essence of colour and sound as well as of anything else which may be said to have an essence?

HERMOGENES: I should think so.

SOCRATES: Well, and if any one could express the essence of each thing in letters and syllables, would he not express the nature of each thing?

HERMOGENES: Quite so.

SOCRATES: The musician and the painter were the two names which you gave to the two other imitators. What will this imitator be called?

HERMOGENES: I imagine, Socrates, that he must be the namer, or name-giver, of whom we are in search.

SOCRATES: If this is true, then I think that we are in a condition to consider the names ron (stream), ienai (to go), schesis (retention), about which you were asking; and we may see whether the namer has grasped the nature of them in letters and syllables in such a manner as to imitate the essence or not.

HERMOGENES: Very good.

SOCRATES: But are these the only primary names, or are there others?

HERMOGENES: There must be others.

SOCRATES: So I should expect. But how shall we further analyse them, and where does the imitator begin? Imitation of the essence is made by syllables and letters; ought we not, therefore, first to separate the letters, just as those who are beginning rhythm first distinguish the powers of elementary, and then of compound sounds, and when they have done so, but not before, they proceed to the consideration of rhythms?

HERMOGENES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Must we not begin in the same way with letters; first separating the vowels, and then the consonants and mutes (letters which are neither vowels nor semivowels), into classes, according to the received distinctions of the learned; also the semivowels, which are neither vowels, nor yet mutes; and distinguishing into classes the vowels themselves? And when we have perfected the classification of things, we shall give them names, and see whether, as in the case of letters, there are any classes to which they may be all referred (cf. Phaedrus); and hence we shall see their natures, and see, too, whether they have in them classes as there are in the letters; and when we have well considered all this, we shall know how to apply them to what they resemble — whether one letter is used to denote one thing, or whether there is to be an admixture of several of them; just, as in painting, the painter who wants to depict anything sometimes uses purple only, or any other colour, and sometimes mixes up several colours, as his method is when he has to paint flesh colour or anything of that kind — he uses his colours as his figures appear to require them; and so, too, we shall apply letters to the expression of objects, either single letters when required, or several letters; and so we shall form syllables, as they are called, and from syllables make nouns and verbs; and thus, at last, from the combinations of nouns and verbs arrive at language, large and fair and whole; and as the painter made a figure, even so shall we make speech by the art of the namer or the rhetorician, or by some other art. Not that I am literally speaking of ourselves, but I was carried away — meaning to say that this was the way in which (not we but) the ancients formed language, and what they put together we must take to pieces in like manner, if we are to attain a scientific view of the whole subject, and we must see whether the primary, and also whether the secondary elements are rightly given or not, for if they are not, the composition of them, my dear Hermogenes, will be a sorry piece of work, and in the wrong direction.

HERMOGENES: That, Socrates, I can quite believe.

SOCRATES: Well, but do you suppose that you will be able to analyse them in this way? for I am certain that I should not.

HERMOGENES: Much less am I likely to be able.

SOCRATES: Shall we leave them, then? or shall we seek to discover, if we can, something about them, according to the measure of our ability, saying by way of preface, as I said before of the Gods, that of the truth about them we know nothing, and do but entertain human notions of them. And in this present enquiry, let us say to ourselves, before we proceed, that the higher method is the one which we or others who would analyse language to any good purpose must follow; but under the circumstances, as men say, we must do as well as we can. What do you think?

HERMOGENES: I very much approve.

SOCRATES: That objects should be imitated in letters and syllables, and so find expression, may appear ridiculous, Hermogenes, but it cannot be avoided — there is no better principle to which we can look for the truth of first names. Deprived of this, we must have recourse to divine help, like the tragic poets, who in any perplexity have their gods waiting in the air; and must get out of our difficulty in like fashion, by saying that ‘the Gods gave the first names, and therefore they are right.’ This will be the best contrivance, or perhaps that other notion may be even better still, of deriving them from some barbarous people, for the barbarians are older than we are; or we may say that antiquity has cast a veil over them, which is the same sort of excuse as the last; for all these are not reasons but only ingenious excuses for having no reasons concerning the truth of words. And yet any sort of ignorance of first or primitive names involves an ignorance of secondary words; for they can only be explained by the primary. Clearly then the professor of languages should be able to give a very lucid explanation of first names, or let him be assured he will only talk nonsense about the rest. Do you not suppose this to be true?

HERMOGENES: Certainly, Socrates.

SOCRATES: My first notions of original names are truly wild and ridiculous, though I have no objection to impart them to you if you desire, and I hope that you will communicate to me in return anything better which you may have.

HERMOGENES: Fear not; I will do my best.

SOCRATES: In the first place, the letter rho appears to me to be the general instrument expressing all motion (kinesis). But I have not yet explained the meaning of this latter word, which is just iesis (going); for the letter eta was not in use among the ancients, who only employed epsilon; and the root is kiein, which is a foreign form, the same as ienai. And the old word kinesis will be correctly given as iesis in corresponding modern letters. Assuming this foreign root kiein, and allowing for the change of the eta and the insertion of the nu, we have kinesis, which should have been kieinsis or eisis; and stasis is the negative of ienai (or eisis), and has been improved into stasis. Now the letter rho, as I was saying, appeared to the imposer of names an excellent instrument for the expression of motion; and he frequently uses the letter for this purpose: for example, in the actual words rein and roe he represents motion by rho; also in the words tromos (trembling), trachus (rugged); and again, in words such as krouein (strike), thrauein (crush), ereikein (bruise), thruptein (break), kermatixein (crumble), rumbein (whirl): of all these sorts of movements he generally finds an expression in the letter R, because, as I imagine, he had observed that the tongue was most agitated and least at rest in the pronunciation of this letter, which he therefore used in order to express motion, just as by the letter iota he expresses the subtle elements which pass through all things. This is why he uses the letter iota as imitative of motion, ienai, iesthai. And there is another class of letters, phi, psi, sigma, and xi, of which the pronunciation is accompanied by great expenditure of breath; these are used in the imitation of such notions as psuchron (shivering), xeon (seething), seiesthai, (to be shaken), seismos (shock), and are always introduced by the giver of names when he wants to imitate what is phusodes (windy). He seems to have thought that the closing and pressure of the tongue in the utterance of delta and tau was expressive of binding and rest in a place: he further observed the liquid movement of lambda, in the pronunciation of which the tongue slips, and in this he found the expression of smoothness, as in leios (level), and in the word oliothanein (to slip) itself, liparon (sleek), in the word kollodes (gluey), and the like: the heavier sound of gamma detained the slipping tongue, and the union of the two gave the notion of a glutinous clammy nature, as in glischros, glukus, gloiodes. The nu he observed to be sounded from within, and therefore to have a notion of inwardness; hence he introduced the sound in endos and entos: alpha he assigned to the expression of size, and nu of length, because they are great letters: omicron was the sign of roundness, and therefore there is plenty of omicron mixed up in the word goggulon (round). Thus did the legislator, reducing all things into letters and syllables, and impressing on them names and signs, and out of them by imitation compounding other signs. That is my view, Hermogenes, of the truth of names; but I should like to hear what Cratylus has more to say.

HERMOGENES: But, Socrates, as I was telling you before, Cratylus mystifies me; he says that there is a fitness of names, but he never explains what is this fitness, so that I cannot tell whether his obscurity is intended or not. Tell me now, Cratylus, here in the presence of Socrates, do you agree in what Socrates has been saying about names, or have you something better of your own? and if you have, tell me what your view is, and then you will either learn of Socrates, or Socrates and I will learn of you.

CRATYLUS: Well, but surely, Hermogenes, you do not suppose that you can learn, or I explain, any subject of importance all in a moment; at any rate, not such a subject as language, which is, perhaps, the very greatest of all.

HERMOGENES: No, indeed; but, as Hesiod says, and I agree with him, ‘to add little to little’ is worth while. And, therefore, if you think that you can add anything at all, however small, to our knowledge, take a little trouble and oblige Socrates, and me too, who certainly have a claim upon you.

SOCRATES: I am by no means positive, Cratylus, in the view which Hermogenes and myself have worked out; and therefore do not hesitate to say what you think, which if it be better than my own view I shall gladly accept. And I should not be at all surprized to find that you have found some better notion. For you have evidently reflected on these matters and have had teachers, and if you have really a better theory of the truth of names, you may count me in the number of your disciples.

CRATYLUS: You are right, Socrates, in saying that I have made a study of these matters, and I might possibly convert you into a disciple. But I fear that the opposite is more probable, and I already find myself moved to say to you what Achilles in the ‘Prayers’ says to Ajax, —

‘Illustrious Ajax, son of Telamon, lord of the people, You appear to have spoken in all things much to my mind.’

And you, Socrates, appear to me to be an oracle, and to give answers much to my mind, whether you are inspired by Euthyphro, or whether some Muse may have long been an inhabitant of your breast, unconsciously to yourself.

SOCRATES: Excellent Cratylus, I have long been wondering at my own wisdom; I cannot trust myself. And I think that I ought to stop and ask myself What am I saying? for there is nothing worse than self-deception — when the deceiver is always at home and always with you — it is quite terrible, and therefore I ought often to retrace my steps and endeavour to ‘look fore and aft,’ in the words of the aforesaid Homer. And now let me see; where are we? Have we not been saying that the correct name indicates the nature of the thing: — has this proposition been sufficiently proven?

CRATYLUS: Yes, Socrates, what you say, as I am disposed to think, is quite true.

SOCRATES: Names, then, are given in order to instruct?

CRATYLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And naming is an art, and has artificers?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And who are they?

CRATYLUS: The legislators, of whom you spoke at first.

SOCRATES: And does this art grow up among men like other arts? Let me explain what I mean: of painters, some are better and some worse?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: The better painters execute their works, I mean their figures, better, and the worse execute them worse; and of builders also, the better sort build fairer houses, and the worse build them worse.

CRATYLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And among legislators, there are some who do their work better and some worse?

CRATYLUS: No; there I do not agree with you.

SOCRATES: Then you do not think that some laws are better and others worse?

CRATYLUS: No, indeed.

SOCRATES: Or that one name is better than another?

CRATYLUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then all names are rightly imposed?

CRATYLUS: Yes, if they are names at all.

SOCRATES: Well, what do you say to the name of our friend Hermogenes, which was mentioned before: — assuming that he has nothing of the nature of Hermes in him, shall we say that this is a wrong name, or not his name at all?

CRATYLUS: I should reply that Hermogenes is not his name at all, but only appears to be his, and is really the name of somebody else, who has the nature which corresponds to it.

SOCRATES: And if a man were to call him Hermogenes, would he not be even speaking falsely? For there may be a doubt whether you can call him Hermogenes, if he is not.

CRATYLUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Are you maintaining that falsehood is impossible? For if this is your meaning I should answer, that there have been plenty of liars in all ages.

CRATYLUS: Why, Socrates, how can a man say that which is not? — say something and yet say nothing? For is not falsehood saying the thing which is not?

SOCRATES: Your argument, friend, is too subtle for a man of my age. But I should like to know whether you are one of those philosophers who think that falsehood may be spoken but not said?

CRATYLUS: Neither spoken nor said.

SOCRATES: Nor uttered nor addressed? For example: If a person, saluting you in a foreign country, were to take your hand and say: ‘Hail, Athenian stranger, Hermogenes, son of Smicrion’ — these words, whether spoken, said, uttered, or addressed, would have no application to you but only to our friend Hermogenes, or perhaps to nobody at all?

CRATYLUS: In my opinion, Socrates, the speaker would only be talking nonsense.

SOCRATES: Well, but that will be quite enough for me, if you will tell me whether the nonsense would be true or false, or partly true and partly false: — which is all that I want to know.

CRATYLUS: I should say that he would be putting himself in motion to no purpose; and that his words would be an unmeaning sound like the noise of hammering at a brazen pot.

SOCRATES: But let us see, Cratylus, whether we cannot find a meeting-point, for you would admit that the name is not the same with the thing named?

CRATYLUS: I should.

SOCRATES: And would you further acknowledge that the name is an imitation of the thing?

CRATYLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And you would say that pictures are also imitations of things, but in another way?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: I believe you may be right, but I do not rightly understand you. Please to say, then, whether both sorts of imitation (I mean both pictures or words) are not equally attributable and applicable to the things of which they are the imitation.

CRATYLUS: They are.

SOCRATES: First look at the matter thus: you may attribute the likeness of the man to the man, and of the woman to the woman; and so on?

CRATYLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And conversely you may attribute the likeness of the man to the woman, and of the woman to the man?

CRATYLUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And are both modes of assigning them right, or only the first?

CRATYLUS: Only the first.

SOCRATES: That is to say, the mode of assignment which attributes to each that which belongs to them and is like them?

CRATYLUS: That is my view.

SOCRATES: Now then, as I am desirous that we being friends should have a good understanding about the argument, let me state my view to you: the first mode of assignment, whether applied to figures or to names, I call right, and when applied to names only, true as well as right; and the other mode of giving and assigning the name which is unlike, I call wrong, and in the case of names, false as well as wrong.

CRATYLUS: That may be true, Socrates, in the case of pictures; they may be wrongly assigned; but not in the case of names — they must be always right.

SOCRATES: Why, what is the difference? May I not go to a man and say to him, ‘This is your picture,’ showing him his own likeness, or perhaps the likeness of a woman; and when I say ‘show,’ I mean bring before the sense of sight.

CRATYLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And may I not go to him again, and say, ‘This is your name’? — for the name, like the picture, is an imitation. May I not say to him— ‘This is your name’? and may I not then bring to his sense of hearing the imitation of himself, when I say, ‘This is a man’; or of a female of the human species, when I say, ‘This is a woman,’ as the case may be? Is not all that quite possible?

CRATYLUS: I would fain agree with you, Socrates; and therefore I say, Granted.

SOCRATES: That is very good of you, if I am right, which need hardly be disputed at present. But if I can assign names as well as pictures to objects, the right assignment of them we may call truth, and the wrong assignment of them falsehood. Now if there be such a wrong assignment of names, there may also be a wrong or inappropriate assignment of verbs; and if of names and verbs then of the sentences, which are made up of them. What do you say, Cratylus?

CRATYLUS: I agree; and think that what you say is very true.

SOCRATES: And further, primitive nouns may be compared to pictures, and in pictures you may either give all the appropriate colours and figures, or you may not give them all — some may be wanting; or there may be too many or too much of them — may there not?

CRATYLUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And he who gives all gives a perfect picture or figure; and he who takes away or adds also gives a picture or figure, but not a good one.

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: In like manner, he who by syllables and letters imitates the nature of things, if he gives all that is appropriate will produce a good image, or in other words a name; but if he subtracts or perhaps adds a little, he will make an image but not a good one; whence I infer that some names are well and others ill made.

CRATYLUS: That is true.

SOCRATES: Then the artist of names may be sometimes good, or he may be bad?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And this artist of names is called the legislator?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then like other artists the legislator may be good or he may be bad; it must surely be so if our former admissions hold good?

CRATYLUS: Very true, Socrates; but the case of language, you see, is different; for when by the help of grammar we assign the letters alpha or beta, or any other letters to a certain name, then, if we add, or subtract, or misplace a letter, the name which is written is not only written wrongly, but not written at all; and in any of these cases becomes other than a name.

SOCRATES: But I doubt whether your view is altogether correct, Cratylus.

CRATYLUS: How so?

SOCRATES: I believe that what you say may be true about numbers, which must be just what they are, or not be at all; for example, the number ten at once becomes other than ten if a unit be added or subtracted, and so of any other number: but this does not apply to that which is qualitative or to anything which is represented under an image. I should say rather that the image, if expressing in every point the entire reality, would no longer be an image. Let us suppose the existence of two objects: one of them shall be Cratylus, and the other the image of Cratylus; and we will suppose, further, that some God makes not only a representation such as a painter would make of your outward form and colour, but also creates an inward organization like yours, having the same warmth and softness; and into this infuses motion, and soul, and mind, such as you have, and in a word copies all your qualities, and places them by you in another form; would you say that this was Cratylus and the image of Cratylus, or that there were two Cratyluses?

CRATYLUS: I should say that there were two Cratyluses.

SOCRATES: Then you see, my friend, that we must find some other principle of truth in images, and also in names; and not insist that an image is no longer an image when something is added or subtracted. Do you not perceive that images are very far from having qualities which are the exact counterpart of the realities which they represent?

CRATYLUS: Yes, I see.

SOCRATES: But then how ridiculous would be the effect of names on things, if they were exactly the same with them! For they would be the doubles of them, and no one would be able to determine which were the names and which were the realities.

CRATYLUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Then fear not, but have the courage to admit that one name may be correctly and another incorrectly given; and do not insist that the name shall be exactly the same with the thing; but allow the occasional substitution of a wrong letter, and if of a letter also of a noun in a sentence, and if of a noun in a sentence also of a sentence which is not appropriate to the matter, and acknowledge that the thing may be named, and described, so long as the general character of the thing which you are describing is retained; and this, as you will remember, was remarked by Hermogenes and myself in the particular instance of the names of the letters.

CRATYLUS: Yes, I remember.

SOCRATES: Good; and when the general character is preserved, even if some of the proper letters are wanting, still the thing is signified; — well, if all the letters are given; not well, when only a few of them are given. I think that we had better admit this, lest we be punished like travellers in Aegina who wander about the street late at night: and be likewise told by truth herself that we have arrived too late; or if not, you must find out some new notion of correctness of names, and no longer maintain that a name is the expression of a thing in letters or syllables; for if you say both, you will be inconsistent with yourself.

CRATYLUS: I quite acknowledge, Socrates, what you say to be very reasonable.

SOCRATES: Then as we are agreed thus far, let us ask ourselves whether a name rightly imposed ought not to have the proper letters.

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the proper letters are those which are like the things?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Enough then of names which are rightly given. And in names which are incorrectly given, the greater part may be supposed to be made up of proper and similar letters, or there would be no likeness; but there will be likewise a part which is improper and spoils the beauty and formation of the word: you would admit that?

CRATYLUS: There would be no use, Socrates, in my quarrelling with you, since I cannot be satisfied that a name which is incorrectly given is a name at all.

SOCRATES: Do you admit a name to be the representation of a thing?

CRATYLUS: Yes, I do.

SOCRATES: But do you not allow that some nouns are primitive, and some derived?

CRATYLUS: Yes, I do.

SOCRATES: Then if you admit that primitive or first nouns are representations of things, is there any better way of framing representations than by assimilating them to the objects as much as you can; or do you prefer the notion of Hermogenes and of many others, who say that names are conventional, and have a meaning to those who have agreed about them, and who have previous knowledge of the things intended by them, and that convention is the only principle; and whether you abide by our present convention, or make a new and opposite one, according to which you call small great and great small — that, they would say, makes no difference, if you are only agreed. Which of these two notions do you prefer?

CRATYLUS: Representation by likeness, Socrates, is infinitely better than representation by any chance sign.

SOCRATES: Very good: but if the name is to be like the thing, the letters out of which the first names are composed must also be like things. Returning to the image of the picture, I would ask, How could any one ever compose a picture which would be like anything at all, if there were not pigments in nature which resembled the things imitated, and out of which the picture is composed?

CRATYLUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: No more could names ever resemble any actually existing thing, unless the original elements of which they are compounded bore some degree of resemblance to the objects of which the names are the imitation: And the original elements are letters?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Let me now invite you to consider what Hermogenes and I were saying about sounds. Do you agree with me that the letter rho is expressive of rapidity, motion, and hardness? Were we right or wrong in saying so?

CRATYLUS: I should say that you were right.

SOCRATES: And that lamda was expressive of smoothness, and softness, and the like?

CRATYLUS: There again you were right.

SOCRATES: And yet, as you are aware, that which is called by us sklerotes, is by the Eretrians called skleroter.

CRATYLUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: But are the letters rho and sigma equivalents; and is there the same significance to them in the termination rho, which there is to us in sigma, or is there no significance to one of us?

CRATYLUS: Nay, surely there is a significance to both of us.

SOCRATES: In as far as they are like, or in as far as they are unlike?

CRATYLUS: In as far as they are like.

SOCRATES: Are they altogether alike?

CRATYLUS: Yes; for the purpose of expressing motion.

SOCRATES: And what do you say of the insertion of the lamda? for that is expressive not of hardness but of softness.

CRATYLUS: Why, perhaps the letter lamda is wrongly inserted, Socrates, and should be altered into rho, as you were saying to Hermogenes and in my opinion rightly, when you spoke of adding and subtracting letters upon occasion.

SOCRATES: Good. But still the word is intelligible to both of us; when I say skleros (hard), you know what I mean.

CRATYLUS: Yes, my dear friend, and the explanation of that is custom.

SOCRATES: And what is custom but convention? I utter a sound which I understand, and you know that I understand the meaning of the sound: this is what you are saying?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if when I speak you know my meaning, there is an indication given by me to you?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: This indication of my meaning may proceed from unlike as well as from like, for example in the lamda of sklerotes. But if this is true, then you have made a convention with yourself, and the correctness of a name turns out to be convention, since letters which are unlike are indicative equally with those which are like, if they are sanctioned by custom and convention. And even supposing that you distinguish custom from convention ever so much, still you must say that the signification of words is given by custom and not by likeness, for custom may indicate by the unlike as well as by the like. But as we are agreed thus far, Cratylus (for I shall assume that your silence gives consent), then custom and convention must be supposed to contribute to the indication of our thoughts; for suppose we take the instance of number, how can you ever imagine, my good friend, that you will find names resembling every individual number, unless you allow that which you term convention and agreement to have authority in determining the correctness of names? I quite agree with you that words should as far as possible resemble things; but I fear that this dragging in of resemblance, as Hermogenes says, is a shabby thing, which has to be supplemented by the mechanical aid of convention with a view to correctness; for I believe that if we could always, or almost always, use likenesses, which are perfectly appropriate, this would be the most perfect state of language; as the opposite is the most imperfect. But let me ask you, what is the force of names, and what is the use of them?

CRATYLUS: The use of names, Socrates, as I should imagine, is to inform: the simple truth is, that he who knows names knows also the things which are expressed by them.

SOCRATES: I suppose you mean to say, Cratylus, that as the name is, so also is the thing; and that he who knows the one will also know the other, because they are similars, and all similars fall under the same art or science; and therefore you would say that he who knows names will also know things.

CRATYLUS: That is precisely what I mean.

SOCRATES: But let us consider what is the nature of this information about things which, according to you, is given us by names. Is it the best sort of information? or is there any other? What do you say?

CRATYLUS: I believe that to be both the only and the best sort of information about them; there can be no other.

SOCRATES: But do you believe that in the discovery of them, he who discovers the names discovers also the things; or is this only the method of instruction, and is there some other method of enquiry and discovery.

CRATYLUS: I certainly believe that the methods of enquiry and discovery are of the same nature as instruction.

SOCRATES: Well, but do you not see, Cratylus, that he who follows names in the search after things, and analyses their meaning, is in great danger of being deceived?

CRATYLUS: How so?

SOCRATES: Why clearly he who first gave names gave them according to his conception of the things which they signified — did he not?

CRATYLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if his conception was erroneous, and he gave names according to his conception, in what position shall we who are his followers find ourselves? Shall we not be deceived by him?

CRATYLUS: But, Socrates, am I not right in thinking that he must surely have known; or else, as I was saying, his names would not be names at all? And you have a clear proof that he has not missed the truth, and the proof is — that he is perfectly consistent. Did you ever observe in speaking that all the words which you utter have a common character and purpose?

SOCRATES: But that, friend Cratylus, is no answer. For if he did begin in error, he may have forced the remainder into agreement with the original error and with himself; there would be nothing strange in this, any more than in geometrical diagrams, which have often a slight and invisible flaw in the first part of the process, and are consistently mistaken in the long deductions which follow. And this is the reason why every man should expend his chief thought and attention on the consideration of his first principles: — are they or are they not rightly laid down? and when he has duly sifted them, all the rest will follow. Now I should be astonished to find that names are really consistent. And here let us revert to our former discussion: Were we not saying that all things are in motion and progress and flux, and that this idea of motion is expressed by names? Do you not conceive that to be the meaning of them?

CRATYLUS: Yes; that is assuredly their meaning, and the true meaning.

SOCRATES: Let us revert to episteme (knowledge) and observe how ambiguous this word is, seeming rather to signify stopping the soul at things than going round with them; and therefore we should leave the beginning as at present, and not reject the epsilon, but make an insertion of an iota instead of an epsilon (not pioteme, but epiisteme). Take another example: bebaion (sure) is clearly the expression of station and position, and not of motion. Again, the word istoria (enquiry) bears upon the face of it the stopping (istanai) of the stream; and the word piston (faithful) certainly indicates cessation of motion; then, again, mneme (memory), as any one may see, expresses rest in the soul, and not motion. Moreover, words such as amartia and sumphora, which have a bad sense, viewed in the light of their etymologies will be the same as sunesis and episteme and other words which have a good sense (compare omartein, sunienai, epesthai, sumpheresthai); and much the same may be said of amathia and akolasia, for amathia may be explained as e ama theo iontos poreia, and akolasia as e akolouthia tois pragmasin. Thus the names which in these instances we find to have the worst sense, will turn out to be framed on the same principle as those which have the best. And any one I believe who would take the trouble might find many other examples in which the giver of names indicates, not that things are in motion or progress, but that they are at rest; which is the opposite of motion.

CRATYLUS: Yes, Socrates, but observe; the greater number express motion.

SOCRATES: What of that, Cratylus? Are we to count them like votes? and is correctness of names the voice of the majority? Are we to say of whichever sort there are most, those are the true ones?

CRATYLUS: No; that is not reasonable.

SOCRATES: Certainly not. But let us have done with this question and proceed to another, about which I should like to know whether you think with me. Were we not lately acknowledging that the first givers of names in states, both Hellenic and barbarous, were the legislators, and that the art which gave names was the art of the legislator?

CRATYLUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Tell me, then, did the first legislators, who were the givers of the first names, know or not know the things which they named?

CRATYLUS: They must have known, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Why, yes, friend Cratylus, they could hardly have been ignorant.

CRATYLUS: I should say not.

SOCRATES: Let us return to the point from which we digressed. You were saying, if you remember, that he who gave names must have known the things which he named; are you still of that opinion?

CRATYLUS: I am.

SOCRATES: And would you say that the giver of the first names had also a knowledge of the things which he named?

CRATYLUS: I should.

SOCRATES: But how could he have learned or discovered things from names if the primitive names were not yet given? For, if we are correct in our view, the only way of learning and discovering things, is either to discover names for ourselves or to learn them from others.

CRATYLUS: I think that there is a good deal in what you say, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But if things are only to be known through names, how can we suppose that the givers of names had knowledge, or were legislators before there were names at all, and therefore before they could have known them?

CRATYLUS: I believe, Socrates, the true account of the matter to be, that a power more than human gave things their first names, and that the names which are thus given are necessarily their true names.

SOCRATES: Then how came the giver of the names, if he was an inspired being or God, to contradict himself? For were we not saying just now that he made some names expressive of rest and others of motion? Were we mistaken?

CRATYLUS: But I suppose one of the two not to be names at all.

SOCRATES: And which, then, did he make, my good friend; those which are expressive of rest, or those which are expressive of motion? This is a point which, as I said before, cannot be determined by counting them.

CRATYLUS: No; not in that way, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But if this is a battle of names, some of them asserting that they are like the truth, others contending that THEY are, how or by what criterion are we to decide between them? For there are no other names to which appeal can be made, but obviously recourse must be had to another standard which, without employing names, will make clear which of the two are right; and this must be a standard which shows the truth of things.

CRATYLUS: I agree.

SOCRATES: But if that is true, Cratylus, then I suppose that things may be known without names?

CRATYLUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But how would you expect to know them? What other way can there be of knowing them, except the true and natural way, through their affinities, when they are akin to each other, and through themselves? For that which is other and different from them must signify something other and different from them.

CRATYLUS: What you are saying is, I think, true.

SOCRATES: Well, but reflect; have we not several times acknowledged that names rightly given are the likenesses and images of the things which they name?

CRATYLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Let us suppose that to any extent you please you can learn things through the medium of names, and suppose also that you can learn them from the things themselves — which is likely to be the nobler and clearer way; to learn of the image, whether the image and the truth of which the image is the expression have been rightly conceived, or to learn of the truth whether the truth and the image of it have been duly executed?

CRATYLUS: I should say that we must learn of the truth.

SOCRATES: How real existence is to be studied or discovered is, I suspect, beyond you and me. But we may admit so much, that the knowledge of things is not to be derived from names. No; they must be studied and investigated in themselves.

CRATYLUS: Clearly, Socrates.

SOCRATES: There is another point. I should not like us to be imposed upon by the appearance of such a multitude of names, all tending in the same direction. I myself do not deny that the givers of names did really give them under the idea that all things were in motion and flux; which was their sincere but, I think, mistaken opinion. And having fallen into a kind of whirlpool themselves, they are carried round, and want to drag us in after them. There is a matter, master Cratylus, about which I often dream, and should like to ask your opinion: Tell me, whether there is or is not any absolute beauty or good, or any other absolute existence?

CRATYLUS: Certainly, Socrates, I think so.

SOCRATES: Then let us seek the true beauty: not asking whether a face is fair, or anything of that sort, for all such things appear to be in a flux; but let us ask whether the true beauty is not always beautiful.

CRATYLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And can we rightly speak of a beauty which is always passing away, and is first this and then that; must not the same thing be born and retire and vanish while the word is in our mouths?

CRATYLUS: Undoubtedly.

SOCRATES: Then how can that be a real thing which is never in the same state? for obviously things which are the same cannot change while they remain the same; and if they are always the same and in the same state, and never depart from their original form, they can never change or be moved.

CRATYLUS: Certainly they cannot.

SOCRATES: Nor yet can they be known by any one; for at the moment that the observer approaches, then they become other and of another nature, so that you cannot get any further in knowing their nature or state, for you cannot know that which has no state.

CRATYLUS: True.

SOCRATES: Nor can we reasonably say, Cratylus, that there is knowledge at all, if everything is in a state of transition and there is nothing abiding; for knowledge too cannot continue to be knowledge unless continuing always to abide and exist. But if the very nature of knowledge changes, at the time when the change occurs there will be no knowledge; and if the transition is always going on, there will always be no knowledge, and, according to this view, there will be no one to know and nothing to be known: but if that which knows and that which is known exists ever, and the beautiful and the good and every other thing also exist, then I do not think that they can resemble a process or flux, as we were just now supposing. Whether there is this eternal nature in things, or whether the truth is what Heracleitus and his followers and many others say, is a question hard to determine; and no man of sense will like to put himself or the education of his mind in the power of names: neither will he so far trust names or the givers of names as to be confident in any knowledge which condemns himself and other existences to an unhealthy state of unreality; he will not believe that all things leak like a pot, or imagine that the world is a man who has a running at the nose. This may be true, Cratylus, but is also very likely to be untrue; and therefore I would not have you be too easily persuaded of it. Reflect well and like a man, and do not easily accept such a doctrine; for you are young and of an age to learn. And when you have found the truth, come and tell me.

CRATYLUS: I will do as you say, though I can assure you, Socrates, that I have been considering the matter already, and the result of a great deal of trouble and consideration is that I incline to Heracleitus.

SOCRATES: Then, another day, my friend, when you come back, you shall give me a lesson; but at present, go into the country, as you are intending, and Hermogenes shall set you on your way.

CRATYLUS: Very good, Socrates; I hope, however, that you will continue to think about these things yourself.

EUTHYDEMUS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

Written circa 380 BC, this dialogue satirises the Sophists, a type of teacher in Ancient Greece specialising in using philosophy and rhetoric for the purpose of teaching young statesmen. The main purpose of the dialogue is to contrast Socratic argumentation and education with those of Sophism, to the detriment of the latter.

The Parthenon, Athens

INTRODUCTION.

The Euthydemus, though apt to be regarded by us only as an elaborate jest, has also a very serious purpose. It may fairly claim to be the oldest treatise on logic; for that science originates in the misunderstandings which necessarily accompany the first efforts of speculation. Several of the fallacies which are satirized in it reappear in the Sophistici Elenchi of Aristotle and are retained at the end of our manuals of logic. But if the order of history were followed, they should be placed not at the end but at the beginning of them; for they belong to the age in which the human mind was first making the attempt to distinguish thought from sense, and to separate the universal from the particular or individual. How to put together words or ideas, how to escape ambiguities in the meaning of terms or in the structure of propositions, how to resist the fixed impression of an ‘eternal being’ or ‘perpetual flux,’ how to distinguish between words and things — these were problems not easy of solution in the infancy of philosophy. They presented the same kind of difficulty to the half-educated man which spelling or arithmetic do to the mind of a child. It was long before the new world of ideas which had been sought after with such passionate yearning was set in order and made ready for use. To us the fallacies which arise in the pre-Socratic philosophy are trivial and obsolete because we are no longer liable to fall into the errors which are expressed by them. The intellectual world has become better assured to us, and we are less likely to be imposed upon by illusions of words.

The logic of Aristotle is for the most part latent in the dialogues of Plato. The nature of definition is explained not by rules but by examples in the Charmides, Lysis, Laches, Protagoras, Meno, Euthyphro, Theaetetus, Gorgias, Republic; the nature of division is likewise illustrated by examples in the Sophist and Statesman; a scheme of categories is found in the Philebus; the true doctrine of contradiction is taught, and the fallacy of arguing in a circle is exposed in the Republic; the nature of synthesis and analysis is graphically described in the Phaedrus; the nature of words is analysed in the Cratylus; the form of the syllogism is indicated in the genealogical trees of the Sophist and Statesman; a true doctrine of predication and an analysis of the sentence are given in the Sophist; the different meanings of one and being are worked out in the Parmenides. Here we have most of the important elements of logic, not yet systematized or reduced to an art or science, but scattered up and down as they would naturally occur in ordinary discourse. They are of little or no use or significance to us; but because we have grown out of the need of them we should not therefore despise them. They are still interesting and instructive for the light which they shed on the history of the human mind.

There are indeed many old fallacies which linger among us, and new ones are constantly springing up. But they are not of the kind to which ancient logic can be usefully applied. The weapons of common sense, not the analytics of Aristotle, are needed for their overthrow. Nor is the use of the Aristotelian logic any longer natural to us. We no longer put arguments into the form of syllogisms like the schoolmen; the simple use of language has been, happily, restored to us. Neither do we discuss the nature of the proposition, nor extract hidden truths from the copula, nor dispute any longer about nominalism and realism. We do not confuse the form with the matter of knowledge, or invent laws of thought, or imagine that any single science furnishes a principle of reasoning to all the rest. Neither do we require categories or heads of argument to be invented for our use. Those who have no knowledge of logic, like some of our great physical philosophers, seem to be quite as good reasoners as those who have. Most of the ancient puzzles have been settled on the basis of usage and common sense; there is no need to reopen them. No science should raise problems or invent forms of thought which add nothing to knowledge and are of no use in assisting the acquisition of it. This seems to be the natural limit of logic and metaphysics; if they give us a more comprehensive or a more definite view of the different spheres of knowledge they are to be studied; if not, not. The better part of ancient logic appears hardly in our own day to have a separate existence; it is absorbed in two other sciences: (1) rhetoric, if indeed this ancient art be not also fading away into literary criticism; (2) the science of language, under which all questions relating to words and propositions and the combinations of them may properly be included.

To continue dead or imaginary sciences, which make no signs of progress and have no definite sphere, tends to interfere with the prosecution of living ones. The study of them is apt to blind the judgment and to render men incapable of seeing the value of evidence, and even of appreciating the nature of truth. Nor should we allow the living science to become confused with the dead by an ambiguity of language. The term logic has two different meanings, an ancient and a modern one, and we vainly try to bridge the gulf between them. Many perplexities are avoided by keeping them apart. There might certainly be a new science of logic; it would not however be built up out of the fragments of the old, but would be distinct from them — relative to the state of knowledge which exists at the present time, and based chiefly on the methods of Modern Inductive philosophy. Such a science might have two legitimate fields: first, the refutation and explanation of false philosophies still hovering in the air as they appear from the point of view of later experience or are comprehended in the history of the human mind, as in a larger horizon: secondly, it might furnish new forms of thought more adequate to the expression of all the diversities and oppositions of knowledge which have grown up in these latter days; it might also suggest new methods of enquiry derived from the comparison of the sciences. Few will deny that the introduction of the words ‘subject’ and ‘object’ and the Hegelian reconciliation of opposites have been ‘most gracious aids’ to psychology, or that the methods of Bacon and Mill have shed a light far and wide on the realms of knowledge. These two great studies, the one destructive and corrective of error, the other conservative and constructive of truth, might be a first and second part of logic. Ancient logic would be the propaedeutic or gate of approach to logical science, — nothing more. But to pursue such speculations further, though not irrelevant, might lead us too far away from the argument of the dialogue.

The Euthydemus is, of all the Dialogues of Plato, that in which he approaches most nearly to the comic poet. The mirth is broader, the irony more sustained, the contrast between Socrates and the two Sophists, although veiled, penetrates deeper than in any other of his writings. Even Thrasymachus, in the Republic, is at last pacified, and becomes a friendly and interested auditor of the great discourse. But in the Euthydemus the mask is never dropped; the accustomed irony of Socrates continues to the end...

Socrates narrates to Crito a remarkable scene in which he has himself taken part, and in which the two brothers, Dionysodorus and Euthydemus, are the chief performers. They are natives of Chios, who had settled at Thurii, but were driven out, and in former days had been known at Athens as professors of rhetoric and of the art of fighting in armour. To this they have now added a new accomplishment — the art of Eristic, or fighting with words, which they are likewise willing to teach ‘for a consideration.’ But they can also teach virtue in a very short time and in the very best manner. Socrates, who is always on the look-out for teachers of virtue, is interested in the youth Cleinias, the grandson of the great Alcibiades, and is desirous that he should have the benefit of their instructions. He is ready to fall down and worship them; although the greatness of their professions does arouse in his mind a temporary incredulity.

A circle gathers round them, in the midst of which are Socrates, the two brothers, the youth Cleinias, who is watched by the eager eyes of his lover Ctesippus, and others. The performance begins; and such a performance as might well seem to require an invocation of Memory and the Muses. It is agreed that the brothers shall question Cleinias. ‘Cleinias,’ says Euthydemus, ‘who learn, the wise or the unwise?’ ‘The wise,’ is the reply; given with blushing and hesitation. ‘And yet when you learned you did not know and were not wise.’ Then Dionysodorus takes up the ball: ‘Who are they who learn dictation of the grammar-master; the wise or the foolish boys?’ ‘The wise.’ ‘Then, after all, the wise learn.’ ‘And do they learn,’ said Euthydemus, ‘what they know or what they do not know?’ ‘The latter.’ ‘And dictation is a dictation of letters?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And you know letters?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then you learn what you know.’ ‘But,’ retorts Dionysodorus, ’is not learning acquiring knowledge?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And you acquire that which you have not got already?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then you learn that which you do not know.’

Socrates is afraid that the youth Cleinias may be discouraged at these repeated overthrows. He therefore explains to him the nature of the process to which he is being subjected. The two strangers are not serious; there are jests at the mysteries which precede the enthronement, and he is being initiated into the mysteries of the sophistical ritual. This is all a sort of horse-play, which is now ended. The exhortation to virtue will follow, and Socrates himself (if the wise men will not laugh at him) is desirous of showing the way in which such an exhortation should be carried on, according to his own poor notion. He proceeds to question Cleinias. The result of the investigation may be summed up as follows: —

All men desire good; and good means the possession of goods, such as wealth, health, beauty, birth, power, honour; not forgetting the virtues and wisdom. And yet in this enumeration the greatest good of all is omitted. What is that? Good fortune. But what need is there of good fortune when we have wisdom already: — in every art and business are not the wise also the fortunate? This is admitted. And again, the possession of goods is not enough; there must also be a right use of them which can only be given by knowledge: in themselves they are neither good nor evil — knowledge and wisdom are the only good, and ignorance and folly the only evil. The conclusion is that we must get ‘wisdom.’ But can wisdom be taught? ‘Yes,’ says Cleinias. The ingenuousness of the youth delights Socrates, who is at once relieved from the necessity of discussing one of his great puzzles. ‘Since wisdom is the only good, he must become a philosopher, or lover of wisdom.’ ‘That I will,’ says Cleinias.

After Socrates has given this specimen of his own mode of instruction, the two brothers recommence their exhortation to virtue, which is of quite another sort.

‘You want Cleinias to be wise?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And he is not wise yet?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then you want him to be what he is not, and not to be what he is? — not to be — that is, to perish. Pretty lovers and friends you must all be!’

Here Ctesippus, the lover of Cleinias, interposes in great excitement, thinking that he will teach the two Sophists a lesson of good manners. But he is quickly entangled in the meshes of their sophistry; and as a storm seems to be gathering Socrates pacifies him with a joke, and Ctesippus then says that he is not reviling the two Sophists, he is only contradicting them. ‘But,’ says Dionysodorus, ‘there is no such thing as contradiction. When you and I describe the same thing, or you describe one thing and I describe another, how can there be a contradiction?’ Ctesippus is unable to reply.

Socrates has already heard of the denial of contradiction, and would like to be informed by the great master of the art, ‘What is the meaning of this paradox? Is there no such thing as error, ignorance, falsehood? Then what are they professing to teach?’ The two Sophists complain that Socrates is ready to answer what they said a year ago, but is ‘non-plussed’ at what they are saying now. ‘What does the word “non-plussed” mean?’ Socrates is informed, in reply, that words are lifeless things, and lifeless things have no sense or meaning. Ctesippus again breaks out, and again has to be pacified by Socrates, who renews the conversation with Cleinias. The two Sophists are like Proteus in the variety of their transformations, and he, like Menelaus in the Odyssey, hopes to restore them to their natural form.

He had arrived at the conclusion that Cleinias must become a philosopher. And philosophy is the possession of knowledge; and knowledge must be of a kind which is profitable and may be used. What knowledge is there which has such a nature? Not the knowledge which is required in any particular art; nor again the art of the composer of speeches, who knows how to write them, but cannot speak them, although he too must be admitted to be a kind of enchanter of wild animals. Neither is the knowledge which we are seeking the knowledge of the general. For the general makes over his prey to the statesman, as the huntsman does to the cook, or the taker of quails to the keeper of quails; he has not the use of that which he acquires. The two enquirers, Cleinias and Socrates, are described as wandering about in a wilderness, vainly searching after the art of life and happiness. At last they fix upon the kingly art, as having the desired sort of knowledge. But the kingly art only gives men those goods which are neither good nor evil: and if we say further that it makes us wise, in what does it make us wise? Not in special arts, such as cobbling or carpentering, but only in itself: or say again that it makes us good, there is no answer to the question, ‘good in what?’ At length in despair Cleinias and Socrates turn to the ‘Dioscuri’ and request their aid.

Euthydemus argues that Socrates knows something; and as he cannot know and not know, he cannot know some things and not know others, and therefore he knows all things: he and Dionysodorus and all other men know all things. ‘Do they know shoemaking, etc?’ ‘Yes.’ The sceptical Ctesippus would like to have some evidence of this extraordinary statement: he will believe if Euthydemus will tell him how many teeth Dionysodorus has, and if Dionysodorus will give him a like piece of information about Euthydemus. Even Socrates is incredulous, and indulges in a little raillery at the expense of the brothers. But he restrains himself, remembering that if the men who are to be his teachers think him stupid they will take no pains with him. Another fallacy is produced which turns on the absoluteness of the verb ‘to know.’ And here Dionysodorus is caught ‘napping,’ and is induced by Socrates to confess that ‘he does not know the good to be unjust.’ Socrates appeals to his brother Euthydemus; at the same time he acknowledges that he cannot, like Heracles, fight against a Hydra, and even Heracles, on the approach of a second monster, called upon his nephew Iolaus to help. Dionysodorus rejoins that Iolaus was no more the nephew of Heracles than of Socrates. For a nephew is a nephew, and a brother is a brother, and a father is a father, not of one man only, but of all; nor of men only, but of dogs and sea-monsters. Ctesippus makes merry with the consequences which follow: ‘Much good has your father got out of the wisdom of his puppies.’

‘But,’ says Euthydemus, unabashed, ‘nobody wants much good.’ Medicine is a good, arms are a good, money is a good, and yet there may be too much of them in wrong places. ‘No,’ says Ctesippus, ‘there cannot be too much gold.’ And would you be happy if you had three talents of gold in your belly, a talent in your pate, and a stater in either eye?’ Ctesippus, imitating the new wisdom, replies, ‘And do not the Scythians reckon those to be the happiest of men who have their skulls gilded and see the inside of them?’ ‘Do you see,’ retorts Euthydemus, ‘what has the quality of vision or what has not the quality of vision?’ ‘What has the quality of vision.’ ‘And you see our garments?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then our garments have the quality of vision.’ A similar play of words follows, which is successfully retorted by Ctesippus, to the great delight of Cleinias, who is rebuked by Socrates for laughing at such solemn and beautiful things.

‘But are there any beautiful things? And if there are such, are they the same or not the same as absolute beauty?’ Socrates replies that they are not the same, but each of them has some beauty present with it. ‘And are you an ox because you have an ox present with you?’ After a few more amphiboliae, in which Socrates, like Ctesippus, in self-defence borrows the weapons of the brothers, they both confess that the two heroes are invincible; and the scene concludes with a grand chorus of shouting and laughing, and a panegyrical oration from Socrates: —

First, he praises the indifference of Dionysodorus and Euthydemus to public opinion; for most persons would rather be refuted by such arguments than use them in the refutation of others. Secondly, he remarks upon their impartiality; for they stop their own mouths, as well as those of other people. Thirdly, he notes their liberality, which makes them give away their secret to all the world: they should be more reserved, and let no one be present at this exhibition who does not pay them a handsome fee; or better still they might practise on one another only. He concludes with a respectful request that they will receive him and Cleinias among their disciples.

Crito tells Socrates that he has heard one of the audience criticise severely this wisdom, — not sparing Socrates himself for countenancing such an exhibition. Socrates asks what manner of man was this censorious critic. ‘Not an orator, but a great composer of speeches.’ Socrates understands that he is an amphibious animal, half philosopher, half politician; one of a class who have the highest opinion of themselves and a spite against philosophers, whom they imagine to be their rivals. They are a class who are very likely to get mauled by Euthydemus and his friends, and have a great notion of their own wisdom; for they imagine themselves to have all the advantages and none of the drawbacks both of politics and of philosophy. They do not understand the principles of combination, and hence are ignorant that the union of two good things which have different ends produces a compound inferior to either of them taken separately.

Crito is anxious about the education of his children, one of whom is growing up. The description of Dionysodorus and Euthydemus suggests to him the reflection that the professors of education are strange beings. Socrates consoles him with the remark that the good in all professions are few, and recommends that ‘he and his house’ should continue to serve philosophy, and not mind about its professors.

...

There is a stage in the history of philosophy in which the old is dying out, and the new has not yet come into full life. Great philosophies like the Eleatic or Heraclitean, which have enlarged the boundaries of the human mind, begin to pass away in words. They subsist only as forms which have rooted themselves in language — as troublesome elements of thought which cannot be either used or explained away. The same absoluteness which was once attributed to abstractions is now attached to the words which are the signs of them. The philosophy which in the first and second generation was a great and inspiring effort of reflection, in the third becomes sophistical, verbal, eristic.

It is this stage of philosophy which Plato satirises in the Euthydemus. The fallacies which are noted by him appear trifling to us now, but they were not trifling in the age before logic, in the decline of the earlier Greek philosophies, at a time when language was first beginning to perplex human thought. Besides he is caricaturing them; they probably received more subtle forms at the hands of those who seriously maintained them. They are patent to us in Plato, and we are inclined to wonder how any one could ever have been deceived by them; but we must remember also that there was a time when the human mind was only with great difficulty disentangled from such fallacies.

To appreciate fully the drift of the Euthydemus, we should imagine a mental state in which not individuals only, but whole schools during more than one generation, were animated by the desire to exclude the conception of rest, and therefore the very word ‘this’ (Theaet.) from language; in which the ideas of space, time, matter, motion, were proved to be contradictory and imaginary; in which the nature of qualitative change was a puzzle, and even differences of degree, when applied to abstract notions, were not understood; in which there was no analysis of grammar, and mere puns or plays of words received serious attention; in which contradiction itself was denied, and, on the one hand, every predicate was affirmed to be true of every subject, and on the other, it was held that no predicate was true of any subject, and that nothing was, or was known, or could be spoken. Let us imagine disputes carried on with religious earnestness and more than scholastic subtlety, in which the catchwords of philosophy are completely detached from their context. (Compare Theaet.) To such disputes the humour, whether of Plato in the ancient, or of Pope and Swift in the modern world, is the natural enemy. Nor must we forget that in modern times also there is no fallacy so gross, no trick of language so transparent, no abstraction so barren and unmeaning, no form of thought so contradictory to experience, which has not been found to satisfy the minds of philosophical enquirers at a certain stage, or when regarded from a certain point of view only. The peculiarity of the fallacies of our own age is that we live within them, and are therefore generally unconscious of them.

Aristotle has analysed several of the same fallacies in his book ‘De Sophisticis Elenchis,’ which Plato, with equal command of their true nature, has preferred to bring to the test of ridicule. At first we are only struck with the broad humour of this ‘reductio ad absurdum:’ gradually we perceive that some important questions begin to emerge. Here, as everywhere else, Plato is making war against the philosophers who put words in the place of things, who tear arguments to tatters, who deny predication, and thus make knowledge impossible, to whom ideas and objects of sense have no fixedness, but are in a state of perpetual oscillation and transition. Two great truths seem to be indirectly taught through these fallacies: (1) The uncertainty of language, which allows the same words to be used in different meanings, or with different degrees of meaning: (2) The necessary limitation or relative nature of all phenomena. Plato is aware that his own doctrine of ideas, as well as the Eleatic Being and Not-being, alike admit of being regarded as verbal fallacies. The sophism advanced in the Meno, ‘that you cannot enquire either into what you know or do not know,’ is lightly touched upon at the commencement of the Dialogue; the thesis of Protagoras, that everything is true to him to whom it seems to be true, is satirized. In contrast with these fallacies is maintained the Socratic doctrine that happiness is gained by knowledge. The grammatical puzzles with which the Dialogue concludes probably contain allusions to tricks of language which may have been practised by the disciples of Prodicus or Antisthenes. They would have had more point, if we were acquainted with the writings against which Plato’s humour is directed. Most of the jests appear to have a serious meaning; but we have lost the clue to some of them, and cannot determine whether, as in the Cratylus, Plato has or has not mixed up purely unmeaning fun with his satire.

The two discourses of Socrates may be contrasted in several respects with the exhibition of the Sophists: (1) In their perfect relevancy to the subject of discussion, whereas the Sophistical discourses are wholly irrelevant: (2) In their enquiring sympathetic tone, which encourages the youth, instead of ‘knocking him down,’ after the manner of the two Sophists: (3) In the absence of any definite conclusion — for while Socrates and the youth are agreed that philosophy is to be studied, they are not able to arrive at any certain result about the art which is to teach it. This is a question which will hereafter be answered in the Republic; as the conception of the kingly art is more fully developed in the Politicus, and the caricature of rhetoric in the Gorgias.

The characters of the Dialogue are easily intelligible. There is Socrates once more in the character of an old man; and his equal in years, Crito, the father of Critobulus, like Lysimachus in the Laches, his fellow demesman (Apol.), to whom the scene is narrated, and who once or twice interrupts with a remark after the manner of the interlocutor in the Phaedo, and adds his commentary at the end; Socrates makes a playful allusion to his money-getting habits. There is the youth Cleinias, the grandson of Alcibiades, who may be compared with Lysis, Charmides, Menexenus, and other ingenuous youths out of whose mouths Socrates draws his own lessons, and to whom he always seems to stand in a kindly and sympathetic relation. Crito will not believe that Socrates has not improved or perhaps invented the answers of Cleinias (compare Phaedrus). The name of the grandson of Alcibiades, who is described as long dead, (Greek), and who died at the age of forty-four, in the year 404 B.C., suggests not only that the intended scene of the Euthydemus could not have been earlier than 404, but that as a fact this Dialogue could not have been composed before 390 at the soonest. Ctesippus, who is the lover of Cleinias, has been already introduced to us in the Lysis, and seems there too to deserve the character which is here given him, of a somewhat uproarious young man. But the chief study of all is the picture of the two brothers, who are unapproachable in their effrontery, equally careless of what they say to others and of what is said to them, and never at a loss. They are ‘Arcades ambo et cantare pares et respondere parati.’ Some superior degree of wit or subtlety is attributed to Euthydemus, who sees the trap in which Socrates catches Dionysodorus.

The epilogue or conclusion of the Dialogue has been criticised as inconsistent with the general scheme. Such a criticism is like similar criticisms on Shakespeare, and proceeds upon a narrow notion of the variety which the Dialogue, like the drama, seems to admit. Plato in the abundance of his dramatic power has chosen to write a play upon a play, just as he often gives us an argument within an argument. At the same time he takes the opportunity of assailing another class of persons who are as alien from the spirit of philosophy as Euthydemus and Dionysodorus. The Eclectic, the Syncretist, the Doctrinaire, have been apt to have a bad name both in ancient and modern times. The persons whom Plato ridicules in the epilogue to the Euthydemus are of this class. They occupy a border-ground between philosophy and politics; they keep out of the dangers of politics, and at the same time use philosophy as a means of serving their own interests. Plato quaintly describes them as making two good things, philosophy and politics, a little worse by perverting the objects of both. Men like Antiphon or Lysias would be types of the class. Out of a regard to the respectabilities of life, they are disposed to censure the interest which Socrates takes in the exhibition of the two brothers. They do not understand, any more than Crito, that he is pursuing his vocation of detecting the follies of mankind, which he finds ‘not unpleasant.’ (Compare Apol.)

Education is the common subject of all Plato’s earlier Dialogues. The concluding remark of Crito, that he has a difficulty in educating his two sons, and the advice of Socrates to him that he should not give up philosophy because he has no faith in philosophers, seems to be a preparation for the more peremptory declaration of the Meno that ‘Virtue cannot be taught because there are no teachers.’

The reasons for placing the Euthydemus early in the series are: (1) the similarity in plan and style to the Protagoras, Charmides, and Lysis; — the relation of Socrates to the Sophists is still that of humorous antagonism, not, as in the later Dialogues of Plato, of embittered hatred; and the places and persons have a considerable family likeness; (2) the Euthydemus belongs to the Socratic period in which Socrates is represented as willing to learn, but unable to teach; and in the spirit of Xenophon’s Memorabilia, philosophy is defined as ‘the knowledge which will make us happy;’ (3) we seem to have passed the stage arrived at in the Protagoras, for Socrates is no longer discussing whether virtue can be taught — from this question he is relieved by the ingenuous declaration of the youth Cleinias; and (4) not yet to have reached the point at which he asserts ‘that there are no teachers.’ Such grounds are precarious, as arguments from style and plan are apt to be (Greek). But no arguments equally strong can be urged in favour of assigning to the Euthydemus any other position in the series.

EUTHYDEMUS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, who is the narrator of the Dialogue. Crito, Cleinias, Euthydemus, Dionysodorus, Ctesippus.

SCENE: The Lyceum.

CRITO: Who was the person, Socrates, with whom you were talking yesterday at the Lyceum? There was such a crowd around you that I could not get within hearing, but I caught a sight of him over their heads, and I made out, as I thought, that he was a stranger with whom you were talking: who was he?

SOCRATES: There were two, Crito; which of them do you mean?

CRITO: The one whom I mean was seated second from you on the right-hand side. In the middle was Cleinias the young son of Axiochus, who has wonderfully grown; he is only about the age of my own Critobulus, but he is much forwarder and very good-looking: the other is thin and looks younger than he is.

SOCRATES: He whom you mean, Crito, is Euthydemus; and on my left hand there was his brother Dionysodorus, who also took part in the conversation.

CRITO: Neither of them are known to me, Socrates; they are a new importation of Sophists, as I should imagine. Of what country are they, and what is their line of wisdom?

SOCRATES: As to their origin, I believe that they are natives of this part of the world, and have migrated from Chios to Thurii; they were driven out of Thurii, and have been living for many years past in these regions. As to their wisdom, about which you ask, Crito, they are wonderful — consummate! I never knew what the true pancratiast was before; they are simply made up of fighting, not like the two Acarnanian brothers who fight with their bodies only, but this pair of heroes, besides being perfect in the use of their bodies, are invincible in every sort of warfare; for they are capital at fighting in armour, and will teach the art to any one who pays them; and also they are most skilful in legal warfare; they will plead themselves and teach others to speak and to compose speeches which will have an effect upon the courts. And this was only the beginning of their wisdom, but they have at last carried out the pancratiastic art to the very end, and have mastered the only mode of fighting which had been hitherto neglected by them; and now no one dares even to stand up against them: such is their skill in the war of words, that they can refute any proposition whether true or false. Now I am thinking, Crito, of placing myself in their hands; for they say that in a short time they can impart their skill to any one.

CRITO: But, Socrates, are you not too old? there may be reason to fear that.

SOCRATES: Certainly not, Crito; as I will prove to you, for I have the consolation of knowing that they began this art of disputation which I covet, quite, as I may say, in old age; last year, or the year before, they had none of their new wisdom. I am only apprehensive that I may bring the two strangers into disrepute, as I have done Connus the son of Metrobius, the harp-player, who is still my music-master; for when the boys who go to him see me going with them, they laugh at me and call him grandpapa’s master. Now I should not like the strangers to experience similar treatment; the fear of ridicule may make them unwilling to receive me; and therefore, Crito, I shall try and persuade some old men to accompany me to them, as I persuaded them to go with me to Connus, and I hope that you will make one: and perhaps we had better take your sons as a bait; they will want to have them as pupils, and for the sake of them willing to receive us.

CRITO: I see no objection, Socrates, if you like; but first I wish that you would give me a description of their wisdom, that I may know beforehand what we are going to learn.

SOCRATES: In less than no time you shall hear; for I cannot say that I did not attend — I paid great attention to them, and I remember and will endeavour to repeat the whole story. Providentially I was sitting alone in the dressing-room of the Lyceum where you saw me, and was about to depart; when I was getting up I recognized the familiar divine sign: so I sat down again, and in a little while the two brothers Euthydemus and Dionysodorus came in, and several others with them, whom I believe to be their disciples, and they walked about in the covered court; they had not taken more than two or three turns when Cleinias entered, who, as you truly say, is very much improved: he was followed by a host of lovers, one of whom was Ctesippus the Paeanian, a well-bred youth, but also having the wildness of youth. Cleinias saw me from the entrance as I was sitting alone, and at once came and sat down on the right hand of me, as you describe; and Dionysodorus and Euthydemus, when they saw him, at first stopped and talked with one another, now and then glancing at us, for I particularly watched them; and then Euthydemus came and sat down by the youth, and the other by me on the left hand; the rest anywhere. I saluted the brothers, whom I had not seen for a long time; and then I said to Cleinias: Here are two wise men, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, Cleinias, wise not in a small but in a large way of wisdom, for they know all about war, — all that a good general ought to know about the array and command of an army, and the whole art of fighting in armour: and they know about law too, and can teach a man how to use the weapons of the courts when he is injured.

They heard me say this, but only despised me. I observed that they looked at one another, and both of them laughed; and then Euthydemus said: Those, Socrates, are matters which we no longer pursue seriously; to us they are secondary occupations.

Indeed, I said, if such occupations are regarded by you as secondary, what must the principal one be; tell me, I beseech you, what that noble study is?

The teaching of virtue, Socrates, he replied, is our principal occupation; and we believe that we can impart it better and quicker than any man.

My God! I said, and where did you learn that? I always thought, as I was saying just now, that your chief accomplishment was the art of fighting in armour; and I used to say as much of you, for I remember that you professed this when you were here before. But now if you really have the other knowledge, O forgive me: I address you as I would superior beings, and ask you to pardon the impiety of my former expressions. But are you quite sure about this, Dionysodorus and Euthydemus? the promise is so vast, that a feeling of incredulity steals over me.

You may take our word, Socrates, for the fact.

Then I think you happier in having such a treasure than the great king is in the possession of his kingdom. And please to tell me whether you intend to exhibit your wisdom; or what will you do?

That is why we have come hither, Socrates; and our purpose is not only to exhibit, but also to teach any one who likes to learn.

But I can promise you, I said, that every unvirtuous person will want to learn. I shall be the first; and there is the youth Cleinias, and Ctesippus: and here are several others, I said, pointing to the lovers of Cleinias, who were beginning to gather round us. Now Ctesippus was sitting at some distance from Cleinias; and when Euthydemus leaned forward in talking with me, he was prevented from seeing Cleinias, who was between us; and so, partly because he wanted to look at his love, and also because he was interested, he jumped up and stood opposite to us: and all the other admirers of Cleinias, as well as the disciples of Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, followed his example. And these were the persons whom I showed to Euthydemus, telling him that they were all eager to learn: to which Ctesippus and all of them with one voice vehemently assented, and bid him exhibit the power of his wisdom. Then I said: O Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, I earnestly request you to do myself and the company the favour to exhibit. There may be some trouble in giving the whole exhibition; but tell me one thing, — can you make a good man of him only who is already convinced that he ought to learn of you, or of him also who is not convinced, either because he imagines that virtue is a thing which cannot be taught at all, or that you are not the teachers of it? Has your art power to persuade him, who is of the latter temper of mind, that virtue can be taught; and that you are the men from whom he will best learn it?

Certainly, Socrates, said Dionysodorus; our art will do both.

And you and your brother, Dionysodorus, I said, of all men who are now living are the most likely to stimulate him to philosophy and to the study of virtue?

Yes, Socrates, I rather think that we are.

Then I wish that you would be so good as to defer the other part of the exhibition, and only try to persuade the youth whom you see here that he ought to be a philosopher and study virtue. Exhibit that, and you will confer a great favour on me and on every one present; for the fact is I and all of us are extremely anxious that he should become truly good. His name is Cleinias, and he is the son of Axiochus, and grandson of the old Alcibiades, cousin of the Alcibiades that now is. He is quite young, and we are naturally afraid that some one may get the start of us, and turn his mind in a wrong direction, and he may be ruined. Your visit, therefore, is most happily timed; and I hope that you will make a trial of the young man, and converse with him in our presence, if you have no objection.

These were pretty nearly the expressions which I used; and Euthydemus, in a manly and at the same time encouraging tone, replied: There can be no objection, Socrates, if the young man is only willing to answer questions.

He is quite accustomed to do so, I replied; for his friends often come and ask him questions and argue with him; and therefore he is quite at home in answering.

What followed, Crito, how can I rightly narrate? For not slight is the task of rehearsing infinite wisdom, and therefore, like the poets, I ought to commence my relation with an invocation to Memory and the Muses. Now Euthydemus, if I remember rightly, began nearly as follows: O Cleinias, are those who learn the wise or the ignorant?

The youth, overpowered by the question blushed, and in his perplexity looked at me for help; and I, knowing that he was disconcerted, said: Take courage, Cleinias, and answer like a man whichever you think; for my belief is that you will derive the greatest benefit from their questions.

Whichever he answers, said Dionysodorus, leaning forward so as to catch my ear, his face beaming with laughter, I prophesy that he will be refuted, Socrates.

While he was speaking to me, Cleinias gave his answer: and therefore I had no time to warn him of the predicament in which he was placed, and he answered that those who learned were the wise.

Euthydemus proceeded: There are some whom you would call teachers, are there not?

The boy assented.

And they are the teachers of those who learn — the grammar-master and the lyre-master used to teach you and other boys; and you were the learners?

Yes.

And when you were learners you did not as yet know the things which you were learning?

No, he said.

And were you wise then?

No, indeed, he said.

But if you were not wise you were unlearned?

Certainly.

You then, learning what you did not know, were unlearned when you were learning?

The youth nodded assent.

Then the unlearned learn, and not the wise, Cleinias, as you imagine.

At these words the followers of Euthydemus, of whom I spoke, like a chorus at the bidding of their director, laughed and cheered. Then, before the youth had time to recover his breath, Dionysodorus cleverly took him in hand, and said: Yes, Cleinias; and when the grammar-master dictated anything to you, were they the wise boys or the unlearned who learned the dictation?

The wise, replied Cleinias.

Then after all the wise are the learners and not the unlearned; and your last answer to Euthydemus was wrong.

Then once more the admirers of the two heroes, in an ecstasy at their wisdom, gave vent to another peal of laughter, while the rest of us were silent and amazed. Euthydemus, observing this, determined to persevere with the youth; and in order to heighten the effect went on asking another similar question, which might be compared to the double turn of an expert dancer. Do those, said he, who learn, learn what they know, or what they do not know?

Again Dionysodorus whispered to me: That, Socrates, is just another of the same sort.

Good heavens, I said; and your last question was so good!

Like all our other questions, Socrates, he replied — inevitable.

I see the reason, I said, why you are in such reputation among your disciples.

Meanwhile Cleinias had answered Euthydemus that those who learned learn what they do not know; and he put him through a series of questions the same as before.

Do you not know letters?

He assented.

All letters?

Yes.

But when the teacher dictates to you, does he not dictate letters?

To this also he assented.

Then if you know all letters, he dictates that which you know?

This again was admitted by him.

Then, said the other, you do not learn that which he dictates; but he only who does not know letters learns?

Nay, said Cleinias; but I do learn.

Then, said he, you learn what you know, if you know all the letters?

He admitted that.

Then, he said, you were wrong in your answer.

The word was hardly out of his mouth when Dionysodorus took up the argument, like a ball which he caught, and had another throw at the youth. Cleinias, he said, Euthydemus is deceiving you. For tell me now, is not learning acquiring knowledge of that which one learns?

Cleinias assented.

And knowing is having knowledge at the time?

He agreed.

And not knowing is not having knowledge at the time?

He admitted that.

And are those who acquire those who have or have not a thing?

Those who have not.

And have you not admitted that those who do not know are of the number of those who have not?

He nodded assent.

Then those who learn are of the class of those who acquire, and not of those who have?

He agreed.

Then, Cleinias, he said, those who do not know learn, and not those who know.

Euthydemus was proceeding to give the youth a third fall; but I knew that he was in deep water, and therefore, as I wanted to give him a respite lest he should be disheartened, I said to him consolingly: You must not be surprised, Cleinias, at the singularity of their mode of speech: this I say because you may not understand what the two strangers are doing with you; they are only initiating you after the manner of the Corybantes in the mysteries; and this answers to the enthronement, which, if you have ever been initiated, is, as you will know, accompanied by dancing and sport; and now they are just prancing and dancing about you, and will next proceed to initiate you; imagine then that you have gone through the first part of the sophistical ritual, which, as Prodicus says, begins with initiation into the correct use of terms. The two foreign gentlemen, perceiving that you did not know, wanted to explain to you that the word ‘to learn’ has two meanings, and is used, first, in the sense of acquiring knowledge of some matter of which you previously have no knowledge, and also, when you have the knowledge, in the sense of reviewing this matter, whether something done or spoken by the light of this newly-acquired knowledge; the latter is generally called ‘knowing’ rather than ‘learning,’ but the word ‘learning’ is also used; and you did not see, as they explained to you, that the term is employed of two opposite sorts of men, of those who know, and of those who do not know. There was a similar trick in the second question, when they asked you whether men learn what they know or what they do not know. These parts of learning are not serious, and therefore I say that the gentlemen are not serious, but are only playing with you. For if a man had all that sort of knowledge that ever was, he would not be at all the wiser; he would only be able to play with men, tripping them up and oversetting them with distinctions of words. He would be like a person who pulls away a stool from some one when he is about to sit down, and then laughs and makes merry at the sight of his friend overturned and laid on his back. And you must regard all that has hitherto passed between you and them as merely play. But in what is to follow I am certain that they will exhibit to you their serious purpose, and keep their promise (I will show them how); for they promised to give me a sample of the hortatory philosophy, but I suppose that they wanted to have a game with you first. And now, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, I think that we have had enough of this. Will you let me see you explaining to the young man how he is to apply himself to the study of virtue and wisdom? And I will first show you what I conceive to be the nature of the task, and what sort of a discourse I desire to hear; and if I do this in a very inartistic and ridiculous manner, do not laugh at me, for I only venture to improvise before you because I am eager to hear your wisdom: and I must therefore ask you and your disciples to refrain from laughing. And now, O son of Axiochus, let me put a question to you: Do not all men desire happiness? And yet, perhaps, this is one of those ridiculous questions which I am afraid to ask, and which ought not to be asked by a sensible man: for what human being is there who does not desire happiness?

There is no one, said Cleinias, who does not.

Well, then, I said, since we all of us desire happiness, how can we be happy? — that is the next question. Shall we not be happy if we have many good things? And this, perhaps, is even a more simple question than the first, for there can be no doubt of the answer.

He assented.

And what things do we esteem good? No solemn sage is required to tell us this, which may be easily answered; for every one will say that wealth is a good.

Certainly, he said.

And are not health and beauty goods, and other personal gifts?

He agreed.

Can there be any doubt that good birth, and power, and honours in one’s own land, are goods?

He assented.

And what other goods are there? I said. What do you say of temperance, justice, courage: do you not verily and indeed think, Cleinias, that we shall be more right in ranking them as goods than in not ranking them as goods? For a dispute might possibly arise about this. What then do you say?

They are goods, said Cleinias.

Very well, I said; and where in the company shall we find a place for wisdom — among the goods or not?

Among the goods.

And now, I said, think whether we have left out any considerable goods.

I do not think that we have, said Cleinias.

Upon recollection, I said, indeed I am afraid that we have left out the greatest of them all.

What is that? he asked.

Fortune, Cleinias, I replied; which all, even the most foolish, admit to be the greatest of goods.

True, he said.

On second thoughts, I added, how narrowly, O son of Axiochus, have you and I escaped making a laughing-stock of ourselves to the strangers.

Why do you say so?

Why, because we have already spoken of good-fortune, and are but repeating ourselves.

What do you mean?

I mean that there is something ridiculous in again putting forward good-fortune, which has a place in the list already, and saying the same thing twice over.

He asked what was the meaning of this, and I replied: Surely wisdom is good-fortune; even a child may know that.

The simple-minded youth was amazed; and, observing his surprise, I said to him: Do you not know, Cleinias, that flute-players are most fortunate and successful in performing on the flute?

He assented.

And are not the scribes most fortunate in writing and reading letters?

Certainly.

Amid the dangers of the sea, again, are any more fortunate on the whole than wise pilots?

None, certainly.

And if you were engaged in war, in whose company would you rather take the risk — in company with a wise general, or with a foolish one?

With a wise one.

And if you were ill, whom would you rather have as a companion in a dangerous illness — a wise physician, or an ignorant one?

A wise one.

You think, I said, that to act with a wise man is more fortunate than to act with an ignorant one?

He assented.

Then wisdom always makes men fortunate: for by wisdom no man would ever err, and therefore he must act rightly and succeed, or his wisdom would be wisdom no longer.

We contrived at last, somehow or other, to agree in a general conclusion, that he who had wisdom had no need of fortune. I then recalled to his mind the previous state of the question. You remember, I said, our making the admission that we should be happy and fortunate if many good things were present with us?

He assented.

And should we be happy by reason of the presence of good things, if they profited us not, or if they profited us?

If they profited us, he said.

And would they profit us, if we only had them and did not use them? For example, if we had a great deal of food and did not eat, or a great deal of drink and did not drink, should we be profited?

Certainly not, he said.

Or would an artisan, who had all the implements necessary for his work, and did not use them, be any the better for the possession of them? For example, would a carpenter be any the better for having all his tools and plenty of wood, if he never worked?

Certainly not, he said.

And if a person had wealth and all the goods of which we were just now speaking, and did not use them, would he be happy because he possessed them?

No indeed, Socrates.

Then, I said, a man who would be happy must not only have the good things, but he must also use them; there is no advantage in merely having them?

True.

Well, Cleinias, but if you have the use as well as the possession of good things, is that sufficient to confer happiness?

Yes, in my opinion.

And may a person use them either rightly or wrongly?

He must use them rightly.

That is quite true, I said. And the wrong use of a thing is far worse than the non-use; for the one is an evil, and the other is neither a good nor an evil. You admit that?

He assented.

Now in the working and use of wood, is not that which gives the right use simply the knowledge of the carpenter?

Nothing else, he said.

And surely, in the manufacture of vessels, knowledge is that which gives the right way of making them?

He agreed.

And in the use of the goods of which we spoke at first — wealth and health and beauty, is not knowledge that which directs us to the right use of them, and regulates our practice about them?

He assented.

Then in every possession and every use of a thing, knowledge is that which gives a man not only good-fortune but success?

He again assented.

And tell me, I said, O tell me, what do possessions profit a man, if he have neither good sense nor wisdom? Would a man be better off, having and doing many things without wisdom, or a few things with wisdom? Look at the matter thus: If he did fewer things would he not make fewer mistakes? if he made fewer mistakes would he not have fewer misfortunes? and if he had fewer misfortunes would he not be less miserable?

Certainly, he said.

And who would do least — a poor man or a rich man?

A poor man.

A weak man or a strong man?

A weak man.

A noble man or a mean man?

A mean man.

And a coward would do less than a courageous and temperate man?

Yes.

And an indolent man less than an active man?

He assented.

And a slow man less than a quick; and one who had dull perceptions of seeing and hearing less than one who had keen ones?

All this was mutually allowed by us.

Then, I said, Cleinias, the sum of the matter appears to be that the goods of which we spoke before are not to be regarded as goods in themselves, but the degree of good and evil in them depends on whether they are or are not under the guidance of knowledge: under the guidance of ignorance, they are greater evils than their opposites, inasmuch as they are more able to minister to the evil principle which rules them; and when under the guidance of wisdom and prudence, they are greater goods: but in themselves they are nothing?

That, he replied, is obvious.

What then is the result of what has been said? Is not this the result — that other things are indifferent, and that wisdom is the only good, and ignorance the only evil?

He assented.

Let us consider a further point, I said: Seeing that all men desire happiness, and happiness, as has been shown, is gained by a use, and a right use, of the things of life, and the right use of them, and good-fortune in the use of them, is given by knowledge, — the inference is that everybody ought by all means to try and make himself as wise as he can?

Yes, he said.

And when a man thinks that he ought to obtain this treasure, far more than money, from a father or a guardian or a friend or a suitor, whether citizen or stranger — the eager desire and prayer to them that they would impart wisdom to you, is not at all dishonourable, Cleinias; nor is any one to be blamed for doing any honourable service or ministration to any man, whether a lover or not, if his aim is to get wisdom. Do you agree? I said.

Yes, he said, I quite agree, and think that you are right.

Yes, I said, Cleinias, if only wisdom can be taught, and does not come to man spontaneously; for this is a point which has still to be considered, and is not yet agreed upon by you and me —

But I think, Socrates, that wisdom can be taught, he said.

Best of men, I said, I am delighted to hear you say so; and I am also grateful to you for having saved me from a long and tiresome investigation as to whether wisdom can be taught or not. But now, as you think that wisdom can be taught, and that wisdom only can make a man happy and fortunate, will you not acknowledge that all of us ought to love wisdom, and you individually will try to love her?

Certainly, Socrates, he said; I will do my best.

I was pleased at hearing this; and I turned to Dionysodorus and Euthydemus and said: That is an example, clumsy and tedious I admit, of the sort of exhortations which I would have you give; and I hope that one of you will set forth what I have been saying in a more artistic style: or at least take up the enquiry where I left off, and proceed to show the youth whether he should have all knowledge; or whether there is one sort of knowledge only which will make him good and happy, and what that is. For, as I was saying at first, the improvement of this young man in virtue and wisdom is a matter which we have very much at heart.

Thus I spoke, Crito, and was all attention to what was coming. I wanted to see how they would approach the question, and where they would start in their exhortation to the young man that he should practise wisdom and virtue. Dionysodorus, who was the elder, spoke first. Everybody’s eyes were directed towards him, perceiving that something wonderful might shortly be expected. And certainly they were not far wrong; for the man, Crito, began a remarkable discourse well worth hearing, and wonderfully persuasive regarded as an exhortation to virtue.

Tell me, he said, Socrates and the rest of you who say that you want this young man to become wise, are you in jest or in real earnest?

I was led by this to imagine that they fancied us to have been jesting when we asked them to converse with the youth, and that this made them jest and play, and being under this impression, I was the more decided in saying that we were in profound earnest. Dionysodorus said:

Reflect, Socrates; you may have to deny your words.

I have reflected, I said; and I shall never deny my words.

Well, said he, and so you say that you wish Cleinias to become wise?

Undoubtedly.

And he is not wise as yet?

At least his modesty will not allow him to say that he is.

You wish him, he said, to become wise and not, to be ignorant?

That we do.

You wish him to be what he is not, and no longer to be what he is?

I was thrown into consternation at this.

Taking advantage of my consternation he added: You wish him no longer to be what he is, which can only mean that you wish him to perish. Pretty lovers and friends they must be who want their favourite not to be, or to perish!

When Ctesippus heard this he got very angry (as a lover well might) and said: Stranger of Thurii — if politeness would allow me I should say, A plague upon you! What can make you tell such a lie about me and the others, which I hardly like to repeat, as that I wish Cleinias to perish?

Euthydemus replied: And do you think, Ctesippus, that it is possible to tell a lie?

Yes, said Ctesippus; I should be mad to say anything else.

And in telling a lie, do you tell the thing of which you speak or not?

You tell the thing of which you speak.

And he who tells, tells that thing which he tells, and no other?

Yes, said Ctesippus.

And that is a distinct thing apart from other things?

Certainly.

And he who says that thing says that which is?

Yes.

And he who says that which is, says the truth. And therefore Dionysodorus, if he says that which is, says the truth of you and no lie.

Yes, Euthydemus, said Ctesippus; but in saying this, he says what is not.

Euthydemus answered: And that which is not is not?

True.

And that which is not is nowhere?

Nowhere.

And can any one do anything about that which has no existence, or do to Cleinias that which is not and is nowhere?

I think not, said Ctesippus.

Well, but do rhetoricians, when they speak in the assembly, do nothing?

Nay, he said, they do something.

And doing is making?

Yes.

And speaking is doing and making?

He agreed.

Then no one says that which is not, for in saying what is not he would be doing something; and you have already acknowledged that no one can do what is not. And therefore, upon your own showing, no one says what is false; but if Dionysodorus says anything, he says what is true and what is.

Yes, Euthydemus, said Ctesippus; but he speaks of things in a certain way and manner, and not as they really are.

Why, Ctesippus, said Dionysodorus, do you mean to say that any one speaks of things as they are?

Yes, he said — all gentlemen and truth-speaking persons.

And are not good things good, and evil things evil?

He assented.

And you say that gentlemen speak of things as they are?

Yes.

Then the good speak evil of evil things, if they speak of them as they are?

Yes, indeed, he said; and they speak evil of evil men. And if I may give you a piece of advice, you had better take care that they do not speak evil of you, since I can tell you that the good speak evil of the evil.

And do they speak great things of the great, rejoined Euthydemus, and warm things of the warm?

To be sure they do, said Ctesippus; and they speak coldly of the insipid and cold dialectician.

You are abusive, Ctesippus, said Dionysodorus, you are abusive!

Indeed, I am not, Dionysodorus, he replied; for I love you and am giving you friendly advice, and, if I could, would persuade you not like a boor to say in my presence that I desire my beloved, whom I value above all men, to perish.

I saw that they were getting exasperated with one another, so I made a joke with him and said: O Ctesippus, I think that we must allow the strangers to use language in their own way, and not quarrel with them about words, but be thankful for what they give us. If they know how to destroy men in such a way as to make good and sensible men out of bad and foolish ones — whether this is a discovery of their own, or whether they have learned from some one else this new sort of death and destruction which enables them to get rid of a bad man and turn him into a good one — if they know this (and they do know this — at any rate they said just now that this was the secret of their newly-discovered art) — let them, in their phraseology, destroy the youth and make him wise, and all of us with him. But if you young men do not like to trust yourselves with them, then fiat experimentum in corpore senis; I will be the Carian on whom they shall operate. And here I offer my old person to Dionysodorus; he may put me into the pot, like Medea the Colchian, kill me, boil me, if he will only make me good.

Ctesippus said: And I, Socrates, am ready to commit myself to the strangers; they may skin me alive, if they please (and I am pretty well skinned by them already), if only my skin is made at last, not like that of Marsyas, into a leathern bottle, but into a piece of virtue. And here is Dionysodorus fancying that I am angry with him, when really I am not angry at all; I do but contradict him when I think that he is speaking improperly to me: and you must not confound abuse and contradiction, O illustrious Dionysodorus; for they are quite different things.

Contradiction! said Dionysodorus; why, there never was such a thing.

Certainly there is, he replied; there can be no question of that. Do you, Dionysodorus, maintain that there is not?

You will never prove to me, he said, that you have heard any one contradicting any one else.

Indeed, said Ctesippus; then now you may hear me contradicting Dionysodorus.

Are you prepared to make that good?

Certainly, he said.

Well, have not all things words expressive of them?

Yes.

Of their existence or of their non-existence?

Of their existence.

Yes, Ctesippus, and we just now proved, as you may remember, that no man could affirm a negative; for no one could affirm that which is not.

And what does that signify? said Ctesippus; you and I may contradict all the same for that.

But can we contradict one another, said Dionysodorus, when both of us are describing the same thing? Then we must surely be speaking the same thing?

He assented.

Or when neither of us is speaking of the same thing? For then neither of us says a word about the thing at all?

He granted that proposition also.

But when I describe something and you describe another thing, or I say something and you say nothing — is there any contradiction? How can he who speaks contradict him who speaks not?

Here Ctesippus was silent; and I in my astonishment said: What do you mean, Dionysodorus? I have often heard, and have been amazed to hear, this thesis of yours, which is maintained and employed by the disciples of Protagoras, and others before them, and which to me appears to be quite wonderful, and suicidal as well as destructive, and I think that I am most likely to hear the truth about it from you. The dictum is that there is no such thing as falsehood; a man must either say what is true or say nothing. Is not that your position?

He assented.

But if he cannot speak falsely, may he not think falsely?

No, he cannot, he said.

Then there is no such thing as false opinion?

No, he said.

Then there is no such thing as ignorance, or men who are ignorant; for is not ignorance, if there be such a thing, a mistake of fact?

Certainly, he said.

And that is impossible?

Impossible, he replied.

Are you saying this as a paradox, Dionysodorus; or do you seriously maintain no man to be ignorant?

Refute me, he said.

But how can I refute you, if, as you say, to tell a falsehood is impossible?

Very true, said Euthydemus.

Neither did I tell you just now to refute me, said Dionysodorus; for how can I tell you to do that which is not?

O Euthydemus, I said, I have but a dull conception of these subtleties and excellent devices of wisdom; I am afraid that I hardly understand them, and you must forgive me therefore if I ask a very stupid question: if there be no falsehood or false opinion or ignorance, there can be no such thing as erroneous action, for a man cannot fail of acting as he is acting — that is what you mean?

Yes, he replied.

And now, I said, I will ask my stupid question: If there is no such thing as error in deed, word, or thought, then what, in the name of goodness, do you come hither to teach? And were you not just now saying that you could teach virtue best of all men, to any one who was willing to learn?

And are you such an old fool, Socrates, rejoined Dionysodorus, that you bring up now what I said at first — and if I had said anything last year, I suppose that you would bring that up too — but are non-plussed at the words which I have just uttered?

Why, I said, they are not easy to answer; for they are the words of wise men: and indeed I know not what to make of this word ‘nonplussed,’ which you used last: what do you mean by it, Dionysodorus? You must mean that I cannot refute your argument. Tell me if the words have any other sense.

No, he replied, they mean what you say. And now answer.

What, before you, Dionysodorus? I said.

Answer, said he.

And is that fair?

Yes, quite fair, he said.

Upon what principle? I said. I can only suppose that you are a very wise man who comes to us in the character of a great logician, and who knows when to answer and when not to answer — and now you will not open your mouth at all, because you know that you ought not.

You prate, he said, instead of answering. But if, my good sir, you admit that I am wise, answer as I tell you.

I suppose that I must obey, for you are master. Put the question.

Are the things which have sense alive or lifeless?

They are alive.

And do you know of any word which is alive?

I cannot say that I do.

Then why did you ask me what sense my words had?

Why, because I was stupid and made a mistake. And yet, perhaps, I was right after all in saying that words have a sense; — what do you say, wise man? If I was not in error, even you will not refute me, and all your wisdom will be non-plussed; but if I did fall into error, then again you are wrong in saying that there is no error, — and this remark was made by you not quite a year ago. I am inclined to think, however, Dionysodorus and Euthydemus, that this argument lies where it was and is not very likely to advance: even your skill in the subtleties of logic, which is really amazing, has not found out the way of throwing another and not falling yourself, now any more than of old.

Ctesippus said: Men of Chios, Thurii, or however and whatever you call yourselves, I wonder at you, for you seem to have no objection to talking nonsense.

Fearing that there would be high words, I again endeavoured to soothe Ctesippus, and said to him: To you, Ctesippus, I must repeat what I said before to Cleinias — that you do not understand the ways of these philosophers from abroad. They are not serious, but, like the Egyptian wizard, Proteus, they take different forms and deceive us by their enchantments: and let us, like Menelaus, refuse to let them go until they show themselves to us in earnest. When they begin to be in earnest their full beauty will appear: let us then beg and entreat and beseech them to shine forth. And I think that I had better once more exhibit the form in which I pray to behold them; it might be a guide to them. I will go on therefore where I left off, as well as I can, in the hope that I may touch their hearts and move them to pity, and that when they see me deeply serious and interested, they also may be serious. You, Cleinias, I said, shall remind me at what point we left off. Did we not agree that philosophy should be studied? and was not that our conclusion?

Yes, he replied.

And philosophy is the acquisition of knowledge?

Yes, he said.

And what knowledge ought we to acquire? May we not answer with absolute truth — A knowledge which will do us good?

Certainly, he said.

And should we be any the better if we went about having a knowledge of the places where most gold was hidden in the earth?

Perhaps we should, he said.

But have we not already proved, I said, that we should be none the better off, even if without trouble and digging all the gold which there is in the earth were ours? And if we knew how to convert stones into gold, the knowledge would be of no value to us, unless we also knew how to use the gold? Do you not remember? I said.

I quite remember, he said.

Nor would any other knowledge, whether of money-making, or of medicine, or of any other art which knows only how to make a thing, and not to use it when made, be of any good to us. Am I not right?

He agreed.

And if there were a knowledge which was able to make men immortal, without giving them the knowledge of the way to use the immortality, neither would there be any use in that, if we may argue from the analogy of the previous instances?

To all this he agreed.

Then, my dear boy, I said, the knowledge which we want is one that uses as well as makes?

True, he said.

And our desire is not to be skilful lyre-makers, or artists of that sort — far otherwise; for with them the art which makes is one, and the art which uses is another. Although they have to do with the same, they are divided: for the art which makes and the art which plays on the lyre differ widely from one another. Am I not right?

He agreed.

And clearly we do not want the art of the flute-maker; this is only another of the same sort?

He assented.

But suppose, I said, that we were to learn the art of making speeches — would that be the art which would make us happy?

I should say, no, rejoined Cleinias.

And why should you say so? I asked.

I see, he replied, that there are some composers of speeches who do not know how to use the speeches which they make, just as the makers of lyres do not know how to use the lyres; and also some who are of themselves unable to compose speeches, but are able to use the speeches which the others make for them; and this proves that the art of making speeches is not the same as the art of using them.

Yes, I said; and I take your words to be a sufficient proof that the art of making speeches is not one which will make a man happy. And yet I did think that the art which we have so long been seeking might be discovered in that direction; for the composers of speeches, whenever I meet them, always appear to me to be very extraordinary men, Cleinias, and their art is lofty and divine, and no wonder. For their art is a part of the great art of enchantment, and hardly, if at all, inferior to it: and whereas the art of the enchanter is a mode of charming snakes and spiders and scorpions, and other monsters and pests, this art of their’s acts upon dicasts and ecclesiasts and bodies of men, for the charming and pacifying of them. Do you agree with me?

Yes, he said, I think that you are quite right.

Whither then shall we go, I said, and to what art shall we have recourse?

I do not see my way, he said.

But I think that I do, I replied.

And what is your notion? asked Cleinias.

I think that the art of the general is above all others the one of which the possession is most likely to make a man happy.

I do not think so, he said.

Why not? I said.

The art of the general is surely an art of hunting mankind.

What of that? I said.

Why, he said, no art of hunting extends beyond hunting and capturing; and when the prey is taken the huntsman or fisherman cannot use it; but they hand it over to the cook, and the geometricians and astronomers and calculators (who all belong to the hunting class, for they do not make their diagrams, but only find out that which was previously contained in them) — they, I say, not being able to use but only to catch their prey, hand over their inventions to the dialectician to be applied by him, if they have any sense in them.

Good, I said, fairest and wisest Cleinias. And is this true?

Certainly, he said; just as a general when he takes a city or a camp hands over his new acquisition to the statesman, for he does not know how to use them himself; or as the quail-taker transfers the quails to the keeper of them. If we are looking for the art which is to make us blessed, and which is able to use that which it makes or takes, the art of the general is not the one, and some other must be found.

CRITO: And do you mean, Socrates, that the youngster said all this?

SOCRATES: Are you incredulous, Crito?

CRITO: Indeed, I am; for if he did say so, then in my opinion he needs neither Euthydemus nor any one else to be his instructor.

SOCRATES: Perhaps I may have forgotten, and Ctesippus was the real answerer.

CRITO: Ctesippus! nonsense.

SOCRATES: All I know is that I heard these words, and that they were not spoken either by Euthydemus or Dionysodorus. I dare say, my good Crito, that they may have been spoken by some superior person: that I heard them I am certain.

CRITO: Yes, indeed, Socrates, by some one a good deal superior, as I should be disposed to think. But did you carry the search any further, and did you find the art which you were seeking?

SOCRATES: Find! my dear sir, no indeed. And we cut a poor figure; we were like children after larks, always on the point of catching the art, which was always getting away from us. But why should I repeat the whole story? At last we came to the kingly art, and enquired whether that gave and caused happiness, and then we got into a labyrinth, and when we thought we were at the end, came out again at the beginning, having still to seek as much as ever.

CRITO: How did that happen, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I will tell you; the kingly art was identified by us with the political.

CRITO: Well, and what came of that?

SOCRATES: To this royal or political art all the arts, including the art of the general, seemed to render up the supremacy, that being the only one which knew how to use what they produce. Here obviously was the very art which we were seeking — the art which is the source of good government, and which may be described, in the language of Aeschylus, as alone sitting at the helm of the vessel of state, piloting and governing all things, and utilizing them.

CRITO: And were you not right, Socrates?

SOCRATES: You shall judge, Crito, if you are willing to hear what followed; for we resumed the enquiry, and a question of this sort was asked: Does the kingly art, having this supreme authority, do anything for us? To be sure, was the answer. And would not you, Crito, say the same?

CRITO: Yes, I should.

SOCRATES: And what would you say that the kingly art does? If medicine were supposed to have supreme authority over the subordinate arts, and I were to ask you a similar question about that, you would say — it produces health?

CRITO: I should.

SOCRATES: And what of your own art of husbandry, supposing that to have supreme authority over the subject arts — what does that do? Does it not supply us with the fruits of the earth?

CRITO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And what does the kingly art do when invested with supreme power? Perhaps you may not be ready with an answer?

CRITO: Indeed I am not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: No more were we, Crito. But at any rate you know that if this is the art which we were seeking, it ought to be useful.

CRITO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And surely it ought to do us some good?

CRITO: Certainly, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And Cleinias and I had arrived at the conclusion that knowledge of some kind is the only good.

CRITO: Yes, that was what you were saying.

SOCRATES: All the other results of politics, and they are many, as for example, wealth, freedom, tranquillity, were neither good nor evil in themselves; but the political science ought to make us wise, and impart knowledge to us, if that is the science which is likely to do us good, and make us happy.

CRITO: Yes; that was the conclusion at which you had arrived, according to your report of the conversation.

SOCRATES: And does the kingly art make men wise and good?

CRITO: Why not, Socrates?

SOCRATES: What, all men, and in every respect? and teach them all the arts, — carpentering, and cobbling, and the rest of them?

CRITO: I think not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But then what is this knowledge, and what are we to do with it? For it is not the source of any works which are neither good nor evil, and gives no knowledge, but the knowledge of itself; what then can it be, and what are we to do with it? Shall we say, Crito, that it is the knowledge by which we are to make other men good?

CRITO: By all means.

SOCRATES: And in what will they be good and useful? Shall we repeat that they will make others good, and that these others will make others again, without ever determining in what they are to be good; for we have put aside the results of politics, as they are called. This is the old, old song over again; and we are just as far as ever, if not farther, from the knowledge of the art or science of happiness.

CRITO: Indeed, Socrates, you do appear to have got into a great perplexity.

SOCRATES: Thereupon, Crito, seeing that I was on the point of shipwreck, I lifted up my voice, and earnestly entreated and called upon the strangers to save me and the youth from the whirlpool of the argument; they were our Castor and Pollux, I said, and they should be serious, and show us in sober earnest what that knowledge was which would enable us to pass the rest of our lives in happiness.

CRITO: And did Euthydemus show you this knowledge?

SOCRATES: Yes, indeed; he proceeded in a lofty strain to the following effect: Would you rather, Socrates, said he, that I should show you this knowledge about which you have been doubting, or shall I prove that you already have it?

What, I said, are you blessed with such a power as this?

Indeed I am.

Then I would much rather that you should prove me to have such a knowledge; at my time of life that will be more agreeable than having to learn.

Then tell me, he said, do you know anything?

Yes, I said, I know many things, but not anything of much importance.

That will do, he said: And would you admit that anything is what it is, and at the same time is not what it is?

Certainly not.

And did you not say that you knew something?

I did.

If you know, you are knowing.

Certainly, of the knowledge which I have.

That makes no difference; — and must you not, if you are knowing, know all things?

Certainly not, I said, for there are many other things which I do not know.

And if you do not know, you are not knowing.

Yes, friend, of that which I do not know.

Still you are not knowing, and you said just now that you were knowing; and therefore you are and are not at the same time, and in reference to the same things.

A pretty clatter, as men say, Euthydemus, this of yours! and will you explain how I possess that knowledge for which we were seeking? Do you mean to say that the same thing cannot be and also not be; and therefore, since I know one thing, that I know all, for I cannot be knowing and not knowing at the same time, and if I know all things, then I must have the knowledge for which we are seeking — May I assume this to be your ingenious notion?

Out of your own mouth, Socrates, you are convicted, he said.

Well, but, Euthydemus, I said, has that never happened to you? for if I am only in the same case with you and our beloved Dionysodorus, I cannot complain. Tell me, then, you two, do you not know some things, and not know others?

Certainly not, Socrates, said Dionysodorus.

What do you mean, I said; do you know nothing?

Nay, he replied, we do know something.

Then, I said, you know all things, if you know anything?

Yes, all things, he said; and that is as true of you as of us.

O, indeed, I said, what a wonderful thing, and what a great blessing! And do all other men know all things or nothing?

Certainly, he replied; they cannot know some things, and not know others, and be at the same time knowing and not knowing.

Then what is the inference? I said.

They all know all things, he replied, if they know one thing.

O heavens, Dionysodorus, I said, I see now that you are in earnest; hardly have I got you to that point. And do you really and truly know all things, including carpentering and leather-cutting?

Certainly, he said.

And do you know stitching?

Yes, by the gods, we do, and cobbling, too.

And do you know things such as the numbers of the stars and of the sand?

Certainly; did you think we should say No to that?

By Zeus, said Ctesippus, interrupting, I only wish that you would give me some proof which would enable me to know whether you speak truly.

What proof shall I give you? he said.

Will you tell me how many teeth Euthydemus has? and Euthydemus shall tell how many teeth you have.

Will you not take our word that we know all things?

Certainly not, said Ctesippus: you must further tell us this one thing, and then we shall know that you are speak the truth; if you tell us the number, and we count them, and you are found to be right, we will believe the rest. They fancied that Ctesippus was making game of them, and they refused, and they would only say in answer to each of his questions, that they knew all things. For at last Ctesippus began to throw off all restraint; no question in fact was too bad for him; he would ask them if they knew the foulest things, and they, like wild boars, came rushing on his blows, and fearlessly replied that they did. At last, Crito, I too was carried away by my incredulity, and asked Euthydemus whether Dionysodorus could dance.

Certainly, he replied.

And can he vault among swords, and turn upon a wheel, at his age? has he got to such a height of skill as that?

He can do anything, he said.

And did you always know this?

Always, he said.

When you were children, and at your birth?

They both said that they did.

This we could not believe. And Euthydemus said: You are incredulous, Socrates.

Yes, I said, and I might well be incredulous, if I did not know you to be wise men.

But if you will answer, he said, I will make you confess to similar marvels.

Well, I said, there is nothing that I should like better than to be self-convicted of this, for if I am really a wise man, which I never knew before, and you will prove to me that I know and have always known all things, nothing in life would be a greater gain to me.

Answer then, he said.

Ask, I said, and I will answer.

Do you know something, Socrates, or nothing?

Something, I said.

And do you know with what you know, or with something else?

With what I know; and I suppose that you mean with my soul?

Are you not ashamed, Socrates, of asking a question when you are asked one?

Well, I said; but then what am I to do? for I will do whatever you bid; when I do not know what you are asking, you tell me to answer nevertheless, and not to ask again.

Why, you surely have some notion of my meaning, he said.

Yes, I replied.

Well, then, answer according to your notion of my meaning.

Yes, I said; but if the question which you ask in one sense is understood and answered by me in another, will that please you — if I answer what is not to the point?

That will please me very well; but will not please you equally well, as I imagine.

I certainly will not answer unless I understand you, I said.

You will not answer, he said, according to your view of the meaning, because you will be prating, and are an ancient.

Now I saw that he was getting angry with me for drawing distinctions, when he wanted to catch me in his springes of words. And I remembered that Connus was always angry with me when I opposed him, and then he neglected me, because he thought that I was stupid; and as I was intending to go to Euthydemus as a pupil, I reflected that I had better let him have his way, as he might think me a blockhead, and refuse to take me. So I said: You are a far better dialectician than myself, Euthydemus, for I have never made a profession of the art, and therefore do as you say; ask your questions once more, and I will answer.

Answer then, he said, again, whether you know what you know with something, or with nothing.

Yes, I said; I know with my soul.

The man will answer more than the question; for I did not ask you, he said, with what you know, but whether you know with something.

Again I replied, Through ignorance I have answered too much, but I hope that you will forgive me. And now I will answer simply that I always know what I know with something.

And is that something, he rejoined, always the same, or sometimes one thing, and sometimes another thing?

Always, I replied, when I know, I know with this.

Will you not cease adding to your answers?

My fear is that this word ‘always’ may get us into trouble.

You, perhaps, but certainly not us. And now answer: Do you always know with this?

Always; since I am required to withdraw the words ‘when I know.’

You always know with this, or, always knowing, do you know some things with this, and some things with something else, or do you know all things with this?

All that I know, I replied, I know with this.

There again, Socrates, he said, the addition is superfluous.

Well, then, I said, I will take away the words ‘that I know.’

Nay, take nothing away; I desire no favours of you; but let me ask: Would you be able to know all things, if you did not know all things?

Quite impossible.

And now, he said, you may add on whatever you like, for you confess that you know all things.

I suppose that is true, I said, if my qualification implied in the words ‘that I know’ is not allowed to stand; and so I do know all things.

And have you not admitted that you always know all things with that which you know, whether you make the addition of ‘when you know them’ or not? for you have acknowledged that you have always and at once known all things, that is to say, when you were a child, and at your birth, and when you were growing up, and before you were born, and before the heaven and earth existed, you knew all things, if you always know them; and I swear that you shall always continue to know all things, if I am of the mind to make you.

But I hope that you will be of that mind, reverend Euthydemus, I said, if you are really speaking the truth, and yet I a little doubt your power to make good your words unless you have the help of your brother Dionysodorus; then you may do it. Tell me now, both of you, for although in the main I cannot doubt that I really do know all things, when I am told so by men of your prodigious wisdom — how can I say that I know such things, Euthydemus, as that the good are unjust; come, do I know that or not?

Certainly, you know that.

What do I know?

That the good are not unjust.

Quite true, I said; and that I have always known; but the question is, where did I learn that the good are unjust?

Nowhere, said Dionysodorus.

Then, I said, I do not know this.

You are ruining the argument, said Euthydemus to Dionysodorus; he will be proved not to know, and then after all he will be knowing and not knowing at the same time.

Dionysodorus blushed.

I turned to the other, and said, What do you think, Euthydemus? Does not your omniscient brother appear to you to have made a mistake?

What, replied Dionysodorus in a moment; am I the brother of Euthydemus?

Thereupon I said, Please not to interrupt, my good friend, or prevent Euthydemus from proving to me that I know the good to be unjust; such a lesson you might at least allow me to learn.

You are running away, Socrates, said Dionysodorus, and refusing to answer.

No wonder, I said, for I am not a match for one of you, and a fortiori I must run away from two. I am no Heracles; and even Heracles could not fight against the Hydra, who was a she-Sophist, and had the wit to shoot up many new heads when one of them was cut off; especially when he saw a second monster of a sea-crab, who was also a Sophist, and appeared to have newly arrived from a sea-voyage, bearing down upon him from the left, opening his mouth and biting. When the monster was growing troublesome he called Iolaus, his nephew, to his help, who ably succoured him; but if my Iolaus, who is my brother Patrocles (the statuary), were to come, he would only make a bad business worse.

And now that you have delivered yourself of this strain, said Dionysodorus, will you inform me whether Iolaus was the nephew of Heracles any more than he is yours?

I suppose that I had best answer you, Dionysodorus, I said, for you will insist on asking — that I pretty well know — out of envy, in order to prevent me from learning the wisdom of Euthydemus.

Then answer me, he said.

Well then, I said, I can only reply that Iolaus was not my nephew at all, but the nephew of Heracles; and his father was not my brother Patrocles, but Iphicles, who has a name rather like his, and was the brother of Heracles.

And is Patrocles, he said, your brother?

Yes, I said, he is my half-brother, the son of my mother, but not of my father.

Then he is and is not your brother.

Not by the same father, my good man, I said, for Chaeredemus was his father, and mine was Sophroniscus.

And was Sophroniscus a father, and Chaeredemus also?

Yes, I said; the former was my father, and the latter his.

Then, he said, Chaeredemus is not a father.

He is not my father, I said.

But can a father be other than a father? or are you the same as a stone?

I certainly do not think that I am a stone, I said, though I am afraid that you may prove me to be one.

Are you not other than a stone?

I am.

And being other than a stone, you are not a stone; and being other than gold, you are not gold?

Very true.

And so Chaeredemus, he said, being other than a father, is not a father?

I suppose that he is not a father, I replied.

For if, said Euthydemus, taking up the argument, Chaeredemus is a father, then Sophroniscus, being other than a father, is not a father; and you, Socrates, are without a father.

Ctesippus, here taking up the argument, said: And is not your father in the same case, for he is other than my father?

Assuredly not, said Euthydemus.

Then he is the same?

He is the same.

I cannot say that I like the connection; but is he only my father, Euthydemus, or is he the father of all other men?

Of all other men, he replied. Do you suppose the same person to be a father and not a father?

Certainly, I did so imagine, said Ctesippus.

And do you suppose that gold is not gold, or that a man is not a man?

They are not ‘in pari materia,’ Euthydemus, said Ctesippus, and you had better take care, for it is monstrous to suppose that your father is the father of all.

But he is, he replied.

What, of men only, said Ctesippus, or of horses and of all other animals?

Of all, he said.

And your mother, too, is the mother of all?

Yes, our mother too.

Yes; and your mother has a progeny of sea-urchins then?

Yes; and yours, he said.

And gudgeons and puppies and pigs are your brothers?

And yours too.

And your papa is a dog?

And so is yours, he said.

If you will answer my questions, said Dionysodorus, I will soon extract the same admissions from you, Ctesippus. You say that you have a dog.

Yes, a villain of a one, said Ctesippus.

And he has puppies?

Yes, and they are very like himself.

And the dog is the father of them?

Yes, he said, I certainly saw him and the mother of the puppies come together.

And is he not yours?

To be sure he is.

Then he is a father, and he is yours; ergo, he is your father, and the puppies are your brothers.

Let me ask you one little question more, said Dionysodorus, quickly interposing, in order that Ctesippus might not get in his word: You beat this dog?

Ctesippus said, laughing, Indeed I do; and I only wish that I could beat you instead of him.

Then you beat your father, he said.

I should have far more reason to beat yours, said Ctesippus; what could he have been thinking of when he begat such wise sons? much good has this father of you and your brethren the puppies got out of this wisdom of yours.

But neither he nor you, Ctesippus, have any need of much good.

And have you no need, Euthydemus? he said.

Neither I nor any other man; for tell me now, Ctesippus, if you think it good or evil for a man who is sick to drink medicine when he wants it; or to go to war armed rather than unarmed.

Good, I say. And yet I know that I am going to be caught in one of your charming puzzles.

That, he replied, you will discover, if you answer; since you admit medicine to be good for a man to drink, when wanted, must it not be good for him to drink as much as possible; when he takes his medicine, a cartload of hellebore will not be too much for him?

Ctesippus said: Quite so, Euthydemus, that is to say, if he who drinks is as big as the statue of Delphi.

And seeing that in war to have arms is a good thing, he ought to have as many spears and shields as possible?

Very true, said Ctesippus; and do you think, Euthydemus, that he ought to have one shield only, and one spear?

I do.

And would you arm Geryon and Briareus in that way? Considering that you and your companion fight in armour, I thought that you would have known better...Here Euthydemus held his peace, but Dionysodorus returned to the previous answer of Ctesippus and said: —

Do you not think that the possession of gold is a good thing?

Yes, said Ctesippus, and the more the better.

And to have money everywhere and always is a good?

Certainly, a great good, he said.

And you admit gold to be a good?

Certainly, he replied.

And ought not a man then to have gold everywhere and always, and as much as possible in himself, and may he not be deemed the happiest of men who has three talents of gold in his belly, and a talent in his pate, and a stater of gold in either eye?

Yes, Euthydemus, said Ctesippus; and the Scythians reckon those who have gold in their own skulls to be the happiest and bravest of men (that is only another instance of your manner of speaking about the dog and father), and what is still more extraordinary, they drink out of their own skulls gilt, and see the inside of them, and hold their own head in their hands.

And do the Scythians and others see that which has the quality of vision, or that which has not? said Euthydemus.

That which has the quality of vision clearly.

And you also see that which has the quality of vision? he said. [Note: the ambiguity of (Greek), ‘things visible and able to see,’ (Greek), ‘the speaking of the silent,’ the silent denoting either the speaker or the subject of the speech, cannot be perfectly rendered in English.] Compare Aristot. Soph. Elenchi (Poste’s translation): —

‘Of ambiguous propositions the following are instances: —

‘I hope that you the enemy may slay.

‘Whom one knows, he knows. Either the person knowing or the person known is here affirmed to know.

‘What one sees, that one sees: one sees a pillar: ergo, that one pillar sees.

‘What you ARE holding, that you are: you are holding a stone: ergo, a stone you are.

’Is a speaking of the silent possible? “The silent” denotes either the speaker are the subject of speech.

‘There are three kinds of ambiguity of term or proposition. The first is when there is an equal linguistic propriety in several interpretations; the second when one is improper but customary; the third when the ambiguity arises in the combination of elements that are in themselves unambiguous, as in “knowing letters.” “Knowing” and “letters” are perhaps separately unambiguous, but in combination may imply either that the letters are known, or that they themselves have knowledge. Such are the modes in which propositions and terms may be ambiguous.’

Yes, I do.

Then do you see our garments?

Yes.

Then our garments have the quality of vision.

They can see to any extent, said Ctesippus.

What can they see?

Nothing; but you, my sweet man, may perhaps imagine that they do not see; and certainly, Euthydemus, you do seem to me to have been caught napping when you were not asleep, and that if it be possible to speak and say nothing — you are doing so.

And may there not be a silence of the speaker? said Dionysodorus.

Impossible, said Ctesippus.

Or a speaking of the silent?

That is still more impossible, he said.

But when you speak of stones, wood, iron bars, do you not speak of the silent?

Not when I pass a smithy; for then the iron bars make a tremendous noise and outcry if they are touched: so that here your wisdom is strangely mistaken; please, however, to tell me how you can be silent when speaking (I thought that Ctesippus was put upon his mettle because Cleinias was present).

When you are silent, said Euthydemus, is there not a silence of all things?

Yes, he said.

But if speaking things are included in all things, then the speaking are silent.

What, said Ctesippus; then all things are not silent?

Certainly not, said Euthydemus.

Then, my good friend, do they all speak?

Yes; those which speak.

Nay, said Ctesippus, but the question which I ask is whether all things are silent or speak?

Neither and both, said Dionysodorus, quickly interposing; I am sure that you will be ‘non-plussed’ at that answer.

Here Ctesippus, as his manner was, burst into a roar of laughter; he said, That brother of yours, Euthydemus, has got into a dilemma; all is over with him. This delighted Cleinias, whose laughter made Ctesippus ten times as uproarious; but I cannot help thinking that the rogue must have picked up this answer from them; for there has been no wisdom like theirs in our time. Why do you laugh, Cleinias, I said, at such solemn and beautiful things?

Why, Socrates, said Dionysodorus, did you ever see a beautiful thing?

Yes, Dionysodorus, I replied, I have seen many.

Were they other than the beautiful, or the same as the beautiful?

Now I was in a great quandary at having to answer this question, and I thought that I was rightly served for having opened my mouth at all: I said however, They are not the same as absolute beauty, but they have beauty present with each of them.

And are you an ox because an ox is present with you, or are you Dionysodorus, because Dionysodorus is present with you?

God forbid, I replied.

But how, he said, by reason of one thing being present with another, will one thing be another?

Is that your difficulty? I said. For I was beginning to imitate their skill, on which my heart was set.

Of course, he replied, I and all the world are in a difficulty about the non-existent.

What do you mean, Dionysodorus? I said. Is not the honourable honourable and the base base?

That, he said, is as I please.

And do you please?

Yes, he said.

And you will admit that the same is the same, and the other other; for surely the other is not the same; I should imagine that even a child will hardly deny the other to be other. But I think, Dionysodorus, that you must have intentionally missed the last question; for in general you and your brother seem to me to be good workmen in your own department, and to do the dialectician’s business excellently well.

What, said he, is the business of a good workman? tell me, in the first place, whose business is hammering?

The smith’s.

And whose the making of pots?

The potter’s.

And who has to kill and skin and mince and boil and roast?

The cook, I said.

And if a man does his business he does rightly?

Certainly.

And the business of the cook is to cut up and skin; you have admitted that?

Yes, I have admitted that, but you must not be too hard upon me.

Then if some one were to kill, mince, boil, roast the cook, he would do his business, and if he were to hammer the smith, and make a pot of the potter, he would do their business.

Poseidon, I said, this is the crown of wisdom; can I ever hope to have such wisdom of my own?

And would you be able, Socrates, to recognize this wisdom when it has become your own?

Certainly, I said, if you will allow me.

What, he said, do you think that you know what is your own?

Yes, I do, subject to your correction; for you are the bottom, and Euthydemus is the top, of all my wisdom.

Is not that which you would deem your own, he said, that which you have in your own power, and which you are able to use as you would desire, for example, an ox or a sheep — would you not think that which you could sell and give and sacrifice to any god whom you pleased, to be your own, and that which you could not give or sell or sacrifice you would think not to be in your own power?

Yes, I said (for I was certain that something good would come out of the questions, which I was impatient to hear); yes, such things, and such things only are mine.

Yes, he said, and you would mean by animals living beings?

Yes, I said.

You agree then, that those animals only are yours with which you have the power to do all these things which I was just naming?

I agree.

Then, after a pause, in which he seemed to be lost in the contemplation of something great, he said: Tell me, Socrates, have you an ancestral Zeus? Here, anticipating the final move, like a person caught in a net, who gives a desperate twist that he may get away, I said: No, Dionysodorus, I have not.

What a miserable man you must be then, he said; you are not an Athenian at all if you have no ancestral gods or temples, or any other mark of gentility.

Nay, Dionysodorus, I said, do not be rough; good words, if you please; in the way of religion I have altars and temples, domestic and ancestral, and all that other Athenians have.

And have not other Athenians, he said, an ancestral Zeus?

That name, I said, is not to be found among the Ionians, whether colonists or citizens of Athens; an ancestral Apollo there is, who is the father of Ion, and a family Zeus, and a Zeus guardian of the phratry, and an Athene guardian of the phratry. But the name of ancestral Zeus is unknown to us.

No matter, said Dionysodorus, for you admit that you have Apollo, Zeus, and Athene.

Certainly, I said.

And they are your gods, he said.

Yes, I said, my lords and ancestors.

At any rate they are yours, he said, did you not admit that?

I did, I said; what is going to happen to me?

And are not these gods animals? for you admit that all things which have life are animals; and have not these gods life?

They have life, I said.

Then are they not animals?

They are animals, I said.

And you admitted that of animals those are yours which you could give away or sell or offer in sacrifice, as you pleased?

I did admit that, Euthydemus, and I have no way of escape.

Well then, said he, if you admit that Zeus and the other gods are yours, can you sell them or give them away or do what you will with them, as you would with other animals?

At this I was quite struck dumb, Crito, and lay prostrate. Ctesippus came to the rescue.

Bravo, Heracles, brave words, said he.

Bravo Heracles, or is Heracles a Bravo? said Dionysodorus.

Poseidon, said Ctesippus, what awful distinctions. I will have no more of them; the pair are invincible.

Then, my dear Crito, there was universal applause of the speakers and their words, and what with laughing and clapping of hands and rejoicings the two men were quite overpowered; for hitherto their partisans only had cheered at each successive hit, but now the whole company shouted with delight until the columns of the Lyceum returned the sound, seeming to sympathize in their joy. To such a pitch was I affected myself, that I made a speech, in which I acknowledged that I had never seen the like of their wisdom; I was their devoted servant, and fell to praising and admiring of them. What marvellous dexterity of wit, I said, enabled you to acquire this great perfection in such a short time? There is much, indeed, to admire in your words, Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, but there is nothing that I admire more than your magnanimous disregard of any opinion — whether of the many, or of the grave and reverend seigniors — you regard only those who are like yourselves. And I do verily believe that there are few who are like you, and who would approve of such arguments; the majority of mankind are so ignorant of their value, that they would be more ashamed of employing them in the refutation of others than of being refuted by them. I must further express my approval of your kind and public-spirited denial of all differences, whether of good and evil, white or black, or any other; the result of which is that, as you say, every mouth is sewn up, not excepting your own, which graciously follows the example of others; and thus all ground of offence is taken away. But what appears to me to be more than all is, that this art and invention of yours has been so admirably contrived by you, that in a very short time it can be imparted to any one. I observed that Ctesippus learned to imitate you in no time. Now this quickness of attainment is an excellent thing; but at the same time I would advise you not to have any more public entertainments; there is a danger that men may undervalue an art which they have so easy an opportunity of acquiring; the exhibition would be best of all, if the discussion were confined to your two selves; but if there must be an audience, let him only be present who is willing to pay a handsome fee; — you should be careful of this; — and if you are wise, you will also bid your disciples discourse with no man but you and themselves. For only what is rare is valuable; and ‘water,’ which, as Pindar says, is the ‘best of all things,’ is also the cheapest. And now I have only to request that you will receive Cleinias and me among your pupils.

Such was the discussion, Crito; and after a few more words had passed between us we went away. I hope that you will come to them with me, since they say that they are able to teach any one who will give them money; no age or want of capacity is an impediment. And I must repeat one thing which they said, for your especial benefit, — that the learning of their art did not at all interfere with the business of money-making.

CRITO: Truly, Socrates, though I am curious and ready to learn, yet I fear that I am not like-minded with Euthydemus, but one of the other sort, who, as you were saying, would rather be refuted by such arguments than use them in refutation of others. And though I may appear ridiculous in venturing to advise you, I think that you may as well hear what was said to me by a man of very considerable pretensions — he was a professor of legal oratory — who came away from you while I was walking up and down. ‘Crito,’ said he to me, ‘are you giving no attention to these wise men?’ ‘No, indeed,’ I said to him; ‘I could not get within hearing of them — there was such a crowd.’ ‘You would have heard something worth hearing if you had.’ ‘What was that?’ I said. ‘You would have heard the greatest masters of the art of rhetoric discoursing.’ ‘And what did you think of them?’ I said. ‘What did I think of them?’ he said:— ‘theirs was the sort of discourse which anybody might hear from men who were playing the fool, and making much ado about nothing.’ That was the expression which he used. ‘Surely,’ I said, ‘philosophy is a charming thing.’ ‘Charming!’ he said; ‘what simplicity! philosophy is nought; and I think that if you had been present you would have been ashamed of your friend — his conduct was so very strange in placing himself at the mercy of men who care not what they say, and fasten upon every word. And these, as I was telling you, are supposed to be the most eminent professors of their time. But the truth is, Crito, that the study itself and the men themselves are utterly mean and ridiculous.’ Now censure of the pursuit, Socrates, whether coming from him or from others, appears to me to be undeserved; but as to the impropriety of holding a public discussion with such men, there, I confess that, in my opinion, he was in the right.

SOCRATES: O Crito, they are marvellous men; but what was I going to say? First of all let me know; — What manner of man was he who came up to you and censured philosophy; was he an orator who himself practises in the courts, or an instructor of orators, who makes the speeches with which they do battle?

CRITO: He was certainly not an orator, and I doubt whether he had ever been into court; but they say that he knows the business, and is a clever man, and composes wonderful speeches.

SOCRATES: Now I understand, Crito; he is one of an amphibious class, whom I was on the point of mentioning — one of those whom Prodicus describes as on the border-ground between philosophers and statesmen — they think that they are the wisest of all men, and that they are generally esteemed the wisest; nothing but the rivalry of the philosophers stands in their way; and they are of the opinion that if they can prove the philosophers to be good for nothing, no one will dispute their title to the palm of wisdom, for that they are themselves really the wisest, although they are apt to be mauled by Euthydemus and his friends, when they get hold of them in conversation. This opinion which they entertain of their own wisdom is very natural; for they have a certain amount of philosophy, and a certain amount of political wisdom; there is reason in what they say, for they argue that they have just enough of both, and so they keep out of the way of all risks and conflicts and reap the fruits of their wisdom.

CRITO: What do you say of them, Socrates? There is certainly something specious in that notion of theirs.

SOCRATES: Yes, Crito, there is more speciousness than truth; they cannot be made to understand the nature of intermediates. For all persons or things, which are intermediate between two other things, and participate in both of them — if one of these two things is good and the other evil, are better than the one and worse than the other; but if they are in a mean between two good things which do not tend to the same end, they fall short of either of their component elements in the attainment of their ends. Only in the case when the two component elements which do not tend to the same end are evil is the participant better than either. Now, if philosophy and political action are both good, but tend to different ends, and they participate in both, and are in a mean between them, then they are talking nonsense, for they are worse than either; or, if the one be good and the other evil, they are better than the one and worse than the other; only on the supposition that they are both evil could there be any truth in what they say. I do not think that they will admit that their two pursuits are either wholly or partly evil; but the truth is, that these philosopher-politicians who aim at both fall short of both in the attainment of their respective ends, and are really third, although they would like to stand first. There is no need, however, to be angry at this ambition of theirs — which may be forgiven; for every man ought to be loved who says and manfully pursues and works out anything which is at all like wisdom: at the same time we shall do well to see them as they really are.

CRITO: I have often told you, Socrates, that I am in a constant difficulty about my two sons. What am I to do with them? There is no hurry about the younger one, who is only a child; but the other, Critobulus, is getting on, and needs some one who will improve him. I cannot help thinking, when I hear you talk, that there is a sort of madness in many of our anxieties about our children: — in the first place, about marrying a wife of good family to be the mother of them, and then about heaping up money for them — and yet taking no care about their education. But then again, when I contemplate any of those who pretend to educate others, I am amazed. To me, if I am to confess the truth, they all seem to be such outrageous beings: so that I do not know how I can advise the youth to study philosophy.

SOCRATES: Dear Crito, do you not know that in every profession the inferior sort are numerous and good for nothing, and the good are few and beyond all price: for example, are not gymnastic and rhetoric and money-making and the art of the general, noble arts?

CRITO: Certainly they are, in my judgment.

SOCRATES: Well, and do you not see that in each of these arts the many are ridiculous performers?

CRITO: Yes, indeed, that is very true.

SOCRATES: And will you on this account shun all these pursuits yourself and refuse to allow them to your son?

CRITO: That would not be reasonable, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Do you then be reasonable, Crito, and do not mind whether the teachers of philosophy are good or bad, but think only of philosophy herself. Try and examine her well and truly, and if she be evil seek to turn away all men from her, and not your sons only; but if she be what I believe that she is, then follow her and serve her, you and your house, as the saying is, and be of good cheer.

PROTAGORAS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This middle dialogue details a debate between Protagoras, a celebrated sophist, and Socrates. The discussion takes place at the home of Callias, who is host to Protagoras while he is in town, and concerns the nature of Sophists, the unity and the ability to teach virtue. A total of twenty-one people are named as present.

Of the twenty-one people who are specifically said to be present, three are known sophists. In addition to Protagoras himself, there are Hippias of Elis and Prodicus of Ceos. Two of the sons of Pericles are said to be there, Paralus and Xanthippus. With the exception of Aristophanes, all of Socrates’ named friends from the Symposium are in attendance: Eryximachus the doctor, and Phaedrus are there, and so are the lovers Pausanias and Agathon (who is said to be a mere boy at this point), and Alcibiades.

The dialogue begins with an unnamed friend of Socrates asking him how his pursuit of the young Alcibiades, just now reputed to be growing his first beard, was proceeding. Socrates explains that while he has just been in the company of Alcibiades, he has just come from meeting with someone who is “more beautiful . . . No doubt the wisest of men nowadays — if in your opinion the wisest is Protagoras”.  Socrates relates the story of how his young friend, Hippocrates, son of Apollodorus, came knocking on his door before daybreak and roused him out of bed. Hippocrates was in a big hurry to be present when Protagoras held court, as he was expected to do, at the home of Callias.

During the dialogue, Socrates broaches the question of whether virtue is one or many things, himself claiming that all virtue is knowledge and therefore one. He argues that the reason people act harmfully, to others or themselves, is because they only see the short term gains while ignoring the long term losses which might outweigh them, just like one makes errors in judging the size of objects that are far away.

Bust of Plato

INTRODUCTION.

The Protagoras, like several of the Dialogues of Plato, is put into the mouth of Socrates, who describes a conversation which had taken place between himself and the great Sophist at the house of Callias— ‘the man who had spent more upon the Sophists than all the rest of the world’ — and in which the learned Hippias and the grammarian Prodicus had also shared, as well as Alcibiades and Critias, both of whom said a few words — in the presence of a distinguished company consisting of disciples of Protagoras and of leading Athenians belonging to the Socratic circle. The dialogue commences with a request on the part of Hippocrates that Socrates would introduce him to the celebrated teacher. He has come before the dawn had risen — so fervid is his zeal. Socrates moderates his excitement and advises him to find out ‘what Protagoras will make of him,’ before he becomes his pupil.

They go together to the house of Callias; and Socrates, after explaining the purpose of their visit to Protagoras, asks the question, ‘What he will make of Hippocrates.’ Protagoras answers, ‘That he will make him a better and a wiser man.’ ‘But in what will he be better?’ — Socrates desires to have a more precise answer. Protagoras replies, ‘That he will teach him prudence in affairs private and public; in short, the science or knowledge of human life.’

This, as Socrates admits, is a noble profession; but he is or rather would have been doubtful, whether such knowledge can be taught, if Protagoras had not assured him of the fact, for two reasons: (1) Because the Athenian people, who recognize in their assemblies the distinction between the skilled and the unskilled in the arts, do not distinguish between the trained politician and the untrained; (2) Because the wisest and best Athenian citizens do not teach their sons political virtue. Will Protagoras answer these objections?

Protagoras explains his views in the form of an apologue, in which, after Prometheus had given men the arts, Zeus is represented as sending Hermes to them, bearing with him Justice and Reverence. These are not, like the arts, to be imparted to a few only, but all men are to be partakers of them. Therefore the Athenian people are right in distinguishing between the skilled and unskilled in the arts, and not between skilled and unskilled politicians. (1) For all men have the political virtues to a certain degree, and are obliged to say that they have them, whether they have them or not. A man would be thought a madman who professed an art which he did not know; but he would be equally thought a madman if he did not profess a virtue which he had not. (2) And that the political virtues can be taught and acquired, in the opinion of the Athenians, is proved by the fact that they punish evil-doers, with a view to prevention, of course — mere retribution is for beasts, and not for men. (3) Again, would parents who teach her sons lesser matters leave them ignorant of the common duty of citizens? To the doubt of Socrates the best answer is the fact, that the education of youth in virtue begins almost as soon as they can speak, and is continued by the state when they pass out of the parental control. (4) Nor need we wonder that wise and good fathers sometimes have foolish and worthless sons. Virtue, as we were saying, is not the private possession of any man, but is shared by all, only however to the extent of which each individual is by nature capable. And, as a matter of fact, even the worst of civilized mankind will appear virtuous and just, if we compare them with savages. (5) The error of Socrates lies in supposing that there are no teachers of virtue, whereas all men are teachers in a degree. Some, like Protagoras, are better than others, and with this result we ought to be satisfied.

Socrates is highly delighted with the explanation of Protagoras. But he has still a doubt lingering in his mind. Protagoras has spoken of the virtues: are they many, or one? are they parts of a whole, or different names of the same thing? Protagoras replies that they are parts, like the parts of a face, which have their several functions, and no one part is like any other part. This admission, which has been somewhat hastily made, is now taken up and cross-examined by Socrates: —

’Is justice just, and is holiness holy? And are justice and holiness opposed to one another?’— ‘Then justice is unholy.’ Protagoras would rather say that justice is different from holiness, and yet in a certain point of view nearly the same. He does not, however, escape in this way from the cunning of Socrates, who inveigles him into an admission that everything has but one opposite. Folly, for example, is opposed to wisdom; and folly is also opposed to temperance; and therefore temperance and wisdom are the same. And holiness has been already admitted to be nearly the same as justice. Temperance, therefore, has now to be compared with justice.

Protagoras, whose temper begins to get a little ruffled at the process to which he has been subjected, is aware that he will soon be compelled by the dialectics of Socrates to admit that the temperate is the just. He therefore defends himself with his favourite weapon; that is to say, he makes a long speech not much to the point, which elicits the applause of the audience.

Here occurs a sort of interlude, which commences with a declaration on the part of Socrates that he cannot follow a long speech, and therefore he must beg Protagoras to speak shorter. As Protagoras declines to accommodate him, he rises to depart, but is detained by Callias, who thinks him unreasonable in not allowing Protagoras the liberty which he takes himself of speaking as he likes. But Alcibiades answers that the two cases are not parallel. For Socrates admits his inability to speak long; will Protagoras in like manner acknowledge his inability to speak short?

Counsels of moderation are urged first in a few words by Critias, and then by Prodicus in balanced and sententious language: and Hippias proposes an umpire. But who is to be the umpire? rejoins Socrates; he would rather suggest as a compromise that Protagoras shall ask and he will answer, and that when Protagoras is tired of asking he himself will ask and Protagoras shall answer. To this the latter yields a reluctant assent.

Protagoras selects as his thesis a poem of Simonides of Ceos, in which he professes to find a contradiction. First the poet says,

‘Hard is it to become good,’

and then reproaches Pittacus for having said, ‘Hard is it to be good.’ How is this to be reconciled? Socrates, who is familiar with the poem, is embarrassed at first, and invokes the aid of Prodicus, the countryman of Simonides, but apparently only with the intention of flattering him into absurdities. First a distinction is drawn between (Greek) to be, and (Greek) to become: to become good is difficult; to be good is easy. Then the word difficult or hard is explained to mean ‘evil’ in the Cean dialect. To all this Prodicus assents; but when Protagoras reclaims, Socrates slily withdraws Prodicus from the fray, under the pretence that his assent was only intended to test the wits of his adversary. He then proceeds to give another and more elaborate explanation of the whole passage. The explanation is as follows: —

The Lacedaemonians are great philosophers (although this is a fact which is not generally known); and the soul of their philosophy is brevity, which was also the style of primitive antiquity and of the seven sages. Now Pittacus had a saying, ‘Hard is it to be good:’ and Simonides, who was jealous of the fame of this saying, wrote a poem which was designed to controvert it. No, says he, Pittacus; not ‘hard to be good,’ but ‘hard to become good.’ Socrates proceeds to argue in a highly impressive manner that the whole composition is intended as an attack upon Pittacus. This, though manifestly absurd, is accepted by the company, and meets with the special approval of Hippias, who has however a favourite interpretation of his own, which he is requested by Alcibiades to defer.

The argument is now resumed, not without some disdainful remarks of Socrates on the practice of introducing the poets, who ought not to be allowed, any more than flute-girls, to come into good society. Men’s own thoughts should supply them with the materials for discussion. A few soothing flatteries are addressed to Protagoras by Callias and Socrates, and then the old question is repeated, ‘Whether the virtues are one or many?’ To which Protagoras is now disposed to reply, that four out of the five virtues are in some degree similar; but he still contends that the fifth, courage, is unlike the rest. Socrates proceeds to undermine the last stronghold of the adversary, first obtaining from him the admission that all virtue is in the highest degree good: —

The courageous are the confident; and the confident are those who know their business or profession: those who have no such knowledge and are still confident are madmen. This is admitted. Then, says Socrates, courage is knowledge — an inference which Protagoras evades by drawing a futile distinction between the courageous and the confident in a fluent speech.

Socrates renews the attack from another side: he would like to know whether pleasure is not the only good, and pain the only evil? Protagoras seems to doubt the morality or propriety of assenting to this; he would rather say that ‘some pleasures are good, some pains are evil,’ which is also the opinion of the generality of mankind. What does he think of knowledge? Does he agree with the common opinion that knowledge is overcome by passion? or does he hold that knowledge is power? Protagoras agrees that knowledge is certainly a governing power.

This, however, is not the doctrine of men in general, who maintain that many who know what is best, act contrary to their knowledge under the influence of pleasure. But this opposition of good and evil is really the opposition of a greater or lesser amount of pleasure. Pleasures are evils because they end in pain, and pains are goods because they end in pleasures. Thus pleasure is seen to be the only good; and the only evil is the preference of the lesser pleasure to the greater. But then comes in the illusion of distance. Some art of mensuration is required in order to show us pleasures and pains in their true proportion. This art of mensuration is a kind of knowledge, and knowledge is thus proved once more to be the governing principle of human life, and ignorance the origin of all evil: for no one prefers the less pleasure to the greater, or the greater pain to the less, except from ignorance. The argument is drawn out in an imaginary ‘dialogue within a dialogue,’ conducted by Socrates and Protagoras on the one part, and the rest of the world on the other. Hippias and Prodicus, as well as Protagoras, admit the soundness of the conclusion.

Socrates then applies this new conclusion to the case of courage — the only virtue which still holds out against the assaults of the Socratic dialectic. No one chooses the evil or refuses the good except through ignorance. This explains why cowards refuse to go to war: — because they form a wrong estimate of good, and honour, and pleasure. And why are the courageous willing to go to war? — because they form a right estimate of pleasures and pains, of things terrible and not terrible. Courage then is knowledge, and cowardice is ignorance. And the five virtues, which were originally maintained to have five different natures, after having been easily reduced to two only, at last coalesce in one. The assent of Protagoras to this last position is extracted with great difficulty.

Socrates concludes by professing his disinterested love of the truth, and remarks on the singular manner in which he and his adversary had changed sides. Protagoras began by asserting, and Socrates by denying, the teachableness of virtue, and now the latter ends by affirming that virtue is knowledge, which is the most teachable of all things, while Protagoras has been striving to show that virtue is not knowledge, and this is almost equivalent to saying that virtue cannot be taught. He is not satisfied with the result, and would like to renew the enquiry with the help of Protagoras in a different order, asking (1) What virtue is, and (2) Whether virtue can be taught. Protagoras declines this offer, but commends Socrates’ earnestness and his style of discussion.

The Protagoras is often supposed to be full of difficulties. These are partly imaginary and partly real. The imaginary ones are (1) Chronological, — which were pointed out in ancient times by Athenaeus, and are noticed by Schleiermacher and others, and relate to the impossibility of all the persons in the Dialogue meeting at any one time, whether in the year 425 B.C., or in any other. But Plato, like all writers of fiction, aims only at the probable, and shows in many Dialogues (e.g. the Symposium and Republic, and already in the Laches) an extreme disregard of the historical accuracy which is sometimes demanded of him. (2) The exact place of the Protagoras among the Dialogues, and the date of composition, have also been much disputed. But there are no criteria which afford any real grounds for determining the date of composition; and the affinities of the Dialogues, when they are not indicated by Plato himself, must always to a great extent remain uncertain. (3) There is another class of difficulties, which may be ascribed to preconceived notions of commentators, who imagine that Protagoras the Sophist ought always to be in the wrong, and his adversary Socrates in the right; or that in this or that passage — e.g. in the explanation of good as pleasure — Plato is inconsistent with himself; or that the Dialogue fails in unity, and has not a proper beginning, middle, and ending. They seem to forget that Plato is a dramatic writer who throws his thoughts into both sides of the argument, and certainly does not aim at any unity which is inconsistent with freedom, and with a natural or even wild manner of treating his subject; also that his mode of revealing the truth is by lights and shadows, and far-off and opposing points of view, and not by dogmatic statements or definite results.

The real difficulties arise out of the extreme subtlety of the work, which, as Socrates says of the poem of Simonides, is a most perfect piece of art. There are dramatic contrasts and interests, threads of philosophy broken and resumed, satirical reflections on mankind, veils thrown over truths which are lightly suggested, and all woven together in a single design, and moving towards one end.

In the introductory scene Plato raises the expectation that a ‘great personage’ is about to appear on the stage; perhaps with a further view of showing that he is destined to be overthrown by a greater still, who makes no pretensions. Before introducing Hippocrates to him, Socrates thinks proper to warn the youth against the dangers of ‘influence,’ of which the invidious nature is recognized by Protagoras himself. Hippocrates readily adopts the suggestion of Socrates that he shall learn of Protagoras only the accomplishments which befit an Athenian gentleman, and let alone his ‘sophistry.’ There is nothing however in the introduction which leads to the inference that Plato intended to blacken the character of the Sophists; he only makes a little merry at their expense.

The ‘great personage’ is somewhat ostentatious, but frank and honest. He is introduced on a stage which is worthy of him — at the house of the rich Callias, in which are congregated the noblest and wisest of the Athenians. He considers openness to be the best policy, and particularly mentions his own liberal mode of dealing with his pupils, as if in answer to the favourite accusation of the Sophists that they received pay. He is remarkable for the good temper which he exhibits throughout the discussion under the trying and often sophistical cross-examination of Socrates. Although once or twice ruffled, and reluctant to continue the discussion, he parts company on perfectly good terms, and appears to be, as he says of himself, the ‘least jealous of mankind.’

Nor is there anything in the sentiments of Protagoras which impairs this pleasing impression of the grave and weighty old man. His real defect is that he is inferior to Socrates in dialectics. The opposition between him and Socrates is not the opposition of good and bad, true and false, but of the old art of rhetoric and the new science of interrogation and argument; also of the irony of Socrates and the self-assertion of the Sophists. There is quite as much truth on the side of Protagoras as of Socrates; but the truth of Protagoras is based on common sense and common maxims of morality, while that of Socrates is paradoxical or transcendental, and though full of meaning and insight, hardly intelligible to the rest of mankind. Here as elsewhere is the usual contrast between the Sophists representing average public opinion and Socrates seeking for increased clearness and unity of ideas. But to a great extent Protagoras has the best of the argument and represents the better mind of man.

For example: (1) one of the noblest statements to be found in antiquity about the preventive nature of punishment is put into his mouth; (2) he is clearly right also in maintaining that virtue can be taught (which Socrates himself, at the end of the Dialogue, is disposed to concede); and also (3) in his explanation of the phenomenon that good fathers have bad sons; (4) he is right also in observing that the virtues are not like the arts, gifts or attainments of special individuals, but the common property of all: this, which in all ages has been the strength and weakness of ethics and politics, is deeply seated in human nature; (5) there is a sort of half-truth in the notion that all civilized men are teachers of virtue; and more than a half-truth (6) in ascribing to man, who in his outward conditions is more helpless than the other animals, the power of self-improvement; (7) the religious allegory should be noticed, in which the arts are said to be given by Prometheus (who stole them), whereas justice and reverence and the political virtues could only be imparted by Zeus; (8) in the latter part of the Dialogue, when Socrates is arguing that ‘pleasure is the only good,’ Protagoras deems it more in accordance with his character to maintain that ‘some pleasures only are good;’ and admits that ‘he, above all other men, is bound to say “that wisdom and knowledge are the highest of human things.”’

There is no reason to suppose that in all this Plato is depicting an imaginary Protagoras; he seems to be showing us the teaching of the Sophists under the milder aspect under which he once regarded them. Nor is there any reason to doubt that Socrates is equally an historical character, paradoxical, ironical, tiresome, but seeking for the unity of virtue and knowledge as for a precious treasure; willing to rest this even on a calculation of pleasure, and irresistible here, as everywhere in Plato, in his intellectual superiority.

The aim of Socrates, and of the Dialogue, is to show the unity of virtue. In the determination of this question the identity of virtue and knowledge is found to be involved. But if virtue and knowledge are one, then virtue can be taught; the end of the Dialogue returns to the beginning. Had Protagoras been allowed by Plato to make the Aristotelian distinction, and say that virtue is not knowledge, but is accompanied with knowledge; or to point out with Aristotle that the same quality may have more than one opposite; or with Plato himself in the Phaedo to deny that good is a mere exchange of a greater pleasure for a less — the unity of virtue and the identity of virtue and knowledge would have required to be proved by other arguments.

The victory of Socrates over Protagoras is in every way complete when their minds are fairly brought together. Protagoras falls before him after two or three blows. Socrates partially gains his object in the first part of the Dialogue, and completely in the second. Nor does he appear at any disadvantage when subjected to ‘the question’ by Protagoras. He succeeds in making his two ‘friends,’ Prodicus and Hippias, ludicrous by the way; he also makes a long speech in defence of the poem of Simonides, after the manner of the Sophists, showing, as Alcibiades says, that he is only pretending to have a bad memory, and that he and not Protagoras is really a master in the two styles of speaking; and that he can undertake, not one side of the argument only, but both, when Protagoras begins to break down. Against the authority of the poets with whom Protagoras has ingeniously identified himself at the commencement of the Dialogue, Socrates sets up the proverbial philosophers and those masters of brevity the Lacedaemonians. The poets, the Laconizers, and Protagoras are satirized at the same time.

Not having the whole of this poem before us, it is impossible for us to answer certainly the question of Protagoras, how the two passages of Simonides are to be reconciled. We can only follow the indications given by Plato himself. But it seems likely that the reconcilement offered by Socrates is a caricature of the methods of interpretation which were practised by the Sophists — for the following reasons: (1) The transparent irony of the previous interpretations given by Socrates. (2) The ludicrous opening of the speech in which the Lacedaemonians are described as the true philosophers, and Laconic brevity as the true form of philosophy, evidently with an allusion to Protagoras’ long speeches. (3) The manifest futility and absurdity of the explanation of (Greek), which is hardly consistent with the rational interpretation of the rest of the poem. The opposition of (Greek) and (Greek) seems also intended to express the rival doctrines of Socrates and Protagoras, and is a facetious commentary on their differences. (4) The general treatment in Plato both of the Poets and the Sophists, who are their interpreters, and whom he delights to identify with them. (5) The depreciating spirit in which Socrates speaks of the introduction of the poets as a substitute for original conversation, which is intended to contrast with Protagoras’ exaltation of the study of them — this again is hardly consistent with the serious defence of Simonides. (6) the marked approval of Hippias, who is supposed at once to catch the familiar sound, just as in the previous conversation Prodicus is represented as ready to accept any distinctions of language however absurd. At the same time Hippias is desirous of substituting a new interpretation of his own; as if the words might really be made to mean anything, and were only to be regarded as affording a field for the ingenuity of the interpreter.

This curious passage is, therefore, to be regarded as Plato’s satire on the tedious and hypercritical arts of interpretation which prevailed in his own day, and may be compared with his condemnation of the same arts when applied to mythology in the Phaedrus, and with his other parodies, e.g. with the two first speeches in the Phaedrus and with the Menexenus. Several lesser touches of satire may be observed, such as the claim of philosophy advanced for the Lacedaemonians, which is a parody of the claims advanced for the Poets by Protagoras; the mistake of the Laconizing set in supposing that the Lacedaemonians are a great nation because they bruise their ears; the far-fetched notion, which is ‘really too bad,’ that Simonides uses the Lesbian (?) word, (Greek), because he is addressing a Lesbian. The whole may also be considered as a satire on those who spin pompous theories out of nothing. As in the arguments of the Euthydemus and of the Cratylus, the veil of irony is never withdrawn; and we are left in doubt at last how far in this interpretation of Simonides Socrates is ‘fooling,’ how far he is in earnest.

All the interests and contrasts of character in a great dramatic work like the Protagoras are not easily exhausted. The impressiveness of the scene should not be lost upon us, or the gradual substitution of Socrates in the second part for Protagoras in the first. The characters to whom we are introduced at the beginning of the Dialogue all play a part more or less conspicuous towards the end. There is Alcibiades, who is compelled by the necessity of his nature to be a partisan, lending effectual aid to Socrates; there is Critias assuming the tone of impartiality; Callias, here as always inclining to the Sophists, but eager for any intellectual repast; Prodicus, who finds an opportunity for displaying his distinctions of language, which are valueless and pedantic, because they are not based on dialectic; Hippias, who has previously exhibited his superficial knowledge of natural philosophy, to which, as in both the Dialogues called by his name, he now adds the profession of an interpreter of the Poets. The two latter personages have been already damaged by the mock heroic description of them in the introduction. It may be remarked that Protagoras is consistently presented to us throughout as the teacher of moral and political virtue; there is no allusion to the theories of sensation which are attributed to him in the Theaetetus and elsewhere, or to his denial of the existence of the gods in a well-known fragment ascribed to him; he is the religious rather than the irreligious teacher in this Dialogue. Also it may be observed that Socrates shows him as much respect as is consistent with his own ironical character; he admits that the dialectic which has overthrown Protagoras has carried himself round to a conclusion opposed to his first thesis. The force of argument, therefore, and not Socrates or Protagoras, has won the day.

But is Socrates serious in maintaining (1) that virtue cannot be taught; (2) that the virtues are one; (3) that virtue is the knowledge of pleasures and pains present and future? These propositions to us have an appearance of paradox — they are really moments or aspects of the truth by the help of which we pass from the old conventional morality to a higher conception of virtue and knowledge. That virtue cannot be taught is a paradox of the same sort as the profession of Socrates that he knew nothing. Plato means to say that virtue is not brought to a man, but must be drawn out of him; and cannot be taught by rhetorical discourses or citations from the poets. The second question, whether the virtues are one or many, though at first sight distinct, is really a part of the same subject; for if the virtues are to be taught, they must be reducible to a common principle; and this common principle is found to be knowledge. Here, as Aristotle remarks, Socrates and Plato outstep the truth — they make a part of virtue into the whole. Further, the nature of this knowledge, which is assumed to be a knowledge of pleasures and pains, appears to us too superficial and at variance with the spirit of Plato himself. Yet, in this, Plato is only following the historical Socrates as he is depicted to us in Xenophon’s Memorabilia. Like Socrates, he finds on the surface of human life one common bond by which the virtues are united, — their tendency to produce happiness, — though such a principle is afterwards repudiated by him.

It remains to be considered in what relation the Protagoras stands to the other Dialogues of Plato. That it is one of the earlier or purely Socratic works — perhaps the last, as it is certainly the greatest of them — is indicated by the absence of any allusion to the doctrine of reminiscence; and also by the different attitude assumed towards the teaching and persons of the Sophists in some of the later Dialogues. The Charmides, Laches, Lysis, all touch on the question of the relation of knowledge to virtue, and may be regarded, if not as preliminary studies or sketches of the more important work, at any rate as closely connected with it. The Io and the lesser Hippias contain discussions of the Poets, which offer a parallel to the ironical criticism of Simonides, and are conceived in a similar spirit. The affinity of the Protagoras to the Meno is more doubtful. For there, although the same question is discussed, ‘whether virtue can be taught,’ and the relation of Meno to the Sophists is much the same as that of Hippocrates, the answer to the question is supplied out of the doctrine of ideas; the real Socrates is already passing into the Platonic one. At a later stage of the Platonic philosophy we shall find that both the paradox and the solution of it appear to have been retracted. The Phaedo, the Gorgias, and the Philebus offer further corrections of the teaching of the Protagoras; in all of them the doctrine that virtue is pleasure, or that pleasure is the chief or only good, is distinctly renounced.

Thus after many preparations and oppositions, both of the characters of men and aspects of the truth, especially of the popular and philosophical aspect; and after many interruptions and detentions by the way, which, as Theodorus says in the Theaetetus, are quite as agreeable as the argument, we arrive at the great Socratic thesis that virtue is knowledge. This is an aspect of the truth which was lost almost as soon as it was found; and yet has to be recovered by every one for himself who would pass the limits of proverbial and popular philosophy. The moral and intellectual are always dividing, yet they must be reunited, and in the highest conception of them are inseparable. The thesis of Socrates is not merely a hasty assumption, but may be also deemed an anticipation of some ‘metaphysic of the future,’ in which the divided elements of human nature are reconciled.

PROTAGORAS

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, who is the narrator of the Dialogue to his Companion. Hippocrates, Alcibiades and Critias. Protagoras, Hippias and Prodicus (Sophists). Callias, a wealthy Athenian.

SCENE: The House of Callias.

COMPANION: Where do you come from, Socrates? And yet I need hardly ask the question, for I know that you have been in chase of the fair Alcibiades. I saw him the day before yesterday; and he had got a beard like a man, — and he is a man, as I may tell you in your ear. But I thought that he was still very charming.

SOCRATES: What of his beard? Are you not of Homer’s opinion, who says

‘Youth is most charming when the beard first appears’?

And that is now the charm of Alcibiades.

COMPANION: Well, and how do matters proceed? Have you been visiting him, and was he gracious to you?

SOCRATES: Yes, I thought that he was very gracious; and especially to-day, for I have just come from him, and he has been helping me in an argument. But shall I tell you a strange thing? I paid no attention to him, and several times I quite forgot that he was present.

COMPANION: What is the meaning of this? Has anything happened between you and him? For surely you cannot have discovered a fairer love than he is; certainly not in this city of Athens.

SOCRATES: Yes, much fairer.

COMPANION: What do you mean — a citizen or a foreigner?

SOCRATES: A foreigner.

COMPANION: Of what country?

SOCRATES: Of Abdera.

COMPANION: And is this stranger really in your opinion a fairer love than the son of Cleinias?

SOCRATES: And is not the wiser always the fairer, sweet friend?

COMPANION: But have you really met, Socrates, with some wise one?

SOCRATES: Say rather, with the wisest of all living men, if you are willing to accord that title to Protagoras.

COMPANION: What! Is Protagoras in Athens?

SOCRATES: Yes; he has been here two days.

COMPANION: And do you just come from an interview with him?

SOCRATES: Yes; and I have heard and said many things.

COMPANION: Then, if you have no engagement, suppose that you sit down and tell me what passed, and my attendant here shall give up his place to you.

SOCRATES: To be sure; and I shall be grateful to you for listening.

COMPANION: Thank you, too, for telling us.

SOCRATES: That is thank you twice over. Listen then: —

Last night, or rather very early this morning, Hippocrates, the son of Apollodorus and the brother of Phason, gave a tremendous thump with his staff at my door; some one opened to him, and he came rushing in and bawled out: Socrates, are you awake or asleep?

I knew his voice, and said: Hippocrates, is that you? and do you bring any news?

Good news, he said; nothing but good.

Delightful, I said; but what is the news? and why have you come hither at this unearthly hour?

He drew nearer to me and said: Protagoras is come.

Yes, I replied; he came two days ago: have you only just heard of his arrival?

Yes, by the gods, he said; but not until yesterday evening.

At the same time he felt for the truckle-bed, and sat down at my feet, and then he said: Yesterday quite late in the evening, on my return from Oenoe whither I had gone in pursuit of my runaway slave Satyrus, as I meant to have told you, if some other matter had not come in the way; — on my return, when we had done supper and were about to retire to rest, my brother said to me: Protagoras is come. I was going to you at once, and then I thought that the night was far spent. But the moment sleep left me after my fatigue, I got up and came hither direct.

I, who knew the very courageous madness of the man, said: What is the matter? Has Protagoras robbed you of anything?

He replied, laughing: Yes, indeed he has, Socrates, of the wisdom which he keeps from me.

But, surely, I said, if you give him money, and make friends with him, he will make you as wise as he is himself.

Would to heaven, he replied, that this were the case! He might take all that I have, and all that my friends have, if he pleased. But that is why I have come to you now, in order that you may speak to him on my behalf; for I am young, and also I have never seen nor heard him; (when he visited Athens before I was but a child;) and all men praise him, Socrates; he is reputed to be the most accomplished of speakers. There is no reason why we should not go to him at once, and then we shall find him at home. He lodges, as I hear, with Callias the son of Hipponicus: let us start.

I replied: Not yet, my good friend; the hour is too early. But let us rise and take a turn in the court and wait about there until day-break; when the day breaks, then we will go. For Protagoras is generally at home, and we shall be sure to find him; never fear.

Upon this we got up and walked about in the court, and I thought that I would make trial of the strength of his resolution. So I examined him and put questions to him. Tell me, Hippocrates, I said, as you are going to Protagoras, and will be paying your money to him, what is he to whom you are going? and what will he make of you? If, for example, you had thought of going to Hippocrates of Cos, the Asclepiad, and were about to give him your money, and some one had said to you: You are paying money to your namesake Hippocrates, O Hippocrates; tell me, what is he that you give him money? how would you have answered?

I should say, he replied, that I gave money to him as a physician.

And what will he make of you?

A physician, he said.

And if you were resolved to go to Polycleitus the Argive, or Pheidias the Athenian, and were intending to give them money, and some one had asked you: What are Polycleitus and Pheidias? and why do you give them this money? — how would you have answered?

I should have answered, that they were statuaries.

And what will they make of you?

A statuary, of course.

Well now, I said, you and I are going to Protagoras, and we are ready to pay him money on your behalf. If our own means are sufficient, and we can gain him with these, we shall be only too glad; but if not, then we are to spend the money of your friends as well. Now suppose, that while we are thus enthusiastically pursuing our object some one were to say to us: Tell me, Socrates, and you Hippocrates, what is Protagoras, and why are you going to pay him money, — how should we answer? I know that Pheidias is a sculptor, and that Homer is a poet; but what appellation is given to Protagoras? how is he designated?

They call him a Sophist, Socrates, he replied.

Then we are going to pay our money to him in the character of a Sophist?

Certainly.

But suppose a person were to ask this further question: And how about yourself? What will Protagoras make of you, if you go to see him?

He answered, with a blush upon his face (for the day was just beginning to dawn, so that I could see him): Unless this differs in some way from the former instances, I suppose that he will make a Sophist of me.

By the gods, I said, and are you not ashamed at having to appear before the Hellenes in the character of a Sophist?

Indeed, Socrates, to confess the truth, I am.

But you should not assume, Hippocrates, that the instruction of Protagoras is of this nature: may you not learn of him in the same way that you learned the arts of the grammarian, or musician, or trainer, not with the view of making any of them a profession, but only as a part of education, and because a private gentleman and freeman ought to know them?

Just so, he said; and that, in my opinion, is a far truer account of the teaching of Protagoras.

I said: I wonder whether you know what you are doing?

And what am I doing?

You are going to commit your soul to the care of a man whom you call a Sophist. And yet I hardly think that you know what a Sophist is; and if not, then you do not even know to whom you are committing your soul and whether the thing to which you commit yourself be good or evil.

I certainly think that I do know, he replied.

Then tell me, what do you imagine that he is?

I take him to be one who knows wise things, he replied, as his name implies.

And might you not, I said, affirm this of the painter and of the carpenter also: Do not they, too, know wise things? But suppose a person were to ask us: In what are the painters wise? We should answer: In what relates to the making of likenesses, and similarly of other things. And if he were further to ask: What is the wisdom of the Sophist, and what is the manufacture over which he presides? — how should we answer him?

How should we answer him, Socrates? What other answer could there be but that he presides over the art which makes men eloquent?

Yes, I replied, that is very likely true, but not enough; for in the answer a further question is involved: Of what does the Sophist make a man talk eloquently? The player on the lyre may be supposed to make a man talk eloquently about that which he makes him understand, that is about playing the lyre. Is not that true?

Yes.

Then about what does the Sophist make him eloquent? Must not he make him eloquent in that which he understands?

Yes, that may be assumed.

And what is that which the Sophist knows and makes his disciple know?

Indeed, he said, I cannot tell.

Then I proceeded to say: Well, but are you aware of the danger which you are incurring? If you were going to commit your body to some one, who might do good or harm to it, would you not carefully consider and ask the opinion of your friends and kindred, and deliberate many days as to whether you should give him the care of your body? But when the soul is in question, which you hold to be of far more value than the body, and upon the good or evil of which depends the well-being of your all, — about this you never consulted either with your father or with your brother or with any one of us who are your companions. But no sooner does this foreigner appear, than you instantly commit your soul to his keeping. In the evening, as you say, you hear of him, and in the morning you go to him, never deliberating or taking the opinion of any one as to whether you ought to intrust yourself to him or not; — you have quite made up your mind that you will at all hazards be a pupil of Protagoras, and are prepared to expend all the property of yourself and of your friends in carrying out at any price this determination, although, as you admit, you do not know him, and have never spoken with him: and you call him a Sophist, but are manifestly ignorant of what a Sophist is; and yet you are going to commit yourself to his keeping.

When he heard me say this, he replied: No other inference, Socrates, can be drawn from your words.

I proceeded: Is not a Sophist, Hippocrates, one who deals wholesale or retail in the food of the soul? To me that appears to be his nature.

And what, Socrates, is the food of the soul?

Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul; and we must take care, my friend, that the Sophist does not deceive us when he praises what he sells, like the dealers wholesale or retail who sell the food of the body; for they praise indiscriminately all their goods, without knowing what are really beneficial or hurtful: neither do their customers know, with the exception of any trainer or physician who may happen to buy of them. In like manner those who carry about the wares of knowledge, and make the round of the cities, and sell or retail them to any customer who is in want of them, praise them all alike; though I should not wonder, O my friend, if many of them were really ignorant of their effect upon the soul; and their customers equally ignorant, unless he who buys of them happens to be a physician of the soul. If, therefore, you have understanding of what is good and evil, you may safely buy knowledge of Protagoras or of any one; but if not, then, O my friend, pause, and do not hazard your dearest interests at a game of chance. For there is far greater peril in buying knowledge than in buying meat and drink: the one you purchase of the wholesale or retail dealer, and carry them away in other vessels, and before you receive them into the body as food, you may deposit them at home and call in any experienced friend who knows what is good to be eaten or drunken, and what not, and how much, and when; and then the danger of purchasing them is not so great. But you cannot buy the wares of knowledge and carry them away in another vessel; when you have paid for them you must receive them into the soul and go your way, either greatly harmed or greatly benefited; and therefore we should deliberate and take counsel with our elders; for we are still young — too young to determine such a matter. And now let us go, as we were intending, and hear Protagoras; and when we have heard what he has to say, we may take counsel of others; for not only is Protagoras at the house of Callias, but there is Hippias of Elis, and, if I am not mistaken, Prodicus of Ceos, and several other wise men.

To this we agreed, and proceeded on our way until we reached the vestibule of the house; and there we stopped in order to conclude a discussion which had arisen between us as we were going along; and we stood talking in the vestibule until we had finished and come to an understanding. And I think that the door-keeper, who was a eunuch, and who was probably annoyed at the great inroad of the Sophists, must have heard us talking. At any rate, when we knocked at the door, and he opened and saw us, he grumbled: They are Sophists — he is not at home; and instantly gave the door a hearty bang with both his hands. Again we knocked, and he answered without opening: Did you not hear me say that he is not at home, fellows? But, my friend, I said, you need not be alarmed; for we are not Sophists, and we are not come to see Callias, but we want to see Protagoras; and I must request you to announce us. At last, after a good deal of difficulty, the man was persuaded to open the door.

When we entered, we found Protagoras taking a walk in the cloister; and next to him, on one side, were walking Callias, the son of Hipponicus, and Paralus, the son of Pericles, who, by the mother’s side, is his half-brother, and Charmides, the son of Glaucon. On the other side of him were Xanthippus, the other son of Pericles, Philippides, the son of Philomelus; also Antimoerus of Mende, who of all the disciples of Protagoras is the most famous, and intends to make sophistry his profession. A train of listeners followed him; the greater part of them appeared to be foreigners, whom Protagoras had brought with him out of the various cities visited by him in his journeys, he, like Orpheus, attracting them his voice, and they following (Compare Rep.). I should mention also that there were some Athenians in the company. Nothing delighted me more than the precision of their movements: they never got into his way at all; but when he and those who were with him turned back, then the band of listeners parted regularly on either side; he was always in front, and they wheeled round and took their places behind him in perfect order.

After him, as Homer says (Od.), ‘I lifted up my eyes and saw’ Hippias the Elean sitting in the opposite cloister on a chair of state, and around him were seated on benches Eryximachus, the son of Acumenus, and Phaedrus the Myrrhinusian, and Andron the son of Androtion, and there were strangers whom he had brought with him from his native city of Elis, and some others: they were putting to Hippias certain physical and astronomical questions, and he, ex cathedra, was determining their several questions to them, and discoursing of them.

Also, ‘my eyes beheld Tantalus (Od.);’ for Prodicus the Cean was at Athens: he had been lodged in a room which, in the days of Hipponicus, was a storehouse; but, as the house was full, Callias had cleared this out and made the room into a guest-chamber. Now Prodicus was still in bed, wrapped up in sheepskins and bedclothes, of which there seemed to be a great heap; and there was sitting by him on the couches near, Pausanias of the deme of Cerameis, and with Pausanias was a youth quite young, who is certainly remarkable for his good looks, and, if I am not mistaken, is also of a fair and gentle nature. I thought that I heard him called Agathon, and my suspicion is that he is the beloved of Pausanias. There was this youth, and also there were the two Adeimantuses, one the son of Cepis, and the other of Leucolophides, and some others. I was very anxious to hear what Prodicus was saying, for he seems to me to be an all-wise and inspired man; but I was not able to get into the inner circle, and his fine deep voice made an echo in the room which rendered his words inaudible.

No sooner had we entered than there followed us Alcibiades the beautiful, as you say, and I believe you; and also Critias the son of Callaeschrus.

On entering we stopped a little, in order to look about us, and then walked up to Protagoras, and I said: Protagoras, my friend Hippocrates and I have come to see you.

Do you wish, he said, to speak with me alone, or in the presence of the company?

Whichever you please, I said; you shall determine when you have heard the purpose of our visit.

And what is your purpose? he said.

I must explain, I said, that my friend Hippocrates is a native Athenian; he is the son of Apollodorus, and of a great and prosperous house, and he is himself in natural ability quite a match for anybody of his own age. I believe that he aspires to political eminence; and this he thinks that conversation with you is most likely to procure for him. And now you can determine whether you would wish to speak to him of your teaching alone or in the presence of the company.

Thank you, Socrates, for your consideration of me. For certainly a stranger finding his way into great cities, and persuading the flower of the youth in them to leave company of their kinsmen or any other acquaintances, old or young, and live with him, under the idea that they will be improved by his conversation, ought to be very cautious; great jealousies are aroused by his proceedings, and he is the subject of many enmities and conspiracies. Now the art of the Sophist is, as I believe, of great antiquity; but in ancient times those who practised it, fearing this odium, veiled and disguised themselves under various names, some under that of poets, as Homer, Hesiod, and Simonides, some, of hierophants and prophets, as Orpheus and Musaeus, and some, as I observe, even under the name of gymnastic-masters, like Iccus of Tarentum, or the more recently celebrated Herodicus, now of Selymbria and formerly of Megara, who is a first-rate Sophist. Your own Agathocles pretended to be a musician, but was really an eminent Sophist; also Pythocleides the Cean; and there were many others; and all of them, as I was saying, adopted these arts as veils or disguises because they were afraid of the odium which they would incur. But that is not my way, for I do not believe that they effected their purpose, which was to deceive the government, who were not blinded by them; and as to the people, they have no understanding, and only repeat what their rulers are pleased to tell them. Now to run away, and to be caught in running away, is the very height of folly, and also greatly increases the exasperation of mankind; for they regard him who runs away as a rogue, in addition to any other objections which they have to him; and therefore I take an entirely opposite course, and acknowledge myself to be a Sophist and instructor of mankind; such an open acknowledgement appears to me to be a better sort of caution than concealment. Nor do I neglect other precautions, and therefore I hope, as I may say, by the favour of heaven that no harm will come of the acknowledgment that I am a Sophist. And I have been now many years in the profession — for all my years when added up are many: there is no one here present of whom I might not be the father. Wherefore I should much prefer conversing with you, if you want to speak with me, in the presence of the company.

As I suspected that he would like to have a little display and glorification in the presence of Prodicus and Hippias, and would gladly show us to them in the light of his admirers, I said: But why should we not summon Prodicus and Hippias and their friends to hear us?

Very good, he said.

Suppose, said Callias, that we hold a council in which you may sit and discuss. — This was agreed upon, and great delight was felt at the prospect of hearing wise men talk; we ourselves took the chairs and benches, and arranged them by Hippias, where the other benches had been already placed. Meanwhile Callias and Alcibiades got Prodicus out of bed and brought in him and his companions.

When we were all seated, Protagoras said: Now that the company are assembled, Socrates, tell me about the young man of whom you were just now speaking.

I replied: I will begin again at the same point, Protagoras, and tell you once more the purport of my visit: this is my friend Hippocrates, who is desirous of making your acquaintance; he would like to know what will happen to him if he associates with you. I have no more to say.

Protagoras answered: Young man, if you associate with me, on the very first day you will return home a better man than you came, and better on the second day than on the first, and better every day than you were on the day before.

When I heard this, I said: Protagoras, I do not at all wonder at hearing you say this; even at your age, and with all your wisdom, if any one were to teach you what you did not know before, you would become better no doubt: but please to answer in a different way — I will explain how by an example. Let me suppose that Hippocrates, instead of desiring your acquaintance, wished to become acquainted with the young man Zeuxippus of Heraclea, who has lately been in Athens, and he had come to him as he has come to you, and had heard him say, as he has heard you say, that every day he would grow and become better if he associated with him: and then suppose that he were to ask him, ‘In what shall I become better, and in what shall I grow?’ — Zeuxippus would answer, ‘In painting.’ And suppose that he went to Orthagoras the Theban, and heard him say the same thing, and asked him, ‘In what shall I become better day by day?’ he would reply, ‘In flute-playing.’ Now I want you to make the same sort of answer to this young man and to me, who am asking questions on his account. When you say that on the first day on which he associates with you he will return home a better man, and on every day will grow in like manner, — in what, Protagoras, will he be better? and about what?

When Protagoras heard me say this, he replied: You ask questions fairly, and I like to answer a question which is fairly put. If Hippocrates comes to me he will not experience the sort of drudgery with which other Sophists are in the habit of insulting their pupils; who, when they have just escaped from the arts, are taken and driven back into them by these teachers, and made to learn calculation, and astronomy, and geometry, and music (he gave a look at Hippias as he said this); but if he comes to me, he will learn that which he comes to learn. And this is prudence in affairs private as well as public; he will learn to order his own house in the best manner, and he will be able to speak and act for the best in the affairs of the state.

Do I understand you, I said; and is your meaning that you teach the art of politics, and that you promise to make men good citizens?

That, Socrates, is exactly the profession which I make.

Then, I said, you do indeed possess a noble art, if there is no mistake about this; for I will freely confess to you, Protagoras, that I have a doubt whether this art is capable of being taught, and yet I know not how to disbelieve your assertion. And I ought to tell you why I am of opinion that this art cannot be taught or communicated by man to man. I say that the Athenians are an understanding people, and indeed they are esteemed to be such by the other Hellenes. Now I observe that when we are met together in the assembly, and the matter in hand relates to building, the builders are summoned as advisers; when the question is one of ship-building, then the ship-wrights; and the like of other arts which they think capable of being taught and learned. And if some person offers to give them advice who is not supposed by them to have any skill in the art, even though he be good-looking, and rich, and noble, they will not listen to him, but laugh and hoot at him, until either he is clamoured down and retires of himself; or if he persist, he is dragged away or put out by the constables at the command of the prytanes. This is their way of behaving about professors of the arts. But when the question is an affair of state, then everybody is free to have a say — carpenter, tinker, cobbler, sailor, passenger; rich and poor, high and low — any one who likes gets up, and no one reproaches him, as in the former case, with not having learned, and having no teacher, and yet giving advice; evidently because they are under the impression that this sort of knowledge cannot be taught. And not only is this true of the state, but of individuals; the best and wisest of our citizens are unable to impart their political wisdom to others: as for example, Pericles, the father of these young men, who gave them excellent instruction in all that could be learned from masters, in his own department of politics neither taught them, nor gave them teachers; but they were allowed to wander at their own free will in a sort of hope that they would light upon virtue of their own accord. Or take another example: there was Cleinias the younger brother of our friend Alcibiades, of whom this very same Pericles was the guardian; and he being in fact under the apprehension that Cleinias would be corrupted by Alcibiades, took him away, and placed him in the house of Ariphron to be educated; but before six months had elapsed, Ariphron sent him back, not knowing what to do with him. And I could mention numberless other instances of persons who were good themselves, and never yet made any one else good, whether friend or stranger. Now I, Protagoras, having these examples before me, am inclined to think that virtue cannot be taught. But then again, when I listen to your words, I waver; and am disposed to think that there must be something in what you say, because I know that you have great experience, and learning, and invention. And I wish that you would, if possible, show me a little more clearly that virtue can be taught. Will you be so good?

That I will, Socrates, and gladly. But what would you like? Shall I, as an elder, speak to you as younger men in an apologue or myth, or shall I argue out the question?

To this several of the company answered that he should choose for himself.

Well, then, he said, I think that the myth will be more interesting.

Once upon a time there were gods only, and no mortal creatures. But when the time came that these also should be created, the gods fashioned them out of earth and fire and various mixtures of both elements in the interior of the earth; and when they were about to bring them into the light of day, they ordered Prometheus and Epimetheus to equip them, and to distribute to them severally their proper qualities. Epimetheus said to Prometheus: ‘Let me distribute, and do you inspect.’ This was agreed, and Epimetheus made the distribution. There were some to whom he gave strength without swiftness, while he equipped the weaker with swiftness; some he armed, and others he left unarmed; and devised for the latter some other means of preservation, making some large, and having their size as a protection, and others small, whose nature was to fly in the air or burrow in the ground; this was to be their way of escape. Thus did he compensate them with the view of preventing any race from becoming extinct. And when he had provided against their destruction by one another, he contrived also a means of protecting them against the seasons of heaven; clothing them with close hair and thick skins sufficient to defend them against the winter cold and able to resist the summer heat, so that they might have a natural bed of their own when they wanted to rest; also he furnished them with hoofs and hair and hard and callous skins under their feet. Then he gave them varieties of food, — herb of the soil to some, to others fruits of trees, and to others roots, and to some again he gave other animals as food. And some he made to have few young ones, while those who were their prey were very prolific; and in this manner the race was preserved. Thus did Epimetheus, who, not being very wise, forgot that he had distributed among the brute animals all the qualities which he had to give, — and when he came to man, who was still unprovided, he was terribly perplexed. Now while he was in this perplexity, Prometheus came to inspect the distribution, and he found that the other animals were suitably furnished, but that man alone was naked and shoeless, and had neither bed nor arms of defence. The appointed hour was approaching when man in his turn was to go forth into the light of day; and Prometheus, not knowing how he could devise his salvation, stole the mechanical arts of Hephaestus and Athene, and fire with them (they could neither have been acquired nor used without fire), and gave them to man. Thus man had the wisdom necessary to the support of life, but political wisdom he had not; for that was in the keeping of Zeus, and the power of Prometheus did not extend to entering into the citadel of heaven, where Zeus dwelt, who moreover had terrible sentinels; but he did enter by stealth into the common workshop of Athene and Hephaestus, in which they used to practise their favourite arts, and carried off Hephaestus’ art of working by fire, and also the art of Athene, and gave them to man. And in this way man was supplied with the means of life. But Prometheus is said to have been afterwards prosecuted for theft, owing to the blunder of Epimetheus.

Now man, having a share of the divine attributes, was at first the only one of the animals who had any gods, because he alone was of their kindred; and he would raise altars and images of them. He was not long in inventing articulate speech and names; and he also constructed houses and clothes and shoes and beds, and drew sustenance from the earth. Thus provided, mankind at first lived dispersed, and there were no cities. But the consequence was that they were destroyed by the wild beasts, for they were utterly weak in comparison of them, and their art was only sufficient to provide them with the means of life, and did not enable them to carry on war against the animals: food they had, but not as yet the art of government, of which the art of war is a part. After a while the desire of self-preservation gathered them into cities; but when they were gathered together, having no art of government, they evil intreated one another, and were again in process of dispersion and destruction. Zeus feared that the entire race would be exterminated, and so he sent Hermes to them, bearing reverence and justice to be the ordering principles of cities and the bonds of friendship and conciliation. Hermes asked Zeus how he should impart justice and reverence among men: — Should he distribute them as the arts are distributed; that is to say, to a favoured few only, one skilled individual having enough of medicine or of any other art for many unskilled ones? ‘Shall this be the manner in which I am to distribute justice and reverence among men, or shall I give them to all?’ ‘To all,’ said Zeus; ‘I should like them all to have a share; for cities cannot exist, if a few only share in the virtues, as in the arts. And further, make a law by my order, that he who has no part in reverence and justice shall be put to death, for he is a plague of the state.’

And this is the reason, Socrates, why the Athenians and mankind in general, when the question relates to carpentering or any other mechanical art, allow but a few to share in their deliberations; and when any one else interferes, then, as you say, they object, if he be not of the favoured few; which, as I reply, is very natural. But when they meet to deliberate about political virtue, which proceeds only by way of justice and wisdom, they are patient enough of any man who speaks of them, as is also natural, because they think that every man ought to share in this sort of virtue, and that states could not exist if this were otherwise. I have explained to you, Socrates, the reason of this phenomenon.

And that you may not suppose yourself to be deceived in thinking that all men regard every man as having a share of justice or honesty and of every other political virtue, let me give you a further proof, which is this. In other cases, as you are aware, if a man says that he is a good flute-player, or skilful in any other art in which he has no skill, people either laugh at him or are angry with him, and his relations think that he is mad and go and admonish him; but when honesty is in question, or some other political virtue, even if they know that he is dishonest, yet, if the man comes publicly forward and tells the truth about his dishonesty, then, what in the other case was held by them to be good sense, they now deem to be madness. They say that all men ought to profess honesty whether they are honest or not, and that a man is out of his mind who says anything else. Their notion is, that a man must have some degree of honesty; and that if he has none at all he ought not to be in the world.

I have been showing that they are right in admitting every man as a counsellor about this sort of virtue, as they are of opinion that every man is a partaker of it. And I will now endeavour to show further that they do not conceive this virtue to be given by nature, or to grow spontaneously, but to be a thing which may be taught; and which comes to a man by taking pains. No one would instruct, no one would rebuke, or be angry with those whose calamities they suppose to be due to nature or chance; they do not try to punish or to prevent them from being what they are; they do but pity them. Who is so foolish as to chastise or instruct the ugly, or the diminutive, or the feeble? And for this reason. Because he knows that good and evil of this kind is the work of nature and of chance; whereas if a man is wanting in those good qualities which are attained by study and exercise and teaching, and has only the contrary evil qualities, other men are angry with him, and punish and reprove him — of these evil qualities one is impiety, another injustice, and they may be described generally as the very opposite of political virtue. In such cases any man will be angry with another, and reprimand him, — clearly because he thinks that by study and learning, the virtue in which the other is deficient may be acquired. If you will think, Socrates, of the nature of punishment, you will see at once that in the opinion of mankind virtue may be acquired; no one punishes the evil-doer under the notion, or for the reason, that he has done wrong, — only the unreasonable fury of a beast acts in that manner. But he who desires to inflict rational punishment does not retaliate for a past wrong which cannot be undone; he has regard to the future, and is desirous that the man who is punished, and he who sees him punished, may be deterred from doing wrong again. He punishes for the sake of prevention, thereby clearly implying that virtue is capable of being taught. This is the notion of all who retaliate upon others either privately or publicly. And the Athenians, too, your own citizens, like other men, punish and take vengeance on all whom they regard as evil doers; and hence, we may infer them to be of the number of those who think that virtue may be acquired and taught. Thus far, Socrates, I have shown you clearly enough, if I am not mistaken, that your countrymen are right in admitting the tinker and the cobbler to advise about politics, and also that they deem virtue to be capable of being taught and acquired.

There yet remains one difficulty which has been raised by you about the sons of good men. What is the reason why good men teach their sons the knowledge which is gained from teachers, and make them wise in that, but do nothing towards improving them in the virtues which distinguish themselves? And here, Socrates, I will leave the apologue and resume the argument. Please to consider: Is there or is there not some one quality of which all the citizens must be partakers, if there is to be a city at all? In the answer to this question is contained the only solution of your difficulty; there is no other. For if there be any such quality, and this quality or unity is not the art of the carpenter, or the smith, or the potter, but justice and temperance and holiness and, in a word, manly virtue — if this is the quality of which all men must be partakers, and which is the very condition of their learning or doing anything else, and if he who is wanting in this, whether he be a child only or a grown-up man or woman, must be taught and punished, until by punishment he becomes better, and he who rebels against instruction and punishment is either exiled or condemned to death under the idea that he is incurable — if what I am saying be true, good men have their sons taught other things and not this, do consider how extraordinary their conduct would appear to be. For we have shown that they think virtue capable of being taught and cultivated both in private and public; and, notwithstanding, they have their sons taught lesser matters, ignorance of which does not involve the punishment of death: but greater things, of which the ignorance may cause death and exile to those who have no training or knowledge of them — aye, and confiscation as well as death, and, in a word, may be the ruin of families — those things, I say, they are supposed not to teach them, — not to take the utmost care that they should learn. How improbable is this, Socrates!

Education and admonition commence in the first years of childhood, and last to the very end of life. Mother and nurse and father and tutor are vying with one another about the improvement of the child as soon as ever he is able to understand what is being said to him: he cannot say or do anything without their setting forth to him that this is just and that is unjust; this is honourable, that is dishonourable; this is holy, that is unholy; do this and abstain from that. And if he obeys, well and good; if not, he is straightened by threats and blows, like a piece of bent or warped wood. At a later stage they send him to teachers, and enjoin them to see to his manners even more than to his reading and music; and the teachers do as they are desired. And when the boy has learned his letters and is beginning to understand what is written, as before he understood only what was spoken, they put into his hands the works of great poets, which he reads sitting on a bench at school; in these are contained many admonitions, and many tales, and praises, and encomia of ancient famous men, which he is required to learn by heart, in order that he may imitate or emulate them and desire to become like them. Then, again, the teachers of the lyre take similar care that their young disciple is temperate and gets into no mischief; and when they have taught him the use of the lyre, they introduce him to the poems of other excellent poets, who are the lyric poets; and these they set to music, and make their harmonies and rhythms quite familiar to the children’s souls, in order that they may learn to be more gentle, and harmonious, and rhythmical, and so more fitted for speech and action; for the life of man in every part has need of harmony and rhythm. Then they send them to the master of gymnastic, in order that their bodies may better minister to the virtuous mind, and that they may not be compelled through bodily weakness to play the coward in war or on any other occasion. This is what is done by those who have the means, and those who have the means are the rich; their children begin to go to school soonest and leave off latest. When they have done with masters, the state again compels them to learn the laws, and live after the pattern which they furnish, and not after their own fancies; and just as in learning to write, the writing-master first draws lines with a style for the use of the young beginner, and gives him the tablet and makes him follow the lines, so the city draws the laws, which were the invention of good lawgivers living in the olden time; these are given to the young man, in order to guide him in his conduct whether he is commanding or obeying; and he who transgresses them is to be corrected, or, in other words, called to account, which is a term used not only in your country, but also in many others, seeing that justice calls men to account. Now when there is all this care about virtue private and public, why, Socrates, do you still wonder and doubt whether virtue can be taught? Cease to wonder, for the opposite would be far more surprising.

But why then do the sons of good fathers often turn out ill? There is nothing very wonderful in this; for, as I have been saying, the existence of a state implies that virtue is not any man’s private possession. If so — and nothing can be truer — then I will further ask you to imagine, as an illustration, some other pursuit or branch of knowledge which may be assumed equally to be the condition of the existence of a state. Suppose that there could be no state unless we were all flute-players, as far as each had the capacity, and everybody was freely teaching everybody the art, both in private and public, and reproving the bad player as freely and openly as every man now teaches justice and the laws, not concealing them as he would conceal the other arts, but imparting them — for all of us have a mutual interest in the justice and virtue of one another, and this is the reason why every one is so ready to teach justice and the laws; — suppose, I say, that there were the same readiness and liberality among us in teaching one another flute-playing, do you imagine, Socrates, that the sons of good flute-players would be more likely to be good than the sons of bad ones? I think not. Would not their sons grow up to be distinguished or undistinguished according to their own natural capacities as flute-players, and the son of a good player would often turn out to be a bad one, and the son of a bad player to be a good one, all flute-players would be good enough in comparison of those who were ignorant and unacquainted with the art of flute-playing? In like manner I would have you consider that he who appears to you to be the worst of those who have been brought up in laws and humanities, would appear to be a just man and a master of justice if he were to be compared with men who had no education, or courts of justice, or laws, or any restraints upon them which compelled them to practise virtue — with the savages, for example, whom the poet Pherecrates exhibited on the stage at the last year’s Lenaean festival. If you were living among men such as the man-haters in his Chorus, you would be only too glad to meet with Eurybates and Phrynondas, and you would sorrowfully long to revisit the rascality of this part of the world. You, Socrates, are discontented, and why? Because all men are teachers of virtue, each one according to his ability; and you say Where are the teachers? You might as well ask, Who teaches Greek? For of that too there will not be any teachers found. Or you might ask, Who is to teach the sons of our artisans this same art which they have learned of their fathers? He and his fellow-workmen have taught them to the best of their ability, — but who will carry them further in their arts? And you would certainly have a difficulty, Socrates, in finding a teacher of them; but there would be no difficulty in finding a teacher of those who are wholly ignorant. And this is true of virtue or of anything else; if a man is better able than we are to promote virtue ever so little, we must be content with the result. A teacher of this sort I believe myself to be, and above all other men to have the knowledge which makes a man noble and good; and I give my pupils their money’s-worth, and even more, as they themselves confess. And therefore I have introduced the following mode of payment: — When a man has been my pupil, if he likes he pays my price, but there is no compulsion; and if he does not like, he has only to go into a temple and take an oath of the value of the instructions, and he pays no more than he declares to be their value.

Such is my Apologue, Socrates, and such is the argument by which I endeavour to show that virtue may be taught, and that this is the opinion of the Athenians. And I have also attempted to show that you are not to wonder at good fathers having bad sons, or at good sons having bad fathers, of which the sons of Polycleitus afford an example, who are the companions of our friends here, Paralus and Xanthippus, but are nothing in comparison with their father; and this is true of the sons of many other artists. As yet I ought not to say the same of Paralus and Xanthippus themselves, for they are young and there is still hope of them.

Protagoras ended, and in my ear

‘So charming left his voice, that I the while Thought him still speaking; still stood fixed to hear (Borrowed by Milton, “Paradise Lost”.).’

At length, when the truth dawned upon me, that he had really finished, not without difficulty I began to collect myself, and looking at Hippocrates, I said to him: O son of Apollodorus, how deeply grateful I am to you for having brought me hither; I would not have missed the speech of Protagoras for a great deal. For I used to imagine that no human care could make men good; but I know better now. Yet I have still one very small difficulty which I am sure that Protagoras will easily explain, as he has already explained so much. If a man were to go and consult Pericles or any of our great speakers about these matters, he might perhaps hear as fine a discourse; but then when one has a question to ask of any of them, like books, they can neither answer nor ask; and if any one challenges the least particular of their speech, they go ringing on in a long harangue, like brazen pots, which when they are struck continue to sound unless some one puts his hand upon them; whereas our friend Protagoras can not only make a good speech, as he has already shown, but when he is asked a question he can answer briefly; and when he asks he will wait and hear the answer; and this is a very rare gift. Now I, Protagoras, want to ask of you a little question, which if you will only answer, I shall be quite satisfied. You were saying that virtue can be taught; — that I will take upon your authority, and there is no one to whom I am more ready to trust. But I marvel at one thing about which I should like to have my mind set at rest. You were speaking of Zeus sending justice and reverence to men; and several times while you were speaking, justice, and temperance, and holiness, and all these qualities, were described by you as if together they made up virtue. Now I want you to tell me truly whether virtue is one whole, of which justice and temperance and holiness are parts; or whether all these are only the names of one and the same thing: that is the doubt which still lingers in my mind.

There is no difficulty, Socrates, in answering that the qualities of which you are speaking are the parts of virtue which is one.

And are they parts, I said, in the same sense in which mouth, nose, and eyes, and ears, are the parts of a face; or are they like the parts of gold, which differ from the whole and from one another only in being larger or smaller?

I should say that they differed, Socrates, in the first way; they are related to one another as the parts of a face are related to the whole face.

And do men have some one part and some another part of virtue? Or if a man has one part, must he also have all the others?

By no means, he said; for many a man is brave and not just, or just and not wise.

You would not deny, then, that courage and wisdom are also parts of virtue?

Most undoubtedly they are, he answered; and wisdom is the noblest of the parts.

And they are all different from one another? I said.

Yes.

And has each of them a distinct function like the parts of the face; — the eye, for example, is not like the ear, and has not the same functions; and the other parts are none of them like one another, either in their functions, or in any other way? I want to know whether the comparison holds concerning the parts of virtue. Do they also differ from one another in themselves and in their functions? For that is clearly what the simile would imply.

Yes, Socrates, you are right in supposing that they differ.

Then, I said, no other part of virtue is like knowledge, or like justice, or like courage, or like temperance, or like holiness?

No, he answered.

Well then, I said, suppose that you and I enquire into their natures. And first, you would agree with me that justice is of the nature of a thing, would you not? That is my opinion: would it not be yours also?

Mine also, he said.

And suppose that some one were to ask us, saying, ‘O Protagoras, and you, Socrates, what about this thing which you were calling justice, is it just or unjust?’ — and I were to answer, just: would you vote with me or against me?

With you, he said.

Thereupon I should answer to him who asked me, that justice is of the nature of the just: would not you?

Yes, he said.

And suppose that he went on to say: ‘Well now, is there also such a thing as holiness?’ — we should answer, ‘Yes,’ if I am not mistaken?

Yes, he said.

Which you would also acknowledge to be a thing — should we not say so?

He assented.

‘And is this a sort of thing which is of the nature of the holy, or of the nature of the unholy?’ I should be angry at his putting such a question, and should say, ‘Peace, man; nothing can be holy if holiness is not holy.’ What would you say? Would you not answer in the same way?

Certainly, he said.

And then after this suppose that he came and asked us, ‘What were you saying just now? Perhaps I may not have heard you rightly, but you seemed to me to be saying that the parts of virtue were not the same as one another.’ I should reply, ‘You certainly heard that said, but not, as you imagine, by me; for I only asked the question; Protagoras gave the answer.’ And suppose that he turned to you and said, ’Is this true, Protagoras? and do you maintain that one part of virtue is unlike another, and is this your position?’ — how would you answer him?

I could not help acknowledging the truth of what he said, Socrates.

Well then, Protagoras, we will assume this; and now supposing that he proceeded to say further, ‘Then holiness is not of the nature of justice, nor justice of the nature of holiness, but of the nature of unholiness; and holiness is of the nature of the not just, and therefore of the unjust, and the unjust is the unholy’: how shall we answer him? I should certainly answer him on my own behalf that justice is holy, and that holiness is just; and I would say in like manner on your behalf also, if you would allow me, that justice is either the same with holiness, or very nearly the same; and above all I would assert that justice is like holiness and holiness is like justice; and I wish that you would tell me whether I may be permitted to give this answer on your behalf, and whether you would agree with me.

He replied, I cannot simply agree, Socrates, to the proposition that justice is holy and that holiness is just, for there appears to me to be a difference between them. But what matter? if you please I please; and let us assume, if you will I, that justice is holy, and that holiness is just.

Pardon me, I replied; I do not want this ‘if you wish’ or ‘if you will’ sort of conclusion to be proven, but I want you and me to be proven: I mean to say that the conclusion will be best proven if there be no ‘if.’

Well, he said, I admit that justice bears a resemblance to holiness, for there is always some point of view in which everything is like every other thing; white is in a certain way like black, and hard is like soft, and the most extreme opposites have some qualities in common; even the parts of the face which, as we were saying before, are distinct and have different functions, are still in a certain point of view similar, and one of them is like another of them. And you may prove that they are like one another on the same principle that all things are like one another; and yet things which are like in some particular ought not to be called alike, nor things which are unlike in some particular, however slight, unlike.

And do you think, I said in a tone of surprise, that justice and holiness have but a small degree of likeness?

Certainly not; any more than I agree with what I understand to be your view.

Well, I said, as you appear to have a difficulty about this, let us take another of the examples which you mentioned instead. Do you admit the existence of folly?

I do.

And is not wisdom the very opposite of folly?

That is true, he said.

And when men act rightly and advantageously they seem to you to be temperate?

Yes, he said.

And temperance makes them temperate?

Certainly.

And they who do not act rightly act foolishly, and in acting thus are not temperate?

I agree, he said.

Then to act foolishly is the opposite of acting temperately?

He assented.

And foolish actions are done by folly, and temperate actions by temperance?

He agreed.

And that is done strongly which is done by strength, and that which is weakly done, by weakness?

He assented.

And that which is done with swiftness is done swiftly, and that which is done with slowness, slowly?

He assented again.

And that which is done in the same manner, is done by the same; and that which is done in an opposite manner by the opposite?

He agreed.

Once more, I said, is there anything beautiful?

Yes.

To which the only opposite is the ugly?

There is no other.

And is there anything good?

There is.

To which the only opposite is the evil?

There is no other.

And there is the acute in sound?

True.

To which the only opposite is the grave?

There is no other, he said, but that.

Then every opposite has one opposite only and no more?

He assented.

Then now, I said, let us recapitulate our admissions. First of all we admitted that everything has one opposite and not more than one?

We did so.

And we admitted also that what was done in opposite ways was done by opposites?

Yes.

And that which was done foolishly, as we further admitted, was done in the opposite way to that which was done temperately?

Yes.

And that which was done temperately was done by temperance, and that which was done foolishly by folly?

He agreed.

And that which is done in opposite ways is done by opposites?

Yes.

And one thing is done by temperance, and quite another thing by folly?

Yes.

And in opposite ways?

Certainly.

And therefore by opposites: — then folly is the opposite of temperance?

Clearly.

And do you remember that folly has already been acknowledged by us to be the opposite of wisdom?

He assented.

And we said that everything has only one opposite?

Yes.

Then, Protagoras, which of the two assertions shall we renounce? One says that everything has but one opposite; the other that wisdom is distinct from temperance, and that both of them are parts of virtue; and that they are not only distinct, but dissimilar, both in themselves and in their functions, like the parts of a face. Which of these two assertions shall we renounce? For both of them together are certainly not in harmony; they do not accord or agree: for how can they be said to agree if everything is assumed to have only one opposite and not more than one, and yet folly, which is one, has clearly the two opposites — wisdom and temperance? Is not that true, Protagoras? What else would you say?

He assented, but with great reluctance.

Then temperance and wisdom are the same, as before justice and holiness appeared to us to be nearly the same. And now, Protagoras, I said, we must finish the enquiry, and not faint. Do you think that an unjust man can be temperate in his injustice?

I should be ashamed, Socrates, he said, to acknowledge this, which nevertheless many may be found to assert.

And shall I argue with them or with you? I replied.

I would rather, he said, that you should argue with the many first, if you will.

Whichever you please, if you will only answer me and say whether you are of their opinion or not. My object is to test the validity of the argument; and yet the result may be that I who ask and you who answer may both be put on our trial.

Protagoras at first made a show of refusing, as he said that the argument was not encouraging; at length, he consented to answer.

Now then, I said, begin at the beginning and answer me. You think that some men are temperate, and yet unjust?

Yes, he said; let that be admitted.

And temperance is good sense?

Yes.

And good sense is good counsel in doing injustice?

Granted.

If they succeed, I said, or if they do not succeed?

If they succeed.

And you would admit the existence of goods?

Yes.

And is the good that which is expedient for man?

Yes, indeed, he said: and there are some things which may be inexpedient, and yet I call them good.

I thought that Protagoras was getting ruffled and excited; he seemed to be setting himself in an attitude of war. Seeing this, I minded my business, and gently said: —

When you say, Protagoras, that things inexpedient are good, do you mean inexpedient for man only, or inexpedient altogether? and do you call the latter good?

Certainly not the last, he replied; for I know of many things — meats, drinks, medicines, and ten thousand other things, which are inexpedient for man, and some which are expedient; and some which are neither expedient nor inexpedient for man, but only for horses; and some for oxen only, and some for dogs; and some for no animals, but only for trees; and some for the roots of trees and not for their branches, as for example, manure, which is a good thing when laid about the roots of a tree, but utterly destructive if thrown upon the shoots and young branches; or I may instance olive oil, which is mischievous to all plants, and generally most injurious to the hair of every animal with the exception of man, but beneficial to human hair and to the human body generally; and even in this application (so various and changeable is the nature of the benefit), that which is the greatest good to the outward parts of a man, is a very great evil to his inward parts: and for this reason physicians always forbid their patients the use of oil in their food, except in very small quantities, just enough to extinguish the disagreeable sensation of smell in meats and sauces.

When he had given this answer, the company cheered him. And I said: Protagoras, I have a wretched memory, and when any one makes a long speech to me I never remember what he is talking about. As then, if I had been deaf, and you were going to converse with me, you would have had to raise your voice; so now, having such a bad memory, I will ask you to cut your answers shorter, if you would take me with you.

What do you mean? he said: how am I to shorten my answers? shall I make them too short?

Certainly not, I said.

But short enough?

Yes, I said.

Shall I answer what appears to me to be short enough, or what appears to you to be short enough?

I have heard, I said, that you can speak and teach others to speak about the same things at such length that words never seemed to fail, or with such brevity that no one could use fewer of them. Please therefore, if you talk with me, to adopt the latter or more compendious method.

Socrates, he replied, many a battle of words have I fought, and if I had followed the method of disputation which my adversaries desired, as you want me to do, I should have been no better than another, and the name of Protagoras would have been nowhere.

I saw that he was not satisfied with his previous answers, and that he would not play the part of answerer any more if he could help; and I considered that there was no call upon me to continue the conversation; so I said: Protagoras, I do not wish to force the conversation upon you if you had rather not, but when you are willing to argue with me in such a way that I can follow you, then I will argue with you. Now you, as is said of you by others and as you say of yourself, are able to have discussions in shorter forms of speech as well as in longer, for you are a master of wisdom; but I cannot manage these long speeches: I only wish that I could. You, on the other hand, who are capable of either, ought to speak shorter as I beg you, and then we might converse. But I see that you are disinclined, and as I have an engagement which will prevent my staying to hear you at greater length (for I have to be in another place), I will depart; although I should have liked to have heard you.

Thus I spoke, and was rising from my seat, when Callias seized me by the right hand, and in his left hand caught hold of this old cloak of mine. He said: We cannot let you go, Socrates, for if you leave us there will be an end of our discussions: I must therefore beg you to remain, as there is nothing in the world that I should like better than to hear you and Protagoras discourse. Do not deny the company this pleasure.

Now I had got up, and was in the act of departure. Son of Hipponicus, I replied, I have always admired, and do now heartily applaud and love your philosophical spirit, and I would gladly comply with your request, if I could. But the truth is that I cannot. And what you ask is as great an impossibility to me, as if you bade me run a race with Crison of Himera, when in his prime, or with some one of the long or day course runners. To such a request I should reply that I would fain ask the same of my own legs; but they refuse to comply. And therefore if you want to see Crison and me in the same stadium, you must bid him slacken his speed to mine, for I cannot run quickly, and he can run slowly. And in like manner if you want to hear me and Protagoras discoursing, you must ask him to shorten his answers, and keep to the point, as he did at first; if not, how can there be any discussion? For discussion is one thing, and making an oration is quite another, in my humble opinion.

But you see, Socrates, said Callias, that Protagoras may fairly claim to speak in his own way, just as you claim to speak in yours.

Here Alcibiades interposed, and said: That, Callias, is not a true statement of the case. For our friend Socrates admits that he cannot make a speech — in this he yields the palm to Protagoras: but I should be greatly surprised if he yielded to any living man in the power of holding and apprehending an argument. Now if Protagoras will make a similar admission, and confess that he is inferior to Socrates in argumentative skill, that is enough for Socrates; but if he claims a superiority in argument as well, let him ask and answer — not, when a question is asked, slipping away from the point, and instead of answering, making a speech at such length that most of his hearers forget the question at issue (not that Socrates is likely to forget — I will be bound for that, although he may pretend in fun that he has a bad memory). And Socrates appears to me to be more in the right than Protagoras; that is my view, and every man ought to say what he thinks.

When Alcibiades had done speaking, some one — Critias, I believe — went on to say: O Prodicus and Hippias, Callias appears to me to be a partisan of Protagoras: and this led Alcibiades, who loves opposition, to take the other side. But we should not be partisans either of Socrates or of Protagoras; let us rather unite in entreating both of them not to break up the discussion.

Prodicus added: That, Critias, seems to me to be well said, for those who are present at such discussions ought to be impartial hearers of both the speakers; remembering, however, that impartiality is not the same as equality, for both sides should be impartially heard, and yet an equal meed should not be assigned to both of them; but to the wiser a higher meed should be given, and a lower to the less wise. And I as well as Critias would beg you, Protagoras and Socrates, to grant our request, which is, that you will argue with one another and not wrangle; for friends argue with friends out of good-will, but only adversaries and enemies wrangle. And then our meeting will be delightful; for in this way you, who are the speakers, will be most likely to win esteem, and not praise only, among us who are your audience; for esteem is a sincere conviction of the hearers’ souls, but praise is often an insincere expression of men uttering falsehoods contrary to their conviction. And thus we who are the hearers will be gratified and not pleased; for gratification is of the mind when receiving wisdom and knowledge, but pleasure is of the body when eating or experiencing some other bodily delight. Thus spoke Prodicus, and many of the company applauded his words.

Hippias the sage spoke next. He said: All of you who are here present I reckon to be kinsmen and friends and fellow-citizens, by nature and not by law; for by nature like is akin to like, whereas law is the tyrant of mankind, and often compels us to do many things which are against nature. How great would be the disgrace then, if we, who know the nature of things, and are the wisest of the Hellenes, and as such are met together in this city, which is the metropolis of wisdom, and in the greatest and most glorious house of this city, should have nothing to show worthy of this height of dignity, but should only quarrel with one another like the meanest of mankind! I do pray and advise you, Protagoras, and you, Socrates, to agree upon a compromise. Let us be your peacemakers. And do not you, Socrates, aim at this precise and extreme brevity in discourse, if Protagoras objects, but loosen and let go the reins of speech, that your words may be grander and more becoming to you. Neither do you, Protagoras, go forth on the gale with every sail set out of sight of land into an ocean of words, but let there be a mean observed by both of you. Do as I say. And let me also persuade you to choose an arbiter or overseer or president; he will keep watch over your words and will prescribe their proper length.

This proposal was received by the company with universal approval; Callias said that he would not let me off, and they begged me to choose an arbiter. But I said that to choose an umpire of discourse would be unseemly; for if the person chosen was inferior, then the inferior or worse ought not to preside over the better; or if he was equal, neither would that be well; for he who is our equal will do as we do, and what will be the use of choosing him? And if you say, ‘Let us have a better then,’ — to that I answer that you cannot have any one who is wiser than Protagoras. And if you choose another who is not really better, and whom you only say is better, to put another over him as though he were an inferior person would be an unworthy reflection on him; not that, as far as I am concerned, any reflection is of much consequence to me. Let me tell you then what I will do in order that the conversation and discussion may go on as you desire. If Protagoras is not disposed to answer, let him ask and I will answer; and I will endeavour to show at the same time how, as I maintain, he ought to answer: and when I have answered as many questions as he likes to ask, let him in like manner answer me; and if he seems to be not very ready at answering the precise question asked of him, you and I will unite in entreating him, as you entreated me, not to spoil the discussion. And this will require no special arbiter — all of you shall be arbiters.

This was generally approved, and Protagoras, though very much against his will, was obliged to agree that he would ask questions; and when he had put a sufficient number of them, that he would answer in his turn those which he was asked in short replies. He began to put his questions as follows: —

I am of opinion, Socrates, he said, that skill in poetry is the principal part of education; and this I conceive to be the power of knowing what compositions of the poets are correct, and what are not, and how they are to be distinguished, and of explaining when asked the reason of the difference. And I propose to transfer the question which you and I have been discussing to the domain of poetry; we will speak as before of virtue, but in reference to a passage of a poet. Now Simonides says to Scopas the son of Creon the Thessalian:

‘Hardly on the one hand can a man become truly good, built four-square in hands and feet and mind, a work without a flaw.’

Do you know the poem? or shall I repeat the whole?

There is no need, I said; for I am perfectly well acquainted with the ode, — I have made a careful study of it.

Very well, he said. And do you think that the ode is a good composition, and true?

Yes, I said, both good and true.

But if there is a contradiction, can the composition be good or true?

No, not in that case, I replied.

And is there not a contradiction? he asked. Reflect.

Well, my friend, I have reflected.

And does not the poet proceed to say, ‘I do not agree with the word of Pittacus, albeit the utterance of a wise man: Hardly can a man be good’? Now you will observe that this is said by the same poet.

I know it.

And do you think, he said, that the two sayings are consistent?

Yes, I said, I think so (at the same time I could not help fearing that there might be something in what he said). And you think otherwise?

Why, he said, how can he be consistent in both? First of all, premising as his own thought, ‘Hardly can a man become truly good’; and then a little further on in the poem, forgetting, and blaming Pittacus and refusing to agree with him, when he says, ‘Hardly can a man be good,’ which is the very same thing. And yet when he blames him who says the same with himself, he blames himself; so that he must be wrong either in his first or his second assertion.

Many of the audience cheered and applauded this. And I felt at first giddy and faint, as if I had received a blow from the hand of an expert boxer, when I heard his words and the sound of the cheering; and to confess the truth, I wanted to get time to think what the meaning of the poet really was. So I turned to Prodicus and called him. Prodicus, I said, Simonides is a countryman of yours, and you ought to come to his aid. I must appeal to you, like the river Scamander in Homer, who, when beleaguered by Achilles, summons the Simois to aid him, saying:

‘Brother dear, let us both together stay the force of the hero (Il.).’

And I summon you, for I am afraid that Protagoras will make an end of Simonides. Now is the time to rehabilitate Simonides, by the application of your philosophy of synonyms, which enables you to distinguish ‘will’ and ‘wish,’ and make other charming distinctions like those which you drew just now. And I should like to know whether you would agree with me; for I am of opinion that there is no contradiction in the words of Simonides. And first of all I wish that you would say whether, in your opinion, Prodicus, ‘being’ is the same as ‘becoming.’

Not the same, certainly, replied Prodicus.

Did not Simonides first set forth, as his own view, that ‘Hardly can a man become truly good’?

Quite right, said Prodicus.

And then he blames Pittacus, not, as Protagoras imagines, for repeating that which he says himself, but for saying something different from himself. Pittacus does not say as Simonides says, that hardly can a man become good, but hardly can a man be good: and our friend Prodicus would maintain that being, Protagoras, is not the same as becoming; and if they are not the same, then Simonides is not inconsistent with himself. I dare say that Prodicus and many others would say, as Hesiod says,

‘On the one hand, hardly can a man become good,

For the gods have made virtue the reward of toil,

But on the other hand, when you have climbed the height,

Then, to retain virtue, however difficult the acquisition, is easy

— (Works and Days).’

Prodicus heard and approved; but Protagoras said: Your correction, Socrates, involves a greater error than is contained in the sentence which you are correcting.

Alas! I said, Protagoras; then I am a sorry physician, and do but aggravate a disorder which I am seeking to cure.

Such is the fact, he said.

How so? I asked.

The poet, he replied, could never have made such a mistake as to say that virtue, which in the opinion of all men is the hardest of all things, can be easily retained.

Well, I said, and how fortunate are we in having Prodicus among us, at the right moment; for he has a wisdom, Protagoras, which, as I imagine, is more than human and of very ancient date, and may be as old as Simonides or even older. Learned as you are in many things, you appear to know nothing of this; but I know, for I am a disciple of his. And now, if I am not mistaken, you do not understand the word ‘hard’ (chalepon) in the sense which Simonides intended; and I must correct you, as Prodicus corrects me when I use the word ‘awful’ (deinon) as a term of praise. If I say that Protagoras or any one else is an ‘awfully’ wise man, he asks me if I am not ashamed of calling that which is good ‘awful’; and then he explains to me that the term ‘awful’ is always taken in a bad sense, and that no one speaks of being ‘awfully’ healthy or wealthy, or of ‘awful’ peace, but of ‘awful’ disease, ‘awful’ war, ‘awful’ poverty, meaning by the term ‘awful,’ evil. And I think that Simonides and his countrymen the Ceans, when they spoke of ‘hard’ meant ‘evil,’ or something which you do not understand. Let us ask Prodicus, for he ought to be able to answer questions about the dialect of Simonides. What did he mean, Prodicus, by the term ‘hard’?

Evil, said Prodicus.

And therefore, I said, Prodicus, he blames Pittacus for saying, ‘Hard is the good,’ just as if that were equivalent to saying, Evil is the good.

Yes, he said, that was certainly his meaning; and he is twitting Pittacus with ignorance of the use of terms, which in a Lesbian, who has been accustomed to speak a barbarous language, is natural.

Do you hear, Protagoras, I asked, what our friend Prodicus is saying? And have you an answer for him?

You are entirely mistaken, Prodicus, said Protagoras; and I know very well that Simonides in using the word ‘hard’ meant what all of us mean, not evil, but that which is not easy — that which takes a great deal of trouble: of this I am positive.

I said: I also incline to believe, Protagoras, that this was the meaning of Simonides, of which our friend Prodicus was very well aware, but he thought that he would make fun, and try if you could maintain your thesis; for that Simonides could never have meant the other is clearly proved by the context, in which he says that God only has this gift. Now he cannot surely mean to say that to be good is evil, when he afterwards proceeds to say that God only has this gift, and that this is the attribute of him and of no other. For if this be his meaning, Prodicus would impute to Simonides a character of recklessness which is very unlike his countrymen. And I should like to tell you, I said, what I imagine to be the real meaning of Simonides in this poem, if you will test what, in your way of speaking, would be called my skill in poetry; or if you would rather, I will be the listener.

To this proposal Protagoras replied: As you please; — and Hippias, Prodicus, and the others told me by all means to do as I proposed.

Then now, I said, I will endeavour to explain to you my opinion about this poem of Simonides. There is a very ancient philosophy which is more cultivated in Crete and Lacedaemon than in any other part of Hellas, and there are more philosophers in those countries than anywhere else in the world. This, however, is a secret which the Lacedaemonians deny; and they pretend to be ignorant, just because they do not wish to have it thought that they rule the world by wisdom, like the Sophists of whom Protagoras was speaking, and not by valour of arms; considering that if the reason of their superiority were disclosed, all men would be practising their wisdom. And this secret of theirs has never been discovered by the imitators of Lacedaemonian fashions in other cities, who go about with their ears bruised in imitation of them, and have the caestus bound on their arms, and are always in training, and wear short cloaks; for they imagine that these are the practices which have enabled the Lacedaemonians to conquer the other Hellenes. Now when the Lacedaemonians want to unbend and hold free conversation with their wise men, and are no longer satisfied with mere secret intercourse, they drive out all these laconizers, and any other foreigners who may happen to be in their country, and they hold a philosophical seance unknown to strangers; and they themselves forbid their young men to go out into other cities — in this they are like the Cretans — in order that they may not unlearn the lessons which they have taught them. And in Lacedaemon and Crete not only men but also women have a pride in their high cultivation. And hereby you may know that I am right in attributing to the Lacedaemonians this excellence in philosophy and speculation: If a man converses with the most ordinary Lacedaemonian, he will find him seldom good for much in general conversation, but at any point in the discourse he will be darting out some notable saying, terse and full of meaning, with unerring aim; and the person with whom he is talking seems to be like a child in his hands. And many of our own age and of former ages have noted that the true Lacedaemonian type of character has the love of philosophy even stronger than the love of gymnastics; they are conscious that only a perfectly educated man is capable of uttering such expressions. Such were Thales of Miletus, and Pittacus of Mitylene, and Bias of Priene, and our own Solon, and Cleobulus the Lindian, and Myson the Chenian; and seventh in the catalogue of wise men was the Lacedaemonian Chilo. All these were lovers and emulators and disciples of the culture of the Lacedaemonians, and any one may perceive that their wisdom was of this character; consisting of short memorable sentences, which they severally uttered. And they met together and dedicated in the temple of Apollo at Delphi, as the first-fruits of their wisdom, the far-famed inscriptions, which are in all men’s mouths— ‘Know thyself,’ and ‘Nothing too much.’

Why do I say all this? I am explaining that this Lacedaemonian brevity was the style of primitive philosophy. Now there was a saying of Pittacus which was privately circulated and received the approbation of the wise, ‘Hard is it to be good.’ And Simonides, who was ambitious of the fame of wisdom, was aware that if he could overthrow this saying, then, as if he had won a victory over some famous athlete, he would carry off the palm among his contemporaries. And if I am not mistaken, he composed the entire poem with the secret intention of damaging Pittacus and his saying.

Let us all unite in examining his words, and see whether I am speaking the truth. Simonides must have been a lunatic, if, in the very first words of the poem, wanting to say only that to become good is hard, he inserted (Greek) ‘on the one hand’ (‘on the one hand to become good is hard’); there would be no reason for the introduction of (Greek), unless you suppose him to speak with a hostile reference to the words of Pittacus. Pittacus is saying ‘Hard is it to be good,’ and he, in refutation of this thesis, rejoins that the truly hard thing, Pittacus, is to become good, not joining ‘truly’ with ‘good,’ but with ‘hard.’ Not, that the hard thing is to be truly good, as though there were some truly good men, and there were others who were good but not truly good (this would be a very simple observation, and quite unworthy of Simonides); but you must suppose him to make a trajection of the word ‘truly’ (Greek), construing the saying of Pittacus thus (and let us imagine Pittacus to be speaking and Simonides answering him): ‘O my friends,’ says Pittacus, ‘hard is it to be good,’ and Simonides answers, ‘In that, Pittacus, you are mistaken; the difficulty is not to be good, but on the one hand, to become good, four-square in hands and feet and mind, without a flaw — that is hard truly.’ This way of reading the passage accounts for the insertion of (Greek) ‘on the one hand,’ and for the position at the end of the clause of the word ‘truly,’ and all that follows shows this to be the meaning. A great deal might be said in praise of the details of the poem, which is a charming piece of workmanship, and very finished, but such minutiae would be tedious. I should like, however, to point out the general intention of the poem, which is certainly designed in every part to be a refutation of the saying of Pittacus. For he speaks in what follows a little further on as if he meant to argue that although there is a difficulty in becoming good, yet this is possible for a time, and only for a time. But having become good, to remain in a good state and be good, as you, Pittacus, affirm, is not possible, and is not granted to man; God only has this blessing; ‘but man cannot help being bad when the force of circumstances overpowers him.’ Now whom does the force of circumstance overpower in the command of a vessel? — not the private individual, for he is always overpowered; and as one who is already prostrate cannot be overthrown, and only he who is standing upright but not he who is prostrate can be laid prostrate, so the force of circumstances can only overpower him who, at some time or other, has resources, and not him who is at all times helpless. The descent of a great storm may make the pilot helpless, or the severity of the season the husbandman or the physician; for the good may become bad, as another poet witnesses: —

‘The good are sometimes good and sometimes bad.’

But the bad does not become bad; he is always bad. So that when the force of circumstances overpowers the man of resources and skill and virtue, then he cannot help being bad. And you, Pittacus, are saying, ‘Hard is it to be good.’ Now there is a difficulty in becoming good; and yet this is possible: but to be good is an impossibility —

‘For he who does well is the good man, and he who does ill is the bad.’

But what sort of doing is good in letters? and what sort of doing makes a man good in letters? Clearly the knowing of them. And what sort of well-doing makes a man a good physician? Clearly the knowledge of the art of healing the sick. ‘But he who does ill is the bad.’ Now who becomes a bad physician? Clearly he who is in the first place a physician, and in the second place a good physician; for he may become a bad one also: but none of us unskilled individuals can by any amount of doing ill become physicians, any more than we can become carpenters or anything of that sort; and he who by doing ill cannot become a physician at all, clearly cannot become a bad physician. In like manner the good may become deteriorated by time, or toil, or disease, or other accident (the only real doing ill is to be deprived of knowledge), but the bad man will never become bad, for he is always bad; and if he were to become bad, he must previously have been good. Thus the words of the poem tend to show that on the one hand a man cannot be continuously good, but that he may become good and may also become bad; and again that

‘They are the best for the longest time whom the gods love.’

All this relates to Pittacus, as is further proved by the sequel. For he adds: —

‘Therefore I will not throw away my span of life to no purpose in searching after the impossible, hoping in vain to find a perfectly faultless man among those who partake of the fruit of the broad-bosomed earth: if I find him, I will send you word.’

(this is the vehement way in which he pursues his attack upon Pittacus throughout the whole poem):

‘But him who does no evil, voluntarily I praise and love; — not even the gods war against necessity.’

All this has a similar drift, for Simonides was not so ignorant as to say that he praised those who did no evil voluntarily, as though there were some who did evil voluntarily. For no wise man, as I believe, will allow that any human being errs voluntarily, or voluntarily does evil and dishonourable actions; but they are very well aware that all who do evil and dishonourable things do them against their will. And Simonides never says that he praises him who does no evil voluntarily; the word ‘voluntarily’ applies to himself. For he was under the impression that a good man might often compel himself to love and praise another, and to be the friend and approver of another; and that there might be an involuntary love, such as a man might feel to an unnatural father or mother, or country, or the like. Now bad men, when their parents or country have any defects, look on them with malignant joy, and find fault with them and expose and denounce them to others, under the idea that the rest of mankind will be less likely to take themselves to task and accuse them of neglect; and they blame their defects far more than they deserve, in order that the odium which is necessarily incurred by them may be increased: but the good man dissembles his feelings, and constrains himself to praise them; and if they have wronged him and he is angry, he pacifies his anger and is reconciled, and compels himself to love and praise his own flesh and blood. And Simonides, as is probable, considered that he himself had often had to praise and magnify a tyrant or the like, much against his will, and he also wishes to imply to Pittacus that he does not censure him because he is censorious.

‘For I am satisfied’ he says, ‘when a man is neither bad nor very stupid; and when he knows justice (which is the health of states), and is of sound mind, I will find no fault with him, for I am not given to finding fault, and there are innumerable fools’

(implying that if he delighted in censure he might have abundant opportunity of finding fault).

‘All things are good with which evil is unmingled.’

In these latter words he does not mean to say that all things are good which have no evil in them, as you might say ‘All things are white which have no black in them,’ for that would be ridiculous; but he means to say that he accepts and finds no fault with the moderate or intermediate state.

(‘I do not hope’ he says, ‘to find a perfectly blameless man among those who partake of the fruits of the broad-bosomed earth (if I find him, I will send you word); in this sense I praise no man. But he who is moderately good, and does no evil, is good enough for me, who love and approve every one’)

(and here observe that he uses a Lesbian word, epainemi (approve), because he is addressing Pittacus,

‘Who love and APPROVE every one VOLUNTARILY, who does no evil:’

and that the stop should be put after ‘voluntarily’); ‘but there are some whom I involuntarily praise and love. And you, Pittacus, I would never have blamed, if you had spoken what was moderately good and true; but I do blame you because, putting on the appearance of truth, you are speaking falsely about the highest matters.’ — And this, I said, Prodicus and Protagoras, I take to be the meaning of Simonides in this poem.

Hippias said: I think, Socrates, that you have given a very good explanation of the poem; but I have also an excellent interpretation of my own which I will propound to you, if you will allow me.

Nay, Hippias, said Alcibiades; not now, but at some other time. At present we must abide by the compact which was made between Socrates and Protagoras, to the effect that as long as Protagoras is willing to ask, Socrates should answer; or that if he would rather answer, then that Socrates should ask.

I said: I wish Protagoras either to ask or answer as he is inclined; but I would rather have done with poems and odes, if he does not object, and come back to the question about which I was asking you at first, Protagoras, and by your help make an end of that. The talk about the poets seems to me like a commonplace entertainment to which a vulgar company have recourse; who, because they are not able to converse or amuse one another, while they are drinking, with the sound of their own voices and conversation, by reason of their stupidity, raise the price of flute-girls in the market, hiring for a great sum the voice of a flute instead of their own breath, to be the medium of intercourse among them: but where the company are real gentlemen and men of education, you will see no flute-girls, nor dancing-girls, nor harp-girls; and they have no nonsense or games, but are contented with one another’s conversation, of which their own voices are the medium, and which they carry on by turns and in an orderly manner, even though they are very liberal in their potations. And a company like this of ours, and men such as we profess to be, do not require the help of another’s voice, or of the poets whom you cannot interrogate about the meaning of what they are saying; people who cite them declaring, some that the poet has one meaning, and others that he has another, and the point which is in dispute can never be decided. This sort of entertainment they decline, and prefer to talk with one another, and put one another to the proof in conversation. And these are the models which I desire that you and I should imitate. Leaving the poets, and keeping to ourselves, let us try the mettle of one another and make proof of the truth in conversation. If you have a mind to ask, I am ready to answer; or if you would rather, do you answer, and give me the opportunity of resuming and completing our unfinished argument.

I made these and some similar observations; but Protagoras would not distinctly say which he would do. Thereupon Alcibiades turned to Callias, and said: — Do you think, Callias, that Protagoras is fair in refusing to say whether he will or will not answer? for I certainly think that he is unfair; he ought either to proceed with the argument, or distinctly refuse to proceed, that we may know his intention; and then Socrates will be able to discourse with some one else, and the rest of the company will be free to talk with one another.

I think that Protagoras was really made ashamed by these words of Alcibiades, and when the prayers of Callias and the company were superadded, he was at last induced to argue, and said that I might ask and he would answer.

So I said: Do not imagine, Protagoras, that I have any other interest in asking questions of you but that of clearing up my own difficulties. For I think that Homer was very right in saying that

‘When two go together, one sees before the other (Il.),’

for all men who have a companion are readier in deed, word, or thought; but if a man

‘Sees a thing when he is alone,’

he goes about straightway seeking until he finds some one to whom he may show his discoveries, and who may confirm him in them. And I would rather hold discourse with you than with any one, because I think that no man has a better understanding of most things which a good man may be expected to understand, and in particular of virtue. For who is there, but you? — who not only claim to be a good man and a gentleman, for many are this, and yet have not the power of making others good — whereas you are not only good yourself, but also the cause of goodness in others. Moreover such confidence have you in yourself, that although other Sophists conceal their profession, you proclaim in the face of Hellas that you are a Sophist or teacher of virtue and education, and are the first who demanded pay in return. How then can I do otherwise than invite you to the examination of these subjects, and ask questions and consult with you? I must, indeed. And I should like once more to have my memory refreshed by you about the questions which I was asking you at first, and also to have your help in considering them. If I am not mistaken the question was this: Are wisdom and temperance and courage and justice and holiness five names of the same thing? or has each of the names a separate underlying essence and corresponding thing having a peculiar function, no one of them being like any other of them? And you replied that the five names were not the names of the same thing, but that each of them had a separate object, and that all these objects were parts of virtue, not in the same way that the parts of gold are like each other and the whole of which they are parts, but as the parts of the face are unlike the whole of which they are parts and one another, and have each of them a distinct function. I should like to know whether this is still your opinion; or if not, I will ask you to define your meaning, and I shall not take you to task if you now make a different statement. For I dare say that you may have said what you did only in order to make trial of me.

I answer, Socrates, he said, that all these qualities are parts of virtue, and that four out of the five are to some extent similar, and that the fifth of them, which is courage, is very different from the other four, as I prove in this way: You may observe that many men are utterly unrighteous, unholy, intemperate, ignorant, who are nevertheless remarkable for their courage.

Stop, I said; I should like to think about that. When you speak of brave men, do you mean the confident, or another sort of nature?

Yes, he said; I mean the impetuous, ready to go at that which others are afraid to approach.

In the next place, you would affirm virtue to be a good thing, of which good thing you assert yourself to be a teacher.

Yes, he said; I should say the best of all things, if I am in my right mind.

And is it partly good and partly bad, I said, or wholly good?

Wholly good, and in the highest degree.

Tell me then; who are they who have confidence when diving into a well?

I should say, the divers.

And the reason of this is that they have knowledge?

Yes, that is the reason.

And who have confidence when fighting on horseback — the skilled horseman or the unskilled?

The skilled.

And who when fighting with light shields — the peltasts or the nonpeltasts?

The peltasts. And that is true of all other things, he said, if that is your point: those who have knowledge are more confident than those who have no knowledge, and they are more confident after they have learned than before.

And have you not seen persons utterly ignorant, I said, of these things, and yet confident about them?

Yes, he said, I have seen such persons far too confident.

And are not these confident persons also courageous?

In that case, he replied, courage would be a base thing, for the men of whom we are speaking are surely madmen.

Then who are the courageous? Are they not the confident?

Yes, he said; to that statement I adhere.

And those, I said, who are thus confident without knowledge are really not courageous, but mad; and in that case the wisest are also the most confident, and being the most confident are also the bravest, and upon that view again wisdom will be courage.

Nay, Socrates, he replied, you are mistaken in your remembrance of what was said by me. When you asked me, I certainly did say that the courageous are the confident; but I was never asked whether the confident are the courageous; if you had asked me, I should have answered ‘Not all of them’: and what I did answer you have not proved to be false, although you proceeded to show that those who have knowledge are more courageous than they were before they had knowledge, and more courageous than others who have no knowledge, and were then led on to think that courage is the same as wisdom. But in this way of arguing you might come to imagine that strength is wisdom. You might begin by asking whether the strong are able, and I should say ‘Yes’; and then whether those who know how to wrestle are not more able to wrestle than those who do not know how to wrestle, and more able after than before they had learned, and I should assent. And when I had admitted this, you might use my admissions in such a way as to prove that upon my view wisdom is strength; whereas in that case I should not have admitted, any more than in the other, that the able are strong, although I have admitted that the strong are able. For there is a difference between ability and strength; the former is given by knowledge as well as by madness or rage, but strength comes from nature and a healthy state of the body. And in like manner I say of confidence and courage, that they are not the same; and I argue that the courageous are confident, but not all the confident courageous. For confidence may be given to men by art, and also, like ability, by madness and rage; but courage comes to them from nature and the healthy state of the soul.

I said: You would admit, Protagoras, that some men live well and others ill?

He assented.

And do you think that a man lives well who lives in pain and grief?

He does not.

But if he lives pleasantly to the end of his life, will he not in that case have lived well?

He will.

Then to live pleasantly is a good, and to live unpleasantly an evil?

Yes, he said, if the pleasure be good and honourable.

And do you, Protagoras, like the rest of the world, call some pleasant things evil and some painful things good? — for I am rather disposed to say that things are good in as far as they are pleasant, if they have no consequences of another sort, and in as far as they are painful they are bad.

I do not know, Socrates, he said, whether I can venture to assert in that unqualified manner that the pleasant is the good and the painful the evil. Having regard not only to my present answer, but also to the whole of my life, I shall be safer, if I am not mistaken, in saying that there are some pleasant things which are not good, and that there are some painful things which are good, and some which are not good, and that there are some which are neither good nor evil.

And you would call pleasant, I said, the things which participate in pleasure or create pleasure?

Certainly, he said.

Then my meaning is, that in as far as they are pleasant they are good; and my question would imply that pleasure is a good in itself.

According to your favourite mode of speech, Socrates, ‘Let us reflect about this,’ he said; and if the reflection is to the point, and the result proves that pleasure and good are really the same, then we will agree; but if not, then we will argue.

And would you wish to begin the enquiry? I said; or shall I begin?

You ought to take the lead, he said; for you are the author of the discussion.

May I employ an illustration? I said. Suppose some one who is enquiring into the health or some other bodily quality of another: — he looks at his face and at the tips of his fingers, and then he says, Uncover your chest and back to me that I may have a better view: — that is the sort of thing which I desire in this speculation. Having seen what your opinion is about good and pleasure, I am minded to say to you: Uncover your mind to me, Protagoras, and reveal your opinion about knowledge, that I may know whether you agree with the rest of the world. Now the rest of the world are of opinion that knowledge is a principle not of strength, or of rule, or of command: their notion is that a man may have knowledge, and yet that the knowledge which is in him may be overmastered by anger, or pleasure, or pain, or love, or perhaps by fear, — just as if knowledge were a slave, and might be dragged about anyhow. Now is that your view? or do you think that knowledge is a noble and commanding thing, which cannot be overcome, and will not allow a man, if he only knows the difference of good and evil, to do anything which is contrary to knowledge, but that wisdom will have strength to help him?

I agree with you, Socrates, said Protagoras; and not only so, but I, above all other men, am bound to say that wisdom and knowledge are the highest of human things.

Good, I said, and true. But are you aware that the majority of the world are of another mind; and that men are commonly supposed to know the things which are best, and not to do them when they might? And most persons whom I have asked the reason of this have said that when men act contrary to knowledge they are overcome by pain, or pleasure, or some of those affections which I was just now mentioning.

Yes, Socrates, he replied; and that is not the only point about which mankind are in error.

Suppose, then, that you and I endeavour to instruct and inform them what is the nature of this affection which they call ‘being overcome by pleasure,’ and which they affirm to be the reason why they do not always do what is best. When we say to them: Friends, you are mistaken, and are saying what is not true, they would probably reply: Socrates and Protagoras, if this affection of the soul is not to be called ‘being overcome by pleasure,’ pray, what is it, and by what name would you describe it?

But why, Socrates, should we trouble ourselves about the opinion of the many, who just say anything that happens to occur to them?

I believe, I said, that they may be of use in helping us to discover how courage is related to the other parts of virtue. If you are disposed to abide by our agreement, that I should show the way in which, as I think, our recent difficulty is most likely to be cleared up, do you follow; but if not, never mind.

You are quite right, he said; and I would have you proceed as you have begun.

Well then, I said, let me suppose that they repeat their question, What account do you give of that which, in our way of speaking, is termed being overcome by pleasure? I should answer thus: Listen, and Protagoras and I will endeavour to show you. When men are overcome by eating and drinking and other sensual desires which are pleasant, and they, knowing them to be evil, nevertheless indulge in them, would you not say that they were overcome by pleasure? They will not deny this. And suppose that you and I were to go on and ask them again: ‘In what way do you say that they are evil, — in that they are pleasant and give pleasure at the moment, or because they cause disease and poverty and other like evils in the future? Would they still be evil, if they had no attendant evil consequences, simply because they give the consciousness of pleasure of whatever nature?’ — Would they not answer that they are not evil on account of the pleasure which is immediately given by them, but on account of the after consequences — diseases and the like?

I believe, said Protagoras, that the world in general would answer as you do.

And in causing diseases do they not cause pain? and in causing poverty do they not cause pain; — they would agree to that also, if I am not mistaken?

Protagoras assented.

Then I should say to them, in my name and yours: Do you think them evil for any other reason, except because they end in pain and rob us of other pleasures: — there again they would agree?

We both of us thought that they would.

And then I should take the question from the opposite point of view, and say: ‘Friends, when you speak of goods being painful, do you not mean remedial goods, such as gymnastic exercises, and military service, and the physician’s use of burning, cutting, drugging, and starving? Are these the things which are good but painful?’ — they would assent to me?

He agreed.

‘And do you call them good because they occasion the greatest immediate suffering and pain; or because, afterwards, they bring health and improvement of the bodily condition and the salvation of states and power over others and wealth?’ — they would agree to the latter alternative, if I am not mistaken?

He assented.

‘Are these things good for any other reason except that they end in pleasure, and get rid of and avert pain? Are you looking to any other standard but pleasure and pain when you call them good?’ — they would acknowledge that they were not?

I think so, said Protagoras.

‘And do you not pursue after pleasure as a good, and avoid pain as an evil?’

He assented.

‘Then you think that pain is an evil and pleasure is a good: and even pleasure you deem an evil, when it robs you of greater pleasures than it gives, or causes pains greater than the pleasure. If, however, you call pleasure an evil in relation to some other end or standard, you will be able to show us that standard. But you have none to show.’

I do not think that they have, said Protagoras.

‘And have you not a similar way of speaking about pain? You call pain a good when it takes away greater pains than those which it has, or gives pleasures greater than the pains: then if you have some standard other than pleasure and pain to which you refer when you call actual pain a good, you can show what that is. But you cannot.’

True, said Protagoras.

Suppose again, I said, that the world says to me: ‘Why do you spend many words and speak in many ways on this subject?’ Excuse me, friends, I should reply; but in the first place there is a difficulty in explaining the meaning of the expression ‘overcome by pleasure’; and the whole argument turns upon this. And even now, if you see any possible way in which evil can be explained as other than pain, or good as other than pleasure, you may still retract. Are you satisfied, then, at having a life of pleasure which is without pain? If you are, and if you are unable to show any good or evil which does not end in pleasure and pain, hear the consequences: — If what you say is true, then the argument is absurd which affirms that a man often does evil knowingly, when he might abstain, because he is seduced and overpowered by pleasure; or again, when you say that a man knowingly refuses to do what is good because he is overcome at the moment by pleasure. And that this is ridiculous will be evident if only we give up the use of various names, such as pleasant and painful, and good and evil. As there are two things, let us call them by two names — first, good and evil, and then pleasant and painful. Assuming this, let us go on to say that a man does evil knowing that he does evil. But some one will ask, Why? Because he is overcome, is the first answer. And by what is he overcome? the enquirer will proceed to ask. And we shall not be able to reply ‘By pleasure,’ for the name of pleasure has been exchanged for that of good. In our answer, then, we shall only say that he is overcome. ‘By what?’ he will reiterate. By the good, we shall have to reply; indeed we shall. Nay, but our questioner will rejoin with a laugh, if he be one of the swaggering sort, ‘That is too ridiculous, that a man should do what he knows to be evil when he ought not, because he is overcome by good. Is that, he will ask, because the good was worthy or not worthy of conquering the evil’? And in answer to that we shall clearly reply, Because it was not worthy; for if it had been worthy, then he who, as we say, was overcome by pleasure, would not have been wrong. ‘But how,’ he will reply, ‘can the good be unworthy of the evil, or the evil of the good’? Is not the real explanation that they are out of proportion to one another, either as greater and smaller, or more and fewer? This we cannot deny. And when you speak of being overcome— ‘what do you mean,’ he will say, ‘but that you choose the greater evil in exchange for the lesser good?’ Admitted. And now substitute the names of pleasure and pain for good and evil, and say, not as before, that a man does what is evil knowingly, but that he does what is painful knowingly, and because he is overcome by pleasure, which is unworthy to overcome. What measure is there of the relations of pleasure to pain other than excess and defect, which means that they become greater and smaller, and more and fewer, and differ in degree? For if any one says: ‘Yes, Socrates, but immediate pleasure differs widely from future pleasure and pain’ — To that I should reply: And do they differ in anything but in pleasure and pain? There can be no other measure of them. And do you, like a skilful weigher, put into the balance the pleasures and the pains, and their nearness and distance, and weigh them, and then say which outweighs the other. If you weigh pleasures against pleasures, you of course take the more and greater; or if you weigh pains against pains, you take the fewer and the less; or if pleasures against pains, then you choose that course of action in which the painful is exceeded by the pleasant, whether the distant by the near or the near by the distant; and you avoid that course of action in which the pleasant is exceeded by the painful. Would you not admit, my friends, that this is true? I am confident that they cannot deny this.

He agreed with me.

Well then, I shall say, if you agree so far, be so good as to answer me a question: Do not the same magnitudes appear larger to your sight when near, and smaller when at a distance? They will acknowledge that. And the same holds of thickness and number; also sounds, which are in themselves equal, are greater when near, and lesser when at a distance. They will grant that also. Now suppose happiness to consist in doing or choosing the greater, and in not doing or in avoiding the less, what would be the saving principle of human life? Would not the art of measuring be the saving principle; or would the power of appearance? Is not the latter that deceiving art which makes us wander up and down and take the things at one time of which we repent at another, both in our actions and in our choice of things great and small? But the art of measurement would do away with the effect of appearances, and, showing the truth, would fain teach the soul at last to find rest in the truth, and would thus save our life. Would not mankind generally acknowledge that the art which accomplishes this result is the art of measurement?

Yes, he said, the art of measurement.

Suppose, again, the salvation of human life to depend on the choice of odd and even, and on the knowledge of when a man ought to choose the greater or less, either in reference to themselves or to each other, and whether near or at a distance; what would be the saving principle of our lives? Would not knowledge? — a knowledge of measuring, when the question is one of excess and defect, and a knowledge of number, when the question is of odd and even? The world will assent, will they not?

Protagoras himself thought that they would.

Well then, my friends, I say to them; seeing that the salvation of human life has been found to consist in the right choice of pleasures and pains, — in the choice of the more and the fewer, and the greater and the less, and the nearer and remoter, must not this measuring be a consideration of their excess and defect and equality in relation to each other?

This is undeniably true.

And this, as possessing measure, must undeniably also be an art and science?

They will agree, he said.

The nature of that art or science will be a matter of future consideration; but the existence of such a science furnishes a demonstrative answer to the question which you asked of me and Protagoras. At the time when you asked the question, if you remember, both of us were agreeing that there was nothing mightier than knowledge, and that knowledge, in whatever existing, must have the advantage over pleasure and all other things; and then you said that pleasure often got the advantage even over a man who has knowledge; and we refused to allow this, and you rejoined: O Protagoras and Socrates, what is the meaning of being overcome by pleasure if not this? — tell us what you call such a state: — if we had immediately and at the time answered ‘Ignorance,’ you would have laughed at us. But now, in laughing at us, you will be laughing at yourselves: for you also admitted that men err in their choice of pleasures and pains; that is, in their choice of good and evil, from defect of knowledge; and you admitted further, that they err, not only from defect of knowledge in general, but of that particular knowledge which is called measuring. And you are also aware that the erring act which is done without knowledge is done in ignorance. This, therefore, is the meaning of being overcome by pleasure; — ignorance, and that the greatest. And our friends Protagoras and Prodicus and Hippias declare that they are the physicians of ignorance; but you, who are under the mistaken impression that ignorance is not the cause, and that the art of which I am speaking cannot be taught, neither go yourselves, nor send your children, to the Sophists, who are the teachers of these things — you take care of your money and give them none; and the result is, that you are the worse off both in public and private life: — Let us suppose this to be our answer to the world in general: And now I should like to ask you, Hippias, and you, Prodicus, as well as Protagoras (for the argument is to be yours as well as ours), whether you think that I am speaking the truth or not?

They all thought that what I said was entirely true.

Then you agree, I said, that the pleasant is the good, and the painful evil. And here I would beg my friend Prodicus not to introduce his distinction of names, whether he is disposed to say pleasurable, delightful, joyful. However, by whatever name he prefers to call them, I will ask you, most excellent Prodicus, to answer in my sense of the words.

Prodicus laughed and assented, as did the others.

Then, my friends, what do you say to this? Are not all actions honourable and useful, of which the tendency is to make life painless and pleasant? The honourable work is also useful and good?

This was admitted.

Then, I said, if the pleasant is the good, nobody does anything under the idea or conviction that some other thing would be better and is also attainable, when he might do the better. And this inferiority of a man to himself is merely ignorance, as the superiority of a man to himself is wisdom.

They all assented.

And is not ignorance the having a false opinion and being deceived about important matters?

To this also they unanimously assented.

Then, I said, no man voluntarily pursues evil, or that which he thinks to be evil. To prefer evil to good is not in human nature; and when a man is compelled to choose one of two evils, no one will choose the greater when he may have the less.

All of us agreed to every word of this.

Well, I said, there is a certain thing called fear or terror; and here, Prodicus, I should particularly like to know whether you would agree with me in defining this fear or terror as expectation of evil.

Protagoras and Hippias agreed, but Prodicus said that this was fear and not terror.

Never mind, Prodicus, I said; but let me ask whether, if our former assertions are true, a man will pursue that which he fears when he is not compelled? Would not this be in flat contradiction to the admission which has been already made, that he thinks the things which he fears to be evil; and no one will pursue or voluntarily accept that which he thinks to be evil?

That also was universally admitted.

Then, I said, these, Hippias and Prodicus, are our premisses; and I would beg Protagoras to explain to us how he can be right in what he said at first. I do not mean in what he said quite at first, for his first statement, as you may remember, was that whereas there were five parts of virtue none of them was like any other of them; each of them had a separate function. To this, however, I am not referring, but to the assertion which he afterwards made that of the five virtues four were nearly akin to each other, but that the fifth, which was courage, differed greatly from the others. And of this he gave me the following proof. He said: You will find, Socrates, that some of the most impious, and unrighteous, and intemperate, and ignorant of men are among the most courageous; which proves that courage is very different from the other parts of virtue. I was surprised at his saying this at the time, and I am still more surprised now that I have discussed the matter with you. So I asked him whether by the brave he meant the confident. Yes, he replied, and the impetuous or goers. (You may remember, Protagoras, that this was your answer.)

He assented.

Well then, I said, tell us against what are the courageous ready to go — against the same dangers as the cowards?

No, he answered.

Then against something different?

Yes, he said.

Then do cowards go where there is safety, and the courageous where there is danger?

Yes, Socrates, so men say.

Very true, I said. But I want to know against what do you say that the courageous are ready to go — against dangers, believing them to be dangers, or not against dangers?

No, said he; the former case has been proved by you in the previous argument to be impossible.

That, again, I replied, is quite true. And if this has been rightly proven, then no one goes to meet what he thinks to be dangers, since the want of self-control, which makes men rush into dangers, has been shown to be ignorance.

He assented.

And yet the courageous man and the coward alike go to meet that about which they are confident; so that, in this point of view, the cowardly and the courageous go to meet the same things.

And yet, Socrates, said Protagoras, that to which the coward goes is the opposite of that to which the courageous goes; the one, for example, is ready to go to battle, and the other is not ready.

And is going to battle honourable or disgraceful? I said.

Honourable, he replied.

And if honourable, then already admitted by us to be good; for all honourable actions we have admitted to be good.

That is true; and to that opinion I shall always adhere.

True, I said. But which of the two are they who, as you say, are unwilling to go to war, which is a good and honourable thing?

The cowards, he replied.

And what is good and honourable, I said, is also pleasant?

It has certainly been acknowledged to be so, he replied.

And do the cowards knowingly refuse to go to the nobler, and pleasanter, and better?

The admission of that, he replied, would belie our former admissions.

But does not the courageous man also go to meet the better, and pleasanter, and nobler?

That must be admitted.

And the courageous man has no base fear or base confidence?

True, he replied.

And if not base, then honourable?

He admitted this.

And if honourable, then good?

Yes.

But the fear and confidence of the coward or foolhardy or madman, on the contrary, are base?

He assented.

And these base fears and confidences originate in ignorance and uninstructedness?

True, he said.

Then as to the motive from which the cowards act, do you call it cowardice or courage?

I should say cowardice, he replied.

And have they not been shown to be cowards through their ignorance of dangers?

Assuredly, he said.

And because of that ignorance they are cowards?

He assented.

And the reason why they are cowards is admitted by you to be cowardice?

He again assented.

Then the ignorance of what is and is not dangerous is cowardice?

He nodded assent.

But surely courage, I said, is opposed to cowardice?

Yes.

Then the wisdom which knows what are and are not dangers is opposed to the ignorance of them?

To that again he nodded assent.

And the ignorance of them is cowardice?

To that he very reluctantly nodded assent.

And the knowledge of that which is and is not dangerous is courage, and is opposed to the ignorance of these things?

At this point he would no longer nod assent, but was silent.

And why, I said, do you neither assent nor dissent, Protagoras?

Finish the argument by yourself, he said.

I only want to ask one more question, I said. I want to know whether you still think that there are men who are most ignorant and yet most courageous?

You seem to have a great ambition to make me answer, Socrates, and therefore I will gratify you, and say, that this appears to me to be impossible consistently with the argument.

My only object, I said, in continuing the discussion, has been the desire to ascertain the nature and relations of virtue; for if this were clear, I am very sure that the other controversy which has been carried on at great length by both of us — you affirming and I denying that virtue can be taught — would also become clear. The result of our discussion appears to me to be singular. For if the argument had a human voice, that voice would be heard laughing at us and saying: ‘Protagoras and Socrates, you are strange beings; there are you, Socrates, who were saying that virtue cannot be taught, contradicting yourself now by your attempt to prove that all things are knowledge, including justice, and temperance, and courage, — which tends to show that virtue can certainly be taught; for if virtue were other than knowledge, as Protagoras attempted to prove, then clearly virtue cannot be taught; but if virtue is entirely knowledge, as you are seeking to show, then I cannot but suppose that virtue is capable of being taught. Protagoras, on the other hand, who started by saying that it might be taught, is now eager to prove it to be anything rather than knowledge; and if this is true, it must be quite incapable of being taught.’ Now I, Protagoras, perceiving this terrible confusion of our ideas, have a great desire that they should be cleared up. And I should like to carry on the discussion until we ascertain what virtue is, whether capable of being taught or not, lest haply Epimetheus should trip us up and deceive us in the argument, as he forgot us in the story; I prefer your Prometheus to your Epimetheus, for of him I make use, whenever I am busy about these questions, in Promethean care of my own life. And if you have no objection, as I said at first, I should like to have your help in the enquiry.

Protagoras replied: Socrates, I am not of a base nature, and I am the last man in the world to be envious. I cannot but applaud your energy and your conduct of an argument. As I have often said, I admire you above all men whom I know, and far above all men of your age; and I believe that you will become very eminent in philosophy. Let us come back to the subject at some future time; at present we had better turn to something else.

By all means, I said, if that is your wish; for I too ought long since to have kept the engagement of which I spoke before, and only tarried because I could not refuse the request of the noble Callias. So the conversation ended, and we went our way.

GORGIAS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This middle dialogue was written circa 380 BC. It concerns Socrates’ search for the true definition of rhetoric, as he attempts to identify its essence and unveil the flaws of sophistry. The art of persuasion was widely considered necessary for political and legal advantage in classical Athens, and rhetoricians promoted themselves as teachers of this fundamental skill. Some, like Gorgias, were foreigners attracted to Athens because of its reputation for intellectual and cultural sophistication. In the dialogue, Socrates argues that philosophy is an art, whereas rhetoric is merely a knack. To Socrates, most rhetoric in practice is merely flattery. In order to use rhetoric for good, rhetoric cannot exist alone; it must depend on philosophy to guide its morality. Socrates, therefore, believes that morality is not inherent in rhetoric and that without philosophy, rhetoric is simply used to persuade for personal gain.

The dialogue begins just after Gorgias has given a speech. Callicles says that Gorgias is a guest in his home, and has agreed to a private audience with Socrates and his friend Chaerephon. Socrates gets Gorgias to agree to his cross-examination style of conversation, asks him questions, and praises him for the brevity of his replies. Gorgias remarks that no one has asked him a new question in a long time, and when Socrates asks, assures him that he is just as capable of brevity as of long-windedness

Socrates ends the dialogue by telling Callicles, Polus, and Gorgias a story that they will regard as a myth, but which he regards as true. He recounts that in the old days, Cronos judged men just before they died, and divided them into two categories. He sent good and righteous men to the Isles of the Blessed, and godless, unrighteous men to the prison of vengeance and punishment called Tartarus. These cases were judged badly because the men were judged while they were alive and with their clothes on, and the judges were fooled by appearances. Zeus fixed the problem by arranging for people to be dead, and stripped naked. The judge had to be naked too, so he could scan the souls of men without distractions.

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION.

GORGIAS

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION.

In several of the dialogues of Plato, doubts have arisen among his interpreters as to which of the various subjects discussed in them is the main thesis. The speakers have the freedom of conversation; no severe rules of art restrict them, and sometimes we are inclined to think, with one of the dramatis personae in the Theaetetus, that the digressions have the greater interest. Yet in the most irregular of the dialogues there is also a certain natural growth or unity; the beginning is not forgotten at the end, and numerous allusions and references are interspersed, which form the loose connecting links of the whole. We must not neglect this unity, but neither must we attempt to confine the Platonic dialogue on the Procrustean bed of a single idea. (Compare Introduction to the Phaedrus.)

Two tendencies seem to have beset the interpreters of Plato in this matter. First, they have endeavoured to hang the dialogues upon one another by the slightest threads; and have thus been led to opposite and contradictory assertions respecting their order and sequence. The mantle of Schleiermacher has descended upon his successors, who have applied his method with the most various results. The value and use of the method has been hardly, if at all, examined either by him or them. Secondly, they have extended almost indefinitely the scope of each separate dialogue; in this way they think that they have escaped all difficulties, not seeing that what they have gained in generality they have lost in truth and distinctness. Metaphysical conceptions easily pass into one another; and the simpler notions of antiquity, which we can only realize by an effort, imperceptibly blend with the more familiar theories of modern philosophers. An eye for proportion is needed (his own art of measuring) in the study of Plato, as well as of other great artists. We may hardly admit that the moral antithesis of good and pleasure, or the intellectual antithesis of knowledge and opinion, being and appearance, are never far off in a Platonic discussion. But because they are in the background, we should not bring them into the foreground, or expect to discern them equally in all the dialogues.

There may be some advantage in drawing out a little the main outlines of the building; but the use of this is limited, and may be easily exaggerated. We may give Plato too much system, and alter the natural form and connection of his thoughts. Under the idea that his dialogues are finished works of art, we may find a reason for everything, and lose the highest characteristic of art, which is simplicity. Most great works receive a new light from a new and original mind. But whether these new lights are true or only suggestive, will depend on their agreement with the spirit of Plato, and the amount of direct evidence which can be urged in support of them. When a theory is running away with us, criticism does a friendly office in counselling moderation, and recalling us to the indications of the text.

Like the Phaedrus, the Gorgias has puzzled students of Plato by the appearance of two or more subjects. Under the cover of rhetoric higher themes are introduced; the argument expands into a general view of the good and evil of man. After making an ineffectual attempt to obtain a sound definition of his art from Gorgias, Socrates assumes the existence of a universal art of flattery or simulation having several branches: — this is the genus of which rhetoric is only one, and not the highest species. To flattery is opposed the true and noble art of life which he who possesses seeks always to impart to others, and which at last triumphs, if not here, at any rate in another world. These two aspects of life and knowledge appear to be the two leading ideas of the dialogue. The true and the false in individuals and states, in the treatment of the soul as well as of the body, are conceived under the forms of true and false art. In the development of this opposition there arise various other questions, such as the two famous paradoxes of Socrates (paradoxes as they are to the world in general, ideals as they may be more worthily called): (1) that to do is worse than to suffer evil; and (2) that when a man has done evil he had better be punished than unpunished; to which may be added (3) a third Socratic paradox or ideal, that bad men do what they think best, but not what they desire, for the desire of all is towards the good. That pleasure is to be distinguished from good is proved by the simultaneousness of pleasure and pain, and by the possibility of the bad having in certain cases pleasures as great as those of the good, or even greater. Not merely rhetoricians, but poets, musicians, and other artists, the whole tribe of statesmen, past as well as present, are included in the class of flatterers. The true and false finally appear before the judgment-seat of the gods below.

The dialogue naturally falls into three divisions, to which the three characters of Gorgias, Polus, and Callicles respectively correspond; and the form and manner change with the stages of the argument. Socrates is deferential towards Gorgias, playful and yet cutting in dealing with the youthful Polus, ironical and sarcastic in his encounter with Callicles. In the first division the question is asked — What is rhetoric? To this there is no answer given, for Gorgias is soon made to contradict himself by Socrates, and the argument is transferred to the hands of his disciple Polus, who rushes to the defence of his master. The answer has at last to be given by Socrates himself, but before he can even explain his meaning to Polus, he must enlighten him upon the great subject of shams or flatteries. When Polus finds his favourite art reduced to the level of cookery, he replies that at any rate rhetoricians, like despots, have great power. Socrates denies that they have any real power, and hence arise the three paradoxes already mentioned. Although they are strange to him, Polus is at last convinced of their truth; at least, they seem to him to follow legitimately from the premises. Thus the second act of the dialogue closes. Then Callicles appears on the scene, at first maintaining that pleasure is good, and that might is right, and that law is nothing but the combination of the many weak against the few strong. When he is confuted he withdraws from the argument, and leaves Socrates to arrive at the conclusion by himself. The conclusion is that there are two kinds of statesmanship, a higher and a lower — that which makes the people better, and that which only flatters them, and he exhorts Callicles to choose the higher. The dialogue terminates with a mythus of a final judgment, in which there will be no more flattery or disguise, and no further use for the teaching of rhetoric.

The characters of the three interlocutors also correspond to the parts which are assigned to them. Gorgias is the great rhetorician, now advanced in years, who goes from city to city displaying his talents, and is celebrated throughout Greece. Like all the Sophists in the dialogues of Plato, he is vain and boastful, yet he has also a certain dignity, and is treated by Socrates with considerable respect. But he is no match for him in dialectics. Although he has been teaching rhetoric all his life, he is still incapable of defining his own art. When his ideas begin to clear up, he is unwilling to admit that rhetoric can be wholly separated from justice and injustice, and this lingering sentiment of morality, or regard for public opinion, enables Socrates to detect him in a contradiction. Like Protagoras, he is described as of a generous nature; he expresses his approbation of Socrates’ manner of approaching a question; he is quite ‘one of Socrates’ sort, ready to be refuted as well as to refute,’ and very eager that Callicles and Socrates should have the game out. He knows by experience that rhetoric exercises great influence over other men, but he is unable to explain the puzzle how rhetoric can teach everything and know nothing.

Polus is an impetuous youth, a runaway ‘colt,’ as Socrates describes him, who wanted originally to have taken the place of Gorgias under the pretext that the old man was tired, and now avails himself of the earliest opportunity to enter the lists. He is said to be the author of a work on rhetoric, and is again mentioned in the Phaedrus, as the inventor of balanced or double forms of speech (compare Gorg.; Symp.). At first he is violent and ill-mannered, and is angry at seeing his master overthrown. But in the judicious hands of Socrates he is soon restored to good-humour, and compelled to assent to the required conclusion. Like Gorgias, he is overthrown because he compromises; he is unwilling to say that to do is fairer or more honourable than to suffer injustice. Though he is fascinated by the power of rhetoric, and dazzled by the splendour of success, he is not insensible to higher arguments. Plato may have felt that there would be an incongruity in a youth maintaining the cause of injustice against the world. He has never heard the other side of the question, and he listens to the paradoxes, as they appear to him, of Socrates with evident astonishment. He can hardly understand the meaning of Archelaus being miserable, or of rhetoric being only useful in self-accusation. When the argument with him has fairly run out.

Callicles, in whose house they are assembled, is introduced on the stage: he is with difficulty convinced that Socrates is in earnest; for if these things are true, then, as he says with real emotion, the foundations of society are upside down. In him another type of character is represented; he is neither sophist nor philosopher, but man of the world, and an accomplished Athenian gentleman. He might be described in modern language as a cynic or materialist, a lover of power and also of pleasure, and unscrupulous in his means of attaining both. There is no desire on his part to offer any compromise in the interests of morality; nor is any concession made by him. Like Thrasymachus in the Republic, though he is not of the same weak and vulgar class, he consistently maintains that might is right. His great motive of action is political ambition; in this he is characteristically Greek. Like Anytus in the Meno, he is the enemy of the Sophists; but favours the new art of rhetoric, which he regards as an excellent weapon of attack and defence. He is a despiser of mankind as he is of philosophy, and sees in the laws of the state only a violation of the order of nature, which intended that the stronger should govern the weaker (compare Republic). Like other men of the world who are of a speculative turn of mind, he generalizes the bad side of human nature, and has easily brought down his principles to his practice. Philosophy and poetry alike supply him with distinctions suited to his view of human life. He has a good will to Socrates, whose talents he evidently admires, while he censures the puerile use which he makes of them. He expresses a keen intellectual interest in the argument. Like Anytus, again, he has a sympathy with other men of the world; the Athenian statesmen of a former generation, who showed no weakness and made no mistakes, such as Miltiades, Themistocles, Pericles, are his favourites. His ideal of human character is a man of great passions and great powers, which he has developed to the utmost, and which he uses in his own enjoyment and in the government of others. Had Critias been the name instead of Callicles, about whom we know nothing from other sources, the opinions of the man would have seemed to reflect the history of his life.

And now the combat deepens. In Callicles, far more than in any sophist or rhetorician, is concentrated the spirit of evil against which Socrates is contending, the spirit of the world, the spirit of the many contending against the one wise man, of which the Sophists, as he describes them in the Republic, are the imitators rather than the authors, being themselves carried away by the great tide of public opinion. Socrates approaches his antagonist warily from a distance, with a sort of irony which touches with a light hand both his personal vices (probably in allusion to some scandal of the day) and his servility to the populace. At the same time, he is in most profound earnest, as Chaerephon remarks. Callicles soon loses his temper, but the more he is irritated, the more provoking and matter of fact does Socrates become. A repartee of his which appears to have been really made to the ‘omniscient’ Hippias, according to the testimony of Xenophon (Mem.), is introduced. He is called by Callicles a popular declaimer, and certainly shows that he has the power, in the words of Gorgias, of being ‘as long as he pleases,’ or ‘as short as he pleases’ (compare Protag.). Callicles exhibits great ability in defending himself and attacking Socrates, whom he accuses of trifling and word-splitting; he is scandalized that the legitimate consequences of his own argument should be stated in plain terms; after the manner of men of the world, he wishes to preserve the decencies of life. But he cannot consistently maintain the bad sense of words; and getting confused between the abstract notions of better, superior, stronger, he is easily turned round by Socrates, and only induced to continue the argument by the authority of Gorgias. Once, when Socrates is describing the manner in which the ambitious citizen has to identify himself with the people, he partially recognizes the truth of his words.

The Socrates of the Gorgias may be compared with the Socrates of the Protagoras and Meno. As in other dialogues, he is the enemy of the Sophists and rhetoricians; and also of the statesmen, whom he regards as another variety of the same species. His behaviour is governed by that of his opponents; the least forwardness or egotism on their part is met by a corresponding irony on the part of Socrates. He must speak, for philosophy will not allow him to be silent. He is indeed more ironical and provoking than in any other of Plato’s writings: for he is ‘fooled to the top of his bent’ by the worldliness of Callicles. But he is also more deeply in earnest. He rises higher than even in the Phaedo and Crito: at first enveloping his moral convictions in a cloud of dust and dialectics, he ends by losing his method, his life, himself, in them. As in the Protagoras and Phaedrus, throwing aside the veil of irony, he makes a speech, but, true to his character, not until his adversary has refused to answer any more questions. The presentiment of his own fate is hanging over him. He is aware that Socrates, the single real teacher of politics, as he ventures to call himself, cannot safely go to war with the whole world, and that in the courts of earth he will be condemned. But he will be justified in the world below. Then the position of Socrates and Callicles will be reversed; all those things ‘unfit for ears polite’ which Callicles has prophesied as likely to happen to him in this life, the insulting language, the box on the ears, will recoil upon his assailant. (Compare Republic, and the similar reversal of the position of the lawyer and the philosopher in the Theaetetus).

There is an interesting allusion to his own behaviour at the trial of the generals after the battle of Arginusae, which he ironically attributes to his ignorance of the manner in which a vote of the assembly should be taken. This is said to have happened ‘last year’ (B.C. 406), and therefore the assumed date of the dialogue has been fixed at 405 B.C., when Socrates would already have been an old man. The date is clearly marked, but is scarcely reconcilable with another indication of time, viz. the ‘recent’ usurpation of Archelaus, which occurred in the year 413; and still less with the ‘recent’ death of Pericles, who really died twenty-four years previously (429 B.C.) and is afterwards reckoned among the statesmen of a past age; or with the mention of Nicias, who died in 413, and is nevertheless spoken of as a living witness. But we shall hereafter have reason to observe, that although there is a general consistency of times and persons in the Dialogues of Plato, a precise dramatic date is an invention of his commentators (Preface to Republic).

The conclusion of the Dialogue is remarkable, (1) for the truly characteristic declaration of Socrates that he is ignorant of the true nature and bearing of these things, while he affirms at the same time that no one can maintain any other view without being ridiculous. The profession of ignorance reminds us of the earlier and more exclusively Socratic Dialogues. But neither in them, nor in the Apology, nor in the Memorabilia of Xenophon, does Socrates express any doubt of the fundamental truths of morality. He evidently regards this ‘among the multitude of questions’ which agitate human life ‘as the principle which alone remains unshaken.’ He does not insist here, any more than in the Phaedo, on the literal truth of the myth, but only on the soundness of the doctrine which is contained in it, that doing wrong is worse than suffering, and that a man should be rather than seem; for the next best thing to a man’s being just is that he should be corrected and become just; also that he should avoid all flattery, whether of himself or of others; and that rhetoric should be employed for the maintenance of the right only. The revelation of another life is a recapitulation of the argument in a figure.

(2) Socrates makes the singular remark, that he is himself the only true politician of his age. In other passages, especially in the Apology, he disclaims being a politician at all. There he is convinced that he or any other good man who attempted to resist the popular will would be put to death before he had done any good to himself or others. Here he anticipates such a fate for himself, from the fact that he is ‘the only man of the present day who performs his public duties at all.’ The two points of view are not really inconsistent, but the difference between them is worth noticing: Socrates is and is not a public man. Not in the ordinary sense, like Alcibiades or Pericles, but in a higher one; and this will sooner or later entail the same consequences on him. He cannot be a private man if he would; neither can he separate morals from politics. Nor is he unwilling to be a politician, although he foresees the dangers which await him; but he must first become a better and wiser man, for he as well as Callicles is in a state of perplexity and uncertainty. And yet there is an inconsistency: for should not Socrates too have taught the citizens better than to put him to death?

And now, as he himself says, we will ‘resume the argument from the beginning.’

Socrates, who is attended by his inseparable disciple, Chaerephon, meets Callicles in the streets of Athens. He is informed that he has just missed an exhibition of Gorgias, which he regrets, because he was desirous, not of hearing Gorgias display his rhetoric, but of interrogating him concerning the nature of his art. Callicles proposes that they shall go with him to his own house, where Gorgias is staying. There they find the great rhetorician and his younger friend and disciple Polus.

SOCRATES: Put the question to him, Chaerephon.

CHAEREPHON: What question?

SOCRATES: Who is he? — such a question as would elicit from a man the answer, ‘I am a cobbler.’

Polus suggests that Gorgias may be tired, and desires to answer for him. ‘Who is Gorgias?’ asks Chaerephon, imitating the manner of his master Socrates. ‘One of the best of men, and a proficient in the best and noblest of experimental arts,’ etc., replies Polus, in rhetorical and balanced phrases. Socrates is dissatisfied at the length and unmeaningness of the answer; he tells the disconcerted volunteer that he has mistaken the quality for the nature of the art, and remarks to Gorgias, that Polus has learnt how to make a speech, but not how to answer a question. He wishes that Gorgias would answer him. Gorgias is willing enough, and replies to the question asked by Chaerephon, — that he is a rhetorician, and in Homeric language, ‘boasts himself to be a good one.’ At the request of Socrates he promises to be brief; for ‘he can be as long as he pleases, and as short as he pleases.’ Socrates would have him bestow his length on others, and proceeds to ask him a number of questions, which are answered by him to his own great satisfaction, and with a brevity which excites the admiration of Socrates. The result of the discussion may be summed up as follows: —

Rhetoric treats of discourse; but music and medicine, and other particular arts, are also concerned with discourse; in what way then does rhetoric differ from them? Gorgias draws a distinction between the arts which deal with words, and the arts which have to do with external actions. Socrates extends this distinction further, and divides all productive arts into two classes: (1) arts which may be carried on in silence; and (2) arts which have to do with words, or in which words are coextensive with action, such as arithmetic, geometry, rhetoric. But still Gorgias could hardly have meant to say that arithmetic was the same as rhetoric. Even in the arts which are concerned with words there are differences. What then distinguishes rhetoric from the other arts which have to do with words? ‘The words which rhetoric uses relate to the best and greatest of human things.’ But tell me, Gorgias, what are the best? ‘Health first, beauty next, wealth third,’ in the words of the old song, or how would you rank them? The arts will come to you in a body, each claiming precedence and saying that her own good is superior to that of the rest — How will you choose between them? ‘I should say, Socrates, that the art of persuasion, which gives freedom to all men, and to individuals power in the state, is the greatest good.’ But what is the exact nature of this persuasion? — is the persevering retort: You could not describe Zeuxis as a painter, or even as a painter of figures, if there were other painters of figures; neither can you define rhetoric simply as an art of persuasion, because there are other arts which persuade, such as arithmetic, which is an art of persuasion about odd and even numbers. Gorgias is made to see the necessity of a further limitation, and he now defines rhetoric as the art of persuading in the law courts, and in the assembly, about the just and unjust. But still there are two sorts of persuasion: one which gives knowledge, and another which gives belief without knowledge; and knowledge is always true, but belief may be either true or false, — there is therefore a further question: which of the two sorts of persuasion does rhetoric effect in courts of law and assemblies? Plainly that which gives belief and not that which gives knowledge; for no one can impart a real knowledge of such matters to a crowd of persons in a few minutes. And there is another point to be considered: — when the assembly meets to advise about walls or docks or military expeditions, the rhetorician is not taken into counsel, but the architect, or the general. How would Gorgias explain this phenomenon? All who intend to become disciples, of whom there are several in the company, and not Socrates only, are eagerly asking: — About what then will rhetoric teach us to persuade or advise the state?

Gorgias illustrates the nature of rhetoric by adducing the example of Themistocles, who persuaded the Athenians to build their docks and walls, and of Pericles, whom Socrates himself has heard speaking about the middle wall of the Piraeus. He adds that he has exercised a similar power over the patients of his brother Herodicus. He could be chosen a physician by the assembly if he pleased, for no physician could compete with a rhetorician in popularity and influence. He could persuade the multitude of anything by the power of his rhetoric; not that the rhetorician ought to abuse this power any more than a boxer should abuse the art of self-defence. Rhetoric is a good thing, but, like all good things, may be unlawfully used. Neither is the teacher of the art to be deemed unjust because his pupils are unjust and make a bad use of the lessons which they have learned from him.

Socrates would like to know before he replies, whether Gorgias will quarrel with him if he points out a slight inconsistency into which he has fallen, or whether he, like himself, is one who loves to be refuted. Gorgias declares that he is quite one of his sort, but fears that the argument may be tedious to the company. The company cheer, and Chaerephon and Callicles exhort them to proceed. Socrates gently points out the supposed inconsistency into which Gorgias appears to have fallen, and which he is inclined to think may arise out of a misapprehension of his own. The rhetorician has been declared by Gorgias to be more persuasive to the ignorant than the physician, or any other expert. And he is said to be ignorant, and this ignorance of his is regarded by Gorgias as a happy condition, for he has escaped the trouble of learning. But is he as ignorant of just and unjust as he is of medicine or building? Gorgias is compelled to admit that if he did not know them previously he must learn them from his teacher as a part of the art of rhetoric. But he who has learned carpentry is a carpenter, and he who has learned music is a musician, and he who has learned justice is just. The rhetorician then must be a just man, and rhetoric is a just thing. But Gorgias has already admitted the opposite of this, viz. that rhetoric may be abused, and that the rhetorician may act unjustly. How is the inconsistency to be explained?

The fallacy of this argument is twofold; for in the first place, a man may know justice and not be just — here is the old confusion of the arts and the virtues; — nor can any teacher be expected to counteract wholly the bent of natural character; and secondly, a man may have a degree of justice, but not sufficient to prevent him from ever doing wrong. Polus is naturally exasperated at the sophism, which he is unable to detect; of course, he says, the rhetorician, like every one else, will admit that he knows justice (how can he do otherwise when pressed by the interrogations of Socrates?), but he thinks that great want of manners is shown in bringing the argument to such a pass. Socrates ironically replies, that when old men trip, the young set them on their legs again; and he is quite willing to retract, if he can be shown to be in error, but upon one condition, which is that Polus studies brevity. Polus is in great indignation at not being allowed to use as many words as he pleases in the free state of Athens. Socrates retorts, that yet harder will be his own case, if he is compelled to stay and listen to them. After some altercation they agree (compare Protag.), that Polus shall ask and Socrates answer.

‘What is the art of Rhetoric?’ says Polus. Not an art at all, replies Socrates, but a thing which in your book you affirm to have created art. Polus asks, ‘What thing?’ and Socrates answers, An experience or routine of making a sort of delight or gratification. ‘But is not rhetoric a fine thing?’ I have not yet told you what rhetoric is. Will you ask me another question — What is cookery? ‘What is cookery?’ An experience or routine of making a sort of delight or gratification. Then they are the same, or rather fall under the same class, and rhetoric has still to be distinguished from cookery. ‘What is rhetoric?’ asks Polus once more. A part of a not very creditable whole, which may be termed flattery, is the reply. ‘But what part?’ A shadow of a part of politics. This, as might be expected, is wholly unintelligible, both to Gorgias and Polus; and, in order to explain his meaning to them, Socrates draws a distinction between shadows or appearances and realities; e.g. there is real health of body or soul, and the appearance of them; real arts and sciences, and the simulations of them. Now the soul and body have two arts waiting upon them, first the art of politics, which attends on the soul, having a legislative part and a judicial part; and another art attending on the body, which has no generic name, but may also be described as having two divisions, one of which is medicine and the other gymnastic. Corresponding with these four arts or sciences there are four shams or simulations of them, mere experiences, as they may be termed, because they give no reason of their own existence. The art of dressing up is the sham or simulation of gymnastic, the art of cookery, of medicine; rhetoric is the simulation of justice, and sophistic of legislation. They may be summed up in an arithmetical formula: —

Tiring: gymnastic:: cookery: medicine:: sophistic: legislation.

And,

Cookery: medicine:: rhetoric: the art of justice.

And this is the true scheme of them, but when measured only by the gratification which they procure, they become jumbled together and return to their aboriginal chaos. Socrates apologizes for the length of his speech, which was necessary to the explanation of the subject, and begs Polus not unnecessarily to retaliate on him.

‘Do you mean to say that the rhetoricians are esteemed flatterers?’ They are not esteemed at all. ‘Why, have they not great power, and can they not do whatever they desire?’ They have no power, and they only do what they think best, and never what they desire; for they never attain the true object of desire, which is the good. ‘As if you, Socrates, would not envy the possessor of despotic power, who can imprison, exile, kill any one whom he pleases.’ But Socrates replies that he has no wish to put any one to death; he who kills another, even justly, is not to be envied, and he who kills him unjustly is to be pitied; it is better to suffer than to do injustice. He does not consider that going about with a dagger and putting men out of the way, or setting a house on fire, is real power. To this Polus assents, on the ground that such acts would be punished, but he is still of opinion that evil-doers, if they are unpunished, may be happy enough. He instances Archelaus, son of Perdiccas, the usurper of Macedonia. Does not Socrates think him happy? — Socrates would like to know more about him; he cannot pronounce even the great king to be happy, unless he knows his mental and moral condition. Polus explains that Archelaus was a slave, being the son of a woman who was the slave of Alcetas, brother of Perdiccas king of Macedon — and he, by every species of crime, first murdering his uncle and then his cousin and half-brother, obtained the kingdom. This was very wicked, and yet all the world, including Socrates, would like to have his place. Socrates dismisses the appeal to numbers; Polus, if he will, may summon all the rich men of Athens, Nicias and his brothers, Aristocrates, the house of Pericles, or any other great family — this is the kind of evidence which is adduced in courts of justice, where truth depends upon numbers. But Socrates employs proof of another sort; his appeal is to one witness only, — that is to say, the person with whom he is speaking; him he will convict out of his own mouth. And he is prepared to show, after his manner, that Archelaus cannot be a wicked man and yet happy.

The evil-doer is deemed happy if he escapes, and miserable if he suffers punishment; but Socrates thinks him less miserable if he suffers than if he escapes. Polus is of opinion that such a paradox as this hardly deserves refutation, and is at any rate sufficiently refuted by the fact. Socrates has only to compare the lot of the successful tyrant who is the envy of the world, and of the wretch who, having been detected in a criminal attempt against the state, is crucified or burnt to death. Socrates replies, that if they are both criminal they are both miserable, but that the unpunished is the more miserable of the two. At this Polus laughs outright, which leads Socrates to remark that laughter is a new species of refutation. Polus replies, that he is already refuted; for if he will take the votes of the company, he will find that no one agrees with him. To this Socrates rejoins, that he is not a public man, and (referring to his own conduct at the trial of the generals after the battle of Arginusae) is unable to take the suffrages of any company, as he had shown on a recent occasion; he can only deal with one witness at a time, and that is the person with whom he is arguing. But he is certain that in the opinion of any man to do is worse than to suffer evil.

Polus, though he will not admit this, is ready to acknowledge that to do evil is considered the more foul or dishonourable of the two. But what is fair and what is foul; whether the terms are applied to bodies, colours, figures, laws, habits, studies, must they not be defined with reference to pleasure and utility? Polus assents to this latter doctrine, and is easily persuaded that the fouler of two things must exceed either in pain or in hurt. But the doing cannot exceed the suffering of evil in pain, and therefore must exceed in hurt. Thus doing is proved by the testimony of Polus himself to be worse or more hurtful than suffering.

There remains the other question: Is a guilty man better off when he is punished or when he is unpunished? Socrates replies, that what is done justly is suffered justly: if the act is just, the effect is just; if to punish is just, to be punished is just, and therefore fair, and therefore beneficent; and the benefit is that the soul is improved. There are three evils from which a man may suffer, and which affect him in estate, body, and soul; — these are, poverty, disease, injustice; and the foulest of these is injustice, the evil of the soul, because that brings the greatest hurt. And there are three arts which heal these evils — trading, medicine, justice — and the fairest of these is justice. Happy is he who has never committed injustice, and happy in the second degree he who has been healed by punishment. And therefore the criminal should himself go to the judge as he would to the physician, and purge away his crime. Rhetoric will enable him to display his guilt in proper colours, and to sustain himself and others in enduring the necessary penalty. And similarly if a man has an enemy, he will desire not to punish him, but that he shall go unpunished and become worse and worse, taking care only that he does no injury to himself. These are at least conceivable uses of the art, and no others have been discovered by us.

Here Callicles, who has been listening in silent amazement, asks Chaerephon whether Socrates is in earnest, and on receiving the assurance that he is, proceeds to ask the same question of Socrates himself. For if such doctrines are true, life must have been turned upside down, and all of us are doing the opposite of what we ought to be doing.

Socrates replies in a style of playful irony, that before men can understand one another they must have some common feeling. And such a community of feeling exists between himself and Callicles, for both of them are lovers, and they have both a pair of loves; the beloved of Callicles are the Athenian Demos and Demos the son of Pyrilampes; the beloved of Socrates are Alcibiades and philosophy. The peculiarity of Callicles is that he can never contradict his loves; he changes as his Demos changes in all his opinions; he watches the countenance of both his loves, and repeats their sentiments, and if any one is surprised at his sayings and doings, the explanation of them is, that he is not a free agent, but must always be imitating his two loves. And this is the explanation of Socrates’ peculiarities also. He is always repeating what his mistress, Philosophy, is saying to him, who unlike his other love, Alcibiades, is ever the same, ever true. Callicles must refute her, or he will never be at unity with himself; and discord in life is far worse than the discord of musical sounds.

Callicles answers, that Gorgias was overthrown because, as Polus said, in compliance with popular prejudice he had admitted that if his pupil did not know justice the rhetorician must teach him; and Polus has been similarly entangled, because his modesty led him to admit that to suffer is more honourable than to do injustice. By custom ‘yes,’ but not by nature, says Callicles. And Socrates is always playing between the two points of view, and putting one in the place of the other. In this very argument, what Polus only meant in a conventional sense has been affirmed by him to be a law of nature. For convention says that ‘injustice is dishonourable,’ but nature says that ‘might is right.’ And we are always taming down the nobler spirits among us to the conventional level. But sometimes a great man will rise up and reassert his original rights, trampling under foot all our formularies, and then the light of natural justice shines forth. Pindar says, ‘Law, the king of all, does violence with high hand;’ as is indeed proved by the example of Heracles, who drove off the oxen of Geryon and never paid for them.

This is the truth, Socrates, as you will be convinced, if you leave philosophy and pass on to the real business of life. A little philosophy is an excellent thing; too much is the ruin of a man. He who has not ‘passed his metaphysics’ before he has grown up to manhood will never know the world. Philosophers are ridiculous when they take to politics, and I dare say that politicians are equally ridiculous when they take to philosophy: ‘Every man,’ as Euripides says, ’is fondest of that in which he is best.’ Philosophy is graceful in youth, like the lisp of infancy, and should be cultivated as a part of education; but when a grown-up man lisps or studies philosophy, I should like to beat him. None of those over-refined natures ever come to any good; they avoid the busy haunts of men, and skulk in corners, whispering to a few admiring youths, and never giving utterance to any noble sentiments.

For you, Socrates, I have a regard, and therefore I say to you, as Zethus says to Amphion in the play, that you have ‘a noble soul disguised in a puerile exterior.’ And I would have you consider the danger which you and other philosophers incur. For you would not know how to defend yourself if any one accused you in a law-court, — there you would stand, with gaping mouth and dizzy brain, and might be murdered, robbed, boxed on the ears with impunity. Take my advice, then, and get a little common sense; leave to others these frivolities; walk in the ways of the wealthy and be wise.

Socrates professes to have found in Callicles the philosopher’s touchstone; and he is certain that any opinion in which they both agree must be the very truth. Callicles has all the three qualities which are needed in a critic — knowledge, good-will, frankness; Gorgias and Polus, although learned men, were too modest, and their modesty made them contradict themselves. But Callicles is well-educated; and he is not too modest to speak out (of this he has already given proof), and his good-will is shown both by his own profession and by his giving the same caution against philosophy to Socrates, which Socrates remembers hearing him give long ago to his own clique of friends. He will pledge himself to retract any error into which he may have fallen, and which Callicles may point out. But he would like to know first of all what he and Pindar mean by natural justice. Do they suppose that the rule of justice is the rule of the stronger or of the better?’ ‘There is no difference.’ Then are not the many superior to the one, and the opinions of the many better? And their opinion is that justice is equality, and that to do is more dishonourable than to suffer wrong. And as they are the superior or stronger, this opinion of theirs must be in accordance with natural as well as conventional justice. ‘Why will you continue splitting words? Have I not told you that the superior is the better?’ But what do you mean by the better? Tell me that, and please to be a little milder in your language, if you do not wish to drive me away. ‘I mean the worthier, the wiser.’ You mean to say that one man of sense ought to rule over ten thousand fools? ‘Yes, that is my meaning.’ Ought the physician then to have a larger share of meats and drinks? or the weaver to have more coats, or the cobbler larger shoes, or the farmer more seed? ‘You are always saying the same things, Socrates.’ Yes, and on the same subjects too; but you are never saying the same things. For, first, you defined the superior to be the stronger, and then the wiser, and now something else; — what DO you mean? ‘I mean men of political ability, who ought to govern and to have more than the governed.’ Than themselves? ‘What do you mean?’ I mean to say that every man is his own governor. ‘I see that you mean those dolts, the temperate. But my doctrine is, that a man should let his desires grow, and take the means of satisfying them. To the many this is impossible, and therefore they combine to prevent him. But if he is a king, and has power, how base would he be in submitting to them! To invite the common herd to be lord over him, when he might have the enjoyment of all things! For the truth is, Socrates, that luxury and self-indulgence are virtue and happiness; all the rest is mere talk.’

Socrates compliments Callicles on his frankness in saying what other men only think. According to his view, those who want nothing are not happy. ‘Why,’ says Callicles, ‘if they were, stones and the dead would be happy.’ Socrates in reply is led into a half-serious, half-comic vein of reflection. ‘Who knows,’ as Euripides says, ‘whether life may not be death, and death life?’ Nay, there are philosophers who maintain that even in life we are dead, and that the body (soma) is the tomb (sema) of the soul. And some ingenious Sicilian has made an allegory, in which he represents fools as the uninitiated, who are supposed to be carrying water to a vessel, which is full of holes, in a similarly holey sieve, and this sieve is their own soul. The idea is fanciful, but nevertheless is a figure of a truth which I want to make you acknowledge, viz. that the life of contentment is better than the life of indulgence. Are you disposed to admit that? ‘Far otherwise.’ Then hear another parable. The life of self-contentment and self-indulgence may be represented respectively by two men, who are filling jars with streams of wine, honey, milk, — the jars of the one are sound, and the jars of the other leaky; the first fils his jars, and has no more trouble with them; the second is always filling them, and would suffer extreme misery if he desisted. Are you of the same opinion still? ‘Yes, Socrates, and the figure expresses what I mean. For true pleasure is a perpetual stream, flowing in and flowing out. To be hungry and always eating, to be thirsty and always drinking, and to have all the other desires and to satisfy them, that, as I admit, is my idea of happiness.’ And to be itching and always scratching? ‘I do not deny that there may be happiness even in that.’ And to indulge unnatural desires, if they are abundantly satisfied? Callicles is indignant at the introduction of such topics. But he is reminded by Socrates that they are introduced, not by him, but by the maintainer of the identity of pleasure and good. Will Callicles still maintain this? ‘Yes, for the sake of consistency, he will.’ The answer does not satisfy Socrates, who fears that he is losing his touchstone. A profession of seriousness on the part of Callicles reassures him, and they proceed with the argument. Pleasure and good are the same, but knowledge and courage are not the same either with pleasure or good, or with one another. Socrates disproves the first of these statements by showing that two opposites cannot coexist, but must alternate with one another — to be well and ill together is impossible. But pleasure and pain are simultaneous, and the cessation of them is simultaneous; e.g. in the case of drinking and thirsting, whereas good and evil are not simultaneous, and do not cease simultaneously, and therefore pleasure cannot be the same as good.

Callicles has already lost his temper, and can only be persuaded to go on by the interposition of Gorgias. Socrates, having already guarded against objections by distinguishing courage and knowledge from pleasure and good, proceeds: — The good are good by the presence of good, and the bad are bad by the presence of evil. And the brave and wise are good, and the cowardly and foolish are bad. And he who feels pleasure is good, and he who feels pain is bad, and both feel pleasure and pain in nearly the same degree, and sometimes the bad man or coward in a greater degree. Therefore the bad man or coward is as good as the brave or may be even better.

Callicles endeavours now to avert the inevitable absurdity by affirming that he and all mankind admitted some pleasures to be good and others bad. The good are the beneficial, and the bad are the hurtful, and we should choose the one and avoid the other. But this, as Socrates observes, is a return to the old doctrine of himself and Polus, that all things should be done for the sake of the good.

Callicles assents to this, and Socrates, finding that they are agreed in distinguishing pleasure from good, returns to his old division of empirical habits, or shams, or flatteries, which study pleasure only, and the arts which are concerned with the higher interests of soul and body. Does Callicles agree to this division? Callicles will agree to anything, in order that he may get through the argument. Which of the arts then are flatteries? Flute-playing, harp-playing, choral exhibitions, the dithyrambics of Cinesias are all equally condemned on the ground that they give pleasure only; and Meles the harp-player, who was the father of Cinesias, failed even in that. The stately muse of Tragedy is bent upon pleasure, and not upon improvement. Poetry in general is only a rhetorical address to a mixed audience of men, women, and children. And the orators are very far from speaking with a view to what is best; their way is to humour the assembly as if they were children.

Callicles replies, that this is only true of some of them; others have a real regard for their fellow-citizens. Granted; then there are two species of oratory; the one a flattery, another which has a real regard for the citizens. But where are the orators among whom you find the latter? Callicles admits that there are none remaining, but there were such in the days when Themistocles, Cimon, Miltiades, and the great Pericles were still alive. Socrates replies that none of these were true artists, setting before themselves the duty of bringing order out of disorder. The good man and true orator has a settled design, running through his life, to which he conforms all his words and actions; he desires to implant justice and eradicate injustice, to implant all virtue and eradicate all vice in the minds of his citizens. He is the physician who will not allow the sick man to indulge his appetites with a variety of meats and drinks, but insists on his exercising self-restraint. And this is good for the soul, and better than the unrestrained indulgence which Callicles was recently approving.

Here Callicles, who had been with difficulty brought to this point, turns restive, and suggests that Socrates shall answer his own questions. ‘Then,’ says Socrates, ‘one man must do for two;’ and though he had hoped to have given Callicles an ‘Amphion’ in return for his ‘Zethus,’ he is willing to proceed; at the same time, he hopes that Callicles will correct him, if he falls into error. He recapitulates the advantages which he has already won: —

The pleasant is not the same as the good — Callicles and I are agreed about that, — but pleasure is to be pursued for the sake of the good, and the good is that of which the presence makes us good; we and all things good have acquired some virtue or other. And virtue, whether of body or soul, of things or persons, is not attained by accident, but is due to order and harmonious arrangement. And the soul which has order is better than the soul which is without order, and is therefore temperate and is therefore good, and the intemperate is bad. And he who is temperate is also just and brave and pious, and has attained the perfection of goodness and therefore of happiness, and the intemperate whom you approve is the opposite of all this and is wretched. He therefore who would be happy must pursue temperance and avoid intemperance, and if possible escape the necessity of punishment, but if he have done wrong he must endure punishment. In this way states and individuals should seek to attain harmony, which, as the wise tell us, is the bond of heaven and earth, of gods and men. Callicles has never discovered the power of geometrical proportion in both worlds; he would have men aim at disproportion and excess. But if he be wrong in this, and if self-control is the true secret of happiness, then the paradox is true that the only use of rhetoric is in self-accusation, and Polus was right in saying that to do wrong is worse than to suffer wrong, and Gorgias was right in saying that the rhetorician must be a just man. And you were wrong in taunting me with my defenceless condition, and in saying that I might be accused or put to death or boxed on the ears with impunity. For I may repeat once more, that to strike is worse than to be stricken — to do than to suffer. What I said then is now made fast in adamantine bonds. I myself know not the true nature of these things, but I know that no one can deny my words and not be ridiculous. To do wrong is the greatest of evils, and to suffer wrong is the next greatest evil. He who would avoid the last must be a ruler, or the friend of a ruler; and to be the friend he must be the equal of the ruler, and must also resemble him. Under his protection he will suffer no evil, but will he also do no evil? Nay, will he not rather do all the evil which he can and escape? And in this way the greatest of all evils will befall him. ‘But this imitator of the tyrant,’ rejoins Callicles, ‘will kill any one who does not similarly imitate him.’ Socrates replies that he is not deaf, and that he has heard that repeated many times, and can only reply, that a bad man will kill a good one. ‘Yes, and that is the provoking thing.’ Not provoking to a man of sense who is not studying the arts which will preserve him from danger; and this, as you say, is the use of rhetoric in courts of justice. But how many other arts are there which also save men from death, and are yet quite humble in their pretensions — such as the art of swimming, or the art of the pilot? Does not the pilot do men at least as much service as the rhetorician, and yet for the voyage from Aegina to Athens he does not charge more than two obols, and when he disembarks is quite unassuming in his demeanour? The reason is that he is not certain whether he has done his passengers any good in saving them from death, if one of them is diseased in body, and still more if he is diseased in mind — who can say? The engineer too will often save whole cities, and yet you despise him, and would not allow your son to marry his daughter, or his son to marry yours. But what reason is there in this? For if virtue only means the saving of life, whether your own or another’s, you have no right to despise him or any practiser of saving arts. But is not virtue something different from saving and being saved? I would have you rather consider whether you ought not to disregard length of life, and think only how you can live best, leaving all besides to the will of Heaven. For you must not expect to have influence either with the Athenian Demos or with Demos the son of Pyrilampes, unless you become like them. What do you say to this?

‘There is some truth in what you are saying, but I do not entirely believe you.’

That is because you are in love with Demos. But let us have a little more conversation. You remember the two processes — one which was directed to pleasure, the other which was directed to making men as good as possible. And those who have the care of the city should make the citizens as good as possible. But who would undertake a public building, if he had never had a teacher of the art of building, and had never constructed a building before? or who would undertake the duty of state-physician, if he had never cured either himself or any one else? Should we not examine him before we entrusted him with the office? And as Callicles is about to enter public life, should we not examine him? Whom has he made better? For we have already admitted that this is the statesman’s proper business. And we must ask the same question about Pericles, and Cimon, and Miltiades, and Themistocles. Whom did they make better? Nay, did not Pericles make the citizens worse? For he gave them pay, and at first he was very popular with them, but at last they condemned him to death. Yet surely he would be a bad tamer of animals who, having received them gentle, taught them to kick and butt, and man is an animal; and Pericles who had the charge of man only made him wilder, and more savage and unjust, and therefore he could not have been a good statesman. The same tale might be repeated about Cimon, Themistocles, Miltiades. But the charioteer who keeps his seat at first is not thrown out when he gains greater experience and skill. The inference is, that the statesman of a past age were no better than those of our own. They may have been cleverer constructors of docks and harbours, but they did not improve the character of the citizens. I have told you again and again (and I purposely use the same images) that the soul, like the body, may be treated in two ways — there is the meaner and the higher art. You seemed to understand what I said at the time, but when I ask you who were the really good statesmen, you answer — as if I asked you who were the good trainers, and you answered, Thearion, the baker, Mithoecus, the author of the Sicilian cookery-book, Sarambus, the vintner. And you would be affronted if I told you that these are a parcel of cooks who make men fat only to make them thin. And those whom they have fattened applaud them, instead of finding fault with them, and lay the blame of their subsequent disorders on their physicians. In this respect, Callicles, you are like them; you applaud the statesmen of old, who pandered to the vices of the citizens, and filled the city with docks and harbours, but neglected virtue and justice. And when the fit of illness comes, the citizens who in like manner applauded Themistocles, Pericles, and others, will lay hold of you and my friend Alcibiades, and you will suffer for the misdeeds of your predecessors. The old story is always being repeated— ‘after all his services, the ungrateful city banished him, or condemned him to death.’ As if the statesman should not have taught the city better! He surely cannot blame the state for having unjustly used him, any more than the sophist or teacher can find fault with his pupils if they cheat him. And the sophist and orator are in the same case; although you admire rhetoric and despise sophistic, whereas sophistic is really the higher of the two. The teacher of the arts takes money, but the teacher of virtue or politics takes no money, because this is the only kind of service which makes the disciple desirous of requiting his teacher.

Socrates concludes by finally asking, to which of the two modes of serving the state Callicles invites him:— ‘to the inferior and ministerial one,’ is the ingenuous reply. That is the only way of avoiding death, replies Socrates; and he has heard often enough, and would rather not hear again, that the bad man will kill the good. But he thinks that such a fate is very likely reserved for him, because he remarks that he is the only person who teaches the true art of politics. And very probably, as in the case which he described to Polus, he may be the physician who is tried by a jury of children. He cannot say that he has procured the citizens any pleasure, and if any one charges him with perplexing them, or with reviling their elders, he will not be able to make them understand that he has only been actuated by a desire for their good. And therefore there is no saying what his fate may be. ‘And do you think that a man who is unable to help himself is in a good condition?’ Yes, Callicles, if he have the true self-help, which is never to have said or done any wrong to himself or others. If I had not this kind of self-help, I should be ashamed; but if I die for want of your flattering rhetoric, I shall die in peace. For death is no evil, but to go to the world below laden with offences is the worst of evils. In proof of which I will tell you a tale: —

Under the rule of Cronos, men were judged on the day of their death, and when judgment had been given upon them they departed — the good to the islands of the blest, the bad to the house of vengeance. But as they were still living, and had their clothes on at the time when they were being judged, there was favouritism, and Zeus, when he came to the throne, was obliged to alter the mode of procedure, and try them after death, having first sent down Prometheus to take away from them the foreknowledge of death. Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus were appointed to be the judges; Rhadamanthus for Asia, Aeacus for Europe, and Minos was to hold the court of appeal. Now death is the separation of soul and body, but after death soul and body alike retain their characteristics; the fat man, the dandy, the branded slave, are all distinguishable. Some prince or potentate, perhaps even the great king himself, appears before Rhadamanthus, and he instantly detects him, though he knows not who he is; he sees the scars of perjury and iniquity, and sends him away to the house of torment.

For there are two classes of souls who undergo punishment — the curable and the incurable. The curable are those who are benefited by their punishment; the incurable are such as Archelaus, who benefit others by becoming a warning to them. The latter class are generally kings and potentates; meaner persons, happily for themselves, have not the same power of doing injustice. Sisyphus and Tityus, not Thersites, are supposed by Homer to be undergoing everlasting punishment. Not that there is anything to prevent a great man from being a good one, as is shown by the famous example of Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus. But to Rhadamanthus the souls are only known as good or bad; they are stripped of their dignities and preferments; he despatches the bad to Tartarus, labelled either as curable or incurable, and looks with love and admiration on the soul of some just one, whom he sends to the islands of the blest. Similar is the practice of Aeacus; and Minos overlooks them, holding a golden sceptre, as Odysseus in Homer saw him

‘Wielding a sceptre of gold, and giving laws to the dead.’

My wish for myself and my fellow-men is, that we may present our souls undefiled to the judge in that day; my desire in life is to be able to meet death. And I exhort you, and retort upon you the reproach which you cast upon me, — that you will stand before the judge, gaping, and with dizzy brain, and any one may box you on the ear, and do you all manner of evil.

Perhaps you think that this is an old wives’ fable. But you, who are the three wisest men in Hellas, have nothing better to say, and no one will ever show that to do is better than to suffer evil. A man should study to be, and not merely to seem. If he is bad, he should become good, and avoid all flattery, whether of the many or of the few.

Follow me, then; and if you are looked down upon, that will do you no harm. And when we have practised virtue, we will betake ourselves to politics, but not until we are delivered from the shameful state of ignorance and uncertainty in which we are at present. Let us follow in the way of virtue and justice, and not in the way to which you, Callicles, invite us; for that way is nothing worth.

We will now consider in order some of the principal points of the dialogue. Having regard (1) to the age of Plato and the ironical character of his writings, we may compare him with himself, and with other great teachers, and we may note in passing the objections of his critics. And then (2) casting one eye upon him, we may cast another upon ourselves, and endeavour to draw out the great lessons which he teaches for all time, stripped of the accidental form in which they are enveloped.

(1) In the Gorgias, as in nearly all the other dialogues of Plato, we are made aware that formal logic has as yet no existence. The old difficulty of framing a definition recurs. The illusive analogy of the arts and the virtues also continues. The ambiguity of several words, such as nature, custom, the honourable, the good, is not cleared up. The Sophists are still floundering about the distinction of the real and seeming. Figures of speech are made the basis of arguments. The possibility of conceiving a universal art or science, which admits of application to a particular subject-matter, is a difficulty which remains unsolved, and has not altogether ceased to haunt the world at the present day (compare Charmides). The defect of clearness is also apparent in Socrates himself, unless we suppose him to be practising on the simplicity of his opponent, or rather perhaps trying an experiment in dialectics. Nothing can be more fallacious than the contradiction which he pretends to have discovered in the answers of Gorgias (see above). The advantages which he gains over Polus are also due to a false antithesis of pleasure and good, and to an erroneous assertion that an agent and a patient may be described by similar predicates; — a mistake which Aristotle partly shares and partly corrects in the Nicomachean Ethics. Traces of a ‘robust sophistry’ are likewise discernible in his argument with Callicles.

(2) Although Socrates professes to be convinced by reason only, yet the argument is often a sort of dialectical fiction, by which he conducts himself and others to his own ideal of life and action. And we may sometimes wish that we could have suggested answers to his antagonists, or pointed out to them the rocks which lay concealed under the ambiguous terms good, pleasure, and the like. But it would be as useless to examine his arguments by the requirements of modern logic, as to criticise this ideal from a merely utilitarian point of view. If we say that the ideal is generally regarded as unattainable, and that mankind will by no means agree in thinking that the criminal is happier when punished than when unpunished, any more than they would agree to the stoical paradox that a man may be happy on the rack, Plato has already admitted that the world is against him. Neither does he mean to say that Archelaus is tormented by the stings of conscience; or that the sensations of the impaled criminal are more agreeable than those of the tyrant drowned in luxurious enjoyment. Neither is he speaking, as in the Protagoras, of virtue as a calculation of pleasure, an opinion which he afterwards repudiates in the Phaedo. What then is his meaning? His meaning we shall be able to illustrate best by parallel notions, which, whether justifiable by logic or not, have always existed among mankind. We must remind the reader that Socrates himself implies that he will be understood or appreciated by very few.

He is speaking not of the consciousness of happiness, but of the idea of happiness. When a martyr dies in a good cause, when a soldier falls in battle, we do not suppose that death or wounds are without pain, or that their physical suffering is always compensated by a mental satisfaction. Still we regard them as happy, and we would a thousand times rather have their death than a shameful life. Nor is this only because we believe that they will obtain an immortality of fame, or that they will have crowns of glory in another world, when their enemies and persecutors will be proportionably tormented. Men are found in a few instances to do what is right, without reference to public opinion or to consequences. And we regard them as happy on this ground only, much as Socrates’ friends in the opening of the Phaedo are described as regarding him; or as was said of another, ‘they looked upon his face as upon the face of an angel.’ We are not concerned to justify this idealism by the standard of utility or public opinion, but merely to point out the existence of such a sentiment in the better part of human nature.

The idealism of Plato is founded upon this sentiment. He would maintain that in some sense or other truth and right are alone to be sought, and that all other goods are only desirable as means towards these. He is thought to have erred in ‘considering the agent only, and making no reference to the happiness of others, as affected by him.’ But the happiness of others or of mankind, if regarded as an end, is really quite as ideal and almost as paradoxical to the common understanding as Plato’s conception of happiness. For the greatest happiness of the greatest number may mean also the greatest pain of the individual which will procure the greatest pleasure of the greatest number. Ideas of utility, like those of duty and right, may be pushed to unpleasant consequences. Nor can Plato in the Gorgias be deemed purely self-regarding, considering that Socrates expressly mentions the duty of imparting the truth when discovered to others. Nor must we forget that the side of ethics which regards others is by the ancients merged in politics. Both in Plato and Aristotle, as well as in the Stoics, the social principle, though taking another form, is really far more prominent than in most modern treatises on ethics.

The idealizing of suffering is one of the conceptions which have exercised the greatest influence on mankind. Into the theological import of this, or into the consideration of the errors to which the idea may have given rise, we need not now enter. All will agree that the ideal of the Divine Sufferer, whose words the world would not receive, the man of sorrows of whom the Hebrew prophets spoke, has sunk deep into the heart of the human race. It is a similar picture of suffering goodness which Plato desires to pourtray, not without an allusion to the fate of his master Socrates. He is convinced that, somehow or other, such an one must be happy in life or after death. In the Republic, he endeavours to show that his happiness would be assured here in a well-ordered state. But in the actual condition of human things the wise and good are weak and miserable; such an one is like a man fallen among wild beasts, exposed to every sort of wrong and obloquy.

Plato, like other philosophers, is thus led on to the conclusion, that if ‘the ways of God’ to man are to be ‘justified,’ the hopes of another life must be included. If the question could have been put to him, whether a man dying in torments was happy still, even if, as he suggests in the Apology, ‘death be only a long sleep,’ we can hardly tell what would have been his answer. There have been a few, who, quite independently of rewards and punishments or of posthumous reputation, or any other influence of public opinion, have been willing to sacrifice their lives for the good of others. It is difficult to say how far in such cases an unconscious hope of a future life, or a general faith in the victory of good in the world, may have supported the sufferers. But this extreme idealism is not in accordance with the spirit of Plato. He supposes a day of retribution, in which the good are to be rewarded and the wicked punished. Though, as he says in the Phaedo, no man of sense will maintain that the details of the stories about another world are true, he will insist that something of the kind is true, and will frame his life with a view to this unknown future. Even in the Republic he introduces a future life as an afterthought, when the superior happiness of the just has been established on what is thought to be an immutable foundation. At the same time he makes a point of determining his main thesis independently of remoter consequences.

(3) Plato’s theory of punishment is partly vindictive, partly corrective. In the Gorgias, as well as in the Phaedo and Republic, a few great criminals, chiefly tyrants, are reserved as examples. But most men have never had the opportunity of attaining this pre-eminence of evil. They are not incurable, and their punishment is intended for their improvement. They are to suffer because they have sinned; like sick men, they must go to the physician and be healed. On this representation of Plato’s the criticism has been made, that the analogy of disease and injustice is partial only, and that suffering, instead of improving men, may have just the opposite effect.

Like the general analogy of the arts and the virtues, the analogy of disease and injustice, or of medicine and justice, is certainly imperfect. But ideas must be given through something; the nature of the mind which is unseen can only be represented under figures derived from visible objects. If these figures are suggestive of some new aspect under which the mind may be considered, we cannot find fault with them for not exactly coinciding with the ideas represented. They partake of the imperfect nature of language, and must not be construed in too strict a manner. That Plato sometimes reasons from them as if they were not figures but realities, is due to the defective logical analysis of his age.

Nor does he distinguish between the suffering which improves and the suffering which only punishes and deters. He applies to the sphere of ethics a conception of punishment which is really derived from criminal law. He does not see that such punishment is only negative, and supplies no principle of moral growth or development. He is not far off the higher notion of an education of man to be begun in this world, and to be continued in other stages of existence, which is further developed in the Republic. And Christian thinkers, who have ventured out of the beaten track in their meditations on the ‘last things,’ have found a ray of light in his writings. But he has not explained how or in what way punishment is to contribute to the improvement of mankind. He has not followed out the principle which he affirms in the Republic, that ‘God is the author of evil only with a view to good,’ and that ‘they were the better for being punished.’ Still his doctrine of a future state of rewards and punishments may be compared favourably with that perversion of Christian doctrine which makes the everlasting punishment of human beings depend on a brief moment of time, or even on the accident of an accident. And he has escaped the difficulty which has often beset divines, respecting the future destiny of the meaner sort of men (Thersites and the like), who are neither very good nor very bad, by not counting them worthy of eternal damnation.

We do Plato violence in pressing his figures of speech or chains of argument; and not less so in asking questions which were beyond the horizon of his vision, or did not come within the scope of his design. The main purpose of the Gorgias is not to answer questions about a future world, but to place in antagonism the true and false life, and to contrast the judgments and opinions of men with judgment according to the truth. Plato may be accused of representing a superhuman or transcendental virtue in the description of the just man in the Gorgias, or in the companion portrait of the philosopher in the Theaetetus; and at the same time may be thought to be condemning a state of the world which always has existed and always will exist among men. But such ideals act powerfully on the imagination of mankind. And such condemnations are not mere paradoxes of philosophers, but the natural rebellion of the higher sense of right in man against the ordinary conditions of human life. The greatest statesmen have fallen very far short of the political ideal, and are therefore justly involved in the general condemnation.

Subordinate to the main purpose of the dialogue are some other questions, which may be briefly considered: —

a. The antithesis of good and pleasure, which as in other dialogues is supposed to consist in the permanent nature of the one compared with the transient and relative nature of the other. Good and pleasure, knowledge and sense, truth and opinion, essence and generation, virtue and pleasure, the real and the apparent, the infinite and finite, harmony or beauty and discord, dialectic and rhetoric or poetry, are so many pairs of opposites, which in Plato easily pass into one another, and are seldom kept perfectly distinct. And we must not forget that Plato’s conception of pleasure is the Heracleitean flux transferred to the sphere of human conduct. There is some degree of unfairness in opposing the principle of good, which is objective, to the principle of pleasure, which is subjective. For the assertion of the permanence of good is only based on the assumption of its objective character. Had Plato fixed his mind, not on the ideal nature of good, but on the subjective consciousness of happiness, that would have been found to be as transient and precarious as pleasure.

b. The arts or sciences, when pursued without any view to truth, or the improvement of human life, are called flatteries. They are all alike dependent upon the opinion of mankind, from which they are derived. To Plato the whole world appears to be sunk in error, based on self-interest. To this is opposed the one wise man hardly professing to have found truth, yet strong in the conviction that a virtuous life is the only good, whether regarded with reference to this world or to another. Statesmen, Sophists, rhetoricians, poets, are alike brought up for judgment. They are the parodies of wise men, and their arts are the parodies of true arts and sciences. All that they call science is merely the result of that study of the tempers of the Great Beast, which he describes in the Republic.

c. Various other points of contact naturally suggest themselves between the Gorgias and other dialogues, especially the Republic, the Philebus, and the Protagoras. There are closer resemblances both of spirit and language in the Republic than in any other dialogue, the verbal similarity tending to show that they were written at the same period of Plato’s life. For the Republic supplies that education and training of which the Gorgias suggests the necessity. The theory of the many weak combining against the few strong in the formation of society (which is indeed a partial truth), is similar in both of them, and is expressed in nearly the same language. The sufferings and fate of the just man, the powerlessness of evil, and the reversal of the situation in another life, are also points of similarity. The poets, like the rhetoricians, are condemned because they aim at pleasure only, as in the Republic they are expelled the State, because they are imitators, and minister to the weaker side of human nature. That poetry is akin to rhetoric may be compared with the analogous notion, which occurs in the Protagoras, that the ancient poets were the Sophists of their day. In some other respects the Protagoras rather offers a contrast than a parallel. The character of Protagoras may be compared with that of Gorgias, but the conception of happiness is different in the two dialogues; being described in the former, according to the old Socratic notion, as deferred or accumulated pleasure, while in the Gorgias, and in the Phaedo, pleasure and good are distinctly opposed.

This opposition is carried out from a speculative point of view in the Philebus. There neither pleasure nor wisdom are allowed to be the chief good, but pleasure and good are not so completely opposed as in the Gorgias. For innocent pleasures, and such as have no antecedent pains, are allowed to rank in the class of goods. The allusion to Gorgias’ definition of rhetoric (Philebus; compare Gorg.), as the art of persuasion, of all arts the best, for to it all things submit, not by compulsion, but of their own free will — marks a close and perhaps designed connection between the two dialogues. In both the ideas of measure, order, harmony, are the connecting links between the beautiful and the good.

In general spirit and character, that is, in irony and antagonism to public opinion, the Gorgias most nearly resembles the Apology, Crito, and portions of the Republic, and like the Philebus, though from another point of view, may be thought to stand in the same relation to Plato’s theory of morals which the Theaetetus bears to his theory of knowledge.

d. A few minor points still remain to be summed up: (1) The extravagant irony in the reason which is assigned for the pilot’s modest charge; and in the proposed use of rhetoric as an instrument of self-condemnation; and in the mighty power of geometrical equality in both worlds. (2) The reference of the mythus to the previous discussion should not be overlooked: the fate reserved for incurable criminals such as Archelaus; the retaliation of the box on the ears; the nakedness of the souls and of the judges who are stript of the clothes or disguises which rhetoric and public opinion have hitherto provided for them (compare Swift’s notion that the universe is a suit of clothes, Tale of a Tub). The fiction seems to have involved Plato in the necessity of supposing that the soul retained a sort of corporeal likeness after death. (3) The appeal of the authority of Homer, who says that Odysseus saw Minos in his court ‘holding a golden sceptre,’ which gives verisimilitude to the tale.

It is scarcely necessary to repeat that Plato is playing ‘both sides of the game,’ and that in criticising the characters of Gorgias and Polus, we are not passing any judgment on historical individuals, but only attempting to analyze the ‘dramatis personae’ as they were conceived by him. Neither is it necessary to enlarge upon the obvious fact that Plato is a dramatic writer, whose real opinions cannot always be assumed to be those which he puts into the mouth of Socrates, or any other speaker who appears to have the best of the argument; or to repeat the observation that he is a poet as well as a philosopher; or to remark that he is not to be tried by a modern standard, but interpreted with reference to his place in the history of thought and the opinion of his time.

It has been said that the most characteristic feature of the Gorgias is the assertion of the right of dissent, or private judgment. But this mode of stating the question is really opposed both to the spirit of Plato and of ancient philosophy generally. For Plato is not asserting any abstract right or duty of toleration, or advantage to be derived from freedom of thought; indeed, in some other parts of his writings (e.g. Laws), he has fairly laid himself open to the charge of intolerance. No speculations had as yet arisen respecting the ‘liberty of prophesying;’ and Plato is not affirming any abstract right of this nature: but he is asserting the duty and right of the one wise and true man to dissent from the folly and falsehood of the many. At the same time he acknowledges the natural result, which he hardly seeks to avert, that he who speaks the truth to a multitude, regardless of consequences, will probably share the fate of Socrates.

The irony of Plato sometimes veils from us the height of idealism to which he soars. When declaring truths which the many will not receive, he puts on an armour which cannot be pierced by them. The weapons of ridicule are taken out of their hands and the laugh is turned against themselves. The disguises which Socrates assumes are like the parables of the New Testament, or the oracles of the Delphian God; they half conceal, half reveal, his meaning. The more he is in earnest, the more ironical he becomes; and he is never more in earnest or more ironical than in the Gorgias. He hardly troubles himself to answer seriously the objections of Gorgias and Polus, and therefore he sometimes appears to be careless of the ordinary requirements of logic. Yet in the highest sense he is always logical and consistent with himself. The form of the argument may be paradoxical; the substance is an appeal to the higher reason. He is uttering truths before they can be understood, as in all ages the words of philosophers, when they are first uttered, have found the world unprepared for them. A further misunderstanding arises out of the wildness of his humour; he is supposed not only by Callicles, but by the rest of mankind, to be jesting when he is profoundly serious. At length he makes even Polus in earnest. Finally, he drops the argument, and heedless any longer of the forms of dialectic, he loses himself in a sort of triumph, while at the same time he retaliates upon his adversaries. From this confusion of jest and earnest, we may now return to the ideal truth, and draw out in a simple form the main theses of the dialogue.

First Thesis: —

It is a greater evil to do than to suffer injustice.

Compare the New Testament —

‘It is better to suffer for well doing than for evil doing.’ — 1 Pet.

And the Sermon on the Mount —

‘Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.’ — Matt.

The words of Socrates are more abstract than the words of Christ, but they equally imply that the only real evil is moral evil. The righteous may suffer or die, but they have their reward; and even if they had no reward, would be happier than the wicked. The world, represented by Polus, is ready, when they are asked, to acknowledge that injustice is dishonourable, and for their own sakes men are willing to punish the offender (compare Republic). But they are not equally willing to acknowledge that injustice, even if successful, is essentially evil, and has the nature of disease and death. Especially when crimes are committed on the great scale — the crimes of tyrants, ancient or modern — after a while, seeing that they cannot be undone, and have become a part of history, mankind are disposed to forgive them, not from any magnanimity or charity, but because their feelings are blunted by time, and ‘to forgive is convenient to them.’ The tangle of good and evil can no longer be unravelled; and although they know that the end cannot justify the means, they feel also that good has often come out of evil. But Socrates would have us pass the same judgment on the tyrant now and always; though he is surrounded by his satellites, and has the applauses of Europe and Asia ringing in his ears; though he is the civilizer or liberator of half a continent, he is, and always will be, the most miserable of men. The greatest consequences for good or for evil cannot alter a hair’s breadth the morality of actions which are right or wrong in themselves. This is the standard which Socrates holds up to us. Because politics, and perhaps human life generally, are of a mixed nature we must not allow our principles to sink to the level of our practice.

And so of private individuals — to them, too, the world occasionally speaks of the consequences of their actions: — if they are lovers of pleasure, they will ruin their health; if they are false or dishonest, they will lose their character. But Socrates would speak to them, not of what will be, but of what is — of the present consequence of lowering and degrading the soul. And all higher natures, or perhaps all men everywhere, if they were not tempted by interest or passion, would agree with him — they would rather be the victims than the perpetrators of an act of treachery or of tyranny. Reason tells them that death comes sooner or later to all, and is not so great an evil as an unworthy life, or rather, if rightly regarded, not an evil at all, but to a good man the greatest good. For in all of us there are slumbering ideals of truth and right, which may at any time awaken and develop a new life in us.

Second Thesis: —

It is better to suffer for wrong doing than not to suffer.

There might have been a condition of human life in which the penalty followed at once, and was proportioned to the offence. Moral evil would then be scarcely distinguishable from physical; mankind would avoid vice as they avoid pain or death. But nature, with a view of deepening and enlarging our characters, has for the most part hidden from us the consequences of our actions, and we can only foresee them by an effort of reflection. To awaken in us this habit of reflection is the business of early education, which is continued in maturer years by observation and experience. The spoilt child is in later life said to be unfortunate — he had better have suffered when he was young, and been saved from suffering afterwards. But is not the sovereign equally unfortunate whose education and manner of life are always concealing from him the consequences of his own actions, until at length they are revealed to him in some terrible downfall, which may, perhaps, have been caused not by his own fault? Another illustration is afforded by the pauper and criminal classes, who scarcely reflect at all, except on the means by which they can compass their immediate ends. We pity them, and make allowances for them; but we do not consider that the same principle applies to human actions generally. Not to have been found out in some dishonesty or folly, regarded from a moral or religious point of view, is the greatest of misfortunes. The success of our evil doings is a proof that the gods have ceased to strive with us, and have given us over to ourselves. There is nothing to remind us of our sins, and therefore nothing to correct them. Like our sorrows, they are healed by time;

‘While rank corruption, mining all within,

Infects unseen.’

The ‘accustomed irony’ of Socrates adds a corollary to the argument:— ‘Would you punish your enemy, you should allow him to escape unpunished’ — this is the true retaliation. (Compare the obscure verse of Proverbs, ‘Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him,’ etc., quoted in Romans.)

Men are not in the habit of dwelling upon the dark side of their own lives: they do not easily see themselves as others see them. They are very kind and very blind to their own faults; the rhetoric of self-love is always pleading with them on their own behalf. Adopting a similar figure of speech, Socrates would have them use rhetoric, not in defence but in accusation of themselves. As they are guided by feeling rather than by reason, to their feelings the appeal must be made. They must speak to themselves; they must argue with themselves; they must paint in eloquent words the character of their own evil deeds. To any suffering which they have deserved, they must persuade themselves to submit. Under the figure there lurks a real thought, which, expressed in another form, admits of an easy application to ourselves. For do not we too accuse as well as excuse ourselves? And we call to our aid the rhetoric of prayer and preaching, which the mind silently employs while the struggle between the better and the worse is going on within us. And sometimes we are too hard upon ourselves, because we want to restore the balance which self-love has overthrown or disturbed; and then again we may hear a voice as of a parent consoling us. In religious diaries a sort of drama is often enacted by the consciences of men ‘accusing or else excusing them.’ For all our life long we are talking with ourselves: — What is thought but speech? What is feeling but rhetoric? And if rhetoric is used on one side only we shall be always in danger of being deceived. And so the words of Socrates, which at first sounded paradoxical, come home to the experience of all of us.

Third Thesis: —

We do not what we will, but what we wish.

Socrates would teach us a lesson which we are slow to learn — that good intentions, and even benevolent actions, when they are not prompted by wisdom, are of no value. We believe something to be for our good which we afterwards find out not to be for our good. The consequences may be inevitable, for they may follow an invariable law, yet they may often be the very opposite of what is expected by us. When we increase pauperism by almsgiving; when we tie up property without regard to changes of circumstances; when we say hastily what we deliberately disapprove; when we do in a moment of passion what upon reflection we regret; when from any want of self-control we give another an advantage over us — we are doing not what we will, but what we wish. All actions of which the consequences are not weighed and foreseen, are of this impotent and paralytic sort; and the author of them has ‘the least possible power’ while seeming to have the greatest. For he is actually bringing about the reverse of what he intended. And yet the book of nature is open to him, in which he who runs may read if he will exercise ordinary attention; every day offers him experiences of his own and of other men’s characters, and he passes them unheeded by. The contemplation of the consequences of actions, and the ignorance of men in regard to them, seems to have led Socrates to his famous thesis:— ‘Virtue is knowledge;’ which is not so much an error or paradox as a half truth, seen first in the twilight of ethical philosophy, but also the half of the truth which is especially needed in the present age. For as the world has grown older men have been too apt to imagine a right and wrong apart from consequences; while a few, on the other hand, have sought to resolve them wholly into their consequences. But Socrates, or Plato for him, neither divides nor identifies them; though the time has not yet arrived either for utilitarian or transcendental systems of moral philosophy, he recognizes the two elements which seem to lie at the basis of morality. (Compare the following: ‘Now, and for us, it is a time to Hellenize and to praise knowing; for we have Hebraized too much and have overvalued doing. But the habits and discipline received from Hebraism remain for our race an eternal possession. And as humanity is constituted, one must never assign the second rank to-day without being ready to restore them to the first to-morrow.’ Sir William W. Hunter, Preface to Orissa.)

Fourth Thesis: —

To be and not to seem is the end of life.

The Greek in the age of Plato admitted praise to be one of the chief incentives to moral virtue, and to most men the opinion of their fellows is a leading principle of action. Hence a certain element of seeming enters into all things; all or almost all desire to appear better than they are, that they may win the esteem or admiration of others. A man of ability can easily feign the language of piety or virtue; and there is an unconscious as well as a conscious hypocrisy which, according to Socrates, is the worst of the two. Again, there is the sophistry of classes and professions. There are the different opinions about themselves and one another which prevail in different ranks of society. There is the bias given to the mind by the study of one department of human knowledge to the exclusion of the rest; and stronger far the prejudice engendered by a pecuniary or party interest in certain tenets. There is the sophistry of law, the sophistry of medicine, the sophistry of politics, the sophistry of theology. All of these disguises wear the appearance of the truth; some of them are very ancient, and we do not easily disengage ourselves from them; for we have inherited them, and they have become a part of us. The sophistry of an ancient Greek sophist is nothing compared with the sophistry of a religious order, or of a church in which during many ages falsehood has been accumulating, and everything has been said on one side, and nothing on the other. The conventions and customs which we observe in conversation, and the opposition of our interests when we have dealings with one another (‘the buyer saith, it is nought — it is nought,’ etc.), are always obscuring our sense of truth and right. The sophistry of human nature is far more subtle than the deceit of any one man. Few persons speak freely from their own natures, and scarcely any one dares to think for himself: most of us imperceptibly fall into the opinions of those around us, which we partly help to make. A man who would shake himself loose from them, requires great force of mind; he hardly knows where to begin in the search after truth. On every side he is met by the world, which is not an abstraction of theologians, but the most real of all things, being another name for ourselves when regarded collectively and subjected to the influences of society.

Then comes Socrates, impressed as no other man ever was, with the unreality and untruthfulness of popular opinion, and tells mankind that they must be and not seem. How are they to be? At any rate they must have the spirit and desire to be. If they are ignorant, they must acknowledge their ignorance to themselves; if they are conscious of doing evil, they must learn to do well; if they are weak, and have nothing in them which they can call themselves, they must acquire firmness and consistency; if they are indifferent, they must begin to take an interest in the great questions which surround them. They must try to be what they would fain appear in the eyes of their fellow-men. A single individual cannot easily change public opinion; but he can be true and innocent, simple and independent; he can know what he does, and what he does not know; and though not without an effort, he can form a judgment of his own, at least in common matters. In his most secret actions he can show the same high principle (compare Republic) which he shows when supported and watched by public opinion. And on some fitting occasion, on some question of humanity or truth or right, even an ordinary man, from the natural rectitude of his disposition, may be found to take up arms against a whole tribe of politicians and lawyers, and be too much for them.

Who is the true and who the false statesman? —

The true statesman is he who brings order out of disorder; who first organizes and then administers the government of his own country; and having made a nation, seeks to reconcile the national interests with those of Europe and of mankind. He is not a mere theorist, nor yet a dealer in expedients; the whole and the parts grow together in his mind; while the head is conceiving, the hand is executing. Although obliged to descend to the world, he is not of the world. His thoughts are fixed not on power or riches or extension of territory, but on an ideal state, in which all the citizens have an equal chance of health and life, and the highest education is within the reach of all, and the moral and intellectual qualities of every individual are freely developed, and ‘the idea of good’ is the animating principle of the whole. Not the attainment of freedom alone, or of order alone, but how to unite freedom with order is the problem which he has to solve.

The statesman who places before himself these lofty aims has undertaken a task which will call forth all his powers. He must control himself before he can control others; he must know mankind before he can manage them. He has no private likes or dislikes; he does not conceal personal enmity under the disguise of moral or political principle: such meannesses, into which men too often fall unintentionally, are absorbed in the consciousness of his mission, and in his love for his country and for mankind. He will sometimes ask himself what the next generation will say of him; not because he is careful of posthumous fame, but because he knows that the result of his life as a whole will then be more fairly judged. He will take time for the execution of his plans; not hurrying them on when the mind of a nation is unprepared for them; but like the Ruler of the Universe Himself, working in the appointed time, for he knows that human life, ‘if not long in comparison with eternity’ (Republic), is sufficient for the fulfilment of many great purposes. He knows, too, that the work will be still going on when he is no longer here; and he will sometimes, especially when his powers are failing, think of that other ‘city of which the pattern is in heaven’ (Republic).

The false politician is the serving-man of the state. In order to govern men he becomes like them; their ‘minds are married in conjunction;’ they ‘bear themselves’ like vulgar and tyrannical masters, and he is their obedient servant. The true politician, if he would rule men, must make them like himself; he must ‘educate his party’ until they cease to be a party; he must breathe into them the spirit which will hereafter give form to their institutions. Politics with him are not a mechanism for seeming what he is not, or for carrying out the will of the majority. Himself a representative man, he is the representative not of the lower but of the higher elements of the nation. There is a better (as well as a worse) public opinion of which he seeks to lay hold; as there is also a deeper current of human affairs in which he is borne up when the waves nearer the shore are threatening him. He acknowledges that he cannot take the world by force — two or three moves on the political chess board are all that he can fore see — two or three weeks moves on the political chessboard are all that he can foresee — two or three weeks or months are granted to him in which he can provide against a coming struggle. But he knows also that there are permanent principles of politics which are always tending to the well-being of states — better administration, better education, the reconciliation of conflicting elements, increased security against external enemies. These are not ‘of to-day or yesterday,’ but are the same in all times, and under all forms of government. Then when the storm descends and the winds blow, though he knows not beforehand the hour of danger, the pilot, not like Plato’s captain in the Republic, half-blind and deaf, but with penetrating eye and quick ear, is ready to take command of the ship and guide her into port.

The false politician asks not what is true, but what is the opinion of the world — not what is right, but what is expedient. The only measures of which he approves are the measures which will pass. He has no intention of fighting an uphill battle; he keeps the roadway of politics. He is unwilling to incur the persecution and enmity which political convictions would entail upon him. He begins with popularity, and in fair weather sails gallantly along. But unpopularity soon follows him. For men expect their leaders to be better and wiser than themselves: to be their guides in danger, their saviours in extremity; they do not really desire them to obey all the ignorant impulses of the popular mind; and if they fail them in a crisis they are disappointed. Then, as Socrates says, the cry of ingratitude is heard, which is most unreasonable; for the people, who have been taught no better, have done what might be expected of them, and their statesmen have received justice at their hands.

The true statesman is aware that he must adapt himself to times and circumstances. He must have allies if he is to fight against the world; he must enlighten public opinion; he must accustom his followers to act together. Although he is not the mere executor of the will of the majority, he must win over the majority to himself. He is their leader and not their follower, but in order to lead he must also follow. He will neither exaggerate nor undervalue the power of a statesman, neither adopting the ‘laissez faire’ nor the ‘paternal government’ principle; but he will, whether he is dealing with children in politics, or with full-grown men, seek to do for the people what the government can do for them, and what, from imperfect education or deficient powers of combination, they cannot do for themselves. He knows that if he does too much for them they will do nothing; and that if he does nothing for them they will in some states of society be utterly helpless. For the many cannot exist without the few, if the material force of a country is from below, wisdom and experience are from above. It is not a small part of human evils which kings and governments make or cure. The statesman is well aware that a great purpose carried out consistently during many years will at last be executed. He is playing for a stake which may be partly determined by some accident, and therefore he will allow largely for the unknown element of politics. But the game being one in which chance and skill are combined, if he plays long enough he is certain of victory. He will not be always consistent, for the world is changing; and though he depends upon the support of a party, he will remember that he is the minister of the whole. He lives not for the present, but for the future, and he is not at all sure that he will be appreciated either now or then. For he may have the existing order of society against him, and may not be remembered by a distant posterity.

There are always discontented idealists in politics who, like Socrates in the Gorgias, find fault with all statesmen past as well as present, not excepting the greatest names of history. Mankind have an uneasy feeling that they ought to be better governed than they are. Just as the actual philosopher falls short of the one wise man, so does the actual statesman fall short of the ideal. And so partly from vanity and egotism, but partly also from a true sense of the faults of eminent men, a temper of dissatisfaction and criticism springs up among those who are ready enough to acknowledge the inferiority of their own powers. No matter whether a statesman makes high professions or none at all — they are reduced sooner or later to the same level. And sometimes the more unscrupulous man is better esteemed than the more conscientious, because he has not equally deceived expectations. Such sentiments may be unjust, but they are widely spread; we constantly find them recurring in reviews and newspapers, and still oftener in private conversation.

We may further observe that the art of government, while in some respects tending to improve, has in others a tendency to degenerate, as institutions become more popular. Governing for the people cannot easily be combined with governing by the people: the interests of classes are too strong for the ideas of the statesman who takes a comprehensive view of the whole. According to Socrates the true governor will find ruin or death staring him in the face, and will only be induced to govern from the fear of being governed by a worse man than himself (Republic). And in modern times, though the world has grown milder, and the terrible consequences which Plato foretells no longer await an English statesman, any one who is not actuated by a blind ambition will only undertake from a sense of duty a work in which he is most likely to fail; and even if he succeed, will rarely be rewarded by the gratitude of his own generation.

Socrates, who is not a politician at all, tells us that he is the only real politician of his time. Let us illustrate the meaning of his words by applying them to the history of our own country. He would have said that not Pitt or Fox, or Canning or Sir R. Peel, are the real politicians of their time, but Locke, Hume, Adam Smith, Bentham, Ricardo. These during the greater part of their lives occupied an inconsiderable space in the eyes of the public. They were private persons; nevertheless they sowed in the minds of men seeds which in the next generation have become an irresistible power. ‘Herein is that saying true, One soweth and another reapeth.’ We may imagine with Plato an ideal statesman in whom practice and speculation are perfectly harmonized; for there is no necessary opposition between them. But experience shows that they are commonly divorced — the ordinary politician is the interpreter or executor of the thoughts of others, and hardly ever brings to the birth a new political conception. One or two only in modern times, like the Italian statesman Cavour, have created the world in which they moved. The philosopher is naturally unfitted for political life; his great ideas are not understood by the many; he is a thousand miles away from the questions of the day. Yet perhaps the lives of thinkers, as they are stiller and deeper, are also happier than the lives of those who are more in the public eye. They have the promise of the future, though they are regarded as dreamers and visionaries by their own contemporaries. And when they are no longer here, those who would have been ashamed of them during their lives claim kindred with them, and are proud to be called by their names. (Compare Thucyd.)

Who is the true poet?

Plato expels the poets from his Republic because they are allied to sense; because they stimulate the emotions; because they are thrice removed from the ideal truth. And in a similar spirit he declares in the Gorgias that the stately muse of tragedy is a votary of pleasure and not of truth. In modern times we almost ridicule the idea of poetry admitting of a moral. The poet and the prophet, or preacher, in primitive antiquity are one and the same; but in later ages they seem to fall apart. The great art of novel writing, that peculiar creation of our own and the last century, which, together with the sister art of review writing, threatens to absorb all literature, has even less of seriousness in her composition. Do we not often hear the novel writer censured for attempting to convey a lesson to the minds of his readers?

Yet the true office of a poet or writer of fiction is not merely to give amusement, or to be the expression of the feelings of mankind, good or bad, or even to increase our knowledge of human nature. There have been poets in modern times, such as Goethe or Wordsworth, who have not forgotten their high vocation of teachers; and the two greatest of the Greek dramatists owe their sublimity to their ethical character. The noblest truths, sung of in the purest and sweetest language, are still the proper material of poetry. The poet clothes them with beauty, and has a power of making them enter into the hearts and memories of men. He has not only to speak of themes above the level of ordinary life, but to speak of them in a deeper and tenderer way than they are ordinarily felt, so as to awaken the feeling of them in others. The old he makes young again; the familiar principle he invests with a new dignity; he finds a noble expression for the common-places of morality and politics. He uses the things of sense so as to indicate what is beyond; he raises us through earth to heaven. He expresses what the better part of us would fain say, and the half-conscious feeling is strengthened by the expression. He is his own critic, for the spirit of poetry and of criticism are not divided in him. His mission is not to disguise men from themselves, but to reveal to them their own nature, and make them better acquainted with the world around them. True poetry is the remembrance of youth, of love, the embodiment in words of the happiest and holiest moments of life, of the noblest thoughts of man, of the greatest deeds of the past. The poet of the future may return to his greater calling of the prophet or teacher; indeed, we hardly know what may not be effected for the human race by a better use of the poetical and imaginative faculty. The reconciliation of poetry, as of religion, with truth, may still be possible. Neither is the element of pleasure to be excluded. For when we substitute a higher pleasure for a lower we raise men in the scale of existence. Might not the novelist, too, make an ideal, or rather many ideals of social life, better than a thousand sermons? Plato, like the Puritans, is too much afraid of poetic and artistic influences. But he is not without a true sense of the noble purposes to which art may be applied (Republic).

Modern poetry is often a sort of plaything, or, in Plato’s language, a flattery, a sophistry, or sham, in which, without any serious purpose, the poet lends wings to his fancy and exhibits his gifts of language and metre. Such an one seeks to gratify the taste of his readers; he has the ‘savoir faire,’ or trick of writing, but he has not the higher spirit of poetry. He has no conception that true art should bring order out of disorder; that it should make provision for the soul’s highest interest; that it should be pursued only with a view to ‘the improvement of the citizens.’ He ministers to the weaker side of human nature (Republic); he idealizes the sensual; he sings the strain of love in the latest fashion; instead of raising men above themselves he brings them back to the ‘tyranny of the many masters,’ from which all his life long a good man has been praying to be delivered. And often, forgetful of measure and order, he will express not that which is truest, but that which is strongest. Instead of a great and nobly-executed subject, perfect in every part, some fancy of a heated brain is worked out with the strangest incongruity. He is not the master of his words, but his words — perhaps borrowed from another — the faded reflection of some French or German or Italian writer, have the better of him. Though we are not going to banish the poets, how can we suppose that such utterances have any healing or life-giving influence on the minds of men?

‘Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter:’ Art then must be true, and politics must be true, and the life of man must be true and not a seeming or sham. In all of them order has to be brought out of disorder, truth out of error and falsehood. This is what we mean by the greatest improvement of man. And so, having considered in what way ‘we can best spend the appointed time, we leave the result with God.’ Plato does not say that God will order all things for the best (compare Phaedo), but he indirectly implies that the evils of this life will be corrected in another. And as we are very far from the best imaginable world at present, Plato here, as in the Phaedo and Republic, supposes a purgatory or place of education for mankind in general, and for a very few a Tartarus or hell. The myth which terminates the dialogue is not the revelation, but rather, like all similar descriptions, whether in the Bible or Plato, the veil of another life. For no visible thing can reveal the invisible. Of this Plato, unlike some commentators on Scripture, is fully aware. Neither will he dogmatize about the manner in which we are ‘born again’ (Republic). Only he is prepared to maintain the ultimate triumph of truth and right, and declares that no one, not even the wisest of the Greeks, can affirm any other doctrine without being ridiculous.

There is a further paradox of ethics, in which pleasure and pain are held to be indifferent, and virtue at the time of action and without regard to consequences is happiness. From this elevation or exaggeration of feeling Plato seems to shrink: he leaves it to the Stoics in a later generation to maintain that when impaled or on the rack the philosopher may be happy (compare Republic). It is observable that in the Republic he raises this question, but it is not really discussed; the veil of the ideal state, the shadow of another life, are allowed to descend upon it and it passes out of sight. The martyr or sufferer in the cause of right or truth is often supposed to die in raptures, having his eye fixed on a city which is in heaven. But if there were no future, might he not still be happy in the performance of an action which was attended only by a painful death? He himself may be ready to thank God that he was thought worthy to do Him the least service, without looking for a reward; the joys of another life may not have been present to his mind at all. Do we suppose that the mediaeval saint, St. Bernard, St. Francis, St. Catharine of Sienna, or the Catholic priest who lately devoted himself to death by a lingering disease that he might solace and help others, was thinking of the ‘sweets’ of heaven? No; the work was already heaven to him and enough. Much less will the dying patriot be dreaming of the praises of man or of an immortality of fame: the sense of duty, of right, and trust in God will be sufficient, and as far as the mind can reach, in that hour. If he were certain that there were no life to come, he would not have wished to speak or act otherwise than he did in the cause of truth or of humanity. Neither, on the other hand, will he suppose that God has forsaken him or that the future is to be a mere blank to him. The greatest act of faith, the only faith which cannot pass away, is his who has not known, but yet has believed. A very few among the sons of men have made themselves independent of circumstances, past, present, or to come. He who has attained to such a temper of mind has already present with him eternal life; he needs no arguments to convince him of immortality; he has in him already a principle stronger than death. He who serves man without the thought of reward is deemed to be a more faithful servant than he who works for hire. May not the service of God, which is the more disinterested, be in like manner the higher? And although only a very few in the course of the world’s history — Christ himself being one of them — have attained to such a noble conception of God and of the human soul, yet the ideal of them may be present to us, and the remembrance of them be an example to us, and their lives may shed a light on many dark places both of philosophy and theology.

THE MYTHS OF PLATO.

The myths of Plato are a phenomenon unique in literature. There are four longer ones: these occur in the Phaedrus, Phaedo, Gorgias, and Republic. That in the Republic is the most elaborate and finished of them. Three of these greater myths, namely those contained in the Phaedo, the Gorgias and the Republic, relate to the destiny of human souls in a future life. The magnificent myth in the Phaedrus treats of the immortality, or rather the eternity of the soul, in which is included a former as well as a future state of existence. To these may be added, (1) the myth, or rather fable, occurring in the Statesman, in which the life of innocence is contrasted with the ordinary life of man and the consciousness of evil: (2) the legend of the Island of Atlantis, an imaginary history, which is a fragment only, commenced in the Timaeus and continued in the Critias: (3) the much less artistic fiction of the foundation of the Cretan colony which is introduced in the preface to the Laws, but soon falls into the background: (4) the beautiful but rather artificial tale of Prometheus and Epimetheus narrated in his rhetorical manner by Protagoras in the dialogue called after him: (5) the speech at the beginning of the Phaedrus, which is a parody of the orator Lysias; the rival speech of Socrates and the recantation of it. To these may be added (6) the tale of the grasshoppers, and (7) the tale of Thamus and of Theuth, both in the Phaedrus: (8) the parable of the Cave (Republic), in which the previous argument is recapitulated, and the nature and degrees of knowledge having been previously set forth in the abstract are represented in a picture: (9) the fiction of the earth-born men (Republic; compare Laws), in which by the adaptation of an old tradition Plato makes a new beginning for his society: (10) the myth of Aristophanes respecting the division of the sexes, Sym.: (11) the parable of the noble captain, the pilot, and the mutinous sailors (Republic), in which is represented the relation of the better part of the world, and of the philosopher, to the mob of politicians: (12) the ironical tale of the pilot who plies between Athens and Aegina charging only a small payment for saving men from death, the reason being that he is uncertain whether to live or die is better for them (Gor.): (13) the treatment of freemen and citizens by physicians and of slaves by their apprentices, — a somewhat laboured figure of speech intended to illustrate the two different ways in which the laws speak to men (Laws). There also occur in Plato continuous images; some of them extend over several pages, appearing and reappearing at intervals: such as the bees stinging and stingless (paupers and thieves) in the Eighth Book of the Republic, who are generated in the transition from timocracy to oligarchy: the sun, which is to the visible world what the idea of good is to the intellectual, in the Sixth Book of the Republic: the composite animal, having the form of a man, but containing under a human skin a lion and a many-headed monster (Republic): the great beast, i.e. the populace: and the wild beast within us, meaning the passions which are always liable to break out: the animated comparisons of the degradation of philosophy by the arts to the dishonoured maiden, and of the tyrant to the parricide, who ‘beats his father, having first taken away his arms’: the dog, who is your only philosopher: the grotesque and rather paltry image of the argument wandering about without a head (Laws), which is repeated, not improved, from the Gorgias: the argument personified as veiling her face (Republic), as engaged in a chase, as breaking upon us in a first, second and third wave: — on these figures of speech the changes are rung many times over. It is observable that nearly all these parables or continuous images are found in the Republic; that which occurs in the Theaetetus, of the midwifery of Socrates, is perhaps the only exception. To make the list complete, the mathematical figure of the number of the state (Republic), or the numerical interval which separates king from tyrant, should not be forgotten.

The myth in the Gorgias is one of those descriptions of another life which, like the Sixth Aeneid of Virgil, appear to contain reminiscences of the mysteries. It is a vision of the rewards and punishments which await good and bad men after death. It supposes the body to continue and to be in another world what it has become in this. It includes a Paradiso, Purgatorio, and Inferno, like the sister myths of the Phaedo and the Republic. The Inferno is reserved for great criminals only. The argument of the dialogue is frequently referred to, and the meaning breaks through so as rather to destroy the liveliness and consistency of the picture. The structure of the fiction is very slight, the chief point or moral being that in the judgments of another world there is no possibility of concealment: Zeus has taken from men the power of foreseeing death, and brings together the souls both of them and their judges naked and undisguised at the judgment-seat. Both are exposed to view, stripped of the veils and clothes which might prevent them from seeing into or being seen by one another.

The myth of the Phaedo is of the same type, but it is more cosmological, and also more poetical. The beautiful and ingenious fancy occurs to Plato that the upper atmosphere is an earth and heaven in one, a glorified earth, fairer and purer than that in which we dwell. As the fishes live in the ocean, mankind are living in a lower sphere, out of which they put their heads for a moment or two and behold a world beyond. The earth which we inhabit is a sediment of the coarser particles which drop from the world above, and is to that heavenly earth what the desert and the shores of the ocean are to us. A part of the myth consists of description of the interior of the earth, which gives the opportunity of introducing several mythological names and of providing places of torment for the wicked. There is no clear distinction of soul and body; the spirits beneath the earth are spoken of as souls only, yet they retain a sort of shadowy form when they cry for mercy on the shores of the lake; and the philosopher alone is said to have got rid of the body. All the three myths in Plato which relate to the world below have a place for repentant sinners, as well as other homes or places for the very good and very bad. It is a natural reflection which is made by Plato elsewhere, that the two extremes of human character are rarely met with, and that the generality of mankind are between them. Hence a place must be found for them. In the myth of the Phaedo they are carried down the river Acheron to the Acherusian lake, where they dwell, and are purified of their evil deeds, and receive the rewards of their good. There are also incurable sinners, who are cast into Tartarus, there to remain as the penalty of atrocious crimes; these suffer everlastingly. And there is another class of hardly-curable sinners who are allowed from time to time to approach the shores of the Acherusian lake, where they cry to their victims for mercy; which if they obtain they come out into the lake and cease from their torments.

Neither this, nor any of the three greater myths of Plato, nor perhaps any allegory or parable relating to the unseen world, is consistent with itself. The language of philosophy mingles with that of mythology; abstract ideas are transformed into persons, figures of speech into realities. These myths may be compared with the Pilgrim’s Progress of Bunyan, in which discussions of theology are mixed up with the incidents of travel, and mythological personages are associated with human beings: they are also garnished with names and phrases taken out of Homer, and with other fragments of Greek tradition.

The myth of the Republic is more subtle and also more consistent than either of the two others. It has a greater verisimilitude than they have, and is full of touches which recall the experiences of human life. It will be noticed by an attentive reader that the twelve days during which Er lay in a trance after he was slain coincide with the time passed by the spirits in their pilgrimage. It is a curious observation, not often made, that good men who have lived in a well-governed city (shall we say in a religious and respectable society?) are more likely to make mistakes in their choice of life than those who have had more experience of the world and of evil. It is a more familiar remark that we constantly blame others when we have only ourselves to blame; and the philosopher must acknowledge, however reluctantly, that there is an element of chance in human life with which it is sometimes impossible for man to cope. That men drink more of the waters of forgetfulness than is good for them is a poetical description of a familiar truth. We have many of us known men who, like Odysseus, have wearied of ambition and have only desired rest. We should like to know what became of the infants ‘dying almost as soon as they were born,’ but Plato only raises, without satisfying, our curiosity. The two companies of souls, ascending and descending at either chasm of heaven and earth, and conversing when they come out into the meadow, the majestic figures of the judges sitting in heaven, the voice heard by Ardiaeus, are features of the great allegory which have an indescribable grandeur and power. The remark already made respecting the inconsistency of the two other myths must be extended also to this: it is at once an orrery, or model of the heavens, and a picture of the Day of Judgment.

The three myths are unlike anything else in Plato. There is an Oriental, or rather an Egyptian element in them, and they have an affinity to the mysteries and to the Orphic modes of worship. To a certain extent they are un-Greek; at any rate there is hardly anything like them in other Greek writings which have a serious purpose; in spirit they are mediaeval. They are akin to what may be termed the underground religion in all ages and countries. They are presented in the most lively and graphic manner, but they are never insisted on as true; it is only affirmed that nothing better can be said about a future life. Plato seems to make use of them when he has reached the limits of human knowledge; or, to borrow an expression of his own, when he is standing on the outside of the intellectual world. They are very simple in style; a few touches bring the picture home to the mind, and make it present to us. They have also a kind of authority gained by the employment of sacred and familiar names, just as mere fragments of the words of Scripture, put together in any form and applied to any subject, have a power of their own. They are a substitute for poetry and mythology; and they are also a reform of mythology. The moral of them may be summed up in a word or two: After death the Judgment; and ‘there is some better thing remaining for the good than for the evil.’

All literature gathers into itself many elements of the past: for example, the tale of the earth-born men in the Republic appears at first sight to be an extravagant fancy, but it is restored to propriety when we remember that it is based on a legendary belief. The art of making stories of ghosts and apparitions credible is said to consist in the manner of telling them. The effect is gained by many literary and conversational devices, such as the previous raising of curiosity, the mention of little circumstances, simplicity, picturesqueness, the naturalness of the occasion, and the like. This art is possessed by Plato in a degree which has never been equalled.

The myth in the Phaedrus is even greater than the myths which have been already described, but is of a different character. It treats of a former rather than of a future life. It represents the conflict of reason aided by passion or righteous indignation on the one hand, and of the animal lusts and instincts on the other. The soul of man has followed the company of some god, and seen truth in the form of the universal before it was born in this world. Our present life is the result of the struggle which was then carried on. This world is relative to a former world, as it is often projected into a future. We ask the question, Where were men before birth? As we likewise enquire, What will become of them after death? The first question is unfamiliar to us, and therefore seems to be unnatural; but if we survey the whole human race, it has been as influential and as widely spread as the other. In the Phaedrus it is really a figure of speech in which the ‘spiritual combat’ of this life is represented. The majesty and power of the whole passage — especially of what may be called the theme or proem (beginning ‘The mind through all her being is immortal’) — can only be rendered very inadequately in another language.

The myth in the Statesman relates to a former cycle of existence, in which men were born of the earth, and by the reversal of the earth’s motion had their lives reversed and were restored to youth and beauty: the dead came to life, the old grew middle-aged, and the middle-aged young; the youth became a child, the child an infant, the infant vanished into the earth. The connection between the reversal of the earth’s motion and the reversal of human life is of course verbal only, yet Plato, like theologians in other ages, argues from the consistency of the tale to its truth. The new order of the world was immediately under the government of God; it was a state of innocence in which men had neither wants nor cares, in which the earth brought forth all things spontaneously, and God was to man what man now is to the animals. There were no great estates, or families, or private possessions, nor any traditions of the past, because men were all born out of the earth. This is what Plato calls the ‘reign of Cronos;’ and in like manner he connects the reversal of the earth’s motion with some legend of which he himself was probably the inventor.

The question is then asked, under which of these two cycles of existence was man the happier, — under that of Cronos, which was a state of innocence, or that of Zeus, which is our ordinary life? For a while Plato balances the two sides of the serious controversy, which he has suggested in a figure. The answer depends on another question: What use did the children of Cronos make of their time? They had boundless leisure and the faculty of discoursing, not only with one another, but with the animals. Did they employ these advantages with a view to philosophy, gathering from every nature some addition to their store of knowledge? or, Did they pass their time in eating and drinking and telling stories to one another and to the beasts? — in either case there would be no difficulty in answering. But then, as Plato rather mischievously adds, ‘Nobody knows what they did,’ and therefore the doubt must remain undetermined.

To the first there succeeds a second epoch. After another natural convulsion, in which the order of the world and of human life is once more reversed, God withdraws his guiding hand, and man is left to the government of himself. The world begins again, and arts and laws are slowly and painfully invented. A secular age succeeds to a theocratical. In this fanciful tale Plato has dropped, or almost dropped, the garb of mythology. He suggests several curious and important thoughts, such as the possibility of a state of innocence, the existence of a world without traditions, and the difference between human and divine government. He has also carried a step further his speculations concerning the abolition of the family and of property, which he supposes to have no place among the children of Cronos any more than in the ideal state.

It is characteristic of Plato and of his age to pass from the abstract to the concrete, from poetry to reality. Language is the expression of the seen, and also of the unseen, and moves in a region between them. A great writer knows how to strike both these chords, sometimes remaining within the sphere of the visible, and then again comprehending a wider range and soaring to the abstract and universal. Even in the same sentence he may employ both modes of speech not improperly or inharmoniously. It is useless to criticise the broken metaphors of Plato, if the effect of the whole is to create a picture not such as can be painted on canvas, but which is full of life and meaning to the reader. A poem may be contained in a word or two, which may call up not one but many latent images; or half reveal to us by a sudden flash the thoughts of many hearts. Often the rapid transition from one image to another is pleasing to us: on the other hand, any single figure of speech if too often repeated, or worked out too much at length, becomes prosy and monotonous. In theology and philosophy we necessarily include both ‘the moral law within and the starry heaven above,’ and pass from one to the other (compare for examples Psalms xviii. and xix.). Whether such a use of language is puerile or noble depends upon the genius of the writer or speaker, and the familiarity of the associations employed.

In the myths and parables of Plato the ease and grace of conversation is not forgotten: they are spoken, not written words, stories which are told to a living audience, and so well told that we are more than half-inclined to believe them (compare Phaedrus). As in conversation too, the striking image or figure of speech is not forgotten, but is quickly caught up, and alluded to again and again; as it would still be in our own day in a genial and sympathetic society. The descriptions of Plato have a greater life and reality than is to be found in any modern writing. This is due to their homeliness and simplicity. Plato can do with words just as he pleases; to him they are indeed ‘more plastic than wax’ (Republic). We are in the habit of opposing speech and writing, poetry and prose. But he has discovered a use of language in which they are united; which gives a fitting expression to the highest truths; and in which the trifles of courtesy and the familiarities of daily life are not overlooked.

GORGIAS

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Callicles, Socrates, Chaerephon, Gorgias, Polus.

SCENE: The house of Callicles.

CALLICLES: The wise man, as the proverb says, is late for a fray, but not for a feast.

SOCRATES: And are we late for a feast?

CALLICLES: Yes, and a delightful feast; for Gorgias has just been exhibiting to us many fine things.

SOCRATES: It is not my fault, Callicles; our friend Chaerephon is to blame; for he would keep us loitering in the Agora.

CHAEREPHON: Never mind, Socrates; the misfortune of which I have been the cause I will also repair; for Gorgias is a friend of mine, and I will make him give the exhibition again either now, or, if you prefer, at some other time.

CALLICLES: What is the matter, Chaerephon — does Socrates want to hear Gorgias?

CHAEREPHON: Yes, that was our intention in coming.

CALLICLES: Come into my house, then; for Gorgias is staying with me, and he shall exhibit to you.

SOCRATES: Very good, Callicles; but will he answer our questions? for I want to hear from him what is the nature of his art, and what it is which he professes and teaches; he may, as you (Chaerephon) suggest, defer the exhibition to some other time.

CALLICLES: There is nothing like asking him, Socrates; and indeed to answer questions is a part of his exhibition, for he was saying only just now, that any one in my house might put any question to him, and that he would answer.

SOCRATES: How fortunate! will you ask him, Chaerephon — ?

CHAEREPHON: What shall I ask him?

SOCRATES: Ask him who he is.

CHAEREPHON: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean such a question as would elicit from him, if he had been a maker of shoes, the answer that he is a cobbler. Do you understand?

CHAEREPHON: I understand, and will ask him: Tell me, Gorgias, is our friend Callicles right in saying that you undertake to answer any questions which you are asked?

GORGIAS: Quite right, Chaerephon: I was saying as much only just now; and I may add, that many years have elapsed since any one has asked me a new one.

CHAEREPHON: Then you must be very ready, Gorgias.

GORGIAS: Of that, Chaerephon, you can make trial.

POLUS: Yes, indeed, and if you like, Chaerephon, you may make trial of me too, for I think that Gorgias, who has been talking a long time, is tired.

CHAEREPHON: And do you, Polus, think that you can answer better than Gorgias?

POLUS: What does that matter if I answer well enough for you?

CHAEREPHON: Not at all: — and you shall answer if you like.

POLUS: Ask: —

CHAEREPHON: My question is this: If Gorgias had the skill of his brother Herodicus, what ought we to call him? Ought he not to have the name which is given to his brother?

POLUS: Certainly.

CHAEREPHON: Then we should be right in calling him a physician?

POLUS: Yes.

CHAEREPHON: And if he had the skill of Aristophon the son of Aglaophon, or of his brother Polygnotus, what ought we to call him?

POLUS: Clearly, a painter.

CHAEREPHON: But now what shall we call him — what is the art in which he is skilled.

POLUS: O Chaerephon, there are many arts among mankind which are experimental, and have their origin in experience, for experience makes the days of men to proceed according to art, and inexperience according to chance, and different persons in different ways are proficient in different arts, and the best persons in the best arts. And our friend Gorgias is one of the best, and the art in which he is a proficient is the noblest.

SOCRATES: Polus has been taught how to make a capital speech, Gorgias; but he is not fulfilling the promise which he made to Chaerephon.

GORGIAS: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I mean that he has not exactly answered the question which he was asked.

GORGIAS: Then why not ask him yourself?

SOCRATES: But I would much rather ask you, if you are disposed to answer: for I see, from the few words which Polus has uttered, that he has attended more to the art which is called rhetoric than to dialectic.

POLUS: What makes you say so, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Because, Polus, when Chaerephon asked you what was the art which Gorgias knows, you praised it as if you were answering some one who found fault with it, but you never said what the art was.

POLUS: Why, did I not say that it was the noblest of arts?

SOCRATES: Yes, indeed, but that was no answer to the question: nobody asked what was the quality, but what was the nature, of the art, and by what name we were to describe Gorgias. And I would still beg you briefly and clearly, as you answered Chaerephon when he asked you at first, to say what this art is, and what we ought to call Gorgias: Or rather, Gorgias, let me turn to you, and ask the same question, — what are we to call you, and what is the art which you profess?

GORGIAS: Rhetoric, Socrates, is my art.

SOCRATES: Then I am to call you a rhetorician?

GORGIAS: Yes, Socrates, and a good one too, if you would call me that which, in Homeric language, ‘I boast myself to be.’

SOCRATES: I should wish to do so.

GORGIAS: Then pray do.

SOCRATES: And are we to say that you are able to make other men rhetoricians?

GORGIAS: Yes, that is exactly what I profess to make them, not only at Athens, but in all places.

SOCRATES: And will you continue to ask and answer questions, Gorgias, as we are at present doing, and reserve for another occasion the longer mode of speech which Polus was attempting? Will you keep your promise, and answer shortly the questions which are asked of you?

GORGIAS: Some answers, Socrates, are of necessity longer; but I will do my best to make them as short as possible; for a part of my profession is that I can be as short as any one.

SOCRATES: That is what is wanted, Gorgias; exhibit the shorter method now, and the longer one at some other time.

GORGIAS: Well, I will; and you will certainly say, that you never heard a man use fewer words.

SOCRATES: Very good then; as you profess to be a rhetorician, and a maker of rhetoricians, let me ask you, with what is rhetoric concerned: I might ask with what is weaving concerned, and you would reply (would you not?), with the making of garments?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And music is concerned with the composition of melodies?

GORGIAS: It is.

SOCRATES: By Here, Gorgias, I admire the surpassing brevity of your answers.

GORGIAS: Yes, Socrates, I do think myself good at that.

SOCRATES: I am glad to hear it; answer me in like manner about rhetoric: with what is rhetoric concerned?

GORGIAS: With discourse.

SOCRATES: What sort of discourse, Gorgias? — such discourse as would teach the sick under what treatment they might get well?

GORGIAS: No.

SOCRATES: Then rhetoric does not treat of all kinds of discourse?

GORGIAS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And yet rhetoric makes men able to speak?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And to understand that about which they speak?

GORGIAS: Of course.

SOCRATES: But does not the art of medicine, which we were just now mentioning, also make men able to understand and speak about the sick?

GORGIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then medicine also treats of discourse?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Of discourse concerning diseases?

GORGIAS: Just so.

SOCRATES: And does not gymnastic also treat of discourse concerning the good or evil condition of the body?

GORGIAS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And the same, Gorgias, is true of the other arts: — all of them treat of discourse concerning the subjects with which they severally have to do.

GORGIAS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Then why, if you call rhetoric the art which treats of discourse, and all the other arts treat of discourse, do you not call them arts of rhetoric?

GORGIAS: Because, Socrates, the knowledge of the other arts has only to do with some sort of external action, as of the hand; but there is no such action of the hand in rhetoric which works and takes effect only through the medium of discourse. And therefore I am justified in saying that rhetoric treats of discourse.

SOCRATES: I am not sure whether I entirely understand you, but I dare say I shall soon know better; please to answer me a question: — you would allow that there are arts?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: As to the arts generally, they are for the most part concerned with doing, and require little or no speaking; in painting, and statuary, and many other arts, the work may proceed in silence; and of such arts I suppose you would say that they do not come within the province of rhetoric.

GORGIAS: You perfectly conceive my meaning, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But there are other arts which work wholly through the medium of language, and require either no action or very little, as, for example, the arts of arithmetic, of calculation, of geometry, and of playing draughts; in some of these speech is pretty nearly co-extensive with action, but in most of them the verbal element is greater — they depend wholly on words for their efficacy and power: and I take your meaning to be that rhetoric is an art of this latter sort?

GORGIAS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: And yet I do not believe that you really mean to call any of these arts rhetoric; although the precise expression which you used was, that rhetoric is an art which works and takes effect only through the medium of discourse; and an adversary who wished to be captious might say, ‘And so, Gorgias, you call arithmetic rhetoric.’ But I do not think that you really call arithmetic rhetoric any more than geometry would be so called by you.

GORGIAS: You are quite right, Socrates, in your apprehension of my meaning.

SOCRATES: Well, then, let me now have the rest of my answer: — seeing that rhetoric is one of those arts which works mainly by the use of words, and there are other arts which also use words, tell me what is that quality in words with which rhetoric is concerned: — Suppose that a person asks me about some of the arts which I was mentioning just now; he might say, ‘Socrates, what is arithmetic?’ and I should reply to him, as you replied to me, that arithmetic is one of those arts which take effect through words. And then he would proceed to ask: ‘Words about what?’ and I should reply, Words about odd and even numbers, and how many there are of each. And if he asked again: ‘What is the art of calculation?’ I should say, That also is one of the arts which is concerned wholly with words. And if he further said, ‘Concerned with what?’ I should say, like the clerks in the assembly, ‘as aforesaid’ of arithmetic, but with a difference, the difference being that the art of calculation considers not only the quantities of odd and even numbers, but also their numerical relations to themselves and to one another. And suppose, again, I were to say that astronomy is only words — he would ask, ‘Words about what, Socrates?’ and I should answer, that astronomy tells us about the motions of the stars and sun and moon, and their relative swiftness.

GORGIAS: You would be quite right, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And now let us have from you, Gorgias, the truth about rhetoric: which you would admit (would you not?) to be one of those arts which act always and fulfil all their ends through the medium of words?

GORGIAS: True.

SOCRATES: Words which do what? I should ask. To what class of things do the words which rhetoric uses relate?

GORGIAS: To the greatest, Socrates, and the best of human things.

SOCRATES: That again, Gorgias is ambiguous; I am still in the dark: for which are the greatest and best of human things? I dare say that you have heard men singing at feasts the old drinking song, in which the singers enumerate the goods of life, first health, beauty next, thirdly, as the writer of the song says, wealth honestly obtained.

GORGIAS: Yes, I know the song; but what is your drift?

SOCRATES: I mean to say, that the producers of those things which the author of the song praises, that is to say, the physician, the trainer, the money-maker, will at once come to you, and first the physician will say: ‘O Socrates, Gorgias is deceiving you, for my art is concerned with the greatest good of men and not his.’ And when I ask, Who are you? he will reply, ‘I am a physician.’ What do you mean? I shall say. Do you mean that your art produces the greatest good? ‘Certainly,’ he will answer, ‘for is not health the greatest good? What greater good can men have, Socrates?’ And after him the trainer will come and say, ‘I too, Socrates, shall be greatly surprised if Gorgias can show more good of his art than I can show of mine.’ To him again I shall say, Who are you, honest friend, and what is your business? ‘I am a trainer,’ he will reply, ‘and my business is to make men beautiful and strong in body.’ When I have done with the trainer, there arrives the money-maker, and he, as I expect, will utterly despise them all. ‘Consider Socrates,’ he will say, ‘whether Gorgias or any one else can produce any greater good than wealth.’ Well, you and I say to him, and are you a creator of wealth? ‘Yes,’ he replies. And who are you? ‘A money-maker.’ And do you consider wealth to be the greatest good of man? ‘Of course,’ will be his reply. And we shall rejoin: Yes; but our friend Gorgias contends that his art produces a greater good than yours. And then he will be sure to go on and ask, ‘What good? Let Gorgias answer.’ Now I want you, Gorgias, to imagine that this question is asked of you by them and by me; What is that which, as you say, is the greatest good of man, and of which you are the creator? Answer us.

GORGIAS: That good, Socrates, which is truly the greatest, being that which gives to men freedom in their own persons, and to individuals the power of ruling over others in their several states.

SOCRATES: And what would you consider this to be?

GORGIAS: What is there greater than the word which persuades the judges in the courts, or the senators in the council, or the citizens in the assembly, or at any other political meeting? — if you have the power of uttering this word, you will have the physician your slave, and the trainer your slave, and the money-maker of whom you talk will be found to gather treasures, not for himself, but for you who are able to speak and to persuade the multitude.

SOCRATES: Now I think, Gorgias, that you have very accurately explained what you conceive to be the art of rhetoric; and you mean to say, if I am not mistaken, that rhetoric is the artificer of persuasion, having this and no other business, and that this is her crown and end. Do you know any other effect of rhetoric over and above that of producing persuasion?

GORGIAS: No: the definition seems to me very fair, Socrates; for persuasion is the chief end of rhetoric.

SOCRATES: Then hear me, Gorgias, for I am quite sure that if there ever was a man who entered on the discussion of a matter from a pure love of knowing the truth, I am such a one, and I should say the same of you.

GORGIAS: What is coming, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I will tell you: I am very well aware that I do not know what, according to you, is the exact nature, or what are the topics of that persuasion of which you speak, and which is given by rhetoric; although I have a suspicion about both the one and the other. And I am going to ask — what is this power of persuasion which is given by rhetoric, and about what? But why, if I have a suspicion, do I ask instead of telling you? Not for your sake, but in order that the argument may proceed in such a manner as is most likely to set forth the truth. And I would have you observe, that I am right in asking this further question: If I asked, ‘What sort of a painter is Zeuxis?’ and you said, ‘The painter of figures,’ should I not be right in asking, ‘What kind of figures, and where do you find them?’

GORGIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And the reason for asking this second question would be, that there are other painters besides, who paint many other figures?

GORGIAS: True.

SOCRATES: But if there had been no one but Zeuxis who painted them, then you would have answered very well?

GORGIAS: Quite so.

SOCRATES: Now I want to know about rhetoric in the same way; — is rhetoric the only art which brings persuasion, or do other arts have the same effect? I mean to say — Does he who teaches anything persuade men of that which he teaches or not?

GORGIAS: He persuades, Socrates, — there can be no mistake about that.

SOCRATES: Again, if we take the arts of which we were just now speaking: — do not arithmetic and the arithmeticians teach us the properties of number?

GORGIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And therefore persuade us of them?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then arithmetic as well as rhetoric is an artificer of persuasion?

GORGIAS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And if any one asks us what sort of persuasion, and about what, — we shall answer, persuasion which teaches the quantity of odd and even; and we shall be able to show that all the other arts of which we were just now speaking are artificers of persuasion, and of what sort, and about what.

GORGIAS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then rhetoric is not the only artificer of persuasion?

GORGIAS: True.

SOCRATES: Seeing, then, that not only rhetoric works by persuasion, but that other arts do the same, as in the case of the painter, a question has arisen which is a very fair one: Of what persuasion is rhetoric the artificer, and about what? — is not that a fair way of putting the question?

GORGIAS: I think so.

SOCRATES: Then, if you approve the question, Gorgias, what is the answer?

GORGIAS: I answer, Socrates, that rhetoric is the art of persuasion in courts of law and other assemblies, as I was just now saying, and about the just and unjust.

SOCRATES: And that, Gorgias, was what I was suspecting to be your notion; yet I would not have you wonder if by-and-by I am found repeating a seemingly plain question; for I ask not in order to confute you, but as I was saying that the argument may proceed consecutively, and that we may not get the habit of anticipating and suspecting the meaning of one another’s words; I would have you develope your own views in your own way, whatever may be your hypothesis.

GORGIAS: I think that you are quite right, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then let me raise another question; there is such a thing as ‘having learned’?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And there is also ‘having believed’?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is the ‘having learned’ the same as ‘having believed,’ and are learning and belief the same things?

GORGIAS: In my judgment, Socrates, they are not the same.

SOCRATES: And your judgment is right, as you may ascertain in this way: — If a person were to say to you, ’Is there, Gorgias, a false belief as well as a true?’ — you would reply, if I am not mistaken, that there is.

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well, but is there a false knowledge as well as a true?

GORGIAS: No.

SOCRATES: No, indeed; and this again proves that knowledge and belief differ.

GORGIAS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And yet those who have learned as well as those who have believed are persuaded?

GORGIAS: Just so.

SOCRATES: Shall we then assume two sorts of persuasion, — one which is the source of belief without knowledge, as the other is of knowledge?

GORGIAS: By all means.

SOCRATES: And which sort of persuasion does rhetoric create in courts of law and other assemblies about the just and unjust, the sort of persuasion which gives belief without knowledge, or that which gives knowledge?

GORGIAS: Clearly, Socrates, that which only gives belief.

SOCRATES: Then rhetoric, as would appear, is the artificer of a persuasion which creates belief about the just and unjust, but gives no instruction about them?

GORGIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And the rhetorician does not instruct the courts of law or other assemblies about things just and unjust, but he creates belief about them; for no one can be supposed to instruct such a vast multitude about such high matters in a short time?

GORGIAS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Come, then, and let us see what we really mean about rhetoric; for I do not know what my own meaning is as yet. When the assembly meets to elect a physician or a shipwright or any other craftsman, will the rhetorician be taken into counsel? Surely not. For at every election he ought to be chosen who is most skilled; and, again, when walls have to be built or harbours or docks to be constructed, not the rhetorician but the master workman will advise; or when generals have to be chosen and an order of battle arranged, or a position taken, then the military will advise and not the rhetoricians: what do you say, Gorgias? Since you profess to be a rhetorician and a maker of rhetoricians, I cannot do better than learn the nature of your art from you. And here let me assure you that I have your interest in view as well as my own. For likely enough some one or other of the young men present might desire to become your pupil, and in fact I see some, and a good many too, who have this wish, but they would be too modest to question you. And therefore when you are interrogated by me, I would have you imagine that you are interrogated by them. ‘What is the use of coming to you, Gorgias?’ they will say— ‘about what will you teach us to advise the state? — about the just and unjust only, or about those other things also which Socrates has just mentioned?’ How will you answer them?

GORGIAS: I like your way of leading us on, Socrates, and I will endeavour to reveal to you the whole nature of rhetoric. You must have heard, I think, that the docks and the walls of the Athenians and the plan of the harbour were devised in accordance with the counsels, partly of Themistocles, and partly of Pericles, and not at the suggestion of the builders.

SOCRATES: Such is the tradition, Gorgias, about Themistocles; and I myself heard the speech of Pericles when he advised us about the middle wall.

GORGIAS: And you will observe, Socrates, that when a decision has to be given in such matters the rhetoricians are the advisers; they are the men who win their point.

SOCRATES: I had that in my admiring mind, Gorgias, when I asked what is the nature of rhetoric, which always appears to me, when I look at the matter in this way, to be a marvel of greatness.

GORGIAS: A marvel, indeed, Socrates, if you only knew how rhetoric comprehends and holds under her sway all the inferior arts. Let me offer you a striking example of this. On several occasions I have been with my brother Herodicus or some other physician to see one of his patients, who would not allow the physician to give him medicine, or apply the knife or hot iron to him; and I have persuaded him to do for me what he would not do for the physician just by the use of rhetoric. And I say that if a rhetorician and a physician were to go to any city, and had there to argue in the Ecclesia or any other assembly as to which of them should be elected state-physician, the physician would have no chance; but he who could speak would be chosen if he wished; and in a contest with a man of any other profession the rhetorician more than any one would have the power of getting himself chosen, for he can speak more persuasively to the multitude than any of them, and on any subject. Such is the nature and power of the art of rhetoric! And yet, Socrates, rhetoric should be used like any other competitive art, not against everybody, — the rhetorician ought not to abuse his strength any more than a pugilist or pancratiast or other master of fence; — because he has powers which are more than a match either for friend or enemy, he ought not therefore to strike, stab, or slay his friends. Suppose a man to have been trained in the palestra and to be a skilful boxer, — he in the fulness of his strength goes and strikes his father or mother or one of his familiars or friends; but that is no reason why the trainers or fencing-masters should be held in detestation or banished from the city; — surely not. For they taught their art for a good purpose, to be used against enemies and evil-doers, in self-defence not in aggression, and others have perverted their instructions, and turned to a bad use their own strength and skill. But not on this account are the teachers bad, neither is the art in fault, or bad in itself; I should rather say that those who make a bad use of the art are to blame. And the same argument holds good of rhetoric; for the rhetorician can speak against all men and upon any subject, — in short, he can persuade the multitude better than any other man of anything which he pleases, but he should not therefore seek to defraud the physician or any other artist of his reputation merely because he has the power; he ought to use rhetoric fairly, as he would also use his athletic powers. And if after having become a rhetorician he makes a bad use of his strength and skill, his instructor surely ought not on that account to be held in detestation or banished. For he was intended by his teacher to make a good use of his instructions, but he abuses them. And therefore he is the person who ought to be held in detestation, banished, and put to death, and not his instructor.

SOCRATES: You, Gorgias, like myself, have had great experience of disputations, and you must have observed, I think, that they do not always terminate in mutual edification, or in the definition by either party of the subjects which they are discussing; but disagreements are apt to arise — somebody says that another has not spoken truly or clearly; and then they get into a passion and begin to quarrel, both parties conceiving that their opponents are arguing from personal feeling only and jealousy of themselves, not from any interest in the question at issue. And sometimes they will go on abusing one another until the company at last are quite vexed at themselves for ever listening to such fellows. Why do I say this? Why, because I cannot help feeling that you are now saying what is not quite consistent or accordant with what you were saying at first about rhetoric. And I am afraid to point this out to you, lest you should think that I have some animosity against you, and that I speak, not for the sake of discovering the truth, but from jealousy of you. Now if you are one of my sort, I should like to cross-examine you, but if not I will let you alone. And what is my sort? you will ask. I am one of those who are very willing to be refuted if I say anything which is not true, and very willing to refute any one else who says what is not true, and quite as ready to be refuted as to refute; for I hold that this is the greater gain of the two, just as the gain is greater of being cured of a very great evil than of curing another. For I imagine that there is no evil which a man can endure so great as an erroneous opinion about the matters of which we are speaking; and if you claim to be one of my sort, let us have the discussion out, but if you would rather have done, no matter; — let us make an end of it.

GORGIAS: I should say, Socrates, that I am quite the man whom you indicate; but, perhaps, we ought to consider the audience, for, before you came, I had already given a long exhibition, and if we proceed the argument may run on to a great length. And therefore I think that we should consider whether we may not be detaining some part of the company when they are wanting to do something else.

CHAEREPHON: You hear the audience cheering, Gorgias and Socrates, which shows their desire to listen to you; and for myself, Heaven forbid that I should have any business on hand which would take me away from a discussion so interesting and so ably maintained.

CALLICLES: By the gods, Chaerephon, although I have been present at many discussions, I doubt whether I was ever so much delighted before, and therefore if you go on discoursing all day I shall be the better pleased.

SOCRATES: I may truly say, Callicles, that I am willing, if Gorgias is.

GORGIAS: After all this, Socrates, I should be disgraced if I refused, especially as I have promised to answer all comers; in accordance with the wishes of the company, then, do you begin, and ask of me any question which you like.

SOCRATES: Let me tell you then, Gorgias, what surprises me in your words; though I dare say that you may be right, and I may have misunderstood your meaning. You say that you can make any man, who will learn of you, a rhetorician?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Do you mean that you will teach him to gain the ears of the multitude on any subject, and this not by instruction but by persuasion?

GORGIAS: Quite so.

SOCRATES: You were saying, in fact, that the rhetorician will have greater powers of persuasion than the physician even in a matter of health?

GORGIAS: Yes, with the multitude, — that is.

SOCRATES: You mean to say, with the ignorant; for with those who know he cannot be supposed to have greater powers of persuasion.

GORGIAS: Very true.

SOCRATES: But if he is to have more power of persuasion than the physician, he will have greater power than he who knows?

GORGIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Although he is not a physician: — is he?

GORGIAS: No.

SOCRATES: And he who is not a physician must, obviously, be ignorant of what the physician knows.

GORGIAS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Then, when the rhetorician is more persuasive than the physician, the ignorant is more persuasive with the ignorant than he who has knowledge? — is not that the inference?

GORGIAS: In the case supposed: — yes.

SOCRATES: And the same holds of the relation of rhetoric to all the other arts; the rhetorician need not know the truth about things; he has only to discover some way of persuading the ignorant that he has more knowledge than those who know?

GORGIAS: Yes, Socrates, and is not this a great comfort? — not to have learned the other arts, but the art of rhetoric only, and yet to be in no way inferior to the professors of them?

SOCRATES: Whether the rhetorician is or not inferior on this account is a question which we will hereafter examine if the enquiry is likely to be of any service to us; but I would rather begin by asking, whether he is or is not as ignorant of the just and unjust, base and honourable, good and evil, as he is of medicine and the other arts; I mean to say, does he really know anything of what is good and evil, base or honourable, just or unjust in them; or has he only a way with the ignorant of persuading them that he not knowing is to be esteemed to know more about these things than some one else who knows? Or must the pupil know these things and come to you knowing them before he can acquire the art of rhetoric? If he is ignorant, you who are the teacher of rhetoric will not teach him — it is not your business; but you will make him seem to the multitude to know them, when he does not know them; and seem to be a good man, when he is not. Or will you be unable to teach him rhetoric at all, unless he knows the truth of these things first? What is to be said about all this? By heavens, Gorgias, I wish that you would reveal to me the power of rhetoric, as you were saying that you would.

GORGIAS: Well, Socrates, I suppose that if the pupil does chance not to know them, he will have to learn of me these things as well.

SOCRATES: Say no more, for there you are right; and so he whom you make a rhetorician must either know the nature of the just and unjust already, or he must be taught by you.

GORGIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Well, and is not he who has learned carpentering a carpenter?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he who has learned music a musician?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he who has learned medicine is a physician, in like manner? He who has learned anything whatever is that which his knowledge makes him.

GORGIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And in the same way, he who has learned what is just is just?

GORGIAS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And he who is just may be supposed to do what is just?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And must not the just man always desire to do what is just?

GORGIAS: That is clearly the inference.

SOCRATES: Surely, then, the just man will never consent to do injustice?

GORGIAS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And according to the argument the rhetorician must be a just man?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And will therefore never be willing to do injustice?

GORGIAS: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: But do you remember saying just now that the trainer is not to be accused or banished if the pugilist makes a wrong use of his pugilistic art; and in like manner, if the rhetorician makes a bad and unjust use of his rhetoric, that is not to be laid to the charge of his teacher, who is not to be banished, but the wrong-doer himself who made a bad use of his rhetoric — he is to be banished — was not that said?

GORGIAS: Yes, it was.

SOCRATES: But now we are affirming that the aforesaid rhetorician will never have done injustice at all?

GORGIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And at the very outset, Gorgias, it was said that rhetoric treated of discourse, not (like arithmetic) about odd and even, but about just and unjust? Was not this said?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: I was thinking at the time, when I heard you saying so, that rhetoric, which is always discoursing about justice, could not possibly be an unjust thing. But when you added, shortly afterwards, that the rhetorician might make a bad use of rhetoric I noted with surprise the inconsistency into which you had fallen; and I said, that if you thought, as I did, that there was a gain in being refuted, there would be an advantage in going on with the question, but if not, I would leave off. And in the course of our investigations, as you will see yourself, the rhetorician has been acknowledged to be incapable of making an unjust use of rhetoric, or of willingness to do injustice. By the dog, Gorgias, there will be a great deal of discussion, before we get at the truth of all this.

POLUS: And do even you, Socrates, seriously believe what you are now saying about rhetoric? What! because Gorgias was ashamed to deny that the rhetorician knew the just and the honourable and the good, and admitted that to any one who came to him ignorant of them he could teach them, and then out of this admission there arose a contradiction — the thing which you dearly love, and to which not he, but you, brought the argument by your captious questions — (do you seriously believe that there is any truth in all this?) For will any one ever acknowledge that he does not know, or cannot teach, the nature of justice? The truth is, that there is great want of manners in bringing the argument to such a pass.

SOCRATES: Illustrious Polus, the reason why we provide ourselves with friends and children is, that when we get old and stumble, a younger generation may be at hand to set us on our legs again in our words and in our actions: and now, if I and Gorgias are stumbling, here are you who should raise us up; and I for my part engage to retract any error into which you may think that I have fallen-upon one condition:

POLUS: What condition?

SOCRATES: That you contract, Polus, the prolixity of speech in which you indulged at first.

POLUS: What! do you mean that I may not use as many words as I please?

SOCRATES: Only to think, my friend, that having come on a visit to Athens, which is the most free-spoken state in Hellas, you when you got there, and you alone, should be deprived of the power of speech — that would be hard indeed. But then consider my case: — shall not I be very hardly used, if, when you are making a long oration, and refusing to answer what you are asked, I am compelled to stay and listen to you, and may not go away? I say rather, if you have a real interest in the argument, or, to repeat my former expression, have any desire to set it on its legs, take back any statement which you please; and in your turn ask and answer, like myself and Gorgias — refute and be refuted: for I suppose that you would claim to know what Gorgias knows — would you not?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And you, like him, invite any one to ask you about anything which he pleases, and you will know how to answer him?

POLUS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And now, which will you do, ask or answer?

POLUS: I will ask; and do you answer me, Socrates, the same question which Gorgias, as you suppose, is unable to answer: What is rhetoric?

SOCRATES: Do you mean what sort of an art?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: To say the truth, Polus, it is not an art at all, in my opinion.

POLUS: Then what, in your opinion, is rhetoric?

SOCRATES: A thing which, as I was lately reading in a book of yours, you say that you have made an art.

POLUS: What thing?

SOCRATES: I should say a sort of experience.

POLUS: Does rhetoric seem to you to be an experience?

SOCRATES: That is my view, but you may be of another mind.

POLUS: An experience in what?

SOCRATES: An experience in producing a sort of delight and gratification.

POLUS: And if able to gratify others, must not rhetoric be a fine thing?

SOCRATES: What are you saying, Polus? Why do you ask me whether rhetoric is a fine thing or not, when I have not as yet told you what rhetoric is?

POLUS: Did I not hear you say that rhetoric was a sort of experience?

SOCRATES: Will you, who are so desirous to gratify others, afford a slight gratification to me?

POLUS: I will.

SOCRATES: Will you ask me, what sort of an art is cookery?

POLUS: What sort of an art is cookery?

SOCRATES: Not an art at all, Polus.

POLUS: What then?

SOCRATES: I should say an experience.

POLUS: In what? I wish that you would explain to me.

SOCRATES: An experience in producing a sort of delight and gratification, Polus.

POLUS: Then are cookery and rhetoric the same?

SOCRATES: No, they are only different parts of the same profession.

POLUS: Of what profession?

SOCRATES: I am afraid that the truth may seem discourteous; and I hesitate to answer, lest Gorgias should imagine that I am making fun of his own profession. For whether or no this is that art of rhetoric which Gorgias practises I really cannot tell: — from what he was just now saying, nothing appeared of what he thought of his art, but the rhetoric which I mean is a part of a not very creditable whole.

GORGIAS: A part of what, Socrates? Say what you mean, and never mind me.

SOCRATES: In my opinion then, Gorgias, the whole of which rhetoric is a part is not an art at all, but the habit of a bold and ready wit, which knows how to manage mankind: this habit I sum up under the word ‘flattery’; and it appears to me to have many other parts, one of which is cookery, which may seem to be an art, but, as I maintain, is only an experience or routine and not an art: — another part is rhetoric, and the art of attiring and sophistry are two others: thus there are four branches, and four different things answering to them. And Polus may ask, if he likes, for he has not as yet been informed, what part of flattery is rhetoric: he did not see that I had not yet answered him when he proceeded to ask a further question: Whether I do not think rhetoric a fine thing? But I shall not tell him whether rhetoric is a fine thing or not, until I have first answered, ‘What is rhetoric?’ For that would not be right, Polus; but I shall be happy to answer, if you will ask me, What part of flattery is rhetoric?

POLUS: I will ask and do you answer? What part of flattery is rhetoric?

SOCRATES: Will you understand my answer? Rhetoric, according to my view, is the ghost or counterfeit of a part of politics.

POLUS: And noble or ignoble?

SOCRATES: Ignoble, I should say, if I am compelled to answer, for I call what is bad ignoble: though I doubt whether you understand what I was saying before.

GORGIAS: Indeed, Socrates, I cannot say that I understand myself.

SOCRATES: I do not wonder, Gorgias; for I have not as yet explained myself, and our friend Polus, colt by name and colt by nature, is apt to run away. (This is an untranslatable play on the name ‘Polus,’ which means ‘a colt.’)

GORGIAS: Never mind him, but explain to me what you mean by saying that rhetoric is the counterfeit of a part of politics.

SOCRATES: I will try, then, to explain my notion of rhetoric, and if I am mistaken, my friend Polus shall refute me. We may assume the existence of bodies and of souls?

GORGIAS: Of course.

SOCRATES: You would further admit that there is a good condition of either of them?

GORGIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Which condition may not be really good, but good only in appearance? I mean to say, that there are many persons who appear to be in good health, and whom only a physician or trainer will discern at first sight not to be in good health.

GORGIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And this applies not only to the body, but also to the soul: in either there may be that which gives the appearance of health and not the reality?

GORGIAS: Yes, certainly.

SOCRATES: And now I will endeavour to explain to you more clearly what I mean: The soul and body being two, have two arts corresponding to them: there is the art of politics attending on the soul; and another art attending on the body, of which I know no single name, but which may be described as having two divisions, one of them gymnastic, and the other medicine. And in politics there is a legislative part, which answers to gymnastic, as justice does to medicine; and the two parts run into one another, justice having to do with the same subject as legislation, and medicine with the same subject as gymnastic, but with a difference. Now, seeing that there are these four arts, two attending on the body and two on the soul for their highest good; flattery knowing, or rather guessing their natures, has distributed herself into four shams or simulations of them; she puts on the likeness of some one or other of them, and pretends to be that which she simulates, and having no regard for men’s highest interests, is ever making pleasure the bait of the unwary, and deceiving them into the belief that she is of the highest value to them. Cookery simulates the disguise of medicine, and pretends to know what food is the best for the body; and if the physician and the cook had to enter into a competition in which children were the judges, or men who had no more sense than children, as to which of them best understands the goodness or badness of food, the physician would be starved to death. A flattery I deem this to be and of an ignoble sort, Polus, for to you I am now addressing myself, because it aims at pleasure without any thought of the best. An art I do not call it, but only an experience, because it is unable to explain or to give a reason of the nature of its own applications. And I do not call any irrational thing an art; but if you dispute my words, I am prepared to argue in defence of them.

Cookery, then, I maintain to be a flattery which takes the form of medicine; and tiring, in like manner, is a flattery which takes the form of gymnastic, and is knavish, false, ignoble, illiberal, working deceitfully by the help of lines, and colours, and enamels, and garments, and making men affect a spurious beauty to the neglect of the true beauty which is given by gymnastic.

I would rather not be tedious, and therefore I will only say, after the manner of the geometricians (for I think that by this time you will be able to follow)

as tiring: gymnastic:: cookery: medicine;

or rather,

as tiring: gymnastic:: sophistry: legislation;

and

as cookery: medicine:: rhetoric: justice.

And this, I say, is the natural difference between the rhetorician and the sophist, but by reason of their near connection, they are apt to be jumbled up together; neither do they know what to make of themselves, nor do other men know what to make of them. For if the body presided over itself, and were not under the guidance of the soul, and the soul did not discern and discriminate between cookery and medicine, but the body was made the judge of them, and the rule of judgment was the bodily delight which was given by them, then the word of Anaxagoras, that word with which you, friend Polus, are so well acquainted, would prevail far and wide: ‘Chaos’ would come again, and cookery, health, and medicine would mingle in an indiscriminate mass. And now I have told you my notion of rhetoric, which is, in relation to the soul, what cookery is to the body. I may have been inconsistent in making a long speech, when I would not allow you to discourse at length. But I think that I may be excused, because you did not understand me, and could make no use of my answer when I spoke shortly, and therefore I had to enter into an explanation. And if I show an equal inability to make use of yours, I hope that you will speak at equal length; but if I am able to understand you, let me have the benefit of your brevity, as is only fair: And now you may do what you please with my answer.

POLUS: What do you mean? do you think that rhetoric is flattery?

SOCRATES: Nay, I said a part of flattery; if at your age, Polus, you cannot remember, what will you do by-and-by, when you get older?

POLUS: And are the good rhetoricians meanly regarded in states, under the idea that they are flatterers?

SOCRATES: Is that a question or the beginning of a speech?

POLUS: I am asking a question.

SOCRATES: Then my answer is, that they are not regarded at all.

POLUS: How not regarded? Have they not very great power in states?

SOCRATES: Not if you mean to say that power is a good to the possessor.

POLUS: And that is what I do mean to say.

SOCRATES: Then, if so, I think that they have the least power of all the citizens.

POLUS: What! are they not like tyrants? They kill and despoil and exile any one whom they please.

SOCRATES: By the dog, Polus, I cannot make out at each deliverance of yours, whether you are giving an opinion of your own, or asking a question of me.

POLUS: I am asking a question of you.

SOCRATES: Yes, my friend, but you ask two questions at once.

POLUS: How two questions?

SOCRATES: Why, did you not say just now that the rhetoricians are like tyrants, and that they kill and despoil or exile any one whom they please?

POLUS: I did.

SOCRATES: Well then, I say to you that here are two questions in one, and I will answer both of them. And I tell you, Polus, that rhetoricians and tyrants have the least possible power in states, as I was just now saying; for they do literally nothing which they will, but only what they think best.

POLUS: And is not that a great power?

SOCRATES: Polus has already said the reverse.

POLUS: Said the reverse! nay, that is what I assert.

SOCRATES: No, by the great — what do you call him? — not you, for you say that power is a good to him who has the power.

POLUS: I do.

SOCRATES: And would you maintain that if a fool does what he thinks best, this is a good, and would you call this great power?

POLUS: I should not.

SOCRATES: Then you must prove that the rhetorician is not a fool, and that rhetoric is an art and not a flattery — and so you will have refuted me; but if you leave me unrefuted, why, the rhetoricians who do what they think best in states, and the tyrants, will have nothing upon which to congratulate themselves, if as you say, power be indeed a good, admitting at the same time that what is done without sense is an evil.

POLUS: Yes; I admit that.

SOCRATES: How then can the rhetoricians or the tyrants have great power in states, unless Polus can refute Socrates, and prove to him that they do as they will?

POLUS: This fellow —

SOCRATES: I say that they do not do as they will; — now refute me.

POLUS: Why, have you not already said that they do as they think best?

SOCRATES: And I say so still.

POLUS: Then surely they do as they will?

SOCRATES: I deny it.

POLUS: But they do what they think best?

SOCRATES: Aye.

POLUS: That, Socrates, is monstrous and absurd.

SOCRATES: Good words, good Polus, as I may say in your own peculiar style; but if you have any questions to ask of me, either prove that I am in error or give the answer yourself.

POLUS: Very well, I am willing to answer that I may know what you mean.

SOCRATES: Do men appear to you to will that which they do, or to will that further end for the sake of which they do a thing? when they take medicine, for example, at the bidding of a physician, do they will the drinking of the medicine which is painful, or the health for the sake of which they drink?

POLUS: Clearly, the health.

SOCRATES: And when men go on a voyage or engage in business, they do not will that which they are doing at the time; for who would desire to take the risk of a voyage or the trouble of business? — But they will, to have the wealth for the sake of which they go on a voyage.

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And is not this universally true? If a man does something for the sake of something else, he wills not that which he does, but that for the sake of which he does it.

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And are not all things either good or evil, or intermediate and indifferent?

POLUS: To be sure, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Wisdom and health and wealth and the like you would call goods, and their opposites evils?

POLUS: I should.

SOCRATES: And the things which are neither good nor evil, and which partake sometimes of the nature of good and at other times of evil, or of neither, are such as sitting, walking, running, sailing; or, again, wood, stones, and the like: — these are the things which you call neither good nor evil?

POLUS: Exactly so.

SOCRATES: Are these indifferent things done for the sake of the good, or the good for the sake of the indifferent?

POLUS: Clearly, the indifferent for the sake of the good.

SOCRATES: When we walk we walk for the sake of the good, and under the idea that it is better to walk, and when we stand we stand equally for the sake of the good?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And when we kill a man we kill him or exile him or despoil him of his goods, because, as we think, it will conduce to our good?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Men who do any of these things do them for the sake of the good?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And did we not admit that in doing something for the sake of something else, we do not will those things which we do, but that other thing for the sake of which we do them?

POLUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: Then we do not will simply to kill a man or to exile him or to despoil him of his goods, but we will to do that which conduces to our good, and if the act is not conducive to our good we do not will it; for we will, as you say, that which is our good, but that which is neither good nor evil, or simply evil, we do not will. Why are you silent, Polus? Am I not right?

POLUS: You are right.

SOCRATES: Hence we may infer, that if any one, whether he be a tyrant or a rhetorician, kills another or exiles another or deprives him of his property, under the idea that the act is for his own interests when really not for his own interests, he may be said to do what seems best to him?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But does he do what he wills if he does what is evil? Why do you not answer?

POLUS: Well, I suppose not.

SOCRATES: Then if great power is a good as you allow, will such a one have great power in a state?

POLUS: He will not.

SOCRATES: Then I was right in saying that a man may do what seems good to him in a state, and not have great power, and not do what he wills?

POLUS: As though you, Socrates, would not like to have the power of doing what seemed good to you in the state, rather than not; you would not be jealous when you saw any one killing or despoiling or imprisoning whom he pleased, Oh, no!

SOCRATES: Justly or unjustly, do you mean?

POLUS: In either case is he not equally to be envied?

SOCRATES: Forbear, Polus!

POLUS: Why ‘forbear’?

SOCRATES: Because you ought not to envy wretches who are not to be envied, but only to pity them.

POLUS: And are those of whom I spoke wretches?

SOCRATES: Yes, certainly they are.

POLUS: And so you think that he who slays any one whom he pleases, and justly slays him, is pitiable and wretched?

SOCRATES: No, I do not say that of him: but neither do I think that he is to be envied.

POLUS: Were you not saying just now that he is wretched?

SOCRATES: Yes, my friend, if he killed another unjustly, in which case he is also to be pitied; and he is not to be envied if he killed him justly.

POLUS: At any rate you will allow that he who is unjustly put to death is wretched, and to be pitied?

SOCRATES: Not so much, Polus, as he who kills him, and not so much as he who is justly killed.

POLUS: How can that be, Socrates?

SOCRATES: That may very well be, inasmuch as doing injustice is the greatest of evils.

POLUS: But is it the greatest? Is not suffering injustice a greater evil?

SOCRATES: Certainly not.

POLUS: Then would you rather suffer than do injustice?

SOCRATES: I should not like either, but if I must choose between them, I would rather suffer than do.

POLUS: Then you would not wish to be a tyrant?

SOCRATES: Not if you mean by tyranny what I mean.

POLUS: I mean, as I said before, the power of doing whatever seems good to you in a state, killing, banishing, doing in all things as you like.

SOCRATES: Well then, illustrious friend, when I have said my say, do you reply to me. Suppose that I go into a crowded Agora, and take a dagger under my arm. Polus, I say to you, I have just acquired rare power, and become a tyrant; for if I think that any of these men whom you see ought to be put to death, the man whom I have a mind to kill is as good as dead; and if I am disposed to break his head or tear his garment, he will have his head broken or his garment torn in an instant. Such is my great power in this city. And if you do not believe me, and I show you the dagger, you would probably reply: Socrates, in that sort of way any one may have great power — he may burn any house which he pleases, and the docks and triremes of the Athenians, and all their other vessels, whether public or private — but can you believe that this mere doing as you think best is great power?

POLUS: Certainly not such doing as this.

SOCRATES: But can you tell me why you disapprove of such a power?

POLUS: I can.

SOCRATES: Why then?

POLUS: Why, because he who did as you say would be certain to be punished.

SOCRATES: And punishment is an evil?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And you would admit once more, my good sir, that great power is a benefit to a man if his actions turn out to his advantage, and that this is the meaning of great power; and if not, then his power is an evil and is no power. But let us look at the matter in another way: — do we not acknowledge that the things of which we were speaking, the infliction of death, and exile, and the deprivation of property are sometimes a good and sometimes not a good?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: About that you and I may be supposed to agree?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Tell me, then, when do you say that they are good and when that they are evil — what principle do you lay down?

POLUS: I would rather, Socrates, that you should answer as well as ask that question.

SOCRATES: Well, Polus, since you would rather have the answer from me, I say that they are good when they are just, and evil when they are unjust.

POLUS: You are hard of refutation, Socrates, but might not a child refute that statement?

SOCRATES: Then I shall be very grateful to the child, and equally grateful to you if you will refute me and deliver me from my foolishness. And I hope that refute me you will, and not weary of doing good to a friend.

POLUS: Yes, Socrates, and I need not go far or appeal to antiquity; events which happened only a few days ago are enough to refute you, and to prove that many men who do wrong are happy.

SOCRATES: What events?

POLUS: You see, I presume, that Archelaus the son of Perdiccas is now the ruler of Macedonia?

SOCRATES: At any rate I hear that he is.

POLUS: And do you think that he is happy or miserable?

SOCRATES: I cannot say, Polus, for I have never had any acquaintance with him.

POLUS: And cannot you tell at once, and without having an acquaintance with him, whether a man is happy?

SOCRATES: Most certainly not.

POLUS: Then clearly, Socrates, you would say that you did not even know whether the great king was a happy man?

SOCRATES: And I should speak the truth; for I do not know how he stands in the matter of education and justice.

POLUS: What! and does all happiness consist in this?

SOCRATES: Yes, indeed, Polus, that is my doctrine; the men and women who are gentle and good are also happy, as I maintain, and the unjust and evil are miserable.

POLUS: Then, according to your doctrine, the said Archelaus is miserable?

SOCRATES: Yes, my friend, if he is wicked.

POLUS: That he is wicked I cannot deny; for he had no title at all to the throne which he now occupies, he being only the son of a woman who was the slave of Alcetas the brother of Perdiccas; he himself therefore in strict right was the slave of Alcetas; and if he had meant to do rightly he would have remained his slave, and then, according to your doctrine, he would have been happy. But now he is unspeakably miserable, for he has been guilty of the greatest crimes: in the first place he invited his uncle and master, Alcetas, to come to him, under the pretence that he would restore to him the throne which Perdiccas has usurped, and after entertaining him and his son Alexander, who was his own cousin, and nearly of an age with him, and making them drunk, he threw them into a waggon and carried them off by night, and slew them, and got both of them out of the way; and when he had done all this wickedness he never discovered that he was the most miserable of all men, and was very far from repenting: shall I tell you how he showed his remorse? he had a younger brother, a child of seven years old, who was the legitimate son of Perdiccas, and to him of right the kingdom belonged; Archelaus, however, had no mind to bring him up as he ought and restore the kingdom to him; that was not his notion of happiness; but not long afterwards he threw him into a well and drowned him, and declared to his mother Cleopatra that he had fallen in while running after a goose, and had been killed. And now as he is the greatest criminal of all the Macedonians, he may be supposed to be the most miserable and not the happiest of them, and I dare say that there are many Athenians, and you would be at the head of them, who would rather be any other Macedonian than Archelaus!

SOCRATES: I praised you at first, Polus, for being a rhetorician rather than a reasoner. And this, as I suppose, is the sort of argument with which you fancy that a child might refute me, and by which I stand refuted when I say that the unjust man is not happy. But, my good friend, where is the refutation? I cannot admit a word which you have been saying.

POLUS: That is because you will not; for you surely must think as I do.

SOCRATES: Not so, my simple friend, but because you will refute me after the manner which rhetoricians practise in courts of law. For there the one party think that they refute the other when they bring forward a number of witnesses of good repute in proof of their allegations, and their adversary has only a single one or none at all. But this kind of proof is of no value where truth is the aim; a man may often be sworn down by a multitude of false witnesses who have a great air of respectability. And in this argument nearly every one, Athenian and stranger alike, would be on your side, if you should bring witnesses in disproof of my statement; — you may, if you will, summon Nicias the son of Niceratus, and let his brothers, who gave the row of tripods which stand in the precincts of Dionysus, come with him; or you may summon Aristocrates, the son of Scellius, who is the giver of that famous offering which is at Delphi; summon, if you will, the whole house of Pericles, or any other great Athenian family whom you choose; — they will all agree with you: I only am left alone and cannot agree, for you do not convince me; although you produce many false witnesses against me, in the hope of depriving me of my inheritance, which is the truth. But I consider that nothing worth speaking of will have been effected by me unless I make you the one witness of my words; nor by you, unless you make me the one witness of yours; no matter about the rest of the world. For there are two ways of refutation, one which is yours and that of the world in general; but mine is of another sort — let us compare them, and see in what they differ. For, indeed, we are at issue about matters which to know is honourable and not to know disgraceful; to know or not to know happiness and misery — that is the chief of them. And what knowledge can be nobler? or what ignorance more disgraceful than this? And therefore I will begin by asking you whether you do not think that a man who is unjust and doing injustice can be happy, seeing that you think Archelaus unjust, and yet happy? May I assume this to be your opinion?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But I say that this is an impossibility — here is one point about which we are at issue: — very good. And do you mean to say also that if he meets with retribution and punishment he will still be happy?

POLUS: Certainly not; in that case he will be most miserable.

SOCRATES: On the other hand, if the unjust be not punished, then, according to you, he will be happy?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But in my opinion, Polus, the unjust or doer of unjust actions is miserable in any case, — more miserable, however, if he be not punished and does not meet with retribution, and less miserable if he be punished and meets with retribution at the hands of gods and men.

POLUS: You are maintaining a strange doctrine, Socrates.

SOCRATES: I shall try to make you agree with me, O my friend, for as a friend I regard you. Then these are the points at issue between us — are they not? I was saying that to do is worse than to suffer injustice?

POLUS: Exactly so.

SOCRATES: And you said the opposite?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: I said also that the wicked are miserable, and you refuted me?

POLUS: By Zeus, I did.

SOCRATES: In your own opinion, Polus.

POLUS: Yes, and I rather suspect that I was in the right.

SOCRATES: You further said that the wrong-doer is happy if he be unpunished?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And I affirm that he is most miserable, and that those who are punished are less miserable — are you going to refute this proposition also?

POLUS: A proposition which is harder of refutation than the other, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Say rather, Polus, impossible; for who can refute the truth?

POLUS: What do you mean? If a man is detected in an unjust attempt to make himself a tyrant, and when detected is racked, mutilated, has his eyes burned out, and after having had all sorts of great injuries inflicted on him, and having seen his wife and children suffer the like, is at last impaled or tarred and burned alive, will he be happier than if he escape and become a tyrant, and continue all through life doing what he likes and holding the reins of government, the envy and admiration both of citizens and strangers? Is that the paradox which, as you say, cannot be refuted?

SOCRATES: There again, noble Polus, you are raising hobgoblins instead of refuting me; just now you were calling witnesses against me. But please to refresh my memory a little; did you say— ‘in an unjust attempt to make himself a tyrant’?

POLUS: Yes, I did.

SOCRATES: Then I say that neither of them will be happier than the other, — neither he who unjustly acquires a tyranny, nor he who suffers in the attempt, for of two miserables one cannot be the happier, but that he who escapes and becomes a tyrant is the more miserable of the two. Do you laugh, Polus? Well, this is a new kind of refutation, — when any one says anything, instead of refuting him to laugh at him.

POLUS: But do you not think, Socrates, that you have been sufficiently refuted, when you say that which no human being will allow? Ask the company.

SOCRATES: O Polus, I am not a public man, and only last year, when my tribe were serving as Prytanes, and it became my duty as their president to take the votes, there was a laugh at me, because I was unable to take them. And as I failed then, you must not ask me to count the suffrages of the company now; but if, as I was saying, you have no better argument than numbers, let me have a turn, and do you make trial of the sort of proof which, as I think, is required; for I shall produce one witness only of the truth of my words, and he is the person with whom I am arguing; his suffrage I know how to take; but with the many I have nothing to do, and do not even address myself to them. May I ask then whether you will answer in turn and have your words put to the proof? For I certainly think that I and you and every man do really believe, that to do is a greater evil than to suffer injustice: and not to be punished than to be punished.

POLUS: And I should say neither I, nor any man: would you yourself, for example, suffer rather than do injustice?

SOCRATES: Yes, and you, too; I or any man would.

POLUS: Quite the reverse; neither you, nor I, nor any man.

SOCRATES: But will you answer?

POLUS: To be sure, I will; for I am curious to hear what you can have to say.

SOCRATES: Tell me, then, and you will know, and let us suppose that I am beginning at the beginning: which of the two, Polus, in your opinion, is the worst? — to do injustice or to suffer?

POLUS: I should say that suffering was worst.

SOCRATES: And which is the greater disgrace? — Answer.

POLUS: To do.

SOCRATES: And the greater disgrace is the greater evil?

POLUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: I understand you to say, if I am not mistaken, that the honourable is not the same as the good, or the disgraceful as the evil?

POLUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Let me ask a question of you: When you speak of beautiful things, such as bodies, colours, figures, sounds, institutions, do you not call them beautiful in reference to some standard: bodies, for example, are beautiful in proportion as they are useful, or as the sight of them gives pleasure to the spectators; can you give any other account of personal beauty?

POLUS: I cannot.

SOCRATES: And you would say of figures or colours generally that they were beautiful, either by reason of the pleasure which they give, or of their use, or of both?

POLUS: Yes, I should.

SOCRATES: And you would call sounds and music beautiful for the same reason?

POLUS: I should.

SOCRATES: Laws and institutions also have no beauty in them except in so far as they are useful or pleasant or both?

POLUS: I think not.

SOCRATES: And may not the same be said of the beauty of knowledge?

POLUS: To be sure, Socrates; and I very much approve of your measuring beauty by the standard of pleasure and utility.

SOCRATES: And deformity or disgrace may be equally measured by the opposite standard of pain and evil?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then when of two beautiful things one exceeds in beauty, the measure of the excess is to be taken in one or both of these; that is to say, in pleasure or utility or both?

POLUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And of two deformed things, that which exceeds in deformity or disgrace, exceeds either in pain or evil — must it not be so?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But then again, what was the observation which you just now made, about doing and suffering wrong? Did you not say, that suffering wrong was more evil, and doing wrong more disgraceful?

POLUS: I did.

SOCRATES: Then, if doing wrong is more disgraceful than suffering, the more disgraceful must be more painful and must exceed in pain or in evil or both: does not that also follow?

POLUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: First, then, let us consider whether the doing of injustice exceeds the suffering in the consequent pain: Do the injurers suffer more than the injured?

POLUS: No, Socrates; certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then they do not exceed in pain?

POLUS: No.

SOCRATES: But if not in pain, then not in both?

POLUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then they can only exceed in the other?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: That is to say, in evil?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then doing injustice will have an excess of evil, and will therefore be a greater evil than suffering injustice?

POLUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But have not you and the world already agreed that to do injustice is more disgraceful than to suffer?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And that is now discovered to be more evil?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And would you prefer a greater evil or a greater dishonour to a less one? Answer, Polus, and fear not; for you will come to no harm if you nobly resign yourself into the healing hand of the argument as to a physician without shrinking, and either say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to me.

POLUS: I should say ‘No.’

SOCRATES: Would any other man prefer a greater to a less evil?

POLUS: No, not according to this way of putting the case, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then I said truly, Polus, that neither you, nor I, nor any man, would rather do than suffer injustice; for to do injustice is the greater evil of the two.

POLUS: That is the conclusion.

SOCRATES: You see, Polus, when you compare the two kinds of refutations, how unlike they are. All men, with the exception of myself, are of your way of thinking; but your single assent and witness are enough for me, — I have no need of any other, I take your suffrage, and am regardless of the rest. Enough of this, and now let us proceed to the next question; which is, Whether the greatest of evils to a guilty man is to suffer punishment, as you supposed, or whether to escape punishment is not a greater evil, as I supposed. Consider: — You would say that to suffer punishment is another name for being justly corrected when you do wrong?

POLUS: I should.

SOCRATES: And would you not allow that all just things are honourable in so far as they are just? Please to reflect, and tell me your opinion.

POLUS: Yes, Socrates, I think that they are.

SOCRATES: Consider again: — Where there is an agent, must there not also be a patient?

POLUS: I should say so.

SOCRATES: And will not the patient suffer that which the agent does, and will not the suffering have the quality of the action? I mean, for example, that if a man strikes, there must be something which is stricken?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if the striker strikes violently or quickly, that which is struck will be struck violently or quickly?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And the suffering to him who is stricken is of the same nature as the act of him who strikes?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if a man burns, there is something which is burned?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And if he burns in excess or so as to cause pain, the thing burned will be burned in the same way?

POLUS: Truly.

SOCRATES: And if he cuts, the same argument holds — there will be something cut?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if the cutting be great or deep or such as will cause pain, the cut will be of the same nature?

POLUS: That is evident.

SOCRATES: Then you would agree generally to the universal proposition which I was just now asserting: that the affection of the patient answers to the affection of the agent?

POLUS: I agree.

SOCRATES: Then, as this is admitted, let me ask whether being punished is suffering or acting?

POLUS: Suffering, Socrates; there can be no doubt of that.

SOCRATES: And suffering implies an agent?

POLUS: Certainly, Socrates; and he is the punisher.

SOCRATES: And he who punishes rightly, punishes justly?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And therefore he acts justly?

POLUS: Justly.

SOCRATES: Then he who is punished and suffers retribution, suffers justly?

POLUS: That is evident.

SOCRATES: And that which is just has been admitted to be honourable?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then the punisher does what is honourable, and the punished suffers what is honourable?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if what is honourable, then what is good, for the honourable is either pleasant or useful?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then he who is punished suffers what is good?

POLUS: That is true.

SOCRATES: Then he is benefited?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Do I understand you to mean what I mean by the term ‘benefited’? I mean, that if he be justly punished his soul is improved.

POLUS: Surely.

SOCRATES: Then he who is punished is delivered from the evil of his soul?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is he not then delivered from the greatest evil? Look at the matter in this way: — In respect of a man’s estate, do you see any greater evil than poverty?

POLUS: There is no greater evil.

SOCRATES: Again, in a man’s bodily frame, you would say that the evil is weakness and disease and deformity?

POLUS: I should.

SOCRATES: And do you not imagine that the soul likewise has some evil of her own?

POLUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: And this you would call injustice and ignorance and cowardice, and the like?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: So then, in mind, body, and estate, which are three, you have pointed out three corresponding evils — injustice, disease, poverty?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And which of the evils is the most disgraceful? — Is not the most disgraceful of them injustice, and in general the evil of the soul?

POLUS: By far the most.

SOCRATES: And if the most disgraceful, then also the worst?

POLUS: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I mean to say, that is most disgraceful has been already admitted to be most painful or hurtful, or both.

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And now injustice and all evil in the soul has been admitted by us to be most disgraceful?

POLUS: It has been admitted.

SOCRATES: And most disgraceful either because most painful and causing excessive pain, or most hurtful, or both?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And therefore to be unjust and intemperate, and cowardly and ignorant, is more painful than to be poor and sick?

POLUS: Nay, Socrates; the painfulness does not appear to me to follow from your premises.

SOCRATES: Then, if, as you would argue, not more painful, the evil of the soul is of all evils the most disgraceful; and the excess of disgrace must be caused by some preternatural greatness, or extraordinary hurtfulness of the evil.

POLUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And that which exceeds most in hurtfulness will be the greatest of evils?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then injustice and intemperance, and in general the depravity of the soul, are the greatest of evils?

POLUS: That is evident.

SOCRATES: Now, what art is there which delivers us from poverty? Does not the art of making money?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And what art frees us from disease? Does not the art of medicine?

POLUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And what from vice and injustice? If you are not able to answer at once, ask yourself whither we go with the sick, and to whom we take them.

POLUS: To the physicians, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And to whom do we go with the unjust and intemperate?

POLUS: To the judges, you mean.

SOCRATES: — Who are to punish them?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And do not those who rightly punish others, punish them in accordance with a certain rule of justice?

POLUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Then the art of money-making frees a man from poverty; medicine from disease; and justice from intemperance and injustice?

POLUS: That is evident.

SOCRATES: Which, then, is the best of these three?

POLUS: Will you enumerate them?

SOCRATES: Money-making, medicine, and justice.

POLUS: Justice, Socrates, far excels the two others.

SOCRATES: And justice, if the best, gives the greatest pleasure or advantage or both?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But is the being healed a pleasant thing, and are those who are being healed pleased?

POLUS: I think not.

SOCRATES: A useful thing, then?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Yes, because the patient is delivered from a great evil; and this is the advantage of enduring the pain — that you get well?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And would he be the happier man in his bodily condition, who is healed, or who never was out of health?

POLUS: Clearly he who was never out of health.

SOCRATES: Yes; for happiness surely does not consist in being delivered from evils, but in never having had them.

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And suppose the case of two persons who have some evil in their bodies, and that one of them is healed and delivered from evil, and another is not healed, but retains the evil — which of them is the most miserable?

POLUS: Clearly he who is not healed.

SOCRATES: And was not punishment said by us to be a deliverance from the greatest of evils, which is vice?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And justice punishes us, and makes us more just, and is the medicine of our vice?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: He, then, has the first place in the scale of happiness who has never had vice in his soul; for this has been shown to be the greatest of evils.

POLUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And he has the second place, who is delivered from vice?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: That is to say, he who receives admonition and rebuke and punishment?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then he lives worst, who, having been unjust, has no deliverance from injustice?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: That is, he lives worst who commits the greatest crimes, and who, being the most unjust of men, succeeds in escaping rebuke or correction or punishment; and this, as you say, has been accomplished by Archelaus and other tyrants and rhetoricians and potentates? (Compare Republic.)

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: May not their way of proceeding, my friend, be compared to the conduct of a person who is afflicted with the worst of diseases and yet contrives not to pay the penalty to the physician for his sins against his constitution, and will not be cured, because, like a child, he is afraid of the pain of being burned or cut: — Is not that a parallel case?

POLUS: Yes, truly.

SOCRATES: He would seem as if he did not know the nature of health and bodily vigour; and if we are right, Polus, in our previous conclusions, they are in a like case who strive to evade justice, which they see to be painful, but are blind to the advantage which ensues from it, not knowing how far more miserable a companion a diseased soul is than a diseased body; a soul, I say, which is corrupt and unrighteous and unholy. And hence they do all that they can to avoid punishment and to avoid being released from the greatest of evils; they provide themselves with money and friends, and cultivate to the utmost their powers of persuasion. But if we, Polus, are right, do you see what follows, or shall we draw out the consequences in form?

POLUS: If you please.

SOCRATES: Is it not a fact that injustice, and the doing of injustice, is the greatest of evils?

POLUS: That is quite clear.

SOCRATES: And further, that to suffer punishment is the way to be released from this evil?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And not to suffer, is to perpetuate the evil?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: To do wrong, then, is second only in the scale of evils; but to do wrong and not to be punished, is first and greatest of all?

POLUS: That is true.

SOCRATES: Well, and was not this the point in dispute, my friend? You deemed Archelaus happy, because he was a very great criminal and unpunished: I, on the other hand, maintained that he or any other who like him has done wrong and has not been punished, is, and ought to be, the most miserable of all men; and that the doer of injustice is more miserable than the sufferer; and he who escapes punishment, more miserable than he who suffers. — Was not that what I said?

POLUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And it has been proved to be true?

POLUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Well, Polus, but if this is true, where is the great use of rhetoric? If we admit what has been just now said, every man ought in every way to guard himself against doing wrong, for he will thereby suffer great evil?

POLUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if he, or any one about whom he cares, does wrong, he ought of his own accord to go where he will be immediately punished; he will run to the judge, as he would to the physician, in order that the disease of injustice may not be rendered chronic and become the incurable cancer of the soul; must we not allow this consequence, Polus, if our former admissions are to stand: — is any other inference consistent with them?

POLUS: To that, Socrates, there can be but one answer.

SOCRATES: Then rhetoric is of no use to us, Polus, in helping a man to excuse his own injustice, that of his parents or friends, or children or country; but may be of use to any one who holds that instead of excusing he ought to accuse — himself above all, and in the next degree his family or any of his friends who may be doing wrong; he should bring to light the iniquity and not conceal it, that so the wrong-doer may suffer and be made whole; and he should even force himself and others not to shrink, but with closed eyes like brave men to let the physician operate with knife or searing iron, not regarding the pain, in the hope of attaining the good and the honourable; let him who has done things worthy of stripes, allow himself to be scourged, if of bonds, to be bound, if of a fine, to be fined, if of exile, to be exiled, if of death, to die, himself being the first to accuse himself and his own relations, and using rhetoric to this end, that his and their unjust actions may be made manifest, and that they themselves may be delivered from injustice, which is the greatest evil. Then, Polus, rhetoric would indeed be useful. Do you say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to that?

POLUS: To me, Socrates, what you are saying appears very strange, though probably in agreement with your premises.

SOCRATES: Is not this the conclusion, if the premises are not disproven?

POLUS: Yes; it certainly is.

SOCRATES: And from the opposite point of view, if indeed it be our duty to harm another, whether an enemy or not — I except the case of self-defence — then I have to be upon my guard — but if my enemy injures a third person, then in every sort of way, by word as well as deed, I should try to prevent his being punished, or appearing before the judge; and if he appears, I should contrive that he should escape, and not suffer punishment: if he has stolen a sum of money, let him keep what he has stolen and spend it on him and his, regardless of religion and justice; and if he have done things worthy of death, let him not die, but rather be immortal in his wickedness; or, if this is not possible, let him at any rate be allowed to live as long as he can. For such purposes, Polus, rhetoric may be useful, but is of small if of any use to him who is not intending to commit injustice; at least, there was no such use discovered by us in the previous discussion.

CALLICLES: Tell me, Chaerephon, is Socrates in earnest, or is he joking?

CHAEREPHON: I should say, Callicles, that he is in most profound earnest; but you may well ask him.

CALLICLES: By the gods, and I will. Tell me, Socrates, are you in earnest, or only in jest? For if you are in earnest, and what you say is true, is not the whole of human life turned upside down; and are we not doing, as would appear, in everything the opposite of what we ought to be doing?

SOCRATES: O Callicles, if there were not some community of feelings among mankind, however varying in different persons — I mean to say, if every man’s feelings were peculiar to himself and were not shared by the rest of his species — I do not see how we could ever communicate our impressions to one another. I make this remark because I perceive that you and I have a common feeling. For we are lovers both, and both of us have two loves apiece: — I am the lover of Alcibiades, the son of Cleinias, and of philosophy; and you of the Athenian Demus, and of Demus the son of Pyrilampes. Now, I observe that you, with all your cleverness, do not venture to contradict your favourite in any word or opinion of his; but as he changes you change, backwards and forwards. When the Athenian Demus denies anything that you are saying in the assembly, you go over to his opinion; and you do the same with Demus, the fair young son of Pyrilampes. For you have not the power to resist the words and ideas of your loves; and if a person were to express surprise at the strangeness of what you say from time to time when under their influence, you would probably reply to him, if you were honest, that you cannot help saying what your loves say unless they are prevented; and that you can only be silent when they are. Now you must understand that my words are an echo too, and therefore you need not wonder at me; but if you want to silence me, silence philosophy, who is my love, for she is always telling me what I am now telling you, my friend; neither is she capricious like my other love, for the son of Cleinias says one thing to-day and another thing to-morrow, but philosophy is always true. She is the teacher at whose words you are now wondering, and you have heard her yourself. Her you must refute, and either show, as I was saying, that to do injustice and to escape punishment is not the worst of all evils; or, if you leave her word unrefuted, by the dog the god of Egypt, I declare, O Callicles, that Callicles will never be at one with himself, but that his whole life will be a discord. And yet, my friend, I would rather that my lyre should be inharmonious, and that there should be no music in the chorus which I provided; aye, or that the whole world should be at odds with me, and oppose me, rather than that I myself should be at odds with myself, and contradict myself.

CALLICLES: O Socrates, you are a regular declaimer, and seem to be running riot in the argument. And now you are declaiming in this way because Polus has fallen into the same error himself of which he accused Gorgias: — for he said that when Gorgias was asked by you, whether, if some one came to him who wanted to learn rhetoric, and did not know justice, he would teach him justice, Gorgias in his modesty replied that he would, because he thought that mankind in general would be displeased if he answered ‘No’; and then in consequence of this admission, Gorgias was compelled to contradict himself, that being just the sort of thing in which you delight. Whereupon Polus laughed at you deservedly, as I think; but now he has himself fallen into the same trap. I cannot say very much for his wit when he conceded to you that to do is more dishonourable than to suffer injustice, for this was the admission which led to his being entangled by you; and because he was too modest to say what he thought, he had his mouth stopped. For the truth is, Socrates, that you, who pretend to be engaged in the pursuit of truth, are appealing now to the popular and vulgar notions of right, which are not natural, but only conventional. Convention and nature are generally at variance with one another: and hence, if a person is too modest to say what he thinks, he is compelled to contradict himself; and you, in your ingenuity perceiving the advantage to be thereby gained, slyly ask of him who is arguing conventionally a question which is to be determined by the rule of nature; and if he is talking of the rule of nature, you slip away to custom: as, for instance, you did in this very discussion about doing and suffering injustice. When Polus was speaking of the conventionally dishonourable, you assailed him from the point of view of nature; for by the rule of nature, to suffer injustice is the greater disgrace because the greater evil; but conventionally, to do evil is the more disgraceful. For the suffering of injustice is not the part of a man, but of a slave, who indeed had better die than live; since when he is wronged and trampled upon, he is unable to help himself, or any other about whom he cares. The reason, as I conceive, is that the makers of laws are the majority who are weak; and they make laws and distribute praises and censures with a view to themselves and to their own interests; and they terrify the stronger sort of men, and those who are able to get the better of them, in order that they may not get the better of them; and they say, that dishonesty is shameful and unjust; meaning, by the word injustice, the desire of a man to have more than his neighbours; for knowing their own inferiority, I suspect that they are too glad of equality. And therefore the endeavour to have more than the many, is conventionally said to be shameful and unjust, and is called injustice (compare Republic), whereas nature herself intimates that it is just for the better to have more than the worse, the more powerful than the weaker; and in many ways she shows, among men as well as among animals, and indeed among whole cities and races, that justice consists in the superior ruling over and having more than the inferior. For on what principle of justice did Xerxes invade Hellas, or his father the Scythians? (not to speak of numberless other examples). Nay, but these are the men who act according to nature; yes, by Heaven, and according to the law of nature: not, perhaps, according to that artificial law, which we invent and impose upon our fellows, of whom we take the best and strongest from their youth upwards, and tame them like young lions, — charming them with the sound of the voice, and saying to them, that with equality they must be content, and that the equal is the honourable and the just. But if there were a man who had sufficient force, he would shake off and break through, and escape from all this; he would trample under foot all our formulas and spells and charms, and all our laws which are against nature: the slave would rise in rebellion and be lord over us, and the light of natural justice would shine forth. And this I take to be the sentiment of Pindar, when he says in his poem, that

‘Law is the king of all, of mortals as well as of immortals;’

this, as he says,

‘Makes might to be right, doing violence with highest hand; as I infer from the deeds of Heracles, for without buying them—’ (Fragm. Incert. 151 (Bockh).) — I do not remember the exact words, but the meaning is, that without buying them, and without their being given to him, he carried off the oxen of Geryon, according to the law of natural right, and that the oxen and other possessions of the weaker and inferior properly belong to the stronger and superior. And this is true, as you may ascertain, if you will leave philosophy and go on to higher things: for philosophy, Socrates, if pursued in moderation and at the proper age, is an elegant accomplishment, but too much philosophy is the ruin of human life. Even if a man has good parts, still, if he carries philosophy into later life, he is necessarily ignorant of all those things which a gentleman and a person of honour ought to know; he is inexperienced in the laws of the State, and in the language which ought to be used in the dealings of man with man, whether private or public, and utterly ignorant of the pleasures and desires of mankind and of human character in general. And people of this sort, when they betake themselves to politics or business, are as ridiculous as I imagine the politicians to be, when they make their appearance in the arena of philosophy. For, as Euripides says,

‘Every man shines in that and pursues that, and devotes the greatest portion of the day to that in which he most excels,’ (Antiope, fragm. 20 (Dindorf).)

but anything in which he is inferior, he avoids and depreciates, and praises the opposite from partiality to himself, and because he thinks that he will thus praise himself. The true principle is to unite them. Philosophy, as a part of education, is an excellent thing, and there is no disgrace to a man while he is young in pursuing such a study; but when he is more advanced in years, the thing becomes ridiculous, and I feel towards philosophers as I do towards those who lisp and imitate children. For I love to see a little child, who is not of an age to speak plainly, lisping at his play; there is an appearance of grace and freedom in his utterance, which is natural to his childish years. But when I hear some small creature carefully articulating its words, I am offended; the sound is disagreeable, and has to my ears the twang of slavery. So when I hear a man lisping, or see him playing like a child, his behaviour appears to me ridiculous and unmanly and worthy of stripes. And I have the same feeling about students of philosophy; when I see a youth thus engaged, — the study appears to me to be in character, and becoming a man of liberal education, and him who neglects philosophy I regard as an inferior man, who will never aspire to anything great or noble. But if I see him continuing the study in later life, and not leaving off, I should like to beat him, Socrates; for, as I was saying, such a one, even though he have good natural parts, becomes effeminate. He flies from the busy centre and the market-place, in which, as the poet says, men become distinguished; he creeps into a corner for the rest of his life, and talks in a whisper with three or four admiring youths, but never speaks out like a freeman in a satisfactory manner. Now I, Socrates, am very well inclined towards you, and my feeling may be compared with that of Zethus towards Amphion, in the play of Euripides, whom I was mentioning just now: for I am disposed to say to you much what Zethus said to his brother, that you, Socrates, are careless about the things of which you ought to be careful; and that you

‘Who have a soul so noble, are remarkable for a puerile exterior; Neither in a court of justice could you state a case, or give any reason or proof, Or offer valiant counsel on another’s behalf.’

And you must not be offended, my dear Socrates, for I am speaking out of good-will towards you, if I ask whether you are not ashamed of being thus defenceless; which I affirm to be the condition not of you only but of all those who will carry the study of philosophy too far. For suppose that some one were to take you, or any one of your sort, off to prison, declaring that you had done wrong when you had done no wrong, you must allow that you would not know what to do: — there you would stand giddy and gaping, and not having a word to say; and when you went up before the Court, even if the accuser were a poor creature and not good for much, you would die if he were disposed to claim the penalty of death. And yet, Socrates, what is the value of

‘An art which converts a man of sense into a fool,’

who is helpless, and has no power to save either himself or others, when he is in the greatest danger and is going to be despoiled by his enemies of all his goods, and has to live, simply deprived of his rights of citizenship? — he being a man who, if I may use the expression, may be boxed on the ears with impunity. Then, my good friend, take my advice, and refute no more:

‘Learn the philosophy of business, and acquire the reputation of wisdom. But leave to others these niceties,’

whether they are to be described as follies or absurdities:

‘For they will only Give you poverty for the inmate of your dwelling.’

Cease, then, emulating these paltry splitters of words, and emulate only the man of substance and honour, who is well to do.

SOCRATES: If my soul, Callicles, were made of gold, should I not rejoice to discover one of those stones with which they test gold, and the very best possible one to which I might bring my soul; and if the stone and I agreed in approving of her training, then I should know that I was in a satisfactory state, and that no other test was needed by me.

CALLICLES: What is your meaning, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I will tell you; I think that I have found in you the desired touchstone.

CALLICLES: Why?

SOCRATES: Because I am sure that if you agree with me in any of the opinions which my soul forms, I have at last found the truth indeed. For I consider that if a man is to make a complete trial of the good or evil of the soul, he ought to have three qualities — knowledge, good-will, outspokenness, which are all possessed by you. Many whom I meet are unable to make trial of me, because they are not wise as you are; others are wise, but they will not tell me the truth, because they have not the same interest in me which you have; and these two strangers, Gorgias and Polus, are undoubtedly wise men and my very good friends, but they are not outspoken enough, and they are too modest. Why, their modesty is so great that they are driven to contradict themselves, first one and then the other of them, in the face of a large company, on matters of the highest moment. But you have all the qualities in which these others are deficient, having received an excellent education; to this many Athenians can testify. And you are my friend. Shall I tell you why I think so? I know that you, Callicles, and Tisander of Aphidnae, and Andron the son of Androtion, and Nausicydes of the deme of Cholarges, studied together: there were four of you, and I once heard you advising with one another as to the extent to which the pursuit of philosophy should be carried, and, as I know, you came to the conclusion that the study should not be pushed too much into detail. You were cautioning one another not to be overwise; you were afraid that too much wisdom might unconsciously to yourselves be the ruin of you. And now when I hear you giving the same advice to me which you then gave to your most intimate friends, I have a sufficient evidence of your real good-will to me. And of the frankness of your nature and freedom from modesty I am assured by yourself, and the assurance is confirmed by your last speech. Well then, the inference in the present case clearly is, that if you agree with me in an argument about any point, that point will have been sufficiently tested by us, and will not require to be submitted to any further test. For you could not have agreed with me, either from lack of knowledge or from superfluity of modesty, nor yet from a desire to deceive me, for you are my friend, as you tell me yourself. And therefore when you and I are agreed, the result will be the attainment of perfect truth. Now there is no nobler enquiry, Callicles, than that which you censure me for making, — What ought the character of a man to be, and what his pursuits, and how far is he to go, both in maturer years and in youth? For be assured that if I err in my own conduct I do not err intentionally, but from ignorance. Do not then desist from advising me, now that you have begun, until I have learned clearly what this is which I am to practise, and how I may acquire it. And if you find me assenting to your words, and hereafter not doing that to which I assented, call me ‘dolt,’ and deem me unworthy of receiving further instruction. Once more, then, tell me what you and Pindar mean by natural justice: Do you not mean that the superior should take the property of the inferior by force; that the better should rule the worse, the noble have more than the mean? Am I not right in my recollection?

CALLICLES: Yes; that is what I was saying, and so I still aver.

SOCRATES: And do you mean by the better the same as the superior? for I could not make out what you were saying at the time — whether you meant by the superior the stronger, and that the weaker must obey the stronger, as you seemed to imply when you said that great cities attack small ones in accordance with natural right, because they are superior and stronger, as though the superior and stronger and better were the same; or whether the better may be also the inferior and weaker, and the superior the worse, or whether better is to be defined in the same way as superior: — this is the point which I want to have cleared up. Are the superior and better and stronger the same or different?

CALLICLES: I say unequivocally that they are the same.

SOCRATES: Then the many are by nature superior to the one, against whom, as you were saying, they make the laws?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then the laws of the many are the laws of the superior?

CALLICLES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then they are the laws of the better; for the superior class are far better, as you were saying?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And since they are superior, the laws which are made by them are by nature good?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And are not the many of opinion, as you were lately saying, that justice is equality, and that to do is more disgraceful than to suffer injustice? — is that so or not? Answer, Callicles, and let no modesty be found to come in the way; do the many think, or do they not think thus? — I must beg of you to answer, in order that if you agree with me I may fortify myself by the assent of so competent an authority.

CALLICLES: Yes; the opinion of the many is what you say.

SOCRATES: Then not only custom but nature also affirms that to do is more disgraceful than to suffer injustice, and that justice is equality; so that you seem to have been wrong in your former assertion, when accusing me you said that nature and custom are opposed, and that I, knowing this, was dishonestly playing between them, appealing to custom when the argument is about nature, and to nature when the argument is about custom?

CALLICLES: This man will never cease talking nonsense. At your age, Socrates, are you not ashamed to be catching at words and chuckling over some verbal slip? do you not see — have I not told you already, that by superior I mean better: do you imagine me to say, that if a rabble of slaves and nondescripts, who are of no use except perhaps for their physical strength, get together, their ipsissima verba are laws?

SOCRATES: Ho! my philosopher, is that your line?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: I was thinking, Callicles, that something of the kind must have been in your mind, and that is why I repeated the question, — What is the superior? I wanted to know clearly what you meant; for you surely do not think that two men are better than one, or that your slaves are better than you because they are stronger? Then please to begin again, and tell me who the better are, if they are not the stronger; and I will ask you, great Sir, to be a little milder in your instructions, or I shall have to run away from you.

CALLICLES: You are ironical.

SOCRATES: No, by the hero Zethus, Callicles, by whose aid you were just now saying many ironical things against me, I am not: — tell me, then, whom you mean, by the better?

CALLICLES: I mean the more excellent.

SOCRATES: Do you not see that you are yourself using words which have no meaning and that you are explaining nothing? — will you tell me whether you mean by the better and superior the wiser, or if not, whom?

CALLICLES: Most assuredly, I do mean the wiser.

SOCRATES: Then according to you, one wise man may often be superior to ten thousand fools, and he ought to rule them, and they ought to be his subjects, and he ought to have more than they should. This is what I believe that you mean (and you must not suppose that I am word-catching), if you allow that the one is superior to the ten thousand?

CALLICLES: Yes; that is what I mean, and that is what I conceive to be natural justice — that the better and wiser should rule and have more than the inferior.

SOCRATES: Stop there, and let me ask you what you would say in this case: Let us suppose that we are all together as we are now; there are several of us, and we have a large common store of meats and drinks, and there are all sorts of persons in our company having various degrees of strength and weakness, and one of us, being a physician, is wiser in the matter of food than all the rest, and he is probably stronger than some and not so strong as others of us — will he not, being wiser, be also better than we are, and our superior in this matter of food?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Either, then, he will have a larger share of the meats and drinks, because he is better, or he will have the distribution of all of them by reason of his authority, but he will not expend or make use of a larger share of them on his own person, or if he does, he will be punished; — his share will exceed that of some, and be less than that of others, and if he be the weakest of all, he being the best of all will have the smallest share of all, Callicles: — am I not right, my friend?

CALLICLES: You talk about meats and drinks and physicians and other nonsense; I am not speaking of them.

SOCRATES: Well, but do you admit that the wiser is the better? Answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And ought not the better to have a larger share?

CALLICLES: Not of meats and drinks.

SOCRATES: I understand: then, perhaps, of coats — the skilfullest weaver ought to have the largest coat, and the greatest number of them, and go about clothed in the best and finest of them?

CALLICLES: Fudge about coats!

SOCRATES: Then the skilfullest and best in making shoes ought to have the advantage in shoes; the shoemaker, clearly, should walk about in the largest shoes, and have the greatest number of them?

CALLICLES: Fudge about shoes! What nonsense are you talking?

SOCRATES: Or, if this is not your meaning, perhaps you would say that the wise and good and true husbandman should actually have a larger share of seeds, and have as much seed as possible for his own land?

CALLICLES: How you go on, always talking in the same way, Socrates!

SOCRATES: Yes, Callicles, and also about the same things.

CALLICLES: Yes, by the Gods, you are literally always talking of cobblers and fullers and cooks and doctors, as if this had to do with our argument.

SOCRATES: But why will you not tell me in what a man must be superior and wiser in order to claim a larger share; will you neither accept a suggestion, nor offer one?

CALLICLES: I have already told you. In the first place, I mean by superiors not cobblers or cooks, but wise politicians who understand the administration of a state, and who are not only wise, but also valiant and able to carry out their designs, and not the men to faint from want of soul.

SOCRATES: See now, most excellent Callicles, how different my charge against you is from that which you bring against me, for you reproach me with always saying the same; but I reproach you with never saying the same about the same things, for at one time you were defining the better and the superior to be the stronger, then again as the wiser, and now you bring forward a new notion; the superior and the better are now declared by you to be the more courageous: I wish, my good friend, that you would tell me, once for all, whom you affirm to be the better and superior, and in what they are better?

CALLICLES: I have already told you that I mean those who are wise and courageous in the administration of a state — they ought to be the rulers of their states, and justice consists in their having more than their subjects.

SOCRATES: But whether rulers or subjects will they or will they not have more than themselves, my friend?

CALLICLES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean that every man is his own ruler; but perhaps you think that there is no necessity for him to rule himself; he is only required to rule others?

CALLICLES: What do you mean by his ‘ruling over himself’?

SOCRATES: A simple thing enough; just what is commonly said, that a man should be temperate and master of himself, and ruler of his own pleasures and passions.

CALLICLES: What innocence! you mean those fools, — the temperate?

SOCRATES: Certainly: — any one may know that to be my meaning.

CALLICLES: Quite so, Socrates; and they are really fools, for how can a man be happy who is the servant of anything? On the contrary, I plainly assert, that he who would truly live ought to allow his desires to wax to the uttermost, and not to chastise them; but when they have grown to their greatest he should have courage and intelligence to minister to them and to satisfy all his longings. And this I affirm to be natural justice and nobility. To this however the many cannot attain; and they blame the strong man because they are ashamed of their own weakness, which they desire to conceal, and hence they say that intemperance is base. As I have remarked already, they enslave the nobler natures, and being unable to satisfy their pleasures, they praise temperance and justice out of their own cowardice. For if a man had been originally the son of a king, or had a nature capable of acquiring an empire or a tyranny or sovereignty, what could be more truly base or evil than temperance — to a man like him, I say, who might freely be enjoying every good, and has no one to stand in his way, and yet has admitted custom and reason and the opinion of other men to be lords over him? — must not he be in a miserable plight whom the reputation of justice and temperance hinders from giving more to his friends than to his enemies, even though he be a ruler in his city? Nay, Socrates, for you profess to be a votary of the truth, and the truth is this: — that luxury and intemperance and licence, if they be provided with means, are virtue and happiness — all the rest is a mere bauble, agreements contrary to nature, foolish talk of men, nothing worth. (Compare Republic.)

SOCRATES: There is a noble freedom, Callicles, in your way of approaching the argument; for what you say is what the rest of the world think, but do not like to say. And I must beg of you to persevere, that the true rule of human life may become manifest. Tell me, then: — you say, do you not, that in the rightly-developed man the passions ought not to be controlled, but that we should let them grow to the utmost and somehow or other satisfy them, and that this is virtue?

CALLICLES: Yes; I do.

SOCRATES: Then those who want nothing are not truly said to be happy?

CALLICLES: No indeed, for then stones and dead men would be the happiest of all.

SOCRATES: But surely life according to your view is an awful thing; and indeed I think that Euripides may have been right in saying,

‘Who knows if life be not death and death life;’

and that we are very likely dead; I have heard a philosopher say that at this moment we are actually dead, and that the body (soma) is our tomb (sema (compare Phaedr.)), and that the part of the soul which is the seat of the desires is liable to be tossed about by words and blown up and down; and some ingenious person, probably a Sicilian or an Italian, playing with the word, invented a tale in which he called the soul — because of its believing and make-believe nature — a vessel (An untranslatable pun, — dia to pithanon te kai pistikon onomase pithon.), and the ignorant he called the uninitiated or leaky, and the place in the souls of the uninitiated in which the desires are seated, being the intemperate and incontinent part, he compared to a vessel full of holes, because it can never be satisfied. He is not of your way of thinking, Callicles, for he declares, that of all the souls in Hades, meaning the invisible world (aeides), these uninitiated or leaky persons are the most miserable, and that they pour water into a vessel which is full of holes out of a colander which is similarly perforated. The colander, as my informer assures me, is the soul, and the soul which he compares to a colander is the soul of the ignorant, which is likewise full of holes, and therefore incontinent, owing to a bad memory and want of faith. These notions are strange enough, but they show the principle which, if I can, I would fain prove to you; that you should change your mind, and, instead of the intemperate and insatiate life, choose that which is orderly and sufficient and has a due provision for daily needs. Do I make any impression on you, and are you coming over to the opinion that the orderly are happier than the intemperate? Or do I fail to persuade you, and, however many tales I rehearse to you, do you continue of the same opinion still?

CALLICLES: The latter, Socrates, is more like the truth.

SOCRATES: Well, I will tell you another image, which comes out of the same school: — Let me request you to consider how far you would accept this as an account of the two lives of the temperate and intemperate in a figure: — There are two men, both of whom have a number of casks; the one man has his casks sound and full, one of wine, another of honey, and a third of milk, besides others filled with other liquids, and the streams which fill them are few and scanty, and he can only obtain them with a great deal of toil and difficulty; but when his casks are once filled he has no need to feed them any more, and has no further trouble with them or care about them. The other, in like manner, can procure streams, though not without difficulty; but his vessels are leaky and unsound, and night and day he is compelled to be filling them, and if he pauses for a moment, he is in an agony of pain. Such are their respective lives: — And now would you say that the life of the intemperate is happier than that of the temperate? Do I not convince you that the opposite is the truth?

CALLICLES: You do not convince me, Socrates, for the one who has filled himself has no longer any pleasure left; and this, as I was just now saying, is the life of a stone: he has neither joy nor sorrow after he is once filled; but the pleasure depends on the superabundance of the influx.

SOCRATES: But the more you pour in, the greater the waste; and the holes must be large for the liquid to escape.

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The life which you are now depicting is not that of a dead man, or of a stone, but of a cormorant; you mean that he is to be hungering and eating?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he is to be thirsting and drinking?

CALLICLES: Yes, that is what I mean; he is to have all his desires about him, and to be able to live happily in the gratification of them.

SOCRATES: Capital, excellent; go on as you have begun, and have no shame; I, too, must disencumber myself of shame: and first, will you tell me whether you include itching and scratching, provided you have enough of them and pass your life in scratching, in your notion of happiness?

CALLICLES: What a strange being you are, Socrates! a regular mob-orator.

SOCRATES: That was the reason, Callicles, why I scared Polus and Gorgias, until they were too modest to say what they thought; but you will not be too modest and will not be scared, for you are a brave man. And now, answer my question.

CALLICLES: I answer, that even the scratcher would live pleasantly.

SOCRATES: And if pleasantly, then also happily?

CALLICLES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: But what if the itching is not confined to the head? Shall I pursue the question? And here, Callicles, I would have you consider how you would reply if consequences are pressed upon you, especially if in the last resort you are asked, whether the life of a catamite is not terrible, foul, miserable? Or would you venture to say, that they too are happy, if they only get enough of what they want?

CALLICLES: Are you not ashamed, Socrates, of introducing such topics into the argument?

SOCRATES: Well, my fine friend, but am I the introducer of these topics, or he who says without any qualification that all who feel pleasure in whatever manner are happy, and who admits of no distinction between good and bad pleasures? And I would still ask, whether you say that pleasure and good are the same, or whether there is some pleasure which is not a good?

CALLICLES: Well, then, for the sake of consistency, I will say that they are the same.

SOCRATES: You are breaking the original agreement, Callicles, and will no longer be a satisfactory companion in the search after truth, if you say what is contrary to your real opinion.

CALLICLES: Why, that is what you are doing too, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then we are both doing wrong. Still, my dear friend, I would ask you to consider whether pleasure, from whatever source derived, is the good; for, if this be true, then the disagreeable consequences which have been darkly intimated must follow, and many others.

CALLICLES: That, Socrates, is only your opinion.

SOCRATES: And do you, Callicles, seriously maintain what you are saying?

CALLICLES: Indeed I do.

SOCRATES: Then, as you are in earnest, shall we proceed with the argument?

CALLICLES: By all means. (Or, ‘I am in profound earnest.’)

SOCRATES: Well, if you are willing to proceed, determine this question for me: — There is something, I presume, which you would call knowledge?

CALLICLES: There is.

SOCRATES: And were you not saying just now, that some courage implied knowledge?

CALLICLES: I was.

SOCRATES: And you were speaking of courage and knowledge as two things different from one another?

CALLICLES: Certainly I was.

SOCRATES: And would you say that pleasure and knowledge are the same, or not the same?

CALLICLES: Not the same, O man of wisdom.

SOCRATES: And would you say that courage differed from pleasure?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Well, then, let us remember that Callicles, the Acharnian, says that pleasure and good are the same; but that knowledge and courage are not the same, either with one another, or with the good.

CALLICLES: And what does our friend Socrates, of Foxton, say — does he assent to this, or not?

SOCRATES: He does not assent; neither will Callicles, when he sees himself truly. You will admit, I suppose, that good and evil fortune are opposed to each other?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if they are opposed to each other, then, like health and disease, they exclude one another; a man cannot have them both, or be without them both, at the same time?

CALLICLES: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Take the case of any bodily affection: — a man may have the complaint in his eyes which is called ophthalmia?

CALLICLES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: But he surely cannot have the same eyes well and sound at the same time?

CALLICLES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And when he has got rid of his ophthalmia, has he got rid of the health of his eyes too? Is the final result, that he gets rid of them both together?

CALLICLES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: That would surely be marvellous and absurd?

CALLICLES: Very.

SOCRATES: I suppose that he is affected by them, and gets rid of them in turns?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he may have strength and weakness in the same way, by fits?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Or swiftness and slowness?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And does he have and not have good and happiness, and their opposites, evil and misery, in a similar alternation? (Compare Republic.)

CALLICLES: Certainly he has.

SOCRATES: If then there be anything which a man has and has not at the same time, clearly that cannot be good and evil — do we agree? Please not to answer without consideration.

CALLICLES: I entirely agree.

SOCRATES: Go back now to our former admissions. — Did you say that to hunger, I mean the mere state of hunger, was pleasant or painful?

CALLICLES: I said painful, but that to eat when you are hungry is pleasant.

SOCRATES: I know; but still the actual hunger is painful: am I not right?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And thirst, too, is painful?

CALLICLES: Yes, very.

SOCRATES: Need I adduce any more instances, or would you agree that all wants or desires are painful?

CALLICLES: I agree, and therefore you need not adduce any more instances.

SOCRATES: Very good. And you would admit that to drink, when you are thirsty, is pleasant?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And in the sentence which you have just uttered, the word ‘thirsty’ implies pain?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the word ‘drinking’ is expressive of pleasure, and of the satisfaction of the want?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: There is pleasure in drinking?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: When you are thirsty?

SOCRATES: And in pain?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Do you see the inference: — that pleasure and pain are simultaneous, when you say that being thirsty, you drink? For are they not simultaneous, and do they not affect at the same time the same part, whether of the soul or the body? — which of them is affected cannot be supposed to be of any consequence: Is not this true?

CALLICLES: It is.

SOCRATES: You said also, that no man could have good and evil fortune at the same time?

CALLICLES: Yes, I did.

SOCRATES: But you admitted, that when in pain a man might also have pleasure?

CALLICLES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Then pleasure is not the same as good fortune, or pain the same as evil fortune, and therefore the good is not the same as the pleasant?

CALLICLES: I wish I knew, Socrates, what your quibbling means.

SOCRATES: You know, Callicles, but you affect not to know.

CALLICLES: Well, get on, and don’t keep fooling: then you will know what a wiseacre you are in your admonition of me.

SOCRATES: Does not a man cease from his thirst and from his pleasure in drinking at the same time?

CALLICLES: I do not understand what you are saying.

GORGIAS: Nay, Callicles, answer, if only for our sakes; — we should like to hear the argument out.

CALLICLES: Yes, Gorgias, but I must complain of the habitual trifling of Socrates; he is always arguing about little and unworthy questions.

GORGIAS: What matter? Your reputation, Callicles, is not at stake. Let Socrates argue in his own fashion.

CALLICLES: Well, then, Socrates, you shall ask these little peddling questions, since Gorgias wishes to have them.

SOCRATES: I envy you, Callicles, for having been initiated into the great mysteries before you were initiated into the lesser. I thought that this was not allowable. But to return to our argument: — Does not a man cease from thirsting and from the pleasure of drinking at the same moment?

CALLICLES: True.

SOCRATES: And if he is hungry, or has any other desire, does he not cease from the desire and the pleasure at the same moment?

CALLICLES: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then he ceases from pain and pleasure at the same moment?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: But he does not cease from good and evil at the same moment, as you have admitted: do you still adhere to what you said?

CALLICLES: Yes, I do; but what is the inference?

SOCRATES: Why, my friend, the inference is that the good is not the same as the pleasant, or the evil the same as the painful; there is a cessation of pleasure and pain at the same moment; but not of good and evil, for they are different. How then can pleasure be the same as good, or pain as evil? And I would have you look at the matter in another light, which could hardly, I think, have been considered by you when you identified them: Are not the good good because they have good present with them, as the beautiful are those who have beauty present with them?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And do you call the fools and cowards good men? For you were saying just now that the courageous and the wise are the good — would you not say so?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And did you never see a foolish child rejoicing?

CALLICLES: Yes, I have.

SOCRATES: And a foolish man too?

CALLICLES: Yes, certainly; but what is your drift?

SOCRATES: Nothing particular, if you will only answer.

CALLICLES: Yes, I have.

SOCRATES: And did you ever see a sensible man rejoicing or sorrowing?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Which rejoice and sorrow most — the wise or the foolish?

CALLICLES: They are much upon a par, I think, in that respect.

SOCRATES: Enough: And did you ever see a coward in battle?

CALLICLES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And which rejoiced most at the departure of the enemy, the coward or the brave?

CALLICLES: I should say ‘most’ of both; or at any rate, they rejoiced about equally.

SOCRATES: No matter; then the cowards, and not only the brave, rejoice?

CALLICLES: Greatly.

SOCRATES: And the foolish; so it would seem?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And are only the cowards pained at the approach of their enemies, or are the brave also pained?

CALLICLES: Both are pained.

SOCRATES: And are they equally pained?

CALLICLES: I should imagine that the cowards are more pained.

SOCRATES: And are they not better pleased at the enemy’s departure?

CALLICLES: I dare say.

SOCRATES: Then are the foolish and the wise and the cowards and the brave all pleased and pained, as you were saying, in nearly equal degree; but are the cowards more pleased and pained than the brave?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: But surely the wise and brave are the good, and the foolish and the cowardly are the bad?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then the good and the bad are pleased and pained in a nearly equal degree?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then are the good and bad good and bad in a nearly equal degree, or have the bad the advantage both in good and evil? (i.e. in having more pleasure and more pain.)

CALLICLES: I really do not know what you mean.

SOCRATES: Why, do you not remember saying that the good were good because good was present with them, and the evil because evil; and that pleasures were goods and pains evils?

CALLICLES: Yes, I remember.

SOCRATES: And are not these pleasures or goods present to those who rejoice — if they do rejoice?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then those who rejoice are good when goods are present with them?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And those who are in pain have evil or sorrow present with them?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And would you still say that the evil are evil by reason of the presence of evil?

CALLICLES: I should.

SOCRATES: Then those who rejoice are good, and those who are in pain evil?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: The degrees of good and evil vary with the degrees of pleasure and of pain?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Have the wise man and the fool, the brave and the coward, joy and pain in nearly equal degrees? or would you say that the coward has more?

CALLICLES: I should say that he has.

SOCRATES: Help me then to draw out the conclusion which follows from our admissions; for it is good to repeat and review what is good twice and thrice over, as they say. Both the wise man and the brave man we allow to be good?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the foolish man and the coward to be evil?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And he who has joy is good?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he who is in pain is evil?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The good and evil both have joy and pain, but, perhaps, the evil has more of them?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then must we not infer, that the bad man is as good and bad as the good, or, perhaps, even better? — is not this a further inference which follows equally with the preceding from the assertion that the good and the pleasant are the same: — can this be denied, Callicles?

CALLICLES: I have been listening and making admissions to you, Socrates; and I remark that if a person grants you anything in play, you, like a child, want to keep hold and will not give it back. But do you really suppose that I or any other human being denies that some pleasures are good and others bad?

SOCRATES: Alas, Callicles, how unfair you are! you certainly treat me as if I were a child, sometimes saying one thing, and then another, as if you were meaning to deceive me. And yet I thought at first that you were my friend, and would not have deceived me if you could have helped. But I see that I was mistaken; and now I suppose that I must make the best of a bad business, as they said of old, and take what I can get out of you. — Well, then, as I understand you to say, I may assume that some pleasures are good and others evil?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: The beneficial are good, and the hurtful are evil?

CALLICLES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And the beneficial are those which do some good, and the hurtful are those which do some evil?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Take, for example, the bodily pleasures of eating and drinking, which we were just now mentioning — you mean to say that those which promote health, or any other bodily excellence, are good, and their opposites evil?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And in the same way there are good pains and there are evil pains?

CALLICLES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And ought we not to choose and use the good pleasures and pains?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But not the evil?

CALLICLES: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Because, if you remember, Polus and I have agreed that all our actions are to be done for the sake of the good; — and will you agree with us in saying, that the good is the end of all our actions, and that all our actions are to be done for the sake of the good, and not the good for the sake of them? — will you add a third vote to our two?

CALLICLES: I will.

SOCRATES: Then pleasure, like everything else, is to be sought for the sake of that which is good, and not that which is good for the sake of pleasure?

CALLICLES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: But can every man choose what pleasures are good and what are evil, or must he have art or knowledge of them in detail?

CALLICLES: He must have art.

SOCRATES: Let me now remind you of what I was saying to Gorgias and Polus; I was saying, as you will not have forgotten, that there were some processes which aim only at pleasure, and know nothing of a better and worse, and there are other processes which know good and evil. And I considered that cookery, which I do not call an art, but only an experience, was of the former class, which is concerned with pleasure, and that the art of medicine was of the class which is concerned with the good. And now, by the god of friendship, I must beg you, Callicles, not to jest, or to imagine that I am jesting with you; do not answer at random and contrary to your real opinion — for you will observe that we are arguing about the way of human life; and to a man who has any sense at all, what question can be more serious than this? — whether he should follow after that way of life to which you exhort me, and act what you call the manly part of speaking in the assembly, and cultivating rhetoric, and engaging in public affairs, according to the principles now in vogue; or whether he should pursue the life of philosophy; — and in what the latter way differs from the former. But perhaps we had better first try to distinguish them, as I did before, and when we have come to an agreement that they are distinct, we may proceed to consider in what they differ from one another, and which of them we should choose. Perhaps, however, you do not even now understand what I mean?

CALLICLES: No, I do not.

SOCRATES: Then I will explain myself more clearly: seeing that you and I have agreed that there is such a thing as good, and that there is such a thing as pleasure, and that pleasure is not the same as good, and that the pursuit and process of acquisition of the one, that is pleasure, is different from the pursuit and process of acquisition of the other, which is good — I wish that you would tell me whether you agree with me thus far or not — do you agree?

CALLICLES: I do.

SOCRATES: Then I will proceed, and ask whether you also agree with me, and whether you think that I spoke the truth when I further said to Gorgias and Polus that cookery in my opinion is only an experience, and not an art at all; and that whereas medicine is an art, and attends to the nature and constitution of the patient, and has principles of action and reason in each case, cookery in attending upon pleasure never regards either the nature or reason of that pleasure to which she devotes herself, but goes straight to her end, nor ever considers or calculates anything, but works by experience and routine, and just preserves the recollection of what she has usually done when producing pleasure. And first, I would have you consider whether I have proved what I was saying, and then whether there are not other similar processes which have to do with the soul — some of them processes of art, making a provision for the soul’s highest interest — others despising the interest, and, as in the previous case, considering only the pleasure of the soul, and how this may be acquired, but not considering what pleasures are good or bad, and having no other aim but to afford gratification, whether good or bad. In my opinion, Callicles, there are such processes, and this is the sort of thing which I term flattery, whether concerned with the body or the soul, or whenever employed with a view to pleasure and without any consideration of good and evil. And now I wish that you would tell me whether you agree with us in this notion, or whether you differ.

CALLICLES: I do not differ; on the contrary, I agree; for in that way I shall soonest bring the argument to an end, and shall oblige my friend Gorgias.

SOCRATES: And is this notion true of one soul, or of two or more?

CALLICLES: Equally true of two or more.

SOCRATES: Then a man may delight a whole assembly, and yet have no regard for their true interests?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Can you tell me the pursuits which delight mankind — or rather, if you would prefer, let me ask, and do you answer, which of them belong to the pleasurable class, and which of them not? In the first place, what say you of flute-playing? Does not that appear to be an art which seeks only pleasure, Callicles, and thinks of nothing else?

CALLICLES: I assent.

SOCRATES: And is not the same true of all similar arts, as, for example, the art of playing the lyre at festivals?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And what do you say of the choral art and of dithyrambic poetry? — are not they of the same nature? Do you imagine that Cinesias the son of Meles cares about what will tend to the moral improvement of his hearers, or about what will give pleasure to the multitude?

CALLICLES: There can be no mistake about Cinesias, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And what do you say of his father, Meles the harp-player? Did he perform with any view to the good of his hearers? Could he be said to regard even their pleasure? For his singing was an infliction to his audience. And of harp-playing and dithyrambic poetry in general, what would you say? Have they not been invented wholly for the sake of pleasure?

CALLICLES: That is my notion of them.

SOCRATES: And as for the Muse of Tragedy, that solemn and august personage — what are her aspirations? Is all her aim and desire only to give pleasure to the spectators, or does she fight against them and refuse to speak of their pleasant vices, and willingly proclaim in word and song truths welcome and unwelcome? — which in your judgment is her character?

CALLICLES: There can be no doubt, Socrates, that Tragedy has her face turned towards pleasure and the gratification of the audience.

SOCRATES: And is not that the sort of thing, Callicles, which we were just now describing as flattery?

CALLICLES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Well now, suppose that we strip all poetry of song and rhythm and metre, there will remain speech? (Compare Republic.)

CALLICLES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And this speech is addressed to a crowd of people?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then poetry is a sort of rhetoric?

CALLICLES: True.

SOCRATES: And do not the poets in the theatres seem to you to be rhetoricians?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then now we have discovered a sort of rhetoric which is addressed to a crowd of men, women, and children, freemen and slaves. And this is not much to our taste, for we have described it as having the nature of flattery.

CALLICLES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Very good. And what do you say of that other rhetoric which addresses the Athenian assembly and the assemblies of freemen in other states? Do the rhetoricians appear to you always to aim at what is best, and do they seek to improve the citizens by their speeches, or are they too, like the rest of mankind, bent upon giving them pleasure, forgetting the public good in the thought of their own interest, playing with the people as with children, and trying to amuse them, but never considering whether they are better or worse for this?

CALLICLES: I must distinguish. There are some who have a real care of the public in what they say, while others are such as you describe.

SOCRATES: I am contented with the admission that rhetoric is of two sorts; one, which is mere flattery and disgraceful declamation; the other, which is noble and aims at the training and improvement of the souls of the citizens, and strives to say what is best, whether welcome or unwelcome, to the audience; but have you ever known such a rhetoric; or if you have, and can point out any rhetorician who is of this stamp, who is he?

CALLICLES: But, indeed, I am afraid that I cannot tell you of any such among the orators who are at present living.

SOCRATES: Well, then, can you mention any one of a former generation, who may be said to have improved the Athenians, who found them worse and made them better, from the day that he began to make speeches? for, indeed, I do not know of such a man.

CALLICLES: What! did you never hear that Themistocles was a good man, and Cimon and Miltiades and Pericles, who is just lately dead, and whom you heard yourself?

SOCRATES: Yes, Callicles, they were good men, if, as you said at first, true virtue consists only in the satisfaction of our own desires and those of others; but if not, and if, as we were afterwards compelled to acknowledge, the satisfaction of some desires makes us better, and of others, worse, and we ought to gratify the one and not the other, and there is an art in distinguishing them, — can you tell me of any of these statesmen who did distinguish them?

CALLICLES: No, indeed, I cannot.

SOCRATES: Yet, surely, Callicles, if you look you will find such a one. Suppose that we just calmly consider whether any of these was such as I have described. Will not the good man, who says whatever he says with a view to the best, speak with a reference to some standard and not at random; just as all other artists, whether the painter, the builder, the shipwright, or any other look all of them to their own work, and do not select and apply at random what they apply, but strive to give a definite form to it? The artist disposes all things in order, and compels the one part to harmonize and accord with the other part, until he has constructed a regular and systematic whole; and this is true of all artists, and in the same way the trainers and physicians, of whom we spoke before, give order and regularity to the body: do you deny this?

CALLICLES: No; I am ready to admit it.

SOCRATES: Then the house in which order and regularity prevail is good; that in which there is disorder, evil?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the same is true of a ship?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the same may be said of the human body?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And what would you say of the soul? Will the good soul be that in which disorder is prevalent, or that in which there is harmony and order?

CALLICLES: The latter follows from our previous admissions.

SOCRATES: What is the name which is given to the effect of harmony and order in the body?

CALLICLES: I suppose that you mean health and strength?

SOCRATES: Yes, I do; and what is the name which you would give to the effect of harmony and order in the soul? Try and discover a name for this as well as for the other.

CALLICLES: Why not give the name yourself, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Well, if you had rather that I should, I will; and you shall say whether you agree with me, and if not, you shall refute and answer me. ‘Healthy,’ as I conceive, is the name which is given to the regular order of the body, whence comes health and every other bodily excellence: is that true or not?

CALLICLES: True.

SOCRATES: And ‘lawful’ and ‘law’ are the names which are given to the regular order and action of the soul, and these make men lawful and orderly: — and so we have temperance and justice: have we not?

CALLICLES: Granted.

SOCRATES: And will not the true rhetorician who is honest and understands his art have his eye fixed upon these, in all the words which he addresses to the souls of men, and in all his actions, both in what he gives and in what he takes away? Will not his aim be to implant justice in the souls of his citizens and take away injustice, to implant temperance and take away intemperance, to implant every virtue and take away every vice? Do you not agree?

CALLICLES: I agree.

SOCRATES: For what use is there, Callicles, in giving to the body of a sick man who is in a bad state of health a quantity of the most delightful food or drink or any other pleasant thing, which may be really as bad for him as if you gave him nothing, or even worse if rightly estimated. Is not that true?

CALLICLES: I will not say No to it.

SOCRATES: For in my opinion there is no profit in a man’s life if his body is in an evil plight — in that case his life also is evil: am I not right?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: When a man is in health the physicians will generally allow him to eat when he is hungry and drink when he is thirsty, and to satisfy his desires as he likes, but when he is sick they hardly suffer him to satisfy his desires at all: even you will admit that?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And does not the same argument hold of the soul, my good sir? While she is in a bad state and is senseless and intemperate and unjust and unholy, her desires ought to be controlled, and she ought to be prevented from doing anything which does not tend to her own improvement.

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Such treatment will be better for the soul herself?

CALLICLES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And to restrain her from her appetites is to chastise her?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then restraint or chastisement is better for the soul than intemperance or the absence of control, which you were just now preferring?

CALLICLES: I do not understand you, Socrates, and I wish that you would ask some one who does.

SOCRATES: Here is a gentleman who cannot endure to be improved or to subject himself to that very chastisement of which the argument speaks!

CALLICLES: I do not heed a word of what you are saying, and have only answered hitherto out of civility to Gorgias.

SOCRATES: What are we to do, then? Shall we break off in the middle?

CALLICLES: You shall judge for yourself.

SOCRATES: Well, but people say that ‘a tale should have a head and not break off in the middle,’ and I should not like to have the argument going about without a head (compare Laws); please then to go on a little longer, and put the head on.

CALLICLES: How tyrannical you are, Socrates! I wish that you and your argument would rest, or that you would get some one else to argue with you.

SOCRATES: But who else is willing? — I want to finish the argument.

CALLICLES: Cannot you finish without my help, either talking straight on, or questioning and answering yourself?

SOCRATES: Must I then say with Epicharmus, ‘Two men spoke before, but now one shall be enough’? I suppose that there is absolutely no help. And if I am to carry on the enquiry by myself, I will first of all remark that not only I but all of us should have an ambition to know what is true and what is false in this matter, for the discovery of the truth is a common good. And now I will proceed to argue according to my own notion. But if any of you think that I arrive at conclusions which are untrue you must interpose and refute me, for I do not speak from any knowledge of what I am saying; I am an enquirer like yourselves, and therefore, if my opponent says anything which is of force, I shall be the first to agree with him. I am speaking on the supposition that the argument ought to be completed; but if you think otherwise let us leave off and go our ways.

GORGIAS: I think, Socrates, that we should not go our ways until you have completed the argument; and this appears to me to be the wish of the rest of the company; I myself should very much like to hear what more you have to say.

SOCRATES: I too, Gorgias, should have liked to continue the argument with Callicles, and then I might have given him an ‘Amphion’ in return for his ‘Zethus’; but since you, Callicles, are unwilling to continue, I hope that you will listen, and interrupt me if I seem to you to be in error. And if you refute me, I shall not be angry with you as you are with me, but I shall inscribe you as the greatest of benefactors on the tablets of my soul.

CALLICLES: My good fellow, never mind me, but get on.

SOCRATES: Listen to me, then, while I recapitulate the argument: — Is the pleasant the same as the good? Not the same. Callicles and I are agreed about that. And is the pleasant to be pursued for the sake of the good? or the good for the sake of the pleasant? The pleasant is to be pursued for the sake of the good. And that is pleasant at the presence of which we are pleased, and that is good at the presence of which we are good? To be sure. And we are good, and all good things whatever are good when some virtue is present in us or them? That, Callicles, is my conviction. But the virtue of each thing, whether body or soul, instrument or creature, when given to them in the best way comes to them not by chance but as the result of the order and truth and art which are imparted to them: Am I not right? I maintain that I am. And is not the virtue of each thing dependent on order or arrangement? Yes, I say. And that which makes a thing good is the proper order inhering in each thing? Such is my view. And is not the soul which has an order of her own better than that which has no order? Certainly. And the soul which has order is orderly? Of course. And that which is orderly is temperate? Assuredly. And the temperate soul is good? No other answer can I give, Callicles dear; have you any?

CALLICLES: Go on, my good fellow.

SOCRATES: Then I shall proceed to add, that if the temperate soul is the good soul, the soul which is in the opposite condition, that is, the foolish and intemperate, is the bad soul. Very true.

And will not the temperate man do what is proper, both in relation to the gods and to men; — for he would not be temperate if he did not? Certainly he will do what is proper. In his relation to other men he will do what is just; and in his relation to the gods he will do what is holy; and he who does what is just and holy must be just and holy? Very true. And must he not be courageous? for the duty of a temperate man is not to follow or to avoid what he ought not, but what he ought, whether things or men or pleasures or pains, and patiently to endure when he ought; and therefore, Callicles, the temperate man, being, as we have described, also just and courageous and holy, cannot be other than a perfectly good man, nor can the good man do otherwise than well and perfectly whatever he does; and he who does well must of necessity be happy and blessed, and the evil man who does evil, miserable: now this latter is he whom you were applauding — the intemperate who is the opposite of the temperate. Such is my position, and these things I affirm to be true. And if they are true, then I further affirm that he who desires to be happy must pursue and practise temperance and run away from intemperance as fast as his legs will carry him: he had better order his life so as not to need punishment; but if either he or any of his friends, whether private individual or city, are in need of punishment, then justice must be done and he must suffer punishment, if he would be happy. This appears to me to be the aim which a man ought to have, and towards which he ought to direct all the energies both of himself and of the state, acting so that he may have temperance and justice present with him and be happy, not suffering his lusts to be unrestrained, and in the never-ending desire satisfy them leading a robber’s life. Such a one is the friend neither of God nor man, for he is incapable of communion, and he who is incapable of communion is also incapable of friendship. And philosophers tell us, Callicles, that communion and friendship and orderliness and temperance and justice bind together heaven and earth and gods and men, and that this universe is therefore called Cosmos or order, not disorder or misrule, my friend. But although you are a philosopher you seem to me never to have observed that geometrical equality is mighty, both among gods and men; you think that you ought to cultivate inequality or excess, and do not care about geometry. — Well, then, either the principle that the happy are made happy by the possession of justice and temperance, and the miserable miserable by the possession of vice, must be refuted, or, if it is granted, what will be the consequences? All the consequences which I drew before, Callicles, and about which you asked me whether I was in earnest when I said that a man ought to accuse himself and his son and his friend if he did anything wrong, and that to this end he should use his rhetoric — all those consequences are true. And that which you thought that Polus was led to admit out of modesty is true, viz., that, to do injustice, if more disgraceful than to suffer, is in that degree worse; and the other position, which, according to Polus, Gorgias admitted out of modesty, that he who would truly be a rhetorician ought to be just and have a knowledge of justice, has also turned out to be true.

And now, these things being as we have said, let us proceed in the next place to consider whether you are right in throwing in my teeth that I am unable to help myself or any of my friends or kinsmen, or to save them in the extremity of danger, and that I am in the power of another like an outlaw to whom any one may do what he likes, — he may box my ears, which was a brave saying of yours; or take away my goods or banish me, or even do his worst and kill me; a condition which, as you say, is the height of disgrace. My answer to you is one which has been already often repeated, but may as well be repeated once more. I tell you, Callicles, that to be boxed on the ears wrongfully is not the worst evil which can befall a man, nor to have my purse or my body cut open, but that to smite and slay me and mine wrongfully is far more disgraceful and more evil; aye, and to despoil and enslave and pillage, or in any way at all to wrong me and mine, is far more disgraceful and evil to the doer of the wrong than to me who am the sufferer. These truths, which have been already set forth as I state them in the previous discussion, would seem now to have been fixed and riveted by us, if I may use an expression which is certainly bold, in words which are like bonds of iron and adamant; and unless you or some other still more enterprising hero shall break them, there is no possibility of denying what I say. For my position has always been, that I myself am ignorant how these things are, but that I have never met any one who could say otherwise, any more than you can, and not appear ridiculous. This is my position still, and if what I am saying is true, and injustice is the greatest of evils to the doer of injustice, and yet there is if possible a greater than this greatest of evils (compare Republic), in an unjust man not suffering retribution, what is that defence of which the want will make a man truly ridiculous? Must not the defence be one which will avert the greatest of human evils? And will not the worst of all defences be that with which a man is unable to defend himself or his family or his friends? — and next will come that which is unable to avert the next greatest evil; thirdly that which is unable to avert the third greatest evil; and so of other evils. As is the greatness of evil so is the honour of being able to avert them in their several degrees, and the disgrace of not being able to avert them. Am I not right Callicles?

CALLICLES: Yes, quite right.

SOCRATES: Seeing then that there are these two evils, the doing injustice and the suffering injustice — and we affirm that to do injustice is a greater, and to suffer injustice a lesser evil — by what devices can a man succeed in obtaining the two advantages, the one of not doing and the other of not suffering injustice? must he have the power, or only the will to obtain them? I mean to ask whether a man will escape injustice if he has only the will to escape, or must he have provided himself with the power?

CALLICLES: He must have provided himself with the power; that is clear.

SOCRATES: And what do you say of doing injustice? Is the will only sufficient, and will that prevent him from doing injustice, or must he have provided himself with power and art; and if he have not studied and practised, will he be unjust still? Surely you might say, Callicles, whether you think that Polus and I were right in admitting the conclusion that no one does wrong voluntarily, but that all do wrong against their will?

CALLICLES: Granted, Socrates, if you will only have done.

SOCRATES: Then, as would appear, power and art have to be provided in order that we may do no injustice?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And what art will protect us from suffering injustice, if not wholly, yet as far as possible? I want to know whether you agree with me; for I think that such an art is the art of one who is either a ruler or even tyrant himself, or the equal and companion of the ruling power.

CALLICLES: Well said, Socrates; and please to observe how ready I am to praise you when you talk sense.

SOCRATES: Think and tell me whether you would approve of another view of mine: To me every man appears to be most the friend of him who is most like to him — like to like, as ancient sages say: Would you not agree to this?

CALLICLES: I should.

SOCRATES: But when the tyrant is rude and uneducated, he may be expected to fear any one who is his superior in virtue, and will never be able to be perfectly friendly with him.

CALLICLES: That is true.

SOCRATES: Neither will he be the friend of any one who is greatly his inferior, for the tyrant will despise him, and will never seriously regard him as a friend.

CALLICLES: That again is true.

SOCRATES: Then the only friend worth mentioning, whom the tyrant can have, will be one who is of the same character, and has the same likes and dislikes, and is at the same time willing to be subject and subservient to him; he is the man who will have power in the state, and no one will injure him with impunity: — is not that so?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if a young man begins to ask how he may become great and formidable, this would seem to be the way — he will accustom himself, from his youth upward, to feel sorrow and joy on the same occasions as his master, and will contrive to be as like him as possible?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And in this way he will have accomplished, as you and your friends would say, the end of becoming a great man and not suffering injury?

CALLICLES: Very true.

SOCRATES: But will he also escape from doing injury? Must not the very opposite be true, — if he is to be like the tyrant in his injustice, and to have influence with him? Will he not rather contrive to do as much wrong as possible, and not be punished?

CALLICLES: True.

SOCRATES: And by the imitation of his master and by the power which he thus acquires will not his soul become bad and corrupted, and will not this be the greatest evil to him?

CALLICLES: You always contrive somehow or other, Socrates, to invert everything: do you not know that he who imitates the tyrant will, if he has a mind, kill him who does not imitate him and take away his goods?

SOCRATES: Excellent Callicles, I am not deaf, and I have heard that a great many times from you and from Polus and from nearly every man in the city, but I wish that you would hear me too. I dare say that he will kill him if he has a mind — the bad man will kill the good and true.

CALLICLES: And is not that just the provoking thing?

SOCRATES: Nay, not to a man of sense, as the argument shows: do you think that all our cares should be directed to prolonging life to the uttermost, and to the study of those arts which secure us from danger always; like that art of rhetoric which saves men in courts of law, and which you advise me to cultivate?

CALLICLES: Yes, truly, and very good advice too.

SOCRATES: Well, my friend, but what do you think of swimming; is that an art of any great pretensions?

CALLICLES: No, indeed.

SOCRATES: And yet surely swimming saves a man from death, and there are occasions on which he must know how to swim. And if you despise the swimmers, I will tell you of another and greater art, the art of the pilot, who not only saves the souls of men, but also their bodies and properties from the extremity of danger, just like rhetoric. Yet his art is modest and unpresuming: it has no airs or pretences of doing anything extraordinary, and, in return for the same salvation which is given by the pleader, demands only two obols, if he brings us from Aegina to Athens, or for the longer voyage from Pontus or Egypt, at the utmost two drachmae, when he has saved, as I was just now saying, the passenger and his wife and children and goods, and safely disembarked them at the Piraeus, — this is the payment which he asks in return for so great a boon; and he who is the master of the art, and has done all this, gets out and walks about on the sea-shore by his ship in an unassuming way. For he is able to reflect and is aware that he cannot tell which of his fellow-passengers he has benefited, and which of them he has injured in not allowing them to be drowned. He knows that they are just the same when he has disembarked them as when they embarked, and not a whit better either in their bodies or in their souls; and he considers that if a man who is afflicted by great and incurable bodily diseases is only to be pitied for having escaped, and is in no way benefited by him in having been saved from drowning, much less he who has great and incurable diseases, not of the body, but of the soul, which is the more valuable part of him; neither is life worth having nor of any profit to the bad man, whether he be delivered from the sea, or the law-courts, or any other devourer; — and so he reflects that such a one had better not live, for he cannot live well. (Compare Republic.)

And this is the reason why the pilot, although he is our saviour, is not usually conceited, any more than the engineer, who is not at all behind either the general, or the pilot, or any one else, in his saving power, for he sometimes saves whole cities. Is there any comparison between him and the pleader? And if he were to talk, Callicles, in your grandiose style, he would bury you under a mountain of words, declaring and insisting that we ought all of us to be engine-makers, and that no other profession is worth thinking about; he would have plenty to say. Nevertheless you despise him and his art, and sneeringly call him an engine-maker, and you will not allow your daughters to marry his son, or marry your son to his daughters. And yet, on your principle, what justice or reason is there in your refusal? What right have you to despise the engine-maker, and the others whom I was just now mentioning? I know that you will say, ‘I am better, and better born.’ But if the better is not what I say, and virtue consists only in a man saving himself and his, whatever may be his character, then your censure of the engine-maker, and of the physician, and of the other arts of salvation, is ridiculous. O my friend! I want you to see that the noble and the good may possibly be something different from saving and being saved: — May not he who is truly a man cease to care about living a certain time? — he knows, as women say, that no man can escape fate, and therefore he is not fond of life; he leaves all that with God, and considers in what way he can best spend his appointed term; — whether by assimilating himself to the constitution under which he lives, as you at this moment have to consider how you may become as like as possible to the Athenian people, if you mean to be in their good graces, and to have power in the state; whereas I want you to think and see whether this is for the interest of either of us; — I would not have us risk that which is dearest on the acquisition of this power, like the Thessalian enchantresses, who, as they say, bring down the moon from heaven at the risk of their own perdition. But if you suppose that any man will show you the art of becoming great in the city, and yet not conforming yourself to the ways of the city, whether for better or worse, then I can only say that you are mistaken, Callides; for he who would deserve to be the true natural friend of the Athenian Demus, aye, or of Pyrilampes’ darling who is called after them, must be by nature like them, and not an imitator only. He, then, who will make you most like them, will make you as you desire, a statesman and orator: for every man is pleased when he is spoken to in his own language and spirit, and dislikes any other. But perhaps you, sweet Callicles, may be of another mind. What do you say?

CALLICLES: Somehow or other your words, Socrates, always appear to me to be good words; and yet, like the rest of the world, I am not quite convinced by them. (Compare Symp.: 1 Alcib.)

SOCRATES: The reason is, Callicles, that the love of Demus which abides in your soul is an adversary to me; but I dare say that if we recur to these same matters, and consider them more thoroughly, you may be convinced for all that. Please, then, to remember that there are two processes of training all things, including body and soul; in the one, as we said, we treat them with a view to pleasure, and in the other with a view to the highest good, and then we do not indulge but resist them: was not that the distinction which we drew?

CALLICLES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And the one which had pleasure in view was just a vulgar flattery: — was not that another of our conclusions?

CALLICLES: Be it so, if you will have it.

SOCRATES: And the other had in view the greatest improvement of that which was ministered to, whether body or soul?

CALLICLES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And must we not have the same end in view in the treatment of our city and citizens? Must we not try and make them as good as possible? For we have already discovered that there is no use in imparting to them any other good, unless the mind of those who are to have the good, whether money, or office, or any other sort of power, be gentle and good. Shall we say that?

CALLICLES: Yes, certainly, if you like.

SOCRATES: Well, then, if you and I, Callicles, were intending to set about some public business, and were advising one another to undertake buildings, such as walls, docks or temples of the largest size, ought we not to examine ourselves, first, as to whether we know or do not know the art of building, and who taught us? — would not that be necessary, Callicles?

CALLICLES: True.

SOCRATES: In the second place, we should have to consider whether we had ever constructed any private house, either of our own or for our friends, and whether this building of ours was a success or not; and if upon consideration we found that we had had good and eminent masters, and had been successful in constructing many fine buildings, not only with their assistance, but without them, by our own unaided skill — in that case prudence would not dissuade us from proceeding to the construction of public works. But if we had no master to show, and only a number of worthless buildings or none at all, then, surely, it would be ridiculous in us to attempt public works, or to advise one another to undertake them. Is not this true?

CALLICLES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And does not the same hold in all other cases? If you and I were physicians, and were advising one another that we were competent to practise as state-physicians, should I not ask about you, and would you not ask about me, Well, but how about Socrates himself, has he good health? and was any one else ever known to be cured by him, whether slave or freeman? And I should make the same enquiries about you. And if we arrived at the conclusion that no one, whether citizen or stranger, man or woman, had ever been any the better for the medical skill of either of us, then, by Heaven, Callicles, what an absurdity to think that we or any human being should be so silly as to set up as state-physicians and advise others like ourselves to do the same, without having first practised in private, whether successfully or not, and acquired experience of the art! Is not this, as they say, to begin with the big jar when you are learning the potter’s art; which is a foolish thing?

CALLICLES: True.

SOCRATES: And now, my friend, as you are already beginning to be a public character, and are admonishing and reproaching me for not being one, suppose that we ask a few questions of one another. Tell me, then, Callicles, how about making any of the citizens better? Was there ever a man who was once vicious, or unjust, or intemperate, or foolish, and became by the help of Callicles good and noble? Was there ever such a man, whether citizen or stranger, slave or freeman? Tell me, Callicles, if a person were to ask these questions of you, what would you answer? Whom would you say that you had improved by your conversation? There may have been good deeds of this sort which were done by you as a private person, before you came forward in public. Why will you not answer?

CALLICLES: You are contentious, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Nay, I ask you, not from a love of contention, but because I really want to know in what way you think that affairs should be administered among us — whether, when you come to the administration of them, you have any other aim but the improvement of the citizens? Have we not already admitted many times over that such is the duty of a public man? Nay, we have surely said so; for if you will not answer for yourself I must answer for you. But if this is what the good man ought to effect for the benefit of his own state, allow me to recall to you the names of those whom you were just now mentioning, Pericles, and Cimon, and Miltiades, and Themistocles, and ask whether you still think that they were good citizens.

CALLICLES: I do.

SOCRATES: But if they were good, then clearly each of them must have made the citizens better instead of worse?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And, therefore, when Pericles first began to speak in the assembly, the Athenians were not so good as when he spoke last?

CALLICLES: Very likely.

SOCRATES: Nay, my friend, ‘likely’ is not the word; for if he was a good citizen, the inference is certain.

CALLICLES: And what difference does that make?

SOCRATES: None; only I should like further to know whether the Athenians are supposed to have been made better by Pericles, or, on the contrary, to have been corrupted by him; for I hear that he was the first who gave the people pay, and made them idle and cowardly, and encouraged them in the love of talk and money.

CALLICLES: You heard that, Socrates, from the laconising set who bruise their ears.

SOCRATES: But what I am going to tell you now is not mere hearsay, but well known both to you and me: that at first, Pericles was glorious and his character unimpeached by any verdict of the Athenians — this was during the time when they were not so good — yet afterwards, when they had been made good and gentle by him, at the very end of his life they convicted him of theft, and almost put him to death, clearly under the notion that he was a malefactor.

CALLICLES: Well, but how does that prove Pericles’ badness?

SOCRATES: Why, surely you would say that he was a bad manager of asses or horses or oxen, who had received them originally neither kicking nor butting nor biting him, and implanted in them all these savage tricks? Would he not be a bad manager of any animals who received them gentle, and made them fiercer than they were when he received them? What do you say?

CALLICLES: I will do you the favour of saying ‘yes.’

SOCRATES: And will you also do me the favour of saying whether man is an animal?

CALLICLES: Certainly he is.

SOCRATES: And was not Pericles a shepherd of men?

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if he was a good political shepherd, ought not the animals who were his subjects, as we were just now acknowledging, to have become more just, and not more unjust?

CALLICLES: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And are not just men gentle, as Homer says? — or are you of another mind?

CALLICLES: I agree.

SOCRATES: And yet he really did make them more savage than he received them, and their savageness was shown towards himself; which he must have been very far from desiring.

CALLICLES: Do you want me to agree with you?

SOCRATES: Yes, if I seem to you to speak the truth.

CALLICLES: Granted then.

SOCRATES: And if they were more savage, must they not have been more unjust and inferior?

CALLICLES: Granted again.

SOCRATES: Then upon this view, Pericles was not a good statesman?

CALLICLES: That is, upon your view.

SOCRATES: Nay, the view is yours, after what you have admitted. Take the case of Cimon again. Did not the very persons whom he was serving ostracize him, in order that they might not hear his voice for ten years? and they did just the same to Themistocles, adding the penalty of exile; and they voted that Miltiades, the hero of Marathon, should be thrown into the pit of death, and he was only saved by the Prytanis. And yet, if they had been really good men, as you say, these things would never have happened to them. For the good charioteers are not those who at first keep their place, and then, when they have broken-in their horses, and themselves become better charioteers, are thrown out — that is not the way either in charioteering or in any profession. — What do you think?

CALLICLES: I should think not.

SOCRATES: Well, but if so, the truth is as I have said already, that in the Athenian State no one has ever shown himself to be a good statesman — you admitted that this was true of our present statesmen, but not true of former ones, and you preferred them to the others; yet they have turned out to be no better than our present ones; and therefore, if they were rhetoricians, they did not use the true art of rhetoric or of flattery, or they would not have fallen out of favour.

CALLICLES: But surely, Socrates, no living man ever came near any one of them in his performances.

SOCRATES: O, my dear friend, I say nothing against them regarded as the serving-men of the State; and I do think that they were certainly more serviceable than those who are living now, and better able to gratify the wishes of the State; but as to transforming those desires and not allowing them to have their way, and using the powers which they had, whether of persuasion or of force, in the improvement of their fellow citizens, which is the prime object of the truly good citizen, I do not see that in these respects they were a whit superior to our present statesmen, although I do admit that they were more clever at providing ships and walls and docks, and all that. You and I have a ridiculous way, for during the whole time that we are arguing, we are always going round and round to the same point, and constantly misunderstanding one another. If I am not mistaken, you have admitted and acknowledged more than once, that there are two kinds of operations which have to do with the body, and two which have to do with the soul: one of the two is ministerial, and if our bodies are hungry provides food for them, and if they are thirsty gives them drink, or if they are cold supplies them with garments, blankets, shoes, and all that they crave. I use the same images as before intentionally, in order that you may understand me the better. The purveyor of the articles may provide them either wholesale or retail, or he may be the maker of any of them, — the baker, or the cook, or the weaver, or the shoemaker, or the currier; and in so doing, being such as he is, he is naturally supposed by himself and every one to minister to the body. For none of them know that there is another art — an art of gymnastic and medicine which is the true minister of the body, and ought to be the mistress of all the rest, and to use their results according to the knowledge which she has and they have not, of the real good or bad effects of meats and drinks on the body. All other arts which have to do with the body are servile and menial and illiberal; and gymnastic and medicine are, as they ought to be, their mistresses. Now, when I say that all this is equally true of the soul, you seem at first to know and understand and assent to my words, and then a little while afterwards you come repeating, Has not the State had good and noble citizens? and when I ask you who they are, you reply, seemingly quite in earnest, as if I had asked, Who are or have been good trainers? — and you had replied, Thearion, the baker, Mithoecus, who wrote the Sicilian cookery-book, Sarambus, the vintner: these are ministers of the body, first-rate in their art; for the first makes admirable loaves, the second excellent dishes, and the third capital wine; — to me these appear to be the exact parallel of the statesmen whom you mention. Now you would not be altogether pleased if I said to you, My friend, you know nothing of gymnastics; those of whom you are speaking to me are only the ministers and purveyors of luxury, who have no good or noble notions of their art, and may very likely be filling and fattening men’s bodies and gaining their approval, although the result is that they lose their original flesh in the long run, and become thinner than they were before; and yet they, in their simplicity, will not attribute their diseases and loss of flesh to their entertainers; but when in after years the unhealthy surfeit brings the attendant penalty of disease, he who happens to be near them at the time, and offers them advice, is accused and blamed by them, and if they could they would do him some harm; while they proceed to eulogize the men who have been the real authors of the mischief. And that, Callicles, is just what you are now doing. You praise the men who feasted the citizens and satisfied their desires, and people say that they have made the city great, not seeing that the swollen and ulcerated condition of the State is to be attributed to these elder statesmen; for they have filled the city full of harbours and docks and walls and revenues and all that, and have left no room for justice and temperance. And when the crisis of the disorder comes, the people will blame the advisers of the hour, and applaud Themistocles and Cimon and Pericles, who are the real authors of their calamities; and if you are not careful they may assail you and my friend Alcibiades, when they are losing not only their new acquisitions, but also their original possessions; not that you are the authors of these misfortunes of theirs, although you may perhaps be accessories to them. A great piece of work is always being made, as I see and am told, now as of old; about our statesmen. When the State treats any of them as malefactors, I observe that there is a great uproar and indignation at the supposed wrong which is done to them; ‘after all their many services to the State, that they should unjustly perish,’ — so the tale runs. But the cry is all a lie; for no statesman ever could be unjustly put to death by the city of which he is the head. The case of the professed statesman is, I believe, very much like that of the professed sophist; for the sophists, although they are wise men, are nevertheless guilty of a strange piece of folly; professing to be teachers of virtue, they will often accuse their disciples of wronging them, and defrauding them of their pay, and showing no gratitude for their services. Yet what can be more absurd than that men who have become just and good, and whose injustice has been taken away from them, and who have had justice implanted in them by their teachers, should act unjustly by reason of the injustice which is not in them? Can anything be more irrational, my friends, than this? You, Callicles, compel me to be a mob-orator, because you will not answer.

CALLICLES: And you are the man who cannot speak unless there is some one to answer?

SOCRATES: I suppose that I can; just now, at any rate, the speeches which I am making are long enough because you refuse to answer me. But I adjure you by the god of friendship, my good sir, do tell me whether there does not appear to you to be a great inconsistency in saying that you have made a man good, and then blaming him for being bad?

CALLICLES: Yes, it appears so to me.

SOCRATES: Do you never hear our professors of education speaking in this inconsistent manner?

CALLICLES: Yes, but why talk of men who are good for nothing?

SOCRATES: I would rather say, why talk of men who profess to be rulers, and declare that they are devoted to the improvement of the city, and nevertheless upon occasion declaim against the utter vileness of the city: — do you think that there is any difference between one and the other? My good friend, the sophist and the rhetorician, as I was saying to Polus, are the same, or nearly the same; but you ignorantly fancy that rhetoric is a perfect thing, and sophistry a thing to be despised; whereas the truth is, that sophistry is as much superior to rhetoric as legislation is to the practice of law, or gymnastic to medicine. The orators and sophists, as I am inclined to think, are the only class who cannot complain of the mischief ensuing to themselves from that which they teach others, without in the same breath accusing themselves of having done no good to those whom they profess to benefit. Is not this a fact?

CALLICLES: Certainly it is.

SOCRATES: If they were right in saying that they make men better, then they are the only class who can afford to leave their remuneration to those who have been benefited by them. Whereas if a man has been benefited in any other way, if, for example, he has been taught to run by a trainer, he might possibly defraud him of his pay, if the trainer left the matter to him, and made no agreement with him that he should receive money as soon as he had given him the utmost speed; for not because of any deficiency of speed do men act unjustly, but by reason of injustice.

CALLICLES: Very true.

SOCRATES: And he who removes injustice can be in no danger of being treated unjustly: he alone can safely leave the honorarium to his pupils, if he be really able to make them good — am I not right? (Compare Protag.)

CALLICLES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then we have found the reason why there is no dishonour in a man receiving pay who is called in to advise about building or any other art?

CALLICLES: Yes, we have found the reason.

SOCRATES: But when the point is, how a man may become best himself, and best govern his family and state, then to say that you will give no advice gratis is held to be dishonourable?

CALLICLES: True.

SOCRATES: And why? Because only such benefits call forth a desire to requite them, and there is evidence that a benefit has been conferred when the benefactor receives a return; otherwise not. Is this true?

CALLICLES: It is.

SOCRATES: Then to which service of the State do you invite me? determine for me. Am I to be the physician of the State who will strive and struggle to make the Athenians as good as possible; or am I to be the servant and flatterer of the State? Speak out, my good friend, freely and fairly as you did at first and ought to do again, and tell me your entire mind.

CALLICLES: I say then that you should be the servant of the State.

SOCRATES: The flatterer? well, sir, that is a noble invitation.

CALLICLES: The Mysian, Socrates, or what you please. For if you refuse, the consequences will be —

SOCRATES: Do not repeat the old story — that he who likes will kill me and get my money; for then I shall have to repeat the old answer, that he will be a bad man and will kill the good, and that the money will be of no use to him, but that he will wrongly use that which he wrongly took, and if wrongly, basely, and if basely, hurtfully.

CALLICLES: How confident you are, Socrates, that you will never come to harm! you seem to think that you are living in another country, and can never be brought into a court of justice, as you very likely may be brought by some miserable and mean person.

SOCRATES: Then I must indeed be a fool, Callicles, if I do not know that in the Athenian State any man may suffer anything. And if I am brought to trial and incur the dangers of which you speak, he will be a villain who brings me to trial — of that I am very sure, for no good man would accuse the innocent. Nor shall I be surprised if I am put to death. Shall I tell you why I anticipate this?

CALLICLES: By all means.

SOCRATES: I think that I am the only or almost the only Athenian living who practises the true art of politics; I am the only politician of my time. Now, seeing that when I speak my words are not uttered with any view of gaining favour, and that I look to what is best and not to what is most pleasant, having no mind to use those arts and graces which you recommend, I shall have nothing to say in the justice court. And you might argue with me, as I was arguing with Polus: — I shall be tried just as a physician would be tried in a court of little boys at the indictment of the cook. What would he reply under such circumstances, if some one were to accuse him, saying, ‘O my boys, many evil things has this man done to you: he is the death of you, especially of the younger ones among you, cutting and burning and starving and suffocating you, until you know not what to do; he gives you the bitterest potions, and compels you to hunger and thirst. How unlike the variety of meats and sweets on which I feasted you!’ What do you suppose that the physician would be able to reply when he found himself in such a predicament? If he told the truth he could only say, ‘All these evil things, my boys, I did for your health,’ and then would there not just be a clamour among a jury like that? How they would cry out!

CALLICLES: I dare say.

SOCRATES: Would he not be utterly at a loss for a reply?

CALLICLES: He certainly would.

SOCRATES: And I too shall be treated in the same way, as I well know, if I am brought before the court. For I shall not be able to rehearse to the people the pleasures which I have procured for them, and which, although I am not disposed to envy either the procurers or enjoyers of them, are deemed by them to be benefits and advantages. And if any one says that I corrupt young men, and perplex their minds, or that I speak evil of old men, and use bitter words towards them, whether in private or public, it is useless for me to reply, as I truly might:— ‘All this I do for the sake of justice, and with a view to your interest, my judges, and to nothing else.’ And therefore there is no saying what may happen to me.

CALLICLES: And do you think, Socrates, that a man who is thus defenceless is in a good position?

SOCRATES: Yes, Callicles, if he have that defence, which as you have often acknowledged he should have — if he be his own defence, and have never said or done anything wrong, either in respect of gods or men; and this has been repeatedly acknowledged by us to be the best sort of defence. And if any one could convict me of inability to defend myself or others after this sort, I should blush for shame, whether I was convicted before many, or before a few, or by myself alone; and if I died from want of ability to do so, that would indeed grieve me. But if I died because I have no powers of flattery or rhetoric, I am very sure that you would not find me repining at death. For no man who is not an utter fool and coward is afraid of death itself, but he is afraid of doing wrong. For to go to the world below having one’s soul full of injustice is the last and worst of all evils. And in proof of what I say, if you have no objection, I should like to tell you a story.

CALLICLES: Very well, proceed; and then we shall have done.

SOCRATES: Listen, then, as story-tellers say, to a very pretty tale, which I dare say that you may be disposed to regard as a fable only, but which, as I believe, is a true tale, for I mean to speak the truth. Homer tells us (Il.), how Zeus and Poseidon and Pluto divided the empire which they inherited from their father. Now in the days of Cronos there existed a law respecting the destiny of man, which has always been, and still continues to be in Heaven, — that he who has lived all his life in justice and holiness shall go, when he is dead, to the Islands of the Blessed, and dwell there in perfect happiness out of the reach of evil; but that he who has lived unjustly and impiously shall go to the house of vengeance and punishment, which is called Tartarus. And in the time of Cronos, and even quite lately in the reign of Zeus, the judgment was given on the very day on which the men were to die; the judges were alive, and the men were alive; and the consequence was that the judgments were not well given. Then Pluto and the authorities from the Islands of the Blessed came to Zeus, and said that the souls found their way to the wrong places. Zeus said: ‘I shall put a stop to this; the judgments are not well given, because the persons who are judged have their clothes on, for they are alive; and there are many who, having evil souls, are apparelled in fair bodies, or encased in wealth or rank, and, when the day of judgment arrives, numerous witnesses come forward and testify on their behalf that they have lived righteously. The judges are awed by them, and they themselves too have their clothes on when judging; their eyes and ears and their whole bodies are interposed as a veil before their own souls. All this is a hindrance to them; there are the clothes of the judges and the clothes of the judged. — What is to be done? I will tell you: — In the first place, I will deprive men of the foreknowledge of death, which they possess at present: this power which they have Prometheus has already received my orders to take from them: in the second place, they shall be entirely stripped before they are judged, for they shall be judged when they are dead; and the judge too shall be naked, that is to say, dead — he with his naked soul shall pierce into the other naked souls; and they shall die suddenly and be deprived of all their kindred, and leave their brave attire strewn upon the earth — conducted in this manner, the judgment will be just. I knew all about the matter before any of you, and therefore I have made my sons judges; two from Asia, Minos and Rhadamanthus, and one from Europe, Aeacus. And these, when they are dead, shall give judgment in the meadow at the parting of the ways, whence the two roads lead, one to the Islands of the Blessed, and the other to Tartarus. Rhadamanthus shall judge those who come from Asia, and Aeacus those who come from Europe. And to Minos I shall give the primacy, and he shall hold a court of appeal, in case either of the two others are in any doubt: — then the judgment respecting the last journey of men will be as just as possible.’

From this tale, Callicles, which I have heard and believe, I draw the following inferences: — Death, if I am right, is in the first place the separation from one another of two things, soul and body; nothing else. And after they are separated they retain their several natures, as in life; the body keeps the same habit, and the results of treatment or accident are distinctly visible in it: for example, he who by nature or training or both, was a tall man while he was alive, will remain as he was, after he is dead; and the fat man will remain fat; and so on; and the dead man, who in life had a fancy to have flowing hair, will have flowing hair. And if he was marked with the whip and had the prints of the scourge, or of wounds in him when he was alive, you might see the same in the dead body; and if his limbs were broken or misshapen when he was alive, the same appearance would be visible in the dead. And in a word, whatever was the habit of the body during life would be distinguishable after death, either perfectly, or in a great measure and for a certain time. And I should imagine that this is equally true of the soul, Callicles; when a man is stripped of the body, all the natural or acquired affections of the soul are laid open to view. — And when they come to the judge, as those from Asia come to Rhadamanthus, he places them near him and inspects them quite impartially, not knowing whose the soul is: perhaps he may lay hands on the soul of the great king, or of some other king or potentate, who has no soundness in him, but his soul is marked with the whip, and is full of the prints and scars of perjuries and crimes with which each action has stained him, and he is all crooked with falsehood and imposture, and has no straightness, because he has lived without truth. Him Rhadamanthus beholds, full of all deformity and disproportion, which is caused by licence and luxury and insolence and incontinence, and despatches him ignominiously to his prison, and there he undergoes the punishment which he deserves.

Now the proper office of punishment is twofold: he who is rightly punished ought either to become better and profit by it, or he ought to be made an example to his fellows, that they may see what he suffers, and fear and become better. Those who are improved when they are punished by gods and men, are those whose sins are curable; and they are improved, as in this world so also in another, by pain and suffering; for there is no other way in which they can be delivered from their evil. But they who have been guilty of the worst crimes, and are incurable by reason of their crimes, are made examples; for, as they are incurable, the time has passed at which they can receive any benefit. They get no good themselves, but others get good when they behold them enduring for ever the most terrible and painful and fearful sufferings as the penalty of their sins — there they are, hanging up as examples, in the prison-house of the world below, a spectacle and a warning to all unrighteous men who come thither. And among them, as I confidently affirm, will be found Archelaus, if Polus truly reports of him, and any other tyrant who is like him. Of these fearful examples, most, as I believe, are taken from the class of tyrants and kings and potentates and public men, for they are the authors of the greatest and most impious crimes, because they have the power. And Homer witnesses to the truth of this; for they are always kings and potentates whom he has described as suffering everlasting punishment in the world below: such were Tantalus and Sisyphus and Tityus. But no one ever described Thersites, or any private person who was a villain, as suffering everlasting punishment, or as incurable. For to commit the worst crimes, as I am inclined to think, was not in his power, and he was happier than those who had the power. No, Callicles, the very bad men come from the class of those who have power (compare Republic). And yet in that very class there may arise good men, and worthy of all admiration they are, for where there is great power to do wrong, to live and to die justly is a hard thing, and greatly to be praised, and few there are who attain to this. Such good and true men, however, there have been, and will be again, at Athens and in other states, who have fulfilled their trust righteously; and there is one who is quite famous all over Hellas, Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus. But, in general, great men are also bad, my friend.

As I was saying, Rhadamanthus, when he gets a soul of the bad kind, knows nothing about him, neither who he is, nor who his parents are; he knows only that he has got hold of a villain; and seeing this, he stamps him as curable or incurable, and sends him away to Tartarus, whither he goes and receives his proper recompense. Or, again, he looks with admiration on the soul of some just one who has lived in holiness and truth; he may have been a private man or not; and I should say, Callicles, that he is most likely to have been a philosopher who has done his own work, and not troubled himself with the doings of other men in his lifetime; him Rhadamanthus sends to the Islands of the Blessed. Aeacus does the same; and they both have sceptres, and judge; but Minos alone has a golden sceptre and is seated looking on, as Odysseus in Homer declares that he saw him:

‘Holding a sceptre of gold, and giving laws to the dead.’

Now I, Callicles, am persuaded of the truth of these things, and I consider how I shall present my soul whole and undefiled before the judge in that day. Renouncing the honours at which the world aims, I desire only to know the truth, and to live as well as I can, and, when I die, to die as well as I can. And, to the utmost of my power, I exhort all other men to do the same. And, in return for your exhortation of me, I exhort you also to take part in the great combat, which is the combat of life, and greater than every other earthly conflict. And I retort your reproach of me, and say, that you will not be able to help yourself when the day of trial and judgment, of which I was speaking, comes upon you; you will go before the judge, the son of Aegina, and, when he has got you in his grip and is carrying you off, you will gape and your head will swim round, just as mine would in the courts of this world, and very likely some one will shamefully box you on the ears, and put upon you any sort of insult.

Perhaps this may appear to you to be only an old wife’s tale, which you will contemn. And there might be reason in your contemning such tales, if by searching we could find out anything better or truer: but now you see that you and Polus and Gorgias, who are the three wisest of the Greeks of our day, are not able to show that we ought to live any life which does not profit in another world as well as in this. And of all that has been said, nothing remains unshaken but the saying, that to do injustice is more to be avoided than to suffer injustice, and that the reality and not the appearance of virtue is to be followed above all things, as well in public as in private life; and that when any one has been wrong in anything, he is to be chastised, and that the next best thing to a man being just is that he should become just, and be chastised and punished; also that he should avoid all flattery of himself as well as of others, of the few or of the many: and rhetoric and any other art should be used by him, and all his actions should be done always, with a view to justice.

Follow me then, and I will lead you where you will be happy in life and after death, as the argument shows. And never mind if some one despises you as a fool, and insults you, if he has a mind; let him strike you, by Zeus, and do you be of good cheer, and do not mind the insulting blow, for you will never come to any harm in the practice of virtue, if you are a really good and true man. When we have practised virtue together, we will apply ourselves to politics, if that seems desirable, or we will advise about whatever else may seem good to us, for we shall be better able to judge then. In our present condition we ought not to give ourselves airs, for even on the most important subjects we are always changing our minds; so utterly stupid are we! Let us, then, take the argument as our guide, which has revealed to us that the best way of life is to practise justice and every virtue in life and death. This way let us go; and in this exhort all men to follow, not in the way to which you trust and in which you exhort me to follow you; for that way, Callicles, is nothing worth.

MENO

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This dialogue pursues the definition of virtue. The first part is written in the Socratic dialectical style, resulting with Meno being reduced to confusion. In the dialogue, Socrates introduces positive ideas, such as the immortality of the soul, the theory of knowledge as recollection, the method of hypothesis and culminating with the distinction between knowledge and true belief.

The dialogue begins with Meno, who is visiting Athens from Thessaly with a large entourage of slaves attending him, meeting Socrates. Young, good-looking and well-born, Meno is a student of Gorgias, a prominent sophist whose views on virtue clearly influence Meno’s. He claims early on in the dialogue that he has held forth many times on the subject of virtue, and in front of large audiences.

The dialogue is famous for Socrates’ use of one of Meno’s slaves to demonstrate his idea of anamnesis, that certain knowledge is innate and “recollected” by the soul through proper inquiry.

A contemporary bust of Socrates

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION.

ON THE IDEAS OF PLATO.

MENO

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION.

This Dialogue begins abruptly with a question of Meno, who asks, ‘whether virtue can be taught.’ Socrates replies that he does not as yet know what virtue is, and has never known anyone who did. ‘Then he cannot have met Gorgias when he was at Athens.’ Yes, Socrates had met him, but he has a bad memory, and has forgotten what Gorgias said. Will Meno tell him his own notion, which is probably not very different from that of Gorgias? ‘O yes — nothing easier: there is the virtue of a man, of a woman, of an old man, and of a child; there is a virtue of every age and state of life, all of which may be easily described.’

Socrates reminds Meno that this is only an enumeration of the virtues and not a definition of the notion which is common to them all. In a second attempt Meno defines virtue to be ‘the power of command.’ But to this, again, exceptions are taken. For there must be a virtue of those who obey, as well as of those who command; and the power of command must be justly or not unjustly exercised. Meno is very ready to admit that justice is virtue: ‘Would you say virtue or a virtue, for there are other virtues, such as courage, temperance, and the like; just as round is a figure, and black and white are colours, and yet there are other figures and other colours. Let Meno take the examples of figure and colour, and try to define them.’ Meno confesses his inability, and after a process of interrogation, in which Socrates explains to him the nature of a ‘simile in multis,’ Socrates himself defines figure as ‘the accompaniment of colour.’ But some one may object that he does not know the meaning of the word ‘colour;’ and if he is a candid friend, and not a mere disputant, Socrates is willing to furnish him with a simpler and more philosophical definition, into which no disputed word is allowed to intrude: ‘Figure is the limit of form.’ Meno imperiously insists that he must still have a definition of colour. Some raillery follows; and at length Socrates is induced to reply, ‘that colour is the effluence of form, sensible, and in due proportion to the sight.’ This definition is exactly suited to the taste of Meno, who welcomes the familiar language of Gorgias and Empedocles. Socrates is of opinion that the more abstract or dialectical definition of figure is far better.

Now that Meno has been made to understand the nature of a general definition, he answers in the spirit of a Greek gentleman, and in the words of a poet, ‘that virtue is to delight in things honourable, and to have the power of getting them.’ This is a nearer approximation than he has yet made to a complete definition, and, regarded as a piece of proverbial or popular morality, is not far from the truth. But the objection is urged, ‘that the honourable is the good,’ and as every one equally desires the good, the point of the definition is contained in the words, ‘the power of getting them.’ ‘And they must be got justly or with justice.’ The definition will then stand thus: ‘Virtue is the power of getting good with justice.’ But justice is a part of virtue, and therefore virtue is the getting of good with a part of virtue. The definition repeats the word defined.

Meno complains that the conversation of Socrates has the effect of a torpedo’s shock upon him. When he talks with other persons he has plenty to say about virtue; in the presence of Socrates, his thoughts desert him. Socrates replies that he is only the cause of perplexity in others, because he is himself perplexed. He proposes to continue the enquiry. But how, asks Meno, can he enquire either into what he knows or into what he does not know? This is a sophistical puzzle, which, as Socrates remarks, saves a great deal of trouble to him who accepts it. But the puzzle has a real difficulty latent under it, to which Socrates will endeavour to find a reply. The difficulty is the origin of knowledge: —

He has heard from priests and priestesses, and from the poet Pindar, of an immortal soul which is born again and again in successive periods of existence, returning into this world when she has paid the penalty of ancient crime, and, having wandered over all places of the upper and under world, and seen and known all things at one time or other, is by association out of one thing capable of recovering all. For nature is of one kindred; and every soul has a seed or germ which may be developed into all knowledge. The existence of this latent knowledge is further proved by the interrogation of one of Meno’s slaves, who, in the skilful hands of Socrates, is made to acknowledge some elementary relations of geometrical figures. The theorem that the square of the diagonal is double the square of the side — that famous discovery of primitive mathematics, in honour of which the legendary Pythagoras is said to have sacrificed a hecatomb — is elicited from him. The first step in the process of teaching has made him conscious of his own ignorance. He has had the ‘torpedo’s shock’ given him, and is the better for the operation. But whence had the uneducated man this knowledge? He had never learnt geometry in this world; nor was it born with him; he must therefore have had it when he was not a man. And as he always either was or was not a man, he must have always had it. (Compare Phaedo.)

After Socrates has given this specimen of the true nature of teaching, the original question of the teachableness of virtue is renewed. Again he professes a desire to know ‘what virtue is’ first. But he is willing to argue the question, as mathematicians say, under an hypothesis. He will assume that if virtue is knowledge, then virtue can be taught. (This was the stage of the argument at which the Protagoras concluded.)

Socrates has no difficulty in showing that virtue is a good, and that goods, whether of body or mind, must be under the direction of knowledge. Upon the assumption just made, then, virtue is teachable. But where are the teachers? There are none to be found. This is extremely discouraging. Virtue is no sooner discovered to be teachable, than the discovery follows that it is not taught. Virtue, therefore, is and is not teachable.

In this dilemma an appeal is made to Anytus, a respectable and well-to-do citizen of the old school, and a family friend of Meno, who happens to be present. He is asked ‘whether Meno shall go to the Sophists and be taught.’ The suggestion throws him into a rage. ‘To whom, then, shall Meno go?’ asks Socrates. To any Athenian gentleman — to the great Athenian statesmen of past times. Socrates replies here, as elsewhere (Laches, Prot.), that Themistocles, Pericles, and other great men, had sons to whom they would surely, if they could have done so, have imparted their own political wisdom; but no one ever heard that these sons of theirs were remarkable for anything except riding and wrestling and similar accomplishments. Anytus is angry at the imputation which is cast on his favourite statesmen, and on a class to which he supposes himself to belong; he breaks off with a significant hint. The mention of another opportunity of talking with him, and the suggestion that Meno may do the Athenian people a service by pacifying him, are evident allusions to the trial of Socrates.

Socrates returns to the consideration of the question ‘whether virtue is teachable,’ which was denied on the ground that there are no teachers of it: (for the Sophists are bad teachers, and the rest of the world do not profess to teach). But there is another point which we failed to observe, and in which Gorgias has never instructed Meno, nor Prodicus Socrates. This is the nature of right opinion. For virtue may be under the guidance of right opinion as well as of knowledge; and right opinion is for practical purposes as good as knowledge, but is incapable of being taught, and is also liable, like the images of Daedalus, to ‘walk off,’ because not bound by the tie of the cause. This is the sort of instinct which is possessed by statesmen, who are not wise or knowing persons, but only inspired or divine. The higher virtue, which is identical with knowledge, is an ideal only. If the statesman had this knowledge, and could teach what he knew, he would be like Tiresias in the world below,— ‘he alone has wisdom, but the rest flit like shadows.’

This Dialogue is an attempt to answer the question, Can virtue be taught? No one would either ask or answer such a question in modern times. But in the age of Socrates it was only by an effort that the mind could rise to a general notion of virtue as distinct from the particular virtues of courage, liberality, and the like. And when a hazy conception of this ideal was attained, it was only by a further effort that the question of the teachableness of virtue could be resolved.

The answer which is given by Plato is paradoxical enough, and seems rather intended to stimulate than to satisfy enquiry. Virtue is knowledge, and therefore virtue can be taught. But virtue is not taught, and therefore in this higher and ideal sense there is no virtue and no knowledge. The teaching of the Sophists is confessedly inadequate, and Meno, who is their pupil, is ignorant of the very nature of general terms. He can only produce out of their armoury the sophism, ‘that you can neither enquire into what you know nor into what you do not know;’ to which Socrates replies by his theory of reminiscence.

To the doctrine that virtue is knowledge, Plato has been constantly tending in the previous Dialogues. But the new truth is no sooner found than it vanishes away. ‘If there is knowledge, there must be teachers; and where are the teachers?’ There is no knowledge in the higher sense of systematic, connected, reasoned knowledge, such as may one day be attained, and such as Plato himself seems to see in some far off vision of a single science. And there are no teachers in the higher sense of the word; that is to say, no real teachers who will arouse the spirit of enquiry in their pupils, and not merely instruct them in rhetoric or impart to them ready-made information for a fee of ‘one’ or of ‘fifty drachms.’ Plato is desirous of deepening the notion of education, and therefore he asserts the paradox that there are no educators. This paradox, though different in form, is not really different from the remark which is often made in modern times by those who would depreciate either the methods of education commonly employed, or the standard attained — that ‘there is no true education among us.’

There remains still a possibility which must not be overlooked. Even if there be no true knowledge, as is proved by ‘the wretched state of education,’ there may be right opinion, which is a sort of guessing or divination resting on no knowledge of causes, and incommunicable to others. This is the gift which our statesmen have, as is proved by the circumstance that they are unable to impart their knowledge to their sons. Those who are possessed of it cannot be said to be men of science or philosophers, but they are inspired and divine.

There may be some trace of irony in this curious passage, which forms the concluding portion of the Dialogue. But Plato certainly does not mean to intimate that the supernatural or divine is the true basis of human life. To him knowledge, if only attainable in this world, is of all things the most divine. Yet, like other philosophers, he is willing to admit that ‘probability is the guide of life (Butler’s Analogy.);’ and he is at the same time desirous of contrasting the wisdom which governs the world with a higher wisdom. There are many instincts, judgments, and anticipations of the human mind which cannot be reduced to rule, and of which the grounds cannot always be given in words. A person may have some skill or latent experience which he is able to use himself and is yet unable to teach others, because he has no principles, and is incapable of collecting or arranging his ideas. He has practice, but not theory; art, but not science. This is a true fact of psychology, which is recognized by Plato in this passage. But he is far from saying, as some have imagined, that inspiration or divine grace is to be regarded as higher than knowledge. He would not have preferred the poet or man of action to the philosopher, or the virtue of custom to the virtue based upon ideas.

Also here, as in the Ion and Phaedrus, Plato appears to acknowledge an unreasoning element in the higher nature of man. The philosopher only has knowledge, and yet the statesman and the poet are inspired. There may be a sort of irony in regarding in this way the gifts of genius. But there is no reason to suppose that he is deriding them, any more than he is deriding the phenomena of love or of enthusiasm in the Symposium, or of oracles in the Apology, or of divine intimations when he is speaking of the daemonium of Socrates. He recognizes the lower form of right opinion, as well as the higher one of science, in the spirit of one who desires to include in his philosophy every aspect of human life; just as he recognizes the existence of popular opinion as a fact, and the Sophists as the expression of it.

This Dialogue contains the first intimation of the doctrine of reminiscence and of the immortality of the soul. The proof is very slight, even slighter than in the Phaedo and Republic. Because men had abstract ideas in a previous state, they must have always had them, and their souls therefore must have always existed. For they must always have been either men or not men. The fallacy of the latter words is transparent. And Socrates himself appears to be conscious of their weakness; for he adds immediately afterwards, ‘I have said some things of which I am not altogether confident.’ (Compare Phaedo.) It may be observed, however, that the fanciful notion of pre-existence is combined with a true but partial view of the origin and unity of knowledge, and of the association of ideas. Knowledge is prior to any particular knowledge, and exists not in the previous state of the individual, but of the race. It is potential, not actual, and can only be appropriated by strenuous exertion.

The idealism of Plato is here presented in a less developed form than in the Phaedo and Phaedrus. Nothing is said of the pre-existence of ideas of justice, temperance, and the like. Nor is Socrates positive of anything but the duty of enquiry. The doctrine of reminiscence too is explained more in accordance with fact and experience as arising out of the affinities of nature (ate tes thuseos oles suggenous ouses). Modern philosophy says that all things in nature are dependent on one another; the ancient philosopher had the same truth latent in his mind when he affirmed that out of one thing all the rest may be recovered. The subjective was converted by him into an objective; the mental phenomenon of the association of ideas (compare Phaedo) became a real chain of existences. The germs of two valuable principles of education may also be gathered from the ‘words of priests and priestesses:’ (1) that true knowledge is a knowledge of causes (compare Aristotle’s theory of episteme); and (2) that the process of learning consists not in what is brought to the learner, but in what is drawn out of him.

Some lesser points of the dialogue may be noted, such as (1) the acute observation that Meno prefers the familiar definition, which is embellished with poetical language, to the better and truer one; or (2) the shrewd reflection, which may admit of an application to modern as well as to ancient teachers, that the Sophists having made large fortunes; this must surely be a criterion of their powers of teaching, for that no man could get a living by shoemaking who was not a good shoemaker; or (3) the remark conveyed, almost in a word, that the verbal sceptic is saved the labour of thought and enquiry (ouden dei to toiouto zeteseos). Characteristic also of the temper of the Socratic enquiry is, (4) the proposal to discuss the teachableness of virtue under an hypothesis, after the manner of the mathematicians; and (5) the repetition of the favourite doctrine which occurs so frequently in the earlier and more Socratic Dialogues, and gives a colour to all of them — that mankind only desire evil through ignorance; (6) the experiment of eliciting from the slave-boy the mathematical truth which is latent in him, and (7) the remark that he is all the better for knowing his ignorance.

The character of Meno, like that of Critias, has no relation to the actual circumstances of his life. Plato is silent about his treachery to the ten thousand Greeks, which Xenophon has recorded, as he is also silent about the crimes of Critias. He is a Thessalian Alcibiades, rich and luxurious — a spoilt child of fortune, and is described as the hereditary friend of the great king. Like Alcibiades he is inspired with an ardent desire of knowledge, and is equally willing to learn of Socrates and of the Sophists. He may be regarded as standing in the same relation to Gorgias as Hippocrates in the Protagoras to the other great Sophist. He is the sophisticated youth on whom Socrates tries his cross-examining powers, just as in the Charmides, the Lysis, and the Euthydemus, ingenuous boyhood is made the subject of a similar experiment. He is treated by Socrates in a half-playful manner suited to his character; at the same time he appears not quite to understand the process to which he is being subjected. For he is exhibited as ignorant of the very elements of dialectics, in which the Sophists have failed to instruct their disciple. His definition of virtue as ‘the power and desire of attaining things honourable,’ like the first definition of justice in the Republic, is taken from a poet. His answers have a sophistical ring, and at the same time show the sophistical incapacity to grasp a general notion.

Anytus is the type of the narrow-minded man of the world, who is indignant at innovation, and equally detests the popular teacher and the true philosopher. He seems, like Aristophanes, to regard the new opinions, whether of Socrates or the Sophists, as fatal to Athenian greatness. He is of the same class as Callicles in the Gorgias, but of a different variety; the immoral and sophistical doctrines of Callicles are not attributed to him. The moderation with which he is described is remarkable, if he be the accuser of Socrates, as is apparently indicated by his parting words. Perhaps Plato may have been desirous of showing that the accusation of Socrates was not to be attributed to badness or malevolence, but rather to a tendency in men’s minds. Or he may have been regardless of the historical truth of the characters of his dialogue, as in the case of Meno and Critias. Like Chaerephon (Apol.) the real Anytus was a democrat, and had joined Thrasybulus in the conflict with the thirty.

The Protagoras arrived at a sort of hypothetical conclusion, that if ‘virtue is knowledge, it can be taught.’ In the Euthydemus, Socrates himself offered an example of the manner in which the true teacher may draw out the mind of youth; this was in contrast to the quibbling follies of the Sophists. In the Meno the subject is more developed; the foundations of the enquiry are laid deeper, and the nature of knowledge is more distinctly explained. There is a progression by antagonism of two opposite aspects of philosophy. But at the moment when we approach nearest, the truth doubles upon us and passes out of our reach. We seem to find that the ideal of knowledge is irreconcilable with experience. In human life there is indeed the profession of knowledge, but right opinion is our actual guide. There is another sort of progress from the general notions of Socrates, who asked simply, ‘what is friendship?’ ‘what is temperance?’ ‘what is courage?’ as in the Lysis, Charmides, Laches, to the transcendentalism of Plato, who, in the second stage of his philosophy, sought to find the nature of knowledge in a prior and future state of existence.

The difficulty in framing general notions which has appeared in this and in all the previous Dialogues recurs in the Gorgias and Theaetetus as well as in the Republic. In the Gorgias too the statesmen reappear, but in stronger opposition to the philosopher. They are no longer allowed to have a divine insight, but, though acknowledged to have been clever men and good speakers, are denounced as ‘blind leaders of the blind.’ The doctrine of the immortality of the soul is also carried further, being made the foundation not only of a theory of knowledge, but of a doctrine of rewards and punishments. In the Republic the relation of knowledge to virtue is described in a manner more consistent with modern distinctions. The existence of the virtues without the possession of knowledge in the higher or philosophical sense is admitted to be possible. Right opinion is again introduced in the Theaetetus as an account of knowledge, but is rejected on the ground that it is irrational (as here, because it is not bound by the tie of the cause), and also because the conception of false opinion is given up as hopeless. The doctrines of Plato are necessarily different at different times of his life, as new distinctions are realized, or new stages of thought attained by him. We are not therefore justified, in order to take away the appearance of inconsistency, in attributing to him hidden meanings or remote allusions.

There are no external criteria by which we can determine the date of the Meno. There is no reason to suppose that any of the Dialogues of Plato were written before the death of Socrates; the Meno, which appears to be one of the earliest of them, is proved to have been of a later date by the allusion of Anytus.

We cannot argue that Plato was more likely to have written, as he has done, of Meno before than after his miserable death; for we have already seen, in the examples of Charmides and Critias, that the characters in Plato are very far from resembling the same characters in history. The repulsive picture which is given of him in the Anabasis of Xenophon, where he also appears as the friend of Aristippus ‘and a fair youth having lovers,’ has no other trait of likeness to the Meno of Plato.

The place of the Meno in the series is doubtfully indicated by internal evidence. The main character of the Dialogue is Socrates; but to the ‘general definitions’ of Socrates is added the Platonic doctrine of reminiscence. The problems of virtue and knowledge have been discussed in the Lysis, Laches, Charmides, and Protagoras; the puzzle about knowing and learning has already appeared in the Euthydemus. The doctrines of immortality and pre-existence are carried further in the Phaedrus and Phaedo; the distinction between opinion and knowledge is more fully developed in the Theaetetus. The lessons of Prodicus, whom he facetiously calls his master, are still running in the mind of Socrates. Unlike the later Platonic Dialogues, the Meno arrives at no conclusion. Hence we are led to place the Dialogue at some point of time later than the Protagoras, and earlier than the Phaedrus and Gorgias. The place which is assigned to it in this work is due mainly to the desire to bring together in a single volume all the Dialogues which contain allusions to the trial and death of Socrates.

ON THE IDEAS OF PLATO.

Plato’s doctrine of ideas has attained an imaginary clearness and definiteness which is not to be found in his own writings. The popular account of them is partly derived from one or two passages in his Dialogues interpreted without regard to their poetical environment. It is due also to the misunderstanding of him by the Aristotelian school; and the erroneous notion has been further narrowed and has become fixed by the realism of the schoolmen. This popular view of the Platonic ideas may be summed up in some such formula as the following: ‘Truth consists not in particulars, but in universals, which have a place in the mind of God, or in some far-off heaven. These were revealed to men in a former state of existence, and are recovered by reminiscence (anamnesis) or association from sensible things. The sensible things are not realities, but shadows only, in relation to the truth.’ These unmeaning propositions are hardly suspected to be a caricature of a great theory of knowledge, which Plato in various ways and under many figures of speech is seeking to unfold. Poetry has been converted into dogma; and it is not remarked that the Platonic ideas are to be found only in about a third of Plato’s writings and are not confined to him. The forms which they assume are numerous, and if taken literally, inconsistent with one another. At one time we are in the clouds of mythology, at another among the abstractions of mathematics or metaphysics; we pass imperceptibly from one to the other. Reason and fancy are mingled in the same passage. The ideas are sometimes described as many, coextensive with the universals of sense and also with the first principles of ethics; or again they are absorbed into the single idea of good, and subordinated to it. They are not more certain than facts, but they are equally certain (Phaedo). They are both personal and impersonal. They are abstract terms: they are also the causes of things; and they are even transformed into the demons or spirits by whose help God made the world. And the idea of good (Republic) may without violence be converted into the Supreme Being, who ‘because He was good’ created all things (Tim.).

It would be a mistake to try and reconcile these differing modes of thought. They are not to be regarded seriously as having a distinct meaning. They are parables, prophecies, myths, symbols, revelations, aspirations after an unknown world. They derive their origin from a deep religious and contemplative feeling, and also from an observation of curious mental phenomena. They gather up the elements of the previous philosophies, which they put together in a new form. Their great diversity shows the tentative character of early endeavours to think. They have not yet settled down into a single system. Plato uses them, though he also criticises them; he acknowledges that both he and others are always talking about them, especially about the Idea of Good; and that they are not peculiar to himself (Phaedo; Republic; Soph.). But in his later writings he seems to have laid aside the old forms of them. As he proceeds he makes for himself new modes of expression more akin to the Aristotelian logic.

Yet amid all these varieties and incongruities, there is a common meaning or spirit which pervades his writings, both those in which he treats of the ideas and those in which he is silent about them. This is the spirit of idealism, which in the history of philosophy has had many names and taken many forms, and has in a measure influenced those who seemed to be most averse to it. It has often been charged with inconsistency and fancifulness, and yet has had an elevating effect on human nature, and has exercised a wonderful charm and interest over a few spirits who have been lost in the thought of it. It has been banished again and again, but has always returned. It has attempted to leave the earth and soar heavenwards, but soon has found that only in experience could any solid foundation of knowledge be laid. It has degenerated into pantheism, but has again emerged. No other knowledge has given an equal stimulus to the mind. It is the science of sciences, which are also ideas, and under either aspect require to be defined. They can only be thought of in due proportion when conceived in relation to one another. They are the glasses through which the kingdoms of science are seen, but at a distance. All the greatest minds, except when living in an age of reaction against them, have unconsciously fallen under their power.

The account of the Platonic ideas in the Meno is the simplest and clearest, and we shall best illustrate their nature by giving this first and then comparing the manner in which they are described elsewhere, e.g. in the Phaedrus, Phaedo, Republic; to which may be added the criticism of them in the Parmenides, the personal form which is attributed to them in the Timaeus, the logical character which they assume in the Sophist and Philebus, and the allusion to them in the Laws. In the Cratylus they dawn upon him with the freshness of a newly-discovered thought.

The Meno goes back to a former state of existence, in which men did and suffered good and evil, and received the reward or punishment of them until their sin was purged away and they were allowed to return to earth. This is a tradition of the olden time, to which priests and poets bear witness. The souls of men returning to earth bring back a latent memory of ideas, which were known to them in a former state. The recollection is awakened into life and consciousness by the sight of the things which resemble them on earth. The soul evidently possesses such innate ideas before she has had time to acquire them. This is proved by an experiment tried on one of Meno’s slaves, from whom Socrates elicits truths of arithmetic and geometry, which he had never learned in this world. He must therefore have brought them with him from another.

The notion of a previous state of existence is found in the verses of Empedocles and in the fragments of Heracleitus. It was the natural answer to two questions, ‘Whence came the soul? What is the origin of evil?’ and prevailed far and wide in the east. It found its way into Hellas probably through the medium of Orphic and Pythagorean rites and mysteries. It was easier to think of a former than of a future life, because such a life has really existed for the race though not for the individual, and all men come into the world, if not ‘trailing clouds of glory,’ at any rate able to enter into the inheritance of the past. In the Phaedrus, as well as in the Meno, it is this former rather than a future life on which Plato is disposed to dwell. There the Gods, and men following in their train, go forth to contemplate the heavens, and are borne round in the revolutions of them. There they see the divine forms of justice, temperance, and the like, in their unchangeable beauty, but not without an effort more than human. The soul of man is likened to a charioteer and two steeds, one mortal, the other immortal. The charioteer and the mortal steed are in fierce conflict; at length the animal principle is finally overpowered, though not extinguished, by the combined energies of the passionate and rational elements. This is one of those passages in Plato which, partaking both of a philosophical and poetical character, is necessarily indistinct and inconsistent. The magnificent figure under which the nature of the soul is described has not much to do with the popular doctrine of the ideas. Yet there is one little trait in the description which shows that they are present to Plato’s mind, namely, the remark that the soul, which had seen truths in the form of the universal, cannot again return to the nature of an animal.

In the Phaedo, as in the Meno, the origin of ideas is sought for in a previous state of existence. There was no time when they could have been acquired in this life, and therefore they must have been recovered from another. The process of recovery is no other than the ordinary law of association, by which in daily life the sight of one thing or person recalls another to our minds, and by which in scientific enquiry from any part of knowledge we may be led on to infer the whole. It is also argued that ideas, or rather ideals, must be derived from a previous state of existence because they are more perfect than the sensible forms of them which are given by experience. But in the Phaedo the doctrine of ideas is subordinate to the proof of the immortality of the soul. ‘If the soul existed in a previous state, then it will exist in a future state, for a law of alternation pervades all things.’ And, ‘If the ideas exist, then the soul exists; if not, not.’ It is to be observed, both in the Meno and the Phaedo, that Socrates expresses himself with diffidence. He speaks in the Phaedo of the words with which he has comforted himself and his friends, and will not be too confident that the description which he has given of the soul and her mansions is exactly true, but he ‘ventures to think that something of the kind is true.’ And in the Meno, after dwelling upon the immortality of the soul, he adds, ‘Of some things which I have said I am not altogether confident’ (compare Apology; Gorgias). From this class of uncertainties he exempts the difference between truth and appearance, of which he is absolutely convinced.

In the Republic the ideas are spoken of in two ways, which though not contradictory are different. In the tenth book they are represented as the genera or general ideas under which individuals having a common name are contained. For example, there is the bed which the carpenter makes, the picture of the bed which is drawn by the painter, the bed existing in nature of which God is the author. Of the latter all visible beds are only the shadows or reflections. This and similar illustrations or explanations are put forth, not for their own sake, or as an exposition of Plato’s theory of ideas, but with a view of showing that poetry and the mimetic arts are concerned with an inferior part of the soul and a lower kind of knowledge. On the other hand, in the 6th and 7th books of the Republic we reach the highest and most perfect conception, which Plato is able to attain, of the nature of knowledge. The ideas are now finally seen to be one as well as many, causes as well as ideas, and to have a unity which is the idea of good and the cause of all the rest. They seem, however, to have lost their first aspect of universals under which individuals are contained, and to have been converted into forms of another kind, which are inconsistently regarded from the one side as images or ideals of justice, temperance, holiness and the like; from the other as hypotheses, or mathematical truths or principles.

In the Timaeus, which in the series of Plato’s works immediately follows the Republic, though probably written some time afterwards, no mention occurs of the doctrine of ideas. Geometrical forms and arithmetical ratios furnish the laws according to which the world is created. But though the conception of the ideas as genera or species is forgotten or laid aside, the distinction of the visible and intellectual is as firmly maintained as ever. The IDEA of good likewise disappears and is superseded by the conception of a personal God, who works according to a final cause or principle of goodness which he himself is. No doubt is expressed by Plato, either in the Timaeus or in any other dialogue, of the truths which he conceives to be the first and highest. It is not the existence of God or the idea of good which he approaches in a tentative or hesitating manner, but the investigations of physiology. These he regards, not seriously, as a part of philosophy, but as an innocent recreation (Tim.).

Passing on to the Parmenides, we find in that dialogue not an exposition or defence of the doctrine of ideas, but an assault upon them, which is put into the mouth of the veteran Parmenides, and might be ascribed to Aristotle himself, or to one of his disciples. The doctrine which is assailed takes two or three forms, but fails in any of them to escape the dialectical difficulties which are urged against it. It is admitted that there are ideas of all things, but the manner in which individuals partake of them, whether of the whole or of the part, and in which they become like them, or how ideas can be either within or without the sphere of human knowledge, or how the human and divine can have any relation to each other, is held to be incapable of explanation. And yet, if there are no universal ideas, what becomes of philosophy? (Parmenides.) In the Sophist the theory of ideas is spoken of as a doctrine held not by Plato, but by another sect of philosophers, called ‘the Friends of Ideas,’ probably the Megarians, who were very distinct from him, if not opposed to him (Sophist). Nor in what may be termed Plato’s abridgement of the history of philosophy (Soph.), is any mention made such as we find in the first book of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, of the derivation of such a theory or of any part of it from the Pythagoreans, the Eleatics, the Heracleiteans, or even from Socrates. In the Philebus, probably one of the latest of the Platonic Dialogues, the conception of a personal or semi-personal deity expressed under the figure of mind, the king of all, who is also the cause, is retained. The one and many of the Phaedrus and Theaetetus is still working in the mind of Plato, and the correlation of ideas, not of ‘all with all,’ but of ‘some with some,’ is asserted and explained. But they are spoken of in a different manner, and are not supposed to be recovered from a former state of existence. The metaphysical conception of truth passes into a psychological one, which is continued in the Laws, and is the final form of the Platonic philosophy, so far as can be gathered from his own writings (see especially Laws). In the Laws he harps once more on the old string, and returns to general notions: — these he acknowledges to be many, and yet he insists that they are also one. The guardian must be made to recognize the truth, for which he has contended long ago in the Protagoras, that the virtues are four, but they are also in some sense one (Laws; compare Protagoras).

So various, and if regarded on the surface only, inconsistent, are the statements of Plato respecting the doctrine of ideas. If we attempted to harmonize or to combine them, we should make out of them, not a system, but the caricature of a system. They are the ever-varying expression of Plato’s Idealism. The terms used in them are in their substance and general meaning the same, although they seem to be different. They pass from the subject to the object, from earth (diesseits) to heaven (jenseits) without regard to the gulf which later theology and philosophy have made between them. They are also intended to supplement or explain each other. They relate to a subject of which Plato himself would have said that ‘he was not confident of the precise form of his own statements, but was strong in the belief that something of the kind was true.’ It is the spirit, not the letter, in which they agree — the spirit which places the divine above the human, the spiritual above the material, the one above the many, the mind before the body.

The stream of ancient philosophy in the Alexandrian and Roman times widens into a lake or sea, and then disappears underground to reappear after many ages in a distant land. It begins to flow again under new conditions, at first confined between high and narrow banks, but finally spreading over the continent of Europe. It is and is not the same with ancient philosophy. There is a great deal in modern philosophy which is inspired by ancient. There is much in ancient philosophy which was ‘born out of due time; and before men were capable of understanding it. To the fathers of modern philosophy, their own thoughts appeared to be new and original, but they carried with them an echo or shadow of the past, coming back by recollection from an elder world. Of this the enquirers of the seventeenth century, who to themselves appeared to be working out independently the enquiry into all truth, were unconscious. They stood in a new relation to theology and natural philosophy, and for a time maintained towards both an attitude of reserve and separation. Yet the similarities between modern and ancient thought are greater far than the differences. All philosophy, even that part of it which is said to be based upon experience, is really ideal; and ideas are not only derived from facts, but they are also prior to them and extend far beyond them, just as the mind is prior to the senses.

Early Greek speculation culminates in the ideas of Plato, or rather in the single idea of good. His followers, and perhaps he himself, having arrived at this elevation, instead of going forwards went backwards from philosophy to psychology, from ideas to numbers. But what we perceive to be the real meaning of them, an explanation of the nature and origin of knowledge, will always continue to be one of the first problems of philosophy.

Plato also left behind him a most potent instrument, the forms of logic — arms ready for use, but not yet taken out of their armoury. They were the late birth of the early Greek philosophy, and were the only part of it which has had an uninterrupted hold on the mind of Europe. Philosophies come and go; but the detection of fallacies, the framing of definitions, the invention of methods still continue to be the main elements of the reasoning process.

Modern philosophy, like ancient, begins with very simple conceptions. It is almost wholly a reflection on self. It might be described as a quickening into life of old words and notions latent in the semi-barbarous Latin, and putting a new meaning into them. Unlike ancient philosophy, it has been unaffected by impressions derived from outward nature: it arose within the limits of the mind itself. From the time of Descartes to Hume and Kant it has had little or nothing to do with facts of science. On the other hand, the ancient and mediaeval logic retained a continuous influence over it, and a form like that of mathematics was easily impressed upon it; the principle of ancient philosophy which is most apparent in it is scepticism; we must doubt nearly every traditional or received notion, that we may hold fast one or two. The being of God in a personal or impersonal form was a mental necessity to the first thinkers of modern times: from this alone all other ideas could be deduced. There had been an obscure presentiment of ‘cognito, ergo sum’ more than 2000 years previously. The Eleatic notion that being and thought were the same was revived in a new form by Descartes. But now it gave birth to consciousness and self-reflection: it awakened the ‘ego’ in human nature. The mind naked and abstract has no other certainty but the conviction of its own existence. ‘I think, therefore I am;’ and this thought is God thinking in me, who has also communicated to the reason of man his own attributes of thought and extension — these are truly imparted to him because God is true (compare Republic). It has been often remarked that Descartes, having begun by dismissing all presuppositions, introduces several: he passes almost at once from scepticism to dogmatism. It is more important for the illustration of Plato to observe that he, like Plato, insists that God is true and incapable of deception (Republic) — that he proceeds from general ideas, that many elements of mathematics may be found in him. A certain influence of mathematics both on the form and substance of their philosophy is discernible in both of them. After making the greatest opposition between thought and extension, Descartes, like Plato, supposes them to be reunited for a time, not in their own nature but by a special divine act (compare Phaedrus), and he also supposes all the parts of the human body to meet in the pineal gland, that alone affording a principle of unity in the material frame of man. It is characteristic of the first period of modern philosophy, that having begun (like the Presocratics) with a few general notions, Descartes first falls absolutely under their influence, and then quickly discards them. At the same time he is less able to observe facts, because they are too much magnified by the glasses through which they are seen. The common logic says ‘the greater the extension, the less the comprehension,’ and we may put the same thought in another way and say of abstract or general ideas, that the greater the abstraction of them, the less are they capable of being applied to particular and concrete natures.

Not very different from Descartes in his relation to ancient philosophy is his successor Spinoza, who lived in the following generation. The system of Spinoza is less personal and also less dualistic than that of Descartes. In this respect the difference between them is like that between Xenophanes and Parmenides. The teaching of Spinoza might be described generally as the Jewish religion reduced to an abstraction and taking the form of the Eleatic philosophy. Like Parmenides, he is overpowered and intoxicated with the idea of Being or God. The greatness of both philosophies consists in the immensity of a thought which excludes all other thoughts; their weakness is the necessary separation of this thought from actual existence and from practical life. In neither of them is there any clear opposition between the inward and outward world. The substance of Spinoza has two attributes, which alone are cognizable by man, thought and extension; these are in extreme opposition to one another, and also in inseparable identity. They may be regarded as the two aspects or expressions under which God or substance is unfolded to man. Here a step is made beyond the limits of the Eleatic philosophy. The famous theorem of Spinoza, ‘Omnis determinatio est negatio,’ is already contained in the ‘negation is relation’ of Plato’s Sophist. The grand description of the philosopher in Republic VI, as the spectator of all time and all existence, may be paralleled with another famous expression of Spinoza, ‘Contemplatio rerum sub specie eternitatis.’ According to Spinoza finite objects are unreal, for they are conditioned by what is alien to them, and by one another. Human beings are included in the number of them. Hence there is no reality in human action and no place for right and wrong. Individuality is accident. The boasted freedom of the will is only a consciousness of necessity. Truth, he says, is the direction of the reason towards the infinite, in which all things repose; and herein lies the secret of man’s well-being. In the exaltation of the reason or intellect, in the denial of the voluntariness of evil (Timaeus; Laws) Spinoza approaches nearer to Plato than in his conception of an infinite substance. As Socrates said that virtue is knowledge, so Spinoza would have maintained that knowledge alone is good, and what contributes to knowledge useful. Both are equally far from any real experience or observation of nature. And the same difficulty is found in both when we seek to apply their ideas to life and practice. There is a gulf fixed between the infinite substance and finite objects or individuals of Spinoza, just as there is between the ideas of Plato and the world of sense.

Removed from Spinoza by less than a generation is the philosopher Leibnitz, who after deepening and intensifying the opposition between mind and matter, reunites them by his preconcerted harmony (compare again Phaedrus). To him all the particles of matter are living beings which reflect on one another, and in the least of them the whole is contained. Here we catch a reminiscence both of the omoiomere, or similar particles of Anaxagoras, and of the world-animal of the Timaeus.

In Bacon and Locke we have another development in which the mind of man is supposed to receive knowledge by a new method and to work by observation and experience. But we may remark that it is the idea of experience, rather than experience itself, with which the mind is filled. It is a symbol of knowledge rather than the reality which is vouchsafed to us. The Organon of Bacon is not much nearer to actual facts than the Organon of Aristotle or the Platonic idea of good. Many of the old rags and ribbons which defaced the garment of philosophy have been stripped off, but some of them still adhere. A crude conception of the ideas of Plato survives in the ‘forms’ of Bacon. And on the other hand, there are many passages of Plato in which the importance of the investigation of facts is as much insisted upon as by Bacon. Both are almost equally superior to the illusions of language, and are constantly crying out against them, as against other idols.

Locke cannot be truly regarded as the author of sensationalism any more than of idealism. His system is based upon experience, but with him experience includes reflection as well as sense. His analysis and construction of ideas has no foundation in fact; it is only the dialectic of the mind ‘talking to herself.’ The philosophy of Berkeley is but the transposition of two words. For objects of sense he would substitute sensations. He imagines himself to have changed the relation of the human mind towards God and nature; they remain the same as before, though he has drawn the imaginary line by which they are divided at a different point. He has annihilated the outward world, but it instantly reappears governed by the same laws and described under the same names.

A like remark applies to David Hume, of whose philosophy the central principle is the denial of the relation of cause and effect. He would deprive men of a familiar term which they can ill afford to lose; but he seems not to have observed that this alteration is merely verbal and does not in any degree affect the nature of things. Still less did he remark that he was arguing from the necessary imperfection of language against the most certain facts. And here, again, we may find a parallel with the ancients. He goes beyond facts in his scepticism, as they did in their idealism. Like the ancient Sophists, he relegates the more important principles of ethics to custom and probability. But crude and unmeaning as this philosophy is, it exercised a great influence on his successors, not unlike that which Locke exercised upon Berkeley and Berkeley upon Hume himself. All three were both sceptical and ideal in almost equal degrees. Neither they nor their predecessors had any true conception of language or of the history of philosophy. Hume’s paradox has been forgotten by the world, and did not any more than the scepticism of the ancients require to be seriously refuted. Like some other philosophical paradoxes, it would have been better left to die out. It certainly could not be refuted by a philosophy such as Kant’s, in which, no less than in the previously mentioned systems, the history of the human mind and the nature of language are almost wholly ignored, and the certainty of objective knowledge is transferred to the subject; while absolute truth is reduced to a figment, more abstract and narrow than Plato’s ideas, of ‘thing in itself,’ to which, if we reason strictly, no predicate can be applied.

The question which Plato has raised respecting the origin and nature of ideas belongs to the infancy of philosophy; in modern times it would no longer be asked. Their origin is only their history, so far as we know it; there can be no other. We may trace them in language, in philosophy, in mythology, in poetry, but we cannot argue a priori about them. We may attempt to shake them off, but they are always returning, and in every sphere of science and human action are tending to go beyond facts. They are thought to be innate, because they have been familiar to us all our lives, and we can no longer dismiss them from our mind. Many of them express relations of terms to which nothing exactly or nothing at all in rerum natura corresponds. We are not such free agents in the use of them as we sometimes imagine. Fixed ideas have taken the most complete possession of some thinkers who have been most determined to renounce them, and have been vehemently affirmed when they could be least explained and were incapable of proof. The world has often been led away by a word to which no distinct meaning could be attached. Abstractions such as ‘authority,’ ‘equality,’ ‘utility,’ ‘liberty,’ ‘pleasure,’ ‘experience,’ ‘consciousness,’ ‘chance,’ ‘substance,’ ‘matter,’ ‘atom,’ and a heap of other metaphysical and theological terms, are the source of quite as much error and illusion and have as little relation to actual facts as the ideas of Plato. Few students of theology or philosophy have sufficiently reflected how quickly the bloom of a philosophy passes away; or how hard it is for one age to understand the writings of another; or how nice a judgment is required of those who are seeking to express the philosophy of one age in the terms of another. The ‘eternal truths’ of which metaphysicians speak have hardly ever lasted more than a generation. In our own day schools or systems of philosophy which have once been famous have died before the founders of them. We are still, as in Plato’s age, groping about for a new method more comprehensive than any of those which now prevail; and also more permanent. And we seem to see at a distance the promise of such a method, which can hardly be any other than the method of idealized experience, having roots which strike far down into the history of philosophy. It is a method which does not divorce the present from the past, or the part from the whole, or the abstract from the concrete, or theory from fact, or the divine from the human, or one science from another, but labours to connect them. Along such a road we have proceeded a few steps, sufficient, perhaps, to make us reflect on the want of method which prevails in our own day. In another age, all the branches of knowledge, whether relating to God or man or nature, will become the knowledge of ‘the revelation of a single science’ (Symp.), and all things, like the stars in heaven, will shed their light upon one another.

MENO

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Meno, Socrates, A Slave of Meno (Boy), Anytus.

MENO: Can you tell me, Socrates, whether virtue is acquired by teaching or by practice; or if neither by teaching nor by practice, then whether it comes to man by nature, or in what other way?

SOCRATES: O Meno, there was a time when the Thessalians were famous among the other Hellenes only for their riches and their riding; but now, if I am not mistaken, they are equally famous for their wisdom, especially at Larisa, which is the native city of your friend Aristippus. And this is Gorgias’ doing; for when he came there, the flower of the Aleuadae, among them your admirer Aristippus, and the other chiefs of the Thessalians, fell in love with his wisdom. And he has taught you the habit of answering questions in a grand and bold style, which becomes those who know, and is the style in which he himself answers all comers; and any Hellene who likes may ask him anything. How different is our lot! my dear Meno. Here at Athens there is a dearth of the commodity, and all wisdom seems to have emigrated from us to you. I am certain that if you were to ask any Athenian whether virtue was natural or acquired, he would laugh in your face, and say: ‘Stranger, you have far too good an opinion of me, if you think that I can answer your question. For I literally do not know what virtue is, and much less whether it is acquired by teaching or not.’ And I myself, Meno, living as I do in this region of poverty, am as poor as the rest of the world; and I confess with shame that I know literally nothing about virtue; and when I do not know the ‘quid’ of anything how can I know the ‘quale’? How, if I knew nothing at all of Meno, could I tell if he was fair, or the opposite of fair; rich and noble, or the reverse of rich and noble? Do you think that I could?

MENO: No, indeed. But are you in earnest, Socrates, in saying that you do not know what virtue is? And am I to carry back this report of you to Thessaly?

SOCRATES: Not only that, my dear boy, but you may say further that I have never known of any one else who did, in my judgment.

MENO: Then you have never met Gorgias when he was at Athens?

SOCRATES: Yes, I have.

MENO: And did you not think that he knew?

SOCRATES: I have not a good memory, Meno, and therefore I cannot now tell what I thought of him at the time. And I dare say that he did know, and that you know what he said: please, therefore, to remind me of what he said; or, if you would rather, tell me your own view; for I suspect that you and he think much alike.

MENO: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then as he is not here, never mind him, and do you tell me: By the gods, Meno, be generous, and tell me what you say that virtue is; for I shall be truly delighted to find that I have been mistaken, and that you and Gorgias do really have this knowledge; although I have been just saying that I have never found anybody who had.

MENO: There will be no difficulty, Socrates, in answering your question. Let us take first the virtue of a man — he should know how to administer the state, and in the administration of it to benefit his friends and harm his enemies; and he must also be careful not to suffer harm himself. A woman’s virtue, if you wish to know about that, may also be easily described: her duty is to order her house, and keep what is indoors, and obey her husband. Every age, every condition of life, young or old, male or female, bond or free, has a different virtue: there are virtues numberless, and no lack of definitions of them; for virtue is relative to the actions and ages of each of us in all that we do. And the same may be said of vice, Socrates (Compare Arist. Pol.).

SOCRATES: How fortunate I am, Meno! When I ask you for one virtue, you present me with a swarm of them (Compare Theaet.), which are in your keeping. Suppose that I carry on the figure of the swarm, and ask of you, What is the nature of the bee? and you answer that there are many kinds of bees, and I reply: But do bees differ as bees, because there are many and different kinds of them; or are they not rather to be distinguished by some other quality, as for example beauty, size, or shape? How would you answer me?

MENO: I should answer that bees do not differ from one another, as bees.

SOCRATES: And if I went on to say: That is what I desire to know, Meno; tell me what is the quality in which they do not differ, but are all alike; — would you be able to answer?

MENO: I should.

SOCRATES: And so of the virtues, however many and different they may be, they have all a common nature which makes them virtues; and on this he who would answer the question, ‘What is virtue?’ would do well to have his eye fixed: Do you understand?

MENO: I am beginning to understand; but I do not as yet take hold of the question as I could wish.

SOCRATES: When you say, Meno, that there is one virtue of a man, another of a woman, another of a child, and so on, does this apply only to virtue, or would you say the same of health, and size, and strength? Or is the nature of health always the same, whether in man or woman?

MENO: I should say that health is the same, both in man and woman.

SOCRATES: And is not this true of size and strength? If a woman is strong, she will be strong by reason of the same form and of the same strength subsisting in her which there is in the man. I mean to say that strength, as strength, whether of man or woman, is the same. Is there any difference?

MENO: I think not.

SOCRATES: And will not virtue, as virtue, be the same, whether in a child or in a grown-up person, in a woman or in a man?

MENO: I cannot help feeling, Socrates, that this case is different from the others.

SOCRATES: But why? Were you not saying that the virtue of a man was to order a state, and the virtue of a woman was to order a house?

MENO: I did say so.

SOCRATES: And can either house or state or anything be well ordered without temperance and without justice?

MENO: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then they who order a state or a house temperately or justly order them with temperance and justice?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then both men and women, if they are to be good men and women, must have the same virtues of temperance and justice?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And can either a young man or an elder one be good, if they are intemperate and unjust?

MENO: They cannot.

SOCRATES: They must be temperate and just?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then all men are good in the same way, and by participation in the same virtues?

MENO: Such is the inference.

SOCRATES: And they surely would not have been good in the same way, unless their virtue had been the same?

MENO: They would not.

SOCRATES: Then now that the sameness of all virtue has been proven, try and remember what you and Gorgias say that virtue is.

MENO: Will you have one definition of them all?

SOCRATES: That is what I am seeking.

MENO: If you want to have one definition of them all, I know not what to say, but that virtue is the power of governing mankind.

SOCRATES: And does this definition of virtue include all virtue? Is virtue the same in a child and in a slave, Meno? Can the child govern his father, or the slave his master; and would he who governed be any longer a slave?

MENO: I think not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: No, indeed; there would be small reason in that. Yet once more, fair friend; according to you, virtue is ‘the power of governing;’ but do you not add ‘justly and not unjustly’?

MENO: Yes, Socrates; I agree there; for justice is virtue.

SOCRATES: Would you say ‘virtue,’ Meno, or ‘a virtue’?

MENO: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean as I might say about anything; that a round, for example, is ‘a figure’ and not simply ‘figure,’ and I should adopt this mode of speaking, because there are other figures.

MENO: Quite right; and that is just what I am saying about virtue — that there are other virtues as well as justice.

SOCRATES: What are they? tell me the names of them, as I would tell you the names of the other figures if you asked me.

MENO: Courage and temperance and wisdom and magnanimity are virtues; and there are many others.

SOCRATES: Yes, Meno; and again we are in the same case: in searching after one virtue we have found many, though not in the same way as before; but we have been unable to find the common virtue which runs through them all.

MENO: Why, Socrates, even now I am not able to follow you in the attempt to get at one common notion of virtue as of other things.

SOCRATES: No wonder; but I will try to get nearer if I can, for you know that all things have a common notion. Suppose now that some one asked you the question which I asked before: Meno, he would say, what is figure? And if you answered ‘roundness,’ he would reply to you, in my way of speaking, by asking whether you would say that roundness is ‘figure’ or ‘a figure;’ and you would answer ‘a figure.’

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And for this reason — that there are other figures?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if he proceeded to ask, What other figures are there? you would have told him.

MENO: I should.

SOCRATES: And if he similarly asked what colour is, and you answered whiteness, and the questioner rejoined, Would you say that whiteness is colour or a colour? you would reply, A colour, because there are other colours as well.

MENO: I should.

SOCRATES: And if he had said, Tell me what they are? — you would have told him of other colours which are colours just as much as whiteness.

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And suppose that he were to pursue the matter in my way, he would say: Ever and anon we are landed in particulars, but this is not what I want; tell me then, since you call them by a common name, and say that they are all figures, even when opposed to one another, what is that common nature which you designate as figure — which contains straight as well as round, and is no more one than the other — that would be your mode of speaking?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And in speaking thus, you do not mean to say that the round is round any more than straight, or the straight any more straight than round?

MENO: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: You only assert that the round figure is not more a figure than the straight, or the straight than the round?

MENO: Very true.

SOCRATES: To what then do we give the name of figure? Try and answer. Suppose that when a person asked you this question either about figure or colour, you were to reply, Man, I do not understand what you want, or know what you are saying; he would look rather astonished and say: Do you not understand that I am looking for the ‘simile in multis’? And then he might put the question in another form: Meno, he might say, what is that ‘simile in multis’ which you call figure, and which includes not only round and straight figures, but all? Could you not answer that question, Meno? I wish that you would try; the attempt will be good practice with a view to the answer about virtue.

MENO: I would rather that you should answer, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Shall I indulge you?

MENO: By all means.

SOCRATES: And then you will tell me about virtue?

MENO: I will.

SOCRATES: Then I must do my best, for there is a prize to be won.

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Well, I will try and explain to you what figure is. What do you say to this answer? — Figure is the only thing which always follows colour. Will you be satisfied with it, as I am sure that I should be, if you would let me have a similar definition of virtue?

MENO: But, Socrates, it is such a simple answer.

SOCRATES: Why simple?

MENO: Because, according to you, figure is that which always follows colour.

(SOCRATES: Granted.)

MENO: But if a person were to say that he does not know what colour is, any more than what figure is — what sort of answer would you have given him?

SOCRATES: I should have told him the truth. And if he were a philosopher of the eristic and antagonistic sort, I should say to him: You have my answer, and if I am wrong, your business is to take up the argument and refute me. But if we were friends, and were talking as you and I are now, I should reply in a milder strain and more in the dialectician’s vein; that is to say, I should not only speak the truth, but I should make use of premises which the person interrogated would be willing to admit. And this is the way in which I shall endeavour to approach you. You will acknowledge, will you not, that there is such a thing as an end, or termination, or extremity? — all which words I use in the same sense, although I am aware that Prodicus might draw distinctions about them: but still you, I am sure, would speak of a thing as ended or terminated — that is all which I am saying — not anything very difficult.

MENO: Yes, I should; and I believe that I understand your meaning.

SOCRATES: And you would speak of a surface and also of a solid, as for example in geometry.

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well then, you are now in a condition to understand my definition of figure. I define figure to be that in which the solid ends; or, more concisely, the limit of solid.

MENO: And now, Socrates, what is colour?

SOCRATES: You are outrageous, Meno, in thus plaguing a poor old man to give you an answer, when you will not take the trouble of remembering what is Gorgias’ definition of virtue.

MENO: When you have told me what I ask, I will tell you, Socrates.

SOCRATES: A man who was blindfolded has only to hear you talking, and he would know that you are a fair creature and have still many lovers.

MENO: Why do you think so?

SOCRATES: Why, because you always speak in imperatives: like all beauties when they are in their prime, you are tyrannical; and also, as I suspect, you have found out that I have weakness for the fair, and therefore to humour you I must answer.

MENO: Please do.

SOCRATES: Would you like me to answer you after the manner of Gorgias, which is familiar to you?

MENO: I should like nothing better.

SOCRATES: Do not he and you and Empedocles say that there are certain effluences of existence?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And passages into which and through which the effluences pass?

MENO: Exactly.

SOCRATES: And some of the effluences fit into the passages, and some of them are too small or too large?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And there is such a thing as sight?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And now, as Pindar says, ‘read my meaning:’ — colour is an effluence of form, commensurate with sight, and palpable to sense.

MENO: That, Socrates, appears to me to be an admirable answer.

SOCRATES: Why, yes, because it happens to be one which you have been in the habit of hearing: and your wit will have discovered, I suspect, that you may explain in the same way the nature of sound and smell, and of many other similar phenomena.

MENO: Quite true.

SOCRATES: The answer, Meno, was in the orthodox solemn vein, and therefore was more acceptable to you than the other answer about figure.

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And yet, O son of Alexidemus, I cannot help thinking that the other was the better; and I am sure that you would be of the same opinion, if you would only stay and be initiated, and were not compelled, as you said yesterday, to go away before the mysteries.

MENO: But I will stay, Socrates, if you will give me many such answers.

SOCRATES: Well then, for my own sake as well as for yours, I will do my very best; but I am afraid that I shall not be able to give you very many as good: and now, in your turn, you are to fulfil your promise, and tell me what virtue is in the universal; and do not make a singular into a plural, as the facetious say of those who break a thing, but deliver virtue to me whole and sound, and not broken into a number of pieces: I have given you the pattern.

MENO: Well then, Socrates, virtue, as I take it, is when he, who desires the honourable, is able to provide it for himself; so the poet says, and I say too —

‘Virtue is the desire of things honourable and the power of attaining them.’

SOCRATES: And does he who desires the honourable also desire the good?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then are there some who desire the evil and others who desire the good? Do not all men, my dear sir, desire good?

MENO: I think not.

SOCRATES: There are some who desire evil?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Do you mean that they think the evils which they desire, to be good; or do they know that they are evil and yet desire them?

MENO: Both, I think.

SOCRATES: And do you really imagine, Meno, that a man knows evils to be evils and desires them notwithstanding?

MENO: Certainly I do.

SOCRATES: And desire is of possession?

MENO: Yes, of possession.

SOCRATES: And does he think that the evils will do good to him who possesses them, or does he know that they will do him harm?

MENO: There are some who think that the evils will do them good, and others who know that they will do them harm.

SOCRATES: And, in your opinion, do those who think that they will do them good know that they are evils?

MENO: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Is it not obvious that those who are ignorant of their nature do not desire them; but they desire what they suppose to be goods although they are really evils; and if they are mistaken and suppose the evils to be goods they really desire goods?

MENO: Yes, in that case.

SOCRATES: Well, and do those who, as you say, desire evils, and think that evils are hurtful to the possessor of them, know that they will be hurt by them?

MENO: They must know it.

SOCRATES: And must they not suppose that those who are hurt are miserable in proportion to the hurt which is inflicted upon them?

MENO: How can it be otherwise?

SOCRATES: But are not the miserable ill-fated?

MENO: Yes, indeed.

SOCRATES: And does any one desire to be miserable and ill-fated?

MENO: I should say not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But if there is no one who desires to be miserable, there is no one, Meno, who desires evil; for what is misery but the desire and possession of evil?

MENO: That appears to be the truth, Socrates, and I admit that nobody desires evil.

SOCRATES: And yet, were you not saying just now that virtue is the desire and power of attaining good?

MENO: Yes, I did say so.

SOCRATES: But if this be affirmed, then the desire of good is common to all, and one man is no better than another in that respect?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And if one man is not better than another in desiring good, he must be better in the power of attaining it?

MENO: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Then, according to your definition, virtue would appear to be the power of attaining good?

MENO: I entirely approve, Socrates, of the manner in which you now view this matter.

SOCRATES: Then let us see whether what you say is true from another point of view; for very likely you may be right: — You affirm virtue to be the power of attaining goods?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the goods which you mean are such as health and wealth and the possession of gold and silver, and having office and honour in the state — those are what you would call goods?

MENO: Yes, I should include all those.

SOCRATES: Then, according to Meno, who is the hereditary friend of the great king, virtue is the power of getting silver and gold; and would you add that they must be gained piously, justly, or do you deem this to be of no consequence? And is any mode of acquisition, even if unjust and dishonest, equally to be deemed virtue?

MENO: Not virtue, Socrates, but vice.

SOCRATES: Then justice or temperance or holiness, or some other part of virtue, as would appear, must accompany the acquisition, and without them the mere acquisition of good will not be virtue.

MENO: Why, how can there be virtue without these?

SOCRATES: And the non-acquisition of gold and silver in a dishonest manner for oneself or another, or in other words the want of them, may be equally virtue?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: Then the acquisition of such goods is no more virtue than the non-acquisition and want of them, but whatever is accompanied by justice or honesty is virtue, and whatever is devoid of justice is vice.

MENO: It cannot be otherwise, in my judgment.

SOCRATES: And were we not saying just now that justice, temperance, and the like, were each of them a part of virtue?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And so, Meno, this is the way in which you mock me.

MENO: Why do you say that, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Why, because I asked you to deliver virtue into my hands whole and unbroken, and I gave you a pattern according to which you were to frame your answer; and you have forgotten already, and tell me that virtue is the power of attaining good justly, or with justice; and justice you acknowledge to be a part of virtue.

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then it follows from your own admissions, that virtue is doing what you do with a part of virtue; for justice and the like are said by you to be parts of virtue.

MENO: What of that?

SOCRATES: What of that! Why, did not I ask you to tell me the nature of virtue as a whole? And you are very far from telling me this; but declare every action to be virtue which is done with a part of virtue; as though you had told me and I must already know the whole of virtue, and this too when frittered away into little pieces. And, therefore, my dear Meno, I fear that I must begin again and repeat the same question: What is virtue? for otherwise, I can only say, that every action done with a part of virtue is virtue; what else is the meaning of saying that every action done with justice is virtue? Ought I not to ask the question over again; for can any one who does not know virtue know a part of virtue?

MENO: No; I do not say that he can.

SOCRATES: Do you remember how, in the example of figure, we rejected any answer given in terms which were as yet unexplained or unadmitted?

MENO: Yes, Socrates; and we were quite right in doing so.

SOCRATES: But then, my friend, do not suppose that we can explain to any one the nature of virtue as a whole through some unexplained portion of virtue, or anything at all in that fashion; we should only have to ask over again the old question, What is virtue? Am I not right?

MENO: I believe that you are.

SOCRATES: Then begin again, and answer me, What, according to you and your friend Gorgias, is the definition of virtue?

MENO: O Socrates, I used to be told, before I knew you, that you were always doubting yourself and making others doubt; and now you are casting your spells over me, and I am simply getting bewitched and enchanted, and am at my wits’ end. And if I may venture to make a jest upon you, you seem to me both in your appearance and in your power over others to be very like the flat torpedo fish, who torpifies those who come near him and touch him, as you have now torpified me, I think. For my soul and my tongue are really torpid, and I do not know how to answer you; and though I have been delivered of an infinite variety of speeches about virtue before now, and to many persons — and very good ones they were, as I thought — at this moment I cannot even say what virtue is. And I think that you are very wise in not voyaging and going away from home, for if you did in other places as you do in Athens, you would be cast into prison as a magician.

SOCRATES: You are a rogue, Meno, and had all but caught me.

MENO: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I can tell why you made a simile about me.

MENO: Why?

SOCRATES: In order that I might make another simile about you. For I know that all pretty young gentlemen like to have pretty similes made about them — as well they may — but I shall not return the compliment. As to my being a torpedo, if the torpedo is torpid as well as the cause of torpidity in others, then indeed I am a torpedo, but not otherwise; for I perplex others, not because I am clear, but because I am utterly perplexed myself. And now I know not what virtue is, and you seem to be in the same case, although you did once perhaps know before you touched me. However, I have no objection to join with you in the enquiry.

MENO: And how will you enquire, Socrates, into that which you do not know? What will you put forth as the subject of enquiry? And if you find what you want, how will you ever know that this is the thing which you did not know?

SOCRATES: I know, Meno, what you mean; but just see what a tiresome dispute you are introducing. You argue that a man cannot enquire either about that which he knows, or about that which he does not know; for if he knows, he has no need to enquire; and if not, he cannot; for he does not know the very subject about which he is to enquire (Compare Aristot. Post. Anal.).

MENO: Well, Socrates, and is not the argument sound?

SOCRATES: I think not.

MENO: Why not?

SOCRATES: I will tell you why: I have heard from certain wise men and women who spoke of things divine that —

MENO: What did they say?

SOCRATES: They spoke of a glorious truth, as I conceive.

MENO: What was it? and who were they?

SOCRATES: Some of them were priests and priestesses, who had studied how they might be able to give a reason of their profession: there have been poets also, who spoke of these things by inspiration, like Pindar, and many others who were inspired. And they say — mark, now, and see whether their words are true — they say that the soul of man is immortal, and at one time has an end, which is termed dying, and at another time is born again, but is never destroyed. And the moral is, that a man ought to live always in perfect holiness. ‘For in the ninth year Persephone sends the souls of those from whom she has received the penalty of ancient crime back again from beneath into the light of the sun above, and these are they who become noble kings and mighty men and great in wisdom and are called saintly heroes in after ages.’ The soul, then, as being immortal, and having been born again many times, and having seen all things that exist, whether in this world or in the world below, has knowledge of them all; and it is no wonder that she should be able to call to remembrance all that she ever knew about virtue, and about everything; for as all nature is akin, and the soul has learned all things; there is no difficulty in her eliciting or as men say learning, out of a single recollection all the rest, if a man is strenuous and does not faint; for all enquiry and all learning is but recollection. And therefore we ought not to listen to this sophistical argument about the impossibility of enquiry: for it will make us idle; and is sweet only to the sluggard; but the other saying will make us active and inquisitive. In that confiding, I will gladly enquire with you into the nature of virtue.

MENO: Yes, Socrates; but what do you mean by saying that we do not learn, and that what we call learning is only a process of recollection? Can you teach me how this is?

SOCRATES: I told you, Meno, just now that you were a rogue, and now you ask whether I can teach you, when I am saying that there is no teaching, but only recollection; and thus you imagine that you will involve me in a contradiction.

MENO: Indeed, Socrates, I protest that I had no such intention. I only asked the question from habit; but if you can prove to me that what you say is true, I wish that you would.

SOCRATES: It will be no easy matter, but I will try to please you to the utmost of my power. Suppose that you call one of your numerous attendants, that I may demonstrate on him.

MENO: Certainly. Come hither, boy.

SOCRATES: He is Greek, and speaks Greek, does he not?

MENO: Yes, indeed; he was born in the house.

SOCRATES: Attend now to the questions which I ask him, and observe whether he learns of me or only remembers.

MENO: I will.

SOCRATES: Tell me, boy, do you know that a figure like this is a square?

BOY: I do.

SOCRATES: And you know that a square figure has these four lines equal?

BOY: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And these lines which I have drawn through the middle of the square are also equal?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: A square may be of any size?

BOY: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And if one side of the figure be of two feet, and the other side be of two feet, how much will the whole be? Let me explain: if in one direction the space was of two feet, and in the other direction of one foot, the whole would be of two feet taken once?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: But since this side is also of two feet, there are twice two feet?

BOY: There are.

SOCRATES: Then the square is of twice two feet?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And how many are twice two feet? count and tell me.

BOY: Four, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And might there not be another square twice as large as this, and having like this the lines equal?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And of how many feet will that be?

BOY: Of eight feet.

SOCRATES: And now try and tell me the length of the line which forms the side of that double square: this is two feet — what will that be?

BOY: Clearly, Socrates, it will be double.

SOCRATES: Do you observe, Meno, that I am not teaching the boy anything, but only asking him questions; and now he fancies that he knows how long a line is necessary in order to produce a figure of eight square feet; does he not?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And does he really know?

MENO: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: He only guesses that because the square is double, the line is double.

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: Observe him while he recalls the steps in regular order. (To the Boy:) Tell me, boy, do you assert that a double space comes from a double line? Remember that I am not speaking of an oblong, but of a figure equal every way, and twice the size of this — that is to say of eight feet; and I want to know whether you still say that a double square comes from double line?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: But does not this line become doubled if we add another such line here?

BOY: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And four such lines will make a space containing eight feet?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: Let us describe such a figure: Would you not say that this is the figure of eight feet?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And are there not these four divisions in the figure, each of which is equal to the figure of four feet?

BOY: True.

SOCRATES: And is not that four times four?

BOY: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And four times is not double?

BOY: No, indeed.

SOCRATES: But how much?

BOY: Four times as much.

SOCRATES: Therefore the double line, boy, has given a space, not twice, but four times as much.

BOY: True.

SOCRATES: Four times four are sixteen — are they not?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: What line would give you a space of eight feet, as this gives one of sixteen feet; — do you see?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the space of four feet is made from this half line?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: Good; and is not a space of eight feet twice the size of this, and half the size of the other?

BOY: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Such a space, then, will be made out of a line greater than this one, and less than that one?

BOY: Yes; I think so.

SOCRATES: Very good; I like to hear you say what you think. And now tell me, is not this a line of two feet and that of four?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then the line which forms the side of eight feet ought to be more than this line of two feet, and less than the other of four feet?

BOY: It ought.

SOCRATES: Try and see if you can tell me how much it will be.

BOY: Three feet.

SOCRATES: Then if we add a half to this line of two, that will be the line of three. Here are two and there is one; and on the other side, here are two also and there is one: and that makes the figure of which you speak?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: But if there are three feet this way and three feet that way, the whole space will be three times three feet?

BOY: That is evident.

SOCRATES: And how much are three times three feet?

BOY: Nine.

SOCRATES: And how much is the double of four?

BOY: Eight.

SOCRATES: Then the figure of eight is not made out of a line of three?

BOY: No.

SOCRATES: But from what line? — tell me exactly; and if you would rather not reckon, try and show me the line.

BOY: Indeed, Socrates, I do not know.

SOCRATES: Do you see, Meno, what advances he has made in his power of recollection? He did not know at first, and he does not know now, what is the side of a figure of eight feet: but then he thought that he knew, and answered confidently as if he knew, and had no difficulty; now he has a difficulty, and neither knows nor fancies that he knows.

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: Is he not better off in knowing his ignorance?

MENO: I think that he is.

SOCRATES: If we have made him doubt, and given him the ‘torpedo’s shock,’ have we done him any harm?

MENO: I think not.

SOCRATES: We have certainly, as would seem, assisted him in some degree to the discovery of the truth; and now he will wish to remedy his ignorance, but then he would have been ready to tell all the world again and again that the double space should have a double side.

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: But do you suppose that he would ever have enquired into or learned what he fancied that he knew, though he was really ignorant of it, until he had fallen into perplexity under the idea that he did not know, and had desired to know?

MENO: I think not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then he was the better for the torpedo’s touch?

MENO: I think so.

SOCRATES: Mark now the farther development. I shall only ask him, and not teach him, and he shall share the enquiry with me: and do you watch and see if you find me telling or explaining anything to him, instead of eliciting his opinion. Tell me, boy, is not this a square of four feet which I have drawn?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And now I add another square equal to the former one?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And a third, which is equal to either of them?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: Suppose that we fill up the vacant corner?

BOY: Very good.

SOCRATES: Here, then, there are four equal spaces?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And how many times larger is this space than this other?

BOY: Four times.

SOCRATES: But it ought to have been twice only, as you will remember.

BOY: True.

SOCRATES: And does not this line, reaching from corner to corner, bisect each of these spaces?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And are there not here four equal lines which contain this space?

BOY: There are.

SOCRATES: Look and see how much this space is.

BOY: I do not understand.

SOCRATES: Has not each interior line cut off half of the four spaces?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And how many spaces are there in this section?

BOY: Four.

SOCRATES: And how many in this?

BOY: Two.

SOCRATES: And four is how many times two?

BOY: Twice.

SOCRATES: And this space is of how many feet?

BOY: Of eight feet.

SOCRATES: And from what line do you get this figure?

BOY: From this.

SOCRATES: That is, from the line which extends from corner to corner of the figure of four feet?

BOY: Yes.

SOCRATES: And that is the line which the learned call the diagonal. And if this is the proper name, then you, Meno’s slave, are prepared to affirm that the double space is the square of the diagonal?

BOY: Certainly, Socrates.

SOCRATES: What do you say of him, Meno? Were not all these answers given out of his own head?

MENO: Yes, they were all his own.

SOCRATES: And yet, as we were just now saying, he did not know?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: But still he had in him those notions of his — had he not?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then he who does not know may still have true notions of that which he does not know?

MENO: He has.

SOCRATES: And at present these notions have just been stirred up in him, as in a dream; but if he were frequently asked the same questions, in different forms, he would know as well as any one at last?

MENO: I dare say.

SOCRATES: Without any one teaching him he will recover his knowledge for himself, if he is only asked questions?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And this spontaneous recovery of knowledge in him is recollection?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And this knowledge which he now has must he not either have acquired or always possessed?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: But if he always possessed this knowledge he would always have known; or if he has acquired the knowledge he could not have acquired it in this life, unless he has been taught geometry; for he may be made to do the same with all geometry and every other branch of knowledge. Now, has any one ever taught him all this? You must know about him, if, as you say, he was born and bred in your house.

MENO: And I am certain that no one ever did teach him.

SOCRATES: And yet he has the knowledge?

MENO: The fact, Socrates, is undeniable.

SOCRATES: But if he did not acquire the knowledge in this life, then he must have had and learned it at some other time?

MENO: Clearly he must.

SOCRATES: Which must have been the time when he was not a man?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if there have been always true thoughts in him, both at the time when he was and was not a man, which only need to be awakened into knowledge by putting questions to him, his soul must have always possessed this knowledge, for he always either was or was not a man?

MENO: Obviously.

SOCRATES: And if the truth of all things always existed in the soul, then the soul is immortal. Wherefore be of good cheer, and try to recollect what you do not know, or rather what you do not remember.

MENO: I feel, somehow, that I like what you are saying.

SOCRATES: And I, Meno, like what I am saying. Some things I have said of which I am not altogether confident. But that we shall be better and braver and less helpless if we think that we ought to enquire, than we should have been if we indulged in the idle fancy that there was no knowing and no use in seeking to know what we do not know; — that is a theme upon which I am ready to fight, in word and deed, to the utmost of my power.

MENO: There again, Socrates, your words seem to me excellent.

SOCRATES: Then, as we are agreed that a man should enquire about that which he does not know, shall you and I make an effort to enquire together into the nature of virtue?

MENO: By all means, Socrates. And yet I would much rather return to my original question, Whether in seeking to acquire virtue we should regard it as a thing to be taught, or as a gift of nature, or as coming to men in some other way?

SOCRATES: Had I the command of you as well as of myself, Meno, I would not have enquired whether virtue is given by instruction or not, until we had first ascertained ‘what it is.’ But as you think only of controlling me who am your slave, and never of controlling yourself, — such being your notion of freedom, I must yield to you, for you are irresistible. And therefore I have now to enquire into the qualities of a thing of which I do not as yet know the nature. At any rate, will you condescend a little, and allow the question ‘Whether virtue is given by instruction, or in any other way,’ to be argued upon hypothesis? As the geometrician, when he is asked whether a certain triangle is capable being inscribed in a certain circle (Or, whether a certain area is capable of being inscribed as a triangle in a certain circle.), will reply: ‘I cannot tell you as yet; but I will offer a hypothesis which may assist us in forming a conclusion: If the figure be such that when you have produced a given side of it (Or, when you apply it to the given line, i.e. the diameter of the circle (autou).), the given area of the triangle falls short by an area corresponding to the part produced (Or, similar to the area so applied.), then one consequence follows, and if this is impossible then some other; and therefore I wish to assume a hypothesis before I tell you whether this triangle is capable of being inscribed in the circle’: — that is a geometrical hypothesis. And we too, as we know not the nature and qualities of virtue, must ask, whether virtue is or is not taught, under a hypothesis: as thus, if virtue is of such a class of mental goods, will it be taught or not? Let the first hypothesis be that virtue is or is not knowledge, — in that case will it be taught or not? or, as we were just now saying, ‘remembered’? For there is no use in disputing about the name. But is virtue taught or not? or rather, does not every one see that knowledge alone is taught?

MENO: I agree.

SOCRATES: Then if virtue is knowledge, virtue will be taught?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then now we have made a quick end of this question: if virtue is of such a nature, it will be taught; and if not, not?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The next question is, whether virtue is knowledge or of another species?

MENO: Yes, that appears to be the question which comes next in order.

SOCRATES: Do we not say that virtue is a good? — This is a hypothesis which is not set aside.

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Now, if there be any sort of good which is distinct from knowledge, virtue may be that good; but if knowledge embraces all good, then we shall be right in thinking that virtue is knowledge?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And virtue makes us good?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if we are good, then we are profitable; for all good things are profitable?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then virtue is profitable?

MENO: That is the only inference.

SOCRATES: Then now let us see what are the things which severally profit us. Health and strength, and beauty and wealth — these, and the like of these, we call profitable?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And yet these things may also sometimes do us harm: would you not think so?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And what is the guiding principle which makes them profitable or the reverse? Are they not profitable when they are rightly used, and hurtful when they are not rightly used?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Next, let us consider the goods of the soul: they are temperance, justice, courage, quickness of apprehension, memory, magnanimity, and the like?

MENO: Surely.

SOCRATES: And such of these as are not knowledge, but of another sort, are sometimes profitable and sometimes hurtful; as, for example, courage wanting prudence, which is only a sort of confidence? When a man has no sense he is harmed by courage, but when he has sense he is profited?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And the same may be said of temperance and quickness of apprehension; whatever things are learned or done with sense are profitable, but when done without sense they are hurtful?

MENO: Very true.

SOCRATES: And in general, all that the soul attempts or endures, when under the guidance of wisdom, ends in happiness; but when she is under the guidance of folly, in the opposite?

MENO: That appears to be true.

SOCRATES: If then virtue is a quality of the soul, and is admitted to be profitable, it must be wisdom or prudence, since none of the things of the soul are either profitable or hurtful in themselves, but they are all made profitable or hurtful by the addition of wisdom or of folly; and therefore if virtue is profitable, virtue must be a sort of wisdom or prudence?

MENO: I quite agree.

SOCRATES: And the other goods, such as wealth and the like, of which we were just now saying that they are sometimes good and sometimes evil, do not they also become profitable or hurtful, accordingly as the soul guides and uses them rightly or wrongly; just as the things of the soul herself are benefited when under the guidance of wisdom and harmed by folly?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And the wise soul guides them rightly, and the foolish soul wrongly.

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is not this universally true of human nature? All other things hang upon the soul, and the things of the soul herself hang upon wisdom, if they are to be good; and so wisdom is inferred to be that which profits — and virtue, as we say, is profitable?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And thus we arrive at the conclusion that virtue is either wholly or partly wisdom?

MENO: I think that what you are saying, Socrates, is very true.

SOCRATES: But if this is true, then the good are not by nature good?

MENO: I think not.

SOCRATES: If they had been, there would assuredly have been discerners of characters among us who would have known our future great men; and on their showing we should have adopted them, and when we had got them, we should have kept them in the citadel out of the way of harm, and set a stamp upon them far rather than upon a piece of gold, in order that no one might tamper with them; and when they grew up they would have been useful to the state?

MENO: Yes, Socrates, that would have been the right way.

SOCRATES: But if the good are not by nature good, are they made good by instruction?

MENO: There appears to be no other alternative, Socrates. On the supposition that virtue is knowledge, there can be no doubt that virtue is taught.

SOCRATES: Yes, indeed; but what if the supposition is erroneous?

MENO: I certainly thought just now that we were right.

SOCRATES: Yes, Meno; but a principle which has any soundness should stand firm not only just now, but always.

MENO: Well; and why are you so slow of heart to believe that knowledge is virtue?

SOCRATES: I will try and tell you why, Meno. I do not retract the assertion that if virtue is knowledge it may be taught; but I fear that I have some reason in doubting whether virtue is knowledge: for consider now and say whether virtue, and not only virtue but anything that is taught, must not have teachers and disciples?

MENO: Surely.

SOCRATES: And conversely, may not the art of which neither teachers nor disciples exist be assumed to be incapable of being taught?

MENO: True; but do you think that there are no teachers of virtue?

SOCRATES: I have certainly often enquired whether there were any, and taken great pains to find them, and have never succeeded; and many have assisted me in the search, and they were the persons whom I thought the most likely to know. Here at the moment when he is wanted we fortunately have sitting by us Anytus, the very person of whom we should make enquiry; to him then let us repair. In the first place, he is the son of a wealthy and wise father, Anthemion, who acquired his wealth, not by accident or gift, like Ismenias the Theban (who has recently made himself as rich as Polycrates), but by his own skill and industry, and who is a well-conditioned, modest man, not insolent, or overbearing, or annoying; moreover, this son of his has received a good education, as the Athenian people certainly appear to think, for they choose him to fill the highest offices. And these are the sort of men from whom you are likely to learn whether there are any teachers of virtue, and who they are. Please, Anytus, to help me and your friend Meno in answering our question, Who are the teachers? Consider the matter thus: If we wanted Meno to be a good physician, to whom should we send him? Should we not send him to the physicians?

ANYTUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Or if we wanted him to be a good cobbler, should we not send him to the cobblers?

ANYTUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And so forth?

ANYTUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Let me trouble you with one more question. When we say that we should be right in sending him to the physicians if we wanted him to be a physician, do we mean that we should be right in sending him to those who profess the art, rather than to those who do not, and to those who demand payment for teaching the art, and profess to teach it to any one who will come and learn? And if these were our reasons, should we not be right in sending him?

ANYTUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And might not the same be said of flute-playing, and of the other arts? Would a man who wanted to make another a flute-player refuse to send him to those who profess to teach the art for money, and be plaguing other persons to give him instruction, who are not professed teachers and who never had a single disciple in that branch of knowledge which he wishes him to acquire — would not such conduct be the height of folly?

ANYTUS: Yes, by Zeus, and of ignorance too.

SOCRATES: Very good. And now you are in a position to advise with me about my friend Meno. He has been telling me, Anytus, that he desires to attain that kind of wisdom and virtue by which men order the state or the house, and honour their parents, and know when to receive and when to send away citizens and strangers, as a good man should. Now, to whom should he go in order that he may learn this virtue? Does not the previous argument imply clearly that we should send him to those who profess and avouch that they are the common teachers of all Hellas, and are ready to impart instruction to any one who likes, at a fixed price?

ANYTUS: Whom do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: You surely know, do you not, Anytus, that these are the people whom mankind call Sophists?

ANYTUS: By Heracles, Socrates, forbear! I only hope that no friend or kinsman or acquaintance of mine, whether citizen or stranger, will ever be so mad as to allow himself to be corrupted by them; for they are a manifest pest and corrupting influence to those who have to do with them.

SOCRATES: What, Anytus? Of all the people who profess that they know how to do men good, do you mean to say that these are the only ones who not only do them no good, but positively corrupt those who are entrusted to them, and in return for this disservice have the face to demand money? Indeed, I cannot believe you; for I know of a single man, Protagoras, who made more out of his craft than the illustrious Pheidias, who created such noble works, or any ten other statuaries. How could that be? A mender of old shoes, or patcher up of clothes, who made the shoes or clothes worse than he received them, could not have remained thirty days undetected, and would very soon have starved; whereas during more than forty years, Protagoras was corrupting all Hellas, and sending his disciples from him worse than he received them, and he was never found out. For, if I am not mistaken, he was about seventy years old at his death, forty of which were spent in the practice of his profession; and during all that time he had a good reputation, which to this day he retains: and not only Protagoras, but many others are well spoken of; some who lived before him, and others who are still living. Now, when you say that they deceived and corrupted the youth, are they to be supposed to have corrupted them consciously or unconsciously? Can those who were deemed by many to be the wisest men of Hellas have been out of their minds?

ANYTUS: Out of their minds! No, Socrates; the young men who gave their money to them were out of their minds, and their relations and guardians who entrusted their youth to the care of these men were still more out of their minds, and most of all, the cities who allowed them to come in, and did not drive them out, citizen and stranger alike.

SOCRATES: Has any of the Sophists wronged you, Anytus? What makes you so angry with them?

ANYTUS: No, indeed, neither I nor any of my belongings has ever had, nor would I suffer them to have, anything to do with them.

SOCRATES: Then you are entirely unacquainted with them?

ANYTUS: And I have no wish to be acquainted.

SOCRATES: Then, my dear friend, how can you know whether a thing is good or bad of which you are wholly ignorant?

ANYTUS: Quite well; I am sure that I know what manner of men these are, whether I am acquainted with them or not.

SOCRATES: You must be a diviner, Anytus, for I really cannot make out, judging from your own words, how, if you are not acquainted with them, you know about them. But I am not enquiring of you who are the teachers who will corrupt Meno (let them be, if you please, the Sophists); I only ask you to tell him who there is in this great city who will teach him how to become eminent in the virtues which I was just now describing. He is the friend of your family, and you will oblige him.

ANYTUS: Why do you not tell him yourself?

SOCRATES: I have told him whom I supposed to be the teachers of these things; but I learn from you that I am utterly at fault, and I dare say that you are right. And now I wish that you, on your part, would tell me to whom among the Athenians he should go. Whom would you name?

ANYTUS: Why single out individuals? Any Athenian gentleman, taken at random, if he will mind him, will do far more good to him than the Sophists.

SOCRATES: And did those gentlemen grow of themselves; and without having been taught by any one, were they nevertheless able to teach others that which they had never learned themselves?

ANYTUS: I imagine that they learned of the previous generation of gentlemen. Have there not been many good men in this city?

SOCRATES: Yes, certainly, Anytus; and many good statesmen also there always have been and there are still, in the city of Athens. But the question is whether they were also good teachers of their own virtue; — not whether there are, or have been, good men in this part of the world, but whether virtue can be taught, is the question which we have been discussing. Now, do we mean to say that the good men of our own and of other times knew how to impart to others that virtue which they had themselves; or is virtue a thing incapable of being communicated or imparted by one man to another? That is the question which I and Meno have been arguing. Look at the matter in your own way: Would you not admit that Themistocles was a good man?

ANYTUS: Certainly; no man better.

SOCRATES: And must not he then have been a good teacher, if any man ever was a good teacher, of his own virtue?

ANYTUS: Yes certainly, — if he wanted to be so.

SOCRATES: But would he not have wanted? He would, at any rate, have desired to make his own son a good man and a gentleman; he could not have been jealous of him, or have intentionally abstained from imparting to him his own virtue. Did you never hear that he made his son Cleophantus a famous horseman; and had him taught to stand upright on horseback and hurl a javelin, and to do many other marvellous things; and in anything which could be learned from a master he was well trained? Have you not heard from our elders of him?

ANYTUS: I have.

SOCRATES: Then no one could say that his son showed any want of capacity?

ANYTUS: Very likely not.

SOCRATES: But did any one, old or young, ever say in your hearing that Cleophantus, son of Themistocles, was a wise or good man, as his father was?

ANYTUS: I have certainly never heard any one say so.

SOCRATES: And if virtue could have been taught, would his father Themistocles have sought to train him in these minor accomplishments, and allowed him who, as you must remember, was his own son, to be no better than his neighbours in those qualities in which he himself excelled?

ANYTUS: Indeed, indeed, I think not.

SOCRATES: Here was a teacher of virtue whom you admit to be among the best men of the past. Let us take another, — Aristides, the son of Lysimachus: would you not acknowledge that he was a good man?

ANYTUS: To be sure I should.

SOCRATES: And did not he train his son Lysimachus better than any other Athenian in all that could be done for him by the help of masters? But what has been the result? Is he a bit better than any other mortal? He is an acquaintance of yours, and you see what he is like. There is Pericles, again, magnificent in his wisdom; and he, as you are aware, had two sons, Paralus and Xanthippus.

ANYTUS: I know.

SOCRATES: And you know, also, that he taught them to be unrivalled horsemen, and had them trained in music and gymnastics and all sorts of arts — in these respects they were on a level with the best — and had he no wish to make good men of them? Nay, he must have wished it. But virtue, as I suspect, could not be taught. And that you may not suppose the incompetent teachers to be only the meaner sort of Athenians and few in number, remember again that Thucydides had two sons, Melesias and Stephanus, whom, besides giving them a good education in other things, he trained in wrestling, and they were the best wrestlers in Athens: one of them he committed to the care of Xanthias, and the other of Eudorus, who had the reputation of being the most celebrated wrestlers of that day. Do you remember them?

ANYTUS: I have heard of them.

SOCRATES: Now, can there be a doubt that Thucydides, whose children were taught things for which he had to spend money, would have taught them to be good men, which would have cost him nothing, if virtue could have been taught? Will you reply that he was a mean man, and had not many friends among the Athenians and allies? Nay, but he was of a great family, and a man of influence at Athens and in all Hellas, and, if virtue could have been taught, he would have found out some Athenian or foreigner who would have made good men of his sons, if he could not himself spare the time from cares of state. Once more, I suspect, friend Anytus, that virtue is not a thing which can be taught?

ANYTUS: Socrates, I think that you are too ready to speak evil of men: and, if you will take my advice, I would recommend you to be careful. Perhaps there is no city in which it is not easier to do men harm than to do them good, and this is certainly the case at Athens, as I believe that you know.

SOCRATES: O Meno, think that Anytus is in a rage. And he may well be in a rage, for he thinks, in the first place, that I am defaming these gentlemen; and in the second place, he is of opinion that he is one of them himself. But some day he will know what is the meaning of defamation, and if he ever does, he will forgive me. Meanwhile I will return to you, Meno; for I suppose that there are gentlemen in your region too?

MENO: Certainly there are.

SOCRATES: And are they willing to teach the young? and do they profess to be teachers? and do they agree that virtue is taught?

MENO: No indeed, Socrates, they are anything but agreed; you may hear them saying at one time that virtue can be taught, and then again the reverse.

SOCRATES: Can we call those teachers who do not acknowledge the possibility of their own vocation?

MENO: I think not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And what do you think of these Sophists, who are the only professors? Do they seem to you to be teachers of virtue?

MENO: I often wonder, Socrates, that Gorgias is never heard promising to teach virtue: and when he hears others promising he only laughs at them; but he thinks that men should be taught to speak.

SOCRATES: Then do you not think that the Sophists are teachers?

MENO: I cannot tell you, Socrates; like the rest of the world, I am in doubt, and sometimes I think that they are teachers and sometimes not.

SOCRATES: And are you aware that not you only and other politicians have doubts whether virtue can be taught or not, but that Theognis the poet says the very same thing?

MENO: Where does he say so?

SOCRATES: In these elegiac verses (Theog.):

‘Eat and drink and sit with the mighty, and make yourself agreeable to them; for from the good you will learn what is good, but if you mix with the bad you will lose the intelligence which you already have.’

Do you observe that here he seems to imply that virtue can be taught?

MENO: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But in some other verses he shifts about and says (Theog.):

‘If understanding could be created and put into a man, then they’ (who were able to perform this feat) ‘would have obtained great rewards.’

And again: —

‘Never would a bad son have sprung from a good sire, for he would have heard the voice of instruction; but not by teaching will you ever make a bad man into a good one.’

And this, as you may remark, is a contradiction of the other.

MENO: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And is there anything else of which the professors are affirmed not only not to be teachers of others, but to be ignorant themselves, and bad at the knowledge of that which they are professing to teach? or is there anything about which even the acknowledged ‘gentlemen’ are sometimes saying that ‘this thing can be taught,’ and sometimes the opposite? Can you say that they are teachers in any true sense whose ideas are in such confusion?

MENO: I should say, certainly not.

SOCRATES: But if neither the Sophists nor the gentlemen are teachers, clearly there can be no other teachers?

MENO: No.

SOCRATES: And if there are no teachers, neither are there disciples?

MENO: Agreed.

SOCRATES: And we have admitted that a thing cannot be taught of which there are neither teachers nor disciples?

MENO: We have.

SOCRATES: And there are no teachers of virtue to be found anywhere?

MENO: There are not.

SOCRATES: And if there are no teachers, neither are there scholars?

MENO: That, I think, is true.

SOCRATES: Then virtue cannot be taught?

MENO: Not if we are right in our view. But I cannot believe, Socrates, that there are no good men: And if there are, how did they come into existence?

SOCRATES: I am afraid, Meno, that you and I are not good for much, and that Gorgias has been as poor an educator of you as Prodicus has been of me. Certainly we shall have to look to ourselves, and try to find some one who will help in some way or other to improve us. This I say, because I observe that in the previous discussion none of us remarked that right and good action is possible to man under other guidance than that of knowledge (episteme); — and indeed if this be denied, there is no seeing how there can be any good men at all.

MENO: How do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I mean that good men are necessarily useful or profitable. Were we not right in admitting this? It must be so.

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And in supposing that they will be useful only if they are true guides to us of action — there we were also right?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: But when we said that a man cannot be a good guide unless he have knowledge (phrhonesis), this we were wrong.

MENO: What do you mean by the word ‘right’?

SOCRATES: I will explain. If a man knew the way to Larisa, or anywhere else, and went to the place and led others thither, would he not be a right and good guide?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And a person who had a right opinion about the way, but had never been and did not know, might be a good guide also, might he not?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And while he has true opinion about that which the other knows, he will be just as good a guide if he thinks the truth, as he who knows the truth?

MENO: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Then true opinion is as good a guide to correct action as knowledge; and that was the point which we omitted in our speculation about the nature of virtue, when we said that knowledge only is the guide of right action; whereas there is also right opinion.

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: Then right opinion is not less useful than knowledge?

MENO: The difference, Socrates, is only that he who has knowledge will always be right; but he who has right opinion will sometimes be right, and sometimes not.

SOCRATES: What do you mean? Can he be wrong who has right opinion, so long as he has right opinion?

MENO: I admit the cogency of your argument, and therefore, Socrates, I wonder that knowledge should be preferred to right opinion — or why they should ever differ.

SOCRATES: And shall I explain this wonder to you?

MENO: Do tell me.

SOCRATES: You would not wonder if you had ever observed the images of Daedalus (Compare Euthyphro); but perhaps you have not got them in your country?

MENO: What have they to do with the question?

SOCRATES: Because they require to be fastened in order to keep them, and if they are not fastened they will play truant and run away.

MENO: Well, what of that?

SOCRATES: I mean to say that they are not very valuable possessions if they are at liberty, for they will walk off like runaway slaves; but when fastened, they are of great value, for they are really beautiful works of art. Now this is an illustration of the nature of true opinions: while they abide with us they are beautiful and fruitful, but they run away out of the human soul, and do not remain long, and therefore they are not of much value until they are fastened by the tie of the cause; and this fastening of them, friend Meno, is recollection, as you and I have agreed to call it. But when they are bound, in the first place, they have the nature of knowledge; and, in the second place, they are abiding. And this is why knowledge is more honourable and excellent than true opinion, because fastened by a chain.

MENO: What you are saying, Socrates, seems to be very like the truth.

SOCRATES: I too speak rather in ignorance; I only conjecture. And yet that knowledge differs from true opinion is no matter of conjecture with me. There are not many things which I profess to know, but this is most certainly one of them.

MENO: Yes, Socrates; and you are quite right in saying so.

SOCRATES: And am I not also right in saying that true opinion leading the way perfects action quite as well as knowledge?

MENO: There again, Socrates, I think you are right.

SOCRATES: Then right opinion is not a whit inferior to knowledge, or less useful in action; nor is the man who has right opinion inferior to him who has knowledge?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: And surely the good man has been acknowledged by us to be useful?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Seeing then that men become good and useful to states, not only because they have knowledge, but because they have right opinion, and that neither knowledge nor right opinion is given to man by nature or acquired by him — (do you imagine either of them to be given by nature?

MENO: Not I.)

SOCRATES: Then if they are not given by nature, neither are the good by nature good?

MENO: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And nature being excluded, then came the question whether virtue is acquired by teaching?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: If virtue was wisdom (or knowledge), then, as we thought, it was taught?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if it was taught it was wisdom?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And if there were teachers, it might be taught; and if there were no teachers, not?

MENO: True.

SOCRATES: But surely we acknowledged that there were no teachers of virtue?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then we acknowledged that it was not taught, and was not wisdom?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And yet we admitted that it was a good?

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the right guide is useful and good?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And the only right guides are knowledge and true opinion — these are the guides of man; for things which happen by chance are not under the guidance of man: but the guides of man are true opinion and knowledge.

MENO: I think so too.

SOCRATES: But if virtue is not taught, neither is virtue knowledge.

MENO: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: Then of two good and useful things, one, which is knowledge, has been set aside, and cannot be supposed to be our guide in political life.

MENO: I think not.

SOCRATES: And therefore not by any wisdom, and not because they were wise, did Themistocles and those others of whom Anytus spoke govern states. This was the reason why they were unable to make others like themselves — because their virtue was not grounded on knowledge.

MENO: That is probably true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But if not by knowledge, the only alternative which remains is that statesmen must have guided states by right opinion, which is in politics what divination is in religion; for diviners and also prophets say many things truly, but they know not what they say.

MENO: So I believe.

SOCRATES: And may we not, Meno, truly call those men ‘divine’ who, having no understanding, yet succeed in many a grand deed and word?

MENO: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then we shall also be right in calling divine those whom we were just now speaking of as diviners and prophets, including the whole tribe of poets. Yes, and statesmen above all may be said to be divine and illumined, being inspired and possessed of God, in which condition they say many grand things, not knowing what they say.

MENO: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the women too, Meno, call good men divine — do they not? and the Spartans, when they praise a good man, say ‘that he is a divine man.’

MENO: And I think, Socrates, that they are right; although very likely our friend Anytus may take offence at the word.

SOCRATES: I do not care; as for Anytus, there will be another opportunity of talking with him. To sum up our enquiry — the result seems to be, if we are at all right in our view, that virtue is neither natural nor acquired, but an instinct given by God to the virtuous. Nor is the instinct accompanied by reason, unless there may be supposed to be among statesmen some one who is capable of educating statesmen. And if there be such an one, he may be said to be among the living what Homer says that Tiresias was among the dead, ‘he alone has understanding; but the rest are flitting shades’; and he and his virtue in like manner will be a reality among shadows.

MENO: That is excellent, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then, Meno, the conclusion is that virtue comes to the virtuous by the gift of God. But we shall never know the certain truth until, before asking how virtue is given, we enquire into the actual nature of virtue. I fear that I must go away, but do you, now that you are persuaded yourself, persuade our friend Anytus. And do not let him be so exasperated; if you can conciliate him, you will have done good service to the Athenian people.

MENEXENUS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

Featuring Socrates and his friend Menexenus, this middle dialogue consists mainly of a lengthy funeral oration, satirising Pericles’ famous oration in Thucydides’ history of the Peloponnesian War. In the original oration, Pericles advises the Athenians not to yield to their opponents the Spartan’s demands, since they are militarily stronger.  It served as an unabashed declaration of Athens’ right to supremacy simply due to their strength.

Menexenus is one of the few extant sources on the practice of Athenian funeral oratory, even though it is a parody.

Pericles, the famous Athenian general and leader

INTRODUCTION.

The Menexenus has more the character of a rhetorical exercise than any other of the Platonic works. The writer seems to have wished to emulate Thucydides, and the far slighter work of Lysias. In his rivalry with the latter, to whom in the Phaedrus Plato shows a strong antipathy, he is entirely successful, but he is not equal to Thucydides. The Menexenus, though not without real Hellenic interest, falls very far short of the rugged grandeur and political insight of the great historian. The fiction of the speech having been invented by Aspasia is well sustained, and is in the manner of Plato, notwithstanding the anachronism which puts into her mouth an allusion to the peace of Antalcidas, an event occurring forty years after the date of the supposed oration. But Plato, like Shakespeare, is careless of such anachronisms, which are not supposed to strike the mind of the reader. The effect produced by these grandiloquent orations on Socrates, who does not recover after having heard one of them for three days and more, is truly Platonic.

Such discourses, if we may form a judgment from the three which are extant (for the so-called Funeral Oration of Demosthenes is a bad and spurious imitation of Thucydides and Lysias), conformed to a regular type. They began with Gods and ancestors, and the legendary history of Athens, to which succeeded an almost equally fictitious account of later times. The Persian war usually formed the centre of the narrative; in the age of Isocrates and Demosthenes the Athenians were still living on the glories of Marathon and Salamis. The Menexenus veils in panegyric the weak places of Athenian history. The war of Athens and Boeotia is a war of liberation; the Athenians gave back the Spartans taken at Sphacteria out of kindness — indeed, the only fault of the city was too great kindness to their enemies, who were more honoured than the friends of others (compare Thucyd., which seems to contain the germ of the idea); we democrats are the aristocracy of virtue, and the like. These are the platitudes and falsehoods in which history is disguised. The taking of Athens is hardly mentioned.

The author of the Menexenus, whether Plato or not, is evidently intending to ridicule the practice, and at the same time to show that he can beat the rhetoricians in their own line, as in the Phaedrus he may be supposed to offer an example of what Lysias might have said, and of how much better he might have written in his own style. The orators had recourse to their favourite loci communes, one of which, as we find in Lysias, was the shortness of the time allowed them for preparation. But Socrates points out that they had them always ready for delivery, and that there was no difficulty in improvising any number of such orations. To praise the Athenians among the Athenians was easy, — to praise them among the Lacedaemonians would have been a much more difficult task. Socrates himself has turned rhetorician, having learned of a woman, Aspasia, the mistress of Pericles; and any one whose teachers had been far inferior to his own — say, one who had learned from Antiphon the Rhamnusian — would be quite equal to the task of praising men to themselves. When we remember that Antiphon is described by Thucydides as the best pleader of his day, the satire on him and on the whole tribe of rhetoricians is transparent.

The ironical assumption of Socrates, that he must be a good orator because he had learnt of Aspasia, is not coarse, as Schleiermacher supposes, but is rather to be regarded as fanciful. Nor can we say that the offer of Socrates to dance naked out of love for Menexenus, is any more un-Platonic than the threat of physical force which Phaedrus uses towards Socrates. Nor is there any real vulgarity in the fear which Socrates expresses that he will get a beating from his mistress, Aspasia: this is the natural exaggeration of what might be expected from an imperious woman. Socrates is not to be taken seriously in all that he says, and Plato, both in the Symposium and elsewhere, is not slow to admit a sort of Aristophanic humour. How a great original genius like Plato might or might not have written, what was his conception of humour, or what limits he would have prescribed to himself, if any, in drawing the picture of the Silenus Socrates, are problems which no critical instinct can determine.

On the other hand, the dialogue has several Platonic traits, whether original or imitated may be uncertain. Socrates, when he departs from his character of a ‘know nothing’ and delivers a speech, generally pretends that what he is speaking is not his own composition. Thus in the Cratylus he is run away with; in the Phaedrus he has heard somebody say something — is inspired by the genius loci; in the Symposium he derives his wisdom from Diotima of Mantinea, and the like. But he does not impose on Menexenus by his dissimulation. Without violating the character of Socrates, Plato, who knows so well how to give a hint, or some one writing in his name, intimates clearly enough that the speech in the Menexenus like that in the Phaedrus is to be attributed to Socrates. The address of the dead to the living at the end of the oration may also be compared to the numerous addresses of the same kind which occur in Plato, in whom the dramatic element is always tending to prevail over the rhetorical. The remark has been often made, that in the Funeral Oration of Thucydides there is no allusion to the existence of the dead. But in the Menexenus a future state is clearly, although not strongly, asserted.

Whether the Menexenus is a genuine writing of Plato, or an imitation only, remains uncertain. In either case, the thoughts are partly borrowed from the Funeral Oration of Thucydides; and the fact that they are so, is not in favour of the genuineness of the work. Internal evidence seems to leave the question of authorship in doubt. There are merits and there are defects which might lead to either conclusion. The form of the greater part of the work makes the enquiry difficult; the introduction and the finale certainly wear the look either of Plato or of an extremely skilful imitator. The excellence of the forgery may be fairly adduced as an argument that it is not a forgery at all. In this uncertainty the express testimony of Aristotle, who quotes, in the Rhetoric, the well-known words, ‘It is easy to praise the Athenians among the Athenians,’ from the Funeral Oration, may perhaps turn the balance in its favour. It must be remembered also that the work was famous in antiquity, and is included in the Alexandrian catalogues of Platonic writings.

MENEXENUS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates and Menexenus.

SOCRATES: Whence come you, Menexenus? Are you from the Agora?

MENEXENUS: Yes, Socrates; I have been at the Council.

SOCRATES: And what might you be doing at the Council? And yet I need hardly ask, for I see that you, believing yourself to have arrived at the end of education and of philosophy, and to have had enough of them, are mounting upwards to things higher still, and, though rather young for the post, are intending to govern us elder men, like the rest of your family, which has always provided some one who kindly took care of us.

MENEXENUS: Yes, Socrates, I shall be ready to hold office, if you allow and advise that I should, but not if you think otherwise. I went to the council chamber because I heard that the Council was about to choose some one who was to speak over the dead. For you know that there is to be a public funeral?

SOCRATES: Yes, I know. And whom did they choose?

MENEXENUS: No one; they delayed the election until tomorrow, but I believe that either Archinus or Dion will be chosen.

SOCRATES: O Menexenus! Death in battle is certainly in many respects a noble thing. The dead man gets a fine and costly funeral, although he may have been poor, and an elaborate speech is made over him by a wise man who has long ago prepared what he has to say, although he who is praised may not have been good for much. The speakers praise him for what he has done and for what he has not done — that is the beauty of them — and they steal away our souls with their embellished words; in every conceivable form they praise the city; and they praise those who died in war, and all our ancestors who went before us; and they praise ourselves also who are still alive, until I feel quite elevated by their laudations, and I stand listening to their words, Menexenus, and become enchanted by them, and all in a moment I imagine myself to have become a greater and nobler and finer man than I was before. And if, as often happens, there are any foreigners who accompany me to the speech, I become suddenly conscious of having a sort of triumph over them, and they seem to experience a corresponding feeling of admiration at me, and at the greatness of the city, which appears to them, when they are under the influence of the speaker, more wonderful than ever. This consciousness of dignity lasts me more than three days, and not until the fourth or fifth day do I come to my senses and know where I am; in the meantime I have been living in the Islands of the Blest. Such is the art of our rhetoricians, and in such manner does the sound of their words keep ringing in my ears.

MENEXENUS: You are always making fun of the rhetoricians, Socrates; this time, however, I am inclined to think that the speaker who is chosen will not have much to say, for he has been called upon to speak at a moment’s notice, and he will be compelled almost to improvise.

SOCRATES: But why, my friend, should he not have plenty to say? Every rhetorician has speeches ready made; nor is there any difficulty in improvising that sort of stuff. Had the orator to praise Athenians among Peloponnesians, or Peloponnesians among Athenians, he must be a good rhetorician who could succeed and gain credit. But there is no difficulty in a man’s winning applause when he is contending for fame among the persons whom he is praising.

MENEXENUS: Do you think not, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Certainly ‘not.’

MENEXENUS: Do you think that you could speak yourself if there should be a necessity, and if the Council were to choose you?

SOCRATES: That I should be able to speak is no great wonder, Menexenus, considering that I have an excellent mistress in the art of rhetoric, — she who has made so many good speakers, and one who was the best among all the Hellenes — Pericles, the son of Xanthippus.

MENEXENUS: And who is she? I suppose that you mean Aspasia.

SOCRATES: Yes, I do; and besides her I had Connus, the son of Metrobius, as a master, and he was my master in music, as she was in rhetoric. No wonder that a man who has received such an education should be a finished speaker; even the pupil of very inferior masters, say, for example, one who had learned music of Lamprus, and rhetoric of Antiphon the Rhamnusian, might make a figure if he were to praise the Athenians among the Athenians.

MENEXENUS: And what would you be able to say if you had to speak?

SOCRATES: Of my own wit, most likely nothing; but yesterday I heard Aspasia composing a funeral oration about these very dead. For she had been told, as you were saying, that the Athenians were going to choose a speaker, and she repeated to me the sort of speech which he should deliver, partly improvising and partly from previous thought, putting together fragments of the funeral oration which Pericles spoke, but which, as I believe, she composed.

MENEXENUS: And can you remember what Aspasia said?

SOCRATES: I ought to be able, for she taught me, and she was ready to strike me because I was always forgetting.

MENEXENUS: Then why will you not rehearse what she said?

SOCRATES: Because I am afraid that my mistress may be angry with me if I publish her speech.

MENEXENUS: Nay, Socrates, let us have the speech, whether Aspasia’s or any one else’s, no matter. I hope that you will oblige me.

SOCRATES: But I am afraid that you will laugh at me if I continue the games of youth in old age.

MENEXENUS: Far otherwise, Socrates; let us by all means have the speech.

SOCRATES: Truly I have such a disposition to oblige you, that if you bid me dance naked I should not like to refuse, since we are alone. Listen then: If I remember rightly, she began as follows, with the mention of the dead: — (Thucyd.)

There is a tribute of deeds and of words. The departed have already had the first, when going forth on their destined journey they were attended on their way by the state and by their friends; the tribute of words remains to be given to them, as is meet and by law ordained. For noble words are a memorial and a crown of noble actions, which are given to the doers of them by the hearers. A word is needed which will duly praise the dead and gently admonish the living, exhorting the brethren and descendants of the departed to imitate their virtue, and consoling their fathers and mothers and the survivors, if any, who may chance to be alive of the previous generation. What sort of a word will this be, and how shall we rightly begin the praises of these brave men? In their life they rejoiced their own friends with their valour, and their death they gave in exchange for the salvation of the living. And I think that we should praise them in the order in which nature made them good, for they were good because they were sprung from good fathers. Wherefore let us first of all praise the goodness of their birth; secondly, their nurture and education; and then let us set forth how noble their actions were, and how worthy of the education which they had received.

And first as to their birth. Their ancestors were not strangers, nor are these their descendants sojourners only, whose fathers have come from another country; but they are the children of the soil, dwelling and living in their own land. And the country which brought them up is not like other countries, a stepmother to her children, but their own true mother; she bore them and nourished them and received them, and in her bosom they now repose. It is meet and right, therefore, that we should begin by praising the land which is their mother, and that will be a way of praising their noble birth.

The country is worthy to be praised, not only by us, but by all mankind; first, and above all, as being dear to the Gods. This is proved by the strife and contention of the Gods respecting her. And ought not the country which the Gods praise to be praised by all mankind? The second praise which may be fairly claimed by her, is that at the time when the whole earth was sending forth and creating diverse animals, tame and wild, she our mother was free and pure from savage monsters, and out of all animals selected and brought forth man, who is superior to the rest in understanding, and alone has justice and religion. And a great proof that she brought forth the common ancestors of us and of the departed, is that she provided the means of support for her offspring. For as a woman proves her motherhood by giving milk to her young ones (and she who has no fountain of milk is not a mother), so did this our land prove that she was the mother of men, for in those days she alone and first of all brought forth wheat and barley for human food, which is the best and noblest sustenance for man, whom she regarded as her true offspring. And these are truer proofs of motherhood in a country than in a woman, for the woman in her conception and generation is but the imitation of the earth, and not the earth of the woman. And of the fruit of the earth she gave a plenteous supply, not only to her own, but to others also; and afterwards she made the olive to spring up to be a boon to her children, and to help them in their toils. And when she had herself nursed them and brought them up to manhood, she gave them Gods to be their rulers and teachers, whose names are well known, and need not now be repeated. They are the Gods who first ordered our lives, and instructed us in the arts for the supply of our daily needs, and taught us the acquisition and use of arms for the defence of the country.

Thus born into the world and thus educated, the ancestors of the departed lived and made themselves a government, which I ought briefly to commemorate. For government is the nurture of man, and the government of good men is good, and of bad men bad. And I must show that our ancestors were trained under a good government, and for this reason they were good, and our contemporaries are also good, among whom our departed friends are to be reckoned. Then as now, and indeed always, from that time to this, speaking generally, our government was an aristocracy — a form of government which receives various names, according to the fancies of men, and is sometimes called democracy, but is really an aristocracy or government of the best which has the approval of the many. For kings we have always had, first hereditary and then elected, and authority is mostly in the hands of the people, who dispense offices and power to those who appear to be most deserving of them. Neither is a man rejected from weakness or poverty or obscurity of origin, nor honoured by reason of the opposite, as in other states, but there is one principle — he who appears to be wise and good is a governor and ruler. The basis of this our government is equality of birth; for other states are made up of all sorts and unequal conditions of men, and therefore their governments are unequal; there are tyrannies and there are oligarchies, in which the one party are slaves and the others masters. But we and our citizens are brethren, the children all of one mother, and we do not think it right to be one another’s masters or servants; but the natural equality of birth compels us to seek for legal equality, and to recognize no superiority except in the reputation of virtue and wisdom.

And so their and our fathers, and these, too, our brethren, being nobly born and having been brought up in all freedom, did both in their public and private capacity many noble deeds famous over the whole world. They were the deeds of men who thought that they ought to fight both against Hellenes for the sake of Hellenes on behalf of freedom, and against barbarians in the common interest of Hellas. Time would fail me to tell of their defence of their country against the invasion of Eumolpus and the Amazons, or of their defence of the Argives against the Cadmeians, or of the Heracleids against the Argives; besides, the poets have already declared in song to all mankind their glory, and therefore any commemoration of their deeds in prose which we might attempt would hold a second place. They already have their reward, and I say no more of them; but there are other worthy deeds of which no poet has worthily sung, and which are still wooing the poet’s muse. Of these I am bound to make honourable mention, and shall invoke others to sing of them also in lyric and other strains, in a manner becoming the actors. And first I will tell how the Persians, lords of Asia, were enslaving Europe, and how the children of this land, who were our fathers, held them back. Of these I will speak first, and praise their valour, as is meet and fitting. He who would rightly estimate them should place himself in thought at that time, when the whole of Asia was subject to the third king of Persia. The first king, Cyrus, by his valour freed the Persians, who were his countrymen, and subjected the Medes, who were their lords, and he ruled over the rest of Asia, as far as Egypt; and after him came his son, who ruled all the accessible part of Egypt and Libya; the third king was Darius, who extended the land boundaries of the empire to Scythia, and with his fleet held the sea and the islands. None presumed to be his equal; the minds of all men were enthralled by him — so many and mighty and warlike nations had the power of Persia subdued. Now Darius had a quarrel against us and the Eretrians, because, as he said, we had conspired against Sardis, and he sent 500,000 men in transports and vessels of war, and 300 ships, and Datis as commander, telling him to bring the Eretrians and Athenians to the king, if he wished to keep his head on his shoulders. He sailed against the Eretrians, who were reputed to be amongst the noblest and most warlike of the Hellenes of that day, and they were numerous, but he conquered them all in three days; and when he had conquered them, in order that no one might escape, he searched the whole country after this manner: his soldiers, coming to the borders of Eretria and spreading from sea to sea, joined hands and passed through the whole country, in order that they might be able to tell the king that no one had escaped them. And from Eretria they went to Marathon with a like intention, expecting to bind the Athenians in the same yoke of necessity in which they had bound the Eretrians. Having effected one-half of their purpose, they were in the act of attempting the other, and none of the Hellenes dared to assist either the Eretrians or the Athenians, except the Lacedaemonians, and they arrived a day too late for the battle; but the rest were panic-stricken and kept quiet, too happy in having escaped for a time. He who has present to his mind that conflict will know what manner of men they were who received the onset of the barbarians at Marathon, and chastened the pride of the whole of Asia, and by the victory which they gained over the barbarians first taught other men that the power of the Persians was not invincible, but that hosts of men and the multitude of riches alike yield to valour. And I assert that those men are the fathers not only of ourselves, but of our liberties and of the liberties of all who are on the continent, for that was the action to which the Hellenes looked back when they ventured to fight for their own safety in the battles which ensued: they became disciples of the men of Marathon. To them, therefore, I assign in my speech the first place, and the second to those who fought and conquered in the sea fights at Salamis and Artemisium; for of them, too, one might have many things to say — of the assaults which they endured by sea and land, and how they repelled them. I will mention only that act of theirs which appears to me to be the noblest, and which followed that of Marathon and came nearest to it; for the men of Marathon only showed the Hellenes that it was possible to ward off the barbarians by land, the many by the few; but there was no proof that they could be defeated by ships, and at sea the Persians retained the reputation of being invincible in numbers and wealth and skill and strength. This is the glory of the men who fought at sea, that they dispelled the second terror which had hitherto possessed the Hellenes, and so made the fear of numbers, whether of ships or men, to cease among them. And so the soldiers of Marathon and the sailors of Salamis became the schoolmasters of Hellas; the one teaching and habituating the Hellenes not to fear the barbarians at sea, and the others not to fear them by land. Third in order, for the number and valour of the combatants, and third in the salvation of Hellas, I place the battle of Plataea. And now the Lacedaemonians as well as the Athenians took part in the struggle; they were all united in this greatest and most terrible conflict of all; wherefore their virtues will be celebrated in times to come, as they are now celebrated by us. But at a later period many Hellenic tribes were still on the side of the barbarians, and there was a report that the great king was going to make a new attempt upon the Hellenes, and therefore justice requires that we should also make mention of those who crowned the previous work of our salvation, and drove and purged away all barbarians from the sea. These were the men who fought by sea at the river Eurymedon, and who went on the expedition to Cyprus, and who sailed to Egypt and divers other places; and they should be gratefully remembered by us, because they compelled the king in fear for himself to look to his own safety instead of plotting the destruction of Hellas.

And so the war against the barbarians was fought out to the end by the whole city on their own behalf, and on behalf of their countrymen. There was peace, and our city was held in honour; and then, as prosperity makes men jealous, there succeeded a jealousy of her, and jealousy begat envy, and so she became engaged against her will in a war with the Hellenes. On the breaking out of war, our citizens met the Lacedaemonians at Tanagra, and fought for the freedom of the Boeotians; the issue was doubtful, and was decided by the engagement which followed. For when the Lacedaemonians had gone on their way, leaving the Boeotians, whom they were aiding, on the third day after the battle of Tanagra, our countrymen conquered at Oenophyta, and righteously restored those who had been unrighteously exiled. And they were the first after the Persian war who fought on behalf of liberty in aid of Hellenes against Hellenes; they were brave men, and freed those whom they aided, and were the first too who were honourably interred in this sepulchre by the state. Afterwards there was a mighty war, in which all the Hellenes joined, and devastated our country, which was very ungrateful of them; and our countrymen, after defeating them in a naval engagement and taking their leaders, the Spartans, at Sphagia, when they might have destroyed them, spared their lives, and gave them back, and made peace, considering that they should war with the fellow-countrymen only until they gained a victory over them, and not because of the private anger of the state destroy the common interest of Hellas; but that with barbarians they should war to the death. Worthy of praise are they also who waged this war, and are here interred; for they proved, if any one doubted the superior prowess of the Athenians in the former war with the barbarians, that their doubts had no foundation — showing by their victory in the civil war with Hellas, in which they subdued the other chief state of the Hellenes, that they could conquer single-handed those with whom they had been allied in the war against the barbarians. After the peace there followed a third war, which was of a terrible and desperate nature, and in this many brave men who are here interred lost their lives — many of them had won victories in Sicily, whither they had gone over the seas to fight for the liberties of the Leontines, to whom they were bound by oaths; but, owing to the distance, the city was unable to help them, and they lost heart and came to misfortune, their very enemies and opponents winning more renown for valour and temperance than the friends of others. Many also fell in naval engagements at the Hellespont, after having in one day taken all the ships of the enemy, and defeated them in other naval engagements. And what I call the terrible and desperate nature of the war, is that the other Hellenes, in their extreme animosity towards the city, should have entered into negotiations with their bitterest enemy, the king of Persia, whom they, together with us, had expelled; — him, without us, they again brought back, barbarian against Hellenes, and all the hosts, both of Hellenes and barbarians, were united against Athens. And then shone forth the power and valour of our city. Her enemies had supposed that she was exhausted by the war, and our ships were blockaded at Mitylene. But the citizens themselves embarked, and came to the rescue with sixty other ships, and their valour was confessed of all men, for they conquered their enemies and delivered their friends. And yet by some evil fortune they were left to perish at sea, and therefore are not interred here. Ever to be remembered and honoured are they, for by their valour not only that sea-fight was won for us, but the entire war was decided by them, and through them the city gained the reputation of being invincible, even though attacked by all mankind. And that reputation was a true one, for the defeat which came upon us was our own doing. We were never conquered by others, and to this day we are still unconquered by them; but we were our own conquerors, and received defeat at our own hands. Afterwards there was quiet and peace abroad, but there sprang up war at home; and, if men are destined to have civil war, no one could have desired that his city should take the disorder in a milder form. How joyful and natural was the reconciliation of those who came from the Piraeus and those who came from the city; with what moderation did they order the war against the tyrants in Eleusis, and in a manner how unlike what the other Hellenes expected! And the reason of this gentleness was the veritable tie of blood, which created among them a friendship as of kinsmen, faithful not in word only, but in deed. And we ought also to remember those who then fell by one another’s hands, and on such occasions as these to reconcile them with sacrifices and prayers, praying to those who have power over them, that they may be reconciled even as we are reconciled. For they did not attack one another out of malice or enmity, but they were unfortunate. And that such was the fact we ourselves are witnesses, who are of the same race with them, and have mutually received and granted forgiveness of what we have done and suffered. After this there was perfect peace, and the city had rest; and her feeling was that she forgave the barbarians, who had severely suffered at her hands and severely retaliated, but that she was indignant at the ingratitude of the Hellenes, when she remembered how they had received good from her and returned evil, having made common cause with the barbarians, depriving her of the ships which had once been their salvation, and dismantling our walls, which had preserved their own from falling. She thought that she would no longer defend the Hellenes, when enslaved either by one another or by the barbarians, and did accordingly. This was our feeling, while the Lacedaemonians were thinking that we who were the champions of liberty had fallen, and that their business was to subject the remaining Hellenes. And why should I say more? for the events of which I am speaking happened not long ago and we can all of us remember how the chief peoples of Hellas, Argives and Boeotians and Corinthians, came to feel the need of us, and, what is the greatest miracle of all, the Persian king himself was driven to such extremity as to come round to the opinion, that from this city, of which he was the destroyer, and from no other, his salvation would proceed.

And if a person desired to bring a deserved accusation against our city, he would find only one charge which he could justly urge — that she was too compassionate and too favourable to the weaker side. And in this instance she was not able to hold out or keep her resolution of refusing aid to her injurers when they were being enslaved, but she was softened, and did in fact send out aid, and delivered the Hellenes from slavery, and they were free until they afterwards enslaved themselves. Whereas, to the great king she refused to give the assistance of the state, for she could not forget the trophies of Marathon and Salamis and Plataea; but she allowed exiles and volunteers to assist him, and they were his salvation. And she herself, when she was compelled, entered into the war, and built walls and ships, and fought with the Lacedaemonians on behalf of the Parians. Now the king fearing this city and wanting to stand aloof, when he saw the Lacedaemonians growing weary of the war at sea, asked of us, as the price of his alliance with us and the other allies, to give up the Hellenes in Asia, whom the Lacedaemonians had previously handed over to him, he thinking that we should refuse, and that then he might have a pretence for withdrawing from us. About the other allies he was mistaken, for the Corinthians and Argives and Boeotians, and the other states, were quite willing to let them go, and swore and covenanted, that, if he would pay them money, they would make over to him the Hellenes of the continent, and we alone refused to give them up and swear. Such was the natural nobility of this city, so sound and healthy was the spirit of freedom among us, and the instinctive dislike of the barbarian, because we are pure Hellenes, having no admixture of barbarism in us. For we are not like many others, descendants of Pelops or Cadmus or Egyptus or Danaus, who are by nature barbarians, and yet pass for Hellenes, and dwell in the midst of us; but we are pure Hellenes, uncontaminated by any foreign element, and therefore the hatred of the foreigner has passed unadulterated into the life-blood of the city. And so, notwithstanding our noble sentiments, we were again isolated, because we were unwilling to be guilty of the base and unholy act of giving up Hellenes to barbarians. And we were in the same case as when we were subdued before; but, by the favour of Heaven, we managed better, for we ended the war without the loss of our ships or walls or colonies; the enemy was only too glad to be quit of us. Yet in this war we lost many brave men, such as were those who fell owing to the ruggedness of the ground at the battle of Corinth, or by treason at Lechaeum. Brave men, too, were those who delivered the Persian king, and drove the Lacedaemonians from the sea. I remind you of them, and you must celebrate them together with me, and do honour to their memories.

Such were the actions of the men who are here interred, and of others who have died on behalf of their country; many and glorious things I have spoken of them, and there are yet many more and more glorious things remaining to be told — many days and nights would not suffice to tell of them. Let them not be forgotten, and let every man remind their descendants that they also are soldiers who must not desert the ranks of their ancestors, or from cowardice fall behind. Even as I exhort you this day, and in all future time, whenever I meet with any of you, shall continue to remind and exhort you, O ye sons of heroes, that you strive to be the bravest of men. And I think that I ought now to repeat what your fathers desired to have said to you who are their survivors, when they went out to battle, in case anything happened to them. I will tell you what I heard them say, and what, if they had only speech, they would fain be saying, judging from what they then said. And you must imagine that you hear them saying what I now repeat to you: —

‘Sons, the event proves that your fathers were brave men; for we might have lived dishonourably, but have preferred to die honourably rather than bring you and your children into disgrace, and rather than dishonour our own fathers and forefathers; considering that life is not life to one who is a dishonour to his race, and that to such a one neither men nor Gods are friendly, either while he is on the earth or after death in the world below. Remember our words, then, and whatever is your aim let virtue be the condition of the attainment of your aim, and know that without this all possessions and pursuits are dishonourable and evil. For neither does wealth bring honour to the owner, if he be a coward; of such a one the wealth belongs to another, and not to himself. Nor does beauty and strength of body, when dwelling in a base and cowardly man, appear comely, but the reverse of comely, making the possessor more conspicuous, and manifesting forth his cowardice. And all knowledge, when separated from justice and virtue, is seen to be cunning and not wisdom; wherefore make this your first and last and constant and all-absorbing aim, to exceed, if possible, not only us but all your ancestors in virtue; and know that to excel you in virtue only brings us shame, but that to be excelled by you is a source of happiness to us. And we shall most likely be defeated, and you will most likely be victors in the contest, if you learn so to order your lives as not to abuse or waste the reputation of your ancestors, knowing that to a man who has any self-respect, nothing is more dishonourable than to be honoured, not for his own sake, but on account of the reputation of his ancestors. The honour of parents is a fair and noble treasure to their posterity, but to have the use of a treasure of wealth and honour, and to leave none to your successors, because you have neither money nor reputation of your own, is alike base and dishonourable. And if you follow our precepts you will be received by us as friends, when the hour of destiny brings you hither; but if you neglect our words and are disgraced in your lives, no one will welcome or receive you. This is the message which is to be delivered to our children.

‘Some of us have fathers and mothers still living, and we would urge them, if, as is likely, we shall die, to bear the calamity as lightly as possible, and not to condole with one another; for they have sorrows enough, and will not need any one to stir them up. While we gently heal their wounds, let us remind them that the Gods have heard the chief part of their prayers; for they prayed, not that their children might live for ever, but that they might be brave and renowned. And this, which is the greatest good, they have attained. A mortal man cannot expect to have everything in his own life turning out according to his will; and they, if they bear their misfortunes bravely, will be truly deemed brave fathers of the brave. But if they give way to their sorrows, either they will be suspected of not being our parents, or we of not being such as our panegyrists declare. Let not either of the two alternatives happen, but rather let them be our chief and true panegyrists, who show in their lives that they are true men, and had men for their sons. Of old the saying, “Nothing too much,” appeared to be, and really was, well said. For he whose happiness rests with himself, if possible, wholly, and if not, as far as is possible, — who is not hanging in suspense on other men, or changing with the vicissitude of their fortune, — has his life ordered for the best. He is the temperate and valiant and wise; and when his riches come and go, when his children are given and taken away, he will remember the proverb— “Neither rejoicing overmuch nor grieving overmuch,” for he relies upon himself. And such we would have our parents to be — that is our word and wish, and as such we now offer ourselves, neither lamenting overmuch, nor fearing overmuch, if we are to die at this time. And we entreat our fathers and mothers to retain these feelings throughout their future life, and to be assured that they will not please us by sorrowing and lamenting over us. But, if the dead have any knowledge of the living, they will displease us most by making themselves miserable and by taking their misfortunes too much to heart, and they will please us best if they bear their loss lightly and temperately. For our life will have the noblest end which is vouchsafed to man, and should be glorified rather than lamented. And if they will direct their minds to the care and nurture of our wives and children, they will soonest forget their misfortunes, and live in a better and nobler way, and be dearer to us.

‘This is all that we have to say to our families: and to the state we would say — Take care of our parents and of our sons: let her worthily cherish the old age of our parents, and bring up our sons in the right way. But we know that she will of her own accord take care of them, and does not need any exhortation of ours.’

This, O ye children and parents of the dead, is the message which they bid us deliver to you, and which I do deliver with the utmost seriousness. And in their name I beseech you, the children, to imitate your fathers, and you, parents, to be of good cheer about yourselves; for we will nourish your age, and take care of you both publicly and privately in any place in which one of us may meet one of you who are the parents of the dead. And the care of you which the city shows, you know yourselves; for she has made provision by law concerning the parents and children of those who die in war; the highest authority is specially entrusted with the duty of watching over them above all other citizens, and they will see that your fathers and mothers have no wrong done to them. The city herself shares in the education of the children, desiring as far as it is possible that their orphanhood may not be felt by them; while they are children she is a parent to them, and when they have arrived at man’s estate she sends them to their several duties, in full armour clad; and bringing freshly to their minds the ways of their fathers, she places in their hands the instruments of their fathers’ virtues; for the sake of the omen, she would have them from the first begin to rule over their own houses arrayed in the strength and arms of their fathers. And as for the dead, she never ceases honouring them, celebrating in common for all rites which become the property of each; and in addition to this, holding gymnastic and equestrian contests, and musical festivals of every sort. She is to the dead in the place of a son and heir, and to their sons in the place of a father, and to their parents and elder kindred in the place of a guardian — ever and always caring for them. Considering this, you ought to bear your calamity the more gently; for thus you will be most endeared to the dead and to the living, and your sorrows will heal and be healed. And now do you and all, having lamented the dead in common according to the law, go your ways.

You have heard, Menexenus, the oration of Aspasia the Milesian.

MENEXENUS: Truly, Socrates, I marvel that Aspasia, who is only a woman, should be able to compose such a speech; she must be a rare one.

SOCRATES: Well, if you are incredulous, you may come with me and hear her.

MENEXENUS: I have often met Aspasia, Socrates, and know what she is like.

SOCRATES: Well, and do you not admire her, and are you not grateful for her speech?

MENEXENUS: Yes, Socrates, I am very grateful to her or to him who told you, and still more to you who have told me.

SOCRATES: Very good. But you must take care not to tell of me, and then at some future time I will repeat to you many other excellent political speeches of hers.

MENEXENUS: Fear not, only let me hear them, and I will keep the secret.

SOCRATES: Then I will keep my promise.

SYMPOSIUM

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

Written circa 385BC, this famous dialogue seeks to understand the true nature of love and introduces for the first time the concept of Platonic love.  Throughout the dialogue, love is examined in a sequence of speeches by men attending a symposium, a drinking party. Each guest delivers an encomium in praise of the god Eros, representing love. The party takes place at the house of the tragedian Agathon in Athens, and features famous real-life characters, including the comedic dramatist Aristophanes and the young and charismatic politician Alcibiades.

Symposium culminates with Socrates’ speech, in which he propounds that the highest purpose of love is to become a philosopher, namely a lover of wisdom. The dialogue has been used as a source by social historians seeking to throw light on life in ancient Athens, in particular upon sexual behaviour, and the symposium as an institution.

A depiction of a Greek symposium — a lavish feast and drinking party

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION.

SYMPOSIUM

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

Alcibiades and Aristophanes, two of the guests at the symposium

INTRODUCTION.

Of all the works of Plato the Symposium is the most perfect in form, and may be truly thought to contain more than any commentator has ever dreamed of; or, as Goethe said of one of his own writings, more than the author himself knew. For in philosophy as in prophecy glimpses of the future may often be conveyed in words which could hardly have been understood or interpreted at the time when they were uttered (compare Symp.) — which were wiser than the writer of them meant, and could not have been expressed by him if he had been interrogated about them. Yet Plato was not a mystic, nor in any degree affected by the Eastern influences which afterwards overspread the Alexandrian world. He was not an enthusiast or a sentimentalist, but one who aspired only to see reasoned truth, and whose thoughts are clearly explained in his language. There is no foreign element either of Egypt or of Asia to be found in his writings. And more than any other Platonic work the Symposium is Greek both in style and subject, having a beauty ‘as of a statue,’ while the companion Dialogue of the Phaedrus is marked by a sort of Gothic irregularity. More too than in any other of his Dialogues, Plato is emancipated from former philosophies. The genius of Greek art seems to triumph over the traditions of Pythagorean, Eleatic, or Megarian systems, and ‘the old quarrel of poetry and philosophy’ has at least a superficial reconcilement. (Rep.)

An unknown person who had heard of the discourses in praise of love spoken by Socrates and others at the banquet of Agathon is desirous of having an authentic account of them, which he thinks that he can obtain from Apollodorus, the same excitable, or rather ‘mad’ friend of Socrates, who is afterwards introduced in the Phaedo. He had imagined that the discourses were recent. There he is mistaken: but they are still fresh in the memory of his informant, who had just been repeating them to Glaucon, and is quite prepared to have another rehearsal of them in a walk from the Piraeus to Athens. Although he had not been present himself, he had heard them from the best authority. Aristodemus, who is described as having been in past times a humble but inseparable attendant of Socrates, had reported them to him (compare Xen. Mem.).

The narrative which he had heard was as follows: —

Aristodemus meeting Socrates in holiday attire, is invited by him to a banquet at the house of Agathon, who had been sacrificing in thanksgiving for his tragic victory on the day previous. But no sooner has he entered the house than he finds that he is alone; Socrates has stayed behind in a fit of abstraction, and does not appear until the banquet is half over. On his appearing he and the host jest a little; the question is then asked by Pausanias, one of the guests, ‘What shall they do about drinking? as they had been all well drunk on the day before, and drinking on two successive days is such a bad thing.’ This is confirmed by the authority of Eryximachus the physician, who further proposes that instead of listening to the flute-girl and her ‘noise’ they shall make speeches in honour of love, one after another, going from left to right in the order in which they are reclining at the table. All of them agree to this proposal, and Phaedrus, who is the ‘father’ of the idea, which he has previously communicated to Eryximachus, begins as follows: —

He descants first of all upon the antiquity of love, which is proved by the authority of the poets; secondly upon the benefits which love gives to man. The greatest of these is the sense of honour and dishonour. The lover is ashamed to be seen by the beloved doing or suffering any cowardly or mean act. And a state or army which was made up only of lovers and their loves would be invincible. For love will convert the veriest coward into an inspired hero.

And there have been true loves not only of men but of women also. Such was the love of Alcestis, who dared to die for her husband, and in recompense of her virtue was allowed to come again from the dead. But Orpheus, the miserable harper, who went down to Hades alive, that he might bring back his wife, was mocked with an apparition only, and the gods afterwards contrived his death as the punishment of his cowardliness. The love of Achilles, like that of Alcestis, was courageous and true; for he was willing to avenge his lover Patroclus, although he knew that his own death would immediately follow: and the gods, who honour the love of the beloved above that of the lover, rewarded him, and sent him to the islands of the blest.

Pausanias, who was sitting next, then takes up the tale: — He says that Phaedrus should have distinguished the heavenly love from the earthly, before he praised either. For there are two loves, as there are two Aphrodites — one the daughter of Uranus, who has no mother and is the elder and wiser goddess, and the other, the daughter of Zeus and Dione, who is popular and common. The first of the two loves has a noble purpose, and delights only in the intelligent nature of man, and is faithful to the end, and has no shadow of wantonness or lust. The second is the coarser kind of love, which is a love of the body rather than of the soul, and is of women and boys as well as of men. Now the actions of lovers vary, like every other sort of action, according to the manner of their performance. And in different countries there is a difference of opinion about male loves. Some, like the Boeotians, approve of them; others, like the Ionians, and most of the barbarians, disapprove of them; partly because they are aware of the political dangers which ensue from them, as may be seen in the instance of Harmodius and Aristogeiton. At Athens and Sparta there is an apparent contradiction about them. For at times they are encouraged, and then the lover is allowed to play all sorts of fantastic tricks; he may swear and forswear himself (and ‘at lovers’ perjuries they say Jove laughs’); he may be a servant, and lie on a mat at the door of his love, without any loss of character; but there are also times when elders look grave and guard their young relations, and personal remarks are made. The truth is that some of these loves are disgraceful and others honourable. The vulgar love of the body which takes wing and flies away when the bloom of youth is over, is disgraceful, and so is the interested love of power or wealth; but the love of the noble mind is lasting. The lover should be tested, and the beloved should not be too ready to yield. The rule in our country is that the beloved may do the same service to the lover in the way of virtue which the lover may do to him.

A voluntary service to be rendered for the sake of virtue and wisdom is permitted among us; and when these two customs — one the love of youth, the other the practice of virtue and philosophy — meet in one, then the lovers may lawfully unite. Nor is there any disgrace to a disinterested lover in being deceived: but the interested lover is doubly disgraced, for if he loses his love he loses his character; whereas the noble love of the other remains the same, although the object of his love is unworthy: for nothing can be nobler than love for the sake of virtue. This is that love of the heavenly goddess which is of great price to individuals and cities, making them work together for their improvement.

The turn of Aristophanes comes next; but he has the hiccough, and therefore proposes that Eryximachus the physician shall cure him or speak in his turn. Eryximachus is ready to do both, and after prescribing for the hiccough, speaks as follows: —

He agrees with Pausanias in maintaining that there are two kinds of love; but his art has led him to the further conclusion that the empire of this double love extends over all things, and is to be found in animals and plants as well as in man. In the human body also there are two loves; and the art of medicine shows which is the good and which is the bad love, and persuades the body to accept the good and reject the bad, and reconciles conflicting elements and makes them friends. Every art, gymnastic and husbandry as well as medicine, is the reconciliation of opposites; and this is what Heracleitus meant, when he spoke of a harmony of opposites: but in strictness he should rather have spoken of a harmony which succeeds opposites, for an agreement of disagreements there cannot be. Music too is concerned with the principles of love in their application to harmony and rhythm. In the abstract, all is simple, and we are not troubled with the twofold love; but when they are applied in education with their accompaniments of song and metre, then the discord begins. Then the old tale has to be repeated of fair Urania and the coarse Polyhymnia, who must be indulged sparingly, just as in my own art of medicine care must be taken that the taste of the epicure be gratified without inflicting upon him the attendant penalty of disease.

There is a similar harmony or disagreement in the course of the seasons and in the relations of moist and dry, hot and cold, hoar frost and blight; and diseases of all sorts spring from the excesses or disorders of the element of love. The knowledge of these elements of love and discord in the heavenly bodies is termed astronomy, in the relations of men towards gods and parents is called divination. For divination is the peacemaker of gods and men, and works by a knowledge of the tendencies of merely human loves to piety and impiety. Such is the power of love; and that love which is just and temperate has the greatest power, and is the source of all our happiness and friendship with the gods and with one another. I dare say that I have omitted to mention many things which you, Aristophanes, may supply, as I perceive that you are cured of the hiccough.

Aristophanes is the next speaker: —

He professes to open a new vein of discourse, in which he begins by treating of the origin of human nature. The sexes were originally three, men, women, and the union of the two; and they were made round — having four hands, four feet, two faces on a round neck, and the rest to correspond. Terrible was their strength and swiftness; and they were essaying to scale heaven and attack the gods. Doubt reigned in the celestial councils; the gods were divided between the desire of quelling the pride of man and the fear of losing the sacrifices. At last Zeus hit upon an expedient. Let us cut them in two, he said; then they will only have half their strength, and we shall have twice as many sacrifices. He spake, and split them as you might split an egg with an hair; and when this was done, he told Apollo to give their faces a twist and re-arrange their persons, taking out the wrinkles and tying the skin in a knot about the navel. The two halves went about looking for one another, and were ready to die of hunger in one another’s arms. Then Zeus invented an adjustment of the sexes, which enabled them to marry and go their way to the business of life. Now the characters of men differ accordingly as they are derived from the original man or the original woman, or the original man-woman. Those who come from the man-woman are lascivious and adulterous; those who come from the woman form female attachments; those who are a section of the male follow the male and embrace him, and in him all their desires centre. The pair are inseparable and live together in pure and manly affection; yet they cannot tell what they want of one another. But if Hephaestus were to come to them with his instruments and propose that they should be melted into one and remain one here and hereafter, they would acknowledge that this was the very expression of their want. For love is the desire of the whole, and the pursuit of the whole is called love. There was a time when the two sexes were only one, but now God has halved them, — much as the Lacedaemonians have cut up the Arcadians, — and if they do not behave themselves he will divide them again, and they will hop about with half a nose and face in basso relievo. Wherefore let us exhort all men to piety, that we may obtain the goods of which love is the author, and be reconciled to God, and find our own true loves, which rarely happens in this world. And now I must beg you not to suppose that I am alluding to Pausanias and Agathon (compare Protag.), for my words refer to all mankind everywhere.

Some raillery ensues first between Aristophanes and Eryximachus, and then between Agathon, who fears a few select friends more than any number of spectators at the theatre, and Socrates, who is disposed to begin an argument. This is speedily repressed by Phaedrus, who reminds the disputants of their tribute to the god. Agathon’s speech follows: —

He will speak of the god first and then of his gifts: He is the fairest and blessedest and best of the gods, and also the youngest, having had no existence in the old days of Iapetus and Cronos when the gods were at war. The things that were done then were done of necessity and not of love. For love is young and dwells in soft places, — not like Ate in Homer, walking on the skulls of men, but in their hearts and souls, which are soft enough. He is all flexibility and grace, and his habitation is among the flowers, and he cannot do or suffer wrong; for all men serve and obey him of their own free will, and where there is love there is obedience, and where obedience, there is justice; for none can be wronged of his own free will. And he is temperate as well as just, for he is the ruler of the desires, and if he rules them he must be temperate. Also he is courageous, for he is the conqueror of the lord of war. And he is wise too; for he is a poet, and the author of poesy in others. He created the animals; he is the inventor of the arts; all the gods are his subjects; he is the fairest and best himself, and the cause of what is fairest and best in others; he makes men to be of one mind at a banquet, filling them with affection and emptying them of disaffection; the pilot, helper, defender, saviour of men, in whose footsteps let every man follow, chanting a strain of love. Such is the discourse, half playful, half serious, which I dedicate to the god.

The turn of Socrates comes next. He begins by remarking satirically that he has not understood the terms of the original agreement, for he fancied that they meant to speak the true praises of love, but now he finds that they only say what is good of him, whether true or false. He begs to be absolved from speaking falsely, but he is willing to speak the truth, and proposes to begin by questioning Agathon. The result of his questions may be summed up as follows: —

Love is of something, and that which love desires is not that which love is or has; for no man desires that which he is or has. And love is of the beautiful, and therefore has not the beautiful. And the beautiful is the good, and therefore, in wanting and desiring the beautiful, love also wants and desires the good. Socrates professes to have asked the same questions and to have obtained the same answers from Diotima, a wise woman of Mantinea, who, like Agathon, had spoken first of love and then of his works. Socrates, like Agathon, had told her that Love is a mighty god and also fair, and she had shown him in return that Love was neither, but in a mean between fair and foul, good and evil, and not a god at all, but only a great demon or intermediate power (compare the speech of Eryximachus) who conveys to the gods the prayers of men, and to men the commands of the gods.

Socrates asks: Who are his father and mother? To this Diotima replies that he is the son of Plenty and Poverty, and partakes of the nature of both, and is full and starved by turns. Like his mother he is poor and squalid, lying on mats at doors (compare the speech of Pausanias); like his father he is bold and strong, and full of arts and resources. Further, he is in a mean between ignorance and knowledge: — in this he resembles the philosopher who is also in a mean between the wise and the ignorant. Such is the nature of Love, who is not to be confused with the beloved.

But Love desires the beautiful; and then arises the question, What does he desire of the beautiful? He desires, of course, the possession of the beautiful; — but what is given by that? For the beautiful let us substitute the good, and we have no difficulty in seeing the possession of the good to be happiness, and Love to be the desire of happiness, although the meaning of the word has been too often confined to one kind of love. And Love desires not only the good, but the everlasting possession of the good. Why then is there all this flutter and excitement about love? Because all men and women at a certain age are desirous of bringing to the birth. And love is not of beauty only, but of birth in beauty; this is the principle of immortality in a mortal creature. When beauty approaches, then the conceiving power is benign and diffuse; when foulness, she is averted and morose.

But why again does this extend not only to men but also to animals? Because they too have an instinct of immortality. Even in the same individual there is a perpetual succession as well of the parts of the material body as of the thoughts and desires of the mind; nay, even knowledge comes and goes. There is no sameness of existence, but the new mortality is always taking the place of the old. This is the reason why parents love their children — for the sake of immortality; and this is why men love the immortality of fame. For the creative soul creates not children, but conceptions of wisdom and virtue, such as poets and other creators have invented. And the noblest creations of all are those of legislators, in honour of whom temples have been raised. Who would not sooner have these children of the mind than the ordinary human ones? (Compare Bacon’s Essays, 8:— ‘Certainly the best works and of greatest merit for the public have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men; which both in affection and means have married and endowed the public.’)

I will now initiate you, she said, into the greater mysteries; for he who would proceed in due course should love first one fair form, and then many, and learn the connexion of them; and from beautiful bodies he should proceed to beautiful minds, and the beauty of laws and institutions, until he perceives that all beauty is of one kindred; and from institutions he should go on to the sciences, until at last the vision is revealed to him of a single science of universal beauty, and then he will behold the everlasting nature which is the cause of all, and will be near the end. In the contemplation of that supreme being of love he will be purified of earthly leaven, and will behold beauty, not with the bodily eye, but with the eye of the mind, and will bring forth true creations of virtue and wisdom, and be the friend of God and heir of immortality.

Such, Phaedrus, is the tale which I heard from the stranger of Mantinea, and which you may call the encomium of love, or what you please.

The company applaud the speech of Socrates, and Aristophanes is about to say something, when suddenly a band of revellers breaks into the court, and the voice of Alcibiades is heard asking for Agathon. He is led in drunk, and welcomed by Agathon, whom he has come to crown with a garland. He is placed on a couch at his side, but suddenly, on recognizing Socrates, he starts up, and a sort of conflict is carried on between them, which Agathon is requested to appease. Alcibiades then insists that they shall drink, and has a large wine-cooler filled, which he first empties himself, and then fills again and passes on to Socrates. He is informed of the nature of the entertainment; and is ready to join, if only in the character of a drunken and disappointed lover he may be allowed to sing the praises of Socrates: —

He begins by comparing Socrates first to the busts of Silenus, which have images of the gods inside them; and, secondly, to Marsyas the flute-player. For Socrates produces the same effect with the voice which Marsyas did with the flute. He is the great speaker and enchanter who ravishes the souls of men; the convincer of hearts too, as he has convinced Alcibiades, and made him ashamed of his mean and miserable life. Socrates at one time seemed about to fall in love with him; and he thought that he would thereby gain a wonderful opportunity of receiving lessons of wisdom. He narrates the failure of his design. He has suffered agonies from him, and is at his wit’s end. He then proceeds to mention some other particulars of the life of Socrates; how they were at Potidaea together, where Socrates showed his superior powers of enduring cold and fatigue; how on one occasion he had stood for an entire day and night absorbed in reflection amid the wonder of the spectators; how on another occasion he had saved Alcibiades’ life; how at the battle of Delium, after the defeat, he might be seen stalking about like a pelican, rolling his eyes as Aristophanes had described him in the Clouds. He is the most wonderful of human beings, and absolutely unlike anyone but a satyr. Like the satyr in his language too; for he uses the commonest words as the outward mask of the divinest truths.

When Alcibiades has done speaking, a dispute begins between him and Agathon and Socrates. Socrates piques Alcibiades by a pretended affection for Agathon. Presently a band of revellers appears, who introduce disorder into the feast; the sober part of the company, Eryximachus, Phaedrus, and others, withdraw; and Aristodemus, the follower of Socrates, sleeps during the whole of a long winter’s night. When he wakes at cockcrow the revellers are nearly all asleep. Only Socrates, Aristophanes, and Agathon hold out; they are drinking from a large goblet, which they pass round, and Socrates is explaining to the two others, who are half-asleep, that the genius of tragedy is the same as that of comedy, and that the writer of tragedy ought to be a writer of comedy also. And first Aristophanes drops, and then, as the day is dawning, Agathon. Socrates, having laid them to rest, takes a bath and goes to his daily avocations until the evening. Aristodemus follows.

...

If it be true that there are more things in the Symposium of Plato than any commentator has dreamed of, it is also true that many things have been imagined which are not really to be found there. Some writings hardly admit of a more distinct interpretation than a musical composition; and every reader may form his own accompaniment of thought or feeling to the strain which he hears. The Symposium of Plato is a work of this character, and can with difficulty be rendered in any words but the writer’s own. There are so many half-lights and cross-lights, so much of the colour of mythology, and of the manner of sophistry adhering — rhetoric and poetry, the playful and the serious, are so subtly intermingled in it, and vestiges of old philosophy so curiously blend with germs of future knowledge, that agreement among interpreters is not to be expected. The expression ‘poema magis putandum quam comicorum poetarum,’ which has been applied to all the writings of Plato, is especially applicable to the Symposium.

The power of love is represented in the Symposium as running through all nature and all being: at one end descending to animals and plants, and attaining to the highest vision of truth at the other. In an age when man was seeking for an expression of the world around him, the conception of love greatly affected him. One of the first distinctions of language and of mythology was that of gender; and at a later period the ancient physicist, anticipating modern science, saw, or thought that he saw, a sex in plants; there were elective affinities among the elements, marriages of earth and heaven. (Aesch. Frag. Dan.) Love became a mythic personage whom philosophy, borrowing from poetry, converted into an efficient cause of creation. The traces of the existence of love, as of number and figure, were everywhere discerned; and in the Pythagorean list of opposites male and female were ranged side by side with odd and even, finite and infinite.

But Plato seems also to be aware that there is a mystery of love in man as well as in nature, extending beyond the mere immediate relation of the sexes. He is conscious that the highest and noblest things in the world are not easily severed from the sensual desires, or may even be regarded as a spiritualized form of them. We may observe that Socrates himself is not represented as originally unimpassioned, but as one who has overcome his passions; the secret of his power over others partly lies in his passionate but self-controlled nature. In the Phaedrus and Symposium love is not merely the feeling usually so called, but the mystical contemplation of the beautiful and the good. The same passion which may wallow in the mire is capable of rising to the loftiest heights — of penetrating the inmost secret of philosophy. The highest love is the love not of a person, but of the highest and purest abstraction. This abstraction is the far-off heaven on which the eye of the mind is fixed in fond amazement. The unity of truth, the consistency of the warring elements of the world, the enthusiasm for knowledge when first beaming upon mankind, the relativity of ideas to the human mind, and of the human mind to ideas, the faith in the invisible, the adoration of the eternal nature, are all included, consciously or unconsciously, in Plato’s doctrine of love.

The successive speeches in praise of love are characteristic of the speakers, and contribute in various degrees to the final result; they are all designed to prepare the way for Socrates, who gathers up the threads anew, and skims the highest points of each of them. But they are not to be regarded as the stages of an idea, rising above one another to a climax. They are fanciful, partly facetious performances, ‘yet also having a certain measure of seriousness,’ which the successive speakers dedicate to the god. All of them are rhetorical and poetical rather than dialectical, but glimpses of truth appear in them. When Eryximachus says that the principles of music are simple in themselves, but confused in their application, he touches lightly upon a difficulty which has troubled the moderns as well as the ancients in music, and may be extended to the other applied sciences. That confusion begins in the concrete, was the natural feeling of a mind dwelling in the world of ideas. When Pausanias remarks that personal attachments are inimical to despots. The experience of Greek history confirms the truth of his remark. When Aristophanes declares that love is the desire of the whole, he expresses a feeling not unlike that of the German philosopher, who says that ‘philosophy is home sickness.’ When Agathon says that no man ‘can be wronged of his own free will,’ he is alluding playfully to a serious problem of Greek philosophy (compare Arist. Nic. Ethics). So naturally does Plato mingle jest and earnest, truth and opinion in the same work.

The characters — of Phaedrus, who has been the cause of more philosophical discussions than any other man, with the exception of Simmias the Theban (Phaedrus); of Aristophanes, who disguises under comic imagery a serious purpose; of Agathon, who in later life is satirized by Aristophanes in the Thesmophoriazusae, for his effeminate manners and the feeble rhythms of his verse; of Alcibiades, who is the same strange contrast of great powers and great vices, which meets us in history — are drawn to the life; and we may suppose the less-known characters of Pausanias and Eryximachus to be also true to the traditional recollection of them (compare Phaedr., Protag.; and compare Sympos. with Phaedr.). We may also remark that Aristodemus is called ‘the little’ in Xenophon’s Memorabilia (compare Symp.).

The speeches have been said to follow each other in pairs: Phaedrus and Pausanias being the ethical, Eryximachus and Aristophanes the physical speakers, while in Agathon and Socrates poetry and philosophy blend together. The speech of Phaedrus is also described as the mythological, that of Pausanias as the political, that of Eryximachus as the scientific, that of Aristophanes as the artistic (!), that of Socrates as the philosophical. But these and similar distinctions are not found in Plato; — they are the points of view of his critics, and seem to impede rather than to assist us in understanding him.

When the turn of Socrates comes round he cannot be allowed to disturb the arrangement made at first. With the leave of Phaedrus he asks a few questions, and then he throws his argument into the form of a speech (compare Gorg., Protag.). But his speech is really the narrative of a dialogue between himself and Diotima. And as at a banquet good manners would not allow him to win a victory either over his host or any of the guests, the superiority which he gains over Agathon is ingeniously represented as having been already gained over himself by her. The artifice has the further advantage of maintaining his accustomed profession of ignorance (compare Menex.). Even his knowledge of the mysteries of love, to which he lays claim here and elsewhere (Lys.), is given by Diotima.

The speeches are attested to us by the very best authority. The madman Apollodorus, who for three years past has made a daily study of the actions of Socrates — to whom the world is summed up in the words ‘Great is Socrates’ — he has heard them from another ‘madman,’ Aristodemus, who was the ‘shadow’ of Socrates in days of old, like him going about barefooted, and who had been present at the time. ‘Would you desire better witness?’ The extraordinary narrative of Alcibiades is ingeniously represented as admitted by Socrates, whose silence when he is invited to contradict gives consent to the narrator. We may observe, by the way, (1) how the very appearance of Aristodemus by himself is a sufficient indication to Agathon that Socrates has been left behind; also, (2) how the courtesy of Agathon anticipates the excuse which Socrates was to have made on Aristodemus’ behalf for coming uninvited; (3) how the story of the fit or trance of Socrates is confirmed by the mention which Alcibiades makes of a similar fit of abstraction occurring when he was serving with the army at Potidaea; like (4) the drinking powers of Socrates and his love of the fair, which receive a similar attestation in the concluding scene; or the attachment of Aristodemus, who is not forgotten when Socrates takes his departure. (5) We may notice the manner in which Socrates himself regards the first five speeches, not as true, but as fanciful and exaggerated encomiums of the god Love; (6) the satirical character of them, shown especially in the appeals to mythology, in the reasons which are given by Zeus for reconstructing the frame of man, or by the Boeotians and Eleans for encouraging male loves; (7) the ruling passion of Socrates for dialectics, who will argue with Agathon instead of making a speech, and will only speak at all upon the condition that he is allowed to speak the truth. We may note also the touch of Socratic irony, (8) which admits of a wide application and reveals a deep insight into the world: — that in speaking of holy things and persons there is a general understanding that you should praise them, not that you should speak the truth about them — this is the sort of praise which Socrates is unable to give. Lastly, (9) we may remark that the banquet is a real banquet after all, at which love is the theme of discourse, and huge quantities of wine are drunk.

The discourse of Phaedrus is half-mythical, half-ethical; and he himself, true to the character which is given him in the Dialogue bearing his name, is half-sophist, half-enthusiast. He is the critic of poetry also, who compares Homer and Aeschylus in the insipid and irrational manner of the schools of the day, characteristically reasoning about the probability of matters which do not admit of reasoning. He starts from a noble text: ‘That without the sense of honour and dishonour neither states nor individuals ever do any good or great work.’ But he soon passes on to more common-place topics. The antiquity of love, the blessing of having a lover, the incentive which love offers to daring deeds, the examples of Alcestis and Achilles, are the chief themes of his discourse. The love of women is regarded by him as almost on an equality with that of men; and he makes the singular remark that the gods favour the return of love which is made by the beloved more than the original sentiment, because the lover is of a nobler and diviner nature.

There is something of a sophistical ring in the speech of Phaedrus, which recalls the first speech in imitation of Lysias, occurring in the Dialogue called the Phaedrus. This is still more marked in the speech of Pausanias which follows; and which is at once hyperlogical in form and also extremely confused and pedantic. Plato is attacking the logical feebleness of the sophists and rhetoricians, through their pupils, not forgetting by the way to satirize the monotonous and unmeaning rhythms which Prodicus and others were introducing into Attic prose (compare Protag.). Of course, he is ‘playing both sides of the game,’ as in the Gorgias and Phaedrus; but it is not necessary in order to understand him that we should discuss the fairness of his mode of proceeding. The love of Pausanias for Agathon has already been touched upon in the Protagoras, and is alluded to by Aristophanes. Hence he is naturally the upholder of male loves, which, like all the other affections or actions of men, he regards as varying according to the manner of their performance. Like the sophists and like Plato himself, though in a different sense, he begins his discussion by an appeal to mythology, and distinguishes between the elder and younger love. The value which he attributes to such loves as motives to virtue and philosophy is at variance with modern and Christian notions, but is in accordance with Hellenic sentiment. The opinion of Christendom has not altogether condemned passionate friendships between persons of the same sex, but has certainly not encouraged them, because though innocent in themselves in a few temperaments they are liable to degenerate into fearful evil. Pausanias is very earnest in the defence of such loves; and he speaks of them as generally approved among Hellenes and disapproved by barbarians. His speech is ‘more words than matter,’ and might have been composed by a pupil of Lysias or of Prodicus, although there is no hint given that Plato is specially referring to them. As Eryximachus says, ‘he makes a fair beginning, but a lame ending.’

Plato transposes the two next speeches, as in the Republic he would transpose the virtues and the mathematical sciences. This is done partly to avoid monotony, partly for the sake of making Aristophanes ‘the cause of wit in others,’ and also in order to bring the comic and tragic poet into juxtaposition, as if by accident. A suitable ‘expectation’ of Aristophanes is raised by the ludicrous circumstance of his having the hiccough, which is appropriately cured by his substitute, the physician Eryximachus. To Eryximachus Love is the good physician; he sees everything as an intelligent physicist, and, like many professors of his art in modern times, attempts to reduce the moral to the physical; or recognises one law of love which pervades them both. There are loves and strifes of the body as well as of the mind. Like Hippocrates the Asclepiad, he is a disciple of Heracleitus, whose conception of the harmony of opposites he explains in a new way as the harmony after discord; to his common sense, as to that of many moderns as well as ancients, the identity of contradictories is an absurdity. His notion of love may be summed up as the harmony of man with himself in soul as well as body, and of all things in heaven and earth with one another.

Aristophanes is ready to laugh and make laugh before he opens his mouth, just as Socrates, true to his character, is ready to argue before he begins to speak. He expresses the very genius of the old comedy, its coarse and forcible imagery, and the licence of its language in speaking about the gods. He has no sophistical notions about love, which is brought back by him to its common-sense meaning of love between intelligent beings. His account of the origin of the sexes has the greatest (comic) probability and verisimilitude. Nothing in Aristophanes is more truly Aristophanic than the description of the human monster whirling round on four arms and four legs, eight in all, with incredible rapidity. Yet there is a mixture of earnestness in this jest; three serious principles seem to be insinuated: — first, that man cannot exist in isolation; he must be reunited if he is to be perfected: secondly, that love is the mediator and reconciler of poor, divided human nature: thirdly, that the loves of this world are an indistinct anticipation of an ideal union which is not yet realized.

The speech of Agathon is conceived in a higher strain, and receives the real, if half-ironical, approval of Socrates. It is the speech of the tragic poet and a sort of poem, like tragedy, moving among the gods of Olympus, and not among the elder or Orphic deities. In the idea of the antiquity of love he cannot agree; love is not of the olden time, but present and youthful ever. The speech may be compared with that speech of Socrates in the Phaedrus in which he describes himself as talking dithyrambs. It is at once a preparation for Socrates and a foil to him. The rhetoric of Agathon elevates the soul to ‘sunlit heights,’ but at the same time contrasts with the natural and necessary eloquence of Socrates. Agathon contributes the distinction between love and the works of love, and also hints incidentally that love is always of beauty, which Socrates afterwards raises into a principle. While the consciousness of discord is stronger in the comic poet Aristophanes, Agathon, the tragic poet, has a deeper sense of harmony and reconciliation, and speaks of Love as the creator and artist.

All the earlier speeches embody common opinions coloured with a tinge of philosophy. They furnish the material out of which Socrates proceeds to form his discourse, starting, as in other places, from mythology and the opinions of men. From Phaedrus he takes the thought that love is stronger than death; from Pausanias, that the true love is akin to intellect and political activity; from Eryximachus, that love is a universal phenomenon and the great power of nature; from Aristophanes, that love is the child of want, and is not merely the love of the congenial or of the whole, but (as he adds) of the good; from Agathon, that love is of beauty, not however of beauty only, but of birth in beauty. As it would be out of character for Socrates to make a lengthened harangue, the speech takes the form of a dialogue between Socrates and a mysterious woman of foreign extraction. She elicits the final truth from one who knows nothing, and who, speaking by the lips of another, and himself a despiser of rhetoric, is proved also to be the most consummate of rhetoricians (compare Menexenus).

The last of the six discourses begins with a short argument which overthrows not only Agathon but all the preceding speakers by the help of a distinction which has escaped them. Extravagant praises have been ascribed to Love as the author of every good; no sort of encomium was too high for him, whether deserved and true or not. But Socrates has no talent for speaking anything but the truth, and if he is to speak the truth of Love he must honestly confess that he is not a good at all: for love is of the good, and no man can desire that which he has. This piece of dialectics is ascribed to Diotima, who has already urged upon Socrates the argument which he urges against Agathon. That the distinction is a fallacy is obvious; it is almost acknowledged to be so by Socrates himself. For he who has beauty or good may desire more of them; and he who has beauty or good in himself may desire beauty and good in others. The fallacy seems to arise out of a confusion between the abstract ideas of good and beauty, which do not admit of degrees, and their partial realization in individuals.

But Diotima, the prophetess of Mantineia, whose sacred and superhuman character raises her above the ordinary proprieties of women, has taught Socrates far more than this about the art and mystery of love. She has taught him that love is another aspect of philosophy. The same want in the human soul which is satisfied in the vulgar by the procreation of children, may become the highest aspiration of intellectual desire. As the Christian might speak of hungering and thirsting after righteousness; or of divine loves under the figure of human (compare Eph. ‘This is a great mystery, but I speak concerning Christ and the church’); as the mediaeval saint might speak of the ‘fruitio Dei;’ as Dante saw all things contained in his love of Beatrice, so Plato would have us absorb all other loves and desires in the love of knowledge. Here is the beginning of Neoplatonism, or rather, perhaps, a proof (of which there are many) that the so-called mysticism of the East was not strange to the Greek of the fifth century before Christ. The first tumult of the affections was not wholly subdued; there were longings of a creature moving about in worlds not realized, which no art could satisfy. To most men reason and passion appear to be antagonistic both in idea and fact. The union of the greatest comprehension of knowledge and the burning intensity of love is a contradiction in nature, which may have existed in a far-off primeval age in the mind of some Hebrew prophet or other Eastern sage, but has now become an imagination only. Yet this ‘passion of the reason’ is the theme of the Symposium of Plato. And as there is no impossibility in supposing that ‘one king, or son of a king, may be a philosopher,’ so also there is a probability that there may be some few — perhaps one or two in a whole generation — in whom the light of truth may not lack the warmth of desire. And if there be such natures, no one will be disposed to deny that ‘from them flow most of the benefits of individuals and states;’ and even from imperfect combinations of the two elements in teachers or statesmen great good may often arise.

Yet there is a higher region in which love is not only felt, but satisfied, in the perfect beauty of eternal knowledge, beginning with the beauty of earthly things, and at last reaching a beauty in which all existence is seen to be harmonious and one. The limited affection is enlarged, and enabled to behold the ideal of all things. And here the highest summit which is reached in the Symposium is seen also to be the highest summit which is attained in the Republic, but approached from another side; and there is ‘a way upwards and downwards,’ which is the same and not the same in both. The ideal beauty of the one is the ideal good of the other; regarded not with the eye of knowledge, but of faith and desire; and they are respectively the source of beauty and the source of good in all other things. And by the steps of a ‘ladder reaching to heaven’ we pass from images of visible beauty (Greek), and from the hypotheses of the Mathematical sciences, which are not yet based upon the idea of good, through the concrete to the abstract, and, by different paths arriving, behold the vision of the eternal (compare Symp. (Greek) Republic (Greek) also Phaedrus). Under one aspect ‘the idea is love’; under another, ‘truth.’ In both the lover of wisdom is the ‘spectator of all time and of all existence.’ This is a ‘mystery’ in which Plato also obscurely intimates the union of the spiritual and fleshly, the interpenetration of the moral and intellectual faculties.

The divine image of beauty which resides within Socrates has been revealed; the Silenus, or outward man, has now to be exhibited. The description of Socrates follows immediately after the speech of Socrates; one is the complement of the other. At the height of divine inspiration, when the force of nature can no further go, by way of contrast to this extreme idealism, Alcibiades, accompanied by a troop of revellers and a flute-girl, staggers in, and being drunk is able to tell of things which he would have been ashamed to make known if he had been sober. The state of his affections towards Socrates, unintelligible to us and perverted as they appear, affords an illustration of the power ascribed to the loves of man in the speech of Pausanias. He does not suppose his feelings to be peculiar to himself: there are several other persons in the company who have been equally in love with Socrates, and like himself have been deceived by him. The singular part of this confession is the combination of the most degrading passion with the desire of virtue and improvement. Such an union is not wholly untrue to human nature, which is capable of combining good and evil in a degree beyond what we can easily conceive. In imaginative persons, especially, the God and beast in man seem to part asunder more than is natural in a well-regulated mind. The Platonic Socrates (for of the real Socrates this may be doubted: compare his public rebuke of Critias for his shameful love of Euthydemus in Xenophon, Memorabilia) does not regard the greatest evil of Greek life as a thing not to be spoken of; but it has a ridiculous element (Plato’s Symp.), and is a subject for irony, no less than for moral reprobation (compare Plato’s Symp.). It is also used as a figure of speech which no one interpreted literally (compare Xen. Symp.). Nor does Plato feel any repugnance, such as would be felt in modern times, at bringing his great master and hero into connexion with nameless crimes. He is contented with representing him as a saint, who has won ‘the Olympian victory’ over the temptations of human nature. The fault of taste, which to us is so glaring and which was recognized by the Greeks of a later age (Athenaeus), was not perceived by Plato himself. We are still more surprised to find that the philosopher is incited to take the first step in his upward progress (Symp.) by the beauty of young men and boys, which was alone capable of inspiring the modern feeling of romance in the Greek mind. The passion of love took the spurious form of an enthusiasm for the ideal of beauty — a worship as of some godlike image of an Apollo or Antinous. But the love of youth when not depraved was a love of virtue and modesty as well as of beauty, the one being the expression of the other; and in certain Greek states, especially at Sparta and Thebes, the honourable attachment of a youth to an elder man was a part of his education. The ‘army of lovers and their beloved who would be invincible if they could be united by such a tie’ (Symp.), is not a mere fiction of Plato’s, but seems actually to have existed at Thebes in the days of Epaminondas and Pelopidas, if we may believe writers cited anonymously by Plutarch, Pelop. Vit. It is observable that Plato never in the least degree excuses the depraved love of the body (compare Charm.; Rep.; Laws; Symp.; and once more Xenophon, Mem.), nor is there any Greek writer of mark who condones or approves such connexions. But owing partly to the puzzling nature of the subject these friendships are spoken of by Plato in a manner different from that customary among ourselves. To most of them we should hesitate to ascribe, any more than to the attachment of Achilles and Patroclus in Homer, an immoral or licentious character. There were many, doubtless, to whom the love of the fair mind was the noblest form of friendship (Rep.), and who deemed the friendship of man with man to be higher than the love of woman, because altogether separated from the bodily appetites. The existence of such attachments may be reasonably attributed to the inferiority and seclusion of woman, and the want of a real family or social life and parental influence in Hellenic cities; and they were encouraged by the practice of gymnastic exercises, by the meetings of political clubs, and by the tie of military companionship. They were also an educational institution: a young person was specially entrusted by his parents to some elder friend who was expected by them to train their son in manly exercises and in virtue. It is not likely that a Greek parent committed him to a lover, any more than we should to a schoolmaster, in the expectation that he would be corrupted by him, but rather in the hope that his morals would be better cared for than was possible in a great household of slaves.

It is difficult to adduce the authority of Plato either for or against such practices or customs, because it is not always easy to determine whether he is speaking of ‘the heavenly and philosophical love, or of the coarse Polyhymnia:’ and he often refers to this (e.g. in the Symposium) half in jest, yet ‘with a certain degree of seriousness.’ We observe that they entered into one part of Greek literature, but not into another, and that the larger part is free from such associations. Indecency was an element of the ludicrous in the old Greek Comedy, as it has been in other ages and countries. But effeminate love was always condemned as well as ridiculed by the Comic poets; and in the New Comedy the allusions to such topics have disappeared. They seem to have been no longer tolerated by the greater refinement of the age. False sentiment is found in the Lyric and Elegiac poets; and in mythology ‘the greatest of the Gods’ (Rep.) is not exempt from evil imputations. But the morals of a nation are not to be judged of wholly by its literature. Hellas was not necessarily more corrupted in the days of the Persian and Peloponnesian wars, or of Plato and the Orators, than England in the time of Fielding and Smollett, or France in the nineteenth century. No one supposes certain French novels to be a representation of ordinary French life. And the greater part of Greek literature, beginning with Homer and including the tragedians, philosophers, and, with the exception of the Comic poets (whose business was to raise a laugh by whatever means), all the greater writers of Hellas who have been preserved to us, are free from the taint of indecency.

Some general considerations occur to our mind when we begin to reflect on this subject. (1) That good and evil are linked together in human nature, and have often existed side by side in the world and in man to an extent hardly credible. We cannot distinguish them, and are therefore unable to part them; as in the parable ‘they grow together unto the harvest:’ it is only a rule of external decency by which society can divide them. Nor should we be right in inferring from the prevalence of any one vice or corruption that a state or individual was demoralized in their whole character. Not only has the corruption of the best been sometimes thought to be the worst, but it may be remarked that this very excess of evil has been the stimulus to good (compare Plato, Laws, where he says that in the most corrupt cities individuals are to be found beyond all praise). (2) It may be observed that evils which admit of degrees can seldom be rightly estimated, because under the same name actions of the most different degrees of culpability may be included. No charge is more easily set going than the imputation of secret wickedness (which cannot be either proved or disproved and often cannot be defined) when directed against a person of whom the world, or a section of it, is predisposed to think evil. And it is quite possible that the malignity of Greek scandal, aroused by some personal jealousy or party enmity, may have converted the innocent friendship of a great man for a noble youth into a connexion of another kind. Such accusations were brought against several of the leading men of Hellas, e.g. Cimon, Alcibiades, Critias, Demosthenes, Epaminondas: several of the Roman emperors were assailed by similar weapons which have been used even in our own day against statesmen of the highest character. (3) While we know that in this matter there is a great gulf fixed between Greek and Christian Ethics, yet, if we would do justice to the Greeks, we must also acknowledge that there was a greater outspokenness among them than among ourselves about the things which nature hides, and that the more frequent mention of such topics is not to be taken as the measure of the prevalence of offences, or as a proof of the general corruption of society. It is likely that every religion in the world has used words or practised rites in one age, which have become distasteful or repugnant to another. We cannot, though for different reasons, trust the representations either of Comedy or Satire; and still less of Christian Apologists. (4) We observe that at Thebes and Lacedemon the attachment of an elder friend to a beloved youth was often deemed to be a part of his education; and was encouraged by his parents — it was only shameful if it degenerated into licentiousness. Such we may believe to have been the tie which united Asophychus and Cephisodorus with the great Epaminondas in whose companionship they fell (Plutarch, Amat.; Athenaeus on the authority of Theopompus). (5) A small matter: there appears to be a difference of custom among the Greeks and among ourselves, as between ourselves and continental nations at the present time, in modes of salutation. We must not suspect evil in the hearty kiss or embrace of a male friend ‘returning from the army at Potidaea’ any more than in a similar salutation when practised by members of the same family. But those who make these admissions, and who regard, not without pity, the victims of such illusions in our own day, whose life has been blasted by them, may be none the less resolved that the natural and healthy instincts of mankind shall alone be tolerated (Greek); and that the lesson of manliness which we have inherited from our fathers shall not degenerate into sentimentalism or effeminacy. The possibility of an honourable connexion of this kind seems to have died out with Greek civilization. Among the Romans, and also among barbarians, such as the Celts and Persians, there is no trace of such attachments existing in any noble or virtuous form.

(Compare Hoeck’s Creta and the admirable and exhaustive article of Meier in Ersch and Grueber’s Cyclopedia on this subject; Plutarch, Amatores; Athenaeus; Lysias contra Simonem; Aesch. c. Timarchum.)

The character of Alcibiades in the Symposium is hardly less remarkable than that of Socrates, and agrees with the picture given of him in the first of the two Dialogues which are called by his name, and also with the slight sketch of him in the Protagoras. He is the impersonation of lawlessness— ‘the lion’s whelp, who ought not to be reared in the city,’ yet not without a certain generosity which gained the hearts of men, — strangely fascinated by Socrates, and possessed of a genius which might have been either the destruction or salvation of Athens. The dramatic interest of the character is heightened by the recollection of his after history. He seems to have been present to the mind of Plato in the description of the democratic man of the Republic (compare also Alcibiades 1).

There is no criterion of the date of the Symposium, except that which is furnished by the allusion to the division of Arcadia after the destruction of Mantinea. This took place in the year B.C. 384, which is the forty-fourth year of Plato’s life. The Symposium cannot therefore be regarded as a youthful work. As Mantinea was restored in the year 369, the composition of the Dialogue will probably fall between 384 and 369. Whether the recollection of the event is more likely to have been renewed at the destruction or restoration of the city, rather than at some intermediate period, is a consideration not worth raising.

The Symposium is connected with the Phaedrus both in style and subject; they are the only Dialogues of Plato in which the theme of love is discussed at length. In both of them philosophy is regarded as a sort of enthusiasm or madness; Socrates is himself ‘a prophet new inspired’ with Bacchanalian revelry, which, like his philosophy, he characteristically pretends to have derived not from himself but from others. The Phaedo also presents some points of comparison with the Symposium. For there, too, philosophy might be described as ‘dying for love;’ and there are not wanting many touches of humour and fancy, which remind us of the Symposium. But while the Phaedo and Phaedrus look backwards and forwards to past and future states of existence, in the Symposium there is no break between this world and another; and we rise from one to the other by a regular series of steps or stages, proceeding from the particulars of sense to the universal of reason, and from one universal to many, which are finally reunited in a single science (compare Rep.). At first immortality means only the succession of existences; even knowledge comes and goes. Then follows, in the language of the mysteries, a higher and a higher degree of initiation; at last we arrive at the perfect vision of beauty, not relative or changing, but eternal and absolute; not bounded by this world, or in or out of this world, but an aspect of the divine, extending over all things, and having no limit of space or time: this is the highest knowledge of which the human mind is capable. Plato does not go on to ask whether the individual is absorbed in the sea of light and beauty or retains his personality. Enough for him to have attained the true beauty or good, without enquiring precisely into the relation in which human beings stood to it. That the soul has such a reach of thought, and is capable of partaking of the eternal nature, seems to imply that she too is eternal (compare Phaedrus). But Plato does not distinguish the eternal in man from the eternal in the world or in God. He is willing to rest in the contemplation of the idea, which to him is the cause of all things (Rep.), and has no strength to go further.

The Symposium of Xenophon, in which Socrates describes himself as a pander, and also discourses of the difference between sensual and sentimental love, likewise offers several interesting points of comparison. But the suspicion which hangs over other writings of Xenophon, and the numerous minute references to the Phaedrus and Symposium, as well as to some of the other writings of Plato, throw a doubt on the genuineness of the work. The Symposium of Xenophon, if written by him at all, would certainly show that he wrote against Plato, and was acquainted with his works. Of this hostility there is no trace in the Memorabilia. Such a rivalry is more characteristic of an imitator than of an original writer. The (so-called) Symposium of Xenophon may therefore have no more title to be regarded as genuine than the confessedly spurious Apology.

There are no means of determining the relative order in time of the Phaedrus, Symposium, Phaedo. The order which has been adopted in this translation rests on no other principle than the desire to bring together in a series the memorials of the life of Socrates.

SYMPOSIUM

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Apollodorus, who repeats to his companion the dialogue which he had heard from Aristodemus, and had already once narrated to Glaucon. Phaedrus, Pausanias, Eryximachus, Aristophanes, Agathon, Socrates, Alcibiades, A Troop of Revellers.

SCENE: The House of Agathon.

Concerning the things about which you ask to be informed I believe that I am not ill-prepared with an answer. For the day before yesterday I was coming from my own home at Phalerum to the city, and one of my acquaintance, who had caught a sight of me from behind, calling out playfully in the distance, said: Apollodorus, O thou Phalerian (Probably a play of words on (Greek), ‘bald-headed.’) man, halt! So I did as I was bid; and then he said, I was looking for you, Apollodorus, only just now, that I might ask you about the speeches in praise of love, which were delivered by Socrates, Alcibiades, and others, at Agathon’s supper. Phoenix, the son of Philip, told another person who told me of them; his narrative was very indistinct, but he said that you knew, and I wish that you would give me an account of them. Who, if not you, should be the reporter of the words of your friend? And first tell me, he said, were you present at this meeting?

Your informant, Glaucon, I said, must have been very indistinct indeed, if you imagine that the occasion was recent; or that I could have been of the party.

Why, yes, he replied, I thought so.

Impossible: I said. Are you ignorant that for many years Agathon has not resided at Athens; and not three have elapsed since I became acquainted with Socrates, and have made it my daily business to know all that he says and does. There was a time when I was running about the world, fancying myself to be well employed, but I was really a most wretched being, no better than you are now. I thought that I ought to do anything rather than be a philosopher.

Well, he said, jesting apart, tell me when the meeting occurred.

In our boyhood, I replied, when Agathon won the prize with his first tragedy, on the day after that on which he and his chorus offered the sacrifice of victory.

Then it must have been a long while ago, he said; and who told you — did Socrates?

No indeed, I replied, but the same person who told Phoenix; — he was a little fellow, who never wore any shoes, Aristodemus, of the deme of Cydathenaeum. He had been at Agathon’s feast; and I think that in those days there was no one who was a more devoted admirer of Socrates. Moreover, I have asked Socrates about the truth of some parts of his narrative, and he confirmed them. Then, said Glaucon, let us have the tale over again; is not the road to Athens just made for conversation? And so we walked, and talked of the discourses on love; and therefore, as I said at first, I am not ill-prepared to comply with your request, and will have another rehearsal of them if you like. For to speak or to hear others speak of philosophy always gives me the greatest pleasure, to say nothing of the profit. But when I hear another strain, especially that of you rich men and traders, such conversation displeases me; and I pity you who are my companions, because you think that you are doing something when in reality you are doing nothing. And I dare say that you pity me in return, whom you regard as an unhappy creature, and very probably you are right. But I certainly know of you what you only think of me — there is the difference.

COMPANION: I see, Apollodorus, that you are just the same — always speaking evil of yourself, and of others; and I do believe that you pity all mankind, with the exception of Socrates, yourself first of all, true in this to your old name, which, however deserved, I know not how you acquired, of Apollodorus the madman; for you are always raging against yourself and everybody but Socrates.

APOLLODORUS: Yes, friend, and the reason why I am said to be mad, and out of my wits, is just because I have these notions of myself and you; no other evidence is required.

COMPANION: No more of that, Apollodorus; but let me renew my request that you would repeat the conversation.

APOLLODORUS: Well, the tale of love was on this wise: — But perhaps I had better begin at the beginning, and endeavour to give you the exact words of Aristodemus:

He said that he met Socrates fresh from the bath and sandalled; and as the sight of the sandals was unusual, he asked him whither he was going that he had been converted into such a beau: —

To a banquet at Agathon’s, he replied, whose invitation to his sacrifice of victory I refused yesterday, fearing a crowd, but promising that I would come to-day instead; and so I have put on my finery, because he is such a fine man. What say you to going with me unasked?

I will do as you bid me, I replied.

Follow then, he said, and let us demolish the proverb: —

‘To the feasts of inferior men the good unbidden go;’

instead of which our proverb will run: —

‘To the feasts of the good the good unbidden go;’

and this alteration may be supported by the authority of Homer himself, who not only demolishes but literally outrages the proverb. For, after picturing Agamemnon as the most valiant of men, he makes Menelaus, who is but a fainthearted warrior, come unbidden (Iliad) to the banquet of Agamemnon, who is feasting and offering sacrifices, not the better to the worse, but the worse to the better.

I rather fear, Socrates, said Aristodemus, lest this may still be my case; and that, like Menelaus in Homer, I shall be the inferior person, who

‘To the feasts of the wise unbidden goes.’

But I shall say that I was bidden of you, and then you will have to make an excuse.

‘Two going together,’

he replied, in Homeric fashion, one or other of them may invent an excuse by the way (Iliad).

This was the style of their conversation as they went along. Socrates dropped behind in a fit of abstraction, and desired Aristodemus, who was waiting, to go on before him. When he reached the house of Agathon he found the doors wide open, and a comical thing happened. A servant coming out met him, and led him at once into the banqueting-hall in which the guests were reclining, for the banquet was about to begin. Welcome, Aristodemus, said Agathon, as soon as he appeared — you are just in time to sup with us; if you come on any other matter put it off, and make one of us, as I was looking for you yesterday and meant to have asked you, if I could have found you. But what have you done with Socrates?

I turned round, but Socrates was nowhere to be seen; and I had to explain that he had been with me a moment before, and that I came by his invitation to the supper.

You were quite right in coming, said Agathon; but where is he himself?

He was behind me just now, as I entered, he said, and I cannot think what has become of him.

Go and look for him, boy, said Agathon, and bring him in; and do you, Aristodemus, meanwhile take the place by Eryximachus.

The servant then assisted him to wash, and he lay down, and presently another servant came in and reported that our friend Socrates had retired into the portico of the neighbouring house. ‘There he is fixed,’ said he, ‘and when I call to him he will not stir.’

How strange, said Agathon; then you must call him again, and keep calling him.

Let him alone, said my informant; he has a way of stopping anywhere and losing himself without any reason. I believe that he will soon appear; do not therefore disturb him.

Well, if you think so, I will leave him, said Agathon. And then, turning to the servants, he added, ‘Let us have supper without waiting for him. Serve up whatever you please, for there is no one to give you orders; hitherto I have never left you to yourselves. But on this occasion imagine that you are our hosts, and that I and the company are your guests; treat us well, and then we shall commend you.’ After this, supper was served, but still no Socrates; and during the meal Agathon several times expressed a wish to send for him, but Aristodemus objected; and at last when the feast was about half over — for the fit, as usual, was not of long duration — Socrates entered. Agathon, who was reclining alone at the end of the table, begged that he would take the place next to him; that ‘I may touch you,’ he said, ‘and have the benefit of that wise thought which came into your mind in the portico, and is now in your possession; for I am certain that you would not have come away until you had found what you sought.’

How I wish, said Socrates, taking his place as he was desired, that wisdom could be infused by touch, out of the fuller into the emptier man, as water runs through wool out of a fuller cup into an emptier one; if that were so, how greatly should I value the privilege of reclining at your side! For you would have filled me full with a stream of wisdom plenteous and fair; whereas my own is of a very mean and questionable sort, no better than a dream. But yours is bright and full of promise, and was manifested forth in all the splendour of youth the day before yesterday, in the presence of more than thirty thousand Hellenes.

You are mocking, Socrates, said Agathon, and ere long you and I will have to determine who bears off the palm of wisdom — of this Dionysus shall be the judge; but at present you are better occupied with supper.

Socrates took his place on the couch, and supped with the rest; and then libations were offered, and after a hymn had been sung to the god, and there had been the usual ceremonies, they were about to commence drinking, when Pausanias said, And now, my friends, how can we drink with least injury to ourselves? I can assure you that I feel severely the effect of yesterday’s potations, and must have time to recover; and I suspect that most of you are in the same predicament, for you were of the party yesterday. Consider then: How can the drinking be made easiest?

I entirely agree, said Aristophanes, that we should, by all means, avoid hard drinking, for I was myself one of those who were yesterday drowned in drink.

I think that you are right, said Eryximachus, the son of Acumenus; but I should still like to hear one other person speak: Is Agathon able to drink hard?

I am not equal to it, said Agathon.

Then, said Eryximachus, the weak heads like myself, Aristodemus, Phaedrus, and others who never can drink, are fortunate in finding that the stronger ones are not in a drinking mood. (I do not include Socrates, who is able either to drink or to abstain, and will not mind, whichever we do.) Well, as of none of the company seem disposed to drink much, I may be forgiven for saying, as a physician, that drinking deep is a bad practice, which I never follow, if I can help, and certainly do not recommend to another, least of all to any one who still feels the effects of yesterday’s carouse.

I always do what you advise, and especially what you prescribe as a physician, rejoined Phaedrus the Myrrhinusian, and the rest of the company, if they are wise, will do the same.

It was agreed that drinking was not to be the order of the day, but that they were all to drink only so much as they pleased.

Then, said Eryximachus, as you are all agreed that drinking is to be voluntary, and that there is to be no compulsion, I move, in the next place, that the flute-girl, who has just made her appearance, be told to go away and play to herself, or, if she likes, to the women who are within (compare Prot.). To-day let us have conversation instead; and, if you will allow me, I will tell you what sort of conversation. This proposal having been accepted, Eryximachus proceeded as follows: —

I will begin, he said, after the manner of Melanippe in Euripides,

‘Not mine the word’

which I am about to speak, but that of Phaedrus. For often he says to me in an indignant tone:— ‘What a strange thing it is, Eryximachus, that, whereas other gods have poems and hymns made in their honour, the great and glorious god, Love, has no encomiast among all the poets who are so many. There are the worthy sophists too — the excellent Prodicus for example, who have descanted in prose on the virtues of Heracles and other heroes; and, what is still more extraordinary, I have met with a philosophical work in which the utility of salt has been made the theme of an eloquent discourse; and many other like things have had a like honour bestowed upon them. And only to think that there should have been an eager interest created about them, and yet that to this day no one has ever dared worthily to hymn Love’s praises! So entirely has this great deity been neglected.’ Now in this Phaedrus seems to me to be quite right, and therefore I want to offer him a contribution; also I think that at the present moment we who are here assembled cannot do better than honour the god Love. If you agree with me, there will be no lack of conversation; for I mean to propose that each of us in turn, going from left to right, shall make a speech in honour of Love. Let him give us the best which he can; and Phaedrus, because he is sitting first on the left hand, and because he is the father of the thought, shall begin.

No one will vote against you, Eryximachus, said Socrates. How can I oppose your motion, who profess to understand nothing but matters of love; nor, I presume, will Agathon and Pausanias; and there can be no doubt of Aristophanes, whose whole concern is with Dionysus and Aphrodite; nor will any one disagree of those whom I see around me. The proposal, as I am aware, may seem rather hard upon us whose place is last; but we shall be contented if we hear some good speeches first. Let Phaedrus begin the praise of Love, and good luck to him. All the company expressed their assent, and desired him to do as Socrates bade him.

Aristodemus did not recollect all that was said, nor do I recollect all that he related to me; but I will tell you what I thought most worthy of remembrance, and what the chief speakers said.

Phaedrus began by affirming that Love is a mighty god, and wonderful among gods and men, but especially wonderful in his birth. For he is the eldest of the gods, which is an honour to him; and a proof of his claim to this honour is, that of his parents there is no memorial; neither poet nor prose-writer has ever affirmed that he had any. As Hesiod says: —

‘First Chaos came, and then broad-bosomed Earth, The everlasting seat of all that is, And Love.’

In other words, after Chaos, the Earth and Love, these two, came into being. Also Parmenides sings of Generation:

‘First in the train of gods, he fashioned Love.’

And Acusilaus agrees with Hesiod. Thus numerous are the witnesses who acknowledge Love to be the eldest of the gods. And not only is he the eldest, he is also the source of the greatest benefits to us. For I know not any greater blessing to a young man who is beginning life than a virtuous lover, or to the lover than a beloved youth. For the principle which ought to be the guide of men who would nobly live — that principle, I say, neither kindred, nor honour, nor wealth, nor any other motive is able to implant so well as love. Of what am I speaking? Of the sense of honour and dishonour, without which neither states nor individuals ever do any good or great work. And I say that a lover who is detected in doing any dishonourable act, or submitting through cowardice when any dishonour is done to him by another, will be more pained at being detected by his beloved than at being seen by his father, or by his companions, or by any one else. The beloved too, when he is found in any disgraceful situation, has the same feeling about his lover. And if there were only some way of contriving that a state or an army should be made up of lovers and their loves (compare Rep.), they would be the very best governors of their own city, abstaining from all dishonour, and emulating one another in honour; and when fighting at each other’s side, although a mere handful, they would overcome the world. For what lover would not choose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? He would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger? The veriest coward would become an inspired hero, equal to the bravest, at such a time; Love would inspire him. That courage which, as Homer says, the god breathes into the souls of some heroes, Love of his own nature infuses into the lover.

Love will make men dare to die for their beloved — love alone; and women as well as men. Of this, Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias, is a monument to all Hellas; for she was willing to lay down her life on behalf of her husband, when no one else would, although he had a father and mother; but the tenderness of her love so far exceeded theirs, that she made them seem to be strangers in blood to their own son, and in name only related to him; and so noble did this action of hers appear to the gods, as well as to men, that among the many who have done virtuously she is one of the very few to whom, in admiration of her noble action, they have granted the privilege of returning alive to earth; such exceeding honour is paid by the gods to the devotion and virtue of love. But Orpheus, the son of Oeagrus, the harper, they sent empty away, and presented to him an apparition only of her whom he sought, but herself they would not give up, because he showed no spirit; he was only a harp-player, and did not dare like Alcestis to die for love, but was contriving how he might enter Hades alive; moreover, they afterwards caused him to suffer death at the hands of women, as the punishment of his cowardliness. Very different was the reward of the true love of Achilles towards his lover Patroclus — his lover and not his love (the notion that Patroclus was the beloved one is a foolish error into which Aeschylus has fallen, for Achilles was surely the fairer of the two, fairer also than all the other heroes; and, as Homer informs us, he was still beardless, and younger far). And greatly as the gods honour the virtue of love, still the return of love on the part of the beloved to the lover is more admired and valued and rewarded by them, for the lover is more divine; because he is inspired by God. Now Achilles was quite aware, for he had been told by his mother, that he might avoid death and return home, and live to a good old age, if he abstained from slaying Hector. Nevertheless he gave his life to revenge his friend, and dared to die, not only in his defence, but after he was dead. Wherefore the gods honoured him even above Alcestis, and sent him to the Islands of the Blest. These are my reasons for affirming that Love is the eldest and noblest and mightiest of the gods; and the chiefest author and giver of virtue in life, and of happiness after death.

This, or something like this, was the speech of Phaedrus; and some other speeches followed which Aristodemus did not remember; the next which he repeated was that of Pausanias. Phaedrus, he said, the argument has not been set before us, I think, quite in the right form; — we should not be called upon to praise Love in such an indiscriminate manner. If there were only one Love, then what you said would be well enough; but since there are more Loves than one, — should have begun by determining which of them was to be the theme of our praises. I will amend this defect; and first of all I will tell you which Love is deserving of praise, and then try to hymn the praiseworthy one in a manner worthy of him. For we all know that Love is inseparable from Aphrodite, and if there were only one Aphrodite there would be only one Love; but as there are two goddesses there must be two Loves. And am I not right in asserting that there are two goddesses? The elder one, having no mother, who is called the heavenly Aphrodite — she is the daughter of Uranus; the younger, who is the daughter of Zeus and Dione — her we call common; and the Love who is her fellow-worker is rightly named common, as the other love is called heavenly. All the gods ought to have praise given to them, but not without distinction of their natures; and therefore I must try to distinguish the characters of the two Loves. Now actions vary according to the manner of their performance. Take, for example, that which we are now doing, drinking, singing and talking — these actions are not in themselves either good or evil, but they turn out in this or that way according to the mode of performing them; and when well done they are good, and when wrongly done they are evil; and in like manner not every love, but only that which has a noble purpose, is noble and worthy of praise. The Love who is the offspring of the common Aphrodite is essentially common, and has no discrimination, being such as the meaner sort of men feel, and is apt to be of women as well as of youths, and is of the body rather than of the soul — the most foolish beings are the objects of this love which desires only to gain an end, but never thinks of accomplishing the end nobly, and therefore does good and evil quite indiscriminately. The goddess who is his mother is far younger than the other, and she was born of the union of the male and female, and partakes of both. But the offspring of the heavenly Aphrodite is derived from a mother in whose birth the female has no part, — she is from the male only; this is that love which is of youths, and the goddess being older, there is nothing of wantonness in her. Those who are inspired by this love turn to the male, and delight in him who is the more valiant and intelligent nature; any one may recognise the pure enthusiasts in the very character of their attachments. For they love not boys, but intelligent beings whose reason is beginning to be developed, much about the time at which their beards begin to grow. And in choosing young men to be their companions, they mean to be faithful to them, and pass their whole life in company with them, not to take them in their inexperience, and deceive them, and play the fool with them, or run away from one to another of them. But the love of young boys should be forbidden by law, because their future is uncertain; they may turn out good or bad, either in body or soul, and much noble enthusiasm may be thrown away upon them; in this matter the good are a law to themselves, and the coarser sort of lovers ought to be restrained by force; as we restrain or attempt to restrain them from fixing their affections on women of free birth. These are the persons who bring a reproach on love; and some have been led to deny the lawfulness of such attachments because they see the impropriety and evil of them; for surely nothing that is decorously and lawfully done can justly be censured. Now here and in Lacedaemon the rules about love are perplexing, but in most cities they are simple and easily intelligible; in Elis and Boeotia, and in countries having no gifts of eloquence, they are very straightforward; the law is simply in favour of these connexions, and no one, whether young or old, has anything to say to their discredit; the reason being, as I suppose, that they are men of few words in those parts, and therefore the lovers do not like the trouble of pleading their suit. In Ionia and other places, and generally in countries which are subject to the barbarians, the custom is held to be dishonourable; loves of youths share the evil repute in which philosophy and gymnastics are held, because they are inimical to tyranny; for the interests of rulers require that their subjects should be poor in spirit (compare Arist. Politics), and that there should be no strong bond of friendship or society among them, which love, above all other motives, is likely to inspire, as our Athenian tyrants learned by experience; for the love of Aristogeiton and the constancy of Harmodius had a strength which undid their power. And, therefore, the ill-repute into which these attachments have fallen is to be ascribed to the evil condition of those who make them to be ill-reputed; that is to say, to the self-seeking of the governors and the cowardice of the governed; on the other hand, the indiscriminate honour which is given to them in some countries is attributable to the laziness of those who hold this opinion of them. In our own country a far better principle prevails, but, as I was saying, the explanation of it is rather perplexing. For, observe that open loves are held to be more honourable than secret ones, and that the love of the noblest and highest, even if their persons are less beautiful than others, is especially honourable. Consider, too, how great is the encouragement which all the world gives to the lover; neither is he supposed to be doing anything dishonourable; but if he succeeds he is praised, and if he fail he is blamed. And in the pursuit of his love the custom of mankind allows him to do many strange things, which philosophy would bitterly censure if they were done from any motive of interest, or wish for office or power. He may pray, and entreat, and supplicate, and swear, and lie on a mat at the door, and endure a slavery worse than that of any slave — in any other case friends and enemies would be equally ready to prevent him, but now there is no friend who will be ashamed of him and admonish him, and no enemy will charge him with meanness or flattery; the actions of a lover have a grace which ennobles them; and custom has decided that they are highly commendable and that there no loss of character in them; and, what is strangest of all, he only may swear and forswear himself (so men say), and the gods will forgive his transgression, for there is no such thing as a lover’s oath. Such is the entire liberty which gods and men have allowed the lover, according to the custom which prevails in our part of the world. From this point of view a man fairly argues that in Athens to love and to be loved is held to be a very honourable thing. But when parents forbid their sons to talk with their lovers, and place them under a tutor’s care, who is appointed to see to these things, and their companions and equals cast in their teeth anything of the sort which they may observe, and their elders refuse to silence the reprovers and do not rebuke them — any one who reflects on all this will, on the contrary, think that we hold these practices to be most disgraceful. But, as I was saying at first, the truth as I imagine is, that whether such practices are honourable or whether they are dishonourable is not a simple question; they are honourable to him who follows them honourably, dishonourable to him who follows them dishonourably. There is dishonour in yielding to the evil, or in an evil manner; but there is honour in yielding to the good, or in an honourable manner. Evil is the vulgar lover who loves the body rather than the soul, inasmuch as he is not even stable, because he loves a thing which is in itself unstable, and therefore when the bloom of youth which he was desiring is over, he takes wing and flies away, in spite of all his words and promises; whereas the love of the noble disposition is life-long, for it becomes one with the everlasting. The custom of our country would have both of them proven well and truly, and would have us yield to the one sort of lover and avoid the other, and therefore encourages some to pursue, and others to fly; testing both the lover and beloved in contests and trials, until they show to which of the two classes they respectively belong. And this is the reason why, in the first place, a hasty attachment is held to be dishonourable, because time is the true test of this as of most other things; and secondly there is a dishonour in being overcome by the love of money, or of wealth, or of political power, whether a man is frightened into surrender by the loss of them, or, having experienced the benefits of money and political corruption, is unable to rise above the seductions of them. For none of these things are of a permanent or lasting nature; not to mention that no generous friendship ever sprang from them. There remains, then, only one way of honourable attachment which custom allows in the beloved, and this is the way of virtue; for as we admitted that any service which the lover does to him is not to be accounted flattery or a dishonour to himself, so the beloved has one way only of voluntary service which is not dishonourable, and this is virtuous service.

For we have a custom, and according to our custom any one who does service to another under the idea that he will be improved by him either in wisdom, or in some other particular of virtue — such a voluntary service, I say, is not to be regarded as a dishonour, and is not open to the charge of flattery. And these two customs, one the love of youth, and the other the practice of philosophy and virtue in general, ought to meet in one, and then the beloved may honourably indulge the lover. For when the lover and beloved come together, having each of them a law, and the lover thinks that he is right in doing any service which he can to his gracious loving one; and the other that he is right in showing any kindness which he can to him who is making him wise and good; the one capable of communicating wisdom and virtue, the other seeking to acquire them with a view to education and wisdom, when the two laws of love are fulfilled and meet in one — then, and then only, may the beloved yield with honour to the lover. Nor when love is of this disinterested sort is there any disgrace in being deceived, but in every other case there is equal disgrace in being or not being deceived. For he who is gracious to his lover under the impression that he is rich, and is disappointed of his gains because he turns out to be poor, is disgraced all the same: for he has done his best to show that he would give himself up to any one’s ‘uses base’ for the sake of money; but this is not honourable. And on the same principle he who gives himself to a lover because he is a good man, and in the hope that he will be improved by his company, shows himself to be virtuous, even though the object of his affection turn out to be a villain, and to have no virtue; and if he is deceived he has committed a noble error. For he has proved that for his part he will do anything for anybody with a view to virtue and improvement, than which there can be nothing nobler. Thus noble in every case is the acceptance of another for the sake of virtue. This is that love which is the love of the heavenly godess, and is heavenly, and of great price to individuals and cities, making the lover and the beloved alike eager in the work of their own improvement. But all other loves are the offspring of the other, who is the common goddess. To you, Phaedrus, I offer this my contribution in praise of love, which is as good as I could make extempore.

Pausanias came to a pause — this is the balanced way in which I have been taught by the wise to speak; and Aristodemus said that the turn of Aristophanes was next, but either he had eaten too much, or from some other cause he had the hiccough, and was obliged to change turns with Eryximachus the physician, who was reclining on the couch below him. Eryximachus, he said, you ought either to stop my hiccough, or to speak in my turn until I have left off.

I will do both, said Eryximachus: I will speak in your turn, and do you speak in mine; and while I am speaking let me recommend you to hold your breath, and if after you have done so for some time the hiccough is no better, then gargle with a little water; and if it still continues, tickle your nose with something and sneeze; and if you sneeze once or twice, even the most violent hiccough is sure to go. I will do as you prescribe, said Aristophanes, and now get on.

Eryximachus spoke as follows: Seeing that Pausanias made a fair beginning, and but a lame ending, I must endeavour to supply his deficiency. I think that he has rightly distinguished two kinds of love. But my art further informs me that the double love is not merely an affection of the soul of man towards the fair, or towards anything, but is to be found in the bodies of all animals and in productions of the earth, and I may say in all that is; such is the conclusion which I seem to have gathered from my own art of medicine, whence I learn how great and wonderful and universal is the deity of love, whose empire extends over all things, divine as well as human. And from medicine I will begin that I may do honour to my art. There are in the human body these two kinds of love, which are confessedly different and unlike, and being unlike, they have loves and desires which are unlike; and the desire of the healthy is one, and the desire of the diseased is another; and as Pausanias was just now saying that to indulge good men is honourable, and bad men dishonourable: — so too in the body the good and healthy elements are to be indulged, and the bad elements and the elements of disease are not to be indulged, but discouraged. And this is what the physician has to do, and in this the art of medicine consists: for medicine may be regarded generally as the knowledge of the loves and desires of the body, and how to satisfy them or not; and the best physician is he who is able to separate fair love from foul, or to convert one into the other; and he who knows how to eradicate and how to implant love, whichever is required, and can reconcile the most hostile elements in the constitution and make them loving friends, is a skilful practitioner. Now the most hostile are the most opposite, such as hot and cold, bitter and sweet, moist and dry, and the like. And my ancestor, Asclepius, knowing how to implant friendship and accord in these elements, was the creator of our art, as our friends the poets here tell us, and I believe them; and not only medicine in every branch but the arts of gymnastic and husbandry are under his dominion. Any one who pays the least attention to the subject will also perceive that in music there is the same reconciliation of opposites; and I suppose that this must have been the meaning of Heracleitus, although his words are not accurate; for he says that The One is united by disunion, like the harmony of the bow and the lyre. Now there is an absurdity saying that harmony is discord or is composed of elements which are still in a state of discord. But what he probably meant was, that harmony is composed of differing notes of higher or lower pitch which disagreed once, but are now reconciled by the art of music; for if the higher and lower notes still disagreed, there could be no harmony, — clearly not. For harmony is a symphony, and symphony is an agreement; but an agreement of disagreements while they disagree there cannot be; you cannot harmonize that which disagrees. In like manner rhythm is compounded of elements short and long, once differing and now in accord; which accordance, as in the former instance, medicine, so in all these other cases, music implants, making love and unison to grow up among them; and thus music, too, is concerned with the principles of love in their application to harmony and rhythm. Again, in the essential nature of harmony and rhythm there is no difficulty in discerning love which has not yet become double. But when you want to use them in actual life, either in the composition of songs or in the correct performance of airs or metres composed already, which latter is called education, then the difficulty begins, and the good artist is needed. Then the old tale has to be repeated of fair and heavenly love — the love of Urania the fair and heavenly muse, and of the duty of accepting the temperate, and those who are as yet intemperate only that they may become temperate, and of preserving their love; and again, of the vulgar Polyhymnia, who must be used with circumspection that the pleasure be enjoyed, but may not generate licentiousness; just as in my own art it is a great matter so to regulate the desires of the epicure that he may gratify his tastes without the attendant evil of disease. Whence I infer that in music, in medicine, in all other things human as well as divine, both loves ought to be noted as far as may be, for they are both present.

The course of the seasons is also full of both these principles; and when, as I was saying, the elements of hot and cold, moist and dry, attain the harmonious love of one another and blend in temperance and harmony, they bring to men, animals, and plants health and plenty, and do them no harm; whereas the wanton love, getting the upper hand and affecting the seasons of the year, is very destructive and injurious, being the source of pestilence, and bringing many other kinds of diseases on animals and plants; for hoar-frost and hail and blight spring from the excesses and disorders of these elements of love, which to know in relation to the revolutions of the heavenly bodies and the seasons of the year is termed astronomy. Furthermore all sacrifices and the whole province of divination, which is the art of communion between gods and men — these, I say, are concerned only with the preservation of the good and the cure of the evil love. For all manner of impiety is likely to ensue if, instead of accepting and honouring and reverencing the harmonious love in all his actions, a man honours the other love, whether in his feelings towards gods or parents, towards the living or the dead. Wherefore the business of divination is to see to these loves and to heal them, and divination is the peacemaker of gods and men, working by a knowledge of the religious or irreligious tendencies which exist in human loves. Such is the great and mighty, or rather omnipotent force of love in general. And the love, more especially, which is concerned with the good, and which is perfected in company with temperance and justice, whether among gods or men, has the greatest power, and is the source of all our happiness and harmony, and makes us friends with the gods who are above us, and with one another. I dare say that I too have omitted several things which might be said in praise of Love, but this was not intentional, and you, Aristophanes, may now supply the omission or take some other line of commendation; for I perceive that you are rid of the hiccough.

Yes, said Aristophanes, who followed, the hiccough is gone; not, however, until I applied the sneezing; and I wonder whether the harmony of the body has a love of such noises and ticklings, for I no sooner applied the sneezing than I was cured.

Eryximachus said: Beware, friend Aristophanes, although you are going to speak, you are making fun of me; and I shall have to watch and see whether I cannot have a laugh at your expense, when you might speak in peace.

You are right, said Aristophanes, laughing. I will unsay my words; but do you please not to watch me, as I fear that in the speech which I am about to make, instead of others laughing with me, which is to the manner born of our muse and would be all the better, I shall only be laughed at by them.

Do you expect to shoot your bolt and escape, Aristophanes? Well, perhaps if you are very careful and bear in mind that you will be called to account, I may be induced to let you off.

Aristophanes professed to open another vein of discourse; he had a mind to praise Love in another way, unlike that either of Pausanias or Eryximachus. Mankind, he said, judging by their neglect of him, have never, as I think, at all understood the power of Love. For if they had understood him they would surely have built noble temples and altars, and offered solemn sacrifices in his honour; but this is not done, and most certainly ought to be done: since of all the gods he is the best friend of men, the helper and the healer of the ills which are the great impediment to the happiness of the race. I will try to describe his power to you, and you shall teach the rest of the world what I am teaching you. In the first place, let me treat of the nature of man and what has happened to it; for the original human nature was not like the present, but different. The sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and the union of the two, having a name corresponding to this double nature, which had once a real existence, but is now lost, and the word ‘Androgynous’ is only preserved as a term of reproach. In the second place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. He could walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over and over at a great pace, turning on his four hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air; this was when he wanted to run fast. Now the sexes were three, and such as I have described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three; and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round like their parents. Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods; of them is told the tale of Otys and Ephialtes who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods. Doubt reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then there would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to them; but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to be unrestrained. At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way. He said: ‘Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and improve their manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased in numbers; this will have the advantage of making them more profitable to us. They shall walk upright on two legs, and if they continue insolent and will not be quiet, I will split them again and they shall hop about on a single leg.’ He spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair; and as he cut them one after another, he bade Apollo give the face and the half of the neck a turn in order that the man might contemplate the section of himself: he would thus learn a lesson of humility. Apollo was also bidden to heal their wounds and compose their forms. So he gave a turn to the face and pulled the skin from the sides all over that which in our language is called the belly, like the purses which draw in, and he made one mouth at the centre, which he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the navel); he also moulded the breast and took out most of the wrinkles, much as a shoemaker might smooth leather upon a last; he left a few, however, in the region of the belly and navel, as a memorial of the primeval state. After the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one, they were on the point of dying from hunger and self-neglect, because they did not like to do anything apart; and when one of the halves died and the other survived, the survivor sought another mate, man or woman as we call them, — being the sections of entire men or women, — and clung to that. They were being destroyed, when Zeus in pity of them invented a new plan: he turned the parts of generation round to the front, for this had not been always their position, and they sowed the seed no longer as hitherto like grasshoppers in the ground, but in one another; and after the transposition the male generated in the female in order that by the mutual embraces of man and woman they might breed, and the race might continue; or if man came to man they might be satisfied, and rest, and go their ways to the business of life: so ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man. Each of us when separated, having one side only, like a flat fish, is but the indenture of a man, and he is always looking for his other half. Men who are a section of that double nature which was once called Androgynous are lovers of women; adulterers are generally of this breed, and also adulterous women who lust after men: the women who are a section of the woman do not care for men, but have female attachments; the female companions are of this sort. But they who are a section of the male follow the male, and while they are young, being slices of the original man, they hang about men and embrace them, and they are themselves the best of boys and youths, because they have the most manly nature. Some indeed assert that they are shameless, but this is not true; for they do not act thus from any want of shame, but because they are valiant and manly, and have a manly countenance, and they embrace that which is like them. And these when they grow up become our statesmen, and these only, which is a great proof of the truth of what I am saving. When they reach manhood they are lovers of youth, and are not naturally inclined to marry or beget children, — if at all, they do so only in obedience to the law; but they are satisfied if they may be allowed to live with one another unwedded; and such a nature is prone to love and ready to return love, always embracing that which is akin to him. And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other’s sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover’s intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment. Suppose Hephaestus, with his instruments, to come to the pair who are lying side by side and to say to them, ‘What do you people want of one another?’ they would be unable to explain. And suppose further, that when he saw their perplexity he said: ‘Do you desire to be wholly one; always day and night to be in one another’s company? for if this is what you desire, I am ready to melt you into one and let you grow together, so that being two you shall become one, and while you live live a common life as if you were a single man, and after your death in the world below still be one departed soul instead of two — I ask whether this is what you lovingly desire, and whether you are satisfied to attain this?’ — there is not a man of them who when he heard the proposal would deny or would not acknowledge that this meeting and melting into one another, this becoming one instead of two, was the very expression of his ancient need (compare Arist. Pol.). And the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love. There was a time, I say, when we were one, but now because of the wickedness of mankind God has dispersed us, as the Arcadians were dispersed into villages by the Lacedaemonians (compare Arist. Pol.). And if we are not obedient to the gods, there is a danger that we shall be split up again and go about in basso-relievo, like the profile figures having only half a nose which are sculptured on monuments, and that we shall be like tallies. Wherefore let us exhort all men to piety, that we may avoid evil, and obtain the good, of which Love is to us the lord and minister; and let no one oppose him — he is the enemy of the gods who opposes him. For if we are friends of the God and at peace with him we shall find our own true loves, which rarely happens in this world at present. I am serious, and therefore I must beg Eryximachus not to make fun or to find any allusion in what I am saying to Pausanias and Agathon, who, as I suspect, are both of the manly nature, and belong to the class which I have been describing. But my words have a wider application — they include men and women everywhere; and I believe that if our loves were perfectly accomplished, and each one returning to his primeval nature had his original true love, then our race would be happy. And if this would be best of all, the best in the next degree and under present circumstances must be the nearest approach to such an union; and that will be the attainment of a congenial love. Wherefore, if we would praise him who has given to us the benefit, we must praise the god Love, who is our greatest benefactor, both leading us in this life back to our own nature, and giving us high hopes for the future, for he promises that if we are pious, he will restore us to our original state, and heal us and make us happy and blessed. This, Eryximachus, is my discourse of love, which, although different to yours, I must beg you to leave unassailed by the shafts of your ridicule, in order that each may have his turn; each, or rather either, for Agathon and Socrates are the only ones left.

Indeed, I am not going to attack you, said Eryximachus, for I thought your speech charming, and did I not know that Agathon and Socrates are masters in the art of love, I should be really afraid that they would have nothing to say, after the world of things which have been said already. But, for all that, I am not without hopes.

Socrates said: You played your part well, Eryximachus; but if you were as I am now, or rather as I shall be when Agathon has spoken, you would, indeed, be in a great strait.

You want to cast a spell over me, Socrates, said Agathon, in the hope that I may be disconcerted at the expectation raised among the audience that I shall speak well.

I should be strangely forgetful, Agathon replied Socrates, of the courage and magnanimity which you showed when your own compositions were about to be exhibited, and you came upon the stage with the actors and faced the vast theatre altogether undismayed, if I thought that your nerves could be fluttered at a small party of friends.

Do you think, Socrates, said Agathon, that my head is so full of the theatre as not to know how much more formidable to a man of sense a few good judges are than many fools?

Nay, replied Socrates, I should be very wrong in attributing to you, Agathon, that or any other want of refinement. And I am quite aware that if you happened to meet with any whom you thought wise, you would care for their opinion much more than for that of the many. But then we, having been a part of the foolish many in the theatre, cannot be regarded as the select wise; though I know that if you chanced to be in the presence, not of one of ourselves, but of some really wise man, you would be ashamed of disgracing yourself before him — would you not?

Yes, said Agathon.

But before the many you would not be ashamed, if you thought that you were doing something disgraceful in their presence?

Here Phaedrus interrupted them, saying: not answer him, my dear Agathon; for if he can only get a partner with whom he can talk, especially a good-looking one, he will no longer care about the completion of our plan. Now I love to hear him talk; but just at present I must not forget the encomium on Love which I ought to receive from him and from every one. When you and he have paid your tribute to the god, then you may talk.

Very good, Phaedrus, said Agathon; I see no reason why I should not proceed with my speech, as I shall have many other opportunities of conversing with Socrates. Let me say first how I ought to speak, and then speak: —

The previous speakers, instead of praising the god Love, or unfolding his nature, appear to have congratulated mankind on the benefits which he confers upon them. But I would rather praise the god first, and then speak of his gifts; this is always the right way of praising everything. May I say without impiety or offence, that of all the blessed gods he is the most blessed because he is the fairest and best? And he is the fairest: for, in the first place, he is the youngest, and of his youth he is himself the witness, fleeing out of the way of age, who is swift enough, swifter truly than most of us like: — Love hates him and will not come near him; but youth and love live and move together — like to like, as the proverb says. Many things were said by Phaedrus about Love in which I agree with him; but I cannot agree that he is older than Iapetus and Kronos: — not so; I maintain him to be the youngest of the gods, and youthful ever. The ancient doings among the gods of which Hesiod and Parmenides spoke, if the tradition of them be true, were done of Necessity and not of Love; had Love been in those days, there would have been no chaining or mutilation of the gods, or other violence, but peace and sweetness, as there is now in heaven, since the rule of Love began. Love is young and also tender; he ought to have a poet like Homer to describe his tenderness, as Homer says of Ate, that she is a goddess and tender: —

‘Her feet are tender, for she sets her steps, Not on the ground but on the heads of men:’

herein is an excellent proof of her tenderness, — that she walks not upon the hard but upon the soft. Let us adduce a similar proof of the tenderness of Love; for he walks not upon the earth, nor yet upon the skulls of men, which are not so very soft, but in the hearts and souls of both gods and men, which are of all things the softest: in them he walks and dwells and makes his home. Not in every soul without exception, for where there is hardness he departs, where there is softness there he dwells; and nestling always with his feet and in all manner of ways in the softest of soft places, how can he be other than the softest of all things? Of a truth he is the tenderest as well as the youngest, and also he is of flexile form; for if he were hard and without flexure he could not enfold all things, or wind his way into and out of every soul of man undiscovered. And a proof of his flexibility and symmetry of form is his grace, which is universally admitted to be in an especial manner the attribute of Love; ungrace and love are always at war with one another. The fairness of his complexion is revealed by his habitation among the flowers; for he dwells not amid bloomless or fading beauties, whether of body or soul or aught else, but in the place of flowers and scents, there he sits and abides. Concerning the beauty of the god I have said enough; and yet there remains much more which I might say. Of his virtue I have now to speak: his greatest glory is that he can neither do nor suffer wrong to or from any god or any man; for he suffers not by force if he suffers; force comes not near him, neither when he acts does he act by force. For all men in all things serve him of their own free will, and where there is voluntary agreement, there, as the laws which are the lords of the city say, is justice. And not only is he just but exceedingly temperate, for Temperance is the acknowledged ruler of the pleasures and desires, and no pleasure ever masters Love; he is their master and they are his servants; and if he conquers them he must be temperate indeed. As to courage, even the God of War is no match for him; he is the captive and Love is the lord, for love, the love of Aphrodite, masters him, as the tale runs; and the master is stronger than the servant. And if he conquers the bravest of all others, he must be himself the bravest. Of his courage and justice and temperance I have spoken, but I have yet to speak of his wisdom; and according to the measure of my ability I must try to do my best. In the first place he is a poet (and here, like Eryximachus, I magnify my art), and he is also the source of poesy in others, which he could not be if he were not himself a poet. And at the touch of him every one becomes a poet, even though he had no music in him before (A fragment of the Sthenoaoea of Euripides.); this also is a proof that Love is a good poet and accomplished in all the fine arts; for no one can give to another that which he has not himself, or teach that of which he has no knowledge. Who will deny that the creation of the animals is his doing? Are they not all the works of his wisdom, born and begotten of him? And as to the artists, do we not know that he only of them whom love inspires has the light of fame? — he whom Love touches not walks in darkness. The arts of medicine and archery and divination were discovered by Apollo, under the guidance of love and desire; so that he too is a disciple of Love. Also the melody of the Muses, the metallurgy of Hephaestus, the weaving of Athene, the empire of Zeus over gods and men, are all due to Love, who was the inventor of them. And so Love set in order the empire of the gods — the love of beauty, as is evident, for with deformity Love has no concern. In the days of old, as I began by saying, dreadful deeds were done among the gods, for they were ruled by Necessity; but now since the birth of Love, and from the Love of the beautiful, has sprung every good in heaven and earth. Therefore, Phaedrus, I say of Love that he is the fairest and best in himself, and the cause of what is fairest and best in all other things. And there comes into my mind a line of poetry in which he is said to be the god who

‘Gives peace on earth and calms the stormy deep, Who stills the winds and bids the sufferer sleep.’

This is he who empties men of disaffection and fills them with affection, who makes them to meet together at banquets such as these: in sacrifices, feasts, dances, he is our lord — who sends courtesy and sends away discourtesy, who gives kindness ever and never gives unkindness; the friend of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the gods; desired by those who have no part in him, and precious to those who have the better part in him; parent of delicacy, luxury, desire, fondness, softness, grace; regardful of the good, regardless of the evil: in every word, work, wish, fear — saviour, pilot, comrade, helper; glory of gods and men, leader best and brightest: in whose footsteps let every man follow, sweetly singing in his honour and joining in that sweet strain with which love charms the souls of gods and men. Such is the speech, Phaedrus, half-playful, yet having a certain measure of seriousness, which, according to my ability, I dedicate to the god.

When Agathon had done speaking, Aristodemus said that there was a general cheer; the young man was thought to have spoken in a manner worthy of himself, and of the god. And Socrates, looking at Eryximachus, said: Tell me, son of Acumenus, was there not reason in my fears? and was I not a true prophet when I said that Agathon would make a wonderful oration, and that I should be in a strait?

The part of the prophecy which concerns Agathon, replied Eryximachus, appears to me to be true; but not the other part — that you will be in a strait.

Why, my dear friend, said Socrates, must not I or any one be in a strait who has to speak after he has heard such a rich and varied discourse? I am especially struck with the beauty of the concluding words — who could listen to them without amazement? When I reflected on the immeasurable inferiority of my own powers, I was ready to run away for shame, if there had been a possibility of escape. For I was reminded of Gorgias, and at the end of his speech I fancied that Agathon was shaking at me the Gorginian or Gorgonian head of the great master of rhetoric, which was simply to turn me and my speech into stone, as Homer says (Odyssey), and strike me dumb. And then I perceived how foolish I had been in consenting to take my turn with you in praising love, and saying that I too was a master of the art, when I really had no conception how anything ought to be praised. For in my simplicity I imagined that the topics of praise should be true, and that this being presupposed, out of the true the speaker was to choose the best and set them forth in the best manner. And I felt quite proud, thinking that I knew the nature of true praise, and should speak well. Whereas I now see that the intention was to attribute to Love every species of greatness and glory, whether really belonging to him or not, without regard to truth or falsehood — that was no matter; for the original proposal seems to have been not that each of you should really praise Love, but only that you should appear to praise him. And so you attribute to Love every imaginable form of praise which can be gathered anywhere; and you say that ‘he is all this,’ and ‘the cause of all that,’ making him appear the fairest and best of all to those who know him not, for you cannot impose upon those who know him. And a noble and solemn hymn of praise have you rehearsed. But as I misunderstood the nature of the praise when I said that I would take my turn, I must beg to be absolved from the promise which I made in ignorance, and which (as Euripides would say (Eurip. Hyppolytus)) was a promise of the lips and not of the mind. Farewell then to such a strain: for I do not praise in that way; no, indeed, I cannot. But if you like to hear the truth about love, I am ready to speak in my own manner, though I will not make myself ridiculous by entering into any rivalry with you. Say then, Phaedrus, whether you would like to have the truth about love, spoken in any words and in any order which may happen to come into my mind at the time. Will that be agreeable to you?

Aristodemus said that Phaedrus and the company bid him speak in any manner which he thought best. Then, he added, let me have your permission first to ask Agathon a few more questions, in order that I may take his admissions as the premisses of my discourse.

I grant the permission, said Phaedrus: put your questions. Socrates then proceeded as follows: —

In the magnificent oration which you have just uttered, I think that you were right, my dear Agathon, in proposing to speak of the nature of Love first and afterwards of his works — that is a way of beginning which I very much approve. And as you have spoken so eloquently of his nature, may I ask you further, Whether love is the love of something or of nothing? And here I must explain myself: I do not want you to say that love is the love of a father or the love of a mother — that would be ridiculous; but to answer as you would, if I asked is a father a father of something? to which you would find no difficulty in replying, of a son or daughter: and the answer would be right.

Very true, said Agathon.

And you would say the same of a mother?

He assented.

Yet let me ask you one more question in order to illustrate my meaning: Is not a brother to be regarded essentially as a brother of something?

Certainly, he replied.

That is, of a brother or sister?

Yes, he said.

And now, said Socrates, I will ask about Love: — Is Love of something or of nothing?

Of something, surely, he replied.

Keep in mind what this is, and tell me what I want to know — whether Love desires that of which love is.

Yes, surely.

And does he possess, or does he not possess, that which he loves and desires?

Probably not, I should say.

Nay, replied Socrates, I would have you consider whether ‘necessarily’ is not rather the word. The inference that he who desires something is in want of something, and that he who desires nothing is in want of nothing, is in my judgment, Agathon, absolutely and necessarily true. What do you think?

I agree with you, said Agathon.

Very good. Would he who is great, desire to be great, or he who is strong, desire to be strong?

That would be inconsistent with our previous admissions.

True. For he who is anything cannot want to be that which he is?

Very true.

And yet, added Socrates, if a man being strong desired to be strong, or being swift desired to be swift, or being healthy desired to be healthy, in that case he might be thought to desire something which he already has or is. I give the example in order that we may avoid misconception. For the possessors of these qualities, Agathon, must be supposed to have their respective advantages at the time, whether they choose or not; and who can desire that which he has? Therefore, when a person says, I am well and wish to be well, or I am rich and wish to be rich, and I desire simply to have what I have — to him we shall reply: ‘You, my friend, having wealth and health and strength, want to have the continuance of them; for at this moment, whether you choose or no, you have them. And when you say, I desire that which I have and nothing else, is not your meaning that you want to have what you now have in the future?’ He must agree with us — must he not?

He must, replied Agathon.

Then, said Socrates, he desires that what he has at present may be preserved to him in the future, which is equivalent to saying that he desires something which is non-existent to him, and which as yet he has not got:

Very true, he said.

Then he and every one who desires, desires that which he has not already, and which is future and not present, and which he has not, and is not, and of which he is in want; — these are the sort of things which love and desire seek?

Very true, he said.

Then now, said Socrates, let us recapitulate the argument. First, is not love of something, and of something too which is wanting to a man?

Yes, he replied.

Remember further what you said in your speech, or if you do not remember I will remind you: you said that the love of the beautiful set in order the empire of the gods, for that of deformed things there is no love — did you not say something of that kind?

Yes, said Agathon.

Yes, my friend, and the remark was a just one. And if this is true, Love is the love of beauty and not of deformity?

He assented.

And the admission has been already made that Love is of something which a man wants and has not?

True, he said.

Then Love wants and has not beauty?

Certainly, he replied.

And would you call that beautiful which wants and does not possess beauty?

Certainly not.

Then would you still say that love is beautiful?

Agathon replied: I fear that I did not understand what I was saying.

You made a very good speech, Agathon, replied Socrates; but there is yet one small question which I would fain ask: — Is not the good also the beautiful?

Yes.

Then in wanting the beautiful, love wants also the good?

I cannot refute you, Socrates, said Agathon: — Let us assume that what you say is true.

Say rather, beloved Agathon, that you cannot refute the truth; for Socrates is easily refuted.

And now, taking my leave of you, I would rehearse a tale of love which I heard from Diotima of Mantineia (compare 1 Alcibiades), a woman wise in this and in many other kinds of knowledge, who in the days of old, when the Athenians offered sacrifice before the coming of the plague, delayed the disease ten years. She was my instructress in the art of love, and I shall repeat to you what she said to me, beginning with the admissions made by Agathon, which are nearly if not quite the same which I made to the wise woman when she questioned me: I think that this will be the easiest way, and I shall take both parts myself as well as I can (compare Gorgias). As you, Agathon, suggested (supra), I must speak first of the being and nature of Love, and then of his works. First I said to her in nearly the same words which he used to me, that Love was a mighty god, and likewise fair; and she proved to me as I proved to him that, by my own showing, Love was neither fair nor good. ‘What do you mean, Diotima,’ I said, ’is love then evil and foul?’ ‘Hush,’ she cried; ‘must that be foul which is not fair?’ ‘Certainly,’ I said. ‘And is that which is not wise, ignorant? do you not see that there is a mean between wisdom and ignorance?’ ‘And what may that be?’ I said. ‘Right opinion,’ she replied; ‘which, as you know, being incapable of giving a reason, is not knowledge (for how can knowledge be devoid of reason? nor again, ignorance, for neither can ignorance attain the truth), but is clearly something which is a mean between ignorance and wisdom.’ ‘Quite true,’ I replied. ‘Do not then insist,’ she said, ‘that what is not fair is of necessity foul, or what is not good evil; or infer that because love is not fair and good he is therefore foul and evil; for he is in a mean between them.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Love is surely admitted by all to be a great god.’ ‘By those who know or by those who do not know?’ ‘By all.’ ‘And how, Socrates,’ she said with a smile, ‘can Love be acknowledged to be a great god by those who say that he is not a god at all?’ ‘And who are they?’ I said. ‘You and I are two of them,’ she replied. ‘How can that be?’ I said. ‘It is quite intelligible,’ she replied; ‘for you yourself would acknowledge that the gods are happy and fair — of course you would — would you dare to say that any god was not?’ ‘Certainly not,’ I replied. ‘And you mean by the happy, those who are the possessors of things good or fair?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And you admitted that Love, because he was in want, desires those good and fair things of which he is in want?’ ‘Yes, I did.’ ‘But how can he be a god who has no portion in what is either good or fair?’ ‘Impossible.’ ‘Then you see that you also deny the divinity of Love.’

‘What then is Love?’ I asked; ’Is he mortal?’ ‘No.’ ‘What then?’ ‘As in the former instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in a mean between the two.’ ‘What is he, Diotima?’ ‘He is a great spirit (daimon), and like all spirits he is intermediate between the divine and the mortal.’ ‘And what,’ I said, ’is his power?’ ‘He interprets,’ she replied, ‘between gods and men, conveying and taking across to the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the commands and replies of the gods; he is the mediator who spans the chasm which divides them, and therefore in him all is bound together, and through him the arts of the prophet and the priest, their sacrifices and mysteries and charms, and all prophecy and incantation, find their way. For God mingles not with man; but through Love all the intercourse and converse of God with man, whether awake or asleep, is carried on. The wisdom which understands this is spiritual; all other wisdom, such as that of arts and handicrafts, is mean and vulgar. Now these spirits or intermediate powers are many and diverse, and one of them is Love.’ ‘And who,’ I said, ‘was his father, and who his mother?’ ‘The tale,’ she said, ‘will take time; nevertheless I will tell you. On the birthday of Aphrodite there was a feast of the gods, at which the god Poros or Plenty, who is the son of Metis or Discretion, was one of the guests. When the feast was over, Penia or Poverty, as the manner is on such occasions, came about the doors to beg. Now Plenty who was the worse for nectar (there was no wine in those days), went into the garden of Zeus and fell into a heavy sleep, and Poverty considering her own straitened circumstances, plotted to have a child by him, and accordingly she lay down at his side and conceived Love, who partly because he is naturally a lover of the beautiful, and because Aphrodite is herself beautiful, and also because he was born on her birthday, is her follower and attendant. And as his parentage is, so also are his fortunes. In the first place he is always poor, and anything but tender and fair, as the many imagine him; and he is rough and squalid, and has no shoes, nor a house to dwell in; on the bare earth exposed he lies under the open heaven, in the streets, or at the doors of houses, taking his rest; and like his mother he is always in distress. Like his father too, whom he also partly resembles, he is always plotting against the fair and good; he is bold, enterprising, strong, a mighty hunter, always weaving some intrigue or other, keen in the pursuit of wisdom, fertile in resources; a philosopher at all times, terrible as an enchanter, sorcerer, sophist. He is by nature neither mortal nor immortal, but alive and flourishing at one moment when he is in plenty, and dead at another moment, and again alive by reason of his father’s nature. But that which is always flowing in is always flowing out, and so he is never in want and never in wealth; and, further, he is in a mean between ignorance and knowledge. The truth of the matter is this: No god is a philosopher or seeker after wisdom, for he is wise already; nor does any man who is wise seek after wisdom. Neither do the ignorant seek after wisdom. For herein is the evil of ignorance, that he who is neither good nor wise is nevertheless satisfied with himself: he has no desire for that of which he feels no want.’ ‘But who then, Diotima,’ I said, ‘are the lovers of wisdom, if they are neither the wise nor the foolish?’ ‘A child may answer that question,’ she replied; ‘they are those who are in a mean between the two; Love is one of them. For wisdom is a most beautiful thing, and Love is of the beautiful; and therefore Love is also a philosopher or lover of wisdom, and being a lover of wisdom is in a mean between the wise and the ignorant. And of this too his birth is the cause; for his father is wealthy and wise, and his mother poor and foolish. Such, my dear Socrates, is the nature of the spirit Love. The error in your conception of him was very natural, and as I imagine from what you say, has arisen out of a confusion of love and the beloved, which made you think that love was all beautiful. For the beloved is the truly beautiful, and delicate, and perfect, and blessed; but the principle of love is of another nature, and is such as I have described.’

I said, ‘O thou stranger woman, thou sayest well; but, assuming Love to be such as you say, what is the use of him to men?’ ‘That, Socrates,’ she replied, ‘I will attempt to unfold: of his nature and birth I have already spoken; and you acknowledge that love is of the beautiful. But some one will say: Of the beautiful in what, Socrates and Diotima? — or rather let me put the question more clearly, and ask: When a man loves the beautiful, what does he desire?’ I answered her ‘That the beautiful may be his.’ ‘Still,’ she said, ‘the answer suggests a further question: What is given by the possession of beauty?’ ‘To what you have asked,’ I replied, ‘I have no answer ready.’ ‘Then,’ she said, ‘let me put the word “good” in the place of the beautiful, and repeat the question once more: If he who loves loves the good, what is it then that he loves?’ ‘The possession of the good,’ I said. ‘And what does he gain who possesses the good?’ ‘Happiness,’ I replied; ‘there is less difficulty in answering that question.’ ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘the happy are made happy by the acquisition of good things. Nor is there any need to ask why a man desires happiness; the answer is already final.’ ‘You are right.’ I said. ‘And is this wish and this desire common to all? and do all men always desire their own good, or only some men? — what say you?’ ‘All men,’ I replied; ‘the desire is common to all.’ ‘Why, then,’ she rejoined, ‘are not all men, Socrates, said to love, but only some of them? whereas you say that all men are always loving the same things.’ ‘I myself wonder,’ I said, ‘why this is.’ ‘There is nothing to wonder at,’ she replied; ‘the reason is that one part of love is separated off and receives the name of the whole, but the other parts have other names.’ ‘Give an illustration,’ I said. She answered me as follows: ‘There is poetry, which, as you know, is complex and manifold. All creation or passage of non-being into being is poetry or making, and the processes of all art are creative; and the masters of arts are all poets or makers.’ ‘Very true.’ ‘Still,’ she said, ‘you know that they are not called poets, but have other names; only that portion of the art which is separated off from the rest, and is concerned with music and metre, is termed poetry, and they who possess poetry in this sense of the word are called poets.’ ‘Very true,’ I said. ‘And the same holds of love. For you may say generally that all desire of good and happiness is only the great and subtle power of love; but they who are drawn towards him by any other path, whether the path of money-making or gymnastics or philosophy, are not called lovers — the name of the whole is appropriated to those whose affection takes one form only — they alone are said to love, or to be lovers.’ ‘I dare say,’ I replied, ‘that you are right.’ ‘Yes,’ she added, ‘and you hear people say that lovers are seeking for their other half; but I say that they are seeking neither for the half of themselves, nor for the whole, unless the half or the whole be also a good. And they will cut off their own hands and feet and cast them away, if they are evil; for they love not what is their own, unless perchance there be some one who calls what belongs to him the good, and what belongs to another the evil. For there is nothing which men love but the good. Is there anything?’ ‘Certainly, I should say, that there is nothing.’ ‘Then,’ she said, ‘the simple truth is, that men love the good.’ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘To which must be added that they love the possession of the good?’ ‘Yes, that must be added.’ ‘And not only the possession, but the everlasting possession of the good?’ ‘That must be added too.’ ‘Then love,’ she said, ‘may be described generally as the love of the everlasting possession of the good?’ ‘That is most true.’

‘Then if this be the nature of love, can you tell me further,’ she said, ‘what is the manner of the pursuit? what are they doing who show all this eagerness and heat which is called love? and what is the object which they have in view? Answer me.’ ‘Nay, Diotima,’ I replied, ‘if I had known, I should not have wondered at your wisdom, neither should I have come to learn from you about this very matter.’ ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I will teach you: — The object which they have in view is birth in beauty, whether of body or soul.’ ‘I do not understand you,’ I said; ‘the oracle requires an explanation.’ ‘I will make my meaning clearer,’ she replied. ‘I mean to say, that all men are bringing to the birth in their bodies and in their souls. There is a certain age at which human nature is desirous of procreation — procreation which must be in beauty and not in deformity; and this procreation is the union of man and woman, and is a divine thing; for conception and generation are an immortal principle in the mortal creature, and in the inharmonious they can never be. But the deformed is always inharmonious with the divine, and the beautiful harmonious. Beauty, then, is the destiny or goddess of parturition who presides at birth, and therefore, when approaching beauty, the conceiving power is propitious, and diffusive, and benign, and begets and bears fruit: at the sight of ugliness she frowns and contracts and has a sense of pain, and turns away, and shrivels up, and not without a pang refrains from conception. And this is the reason why, when the hour of conception arrives, and the teeming nature is full, there is such a flutter and ecstasy about beauty whose approach is the alleviation of the pain of travail. For love, Socrates, is not, as you imagine, the love of the beautiful only.’ ‘What then?’ ‘The love of generation and of birth in beauty.’ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, indeed,’ she replied. ‘But why of generation?’ ‘Because to the mortal creature, generation is a sort of eternity and immortality,’ she replied; ‘and if, as has been already admitted, love is of the everlasting possession of the good, all men will necessarily desire immortality together with good: Wherefore love is of immortality.’

All this she taught me at various times when she spoke of love. And I remember her once saying to me, ‘What is the cause, Socrates, of love, and the attendant desire? See you not how all animals, birds, as well as beasts, in their desire of procreation, are in agony when they take the infection of love, which begins with the desire of union; whereto is added the care of offspring, on whose behalf the weakest are ready to battle against the strongest even to the uttermost, and to die for them, and will let themselves be tormented with hunger or suffer anything in order to maintain their young. Man may be supposed to act thus from reason; but why should animals have these passionate feelings? Can you tell me why?’ Again I replied that I did not know. She said to me: ‘And do you expect ever to become a master in the art of love, if you do not know this?’ ‘But I have told you already, Diotima, that my ignorance is the reason why I come to you; for I am conscious that I want a teacher; tell me then the cause of this and of the other mysteries of love.’ ‘Marvel not,’ she said, ‘if you believe that love is of the immortal, as we have several times acknowledged; for here again, and on the same principle too, the mortal nature is seeking as far as is possible to be everlasting and immortal: and this is only to be attained by generation, because generation always leaves behind a new existence in the place of the old. Nay even in the life of the same individual there is succession and not absolute unity: a man is called the same, and yet in the short interval which elapses between youth and age, and in which every animal is said to have life and identity, he is undergoing a perpetual process of loss and reparation — hair, flesh, bones, blood, and the whole body are always changing. Which is true not only of the body, but also of the soul, whose habits, tempers, opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, fears, never remain the same in any one of us, but are always coming and going; and equally true of knowledge, and what is still more surprising to us mortals, not only do the sciences in general spring up and decay, so that in respect of them we are never the same; but each of them individually experiences a like change. For what is implied in the word “recollection,” but the departure of knowledge, which is ever being forgotten, and is renewed and preserved by recollection, and appears to be the same although in reality new, according to that law of succession by which all mortal things are preserved, not absolutely the same, but by substitution, the old worn-out mortality leaving another new and similar existence behind — unlike the divine, which is always the same and not another? And in this way, Socrates, the mortal body, or mortal anything, partakes of immortality; but the immortal in another way. Marvel not then at the love which all men have of their offspring; for that universal love and interest is for the sake of immortality.’

I was astonished at her words, and said: ’Is this really true, O thou wise Diotima?’ And she answered with all the authority of an accomplished sophist: ‘Of that, Socrates, you may be assured; — think only of the ambition of men, and you will wonder at the senselessness of their ways, unless you consider how they are stirred by the love of an immortality of fame. They are ready to run all risks greater far than they would have run for their children, and to spend money and undergo any sort of toil, and even to die, for the sake of leaving behind them a name which shall be eternal. Do you imagine that Alcestis would have died to save Admetus, or Achilles to avenge Patroclus, or your own Codrus in order to preserve the kingdom for his sons, if they had not imagined that the memory of their virtues, which still survives among us, would be immortal? Nay,’ she said, ‘I am persuaded that all men do all things, and the better they are the more they do them, in hope of the glorious fame of immortal virtue; for they desire the immortal.

‘Those who are pregnant in the body only, betake themselves to women and beget children — this is the character of their love; their offspring, as they hope, will preserve their memory and giving them the blessedness and immortality which they desire in the future. But souls which are pregnant — for there certainly are men who are more creative in their souls than in their bodies — conceive that which is proper for the soul to conceive or contain. And what are these conceptions? — wisdom and virtue in general. And such creators are poets and all artists who are deserving of the name inventor. But the greatest and fairest sort of wisdom by far is that which is concerned with the ordering of states and families, and which is called temperance and justice. And he who in youth has the seed of these implanted in him and is himself inspired, when he comes to maturity desires to beget and generate. He wanders about seeking beauty that he may beget offspring — for in deformity he will beget nothing — and naturally embraces the beautiful rather than the deformed body; above all when he finds a fair and noble and well-nurtured soul, he embraces the two in one person, and to such an one he is full of speech about virtue and the nature and pursuits of a good man; and he tries to educate him; and at the touch of the beautiful which is ever present to his memory, even when absent, he brings forth that which he had conceived long before, and in company with him tends that which he brings forth; and they are married by a far nearer tie and have a closer friendship than those who beget mortal children, for the children who are their common offspring are fairer and more immortal. Who, when he thinks of Homer and Hesiod and other great poets, would not rather have their children than ordinary human ones? Who would not emulate them in the creation of children such as theirs, which have preserved their memory and given them everlasting glory? Or who would not have such children as Lycurgus left behind him to be the saviours, not only of Lacedaemon, but of Hellas, as one may say? There is Solon, too, who is the revered father of Athenian laws; and many others there are in many other places, both among Hellenes and barbarians, who have given to the world many noble works, and have been the parents of virtue of every kind; and many temples have been raised in their honour for the sake of children such as theirs; which were never raised in honour of any one, for the sake of his mortal children.

‘These are the lesser mysteries of love, into which even you, Socrates, may enter; to the greater and more hidden ones which are the crown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit, they will lead, I know not whether you will be able to attain. But I will do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you can. For he who would proceed aright in this matter should begin in youth to visit beautiful forms; and first, if he be guided by his instructor aright, to love one such form only — out of that he should create fair thoughts; and soon he will of himself perceive that the beauty of one form is akin to the beauty of another; and then if beauty of form in general is his pursuit, how foolish would he be not to recognize that the beauty in every form is and the same! And when he perceives this he will abate his violent love of the one, which he will despise and deem a small thing, and will become a lover of all beautiful forms; in the next stage he will consider that the beauty of the mind is more honourable than the beauty of the outward form. So that if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be content to love and tend him, and will search out and bring to the birth thoughts which may improve the young, until he is compelled to contemplate and see the beauty of institutions and laws, and to understand that the beauty of them all is of one family, and that personal beauty is a trifle; and after laws and institutions he will go on to the sciences, that he may see their beauty, being not like a servant in love with the beauty of one youth or man or institution, himself a slave mean and narrow-minded, but drawing towards and contemplating the vast sea of beauty, he will create many fair and noble thoughts and notions in boundless love of wisdom; until on that shore he grows and waxes strong, and at last the vision is revealed to him of a single science, which is the science of beauty everywhere. To this I will proceed; please to give me your very best attention:

‘He who has been instructed thus far in the things of love, and who has learned to see the beautiful in due order and succession, when he comes toward the end will suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous beauty (and this, Socrates, is the final cause of all our former toils) — a nature which in the first place is everlasting, not growing and decaying, or waxing and waning; secondly, not fair in one point of view and foul in another, or at one time or in one relation or at one place fair, at another time or in another relation or at another place foul, as if fair to some and foul to others, or in the likeness of a face or hands or any other part of the bodily frame, or in any form of speech or knowledge, or existing in any other being, as for example, in an animal, or in heaven, or in earth, or in any other place; but beauty absolute, separate, simple, and everlasting, which without diminution and without increase, or any change, is imparted to the ever-growing and perishing beauties of all other things. He who from these ascending under the influence of true love, begins to perceive that beauty, is not far from the end. And the true order of going, or being led by another, to the things of love, is to begin from the beauties of earth and mount upwards for the sake of that other beauty, using these as steps only, and from one going on to two, and from two to all fair forms, and from fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until from fair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows what the essence of beauty is. This, my dear Socrates,’ said the stranger of Mantineia, ’is that life above all others which man should live, in the contemplation of beauty absolute; a beauty which if you once beheld, you would see not to be after the measure of gold, and garments, and fair boys and youths, whose presence now entrances you; and you and many a one would be content to live seeing them only and conversing with them without meat or drink, if that were possible — you only want to look at them and to be with them. But what if man had eyes to see the true beauty — the divine beauty, I mean, pure and clear and unalloyed, not clogged with the pollutions of mortality and all the colours and vanities of human life — thither looking, and holding converse with the true beauty simple and divine? Remember how in that communion only, beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not images of beauty, but realities (for he has hold not of an image but of a reality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to become the friend of God and be immortal, if mortal man may. Would that be an ignoble life?’

Such, Phaedrus — and I speak not only to you, but to all of you — were the words of Diotima; and I am persuaded of their truth. And being persuaded of them, I try to persuade others, that in the attainment of this end human nature will not easily find a helper better than love: And therefore, also, I say that every man ought to honour him as I myself honour him, and walk in his ways, and exhort others to do the same, and praise the power and spirit of love according to the measure of my ability now and ever.

The words which I have spoken, you, Phaedrus, may call an encomium of love, or anything else which you please.

When Socrates had done speaking, the company applauded, and Aristophanes was beginning to say something in answer to the allusion which Socrates had made to his own speech, when suddenly there was a great knocking at the door of the house, as of revellers, and the sound of a flute-girl was heard. Agathon told the attendants to go and see who were the intruders. ‘If they are friends of ours,’ he said, ‘invite them in, but if not, say that the drinking is over.’ A little while afterwards they heard the voice of Alcibiades resounding in the court; he was in a great state of intoxication, and kept roaring and shouting ‘Where is Agathon? Lead me to Agathon,’ and at length, supported by the flute-girl and some of his attendants, he found his way to them. ‘Hail, friends,’ he said, appearing at the door crowned with a massive garland of ivy and violets, his head flowing with ribands. ‘Will you have a very drunken man as a companion of your revels? Or shall I crown Agathon, which was my intention in coming, and go away? For I was unable to come yesterday, and therefore I am here to-day, carrying on my head these ribands, that taking them from my own head, I may crown the head of this fairest and wisest of men, as I may be allowed to call him. Will you laugh at me because I am drunk? Yet I know very well that I am speaking the truth, although you may laugh. But first tell me; if I come in shall we have the understanding of which I spoke (supra Will you have a very drunken man? etc.)? Will you drink with me or not?’

The company were vociferous in begging that he would take his place among them, and Agathon specially invited him. Thereupon he was led in by the people who were with him; and as he was being led, intending to crown Agathon, he took the ribands from his own head and held them in front of his eyes; he was thus prevented from seeing Socrates, who made way for him, and Alcibiades took the vacant place between Agathon and Socrates, and in taking the place he embraced Agathon and crowned him. Take off his sandals, said Agathon, and let him make a third on the same couch.

By all means; but who makes the third partner in our revels? said Alcibiades, turning round and starting up as he caught sight of Socrates. By Heracles, he said, what is this? here is Socrates always lying in wait for me, and always, as his way is, coming out at all sorts of unsuspected places: and now, what have you to say for yourself, and why are you lying here, where I perceive that you have contrived to find a place, not by a joker or lover of jokes, like Aristophanes, but by the fairest of the company?

Socrates turned to Agathon and said: I must ask you to protect me, Agathon; for the passion of this man has grown quite a serious matter to me. Since I became his admirer I have never been allowed to speak to any other fair one, or so much as to look at them. If I do, he goes wild with envy and jealousy, and not only abuses me but can hardly keep his hands off me, and at this moment he may do me some harm. Please to see to this, and either reconcile me to him, or, if he attempts violence, protect me, as I am in bodily fear of his mad and passionate attempts.

There can never be reconciliation between you and me, said Alcibiades; but for the present I will defer your chastisement. And I must beg you, Agathon, to give me back some of the ribands that I may crown the marvellous head of this universal despot — I would not have him complain of me for crowning you, and neglecting him, who in conversation is the conqueror of all mankind; and this not only once, as you were the day before yesterday, but always. Whereupon, taking some of the ribands, he crowned Socrates, and again reclined.

Then he said: You seem, my friends, to be sober, which is a thing not to be endured; you must drink — for that was the agreement under which I was admitted — and I elect myself master of the feast until you are well drunk. Let us have a large goblet, Agathon, or rather, he said, addressing the attendant, bring me that wine-cooler. The wine-cooler which had caught his eye was a vessel holding more than two quarts — this he filled and emptied, and bade the attendant fill it again for Socrates. Observe, my friends, said Alcibiades, that this ingenious trick of mine will have no effect on Socrates, for he can drink any quantity of wine and not be at all nearer being drunk. Socrates drank the cup which the attendant filled for him.

Eryximachus said: What is this, Alcibiades? Are we to have neither conversation nor singing over our cups; but simply to drink as if we were thirsty?

Alcibiades replied: Hail, worthy son of a most wise and worthy sire!

The same to you, said Eryximachus; but what shall we do?

That I leave to you, said Alcibiades.

‘The wise physician skilled our wounds to heal (from Pope’s Homer, Il.)’

shall prescribe and we will obey. What do you want?

Well, said Eryximachus, before you appeared we had passed a resolution that each one of us in turn should make a speech in praise of love, and as good a one as he could: the turn was passed round from left to right; and as all of us have spoken, and you have not spoken but have well drunken, you ought to speak, and then impose upon Socrates any task which you please, and he on his right hand neighbour, and so on.

That is good, Eryximachus, said Alcibiades; and yet the comparison of a drunken man’s speech with those of sober men is hardly fair; and I should like to know, sweet friend, whether you really believe what Socrates was just now saying; for I can assure you that the very reverse is the fact, and that if I praise any one but himself in his presence, whether God or man, he will hardly keep his hands off me.

For shame, said Socrates.

Hold your tongue, said Alcibiades, for by Poseidon, there is no one else whom I will praise when you are of the company.

Well then, said Eryximachus, if you like praise Socrates.

What do you think, Eryximachus? said Alcibiades: shall I attack him and inflict the punishment before you all?

What are you about? said Socrates; are you going to raise a laugh at my expense? Is that the meaning of your praise?

I am going to speak the truth, if you will permit me.

I not only permit, but exhort you to speak the truth.

Then I will begin at once, said Alcibiades, and if I say anything which is not true, you may interrupt me if you will, and say ‘that is a lie,’ though my intention is to speak the truth. But you must not wonder if I speak any how as things come into my mind; for the fluent and orderly enumeration of all your singularities is not a task which is easy to a man in my condition.

And now, my boys, I shall praise Socrates in a figure which will appear to him to be a caricature, and yet I speak, not to make fun of him, but only for the truth’s sake. I say, that he is exactly like the busts of Silenus, which are set up in the statuaries’ shops, holding pipes and flutes in their mouths; and they are made to open in the middle, and have images of gods inside them. I say also that he is like Marsyas the satyr. You yourself will not deny, Socrates, that your face is like that of a satyr. Aye, and there is a resemblance in other points too. For example, you are a bully, as I can prove by witnesses, if you will not confess. And are you not a flute-player? That you are, and a performer far more wonderful than Marsyas. He indeed with instruments used to charm the souls of men by the power of his breath, and the players of his music do so still: for the melodies of Olympus (compare Arist. Pol.) are derived from Marsyas who taught them, and these, whether they are played by a great master or by a miserable flute-girl, have a power which no others have; they alone possess the soul and reveal the wants of those who have need of gods and mysteries, because they are divine. But you produce the same effect with your words only, and do not require the flute: that is the difference between you and him. When we hear any other speaker, even a very good one, he produces absolutely no effect upon us, or not much, whereas the mere fragments of you and your words, even at second-hand, and however imperfectly repeated, amaze and possess the souls of every man, woman, and child who comes within hearing of them. And if I were not afraid that you would think me hopelessly drunk, I would have sworn as well as spoken to the influence which they have always had and still have over me. For my heart leaps within me more than that of any Corybantian reveller, and my eyes rain tears when I hear them. And I observe that many others are affected in the same manner. I have heard Pericles and other great orators, and I thought that they spoke well, but I never had any similar feeling; my soul was not stirred by them, nor was I angry at the thought of my own slavish state. But this Marsyas has often brought me to such a pass, that I have felt as if I could hardly endure the life which I am leading (this, Socrates, you will admit); and I am conscious that if I did not shut my ears against him, and fly as from the voice of the siren, my fate would be like that of others, — he would transfix me, and I should grow old sitting at his feet. For he makes me confess that I ought not to live as I do, neglecting the wants of my own soul, and busying myself with the concerns of the Athenians; therefore I hold my ears and tear myself away from him. And he is the only person who ever made me ashamed, which you might think not to be in my nature, and there is no one else who does the same. For I know that I cannot answer him or say that I ought not to do as he bids, but when I leave his presence the love of popularity gets the better of me. And therefore I run away and fly from him, and when I see him I am ashamed of what I have confessed to him. Many a time have I wished that he were dead, and yet I know that I should be much more sorry than glad, if he were to die: so that I am at my wit’s end.

And this is what I and many others have suffered from the flute-playing of this satyr. Yet hear me once more while I show you how exact the image is, and how marvellous his power. For let me tell you; none of you know him; but I will reveal him to you; having begun, I must go on. See you how fond he is of the fair? He is always with them and is always being smitten by them, and then again he knows nothing and is ignorant of all things — such is the appearance which he puts on. Is he not like a Silenus in this? To be sure he is: his outer mask is the carved head of the Silenus; but, O my companions in drink, when he is opened, what temperance there is residing within! Know you that beauty and wealth and honour, at which the many wonder, are of no account with him, and are utterly despised by him: he regards not at all the persons who are gifted with them; mankind are nothing to him; all his life is spent in mocking and flouting at them. But when I opened him, and looked within at his serious purpose, I saw in him divine and golden images of such fascinating beauty that I was ready to do in a moment whatever Socrates commanded: they may have escaped the observation of others, but I saw them. Now I fancied that he was seriously enamoured of my beauty, and I thought that I should therefore have a grand opportunity of hearing him tell what he knew, for I had a wonderful opinion of the attractions of my youth. In the prosecution of this design, when I next went to him, I sent away the attendant who usually accompanied me (I will confess the whole truth, and beg you to listen; and if I speak falsely, do you, Socrates, expose the falsehood). Well, he and I were alone together, and I thought that when there was nobody with us, I should hear him speak the language which lovers use to their loves when they are by themselves, and I was delighted. Nothing of the sort; he conversed as usual, and spent the day with me and then went away. Afterwards I challenged him to the palaestra; and he wrestled and closed with me several times when there was no one present; I fancied that I might succeed in this manner. Not a bit; I made no way with him. Lastly, as I had failed hitherto, I thought that I must take stronger measures and attack him boldly, and, as I had begun, not give him up, but see how matters stood between him and me. So I invited him to sup with me, just as if he were a fair youth, and I a designing lover. He was not easily persuaded to come; he did, however, after a while accept the invitation, and when he came the first time, he wanted to go away at once as soon as supper was over, and I had not the face to detain him. The second time, still in pursuance of my design, after we had supped, I went on conversing far into the night, and when he wanted to go away, I pretended that the hour was late and that he had much better remain. So he lay down on the couch next to me, the same on which he had supped, and there was no one but ourselves sleeping in the apartment. All this may be told without shame to any one. But what follows I could hardly tell you if I were sober. Yet as the proverb says, ‘In vino veritas,’ whether with boys, or without them (In allusion to two proverbs.); and therefore I must speak. Nor, again, should I be justified in concealing the lofty actions of Socrates when I come to praise him. Moreover I have felt the serpent’s sting; and he who has suffered, as they say, is willing to tell his fellow-sufferers only, as they alone will be likely to understand him, and will not be extreme in judging of the sayings or doings which have been wrung from his agony. For I have been bitten by a more than viper’s tooth; I have known in my soul, or in my heart, or in some other part, that worst of pangs, more violent in ingenuous youth than any serpent’s tooth, the pang of philosophy, which will make a man say or do anything. And you whom I see around me, Phaedrus and Agathon and Eryximachus and Pausanias and Aristodemus and Aristophanes, all of you, and I need not say Socrates himself, have had experience of the same madness and passion in your longing after wisdom. Therefore listen and excuse my doings then and my sayings now. But let the attendants and other profane and unmannered persons close up the doors of their ears.

When the lamp was put out and the servants had gone away, I thought that I must be plain with him and have no more ambiguity. So I gave him a shake, and I said: ‘Socrates, are you asleep?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Do you know what I am meditating? ‘What are you meditating?’ he said. ‘I think,’ I replied, ‘that of all the lovers whom I have ever had you are the only one who is worthy of me, and you appear to be too modest to speak. Now I feel that I should be a fool to refuse you this or any other favour, and therefore I come to lay at your feet all that I have and all that my friends have, in the hope that you will assist me in the way of virtue, which I desire above all things, and in which I believe that you can help me better than any one else. And I should certainly have more reason to be ashamed of what wise men would say if I were to refuse a favour to such as you, than of what the world, who are mostly fools, would say of me if I granted it.’ To these words he replied in the ironical manner which is so characteristic of him:— ‘Alcibiades, my friend, you have indeed an elevated aim if what you say is true, and if there really is in me any power by which you may become better; truly you must see in me some rare beauty of a kind infinitely higher than any which I see in you. And therefore, if you mean to share with me and to exchange beauty for beauty, you will have greatly the advantage of me; you will gain true beauty in return for appearance — like Diomede, gold in exchange for brass. But look again, sweet friend, and see whether you are not deceived in me. The mind begins to grow critical when the bodily eye fails, and it will be a long time before you get old.’ Hearing this, I said: ‘I have told you my purpose, which is quite serious, and do you consider what you think best for you and me.’ ‘That is good,’ he said; ‘at some other time then we will consider and act as seems best about this and about other matters.’ Whereupon, I fancied that he was smitten, and that the words which I had uttered like arrows had wounded him, and so without waiting to hear more I got up, and throwing my coat about him crept under his threadbare cloak, as the time of year was winter, and there I lay during the whole night having this wonderful monster in my arms. This again, Socrates, will not be denied by you. And yet, notwithstanding all, he was so superior to my solicitations, so contemptuous and derisive and disdainful of my beauty — which really, as I fancied, had some attractions — hear, O judges; for judges you shall be of the haughty virtue of Socrates — nothing more happened, but in the morning when I awoke (let all the gods and goddesses be my witnesses) I arose as from the couch of a father or an elder brother.

What do you suppose must have been my feelings, after this rejection, at the thought of my own dishonour? And yet I could not help wondering at his natural temperance and self-restraint and manliness. I never imagined that I could have met with a man such as he is in wisdom and endurance. And therefore I could not be angry with him or renounce his company, any more than I could hope to win him. For I well knew that if Ajax could not be wounded by steel, much less he by money; and my only chance of captivating him by my personal attractions had failed. So I was at my wit’s end; no one was ever more hopelessly enslaved by another. All this happened before he and I went on the expedition to Potidaea; there we messed together, and I had the opportunity of observing his extraordinary power of sustaining fatigue. His endurance was simply marvellous when, being cut off from our supplies, we were compelled to go without food — on such occasions, which often happen in time of war, he was superior not only to me but to everybody; there was no one to be compared to him. Yet at a festival he was the only person who had any real powers of enjoyment; though not willing to drink, he could if compelled beat us all at that, — wonderful to relate! no human being had ever seen Socrates drunk; and his powers, if I am not mistaken, will be tested before long. His fortitude in enduring cold was also surprising. There was a severe frost, for the winter in that region is really tremendous, and everybody else either remained indoors, or if they went out had on an amazing quantity of clothes, and were well shod, and had their feet swathed in felt and fleeces: in the midst of this, Socrates with his bare feet on the ice and in his ordinary dress marched better than the other soldiers who had shoes, and they looked daggers at him because he seemed to despise them.

I have told you one tale, and now I must tell you another, which is worth hearing,

‘Of the doings and sufferings of the enduring man’

while he was on the expedition. One morning he was thinking about something which he could not resolve; he would not give it up, but continued thinking from early dawn until noon — there he stood fixed in thought; and at noon attention was drawn to him, and the rumour ran through the wondering crowd that Socrates had been standing and thinking about something ever since the break of day. At last, in the evening after supper, some Ionians out of curiosity (I should explain that this was not in winter but in summer), brought out their mats and slept in the open air that they might watch him and see whether he would stand all night. There he stood until the following morning; and with the return of light he offered up a prayer to the sun, and went his way (compare supra). I will also tell, if you please — and indeed I am bound to tell — of his courage in battle; for who but he saved my life? Now this was the engagement in which I received the prize of valour: for I was wounded and he would not leave me, but he rescued me and my arms; and he ought to have received the prize of valour which the generals wanted to confer on me partly on account of my rank, and I told them so, (this, again, Socrates will not impeach or deny), but he was more eager than the generals that I and not he should have the prize. There was another occasion on which his behaviour was very remarkable — in the flight of the army after the battle of Delium, where he served among the heavy-armed, — I had a better opportunity of seeing him than at Potidaea, for I was myself on horseback, and therefore comparatively out of danger. He and Laches were retreating, for the troops were in flight, and I met them and told them not to be discouraged, and promised to remain with them; and there you might see him, Aristophanes, as you describe (Aristoph. Clouds), just as he is in the streets of Athens, stalking like a pelican, and rolling his eyes, calmly contemplating enemies as well as friends, and making very intelligible to anybody, even from a distance, that whoever attacked him would be likely to meet with a stout resistance; and in this way he and his companion escaped — for this is the sort of man who is never touched in war; those only are pursued who are running away headlong. I particularly observed how superior he was to Laches in presence of mind. Many are the marvels which I might narrate in praise of Socrates; most of his ways might perhaps be paralleled in another man, but his absolute unlikeness to any human being that is or ever has been is perfectly astonishing. You may imagine Brasidas and others to have been like Achilles; or you may imagine Nestor and Antenor to have been like Pericles; and the same may be said of other famous men, but of this strange being you will never be able to find any likeness, however remote, either among men who now are or who ever have been — other than that which I have already suggested of Silenus and the satyrs; and they represent in a figure not only himself, but his words. For, although I forgot to mention this to you before, his words are like the images of Silenus which open; they are ridiculous when you first hear them; he clothes himself in language that is like the skin of the wanton satyr — for his talk is of pack-asses and smiths and cobblers and curriers, and he is always repeating the same things in the same words (compare Gorg.), so that any ignorant or inexperienced person might feel disposed to laugh at him; but he who opens the bust and sees what is within will find that they are the only words which have a meaning in them, and also the most divine, abounding in fair images of virtue, and of the widest comprehension, or rather extending to the whole duty of a good and honourable man.

This, friends, is my praise of Socrates. I have added my blame of him for his ill-treatment of me; and he has ill-treated not only me, but Charmides the son of Glaucon, and Euthydemus the son of Diocles, and many others in the same way — beginning as their lover he has ended by making them pay their addresses to him. Wherefore I say to you, Agathon, ‘Be not deceived by him; learn from me and take warning, and do not be a fool and learn by experience, as the proverb says.’

When Alcibiades had finished, there was a laugh at his outspokenness; for he seemed to be still in love with Socrates. You are sober, Alcibiades, said Socrates, or you would never have gone so far about to hide the purpose of your satyr’s praises, for all this long story is only an ingenious circumlocution, of which the point comes in by the way at the end; you want to get up a quarrel between me and Agathon, and your notion is that I ought to love you and nobody else, and that you and you only ought to love Agathon. But the plot of this Satyric or Silenic drama has been detected, and you must not allow him, Agathon, to set us at variance.

I believe you are right, said Agathon, and I am disposed to think that his intention in placing himself between you and me was only to divide us; but he shall gain nothing by that move; for I will go and lie on the couch next to you.

Yes, yes, replied Socrates, by all means come here and lie on the couch below me.

Alas, said Alcibiades, how I am fooled by this man; he is determined to get the better of me at every turn. I do beseech you, allow Agathon to lie between us.

Certainly not, said Socrates, as you praised me, and I in turn ought to praise my neighbour on the right, he will be out of order in praising me again when he ought rather to be praised by me, and I must entreat you to consent to this, and not be jealous, for I have a great desire to praise the youth.

Hurrah! cried Agathon, I will rise instantly, that I may be praised by Socrates.

The usual way, said Alcibiades; where Socrates is, no one else has any chance with the fair; and now how readily has he invented a specious reason for attracting Agathon to himself.

Agathon arose in order that he might take his place on the couch by Socrates, when suddenly a band of revellers entered, and spoiled the order of the banquet. Some one who was going out having left the door open, they had found their way in, and made themselves at home; great confusion ensued, and every one was compelled to drink large quantities of wine. Aristodemus said that Eryximachus, Phaedrus, and others went away — he himself fell asleep, and as the nights were long took a good rest: he was awakened towards daybreak by a crowing of cocks, and when he awoke, the others were either asleep, or had gone away; there remained only Socrates, Aristophanes, and Agathon, who were drinking out of a large goblet which they passed round, and Socrates was discoursing to them. Aristodemus was only half awake, and he did not hear the beginning of the discourse; the chief thing which he remembered was Socrates compelling the other two to acknowledge that the genius of comedy was the same with that of tragedy, and that the true artist in tragedy was an artist in comedy also. To this they were constrained to assent, being drowsy, and not quite following the argument. And first of all Aristophanes dropped off, then, when the day was already dawning, Agathon. Socrates, having laid them to sleep, rose to depart; Aristodemus, as his manner was, following him. At the Lyceum he took a bath, and passed the day as usual. In the evening he retired to rest at his own home.

THE REPUBLIC

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

Considered by many to be Plato’s masterpiece, this dialogue was written circa 380 BC, and concerns the definition of justice.  The Republic is renowned for its study of civilisation and its own solution of an ideal city-state and the ‘just’ man that would live in it.

In the dialogue, Socrates and various Athenians and foreigners discuss the meaning of justice and examine whether or not the just man is happier than the unjust man.  The participants also discuss the theory of forms, the immortality of the soul and the roles of the philosopher and of poetry in society.

The English translation of the title of Plato’s dialogue is derived from Cicero’s De re publica, a dialogue written some three centuries later. Cicero’s dialogue imitates the style of the Platonic dialogues, and treats many of the topics touched upon in Plato’s The Republic. Scipio Africanus, the main character of Cicero’s dialogue expresses his esteem for Plato and Socrates when they are talking about the “Res publica”. In Plato’s dialogue, Socrates and his friends discuss the nature of the city and are engaged in providing the foundations of every state they are living in - which was Athenian democracy, oligarchy or tyranny - in Cicero’s De re publica all comments, are more close-minded about the improvement of state the participants live in, which was the Roman Republic in its final stages.

An early papyrus fragment of the dialogue

CONTENTS

THE INTRODUCTION

ARGUMENT

CHARACTERS

BOOK I

BOOK II

BOOK III

BOOK IV

BOOK V

BOOK VI

BOOK VII

BOOK VIII

BOOK IX

BOOK X

An ancient illustration based on a scene in the dialogue

THE INTRODUCTION

THE Republic of Plato is the longest of his works with the exception of the Laws, and is certainly the greatest of them. There are nearer approaches to modern metaphysics in the Philebus and in the Sophist; the Politicus or Statesman is more ideal; the form and institutions of the State are more clearly drawn out in the Laws; as works of art, the Symposium and the Protagoras are of higher excellence. But no other Dialogue of Plato has the same largeness of view and the same perfection of style; no other shows an equal knowledge of the world, or contains more of those thoughts which are new as well as old, and not of one age only but of all. Nowhere in Plato is there a deeper irony or a greater wealth of humor or imagery, or more dramatic power. Nor in any other of his writings is the attempt made to interweave life and speculation, or to connect politics with philosophy. The Republic is the centre around which the other Dialogues may be grouped; here philosophy reaches the highest point to which ancient thinkers ever attained. Plato among the Greeks, like Bacon among the moderns, was the first who conceived a method of knowledge, although neither of them always distinguished the bare outline or form from the substance of truth; and both of them had to be content with an abstraction of science which was not yet realized. He was the greatest metaphysical genius whom the world has seen; and in him, more than in any other ancient thinker, the germs of future knowledge are contained. The sciences of logic and psychology, which have supplied so many instruments of thought to after-ages, are based upon the analyses of Socrates and Plato. The principles of definition, the law of contradiction, the fallacy of arguing in a circle, the distinction between the essence and accidents of a thing or notion, between means and ends, between causes and conditions; also the division of the mind into the rational, concupiscent, and irascible elements, or of pleasures and desires into necessary and unnecessary — these and other great forms of thought are all of them to be found in the Republic, and were probably first invented by Plato. The greatest of all logical truths, and the one of which writers on philosophy are most apt to lose sight, the difference between words and things, has been most strenuously insisted on by him, although he has not always avoided the confusion of them in his own writings. But he does not bind up truth in logical formulae, — logic is still veiled in metaphysics; and the science which he imagines to “contemplate all truth and all existence” is very unlike the doctrine of the syllogism which Aristotle claims to have discovered.

Neither must we forget that the Republic is but the third part of a still larger design which was to have included an ideal history of Athens, as well as a political and physical philosophy. The fragment of the Critias has given birth to a world-famous fiction, second only in importance to the tale of Troy and the legend of Arthur; and is said as a fact to have inspired some of the early navigators of the sixteenth century. This mythical tale, of which the subject was a history of the wars of the Athenians against the Island of Atlantis, is supposed to be founded upon an unfinished poem of Solon, to which it would have stood in the same relation as the writings of the logographers to the poems of Homer. It would have told of a struggle for Liberty, intended to represent the conflict of Persia and Hellas. We may judge from the noble commencement of the Timaeus, from the fragment of the Critias itself, and from the third book of the Laws, in what manner Plato would have treated this high argument. We can only guess why the great design was abandoned; perhaps because Plato became sensible of some incongruity in a fictitious history, or because he had lost his interest in it, or because advancing years forbade the completion of it; and we may please ourselves with the fancy that had this imaginary narrative ever been finished, we should have found Plato himself sympathizing with the struggle for Hellenic independence, singing a hymn of triumph over Marathon and Salamis, perhaps making the reflection of Herodotus where he contemplates the growth of the Athenian empire— “How brave a thing is freedom of speech, which has made the Athenians so far exceed every other state of Hellas in greatness!” or, more probably, attributing the victory to the ancient good order of Athens and to the favor of Apollo and Athene.

Again, Plato may be regarded as the “captain” (‘arhchegoz’) or leader of a goodly band of followers; for in the Republic is to be found the original of Cicero’s De Republica, of St. Augustine’s City of God, of the Utopia of Sir Thomas More, and of the numerous other imaginary States which are framed upon the same model. The extent to which Aristotle or the Aristotelian school were indebted to him in the Politics has been little recognized, and the recognition is the more necessary because it is not made by Aristotle himself. The two philosophers had more in common than they were conscious of; and probably some elements of Plato remain still undetected in Aristotle. In English philosophy too, many affinities may be traced, not only in the works of the Cambridge Platonists, but in great original writers like Berkeley or Coleridge, to Plato and his ideas. That there is a truth higher than experience, of which the mind bears witness to herself, is a conviction which in our own generation has been enthusiastically asserted, and is perhaps gaining ground. Of the Greek authors who at the Renaissance brought a new life into the world Plato has had the greatest influence. The Republic of Plato is also the first treatise upon education, of which the writings of Milton and Locke, Rousseau, Jean Paul, and Goethe are the legitimate descendants. Like Dante or Bunyan, he has a revelation of another life; like Bacon, he is profoundly impressed with the unity of knowledge; in the early Church he exercised a real influence on theology, and at the Revival of Literature on politics. Even the fragments of his words when “repeated at second-hand” have in all ages ravished the hearts of men, who have seen reflected in them their own higher nature. He is the father of idealism in philosophy, in politics, in literature. And many of the latest conceptions of modern thinkers and statesmen, such as the unity of knowledge, the reign of law, and the equality of the sexes, have been anticipated in a dream by him.

ARGUMENT

The argument of the Republic is the search after Justice, the nature of which is first hinted at by Cephalus, the just and blameless old man — then discussed on the basis of proverbial morality by Socrates and Polemarchus — then caricatured by Thrasymachus and partially explained by Socrates — reduced to an abstraction by Glaucon and Adeimantus, and having become invisible in the individual reappears at length in the ideal State which is constructed by Socrates. The first care of the rulers is to be education, of which an outline is drawn after the old Hellenic model, providing only for an improved religion and morality, and more simplicity in music and gymnastic, a manlier strain of poetry, and greater harmony of the individual and the State. We are thus led on to the conception of a higher State, in which “no man calls anything his own,” and in which there is neither “marrying nor giving in marriage,” and “kings are philosophers” and “philosophers are kings;” and there is another and higher education, intellectual as well as moral and religious, of science as well as of art, and not of youth only but of the whole of life. Such a State is hardly to be realized in this world and would quickly degenerate. To the perfect ideal succeeds the government of the soldier and the lover of honor, this again declining into democracy, and democracy into tyranny, in an imaginary but regular order having not much resemblance to the actual facts. When “the wheel has come full circle” we do not begin again with a new period of human life; but we have passed from the best to the worst, and there we end. The subject is then changed and the old quarrel of poetry and philosophy which had been more lightly treated in the earlier books of the Republic is now resumed and fought out to a conclusion. Poetry is discovered to be an imitation thrice removed from the truth, and Homer, as well as the dramatic poets, having been condemned as an imitator, is sent into banishment along with them. And the idea of the State is supplemented by the revelation of a future life.

The division into books, like all similar divisions, is probably later than the age of Plato. The natural divisions are five in number; — (1) Book I and the first half of Book II down to the paragraph beginning, “I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus,” which is introductory; the first book containing a refutation of the popular and sophistical notions of justice, and concluding, like some of the earlier Dialogues, without arriving at any definite result. To this is appended a restatement of the nature of justice according to common opinion, and an answer is demanded to the question — What is justice, stripped of appearances? The second division (2) includes the remainder of the second and the whole of the third and fourth books, which are mainly occupied with the construction of the first State and the first education. The third division (3) consists of the fifth, sixth, and seventh books, in which philosophy rather than justice is the subject of inquiry, and the second State is constructed on principles of communism and ruled by philosophers, and the contemplation of the idea of good takes the place of the social and political virtues. In the eighth and ninth books (4) the perversions of States and of the individuals who correspond to them are reviewed in succession; and the nature of pleasure and the principle of tyranny are further analyzed in the individual man. The tenth book (5) is the conclusion of the whole, in which the relations of philosophy to poetry are finally determined, and the happiness of the citizens in this life, which has now been assured, is crowned by the vision of another.

Or a more general division into two parts may be adopted; the first (Books I-IV) containing the description of a State framed generally in accordance with Hellenic notions of religion and morality, while in the second (Books V-X) the Hellenic State is transformed into an ideal kingdom of philosophy, of which all other governments are the perversions. These two points of view are really opposed, and the opposition is only veiled by the genius of Plato. The Republic, like the Phaedrus, is an imperfect whole; the higher light of philosophy breaks through the regularity of the Hellenic temple, which at last fades away into the heavens. Whether this imperfection of structure arises from an enlargement of the plan; or from the imperfect reconcilement in the writer’s own mind of the struggling elements of thought which are now first brought together by him; or, perhaps, from the composition of the work at different times — are questions, like the similar question about the Iliad and the Odyssey, which are worth asking, but which cannot have a distinct answer. In the age of Plato there was no regular mode of publication, and an author would have the less scruple in altering or adding to a work which was known only to a few of his friends. There is no absurdity in supposing that he may have laid his labors aside for a time, or turned from one work to another; and such interruptions would be more likely to occur in the case of a long than of a short writing. In all attempts to determine the chronological he order of the Platonic writings on internal evidence, this uncertainty about any single Dialogue being composed at one time is a disturbing element, which must be admitted to affect longer works, such as the Republic and the Laws, more than shorter ones. But, on the other hand, the seeming discrepancies of the Republic may only arise out of the discordant elements which the philosopher has attempted to unite in a single whole, perhaps without being himself able to recognize the inconsistency which is obvious to us. For there is a judgment of after ages which few great writers have ever been able to anticipate for themselves. They do not perceive the want of connection in their own writings, or the gaps in their systems which are visible enough to those who come after them. In the beginnings of literature and philosophy, amid the first efforts of thought and language, more inconsistencies occur than now, when the paths of speculation are well worn and the meaning of words precisely defined. For consistency, too, is the growth of time; and some of the greatest creations of the human mind have been wanting in unity. Tried by this test, several of the Platonic Dialogues, according to our modern ideas, appear to be defective, but the deficiency is no proof that they were composed at different times or by different hands. And the supposition that the Republic was written uninterruptedly and by a continuous effort is in some degree confirmed by the numerous references from one part of the work to another.

The second title, “Concerning Justice,” is not the one by which the Republic is quoted, either by Aristotle or generally in antiquity, and, like the other second titles of the Platonic Dialogues, may therefore be assumed to be of later date. Morgenstern and others have asked whether the definition of justice, which is the professed aim, or the construction of the State is the principal argument of the work. The answer is, that the two blend in one, and are two faces of the same truth; for justice is the order of the State, and the State is the visible embodiment of justice under the conditions of human society. The one is the soul and the other is the body, and the Greek ideal of the State, as of the individual, is a fair mind in a fair body. In Hegelian phraseology the State is the reality of which justice is the ideal. Or, described in Christian language, the kingdom of God is within, and yet develops into a Church or external kingdom; “the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens,” is reduced to the proportions of an earthly building. Or, to use a Platonic image, justice and the State are the warp and the woof which run through the whole texture. And when the constitution of the State is completed, the conception of justice is not dismissed, but reappears under the same or different names throughout the work, both as the inner law of the individual soul, and finally as the principle of rewards and punishments in another life. The virtues are based on justice, of which common honesty in buying and selling is the shadow, and justice is based on the idea of good, which is the harmony of the world, and is reflected both in the institutions of States and in motions of the heavenly bodies. The Timaeus, which takes up the political rather than the ethical side of the Republic, and is chiefly occupied with hypotheses concerning the outward world, yet contains many indications that the same law is supposed to reign over the State, over nature, and over man.

Too much, however, has been made of this question both in ancient and in modern times. There is a stage of criticism in which all works, whether of nature or of art, are referred to design. Now in ancient writings, and indeed in literature generally, there remains often a large element which was not comprehended in the original design. For the plan grows under the author’s hand; new thoughts occur to him in the act of writing; he has not worked out the argument to the end before he begins. The reader who seeks to find some one idea under which the whole may be conceived, must necessarily seize on the vaguest and most general. Thus Stallbaum, who is dissatisfied with the ordinary explanations of the argument of the Republic, imagines himself to have found the true argument “in the representation of human life in a State perfected by justice and governed according to the idea of good.” There may be some use in such general descriptions, but they can hardly be said to express the design of the writer. The truth is, that we may as well speak of many designs as of one; nor need anything be excluded from the plan of a great work to which the mind is naturally led by the association of ideas, and which does not interfere with the general purpose. What kind or degree of unity is to be sought after in a building, in the plastic arts, in poetry, in prose, is a problem which has to be determined relatively to the subject-matter. To Plato himself, the inquiry “what was the intention of the writer,” or “what was the principal argument of the Republic” would have been hardly intelligible, and therefore had better be at once dismissed.

Is not the Republic the vehicle of three or four great truths which, to Plato’s own mind, are most naturally represented in the form of the State? Just as in the Jewish prophets the reign of Messiah, or “the day of the Lord,” or the suffering Servant or people of God, or the “Sun of righteousness with healing in his wings” only convey, to us at least, their great spiritual ideals, so through the Greek State Plato reveals to us his own thoughts about divine perfection, which is the idea of good — like the sun in the visible world; — about human perfection, which is justice — about education beginning in youth and continuing in later years — about poets and sophists and tyrants who are the false teachers and evil rulers of mankind — about “the world” which is the embodiment of them — about a kingdom which exists nowhere upon earth but is laid up in heaven to be the pattern and rule of human life. No such inspired creation is at unity with itself, any more than the clouds of heaven when the sun pierces through them. Every shade of light and dark, of truth, and of fiction which is the veil of truth, is allowable in a work of philosophical imagination. It is not all on the same plane; it easily passes from ideas to myths and fancies, from facts to figures of speech. It is not prose but poetry, at least a great part of it, and ought not to be judged by the rules of logic or the probabilities of history. The writer is not fashioning his ideas into an artistic whole; they take possession of him and are too much for him. We have no need therefore to discuss whether a State such as Plato has conceived is practicable or not, or whether the outward form or the inward life came first into the mind of the writer. For the practicability of his ideas has nothing to do with their truth; and the highest thoughts to which he attains may be truly said to bear the greatest “marks of design” — justice more than the external frame-work of the State, the idea of good more than justice. The great science of dialectic or the organization of ideas has no real content; but is only a type of the method or spirit in which the higher knowledge is to be pursued by the spectator of all time and all existence. It is in the fifth, sixth, and seventh books that Plato reaches the “summit of speculation,” and these, although they fail to satisfy the requirements of a modern thinker, may therefore be regarded as the most important, as they are also the most original, portions of the work.

It is not necessary to discuss at length a minor question which has been raised by Boeckh, respecting the imaginary date at which the conversation was held (the year 411 B. C. which is proposed by him will do as well as any other); for a writer of fiction, and especially a writer who, like Plato, is notoriously careless of chronology, only aims at general probability. Whether all the persons mentioned in the Republic could ever have met at any one time is not a difficulty which would have occurred to an Athenian reading the work forty years later, or to Plato himself at the time of writing (any more than to Shakespeare respecting one of his own dramas); and need not greatly trouble us now. Yet this may be a question having no answer “which is still worth asking,” because the investigation shows that we can not argue historically from the dates in Plato; it would be useless therefore to waste time in inventing far-fetched reconcilements of them in order avoid chronological difficulties, such, for example, as the conjecture of C. F. Hermann, that Glaucon and Adeimantus are not the brothers but the uncles of Plato, or the fancy of Stallbaum that Plato intentionally left anachronisms indicating the dates at which some of his Dialogues were written.

CHARACTERS

The principal characters in the Republic are Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, Socrates, Glaucon, and Adeimantus. Cephalus appears in the introduction only, Polemarchus drops at the end of the first argument, and Thrasymachus is reduced to silence at the close of the first book. The main discussion is carried on by Socrates, Glaucon, and Adeimantus. Among the company are Lysias (the orator) and Euthydemus, the sons of Cephalus and brothers of Polemarchus, an unknown Charmantides — these are mute auditors; also there is Cleitophon, who once interrupts, where, as in the Dialogue which bears his name, he appears as the friend and ally of Thrasymachus.

Cephalus, the patriarch of house, has been appropriately engaged in offering a sacrifice. He is the pattern of an old man who has almost done with life, and is at peace with himself and with all mankind. He feels that he is drawing nearer to the world below, and seems to linger around the memory of the past. He is eager that Socrates should come to visit him, fond of the poetry of the last generation, happy in the consciousness of a well-spent life, glad at having escaped from the tyranny of youthful lusts. His love of conversation, his affection, his indifference to riches, even his garrulity, are interesting traits of character. He is not one of those who have nothing to say, because their whole mind has been absorbed in making money. Yet he acknowledges that riches have the advantage of placing men above the temptation to dishonesty or falsehood. The respectful attention shown to him by Socrates, whose love of conversation, no less than the mission imposed upon him by the Oracle, leads him to ask questions of all men, young and old alike, should also be noted. Who better suited to raise the question of justice than Cephalus, whose life might seem to be the expression of it? The moderation with which old age is pictured by Cephalus as a very tolerable portion of existence is characteristic, not only of him, but of Greek feeling generally, and contrasts with the exaggeration of Cicero in the De Senectute. The evening of life is described by Plato in the most expressive manner, yet with the fewest possible touches. As Cicero remarks (Ep. ad Attic. iv. 16), the aged Cephalus would have been out of place in the discussion which follows, and which he could neither have understood nor taken part in without a violation of dramatic propriety.

His “son and heir” Polemarchus has the frankness and impetuousness of youth; he is for detaining Socrates by force in the opening scene, and will not “let him off” on the subject of women and children. Like Cephalus, he is limited in his point of view, and represents the proverbial stage of morality which has rules of life rather than principles; and he quotes Simonides as his father had quoted Pindar. But after this he has no more to say; the answers which he makes are only elicited from him by the dialectic of Socrates. He has not yet experienced the influence of the Sophists like Glaucon and Adeimantus, nor is he sensible of the necessity of refuting them; he belongs to the pre-Socratic or pre-dialectical age. He is incapable of arguing, and is bewildered by Socrates to such a degree that he does not know what he is saying. He is made to admit that justice is a thief, and that the virtues follow the analogy of the arts. From his brother Lysias we learn that he fell a victim to the Thirty Tyrants, but no allusion is here made to his fate, nor to the circumstance that Cephalus and his family were of Syracusan origin, and had migrated from Thurii to Athens.

The “Chalcedonian giant,” Thrasymachus, of whom we have already heard in the Phaedrus, is the personification of the Sophists, according to Plato’s conception of them, in some of their worst characteristics. He is vain and blustering, refusing to discourse unless he is paid, fond of making an oration, and hoping thereby to escape the inevitable Socrates; but a mere child in argument, and unable to foresee that the next “move” (to use a Platonic expression) will “shut him up.” He has reached the stage of framing general notions, and in this respect is in advance of Cephalus and Polemarchus. But he is incapable of defending them in a discussion, and vainly tries to cover his confusion in banter and insolence. Whether such doctrines as are attributed to him by Plato were really held either by him or by any other Sophist is uncertain; in the infancy of philosophy serious errors about morality might easily grow up — they are certainly put into the mouths of speakers in Thucydides; but we are concerned at present with Plato’s description of him, and not with the historical reality. The inequality of the contest adds greatly to the humor of the scene. The pompous and empty Sophist is utterly helpless in the hands of the great master of dialectic, who knows how to touch all the springs of vanity and weakness in him. He is greatly irritated by the irony of Socrates, but his noisy and imbecile rage only lays him more and more open to the thrusts of his assailant. His determination to cram down their throats, or put “bodily into their souls” his own words, elicits a cry of horror from Socrates. The state of his temper is quite as worthy of remark as the process of the argument. Nothing is more amusing than his complete submission when he has been once thoroughly beaten. At first he seems to continue the discussion with reluctance, but soon with apparent good-will, and he even testifies his interest at a later stage by one or two occasional remarks. When attacked by Glaucon he is humorously protected by Socrates “as one who has never been his enemy and is now his friend.” From Cicero and Quintilian and from Aristotle’s Rhetoric we learn that the Sophist whom Plato has made so ridiculous was a man of note whose writings were preserved in later ages. The play on his name which was made by his contemporary Herodicus, “thou wast ever bold in battle,” seems to show that the description of him is not devoid of verisimilitude.

When Thrasymachus has been silenced, the two principal respondents, Glaucon and Adeimantus, appear on the scene: here, as in Greek tragedy, three actors are introduced. At first sight the two sons of Ariston may seem to wear a family likeness, like the two friends Simmias and Cebes in the Phaedo. But on a nearer examination of them the similarity vanishes, and they are seen to be distinct characters. Glaucon is the impetuous youth who can “just never have enough of fechting” (cf. the character of him in Xen. Mem. iii. 6); the man of pleasure who is acquainted with the mysteries of love; the “juvenis qui gaudet canibus,” and who improves the breed of animals; the lover of art and music who has all the experiences of youthful life. He is full of quickness and penetration, piercing easily below the clumsy platitudes of Thrasymachus to the real difficulty; he turns out to the light the seamy side of human life, and yet does not lose faith in the just and true. It is Glaucon who seizes what may be termed the ludicrous relation of the philosopher to the world, to whom a state of simplicity is “a city of pigs,” who is always prepared with a jest when the argument offers him an opportunity, and who is ever ready to second the humor of Socrates and to appreciate the ridiculous, whether in the connoisseurs of music, or in the lovers of theatricals, or in the fantastic behavior of the citizens of democracy. His weaknesses are several times alluded to by Socrates, who, however, will not allow him to be attacked by his brother Adeimantus. He is a soldier, and, like Adeimantus, has been distinguished at the battle of Megara.

The character of Adeimantus is deeper and graver, and the profounder objections are commonly put into his mouth. Glaucon is more demonstrative, and generally opens the game. Adeimantus pursues the argument further. Glaucon has more of the liveliness and quick sympathy of youth; Adeimantus has the maturer judgment of a grown-up man of the world. In the second book, when Glaucon insists that justice and injustice shall be considered without regard to their consequences, Adeimantus remarks that they are regarded by mankind in general only for the sake of their consequences; and in a similar vein of reflection he urges at the beginning of the fourth book that Socrates falls in making his citizens happy, and is answered that happiness is not the first but the second thing, not the direct aim but the indirect consequence of the good government of a State. In the discussion about religion and mythology, Adeimantus is the respondent, but Glaucon breaks in with a slight jest, and carries on the conversation in a lighter tone about music and gymnastic to the end of the book. It is Adeimantus again who volunteers the criticism of common sense on the Socratic method of argument, and who refuses to let Socrates pass lightly over the question of women and children. It is Adeimantus who is the respondent in the more argumentative, as Glaucon in the lighter and more imaginative portions of the Dialogue. For example, throughout the greater part of the sixth book, the causes of the corruption of philosophy and the conception of the idea of good are discussed with Adeimantus. Then Glaucon resumes his place of principal respondent; but he has a difficulty in apprehending the higher education of Socrates, and makes some false hits in the course of the discussion. Once more Adeimantus returns with the allusion to his brother Glaucon whom he compares to the contentious State; in the next book he is again superseded, and Glaucon continues to the end.

Thus in a succession of characters Plato represents the successive stages of morality, beginning with the Athenian gentleman of the olden time, who is followed by the practical man of that day regulating his life by proverbs and saws; to him succeeds the wild generalization of the Sophists, and lastly come the young disciples of the great teacher, who know the sophistical arguments but will not be convinced by them, and desire to go deeper into the nature of things. These too, like Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, are clearly distinguished from one another. Neither in the Republic, nor in any other Dialogue of Plato, is a single character repeated.

The delineation of Socrates in the Republic is not wholly consistent. In the first book we have more of the real Socrates, such as he is depicted in the Memorabilia of Xenophon, in the earliest Dialogues of Plato, and in the Apology. He is ironical, provoking, questioning, the old enemy of the Sophists, ready to put on the mask of Silenus as well as to argue seriously. But in the sixth book his enmity towards the Sophists abates; he acknowledges that they are the representatives rather than the corrupters of the world. He also becomes more dogmatic and constructive, passing beyond the range either of the political or the speculative ideas of the real Socrates. In one passage Plato himself seems to intimate that the time had now come for Socrates, who had passed his whole life in philosophy, to give his own opinion and not to be always repeating the notions of other men. There is no evidence that either the idea of good or the conception of a perfect State were comprehended in the Socratic teaching, though he certainly dwelt on the nature of the universal and of final causes (cp. Xen. Mem. i. 4; Phaedo 97); and a deep thinker like him in his thirty or forty years of public teaching, could hardly have falled to touch on the nature of family relations, for which there is also some positive evidence in the Memorabilia (Mem. i. 2, 51 foll.) The Socratic method is nominally retained; and every inference is either put into the mouth of the respondent or represented as the common discovery of him and Socrates. But any one can see that this is a mere form, of which the affectation grows wearisome as the work advances. The method of inquiry has passed into a method of teaching in which by the help of interlocutors the same thesis is looked at from various points of view.

The nature of the process is truly characterized by Glaucon, when he describes himself as a companion who is not good for much in an investigation, but can see what he is shown, and may, perhaps, give the answer to a question more fluently than another.

Neither can we be absolutely certain that, Socrates himself taught the immortality of the soul, which is unknown to his disciple Glaucon in the Republic; nor is there any reason to suppose that he used myths or revelations of another world as a vehicle of instruction, or that he would have banished poetry or have denounced the Greek mythology. His favorite oath is retained, and a slight mention is made of the daemonium, or internal sign, which is alluded to by Socrates as a phenomenon peculiar to himself. A real element of Socratic teaching, which is more prominent in the Republic than in any of the other Dialogues of Plato, is the use of example and illustration (‘taphorhtika auto prhospherhontez’): “Let us apply the test of common instances.” “You,” says Adeimantus, ironically, in the sixth book, “are so unaccustomed to speak in images.” And this use of examples or images, though truly Socratic in origin, is enlarged by the genius of Plato into the form of an allegory or parable, which embodies in the concrete what has been already described, or is about to be described, in the abstract. Thus the figure of the cave in Book VII is a recapitulation of the divisions of knowledge in Book VI. The composite animal in Book IX is an allegory of the parts of the soul. The noble captain and the ship and the true pilot in Book VI are a figure of the relation of the people to the philosophers in the State which has been described. Other figures, such as the dog in the second, third, and fourth books, or the marriage of the portionless maiden in the sixth book, or the drones and wasps in the eighth and ninth books, also form links of connection in long passages, or are used to recall previous discussions.

Plato is most true to the character of his master when he describes him as “not of this world.” And with this representation of him the ideal State and the other paradoxes of the Republic are quite in accordance, though they can not be shown to have been speculations of Socrates. To him, as to other great teachers both philosophical and religious, when they looked upward, the world seemed to be the embodiment of error and evil. The common sense of mankind has revolted against this view, or has only partially admitted it. And even in Socrates himself the sterner judgment of the multitude at times passes into a sort of ironical pity or love. Men in general are incapable of philosophy, and are therefore at enmity with the philosopher; but their misunderstanding of him is unavoidable: for they have never seen him as he truly is in his own image; they are only acquainted with artificial systems possessing no native force of truth — words which admit of many applications. Their leaders have nothing to measure with, and are therefore ignorant of their own stature. But they are to be pitied or laughed at, not to be quarrelled with; they mean well with their nostrums, if they could only learn that they are cutting off a Hydra’s head. This moderation towards those who are in error is one of the most characteristic features of Socrates in the Republic. In all the different representations of Socrates, whether of Xenophon or Plato, and the differences of the earlier or later Dialogues, he always retains the character of the unwearied and disinterested seeker after truth, without which he would have ceased to be Socrates.

Leaving the characters we may now analyze the contents of the Republic, and then proceed to consider (1) The general aspects of this Hellenic ideal of the State, (2) The modern lights in which the thoughts of Plato may be read.

BOOK I

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

I WENT down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon the son of Ariston, that I might offer up my prayers to the goddess; and also because I wanted to see in what manner they would celebrate the festival, which was a new thing. I was delighted with the procession of the inhabitants; but that of the Thracians was equally, if not more, beautiful. When we had finished our prayers and viewed the spectacle, we turned in the direction of the city; and at that instant Polemarchus the son of Cephalus chanced to catch sight of us from a distance as we were starting on our way home, and told his servant to run and bid us wait for him. The servant took hold of me by the cloak behind, and said: Polemarchus desires you to wait.

I turned round, and asked him where his master was.

There he is, said the youth, coming after you, if you will only wait.

Certainly we will, said Glaucon; and in a few minutes Polemarchus appeared, and with him Adeimantus, Glaucon’s brother, Niceratus the son of Nicias, and several others who had been at the procession.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS

Polemarchus said to me: I perceive, Socrates, that you and our companion are already on your way to the city.

You are not far wrong, I said.

But do you see, he rejoined, how many we are?

Of course.

And are you stronger than all these? for if not, you will have to remain where you are.

May there not be the alternative, I said, that we may persuade you to let us go?

But can you persuade us, if we refuse to listen to you? he said.

Certainly not, replied Glaucon.

Then we are not going to listen; of that you may be assured.

Adeimantus added: Has no one told you of the torch-race on horseback in honour of the goddess which will take place in the evening?

With horses! I replied: That is a novelty. Will horsemen carry torches and pass them one to another during the race?

Yes, said Polemarchus, and not only so, but a festival will he celebrated at night, which you certainly ought to see. Let us rise soon after supper and see this festival; there will be a gathering of young men, and we will have a good talk. Stay then, and do not be perverse.

Glaucon said: I suppose, since you insist, that we must.

Very good, I replied.

GLAUCON - CEPHALUS - SOCRATES

Accordingly we went with Polemarchus to his house; and there we found his brothers Lysias and Euthydemus, and with them Thrasymachus the Chalcedonian, Charmantides the Paeanian, and Cleitophon the son of Aristonymus. There too was Cephalus the father of Polemarchus, whom I had not seen for a long time, and I thought him very much aged. He was seated on a cushioned chair, and had a garland on his head, for he had been sacrificing in the court; and there were some other chairs in the room arranged in a semicircle, upon which we sat down by him. He saluted me eagerly, and then he said: —

You don’t come to see me, Socrates, as often as you ought: If I were still able to go and see you I would not ask you to come to me. But at my age I can hardly get to the city, and therefore you should come oftener to the Piraeus. For let me tell you, that the more the pleasures of the body fade away, the greater to me is the pleasure and charm of conversation. Do not then deny my request, but make our house your resort and keep company with these young men; we are old friends, and you will be quite at home with us.

I replied: There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus, than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to enquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult. And this is a question which I should like to ask of you who have arrived at that time which the poets call the ‘threshold of old age’ — Is life harder towards the end, or what report do you give of it?

I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what my own feeling is. Men of my age flock together; we are birds of a feather, as the old proverb says; and at our meetings the tale of my acquaintance commonly is — I cannot eat, I cannot drink; the pleasures of youth and love are fled away: there was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer life. Some complain of the slights which are put upon them by relations, and they will tell you sadly of how many evils their old age is the cause. But to me, Socrates, these complainers seem to blame that which is not really in fault. For if old age were the cause, I too being old, and every other old man, would have felt as they do. But this is not my own experience, nor that of others whom I have known. How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer to the question, How does love suit with age, Sophocles, — are you still the man you were? Peace, he replied; most gladly have I escaped the thing of which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a mad and furious master. His words have often occurred to my mind since, and they seem as good to me now as at the time when he uttered them. For certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from the grasp not of one mad master only, but of many. The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also the complaints about relations, are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but men’s characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a burden.

I listened in admiration, and wanting to draw him out, that he might go on — Yes, Cephalus, I said: but I rather suspect that people in general are not convinced by you when you speak thus; they think that old age sits lightly upon you, not because of your happy disposition, but because you are rich, and wealth is well known to be a great comforter.

You are right, he replied; they are not convinced: and there is something in what they say; not, however, so much as they imagine. I might answer them as Themistocles answered the Seriphian who was abusing him and saying that he was famous, not for his own merits but because he was an Athenian: ‘If you had been a native of my country or I of yours, neither of us would have been famous.’ And to those who are not rich and are impatient of old age, the same reply may be made; for to the good poor man old age cannot be a light burden, nor can a bad rich man ever have peace with himself.

May I ask, Cephalus, whether your fortune was for the most part inherited or acquired by you?

Acquired! Socrates; do you want to know how much I acquired? In the art of making money I have been midway between my father and grandfather: for my grandfather, whose name I bear, doubled and trebled the value of his patrimony, that which he inherited being much what I possess now; but my father Lysanias reduced the property below what it is at present: and I shall be satisfied if I leave to these my sons not less but a little more than I received.

That was why I asked you the question, I replied, because I see that you are indifferent about money, which is a characteristic rather of those who have inherited their fortunes than of those who have acquired them; the makers of fortunes have a second love of money as a creation of their own, resembling the affection of authors for their own poems, or of parents for their children, besides that natural love of it for the sake of use and profit which is common to them and all men. And hence they are very bad company, for they can talk about nothing but the praises of wealth. That is true, he said.

Yes, that is very true, but may I ask another question? What do you consider to be the greatest blessing which you have reaped from your wealth?

One, he said, of which I could not expect easily to convince others. For let me tell you, Socrates, that when a man thinks himself to be near death, fears and cares enter into his mind which he never had before; the tales of a world below and the punishment which is exacted there of deeds done here were once a laughing matter to him, but now he is tormented with the thought that they may be true: either from the weakness of age, or because he is now drawing nearer to that other place, he has a clearer view of these things; suspicions and alarms crowd thickly upon him, and he begins to reflect and consider what wrongs he has done to others. And when he finds that the sum of his transgressions is great he will many a time like a child start up in his sleep for fear, and he is filled with dark forebodings. But to him who is conscious of no sin, sweet hope, as Pindar charmingly says, is the kind nurse of his age:

Hope, he says, cherishes the soul of him who lives in justice and holiness and is the nurse of his age and the companion of his journey; — hope which is mightiest to sway the restless soul of man.

How admirable are his words! And the great blessing of riches, I do not say to every man, but to a good man, is, that he has had no occasion to deceive or to defraud others, either intentionally or unintentionally; and when he departs to the world below he is not in any apprehension about offerings due to the gods or debts which he owes to men. Now to this peace of mind the possession of wealth greatly contributes; and therefore I say, that, setting one thing against another, of the many advantages which wealth has to give, to a man of sense this is in my opinion the greatest.

Well said, Cephalus, I replied; but as concerning justice, what is it? — to speak the truth and to pay your debts — no more than this? And even to this are there not exceptions? Suppose that a friend when in his right mind has deposited arms with me and he asks for them when he is not in his right mind, ought I to give them back to him? No one would say that I ought or that I should be right in doing so, any more than they would say that I ought always to speak the truth to one who is in his condition.

You are quite right, he replied.

But then, I said, speaking the truth and paying your debts is not a correct definition of justice.

CEPHALUS - SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS

Quite correct, Socrates, if Simonides is to be believed, said
Polemarchus interposing.

I fear, said Cephalus, that I must go now, for I have to look after the sacrifices, and I hand over the argument to Polemarchus and the company.

Is not Polemarchus your heir? I said.

To be sure, he answered, and went away laughing to the sacrifices.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS

Tell me then, O thou heir of the argument, what did Simonides say, and according to you truly say, about justice?

He said that the repayment of a debt is just, and in saying so he appears to me to be right.

I should be sorry to doubt the word of such a wise and inspired man, but his meaning, though probably clear to you, is the reverse of clear to me. For he certainly does not mean, as we were now saying that I ought to return a return a deposit of arms or of anything else to one who asks for it when he is not in his right senses; and yet a deposit cannot be denied to be a debt.

True.

Then when the person who asks me is not in his right mind I am by no means to make the return?

Certainly not.

When Simonides said that the repayment of a debt was justice, he did not mean to include that case?

Certainly not; for he thinks that a friend ought always to do good to a friend and never evil.

You mean that the return of a deposit of gold which is to the injury of the receiver, if the two parties are friends, is not the repayment of a debt, — that is what you would imagine him to say?

Yes.

And are enemies also to receive what we owe to them?

To be sure, he said, they are to receive what we owe them, and an enemy, as I take it, owes to an enemy that which is due or proper to him — that is to say, evil.

Simonides, then, after the manner of poets, would seem to have spoken darkly of the nature of justice; for he really meant to say that justice is the giving to each man what is proper to him, and this he termed a debt.

That must have been his meaning, he said.

By heaven! I replied; and if we asked him what due or proper thing is given by medicine, and to whom, what answer do you think that he would make to us?

He would surely reply that medicine gives drugs and meat and drink to human bodies.

And what due or proper thing is given by cookery, and to what?

Seasoning to food.

And what is that which justice gives, and to whom?

If, Socrates, we are to be guided at all by the analogy of the preceding instances, then justice is the art which gives good to friends and evil to enemies.

That is his meaning then?

I think so.

And who is best able to do good to his friends and evil to his enemies in time of sickness?

The physician.

Or when they are on a voyage, amid the perils of the sea?

The pilot.

And in what sort of actions or with a view to what result is the just man most able to do harm to his enemy and good to his friends?

In going to war against the one and in making alliances with the other.

But when a man is well, my dear Polemarchus, there is no need of a physician?

No.

And he who is not on a voyage has no need of a pilot?

No.

Then in time of peace justice will be of no use?

I am very far from thinking so.

You think that justice may be of use in peace as well as in war?

Yes.

Like husbandry for the acquisition of corn?

Yes.

Or like shoemaking for the acquisition of shoes, — that is what you mean?

Yes.

And what similar use or power of acquisition has justice in time of peace?

In contracts, Socrates, justice is of use.

And by contracts you mean partnerships?

Exactly.

But is the just man or the skilful player a more useful and better partner at a game of draughts?

The skilful player.

And in the laying of bricks and stones is the just man a more useful or better partner than the builder?

Quite the reverse.

Then in what sort of partnership is the just man a better partner than the harp-player, as in playing the harp the harp-player is certainly a better partner than the just man?

In a money partnership.

Yes, Polemarchus, but surely not in the use of money; for you do not want a just man to be your counsellor the purchase or sale of a horse; a man who is knowing about horses would be better for that, would he not?

Certainly.

And when you want to buy a ship, the shipwright or the pilot would be better?

True.

Then what is that joint use of silver or gold in which the just man is to be preferred?

When you want a deposit to be kept safely.

You mean when money is not wanted, but allowed to lie?

Precisely.

That is to say, justice is useful when money is useless?

That is the inference.

And when you want to keep a pruning-hook safe, then justice is useful to the individual and to the state; but when you want to use it, then the art of the vine-dresser?

Clearly.

And when you want to keep a shield or a lyre, and not to use them, you would say that justice is useful; but when you want to use them, then the art of the soldier or of the musician?

Certainly.

And so of all the other things; — justice is useful when they are useless, and useless when they are useful?

That is the inference.

Then justice is not good for much. But let us consider this further point: Is not he who can best strike a blow in a boxing match or in any kind of fighting best able to ward off a blow?

Certainly.

And he who is most skilful in preventing or escaping from a disease is best able to create one?

True.

And he is the best guard of a camp who is best able to steal a march upon the enemy?

Certainly.

Then he who is a good keeper of anything is also a good thief?

That, I suppose, is to be inferred.

Then if the just man is good at keeping money, he is good at stealing it.

That is implied in the argument.

Then after all the just man has turned out to be a thief. And this is a lesson which I suspect you must have learnt out of Homer; for he, speaking of Autolycus, the maternal grandfather of Odysseus, who is a favourite of his, affirms that

He was excellent above all men in theft and perjury.

And so, you and Homer and Simonides are agreed that justice is an art of theft; to be practised however ‘for the good of friends and for the harm of enemies,’ — that was what you were saying?

No, certainly not that, though I do not now know what I did say; but I still stand by the latter words.

Well, there is another question: By friends and enemies do we mean those who are so really, or only in seeming?

Surely, he said, a man may be expected to love those whom he thinks good, and to hate those whom he thinks evil.

Yes, but do not persons often err about good and evil: many who are not good seem to be so, and conversely?

That is true.

Then to them the good will be enemies and the evil will be their friends? True.

And in that case they will be right in doing good to the evil and evil to the good?

Clearly.

But the good are just and would not do an injustice?

True.

Then according to your argument it is just to injure those who do no wrong?

Nay, Socrates; the doctrine is immoral.

Then I suppose that we ought to do good to the just and harm to the unjust?

I like that better.

But see the consequence: — Many a man who is ignorant of human nature has friends who are bad friends, and in that case he ought to do harm to them; and he has good enemies whom he ought to benefit; but, if so, we shall be saying the very opposite of that which we affirmed to be the meaning of Simonides.

Very true, he said: and I think that we had better correct an error into which we seem to have fallen in the use of the words ‘friend’ and ‘enemy.’

What was the error, Polemarchus? I asked.

We assumed that he is a friend who seems to be or who is thought good.

And how is the error to be corrected?

We should rather say that he is a friend who is, as well as seems, good; and that he who seems only, and is not good, only seems to be and is not a friend; and of an enemy the same may be said.

You would argue that the good are our friends and the bad our enemies?

Yes.

And instead of saying simply as we did at first, that it is just to do good to our friends and harm to our enemies, we should further say: It is just to do good to our friends when they are good and harm to our enemies when they are evil?

Yes, that appears to me to be the truth.

But ought the just to injure any one at all?

Undoubtedly he ought to injure those who are both wicked and his enemies.

When horses are injured, are they improved or deteriorated?

The latter.

Deteriorated, that is to say, in the good qualities of horses, not of dogs?

Yes, of horses.

And dogs are deteriorated in the good qualities of dogs, and not of horses?

Of course.

And will not men who are injured be deteriorated in that which is the proper virtue of man?

Certainly.

And that human virtue is justice?

To be sure.

Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?

That is the result.

But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?

Certainly not.

Or the horseman by his art make them bad horsemen?

Impossible.

And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking general can the good by virtue make them bad?

Assuredly not.

Any more than heat can produce cold?

It cannot.

Or drought moisture?

Clearly not.

Nor can the good harm any one?

Impossible.

And the just is the good?

Certainly.

Then to injure a friend or any one else is not the act of a just man, but of the opposite, who is the unjust?

I think that what you say is quite true, Socrates.

Then if a man says that justice consists in the repayment of debts, and that good is the debt which a man owes to his friends, and evil the debt which he owes to his enemies, — to say this is not wise; for it is not true, if, as has been clearly shown, the injuring of another can be in no case just.

I agree with you, said Polemarchus.

Then you and I are prepared to take up arms against any one who attributes such a saying to Simonides or Bias or Pittacus, or any other wise man or seer?

I am quite ready to do battle at your side, he said.

Shall I tell you whose I believe the saying to be?

Whose?

I believe that Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias the Theban, or some other rich and mighty man, who had a great opinion of his own power, was the first to say that justice is ‘doing good to your friends and harm to your enemies.’

Most true, he said.

Yes, I said; but if this definition of justice also breaks down, what other can be offered?

Several times in the course of the discussion Thrasymachus had made an attempt to get the argument into his own hands, and had been put down by the rest of the company, who wanted to hear the end. But when Polemarchus and I had done speaking and there was a pause, he could no longer hold his peace; and, gathering himself up, he came at us like a wild beast, seeking to devour us. We were quite panic-stricken at the sight of him.

SOCRATES - POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS

He roared out to the whole company: What folly. Socrates, has taken possession of you all? And why, sillybillies, do you knock under to one another? I say that if you want really to know what justice is, you should not only ask but answer, and you should not seek honour to yourself from the refutation of an opponent, but have your own answer; for there is many a one who can ask and cannot answer. And now I will not have you say that justice is duty or advantage or profit or gain or interest, for this sort of nonsense will not do for me; I must have clearness and accuracy.

I was panic-stricken at his words, and could not look at him without trembling. Indeed I believe that if I had not fixed my eye upon him, I should have been struck dumb: but when I saw his fury rising, I looked at him first, and was therefore able to reply to him.

Thrasymachus, I said, with a quiver, don’t be hard upon us. Polemarchus and I may have been guilty of a little mistake in the argument, but I can assure you that the error was not intentional. If we were seeking for a piece of gold, you would not imagine that we were ‘knocking under to one another,’ and so losing our chance of finding it. And why, when we are seeking for justice, a thing more precious than many pieces of gold, do you say that we are weakly yielding to one another and not doing our utmost to get at the truth? Nay, my good friend, we are most willing and anxious to do so, but the fact is that we cannot. And if so, you people who know all things should pity us and not be angry with us.

How characteristic of Socrates! he replied, with a bitter laugh; — that’s your ironical style! Did I not foresee — have I not already told you, that whatever he was asked he would refuse to answer, and try irony or any other shuffle, in order that he might avoid answering?

You are a philosopher, Thrasymachus, I replied, and well know that if you ask a person what numbers make up twelve, taking care to prohibit him whom you ask from answering twice six, or three times four, or six times two, or four times three, ‘for this sort of nonsense will not do for me,’ — then obviously, that is your way of putting the question, no one can answer you. But suppose that he were to retort, ‘Thrasymachus, what do you mean? If one of these numbers which you interdict be the true answer to the question, am I falsely to say some other number which is not the right one? — is that your meaning?’ — How would you answer him?

Just as if the two cases were at all alike! he said.

Why should they not be? I replied; and even if they are not, but only appear to be so to the person who is asked, ought he not to say what he thinks, whether you and I forbid him or not?

I presume then that you are going to make one of the interdicted answers?

I dare say that I may, notwithstanding the danger, if upon reflection I approve of any of them.

But what if I give you an answer about justice other and better, he said, than any of these? What do you deserve to have done to you?

Done to me! — as becomes the ignorant, I must learn from the wise — that is what I deserve to have done to me.

What, and no payment! a pleasant notion!

I will pay when I have the money, I replied.

SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS - GLAUCON

But you have, Socrates, said Glaucon: and you, Thrasymachus, need be under no anxiety about money, for we will all make a contribution for Socrates.

Yes, he replied, and then Socrates will do as he always does — refuse to answer himself, but take and pull to pieces the answer of some one else.

Why, my good friend, I said, how can any one answer who knows, and says that he knows, just nothing; and who, even if he has some faint notions of his own, is told by a man of authority not to utter them? The natural thing is, that the speaker should be some one like yourself who professes to know and can tell what he knows. Will you then kindly answer, for the edification of the company and of myself?

Glaucon and the rest of the company joined in my request and Thrasymachus, as any one might see, was in reality eager to speak; for he thought that he had an excellent answer, and would distinguish himself. But at first he to insist on my answering; at length he consented to begin. Behold, he said, the wisdom of Socrates; he refuses to teach himself, and goes about learning of others, to whom he never even says thank you.

That I learn of others, I replied, is quite true; but that I am ungrateful I wholly deny. Money I have none, and therefore I pay in praise, which is all I have: and how ready I am to praise any one who appears to me to speak well you will very soon find out when you answer; for I expect that you will answer well.

Listen, then, he said; I proclaim that justice is nothing else than the interest of the stronger. And now why do you not me? But of course you won’t.

Let me first understand you, I replied. Justice, as you say, is the interest of the stronger. What, Thrasymachus, is the meaning of this? You cannot mean to say that because Polydamas, the pancratiast, is stronger than we are, and finds the eating of beef conducive to his bodily strength, that to eat beef is therefore equally for our good who are weaker than he is, and right and just for us?

That’s abominable of you, Socrates; you take the words in the sense which is most damaging to the argument.

Not at all, my good sir, I said; I am trying to understand them; and I wish that you would be a little clearer.

Well, he said, have you never heard that forms of government differ; there are tyrannies, and there are democracies, and there are aristocracies?

Yes, I know.

And the government is the ruling power in each state?

Certainly.

And the different forms of government make laws democratical, aristocratical, tyrannical, with a view to their several interests; and these laws, which are made by them for their own interests, are the justice which they deliver to their subjects, and him who transgresses them they punish as a breaker of the law, and unjust. And that is what I mean when I say that in all states there is the same principle of justice, which is the interest of the government; and as the government must be supposed to have power, the only reasonable conclusion is, that everywhere there is one principle of justice, which is the interest of the stronger.

Now I understand you, I said; and whether you are right or not I will try to discover. But let me remark, that in defining justice you have yourself used the word ‘interest’ which you forbade me to use. It is true, however, that in your definition the words ‘of the stronger’ are added.

A small addition, you must allow, he said.

Great or small, never mind about that: we must first enquire whether what you are saying is the truth. Now we are both agreed that justice is interest of some sort, but you go on to say ‘of the stronger’; about this addition I am not so sure, and must therefore consider further.

Proceed.

I will; and first tell me, Do you admit that it is just or subjects to obey their rulers?

I do.

But are the rulers of states absolutely infallible, or are they sometimes liable to err?

To be sure, he replied, they are liable to err.

Then in making their laws they may sometimes make them rightly, and sometimes not?

True.

When they make them rightly, they make them agreeably to their interest; when they are mistaken, contrary to their interest; you admit that?

Yes.

And the laws which they make must be obeyed by their subjects, — and that is what you call justice?

Doubtless.

Then justice, according to your argument, is not only obedience to the interest of the stronger but the reverse?

What is that you are saying? he asked.

I am only repeating what you are saying, I believe. But let us consider: Have we not admitted that the rulers may be mistaken about their own interest in what they command, and also that to obey them is justice? Has not that been admitted?

Yes.

Then you must also have acknowledged justice not to be for the interest of the stronger, when the rulers unintentionally command things to be done which are to their own injury. For if, as you say, justice is the obedience which the subject renders to their commands, in that case, O wisest of men, is there any escape from the conclusion that the weaker are commanded to do, not what is for the interest, but what is for the injury of the stronger?

Nothing can be clearer, Socrates, said Polemarchus.

SOCRATES - CLEITOPHON - POLEMARCHUS - THRASYMACHUS

Yes, said Cleitophon, interposing, if you are allowed to be his witness.

But there is no need of any witness, said Polemarchus, for Thrasymachus himself acknowledges that rulers may sometimes command what is not for their own interest, and that for subjects to obey them is justice.

Yes, Polemarchus, — Thrasymachus said that for subjects to do what was commanded by their rulers is just.

Yes, Cleitophon, but he also said that justice is the interest of the stronger, and, while admitting both these propositions, he further acknowledged that the stronger may command the weaker who are his subjects to do what is not for his own interest; whence follows that justice is the injury quite as much as the interest of the stronger.

But, said Cleitophon, he meant by the interest of the stronger what the stronger thought to be his interest, — this was what the weaker had to do; and this was affirmed by him to be justice.

Those were not his words, rejoined Polemarchus.

SOCRATES - THRASYMACHUS

Never mind, I replied, if he now says that they are, let us accept his statement. Tell me, Thrasymachus, I said, did you mean by justice what the stronger thought to be his interest, whether really so or not?

Certainly not, he said. Do you suppose that I call him who is mistaken the stronger at the time when he is mistaken?

Yes, I said, my impression was that you did so, when you admitted that the ruler was not infallible but might be sometimes mistaken.

You argue like an informer, Socrates. Do you mean, for example, that he who is mistaken about the sick is a physician in that he is mistaken? or that he who errs in arithmetic or grammar is an arithmetician or grammarian at the me when he is making the mistake, in respect of the mistake? True, we say that the physician or arithmetician or grammarian has made a mistake, but this is only a way of speaking; for the fact is that neither the grammarian nor any other person of skill ever makes a mistake in so far as he is what his name implies; they none of them err unless their skill fails them, and then they cease to be skilled artists. No artist or sage or ruler errs at the time when he is what his name implies; though he is commonly said to err, and I adopted the common mode of speaking. But to be perfectly accurate, since you are such a lover of accuracy, we should say that the ruler, in so far as he is the ruler, is unerring, and, being unerring, always commands that which is for his own interest; and the subject is required to execute his commands; and therefore, as I said at first and now repeat, justice is the interest of the stronger.

Indeed, Thrasymachus, and do I really appear to you to argue like an informer?

Certainly, he replied.

And you suppose that I ask these questions with any design of injuring you in the argument?

Nay, he replied, ‘suppose’ is not the word — I know it; but you will be found out, and by sheer force of argument you will never prevail.

I shall not make the attempt, my dear man; but to avoid any misunderstanding occurring between us in future, let me ask, in what sense do you speak of a ruler or stronger whose interest, as you were saying, he being the superior, it is just that the inferior should execute — is he a ruler in the popular or in the strict sense of the term?

In the strictest of all senses, he said. And now cheat and play the informer if you can; I ask no quarter at your hands. But you never will be able, never.

And do you imagine, I said, that I am such a madman as to try and cheat, Thrasymachus? I might as well shave a lion.

Why, he said, you made the attempt a minute ago, and you failed.

Enough, I said, of these civilities. It will be better that I should ask you a question: Is the physician, taken in that strict sense of which you are speaking, a healer of the sick or a maker of money? And remember that I am now speaking of the true physician.

A healer of the sick, he replied.

And the pilot — that is to say, the true pilot — is he a captain of sailors or a mere sailor?

A captain of sailors.

The circumstance that he sails in the ship is not to be taken into account; neither is he to be called a sailor; the name pilot by which he is distinguished has nothing to do with sailing, but is significant of his skill and of his authority over the sailors.

Very true, he said.

Now, I said, every art has an interest?

Certainly.

For which the art has to consider and provide?

Yes, that is the aim of art.

And the interest of any art is the perfection of it — this and nothing else?

What do you mean?

I mean what I may illustrate negatively by the example of the body. Suppose you were to ask me whether the body is self-sufficing or has wants, I should reply: Certainly the body has wants; for the body may be ill and require to be cured, and has therefore interests to which the art of medicine ministers; and this is the origin and intention of medicine, as you will acknowledge. Am I not right?

Quite right, he replied.

But is the art of medicine or any other art faulty or deficient in any quality in the same way that the eye may be deficient in sight or the ear fail of hearing, and therefore requires another art to provide for the interests of seeing and hearing — has art in itself, I say, any similar liability to fault or defect, and does every art require another supplementary art to provide for its interests, and that another and another without end? Or have the arts to look only after their own interests? Or have they no need either of themselves or of another? — having no faults or defects, they have no need to correct them, either by the exercise of their own art or of any other; they have only to consider the interest of their subject-matter. For every art remains pure and faultless while remaining true — that is to say, while perfect and unimpaired. Take the words in your precise sense, and tell me whether I am not right.”

Yes, clearly.

Then medicine does not consider the interest of medicine, but the interest of the body?

True, he said.

Nor does the art of horsemanship consider the interests of the art of horsemanship, but the interests of the horse; neither do any other arts care for themselves, for they have no needs; they care only for that which is the subject of their art?

True, he said.

But surely, Thrasymachus, the arts are the superiors and rulers of their own subjects?

To this he assented with a good deal of reluctance.

Then, I said, no science or art considers or enjoins the interest of the stronger or superior, but only the interest of the subject and weaker?

He made an attempt to contest this proposition also, but finally acquiesced.

Then, I continued, no physician, in so far as he is a physician, considers his own good in what he prescribes, but the good of his patient; for the true physician is also a ruler having the human body as a subject, and is not a mere money-maker; that has been admitted?

Yes.

And the pilot likewise, in the strict sense of the term, is a ruler of sailors and not a mere sailor?

That has been admitted.

And such a pilot and ruler will provide and prescribe for the interest of the sailor who is under him, and not for his own or the ruler’s interest?

He gave a reluctant ‘Yes.’

Then, I said, Thrasymachus, there is no one in any rule who, in so far as he is a ruler, considers or enjoins what is for his own interest, but always what is for the interest of his subject or suitable to his art; to that he looks, and that alone he considers in everything which he says and does.

When we had got to this point in the argument, and every one saw that the definition of justice had been completely upset, Thrasymachus, instead of replying to me, said: Tell me, Socrates, have you got a nurse?

Why do you ask such a question, I said, when you ought rather to be answering?

Because she leaves you to snivel, and never wipes your nose: she has not even taught you to know the shepherd from the sheep.

What makes you say that? I replied.

Because you fancy that the shepherd or neatherd fattens of tends the sheep or oxen with a view to their own good and not to the good of himself or his master; and you further imagine that the rulers of states, if they are true rulers, never think of their subjects as sheep, and that they are not studying their own advantage day and night. Oh, no; and so entirely astray are you in your ideas about the just and unjust as not even to know that justice and the just are in reality another’s good; that is to say, the interest of the ruler and stronger, and the loss of the subject and servant; and injustice the opposite; for the unjust is lord over the truly simple and just: he is the stronger, and his subjects do what is for his interest, and minister to his happiness, which is very far from being their own. Consider further, most foolish Socrates, that the just is always a loser in comparison with the unjust. First of all, in private contracts: wherever the unjust is the partner of the just you will find that, when the partnership is dissolved, the unjust man has always more and the just less. Secondly, in their dealings with the State: when there is an income tax, the just man will pay more and the unjust less on the same amount of income; and when there is anything to be received the one gains nothing and the other much. Observe also what happens when they take an office; there is the just man neglecting his affairs and perhaps suffering other losses, and getting nothing out of the public, because he is just; moreover he is hated by his friends and acquaintance for refusing to serve them in unlawful ways. But all this is reversed in the case of the unjust man. I am speaking, as before, of injustice on a large scale in which the advantage of the unjust is more apparent; and my meaning will be most clearly seen if we turn to that highest form of injustice in which the criminal is the happiest of men, and the sufferers or those who refuse to do injustice are the most miserable — that is to say tyranny, which by fraud and force takes away the property of others, not little by little but wholesale; comprehending in one, things sacred as well as profane, private and public; for which acts of wrong, if he were detected perpetrating any one of them singly, he would be punished and incur great disgrace — they who do such wrong in particular cases are called robbers of temples, and man-stealers and burglars and swindlers and thieves. But when a man besides taking away the money of the citizens has made slaves of them, then, instead of these names of reproach, he is termed happy and blessed, not only by the citizens but by all who hear of his having achieved the consummation of injustice. For mankind censure injustice, fearing that they may be the victims of it and not because they shrink from committing it. And thus, as I have shown, Socrates, injustice, when on a sufficient scale, has more strength and freedom and mastery than justice; and, as I said at first, justice is the interest of the stronger, whereas injustice is a man’s own profit and interest.

Thrasymachus, when he had thus spoken, having, like a bathman, deluged our ears with his words, had a mind to go away. But the company would not let him; they insisted that he should remain and defend his position; and I myself added my own humble request that he would not leave us. Thrasymachus, I said to him, excellent man, how suggestive are your remarks! And are you going to run away before you have fairly taught or learned whether they are true or not? Is the attempt to determine the way of man’s life so small a matter in your eyes — to determine how life may be passed by each one of us to the greatest advantage?

And do I differ from you, he said, as to the importance of the enquiry?

You appear rather, I replied, to have no care or thought about us, Thrasymachus — whether we live better or worse from not knowing what you say you know, is to you a matter of indifference. Prithee, friend, do not keep your knowledge to yourself; we are a large party; and any benefit which you confer upon us will be amply rewarded. For my own part I openly declare that I am not convinced, and that I do not believe injustice to be more gainful than justice, even if uncontrolled and allowed to have free play. For, granting that there may be an unjust man who is able to commit injustice either by fraud or force, still this does not convince me of the superior advantage of injustice, and there may be others who are in the same predicament with myself. Perhaps we may be wrong; if so, you in your wisdom should convince us that we are mistaken in preferring justice to injustice.

And how am I to convince you, he said, if you are not already convinced by what I have just said; what more can I do for you? Would you have me put the proof bodily into your souls?

Heaven forbid! I said; I would only ask you to be consistent; or, if you change, change openly and let there be no deception. For I must remark, Thrasymachus, if you will recall what was previously said, that although you began by defining the true physician in an exact sense, you did not observe a like exactness when speaking of the shepherd; you thought that the shepherd as a shepherd tends the sheep not with a view to their own good, but like a mere diner or banqueter with a view to the pleasures of the table; or, again, as a trader for sale in the market, and not as a shepherd. Yet surely the art of the shepherd is concerned only with the good of his subjects; he has only to provide the best for them, since the perfection of the art is already ensured whenever all the requirements of it are satisfied. And that was what I was saying just now about the ruler. I conceived that the art of the ruler, considered as ruler, whether in a state or in private life, could only regard the good of his flock or subjects; whereas you seem to think that the rulers in states, that is to say, the true rulers, like being in authority.

Think! Nay, I am sure of it.

Then why in the case of lesser offices do men never take them willingly without payment, unless under the idea that they govern for the advantage not of themselves but of others? Let me ask you a question: Are not the several arts different, by reason of their each having a separate function? And, my dear illustrious friend, do say what you think, that we may make a little progress.

Yes, that is the difference, he replied.

And each art gives us a particular good and not merely a general one — medicine, for example, gives us health; navigation, safety at sea, and so on?

Yes, he said.

And the art of payment has the special function of giving pay: but we do not confuse this with other arts, any more than the art of the pilot is to be confused with the art of medicine, because the health of the pilot may be improved by a sea voyage. You would not be inclined to say, would you, that navigation is the art of medicine, at least if we are to adopt your exact use of language?

Certainly not.

Or because a man is in good health when he receives pay you would not say that the art of payment is medicine?

I should say not.

Nor would you say that medicine is the art of receiving pay because a man takes fees when he is engaged in healing?

Certainly not.

And we have admitted, I said, that the good of each art is specially confined to the art?

Yes.

Then, if there be any good which all artists have in common, that is to be attributed to something of which they all have the common use?

True, he replied.

And when the artist is benefited by receiving pay the advantage is gained by an additional use of the art of pay, which is not the art professed by him?

He gave a reluctant assent to this.

Then the pay is not derived by the several artists from their respective arts. But the truth is, that while the art of medicine gives health, and the art of the builder builds a house, another art attends them which is the art of pay. The various arts may be doing their own business and benefiting that over which they preside, but would the artist receive any benefit from his art unless he were paid as well?

I suppose not.

But does he therefore confer no benefit when he works for nothing?

Certainly, he confers a benefit.

Then now, Thrasymachus, there is no longer any doubt that neither arts nor governments provide for their own interests; but, as we were before saying, they rule and provide for the interests of their subjects who are the weaker and not the stronger — to their good they attend and not to the good of the superior.

And this is the reason, my dear Thrasymachus, why, as I was just now saying, no one is willing to govern; because no one likes to take in hand the reformation of evils which are not his concern without remuneration. For, in the execution of his work, and in giving his orders to another, the true artist does not regard his own interest, but always that of his subjects; and therefore in order that rulers may be willing to rule, they must be paid in one of three modes of payment: money, or honour, or a penalty for refusing.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

What do you mean, Socrates? said Glaucon. The first two modes of payment are intelligible enough, but what the penalty is I do not understand, or how a penalty can be a payment.

You mean that you do not understand the nature of this payment which to the best men is the great inducement to rule? Of course you know that ambition and avarice are held to be, as indeed they are, a disgrace?

Very true.

And for this reason, I said, money and honour have no attraction for them; good men do not wish to be openly demanding payment for governing and so to get the name of hirelings, nor by secretly helping themselves out of the public revenues to get the name of thieves. And not being ambitious they do not care about honour. Wherefore necessity must be laid upon them, and they must be induced to serve from the fear of punishment. And this, as I imagine, is the reason why the forwardness to take office, instead of waiting to be compelled, has been deemed dishonourable. Now the worst part of the punishment is that he who refuses to rule is liable to be ruled by one who is worse than himself. And the fear of this, as I conceive, induces the good to take office, not because they would, but because they cannot help — not under the idea that they are going to have any benefit or enjoyment themselves, but as a necessity, and because they are not able to commit the task of ruling to any one who is better than themselves, or indeed as good. For there is reason to think that if a city were composed entirely of good men, then to avoid office would be as much an object of contention as to obtain office is at present; then we should have plain proof that the true ruler is not meant by nature to regard his own interest, but that of his subjects; and every one who knew this would choose rather to receive a benefit from another than to have the trouble of conferring one. So far am I from agreeing with Thrasymachus that justice is the interest of the stronger. This latter question need not be further discussed at present; but when Thrasymachus says that the life of the unjust is more advantageous than that of the just, his new statement appears to me to be of a far more serious character. Which of us has spoken truly? And which sort of life, Glaucon, do you prefer?

I for my part deem the life of the just to be the more advantageous, he answered.

Did you hear all the advantages of the unjust which Thrasymachus was rehearsing?

Yes, I heard him, he replied, but he has not convinced me.

Then shall we try to find some way of convincing him, if we can, that he is saying what is not true?

Most certainly, he replied.

If, I said, he makes a set speech and we make another recounting all the advantages of being just, and he answers and we rejoin, there must be a numbering and measuring of the goods which are claimed on either side, and in the end we shall want judges to decide; but if we proceed in our enquiry as we lately did, by making admissions to one another, we shall unite the offices of judge and advocate in our own persons.

Very good, he said.

And which method do I understand you to prefer? I said.

That which you propose.

Well, then, Thrasymachus, I said, suppose you begin at the beginning and answer me. You say that perfect injustice is more gainful than perfect justice?

SOCRATES - GLAUCON - THRASYMACHUS

Yes, that is what I say, and I have given you my reasons.

And what is your view about them? Would you call one of them virtue and the other vice?

Certainly.

I suppose that you would call justice virtue and injustice vice?

What a charming notion! So likely too, seeing that I affirm injustice to be profitable and justice not.

What else then would you say?

The opposite, he replied.

And would you call justice vice?

No, I would rather say sublime simplicity.

Then would you call injustice malignity?

No; I would rather say discretion.

And do the unjust appear to you to be wise and good?

Yes, he said; at any rate those of them who are able to be perfectly unjust, and who have the power of subduing states and nations; but perhaps you imagine me to be talking of cutpurses.

Even this profession if undetected has advantages, though they are not to be compared with those of which I was just now speaking.

I do not think that I misapprehend your meaning, Thrasymachus, I replied; but still I cannot hear without amazement that you class injustice with wisdom and virtue, and justice with the opposite.

Certainly I do so class them.

Now, I said, you are on more substantial and almost unanswerable ground; for if the injustice which you were maintaining to be profitable had been admitted by you as by others to be vice and deformity, an answer might have been given to you on received principles; but now I perceive that you will call injustice honourable and strong, and to the unjust you will attribute all the qualities which were attributed by us before to the just, seeing that you do not hesitate to rank injustice with wisdom and virtue.

You have guessed most infallibly, he replied.

Then I certainly ought not to shrink from going through with the argument so long as I have reason to think that you, Thrasymachus, are speaking your real mind; for I do believe that you are now in earnest and are not amusing yourself at our expense.

I may be in earnest or not, but what is that to you? — to refute the argument is your business.

Very true, I said; that is what I have to do: But will you be so good as answer yet one more question? Does the just man try to gain any advantage over the just?

Far otherwise; if he did would not be the simple, amusing creature which he is.

And would he try to go beyond just action?

He would not.

And how would he regard the attempt to gain an advantage over the unjust; would that be considered by him as just or unjust?

He would think it just, and would try to gain the advantage; but he would not be able.

Whether he would or would not be able, I said, is not to the point. My question is only whether the just man, while refusing to have more than another just man, would wish and claim to have more than the unjust?

Yes, he would.

And what of the unjust — does he claim to have more than the just man and to do more than is just.

Of course, he said, for he claims to have more than all men.

And the unjust man will strive and struggle to obtain more than the unjust man or action, in order that he may have more than all?

True.

We may put the matter thus, I said — the just does not desire more than his like but more than his unlike, whereas the unjust desires more than both his like and his unlike?

Nothing, he said, can be better than that statement.

And the unjust is good and wise, and the just is neither?

Good again, he said.

And is not the unjust like the wise and good and the just unlike them?

Of course, he said, he who is of a certain nature, is like those who are of a certain nature; he who is not, not.

Each of them, I said, is such as his like is?

Certainly, he replied.

Very good, Thrasymachus, I said; and now to take the case of the arts: you would admit that one man is a musician and another not a musician?

Yes.

And which is wise and which is foolish?

Clearly the musician is wise, and he who is not a musician is foolish.

And he is good in as far as he is wise, and bad in as far as he is foolish?

Yes.

And you would say the same sort of thing of the physician?

Yes.

And do you think, my excellent friend, that a musician when he adjusts the lyre would desire or claim to exceed or go beyond a musician in the tightening and loosening the strings?

I do not think that he would.

But he would claim to exceed the non-musician?

Of course.

And what would you say of the physician? In prescribing meats and drinks would he wish to go beyond another physician or beyond the practice of medicine?

He would not.

But he would wish to go beyond the non-physician?

Yes.

And about knowledge and ignorance in general; see whether you think that any man who has knowledge ever would wish to have the choice of saying or doing more than another man who has knowledge. Would he not rather say or do the same as his like in the same case?

That, I suppose, can hardly be denied.

And what of the ignorant? would he not desire to have more than either the knowing or the ignorant?

I dare say.

And the knowing is wise?

Yes.

And the wise is good?

True.

Then the wise and good will not desire to gain more than his like, but more than his unlike and opposite?

I suppose so.

Whereas the bad and ignorant will desire to gain more than both?

Yes.

But did we not say, Thrasymachus, that the unjust goes beyond both his like and unlike? Were not these your words? They were.

They were.

And you also said that the lust will not go beyond his like but his unlike?

Yes.

Then the just is like the wise and good, and the unjust like the evil and ignorant?

That is the inference.

And each of them is such as his like is?

That was admitted.

Then the just has turned out to be wise and good and the unjust evil and ignorant.

Thrasymachus made all these admissions, not fluently, as I repeat them, but with extreme reluctance; it was a hot summer’s day, and the perspiration poured from him in torrents; and then I saw what I had never seen before, Thrasymachus blushing. As we were now agreed that justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice vice and ignorance, I proceeded to another point:

Well, I said, Thrasymachus, that matter is now settled; but were we not also saying that injustice had strength; do you remember?

Yes, I remember, he said, but do not suppose that I approve of what you are saying or have no answer; if however I were to answer, you would be quite certain to accuse me of haranguing; therefore either permit me to have my say out, or if you would rather ask, do so, and I will answer ‘Very good,’ as they say to story-telling old women, and will nod ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’

Certainly not, I said, if contrary to your real opinion.

Yes, he said, I will, to please you, since you will not let me speak.
What else would you have?

Nothing in the world, I said; and if you are so disposed I will ask and you shall answer.

Proceed.

Then I will repeat the question which I asked before, in order that our examination of the relative nature of justice and injustice may be carried on regularly. A statement was made that injustice is stronger and more powerful than justice, but now justice, having been identified with wisdom and virtue, is easily shown to be stronger than injustice, if injustice is ignorance; this can no longer be questioned by any one. But I want to view the matter, Thrasymachus, in a different way: You would not deny that a state may be unjust and may be unjustly attempting to enslave other states, or may have already enslaved them, and may be holding many of them in subjection?

True, he replied; and I will add the best and perfectly unjust state will be most likely to do so.

I know, I said, that such was your position; but what I would further consider is, whether this power which is possessed by the superior state can exist or be exercised without justice.

If you are right in you view, and justice is wisdom, then only with justice; but if I am right, then without justice.

I am delighted, Thrasymachus, to see you not only nodding assent and dissent, but making answers which are quite excellent.

That is out of civility to you, he replied.

You are very kind, I said; and would you have the goodness also to inform me, whether you think that a state, or an army, or a band of robbers and thieves, or any other gang of evil-doers could act at all if they injured one another?

No indeed, he said, they could not.

But if they abstained from injuring one another, then they might act together better?

Yes.

And this is because injustice creates divisions and hatreds and fighting, and justice imparts harmony and friendship; is not that true, Thrasymachus?

I agree, he said, because I do not wish to quarrel with you.

How good of you, I said; but I should like to know also whether injustice, having this tendency to arouse hatred, wherever existing, among slaves or among freemen, will not make them hate one another and set them at variance and render them incapable of common action?

Certainly.

And even if injustice be found in two only, will they not quarrel and fight, and become enemies to one another and to the just.

They will.

And suppose injustice abiding in a single person, would your wisdom say that she loses or that she retains her natural power?

Let us assume that she retains her power.

Yet is not the power which injustice exercises of such a nature that wherever she takes up her abode, whether in a city, in an army, in a family, or in any other body, that body is, to begin with, rendered incapable of united action by reason of sedition and distraction; and does it not become its own enemy and at variance with all that opposes it, and with the just? Is not this the case?

Yes, certainly.

And is not injustice equally fatal when existing in a single person; in the first place rendering him incapable of action because he is not at unity with himself, and in the second place making him an enemy to himself and the just? Is not that true, Thrasymachus?

Yes.

And O my friend, I said, surely the gods are just?

Granted that they are.

But if so, the unjust will be the enemy of the gods, and the just will be their friend?

Feast away in triumph, and take your fill of the argument; I will not oppose you, lest I should displease the company.

Well then, proceed with your answers, and let me have the remainder of my repast. For we have already shown that the just are clearly wiser and better and abler than the unjust, and that the unjust are incapable of common action; nay ing at more, that to speak as we did of men who are evil acting at any time vigorously together, is not strictly true, for if they had been perfectly evil, they would have laid hands upon one another; but it is evident that there must have been some remnant of justice in them, which enabled them to combine; if there had not been they would have injured one another as well as their victims; they were but half — villains in their enterprises; for had they been whole villains, and utterly unjust, they would have been utterly incapable of action. That, as I believe, is the truth of the matter, and not what you said at first. But whether the just have a better and happier life than the unjust is a further question which we also proposed to consider. I think that they have, and for the reasons which to have given; but still I should like to examine further, for no light matter is at stake, nothing less than the rule of human life.

Proceed.

I will proceed by asking a question: Would you not say that a horse has some end?

I should.

And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?

I do not understand, he said.

Let me explain: Can you see, except with the eye?

Certainly not.

Or hear, except with the ear?

No.

These then may be truly said to be the ends of these organs?

They may.

But you can cut off a vine-branch with a dagger or with a chisel, and in many other ways?

Of course.

And yet not so well as with a pruning-hook made for the purpose?

True.

May we not say that this is the end of a pruning-hook?

We may.

Then now I think you will have no difficulty in understanding my meaning when I asked the question whether the end of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?

I understand your meaning, he said, and assent.

And that to which an end is appointed has also an excellence? Need I ask again whether the eye has an end?

It has.

And has not the eye an excellence?

Yes.

And the ear has an end and an excellence also?

True.

And the same is true of all other things; they have each of them an end and a special excellence?

That is so.

Well, and can the eyes fulfil their end if they are wanting in their own proper excellence and have a defect instead?

How can they, he said, if they are blind and cannot see?

You mean to say, if they have lost their proper excellence, which is sight; but I have not arrived at that point yet. I would rather ask the question more generally, and only enquire whether the things which fulfil their ends fulfil them by their own proper excellence, and fall of fulfilling them by their own defect?

Certainly, he replied.

I might say the same of the ears; when deprived of their own proper excellence they cannot fulfil their end?

True.

And the same observation will apply to all other things?

I agree.

Well; and has not the soul an end which nothing else can fulfil? for example, to superintend and command and deliberate and the like. Are not these functions proper to the soul, and can they rightly be assigned to any other?

To no other.

And is not life to be reckoned among the ends of the soul?

Assuredly, he said.

And has not the soul an excellence also?

Yes.

And can she or can she not fulfil her own ends when deprived of that excellence?

She cannot.

Then an evil soul must necessarily be an evil ruler and superintendent, and the good soul a good ruler?

Yes, necessarily.

And we have admitted that justice is the excellence of the soul, and injustice the defect of the soul?

That has been admitted.

Then the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust man will live ill?

That is what your argument proves.

And he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives ill the reverse of happy?

Certainly.

Then the just is happy, and the unjust miserable?

So be it.

But happiness and not misery is profitable.

Of course.

Then, my blessed Thrasymachus, injustice can never be more profitable than justice.

Let this, Socrates, he said, be your entertainment at the Bendidea.

For which I am indebted to you, I said, now that you have grown gentle towards me and have left off scolding. Nevertheless, I have not been well entertained; but that was my own fault and not yours. As an epicure snatches a taste of every dish which is successively brought to table, he not having allowed himself time to enjoy the one before, so have I gone from one subject to another without having discovered what I sought at first, the nature of justice. I left that enquiry and turned away to consider whether justice is virtue and wisdom or evil and folly; and when there arose a further question about the comparative advantages of justice and injustice, I could not refrain from passing on to that. And the result of the whole discussion has been that I know nothing at all. For I know not what justice is, and therefore I am not likely to know whether it is or is not a virtue, nor can I say whether the just man is happy or unhappy.

BOOK II

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

WITH these words I was thinking that I had made an end of the discussion; but the end, in truth, proved to be only a beginning. For Glaucon, who is always the most pugnacious of men, was dissatisfied at Thrasymachus’ retirement; he wanted to have the battle out. So he said to me: Socrates, do you wish really to persuade us, or only to seem to have persuaded us, that to be just is always better than to be unjust?

I should wish really to persuade you, I replied, if I could.

Then you certainly have not succeeded. Let me ask you now: — How would you arrange goods — are there not some which we welcome for their own sakes, and independently of their consequences, as, for example, harmless pleasures and enjoyments, which delight us at the time, although nothing follows from them?

I agree in thinking that there is such a class, I replied.

Is there not also a second class of goods, such as knowledge, sight, health, which are desirable not only in themselves, but also for their results?

Certainly, I said.

And would you not recognize a third class, such as gymnastic, and the care of the sick, and the physician’s art; also the various ways of money-making — these do us good but we regard them as disagreeable; and no one would choose them for their own sakes, but only for the sake of some reward or result which flows from them?

There is, I said, this third class also. But why do you ask?

Because I want to know in which of the three classes you would place justice?

In the highest class, I replied, — among those goods which he who would be happy desires both for their own sake and for the sake of their results.

Then the many are of another mind; they think that justice is to be reckoned in the troublesome class, among goods which are to be pursued for the sake of rewards and of reputation, but in themselves are disagreeable and rather to be avoided.

I know, I said, that this is their manner of thinking, and that this was the thesis which Thrasymachus was maintaining just now, when he censured justice and praised injustice. But I am too stupid to be convinced by him.

I wish, he said, that you would hear me as well as him, and then I shall see whether you and I agree. For Thrasymachus seems to me, like a snake, to have been charmed by your voice sooner than he ought to have been; but to my mind the nature of justice and injustice have not yet been made clear. Setting aside their rewards and results, I want to know what they are in themselves, and how they inwardly work in the soul. If you, please, then, I will revive the argument of Thrasymachus. And first I will speak of the nature and origin of justice according to the common view of them. Secondly, I will show that all men who practise justice do so against their will, of necessity, but not as a good. And thirdly, I will argue that there is reason in this view, for the life of the unjust is after all better far than the life of the just — if what they say is true, Socrates, since I myself am not of their opinion. But still I acknowledge that I am perplexed when I hear the voices of Thrasymachus and myriads of others dinning in my ears; and, on the other hand, I have never yet heard the superiority of justice to injustice maintained by any one in a satisfactory way. I want to hear justice praised in respect of itself; then I shall be satisfied, and you are the person from whom I think that I am most likely to hear this; and therefore I will praise the unjust life to the utmost of my power, and my manner of speaking will indicate the manner in which I desire to hear you too praising justice and censuring injustice. Will you say whether you approve of my proposal?

Indeed I do; nor can I imagine any theme about which a man of sense would oftener wish to converse.

I am delighted, he replied, to hear you say so, and shall begin by speaking, as I proposed, of the nature and origin of justice.

GLAUCON

They say that to do injustice is, by nature, good; to suffer injustice, evil; but that the evil is greater than the good. And so when men have both done and suffered injustice and have had experience of both, not being able to avoid the one and obtain the other, they think that they had better agree among themselves to have neither; hence there arise laws and mutual covenants; and that which is ordained by law is termed by them lawful and just. This they affirm to be the origin and nature of justice; — it is a mean or compromise, between the best of all, which is to do injustice and not be punished, and the worst of all, which is to suffer injustice without the power of retaliation; and justice, being at a middle point between the two, is tolerated not as a good, but as the lesser evil, and honoured by reason of the inability of men to do injustice. For no man who is worthy to be called a man would ever submit to such an agreement if he were able to resist; he would be mad if he did. Such is the received account, Socrates, of the nature and origin of justice.

Now that those who practise justice do so involuntarily and because they have not the power to be unjust will best appear if we imagine something of this kind: having given both to the just and the unjust power to do what they will, let us watch and see whither desire will lead them; then we shall discover in the very act the just and unjust man to be proceeding along the same road, following their interest, which all natures deem to be their good, and are only diverted into the path of justice by the force of law. The liberty which we are supposing may be most completely given to them in the form of such a power as is said to have been possessed by Gyges the ancestor of Croesus the Lydian. According to the tradition, Gyges was a shepherd in the service of the king of Lydia; there was a great storm, and an earthquake made an opening in the earth at the place where he was feeding his flock. Amazed at the sight, he descended into the opening, where, among other marvels, he beheld a hollow brazen horse, having doors, at which he stooping and looking in saw a dead body of stature, as appeared to him, more than human, and having nothing on but a gold ring; this he took from the finger of the dead and reascended. Now the shepherds met together, according to custom, that they might send their monthly report about the flocks to the king; into their assembly he came having the ring on his finger, and as he was sitting among them he chanced to turn the collet of the ring inside his hand, when instantly he became invisible to the rest of the company and they began to speak of him as if he were no longer present. He was astonished at this, and again touching the ring he turned the collet outwards and reappeared; he made several trials of the ring, and always with the same result-when he turned the collet inwards he became invisible, when outwards he reappeared. Whereupon he contrived to be chosen one of the messengers who were sent to the court; where as soon as he arrived he seduced the queen, and with her help conspired against the king and slew him, and took the kingdom. Suppose now that there were two such magic rings, and the just put on one of them and the unjust the other; no man can be imagined to be of such an iron nature that he would stand fast in justice. No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be like a God among men. Then the actions of the just would be as the actions of the unjust; they would both come at last to the same point. And this we may truly affirm to be a great proof that a man is just, not willingly or because he thinks that justice is any good to him individually, but of necessity, for wherever any one thinks that he can safely be unjust, there he is unjust. For all men believe in their hearts that injustice is far more profitable to the individual than justice, and he who argues as I have been supposing, will say that they are right. If you could imagine any one obtaining this power of becoming invisible, and never doing any wrong or touching what was another’s, he would be thought by the lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although they would praise him to one another’s faces, and keep up appearances with one another from a fear that they too might suffer injustice. Enough of this.

Now, if we are to form a real judgment of the life of the just and unjust, we must isolate them; there is no other way; and how is the isolation to be effected? I answer: Let the unjust man be entirely unjust, and the just man entirely just; nothing is to be taken away from either of them, and both are to be perfectly furnished for the work of their respective lives. First, let the unjust be like other distinguished masters of craft; like the skilful pilot or physician, who knows intuitively his own powers and keeps within their limits, and who, if he fails at any point, is able to recover himself. So let the unjust make his unjust attempts in the right way, and lie hidden if he means to be great in his injustice (he who is found out is nobody): for the highest reach of injustice is: to be deemed just when you are not. Therefore I say that in the perfectly unjust man we must assume the most perfect injustice; there is to be no deduction, but we must allow him, while doing the most unjust acts, to have acquired the greatest reputation for justice. If he have taken a false step he must be able to recover himself; he must be one who can speak with effect, if any of his deeds come to light, and who can force his way where force is required his courage and strength, and command of money and friends. And at his side let us place the just man in his nobleness and simplicity, wishing, as Aeschylus says, to be and not to seem good. There must be no seeming, for if he seem to be just he will be honoured and rewarded, and then we shall not know whether he is just for the sake of justice or for the sake of honours and rewards; therefore, let him be clothed in justice only, and have no other covering; and he must be imagined in a state of life the opposite of the former. Let him be the best of men, and let him be thought the worst; then he will have been put to the proof; and we shall see whether he will be affected by the fear of infamy and its consequences. And let him continue thus to the hour of death; being just and seeming to be unjust. When both have reached the uttermost extreme, the one of justice and the other of injustice, let judgment be given which of them is the happier of the two.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

Heavens! my dear Glaucon, I said, how energetically you polish them up for the decision, first one and then the other, as if they were two statues.

I do my best, he said. And now that we know what they are like there is no difficulty in tracing out the sort of life which awaits either of them. This I will proceed to describe; but as you may think the description a little too coarse, I ask you to suppose, Socrates, that the words which follow are not mine. — Let me put them into the mouths of the eulogists of injustice: They will tell you that the just man who is thought unjust will be scourged, racked, bound — will have his eyes burnt out; and, at last, after suffering every kind of evil, he will be impaled: Then he will understand that he ought to seem only, and not to be, just; the words of Aeschylus may be more truly spoken of the unjust than of the just. For the unjust is pursuing a reality; he does not live with a view to appearances — he wants to be really unjust and not to seem only: —

His mind has a soil deep and fertile,
Out of which spring his prudent counsels.

In the first place, he is thought just, and therefore bears rule in the city; he can marry whom he will, and give in marriage to whom he will; also he can trade and deal where he likes, and always to his own advantage, because he has no misgivings about injustice and at every contest, whether in public or private, he gets the better of his antagonists, and gains at their expense, and is rich, and out of his gains he can benefit his friends, and harm his enemies; moreover, he can offer sacrifices, and dedicate gifts to the gods abundantly and magnificently, and can honour the gods or any man whom he wants to honour in a far better style than the just, and therefore he is likely to be dearer than they are to the gods. And thus, Socrates, gods and men are said to unite in making the life of the unjust better than the life of the just.

ADEIMANTUS - SOCRATES

I was going to say something in answer to Glaucon, when Adeimantus, his brother, interposed: Socrates, he said, you do not suppose that there is nothing more to be urged?

Why, what else is there? I answered.

The strongest point of all has not been even mentioned, he replied.

Well, then, according to the proverb, ‘Let brother help brother’ — if he fails in any part do you assist him; although I must confess that Glaucon has already said quite enough to lay me in the dust, and take from me the power of helping justice.

ADEIMANTUS

Nonsense, he replied. But let me add something more: There is another side to Glaucon’s argument about the praise and censure of justice and injustice, which is equally required in order to bring out what I believe to be his meaning. Parents and tutors are always telling their sons and their wards that they are to be just; but why? not for the sake of justice, but for the sake of character and reputation; in the hope of obtaining for him who is reputed just some of those offices, marriages, and the like which Glaucon has enumerated among the advantages accruing to the unjust from the reputation of justice. More, however, is made of appearances by this class of persons than by the others; for they throw in the good opinion of the gods, and will tell you of a shower of benefits which the heavens, as they say, rain upon the pious; and this accords with the testimony of the noble Hesiod and Homer, the first of whom says, that the gods make the oaks of the just —

To hear acorns at their summit, and bees I the middle;
And the sheep the bowed down bowed the with the their fleeces.

and many other blessings of a like kind are provided for them. And Homer has a very similar strain; for he speaks of one whose fame is —

As the fame of some blameless king who, like a god,
Maintains justice to whom the black earth brings forth
Wheat and barley, whose trees are bowed with fruit,
And his sheep never fail to bear, and the sea gives him fish.

Still grander are the gifts of heaven which Musaeus and his son vouchsafe to the just; they take them down into the world below, where they have the saints lying on couches at a feast, everlastingly drunk, crowned with garlands; their idea seems to be that an immortality of drunkenness is the highest meed of virtue. Some extend their rewards yet further; the posterity, as they say, of the faithful and just shall survive to the third and fourth generation. This is the style in which they praise justice. But about the wicked there is another strain; they bury them in a slough in Hades, and make them carry water in a sieve; also while they are yet living they bring them to infamy, and inflict upon them the punishments which Glaucon described as the portion of the just who are reputed to be unjust; nothing else does their invention supply. Such is their manner of praising the one and censuring the other.

Once more, Socrates, I will ask you to consider another way of speaking about justice and injustice, which is not confined to the poets, but is found in prose writers. The universal voice of mankind is always declaring that justice and virtue are honourable, but grievous and toilsome; and that the pleasures of vice and injustice are easy of attainment, and are only censured by law and opinion. They say also that honesty is for the most part less profitable than dishonesty; and they are quite ready to call wicked men happy, and to honour them both in public and private when they are rich or in any other way influential, while they despise and overlook those who may be weak and poor, even though acknowledging them to be better than the others. But most extraordinary of all is their mode of speaking about virtue and the gods: they say that the gods apportion calamity and misery to many good men, and good and happiness to the wicked. And mendicant prophets go to rich men’s doors and persuade them that they have a power committed to them by the gods of making an atonement for a man’s own or his ancestor’s sins by sacrifices or charms, with rejoicings and feasts; and they promise to harm an enemy, whether just or unjust, at a small cost; with magic arts and incantations binding heaven, as they say, to execute their will. And the poets are the authorities to whom they appeal, now smoothing the path of vice with the words of Hesiod; —

Vice may be had in abundance without trouble; the way is smooth and her dwelling-place is near. But before virtue the gods have set toil,

and a tedious and uphill road: then citing Homer as a witness that the gods may be influenced by men; for he also says:

The gods, too, may he turned from their purpose; and men pray to them and avert their wrath by sacrifices and soothing entreaties, and by libations and the odour of fat, when they have sinned and transgressed.

And they produce a host of books written by Musaeus and Orpheus, who were children of the Moon and the Muses — that is what they say — according to which they perform their ritual, and persuade not only individuals, but whole cities, that expiations and atonements for sin may be made by sacrifices and amusements which fill a vacant hour, and are equally at the service of the living and the dead; the latter sort they call mysteries, and they redeem us from the pains of hell, but if we neglect them no one knows what awaits us.

He proceeded: And now when the young hear all this said about virtue and vice, and the way in which gods and men regard them, how are their minds likely to be affected, my dear Socrates, — those of them, I mean, who are quickwitted, and, like bees on the wing, light on every flower, and from all that they hear are prone to draw conclusions as to what manner of persons they should be and in what way they should walk if they would make the best of life? Probably the youth will say to himself in the words of Pindar —

Can I by justice or by crooked ways of deceit ascend a loftier tower which may he a fortress to me all my days?

For what men say is that, if I am really just and am not also thought just profit there is none, but the pain and loss on the other hand are unmistakable. But if, though unjust, I acquire the reputation of justice, a heavenly life is promised to me. Since then, as philosophers prove, appearance tyrannizes over truth and is lord of happiness, to appearance I must devote myself. I will describe around me a picture and shadow of virtue to be the vestibule and exterior of my house; behind I will trail the subtle and crafty fox, as Archilochus, greatest of sages, recommends. But I hear some one exclaiming that the concealment of wickedness is often difficult; to which I answer, Nothing great is easy. Nevertheless, the argument indicates this, if we would be happy, to be the path along which we should proceed. With a view to concealment we will establish secret brotherhoods and political clubs. And there are professors of rhetoric who teach the art of persuading courts and assemblies; and so, partly by persuasion and partly by force, I shall make unlawful gains and not be punished. Still I hear a voice saying that the gods cannot be deceived, neither can they be compelled. But what if there are no gods? or, suppose them to have no care of human things — why in either case should we mind about concealment? And even if there are gods, and they do care about us, yet we know of them only from tradition and the genealogies of the poets; and these are the very persons who say that they may be influenced and turned by ‘sacrifices and soothing entreaties and by offerings.’ Let us be consistent then, and believe both or neither. If the poets speak truly, why then we had better be unjust, and offer of the fruits of injustice; for if we are just, although we may escape the vengeance of heaven, we shall lose the gains of injustice; but, if we are unjust, we shall keep the gains, and by our sinning and praying, and praying and sinning, the gods will be propitiated, and we shall not be punished. ‘But there is a world below in which either we or our posterity will suffer for our unjust deeds.’ Yes, my friend, will be the reflection, but there are mysteries and atoning deities, and these have great power. That is what mighty cities declare; and the children of the gods, who were their poets and prophets, bear a like testimony.

On what principle, then, shall we any longer choose justice rather than the worst injustice? when, if we only unite the latter with a deceitful regard to appearances, we shall fare to our mind both with gods and men, in life and after death, as the most numerous and the highest authorities tell us. Knowing all this, Socrates, how can a man who has any superiority of mind or person or rank or wealth, be willing to honour justice; or indeed to refrain from laughing when he hears justice praised? And even if there should be some one who is able to disprove the truth of my words, and who is satisfied that justice is best, still he is not angry with the unjust, but is very ready to forgive them, because he also knows that men are not just of their own free will; unless, peradventure, there be some one whom the divinity within him may have inspired with a hatred of injustice, or who has attained knowledge of the truth — but no other man. He only blames injustice who, owing to cowardice or age or some weakness, has not the power of being unjust. And this is proved by the fact that when he obtains the power, he immediately becomes unjust as far as he can be.

The cause of all this, Socrates, was indicated by us at the beginning of the argument, when my brother and I told you how astonished we were to find that of all the professing panegyrists of justice — beginning with the ancient heroes of whom any memorial has been preserved to us, and ending with the men of our own time — no one has ever blamed injustice or praised justice except with a view to the glories, honours, and benefits which flow from them. No one has ever adequately described either in verse or prose the true essential nature of either of them abiding in the soul, and invisible to any human or divine eye; or shown that of all the things of a man’s soul which he has within him, justice is the greatest good, and injustice the greatest evil. Had this been the universal strain, had you sought to persuade us of this from our youth upwards, we should not have been on the watch to keep one another from doing wrong, but every one would have been his own watchman, because afraid, if he did wrong, of harbouring in himself the greatest of evils. I dare say that Thrasymachus and others would seriously hold the language which I have been merely repeating, and words even stronger than these about justice and injustice, grossly, as I conceive, perverting their true nature. But I speak in this vehement manner, as I must frankly confess to you, because I want to hear from you the opposite side; and I would ask you to show not only the superiority which justice has over injustice, but what effect they have on the possessor of them which makes the one to be a good and the other an evil to him. And please, as Glaucon requested of you, to exclude reputations; for unless you take away from each of them his true reputation and add on the false, we shall say that you do not praise justice, but the appearance of it; we shall think that you are only exhorting us to keep injustice dark, and that you really agree with Thrasymachus in thinking that justice is another’s good and the interest of the stronger, and that injustice is a man’s own profit and interest, though injurious to the weaker. Now as you have admitted that justice is one of that highest class of goods which are desired indeed for their results, but in a far greater degree for their own sakes — like sight or hearing or knowledge or health, or any other real and natural and not merely conventional good — I would ask you in your praise of justice to regard one point only: I mean the essential good and evil which justice and injustice work in the possessors of them. Let others praise justice and censure injustice, magnifying the rewards and honours of the one and abusing the other; that is a manner of arguing which, coming from them, I am ready to tolerate, but from you who have spent your whole life in the consideration of this question, unless I hear the contrary from your own lips, I expect something better. And therefore, I say, not only prove to us that justice is better than injustice, but show what they either of them do to the possessor of them, which makes the one to be a good and the other an evil, whether seen or unseen by gods and men.

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus, but on hearing these words I was quite delighted, and said: Sons of an illustrious father, that was not a bad beginning of the Elegiac verses which the admirer of Glaucon made in honour of you after you had distinguished yourselves at the battle of Megara: —

‘Sons of Ariston,’ he sang, ‘divine offspring of an illustrious hero.’

The epithet is very appropriate, for there is something truly divine in being able to argue as you have done for the superiority of injustice, and remaining unconvinced by your own arguments. And I do believe that you are not convinced — this I infer from your general character, for had I judged only from your speeches I should have mistrusted you. But now, the greater my confidence in you, the greater is my difficulty in knowing what to say. For I am in a strait between two; on the one hand I feel that I am unequal to the task; and my inability is brought home to me by the fact that you were not satisfied with the answer which I made to Thrasymachus, proving, as I thought, the superiority which justice has over injustice. And yet I cannot refuse to help, while breath and speech remain to me; I am afraid that there would be an impiety in being present when justice is evil spoken of and not lifting up a hand in her defence. And therefore I had best give such help as I can.

Glaucon and the rest entreated me by all means not to let the question drop, but to proceed in the investigation. They wanted to arrive at the truth, first, about the nature of justice and injustice, and secondly, about their relative advantages. I told them, what I really thought, that the enquiry would be of a serious nature, and would require very good eyes. Seeing then, I said, that we are no great wits, I think that we had better adopt a method which I may illustrate thus; suppose that a short-sighted person had been asked by some one to read small letters from a distance; and it occurred to some one else that they might be found in another place which was larger and in which the letters were larger — if they were the same and he could read the larger letters first, and then proceed to the lesser — this would have been thought a rare piece of good fortune.

Very true, said Adeimantus; but how does the illustration apply to our enquiry?

I will tell you, I replied; justice, which is the subject of our enquiry, is, as you know, sometimes spoken of as the virtue of an individual, and sometimes as the virtue of a State.

True, he replied.

And is not a State larger than an individual?

It is.

Then in the larger the quantity of justice is likely to be larger and more easily discernible. I propose therefore that we enquire into the nature of justice and injustice, first as they appear in the State, and secondly in the individual, proceeding from the greater to the lesser and comparing them.

That, he said, is an excellent proposal.

And if we imagine the State in process of creation, we shall see the justice and injustice of the State in process of creation also.

I dare say.

When the State is completed there may be a hope that the object of our search will be more easily discovered.

Yes, far more easily.

But ought we to attempt to construct one? I said; for to do so, as I am inclined to think, will be a very serious task. Reflect therefore.

I have reflected, said Adeimantus, and am anxious that you should proceed.

A State, I said, arises, as I conceive, out of the needs of mankind; no one is self-sufficing, but all of us have many wants. Can any other origin of a State be imagined?

There can I be no other.

Then, as we have many wants, and many persons are needed to supply them, one takes a helper for one purpose and another for another; and when these partners and helpers are gathered together in one habitation the body of inhabitants is termed a State.

True, he said.

And they exchange with one another, and one gives, and another receives, under the idea that the exchange will be for their good.

Very true.

Then, I said, let us begin and create in idea a State; and yet the true creator is necessity, who is the mother of our invention.

Of course, he replied.

Now the first and greatest of necessities is food, which is the condition of life and existence.

Certainly.

The second is a dwelling, and the third clothing and the like.

True.

And now let us see how our city will be able to supply this great demand: We may suppose that one man is a husbandman, another a builder, some one else a weaver — shall we add to them a shoemaker, or perhaps some other purveyor to our bodily wants?

Quite right.

The barest notion of a State must include four or five men.

Clearly.

And how will they proceed? Will each bring the result of his labours into a common stock? — the individual husbandman, for example, producing for four, and labouring four times as long and as much as he need in the provision of food with which he supplies others as well as himself; or will he have nothing to do with others and not be at the trouble of producing for them, but provide for himself alone a fourth of the food in a fourth of the time, and in the remaining three-fourths of his time be employed in making a house or a coat or a pair of shoes, having no partnership with others, but supplying himself all his own wants?

Adeimantus thought that he should aim at producing food only and not at producing everything.

Probably, I replied, that would be the better way; and when I hear you say this, I am myself reminded that we are not all alike; there are diversities of natures among us which are adapted to different occupations.

Very true.

And will you have a work better done when the workman has many occupations, or when he has only one?

When he has only one.

Further, there can be no doubt that a work is spoilt when not done at the right time?

No doubt.

For business is not disposed to wait until the doer of the business is at leisure; but the doer must follow up what he is doing, and make the business his first object.

He must.

And if so, we must infer that all things are produced more plentifully and easily and of a better quality when one man does one thing which is natural to him and does it at the right time, and leaves other things.

Undoubtedly..

Then more than four citizens will be required; for the husbandman will not make his own plough or mattock, or other implements of agriculture, if they are to be good for anything. Neither will the builder make his tools — and he too needs many; and in like manner the weaver and shoemaker.

True.

Then carpenters, and smiths, and many other artisans, will be sharers in our little State, which is already beginning to grow?

True.

Yet even if we add neatherds, shepherds, and other herdsmen, in order that our husbandmen may have oxen to plough with, and builders as well as husbandmen may have draught cattle, and curriers and weavers fleeces and hides, — still our State will not be very large.

That is true; yet neither will it be a very small State which contains all these.

Then, again, there is the situation of the city — to find a place where nothing need be imported is well-nigh impossible.

Impossible.

Then there must be another class of citizens who will bring the required supply from another city?

There must.

But if the trader goes empty-handed, having nothing which they require who would supply his need, he will come back empty-handed.

That is certain.

And therefore what they produce at home must be not only enough for themselves, but such both in quantity and quality as to accommodate those from whom their wants are supplied.

Very true.

Then more husbandmen and more artisans will be required?

They will.

Not to mention the importers and exporters, who are called merchants?

Yes.

Then we shall want merchants?

We shall.

And if merchandise is to be carried over the sea, skilful sailors will also be needed, and in considerable numbers?

Yes, in considerable numbers.

Then, again, within the city, how will they exchange their productions?
To secure such an exchange was, as you will remember, one of our
principal objects when we formed them into a society and constituted a
State.

Clearly they will buy and sell.

Then they will need a market-place, and a money-token for purposes of exchange.

Certainly.

Suppose now that a husbandman, or an artisan, brings some production to market, and he comes at a time when there is no one to exchange with him, — is he to leave his calling and sit idle in the market-place?

Not at all; he will find people there who, seeing the want, undertake the office of salesmen. In well-ordered States they are commonly those who are the weakest in bodily strength, and therefore of little use for any other purpose; their duty is to be in the market, and to give money in exchange for goods to those who desire to sell and to take money from those who desire to buy.

This want, then, creates a class of retail-traders in our State. Is not ‘retailer’ the term which is applied to those who sit in the market-place engaged in buying and selling, while those who wander from one city to another are called merchants?

Yes, he said.

And there is another class of servants, who are intellectually hardly on the level of companionship; still they have plenty of bodily strength for labour, which accordingly they sell, and are called, if I do not mistake, hirelings, hire being the name which is given to the price of their labour.

True.

Then hirelings will help to make up our population?

Yes.

And now, Adeimantus, is our State matured and perfected?

I think so.

Where, then, is justice, and where is injustice, and in what part of the State did they spring up?

Probably in the dealings of these citizens with one another. cannot imagine that they are more likely to be found anywhere else.

I dare say that you are right in your suggestion, I said; we had better think the matter out, and not shrink from the enquiry.

Let us then consider, first of all, what will be their way of life, now that we have thus established them. Will they not produce corn, and wine, and clothes, and shoes, and build houses for themselves? And when they are housed, they will work, in summer, commonly, stripped and barefoot, but in winter substantially clothed and shod. They will feed on barley-meal and flour of wheat, baking and kneading them, making noble cakes and loaves; these they will serve up on a mat of reeds or on clean leaves, themselves reclining the while upon beds strewn with yew or myrtle. And they and their children will feast, drinking of the wine which they have made, wearing garlands on their heads, and hymning the praises of the gods, in happy converse with one another. And they will take care that their families do not exceed their means; having an eye to poverty or war.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

But, said Glaucon, interposing, you have not given them a relish to their meal.

True, I replied, I had forgotten; of course they must have a relish-salt, and olives, and cheese, and they will boil roots and herbs such as country people prepare; for a dessert we shall give them figs, and peas, and beans; and they will roast myrtle-berries and acorns at the fire, drinking in moderation. And with such a diet they may be expected to live in peace and health to a good old age, and bequeath a similar life to their children after them.

Yes, Socrates, he said, and if you were providing for a city of pigs, how else would you feed the beasts?

But what would you have, Glaucon? I replied.

Why, he said, you should give them the ordinary conveniences of life. People who are to be comfortable are accustomed to lie on sofas, and dine off tables, and they should have sauces and sweets in the modern style.

Yes, I said, now I understand: the question which you would have me consider is, not only how a State, but how a luxurious State is created; and possibly there is no harm in this, for in such a State we shall be more likely to see how justice and injustice originate. In my opinion the true and healthy constitution of the State is the one which I have described. But if you wish also to see a State at fever heat, I have no objection. For I suspect that many will not be satisfied with the simpler way of way They will be for adding sofas, and tables, and other furniture; also dainties, and perfumes, and incense, and courtesans, and cakes, all these not of one sort only, but in every variety; we must go beyond the necessaries of which I was at first speaking, such as houses, and clothes, and shoes: the arts of the painter and the embroiderer will have to be set in motion, and gold and ivory and all sorts of materials must be procured.

True, he said.

Then we must enlarge our borders; for the original healthy State is no longer sufficient. Now will the city have to fill and swell with a multitude of callings which are not required by any natural want; such as the whole tribe of hunters and actors, of whom one large class have to do with forms and colours; another will be the votaries of music — poets and their attendant train of rhapsodists, players, dancers, contractors; also makers of divers kinds of articles, including women’s dresses. And we shall want more servants. Will not tutors be also in request, and nurses wet and dry, tirewomen and barbers, as well as confectioners and cooks; and swineherds, too, who were not needed and therefore had no place in the former edition of our State, but are needed now? They must not be forgotten: and there will be animals of many other kinds, if people eat them.

Certainly.

And living in this way we shall have much greater need of physicians than before?

Much greater.

And the country which was enough to support the original inhabitants will be too small now, and not enough?

Quite true.

Then a slice of our neighbours’ land will be wanted by us for pasture and tillage, and they will want a slice of ours, if, like ourselves, they exceed the limit of necessity, and give themselves up to the unlimited accumulation of wealth?

That, Socrates, will be inevitable.

And so we shall go to war, Glaucon. Shall we not?

Most certainly, he replied.

Then without determining as yet whether war does good or harm, thus much we may affirm, that now we have discovered war to be derived from causes which are also the causes of almost all the evils in States, private as well as public.

Undoubtedly.

And our State must once more enlarge; and this time the will be nothing short of a whole army, which will have to go out and fight with the invaders for all that we have, as well as for the things and persons whom we were describing above.

Why? he said; are they not capable of defending themselves?

No, I said; not if we were right in the principle which was acknowledged by all of us when we were framing the State: the principle, as you will remember, was that one man cannot practise many arts with success.

Very true, he said.

But is not war an art?

Certainly.

And an art requiring as much attention as shoemaking?

Quite true.

And the shoemaker was not allowed by us to be husbandman, or a weaver, a builder — in order that we might have our shoes well made; but to him and to every other worker was assigned one work for which he was by nature fitted, and at that he was to continue working all his life long and at no other; he was not to let opportunities slip, and then he would become a good workman. Now nothing can be more important than that the work of a soldier should be well done. But is war an art so easily acquired that a man may be a warrior who is also a husbandman, or shoemaker, or other artisan; although no one in the world would be a good dice or draught player who merely took up the game as a recreation, and had not from his earliest years devoted himself to this and nothing else?

No tools will make a man a skilled workman, or master of defence, nor be of any use to him who has not learned how to handle them, and has never bestowed any attention upon them. How then will he who takes up a shield or other implement of war become a good fighter all in a day, whether with heavy-armed or any other kind of troops?

Yes, he said, the tools which would teach men their own use would be beyond price.

And the higher the duties of the guardian, I said, the more time, and skill, and art, and application will be needed by him?

No doubt, he replied.

Will he not also require natural aptitude for his calling?

Certainly.

Then it will be our duty to select, if we can, natures which are fitted for the task of guarding the city?

It will.

And the selection will be no easy matter, I said; but we must be brave and do our best.

We must.

Is not the noble youth very like a well-bred dog in respect of guarding and watching?

What do you mean?

I mean that both of them ought to be quick to see, and swift to overtake the enemy when they see him; and strong too if, when they have caught him, they have to fight with him.

All these qualities, he replied, will certainly be required by them.

Well, and your guardian must be brave if he is to fight well?

Certainly.

And is he likely to be brave who has no spirit, whether horse or dog or any other animal? Have you never observed how invincible and unconquerable is spirit and how the presence of it makes the soul of any creature to be absolutely fearless and indomitable?

I have.

Then now we have a clear notion of the bodily qualities which are required in the guardian.

True.

And also of the mental ones; his soul is to be full of spirit?

Yes.

But are not these spirited natures apt to be savage with one another, and with everybody else?

A difficulty by no means easy to overcome, he replied.

Whereas, I said, they ought to be dangerous to their enemies, and gentle to their friends; if not, they will destroy themselves without waiting for their enemies to destroy them.

True, he said.

What is to be done then? I said; how shall we find a gentle nature which has also a great spirit, for the one is the contradiction of the other?

True.

He will not be a good guardian who is wanting in either of these two qualities; and yet the combination of them appears to be impossible; and hence we must infer that to be a good guardian is impossible.

I am afraid that what you say is true, he replied.

Here feeling perplexed I began to think over what had preceded. My friend, I said, no wonder that we are in a perplexity; for we have lost sight of the image which we had before us.

What do you mean? he said.

I mean to say that there do exist natures gifted with those opposite qualities.

And where do you find them?

Many animals, I replied, furnish examples of them; our friend the dog is a very good one: you know that well-bred dogs are perfectly gentle to their familiars and acquaintances, and the reverse to strangers.

Yes, I know.

Then there is nothing impossible or out of the order of nature in our finding a guardian who has a similar combination of qualities?

Certainly not.

Would not he who is fitted to be a guardian, besides the spirited nature, need to have the qualities of a philosopher?

I do not apprehend your meaning.

The trait of which I am speaking, I replied, may be also seen in the dog, and is remarkable in the animal.

What trait?

Why, a dog, whenever he sees a stranger, is angry; when an acquaintance, he welcomes him, although the one has never done him any harm, nor the other any good. Did this never strike you as curious?

The matter never struck me before; but I quite recognise the truth of your remark.

And surely this instinct of the dog is very charming; — your dog is a true philosopher.

Why?

Why, because he distinguishes the face of a friend and of an enemy only by the criterion of knowing and not knowing. And must not an animal be a lover of learning who determines what he likes and dislikes by the test of knowledge and ignorance?

Most assuredly.

And is not the love of learning the love of wisdom, which is philosophy?

They are the same, he replied.

And may we not say confidently of man also, that he who is likely to be gentle to his friends and acquaintances, must by nature be a lover of wisdom and knowledge?

That we may safely affirm.

Then he who is to be a really good and noble guardian of the State will require to unite in himself philosophy and spirit and swiftness and strength?

Undoubtedly.

Then we have found the desired natures; and now that we have found them, how are they to be reared and educated? Is not this enquiry which may be expected to throw light on the greater enquiry which is our final end — How do justice and injustice grow up in States? for we do not want either to omit what is to the point or to draw out the argument to an inconvenient length.

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

Adeimantus thought that the enquiry would be of great service to us.

Then, I said, my dear friend, the task must not be given up, even if somewhat long.

Certainly not.

Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in story-telling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes.

By all means.

And what shall be their education? Can we find a better than the traditional sort? — and this has two divisions, gymnastic for the body, and music for the soul.

True.

Shall we begin education with music, and go on to gymnastic afterwards?

By all means.

And when you speak of music, do you include literature or not?

I do.

And literature may be either true or false?

Yes.

And the young should be trained in both kinds, and we begin with the false?

I do not understand your meaning, he said.

You know, I said, that we begin by telling children stories which, though not wholly destitute of truth, are in the main fictitious; and these stories are told them when they are not of an age to learn gymnastics.

Very true.

That was my meaning when I said that we must teach music before gymnastics.

Quite right, he said.

You know also that the beginning is the most important part of any work, especially in the case of a young and tender thing; for that is the time at which the character is being formed and the desired impression is more readily taken.

Quite true.

And shall we just carelessly allow children to hear any casual tales which may be devised by casual persons, and to receive into their minds ideas for the most part the very opposite of those which we should wish them to have when they are grown up?

We cannot.

Then the first thing will be to establish a censorship of the writers of fiction, and let the censors receive any tale of fiction which is good, and reject the bad; and we will desire mothers and nurses to tell their children the authorised ones only. Let them fashion the mind with such tales, even more fondly than they mould the body with their hands; but most of those which are now in use must be discarded.

Of what tales are you speaking? he said.

You may find a model of the lesser in the greater, I said; for they are necessarily of the same type, and there is the same spirit in both of them.

Very likely, he replied; but I do not as yet know what you would term the greater.

Those, I said, which are narrated by Homer and Hesiod, and the rest of the poets, who have ever been the great story-tellers of mankind.

But which stories do you mean, he said; and what fault do you find with them?

A fault which is most serious, I said; the fault of telling a lie, and, what is more, a bad lie.

But when is this fault committed?

Whenever an erroneous representation is made of the nature of gods and heroes, — as when a painter paints a portrait not having the shadow of a likeness to the original.

Yes, he said, that sort of thing is certainly very blamable; but what are the stories which you mean?

First of all, I said, there was that greatest of all lies, in high places, which the poet told about Uranus, and which was a bad lie too, — I mean what Hesiod says that Uranus did, and how Cronus retaliated on him. The doings of Cronus, and the sufferings which in turn his son inflicted upon him, even if they were true, ought certainly not to be lightly told to young and thoughtless persons; if possible, they had better be buried in silence. But if there is an absolute necessity for their mention, a chosen few might hear them in a mystery, and they should sacrifice not a common [Eleusinian] pig, but some huge and unprocurable victim; and then the number of the hearers will be very few indeed.

Why, yes, said he, those stories are extremely objectionable.

Yes, Adeimantus, they are stories not to be repeated in our State; the young man should not be told that in committing the worst of crimes he is far from doing anything outrageous; and that even if he chastises his father when does wrong, in whatever manner, he will only be following the example of the first and greatest among the gods.

I entirely agree with you, he said; in my opinion those stories are quite unfit to be repeated.

Neither, if we mean our future guardians to regard the habit of quarrelling among themselves as of all things the basest, should any word be said to them of the wars in heaven, and of the plots and fightings of the gods against one another, for they are not true. No, we shall never mention the battles of the giants, or let them be embroidered on garments; and we shall be silent about the innumerable other quarrels of gods and heroes with their friends and relatives. If they would only believe us we would tell them that quarrelling is unholy, and that never up to this time has there been any, quarrel between citizens; this is what old men and old women should begin by telling children; and when they grow up, the poets also should be told to compose for them in a similar spirit. But the narrative of Hephaestus binding Here his mother, or how on another occasion Zeus sent him flying for taking her part when she was being beaten, and all the battles of the gods in Homer — these tales must not be admitted into our State, whether they are supposed to have an allegorical meaning or not. For a young person cannot judge what is allegorical and what is literal; anything that he receives into his mind at that age is likely to become indelible and unalterable; and therefore it is most important that the tales which the young first hear should be models of virtuous thoughts.

There you are right, he replied; but if any one asks where are such models to be found and of what tales are you speaking — how shall we answer him?

I said to him, You and I, Adeimantus, at this moment are not poets, but founders of a State: now the founders of a State ought to know the general forms in which poets should cast their tales, and the limits which must be observed by them, but to make the tales is not their business.

Very true, he said; but what are these forms of theology which you mean?

Something of this kind, I replied: — God is always to be represented as he truly is, whatever be the sort of poetry, epic, lyric or tragic, in which the representation is given.

Right.

And is he not truly good? and must he not be represented as such?

Certainly.

And no good thing is hurtful?

No, indeed.

And that which is not hurtful hurts not?

Certainly not.

And that which hurts not does no evil?

No.

And can that which does no evil be a cause of evil?

Impossible.

And the good is advantageous?

Yes.

And therefore the cause of well-being?

Yes.

It follows therefore that the good is not the cause of all things, but of the good only?

Assuredly.

Then God, if he be good, is not the author of all things, as the many assert, but he is the cause of a few things only, and not of most things that occur to men. For few are the goods of human life, and many are the evils, and the good is to be attributed to God alone; of the evils the causes are to be sought elsewhere, and not in him.

That appears to me to be most true, he said.

Then we must not listen to Homer or to any other poet who is guilty of the folly of saying that two casks

Lie at the threshold of Zeus, full of lots, one of good,
the other of evil lots,

and that he to whom Zeus gives a mixture of the two

Sometimes meets with evil fortune, at other times with good;

but that he to whom is given the cup of unmingled ill,

Him wild hunger drives o’er the beauteous earth.

And again

Zeus, who is the dispenser of good and evil to us.

And if any one asserts that the violation of oaths and treaties, which was really the work of Pandarus, was brought about by Athene and Zeus, or that the strife and contention of the gods was instigated by Themis and Zeus, he shall not have our approval; neither will we allow our young men to hear the words of Aeschylus, that

God plants guilt among men when he desires utterly to destroy a house.

And if a poet writes of the sufferings of Niobe — the subject of the tragedy in which these iambic verses occur — or of the house of Pelops, or of the Trojan war or on any similar theme, either we must not permit him to say that these are the works of God, or if they are of God, he must devise some explanation of them such as we are seeking; he must say that God did what was just and right, and they were the better for being punished; but that those who are punished are miserable, and that God is the author of their misery — the poet is not to be permitted to say; though he may say that the wicked are miserable because they require to be punished, and are benefited by receiving punishment from God; but that God being good is the author of evil to any one is to be strenuously denied, and not to be said or sung or heard in verse or prose by any one whether old or young in any well-ordered commonwealth. Such a fiction is suicidal, ruinous, impious.

I agree with you, he replied, and am ready to give my assent to the law.

Let this then be one of our rules and principles concerning the gods, to which our poets and reciters will be expected to conform — that God is not the author of all things, but of good only.

That will do, he said.

And what do you think of a second principle? Shall I ask you whether God is a magician, and of a nature to appear insidiously now in one shape, and now in another — sometimes himself changing and passing into many forms, sometimes deceiving us with the semblance of such transformations; or is he one and the same immutably fixed in his own proper image?

I cannot answer you, he said, without more thought.

Well, I said; but if we suppose a change in anything, that change must be effected either by the thing itself, or by some other thing?

Most certainly.

And things which are at their best are also least liable to be altered or discomposed; for example, when healthiest and strongest, the human frame is least liable to be affected by meats and drinks, and the plant which is in the fullest vigour also suffers least from winds or the heat of the sun or any similar causes.

Of course.

And will not the bravest and wisest soul be least confused or deranged by any external influence?

True.

And the same principle, as I should suppose, applies to all composite things — furniture, houses, garments; when good and well made, they are least altered by time and circumstances.

Very true.

Then everything which is good, whether made by art or nature, or both, is least liable to suffer change from without?

True.

But surely God and the things of God are in every way perfect?

Of course they are.

Then he can hardly be compelled by external influence to take many shapes?

He cannot.

But may he not change and transform himself?

Clearly, he said, that must be the case if he is changed at all.

And will he then change himself for the better and fairer, or for the worse and more unsightly?

If he change at all he can only change for the worse, for we cannot suppose him to be deficient either in virtue or beauty.

Very true, Adeimantus; but then, would any one, whether God or man, desire to make himself worse?

Impossible.

Then it is impossible that God should ever be willing to change; being, as is supposed, the fairest and best that is conceivable, every god remains absolutely and for ever in his own form.

That necessarily follows, he said, in my judgment.

Then, I said, my dear friend, let none of the poets tell us that

The gods, taking the disguise of strangers from other lands, walk up and down cities in all sorts of forms;

and let no one slander Proteus and Thetis, neither let any one, either in tragedy or in any other kind of poetry, introduce Here disguised in the likeness of a priestess asking an alms

For the life-giving daughters of Inachus the river of Argos;

— let us have no more lies of that sort. Neither must we have mothers under the influence of the poets scaring their children with a bad version of these myths — telling how certain gods, as they say, ‘Go about by night in the likeness of so many strangers and in divers forms’; but let them take heed lest they make cowards of their children, and at the same time speak blasphemy against the gods.

Heaven forbid, he said.

But although the gods are themselves unchangeable, still by witchcraft and deception they may make us think that they appear in various forms?

Perhaps, he replied.

Well, but can you imagine that God will be willing to lie, whether in word or deed, or to put forth a phantom of himself?

I cannot say, he replied.

Do you not know, I said, that the true lie, if such an expression may be allowed, is hated of gods and men?

What do you mean? he said.

I mean that no one is willingly deceived in that which is the truest and highest part of himself, or about the truest and highest matters; there, above all, he is most afraid of a lie having possession of him.

Still, he said, I do not comprehend you.

The reason is, I replied, that you attribute some profound meaning to my words; but I am only saying that deception, or being deceived or uninformed about the highest realities in the highest part of themselves, which is the soul, and in that part of them to have and to hold the lie, is what mankind least like; — that, I say, is what they utterly detest.

There is nothing more hateful to them.

And, as I was just now remarking, this ignorance in the soul of him who is deceived may be called the true lie; for the lie in words is only a kind of imitation and shadowy image of a previous affection of the soul, not pure unadulterated falsehood. Am I not right?

Perfectly right.

The true lie is hated not only by the gods, but also by men?

Yes.

Whereas the lie in words is in certain cases useful and not hateful; in dealing with enemies — that would be an instance; or again, when those whom we call our friends in a fit of madness or illusion are going to do some harm, then it is useful and is a sort of medicine or preventive; also in the tales of mythology, of which we were just now speaking — because we do not know the truth about ancient times, we make falsehood as much like truth as we can, and so turn it to account.

Very true, he said.

But can any of these reasons apply to God? Can we suppose that he is ignorant of antiquity, and therefore has recourse to invention?

That would be ridiculous, he said.

Then the lying poet has no place in our idea of God?

I should say not.

Or perhaps he may tell a lie because he is afraid of enemies?

That is inconceivable.

But he may have friends who are senseless or mad?

But no mad or senseless person can be a friend of God.

Then no motive can be imagined why God should lie?

None whatever.

Then the superhuman and divine is absolutely incapable of falsehood?

Yes.

Then is God perfectly simple and true both in word and deed; he changes not; he deceives not, either by sign or word, by dream or waking vision.

Your thoughts, he said, are the reflection of my own.

You agree with me then, I said, that this is the second type or form in which we should write and speak about divine things. The gods are not magicians who transform themselves, neither do they deceive mankind in any way.

I grant that.

Then, although we are admirers of Homer, we do not admire the lying dream which Zeus sends to Agamemnon; neither will we praise the verses of Aeschylus in which Thetis says that Apollo at her nuptials

Was celebrating in song her fair progeny whose days were to be long, and to know no sickness. And when he had spoken of my lot as in all things blessed of heaven he raised a note of triumph and cheered my soul. And I thought that the word of Phoebus being divine and full of prophecy, would not fail. And now he himself who uttered the strain, he who was present at the banquet, and who said this — he it is who has slain my son.

These are the kind of sentiments about the gods which will arouse our anger; and he who utters them shall be refused a chorus; neither shall we allow teachers to make use of them in the instruction of the young, meaning, as we do, that our guardians, as far as men can be, should be true worshippers of the gods and like them.

I entirely agree, be said, in these principles, and promise to make them my laws.

BOOK III

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

SUCH then, I said, are our principles of theology — some tales are to be told, and others are not to be told to our disciples from their youth upwards, if we mean them to honour the gods and their parents, and to value friendship with one another.

Yes; and I think that our principles are right, he said.

But if they are to be courageous, must they not learn other lessons besides these, and lessons of such a kind as will take away the fear of death? Can any man be courageous who has the fear of death in him?

Certainly not, he said.

And can he be fearless of death, or will he choose death in battle rather than defeat and slavery, who believes the world below to be real and terrible?

Impossible.

Then we must assume a control over the narrators of this class of tales as well as over the others, and beg them not simply to but rather to commend the world below, intimating to them that their descriptions are untrue, and will do harm to our future warriors.

That will be our duty, he said.

Then, I said, we shall have to obliterate many obnoxious passages, beginning with the verses,

I would rather he a serf on the land of a poor and portionless
man than rule over all the dead who have come to nought.

We must also expunge the verse, which tells us how Pluto feared,

Lest the mansions grim and squalid which the gods abhor should be seen both of mortals and immortals.

And again:

O heavens! verily in the house of Hades there is soul and ghostly form but no mind at all!

Again of Tiresias: —

[To him even after death did Persephone grant mind,] that he alone should be wise; but the other souls are flitting shades.

Again: —

The soul flying from the limbs had gone to Hades, lamentng her fate, leaving manhood and youth.

Again: —

And the soul, with shrilling cry, passed like smoke beneath the earth.

And, —

As bats in hollow of mystic cavern, whenever any of the has dropped out of the string and falls from the rock, fly shrilling and cling to one another, so did they with shrilling cry hold together as they moved.

And we must beg Homer and the other poets not to be angry if we strike out these and similar passages, not because they are unpoetical, or unattractive to the popular ear, but because the greater the poetical charm of them, the less are they meet for the ears of boys and men who are meant to be free, and who should fear slavery more than death.

Undoubtedly.

Also we shall have to reject all the terrible and appalling names describe the world below — Cocytus and Styx, ghosts under the earth, and sapless shades, and any similar words of which the very mention causes a shudder to pass through the inmost soul of him who hears them. I do not say that these horrible stories may not have a use of some kind; but there is a danger that the nerves of our guardians may be rendered too excitable and effeminate by them.

There is a real danger, he said.

Then we must have no more of them.

True.

Another and a nobler strain must be composed and sung by us.

Clearly.

And shall we proceed to get rid of the weepings and wailings of famous men?

They will go with the rest.

But shall we be right in getting rid of them? Reflect: our principle is that the good man will not consider death terrible to any other good man who is his comrade.

Yes; that is our principle.

And therefore he will not sorrow for his departed friend as though he had suffered anything terrible?

He will not.

Such an one, as we further maintain, is sufficient for himself and his own happiness, and therefore is least in need of other men.

True, he said.

And for this reason the loss of a son or brother, or the deprivation of fortune, is to him of all men least terrible.

Assuredly.

And therefore he will be least likely to lament, and will bear with the greatest equanimity any misfortune of this sort which may befall him.

Yes, he will feel such a misfortune far less than another.

Then we shall be right in getting rid of the lamentations of famous men, and making them over to women (and not even to women who are good for anything), or to men of a baser sort, that those who are being educated by us to be the defenders of their country may scorn to do the like.

That will be very right.

Then we will once more entreat Homer and the other poets not to depict Achilles, who is the son of a goddess, first lying on his side, then on his back, and then on his face; then starting up and sailing in a frenzy along the shores of the barren sea; now taking the sooty ashes in both his hands and pouring them over his head, or weeping and wailing in the various modes which Homer has delineated. Nor should he describe Priam the kinsman of the gods as praying and beseeching,

Rolling in the dirt, calling each man loudly by his name.

Still more earnestly will we beg of him at all events not to introduce the gods lamenting and saying,

Alas! my misery! Alas! that I bore the harvest to my sorrow.

But if he must introduce the gods, at any rate let him not dare so completely to misrepresent the greatest of the gods, as to make him say —

O heavens! with my eyes verily I behold a dear friend of mine chased round and round the city, and my heart is sorrowful.

Or again: —

Woe is me that I am fated to have Sarpedon, dearest of men to me, subdued at the hands of Patroclus the son of Menoetius.

For if, my sweet Adeimantus, our youth seriously listen to such unworthy representations of the gods, instead of laughing at them as they ought, hardly will any of them deem that he himself, being but a man, can be dishonoured by similar actions; neither will he rebuke any inclination which may arise in his mind to say and do the like. And instead of having any shame or self-control, he will be always whining and lamenting on slight occasions.

Yes, he said, that is most true.

Yes, I replied; but that surely is what ought not to be, as the argument has just proved to us; and by that proof we must abide until it is disproved by a better.

It ought not to be.

Neither ought our guardians to be given to laughter. For a fit of laughter which has been indulged to excess almost always produces a violent reaction.

So I believe.

Then persons of worth, even if only mortal men, must not be represented as overcome by laughter, and still less must such a representation of the gods be allowed.

Still less of the gods, as you say, he replied.

Then we shall not suffer such an expression to be used about the gods as that of Homer when he describes how

Inextinguishable laughter arose among the blessed gods, when
they saw Hephaestus bustling about the mansion.

On your views, we must not admit them.

On my views, if you like to father them on me; that we must not admit them is certain.

Again, truth should be highly valued; if, as we were saying, a lie is useless to the gods, and useful only as a medicine to men, then the use of such medicines should be restricted to physicians; private individuals have no business with them.

Clearly not, he said.

Then if any one at all is to have the privilege of lying, the rulers of the State should be the persons; and they, in their dealings either with enemies or with their own citizens, may be allowed to lie for the public good. But nobody else should meddle with anything of the kind; and although the rulers have this privilege, for a private man to lie to them in return is to be deemed a more heinous fault than for the patient or the pupil of a gymnasium not to speak the truth about his own bodily illnesses to the physician or to the trainer, or for a sailor not to tell the captain what is happening about the ship and the rest of the crew, and how things are going with himself or his fellow sailors.

Most true, he said.

If, then, the ruler catches anybody beside himself lying in the State,

Any of the craftsmen, whether he priest or physician or
carpenter.

he will punish him for introducing a practice which is equally subversive and destructive of ship or State.

Most certainly, he said, if our idea of the State is ever carried out.

In the next place our youth must be temperate?

Certainly.

Are not the chief elements of temperance, speaking generally, obedience to commanders and self-control in sensual pleasures?

True.

Then we shall approve such language as that of Diomede in Homer,

Friend, sit still and obey my word,

and the verses which follow,

The Greeks marched breathing prowess, …in silent awe of their leaders,

and other sentiments of the same kind.

We shall.

What of this line,

O heavy with wine, who hast the eyes of a dog and the heart of a stag,

and of the words which follow? Would you say that these, or any similar impertinences which private individuals are supposed to address to their rulers, whether in verse or prose, are well or ill spoken?

They are ill spoken.

They may very possibly afford some amusement, but they do not conduce to temperance. And therefore they are likely to do harm to our young men — you would agree with me there?

Yes.

And then, again, to make the wisest of men say that nothing in his opinion is more glorious than

When the tables are full of bread and meat, and the cup-bearer carries round wine which he draws from the bowl and pours into the cups,

is it fit or conducive to temperance for a young man to hear such words? Or the verse

The saddest of fates is to die and meet destiny from hunger?

What would you say again to the tale of Zeus, who, while other gods and men were asleep and he the only person awake, lay devising plans, but forgot them all in a moment through his lust, and was so completely overcome at the sight of Here that he would not even go into the hut, but wanted to lie with her on the ground, declaring that he had never been in such a state of rapture before, even when they first met one another

Without the knowledge of their parents;

or that other tale of how Hephaestus, because of similar goings on, cast a chain around Ares and Aphrodite?

Indeed, he said, I am strongly of opinion that they ought not to hear that sort of thing.

But any deeds of endurance which are done or told by famous men, these they ought to see and hear; as, for example, what is said in the verses,

He smote his breast, and thus reproached his heart,
Endure, my heart; far worse hast thou endured!

Certainly, he said.

In the next place, we must not let them be receivers of gifts or lovers of money.

Certainly not.

Neither must we sing to them of

Gifts persuading gods, and persuading reverend kings.

Neither is Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, to be approved or deemed to have given his pupil good counsel when he told him that he should take the gifts of the Greeks and assist them; but that without a gift he should not lay aside his anger. Neither will we believe or acknowledge Achilles himself to have been such a lover of money that he took Agamemnon’s or that when he had received payment he restored the dead body of Hector, but that without payment he was unwilling to do so.

Undoubtedly, he said, these are not sentiments which can be approved.

Loving Homer as I do, I hardly like to say that in attributing these feelings to Achilles, or in believing that they are truly to him, he is guilty of downright impiety. As little can I believe the narrative of his insolence to Apollo, where he says,

Thou hast wronged me, O far-darter, most abominable of deities.
Verily I would he even with thee, if I had only the power,

or his insubordination to the river-god, on whose divinity he is ready to lay hands; or his offering to the dead Patroclus of his own hair, which had been previously dedicated to the other river-god Spercheius, and that he actually performed this vow; or that he dragged Hector round the tomb of Patroclus, and slaughtered the captives at the pyre; of all this I cannot believe that he was guilty, any more than I can allow our citizens to believe that he, the wise Cheiron’s pupil, the son of a goddess and of Peleus who was the gentlest of men and third in descent from Zeus, was so disordered in his wits as to be at one time the slave of two seemingly inconsistent passions, meanness, not untainted by avarice, combined with overweening contempt of gods and men.

You are quite right, he replied.

And let us equally refuse to believe, or allow to be repeated, the tale of Theseus son of Poseidon, or of Peirithous son of Zeus, going forth as they did to perpetrate a horrid rape; or of any other hero or son of a god daring to do such impious and dreadful things as they falsely ascribe to them in our day: and let us further compel the poets to declare either that these acts were not done by them, or that they were not the sons of gods; — both in the same breath they shall not be permitted to affirm. We will not have them trying to persuade our youth that the gods are the authors of evil, and that heroes are no better than men-sentiments which, as we were saying, are neither pious nor true, for we have already proved that evil cannot come from the gods.

Assuredly not.

And further they are likely to have a bad effect on those who hear them; for everybody will begin to excuse his own vices when he is convinced that similar wickednesses are always being perpetrated by —

The kindred of the gods, the relatives of Zeus, whose ancestral altar, the attar of Zeus, is aloft in air on the peak of Ida,

and who have

the blood of deities yet flowing in their veins.

And therefore let us put an end to such tales, lest they engender laxity of morals among the young.

By all means, he replied.

But now that we are determining what classes of subjects are or are not to be spoken of, let us see whether any have been omitted by us. The manner in which gods and demigods and heroes and the world below should be treated has been already laid down.

Very true.

And what shall we say about men? That is clearly the remaining portion of our subject.

Clearly so.

But we are not in a condition to answer this question at present, my friend.

Why not?

Because, if I am not mistaken, we shall have to say that about men poets and story-tellers are guilty of making the gravest misstatements when they tell us that wicked men are often happy, and the good miserable; and that injustice is profitable when undetected, but that justice is a man’s own loss and another’s gain — these things we shall forbid them to utter, and command them to sing and say the opposite.

To be sure we shall, he replied.

But if you admit that I am right in this, then I shall maintain that you have implied the principle for which we have been all along contending.

I grant the truth of your inference.

That such things are or are not to be said about men is a question which we cannot determine until we have discovered what justice is, and how naturally advantageous to the possessor, whether he seems to be just or not.

Most true, he said.

Enough of the subjects of poetry: let us now speak of the style; and when this has been considered, both matter and manner will have been completely treated.

I do not understand what you mean, said Adeimantus.

Then I must make you understand; and perhaps I may be more intelligible if I put the matter in this way. You are aware, I suppose, that all mythology and poetry is a narration of events, either past, present, or to come?

Certainly, he replied.

And narration may be either simple narration, or imitation, or a union of the two?

That again, he said, I do not quite understand.

I fear that I must be a ridiculous teacher when I have so much difficulty in making myself apprehended. Like a bad speaker, therefore, I will not take the whole of the subject, but will break a piece off in illustration of my meaning. You know the first lines of the Iliad, in which the poet says that Chryses prayed Agamemnon to release his daughter, and that Agamemnon flew into a passion with him; whereupon Chryses, failing of his object, invoked the anger of the God against the Achaeans. Now as far as these lines,

And he prayed all the Greeks, but especially the two sons of Atreus, the chiefs of the people,

the poet is speaking in his own person; he never leads us to suppose that he is any one else. But in what follows he takes the person of Chryses, and then he does all that he can to make us believe that the speaker is not Homer, but the aged priest himself. And in this double form he has cast the entire narrative of the events which occurred at Troy and in Ithaca and throughout the Odyssey.

Yes.

And a narrative it remains both in the speeches which the poet recites from time to time and in the intermediate passages?

Quite true.

But when the poet speaks in the person of another, may we not say that he assimilates his style to that of the person who, as he informs you, is going to speak?

Certainly.

And this assimilation of himself to another, either by the use of voice or gesture, is the imitation of the person whose character he assumes?

Of course.

Then in this case the narrative of the poet may be said to proceed by way of imitation?

Very true.

Or, if the poet everywhere appears and never conceals himself, then again the imitation is dropped, and his poetry becomes simple narration. However, in order that I may make my meaning quite clear, and that you may no more say, I don’t understand,’ I will show how the change might be effected. If Homer had said, ‘The priest came, having his daughter’s ransom in his hands, supplicating the Achaeans, and above all the kings;’ and then if, instead of speaking in the person of Chryses, he had continued in his own person, the words would have been, not imitation, but simple narration. The passage would have run as follows (I am no poet, and therefore I drop the metre), ‘The priest came and prayed the gods on behalf of the Greeks that they might capture Troy and return safely home, but begged that they would give him back his daughter, and take the ransom which he brought, and respect the God. Thus he spoke, and the other Greeks revered the priest and assented. But Agamemnon was wroth, and bade him depart and not come again, lest the staff and chaplets of the God should be of no avail to him — the daughter of Chryses should not be released, he said — she should grow old with him in Argos. And then he told him to go away and not to provoke him, if he intended to get home unscathed. And the old man went away in fear and silence, and, when he had left the camp, he called upon Apollo by his many names, reminding him of everything which he had done pleasing to him, whether in building his temples, or in offering sacrifice, and praying that his good deeds might be returned to him, and that the Achaeans might expiate his tears by the arrows of the god,’ — and so on. In this way the whole becomes simple narrative.

I understand, he said.

Or you may suppose the opposite case — that the intermediate passages are omitted, and the dialogue only left.

That also, he said, I understand; you mean, for example, as in tragedy.

You have conceived my meaning perfectly; and if I mistake not, what you failed to apprehend before is now made clear to you, that poetry and mythology are, in some cases, wholly imitative — instances of this are supplied by tragedy and comedy; there is likewise the opposite style, in which the my poet is the only speaker — of this the dithyramb affords the best example; and the combination of both is found in epic, and in several other styles of poetry. Do I take you with me?

Yes, he said; I see now what you meant.

I will ask you to remember also what I began by saying, that we had done with the subject and might proceed to the style.

Yes, I remember.

In saying this, I intended to imply that we must come to an understanding about the mimetic art, — whether the poets, in narrating their stories, are to be allowed by us to imitate, and if so, whether in whole or in part, and if the latter, in what parts; or should all imitation be prohibited?

You mean, I suspect, to ask whether tragedy and comedy shall be admitted into our State?

Yes, I said; but there may be more than this in question: I really do not know as yet, but whither the argument may blow, thither we go.

And go we will, he said.

Then, Adeimantus, let me ask you whether our guardians ought to be imitators; or rather, has not this question been decided by the rule already laid down that one man can only do one thing well, and not many; and that if he attempt many, he will altogether fall of gaining much reputation in any?

Certainly.

And this is equally true of imitation; no one man can imitate many things as well as he would imitate a single one?

He cannot.

Then the same person will hardly be able to play a serious part in life, and at the same time to be an imitator and imitate many other parts as well; for even when two species of imitation are nearly allied, the same persons cannot succeed in both, as, for example, the writers of tragedy and comedy — did you not just now call them imitations?

Yes, I did; and you are right in thinking that the same persons cannot succeed in both.

Any more than they can be rhapsodists and actors at once?

True.

Neither are comic and tragic actors the same; yet all these things are but imitations.

They are so.

And human nature, Adeimantus, appears to have been coined into yet smaller pieces, and to be as incapable of imitating many things well, as of performing well the actions of which the imitations are copies.

Quite true, he replied.

If then we adhere to our original notion and bear in mind that our guardians, setting aside every other business, are to dedicate themselves wholly to the maintenance of freedom in the State, making this their craft, and engaging in no work which does not bear on this end, they ought not to practise or imitate anything else; if they imitate at all, they should imitate from youth upward only those characters which are suitable to their profession — the courageous, temperate, holy, free, and the like; but they should not depict or be skilful at imitating any kind of illiberality or baseness, lest from imitation they should come to be what they imitate. Did you never observe how imitations, beginning in early youth and continuing far into life, at length grow into habits and become a second nature, affecting body, voice, and mind?

Yes, certainly, he said.

Then, I said, we will not allow those for whom we profess a care and of whom we say that they ought to be good men, to imitate a woman, whether young or old, quarrelling with her husband, or striving and vaunting against the gods in conceit of her happiness, or when she is in affliction, or sorrow, or weeping; and certainly not one who is in sickness, love, or labour.

Very right, he said.

Neither must they represent slaves, male or female, performing the offices of slaves?

They must not.

And surely not bad men, whether cowards or any others, who do the reverse of what we have just been prescribing, who scold or mock or revile one another in drink or out of in drink or, or who in any other manner sin against themselves and their neighbours in word or deed, as the manner of such is. Neither should they be trained to imitate the action or speech of men or women who are mad or bad; for madness, like vice, is to be known but not to be practised or imitated.

Very true, he replied.

Neither may they imitate smiths or other artificers, or oarsmen, or boatswains, or the like?

How can they, he said, when they are not allowed to apply their minds to the callings of any of these?

Nor may they imitate the neighing of horses, the bellowing of bulls, the murmur of rivers and roll of the ocean, thunder, and all that sort of thing?

Nay, he said, if madness be forbidden, neither may they copy the behaviour of madmen.

You mean, I said, if I understand you aright, that there is one sort of narrative style which may be employed by a truly good man when he has anything to say, and that another sort will be used by a man of an opposite character and education.

And which are these two sorts? he asked.

Suppose, I answered, that a just and good man in the course of a narration comes on some saying or action of another good man, — I should imagine that he will like to personate him, and will not be ashamed of this sort of imitation: he will be most ready to play the part of the good man when he is acting firmly and wisely; in a less degree when he is overtaken by illness or love or drink, or has met with any other disaster. But when he comes to a character which is unworthy of him, he will not make a study of that; he will disdain such a person, and will assume his likeness, if at all, for a moment only when he is performing some good action; at other times he will be ashamed to play a part which he has never practised, nor will he like to fashion and frame himself after the baser models; he feels the employment of such an art, unless in jest, to be beneath him, and his mind revolts at it.

So I should expect, he replied.

Then he will adopt a mode of narration such as we have illustrated out of Homer, that is to say, his style will be both imitative and narrative; but there will be very little of the former, and a great deal of the latter. Do you agree?

Certainly, he said; that is the model which such a speaker must necessarily take.

But there is another sort of character who will narrate anything, and, the worse lie is, the more unscrupulous he will be; nothing will be too bad for him: and he will be ready to imitate anything, not as a joke, but in right good earnest, and before a large company. As I was just now saying, he will attempt to represent the roll of thunder, the noise of wind and hall, or the creaking of wheels, and pulleys, and the various sounds of flutes; pipes, trumpets, and all sorts of instruments: he will bark like a dog, bleat like a sheep, or crow like a cock; his entire art will consist in imitation of voice and gesture, and there will be very little narration.

That, he said, will be his mode of speaking.

These, then, are the two kinds of style?

Yes.

And you would agree with me in saying that one of them is simple and has but slight changes; and if the harmony and rhythm are also chosen for their simplicity, the result is that the speaker, if he speaks correctly, is always pretty much the same in style, and he will keep within the limits of a single harmony (for the changes are not great), and in like manner he will make use of nearly the same rhythm?

That is quite true, he said.

Whereas the other requires all sorts of harmonies and all sorts of rhythms, if the music and the style are to correspond, because the style has all sorts of changes.

That is also perfectly true, he replied.

And do not the two styles, or the mixture of the two, comprehend all poetry, and every form of expression in words? No one can say anything except in one or other of them or in both together.

They include all, he said.

And shall we receive into our State all the three styles, or one only of the two unmixed styles? or would you include the mixed?

I should prefer only to admit the pure imitator of virtue.

Yes, I said, Adeimantus, but the mixed style is also very charming: and indeed the pantomimic, which is the opposite of the one chosen by you, is the most popular style with children and their attendants, and with the world in general.

I do not deny it.

But I suppose you would argue that such a style is unsuitable to our State, in which human nature is not twofold or manifold, for one man plays one part only?

Yes; quite unsuitable.

And this is the reason why in our State, and in our State only, we shall find a shoemaker to be a shoemaker and not a pilot also, and a husbandman to be a husbandman and not a dicast also, and a soldier a soldier and not a trader also, and the same throughout?

True, he said.

And therefore when any one of these pantomimic gentlemen, who are so clever that they can imitate anything, comes to us, and makes a proposal to exhibit himself and his poetry, we will fall down and worship him as a sweet and holy and wonderful being; but we must also inform him that in our State such as he are not permitted to exist; the law will not allow them. And so when we have anointed him with myrrh, and set a garland of wool upon his head, we shall send him away to another city. For we mean to employ for our souls’ health the rougher and severer poet or story-teller, who will imitate the style of the virtuous only, and will follow those models which we prescribed at first when we began the education of our soldiers.

We certainly will, he said, if we have the power.

Then now, my friend, I said, that part of music or literary education which relates to the story or myth may be considered to be finished; for the matter and manner have both been discussed.

I think so too, he said.

Next in order will follow melody and song.

That is obvious.

Every one can see already what we ought to say about them, if we are to be consistent with ourselves.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

I fear, said Glaucon, laughing, that the words ‘every one’ hardly includes me, for I cannot at the moment say what they should be; though I may guess.

At any rate you can tell that a song or ode has three parts — the words, the melody, and the rhythm; that degree of knowledge I may presuppose?

Yes, he said; so much as that you may.

And as for the words, there surely be no difference words between words which are and which are not set to music; both will conform to the same laws, and these have been already determined by us?

Yes.

And the melody and rhythm will depend upon the words?

Certainly.

We were saying, when we spoke of the subject-matter, that we had no need of lamentations and strains of sorrow?

True.

And which are the harmonies expressive of sorrow? You are musical, and can tell me.

The harmonies which you mean are the mixed or tenor Lydian, and the full-toned or bass Lydian, and such like.

These then, I said, must be banished; even to women who have a character to maintain they are of no use, and much less to men. Certainly.

In the next place, drunkenness and softness and indolence are utterly unbecoming the character of our guardians.

Utterly unbecoming.

And which are the soft or drinking harmonies?

The Ionian, he replied, and the Lydian; they are termed ‘relaxed.’

Well, and are these of any military use?

Quite the reverse, he replied; and if so the Dorian and the Phrygian are the only ones which you have left.

I answered: Of the harmonies I know nothing, but I want to have one warlike, to sound the note or accent which a brave man utters in the hour of danger and stern resolve, or when his cause is failing, and he is going to wounds or death or is overtaken by some other evil, and at every such crisis meets the blows of fortune with firm step and a determination to endure; and another to be used by him in times of peace and freedom of action, when there is no pressure of necessity, and he is seeking to persuade God by prayer, or man by instruction and admonition, or on the other hand, when he is expressing his willingness to yield to persuasion or entreaty or admonition, and which represents him when by prudent conduct he has attained his end, not carried away by his success, but acting moderately and wisely under the circumstances, and acquiescing in the event. These two harmonies I ask you to leave; the strain of necessity and the strain of freedom, the strain of the unfortunate and the strain of the fortunate, the strain of courage, and the strain of temperance; these, I say, leave.

And these, he replied, are the Dorian and Phrygian harmonies of which I was just now speaking.

Then, I said, if these and these only are to be used in our songs and melodies, we shall not want multiplicity of notes or a panharmonic scale?

I suppose not.

Then we shall not maintain the artificers of lyres with three corners and complex scales, or the makers of any other many-stringed curiously-harmonised instruments?

Certainly not.

But what do you say to flute-makers and flute-players? Would you admit them into our State when you reflect that in this composite use of harmony the flute is worse than all the stringed instruments put together; even the panharmonic music is only an imitation of the flute?

Clearly not.

There remain then only the lyre and the harp for use in the city, and the shepherds may have a pipe in the country.

That is surely the conclusion to be drawn from the argument.

The preferring of Apollo and his instruments to Marsyas and his instruments is not at all strange, I said.

Not at all, he replied.

And so, by the dog of Egypt, we have been unconsciously purging the
State, which not long ago we termed luxurious.

And we have done wisely, he replied.

Then let us now finish the purgation, I said. Next in order to harmonies, rhythms will naturally follow, and they should be subject to the same rules, for we ought not to seek out complex systems of metre, or metres of every kind, but rather to discover what rhythms are the expressions of a courageous and harmonious life; and when we have found them, we shall adapt the foot and the melody to words having a like spirit, not the words to the foot and melody. To say what these rhythms are will be your duty — you must teach me them, as you have already taught me the harmonies.

But, indeed, he replied, I cannot tell you. I only know that there are some three principles of rhythm out of which metrical systems are framed, just as in sounds there are four notes out of which all the harmonies are composed; that is an observation which I have made. But of what sort of lives they are severally the imitations I am unable to say.

Then, I said, we must take Damon into our counsels; and he will tell us what rhythms are expressive of meanness, or insolence, or fury, or other unworthiness, and what are to be reserved for the expression of opposite feelings. And I think that I have an indistinct recollection of his mentioning a complex Cretic rhythm; also a dactylic or heroic, and he arranged them in some manner which I do not quite understand, making the rhythms equal in the rise and fall of the foot, long and short alternating; and, unless I am mistaken, he spoke of an iambic as well as of a trochaic rhythm, and assigned to them short and long quantities. Also in some cases he appeared to praise or censure the movement of the foot quite as much as the rhythm; or perhaps a combination of the two; for I am not certain what he meant. These matters, however, as I was saying, had better be referred to Damon himself, for the analysis of the subject would be difficult, you know.

Rather so, I should say.

But there is no difficulty in seeing that grace or the absence of grace is an effect of good or bad rhythm.

None at all.

And also that good and bad rhythm naturally assimilate to a good and bad style; and that harmony and discord in like manner follow style; for our principle is that rhythm and harmony are regulated by the words, and not the words by them.

Just so, he said, they should follow the words.

And will not the words and the character of the style depend on the temper of the soul?

Yes.

And everything else on the style?

Yes.

Then beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on simplicity, — I mean the true simplicity of a rightly and nobly ordered mind and character, not that other simplicity which is only an euphemism for folly?

Very true, he replied.

And if our youth are to do their work in life, must they not make these graces and harmonies their perpetual aim?

They must.

And surely the art of the painter and every other creative and constructive art are full of them, — weaving, embroidery, architecture, and every kind of manufacture; also nature, animal and vegetable, — in all of them there is grace or the absence of grace. And ugliness and discord and inharmonious motion are nearly allied to ill words and ill nature, as grace and harmony are the twin sisters of goodness and virtue and bear their likeness.

That is quite true, he said.

But shall our superintendence go no further, and are the poets only to be required by us to express the image of the good in their works, on pain, if they do anything else, of expulsion from our State? Or is the same control to be extended to other artists, and are they also to be prohibited from exhibiting the opposite forms of vice and intemperance and meanness and indecency in sculpture and building and the other creative arts; and is he who cannot conform to this rule of ours to be prevented from practising his art in our State, lest the taste of our citizens be corrupted by him? We would not have our guardians grow up amid images of moral deformity, as in some noxious pasture, and there browse and feed upon many a baneful herb and flower day by day, little by little, until they silently gather a festering mass of corruption in their own soul. Let our artists rather be those who are gifted to discern the true nature of the beautiful and graceful; then will our youth dwell in a land of health, amid fair sights and sounds, and receive the good in everything; and beauty, the effluence of fair works, shall flow into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breeze from a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness and sympathy with the beauty of reason.

There can be no nobler training than that, he replied.

And therefore, I said, Glaucon, musical training is a more potent instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way into the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten, imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly educated graceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful; and also because he who has received this true education of the inner being will most shrewdly perceive omissions or faults in art and nature, and with a true taste, while he praises and rejoices over and receives into his soul the good, and becomes noble and good, he will justly blame and hate the bad, now in the days of his youth, even before he is able to know the reason why; and when reason comes he will recognise and salute the friend with whom his education has made him long familiar.

Yes, he said, I quite agree with you in thinking that our youth should be trained in music and on the grounds which you mention.

Just as in learning to read, I said, we were satisfied when we knew the letters of the alphabet, which are very few, in all their recurring sizes and combinations; not slighting them as unimportant whether they occupy a space large or small, but everywhere eager to make them out; and not thinking ourselves perfect in the art of reading until we recognise them wherever they are found:

True —

Or, as we recognise the reflection of letters in the water, or in a mirror, only when we know the letters themselves; the same art and study giving us the knowledge of both:

Exactly —

Even so, as I maintain, neither we nor our guardians, whom we have to educate, can ever become musical until we and they know the essential forms, in all their combinations, and can recognise them and their images wherever they are found, not slighting them either in small things or great, but believing them all to be within the sphere of one art and study.

Most assuredly.

And when a beautiful soul harmonises with a beautiful form, and the two are cast in one mould, that will be the fairest of sights to him who has an eye to see it?

The fairest indeed.

And the fairest is also the loveliest?

That may be assumed.

And the man who has the spirit of harmony will be most in love with the loveliest; but he will not love him who is of an inharmonious soul?

That is true, he replied, if the deficiency be in his soul; but if there be any merely bodily defect in another he will be patient of it, and will love all the same.

I perceive, I said, that you have or have had experiences of this sort, and I agree. But let me ask you another question: Has excess of pleasure any affinity to temperance?

How can that be? he replied; pleasure deprives a man of the use of his faculties quite as much as pain.

Or any affinity to virtue in general?

None whatever.

Any affinity to wantonness and intemperance?

Yes, the greatest.

And is there any greater or keener pleasure than that of sensual love?

No, nor a madder.

Whereas true love is a love of beauty and order — temperate and harmonious?

Quite true, he said.

Then no intemperance or madness should be allowed to approach true love?

Certainly not.

Then mad or intemperate pleasure must never be allowed to come near the lover and his beloved; neither of them can have any part in it if their love is of the right sort?

No, indeed, Socrates, it must never come near them.

Then I suppose that in the city which we are founding you would make a law to the effect that a friend should use no other familiarity to his love than a father would use to his son, and then only for a noble purpose, and he must first have the other’s consent; and this rule is to limit him in all his intercourse, and he is never to be seen going further, or, if he exceeds, he is to be deemed guilty of coarseness and bad taste.

I quite agree, he said.

Thus much of music, which makes a fair ending; for what should be the end of music if not the love of beauty?

I agree, he said.

After music comes gymnastic, in which our youth are next to be trained.

Certainly.

Gymnastic as well as music should begin in early years; the training in it should be careful and should continue through life. Now my belief is, — and this is a matter upon which I should like to have your opinion in confirmation of my own, but my own belief is, — not that the good body by any bodily excellence improves the soul, but, on the contrary, that the good soul, by her own excellence, improves the body as far as this may be possible. What do you say?

Yes, I agree.

Then, to the mind when adequately trained, we shall be right in handing over the more particular care of the body; and in order to avoid prolixity we will now only give the general outlines of the subject.

Very good.

That they must abstain from intoxication has been already remarked by us; for of all persons a guardian should be the last to get drunk and not know where in the world he is.

Yes, he said; that a guardian should require another guardian to take care of him is ridiculous indeed.

But next, what shall we say of their food; for the men are in training for the great contest of all — are they not?

Yes, he said.

And will the habit of body of our ordinary athletes be suited to them?

Why not?

I am afraid, I said, that a habit of body such as they have is but a sleepy sort of thing, and rather perilous to health. Do you not observe that these athletes sleep away their lives, and are liable to most dangerous illnesses if they depart, in ever so slight a degree, from their customary regimen?

Yes, I do.

Then, I said, a finer sort of training will be required for our warrior athletes, who are to be like wakeful dogs, and to see and hear with the utmost keenness; amid the many changes of water and also of food, of summer heat and winter cold, which they will have to endure when on a campaign, they must not be liable to break down in health.

That is my view.

The really excellent gymnastic is twin sister of that simple music which we were just now describing.

How so?

Why, I conceive that there is a gymnastic which, like our music, is simple and good; and especially the military gymnastic.

What do you mean?

My meaning may be learned from Homer; he, you know, feeds his heroes at their feasts, when they are campaigning, on soldiers’ fare; they have no fish, although they are on the shores of the Hellespont, and they are not allowed boiled meats but only roast, which is the food most convenient for soldiers, requiring only that they should light a fire, and not involving the trouble of carrying about pots and pans.

True.

And I can hardly be mistaken in saying that sweet sauces are nowhere mentioned in Homer. In proscribing them, however, he is not singular; all professional athletes are well aware that a man who is to be in good condition should take nothing of the kind.

Yes, he said; and knowing this, they are quite right in not taking them.

Then you would not approve of Syracusan dinners, and the refinements of
Sicilian cookery?

I think not.

Nor, if a man is to be in condition, would you allow him to have a
Corinthian girl as his fair friend?

Certainly not.

Neither would you approve of the delicacies, as they are thought, of
Athenian confectionery?

Certainly not.

All such feeding and living may be rightly compared by us to melody and song composed in the panharmonic style, and in all the rhythms. Exactly.

There complexity engendered license, and here disease; whereas simplicity in music was the parent of temperance in the soul; and simplicity in gymnastic of health in the body.

Most true, he said.

But when intemperance and disease multiply in a State, halls of justice and medicine are always being opened; and the arts of the doctor and the lawyer give themselves airs, finding how keen is the interest which not only the slaves but the freemen of a city take about them.

Of course.

And yet what greater proof can there be of a bad and disgraceful state of education than this, that not only artisans and the meaner sort of people need the skill of first-rate physicians and judges, but also those who would profess to have had a liberal education? Is it not disgraceful, and a great sign of want of good-breeding, that a man should have to go abroad for his law and physic because he has none of his own at home, and must therefore surrender himself into the hands of other men whom he makes lords and judges over him?

Of all things, he said, the most disgraceful.

Would you say ‘most,’ I replied, when you consider that there is a further stage of the evil in which a man is not only a life-long litigant, passing all his days in the courts, either as plaintiff or defendant, but is actually led by his bad taste to pride himself on his litigiousness; he imagines that he is a master in dishonesty; able to take every crooked turn, and wriggle into and out of every hole, bending like a withy and getting out of the way of justice: and all for what? — in order to gain small points not worth mentioning, he not knowing that so to order his life as to be able to do without a napping judge is a far higher and nobler sort of thing. Is not that still more disgraceful?

Yes, he said, that is still more disgraceful.

Well, I said, and to require the help of medicine, not when a wound has to be cured, or on occasion of an epidemic, but just because, by indolence and a habit of life such as we have been describing, men fill themselves with waters and winds, as if their bodies were a marsh, compelling the ingenious sons of Asclepius to find more names for diseases, such as flatulence and catarrh; is not this, too, a disgrace?

Yes, he said, they do certainly give very strange and newfangled names to diseases.

Yes, I said, and I do not believe that there were any such diseases in the days of Asclepius; and this I infer from the circumstance that the hero Eurypylus, after he has been wounded in Homer, drinks a posset of Pramnian wine well besprinkled with barley-meal and grated cheese, which are certainly inflammatory, and yet the sons of Asclepius who were at the Trojan war do not blame the damsel who gives him the drink, or rebuke Patroclus, who is treating his case.

Well, he said, that was surely an extraordinary drink to be given to a person in his condition.

Not so extraordinary, I replied, if you bear in mind that in former days, as is commonly said, before the time of Herodicus, the guild of Asclepius did not practise our present system of medicine, which may be said to educate diseases. But Herodicus, being a trainer, and himself of a sickly constitution, by a combination of training and doctoring found out a way of torturing first and chiefly himself, and secondly the rest of the world.

How was that? he said.

By the invention of lingering death; for he had a mortal disease which he perpetually tended, and as recovery was out of the question, he passed his entire life as a valetudinarian; he could do nothing but attend upon himself, and he was in constant torment whenever he departed in anything from his usual regimen, and so dying hard, by the help of science he struggled on to old age.

A rare reward of his skill!

Yes, I said; a reward which a man might fairly expect who never understood that, if Asclepius did not instruct his descendants in valetudinarian arts, the omission arose, not from ignorance or inexperience of such a branch of medicine, but because he knew that in all well-ordered states every individual has an occupation to which he must attend, and has therefore no leisure to spend in continually being ill. This we remark in the case of the artisan, but, ludicrously enough, do not apply the same rule to people of the richer sort.

How do you mean? he said.

I mean this: When a carpenter is ill he asks the physician for a rough and ready cure; an emetic or a purge or a cautery or the knife, — these are his remedies. And if some one prescribes for him a course of dietetics, and tells him that he must swathe and swaddle his head, and all that sort of thing, he replies at once that he has no time to be ill, and that he sees no good in a life which is spent in nursing his disease to the neglect of his customary employment; and therefore bidding good-bye to this sort of physician, he resumes his ordinary habits, and either gets well and lives and does his business, or, if his constitution falls, he dies and has no more trouble.

Yes, he said, and a man in his condition of life ought to use the art of medicine thus far only.

Has he not, I said, an occupation; and what profit would there be in his life if he were deprived of his occupation?

Quite true, he said.

But with the rich man this is otherwise; of him we do not say that he has any specially appointed work which he must perform, if he would live.

He is generally supposed to have nothing to do.

Then you never heard of the saying of Phocylides, that as soon as a man has a livelihood he should practise virtue?

Nay, he said, I think that he had better begin somewhat sooner.

Let us not have a dispute with him about this, I said; but rather ask ourselves: Is the practice of virtue obligatory on the rich man, or can he live without it? And if obligatory on him, then let us raise a further question, whether this dieting of disorders which is an impediment to the application of the mind t in carpentering and the mechanical arts, does not equally stand in the way of the sentiment of Phocylides?

Of that, he replied, there can be no doubt; such excessive care of the body, when carried beyond the rules of gymnastic, is most inimical to the practice of virtue.

Yes, indeed, I replied, and equally incompatible with the management of a house, an army, or an office of state; and, what is most important of all, irreconcilable with any kind of study or thought or self-reflection — there is a constant suspicion that headache and giddiness are to be ascribed to philosophy, and hence all practising or making trial of virtue in the higher sense is absolutely stopped; for a man is always fancying that he is being made ill, and is in constant anxiety about the state of his body.

Yes, likely enough.

And therefore our politic Asclepius may be supposed to have exhibited the power of his art only to persons who, being generally of healthy constitution and habits of life, had a definite ailment; such as these he cured by purges and operations, and bade them live as usual, herein consulting the interests of the State; but bodies which disease had penetrated through and through he would not have attempted to cure by gradual processes of evacuation and infusion: he did not want to lengthen out good-for-nothing lives, or to have weak fathers begetting weaker sons; — if a man was not able to live in the ordinary way he had no business to cure him; for such a cure would have been of no use either to himself, or to the State.

Then, he said, you regard Asclepius as a statesman.

Clearly; and his character is further illustrated by his sons. Note that they were heroes in the days of old and practised the medicines of which I am speaking at the siege of Troy: You will remember how, when Pandarus wounded Menelaus, they

Sucked the blood out of the wound, and sprinkled soothing remedies,

but they never prescribed what the patient was afterwards to eat or drink in the case of Menelaus, any more than in the case of Eurypylus; the remedies, as they conceived, were enough to heal any man who before he was wounded was healthy and regular in habits; and even though he did happen to drink a posset of Pramnian wine, he might get well all the same. But they would have nothing to do with unhealthy and intemperate subjects, whose lives were of no use either to themselves or others; the art of medicine was not designed for their good, and though they were as rich as Midas, the sons of Asclepius would have declined to attend them.

They were very acute persons, those sons of Asclepius.

Naturally so, I replied. Nevertheless, the tragedians and Pindar disobeying our behests, although they acknowledge that Asclepius was the son of Apollo, say also that he was bribed into healing a rich man who was at the point of death, and for this reason he was struck by lightning. But we, in accordance with the principle already affirmed by us, will not believe them when they tell us both; — if he was the son of a god, we maintain that he was not avaricious; or, if he was avaricious he was not the son of a god.

All that, Socrates, is excellent; but I should like to put a question to you: Ought there not to be good physicians in a State, and are not the best those who have treated the greatest number of constitutions good and bad? and are not the best judges in like manner those who are acquainted with all sorts of moral natures?

Yes, I said, I too would have good judges and good physicians. But do you know whom I think good?

Will you tell me?

I will, if I can. Let me however note that in the same question you join two things which are not the same.

How so? he asked.

Why, I said, you join physicians and judges. Now the most skilful physicians are those who, from their youth upwards, have combined with the knowledge of their art the greatest experience of disease; they had better not be robust in health, and should have had all manner of diseases in their own persons. For the body, as I conceive, is not the instrument with which they cure the body; in that case we could not allow them ever to be or to have been sickly; but they cure the body with the mind, and the mind which has become and is sick can cure nothing.

That is very true, he said.

But with the judge it is otherwise; since he governs mind by mind; he ought not therefore to have been trained among vicious minds, and to have associated with them from youth upwards, and to have gone through the whole calendar of crime, only in order that he may quickly infer the crimes of others as he might their bodily diseases from his own self-consciousness; the honourable mind which is to form a healthy judgment should have had no experience or contamination of evil habits when young. And this is the reason why in youth good men often appear to be simple, and are easily practised upon by the dishonest, because they have no examples of what evil is in their own souls.

Yes, he said, they are far too apt to be deceived.

Therefore, I said, the judge should not be young; he should have learned to know evil, not from his own soul, but from late and long observation of the nature of evil in others: knowledge should be his guide, not personal experience.

Yes, he said, that is the ideal of a judge.

Yes, I replied, and he will be a good man (which is my answer to your question); for he is good who has a good soul. But the cunning and suspicious nature of which we spoke, — he who has committed many crimes, and fancies himself to be a master in wickedness, when he is amongst his fellows, is wonderful in the precautions which he takes, because he judges of them by himself: but when he gets into the company of men of virtue, who have the experience of age, he appears to be a fool again, owing to his unseasonable suspicions; he cannot recognise an honest man, because he has no pattern of honesty in himself; at the same time, as the bad are more numerous than the good, and he meets with them oftener, he thinks himself, and is by others thought to be, rather wise than foolish.

Most true, he said.

Then the good and wise judge whom we are seeking is not this man, but the other; for vice cannot know virtue too, but a virtuous nature, educated by time, will acquire a knowledge both of virtue and vice: the virtuous, and not the vicious, man has wisdom — in my opinion.

And in mine also.

This is the sort of medicine, and this is the sort of law, which you sanction in your State. They will minister to better natures, giving health both of soul and of body; but those who are diseased in their bodies they will leave to die, and the corrupt and incurable souls they will put an end to themselves.

That is clearly the best thing both for the patients and for the State.

And thus our youth, having been educated only in that simple music which, as we said, inspires temperance, will be reluctant to go to law.

Clearly.

And the musician, who, keeping to the same track, is content to practise the simple gymnastic, will have nothing to do with medicine unless in some extreme case.

That I quite believe.

The very exercises and tolls which he undergoes are intended to stimulate the spirited element of his nature, and not to increase his strength; he will not, like common athletes, use exercise and regimen to develop his muscles.

Very right, he said.

Neither are the two arts of music and gymnastic really designed, as is often supposed, the one for the training of the soul, the other fir the training of the body.

What then is the real object of them?

I believe, I said, that the teachers of both have in view chiefly the improvement of the soul.

How can that be? he asked.

Did you never observe, I said, the effect on the mind itself of exclusive devotion to gymnastic, or the opposite effect of an exclusive devotion to music?

In what way shown? he said.

The one producing a temper of hardness and ferocity, the other of softness and effeminacy, I replied.

Yes, he said, I am quite aware that the mere athlete becomes too much of a savage, and that the mere musician is melted and softened beyond what is good for him.

Yet surely, I said, this ferocity only comes from spirit, which, if rightly educated, would give courage, but, if too much intensified, is liable to become hard and brutal.

That I quite think.

On the other hand the philosopher will have the quality of gentleness. And this also, when too much indulged, will turn to softness, but, if educated rightly, will be gentle and moderate.

True.

And in our opinion the guardians ought to have both these qualities?

Assuredly.

And both should be in harmony?

Beyond question.

And the harmonious soul is both temperate and courageous?

Yes.

And the inharmonious is cowardly and boorish?

Very true.

And, when a man allows music to play upon him and to pour into his soul through the funnel of his ears those sweet and soft and melancholy airs of which we were just now speaking, and his whole life is passed in warbling and the delights of song; in the first stage of the process the passion or spirit which is in him is tempered like iron, and made useful, instead of brittle and useless. But, if he carries on the softening and soothing process, in the next stage he begins to melt and waste, until he has wasted away his spirit and cut out the sinews of his soul; and he becomes a feeble warrior.

Very true.

If the element of spirit is naturally weak in him the change is speedily accomplished, but if he have a good deal, then the power of music weakening the spirit renders him excitable; — on the least provocation he flames up at once, and is speedily extinguished; instead of having spirit he grows irritable and passionate and is quite impracticable.

Exactly.

And so in gymnastics, if a man takes violent exercise and is a great feeder, and the reverse of a great student of music and philosophy, at first the high condition of his body fills him with pride and spirit, and lie becomes twice the man that he was.

Certainly.

And what happens? if he do nothing else, and holds no con-a verse with the Muses, does not even that intelligence which there may be in him, having no taste of any sort of learning or enquiry or thought or culture, grow feeble and dull and blind, his mind never waking up or receiving nourishment, and his senses not being purged of their mists?

True, he said.

And he ends by becoming a hater of philosophy, uncivilized, never using the weapon of persuasion, — he is like a wild beast, all violence and fierceness, and knows no other way of dealing; and he lives in all ignorance and evil conditions, and has no sense of propriety and grace.

That is quite true, he said.

And as there are two principles of human nature, one the spirited and the other the philosophical, some God, as I should say, has given mankind two arts answering to them (and only indirectly to the soul and body), in order that these two principles (like the strings of an instrument) may be relaxed or drawn tighter until they are duly harmonised.

That appears to be the intention.

And he who mingles music with gymnastic in the fairest proportions, and best attempers them to the soul, may be rightly called the true musician and harmonist in a far higher sense than the tuner of the strings.

You are quite right, Socrates.

And such a presiding genius will be always required in our State if the government is to last.

Yes, he will be absolutely necessary.

Such, then, are our principles of nurture and education: Where would be the use of going into further details about the dances of our citizens, or about their hunting and coursing, their gymnastic and equestrian contests? For these all follow the general principle, and having found that, we shall have no difficulty in discovering them.

I dare say that there will be no difficulty.

Very good, I said; then what is the next question? Must we not ask who are to be rulers and who subjects?

Certainly.

There can be no doubt that the elder must rule the younger.

Clearly.

And that the best of these must rule.

That is also clear.

Now, are not the best husbandmen those who are most devoted to husbandry?

Yes.

And as we are to have the best of guardians for our city, must they not be those who have most the character of guardians?

Yes.

And to this end they ought to be wise and efficient, and to have a special care of the State?

True.

And a man will be most likely to care about that which he loves?

To be sure.

And he will be most likely to love that which he regards as having the same interests with himself, and that of which the good or evil fortune is supposed by him at any time most to affect his own?

Very true, he replied.

Then there must be a selection. Let us note among the guardians those who in their whole life show the greatest eagerness to do what is for the good of their country, and the greatest repugnance to do what is against her interests.

Those are the right men.

And they will have to be watched at every age, in order that we may see whether they preserve their resolution, and never, under the influence either of force or enchantment, forget or cast off their sense of duty to the State.

How cast off? he said.

I will explain to you, I replied. A resolution may go out of a man’s mind either with his will or against his will; with his will when he gets rid of a falsehood and learns better, against his will whenever he is deprived of a truth.

I understand, he said, the willing loss of a resolution; the meaning of the unwilling I have yet to learn.

Why, I said, do you not see that men are unwillingly deprived of good, and willingly of evil? Is not to have lost the truth an evil, and to possess the truth a good? and you would agree that to conceive things as they are is to possess the truth?

Yes, he replied; I agree with you in thinking that mankind are deprived of truth against their will.

And is not this involuntary deprivation caused either by theft, or force, or enchantment?

Still, he replied, I do not understand you.

I fear that I must have been talking darkly, like the tragedians. I only mean that some men are changed by persuasion and that others forget; argument steals away the hearts of one class, and time of the other; and this I call theft. Now you understand me?

Yes.

Those again who are forced are those whom the violence of some pain or grief compels to change their opinion.

I understand, he said, and you are quite right.

And you would also acknowledge that the enchanted are those who change their minds either under the softer influence of pleasure, or the sterner influence of fear?

Yes, he said; everything that deceives may be said to enchant.

Therefore, as I was just now saying, we must enquire who are the best guardians of their own conviction that what they think the interest of the State is to be the rule of their lives. We must watch them from their youth upwards, and make them perform actions in which they are most likely to forget or to be deceived, and he who remembers and is not deceived is to be selected, and he who falls in the trial is to be rejected. That will be the way?

Yes.

And there should also be toils and pains and conflicts prescribed for them, in which they will be made to give further proof of the same qualities.

Very right, he replied.

And then, I said, we must try them with enchantments that is the third sort of test — and see what will be their behaviour: like those who take colts amid noise and tumult to see if they are of a timid nature, so must we take our youth amid terrors of some kind, and again pass them into pleasures, and prove them more thoroughly than gold is proved in the furnace, that we may discover whether they are armed against all enchantments, and of a noble bearing always, good guardians of themselves and of the music which they have learned, and retaining under all circumstances a rhythmical and harmonious nature, such as will be most serviceable to the individual and to the State. And he who at every age, as boy and youth and in mature life, has come out of the trial victorious and pure, shall be appointed a ruler and guardian of the State; he shall be honoured in life and death, and shall receive sepulture and other memorials of honour, the greatest that we have to give. But him who fails, we must reject. I am inclined to think that this is the sort of way in which our rulers and guardians should be chosen and appointed. I speak generally, and not with any pretension to exactness.

And, speaking generally, I agree with you, he said.

And perhaps the word ‘guardian’ in the fullest sense ought to be applied to this higher class only who preserve us against foreign enemies and maintain peace among our citizens at home, that the one may not have the will, or the others the power, to harm us. The young men whom we before called guardians may be more properly designated auxiliaries and supporters of the principles of the rulers.

I agree with you, he said.

How then may we devise one of those needful falsehoods of which we lately spoke — just one royal lie which may deceive the rulers, if that be possible, and at any rate the rest of the city?

What sort of lie? he said.

Nothing new, I replied; only an old Phoenician tale of what has often occurred before now in other places, (as the poets say, and have made the world believe,) though not in our time, and I do not know whether such an event could ever happen again, or could now even be made probable, if it did.

How your words seem to hesitate on your lips!

You will not wonder, I replied, at my hesitation when you have heard.

Speak, he said, and fear not.

Well then, I will speak, although I really know not how to look you in the face, or in what words to utter the audacious fiction, which I propose to communicate gradually, first to the rulers, then to the soldiers, and lastly to the people. They are to be told that their youth was a dream, and the education and training which they received from us, an appearance only; in reality during all that time they were being formed and fed in the womb of the earth, where they themselves and their arms and appurtenances were manufactured; when they were completed, the earth, their mother, sent them up; and so, their country being their mother and also their nurse, they are bound to advise for her good, and to defend her against attacks, and her citizens they are to regard as children of the earth and their own brothers.

You had good reason, he said, to be ashamed of the lie which you were going to tell.

True, I replied, but there is more coming; I have only told you half. Citizens, we shall say to them in our tale, you are brothers, yet God has framed you differently. Some of you have the power of command, and in the composition of these he has mingled gold, wherefore also they have the greatest honour; others he has made of silver, to be auxillaries; others again who are to be husbandmen and craftsmen he has composed of brass and iron; and the species will generally be preserved in the children. But as all are of the same original stock, a golden parent will sometimes have a silver son, or a silver parent a golden son. And God proclaims as a first principle to the rulers, and above all else, that there is nothing which should so anxiously guard, or of which they are to be such good guardians, as of the purity of the race. They should observe what elements mingle in their off spring; for if the son of a golden or silver parent has an admixture of brass and iron, then nature orders a transposition of ranks, and the eye of the ruler must not be pitiful towards the child because he has to descend in the scale and become a husbandman or artisan, just as there may be sons of artisans who having an admixture of gold or silver in them are raised to honour, and become guardians or auxiliaries. For an oracle says that when a man of brass or iron guards the State, it will be destroyed. Such is the tale; is there any possibility of making our citizens believe in it?

Not in the present generation, he replied; there is no way of accomplishing this; but their sons may be made to believe in the tale, and their sons’ sons, and posterity after them.

I see the difficulty, I replied; yet the fostering of such a belief will make them care more for the city and for one another. Enough, however, of the fiction, which may now fly abroad upon the wings of rumour, while we arm our earth-born heroes, and lead them forth under the command of their rulers. Let them look round and select a spot whence they can best suppress insurrection, if any prove refractory within, and also defend themselves against enemies, who like wolves may come down on the fold from without; there let them encamp, and when they have encamped, let them sacrifice to the proper Gods and prepare their dwellings.

Just so, he said.

And their dwellings must be such as will shield them against the cold of winter and the heat of summer.

I suppose that you mean houses, he replied.

Yes, I said; but they must be the houses of soldiers, and not of shop-keepers.

What is the difference? he said.

That I will endeavour to explain, I replied. To keep watchdogs, who, from want of discipline or hunger, or some evil habit, or evil habit or other, would turn upon the sheep and worry them, and behave not like dogs but wolves, would be a foul and monstrous thing in a shepherd?

Truly monstrous, he said.

And therefore every care must be taken that our auxiliaries, being stronger than our citizens, may not grow to be too much for them and become savage tyrants instead of friends and allies?

Yes, great care should be taken.

And would not a really good education furnish the best safeguard?

But they are well-educated already, he replied.

I cannot be so confident, my dear Glaucon, I said; I am much certain that they ought to be, and that true education, whatever that may be, will have the greatest tendency to civilize and humanize them in their relations to one another, and to those who are under their protection.

Very true, he replied.

And not only their education, but their habitations, and all that belongs to them, should be such as will neither impair their virtue as guardians, nor tempt them to prey upon the other citizens. Any man of sense must acknowledge that.

He must.

Then let us consider what will be their way of life, if they are to realize our idea of them. In the first place, none of them should have any property of his own beyond what is absolutely necessary; neither should they have a private house or store closed against any one who has a mind to enter; their provisions should be only such as are required by trained warriors, who are men of temperance and courage; they should agree to receive from the citizens a fixed rate of pay, enough to meet the expenses of the year and no more; and they will go and live together like soldiers in a camp. Gold and silver we will tell them that they have from God; the diviner metal is within them, and they have therefore no need of the dross which is current among men, and ought not to pollute the divine by any such earthly admixture; for that commoner metal has been the source of many unholy deeds, but their own is undefiled. And they alone of all the citizens may not touch or handle silver or gold, or be under the same roof with them, or wear them, or drink from them. And this will be their salvation, and they will be the saviours of the State. But should they ever acquire homes or lands or moneys of their own, they will become housekeepers and husbandmen instead of guardians, enemies and tyrants instead of allies of the other citizens; hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted against, they will pass their whole life in much greater terror of internal than of external enemies, and the hour of ruin, both to themselves and to the rest of the State, will be at hand. For all which reasons may we not say that thus shall our State be ordered, and that these shall be the regulations appointed by us for guardians concerning their houses and all other matters? other

Yes, said Glaucon.

BOOK IV

ADEIMANTUS - SOCRATES

HERE Adeimantus interposed a question: How would you answer, Socrates, said he, if a person were to say that you are making these people miserable, and that they are the cause of their own unhappiness; the city in fact belongs to them, but they are none the better for it; whereas other men acquire lands, and build large and handsome houses, and have everything handsome about them, offering sacrifices to the gods on their own account, and practising hospitality; moreover, as you were saying just now, they have gold and silver, and all that is usual among the favourites of fortune; but our poor citizens are no better than mercenaries who are quartered in the city and are always mounting guard?

Yes, I said; and you may add that they are only fed, and not paid in addition to their food, like other men; and therefore they cannot, if they would, take a journey of pleasure; they have no money to spend on a mistress or any other luxurious fancy, which, as the world goes, is thought to be happiness; and many other accusations of the same nature might be added.

But, said he, let us suppose all this to be included in the charge.

You mean to ask, I said, what will be our answer?

Yes.

If we proceed along the old path, my belief, I said, is that we shall find the answer. And our answer will be that, even as they are, our guardians may very likely be the happiest of men; but that our aim in founding the State was not the disproportionate happiness of any one class, but the greatest happiness of the whole; we thought that in a State which is ordered with a view to the good of the whole we should be most likely to find Justice, and in the ill-ordered State injustice: and, having found them, we might then decide which of the two is the happier. At present, I take it, we are fashioning the happy State, not piecemeal, or with a view of making a few happy citizens, but as a whole; and by-and-by we will proceed to view the opposite kind of State. Suppose that we were painting a statue, and some one came up to us and said, Why do you not put the most beautiful colours on the most beautiful parts of the body — the eyes ought to be purple, but you have made them black — to him we might fairly answer, Sir, you would not surely have us beautify the eyes to such a degree that they are no longer eyes; consider rather whether, by giving this and the other features their due proportion, we make the whole beautiful. And so I say to you, do not compel us to assign to the guardians a sort of happiness which will make them anything but guardians; for we too can clothe our husbandmen in royal apparel, and set crowns of gold on their heads, and bid them till the ground as much as they like, and no more. Our potters also might be allowed to repose on couches, and feast by the fireside, passing round the winecup, while their wheel is conveniently at hand, and working at pottery only as much as they like; in this way we might make every class happy-and then, as you imagine, the whole State would be happy. But do not put this idea into our heads; for, if we listen to you, the husbandman will be no longer a husbandman, the potter will cease to be a potter, and no one will have the character of any distinct class in the State. Now this is not of much consequence where the corruption of society, and pretension to be what you are not, is confined to cobblers; but when the guardians of the laws and of the government are only seemingly and not real guardians, then see how they turn the State upside down; and on the other hand they alone have the power of giving order and happiness to the State. We mean our guardians to be true saviours and not the destroyers of the State, whereas our opponent is thinking of peasants at a festival, who are enjoying a life of revelry, not of citizens who are doing their duty to the State. But, if so, we mean different things, and he is speaking of something which is not a State. And therefore we must consider whether in appointing our guardians we would look to their greatest happiness individually, or whether this principle of happiness does not rather reside in the State as a whole. But the latter be the truth, then the guardians and auxillaries, and all others equally with them, must be compelled or induced to do their own work in the best way. And thus the whole State will grow up in a noble order, and the several classes will receive the proportion of happiness which nature assigns to them.

I think that you are quite right.

I wonder whether you will agree with another remark which occurs to me.

What may that be?

There seem to be two causes of the deterioration of the arts.

What are they?

Wealth, I said, and poverty.

How do they act?

The process is as follows: When a potter becomes rich, will he, think you, any longer take the same pains with his art?

Certainly not.

He will grow more and more indolent and careless?

Very true.

And the result will be that he becomes a worse potter?

Yes; he greatly deteriorates.

But, on the other hand, if he has no money, and cannot provide himself tools or instruments, he will not work equally well himself, nor will he teach his sons or apprentices to work equally well.

Certainly not.

Then, under the influence either of poverty or of wealth, workmen and their work are equally liable to degenerate?

That is evident.

Here, then, is a discovery of new evils, I said, against which the guardians will have to watch, or they will creep into the city unobserved.

What evils?

Wealth, I said, and poverty; the one is the parent of luxury and indolence, and the other of meanness and viciousness, and both of discontent.

That is very true, he replied; but still I should like to know, Socrates, how our city will be able to go to war, especially against an enemy who is rich and powerful, if deprived of the sinews of war.

There would certainly be a difficulty, I replied, in going to war with one such enemy; but there is no difficulty where there are two of them.

How so? he asked.

In the first place, I said, if we have to fight, our side will be trained warriors fighting against an army of rich men.

That is true, he said.

And do you not suppose, Adeimantus, that a single boxer who was perfect in his art would easily be a match for two stout and well-to-do gentlemen who were not boxers?

Hardly, if they came upon him at once.

What, not, I said, if he were able to run away and then turn and strike at the one who first came up? And supposing he were to do this several times under the heat of a scorching sun, might he not, being an expert, overturn more than one stout personage?

Certainly, he said, there would be nothing wonderful in that.

And yet rich men probably have a greater superiority in the science and practice of boxing than they have in military qualities.

Likely enough.

Then we may assume that our athletes will be able to fight with two or three times their own number?

I agree with you, for I think you right.

And suppose that, before engaging, our citizens send an embassy to one of the two cities, telling them what is the truth: Silver and gold we neither have nor are permitted to have, but you may; do you therefore come and help us in war, of and take the spoils of the other city: Who, on hearing these words, would choose to fight against lean wiry dogs, rather than, with the dogs on their side, against fat and tender sheep?

That is not likely; and yet there might be a danger to the poor State if the wealth of many States were to be gathered into one.

But how simple of you to use the term State at all of any but our own!

Why so?

You ought to speak of other States in the plural number; not one of them is a city, but many cities, as they say in the game. For indeed any city, however small, is in fact divided into two, one the city of the poor, the other of the rich; these are at war with one another; and in either there are many smaller divisions, and you would be altogether beside the mark if you treated them all as a single State. But if you deal with them as many, and give the wealth or power or persons of the one to the others, you will always have a great many friends and not many enemies. And your State, while the wise order which has now been prescribed continues to prevail in her, will be the greatest of States, I do not mean to say in reputation or appearance, but in deed and truth, though she number not more than a thousand defenders. A single State which is her equal you will hardly find, either among Hellenes or barbarians, though many that appear to be as great and many times greater.

That is most true, he said.

And what, I said, will be the best limit for our rulers to fix when they are considering the size of the State and the amount of territory which they are to include, and beyond which they will not go?

What limit would you propose?

I would allow the State to increase so far as is consistent with unity; that, I think, is the proper limit.

Very good, he said.

Here then, I said, is another order which will have to be conveyed to our guardians: Let our city be accounted neither large nor small, but one and self-sufficing.

And surely, said he, this is not a very severe order which we impose upon them.

And the other, said I, of which we were speaking before is lighter still, I mean the duty of degrading the offspring of the guardians when inferior, and of elevating into the rank of guardians the offspring of the lower classes, when naturally superior. The intention was, that, in the case of the citizens generally, each individual should be put to the use for which nature which nature intended him, one to one work, and then every man would do his own business, and be one and not many; and so the whole city would be one and not many.

Yes, he said; that is not so difficult.

The regulations which we are prescribing, my good Adeimantus, are not, as might be supposed, a number of great principles, but trifles all, if care be taken, as the saying is, of the one great thing, — a thing, however, which I would rather call, not great, but sufficient for our purpose.

What may that be? he asked.

Education, I said, and nurture: If our citizens are well educated, and grow into sensible men, they will easily see their way through all these, as well as other matters which I omit; such, for example, as marriage, the possession of women and the procreation of children, which will all follow the general principle that friends have all things in common, as the proverb says.

That will be the best way of settling them.

Also, I said, the State, if once started well, moves with accumulating force like a wheel. For good nurture and education implant good constitutions, and these good constitutions taking root in a good education improve more and more, and this improvement affects the breed in man as in other animals.

Very possibly, he said.

Then to sum up: This is the point to which, above all, the attention of our rulers should be directed, — that music and gymnastic be preserved in their original form, and no innovation made. They must do their utmost to maintain them intact. And when any one says that mankind most regard

The newest song which the singers have,

they will be afraid that he may be praising, not new songs, but a new kind of song; and this ought not to be praised, or conceived to be the meaning of the poet; for any musical innovation is full of danger to the whole State, and ought to be prohibited. So Damon tells me, and I can quite believe him;-he says that when modes of music change, of the State always change with them.

Yes, said Adeimantus; and you may add my suffrage to Damon’s and your own.

Then, I said, our guardians must lay the foundations of their fortress in music?

Yes, he said; the lawlessness of which you speak too easily steals in.

Yes, I replied, in the form of amusement; and at first sight it appears harmless.

Why, yes, he said, and there is no harm; were it not that little by little this spirit of licence, finding a home, imperceptibly penetrates into manners and customs; whence, issuing with greater force, it invades contracts between man and man, and from contracts goes on to laws and constitutions, in utter recklessness, ending at last, Socrates, by an overthrow of all rights, private as well as public.

Is that true? I said.

That is my belief, he replied.

Then, as I was saying, our youth should be trained from the first in a stricter system, for if amusements become lawless, and the youths themselves become lawless, they can never grow up into well-conducted and virtuous citizens.

Very true, he said.

And when they have made a good beginning in play, and by the help of music have gained the habit of good order, then this habit of order, in a manner how unlike the lawless play of the others! will accompany them in all their actions and be a principle of growth to them, and if there be any fallen places a principle in the State will raise them up again.

Very true, he said.

Thus educated, they will invent for themselves any lesser rules which their predecessors have altogether neglected.

What do you mean?

I mean such things as these: — when the young are to be silent before their elders; how they are to show respect to them by standing and making them sit; what honour is due to parents; what garments or shoes are to be worn; the mode of dressing the hair; deportment and manners in general. You would agree with me?

Yes.

But there is, I think, small wisdom in legislating about such matters, — I doubt if it is ever done; nor are any precise written enactments about them likely to be lasting.

Impossible.

It would seem, Adeimantus, that the direction in which education starts a man, will determine his future life. Does not like always attract like?

To be sure.

Until some one rare and grand result is reached which may be good, and may be the reverse of good?

That is not to be denied.

And for this reason, I said, I shall not attempt to legislate further about them.

Naturally enough, he replied.

Well, and about the business of the agora, dealings and the ordinary dealings between man and man, or again about agreements with the commencement with artisans; about insult and injury, of the commencement of actions, and the appointment of juries, what would you say? there may also arise questions about any impositions and extractions of market and harbour dues which may be required, and in general about the regulations of markets, police, harbours, and the like. But, oh heavens! shall we condescend to legislate on any of these particulars?

I think, he said, that there is no need to impose laws about them on good men; what regulations are necessary they will find out soon enough for themselves.

Yes, I said, my friend, if God will only preserve to them the laws which we have given them.

And without divine help, said Adeimantus, they will go on for ever making and mending their laws and their lives in the hope of attaining perfection.

You would compare them, I said, to those invalids who, having no self-restraint, will not leave off their habits of intemperance?

Exactly.

Yes, I said; and what a delightful life they lead! they are always doctoring and increasing and complicating their disorders, and always fancying that they will be cured by any nostrum which anybody advises them to try.

Such cases are very common, he said, with invalids of this sort.

Yes, I replied; and the charming thing is that they deem him their worst enemy who tells them the truth, which is simply that, unless they give up eating and drinking and wenching and idling, neither drug nor cautery nor spell nor amulet nor any other remedy will avail.

Charming! he replied. I see nothing charming in going into a passion with a man who tells you what is right.

These gentlemen, I said, do not seem to be in your good graces.

Assuredly not.

Nor would you praise the behaviour of States which act like the men whom I was just now describing. For are there not ill-ordered States in which the citizens are forbidden under pain of death to alter the constitution; and yet he who most sweetly courts those who live under this regime and indulges them and fawns upon them and is skilful in anticipating and gratifying their humours is held to be a great and good statesman — do not these States resemble the persons whom I was describing?

Yes, he said; the States are as bad as the men; and I am very far from praising them.

But do you not admire, I said, the coolness and dexterity of these ready ministers of political corruption?

Yes, he said, I do; but not of all of them, for there are some whom the applause of the multitude has deluded into the belief that they are really statesmen, and these are not much to be admired.

What do you mean? I said; you should have more feeling for them. When a man cannot measure, and a great many others who cannot measure declare that he is four cubits high, can he help believing what they say?

Nay, he said, certainly not in that case.

Well, then, do not be angry with them; for are they not as good as a play, trying their hand at paltry reforms such as I was describing; they are always fancying that by legislation they will make an end of frauds in contracts, and the other rascalities which I was mentioning, not knowing that they are in reality cutting off the heads of a hydra?

Yes, he said; that is just what they are doing.

I conceive, I said, that the true legislator will not trouble himself with this class of enactments whether concerning laws or the constitution either in an ill-ordered or in a well-ordered State; for in the former they are quite useless, and in the latter there will be no difficulty in devising them; and many of them will naturally flow out of our previous regulations.

What, then, he said, is still remaining to us of the work of legislation?

Nothing to us, I replied; but to Apollo, the God of Delphi, there remains the ordering of the greatest and noblest and chiefest things of all.

Which are they? he said.

The institution of temples and sacrifices, and the entire service of gods, demigods, and heroes; also the ordering of the repositories of the dead, and the rites which have to be observed by him who would propitiate the inhabitants of the world below. These are matters of which we are ignorant ourselves, and as founders of a city we should be unwise in trusting them to any interpreter but our ancestral deity. He is the god who sits in the center, on the navel of the earth, and he is the interpreter of religion to all mankind.

You are right, and we will do as you propose.

But where, amid all this, is justice? son of Ariston, tell me where. Now that our city has been made habitable, light a candle and search, and get your brother and Polemarchus and the rest of our friends to help, and let us see where in it we can discover justice and where injustice, and in what they differ from one another, and which of them the man who would be happy should have for his portion, whether seen or unseen by gods and men.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

Nonsense, said Glaucon: did you not promise to search yourself, saying that for you not to help justice in her need would be an impiety?

I do not deny that I said so, and as you remind me, I will be as good as my word; but you must join.

We will, he replied.

Well, then, I hope to make the discovery in this way: I mean to begin with the assumption that our State, if rightly ordered, is perfect.

That is most certain.

And being perfect, is therefore wise and valiant and temperate and just.

That is likewise clear.

And whichever of these qualities we find in the State, the one which is not found will be the residue?

Very good.

If there were four things, and we were searching for one of them, wherever it might be, the one sought for might be known to us from the first, and there would be no further trouble; or we might know the other three first, and then the fourth would clearly be the one left.

Very true, he said.

And is not a similar method to be pursued about the virtues, which are also four in number?

Clearly.

First among the virtues found in the State, wisdom comes into view, and in this I detect a certain peculiarity.

What is that?

The State which we have been describing is said to be wise as being good in counsel?

Very true.

And good counsel is clearly a kind of knowledge, for not by ignorance, but by knowledge, do men counsel well?

Clearly.

And the kinds of knowledge in a State are many and diverse?

Of course.

There is the knowledge of the carpenter; but is that the sort of knowledge which gives a city the title of wise and good in counsel?

Certainly not; that would only give a city the reputation of skill in carpentering.

Then a city is not to be called wise because possessing a knowledge which counsels for the best about wooden implements?

Certainly not.

Nor by reason of a knowledge which advises about brazen pots, I said, nor as possessing any other similar knowledge?

Not by reason of any of them, he said.

Nor yet by reason of a knowledge which cultivates the earth; that would give the city the name of agricultural?

Yes.

Well, I said, and is there any knowledge in our recently founded State among any of the citizens which advises, not about any particular thing in the State, but about the whole, and considers how a State can best deal with itself and with other States?

There certainly is.

And what is knowledge, and among whom is it found? I asked.

It is the knowledge of the guardians, he replied, and found among those whom we were just now describing as perfect guardians.

And what is the name which the city derives from the possession of this sort of knowledge?

The name of good in counsel and truly wise.

And will there be in our city more of these true guardians or more smiths?

The smiths, he replied, will be far more numerous.

Will not the guardians be the smallest of all the classes who receive a name from the profession of some kind of knowledge?

Much the smallest.

And so by reason of the smallest part or class, and of the knowledge which resides in this presiding and ruling part of itself, the whole State, being thus constituted according to nature, will be wise; and this, which has the only knowledge worthy to be called wisdom, has been ordained by nature to be of all classes the least.

Most true.

Thus, then, I said, the nature and place in the State of one of the four virtues has somehow or other been discovered.

And, in my humble opinion, very satisfactorily discovered, he replied.

Again, I said, there is no difficulty in seeing the nature of courage; and in what part that quality resides which gives the name of courageous to the State.

How do you mean?

Why, I said, every one who calls any State courageous or cowardly, will be thinking of the part which fights and goes out to war on the State’s behalf.

No one, he replied, would ever think of any other.

Certainly not.

The rest of the citizens may be courageous or may be cowardly but their courage or cowardice will not, as I conceive, have the effect of making the city either the one or the other.

The city will be courageous in virtue of a portion of herself which preserves under all circumstances that opinion about the nature of things to be feared and not to be feared in which our legislator educated them; and this is what you term courage.

I should like to hear what you are saying once more, for I do not think that I perfectly understand you.

I mean that courage is a kind of salvation.

Salvation of what?

Of the opinion respecting things to be feared, what they are and of what nature, which the law implants through education; and I mean by the words ‘under all circumstances’ to intimate that in pleasure or in pain, or under the influence of desire or fear, a man preserves, and does not lose this opinion. Shall I give you an illustration?

If you please.

You know, I said, that dyers, when they want to dye wool for making the true sea-purple, begin by selecting their white colour first; this they prepare and dress with much care and pains, in order that the white ground may take the purple hue in full perfection. The dyeing then proceeds; and whatever is dyed in this manner becomes a fast colour, and no washing either with lyes or without them can take away the bloom. But, when the ground has not been duly prepared, you will have noticed how poor is the look either of purple or of any other colour.

Yes, he said; I know that they have a washed-out and ridiculous appearance.

Then now, I said, you will understand what our object was in selecting our soldiers, and educating them in music and gymnastic; we were contriving influences which would prepare them to take the dye of the laws in perfection, and the colour of their opinion about dangers and of every other opinion was to be indelibly fixed by their nurture and training, not to be washed away by such potent lyes as pleasure — mightier agent far in washing the soul than any soda or lye; or by sorrow, fear, and desire, the mightiest of all other solvents. And this sort of universal saving power of true opinion in conformity with law about real and false dangers I call and maintain to be courage, unless you disagree.

But I agree, he replied; for I suppose that you mean to exclude mere uninstructed courage, such as that of a wild beast or of a slave — this, in your opinion, is not the courage which the law ordains, and ought to have another name.

Most certainly.

Then I may infer courage to be such as you describe?

Why, yes, said I, you may, and if you add the words ‘of a citizen,’ you will not be far wrong; — hereafter, if you like, we will carry the examination further, but at present we are we w seeking not for courage but justice; and for the purpose of our enquiry we have said enough.

You are right, he replied.

Two virtues remain to be discovered in the State-first temperance, and then justice which is the end of our search.

Very true.

Now, can we find justice without troubling ourselves about temperance?

I do not know how that can be accomplished, he said, nor do I desire that justice should be brought to light and temperance lost sight of; and therefore I wish that you would do me the favour of considering temperance first.

Certainly, I replied, I should not be justified in refusing your request.

Then consider, he said.

Yes, I replied; I will; and as far as I can at present see, the virtue of temperance has more of the nature of harmony and symphony than the preceding.

How so? he asked.

Temperance, I replied, is the ordering or controlling of certain pleasures and desires; this is curiously enough implied in the saying of ‘a man being his own master’ and other traces of the same notion may be found in language.

No doubt, he said.

There is something ridiculous in the expression ‘master of himself’; for the master is also the servant and the servant the master; and in all these modes of speaking the same person is denoted.

Certainly.

The meaning is, I believe, that in the human soul there is a better and also a worse principle; and when the better has the worse under control, then a man is said to be master of himself; and this is a term of praise: but when, owing to evil education or association, the better principle, which is also the smaller, is overwhelmed by the greater mass of the worse — in this case he is blamed and is called the slave of self and unprincipled.

Yes, there is reason in that.

And now, I said, look at our newly created State, and there you will find one of these two conditions realised; for the State, as you will acknowledge, may be justly called master of itself, if the words ‘temperance’ and ‘self-mastery’ truly express the rule of the better part over the worse.

Yes, he said, I see that what you say is true.

Let me further note that the manifold and complex pleasures and desires and pains are generally found in children and women and servants, and in the freemen so called who are of the lowest and more numerous class.

Certainly, he said.

Whereas the simple and moderate desires which follow reason, and are under the guidance of mind and true opinion, are to be found only in a few, and those the best born and best educated.

Very true. These two, as you may perceive, have a place in our State; and the meaner desires of the are held down by the virtuous desires and wisdom of the few.

That I perceive, he said.

Then if there be any city which may be described as master of its own pleasures and desires, and master of itself, ours may claim such a designation?

Certainly, he replied.

It may also be called temperate, and for the same reasons?

Yes.

And if there be any State in which rulers and subjects will be agreed as to the question who are to rule, that again will be our State?

Undoubtedly.

And the citizens being thus agreed among themselves, in which class will temperance be found — in the rulers or in the subjects?

In both, as I should imagine, he replied.

Do you observe that we were not far wrong in our guess that temperance was a sort of harmony?

Why so?

Why, because temperance is unlike courage and wisdom, each of which resides in a part only, the one making the State wise and the other valiant; not so temperance, which extends to the whole, and runs through all the notes of the scale, and produces a harmony of the weaker and the stronger and the middle class, whether you suppose them to be stronger or weaker in wisdom or power or numbers or wealth, or anything else. Most truly then may we deem temperance to be the agreement of the naturally superior and inferior, as to the right to rule of either, both in states and individuals.

I entirely agree with you.

And so, I said, we may consider three out of the four virtues to have been discovered in our State. The last of those qualities which make a state virtuous must be justice, if we only knew what that was.

The inference is obvious.

The time then has arrived, Glaucon, when, like huntsmen, we should surround the cover, and look sharp that justice does not steal away, and pass out of sight and escape us; for beyond a doubt she is somewhere in this country: watch therefore and strive to catch a sight of her, and if you see her first, let me know.

Would that I could! but you should regard me rather as a follower who has just eyes enough to, see what you show him — that is about as much as I am good for.

Offer up a prayer with me and follow.

I will, but you must show me the way.

Here is no path, I said, and the wood is dark and perplexing; still we must push on.

Let us push on.

Here I saw something: Halloo! I said, I begin to perceive a track, and I believe that the quarry will not escape.

Good news, he said.

Truly, I said, we are stupid fellows.

Why so?

Why, my good sir, at the beginning of our enquiry, ages ago, there was justice tumbling out at our feet, and we never saw her; nothing could be more ridiculous. Like people who go about looking for what they have in their hands — that was the way with us — we looked not at what we were seeking, but at what was far off in the distance; and therefore, I suppose, we missed her.

What do you mean?

I mean to say that in reality for a long time past we have been talking of justice, and have failed to recognise her.

I grow impatient at the length of your exordium.

Well then, tell me, I said, whether I am right or not: You remember the original principle which we were always laying down at the foundation of the State, that one man should practise one thing only, the thing to which his nature was best adapted; — now justice is this principle or a part of it.

Yes, we often said that one man should do one thing only.

Further, we affirmed that justice was doing one’s own business, and not being a busybody; we said so again and again, and many others have said the same to us.

Yes, we said so.

Then to do one’s own business in a certain way may be assumed to be justice. Can you tell me whence I derive this inference?

I cannot, but I should like to be told.

Because I think that this is the only virtue which remains in the State when the other virtues of temperance and courage and wisdom are abstracted; and, that this is the ultimate cause and condition of the existence of all of them, and while remaining in them is also their preservative; and we were saying that if the three were discovered by us, justice would be the fourth or remaining one.

That follows of necessity.

If we are asked to determine which of these four qualities by its presence contributes most to the excellence of the State, whether the agreement of rulers and subjects, or the preservation in the soldiers of the opinion which the law ordains about the true nature of dangers, or wisdom and watchfulness in the rulers, or whether this other which I am mentioning, and which is found in children and women, slave and freeman, artisan, ruler, subject, — the quality, I mean, of every one doing his own work, and not being a busybody, would claim the palm — the question is not so easily answered.

Certainly, he replied, there would be a difficulty in saying which.

Then the power of each individual in the State to do his own work appears to compete with the other political virtues, wisdom, temperance, courage.

Yes, he said.

And the virtue which enters into this competition is justice?

Exactly.

Let us look at the question from another point of view: Are not the rulers in a State those to whom you would entrust the office of determining suits at law?

Certainly.

And are suits decided on any other ground but that a man may neither take what is another’s, nor be deprived of what is his own?

Yes; that is their principle.

Which is a just principle?

Yes.

Then on this view also justice will be admitted to be the having and doing what is a man’s own, and belongs to him?

Very true.

Think, now, and say whether you agree with me or not. Suppose a carpenter to be doing the business of a cobbler, or a cobbler of a carpenter; and suppose them to exchange their implements or their duties, or the same person to be doing the work of both, or whatever be the change; do you think that any great harm would result to the State?

Not much.

But when the cobbler or any other man whom nature designed to be a trader, having his heart lifted up by wealth or strength or the number of his followers, or any like advantage, attempts to force his way into the class of warriors, or a warrior into that of legislators and guardians, for which he is unfitted, and either to take the implements or the duties of the other; or when one man is trader, legislator, and warrior all in one, then I think you will agree with me in saying that this interchange and this meddling of one with another is the ruin of the State.

Most true.

Seeing then, I said, that there are three distinct classes, any meddling of one with another, or the change of one into another, is the greatest harm to the State, and may be most justly termed evil-doing?

Precisely.

And the greatest degree of evil-doing to one’s own city would be termed by you injustice?

Certainly.

This then is injustice; and on the other hand when the trader, the auxiliary, and the guardian each do their own business, that is justice, and will make the city just.

I agree with you.

We will not, I said, be over-positive as yet; but if, on trial, this conception of justice be verified in the individual as well as in the State, there will be no longer any room for doubt; if it be not verified, we must have a fresh enquiry. First let us complete the old investigation, which we began, as you remember, under the impression that, if we could previously examine justice on the larger scale, there would be less difficulty in discerning her in the individual. That larger example appeared to be the State, and accordingly we constructed as good a one as we could, knowing well that in the good State justice would be found. Let the discovery which we made be now applied to the individual — if they agree, we shall be satisfied; or, if there be a difference in the individual, we will come back to the State and have another trial of the theory. The friction of the two when rubbed together may possibly strike a light in which justice will shine forth, and the vision which is then revealed we will fix in our souls.

That will be in regular course; let us do as you say.

I proceeded to ask: When two things, a greater and less, are called by the same name, are they like or unlike in so far as they are called the same?

Like, he replied.

The just man then, if we regard the idea of justice only, will be like the just State?

He will.

And a State was thought by us to be just when the three classes in the State severally did their own business; and also thought to be temperate and valiant and wise by reason of certain other affections and qualities of these same classes?

True, he said.

And so of the individual; we may assume that he has the same three principles in his own soul which are found in the State; and he may be rightly described in the same terms, because he is affected in the same manner?

Certainly, he said.

Once more then, O my friend, we have alighted upon an easy question — whether the soul has these three principles or not?

An easy question! Nay, rather, Socrates, the proverb holds that hard is the good.

Very true, I said; and I do not think that the method which we are employing is at all adequate to the accurate solution of this question; the true method is another and a longer one. Still we may arrive at a solution not below the level of the previous enquiry.

May we not be satisfied with that? he said; — under the circumstances, I am quite content.

I too, I replied, shall be extremely well satisfied.

Then faint not in pursuing the speculation, he said.

Must we not acknowledge, I said, that in each of us there are the same principles and habits which there are in the State; and that from the individual they pass into the State? — how else can they come there? Take the quality of passion or spirit; — it would be ridiculous to imagine that this quality, when found in States, is not derived from the individuals who are supposed to possess it, e.g. the Thracians, Scythians, and in general the northern nations; and the same may be said of the love of knowledge, which is the special characteristic of our part of the world, or of the love of money, which may, with equal truth, be attributed to the Phoenicians and Egyptians.

Exactly so, he said.

There is no difficulty in understanding this.

None whatever.

But the question is not quite so easy when we proceed to ask whether these principles are three or one; whether, that is to say, we learn with one part of our nature, are angry with another, and with a third part desire the satisfaction of our natural appetites; or whether the whole soul comes into play in each sort of action — to determine that is the difficulty.

Yes, he said; there lies the difficulty.

Then let us now try and determine whether they are the same or different.

How can we? he asked.

I replied as follows: The same thing clearly cannot act or be acted upon in the same part or in relation to the same thing at the same time, in contrary ways; and therefore whenever this contradiction occurs in things apparently the same, we know that they are really not the same, but different.

Good.

For example, I said, can the same thing be at rest and in motion at the same time in the same part?

Impossible.

Still, I said, let us have a more precise statement of terms, lest we should hereafter fall out by the way. Imagine the case of a man who is standing and also moving his hands and his head, and suppose a person to say that one and the same person is in motion and at rest at the same moment-to such a mode of speech we should object, and should rather say that one part of him is in motion while another is at rest.

Very true.

And suppose the objector to refine still further, and to draw the nice distinction that not only parts of tops, but whole tops, when they spin round with their pegs fixed on the spot, are at rest and in motion at the same time (and he may say the same of anything which revolves in the same spot), his objection would not be admitted by us, because in such cases things are not at rest and in motion in the same parts of themselves; we should rather say that they have both an axis and a circumference, and that the axis stands still, for there is no deviation from the perpendicular; and that the circumference goes round. But if, while revolving, the axis inclines either to the right or left, forwards or backwards, then in no point of view can they be at rest.

That is the correct mode of describing them, he replied.

Then none of these objections will confuse us, or incline us to believe that the same thing at the same time, in the same part or in relation to the same thing, can act or be acted upon in contrary ways.

Certainly not, according to my way of thinking.

Yet, I said, that we may not be compelled to examine all such objections, and prove at length that they are untrue, let us assume their absurdity, and go forward on the understanding that hereafter, if this assumption turn out to be untrue, all the consequences which follow shall be withdrawn.

Yes, he said, that will be the best way.

Well, I said, would you not allow that assent and dissent, desire and aversion, attraction and repulsion, are all of them opposites, whether they are regarded as active or passive (for that makes no difference in the fact of their opposition)?

Yes, he said, they are opposites.

Well, I said, and hunger and thirst, and the desires in general, and again willing and wishing, — all these you would refer to the classes already mentioned. You would say — would you not? — that the soul of him who desires is seeking after the object of his desires; or that he is drawing to himself the thing which he wishes to possess: or again, when a person wants anything to be given him, his mind, longing for the realisation of his desires, intimates his wish to have it by a nod of assent, as if he had been asked a question?

Very true.

And what would you say of unwillingness and dislike and the absence of desire; should not these be referred to the opposite class of repulsion and rejection?

Certainly.

Admitting this to be true of desire generally, let us suppose a particular class of desires, and out of these we will select hunger and thirst, as they are termed, which are the most obvious of them?

Let us take that class, he said.

The object of one is food, and of the other drink?

Yes.

And here comes the point: is not thirst the desire which the soul has of drink, and of drink only; not of drink qualified by anything else; for example, warm or cold, or much or little, or, in a word, drink of any particular sort: but if the thirst be accompanied by heat, then the desire is of cold drink; or, if accompanied by cold, then of warm drink; or, if the thirst be excessive, then the drink which is desired will be excessive; or, if not great, the quantity of drink will also be small: but thirst pure and simple will desire drink pure and simple, which is the natural satisfaction of thirst, as food is of hunger?

Yes, he said; the simple desire is, as you say, in every case of the simple object, and the qualified desire of the qualified object.

But here a confusion may arise; and I should wish to guard against an opponent starting up and saying that no man desires drink only, but good drink, or food only, but good food; for good is the universal object of desire, and thirst being a desire, will necessarily be thirst after good drink; and the same is true of every other desire.

Yes, he replied, the opponent might have something to say.

Nevertheless I should still maintain, that of relatives some have a quality attached to either term of the relation; others are simple and have their correlatives simple.

I do not know what you mean.

Well, you know of course that the greater is relative to the less?

Certainly.

And the much greater to the much less?

Yes.

And the sometime greater to the sometime less, and the greater that is to be to the less that is to be?

Certainly, he said.

And so of more and less, and of other correlative terms, such as the double and the half, or again, the heavier and the lighter, the swifter and the slower; and of hot and cold, and of any other relatives; — is not this true of all of them?

Yes.

And does not the same principle hold in the sciences? The object of science is knowledge (assuming that to be the true definition), but the object of a particular science is a particular kind of knowledge; I mean, for example, that the science of house-building is a kind of knowledge which is defined and distinguished from other kinds and is therefore termed architecture.

Certainly.

Because it has a particular quality which no other has?

Yes.

And it has this particular quality because it has an object of a particular kind; and this is true of the other arts and sciences?

Yes.

Now, then, if I have made myself clear, you will understand my original meaning in what I said about relatives. My meaning was, that if one term of a relation is taken alone, the other is taken alone; if one term is qualified, the other is also qualified. I do not mean to say that relatives may not be disparate, or that the science of health is healthy, or of disease necessarily diseased, or that the sciences of good and evil are therefore good and evil; but only that, when the term science is no longer used absolutely, but has a qualified object which in this case is the nature of health and disease, it becomes defined, and is hence called not merely science, but the science of medicine.

I quite understand, and I think as you do.

Would you not say that thirst is one of these essentially relative terms, having clearly a relation —

Yes, thirst is relative to drink.

And a certain kind of thirst is relative to a certain kind of drink; but thirst taken alone is neither of much nor little, nor of good nor bad, nor of any particular kind of drink, but of drink only?

Certainly.

Then the soul of the thirsty one, in so far as he is thirsty, desires only drink; for this he yearns and tries to obtain it?

That is plain.

And if you suppose something which pulls a thirsty soul away from drink, that must be different from the thirsty principle which draws him like a beast to drink; for, as we were saying, the same thing cannot at the same time with the same part of itself act in contrary ways about the same.

Impossible.

No more than you can say that the hands of the archer push and pull the bow at the same time, but what you say is that one hand pushes and the other pulls.

Exactly so, he replied.

And might a man be thirsty, and yet unwilling to drink?

Yes, he said, it constantly happens.

And in such a case what is one to say? Would you not say that there was something in the soul bidding a man to drink, and something else forbidding him, which is other and stronger than the principle which bids him?

I should say so.

And the forbidding principle is derived from reason, and that which bids and attracts proceeds from passion and disease?

Clearly.

Then we may fairly assume that they are two, and that they differ from one another; the one with which man reasons, we may call the rational principle of the soul, the other, with which he loves and hungers and thirsts and feels the flutterings of any other desire, may be termed the irrational or appetitive, the ally of sundry pleasures and satisfactions?

Yes, he said, we may fairly assume them to be different.

Then let us finally determine that there are two principles existing in the soul. And what of passion, or spirit? Is it a third, or akin to one of the preceding?

I should be inclined to say — akin to desire.

Well, I said, there is a story which I remember to have heard, and in which I put faith. The story is, that Leontius, the son of Aglaion, coming up one day from the Piraeus, under the north wall on the outside, observed some dead bodies lying on the ground at the place of execution. He felt a desire to see them, and also a dread and abhorrence of them; for a time he struggled and covered his eyes, but at length the desire got the better of him; and forcing them open, he ran up to the dead bodies, saying, Look, ye wretches, take your fill of the fair sight.

I have heard the story myself, he said.

The moral of the tale is, that anger at times goes to war with desire, as though they were two distinct things.

Yes; that is the meaning, he said.

And are there not many other cases in which we observe that when a man’s desires violently prevail over his reason, he reviles himself, and is angry at the violence within him, and that in this struggle, which is like the struggle of factions in a State, his spirit is on the side of his reason; — but for the passionate or spirited element to take part with the desires when reason that she should not be opposed, is a sort of thing which thing which I believe that you never observed occurring in yourself, nor, as I should imagine, in any one else?

Certainly not.

Suppose that a man thinks he has done a wrong to another, the nobler he is the less able is he to feel indignant at any suffering, such as hunger, or cold, or any other pain which the injured person may inflict upon him — these he deems to be just, and, as I say, his anger refuses to be excited by them.

True, he said.

But when he thinks that he is the sufferer of the wrong, then he boils and chafes, and is on the side of what he believes to be justice; and because he suffers hunger or cold or other pain he is only the more determined to persevere and conquer. His noble spirit will not be quelled until he either slays or is slain; or until he hears the voice of the shepherd, that is, reason, bidding his dog bark no more.

The illustration is perfect, he replied; and in our State, as we were saying, the auxiliaries were to be dogs, and to hear the voice of the rulers, who are their shepherds.

I perceive, I said, that you quite understand me; there is, however, a further point which I wish you to consider.

What point?

You remember that passion or spirit appeared at first sight to be a kind of desire, but now we should say quite the contrary; for in the conflict of the soul spirit is arrayed on the side of the rational principle.

Most assuredly.

But a further question arises: Is passion different from reason also, or only a kind of reason; in which latter case, instead of three principles in the soul, there will only be two, the rational and the concupiscent; or rather, as the State was composed of three classes, traders, auxiliaries, counsellors, so may there not be in the individual soul a third element which is passion or spirit, and when not corrupted by bad education is the natural auxiliary of reason

Yes, he said, there must be a third.

Yes, I replied, if passion, which has already been shown to be different from desire, turn out also to be different from reason.

But that is easily proved: — We may observe even in young children that they are full of spirit almost as soon as they are born, whereas some of them never seem to attain to the use of reason, and most of them late enough.

Excellent, I said, and you may see passion equally in brute animals, which is a further proof of the truth of what you are saying. And we may once more appeal to the words of Homer, which have been already quoted by us,

He smote his breast, and thus rebuked his soul,

for in this verse Homer has clearly supposed the power which reasons about the better and worse to be different from the unreasoning anger which is rebuked by it.

Very true, he said.

And so, after much tossing, we have reached land, and are fairly agreed that the same principles which exist in the State exist also in the individual, and that they are three in number.

Exactly.

Must we not then infer that the individual is wise in the same way, and in virtue of the same quality which makes the State wise?

Certainly.

Also that the same quality which constitutes courage in the State constitutes courage in the individual, and that both the State and the individual bear the same relation to all the other virtues?

Assuredly.

And the individual will be acknowledged by us to be just in the same way in which the State is just?

That follows, of course.

We cannot but remember that the justice of the State consisted in each of the three classes doing the work of its own class?

We are not very likely to have forgotten, he said.

We must recollect that the individual in whom the several qualities of his nature do their own work will be just, and will do his own work?

Yes, he said, we must remember that too.

And ought not the rational principle, which is wise, and has the care of the whole soul, to rule, and the passionate or spirited principle to be the subject and ally?

Certainly.

And, as we were saying, the united influence of music and gymnastic will bring them into accord, nerving and sustaining the reason with noble words and lessons, and moderating and soothing and civilizing the wildness of passion by harmony and rhythm?

Quite true, he said.

And these two, thus nurtured and educated, and having learned truly to know their own functions, will rule over the concupiscent, which in each of us is the largest part of the soul and by nature most insatiable of gain; over this they will keep guard, lest, waxing great and strong with the fulness of bodily pleasures, as they are termed, the concupiscent soul, no longer confined to her own sphere, should attempt to enslave and rule those who are not her natural-born subjects, and overturn the whole life of man?

Very true, he said.

Both together will they not be the best defenders of the whole soul and the whole body against attacks from without; the one counselling, and the other fighting under his leader, and courageously executing his commands and counsels?

True.

And he is to be deemed courageous whose spirit retains in pleasure and in pain the commands of reason about what he ought or ought not to fear?

Right, he replied.

And him we call wise who has in him that little part which rules, and which proclaims these commands; that part too being supposed to have a knowledge of what is for the interest of each of the three parts and of the whole?

Assuredly.

And would you not say that he is temperate who has these same elements in friendly harmony, in whom the one ruling principle of reason, and the two subject ones of spirit and desire are equally agreed that reason ought to rule, and do not rebel?

Certainly, he said, that is the true account of temperance whether in the State or individual.

And surely, I said, we have explained again and again how and by virtue of what quality a man will be just.

That is very certain.

And is justice dimmer in the individual, and is her form different, or is she the same which we found her to be in the State?

There is no difference in my opinion, he said.

Because, if any doubt is still lingering in our minds, a few commonplace instances will satisfy us of the truth of what I am saying.

What sort of instances do you mean?

If the case is put to us, must we not admit that the just State, or the man who is trained in the principles of such a State, will be less likely than the unjust to make away with a deposit of gold or silver? Would any one deny this?

No one, he replied.

Will the just man or citizen ever be guilty of sacrilege or theft, or treachery either to his friends or to his country?

Never.

Neither will he ever break faith where there have been oaths or agreements?

Impossible.

No one will be less likely to commit adultery, or to dishonour his father and mother, or to fall in his religious duties?

No one.

And the reason is that each part of him is doing its own business, whether in ruling or being ruled?

Exactly so.

Are you satisfied then that the quality which makes such men and such states is justice, or do you hope to discover some other?

Not I, indeed.

Then our dream has been realised; and the suspicion which we entertained at the beginning of our work of construction, that some divine power must have conducted us to a primary form of justice, has now been verified?

Yes, certainly.

And the division of labour which required the carpenter and the shoemaker and the rest of the citizens to be doing each his own business, and not another’s, was a shadow of justice, and for that reason it was of use?

Clearly.

But in reality justice was such as we were describing, being concerned however, not with the outward man, but with the inward, which is the true self and concernment of man: for the just man does not permit the several elements within him to interfere with one another, or any of them to do the work of others, — he sets in order his own inner life, and is his own master and his own law, and at peace with himself; and when he has bound together the three principles within him, which may be compared to the higher, lower, and middle notes of the scale, and the intermediate intervals — when he has bound all these together, and is no longer many, but has become one entirely temperate and perfectly adjusted nature, then he proceeds to act, if he has to act, whether in a matter of property, or in the treatment of the body, or in some affair of politics or private business; always thinking and calling that which preserves and co-operates with this harmonious condition, just and good action, and the knowledge which presides over it, wisdom, and that which at any time impairs this condition, he will call unjust action, and the opinion which presides over it ignorance.

You have said the exact truth, Socrates.

Very good; and if we were to affirm that we had discovered the just man and the just State, and the nature of justice in each of them, we should not be telling a falsehood?

Most certainly not.

May we say so, then?

Let us say so.

And now, I said, injustice has to be considered.

Clearly.

Must not injustice be a strife which arises among the three principles — a meddlesomeness, and interference, and rising up of a part of the soul against the whole, an assertion of unlawful authority, which is made by a rebellious subject against a true prince, of whom he is the natural vassal, — what is all this confusion and delusion but injustice, and intemperance and cowardice and ignorance, and every form of vice?

Exactly so.

And if the nature of justice and injustice be known, then the meaning of acting unjustly and being unjust, or, again, of acting justly, will also be perfectly clear?

What do you mean? he said.

Why, I said, they are like disease and health; being in the soul just what disease and health are in the body.

How so? he said.

Why, I said, that which is healthy causes health, and that which is unhealthy causes disease.

Yes.

And just actions cause justice, and unjust actions cause injustice?

That is certain.

And the creation of health is the institution of a natural order and government of one by another in the parts of the body; and the creation of disease is the production of a state of things at variance with this natural order?

True.

And is not the creation of justice the institution of a natural order and government of one by another in the parts of the soul, and the creation of injustice the production of a state of things at variance with the natural order?

Exactly so, he said.

Then virtue is the health and beauty and well-being of the soul, and vice the disease and weakness and deformity of the same?

True.

And do not good practices lead to virtue, and evil practices to vice?

Assuredly.

Still our old question of the comparative advantage of justice and injustice has not been answered: Which is the more profitable, to be just and act justly and practise virtue, whether seen or unseen of gods and men, or to be unjust and act unjustly, if only unpunished and unreformed?

In my judgment, Socrates, the question has now become ridiculous. We know that, when the bodily constitution is gone, life is no longer endurable, though pampered with all kinds of meats and drinks, and having all wealth and all power; and shall we be told that when the very essence of the vital principle is undermined and corrupted, life is still worth having to a man, if only he be allowed to do whatever he likes with the single exception that he is not to acquire justice and virtue, or to escape from injustice and vice; assuming them both to be such as we have described?

Yes, I said, the question is, as you say, ridiculous. Still, as we are near the spot at which we may see the truth in the clearest manner with our own eyes, let us not faint by the way.

Certainly not, he replied.

Come up hither, I said, and behold the various forms of vice, those of them, I mean, which are worth looking at.

I am following you, he replied: proceed.

I said, The argument seems to have reached a height from which, as from some tower of speculation, a man may look down and see that virtue is one, but that the forms of vice are innumerable; there being four special ones which are deserving of note.

What do you mean? he said.

I mean, I replied, that there appear to be as many forms of the soul as there are distinct forms of the State.

How many?

There are five of the State, and five of the soul, I said.

What are they?

The first, I said, is that which we have been describing, and which may be said to have two names, monarchy and aristocracy, accordingly as rule is exercised by one distinguished man or by many.

True, he replied.

But I regard the two names as describing one form only; for whether the government is in the hands of one or many, if the governors have been trained in the manner which we have supposed, the fundamental laws of the State will be maintained.

That is true, he replied.

BOOK V

SOCRATES - GLAUCON - ADEIMANTUS

SUCH is the good and true City or State, and the good and man is of the same pattern; and if this is right every other is wrong; and the evil is one which affects not only the ordering of the State, but also the regulation of the individual soul, and is exhibited in four forms.

What are they? he said.

I was proceeding to tell the order in which the four evil forms appeared to me to succeed one another, when Pole marchus, who was sitting a little way off, just beyond Adeimantus, began to whisper to him: stretching forth his hand, he took hold of the upper part of his coat by the shoulder, and drew him towards him, leaning forward himself so as to be quite close and saying something in his ear, of which I only caught the words, ‘Shall we let him off, or what shall we do?’

Certainly not, said Adeimantus, raising his voice.

Who is it, I said, whom you are refusing to let off?

You, he said.

I repeated, Why am I especially not to be let off?

Why, he said, we think that you are lazy, and mean to cheat us out of a whole chapter which is a very important part of the story; and you fancy that we shall not notice your airy way of proceeding; as if it were self-evident to everybody, that in the matter of women and children ‘friends have all things in common.’

And was I not right, Adeimantus?

Yes, he said; but what is right in this particular case, like everything else, requires to be explained; for community may be of many kinds. Please, therefore, to say what sort of community you mean. We have been long expecting that you would tell us something about the family life of your citizens — how they will bring children into the world, and rear them when they have arrived, and, in general, what is the nature of this community of women and children-for we are of opinion that the right or wrong management of such matters will have a great and paramount influence on the State for good or for evil. And now, since the question is still undetermined, and you are taking in hand another State, we have resolved, as you heard, not to let you go until you give an account of all this.

To that resolution, said Glaucon, you may regard me as saying Agreed.

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS - GLAUCON - THRASYMACHUS

And without more ado, said Thrasymachus, you may consider us all to be equally agreed.

I said, You know not what you are doing in thus assailing me: What an argument are you raising about the State! Just as I thought that I had finished, and was only too glad that I had laid this question to sleep, and was reflecting how fortunate I was in your acceptance of what I then said, you ask me to begin again at the very foundation, ignorant of what a hornet’s nest of words you are stirring. Now I foresaw this gathering trouble, and avoided it.

For what purpose do you conceive that we have come here, said
Thrasymachus, — to look for gold, or to hear discourse?

Yes, but discourse should have a limit.

Yes, Socrates, said Glaucon, and the whole of life is the only limit which wise men assign to the hearing of such discourses. But never mind about us; take heart yourself and answer the question in your own way: What sort of community of women and children is this which is to prevail among our guardians? and how shall we manage the period between birth and education, which seems to require the greatest care? Tell us how these things will be.

Yes, my simple friend, but the answer is the reverse of easy; many more doubts arise about this than about our previous conclusions. For the practicability of what is said may be doubted; and looked at in another point of view, whether the scheme, if ever so practicable, would be for the best, is also doubtful. Hence I feel a reluctance to approach the subject, lest our aspiration, my dear friend, should turn out to be a dream only.

Fear not, he replied, for your audience will not be hard upon you; they are not sceptical or hostile.

I said: My good friend, I suppose that you mean to encourage me by these words.

Yes, he said.

Then let me tell you that you are doing just the reverse; the encouragement which you offer would have been all very well had I myself believed that I knew what I was talking about: to declare the truth about matters of high interest which a man honours and loves among wise men who love him need occasion no fear or faltering in his mind; but to carry on an argument when you are yourself only a hesitating enquirer, which is my condition, is a dangerous and slippery thing; and the danger is not that I shall be laughed at (of which the fear would be childish), but that I shall miss the truth where I have most need to be sure of my footing, and drag my friends after me in my fall. And I pray Nemesis not to visit upon me the words which I am going to utter. For I do indeed believe that to be an involuntary homicide is a less crime than to be a deceiver about beauty or goodness or justice in the matter of laws. And that is a risk which I would rather run among enemies than among friends, and therefore you do well to encourage me.

Glaucon laughed and said: Well then, Socrates, in case you and your argument do us any serious injury you shall be acquitted beforehand of the and shall not be held to be a deceiver; take courage then and speak.

Well, I said, the law says that when a man is acquitted he is free from guilt, and what holds at law may hold in argument.

Then why should you mind?

Well, I replied, I suppose that I must retrace my steps and say what I perhaps ought to have said before in the proper place. The part of the men has been played out, and now properly enough comes the turn of the women. Of them I will proceed to speak, and the more readily since I am invited by you.

For men born and educated like our citizens, the only way, in my opinion, of arriving at a right conclusion about the possession and use of women and children is to follow the path on which we originally started, when we said that the men were to be the guardians and watchdogs of the herd.

True.

Let us further suppose the birth and education of our women to be subject to similar or nearly similar regulations; then we shall see whether the result accords with our design.

What do you mean?

What I mean may be put into the form of a question, I said: Are dogs divided into hes and shes, or do they both share equally in hunting and in keeping watch and in the other duties of dogs? or do we entrust to the males the entire and exclusive care of the flocks, while we leave the females at home, under the idea that the bearing and suckling their puppies is labour enough for them?

No, he said, they share alike; the only difference between them is that the males are stronger and the females weaker.

But can you use different animals for the same purpose, unless they are bred and fed in the same way?

You cannot.

Then, if women are to have the same duties as men, they must have the same nurture and education?

Yes.

The education which was assigned to the men was music and gymnastic.
Yes.

Then women must be taught music and gymnastic and also the art of war, which they must practise like the men?

That is the inference, I suppose.

I should rather expect, I said, that several of our proposals, if they are carried out, being unusual, may appear ridiculous.

No doubt of it.

Yes, and the most ridiculous thing of all will be the sight of women naked in the palaestra, exercising with the men, especially when they are no longer young; they certainly will not be a vision of beauty, any more than the enthusiastic old men who in spite of wrinkles and ugliness continue to frequent the gymnasia.

Yes, indeed, he said: according to present notions the proposal would be thought ridiculous.

But then, I said, as we have determined to speak our minds, we must not fear the jests of the wits which will be directed against this sort of innovation; how they will talk of women’s attainments both in music and gymnastic, and above all about their wearing armour and riding upon horseback!

Very true, he replied.

Yet having begun we must go forward to the rough places of the law; at the same time begging of these gentlemen for once in their life to be serious. Not long ago, as we shall remind them, the Hellenes were of the opinion, which is still generally received among the barbarians, that the sight of a naked man was ridiculous and improper; and when first the Cretans and then the Lacedaemonians introduced the custom, the wits of that day might equally have ridiculed the innovation.

No doubt.

But when experience showed that to let all things be uncovered was far better than to cover them up, and the ludicrous effect to the outward eye vanished before the better principle which reason asserted, then the man was perceived to be a fool who directs the shafts of his ridicule at any other sight but that of folly and vice, or seriously inclines to weigh the beautiful by any other standard but that of the good.

Very true, he replied.

First, then, whether the question is to be put in jest or in earnest, let us come to an understanding about the nature of woman: Is she capable of sharing either wholly or partially in the actions of men, or not at all? And is the art of war one of those arts in which she can or can not share? That will be the best way of commencing the enquiry, and will probably lead to the fairest conclusion.

That will be much the best way.

Shall we take the other side first and begin by arguing against ourselves; in this manner the adversary’s position will not be undefended.

Why not? he said.

Then let us put a speech into the mouths of our opponents. They will say: ‘Socrates and Glaucon, no adversary need convict you, for you yourselves, at the first foundation of the State, admitted the principle that everybody was to do the one work suited to his own nature.’ And certainly, if I am not mistaken, such an admission was made by us. ‘And do not the natures of men and women differ very much indeed?’ And we shall reply: Of course they do. Then we shall be asked, ‘Whether the tasks assigned to men and to women should not be different, and such as are agreeable to their different natures?’ Certainly they should. ‘But if so, have you not fallen into a serious inconsistency in saying that men and women, whose natures are so entirely different, ought to perform the same actions?’ — What defence will you make for us, my good Sir, against any one who offers these objections?

That is not an easy question to answer when asked suddenly; and I shall and I do beg of you to draw out the case on our side.

These are the objections, Glaucon, and there are many others of a like kind, which I foresaw long ago; they made me afraid and reluctant to take in hand any law about the possession and nurture of women and children.

By Zeus, he said, the problem to be solved is anything but easy.

Why yes, I said, but the fact is that when a man is out of his depth, whether he has fallen into a little swimming bath or into mid-ocean, he has to swim all the same.

Very true.

And must not we swim and try to reach the shore: we will hope that
Arion’s dolphin or some other miraculous help may save us?

I suppose so, he said.

Well then, let us see if any way of escape can be found. We acknowledged — did we not? that different natures ought to have different pursuits, and that men’s and women’s natures are different. And now what are we saying? — that different natures ought to have the same pursuits, — this is the inconsistency which is charged upon us.

Precisely.

Verily, Glaucon, I said, glorious is the power of the art of contradiction!

Why do you say so?

Because I think that many a man falls into the practice against his will. When he thinks that he is reasoning he is really disputing, just because he cannot define and divide, and so know that of which he is speaking; and he will pursue a merely verbal opposition in the spirit of contention and not of fair discussion.

Yes, he replied, such is very often the case; but what has that to do with us and our argument?

A great deal; for there is certainly a danger of our getting unintentionally into a verbal opposition.

In what way?

Why, we valiantly and pugnaciously insist upon the verbal truth, that different natures ought to have different pursuits, but we never considered at all what was the meaning of sameness or difference of nature, or why we distinguished them when we assigned different pursuits to different natures and the same to the same natures.

Why, no, he said, that was never considered by us.

I said: Suppose that by way of illustration we were to ask the question whether there is not an opposition in nature between bald men and hairy men; and if this is admitted by us, then, if bald men are cobblers, we should forbid the hairy men to be cobblers, and conversely?

That would be a jest, he said.

Yes, I said, a jest; and why? because we never meant when we constructed the State, that the opposition of natures should extend to every difference, but only to those differences which affected the pursuit in which the individual is engaged; we should have argued, for example, that a physician and one who is in mind a physician may be said to have the same nature.

True.

Whereas the physician and the carpenter have different natures?

Certainly.

And if, I said, the male and female sex appear to differ in their fitness for any art or pursuit, we should say that such pursuit or art ought to be assigned to one or the other of them; but if the difference consists only in women bearing and men begetting children, this does not amount to a proof that a woman differs from a man in respect of the sort of education she should receive; and we shall therefore continue to maintain that our guardians and their wives ought to have the same pursuits.

Very true, he said.

Next, we shall ask our opponent how, in reference to any of the pursuits or arts of civic life, the nature of a woman differs from that of a man?

That will be quite fair.

And perhaps he, like yourself, will reply that to give a sufficient answer on the instant is not easy; but after a little reflection there is no difficulty.

Yes, perhaps.

Suppose then that we invite him to accompany us in the argument, and then we may hope to show him that there is nothing peculiar in the constitution of women which would affect them in the administration of the State.

By all means.

Let us say to him: Come now, and we will ask you a question: — when you spoke of a nature gifted or not gifted in any respect, did you mean to say that one man will acquire a thing easily, another with difficulty; a little learning will lead the one to discover a great deal; whereas the other, after much study and application, no sooner learns than he forgets; or again, did you mean, that the one has a body which is a good servant to his mind, while the body of the other is a hindrance to him?-would not these be the sort of differences which distinguish the man gifted by nature from the one who is ungifted?

No one will deny that.

And can you mention any pursuit of mankind in which the male sex has not all these gifts and qualities in a higher degree than the female? Need I waste time in speaking of the art of weaving, and the management of pancakes and preserves, in which womankind does really appear to be great, and in which for her to be beaten by a man is of all things the most absurd?

You are quite right, he replied, in maintaining the general inferiority of the female sex: although many women are in many things superior to many men, yet on the whole what you say is true.

And if so, my friend, I said, there is no special faculty of administration in a state which a woman has because she is a woman, or which a man has by virtue of his sex, but the gifts of nature are alike diffused in both; all the pursuits of men are the pursuits of women also, but in all of them a woman is inferior to a man.

Very true.

Then are we to impose all our enactments on men and none of them on women?

That will never do.

One woman has a gift of healing, another not; one is a musician, and another has no music in her nature?

Very true.

And one woman has a turn for gymnastic and military exercises, and another is unwarlike and hates gymnastics?

Certainly.

And one woman is a philosopher, and another is an enemy of philosophy; one has spirit, and another is without spirit?

That is also true.

Then one woman will have the temper of a guardian, and another not. Was not the selection of the male guardians determined by differences of this sort?

Yes.

Men and women alike possess the qualities which make a guardian; they differ only in their comparative strength or weakness.

Obviously.

And those women who have such qualities are to be selected as the companions and colleagues of men who have similar qualities and whom they resemble in capacity and in character?

Very true.

And ought not the same natures to have the same pursuits?

They ought.

Then, as we were saying before, there is nothing unnatural in assigning music and gymnastic to the wives of the guardians — to that point we come round again.

Certainly not.

The law which we then enacted was agreeable to nature, and therefore not an impossibility or mere aspiration; and the contrary practice, which prevails at present, is in reality a violation of nature.

That appears to be true.

We had to consider, first, whether our proposals were possible, and secondly whether they were the most beneficial?

Yes.

And the possibility has been acknowledged?

Yes.

The very great benefit has next to be established?

Quite so.

You will admit that the same education which makes a man a good guardian will make a woman a good guardian; for their original nature is the same?

Yes.

I should like to ask you a question.

What is it?

Would you say that all men are equal in excellence, or is one man better than another?

The latter.

And in the commonwealth which we were founding do you conceive the guardians who have been brought up on our model system to be more perfect men, or the cobblers whose education has been cobbling?

What a ridiculous question!

You have answered me, I replied: Well, and may we not further say that our guardians are the best of our citizens?

By far the best.

And will not their wives be the best women?

Yes, by far the best.

And can there be anything better for the interests of the State than that the men and women of a State should be as good as possible?

There can be nothing better.

And this is what the arts of music and gymnastic, when present in such manner as we have described, will accomplish?

Certainly.

Then we have made an enactment not only possible but in the highest degree beneficial to the State?

True.

Then let the wives of our guardians strip, for their virtue will be their robe, and let them share in the toils of war and the defence of their country; only in the distribution of labours the lighter are to be assigned to the women, who are the weaker natures, but in other respects their duties are to be the same. And as for the man who laughs at naked women exercising their bodies from the best of motives, in his laughter he is plucking

A fruit of unripe wisdom,

and he himself is ignorant of what he is laughing at, or what he is about; — for that is, and ever will be, the best of sayings, That the useful is the noble and the hurtful is the base.

Very true.

Here, then, is one difficulty in our law about women, which we may say that we have now escaped; the wave has not swallowed us up alive for enacting that the guardians of either sex should have all their pursuits in common; to the utility and also to the possibility of this arrangement the consistency of the argument with itself bears witness.

Yes, that was a mighty wave which you have escaped.

Yes, I said, but a greater is coming; you will of this when you see the next.

Go on; let me see.

The law, I said, which is the sequel of this and of all that has preceded, is to the following effect,— ‘that the wives of our guardians are to be common, and their children are to be common, and no parent is to know his own child, nor any child his parent.’

Yes, he said, that is a much greater wave than the other; and the possibility as well as the utility of such a law are far more questionable.

I do not think, I said, that there can be any dispute about the very great utility of having wives and children in common; the possibility is quite another matter, and will be very much disputed.

I think that a good many doubts may be raised about both.

You imply that the two questions must be combined, I replied. Now I meant that you should admit the utility; and in this way, as I thought; I should escape from one of them, and then there would remain only the possibility.

But that little attempt is detected, and therefore you will please to give a defence of both.

Well, I said, I submit to my fate. Yet grant me a little favour: let me feast my mind with the dream as day dreamers are in the habit of feasting themselves when they are walking alone; for before they have discovered any means of effecting their wishes — that is a matter which never troubles them — they would rather not tire themselves by thinking about possibilities; but assuming that what they desire is already granted to them, they proceed with their plan, and delight in detailing what they mean to do when their wish has come true — that is a way which they have of not doing much good to a capacity which was never good for much. Now I myself am beginning to lose heart, and I should like, with your permission, to pass over the question of possibility at present. Assuming therefore the possibility of the proposal, I shall now proceed to enquire how the rulers will carry out these arrangements, and I shall demonstrate that our plan, if executed, will be of the greatest benefit to the State and to the guardians. First of all, then, if you have no objection, I will endeavour with your help to consider the advantages of the measure; and hereafter the question of possibility.

I have no objection; proceed.

First, I think that if our rulers and their auxiliaries are to be worthy of the name which they bear, there must be willingness to obey in the one and the power of command in the other; the guardians must themselves obey the laws, and they must also imitate the spirit of them in any details which are entrusted to their care.

That is right, he said.

You, I said, who are their legislator, having selected the men, will now select the women and give them to them; — they must be as far as possible of like natures with them; and they must live in common houses and meet at common meals, None of them will have anything specially his or her own; they will be together, and will be brought up together, and will associate at gymnastic exercises. And so they will be drawn by a necessity of their natures to have intercourse with each other — necessity is not too strong a word, I think?

Yes, he said; — necessity, not geometrical, but another sort of necessity which lovers know, and which is far more convincing and constraining to the mass of mankind.

True, I said; and this, Glaucon, like all the rest, must proceed after an orderly fashion; in a city of the blessed, licentiousness is an unholy thing which the rulers will forbid.

Yes, he said, and it ought not to be permitted.

Then clearly the next thing will be to make matrimony sacred in the highest degree, and what is most beneficial will be deemed sacred?

Exactly.

And how can marriages be made most beneficial? — that is a question which I put to you, because I see in your house dogs for hunting, and of the nobler sort of birds not a few. Now, I beseech you, do tell me, have you ever attended to their pairing and breeding?

In what particulars?

Why, in the first place, although they are all of a good sort, are not some better than others?

True.

And do you breed from them all indifferently, or do you take care to breed from the best only?

From the best.

And do you take the oldest or the youngest, or only those of ripe age?

I choose only those of ripe age.

And if care was not taken in the breeding, your dogs and birds would greatly deteriorate?

Certainly.

And the same of horses and animals in general?

Undoubtedly.

Good heavens! my dear friend, I said, what consummate skill will our rulers need if the same principle holds of the human species!

Certainly, the same principle holds; but why does this involve any particular skill?

Because, I said, our rulers will often have to practise upon the body corporate with medicines. Now you know that when patients do not require medicines, but have only to be put under a regimen, the inferior sort of practitioner is deemed to be good enough; but when medicine has to be given, then the doctor should be more of a man.

That is quite true, he said; but to what are you alluding?

I mean, I replied, that our rulers will find a considerable dose of falsehood and deceit necessary for the good of their subjects: we were saying that the use of all these things regarded as medicines might be of advantage.

And we were very right.

And this lawful use of them seems likely to be often needed in the regulations of marriages and births.

How so?

Why, I said, the principle has been already laid down that the best of either sex should be united with the best as often, and the inferior with the inferior, as seldom as possible; and that they should rear the offspring of the one sort of union, but not of the other, if the flock is to be maintained in first-rate condition. Now these goings on must be a secret which the rulers only know, or there will be a further danger of our herd, as the guardians may be termed, breaking out into rebellion.

Very true.

Had we not better appoint certain festivals at which we will bring together the brides and bridegrooms, and sacrifices will be offered and suitable hymeneal songs composed by our poets: the number of weddings is a matter which must be left to the discretion of the rulers, whose aim will be to preserve the average of population? There are many other things which they will have to consider, such as the effects of wars and diseases and any similar agencies, in order as far as this is possible to prevent the State from becoming either too large or too small.

Certainly, he replied.

We shall have to invent some ingenious kind of lots which the less worthy may draw on each occasion of our bringing them together, and then they will accuse their own ill-luck and not the rulers.

To be sure, he said.

And I think that our braver and better youth, besides their other honours and rewards, might have greater facilities of intercourse with women given them; their bravery will be a reason, and such fathers ought to have as many sons as possible.

True.

And the proper officers, whether male or female or both, for offices are to be held by women as well as by men —

Yes —

The proper officers will take the offspring of the good parents to the pen or fold, and there they will deposit them with certain nurses who dwell in a separate quarter; but the offspring of the inferior, or of the better when they chance to be deformed, will be put away in some mysterious, unknown place, as they should be.

Yes, he said, that must be done if the breed of the guardians is to be kept pure.

They will provide for their nurture, and will bring the mothers to the fold when they are full of milk, taking the greatest possible care that no mother recognizes her own child; and other wet-nurses may be engaged if more are required. Care will also be taken that the process of suckling shall not be protracted too long; and the mothers will have no getting up at night or other trouble, but will hand over all this sort of thing to the nurses and attendants.

You suppose the wives of our guardians to have a fine easy time of it when they are having children.

Why, said I, and so they ought. Let us, however, proceed with our scheme. We were saying that the parents should be in the prime of life?

Very true.

And what is the prime of life? May it not be defined as a period of about twenty years in a woman’s life, and thirty in a man’s?

Which years do you mean to include?

A woman, I said, at twenty years of age may begin to bear children to the State, and continue to bear them until forty; a man may begin at five-and-twenty, when he has passed the point at which the pulse of life beats quickest, and continue to beget children until he be fifty-five.

Certainly, he said, both in men and women those years are the prime of physical as well as of intellectual vigour.

Any one above or below the prescribed ages who takes part in the public hymeneals shall be said to have done an unholy and unrighteous thing; the child of which he is the father, if it steals into life, will have been conceived under auspices very unlike the sacrifices and prayers, which at each hymeneal priestesses and priest and the whole city will offer, that the new generation may be better and more useful than their good and useful parents, whereas his child will be the offspring of darkness and strange lust.

Very true, he replied.

And the same law will apply to any one of those within the prescribed age who forms a connection with any woman in the prime of life without the sanction of the rulers; for we shall say that he is raising up a bastard to the State, uncertified and unconsecrated.

Very true, he replied.

This applies, however, only to those who are within the specified age: after that we allow them to range at will, except that a man may not marry his daughter or his daughter’s daughter, or his mother or his mother’s mother; and women, on the other hand, are prohibited from marrying their sons or fathers, or son’s son or father’s father, and so on in either direction. And we grant all this, accompanying the permission with strict orders to prevent any embryo which may come into being from seeing the light; and if any force a way to the birth, the parents must understand that the offspring of such an union cannot be maintained, and arrange accordingly.

That also, he said, is a reasonable proposition. But how will they know who are fathers and daughters, and so on?

They will never know. The way will be this: — dating from the day of the hymeneal, the bridegroom who was then married will call all the male children who are born in the seventh and tenth month afterwards his sons, and the female children his daughters, and they will call him father, and he will call their children his grandchildren, and they will call the elder generation grandfathers and grandmothers. All who were begotten at the time when their fathers and mothers came together will be called their brothers and sisters, and these, as I was saying, will be forbidden to inter-marry. This, however, is not to be understood as an absolute prohibition of the marriage of brothers and sisters; if the lot favours them, and they receive the sanction of the Pythian oracle, the law will allow them.

Quite right, he replied.

Such is the scheme, Glaucon, according to which the guardians of our State are to have their wives and families in common. And now you would have the argument show that this community is consistent with the rest of our polity, and also that nothing can be better — would you not?

Yes, certainly.

Shall we try to find a common basis by asking of ourselves what ought to be the chief aim of the legislator in making laws and in the organization of a State, — what is the greatest I good, and what is the greatest evil, and then consider whether our previous description has the stamp of the good or of the evil?

By all means.

Can there be any greater evil than discord and distraction and plurality where unity ought to reign? or any greater good than the bond of unity?

There cannot.

And there is unity where there is community of pleasures and pains — where all the citizens are glad or grieved on the same occasions of joy and sorrow?

No doubt.

Yes; and where there is no common but only private feeling a State is disorganized — when you have one half of the world triumphing and the other plunged in grief at the same events happening to the city or the citizens?

Certainly.

Such differences commonly originate in a disagreement about the use of the terms ‘mine’ and ‘not mine,’ ‘his’ and ‘not his.’

Exactly so.

And is not that the best-ordered State in which the greatest number of persons apply the terms ‘mine’ and ‘not mine’ in the same way to the same thing?

Quite true.

Or that again which most nearly approaches to the condition of the individual — as in the body, when but a finger of one of us is hurt, the whole frame, drawn towards the soul as a center and forming one kingdom under the ruling power therein, feels the hurt and sympathizes all together with the part affected, and we say that the man has a pain in his finger; and the same expression is used about any other part of the body, which has a sensation of pain at suffering or of pleasure at the alleviation of suffering.

Very true, he replied; and I agree with you that in the best-ordered State there is the nearest approach to this common feeling which you describe.

Then when any one of the citizens experiences any good or evil, the whole State will make his case their own, and will either rejoice or sorrow with him?

Yes, he said, that is what will happen in a well-ordered State.

It will now be time, I said, for us to return to our State and see whether this or some other form is most in accordance with these fundamental principles.

Very good.

Our State like every other has rulers and subjects?

True.

All of whom will call one another citizens?

Of course.

But is there not another name which people give to their rulers in other States?

Generally they call them masters, but in democratic States they simply call them rulers.

And in our State what other name besides that of citizens do the people give the rulers?

They are called saviours and helpers, he replied.

And what do the rulers call the people?

Their maintainers and foster-fathers.

And what do they call them in other States?

Slaves.

And what do the rulers call one another in other States?

Fellow-rulers.

And what in ours?

Fellow-guardians.

Did you ever know an example in any other State of a ruler who would speak of one of his colleagues as his friend and of another as not being his friend?

Yes, very often.

And the friend he regards and describes as one in whom he has an interest, and the other as a stranger in whom he has no interest?

Exactly.

But would any of your guardians think or speak of any other guardian as a stranger?

Certainly he would not; for every one whom they meet will be regarded by them either as a brother or sister, or father or mother, or son or daughter, or as the child or parent of those who are thus connected with him.

Capital, I said; but let me ask you once more: Shall they be a family in name only; or shall they in all their actions be true to the name? For example, in the use of the word ‘father,’ would the care of a father be implied and the filial reverence and duty and obedience to him which the law commands; and is the violator of these duties to be regarded as an impious and unrighteous person who is not likely to receive much good either at the hands of God or of man? Are these to be or not to be the strains which the children will hear repeated in their ears by all the citizens about those who are intimated to them to be their parents and the rest of their kinsfolk?

These, he said, and none other; for what can be more ridiculous than for them to utter the names of family ties with the lips only and not to act in the spirit of them?

Then in our city the language of harmony and concord will be more often beard than in any other. As I was describing before, when any one is well or ill, the universal word will be with me ‘it is well’ or ‘it is ill.’

Most true.

And agreeably to this mode of thinking and speaking, were we not saying that they will have their pleasures and pains in common?

Yes, and so they will.

And they will have a common interest in the same thing which they will alike call ‘my own,’ and having this common interest they will have a common feeling of pleasure and pain?

Yes, far more so than in other States.

And the reason of this, over and above the general constitution of the State, will be that the guardians will have a community of women and children?

That will be the chief reason.

And this unity of feeling we admitted to be the greatest good, as was implied in our own comparison of a well-ordered State to the relation of the body and the members, when affected by pleasure or pain?

That we acknowledged, and very rightly.

Then the community of wives and children among our citizens is clearly the source of the greatest good to the State?

Certainly.

And this agrees with the other principle which we were affirming, — that the guardians were not to have houses or lands or any other property; their pay was to be their food, which they were to receive from the other citizens, and they were to have no private expenses; for we intended them to preserve their true character of guardians.

Right, he replied.

Both the community of property and the community of families, as I am saying, tend to make them more truly guardians; they will not tear the city in pieces by differing about ‘mine’ and ‘not mine;’ each man dragging any acquisition which he has made into a separate house of his own, where he has a separate wife and children and private pleasures and pains; but all will be affected as far as may be by the same pleasures and pains because they are all of one opinion about what is near and dear to them, and therefore they all tend towards a common end.

Certainly, he replied.

And as they have nothing but their persons which they can call their own, suits and complaints will have no existence among them; they will be delivered from all those quarrels of which money or children or relations are the occasion.

Of course they will.

Neither will trials for assault or insult ever be likely to occur among them. For that equals should defend themselves against equals we shall maintain to be honourable and right; we shall make the protection of the person a matter of necessity.

That is good, he said.

Yes; and there is a further good in the law; viz. that if a man has a quarrel with another he will satisfy his resentment then and there, and not proceed to more dangerous lengths.

Certainly.

To the elder shall be assigned the duty of ruling and chastising the younger.

Clearly.

Nor can there be a doubt that the younger will not strike or do any other violence to an elder, unless the magistrates command him; nor will he slight him in any way. For there are two guardians, shame and fear, mighty to prevent him: shame, which makes men refrain from laying hands on those who are to them in the relation of parents; fear, that the injured one will be succoured by the others who are his brothers, sons, one wi fathers.

That is true, he replied.

Then in every way the laws will help the citizens to keep the peace with one another?

Yes, there will be no want of peace.

And as the guardians will never quarrel among themselves there will be no danger of the rest of the city being divided either against them or against one another.

None whatever.

I hardly like even to mention the little meannesses of which they will be rid, for they are beneath notice: such, for example, as the flattery of the rich by the poor, and all the pains and pangs which men experience in bringing up a family, and in finding money to buy necessaries for their household, borrowing and then repudiating, getting how they can, and giving the money into the hands of women and slaves to keep — the many evils of so many kinds which people suffer in this way are mean enough and obvious enough, and not worth speaking of.

Yes, he said, a man has no need of eyes in order to perceive that.

And from all these evils they will be delivered, and their life will be blessed as the life of Olympic victors and yet more blessed.

How so?

The Olympic victor, I said, is deemed happy in receiving a part only of the blessedness which is secured to our citizens, who have won a more glorious victory and have a more complete maintenance at the public cost. For the victory which they have won is the salvation of the whole State; and the crown with which they and their children are crowned is the fulness of all that life needs; they receive rewards from the hands of their country while living, and after death have an honourable burial.

Yes, he said, and glorious rewards they are.

Do you remember, I said, how in the course of the previous discussion some one who shall be nameless accused us of making our guardians unhappy — they had nothing and might have possessed all things-to whom we replied that, if an occasion offered, we might perhaps hereafter consider this question, but that, as at present advised, we would make our guardians truly guardians, and that we were fashioning the State with a view to the greatest happiness, not of any particular class, but of the whole?

Yes, I remember.

And what do you say, now that the life of our protectors is made out to be far better and nobler than that of Olympic victors — is the life of shoemakers, or any other artisans, or of husbandmen, to be compared with it?

Certainly not.

At the same time I ought here to repeat what I have said elsewhere, that if any of our guardians shall try to be happy in such a manner that he will cease to be a guardian, and is not content with this safe and harmonious life, which, in our judgment, is of all lives the best, but infatuated by some youthful conceit of happiness which gets up into his head shall seek to appropriate the whole State to himself, then he will have to learn how wisely Hesiod spoke, when he said, ‘half is more than the whole.’

If he were to consult me, I should say to him: Stay where you are, when you have the offer of such a life.

You agree then, I said, that men and women are to have a common way of life such as we have described — common education, common children; and they are to watch over the citizens in common whether abiding in the city or going out to war; they are to keep watch together, and to hunt together like dogs; and always and in all things, as far as they are able, women are to share with the men? And in so doing they will do what is best, and will not violate, but preserve the natural relation of the sexes.

I agree with you, he replied.

The enquiry, I said, has yet to be made, whether such a community be found possible — as among other animals, so also among men — and if possible, in what way possible?

You have anticipated the question which I was about to suggest.

There is no difficulty, I said, in seeing how war will be carried on by them.

How?

Why, of course they will go on expeditions together; and will take with them any of their children who are strong enough, that, after the manner of the artisan’s child, they may look on at the work which they will have to do when they are grown up; and besides looking on they will have to help and be of use in war, and to wait upon their fathers and mothers. Did you never observe in the arts how the potters’ boys look on and help, long before they touch the wheel?

Yes, I have.

And shall potters be more careful in educating their children and in giving them the opportunity of seeing and practising their duties than our guardians will be?

The idea is ridiculous, he said.

There is also the effect on the parents, with whom, as with other animals, the presence of their young ones will be the greatest incentive to valour.

That is quite true, Socrates; and yet if they are defeated, which may often happen in war, how great the danger is! the children will be lost as well as their parents, and the State will never recover.

True, I said; but would you never allow them to run any risk?

I am far from saying that.

Well, but if they are ever to run a risk should they not do so on some occasion when, if they escape disaster, they will be the better for it?

Clearly.

Whether the future soldiers do or do not see war in the days of their youth is a very important matter, for the sake of which some risk may fairly be incurred.

Yes, very important.

This then must be our first step, — to make our children spectators of war; but we must also contrive that they shall be secured against danger; then all will be well.

True.

Their parents may be supposed not to be blind to the risks of war, but to know, as far as human foresight can, what expeditions are safe and what dangerous?

That may be assumed.

And they will take them on the safe expeditions and be cautious about the dangerous ones?

True.

And they will place them under the command of experienced veterans who will be their leaders and teachers?

Very properly.

Still, the dangers of war cannot be always foreseen; there is a good deal of chance about them?

True.

Then against such chances the children must be at once furnished with wings, in order that in the hour of need they may fly away and escape.

What do you mean? he said.

I mean that we must mount them on horses in their earliest youth, and when they have learnt to ride, take them on horseback to see war: the horses must be spirited and warlike, but the most tractable and yet the swiftest that can be had. In this way they will get an excellent view of what is hereafter to be their own business; and if there is danger they have only to follow their elder leaders and escape.

I believe that you are right, he said.

Next, as to war; what are to be the relations of your soldiers to one another and to their enemies? I should be inclined to propose that the soldier who leaves his rank or throws away his arms, or is guilty of any other act of cowardice, should be degraded into the rank of a husbandman or artisan. What do you think?

By all means, I should say.

And he who allows himself to be taken prisoner may as well be made a present of to his enemies; he is their lawful prey, and let them do what they like with him.

Certainly.

But the hero who has distinguished himself, what shall be done to him?
In the first place, he shall receive honour in the army from his
youthful comrades; every one of them in succession shall crown him.
What do you say?

I approve.

And what do you say to his receiving the right hand of fellowship?

To that too, I agree.

But you will hardly agree to my next proposal.

What is your proposal?

That he should kiss and be kissed by them.

Most certainly, and I should be disposed to go further, and say: Let no one whom he has a mind to kiss refuse to be kissed by him while the expedition lasts. So that if there be a lover in the army, whether his love be youth or maiden, he may be more eager to win the prize of valour.

Capital, I said. That the brave man is to have more wives than others has been already determined: and he is to have first choices in such matters more than others, in order that he may have as many children as possible?

Agreed.

Again, there is another manner in which, according to Homer, brave youths should be honoured; for he tells how Ajax, after he had distinguished himself in battle, was rewarded with long chines, which seems to be a compliment appropriate to a hero in the flower of his age, being not only a tribute of honour but also a very strengthening thing.

Most true, he said.

Then in this, I said, Homer shall be our teacher; and we too, at sacrifices and on the like occasions, will honour the brave according to the measure of their valour, whether men or women, with hymns and those other distinctions which we were mentioning; also with

seats of precedence, and meats and full cups;

and in honouring them, we shall be at the same time training them.

That, he replied, is excellent.

Yes, I said; and when a man dies gloriously in war shall we not say, in the first place, that he is of the golden race?

To be sure.

Nay, have we not the authority of Hesiod for affirming that when they are dead

They are holy angels upon the earth, authors of good,
averters of evil, the guardians of speech-gifted men?

Yes; and we accept his authority.

We must learn of the god how we are to order the sepulture of divine and heroic personages, and what is to be their special distinction and we must do as he bids?

By all means.

And in ages to come we will reverence them and kneel before their sepulchres as at the graves of heroes. And not only they but any who are deemed pre-eminently good, whether they die from age, or in any other way, shall be admitted to the same honours.

That is very right, he said.

Next, how shall our soldiers treat their enemies? What about this?

In what respect do you mean?

First of all, in regard to slavery? Do you think it right that Hellenes should enslave Hellenic States, or allow others to enslave them, if they can help? Should not their custom be to spare them, considering the danger which there is that the whole race may one day fall under the yoke of the barbarians?

To spare them is infinitely better.

Then no Hellene should be owned by them as a slave; that is a rule which they will observe and advise the other Hellenes to observe.

Certainly, he said; they will in this way be united against the barbarians and will keep their hands off one another.

Next as to the slain; ought the conquerors, I said, to take anything but their armour? Does not the practice of despoiling an enemy afford an excuse for not facing the battle? Cowards skulk about the dead, pretending that they are fulfilling a duty, and many an army before now has been lost from this love of plunder.

Very true.

And is there not illiberality and avarice in robbing a corpse, and also a degree of meanness and womanishness in making an enemy of the dead body when the real enemy has flown away and left only his fighting gear behind him, — is not this rather like a dog who cannot get at his assailant, quarrelling with the stones which strike him instead?

Very like a dog, he said.

Then we must abstain from spoiling the dead or hindering their burial?

Yes, he replied, we most certainly must.

Neither shall we offer up arms at the temples of the gods, least of all the arms of Hellenes, if we care to maintain good feeling with other Hellenes; and, indeed, we have reason to fear that the offering of spoils taken from kinsmen may be a pollution unless commanded by the god himself?

Very true.

Again, as to the devastation of Hellenic territory or the burning of houses, what is to be the practice?

May I have the pleasure, he said, of hearing your opinion?

Both should be forbidden, in my judgment; I would take the annual produce and no more. Shall I tell you why?

Pray do.

Why, you see, there is a difference in the names ‘discord’ and ‘war,’ and I imagine that there is also a difference in their natures; the one is expressive of what is internal and domestic, the other of what is external and foreign; and the first of the two is termed discord, and only the second, war.

That is a very proper distinction, he replied.

And may I not observe with equal propriety that the Hellenic race is all united together by ties of blood and friendship, and alien and strange to the barbarians?

Very good, he said.

And therefore when Hellenes fight with barbarians and barbarians with Hellenes, they will be described by us as being at war when they fight, and by nature enemies, and this kind of antagonism should be called war; but when Hellenes fight with one another we shall say that Hellas is then in a state of disorder and discord, they being by nature friends and such enmity is to be called discord.

I agree.

Consider then, I said, when that which we have acknowledged to be discord occurs, and a city is divided, if both parties destroy the lands and burn the houses of one another, how wicked does the strife appear! No true lover of his country would bring himself to tear in pieces his own nurse and mother: There might be reason in the conqueror depriving the conquered of their harvest, but still they would have the idea of peace in their hearts and would not mean to go on fighting for ever.

Yes, he said, that is a better temper than the other.

And will not the city, which you are founding, be an Hellenic city?

It ought to be, he replied.

Then will not the citizens be good and civilized?

Yes, very civilized.

And will they not be lovers of Hellas, and think of Hellas as their own land, and share in the common temples?

Most certainly.

And any difference which arises among them will be regarded by them as discord only — a quarrel among friends, which is not to be called a war?

Certainly not.

Then they will quarrel as those who intend some day to be reconciled?
Certainly.

They will use friendly correction, but will not enslave or destroy their opponents; they will be correctors, not enemies?

Just so.

And as they are Hellenes themselves they will not devastate Hellas, nor will they burn houses, not even suppose that the whole population of a city — men, women, and children — are equally their enemies, for they know that the guilt of war is always confined to a few persons and that the many are their friends. And for all these reasons they will be unwilling to waste their lands and raze their houses; their enmity to them will only last until the many innocent sufferers have compelled the guilty few to give satisfaction?

I agree, he said, that our citizens should thus deal with their Hellenic enemies; and with barbarians as the Hellenes now deal with one another.

Then let us enact this law also for our guardians:-that they are neither to devastate the lands of Hellenes nor to burn their houses.

Agreed; and we may agree also in thinking that these, all our previous enactments, are very good.

But still I must say, Socrates, that if you are allowed to go on in this way you will entirely forget the other question which at the commencement of this discussion you thrust aside: — Is such an order of things possible, and how, if at all? For I am quite ready to acknowledge that the plan which you propose, if only feasible, would do all sorts of good to the State. I will add, what you have omitted, that your citizens will be the bravest of warriors, and will never leave their ranks, for they will all know one another, and each will call the other father, brother, son; and if you suppose the women to join their armies, whether in the same rank or in the rear, either as a terror to the enemy, or as auxiliaries in case of need, I know that they will then be absolutely invincible; and there are many domestic tic advantages which might also be mentioned and which I also fully acknowledge: but, as I admit all these advantages and as many more as you please, if only this State of yours were to come into existence, we need say no more about them; assuming then the existence of the State, let us now turn to the question of possibility and ways and means — the rest may be left.

If I loiter for a moment, you instantly make a raid upon me, I said, and have no mercy; I have hardly escaped the first and second waves, and you seem not to be aware that you are now bringing upon me the third, which is the greatest and heaviest. When you have seen and heard the third wave, I think you be more considerate and will acknowledge that some fear and hesitation was natural respecting a proposal so extraordinary as that which I have now to state and investigate.

The more appeals of this sort which you make, he said, the more determined are we that you shall tell us how such a State is possible: speak out and at once.

Let me begin by reminding you that we found our way hither in the search after justice and injustice.

True, he replied; but what of that?

I was only going to ask whether, if we have discovered them, we are to require that the just man should in nothing fail of absolute justice; or may we be satisfied with an approximation, and the attainment in him of a higher degree of justice than is to be found in other men?

The approximation will be enough.

We are enquiring into the nature of absolute justice and into the character of the perfectly just, and into injustice and the perfectly unjust, that we might have an ideal. We were to look at these in order that we might judge of our own happiness and unhappiness according to the standard which they exhibited and the degree in which we resembled them, but not with any view of showing that they could exist in fact.

True, he said.

Would a painter be any the worse because, after having delineated with consummate art an ideal of a perfectly beautiful man, he was unable to show that any such man could ever have existed?

He would be none the worse.

Well, and were we not creating an ideal of a perfect State?

To be sure.

And is our theory a worse theory because we are unable to prove the possibility of a city being ordered in the manner described?

Surely not, he replied.

That is the truth, I said. But if, at your request, I am to try and show how and under what conditions the possibility is highest, I must ask you, having this in view, to repeat your former admissions.

What admissions?

I want to know whether ideals are ever fully realised in language? Does not the word express more than the fact, and must not the actual, whatever a man may think, always, in the nature of things, fall short of the truth? What do you say?

I agree.

Then you must not insist on my proving that the actual State will in every respect coincide with the ideal: if we are only able to discover how a city may be governed nearly as we proposed, you will admit that we have discovered the possibility which you demand; and will be contented. I am sure that I should be contented — will not you?

Yes, I will.

Let me next endeavour to show what is that fault in States which is the cause of their present maladministration, and what is the least change which will enable a State to pass into the truer form; and let the change, if possible, be of one thing only, or if not, of two; at any rate, let the changes be as few and slight as possible.

Certainly, he replied.

I think, I said, that there might be a reform of the State if only one change were made, which is not a slight or easy though still a possible one.

What is it? he said.

Now then, I said, I go to meet that which I liken to the greatest of the waves; yet shall the word be spoken, even though the wave break and drown me in laughter and dishonour; and do you mark my words.

Proceed.

I said: Until philosophers are kings, or the kings and princes of this world have the spirit and power of philosophy, and political greatness and wisdom meet in one, and those commoner natures who pursue either to the exclusion of the other are compelled to stand aside, cities will never have rest from their evils, — nor the human race, as I believe, — and then only will this our State have a possibility of life and behold the light of day. Such was the thought, my dear Glaucon, which I would fain have uttered if it had not seemed too extravagant; for to be convinced that in no other State can there be happiness private or public is indeed a hard thing.

Socrates, what do you mean? I would have you consider that the word which you have uttered is one at which numerous persons, and very respectable persons too, in a figure pulling off their coats all in a moment, and seizing any weapon that comes to hand, will run at you might and main, before you know where you are, intending to do heaven knows what; and if you don’t prepare an answer, and put yourself in motion, you will be prepared by their fine wits,’ and no mistake.

You got me into the scrape, I said.

And I was quite right; however, I will do all I can to get you out of it; but I can only give you good-will and good advice, and, perhaps, I may be able to fit answers to your questions better than another — that is all. And now, having such an auxiliary, you must do your best to show the unbelievers that you are right.

I ought to try, I said, since you offer me such invaluable assistance. And I think that, if there is to be a chance of our escaping, we must explain to them whom we mean when we say that philosophers are to rule in the State; then we shall be able to defend ourselves: There will be discovered to be some natures who ought to study philosophy and to be leaders in the State; and others who are not born to be philosophers, and are meant to be followers rather than leaders.

Then now for a definition, he said.

Follow me, I said, and I hope that I may in some way or other be able to give you a satisfactory explanation.

Proceed.

I dare say that you remember, and therefore I need not remind you, that a lover, if lie is worthy of the name, ought to show his love, not to some one part of that which he loves, but to the whole.

I really do not understand, and therefore beg of you to assist my memory.

Another person, I said, might fairly reply as you do; but a man of pleasure like yourself ought to know that all who are in the flower of youth do somehow or other raise a pang or emotion in a lover’s breast, and are thought by him to be worthy of his affectionate regards. Is not this a way which you have with the fair: one has a snub nose, and you praise his charming face; the hook-nose of another has, you say, a royal look; while he who is neither snub nor hooked has the grace of regularity: the dark visage is manly, the fair are children of the gods; and as to the sweet ‘honey pale,’ as they are called, what is the very name but the invention of a lover who talks in diminutives, and is not adverse to paleness if appearing on the cheek of youth? In a word, there is no excuse which you will not make, and nothing which you will not say, in order not to lose a single flower that blooms in the spring-time of youth.

If you make me an authority in matters of love, for the sake of the argument, I assent.

And what do you say of lovers of wine? Do you not see them doing the same? They are glad of any pretext of drinking any wine.

Very good.

And the same is true of ambitious men; if they cannot command an army, they are willing to command a file; and if they cannot be honoured by really great and important persons, they are glad to be honoured by lesser and meaner people, but honour of some kind they must have.

Exactly.

Once more let me ask: Does he who desires any class of goods, desire the whole class or a part only?

The whole.

And may we not say of the philosopher that he is a lover, not of a part of wisdom only, but of the whole?

Yes, of the whole.

And he who dislikes learnings, especially in youth, when he has no power of judging what is good and what is not, such an one we maintain not to be a philosopher or a lover of knowledge, just as he who refuses his food is not hungry, and may be said to have a bad appetite and not a good one?

Very true, he said.

Whereas he who has a taste for every sort of knowledge and who is curious to learn and is never satisfied, may be justly termed a philosopher? Am I not right?

Glaucon said: If curiosity makes a philosopher, you will find many a strange being will have a title to the name. All the lovers of sights have a delight in learning, and must therefore be included. Musical amateurs, too, are a folk strangely out of place among philosophers, for they are the last persons in the world who would come to anything like a philosophical discussion, if they could help, while they run about at the Dionysiac festivals as if they had let out their ears to hear every chorus; whether the performance is in town or country — that makes no difference — they are there. Now are we to maintain that all these and any who have similar tastes, as well as the professors of quite minor arts, are philosophers?

Certainly not, I replied; they are only an imitation.

He said: Who then are the true philosophers?

Those, I said, who are lovers of the vision of truth.

That is also good, he said; but I should like to know what you mean?

To another, I replied, I might have a difficulty in explaining; but I am sure that you will admit a proposition which I am about to make.

What is the proposition?

That since beauty is the opposite of ugliness, they are two?

Certainly.

And inasmuch as they are two, each of them is one?

True again.

And of just and unjust, good and evil, and of every other class, the same remark holds: taken singly, each of them one; but from the various combinations of them with actions and things and with one another, they are seen in all sorts of lights and appear many? Very true.

And this is the distinction which I draw between the sight-loving, art-loving, practical class and those of whom I am speaking, and who are alone worthy of the name of philosophers.

How do you distinguish them? he said.

The lovers of sounds and sights, I replied, are, as I conceive, fond of fine tones and colours and forms and all the artificial products that are made out of them, but their mind is incapable of seeing or loving absolute beauty.

True, he replied.

Few are they who are able to attain to the sight of this.

Very true.

And he who, having a sense of beautiful things has no sense of absolute beauty, or who, if another lead him to a knowledge of that beauty is unable to follow — of such an one I ask, Is he awake or in a dream only? Reflect: is not the dreamer, sleeping or waking, one who likens dissimilar things, who puts the copy in the place of the real object?

I should certainly say that such an one was dreaming.

But take the case of the other, who recognises the existence of absolute beauty and is able to distinguish the idea from the objects which participate in the idea, neither putting the objects in the place of the idea nor the idea in the place of the objects — is he a dreamer, or is he awake?

He is wide awake.

And may we not say that the mind of the one who knows has knowledge, and that the mind of the other, who opines only, has opinion

Certainly.

But suppose that the latter should quarrel with us and dispute our statement, can we administer any soothing cordial or advice to him, without revealing to him that there is sad disorder in his wits?

We must certainly offer him some good advice, he replied.

Come, then, and let us think of something to say to him. Shall we begin by assuring him that he is welcome to any knowledge which he may have, and that we are rejoiced at his having it? But we should like to ask him a question: Does he who has knowledge know something or nothing? (You must answer for him.)

I answer that he knows something.

Something that is or is not?

Something that is; for how can that which is not ever be known?

And are we assured, after looking at the matter from many points of view, that absolute being is or may be absolutely known, but that the utterly non-existent is utterly unknown?

Nothing can be more certain.

Good. But if there be anything which is of such a nature as to be and not to be, that will have a place intermediate between pure being and the absolute negation of being?

Yes, between them.

And, as knowledge corresponded to being and ignorance of necessity to not-being, for that intermediate between being and not-being there has to be discovered a corresponding intermediate between ignorance and knowledge, if there be such?

Certainly.

Do we admit the existence of opinion?

Undoubtedly.

As being the same with knowledge, or another faculty?

Another faculty.

Then opinion and knowledge have to do with different kinds of matter corresponding to this difference of faculties?

Yes.

And knowledge is relative to being and knows being. But before I proceed further I will make a division.

What division?

I will begin by placing faculties in a class by themselves: they are powers in us, and in all other things, by which we do as we do. Sight and hearing, for example, I should call faculties. Have I clearly explained the class which I mean?

Yes, I quite understand.

Then let me tell you my view about them. I do not see them, and therefore the distinctions of fire, colour, and the like, which enable me to discern the differences of some things, do not apply to them. In speaking of a faculty I think only of its sphere and its result; and that which has the same sphere and the same result I call the same faculty, but that which has another sphere and another result I call different. Would that be your way of speaking?

Yes.

And will you be so very good as to answer one more question? Would you say that knowledge is a faculty, or in what class would you place it?

Certainly knowledge is a faculty, and the mightiest of all faculties.

And is opinion also a faculty?

Certainly, he said; for opinion is that with which we are able to form an opinion.

And yet you were acknowledging a little while ago that knowledge is not the same as opinion?

Why, yes, he said: how can any reasonable being ever identify that which is infallible with that which errs?

An excellent answer, proving, I said, that we are quite conscious of a distinction between them.

Yes.

Then knowledge and opinion having distinct powers have also distinct spheres or subject-matters?

That is certain.

Being is the sphere or subject-matter of knowledge, and knowledge is to know the nature of being?

Yes.

And opinion is to have an opinion?

Yes.

And do we know what we opine? or is the subject-matter of opinion the same as the subject-matter of knowledge?

Nay, he replied, that has been already disproven; if difference in faculty implies difference in the sphere or subject matter, and if, as we were saying, opinion and knowledge are distinct faculties, then the sphere of knowledge and of opinion cannot be the same.

Then if being is the subject-matter of knowledge, something else must be the subject-matter of opinion?

Yes, something else.

Well then, is not-being the subject-matter of opinion? or, rather, how can there be an opinion at all about not-being? Reflect: when a man has an opinion, has he not an opinion about something? Can he have an opinion which is an opinion about nothing?

Impossible.

He who has an opinion has an opinion about some one thing?

Yes.

And not-being is not one thing but, properly speaking, nothing?

True.

Of not-being, ignorance was assumed to be the necessary correlative; of being, knowledge?

True, he said.

Then opinion is not concerned either with being or with not-being?

Not with either.

And can therefore neither be ignorance nor knowledge?

That seems to be true.

But is opinion to be sought without and beyond either of them, in a greater clearness than knowledge, or in a greater darkness than ignorance?

In neither.

Then I suppose that opinion appears to you to be darker than knowledge, but lighter than ignorance?

Both; and in no small degree.

And also to be within and between them?

Yes.

Then you would infer that opinion is intermediate?

No question.

But were we not saying before, that if anything appeared to be of a sort which is and is not at the same time, that sort of thing would appear also to lie in the interval between pure being and absolute not-being; and that the corresponding faculty is neither knowledge nor ignorance, but will be found in the interval between them?

True.

And in that interval there has now been discovered something which we call opinion?

There has.

Then what remains to be discovered is the object which partakes equally of the nature of being and not-being, and cannot rightly be termed either, pure and simple; this unknown term, when discovered, we may truly call the subject of opinion, and assign each to its proper faculty, the extremes to the faculties of the extremes and the mean to the faculty of the mean.

True.

This being premised, I would ask the gentleman who is of opinion that there is no absolute or unchangeable idea of beauty — in whose opinion the beautiful is the manifold — he, I say, your lover of beautiful sights, who cannot bear to be told that the beautiful is one, and the just is one, or that anything is one — to him I would appeal, saying, Will you be so very kind, sir, as to tell us whether, of all these beautiful things, there is one which will not be found ugly; or of the just, which will not be found unjust; or of the holy, which will not also be unholy?

No, he replied; the beautiful will in some point of view be found ugly; and the same is true of the rest.

And may not the many which are doubles be also halves? — doubles, that is, of one thing, and halves of another?

Quite true.

And things great and small, heavy and light, as they are termed, will not be denoted by these any more than by the opposite names?

True; both these and the opposite names will always attach to all of them.

And can any one of those many things which are called by particular names be said to be this rather than not to be this?

He replied: They are like the punning riddles which are asked at feasts or the children’s puzzle about the eunuch aiming at the bat, with what he hit him, as they say in the puzzle, and upon what the bat was sitting. The individual objects of which I am speaking are also a riddle, and have a double sense: nor can you fix them in your mind, either as being or not-being, or both, or neither.

Then what will you do with them? I said. Can they have a better place than between being and not-being? For they are clearly not in greater darkness or negation than not-being, or more full of light and existence than being.

That is quite true, he said.

Thus then we seem to have discovered that the many ideas which the multitude entertain about the beautiful and about all other things are tossing about in some region which is halfway between pure being and pure not-being?

We have.

Yes; and we had before agreed that anything of this kind which we might find was to be described as matter of opinion, and not as matter of knowledge; being the intermediate flux which is caught and detained by the intermediate faculty.

Quite true.

Then those who see the many beautiful, and who yet neither see absolute beauty, nor can follow any guide who points the way thither; who see the many just, and not absolute justice, and the like, — such persons may be said to have opinion but not knowledge?

That is certain.

But those who see the absolute and eternal and immutable may be said to know, and not to have opinion only?

Neither can that be denied.

The one loves and embraces the subjects of knowledge, the other those of opinion? The latter are the same, as I dare say will remember, who listened to sweet sounds and gazed upon fair colours, but would not tolerate the existence of absolute beauty.

Yes, I remember.

Shall we then be guilty of any impropriety in calling them lovers of opinion rather than lovers of wisdom, and will they be very angry with us for thus describing them?

I shall tell them not to be angry; no man should be angry at what is true.

But those who love the truth in each thing are to be called lovers of wisdom and not lovers of opinion.

Assuredly.

BOOK VI

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

AND thus, Glaucon, after the argument has gone a weary way, the true and the false philosophers have at length appeared in view.

I do not think, he said, that the way could have been shortened.

I suppose not, I said; and yet I believe that we might have had a better view of both of them if the discussion could have been confined to this one subject and if there were not many other questions awaiting us, which he who desires to see in what respect the life of the just differs from that of the unjust must consider.

And what is the next question? he asked.

Surely, I said, the one which follows next in order. Inasmuch as philosophers only are able to grasp the eternal and unchangeable, and those who wander in the region of the many and variable are not philosophers, I must ask you which of the two classes should be the rulers of our State?

And how can we rightly answer that question?

Whichever of the two are best able to guard the laws and institutions of our State — let them be our guardians.

Very good.

Neither, I said, can there be any question that the guardian who is to keep anything should have eyes rather than no eyes?

There can be no question of that.

And are not those who are verily and indeed wanting in the knowledge of the true being of each thing, and who have in their souls no clear pattern, and are unable as with a painter’s eye to look at the absolute truth and to that original to repair, and having perfect vision of the other world to order the laws about beauty, goodness, justice in this, if not already ordered, and to guard and preserve the order of them — are not such persons, I ask, simply blind?

Truly, he replied, they are much in that condition.

And shall they be our guardians when there are others who, besides being their equals in experience and falling short of them in no particular of virtue, also know the very truth of each thing?

There can be no reason, he said, for rejecting those who have this greatest of all great qualities; they must always have the first place unless they fail in some other respect.

Suppose then, I said, that we determine how far they can unite this and the other excellences.

By all means.

In the first place, as we began by observing, the nature of the philosopher has to be ascertained. We must come to an understanding about him, and, when we have done so, then, if I am not mistaken, we shall also acknowledge that such an union of qualities is possible, and that those in whom they are united, and those only, should be rulers in the State.

What do you mean?

Let us suppose that philosophical minds always love knowledge of a sort which shows them the eternal nature not varying from generation and corruption.

Agreed.

And further, I said, let us agree that they are lovers of all true being; there is no part whether greater or less, or more or less honourable, which they are willing to renounce; as we said before of the lover and the man of ambition.

True.

And if they are to be what we were describing, is there not another quality which they should also possess?

What quality?

Truthfulness: they will never intentionally receive into their mind falsehood, which is their detestation, and they will love the truth.

Yes, that may be safely affirmed of them.

‘May be,’ my friend, I replied, is not the word; say rather ‘must be affirmed:’ for he whose nature is amorous of anything cannot help loving all that belongs or is akin to the object of his affections.

Right, he said.

And is there anything more akin to wisdom than truth?

How can there be?

Can the same nature be a lover of wisdom and a lover of falsehood?

Never.

The true lover of learning then must from his earliest youth, as far as in him lies, desire all truth?

Assuredly.

But then again, as we know by experience, he whose desires are strong in one direction will have them weaker in others; they will be like a stream which has been drawn off into another channel.

True.

He whose desires are drawn towards knowledge in every form will be absorbed in the pleasures of the soul, and will hardly feel bodily pleasure — I mean, if he be a true philosopher and not a sham one.

That is most certain.

Such an one is sure to be temperate and the reverse of covetous; for the motives which make another man desirous of having and spending, have no place in his character.

Very true.

Another criterion of the philosophical nature has also to be considered.

What is that?

There should be no secret corner of illiberality; nothing can more antagonistic than meanness to a soul which is ever longing after the whole of things both divine and human.

Most true, he replied.

Then how can he who has magnificence of mind and is the spectator of all time and all existence, think much of human life?

He cannot.

Or can such an one account death fearful?

No indeed.

Then the cowardly and mean nature has no part in true philosophy?

Certainly not.

Or again: can he who is harmoniously constituted, who is not covetous or mean, or a boaster, or a coward-can he, I say, ever be unjust or hard in his dealings?

Impossible.

Then you will soon observe whether a man is just and gentle, or rude and unsociable; these are the signs which distinguish even in youth the philosophical nature from the unphilosophical.

True.

There is another point which should be remarked.

What point?

Whether he has or has not a pleasure in learning; for no one will love that which gives him pain, and in which after much toil he makes little progress.

Certainly not.

And again, if he is forgetful and retains nothing of what he learns, will he not be an empty vessel?

That is certain.

Labouring in vain, he must end in hating himself and his fruitless occupation? Yes.

Then a soul which forgets cannot be ranked among genuine philosophic natures; we must insist that the philosopher should have a good memory?

Certainly.

And once more, the inharmonious and unseemly nature can only tend to disproportion?

Undoubtedly.

And do you consider truth to be akin to proportion or to disproportion?

To proportion.

Then, besides other qualities, we must try to find a naturally well-proportioned and gracious mind, which will move spontaneously towards the true being of everything.

Certainly.

Well, and do not all these qualities, which we have been enumerating, go together, and are they not, in a manner, necessary to a soul, which is to have a full and perfect participation of being?

They are absolutely necessary, he replied.

And must not that be a blameless study which he only can pursue who has the gift of a good memory, and is quick to learn, — noble, gracious, the friend of truth, justice, courage, temperance, who are his kindred?

The god of jealousy himself, he said, could find no fault with such a study.

And to men like him, I said, when perfected by years and education, and to these only you will entrust the State.

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

Here Adeimantus interposed and said: To these statements, Socrates, no one can offer a reply; but when you talk in this way, a strange feeling passes over the minds of your hearers: They fancy that they are led astray a little at each step in the argument, owing to their own want of skill in asking and answering questions; these littles accumulate, and at the end of the discussion they are found to have sustained a mighty overthrow and all their former notions appear to be turned upside down. And as unskilful players of draughts are at last shut up by their more skilful adversaries and have no piece to move, so they too find themselves shut up at last; for they have nothing to say in this new game of which words are the counters; and yet all the time they are in the right. The observation is suggested to me by what is now occurring. For any one of us might say, that although in words he is not able to meet you at each step of the argument, he sees as a fact that the votaries of philosophy, when they carry on the study, not only in youth as a part of education, but as the pursuit of their maturer years, most of them become strange monsters, not to say utter rogues, and that those who may be considered the best of them are made useless to the world by the very study which you extol.

Well, and do you think that those who say so are wrong?

I cannot tell, he replied; but I should like to know what is your opinion.

Hear my answer; I am of opinion that they are quite right.

Then how can you be justified in saying that cities will not cease from evil until philosophers rule in them, when philosophers are acknowledged by us to be of no use to them?

You ask a question, I said, to which a reply can only be given in a parable.

Yes, Socrates; and that is a way of speaking to which you are not at all accustomed, I suppose.

I perceive, I said, that you are vastly amused at having plunged me into such a hopeless discussion; but now hear the parable, and then you will be still more amused at the meagreness of my imagination: for the manner in which the best men are treated in their own States is so grievous that no single thing on earth is comparable to it; and therefore, if I am to plead their cause, I must have recourse to fiction, and put together a figure made up of many things, like the fabulous unions of goats and stags which are found in pictures. Imagine then a fleet or a ship in which there is a captain who is taller and stronger than any of the crew, but he is a little deaf and has a similar infirmity in sight, and his knowledge of navigation is not much better. The sailors are quarrelling with one another about the steering — every one is of opinion that he has a right to steer, though he has never learned the art of navigation and cannot tell who taught him or when he learned, and will further assert that it cannot be taught, and they are ready to cut in pieces any one who says the contrary. They throng about the captain, begging and praying him to commit the helm to them; and if at any time they do not prevail, but others are preferred to them, they kill the others or throw them overboard, and having first chained up the noble captain’s senses with drink or some narcotic drug, they mutiny and take possession of the ship and make free with the stores; thus, eating and drinking, they proceed on their voyage in such a manner as might be expected of them. Him who is their partisan and cleverly aids them in their plot for getting the ship out of the captain’s hands into their own whether by force or persuasion, they compliment with the name of sailor, pilot, able seaman, and abuse the other sort of man, whom they call a good-for-nothing; but that the true pilot must pay attention to the year and seasons and sky and stars and winds, and whatever else belongs to his art, if he intends to be really qualified for the command of a ship, and that he must and will be the steerer, whether other people like or not-the possibility of this union of authority with the steerer’s art has never seriously entered into their thoughts or been made part of their calling. Now in vessels which are in a state of mutiny and by sailors who are mutineers, how will the true pilot be regarded? Will he not be called by them a prater, a star-gazer, a good-for-nothing?

Of course, said Adeimantus.

Then you will hardly need, I said, to hear the interpretation of the figure, which describes the true philosopher in his relation to the State; for you understand already.

Certainly.

Then suppose you now take this parable to the gentleman who is surprised at finding that philosophers have no honour in their cities; explain it to him and try to convince him that their having honour would be far more extraordinary.

I will.

Say to him, that, in deeming the best votaries of philosophy to be useless to the rest of the world, he is right; but also tell him to attribute their uselessness to the fault of those who will not use them, and not to themselves. The pilot should not humbly beg the sailors to be commanded by him — that is not the order of nature; neither are ‘the wise to go to the doors of the rich’ — the ingenious author of this saying told a lie — but the truth is, that, when a man is ill, whether he be rich or poor, to the physician he must go, and he who wants to be governed, to him who is able to govern. The ruler who is good for anything ought not to beg his subjects to be ruled by him; although the present governors of mankind are of a different stamp; they may be justly compared to the mutinous sailors, and the true helmsmen to those who are called by them good-for-nothings and star-gazers.

Precisely so, he said.

For these reasons, and among men like these, philosophy, the noblest pursuit of all, is not likely to be much esteemed by those of the opposite faction; not that the greatest and most lasting injury is done to her by her opponents, but by her own professing followers, the same of whom you suppose the accuser to say, that the greater number of them are arrant rogues, and the best are useless; in which opinion I agreed.

Yes.

And the reason why the good are useless has now been explained?

True.

Then shall we proceed to show that the corruption of the majority is also unavoidable, and that this is not to be laid to the charge of philosophy any more than the other?

By all means.

And let us ask and answer in turn, first going back to the description of the gentle and noble nature. Truth, as you will remember, was his leader, whom he followed always and in all things; failing in this, he was an impostor, and had no part or lot in true philosophy.

Yes, that was said.

Well, and is not this one quality, to mention no others, greatly at variance with present notions of him?

Certainly, he said.

And have we not a right to say in his defence, that the true lover of knowledge is always striving after being — that is his nature; he will not rest in the multiplicity of individuals which is an appearance only, but will go on — the keen edge will not be blunted, nor the force of his desire abate until he have attained the knowledge of the true nature of every essence by a sympathetic and kindred power in the soul, and by that power drawing near and mingling and becoming incorporate with very being, having begotten mind and truth, he will have knowledge and will live and grow truly, and then, and not till then, will he cease from his travail.

Nothing, he said, can be more just than such a description of him.

And will the love of a lie be any part of a philosopher’s nature? Will he not utterly hate a lie?

He will.

And when truth is the captain, we cannot suspect any evil of the band which he leads?

Impossible.

Justice and health of mind will be of the company, and temperance will follow after?

True, he replied.

Neither is there any reason why I should again set in array the philosopher’s virtues, as you will doubtless remember that courage, magnificence, apprehension, memory, were his natural gifts. And you objected that, although no one could deny what I then said, still, if you leave words and look at facts, the persons who are thus described are some of them manifestly useless, and the greater number utterly depraved; we were then led to enquire into the grounds of these accusations, and have now arrived at the point of asking why are the majority bad, which question of necessity brought us back to the examination and definition of the true philosopher.

Exactly.

And we have next to consider the corruptions of the philosophic nature, why so many are spoiled and so few escape spoiling — I am speaking of those who were said to be useless but not wicked — and, when we have done with them, we will speak of the imitators of philosophy, what manner of men are they who aspire after a profession which is above them and of which they are unworthy, and then, by their manifold inconsistencies, bring upon philosophy, and upon all philosophers, that universal reprobation of which we speak.

What are these corruptions? he said.

I will see if I can explain them to you. Every one will admit that a nature having in perfection all the qualities which we required in a philosopher, is a rare plant which is seldom seen among men.

Rare indeed.

And what numberless and powerful causes tend to destroy these rare natures!

What causes?

In the first place there are their own virtues, their courage, temperance, and the rest of them, every one of which praise worthy qualities (and this is a most singular circumstance) destroys and distracts from philosophy the soul which is the possessor of them.

That is very singular, he replied.

Then there are all the ordinary goods of life — beauty, wealth, strength, rank, and great connections in the State — you understand the sort of things — these also have a corrupting and distracting effect.

I understand; but I should like to know more precisely what you mean about them.

Grasp the truth as a whole, I said, and in the right way; you will then have no difficulty in apprehending the preceding remarks, and they will no longer appear strange to you.

And how am I to do so? he asked.

Why, I said, we know that all germs or seeds, whether vegetable or animal, when they fail to meet with proper nutriment or climate or soil, in proportion to their vigour, are all the more sensitive to the want of a suitable environment, for evil is a greater enemy to what is good than what is not.

Very true.

There is reason in supposing that the finest natures, when under alien conditions, receive more injury than the inferior, because the contrast is greater.

Certainly.

And may we not say, Adeimantus, that the most gifted minds, when they are ill-educated, become pre-eminently bad? Do not great crimes and the spirit of pure evil spring out of a fulness of nature ruined by education rather than from any inferiority, whereas weak natures are scarcely capable of any very great good or very great evil?

There I think that you are right.

And our philosopher follows the same analogy-he is like a plant which, having proper nurture, must necessarily grow and mature into all virtue, but, if sown and planted in an alien soil, becomes the most noxious of all weeds, unless he be preserved by some divine power. Do you really think, as people so often say, that our youth are corrupted by Sophists, or that private teachers of the art corrupt them in any degree worth speaking of? Are not the public who say these things the greatest of all Sophists? And do they not educate to perfection young and old, men and women alike, and fashion them after their own hearts?

When is this accomplished? he said.

When they meet together, and the world sits down at an assembly, or in a court of law, or a theatre, or a camp, or in any other popular resort, and there is a great uproar, and they praise some things which are being said or done, and blame other things, equally exaggerating both, shouting and clapping their hands, and the echo of the rocks and the place in which they are assembled redoubles the sound of the praise or blame — at such a time will not a young man’s heart, as they say, leap within him? Will any private training enable him to stand firm against the overwhelming flood of popular opinion? or will he be carried away by the stream? Will he not have the notions of good and evil which the public in general have — he will do as they do, and as they are, such will he be?

Yes, Socrates; necessity will compel him.

And yet, I said, there is a still greater necessity, which has not been mentioned.

What is that?

The gentle force of attainder or confiscation or death which, as you are aware, these new Sophists and educators who are the public, apply when their words are powerless.

Indeed they do; and in right good earnest.

Now what opinion of any other Sophist, or of any private person, can be expected to overcome in such an unequal contest?

None, he replied.

No, indeed, I said, even to make the attempt is a great piece of folly; there neither is, nor has been, nor is ever likely to be, any different type of character which has had no other training in virtue but that which is supplied by public opinion — I speak, my friend, of human virtue only; what is more than human, as the proverb says, is not included: for I would not have you ignorant that, in the present evil state of governments, whatever is saved and comes to good is saved by the power of God, as we may truly say.

I quite assent, he replied.

Then let me crave your assent also to a further observation.

What are you going to say?

Why, that all those mercenary individuals, whom the many call Sophists and whom they deem to be their adversaries, do, in fact, teach nothing but the opinion of the many, that is to say, the opinions of their assemblies; and this is their wisdom. I might compare them to a man who should study the tempers and desires of a mighty strong beast who is fed by him-he would learn how to approach and handle him, also at what times and from what causes he is dangerous or the reverse, and what is the meaning of his several cries, and by what sounds, when another utters them, he is soothed or infuriated; and you may suppose further, that when, by continually attending upon him, he has become perfect in all this, he calls his knowledge wisdom, and makes of it a system or art, which he proceeds to teach, although he has no real notion of what he means by the principles or passions of which he is speaking, but calls this honourable and that dishonourable, or good or evil, or just or unjust, all in accordance with the tastes and tempers of the great brute. Good he pronounces to be that in which the beast delights and evil to be that which he dislikes; and he can give no other account of them except that the just and noble are the necessary, having never himself seen, and having no power of explaining to others the nature of either, or the difference between them, which is immense. By heaven, would not such an one be a rare educator?

Indeed, he would.

And in what way does he who thinks that wisdom is the discernment of the tempers and tastes of the motley multitude, whether in painting or music, or, finally, in politics, differ from him whom I have been describing? For when a man consorts with the many, and exhibits to them his poem or other work of art or the service which he has done the State, making them his judges when he is not obliged, the so-called necessity of Diomede will oblige him to produce whatever they praise. And yet the reasons are utterly ludicrous which they give in confirmation of their own notions about the honourable and good. Did you ever hear any of them which were not?

No, nor am I likely to hear.

You recognise the truth of what I have been saying? Then let me ask you to consider further whether the world will ever be induced to believe in the existence of absolute beauty rather than of the many beautiful, or of the absolute in each kind rather than of the many in each kind?

Certainly not.

Then the world cannot possibly be a philosopher?

Impossible.

And therefore philosophers must inevitably fall under the censure of the world?

They must.

And of individuals who consort with the mob and seek to please them?

That is evident.

Then, do you see any way in which the philosopher can be preserved in his calling to the end? and remember what we were saying of him, that he was to have quickness and memory and courage and magnificence — these were admitted by us to be the true philosopher’s gifts.

Yes.

Will not such an one from his early childhood be in all things first among all, especially if his bodily endowments are like his mental ones?

Certainly, he said.

And his friends and fellow-citizens will want to use him as he gets older for their own purposes?

No question.

Falling at his feet, they will make requests to him and do him honour and flatter him, because they want to get into their hands now, the power which he will one day possess.

That often happens, he said.

And what will a man such as he be likely to do under such circumstances, especially if he be a citizen of a great city, rich and noble, and a tall proper youth? Will he not be full of boundless aspirations, and fancy himself able to manage the affairs of Hellenes and of barbarians, and having got such notions into his head will he not dilate and elevate himself in the fulness of vain pomp and senseless pride?

To be sure he will.

Now, when he is in this state of mind, if some one gently comes to him and tells him that he is a fool and must get understanding, which can only be got by slaving for it, do you think that, under such adverse circumstances, he will be easily induced to listen?

Far otherwise.

And even if there be some one who through inherent goodness or natural reasonableness has had his eyes opened a little and is humbled and taken captive by philosophy, how will his friends behave when they think that they are likely to lose the advantage which they were hoping to reap from his companionship? Will they not do and say anything to prevent him from yielding to his better nature and to render his teacher powerless, using to this end private intrigues as well as public prosecutions?

There can be no doubt of it.

And how can one who is thus circumstanced ever become a philosopher?

Impossible.

Then were we not right in saying that even the very qualities which make a man a philosopher may, if he be ill-educated, divert him from philosophy, no less than riches and their accompaniments and the other so-called goods of life?

We were quite right.

Thus, my excellent friend, is brought about all that ruin and failure which I have been describing of the natures best adapted to the best of all pursuits; they are natures which we maintain to be rare at any time; this being the class out of which come the men who are the authors of the greatest evil to States and individuals; and also of the greatest good when the tide carries them in that direction; but a small man never was the doer of any great thing either to individuals or to States.

That is most true, he said.

And so philosophy is left desolate, with her marriage rite incomplete: for her own have fallen away and forsaken her, and while they are leading a false and unbecoming life, other unworthy persons, seeing that she has no kinsmen to be her protectors, enter in and dishonour her; and fasten upon her the reproaches which, as you say, her reprovers utter, who affirm of her votaries that some are good for nothing, and that the greater number deserve the severest punishment.

That is certainly what people say.

Yes; and what else would you expect, I said, when you think of the puny creatures who, seeing this land open to them — a land well stocked with fair names and showy titles — like prisoners running out of prison into a sanctuary, take a leap out of their trades into philosophy; those who do so being probably the cleverest hands at their own miserable crafts? For, although philosophy be in this evil case, still there remains a dignity about her which is not to be found in the arts. And many are thus attracted by her whose natures are imperfect and whose souls are maimed and disfigured by their meannesses, as their bodies are by their trades and crafts. Is not this unavoidable?

Yes.

Are they not exactly like a bald little tinker who has just got out of durance and come into a fortune; he takes a bath and puts on a new coat, and is decked out as a bridegroom going to marry his master’s daughter, who is left poor and desolate?

A most exact parallel.

What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile and bastard?

There can be no question of it.

And when persons who are unworthy of education approach philosophy and make an alliance with her who is a rank above them what sort of ideas and opinions are likely to be generated? Will they not be sophisms captivating to the ear, having nothing in them genuine, or worthy of or akin to true wisdom?

No doubt, he said.

Then, Adeimantus, I said, the worthy disciples of philosophy will be but a small remnant: perchance some noble and well-educated person, detained by exile in her service, who in the absence of corrupting influences remains devoted to her; or some lofty soul born in a mean city, the politics of which he contemns and neglects; and there may be a gifted few who leave the arts, which they justly despise, and come to her; — or peradventure there are some who are restrained by our friend Theages’ bridle; for everything in the life of Theages conspired to divert him from philosophy; but ill-health kept him away from politics. My own case of the internal sign is hardly worth mentioning, for rarely, if ever, has such a monitor been given to any other man. Those who belong to this small class have tasted how sweet and blessed a possession philosophy is, and have also seen enough of the madness of the multitude; and they know that no politician is honest, nor is there any champion of justice at whose side they may fight and be saved. Such an one may be compared to a man who has fallen among wild beasts — he will not join in the wickedness of his fellows, but neither is he able singly to resist all their fierce natures, and therefore seeing that he would be of no use to the State or to his friends, and reflecting that he would have to throw away his life without doing any good either to himself or others, he holds his peace, and goes his own way. He is like one who, in the storm of dust and sleet which the driving wind hurries along, retires under the shelter of a wall; and seeing the rest of mankind full of wickedness, he is content, if only he can live his own life and be pure from evil or unrighteousness, and depart in peace and good-will, with bright hopes.

Yes, he said, and he will have done a great work before he departs.

A great work — yes; but not the greatest, unless he find a State suitable to him; for in a State which is suitable to him, he will have a larger growth and be the saviour of his country, as well as of himself.

The causes why philosophy is in such an evil name have now been sufficiently explained: the injustice of the charges against her has been shown-is there anything more which you wish to say?

Nothing more on that subject, he replied; but I should like to know which of the governments now existing is in your opinion the one adapted to her.

Not any of them, I said; and that is precisely the accusation which I bring against them — not one of them is worthy of the philosophic nature, and hence that nature is warped and estranged; — as the exotic seed which is sown in a foreign land becomes denaturalized, and is wont to be overpowered and to lose itself in the new soil, even so this growth of philosophy, instead of persisting, degenerates and receives another character. But if philosophy ever finds in the State that perfection which she herself is, then will be seen that she is in truth divine, and that all other things, whether natures of men or institutions, are but human; — and now, I know that you are going to ask, what that State is.

No, he said; there you are wrong, for I was going to ask another question — whether it is the State of which we are the founders and inventors, or some other?

Yes, I replied, ours in most respects; but you may remember my saying before, that some living authority would always be required in the State having the same idea of the constitution which guided you when as legislator you were laying down the laws.

That was said, he replied.

Yes, but not in a satisfactory manner; you frightened us by interposing objections, which certainly showed that the discussion would be long and difficult; and what still remains is the reverse of easy.

What is there remaining?

The question how the study of philosophy may be so ordered as not to be the ruin of the State: All great attempts are attended with risk; ‘hard is the good,’ as men say.

Still, he said, let the point be cleared up, and the enquiry will then be complete.

I shall not be hindered, I said, by any want of will, but, if at all, by a want of power: my zeal you may see for yourselves; and please to remark in what I am about to say how boldly and unhesitatingly I declare that States should pursue philosophy, not as they do now, but in a different spirit.

In what manner?

At present, I said, the students of philosophy are quite young; beginning when they are hardly past childhood, they devote only the time saved from moneymaking and housekeeping to such pursuits; and even those of them who are reputed to have most of the philosophic spirit, when they come within sight of the great difficulty of the subject, I mean dialectic, take themselves off. In after life when invited by some one else, they may, perhaps, go and hear a lecture, and about this they make much ado, for philosophy is not considered by them to be their proper business: at last, when they grow old, in most cases they are extinguished more truly than Heracleitus’ sun, inasmuch as they never light up again.

But what ought to be their course?

Just the opposite. In childhood and youth their study, and what philosophy they learn, should be suited to their tender years: during this period while they are growing up towards manhood, the chief and special care should be given to their bodies that they may have them to use in the service of philosophy; as life advances and the intellect begins to mature, let them increase the gymnastics of the soul; but when the strength of our citizens fails and is past civil and military duties, then let them range at will and engage in no serious labour, as we intend them to live happily here, and to crown this life with a similar happiness in another.

How truly in earnest you are, Socrates! he said; I am sure of that; and yet most of your hearers, if I am not mistaken, are likely to be still more earnest in their opposition to you, and will never be convinced; Thrasymachus least of all.

Do not make a quarrel, I said, between Thrasymachus and me, who have recently become friends, although, indeed, we were never enemies; for I shall go on striving to the utmost until I either convert him and other men, or do something which may profit them against the day when they live again, and hold the like discourse in another state of existence.

You are speaking of a time which is not very near.

Rather, I replied, of a time which is as nothing in comparison with eternity. Nevertheless, I do not wonder that the many refuse to believe; for they have never seen that of which we are now speaking realised; they have seen only a conventional imitation of philosophy, consisting of words artificially brought together, not like these of ours having a natural unity. But a human being who in word and work is perfectly moulded, as far as he can be, into the proportion and likeness of virtue — such a man ruling in a city which bears the same image, they have never yet seen, neither one nor many of them — do you think that they ever did?

No indeed.

No, my friend, and they have seldom, if ever, heard free and noble sentiments; such as men utter when they are earnestly and by every means in their power seeking after truth for the sake of knowledge, while they look coldly on the subtleties of controversy, of which the end is opinion and strife, whether they meet with them in the courts of law or in society.

They are strangers, he said, to the words of which you speak.

And this was what we foresaw, and this was the reason why truth forced us to admit, not without fear and hesitation, that neither cities nor States nor individuals will ever attain perfection until the small class of philosophers whom we termed useless but not corrupt are providentially compelled, whether they will or not, to take care of the State, and until a like necessity be laid on the State to obey them; or until kings, or if not kings, the sons of kings or princes, are divinely inspired with a true love of true philosophy. That either or both of these alternatives are impossible, I see no reason to affirm: if they were so, we might indeed be justly ridiculed as dreamers and visionaries. Am I not right?

Quite right.

If then, in the countless ages of the past, or at the present hour in some foreign clime which is far away and beyond our ken, the perfected philosopher is or has been or hereafter shall be compelled by a superior power to have the charge of the State, we are ready to assert to the death, that this our constitution has been, and is — yea, and will be whenever the Muse of Philosophy is queen. There is no impossibility in all this; that there is a difficulty, we acknowledge ourselves.

My opinion agrees with yours, he said.

But do you mean to say that this is not the opinion of the multitude?

I should imagine not, he replied.

O my friend, I said, do not attack the multitude: they will change their minds, if, not in an aggressive spirit, but gently and with the view of soothing them and removing their dislike of over-education, you show them your philosophers as they really are and describe as you were just now doing their character and profession, and then mankind will see that he of whom you are speaking is not such as they supposed — if they view him in this new light, they will surely change their notion of him, and answer in another strain. Who can be at enmity with one who loves them, who that is himself gentle and free from envy will be jealous of one in whom there is no jealousy? Nay, let me answer for you, that in a few this harsh temper may be found but not in the majority of mankind.

I quite agree with you, he said.

And do you not also think, as I do, that the harsh feeling which the many entertain towards philosophy originates in the pretenders, who rush in uninvited, and are always abusing them, and finding fault with them, who make persons instead of things the theme of their conversation? and nothing can be more unbecoming in philosophers than this.

It is most unbecoming.

For he, Adeimantus, whose mind is fixed upon true being, has surely no time to look down upon the affairs of earth, or to be filled with malice and envy, contending against men; his eye is ever directed towards things fixed and immutable, which he sees neither injuring nor injured by one another, but all in order moving according to reason; these he imitates, and to these he will, as far as he can, conform himself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds reverential converse?

Impossible.

And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order, becomes orderly and divine, as far as the nature of man allows; but like every one else, he will suffer from detraction.

Of course.

And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself, but human nature generally, whether in States or individuals, into that which he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an unskilful artificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue?

Anything but unskilful.

And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is the truth, will they be angry with philosophy? Will they disbelieve us, when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not designed by artists who imitate the heavenly pattern?

They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But how will they draw out the plan of which you are speaking?

They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from which, as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a clean surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein will lie the difference between them and every other legislator, — they will have nothing to do either with individual or State, and will inscribe no laws, until they have either found, or themselves made, a clean surface.

They will be very right, he said.

Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the constitution?

No doubt.

And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will often turn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will first look at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at the human copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of life into the image of a man; and thus they will conceive according to that other image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the form and likeness of God.

Very true, he said.

And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in, they have made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the ways of God?

Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture.

And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you described as rushing at us with might and main, that the painter of constitutions is such an one as we are praising; at whom they were so very indignant because to his hands we committed the State; and are they growing a little calmer at what they have just heard?

Much calmer, if there is any sense in them.

Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will they doubt that the philosopher is a lover of truth and being?

They would not be so unreasonable.

Or that his nature, being such as we have delineated, is akin to the highest good?

Neither can they doubt this.

But again, will they tell us that such a nature, placed under favourable circumstances, will not be perfectly good and wise if any ever was? Or will they prefer those whom we have rejected?

Surely not.

Then will they still be angry at our saying, that, until philosophers bear rule, States and individuals will have no rest from evil, nor will this our imaginary State ever be realised?

I think that they will be less angry.

Shall we assume that they are not only less angry but quite gentle, and that they have been converted and for very shame, if for no other reason, cannot refuse to come to terms?

By all means, he said.

Then let us suppose that the reconciliation has been effected. Will any one deny the other point, that there may be sons of kings or princes who are by nature philosophers?

Surely no man, he said.

And when they have come into being will any one say that they must of necessity be destroyed; that they can hardly be saved is not denied even by us; but that in the whole course of ages no single one of them can escape — who will venture to affirm this?

Who indeed!

But, said I, one is enough; let there be one man who has a city obedient to his will, and he might bring into existence the ideal polity about which the world is so incredulous.

Yes, one is enough.

The ruler may impose the laws and institutions which we have been describing, and the citizens may possibly be willing to obey them?

Certainly.

And that others should approve of what we approve, is no miracle or impossibility?

I think not.

But we have sufficiently shown, in what has preceded, that all this, if only possible, is assuredly for the best.

We have.

And now we say not only that our laws, if they could be enacted, would be for the best, but also that the enactment of them, though difficult, is not impossible.

Very good.

And so with pain and toil we have reached the end of one subject, but more remains to be discussed; — how and by what studies and pursuits will the saviours of the constitution be created, and at what ages are they to apply themselves to their several studies?

Certainly.

I omitted the troublesome business of the possession of women, and the procreation of children, and the appointment of the rulers, because I knew that the perfect State would be eyed with jealousy and was difficult of attainment; but that piece of cleverness was not of much service to me, for I had to discuss them all the same. The women and children are now disposed of, but the other question of the rulers must be investigated from the very beginning. We were saying, as you will remember, that they were to be lovers of their country, tried by the test of pleasures and pains, and neither in hardships, nor in dangers, nor at any other critical moment were to lose their patriotism — he was to be rejected who failed, but he who always came forth pure, like gold tried in the refiner’s fire, was to be made a ruler, and to receive honours and rewards in life and after death. This was the sort of thing which was being said, and then the argument turned aside and veiled her face; not liking to stir the question which has now arisen.

I perfectly remember, he said.

Yes, my friend, I said, and I then shrank from hazarding the bold word; but now let me dare to say — that the perfect guardian must be a philosopher.

Yes, he said, let that be affirmed.

And do not suppose that there will be many of them; for the gifts which were deemed by us to be essential rarely grow together; they are mostly found in shreds and patches.

What do you mean? he said.

You are aware, I replied, that quick intelligence, memory, sagacity, cleverness, and similar qualities, do not often grow together, and that persons who possess them and are at the same time high-spirited and magnanimous are not so constituted by nature as to live orderly and in a peaceful and settled manner; they are driven any way by their impulses, and all solid principle goes out of them.

Very true, he said.

On the other hand, those steadfast natures which can better be depended upon, which in a battle are impregnable to fear and immovable, are equally immovable when there is anything to be learned; they are always in a torpid state, and are apt to yawn and go to sleep over any intellectual toil.

Quite true.

And yet we were saying that both qualities were necessary in those to whom the higher education is to be imparted, and who are to share in any office or command.

Certainly, he said.

And will they be a class which is rarely found?

Yes, indeed.

Then the aspirant must not only be tested in those labours and dangers and pleasures which we mentioned before, but there is another kind of probation which we did not mention — he must be exercised also in many kinds of knowledge, to see whether the soul will be able to endure the highest of all, will faint under them, as in any other studies and exercises.

Yes, he said, you are quite right in testing him. But what do you mean by the highest of all knowledge?

You may remember, I said, that we divided the soul into three parts; and distinguished the several natures of justice, temperance, courage, and wisdom?

Indeed, he said, if I had forgotten, I should not deserve to hear more.

And do you remember the word of caution which preceded the discussion of them?

To what do you refer?

We were saying, if I am not mistaken, that he who wanted to see them in their perfect beauty must take a longer and more circuitous way, at the end of which they would appear; but that we could add on a popular exposition of them on a level with the discussion which had preceded. And you replied that such an exposition would be enough for you, and so the enquiry was continued in what to me seemed to be a very inaccurate manner; whether you were satisfied or not, it is for you to say.

Yes, he said, I thought and the others thought that you gave us a fair measure of truth.

But, my friend, I said, a measure of such things Which in any degree falls short of the whole truth is not fair measure; for nothing imperfect is the measure of anything, although persons are too apt to be contented and think that they need search no further.

Not an uncommon case when people are indolent.

Yes, I said; and there cannot be any worse fault in a guardian of the
State and of the laws.

True.

The guardian then, I said, must be required to take the longer circuit, and toll at learning as well as at gymnastics, or he will never reach the highest knowledge of all which, as we were just now saying, is his proper calling.

What, he said, is there a knowledge still higher than this — higher than justice and the other virtues?

Yes, I said, there is. And of the virtues too we must behold not the outline merely, as at present — nothing short of the most finished picture should satisfy us. When little things are elaborated with an infinity of pains, in order that they may appear in their full beauty and utmost clearness, how ridiculous that we should not think the highest truths worthy of attaining the highest accuracy!

A right noble thought; but do you suppose that we shall refrain from asking you what is this highest knowledge?

Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard the answer many times, and now you either do not understand me or, as I rather think, you are disposed to be troublesome; for you have of been told that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that all other things become useful and advantageous only by their use of this. You can hardly be ignorant that of this I was about to speak, concerning which, as you have often heard me say, we know so little; and, without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind will profit us nothing. Do you think that the possession of all other things is of any value if we do not possess the good? or the knowledge of all other things if we have no knowledge of beauty and goodness?

Assuredly not.

You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the good, but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge

Yes.

And you are aware too that the latter cannot explain what they mean by knowledge, but are obliged after all to say knowledge of the good?

How ridiculous!

Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with our ignorance of the good, and then presume our knowledge of it — for the good they define to be knowledge of the good, just as if we understood them when they use the term ‘good’ — this is of course ridiculous.

Most true, he said.

And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity; for they are compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures as well as good.

Certainly.

And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same?

True.

There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which this question is involved.

There can be none.

Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or to seem to be what is just and honourable without the reality; but no one is satisfied with the appearance of good — the reality is what they seek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by every one.

Very true, he said.

Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of all his actions, having a presentiment that there is such an end, and yet hesitating because neither knowing the nature nor having the same assurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing whatever good there is in other things, — of a principle such and so great as this ought the best men in our State, to whom everything is entrusted, to be in the darkness of ignorance?

Certainly not, he said.

I am sure, I said, that he who does not know now the beautiful and the just are likewise good will be but a sorry guardian of them; and I suspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will have a true knowledge of them.

That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours.

And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge our State will be perfectly ordered?

Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether you conceive this supreme principle of the good to be knowledge or pleasure, or different from either.

Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman like you would not be contented with the thoughts of other people about these matters.

True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed a lifetime in the study of philosophy should not be always repeating the opinions of others, and never telling his own.

Well, but has any one a right to say positively what he does not know?

Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no right to do that: but he may say what he thinks, as a matter of opinion.

And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and the best of them blind? You would not deny that those who have any true notion without intelligence are only like blind men who feel their way along the road?

Very true.

And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, when others will tell you of brightness and beauty?

GLAUCON - SOCRATES

Still, I must implore you, Socrates, said Glaucon, not to turn away just as you are reaching the goal; if you will only give such an explanation of the good as you have already given of justice and temperance and the other virtues, we shall be satisfied.

Yes, my friend, and I shall be at least equally satisfied, but I cannot help fearing that I shall fall, and that my indiscreet zeal will bring ridicule upon me. No, sweet sirs, let us not at present ask what is the actual nature of the good, for to reach what is now in my thoughts would be an effort too great for me. But of the child of the good who is likest him, I would fain speak, if I could be sure that you wished to hear — otherwise, not.

By all means, he said, tell us about the child, and you shall remain in our debt for the account of the parent.

I do indeed wish, I replied, that I could pay, and you receive, the account of the parent, and not, as now, of the offspring only; take, however, this latter by way of interest, and at the same time have a care that i do not render a false account, although I have no intention of deceiving you.

Yes, we will take all the care that we can: proceed.

Yes, I said, but I must first come to an understanding with you, and remind you of what I have mentioned in the course of this discussion, and at many other times.

What?

The old story, that there is a many beautiful and a many good, and so of other things which we describe and define; to all of them ‘many’ is applied.

True, he said.

And there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and of other things to which the term ‘many’ is applied there is an absolute; for they may be brought under a single idea, which is called the essence of each.

Very true.

The many, as we say, are seen but not known, and the ideas are known but not seen.

Exactly.

And what is the organ with which we see the visible things?

The sight, he said.

And with the hearing, I said, we hear, and with the other senses perceive the other objects of sense?

True.

But have you remarked that sight is by far the most costly and complex piece of workmanship which the artificer of the senses ever contrived?

No, I never have, he said.

Then reflect; has the ear or voice need of any third or additional nature in order that the one may be able to hear and the other to be heard?

Nothing of the sort.

No, indeed, I replied; and the same is true of most, if not all, the other senses — you would not say that any of them requires such an addition?

Certainly not.

But you see that without the addition of some other nature there is no seeing or being seen?

How do you mean?

Sight being, as I conceive, in the eyes, and he who has eyes wanting to see; colour being also present in them, still unless there be a third nature specially adapted to the purpose, the owner of the eyes will see nothing and the colours will be invisible.

Of what nature are you speaking?

Of that which you term light, I replied.

True, he said.

Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight and visibility, and great beyond other bonds by no small difference of nature; for light is their bond, and light is no ignoble thing?

Nay, he said, the reverse of ignoble.

And which, I said, of the gods in heaven would you say was the lord of this element? Whose is that light which makes the eye to see perfectly and the visible to appear?

You mean the sun, as you and all mankind say.

May not the relation of sight to this deity be described as follows?

How?

Neither sight nor the eye in which sight resides is the sun?

No.

Yet of all the organs of sense the eye is the most like the sun?

By far the most like.

And the power which the eye possesses is a sort of effluence which is dispensed from the sun?

Exactly.

Then the sun is not sight, but the author of sight who is recognised by sight.

True, he said.

And this is he whom I call the child of the good, whom the good begat in his own likeness, to be in the visible world, in relation to sight and the things of sight, what the good is in the intellectual world in relation to mind and the things of mind.

Will you be a little more explicit? he said.

Why, you know, I said, that the eyes, when a person directs them towards objects on which the light of day is no longer shining, but the moon and stars only, see dimly, and are nearly blind; they seem to have no clearness of vision in them?

Very true.

But when they are directed towards objects on which the sun shines, they see clearly and there is sight in them?

Certainly.

And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which truth and being shine, the soul perceives and understands and is radiant with intelligence; but when turned towards the twilight of becoming and perishing, then she has opinion only, and goes blinking about, and is first of one opinion and then of another, and seems to have no intelligence?

Just so.

Now, that which imparts truth to the known and the power of knowing to the knower is what I would have you term the idea of good, and this you will deem to be the cause of science, and of truth in so far as the latter becomes the subject of knowledge; beautiful too, as are both truth and knowledge, you will be right in esteeming this other nature as more beautiful than either; and, as in the previous instance, light and sight may be truly said to be like the sun, and yet not to be the sun, so in this other sphere, science and truth may be deemed to be like the good, but not the good; the good has a place of honour yet higher.

What a wonder of beauty that must be, he said, which is the author of science and truth, and yet surpasses them in beauty; for you surely cannot mean to say that pleasure is the good?

God forbid, I replied; but may I ask you to consider the image in another point of view?

In what point of view?

You would say, would you not, that the sun is only the author of visibility in all visible things, but of generation and nourishment and growth, though he himself is not generation?

Certainly.

In like manner the good may be said to be not only the author of knowledge to all things known, but of their being and essence, and yet the good is not essence, but far exceeds essence in dignity and power.

Glaucon said, with a ludicrous earnestness: By the light of heaven, how amazing!

Yes, I said, and the exaggeration may be set down to you; for you made me utter my fancies.

And pray continue to utter them; at any rate let us hear if there is anything more to be said about the similitude of the sun.

Yes, I said, there is a great deal more.

Then omit nothing, however slight.

I will do my best, I said; but I should think that a great deal will have to be omitted.

You have to imagine, then, that there are two ruling powers, and that one of them is set over the intellectual world, the other over the visible. I do not say heaven, lest you should fancy that I am playing upon the name (‘ourhanoz, orhatoz’). May I suppose that you have this distinction of the visible and intelligible fixed in your mind?

I have.

Now take a line which has been cut into two unequal parts, and divide each of them again in the same proportion, and suppose the two main divisions to answer, one to the visible and the other to the intelligible, and then compare the subdivisions in respect of their clearness and want of clearness, and you will find that the first section in the sphere of the visible consists of images. And by images I mean, in the first place, shadows, and in the second place, reflections in water and in solid, smooth and polished bodies and the like: Do you understand?

Yes, I understand.

Imagine, now, the other section, of which this is only the resemblance, to include the animals which we see, and everything that grows or is made.

Very good.

Would you not admit that both the sections of this division have different degrees of truth, and that the copy is to the original as the sphere of opinion is to the sphere of knowledge?

Most undoubtedly.

Next proceed to consider the manner in which the sphere of the intellectual is to be divided.

In what manner?

Thus: — There are two subdivisions, in the lower or which the soul uses the figures given by the former division as images; the enquiry can only be hypothetical, and instead of going upwards to a principle descends to the other end; in the higher of the two, the soul passes out of hypotheses, and goes up to a principle which is above hypotheses, making no use of images as in the former case, but proceeding only in and through the ideas themselves.

I do not quite understand your meaning, he said.

Then I will try again; you will understand me better when I have made some preliminary remarks. You are aware that students of geometry, arithmetic, and the kindred sciences assume the odd and the even and the figures and three kinds of angles and the like in their several branches of science; these are their hypotheses, which they and everybody are supposed to know, and therefore they do not deign to give any account of them either to themselves or others; but they begin with them, and go on until they arrive at last, and in a consistent manner, at their conclusion?

Yes, he said, I know.

And do you not know also that although they make use of the visible forms and reason about them, they are thinking not of these, but of the ideals which they resemble; not of the figures which they draw, but of the absolute square and the absolute diameter, and so on — the forms which they draw or make, and which have shadows and reflections in water of their own, are converted by them into images, but they are really seeking to behold the things themselves, which can only be seen with the eye of the mind?

That is true.

And of this kind I spoke as the intelligible, although in the search after it the soul is compelled to use hypotheses; not ascending to a first principle, because she is unable to rise above the region of hypothesis, but employing the objects of which the shadows below are resemblances in their turn as images, they having in relation to the shadows and reflections of them a greater distinctness, and therefore a higher value.

I understand, he said, that you are speaking of the province of geometry and the sister arts.

And when I speak of the other division of the intelligible, you will understand me to speak of that other sort of knowledge which reason herself attains by the power of dialectic, using the hypotheses not as first principles, but only as hypotheses — that is to say, as steps and points of departure into a world which is above hypotheses, in order that she may soar beyond them to the first principle of the whole; and clinging to this and then to that which depends on this, by successive steps she descends again without the aid of any sensible object, from ideas, through ideas, and in ideas she ends.

I understand you, he replied; not perfectly, for you seem to me to be describing a task which is really tremendous; but, at any rate, I understand you to say that knowledge and being, which the science of dialectic contemplates, are clearer than the notions of the arts, as they are termed, which proceed from hypotheses only: these are also contemplated by the understanding, and not by the senses: yet, because they start from hypotheses and do not ascend to a principle, those who contemplate them appear to you not to exercise the higher reason upon them, although when a first principle is added to them they are cognizable by the higher reason. And the habit which is concerned with geometry and the cognate sciences I suppose that you would term understanding and not reason, as being intermediate between opinion and reason.

You have quite conceived my meaning, I said; and now, corresponding to these four divisions, let there be four faculties in the soul-reason answering to the highest, understanding to the second, faith (or conviction) to the third, and perception of shadows to the last-and let there be a scale of them, and let us suppose that the several faculties have clearness in the same degree that their objects have truth.

I understand, he replied, and give my assent, and accept your arrangement.

BOOK VII

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

AND now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: — Behold! human beings living in a underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets.

I see.

And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent.

You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners.

Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave?

True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads?

And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows?

Yes, he said.

And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them?

Very true.

And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow?

No question, he replied.

To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.

That is certain.

And now look again, and see what will naturally follow it’ the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision, what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them, — will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?

Far truer.

And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take and take in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him?

True, he now

And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he’s forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities.

Not all in a moment, he said.

He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day?

Certainly.

Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is.

Certainly.

He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold?

Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about him.

And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them?

Certainly, he would.

And if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honours and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer,

Better to be the poor servant of a poor master,

and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner?

Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner.

Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness?

To be sure, he said.

And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death.

No question, he said.

This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful and right, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would act rationally, either in public or private life must have his eye fixed.

I agree, he said, as far as I am able to understand you.

Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted.

Yes, very natural.

And is there anything surprising in one who passes from divine contemplations to the evil state of man, misbehaving himself in a ridiculous manner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he has become accustomed to the surrounding darkness, he is compelled to fight in courts of law, or in other places, about the images or the shadows of images of justice, and is endeavouring to meet the conceptions of those who have never yet seen absolute justice?

Anything but surprising, he replied.

Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind’s eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the den.

That, he said, is a very just distinction.

But then, if I am right, certain professors of education must be wrong when they say that they can put a knowledge into the soul which was not there before, like sight into blind eyes.

They undoubtedly say this, he replied.

Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul already; and that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being, and of the brightest and best of being, or in other words, of the good.

Very true.

And must there not be some art which will effect conversion in the easiest and quickest manner; not implanting the faculty of sight, for that exists already, but has been turned in the wrong direction, and is looking away from the truth?

Yes, he said, such an art may be presumed.

And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities, for even when they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise, the of wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which always remains, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on the other hand, hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue — how eager he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is the reverse of blind, but his keen eyesight is forced into the service of evil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness.

Very true, he said.

But what if there had been a circumcision of such natures in the days of their youth; and they had been severed from those sensual pleasures, such as eating and drinking, which, like leaden weights, were attached to them at their birth, and which drag them down and turn the vision of their souls upon the things that are below — if, I say, they had been released from these impediments and turned in the opposite direction, the very same faculty in them would have seen the truth as keenly as they see what their eyes are turned to now.

Very likely.

Yes, I said; and there is another thing which is likely, or rather a necessary inference from what has preceded, that neither the uneducated and uninformed of the truth, nor yet those who never make an end of their education, will be able ministers of State; not the former, because they have no single aim of duty which is the rule of all their actions, private as well as public; nor the latter, because they will not act at all except upon compulsion, fancying that they are already dwelling apart in the islands of the blest.

Very true, he replied.

Then, I said, the business of us who are the founders of the State will be to compel the best minds to attain that knowledge which we have already shown to be the greatest of all-they must continue to ascend until they arrive at the good; but when they have ascended and seen enough we must not allow them to do as they do now.

What do you mean?

I mean that they remain in the upper world: but this must not be allowed; they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in the den, and partake of their labours and honours, whether they are worth having or not.

But is not this unjust? he said; ought we to give them a worse life, when they might have a better?

You have again forgotten, my friend, I said, the intention of the legislator, who did not aim at making any one class in the State happy above the rest; the happiness was to be in the whole State, and he held the citizens together by persuasion and necessity, making them benefactors of the State, and therefore benefactors of one another; to this end he created them, not to please themselves, but to be his instruments in binding up the State.

True, he said, I had forgotten.

Observe, Glaucon, that there will be no injustice in compelling our philosophers to have a care and providence of others; we shall explain to them that in other States, men of their class are not obliged to share in the toils of politics: and this is reasonable, for they grow up at their own sweet will, and the government would rather not have them. Being self-taught, they cannot be expected to show any gratitude for a culture which they have never received. But we have brought you into the world to be rulers of the hive, kings of yourselves and of the other citizens, and have educated you far better and more perfectly than they have been educated, and you are better able to share in the double duty. Wherefore each of you, when his turn comes, must go down to the general underground abode, and get the habit of seeing in the dark. When you have acquired the habit, you will see ten thousand times better than the inhabitants of the den, and you will know what the several images are, and what they represent, because you have seen the beautiful and just and good in their truth. And thus our State which is also yours will be a reality, and not a dream only, and will be administered in a spirit unlike that of other States, in which men fight with one another about shadows only and are distracted in the struggle for power, which in their eyes is a great good. Whereas the truth is that the State in which the rulers are most reluctant to govern is always the best and most quietly governed, and the State in which they are most eager, the worst.

Quite true, he replied.

And will our pupils, when they hear this, refuse to take their turn at the toils of State, when they are allowed to spend the greater part of their time with one another in the heavenly light?

Impossible, he answered; for they are just men, and the commands which we impose upon them are just; there can be no doubt that every one of them will take office as a stern necessity, and not after the fashion of our present rulers of State.

Yes, my friend, I said; and there lies the point. You must contrive for your future rulers another and a better life than that of a ruler, and then you may have a well-ordered State; for only in the State which offers this, will they rule who are truly rich, not in silver and gold, but in virtue and wisdom, which are the true blessings of life. Whereas if they go to the administration of public affairs, poor and hungering after the’ own private advantage, thinking that hence they are to snatch the chief good, order there can never be; for they will be fighting about office, and the civil and domestic broils which thus arise will be the ruin of the rulers themselves and of the whole State.

Most true, he replied.

And the only life which looks down upon the life of political ambition is that of true philosophy. Do you know of any other?

Indeed, I do not, he said.

And those who govern ought not to be lovers of the task? For, if they are, there will be rival lovers, and they will fight.

No question.

Who then are those whom we shall compel to be guardians? Surely they will be the men who are wisest about affairs of State, and by whom the State is best administered, and who at the same time have other honours and another and a better life than that of politics?

They are the men, and I will choose them, he replied.

And now shall we consider in what way such guardians will be produced, and how they are to be brought from darkness to light, — as some are said to have ascended from the world below to the gods?

By all means, he replied.

The process, I said, is not the turning over of an oyster-shell, but the turning round of a soul passing from a day which is little better than night to the true day of being, that is, the ascent from below, which we affirm to be true philosophy?

Quite so.

And should we not enquire what sort of knowledge has the power of effecting such a change?

Certainly.

What sort of knowledge is there which would draw the soul from becoming to being? And another consideration has just occurred to me: You will remember that our young men are to be warrior athletes

Yes, that was said.

Then this new kind of knowledge must have an additional quality?

What quality?

Usefulness in war.

Yes, if possible.

There were two parts in our former scheme of education, were there not?

Just so.

There was gymnastic which presided over the growth and decay of the body, and may therefore be regarded as having to do with generation and corruption?

True.

Then that is not the knowledge which we are seeking to discover? No.

But what do you say of music, which also entered to a certain extent into our former scheme?

Music, he said, as you will remember, was the counterpart of gymnastic, and trained the guardians by the influences of habit, by harmony making them harmonious, by rhythm rhythmical, but not giving them science; and the words, whether fabulous or possibly true, had kindred elements of rhythm and harmony in them. But in music there was nothing which tended to that good which you are now seeking.

You are most accurate, I said, in your recollection; in music there certainly was nothing of the kind. But what branch of knowledge is there, my dear Glaucon, which is of the desired nature; since all the useful arts were reckoned mean by us?

Undoubtedly; and yet if music and gymnastic are excluded, and the arts are also excluded, what remains?

Well, I said, there may be nothing left of our special subjects; and then we shall have to take something which is not special, but of universal application.

What may that be?

A something which all arts and sciences and intelligences use in common, and which every one first has to learn among the elements of education.

What is that?

The little matter of distinguishing one, two, and three — in a word, number and calculation: — do not all arts and sciences necessarily partake of them?

Yes.

Then the art of war partakes of them?

To the sure.

Then Palamedes, whenever he appears in tragedy, proves Agamemnon ridiculously unfit to be a general. Did you never remark how he declares that he had invented number, and had numbered the ships and set in array the ranks of the army at Troy; which implies that they had never been numbered before, and Agamemnon must be supposed literally to have been incapable of counting his own feet — how could he if he was ignorant of number? And if that is true, what sort of general must he have been?

I should say a very strange one, if this was as you say.

Can we deny that a warrior should have a knowledge of arithmetic?

Certainly he should, if he is to have the smallest understanding of military tactics, or indeed, I should rather say, if he is to be a man at all.

I should like to know whether you have the same notion which I have of this study?

What is your notion?

It appears to me to be a study of the kind which we are seeking, and which leads naturally to reflection, but never to have been rightly used; for the true use of it is simply to draw the soul towards being.

Will you explain your meaning? he said.

I will try, I said; and I wish you would share the enquiry with me, and say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ when I attempt to distinguish in my own mind what branches of knowledge have this attracting power, in order that we may have clearer proof that arithmetic is, as I suspect, one of them.

Explain, he said.

I mean to say that objects of sense are of two kinds; some of them do not invite thought because the sense is an adequate judge of them; while in the case of other objects sense is so untrustworthy that further enquiry is imperatively demanded.

You are clearly referring, he said, to the manner in which the senses are imposed upon by distance, and by painting in light and shade.

No, I said, that is not at all my meaning.

Then what is your meaning?

When speaking of uninviting objects, I mean those which do not pass from one sensation to the opposite; inviting objects are those which do; in this latter case the sense coming upon the object, whether at a distance or near, gives no more vivid idea of anything in particular than of its opposite. An illustration will make my meaning clearer: — here are three fingers — a little finger, a second finger, and a middle finger.

Very good.

You may suppose that they are seen quite close: And here comes the point.

What is it?

Each of them equally appears a finger, whether seen in the middle or at the extremity, whether white or black, or thick or thin — it makes no difference; a finger is a finger all the same. In these cases a man is not compelled to ask of thought the question, what is a finger? for the sight never intimates to the mind that a finger is other than a finger.

True.

And therefore, I said, as we might expect, there is nothing here which invites or excites intelligence.

There is not, he said.

But is this equally true of the greatness and smallness of the fingers? Can sight adequately perceive them? and is no difference made by the circumstance that one of the fingers is in the middle and another at the extremity? And in like manner does the touch adequately perceive the qualities of thickness or thinness, or softness or hardness? And so of the other senses; do they give perfect intimations of such matters? Is not their mode of operation on this wise — the sense which is concerned with the quality of hardness is necessarily concerned also with the quality of softness, and only intimates to the soul that the same thing is felt to be both hard and soft?

You are quite right, he said.

And must not the soul be perplexed at this intimation which the sense gives of a hard which is also soft? What, again, is the meaning of light and heavy, if that which is light is also heavy, and that which is heavy, light?

Yes, he said, these intimations which the soul receives are very curious and require to be explained.

Yes, I said, and in these perplexities the soul naturally summons to her aid calculation and intelligence, that she may see whether the several objects announced to her are one or two.

True.

And if they turn out to be two, is not each of them one and different?

Certainly.

And if each is one, and both are two, she will conceive the two as in a state of division, for if there were undivided they could only be conceived of as one?

True.

The eye certainly did see both small and great, but only in a confused manner; they were not distinguished.

Yes.

Whereas the thinking mind, intending to light up the chaos, was compelled to reverse the process, and look at small and great as separate and not confused.

Very true.

Was not this the beginning of the enquiry ‘What is great?’ and ‘What is small?’

Exactly so.

And thus arose the distinction of the visible and the intelligible.

Most true.

This was what I meant when I spoke of impressions which invited the intellect, or the reverse — those which are simultaneous with opposite impressions, invite thought; those which are not simultaneous do not.

I understand, he said, and agree with you.

And to which class do unity and number belong?

I do not know, he replied.

Think a little and you will see that what has preceded will supply the answer; for if simple unity could be adequately perceived by the sight or by any other sense, then, as we were saying in the case of the finger, there would be nothing to attract towards being; but when there is some contradiction always present, and one is the reverse of one and involves the conception of plurality, then thought begins to be aroused within us, and the soul perplexed and wanting to arrive at a decision asks ‘What is absolute unity?’ This is the way in which the study of the one has a power of drawing and converting the mind to the contemplation of true being.

And surely, he said, this occurs notably in the case of one; for we see the same thing to be both one and infinite in multitude?

Yes, I said; and this being true of one must be equally true of all number?

Certainly.

And all arithmetic and calculation have to do with number?

Yes.

And they appear to lead the mind towards truth?

Yes, in a very remarkable manner.

Then this is knowledge of the kind for which we are seeking, having a double use, military and philosophical; for the man of war must learn the art of number or he will not know how to array his troops, and the philosopher also, because he has to rise out of the sea of change and lay hold of true being, and therefore he must be an arithmetician.

That is true.

And our guardian is both warrior and philosopher?

Certainly.

Then this is a kind of knowledge which legislation may fitly prescribe; and we must endeavour to persuade those who are prescribe to be the principal men of our State to go and learn arithmetic, not as amateurs, but they must carry on the study until they see the nature of numbers with the mind only; nor again, like merchants or retail-traders, with a view to buying or selling, but for the sake of their military use, and of the soul herself; and because this will be the easiest way for her to pass from becoming to truth and being.

That is excellent, he said.

Yes, I said, and now having spoken of it, I must add how charming the science is! and in how many ways it conduces to our desired end, if pursued in the spirit of a philosopher, and not of a shopkeeper!

How do you mean?

I mean, as I was saying, that arithmetic has a very great and elevating effect, compelling the soul to reason about abstract number, and rebelling against the introduction of visible or tangible objects into the argument. You know how steadily the masters of the art repel and ridicule any one who attempts to divide absolute unity when he is calculating, and if you divide, they multiply, taking care that one shall continue one and not become lost in fractions.

That is very true.

Now, suppose a person were to say to them: O my friends, what are these wonderful numbers about which you are reasoning, in which, as you say, there is a unity such as you demand, and each unit is equal, invariable, indivisible, — what would they answer?

They would answer, as I should conceive, that they were speaking of those numbers which can only be realised in thought.

Then you see that this knowledge may be truly called necessary, necessitating as it clearly does the use of the pure intelligence in the attainment of pure truth?

Yes; that is a marked characteristic of it.

And have you further observed, that those who have a natural talent for calculation are generally quick at every other kind of knowledge; and even the dull if they have had an arithmetical training, although they may derive no other advantage from it, always become much quicker than they would otherwise have been.

Very true, he said.

And indeed, you will not easily find a more difficult study, and not many as difficult.

You will not.

And, for all these reasons, arithmetic is a kind of knowledge in which the best natures should be trained, and which must not be given up.

I agree.

Let this then be made one of our subjects of education. And next, shall we enquire whether the kindred science also concerns us?

You mean geometry?

Exactly so.

Clearly, he said, we are concerned with that part of geometry which relates to war; for in pitching a camp, or taking up a position, or closing or extending the lines of an army, or any other military manoeuvre, whether in actual battle or on a march, it will make all the difference whether a general is or is not a geometrician.

Yes, I said, but for that purpose a very little of either geometry or calculation will be enough; the question relates rather to the greater and more advanced part of geometry — whether that tends in any degree to make more easy the vision of the idea of good; and thither, as I was saying, all things tend which compel the soul to turn her gaze towards that place, where is the full perfection of being, which she ought, by all means, to behold.

True, he said.

Then if geometry compels us to view being, it concerns us; if becoming only, it does not concern us?

Yes, that is what we assert.

Yet anybody who has the least acquaintance with geometry will not deny that such a conception of the science is in flat contradiction to the ordinary language of geometricians.

How so?

They have in view practice only, and are always speaking? in a narrow and ridiculous manner, of squaring and extending and applying and the like — they confuse the necessities of geometry with those of daily life; whereas knowledge is the real object of the whole science.

Certainly, he said.

Then must not a further admission be made?

What admission?

That the knowledge at which geometry aims is knowledge of the eternal, and not of aught perishing and transient.

That, he replied, may be readily allowed, and is true.

Then, my noble friend, geometry will draw the soul towards truth, and create the spirit of philosophy, and raise up that which is now unhappily allowed to fall down.

Nothing will be more likely to have such an effect.

Then nothing should be more sternly laid down than that the inhabitants of your fair city should by all means learn geometry. Moreover the science has indirect effects, which are not small.

Of what kind? he said.

There are the military advantages of which you spoke, I said; and in all departments of knowledge, as experience proves, any one who has studied geometry is infinitely quicker of apprehension than one who has not.

Yes indeed, he said, there is an infinite difference between them.

Then shall we propose this as a second branch of knowledge which our youth will study?

Let us do so, he replied.

And suppose we make astronomy the third — what do you say?

I am strongly inclined to it, he said; the observation of the seasons and of months and years is as essential to the general as it is to the farmer or sailor.

I am amused, I said, at your fear of the world, which makes you guard against the appearance of insisting upon useless studies; and I quite admit the difficulty of believing that in every man there is an eye of the soul which, when by other pursuits lost and dimmed, is by these purified and re-illumined; and is more precious far than ten thousand bodily eyes, for by it alone is truth seen. Now there are two classes of persons: one class of those who will agree with you and will take your words as a revelation; another class to whom they will be utterly unmeaning, and who will naturally deem them to be idle tales, for they see no sort of profit which is to be obtained from them. And therefore you had better decide at once with which of the two you are proposing to argue. You will very likely say with neither, and that your chief aim in carrying on the argument is your own improvement; at the same time you do not grudge to others any benefit which they may receive.

I think that I should prefer to carry on the argument mainly on my own behalf.

Then take a step backward, for we have gone wrong in the order of the sciences.

What was the mistake? he said.

After plane geometry, I said, we proceeded at once to solids in revolution, instead of taking solids in themselves; whereas after the second dimension the third, which is concerned with cubes and dimensions of depth, ought to have followed.

That is true, Socrates; but so little seems to be known as yet about these subjects.

Why, yes, I said, and for two reasons: — in the first place, no government patronises them; this leads to a want of energy in the pursuit of them, and they are difficult; in the second place, students cannot learn them unless they have a director. But then a director can hardly be found, and even if he could, as matters now stand, the students, who are very conceited, would not attend to him. That, however, would be otherwise if the whole State became the director of these studies and gave honour to them; then disciples would want to come, and there would be continuous and earnest search, and discoveries would be made; since even now, disregarded as they are by the world, and maimed of their fair proportions, and although none of their votaries can tell the use of them, still these studies force their way by their natural charm, and very likely, if they had the help of the State, they would some day emerge into light.

Yes, he said, there is a remarkable charm in them. But I do not clearly understand the change in the order. First you began with a geometry of plane surfaces?

Yes, I said.

And you placed astronomy next, and then you made a step backward?

Yes, and I have delayed you by my hurry; the ludicrous state of solid geometry, which, in natural order, should have followed, made me pass over this branch and go on to astronomy, or motion of solids.

True, he said.

Then assuming that the science now omitted would come into existence if encouraged by the State, let us go on to astronomy, which will be fourth.

The right order, he replied. And now, Socrates, as you rebuked the vulgar manner in which I praised astronomy before, my praise shall be given in your own spirit. For every one, as I think, must see that astronomy compels the soul to look upwards and leads us from this world to another.

Every one but myself, I said; to every one else this may be clear, but not to me.

And what then would you say?

I should rather say that those who elevate astronomy into philosophy appear to me to make us look downwards and not upwards.

What do you mean? he asked.

You, I replied, have in your mind a truly sublime conception of our knowledge of the things above. And I dare say that if a person were to throw his head back and study the fretted ceiling, you would still think that his mind was the percipient, and not his eyes. And you are very likely right, and I may be a simpleton: but, in my opinion, that knowledge only which is of being and of the unseen can make the soul look upwards, and whether a man gapes at the heavens or blinks on the ground, seeking to learn some particular of sense, I would deny that he can learn, for nothing of that sort is matter of science; his soul is looking downwards, not upwards, whether his way to knowledge is by water or by land, whether he floats, or only lies on his back.

I acknowledge, he said, the justice of your rebuke. Still, I should like to ascertain how astronomy can be learned in any manner more conducive to that knowledge of which we are speaking?

I will tell you, I said: The starry heaven which we behold is wrought upon a visible ground, and therefore, although the fairest and most perfect of visible things, must necessarily be deemed inferior far to the true motions of absolute swiftness and absolute slowness, which are relative to each other, and carry with them that which is contained in them, in the true number and in every true figure. Now, these are to be apprehended by reason and intelligence, but not by sight.

True, he replied.

The spangled heavens should be used as a pattern and with a view to that higher knowledge; their beauty is like the beauty of figures or pictures excellently wrought by the hand of Daedalus, or some other great artist, which we may chance to behold; any geometrician who saw them would appreciate the exquisiteness of their workmanship, but he would never dream of thinking that in them he could find the true equal or the true double, or the truth of any other proportion.

No, he replied, such an idea would be ridiculous.

And will not a true astronomer have the same feeling when he looks at the movements of the stars? Will he not think that heaven and the things in heaven are framed by the Creator of them in the most perfect manner? But he will never imagine that the proportions of night and day, or of both to the month, or of the month to the year, or of the stars to these and to one another, and any other things that are material and visible can also be eternal and subject to no deviation — that would be absurd; and it is equally absurd to take so much pains in investigating their exact truth.

I quite agree, though I never thought of this before.

Then, I said, in astronomy, as in geometry, we should employ problems, and let the heavens alone if we would approach the subject in the right way and so make the natural gift of reason to be of any real use.

That, he said, is a work infinitely beyond our present astronomers.

Yes, I said; and there are many other things which must also have a similar extension given to them, if our legislation is to be of any value. But can you tell me of any other suitable study?

No, he said, not without thinking.

Motion, I said, has many forms, and not one only; two of them are obvious enough even to wits no better than ours; and there are others, as I imagine, which may be left to wiser persons.

But where are the two?

There is a second, I said, which is the counterpart of the one already named.

And what may that be?

The second, I said, would seem relatively to the ears to be what the first is to the eyes; for I conceive that as the eyes are designed to look up at the stars, so are the ears to hear harmonious motions; and these are sister sciences — as the Pythagoreans say, and we, Glaucon, agree with them?

Yes, he replied.

But this, I said, is a laborious study, and therefore we had better go and learn of them; and they will tell us whether there are any other applications of these sciences. At the same time, we must not lose sight of our own higher object.

What is that?

There is a perfection which all knowledge ought to reach, and which our pupils ought also to attain, and not to fall short of, as I was saying that they did in astronomy. For in the science of harmony, as you probably know, the same thing happens. The teachers of harmony compare the sounds and consonances which are heard only, and their labour, like that of the astronomers, is in vain.

Yes, by heaven! he said; and ’tis as good as a play to hear them talking about their condensed notes, as they call them; they put their ears close alongside of the strings like persons catching a sound from their neighbour’s wall — one set of them declaring that they distinguish an intermediate note and have found the least interval which should be the unit of measurement; the others insisting that the two sounds have passed into the same — either party setting their ears before their understanding.

You mean, I said, those gentlemen who tease and torture the strings and rack them on the pegs of the instrument: might carry on the metaphor and speak after their manner of the blows which the plectrum gives, and make accusations against the strings, both of backwardness and forwardness to sound; but this would be tedious, and therefore I will only say that these are not the men, and that I am referring to the Pythagoreans, of whom I was just now proposing to enquire about harmony. For they too are in error, like the astronomers; they investigate the numbers of the harmonies which are heard, but they never attain to problems-that is to say, they never reach the natural harmonies of number, or reflect why some numbers are harmonious and others not.

That, he said, is a thing of more than mortal knowledge.

A thing, I replied, which I would rather call useful; that is, if sought after with a view to the beautiful and good; but if pursued in any other spirit, useless. Very true, he said.

Now, when all these studies reach the point of inter-communion and connection with one another, and come to be considered in their mutual affinities, then, I think, but not till then, will the pursuit of them have a value for our objects; otherwise there is no profit in them.

I suspect so; but you are speaking, Socrates, of a vast work.

What do you mean? I said; the prelude or what? Do you not know that all this is but the prelude to the actual strain which we have to learn? For you surely would not regard the skilled mathematician as a dialectician?

Assuredly not, he said; I have hardly ever known a mathematician who was capable of reasoning.

But do you imagine that men who are unable to give and take a reason will have the knowledge which we require of them?

Neither can this be supposed.

And so, Glaucon, I said, we have at last arrived at the hymn of dialectic. This is that strain which is of the intellect only, but which the faculty of sight will nevertheless be found to imitate; for sight, as you may remember, was imagined by us after a while to behold the real animals and stars, and last of all the sun himself. And so with dialectic; when a person starts on the discovery of the absolute by the light of reason only, and without any assistance of sense, and perseveres until by pure intelligence he arrives at the perception of the absolute good, he at last finds himself at the end of the intellectual world, as in the case of sight at the end of the visible.

Exactly, he said.

Then this is the progress which you call dialectic?

True.

But the release of the prisoners from chains, and their translation from the shadows to the images and to the light, and the ascent from the underground den to the sun, while in his presence they are vainly trying to look on animals and plants and the light of the sun, but are able to perceive even with their weak eyes the images in the water (which are divine), and are the shadows of true existence (not shadows of images cast by a light of fire, which compared with the sun is only an image) — this power of elevating the highest principle in the soul to the contemplation of that which is best in existence, with which we may compare the raising of that faculty which is the very light of the body to the sight of that which is brightest in the material and visible world — this power is given, as I was saying, by all that study and pursuit of the arts which has been described.

I agree in what you are saying, he replied, which may be hard to believe, yet, from another point of view, is harder still to deny. This, however, is not a theme to be treated of in passing only, but will have to be discussed again and again. And so, whether our conclusion be true or false, let us assume all this, and proceed at once from the prelude or preamble to the chief strain, and describe that in like manner. Say, then, what is the nature and what are the divisions of dialectic, and what are the paths which lead thither; for these paths will also lead to our final rest?

Dear Glaucon, I said, you will not be able to follow me here, though I would do my best, and you should behold not an image only but the absolute truth, according to my notion. Whether what I told you would or would not have been a reality I cannot venture to say; but you would have seen something like reality; of that I am confident.

Doubtless, he replied.

But I must also remind you, that the power of dialectic alone can reveal this, and only to one who is a disciple of the previous sciences.

Of that assertion you may be as confident as of the last.

And assuredly no one will argue that there is any other method of comprehending by any regular process all true existence or of ascertaining what each thing is in its own nature; for the arts in general are concerned with the desires or opinions of men, or are cultivated with a view to production and construction, or for the preservation of such productions and constructions; and as to the mathematical sciences which, as we were saying, have some apprehension of true being — geometry and the like — they only dream about being, but never can they behold the waking reality so long as they leave the hypotheses which they use unexamined, and are unable to give an account of them. For when a man knows not his own first principle, and when the conclusion and intermediate steps are also constructed out of he knows not what, how can he imagine that such a fabric of convention can ever become science?

Impossible, he said.

Then dialectic, and dialectic alone, goes directly to the first principle and is the only science which does away with hypotheses in order to make her ground secure; the eye of the soul, which is literally buried in an outlandish slough, is by her gentle aid lifted upwards; and she uses as handmaids and helpers in the work of conversion, the sciences which we have been discussing. Custom terms them sciences, but they ought to have some other name, implying greater clearness than opinion and less clearness than science: and this, in our previous sketch, was called understanding. But why should we dispute about names when we have realities of such importance to consider?

Why indeed, he said, when any name will do which expresses the thought of the mind with clearness?

At any rate, we are satisfied, as before, to have four divisions; two for intellect and two for opinion, and to call the first division science, the second understanding, the third belief, and the fourth perception of shadows, opinion being concerned with becoming, and intellect with being; and so to make a proportion: —

As being is to becoming, so is pure intellect to opinion.
And as intellect is to opinion, so is science to belief, and
understanding to the perception of shadows.

But let us defer the further correlation and subdivision of the subjects of opinion and of intellect, for it will be a long enquiry, many times longer than this has been.

As far as I understand, he said, I agree.

And do you also agree, I said, in describing the dialectician as one who attains a conception of the essence of each thing? And he who does not possess and is therefore unable to impart this conception, in whatever degree he fails, may in that degree also be said to fail in intelligence? Will you admit so much?

Yes, he said; how can I deny it?

And you would say the same of the conception of the good?

Until the person is able to abstract and define rationally the idea of good, and unless he can run the gauntlet of all objections, and is ready to disprove them, not by appeals to opinion, but to absolute truth, never faltering at any step of the argument — unless he can do all this, you would say that he knows neither the idea of good nor any other good; he apprehends only a shadow, if anything at all, which is given by opinion and not by science; — dreaming and slumbering in this life, before he is well awake here, he arrives at the world below, and has his final quietus.

In all that I should most certainly agree with you.

And surely you would not have the children of your ideal State, whom you are nurturing and educating — if the ideal ever becomes a reality — you would not allow the future rulers to be like posts, having no reason in them, and yet to be set in authority over the highest matters?

Certainly not.

Then you will make a law that they shall have such an education as will enable them to attain the greatest skill in asking and answering questions?

Yes, he said, you and I together will make it.

Dialectic, then, as you will agree, is the coping-stone of the sciences, and is set over them; no other science can be placed higher — the nature of knowledge can no further go?

I agree, he said.

But to whom we are to assign these studies, and in what way they are to be assigned, are questions which remain to be considered?

Yes, clearly.

You remember, I said, how the rulers were chosen before?

Certainly, he said.

The same natures must still be chosen, and the preference again given to the surest and the bravest, and, if possible, to the fairest; and, having noble and generous tempers, they should also have the natural gifts which will facilitate their education.

And what are these?

Such gifts as keenness and ready powers of acquisition; for the mind more often faints from the severity of study than from the severity of gymnastics: the toil is more entirely the mind’s own, and is not shared with the body.

Very true, he replied.

Further, he of whom we are in search should have a good memory, and be an unwearied solid man who is a lover of labour in any line; or he will never be able to endure the great amount of bodily exercise and to go through all the intellectual discipline and study which we require of him.

Certainly, he said; he must have natural gifts.

The mistake at present is, that those who study philosophy have no vocation, and this, as I was before saying, is the reason why she has fallen into disrepute: her true sons should take her by the hand and not bastards.

What do you mean?

In the first place, her votary should not have a lame or halting industry — I mean, that he should not be half industrious and half idle: as, for example, when a man is a lover of gymnastic and hunting, and all other bodily exercises, but a hater rather than a lover of the labour of learning or listening or enquiring. Or the occupation to which he devotes himself may be of an opposite kind, and he may have the other sort of lameness.

Certainly, he said.

And as to truth, I said, is not a soul equally to be deemed halt and lame which hates voluntary falsehood and is extremely indignant at herself and others when they tell lies, but is patient of involuntary falsehood, and does not mind wallowing like a swinish beast in the mire of ignorance, and has no shame at being detected?

To be sure.

And, again, in respect of temperance, courage, magnificence, and every other virtue, should we not carefully distinguish between the true son and the bastard? for where there is no discernment of such qualities States and individuals unconsciously err and the State makes a ruler, and the individual a friend, of one who, being defective in some part of virtue, is in a figure lame or a bastard.

That is very true, he said.

All these things, then, will have to be carefully considered by us; and if only those whom we introduce to this vast system of education and training are sound in body and mind, justice herself will have nothing to say against us, and we shall be the saviours of the constitution and of the State; but, if our pupils are men of another stamp, the reverse will happen, and we shall pour a still greater flood of ridicule on philosophy than she has to endure at present.

That would not be creditable.

Certainly not, I said; and yet perhaps, in thus turning jest into earnest I am equally ridiculous.

In what respect?

I had forgotten, I said, that we were not serious, and spoke with too much excitement. For when I saw philosophy so undeservedly trampled under foot of men I could not help feeling a sort of indignation at the authors of her disgrace: and my anger made me too vehement.

Indeed! I was listening, and did not think so.

But I, who am the speaker, felt that I was. And now let me remind you that, although in our former selection we chose old men, we must not do so in this. Solon was under a delusion when he said that a man when he grows old may learn many things — for he can no more learn much than he can run much; youth is the time for any extraordinary toil.

Of course.

And, therefore, calculation and geometry and all the other elements of instruction, which are a preparation for dialectic, should be presented to the mind in childhood; not, however, under any notion of forcing our system of education.

Why not?

Because a freeman ought not to be a slave in the acquisition of knowledge of any kind. Bodily exercise, when compulsory, does no harm to the body; but knowledge which is acquired under compulsion obtains no hold on the mind.

Very true.

Then, my good friend, I said, do not use compulsion, but let early education be a sort of amusement; you will then be better able to find out the natural bent.

That is a very rational notion, he said.

Do you remember that the children, too, were to be taken to see the battle on horseback; and that if there were no danger they were to be brought close up and, like young hounds, have a taste of blood given them?

Yes, I remember.

The same practice may be followed, I said, in all these things — labours, lessons, dangers — and he who is most at home in all of them ought to be enrolled in a select number.

At what age?

At the age when the necessary gymnastics are over: the period whether of two or three years which passes in this sort of training is useless for any other purpose; for sleep and exercise are unpropitious to learning; and the trial of who is first in gymnastic exercises is one of the most important tests to which our youth are subjected.

Certainly, he replied.

After that time those who are selected from the class of twenty years old will be promoted to higher honour, and the sciences which they learned without any order in their early education will now be brought together, and they will be able to see the natural relationship of them to one another and to true being.

Yes, he said, that is the only kind of knowledge which takes lasting root.

Yes, I said; and the capacity for such knowledge is the great criterion of dialectical talent: the comprehensive mind is always the dialectical.

I agree with you, he said.

These, I said, are the points which you must consider; and those who have most of this comprehension, and who are more steadfast in their learning, and in their military and other appointed duties, when they have arrived at the age of thirty have to be chosen by you out of the select class, and elevated to higher honour; and you will have to prove them by the help of dialectic, in order to learn which of them is able to give up the use of sight and the other senses, and in company with truth to attain absolute being: And here, my friend, great caution is required.

Why great caution?

Do you not remark, I said, how great is the evil which dialectic has introduced?

What evil? he said.

The students of the art are filled with lawlessness.

Quite true, he said.

Do you think that there is anything so very unnatural or inexcusable in their case? or will you make allowance for them?

In what way make allowance?

I want you, I said, by way of parallel, to imagine a supposititious son who is brought up in great wealth; he is one of a great and numerous family, and has many flatterers. When he grows up to manhood, he learns that his alleged are not his real parents; but who the real are he is unable to discover. Can you guess how he will be likely to behave towards his flatterers and his supposed parents, first of all during the period when he is ignorant of the false relation, and then again when he knows? Or shall I guess for you?

If you please.

Then I should say, that while he is ignorant of the truth he will be likely to honour his father and his mother and his supposed relations more than the flatterers; he will be less inclined to neglect them when in need, or to do or say anything against them; and he will be less willing to disobey them in any important matter.

He will.

But when he has made the discovery, I should imagine that he would diminish his honour and regard for them, and would become more devoted to the flatterers; their influence over him would greatly increase; he would now live after their ways, and openly associate with them, and, unless he were of an unusually good disposition, he would trouble himself no more about his supposed parents or other relations.

Well, all that is very probable. But how is the image applicable to the disciples of philosophy?

In this way: you know that there are certain principles about justice and honour, which were taught us in childhood, and under their parental authority we have been brought up, obeying and honouring them.

That is true.

There are also opposite maxims and habits of pleasure which flatter and attract the soul, but do not influence those of us who have any sense of right, and they continue to obey and honour the maxims of their fathers.

True.

Now, when a man is in this state, and the questioning spirit asks what is fair or honourable, and he answers as the legislator has taught him, and then arguments many and diverse refute his words, until he is driven into believing that nothing is honourable any more than dishonourable, or just and good any more than the reverse, and so of all the notions which he most valued, do you think that he will still honour and obey them as before?

Impossible.

And when he ceases to think them honourable and natural as heretofore, and he fails to discover the true, can he be expected to pursue any life other than that which flatters his desires?

He cannot.

And from being a keeper of the law he is converted into a breaker of it?

Unquestionably.

Now all this is very natural in students of philosophy such as I have described, and also, as I was just now saying, most excusable.

Yes, he said; and, I may add, pitiable.

Therefore, that your feelings may not be moved to pity about our citizens who are now thirty years of age, every care must be taken in introducing them to dialectic.

Certainly.

There is a danger lest they should taste the dear delight too early; for youngsters, as you may have observed, when they first get the taste in their mouths, argue for amusement, and are always contradicting and refuting others in imitation of those who refute them; like puppy-dogs, they rejoice in pulling and tearing at all who come near them.

Yes, he said, there is nothing which they like better.

And when they have made many conquests and received defeats at the hands of many, they violently and speedily get into a way of not believing anything which they believed before, and hence, not only they, but philosophy and all that relates to it is apt to have a bad name with the rest of the world.

Too true, he said.

But when a man begins to get older, he will no longer be guilty of such insanity; he will imitate the dialectician who is seeking for truth, and not the eristic, who is contradicting for the sake of amusement; and the greater moderation of his character will increase instead of diminishing the honour of the pursuit.

Very true, he said.

And did we not make special provision for this, when we said that the disciples of philosophy were to be orderly and steadfast, not, as now, any chance aspirant or intruder?

Very true.

Suppose, I said, the study of philosophy to take the place of gymnastics and to be continued diligently and earnestly and exclusively for twice the number of years which were passed in bodily exercise — will that be enough?

Would you say six or four years? he asked.

Say five years, I replied; at the end of the time they must be sent down again into the den and compelled to hold any military or other office which young men are qualified to hold: in this way they will get their experience of life, and there will be an opportunity of trying whether, when they are drawn all manner of ways by temptation, they will stand firm or flinch.

And how long is this stage of their lives to last?

Fifteen years, I answered; and when they have reached fifty years of age, then let those who still survive and have distinguished themselves in every action of their lives and in every branch of knowledge come at last to their consummation; the time has now arrived at which they must raise the eye of the soul to the universal light which lightens all things, and behold the absolute good; for that is the pattern according to which they are to order the State and the lives of individuals, and the remainder of their own lives also; making philosophy their chief pursuit, but, when their turn comes, toiling also at politics and ruling for the public good, not as though they were performing some heroic action, but simply as a matter of duty; and when they have brought up in each generation others like themselves and left them in their place to be governors of the State, then they will depart to the Islands of the Blest and dwell there; and the city will give them public memorials and sacrifices and honour them, if the Pythian oracle consent, as demi-gods, but if not, as in any case blessed and divine.

You are a sculptor, Socrates, and have made statues of our governors faultless in beauty.

Yes, I said, Glaucon, and of our governesses too; for you must not suppose that what I have been saying applies to men only and not to women as far as their natures can go.

There you are right, he said, since we have made them to share in all things like the men.

Well, I said, and you would agree (would you not?) that what has been said about the State and the government is not a mere dream, and although difficult not impossible, but only possible in the way which has been supposed; that is to say, when the true philosopher kings are born in a State, one or more of them, despising the honours of this present world which they deem mean and worthless, esteeming above all things right and the honour that springs from right, and regarding justice as the greatest and most necessary of all things, whose ministers they are, and whose principles will be exalted by them when they set in order their own city?

How will they proceed?

They will begin by sending out into the country all the inhabitants of the city who are more than ten years old, and will take possession of their children, who will be unaffected by the habits of their parents; these they will train in their own habits and laws, I mean in the laws which we have given them: and in this way the State and constitution of which we were speaking will soonest and most easily attain happiness, and the nation which has such a constitution will gain most.

Yes, that will be the best way. And I think, Socrates, that you have very well described how, if ever, such a constitution might come into being.

Enough then of the perfect State, and of the man who bears its image — there is no difficulty in seeing how we shall describe him.

There is no difficulty, he replied; and I agree with you in thinking that nothing more need be said.

BOOK VIII

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

AND so, Glaucon, we have arrived at the conclusion that in the perfect State wives and children are to be in common; and that all education and the pursuits of war and peace are also to be common, and the best philosophers and the bravest warriors are to be their kings?

That, replied Glaucon, has been acknowledged.

Yes, I said; and we have further acknowledged that the governors, when appointed themselves, will take their soldiers and place them in houses such as we were describing, which are common to all, and contain nothing private, or individual; and about their property, you remember what we agreed?

Yes, I remember that no one was to have any of the ordinary possessions of mankind; they were to be warrior athletes and guardians, receiving from the other citizens, in lieu of annual payment, only their maintenance, and they were to take care of themselves and of the whole State.

True, I said; and now that this division of our task is concluded, let us find the point at which we digressed, that we may return into the old path.

There is no difficulty in returning; you implied, then as now, that you had finished the description of the State: you said that such a State was good, and that the man was good who answered to it, although, as now appears, you had more excellent things to relate both of State and man. And you said further, that if this was the true form, then the others were false; and of the false forms, you said, as I remember, that there were four principal ones, and that their defects, and the defects of the individuals corresponding to them, were worth examining. When we had seen all the individuals, and finally agreed as to who was the best and who was the worst of them, we were to consider whether the best was not also the happiest, and the worst the most miserable. I asked you what were the four forms of government of which you spoke, and then Polemarchus and Adeimantus put in their word; and you began again, and have found your way to the point at which we have now arrived.

Your recollection, I said, is most exact.

Then, like a wrestler, he replied, you must put yourself again in the same position; and let me ask the same questions, and do you give me the same answer which you were about to give me then.

Yes, if I can, I will, I said.

I shall particularly wish to hear what were the four constitutions of which you were speaking.

That question, I said, is easily answered: the four governments of which I spoke, so far as they have distinct names, are, first, those of Crete and Sparta, which are generally applauded; what is termed oligarchy comes next; this is not equally approved, and is a form of government which teems with evils: thirdly, democracy, which naturally follows oligarchy, although very different: and lastly comes tyranny, great and famous, which differs from them all, and is the fourth and worst disorder of a State. I do not know, do you? of any other constitution which can be said to have a distinct character. There are lordships and principalities which are bought and sold, and some other intermediate forms of government. But these are nondescripts and may be found equally among Hellenes and among barbarians.

Yes, he replied, we certainly hear of many curious forms of government which exist among them.

Do you know, I said, that governments vary as the dispositions of men vary, and that there must be as many of the one as there are of the other? For we cannot suppose that States are made of ‘oak and rock,’ and not out of the human natures which are in them, and which in a figure turn the scale and draw other things after them?

Yes, he said, the States are as the men are; they grow out of human characters.

Then if the constitutions of States are five, the dispositions of individual minds will also be five?

Certainly.

Him who answers to aristocracy, and whom we rightly call just and good, we have already described.

We have.

Then let us now proceed to describe the inferior sort of natures, being the contentious and ambitious, who answer to the Spartan polity; also the oligarchical, democratical, and tyrannical. Let us place the most just by the side of the most unjust, and when we see them we shall be able to compare the relative happiness or unhappiness of him who leads a life of pure justice or pure injustice. The enquiry will then be completed. And we shall know whether we ought to pursue injustice, as Thrasymachus advises, or in accordance with the conclusions of the argument to prefer justice.

Certainly, he replied, we must do as you say.

Shall we follow our old plan, which we adopted with a view to clearness, of taking the State first and then proceeding to the individual, and begin with the government of honour? — I know of no name for such a government other than timocracy, or perhaps timarchy. We will compare with this the like character in the individual; and, after that, consider oligarchical man; and then again we will turn our attention to democracy and the democratical man; and lastly, we will go and view the city of tyranny, and once more take a look into the tyrant’s soul, and try to arrive at a satisfactory decision.

That way of viewing and judging of the matter will be very suitable.

First, then, I said, let us enquire how timocracy (the government of honour) arises out of aristocracy (the government of the best). Clearly, all political changes originate in divisions of the actual governing power; a government which is united, however small, cannot be moved.

Very true, he said.

In what way, then, will our city be moved, and in what manner the two classes of auxiliaries and rulers disagree among themselves or with one another? Shall we, after the manner of Homer, pray the Muses to tell us ‘how discord first arose’? Shall we imagine them in solemn mockery, to play and jest with us as if we were children, and to address us in a lofty tragic vein, making believe to be in earnest?

How would they address us?

After this manner: — A city which is thus constituted can hardly be shaken; but, seeing that everything which has a beginning has also an end, even a constitution such as yours will not last for ever, but will in time be dissolved. And this is the dissolution: — In plants that grow in the earth, as well as in animals that move on the earth’s surface, fertility and sterility of soul and body occur when the circumferences of the circles of each are completed, which in short-lived existences pass over a short space, and in long-lived ones over a long space. But to the knowledge of human fecundity and sterility all the wisdom and education of your rulers will not attain; the laws which regulate them will not be discovered by an intelligence which is alloyed with sense, but will escape them, and they will bring children into the world when they ought not. Now that which is of divine birth has a period which is contained in a perfect number, but the period of human birth is comprehended in a number in which first increments by involution and evolution (or squared and cubed) obtaining three intervals and four terms of like and unlike, waxing and waning numbers, make all the terms commensurable and agreeable to one another. The base of these (3) with a third added (4) when combined with five (20) and raised to the third power furnishes two harmonies; the first a square which is a hundred times as great (400 = 4 X 100), and the other a figure having one side equal to the former, but oblong, consisting of a hundred numbers squared upon rational diameters of a square (i. e. omitting fractions), the side of which is five (7 X 7 = 49 X 100 = 4900), each of them being less by one (than the perfect square which includes the fractions, sc. 50) or less by two perfect squares of irrational diameters (of a square the side of which is five = 50 + 50 = 100); and a hundred cubes of three (27 X 100 = 2700 + 4900 + 400 = 8000). Now this number represents a geometrical figure which has control over the good and evil of births. For when your guardians are ignorant of the law of births, and unite bride and bridegroom out of season, the children will not be goodly or fortunate. And though only the best of them will be appointed by their predecessors, still they will be unworthy to hold their fathers’ places, and when they come into power as guardians, they will soon be found to fall in taking care of us, the Muses, first by under-valuing music; which neglect will soon extend to gymnastic; and hence the young men of your State will be less cultivated. In the succeeding generation rulers will be appointed who have lost the guardian power of testing the metal of your different races, which, like Hesiod’s, are of gold and silver and brass and iron. And so iron will be mingled with silver, and brass with gold, and hence there will arise dissimilarity and inequality and irregularity, which always and in all places are causes of hatred and war. This the Muses affirm to be the stock from which discord has sprung, wherever arising; and this is their answer to us.

Yes, and we may assume that they answer truly.

Why, yes, I said, of course they answer truly; how can the Muses speak falsely?

And what do the Muses say next?

When discord arose, then the two races were drawn different ways: the iron and brass fell to acquiring money and land and houses and gold and silver; but the gold and silver races, not wanting money but having the true riches in their own nature, inclined towards virtue and the ancient order of things. There was a battle between them, and at last they agreed to distribute their land and houses among individual owners; and they enslaved their friends and maintainers, whom they had formerly protected in the condition of freemen, and made of them subjects and servants; and they themselves were engaged in war and in keeping a watch against them.

I believe that you have rightly conceived the origin of the change.

And the new government which thus arises will be of a form intermediate between oligarchy and aristocracy?

Very true.

Such will be the change, and after the change has been made, how will they proceed? Clearly, the new State, being in a mean between oligarchy and the perfect State, will partly follow one and partly the other, and will also have some peculiarities.

True, he said.

In the honour given to rulers, in the abstinence of the warrior class from agriculture, handicrafts, and trade in general, in the institution of common meals, and in the attention paid to gymnastics and military training — in all these respects this State will resemble the former.

True.

But in the fear of admitting philosophers to power, because they are no longer to be had simple and earnest, but are made up of mixed elements; and in turning from them to passionate and less complex characters, who are by nature fitted for war rather than peace; and in the value set by them upon military stratagems and contrivances, and in the waging of everlasting wars — this State will be for the most part peculiar.

Yes.

Yes, I said; and men of this stamp will be covetous of money, like those who live in oligarchies; they will have, a fierce secret longing after gold and silver, which they will hoard in dark places, having magazines and treasuries of their own for the deposit and concealment of them; also castles which are just nests for their eggs, and in which they will spend large sums on their wives, or on any others whom they please.

That is most true, he said.

And they are miserly because they have no means of openly acquiring the money which they prize; they will spend that which is another man’s on the gratification of their desires, stealing their pleasures and running away like children from the law, their father: they have been schooled not by gentle influences but by force, for they have neglected her who is the true Muse, the companion of reason and philosophy, and have honoured gymnastic more than music.

Undoubtedly, he said, the form of government which you describe is a mixture of good and evil.

Why, there is a mixture, I said; but one thing, and one thing only, is predominantly seen, — the spirit of contention and ambition; and these are due to the prevalence of the passionate or spirited element.

Assuredly, he said.

Such is the origin and such the character of this State, which has been described in outline only; the more perfect execution was not required, for a sketch is enough to show the type of the most perfectly just and most perfectly unjust; and to go through all the States and all the characters of men, omitting none of them, would be an interminable labour.

Very true, he replied.

Now what man answers to this form of government-how did he come into being, and what is he like?

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

I think, said Adeimantus, that in the spirit of contention which characterises him, he is not unlike our friend Glaucon.

Perhaps, I said, he may be like him in that one point; but there are other respects in which he is very different.

In what respects?

He should have more of self-assertion and be less cultivated, and yet a friend of culture; and he should be a good listener, but no speaker. Such a person is apt to be rough with slaves, unlike the educated man, who is too proud for that; and he will also be courteous to freemen, and remarkably obedient to authority; he is a lover of power and a lover of honour; claiming to be a ruler, not because he is eloquent, or on any ground of that sort, but because he is a soldier and has performed feats of arms; he is also a lover of gymnastic exercises and of the chase.

Yes, that is the type of character which answers to timocracy.

Such an one will despise riches only when he is young; but as he gets older he will be more and more attracted to them, because he has a piece of the avaricious nature in him, and is not singleminded towards virtue, having lost his best guardian.

Who was that? said Adeimantus.

Philosophy, I said, tempered with music, who comes and takes her abode in a man, and is the only saviour of his virtue throughout life.

Good, he said.

Such, I said, is the timocratical youth, and he is like the timocratical State.

Exactly.

His origin is as follows: — He is often the young son of a grave father, who dwells in an ill-governed city, of which he declines the honours and offices, and will not go to law, or exert himself in any way, but is ready to waive his rights in order that he may escape trouble.

And how does the son come into being?

The character of the son begins to develop when he hears his mother complaining that her husband has no place in the government, of which the consequence is that she has no precedence among other women. Further, when she sees her husband not very eager about money, and instead of battling and railing in the law courts or assembly, taking whatever happens to him quietly; and when she observes that his thoughts always centre in himself, while he treats her with very considerable indifference, she is annoyed, and says to her son that his father is only half a man and far too easy-going: adding all the other complaints about her own ill-treatment which women are so fond of rehearsing.

Yes, said Adeimantus, they give us plenty of them, and their complaints are so like themselves.

And you know, I said, that the old servants also, who are supposed to be attached to the family, from time to time talk privately in the same strain to the son; and if they see any one who owes money to his father, or is wronging him in any way, and he falls to prosecute them, they tell the youth that when he grows up he must retaliate upon people of this sort, and be more of a man than his father. He has only to walk abroad and he hears and sees the same sort of thing: those who do their own business in the city are called simpletons, and held in no esteem, while the busy-bodies are honoured and applauded. The result is that the young man, hearing and seeing all these thing — hearing too, the words of his father, and having a nearer view of his way of life, and making comparisons of him and others — is drawn opposite ways: while his father is watering and nourishing the rational principle in his soul, the others are encouraging the passionate and appetitive; and he being not originally of a bad nature, but having kept bad company, is at last brought by their joint influence to a middle point, and gives up the kingdom which is within him to the middle principle of contentiousness and passion, and becomes arrogant and ambitious.

You seem to me to have described his origin perfectly.

Then we have now, I said, the second form of government and the second type of character?

We have.

Next, let us look at another man who, as Aeschylus says,

Is set over against another State;

or rather, as our plan requires, begin with the State.

By all means.

I believe that oligarchy follows next in order.

And what manner of government do you term oligarchy?

A government resting on a valuation of property, in which the rich have power and the poor man is deprived of it.

I understand, he replied.

Ought I not to begin by describing how the change from timocracy to oligarchy arises?

Yes.

Well, I said, no eyes are required in order to see how the one passes into the other.

How?

The accumulation of gold in the treasury of private individuals is ruin the of timocracy; they invent illegal modes of expenditure; for what do they or their wives care about the law?

Yes, indeed.

And then one, seeing another grow rich, seeks to rival him, and thus the great mass of the citizens become lovers of money.

Likely enough.

And so they grow richer and richer, and the more they think of making a fortune the less they think of virtue; for when riches and virtue are placed together in the scales of the balance, the one always rises as the other falls.

True.

And in proportion as riches and rich men are honoured in the State, virtue and the virtuous are dishonoured.

Clearly.

And what is honoured is cultivated, and that which has no honour is neglected.

That is obvious.

And so at last, instead of loving contention and glory, men become lovers of trade and money; they honour and look up to the rich man, and make a ruler of him, and dishonour the poor man.

They do so.

They next proceed to make a law which fixes a sum of money as the qualification of citizenship; the sum is higher in one place and lower in another, as the oligarchy is more or less exclusive; and they allow no one whose property falls below the amount fixed to have any share in the government. These changes in the constitution they effect by force of arms, if intimidation has not already done their work.

Very true.

And this, speaking generally, is the way in which oligarchy is established.

Yes, he said; but what are the characteristics of this form of government, and what are the defects of which we were speaking?

First of all, I said, consider the nature of the qualification just think what would happen if pilots were to be chosen according to their property, and a poor man were refused permission to steer, even though he were a better pilot?

You mean that they would shipwreck?

Yes; and is not this true of the government of anything?

I should imagine so.

Except a city? — or would you include a city?

Nay, he said, the case of a city is the strongest of all, inasmuch as the rule of a city is the greatest and most difficult of all.

This, then, will be the first great defect of oligarchy?

Clearly.

And here is another defect which is quite as bad.

What defect?

The inevitable division: such a State is not one, but two States, the one of poor, the other of rich men; and they are living on the same spot and always conspiring against one another.

That, surely, is at least as bad.

Another discreditable feature is, that, for a like reason, they are incapable of carrying on any war. Either they arm the multitude, and then they are more afraid of them than of the enemy; or, if they do not call them out in the hour of battle, they are oligarchs indeed, few to fight as they are few to rule. And at the same time their fondness for money makes them unwilling to pay taxes.

How discreditable!

And, as we said before, under such a constitution the same persons have too many callings — they are husbandmen, tradesmen, warriors, all in one. Does that look well?

Anything but well.

There is another evil which is, perhaps, the greatest of all, and to which this State first begins to be liable.

What evil?

A man may sell all that he has, and another may acquire his property; yet after the sale he may dwell in the city of which he is no longer a part, being neither trader, nor artisan, nor horseman, nor hoplite, but only a poor, helpless creature.

Yes, that is an evil which also first begins in this State.

The evil is certainly not prevented there; for oligarchies have both the extremes of great wealth and utter poverty.

True.

But think again: In his wealthy days, while he was spending his money, was a man of this sort a whit more good to the State for the purposes of citizenship? Or did he only seem to be a member of the ruling body, although in truth he was neither ruler nor subject, but just a spendthrift?

As you say, he seemed to be a ruler, but was only a spendthrift.

May we not say that this is the drone in the house who is like the drone in the honeycomb, and that the one is the plague of the city as the other is of the hive?

Just so, Socrates.

And God has made the flying drones, Adeimantus, all without stings, whereas of the walking drones he has made some without stings but others have dreadful stings; of the stingless class are those who in their old age end as paupers; of the stingers come all the criminal class, as they are termed.

Most true, he said.

Clearly then, whenever you see paupers in a State, somewhere in that neighborhood there are hidden away thieves, and cutpurses and robbers of temples, and all sorts of malefactors.

Clearly.

Well, I said, and in oligarchical States do you not find paupers?

Yes, he said; nearly everybody is a pauper who is not a ruler.

And may we be so bold as to affirm that there are also many criminals to be found in them, rogues who have stings, and whom the authorities are careful to restrain by force?

Certainly, we may be so bold.

The existence of such persons is to be attributed to want of education, ill-training, and an evil constitution of the State?

True.

Such, then, is the form and such are the evils of oligarchy; and there may be many other evils.

Very likely.

Then oligarchy, or the form of government in which the rulers are elected for their wealth, may now be dismissed. Let us next proceed to consider the nature and origin of the individual who answers to this State.

By all means.

Does not the timocratical man change into the oligarchical on this wise?

How?

A time arrives when the representative of timocracy has a son: at first he begins by emulating his father and walking in his footsteps, but presently he sees him of a sudden foundering against the State as upon a sunken reef, and he and all that he has is lost; he may have been a general or some other high officer who is brought to trial under a prejudice raised by informers, and either put to death, or exiled, or deprived of the privileges of a citizen, and all his property taken from him.

Nothing more likely.

And the son has seen and known all this — he is a ruined man, and his fear has taught him to knock ambition and passion head-foremost from his bosom’s throne; humbled by poverty he takes to money-making and by mean and miserly savings and hard work gets a fortune together. Is not such an one likely to seat the concupiscent and covetous element on the vacant throne and to suffer it to play the great king within him, girt with tiara and chain and scimitar?

Most true, he replied.

And when he has made reason and spirit sit down on the ground obediently on either side of their sovereign, and taught them to know their place, he compels the one to think only of how lesser sums may be turned into larger ones, and will not allow the other to worship and admire anything but riches and rich men, or to be ambitious of anything so much as the acquisition of wealth and the means of acquiring it.

Of all changes, he said, there is none so speedy or so sure as the conversion of the ambitious youth into the avaricious one.

And the avaricious, I said, is the oligarchical youth?

Yes, he said; at any rate the individual out of whom he came is like the State out of which oligarchy came.

Let us then consider whether there is any likeness between them.

Very good.

First, then, they resemble one another in the value which they set upon wealth?

Certainly.

Also in their penurious, laborious character; the individual only satisfies his necessary appetites, and confines his expenditure to them; his other desires he subdues, under the idea that they are unprofitable.

True.

He is a shabby fellow, who saves something out of everything and makes a purse for himself; and this is the sort of man whom the vulgar applaud. Is he not a true image of the State which he represents?

He appears to me to be so; at any rate money is highly valued by him as well as by the State.

You see that he is not a man of cultivation, I said.

I imagine not, he said; had he been educated he would never have made a blind god director of his chorus, or given him chief honour.

Excellent! I said. Yet consider: Must we not further admit that owing to this want of cultivation there will be found in him dronelike desires as of pauper and rogue, which are forcibly kept down by his general habit of life?

True.

Do you know where you will have to look if you want to discover his rogueries?

Where must I look?

You should see him where he has some great opportunity of acting dishonestly, as in the guardianship of an orphan.

Aye.

It will be clear enough then that in his ordinary dealings which give him a reputation for honesty he coerces his bad passions by an enforced virtue; not making them see that they are wrong, or taming them by reason, but by necessity and fear constraining them, and because he trembles for his possessions.

To be sure.

Yes, indeed, my dear friend, but you will find that the natural desires of the drone commonly exist in him all the same whenever he has to spend what is not his own.

Yes, and they will be strong in him too.

The man, then, will be at war with himself; he will be two men, and not one; but, in general, his better desires will be found to prevail over his inferior ones.

True.

For these reasons such an one will be more respectable than most people; yet the true virtue of a unanimous and harmonious soul will flee far away and never come near him.

I should expect so.

And surely, the miser individually will be an ignoble competitor in a State for any prize of victory, or other object of honourable ambition; he will not spend his money in the contest for glory; so afraid is he of awakening his expensive appetites and inviting them to help and join in the struggle; in true oligarchical fashion he fights with a small part only of his resources, and the result commonly is that he loses the prize and saves his money.

Very true.

Can we any longer doubt, then, that the miser and money-maker answers to the oligarchical State?

There can be no doubt.

Next comes democracy; of this the origin and nature have still to be considered by us; and then we will enquire into the ways of the democratic man, and bring him up for judgement.

That, he said, is our method.

Well, I said, and how does the change from oligarchy into democracy arise? Is it not on this wise? — The good at which such a State alms is to become as rich as possible, a desire which is insatiable?

What then?

The rulers, being aware that their power rests upon their wealth, refuse to curtail by law the extravagance of the spendthrift youth because they gain by their ruin; they take interest from them and buy up their estates and thus increase their own wealth and importance?

To be sure.

There can be no doubt that the love of wealth and the spirit of moderation cannot exist together in citizens of the same State to any considerable extent; one or the other will be disregarded.

That is tolerably clear.

And in oligarchical States, from the general spread of carelessness and extravagance, men of good family have often been reduced to beggary?

Yes, often.

And still they remain in the city; there they are, ready to sting and fully armed, and some of them owe money, some have forfeited their citizenship; a third class are in both predicaments; and they hate and conspire against those who have got their property, and against everybody else, and are eager for revolution.

That is true.

On the other hand, the men of business, stooping as they walk, and pretending not even to see those whom they have already ruined, insert their sting — that is, their money — into some one else who is not on his guard against them, and recover the parent sum many times over multiplied into a family of children: and so they make drone and pauper to abound in the State.

Yes, he said, there are plenty of them — that is certain.

The evil blazes up like a fire; and they will not extinguish it, either by restricting a man’s use of his own property, or by another remedy:

What other?

One which is the next best, and has the advantage of compelling the citizens to look to their characters: — Let there be a general rule that every one shall enter into voluntary contracts at his own risk, and there will be less of this scandalous money-making, and the evils of which we were speaking will be greatly lessened in the State.

Yes, they will be greatly lessened.

At present the governors, induced by the motives which I have named, treat their subjects badly; while they and their adherents, especially the young men of the governing class, are habituated to lead a life of luxury and idleness both of body and mind; they do nothing, and are incapable of resisting either pleasure or pain.

Very true.

They themselves care only for making money, and are as indifferent as the pauper to the cultivation of virtue.

Yes, quite as indifferent.

Such is the state of affairs which prevails among them. And often rulers and their subjects may come in one another’s way, whether on a pilgrimage or a march, as fellow-soldiers or fellow-sailors; aye, and they may observe the behaviour of each other in the very moment of danger — for where danger is, there is no fear that the poor will be despised by the rich — and very likely the wiry sunburnt poor man may be placed in battle at the side of a wealthy one who has never spoilt his complexion and has plenty of superfluous flesh — when he sees such an one puffing and at his wit’s end, how can he avoid drawing the conclusion that men like him are only rich because no one has the courage to despoil them? And when they meet in private will not people be saying to one another ‘Our warriors are not good for much’?

Yes, he said, I am quite aware that this is their way of talking.

And, as in a body which is diseased the addition of a touch from without may bring on illness, and sometimes even when there is no external provocation a commotion may arise within-in the same way wherever there is weakness in the State there is also likely to be illness, of which the occasions may be very slight, the one party introducing from without their oligarchical, the other their democratical allies, and then the State falls sick, and is at war with herself; and may be at times distracted, even when there is no external cause.

Yes, surely.

And then democracy comes into being after the poor have conquered their opponents, slaughtering some and banishing some, while to the remainder they give an equal share of freedom and power; and this is the form of government in which the magistrates are commonly elected by lot.

Yes, he said, that is the nature of democracy, whether the revolution has been effected by arms, or whether fear has caused the opposite party to withdraw.

And now what is their manner of life, and what sort of a government have they? for as the government is, such will be the man.

Clearly, he said.

In the first place, are they not free; and is not the city full of freedom and frankness — a man may say and do what he likes?

’Tis said so, he replied.

And where freedom is, the individual is clearly able to order for himself his own life as he pleases?

Clearly.

Then in this kind of State there will be the greatest variety of human natures?

There will.

This, then, seems likely to be the fairest of States, being an embroidered robe which is spangled with every sort of flower. And just as women and children think a variety of colours to be of all things most charming, so there are many men to whom this State, which is spangled with the manners and characters of mankind, will appear to be the fairest of States.

Yes.

Yes, my good Sir, and there will be no better in which to look for a government.

Why?

Because of the liberty which reigns there — they have a complete assortment of constitutions; and he who has a mind to establish a State, as we have been doing, must go to a democracy as he would to a bazaar at which they sell them, and pick out the one that suits him; then, when he has made his choice, he may found his State.

He will be sure to have patterns enough.

And there being no necessity, I said, for you to govern in this State, even if you have the capacity, or to be governed, unless you like, or go to war when the rest go to war, or to be at peace when others are at peace, unless you are so disposed — there being no necessity also, because some law forbids you to hold office or be a dicast, that you should not hold office or be a dicast, if you have a fancy — is not this a way of life which for the moment is supremely delightful

For the moment, yes.

And is not their humanity to the condemned in some cases quite charming? Have you not observed how, in a democracy, many persons, although they have been sentenced to death or exile, just stay where they are and walk about the world — the gentleman parades like a hero, and nobody sees or cares?

Yes, he replied, many and many a one.

See too, I said, the forgiving spirit of democracy, and the ‘don’t care’ about trifles, and the disregard which she shows of all the fine principles which we solemnly laid down at the foundation of the city — as when we said that, except in the case of some rarely gifted nature, there never will be a good man who has not from his childhood been used to play amid things of beauty and make of them a joy and a study — how grandly does she trample all these fine notions of ours under her feet, never giving a thought to the pursuits which make a statesman, and promoting to honour any one who professes to be the people’s friend.

Yes, she is of a noble spirit.

These and other kindred characteristics are proper to democracy, which is a charming form of government, full of variety and disorder, and dispensing a sort of equality to equals and unequals alike.

We know her well.

Consider now, I said, what manner of man the individual is, or rather consider, as in the case of the State, how he comes into being.

Very good, he said.

Is not this the way — he is the son of the miserly and oligarchical father who has trained him in his own habits?

Exactly.

And, like his father, he keeps under by force the pleasures which are of the spending and not of the getting sort, being those which are called unnecessary?

Obviously.

Would you like, for the sake of clearness, to distinguish which are the necessary and which are the unnecessary pleasures?

I should.

Are not necessary pleasures those of which we cannot get rid, and of which the satisfaction is a benefit to us? And they are rightly so, because we are framed by nature to desire both what is beneficial and what is necessary, and cannot help it.

True.

We are not wrong therefore in calling them necessary?

We are not.

And the desires of which a man may get rid, if he takes pains from his youth upwards — of which the presence, moreover, does no good, and in some cases the reverse of good — shall we not be right in saying that all these are unnecessary?

Yes, certainly.

Suppose we select an example of either kind, in order that we may have a general notion of them?

Very good.

Will not the desire of eating, that is, of simple food and condiments, in so far as they are required for health and strength, be of the necessary class?

That is what I should suppose.

The pleasure of eating is necessary in two ways; it does us good and it is essential to the continuance of life?

Yes.

But the condiments are only necessary in so far as they are good for health?

Certainly.

And the desire which goes beyond this, or more delicate food, or other luxuries, which might generally be got rid of, if controlled and trained in youth, and is hurtful to the body, and hurtful to the soul in the pursuit of wisdom and virtue, may be rightly called unnecessary?

Very true.

May we not say that these desires spend, and that the others make money because they conduce to production?

Certainly.

And of the pleasures of love, and all other pleasures, the same holds good?

True.

And the drone of whom we spoke was he who was surfeited in pleasures and desires of this sort, and was the slave of the unnecessary desires, whereas he who was subject o the necessary only was miserly and oligarchical?

Very true.

Again, let us see how the democratical man grows out of the oligarchical: the following, as I suspect, is commonly the process.

What is the process?

When a young man who has been brought up as we were just now describing, in a vulgar and miserly way, has tasted drones’ honey and has come to associate with fierce and crafty natures who are able to provide for him all sorts of refinements and varieties of pleasure — then, as you may imagine, the change will begin of the oligarchical principle within him into the democratical?

Inevitably.

And as in the city like was helping like, and the change was effected by an alliance from without assisting one division of the citizens, so too the young man is changed by a class of desires coming from without to assist the desires within him, that which is and alike again helping that which is akin and alike?

Certainly.

And if there be any ally which aids the oligarchical principle within him, whether the influence of a father or of kindred, advising or rebuking him, then there arises in his soul a faction and an opposite faction, and he goes to war with himself.

It must be so.

And there are times when the democratical principle gives way to the oligarchical, and some of his desires die, and others are banished; a spirit of reverence enters into the young man’s soul and order is restored.

Yes, he said, that sometimes happens.

And then, again, after the old desires have been driven out, fresh ones spring up, which are akin to them, and because he, their father, does not know how to educate them, wax fierce and numerous.

Yes, he said, that is apt to be the way.

They draw him to his old associates, and holding secret intercourse with them, breed and multiply in him.

Very true.

At length they seize upon the citadel of the young man’s soul, which they perceive to be void of all accomplishments and fair pursuits and true words, which make their abode in the minds of men who are dear to the gods, and are their best guardians and sentinels.

None better.

False and boastful conceits and phrases mount upwards and take their place.

They are certain to do so.

And so the young man returns into the country of the lotus-eaters, and takes up his dwelling there in the face of all men; and if any help be sent by his friends to the oligarchical part of him, the aforesaid vain conceits shut the gate of the king’s fastness; and they will neither allow the embassy itself to enter, private if private advisers offer the fatherly counsel of the aged will they listen to them or receive them. There is a battle and they gain the day, and then modesty, which they call silliness, is ignominiously thrust into exile by them, and temperance, which they nickname unmanliness, is trampled in the mire and cast forth; they persuade men that moderation and orderly expenditure are vulgarity and meanness, and so, by the help of a rabble of evil appetites, they drive them beyond the border.

Yes, with a will.

And when they have emptied and swept clean the soul of him who is now in their power and who is being initiated by them in great mysteries, the next thing is to bring back to their house insolence and anarchy and waste and impudence in bright array having garlands on their heads, and a great company with them, hymning their praises and calling them by sweet names; insolence they term breeding, and anarchy liberty, and waste magnificence, and impudence courage. And so the young man passes out of his original nature, which was trained in the school of necessity, into the freedom and libertinism of useless and unnecessary pleasures.

Yes, he said, the change in him is visible enough.

After this he lives on, spending his money and labour and time on unnecessary pleasures quite as much as on necessary ones; but if he be fortunate, and is not too much disordered in his wits, when years have elapsed, and the heyday of passion is over — supposing that he then re-admits into the city some part of the exiled virtues, and does not wholly give himself up to their successors — in that case he balances his pleasures and lives in a sort of equilibrium, putting the government of himself into the hands of the one which comes first and wins the turn; and when he has had enough of that, then into the hands of another; he despises none of them but encourages them all equally.

Very true, he said.

Neither does he receive or let pass into the fortress any true word of advice; if any one says to him that some pleasures are the satisfactions of good and noble desires, and others of evil desires, and that he ought to use and honour some and chastise and master the others — whenever this is repeated to him he shakes his head and says that they are all alike, and that one is as good as another.

Yes, he said; that is the way with him.

Yes, I said, he lives from day to day indulging the appetite of the hour; and sometimes he is lapped in drink and strains of the flute; then he becomes a water-drinker, and tries to get thin; then he takes a turn at gymnastics; sometimes idling and neglecting everything, then once more living the life of a philosopher; often he-is busy with politics, and starts to his feet and says and does whatever comes into his head; and, if he is emulous of any one who is a warrior, off he is in that direction, or of men of business, once more in that. His life has neither law nor order; and this distracted existence he terms joy and bliss and freedom; and so he goes on.

Yes, he replied, he is all liberty and equality.

Yes, I said; his life is motley and manifold and an epitome of the lives of many; — he answers to the State which we described as fair and spangled. And many a man and many a woman will take him for their pattern, and many a constitution and many an example of manners is contained in him.

Just so.

Let him then be set over against democracy; he may truly be called the democratic man.

Let that be his place, he said.

Last of all comes the most beautiful of all, man and State alike, tyranny and the tyrant; these we have now to consider.

Quite true, he said.

Say then, my friend, in what manner does tyranny arise? — that it has a democratic origin is evident.

Clearly.

And does not tyranny spring from democracy in the same manner as democracy from oligarchy — I mean, after a sort?

How?

The good which oligarchy proposed to itself and the means by which it was maintained was excess of wealth — am I not right?

Yes.

And the insatiable desire of wealth and the neglect of all other things for the sake of money-getting was also the ruin of oligarchy?

True.

And democracy has her own good, of which the insatiable desire brings her to dissolution?

What good?

Freedom, I replied; which, as they tell you in a democracy, is the glory of the State — and that therefore in a democracy alone will the freeman of nature deign to dwell.

Yes; the saying is in everybody’s mouth.

I was going to observe, that the insatiable desire of this and the neglect of other things introduces the change in democracy, which occasions a demand for tyranny.

How so?

When a democracy which is thirsting for freedom has evil cupbearers presiding over the feast, and has drunk too deeply of the strong wine of freedom, then, unless her rulers are very amenable and give a plentiful draught, she calls them to account and punishes them, and says that they are cursed oligarchs.

Yes, he replied, a very common occurrence.

Yes, I said; and loyal citizens are insultingly termed by her slaves who hug their chains and men of naught; she would have subjects who are like rulers, and rulers who are like subjects: these are men after her own heart, whom she praises and honours both in private and public. Now, in such a State, can liberty have any limit?

Certainly not.

By degrees the anarchy finds a way into private houses, and ends by getting among the animals and infecting them.

How do you mean?

I mean that the father grows accustomed to descend to the level of his sons and to fear them, and the son is on a level with his father, he having no respect or reverence for either of his parents; and this is his freedom, and metic is equal with the citizen and the citizen with the metic, and the stranger is quite as good as either.

Yes, he said, that is the way.

And these are not the only evils, I said — there are several lesser ones: In such a state of society the master fears and flatters his scholars, and the scholars despise their masters and tutors; young and old are all alike; and the young man is on a level with the old, and is ready to compete with him in word or deed; and old men condescend to the young and are full of pleasantry and gaiety; they are loth to be thought morose and authoritative, and therefore they adopt the manners of the young.

Quite true, he said.

The last extreme of popular liberty is when the slave bought with money, whether male or female, is just as free as his or her purchaser; nor must I forget to tell of the liberty and equality of the two sexes in relation to each other.

Why not, as Aeschylus says, utter the word which rises to our lips?

That is what I am doing, I replied; and I must add that no one who does not know would believe, how much greater is the liberty which the animals who are under the dominion of man have in a democracy than in any other State: for truly, the she-dogs, as the proverb says, are as good as their she-mistresses, and the horses and asses have a way of marching along with all the rights and dignities of freemen; and they will run at anybody who comes in their way if he does not leave the road clear for them: and all things are just ready to burst with liberty.

When I take a country walk, he said, I often experience what you describe. You and I have dreamed the same thing.

And above all, I said, and as the result of all, see how sensitive the citizens become; they chafe impatiently at the least touch of authority and at length, as you know, they cease to care even for the laws, written or unwritten; they will have no one over them.

Yes, he said, I know it too well.

Such, my friend, I said, is the fair and glorious beginning out of which springs tyranny.

Glorious indeed, he said. But what is the next step?

The ruin of oligarchy is the ruin of democracy; the same disease magnified and intensified by liberty overmasters democracy — the truth being that the excessive increase of anything often causes a reaction in the opposite direction; and this is the case not only in the seasons and in vegetable and animal life, but above all in forms of government.

True.

The excess of liberty, whether in States or individuals, seems only to pass into excess of slavery.

Yes, the natural order.

And so tyranny naturally arises out of democracy, and the most aggravated form of tyranny and slavery out of the most extreme form of liberty?

As we might expect.

That, however, was not, as I believe, your question-you rather desired to know what is that disorder which is generated alike in oligarchy and democracy, and is the ruin of both?

Just so, he replied.

Well, I said, I meant to refer to the class of idle spendthrifts, of whom the more courageous are the-leaders and the more timid the followers, the same whom we were comparing to drones, some stingless, and others having stings.

A very just comparison.

These two classes are the plagues of every city in which they are generated, being what phlegm and bile are to the body. And the good physician and lawgiver of the State ought, like the wise bee-master, to keep them at a distance and prevent, if possible, their ever coming in; and if they have anyhow found a way in, then he should have them and their cells cut out as speedily as possible.

Yes, by all means, he said.

Then, in order that we may see clearly what we are doing, let us imagine democracy to be divided, as indeed it is, into three classes; for in the first place freedom creates rather more drones in the democratic than there were in the oligarchical State.

That is true.

And in the democracy they are certainly more intensified.

How so?

Because in the oligarchical State they are disqualified and driven from office, and therefore they cannot train or gather strength; whereas in a democracy they are almost the entire ruling power, and while the keener sort speak and act, the rest keep buzzing about the bema and do not suffer a word to be said on the other side; hence in democracies almost everything is managed by the drones.

Very true, he said.

Then there is another class which is always being severed from the mass.

What is that?

They are the orderly class, which in a nation of traders sure to be the richest.

Naturally so.

They are the most squeezable persons and yield the largest amount of honey to the drones.

Why, he said, there is little to be squeezed out of people who have little.

And this is called the wealthy class, and the drones feed upon them.

That is pretty much the case, he said.

The people are a third class, consisting of those who work with their own hands; they are not politicians, and have not much to live upon. This, when assembled, is the largest and most powerful class in a democracy.

True, he said; but then the multitude is seldom willing to congregate unless they get a little honey.

And do they not share? I said. Do not their leaders deprive the rich of their estates and distribute them among the people; at the same time taking care to reserve the larger part for themselves?

Why, yes, he said, to that extent the people do share.

And the persons whose property is taken from them are compelled to defend themselves before the people as they best can?

What else can they do?

And then, although they may have no desire of change, the others charge them with plotting against the people and being friends of oligarchy? True.

And the end is that when they see the people, not of their own accord, but through ignorance, and because they are deceived by informers, seeking to do them wrong, then at last they are forced to become oligarchs in reality; they do not wish to be, but the sting of the drones torments them and breeds revolution in them.

That is exactly the truth.

Then come impeachments and judgments and trials of one another.

True.

The people have always some champion whom they set over them and nurse into greatness.

Yes, that is their way.

This and no other is the root from which a tyrant springs; when he first appears above ground he is a protector.

Yes, that is quite clear.

How then does a protector begin to change into a tyrant? Clearly when he does what the man is said to do in the tale of the Arcadian temple of Lycaean Zeus.

What tale?

The tale is that he who has tasted the entrails of a single human victim minced up with the entrails of other victims is destined to become a wolf. Did you never hear it?

Oh, yes.

And the protector of the people is like him; having a mob entirely at his disposal, he is not restrained from shedding the blood of kinsmen; by the favourite method of false accusation he brings them into court and murders them, making the life of man to disappear, and with unholy tongue and lips tasting the blood of his fellow citizen; some he kills and others he banishes, at the same time hinting at the abolition of debts and partition of lands: and after this, what will be his destiny? Must he not either perish at the hands of his enemies, or from being a man become a wolf — that is, a tyrant?

Inevitably.

This, I said, is he who begins to make a party against the rich?

The same.

After a while he is driven out, but comes back, in spite of his enemies, a tyrant full grown.

That is clear.

And if they are unable to expel him, or to get him condemned to death by a public accusation, they conspire to assassinate him.

Yes, he said, that is their usual way.

Then comes the famous request for a bodyguard, which is the device of all those who have got thus far in their tyrannical career— ‘Let not the people’s friend,’ as they say, ‘be lost to them.’

Exactly.

The people readily assent; all their fears are for him — they have none for themselves.

Very true.

And when a man who is wealthy and is also accused of being an enemy of the people sees this, then, my friend, as the oracle said to Croesus,

By pebbly Hermus’ shore he flees and rests not and is not
ashamed to be a coward.

And quite right too, said he, for if he were, he would never be ashamed again.

But if he is caught he dies.

Of course.

And he, the protector of whom we spoke, is to be seen, not ‘larding the plain’ with his bulk, but himself the overthrower of many, standing up in the chariot of State with the reins in his hand, no longer protector, but tyrant absolute.

No doubt, he said.

And now let us consider the happiness of the man, and also of the State in which a creature like him is generated.

Yes, he said, let us consider that.

At first, in the early days of his power, he is full of smiles, and he salutes every one whom he meets; — he to be called a tyrant, who is making promises in public and also in private! liberating debtors, and distributing land to the people and his followers, and wanting to be so kind and good to every one!

Of course, he said.

But when he has disposed of foreign enemies by conquest or treaty, and there is nothing to fear from them, then he is always stirring up some war or other, in order that the people may require a leader.

To be sure.

Has he not also another object, which is that they may be impoverished by payment of taxes, and thus compelled to devote themselves to their daily wants and therefore less likely to conspire against him? Clearly.

And if any of them are suspected by him of having notions of freedom, and of resistance to his authority, he will have a good pretext for destroying them by placing them at the mercy of the enemy; and for all these reasons the tyrant must be always getting up a war.

He must.

Now he begins to grow unpopular.

A necessary result.

Then some of those who joined in setting him up, and who are in power, speak their minds to him and to one another, and the more courageous of them cast in his teeth what is being done.

Yes, that may be expected.

And the tyrant, if he means to rule, must get rid of them; he cannot stop while he has a friend or an enemy who is good for anything.

He cannot.

And therefore he must look about him and see who is valiant, who is high-minded, who is wise, who is wealthy; happy man, he is the enemy of them all, and must seek occasion against them whether he will or no, until he has made a purgation of the State.

Yes, he said, and a rare purgation.

Yes, I said, not the sort of purgation which the physicians make of the body; for they take away the worse and leave the better part, but he does the reverse.

If he is to rule, I suppose that he cannot help himself.

What a blessed alternative, I said: — to be compelled to dwell only with the many bad, and to be by them hated, or not to live at all!

Yes, that is the alternative.

And the more detestable his actions are to the citizens the more satellites and the greater devotion in them will he require?

Certainly.

And who are the devoted band, and where will he procure them?

They will flock to him, he said, of their own accord, if lie pays them.

By the dog! I said, here are more drones, of every sort and from every land.

Yes, he said, there are.

But will he not desire to get them on the spot?

How do you mean?

He will rob the citizens of their slaves; he will then set them free and enrol them in his bodyguard.

To be sure, he said; and he will be able to trust them best of all.

What a blessed creature, I said, must this tyrant be; he has put to death the others and has these for his trusted friends.

Yes, he said; they are quite of his sort.

Yes, I said, and these are the new citizens whom he has called into existence, who admire him and are his companions, while the good hate and avoid him.

Of course.

Verily, then, tragedy is a wise thing and Euripides a great tragedian.

Why so?

Why, because he is the author of the pregnant saying,

Tyrants are wise by living with the wise;

and he clearly meant to say that they are the wise whom the tyrant makes his companions.

Yes, he said, and he also praises tyranny as godlike; and many other things of the same kind are said by him and by the other poets.

And therefore, I said, the tragic poets being wise men will forgive us and any others who live after our manner if we do not receive them into our State, because they are the eulogists of tyranny.

Yes, he said, those who have the wit will doubtless forgive us.

But they will continue to go to other cities and attract mobs, and hire voices fair and loud and persuasive, and draw the cities over to tyrannies and democracies.

Very true.

Moreover, they are paid for this and receive honour — the greatest honour, as might be expected, from tyrants, and the next greatest from democracies; but the higher they ascend our constitution hill, the more their reputation fails, and seems unable from shortness of breath to proceed further.

True.

But we are wandering from the subject: Let us therefore return and enquire how the tyrant will maintain that fair and numerous and various and ever-changing army of his.

If, he said, there are sacred treasures in the city, he will confiscate and spend them; and in so far as the fortunes of attainted persons may suffice, he will be able to diminish the taxes which he would otherwise have to impose upon the people.

And when these fail?

Why, clearly, he said, then he and his boon companions, whether male or female, will be maintained out of his father’s estate.

You mean to say that the people, from whom he has derived his being, will maintain him and his companions?

Yes, he said; they cannot help themselves.

But what if the people fly into a passion, and aver that a grown-up son ought not to be supported by his father, but that the father should be supported by the son? The father did not bring him into being, or settle him in life, in order that when his son became a man he should himself be the servant of his own servants and should support him and his rabble of slaves and companions; but that his son should protect him, and that by his help he might be emancipated from the government of the rich and aristocratic, as they are termed. And so he bids him and his companions depart, just as any other father might drive out of the house a riotous son and his undesirable associates.

By heaven, he said, then the parent will discover what a monster he has been fostering in his bosom; and, when he wants to drive him out, he will find that he is weak and his son strong.

Why, you do not mean to say that the tyrant will use violence? What! beat his father if he opposes him?

Yes, he will, having first disarmed him.

Then he is a parricide, and a cruel guardian of an aged parent; and this is real tyranny, about which there can be no longer a mistake: as the saying is, the people who would escape the smoke which is the slavery of freemen, has fallen into the fire which is the tyranny of slaves. Thus liberty, getting out of all order and reason, passes into the harshest and bitterest form of slavery.

True, he said.

Very well; and may we not rightly say that we have sufficiently discussed the nature of tyranny, and the manner of the transition from democracy to tyranny?

Yes, quite enough, he said.

BOOK IX

SOCRATES - ADEIMANTUS

LAST of all comes the tyrannical man; about whom we have once more to ask, how is he formed out of the democratical? and how does he live, in happiness or in misery?

Yes, he said, he is the only one remaining.

There is, however, I said, a previous question which remains unanswered.

What question?

I do not think that we have adequately determined the nature and number of the appetites, and until this is accomplished the enquiry will always be confused.

Well, he said, it is not too late to supply the omission.

Very true, I said; and observe the point which I want to understand: Certain of the unnecessary pleasures and appetites I conceive to be unlawful; every one appears to have them, but in some persons they are controlled by the laws and by reason, and the better desires prevail over them-either they are wholly banished or they become few and weak; while in the case of others they are stronger, and there are more of them.

Which appetites do you mean?

I mean those which are awake when the reasoning and human and ruling power is asleep; then the wild beast within us, gorged with meat or drink, starts up and having shaken off sleep, goes forth to satisfy his desires; and there is no conceivable folly or crime — not excepting incest or any other unnatural union, or parricide, or the eating of forbidden food — which at such a time, when he has parted company with all shame and sense, a man may not be ready to commit.

Most true, he said.

But when a man’s pulse is healthy and temperate, and when before going to sleep he has awakened his rational powers, and fed them on noble thoughts and enquiries, collecting himself in meditation; after having first indulged his appetites neither too much nor too little, but just enough to lay them to sleep, and prevent them and their enjoyments and pains from interfering with the higher principle — which he leaves in the solitude of pure abstraction, free to contemplate and aspire to the knowledge of the unknown, whether in past, present, or future: when again he has allayed the passionate element, if he has a quarrel against any one — I say, when, after pacifying the two irrational principles, he rouses up the third, which is reason, before he takes his rest, then, as you know, he attains truth most nearly, and is least likely to be the sport of fantastic and lawless visions.

I quite agree.

In saying this I have been running into a digression; but the point which I desire to note is that in all of us, even in good men, there is a lawless wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep. Pray, consider whether I am right, and you agree with me.

Yes, I agree.

And now remember the character which we attributed to the democratic man. He was supposed from his youth upwards to have been trained under a miserly parent, who encouraged the saving appetites in him, but discountenanced the unnecessary, which aim only at amusement and ornament?

True.

And then he got into the company of a more refined, licentious sort of people, and taking to all their wanton ways rushed into the opposite extreme from an abhorrence of his father’s meanness. At last, being a better man than his corruptors, he was drawn in both directions until he halted midway and led a life, not of vulgar and slavish passion, but of what he deemed moderate indulgence in various pleasures. After this manner the democrat was generated out of the oligarch?

Yes, he said; that was our view of him, and is so still.

And now, I said, years will have passed away, and you must conceive this man, such as he is, to have a son, who is brought up in his father’s principles.

I can imagine him.

Then you must further imagine the same thing to happen to the son which has already happened to the father: — he is drawn into a perfectly lawless life, which by his seducers is termed perfect liberty; and his father and friends take part with his moderate desires, and the opposite party assist the opposite ones. As soon as these dire magicians and tyrant-makers find that they are losing their hold on him, they contrive to implant in him a master passion, to be lord over his idle and spendthrift lusts — a sort of monstrous winged drone — that is the only image which will adequately describe him.

Yes, he said, that is the only adequate image of him.

And when his other lusts, amid clouds of incense and perfumes and garlands and wines, and all the pleasures of a dissolute life, now let loose, come buzzing around him, nourishing to the utmost the sting of desire which they implant in his drone-like nature, then at last this lord of the soul, having Madness for the captain of his guard, breaks out into a frenzy: and if he finds in himself any good opinions or appetites in process of formation, and there is in him any sense of shame remaining, to these better principles he puts an end, and casts them forth until he has purged away temperance and brought in madness to the full.

Yes, he said, that is the way in which the tyrannical man is generated.

And is not this the reason why of old love has been called a tyrant?

I should not wonder.

Further, I said, has not a drunken man also the spirit of a tyrant?

He has.

And you know that a man who is deranged and not right in his mind, will fancy that he is able to rule, not only over men, but also over the gods?

That he will.

And the tyrannical man in the true sense of the word comes into being when, either under the influence of nature, or habit, or both, he becomes drunken, lustful, passionate? O my friend, is not that so?

Assuredly.

Such is the man and such is his origin. And next, how does he live?

Suppose, as people facetiously say, you were to tell me.

I imagine, I said, at the next step in his progress, that there will be feasts and carousals and revellings and courtezans, and all that sort of thing; Love is the lord of the house within him, and orders all the concerns of his soul.

That is certain.

Yes; and every day and every night desires grow up many and formidable, and their demands are many.

They are indeed, he said.

His revenues, if he has any, are soon spent.

True.

Then comes debt and the cutting down of his property.

Of course.

When he has nothing left, must not his desires, crowding in the nest like young ravens, be crying aloud for food; and he, goaded on by them, and especially by love himself, who is in a manner the captain of them, is in a frenzy, and would fain discover whom he can defraud or despoil of his property, in order that he may gratify them?

Yes, that is sure to be the case.

He must have money, no matter how, if he is to escape horrid pains and pangs.

He must.

And as in himself there was a succession of pleasures, and the new got the better of the old and took away their rights, so he being younger will claim to have more than his father and his mother, and if he has spent his own share of the property, he will take a slice of theirs.

No doubt he will.

And if his parents will not give way, then he will try first of all to cheat and deceive them.

Very true.

And if he fails, then he will use force and plunder them.

Yes, probably.

And if the old man and woman fight for their own, what then, my friend?
Will the creature feel any compunction at tyrannizing over them?

Nay, he said, I should not feel at all comfortable about his parents.

But, O heavens! Adeimantus, on account of some newfangled love of a harlot, who is anything but a necessary connection, can you believe that he would strike the mother who is his ancient friend and necessary to his very existence, and would place her under the authority of the other, when she is brought under the same roof with her; or that, under like circumstances, he would do the same to his withered old father, first and most indispensable of friends, for the sake of some newly found blooming youth who is the reverse of indispensable?

Yes, indeed, he said; I believe that he would.

Truly, then, I said, a tyrannical son is a blessing to his father and mother.

He is indeed, he replied.

He first takes their property, and when that falls, and pleasures are beginning to swarm in the hive of his soul, then he breaks into a house, or steals the garments of some nightly wayfarer; next he proceeds to clear a temple. Meanwhile the old opinions which he had when a child, and which gave judgment about good and evil, are overthrown by those others which have just been emancipated, and are now the bodyguard of love and share his empire. These in his democratic days, when he was still subject to the laws and to his father, were only let loose in the dreams of sleep. But now that he is under the dominion of love, he becomes always and in waking reality what he was then very rarely and in a dream only; he will commit the foulest murder, or eat forbidden food, or be guilty of any other horrid act. Love is his tyrant, and lives lordly in him and lawlessly, and being himself a king, leads him on, as a tyrant leads a State, to the performance of any reckless deed by which he can maintain himself and the rabble of his associates, whether those whom evil communications have brought in from without, or those whom he himself has allowed to break loose within him by reason of a similar evil nature in himself. Have we not here a picture of his way of life?

Yes, indeed, he said.

And if there are only a few of them in the State, the rest of the people are well disposed, they go away and become the bodyguard or mercenary soldiers of some other tyrant who may probably want them for a war; and if there is no war, they stay at home and do many little pieces of mischief in the city.

What sort of mischief?

For example, they are the thieves, burglars, cutpurses, footpads, robbers of temples, man-stealers of the community; or if they are able to speak they turn informers, and bear false witness, and take bribes.

A small catalogue of evils, even if the perpetrators of them are few in number.

Yes, I said; but small and great are comparative terms, and all these things, in the misery and evil which they inflict upon a State, do not come within a thousand miles of the tyrant; when this noxious class and their followers grow numerous and become conscious of their strength, assisted by the infatuation of the people, they choose from among themselves the one who has most of the tyrant in his own soul, and him they create their tyrant.

Yes, he said, and he will be the most fit to be a tyrant.

If the people yield, well and good; but if they resist him, as he began by beating his own father and mother, so now, if he has the power, he beats them, and will keep his dear old fatherland or motherland, as the Cretans say, in subjection to his young retainers whom he has introduced to be their rulers and masters. This is the end of his passions and desires.

Exactly.

When such men are only private individuals and before they get power, this is their character; they associate entirely with their own flatterers or ready tools; or if they want anything from anybody, they in their turn are equally ready to bow down before them: they profess every sort of affection for them; but when they have gained their point they know them no more.

Yes, truly.

They are always either the masters or servants and never the friends of anybody; the tyrant never tastes of true freedom or friendship.

Certainly not.

And may we not rightly call such men treacherous?

No question.

Also they are utterly unjust, if we were right in our notion of justice?

Yes, he said, and we were perfectly right.

Let us then sum up in a word, I said, the character of the worst man: he is the waking reality of what we dreamed.

Most true.

And this is he who being by nature most of a tyrant bears rule, and the longer he lives the more of a tyrant he becomes.

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

That is certain, said Glaucon, taking his turn to answer.

And will not he who has been shown to be the wickedest, be also the most miserable? and he who has tyrannized longest and most, most continually and truly miserable; although this may not be the opinion of men in general?

Yes, he said, inevitably.

And must not the tyrannical man be like the tyrannical, State, and the democratical man like the democratical State; and the same of the others?

Certainly.

And as State is to State in virtue and happiness, so is man in relation to man?

To be sure.

Then comparing our original city, which was under a king, and the city which is under a tyrant, how do they stand as to virtue?

They are the opposite extremes, he said, for one is the very best and the other is the very worst.

There can be no mistake, I said, as to which is which, and therefore I will at once enquire whether you would arrive at a similar decision about their relative happiness and misery. And here we must not allow ourselves to be panic-stricken at the apparition of the tyrant, who is only a unit and may perhaps have a few retainers about him; but let us go as we ought into every corner of the city and look all about, and then we will give our opinion.

A fair invitation, he replied; and I see, as every one must, that a tyranny is the wretchedest form of government, and the rule of a king the happiest.

And in estimating the men too, may I not fairly make a like request, that I should have a judge whose mind can enter into and see through human nature? He must not be like a child who looks at the outside and is dazzled at the pompous aspect which the tyrannical nature assumes to the beholder, but let him be one who has a clear insight. May I suppose that the judgment is given in the hearing of us all by one who is able to judge, and has dwelt in the same place with him, and been present at his dally life and known him in his family relations, where he may be seen stripped of his tragedy attire, and again in the hour of public danger — he shall tell us about the happiness and misery of the tyrant when compared with other men?

That again, he said, is a very fair proposal.

Shall I assume that we ourselves are able and experienced judges and have before now met with such a person? We shall then have some one who will answer our enquiries.

By all means.

Let me ask you not to forget the parallel of the individual and the State; bearing this in mind, and glancing in turn from one to the other of them, will you tell me their respective conditions?

What do you mean? he asked.

Beginning with the State, I replied, would you say that a city which is governed by a tyrant is free or enslaved?

No city, he said, can be more completely enslaved.

And yet, as you see, there are freemen as well as masters in such a
State?

Yes, he said, I see that there are — a few; but the people, speaking generally, and the best of them, are miserably degraded and enslaved.

Then if the man is like the State, I said, must not the same rule prevail? his soul is full of meanness and vulgarity — the best elements in him are enslaved; and there is a small ruling part, which is also the worst and maddest.

Inevitably.

And would you say that the soul of such an one is the soul of a freeman, or of a slave?

He has the soul of a slave, in my opinion.

And the State which is enslaved under a tyrant is utterly incapable of acting voluntarily?

Utterly incapable.

And also the soul which is under a tyrant (I am speaking of the soul taken as a whole) is least capable of doing what she desires; there is a gadfly which goads her, and she is full of trouble and remorse?

Certainly.

And is the city which is under a tyrant rich or poor?

Poor.

And the tyrannical soul must be always poor and insatiable?

True.

And must not such a State and such a man be always full of fear?

Yes, indeed.

Is there any State in which you will find more of lamentation and sorrow and groaning and pain?

Certainly not.

And is there any man in whom you will find more of this sort of misery than in the tyrannical man, who is in a fury of passions and desires?

Impossible.

Reflecting upon these and similar evils, you held the tyrannical State to be the most miserable of States?

And I was right, he said.

Certainly, I said. And when you see the same evils in the tyrannical man, what do you say of him?

I say that he is by far the most miserable of all men.

There, I said, I think that you are beginning to go wrong.

What do you mean?

I do not think that he has as yet reached the utmost extreme of misery.

Then who is more miserable?

One of whom I am about to speak.

Who is that?

He who is of a tyrannical nature, and instead of leading a private life has been cursed with the further misfortune of being a public tyrant.

From what has been said, I gather that you are right.

Yes, I replied, but in this high argument you should be a little more certain, and should not conjecture only; for of all questions, this respecting good and evil is the greatest.

Very true, he said.

Let me then offer you an illustration, which may, I think, throw a light upon this subject.

What is your illustration?

The case of rich individuals in cities who possess many slaves: from them you may form an idea of the tyrant’s condition, for they both have slaves; the only difference is that he has more slaves.

Yes, that is the difference.

You know that they live securely and have nothing to apprehend from their servants?

What should they fear?

Nothing. But do you observe the reason of this?

Yes; the reason is, that the whole city is leagued together for the protection of each individual.

Very true, I said. But imagine one of these owners, the master say of some fifty slaves, together with his family and property and slaves, carried off by a god into the wilderness, where there are no freemen to help him — will he not be in an agony of fear lest he and his wife and children should be put to death by his slaves?

Yes, he said, he will be in the utmost fear.

The time has arrived when he will be compelled to flatter divers of his slaves, and make many promises to them of freedom and other things, much against his will — he will have to cajole his own servants.

Yes, he said, that will be the only way of saving himself.

And suppose the same god, who carried him away, to surround him with neighbours who will not suffer one man to be the master of another, and who, if they could catch the offender, would take his life?

His case will be still worse, if you suppose him to be everywhere surrounded and watched by enemies.

And is not this the sort of prison in which the tyrant will be bound — he who being by nature such as we have described, is full of all sorts of fears and lusts? His soul is dainty and greedy, and yet alone, of all men in the city, he is never allowed to go on a journey, or to see the things which other freemen desire to see, but he lives in his hole like a woman hidden in the house, and is jealous of any other citizen who goes into foreign parts and sees anything of interest.

Very true, he said.

And amid evils such as these will not he who is ill-governed in his own person — the tyrannical man, I mean — whom you just now decided to be the most miserable of all — will not he be yet more miserable when, instead of leading a private life, he is constrained by fortune to be a public tyrant? He has to be master of others when he is not master of himself: he is like a diseased or paralytic man who is compelled to pass his life, not in retirement, but fighting and combating with other men.

Yes, he said, the similitude is most exact.

Is not his case utterly miserable? and does not the actual tyrant lead a worse life than he whose life you determined to be the worst?

Certainly.

He who is the real tyrant, whatever men may think, is the real slave, and is obliged to practise the greatest adulation and servility, and to be the flatterer of the vilest of mankind. He has desires which he is utterly unable to satisfy, and has more wants than any one, and is truly poor, if you know how to inspect the whole soul of him: all his life long he is beset with fear and is full of convulsions, and distractions, even as the State which he resembles: and surely the resemblance holds?

Very true, he said.

Moreover, as we were saying before, he grows worse from having power: he becomes and is of necessity more jealous, more faithless, more unjust, more friendless, more impious, than he was at first; he is the purveyor and cherisher of every sort of vice, and the consequence is that he is supremely miserable, and that he makes everybody else as miserable as himself.

No man of any sense will dispute your words.

Come then, I said, and as the general umpire in theatrical contests proclaims the result, do you also decide who in your opinion is first in the scale of happiness, and who second, and in what order the others follow: there are five of them in all — they are the royal, timocratical, oligarchical, democratical, tyrannical.

The decision will be easily given, he replied; they shall be choruses coming on the stage, and I must judge them in the order in which they enter, by the criterion of virtue and vice, happiness and misery.

Need we hire a herald, or shall I announce, that the son of Ariston (the best) has decided that the best and justest is also the happiest, and that this is he who is the most royal man and king over himself; and that the worst and most unjust man is also the most miserable, and that this is he who being the greatest tyrant of himself is also the greatest tyrant of his State?

Make the proclamation yourself, he said.

And shall I add, ‘whether seen or unseen by gods and men’?

Let the words be added.

Then this, I said, will be our first proof; and there is another, which may also have some weight.

What is that?

The second proof is derived from the nature of the soul: seeing that the individual soul, like the State, has been divided by us into three principles, the division may, I think, furnish a new demonstration.

Of what nature?

It seems to me that to these three principles three pleasures correspond; also three desires and governing powers.

How do you mean? he said.

There is one principle with which, as we were saying, a man learns, another with which he is angry; the third, having many forms, has no special name, but is denoted by the general term appetitive, from the extraordinary strength and vehemence of the desires of eating and drinking and the other sensual appetites which are the main elements of it; also money-loving, because such desires are generally satisfied by the help of money.

That is true, he said.

If we were to say that the loves and pleasures of this third part were concerned with gain, we should then be able to fall back on a single notion; and might truly and intelligibly describe this part of the soul as loving gain or money.

I agree with you.

Again, is not the passionate element wholly set on ruling and conquering and getting fame?

True.

Suppose we call it the contentious or ambitious — would the term be suitable?

Extremely suitable.

On the other hand, every one sees that the principle of knowledge is wholly directed to the truth, and cares less than either of the others for gain or fame.

Far less.

‘Lover of wisdom,’ ‘lover of knowledge,’ are titles which we may fitly apply to that part of the soul?

Certainly.

One principle prevails in the souls of one class of men, another in others, as may happen?

Yes.

Then we may begin by assuming that there are three classes of men — lovers of wisdom, lovers of honour, lovers of gain?

Exactly.

And there are three kinds of pleasure, which are their several objects?

Very true.

Now, if you examine the three classes of men, and ask of them in turn which of their lives is pleasantest, each will be found praising his own and depreciating that of others: the money-maker will contrast the vanity of honour or of learning if they bring no money with the solid advantages of gold and silver?

True, he said.

And the lover of honour — what will be his opinion? Will he not think that the pleasure of riches is vulgar, while the pleasure of learning, if it brings no distinction, is all smoke and nonsense to him?

Very true.

And are we to suppose, I said, that the philosopher sets any value on other pleasures in comparison with the pleasure of knowing the truth, and in that pursuit abiding, ever learning, not so far indeed from the heaven of pleasure? Does he not call the other pleasures necessary, under the idea that if there were no necessity for them, he would rather not have them?

There can be no doubt of that, he replied.

Since, then, the pleasures of each class and the life of each are in dispute, and the question is not which life is more or less honourable, or better or worse, but which is the more pleasant or painless — how shall we know who speaks truly?

I cannot myself tell, he said.

Well, but what ought to be the criterion? Is any better than experience and wisdom and reason?

There cannot be a better, he said.

Then, I said, reflect. Of the three individuals, which has the greatest experience of all the pleasures which we enumerated? Has the lover of gain, in learning the nature of essential truth, greater experience of the pleasure of knowledge than the philosopher has of the pleasure of gain?

The philosopher, he replied, has greatly the advantage; for he has of necessity always known the taste of the other pleasures from his childhood upwards: but the lover of gain in all his experience has not of necessity tasted — or, I should rather say, even had he desired, could hardly have tasted — the sweetness of learning and knowing truth.

Then the lover of wisdom has a great advantage over the lover of gain, for he has a double experience?

Yes, very great.

Again, has he greater experience of the pleasures of honour, or the lover of honour of the pleasures of wisdom?

Nay, he said, all three are honoured in proportion as they attain their object; for the rich man and the brave man and the wise man alike have their crowd of admirers, and as they all receive honour they all have experience of the pleasures of honour; but the delight which is to be found in the knowledge of true being is known to the philosopher only.

His experience, then, will enable him to judge better than any one?

Far better.

And he is the only one who has wisdom as well as experience?

Certainly.

Further, the very faculty which is the instrument of judgment is not possessed by the covetous or ambitious man, but only by the philosopher?

What faculty?

Reason, with whom, as we were saying, the decision ought to rest.

Yes.

And reasoning is peculiarly his instrument?

Certainly.

If wealth and gain were the criterion, then the praise or blame of the lover of gain would surely be the most trustworthy?

Assuredly.

Or if honour or victory or courage, in that case the judgement of the ambitious or pugnacious would be the truest?

Clearly.

But since experience and wisdom and reason are the judges —

The only inference possible, he replied, is that pleasures which are approved by the lover of wisdom and reason are the truest.

And so we arrive at the result, that the pleasure of the intelligent part of the soul is the pleasantest of the three, and that he of us in whom this is the ruling principle has the pleasantest life.

Unquestionably, he said, the wise man speaks with authority when he approves of his own life.

And what does the judge affirm to be the life which is next, and the pleasure which is next?

Clearly that of the soldier and lover of honour; who is nearer to himself than the money-maker.

Last comes the lover of gain?

Very true, he said.

Twice in succession, then, has the just man overthrown the unjust in this conflict; and now comes the third trial, which is dedicated to Olympian Zeus the saviour: a sage whispers in my ear that no pleasure except that of the wise is quite true and pure — all others are a shadow only; and surely this will prove the greatest and most decisive of falls?

Yes, the greatest; but will you explain yourself?

I will work out the subject and you shall answer my questions.

Proceed.

Say, then, is not pleasure opposed to pain?

True.

And there is a neutral state which is neither pleasure nor pain?

There is.

A state which is intermediate, and a sort of repose of the soul about either — that is what you mean?

Yes.

You remember what people say when they are sick?

What do they say?

That after all nothing is pleasanter than health. But then they never knew this to be the greatest of pleasures until they were ill.

Yes, I know, he said.

And when persons are suffering from acute pain, you must. have heard them say that there is nothing pleasanter than to get rid of their pain?

I have.

And there are many other cases of suffering in which the mere rest and cessation of pain, and not any positive enjoyment, is extolled by them as the greatest pleasure?

Yes, he said; at the time they are pleased and well content to be at rest.

Again, when pleasure ceases, that sort of rest or cessation will be painful?

Doubtless, he said.

Then the intermediate state of rest will be pleasure and will also be pain?

So it would seem.

But can that which is neither become both?

I should say not.

And both pleasure and pain are motions of the soul, are they not?

Yes.

But that which is neither was just now shown to be rest and not motion, and in a mean between them?

Yes.

How, then, can we be right in supposing that the absence of pain is pleasure, or that the absence of pleasure is pain?

Impossible.

This then is an appearance only and not a reality; that is to say, the rest is pleasure at the moment and in comparison of what is painful, and painful in comparison of what is pleasant; but all these representations, when tried by the test of true pleasure, are not real but a sort of imposition?

That is the inference.

Look at the other class of pleasures which have no antecedent pains and you will no longer suppose, as you perhaps may at present, that pleasure is only the cessation of pain, or pain of pleasure.

What are they, he said, and where shall I find them?

There are many of them: take as an example the pleasures, of smell, which are very great and have no antecedent pains; they come in a moment, and when they depart leave no pain behind them.

Most true, he said.

Let us not, then, be induced to believe that pure pleasure is the cessation of pain, or pain of pleasure.

No.

Still, the more numerous and violent pleasures which reach the soul through the body are generally of this sort — they are reliefs of pain.

That is true.

And the anticipations of future pleasures and pains are of a like nature?

Yes.

Shall I give you an illustration of them?

Let me hear.

You would allow, I said, that there is in nature an upper and lower and middle region?

I should.

And if a person were to go from the lower to the middle region, would he not imagine that he is going up; and he who is standing in the middle and sees whence he has come, would imagine that he is already in the upper region, if he has never seen the true upper world?

To be sure, he said; how can he think otherwise?

But if he were taken back again he would imagine, and truly imagine, that he was descending?

No doubt.

All that would arise out of his ignorance of the true upper and middle and lower regions?

Yes.

Then can you wonder that persons who are inexperienced in the truth, as they have wrong ideas about many other things, should also have wrong ideas about pleasure and pain and the intermediate state; so that when they are only being drawn towards the painful they feel pain and think the pain which they experience to be real, and in like manner, when drawn away from pain to the neutral or intermediate state, they firmly believe that they have reached the goal of satiety and pleasure; they, not knowing pleasure, err in contrasting pain with the absence of pain, which is like contrasting black with grey instead of white — can you wonder, I say, at this?

No, indeed; I should be much more disposed to wonder at the opposite.

Look at the matter thus: — Hunger, thirst, and the like, are inanitions of the bodily state?

Yes.

And ignorance and folly are inanitions of the soul?

True.

And food and wisdom are the corresponding satisfactions of either?

Certainly.

And is the satisfaction derived from that which has less or from that which has more existence the truer?

Clearly, from that which has more.

What classes of things have a greater share of pure existence in your judgment — those of which food and drink and condiments and all kinds of sustenance are examples, or the class which contains true opinion and knowledge and mind and all the different kinds of virtue? Put the question in this way: — Which has a more pure being — that which is concerned with the invariable, the immortal, and the true, and is of such a nature, and is found in such natures; or that which is concerned with and found in the variable and mortal, and is itself variable and mortal?

Far purer, he replied, is the being of that which is concerned with the invariable.

And does the essence of the invariable partake of knowledge in the same degree as of essence?

Yes, of knowledge in the same degree.

And of truth in the same degree?

Yes.

And, conversely, that which has less of truth will also have less of essence?

Necessarily.

Then, in general, those kinds of things which are in the service of the body have less of truth and essence than those which are in the service of the soul?

Far less.

And has not the body itself less of truth and essence than the soul?

Yes.

What is filled with more real existence, and actually has a more real existence, is more really filled than that which is filled with less real existence and is less real?

Of course.

And if there be a pleasure in being filled with that which is according to nature, that which is more really filled with more real being will more really and truly enjoy true pleasure; whereas that which participates in less real being will be less truly and surely satisfied, and will participate in an illusory and less real pleasure?

Unquestionably.

Those then who know not wisdom and virtue, and are always busy with gluttony and sensuality, go down and up again as far as the mean; and in this region they move at random throughout life, but they never pass into the true upper world; thither they neither look, nor do they ever find their way, neither are they truly filled with true being, nor do they taste of pure and abiding pleasure. Like cattle, with their eyes always looking down and their heads stooping to the earth, that is, to the dining-table, they fatten and feed and breed, and, in their excessive love of these delights, they kick and butt at one another with horns and hoofs which are made of iron; and they kill one another by reason of their insatiable lust. For they fill themselves with that which is not substantial, and the part of themselves which they fill is also unsubstantial and incontinent.

Verily, Socrates, said Glaucon, you describe the life of the many like an oracle.

Their pleasures are mixed with pains — how can they be otherwise? For they are mere shadows and pictures of the true, and are coloured by contrast, which exaggerates both light and shade, and so they implant in the minds of fools insane desires of themselves; and they are fought about as Stesichorus says that the Greeks fought about the shadow of Helen at Troy in ignorance of the truth.

Something of that sort must inevitably happen.

And must not the like happen with the spirited or passionate element of the soul? Will not the passionate man who carries his passion into action, be in the like case, whether he is envious and ambitious, or violent and contentious, or angry and discontented, if he be seeking to attain honour and victory and the satisfaction of his anger without reason or sense?

Yes, he said, the same will happen with the spirited element also.

Then may we not confidently assert that the lovers of money and honour, when they seek their pleasures under the guidance and in the company of reason and knowledge, and pursue after and win the pleasures which wisdom shows them, will also have the truest pleasures in the highest degree which is attainable to them, inasmuch as they follow truth; and they will have the pleasures which are natural to them, if that which is best for each one is also most natural to him?

Yes, certainly; the best is the most natural.

And when the whole soul follows the philosophical principle, and there is no division, the several parts are just, and do each of them their own business, and enjoy severally the best and truest pleasures of which they are capable?

Exactly.

But when either of the two other principles prevails, it fails in attaining its own pleasure, and compels the rest to pursue after a pleasure which is a shadow only and which is not their own?

True.

And the greater the interval which separates them from philosophy and reason, the more strange and illusive will be the pleasure?

Yes.

And is not that farthest from reason which is at the greatest distance from law and order?

Clearly.

And the lustful and tyrannical desires are, as we saw, at the greatest distance? Yes.

And the royal and orderly desires are nearest?

Yes.

Then the tyrant will live at the greatest distance from true or natural pleasure, and the king at the least?

Certainly.

But if so, the tyrant will live most unpleasantly, and the king most pleasantly?

Inevitably.

Would you know the measure of the interval which separates them?

Will you tell me?

There appear to be three pleasures, one genuine and two spurious: now the transgression of the tyrant reaches a point beyond the spurious; he has run away from the region of law and reason, and taken up his abode with certain slave pleasures which are his satellites, and the measure of his inferiority can only be expressed in a figure.

How do you mean?

I assume, I said, that the tyrant is in the third place from the oligarch; the democrat was in the middle?

Yes.

And if there is truth in what has preceded, he will be wedded to an image of pleasure which is thrice removed as to truth from the pleasure of the oligarch?

He will.

And the oligarch is third from the royal; since we count as one royal and aristocratical?

Yes, he is third.

Then the tyrant is removed from true pleasure by the space of a number which is three times three?

Manifestly.

The shadow then of tyrannical pleasure determined by the number of length will be a plane figure.

Certainly.

And if you raise the power and make the plane a solid, there is no difficulty in seeing how vast is the interval by which the tyrant is parted from the king.

Yes; the arithmetician will easily do the sum.

Or if some person begins at the other end and measures the interval by which the king is parted from the tyrant in truth of pleasure, he will find him, when the multiplication is complete, living 729 times more pleasantly, and the tyrant more painfully by this same interval.

What a wonderful calculation! And how enormous is the distance which separates the just from the unjust in regard to pleasure and pain!

Yet a true calculation, I said, and a number which nearly concerns human life, if human beings are concerned with days and nights and months and years.

Yes, he said, human life is certainly concerned with them.

Then if the good and just man be thus superior in pleasure to the evil and unjust, his superiority will be infinitely greater in propriety of life and in beauty and virtue?

Immeasurably greater.

Well, I said, and now having arrived at this stage of the argument, we may revert to the words which brought us hither: Was not some one saying that injustice was a gain to the perfectly unjust who was reputed to be just?

Yes, that was said.

Now then, having determined the power and quality of justice and injustice, let us have a little conversation with him.

What shall we say to him?

Let us make an image of the soul, that he may have his own words presented before his eyes.

Of what sort?

An ideal image of the soul, like the composite creations of ancient mythology, such as the Chimera or Scylla or Cerberus, and there are many others in which two or more different natures are said to grow into one.

There are said of have been such unions.

Then do you now model the form of a multitudinous, many-headed monster, having a ring of heads of all manner of beasts, tame and wild, which he is able to generate and metamorphose at will.

You suppose marvellous powers in the artist; but, as language is more pliable than wax or any similar substance, let there be such a model as you propose.

Suppose now that you make a second form as of a lion, and a third of a man, the second smaller than the first, and the third smaller than the second.

That, he said, is an easier task; and I have made them as you say.

And now join them, and let the three grow into one.

That has been accomplished.

Next fashion the outside of them into a single image, as of a man, so that he who is not able to look within, and sees only the outer hull, may believe the beast to be a single human creature. I have done so, he said.

And now, to him who maintains that it is profitable for the human creature to be unjust, and unprofitable to be just, let us reply that, if he be right, it is profitable for this creature to feast the multitudinous monster and strengthen the lion and the lion-like qualities, but to starve and weaken the man, who is consequently liable to be dragged about at the mercy of either of the other two; and he is not to attempt to familiarize or harmonize them with one another — he ought rather to suffer them to fight and bite and devour one another.

Certainly, he said; that is what the approver of injustice says.

To him the supporter of justice makes answer that he should ever so speak and act as to give the man within him in some way or other the most complete mastery over the entire human creature.

He should watch over the many-headed monster like a good husbandman, fostering and cultivating the gentle qualities, and preventing the wild ones from growing; he should be making the lion-heart his ally, and in common care of them all should be uniting the several parts with one another and with himself.

Yes, he said, that is quite what the maintainer of justice say.

And so from every point of view, whether of pleasure, honour, or advantage, the approver of justice is right and speaks the truth, and the disapprover is wrong and false and ignorant.

Yes, from every point of view.

Come, now, and let us gently reason with the unjust, who is not intentionally in error. ‘Sweet Sir,’ we will say to him, what think you of things esteemed noble and ignoble? Is not the noble that which subjects the beast to the man, or rather to the god in man; and the ignoble that which subjects the man to the beast?’ He can hardly avoid saying yes — can he now?

Not if he has any regard for my opinion.

But, if he agree so far, we may ask him to answer another question: ‘Then how would a man profit if he received gold and silver on the condition that he was to enslave the noblest part of him to the worst? Who can imagine that a man who sold his son or daughter into slavery for money, especially if he sold them into the hands of fierce and evil men, would be the gainer, however large might be the sum which he received? And will any one say that he is not a miserable caitiff who remorselessly sells his own divine being to that which is most godless and detestable? Eriphyle took the necklace as the price of her husband’s life, but he is taking a bribe in order to compass a worse ruin.’

Yes, said Glaucon, far worse — I will answer for him.

Has not the intemperate been censured of old, because in him the huge multiform monster is allowed to be too much at large?

Clearly.

And men are blamed for pride and bad temper when the lion and serpent element in them disproportionately grows and gains strength?

Yes.

And luxury and softness are blamed, because they relax and weaken this same creature, and make a coward of him?

Very true.

And is not a man reproached for flattery and meanness who subordinates the spirited animal to the unruly monster, and, for the sake of money, of which he can never have enough, habituates him in the days of his youth to be trampled in the mire, and from being a lion to become a monkey?

True, he said.

And why are mean employments and manual arts a reproach Only because they imply a natural weakness of the higher principle; the individual is unable to control the creatures within him, but has to court them, and his great study is how to flatter them.

Such appears to be the reason.

And therefore, being desirous of placing him under a rule like that of the best, we say that he ought to be the servant of the best, in whom the Divine rules; not, as Thrasymachus supposed, to the injury of the servant, but because every one had better be ruled by divine wisdom dwelling within him; or, if this be impossible, then by an external authority, in order that we may be all, as far as possible, under the same government, friends and equals.

True, he said.

And this is clearly seen to be the intention of the law, which is the ally of the whole city; and is seen also in the authority which we exercise over children, and the refusal to let them be free until we have established in them a principle analogous to the constitution of a state, and by cultivation of this higher element have set up in their hearts a guardian and ruler like our own, and when this is done they may go their ways.

Yes, he said, the purpose of the law is manifest.

From what point of view, then, and on what ground can we say that a man is profited by injustice or intemperance or other baseness, which will make him a worse man, even though he acquire money or power by his wickedness?

From no point of view at all.

What shall he profit, if his injustice be undetected and unpunished? He who is undetected only gets worse, whereas he who is detected and punished has the brutal part of his nature silenced and humanized; the gentler element in him is liberated, and his whole soul is perfected and ennobled by the acquirement of justice and temperance and wisdom, more than the body ever is by receiving gifts of beauty, strength and health, in proportion as the soul is more honourable than the body.

Certainly, he said.

To this nobler purpose the man of understanding will devote the energies of his life. And in the first place, he will honour studies which impress these qualities on his soul and disregard others?

Clearly, he said.

In the next place, he will regulate his bodily habit and training, and so far will he be from yielding to brutal and irrational pleasures, that he will regard even health as quite a secondary matter; his first object will be not that he may be fair or strong or well, unless he is likely thereby to gain temperance, but he will always desire so to attemper the body as to preserve the harmony of the soul?

Certainly he will, if he has true music in him.

And in the acquisition of wealth there is a principle of order and harmony which he will also observe; he will not allow himself to be dazzled by the foolish applause of the world, and heap up riches to his own infinite harm?

Certainly not, he said.

He will look at the city which is within him, and take heed that no disorder occur in it, such as might arise either from superfluity or from want; and upon this principle he will regulate his property and gain or spend according to his means.

Very true.

And, for the same reason, he will gladly accept and enjoy such honours as he deems likely to make him a better man; but those, whether private or public, which are likely to disorder his life, he will avoid?

Then, if that is his motive, he will not be a statesman.

By the dog of Egypt, he will! in the city which is his own he certainly will, though in the land of his birth perhaps not, unless he have a divine call.

I understand; you mean that he will be a ruler in the city of which we are the founders, and which exists in idea only; for I do not believe that there is such an one anywhere on earth?

In heaven, I replied, there is laid up a pattern of it, methinks, which he who desires may behold, and beholding, may set his own house in order. But whether such an one exists, or ever will exist in fact, is no matter; for he will live after the manner of that city, having nothing to do with any other.

I think so, he said.

BOOK X

SOCRATES - GLAUCON

OF THE many excellences which I perceive in the order of our State, there is none which upon reflection pleases me better than the rule about poetry.

To what do you refer?

To the rejection of imitative poetry, which certainly ought not to be received; as I see far more clearly now that the parts of the soul have been distinguished.

What do you mean?

Speaking in confidence, for I should not like to have my words repeated to the tragedians and the rest of the imitative tribe — but I do not mind saying to you, that all poetical imitations are ruinous to the understanding of the hearers, and that the knowledge of their true nature is the only antidote to them.

Explain the purport of your remark.

Well, I will tell you, although I have always from my earliest youth had an awe and love of Homer, which even now makes the words falter on my lips, for he is the great captain and teacher of the whole of that charming tragic company; but a man is not to be reverenced more than the truth, and therefore I will speak out.

Very good, he said.

Listen to me then, or rather, answer me.

Put your question.

Can you tell me what imitation is? for I really do not know.

A likely thing, then, that I should know.

Why not? for the duller eye may often see a thing sooner than the keener.

Very true, he said; but in your presence, even if I had any faint notion, I could not muster courage to utter it. Will you enquire yourself?

Well then, shall we begin the enquiry in our usual manner: Whenever a number of individuals have a common name, we assume them to have also a corresponding idea or form. Do you understand me?

I do.

Let us take any common instance; there are beds and tables in the world — plenty of them, are there not?

Yes.

But there are only two ideas or forms of them — one the idea of a bed, the other of a table.

True.

And the maker of either of them makes a bed or he makes a table for our use, in accordance with the idea — that is our way of speaking in this and similar instances — but no artificer makes the ideas themselves: how could he?

Impossible.

And there is another artist, — I should like to know what you would say of him.

Who is he?

One who is the maker of all the works of all other workmen.

What an extraordinary man!

Wait a little, and there will be more reason for your saying so. For this is he who is able to make not only vessels of every kind, but plants and animals, himself and all other things — the earth and heaven, and the things which are in heaven or under the earth; he makes the gods also.

He must be a wizard and no mistake.

Oh! you are incredulous, are you? Do you mean that there is no such maker or creator, or that in one sense there might be a maker of all these things but in another not? Do you see that there is a way in which you could make them all yourself?

What way?

An easy way enough; or rather, there are many ways in which the feat might be quickly and easily accomplished, none quicker than that of turning a mirror round and round — you would soon enough make the sun and the heavens, and the earth and yourself, and other animals and plants, and all the other things of which we were just now speaking, in the mirror.

Yes, he said; but they would be appearances only.

Very good, I said, you are coming to the point now. And the painter too is, as I conceive, just such another — a creator of appearances, is he not?

Of course.

But then I suppose you will say that what he creates is untrue. And yet there is a sense in which the painter also creates a bed?

Yes, he said, but not a real bed.

And what of the maker of the bed? Were you not saying that he too makes, not the idea which, according to our view, is the essence of the bed, but only a particular bed?

Yes, I did.

Then if he does not make that which exists he cannot make true existence, but only some semblance of existence; and if any one were to say that the work of the maker of the bed, or of any other workman, has real existence, he could hardly be supposed to be speaking the truth.

At any rate, he replied, philosophers would say that he was not speaking the truth.

No wonder, then, that his work too is an indistinct expression of truth.

No wonder.

Suppose now that by the light of the examples just offered we enquire who this imitator is?

If you please.

Well then, here are three beds: one existing in nature, which is made by God, as I think that we may say — for no one else can be the maker?

No.

There is another which is the work of the carpenter?

Yes.

And the work of the painter is a third?

Yes.

Beds, then, are of three kinds, and there are three artists who superintend them: God, the maker of the bed, and the painter?

Yes, there are three of them.

God, whether from choice or from necessity, made one bed in nature and one only; two or more such ideal beds neither ever have been nor ever will be made by God.

Why is that?

Because even if He had made but two, a third would still appear behind them which both of them would have for their idea, and that would be the ideal bed and the two others.

Very true, he said.

God knew this, and He desired to be the real maker of a real bed, not a particular maker of a particular bed, and therefore He created a bed which is essentially and by nature one only.

So we believe.

Shall we, then, speak of Him as the natural author or maker of the bed?

Yes, he replied; inasmuch as by the natural process of creation He is the author of this and of all other things.

And what shall we say of the carpenter — is not he also the maker of the bed?

Yes.

But would you call the painter a creator and maker?

Certainly not.

Yet if he is not the maker, what is he in relation to the bed?

I think, he said, that we may fairly designate him as the imitator of that which the others make.

Good, I said; then you call him who is third in the descent from nature an imitator?

Certainly, he said.

And the tragic poet is an imitator, and therefore, like all other imitators, he is thrice removed from the king and from the truth?

That appears to be so.

Then about the imitator we are agreed. And what about the painter? — I would like to know whether he may be thought to imitate that which originally exists in nature, or only the creations of artists?

The latter.

As they are or as they appear? You have still to determine this.

What do you mean?

I mean, that you may look at a bed from different points of view, obliquely or directly or from any other point of view, and the bed will appear different, but there is no difference in reality. And the same of all things.

Yes, he said, the difference is only apparent.

Now let me ask you another question: Which is the art of painting designed to be — an imitation of things as they are, or as they appear — of appearance or of reality?

Of appearance.

Then the imitator, I said, is a long way off the truth, and can do all things because he lightly touches on a small part of them, and that part an image. For example: A painter will paint a cobbler, carpenter, or any other artist, though he knows nothing of their arts; and, if he is a good artist, he may deceive children or simple persons, when he shows them his picture of a carpenter from a distance, and they will fancy that they are looking at a real carpenter.

Certainly.

And whenever any one informs us that he has found a man knows all the arts, and all things else that anybody knows, and every single thing with a higher degree of accuracy than any other man — whoever tells us this, I think that we can only imagine to be a simple creature who is likely to have been deceived by some wizard or actor whom he met, and whom he thought all-knowing, because he himself was unable to analyse the nature of knowledge and ignorance and imitation.

Most true.

And so, when we hear persons saying that the tragedians, and Homer, who is at their head, know all the arts and all things human, virtue as well as vice, and divine things too, for that the good poet cannot compose well unless he knows his subject, and that he who has not this knowledge can never be a poet, we ought to consider whether here also there may not be a similar illusion. Perhaps they may have come across imitators and been deceived by them; they may not have remembered when they saw their works that these were but imitations thrice removed from the truth, and could easily be made without any knowledge of the truth, because they are appearances only and not realities? Or, after all, they may be in the right, and poets do really know the things about which they seem to the many to speak so well?

The question, he said, should by all means be considered.

Now do you suppose that if a person were able to make the original as well as the image, he would seriously devote himself to the image-making branch? Would he allow imitation to be the ruling principle of his life, as if he had nothing higher in him?

I should say not.

The real artist, who knew what he was imitating, would be interested in realities and not in imitations; and would desire to leave as memorials of himself works many and fair; and, instead of being the author of encomiums, he would prefer to be the theme of them.

Yes, he said, that would be to him a source of much greater honour and profit.

Then, I said, we must put a question to Homer; not about medicine, or any of the arts to which his poems only incidentally refer: we are not going to ask him, or any other poet, whether he has cured patients like Asclepius, or left behind him a school of medicine such as the Asclepiads were, or whether he only talks about medicine and other arts at second hand; but we have a right to know respecting military tactics, politics, education, which are the chiefest and noblest subjects of his poems, and we may fairly ask him about them. ‘Friend Homer,’ then we say to him, ‘if you are only in the second remove from truth in what you say of virtue, and not in the third — not an image maker or imitator — and if you are able to discern what pursuits make men better or worse in private or public life, tell us what State was ever better governed by your help? The good order of Lacedaemon is due to Lycurgus, and many other cities great and small have been similarly benefited by others; but who says that you have been a good legislator to them and have done them any good? Italy and Sicily boast of Charondas, and there is Solon who is renowned among us; but what city has anything to say about you?’ Is there any city which he might name?

I think not, said Glaucon; not even the Homerids themselves pretend that he was a legislator.

Well, but is there any war on record which was carried on successfully by him, or aided by his counsels, when he was alive?

There is not.

Or is there any invention of his, applicable to the arts or to human life, such as Thales the Milesian or Anacharsis the Scythian, and other ingenious men have conceived, which is attributed to him?

There is absolutely nothing of the kind.

But, if Homer never did any public service, was he privately a guide or teacher of any? Had he in his lifetime friends who loved to associate with him, and who handed down to posterity an Homeric way of life, such as was established by Pythagoras who was so greatly beloved for his wisdom, and whose followers are to this day quite celebrated for the order which was named after him?

Nothing of the kind is recorded of him. For surely, Socrates, Creophylus, the companion of Homer, that child of flesh, whose name always makes us laugh, might be more justly ridiculed for his stupidity, if, as is said, Homer was greatly neglected by him and others in his own day when he was alive?

Yes, I replied, that is the tradition. But can you imagine, Glaucon, that if Homer had really been able to educate and improve mankind — if he had possessed knowledge and not been a mere imitator — can you imagine, I say, that he would not have had many followers, and been honoured and loved by them? Protagoras of Abdera, and Prodicus of Ceos, and a host of others, have only to whisper to their contemporaries: ‘You will never be able to manage either your own house or your own State until you appoint us to be your ministers of education’ — and this ingenious device of theirs has such an effect in making them love them that their companions all but carry them about on their shoulders. And is it conceivable that the contemporaries of Homer, or again of Hesiod, would have allowed either of them to go about as rhapsodists, if they had really been able to make mankind virtuous? Would they not have been as unwilling to part with them as with gold, and have compelled them to stay at home with them? Or, if the master would not stay, then the disciples would have followed him about everywhere, until they had got education enough?

Yes, Socrates, that, I think, is quite true.

Then must we not infer that all these poetical individuals, beginning with Homer, are only imitators; they copy images of virtue and the like, but the truth they never reach? The poet is like a painter who, as we have already observed, will make a likeness of a cobbler though he understands nothing of cobbling; and his picture is good enough for those who know no more than he does, and judge only by colours and figures.

Quite so.

In like manner the poet with his words and phrases may be said to lay on the colours of the several arts, himself understanding their nature only enough to imitate them; and other people, who are as ignorant as he is, and judge only from his words, imagine that if he speaks of cobbling, or of military tactics, or of anything else, in metre and harmony and rhythm, he speaks very well — such is the sweet influence which melody and rhythm by nature have. And I think that you must have observed again and again what a poor appearance the tales of poets make when stripped of the colours which music puts upon them, and recited in simple prose.

Yes, he said.

They are like faces which were never really beautiful, but only blooming; and now the bloom of youth has passed away from them?

Exactly.

Here is another point: The imitator or maker of the image knows nothing of true existence; he knows appearances only. Am I not right?

Yes.

Then let us have a clear understanding, and not be satisfied with half an explanation.

Proceed.

Of the painter we say that he will paint reins, and he will paint a bit?

Yes.

And the worker in leather and brass will make them?

Certainly.

But does the painter know the right form of the bit and reins? Nay, hardly even the workers in brass and leather who make them; only the horseman who knows how to use them — he knows their right form.

Most true.

And may we not say the same of all things?

What?

That there are three arts which are concerned with all things: one which uses, another which makes, a third which imitates them?

Yes.

And the excellence or beauty or truth of every structure, animate or inanimate, and of every action of man, is relative to the use for which nature or the artist has intended them.

True.

Then the user of them must have the greatest experience of them, and he must indicate to the maker the good or bad qualities which develop themselves in use; for example, the flute-player will tell the flute-maker which of his flutes is satisfactory to the performer; he will tell him how he ought to make them, and the other will attend to his instructions?

Of course.

The one knows and therefore speaks with authority about the goodness and badness of flutes, while the other, confiding in him, will do what he is told by him?

True.

The instrument is the same, but about the excellence or badness of it the maker will only attain to a correct belief; and this he will gain from him who knows, by talking to him and being compelled to hear what he has to say, whereas the user will have knowledge?

True.

But will the imitator have either? Will he know from use whether or no his drawing is correct or beautiful? Or will he have right opinion from being compelled to associate with another who knows and gives him instructions about what he should draw?

Neither.

Then he will no more have true opinion than he will have knowledge about the goodness or badness of his imitations?

I suppose not.

The imitative artist will be in a brilliant state of intelligence about his own creations?

Nay, very much the reverse.

And still he will go on imitating without knowing what makes a thing good or bad, and may be expected therefore to imitate only that which appears to be good to the ignorant multitude?

Just so.

Thus far then we are pretty well agreed that the imitator has no knowledge worth mentioning of what he imitates. Imitation is only a kind of play or sport, and the tragic poets, whether they write in iambic or in Heroic verse, are imitators in the highest degree?

Very true.

And now tell me, I conjure you, has not imitation been shown by us to be concerned with that which is thrice removed from the truth?

Certainly.

And what is the faculty in man to which imitation is addressed?

What do you mean?

I will explain: The body which is large when seen near, appears small when seen at a distance?

True.

And the same object appears straight when looked at out of the water, and crooked when in the water; and the concave becomes convex, owing to the illusion about colours to which the sight is liable. Thus every sort of confusion is revealed within us; and this is that weakness of the human mind on which the art of conjuring and of deceiving by light and shadow and other ingenious devices imposes, having an effect upon us like magic.

True.

And the arts of measuring and numbering and weighing come to the rescue of the human understanding-there is the beauty of them — and the apparent greater or less, or more or heavier, no longer have the mastery over us, but give way before calculation and measure and weight?

Most true.

And this, surely, must be the work of the calculating and rational principle in the soul

To be sure.

And when this principle measures and certifies that some things are equal, or that some are greater or less than others, there occurs an apparent contradiction?

True.

But were we not saying that such a contradiction is the same faculty cannot have contrary opinions at the same time about the same thing?

Very true.

Then that part of the soul which has an opinion contrary to measure is not the same with that which has an opinion in accordance with measure?

True.

And the better part of the soul is likely to be that which trusts to measure and calculation?

Certainly.

And that which is opposed to them is one of the inferior principles of the soul?

No doubt.

This was the conclusion at which I was seeking to arrive when I said that painting or drawing, and imitation in general, when doing their own proper work, are far removed from truth, and the companions and friends and associates of a principle within us which is equally removed from reason, and that they have no true or healthy aim.

Exactly.

The imitative art is an inferior who marries an inferior, and has inferior offspring.

Very true.

And is this confined to the sight only, or does it extend to the hearing also, relating in fact to what we term poetry?

Probably the same would be true of poetry.

Do not rely, I said, on a probability derived from the analogy of painting; but let us examine further and see whether the faculty with which poetical imitation is concerned is good or bad.

By all means.

We may state the question thus: — Imitation imitates the actions of men, whether voluntary or involuntary, on which, as they imagine, a good or bad result has ensued, and they rejoice or sorrow accordingly. Is there anything more?

No, there is nothing else.

But in all this variety of circumstances is the man at unity with himself — or rather, as in the instance of sight there was confusion and opposition in his opinions about the same things, so here also is there not strife and inconsistency in his life? Though I need hardly raise the question again, for I remember that all this has been already admitted; and the soul has been acknowledged by us to be full of these and ten thousand similar oppositions occurring at the same moment?

And we were right, he said.

Yes, I said, thus far we were right; but there was an omission which must now be supplied.

What was the omission?

Were we not saying that a good man, who has the misfortune to lose his son or anything else which is most dear to him, will bear the loss with more equanimity than another?

Yes.

But will he have no sorrow, or shall we say that although he cannot help sorrowing, he will moderate his sorrow?

The latter, he said, is the truer statement.

Tell me: will he be more likely to struggle and hold out against his sorrow when he is seen by his equals, or when he is alone?

It will make a great difference whether he is seen or not.

When he is by himself he will not mind saying or doing many things which he would be ashamed of any one hearing or seeing him do?

True.

There is a principle of law and reason in him which bids him resist, as well as a feeling of his misfortune which is forcing him to indulge his sorrow?

True.

But when a man is drawn in two opposite directions, to and from the same object, this, as we affirm, necessarily implies two distinct principles in him?

Certainly.

One of them is ready to follow the guidance of the law?

How do you mean?

The law would say that to be patient under suffering is best, and that we should not give way to impatience, as there is no knowing whether such things are good or evil; and nothing is gained by impatience; also, because no human thing is of serious importance, and grief stands in the way of that which at the moment is most required.

What is most required? he asked.

That we should take counsel about what has happened, and when the dice have been thrown order our affairs in the way which reason deems best; not, like children who have had a fall, keeping hold of the part struck and wasting time in setting up a howl, but always accustoming the soul forthwith to apply a remedy, raising up that which is sickly and fallen, banishing the cry of sorrow by the healing art.

Yes, he said, that is the true way of meeting the attacks of fortune.

Yes, I said; and the higher principle is ready to follow this suggestion of reason?

Clearly.

And the other principle, which inclines us to recollection of our troubles and to lamentation, and can never have enough of them, we may call irrational, useless, and cowardly?

Indeed, we may.

And does not the latter — I mean the rebellious principle — furnish a great variety of materials for imitation? Whereas the wise and calm temperament, being always nearly equable, is not easy to imitate or to appreciate when imitated, especially at a public festival when a promiscuous crowd is assembled in a theatre. For the feeling represented is one to which they are strangers.

Certainly.

Then the imitative poet who aims at being popular is not by nature made, nor is his art intended, to please or to affect the principle in the soul; but he will prefer the passionate and fitful temper, which is easily imitated?

Clearly.

And now we may fairly take him and place him by the side of the painter, for he is like him in two ways: first, inasmuch as his creations have an inferior degree of truth — in this, I say, he is like him; and he is also like him in being concerned with an inferior part of the soul; and therefore we shall be right in refusing to admit him into a well-ordered State, because he awakens and nourishes and strengthens the feelings and impairs the reason. As in a city when the evil are permitted to have authority and the good are put out of the way, so in the soul of man, as we maintain, the imitative poet implants an evil constitution, for he indulges the irrational nature which has no discernment of greater and less, but thinks the same thing at one time great and at another small-he is a manufacturer of images and is very far removed from the truth.

Exactly.

But we have not yet brought forward the heaviest count in our accusation: — the power which poetry has of harming even the good (and there are very few who are not harmed), is surely an awful thing?

Yes, certainly, if the effect is what you say.

Hear and judge: The best of us, as I conceive, when we listen to a passage of Homer, or one of the tragedians, in which he represents some pitiful hero who is drawling out his sorrows in a long oration, or weeping, and smiting his breast — the best of us, you know, delight in giving way to sympathy, and are in raptures at the excellence of the poet who stirs our feelings most.

Yes, of course I know.

But when any sorrow of our own happens to us, then you may observe that we pride ourselves on the opposite quality — we would fain be quiet and patient; this is the manly part, and the other which delighted us in the recitation is now deemed to be the part of a woman.

Very true, he said.

Now can we be right in praising and admiring another who is doing that which any one of us would abominate and be ashamed of in his own person?

No, he said, that is certainly not reasonable.

Nay, I said, quite reasonable from one point of view.

What point of view?

If you consider, I said, that when in misfortune we feel a natural hunger and desire to relieve our sorrow by weeping and lamentation, and that this feeling which is kept under control in our own calamities is satisfied and delighted by the poets;-the better nature in each of us, not having been sufficiently trained by reason or habit, allows the sympathetic element to break loose because the sorrow is another’s; and the spectator fancies that there can be no disgrace to himself in praising and pitying any one who comes telling him what a good man he is, and making a fuss about his troubles; he thinks that the pleasure is a gain, and why should he be supercilious and lose this and the poem too? Few persons ever reflect, as I should imagine, that from the evil of other men something of evil is communicated to themselves. And so the feeling of sorrow which has gathered strength at the sight of the misfortunes of others is with difficulty repressed in our own.

How very true!

And does not the same hold also of the ridiculous? There are jests which you would be ashamed to make yourself, and yet on the comic stage, or indeed in private, when you hear them, you are greatly amused by them, and are not at all disgusted at their unseemliness; — the case of pity is repeated; — there is a principle in human nature which is disposed to raise a laugh, and this which you once restrained by reason, because you were afraid of being thought a buffoon, is now let out again; and having stimulated the risible faculty at the theatre, you are betrayed unconsciously to yourself into playing the comic poet at home.

Quite true, he said.

And the same may be said of lust and anger and all the other affections, of desire and pain and pleasure, which are held to be inseparable from every action — in all of them poetry feeds and waters the passions instead of drying them up; she lets them rule, although they ought to be controlled, if mankind are ever to increase in happiness and virtue.

I cannot deny it.

Therefore, Glaucon, I said, whenever you meet with any of the eulogists of Homer declaring that he has been the educator of Hellas, and that he is profitable for education and for the ordering of human things, and that you should take him up again and again and get to know him and regulate your whole life according to him, we may love and honour those who say these things — they are excellent people, as far as their lights extend; and we are ready to acknowledge that Homer is the greatest of poets and first of tragedy writers; but we must remain firm in our conviction that hymns to the gods and praises of famous men are the only poetry which ought to be admitted into our State. For if you go beyond this and allow the honeyed muse to enter, either in epic or lyric verse, not law and the reason of mankind, which by common consent have ever been deemed best, but pleasure and pain will be the rulers in our State.

That is most true, he said.

And now since we have reverted to the subject of poetry, let this our defence serve to show the reasonableness of our former judgment in sending away out of our State an art having the tendencies which we have described; for reason constrained us. But that she may impute to us any harshness or want of politeness, let us tell her that there is an ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry; of which there are many proofs, such as the saying of ‘the yelping hound howling at her lord,’ or of one ‘mighty in the vain talk of fools,’ and ‘the mob of sages circumventing Zeus,’ and the ‘subtle thinkers who are beggars after all’; and there are innumerable other signs of ancient enmity between them. Notwithstanding this, let us assure our sweet friend and the sister arts of imitation that if she will only prove her title to exist in a well-ordered State we shall be delighted to receive her — we are very conscious of her charms; but we may not on that account betray the truth. I dare say, Glaucon, that you are as much charmed by her as I am, especially when she appears in Homer?

Yes, indeed, I am greatly charmed.

Shall I propose, then, that she be allowed to return from exile, but upon this condition only — that she make a defence of herself in lyrical or some other metre?

Certainly.

And we may further grant to those of her defenders who are lovers of poetry and yet not poets the permission to speak in prose on her behalf: let them show not only that she is pleasant but also useful to States and to human life, and we will listen in a kindly spirit; for if this can be proved we shall surely be the gainers — I mean, if there is a use in poetry as well as a delight?

Certainly, he said, we shall the gainers.

If her defence fails, then, my dear friend, like other persons who are enamoured of something, but put a restraint upon themselves when they think their desires are opposed to their interests, so too must we after the manner of lovers give her up, though not without a struggle. We too are inspired by that love of poetry which the education of noble States has implanted in us, and therefore we would have her appear at her best and truest; but so long as she is unable to make good her defence, this argument of ours shall be a charm to us, which we will repeat to ourselves while we listen to her strains; that we may not fall away into the childish love of her which captivates the many. At all events we are well aware that poetry being such as we have described is not to be regarded seriously as attaining to the truth; and he who listens to her, fearing for the safety of the city which is within him, should be on his guard against her seductions and make our words his law.

Yes, he said, I quite agree with you.

Yes, I said, my dear Glaucon, for great is the issue at stake, greater than appears, whether a man is to be good or bad. And what will any one be profited if under the influence of honour or money or power, aye, or under the excitement of poetry, he neglect justice and virtue?

Yes, he said; I have been convinced by the argument, as I believe that any one else would have been.

And yet no mention has been made of the greatest prizes and rewards which await virtue.

What, are there any greater still? If there are, they must be of an inconceivable greatness.

Why, I said, what was ever great in a short time? The whole period of threescore years and ten is surely but a little thing in comparison with eternity?

Say rather ‘nothing,’ he replied.

And should an immortal being seriously think of this little space rather than of the whole?

Of the whole, certainly. But why do you ask?

Are you not aware, I said, that the soul of man is immortal and imperishable?

He looked at me in astonishment, and said: No, by heaven: And are you really prepared to maintain this?

Yes, I said, I ought to be, and you too — there is no difficulty in proving it.

I see a great difficulty; but I should like to hear you state this argument of which you make so light.

Listen then.

I am attending.

There is a thing which you call good and another which you call evil?

Yes, he replied.

Would you agree with me in thinking that the corrupting and destroying element is the evil, and the saving and improving element the good?

Yes.

And you admit that every thing has a good and also an evil; as ophthalmia is the evil of the eyes and disease of the whole body; as mildew is of corn, and rot of timber, or rust of copper and iron: in everything, or in almost everything, there is an inherent evil and disease?

Yes, he said.

And anything which is infected by any of these evils is made evil, and at last wholly dissolves and dies?

True.

The vice and evil which is inherent in each is the destruction of each; and if this does not destroy them there is nothing else that will; for good certainly will not destroy them, nor again, that which is neither good nor evil.

Certainly not.

If, then, we find any nature which having this inherent corruption cannot be dissolved or destroyed, we may be certain that of such a nature there is no destruction?

That may be assumed.

Well, I said, and is there no evil which corrupts the soul?

Yes, he said, there are all the evils which we were just now passing in review: unrighteousness, intemperance, cowardice, ignorance.

But does any of these dissolve or destroy her? — and here do not let us fall into the error of supposing that the unjust and foolish man, when he is detected, perishes through his own injustice, which is an evil of the soul. Take the analogy of the body: The evil of the body is a disease which wastes and reduces and annihilates the body; and all the things of which we were just now speaking come to annihilation through their own corruption attaching to them and inhering in them and so destroying them. Is not this true?

Yes.

Consider the soul in like manner. Does the injustice or other evil which exists in the soul waste and consume her? Do they by attaching to the soul and inhering in her at last bring her to death, and so separate her from the body?

Certainly not.

And yet, I said, it is unreasonable to suppose that anything can perish from without through affection of external evil which could not be destroyed from within by a corruption of its own?

It is, he replied.

Consider, I said, Glaucon, that even the badness of food, whether staleness, decomposition, or any other bad quality, when confined to the actual food, is not supposed to destroy the body; although, if the badness of food communicates corruption to the body, then we should say that the body has been destroyed by a corruption of itself, which is disease, brought on by this; but that the body, being one thing, can be destroyed by the badness of food, which is another, and which does not engender any natural infection — this we shall absolutely deny?

Very true.

And, on the same principle, unless some bodily evil can produce an evil of the soul, we must not suppose that the soul, which is one thing, can be dissolved by any merely external evil which belongs to another?

Yes, he said, there is reason in that.

Either then, let us refute this conclusion, or, while it remains unrefuted, let us never say that fever, or any other disease, or the knife put to the throat, or even the cutting up of the whole body into the minutest pieces, can destroy the soul, until she herself is proved to become more unholy or unrighteous in consequence of these things being done to the body; but that the soul, or anything else if not destroyed by an internal evil, can be destroyed by an external one, is not to be affirmed by any man.

And surely, he replied, no one will ever prove that the souls of men become more unjust in consequence of death.

But if some one who would rather not admit the immortality of the soul boldly denies this, and says that the dying do really become more evil and unrighteous, then, if the speaker is right, I suppose that injustice, like disease, must be assumed to be fatal to the unjust, and that those who take this disorder die by the natural inherent power of destruction which evil has, and which kills them sooner or later, but in quite another way from that in which, at present, the wicked receive death at the hands of others as the penalty of their deeds?

Nay, he said, in that case injustice, if fatal to the unjust, will not be so very terrible to him, for he will be delivered from evil. But I rather suspect the opposite to be the truth, and that injustice which, if it have the power, will murder others, keeps the murderer alive — aye, and well awake too; so far removed is her dwelling-place from being a house of death.

True, I said; if the inherent natural vice or evil of the soul is unable to kill or destroy her, hardly will that which is appointed to be the destruction of some other body, destroy a soul or anything else except that of which it was appointed to be the destruction.

Yes, that can hardly be.

But the soul which cannot be destroyed by an evil, whether inherent or external, must exist for ever, and if existing for ever, must be immortal?

Certainly.

That is the conclusion, I said; and, if a true conclusion, then the souls must always be the same, for if none be destroyed they will not diminish in number. Neither will they increase, for the increase of the immortal natures must come from something mortal, and all things would thus end in immortality.

Very true.

But this we cannot believe — reason will not allow us — any more than we can believe the soul, in her truest nature, to be full of variety and difference and dissimilarity.

What do you mean? he said.

The soul, I said, being, as is now proven, immortal, must be the fairest of compositions and cannot be compounded of many elements?

Certainly not.

Her immortality is demonstrated by the previous argument, and there are many other proofs; but to see her as she really is, not as we now behold her, marred by communion with the body and other miseries, you must contemplate her with the eye of reason, in her original purity; and then her beauty will be revealed, and justice and injustice and all the things which we have described will be manifested more clearly. Thus far, we have spoken the truth concerning her as she appears at present, but we must remember also that we have seen her only in a condition which may be compared to that of the sea-god Glaucus, whose original image can hardly be discerned because his natural members are broken off and crushed and damaged by the waves in all sorts of ways, and incrustations have grown over them of seaweed and shells and stones, so that he is more like some monster than he is to his own natural form. And the soul which we behold is in a similar condition, disfigured by ten thousand ills. But not there, Glaucon, not there must we look.

Where then?

At her love of wisdom. Let us see whom she affects, and what society and converse she seeks in virtue of her near kindred with the immortal and eternal and divine; also how different she would become if wholly following this superior principle, and borne by a divine impulse out of the ocean in which she now is, and disengaged from the stones and shells and things of earth and rock which in wild variety spring up around her because she feeds upon earth, and is overgrown by the good things of this life as they are termed: then you would see her as she is, and know whether she has one shape only or many, or what her nature is. Of her affections and of the forms which she takes in this present life I think that we have now said enough.

True, he replied.

And thus, I said, we have fulfilled the conditions of the argument; we have not introduced the rewards and glories of justice, which, as you were saying, are to be found in Homer and Hesiod; but justice in her own nature has been shown to be best for the soul in her own nature. Let a man do what is just, whether he have the ring of Gyges or not, and even if in addition to the ring of Gyges he put on the helmet of Hades.

Very true.

And now, Glaucon, there will be no harm in further enumerating how many and how great are the rewards which justice and the other virtues procure to the soul from gods and men, both in life and after death.

Certainly not, he said.

Will you repay me, then, what you borrowed in the argument?

What did I borrow?

The assumption that the just man should appear unjust and the unjust just: for you were of opinion that even if the true state of the case could not possibly escape the eyes of gods and men, still this admission ought to be made for the sake of the argument, in order that pure justice might be weighed against pure injustice. Do you remember?

I should be much to blame if I had forgotten.

Then, as the cause is decided, I demand on behalf of justice that the estimation in which she is held by gods and men and which we acknowledge to be her due should now be restored to her by us; since she has been shown to confer reality, and not to deceive those who truly possess her, let what has been taken from her be given back, that so she may win that palm of appearance which is hers also, and which she gives to her own.

The demand, he said, is just.

In the first place, I said — and this is the first thing which you will have to give back — the nature both of the just and unjust is truly known to the gods.

Granted.

And if they are both known to them, one must be the friend and the other the enemy of the gods, as we admitted from the beginning?

True.

And the friend of the gods may be supposed to receive from them all things at their best, excepting only such evil as is the necessary consequence of former sins?

Certainly.

Then this must be our notion of the just man, that even when he is in poverty or sickness, or any other seeming misfortune, all things will in the end work together for good to him in life and death: for the gods have a care of any one whose desire is to become just and to be like God, as far as man can attain the divine likeness, by the pursuit of virtue?

Yes, he said; if he is like God he will surely not be neglected by him.

And of the unjust may not the opposite be supposed?

Certainly.

Such, then, are the palms of victory which the gods give the just?

That is my conviction.

And what do they receive of men? Look at things as they really are, and you will see that the clever unjust are in the case of runners, who run well from the starting-place to the goal but not back again from the goal: they go off at a great pace, but in the end only look foolish, slinking away with their ears draggling on their shoulders, and without a crown; but the true runner comes to the finish and receives the prize and is crowned. And this is the way with the just; he who endures to the end of every action and occasion of his entire life has a good report and carries off the prize which men have to bestow.

True.

And now you must allow me to repeat of the just the blessings which you were attributing to the fortunate unjust. I shall say of them, what you were saying of the others, that as they grow older, they become rulers in their own city if they care to be; they marry whom they like and give in marriage to whom they will; all that you said of the others I now say of these. And, on the other hand, of the unjust I say that the greater number, even though they escape in their youth, are found out at last and look foolish at the end of their course, and when they come to be old and miserable are flouted alike by stranger and citizen; they are beaten and then come those things unfit for ears polite, as you truly term them; they will be racked and have their eyes burned out, as you were saying. And you may suppose that I have repeated the remainder of your tale of horrors. But will you let me assume, without reciting them, that these things are true?

Certainly, he said, what you say is true.

These, then, are the prizes and rewards and gifts which are bestowed upon the just by gods and men in this present life, in addition to the other good things which justice of herself provides.

Yes, he said; and they are fair and lasting.

And yet, I said, all these are as nothing, either in number or greatness in comparison with those other recompenses which await both just and unjust after death. And you ought to hear them, and then both just and unjust will have received from us a full payment of the debt which the argument owes to them.

Speak, he said; there are few things which I would more gladly hear.

SOCRATES

Well, I said, I will tell you a tale; not one of the tales which Odysseus tells to the hero Alcinous, yet this too is a tale of a hero, Er the son of Armenius, a Pamphylian by birth. He was slain in battle, and ten days afterwards, when the bodies of the dead were taken up already in a state of corruption, his body was found unaffected by decay, and carried away home to be buried. And on the twelfth day, as he was lying on the funeral pile, he returned to life and told them what he had seen in the other world. He said that when his soul left the body he went on a journey with a great company, and that they came to a mysterious place at which there were two openings in the earth; they were near together, and over against them were two other openings in the heaven above. In the intermediate space there were judges seated, who commanded the just, after they had given judgment on them and had bound their sentences in front of them, to ascend by the heavenly way on the right hand; and in like manner the unjust were bidden by them to descend by the lower way on the left hand; these also bore the symbols of their deeds, but fastened on their backs. He drew near, and they told him that he was to be the messenger who would carry the report of the other world to men, and they bade him hear and see all that was to be heard and seen in that place. Then he beheld and saw on one side the souls departing at either opening of heaven and earth when sentence had been given on them; and at the two other openings other souls, some ascending out of the earth dusty and worn with travel, some descending out of heaven clean and bright. And arriving ever and anon they seemed to have come from a long journey, and they went forth with gladness into the meadow, where they encamped as at a festival; and those who knew one another embraced and conversed, the souls which came from earth curiously enquiring about the things above, and the souls which came from heaven about the things beneath. And they told one another of what had happened by the way, those from below weeping and sorrowing at the remembrance of the things which they had endured and seen in their journey beneath the earth (now the journey lasted a thousand years), while those from above were describing heavenly delights and visions of inconceivable beauty. The Story, Glaucon, would take too long to tell; but the sum was this: — He said that for every wrong which they had done to any one they suffered tenfold; or once in a hundred years — such being reckoned to be the length of man’s life, and the penalty being thus paid ten times in a thousand years. If, for example, there were any who had been the cause of many deaths, or had betrayed or enslaved cities or armies, or been guilty of any other evil behaviour, for each and all of their offences they received punishment ten times over, and the rewards of beneficence and justice and holiness were in the same proportion. I need hardly repeat what he said concerning young children dying almost as soon as they were born. Of piety and impiety to gods and parents, and of murderers, there were retributions other and greater far which he described. He mentioned that he was present when one of the spirits asked another, ‘Where is Ardiaeus the Great?’ (Now this Ardiaeus lived a thousand years before the time of Er: he had been the tyrant of some city of Pamphylia, and had murdered his aged father and his elder brother, and was said to have committed many other abominable crimes.) The answer of the other spirit was: ‘He comes not hither and will never come. And this,’ said he, ‘was one of the dreadful sights which we ourselves witnessed. We were at the mouth of the cavern, and, having completed all our experiences, were about to reascend, when of a sudden Ardiaeus appeared and several others, most of whom were tyrants; and there were also besides the tyrants private individuals who had been great criminals: they were just, as they fancied, about to return into the upper world, but the mouth, instead of admitting them, gave a roar, whenever any of these incurable sinners or some one who had not been sufficiently punished tried to ascend; and then wild men of fiery aspect, who were standing by and heard the sound, seized and carried them off; and Ardiaeus and others they bound head and foot and hand, and threw them down and flayed them with scourges, and dragged them along the road at the side, carding them on thorns like wool, and declaring to the passers-by what were their crimes, and that they were being taken away to be cast into hell.’ And of all the many terrors which they had endured, he said that there was none like the terror which each of them felt at that moment, lest they should hear the voice; and when there was silence, one by one they ascended with exceeding joy. These, said Er, were the penalties and retributions, and there were blessings as great.

Now when the spirits which were in the meadow had tarried seven days, on the eighth they were obliged to proceed on their journey, and, on the fourth day after, he said that they came to a place where they could see from above a line of light, straight as a column, extending right through the whole heaven and through the earth, in colour resembling the rainbow, only brighter and purer; another day’s journey brought them to the place, and there, in the midst of the light, they saw the ends of the chains of heaven let down from above: for this light is the belt of heaven, and holds together the circle of the universe, like the under-girders of a trireme. From these ends is extended the spindle of Necessity, on which all the revolutions turn. The shaft and hook of this spindle are made of steel, and the whorl is made partly of steel and also partly of other materials. Now the whorl is in form like the whorl used on earth; and the description of it implied that there is one large hollow whorl which is quite scooped out, and into this is fitted another lesser one, and another, and another, and four others, making eight in all, like vessels which fit into one another; the whorls show their edges on the upper side, and on their lower side all together form one continuous whorl. This is pierced by the spindle, which is driven home through the centre of the eighth. The first and outermost whorl has the rim broadest, and the seven inner whorls are narrower, in the following proportions — the sixth is next to the first in size, the fourth next to the sixth; then comes the eighth; the seventh is fifth, the fifth is sixth, the third is seventh, last and eighth comes the second. The largest (of fixed stars) is spangled, and the seventh (or sun) is brightest; the eighth (or moon) coloured by the reflected light of the seventh; the second and fifth (Saturn and Mercury) are in colour like one another, and yellower than the preceding; the third (Venus) has the whitest light; the fourth (Mars) is reddish; the sixth (Jupiter) is in whiteness second. Now the whole spindle has the same motion; but, as the whole revolves in one direction, the seven inner circles move slowly in the other, and of these the swiftest is the eighth; next in swiftness are the seventh, sixth, and fifth, which move together; third in swiftness appeared to move according to the law of this reversed motion the fourth; the third appeared fourth and the second fifth. The spindle turns on the knees of Necessity; and on the upper surface of each circle is a siren, who goes round with them, hymning a single tone or note. The eight together form one harmony; and round about, at equal intervals, there is another band, three in number, each sitting upon her throne: these are the Fates, daughters of Necessity, who are clothed in white robes and have chaplets upon their heads, Lachesis and Clotho and Atropos, who accompany with their voices the harmony of the sirens — Lachesis singing of the past, Clotho of the present, Atropos of the future; Clotho from time to time assisting with a touch of her right hand the revolution of the outer circle of the whorl or spindle, and Atropos with her left hand touching and guiding the inner ones, and Lachesis laying hold of either in turn, first with one hand and then with the other.

When Er and the spirits arrived, their duty was to go at once to Lachesis; but first of all there came a prophet who arranged them in order; then he took from the knees of Lachesis lots and samples of lives, and having mounted a high pulpit, spoke as follows: ‘Hear the word of Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity. Mortal souls, behold a new cycle of life and mortality. Your genius will not be allotted to you, but you choose your genius; and let him who draws the first lot have the first choice, and the life which he chooses shall be his destiny. Virtue is free, and as a man honours or dishonours her he will have more or less of her; the responsibility is with the chooser — God is justified.’ When the Interpreter had thus spoken he scattered lots indifferently among them all, and each of them took up the lot which fell near him, all but Er himself (he was not allowed), and each as he took his lot perceived the number which he had obtained. Then the Interpreter placed on the ground before them the samples of lives; and there were many more lives than the souls present, and they were of all sorts. There were lives of every animal and of man in every condition. And there were tyrannies among them, some lasting out the tyrant’s life, others which broke off in the middle and came to an end in poverty and exile and beggary; and there were lives of famous men, some who were famous for their form and beauty as well as for their strength and success in games, or, again, for their birth and the qualities of their ancestors; and some who were the reverse of famous for the opposite qualities. And of women likewise; there was not, however, any definite character them, because the soul, when choosing a new life, must of necessity become different. But there was every other quality, and the all mingled with one another, and also with elements of wealth and poverty, and disease and health; and there were mean states also. And here, my dear Glaucon, is the supreme peril of our human state; and therefore the utmost care should be taken. Let each one of us leave every other kind of knowledge and seek and follow one thing only, if peradventure he may be able to learn and may find some one who will make him able to learn and discern between good and evil, and so to choose always and everywhere the better life as he has opportunity. He should consider the bearing of all these things which have been mentioned severally and collectively upon virtue; he should know what the effect of beauty is when combined with poverty or wealth in a particular soul, and what are the good and evil consequences of noble and humble birth, of private and public station, of strength and weakness, of cleverness and dullness, and of all the soul, and the operation of them when conjoined; he will then look at the nature of the soul, and from the consideration of all these qualities he will be able to determine which is the better and which is the worse; and so he will choose, giving the name of evil to the life which will make his soul more unjust, and good to the life which will make his soul more just; all else he will disregard. For we have seen and know that this is the best choice both in life and after death. A man must take with him into the world below an adamantine faith in truth and right, that there too he may be undazzled by the desire of wealth or the other allurements of evil, lest, coming upon tyrannies and similar villainies, he do irremediable wrongs to others and suffer yet worse himself; but let him know how to choose the mean and avoid the extremes on either side, as far as possible, not only in this life but in all that which is to come. For this is the way of happiness.

And according to the report of the messenger from the other world this was what the prophet said at the time: ‘Even for the last comer, if he chooses wisely and will live diligently, there is appointed a happy and not undesirable existence. Let not him who chooses first be careless, and let not the last despair.’ And when he had spoken, he who had the first choice came forward and in a moment chose the greatest tyranny; his mind having been darkened by folly and sensuality, he had not thought out the whole matter before he chose, and did not at first sight perceive that he was fated, among other evils, to devour his own children. But when he had time to reflect, and saw what was in the lot, he began to beat his breast and lament over his choice, forgetting the proclamation of the prophet; for, instead of throwing the blame of his misfortune on himself, he accused chance and the gods, and everything rather than himself. Now he was one of those who came from heaven, and in a former life had dwelt in a well-ordered State, but his virtue was a matter of habit only, and he had no philosophy. And it was true of others who were similarly overtaken, that the greater number of them came from heaven and therefore they had never been schooled by trial, whereas the pilgrims who came from earth, having themselves suffered and seen others suffer, were not in a hurry to choose. And owing to this inexperience of theirs, and also because the lot was a chance, many of the souls exchanged a good destiny for an evil or an evil for a good. For if a man had always on his arrival in this world dedicated himself from the first to sound philosophy, and had been moderately fortunate in the number of the lot, he might, as the messenger reported, be happy here, and also his journey to another life and return to this, instead of being rough and underground, would be smooth and heavenly. Most curious, he said, was the spectacle — sad and laughable and strange; for the choice of the souls was in most cases based on their experience of a previous life. There he saw the soul which had once been Orpheus choosing the life of a swan out of enmity to the race of women, hating to be born of a woman because they had been his murderers; he beheld also the soul of Thamyras choosing the life of a nightingale; birds, on the other hand, like the swan and other musicians, wanting to be men. The soul which obtained the twentieth lot chose the life of a lion, and this was the soul of Ajax the son of Telamon, who would not be a man, remembering the injustice which was done him the judgment about the arms. The next was Agamemnon, who took the life of an eagle, because, like Ajax, he hated human nature by reason of his sufferings. About the middle came the lot of Atalanta; she, seeing the great fame of an athlete, was unable to resist the temptation: and after her there followed the soul of Epeus the son of Panopeus passing into the nature of a woman cunning in the arts; and far away among the last who chose, the soul of the jester Thersites was putting on the form of a monkey. There came also the soul of Odysseus having yet to make a choice, and his lot happened to be the last of them all. Now the recollection of former tolls had disenchanted him of ambition, and he went about for a considerable time in search of the life of a private man who had no cares; he had some difficulty in finding this, which was lying about and had been neglected by everybody else; and when he saw it, he said that he would have done the had his lot been first instead of last, and that he was delighted to have it. And not only did men pass into animals, but I must also mention that there were animals tame and wild who changed into one another and into corresponding human natures — the good into the gentle and the evil into the savage, in all sorts of combinations.

All the souls had now chosen their lives, and they went in the order of their choice to Lachesis, who sent with them the genius whom they had severally chosen, to be the guardian of their lives and the fulfiller of the choice: this genius led the souls first to Clotho, and drew them within the revolution of the spindle impelled by her hand, thus ratifying the destiny of each; and then, when they were fastened to this, carried them to Atropos, who spun the threads and made them irreversible, whence without turning round they passed beneath the throne of Necessity; and when they had all passed, they marched on in a scorching heat to the plain of Forgetfulness, which was a barren waste destitute of trees and verdure; and then towards evening they encamped by the river of Unmindfulness, whose water no vessel can hold; of this they were all obliged to drink a certain quantity, and those who were not saved by wisdom drank more than was necessary; and each one as he drank forgot all things. Now after they had gone to rest, about the middle of the night there was a thunderstorm and earthquake, and then in an instant they were driven upwards in all manner of ways to their birth, like stars shooting. He himself was hindered from drinking the water. But in what manner or by what means he returned to the body he could not say; only, in the morning, awaking suddenly, he found himself lying on the pyre.

And thus, Glaucon, the tale has been saved and has not perished, and will save us if we are obedient to the word spoken; and we shall pass safely over the river of Forgetfulness and our soul will not be defiled. Wherefore my counsel is that we hold fast ever to the heavenly way and follow after justice and virtue always, considering that the soul is immortal and able to endure every sort of good and every sort of evil. Thus shall we live dear to one another and to the gods, both while remaining here and when, like conquerors in the games who go round to gather gifts, we receive our reward. And it shall be well with us both in this life and in the pilgrimage of a thousand years which we have been describing.

PHAEDRUS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This late dialogue was composed circa 370 BC. The dialogue consists of a series of three speeches on the topic of love that serve as a metaphor for the discussion of the proper use of rhetoric. They encompass discussions of the soul, madness, divine inspiration, and the practice and mastery of an art. Although ostensibly about the subject of love, the discussion in the dialogue revolves around the art of rhetoric and how it should be practiced.

The dialogue begins with Socrates running into Phaedrus, on the outskirts of Athens, who has just come from the home of Epicrates, where Lysias, son of Cephalus, has given a speech on love. Socrates, stating that he is ‘sick with passion for hearing speeches, walks into the countryside with his friend hoping that he will repeat the speech. They sit by a stream under a plane tree and a chaste tree, and the rest of the dialogue consists of oration and discussion.

Phaedrus is famous for the ‘chariot allegory’, explaining Plato’s view of the human soul. In the dialogue, Socrates paints the picture of a Charioteer driving a chariot pulled by two winged horses:

“First the charioteer of the human soul drives a pair, and secondly one of the horses is noble and of noble breed, but the other quite the opposite in breed and character. Therefore in our case the driving is necessarily difficult and troublesome.”

The Charioteer represents intellect, reason, or the part of the soul that must guide the soul to truth; one horse represents rational or moral impulse or the positive part of passionate nature (e.g., righteous indignation); while the other represents the soul’s irrational passions, appetites, or concupiscent nature. The Charioteer directs the entire chariot/soul, trying to stop the horses from going different ways, and to proceed towards enlightenment.

A second century AD fragment of the dialogue

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION.

PHAEDRUS

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

A modern depiction of the famous chariot allegory

INTRODUCTION.

The Phaedrus is closely connected with the Symposium, and may be regarded either as introducing or following it. The two Dialogues together contain the whole philosophy of Plato on the nature of love, which in the Republic and in the later writings of Plato is only introduced playfully or as a figure of speech. But in the Phaedrus and Symposium love and philosophy join hands, and one is an aspect of the other. The spiritual and emotional part is elevated into the ideal, to which in the Symposium mankind are described as looking forward, and which in the Phaedrus, as well as in the Phaedo, they are seeking to recover from a former state of existence. Whether the subject of the Dialogue is love or rhetoric, or the union of the two, or the relation of philosophy to love and to art in general, and to the human soul, will be hereafter considered. And perhaps we may arrive at some conclusion such as the following — that the dialogue is not strictly confined to a single subject, but passes from one to another with the natural freedom of conversation.

Phaedrus has been spending the morning with Lysias, the celebrated rhetorician, and is going to refresh himself by taking a walk outside the wall, when he is met by Socrates, who professes that he will not leave him until he has delivered up the speech with which Lysias has regaled him, and which he is carrying about in his mind, or more probably in a book hidden under his cloak, and is intending to study as he walks. The imputation is not denied, and the two agree to direct their steps out of the public way along the stream of the Ilissus towards a plane-tree which is seen in the distance. There, lying down amidst pleasant sounds and scents, they will read the speech of Lysias. The country is a novelty to Socrates, who never goes out of the town; and hence he is full of admiration for the beauties of nature, which he seems to be drinking in for the first time.

As they are on their way, Phaedrus asks the opinion of Socrates respecting the local tradition of Boreas and Oreithyia. Socrates, after a satirical allusion to the ‘rationalizers’ of his day, replies that he has no time for these ‘nice’ interpretations of mythology, and he pities anyone who has. When you once begin there is no end of them, and they spring from an uncritical philosophy after all. ‘The proper study of mankind is man;’ and he is a far more complex and wonderful being than the serpent Typho. Socrates as yet does not know himself; and why should he care to know about unearthly monsters? Engaged in such conversation, they arrive at the plane-tree; when they have found a convenient resting-place, Phaedrus pulls out the speech and reads: —

The speech consists of a foolish paradox which is to the effect that the non-lover ought to be accepted rather than the lover — because he is more rational, more agreeable, more enduring, less suspicious, less hurtful, less boastful, less engrossing, and because there are more of them, and for a great many other reasons which are equally unmeaning. Phaedrus is captivated with the beauty of the periods, and wants to make Socrates say that nothing was or ever could be written better. Socrates does not think much of the matter, but then he has only attended to the form, and in that he has detected several repetitions and other marks of haste. He cannot agree with Phaedrus in the extreme value which he sets upon this performance, because he is afraid of doing injustice to Anacreon and Sappho and other great writers, and is almost inclined to think that he himself, or rather some power residing within him, could make a speech better than that of Lysias on the same theme, and also different from his, if he may be allowed the use of a few commonplaces which all speakers must equally employ.

Phaedrus is delighted at the prospect of having another speech, and promises that he will set up a golden statue of Socrates at Delphi, if he keeps his word. Some raillery ensues, and at length Socrates, conquered by the threat that he shall never again hear a speech of Lysias unless he fulfils his promise, veils his face and begins.

First, invoking the Muses and assuming ironically the person of the non-lover (who is a lover all the same), he will enquire into the nature and power of love. For this is a necessary preliminary to the other question — How is the non-lover to be distinguished from the lover? In all of us there are two principles — a better and a worse — reason and desire, which are generally at war with one another; and the victory of the rational is called temperance, and the victory of the irrational intemperance or excess. The latter takes many forms and has many bad names — gluttony, drunkenness, and the like. But of all the irrational desires or excesses the greatest is that which is led away by desires of a kindred nature to the enjoyment of personal beauty. And this is the master power of love.

Here Socrates fancies that he detects in himself an unusual flow of eloquence — this newly-found gift he can only attribute to the inspiration of the place, which appears to be dedicated to the nymphs. Starting again from the philosophical basis which has been laid down, he proceeds to show how many advantages the non-lover has over the lover. The one encourages softness and effeminacy and exclusiveness; he cannot endure any superiority in his beloved; he will train him in luxury, he will keep him out of society, he will deprive him of parents, friends, money, knowledge, and of every other good, that he may have him all to himself. Then again his ways are not ways of pleasantness; he is mighty disagreeable; ‘crabbed age and youth cannot live together.’ At every hour of the night and day he is intruding upon him; there is the same old withered face and the remainder to match — and he is always repeating, in season or out of season, the praises or dispraises of his beloved, which are bad enough when he is sober, and published all over the world when he is drunk. At length his love ceases; he is converted into an enemy, and the spectacle may be seen of the lover running away from the beloved, who pursues him with vain reproaches, and demands his reward which the other refuses to pay. Too late the beloved learns, after all his pains and disagreeables, that ‘As wolves love lambs so lovers love their loves.’ (Compare Char.) Here is the end; the ‘other’ or ‘non-lover’ part of the speech had better be understood, for if in the censure of the lover Socrates has broken out in verse, what will he not do in his praise of the non-lover? He has said his say and is preparing to go away.

Phaedrus begs him to remain, at any rate until the heat of noon has passed; he would like to have a little more conversation before they go. Socrates, who has risen, recognizes the oracular sign which forbids him to depart until he has done penance. His conscious has been awakened, and like Stesichorus when he had reviled the lovely Helen he will sing a palinode for having blasphemed the majesty of love. His palinode takes the form of a myth.

Socrates begins his tale with a glorification of madness, which he divides into four kinds: first, there is the art of divination or prophecy — this, in a vein similar to that pervading the Cratylus and Io, he connects with madness by an etymological explanation (mantike, manike — compare oionoistike, oionistike, ‘’tis all one reckoning, save the phrase is a little variations’); secondly, there is the art of purification by mysteries; thirdly, poetry or the inspiration of the Muses (compare Ion), without which no man can enter their temple. All this shows that madness is one of heaven’s blessings, and may sometimes be a great deal better than sense. There is also a fourth kind of madness — that of love — which cannot be explained without enquiring into the nature of the soul.

All soul is immortal, for she is the source of all motion both in herself and in others. Her form may be described in a figure as a composite nature made up of a charioteer and a pair of winged steeds. The steeds of the gods are immortal, but ours are one mortal and the other immortal. The immortal soul soars upwards into the heavens, but the mortal drops her plumes and settles upon the earth.

Now the use of the wing is to rise and carry the downward element into the upper world — there to behold beauty, wisdom, goodness, and the other things of God by which the soul is nourished. On a certain day Zeus the lord of heaven goes forth in a winged chariot; and an array of gods and demi-gods and of human souls in their train, follows him. There are glorious and blessed sights in the interior of heaven, and he who will may freely behold them. The great vision of all is seen at the feast of the gods, when they ascend the heights of the empyrean — all but Hestia, who is left at home to keep house. The chariots of the gods glide readily upwards and stand upon the outside; the revolution of the spheres carries them round, and they have a vision of the world beyond. But the others labour in vain; for the mortal steed, if he has not been properly trained, keeps them down and sinks them towards the earth. Of the world which is beyond the heavens, who can tell? There is an essence formless, colourless, intangible, perceived by the mind only, dwelling in the region of true knowledge. The divine mind in her revolution enjoys this fair prospect, and beholds justice, temperance, and knowledge in their everlasting essence. When fulfilled with the sight of them she returns home, and the charioteer puts up the horses in their stable, and gives them ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink. This is the life of the gods; the human soul tries to reach the same heights, but hardly succeeds; and sometimes the head of the charioteer rises above, and sometimes sinks below, the fair vision, and he is at last obliged, after much contention, to turn away and leave the plain of truth. But if the soul has followed in the train of her god and once beheld truth she is preserved from harm, and is carried round in the next revolution of the spheres; and if always following, and always seeing the truth, is then for ever unharmed. If, however, she drops her wings and falls to the earth, then she takes the form of man, and the soul which has seen most of the truth passes into a philosopher or lover; that which has seen truth in the second degree, into a king or warrior; the third, into a householder or money-maker; the fourth, into a gymnast; the fifth, into a prophet or mystic; the sixth, into a poet or imitator; the seventh, into a husbandman or craftsman; the eighth, into a sophist or demagogue; the ninth, into a tyrant. All these are states of probation, wherein he who lives righteously is improved, and he who lives unrighteously deteriorates. After death comes the judgment; the bad depart to houses of correction under the earth, the good to places of joy in heaven. When a thousand years have elapsed the souls meet together and choose the lives which they will lead for another period of existence. The soul which three times in succession has chosen the life of a philosopher or of a lover who is not without philosophy receives her wings at the close of the third millennium; the remainder have to complete a cycle of ten thousand years before their wings are restored to them. Each time there is full liberty of choice. The soul of a man may descend into a beast, and return again into the form of man. But the form of man will only be taken by the soul which has once seen truth and acquired some conception of the universal: — this is the recollection of the knowledge which she attained when in the company of the Gods. And men in general recall only with difficulty the things of another world, but the mind of the philosopher has a better remembrance of them. For when he beholds the visible beauty of earth his enraptured soul passes in thought to those glorious sights of justice and wisdom and temperance and truth which she once gazed upon in heaven. Then she celebrated holy mysteries and beheld blessed apparitions shining in pure light, herself pure, and not as yet entombed in the body. And still, like a bird eager to quit its cage, she flutters and looks upwards, and is therefore deemed mad. Such a recollection of past days she receives through sight, the keenest of our senses, because beauty, alone of the ideas, has any representation on earth: wisdom is invisible to mortal eyes. But the corrupted nature, blindly excited by this vision of beauty, rushes on to enjoy, and would fain wallow like a brute beast in sensual pleasures. Whereas the true mystic, who has seen the many sights of bliss, when he beholds a god-like form or face is amazed with delight, and if he were not afraid of being thought mad he would fall down and worship. Then the stiffened wing begins to relax and grow again; desire which has been imprisoned pours over the soul of the lover; the germ of the wing unfolds, and stings, and pangs of birth, like the cutting of teeth, are everywhere felt. (Compare Symp.) Father and mother, and goods and laws and proprieties are nothing to him; his beloved is his physician, who can alone cure his pain. An apocryphal sacred writer says that the power which thus works in him is by mortals called love, but the immortals call him dove, or the winged one, in order to represent the force of his wings — such at any rate is his nature. Now the characters of lovers depend upon the god whom they followed in the other world; and they choose their loves in this world accordingly. The followers of Ares are fierce and violent; those of Zeus seek out some philosophical and imperial nature; the attendants of Here find a royal love; and in like manner the followers of every god seek a love who is like their god; and to him they communicate the nature which they have received from their god. The manner in which they take their love is as follows: —

I told you about the charioteer and his two steeds, the one a noble animal who is guided by word and admonition only, the other an ill-looking villain who will hardly yield to blow or spur. Together all three, who are a figure of the soul, approach the vision of love. And now a fierce conflict begins. The ill-conditioned steed rushes on to enjoy, but the charioteer, who beholds the beloved with awe, falls back in adoration, and forces both the steeds on their haunches; again the evil steed rushes forwards and pulls shamelessly. The conflict grows more and more severe; and at last the charioteer, throwing himself backwards, forces the bit out of the clenched teeth of the brute, and pulling harder than ever at the reins, covers his tongue and jaws with blood, and forces him to rest his legs and haunches with pain upon the ground. When this has happened several times, the villain is tamed and humbled, and from that time forward the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty and holy fear. And now their bliss is consummated; the same image of love dwells in the breast of either, and if they have self-control, they pass their lives in the greatest happiness which is attainable by man — they continue masters of themselves, and conquer in one of the three heavenly victories. But if they choose the lower life of ambition they may still have a happy destiny, though inferior, because they have not the approval of the whole soul. At last they leave the body and proceed on their pilgrim’s progress, and those who have once begun can never go back. When the time comes they receive their wings and fly away, and the lovers have the same wings.

Socrates concludes: —

These are the blessings of love, and thus have I made my recantation in finer language than before: I did so in order to please Phaedrus. If I said what was wrong at first, please to attribute my error to Lysias, who ought to study philosophy instead of rhetoric, and then he will not mislead his disciple Phaedrus.

Phaedrus is afraid that he will lose conceit of Lysias, and that Lysias will be out of conceit with himself, and leave off making speeches, for the politicians have been deriding him. Socrates is of opinion that there is small danger of this; the politicians are themselves the great rhetoricians of the age, who desire to attain immortality by the authorship of laws. And therefore there is nothing with which they can reproach Lysias in being a writer; but there may be disgrace in being a bad one.

And what is good or bad writing or speaking? While the sun is hot in the sky above us, let us ask that question: since by rational conversation man lives, and not by the indulgence of bodily pleasures. And the grasshoppers who are chirruping around may carry our words to the Muses, who are their patronesses; for the grasshoppers were human beings themselves in a world before the Muses, and when the Muses came they died of hunger for the love of song. And they carry to them in heaven the report of those who honour them on earth.

The first rule of good speaking is to know and speak the truth; as a Spartan proverb says, ‘true art is truth’; whereas rhetoric is an art of enchantment, which makes things appear good and evil, like and unlike, as the speaker pleases. Its use is not confined, as people commonly suppose, to arguments in the law courts and speeches in the assembly; it is rather a part of the art of disputation, under which are included both the rules of Gorgias and the eristic of Zeno. But it is not wholly devoid of truth. Superior knowledge enables us to deceive another by the help of resemblances, and to escape from such a deception when employed against ourselves. We see therefore that even in rhetoric an element of truth is required. For if we do not know the truth, we can neither make the gradual departures from truth by which men are most easily deceived, nor guard ourselves against deception.

Socrates then proposes that they shall use the two speeches as illustrations of the art of rhetoric; first distinguishing between the debatable and undisputed class of subjects. In the debatable class there ought to be a definition of all disputed matters. But there was no such definition in the speech of Lysias; nor is there any order or connection in his words any more than in a nursery rhyme. With this he compares the regular divisions of the other speech, which was his own (and yet not his own, for the local deities must have inspired him). Although only a playful composition, it will be found to embody two principles: first, that of synthesis or the comprehension of parts in a whole; secondly, analysis, or the resolution of the whole into parts. These are the processes of division and generalization which are so dear to the dialectician, that king of men. They are effected by dialectic, and not by rhetoric, of which the remains are but scanty after order and arrangement have been subtracted. There is nothing left but a heap of ‘ologies’ and other technical terms invented by Polus, Theodorus, Evenus, Tisias, Gorgias, and others, who have rules for everything, and who teach how to be short or long at pleasure. Prodicus showed his good sense when he said that there was a better thing than either to be short or long, which was to be of convenient length.

Still, notwithstanding the absurdities of Polus and others, rhetoric has great power in public assemblies. This power, however, is not given by any technical rules, but is the gift of genius. The real art is always being confused by rhetoricians with the preliminaries of the art. The perfection of oratory is like the perfection of anything else; natural power must be aided by art. But the art is not that which is taught in the schools of rhetoric; it is nearer akin to philosophy. Pericles, for instance, who was the most accomplished of all speakers, derived his eloquence not from rhetoric but from the philosophy of nature which he learnt of Anaxagoras. True rhetoric is like medicine, and the rhetorician has to consider the natures of men’s souls as the physician considers the natures of their bodies. Such and such persons are to be affected in this way, such and such others in that; and he must know the times and the seasons for saying this or that. This is not an easy task, and this, if there be such an art, is the art of rhetoric.

I know that there are some professors of the art who maintain probability to be stronger than truth. But we maintain that probability is engendered by likeness of the truth which can only be attained by the knowledge of it, and that the aim of the good man should not be to please or persuade his fellow-servants, but to please his good masters who are the gods. Rhetoric has a fair beginning in this.

Enough of the art of speaking; let us now proceed to consider the true use of writing. There is an old Egyptian tale of Theuth, the inventor of writing, showing his invention to the god Thamus, who told him that he would only spoil men’s memories and take away their understandings. From this tale, of which young Athens will probably make fun, may be gathered the lesson that writing is inferior to speech. For it is like a picture, which can give no answer to a question, and has only a deceitful likeness of a living creature. It has no power of adaptation, but uses the same words for all. It is not a legitimate son of knowledge, but a bastard, and when an attack is made upon this bastard neither parent nor anyone else is there to defend it. The husbandman will not seriously incline to sow his seed in such a hot-bed or garden of Adonis; he will rather sow in the natural soil of the human soul which has depth of earth; and he will anticipate the inner growth of the mind, by writing only, if at all, as a remedy against old age. The natural process will be far nobler, and will bring forth fruit in the minds of others as well as in his own.

The conclusion of the whole matter is just this, — that until a man knows the truth, and the manner of adapting the truth to the natures of other men, he cannot be a good orator; also, that the living is better than the written word, and that the principles of justice and truth when delivered by word of mouth are the legitimate offspring of a man’s own bosom, and their lawful descendants take up their abode in others. Such an orator as he is who is possessed of them, you and I would fain become. And to all composers in the world, poets, orators, legislators, we hereby announce that if their compositions are based upon these principles, then they are not only poets, orators, legislators, but philosophers. All others are mere flatterers and putters together of words. This is the message which Phaedrus undertakes to carry to Lysias from the local deities, and Socrates himself will carry a similar message to his favourite Isocrates, whose future distinction as a great rhetorician he prophesies. The heat of the day has passed, and after offering up a prayer to Pan and the nymphs, Socrates and Phaedrus depart.

There are two principal controversies which have been raised about the Phaedrus; the first relates to the subject, the second to the date of the Dialogue.

There seems to be a notion that the work of a great artist like Plato cannot fail in unity, and that the unity of a dialogue requires a single subject. But the conception of unity really applies in very different degrees and ways to different kinds of art; to a statue, for example, far more than to any kind of literary composition, and to some species of literature far more than to others. Nor does the dialogue appear to be a style of composition in which the requirement of unity is most stringent; nor should the idea of unity derived from one sort of art be hastily transferred to another. The double titles of several of the Platonic Dialogues are a further proof that the severer rule was not observed by Plato. The Republic is divided between the search after justice and the construction of the ideal state; the Parmenides between the criticism of the Platonic ideas and of the Eleatic one or being; the Gorgias between the art of speaking and the nature of the good; the Sophist between the detection of the Sophist and the correlation of ideas. The Theaetetus, the Politicus, and the Philebus have also digressions which are but remotely connected with the main subject.

Thus the comparison of Plato’s other writings, as well as the reason of the thing, lead us to the conclusion that we must not expect to find one idea pervading a whole work, but one, two, or more, as the invention of the writer may suggest, or his fancy wander. If each dialogue were confined to the development of a single idea, this would appear on the face of the dialogue, nor could any controversy be raised as to whether the Phaedrus treated of love or rhetoric. But the truth is that Plato subjects himself to no rule of this sort. Like every great artist he gives unity of form to the different and apparently distracting topics which he brings together. He works freely and is not to be supposed to have arranged every part of the dialogue before he begins to write. He fastens or weaves together the frame of his discourse loosely and imperfectly, and which is the warp and which is the woof cannot always be determined.

The subjects of the Phaedrus (exclusive of the short introductory passage about mythology which is suggested by the local tradition) are first the false or conventional art of rhetoric; secondly, love or the inspiration of beauty and knowledge, which is described as madness; thirdly, dialectic or the art of composition and division; fourthly, the true rhetoric, which is based upon dialectic, and is neither the art of persuasion nor knowledge of the truth alone, but the art of persuasion founded on knowledge of truth and knowledge of character; fifthly, the superiority of the spoken over the written word. The continuous thread which appears and reappears throughout is rhetoric; this is the ground into which the rest of the Dialogue is worked, in parts embroidered with fine words which are not in Socrates’ manner, as he says, ‘in order to please Phaedrus.’ The speech of Lysias which has thrown Phaedrus into an ecstacy is adduced as an example of the false rhetoric; the first speech of Socrates, though an improvement, partakes of the same character; his second speech, which is full of that higher element said to have been learned of Anaxagoras by Pericles, and which in the midst of poetry does not forget order, is an illustration of the higher or true rhetoric. This higher rhetoric is based upon dialectic, and dialectic is a sort of inspiration akin to love (compare Symp.); in these two aspects of philosophy the technicalities of rhetoric are absorbed. And so the example becomes also the deeper theme of discourse. The true knowledge of things in heaven and earth is based upon enthusiasm or love of the ideas going before us and ever present to us in this world and in another; and the true order of speech or writing proceeds accordingly. Love, again, has three degrees: first, of interested love corresponding to the conventionalities of rhetoric; secondly, of disinterested or mad love, fixed on objects of sense, and answering, perhaps, to poetry; thirdly, of disinterested love directed towards the unseen, answering to dialectic or the science of the ideas. Lastly, the art of rhetoric in the lower sense is found to rest on a knowledge of the natures and characters of men, which Socrates at the commencement of the Dialogue has described as his own peculiar study.

Thus amid discord a harmony begins to appear; there are many links of connection which are not visible at first sight. At the same time the Phaedrus, although one of the most beautiful of the Platonic Dialogues, is also more irregular than any other. For insight into the world, for sustained irony, for depth of thought, there is no Dialogue superior, or perhaps equal to it. Nevertheless the form of the work has tended to obscure some of Plato’s higher aims.

The first speech is composed ‘in that balanced style in which the wise love to talk’ (Symp.). The characteristics of rhetoric are insipidity, mannerism, and monotonous parallelism of clauses. There is more rhythm than reason; the creative power of imagination is wanting.

‘’Tis Greece, but living Greece no more.’

Plato has seized by anticipation the spirit which hung over Greek literature for a thousand years afterwards. Yet doubtless there were some who, like Phaedrus, felt a delight in the harmonious cadence and the pedantic reasoning of the rhetoricians newly imported from Sicily, which had ceased to be awakened in them by really great works, such as the odes of Anacreon or Sappho or the orations of Pericles. That the first speech was really written by Lysias is improbable. Like the poem of Solon, or the story of Thamus and Theuth, or the funeral oration of Aspasia (if genuine), or the pretence of Socrates in the Cratylus that his knowledge of philology is derived from Euthyphro, the invention is really due to the imagination of Plato, and may be compared to the parodies of the Sophists in the Protagoras. Numerous fictions of this sort occur in the Dialogues, and the gravity of Plato has sometimes imposed upon his commentators. The introduction of a considerable writing of another would seem not to be in keeping with a great work of art, and has no parallel elsewhere.

In the second speech Socrates is exhibited as beating the rhetoricians at their own weapons; he ‘an unpractised man and they masters of the art.’ True to his character, he must, however, profess that the speech which he makes is not his own, for he knows nothing of himself. (Compare Symp.) Regarded as a rhetorical exercise, the superiority of his speech seems to consist chiefly in a better arrangement of the topics; he begins with a definition of love, and he gives weight to his words by going back to general maxims; a lesser merit is the greater liveliness of Socrates, which hurries him into verse and relieves the monotony of the style.

But Plato had doubtless a higher purpose than to exhibit Socrates as the rival or superior of the Athenian rhetoricians. Even in the speech of Lysias there is a germ of truth, and this is further developed in the parallel oration of Socrates. First, passionate love is overthrown by the sophistical or interested, and then both yield to that higher view of love which is afterwards revealed to us. The extreme of commonplace is contrasted with the most ideal and imaginative of speculations. Socrates, half in jest and to satisfy his own wild humour, takes the disguise of Lysias, but he is also in profound earnest and in a deeper vein of irony than usual. Having improvised his own speech, which is based upon the model of the preceding, he condemns them both. Yet the condemnation is not to be taken seriously, for he is evidently trying to express an aspect of the truth. To understand him, we must make abstraction of morality and of the Greek manner of regarding the relation of the sexes. In this, as in his other discussions about love, what Plato says of the loves of men must be transferred to the loves of women before we can attach any serious meaning to his words. Had he lived in our times he would have made the transposition himself. But seeing in his own age the impossibility of woman being the intellectual helpmate or friend of man (except in the rare instances of a Diotima or an Aspasia), seeing that, even as to personal beauty, her place was taken by young mankind instead of womankind, he tries to work out the problem of love without regard to the distinctions of nature. And full of the evils which he recognized as flowing from the spurious form of love, he proceeds with a deep meaning, though partly in joke, to show that the ‘non-lover’s’ love is better than the ‘lover’s.’

We may raise the same question in another form: Is marriage preferable with or without love? ‘Among ourselves,’ as we may say, a little parodying the words of Pausanias in the Symposium, ‘there would be one answer to this question: the practice and feeling of some foreign countries appears to be more doubtful.’ Suppose a modern Socrates, in defiance of the received notions of society and the sentimental literature of the day, alone against all the writers and readers of novels, to suggest this enquiry, would not the younger ‘part of the world be ready to take off its coat and run at him might and main?’ (Republic.) Yet, if like Peisthetaerus in Aristophanes, he could persuade the ‘birds’ to hear him, retiring a little behind a rampart, not of pots and dishes, but of unreadable books, he might have something to say for himself. Might he not argue, ‘that a rational being should not follow the dictates of passion in the most important act of his or her life’? Who would willingly enter into a contract at first sight, almost without thought, against the advice and opinion of his friends, at a time when he acknowledges that he is not in his right mind? And yet they are praised by the authors of romances, who reject the warnings of their friends or parents, rather than those who listen to them in such matters. Two inexperienced persons, ignorant of the world and of one another, how can they be said to choose? — they draw lots, whence also the saying, ‘marriage is a lottery.’ Then he would describe their way of life after marriage; how they monopolize one another’s affections to the exclusion of friends and relations: how they pass their days in unmeaning fondness or trivial conversation; how the inferior of the two drags the other down to his or her level; how the cares of a family ‘breed meanness in their souls.’ In the fulfilment of military or public duties, they are not helpers but hinderers of one another: they cannot undertake any noble enterprise, such as makes the names of men and women famous, from domestic considerations. Too late their eyes are opened; they were taken unawares and desire to part company. Better, he would say, a ‘little love at the beginning,’ for heaven might have increased it; but now their foolish fondness has changed into mutual dislike. In the days of their honeymoon they never understood that they must provide against offences, that they must have interests, that they must learn the art of living as well as loving. Our misogamist will not appeal to Anacreon or Sappho for a confirmation of his view, but to the universal experience of mankind. How much nobler, in conclusion, he will say, is friendship, which does not receive unmeaning praises from novelists and poets, is not exacting or exclusive, is not impaired by familiarity, is much less expensive, is not so likely to take offence, seldom changes, and may be dissolved from time to time without the assistance of the courts. Besides, he will remark that there is a much greater choice of friends than of wives — you may have more of them and they will be far more improving to your mind. They will not keep you dawdling at home, or dancing attendance upon them; or withdraw you from the great world and stirring scenes of life and action which would make a man of you.

In such a manner, turning the seamy side outwards, a modern Socrates might describe the evils of married and domestic life. They are evils which mankind in general have agreed to conceal, partly because they are compensated by greater goods. Socrates or Archilochus would soon have to sing a palinode for the injustice done to lovely Helen, or some misfortune worse than blindness might be fall them. Then they would take up their parable again and say: — that there were two loves, a higher and a lower, holy and unholy, a love of the mind and a love of the body.

‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments.  Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds.

.....

Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.’

But this true love of the mind cannot exist between two souls, until they are purified from the grossness of earthly passion: they must pass through a time of trial and conflict first; in the language of religion they must be converted or born again. Then they would see the world transformed into a scene of heavenly beauty; a divine idea would accompany them in all their thoughts and actions. Something too of the recollections of childhood might float about them still; they might regain that old simplicity which had been theirs in other days at their first entrance on life. And although their love of one another was ever present to them, they would acknowledge also a higher love of duty and of God, which united them. And their happiness would depend upon their preserving in them this principle — not losing the ideals of justice and holiness and truth, but renewing them at the fountain of light. When they have attained to this exalted state, let them marry (something too may be conceded to the animal nature of man): or live together in holy and innocent friendship. The poet might describe in eloquent words the nature of such a union; how after many struggles the true love was found: how the two passed their lives together in the service of God and man; how their characters were reflected upon one another, and seemed to grow more like year by year; how they read in one another’s eyes the thoughts, wishes, actions of the other; how they saw each other in God; how in a figure they grew wings like doves, and were ‘ready to fly away together and be at rest.’ And lastly, he might tell how, after a time at no long intervals, first one and then the other fell asleep, and ‘appeared to the unwise’ to die, but were reunited in another state of being, in which they saw justice and holiness and truth, not according to the imperfect copies of them which are found in this world, but justice absolute in existence absolute, and so of the rest. And they would hold converse not only with each other, but with blessed souls everywhere; and would be employed in the service of God, every soul fulfilling his own nature and character, and would see into the wonders of earth and heaven, and trace the works of creation to their author.

So, partly in jest but also ‘with a certain degree of seriousness,’ we may appropriate to ourselves the words of Plato. The use of such a parody, though very imperfect, is to transfer his thoughts to our sphere of religion and feeling, to bring him nearer to us and us to him. Like the Scriptures, Plato admits of endless applications, if we allow for the difference of times and manners; and we lose the better half of him when we regard his Dialogues merely as literary compositions. Any ancient work which is worth reading has a practical and speculative as well as a literary interest. And in Plato, more than in any other Greek writer, the local and transitory is inextricably blended with what is spiritual and eternal. Socrates is necessarily ironical; for he has to withdraw from the received opinions and beliefs of mankind. We cannot separate the transitory from the permanent; nor can we translate the language of irony into that of plain reflection and common sense. But we can imagine the mind of Socrates in another age and country; and we can interpret him by analogy with reference to the errors and prejudices which prevail among ourselves. To return to the Phaedrus: —

Both speeches are strongly condemned by Socrates as sinful and blasphemous towards the god Love, and as worthy only of some haunt of sailors to which good manners were unknown. The meaning of this and other wild language to the same effect, which is introduced by way of contrast to the formality of the two speeches (Socrates has a sense of relief when he has escaped from the trammels of rhetoric), seems to be that the two speeches proceed upon the supposition that love is and ought to be interested, and that no such thing as a real or disinterested passion, which would be at the same time lasting, could be conceived. ‘But did I call this “love”? O God, forgive my blasphemy. This is not love. Rather it is the love of the world. But there is another kingdom of love, a kingdom not of this world, divine, eternal. And this other love I will now show you in a mystery.’

Then follows the famous myth, which is a sort of parable, and like other parables ought not to receive too minute an interpretation. In all such allegories there is a great deal which is merely ornamental, and the interpreter has to separate the important from the unimportant. Socrates himself has given the right clue when, in using his own discourse afterwards as the text for his examination of rhetoric, he characterizes it as a ‘partly true and tolerably credible mythus,’ in which amid poetical figures, order and arrangement were not forgotten.

The soul is described in magnificent language as the self-moved and the source of motion in all other things. This is the philosophical theme or proem of the whole. But ideas must be given through something, and under the pretext that to realize the true nature of the soul would be not only tedious but impossible, we at once pass on to describe the souls of gods as well as men under the figure of two winged steeds and a charioteer. No connection is traced between the soul as the great motive power and the triple soul which is thus imaged. There is no difficulty in seeing that the charioteer represents the reason, or that the black horse is the symbol of the sensual or concupiscent element of human nature. The white horse also represents rational impulse, but the description, ‘a lover of honour and modesty and temperance, and a follower of true glory,’ though similar, does not at once recall the ‘spirit’ (thumos) of the Republic. The two steeds really correspond in a figure more nearly to the appetitive and moral or semi-rational soul of Aristotle. And thus, for the first time perhaps in the history of philosophy, we have represented to us the threefold division of psychology. The image of the charioteer and the steeds has been compared with a similar image which occurs in the verses of Parmenides; but it is important to remark that the horses of Parmenides have no allegorical meaning, and that the poet is only describing his own approach in a chariot to the regions of light and the house of the goddess of truth.

The triple soul has had a previous existence, in which following in the train of some god, from whom she derived her character, she beheld partially and imperfectly the vision of absolute truth. All her after existence, passed in many forms of men and animals, is spent in regaining this. The stages of the conflict are many and various; and she is sorely let and hindered by the animal desires of the inferior or concupiscent steed. Again and again she beholds the flashing beauty of the beloved. But before that vision can be finally enjoyed the animal desires must be subjected.

The moral or spiritual element in man is represented by the immortal steed which, like thumos in the Republic, always sides with the reason. Both are dragged out of their course by the furious impulses of desire. In the end something is conceded to the desires, after they have been finally humbled and overpowered. And yet the way of philosophy, or perfect love of the unseen, is total abstinence from bodily delights. ‘But all men cannot receive this saying’: in the lower life of ambition they may be taken off their guard and stoop to folly unawares, and then, although they do not attain to the highest bliss, yet if they have once conquered they may be happy enough.

The language of the Meno and the Phaedo as well as of the Phaedrus seems to show that at one time of his life Plato was quite serious in maintaining a former state of existence. His mission was to realize the abstract; in that, all good and truth, all the hopes of this and another life seemed to centre. To him abstractions, as we call them, were another kind of knowledge — an inner and unseen world, which seemed to exist far more truly than the fleeting objects of sense which were without him. When we are once able to imagine the intense power which abstract ideas exercised over the mind of Plato, we see that there was no more difficulty to him in realizing the eternal existence of them and of the human minds which were associated with them, in the past and future than in the present. The difficulty was not how they could exist, but how they could fail to exist. In the attempt to regain this ‘saving’ knowledge of the ideas, the sense was found to be as great an enemy as the desires; and hence two things which to us seem quite distinct are inextricably blended in the representation of Plato.

Thus far we may believe that Plato was serious in his conception of the soul as a motive power, in his reminiscence of a former state of being, in his elevation of the reason over sense and passion, and perhaps in his doctrine of transmigration. Was he equally serious in the rest? For example, are we to attribute his tripartite division of the soul to the gods? Or is this merely assigned to them by way of parallelism with men? The latter is the more probable; for the horses of the gods are both white, i.e. their every impulse is in harmony with reason; their dualism, on the other hand, only carries out the figure of the chariot. Is he serious, again, in regarding love as ‘a madness’? That seems to arise out of the antithesis to the former conception of love. At the same time he appears to intimate here, as in the Ion, Apology, Meno, and elsewhere, that there is a faculty in man, whether to be termed in modern language genius, or inspiration, or imagination, or idealism, or communion with God, which cannot be reduced to rule and measure. Perhaps, too, he is ironically repeating the common language of mankind about philosophy, and is turning their jest into a sort of earnest. (Compare Phaedo, Symp.) Or is he serious in holding that each soul bears the character of a god? He may have had no other account to give of the differences of human characters to which he afterwards refers. Or, again, in his absurd derivation of mantike and oionistike and imeros (compare Cratylus)? It is characteristic of the irony of Socrates to mix up sense and nonsense in such a way that no exact line can be drawn between them. And allegory helps to increase this sort of confusion.

As is often the case in the parables and prophecies of Scripture, the meaning is allowed to break through the figure, and the details are not always consistent. When the charioteers and their steeds stand upon the dome of heaven they behold the intangible invisible essences which are not objects of sight. This is because the force of language can no further go. Nor can we dwell much on the circumstance, that at the completion of ten thousand years all are to return to the place from whence they came; because he represents their return as dependent on their own good conduct in the successive stages of existence. Nor again can we attribute anything to the accidental inference which would also follow, that even a tyrant may live righteously in the condition of life to which fate has called him (‘he aiblins might, I dinna ken’). But to suppose this would be at variance with Plato himself and with Greek notions generally. He is much more serious in distinguishing men from animals by their recognition of the universal which they have known in a former state, and in denying that this gift of reason can ever be obliterated or lost. In the language of some modern theologians he might be said to maintain the ‘final perseverance’ of those who have entered on their pilgrim’s progress. Other intimations of a ‘metaphysic’ or ‘theology’ of the future may also be discerned in him: (1) The moderate predestinarianism which here, as in the Republic, acknowledges the element of chance in human life, and yet asserts the freedom and responsibility of man; (2) The recognition of a moral as well as an intellectual principle in man under the image of an immortal steed; (3) The notion that the divine nature exists by the contemplation of ideas of virtue and justice — or, in other words, the assertion of the essentially moral nature of God; (4) Again, there is the hint that human life is a life of aspiration only, and that the true ideal is not to be found in art; (5) There occurs the first trace of the distinction between necessary and contingent matter; (6) The conception of the soul itself as the motive power and reason of the universe.

The conception of the philosopher, or the philosopher and lover in one, as a sort of madman, may be compared with the Republic and Theaetetus, in both of which the philosopher is regarded as a stranger and monster upon the earth. The whole myth, like the other myths of Plato, describes in a figure things which are beyond the range of human faculties, or inaccessible to the knowledge of the age. That philosophy should be represented as the inspiration of love is a conception that has already become familiar to us in the Symposium, and is the expression partly of Plato’s enthusiasm for the idea, and is also an indication of the real power exercised by the passion of friendship over the mind of the Greek. The master in the art of love knew that there was a mystery in these feelings and their associations, and especially in the contrast of the sensible and permanent which is afforded by them; and he sought to explain this, as he explained universal ideas, by a reference to a former state of existence. The capriciousness of love is also derived by him from an attachment to some god in a former world. The singular remark that the beloved is more affected than the lover at the final consummation of their love, seems likewise to hint at a psychological truth.

It is difficult to exhaust the meanings of a work like the Phaedrus, which indicates so much more than it expresses; and is full of inconsistencies and ambiguities which were not perceived by Plato himself. For example, when he is speaking of the soul does he mean the human or the divine soul? and are they both equally self-moving and constructed on the same threefold principle? We should certainly be disposed to reply that the self-motive is to be attributed to God only; and on the other hand that the appetitive and passionate elements have no place in His nature. So we should infer from the reason of the thing, but there is no indication in Plato’s own writings that this was his meaning. Or, again, when he explains the different characters of men by referring them back to the nature of the God whom they served in a former state of existence, we are inclined to ask whether he is serious: Is he not rather using a mythological figure, here as elsewhere, to draw a veil over things which are beyond the limits of mortal knowledge? Once more, in speaking of beauty is he really thinking of some external form such as might have been expressed in the works of Phidias or Praxiteles; and not rather of an imaginary beauty, of a sort which extinguishes rather than stimulates vulgar love, — a heavenly beauty like that which flashed from time to time before the eyes of Dante or Bunyan? Surely the latter. But it would be idle to reconcile all the details of the passage: it is a picture, not a system, and a picture which is for the greater part an allegory, and an allegory which allows the meaning to come through. The image of the charioteer and his steeds is placed side by side with the absolute forms of justice, temperance, and the like, which are abstract ideas only, and which are seen with the eye of the soul in her heavenly journey. The first impression of such a passage, in which no attempt is made to separate the substance from the form, is far truer than an elaborate philosophical analysis.

It is too often forgotten that the whole of the second discourse of Socrates is only an allegory, or figure of speech. For this reason, it is unnecessary to enquire whether the love of which Plato speaks is the love of men or of women. It is really a general idea which includes both, and in which the sensual element, though not wholly eradicated, is reduced to order and measure. We must not attribute a meaning to every fanciful detail. Nor is there any need to call up revolting associations, which as a matter of good taste should be banished, and which were far enough away from the mind of Plato. These and similar passages should be interpreted by the Laws. Nor is there anything in the Symposium, or in the Charmides, in reality inconsistent with the sterner rule which Plato lays down in the Laws. At the same time it is not to be denied that love and philosophy are described by Socrates in figures of speech which would not be used in Christian times; or that nameless vices were prevalent at Athens and in other Greek cities; or that friendships between men were a more sacred tie, and had a more important social and educational influence than among ourselves. (See note on Symposium.)

In the Phaedrus, as well as in the Symposium, there are two kinds of love, a lower and a higher, the one answering to the natural wants of the animal, the other rising above them and contemplating with religious awe the forms of justice, temperance, holiness, yet finding them also ‘too dazzling bright for mortal eye,’ and shrinking from them in amazement. The opposition between these two kinds of love may be compared to the opposition between the flesh and the spirit in the Epistles of St. Paul. It would be unmeaning to suppose that Plato, in describing the spiritual combat, in which the rational soul is finally victor and master of both the steeds, condescends to allow any indulgence of unnatural lusts.

Two other thoughts about love are suggested by this passage. First of all, love is represented here, as in the Symposium, as one of the great powers of nature, which takes many forms and two principal ones, having a predominant influence over the lives of men. And these two, though opposed, are not absolutely separated the one from the other. Plato, with his great knowledge of human nature, was well aware how easily one is transformed into the other, or how soon the noble but fleeting aspiration may return into the nature of the animal, while the lower instinct which is latent always remains. The intermediate sentimentalism, which has exercised so great an influence on the literature of modern Europe, had no place in the classical times of Hellas; the higher love, of which Plato speaks, is the subject, not of poetry or fiction, but of philosophy.

Secondly, there seems to be indicated a natural yearning of the human mind that the great ideas of justice, temperance, wisdom, should be expressed in some form of visible beauty, like the absolute purity and goodness which Christian art has sought to realize in the person of the Madonna. But although human nature has often attempted to represent outwardly what can be only ‘spiritually discerned,’ men feel that in pictures and images, whether painted or carved, or described in words only, we have not the substance but the shadow of the truth which is in heaven. There is no reason to suppose that in the fairest works of Greek art, Plato ever conceived himself to behold an image, however faint, of ideal truths. ‘Not in that way was wisdom seen.’

We may now pass on to the second part of the Dialogue, which is a criticism on the first. Rhetoric is assailed on various grounds: first, as desiring to persuade, without a knowledge of the truth; and secondly, as ignoring the distinction between certain and probable matter. The three speeches are then passed in review: the first of them has no definition of the nature of love, and no order in the topics (being in these respects far inferior to the second); while the third of them is found (though a fancy of the hour) to be framed upon real dialectical principles. But dialectic is not rhetoric; nothing on that subject is to be found in the endless treatises of rhetoric, however prolific in hard names. When Plato has sufficiently put them to the test of ridicule he touches, as with the point of a needle, the real error, which is the confusion of preliminary knowledge with creative power. No attainments will provide the speaker with genius; and the sort of attainments which can alone be of any value are the higher philosophy and the power of psychological analysis, which is given by dialectic, but not by the rules of the rhetoricians.

In this latter portion of the Dialogue there are many texts which may help us to speak and to think. The names dialectic and rhetoric are passing out of use; we hardly examine seriously into their nature and limits, and probably the arts both of speaking and of conversation have been unduly neglected by us. But the mind of Socrates pierces through the differences of times and countries into the essential nature of man; and his words apply equally to the modern world and to the Athenians of old. Would he not have asked of us, or rather is he not asking of us, Whether we have ceased to prefer appearances to reality? Let us take a survey of the professions to which he refers and try them by his standard. Is not all literature passing into criticism, just as Athenian literature in the age of Plato was degenerating into sophistry and rhetoric? We can discourse and write about poems and paintings, but we seem to have lost the gift of creating them. Can we wonder that few of them ‘come sweetly from nature,’ while ten thousand reviewers (mala murioi) are engaged in dissecting them? Young men, like Phaedrus, are enamoured of their own literary clique and have but a feeble sympathy with the master-minds of former ages. They recognize ‘a POETICAL necessity in the writings of their favourite author, even when he boldly wrote off just what came in his head.’ They are beginning to think that Art is enough, just at the time when Art is about to disappear from the world. And would not a great painter, such as Michael Angelo, or a great poet, such as Shakespeare, returning to earth, ‘courteously rebuke’ us — would he not say that we are putting ‘in the place of Art the preliminaries of Art,’ confusing Art the expression of mind and truth with Art the composition of colours and forms; and perhaps he might more severely chastise some of us for trying to invent ‘a new shudder’ instead of bringing to the birth living and healthy creations? These he would regard as the signs of an age wanting in original power.

Turning from literature and the arts to law and politics, again we fall under the lash of Socrates. For do we not often make ‘the worse appear the better cause;’ and do not ‘both parties sometimes agree to tell lies’? Is not pleading ‘an art of speaking unconnected with the truth’? There is another text of Socrates which must not be forgotten in relation to this subject. In the endless maze of English law is there any ‘dividing the whole into parts or reuniting the parts into a whole’ — any semblance of an organized being ‘having hands and feet and other members’? Instead of a system there is the Chaos of Anaxagoras (omou panta chremata) and no Mind or Order. Then again in the noble art of politics, who thinks of first principles and of true ideas? We avowedly follow not the truth but the will of the many (compare Republic). Is not legislation too a sort of literary effort, and might not statesmanship be described as the ‘art of enchanting’ the house? While there are some politicians who have no knowledge of the truth, but only of what is likely to be approved by ‘the many who sit in judgment,’ there are others who can give no form to their ideal, neither having learned ‘the art of persuasion,’ nor having any insight into the ‘characters of men.’ Once more, has not medical science become a professional routine, which many ‘practise without being able to say who were their instructors’ — the application of a few drugs taken from a book instead of a life-long study of the natures and constitutions of human beings? Do we see as clearly as Hippocrates ‘that the nature of the body can only be understood as a whole’? (Compare Charm.) And are not they held to be the wisest physicians who have the greatest distrust of their art? What would Socrates think of our newspapers, of our theology? Perhaps he would be afraid to speak of them; — the one vox populi, the other vox Dei, he might hesitate to attack them; or he might trace a fanciful connexion between them, and ask doubtfully, whether they are not equally inspired? He would remark that we are always searching for a belief and deploring our unbelief, seeming to prefer popular opinions unverified and contradictory to unpopular truths which are assured to us by the most certain proofs: that our preachers are in the habit of praising God ‘without regard to truth and falsehood, attributing to Him every species of greatness and glory, saying that He is all this and the cause of all that, in order that we may exhibit Him as the fairest and best of all’ (Symp.) without any consideration of His real nature and character or of the laws by which He governs the world — seeking for a ‘private judgment’ and not for the truth or ‘God’s judgment.’ What would he say of the Church, which we praise in like manner, ‘meaning ourselves,’ without regard to history or experience? Might he not ask, whether we ‘care more for the truth of religion, or for the speaker and the country from which the truth comes’? or, whether the ‘select wise’ are not ‘the many’ after all? (Symp.) So we may fill up the sketch of Socrates, lest, as Phaedrus says, the argument should be too ‘abstract and barren of illustrations.’ (Compare Symp., Apol., Euthyphro.)

He next proceeds with enthusiasm to define the royal art of dialectic as the power of dividing a whole into parts, and of uniting the parts in a whole, and which may also be regarded (compare Soph.) as the process of the mind talking with herself. The latter view has probably led Plato to the paradox that speech is superior to writing, in which he may seem also to be doing an injustice to himself. For the two cannot be fairly compared in the manner which Plato suggests. The contrast of the living and dead word, and the example of Socrates, which he has represented in the form of the Dialogue, seem to have misled him. For speech and writing have really different functions; the one is more transitory, more diffuse, more elastic and capable of adaptation to moods and times; the other is more permanent, more concentrated, and is uttered not to this or that person or audience, but to all the world. In the Politicus the paradox is carried further; the mind or will of the king is preferred to the written law; he is supposed to be the Law personified, the ideal made Life.

Yet in both these statements there is also contained a truth; they may be compared with one another, and also with the other famous paradox, that ‘knowledge cannot be taught.’ Socrates means to say, that what is truly written is written in the soul, just as what is truly taught grows up in the soul from within and is not forced upon it from without. When planted in a congenial soil the little seed becomes a tree, and ‘the birds of the air build their nests in the branches.’ There is an echo of this in the prayer at the end of the Dialogue, ‘Give me beauty in the inward soul, and may the inward and outward man be at one.’ We may further compare the words of St. Paul, ‘Written not on tables of stone, but on fleshly tables of the heart;’ and again, ‘Ye are my epistles known and read of all men.’ There may be a use in writing as a preservative against the forgetfulness of old age, but to live is higher far, to be ourselves the book, or the epistle, the truth embodied in a person, the Word made flesh. Something like this we may believe to have passed before Plato’s mind when he affirmed that speech was superior to writing. So in other ages, weary of literature and criticism, of making many books, of writing articles in reviews, some have desired to live more closely in communion with their fellow-men, to speak heart to heart, to speak and act only, and not to write, following the example of Socrates and of Christ...

Some other touches of inimitable grace and art and of the deepest wisdom may be also noted; such as the prayer or ‘collect’ which has just been cited, ‘Give me beauty,’ etc.; or ‘the great name which belongs to God alone;’ or ‘the saying of wiser men than ourselves that a man of sense should try to please not his fellow-servants, but his good and noble masters,’ like St. Paul again; or the description of the ‘heavenly originals’...

The chief criteria for determining the date of the Dialogue are (1) the ages of Lysias and Isocrates; (2) the character of the work.

Lysias was born in the year 458; Isocrates in the year 436, about seven years before the birth of Plato. The first of the two great rhetoricians is described as in the zenith of his fame; the second is still young and full of promise. Now it is argued that this must have been written in the youth of Isocrates, when the promise was not yet fulfilled. And thus we should have to assign the Dialogue to a year not later than 406, when Isocrates was thirty and Plato twenty-three years of age, and while Socrates himself was still alive.

Those who argue in this way seem not to reflect how easily Plato can ‘invent Egyptians or anything else,’ and how careless he is of historical truth or probability. Who would suspect that the wise Critias, the virtuous Charmides, had ended their lives among the thirty tyrants? Who would imagine that Lysias, who is here assailed by Socrates, is the son of his old friend Cephalus? Or that Isocrates himself is the enemy of Plato and his school? No arguments can be drawn from the appropriateness or inappropriateness of the characters of Plato. (Else, perhaps, it might be further argued that, judging from their extant remains, insipid rhetoric is far more characteristic of Isocrates than of Lysias.) But Plato makes use of names which have often hardly any connection with the historical characters to whom they belong. In this instance the comparative favour shown to Isocrates may possibly be accounted for by the circumstance of his belonging to the aristocratical, as Lysias to the democratical party.

Few persons will be inclined to suppose, in the superficial manner of some ancient critics, that a dialogue which treats of love must necessarily have been written in youth. As little weight can be attached to the argument that Plato must have visited Egypt before he wrote the story of Theuth and Thamus. For there is no real proof that he ever went to Egypt; and even if he did, he might have known or invented Egyptian traditions before he went there. The late date of the Phaedrus will have to be established by other arguments than these: the maturity of the thought, the perfection of the style, the insight, the relation to the other Platonic Dialogues, seem to contradict the notion that it could have been the work of a youth of twenty or twenty-three years of age. The cosmological notion of the mind as the primum mobile, and the admission of impulse into the immortal nature, also afford grounds for assigning a later date. (Compare Tim., Soph., Laws.) Add to this that the picture of Socrates, though in some lesser particulars, — e.g. his going without sandals, his habit of remaining within the walls, his emphatic declaration that his study is human nature, — an exact resemblance, is in the main the Platonic and not the real Socrates. Can we suppose ‘the young man to have told such lies’ about his master while he was still alive? Moreover, when two Dialogues are so closely connected as the Phaedrus and Symposium, there is great improbability in supposing that one of them was written at least twenty years after the other. The conclusion seems to be, that the Dialogue was written at some comparatively late but unknown period of Plato’s life, after he had deserted the purely Socratic point of view, but before he had entered on the more abstract speculations of the Sophist or the Philebus. Taking into account the divisions of the soul, the doctrine of transmigration, the contemplative nature of the philosophic life, and the character of the style, we shall not be far wrong in placing the Phaedrus in the neighbourhood of the Republic; remarking only that allowance must be made for the poetical element in the Phaedrus, which, while falling short of the Republic in definite philosophic results, seems to have glimpses of a truth beyond.

Two short passages, which are unconnected with the main subject of the Dialogue, may seem to merit a more particular notice: (1) the locus classicus about mythology; (2) the tale of the grasshoppers.

The first passage is remarkable as showing that Plato was entirely free from what may be termed the Euhemerism of his age. For there were Euhemerists in Hellas long before Euhemerus. Early philosophers, like Anaxagoras and Metrodorus, had found in Homer and mythology hidden meanings. Plato, with a truer instinct, rejects these attractive interpretations; he regards the inventor of them as ‘unfortunate;’ and they draw a man off from the knowledge of himself. There is a latent criticism, and also a poetical sense in Plato, which enable him to discard them, and yet in another way to make use of poetry and mythology as a vehicle of thought and feeling. What would he have said of the discovery of Christian doctrines in these old Greek legends? While acknowledging that such interpretations are ‘very nice,’ would he not have remarked that they are found in all sacred literatures? They cannot be tested by any criterion of truth, or used to establish any truth; they add nothing to the sum of human knowledge; they are — what we please, and if employed as ‘peacemakers’ between the new and old are liable to serious misconstruction, as he elsewhere remarks (Republic). And therefore he would have ‘bid Farewell to them; the study of them would take up too much of his time; and he has not as yet learned the true nature of religion.’ The ‘sophistical’ interest of Phaedrus, the little touch about the two versions of the story, the ironical manner in which these explanations are set aside— ‘the common opinion about them is enough for me’ — the allusion to the serpent Typho may be noted in passing; also the general agreement between the tone of this speech and the remark of Socrates which follows afterwards, ‘I am a diviner, but a poor one.’

The tale of the grasshoppers is naturally suggested by the surrounding scene. They are also the representatives of the Athenians as children of the soil. Under the image of the lively chirruping grasshoppers who inform the Muses in heaven about those who honour them on earth, Plato intends to represent an Athenian audience (tettigessin eoikotes). The story is introduced, apparently, to mark a change of subject, and also, like several other allusions which occur in the course of the Dialogue, in order to preserve the scene in the recollection of the reader.

No one can duly appreciate the dialogues of Plato, especially the Phaedrus, Symposium, and portions of the Republic, who has not a sympathy with mysticism. To the uninitiated, as he would himself have acknowledged, they will appear to be the dreams of a poet who is disguised as a philosopher. There is a twofold difficulty in apprehending this aspect of the Platonic writings. First, we do not immediately realize that under the marble exterior of Greek literature was concealed a soul thrilling with spiritual emotion. Secondly, the forms or figures which the Platonic philosophy assumes, are not like the images of the prophet Isaiah, or of the Apocalypse, familiar to us in the days of our youth. By mysticism we mean, not the extravagance of an erring fancy, but the concentration of reason in feeling, the enthusiastic love of the good, the true, the one, the sense of the infinity of knowledge and of the marvel of the human faculties. When feeding upon such thoughts the ‘wing of the soul’ is renewed and gains strength; she is raised above ‘the manikins of earth’ and their opinions, waiting in wonder to know, and working with reverence to find out what God in this or in another life may reveal to her.

ON THE DECLINE OF GREEK LITERATURE.

One of the main purposes of Plato in the Phaedrus is to satirize Rhetoric, or rather the Professors of Rhetoric who swarmed at Athens in the fourth century before Christ. As in the opening of the Dialogue he ridicules the interpreters of mythology; as in the Protagoras he mocks at the Sophists; as in the Euthydemus he makes fun of the word-splitting Eristics; as in the Cratylus he ridicules the fancies of Etymologers; as in the Meno and Gorgias and some other dialogues he makes reflections and casts sly imputation upon the higher classes at Athens; so in the Phaedrus, chiefly in the latter part, he aims his shafts at the rhetoricians. The profession of rhetoric was the greatest and most popular in Athens, necessary ‘to a man’s salvation,’ or at any rate to his attainment of wealth or power; but Plato finds nothing wholesome or genuine in the purpose of it. It is a veritable ‘sham,’ having no relation to fact, or to truth of any kind. It is antipathetic to him not only as a philosopher, but also as a great writer. He cannot abide the tricks of the rhetoricians, or the pedantries and mannerisms which they introduce into speech and writing. He sees clearly how far removed they are from the ways of simplicity and truth, and how ignorant of the very elements of the art which they are professing to teach. The thing which is most necessary of all, the knowledge of human nature, is hardly if at all considered by them. The true rules of composition, which are very few, are not to be found in their voluminous systems. Their pretentiousness, their omniscience, their large fortunes, their impatience of argument, their indifference to first principles, their stupidity, their progresses through Hellas accompanied by a troop of their disciples — these things were very distasteful to Plato, who esteemed genius far above art, and was quite sensible of the interval which separated them (Phaedrus). It is the interval which separates Sophists and rhetoricians from ancient famous men and women such as Homer and Hesiod, Anacreon and Sappho, Aeschylus and Sophocles; and the Platonic Socrates is afraid that, if he approves the former, he will be disowned by the latter. The spirit of rhetoric was soon to overspread all Hellas; and Plato with prophetic insight may have seen, from afar, the great literary waste or dead level, or interminable marsh, in which Greek literature was soon to disappear. A similar vision of the decline of the Greek drama and of the contrast of the old literature and the new was present to the mind of Aristophanes after the death of the three great tragedians (Frogs). After about a hundred, or at most two hundred years if we exclude Homer, the genius of Hellas had ceased to flower or blossom. The dreary waste which follows, beginning with the Alexandrian writers and even before them in the platitudes of Isocrates and his school, spreads over much more than a thousand years. And from this decline the Greek language and literature, unlike the Latin, which has come to life in new forms and been developed into the great European languages, never recovered.

This monotony of literature, without merit, without genius and without character, is a phenomenon which deserves more attention than it has hitherto received; it is a phenomenon unique in the literary history of the world. How could there have been so much cultivation, so much diligence in writing, and so little mind or real creative power? Why did a thousand years invent nothing better than Sibylline books, Orphic poems, Byzantine imitations of classical histories, Christian reproductions of Greek plays, novels like the silly and obscene romances of Longus and Heliodorus, innumerable forged epistles, a great many epigrams, biographies of the meanest and most meagre description, a sham philosophy which was the bastard progeny of the union between Hellas and the East? Only in Plutarch, in Lucian, in Longinus, in the Roman emperors Marcus Aurelius and Julian, in some of the Christian fathers are there any traces of good sense or originality, or any power of arousing the interest of later ages. And when new books ceased to be written, why did hosts of grammarians and interpreters flock in, who never attain to any sound notion either of grammar or interpretation? Why did the physical sciences never arrive at any true knowledge or make any real progress? Why did poetry droop and languish? Why did history degenerate into fable? Why did words lose their power of expression? Why were ages of external greatness and magnificence attended by all the signs of decay in the human mind which are possible?

To these questions many answers may be given, which if not the true causes, are at least to be reckoned among the symptoms of the decline. There is the want of method in physical science, the want of criticism in history, the want of simplicity or delicacy in poetry, the want of political freedom, which is the true atmosphere of public speaking, in oratory. The ways of life were luxurious and commonplace. Philosophy had become extravagant, eclectic, abstract, devoid of any real content. At length it ceased to exist. It had spread words like plaster over the whole field of knowledge. It had grown ascetic on one side, mystical on the other. Neither of these tendencies was favourable to literature. There was no sense of beauty either in language or in art. The Greek world became vacant, barbaric, oriental. No one had anything new to say, or any conviction of truth. The age had no remembrance of the past, no power of understanding what other ages thought and felt. The Catholic faith had degenerated into dogma and controversy. For more than a thousand years not a single writer of first-rate, or even of second-rate, reputation has a place in the innumerable rolls of Greek literature.

If we seek to go deeper, we can still only describe the outward nature of the clouds or darkness which were spread over the heavens during so many ages without relief or light. We may say that this, like several other long periods in the history of the human race, was destitute, or deprived of the moral qualities which are the root of literary excellence. It had no life or aspiration, no national or political force, no desire for consistency, no love of knowledge for its own sake. It did not attempt to pierce the mists which surrounded it. It did not propose to itself to go forward and scale the heights of knowledge, but to go backwards and seek at the beginning what can only be found towards the end. It was lost in doubt and ignorance. It rested upon tradition and authority. It had none of the higher play of fancy which creates poetry; and where there is no true poetry, neither can there be any good prose. It had no great characters, and therefore it had no great writers. It was incapable of distinguishing between words and things. It was so hopelessly below the ancient standard of classical Greek art and literature that it had no power of understanding or of valuing them. It is doubtful whether any Greek author was justly appreciated in antiquity except by his own contemporaries; and this neglect of the great authors of the past led to the disappearance of the larger part of them, while the Greek fathers were mostly preserved. There is no reason to suppose that, in the century before the taking of Constantinople, much more was in existence than the scholars of the Renaissance carried away with them to Italy.

The character of Greek literature sank lower as time went on. It consisted more and more of compilations, of scholia, of extracts, of commentaries, forgeries, imitations. The commentator or interpreter had no conception of his author as a whole, and very little of the context of any passage which he was explaining. The least things were preferred by him to the greatest. The question of a reading, or a grammatical form, or an accent, or the uses of a word, took the place of the aim or subject of the book. He had no sense of the beauties of an author, and very little light is thrown by him on real difficulties. He interprets past ages by his own. The greatest classical writers are the least appreciated by him. This seems to be the reason why so many of them have perished, why the lyric poets have almost wholly disappeared; why, out of the eighty or ninety tragedies of Aeschylus and Sophocles, only seven of each had been preserved.

Such an age of sciolism and scholasticism may possibly once more get the better of the literary world. There are those who prophesy that the signs of such a day are again appearing among us, and that at the end of the present century no writer of the first class will be still alive. They think that the Muse of Literature may transfer herself to other countries less dried up or worn out than our own. They seem to see the withering effect of criticism on original genius. No one can doubt that such a decay or decline of literature and of art seriously affects the manners and character of a nation. It takes away half the joys and refinements of life; it increases its dulness and grossness. Hence it becomes a matter of great interest to consider how, if at all, such a degeneracy may be averted. Is there any elixir which can restore life and youth to the literature of a nation, or at any rate which can prevent it becoming unmanned and enfeebled?

First there is the progress of education. It is possible, and even probable, that the extension of the means of knowledge over a wider area and to persons living under new conditions may lead to many new combinations of thought and language. But, as yet, experience does not favour the realization of such a hope or promise. It may be truly answered that at present the training of teachers and the methods of education are very imperfect, and therefore that we cannot judge of the future by the present. When more of our youth are trained in the best literatures, and in the best parts of them, their minds may be expected to have a larger growth. They will have more interests, more thoughts, more material for conversation; they will have a higher standard and begin to think for themselves. The number of persons who will have the opportunity of receiving the highest education through the cheap press, and by the help of high schools and colleges, may increase tenfold. It is likely that in every thousand persons there is at least one who is far above the average in natural capacity, but the seed which is in him dies for want of cultivation. It has never had any stimulus to grow, or any field in which to blossom and produce fruit. Here is a great reservoir or treasure-house of human intelligence out of which new waters may flow and cover the earth. If at any time the great men of the world should die out, and originality or genius appear to suffer a partial eclipse, there is a boundless hope in the multitude of intelligences for future generations. They may bring gifts to men such as the world has never received before. They may begin at a higher point and yet take with them all the results of the past. The co-operation of many may have effects not less striking, though different in character from those which the creative genius of a single man, such as Bacon or Newton, formerly produced. There is also great hope to be derived, not merely from the extension of education over a wider area, but from the continuance of it during many generations. Educated parents will have children fit to receive education; and these again will grow up under circumstances far more favourable to the growth of intelligence than any which have hitherto existed in our own or in former ages.

Even if we were to suppose no more men of genius to be produced, the great writers of ancient or of modern times will remain to furnish abundant materials of education to the coming generation. Now that every nation holds communication with every other, we may truly say in a fuller sense than formerly that ‘the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.’ They will not be ‘cribbed, cabined, and confined’ within a province or an island. The East will provide elements of culture to the West as well as the West to the East. The religions and literatures of the world will be open books, which he who wills may read. The human race may not be always ground down by bodily toil, but may have greater leisure for the improvement of the mind. The increasing sense of the greatness and infinity of nature will tend to awaken in men larger and more liberal thoughts. The love of mankind may be the source of a greater development of literature than nationality has ever been. There may be a greater freedom from prejudice and party; we may better understand the whereabouts of truth, and therefore there may be more success and fewer failures in the search for it. Lastly, in the coming ages we shall carry with us the recollection of the past, in which are necessarily contained many seeds of revival and renaissance in the future. So far is the world from becoming exhausted, so groundless is the fear that literature will ever die out.

PHAEDRUS

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, Phaedrus.

SCENE: Under a plane-tree, by the banks of the Ilissus.

SOCRATES: My dear Phaedrus, whence come you, and whither are you going?

PHAEDRUS: I come from Lysias the son of Cephalus, and I am going to take a walk outside the wall, for I have been sitting with him the whole morning; and our common friend Acumenus tells me that it is much more refreshing to walk in the open air than to be shut up in a cloister.

SOCRATES: There he is right. Lysias then, I suppose, was in the town?

PHAEDRUS: Yes, he was staying with Epicrates, here at the house of Morychus; that house which is near the temple of Olympian Zeus.

SOCRATES: And how did he entertain you? Can I be wrong in supposing that Lysias gave you a feast of discourse?

PHAEDRUS: You shall hear, if you can spare time to accompany me.

SOCRATES: And should I not deem the conversation of you and Lysias ‘a thing of higher import,’ as I may say in the words of Pindar, ‘than any business’?

PHAEDRUS: Will you go on?

SOCRATES: And will you go on with the narration?

PHAEDRUS: My tale, Socrates, is one of your sort, for love was the theme which occupied us — love after a fashion: Lysias has been writing about a fair youth who was being tempted, but not by a lover; and this was the point: he ingeniously proved that the non-lover should be accepted rather than the lover.

SOCRATES: O that is noble of him! I wish that he would say the poor man rather than the rich, and the old man rather than the young one; — then he would meet the case of me and of many a man; his words would be quite refreshing, and he would be a public benefactor. For my part, I do so long to hear his speech, that if you walk all the way to Megara, and when you have reached the wall come back, as Herodicus recommends, without going in, I will keep you company.

PHAEDRUS: What do you mean, my good Socrates? How can you imagine that my unpractised memory can do justice to an elaborate work, which the greatest rhetorician of the age spent a long time in composing. Indeed, I cannot; I would give a great deal if I could.

SOCRATES: I believe that I know Phaedrus about as well as I know myself, and I am very sure that the speech of Lysias was repeated to him, not once only, but again and again; — he insisted on hearing it many times over and Lysias was very willing to gratify him; at last, when nothing else would do, he got hold of the book, and looked at what he most wanted to see, — this occupied him during the whole morning; — and then when he was tired with sitting, he went out to take a walk, not until, by the dog, as I believe, he had simply learned by heart the entire discourse, unless it was unusually long, and he went to a place outside the wall that he might practise his lesson. There he saw a certain lover of discourse who had a similar weakness; — he saw and rejoiced; now thought he, ‘I shall have a partner in my revels.’ And he invited him to come and walk with him. But when the lover of discourse begged that he would repeat the tale, he gave himself airs and said, ‘No I cannot,’ as if he were indisposed; although, if the hearer had refused, he would sooner or later have been compelled by him to listen whether he would or no. Therefore, Phaedrus, bid him do at once what he will soon do whether bidden or not.

PHAEDRUS: I see that you will not let me off until I speak in some fashion or other; verily therefore my best plan is to speak as I best can.

SOCRATES: A very true remark, that of yours.

PHAEDRUS: I will do as I say; but believe me, Socrates, I did not learn the very words — O no; nevertheless I have a general notion of what he said, and will give you a summary of the points in which the lover differed from the non-lover. Let me begin at the beginning.

SOCRATES: Yes, my sweet one; but you must first of all show what you have in your left hand under your cloak, for that roll, as I suspect, is the actual discourse. Now, much as I love you, I would not have you suppose that I am going to have your memory exercised at my expense, if you have Lysias himself here.

PHAEDRUS: Enough; I see that I have no hope of practising my art upon you. But if I am to read, where would you please to sit?

SOCRATES: Let us turn aside and go by the Ilissus; we will sit down at some quiet spot.

PHAEDRUS: I am fortunate in not having my sandals, and as you never have any, I think that we may go along the brook and cool our feet in the water; this will be the easiest way, and at midday and in the summer is far from being unpleasant.

SOCRATES: Lead on, and look out for a place in which we can sit down.

PHAEDRUS: Do you see the tallest plane-tree in the distance?

SOCRATES: Yes.

PHAEDRUS: There are shade and gentle breezes, and grass on which we may either sit or lie down.

SOCRATES: Move forward.

PHAEDRUS: I should like to know, Socrates, whether the place is not somewhere here at which Boreas is said to have carried off Orithyia from the banks of the Ilissus?

SOCRATES: Such is the tradition.

PHAEDRUS: And is this the exact spot? The little stream is delightfully clear and bright; I can fancy that there might be maidens playing near.

SOCRATES: I believe that the spot is not exactly here, but about a quarter of a mile lower down, where you cross to the temple of Artemis, and there is, I think, some sort of an altar of Boreas at the place.

PHAEDRUS: I have never noticed it; but I beseech you to tell me, Socrates, do you believe this tale?

SOCRATES: The wise are doubtful, and I should not be singular if, like them, I too doubted. I might have a rational explanation that Orithyia was playing with Pharmacia, when a northern gust carried her over the neighbouring rocks; and this being the manner of her death, she was said to have been carried away by Boreas. There is a discrepancy, however, about the locality; according to another version of the story she was taken from Areopagus, and not from this place. Now I quite acknowledge that these allegories are very nice, but he is not to be envied who has to invent them; much labour and ingenuity will be required of him; and when he has once begun, he must go on and rehabilitate Hippocentaurs and chimeras dire. Gorgons and winged steeds flow in apace, and numberless other inconceivable and portentous natures. And if he is sceptical about them, and would fain reduce them one after another to the rules of probability, this sort of crude philosophy will take up a great deal of time. Now I have no leisure for such enquiries; shall I tell you why? I must first know myself, as the Delphian inscription says; to be curious about that which is not my concern, while I am still in ignorance of my own self, would be ridiculous. And therefore I bid farewell to all this; the common opinion is enough for me. For, as I was saying, I want to know not about this, but about myself: am I a monster more complicated and swollen with passion than the serpent Typho, or a creature of a gentler and simpler sort, to whom Nature has given a diviner and lowlier destiny? But let me ask you, friend: have we not reached the plane-tree to which you were conducting us?

PHAEDRUS: Yes, this is the tree.

SOCRATES: By Here, a fair resting-place, full of summer sounds and scents. Here is this lofty and spreading plane-tree, and the agnus castus high and clustering, in the fullest blossom and the greatest fragrance; and the stream which flows beneath the plane-tree is deliciously cold to the feet. Judging from the ornaments and images, this must be a spot sacred to Achelous and the Nymphs. How delightful is the breeze: — so very sweet; and there is a sound in the air shrill and summerlike which makes answer to the chorus of the cicadae. But the greatest charm of all is the grass, like a pillow gently sloping to the head. My dear Phaedrus, you have been an admirable guide.

PHAEDRUS: What an incomprehensible being you are, Socrates: when you are in the country, as you say, you really are like some stranger who is led about by a guide. Do you ever cross the border? I rather think that you never venture even outside the gates.

SOCRATES: Very true, my good friend; and I hope that you will excuse me when you hear the reason, which is, that I am a lover of knowledge, and the men who dwell in the city are my teachers, and not the trees or the country. Though I do indeed believe that you have found a spell with which to draw me out of the city into the country, like a hungry cow before whom a bough or a bunch of fruit is waved. For only hold up before me in like manner a book, and you may lead me all round Attica, and over the wide world. And now having arrived, I intend to lie down, and do you choose any posture in which you can read best. Begin.

PHAEDRUS: Listen. You know how matters stand with me; and how, as I conceive, this affair may be arranged for the advantage of both of us. And I maintain that I ought not to fail in my suit, because I am not your lover: for lovers repent of the kindnesses which they have shown when their passion ceases, but to the non-lovers who are free and not under any compulsion, no time of repentance ever comes; for they confer their benefits according to the measure of their ability, in the way which is most conducive to their own interest. Then again, lovers consider how by reason of their love they have neglected their own concerns and rendered service to others: and when to these benefits conferred they add on the troubles which they have endured, they think that they have long ago made to the beloved a very ample return. But the non-lover has no such tormenting recollections; he has never neglected his affairs or quarrelled with his relations; he has no troubles to add up or excuses to invent; and being well rid of all these evils, why should he not freely do what will gratify the beloved? If you say that the lover is more to be esteemed, because his love is thought to be greater; for he is willing to say and do what is hateful to other men, in order to please his beloved; — that, if true, is only a proof that he will prefer any future love to his present, and will injure his old love at the pleasure of the new. And how, in a matter of such infinite importance, can a man be right in trusting himself to one who is afflicted with a malady which no experienced person would attempt to cure, for the patient himself admits that he is not in his right mind, and acknowledges that he is wrong in his mind, but says that he is unable to control himself? And if he came to his right mind, would he ever imagine that the desires were good which he conceived when in his wrong mind? Once more, there are many more non-lovers than lovers; and if you choose the best of the lovers, you will not have many to choose from; but if from the non-lovers, the choice will be larger, and you will be far more likely to find among them a person who is worthy of your friendship. If public opinion be your dread, and you would avoid reproach, in all probability the lover, who is always thinking that other men are as emulous of him as he is of them, will boast to some one of his successes, and make a show of them openly in the pride of his heart; — he wants others to know that his labour has not been lost; but the non-lover is more his own master, and is desirous of solid good, and not of the opinion of mankind. Again, the lover may be generally noted or seen following the beloved (this is his regular occupation), and whenever they are observed to exchange two words they are supposed to meet about some affair of love either past or in contemplation; but when non-lovers meet, no one asks the reason why, because people know that talking to another is natural, whether friendship or mere pleasure be the motive. Once more, if you fear the fickleness of friendship, consider that in any other case a quarrel might be a mutual calamity; but now, when you have given up what is most precious to you, you will be the greater loser, and therefore, you will have more reason in being afraid of the lover, for his vexations are many, and he is always fancying that every one is leagued against him. Wherefore also he debars his beloved from society; he will not have you intimate with the wealthy, lest they should exceed him in wealth, or with men of education, lest they should be his superiors in understanding; and he is equally afraid of anybody’s influence who has any other advantage over himself. If he can persuade you to break with them, you are left without a friend in the world; or if, out of a regard to your own interest, you have more sense than to comply with his desire, you will have to quarrel with him. But those who are non-lovers, and whose success in love is the reward of their merit, will not be jealous of the companions of their beloved, and will rather hate those who refuse to be his associates, thinking that their favourite is slighted by the latter and benefited by the former; for more love than hatred may be expected to come to him out of his friendship with others. Many lovers too have loved the person of a youth before they knew his character or his belongings; so that when their passion has passed away, there is no knowing whether they will continue to be his friends; whereas, in the case of non-lovers who were always friends, the friendship is not lessened by the favours granted; but the recollection of these remains with them, and is an earnest of good things to come.

Further, I say that you are likely to be improved by me, whereas the lover will spoil you. For they praise your words and actions in a wrong way; partly, because they are afraid of offending you, and also, their judgment is weakened by passion. Such are the feats which love exhibits; he makes things painful to the disappointed which give no pain to others; he compels the successful lover to praise what ought not to give him pleasure, and therefore the beloved is to be pitied rather than envied. But if you listen to me, in the first place, I, in my intercourse with you, shall not merely regard present enjoyment, but also future advantage, being not mastered by love, but my own master; nor for small causes taking violent dislikes, but even when the cause is great, slowly laying up little wrath — unintentional offences I shall forgive, and intentional ones I shall try to prevent; and these are the marks of a friendship which will last.

Do you think that a lover only can be a firm friend? reflect: — if this were true, we should set small value on sons, or fathers, or mothers; nor should we ever have loyal friends, for our love of them arises not from passion, but from other associations. Further, if we ought to shower favours on those who are the most eager suitors, — on that principle, we ought always to do good, not to the most virtuous, but to the most needy; for they are the persons who will be most relieved, and will therefore be the most grateful; and when you make a feast you should invite not your friend, but the beggar and the empty soul; for they will love you, and attend you, and come about your doors, and will be the best pleased, and the most grateful, and will invoke many a blessing on your head. Yet surely you ought not to be granting favours to those who besiege you with prayer, but to those who are best able to reward you; nor to the lover only, but to those who are worthy of love; nor to those who will enjoy the bloom of your youth, but to those who will share their possessions with you in age; nor to those who, having succeeded, will glory in their success to others, but to those who will be modest and tell no tales; nor to those who care about you for a moment only, but to those who will continue your friends through life; nor to those who, when their passion is over, will pick a quarrel with you, but rather to those who, when the charm of youth has left you, will show their own virtue. Remember what I have said; and consider yet this further point: friends admonish the lover under the idea that his way of life is bad, but no one of his kindred ever yet censured the non-lover, or thought that he was ill-advised about his own interests.

‘Perhaps you will ask me whether I propose that you should indulge every non-lover. To which I reply that not even the lover would advise you to indulge all lovers, for the indiscriminate favour is less esteemed by the rational recipient, and less easily hidden by him who would escape the censure of the world. Now love ought to be for the advantage of both parties, and for the injury of neither.

‘I believe that I have said enough; but if there is anything more which you desire or which in your opinion needs to be supplied, ask and I will answer.’

Now, Socrates, what do you think? Is not the discourse excellent, more especially in the matter of the language?

SOCRATES: Yes, quite admirable; the effect on me was ravishing. And this I owe to you, Phaedrus, for I observed you while reading to be in an ecstasy, and thinking that you are more experienced in these matters than I am, I followed your example, and, like you, my divine darling, I became inspired with a phrenzy.

PHAEDRUS: Indeed, you are pleased to be merry.

SOCRATES: Do you mean that I am not in earnest?

PHAEDRUS: Now don’t talk in that way, Socrates, but let me have your real opinion; I adjure you, by Zeus, the god of friendship, to tell me whether you think that any Hellene could have said more or spoken better on the same subject.

SOCRATES: Well, but are you and I expected to praise the sentiments of the author, or only the clearness, and roundness, and finish, and tournure of the language? As to the first I willingly submit to your better judgment, for I am not worthy to form an opinion, having only attended to the rhetorical manner; and I was doubting whether this could have been defended even by Lysias himself; I thought, though I speak under correction, that he repeated himself two or three times, either from want of words or from want of pains; and also, he appeared to me ostentatiously to exult in showing how well he could say the same thing in two or three ways.

PHAEDRUS: Nonsense, Socrates; what you call repetition was the especial merit of the speech; for he omitted no topic of which the subject rightly allowed, and I do not think that any one could have spoken better or more exhaustively.

SOCRATES: There I cannot go along with you. Ancient sages, men and women, who have spoken and written of these things, would rise up in judgment against me, if out of complaisance I assented to you.

PHAEDRUS: Who are they, and where did you hear anything better than this?

SOCRATES: I am sure that I must have heard; but at this moment I do not remember from whom; perhaps from Sappho the fair, or Anacreon the wise; or, possibly, from a prose writer. Why do I say so? Why, because I perceive that my bosom is full, and that I could make another speech as good as that of Lysias, and different. Now I am certain that this is not an invention of my own, who am well aware that I know nothing, and therefore I can only infer that I have been filled through the ears, like a pitcher, from the waters of another, though I have actually forgotten in my stupidity who was my informant.

PHAEDRUS: That is grand: — but never mind where you heard the discourse or from whom; let that be a mystery not to be divulged even at my earnest desire. Only, as you say, promise to make another and better oration, equal in length and entirely new, on the same subject; and I, like the nine Archons, will promise to set up a golden image at Delphi, not only of myself, but of you, and as large as life.

SOCRATES: You are a dear golden ass if you suppose me to mean that Lysias has altogether missed the mark, and that I can make a speech from which all his arguments are to be excluded. The worst of authors will say something which is to the point. Who, for example, could speak on this thesis of yours without praising the discretion of the non-lover and blaming the indiscretion of the lover? These are the commonplaces of the subject which must come in (for what else is there to be said?) and must be allowed and excused; the only merit is in the arrangement of them, for there can be none in the invention; but when you leave the commonplaces, then there may be some originality.

PHAEDRUS: I admit that there is reason in what you say, and I too will be reasonable, and will allow you to start with the premiss that the lover is more disordered in his wits than the non-lover; if in what remains you make a longer and better speech than Lysias, and use other arguments, then I say again, that a statue you shall have of beaten gold, and take your place by the colossal offerings of the Cypselids at Olympia.

SOCRATES: How profoundly in earnest is the lover, because to tease him I lay a finger upon his love! And so, Phaedrus, you really imagine that I am going to improve upon the ingenuity of Lysias?

PHAEDRUS: There I have you as you had me, and you must just speak ‘as you best can.’ Do not let us exchange ‘tu quoque’ as in a farce, or compel me to say to you as you said to me, ‘I know Socrates as well as I know myself, and he was wanting to speak, but he gave himself airs.’ Rather I would have you consider that from this place we stir not until you have unbosomed yourself of the speech; for here are we all alone, and I am stronger, remember, and younger than you: — Wherefore perpend, and do not compel me to use violence.

SOCRATES: But, my sweet Phaedrus, how ridiculous it would be of me to compete with Lysias in an extempore speech! He is a master in his art and I am an untaught man.

PHAEDRUS: You see how matters stand; and therefore let there be no more pretences; for, indeed, I know the word that is irresistible.

SOCRATES: Then don’t say it.

PHAEDRUS: Yes, but I will; and my word shall be an oath. ‘I say, or rather swear’ — but what god will be witness of my oath?— ‘By this plane-tree I swear, that unless you repeat the discourse here in the face of this very plane-tree, I will never tell you another; never let you have word of another!’

SOCRATES: Villain! I am conquered; the poor lover of discourse has no more to say.

PHAEDRUS: Then why are you still at your tricks?

SOCRATES: I am not going to play tricks now that you have taken the oath, for I cannot allow myself to be starved.

PHAEDRUS: Proceed.

SOCRATES: Shall I tell you what I will do?

PHAEDRUS: What?

SOCRATES: I will veil my face and gallop through the discourse as fast as I can, for if I see you I shall feel ashamed and not know what to say.

PHAEDRUS: Only go on and you may do anything else which you please.

SOCRATES: Come, O ye Muses, melodious, as ye are called, whether you have received this name from the character of your strains, or because the Melians are a musical race, help, O help me in the tale which my good friend here desires me to rehearse, in order that his friend whom he always deemed wise may seem to him to be wiser than ever.

Once upon a time there was a fair boy, or, more properly speaking, a youth; he was very fair and had a great many lovers; and there was one special cunning one, who had persuaded the youth that he did not love him, but he really loved him all the same; and one day when he was paying his addresses to him, he used this very argument — that he ought to accept the non-lover rather than the lover; his words were as follows: —

‘All good counsel begins in the same way; a man should know what he is advising about, or his counsel will all come to nought. But people imagine that they know about the nature of things, when they don’t know about them, and, not having come to an understanding at first because they think that they know, they end, as might be expected, in contradicting one another and themselves. Now you and I must not be guilty of this fundamental error which we condemn in others; but as our question is whether the lover or non-lover is to be preferred, let us first of all agree in defining the nature and power of love, and then, keeping our eyes upon the definition and to this appealing, let us further enquire whether love brings advantage or disadvantage.

‘Every one sees that love is a desire, and we know also that non-lovers desire the beautiful and good. Now in what way is the lover to be distinguished from the non-lover? Let us note that in every one of us there are two guiding and ruling principles which lead us whither they will; one is the natural desire of pleasure, the other is an acquired opinion which aspires after the best; and these two are sometimes in harmony and then again at war, and sometimes the one, sometimes the other conquers. When opinion by the help of reason leads us to the best, the conquering principle is called temperance; but when desire, which is devoid of reason, rules in us and drags us to pleasure, that power of misrule is called excess. Now excess has many names, and many members, and many forms, and any of these forms when very marked gives a name, neither honourable nor creditable, to the bearer of the name. The desire of eating, for example, which gets the better of the higher reason and the other desires, is called gluttony, and he who is possessed by it is called a glutton; the tyrannical desire of drink, which inclines the possessor of the desire to drink, has a name which is only too obvious, and there can be as little doubt by what name any other appetite of the same family would be called; — it will be the name of that which happens to be dominant. And now I think that you will perceive the drift of my discourse; but as every spoken word is in a manner plainer than the unspoken, I had better say further that the irrational desire which overcomes the tendency of opinion towards right, and is led away to the enjoyment of beauty, and especially of personal beauty, by the desires which are her own kindred — that supreme desire, I say, which by leading conquers and by the force of passion is reinforced, from this very force, receiving a name, is called love (erromenos eros).’

And now, dear Phaedrus, I shall pause for an instant to ask whether you do not think me, as I appear to myself, inspired?

PHAEDRUS: Yes, Socrates, you seem to have a very unusual flow of words.

SOCRATES: Listen to me, then, in silence; for surely the place is holy; so that you must not wonder, if, as I proceed, I appear to be in a divine fury, for already I am getting into dithyrambics.

PHAEDRUS: Nothing can be truer.

SOCRATES: The responsibility rests with you. But hear what follows, and perhaps the fit may be averted; all is in their hands above. I will go on talking to my youth. Listen: —

Thus, my friend, we have declared and defined the nature of the subject. Keeping the definition in view, let us now enquire what advantage or disadvantage is likely to ensue from the lover or the non-lover to him who accepts their advances.

He who is the victim of his passions and the slave of pleasure will of course desire to make his beloved as agreeable to himself as possible. Now to him who has a mind diseased anything is agreeable which is not opposed to him, but that which is equal or superior is hateful to him, and therefore the lover will not brook any superiority or equality on the part of his beloved; he is always employed in reducing him to inferiority. And the ignorant is the inferior of the wise, the coward of the brave, the slow of speech of the speaker, the dull of the clever. These, and not these only, are the mental defects of the beloved; — defects which, when implanted by nature, are necessarily a delight to the lover, and when not implanted, he must contrive to implant them in him, if he would not be deprived of his fleeting joy. And therefore he cannot help being jealous, and will debar his beloved from the advantages of society which would make a man of him, and especially from that society which would have given him wisdom, and thereby he cannot fail to do him great harm. That is to say, in his excessive fear lest he should come to be despised in his eyes he will be compelled to banish from him divine philosophy; and there is no greater injury which he can inflict upon him than this. He will contrive that his beloved shall be wholly ignorant, and in everything shall look to him; he is to be the delight of the lover’s heart, and a curse to himself. Verily, a lover is a profitable guardian and associate for him in all that relates to his mind.

Let us next see how his master, whose law of life is pleasure and not good, will keep and train the body of his servant. Will he not choose a beloved who is delicate rather than sturdy and strong? One brought up in shady bowers and not in the bright sun, a stranger to manly exercises and the sweat of toil, accustomed only to a soft and luxurious diet, instead of the hues of health having the colours of paint and ornament, and the rest of a piece? — such a life as any one can imagine and which I need not detail at length. But I may sum up all that I have to say in a word, and pass on. Such a person in war, or in any of the great crises of life, will be the anxiety of his friends and also of his lover, and certainly not the terror of his enemies; which nobody can deny.

And now let us tell what advantage or disadvantage the beloved will receive from the guardianship and society of his lover in the matter of his property; this is the next point to be considered. The lover will be the first to see what, indeed, will be sufficiently evident to all men, that he desires above all things to deprive his beloved of his dearest and best and holiest possessions, father, mother, kindred, friends, of all whom he thinks may be hinderers or reprovers of their most sweet converse; he will even cast a jealous eye upon his gold and silver or other property, because these make him a less easy prey, and when caught less manageable; hence he is of necessity displeased at his possession of them and rejoices at their loss; and he would like him to be wifeless, childless, homeless, as well; and the longer the better, for the longer he is all this, the longer he will enjoy him.

There are some sort of animals, such as flatterers, who are dangerous and mischievous enough, and yet nature has mingled a temporary pleasure and grace in their composition. You may say that a courtesan is hurtful, and disapprove of such creatures and their practices, and yet for the time they are very pleasant. But the lover is not only hurtful to his love; he is also an extremely disagreeable companion. The old proverb says that ‘birds of a feather flock together’; I suppose that equality of years inclines them to the same pleasures, and similarity begets friendship; yet you may have more than enough even of this; and verily constraint is always said to be grievous. Now the lover is not only unlike his beloved, but he forces himself upon him. For he is old and his love is young, and neither day nor night will he leave him if he can help; necessity and the sting of desire drive him on, and allure him with the pleasure which he receives from seeing, hearing, touching, perceiving him in every way. And therefore he is delighted to fasten upon him and to minister to him. But what pleasure or consolation can the beloved be receiving all this time? Must he not feel the extremity of disgust when he looks at an old shrivelled face and the remainder to match, which even in a description is disagreeable, and quite detestable when he is forced into daily contact with his lover; moreover he is jealously watched and guarded against everything and everybody, and has to hear misplaced and exaggerated praises of himself, and censures equally inappropriate, which are intolerable when the man is sober, and, besides being intolerable, are published all over the world in all their indelicacy and wearisomeness when he is drunk.

And not only while his love continues is he mischievous and unpleasant, but when his love ceases he becomes a perfidious enemy of him on whom he showered his oaths and prayers and promises, and yet could hardly prevail upon him to tolerate the tedium of his company even from motives of interest. The hour of payment arrives, and now he is the servant of another master; instead of love and infatuation, wisdom and temperance are his bosom’s lords; but the beloved has not discovered the change which has taken place in him, when he asks for a return and recalls to his recollection former sayings and doings; he believes himself to be speaking to the same person, and the other, not having the courage to confess the truth, and not knowing how to fulfil the oaths and promises which he made when under the dominion of folly, and having now grown wise and temperate, does not want to do as he did or to be as he was before. And so he runs away and is constrained to be a defaulter; the oyster-shell (In allusion to a game in which two parties fled or pursued according as an oyster-shell which was thrown into the air fell with the dark or light side uppermost.) has fallen with the other side uppermost — he changes pursuit into flight, while the other is compelled to follow him with passion and imprecation, not knowing that he ought never from the first to have accepted a demented lover instead of a sensible non-lover; and that in making such a choice he was giving himself up to a faithless, morose, envious, disagreeable being, hurtful to his estate, hurtful to his bodily health, and still more hurtful to the cultivation of his mind, than which there neither is nor ever will be anything more honoured in the eyes both of gods and men. Consider this, fair youth, and know that in the friendship of the lover there is no real kindness; he has an appetite and wants to feed upon you:

‘As wolves love lambs so lovers love their loves.’

But I told you so, I am speaking in verse, and therefore I had better make an end; enough.

PHAEDRUS: I thought that you were only half-way and were going to make a similar speech about all the advantages of accepting the non-lover. Why do you not proceed?

SOCRATES: Does not your simplicity observe that I have got out of dithyrambics into heroics, when only uttering a censure on the lover? And if I am to add the praises of the non-lover what will become of me? Do you not perceive that I am already overtaken by the Nymphs to whom you have mischievously exposed me? And therefore I will only add that the non-lover has all the advantages in which the lover is accused of being deficient. And now I will say no more; there has been enough of both of them. Leaving the tale to its fate, I will cross the river and make the best of my way home, lest a worse thing be inflicted upon me by you.

PHAEDRUS: Not yet, Socrates; not until the heat of the day has passed; do you not see that the hour is almost noon? there is the midday sun standing still, as people say, in the meridian. Let us rather stay and talk over what has been said, and then return in the cool.

SOCRATES: Your love of discourse, Phaedrus, is superhuman, simply marvellous, and I do not believe that there is any one of your contemporaries who has either made or in one way or another has compelled others to make an equal number of speeches. I would except Simmias the Theban, but all the rest are far behind you. And now I do verily believe that you have been the cause of another.

PHAEDRUS: That is good news. But what do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean to say that as I was about to cross the stream the usual sign was given to me, — that sign which always forbids, but never bids, me to do anything which I am going to do; and I thought that I heard a voice saying in my ear that I had been guilty of impiety, and that I must not go away until I had made an atonement. Now I am a diviner, though not a very good one, but I have enough religion for my own use, as you might say of a bad writer — his writing is good enough for him; and I am beginning to see that I was in error. O my friend, how prophetic is the human soul! At the time I had a sort of misgiving, and, like Ibycus, ‘I was troubled; I feared that I might be buying honour from men at the price of sinning against the gods.’ Now I recognize my error.

PHAEDRUS: What error?

SOCRATES: That was a dreadful speech which you brought with you, and you made me utter one as bad.

PHAEDRUS: How so?

SOCRATES: It was foolish, I say, — to a certain extent, impious; can anything be more dreadful?

PHAEDRUS: Nothing, if the speech was really such as you describe.

SOCRATES: Well, and is not Eros the son of Aphrodite, and a god?

PHAEDRUS: So men say.

SOCRATES: But that was not acknowledged by Lysias in his speech, nor by you in that other speech which you by a charm drew from my lips. For if love be, as he surely is, a divinity, he cannot be evil. Yet this was the error of both the speeches. There was also a simplicity about them which was refreshing; having no truth or honesty in them, nevertheless they pretended to be something, hoping to succeed in deceiving the manikins of earth and gain celebrity among them. Wherefore I must have a purgation. And I bethink me of an ancient purgation of mythological error which was devised, not by Homer, for he never had the wit to discover why he was blind, but by Stesichorus, who was a philosopher and knew the reason why; and therefore, when he lost his eyes, for that was the penalty which was inflicted upon him for reviling the lovely Helen, he at once purged himself. And the purgation was a recantation, which began thus, —

‘False is that word of mine — the truth is that thou didst not embark in

ships, nor ever go to the walls of Troy;’

and when he had completed his poem, which is called ‘the recantation,’ immediately his sight returned to him. Now I will be wiser than either Stesichorus or Homer, in that I am going to make my recantation for reviling love before I suffer; and this I will attempt, not as before, veiled and ashamed, but with forehead bold and bare.

PHAEDRUS: Nothing could be more agreeable to me than to hear you say so.

SOCRATES: Only think, my good Phaedrus, what an utter want of delicacy was shown in the two discourses; I mean, in my own and in that which you recited out of the book. Would not any one who was himself of a noble and gentle nature, and who loved or ever had loved a nature like his own, when we tell of the petty causes of lovers’ jealousies, and of their exceeding animosities, and of the injuries which they do to their beloved, have imagined that our ideas of love were taken from some haunt of sailors to which good manners were unknown — he would certainly never have admitted the justice of our censure?

PHAEDRUS: I dare say not, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Therefore, because I blush at the thought of this person, and also because I am afraid of Love himself, I desire to wash the brine out of my ears with water from the spring; and I would counsel Lysias not to delay, but to write another discourse, which shall prove that ‘ceteris paribus’ the lover ought to be accepted rather than the non-lover.

PHAEDRUS: Be assured that he shall. You shall speak the praises of the lover, and Lysias shall be compelled by me to write another discourse on the same theme.

SOCRATES: You will be true to your nature in that, and therefore I believe you.

PHAEDRUS: Speak, and fear not.

SOCRATES: But where is the fair youth whom I was addressing before, and who ought to listen now; lest, if he hear me not, he should accept a non-lover before he knows what he is doing?

PHAEDRUS: He is close at hand, and always at your service.

SOCRATES: Know then, fair youth, that the former discourse was the word of Phaedrus, the son of Vain Man, who dwells in the city of Myrrhina (Myrrhinusius). And this which I am about to utter is the recantation of Stesichorus the son of Godly Man (Euphemus), who comes from the town of Desire (Himera), and is to the following effect: ‘I told a lie when I said’ that the beloved ought to accept the non-lover when he might have the lover, because the one is sane, and the other mad. It might be so if madness were simply an evil; but there is also a madness which is a divine gift, and the source of the chiefest blessings granted to men. For prophecy is a madness, and the prophetess at Delphi and the priestesses at Dodona when out of their senses have conferred great benefits on Hellas, both in public and private life, but when in their senses few or none. And I might also tell you how the Sibyl and other inspired persons have given to many an one many an intimation of the future which has saved them from falling. But it would be tedious to speak of what every one knows.

There will be more reason in appealing to the ancient inventors of names (compare Cratylus), who would never have connected prophecy (mantike) which foretells the future and is the noblest of arts, with madness (manike), or called them both by the same name, if they had deemed madness to be a disgrace or dishonour; — they must have thought that there was an inspired madness which was a noble thing; for the two words, mantike and manike, are really the same, and the letter tau is only a modern and tasteless insertion. And this is confirmed by the name which was given by them to the rational investigation of futurity, whether made by the help of birds or of other signs — this, for as much as it is an art which supplies from the reasoning faculty mind (nous) and information (istoria) to human thought (oiesis) they originally termed oionoistike, but the word has been lately altered and made sonorous by the modern introduction of the letter Omega (oionoistike and oionistike), and in proportion as prophecy (mantike) is more perfect and august than augury, both in name and fact, in the same proportion, as the ancients testify, is madness superior to a sane mind (sophrosune) for the one is only of human, but the other of divine origin. Again, where plagues and mightiest woes have bred in certain families, owing to some ancient blood-guiltiness, there madness has entered with holy prayers and rites, and by inspired utterances found a way of deliverance for those who are in need; and he who has part in this gift, and is truly possessed and duly out of his mind, is by the use of purifications and mysteries made whole and exempt from evil, future as well as present, and has a release from the calamity which was afflicting him. The third kind is the madness of those who are possessed by the Muses; which taking hold of a delicate and virgin soul, and there inspiring frenzy, awakens lyrical and all other numbers; with these adorning the myriad actions of ancient heroes for the instruction of posterity. But he who, having no touch of the Muses’ madness in his soul, comes to the door and thinks that he will get into the temple by the help of art — he, I say, and his poetry are not admitted; the sane man disappears and is nowhere when he enters into rivalry with the madman.

I might tell of many other noble deeds which have sprung from inspired madness. And therefore, let no one frighten or flutter us by saying that the temperate friend is to be chosen rather than the inspired, but let him further show that love is not sent by the gods for any good to lover or beloved; if he can do so we will allow him to carry off the palm. And we, on our part, will prove in answer to him that the madness of love is the greatest of heaven’s blessings, and the proof shall be one which the wise will receive, and the witling disbelieve. But first of all, let us view the affections and actions of the soul divine and human, and try to ascertain the truth about them. The beginning of our proof is as follows: —

(Translated by Cic. Tus. Quaest.) The soul through all her being is immortal, for that which is ever in motion is immortal; but that which moves another and is moved by another, in ceasing to move ceases also to live. Only the self-moving, never leaving self, never ceases to move, and is the fountain and beginning of motion to all that moves besides. Now, the beginning is unbegotten, for that which is begotten has a beginning; but the beginning is begotten of nothing, for if it were begotten of something, then the begotten would not come from a beginning. But if unbegotten, it must also be indestructible; for if beginning were destroyed, there could be no beginning out of anything, nor anything out of a beginning; and all things must have a beginning. And therefore the self-moving is the beginning of motion; and this can neither be destroyed nor begotten, else the whole heavens and all creation would collapse and stand still, and never again have motion or birth. But if the self-moving is proved to be immortal, he who affirms that self-motion is the very idea and essence of the soul will not be put to confusion. For the body which is moved from without is soulless; but that which is moved from within has a soul, for such is the nature of the soul. But if this be true, must not the soul be the self-moving, and therefore of necessity unbegotten and immortal? Enough of the soul’s immortality.

Of the nature of the soul, though her true form be ever a theme of large and more than mortal discourse, let me speak briefly, and in a figure. And let the figure be composite — a pair of winged horses and a charioteer. Now the winged horses and the charioteers of the gods are all of them noble and of noble descent, but those of other races are mixed; the human charioteer drives his in a pair; and one of them is noble and of noble breed, and the other is ignoble and of ignoble breed; and the driving of them of necessity gives a great deal of trouble to him. I will endeavour to explain to you in what way the mortal differs from the immortal creature. The soul in her totality has the care of inanimate being everywhere, and traverses the whole heaven in divers forms appearing — when perfect and fully winged she soars upward, and orders the whole world; whereas the imperfect soul, losing her wings and drooping in her flight at last settles on the solid ground — there, finding a home, she receives an earthly frame which appears to be self-moved, but is really moved by her power; and this composition of soul and body is called a living and mortal creature. For immortal no such union can be reasonably believed to be; although fancy, not having seen nor surely known the nature of God, may imagine an immortal creature having both a body and also a soul which are united throughout all time. Let that, however, be as God wills, and be spoken of acceptably to him. And now let us ask the reason why the soul loses her wings!

The wing is the corporeal element which is most akin to the divine, and which by nature tends to soar aloft and carry that which gravitates downwards into the upper region, which is the habitation of the gods. The divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and the like; and by these the wing of the soul is nourished, and grows apace; but when fed upon evil and foulness and the opposite of good, wastes and falls away. Zeus, the mighty lord, holding the reins of a winged chariot, leads the way in heaven, ordering all and taking care of all; and there follows him the array of gods and demi-gods, marshalled in eleven bands; Hestia alone abides at home in the house of heaven; of the rest they who are reckoned among the princely twelve march in their appointed order. They see many blessed sights in the inner heaven, and there are many ways to and fro, along which the blessed gods are passing, every one doing his own work; he may follow who will and can, for jealousy has no place in the celestial choir. But when they go to banquet and festival, then they move up the steep to the top of the vault of heaven. The chariots of the gods in even poise, obeying the rein, glide rapidly; but the others labour, for the vicious steed goes heavily, weighing down the charioteer to the earth when his steed has not been thoroughly trained: — and this is the hour of agony and extremest conflict for the soul. For the immortals, when they are at the end of their course, go forth and stand upon the outside of heaven, and the revolution of the spheres carries them round, and they behold the things beyond. But of the heaven which is above the heavens, what earthly poet ever did or ever will sing worthily? It is such as I will describe; for I must dare to speak the truth, when truth is my theme. There abides the very being with which true knowledge is concerned; the colourless, formless, intangible essence, visible only to mind, the pilot of the soul. The divine intelligence, being nurtured upon mind and pure knowledge, and the intelligence of every soul which is capable of receiving the food proper to it, rejoices at beholding reality, and once more gazing upon truth, is replenished and made glad, until the revolution of the worlds brings her round again to the same place. In the revolution she beholds justice, and temperance, and knowledge absolute, not in the form of generation or of relation, which men call existence, but knowledge absolute in existence absolute; and beholding the other true existences in like manner, and feasting upon them, she passes down into the interior of the heavens and returns home; and there the charioteer putting up his horses at the stall, gives them ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink.

Such is the life of the gods; but of other souls, that which follows God best and is likest to him lifts the head of the charioteer into the outer world, and is carried round in the revolution, troubled indeed by the steeds, and with difficulty beholding true being; while another only rises and falls, and sees, and again fails to see by reason of the unruliness of the steeds. The rest of the souls are also longing after the upper world and they all follow, but not being strong enough they are carried round below the surface, plunging, treading on one another, each striving to be first; and there is confusion and perspiration and the extremity of effort; and many of them are lamed or have their wings broken through the ill-driving of the charioteers; and all of them after a fruitless toil, not having attained to the mysteries of true being, go away, and feed upon opinion. The reason why the souls exhibit this exceeding eagerness to behold the plain of truth is that pasturage is found there, which is suited to the highest part of the soul; and the wing on which the soul soars is nourished with this. And there is a law of Destiny, that the soul which attains any vision of truth in company with a god is preserved from harm until the next period, and if attaining always is always unharmed. But when she is unable to follow, and fails to behold the truth, and through some ill-hap sinks beneath the double load of forgetfulness and vice, and her wings fall from her and she drops to the ground, then the law ordains that this soul shall at her first birth pass, not into any other animal, but only into man; and the soul which has seen most of truth shall come to the birth as a philosopher, or artist, or some musical and loving nature; that which has seen truth in the second degree shall be some righteous king or warrior chief; the soul which is of the third class shall be a politician, or economist, or trader; the fourth shall be a lover of gymnastic toils, or a physician; the fifth shall lead the life of a prophet or hierophant; to the sixth the character of poet or some other imitative artist will be assigned; to the seventh the life of an artisan or husbandman; to the eighth that of a sophist or demagogue; to the ninth that of a tyrant — all these are states of probation, in which he who does righteously improves, and he who does unrighteously, deteriorates his lot.

Ten thousand years must elapse before the soul of each one can return to the place from whence she came, for she cannot grow her wings in less; only the soul of a philosopher, guileless and true, or the soul of a lover, who is not devoid of philosophy, may acquire wings in the third of the recurring periods of a thousand years; he is distinguished from the ordinary good man who gains wings in three thousand years: — and they who choose this life three times in succession have wings given them, and go away at the end of three thousand years. But the others (The philosopher alone is not subject to judgment (krisis), for he has never lost the vision of truth.) receive judgment when they have completed their first life, and after the judgment they go, some of them to the houses of correction which are under the earth, and are punished; others to some place in heaven whither they are lightly borne by justice, and there they live in a manner worthy of the life which they led here when in the form of men. And at the end of the first thousand years the good souls and also the evil souls both come to draw lots and choose their second life, and they may take any which they please. The soul of a man may pass into the life of a beast, or from the beast return again into the man. But the soul which has never seen the truth will not pass into the human form. For a man must have intelligence of universals, and be able to proceed from the many particulars of sense to one conception of reason; — this is the recollection of those things which our soul once saw while following God — when regardless of that which we now call being she raised her head up towards the true being. And therefore the mind of the philosopher alone has wings; and this is just, for he is always, according to the measure of his abilities, clinging in recollection to those things in which God abides, and in beholding which He is what He is. And he who employs aright these memories is ever being initiated into perfect mysteries and alone becomes truly perfect. But, as he forgets earthly interests and is rapt in the divine, the vulgar deem him mad, and rebuke him; they do not see that he is inspired.

Thus far I have been speaking of the fourth and last kind of madness, which is imputed to him who, when he sees the beauty of earth, is transported with the recollection of the true beauty; he would like to fly away, but he cannot; he is like a bird fluttering and looking upward and careless of the world below; and he is therefore thought to be mad. And I have shown this of all inspirations to be the noblest and highest and the offspring of the highest to him who has or shares in it, and that he who loves the beautiful is called a lover because he partakes of it. For, as has been already said, every soul of man has in the way of nature beheld true being; this was the condition of her passing into the form of man. But all souls do not easily recall the things of the other world; they may have seen them for a short time only, or they may have been unfortunate in their earthly lot, and, having had their hearts turned to unrighteousness through some corrupting influence, they may have lost the memory of the holy things which once they saw. Few only retain an adequate remembrance of them; and they, when they behold here any image of that other world, are rapt in amazement; but they are ignorant of what this rapture means, because they do not clearly perceive. For there is no light of justice or temperance or any of the higher ideas which are precious to souls in the earthly copies of them: they are seen through a glass dimly; and there are few who, going to the images, behold in them the realities, and these only with difficulty. There was a time when with the rest of the happy band they saw beauty shining in brightness, — we philosophers following in the train of Zeus, others in company with other gods; and then we beheld the beatific vision and were initiated into a mystery which may be truly called most blessed, celebrated by us in our state of innocence, before we had any experience of evils to come, when we were admitted to the sight of apparitions innocent and simple and calm and happy, which we beheld shining in pure light, pure ourselves and not yet enshrined in that living tomb which we carry about, now that we are imprisoned in the body, like an oyster in his shell. Let me linger over the memory of scenes which have passed away.

But of beauty, I repeat again that we saw her there shining in company with the celestial forms; and coming to earth we find her here too, shining in clearness through the clearest aperture of sense. For sight is the most piercing of our bodily senses; though not by that is wisdom seen; her loveliness would have been transporting if there had been a visible image of her, and the other ideas, if they had visible counterparts, would be equally lovely. But this is the privilege of beauty, that being the loveliest she is also the most palpable to sight. Now he who is not newly initiated or who has become corrupted, does not easily rise out of this world to the sight of true beauty in the other; he looks only at her earthly namesake, and instead of being awed at the sight of her, he is given over to pleasure, and like a brutish beast he rushes on to enjoy and beget; he consorts with wantonness, and is not afraid or ashamed of pursuing pleasure in violation of nature. But he whose initiation is recent, and who has been the spectator of many glories in the other world, is amazed when he sees any one having a godlike face or form, which is the expression of divine beauty; and at first a shudder runs through him, and again the old awe steals over him; then looking upon the face of his beloved as of a god he reverences him, and if he were not afraid of being thought a downright madman, he would sacrifice to his beloved as to the image of a god; then while he gazes on him there is a sort of reaction, and the shudder passes into an unusual heat and perspiration; for, as he receives the effluence of beauty through the eyes, the wing moistens and he warms. And as he warms, the parts out of which the wing grew, and which had been hitherto closed and rigid, and had prevented the wing from shooting forth, are melted, and as nourishment streams upon him, the lower end of the wing begins to swell and grow from the root upwards; and the growth extends under the whole soul — for once the whole was winged. During this process the whole soul is all in a state of ebullition and effervescence, — which may be compared to the irritation and uneasiness in the gums at the time of cutting teeth, — bubbles up, and has a feeling of uneasiness and tickling; but when in like manner the soul is beginning to grow wings, the beauty of the beloved meets her eye and she receives the sensible warm motion of particles which flow towards her, therefore called emotion (imeros), and is refreshed and warmed by them, and then she ceases from her pain with joy. But when she is parted from her beloved and her moisture fails, then the orifices of the passage out of which the wing shoots dry up and close, and intercept the germ of the wing; which, being shut up with the emotion, throbbing as with the pulsations of an artery, pricks the aperture which is nearest, until at length the entire soul is pierced and maddened and pained, and at the recollection of beauty is again delighted. And from both of them together the soul is oppressed at the strangeness of her condition, and is in a great strait and excitement, and in her madness can neither sleep by night nor abide in her place by day. And wherever she thinks that she will behold the beautiful one, thither in her desire she runs. And when she has seen him, and bathed herself in the waters of beauty, her constraint is loosened, and she is refreshed, and has no more pangs and pains; and this is the sweetest of all pleasures at the time, and is the reason why the soul of the lover will never forsake his beautiful one, whom he esteems above all; he has forgotten mother and brethren and companions, and he thinks nothing of the neglect and loss of his property; the rules and proprieties of life, on which he formerly prided himself, he now despises, and is ready to sleep like a servant, wherever he is allowed, as near as he can to his desired one, who is the object of his worship, and the physician who can alone assuage the greatness of his pain. And this state, my dear imaginary youth to whom I am talking, is by men called love, and among the gods has a name at which you, in your simplicity, may be inclined to mock; there are two lines in the apocryphal writings of Homer in which the name occurs. One of them is rather outrageous, and not altogether metrical. They are as follows:

‘Mortals call him fluttering love, But the immortals call him winged one, Because the growing of wings (Or, reading pterothoiton, ‘the movement of wings.’) is a necessity to him.’

You may believe this, but not unless you like. At any rate the loves of lovers and their causes are such as I have described.

Now the lover who is taken to be the attendant of Zeus is better able to bear the winged god, and can endure a heavier burden; but the attendants and companions of Ares, when under the influence of love, if they fancy that they have been at all wronged, are ready to kill and put an end to themselves and their beloved. And he who follows in the train of any other god, while he is unspoiled and the impression lasts, honours and imitates him, as far as he is able; and after the manner of his God he behaves in his intercourse with his beloved and with the rest of the world during the first period of his earthly existence. Every one chooses his love from the ranks of beauty according to his character, and this he makes his god, and fashions and adorns as a sort of image which he is to fall down and worship. The followers of Zeus desire that their beloved should have a soul like him; and therefore they seek out some one of a philosophical and imperial nature, and when they have found him and loved him, they do all they can to confirm such a nature in him, and if they have no experience of such a disposition hitherto, they learn of any one who can teach them, and themselves follow in the same way. And they have the less difficulty in finding the nature of their own god in themselves, because they have been compelled to gaze intensely on him; their recollection clings to him, and they become possessed of him, and receive from him their character and disposition, so far as man can participate in God. The qualities of their god they attribute to the beloved, wherefore they love him all the more, and if, like the Bacchic Nymphs, they draw inspiration from Zeus, they pour out their own fountain upon him, wanting to make him as like as possible to their own god. But those who are the followers of Here seek a royal love, and when they have found him they do just the same with him; and in like manner the followers of Apollo, and of every other god walking in the ways of their god, seek a love who is to be made like him whom they serve, and when they have found him, they themselves imitate their god, and persuade their love to do the same, and educate him into the manner and nature of the god as far as they each can; for no feelings of envy or jealousy are entertained by them towards their beloved, but they do their utmost to create in him the greatest likeness of themselves and of the god whom they honour. Thus fair and blissful to the beloved is the desire of the inspired lover, and the initiation of which I speak into the mysteries of true love, if he be captured by the lover and their purpose is effected. Now the beloved is taken captive in the following manner: —

As I said at the beginning of this tale, I divided each soul into three — two horses and a charioteer; and one of the horses was good and the other bad: the division may remain, but I have not yet explained in what the goodness or badness of either consists, and to that I will now proceed. The right-hand horse is upright and cleanly made; he has a lofty neck and an aquiline nose; his colour is white, and his eyes dark; he is a lover of honour and modesty and temperance, and the follower of true glory; he needs no touch of the whip, but is guided by word and admonition only. The other is a crooked lumbering animal, put together anyhow; he has a short thick neck; he is flat-faced and of a dark colour, with grey eyes and blood-red complexion (Or with grey and blood-shot eyes.); the mate of insolence and pride, shag-eared and deaf, hardly yielding to whip and spur. Now when the charioteer beholds the vision of love, and has his whole soul warmed through sense, and is full of the prickings and ticklings of desire, the obedient steed, then as always under the government of shame, refrains from leaping on the beloved; but the other, heedless of the pricks and of the blows of the whip, plunges and runs away, giving all manner of trouble to his companion and the charioteer, whom he forces to approach the beloved and to remember the joys of love. They at first indignantly oppose him and will not be urged on to do terrible and unlawful deeds; but at last, when he persists in plaguing them, they yield and agree to do as he bids them. And now they are at the spot and behold the flashing beauty of the beloved; which when the charioteer sees, his memory is carried to the true beauty, whom he beholds in company with Modesty like an image placed upon a holy pedestal. He sees her, but he is afraid and falls backwards in adoration, and by his fall is compelled to pull back the reins with such violence as to bring both the steeds on their haunches, the one willing and unresisting, the unruly one very unwilling; and when they have gone back a little, the one is overcome with shame and wonder, and his whole soul is bathed in perspiration; the other, when the pain is over which the bridle and the fall had given him, having with difficulty taken breath, is full of wrath and reproaches, which he heaps upon the charioteer and his fellow-steed, for want of courage and manhood, declaring that they have been false to their agreement and guilty of desertion. Again they refuse, and again he urges them on, and will scarce yield to their prayer that he would wait until another time. When the appointed hour comes, they make as if they had forgotten, and he reminds them, fighting and neighing and dragging them on, until at length he on the same thoughts intent, forces them to draw near again. And when they are near he stoops his head and puts up his tail, and takes the bit in his teeth and pulls shamelessly. Then the charioteer is worse off than ever; he falls back like a racer at the barrier, and with a still more violent wrench drags the bit out of the teeth of the wild steed and covers his abusive tongue and jaws with blood, and forces his legs and haunches to the ground and punishes him sorely. And when this has happened several times and the villain has ceased from his wanton way, he is tamed and humbled, and follows the will of the charioteer, and when he sees the beautiful one he is ready to die of fear. And from that time forward the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty and holy fear.

And so the beloved who, like a god, has received every true and loyal service from his lover, not in pretence but in reality, being also himself of a nature friendly to his admirer, if in former days he has blushed to own his passion and turned away his lover, because his youthful companions or others slanderously told him that he would be disgraced, now as years advance, at the appointed age and time, is led to receive him into communion. For fate which has ordained that there shall be no friendship among the evil has also ordained that there shall ever be friendship among the good. And the beloved when he has received him into communion and intimacy, is quite amazed at the good-will of the lover; he recognises that the inspired friend is worth all other friends or kinsmen; they have nothing of friendship in them worthy to be compared with his. And when this feeling continues and he is nearer to him and embraces him, in gymnastic exercises and at other times of meeting, then the fountain of that stream, which Zeus when he was in love with Ganymede named Desire, overflows upon the lover, and some enters into his soul, and some when he is filled flows out again; and as a breeze or an echo rebounds from the smooth rocks and returns whence it came, so does the stream of beauty, passing through the eyes which are the windows of the soul, come back to the beautiful one; there arriving and quickening the passages of the wings, watering them and inclining them to grow, and filling the soul of the beloved also with love. And thus he loves, but he knows not what; he does not understand and cannot explain his own state; he appears to have caught the infection of blindness from another; the lover is his mirror in whom he is beholding himself, but he is not aware of this. When he is with the lover, both cease from their pain, but when he is away then he longs as he is longed for, and has love’s image, love for love (Anteros) lodging in his breast, which he calls and believes to be not love but friendship only, and his desire is as the desire of the other, but weaker; he wants to see him, touch him, kiss him, embrace him, and probably not long afterwards his desire is accomplished. When they meet, the wanton steed of the lover has a word to say to the charioteer; he would like to have a little pleasure in return for many pains, but the wanton steed of the beloved says not a word, for he is bursting with passion which he understands not; — he throws his arms round the lover and embraces him as his dearest friend; and, when they are side by side, he is not in a state in which he can refuse the lover anything, if he ask him; although his fellow-steed and the charioteer oppose him with the arguments of shame and reason. After this their happiness depends upon their self-control; if the better elements of the mind which lead to order and philosophy prevail, then they pass their life here in happiness and harmony — masters of themselves and orderly — enslaving the vicious and emancipating the virtuous elements of the soul; and when the end comes, they are light and winged for flight, having conquered in one of the three heavenly or truly Olympian victories; nor can human discipline or divine inspiration confer any greater blessing on man than this. If, on the other hand, they leave philosophy and lead the lower life of ambition, then probably, after wine or in some other careless hour, the two wanton animals take the two souls when off their guard and bring them together, and they accomplish that desire of their hearts which to the many is bliss; and this having once enjoyed they continue to enjoy, yet rarely because they have not the approval of the whole soul. They too are dear, but not so dear to one another as the others, either at the time of their love or afterwards. They consider that they have given and taken from each other the most sacred pledges, and they may not break them and fall into enmity. At last they pass out of the body, unwinged, but eager to soar, and thus obtain no mean reward of love and madness. For those who have once begun the heavenward pilgrimage may not go down again to darkness and the journey beneath the earth, but they live in light always; happy companions in their pilgrimage, and when the time comes at which they receive their wings they have the same plumage because of their love.

Thus great are the heavenly blessings which the friendship of a lover will confer upon you, my youth. Whereas the attachment of the non-lover, which is alloyed with a worldly prudence and has worldly and niggardly ways of doling out benefits, will breed in your soul those vulgar qualities which the populace applaud, will send you bowling round the earth during a period of nine thousand years, and leave you a fool in the world below.

And thus, dear Eros, I have made and paid my recantation, as well and as fairly as I could; more especially in the matter of the poetical figures which I was compelled to use, because Phaedrus would have them. And now forgive the past and accept the present, and be gracious and merciful to me, and do not in thine anger deprive me of sight, or take from me the art of love which thou hast given me, but grant that I may be yet more esteemed in the eyes of the fair. And if Phaedrus or I myself said anything rude in our first speeches, blame Lysias, who is the father of the brat, and let us have no more of his progeny; bid him study philosophy, like his brother Polemarchus; and then his lover Phaedrus will no longer halt between two opinions, but will dedicate himself wholly to love and to philosophical discourses.

PHAEDRUS: I join in the prayer, Socrates, and say with you, if this be for my good, may your words come to pass. But why did you make your second oration so much finer than the first? I wonder why. And I begin to be afraid that I shall lose conceit of Lysias, and that he will appear tame in comparison, even if he be willing to put another as fine and as long as yours into the field, which I doubt. For quite lately one of your politicians was abusing him on this very account; and called him a ‘speech writer’ again and again. So that a feeling of pride may probably induce him to give up writing speeches.

SOCRATES: What a very amusing notion! But I think, my young man, that you are much mistaken in your friend if you imagine that he is frightened at a little noise; and, possibly, you think that his assailant was in earnest?

PHAEDRUS: I thought, Socrates, that he was. And you are aware that the greatest and most influential statesmen are ashamed of writing speeches and leaving them in a written form, lest they should be called Sophists by posterity.

SOCRATES: You seem to be unconscious, Phaedrus, that the ‘sweet elbow’ (A proverb, like ‘the grapes are sour,’ applied to pleasures which cannot be had, meaning sweet things which, like the elbow, are out of the reach of the mouth. The promised pleasure turns out to be a long and tedious affair.) of the proverb is really the long arm of the Nile. And you appear to be equally unaware of the fact that this sweet elbow of theirs is also a long arm. For there is nothing of which our great politicians are so fond as of writing speeches and bequeathing them to posterity. And they add their admirers’ names at the top of the writing, out of gratitude to them.

PHAEDRUS: What do you mean? I do not understand.

SOCRATES: Why, do you not know that when a politician writes, he begins with the names of his approvers?

PHAEDRUS: How so?

SOCRATES: Why, he begins in this manner: ‘Be it enacted by the senate, the people, or both, on the motion of a certain person,’ who is our author; and so putting on a serious face, he proceeds to display his own wisdom to his admirers in what is often a long and tedious composition. Now what is that sort of thing but a regular piece of authorship?

PHAEDRUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if the law is finally approved, then the author leaves the theatre in high delight; but if the law is rejected and he is done out of his speech-making, and not thought good enough to write, then he and his party are in mourning.

PHAEDRUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: So far are they from despising, or rather so highly do they value the practice of writing.

PHAEDRUS: No doubt.

SOCRATES: And when the king or orator has the power, as Lycurgus or Solon or Darius had, of attaining an immortality or authorship in a state, is he not thought by posterity, when they see his compositions, and does he not think himself, while he is yet alive, to be a god?

PHAEDRUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then do you think that any one of this class, however ill-disposed, would reproach Lysias with being an author?

PHAEDRUS: Not upon your view; for according to you he would be casting a slur upon his own favourite pursuit.

SOCRATES: Any one may see that there is no disgrace in the mere fact of writing.

PHAEDRUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: The disgrace begins when a man writes not well, but badly.

PHAEDRUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And what is well and what is badly — need we ask Lysias, or any other poet or orator, who ever wrote or will write either a political or any other work, in metre or out of metre, poet or prose writer, to teach us this?

PHAEDRUS: Need we? For what should a man live if not for the pleasures of discourse? Surely not for the sake of bodily pleasures, which almost always have previous pain as a condition of them, and therefore are rightly called slavish.

SOCRATES: There is time enough. And I believe that the grasshoppers chirruping after their manner in the heat of the sun over our heads are talking to one another and looking down at us. What would they say if they saw that we, like the many, are not conversing, but slumbering at mid-day, lulled by their voices, too indolent to think? Would they not have a right to laugh at us? They might imagine that we were slaves, who, coming to rest at a place of resort of theirs, like sheep lie asleep at noon around the well. But if they see us discoursing, and like Odysseus sailing past them, deaf to their siren voices, they may perhaps, out of respect, give us of the gifts which they receive from the gods that they may impart them to men.

PHAEDRUS: What gifts do you mean? I never heard of any.

SOCRATES: A lover of music like yourself ought surely to have heard the story of the grasshoppers, who are said to have been human beings in an age before the Muses. And when the Muses came and song appeared they were ravished with delight; and singing always, never thought of eating and drinking, until at last in their forgetfulness they died. And now they live again in the grasshoppers; and this is the return which the Muses make to them — they neither hunger, nor thirst, but from the hour of their birth are always singing, and never eating or drinking; and when they die they go and inform the Muses in heaven who honours them on earth. They win the love of Terpsichore for the dancers by their report of them; of Erato for the lovers, and of the other Muses for those who do them honour, according to the several ways of honouring them; — of Calliope the eldest Muse and of Urania who is next to her, for the philosophers, of whose music the grasshoppers make report to them; for these are the Muses who are chiefly concerned with heaven and thought, divine as well as human, and they have the sweetest utterance. For many reasons, then, we ought always to talk and not to sleep at mid-day.

PHAEDRUS: Let us talk.

SOCRATES: Shall we discuss the rules of writing and speech as we were proposing?

PHAEDRUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: In good speaking should not the mind of the speaker know the truth of the matter about which he is going to speak?

PHAEDRUS: And yet, Socrates, I have heard that he who would be an orator has nothing to do with true justice, but only with that which is likely to be approved by the many who sit in judgment; nor with the truly good or honourable, but only with opinion about them, and that from opinion comes persuasion, and not from the truth.

SOCRATES: The words of the wise are not to be set aside; for there is probably something in them; and therefore the meaning of this saying is not hastily to be dismissed.

PHAEDRUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Let us put the matter thus: — Suppose that I persuaded you to buy a horse and go to the wars. Neither of us knew what a horse was like, but I knew that you believed a horse to be of tame animals the one which has the longest ears.

PHAEDRUS: That would be ridiculous.

SOCRATES: There is something more ridiculous coming: — Suppose, further, that in sober earnest I, having persuaded you of this, went and composed a speech in honour of an ass, whom I entitled a horse beginning: ‘A noble animal and a most useful possession, especially in war, and you may get on his back and fight, and he will carry baggage or anything.’

PHAEDRUS: How ridiculous!

SOCRATES: Ridiculous! Yes; but is not even a ridiculous friend better than a cunning enemy?

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And when the orator instead of putting an ass in the place of a horse, puts good for evil, being himself as ignorant of their true nature as the city on which he imposes is ignorant; and having studied the notions of the multitude, falsely persuades them not about ‘the shadow of an ass,’ which he confounds with a horse, but about good which he confounds with evil, — what will be the harvest which rhetoric will be likely to gather after the sowing of that seed?

PHAEDRUS: The reverse of good.

SOCRATES: But perhaps rhetoric has been getting too roughly handled by us, and she might answer: What amazing nonsense you are talking! As if I forced any man to learn to speak in ignorance of the truth! Whatever my advice may be worth, I should have told him to arrive at the truth first, and then come to me. At the same time I boldly assert that mere knowledge of the truth will not give you the art of persuasion.

PHAEDRUS: There is reason in the lady’s defence of herself.

SOCRATES: Quite true; if only the other arguments which remain to be brought up bear her witness that she is an art at all. But I seem to hear them arraying themselves on the opposite side, declaring that she speaks falsely, and that rhetoric is a mere routine and trick, not an art. Lo! a Spartan appears, and says that there never is nor ever will be a real art of speaking which is divorced from the truth.

PHAEDRUS: And what are these arguments, Socrates? Bring them out that we may examine them.

SOCRATES: Come out, fair children, and convince Phaedrus, who is the father of similar beauties, that he will never be able to speak about anything as he ought to speak unless he have a knowledge of philosophy. And let Phaedrus answer you.

PHAEDRUS: Put the question.

SOCRATES: Is not rhetoric, taken generally, a universal art of enchanting the mind by arguments; which is practised not only in courts and public assemblies, but in private houses also, having to do with all matters, great as well as small, good and bad alike, and is in all equally right, and equally to be esteemed — that is what you have heard?

PHAEDRUS: Nay, not exactly that; I should say rather that I have heard the art confined to speaking and writing in lawsuits, and to speaking in public assemblies — not extended farther.

SOCRATES: Then I suppose that you have only heard of the rhetoric of Nestor and Odysseus, which they composed in their leisure hours when at Troy, and never of the rhetoric of Palamedes?

PHAEDRUS: No more than of Nestor and Odysseus, unless Gorgias is your Nestor, and Thrasymachus or Theodorus your Odysseus.

SOCRATES: Perhaps that is my meaning. But let us leave them. And do you tell me, instead, what are plaintiff and defendant doing in a law court — are they not contending?

PHAEDRUS: Exactly so.

SOCRATES: About the just and unjust — that is the matter in dispute?

PHAEDRUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And a professor of the art will make the same thing appear to the same persons to be at one time just, at another time, if he is so inclined, to be unjust?

PHAEDRUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: And when he speaks in the assembly, he will make the same things seem good to the city at one time, and at another time the reverse of good?

PHAEDRUS: That is true.

SOCRATES: Have we not heard of the Eleatic Palamedes (Zeno), who has an art of speaking by which he makes the same things appear to his hearers like and unlike, one and many, at rest and in motion?

PHAEDRUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: The art of disputation, then, is not confined to the courts and the assembly, but is one and the same in every use of language; this is the art, if there be such an art, which is able to find a likeness of everything to which a likeness can be found, and draws into the light of day the likenesses and disguises which are used by others?

PHAEDRUS: How do you mean?

SOCRATES: Let me put the matter thus: When will there be more chance of deception — when the difference is large or small?

PHAEDRUS: When the difference is small.

SOCRATES: And you will be less likely to be discovered in passing by degrees into the other extreme than when you go all at once?

PHAEDRUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: He, then, who would deceive others, and not be deceived, must exactly know the real likenesses and differences of things?

PHAEDRUS: He must.

SOCRATES: And if he is ignorant of the true nature of any subject, how can he detect the greater or less degree of likeness in other things to that of which by the hypothesis he is ignorant?

PHAEDRUS: He cannot.

SOCRATES: And when men are deceived and their notions are at variance with realities, it is clear that the error slips in through resemblances?

PHAEDRUS: Yes, that is the way.

SOCRATES: Then he who would be a master of the art must understand the real nature of everything; or he will never know either how to make the gradual departure from truth into the opposite of truth which is effected by the help of resemblances, or how to avoid it?

PHAEDRUS: He will not.

SOCRATES: He then, who being ignorant of the truth aims at appearances, will only attain an art of rhetoric which is ridiculous and is not an art at all?

PHAEDRUS: That may be expected.

SOCRATES: Shall I propose that we look for examples of art and want of art, according to our notion of them, in the speech of Lysias which you have in your hand, and in my own speech?

PHAEDRUS: Nothing could be better; and indeed I think that our previous argument has been too abstract and wanting in illustrations.

SOCRATES: Yes; and the two speeches happen to afford a very good example of the way in which the speaker who knows the truth may, without any serious purpose, steal away the hearts of his hearers. This piece of good-fortune I attribute to the local deities; and, perhaps, the prophets of the Muses who are singing over our heads may have imparted their inspiration to me. For I do not imagine that I have any rhetorical art of my own.

PHAEDRUS: Granted; if you will only please to get on.

SOCRATES: Suppose that you read me the first words of Lysias’ speech.

PHAEDRUS: ‘You know how matters stand with me, and how, as I conceive, they might be arranged for our common interest; and I maintain that I ought not to fail in my suit, because I am not your lover. For lovers repent—’

SOCRATES: Enough: — Now, shall I point out the rhetorical error of those words?

PHAEDRUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Every one is aware that about some things we are agreed, whereas about other things we differ.

PHAEDRUS: I think that I understand you; but will you explain yourself?

SOCRATES: When any one speaks of iron and silver, is not the same thing present in the minds of all?

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But when any one speaks of justice and goodness we part company and are at odds with one another and with ourselves?

PHAEDRUS: Precisely.

SOCRATES: Then in some things we agree, but not in others?

PHAEDRUS: That is true.

SOCRATES: In which are we more likely to be deceived, and in which has rhetoric the greater power?

PHAEDRUS: Clearly, in the uncertain class.

SOCRATES: Then the rhetorician ought to make a regular division, and acquire a distinct notion of both classes, as well of that in which the many err, as of that in which they do not err?

PHAEDRUS: He who made such a distinction would have an excellent principle.

SOCRATES: Yes; and in the next place he must have a keen eye for the observation of particulars in speaking, and not make a mistake about the class to which they are to be referred.

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Now to which class does love belong — to the debatable or to the undisputed class?

PHAEDRUS: To the debatable, clearly; for if not, do you think that love would have allowed you to say as you did, that he is an evil both to the lover and the beloved, and also the greatest possible good?

SOCRATES: Capital. But will you tell me whether I defined love at the beginning of my speech? for, having been in an ecstasy, I cannot well remember.

PHAEDRUS: Yes, indeed; that you did, and no mistake.

SOCRATES: Then I perceive that the Nymphs of Achelous and Pan the son of Hermes, who inspired me, were far better rhetoricians than Lysias the son of Cephalus. Alas! how inferior to them he is! But perhaps I am mistaken; and Lysias at the commencement of his lover’s speech did insist on our supposing love to be something or other which he fancied him to be, and according to this model he fashioned and framed the remainder of his discourse. Suppose we read his beginning over again:

PHAEDRUS: If you please; but you will not find what you want.

SOCRATES: Read, that I may have his exact words.

PHAEDRUS: ‘You know how matters stand with me, and how, as I conceive, they might be arranged for our common interest; and I maintain I ought not to fail in my suit because I am not your lover, for lovers repent of the kindnesses which they have shown, when their love is over.’

SOCRATES: Here he appears to have done just the reverse of what he ought; for he has begun at the end, and is swimming on his back through the flood to the place of starting. His address to the fair youth begins where the lover would have ended. Am I not right, sweet Phaedrus?

PHAEDRUS: Yes, indeed, Socrates; he does begin at the end.

SOCRATES: Then as to the other topics — are they not thrown down anyhow? Is there any principle in them? Why should the next topic follow next in order, or any other topic? I cannot help fancying in my ignorance that he wrote off boldly just what came into his head, but I dare say that you would recognize a rhetorical necessity in the succession of the several parts of the composition?

PHAEDRUS: You have too good an opinion of me if you think that I have any such insight into his principles of composition.

SOCRATES: At any rate, you will allow that every discourse ought to be a living creature, having a body of its own and a head and feet; there should be a middle, beginning, and end, adapted to one another and to the whole?

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Can this be said of the discourse of Lysias? See whether you can find any more connexion in his words than in the epitaph which is said by some to have been inscribed on the grave of Midas the Phrygian.

PHAEDRUS: What is there remarkable in the epitaph?

SOCRATES: It is as follows: —

‘I am a maiden of bronze and lie on the tomb of Midas; So long as water flows and tall trees grow, So long here on this spot by his sad tomb abiding, I shall declare to passers-by that Midas sleeps below.’

Now in this rhyme whether a line comes first or comes last, as you will perceive, makes no difference.

PHAEDRUS: You are making fun of that oration of ours.

SOCRATES: Well, I will say no more about your friend’s speech lest I should give offence to you; although I think that it might furnish many other examples of what a man ought rather to avoid. But I will proceed to the other speech, which, as I think, is also suggestive to students of rhetoric.

PHAEDRUS: In what way?

SOCRATES: The two speeches, as you may remember, were unlike; the one argued that the lover and the other that the non-lover ought to be accepted.

PHAEDRUS: And right manfully.

SOCRATES: You should rather say ‘madly;’ and madness was the argument of them, for, as I said, ‘love is a madness.’

PHAEDRUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And of madness there were two kinds; one produced by human infirmity, the other was a divine release of the soul from the yoke of custom and convention.

PHAEDRUS: True.

SOCRATES: The divine madness was subdivided into four kinds, prophetic, initiatory, poetic, erotic, having four gods presiding over them; the first was the inspiration of Apollo, the second that of Dionysus, the third that of the Muses, the fourth that of Aphrodite and Eros. In the description of the last kind of madness, which was also said to be the best, we spoke of the affection of love in a figure, into which we introduced a tolerably credible and possibly true though partly erring myth, which was also a hymn in honour of Love, who is your lord and also mine, Phaedrus, and the guardian of fair children, and to him we sung the hymn in measured and solemn strain.

PHAEDRUS: I know that I had great pleasure in listening to you.

SOCRATES: Let us take this instance and note how the transition was made from blame to praise.

PHAEDRUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean to say that the composition was mostly playful. Yet in these chance fancies of the hour were involved two principles of which we should be too glad to have a clearer description if art could give us one.

PHAEDRUS: What are they?

SOCRATES: First, the comprehension of scattered particulars in one idea; as in our definition of love, which whether true or false certainly gave clearness and consistency to the discourse, the speaker should define his several notions and so make his meaning clear.

PHAEDRUS: What is the other principle, Socrates?

SOCRATES: The second principle is that of division into species according to the natural formation, where the joint is, not breaking any part as a bad carver might. Just as our two discourses, alike assumed, first of all, a single form of unreason; and then, as the body which from being one becomes double and may be divided into a left side and right side, each having parts right and left of the same name — after this manner the speaker proceeded to divide the parts of the left side and did not desist until he found in them an evil or left-handed love which he justly reviled; and the other discourse leading us to the madness which lay on the right side, found another love, also having the same name, but divine, which the speaker held up before us and applauded and affirmed to be the author of the greatest benefits.

PHAEDRUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: I am myself a great lover of these processes of division and generalization; they help me to speak and to think. And if I find any man who is able to see ‘a One and Many’ in nature, him I follow, and ‘walk in his footsteps as if he were a god.’ And those who have this art, I have hitherto been in the habit of calling dialecticians; but God knows whether the name is right or not. And I should like to know what name you would give to your or to Lysias’ disciples, and whether this may not be that famous art of rhetoric which Thrasymachus and others teach and practise? Skilful speakers they are, and impart their skill to any who is willing to make kings of them and to bring gifts to them.

PHAEDRUS: Yes, they are royal men; but their art is not the same with the art of those whom you call, and rightly, in my opinion, dialecticians: — Still we are in the dark about rhetoric.

SOCRATES: What do you mean? The remains of it, if there be anything remaining which can be brought under rules of art, must be a fine thing; and, at any rate, is not to be despised by you and me. But how much is left?

PHAEDRUS: There is a great deal surely to be found in books of rhetoric?

SOCRATES: Yes; thank you for reminding me: — There is the exordium, showing how the speech should begin, if I remember rightly; that is what you mean — the niceties of the art?

PHAEDRUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then follows the statement of facts, and upon that witnesses; thirdly, proofs; fourthly, probabilities are to come; the great Byzantian word-maker also speaks, if I am not mistaken, of confirmation and further confirmation.

PHAEDRUS: You mean the excellent Theodorus.

SOCRATES: Yes; and he tells how refutation or further refutation is to be managed, whether in accusation or defence. I ought also to mention the illustrious Parian, Evenus, who first invented insinuations and indirect praises; and also indirect censures, which according to some he put into verse to help the memory. But shall I ‘to dumb forgetfulness consign’ Tisias and Gorgias, who are not ignorant that probability is superior to truth, and who by force of argument make the little appear great and the great little, disguise the new in old fashions and the old in new fashions, and have discovered forms for everything, either short or going on to infinity. I remember Prodicus laughing when I told him of this; he said that he had himself discovered the true rule of art, which was to be neither long nor short, but of a convenient length.

PHAEDRUS: Well done, Prodicus!

SOCRATES: Then there is Hippias the Elean stranger, who probably agrees with him.

PHAEDRUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And there is also Polus, who has treasuries of diplasiology, and gnomology, and eikonology, and who teaches in them the names of which Licymnius made him a present; they were to give a polish.

PHAEDRUS: Had not Protagoras something of the same sort?

SOCRATES: Yes, rules of correct diction and many other fine precepts; for the ‘sorrows of a poor old man,’ or any other pathetic case, no one is better than the Chalcedonian giant; he can put a whole company of people into a passion and out of one again by his mighty magic, and is first-rate at inventing or disposing of any sort of calumny on any grounds or none. All of them agree in asserting that a speech should end in a recapitulation, though they do not all agree to use the same word.

PHAEDRUS: You mean that there should be a summing up of the arguments in order to remind the hearers of them.

SOCRATES: I have now said all that I have to say of the art of rhetoric: have you anything to add?

PHAEDRUS: Not much; nothing very important.

SOCRATES: Leave the unimportant and let us bring the really important question into the light of day, which is: What power has this art of rhetoric, and when?

PHAEDRUS: A very great power in public meetings.

SOCRATES: It has. But I should like to know whether you have the same feeling as I have about the rhetoricians? To me there seem to be a great many holes in their web.

PHAEDRUS: Give an example.

SOCRATES: I will. Suppose a person to come to your friend Eryximachus, or to his father Acumenus, and to say to him: ‘I know how to apply drugs which shall have either a heating or a cooling effect, and I can give a vomit and also a purge, and all that sort of thing; and knowing all this, as I do, I claim to be a physician and to make physicians by imparting this knowledge to others,’ — what do you suppose that they would say?

PHAEDRUS: They would be sure to ask him whether he knew ‘to whom’ he would give his medicines, and ‘when,’ and ‘how much.’

SOCRATES: And suppose that he were to reply: ‘No; I know nothing of all that; I expect the patient who consults me to be able to do these things for himself’?

PHAEDRUS: They would say in reply that he is a madman or a pedant who fancies that he is a physician because he has read something in a book, or has stumbled on a prescription or two, although he has no real understanding of the art of medicine.

SOCRATES: And suppose a person were to come to Sophocles or Euripides and say that he knows how to make a very long speech about a small matter, and a short speech about a great matter, and also a sorrowful speech, or a terrible, or threatening speech, or any other kind of speech, and in teaching this fancies that he is teaching the art of tragedy — ?

PHAEDRUS: They too would surely laugh at him if he fancies that tragedy is anything but the arranging of these elements in a manner which will be suitable to one another and to the whole.

SOCRATES: But I do not suppose that they would be rude or abusive to him: Would they not treat him as a musician a man who thinks that he is a harmonist because he knows how to pitch the highest and lowest note; happening to meet such an one he would not say to him savagely, ‘Fool, you are mad!’ But like a musician, in a gentle and harmonious tone of voice, he would answer: ‘My good friend, he who would be a harmonist must certainly know this, and yet he may understand nothing of harmony if he has not got beyond your stage of knowledge, for you only know the preliminaries of harmony and not harmony itself.’

PHAEDRUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And will not Sophocles say to the display of the would-be tragedian, that this is not tragedy but the preliminaries of tragedy? and will not Acumenus say the same of medicine to the would-be physician?

PHAEDRUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And if Adrastus the mellifluous or Pericles heard of these wonderful arts, brachylogies and eikonologies and all the hard names which we have been endeavouring to draw into the light of day, what would they say? Instead of losing temper and applying uncomplimentary epithets, as you and I have been doing, to the authors of such an imaginary art, their superior wisdom would rather censure us, as well as them. ‘Have a little patience, Phaedrus and Socrates, they would say; you should not be in such a passion with those who from some want of dialectical skill are unable to define the nature of rhetoric, and consequently suppose that they have found the art in the preliminary conditions of it, and when these have been taught by them to others, fancy that the whole art of rhetoric has been taught by them; but as to using the several instruments of the art effectively, or making the composition a whole, — an application of it such as this is they regard as an easy thing which their disciples may make for themselves.’

PHAEDRUS: I quite admit, Socrates, that the art of rhetoric which these men teach and of which they write is such as you describe — there I agree with you. But I still want to know where and how the true art of rhetoric and persuasion is to be acquired.

SOCRATES: The perfection which is required of the finished orator is, or rather must be, like the perfection of anything else; partly given by nature, but may also be assisted by art. If you have the natural power and add to it knowledge and practice, you will be a distinguished speaker; if you fall short in either of these, you will be to that extent defective. But the art, as far as there is an art, of rhetoric does not lie in the direction of Lysias or Thrasymachus.

PHAEDRUS: In what direction then?

SOCRATES: I conceive Pericles to have been the most accomplished of rhetoricians.

PHAEDRUS: What of that?

SOCRATES: All the great arts require discussion and high speculation about the truths of nature; hence come loftiness of thought and completeness of execution. And this, as I conceive, was the quality which, in addition to his natural gifts, Pericles acquired from his intercourse with Anaxagoras whom he happened to know. He was thus imbued with the higher philosophy, and attained the knowledge of Mind and the negative of Mind, which were favourite themes of Anaxagoras, and applied what suited his purpose to the art of speaking.

PHAEDRUS: Explain.

SOCRATES: Rhetoric is like medicine.

PHAEDRUS: How so?

SOCRATES: Why, because medicine has to define the nature of the body and rhetoric of the soul — if we would proceed, not empirically but scientifically, in the one case to impart health and strength by giving medicine and food, in the other to implant the conviction or virtue which you desire, by the right application of words and training.

PHAEDRUS: There, Socrates, I suspect that you are right.

SOCRATES: And do you think that you can know the nature of the soul intelligently without knowing the nature of the whole?

PHAEDRUS: Hippocrates the Asclepiad says that the nature even of the body can only be understood as a whole. (Compare Charmides.)

SOCRATES: Yes, friend, and he was right: — still, we ought not to be content with the name of Hippocrates, but to examine and see whether his argument agrees with his conception of nature.

PHAEDRUS: I agree.

SOCRATES: Then consider what truth as well as Hippocrates says about this or about any other nature. Ought we not to consider first whether that which we wish to learn and to teach is a simple or multiform thing, and if simple, then to enquire what power it has of acting or being acted upon in relation to other things, and if multiform, then to number the forms; and see first in the case of one of them, and then in the case of all of them, what is that power of acting or being acted upon which makes each and all of them to be what they are?

PHAEDRUS: You may very likely be right, Socrates.

SOCRATES: The method which proceeds without analysis is like the groping of a blind man. Yet, surely, he who is an artist ought not to admit of a comparison with the blind, or deaf. The rhetorician, who teaches his pupil to speak scientifically, will particularly set forth the nature of that being to which he addresses his speeches; and this, I conceive, to be the soul.

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: His whole effort is directed to the soul; for in that he seeks to produce conviction.

PHAEDRUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then clearly, Thrasymachus or any one else who teaches rhetoric in earnest will give an exact description of the nature of the soul; which will enable us to see whether she be single and same, or, like the body, multiform. That is what we should call showing the nature of the soul.

PHAEDRUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: He will explain, secondly, the mode in which she acts or is acted upon.

PHAEDRUS: True.

SOCRATES: Thirdly, having classified men and speeches, and their kinds and affections, and adapted them to one another, he will tell the reasons of his arrangement, and show why one soul is persuaded by a particular form of argument, and another not.

PHAEDRUS: You have hit upon a very good way.

SOCRATES: Yes, that is the true and only way in which any subject can be set forth or treated by rules of art, whether in speaking or writing. But the writers of the present day, at whose feet you have sat, craftily conceal the nature of the soul which they know quite well. Nor, until they adopt our method of reading and writing, can we admit that they write by rules of art?

PHAEDRUS: What is our method?

SOCRATES: I cannot give you the exact details; but I should like to tell you generally, as far as is in my power, how a man ought to proceed according to rules of art.

PHAEDRUS: Let me hear.

SOCRATES: Oratory is the art of enchanting the soul, and therefore he who would be an orator has to learn the differences of human souls — they are so many and of such a nature, and from them come the differences between man and man. Having proceeded thus far in his analysis, he will next divide speeches into their different classes:— ‘Such and such persons,’ he will say, are affected by this or that kind of speech in this or that way,’ and he will tell you why. The pupil must have a good theoretical notion of them first, and then he must have experience of them in actual life, and be able to follow them with all his senses about him, or he will never get beyond the precepts of his masters. But when he understands what persons are persuaded by what arguments, and sees the person about whom he was speaking in the abstract actually before him, and knows that it is he, and can say to himself, ‘This is the man or this is the character who ought to have a certain argument applied to him in order to convince him of a certain opinion;’ — he who knows all this, and knows also when he should speak and when he should refrain, and when he should use pithy sayings, pathetic appeals, sensational effects, and all the other modes of speech which he has learned; — when, I say, he knows the times and seasons of all these things, then, and not till then, he is a perfect master of his art; but if he fail in any of these points, whether in speaking or teaching or writing them, and yet declares that he speaks by rules of art, he who says ‘I don’t believe you’ has the better of him. Well, the teacher will say, is this, Phaedrus and Socrates, your account of the so-called art of rhetoric, or am I to look for another?

PHAEDRUS: He must take this, Socrates, for there is no possibility of another, and yet the creation of such an art is not easy.

SOCRATES: Very true; and therefore let us consider this matter in every light, and see whether we cannot find a shorter and easier road; there is no use in taking a long rough roundabout way if there be a shorter and easier one. And I wish that you would try and remember whether you have heard from Lysias or any one else anything which might be of service to us.

PHAEDRUS: If trying would avail, then I might; but at the moment I can think of nothing.

SOCRATES: Suppose I tell you something which somebody who knows told me.

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: May not ‘the wolf,’ as the proverb says, ‘claim a hearing’?

PHAEDRUS: Do you say what can be said for him.

SOCRATES: He will argue that there is no use in putting a solemn face on these matters, or in going round and round, until you arrive at first principles; for, as I said at first, when the question is of justice and good, or is a question in which men are concerned who are just and good, either by nature or habit, he who would be a skilful rhetorician has no need of truth — for that in courts of law men literally care nothing about truth, but only about conviction: and this is based on probability, to which he who would be a skilful orator should therefore give his whole attention. And they say also that there are cases in which the actual facts, if they are improbable, ought to be withheld, and only the probabilities should be told either in accusation or defence, and that always in speaking, the orator should keep probability in view, and say good-bye to the truth. And the observance of this principle throughout a speech furnishes the whole art.

PHAEDRUS: That is what the professors of rhetoric do actually say, Socrates. I have not forgotten that we have quite briefly touched upon this matter already; with them the point is all-important.

SOCRATES: I dare say that you are familiar with Tisias. Does he not define probability to be that which the many think?

PHAEDRUS: Certainly, he does.

SOCRATES: I believe that he has a clever and ingenious case of this sort: — He supposes a feeble and valiant man to have assaulted a strong and cowardly one, and to have robbed him of his coat or of something or other; he is brought into court, and then Tisias says that both parties should tell lies: the coward should say that he was assaulted by more men than one; the other should prove that they were alone, and should argue thus: ‘How could a weak man like me have assaulted a strong man like him?’ The complainant will not like to confess his own cowardice, and will therefore invent some other lie which his adversary will thus gain an opportunity of refuting. And there are other devices of the same kind which have a place in the system. Am I not right, Phaedrus?

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Bless me, what a wonderfully mysterious art is this which Tisias or some other gentleman, in whatever name or country he rejoices, has discovered. Shall we say a word to him or not?

PHAEDRUS: What shall we say to him?

SOCRATES: Let us tell him that, before he appeared, you and I were saying that the probability of which he speaks was engendered in the minds of the many by the likeness of the truth, and we had just been affirming that he who knew the truth would always know best how to discover the resemblances of the truth. If he has anything else to say about the art of speaking we should like to hear him; but if not, we are satisfied with our own view, that unless a man estimates the various characters of his hearers and is able to divide all things into classes and to comprehend them under single ideas, he will never be a skilful rhetorician even within the limits of human power. And this skill he will not attain without a great deal of trouble, which a good man ought to undergo, not for the sake of speaking and acting before men, but in order that he may be able to say what is acceptable to God and always to act acceptably to Him as far as in him lies; for there is a saying of wiser men than ourselves, that a man of sense should not try to please his fellow-servants (at least this should not be his first object) but his good and noble masters; and therefore if the way is long and circuitous, marvel not at this, for, where the end is great, there we may take the longer road, but not for lesser ends such as yours. Truly, the argument may say, Tisias, that if you do not mind going so far, rhetoric has a fair beginning here.

PHAEDRUS: I think, Socrates, that this is admirable, if only practicable.

SOCRATES: But even to fail in an honourable object is honourable.

PHAEDRUS: True.

SOCRATES: Enough appears to have been said by us of a true and false art of speaking.

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But there is something yet to be said of propriety and impropriety of writing.

PHAEDRUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Do you know how you can speak or act about rhetoric in a manner which will be acceptable to God?

PHAEDRUS: No, indeed. Do you?

SOCRATES: I have heard a tradition of the ancients, whether true or not they only know; although if we had found the truth ourselves, do you think that we should care much about the opinions of men?

PHAEDRUS: Your question needs no answer; but I wish that you would tell me what you say that you have heard.

SOCRATES: At the Egyptian city of Naucratis, there was a famous old god, whose name was Theuth; the bird which is called the Ibis is sacred to him, and he was the inventor of many arts, such as arithmetic and calculation and geometry and astronomy and draughts and dice, but his great discovery was the use of letters. Now in those days the god Thamus was the king of the whole country of Egypt; and he dwelt in that great city of Upper Egypt which the Hellenes call Egyptian Thebes, and the god himself is called by them Ammon. To him came Theuth and showed his inventions, desiring that the other Egyptians might be allowed to have the benefit of them; he enumerated them, and Thamus enquired about their several uses, and praised some of them and censured others, as he approved or disapproved of them. It would take a long time to repeat all that Thamus said to Theuth in praise or blame of the various arts. But when they came to letters, This, said Theuth, will make the Egyptians wiser and give them better memories; it is a specific both for the memory and for the wit. Thamus replied: O most ingenious Theuth, the parent or inventor of an art is not always the best judge of the utility or inutility of his own inventions to the users of them. And in this instance, you who are the father of letters, from a paternal love of your own children have been led to attribute to them a quality which they cannot have; for this discovery of yours will create forgetfulness in the learners’ souls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to the external written characters and not remember of themselves. The specific which you have discovered is an aid not to memory, but to reminiscence, and you give your disciples not truth, but only the semblance of truth; they will be hearers of many things and will have learned nothing; they will appear to be omniscient and will generally know nothing; they will be tiresome company, having the show of wisdom without the reality.

PHAEDRUS: Yes, Socrates, you can easily invent tales of Egypt, or of any other country.

SOCRATES: There was a tradition in the temple of Dodona that oaks first gave prophetic utterances. The men of old, unlike in their simplicity to young philosophy, deemed that if they heard the truth even from ‘oak or rock,’ it was enough for them; whereas you seem to consider not whether a thing is or is not true, but who the speaker is and from what country the tale comes.

PHAEDRUS: I acknowledge the justice of your rebuke; and I think that the Theban is right in his view about letters.

SOCRATES: He would be a very simple person, and quite a stranger to the oracles of Thamus or Ammon, who should leave in writing or receive in writing any art under the idea that the written word would be intelligible or certain; or who deemed that writing was at all better than knowledge and recollection of the same matters?

PHAEDRUS: That is most true.

SOCRATES: I cannot help feeling, Phaedrus, that writing is unfortunately like painting; for the creations of the painter have the attitude of life, and yet if you ask them a question they preserve a solemn silence. And the same may be said of speeches. You would imagine that they had intelligence, but if you want to know anything and put a question to one of them, the speaker always gives one unvarying answer. And when they have been once written down they are tumbled about anywhere among those who may or may not understand them, and know not to whom they should reply, to whom not: and, if they are maltreated or abused, they have no parent to protect them; and they cannot protect or defend themselves.

PHAEDRUS: That again is most true.

SOCRATES: Is there not another kind of word or speech far better than this, and having far greater power — a son of the same family, but lawfully begotten?

PHAEDRUS: Whom do you mean, and what is his origin?

SOCRATES: I mean an intelligent word graven in the soul of the learner, which can defend itself, and knows when to speak and when to be silent.

PHAEDRUS: You mean the living word of knowledge which has a soul, and of which the written word is properly no more than an image?

SOCRATES: Yes, of course that is what I mean. And now may I be allowed to ask you a question: Would a husbandman, who is a man of sense, take the seeds, which he values and which he wishes to bear fruit, and in sober seriousness plant them during the heat of summer, in some garden of Adonis, that he may rejoice when he sees them in eight days appearing in beauty? at least he would do so, if at all, only for the sake of amusement and pastime. But when he is in earnest he sows in fitting soil, and practises husbandry, and is satisfied if in eight months the seeds which he has sown arrive at perfection?

PHAEDRUS: Yes, Socrates, that will be his way when he is in earnest; he will do the other, as you say, only in play.

SOCRATES: And can we suppose that he who knows the just and good and honourable has less understanding, than the husbandman, about his own seeds?

PHAEDRUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then he will not seriously incline to ‘write’ his thoughts ‘in water’ with pen and ink, sowing words which can neither speak for themselves nor teach the truth adequately to others?

PHAEDRUS: No, that is not likely.

SOCRATES: No, that is not likely — in the garden of letters he will sow and plant, but only for the sake of recreation and amusement; he will write them down as memorials to be treasured against the forgetfulness of old age, by himself, or by any other old man who is treading the same path. He will rejoice in beholding their tender growth; and while others are refreshing their souls with banqueting and the like, this will be the pastime in which his days are spent.

PHAEDRUS: A pastime, Socrates, as noble as the other is ignoble, the pastime of a man who can be amused by serious talk, and can discourse merrily about justice and the like.

SOCRATES: True, Phaedrus. But nobler far is the serious pursuit of the dialectician, who, finding a congenial soul, by the help of science sows and plants therein words which are able to help themselves and him who planted them, and are not unfruitful, but have in them a seed which others brought up in different soils render immortal, making the possessors of it happy to the utmost extent of human happiness.

PHAEDRUS: Far nobler, certainly.

SOCRATES: And now, Phaedrus, having agreed upon the premises we may decide about the conclusion.

PHAEDRUS: About what conclusion?

SOCRATES: About Lysias, whom we censured, and his art of writing, and his discourses, and the rhetorical skill or want of skill which was shown in them — these are the questions which we sought to determine, and they brought us to this point. And I think that we are now pretty well informed about the nature of art and its opposite.

PHAEDRUS: Yes, I think with you; but I wish that you would repeat what was said.

SOCRATES: Until a man knows the truth of the several particulars of which he is writing or speaking, and is able to define them as they are, and having defined them again to divide them until they can be no longer divided, and until in like manner he is able to discern the nature of the soul, and discover the different modes of discourse which are adapted to different natures, and to arrange and dispose them in such a way that the simple form of speech may be addressed to the simpler nature, and the complex and composite to the more complex nature — until he has accomplished all this, he will be unable to handle arguments according to rules of art, as far as their nature allows them to be subjected to art, either for the purpose of teaching or persuading; — such is the view which is implied in the whole preceding argument.

PHAEDRUS: Yes, that was our view, certainly.

SOCRATES: Secondly, as to the censure which was passed on the speaking or writing of discourses, and how they might be rightly or wrongly censured — did not our previous argument show — ?

PHAEDRUS: Show what?

SOCRATES: That whether Lysias or any other writer that ever was or will be, whether private man or statesman, proposes laws and so becomes the author of a political treatise, fancying that there is any great certainty and clearness in his performance, the fact of his so writing is only a disgrace to him, whatever men may say. For not to know the nature of justice and injustice, and good and evil, and not to be able to distinguish the dream from the reality, cannot in truth be otherwise than disgraceful to him, even though he have the applause of the whole world.

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But he who thinks that in the written word there is necessarily much which is not serious, and that neither poetry nor prose, spoken or written, is of any great value, if, like the compositions of the rhapsodes, they are only recited in order to be believed, and not with any view to criticism or instruction; and who thinks that even the best of writings are but a reminiscence of what we know, and that only in principles of justice and goodness and nobility taught and communicated orally for the sake of instruction and graven in the soul, which is the true way of writing, is there clearness and perfection and seriousness, and that such principles are a man’s own and his legitimate offspring; — being, in the first place, the word which he finds in his own bosom; secondly, the brethren and descendants and relations of his idea which have been duly implanted by him in the souls of others; — and who cares for them and no others — this is the right sort of man; and you and I, Phaedrus, would pray that we may become like him.

PHAEDRUS: That is most assuredly my desire and prayer.

SOCRATES: And now the play is played out; and of rhetoric enough. Go and tell Lysias that to the fountain and school of the Nymphs we went down, and were bidden by them to convey a message to him and to other composers of speeches — to Homer and other writers of poems, whether set to music or not; and to Solon and others who have composed writings in the form of political discourses which they would term laws — to all of them we are to say that if their compositions are based on knowledge of the truth, and they can defend or prove them, when they are put to the test, by spoken arguments, which leave their writings poor in comparison of them, then they are to be called, not only poets, orators, legislators, but are worthy of a higher name, befitting the serious pursuit of their life.

PHAEDRUS: What name would you assign to them?

SOCRATES: Wise, I may not call them; for that is a great name which belongs to God alone, — lovers of wisdom or philosophers is their modest and befitting title.

PHAEDRUS: Very suitable.

SOCRATES: And he who cannot rise above his own compilations and compositions, which he has been long patching and piecing, adding some and taking away some, may be justly called poet or speech-maker or law-maker.

PHAEDRUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Now go and tell this to your companion.

PHAEDRUS: But there is also a friend of yours who ought not to be forgotten.

SOCRATES: Who is he?

PHAEDRUS: Isocrates the fair: — What message will you send to him, and how shall we describe him?

SOCRATES: Isocrates is still young, Phaedrus; but I am willing to hazard a prophecy concerning him.

PHAEDRUS: What would you prophesy?

SOCRATES: I think that he has a genius which soars above the orations of Lysias, and that his character is cast in a finer mould. My impression of him is that he will marvellously improve as he grows older, and that all former rhetoricians will be as children in comparison of him. And I believe that he will not be satisfied with rhetoric, but that there is in him a divine inspiration which will lead him to things higher still. For he has an element of philosophy in his nature. This is the message of the gods dwelling in this place, and which I will myself deliver to Isocrates, who is my delight; and do you give the other to Lysias, who is yours.

PHAEDRUS: I will; and now as the heat is abated let us depart.

SOCRATES: Should we not offer up a prayer first of all to the local deities?

PHAEDRUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this place, give me beauty in the inward soul; and may the outward and inward man be at one. May I reckon the wise to be the wealthy, and may I have such a quantity of gold as a temperate man and he only can bear and carry. — Anything more? The prayer, I think, is enough for me.

PHAEDRUS: Ask the same for me, for friends should have all things in common.

SOCRATES: Let us go.

PARMENIDES

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This is widely considered to be one of the more challenging and enigmatic of Plato’s dialogues.  It purports to be an account of a meeting between the two great philosophers of the Eleatic school, Parmenides and Zeno of Elea, and a young Socrates. The occasion of the meeting was the reading by Zeno of his treatise defending Parmenidean monism against those partisans of plurality who asserted that Parmenides’ supposition that there is a one gives rise to intolerable absurdities and contradictions.

The main part of the dialogue opens with a challenge by Socrates to the elder and revered Parmenides and Zeno. Employing his customary method of attack, the reductio ad absurdum, Zeno has argued that if as the pluralists say things are many, then they will be both like and unlike; but this is an impossible situation, for unlike things cannot be like, nor like things unlike. But this difficulty vanishes, says Socrates, if we are prepared to make the distinction between sensibles on the one hand and Forms, in which sensibles participate, on the other. Thus one and the same thing can be both like and unlike, or one and many, by participating in the Forms of Likeness and Unlikeness, of Unity and Plurality; I am one man, and as such partake of the Form of Unity, but I also have many parts and in this respect I partake of the Form of Plurality. There is no problem in demonstrating that sensible things may have opposite attributes; what would cause consternation, and earn the admiration of Socrates, would be if someone were to show that the Forms themselves were capable of admitting contrary predicates.

The ancient ruins of Elea – the city in which Parmenides lived for most of his life

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

PARMENIDES.

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

The awe with which Plato regarded the character of ‘the great’ Parmenides has extended to the dialogue which he calls by his name. None of the writings of Plato have been more copiously illustrated, both in ancient and modern times, and in none of them have the interpreters been more at variance with one another. Nor is this surprising. For the Parmenides is more fragmentary and isolated than any other dialogue, and the design of the writer is not expressly stated. The date is uncertain; the relation to the other writings of Plato is also uncertain; the connexion between the two parts is at first sight extremely obscure; and in the latter of the two we are left in doubt as to whether Plato is speaking his own sentiments by the lips of Parmenides, and overthrowing him out of his own mouth, or whether he is propounding consequences which would have been admitted by Zeno and Parmenides themselves. The contradictions which follow from the hypotheses of the one and many have been regarded by some as transcendental mysteries; by others as a mere illustration, taken at random, of a new method. They seem to have been inspired by a sort of dialectical frenzy, such as may be supposed to have prevailed in the Megarian School (compare Cratylus, etc.). The criticism on his own doctrine of Ideas has also been considered, not as a real criticism, but as an exuberance of the metaphysical imagination which enabled Plato to go beyond himself. To the latter part of the dialogue we may certainly apply the words in which he himself describes the earlier philosophers in the Sophist: ‘They went on their way rather regardless of whether we understood them or not.’

The Parmenides in point of style is one of the best of the Platonic writings; the first portion of the dialogue is in no way defective in ease and grace and dramatic interest; nor in the second part, where there was no room for such qualities, is there any want of clearness or precision. The latter half is an exquisite mosaic, of which the small pieces are with the utmost fineness and regularity adapted to one another. Like the Protagoras, Phaedo, and others, the whole is a narrated dialogue, combining with the mere recital of the words spoken, the observations of the reciter on the effect produced by them. Thus we are informed by him that Zeno and Parmenides were not altogether pleased at the request of Socrates that they would examine into the nature of the one and many in the sphere of Ideas, although they received his suggestion with approving smiles. And we are glad to be told that Parmenides was ‘aged but well-favoured,’ and that Zeno was ‘very good-looking’; also that Parmenides affected to decline the great argument, on which, as Zeno knew from experience, he was not unwilling to enter. The character of Antiphon, the half-brother of Plato, who had once been inclined to philosophy, but has now shown the hereditary disposition for horses, is very naturally described. He is the sole depositary of the famous dialogue; but, although he receives the strangers like a courteous gentleman, he is impatient of the trouble of reciting it. As they enter, he has been giving orders to a bridle-maker; by this slight touch Plato verifies the previous description of him. After a little persuasion he is induced to favour the Clazomenians, who come from a distance, with a rehearsal. Respecting the visit of Zeno and Parmenides to Athens, we may observe — first, that such a visit is consistent with dates, and may possibly have occurred; secondly, that Plato is very likely to have invented the meeting (‘You, Socrates, can easily invent Egyptian tales or anything else,’ Phaedrus); thirdly, that no reliance can be placed on the circumstance as determining the date of Parmenides and Zeno; fourthly, that the same occasion appears to be referred to by Plato in two other places (Theaet., Soph.).

Many interpreters have regarded the Parmenides as a ‘reductio ad absurdum’ of the Eleatic philosophy. But would Plato have been likely to place this in the mouth of the great Parmenides himself, who appeared to him, in Homeric language, to be ‘venerable and awful,’ and to have a ‘glorious depth of mind’? (Theaet.). It may be admitted that he has ascribed to an Eleatic stranger in the Sophist opinions which went beyond the doctrines of the Eleatics. But the Eleatic stranger expressly criticises the doctrines in which he had been brought up; he admits that he is going to ‘lay hands on his father Parmenides.’ Nothing of this kind is said of Zeno and Parmenides. How then, without a word of explanation, could Plato assign to them the refutation of their own tenets?

The conclusion at which we must arrive is that the Parmenides is not a refutation of the Eleatic philosophy. Nor would such an explanation afford any satisfactory connexion of the first and second parts of the dialogue. And it is quite inconsistent with Plato’s own relation to the Eleatics. For of all the pre-Socratic philosophers, he speaks of them with the greatest respect. But he could hardly have passed upon them a more unmeaning slight than to ascribe to their great master tenets the reverse of those which he actually held.

Two preliminary remarks may be made. First, that whatever latitude we may allow to Plato in bringing together by a ‘tour de force,’ as in the Phaedrus, dissimilar themes, yet he always in some way seeks to find a connexion for them. Many threads join together in one the love and dialectic of the Phaedrus. We cannot conceive that the great artist would place in juxtaposition two absolutely divided and incoherent subjects. And hence we are led to make a second remark: viz. that no explanation of the Parmenides can be satisfactory which does not indicate the connexion of the first and second parts. To suppose that Plato would first go out of his way to make Parmenides attack the Platonic Ideas, and then proceed to a similar but more fatal assault on his own doctrine of Being, appears to be the height of absurdity.

Perhaps there is no passage in Plato showing greater metaphysical power than that in which he assails his own theory of Ideas. The arguments are nearly, if not quite, those of Aristotle; they are the objections which naturally occur to a modern student of philosophy. Many persons will be surprised to find Plato criticizing the very conceptions which have been supposed in after ages to be peculiarly characteristic of him. How can he have placed himself so completely without them? How can he have ever persisted in them after seeing the fatal objections which might be urged against them? The consideration of this difficulty has led a recent critic (Ueberweg), who in general accepts the authorised canon of the Platonic writings, to condemn the Parmenides as spurious. The accidental want of external evidence, at first sight, seems to favour this opinion.

In answer, it might be sufficient to say, that no ancient writing of equal length and excellence is known to be spurious. Nor is the silence of Aristotle to be hastily assumed; there is at least a doubt whether his use of the same arguments does not involve the inference that he knew the work. And, if the Parmenides is spurious, like Ueberweg, we are led on further than we originally intended, to pass a similar condemnation on the Theaetetus and Sophist, and therefore on the Politicus (compare Theaet., Soph.). But the objection is in reality fanciful, and rests on the assumption that the doctrine of the Ideas was held by Plato throughout his life in the same form. For the truth is, that the Platonic Ideas were in constant process of growth and transmutation; sometimes veiled in poetry and mythology, then again emerging as fixed Ideas, in some passages regarded as absolute and eternal, and in others as relative to the human mind, existing in and derived from external objects as well as transcending them. The anamnesis of the Ideas is chiefly insisted upon in the mythical portions of the dialogues, and really occupies a very small space in the entire works of Plato. Their transcendental existence is not asserted, and is therefore implicitly denied in the Philebus; different forms are ascribed to them in the Republic, and they are mentioned in the Theaetetus, the Sophist, the Politicus, and the Laws, much as Universals would be spoken of in modern books. Indeed, there are very faint traces of the transcendental doctrine of Ideas, that is, of their existence apart from the mind, in any of Plato’s writings, with the exception of the Meno, the Phaedrus, the Phaedo, and in portions of the Republic. The stereotyped form which Aristotle has given to them is not found in Plato (compare Essay on the Platonic Ideas in the Introduction to the Meno.)

The full discussion of this subject involves a comprehensive survey of the philosophy of Plato, which would be out of place here. But, without digressing further from the immediate subject of the Parmenides, we may remark that Plato is quite serious in his objections to his own doctrines: nor does Socrates attempt to offer any answer to them. The perplexities which surround the one and many in the sphere of the Ideas are also alluded to in the Philebus, and no answer is given to them. Nor have they ever been answered, nor can they be answered by any one else who separates the phenomenal from the real. To suppose that Plato, at a later period of his life, reached a point of view from which he was able to answer them, is a groundless assumption. The real progress of Plato’s own mind has been partly concealed from us by the dogmatic statements of Aristotle, and also by the degeneracy of his own followers, with whom a doctrine of numbers quickly superseded Ideas.

As a preparation for answering some of the difficulties which have been suggested, we may begin by sketching the first portion of the dialogue: —

Cephalus, of Clazomenae in Ionia, the birthplace of Anaxagoras, a citizen of no mean city in the history of philosophy, who is the narrator of the dialogue, describes himself as meeting Adeimantus and Glaucon in the Agora at Athens. ‘Welcome, Cephalus: can we do anything for you in Athens?’ ‘Why, yes: I came to ask a favour of you. First, tell me your half-brother’s name, which I have forgotten — he was a mere child when I was last here; — I know his father’s, which is Pyrilampes.’ ‘Yes, and the name of our brother is Antiphon. But why do you ask?’ ‘Let me introduce to you some countrymen of mine, who are lovers of philosophy; they have heard that Antiphon remembers a conversation of Socrates with Parmenides and Zeno, of which the report came to him from Pythodorus, Zeno’s friend.’ ‘That is quite true.’ ‘And can they hear the dialogue?’ ‘Nothing easier; in the days of his youth he made a careful study of the piece; at present, his thoughts have another direction: he takes after his grandfather, and has given up philosophy for horses.’

‘We went to look for him, and found him giving instructions to a worker in brass about a bridle. When he had done with him, and had learned from his brothers the purpose of our visit, he saluted me as an old acquaintance, and we asked him to repeat the dialogue. At first, he complained of the trouble, but he soon consented. He told us that Pythodorus had described to him the appearance of Parmenides and Zeno; they had come to Athens at the great Panathenaea, the former being at the time about sixty-five years old, aged but well-favoured — Zeno, who was said to have been beloved of Parmenides in the days of his youth, about forty, and very good-looking: — that they lodged with Pythodorus at the Ceramicus outside the wall, whither Socrates, then a very young man, came to see them: Zeno was reading one of his theses, which he had nearly finished, when Pythodorus entered with Parmenides and Aristoteles, who was afterwards one of the Thirty. When the recitation was completed, Socrates requested that the first thesis of the treatise might be read again.’

‘You mean, Zeno,’ said Socrates, ‘to argue that being, if it is many, must be both like and unlike, which is a contradiction; and each division of your argument is intended to elicit a similar absurdity, which may be supposed to follow from the assumption that being is many.’ ‘Such is my meaning.’ ‘I see,’ said Socrates, turning to Parmenides, ‘that Zeno is your second self in his writings too; you prove admirably that the all is one: he gives proofs no less convincing that the many are nought. To deceive the world by saying the same thing in entirely different forms, is a strain of art beyond most of us.’ ‘Yes, Socrates,’ said Zeno; ‘but though you are as keen as a Spartan hound, you do not quite catch the motive of the piece, which was only intended to protect Parmenides against ridicule by showing that the hypothesis of the existence of the many involved greater absurdities than the hypothesis of the one. The book was a youthful composition of mine, which was stolen from me, and therefore I had no choice about the publication.’ ‘I quite believe you,’ said Socrates; ‘but will you answer me a question? I should like to know, whether you would assume an idea of likeness in the abstract, which is the contradictory of unlikeness in the abstract, by participation in either or both of which things are like or unlike or partly both. For the same things may very well partake of like and unlike in the concrete, though like and unlike in the abstract are irreconcilable. Nor does there appear to me to be any absurdity in maintaining that the same things may partake of the one and many, though I should be indeed surprised to hear that the absolute one is also many. For example, I, being many, that is to say, having many parts or members, am yet also one, and partake of the one, being one of seven who are here present (compare Philebus). This is not an absurdity, but a truism. But I should be amazed if there were a similar entanglement in the nature of the ideas themselves, nor can I believe that one and many, like and unlike, rest and motion, in the abstract, are capable either of admixture or of separation.’

Pythodorus said that in his opinion Parmenides and Zeno were not very well pleased at the questions which were raised; nevertheless, they looked at one another and smiled in seeming delight and admiration of Socrates. ‘Tell me,’ said Parmenides, ‘do you think that the abstract ideas of likeness, unity, and the rest, exist apart from individuals which partake of them? and is this your own distinction?’ ‘I think that there are such ideas.’ ‘And would you make abstract ideas of the just, the beautiful, the good?’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And of human beings like ourselves, of water, fire, and the like?’ ‘I am not certain.’ ‘And would you be undecided also about ideas of which the mention will, perhaps, appear laughable: of hair, mud, filth, and other things which are base and vile?’ ‘No, Parmenides; visible things like these are, as I believe, only what they appear to be: though I am sometimes disposed to imagine that there is nothing without an idea; but I repress any such notion, from a fear of falling into an abyss of nonsense.’ ‘You are young, Socrates, and therefore naturally regard the opinions of men; the time will come when philosophy will have a firmer hold of you, and you will not despise even the meanest things. But tell me, is your meaning that things become like by partaking of likeness, great by partaking of greatness, just and beautiful by partaking of justice and beauty, and so of other ideas?’ ‘Yes, that is my meaning.’ ‘And do you suppose the individual to partake of the whole, or of the part?’ ‘Why not of the whole?’ said Socrates. ‘Because,’ said Parmenides, ‘in that case the whole, which is one, will become many.’ ‘Nay,’ said Socrates, ‘the whole may be like the day, which is one and in many places: in this way the ideas may be one and also many.’ ‘In the same sort of way,’ said Parmenides, ‘as a sail, which is one, may be a cover to many — that is your meaning?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And would you say that each man is covered by the whole sail, or by a part only?’ ‘By a part.’ ‘Then the ideas have parts, and the objects partake of a part of them only?’ ‘That seems to follow.’ ‘And would you like to say that the ideas are really divisible and yet remain one?’ ‘Certainly not.’ ‘Would you venture to affirm that great objects have a portion only of greatness transferred to them; or that small or equal objects are small or equal because they are only portions of smallness or equality?’ ‘Impossible.’ ‘But how can individuals participate in ideas, except in the ways which I have mentioned?’ ‘That is not an easy question to answer.’ ‘I should imagine the conception of ideas to arise as follows: you see great objects pervaded by a common form or idea of greatness, which you abstract.’ ‘That is quite true.’ ‘And supposing you embrace in one view the idea of greatness thus gained and the individuals which it comprises, a further idea of greatness arises, which makes both great; and this may go on to infinity.’ Socrates replies that the ideas may be thoughts in the mind only; in this case, the consequence would no longer follow. ‘But must not the thought be of something which is the same in all and is the idea? And if the world partakes in the ideas, and the ideas are thoughts, must not all things think? Or can thought be without thought?’ ‘I acknowledge the unmeaningness of this,’ says Socrates, ‘and would rather have recourse to the explanation that the ideas are types in nature, and that other things partake of them by becoming like them.’ ‘But to become like them is to be comprehended in the same idea; and the likeness of the idea and the individuals implies another idea of likeness, and another without end.’ ‘Quite true.’ ‘The theory, then, of participation by likeness has to be given up. You have hardly yet, Socrates, found out the real difficulty of maintaining abstract ideas.’ ‘What difficulty?’ ‘The greatest of all perhaps is this: an opponent will argue that the ideas are not within the range of human knowledge; and you cannot disprove the assertion without a long and laborious demonstration, which he may be unable or unwilling to follow. In the first place, neither you nor any one who maintains the existence of absolute ideas will affirm that they are subjective.’ ‘That would be a contradiction.’ ‘True; and therefore any relation in these ideas is a relation which concerns themselves only; and the objects which are named after them, are relative to one another only, and have nothing to do with the ideas themselves.’ ‘How do you mean?’ said Socrates. ‘I may illustrate my meaning in this way: one of us has a slave; and the idea of a slave in the abstract is relative to the idea of a master in the abstract; this correspondence of ideas, however, has nothing to do with the particular relation of our slave to us. — Do you see my meaning?’ ‘Perfectly.’ ‘And absolute knowledge in the same way corresponds to absolute truth and being, and particular knowledge to particular truth and being.’ Clearly.’ ‘And there is a subjective knowledge which is of subjective truth, having many kinds, general and particular. But the ideas themselves are not subjective, and therefore are not within our ken.’ ‘They are not.’ ‘Then the beautiful and the good in their own nature are unknown to us?’ ‘It would seem so.’ ‘There is a worse consequence yet.’ ‘What is that?’ ‘I think we must admit that absolute knowledge is the most exact knowledge, which we must therefore attribute to God. But then see what follows: God, having this exact knowledge, can have no knowledge of human things, as we have divided the two spheres, and forbidden any passing from one to the other: — the gods have knowledge and authority in their world only, as we have in ours.’ ‘Yet, surely, to deprive God of knowledge is monstrous.’— ‘These are some of the difficulties which are involved in the assumption of absolute ideas; the learner will find them nearly impossible to understand, and the teacher who has to impart them will require superhuman ability; there will always be a suspicion, either that they have no existence, or are beyond human knowledge.’ ‘There I agree with you,’ said Socrates. ‘Yet if these difficulties induce you to give up universal ideas, what becomes of the mind? and where are the reasoning and reflecting powers? philosophy is at an end.’ ‘I certainly do not see my way.’ ‘I think,’ said Parmenides, ‘that this arises out of your attempting to define abstractions, such as the good and the beautiful and the just, before you have had sufficient previous training; I noticed your deficiency when you were talking with Aristoteles, the day before yesterday. Your enthusiasm is a wonderful gift; but I fear that unless you discipline yourself by dialectic while you are young, truth will elude your grasp.’ ‘And what kind of discipline would you recommend?’ ‘The training which you heard Zeno practising; at the same time, I admire your saying to him that you did not care to consider the difficulty in reference to visible objects, but only in relation to ideas.’ ‘Yes; because I think that in visible objects you may easily show any number of inconsistent consequences.’ ‘Yes; and you should consider, not only the consequences which follow from a given hypothesis, but the consequences also which follow from the denial of the hypothesis. For example, what follows from the assumption of the existence of the many, and the counter-argument of what follows from the denial of the existence of the many: and similarly of likeness and unlikeness, motion, rest, generation, corruption, being and not being. And the consequences must include consequences to the things supposed and to other things, in themselves and in relation to one another, to individuals whom you select, to the many, and to the all; these must be drawn out both on the affirmative and on the negative hypothesis, — that is, if you are to train yourself perfectly to the intelligence of the truth.’ ‘What you are suggesting seems to be a tremendous process, and one of which I do not quite understand the nature,’ said Socrates; ‘will you give me an example?’ ‘You must not impose such a task on a man of my years,’ said Parmenides. ‘Then will you, Zeno?’ ‘Let us rather,’ said Zeno, with a smile, ‘ask Parmenides, for the undertaking is a serious one, as he truly says; nor could I urge him to make the attempt, except in a select audience of persons who will understand him.’ The whole party joined in the request.

Here we have, first of all, an unmistakable attack made by the youthful Socrates on the paradoxes of Zeno. He perfectly understands their drift, and Zeno himself is supposed to admit this. But they appear to him, as he says in the Philebus also, to be rather truisms than paradoxes. For every one must acknowledge the obvious fact, that the body being one has many members, and that, in a thousand ways, the like partakes of the unlike, the many of the one. The real difficulty begins with the relations of ideas in themselves, whether of the one and many, or of any other ideas, to one another and to the mind. But this was a problem which the Eleatic philosophers had never considered; their thoughts had not gone beyond the contradictions of matter, motion, space, and the like.

It was no wonder that Parmenides and Zeno should hear the novel speculations of Socrates with mixed feelings of admiration and displeasure. He was going out of the received circle of disputation into a region in which they could hardly follow him. From the crude idea of Being in the abstract, he was about to proceed to universals or general notions. There is no contradiction in material things partaking of the ideas of one and many; neither is there any contradiction in the ideas of one and many, like and unlike, in themselves. But the contradiction arises when we attempt to conceive ideas in their connexion, or to ascertain their relation to phenomena. Still he affirms the existence of such ideas; and this is the position which is now in turn submitted to the criticisms of Parmenides.

To appreciate truly the character of these criticisms, we must remember the place held by Parmenides in the history of Greek philosophy. He is the founder of idealism, and also of dialectic, or, in modern phraseology, of metaphysics and logic (Theaet., Soph.). Like Plato, he is struggling after something wider and deeper than satisfied the contemporary Pythagoreans. And Plato with a true instinct recognizes him as his spiritual father, whom he ‘revered and honoured more than all other philosophers together.’ He may be supposed to have thought more than he said, or was able to express. And, although he could not, as a matter of fact, have criticized the ideas of Plato without an anachronism, the criticism is appropriately placed in the mouth of the founder of the ideal philosophy.

There was probably a time in the life of Plato when the ethical teaching of Socrates came into conflict with the metaphysical theories of the earlier philosophers, and he sought to supplement the one by the other. The older philosophers were great and awful; and they had the charm of antiquity. Something which found a response in his own mind seemed to have been lost as well as gained in the Socratic dialectic. He felt no incongruity in the veteran Parmenides correcting the youthful Socrates. Two points in his criticism are especially deserving of notice. First of all, Parmenides tries him by the test of consistency. Socrates is willing to assume ideas or principles of the just, the beautiful, the good, and to extend them to man (compare Phaedo); but he is reluctant to admit that there are general ideas of hair, mud, filth, etc. There is an ethical universal or idea, but is there also a universal of physics? — of the meanest things in the world as well as of the greatest? Parmenides rebukes this want of consistency in Socrates, which he attributes to his youth. As he grows older, philosophy will take a firmer hold of him, and then he will despise neither great things nor small, and he will think less of the opinions of mankind (compare Soph.). Here is lightly touched one of the most familiar principles of modern philosophy, that in the meanest operations of nature, as well as in the noblest, in mud and filth, as well as in the sun and stars, great truths are contained. At the same time, we may note also the transition in the mind of Plato, to which Aristotle alludes (Met.), when, as he says, he transferred the Socratic universal of ethics to the whole of nature.

The other criticism of Parmenides on Socrates attributes to him a want of practice in dialectic. He has observed this deficiency in him when talking to Aristoteles on a previous occasion. Plato seems to imply that there was something more in the dialectic of Zeno than in the mere interrogation of Socrates. Here, again, he may perhaps be describing the process which his own mind went through when he first became more intimately acquainted, whether at Megara or elsewhere, with the Eleatic and Megarian philosophers. Still, Parmenides does not deny to Socrates the credit of having gone beyond them in seeking to apply the paradoxes of Zeno to ideas; and this is the application which he himself makes of them in the latter part of the dialogue. He then proceeds to explain to him the sort of mental gymnastic which he should practise. He should consider not only what would follow from a given hypothesis, but what would follow from the denial of it, to that which is the subject of the hypothesis, and to all other things. There is no trace in the Memorabilia of Xenophon of any such method being attributed to Socrates; nor is the dialectic here spoken of that ‘favourite method’ of proceeding by regular divisions, which is described in the Phaedrus and Philebus, and of which examples are given in the Politicus and in the Sophist. It is expressly spoken of as the method which Socrates had heard Zeno practise in the days of his youth (compare Soph.).

The discussion of Socrates with Parmenides is one of the most remarkable passages in Plato. Few writers have ever been able to anticipate ‘the criticism of the morrow’ on their favourite notions. But Plato may here be said to anticipate the judgment not only of the morrow, but of all after-ages on the Platonic Ideas. For in some points he touches questions which have not yet received their solution in modern philosophy.

The first difficulty which Parmenides raises respecting the Platonic ideas relates to the manner in which individuals are connected with them. Do they participate in the ideas, or do they merely resemble them? Parmenides shows that objections may be urged against either of these modes of conceiving the connection. Things are little by partaking of littleness, great by partaking of greatness, and the like. But they cannot partake of a part of greatness, for that will not make them great, etc.; nor can each object monopolise the whole. The only answer to this is, that ‘partaking’ is a figure of speech, really corresponding to the processes which a later logic designates by the terms ‘abstraction’ and ‘generalization.’ When we have described accurately the methods or forms which the mind employs, we cannot further criticize them; at least we can only criticize them with reference to their fitness as instruments of thought to express facts.

Socrates attempts to support his view of the ideas by the parallel of the day, which is one and in many places; but he is easily driven from his position by a counter illustration of Parmenides, who compares the idea of greatness to a sail. He truly explains to Socrates that he has attained the conception of ideas by a process of generalization. At the same time, he points out a difficulty, which appears to be involved — viz. that the process of generalization will go on to infinity. Socrates meets the supposed difficulty by a flash of light, which is indeed the true answer ‘that the ideas are in our minds only.’ Neither realism is the truth, nor nominalism is the truth, but conceptualism; and conceptualism or any other psychological theory falls very far short of the infinite subtlety of language and thought.

But the realism of ancient philosophy will not admit of this answer, which is repelled by Parmenides with another truth or half-truth of later philosophy, ‘Every subject or subjective must have an object.’ Here is the great though unconscious truth (shall we say?) or error, which underlay the early Greek philosophy. ‘Ideas must have a real existence;’ they are not mere forms or opinions, which may be changed arbitrarily by individuals. But the early Greek philosopher never clearly saw that true ideas were only universal facts, and that there might be error in universals as well as in particulars.

Socrates makes one more attempt to defend the Platonic Ideas by representing them as paradigms; this is again answered by the ‘argumentum ad infinitum.’ We may remark, in passing, that the process which is thus described has no real existence. The mind, after having obtained a general idea, does not really go on to form another which includes that, and all the individuals contained under it, and another and another without end. The difficulty belongs in fact to the Megarian age of philosophy, and is due to their illogical logic, and to the general ignorance of the ancients respecting the part played by language in the process of thought. No such perplexity could ever trouble a modern metaphysician, any more than the fallacy of ‘calvus’ or ‘acervus,’ or of ‘Achilles and the tortoise.’ These ‘surds’ of metaphysics ought to occasion no more difficulty in speculation than a perpetually recurring fraction in arithmetic.

It is otherwise with the objection which follows: How are we to bridge the chasm between human truth and absolute truth, between gods and men? This is the difficulty of philosophy in all ages: How can we get beyond the circle of our own ideas, or how, remaining within them, can we have any criterion of a truth beyond and independent of them? Parmenides draws out this difficulty with great clearness. According to him, there are not only one but two chasms: the first, between individuals and the ideas which have a common name; the second, between the ideas in us and the ideas absolute. The first of these two difficulties mankind, as we may say, a little parodying the language of the Philebus, have long agreed to treat as obsolete; the second remains a difficulty for us as well as for the Greeks of the fourth century before Christ, and is the stumbling-block of Kant’s Kritik, and of the Hamiltonian adaptation of Kant, as well as of the Platonic ideas. It has been said that ‘you cannot criticize Revelation.’ ‘Then how do you know what is Revelation, or that there is one at all,’ is the immediate rejoinder— ‘You know nothing of things in themselves.’ ‘Then how do you know that there are things in themselves?’ In some respects, the difficulty pressed harder upon the Greek than upon ourselves. For conceiving of God more under the attribute of knowledge than we do, he was more under the necessity of separating the divine from the human, as two spheres which had no communication with one another.

It is remarkable that Plato, speaking by the mouth of Parmenides, does not treat even this second class of difficulties as hopeless or insoluble. He says only that they cannot be explained without a long and laborious demonstration: ‘The teacher will require superhuman ability, and the learner will be hard of understanding.’ But an attempt must be made to find an answer to them; for, as Socrates and Parmenides both admit, the denial of abstract ideas is the destruction of the mind. We can easily imagine that among the Greek schools of philosophy in the fourth century before Christ a panic might arise from the denial of universals, similar to that which arose in the last century from Hume’s denial of our ideas of cause and effect. Men do not at first recognize that thought, like digestion, will go on much the same, notwithstanding any theories which may be entertained respecting the nature of the process. Parmenides attributes the difficulties in which Socrates is involved to a want of comprehensiveness in his mode of reasoning; he should consider every question on the negative as well as the positive hypothesis, with reference to the consequences which flow from the denial as well as from the assertion of a given statement.

The argument which follows is the most singular in Plato. It appears to be an imitation, or parody, of the Zenonian dialectic, just as the speeches in the Phaedrus are an imitation of the style of Lysias, or as the derivations in the Cratylus or the fallacies of the Euthydemus are a parody of some contemporary Sophist. The interlocutor is not supposed, as in most of the other Platonic dialogues, to take a living part in the argument; he is only required to say ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ in the right places. A hint has been already given that the paradoxes of Zeno admitted of a higher application. This hint is the thread by which Plato connects the two parts of the dialogue.

The paradoxes of Parmenides seem trivial to us, because the words to which they relate have become trivial; their true nature as abstract terms is perfectly understood by us, and we are inclined to regard the treatment of them in Plato as a mere straw-splitting, or legerdemain of words. Yet there was a power in them which fascinated the Neoplatonists for centuries afterwards. Something that they found in them, or brought to them — some echo or anticipation of a great truth or error, exercised a wonderful influence over their minds. To do the Parmenides justice, we should imagine similar aporiai raised on themes as sacred to us, as the notions of One or Being were to an ancient Eleatic. ‘If God is, what follows? If God is not, what follows?’ Or again: If God is or is not the world; or if God is or is not many, or has or has not parts, or is or is not in the world, or in time; or is or is not finite or infinite. Or if the world is or is not; or has or has not a beginning or end; or is or is not infinite, or infinitely divisible. Or again: if God is or is not identical with his laws; or if man is or is not identical with the laws of nature. We can easily see that here are many subjects for thought, and that from these and similar hypotheses questions of great interest might arise. And we also remark, that the conclusions derived from either of the two alternative propositions might be equally impossible and contradictory.

When we ask what is the object of these paradoxes, some have answered that they are a mere logical puzzle, while others have seen in them an Hegelian propaedeutic of the doctrine of Ideas. The first of these views derives support from the manner in which Parmenides speaks of a similar method being applied to all Ideas. Yet it is hard to suppose that Plato would have furnished so elaborate an example, not of his own but of the Eleatic dialectic, had he intended only to give an illustration of method. The second view has been often overstated by those who, like Hegel himself, have tended to confuse ancient with modern philosophy. We need not deny that Plato, trained in the school of Cratylus and Heracleitus, may have seen that a contradiction in terms is sometimes the best expression of a truth higher than either (compare Soph.). But his ideal theory is not based on antinomies. The correlation of Ideas was the metaphysical difficulty of the age in which he lived; and the Megarian and Cynic philosophy was a ‘reductio ad absurdum’ of their isolation. To restore them to their natural connexion and to detect the negative element in them is the aim of Plato in the Sophist. But his view of their connexion falls very far short of the Hegelian identity of Being and Not-being. The Being and Not-being of Plato never merge in each other, though he is aware that ‘determination is only negation.’

After criticizing the hypotheses of others, it may appear presumptuous to add another guess to the many which have been already offered. May we say, in Platonic language, that we still seem to see vestiges of a track which has not yet been taken? It is quite possible that the obscurity of the Parmenides would not have existed to a contemporary student of philosophy, and, like the similar difficulty in the Philebus, is really due to our ignorance of the mind of the age. There is an obscure Megarian influence on Plato which cannot wholly be cleared up, and is not much illustrated by the doubtful tradition of his retirement to Megara after the death of Socrates. For Megara was within a walk of Athens (Phaedr.), and Plato might have learned the Megarian doctrines without settling there.

We may begin by remarking that the theses of Parmenides are expressly said to follow the method of Zeno, and that the complex dilemma, though declared to be capable of universal application, is applied in this instance to Zeno’s familiar question of the ‘one and many.’ Here, then, is a double indication of the connexion of the Parmenides with the Eristic school. The old Eleatics had asserted the existence of Being, which they at first regarded as finite, then as infinite, then as neither finite nor infinite, to which some of them had given what Aristotle calls ‘a form,’ others had ascribed a material nature only. The tendency of their philosophy was to deny to Being all predicates. The Megarians, who succeeded them, like the Cynics, affirmed that no predicate could be asserted of any subject; they also converted the idea of Being into an abstraction of Good, perhaps with the view of preserving a sort of neutrality or indifference between the mind and things. As if they had said, in the language of modern philosophy: ‘Being is not only neither finite nor infinite, neither at rest nor in motion, but neither subjective nor objective.’

This is the track along which Plato is leading us. Zeno had attempted to prove the existence of the one by disproving the existence of the many, and Parmenides seems to aim at proving the existence of the subject by showing the contradictions which follow from the assertion of any predicates. Take the simplest of all notions, ‘unity’; you cannot even assert being or time of this without involving a contradiction. But is the contradiction also the final conclusion? Probably no more than of Zeno’s denial of the many, or of Parmenides’ assault upon the Ideas; no more than of the earlier dialogues ‘of search.’ To us there seems to be no residuum of this long piece of dialectics. But to the mind of Parmenides and Plato, ‘Gott-betrunkene Menschen,’ there still remained the idea of ‘being’ or ‘good,’ which could not be conceived, defined, uttered, but could not be got rid of. Neither of them would have imagined that their disputation ever touched the Divine Being (compare Phil.). The same difficulties about Unity and Being are raised in the Sophist; but there only as preliminary to their final solution.

If this view is correct, the real aim of the hypotheses of Parmenides is to criticize the earlier Eleatic philosophy from the point of view of Zeno or the Megarians. It is the same kind of criticism which Plato has extended to his own doctrine of Ideas. Nor is there any want of poetical consistency in attributing to the ‘father Parmenides’ the last review of the Eleatic doctrines. The latest phases of all philosophies were fathered upon the founder of the school.

Other critics have regarded the final conclusion of the Parmenides either as sceptical or as Heracleitean. In the first case, they assume that Plato means to show the impossibility of any truth. But this is not the spirit of Plato, and could not with propriety be put into the mouth of Parmenides, who, in this very dialogue, is urging Socrates, not to doubt everything, but to discipline his mind with a view to the more precise attainment of truth. The same remark applies to the second of the two theories. Plato everywhere ridicules (perhaps unfairly) his Heracleitean contemporaries: and if he had intended to support an Heracleitean thesis, would hardly have chosen Parmenides, the condemner of the ‘undiscerning tribe who say that things both are and are not,’ to be the speaker. Nor, thirdly, can we easily persuade ourselves with Zeller that by the ‘one’ he means the Idea; and that he is seeking to prove indirectly the unity of the Idea in the multiplicity of phenomena.

We may now endeavour to thread the mazes of the labyrinth which Parmenides knew so well, and trembled at the thought of them.

The argument has two divisions: There is the hypothesis that

1.  One is.

2.  One is not.

If one is, it is nothing.

If one is not, it is everything.

But is and is not may be taken in two senses:

Either one is one,

Or, one has being,

from which opposite consequences are deduced,

1.a.  If one is one, it is nothing.

1.b.  If one has being, it is all things.

To which are appended two subordinate consequences:

1.aa.  If one has being, all other things are.

1.bb.  If one is one, all other things are not.

The same distinction is then applied to the negative hypothesis:

2.a.  If one is not one, it is all things.

2.b.  If one has not being, it is nothing.

Involving two parallel consequences respecting the other or remainder:

2.aa.  If one is not one, other things are all.

2.bb.  If one has not being, other things are not.

.....

‘I cannot refuse,’ said Parmenides, ‘since, as Zeno remarks, we are alone, though I may say with Ibycus, who in his old age fell in love, I, like the old racehorse, tremble at the prospect of the course which I am to run, and which I know so well. But as I must attempt this laborious game, what shall be the subject? Suppose I take my own hypothesis of the one.’ ‘By all means,’ said Zeno. ‘And who will answer me? Shall I propose the youngest? he will be the most likely to say what he thinks, and his answers will give me time to breathe.’ ‘I am the youngest,’ said Aristoteles, ‘and at your service; proceed with your questions.’ — The result may be summed up as follows: —

1.a. One is not many, and therefore has no parts, and therefore is not a whole, which is a sum of parts, and therefore has neither beginning, middle, nor end, and is therefore unlimited, and therefore formless, being neither round nor straight, for neither round nor straight can be defined without assuming that they have parts; and therefore is not in place, whether in another which would encircle and touch the one at many points; or in itself, because that which is self-containing is also contained, and therefore not one but two. This being premised, let us consider whether one is capable either of motion or rest. For motion is either change of substance, or motion on an axis, or from one place to another. But the one is incapable of change of substance, which implies that it ceases to be itself, or of motion on an axis, because there would be parts around the axis; and any other motion involves change of place. But existence in place has been already shown to be impossible; and yet more impossible is coming into being in place, which implies partial existence in two places at once, or entire existence neither within nor without the same; and how can this be? And more impossible still is the coming into being either as a whole or parts of that which is neither a whole nor parts. The one, then, is incapable of motion. But neither can the one be in anything, and therefore not in the same, whether itself or some other, and is therefore incapable of rest. Neither is one the same with itself or any other, or other than itself or any other. For if other than itself, then other than one, and therefore not one; and, if the same with other, it would be other, and other than one. Neither can one while remaining one be other than other; for other, and not one, is the other than other. But if not other by virtue of being one, not by virtue of itself; and if not by virtue of itself, not itself other, and if not itself other, not other than anything. Neither will one be the same with itself. For the nature of the same is not that of the one, but a thing which becomes the same with anything does not become one; for example, that which becomes the same with the many becomes many and not one. And therefore if the one is the same with itself, the one is not one with itself; and therefore one and not one. And therefore one is neither other than other, nor the same with itself. Neither will the one be like or unlike itself or other; for likeness is sameness of affections, and the one and the same are different. And one having any affection which is other than being one would be more than one. The one, then, cannot have the same affection with and therefore cannot be like itself or other; nor can the one have any other affection than its own, that is, be unlike itself or any other, for this would imply that it was more than one. The one, then, is neither like nor unlike itself or other. This being the case, neither can the one be equal or unequal to itself or other. For equality implies sameness of measure, as inequality implies a greater or less number of measures. But the one, not having sameness, cannot have sameness of measure; nor a greater or less number of measures, for that would imply parts and multitude. Once more, can one be older or younger than itself or other? or of the same age with itself or other? That would imply likeness and unlikeness, equality and inequality. Therefore one cannot be in time, because that which is in time is ever becoming older and younger than itself, (for older and younger are relative terms, and he who becomes older becomes younger,) and is also of the same age with itself. None of which, or any other expressions of time, whether past, future, or present, can be affirmed of one. One neither is, has been, nor will be, nor becomes, nor has, nor will become. And, as these are the only modes of being, one is not, and is not one. But to that which is not, there is no attribute or relative, neither name nor word nor idea nor science nor perception nor opinion appertaining. One, then, is neither named, nor uttered, nor known, nor perceived, nor imagined. But can all this be true? ‘I think not.’

1.b. Let us, however, commence the inquiry again. We have to work out all the consequences which follow on the assumption that the one is. If one is, one partakes of being, which is not the same with one; the words ‘being’ and ‘one’ have different meanings. Observe the consequence: In the one of being or the being of one are two parts, being and one, which form one whole. And each of the two parts is also a whole, and involves the other, and may be further subdivided into one and being, and is therefore not one but two; and thus one is never one, and in this way the one, if it is, becomes many and infinite. Again, let us conceive of a one which by an effort of abstraction we separate from being: will this abstract one be one or many? You say one only; let us see. In the first place, the being of one is other than one; and one and being, if different, are so because they both partake of the nature of other, which is therefore neither one nor being; and whether we take being and other, or being and one, or one and other, in any case we have two things which separately are called either, and together both. And both are two and either of two is severally one, and if one be added to any of the pairs, the sum is three; and two is an even number, three an odd; and two units exist twice, and therefore there are twice two; and three units exist thrice, and therefore there are thrice three, and taken together they give twice three and thrice two: we have even numbers multiplied into even, and odd into even, and even into odd numbers. But if one is, and both odd and even numbers are implied in one, must not every number exist? And number is infinite, and therefore existence must be infinite, for all and every number partakes of being; therefore being has the greatest number of parts, and every part, however great or however small, is equally one. But can one be in many places and yet be a whole? If not a whole it must be divided into parts and represented by a number corresponding to the number of the parts. And if so, we were wrong in saying that being has the greatest number of parts; for being is coequal and coextensive with one, and has no more parts than one; and so the abstract one broken up into parts by being is many and infinite. But the parts are parts of a whole, and the whole is their containing limit, and the one is therefore limited as well as infinite in number; and that which is a whole has beginning, middle, and end, and a middle is equidistant from the extremes; and one is therefore of a certain figure, round or straight, or a combination of the two, and being a whole includes all the parts which are the whole, and is therefore self-contained. But then, again, the whole is not in the parts, whether all or some. Not in all, because, if in all, also in one; for, if wanting in any one, how in all? — not in some, because the greater would then be contained in the less. But if not in all, nor in any, nor in some, either nowhere or in other. And if nowhere, nothing; therefore in other. The one as a whole, then, is in another, but regarded as a sum of parts is in itself; and is, therefore, both in itself and in another. This being the case, the one is at once both at rest and in motion: at rest, because resting in itself; in motion, because it is ever in other. And if there is truth in what has preceded, one is the same and not the same with itself and other. For everything in relation to every other thing is either the same with it or other; or if neither the same nor other, then in the relation of part to a whole or whole to a part. But one cannot be a part or whole in relation to one, nor other than one; and is therefore the same with one. Yet this sameness is again contradicted by one being in another place from itself which is in the same place; this follows from one being in itself and in another; one, therefore, is other than itself. But if anything is other than anything, will it not be other than other? And the not one is other than the one, and the one than the not one; therefore one is other than all others. But the same and the other exclude one another, and therefore the other can never be in the same; nor can the other be in anything for ever so short a time, as for that time the other will be in the same. And the other, if never in the same, cannot be either in the one or in the not one. And one is not other than not one, either by reason of other or of itself; and therefore they are not other than one another at all. Neither can the not one partake or be part of one, for in that case it would be one; nor can the not one be number, for that also involves one. And therefore, not being other than the one or related to the one as a whole to parts or parts to a whole, not one is the same as one. Wherefore the one is the same and also not the same with the others and also with itself; and is therefore like and unlike itself and the others, and just as different from the others as they are from the one, neither more nor less. But if neither more nor less, equally different; and therefore the one and the others have the same relations. This may be illustrated by the case of names: when you repeat the same name twice over, you mean the same thing; and when you say that the other is other than the one, or the one other than the other, this very word other (eteron), which is attributed to both, implies sameness. One, then, as being other than others, and other as being other than one, are alike in that they have the relation of otherness; and likeness is similarity of relations. And everything as being other of everything is also like everything. Again, same and other, like and unlike, are opposites: and since in virtue of being other than the others the one is like them, in virtue of being the same it must be unlike. Again, one, as having the same relations, has no difference of relation, and is therefore not unlike, and therefore like; or, as having different relations, is different and unlike. Thus, one, as being the same and not the same with itself and others — for both these reasons and for either of them — is also like and unlike itself and the others. Again, how far can one touch itself and the others? As existing in others, it touches the others; and as existing in itself, touches only itself. But from another point of view, that which touches another must be next in order of place; one, therefore, must be next in order of place to itself, and would therefore be two, and in two places. But one cannot be two, and therefore cannot be in contact with itself. Nor again can one touch the other. Two objects are required to make one contact; three objects make two contacts; and all the objects in the world, if placed in a series, would have as many contacts as there are objects, less one. But if one only exists, and not two, there is no contact. And the others, being other than one, have no part in one, and therefore none in number, and therefore two has no existence, and therefore there is no contact. For all which reasons, one has and has not contact with itself and the others.

Once more, Is one equal and unequal to itself and the others? Suppose one and the others to be greater or less than each other or equal to one another, they will be greater or less or equal by reason of equality or greatness or smallness inhering in them in addition to their own proper nature. Let us begin by assuming smallness to be inherent in one: in this case the inherence is either in the whole or in a part. If the first, smallness is either coextensive with the whole one, or contains the whole, and, if coextensive with the one, is equal to the one, or if containing the one will be greater than the one. But smallness thus performs the function of equality or of greatness, which is impossible. Again, if the inherence be in a part, the same contradiction follows: smallness will be equal to the part or greater than the part; therefore smallness will not inhere in anything, and except the idea of smallness there will be nothing small. Neither will greatness; for greatness will have a greater; — and there will be no small in relation to which it is great. And there will be no great or small in objects, but greatness and smallness will be relative only to each other; therefore the others cannot be greater or less than the one; also the one can neither exceed nor be exceeded by the others, and they are therefore equal to one another. And this will be true also of the one in relation to itself: one will be equal to itself as well as to the others (talla). Yet one, being in itself, must also be about itself, containing and contained, and is therefore greater and less than itself. Further, there is nothing beside the one and the others; and as these must be in something, they must therefore be in one another; and as that in which a thing is is greater than the thing, the inference is that they are both greater and less than one another, because containing and contained in one another. Therefore the one is equal to and greater and less than itself or other, having also measures or parts or numbers equal to or greater or less than itself or other.

But does one partake of time? This must be acknowledged, if the one partakes of being. For ‘to be’ is the participation of being in present time, ‘to have been’ in past, ‘to be about to be’ in future time. And as time is ever moving forward, the one becomes older than itself; and therefore younger than itself; and is older and also younger when in the process of becoming it arrives at the present; and it is always older and younger, for at any moment the one is, and therefore it becomes and is not older and younger than itself but during an equal time with itself, and is therefore contemporary with itself.

And what are the relations of the one to the others? Is it or does it become older or younger than they? At any rate the others are more than one, and one, being the least of all numbers, must be prior in time to greater numbers. But on the other hand, one must come into being in a manner accordant with its own nature. Now one has parts or others, and has therefore a beginning, middle, and end, of which the beginning is first and the end last. And the parts come into existence first; last of all the whole, contemporaneously with the end, being therefore younger, while the parts or others are older than the one. But, again, the one comes into being in each of the parts as much as in the whole, and must be of the same age with them. Therefore one is at once older and younger than the parts or others, and also contemporaneous with them, for no part can be a part which is not one. Is this true of becoming as well as being? Thus much may be affirmed, that the same things which are older or younger cannot become older or younger in a greater degree than they were at first by the addition of equal times. But, on the other hand, the one, if older than others, has come into being a longer time than they have. And when equal time is added to a longer and shorter, the relative difference between them is diminished. In this way that which was older becomes younger, and that which was younger becomes older, that is to say, younger and older than at first; and they ever become and never have become, for then they would be. Thus the one and others always are and are becoming and not becoming younger and also older than one another. And one, partaking of time and also partaking of becoming older and younger, admits of all time, present, past, and future — was, is, shall be — was becoming, is becoming, will become. And there is science of the one, and opinion and name and expression, as is already implied in the fact of our inquiry.

Yet once more, if one be one and many, and neither one nor many, and also participant of time, must there not be a time at which one as being one partakes of being, and a time when one as not being one is deprived of being? But these two contradictory states cannot be experienced by the one both together: there must be a time of transition. And the transition is a process of generation and destruction, into and from being and not-being, the one and the others. For the generation of the one is the destruction of the others, and the generation of the others is the destruction of the one. There is also separation and aggregation, assimilation and dissimilation, increase, diminution, equalization, a passage from motion to rest, and from rest to motion in the one and many. But when do all these changes take place? When does motion become rest, or rest motion? The answer to this question will throw a light upon all the others. Nothing can be in motion and at rest at the same time; and therefore the change takes place ‘in a moment’ — which is a strange expression, and seems to mean change in no time. Which is true also of all the other changes, which likewise take place in no time.

1.aa. But if one is, what happens to the others, which in the first place are not one, yet may partake of one in a certain way? The others are other than the one because they have parts, for if they had no parts they would be simply one, and parts imply a whole to which they belong; otherwise each part would be a part of many, and being itself one of them, of itself, and if a part of all, of each one of the other parts, which is absurd. For a part, if not a part of one, must be a part of all but this one, and if so not a part of each one; and if not a part of each one, not a part of any one of many, and so not of one; and if of none, how of all? Therefore a part is neither a part of many nor of all, but of an absolute and perfect whole or one. And if the others have parts, they must partake of the whole, and must be the whole of which they are the parts. And each part, as the word ‘each’ implies, is also an absolute one. And both the whole and the parts partake of one, for the whole of which the parts are parts is one, and each part is one part of the whole; and whole and parts as participating in one are other than one, and as being other than one are many and infinite; and however small a fraction you separate from them is many and not one. Yet the fact of their being parts furnishes the others with a limit towards other parts and towards the whole; they are finite and also infinite: finite through participation in the one, infinite in their own nature. And as being finite, they are alike; and as being infinite, they are alike; but as being both finite and also infinite, they are in the highest degree unlike. And all other opposites might without difficulty be shown to unite in them.

1.bb. Once more, leaving all this: Is there not also an opposite series of consequences which is equally true of the others, and may be deduced from the existence of one? There is. One is distinct from the others, and the others from one; for one and the others are all things, and there is no third existence besides them. And the whole of one cannot be in others nor parts of it, for it is separated from others and has no parts, and therefore the others have no unity, nor plurality, nor duality, nor any other number, nor any opposition or distinction, such as likeness and unlikeness, some and other, generation and corruption, odd and even. For if they had these they would partake either of one opposite, and this would be a participation in one; or of two opposites, and this would be a participation in two. Thus if one exists, one is all things, and likewise nothing, in relation to one and to the others.

2.a. But, again, assume the opposite hypothesis, that the one is not, and what is the consequence? In the first place, the proposition, that one is not, is clearly opposed to the proposition, that not one is not. The subject of any negative proposition implies at once knowledge and difference. Thus ‘one’ in the proposition— ‘The one is not,’ must be something known, or the words would be unintelligible; and again this ‘one which is not’ is something different from other things. Moreover, this and that, some and other, may be all attributed or related to the one which is not, and which though non-existent may and must have plurality, if the one only is non-existent and nothing else; but if all is not-being there is nothing which can be spoken of. Also the one which is not differs, and is different in kind from the others, and therefore unlike them; and they being other than the one, are unlike the one, which is therefore unlike them. But one, being unlike other, must be like itself; for the unlikeness of one to itself is the destruction of the hypothesis; and one cannot be equal to the others; for that would suppose being in the one, and the others would be equal to one and like one; both which are impossible, if one does not exist. The one which is not, then, if not equal is unequal to the others, and in equality implies great and small, and equality lies between great and small, and therefore the one which is not partakes of equality. Further, the one which is not has being; for that which is true is, and it is true that the one is not. And so the one which is not, if remitting aught of the being of non-existence, would become existent. For not being implies the being of not-being, and being the not-being of not-being; or more truly being partakes of the being of being and not of the being of not-being, and not-being of the being of not-being and not of the not-being of not-being. And therefore the one which is not has being and also not-being. And the union of being and not-being involves change or motion. But how can not-being, which is nowhere, move or change, either from one place to another or in the same place? And whether it is or is not, it would cease to be one if experiencing a change of substance. The one which is not, then, is both in motion and at rest, is altered and unaltered, and becomes and is destroyed, and does not become and is not destroyed.

2.b. Once more, let us ask the question, If one is not, what happens in regard to one? The expression ’is not’ implies negation of being: — do we mean by this to say that a thing, which is not, in a certain sense is? or do we mean absolutely to deny being of it? The latter. Then the one which is not can neither be nor become nor perish nor experience change of substance or place. Neither can rest, or motion, or greatness, or smallness, or equality, or unlikeness, or likeness either to itself or other, or attribute or relation, or now or hereafter or formerly, or knowledge or opinion or perception or name or anything else be asserted of that which is not.

2.aa. Once more, if one is not, what becomes of the others? If we speak of them they must be, and their very name implies difference, and difference implies relation, not to the one, which is not, but to one another. And they are others of each other not as units but as infinities, the least of which is also infinity, and capable of infinitesimal division. And they will have no unity or number, but only a semblance of unity and number; and the least of them will appear large and manifold in comparison with the infinitesimal fractions into which it may be divided. Further, each particle will have the appearance of being equal with the fractions. For in passing from the greater to the less it must reach an intermediate point, which is equality. Moreover, each particle although having a limit in relation to itself and to other particles, yet it has neither beginning, middle, nor end; for there is always a beginning before the beginning, and a middle within the middle, and an end beyond the end, because the infinitesimal division is never arrested by the one. Thus all being is one at a distance, and broken up when near, and like at a distance and unlike when near; and also the particles which compose being seem to be like and unlike, in rest and motion, in generation and corruption, in contact and separation, if one is not.

2.bb. Once more, let us inquire, If the one is not, and the others of the one are, what follows? In the first place, the others will not be the one, nor the many, for in that case the one would be contained in them; neither will they appear to be one or many; because they have no communion or participation in that which is not, nor semblance of that which is not. If one is not, the others neither are, nor appear to be one or many, like or unlike, in contact or separation. In short, if one is not, nothing is.

The result of all which is, that whether one is or is not, one and the others, in relation to themselves and to one another, are and are not, and appear to be and appear not to be, in all manner of ways.

I. On the first hypothesis we may remark: first, That one is one is an identical proposition, from which we might expect that no further consequences could be deduced. The train of consequences which follows, is inferred by altering the predicate into ‘not many.’ Yet, perhaps, if a strict Eristic had been present, oios aner ei kai nun paren, he might have affirmed that the not many presented a different aspect of the conception from the one, and was therefore not identical with it. Such a subtlety would be very much in character with the Zenonian dialectic. Secondly, We may note, that the conclusion is really involved in the premises. For one is conceived as one, in a sense which excludes all predicates. When the meaning of one has been reduced to a point, there is no use in saying that it has neither parts nor magnitude. Thirdly, The conception of the same is, first of all, identified with the one; and then by a further analysis distinguished from, and even opposed to it. Fourthly, We may detect notions, which have reappeared in modern philosophy, e.g. the bare abstraction of undefined unity, answering to the Hegelian ‘Seyn,’ or the identity of contradictions ‘that which is older is also younger,’ etc., or the Kantian conception of an a priori synthetical proposition ‘one is.’

II. In the first series of propositions the word ‘is’ is really the copula; in the second, the verb of existence. As in the first series, the negative consequence followed from one being affirmed to be equivalent to the not many; so here the affirmative consequence is deduced from one being equivalent to the many.

In the former case, nothing could be predicated of the one, but now everything — multitude, relation, place, time, transition. One is regarded in all the aspects of one, and with a reference to all the consequences which flow, either from the combination or the separation of them. The notion of transition involves the singular extra-temporal conception of ‘suddenness.’ This idea of ‘suddenness’ is based upon the contradiction which is involved in supposing that anything can be in two places at once. It is a mere fiction; and we may observe that similar antinomies have led modern philosophers to deny the reality of time and space. It is not the infinitesimal of time, but the negative of time. By the help of this invention the conception of change, which sorely exercised the minds of early thinkers, seems to be, but is not really at all explained. The difficulty arises out of the imperfection of language, and should therefore be no longer regarded as a difficulty at all. The only way of meeting it, if it exists, is to acknowledge that this rather puzzling double conception is necessary to the expression of the phenomena of motion or change, and that this and similar double notions, instead of being anomalies, are among the higher and more potent instruments of human thought.

The processes by which Parmenides obtains his remarkable results may be summed up as follows: (1) Compound or correlative ideas which involve each other, such as, being and not-being, one and many, are conceived sometimes in a state of composition, and sometimes of division: (2) The division or distinction is sometimes heightened into total opposition, e.g. between one and same, one and other: or (3) The idea, which has been already divided, is regarded, like a number, as capable of further infinite subdivision: (4) The argument often proceeds ‘a dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter’ and conversely: (5) The analogy of opposites is misused by him; he argues indiscriminately sometimes from what is like, sometimes from what is unlike in them: (6) The idea of being or not-being is identified with existence or non-existence in place or time: (7) The same ideas are regarded sometimes as in process of transition, sometimes as alternatives or opposites: (8) There are no degrees or kinds of sameness, likeness, difference, nor any adequate conception of motion or change: (9) One, being, time, like space in Zeno’s puzzle of Achilles and the tortoise, are regarded sometimes as continuous and sometimes as discrete: (10) In some parts of the argument the abstraction is so rarefied as to become not only fallacious, but almost unintelligible, e.g. in the contradiction which is elicited out of the relative terms older and younger: (11) The relation between two terms is regarded under contradictory aspects, as for example when the existence of the one and the non-existence of the one are equally assumed to involve the existence of the many: (12) Words are used through long chains of argument, sometimes loosely, sometimes with the precision of numbers or of geometrical figures.

The argument is a very curious piece of work, unique in literature. It seems to be an exposition or rather a ‘reductio ad absurdum’ of the Megarian philosophy, but we are too imperfectly acquainted with this last to speak with confidence about it. It would be safer to say that it is an indication of the sceptical, hyperlogical fancies which prevailed among the contemporaries of Socrates. It throws an indistinct light upon Aristotle, and makes us aware of the debt which the world owes to him or his school. It also bears a resemblance to some modern speculations, in which an attempt is made to narrow language in such a manner that number and figure may be made a calculus of thought. It exaggerates one side of logic and forgets the rest. It has the appearance of a mathematical process; the inventor of it delights, as mathematicians do, in eliciting or discovering an unexpected result. It also helps to guard us against some fallacies by showing the consequences which flow from them.

In the Parmenides we seem to breathe the spirit of the Megarian philosophy, though we cannot compare the two in detail. But Plato also goes beyond his Megarian contemporaries; he has split their straws over again, and admitted more than they would have desired. He is indulging the analytical tendencies of his age, which can divide but not combine. And he does not stop to inquire whether the distinctions which he makes are shadowy and fallacious, but ‘whither the argument blows’ he follows.

III. The negative series of propositions contains the first conception of the negation of a negation. Two minus signs in arithmetic or algebra make a plus. Two negatives destroy each other. This abstruse notion is the foundation of the Hegelian logic. The mind must not only admit that determination is negation, but must get through negation into affirmation. Whether this process is real, or in any way an assistance to thought, or, like some other logical forms, a mere figure of speech transferred from the sphere of mathematics, may be doubted. That Plato and the most subtle philosopher of the nineteenth century should have lighted upon the same notion, is a singular coincidence of ancient and modern thought.

IV. The one and the many or others are reduced to their strictest arithmetical meaning. That one is three or three one, is a proposition which has, perhaps, given rise to more controversy in the world than any other. But no one has ever meant to say that three and one are to be taken in the same sense. Whereas the one and many of the Parmenides have precisely the same meaning; there is no notion of one personality or substance having many attributes or qualities. The truth seems to be rather the opposite of that which Socrates implies: There is no contradiction in the concrete, but in the abstract; and the more abstract the idea, the more palpable will be the contradiction. For just as nothing can persuade us that the number one is the number three, so neither can we be persuaded that any abstract idea is identical with its opposite, although they may both inhere together in some external object, or some more comprehensive conception. Ideas, persons, things may be one in one sense and many in another, and may have various degrees of unity and plurality. But in whatever sense and in whatever degree they are one they cease to be many; and in whatever degree or sense they are many they cease to be one.

Two points remain to be considered: 1st, the connexion between the first and second parts of the dialogue; 2ndly, the relation of the Parmenides to the other dialogues.

I. In both divisions of the dialogue the principal speaker is the same, and the method pursued by him is also the same, being a criticism on received opinions: first, on the doctrine of Ideas; secondly, of Being. From the Platonic Ideas we naturally proceed to the Eleatic One or Being which is the foundation of them. They are the same philosophy in two forms, and the simpler form is the truer and deeper. For the Platonic Ideas are mere numerical differences, and the moment we attempt to distinguish between them, their transcendental character is lost; ideas of justice, temperance, and good, are really distinguishable only with reference to their application in the world. If we once ask how they are related to individuals or to the ideas of the divine mind, they are again merged in the aboriginal notion of Being. No one can answer the questions which Parmenides asks of Socrates. And yet these questions are asked with the express acknowledgment that the denial of ideas will be the destruction of the human mind. The true answer to the difficulty here thrown out is the establishment of a rational psychology; and this is a work which is commenced in the Sophist. Plato, in urging the difficulty of his own doctrine of Ideas, is far from denying that some doctrine of Ideas is necessary, and for this he is paving the way.

In a similar spirit he criticizes the Eleatic doctrine of Being, not intending to deny Ontology, but showing that the old Eleatic notion, and the very name ‘Being,’ is unable to maintain itself against the subtleties of the Megarians. He did not mean to say that Being or Substance had no existence, but he is preparing for the development of his later view, that ideas were capable of relation. The fact that contradictory consequences follow from the existence or non-existence of one or many, does not prove that they have or have not existence, but rather that some different mode of conceiving them is required. Parmenides may still have thought that ‘Being was,’ just as Kant would have asserted the existence of ‘things in themselves,’ while denying the transcendental use of the Categories.

Several lesser links also connect the first and second parts of the dialogue: (1) The thesis is the same as that which Zeno has been already discussing: (2) Parmenides has intimated in the first part, that the method of Zeno should, as Socrates desired, be extended to Ideas: (3) The difficulty of participating in greatness, smallness, equality is urged against the Ideas as well as against the One.

II. The Parmenides is not only a criticism of the Eleatic notion of Being, but also of the methods of reasoning then in existence, and in this point of view, as well as in the other, may be regarded as an introduction to the Sophist. Long ago, in the Euthydemus, the vulgar application of the ‘both and neither’ Eristic had been subjected to a similar criticism, which there takes the form of banter and irony, here of illustration.

The attack upon the Ideas is resumed in the Philebus, and is followed by a return to a more rational philosophy. The perplexity of the One and Many is there confined to the region of Ideas, and replaced by a theory of classification; the Good arranged in classes is also contrasted with the barren abstraction of the Megarians. The war is carried on against the Eristics in all the later dialogues, sometimes with a playful irony, at other times with a sort of contempt. But there is no lengthened refutation of them. The Parmenides belongs to that stage of the dialogues of Plato in which he is partially under their influence, using them as a sort of ‘critics or diviners’ of the truth of his own, and of the Eleatic theories. In the Theaetetus a similar negative dialectic is employed in the attempt to define science, which after every effort remains undefined still. The same question is revived from the objective side in the Sophist: Being and Not-being are no longer exhibited in opposition, but are now reconciled; and the true nature of Not-being is discovered and made the basis of the correlation of ideas. Some links are probably missing which might have been supplied if we had trustworthy accounts of Plato’s oral teaching.

To sum up: the Parmenides of Plato is a critique, first, of the Platonic Ideas, and secondly, of the Eleatic doctrine of Being. Neither are absolutely denied. But certain difficulties and consequences are shown in the assumption of either, which prove that the Platonic as well as the Eleatic doctrine must be remodelled. The negation and contradiction which are involved in the conception of the One and Many are preliminary to their final adjustment. The Platonic Ideas are tested by the interrogative method of Socrates; the Eleatic One or Being is tried by the severer and perhaps impossible method of hypothetical consequences, negative and affirmative. In the latter we have an example of the Zenonian or Megarian dialectic, which proceeded, not ‘by assailing premises, but conclusions’; this is worked out and improved by Plato. When primary abstractions are used in every conceivable sense, any or every conclusion may be deduced from them. The words ‘one,’ ‘other,’ ‘being,’ ‘like,’ ‘same,’ ‘whole,’ and their opposites, have slightly different meanings, as they are applied to objects of thought or objects of sense — to number, time, place, and to the higher ideas of the reason; — and out of their different meanings this ‘feast’ of contradictions ‘has been provided.’

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The Parmenides of Plato belongs to a stage of philosophy which has passed away. At first we read it with a purely antiquarian or historical interest; and with difficulty throw ourselves back into a state of the human mind in which Unity and Being occupied the attention of philosophers. We admire the precision of the language, in which, as in some curious puzzle, each word is exactly fitted into every other, and long trains of argument are carried out with a sort of geometrical accuracy. We doubt whether any abstract notion could stand the searching cross-examination of Parmenides; and may at last perhaps arrive at the conclusion that Plato has been using an imaginary method to work out an unmeaning conclusion. But the truth is, that he is carrying on a process which is not either useless or unnecessary in any age of philosophy. We fail to understand him, because we do not realize that the questions which he is discussing could have had any value or importance. We suppose them to be like the speculations of some of the Schoolmen, which end in nothing. But in truth he is trying to get rid of the stumbling-blocks of thought which beset his contemporaries. Seeing that the Megarians and Cynics were making knowledge impossible, he takes their ‘catch-words’ and analyzes them from every conceivable point of view. He is criticizing the simplest and most general of our ideas, in which, as they are the most comprehensive, the danger of error is the most serious; for, if they remain unexamined, as in a mathematical demonstration, all that flows from them is affected, and the error pervades knowledge far and wide. In the beginning of philosophy this correction of human ideas was even more necessary than in our own times, because they were more bound up with words; and words when once presented to the mind exercised a greater power over thought. There is a natural realism which says, ‘Can there be a word devoid of meaning, or an idea which is an idea of nothing?’ In modern times mankind have often given too great importance to a word or idea. The philosophy of the ancients was still more in slavery to them, because they had not the experience of error, which would have placed them above the illusion.

The method of the Parmenides may be compared with the process of purgation, which Bacon sought to introduce into philosophy. Plato is warning us against two sorts of ‘Idols of the Den’: first, his own Ideas, which he himself having created is unable to connect in any way with the external world; secondly, against two idols in particular, ‘Unity’ and ‘Being,’ which had grown up in the pre-Socratic philosophy, and were still standing in the way of all progress and development of thought. He does not say with Bacon, ‘Let us make truth by experiment,’ or ‘From these vague and inexact notions let us turn to facts.’ The time has not yet arrived for a purely inductive philosophy. The instruments of thought must first be forged, that they may be used hereafter by modern inquirers. How, while mankind were disputing about universals, could they classify phenomena? How could they investigate causes, when they had not as yet learned to distinguish between a cause and an end? How could they make any progress in the sciences without first arranging them? These are the deficiencies which Plato is seeking to supply in an age when knowledge was a shadow of a name only. In the earlier dialogues the Socratic conception of universals is illustrated by his genius; in the Phaedrus the nature of division is explained; in the Republic the law of contradiction and the unity of knowledge are asserted; in the later dialogues he is constantly engaged both with the theory and practice of classification. These were the ‘new weapons,’ as he terms them in the Philebus, which he was preparing for the use of some who, in after ages, would be found ready enough to disown their obligations to the great master, or rather, perhaps, would be incapable of understanding them.

Numberless fallacies, as we are often truly told, have originated in a confusion of the ‘copula,’ and the ‘verb of existence.’ Would not the distinction which Plato by the mouth of Parmenides makes between ‘One is one’ and ‘One has being’ have saved us from this and many similar confusions? We see again that a long period in the history of philosophy was a barren tract, not uncultivated, but unfruitful, because there was no inquiry into the relation of language and thought, and the metaphysical imagination was incapable of supplying the missing link between words and things. The famous dispute between Nominalists and Realists would never have been heard of, if, instead of transferring the Platonic Ideas into a crude Latin phraseology, the spirit of Plato had been truly understood and appreciated. Upon the term substance at least two celebrated theological controversies appear to hinge, which would not have existed, or at least not in their present form, if we had ‘interrogated’ the word substance, as Plato has the notions of Unity and Being. These weeds of philosophy have struck their roots deep into the soil, and are always tending to reappear, sometimes in new-fangled forms; while similar words, such as development, evolution, law, and the like, are constantly put in the place of facts, even by writers who profess to base truth entirely upon fact. In an unmetaphysical age there is probably more metaphysics in the common sense (i.e. more a priori assumption) than in any other, because there is more complete unconsciousness that we are resting on our own ideas, while we please ourselves with the conviction that we are resting on facts. We do not consider how much metaphysics are required to place us above metaphysics, or how difficult it is to prevent the forms of expression which are ready made for our use from outrunning actual observation and experiment.

In the last century the educated world were astonished to find that the whole fabric of their ideas was falling to pieces, because Hume amused himself by analyzing the word ‘cause’ into uniform sequence. Then arose a philosophy which, equally regardless of the history of the mind, sought to save mankind from scepticism by assigning to our notions of ‘cause and effect,’ ‘substance and accident,’ ‘whole and part,’ a necessary place in human thought. Without them we could have no experience, and therefore they were supposed to be prior to experience — to be incrusted on the ‘I’; although in the phraseology of Kant there could be no transcendental use of them, or, in other words, they were only applicable within the range of our knowledge. But into the origin of these ideas, which he obtains partly by an analysis of the proposition, partly by development of the ‘ego,’ he never inquires — they seem to him to have a necessary existence; nor does he attempt to analyse the various senses in which the word ‘cause’ or ‘substance’ may be employed.

The philosophy of Berkeley could never have had any meaning, even to himself, if he had first analyzed from every point of view the conception of ‘matter.’ This poor forgotten word (which was ‘a very good word’ to describe the simplest generalization of external objects) is now superseded in the vocabulary of physical philosophers by ‘force,’ which seems to be accepted without any rigid examination of its meaning, as if the general idea of ‘force’ in our minds furnished an explanation of the infinite variety of forces which exist in the universe. A similar ambiguity occurs in the use of the favourite word ‘law,’ which is sometimes regarded as a mere abstraction, and then elevated into a real power or entity, almost taking the place of God. Theology, again, is full of undefined terms which have distracted the human mind for ages. Mankind have reasoned from them, but not to them; they have drawn out the conclusions without proving the premises; they have asserted the premises without examining the terms. The passions of religious parties have been roused to the utmost about words of which they could have given no explanation, and which had really no distinct meaning. One sort of them, faith, grace, justification, have been the symbols of one class of disputes; as the words substance, nature, person, of another, revelation, inspiration, and the like, of a third. All of them have been the subject of endless reasonings and inferences; but a spell has hung over the minds of theologians or philosophers which has prevented them from examining the words themselves. Either the effort to rise above and beyond their own first ideas was too great for them, or there might, perhaps, have seemed to be an irreverence in doing so. About the Divine Being Himself, in whom all true theological ideas live and move, men have spoken and reasoned much, and have fancied that they instinctively know Him. But they hardly suspect that under the name of God even Christians have included two characters or natures as much opposed as the good and evil principle of the Persians.

To have the true use of words we must compare them with things; in using them we acknowledge that they seldom give a perfect representation of our meaning. In like manner when we interrogate our ideas we find that we are not using them always in the sense which we supposed. And Plato, while he criticizes the inconsistency of his own doctrine of universals and draws out the endless consequences which flow from the assertion either that ‘Being is’ or that ‘Being is not,’ by no means intends to deny the existence of universals or the unity under which they are comprehended. There is nothing further from his thoughts than scepticism. But before proceeding he must examine the foundations which he and others have been laying; there is nothing true which is not from some point of view untrue, nothing absolute which is not also relative (compare Republic).

And so, in modern times, because we are called upon to analyze our ideas and to come to a distinct understanding about the meaning of words; because we know that the powers of language are very unequal to the subtlety of nature or of mind, we do not therefore renounce the use of them; but we replace them in their old connexion, having first tested their meaning and quality, and having corrected the error which is involved in them; or rather always remembering to make allowance for the adulteration or alloy which they contain. We cannot call a new metaphysical world into existence any more than we can frame a new universal language; in thought as in speech, we are dependent on the past. We know that the words ‘cause’ and ‘effect’ are very far from representing to us the continuity or the complexity of nature or the different modes or degrees in which phenomena are connected. Yet we accept them as the best expression which we have of the correlation of forces or objects. We see that the term ‘law’ is a mere abstraction, under which laws of matter and of mind, the law of nature and the law of the land are included, and some of these uses of the word are confusing, because they introduce into one sphere of thought associations which belong to another; for example, order or sequence is apt to be confounded with external compulsion and the internal workings of the mind with their material antecedents. Yet none of them can be dispensed with; we can only be on our guard against the error or confusion which arises out of them. Thus in the use of the word ‘substance’ we are far from supposing that there is any mysterious substratum apart from the objects which we see, and we acknowledge that the negative notion is very likely to become a positive one. Still we retain the word as a convenient generalization, though not without a double sense, substance, and essence, derived from the two-fold translation of the Greek ousia.

So the human mind makes the reflection that God is not a person like ourselves — is not a cause like the material causes in nature, nor even an intelligent cause like a human agent — nor an individual, for He is universal; and that every possible conception which we can form of Him is limited by the human faculties. We cannot by any effort of thought or exertion of faith be in and out of our own minds at the same instant. How can we conceive Him under the forms of time and space, who is out of time and space? How get rid of such forms and see Him as He is? How can we imagine His relation to the world or to ourselves? Innumerable contradictions follow from either of the two alternatives, that God is or that He is not. Yet we are far from saying that we know nothing of Him, because all that we know is subject to the conditions of human thought. To the old belief in Him we return, but with corrections. He is a person, but not like ourselves; a mind, but not a human mind; a cause, but not a material cause, nor yet a maker or artificer. The words which we use are imperfect expressions of His true nature; but we do not therefore lose faith in what is best and highest in ourselves and in the world.

‘A little philosophy takes us away from God; a great deal brings us back to Him.’ When we begin to reflect, our first thoughts respecting Him and ourselves are apt to be sceptical. For we can analyze our religious as well as our other ideas; we can trace their history; we can criticize their perversion; we see that they are relative to the human mind and to one another. But when we have carried our criticism to the furthest point, they still remain, a necessity of our moral nature, better known and understood by us, and less liable to be shaken, because we are more aware of their necessary imperfection. They come to us with ‘better opinion, better confirmation,’ not merely as the inspirations either of ourselves or of another, but deeply rooted in history and in the human mind.

PARMENIDES.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Cephalus, Adeimantus, Glaucon, Antiphon, Pythodorus, Socrates, Zeno, Parmenides, Aristoteles.

SCENE: Cephalus rehearses a dialogue which is supposed to have been narrated in his presence by Antiphon, the half-brother of Adeimantus and Glaucon, to certain Clazomenians.

We had come from our home at Clazomenae to Athens, and met Adeimantus and Glaucon in the Agora. Welcome, Cephalus, said Adeimantus, taking me by the hand; is there anything which we can do for you in Athens?

Yes; that is why I am here; I wish to ask a favour of you.

What may that be? he said.

I want you to tell me the name of your half brother, which I have forgotten; he was a mere child when I last came hither from Clazomenae, but that was a long time ago; his father’s name, if I remember rightly, was Pyrilampes?

Yes, he said, and the name of our brother, Antiphon; but why do you ask?

Let me introduce some countrymen of mine, I said; they are lovers of philosophy, and have heard that Antiphon was intimate with a certain Pythodorus, a friend of Zeno, and remembers a conversation which took place between Socrates, Zeno, and Parmenides many years ago, Pythodorus having often recited it to him.

Quite true.

And could we hear it? I asked.

Nothing easier, he replied; when he was a youth he made a careful study of the piece; at present his thoughts run in another direction; like his grandfather Antiphon he is devoted to horses. But, if that is what you want, let us go and look for him; he dwells at Melita, which is quite near, and he has only just left us to go home.

Accordingly we went to look for him; he was at home, and in the act of giving a bridle to a smith to be fitted. When he had done with the smith, his brothers told him the purpose of our visit; and he saluted me as an acquaintance whom he remembered from my former visit, and we asked him to repeat the dialogue. At first he was not very willing, and complained of the trouble, but at length he consented. He told us that Pythodorus had described to him the appearance of Parmenides and Zeno; they came to Athens, as he said, at the great Panathenaea; the former was, at the time of his visit, about 65 years old, very white with age, but well favoured. Zeno was nearly 40 years of age, tall and fair to look upon; in the days of his youth he was reported to have been beloved by Parmenides. He said that they lodged with Pythodorus in the Ceramicus, outside the wall, whither Socrates, then a very young man, came to see them, and many others with him; they wanted to hear the writings of Zeno, which had been brought to Athens for the first time on the occasion of their visit. These Zeno himself read to them in the absence of Parmenides, and had very nearly finished when Pythodorus entered, and with him Parmenides and Aristoteles who was afterwards one of the Thirty, and heard the little that remained of the dialogue. Pythodorus had heard Zeno repeat them before.

When the recitation was completed, Socrates requested that the first thesis of the first argument might be read over again, and this having been done, he said: What is your meaning, Zeno? Do you maintain that if being is many, it must be both like and unlike, and that this is impossible, for neither can the like be unlike, nor the unlike like — is that your position?

Just so, said Zeno.

And if the unlike cannot be like, or the like unlike, then according to you, being could not be many; for this would involve an impossibility. In all that you say have you any other purpose except to disprove the being of the many? and is not each division of your treatise intended to furnish a separate proof of this, there being in all as many proofs of the not-being of the many as you have composed arguments? Is that your meaning, or have I misunderstood you?

No, said Zeno; you have correctly understood my general purpose.

I see, Parmenides, said Socrates, that Zeno would like to be not only one with you in friendship but your second self in his writings too; he puts what you say in another way, and would fain make believe that he is telling us something which is new. For you, in your poems, say The All is one, and of this you adduce excellent proofs; and he on the other hand says There is no many; and on behalf of this he offers overwhelming evidence. You affirm unity, he denies plurality. And so you deceive the world into believing that you are saying different things when really you are saying much the same. This is a strain of art beyond the reach of most of us.

Yes, Socrates, said Zeno. But although you are as keen as a Spartan hound in pursuing the track, you do not fully apprehend the true motive of the composition, which is not really such an artificial work as you imagine; for what you speak of was an accident; there was no pretence of a great purpose; nor any serious intention of deceiving the world. The truth is, that these writings of mine were meant to protect the arguments of Parmenides against those who make fun of him and seek to show the many ridiculous and contradictory results which they suppose to follow from the affirmation of the one. My answer is addressed to the partisans of the many, whose attack I return with interest by retorting upon them that their hypothesis of the being of many, if carried out, appears to be still more ridiculous than the hypothesis of the being of one. Zeal for my master led me to write the book in the days of my youth, but some one stole the copy; and therefore I had no choice whether it should be published or not; the motive, however, of writing, was not the ambition of an elder man, but the pugnacity of a young one. This you do not seem to see, Socrates; though in other respects, as I was saying, your notion is a very just one.

I understand, said Socrates, and quite accept your account. But tell me, Zeno, do you not further think that there is an idea of likeness in itself, and another idea of unlikeness, which is the opposite of likeness, and that in these two, you and I and all other things to which we apply the term many, participate — things which participate in likeness become in that degree and manner like; and so far as they participate in unlikeness become in that degree unlike, or both like and unlike in the degree in which they participate in both? And may not all things partake of both opposites, and be both like and unlike, by reason of this participation? — Where is the wonder? Now if a person could prove the absolute like to become unlike, or the absolute unlike to become like, that, in my opinion, would indeed be a wonder; but there is nothing extraordinary, Zeno, in showing that the things which only partake of likeness and unlikeness experience both. Nor, again, if a person were to show that all is one by partaking of one, and at the same time many by partaking of many, would that be very astonishing. But if he were to show me that the absolute one was many, or the absolute many one, I should be truly amazed. And so of all the rest: I should be surprised to hear that the natures or ideas themselves had these opposite qualities; but not if a person wanted to prove of me that I was many and also one. When he wanted to show that I was many he would say that I have a right and a left side, and a front and a back, and an upper and a lower half, for I cannot deny that I partake of multitude; when, on the other hand, he wants to prove that I am one, he will say, that we who are here assembled are seven, and that I am one and partake of the one. In both instances he proves his case. So again, if a person shows that such things as wood, stones, and the like, being many are also one, we admit that he shows the coexistence of the one and many, but he does not show that the many are one or the one many; he is uttering not a paradox but a truism. If however, as I just now suggested, some one were to abstract simple notions of like, unlike, one, many, rest, motion, and similar ideas, and then to show that these admit of admixture and separation in themselves, I should be very much astonished. This part of the argument appears to be treated by you, Zeno, in a very spirited manner; but, as I was saying, I should be far more amazed if any one found in the ideas themselves which are apprehended by reason, the same puzzle and entanglement which you have shown to exist in visible objects.

While Socrates was speaking, Pythodorus thought that Parmenides and Zeno were not altogether pleased at the successive steps of the argument; but still they gave the closest attention, and often looked at one another, and smiled as if in admiration of him. When he had finished, Parmenides expressed their feelings in the following words: —

Socrates, he said, I admire the bent of your mind towards philosophy; tell me now, was this your own distinction between ideas in themselves and the things which partake of them? and do you think that there is an idea of likeness apart from the likeness which we possess, and of the one and many, and of the other things which Zeno mentioned?

I think that there are such ideas, said Socrates.

Parmenides proceeded: And would you also make absolute ideas of the just and the beautiful and the good, and of all that class?

Yes, he said, I should.

And would you make an idea of man apart from us and from all other human creatures, or of fire and water?

I am often undecided, Parmenides, as to whether I ought to include them or not.

And would you feel equally undecided, Socrates, about things of which the mention may provoke a smile? — I mean such things as hair, mud, dirt, or anything else which is vile and paltry; would you suppose that each of these has an idea distinct from the actual objects with which we come into contact, or not?

Certainly not, said Socrates; visible things like these are such as they appear to us, and I am afraid that there would be an absurdity in assuming any idea of them, although I sometimes get disturbed, and begin to think that there is nothing without an idea; but then again, when I have taken up this position, I run away, because I am afraid that I may fall into a bottomless pit of nonsense, and perish; and so I return to the ideas of which I was just now speaking, and occupy myself with them.

Yes, Socrates, said Parmenides; that is because you are still young; the time will come, if I am not mistaken, when philosophy will have a firmer grasp of you, and then you will not despise even the meanest things; at your age, you are too much disposed to regard the opinions of men. But I should like to know whether you mean that there are certain ideas of which all other things partake, and from which they derive their names; that similars, for example, become similar, because they partake of similarity; and great things become great, because they partake of greatness; and that just and beautiful things become just and beautiful, because they partake of justice and beauty?

Yes, certainly, said Socrates that is my meaning.

Then each individual partakes either of the whole of the idea or else of a part of the idea? Can there be any other mode of participation?

There cannot be, he said.

Then do you think that the whole idea is one, and yet, being one, is in each one of the many?

Why not, Parmenides? said Socrates.

Because one and the same thing will exist as a whole at the same time in many separate individuals, and will therefore be in a state of separation from itself.

Nay, but the idea may be like the day which is one and the same in many places at once, and yet continuous with itself; in this way each idea may be one and the same in all at the same time.

I like your way, Socrates, of making one in many places at once. You mean to say, that if I were to spread out a sail and cover a number of men, there would be one whole including many — is not that your meaning?

I think so.

And would you say that the whole sail includes each man, or a part of it only, and different parts different men?

The latter.

Then, Socrates, the ideas themselves will be divisible, and things which participate in them will have a part of them only and not the whole idea existing in each of them?

That seems to follow.

Then would you like to say, Socrates, that the one idea is really divisible and yet remains one?

Certainly not, he said.

Suppose that you divide absolute greatness, and that of the many great things, each one is great in virtue of a portion of greatness less than absolute greatness — is that conceivable?

No.

Or will each equal thing, if possessing some small portion of equality less than absolute equality, be equal to some other thing by virtue of that portion only?

Impossible.

Or suppose one of us to have a portion of smallness; this is but a part of the small, and therefore the absolutely small is greater; if the absolutely small be greater, that to which the part of the small is added will be smaller and not greater than before.

How absurd!

Then in what way, Socrates, will all things participate in the ideas, if they are unable to participate in them either as parts or wholes?

Indeed, he said, you have asked a question which is not easily answered.

Well, said Parmenides, and what do you say of another question?

What question?

I imagine that the way in which you are led to assume one idea of each kind is as follows: — You see a number of great objects, and when you look at them there seems to you to be one and the same idea (or nature) in them all; hence you conceive of greatness as one.

Very true, said Socrates.

And if you go on and allow your mind in like manner to embrace in one view the idea of greatness and of great things which are not the idea, and to compare them, will not another greatness arise, which will appear to be the source of all these?

It would seem so.

Then another idea of greatness now comes into view over and above absolute greatness, and the individuals which partake of it; and then another, over and above all these, by virtue of which they will all be great, and so each idea instead of being one will be infinitely multiplied.

But may not the ideas, asked Socrates, be thoughts only, and have no proper existence except in our minds, Parmenides? For in that case each idea may still be one, and not experience this infinite multiplication.

And can there be individual thoughts which are thoughts of nothing?

Impossible, he said.

The thought must be of something?

Yes.

Of something which is or which is not?

Of something which is.

Must it not be of a single something, which the thought recognizes as attaching to all, being a single form or nature?

Yes.

And will not the something which is apprehended as one and the same in all, be an idea?

From that, again, there is no escape.

Then, said Parmenides, if you say that everything else participates in the ideas, must you not say either that everything is made up of thoughts, and that all things think; or that they are thoughts but have no thought?

The latter view, Parmenides, is no more rational than the previous one. In my opinion, the ideas are, as it were, patterns fixed in nature, and other things are like them, and resemblances of them — what is meant by the participation of other things in the ideas, is really assimilation to them.

But if, said he, the individual is like the idea, must not the idea also be like the individual, in so far as the individual is a resemblance of the idea? That which is like, cannot be conceived of as other than the like of like.

Impossible.

And when two things are alike, must they not partake of the same idea?

They must.

And will not that of which the two partake, and which makes them alike, be the idea itself?

Certainly.

Then the idea cannot be like the individual, or the individual like the idea; for if they are alike, some further idea of likeness will always be coming to light, and if that be like anything else, another; and new ideas will be always arising, if the idea resembles that which partakes of it?

Quite true.

The theory, then, that other things participate in the ideas by resemblance, has to be given up, and some other mode of participation devised?

It would seem so.

Do you see then, Socrates, how great is the difficulty of affirming the ideas to be absolute?

Yes, indeed.

And, further, let me say that as yet you only understand a small part of the difficulty which is involved if you make of each thing a single idea, parting it off from other things.

What difficulty? he said.

There are many, but the greatest of all is this: — If an opponent argues that these ideas, being such as we say they ought to be, must remain unknown, no one can prove to him that he is wrong, unless he who denies their existence be a man of great ability and knowledge, and is willing to follow a long and laborious demonstration; he will remain unconvinced, and still insist that they cannot be known.

What do you mean, Parmenides? said Socrates.

In the first place, I think, Socrates, that you, or any one who maintains the existence of absolute essences, will admit that they cannot exist in us.

No, said Socrates; for then they would be no longer absolute.

True, he said; and therefore when ideas are what they are in relation to one another, their essence is determined by a relation among themselves, and has nothing to do with the resemblances, or whatever they are to be termed, which are in our sphere, and from which we receive this or that name when we partake of them. And the things which are within our sphere and have the same names with them, are likewise only relative to one another, and not to the ideas which have the same names with them, but belong to themselves and not to them.

What do you mean? said Socrates.

I may illustrate my meaning in this way, said Parmenides: — A master has a slave; now there is nothing absolute in the relation between them, which is simply a relation of one man to another. But there is also an idea of mastership in the abstract, which is relative to the idea of slavery in the abstract. These natures have nothing to do with us, nor we with them; they are concerned with themselves only, and we with ourselves. Do you see my meaning?

Yes, said Socrates, I quite see your meaning.

And will not knowledge — I mean absolute knowledge — answer to absolute truth?

Certainly.

And each kind of absolute knowledge will answer to each kind of absolute being?

Yes.

But the knowledge which we have, will answer to the truth which we have; and again, each kind of knowledge which we have, will be a knowledge of each kind of being which we have?

Certainly.

But the ideas themselves, as you admit, we have not, and cannot have?

No, we cannot.

And the absolute natures or kinds are known severally by the absolute idea of knowledge?

Yes.

And we have not got the idea of knowledge?

No.

Then none of the ideas are known to us, because we have no share in absolute knowledge?

I suppose not.

Then the nature of the beautiful in itself, and of the good in itself, and all other ideas which we suppose to exist absolutely, are unknown to us?

It would seem so.

I think that there is a stranger consequence still.

What is it?

Would you, or would you not say, that absolute knowledge, if there is such a thing, must be a far more exact knowledge than our knowledge; and the same of beauty and of the rest?

Yes.

And if there be such a thing as participation in absolute knowledge, no one is more likely than God to have this most exact knowledge?

Certainly.

But then, will God, having absolute knowledge, have a knowledge of human things?

Why not?

Because, Socrates, said Parmenides, we have admitted that the ideas are not valid in relation to human things; nor human things in relation to them; the relations of either are limited to their respective spheres.

Yes, that has been admitted.

And if God has this perfect authority, and perfect knowledge, his authority cannot rule us, nor his knowledge know us, or any human thing; just as our authority does not extend to the gods, nor our knowledge know anything which is divine, so by parity of reason they, being gods, are not our masters, neither do they know the things of men.

Yet, surely, said Socrates, to deprive God of knowledge is monstrous.

These, Socrates, said Parmenides, are a few, and only a few of the difficulties in which we are involved if ideas really are and we determine each one of them to be an absolute unity. He who hears what may be said against them will deny the very existence of them — and even if they do exist, he will say that they must of necessity be unknown to man; and he will seem to have reason on his side, and as we were remarking just now, will be very difficult to convince; a man must be gifted with very considerable ability before he can learn that everything has a class and an absolute essence; and still more remarkable will he be who discovers all these things for himself, and having thoroughly investigated them is able to teach them to others.

I agree with you, Parmenides, said Socrates; and what you say is very much to my mind.

And yet, Socrates, said Parmenides, if a man, fixing his attention on these and the like difficulties, does away with ideas of things and will not admit that every individual thing has its own determinate idea which is always one and the same, he will have nothing on which his mind can rest; and so he will utterly destroy the power of reasoning, as you seem to me to have particularly noted.

Very true, he said.

But, then, what is to become of philosophy? Whither shall we turn, if the ideas are unknown?

I certainly do not see my way at present.

Yes, said Parmenides; and I think that this arises, Socrates, out of your attempting to define the beautiful, the just, the good, and the ideas generally, without sufficient previous training. I noticed your deficiency, when I heard you talking here with your friend Aristoteles, the day before yesterday. The impulse that carries you towards philosophy is assuredly noble and divine; but there is an art which is called by the vulgar idle talking, and which is often imagined to be useless; in that you must train and exercise yourself, now that you are young, or truth will elude your grasp.

And what is the nature of this exercise, Parmenides, which you would recommend?

That which you heard Zeno practising; at the same time, I give you credit for saying to him that you did not care to examine the perplexity in reference to visible things, or to consider the question that way; but only in reference to objects of thought, and to what may be called ideas.

Why, yes, he said, there appears to me to be no difficulty in showing by this method that visible things are like and unlike and may experience anything.

Quite true, said Parmenides; but I think that you should go a step further, and consider not only the consequences which flow from a given hypothesis, but also the consequences which flow from denying the hypothesis; and that will be still better training for you.

What do you mean? he said.

I mean, for example, that in the case of this very hypothesis of Zeno’s about the many, you should inquire not only what will be the consequences to the many in relation to themselves and to the one, and to the one in relation to itself and the many, on the hypothesis of the being of the many, but also what will be the consequences to the one and the many in their relation to themselves and to each other, on the opposite hypothesis. Or, again, if likeness is or is not, what will be the consequences in either of these cases to the subjects of the hypothesis, and to other things, in relation both to themselves and to one another, and so of unlikeness; and the same holds good of motion and rest, of generation and destruction, and even of being and not-being. In a word, when you suppose anything to be or not to be, or to be in any way affected, you must look at the consequences in relation to the thing itself, and to any other things which you choose, — to each of them singly, to more than one, and to all; and so of other things, you must look at them in relation to themselves and to anything else which you suppose either to be or not to be, if you would train yourself perfectly and see the real truth.

That, Parmenides, is a tremendous business of which you speak, and I do not quite understand you; will you take some hypothesis and go through the steps? — then I shall apprehend you better.

That, Socrates, is a serious task to impose on a man of my years.

Then will you, Zeno? said Socrates.

Zeno answered with a smile: — Let us make our petition to Parmenides himself, who is quite right in saying that you are hardly aware of the extent of the task which you are imposing on him; and if there were more of us I should not ask him, for these are not subjects which any one, especially at his age, can well speak of before a large audience; most people are not aware that this roundabout progress through all things is the only way in which the mind can attain truth and wisdom. And therefore, Parmenides, I join in the request of Socrates, that I may hear the process again which I have not heard for a long time.

When Zeno had thus spoken, Pythodorus, according to Antiphon’s report of him, said, that he himself and Aristoteles and the whole company entreated Parmenides to give an example of the process. I cannot refuse, said Parmenides; and yet I feel rather like Ibycus, who, when in his old age, against his will, he fell in love, compared himself to an old racehorse, who was about to run in a chariot race, shaking with fear at the course he knew so well — this was his simile of himself. And I also experience a trembling when I remember through what an ocean of words I have to wade at my time of life. But I must indulge you, as Zeno says that I ought, and we are alone. Where shall I begin? And what shall be our first hypothesis, if I am to attempt this laborious pastime? Shall I begin with myself, and take my own hypothesis the one? and consider the consequences which follow on the supposition either of the being or of the not-being of one?

By all means, said Zeno.

And who will answer me? he said. Shall I propose the youngest? He will not make difficulties and will be the most likely to say what he thinks; and his answers will give me time to breathe.

I am the one whom you mean, Parmenides, said Aristoteles; for I am the youngest and at your service. Ask, and I will answer.

Parmenides proceeded: 1.a. If one is, he said, the one cannot be many?

Impossible.

Then the one cannot have parts, and cannot be a whole?

Why not?

Because every part is part of a whole; is it not?

Yes.

And what is a whole? would not that of which no part is wanting be a whole?

Certainly.

Then, in either case, the one would be made up of parts; both as being a whole, and also as having parts?

To be sure.

And in either case, the one would be many, and not one?

True.

But, surely, it ought to be one and not many?

It ought.

Then, if the one is to remain one, it will not be a whole, and will not have parts?

No.

But if it has no parts, it will have neither beginning, middle, nor end; for these would of course be parts of it.

Right.

But then, again, a beginning and an end are the limits of everything?

Certainly.

Then the one, having neither beginning nor end, is unlimited?

Yes, unlimited.

And therefore formless; for it cannot partake either of round or straight.

But why?

Why, because the round is that of which all the extreme points are equidistant from the centre?

Yes.

And the straight is that of which the centre intercepts the view of the extremes?

True.

Then the one would have parts and would be many, if it partook either of a straight or of a circular form?

Assuredly.

But having no parts, it will be neither straight nor round?

Right.

And, being of such a nature, it cannot be in any place, for it cannot be either in another or in itself.

How so?

Because if it were in another, it would be encircled by that in which it was, and would touch it at many places and with many parts; but that which is one and indivisible, and does not partake of a circular nature, cannot be touched all round in many places.

Certainly not.

But if, on the other hand, one were in itself, it would also be contained by nothing else but itself; that is to say, if it were really in itself; for nothing can be in anything which does not contain it.

Impossible.

But then, that which contains must be other than that which is contained? for the same whole cannot do and suffer both at once; and if so, one will be no longer one, but two?

True.

Then one cannot be anywhere, either in itself or in another?

No.

Further consider, whether that which is of such a nature can have either rest or motion.

Why not?

Why, because the one, if it were moved, would be either moved in place or changed in nature; for these are the only kinds of motion.

Yes.

And the one, when it changes and ceases to be itself, cannot be any longer one.

It cannot.

It cannot therefore experience the sort of motion which is change of nature?

Clearly not.

Then can the motion of the one be in place?

Perhaps.

But if the one moved in place, must it not either move round and round in the same place, or from one place to another?

It must.

And that which moves in a circle must rest upon a centre; and that which goes round upon a centre must have parts which are different from the centre; but that which has no centre and no parts cannot possibly be carried round upon a centre?

Impossible.

But perhaps the motion of the one consists in change of place?

Perhaps so, if it moves at all.

And have we not already shown that it cannot be in anything?

Yes.

Then its coming into being in anything is still more impossible; is it not?

I do not see why.

Why, because anything which comes into being in anything, can neither as yet be in that other thing while still coming into being, nor be altogether out of it, if already coming into being in it.

Certainly not.

And therefore whatever comes into being in another must have parts, and then one part may be in, and another part out of that other; but that which has no parts can never be at one and the same time neither wholly within nor wholly without anything.

True.

And is there not a still greater impossibility in that which has no parts, and is not a whole, coming into being anywhere, since it cannot come into being either as a part or as a whole?

Clearly.

Then it does not change place by revolving in the same spot, nor by going somewhere and coming into being in something; nor again, by change in itself?

Very true.

Then in respect of any kind of motion the one is immoveable?

Immoveable.

But neither can the one be in anything, as we affirm?

Yes, we said so.

Then it is never in the same?

Why not?

Because if it were in the same it would be in something.

Certainly.

And we said that it could not be in itself, and could not be in other?

True.

Then one is never in the same place?

It would seem not.

But that which is never in the same place is never quiet or at rest?

Never.

One then, as would seem, is neither at rest nor in motion?

It certainly appears so.

Neither will it be the same with itself or other; nor again, other than itself or other.

How is that?

If other than itself it would be other than one, and would not be one.

True.

And if the same with other, it would be that other, and not itself; so that upon this supposition too, it would not have the nature of one, but would be other than one?

It would.

Then it will not be the same with other, or other than itself?

It will not.

Neither will it be other than other, while it remains one; for not one, but only other, can be other than other, and nothing else.

True.

Then not by virtue of being one will it be other?

Certainly not.

But if not by virtue of being one, not by virtue of itself; and if not by virtue of itself, not itself, and itself not being other at all, will not be other than anything?

Right.

Neither will one be the same with itself.

How not?

Surely the nature of the one is not the nature of the same.

Why not?

It is not when anything becomes the same with anything that it becomes one.

What of that?

Anything which becomes the same with the many, necessarily becomes many and not one.

True.

But, if there were no difference between the one and the same, when a thing became the same, it would always become one; and when it became one, the same?

Certainly.

And, therefore, if one be the same with itself, it is not one with itself, and will therefore be one and also not one.

Surely that is impossible.

And therefore the one can neither be other than other, nor the same with itself.

Impossible.

And thus the one can neither be the same, nor other, either in relation to itself or other?

No.

Neither will the one be like anything or unlike itself or other.

Why not?

Because likeness is sameness of affections.

Yes.

And sameness has been shown to be of a nature distinct from oneness?

That has been shown.

But if the one had any other affection than that of being one, it would be affected in such a way as to be more than one; which is impossible.

True.

Then the one can never be so affected as to be the same either with another or with itself?

Clearly not.

Then it cannot be like another, or like itself?

No.

Nor can it be affected so as to be other, for then it would be affected in such a way as to be more than one.

It would.

That which is affected otherwise than itself or another, will be unlike itself or another, for sameness of affections is likeness.

True.

But the one, as appears, never being affected otherwise, is never unlike itself or other?

Never.

Then the one will never be either like or unlike itself or other?

Plainly not.

Again, being of this nature, it can neither be equal nor unequal either to itself or to other.

How is that?

Why, because the one if equal must be of the same measures as that to which it is equal.

True.

And if greater or less than things which are commensurable with it, the one will have more measures than that which is less, and fewer than that which is greater?

Yes.

And so of things which are not commensurate with it, the one will have greater measures than that which is less and smaller than that which is greater.

Certainly.

But how can that which does not partake of sameness, have either the same measures or have anything else the same?

Impossible.

And not having the same measures, the one cannot be equal either with itself or with another?

It appears so.

But again, whether it have fewer or more measures, it will have as many parts as it has measures; and thus again the one will be no longer one but will have as many parts as measures.

Right.

And if it were of one measure, it would be equal to that measure; yet it has been shown to be incapable of equality.

It has.

Then it will neither partake of one measure, nor of many, nor of few, nor of the same at all, nor be equal to itself or another; nor be greater or less than itself, or other?

Certainly.

Well, and do we suppose that one can be older, or younger than anything, or of the same age with it?

Why not?

Why, because that which is of the same age with itself or other, must partake of equality or likeness of time; and we said that the one did not partake either of equality or of likeness?

We did say so.

And we also said, that it did not partake of inequality or unlikeness.

Very true.

How then can one, being of this nature, be either older or younger than anything, or have the same age with it?

In no way.

Then one cannot be older or younger, or of the same age, either with itself or with another?

Clearly not.

Then the one, being of this nature, cannot be in time at all; for must not that which is in time, be always growing older than itself?

Certainly.

And that which is older, must always be older than something which is younger?

True.

Then, that which becomes older than itself, also becomes at the same time younger than itself, if it is to have something to become older than.

What do you mean?

I mean this: — A thing does not need to become different from another thing which is already different; it IS different, and if its different has become, it has become different; if its different will be, it will be different; but of that which is becoming different, there cannot have been, or be about to be, or yet be, a different — the only different possible is one which is becoming.

That is inevitable.

But, surely, the elder is a difference relative to the younger, and to nothing else.

True.

Then that which becomes older than itself must also, at the same time, become younger than itself?

Yes.

But again, it is true that it cannot become for a longer or for a shorter time than itself, but it must become, and be, and have become, and be about to be, for the same time with itself?

That again is inevitable.

Then things which are in time, and partake of time, must in every case, I suppose, be of the same age with themselves; and must also become at once older and younger than themselves?

Yes.

But the one did not partake of those affections?

Not at all.

Then it does not partake of time, and is not in any time?

So the argument shows.

Well, but do not the expressions ‘was,’ and ‘has become,’ and ‘was becoming,’ signify a participation of past time?

Certainly.

And do not ‘will be,’ ‘will become,’ ‘will have become,’ signify a participation of future time?

Yes.

And ’is,’ or ‘becomes,’ signifies a participation of present time?

Certainly.

And if the one is absolutely without participation in time, it never had become, or was becoming, or was at any time, or is now become or is becoming, or is, or will become, or will have become, or will be, hereafter.

Most true.

But are there any modes of partaking of being other than these?

There are none.

Then the one cannot possibly partake of being?

That is the inference.

Then the one is not at all?

Clearly not.

Then the one does not exist in such way as to be one; for if it were and partook of being, it would already be; but if the argument is to be trusted, the one neither is nor is one?

True.

But that which is not admits of no attribute or relation?

Of course not.

Then there is no name, nor expression, nor perception, nor opinion, nor knowledge of it?

Clearly not.

Then it is neither named, nor expressed, nor opined, nor known, nor does anything that is perceive it.

So we must infer.

But can all this be true about the one?

I think not.

1.b. Suppose, now, that we return once more to the original hypothesis; let us see whether, on a further review, any new aspect of the question appears.

I shall be very happy to do so.

We say that we have to work out together all the consequences, whatever they may be, which follow, if the one is?

Yes.

Then we will begin at the beginning: — If one is, can one be, and not partake of being?

Impossible.

Then the one will have being, but its being will not be the same with the one; for if the same, it would not be the being of the one; nor would the one have participated in being, for the proposition that one is would have been identical with the proposition that one is one; but our hypothesis is not if one is one, what will follow, but if one is: — am I not right?

Quite right.

We mean to say, that being has not the same significance as one?

Of course.

And when we put them together shortly, and say ‘One is,’ that is equivalent to saying, ‘partakes of being’?

Quite true.

Once more then let us ask, if one is what will follow. Does not this hypothesis necessarily imply that one is of such a nature as to have parts?

How so?

In this way: — If being is predicated of the one, if the one is, and one of being, if being is one; and if being and one are not the same; and since the one, which we have assumed, is, must not the whole, if it is one, itself be, and have for its parts, one and being?

Certainly.

And is each of these parts — one and being — to be simply called a part, or must the word ‘part’ be relative to the word ‘whole’?

The latter.

Then that which is one is both a whole and has a part?

Certainly.

Again, of the parts of the one, if it is — I mean being and one — does either fail to imply the other? is the one wanting to being, or being to the one?

Impossible.

Thus, each of the parts also has in turn both one and being, and is at the least made up of two parts; and the same principle goes on for ever, and every part whatever has always these two parts; for being always involves one, and one being; so that one is always disappearing, and becoming two.

Certainly.

And so the one, if it is, must be infinite in multiplicity?

Clearly.

Let us take another direction.

What direction?

We say that the one partakes of being and therefore it is?

Yes.

And in this way, the one, if it has being, has turned out to be many?

True.

But now, let us abstract the one which, as we say, partakes of being, and try to imagine it apart from that of which, as we say, it partakes — will this abstract one be one only or many?

One, I think.

Let us see: — Must not the being of one be other than one? for the one is not being, but, considered as one, only partook of being?

Certainly.

If being and the one be two different things, it is not because the one is one that it is other than being; nor because being is being that it is other than the one; but they differ from one another in virtue of otherness and difference.

Certainly.

So that the other is not the same — either with the one or with being?

Certainly not.

And therefore whether we take being and the other, or being and the one, or the one and the other, in every such case we take two things, which may be rightly called both.

How so.

In this way — you may speak of being?

Yes.

And also of one?

Yes.

Then now we have spoken of either of them?

Yes.

Well, and when I speak of being and one, I speak of them both?

Certainly.

And if I speak of being and the other, or of the one and the other, — in any such case do I not speak of both?

Yes.

And must not that which is correctly called both, be also two?

Undoubtedly.

And of two things how can either by any possibility not be one?

It cannot.

Then, if the individuals of the pair are together two, they must be severally one?

Clearly.

And if each of them is one, then by the addition of any one to any pair, the whole becomes three?

Yes.

And three are odd, and two are even?

Of course.

And if there are two there must also be twice, and if there are three there must be thrice; that is, if twice one makes two, and thrice one three?

Certainly.

There are two, and twice, and therefore there must be twice two; and there are three, and there is thrice, and therefore there must be thrice three?

Of course.

If there are three and twice, there is twice three; and if there are two and thrice, there is thrice two?

Undoubtedly.

Here, then, we have even taken even times, and odd taken odd times, and even taken odd times, and odd taken even times.

True.

And if this is so, does any number remain which has no necessity to be?

None whatever.

Then if one is, number must also be?

It must.

But if there is number, there must also be many, and infinite multiplicity of being; for number is infinite in multiplicity, and partakes also of being: am I not right?

Certainly.

And if all number participates in being, every part of number will also participate?

Yes.

Then being is distributed over the whole multitude of things, and nothing that is, however small or however great, is devoid of it? And, indeed, the very supposition of this is absurd, for how can that which is, be devoid of being?

In no way.

And it is divided into the greatest and into the smallest, and into being of all sizes, and is broken up more than all things; the divisions of it have no limit.

True.

Then it has the greatest number of parts?

Yes, the greatest number.

Is there any of these which is a part of being, and yet no part?

Impossible.

But if it is at all and so long as it is, it must be one, and cannot be none?

Certainly.

Then the one attaches to every single part of being, and does not fail in any part, whether great or small, or whatever may be the size of it?

True.

But reflect: — Can one, in its entirety, be in many places at the same time?

No; I see the impossibility of that.

And if not in its entirety, then it is divided; for it cannot be present with all the parts of being, unless divided.

True.

And that which has parts will be as many as the parts are?

Certainly.

Then we were wrong in saying just now, that being was distributed into the greatest number of parts. For it is not distributed into parts more than the one, into parts equal to the one; the one is never wanting to being, or being to the one, but being two they are co-equal and co-extensive.

Certainly that is true.

The one itself, then, having been broken up into parts by being, is many and infinite?

True.

Then not only the one which has being is many, but the one itself distributed by being, must also be many?

Certainly.

Further, inasmuch as the parts are parts of a whole, the one, as a whole, will be limited; for are not the parts contained by the whole?

Certainly.

And that which contains, is a limit?

Of course.

Then the one if it has being is one and many, whole and parts, having limits and yet unlimited in number?

Clearly.

And because having limits, also having extremes?

Certainly.

And if a whole, having beginning and middle and end. For can anything be a whole without these three? And if any one of them is wanting to anything, will that any longer be a whole?

No.

Then the one, as appears, will have beginning, middle, and end.

It will.

But, again, the middle will be equidistant from the extremes; or it would not be in the middle?

Yes.

Then the one will partake of figure, either rectilinear or round, or a union of the two?

True.

And if this is the case, it will be both in itself and in another too.

How?

Every part is in the whole, and none is outside the whole.

True.

And all the parts are contained by the whole?

Yes.

And the one is all its parts, and neither more nor less than all?

No.

And the one is the whole?

Of course.

But if all the parts are in the whole, and the one is all of them and the whole, and they are all contained by the whole, the one will be contained by the one; and thus the one will be in itself.

That is true.

But then, again, the whole is not in the parts — neither in all the parts, nor in some one of them. For if it is in all, it must be in one; for if there were any one in which it was not, it could not be in all the parts; for the part in which it is wanting is one of all, and if the whole is not in this, how can it be in them all?

It cannot.

Nor can the whole be in some of the parts; for if the whole were in some of the parts, the greater would be in the less, which is impossible.

Yes, impossible.

But if the whole is neither in one, nor in more than one, nor in all of the parts, it must be in something else, or cease to be anywhere at all?

Certainly.

If it were nowhere, it would be nothing; but being a whole, and not being in itself, it must be in another.

Very true.

The one then, regarded as a whole, is in another, but regarded as being all its parts, is in itself; and therefore the one must be itself in itself and also in another.

Certainly.

The one then, being of this nature, is of necessity both at rest and in motion?

How?

The one is at rest since it is in itself, for being in one, and not passing out of this, it is in the same, which is itself.

True.

And that which is ever in the same, must be ever at rest?

Certainly.

Well, and must not that, on the contrary, which is ever in other, never be in the same; and if never in the same, never at rest, and if not at rest, in motion?

True.

Then the one being always itself in itself and other, must always be both at rest and in motion?

Clearly.

And must be the same with itself, and other than itself; and also the same with the others, and other than the others; this follows from its previous affections.

How so?

Everything in relation to every other thing, is either the same or other; or if neither the same nor other, then in the relation of a part to a whole, or of a whole to a part.

Clearly.

And is the one a part of itself?

Certainly not.

Since it is not a part in relation to itself it cannot be related to itself as whole to part?

It cannot.

But is the one other than one?

No.

And therefore not other than itself?

Certainly not.

If then it be neither other, nor a whole, nor a part in relation to itself, must it not be the same with itself?

Certainly.

But then, again, a thing which is in another place from ‘itself,’ if this ‘itself’ remains in the same place with itself, must be other than ‘itself,’ for it will be in another place?

True.

Then the one has been shown to be at once in itself and in another?

Yes.

Thus, then, as appears, the one will be other than itself?

True.

Well, then, if anything be other than anything, will it not be other than that which is other?

Certainly.

And will not all things that are not one, be other than the one, and the one other than the not-one?

Of course.

Then the one will be other than the others?

True.

But, consider: — Are not the absolute same, and the absolute other, opposites to one another?

Of course.

Then will the same ever be in the other, or the other in the same?

They will not.

If then the other is never in the same, there is nothing in which the other is during any space of time; for during that space of time, however small, the other would be in the same. Is not that true?

Yes.

And since the other is never in the same, it can never be in anything that is.

True.

Then the other will never be either in the not-one, or in the one?

Certainly not.

Then not by reason of otherness is the one other than the not-one, or the not-one other than the one.

No.

Nor by reason of themselves will they be other than one another, if not partaking of the other.

How can they be?

But if they are not other, either by reason of themselves or of the other, will they not altogether escape being other than one another?

They will.

Again, the not-one cannot partake of the one; otherwise it would not have been not-one, but would have been in some way one.

True.

Nor can the not-one be number; for having number, it would not have been not-one at all.

It would not.

Again, is the not-one part of the one; or rather, would it not in that case partake of the one?

It would.

If then, in every point of view, the one and the not-one are distinct, then neither is the one part or whole of the not-one, nor is the not-one part or whole of the one?

No.

But we said that things which are neither parts nor wholes of one another, nor other than one another, will be the same with one another: — so we said?

Yes.

Then shall we say that the one, being in this relation to the not-one, is the same with it?

Let us say so.

Then it is the same with itself and the others, and also other than itself and the others.

That appears to be the inference.

And it will also be like and unlike itself and the others?

Perhaps.

Since the one was shown to be other than the others, the others will also be other than the one.

Yes.

And the one is other than the others in the same degree that the others are other than it, and neither more nor less?

True.

And if neither more nor less, then in a like degree?

Yes.

In virtue of the affection by which the one is other than others and others in like manner other than it, the one will be affected like the others and the others like the one.

How do you mean?

I may take as an illustration the case of names: You give a name to a thing?

Yes.

And you may say the name once or oftener?

Yes.

And when you say it once, you mention that of which it is the name? and when more than once, is it something else which you mention? or must it always be the same thing of which you speak, whether you utter the name once or more than once?

Of course it is the same.

And is not ‘other’ a name given to a thing?

Certainly.

Whenever, then, you use the word ‘other,’ whether once or oftener, you name that of which it is the name, and to no other do you give the name?

True.

Then when we say that the others are other than the one, and the one other than the others, in repeating the word ‘other’ we speak of that nature to which the name is applied, and of no other?

Quite true.

Then the one which is other than others, and the other which is other than the one, in that the word ‘other’ is applied to both, will be in the same condition; and that which is in the same condition is like?

Yes.

Then in virtue of the affection by which the one is other than the others, every thing will be like every thing, for every thing is other than every thing.

True.

Again, the like is opposed to the unlike?

Yes.

And the other to the same?

True again.

And the one was also shown to be the same with the others?

Yes.

And to be the same with the others is the opposite of being other than the others?

Certainly.

And in that it was other it was shown to be like?

Yes.

But in that it was the same it will be unlike by virtue of the opposite affection to that which made it like; and this was the affection of otherness.

Yes.

The same then will make it unlike; otherwise it will not be the opposite of the other.

True.

Then the one will be both like and unlike the others; like in so far as it is other, and unlike in so far as it is the same.

Yes, that argument may be used.

And there is another argument.

What?

In so far as it is affected in the same way it is not affected otherwise, and not being affected otherwise is not unlike, and not being unlike, is like; but in so far as it is affected by other it is otherwise, and being otherwise affected is unlike.

True.

Then because the one is the same with the others and other than the others, on either of these two grounds, or on both of them, it will be both like and unlike the others?

Certainly.

And in the same way as being other than itself and the same with itself, on either of these two grounds and on both of them, it will be like and unlike itself?

Of course.

Again, how far can the one touch or not touch itself and others? — consider.

I am considering.

The one was shown to be in itself which was a whole?

True.

And also in other things?

Yes.

In so far as it is in other things it would touch other things, but in so far as it is in itself it would be debarred from touching them, and would touch itself only.

Clearly.

Then the inference is that it would touch both?

It would.

But what do you say to a new point of view? Must not that which is to touch another be next to that which it is to touch, and occupy the place nearest to that in which what it touches is situated?

True.

Then the one, if it is to touch itself, ought to be situated next to itself, and occupy the place next to that in which itself is?

It ought.

And that would require that the one should be two, and be in two places at once, and this, while it is one, will never happen.

No.

Then the one cannot touch itself any more than it can be two?

It cannot.

Neither can it touch others.

Why not?

The reason is, that whatever is to touch another must be in separation from, and next to, that which it is to touch, and no third thing can be between them.

True.

Two things, then, at the least are necessary to make contact possible?

They are.

And if to the two a third be added in due order, the number of terms will be three, and the contacts two?

Yes.

And every additional term makes one additional contact, whence it follows that the contacts are one less in number than the terms; the first two terms exceeded the number of contacts by one, and the whole number of terms exceeds the whole number of contacts by one in like manner; and for every one which is afterwards added to the number of terms, one contact is added to the contacts.

True.

Whatever is the whole number of things, the contacts will be always one less.

True.

But if there be only one, and not two, there will be no contact?

How can there be?

And do we not say that the others being other than the one are not one and have no part in the one?

True.

Then they have no number, if they have no one in them?

Of course not.

Then the others are neither one nor two, nor are they called by the name of any number?

No.

One, then, alone is one, and two do not exist?

Clearly not.

And if there are not two, there is no contact?

There is not.

Then neither does the one touch the others, nor the others the one, if there is no contact?

Certainly not.

For all which reasons the one touches and does not touch itself and the others?

True.

Further — is the one equal and unequal to itself and others?

How do you mean?

If the one were greater or less than the others, or the others greater or less than the one, they would not be greater or less than each other in virtue of their being the one and the others; but, if in addition to their being what they are they had equality, they would be equal to one another, or if the one had smallness and the others greatness, or the one had greatness and the others smallness — whichever kind had greatness would be greater, and whichever had smallness would be smaller?

Certainly.

Then there are two such ideas as greatness and smallness; for if they were not they could not be opposed to each other and be present in that which is.

How could they?

If, then, smallness is present in the one it will be present either in the whole or in a part of the whole?

Certainly.

Suppose the first; it will be either co-equal and co-extensive with the whole one, or will contain the one?

Clearly.

If it be co-extensive with the one it will be co-equal with the one, or if containing the one it will be greater than the one?

Of course.

But can smallness be equal to anything or greater than anything, and have the functions of greatness and equality and not its own functions?

Impossible.

Then smallness cannot be in the whole of one, but, if at all, in a part only?

Yes.

And surely not in all of a part, for then the difficulty of the whole will recur; it will be equal to or greater than any part in which it is.

Certainly.

Then smallness will not be in anything, whether in a whole or in a part; nor will there be anything small but actual smallness.

True.

Neither will greatness be in the one, for if greatness be in anything there will be something greater other and besides greatness itself, namely, that in which greatness is; and this too when the small itself is not there, which the one, if it is great, must exceed; this, however, is impossible, seeing that smallness is wholly absent.

True.

But absolute greatness is only greater than absolute smallness, and smallness is only smaller than absolute greatness.

Very true.

Then other things not greater or less than the one, if they have neither greatness nor smallness; nor have greatness or smallness any power of exceeding or being exceeded in relation to the one, but only in relation to one another; nor will the one be greater or less than them or others, if it has neither greatness nor smallness.

Clearly not.

Then if the one is neither greater nor less than the others, it cannot either exceed or be exceeded by them?

Certainly not.

And that which neither exceeds nor is exceeded, must be on an equality; and being on an equality, must be equal.

Of course.

And this will be true also of the relation of the one to itself; having neither greatness nor smallness in itself, it will neither exceed nor be exceeded by itself, but will be on an equality with and equal to itself.

Certainly.

Then the one will be equal both to itself and the others?

Clearly so.

And yet the one, being itself in itself, will also surround and be without itself; and, as containing itself, will be greater than itself; and, as contained in itself, will be less; and will thus be greater and less than itself.

It will.

Now there cannot possibly be anything which is not included in the one and the others?

Of course not.

But, surely, that which is must always be somewhere?

Yes.

But that which is in anything will be less, and that in which it is will be greater; in no other way can one thing be in another.

True.

And since there is nothing other or besides the one and the others, and they must be in something, must they not be in one another, the one in the others and the others in the one, if they are to be anywhere?

That is clear.

But inasmuch as the one is in the others, the others will be greater than the one, because they contain the one, which will be less than the others, because it is contained in them; and inasmuch as the others are in the one, the one on the same principle will be greater than the others, and the others less than the one.

True.

The one, then, will be equal to and greater and less than itself and the others?

Clearly.

And if it be greater and less and equal, it will be of equal and more and less measures or divisions than itself and the others, and if of measures, also of parts?

Of course.

And if of equal and more and less measures or divisions, it will be in number more or less than itself and the others, and likewise equal in number to itself and to the others?

How is that?

It will be of more measures than those things which it exceeds, and of as many parts as measures; and so with that to which it is equal, and that than which it is less.

True.

And being greater and less than itself, and equal to itself, it will be of equal measures with itself and of more and fewer measures than itself; and if of measures then also of parts?

It will.

And being of equal parts with itself, it will be numerically equal to itself; and being of more parts, more, and being of less, less than itself?

Certainly.

And the same will hold of its relation to other things; inasmuch as it is greater than them, it will be more in number than them; and inasmuch as it is smaller, it will be less in number; and inasmuch as it is equal in size to other things, it will be equal to them in number.

Certainly.

Once more, then, as would appear, the one will be in number both equal to and more and less than both itself and all other things.

It will.

Does the one also partake of time? And is it and does it become older and younger than itself and others, and again, neither younger nor older than itself and others, by virtue of participation in time?

How do you mean?

If one is, being must be predicated of it?

Yes.

But to be (einai) is only participation of being in present time, and to have been is the participation of being at a past time, and to be about to be is the participation of being at a future time?

Very true.

Then the one, since it partakes of being, partakes of time?

Certainly.

And is not time always moving forward?

Yes.

Then the one is always becoming older than itself, since it moves forward in time?

Certainly.

And do you remember that the older becomes older than that which becomes younger?

I remember.

Then since the one becomes older than itself, it becomes younger at the same time?

Certainly.

Thus, then, the one becomes older as well as younger than itself?

Yes.

And it is older (is it not?) when in becoming, it gets to the point of time between ‘was’ and ‘will be,’ which is ‘now’: for surely in going from the past to the future, it cannot skip the present?

No.

And when it arrives at the present it stops from becoming older, and no longer becomes, but is older, for if it went on it would never be reached by the present, for it is the nature of that which goes on, to touch both the present and the future, letting go the present and seizing the future, while in process of becoming between them.

True.

But that which is becoming cannot skip the present; when it reaches the present it ceases to become, and is then whatever it may happen to be becoming.

Clearly.

And so the one, when in becoming older it reaches the present, ceases to become, and is then older.

Certainly.

And it is older than that than which it was becoming older, and it was becoming older than itself.

Yes.

And that which is older is older than that which is younger?

True.

Then the one is younger than itself, when in becoming older it reaches the present?

Certainly.

But the present is always present with the one during all its being; for whenever it is it is always now.

Certainly.

Then the one always both is and becomes older and younger than itself?

Truly.

And is it or does it become a longer time than itself or an equal time with itself?

An equal time.

But if it becomes or is for an equal time with itself, it is of the same age with itself?

Of course.

And that which is of the same age, is neither older nor younger?

No.

The one, then, becoming and being the same time with itself, neither is nor becomes older or younger than itself?

I should say not.

And what are its relations to other things? Is it or does it become older or younger than they?

I cannot tell you.

You can at least tell me that others than the one are more than the one — other would have been one, but the others have multitude, and are more than one?

They will have multitude.

And a multitude implies a number larger than one?

Of course.

And shall we say that the lesser or the greater is the first to come or to have come into existence?

The lesser.

Then the least is the first? And that is the one?

Yes.

Then the one of all things that have number is the first to come into being; but all other things have also number, being plural and not singular.

They have.

And since it came into being first it must be supposed to have come into being prior to the others, and the others later; and the things which came into being later, are younger than that which preceded them? And so the other things will be younger than the one, and the one older than other things?

True.

What would you say of another question? Can the one have come into being contrary to its own nature, or is that impossible?

Impossible.

And yet, surely, the one was shown to have parts; and if parts, then a beginning, middle and end?

Yes.

And a beginning, both of the one itself and of all other things, comes into being first of all; and after the beginning, the others follow, until you reach the end?

Certainly.

And all these others we shall affirm to be parts of the whole and of the one, which, as soon as the end is reached, has become whole and one?

Yes; that is what we shall say.

But the end comes last, and the one is of such a nature as to come into being with the last; and, since the one cannot come into being except in accordance with its own nature, its nature will require that it should come into being after the others, simultaneously with the end.

Clearly.

Then the one is younger than the others and the others older than the one.

That also is clear in my judgment.

Well, and must not a beginning or any other part of the one or of anything, if it be a part and not parts, being a part, be also of necessity one?

Certainly.

And will not the one come into being together with each part — together with the first part when that comes into being, and together with the second part and with all the rest, and will not be wanting to any part, which is added to any other part until it has reached the last and become one whole; it will be wanting neither to the middle, nor to the first, nor to the last, nor to any of them, while the process of becoming is going on?

True.

Then the one is of the same age with all the others, so that if the one itself does not contradict its own nature, it will be neither prior nor posterior to the others, but simultaneous; and according to this argument the one will be neither older nor younger than the others, nor the others than the one, but according to the previous argument the one will be older and younger than the others and the others than the one.

Certainly.

After this manner then the one is and has become. But as to its becoming older and younger than the others, and the others than the one, and neither older nor younger, what shall we say? Shall we say as of being so also of becoming, or otherwise?

I cannot answer.

But I can venture to say, that even if one thing were older or younger than another, it could not become older or younger in a greater degree than it was at first; for equals added to unequals, whether to periods of time or to anything else, leave the difference between them the same as at first.

Of course.

Then that which is, cannot become older or younger than that which is, since the difference of age is always the same; the one is and has become older and the other younger; but they are no longer becoming so.

True.

And the one which is does not therefore become either older or younger than the others which are.

No.

But consider whether they may not become older and younger in another way.

In what way?

Just as the one was proven to be older than the others and the others than the one.

And what of that?

If the one is older than the others, has come into being a longer time than the others.

Yes.

But consider again; if we add equal time to a greater and a less time, will the greater differ from the less time by an equal or by a smaller portion than before?

By a smaller portion.

Then the difference between the age of the one and the age of the others will not be afterwards so great as at first, but if an equal time be added to both of them they will differ less and less in age?

Yes.

And that which differs in age from some other less than formerly, from being older will become younger in relation to that other than which it was older?

Yes, younger.

And if the one becomes younger the others aforesaid will become older than they were before, in relation to the one.

Certainly.

Then that which had become younger becomes older relatively to that which previously had become and was older; it never really is older, but is always becoming, for the one is always growing on the side of youth and the other on the side of age. And in like manner the older is always in process of becoming younger than the younger; for as they are always going in opposite directions they become in ways the opposite to one another, the younger older than the older, and the older younger than the younger. They cannot, however, have become; for if they had already become they would be and not merely become. But that is impossible; for they are always becoming both older and younger than one another: the one becomes younger than the others because it was seen to be older and prior, and the others become older than the one because they came into being later; and in the same way the others are in the same relation to the one, because they were seen to be older, and prior to the one.

That is clear.

Inasmuch then, one thing does not become older or younger than another, in that they always differ from each other by an equal number, the one cannot become older or younger than the others, nor the others than the one; but inasmuch as that which came into being earlier and that which came into being later must continually differ from each other by a different portion — in this point of view the others must become older and younger than the one, and the one than the others.

Certainly.

For all these reasons, then, the one is and becomes older and younger than itself and the others, and neither is nor becomes older or younger than itself or the others.

Certainly.

But since the one partakes of time, and partakes of becoming older and younger, must it not also partake of the past, the present, and the future?

Of course it must.

Then the one was and is and will be, and was becoming and is becoming and will become?

Certainly.

And there is and was and will be something which is in relation to it and belongs to it?

True.

And since we have at this moment opinion and knowledge and perception of the one, there is opinion and knowledge and perception of it?

Quite right.

Then there is name and expression for it, and it is named and expressed, and everything of this kind which appertains to other things appertains to the one.

Certainly, that is true.

Yet once more and for the third time, let us consider: If the one is both one and many, as we have described, and is neither one nor many, and participates in time, must it not, in as far as it is one, at times partake of being, and in as far as it is not one, at times not partake of being?

Certainly.

But can it partake of being when not partaking of being, or not partake of being when partaking of being?

Impossible.

Then the one partakes and does not partake of being at different times, for that is the only way in which it can partake and not partake of the same.

True.

And is there not also a time at which it assumes being and relinquishes being — for how can it have and not have the same thing unless it receives and also gives it up at some time?

Impossible.

And the assuming of being is what you would call becoming?

I should.

And the relinquishing of being you would call destruction?

I should.

The one then, as would appear, becomes and is destroyed by taking and giving up being.

Certainly.

And being one and many and in process of becoming and being destroyed, when it becomes one it ceases to be many, and when many, it ceases to be one?

Certainly.

And as it becomes one and many, must it not inevitably experience separation and aggregation?

Inevitably.

And whenever it becomes like and unlike it must be assimilated and dissimilated?

Yes.

And when it becomes greater or less or equal it must grow or diminish or be equalized?

True.

And when being in motion it rests, and when being at rest it changes to motion, it can surely be in no time at all?

How can it?

But that a thing which is previously at rest should be afterwards in motion, or previously in motion and afterwards at rest, without experiencing change, is impossible.

Impossible.

And surely there cannot be a time in which a thing can be at once neither in motion nor at rest?

There cannot.

But neither can it change without changing.

True.

When then does it change; for it cannot change either when at rest, or when in motion, or when in time?

It cannot.

And does this strange thing in which it is at the time of changing really exist?

What thing?

The moment. For the moment seems to imply a something out of which change takes place into either of two states; for the change is not from the state of rest as such, nor from the state of motion as such; but there is this curious nature which we call the moment lying between rest and motion, not being in any time; and into this and out of this what is in motion changes into rest, and what is at rest into motion.

So it appears.

And the one then, since it is at rest and also in motion, will change to either, for only in this way can it be in both. And in changing it changes in a moment, and when it is changing it will be in no time, and will not then be either in motion or at rest.

It will not.

And it will be in the same case in relation to the other changes, when it passes from being into cessation of being, or from not-being into becoming — then it passes between certain states of motion and rest, and neither is nor is not, nor becomes nor is destroyed.

Very true.

And on the same principle, in the passage from one to many and from many to one, the one is neither one nor many, neither separated nor aggregated; and in the passage from like to unlike, and from unlike to like, it is neither like nor unlike, neither in a state of assimilation nor of dissimilation; and in the passage from small to great and equal and back again, it will be neither small nor great, nor equal, nor in a state of increase, or diminution, or equalization.

True.

All these, then, are the affections of the one, if the one has being.

Of course.

1.aa. But if one is, what will happen to the others — is not that also to be considered?

Yes.

Let us show then, if one is, what will be the affections of the others than the one.

Let us do so.

Inasmuch as there are things other than the one, the others are not the one; for if they were they could not be other than the one.

Very true.

Nor are the others altogether without the one, but in a certain way they participate in the one.

In what way?

Because the others are other than the one inasmuch as they have parts; for if they had no parts they would be simply one.

Right.

And parts, as we affirm, have relation to a whole?

So we say.

And a whole must necessarily be one made up of many; and the parts will be parts of the one, for each of the parts is not a part of many, but of a whole.

How do you mean?

If anything were a part of many, being itself one of them, it will surely be a part of itself, which is impossible, and it will be a part of each one of the other parts, if of all; for if not a part of some one, it will be a part of all the others but this one, and thus will not be a part of each one; and if not a part of each, one it will not be a part of any one of the many; and not being a part of any one, it cannot be a part or anything else of all those things of none of which it is anything.

Clearly not.

Then the part is not a part of the many, nor of all, but is of a certain single form, which we call a whole, being one perfect unity framed out of all — of this the part will be a part.

Certainly.

If, then, the others have parts, they will participate in the whole and in the one.

True.

Then the others than the one must be one perfect whole, having parts.

Certainly.

And the same argument holds of each part, for the part must participate in the one; for if each of the parts is a part, this means, I suppose, that it is one separate from the rest and self-related; otherwise it is not each.

True.

But when we speak of the part participating in the one, it must clearly be other than one; for if not, it would not merely have participated, but would have been one; whereas only the itself can be one.

Very true.

Both the whole and the part must participate in the one; for the whole will be one whole, of which the parts will be parts; and each part will be one part of the whole which is the whole of the part.

True.

And will not the things which participate in the one, be other than it?

Of course.

And the things which are other than the one will be many; for if the things which are other than the one were neither one nor more than one, they would be nothing.

True.

But, seeing that the things which participate in the one as a part, and in the one as a whole, are more than one, must not those very things which participate in the one be infinite in number?

How so?

Let us look at the matter thus: — Is it not a fact that in partaking of the one they are not one, and do not partake of the one at the very time when they are partaking of it?

Clearly.

They do so then as multitudes in which the one is not present?

Very true.

And if we were to abstract from them in idea the very smallest fraction, must not that least fraction, if it does not partake of the one, be a multitude and not one?

It must.

And if we continue to look at the other side of their nature, regarded simply, and in itself, will not they, as far as we see them, be unlimited in number?

Certainly.

And yet, when each several part becomes a part, then the parts have a limit in relation to the whole and to each other, and the whole in relation to the parts.

Just so.

The result to the others than the one is that the union of themselves and the one appears to create a new element in them which gives to them limitation in relation to one another; whereas in their own nature they have no limit.

That is clear.

Then the others than the one, both as whole and parts, are infinite, and also partake of limit.

Certainly.

Then they are both like and unlike one another and themselves.

How is that?

Inasmuch as they are unlimited in their own nature, they are all affected in the same way.

True.

And inasmuch as they all partake of limit, they are all affected in the same way.

Of course.

But inasmuch as their state is both limited and unlimited, they are affected in opposite ways.

Yes.

And opposites are the most unlike of things.

Certainly.

Considered, then, in regard to either one of their affections, they will be like themselves and one another; considered in reference to both of them together, most opposed and most unlike.

That appears to be true.

Then the others are both like and unlike themselves and one another?

True.

And they are the same and also different from one another, and in motion and at rest, and experience every sort of opposite affection, as may be proved without difficulty of them, since they have been shown to have experienced the affections aforesaid?

True.

1.bb. Suppose, now, that we leave the further discussion of these matters as evident, and consider again upon the hypothesis that the one is, whether opposite of all this is or is not equally true of the others.

By all means.

Then let us begin again, and ask, If one is, what must be the affections of the others?

Let us ask that question.

Must not the one be distinct from the others, and the others from the one?

Why so?

Why, because there is nothing else beside them which is distinct from both of them; for the expression ‘one and the others’ includes all things.

Yes, all things.

Then we cannot suppose that there is anything different from them in which both the one and the others might exist?

There is nothing.

Then the one and the others are never in the same?

True.

Then they are separated from each other?

Yes.

And we surely cannot say that what is truly one has parts?

Impossible.

Then the one will not be in the others as a whole, nor as part, if it be separated from the others, and has no parts?

Impossible.

Then there is no way in which the others can partake of the one, if they do not partake either in whole or in part?

It would seem not.

Then there is no way in which the others are one, or have in themselves any unity?

There is not.

Nor are the others many; for if they were many, each part of them would be a part of the whole; but now the others, not partaking in any way of the one, are neither one nor many, nor whole, nor part.

True.

Then the others neither are nor contain two or three, if entirely deprived of the one?

True.

Then the others are neither like nor unlike the one, nor is likeness and unlikeness in them; for if they were like and unlike, or had in them likeness and unlikeness, they would have two natures in them opposite to one another.

That is clear.

But for that which partakes of nothing to partake of two things was held by us to be impossible?

Impossible.

Then the others are neither like nor unlike nor both, for if they were like or unlike they would partake of one of those two natures, which would be one thing, and if they were both they would partake of opposites which would be two things, and this has been shown to be impossible.

True.

Therefore they are neither the same, nor other, nor in motion, nor at rest, nor in a state of becoming, nor of being destroyed, nor greater, nor less, nor equal, nor have they experienced anything else of the sort; for, if they are capable of experiencing any such affection, they will participate in one and two and three, and odd and even, and in these, as has been proved, they do not participate, seeing that they are altogether and in every way devoid of the one.

Very true.

Therefore if one is, the one is all things, and also nothing, both in relation to itself and to other things.

Certainly.

2.a. Well, and ought we not to consider next what will be the consequence if the one is not?

Yes; we ought.

What is the meaning of the hypothesis — If the one is not; is there any difference between this and the hypothesis — If the not one is not?

There is a difference, certainly.

Is there a difference only, or rather are not the two expressions — if the one is not, and if the not one is not, entirely opposed?

They are entirely opposed.

And suppose a person to say: — If greatness is not, if smallness is not, or anything of that sort, does he not mean, whenever he uses such an expression, that ‘what is not’ is other than other things?

To be sure.

And so when he says ‘If one is not’ he clearly means, that what ’is not’ is other than all others; we know what he means — do we not?

Yes, we do.

When he says ‘one,’ he says something which is known; and secondly something which is other than all other things; it makes no difference whether he predicate of one being or not-being, for that which is said ‘not to be’ is known to be something all the same, and is distinguished from other things.

Certainly.

Then I will begin again, and ask: If one is not, what are the consequences? In the first place, as would appear, there is a knowledge of it, or the very meaning of the words, ‘if one is not,’ would not be known.

True.

Secondly, the others differ from it, or it could not be described as different from the others?

Certainly.

Difference, then, belongs to it as well as knowledge; for in speaking of the one as different from the others, we do not speak of a difference in the others, but in the one.

Clearly so.

Moreover, the one that is not is something and partakes of relation to ‘that,’ and ‘this,’ and ‘these,’ and the like, and is an attribute of ‘this’; for the one, or the others than the one, could not have been spoken of, nor could any attribute or relative of the one that is not have been or been spoken of, nor could it have been said to be anything, if it did not partake of ‘some,’ or of the other relations just now mentioned.

True.

Being, then, cannot be ascribed to the one, since it is not; but the one that is not may or rather must participate in many things, if it and nothing else is not; if, however, neither the one nor the one that is not is supposed not to be, and we are speaking of something of a different nature, we can predicate nothing of it. But supposing that the one that is not and nothing else is not, then it must participate in the predicate ‘that,’ and in many others.

Certainly.

And it will have unlikeness in relation to the others, for the others being different from the one will be of a different kind.

Certainly.

And are not things of a different kind also other in kind?

Of course.

And are not things other in kind unlike?

They are unlike.

And if they are unlike the one, that which they are unlike will clearly be unlike them?

Clearly so.

Then the one will have unlikeness in respect of which the others are unlike it?

That would seem to be true.

And if unlikeness to other things is attributed to it, it must have likeness to itself.

How so?

If the one have unlikeness to one, something else must be meant; nor will the hypothesis relate to one; but it will relate to something other than one?

Quite so.

But that cannot be.

No.

Then the one must have likeness to itself?

It must.

Again, it is not equal to the others; for if it were equal, then it would at once be and be like them in virtue of the equality; but if one has no being, then it can neither be nor be like?

It cannot.

But since it is not equal to the others, neither can the others be equal to it?

Certainly not.

And things that are not equal are unequal?

True.

And they are unequal to an unequal?

Of course.

Then the one partakes of inequality, and in respect of this the others are unequal to it?

Very true.

And inequality implies greatness and smallness?

Yes.

Then the one, if of such a nature, has greatness and smallness?

That appears to be true.

And greatness and smallness always stand apart?

True.

Then there is always something between them?

There is.

And can you think of anything else which is between them other than equality?

No, it is equality which lies between them.

Then that which has greatness and smallness also has equality, which lies between them?

That is clear.

Then the one, which is not, partakes, as would appear, of greatness and smallness and equality?

Clearly.

Further, it must surely in a sort partake of being?

How so?

It must be so, for if not, then we should not speak the truth in saying that the one is not. But if we speak the truth, clearly we must say what is. Am I not right?

Yes.

And since we affirm that we speak truly, we must also affirm that we say what is?

Certainly.

Then, as would appear, the one, when it is not, is; for if it were not to be when it is not, but (Or, ‘to remit something of existence in relation to not-being.’) were to relinquish something of being, so as to become not-being, it would at once be.

Quite true.

Then the one which is not, if it is to maintain itself, must have the being of not-being as the bond of not-being, just as being must have as a bond the not-being of not-being in order to perfect its own being; for the truest assertion of the being of being and of the not-being of not-being is when being partakes of the being of being, and not of the being of not-being — that is, the perfection of being; and when not-being does not partake of the not-being of not-being but of the being of not-being — that is the perfection of not-being.

Most true.

Since then what is partakes of not-being, and what is not of being, must not the one also partake of being in order not to be?

Certainly.

Then the one, if it is not, clearly has being?

Clearly.

And has not-being also, if it is not?

Of course.

But can anything which is in a certain state not be in that state without changing?

Impossible.

Then everything which is and is not in a certain state, implies change?

Certainly.

And change is motion — we may say that?

Yes, motion.

And the one has been proved both to be and not to be?

Yes.

And therefore is and is not in the same state?

Yes.

Thus the one that is not has been shown to have motion also, because it changes from being to not-being?

That appears to be true.

But surely if it is nowhere among what is, as is the fact, since it is not, it cannot change from one place to another?

Impossible.

Then it cannot move by changing place?

No.

Nor can it turn on the same spot, for it nowhere touches the same, for the same is, and that which is not cannot be reckoned among things that are?

It cannot.

Then the one, if it is not, cannot turn in that in which it is not?

No.

Neither can the one, whether it is or is not, be altered into other than itself, for if it altered and became different from itself, then we could not be still speaking of the one, but of something else?

True.

But if the one neither suffers alteration, nor turns round in the same place, nor changes place, can it still be capable of motion?

Impossible.

Now that which is unmoved must surely be at rest, and that which is at rest must stand still?

Certainly.

Then the one that is not, stands still, and is also in motion?

That seems to be true.

But if it be in motion it must necessarily undergo alteration, for anything which is moved, in so far as it is moved, is no longer in the same state, but in another?

Yes.

Then the one, being moved, is altered?

Yes.

And, further, if not moved in any way, it will not be altered in any way?

No.

Then, in so far as the one that is not is moved, it is altered, but in so far as it is not moved, it is not altered?

Right.

Then the one that is not is altered and is not altered?

That is clear.

And must not that which is altered become other than it previously was, and lose its former state and be destroyed; but that which is not altered can neither come into being nor be destroyed?

Very true.

And the one that is not, being altered, becomes and is destroyed; and not being altered, neither becomes nor is destroyed; and so the one that is not becomes and is destroyed, and neither becomes nor is destroyed?

True.

2.b. And now, let us go back once more to the beginning, and see whether these or some other consequences will follow.

Let us do as you say.

If one is not, we ask what will happen in respect of one? That is the question.

Yes.

Do not the words ’is not’ signify absence of being in that to which we apply them?

Just so.

And when we say that a thing is not, do we mean that it is not in one way but is in another? or do we mean, absolutely, that what is not has in no sort or way or kind participation of being?

Quite absolutely.

Then, that which is not cannot be, or in any way participate in being?

It cannot.

And did we not mean by becoming, and being destroyed, the assumption of being and the loss of being?

Nothing else.

And can that which has no participation in being, either assume or lose being?

Impossible.

The one then, since it in no way is, cannot have or lose or assume being in any way?

True.

Then the one that is not, since it in no way partakes of being, neither perishes nor becomes?

No.

Then it is not altered at all; for if it were it would become and be destroyed?

True.

But if it be not altered it cannot be moved?

Certainly not.

Nor can we say that it stands, if it is nowhere; for that which stands must always be in one and the same spot?

Of course.

Then we must say that the one which is not never stands still and never moves?

Neither.

Nor is there any existing thing which can be attributed to it; for if there had been, it would partake of being?

That is clear.

And therefore neither smallness, nor greatness, nor equality, can be attributed to it?

No.

Nor yet likeness nor difference, either in relation to itself or to others?

Clearly not.

Well, and if nothing should be attributed to it, can other things be attributed to it?

Certainly not.

And therefore other things can neither be like or unlike, the same, or different in relation to it?

They cannot.

Nor can what is not, be anything, or be this thing, or be related to or the attribute of this or that or other, or be past, present, or future. Nor can knowledge, or opinion, or perception, or expression, or name, or any other thing that is, have any concern with it?

No.

Then the one that is not has no condition of any kind?

Such appears to be the conclusion.

2.aa. Yet once more; if one is not, what becomes of the others? Let us determine that.

Yes; let us determine that.

The others must surely be; for if they, like the one, were not, we could not be now speaking of them.

True.

But to speak of the others implies difference — the terms ‘other’ and ‘different’ are synonymous?

True.

Other means other than other, and different, different from the different?

Yes.

Then, if there are to be others, there is something than which they will be other?

Certainly.

And what can that be? — for if the one is not, they will not be other than the one.

They will not.

Then they will be other than each other; for the only remaining alternative is that they are other than nothing.

True.

And they are each other than one another, as being plural and not singular; for if one is not, they cannot be singular, but every particle of them is infinite in number; and even if a person takes that which appears to be the smallest fraction, this, which seemed one, in a moment evanesces into many, as in a dream, and from being the smallest becomes very great, in comparison with the fractions into which it is split up?

Very true.

And in such particles the others will be other than one another, if others are, and the one is not?

Exactly.

And will there not be many particles, each appearing to be one, but not being one, if one is not?

True.

And it would seem that number can be predicated of them if each of them appears to be one, though it is really many?

It can.

And there will seem to be odd and even among them, which will also have no reality, if one is not?

Yes.

And there will appear to be a least among them; and even this will seem large and manifold in comparison with the many small fractions which are contained in it?

Certainly.

And each particle will be imagined to be equal to the many and little; for it could not have appeared to pass from the greater to the less without having appeared to arrive at the middle; and thus would arise the appearance of equality.

Yes.

And having neither beginning, middle, nor end, each separate particle yet appears to have a limit in relation to itself and other.

How so?

Because, when a person conceives of any one of these as such, prior to the beginning another beginning appears, and there is another end, remaining after the end, and in the middle truer middles within but smaller, because no unity can be conceived of any of them, since the one is not.

Very true.

And so all being, whatever we think of, must be broken up into fractions, for a particle will have to be conceived of without unity?

Certainly.

And such being when seen indistinctly and at a distance, appears to be one; but when seen near and with keen intellect, every single thing appears to be infinite, since it is deprived of the one, which is not?

Nothing more certain.

Then each of the others must appear to be infinite and finite, and one and many, if others than the one exist and not the one.

They must.

Then will they not appear to be like and unlike?

In what way?

Just as in a picture things appear to be all one to a person standing at a distance, and to be in the same state and alike?

True.

But when you approach them, they appear to be many and different; and because of the appearance of the difference, different in kind from, and unlike, themselves?

True.

And so must the particles appear to be like and unlike themselves and each other.

Certainly.

And must they not be the same and yet different from one another, and in contact with themselves, although they are separated, and having every sort of motion, and every sort of rest, and becoming and being destroyed, and in neither state, and the like, all which things may be easily enumerated, if the one is not and the many are?

Most true.

2.bb. Once more, let us go back to the beginning, and ask if the one is not, and the others of the one are, what will follow.

Let us ask that question.

In the first place, the others will not be one?

Impossible.

Nor will they be many; for if they were many one would be contained in them. But if no one of them is one, all of them are nought, and therefore they will not be many.

True.

If there be no one in the others, the others are neither many nor one.

They are not.

Nor do they appear either as one or many.

Why not?

Because the others have no sort or manner or way of communion with any sort of not-being, nor can anything which is not, be connected with any of the others; for that which is not has no parts.

True.

Nor is there an opinion or any appearance of not-being in connexion with the others, nor is not-being ever in any way attributed to the others.

No.

Then if one is not, there is no conception of any of the others either as one or many; for you cannot conceive the many without the one.

You cannot.

Then if one is not, the others neither are, nor can be conceived to be either one or many?

It would seem not.

Nor as like or unlike?

No.

Nor as the same or different, nor in contact or separation, nor in any of those states which we enumerated as appearing to be; — the others neither are nor appear to be any of these, if one is not?

True.

Then may we not sum up the argument in a word and say truly: If one is not, then nothing is?

Certainly.

Let thus much be said; and further let us affirm what seems to be the truth, that, whether one is or is not, one and the others in relation to themselves and one another, all of them, in every way, are and are not, and appear to be and appear not to be.

Most true.

THEAETETUS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This dialogue deliberates upon the nature of knowledge. Socrates and his friend Theaetetus discuss three definitions of knowledge: knowledge as nothing but perception, knowledge as true judgment, and, finally, knowledge as a true judgment with an account. Each of these definitions is shown to be unsatisfactory. The conversation ends with Socrates’ announcement that he has to go to court to answer to the charges that he has been corrupting the young and failing to worship Athenian Gods.

Bust of Socrates in the Vatican Museum

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

THEAETETUS.

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

Some dialogues of Plato are of so various a character that their relation to the other dialogues cannot be determined with any degree of certainty. The Theaetetus, like the Parmenides, has points of similarity both with his earlier and his later writings. The perfection of style, the humour, the dramatic interest, the complexity of structure, the fertility of illustration, the shifting of the points of view, are characteristic of his best period of authorship. The vain search, the negative conclusion, the figure of the midwives, the constant profession of ignorance on the part of Socrates, also bear the stamp of the early dialogues, in which the original Socrates is not yet Platonized. Had we no other indications, we should be disposed to range the Theaetetus with the Apology and the Phaedrus, and perhaps even with the Protagoras and the Laches.

But when we pass from the style to an examination of the subject, we trace a connection with the later rather than with the earlier dialogues. In the first place there is the connexion, indicated by Plato himself at the end of the dialogue, with the Sophist, to which in many respects the Theaetetus is so little akin. (1) The same persons reappear, including the younger Socrates, whose name is just mentioned in the Theaetetus; (2) the theory of rest, which Socrates has declined to consider, is resumed by the Eleatic Stranger; (3) there is a similar allusion in both dialogues to the meeting of Parmenides and Socrates (Theaet., Soph.); and (4) the inquiry into not-being in the Sophist supplements the question of false opinion which is raised in the Theaetetus. (Compare also Theaet. and Soph. for parallel turns of thought.) Secondly, the later date of the dialogue is confirmed by the absence of the doctrine of recollection and of any doctrine of ideas except that which derives them from generalization and from reflection of the mind upon itself. The general character of the Theaetetus is dialectical, and there are traces of the same Megarian influences which appear in the Parmenides, and which later writers, in their matter of fact way, have explained by the residence of Plato at Megara. Socrates disclaims the character of a professional eristic, and also, with a sort of ironical admiration, expresses his inability to attain the Megarian precision in the use of terms. Yet he too employs a similar sophistical skill in overturning every conceivable theory of knowledge.

The direct indications of a date amount to no more than this: the conversation is said to have taken place when Theaetetus was a youth, and shortly before the death of Socrates. At the time of his own death he is supposed to be a full-grown man. Allowing nine or ten years for the interval between youth and manhood, the dialogue could not have been written earlier than 390, when Plato was about thirty-nine years of age. No more definite date is indicated by the engagement in which Theaetetus is said to have fallen or to have been wounded, and which may have taken place any time during the Corinthian war, between the years 390-387. The later date which has been suggested, 369, when the Athenians and Lacedaemonians disputed the Isthmus with Epaminondas, would make the age of Theaetetus at his death forty-five or forty-six. This a little impairs the beauty of Socrates’ remark, that ‘he would be a great man if he lived.’

In this uncertainty about the place of the Theaetetus, it seemed better, as in the case of the Republic, Timaeus, Critias, to retain the order in which Plato himself has arranged this and the two companion dialogues. We cannot exclude the possibility which has been already noticed in reference to other works of Plato, that the Theaetetus may not have been all written continuously; or the probability that the Sophist and Politicus, which differ greatly in style, were only appended after a long interval of time. The allusion to Parmenides compared with the Sophist, would probably imply that the dialogue which is called by his name was already in existence; unless, indeed, we suppose the passage in which the allusion occurs to have been inserted afterwards. Again, the Theaetetus may be connected with the Gorgias, either dialogue from different points of view containing an analysis of the real and apparent (Schleiermacher); and both may be brought into relation with the Apology as illustrating the personal life of Socrates. The Philebus, too, may with equal reason be placed either after or before what, in the language of Thrasyllus, may be called the Second Platonic Trilogy. Both the Parmenides and the Sophist, and still more the Theaetetus, have points of affinity with the Cratylus, in which the principles of rest and motion are again contrasted, and the Sophistical or Protagorean theory of language is opposed to that which is attributed to the disciple of Heracleitus, not to speak of lesser resemblances in thought and language. The Parmenides, again, has been thought by some to hold an intermediate position between the Theaetetus and the Sophist; upon this view, the Sophist may be regarded as the answer to the problems about One and Being which have been raised in the Parmenides. Any of these arrangements may suggest new views to the student of Plato; none of them can lay claim to an exclusive probability in its favour.

The Theaetetus is one of the narrated dialogues of Plato, and is the only one which is supposed to have been written down. In a short introductory scene, Euclides and Terpsion are described as meeting before the door of Euclides’ house in Megara. This may have been a spot familiar to Plato (for Megara was within a walk of Athens), but no importance can be attached to the accidental introduction of the founder of the Megarian philosophy. The real intention of the preface is to create an interest about the person of Theaetetus, who has just been carried up from the army at Corinth in a dying state. The expectation of his death recalls the promise of his youth, and especially the famous conversation which Socrates had with him when he was quite young, a few days before his own trial and death, as we are once more reminded at the end of the dialogue. Yet we may observe that Plato has himself forgotten this, when he represents Euclides as from time to time coming to Athens and correcting the copy from Socrates’ own mouth. The narrative, having introduced Theaetetus, and having guaranteed the authenticity of the dialogue (compare Symposium, Phaedo, Parmenides), is then dropped. No further use is made of the device. As Plato himself remarks, who in this as in some other minute points is imitated by Cicero (De Amicitia), the interlocutory words are omitted.

Theaetetus, the hero of the battle of Corinth and of the dialogue, is a disciple of Theodorus, the great geometrician, whose science is thus indicated to be the propaedeutic to philosophy. An interest has been already excited about him by his approaching death, and now he is introduced to us anew by the praises of his master Theodorus. He is a youthful Socrates, and exhibits the same contrast of the fair soul and the ungainly face and frame, the Silenus mask and the god within, which are described in the Symposium. The picture which Theodorus gives of his courage and patience and intelligence and modesty is verified in the course of the dialogue. His courage is shown by his behaviour in the battle, and his other qualities shine forth as the argument proceeds. Socrates takes an evident delight in ‘the wise Theaetetus,’ who has more in him than ‘many bearded men’; he is quite inspired by his answers. At first the youth is lost in wonder, and is almost too modest to speak, but, encouraged by Socrates, he rises to the occasion, and grows full of interest and enthusiasm about the great question. Like a youth, he has not finally made up his mind, and is very ready to follow the lead of Socrates, and to enter into each successive phase of the discussion which turns up. His great dialectical talent is shown in his power of drawing distinctions, and of foreseeing the consequences of his own answers. The enquiry about the nature of knowledge is not new to him; long ago he has felt the ‘pang of philosophy,’ and has experienced the youthful intoxication which is depicted in the Philebus. But he has hitherto been unable to make the transition from mathematics to metaphysics. He can form a general conception of square and oblong numbers, but he is unable to attain a similar expression of knowledge in the abstract. Yet at length he begins to recognize that there are universal conceptions of being, likeness, sameness, number, which the mind contemplates in herself, and with the help of Socrates is conducted from a theory of sense to a theory of ideas.

There is no reason to doubt that Theaetetus was a real person, whose name survived in the next generation. But neither can any importance be attached to the notices of him in Suidas and Proclus, which are probably based on the mention of him in Plato. According to a confused statement in Suidas, who mentions him twice over, first, as a pupil of Socrates, and then of Plato, he is said to have written the first work on the Five Solids. But no early authority cites the work, the invention of which may have been easily suggested by the division of roots, which Plato attributes to him, and the allusion to the backward state of solid geometry in the Republic. At any rate, there is no occasion to recall him to life again after the battle of Corinth, in order that we may allow time for the completion of such a work (Muller). We may also remark that such a supposition entirely destroys the pathetic interest of the introduction.

Theodorus, the geometrician, had once been the friend and disciple of Protagoras, but he is very reluctant to leave his retirement and defend his old master. He is too old to learn Socrates’ game of question and answer, and prefers the digressions to the main argument, because he finds them easier to follow. The mathematician, as Socrates says in the Republic, is not capable of giving a reason in the same manner as the dialectician, and Theodorus could not therefore have been appropriately introduced as the chief respondent. But he may be fairly appealed to, when the honour of his master is at stake. He is the ‘guardian of his orphans,’ although this is a responsibility which he wishes to throw upon Callias, the friend and patron of all Sophists, declaring that he himself had early ‘run away’ from philosophy, and was absorbed in mathematics. His extreme dislike to the Heraclitean fanatics, which may be compared with the dislike of Theaetetus to the materialists, and his ready acceptance of the noble words of Socrates, are noticeable traits of character.

The Socrates of the Theaetetus is the same as the Socrates of the earlier dialogues. He is the invincible disputant, now advanced in years, of the Protagoras and Symposium; he is still pursuing his divine mission, his ‘Herculean labours,’ of which he has described the origin in the Apology; and he still hears the voice of his oracle, bidding him receive or not receive the truant souls. There he is supposed to have a mission to convict men of self-conceit; in the Theaetetus he has assigned to him by God the functions of a man-midwife, who delivers men of their thoughts, and under this character he is present throughout the dialogue. He is the true prophet who has an insight into the natures of men, and can divine their future; and he knows that sympathy is the secret power which unlocks their thoughts. The hit at Aristides, the son of Lysimachus, who was specially committed to his charge in the Laches, may be remarked by the way. The attempt to discover the definition of knowledge is in accordance with the character of Socrates as he is described in the Memorabilia, asking What is justice? what is temperance? and the like. But there is no reason to suppose that he would have analyzed the nature of perception, or traced the connexion of Protagoras and Heracleitus, or have raised the difficulty respecting false opinion. The humorous illustrations, as well as the serious thoughts, run through the dialogue. The snubnosedness of Theaetetus, a characteristic which he shares with Socrates, and the man-midwifery of Socrates, are not forgotten in the closing words. At the end of the dialogue, as in the Euthyphro, he is expecting to meet Meletus at the porch of the king Archon; but with the same indifference to the result which is everywhere displayed by him, he proposes that they shall reassemble on the following day at the same spot. The day comes, and in the Sophist the three friends again meet, but no further allusion is made to the trial, and the principal share in the argument is assigned, not to Socrates, but to an Eleatic stranger; the youthful Theaetetus also plays a different and less independent part. And there is no allusion in the Introduction to the second and third dialogues, which are afterwards appended. There seems, therefore, reason to think that there is a real change, both in the characters and in the design.

The dialogue is an enquiry into the nature of knowledge, which is interrupted by two digressions. The first is the digression about the midwives, which is also a leading thought or continuous image, like the wave in the Republic, appearing and reappearing at intervals. Again and again we are reminded that the successive conceptions of knowledge are extracted from Theaetetus, who in his turn truly declares that Socrates has got a great deal more out of him than ever was in him. Socrates is never weary of working out the image in humorous details, — discerning the symptoms of labour, carrying the child round the hearth, fearing that Theaetetus will bite him, comparing his conceptions to wind-eggs, asserting an hereditary right to the occupation. There is also a serious side to the image, which is an apt similitude of the Socratic theory of education (compare Republic, Sophist), and accords with the ironical spirit in which the wisest of men delights to speak of himself.

The other digression is the famous contrast of the lawyer and philosopher. This is a sort of landing-place or break in the middle of the dialogue. At the commencement of a great discussion, the reflection naturally arises, How happy are they who, like the philosopher, have time for such discussions (compare Republic)! There is no reason for the introduction of such a digression; nor is a reason always needed, any more than for the introduction of an episode in a poem, or of a topic in conversation. That which is given by Socrates is quite sufficient, viz. that the philosopher may talk and write as he pleases. But though not very closely connected, neither is the digression out of keeping with the rest of the dialogue. The philosopher naturally desires to pour forth the thoughts which are always present to him, and to discourse of the higher life. The idea of knowledge, although hard to be defined, is realised in the life of philosophy. And the contrast is the favourite antithesis between the world, in the various characters of sophist, lawyer, statesman, speaker, and the philosopher, — between opinion and knowledge, — between the conventional and the true.

The greater part of the dialogue is devoted to setting up and throwing down definitions of science and knowledge. Proceeding from the lower to the higher by three stages, in which perception, opinion, reasoning are successively examined, we first get rid of the confusion of the idea of knowledge and specific kinds of knowledge, — a confusion which has been already noticed in the Lysis, Laches, Meno, and other dialogues. In the infancy of logic, a form of thought has to be invented before the content can be filled up. We cannot define knowledge until the nature of definition has been ascertained. Having succeeded in making his meaning plain, Socrates proceeds to analyze (1) the first definition which Theaetetus proposes: ‘Knowledge is sensible perception.’ This is speedily identified with the Protagorean saying, ‘Man is the measure of all things;’ and of this again the foundation is discovered in the perpetual flux of Heracleitus. The relativeness of sensation is then developed at length, and for a moment the definition appears to be accepted. But soon the Protagorean thesis is pronounced to be suicidal; for the adversaries of Protagoras are as good a measure as he is, and they deny his doctrine. He is then supposed to reply that the perception may be true at any given instant. But the reply is in the end shown to be inconsistent with the Heraclitean foundation, on which the doctrine has been affirmed to rest. For if the Heraclitean flux is extended to every sort of change in every instant of time, how can any thought or word be detained even for an instant? Sensible perception, like everything else, is tumbling to pieces. Nor can Protagoras himself maintain that one man is as good as another in his knowledge of the future; and ‘the expedient,’ if not ‘the just and true,’ belongs to the sphere of the future.

And so we must ask again, What is knowledge? The comparison of sensations with one another implies a principle which is above sensation, and which resides in the mind itself. We are thus led to look for knowledge in a higher sphere, and accordingly Theaetetus, when again interrogated, replies (2) that ‘knowledge is true opinion.’ But how is false opinion possible? The Megarian or Eristic spirit within us revives the question, which has been already asked and indirectly answered in the Meno: ‘How can a man be ignorant of that which he knows?’ No answer is given to this not unanswerable question. The comparison of the mind to a block of wax, or to a decoy of birds, is found wanting.

But are we not inverting the natural order in looking for opinion before we have found knowledge? And knowledge is not true opinion; for the Athenian dicasts have true opinion but not knowledge. What then is knowledge? We answer (3), ‘True opinion, with definition or explanation.’ But all the different ways in which this statement may be understood are set aside, like the definitions of courage in the Laches, or of friendship in the Lysis, or of temperance in the Charmides. At length we arrive at the conclusion, in which nothing is concluded.

There are two special difficulties which beset the student of the Theaetetus: (1) he is uncertain how far he can trust Plato’s account of the theory of Protagoras; and he is also uncertain (2) how far, and in what parts of the dialogue, Plato is expressing his own opinion. The dramatic character of the work renders the answer to both these questions difficult.

1. In reply to the first, we have only probabilities to offer. Three main points have to be decided: (a) Would Protagoras have identified his own thesis, ‘Man is the measure of all things,’ with the other, ‘All knowledge is sensible perception’? (b) Would he have based the relativity of knowledge on the Heraclitean flux? (c) Would he have asserted the absoluteness of sensation at each instant? Of the work of Protagoras on ‘Truth’ we know nothing, with the exception of the two famous fragments, which are cited in this dialogue, ‘Man is the measure of all things,’ and, ‘Whether there are gods or not, I cannot tell.’ Nor have we any other trustworthy evidence of the tenets of Protagoras, or of the sense in which his words are used. For later writers, including Aristotle in his Metaphysics, have mixed up the Protagoras of Plato, as they have the Socrates of Plato, with the real person.

Returning then to the Theaetetus, as the only possible source from which an answer to these questions can be obtained, we may remark, that Plato had ‘The Truth’ of Protagoras before him, and frequently refers to the book. He seems to say expressly, that in this work the doctrine of the Heraclitean flux was not to be found; ‘he told the real truth’ (not in the book, which is so entitled, but) ‘privately to his disciples,’ — words which imply that the connexion between the doctrines of Protagoras and Heracleitus was not generally recognized in Greece, but was really discovered or invented by Plato. On the other hand, the doctrine that ‘Man is the measure of all things,’ is expressly identified by Socrates with the other statement, that ‘What appears to each man is to him;’ and a reference is made to the books in which the statement occurs; — this Theaetetus, who has ‘often read the books,’ is supposed to acknowledge (so Cratylus). And Protagoras, in the speech attributed to him, never says that he has been misunderstood: he rather seems to imply that the absoluteness of sensation at each instant was to be found in his words. He is only indignant at the ‘reductio ad absurdum’ devised by Socrates for his ‘homo mensura,’ which Theodorus also considers to be ‘really too bad.’

The question may be raised, how far Plato in the Theaetetus could have misrepresented Protagoras without violating the laws of dramatic probability. Could he have pretended to cite from a well-known writing what was not to be found there? But such a shadowy enquiry is not worth pursuing further. We need only remember that in the criticism which follows of the thesis of Protagoras, we are criticizing the Protagoras of Plato, and not attempting to draw a precise line between his real sentiments and those which Plato has attributed to him.

2. The other difficulty is a more subtle, and also a more important one, because bearing on the general character of the Platonic dialogues. On a first reading of them, we are apt to imagine that the truth is only spoken by Socrates, who is never guilty of a fallacy himself, and is the great detector of the errors and fallacies of others. But this natural presumption is disturbed by the discovery that the Sophists are sometimes in the right and Socrates in the wrong. Like the hero of a novel, he is not to be supposed always to represent the sentiments of the author. There are few modern readers who do not side with Protagoras, rather than with Socrates, in the dialogue which is called by his name. The Cratylus presents a similar difficulty: in his etymologies, as in the number of the State, we cannot tell how far Socrates is serious; for the Socratic irony will not allow him to distinguish between his real and his assumed wisdom. No one is the superior of the invincible Socrates in argument (except in the first part of the Parmenides, where he is introduced as a youth); but he is by no means supposed to be in possession of the whole truth. Arguments are often put into his mouth (compare Introduction to the Gorgias) which must have seemed quite as untenable to Plato as to a modern writer. In this dialogue a great part of the answer of Protagoras is just and sound; remarks are made by him on verbal criticism, and on the importance of understanding an opponent’s meaning, which are conceived in the true spirit of philosophy. And the distinction which he is supposed to draw between Eristic and Dialectic, is really a criticism of Plato on himself and his own criticism of Protagoras.

The difficulty seems to arise from not attending to the dramatic character of the writings of Plato. There are two, or more, sides to questions; and these are parted among the different speakers. Sometimes one view or aspect of a question is made to predominate over the rest, as in the Gorgias or Sophist; but in other dialogues truth is divided, as in the Laches and Protagoras, and the interest of the piece consists in the contrast of opinions. The confusion caused by the irony of Socrates, who, if he is true to his character, cannot say anything of his own knowledge, is increased by the circumstance that in the Theaetetus and some other dialogues he is occasionally playing both parts himself, and even charging his own arguments with unfairness. In the Theaetetus he is designedly held back from arriving at a conclusion. For we cannot suppose that Plato conceived a definition of knowledge to be impossible. But this is his manner of approaching and surrounding a question. The lights which he throws on his subject are indirect, but they are not the less real for that. He has no intention of proving a thesis by a cut-and-dried argument; nor does he imagine that a great philosophical problem can be tied up within the limits of a definition. If he has analyzed a proposition or notion, even with the severity of an impossible logic, if half-truths have been compared by him with other half-truths, if he has cleared up or advanced popular ideas, or illustrated a new method, his aim has been sufficiently accomplished.

The writings of Plato belong to an age in which the power of analysis had outrun the means of knowledge; and through a spurious use of dialectic, the distinctions which had been already ‘won from the void and formless infinite,’ seemed to be rapidly returning to their original chaos. The two great speculative philosophies, which a century earlier had so deeply impressed the mind of Hellas, were now degenerating into Eristic. The contemporaries of Plato and Socrates were vainly trying to find new combinations of them, or to transfer them from the object to the subject. The Megarians, in their first attempts to attain a severer logic, were making knowledge impossible (compare Theaet.). They were asserting ‘the one good under many names,’ and, like the Cynics, seem to have denied predication, while the Cynics themselves were depriving virtue of all which made virtue desirable in the eyes of Socrates and Plato. And besides these, we find mention in the later writings of Plato, especially in the Theaetetus, Sophist, and Laws, of certain impenetrable godless persons, who will not believe what they ‘cannot hold in their hands’; and cannot be approached in argument, because they cannot argue (Theat; Soph.). No school of Greek philosophers exactly answers to these persons, in whom Plato may perhaps have blended some features of the Atomists with the vulgar materialistic tendencies of mankind in general (compare Introduction to the Sophist).

And not only was there a conflict of opinions, but the stage which the mind had reached presented other difficulties hardly intelligible to us, who live in a different cycle of human thought. All times of mental progress are times of confusion; we only see, or rather seem to see things clearly, when they have been long fixed and defined. In the age of Plato, the limits of the world of imagination and of pure abstraction, of the old world and the new, were not yet fixed. The Greeks, in the fourth century before Christ, had no words for ‘subject’ and ‘object,’ and no distinct conception of them; yet they were always hovering about the question involved in them. The analysis of sense, and the analysis of thought, were equally difficult to them; and hopelessly confused by the attempt to solve them, not through an appeal to facts, but by the help of general theories respecting the nature of the universe.

Plato, in his Theaetetus, gathers up the sceptical tendencies of his age, and compares them. But he does not seek to reconstruct out of them a theory of knowledge. The time at which such a theory could be framed had not yet arrived. For there was no measure of experience with which the ideas swarming in men’s minds could be compared; the meaning of the word ‘science’ could scarcely be explained to them, except from the mathematical sciences, which alone offered the type of universality and certainty. Philosophy was becoming more and more vacant and abstract, and not only the Platonic Ideas and the Eleatic Being, but all abstractions seemed to be at variance with sense and at war with one another.

The want of the Greek mind in the fourth century before Christ was not another theory of rest or motion, or Being or atoms, but rather a philosophy which could free the mind from the power of abstractions and alternatives, and show how far rest and how far motion, how far the universal principle of Being and the multitudinous principle of atoms, entered into the composition of the world; which could distinguish between the true and false analogy, and allow the negative as well as the positive a place in human thought. To such a philosophy Plato, in the Theaetetus, offers many contributions. He has followed philosophy into the region of mythology, and pointed out the similarities of opposing phases of thought. He has also shown that extreme abstractions are self-destructive, and, indeed, hardly distinguishable from one another. But his intention is not to unravel the whole subject of knowledge, if this had been possible; and several times in the course of the dialogue he rejects explanations of knowledge which have germs of truth in them; as, for example, ‘the resolution of the compound into the simple;’ or ‘right opinion with a mark of difference.’

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Terpsion, who has come to Megara from the country, is described as having looked in vain for Euclides in the Agora; the latter explains that he has been down to the harbour, and on his way thither had met Theaetetus, who was being carried up from the army to Athens. He was scarcely alive, for he had been badly wounded at the battle of Corinth, and had taken the dysentery which prevailed in the camp. The mention of his condition suggests the reflection, ‘What a loss he will be!’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ replies Euclid; ‘only just now I was hearing of his noble conduct in the battle.’ ‘That I should expect; but why did he not remain at Megara?’ ‘I wanted him to remain, but he would not; so I went with him as far as Erineum; and as I parted from him, I remembered that Socrates had seen him when he was a youth, and had a remarkable conversation with him, not long before his own death; and he then prophesied of him that he would be a great man if he lived.’ ‘How true that has been; how like all that Socrates said! And could you repeat the conversation?’ ‘Not from memory; but I took notes when I returned home, which I afterwards filled up at leisure, and got Socrates to correct them from time to time, when I came to Athens’...Terpsion had long intended to ask for a sight of this writing, of which he had already heard. They are both tired, and agree to rest and have the conversation read to them by a servant...’Here is the roll, Terpsion; I need only observe that I have omitted, for the sake of convenience, the interlocutory words, “said I,” “said he”; and that Theaetetus, and Theodorus, the geometrician of Cyrene, are the persons with whom Socrates is conversing.’

Socrates begins by asking Theodorus whether, in his visit to Athens, he has found any Athenian youth likely to attain distinction in science. ‘Yes, Socrates, there is one very remarkable youth, with whom I have become acquainted. He is no beauty, and therefore you need not imagine that I am in love with him; and, to say the truth, he is very like you, for he has a snub nose, and projecting eyes, although these features are not so marked in him as in you. He combines the most various qualities, quickness, patience, courage; and he is gentle as well as wise, always silently flowing on, like a river of oil. Look! he is the middle one of those who are entering the palaestra.’

Socrates, who does not know his name, recognizes him as the son of Euphronius, who was himself a good man and a rich. He is informed by Theodorus that the youth is named Theaetetus, but the property of his father has disappeared in the hands of trustees; this does not, however, prevent him from adding liberality to his other virtues. At the desire of Socrates he invites Theaetetus to sit by them.

‘Yes,’ says Socrates, ‘that I may see in you, Theaetetus, the image of my ugly self, as Theodorus declares. Not that his remark is of any importance; for though he is a philosopher, he is not a painter, and therefore he is no judge of our faces; but, as he is a man of science, he may be a judge of our intellects. And if he were to praise the mental endowments of either of us, in that case the hearer of the eulogy ought to examine into what he says, and the subject should not refuse to be examined.’ Theaetetus consents, and is caught in a trap (compare the similar trap which is laid for Theodorus). ‘Then, Theaetetus, you will have to be examined, for Theodorus has been praising you in a style of which I never heard the like.’ ‘He was only jesting.’ ‘Nay, that is not his way; and I cannot allow you, on that pretence, to retract the assent which you have already given, or I shall make Theodorus repeat your praises, and swear to them.’ Theaetetus, in reply, professes that he is willing to be examined, and Socrates begins by asking him what he learns of Theodorus. He is himself anxious to learn anything of anybody; and now he has a little question to which he wants Theaetetus or Theodorus (or whichever of the company would not be ‘donkey’ to the rest) to find an answer. Without further preface, but at the same time apologizing for his eagerness, he asks, ‘What is knowledge?’ Theodorus is too old to answer questions, and begs him to interrogate Theaetetus, who has the advantage of youth.

Theaetetus replies, that knowledge is what he learns of Theodorus, i.e. geometry and arithmetic; and that there are other kinds of knowledge — shoemaking, carpentering, and the like. But Socrates rejoins, that this answer contains too much and also too little. For although Theaetetus has enumerated several kinds of knowledge, he has not explained the common nature of them; as if he had been asked, ‘What is clay?’ and instead of saying ‘Clay is moistened earth,’ he had answered, ‘There is one clay of image-makers, another of potters, another of oven-makers.’ Theaetetus at once divines that Socrates means him to extend to all kinds of knowledge the same process of generalization which he has already learned to apply to arithmetic. For he has discovered a division of numbers into square numbers, 4, 9, 16, etc., which are composed of equal factors, and represent figures which have equal sides, and oblong numbers, 3, 5, 6, 7, etc., which are composed of unequal factors, and represent figures which have unequal sides. But he has never succeeded in attaining a similar conception of knowledge, though he has often tried; and, when this and similar questions were brought to him from Socrates, has been sorely distressed by them. Socrates explains to him that he is in labour. For men as well as women have pangs of labour; and both at times require the assistance of midwives. And he, Socrates, is a midwife, although this is a secret; he has inherited the art from his mother bold and bluff, and he ushers into light, not children, but the thoughts of men. Like the midwives, who are ‘past bearing children,’ he too can have no offspring — the God will not allow him to bring anything into the world of his own. He also reminds Theaetetus that the midwives are or ought to be the only matchmakers (this is the preparation for a biting jest); for those who reap the fruit are most likely to know on what soil the plants will grow. But respectable midwives avoid this department of practice — they do not want to be called procuresses. There are some other differences between the two sorts of pregnancy. For women do not bring into the world at one time real children and at another time idols which are with difficulty distinguished from them. ‘At first,’ says Socrates in his character of the man-midwife, ‘my patients are barren and stolid, but after a while they “round apace,” if the gods are propitious to them; and this is due not to me but to themselves; I and the god only assist in bringing their ideas to the birth. Many of them have left me too soon, and the result has been that they have produced abortions; or when I have delivered them of children they have lost them by an ill bringing up, and have ended by seeing themselves, as others see them, to be great fools. Aristides, the son of Lysimachus, is one of these, and there have been others. The truants often return to me and beg to be taken back; and then, if my familiar allows me, which is not always the case, I receive them, and they begin to grow again. There come to me also those who have nothing in them, and have no need of my art; and I am their matchmaker (see above), and marry them to Prodicus or some other inspired sage who is likely to suit them. I tell you this long story because I suspect that you are in labour. Come then to me, who am a midwife, and the son of a midwife, and I will deliver you. And do not bite me, as the women do, if I abstract your first-born; for I am acting out of good-will towards you; the God who is within me is the friend of man, though he will not allow me to dissemble the truth. Once more then, Theaetetus, I repeat my old question— “What is knowledge?” Take courage, and by the help of God you will discover an answer.’ ‘My answer is, that knowledge is perception.’ ‘That is the theory of Protagoras, who has another way of expressing the same thing when he says, “Man is the measure of all things.” He was a very wise man, and we should try to understand him. In order to illustrate his meaning let me suppose that there is the same wind blowing in our faces, and one of us may be hot and the other cold. How is this? Protagoras will reply that the wind is hot to him who is cold, cold to him who is hot. And “is” means “appears,” and when you say “appears to him,” that means “he feels.” Thus feeling, appearance, perception, coincide with being. I suspect, however, that this was only a “facon de parler,” by which he imposed on the common herd like you and me; he told “the truth” (in allusion to the title of his book, which was called “The Truth”) in secret to his disciples. For he was really a votary of that famous philosophy in which all things are said to be relative; nothing is great or small, or heavy or light, or one, but all is in motion and mixture and transition and flux and generation, not “being,” as we ignorantly affirm, but “becoming.” This has been the doctrine, not of Protagoras only, but of all philosophers, with the single exception of Parmenides; Empedocles, Heracleitus, and others, and all the poets, with Epicharmus, the king of Comedy, and Homer, the king of Tragedy, at their head, have said the same; the latter has these words —

“Ocean, whence the gods sprang, and mother Tethys.”

And many arguments are used to show, that motion is the source of life, and rest of death: fire and warmth are produced by friction, and living creatures owe their origin to a similar cause; the bodily frame is preserved by exercise and destroyed by indolence; and if the sun ceased to move, “chaos would come again.” Now apply this doctrine of “All is motion” to the senses, and first of all to the sense of sight. The colour of white, or any other colour, is neither in the eyes nor out of them, but ever in motion between the object and the eye, and varying in the case of every percipient. All is relative, and, as the followers of Protagoras remark, endless contradictions arise when we deny this; e.g. here are six dice; they are more than four and less than twelve; “more and also less,” would you not say?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘But Protagoras will retort: “Can anything be more or less without addition or subtraction?”’

‘I should say “No” if I were not afraid of contradicting my former answer.’

‘And if you say “Yes,” the tongue will escape conviction but not the mind, as Euripides would say?’ ‘True.’ ‘The thoroughbred Sophists, who know all that can be known, would have a sparring match over this, but you and I, who have no professional pride, want only to discover whether our ideas are clear and consistent. And we cannot be wrong in saying, first, that nothing can be greater or less while remaining equal; secondly, that there can be no becoming greater or less without addition or subtraction; thirdly, that what is and was not, cannot be without having become. But then how is this reconcilable with the case of the dice, and with similar examples? — that is the question.’ ‘I am often perplexed and amazed, Socrates, by these difficulties.’ ‘That is because you are a philosopher, for philosophy begins in wonder, and Iris is the child of Thaumas. Do you know the original principle on which the doctrine of Protagoras is based?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then I will tell you; but we must not let the uninitiated hear, and by the uninitiated I mean the obstinate people who believe in nothing which they cannot hold in their hands. The brethren whose mysteries I am about to unfold to you are far more ingenious. They maintain that all is motion; and that motion has two forms, action and passion, out of which endless phenomena are created, also in two forms — sense and the object of sense — which come to the birth together. There are two kinds of motions, a slow and a fast; the motions of the agent and the patient are slower, because they move and create in and about themselves, but the things which are born of them have a swifter motion, and pass rapidly from place to place. The eye and the appropriate object come together, and give birth to whiteness and the sensation of whiteness; the eye is filled with seeing, and becomes not sight but a seeing eye, and the object is filled with whiteness, and becomes not whiteness but white; and no other compound of either with another would have produced the same effect. All sensation is to be resolved into a similar combination of an agent and patient. Of either, taken separately, no idea can be formed; and the agent may become a patient, and the patient an agent. Hence there arises a general reflection that nothing is, but all things become; no name can detain or fix them. Are not these speculations charming, Theaetetus, and very good for a person in your interesting situation? I am offering you specimens of other men’s wisdom, because I have no wisdom of my own, and I want to deliver you of something; and presently we will see whether you have brought forth wind or not. Tell me, then, what do you think of the notion that “All things are becoming”?’

‘When I hear your arguments, I am marvellously ready to assent.’

‘But I ought not to conceal from you that there is a serious objection which may be urged against this doctrine of Protagoras. For there are states, such as madness and dreaming, in which perception is false; and half our life is spent in dreaming; and who can say that at this instant we are not dreaming? Even the fancies of madmen are real at the time. But if knowledge is perception, how can we distinguish between the true and the false in such cases? Having stated the objection, I will now state the answer. Protagoras would deny the continuity of phenomena; he would say that what is different is entirely different, and whether active or passive has a different power. There are infinite agents and patients in the world, and these produce in every combination of them a different perception. Take myself as an instance: — Socrates may be ill or he may be well, — and remember that Socrates, with all his accidents, is spoken of. The wine which I drink when I am well is pleasant to me, but the same wine is unpleasant to me when I am ill. And there is nothing else from which I can receive the same impression, nor can another receive the same impression from the wine. Neither can I and the object of sense become separately what we become together. For the one in becoming is relative to the other, but they have no other relation; and the combination of them is absolute at each moment. (In modern language, the act of sensation is really indivisible, though capable of a mental analysis into subject and object.) My sensation alone is true, and true to me only. And therefore, as Protagoras says, “To myself I am the judge of what is and what is not.” Thus the flux of Homer and Heracleitus, the great Protagorean saying that “Man is the measure of all things,” the doctrine of Theaetetus that “Knowledge is perception,” have all the same meaning. And this is thy new-born child, which by my art I have brought to light; and you must not be angry if instead of rearing your infant we expose him.’

‘Theaetetus will not be angry,’ says Theodorus; ‘he is very good-natured. But I should like to know, Socrates, whether you mean to say that all this is untrue?’

‘First reminding you that I am not the bag which contains the arguments, but that I extract them from Theaetetus, shall I tell you what amazes me in your friend Protagoras?’

‘What may that be?’

‘I like his doctrine that what appears is; but I wonder that he did not begin his great work on Truth with a declaration that a pig, or a dog-faced baboon, or any other monster which has sensation, is a measure of all things; then, while we were reverencing him as a god, he might have produced a magnificent effect by expounding to us that he was no wiser than a tadpole. For if sensations are always true, and one man’s discernment is as good as another’s, and every man is his own judge, and everything that he judges is right and true, then what need of Protagoras to be our instructor at a high figure; and why should we be less knowing than he is, or have to go to him, if every man is the measure of all things? My own art of midwifery, and all dialectic, is an enormous folly, if Protagoras’ “Truth” be indeed truth, and the philosopher is not merely amusing himself by giving oracles out of his book.’

Theodorus thinks that Socrates is unjust to his master, Protagoras; but he is too old and stiff to try a fall with him, and therefore refers him to Theaetetus, who is already driven out of his former opinion by the arguments of Socrates.

Socrates then takes up the defence of Protagoras, who is supposed to reply in his own person— ‘Good people, you sit and declaim about the gods, of whose existence or non-existence I have nothing to say, or you discourse about man being reduced to the level of the brutes; but what proof have you of your statements? And yet surely you and Theodorus had better reflect whether probability is a safe guide. Theodorus would be a bad geometrician if he had nothing better to offer.’...Theaetetus is affected by the appeal to geometry, and Socrates is induced by him to put the question in a new form. He proceeds as follows:— ‘Should we say that we know what we see and hear, — e.g. the sound of words or the sight of letters in a foreign tongue?’

‘We should say that the figures of the letters, and the pitch of the voice in uttering them, were known to us, but not the meaning of them.’

‘Excellent; I want you to grow, and therefore I will leave that answer and ask another question: Is not seeing perceiving?’ ‘Very true.’ ‘And he who sees knows?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And he who remembers, remembers that which he sees and knows?’ ‘Very true.’ ‘But if he closes his eyes, does he not remember?’ ‘He does.’ ‘Then he may remember and not see; and if seeing is knowing, he may remember and not know. Is not this a “reductio ad absurdum” of the hypothesis that knowledge is sensible perception? Yet perhaps we are crowing too soon; and if Protagoras, “the father of the myth,” had been alive, the result might have been very different. But he is dead, and Theodorus, whom he left guardian of his “orphan,” has not been very zealous in defending him.’

Theodorus objects that Callias is the true guardian, but he hopes that Socrates will come to the rescue. Socrates prefaces his defence by resuming the attack. He asks whether a man can know and not know at the same time? ‘Impossible.’ Quite possible, if you maintain that seeing is knowing. The confident adversary, suiting the action to the word, shuts one of your eyes; and now, says he, you see and do not see, but do you know and not know? And a fresh opponent darts from his ambush, and transfers to knowledge the terms which are commonly applied to sight. He asks whether you can know near and not at a distance; whether you can have a sharp and also a dull knowledge. While you are wondering at his incomparable wisdom, he gets you into his power, and you will not escape until you have come to an understanding with him about the money which is to be paid for your release.

But Protagoras has not yet made his defence; and already he may be heard contemptuously replying that he is not responsible for the admissions which were made by a boy, who could not foresee the coming move, and therefore had answered in a manner which enabled Socrates to raise a laugh against himself. ‘But I cannot be fairly charged,’ he will say, ‘with an answer which I should not have given; for I never maintained that the memory of a feeling is the same as a feeling, or denied that a man might know and not know the same thing at the same time. Or, if you will have extreme precision, I say that man in different relations is many or rather infinite in number. And I challenge you, either to show that his perceptions are not individual, or that if they are, what appears to him is not what is. As to your pigs and baboons, you are yourself a pig, and you make my writings a sport of other swine. But I still affirm that man is the measure of all things, although I admit that one man may be a thousand times better than another, in proportion as he has better impressions. Neither do I deny the existence of wisdom or of the wise man. But I maintain that wisdom is a practical remedial power of turning evil into good, the bitterness of disease into the sweetness of health, and does not consist in any greater truth or superior knowledge. For the impressions of the sick are as true as the impressions of the healthy; and the sick are as wise as the healthy. Nor can any man be cured of a false opinion, for there is no such thing; but he may be cured of the evil habit which generates in him an evil opinion. This is effected in the body by the drugs of the physician, and in the soul by the words of the Sophist; and the new state or opinion is not truer, but only better than the old. And philosophers are not tadpoles, but physicians and husbandmen, who till the soil and infuse health into animals and plants, and make the good take the place of the evil, both in individuals and states. Wise and good rhetoricians make the good to appear just in states (for that is just which appears just to a state), and in return, they deserve to be well paid. And you, Socrates, whether you please or not, must continue to be a measure. This is my defence, and I must request you to meet me fairly. We are professing to reason, and not merely to dispute; and there is a great difference between reasoning and disputation. For the disputer is always seeking to trip up his opponent; and this is a mode of argument which disgusts men with philosophy as they grow older. But the reasoner is trying to understand him and to point out his errors to him, whether arising from his own or from his companion’s fault; he does not argue from the customary use of names, which the vulgar pervert in all manner of ways. If you are gentle to an adversary he will follow and love you; and if defeated he will lay the blame on himself, and seek to escape from his own prejudices into philosophy. I would recommend you, Socrates, to adopt this humaner method, and to avoid captious and verbal criticisms.’

Such, Theodorus, is the very slight help which I am able to afford to your friend; had he been alive, he would have helped himself in far better style.

‘You have made a most valorous defence.’

Yes; but did you observe that Protagoras bade me be serious, and complained of our getting up a laugh against him with the aid of a boy? He meant to intimate that you must take the place of Theaetetus, who may be wiser than many bearded men, but not wiser than you, Theodorus.

‘The rule of the Spartan Palaestra is, Strip or depart; but you are like the giant Antaeus, and will not let me depart unless I try a fall with you.’

Yes, that is the nature of my complaint. And many a Hercules, many a Theseus mighty in deeds and words has broken my head; but I am always at this rough game. Please, then, to favour me.

‘On the condition of not exceeding a single fall, I consent.’

Socrates now resumes the argument. As he is very desirous of doing justice to Protagoras, he insists on citing his own words,— ‘What appears to each man is to him.’ And how, asks Socrates, are these words reconcileable with the fact that all mankind are agreed in thinking themselves wiser than others in some respects, and inferior to them in others? In the hour of danger they are ready to fall down and worship any one who is their superior in wisdom as if he were a god. And the world is full of men who are asking to be taught and willing to be ruled, and of other men who are willing to rule and teach them. All which implies that men do judge of one another’s impressions, and think some wise and others foolish. How will Protagoras answer this argument? For he cannot say that no one deems another ignorant or mistaken. If you form a judgment, thousands and tens of thousands are ready to maintain the opposite. The multitude may not and do not agree in Protagoras’ own thesis that ‘Man is the measure of all things;’ and then who is to decide? Upon his own showing must not his ‘truth’ depend on the number of suffrages, and be more or less true in proportion as he has more or fewer of them? And he must acknowledge further, that they speak truly who deny him to speak truly, which is a famous jest. And if he admits that they speak truly who deny him to speak truly, he must admit that he himself does not speak truly. But his opponents will refuse to admit this of themselves, and he must allow that they are right in their refusal. The conclusion is, that all mankind, including Protagoras himself, will deny that he speaks truly; and his truth will be true neither to himself nor to anybody else.

Theodorus is inclined to think that this is going too far. Socrates ironically replies, that he is not going beyond the truth. But if the old Protagoras could only pop his head out of the world below, he would doubtless give them both a sound castigation and be off to the shades in an instant. Seeing that he is not within call, we must examine the question for ourselves. It is clear that there are great differences in the understandings of men. Admitting, with Protagoras, that immediate sensations of hot, cold, and the like, are to each one such as they appear, yet this hypothesis cannot be extended to judgments or opinions. And even if we were to admit further, — and this is the view of some who are not thorough-going followers of Protagoras, — that right and wrong, holy and unholy, are to each state or individual such as they appear, still Protagoras will not venture to maintain that every man is equally the measure of expediency, or that the thing which seems is expedient to every one. But this begins a new question. ‘Well, Socrates, we have plenty of leisure. Yes, we have, and, after the manner of philosophers, we are digressing; I have often observed how ridiculous this habit of theirs makes them when they appear in court. ‘What do you mean?’ I mean to say that a philosopher is a gentleman, but a lawyer is a servant. The one can have his talk out, and wander at will from one subject to another, as the fancy takes him; like ourselves, he may be long or short, as he pleases. But the lawyer is always in a hurry; there is the clepsydra limiting his time, and the brief limiting his topics, and his adversary is standing over him and exacting his rights. He is a servant disputing about a fellow-servant before his master, who holds the cause in his hands; the path never diverges, and often the race is for his life. Such experiences render him keen and shrewd; he learns the arts of flattery, and is perfect in the practice of crooked ways; dangers have come upon him too soon, when the tenderness of youth was unable to meet them with truth and honesty, and he has resorted to counter-acts of dishonesty and falsehood, and become warped and distorted; without any health or freedom or sincerity in him he has grown up to manhood, and is or esteems himself to be a master of cunning. Such are the lawyers; will you have the companion picture of philosophers? or will this be too much of a digression?

‘Nay, Socrates, the argument is our servant, and not our master. Who is the judge or where is the spectator, having a right to control us?’

I will describe the leaders, then: for the inferior sort are not worth the trouble. The lords of philosophy have not learned the way to the dicastery or ecclesia; they neither see nor hear the laws and votes of the state, written or recited; societies, whether political or festive, clubs, and singing maidens do not enter even into their dreams. And the scandals of persons or their ancestors, male and female, they know no more than they can tell the number of pints in the ocean. Neither are they conscious of their own ignorance; for they do not practise singularity in order to gain reputation, but the truth is, that the outer form of them only is residing in the city; the inner man, as Pindar says, is going on a voyage of discovery, measuring as with line and rule the things which are under and in the earth, interrogating the whole of nature, only not condescending to notice what is near them.

‘What do you mean, Socrates?’

I will illustrate my meaning by the jest of the witty maid-servant, who saw Thales tumbling into a well, and said of him, that he was so eager to know what was going on in heaven, that he could not see what was before his feet. This is applicable to all philosophers. The philosopher is unacquainted with the world; he hardly knows whether his neighbour is a man or an animal. For he is always searching into the essence of man, and enquiring what such a nature ought to do or suffer different from any other. Hence, on every occasion in private life and public, as I was saying, when he appears in a law-court or anywhere, he is the joke, not only of maid-servants, but of the general herd, falling into wells and every sort of disaster; he looks such an awkward, inexperienced creature, unable to say anything personal, when he is abused, in answer to his adversaries (for he knows no evil of any one); and when he hears the praises of others, he cannot help laughing from the bottom of his soul at their pretensions; and this also gives him a ridiculous appearance. A king or tyrant appears to him to be a kind of swine-herd or cow-herd, milking away at an animal who is much more troublesome and dangerous than cows or sheep; like the cow-herd, he has no time to be educated, and the pen in which he keeps his flock in the mountains is surrounded by a wall. When he hears of large landed properties of ten thousand acres or more, he thinks of the whole earth; or if he is told of the antiquity of a family, he remembers that every one has had myriads of progenitors, rich and poor, Greeks and barbarians, kings and slaves. And he who boasts of his descent from Amphitryon in the twenty-fifth generation, may, if he pleases, add as many more, and double that again, and our philosopher only laughs at his inability to do a larger sum. Such is the man at whom the vulgar scoff; he seems to them as if he could not mind his feet. ‘That is very true, Socrates.’ But when he tries to draw the quick-witted lawyer out of his pleas and rejoinders to the contemplation of absolute justice or injustice in their own nature, or from the popular praises of wealthy kings to the view of happiness and misery in themselves, or to the reasons why a man should seek after the one and avoid the other, then the situation is reversed; the little wretch turns giddy, and is ready to fall over the precipice; his utterance becomes thick, and he makes himself ridiculous, not to servant-maids, but to every man of liberal education. Such are the two pictures: the one of the philosopher and gentleman, who may be excused for not having learned how to make a bed, or cook up flatteries; the other, a serviceable knave, who hardly knows how to wear his cloak, — still less can he awaken harmonious thoughts or hymn virtue’s praises.

‘If the world, Socrates, were as ready to receive your words as I am, there would be greater peace and less evil among mankind.’

Evil, Theodorus, must ever remain in this world to be the antagonist of good, out of the way of the gods in heaven. Wherefore also we should fly away from ourselves to them; and to fly to them is to become like them; and to become like them is to become holy, just and true. But many live in the old wives’ fable of appearances; they think that you should follow virtue in order that you may seem to be good. And yet the truth is, that God is righteous; and of men, he is most like him who is most righteous. To know this is wisdom; and in comparison of this the wisdom of the arts or the seeming wisdom of politicians is mean and common. The unrighteous man is apt to pride himself on his cunning; when others call him rogue, he says to himself: ‘They only mean that I am one who deserves to live, and not a mere burden of the earth.’ But he should reflect that his ignorance makes his condition worse than if he knew. For the penalty of injustice is not death or stripes, but the fatal necessity of becoming more and more unjust. Two patterns of life are set before him; the one blessed and divine, the other godless and wretched; and he is growing more and more like the one and unlike the other. He does not see that if he continues in his cunning, the place of innocence will not receive him after death. And yet if such a man has the courage to hear the argument out, he often becomes dissatisfied with himself, and has no more strength in him than a child. — But we have digressed enough.

‘For my part, Socrates, I like the digressions better than the argument, because I understand them better.’

To return. When we left off, the Protagoreans and Heracliteans were maintaining that the ordinances of the State were just, while they lasted. But no one would maintain that the laws of the State were always good or expedient, although this may be the intention of them. For the expedient has to do with the future, about which we are liable to mistake. Now, would Protagoras maintain that man is the measure not only of the present and past, but of the future; and that there is no difference in the judgments of men about the future? Would an untrained man, for example, be as likely to know when he is going to have a fever, as the physician who attended him? And if they differ in opinion, which of them is likely to be right; or are they both right? Is not a vine-grower a better judge of a vintage which is not yet gathered, or a cook of a dinner which is in preparation, or Protagoras of the probable effect of a speech than an ordinary person? The last example speaks ‘ad hominen.’ For Protagoras would never have amassed a fortune if every man could judge of the future for himself. He is, therefore, compelled to admit that he is a measure; but I, who know nothing, am not equally convinced that I am. This is one way of refuting him; and he is refuted also by the authority which he attributes to the opinions of others, who deny his opinions. I am not equally sure that we can disprove the truth of immediate states of feeling. But this leads us to the doctrine of the universal flux, about which a battle-royal is always going on in the cities of Ionia. ‘Yes; the Ephesians are downright mad about the flux; they cannot stop to argue with you, but are in perpetual motion, obedient to their text-books. Their restlessness is beyond expression, and if you ask any of them a question, they will not answer, but dart at you some unintelligible saying, and another and another, making no way either with themselves or with others; for nothing is fixed in them or their ideas, — they are at war with fixed principles.’ I suppose, Theodorus, that you have never seen them in time of peace, when they discourse at leisure to their disciples? ‘Disciples! they have none; they are a set of uneducated fanatics, and each of them says of the other that they have no knowledge. We must trust to ourselves, and not to them for the solution of the problem.’ Well, the doctrine is old, being derived from the poets, who speak in a figure of Oceanus and Tethys; the truth was once concealed, but is now revealed by the superior wisdom of a later generation, and made intelligible to the cobbler, who, on hearing that all is in motion, and not some things only, as he ignorantly fancied, may be expected to fall down and worship his teachers. And the opposite doctrine must not be forgotten: —

‘Alone being remains unmoved which is the name for all,’

as Parmenides affirms. Thus we are in the midst of the fray; both parties are dragging us to their side; and we are not certain which of them are in the right; and if neither, then we shall be in a ridiculous position, having to set up our own opinion against ancient and famous men.

Let us first approach the river-gods, or patrons of the flux.

When they speak of motion, must they not include two kinds of motion, change of place and change of nature? — And all things must be supposed to have both kinds of motion; for if not, the same things would be at rest and in motion, which is contrary to their theory. And did we not say, that all sensations arise thus: they move about between the agent and patient together with a perception, and the patient ceases to be a perceiving power and becomes a percipient, and the agent a quale instead of a quality; but neither has any absolute existence? But now we make the further discovery, that neither white or whiteness, nor any sense or sensation, can be predicated of anything, for they are in a perpetual flux. And therefore we must modify the doctrine of Theaetetus and Protagoras, by asserting further that knowledge is and is not sensation; and of everything we must say equally, that this is and is not, or becomes or becomes not. And still the word ‘this’ is not quite correct, for language fails in the attempt to express their meaning.

At the close of the discussion, Theodorus claims to be released from the argument, according to his agreement. But Theaetetus insists that they shall proceed to consider the doctrine of rest. This is declined by Socrates, who has too much reverence for the great Parmenides lightly to attack him. (We shall find that he returns to the doctrine of rest in the Sophist; but at present he does not wish to be diverted from his main purpose, which is, to deliver Theaetetus of his conception of knowledge.) He proceeds to interrogate him further. When he says that ‘knowledge is in perception,’ with what does he perceive? The first answer is, that he perceives sights with the eye, and sounds with the ear. This leads Socrates to make the reflection that nice distinctions of words are sometimes pedantic, but sometimes necessary; and he proposes in this case to substitute the word ‘through’ for ‘with.’ For the senses are not like the Trojan warriors in the horse, but have a common centre of perception, in which they all meet. This common principle is able to compare them with one another, and must therefore be distinct from them (compare Republic). And as there are facts of sense which are perceived through the organs of the body, there are also mathematical and other abstractions, such as sameness and difference, likeness and unlikeness, which the soul perceives by herself. Being is the most universal of these abstractions. The good and the beautiful are abstractions of another kind, which exist in relation and which above all others the mind perceives in herself, comparing within her past, present, and future. For example; we know a thing to be hard or soft by the touch, of which the perception is given at birth to men and animals. But the essence of hardness or softness, or the fact that this hardness is, and is the opposite of softness, is slowly learned by reflection and experience. Mere perception does not reach being, and therefore fails of truth; and therefore has no share in knowledge. But if so, knowledge is not perception. What then is knowledge? The mind, when occupied by herself with being, is said to have opinion — shall we say that ‘Knowledge is true opinion’? But still an old difficulty recurs; we ask ourselves, ‘How is false opinion possible?’ This difficulty may be stated as follows: —

Either we know or do not know a thing (for the intermediate processes of learning and forgetting need not at present be considered); and in thinking or having an opinion, we must either know or not know that which we think, and we cannot know and be ignorant at the same time; we cannot confuse one thing which we do not know, with another thing which we do not know; nor can we think that which we do not know to be that which we know, or that which we know to be that which we do not know. And what other case is conceivable, upon the supposition that we either know or do not know all things? Let us try another answer in the sphere of being: ‘When a man thinks, and thinks that which is not.’ But would this hold in any parallel case? Can a man see and see nothing? or hear and hear nothing? or touch and touch nothing? Must he not see, hear, or touch some one existing thing? For if he thinks about nothing he does not think, and not thinking he cannot think falsely. And so the path of being is closed against us, as well as the path of knowledge. But may there not be ‘heterodoxy,’ or transference of opinion; — I mean, may not one thing be supposed to be another? Theaetetus is confident that this must be ‘the true falsehood,’ when a man puts good for evil or evil for good. Socrates will not discourage him by attacking the paradoxical expression ‘true falsehood,’ but passes on. The new notion involves a process of thinking about two things, either together or alternately. And thinking is the conversing of the mind with herself, which is carried on in question and answer, until she no longer doubts, but determines and forms an opinion. And false opinion consists in saying to yourself, that one thing is another. But did you ever say to yourself, that good is evil, or evil good? Even in sleep, did you ever imagine that odd was even? Or did any man in his senses ever fancy that an ox was a horse, or that two are one? So that we can never think one thing to be another; for you must not meet me with the verbal quibble that one — eteron — is other — eteron (both ‘one’ and ‘other’ in Greek are called ‘other’ — eteron). He who has both the two things in his mind, cannot misplace them; and he who has only one of them in his mind, cannot misplace them — on either supposition transplacement is inconceivable.

But perhaps there may still be a sense in which we can think that which we do not know to be that which we know: e.g. Theaetetus may know Socrates, but at a distance he may mistake another person for him. This process may be conceived by the help of an image. Let us suppose that every man has in his mind a block of wax of various qualities, the gift of Memory, the mother of the Muses; and on this he receives the seal or stamp of those sensations and perceptions which he wishes to remember. That which he succeeds in stamping is remembered and known by him as long as the impression lasts; but that, of which the impression is rubbed out or imperfectly made, is forgotten, and not known. No one can think one thing to be another, when he has the memorial or seal of both of these in his soul, and a sensible impression of neither; or when he knows one and does not know the other, and has no memorial or seal of the other; or when he knows neither; or when he perceives both, or one and not the other, or neither; or when he perceives and knows both, and identifies what he perceives with what he knows (this is still more impossible); or when he does not know one, and does not know and does not perceive the other; or does not perceive one, and does not know and does not perceive the other; or has no perception or knowledge of either — all these cases must be excluded. But he may err when he confuses what he knows or perceives, or what he perceives and does not know, with what he knows, or what he knows and perceives with what he knows and perceives.

Theaetetus is unable to follow these distinctions; which Socrates proceeds to illustrate by examples, first of all remarking, that knowledge may exist without perception, and perception without knowledge. I may know Theodorus and Theaetetus and not see them; I may see them, and not know them. ‘That I understand.’ But I could not mistake one for the other if I knew you both, and had no perception of either; or if I knew one only, and perceived neither; or if I knew and perceived neither, or in any other of the excluded cases. The only possibility of error is: 1st, when knowing you and Theodorus, and having the impression of both of you on the waxen block, I, seeing you both imperfectly and at a distance, put the foot in the wrong shoe — that is to say, put the seal or stamp on the wrong object: or 2ndly, when knowing both of you I only see one; or when, seeing and knowing you both, I fail to identify the impression and the object. But there could be no error when perception and knowledge correspond.

The waxen block in the heart of a man’s soul, as I may say in the words of Homer, who played upon the words ker and keros, may be smooth and deep, and large enough, and then the signs are clearly marked and lasting, and do not get confused. But in the ‘hairy heart,’ as the all-wise poet sings, when the wax is muddy or hard or moist, there is a corresponding confusion and want of retentiveness; in the muddy and impure there is indistinctness, and still more in the hard, for there the impressions have no depth of wax, and in the moist they are too soon effaced. Yet greater is the indistinctness when they are all jolted together in a little soul, which is narrow and has no room. These are the sort of natures which have false opinion; from stupidity they see and hear and think amiss; and this is falsehood and ignorance. Error, then, is a confusion of thought and sense.

Theaetetus is delighted with this explanation. But Socrates has no sooner found the new solution than he sinks into a fit of despondency. For an objection occurs to him: — May there not be errors where there is no confusion of mind and sense? e.g. in numbers. No one can confuse the man whom he has in his thoughts with the horse which he has in his thoughts, but he may err in the addition of five and seven. And observe that these are purely mental conceptions. Thus we are involved once more in the dilemma of saying, either that there is no such thing as false opinion, or that a man knows what he does not know.

We are at our wit’s end, and may therefore be excused for making a bold diversion. All this time we have been repeating the words ‘know,’ ‘understand,’ yet we do not know what knowledge is. ‘Why, Socrates, how can you argue at all without using them?’ Nay, but the true hero of dialectic would have forbidden me to use them until I had explained them. And I must explain them now. The verb ‘to know’ has two senses, to have and to possess knowledge, and I distinguish ‘having’ from ‘possessing.’ A man may possess a garment which he does not wear; or he may have wild birds in an aviary; these in one sense he possesses, and in another he has none of them. Let this aviary be an image of the mind, as the waxen block was; when we are young, the aviary is empty; after a time the birds are put in; for under this figure we may describe different forms of knowledge; — there are some of them in groups, and some single, which are flying about everywhere; and let us suppose a hunt after the science of odd and even, or some other science. The possession of the birds is clearly not the same as the having them in the hand. And the original chase of them is not the same as taking them in the hand when they are already caged.

This distinction between use and possession saves us from the absurdity of supposing that we do not know what we know, because we may know in one sense, i.e. possess, what we do not know in another, i.e. use. But have we not escaped one difficulty only to encounter a greater? For how can the exchange of two kinds of knowledge ever become false opinion? As well might we suppose that ignorance could make a man know, or that blindness could make him see. Theaetetus suggests that in the aviary there may be flying about mock birds, or forms of ignorance, and we put forth our hands and grasp ignorance, when we are intending to grasp knowledge. But how can he who knows the forms of knowledge and the forms of ignorance imagine one to be the other? Is there some other form of knowledge which distinguishes them? and another, and another? Thus we go round and round in a circle and make no progress.

All this confusion arises out of our attempt to explain false opinion without having explained knowledge. What then is knowledge? Theaetetus repeats that knowledge is true opinion. But this seems to be refuted by the instance of orators and judges. For surely the orator cannot convey a true knowledge of crimes at which the judges were not present; he can only persuade them, and the judge may form a true opinion and truly judge. But if true opinion were knowledge they could not have judged without knowledge.

Once more. Theaetetus offers a definition which he has heard: Knowledge is true opinion accompanied by definition or explanation. Socrates has had a similar dream, and has further heard that the first elements are names only, and that definition or explanation begins when they are combined; the letters are unknown, the syllables or combinations are known. But this new hypothesis when tested by the letters of the alphabet is found to break down. The first syllable of Socrates’ name is SO. But what is SO? Two letters, S and O, a sibilant and a vowel, of which no further explanation can be given. And how can any one be ignorant of either of them, and yet know both of them? There is, however, another alternative: — We may suppose that the syllable has a separate form or idea distinct from the letters or parts. The all of the parts may not be the whole. Theaetetus is very much inclined to adopt this suggestion, but when interrogated by Socrates he is unable to draw any distinction between the whole and all the parts. And if the syllables have no parts, then they are those original elements of which there is no explanation. But how can the syllable be known if the letter remains unknown? In learning to read as children, we are first taught the letters and then the syllables. And in music, the notes, which are the letters, have a much more distinct meaning to us than the combination of them.

Once more, then, we must ask the meaning of the statement, that ‘Knowledge is right opinion, accompanied by explanation or definition.’ Explanation may mean, (1) the reflection or expression of a man’s thoughts — but every man who is not deaf and dumb is able to express his thoughts — or (2) the enumeration of the elements of which anything is composed. A man may have a true opinion about a waggon, but then, and then only, has he knowledge of a waggon when he is able to enumerate the hundred planks of Hesiod. Or he may know the syllables of the name Theaetetus, but not the letters; yet not until he knows both can he be said to have knowledge as well as opinion. But on the other hand he may know the syllable ‘The’ in the name Theaetetus, yet he may be mistaken about the same syllable in the name Theodorus, and in learning to read we often make such mistakes. And even if he could write out all the letters and syllables of your name in order, still he would only have right opinion. Yet there may be a third meaning of the definition, besides the image or expression of the mind, and the enumeration of the elements, viz. (3) perception of difference.

For example, I may see a man who has eyes, nose, and mouth; — that will not distinguish him from any other man. Or he may have a snub-nose and prominent eyes; — that will not distinguish him from myself and you and others who are like me. But when I see a certain kind of snub-nosedness, then I recognize Theaetetus. And having this sign of difference, I have knowledge. But have I knowledge or opinion of this difference; if I have only opinion I have not knowledge; if I have knowledge we assume a disputed term; for knowledge will have to be defined as right opinion with knowledge of difference.

And so, Theaetetus, knowledge is neither perception nor true opinion, nor yet definition accompanying true opinion. And I have shown that the children of your brain are not worth rearing. Are you still in labour, or have you brought all you have to say about knowledge to the birth? If you have any more thoughts, you will be the better for having got rid of these; or if you have none, you will be the better for not fancying that you know what you do not know. Observe the limits of my art, which, like my mother’s, is an art of midwifery; I do not pretend to compare with the good and wise of this and other ages.

And now I go to meet Meletus at the porch of the King Archon; but to-morrow I shall hope to see you again, Theodorus, at this place.

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I. The saying of Theaetetus, that ‘Knowledge is sensible perception,’ may be assumed to be a current philosophical opinion of the age. ‘The ancients,’ as Aristotle (De Anim.) says, citing a verse of Empedocles, ‘affirmed knowledge to be the same as perception.’ We may now examine these words, first, with reference to their place in the history of philosophy, and secondly, in relation to modern speculations.

(a) In the age of Socrates the mind was passing from the object to the subject. The same impulse which a century before had led men to form conceptions of the world, now led them to frame general notions of the human faculties and feelings, such as memory, opinion, and the like. The simplest of these is sensation, or sensible perception, by which Plato seems to mean the generalized notion of feelings and impressions of sense, without determining whether they are conscious or not.

The theory that ‘Knowledge is sensible perception’ is the antithesis of that which derives knowledge from the mind (Theaet.), or which assumes the existence of ideas independent of the mind (Parm.). Yet from their extreme abstraction these theories do not represent the opposite poles of thought in the same way that the corresponding differences would in modern philosophy. The most ideal and the most sensational have a tendency to pass into one another; Heracleitus, like his great successor Hegel, has both aspects. The Eleatic isolation of Being and the Megarian or Cynic isolation of individuals are placed in the same class by Plato (Soph.); and the same principle which is the symbol of motion to one mind is the symbol of rest to another. The Atomists, who are sometimes regarded as the Materialists of Plato, denied the reality of sensation. And in the ancient as well as the modern world there were reactions from theory to experience, from ideas to sense. This is a point of view from which the philosophy of sensation presented great attraction to the ancient thinker. Amid the conflict of ideas and the variety of opinions, the impression of sense remained certain and uniform. Hardness, softness, cold, heat, etc. are not absolutely the same to different persons, but the art of measuring could at any rate reduce them all to definite natures (Republic). Thus the doctrine that knowledge is perception supplies or seems to supply a firm standing ground. Like the other notions of the earlier Greek philosophy, it was held in a very simple way, without much basis of reasoning, and without suggesting the questions which naturally arise in our own minds on the same subject.

(b) The fixedness of impressions of sense furnishes a link of connexion between ancient and modern philosophy. The modern thinker often repeats the parallel axiom, ‘All knowledge is experience.’ He means to say that the outward and not the inward is both the original source and the final criterion of truth, because the outward can be observed and analyzed; the inward is only known by external results, and is dimly perceived by each man for himself. In what does this differ from the saying of Theaetetus? Chiefly in this — that the modern term ‘experience,’ while implying a point of departure in sense and a return to sense, also includes all the processes of reasoning and imagination which have intervened. The necessary connexion between them by no means affords a measure of the relative degree of importance which is to be ascribed to either element. For the inductive portion of any science may be small, as in mathematics or ethics, compared with that which the mind has attained by reasoning and reflection on a very few facts.

II. The saying that ‘All knowledge is sensation’ is identified by Plato with the Protagorean thesis that ‘Man is the measure of all things.’ The interpretation which Protagoras himself is supposed to give of these latter words is: ‘Things are to me as they appear to me, and to you as they appear to you.’ But there remains still an ambiguity both in the text and in the explanation, which has to be cleared up. Did Protagoras merely mean to assert the relativity of knowledge to the human mind? Or did he mean to deny that there is an objective standard of truth?

These two questions have not been always clearly distinguished; the relativity of knowledge has been sometimes confounded with uncertainty. The untutored mind is apt to suppose that objects exist independently of the human faculties, because they really exist independently of the faculties of any individual. In the same way, knowledge appears to be a body of truths stored up in books, which when once ascertained are independent of the discoverer. Further consideration shows us that these truths are not really independent of the mind; there is an adaptation of one to the other, of the eye to the object of sense, of the mind to the conception. There would be no world, if there neither were nor ever had been any one to perceive the world. A slight effort of reflection enables us to understand this; but no effort of reflection will enable us to pass beyond the limits of our own faculties, or to imagine the relation or adaptation of objects to the mind to be different from that of which we have experience. There are certain laws of language and logic to which we are compelled to conform, and to which our ideas naturally adapt themselves; and we can no more get rid of them than we can cease to be ourselves. The absolute and infinite, whether explained as self-existence, or as the totality of human thought, or as the Divine nature, if known to us at all, cannot escape from the category of relation.

But because knowledge is subjective or relative to the mind, we are not to suppose that we are therefore deprived of any of the tests or criteria of truth. One man still remains wiser than another, a more accurate observer and relater of facts, a truer measure of the proportions of knowledge. The nature of testimony is not altered, nor the verification of causes by prescribed methods less certain. Again, the truth must often come to a man through others, according to the measure of his capacity and education. But neither does this affect the testimony, whether written or oral, which he knows by experience to be trustworthy. He cannot escape from the laws of his own mind; and he cannot escape from the further accident of being dependent for his knowledge on others. But still this is no reason why he should always be in doubt; of many personal, of many historical and scientific facts he may be absolutely assured. And having such a mass of acknowledged truth in the mathematical and physical, not to speak of the moral sciences, the moderns have certainly no reason to acquiesce in the statement that truth is appearance only, or that there is no difference between appearance and truth.

The relativity of knowledge is a truism to us, but was a great psychological discovery in the fifth century before Christ. Of this discovery, the first distinct assertion is contained in the thesis of Protagoras. Probably he had no intention either of denying or affirming an objective standard of truth. He did not consider whether man in the higher or man in the lower sense was a ‘measure of all things.’ Like other great thinkers, he was absorbed with one idea, and that idea was the absoluteness of perception. Like Socrates, he seemed to see that philosophy must be brought back from ‘nature’ to ‘truth,’ from the world to man. But he did not stop to analyze whether he meant ‘man’ in the concrete or man in the abstract, any man or some men, ‘quod semper quod ubique’ or individual private judgment. Such an analysis lay beyond his sphere of thought; the age before Socrates had not arrived at these distinctions. Like the Cynics, again, he discarded knowledge in any higher sense than perception. For ‘truer’ or ‘wiser’ he substituted the word ‘better,’ and is not unwilling to admit that both states and individuals are capable of practical improvement. But this improvement does not arise from intellectual enlightenment, nor yet from the exertion of the will, but from a change of circumstances and impressions; and he who can effect this change in himself or others may be deemed a philosopher. In the mode of effecting it, while agreeing with Socrates and the Cynics in the importance which he attaches to practical life, he is at variance with both of them. To suppose that practice can be divorced from speculation, or that we may do good without caring about truth, is by no means singular, either in philosophy or life. The singularity of this, as of some other (so-called) sophistical doctrines, is the frankness with which they are avowed, instead of being veiled, as in modern times, under ambiguous and convenient phrases.

Plato appears to treat Protagoras much as he himself is treated by Aristotle; that is to say, he does not attempt to understand him from his own point of view. But he entangles him in the meshes of a more advanced logic. To which Protagoras is supposed to reply by Megarian quibbles, which destroy logic, ‘Not only man, but each man, and each man at each moment.’ In the arguments about sight and memory there is a palpable unfairness which is worthy of the great ‘brainless brothers,’ Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, and may be compared with the egkekalummenos (‘obvelatus’) of Eubulides. For he who sees with one eye only cannot be truly said both to see and not to see; nor is memory, which is liable to forget, the immediate knowledge to which Protagoras applies the term. Theodorus justly charges Socrates with going beyond the truth; and Protagoras has equally right on his side when he protests against Socrates arguing from the common use of words, which ‘the vulgar pervert in all manner of ways.’

III. The theory of Protagoras is connected by Aristotle as well as Plato with the flux of Heracleitus. But Aristotle is only following Plato, and Plato, as we have already seen, did not mean to imply that such a connexion was admitted by Protagoras himself. His metaphysical genius saw or seemed to see a common tendency in them, just as the modern historian of ancient philosophy might perceive a parallelism between two thinkers of which they were probably unconscious themselves. We must remember throughout that Plato is not speaking of Heracleitus, but of the Heracliteans, who succeeded him; nor of the great original ideas of the master, but of the Eristic into which they had degenerated a hundred years later. There is nothing in the fragments of Heracleitus which at all justifies Plato’s account of him. His philosophy may be resolved into two elements — first, change, secondly, law or measure pervading the change: these he saw everywhere, and often expressed in strange mythological symbols. But he has no analysis of sensible perception such as Plato attributes to him; nor is there any reason to suppose that he pushed his philosophy into that absolute negation in which Heracliteanism was sunk in the age of Plato. He never said that ‘change means every sort of change;’ and he expressly distinguished between ‘the general and particular understanding.’ Like a poet, he surveyed the elements of mythology, nature, thought, which lay before him, and sometimes by the light of genius he saw or seemed to see a mysterious principle working behind them. But as has been the case with other great philosophers, and with Plato and Aristotle themselves, what was really permanent and original could not be understood by the next generation, while a perverted logic carried out his chance expressions with an illogical consistency. His simple and noble thoughts, like those of the great Eleatic, soon degenerated into a mere strife of words. And when thus reduced to mere words, they seem to have exercised a far wider influence in the cities of Ionia (where the people ‘were mad about them’) than in the life-time of Heracleitus — a phenomenon which, though at first sight singular, is not without a parallel in the history of philosophy and theology.

It is this perverted form of the Heraclitean philosophy which is supposed to effect the final overthrow of Protagorean sensationalism. For if all things are changing at every moment, in all sorts of ways, then there is nothing fixed or defined at all, and therefore no sensible perception, nor any true word by which that or anything else can be described. Of course Protagoras would not have admitted the justice of this argument any more than Heracleitus would have acknowledged the ‘uneducated fanatics’ who appealed to his writings. He might have said, ‘The excellent Socrates has first confused me with Heracleitus, and Heracleitus with his Ephesian successors, and has then disproved the existence both of knowledge and sensation. But I am not responsible for what I never said, nor will I admit that my common-sense account of knowledge can be overthrown by unintelligible Heraclitean paradoxes.’

IV. Still at the bottom of the arguments there remains a truth, that knowledge is something more than sensible perception; — this alone would not distinguish man from a tadpole. The absoluteness of sensations at each moment destroys the very consciousness of sensations (compare Phileb.), or the power of comparing them. The senses are not mere holes in a ‘Trojan horse,’ but the organs of a presiding nature, in which they meet. A great advance has been made in psychology when the senses are recognized as organs of sense, and we are admitted to see or feel ‘through them’ and not ‘by them,’ a distinction of words which, as Socrates observes, is by no means pedantic. A still further step has been made when the most abstract notions, such as Being and Not-being, sameness and difference, unity and plurality, are acknowledged to be the creations of the mind herself, working upon the feelings or impressions of sense. In this manner Plato describes the process of acquiring them, in the words ‘Knowledge consists not in the feelings or affections (pathemasi), but in the process of reasoning about them (sullogismo).’ Here, is in the Parmenides, he means something not really different from generalization. As in the Sophist, he is laying the foundation of a rational psychology, which is to supersede the Platonic reminiscence of Ideas as well as the Eleatic Being and the individualism of Megarians and Cynics.

V. Having rejected the doctrine that ‘Knowledge is perception,’ we now proceed to look for a definition of knowledge in the sphere of opinion. But here we are met by a singular difficulty: How is false opinion possible? For we must either know or not know that which is presented to the mind or to sense. We of course should answer at once: ‘No; the alternative is not necessary, for there may be degrees of knowledge; and we may know and have forgotten, or we may be learning, or we may have a general but not a particular knowledge, or we may know but not be able to explain;’ and many other ways may be imagined in which we know and do not know at the same time. But these answers belong to a later stage of metaphysical discussion; whereas the difficulty in question naturally arises owing to the childhood of the human mind, like the parallel difficulty respecting Not-being. Men had only recently arrived at the notion of opinion; they could not at once define the true and pass beyond into the false. The very word doxa was full of ambiguity, being sometimes, as in the Eleatic philosophy, applied to the sensible world, and again used in the more ordinary sense of opinion. There is no connexion between sensible appearance and probability, and yet both of them met in the word doxa, and could hardly be disengaged from one another in the mind of the Greek living in the fifth or fourth century B.C. To this was often added, as at the end of the fifth book of the Republic, the idea of relation, which is equally distinct from either of them; also a fourth notion, the conclusion of the dialectical process, the making up of the mind after she has been ‘talking to herself’ (Theat.).

We are not then surprised that the sphere of opinion and of Not-being should be a dusky, half-lighted place (Republic), belonging neither to the old world of sense and imagination, nor to the new world of reflection and reason. Plato attempts to clear up this darkness. In his accustomed manner he passes from the lower to the higher, without omitting the intermediate stages. This appears to be the reason why he seeks for the definition of knowledge first in the sphere of opinion. Hereafter we shall find that something more than opinion is required.

False opinion is explained by Plato at first as a confusion of mind and sense, which arises when the impression on the mind does not correspond to the impression made on the senses. It is obvious that this explanation (supposing the distinction between impressions on the mind and impressions on the senses to be admitted) does not account for all forms of error; and Plato has excluded himself from the consideration of the greater number, by designedly omitting the intermediate processes of learning and forgetting; nor does he include fallacies in the use of language or erroneous inferences. But he is struck by one possibility of error, which is not covered by his theory, viz. errors in arithmetic. For in numbers and calculation there is no combination of thought and sense, and yet errors may often happen. Hence he is led to discard the explanation which might nevertheless have been supposed to hold good (for anything which he says to the contrary) as a rationale of error, in the case of facts derived from sense.

Another attempt is made to explain false opinion by assigning to error a sort of positive existence. But error or ignorance is essentially negative — a not-knowing; if we knew an error, we should be no longer in error. We may veil our difficulty under figures of speech, but these, although telling arguments with the multitude, can never be the real foundation of a system of psychology. Only they lead us to dwell upon mental phenomena which if expressed in an abstract form would not be realized by us at all. The figure of the mind receiving impressions is one of those images which have rooted themselves for ever in language. It may or may not be a ‘gracious aid’ to thought; but it cannot be got rid of. The other figure of the enclosure is also remarkable as affording the first hint of universal all-pervading ideas, — a notion further carried out in the Sophist. This is implied in the birds, some in flocks, some solitary, which fly about anywhere and everywhere. Plato discards both figures, as not really solving the question which to us appears so simple: ‘How do we make mistakes?’ The failure of the enquiry seems to show that we should return to knowledge, and begin with that; and we may afterwards proceed, with a better hope of success, to the examination of opinion.

But is true opinion really distinct from knowledge? The difference between these he seeks to establish by an argument, which to us appears singular and unsatisfactory. The existence of true opinion is proved by the rhetoric of the law courts, which cannot give knowledge, but may give true opinion. The rhetorician cannot put the judge or juror in possession of all the facts which prove an act of violence, but he may truly persuade them of the commission of such an act. Here the idea of true opinion seems to be a right conclusion from imperfect knowledge. But the correctness of such an opinion will be purely accidental; and is really the effect of one man, who has the means of knowing, persuading another who has not. Plato would have done better if he had said that true opinion was a contradiction in terms.

Assuming the distinction between knowledge and opinion, Theaetetus, in answer to Socrates, proceeds to define knowledge as true opinion, with definite or rational explanation. This Socrates identifies with another and different theory, of those who assert that knowledge first begins with a proposition.

The elements may be perceived by sense, but they are names, and cannot be defined. When we assign to them some predicate, they first begin to have a meaning (onomaton sumploke logou ousia). This seems equivalent to saying, that the individuals of sense become the subject of knowledge when they are regarded as they are in nature in relation to other individuals.

Yet we feel a difficulty in following this new hypothesis. For must not opinion be equally expressed in a proposition? The difference between true and false opinion is not the difference between the particular and the universal, but between the true universal and the false. Thought may be as much at fault as sight. When we place individuals under a class, or assign to them attributes, this is not knowledge, but a very rudimentary process of thought; the first generalization of all, without which language would be impossible. And has Plato kept altogether clear of a confusion, which the analogous word logos tends to create, of a proposition and a definition? And is not the confusion increased by the use of the analogous term ‘elements,’ or ‘letters’? For there is no real resemblance between the relation of letters to a syllable, and of the terms to a proposition.

Plato, in the spirit of the Megarian philosophy, soon discovers a flaw in the explanation. For how can we know a compound of which the simple elements are unknown to us? Can two unknowns make a known? Can a whole be something different from the parts? The answer of experience is that they can; for we may know a compound, which we are unable to analyze into its elements; and all the parts, when united, may be more than all the parts separated: e.g. the number four, or any other number, is more than the units which are contained in it; any chemical compound is more than and different from the simple elements. But ancient philosophy in this, as in many other instances, proceeding by the path of mental analysis, was perplexed by doubts which warred against the plainest facts.

Three attempts to explain the new definition of knowledge still remain to be considered. They all of them turn on the explanation of logos. The first account of the meaning of the word is the reflection of thought in speech — a sort of nominalism ‘La science est une langue bien faite.’ But anybody who is not dumb can say what he thinks; therefore mere speech cannot be knowledge. And yet we may observe, that there is in this explanation an element of truth which is not recognized by Plato; viz. that truth and thought are inseparable from language, although mere expression in words is not truth. The second explanation of logos is the enumeration of the elementary parts of the complex whole. But this is only definition accompanied with right opinion, and does not yet attain to the certainty of knowledge. Plato does not mention the greater objection, which is, that the enumeration of particulars is endless; such a definition would be based on no principle, and would not help us at all in gaining a common idea. The third is the best explanation, — the possession of a characteristic mark, which seems to answer to the logical definition by genus and difference. But this, again, is equally necessary for right opinion; and we have already determined, although not on very satisfactory grounds, that knowledge must be distinguished from opinion. A better distinction is drawn between them in the Timaeus. They might be opposed as philosophy and rhetoric, and as conversant respectively with necessary and contingent matter. But no true idea of the nature of either of them, or of their relation to one another, could be framed until science obtained a content. The ancient philosophers in the age of Plato thought of science only as pure abstraction, and to this opinion stood in no relation.

Like Theaetetus, we have attained to no definite result. But an interesting phase of ancient philosophy has passed before us. And the negative result is not to be despised. For on certain subjects, and in certain states of knowledge, the work of negation or clearing the ground must go on, perhaps for a generation, before the new structure can begin to rise. Plato saw the necessity of combating the illogical logic of the Megarians and Eristics. For the completion of the edifice, he makes preparation in the Theaetetus, and crowns the work in the Sophist.

Many (1) fine expressions, and (2) remarks full of wisdom, (3) also germs of a metaphysic of the future, are scattered up and down in the dialogue. Such, for example, as (1) the comparison of Theaetetus’ progress in learning to the ‘noiseless flow of a river of oil’; the satirical touch, ‘flavouring a sauce or fawning speech’; or the remarkable expression, ‘full of impure dialectic’; or the lively images under which the argument is described,— ‘the flood of arguments pouring in,’ the fresh discussions ‘bursting in like a band of revellers.’ (2) As illustrations of the second head, may be cited the remark of Socrates, that ‘distinctions of words, although sometimes pedantic, are also necessary’; or the fine touch in the character of the lawyer, that ‘dangers came upon him when the tenderness of youth was unequal to them’; or the description of the manner in which the spirit is broken in a wicked man who listens to reproof until he becomes like a child; or the punishment of the wicked, which is not physical suffering, but the perpetual companionship of evil (compare Gorgias); or the saying, often repeated by Aristotle and others, that ‘philosophy begins in wonder, for Iris is the child of Thaumas’; or the superb contempt with which the philosopher takes down the pride of wealthy landed proprietors by comparison of the whole earth. (3) Important metaphysical ideas are: a. the conception of thought, as the mind talking to herself; b. the notion of a common sense, developed further by Aristotle, and the explicit declaration, that the mind gains her conceptions of Being, sameness, number, and the like, from reflection on herself; c. the excellent distinction of Theaetetus (which Socrates, speaking with emphasis, ‘leaves to grow’) between seeing the forms or hearing the sounds of words in a foreign language, and understanding the meaning of them; and d. the distinction of Socrates himself between ‘having’ and ‘possessing’ knowledge, in which the answer to the whole discussion appears to be contained.

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There is a difference between ancient and modern psychology, and we have a difficulty in explaining one in the terms of the other. To us the inward and outward sense and the inward and outward worlds of which they are the organs are parted by a wall, and appear as if they could never be confounded. The mind is endued with faculties, habits, instincts, and a personality or consciousness in which they are bound together. Over against these are placed forms, colours, external bodies coming into contact with our own body. We speak of a subject which is ourselves, of an object which is all the rest. These are separable in thought, but united in any act of sensation, reflection, or volition. As there are various degrees in which the mind may enter into or be abstracted from the operations of sense, so there are various points at which this separation or union may be supposed to occur. And within the sphere of mind the analogy of sense reappears; and we distinguish not only external objects, but objects of will and of knowledge which we contrast with them. These again are comprehended in a higher object, which reunites with the subject. A multitude of abstractions are created by the efforts of successive thinkers which become logical determinations; and they have to be arranged in order, before the scheme of thought is complete. The framework of the human intellect is not the peculium of an individual, but the joint work of many who are of all ages and countries. What we are in mind is due, not merely to our physical, but to our mental antecedents which we trace in history, and more especially in the history of philosophy. Nor can mental phenomena be truly explained either by physiology or by the observation of consciousness apart from their history. They have a growth of their own, like the growth of a flower, a tree, a human being. They may be conceived as of themselves constituting a common mind, and having a sort of personal identity in which they coexist.

So comprehensive is modern psychology, seeming to aim at constructing anew the entire world of thought. And prior to or simultaneously with this construction a negative process has to be carried on, a clearing away of useless abstractions which we have inherited from the past. Many erroneous conceptions of the mind derived from former philosophies have found their way into language, and we with difficulty disengage ourselves from them. Mere figures of speech have unconsciously influenced the minds of great thinkers. Also there are some distinctions, as, for example, that of the will and of the reason, and of the moral and intellectual faculties, which are carried further than is justified by experience. Any separation of things which we cannot see or exactly define, though it may be necessary, is a fertile source of error. The division of the mind into faculties or powers or virtues is too deeply rooted in language to be got rid of, but it gives a false impression. For if we reflect on ourselves we see that all our faculties easily pass into one another, and are bound together in a single mind or consciousness; but this mental unity is apt to be concealed from us by the distinctions of language.

A profusion of words and ideas has obscured rather than enlightened mental science. It is hard to say how many fallacies have arisen from the representation of the mind as a box, as a ‘tabula rasa,’ a book, a mirror, and the like. It is remarkable how Plato in the Theaetetus, after having indulged in the figure of the waxen tablet and the decoy, afterwards discards them. The mind is also represented by another class of images, as the spring of a watch, a motive power, a breath, a stream, a succession of points or moments. As Plato remarks in the Cratylus, words expressive of motion as well as of rest are employed to describe the faculties and operations of the mind; and in these there is contained another store of fallacies. Some shadow or reflection of the body seems always to adhere to our thoughts about ourselves, and mental processes are hardly distinguished in language from bodily ones. To see or perceive are used indifferently of both; the words intuition, moral sense, common sense, the mind’s eye, are figures of speech transferred from one to the other. And many other words used in early poetry or in sacred writings to express the works of mind have a materialistic sound; for old mythology was allied to sense, and the distinction of matter and mind had not as yet arisen. Thus materialism receives an illusive aid from language; and both in philosophy and religion the imaginary figure or association easily takes the place of real knowledge.

Again, there is the illusion of looking into our own minds as if our thoughts or feelings were written down in a book. This is another figure of speech, which might be appropriately termed ‘the fallacy of the looking-glass.’ We cannot look at the mind unless we have the eye which sees, and we can only look, not into, but out of the mind at the thoughts, words, actions of ourselves and others. What we dimly recognize within us is not experience, but rather the suggestion of an experience, which we may gather, if we will, from the observation of the world. The memory has but a feeble recollection of what we were saying or doing a few weeks or a few months ago, and still less of what we were thinking or feeling. This is one among many reasons why there is so little self-knowledge among mankind; they do not carry with them the thought of what they are or have been. The so-called ‘facts of consciousness’ are equally evanescent; they are facts which nobody ever saw, and which can neither be defined nor described. Of the three laws of thought the first (All A = A) is an identical proposition — that is to say, a mere word or symbol claiming to be a proposition: the two others (Nothing can be A and not A, and Everything is either A or not A) are untrue, because they exclude degrees and also the mixed modes and double aspects under which truth is so often presented to us. To assert that man is man is unmeaning; to say that he is free or necessary and cannot be both is a half truth only. These are a few of the entanglements which impede the natural course of human thought. Lastly, there is the fallacy which lies still deeper, of regarding the individual mind apart from the universal, or either, as a self-existent entity apart from the ideas which are contained in them.

In ancient philosophies the analysis of the mind is still rudimentary and imperfect. It naturally began with an effort to disengage the universal from sense — this was the first lifting up of the mist. It wavered between object and subject, passing imperceptibly from one or Being to mind and thought. Appearance in the outward object was for a time indistinguishable from opinion in the subject. At length mankind spoke of knowing as well as of opining or perceiving. But when the word ‘knowledge’ was found how was it to be explained or defined? It was not an error, it was a step in the right direction, when Protagoras said that ‘Man is the measure of all things,’ and that ‘All knowledge is perception.’ This was the subjective which corresponded to the objective ‘All is flux.’ But the thoughts of men deepened, and soon they began to be aware that knowledge was neither sense, nor yet opinion — with or without explanation; nor the expression of thought, nor the enumeration of parts, nor the addition of characteristic marks. Motion and rest were equally ill adapted to express its nature, although both must in some sense be attributed to it; it might be described more truly as the mind conversing with herself; the discourse of reason; the hymn of dialectic, the science of relations, of ideas, of the so-called arts and sciences, of the one, of the good, of the all: — this is the way along which Plato is leading us in his later dialogues. In its higher signification it was the knowledge, not of men, but of gods, perfect and all sufficing: — like other ideals always passing out of sight, and nevertheless present to the mind of Aristotle as well as Plato, and the reality to which they were both tending. For Aristotle as well as Plato would in modern phraseology have been termed a mystic; and like him would have defined the higher philosophy to be ‘Knowledge of being or essence,’ — words to which in our own day we have a difficulty in attaching a meaning.

Yet, in spite of Plato and his followers, mankind have again and again returned to a sensational philosophy. As to some of the early thinkers, amid the fleetings of sensible objects, ideas alone seemed to be fixed, so to a later generation amid the fluctuation of philosophical opinions the only fixed points appeared to be outward objects. Any pretence of knowledge which went beyond them implied logical processes, of the correctness of which they had no assurance and which at best were only probable. The mind, tired of wandering, sought to rest on firm ground; when the idols of philosophy and language were stripped off, the perception of outward objects alone remained. The ancient Epicureans never asked whether the comparison of these with one another did not involve principles of another kind which were above and beyond them. In like manner the modern inductive philosophy forgot to enquire into the meaning of experience, and did not attempt to form a conception of outward objects apart from the mind, or of the mind apart from them. Soon objects of sense were merged in sensations and feelings, but feelings and sensations were still unanalyzed. At last we return to the doctrine attributed by Plato to Protagoras, that the mind is only a succession of momentary perceptions. At this point the modern philosophy of experience forms an alliance with ancient scepticism.

The higher truths of philosophy and religion are very far removed from sense. Admitting that, like all other knowledge, they are derived from experience, and that experience is ultimately resolvable into facts which come to us through the eye and ear, still their origin is a mere accident which has nothing to do with their true nature. They are universal and unseen; they belong to all times — past, present, and future. Any worthy notion of mind or reason includes them. The proof of them is, 1st, their comprehensiveness and consistency with one another; 2ndly, their agreement with history and experience. But sensation is of the present only, is isolated, is and is not in successive moments. It takes the passing hour as it comes, following the lead of the eye or ear instead of the command of reason. It is a faculty which man has in common with the animals, and in which he is inferior to many of them. The importance of the senses in us is that they are the apertures of the mind, doors and windows through which we take in and make our own the materials of knowledge. Regarded in any other point of view sensation is of all mental acts the most trivial and superficial. Hence the term ‘sensational’ is rightly used to express what is shallow in thought and feeling.

We propose in what follows, first of all, like Plato in the Theaetetus, to analyse sensation, and secondly to trace the connexion between theories of sensation and a sensational or Epicurean philosophy.

Paragraph I. We, as well as the ancients, speak of the five senses, and of a sense, or common sense, which is the abstraction of them. The term ‘sense’ is also used metaphorically, both in ancient and modern philosophy, to express the operations of the mind which are immediate or intuitive. Of the five senses, two — the sight and the hearing — are of a more subtle and complex nature, while two others — the smell and the taste — seem to be only more refined varieties of touch. All of them are passive, and by this are distinguished from the active faculty of speech: they receive impressions, but do not produce them, except in so far as they are objects of sense themselves.

Physiology speaks to us of the wonderful apparatus of nerves, muscles, tissues, by which the senses are enabled to fulfil their functions. It traces the connexion, though imperfectly, of the bodily organs with the operations of the mind. Of these latter, it seems rather to know the conditions than the causes. It can prove to us that without the brain we cannot think, and that without the eye we cannot see: and yet there is far more in thinking and seeing than is given by the brain and the eye. It observes the ‘concomitant variations’ of body and mind. Psychology, on the other hand, treats of the same subject regarded from another point of view. It speaks of the relation of the senses to one another; it shows how they meet the mind; it analyzes the transition from sense to thought. The one describes their nature as apparent to the outward eye; by the other they are regarded only as the instruments of the mind. It is in this latter point of view that we propose to consider them.

The simplest sensation involves an unconscious or nascent operation of the mind; it implies objects of sense, and objects of sense have differences of form, number, colour. But the conception of an object without us, or the power of discriminating numbers, forms, colours, is not given by the sense, but by the mind. A mere sensation does not attain to distinctness: it is a confused impression, sugkechumenon ti, as Plato says (Republic), until number introduces light and order into the confusion. At what point confusion becomes distinctness is a question of degree which cannot be precisely determined. The distant object, the undefined notion, come out into relief as we approach them or attend to them. Or we may assist the analysis by attempting to imagine the world first dawning upon the eye of the infant or of a person newly restored to sight. Yet even with them the mind as well as the eye opens or enlarges. For all three are inseparably bound together — the object would be nowhere and nothing, if not perceived by the sense, and the sense would have no power of distinguishing without the mind.

But prior to objects of sense there is a third nature in which they are contained — that is to say, space, which may be explained in various ways. It is the element which surrounds them; it is the vacuum or void which they leave or occupy when passing from one portion of space to another. It might be described in the language of ancient philosophy, as ‘the Not-being’ of objects. It is a negative idea which in the course of ages has become positive. It is originally derived from the contemplation of the world without us — the boundless earth or sea, the vacant heaven, and is therefore acquired chiefly through the sense of sight: to the blind the conception of space is feeble and inadequate, derived for the most part from touch or from the descriptions of others. At first it appears to be continuous; afterwards we perceive it to be capable of division by lines or points, real or imaginary. By the help of mathematics we form another idea of space, which is altogether independent of experience. Geometry teaches us that the innumerable lines and figures by which space is or may be intersected are absolutely true in all their combinations and consequences. New and unchangeable properties of space are thus developed, which are proved to us in a thousand ways by mathematical reasoning as well as by common experience. Through quantity and measure we are conducted to our simplest and purest notion of matter, which is to the cube or solid what space is to the square or surface. And all our applications of mathematics are applications of our ideas of space to matter. No wonder then that they seem to have a necessary existence to us. Being the simplest of our ideas, space is also the one of which we have the most difficulty in ridding ourselves. Neither can we set a limit to it, for wherever we fix a limit, space is springing up beyond. Neither can we conceive a smallest or indivisible portion of it; for within the smallest there is a smaller still; and even these inconceivable qualities of space, whether the infinite or the infinitesimal, may be made the subject of reasoning and have a certain truth to us.

Whether space exists in the mind or out of it, is a question which has no meaning. We should rather say that without it the mind is incapable of conceiving the body, and therefore of conceiving itself. The mind may be indeed imagined to contain the body, in the same way that Aristotle (partly following Plato) supposes God to be the outer heaven or circle of the universe. But how can the individual mind carry about the universe of space packed up within, or how can separate minds have either a universe of their own or a common universe? In such conceptions there seems to be a confusion of the individual and the universal. To say that we can only have a true idea of ourselves when we deny the reality of that by which we have any idea of ourselves is an absurdity. The earth which is our habitation and ‘the starry heaven above’ and we ourselves are equally an illusion, if space is only a quality or condition of our minds.

Again, we may compare the truths of space with other truths derived from experience, which seem to have a necessity to us in proportion to the frequency of their recurrence or the truth of the consequences which may be inferred from them. We are thus led to remark that the necessity in our ideas of space on which much stress has been laid, differs in a slight degree only from the necessity which appears to belong to other of our ideas, e.g. weight, motion, and the like. And there is another way in which this necessity may be explained. We have been taught it, and the truth which we were taught or which we inherited has never been contradicted in all our experience and is therefore confirmed by it. Who can resist an idea which is presented to him in a general form in every moment of his life and of which he finds no instance to the contrary? The greater part of what is sometimes regarded as the a priori intuition of space is really the conception of the various geometrical figures of which the properties have been revealed by mathematical analysis. And the certainty of these properties is immeasurably increased to us by our finding that they hold good not only in every instance, but in all the consequences which are supposed to flow from them.

Neither must we forget that our idea of space, like our other ideas, has a history. The Homeric poems contain no word for it; even the later Greek philosophy has not the Kantian notion of space, but only the definite ‘place’ or ‘the infinite.’ To Plato, in the Timaeus, it is known only as the ‘nurse of generation.’ When therefore we speak of the necessity of our ideas of space we must remember that this is a necessity which has grown up with the growth of the human mind, and has been made by ourselves. We can free ourselves from the perplexities which are involved in it by ascending to a time in which they did not as yet exist. And when space or time are described as ‘a priori forms or intuitions added to the matter given in sensation,’ we should consider that such expressions belong really to the ‘pre-historic study’ of philosophy, i.e. to the eighteenth century, when men sought to explain the human mind without regard to history or language or the social nature of man.

In every act of sense there is a latent perception of space, of which we only become conscious when objects are withdrawn from it. There are various ways in which we may trace the connexion between them. We may think of space as unresisting matter, and of matter as divided into objects; or of objects again as formed by abstraction into a collective notion of matter, and of matter as rarefied into space. And motion may be conceived as the union of there and not there in space, and force as the materializing or solidification of motion. Space again is the individual and universal in one; or, in other words, a perception and also a conception. So easily do what are sometimes called our simple ideas pass into one another, and differences of kind resolve themselves into differences of degree.

Within or behind space there is another abstraction in many respects similar to it — time, the form of the inward, as space is the form of the outward. As we cannot think of outward objects of sense or of outward sensations without space, so neither can we think of a succession of sensations without time. It is the vacancy of thoughts or sensations, as space is the void of outward objects, and we can no more imagine the mind without the one than the world without the other. It is to arithmetic what space is to geometry; or, more strictly, arithmetic may be said to be equally applicable to both. It is defined in our minds, partly by the analogy of space and partly by the recollection of events which have happened to us, or the consciousness of feelings which we are experiencing. Like space, it is without limit, for whatever beginning or end of time we fix, there is a beginning and end before them, and so on without end. We speak of a past, present, and future, and again the analogy of space assists us in conceiving of them as coexistent. When the limit of time is removed there arises in our minds the idea of eternity, which at first, like time itself, is only negative, but gradually, when connected with the world and the divine nature, like the other negative infinity of space, becomes positive. Whether time is prior to the mind and to experience, or coeval with them, is (like the parallel question about space) unmeaning. Like space it has been realized gradually: in the Homeric poems, or even in the Hesiodic cosmogony, there is no more notion of time than of space. The conception of being is more general than either, and might therefore with greater plausibility be affirmed to be a condition or quality of the mind. The a priori intuitions of Kant would have been as unintelligible to Plato as his a priori synthetical propositions to Aristotle. The philosopher of Konigsberg supposed himself to be analyzing a necessary mode of thought: he was not aware that he was dealing with a mere abstraction. But now that we are able to trace the gradual developement of ideas through religion, through language, through abstractions, why should we interpose the fiction of time between ourselves and realities? Why should we single out one of these abstractions to be the a priori condition of all the others? It comes last and not first in the order of our thoughts, and is not the condition precedent of them, but the last generalization of them. Nor can any principle be imagined more suicidal to philosophy than to assume that all the truth which we are capable of attaining is seen only through an unreal medium. If all that exists in time is illusion, we may well ask with Plato, ‘What becomes of the mind?’

Leaving the a priori conditions of sensation we may proceed to consider acts of sense. These admit of various degrees of duration or intensity; they admit also of a greater or less extension from one object, which is perceived directly, to many which are perceived indirectly or in a less degree, and to the various associations of the object which are latent in the mind. In general the greater the intension the less the extension of them. The simplest sensation implies some relation of objects to one another, some position in space, some relation to a previous or subsequent sensation. The acts of seeing and hearing may be almost unconscious and may pass away unnoted; they may also leave an impression behind them or power of recalling them. If, after seeing an object we shut our eyes, the object remains dimly seen in the same or about the same place, but with form and lineaments half filled up. This is the simplest act of memory. And as we cannot see one thing without at the same time seeing another, different objects hang together in recollection, and when we call for one the other quickly follows. To think of the place in which we have last seen a thing is often the best way of recalling it to the mind. Hence memory is dependent on association. The act of recollection may be compared to the sight of an object at a great distance which we have previously seen near and seek to bring near to us in thought. Memory is to sense as dreaming is to waking; and like dreaming has a wayward and uncertain power of recalling impressions from the past.

Thus begins the passage from the outward to the inward sense. But as yet there is no conception of a universal — the mind only remembers the individual object or objects, and is always attaching to them some colour or association of sense. The power of recollection seems to depend on the intensity or largeness of the perception, or on the strength of some emotion with which it is inseparably connected. This is the natural memory which is allied to sense, such as children appear to have and barbarians and animals. It is necessarily limited in range, and its limitation is its strength. In later life, when the mind has become crowded with names, acts, feelings, images innumerable, we acquire by education another memory of system and arrangement which is both stronger and weaker than the first — weaker in the recollection of sensible impressions as they are represented to us by eye or ear — stronger by the natural connexion of ideas with objects or with one another. And many of the notions which form a part of the train of our thoughts are hardly realized by us at the time, but, like numbers or algebraical symbols, are used as signs only, thus lightening the labour of recollection.

And now we may suppose that numerous images present themselves to the mind, which begins to act upon them and to arrange them in various ways. Besides the impression of external objects present with us or just absent from us, we have a dimmer conception of other objects which have disappeared from our immediate recollection and yet continue to exist in us. The mind is full of fancies which are passing to and fro before it. Some feeling or association calls them up, and they are uttered by the lips. This is the first rudimentary imagination, which may be truly described in the language of Hobbes, as ‘decaying sense,’ an expression which may be applied with equal truth to memory as well. For memory and imagination, though we sometimes oppose them, are nearly allied; the difference between them seems chiefly to lie in the activity of the one compared with the passivity of the other. The sense decaying in memory receives a flash of light or life from imagination. Dreaming is a link of connexion between them; for in dreaming we feebly recollect and also feebly imagine at one and the same time. When reason is asleep the lower part of the mind wanders at will amid the images which have been received from without, the intelligent element retires, and the sensual or sensuous takes its place. And so in the first efforts of imagination reason is latent or set aside; and images, in part disorderly, but also having a unity (however imperfect) of their own, pour like a flood over the mind. And if we could penetrate into the heads of animals we should probably find that their intelligence, or the state of what in them is analogous to our intelligence, is of this nature.

Thus far we have been speaking of men, rather in the points in which they resemble animals than in the points in which they differ from them. The animal too has memory in various degrees, and the elements of imagination, if, as appears to be the case, he dreams. How far their powers or instincts are educated by the circumstances of their lives or by intercourse with one another or with mankind, we cannot precisely tell. They, like ourselves, have the physical inheritance of form, scent, hearing, sight, and other qualities or instincts. But they have not the mental inheritance of thoughts and ideas handed down by tradition, ‘the slow additions that build up the mind’ of the human race. And language, which is the great educator of mankind, is wanting in them; whereas in us language is ever present — even in the infant the latent power of naming is almost immediately observable. And therefore the description which has been already given of the nascent power of the faculties is in reality an anticipation. For simultaneous with their growth in man a growth of language must be supposed. The child of two years old sees the fire once and again, and the feeble observation of the same recurring object is associated with the feeble utterance of the name by which he is taught to call it. Soon he learns to utter the name when the object is no longer there, but the desire or imagination of it is present to him. At first in every use of the word there is a colour of sense, an indistinct picture of the object which accompanies it. But in later years he sees in the name only the universal or class word, and the more abstract the notion becomes, the more vacant is the image which is presented to him. Henceforward all the operations of his mind, including the perceptions of sense, are a synthesis of sensations, words, conceptions. In seeing or hearing or looking or listening the sensible impression prevails over the conception and the word. In reflection the process is reversed — the outward object fades away into nothingness, the name or the conception or both together are everything. Language, like number, is intermediate between the two, partaking of the definiteness of the outer and of the universality of the inner world. For logic teaches us that every word is really a universal, and only condescends by the help of position or circumlocution to become the expression of individuals or particulars. And sometimes by using words as symbols we are able to give a ‘local habitation and a name’ to the infinite and inconceivable.

Thus we see that no line can be drawn between the powers of sense and of reflection — they pass imperceptibly into one another. We may indeed distinguish between the seeing and the closed eye — between the sensation and the recollection of it. But this distinction carries us a very little way, for recollection is present in sight as well as sight in recollection. There is no impression of sense which does not simultaneously recall differences of form, number, colour, and the like. Neither is such a distinction applicable at all to our internal bodily sensations, which give no sign of themselves when unaccompanied with pain, and even when we are most conscious of them, have often no assignable place in the human frame. Who can divide the nerves or great nervous centres from the mind which uses them? Who can separate the pains and pleasures of the mind from the pains and pleasures of the body? The words ‘inward and outward,’ ‘active and passive,’ ‘mind and body,’ are best conceived by us as differences of degree passing into differences of kind, and at one time and under one aspect acting in harmony and then again opposed. They introduce a system and order into the knowledge of our being; and yet, like many other general terms, are often in advance of our actual analysis or observation.

According to some writers the inward sense is only the fading away or imperfect realization of the outward. But this leaves out of sight one half of the phenomenon. For the mind is not only withdrawn from the world of sense but introduced to a higher world of thought and reflection, in which, like the outward sense, she is trained and educated. By use the outward sense becomes keener and more intense, especially when confined within narrow limits. The savage with little or no thought has a quicker discernment of the track than the civilised man; in like manner the dog, having the help of scent as well as of sight, is superior to the savage. By use again the inward thought becomes more defined and distinct; what was at first an effort is made easy by the natural instrumentality of language, and the mind learns to grasp universals with no more exertion than is required for the sight of an outward object. There is a natural connexion and arrangement of them, like the association of objects in a landscape. Just as a note or two of music suffices to recall a whole piece to the musician’s or composer’s mind, so a great principle or leading thought suggests and arranges a world of particulars. The power of reflection is not feebler than the faculty of sense, but of a higher and more comprehensive nature. It not only receives the universals of sense, but gives them a new content by comparing and combining them with one another. It withdraws from the seen that it may dwell in the unseen. The sense only presents us with a flat and impenetrable surface: the mind takes the world to pieces and puts it together on a new pattern. The universals which are detached from sense are reconstructed in science. They and not the mere impressions of sense are the truth of the world in which we live; and (as an argument to those who will only believe ‘what they can hold in their hands’) we may further observe that they are the source of our power over it. To say that the outward sense is stronger than the inward is like saying that the arm of the workman is stronger than the constructing or directing mind.

Returning to the senses we may briefly consider two questions — first their relation to the mind, secondly, their relation to outward objects: —

1. The senses are not merely ‘holes set in a wooden horse’ (Theaet.), but instruments of the mind with which they are organically connected. There is no use of them without some use of words — some natural or latent logic — some previous experience or observation. Sensation, like all other mental processes, is complex and relative, though apparently simple. The senses mutually confirm and support one another; it is hard to say how much our impressions of hearing may be affected by those of sight, or how far our impressions of sight may be corrected by the touch, especially in infancy. The confirmation of them by one another cannot of course be given by any one of them. Many intuitions which are inseparable from the act of sense are really the result of complicated reasonings. The most cursory glance at objects enables the experienced eye to judge approximately of their relations and distance, although nothing is impressed upon the retina except colour, including gradations of light and shade. From these delicate and almost imperceptible differences we seem chiefly to derive our ideas of distance and position. By comparison of what is near with what is distant we learn that the tree, house, river, etc. which are a long way off are objects of a like nature with those which are seen by us in our immediate neighbourhood, although the actual impression made on the eye is very different in one case and in the other. This is a language of ‘large and small letters’ (Republic), slightly differing in form and exquisitely graduated by distance, which we are learning all our life long, and which we attain in various degrees according to our powers of sight or observation. There is nor the consideration. The greater or less strain upon the nerves of the eye or ear is communicated to the mind and silently informs the judgment. We have also the use not of one eye only, but of two, which give us a wider range, and help us to discern, by the greater or less acuteness of the angle which the rays of sight form, the distance of an object and its relation to other objects. But we are already passing beyond the limits of our actual knowledge on a subject which has given rise to many conjectures. More important than the addition of another conjecture is the observation, whether in the case of sight or of any other sense, of the great complexity of the causes and the great simplicity of the effect.

The sympathy of the mind and the ear is no less striking than the sympathy of the mind and the eye. Do we not seem to perceive instinctively and as an act of sense the differences of articulate speech and of musical notes? Yet how small a part of speech or of music is produced by the impression of the ear compared with that which is furnished by the mind!

Again: the more refined faculty of sense, as in animals so also in man, seems often to be transmitted by inheritance. Neither must we forget that in the use of the senses, as in his whole nature, man is a social being, who is always being educated by language, habit, and the teaching of other men as well as by his own observation. He knows distance because he is taught it by a more experienced judgment than his own; he distinguishes sounds because he is told to remark them by a person of a more discerning ear. And as we inherit from our parents or other ancestors peculiar powers of sense or feeling, so we improve and strengthen them, not only by regular teaching, but also by sympathy and communion with other persons.

2. The second question, namely, that concerning the relation of the mind to external objects, is really a trifling one, though it has been made the subject of a famous philosophy. We may if we like, with Berkeley, resolve objects of sense into sensations; but the change is one of name only, and nothing is gained and something is lost by such a resolution or confusion of them. For we have not really made a single step towards idealism, and any arbitrary inversion of our ordinary modes of speech is disturbing to the mind. The youthful metaphysician is delighted at his marvellous discovery that nothing is, and that what we see or feel is our sensation only: for a day or two the world has a new interest to him; he alone knows the secret which has been communicated to him by the philosopher, that mind is all — when in fact he is going out of his mind in the first intoxication of a great thought. But he soon finds that all things remain as they were — the laws of motion, the properties of matter, the qualities of substances. After having inflicted his theories on any one who is willing to receive them ‘first on his father and mother, secondly on some other patient listener, thirdly on his dog,’ he finds that he only differs from the rest of mankind in the use of a word. He had once hoped that by getting rid of the solidity of matter he might open a passage to worlds beyond. He liked to think of the world as the representation of the divine nature, and delighted to imagine angels and spirits wandering through space, present in the room in which he is sitting without coming through the door, nowhere and everywhere at the same instant. At length he finds that he has been the victim of his own fancies; he has neither more nor less evidence of the supernatural than he had before. He himself has become unsettled, but the laws of the world remain fixed as at the beginning. He has discovered that his appeal to the fallibility of sense was really an illusion. For whatever uncertainty there may be in the appearances of nature, arises only out of the imperfection or variation of the human senses, or possibly from the deficiency of certain branches of knowledge; when science is able to apply her tests, the uncertainty is at an end. We are apt sometimes to think that moral and metaphysical philosophy are lowered by the influence which is exercised over them by physical science. But any interpretation of nature by physical science is far in advance of such idealism. The philosophy of Berkeley, while giving unbounded license to the imagination, is still grovelling on the level of sense.

We may, if we please, carry this scepticism a step further, and deny, not only objects of sense, but the continuity of our sensations themselves. We may say with Protagoras and Hume that what is appears, and that what appears appears only to individuals, and to the same individual only at one instant. But then, as Plato asks, — and we must repeat the question, — What becomes of the mind? Experience tells us by a thousand proofs that our sensations of colour, taste, and the like, are the same as they were an instant ago — that the act which we are performing one minute is continued by us in the next — and also supplies abundant proof that the perceptions of other men are, speaking generally, the same or nearly the same with our own. After having slowly and laboriously in the course of ages gained a conception of a whole and parts, of the constitution of the mind, of the relation of man to God and nature, imperfect indeed, but the best we can, we are asked to return again to the ‘beggarly elements’ of ancient scepticism, and acknowledge only atoms and sensations devoid of life or unity. Why should we not go a step further still and doubt the existence of the senses of all things? We are but ‘such stuff as dreams are made of;’ for we have left ourselves no instruments of thought by which we can distinguish man from the animals, or conceive of the existence even of a mollusc. And observe, this extreme scepticism has been allowed to spring up among us, not, like the ancient scepticism, in an age when nature and language really seemed to be full of illusions, but in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when men walk in the daylight of inductive science.

The attractiveness of such speculations arises out of their true nature not being perceived. They are veiled in graceful language; they are not pushed to extremes; they stop where the human mind is disposed also to stop — short of a manifest absurdity. Their inconsistency is not observed by their authors or by mankind in general, who are equally inconsistent themselves. They leave on the mind a pleasing sense of wonder and novelty: in youth they seem to have a natural affinity to one class of persons as poetry has to another; but in later life either we drift back into common sense, or we make them the starting-points of a higher philosophy.

We are often told that we should enquire into all things before we accept them; — with what limitations is this true? For we cannot use our senses without admitting that we have them, or think without presupposing that there is in us a power of thought, or affirm that all knowledge is derived from experience without implying that this first principle of knowledge is prior to experience. The truth seems to be that we begin with the natural use of the mind as of the body, and we seek to describe this as well as we can. We eat before we know the nature of digestion; we think before we know the nature of reflection. As our knowledge increases, our perception of the mind enlarges also. We cannot indeed get beyond facts, but neither can we draw any line which separates facts from ideas. And the mind is not something separate from them but included in them, and they in the mind, both having a distinctness and individuality of their own. To reduce our conception of mind to a succession of feelings and sensations is like the attempt to view a wide prospect by inches through a microscope, or to calculate a period of chronology by minutes. The mind ceases to exist when it loses its continuity, which though far from being its highest determination, is yet necessary to any conception of it. Even an inanimate nature cannot be adequately represented as an endless succession of states or conditions.

Paragraph II. Another division of the subject has yet to be considered: Why should the doctrine that knowledge is sensation, in ancient times, or of sensationalism or materialism in modern times, be allied to the lower rather than to the higher view of ethical philosophy? At first sight the nature and origin of knowledge appear to be wholly disconnected from ethics and religion, nor can we deny that the ancient Stoics were materialists, or that the materialist doctrines prevalent in modern times have been associated with great virtues, or that both religious and philosophical idealism have not unfrequently parted company with practice. Still upon the whole it must be admitted that the higher standard of duty has gone hand in hand with the higher conception of knowledge. It is Protagoras who is seeking to adapt himself to the opinions of the world; it is Plato who rises above them: the one maintaining that all knowledge is sensation; the other basing the virtues on the idea of good. The reason of this phenomenon has now to be examined.

By those who rest knowledge immediately upon sense, that explanation of human action is deemed to be the truest which is nearest to sense. As knowledge is reduced to sensation, so virtue is reduced to feeling, happiness or good to pleasure. The different virtues — the various characters which exist in the world — are the disguises of self-interest. Human nature is dried up; there is no place left for imagination, or in any higher sense for religion. Ideals of a whole, or of a state, or of a law of duty, or of a divine perfection, are out of place in an Epicurean philosophy. The very terms in which they are expressed are suspected of having no meaning. Man is to bring himself back as far as he is able to the condition of a rational beast. He is to limit himself to the pursuit of pleasure, but of this he is to make a far-sighted calculation; — he is to be rationalized, secularized, animalized: or he is to be an amiable sceptic, better than his own philosophy, and not falling below the opinions of the world.

Imagination has been called that ‘busy faculty’ which is always intruding upon us in the search after truth. But imagination is also that higher power by which we rise above ourselves and the commonplaces of thought and life. The philosophical imagination is another name for reason finding an expression of herself in the outward world. To deprive life of ideals is to deprive it of all higher and comprehensive aims and of the power of imparting and communicating them to others. For men are taught, not by those who are on a level with them, but by those who rise above them, who see the distant hills, who soar into the empyrean. Like a bird in a cage, the mind confined to sense is always being brought back from the higher to the lower, from the wider to the narrower view of human knowledge. It seeks to fly but cannot: instead of aspiring towards perfection, ‘it hovers about this lower world and the earthly nature.’ It loses the religious sense which more than any other seems to take a man out of himself. Weary of asking ‘What is truth?’ it accepts the ‘blind witness of eyes and ears;’ it draws around itself the curtain of the physical world and is satisfied. The strength of a sensational philosophy lies in the ready accommodation of it to the minds of men; many who have been metaphysicians in their youth, as they advance in years are prone to acquiesce in things as they are, or rather appear to be. They are spectators, not thinkers, and the best philosophy is that which requires of them the least amount of mental effort.

As a lower philosophy is easier to apprehend than a higher, so a lower way of life is easier to follow; and therefore such a philosophy seems to derive a support from the general practice of mankind. It appeals to principles which they all know and recognize: it gives back to them in a generalized form the results of their own experience. To the man of the world they are the quintessence of his own reflections upon life. To follow custom, to have no new ideas or opinions, not to be straining after impossibilities, to enjoy to-day with just so much forethought as is necessary to provide for the morrow, this is regarded by the greater part of the world as the natural way of passing through existence. And many who have lived thus have attained to a lower kind of happiness or equanimity. They have possessed their souls in peace without ever allowing them to wander into the region of religious or political controversy, and without any care for the higher interests of man. But nearly all the good (as well as some of the evil) which has ever been done in this world has been the work of another spirit, the work of enthusiasts and idealists, of apostles and martyrs. The leaders of mankind have not been of the gentle Epicurean type; they have personified ideas; they have sometimes also been the victims of them. But they have always been seeking after a truth or ideal of which they fell short; and have died in a manner disappointed of their hopes that they might lift the human race out of the slough in which they found them. They have done little compared with their own visions and aspirations; but they have done that little, only because they sought to do, and once perhaps thought that they were doing, a great deal more.

The philosophies of Epicurus or Hume give no adequate or dignified conception of the mind. There is no organic unity in a succession of feeling or sensations; no comprehensiveness in an infinity of separate actions. The individual never reflects upon himself as a whole; he can hardly regard one act or part of his life as the cause or effect of any other act or part. Whether in practice or speculation, he is to himself only in successive instants. To such thinkers, whether in ancient or in modern times, the mind is only the poor recipient of impressions — not the heir of all the ages, or connected with all other minds. It begins again with its own modicum of experience having only such vague conceptions of the wisdom of the past as are inseparable from language and popular opinion. It seeks to explain from the experience of the individual what can only be learned from the history of the world. It has no conception of obligation, duty, conscience — these are to the Epicurean or Utilitarian philosopher only names which interfere with our natural perceptions of pleasure and pain.

There seem then to be several answers to the question, Why the theory that all knowledge is sensation is allied to the lower rather than to the higher view of ethical philosophy: — 1st, Because it is easier to understand and practise; 2ndly, Because it is fatal to the pursuit of ideals, moral, political, or religious; 3rdly, Because it deprives us of the means and instruments of higher thought, of any adequate conception of the mind, of knowledge, of conscience, of moral obligation.

...

ON THE NATURE AND LIMITS Of PSYCHOLOGY.

O gar arche men o me oide, teleute de kai ta metaxu ex ou me

oide sumpeplektai, tis mechane ten toiauten omologian pote

epistemen genesthai; Plato Republic.

Monon gar auto legeiv, osper gumnon kai aperemomenon apo ton

onton apanton, adunaton.  Soph.

Since the above essay first appeared, many books on Psychology have been given to the world, partly based upon the views of Herbart and other German philosophers, partly independent of them. The subject has gained in bulk and extent; whether it has had any true growth is more doubtful. It begins to assume the language and claim the authority of a science; but it is only an hypothesis or outline, which may be filled up in many ways according to the fancy of individual thinkers. The basis of it is a precarious one, — consciousness of ourselves and a somewhat uncertain observation of the rest of mankind. Its relations to other sciences are not yet determined: they seem to be almost too complicated to be ascertained. It may be compared to an irregular building, run up hastily and not likely to last, because its foundations are weak, and in many places rest only on the surface of the ground. It has sought rather to put together scattered observations and to make them into a system than to describe or prove them. It has never severely drawn the line between facts and opinions. It has substituted a technical phraseology for the common use of language, being neither able to win acceptance for the one nor to get rid of the other.

The system which has thus arisen appears to be a kind of metaphysic narrowed to the point of view of the individual mind, through which, as through some new optical instrument limiting the sphere of vision, the interior of thought and sensation is examined. But the individual mind in the abstract, as distinct from the mind of a particular individual and separated from the environment of circumstances, is a fiction only. Yet facts which are partly true gather around this fiction and are naturally described by the help of it. There is also a common type of the mind which is derived from the comparison of many minds with one another and with our own. The phenomena of which Psychology treats are familiar to us, but they are for the most part indefinite; they relate to a something inside the body, which seems also to overleap the limits of space. The operations of this something, when isolated, cannot be analyzed by us or subjected to observation and experiment. And there is another point to be considered. The mind, when thinking, cannot survey that part of itself which is used in thought. It can only be contemplated in the past, that is to say, in the history of the individual or of the world. This is the scientific method of studying the mind. But Psychology has also some other supports, specious rather than real. It is partly sustained by the false analogy of Physical Science and has great expectations from its near relationship to Physiology. We truly remark that there is an infinite complexity of the body corresponding to the infinite subtlety of the mind; we are conscious that they are very nearly connected. But in endeavouring to trace the nature of the connexion we are baffled and disappointed. In our knowledge of them the gulf remains the same: no microscope has ever seen into thought; no reflection on ourselves has supplied the missing link between mind and matter...These are the conditions of this very inexact science, and we shall only know less of it by pretending to know more, or by assigning to it a form or style to which it has not yet attained and is not really entitled.

Experience shows that any system, however baseless and ineffectual, in our own or in any other age, may be accepted and continue to be studied, if it seeks to satisfy some unanswered question or is based upon some ancient tradition, especially if it takes the form and uses the language of inductive philosophy. The fact therefore that such a science exists and is popular, affords no evidence of its truth or value. Many who have pursued it far into detail have never examined the foundations on which it rests. The have been many imaginary subjects of knowledge of which enthusiastic persons have made a lifelong study, without ever asking themselves what is the evidence for them, what is the use of them, how long they will last? They may pass away, like the authors of them, and ‘leave not a wrack behind;’ or they may survive in fragments. Nor is it only in the Middle Ages, or in the literary desert of China or of India, that such systems have arisen; in our own enlightened age, growing up by the side of Physics, Ethics, and other really progressive sciences, there is a weary waste of knowledge, falsely so-called. There are sham sciences which no logic has ever put to the test, in which the desire for knowledge invents the materials of it.

And therefore it is expedient once more to review the bases of Psychology, lest we should be imposed upon by its pretensions. The study of it may have done good service by awakening us to the sense of inveterate errors familiarized by language, yet it may have fallen into still greater ones; under the pretence of new investigations it may be wasting the lives of those who are engaged in it. It may also be found that the discussion of it will throw light upon some points in the Theaetetus of Plato, — the oldest work on Psychology which has come down to us. The imaginary science may be called, in the language of ancient philosophy, ‘a shadow of a part of Dialectic or Metaphysic’ (Gorg.).

In this postscript or appendix we propose to treat, first, of the true bases of Psychology; secondly, of the errors into which the students of it are most likely to fall; thirdly, of the principal subjects which are usually comprehended under it; fourthly, of the form which facts relating to the mind most naturally assume.

We may preface the enquiry by two or three remarks: —

(1) We do not claim for the popular Psychology the position of a science at all; it cannot, like the Physical Sciences, proceed by the Inductive Method: it has not the necessity of Mathematics: it does not, like Metaphysic, argue from abstract notions or from internal coherence. It is made up of scattered observations. A few of these, though they may sometimes appear to be truisms, are of the greatest value, and free from all doubt. We are conscious of them in ourselves; we observe them working in others; we are assured of them at all times. For example, we are absolutely certain, (a) of the influence exerted by the mind over the body or by the body over the mind: (b) of the power of association, by which the appearance of some person or the occurrence of some event recalls to mind, not always but often, other persons and events: (c) of the effect of habit, which is strongest when least disturbed by reflection, and is to the mind what the bones are to the body: (d) of the real, though not unlimited, freedom of the human will: (e) of the reference, more or less distinct, of our sensations, feelings, thoughts, actions, to ourselves, which is called consciousness, or, when in excess, self-consciousness: (f) of the distinction of the ‘I’ and ‘Not I,’ of ourselves and outward objects. But when we attempt to gather up these elements in a single system, we discover that the links by which we combine them are apt to be mere words. We are in a country which has never been cleared or surveyed; here and there only does a gleam of light come through the darkness of the forest.

(2) These fragments, although they can never become science in the ordinary sense of the word, are a real part of knowledge and may be of great value in education. We may be able to add a good deal to them from our own experience, and we may verify them by it. Self-examination is one of those studies which a man can pursue alone, by attention to himself and the processes of his individual mind. He may learn much about his own character and about the character of others, if he will ‘make his mind sit down’ and look at itself in the glass. The great, if not the only use of such a study is a practical one, — to know, first, human nature, and, secondly, our own nature, as it truly is.

(3) Hence it is important that we should conceive of the mind in the noblest and simplest manner. While acknowledging that language has been the greatest factor in the formation of human thought, we must endeavour to get rid of the disguises, oppositions, contradictions, which arise out of it. We must disengage ourselves from the ideas which the customary use of words has implanted in us. To avoid error as much as possible when we are speaking of things unseen, the principal terms which we use should be few, and we should not allow ourselves to be enslaved by them. Instead of seeking to frame a technical language, we should vary our forms of speech, lest they should degenerate into formulas. A difficult philosophical problem is better understood when translated into the vernacular.

I.a. Psychology is inseparable from language, and early language contains the first impressions or the oldest experience of man respecting himself. These impressions are not accurate representations of the truth; they are the reflections of a rudimentary age of philosophy. The first and simplest forms of thought are rooted so deep in human nature that they can never be got rid of; but they have been perpetually enlarged and elevated, and the use of many words has been transferred from the body to the mind. The spiritual and intellectual have thus become separated from the material — there is a cleft between them; and the heart and the conscience of man rise above the dominion of the appetites and create a new language in which they too find expression. As the differences of actions begin to be perceived, more and more names are needed. This is the first analysis of the human mind; having a general foundation in popular experience, it is moulded to a certain extent by hierophants and philosophers. (See Introd. to Cratylus.)

b. This primitive psychology is continually receiving additions from the first thinkers, who in return take a colour from the popular language of the time. The mind is regarded from new points of view, and becomes adapted to new conditions of knowledge. It seeks to isolate itself from matter and sense, and to assert its independence in thought. It recognizes that it is independent of the external world. It has five or six natural states or stages: — (1) sensation, in which it is almost latent or quiescent: (2) feeling, or inner sense, when the mind is just awakening: (3) memory, which is decaying sense, and from time to time, as with a spark or flash, has the power of recollecting or reanimating the buried past: (4) thought, in which images pass into abstract notions or are intermingled with them: (5) action, in which the mind moves forward, of itself, or under the impulse of want or desire or pain, to attain or avoid some end or consequence: and (6) there is the composition of these or the admixture or assimilation of them in various degrees. We never see these processes of the mind, nor can we tell the causes of them. But we know them by their results, and learn from other men that so far as we can describe to them or they to us the workings of the mind, their experience is the same or nearly the same with our own.

c. But the knowledge of the mind is not to any great extent derived from the observation of the individual by himself. It is the growing consciousness of the human race, embodied in language, acknowledged by experience, and corrected from time to time by the influence of literature and philosophy. A great, perhaps the most important, part of it is to be found in early Greek thought. In the Theaetetus of Plato it has not yet become fixed: we are still stumbling on the threshold. In Aristotle the process is more nearly completed, and has gained innumerable abstractions, of which many have had to be thrown away because relative only to the controversies of the time. In the interval between Thales and Aristotle were realized the distinctions of mind and body, of universal and particular, of infinite and infinitesimal, of idea and phenomenon; the class conceptions of faculties and virtues, the antagonism of the appetites and the reason; and connected with this, at a higher stage of development, the opposition of moral and intellectual virtue; also the primitive conceptions of unity, being, rest, motion, and the like. These divisions were not really scientific, but rather based on popular experience. They were not held with the precision of modern thinkers, but taken all together they gave a new existence to the mind in thought, and greatly enlarged and more accurately defined man’s knowledge of himself and of the world. The majority of them have been accepted by Christian and Western nations. Yet in modern times we have also drifted so far away from Aristotle, that if we were to frame a system on his lines we should be at war with ordinary language and untrue to our own consciousness. And there have been a few both in mediaeval times and since the Reformation who have rebelled against the Aristotelian point of view. Of these eccentric thinkers there have been various types, but they have all a family likeness. According to them, there has been too much analysis and too little synthesis, too much division of the mind into parts and too little conception of it as a whole or in its relation to God and the laws of the universe. They have thought that the elements of plurality and unity have not been duly adjusted. The tendency of such writers has been to allow the personality of man to be absorbed in the universal, or in the divine nature, and to deny the distinction between matter and mind, or to substitute one for the other. They have broken some of the idols of Psychology: they have challenged the received meaning of words: they have regarded the mind under many points of view. But though they may have shaken the old, they have not established the new; their views of philosophy, which seem like the echo of some voice from the East, have been alien to the mind of Europe.

d. The Psychology which is found in common language is in some degree verified by experience, but not in such a manner as to give it the character of an exact science. We cannot say that words always correspond to facts. Common language represents the mind from different and even opposite points of view, which cannot be all of them equally true (compare Cratylus). Yet from diversity of statements and opinions may be obtained a nearer approach to the truth than is to be gained from any one of them. It also tends to correct itself, because it is gradually brought nearer to the common sense of mankind. There are some leading categories or classifications of thought, which, though unverified, must always remain the elements from which the science or study of the mind proceeds. For example, we must assume ideas before we can analyze them, and also a continuing mind to which they belong; the resolution of it into successive moments, which would say, with Protagoras, that the man is not the same person which he was a minute ago, is, as Plato implies in the Theaetetus, an absurdity.

e. The growth of the mind, which may be traced in the histories of religions and philosophies and in the thoughts of nations, is one of the deepest and noblest modes of studying it. Here we are dealing with the reality, with the greater and, as it may be termed, the most sacred part of history. We study the mind of man as it begins to be inspired by a human or divine reason, as it is modified by circumstances, as it is distributed in nations, as it is renovated by great movements, which go beyond the limits of nations and affect human society on a scale still greater, as it is created or renewed by great minds, who, looking down from above, have a wider and more comprehensive vision. This is an ambitious study, of which most of us rather ‘entertain conjecture’ than arrive at any detailed or accurate knowledge. Later arises the reflection how these great ideas or movements of the world have been appropriated by the multitude and found a way to the minds of individuals. The real Psychology is that which shows how the increasing knowledge of nature and the increasing experience of life have always been slowly transforming the mind, how religions too have been modified in the course of ages ‘that God may be all and in all.’ E pollaplasion, eoe, to ergon e os nun zeteitai prostatteis.

f. Lastly, though we speak of the study of mind in a special sense, it may also be said that there is no science which does not contribute to our knowledge of it. The methods of science and their analogies are new faculties, discovered by the few and imparted to the many. They are to the mind, what the senses are to the body; or better, they may be compared to instruments such as the telescope or microscope by which the discriminating power of the senses, or to other mechanical inventions, by which the strength and skill of the human body is so immeasurably increased.

II. The new Psychology, whatever may be its claim to the authority of a science, has called attention to many facts and corrected many errors, which without it would have been unexamined. Yet it is also itself very liable to illusion. The evidence on which it rests is vague and indefinite. The field of consciousness is never seen by us as a whole, but only at particular points, which are always changing. The veil of language intercepts facts. Hence it is desirable that in making an approach to the study we should consider at the outset what are the kinds of error which most easily affect it, and note the differences which separate it from other branches of knowledge.

a. First, we observe the mind by the mind. It would seem therefore that we are always in danger of leaving out the half of that which is the subject of our enquiry. We come at once upon the difficulty of what is the meaning of the word. Does it differ as subject and object in the same manner? Can we suppose one set of feelings or one part of the mind to interpret another? Is the introspecting thought the same with the thought which is introspected? Has the mind the power of surveying its whole domain at one and the same time? — No more than the eye can take in the whole human body at a glance. Yet there may be a glimpse round the corner, or a thought transferred in a moment from one point of view to another, which enables us to see nearly the whole, if not at once, at any rate in succession. Such glimpses will hardly enable us to contemplate from within the mind in its true proportions. Hence the firmer ground of Psychology is not the consciousness of inward feelings but the observation of external actions, being the actions not only of ourselves, but of the innumerable persons whom we come across in life.

b. The error of supposing partial or occasional explanation of mental phenomena to be the only or complete ones. For example, we are disinclined to admit of the spontaneity or discontinuity of the mind — it seems to us like an effect without a cause, and therefore we suppose the train of our thoughts to be always called up by association. Yet it is probable, or indeed certain, that of many mental phenomena there are no mental antecedents, but only bodily ones.

c. The false influence of language. We are apt to suppose that when there are two or more words describing faculties or processes of the mind, there are real differences corresponding to them. But this is not the case. Nor can we determine how far they do or do not exist, or by what degree or kind of difference they are distinguished. The same remark may be made about figures of speech. They fill up the vacancy of knowledge; they are to the mind what too much colour is to the eye; but the truth is rather concealed than revealed by them.

d. The uncertain meaning of terms, such as Consciousness, Conscience, Will, Law, Knowledge, Internal and External Sense; these, in the language of Plato, ‘we shamelessly use, without ever having taken the pains to analyze them.’

e. A science such as Psychology is not merely an hypothesis, but an hypothesis which, unlike the hypotheses of Physics, can never be verified. It rests only on the general impressions of mankind, and there is little or no hope of adding in any considerable degree to our stock of mental facts.

f. The parallelism of the Physical Sciences, which leads us to analyze the mind on the analogy of the body, and so to reduce mental operations to the level of bodily ones, or to confound one with the other.

g. That the progress of Physiology may throw a new light on Psychology is a dream in which scientific men are always tempted to indulge. But however certain we may be of the connexion between mind and body, the explanation of the one by the other is a hidden place of nature which has hitherto been investigated with little or no success.

h. The impossibility of distinguishing between mind and body. Neither in thought nor in experience can we separate them. They seem to act together; yet we feel that we are sometimes under the dominion of the one, sometimes of the other, and sometimes, both in the common use of language and in fact, they transform themselves, the one into the good principle, the other into the evil principle; and then again the ‘I’ comes in and mediates between them. It is also difficult to distinguish outward facts from the ideas of them in the mind, or to separate the external stimulus to a sensation from the activity of the organ, or this from the invisible agencies by which it reaches the mind, or any process of sense from its mental antecedent, or any mental energy from its nervous expression.

i. The fact that mental divisions tend to run into one another, and that in speaking of the mind we cannot always distinguish differences of kind from differences of degree; nor have we any measure of the strength and intensity of our ideas or feelings.

j. Although heredity has been always known to the ancients as well as ourselves to exercise a considerable influence on human character, yet we are unable to calculate what proportion this birth-influence bears to nurture and education. But this is the real question. We cannot pursue the mind into embryology: we can only trace how, after birth, it begins to grow. But how much is due to the soil, how much to the original latent seed, it is impossible to distinguish. And because we are certain that heredity exercises a considerable, but undefined influence, we must not increase the wonder by exaggerating it.

k. The love of system is always tending to prevail over the historical investigation of the mind, which is our chief means of knowing it. It equally tends to hinder the other great source of our knowledge of the mind, the observation of its workings and processes which we can make for ourselves.

l. The mind, when studied through the individual, is apt to be isolated — this is due to the very form of the enquiry; whereas, in truth, it is indistinguishable from circumstances, the very language which it uses being the result of the instincts of long-forgotten generations, and every word which a man utters being the answer to some other word spoken or suggested by somebody else.

III. The tendency of the preceding remarks has been to show that Psychology is necessarily a fragment, and is not and cannot be a connected system. We cannot define or limit the mind, but we can describe it. We can collect information about it; we can enumerate the principal subjects which are included in the study of it. Thus we are able to rehabilitate Psychology to some extent, not as a branch of science, but as a collection of facts bearing on human life, as a part of the history of philosophy, as an aspect of Metaphysic. It is a fragment of a science only, which in all probability can never make any great progress or attain to much clearness or exactness. It is however a kind of knowledge which has a great interest for us and is always present to us, and of which we carry about the materials in our own bosoms. We can observe our minds and we can experiment upon them, and the knowledge thus acquired is not easily forgotten, and is a help to us in study as well as in conduct.

The principal subjects of Psychology may be summed up as follows: —

a. The relation of man to the world around him, — in what sense and within what limits can he withdraw from its laws or assert himself against them (Freedom and Necessity), and what is that which we suppose to be thus independent and which we call ourselves? How does the inward differ from the outward and what is the relation between them, and where do we draw the line by which we separate mind from matter, the soul from the body? Is the mind active or passive, or partly both? Are its movements identical with those of the body, or only preconcerted and coincident with them, or is one simply an aspect of the other?

b. What are we to think of time and space? Time seems to have a nearer connexion with the mind, space with the body; yet time, as well as space, is necessary to our idea of either. We see also that they have an analogy with one another, and that in Mathematics they often interpenetrate. Space or place has been said by Kant to be the form of the outward, time of the inward sense. He regards them as parts or forms of the mind. But this is an unfortunate and inexpressive way of describing their relation to us. For of all the phenomena present to the human mind they seem to have most the character of objective existence. There is no use in asking what is beyond or behind them; we cannot get rid of them. And to throw the laws of external nature which to us are the type of the immutable into the subjective side of the antithesis seems to be equally inappropriate.

c. When in imagination we enter into the closet of the mind and withdraw ourselves from the external world, we seem to find there more or less distinct processes which may be described by the words, ‘I perceive,’ ‘I feel,’ ‘I think,’ ‘I want,’ ‘I wish,’ ‘I like,’ ‘I dislike,’ ‘I fear,’ ‘I know,’ ‘I remember,’ ‘I imagine,’ ‘I dream,’ ‘I act,’ ‘I endeavour,’ ‘I hope.’ These processes would seem to have the same notions attached to them in the minds of all educated persons. They are distinguished from one another in thought, but they intermingle. It is possible to reflect upon them or to become conscious of them in a greater or less degree, or with a greater or less continuity or attention, and thus arise the intermittent phenomena of consciousness or self-consciousness. The use of all of them is possible to us at all times; and therefore in any operation of the mind the whole are latent. But we are able to characterise them sufficiently by that part of the complex action which is the most prominent. We have no difficulty in distinguishing an act of sight or an act of will from an act of thought, although thought is present in both of them. Hence the conception of different faculties or different virtues is precarious, because each of them is passing into the other, and they are all one in the mind itself; they appear and reappear, and may all be regarded as the ever-varying phases or aspects or differences of the same mind or person.

d. Nearest the sense in the scale of the intellectual faculties is memory, which is a mode rather than a faculty of the mind, and accompanies all mental operations. There are two principal kinds of it, recollection and recognition, — recollection in which forgotten things are recalled or return to the mind, recognition in which the mind finds itself again among things once familiar. The simplest way in which we can represent the former to ourselves is by shutting our eyes and trying to recall in what we term the mind’s eye the picture of the surrounding scene, or by laying down the book which we are reading and recapitulating what we can remember of it. But many times more powerful than recollection is recognition, perhaps because it is more assisted by association. We have known and forgotten, and after a long interval the thing which we have seen once is seen again by us, but with a different feeling, and comes back to us, not as new knowledge, but as a thing to which we ourselves impart a notion already present to us; in Plato’s words, we set the stamp upon the wax. Every one is aware of the difference between the first and second sight of a place, between a scene clothed with associations or bare and divested of them. We say to ourselves on revisiting a spot after a long interval: How many things have happened since I last saw this! There is probably no impression ever received by us of which we can venture to say that the vestiges are altogether lost, or that we might not, under some circumstances, recover it. A long-forgotten knowledge may be easily renewed and therefore is very different from ignorance. Of the language learnt in childhood not a word may be remembered, and yet, when a new beginning is made, the old habit soon returns, the neglected organs come back into use, and the river of speech finds out the dried-up channel.

e. ‘Consciousness’ is the most treacherous word which is employed in the study of the mind, for it is used in many senses, and has rarely, if ever, been minutely analyzed. Like memory, it accompanies all mental operations, but not always continuously, and it exists in various degrees. It may be imperceptible or hardly perceptible: it may be the living sense that our thoughts, actions, sufferings, are our own. It is a kind of attention which we pay to ourselves, and is intermittent rather than continuous. Its sphere has been exaggerated. It is sometimes said to assure us of our freedom; but this is an illusion: as there may be a real freedom without consciousness of it, so there may be a consciousness of freedom without the reality. It may be regarded as a higher degree of knowledge when we not only know but know that we know. Consciousness is opposed to habit, inattention, sleep, death. It may be illustrated by its derivative conscience, which speaks to men, not only of right and wrong in the abstract, but of right and wrong actions in reference to themselves and their circumstances.

f. Association is another of the ever-present phenomena of the human mind. We speak of the laws of association, but this is an expression which is confusing, for the phenomenon itself is of the most capricious and uncertain sort. It may be briefly described as follows. The simplest case of association is that of sense. When we see or hear separately one of two things, which we have previously seen or heard together, the occurrence of the one has a tendency to suggest the other. So the sight or name of a house may recall to our minds the memory of those who once lived there. Like may recall like and everything its opposite. The parts of a whole, the terms of a series, objects lying near, words having a customary order stick together in the mind. A word may bring back a passage of poetry or a whole system of philosophy; from one end of the world or from one pole of knowledge we may travel to the other in an indivisible instant. The long train of association by which we pass from one point to the other, involving every sort of complex relation, so sudden, so accidental, is one of the greatest wonders of mind...This process however is not always continuous, but often intermittent: we can think of things in isolation as well as in association; we do not mean that they must all hang from one another. We can begin again after an interval of rest or vacancy, as a new train of thought suddenly arises, as, for example, when we wake of a morning or after violent exercise. Time, place, the same colour or sound or smell or taste, will often call up some thought or recollection either accidentally or naturally associated with them. But it is equally noticeable that the new thought may occur to us, we cannot tell how or why, by the spontaneous action of the mind itself or by the latent influence of the body. Both science and poetry are made up of associations or recollections, but we must observe also that the mind is not wholly dependent on them, having also the power of origination.

There are other processes of the mind which it is good for us to study when we are at home and by ourselves, — the manner in which thought passes into act, the conflict of passion and reason in many stages, the transition from sensuality to love or sentiment and from earthly love to heavenly, the slow and silent influence of habit, which little by little changes the nature of men, the sudden change of the old nature of man into a new one, wrought by shame or by some other overwhelming impulse. These are the greater phenomena of mind, and he who has thought of them for himself will live and move in a better-ordered world, and will himself be a better-ordered man.

At the other end of the ‘globus intellectualis,’ nearest, not to earth and sense, but to heaven and God, is the personality of man, by which he holds communion with the unseen world. Somehow, he knows not how, somewhere, he knows not where, under this higher aspect of his being he grasps the ideas of God, freedom and immortality; he sees the forms of truth, holiness and love, and is satisfied with them. No account of the mind can be complete which does not admit the reality or the possibility of another life. Whether regarded as an ideal or as a fact, the highest part of man’s nature and that in which it seems most nearly to approach the divine, is a phenomenon which exists, and must therefore be included within the domain of Psychology.

IV. We admit that there is no perfect or ideal Psychology. It is not a whole in the same sense in which Chemistry, Physiology, or Mathematics are wholes: that is to say, it is not a connected unity of knowledge. Compared with the wealth of other sciences, it rests upon a small number of facts; and when we go beyond these, we fall into conjectures and verbal discussions. The facts themselves are disjointed; the causes of them run up into other sciences, and we have no means of tracing them from one to the other. Yet it may be true of this, as of other beginnings of knowledge, that the attempt to put them together has tested the truth of them, and given a stimulus to the enquiry into them.

Psychology should be natural, not technical. It should take the form which is the most intelligible to the common understanding, because it has to do with common things, which are familiar to us all. It should aim at no more than every reflecting man knows or can easily verify for himself. When simple and unpretentious, it is least obscured by words, least liable to fall under the influence of Physiology or Metaphysic. It should argue, not from exceptional, but from ordinary phenomena. It should be careful to distinguish the higher and the lower elements of human nature, and not allow one to be veiled in the disguise of the other, lest through the slippery nature of language we should pass imperceptibly from good to evil, from nature in the higher to nature in the neutral or lower sense. It should assert consistently the unity of the human faculties, the unity of knowledge, the unity of God and law. The difference between the will and the affections and between the reason and the passions should also be recognized by it.

Its sphere is supposed to be narrowed to the individual soul; but it cannot be thus separated in fact. It goes back to the beginnings of things, to the first growth of language and philosophy, and to the whole science of man. There can be no truth or completeness in any study of the mind which is confined to the individual. The nature of language, though not the whole, is perhaps at present the most important element in our knowledge of it. It is not impossible that some numerical laws may be found to have a place in the relations of mind and matter, as in the rest of nature. The old Pythagorean fancy that the soul ’is or has in it harmony’ may in some degree be realized. But the indications of such numerical harmonies are faint; either the secret of them lies deeper than we can discover, or nature may have rebelled against the use of them in the composition of men and animals. It is with qualitative rather than with quantitative differences that we are concerned in Psychology. The facts relating to the mind which we obtain from Physiology are negative rather than positive. They show us, not the processes of mental action, but the conditions of which when deprived the mind ceases to act. It would seem as if the time had not yet arrived when we can hope to add anything of much importance to our knowledge of the mind from the investigations of the microscope. The elements of Psychology can still only be learnt from reflections on ourselves, which interpret and are also interpreted by our experience of others. The history of language, of philosophy, and religion, the great thoughts or inventions or discoveries which move mankind, furnish the larger moulds or outlines in which the human mind has been cast. From these the individual derives so much as he is able to comprehend or has the opportunity of learning.

THEAETETUS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, Theodorus, Theaetetus.

Euclid and Terpsion meet in front of Euclid’s house in Megara; they enter the house, and the dialogue is read to them by a servant.

EUCLID: Have you only just arrived from the country, Terpsion?

TERPSION: No, I came some time ago: and I have been in the Agora looking for you, and wondering that I could not find you.

EUCLID: But I was not in the city.

TERPSION: Where then?

EUCLID: As I was going down to the harbour, I met Theaetetus — he was being carried up to Athens from the army at Corinth.

TERPSION: Was he alive or dead?

EUCLID: He was scarcely alive, for he has been badly wounded; but he was suffering even more from the sickness which has broken out in the army.

TERPSION: The dysentery, you mean?

EUCLID: Yes.

TERPSION: Alas! what a loss he will be!

EUCLID: Yes, Terpsion, he is a noble fellow; only to-day I heard some people highly praising his behaviour in this very battle.

TERPSION: No wonder; I should rather be surprised at hearing anything else of him. But why did he go on, instead of stopping at Megara?

EUCLID: He wanted to get home: although I entreated and advised him to remain, he would not listen to me; so I set him on his way, and turned back, and then I remembered what Socrates had said of him, and thought how remarkably this, like all his predictions, had been fulfilled. I believe that he had seen him a little before his own death, when Theaetetus was a youth, and he had a memorable conversation with him, which he repeated to me when I came to Athens; he was full of admiration of his genius, and said that he would most certainly be a great man, if he lived.

TERPSION: The prophecy has certainly been fulfilled; but what was the conversation? can you tell me?

EUCLID: No, indeed, not offhand; but I took notes of it as soon as I got home; these I filled up from memory, writing them out at leisure; and whenever I went to Athens, I asked Socrates about any point which I had forgotten, and on my return I made corrections; thus I have nearly the whole conversation written down.

TERPSION: I remember — you told me; and I have always been intending to ask you to show me the writing, but have put off doing so; and now, why should we not read it through? — having just come from the country, I should greatly like to rest.

EUCLID: I too shall be very glad of a rest, for I went with Theaetetus as far as Erineum. Let us go in, then, and, while we are reposing, the servant shall read to us.

TERPSION: Very good.

EUCLID: Here is the roll, Terpsion; I may observe that I have introduced Socrates, not as narrating to me, but as actually conversing with the persons whom he mentioned — these were, Theodorus the geometrician (of Cyrene), and Theaetetus. I have omitted, for the sake of convenience, the interlocutory words ‘I said,’ ‘I remarked,’ which he used when he spoke of himself, and again, ‘he agreed,’ or ‘disagreed,’ in the answer, lest the repetition of them should be troublesome.

TERPSION: Quite right, Euclid.

EUCLID: And now, boy, you may take the roll and read.

EUCLID’S SERVANT READS.

SOCRATES: If I cared enough about the Cyrenians, Theodorus, I would ask you whether there are any rising geometricians or philosophers in that part of the world. But I am more interested in our own Athenian youth, and I would rather know who among them are likely to do well. I observe them as far as I can myself, and I enquire of any one whom they follow, and I see that a great many of them follow you, in which they are quite right, considering your eminence in geometry and in other ways. Tell me then, if you have met with any one who is good for anything.

THEODORUS: Yes, Socrates, I have become acquainted with one very remarkable Athenian youth, whom I commend to you as well worthy of your attention. If he had been a beauty I should have been afraid to praise him, lest you should suppose that I was in love with him; but he is no beauty, and you must not be offended if I say that he is very like you; for he has a snub nose and projecting eyes, although these features are less marked in him than in you. Seeing, then, that he has no personal attractions, I may freely say, that in all my acquaintance, which is very large, I never knew any one who was his equal in natural gifts: for he has a quickness of apprehension which is almost unrivalled, and he is exceedingly gentle, and also the most courageous of men; there is a union of qualities in him such as I have never seen in any other, and should scarcely have thought possible; for those who, like him, have quick and ready and retentive wits, have generally also quick tempers; they are ships without ballast, and go darting about, and are mad rather than courageous; and the steadier sort, when they have to face study, prove stupid and cannot remember. Whereas he moves surely and smoothly and successfully in the path of knowledge and enquiry; and he is full of gentleness, flowing on silently like a river of oil; at his age, it is wonderful.

SOCRATES: That is good news; whose son is he?

THEODORUS: The name of his father I have forgotten, but the youth himself is the middle one of those who are approaching us; he and his companions have been anointing themselves in the outer court, and now they seem to have finished, and are coming towards us. Look and see whether you know him.

SOCRATES: I know the youth, but I do not know his name; he is the son of Euphronius the Sunian, who was himself an eminent man, and such another as his son is, according to your account of him; I believe that he left a considerable fortune.

THEODORUS: Theaetetus, Socrates, is his name; but I rather think that the property disappeared in the hands of trustees; notwithstanding which he is wonderfully liberal.

SOCRATES: He must be a fine fellow; tell him to come and sit by me.

THEODORUS: I will. Come hither, Theaetetus, and sit by Socrates.

SOCRATES: By all means, Theaetetus, in order that I may see the reflection of myself in your face, for Theodorus says that we are alike; and yet if each of us held in his hands a lyre, and he said that they were tuned alike, should we at once take his word, or should we ask whether he who said so was or was not a musician?

THEAETETUS: We should ask.

SOCRATES: And if we found that he was, we should take his word; and if not, not?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if this supposed likeness of our faces is a matter of any interest to us, we should enquire whether he who says that we are alike is a painter or not?

THEAETETUS: Certainly we should.

SOCRATES: And is Theodorus a painter?

THEAETETUS: I never heard that he was.

SOCRATES: Is he a geometrician?

THEAETETUS: Of course he is, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And is he an astronomer and calculator and musician, and in general an educated man?

THEAETETUS: I think so.

SOCRATES: If, then, he remarks on a similarity in our persons, either by way of praise or blame, there is no particular reason why we should attend to him.

THEAETETUS: I should say not.

SOCRATES: But if he praises the virtue or wisdom which are the mental endowments of either of us, then he who hears the praises will naturally desire to examine him who is praised: and he again should be willing to exhibit himself.

THEAETETUS: Very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then now is the time, my dear Theaetetus, for me to examine, and for you to exhibit; since although Theodorus has praised many a citizen and stranger in my hearing, never did I hear him praise any one as he has been praising you.

THEAETETUS: I am glad to hear it, Socrates; but what if he was only in jest?

SOCRATES: Nay, Theodorus is not given to jesting; and I cannot allow you to retract your consent on any such pretence as that. If you do, he will have to swear to his words; and we are perfectly sure that no one will be found to impugn him. Do not be shy then, but stand to your word.

THEAETETUS: I suppose I must, if you wish it.

SOCRATES: In the first place, I should like to ask what you learn of Theodorus: something of geometry, perhaps?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And astronomy and harmony and calculation?

THEAETETUS: I do my best.

SOCRATES: Yes, my boy, and so do I; and my desire is to learn of him, or of anybody who seems to understand these things. And I get on pretty well in general; but there is a little difficulty which I want you and the company to aid me in investigating. Will you answer me a question: ’Is not learning growing wiser about that which you learn?’

THEAETETUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: And by wisdom the wise are wise?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is that different in any way from knowledge?

THEAETETUS: What?

SOCRATES: Wisdom; are not men wise in that which they know?

THEAETETUS: Certainly they are.

SOCRATES: Then wisdom and knowledge are the same?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Herein lies the difficulty which I can never solve to my satisfaction — What is knowledge? Can we answer that question? What say you? which of us will speak first? whoever misses shall sit down, as at a game of ball, and shall be donkey, as the boys say; he who lasts out his competitors in the game without missing, shall be our king, and shall have the right of putting to us any questions which he pleases...Why is there no reply? I hope, Theodorus, that I am not betrayed into rudeness by my love of conversation? I only want to make us talk and be friendly and sociable.

THEODORUS: The reverse of rudeness, Socrates: but I would rather that you would ask one of the young fellows; for the truth is, that I am unused to your game of question and answer, and I am too old to learn; the young will be more suitable, and they will improve more than I shall, for youth is always able to improve. And so having made a beginning with Theaetetus, I would advise you to go on with him and not let him off.

SOCRATES: Do you hear, Theaetetus, what Theodorus says? The philosopher, whom you would not like to disobey, and whose word ought to be a command to a young man, bids me interrogate you. Take courage, then, and nobly say what you think that knowledge is.

THEAETETUS: Well, Socrates, I will answer as you and he bid me; and if I make a mistake, you will doubtless correct me.

SOCRATES: We will, if we can.

THEAETETUS: Then, I think that the sciences which I learn from Theodorus — geometry, and those which you just now mentioned — are knowledge; and I would include the art of the cobbler and other craftsmen; these, each and all of, them, are knowledge.

SOCRATES: Too much, Theaetetus, too much; the nobility and liberality of your nature make you give many and diverse things, when I am asking for one simple thing.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Perhaps nothing. I will endeavour, however, to explain what I believe to be my meaning: When you speak of cobbling, you mean the art or science of making shoes?

THEAETETUS: Just so.

SOCRATES: And when you speak of carpentering, you mean the art of making wooden implements?

THEAETETUS: I do.

SOCRATES: In both cases you define the subject matter of each of the two arts?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: But that, Theaetetus, was not the point of my question: we wanted to know not the subjects, nor yet the number of the arts or sciences, for we were not going to count them, but we wanted to know the nature of knowledge in the abstract. Am I not right?

THEAETETUS: Perfectly right.

SOCRATES: Let me offer an illustration: Suppose that a person were to ask about some very trivial and obvious thing — for example, What is clay? and we were to reply, that there is a clay of potters, there is a clay of oven-makers, there is a clay of brick-makers; would not the answer be ridiculous?

THEAETETUS: Truly.

SOCRATES: In the first place, there would be an absurdity in assuming that he who asked the question would understand from our answer the nature of ‘clay,’ merely because we added ‘of the image-makers,’ or of any other workers. How can a man understand the name of anything, when he does not know the nature of it?

THEAETETUS: He cannot.

SOCRATES: Then he who does not know what science or knowledge is, has no knowledge of the art or science of making shoes?

THEAETETUS: None.

SOCRATES: Nor of any other science?

THEAETETUS: No.

SOCRATES: And when a man is asked what science or knowledge is, to give in answer the name of some art or science is ridiculous; for the question is, ‘What is knowledge?’ and he replies, ‘A knowledge of this or that.’

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Moreover, he might answer shortly and simply, but he makes an enormous circuit. For example, when asked about the clay, he might have said simply, that clay is moistened earth — what sort of clay is not to the point.

THEAETETUS: Yes, Socrates, there is no difficulty as you put the question. You mean, if I am not mistaken, something like what occurred to me and to my friend here, your namesake Socrates, in a recent discussion.

SOCRATES: What was that, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS: Theodorus was writing out for us something about roots, such as the roots of three or five, showing that they are incommensurable by the unit: he selected other examples up to seventeen — there he stopped. Now as there are innumerable roots, the notion occurred to us of attempting to include them all under one name or class.

SOCRATES: And did you find such a class?

THEAETETUS: I think that we did; but I should like to have your opinion.

SOCRATES: Let me hear.

THEAETETUS: We divided all numbers into two classes: those which are made up of equal factors multiplying into one another, which we compared to square figures and called square or equilateral numbers; — that was one class.

SOCRATES: Very good.

THEAETETUS: The intermediate numbers, such as three and five, and every other number which is made up of unequal factors, either of a greater multiplied by a less, or of a less multiplied by a greater, and when regarded as a figure, is contained in unequal sides; — all these we compared to oblong figures, and called them oblong numbers.

SOCRATES: Capital; and what followed?

THEAETETUS: The lines, or sides, which have for their squares the equilateral plane numbers, were called by us lengths or magnitudes; and the lines which are the roots of (or whose squares are equal to) the oblong numbers, were called powers or roots; the reason of this latter name being, that they are commensurable with the former [i.e., with the so-called lengths or magnitudes] not in linear measurement, but in the value of the superficial content of their squares; and the same about solids.

SOCRATES: Excellent, my boys; I think that you fully justify the praises of Theodorus, and that he will not be found guilty of false witness.

THEAETETUS: But I am unable, Socrates, to give you a similar answer about knowledge, which is what you appear to want; and therefore Theodorus is a deceiver after all.

SOCRATES: Well, but if some one were to praise you for running, and to say that he never met your equal among boys, and afterwards you were beaten in a race by a grown-up man, who was a great runner — would the praise be any the less true?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And is the discovery of the nature of knowledge so small a matter, as just now said? Is it not one which would task the powers of men perfect in every way?

THEAETETUS: By heaven, they should be the top of all perfection!

SOCRATES: Well, then, be of good cheer; do not say that Theodorus was mistaken about you, but do your best to ascertain the true nature of knowledge, as well as of other things.

THEAETETUS: I am eager enough, Socrates, if that would bring to light the truth.

SOCRATES: Come, you made a good beginning just now; let your own answer about roots be your model, and as you comprehended them all in one class, try and bring the many sorts of knowledge under one definition.

THEAETETUS: I can assure you, Socrates, that I have tried very often, when the report of questions asked by you was brought to me; but I can neither persuade myself that I have a satisfactory answer to give, nor hear of any one who answers as you would have him; and I cannot shake off a feeling of anxiety.

SOCRATES: These are the pangs of labour, my dear Theaetetus; you have something within you which you are bringing to the birth.

THEAETETUS: I do not know, Socrates; I only say what I feel.

SOCRATES: And have you never heard, simpleton, that I am the son of a midwife, brave and burly, whose name was Phaenarete?

THEAETETUS: Yes, I have.

SOCRATES: And that I myself practise midwifery?

THEAETETUS: No, never.

SOCRATES: Let me tell you that I do though, my friend: but you must not reveal the secret, as the world in general have not found me out; and therefore they only say of me, that I am the strangest of mortals and drive men to their wits’ end. Did you ever hear that too?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Shall I tell you the reason?

THEAETETUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: Bear in mind the whole business of the midwives, and then you will see my meaning better: — No woman, as you are probably aware, who is still able to conceive and bear, attends other women, but only those who are past bearing.

THEAETETUS: Yes, I know.

SOCRATES: The reason of this is said to be that Artemis — the goddess of childbirth — is not a mother, and she honours those who are like herself; but she could not allow the barren to be midwives, because human nature cannot know the mystery of an art without experience; and therefore she assigned this office to those who are too old to bear.

THEAETETUS: I dare say.

SOCRATES: And I dare say too, or rather I am absolutely certain, that the midwives know better than others who is pregnant and who is not?

THEAETETUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And by the use of potions and incantations they are able to arouse the pangs and to soothe them at will; they can make those bear who have a difficulty in bearing, and if they think fit they can smother the embryo in the womb.

THEAETETUS: They can.

SOCRATES: Did you ever remark that they are also most cunning matchmakers, and have a thorough knowledge of what unions are likely to produce a brave brood?

THEAETETUS: No, never.

SOCRATES: Then let me tell you that this is their greatest pride, more than cutting the umbilical cord. And if you reflect, you will see that the same art which cultivates and gathers in the fruits of the earth, will be most likely to know in what soils the several plants or seeds should be deposited.

THEAETETUS: Yes, the same art.

SOCRATES: And do you suppose that with women the case is otherwise?

THEAETETUS: I should think not.

SOCRATES: Certainly not; but midwives are respectable women who have a character to lose, and they avoid this department of their profession, because they are afraid of being called procuresses, which is a name given to those who join together man and woman in an unlawful and unscientific way; and yet the true midwife is also the true and only matchmaker.

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Such are the midwives, whose task is a very important one, but not so important as mine; for women do not bring into the world at one time real children, and at another time counterfeits which are with difficulty distinguished from them; if they did, then the discernment of the true and false birth would be the crowning achievement of the art of midwifery — you would think so?

THEAETETUS: Indeed I should.

SOCRATES: Well, my art of midwifery is in most respects like theirs; but differs, in that I attend men and not women; and look after their souls when they are in labour, and not after their bodies: and the triumph of my art is in thoroughly examining whether the thought which the mind of the young man brings forth is a false idol or a noble and true birth. And like the midwives, I am barren, and the reproach which is often made against me, that I ask questions of others and have not the wit to answer them myself, is very just — the reason is, that the god compels me to be a midwife, but does not allow me to bring forth. And therefore I am not myself at all wise, nor have I anything to show which is the invention or birth of my own soul, but those who converse with me profit. Some of them appear dull enough at first, but afterwards, as our acquaintance ripens, if the god is gracious to them, they all make astonishing progress; and this in the opinion of others as well as in their own. It is quite dear that they never learned anything from me; the many fine discoveries to which they cling are of their own making. But to me and the god they owe their delivery. And the proof of my words is, that many of them in their ignorance, either in their self-conceit despising me, or falling under the influence of others, have gone away too soon; and have not only lost the children of whom I had previously delivered them by an ill bringing up, but have stifled whatever else they had in them by evil communications, being fonder of lies and shams than of the truth; and they have at last ended by seeing themselves, as others see them, to be great fools. Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus, is one of them, and there are many others. The truants often return to me, and beg that I would consort with them again — they are ready to go to me on their knees — and then, if my familiar allows, which is not always the case, I receive them, and they begin to grow again. Dire are the pangs which my art is able to arouse and to allay in those who consort with me, just like the pangs of women in childbirth; night and day they are full of perplexity and travail which is even worse than that of the women. So much for them. And there are others, Theaetetus, who come to me apparently having nothing in them; and as I know that they have no need of my art, I coax them into marrying some one, and by the grace of God I can generally tell who is likely to do them good. Many of them I have given away to Prodicus, and many to other inspired sages. I tell you this long story, friend Theaetetus, because I suspect, as indeed you seem to think yourself, that you are in labour — great with some conception. Come then to me, who am a midwife’s son and myself a midwife, and do your best to answer the questions which I will ask you. And if I abstract and expose your first-born, because I discover upon inspection that the conception which you have formed is a vain shadow, do not quarrel with me on that account, as the manner of women is when their first children are taken from them. For I have actually known some who were ready to bite me when I deprived them of a darling folly; they did not perceive that I acted from goodwill, not knowing that no god is the enemy of man — that was not within the range of their ideas; neither am I their enemy in all this, but it would be wrong for me to admit falsehood, or to stifle the truth. Once more, then, Theaetetus, I repeat my old question, ‘What is knowledge?’ — and do not say that you cannot tell; but quit yourself like a man, and by the help of God you will be able to tell.

THEAETETUS: At any rate, Socrates, after such an exhortation I should be ashamed of not trying to do my best. Now he who knows perceives what he knows, and, as far as I can see at present, knowledge is perception.

SOCRATES: Bravely said, boy; that is the way in which you should express your opinion. And now, let us examine together this conception of yours, and see whether it is a true birth or a mere wind-egg: — You say that knowledge is perception?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well, you have delivered yourself of a very important doctrine about knowledge; it is indeed the opinion of Protagoras, who has another way of expressing it. Man, he says, is the measure of all things, of the existence of things that are, and of the non-existence of things that are not: — You have read him?

THEAETETUS: O yes, again and again.

SOCRATES: Does he not say that things are to you such as they appear to you, and to me such as they appear to me, and that you and I are men?

THEAETETUS: Yes, he says so.

SOCRATES: A wise man is not likely to talk nonsense. Let us try to understand him: the same wind is blowing, and yet one of us may be cold and the other not, or one may be slightly and the other very cold?

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Now is the wind, regarded not in relation to us but absolutely, cold or not; or are we to say, with Protagoras, that the wind is cold to him who is cold, and not to him who is not?

THEAETETUS: I suppose the last.

SOCRATES: Then it must appear so to each of them?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And ‘appears to him’ means the same as ‘he perceives.’

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then appearing and perceiving coincide in the case of hot and cold, and in similar instances; for things appear, or may be supposed to be, to each one such as he perceives them?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then perception is always of existence, and being the same as knowledge is unerring?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: In the name of the Graces, what an almighty wise man Protagoras must have been! He spoke these things in a parable to the common herd, like you and me, but told the truth, ‘his Truth,’ (In allusion to a book of Protagoras’ which bore this title.) in secret to his own disciples.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I am about to speak of a high argument, in which all things are said to be relative; you cannot rightly call anything by any name, such as great or small, heavy or light, for the great will be small and the heavy light — there is no single thing or quality, but out of motion and change and admixture all things are becoming relatively to one another, which ‘becoming’ is by us incorrectly called being, but is really becoming, for nothing ever is, but all things are becoming. Summon all philosophers — Protagoras, Heracleitus, Empedocles, and the rest of them, one after another, and with the exception of Parmenides they will agree with you in this. Summon the great masters of either kind of poetry — Epicharmus, the prince of Comedy, and Homer of Tragedy; when the latter sings of

‘Ocean whence sprang the gods, and mother Tethys,’

does he not mean that all things are the offspring, of flux and motion?

THEAETETUS: I think so.

SOCRATES: And who could take up arms against such a great army having Homer for its general, and not appear ridiculous? (Compare Cratylus.)

THEAETETUS: Who indeed, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Yes, Theaetetus; and there are plenty of other proofs which will show that motion is the source of what is called being and becoming, and inactivity of not-being and destruction; for fire and warmth, which are supposed to be the parent and guardian of all other things, are born of movement and of friction, which is a kind of motion; — is not this the origin of fire?

THEAETETUS: It is.

SOCRATES: And the race of animals is generated in the same way?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And is not the bodily habit spoiled by rest and idleness, but preserved for a long time by motion and exercise?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And what of the mental habit? Is not the soul informed, and improved, and preserved by study and attention, which are motions; but when at rest, which in the soul only means want of attention and study, is uninformed, and speedily forgets whatever she has learned?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then motion is a good, and rest an evil, to the soul as well as to the body?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: I may add, that breathless calm, stillness and the like waste and impair, while wind and storm preserve; and the palmary argument of all, which I strongly urge, is the golden chain in Homer, by which he means the sun, thereby indicating that so long as the sun and the heavens go round in their orbits, all things human and divine are and are preserved, but if they were chained up and their motions ceased, then all things would be destroyed, and, as the saying is, turned upside down.

THEAETETUS: I believe, Socrates, that you have truly explained his meaning.

SOCRATES: Then now apply his doctrine to perception, my good friend, and first of all to vision; that which you call white colour is not in your eyes, and is not a distinct thing which exists out of them. And you must not assign any place to it: for if it had position it would be, and be at rest, and there would be no process of becoming.

THEAETETUS: Then what is colour?

SOCRATES: Let us carry the principle which has just been affirmed, that nothing is self-existent, and then we shall see that white, black, and every other colour, arises out of the eye meeting the appropriate motion, and that what we call a colour is in each case neither the active nor the passive element, but something which passes between them, and is peculiar to each percipient; are you quite certain that the several colours appear to a dog or to any animal whatever as they appear to you?

THEAETETUS: Far from it.

SOCRATES: Or that anything appears the same to you as to another man? Are you so profoundly convinced of this? Rather would it not be true that it never appears exactly the same to you, because you are never exactly the same?

THEAETETUS: The latter.

SOCRATES: And if that with which I compare myself in size, or which I apprehend by touch, were great or white or hot, it could not become different by mere contact with another unless it actually changed; nor again, if the comparing or apprehending subject were great or white or hot, could this, when unchanged from within, become changed by any approximation or affection of any other thing. The fact is that in our ordinary way of speaking we allow ourselves to be driven into most ridiculous and wonderful contradictions, as Protagoras and all who take his line of argument would remark.

THEAETETUS: How? and of what sort do you mean?

SOCRATES: A little instance will sufficiently explain my meaning: Here are six dice, which are more by a half when compared with four, and fewer by a half than twelve — they are more and also fewer. How can you or any one maintain the contrary?

THEAETETUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Well, then, suppose that Protagoras or some one asks whether anything can become greater or more if not by increasing, how would you answer him, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS: I should say ‘No,’ Socrates, if I were to speak my mind in reference to this last question, and if I were not afraid of contradicting my former answer.

SOCRATES: Capital! excellent! spoken like an oracle, my boy! And if you reply ‘Yes,’ there will be a case for Euripides; for our tongue will be unconvinced, but not our mind. (In allusion to the well-known line of Euripides, Hippol.: e gloss omomoch e de thren anomotos.)

THEAETETUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: The thoroughbred Sophists, who know all that can be known about the mind, and argue only out of the superfluity of their wits, would have had a regular sparring-match over this, and would have knocked their arguments together finely. But you and I, who have no professional aims, only desire to see what is the mutual relation of these principles, — whether they are consistent with each or not.

THEAETETUS: Yes, that would be my desire.

SOCRATES: And mine too. But since this is our feeling, and there is plenty of time, why should we not calmly and patiently review our own thoughts, and thoroughly examine and see what these appearances in us really are? If I am not mistaken, they will be described by us as follows: — first, that nothing can become greater or less, either in number or magnitude, while remaining equal to itself — you would agree?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Secondly, that without addition or subtraction there is no increase or diminution of anything, but only equality.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Thirdly, that what was not before cannot be afterwards, without becoming and having become.

THEAETETUS: Yes, truly.

SOCRATES: These three axioms, if I am not mistaken, are fighting with one another in our minds in the case of the dice, or, again, in such a case as this — if I were to say that I, who am of a certain height and taller than you, may within a year, without gaining or losing in height, be not so tall — not that I should have lost, but that you would have increased. In such a case, I am afterwards what I once was not, and yet I have not become; for I could not have become without becoming, neither could I have become less without losing somewhat of my height; and I could give you ten thousand examples of similar contradictions, if we admit them at all. I believe that you follow me, Theaetetus; for I suspect that you have thought of these questions before now.

THEAETETUS: Yes, Socrates, and I am amazed when I think of them; by the Gods I am! and I want to know what on earth they mean; and there are times when my head quite swims with the contemplation of them.

SOCRATES: I see, my dear Theaetetus, that Theodorus had a true insight into your nature when he said that you were a philosopher, for wonder is the feeling of a philosopher, and philosophy begins in wonder. He was not a bad genealogist who said that Iris (the messenger of heaven) is the child of Thaumas (wonder). But do you begin to see what is the explanation of this perplexity on the hypothesis which we attribute to Protagoras?

THEAETETUS: Not as yet.

SOCRATES: Then you will be obliged to me if I help you to unearth the hidden ‘truth’ of a famous man or school.

THEAETETUS: To be sure, I shall be very much obliged.

SOCRATES: Take a look round, then, and see that none of the uninitiated are listening. Now by the uninitiated I mean the people who believe in nothing but what they can grasp in their hands, and who will not allow that action or generation or anything invisible can have real existence.

THEAETETUS: Yes, indeed, Socrates, they are very hard and impenetrable mortals.

SOCRATES: Yes, my boy, outer barbarians. Far more ingenious are the brethren whose mysteries I am about to reveal to you. Their first principle is, that all is motion, and upon this all the affections of which we were just now speaking are supposed to depend: there is nothing but motion, which has two forms, one active and the other passive, both in endless number; and out of the union and friction of them there is generated a progeny endless in number, having two forms, sense and the object of sense, which are ever breaking forth and coming to the birth at the same moment. The senses are variously named hearing, seeing, smelling; there is the sense of heat, cold, pleasure, pain, desire, fear, and many more which have names, as well as innumerable others which are without them; each has its kindred object, — each variety of colour has a corresponding variety of sight, and so with sound and hearing, and with the rest of the senses and the objects akin to them. Do you see, Theaetetus, the bearings of this tale on the preceding argument?

THEAETETUS: Indeed I do not.

SOCRATES: Then attend, and I will try to finish the story. The purport is that all these things are in motion, as I was saying, and that this motion is of two kinds, a slower and a quicker; and the slower elements have their motions in the same place and with reference to things near them, and so they beget; but what is begotten is swifter, for it is carried to fro, and moves from place to place. Apply this to sense: — When the eye and the appropriate object meet together and give birth to whiteness and the sensation connatural with it, which could not have been given by either of them going elsewhere, then, while the sight is flowing from the eye, whiteness proceeds from the object which combines in producing the colour; and so the eye is fulfilled with sight, and really sees, and becomes, not sight, but a seeing eye; and the object which combined to form the colour is fulfilled with whiteness, and becomes not whiteness but a white thing, whether wood or stone or whatever the object may be which happens to be coloured white. And this is true of all sensible objects, hard, warm, and the like, which are similarly to be regarded, as I was saying before, not as having any absolute existence, but as being all of them of whatever kind generated by motion in their intercourse with one another; for of the agent and patient, as existing in separation, no trustworthy conception, as they say, can be formed, for the agent has no existence until united with the patient, and the patient has no existence until united with the agent; and that which by uniting with something becomes an agent, by meeting with some other thing is converted into a patient. And from all these considerations, as I said at first, there arises a general reflection, that there is no one self-existent thing, but everything is becoming and in relation; and being must be altogether abolished, although from habit and ignorance we are compelled even in this discussion to retain the use of the term. But great philosophers tell us that we are not to allow either the word ‘something,’ or ‘belonging to something,’ or ‘to me,’ or ‘this,’ or ‘that,’ or any other detaining name to be used, in the language of nature all things are being created and destroyed, coming into being and passing into new forms; nor can any name fix or detain them; he who attempts to fix them is easily refuted. And this should be the way of speaking, not only of particulars but of aggregates; such aggregates as are expressed in the word ‘man,’ or ‘stone,’ or any name of an animal or of a class. O Theaetetus, are not these speculations sweet as honey? And do you not like the taste of them in the mouth?

THEAETETUS: I do not know what to say, Socrates; for, indeed, I cannot make out whether you are giving your own opinion or only wanting to draw me out.

SOCRATES: You forget, my friend, that I neither know, nor profess to know, anything of these matters; you are the person who is in labour, I am the barren midwife; and this is why I soothe you, and offer you one good thing after another, that you may taste them. And I hope that I may at last help to bring your own opinion into the light of day: when this has been accomplished, then we will determine whether what you have brought forth is only a wind-egg or a real and genuine birth. Therefore, keep up your spirits, and answer like a man what you think.

THEAETETUS: Ask me.

SOCRATES: Then once more: Is it your opinion that nothing is but what becomes? — the good and the noble, as well as all the other things which we were just now mentioning?

THEAETETUS: When I hear you discoursing in this style, I think that there is a great deal in what you say, and I am very ready to assent.

SOCRATES: Let us not leave the argument unfinished, then; for there still remains to be considered an objection which may be raised about dreams and diseases, in particular about madness, and the various illusions of hearing and sight, or of other senses. For you know that in all these cases the esse-percipi theory appears to be unmistakably refuted, since in dreams and illusions we certainly have false perceptions; and far from saying that everything is which appears, we should rather say that nothing is which appears.

THEAETETUS: Very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But then, my boy, how can any one contend that knowledge is perception, or that to every man what appears is?

THEAETETUS: I am afraid to say, Socrates, that I have nothing to answer, because you rebuked me just now for making this excuse; but I certainly cannot undertake to argue that madmen or dreamers think truly, when they imagine, some of them that they are gods, and others that they can fly, and are flying in their sleep.

SOCRATES: Do you see another question which can be raised about these phenomena, notably about dreaming and waking?

THEAETETUS: What question?

SOCRATES: A question which I think that you must often have heard persons ask: — How can you determine whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?

THEAETETUS: Indeed, Socrates, I do not know how to prove the one any more than the other, for in both cases the facts precisely correspond; — and there is no difficulty in supposing that during all this discussion we have been talking to one another in a dream; and when in a dream we seem to be narrating dreams, the resemblance of the two states is quite astonishing.

SOCRATES: You see, then, that a doubt about the reality of sense is easily raised, since there may even be a doubt whether we are awake or in a dream. And as our time is equally divided between sleeping and waking, in either sphere of existence the soul contends that the thoughts which are present to our minds at the time are true; and during one half of our lives we affirm the truth of the one, and, during the other half, of the other; and are equally confident of both.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: And may not the same be said of madness and other disorders? the difference is only that the times are not equal.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And is truth or falsehood to be determined by duration of time?

THEAETETUS: That would be in many ways ridiculous.

SOCRATES: But can you certainly determine by any other means which of these opinions is true?

THEAETETUS: I do not think that I can.

SOCRATES: Listen, then, to a statement of the other side of the argument, which is made by the champions of appearance. They would say, as I imagine — Can that which is wholly other than something, have the same quality as that from which it differs? and observe, Theaetetus, that the word ‘other’ means not ‘partially,’ but ‘wholly other.’

THEAETETUS: Certainly, putting the question as you do, that which is wholly other cannot either potentially or in any other way be the same.

SOCRATES: And must therefore be admitted to be unlike?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: If, then, anything happens to become like or unlike itself or another, when it becomes like we call it the same — when unlike, other?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Were we not saying that there are agents many and infinite, and patients many and infinite?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And also that different combinations will produce results which are not the same, but different?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Let us take you and me, or anything as an example: — There is Socrates in health, and Socrates sick — Are they like or unlike?

THEAETETUS: You mean to compare Socrates in health as a whole, and Socrates in sickness as a whole?

SOCRATES: Exactly; that is my meaning.

THEAETETUS: I answer, they are unlike.

SOCRATES: And if unlike, they are other?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And would you not say the same of Socrates sleeping and waking, or in any of the states which we were mentioning?

THEAETETUS: I should.

SOCRATES: All agents have a different patient in Socrates, accordingly as he is well or ill.

THEAETETUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: And I who am the patient, and that which is the agent, will produce something different in each of the two cases?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The wine which I drink when I am in health, appears sweet and pleasant to me?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: For, as has been already acknowledged, the patient and agent meet together and produce sweetness and a perception of sweetness, which are in simultaneous motion, and the perception which comes from the patient makes the tongue percipient, and the quality of sweetness which arises out of and is moving about the wine, makes the wine both to be and to appear sweet to the healthy tongue.

THEAETETUS: Certainly; that has been already acknowledged.

SOCRATES: But when I am sick, the wine really acts upon another and a different person?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: The combination of the draught of wine, and the Socrates who is sick, produces quite another result; which is the sensation of bitterness in the tongue, and the motion and creation of bitterness in and about the wine, which becomes not bitterness but something bitter; as I myself become not perception but percipient?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: There is no other object of which I shall ever have the same perception, for another object would give another perception, and would make the percipient other and different; nor can that object which affects me, meeting another subject, produce the same, or become similar, for that too would produce another result from another subject, and become different.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Neither can I by myself, have this sensation, nor the object by itself, this quality.

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: When I perceive I must become percipient of something — there can be no such thing as perceiving and perceiving nothing; the object, whether it become sweet, bitter, or of any other quality, must have relation to a percipient; nothing can become sweet which is sweet to no one.

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then the inference is, that we (the agent and patient) are or become in relation to one another; there is a law which binds us one to the other, but not to any other existence, nor each of us to himself; and therefore we can only be bound to one another; so that whether a person says that a thing is or becomes, he must say that it is or becomes to or of or in relation to something else; but he must not say or allow any one else to say that anything is or becomes absolutely: — such is our conclusion.

THEAETETUS: Very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then, if that which acts upon me has relation to me and to no other, I and no other am the percipient of it?

THEAETETUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: Then my perception is true to me, being inseparable from my own being; and, as Protagoras says, to myself I am judge of what is and what is not to me.

THEAETETUS: I suppose so.

SOCRATES: How then, if I never err, and if my mind never trips in the conception of being or becoming, can I fail of knowing that which I perceive?

THEAETETUS: You cannot.

SOCRATES: Then you were quite right in affirming that knowledge is only perception; and the meaning turns out to be the same, whether with Homer and Heracleitus, and all that company, you say that all is motion and flux, or with the great sage Protagoras, that man is the measure of all things; or with Theaetetus, that, given these premises, perception is knowledge. Am I not right, Theaetetus, and is not this your new-born child, of which I have delivered you? What say you?

THEAETETUS: I cannot but agree, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then this is the child, however he may turn out, which you and I have with difficulty brought into the world. And now that he is born, we must run round the hearth with him, and see whether he is worth rearing, or is only a wind-egg and a sham. Is he to be reared in any case, and not exposed? or will you bear to see him rejected, and not get into a passion if I take away your first-born?

THEODORUS: Theaetetus will not be angry, for he is very good-natured. But tell me, Socrates, in heaven’s name, is this, after all, not the truth?

SOCRATES: You, Theodorus, are a lover of theories, and now you innocently fancy that I am a bag full of them, and can easily pull one out which will overthrow its predecessor. But you do not see that in reality none of these theories come from me; they all come from him who talks with me. I only know just enough to extract them from the wisdom of another, and to receive them in a spirit of fairness. And now I shall say nothing myself, but shall endeavour to elicit something from our young friend.

THEODORUS: Do as you say, Socrates; you are quite right.

SOCRATES: Shall I tell you, Theodorus, what amazes me in your acquaintance Protagoras?

THEODORUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: I am charmed with his doctrine, that what appears is to each one, but I wonder that he did not begin his book on Truth with a declaration that a pig or a dog-faced baboon, or some other yet stranger monster which has sensation, is the measure of all things; then he might have shown a magnificent contempt for our opinion of him by informing us at the outset that while we were reverencing him like a God for his wisdom he was no better than a tadpole, not to speak of his fellow-men — would not this have produced an overpowering effect? For if truth is only sensation, and no man can discern another’s feelings better than he, or has any superior right to determine whether his opinion is true or false, but each, as we have several times repeated, is to himself the sole judge, and everything that he judges is true and right, why, my friend, should Protagoras be preferred to the place of wisdom and instruction, and deserve to be well paid, and we poor ignoramuses have to go to him, if each one is the measure of his own wisdom? Must he not be talking ‘ad captandum’ in all this? I say nothing of the ridiculous predicament in which my own midwifery and the whole art of dialectic is placed; for the attempt to supervise or refute the notions or opinions of others would be a tedious and enormous piece of folly, if to each man his own are right; and this must be the case if Protagoras’ Truth is the real truth, and the philosopher is not merely amusing himself by giving oracles out of the shrine of his book.

THEODORUS: He was a friend of mine, Socrates, as you were saying, and therefore I cannot have him refuted by my lips, nor can I oppose you when I agree with you; please, then, to take Theaetetus again; he seemed to answer very nicely.

SOCRATES: If you were to go into a Lacedaemonian palestra, Theodorus, would you have a right to look on at the naked wrestlers, some of them making a poor figure, if you did not strip and give them an opportunity of judging of your own person?

THEODORUS: Why not, Socrates, if they would allow me, as I think you will, in consideration of my age and stiffness; let some more supple youth try a fall with you, and do not drag me into the gymnasium.

SOCRATES: Your will is my will, Theodorus, as the proverbial philosophers say, and therefore I will return to the sage Theaetetus: Tell me, Theaetetus, in reference to what I was saying, are you not lost in wonder, like myself, when you find that all of a sudden you are raised to the level of the wisest of men, or indeed of the gods? — for you would assume the measure of Protagoras to apply to the gods as well as men?

THEAETETUS: Certainly I should, and I confess to you that I am lost in wonder. At first hearing, I was quite satisfied with the doctrine, that whatever appears is to each one, but now the face of things has changed.

SOCRATES: Why, my dear boy, you are young, and therefore your ear is quickly caught and your mind influenced by popular arguments. Protagoras, or some one speaking on his behalf, will doubtless say in reply, — Good people, young and old, you meet and harangue, and bring in the gods, whose existence or non-existence I banish from writing and speech, or you talk about the reason of man being degraded to the level of the brutes, which is a telling argument with the multitude, but not one word of proof or demonstration do you offer. All is probability with you, and yet surely you and Theodorus had better reflect whether you are disposed to admit of probability and figures of speech in matters of such importance. He or any other mathematician who argued from probabilities and likelihoods in geometry, would not be worth an ace.

THEAETETUS: But neither you nor we, Socrates, would be satisfied with such arguments.

SOCRATES: Then you and Theodorus mean to say that we must look at the matter in some other way?

THEAETETUS: Yes, in quite another way.

SOCRATES: And the way will be to ask whether perception is or is not the same as knowledge; for this was the real point of our argument, and with a view to this we raised (did we not?) those many strange questions.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Shall we say that we know every thing which we see and hear? for example, shall we say that not having learned, we do not hear the language of foreigners when they speak to us? or shall we say that we not only hear, but know what they are saying? Or again, if we see letters which we do not understand, shall we say that we do not see them? or shall we aver that, seeing them, we must know them?

THEAETETUS: We shall say, Socrates, that we know what we actually see and hear of them — that is to say, we see and know the figure and colour of the letters, and we hear and know the elevation or depression of the sound of them; but we do not perceive by sight and hearing, or know, that which grammarians and interpreters teach about them.

SOCRATES: Capital, Theaetetus; and about this there shall be no dispute, because I want you to grow; but there is another difficulty coming, which you will also have to repulse.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: Some one will say, Can a man who has ever known anything, and still has and preserves a memory of that which he knows, not know that which he remembers at the time when he remembers? I have, I fear, a tedious way of putting a simple question, which is only, whether a man who has learned, and remembers, can fail to know?

THEAETETUS: Impossible, Socrates; the supposition is monstrous.

SOCRATES: Am I talking nonsense, then? Think: is not seeing perceiving, and is not sight perception?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if our recent definition holds, every man knows that which he has seen?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And you would admit that there is such a thing as memory?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And is memory of something or of nothing?

THEAETETUS: Of something, surely.

SOCRATES: Of things learned and perceived, that is?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Often a man remembers that which he has seen?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if he closed his eyes, would he forget?

THEAETETUS: Who, Socrates, would dare to say so?

SOCRATES: But we must say so, if the previous argument is to be maintained.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean? I am not quite sure that I understand you, though I have a strong suspicion that you are right.

SOCRATES: As thus: he who sees knows, as we say, that which he sees; for perception and sight and knowledge are admitted to be the same.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But he who saw, and has knowledge of that which he saw, remembers, when he closes his eyes, that which he no longer sees.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And seeing is knowing, and therefore not-seeing is not-knowing?

THEAETETUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then the inference is, that a man may have attained the knowledge of something, which he may remember and yet not know, because he does not see; and this has been affirmed by us to be a monstrous supposition.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: Thus, then, the assertion that knowledge and perception are one, involves a manifest impossibility?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then they must be distinguished?

THEAETETUS: I suppose that they must.

SOCRATES: Once more we shall have to begin, and ask ‘What is knowledge?’ and yet, Theaetetus, what are we going to do?

THEAETETUS: About what?

SOCRATES: Like a good-for-nothing cock, without having won the victory, we walk away from the argument and crow.

THEAETETUS: How do you mean?

SOCRATES: After the manner of disputers (Lys.; Phaedo; Republic), we were satisfied with mere verbal consistency, and were well pleased if in this way we could gain an advantage. Although professing not to be mere Eristics, but philosophers, I suspect that we have unconsciously fallen into the error of that ingenious class of persons.

THEAETETUS: I do not as yet understand you.

SOCRATES: Then I will try to explain myself: just now we asked the question, whether a man who had learned and remembered could fail to know, and we showed that a person who had seen might remember when he had his eyes shut and could not see, and then he would at the same time remember and not know. But this was an impossibility. And so the Protagorean fable came to nought, and yours also, who maintained that knowledge is the same as perception.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And yet, my friend, I rather suspect that the result would have been different if Protagoras, who was the father of the first of the two brats, had been alive; he would have had a great deal to say on their behalf. But he is dead, and we insult over his orphan child; and even the guardians whom he left, and of whom our friend Theodorus is one, are unwilling to give any help, and therefore I suppose that I must take up his cause myself, and see justice done?

THEODORUS: Not I, Socrates, but rather Callias, the son of Hipponicus, is guardian of his orphans. I was too soon diverted from the abstractions of dialectic to geometry. Nevertheless, I shall be grateful to you if you assist him.

SOCRATES: Very good, Theodorus; you shall see how I will come to the rescue. If a person does not attend to the meaning of terms as they are commonly used in argument, he may be involved even in greater paradoxes than these. Shall I explain this matter to you or to Theaetetus?

THEODORUS: To both of us, and let the younger answer; he will incur less disgrace if he is discomfited.

SOCRATES: Then now let me ask the awful question, which is this: — Can a man know and also not know that which he knows?

THEODORUS: How shall we answer, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS: He cannot, I should say.

SOCRATES: He can, if you maintain that seeing is knowing. When you are imprisoned in a well, as the saying is, and the self-assured adversary closes one of your eyes with his hand, and asks whether you can see his cloak with the eye which he has closed, how will you answer the inevitable man?

THEAETETUS: I should answer, ‘Not with that eye but with the other.’

SOCRATES: Then you see and do not see the same thing at the same time.

THEAETETUS: Yes, in a certain sense.

SOCRATES: None of that, he will reply; I do not ask or bid you answer in what sense you know, but only whether you know that which you do not know. You have been proved to see that which you do not see; and you have already admitted that seeing is knowing, and that not-seeing is not-knowing: I leave you to draw the inference.

THEAETETUS: Yes; the inference is the contradictory of my assertion.

SOCRATES: Yes, my marvel, and there might have been yet worse things in store for you, if an opponent had gone on to ask whether you can have a sharp and also a dull knowledge, and whether you can know near, but not at a distance, or know the same thing with more or less intensity, and so on without end. Such questions might have been put to you by a light-armed mercenary, who argued for pay. He would have lain in wait for you, and when you took up the position, that sense is knowledge, he would have made an assault upon hearing, smelling, and the other senses; — he would have shown you no mercy; and while you were lost in envy and admiration of his wisdom, he would have got you into his net, out of which you would not have escaped until you had come to an understanding about the sum to be paid for your release. Well, you ask, and how will Protagoras reinforce his position? Shall I answer for him?

THEAETETUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: He will repeat all those things which we have been urging on his behalf, and then he will close with us in disdain, and say: — The worthy Socrates asked a little boy, whether the same man could remember and not know the same thing, and the boy said No, because he was frightened, and could not see what was coming, and then Socrates made fun of poor me. The truth is, O slatternly Socrates, that when you ask questions about any assertion of mine, and the person asked is found tripping, if he has answered as I should have answered, then I am refuted, but if he answers something else, then he is refuted and not I. For do you really suppose that any one would admit the memory which a man has of an impression which has passed away to be the same with that which he experienced at the time? Assuredly not. Or would he hesitate to acknowledge that the same man may know and not know the same thing? Or, if he is afraid of making this admission, would he ever grant that one who has become unlike is the same as before he became unlike? Or would he admit that a man is one at all, and not rather many and infinite as the changes which take place in him? I speak by the card in order to avoid entanglements of words. But, O my good sir, he will say, come to the argument in a more generous spirit; and either show, if you can, that our sensations are not relative and individual, or, if you admit them to be so, prove that this does not involve the consequence that the appearance becomes, or, if you will have the word, is, to the individual only. As to your talk about pigs and baboons, you are yourself behaving like a pig, and you teach your hearers to make sport of my writings in the same ignorant manner; but this is not to your credit. For I declare that the truth is as I have written, and that each of us is a measure of existence and of non-existence. Yet one man may be a thousand times better than another in proportion as different things are and appear to him. And I am far from saying that wisdom and the wise man have no existence; but I say that the wise man is he who makes the evils which appear and are to a man, into goods which are and appear to him. And I would beg you not to press my words in the letter, but to take the meaning of them as I will explain them. Remember what has been already said, — that to the sick man his food appears to be and is bitter, and to the man in health the opposite of bitter. Now I cannot conceive that one of these men can be or ought to be made wiser than the other: nor can you assert that the sick man because he has one impression is foolish, and the healthy man because he has another is wise; but the one state requires to be changed into the other, the worse into the better. As in education, a change of state has to be effected, and the sophist accomplishes by words the change which the physician works by the aid of drugs. Not that any one ever made another think truly, who previously thought falsely. For no one can think what is not, or, think anything different from that which he feels; and this is always true. But as the inferior habit of mind has thoughts of kindred nature, so I conceive that a good mind causes men to have good thoughts; and these which the inexperienced call true, I maintain to be only better, and not truer than others. And, O my dear Socrates, I do not call wise men tadpoles: far from it; I say that they are the physicians of the human body, and the husbandmen of plants — for the husbandmen also take away the evil and disordered sensations of plants, and infuse into them good and healthy sensations — aye and true ones; and the wise and good rhetoricians make the good instead of the evil to seem just to states; for whatever appears to a state to be just and fair, so long as it is regarded as such, is just and fair to it; but the teacher of wisdom causes the good to take the place of the evil, both in appearance and in reality. And in like manner the Sophist who is able to train his pupils in this spirit is a wise man, and deserves to be well paid by them. And so one man is wiser than another; and no one thinks falsely, and you, whether you will or not, must endure to be a measure. On these foundations the argument stands firm, which you, Socrates, may, if you please, overthrow by an opposite argument, or if you like you may put questions to me — a method to which no intelligent person will object, quite the reverse. But I must beg you to put fair questions: for there is great inconsistency in saying that you have a zeal for virtue, and then always behaving unfairly in argument. The unfairness of which I complain is that you do not distinguish between mere disputation and dialectic: the disputer may trip up his opponent as often as he likes, and make fun; but the dialectician will be in earnest, and only correct his adversary when necessary, telling him the errors into which he has fallen through his own fault, or that of the company which he has previously kept. If you do so, your adversary will lay the blame of his own confusion and perplexity on himself, and not on you. He will follow and love you, and will hate himself, and escape from himself into philosophy, in order that he may become different from what he was. But the other mode of arguing, which is practised by the many, will have just the opposite effect upon him; and as he grows older, instead of turning philosopher, he will come to hate philosophy. I would recommend you, therefore, as I said before, not to encourage yourself in this polemical and controversial temper, but to find out, in a friendly and congenial spirit, what we really mean when we say that all things are in motion, and that to every individual and state what appears, is. In this manner you will consider whether knowledge and sensation are the same or different, but you will not argue, as you were just now doing, from the customary use of names and words, which the vulgar pervert in all sorts of ways, causing infinite perplexity to one another. Such, Theodorus, is the very slight help which I am able to offer to your old friend; had he been living, he would have helped himself in a far more gloriose style.

THEODORUS: You are jesting, Socrates; indeed, your defence of him has been most valorous.

SOCRATES: Thank you, friend; and I hope that you observed Protagoras bidding us be serious, as the text, ‘Man is the measure of all things,’ was a solemn one; and he reproached us with making a boy the medium of discourse, and said that the boy’s timidity was made to tell against his argument; he also declared that we made a joke of him.

THEODORUS: How could I fail to observe all that, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Well, and shall we do as he says?

THEODORUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: But if his wishes are to be regarded, you and I must take up the argument, and in all seriousness, and ask and answer one another, for you see that the rest of us are nothing but boys. In no other way can we escape the imputation, that in our fresh analysis of his thesis we are making fun with boys.

THEODORUS: Well, but is not Theaetetus better able to follow a philosophical enquiry than a great many men who have long beards?

SOCRATES: Yes, Theodorus, but not better than you; and therefore please not to imagine that I am to defend by every means in my power your departed friend; and that you are to defend nothing and nobody. At any rate, my good man, do not sheer off until we know whether you are a true measure of diagrams, or whether all men are equally measures and sufficient for themselves in astronomy and geometry, and the other branches of knowledge in which you are supposed to excel them.

THEODORUS: He who is sitting by you, Socrates, will not easily avoid being drawn into an argument; and when I said just now that you would excuse me, and not, like the Lacedaemonians, compel me to strip and fight, I was talking nonsense — I should rather compare you to Scirrhon, who threw travellers from the rocks; for the Lacedaemonian rule is ‘strip or depart,’ but you seem to go about your work more after the fashion of Antaeus: you will not allow any one who approaches you to depart until you have stripped him, and he has been compelled to try a fall with you in argument.

SOCRATES: There, Theodorus, you have hit off precisely the nature of my complaint; but I am even more pugnacious than the giants of old, for I have met with no end of heroes; many a Heracles, many a Theseus, mighty in words, has broken my head; nevertheless I am always at this rough exercise, which inspires me like a passion. Please, then, to try a fall with me, whereby you will do yourself good as well as me.

THEODORUS: I consent; lead me whither you will, for I know that you are like destiny; no man can escape from any argument which you may weave for him. But I am not disposed to go further than you suggest.

SOCRATES: Once will be enough; and now take particular care that we do not again unwittingly expose ourselves to the reproach of talking childishly.

THEODORUS: I will do my best to avoid that error.

SOCRATES: In the first place, let us return to our old objection, and see whether we were right in blaming and taking offence at Protagoras on the ground that he assumed all to be equal and sufficient in wisdom; although he admitted that there was a better and worse, and that in respect of this, some who as he said were the wise excelled others.

THEODORUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Had Protagoras been living and answered for himself, instead of our answering for him, there would have been no need of our reviewing or reinforcing the argument. But as he is not here, and some one may accuse us of speaking without authority on his behalf, had we not better come to a clearer agreement about his meaning, for a great deal may be at stake?

THEODORUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then let us obtain, not through any third person, but from his own statement and in the fewest words possible, the basis of agreement.

THEODORUS: In what way?

SOCRATES: In this way: — His words are, ‘What seems to a man, is to him.’

THEODORUS: Yes, so he says.

SOCRATES: And are not we, Protagoras, uttering the opinion of man, or rather of all mankind, when we say that every one thinks himself wiser than other men in some things, and their inferior in others? In the hour of danger, when they are in perils of war, or of the sea, or of sickness, do they not look up to their commanders as if they were gods, and expect salvation from them, only because they excel them in knowledge? Is not the world full of men in their several employments, who are looking for teachers and rulers of themselves and of the animals? and there are plenty who think that they are able to teach and able to rule. Now, in all this is implied that ignorance and wisdom exist among them, at least in their own opinion.

THEODORUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And wisdom is assumed by them to be true thought, and ignorance to be false opinion.

THEODORUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: How then, Protagoras, would you have us treat the argument? Shall we say that the opinions of men are always true, or sometimes true and sometimes false? In either case, the result is the same, and their opinions are not always true, but sometimes true and sometimes false. For tell me, Theodorus, do you suppose that you yourself, or any other follower of Protagoras, would contend that no one deems another ignorant or mistaken in his opinion?

THEODORUS: The thing is incredible, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And yet that absurdity is necessarily involved in the thesis which declares man to be the measure of all things.

THEODORUS: How so?

SOCRATES: Why, suppose that you determine in your own mind something to be true, and declare your opinion to me; let us assume, as he argues, that this is true to you. Now, if so, you must either say that the rest of us are not the judges of this opinion or judgment of yours, or that we judge you always to have a true opinion? But are there not thousands upon thousands who, whenever you form a judgment, take up arms against you and are of an opposite judgment and opinion, deeming that you judge falsely?

THEODORUS: Yes, indeed, Socrates, thousands and tens of thousands, as Homer says, who give me a world of trouble.

SOCRATES: Well, but are we to assert that what you think is true to you and false to the ten thousand others?

THEODORUS: No other inference seems to be possible.

SOCRATES: And how about Protagoras himself? If neither he nor the multitude thought, as indeed they do not think, that man is the measure of all things, must it not follow that the truth of which Protagoras wrote would be true to no one? But if you suppose that he himself thought this, and that the multitude does not agree with him, you must begin by allowing that in whatever proportion the many are more than one, in that proportion his truth is more untrue than true.

THEODORUS: That would follow if the truth is supposed to vary with individual opinion.

SOCRATES: And the best of the joke is, that he acknowledges the truth of their opinion who believe his own opinion to be false; for he admits that the opinions of all men are true.

THEODORUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And does he not allow that his own opinion is false, if he admits that the opinion of those who think him false is true?

THEODORUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: Whereas the other side do not admit that they speak falsely?

THEODORUS: They do not.

SOCRATES: And he, as may be inferred from his writings, agrees that this opinion is also true.

THEODORUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: Then all mankind, beginning with Protagoras, will contend, or rather, I should say that he will allow, when he concedes that his adversary has a true opinion — Protagoras, I say, will himself allow that neither a dog nor any ordinary man is the measure of anything which he has not learned — am I not right?

THEODORUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the truth of Protagoras being doubted by all, will be true neither to himself to any one else?

THEODORUS: I think, Socrates, that we are running my old friend too hard.

SOCRATES: But I do not know that we are going beyond the truth. Doubtless, as he is older, he may be expected to be wiser than we are. And if he could only just get his head out of the world below, he would have overthrown both of us again and again, me for talking nonsense and you for assenting to me, and have been off and underground in a trice. But as he is not within call, we must make the best use of our own faculties, such as they are, and speak out what appears to us to be true. And one thing which no one will deny is, that there are great differences in the understandings of men.

THEODORUS: In that opinion I quite agree.

SOCRATES: And is there not most likely to be firm ground in the distinction which we were indicating on behalf of Protagoras, viz. that most things, and all immediate sensations, such as hot, dry, sweet, are only such as they appear; if however difference of opinion is to be allowed at all, surely we must allow it in respect of health or disease? for every woman, child, or living creature has not such a knowledge of what conduces to health as to enable them to cure themselves.

THEODORUS: I quite agree.

SOCRATES: Or again, in politics, while affirming that just and unjust, honourable and disgraceful, holy and unholy, are in reality to each state such as the state thinks and makes lawful, and that in determining these matters no individual or state is wiser than another, still the followers of Protagoras will not deny that in determining what is or is not expedient for the community one state is wiser and one counsellor better than another — they will scarcely venture to maintain, that what a city enacts in the belief that it is expedient will always be really expedient. But in the other case, I mean when they speak of justice and injustice, piety and impiety, they are confident that in nature these have no existence or essence of their own — the truth is that which is agreed on at the time of the agreement, and as long as the agreement lasts; and this is the philosophy of many who do not altogether go along with Protagoras. Here arises a new question, Theodorus, which threatens to be more serious than the last.

THEODORUS: Well, Socrates, we have plenty of leisure.

SOCRATES: That is true, and your remark recalls to my mind an observation which I have often made, that those who have passed their days in the pursuit of philosophy are ridiculously at fault when they have to appear and speak in court. How natural is this!

THEODORUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean to say, that those who have been trained in philosophy and liberal pursuits are as unlike those who from their youth upwards have been knocking about in the courts and such places, as a freeman is in breeding unlike a slave.

THEODORUS: In what is the difference seen?

SOCRATES: In the leisure spoken of by you, which a freeman can always command: he has his talk out in peace, and, like ourselves, he wanders at will from one subject to another, and from a second to a third, — if the fancy takes him, he begins again, as we are doing now, caring not whether his words are many or few; his only aim is to attain the truth. But the lawyer is always in a hurry; there is the water of the clepsydra driving him on, and not allowing him to expatiate at will: and there is his adversary standing over him, enforcing his rights; the indictment, which in their phraseology is termed the affidavit, is recited at the time: and from this he must not deviate. He is a servant, and is continually disputing about a fellow-servant before his master, who is seated, and has the cause in his hands; the trial is never about some indifferent matter, but always concerns himself; and often the race is for his life. The consequence has been, that he has become keen and shrewd; he has learned how to flatter his master in word and indulge him in deed; but his soul is small and unrighteous. His condition, which has been that of a slave from his youth upwards, has deprived him of growth and uprightness and independence; dangers and fears, which were too much for his truth and honesty, came upon him in early years, when the tenderness of youth was unequal to them, and he has been driven into crooked ways; from the first he has practised deception and retaliation, and has become stunted and warped. And so he has passed out of youth into manhood, having no soundness in him; and is now, as he thinks, a master in wisdom. Such is the lawyer, Theodorus. Will you have the companion picture of the philosopher, who is of our brotherhood; or shall we return to the argument? Do not let us abuse the freedom of digression which we claim.

THEODORUS: Nay, Socrates, not until we have finished what we are about; for you truly said that we belong to a brotherhood which is free, and are not the servants of the argument; but the argument is our servant, and must wait our leisure. Who is our judge? Or where is the spectator having any right to censure or control us, as he might the poets?

SOCRATES: Then, as this is your wish, I will describe the leaders; for there is no use in talking about the inferior sort. In the first place, the lords of philosophy have never, from their youth upwards, known their way to the Agora, or the dicastery, or the council, or any other political assembly; they neither see nor hear the laws or decrees, as they are called, of the state written or recited; the eagerness of political societies in the attainment of offices — clubs, and banquets, and revels, and singing-maidens, — do not enter even into their dreams. Whether any event has turned out well or ill in the city, what disgrace may have descended to any one from his ancestors, male or female, are matters of which the philosopher no more knows than he can tell, as they say, how many pints are contained in the ocean. Neither is he conscious of his ignorance. For he does not hold aloof in order that he may gain a reputation; but the truth is, that the outer form of him only is in the city: his mind, disdaining the littlenesses and nothingnesses of human things, is ‘flying all abroad’ as Pindar says, measuring earth and heaven and the things which are under and on the earth and above the heaven, interrogating the whole nature of each and all in their entirety, but not condescending to anything which is within reach.

THEODORUS: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I will illustrate my meaning, Theodorus, by the jest which the clever witty Thracian handmaid is said to have made about Thales, when he fell into a well as he was looking up at the stars. She said, that he was so eager to know what was going on in heaven, that he could not see what was before his feet. This is a jest which is equally applicable to all philosophers. For the philosopher is wholly unacquainted with his next-door neighbour; he is ignorant, not only of what he is doing, but he hardly knows whether he is a man or an animal; he is searching into the essence of man, and busy in enquiring what belongs to such a nature to do or suffer different from any other; — I think that you understand me, Theodorus?

THEODORUS: I do, and what you say is true.

SOCRATES: And thus, my friend, on every occasion, private as well as public, as I said at first, when he appears in a law-court, or in any place in which he has to speak of things which are at his feet and before his eyes, he is the jest, not only of Thracian handmaids but of the general herd, tumbling into wells and every sort of disaster through his inexperience. His awkwardness is fearful, and gives the impression of imbecility. When he is reviled, he has nothing personal to say in answer to the civilities of his adversaries, for he knows no scandals of any one, and they do not interest him; and therefore he is laughed at for his sheepishness; and when others are being praised and glorified, in the simplicity of his heart he cannot help going into fits of laughter, so that he seems to be a downright idiot. When he hears a tyrant or king eulogized, he fancies that he is listening to the praises of some keeper of cattle — a swineherd, or shepherd, or perhaps a cowherd, who is congratulated on the quantity of milk which he squeezes from them; and he remarks that the creature whom they tend, and out of whom they squeeze the wealth, is of a less tractable and more insidious nature. Then, again, he observes that the great man is of necessity as ill-mannered and uneducated as any shepherd — for he has no leisure, and he is surrounded by a wall, which is his mountain-pen. Hearing of enormous landed proprietors of ten thousand acres and more, our philosopher deems this to be a trifle, because he has been accustomed to think of the whole earth; and when they sing the praises of family, and say that some one is a gentleman because he can show seven generations of wealthy ancestors, he thinks that their sentiments only betray a dull and narrow vision in those who utter them, and who are not educated enough to look at the whole, nor to consider that every man has had thousands and ten thousands of progenitors, and among them have been rich and poor, kings and slaves, Hellenes and barbarians, innumerable. And when people pride themselves on having a pedigree of twenty-five ancestors, which goes back to Heracles, the son of Amphitryon, he cannot understand their poverty of ideas. Why are they unable to calculate that Amphitryon had a twenty-fifth ancestor, who might have been anybody, and was such as fortune made him, and he had a fiftieth, and so on? He amuses himself with the notion that they cannot count, and thinks that a little arithmetic would have got rid of their senseless vanity. Now, in all these cases our philosopher is derided by the vulgar, partly because he is thought to despise them, and also because he is ignorant of what is before him, and always at a loss.

THEODORUS: That is very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But, O my friend, when he draws the other into upper air, and gets him out of his pleas and rejoinders into the contemplation of justice and injustice in their own nature and in their difference from one another and from all other things; or from the commonplaces about the happiness of a king or of a rich man to the consideration of government, and of human happiness and misery in general — what they are, and how a man is to attain the one and avoid the other — when that narrow, keen, little legal mind is called to account about all this, he gives the philosopher his revenge; for dizzied by the height at which he is hanging, whence he looks down into space, which is a strange experience to him, he being dismayed, and lost, and stammering broken words, is laughed at, not by Thracian handmaidens or any other uneducated persons, for they have no eye for the situation, but by every man who has not been brought up a slave. Such are the two characters, Theodorus: the one of the freeman, who has been trained in liberty and leisure, whom you call the philosopher, — him we cannot blame because he appears simple and of no account when he has to perform some menial task, such as packing up bed-clothes, or flavouring a sauce or fawning speech; the other character is that of the man who is able to do all this kind of service smartly and neatly, but knows not how to wear his cloak like a gentleman; still less with the music of discourse can he hymn the true life aright which is lived by immortals or men blessed of heaven.

THEODORUS: If you could only persuade everybody, Socrates, as you do me, of the truth of your words, there would be more peace and fewer evils among men.

SOCRATES: Evils, Theodorus, can never pass away; for there must always remain something which is antagonistic to good. Having no place among the gods in heaven, of necessity they hover around the mortal nature, and this earthly sphere. Wherefore we ought to fly away from earth to heaven as quickly as we can; and to fly away is to become like God, as far as this is possible; and to become like him, is to become holy, just, and wise. But, O my friend, you cannot easily convince mankind that they should pursue virtue or avoid vice, not merely in order that a man may seem to be good, which is the reason given by the world, and in my judgment is only a repetition of an old wives’ fable. Whereas, the truth is that God is never in any way unrighteous — he is perfect righteousness; and he of us who is the most righteous is most like him. Herein is seen the true cleverness of a man, and also his nothingness and want of manhood. For to know this is true wisdom and virtue, and ignorance of this is manifest folly and vice. All other kinds of wisdom or cleverness, which seem only, such as the wisdom of politicians, or the wisdom of the arts, are coarse and vulgar. The unrighteous man, or the sayer and doer of unholy things, had far better not be encouraged in the illusion that his roguery is clever; for men glory in their shame — they fancy that they hear others saying of them, ‘These are not mere good-for-nothing persons, mere burdens of the earth, but such as men should be who mean to dwell safely in a state.’ Let us tell them that they are all the more truly what they do not think they are because they do not know it; for they do not know the penalty of injustice, which above all things they ought to know — not stripes and death, as they suppose, which evil-doers often escape, but a penalty which cannot be escaped.

THEODORUS: What is that?

SOCRATES: There are two patterns eternally set before them; the one blessed and divine, the other godless and wretched: but they do not see them, or perceive that in their utter folly and infatuation they are growing like the one and unlike the other, by reason of their evil deeds; and the penalty is, that they lead a life answering to the pattern which they are growing like. And if we tell them, that unless they depart from their cunning, the place of innocence will not receive them after death; and that here on earth, they will live ever in the likeness of their own evil selves, and with evil friends — when they hear this they in their superior cunning will seem to be listening to the talk of idiots.

THEODORUS: Very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Too true, my friend, as I well know; there is, however, one peculiarity in their case: when they begin to reason in private about their dislike of philosophy, if they have the courage to hear the argument out, and do not run away, they grow at last strangely discontented with themselves; their rhetoric fades away, and they become helpless as children. These however are digressions from which we must now desist, or they will overflow, and drown the original argument; to which, if you please, we will now return.

THEODORUS: For my part, Socrates, I would rather have the digressions, for at my age I find them easier to follow; but if you wish, let us go back to the argument.

SOCRATES: Had we not reached the point at which the partisans of the perpetual flux, who say that things are as they seem to each one, were confidently maintaining that the ordinances which the state commanded and thought just, were just to the state which imposed them, while they were in force; this was especially asserted of justice; but as to the good, no one had any longer the hardihood to contend of any ordinances which the state thought and enacted to be good that these, while they were in force, were really good; — he who said so would be playing with the name ‘good,’ and would not touch the real question — it would be a mockery, would it not?

THEODORUS: Certainly it would.

SOCRATES: He ought not to speak of the name, but of the thing which is contemplated under the name.

THEODORUS: Right.

SOCRATES: Whatever be the term used, the good or expedient is the aim of legislation, and as far as she has an opinion, the state imposes all laws with a view to the greatest expediency; can legislation have any other aim?

THEODORUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: But is the aim attained always? do not mistakes often happen?

THEODORUS: Yes, I think that there are mistakes.

SOCRATES: The possibility of error will be more distinctly recognised, if we put the question in reference to the whole class under which the good or expedient falls. That whole class has to do with the future, and laws are passed under the idea that they will be useful in after-time; which, in other words, is the future.

THEODORUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Suppose now, that we ask Protagoras, or one of his disciples, a question: — O, Protagoras, we will say to him, Man is, as you declare, the measure of all things — white, heavy, light: of all such things he is the judge; for he has the criterion of them in himself, and when he thinks that things are such as he experiences them to be, he thinks what is and is true to himself. Is it not so?

THEODORUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And do you extend your doctrine, Protagoras (as we shall further say), to the future as well as to the present; and has he the criterion not only of what in his opinion is but of what will be, and do things always happen to him as he expected? For example, take the case of heat: — When an ordinary man thinks that he is going to have a fever, and that this kind of heat is coming on, and another person, who is a physician, thinks the contrary, whose opinion is likely to prove right? Or are they both right? — he will have a heat and fever in his own judgment, and not have a fever in the physician’s judgment?

THEODORUS: How ludicrous!

SOCRATES: And the vinegrower, if I am not mistaken, is a better judge of the sweetness or dryness of the vintage which is not yet gathered than the harp-player?

THEODORUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And in musical composition the musician will know better than the training master what the training master himself will hereafter think harmonious or the reverse?

THEODORUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: And the cook will be a better judge than the guest, who is not a cook, of the pleasure to be derived from the dinner which is in preparation; for of present or past pleasure we are not as yet arguing; but can we say that every one will be to himself the best judge of the pleasure which will seem to be and will be to him in the future? — nay, would not you, Protagoras, better guess which arguments in a court would convince any one of us than the ordinary man?

THEODORUS: Certainly, Socrates, he used to profess in the strongest manner that he was the superior of all men in this respect.

SOCRATES: To be sure, friend: who would have paid a large sum for the privilege of talking to him, if he had really persuaded his visitors that neither a prophet nor any other man was better able to judge what will be and seem to be in the future than every one could for himself?

THEODORUS: Who indeed?

SOCRATES: And legislation and expediency are all concerned with the future; and every one will admit that states, in passing laws, must often fail of their highest interests?

THEODORUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Then we may fairly argue against your master, that he must admit one man to be wiser than another, and that the wiser is a measure: but I, who know nothing, am not at all obliged to accept the honour which the advocate of Protagoras was just now forcing upon me, whether I would or not, of being a measure of anything.

THEODORUS: That is the best refutation of him, Socrates; although he is also caught when he ascribes truth to the opinions of others, who give the lie direct to his own opinion.

SOCRATES: There are many ways, Theodorus, in which the doctrine that every opinion of every man is true may be refuted; but there is more difficulty in proving that states of feeling, which are present to a man, and out of which arise sensations and opinions in accordance with them, are also untrue. And very likely I have been talking nonsense about them; for they may be unassailable, and those who say that there is clear evidence of them, and that they are matters of knowledge, may probably be right; in which case our friend Theaetetus was not so far from the mark when he identified perception and knowledge. And therefore let us draw nearer, as the advocate of Protagoras desires; and give the truth of the universal flux a ring: is the theory sound or not? at any rate, no small war is raging about it, and there are combination not a few.

THEODORUS: No small, war, indeed, for in Ionia the sect makes rapid strides; the disciples of Heracleitus are most energetic upholders of the doctrine.

SOCRATES: Then we are the more bound, my dear Theodorus, to examine the question from the foundation as it is set forth by themselves.

THEODORUS: Certainly we are. About these speculations of Heracleitus, which, as you say, are as old as Homer, or even older still, the Ephesians themselves, who profess to know them, are downright mad, and you cannot talk with them on the subject. For, in accordance with their text-books, they are always in motion; but as for dwelling upon an argument or a question, and quietly asking and answering in turn, they can no more do so than they can fly; or rather, the determination of these fellows not to have a particle of rest in them is more than the utmost powers of negation can express. If you ask any of them a question, he will produce, as from a quiver, sayings brief and dark, and shoot them at you; and if you inquire the reason of what he has said, you will be hit by some other new-fangled word, and will make no way with any of them, nor they with one another; their great care is, not to allow of any settled principle either in their arguments or in their minds, conceiving, as I imagine, that any such principle would be stationary; for they are at war with the stationary, and do what they can to drive it out everywhere.

SOCRATES: I suppose, Theodorus, that you have only seen them when they were fighting, and have never stayed with them in time of peace, for they are no friends of yours; and their peace doctrines are only communicated by them at leisure, as I imagine, to those disciples of theirs whom they want to make like themselves.

THEODORUS: Disciples! my good sir, they have none; men of their sort are not one another’s disciples, but they grow up at their own sweet will, and get their inspiration anywhere, each of them saying of his neighbour that he knows nothing. From these men, then, as I was going to remark, you will never get a reason, whether with their will or without their will; we must take the question out of their hands, and make the analysis ourselves, as if we were doing geometrical problem.

SOCRATES: Quite right too; but as touching the aforesaid problem, have we not heard from the ancients, who concealed their wisdom from the many in poetical figures, that Oceanus and Tethys, the origin of all things, are streams, and that nothing is at rest? And now the moderns, in their superior wisdom, have declared the same openly, that the cobbler too may hear and learn of them, and no longer foolishly imagine that some things are at rest and others in motion — having learned that all is motion, he will duly honour his teachers. I had almost forgotten the opposite doctrine, Theodorus,

‘Alone Being remains unmoved, which is the name for the all.’

This is the language of Parmenides, Melissus, and their followers, who stoutly maintain that all being is one and self-contained, and has no place in which to move. What shall we do, friend, with all these people; for, advancing step by step, we have imperceptibly got between the combatants, and, unless we can protect our retreat, we shall pay the penalty of our rashness — like the players in the palaestra who are caught upon the line, and are dragged different ways by the two parties. Therefore I think that we had better begin by considering those whom we first accosted, ‘the river-gods,’ and, if we find any truth in them, we will help them to pull us over, and try to get away from the others. But if the partisans of ‘the whole’ appear to speak more truly, we will fly off from the party which would move the immovable, to them. And if I find that neither of them have anything reasonable to say, we shall be in a ridiculous position, having so great a conceit of our own poor opinion and rejecting that of ancient and famous men. O Theodorus, do you think that there is any use in proceeding when the danger is so great?

THEODORUS: Nay, Socrates, not to examine thoroughly what the two parties have to say would be quite intolerable.

SOCRATES: Then examine we must, since you, who were so reluctant to begin, are so eager to proceed. The nature of motion appears to be the question with which we begin. What do they mean when they say that all things are in motion? Is there only one kind of motion, or, as I rather incline to think, two? I should like to have your opinion upon this point in addition to my own, that I may err, if I must err, in your company; tell me, then, when a thing changes from one place to another, or goes round in the same place, is not that what is called motion?

THEODORUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Here then we have one kind of motion. But when a thing, remaining on the same spot, grows old, or becomes black from being white, or hard from being soft, or undergoes any other change, may not this be properly called motion of another kind?

THEODORUS: I think so.

SOCRATES: Say rather that it must be so. Of motion then there are these two kinds, ‘change,’ and ‘motion in place.’

THEODORUS: You are right.

SOCRATES: And now, having made this distinction, let us address ourselves to those who say that all is motion, and ask them whether all things according to them have the two kinds of motion, and are changed as well as move in place, or is one thing moved in both ways, and another in one only?

THEODORUS: Indeed, I do not know what to answer; but I think they would say that all things are moved in both ways.

SOCRATES: Yes, comrade; for, if not, they would have to say that the same things are in motion and at rest, and there would be no more truth in saying that all things are in motion, than that all things are at rest.

THEODORUS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And if they are to be in motion, and nothing is to be devoid of motion, all things must always have every sort of motion?

THEODORUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: Consider a further point: did we not understand them to explain the generation of heat, whiteness, or anything else, in some such manner as the following: — were they not saying that each of them is moving between the agent and the patient, together with a perception, and that the patient ceases to be a perceiving power and becomes a percipient, and the agent a quale instead of a quality? I suspect that quality may appear a strange and uncouth term to you, and that you do not understand the abstract expression. Then I will take concrete instances: I mean to say that the producing power or agent becomes neither heat nor whiteness but hot and white, and the like of other things. For I must repeat what I said before, that neither the agent nor patient have any absolute existence, but when they come together and generate sensations and their objects, the one becomes a thing of a certain quality, and the other a percipient. You remember?

THEODORUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: We may leave the details of their theory unexamined, but we must not forget to ask them the only question with which we are concerned: Are all things in motion and flux?

THEODORUS: Yes, they will reply.

SOCRATES: And they are moved in both those ways which we distinguished, that is to say, they move in place and are also changed?

THEODORUS: Of course, if the motion is to be perfect.

SOCRATES: If they only moved in place and were not changed, we should be able to say what is the nature of the things which are in motion and flux?

THEODORUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: But now, since not even white continues to flow white, and whiteness itself is a flux or change which is passing into another colour, and is never to be caught standing still, can the name of any colour be rightly used at all?

THEODORUS: How is that possible, Socrates, either in the case of this or of any other quality — if while we are using the word the object is escaping in the flux?

SOCRATES: And what would you say of perceptions, such as sight and hearing, or any other kind of perception? Is there any stopping in the act of seeing and hearing?

THEODORUS: Certainly not, if all things are in motion.

SOCRATES: Then we must not speak of seeing any more than of not-seeing, nor of any other perception more than of any non-perception, if all things partake of every kind of motion?

THEODORUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Yet perception is knowledge: so at least Theaetetus and I were saying.

THEODORUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then when we were asked what is knowledge, we no more answered what is knowledge than what is not knowledge?

THEODORUS: I suppose not.

SOCRATES: Here, then, is a fine result: we corrected our first answer in our eagerness to prove that nothing is at rest. But if nothing is at rest, every answer upon whatever subject is equally right: you may say that a thing is or is not thus; or, if you prefer, ‘becomes’ thus; and if we say ‘becomes,’ we shall not then hamper them with words expressive of rest.

THEODORUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: Yes, Theodorus, except in saying ‘thus’ and ‘not thus.’ But you ought not to use the word ‘thus,’ for there is no motion in ‘thus’ or in ‘not thus.’ The maintainers of the doctrine have as yet no words in which to express themselves, and must get a new language. I know of no word that will suit them, except perhaps ‘no how,’ which is perfectly indefinite.

THEODORUS: Yes, that is a manner of speaking in which they will be quite at home.

SOCRATES: And so, Theodorus, we have got rid of your friend without assenting to his doctrine, that every man is the measure of all things — a wise man only is a measure; neither can we allow that knowledge is perception, certainly not on the hypothesis of a perpetual flux, unless perchance our friend Theaetetus is able to convince us that it is.

THEODORUS: Very good, Socrates; and now that the argument about the doctrine of Protagoras has been completed, I am absolved from answering; for this was the agreement.

THEAETETUS: Not, Theodorus, until you and Socrates have discussed the doctrine of those who say that all things are at rest, as you were proposing.

THEODORUS: You, Theaetetus, who are a young rogue, must not instigate your elders to a breach of faith, but should prepare to answer Socrates in the remainder of the argument.

THEAETETUS: Yes, if he wishes; but I would rather have heard about the doctrine of rest.

THEODORUS: Invite Socrates to an argument — invite horsemen to the open plain; do but ask him, and he will answer.

SOCRATES: Nevertheless, Theodorus, I am afraid that I shall not be able to comply with the request of Theaetetus.

THEODORUS: Not comply! for what reason?

SOCRATES: My reason is that I have a kind of reverence; not so much for Melissus and the others, who say that ‘All is one and at rest,’ as for the great leader himself, Parmenides, venerable and awful, as in Homeric language he may be called; — him I should be ashamed to approach in a spirit unworthy of him. I met him when he was an old man, and I was a mere youth, and he appeared to me to have a glorious depth of mind. And I am afraid that we may not understand his words, and may be still further from understanding his meaning; above all I fear that the nature of knowledge, which is the main subject of our discussion, may be thrust out of sight by the unbidden guests who will come pouring in upon our feast of discourse, if we let them in — besides, the question which is now stirring is of immense extent, and will be treated unfairly if only considered by the way; or if treated adequately and at length, will put into the shade the other question of knowledge. Neither the one nor the other can be allowed; but I must try by my art of midwifery to deliver Theaetetus of his conceptions about knowledge.

THEAETETUS: Very well; do so if you will.

SOCRATES: Then now, Theaetetus, take another view of the subject: you answered that knowledge is perception?

THEAETETUS: I did.

SOCRATES: And if any one were to ask you: With what does a man see black and white colours? and with what does he hear high and low sounds? — you would say, if I am not mistaken, ‘With the eyes and with the ears.’

THEAETETUS: I should.

SOCRATES: The free use of words and phrases, rather than minute precision, is generally characteristic of a liberal education, and the opposite is pedantic; but sometimes precision is necessary, and I believe that the answer which you have just given is open to the charge of incorrectness; for which is more correct, to say that we see or hear with the eyes and with the ears, or through the eyes and through the ears.

THEAETETUS: I should say ‘through,’ Socrates, rather than ‘with.’

SOCRATES: Yes, my boy, for no one can suppose that in each of us, as in a sort of Trojan horse, there are perched a number of unconnected senses, which do not all meet in some one nature, the mind, or whatever we please to call it, of which they are the instruments, and with which through them we perceive objects of sense.

THEAETETUS: I agree with you in that opinion.

SOCRATES: The reason why I am thus precise is, because I want to know whether, when we perceive black and white through the eyes, and again, other qualities through other organs, we do not perceive them with one and the same part of ourselves, and, if you were asked, you might refer all such perceptions to the body. Perhaps, however, I had better allow you to answer for yourself and not interfere. Tell me, then, are not the organs through which you perceive warm and hard and light and sweet, organs of the body?

THEAETETUS: Of the body, certainly.

SOCRATES: And you would admit that what you perceive through one faculty you cannot perceive through another; the objects of hearing, for example, cannot be perceived through sight, or the objects of sight through hearing?

THEAETETUS: Of course not.

SOCRATES: If you have any thought about both of them, this common perception cannot come to you, either through the one or the other organ?

THEAETETUS: It cannot.

SOCRATES: How about sounds and colours: in the first place you would admit that they both exist?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And that either of them is different from the other, and the same with itself?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And that both are two and each of them one?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: You can further observe whether they are like or unlike one another?

THEAETETUS: I dare say.

SOCRATES: But through what do you perceive all this about them? for neither through hearing nor yet through seeing can you apprehend that which they have in common. Let me give you an illustration of the point at issue: — If there were any meaning in asking whether sounds and colours are saline or not, you would be able to tell me what faculty would consider the question. It would not be sight or hearing, but some other.

THEAETETUS: Certainly; the faculty of taste.

SOCRATES: Very good; and now tell me what is the power which discerns, not only in sensible objects, but in all things, universal notions, such as those which are called being and not-being, and those others about which we were just asking — what organs will you assign for the perception of these notions?

THEAETETUS: You are thinking of being and not being, likeness and unlikeness, sameness and difference, and also of unity and other numbers which are applied to objects of sense; and you mean to ask, through what bodily organ the soul perceives odd and even numbers and other arithmetical conceptions.

SOCRATES: You follow me excellently, Theaetetus; that is precisely what I am asking.

THEAETETUS: Indeed, Socrates, I cannot answer; my only notion is, that these, unlike objects of sense, have no separate organ, but that the mind, by a power of her own, contemplates the universals in all things.

SOCRATES: You are a beauty, Theaetetus, and not ugly, as Theodorus was saying; for he who utters the beautiful is himself beautiful and good. And besides being beautiful, you have done me a kindness in releasing me from a very long discussion, if you are clear that the soul views some things by herself and others through the bodily organs. For that was my own opinion, and I wanted you to agree with me.

THEAETETUS: I am quite clear.

SOCRATES: And to which class would you refer being or essence; for this, of all our notions, is the most universal?

THEAETETUS: I should say, to that class which the soul aspires to know of herself.

SOCRATES: And would you say this also of like and unlike, same and other?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And would you say the same of the noble and base, and of good and evil?

THEAETETUS: These I conceive to be notions which are essentially relative, and which the soul also perceives by comparing in herself things past and present with the future.

SOCRATES: And does she not perceive the hardness of that which is hard by the touch, and the softness of that which is soft equally by the touch?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But their essence and what they are, and their opposition to one another, and the essential nature of this opposition, the soul herself endeavours to decide for us by the review and comparison of them?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The simple sensations which reach the soul through the body are given at birth to men and animals by nature, but their reflections on the being and use of them are slowly and hardly gained, if they are ever gained, by education and long experience.

THEAETETUS: Assuredly.

SOCRATES: And can a man attain truth who fails of attaining being?

THEAETETUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: And can he who misses the truth of anything, have a knowledge of that thing?

THEAETETUS: He cannot.

SOCRATES: Then knowledge does not consist in impressions of sense, but in reasoning about them; in that only, and not in the mere impression, truth and being can be attained?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And would you call the two processes by the same name, when there is so great a difference between them?

THEAETETUS: That would certainly not be right.

SOCRATES: And what name would you give to seeing, hearing, smelling, being cold and being hot?

THEAETETUS: I should call all of them perceiving — what other name could be given to them?

SOCRATES: Perception would be the collective name of them?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Which, as we say, has no part in the attainment of truth any more than of being?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And therefore not in science or knowledge?

THEAETETUS: No.

SOCRATES: Then perception, Theaetetus, can never be the same as knowledge or science?

THEAETETUS: Clearly not, Socrates; and knowledge has now been most distinctly proved to be different from perception.

SOCRATES: But the original aim of our discussion was to find out rather what knowledge is than what it is not; at the same time we have made some progress, for we no longer seek for knowledge in perception at all, but in that other process, however called, in which the mind is alone and engaged with being.

THEAETETUS: You mean, Socrates, if I am not mistaken, what is called thinking or opining.

SOCRATES: You conceive truly. And now, my friend, please to begin again at this point; and having wiped out of your memory all that has preceded, see if you have arrived at any clearer view, and once more say what is knowledge.

THEAETETUS: I cannot say, Socrates, that all opinion is knowledge, because there may be a false opinion; but I will venture to assert, that knowledge is true opinion: let this then be my reply; and if this is hereafter disproved, I must try to find another.

SOCRATES: That is the way in which you ought to answer, Theaetetus, and not in your former hesitating strain, for if we are bold we shall gain one of two advantages; either we shall find what we seek, or we shall be less likely to think that we know what we do not know — in either case we shall be richly rewarded. And now, what are you saying? — Are there two sorts of opinion, one true and the other false; and do you define knowledge to be the true?

THEAETETUS: Yes, according to my present view.

SOCRATES: Is it still worth our while to resume the discussion touching opinion?

THEAETETUS: To what are you alluding?

SOCRATES: There is a point which often troubles me, and is a great perplexity to me, both in regard to myself and others. I cannot make out the nature or origin of the mental experience to which I refer.

THEAETETUS: Pray what is it?

SOCRATES: How there can be false opinion — that difficulty still troubles the eye of my mind; and I am uncertain whether I shall leave the question, or begin over again in a new way.

THEAETETUS: Begin again, Socrates, — at least if you think that there is the slightest necessity for doing so. Were not you and Theodorus just now remarking very truly, that in discussions of this kind we may take our own time?

SOCRATES: You are quite right, and perhaps there will be no harm in retracing our steps and beginning again. Better a little which is well done, than a great deal imperfectly.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Well, and what is the difficulty? Do we not speak of false opinion, and say that one man holds a false and another a true opinion, as though there were some natural distinction between them?

THEAETETUS: We certainly say so.

SOCRATES: All things and everything are either known or not known. I leave out of view the intermediate conceptions of learning and forgetting, because they have nothing to do with our present question.

THEAETETUS: There can be no doubt, Socrates, if you exclude these, that there is no other alternative but knowing or not knowing a thing.

SOCRATES: That point being now determined, must we not say that he who has an opinion, must have an opinion about something which he knows or does not know?

THEAETETUS: He must.

SOCRATES: He who knows, cannot but know; and he who does not know, cannot know?

THEAETETUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: What shall we say then? When a man has a false opinion does he think that which he knows to be some other thing which he knows, and knowing both, is he at the same time ignorant of both?

THEAETETUS: That, Socrates, is impossible.

SOCRATES: But perhaps he thinks of something which he does not know as some other thing which he does not know; for example, he knows neither Theaetetus nor Socrates, and yet he fancies that Theaetetus is Socrates, or Socrates Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS: How can he?

SOCRATES: But surely he cannot suppose what he knows to be what he does not know, or what he does not know to be what he knows?

THEAETETUS: That would be monstrous.

SOCRATES: Where, then, is false opinion? For if all things are either known or unknown, there can be no opinion which is not comprehended under this alternative, and so false opinion is excluded.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: Suppose that we remove the question out of the sphere of knowing or not knowing, into that of being and not-being.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: May we not suspect the simple truth to be that he who thinks about anything, that which is not, will necessarily think what is false, whatever in other respects may be the state of his mind?

THEAETETUS: That, again, is not unlikely, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then suppose some one to say to us, Theaetetus: — Is it possible for any man to think that which is not, either as a self-existent substance or as a predicate of something else? And suppose that we answer, ‘Yes, he can, when he thinks what is not true.’ — That will be our answer?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But is there any parallel to this?

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Can a man see something and yet see nothing?

THEAETETUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: But if he sees any one thing, he sees something that exists. Do you suppose that what is one is ever to be found among non-existing things?

THEAETETUS: I do not.

SOCRATES: He then who sees some one thing, sees something which is?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And he who hears anything, hears some one thing, and hears that which is?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And he who touches anything, touches something which is one and therefore is?

THEAETETUS: That again is true.

SOCRATES: And does not he who thinks, think some one thing?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And does not he who thinks some one thing, think something which is?

THEAETETUS: I agree.

SOCRATES: Then he who thinks of that which is not, thinks of nothing?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And he who thinks of nothing, does not think at all?

THEAETETUS: Obviously.

SOCRATES: Then no one can think that which is not, either as a self-existent substance or as a predicate of something else?

THEAETETUS: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: Then to think falsely is different from thinking that which is not?

THEAETETUS: It would seem so.

SOCRATES: Then false opinion has no existence in us, either in the sphere of being or of knowledge?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: But may not the following be the description of what we express by this name?

THEAETETUS: What?

SOCRATES: May we not suppose that false opinion or thought is a sort of heterodoxy; a person may make an exchange in his mind, and say that one real object is another real object. For thus he always thinks that which is, but he puts one thing in place of another; and missing the aim of his thoughts, he may be truly said to have false opinion.

THEAETETUS: Now you appear to me to have spoken the exact truth: when a man puts the base in the place of the noble, or the noble in the place of the base, then he has truly false opinion.

SOCRATES: I see, Theaetetus, that your fear has disappeared, and that you are beginning to despise me.

THEAETETUS: What makes you say so?

SOCRATES: You think, if I am not mistaken, that your ‘truly false’ is safe from censure, and that I shall never ask whether there can be a swift which is slow, or a heavy which is light, or any other self-contradictory thing, which works, not according to its own nature, but according to that of its opposite. But I will not insist upon this, for I do not wish needlessly to discourage you. And so you are satisfied that false opinion is heterodoxy, or the thought of something else?

THEAETETUS: I am.

SOCRATES: It is possible then upon your view for the mind to conceive of one thing as another?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: But must not the mind, or thinking power, which misplaces them, have a conception either of both objects or of one of them?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Either together or in succession?

THEAETETUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: And do you mean by conceiving, the same which I mean?

THEAETETUS: What is that?

SOCRATES: I mean the conversation which the soul holds with herself in considering of anything. I speak of what I scarcely understand; but the soul when thinking appears to me to be just talking — asking questions of herself and answering them, affirming and denying. And when she has arrived at a decision, either gradually or by a sudden impulse, and has at last agreed, and does not doubt, this is called her opinion. I say, then, that to form an opinion is to speak, and opinion is a word spoken, — I mean, to oneself and in silence, not aloud or to another: What think you?

THEAETETUS: I agree.

SOCRATES: Then when any one thinks of one thing as another, he is saying to himself that one thing is another?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But do you ever remember saying to yourself that the noble is certainly base, or the unjust just; or, best of all — have you ever attempted to convince yourself that one thing is another? Nay, not even in sleep, did you ever venture to say to yourself that odd is even, or anything of the kind?

THEAETETUS: Never.

SOCRATES: And do you suppose that any other man, either in his senses or out of them, ever seriously tried to persuade himself that an ox is a horse, or that two are one?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: But if thinking is talking to oneself, no one speaking and thinking of two objects, and apprehending them both in his soul, will say and think that the one is the other of them, and I must add, that even you, lover of dispute as you are, had better let the word ‘other’ alone (i.e. not insist that ‘one’ and ‘other’ are the same (Both words in Greek are called eteron: compare Parmen.; Euthyd.)). I mean to say, that no one thinks the noble to be base, or anything of the kind.

THEAETETUS: I will give up the word ‘other,’ Socrates; and I agree to what you say.

SOCRATES: If a man has both of them in his thoughts, he cannot think that the one of them is the other?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Neither, if he has one of them only in his mind and not the other, can he think that one is the other?

THEAETETUS: True; for we should have to suppose that he apprehends that which is not in his thoughts at all.

SOCRATES: Then no one who has either both or only one of the two objects in his mind can think that the one is the other. And therefore, he who maintains that false opinion is heterodoxy is talking nonsense; for neither in this, any more than in the previous way, can false opinion exist in us.

THEAETETUS: No.

SOCRATES: But if, Theaetetus, this is not admitted, we shall be driven into many absurdities.

THEAETETUS: What are they?

SOCRATES: I will not tell you until I have endeavoured to consider the matter from every point of view. For I should be ashamed of us if we were driven in our perplexity to admit the absurd consequences of which I speak. But if we find the solution, and get away from them, we may regard them only as the difficulties of others, and the ridicule will not attach to us. On the other hand, if we utterly fail, I suppose that we must be humble, and allow the argument to trample us under foot, as the sea-sick passenger is trampled upon by the sailor, and to do anything to us. Listen, then, while I tell you how I hope to find a way out of our difficulty.

THEAETETUS: Let me hear.

SOCRATES: I think that we were wrong in denying that a man could think what he knew to be what he did not know; and that there is a way in which such a deception is possible.

THEAETETUS: You mean to say, as I suspected at the time, that I may know Socrates, and at a distance see some one who is unknown to me, and whom I mistake for him — then the deception will occur?

SOCRATES: But has not that position been relinquished by us, because involving the absurdity that we should know and not know the things which we know?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Let us make the assertion in another form, which may or may not have a favourable issue; but as we are in a great strait, every argument should be turned over and tested. Tell me, then, whether I am right in saying that you may learn a thing which at one time you did not know?

THEAETETUS: Certainly you may.

SOCRATES: And another and another?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: I would have you imagine, then, that there exists in the mind of man a block of wax, which is of different sizes in different men; harder, moister, and having more or less of purity in one than another, and in some of an intermediate quality.

THEAETETUS: I see.

SOCRATES: Let us say that this tablet is a gift of Memory, the mother of the Muses; and that when we wish to remember anything which we have seen, or heard, or thought in our own minds, we hold the wax to the perceptions and thoughts, and in that material receive the impression of them as from the seal of a ring; and that we remember and know what is imprinted as long as the image lasts; but when the image is effaced, or cannot be taken, then we forget and do not know.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: Now, when a person has this knowledge, and is considering something which he sees or hears, may not false opinion arise in the following manner?

THEAETETUS: In what manner?

SOCRATES: When he thinks what he knows, sometimes to be what he knows, and sometimes to be what he does not know. We were wrong before in denying the possibility of this.

THEAETETUS: And how would you amend the former statement?

SOCRATES: I should begin by making a list of the impossible cases which must be excluded. (1) No one can think one thing to be another when he does not perceive either of them, but has the memorial or seal of both of them in his mind; nor can any mistaking of one thing for another occur, when he only knows one, and does not know, and has no impression of the other; nor can he think that one thing which he does not know is another thing which he does not know, or that what he does not know is what he knows; nor (2) that one thing which he perceives is another thing which he perceives, or that something which he perceives is something which he does not perceive; or that something which he does not perceive is something else which he does not perceive; or that something which he does not perceive is something which he perceives; nor again (3) can he think that something which he knows and perceives, and of which he has the impression coinciding with sense, is something else which he knows and perceives, and of which he has the impression coinciding with sense; — this last case, if possible, is still more inconceivable than the others; nor (4) can he think that something which he knows and perceives, and of which he has the memorial coinciding with sense, is something else which he knows; nor so long as these agree, can he think that a thing which he knows and perceives is another thing which he perceives; or that a thing which he does not know and does not perceive, is the same as another thing which he does not know and does not perceive; — nor again, can he suppose that a thing which he does not know and does not perceive is the same as another thing which he does not know; or that a thing which he does not know and does not perceive is another thing which he does not perceive: — All these utterly and absolutely exclude the possibility of false opinion. The only cases, if any, which remain, are the following.

THEAETETUS: What are they? If you tell me, I may perhaps understand you better; but at present I am unable to follow you.

SOCRATES: A person may think that some things which he knows, or which he perceives and does not know, are some other things which he knows and perceives; or that some things which he knows and perceives, are other things which he knows and perceives.

THEAETETUS: I understand you less than ever now.

SOCRATES: Hear me once more, then: — I, knowing Theodorus, and remembering in my own mind what sort of person he is, and also what sort of person Theaetetus is, at one time see them, and at another time do not see them, and sometimes I touch them, and at another time not, or at one time I may hear them or perceive them in some other way, and at another time not perceive them, but still I remember them, and know them in my own mind.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Then, first of all, I want you to understand that a man may or may not perceive sensibly that which he knows.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And that which he does not know will sometimes not be perceived by him and sometimes will be perceived and only perceived?

THEAETETUS: That is also true.

SOCRATES: See whether you can follow me better now: Socrates can recognize Theodorus and Theaetetus, but he sees neither of them, nor does he perceive them in any other way; he cannot then by any possibility imagine in his own mind that Theaetetus is Theodorus. Am I not right?

THEAETETUS: You are quite right.

SOCRATES: Then that was the first case of which I spoke.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: The second case was, that I, knowing one of you and not knowing the other, and perceiving neither, can never think him whom I know to be him whom I do not know.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: In the third case, not knowing and not perceiving either of you, I cannot think that one of you whom I do not know is the other whom I do not know. I need not again go over the catalogue of excluded cases, in which I cannot form a false opinion about you and Theodorus, either when I know both or when I am in ignorance of both, or when I know one and not the other. And the same of perceiving: do you understand me?

THEAETETUS: I do.

SOCRATES: The only possibility of erroneous opinion is, when knowing you and Theodorus, and having on the waxen block the impression of both of you given as by a seal, but seeing you imperfectly and at a distance, I try to assign the right impression of memory to the right visual impression, and to fit this into its own print: if I succeed, recognition will take place; but if I fail and transpose them, putting the foot into the wrong shoe — that is to say, putting the vision of either of you on to the wrong impression, or if my mind, like the sight in a mirror, which is transferred from right to left, err by reason of some similar affection, then ‘heterodoxy’ and false opinion ensues.

THEAETETUS: Yes, Socrates, you have described the nature of opinion with wonderful exactness.

SOCRATES: Or again, when I know both of you, and perceive as well as know one of you, but not the other, and my knowledge of him does not accord with perception — that was the case put by me just now which you did not understand.

THEAETETUS: No, I did not.

SOCRATES: I meant to say, that when a person knows and perceives one of you, his knowledge coincides with his perception, he will never think him to be some other person, whom he knows and perceives, and the knowledge of whom coincides with his perception — for that also was a case supposed.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: But there was an omission of the further case, in which, as we now say, false opinion may arise, when knowing both, and seeing, or having some other sensible perception of both, I fail in holding the seal over against the corresponding sensation; like a bad archer, I miss and fall wide of the mark — and this is called falsehood.

THEAETETUS: Yes; it is rightly so called.

SOCRATES: When, therefore, perception is present to one of the seals or impressions but not to the other, and the mind fits the seal of the absent perception on the one which is present, in any case of this sort the mind is deceived; in a word, if our view is sound, there can be no error or deception about things which a man does not know and has never perceived, but only in things which are known and perceived; in these alone opinion turns and twists about, and becomes alternately true and false; — true when the seals and impressions of sense meet straight and opposite — false when they go awry and crooked.

THEAETETUS: And is not that, Socrates, nobly said?

SOCRATES: Nobly! yes; but wait a little and hear the explanation, and then you will say so with more reason; for to think truly is noble and to be deceived is base.

THEAETETUS: Undoubtedly.

SOCRATES: And the origin of truth and error is as follows: — When the wax in the soul of any one is deep and abundant, and smooth and perfectly tempered, then the impressions which pass through the senses and sink into the heart of the soul, as Homer says in a parable, meaning to indicate the likeness of the soul to wax (Kerh Kerhos); these, I say, being pure and clear, and having a sufficient depth of wax, are also lasting, and minds, such as these, easily learn and easily retain, and are not liable to confusion, but have true thoughts, for they have plenty of room, and having clear impressions of things, as we term them, quickly distribute them into their proper places on the block. And such men are called wise. Do you agree?

THEAETETUS: Entirely.

SOCRATES: But when the heart of any one is shaggy — a quality which the all-wise poet commends, or muddy and of impure wax, or very soft, or very hard, then there is a corresponding defect in the mind — the soft are good at learning, but apt to forget; and the hard are the reverse; the shaggy and rugged and gritty, or those who have an admixture of earth or dung in their composition, have the impressions indistinct, as also the hard, for there is no depth in them; and the soft too are indistinct, for their impressions are easily confused and effaced. Yet greater is the indistinctness when they are all jostled together in a little soul, which has no room. These are the natures which have false opinion; for when they see or hear or think of anything, they are slow in assigning the right objects to the right impressions — in their stupidity they confuse them, and are apt to see and hear and think amiss — and such men are said to be deceived in their knowledge of objects, and ignorant.

THEAETETUS: No man, Socrates, can say anything truer than that.

SOCRATES: Then now we may admit the existence of false opinion in us?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And of true opinion also?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: We have at length satisfactorily proven beyond a doubt there are these two sorts of opinion?

THEAETETUS: Undoubtedly.

SOCRATES: Alas, Theaetetus, what a tiresome creature is a man who is fond of talking!

THEAETETUS: What makes you say so?

SOCRATES: Because I am disheartened at my own stupidity and tiresome garrulity; for what other term will describe the habit of a man who is always arguing on all sides of a question; whose dulness cannot be convinced, and who will never leave off?

THEAETETUS: But what puts you out of heart?

SOCRATES: I am not only out of heart, but in positive despair; for I do not know what to answer if any one were to ask me: — O Socrates, have you indeed discovered that false opinion arises neither in the comparison of perceptions with one another nor yet in thought, but in union of thought and perception? Yes, I shall say, with the complacence of one who thinks that he has made a noble discovery.

THEAETETUS: I see no reason why we should be ashamed of our demonstration, Socrates.

SOCRATES: He will say: You mean to argue that the man whom we only think of and do not see, cannot be confused with the horse which we do not see or touch, but only think of and do not perceive? That I believe to be my meaning, I shall reply.

THEAETETUS: Quite right.

SOCRATES: Well, then, he will say, according to that argument, the number eleven, which is only thought, can never be mistaken for twelve, which is only thought: How would you answer him?

THEAETETUS: I should say that a mistake may very likely arise between the eleven or twelve which are seen or handled, but that no similar mistake can arise between the eleven and twelve which are in the mind.

SOCRATES: Well, but do you think that no one ever put before his own mind five and seven, — I do not mean five or seven men or horses, but five or seven in the abstract, which, as we say, are recorded on the waxen block, and in which false opinion is held to be impossible; did no man ever ask himself how many these numbers make when added together, and answer that they are eleven, while another thinks that they are twelve, or would all agree in thinking and saying that they are twelve?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not; many would think that they are eleven, and in the higher numbers the chance of error is greater still; for I assume you to be speaking of numbers in general.

SOCRATES: Exactly; and I want you to consider whether this does not imply that the twelve in the waxen block are supposed to be eleven?

THEAETETUS: Yes, that seems to be the case.

SOCRATES: Then do we not come back to the old difficulty? For he who makes such a mistake does think one thing which he knows to be another thing which he knows; but this, as we said, was impossible, and afforded an irresistible proof of the non-existence of false opinion, because otherwise the same person would inevitably know and not know the same thing at the same time.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: Then false opinion cannot be explained as a confusion of thought and sense, for in that case we could not have been mistaken about pure conceptions of thought; and thus we are obliged to say, either that false opinion does not exist, or that a man may not know that which he knows; — which alternative do you prefer?

THEAETETUS: It is hard to determine, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And yet the argument will scarcely admit of both. But, as we are at our wits’ end, suppose that we do a shameless thing?

THEAETETUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: Let us attempt to explain the verb ‘to know.’

THEAETETUS: And why should that be shameless?

SOCRATES: You seem not to be aware that the whole of our discussion from the very beginning has been a search after knowledge, of which we are assumed not to know the nature.

THEAETETUS: Nay, but I am well aware.

SOCRATES: And is it not shameless when we do not know what knowledge is, to be explaining the verb ‘to know’? The truth is, Theaetetus, that we have long been infected with logical impurity. Thousands of times have we repeated the words ‘we know,’ and ‘do not know,’ and ‘we have or have not science or knowledge,’ as if we could understand what we are saying to one another, so long as we remain ignorant about knowledge; and at this moment we are using the words ‘we understand,’ ‘we are ignorant,’ as though we could still employ them when deprived of knowledge or science.

THEAETETUS: But if you avoid these expressions, Socrates, how will you ever argue at all?

SOCRATES: I could not, being the man I am. The case would be different if I were a true hero of dialectic: and O that such an one were present! for he would have told us to avoid the use of these terms; at the same time he would not have spared in you and me the faults which I have noted. But, seeing that we are no great wits, shall I venture to say what knowing is? for I think that the attempt may be worth making.

THEAETETUS: Then by all means venture, and no one shall find fault with you for using the forbidden terms.

SOCRATES: You have heard the common explanation of the verb ‘to know’?

THEAETETUS: I think so, but I do not remember it at the moment.

SOCRATES: They explain the word ‘to know’ as meaning ‘to have knowledge.’

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: I should like to make a slight change, and say ‘to possess’ knowledge.

THEAETETUS: How do the two expressions differ?

SOCRATES: Perhaps there may be no difference; but still I should like you to hear my view, that you may help me to test it.

THEAETETUS: I will, if I can.

SOCRATES: I should distinguish ‘having’ from ‘possessing’: for example, a man may buy and keep under his control a garment which he does not wear; and then we should say, not that he has, but that he possesses the garment.

THEAETETUS: It would be the correct expression.

SOCRATES: Well, may not a man ‘possess’ and yet not ‘have’ knowledge in the sense of which I am speaking? As you may suppose a man to have caught wild birds — doves or any other birds — and to be keeping them in an aviary which he has constructed at home; we might say of him in one sense, that he always has them because he possesses them, might we not?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And yet, in another sense, he has none of them; but they are in his power, and he has got them under his hand in an enclosure of his own, and can take and have them whenever he likes; — he can catch any which he likes, and let the bird go again, and he may do so as often as he pleases.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Once more, then, as in what preceded we made a sort of waxen figment in the mind, so let us now suppose that in the mind of each man there is an aviary of all sorts of birds — some flocking together apart from the rest, others in small groups, others solitary, flying anywhere and everywhere.

THEAETETUS: Let us imagine such an aviary — and what is to follow?

SOCRATES: We may suppose that the birds are kinds of knowledge, and that when we were children, this receptacle was empty; whenever a man has gotten and detained in the enclosure a kind of knowledge, he may be said to have learned or discovered the thing which is the subject of the knowledge: and this is to know.

THEAETETUS: Granted.

SOCRATES: And further, when any one wishes to catch any of these knowledges or sciences, and having taken, to hold it, and again to let them go, how will he express himself? — will he describe the ‘catching’ of them and the original ‘possession’ in the same words? I will make my meaning clearer by an example: — You admit that there is an art of arithmetic?

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: Conceive this under the form of a hunt after the science of odd and even in general.

THEAETETUS: I follow.

SOCRATES: Having the use of the art, the arithmetician, if I am not mistaken, has the conceptions of number under his hand, and can transmit them to another.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And when transmitting them he may be said to teach them, and when receiving to learn them, and when receiving to learn them, and when having them in possession in the aforesaid aviary he may be said to know them.

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Attend to what follows: must not the perfect arithmetician know all numbers, for he has the science of all numbers in his mind?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And he can reckon abstract numbers in his head, or things about him which are numerable?

THEAETETUS: Of course he can.

SOCRATES: And to reckon is simply to consider how much such and such a number amounts to?

THEAETETUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And so he appears to be searching into something which he knows, as if he did not know it, for we have already admitted that he knows all numbers; — you have heard these perplexing questions raised?

THEAETETUS: I have.

SOCRATES: May we not pursue the image of the doves, and say that the chase after knowledge is of two kinds? one kind is prior to possession and for the sake of possession, and the other for the sake of taking and holding in the hands that which is possessed already. And thus, when a man has learned and known something long ago, he may resume and get hold of the knowledge which he has long possessed, but has not at hand in his mind.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: That was my reason for asking how we ought to speak when an arithmetician sets about numbering, or a grammarian about reading? Shall we say, that although he knows, he comes back to himself to learn what he already knows?

THEAETETUS: It would be too absurd, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Shall we say then that he is going to read or number what he does not know, although we have admitted that he knows all letters and all numbers?

THEAETETUS: That, again, would be an absurdity.

SOCRATES: Then shall we say that about names we care nothing? — any one may twist and turn the words ‘knowing’ and ‘learning’ in any way which he likes, but since we have determined that the possession of knowledge is not the having or using it, we do assert that a man cannot not possess that which he possesses; and, therefore, in no case can a man not know that which he knows, but he may get a false opinion about it; for he may have the knowledge, not of this particular thing, but of some other; — when the various numbers and forms of knowledge are flying about in the aviary, and wishing to capture a certain sort of knowledge out of the general store, he takes the wrong one by mistake, that is to say, when he thought eleven to be twelve, he got hold of the ring-dove which he had in his mind, when he wanted the pigeon.

THEAETETUS: A very rational explanation.

SOCRATES: But when he catches the one which he wants, then he is not deceived, and has an opinion of what is, and thus false and true opinion may exist, and the difficulties which were previously raised disappear. I dare say that you agree with me, do you not?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And so we are rid of the difficulty of a man’s not knowing what he knows, for we are not driven to the inference that he does not possess what he possesses, whether he be or be not deceived. And yet I fear that a greater difficulty is looking in at the window.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: How can the exchange of one knowledge for another ever become false opinion?

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: In the first place, how can a man who has the knowledge of anything be ignorant of that which he knows, not by reason of ignorance, but by reason of his own knowledge? And, again, is it not an extreme absurdity that he should suppose another thing to be this, and this to be another thing; — that, having knowledge present with him in his mind, he should still know nothing and be ignorant of all things? — you might as well argue that ignorance may make a man know, and blindness make him see, as that knowledge can make him ignorant.

THEAETETUS: Perhaps, Socrates, we may have been wrong in making only forms of knowledge our birds: whereas there ought to have been forms of ignorance as well, flying about together in the mind, and then he who sought to take one of them might sometimes catch a form of knowledge, and sometimes a form of ignorance; and thus he would have a false opinion from ignorance, but a true one from knowledge, about the same thing.

SOCRATES: I cannot help praising you, Theaetetus, and yet I must beg you to reconsider your words. Let us grant what you say — then, according to you, he who takes ignorance will have a false opinion — am I right?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: He will certainly not think that he has a false opinion?

THEAETETUS: Of course not.

SOCRATES: He will think that his opinion is true, and he will fancy that he knows the things about which he has been deceived?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then he will think that he has captured knowledge and not ignorance?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And thus, after going a long way round, we are once more face to face with our original difficulty. The hero of dialectic will retort upon us:— ‘O my excellent friends, he will say, laughing, if a man knows the form of ignorance and the form of knowledge, can he think that one of them which he knows is the other which he knows? or, if he knows neither of them, can he think that the one which he knows not is another which he knows not? or, if he knows one and not the other, can he think the one which he knows to be the one which he does not know? or the one which he does not know to be the one which he knows? or will you tell me that there are other forms of knowledge which distinguish the right and wrong birds, and which the owner keeps in some other aviaries or graven on waxen blocks according to your foolish images, and which he may be said to know while he possesses them, even though he have them not at hand in his mind? And thus, in a perpetual circle, you will be compelled to go round and round, and you will make no progress.’ What are we to say in reply, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS: Indeed, Socrates, I do not know what we are to say.

SOCRATES: Are not his reproaches just, and does not the argument truly show that we are wrong in seeking for false opinion until we know what knowledge is; that must be first ascertained; then, the nature of false opinion?

THEAETETUS: I cannot but agree with you, Socrates, so far as we have yet gone.

SOCRATES: Then, once more, what shall we say that knowledge is? — for we are not going to lose heart as yet.

THEAETETUS: Certainly, I shall not lose heart, if you do not.

SOCRATES: What definition will be most consistent with our former views?

THEAETETUS: I cannot think of any but our old one, Socrates.

SOCRATES: What was it?

THEAETETUS: Knowledge was said by us to be true opinion; and true opinion is surely unerring, and the results which follow from it are all noble and good.

SOCRATES: He who led the way into the river, Theaetetus, said ‘The experiment will show;’ and perhaps if we go forward in the search, we may stumble upon the thing which we are looking for; but if we stay where we are, nothing will come to light.

THEAETETUS: Very true; let us go forward and try.

SOCRATES: The trail soon comes to an end, for a whole profession is against us.

THEAETETUS: How is that, and what profession do you mean?

SOCRATES: The profession of the great wise ones who are called orators and lawyers; for these persuade men by their art and make them think whatever they like, but they do not teach them. Do you imagine that there are any teachers in the world so clever as to be able to convince others of the truth about acts of robbery or violence, of which they were not eye-witnesses, while a little water is flowing in the clepsydra?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not, they can only persuade them.

SOCRATES: And would you not say that persuading them is making them have an opinion?

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: When, therefore, judges are justly persuaded about matters which you can know only by seeing them, and not in any other way, and when thus judging of them from report they attain a true opinion about them, they judge without knowledge, and yet are rightly persuaded, if they have judged well.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And yet, O my friend, if true opinion in law courts and knowledge are the same, the perfect judge could not have judged rightly without knowledge; and therefore I must infer that they are not the same.

THEAETETUS: That is a distinction, Socrates, which I have heard made by some one else, but I had forgotten it. He said that true opinion, combined with reason, was knowledge, but that the opinion which had no reason was out of the sphere of knowledge; and that things of which there is no rational account are not knowable — such was the singular expression which he used — and that things which have a reason or explanation are knowable.

SOCRATES: Excellent; but then, how did he distinguish between things which are and are not ‘knowable’? I wish that you would repeat to me what he said, and then I shall know whether you and I have heard the same tale.

THEAETETUS: I do not know whether I can recall it; but if another person would tell me, I think that I could follow him.

SOCRATES: Let me give you, then, a dream in return for a dream: — Methought that I too had a dream, and I heard in my dream that the primeval letters or elements out of which you and I and all other things are compounded, have no reason or explanation; you can only name them, but no predicate can be either affirmed or denied of them, for in the one case existence, in the other non-existence is already implied, neither of which must be added, if you mean to speak of this or that thing by itself alone. It should not be called itself, or that, or each, or alone, or this, or the like; for these go about everywhere and are applied to all things, but are distinct from them; whereas, if the first elements could be described, and had a definition of their own, they would be spoken of apart from all else. But none of these primeval elements can be defined; they can only be named, for they have nothing but a name, and the things which are compounded of them, as they are complex, are expressed by a combination of names, for the combination of names is the essence of a definition. Thus, then, the elements or letters are only objects of perception, and cannot be defined or known; but the syllables or combinations of them are known and expressed, and are apprehended by true opinion. When, therefore, any one forms the true opinion of anything without rational explanation, you may say that his mind is truly exercised, but has no knowledge; for he who cannot give and receive a reason for a thing, has no knowledge of that thing; but when he adds rational explanation, then, he is perfected in knowledge and may be all that I have been denying of him. Was that the form in which the dream appeared to you?

THEAETETUS: Precisely.

SOCRATES: And you allow and maintain that true opinion, combined with definition or rational explanation, is knowledge?

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Then may we assume, Theaetetus, that to-day, and in this casual manner, we have found a truth which in former times many wise men have grown old and have not found?

THEAETETUS: At any rate, Socrates, I am satisfied with the present statement.

SOCRATES: Which is probably correct — for how can there be knowledge apart from definition and true opinion? And yet there is one point in what has been said which does not quite satisfy me.

THEAETETUS: What was it?

SOCRATES: What might seem to be the most ingenious notion of all: — That the elements or letters are unknown, but the combination or syllables known.

THEAETETUS: And was that wrong?

SOCRATES: We shall soon know; for we have as hostages the instances which the author of the argument himself used.

THEAETETUS: What hostages?

SOCRATES: The letters, which are the clements; and the syllables, which are the combinations; — he reasoned, did he not, from the letters of the alphabet?

THEAETETUS: Yes; he did.

SOCRATES: Let us take them and put them to the test, or rather, test ourselves: — What was the way in which we learned letters? and, first of all, are we right in saying that syllables have a definition, but that letters have no definition?

THEAETETUS: I think so.

SOCRATES: I think so too; for, suppose that some one asks you to spell the first syllable of my name: — Theaetetus, he says, what is SO?

THEAETETUS: I should reply S and O.

SOCRATES: That is the definition which you would give of the syllable?

THEAETETUS: I should.

SOCRATES: I wish that you would give me a similar definition of the S.

THEAETETUS: But how can any one, Socrates, tell the elements of an element? I can only reply, that S is a consonant, a mere noise, as of the tongue hissing; B, and most other letters, again, are neither vowel-sounds nor noises. Thus letters may be most truly said to be undefined; for even the most distinct of them, which are the seven vowels, have a sound only, but no definition at all.

SOCRATES: Then, I suppose, my friend, that we have been so far right in our idea about knowledge?

THEAETETUS: Yes; I think that we have.

SOCRATES: Well, but have we been right in maintaining that the syllables can be known, but not the letters?

THEAETETUS: I think so.

SOCRATES: And do we mean by a syllable two letters, or if there are more, all of them, or a single idea which arises out of the combination of them?

THEAETETUS: I should say that we mean all the letters.

SOCRATES: Take the case of the two letters S and O, which form the first syllable of my own name; must not he who knows the syllable, know both of them?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: He knows, that is, the S and O?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But can he be ignorant of either singly and yet know both together?

THEAETETUS: Such a supposition, Socrates, is monstrous and unmeaning.

SOCRATES: But if he cannot know both without knowing each, then if he is ever to know the syllable, he must know the letters first; and thus the fine theory has again taken wings and departed.

THEAETETUS: Yes, with wonderful celerity.

SOCRATES: Yes, we did not keep watch properly. Perhaps we ought to have maintained that a syllable is not the letters, but rather one single idea framed out of them, having a separate form distinct from them.

THEAETETUS: Very true; and a more likely notion than the other.

SOCRATES: Take care; let us not be cowards and betray a great and imposing theory.

THEAETETUS: No, indeed.

SOCRATES: Let us assume then, as we now say, that the syllable is a simple form arising out of the several combinations of harmonious elements — of letters or of any other elements.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: And it must have no parts.

THEAETETUS: Why?

SOCRATES: Because that which has parts must be a whole of all the parts. Or would you say that a whole, although formed out of the parts, is a single notion different from all the parts?

THEAETETUS: I should.

SOCRATES: And would you say that all and the whole are the same, or different?

THEAETETUS: I am not certain; but, as you like me to answer at once, I shall hazard the reply, that they are different.

SOCRATES: I approve of your readiness, Theaetetus, but I must take time to think whether I equally approve of your answer.

THEAETETUS: Yes; the answer is the point.

SOCRATES: According to this new view, the whole is supposed to differ from all?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well, but is there any difference between all (in the plural) and the all (in the singular)? Take the case of number: — When we say one, two, three, four, five, six; or when we say twice three, or three times two, or four and two, or three and two and one, are we speaking of the same or of different numbers?

THEAETETUS: Of the same.

SOCRATES: That is of six?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And in each form of expression we spoke of all the six?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Again, in speaking of all (in the plural) is there not one thing which we express?

THEAETETUS: Of course there is.

SOCRATES: And that is six?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then in predicating the word ‘all’ of things measured by number, we predicate at the same time a singular and a plural?

THEAETETUS: Clearly we do.

SOCRATES: Again, the number of the acre and the acre are the same; are they not?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the number of the stadium in like manner is the stadium?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the army is the number of the army; and in all similar cases, the entire number of anything is the entire thing?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And the number of each is the parts of each?

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Then as many things as have parts are made up of parts?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But all the parts are admitted to be the all, if the entire number is the all?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then the whole is not made up of parts, for it would be the all, if consisting of all the parts?

THEAETETUS: That is the inference.

SOCRATES: But is a part a part of anything but the whole?

THEAETETUS: Yes, of the all.

SOCRATES: You make a valiant defence, Theaetetus. And yet is not the all that of which nothing is wanting?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And is not a whole likewise that from which nothing is absent? but that from which anything is absent is neither a whole nor all; — if wanting in anything, both equally lose their entirety of nature.

THEAETETUS: I now think that there is no difference between a whole and all.

SOCRATES: But were we not saying that when a thing has parts, all the parts will be a whole and all?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then, as I was saying before, must not the alternative be that either the syllable is not the letters, and then the letters are not parts of the syllable, or that the syllable will be the same with the letters, and will therefore be equally known with them?

THEAETETUS: You are right.

SOCRATES: And, in order to avoid this, we suppose it to be different from them?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But if letters are not parts of syllables, can you tell me of any other parts of syllables, which are not letters?

THEAETETUS: No, indeed, Socrates; for if I admit the existence of parts in a syllable, it would be ridiculous in me to give up letters and seek for other parts.

SOCRATES: Quite true, Theaetetus, and therefore, according to our present view, a syllable must surely be some indivisible form?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: But do you remember, my friend, that only a little while ago we admitted and approved the statement, that of the first elements out of which all other things are compounded there could be no definition, because each of them when taken by itself is uncompounded; nor can one rightly attribute to them the words ‘being’ or ‘this,’ because they are alien and inappropriate words, and for this reason the letters or elements were indefinable and unknown?

THEAETETUS: I remember.

SOCRATES: And is not this also the reason why they are simple and indivisible? I can see no other.

THEAETETUS: No other reason can be given.

SOCRATES: Then is not the syllable in the same case as the elements or letters, if it has no parts and is one form?

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: If, then, a syllable is a whole, and has many parts or letters, the letters as well as the syllable must be intelligible and expressible, since all the parts are acknowledged to be the same as the whole?

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: But if it be one and indivisible, then the syllables and the letters are alike undefined and unknown, and for the same reason?

THEAETETUS: I cannot deny that.

SOCRATES: We cannot, therefore, agree in the opinion of him who says that the syllable can be known and expressed, but not the letters.

THEAETETUS: Certainly not; if we may trust the argument.

SOCRATES: Well, but will you not be equally inclined to disagree with him, when you remember your own experience in learning to read?

THEAETETUS: What experience?

SOCRATES: Why, that in learning you were kept trying to distinguish the separate letters both by the eye and by the ear, in order that, when you heard them spoken or saw them written, you might not be confused by their position.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And is the education of the harp-player complete unless he can tell what string answers to a particular note; the notes, as every one would allow, are the elements or letters of music?

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Then, if we argue from the letters and syllables which we know to other simples and compounds, we shall say that the letters or simple elements as a class are much more certainly known than the syllables, and much more indispensable to a perfect knowledge of any subject; and if some one says that the syllable is known and the letter unknown, we shall consider that either intentionally or unintentionally he is talking nonsense?

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: And there might be given other proofs of this belief, if I am not mistaken. But do not let us in looking for them lose sight of the question before us, which is the meaning of the statement, that right opinion with rational definition or explanation is the most perfect form of knowledge.

THEAETETUS: We must not.

SOCRATES: Well, and what is the meaning of the term ‘explanation’? I think that we have a choice of three meanings.

THEAETETUS: What are they?

SOCRATES: In the first place, the meaning may be, manifesting one’s thought by the voice with verbs and nouns, imaging an opinion in the stream which flows from the lips, as in a mirror or water. Does not explanation appear to be of this nature?

THEAETETUS: Certainly; he who so manifests his thought, is said to explain himself.

SOCRATES: And every one who is not born deaf or dumb is able sooner or later to manifest what he thinks of anything; and if so, all those who have a right opinion about anything will also have right explanation; nor will right opinion be anywhere found to exist apart from knowledge.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Let us not, therefore, hastily charge him who gave this account of knowledge with uttering an unmeaning word; for perhaps he only intended to say, that when a person was asked what was the nature of anything, he should be able to answer his questioner by giving the elements of the thing.

THEAETETUS: As for example, Socrates...?

SOCRATES: As, for example, when Hesiod says that a waggon is made up of a hundred planks. Now, neither you nor I could describe all of them individually; but if any one asked what is a waggon, we should be content to answer, that a waggon consists of wheels, axle, body, rims, yoke.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And our opponent will probably laugh at us, just as he would if we professed to be grammarians and to give a grammatical account of the name of Theaetetus, and yet could only tell the syllables and not the letters of your name — that would be true opinion, and not knowledge; for knowledge, as has been already remarked, is not attained until, combined with true opinion, there is an enumeration of the elements out of which anything is composed.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: In the same general way, we might also have true opinion about a waggon; but he who can describe its essence by an enumeration of the hundred planks, adds rational explanation to true opinion, and instead of opinion has art and knowledge of the nature of a waggon, in that he attains to the whole through the elements.

THEAETETUS: And do you not agree in that view, Socrates?

SOCRATES: If you do, my friend; but I want to know first, whether you admit the resolution of all things into their elements to be a rational explanation of them, and the consideration of them in syllables or larger combinations of them to be irrational — is this your view?

THEAETETUS: Precisely.

SOCRATES: Well, and do you conceive that a man has knowledge of any element who at one time affirms and at another time denies that element of something, or thinks that the same thing is composed of different elements at different times?

THEAETETUS: Assuredly not.

SOCRATES: And do you not remember that in your case and in that of others this often occurred in the process of learning to read?

THEAETETUS: You mean that I mistook the letters and misspelt the syllables?

SOCRATES: Yes.

THEAETETUS: To be sure; I perfectly remember, and I am very far from supposing that they who are in this condition have knowledge.

SOCRATES: When a person at the time of learning writes the name of Theaetetus, and thinks that he ought to write and does write Th and e; but, again, meaning to write the name of Theododorus, thinks that he ought to write and does write T and e — can we suppose that he knows the first syllables of your two names?

THEAETETUS: We have already admitted that such a one has not yet attained knowledge.

SOCRATES: And in like manner be may enumerate without knowing them the second and third and fourth syllables of your name?

THEAETETUS: He may.

SOCRATES: And in that case, when he knows the order of the letters and can write them out correctly, he has right opinion?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But although we admit that he has right opinion, he will still be without knowledge?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And yet he will have explanation, as well as right opinion, for he knew the order of the letters when he wrote; and this we admit to be explanation.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then, my friend, there is such a thing as right opinion united with definition or explanation, which does not as yet attain to the exactness of knowledge.

THEAETETUS: It would seem so.

SOCRATES: And what we fancied to be a perfect definition of knowledge is a dream only. But perhaps we had better not say so as yet, for were there not three explanations of knowledge, one of which must, as we said, be adopted by him who maintains knowledge to be true opinion combined with rational explanation? And very likely there may be found some one who will not prefer this but the third.

THEAETETUS: You are quite right; there is still one remaining. The first was the image or expression of the mind in speech; the second, which has just been mentioned, is a way of reaching the whole by an enumeration of the elements. But what is the third definition?

SOCRATES: There is, further, the popular notion of telling the mark or sign of difference which distinguishes the thing in question from all others.

THEAETETUS: Can you give me any example of such a definition?

SOCRATES: As, for example, in the case of the sun, I think that you would be contented with the statement that the sun is the brightest of the heavenly bodies which revolve about the earth.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Understand why: — the reason is, as I was just now saying, that if you get at the difference and distinguishing characteristic of each thing, then, as many persons affirm, you will get at the definition or explanation of it; but while you lay hold only of the common and not of the characteristic notion, you will only have the definition of those things to which this common quality belongs.

THEAETETUS: I understand you, and your account of definition is in my judgment correct.

SOCRATES: But he, who having right opinion about anything, can find out the difference which distinguishes it from other things will know that of which before he had only an opinion.

THEAETETUS: Yes; that is what we are maintaining.

SOCRATES: Nevertheless, Theaetetus, on a nearer view, I find myself quite disappointed; the picture, which at a distance was not so bad, has now become altogether unintelligible.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I will endeavour to explain: I will suppose myself to have true opinion of you, and if to this I add your definition, then I have knowledge, but if not, opinion only.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: The definition was assumed to be the interpretation of your difference.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: But when I had only opinion, I had no conception of your distinguishing characteristics.

THEAETETUS: I suppose not.

SOCRATES: Then I must have conceived of some general or common nature which no more belonged to you than to another.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: Tell me, now — How in that case could I have formed a judgment of you any more than of any one else? Suppose that I imagine Theaetetus to be a man who has nose, eyes, and mouth, and every other member complete; how would that enable me to distinguish Theaetetus from Theodorus, or from some outer barbarian?

THEAETETUS: How could it?

SOCRATES: Or if I had further conceived of you, not only as having nose and eyes, but as having a snub nose and prominent eyes, should I have any more notion of you than of myself and others who resemble me?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Surely I can have no conception of Theaetetus until your snub-nosedness has left an impression on my mind different from the snub-nosedness of all others whom I have ever seen, and until your other peculiarities have a like distinctness; and so when I meet you to-morrow the right opinion will be re-called?

THEAETETUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: Then right opinion implies the perception of differences?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: What, then, shall we say of adding reason or explanation to right opinion? If the meaning is, that we should form an opinion of the way in which something differs from another thing, the proposal is ridiculous.

THEAETETUS: How so?

SOCRATES: We are supposed to acquire a right opinion of the differences which distinguish one thing from another when we have already a right opinion of them, and so we go round and round: — the revolution of the scytal, or pestle, or any other rotatory machine, in the same circles, is as nothing compared with such a requirement; and we may be truly described as the blind directing the blind; for to add those things which we already have, in order that we may learn what we already think, is like a soul utterly benighted.

THEAETETUS: Tell me; what were you going to say just now, when you asked the question?

SOCRATES: If, my boy, the argument, in speaking of adding the definition, had used the word to ‘know,’ and not merely ‘have an opinion’ of the difference, this which is the most promising of all the definitions of knowledge would have come to a pretty end, for to know is surely to acquire knowledge.

THEAETETUS: True.

SOCRATES: And so, when the question is asked, What is knowledge? this fair argument will answer ‘Right opinion with knowledge,’ — knowledge, that is, of difference, for this, as the said argument maintains, is adding the definition.

THEAETETUS: That seems to be true.

SOCRATES: But how utterly foolish, when we are asking what is knowledge, that the reply should only be, right opinion with knowledge of difference or of anything! And so, Theaetetus, knowledge is neither sensation nor true opinion, nor yet definition and explanation accompanying and added to true opinion?

THEAETETUS: I suppose not.

SOCRATES: And are you still in labour and travail, my dear friend, or have you brought all that you have to say about knowledge to the birth?

THEAETETUS: I am sure, Socrates, that you have elicited from me a good deal more than ever was in me.

SOCRATES: And does not my art show that you have brought forth wind, and that the offspring of your brain are not worth bringing up?

THEAETETUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: But if, Theaetetus, you should ever conceive afresh, you will be all the better for the present investigation, and if not, you will be soberer and humbler and gentler to other men, and will be too modest to fancy that you know what you do not know. These are the limits of my art; I can no further go, nor do I know aught of the things which great and famous men know or have known in this or former ages. The office of a midwife I, like my mother, have received from God; she delivered women, I deliver men; but they must be young and noble and fair.

And now I have to go to the porch of the King Archon, where I am to meet Meletus and his indictment. To-morrow morning, Theodorus, I shall hope to see you again at this place.

CLITOPHON

Translated by George Burges

There is some disagreement between scholars regarding the authenticity of this late dialogue, as Socrates does not emerge victorious at the end of the debate. It is the shortest of all of Plato’s dialogues and concerns Socrates’ role as an exhorter of other people to engage in philosophic inquiry.

The dialogue features two participants, Clitophon and Socrates, and the central feature of the discussion is Clitophon’s lengthy complaint about Socrates. The crux of this complaint is that, while no one excels Socrates in protreptic or exhortation to the virtues and the life of philosophy, no one is more useless to one already persuaded of their importance. Socrates does not respond, or the dialogue does not contain his response.

A medieval depiction of Socrates and Plato

CLITOPHON.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.

Socrates and Clitophon.

SOCRATES. A CERTAIN person has lately told me that Clitophon, the son of Aristonymus, has been conversing with Lysias, and blaming the passing the time with Socrates, but been praising immoderately the intercourse with Thrasymachus.

CLITOPHON. Whoever he was, Socrates, he has not accurately related to you the conversation I had with Lysias about you. For in some things indeed I did not praise you, but in others I did. But since you are evidently blaming me, although you pretend to care nothing about the matter, I will most willingly go through the conversation myself, especially since we happen to be alone, in order that you may the less imagine that I am ill disposed towards you. For now perhaps you have not heard correctly; so that you appear to be more harshly disposed towards me than is fitting. But if you will grant me the liberty of speech I shall most cheerfully accept it, and am willing to speak.

SOCRATES. Nay it would be disgraceful for myself when you are willing to benefit me, not to bear with you. For it is evident that, when I know in what respect lam better and worse, I shall pursue some things, and avoid others, to the utmost of my power.

CLITOPHON. You shall hear then. For while I am with yon, Socrates, I am often astonished on hearing you; and you appear to me, as compared with other men, to speak most beautifully, when, reproving men, yon exclaim like a god upon a machine — Whither are ye borne along ? And — Are ye ignorant, that ye are doing nothing that ye ought, ye,- who make every exertion how ye may get money, but neglect your children, to whom ye are to leave it, and the means whereby they may know how to use it justly; and do not find for them teachers of justice, if indeed it can be taught, and who, if it is to be made the subject of meditation and exercise, may sufficiently exercise them in it. Nor yet do ye previously attend to yourselves; but, seeing that both ye and your children have learnt sufficiently grammar, and music, and the gymnastic arts, which ye have considered as the perfect discipline of virtue, yet afterwards that ye become no less depraved with respect to riches, why do ye not despise the present mode of education, and seek after those, who will cause you to cease from this illiberal line of life ? And yet it is through this neglect of what is right, and indolence, and not through the foot being out of time with the lyre, that brother himself arrays himself against brother, and states against states, and, out of all measure and harmony, are stirring up strife and war upon each other, and do and suffer the extreme of ill But ye say, that they, who are unjust, are unjust not through the want of instruction, nor through ignorance, but voluntarily ; and again, ye dare to assert that injustice is disgraceful and hateful to the gods. How then can any one voluntarily choose so great an evil ? He (does so) ye say, through being conquered by pleasure. Is not this then an involuntary act, since to conquer is a voluntary one ? So that reason perfectly convinces us, that to act unjustly is involuntary ; and that every man privately, and all cities publicly, ought to pay more attention than they do at present to their conduct.”

When therefore, Socrates, I hear you perpetually speaking so, I am greatly delighted with you, and pay you in a wonderful manner the tribute of praise. And when you say what follows in order upon this, that they, who cultivate their bodies, but neglect their soul, ‘do something different of this kind, in neglecting that, which is to govern, but busily attending to what is to be governed ; and when you assert that it is better for him, who does not know how to use a thing, to leave alone the use of it; for if a person does not know how to use his eyes or ears, or his whole body, it is better for him not to hear, nor see, nor to use his body for any need, than to use it in any way; and in a similar manner with respect to art. For it is evident (as you say) that he, who does not know how to use his own lyre, will not (know how to use) that of his neighbour; nor will he, who (knows not how to use) the (lyre) of others, (know how to use) his own, nor any other instrument or chattel whatever; and this your discourse ended beautifully (by inferring), that for him, who does not know how to use his soul, it is better to be at rest with respect to his soul, and not to live, than to live and act ac- cording to his own caprice; but, if there is any necessity for such a person to live, that it is better for him to lead the life of a slave, than of a freeman. For that this is to deliver the rudder of the mind, like that of a ship, to mother, who has learnt the art of governing men; which, Socrates, you have often called the statesman’s art, and said it is the same as that of the judge and justice.  To these, and many other and very beautiful reasonings, in which it is asserted that virtue can be taught, and that a person ought above all things to pay attention to himself, I have scarcely at any time said a word in opposition, nor do I think that I shall ever say. For I deem them to be very exhortatory and useful, and really awakening us, as if we were asleep. I have therefore given my mind to them, as one about to hear what is to follow and I have asked at first, not yourself Socrates, but your equals in age, or fellow-thinkers, or Mends, or in whatever name one must call the (party) thus disposed towards you. For among them, I have first of all asked those, who are thought by you to be something, by inquiring what would be the discourse after this; and laying down a subject after your manner, I have said to them — How are we to receive for the present, O  best of men, the exhortation of Socrates to virtue ? as being merely a word, but that it is not in oar power to follow it up in deed, and to comprehend it thoroughly? And will this be our employment through the whole of life, to exhort those who have not been exhorted as yet? and for them (to exhort) others? Or is it requisite r us after this to inquire of Socrates and each other, since we confess that this should be done, what is to come next? How, say we, ought we to begin the discipline relating to justice? As if some one had exhorted us to pay attention to the body, on perceiving that we, like boys, had no notion that the care of the body belongs to the gymnastic and medical arts, and afterwards reproached us by saying, that it was disgraceful to pay every attention to wheat and barley, and vines, and such .other things as we labour to obtain for the sake of the body, but that we search after no art or device, so that the body may be rendered in the best condition, and this too when there is such an art. If then we inquired of the person so exhorting us — Do you say there are such arts as these? perhaps he would say, There are the gymnastic and medical arts. ‘And what now, we said, is the art that relates to the virtue of the soul ? Let it be mentioned. But he, who seemed to be of the greatest strength for giving an answer to these questions, said to myself, that the very art, which you have heard Socrates mention, is no other than justice. And on my saying — Tell me not merely the name of the art, but explain it further in this way. There is an art called the medical. By this two things are effected; one, that physicians are always forming other physicians in addition to those already existing; the other, to effect health. Now of these one is no longer an art, but the work of the art, which teaches and is taught, which we call health. And in the case of carpentry, there is the building and the art; one the effect, and the other the teaching. So too of justice, one part is to make persons just, as each (of the arts mentioned) above (makes) artists. But what shall we say is the other, work, which a just man is able to do for us ? State it. One person has, I think, said in answer to us, that it is “the conducible;” another, that it is “the becoming;” another, that it, is “the useful;” and another, that it is “the profitable.” But I rejoined by saying, that these very names exist in each of the arts, namely, to act rightly, profitably, usefully, and the like. But that, to which all these tend, each art will state itself. Thus, the art of carpentry will say, that “ the right,” “ the beautiful,’’ M the becoming,” (tend to this,) that wooden furniture may be (aptly) made; which is not art, (but the work of art). Let in like manner be mentioned, the work of justice.  At last one of your friends, Socrates, who appeared to speak most elegantly, answered me, that this was .the work peculiar to justice, which does not belong to any other science, namely, to cause a friendship amongst states.  But he, on the other hand, on being interrogated, said that friendship was a good, and by no means an evil. But on being asked about the friendships  of boys and of wild animals, for by that name we call (their attachments), he did not admit that they are friendships; for it happened that such (friendships) of theirs  were for the greater part hurtful rather than advantageous; and that those, who call them so, call them falsely; but that friendship existing really and truly was most clearly an union of sentiment. But on being asked whether he meant by an union of sentiment, an agreement in opinion or science,, he repudiated the agreement in opinion; for many and hurtful agreements in opinion are compelled to take place amongst men; but he conceded that friendship was entirely a good, and the work of justice; so that he said, an agreement in sentiment was the same as science really existing, but not opinion. But when we were at this part of our discourse, the parties present being in a state of doubt were competent to find fault with him, and to say, that the reasoning had run round to the point first mooted; and they affirmed that the medical art is a certain agreement in sentiment; ‘and so are all the other arts; and that they are able to state about what they are conversant; but that the art called by you justice, or an agreement in sentiment, it had escaped them as to whither it tends, and that it is not manifest what is its work. At last I inquired of yourself, Socrates, upon these points; and you told me that it is the work of justice to injure enemies, and benefit friends,; but afterwards it appeared to you, that the just man will never injure any one, but will act to the ad-f vantage of every one in all things.  Having endured this not once, nor even twice, but for a length of time, and being .urgent with you, Socrates, I was tired out; thinking, indeed, , that you effected in the best manner of all men, the exhortation to the study of virtue; but that one of two things (must take place), either that you are able to effect thus much alone, but nothing further — which might happen in the case of any other art — as, for instance, that he who is not a pilot, may exercise himself in praising the pilot’s art, as a thing of great value to man; and similarly in the case of other arts — so a person may perhaps apply the same remark on the subject of justice to yourself as not having a greater knowledge than others of its nature, because you praise it in a beautiful manner.  Such however is not my (opinion), but (as I say), one of two things (take place) ; either that you do not know (what justice is), or that you are unwilling to impart (the knowledge of it) to me. On this account then, I think I shall go to Thrasymachus, and wherever else I can, as being in doubt,  (and where I hope I shall be freed from doubts; nor should I betake myself elsewhere,) if you were willing to finish your exhortatory discourses to me. Now, for instance, if I had been exhorted on the subject of the gymnastic art, that I ought not to neglect the body, you would state to me what comes next after the exhortation-speech, what is the nature of my body, and what attention it requires. And let this be done at present Lay it down then that Clitophon acknowledges it to be ridiculous to pay attention to other things, but to neglect the soul, for the sake of which we labour in other things; and imagine that I have really spoken upon all other points, next in order to those, which I have just now gone through. I beg of yon not to act in any respect otherwise, that I may not (hereafter), as at present, partly praise yon before Lysias and the rest, and blame you likewise in part. For I will say, Socrates, that you are worth every thing to the man, who is not yet exhorted; but to him who has been exhorted, you are nearly an impediment to his arriving at the end of virtue, and becoming happy.

TIMAEUS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This dialogue, which features a long monologue given by the title character, was written circa 360 BC. Timaeus concerns the nature of the physical world and human beings and is followed by the dialogue Critias.

The dialogue takes place the day after Socrates has described his ideal state. In Plato’s works such a discussion occurs in the Republic. Socrates feels that his description of the ideal state wasn’t sufficient for the purposes of entertainment and that “I would be glad to hear some account of it engaging in transactions with other states”.

Locri, southern Italy, home of Timaeus the Pythagorean philosopher

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

TIMAEUS.

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

Of all the writings of Plato the Timaeus is the most obscure and repulsive to the modern reader, and has nevertheless had the greatest influence over the ancient and mediaeval world. The obscurity arises in the infancy of physical science, out of the confusion of theological, mathematical, and physiological notions, out of the desire to conceive the whole of nature without any adequate knowledge of the parts, and from a greater perception of similarities which lie on the surface than of differences which are hidden from view. To bring sense under the control of reason; to find some way through the mist or labyrinth of appearances, either the highway of mathematics, or more devious paths suggested by the analogy of man with the world, and of the world with man; to see that all things have a cause and are tending towards an end — this is the spirit of the ancient physical philosopher. He has no notion of trying an experiment and is hardly capable of observing the curiosities of nature which are ‘tumbling out at his feet,’ or of interpreting even the most obvious of them. He is driven back from the nearer to the more distant, from particulars to generalities, from the earth to the stars. He lifts up his eyes to the heavens and seeks to guide by their motions his erring footsteps. But we neither appreciate the conditions of knowledge to which he was subjected, nor have the ideas which fastened upon his imagination the same hold upon us. For he is hanging between matter and mind; he is under the dominion at the same time both of sense and of abstractions; his impressions are taken almost at random from the outside of nature; he sees the light, but not the objects which are revealed by the light; and he brings into juxtaposition things which to us appear wide as the poles asunder, because he finds nothing between them. He passes abruptly from persons to ideas and numbers, and from ideas and numbers to persons, — from the heavens to man, from astronomy to physiology; he confuses, or rather does not distinguish, subject and object, first and final causes, and is dreaming of geometrical figures lost in a flux of sense. He contrasts the perfect movements of the heavenly bodies with the imperfect representation of them (Rep.), and he does not always require strict accuracy even in applications of number and figure (Rep.). His mind lingers around the forms of mythology, which he uses as symbols or translates into figures of speech. He has no implements of observation, such as the telescope or microscope; the great science of chemistry is a blank to him. It is only by an effort that the modern thinker can breathe the atmosphere of the ancient philosopher, or understand how, under such unequal conditions, he seems in many instances, by a sort of inspiration, to have anticipated the truth.

The influence with the Timaeus has exercised upon posterity is due partly to a misunderstanding. In the supposed depths of this dialogue the Neo-Platonists found hidden meanings and connections with the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, and out of them they elicited doctrines quite at variance with the spirit of Plato. Believing that he was inspired by the Holy Ghost, or had received his wisdom from Moses, they seemed to find in his writings the Christian Trinity, the Word, the Church, the creation of the world in a Jewish sense, as they really found the personality of God or of mind, and the immortality of the soul. All religions and philosophies met and mingled in the schools of Alexandria, and the Neo-Platonists had a method of interpretation which could elicit any meaning out of any words. They were really incapable of distinguishing between the opinions of one philosopher and another — between Aristotle and Plato, or between the serious thoughts of Plato and his passing fancies. They were absorbed in his theology and were under the dominion of his name, while that which was truly great and truly characteristic in him, his effort to realize and connect abstractions, was not understood by them at all. Yet the genius of Plato and Greek philosophy reacted upon the East, and a Greek element of thought and language overlaid and partly reduced to order the chaos of Orientalism. And kindred spirits, like St. Augustine, even though they were acquainted with his writings only through the medium of a Latin translation, were profoundly affected by them, seeming to find ‘God and his word everywhere insinuated’ in them (August. Confess.)

There is no danger of the modern commentators on the Timaeus falling into the absurdities of the Neo-Platonists. In the present day we are well aware that an ancient philosopher is to be interpreted from himself and by the contemporary history of thought. We know that mysticism is not criticism. The fancies of the Neo-Platonists are only interesting to us because they exhibit a phase of the human mind which prevailed widely in the first centuries of the Christian era, and is not wholly extinct in our own day. But they have nothing to do with the interpretation of Plato, and in spirit they are opposed to him. They are the feeble expression of an age which has lost the power not only of creating great works, but of understanding them. They are the spurious birth of a marriage between philosophy and tradition, between Hellas and the East — (Greek) (Rep.). Whereas the so-called mysticism of Plato is purely Greek, arising out of his imperfect knowledge and high aspirations, and is the growth of an age in which philosophy is not wholly separated from poetry and mythology.

A greater danger with modern interpreters of Plato is the tendency to regard the Timaeus as the centre of his system. We do not know how Plato would have arranged his own dialogues, or whether the thought of arranging any of them, besides the two ‘Trilogies’ which he has expressly connected; was ever present to his mind. But, if he had arranged them, there are many indications that this is not the place which he would have assigned to the Timaeus. We observe, first of all, that the dialogue is put into the mouth of a Pythagorean philosopher, and not of Socrates. And this is required by dramatic propriety; for the investigation of nature was expressly renounced by Socrates in the Phaedo. Nor does Plato himself attribute any importance to his guesses at science. He is not at all absorbed by them, as he is by the IDEA of good. He is modest and hesitating, and confesses that his words partake of the uncertainty of the subject (Tim.). The dialogue is primarily concerned with the animal creation, including under this term the heavenly bodies, and with man only as one among the animals. But we can hardly suppose that Plato would have preferred the study of nature to man, or that he would have deemed the formation of the world and the human frame to have the same interest which he ascribes to the mystery of being and not-being, or to the great political problems which he discusses in the Republic and the Laws. There are no speculations on physics in the other dialogues of Plato, and he himself regards the consideration of them as a rational pastime only. He is beginning to feel the need of further divisions of knowledge; and is becoming aware that besides dialectic, mathematics, and the arts, there is another field which has been hitherto unexplored by him. But he has not as yet defined this intermediate territory which lies somewhere between medicine and mathematics, and he would have felt that there was as great an impiety in ranking theories of physics first in the order of knowledge, as in placing the body before the soul.

It is true, however, that the Timaeus is by no means confined to speculations on physics. The deeper foundations of the Platonic philosophy, such as the nature of God, the distinction of the sensible and intellectual, the great original conceptions of time and space, also appear in it. They are found principally in the first half of the dialogue. The construction of the heavens is for the most part ideal; the cyclic year serves as the connection between the world of absolute being and of generation, just as the number of population in the Republic is the expression or symbol of the transition from the ideal to the actual state. In some passages we are uncertain whether we are reading a description of astronomical facts or contemplating processes of the human mind, or of that divine mind (Phil.) which in Plato is hardly separable from it. The characteristics of man are transferred to the world-animal, as for example when intelligence and knowledge are said to be perfected by the circle of the Same, and true opinion by the circle of the Other; and conversely the motions of the world-animal reappear in man; its amorphous state continues in the child, and in both disorder and chaos are gradually succeeded by stability and order. It is not however to passages like these that Plato is referring when he speaks of the uncertainty of his subject, but rather to the composition of bodies, to the relations of colours, the nature of diseases, and the like, about which he truly feels the lamentable ignorance prevailing in his own age.

We are led by Plato himself to regard the Timaeus, not as the centre or inmost shrine of the edifice, but as a detached building in a different style, framed, not after the Socratic, but after some Pythagorean model. As in the Cratylus and Parmenides, we are uncertain whether Plato is expressing his own opinions, or appropriating and perhaps improving the philosophical speculations of others. In all three dialogues he is exerting his dramatic and imitative power; in the Cratylus mingling a satirical and humorous purpose with true principles of language; in the Parmenides overthrowing Megarianism by a sort of ultra-Megarianism, which discovers contradictions in the one as great as those which have been previously shown to exist in the ideas. There is a similar uncertainty about the Timaeus; in the first part he scales the heights of transcendentalism, in the latter part he treats in a bald and superficial manner of the functions and diseases of the human frame. He uses the thoughts and almost the words of Parmenides when he discourses of being and of essence, adopting from old religion into philosophy the conception of God, and from the Megarians the IDEA of good. He agrees with Empedocles and the Atomists in attributing the greater differences of kinds to the figures of the elements and their movements into and out of one another. With Heracleitus, he acknowledges the perpetual flux; like Anaxagoras, he asserts the predominance of mind, although admitting an element of necessity which reason is incapable of subduing; like the Pythagoreans he supposes the mystery of the world to be contained in number. Many, if not all the elements of the Pre-Socratic philosophy are included in the Timaeus. It is a composite or eclectic work of imagination, in which Plato, without naming them, gathers up into a kind of system the various elements of philosophy which preceded him.

If we allow for the difference of subject, and for some growth in Plato’s own mind, the discrepancy between the Timaeus and the other dialogues will not appear to be great. It is probable that the relation of the ideas to God or of God to the world was differently conceived by him at different times of his life. In all his later dialogues we observe a tendency in him to personify mind or God, and he therefore naturally inclines to view creation as the work of design. The creator is like a human artist who frames in his mind a plan which he executes by the help of his servants. Thus the language of philosophy which speaks of first and second causes is crossed by another sort of phraseology: ‘God made the world because he was good, and the demons ministered to him.’ The Timaeus is cast in a more theological and less philosophical mould than the other dialogues, but the same general spirit is apparent; there is the same dualism or opposition between the ideal and actual — the soul is prior to the body, the intelligible and unseen to the visible and corporeal. There is the same distinction between knowledge and opinion which occurs in the Theaetetus and Republic, the same enmity to the poets, the same combination of music and gymnastics. The doctrine of transmigration is still held by him, as in the Phaedrus and Republic; and the soul has a view of the heavens in a prior state of being. The ideas also remain, but they have become types in nature, forms of men, animals, birds, fishes. And the attribution of evil to physical causes accords with the doctrine which he maintains in the Laws respecting the involuntariness of vice.

The style and plan of the Timaeus differ greatly from that of any other of the Platonic dialogues. The language is weighty, abrupt, and in some passages sublime. But Plato has not the same mastery over his instrument which he exhibits in the Phaedrus or Symposium. Nothing can exceed the beauty or art of the introduction, in which he is using words after his accustomed manner. But in the rest of the work the power of language seems to fail him, and the dramatic form is wholly given up. He could write in one style, but not in another, and the Greek language had not as yet been fashioned by any poet or philosopher to describe physical phenomena. The early physiologists had generally written in verse; the prose writers, like Democritus and Anaxagoras, as far as we can judge from their fragments, never attained to a periodic style. And hence we find the same sort of clumsiness in the Timaeus of Plato which characterizes the philosophical poem of Lucretius. There is a want of flow and often a defect of rhythm; the meaning is sometimes obscure, and there is a greater use of apposition and more of repetition than occurs in Plato’s earlier writings. The sentences are less closely connected and also more involved; the antecedents of demonstrative and relative pronouns are in some cases remote and perplexing. The greater frequency of participles and of absolute constructions gives the effect of heaviness. The descriptive portion of the Timaeus retains traces of the first Greek prose composition; for the great master of language was speaking on a theme with which he was imperfectly acquainted, and had no words in which to express his meaning. The rugged grandeur of the opening discourse of Timaeus may be compared with the more harmonious beauty of a similar passage in the Phaedrus.

To the same cause we may attribute the want of plan. Plato had not the command of his materials which would have enabled him to produce a perfect work of art. Hence there are several new beginnings and resumptions and formal or artificial connections; we miss the ‘callida junctura’ of the earlier dialogues. His speculations about the Eternal, his theories of creation, his mathematical anticipations, are supplemented by desultory remarks on the one immortal and the two mortal souls of man, on the functions of the bodily organs in health and disease, on sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. He soars into the heavens, and then, as if his wings were suddenly clipped, he walks ungracefully and with difficulty upon the earth. The greatest things in the world, and the least things in man, are brought within the compass of a short treatise. But the intermediate links are missing, and we cannot be surprised that there should be a want of unity in a work which embraces astronomy, theology, physiology, and natural philosophy in a few pages.

It is not easy to determine how Plato’s cosmos may be presented to the reader in a clearer and shorter form; or how we may supply a thread of connexion to his ideas without giving greater consistency to them than they possessed in his mind, or adding on consequences which would never have occurred to him. For he has glimpses of the truth, but no comprehensive or perfect vision. There are isolated expressions about the nature of God which have a wonderful depth and power; but we are not justified in assuming that these had any greater significance to the mind of Plato than language of a neutral and impersonal character... With a view to the illustration of the Timaeus I propose to divide this Introduction into sections, of which the first will contain an outline of the dialogue: (2) I shall consider the aspects of nature which presented themselves to Plato and his age, and the elements of philosophy which entered into the conception of them: (3) the theology and physics of the Timaeus, including the soul of the world, the conception of time and space, and the composition of the elements: (4) in the fourth section I shall consider the Platonic astronomy, and the position of the earth. There will remain, (5) the psychology, (6) the physiology of Plato, and (7) his analysis of the senses to be briefly commented upon: (8) lastly, we may examine in what points Plato approaches or anticipates the discoveries of modern science.

Section 1.

Socrates begins the Timaeus with a summary of the Republic. He lightly touches upon a few points, — the division of labour and distribution of the citizens into classes, the double nature and training of the guardians, the community of property and of women and children. But he makes no mention of the second education, or of the government of philosophers.

And now he desires to see the ideal State set in motion; he would like to know how she behaved in some great struggle. But he is unable to invent such a narrative himself; and he is afraid that the poets are equally incapable; for, although he pretends to have nothing to say against them, he remarks that they are a tribe of imitators, who can only describe what they have seen. And he fears that the Sophists, who are plentifully supplied with graces of speech, in their erratic way of life having never had a city or house of their own, may through want of experience err in their conception of philosophers and statesmen. ‘And therefore to you I turn, Timaeus, citizen of Locris, who are at once a philosopher and a statesman, and to you, Critias, whom all Athenians know to be similarly accomplished, and to Hermocrates, who is also fitted by nature and education to share in our discourse.’

HERMOCRATES: ‘We will do our best, and have been already preparing; for on our way home, Critias told us of an ancient tradition, which I wish, Critias, that you would repeat to Socrates.’ ‘I will, if Timaeus approves.’ ‘I approve.’ Listen then, Socrates, to a tale of Solon’s, who, being the friend of Dropidas my great-grandfather, told it to my grandfather Critias, and he told me. The narrative related to ancient famous actions of the Athenian people, and to one especially, which I will rehearse in honour of you and of the goddess. Critias when he told this tale of the olden time, was ninety years old, I being not more than ten. The occasion of the rehearsal was the day of the Apaturia called the Registration of Youth, at which our parents gave prizes for recitation. Some poems of Solon were recited by the boys. They had not at that time gone out of fashion, and the recital of them led some one to say, perhaps in compliment to Critias, that Solon was not only the wisest of men but also the best of poets. The old man brightened up at hearing this, and said: Had Solon only had the leisure which was required to complete the famous legend which he brought with him from Egypt he would have been as distinguished as Homer and Hesiod. ‘And what was the subject of the poem?’ said the person who made the remark. The subject was a very noble one; he described the most famous action in which the Athenian people were ever engaged. But the memory of their exploits has passed away owing to the lapse of time and the extinction of the actors. ‘Tell us,’ said the other, ‘the whole story, and where Solon heard the story.’ He replied — There is at the head of the Egyptian Delta, where the river Nile divides, a city and district called Sais; the city was the birthplace of King Amasis, and is under the protection of the goddess Neith or Athene. The citizens have a friendly feeling towards the Athenians, believing themselves to be related to them. Hither came Solon, and was received with honour; and here he first learnt, by conversing with the Egyptian priests, how ignorant he and his countrymen were of antiquity. Perceiving this, and with the view of eliciting information from them, he told them the tales of Phoroneus and Niobe, and also of Deucalion and Pyrrha, and he endeavoured to count the generations which had since passed. Thereupon an aged priest said to him: ‘O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are ever young, and there is no old man who is a Hellene.’ ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘In mind,’ replied the priest, ‘I mean to say that you are children; there is no opinion or tradition of knowledge among you which is white with age; and I will tell you why. Like the rest of mankind you have suffered from convulsions of nature, which are chiefly brought about by the two great agencies of fire and water. The former is symbolized in the Hellenic tale of young Phaethon who drove his father’s horses the wrong way, and having burnt up the earth was himself burnt up by a thunderbolt. For there occurs at long intervals a derangement of the heavenly bodies, and then the earth is destroyed by fire. At such times, and when fire is the agent, those who dwell by rivers or on the seashore are safer than those who dwell upon high and dry places, who in their turn are safer when the danger is from water. Now the Nile is our saviour from fire, and as there is little rain in Egypt, we are not harmed by water; whereas in other countries, when a deluge comes, the inhabitants are swept by the rivers into the sea. The memorials which your own and other nations have once had of the famous actions of mankind perish in the waters at certain periods; and the rude survivors in the mountains begin again, knowing nothing of the world before the flood. But in Egypt the traditions of our own and other lands are by us registered for ever in our temples. The genealogies which you have recited to us out of your own annals, Solon, are a mere children’s story. For in the first place, you remember one deluge only, and there were many of them, and you know nothing of that fairest and noblest race of which you are a seed or remnant. The memory of them was lost, because there was no written voice among you. For in the times before the great flood Athens was the greatest and best of cities and did the noblest deeds and had the best constitution of any under the face of heaven.’ Solon marvelled, and desired to be informed of the particulars. ‘You are welcome to hear them,’ said the priest, ‘both for your own sake and for that of the city, and above all for the sake of the goddess who is the common foundress of both our cities. Nine thousand years have elapsed since she founded yours, and eight thousand since she founded ours, as our annals record. Many laws exist among us which are the counterpart of yours as they were in the olden time. I will briefly describe them to you, and you shall read the account of them at your leisure in the sacred registers. In the first place, there was a caste of priests among the ancient Athenians, and another of artisans; also castes of shepherds, hunters, and husbandmen, and lastly of warriors, who, like the warriors of Egypt, were separated from the rest, and carried shields and spears, a custom which the goddess first taught you, and then the Asiatics, and we among Asiatics first received from her. Observe again, what care the law took in the pursuit of wisdom, searching out the deep things of the world, and applying them to the use of man. The spot of earth which the goddess chose had the best of climates, and produced the wisest men; in no other was she herself, the philosopher and warrior goddess, so likely to have votaries. And there you dwelt as became the children of the gods, excelling all men in virtue, and many famous actions are recorded of you. The most famous of them all was the overthrow of the island of Atlantis. This great island lay over against the Pillars of Heracles, in extent greater than Libya and Asia put together, and was the passage to other islands and to a great ocean of which the Mediterranean sea was only the harbour; and within the Pillars the empire of Atlantis reached in Europe to Tyrrhenia and in Libya to Egypt. This mighty power was arrayed against Egypt and Hellas and all the countries bordering on the Mediterranean. Then your city did bravely, and won renown over the whole earth. For at the peril of her own existence, and when the other Hellenes had deserted her, she repelled the invader, and of her own accord gave liberty to all the nations within the Pillars. A little while afterwards there were great earthquakes and floods, and your warrior race all sank into the earth; and the great island of Atlantis also disappeared in the sea. This is the explanation of the shallows which are found in that part of the Atlantic ocean.’

Such was the tale, Socrates, which Critias heard from Solon; and I noticed when listening to you yesterday, how close the resemblance was between your city and citizens and the ancient Athenian State. But I would not speak at the time, because I wanted to refresh my memory. I had heard the old man when I was a child, and though I could not remember the whole of our yesterday’s discourse, I was able to recall every word of this, which is branded into my mind; and I am prepared, Socrates, to rehearse to you the entire narrative. The imaginary State which you were describing may be identified with the reality of Solon, and our antediluvian ancestors may be your citizens. ‘That is excellent, Critias, and very appropriate to a Panathenaic festival; the truth of the story is a great advantage.’ Then now let me explain to you the order of our entertainment; first, Timaeus, who is a natural philosopher, will speak of the origin of the world, going down to the creation of man, and then I shall receive the men whom he has created, and some of whom will have been educated by you, and introduce them to you as the lost Athenian citizens of whom the Egyptian record spoke. As the law of Solon prescribes, we will bring them into court and acknowledge their claims to citizenship. ‘I see,’ replied Socrates, ‘that I shall be well entertained; and do you, Timaeus, offer up a prayer and begin.’

TIMAEUS: All men who have any right feeling, at the beginning of any enterprise, call upon the Gods; and he who is about to speak of the origin of the universe has a special need of their aid. May my words be acceptable to them, and may I speak in the manner which will be most intelligible to you and will best express my own meaning!

First, I must distinguish between that which always is and never becomes and which is apprehended by reason and reflection, and that which always becomes and never is and is conceived by opinion with the help of sense. All that becomes and is created is the work of a cause, and that is fair which the artificer makes after an eternal pattern, but whatever is fashioned after a created pattern is not fair. Is the world created or uncreated? — that is the first question. Created, I reply, being visible and tangible and having a body, and therefore sensible; and if sensible, then created; and if created, made by a cause, and the cause is the ineffable father of all things, who had before him an eternal archetype. For to imagine that the archetype was created would be blasphemy, seeing that the world is the noblest of creations, and God is the best of causes. And the world being thus created according to the eternal pattern is the copy of something; and we may assume that words are akin to the matter of which they speak. What is spoken of the unchanging or intelligible must be certain and true; but what is spoken of the created image can only be probable; being is to becoming what truth is to belief. And amid the variety of opinions which have arisen about God and the nature of the world we must be content to take probability for our rule, considering that I, who am the speaker, and you, who are the judges, are only men; to probability we may attain but no further.

SOCRATES: Excellent, Timaeus, I like your manner of approaching the subject — proceed.

TIMAEUS: Why did the Creator make the world?...He was good, and therefore not jealous, and being free from jealousy he desired that all things should be like himself. Wherefore he set in order the visible world, which he found in disorder. Now he who is the best could only create the fairest; and reflecting that of visible things the intelligent is superior to the unintelligent, he put intelligence in soul and soul in body, and framed the universe to be the best and fairest work in the order of nature, and the world became a living soul through the providence of God.

In the likeness of what animal was the world made? — that is the third question...The form of the perfect animal was a whole, and contained all intelligible beings, and the visible animal, made after the pattern of this, included all visible creatures.

Are there many worlds or one only? — that is the fourth question...One only. For if in the original there had been more than one they would have been the parts of a third, which would have been the true pattern of the world; and therefore there is, and will ever be, but one created world. Now that which is created is of necessity corporeal and visible and tangible, — visible and therefore made of fire, — tangible and therefore solid and made of earth. But two terms must be united by a third, which is a mean between them; and had the earth been a surface only, one mean would have sufficed, but two means are required to unite solid bodies. And as the world was composed of solids, between the elements of fire and earth God placed two other elements of air and water, and arranged them in a continuous proportion —

fire:air::air:water, and air:water::water:earth,

and so put together a visible and palpable heaven, having harmony and friendship in the union of the four elements; and being at unity with itself it was indissoluble except by the hand of the framer. Each of the elements was taken into the universe whole and entire; for he considered that the animal should be perfect and one, leaving no remnants out of which another animal could be created, and should also be free from old age and disease, which are produced by the action of external forces. And as he was to contain all things, he was made in the all-containing form of a sphere, round as from a lathe and every way equidistant from the centre, as was natural and suitable to him. He was finished and smooth, having neither eyes nor ears, for there was nothing without him which he could see or hear; and he had no need to carry food to his mouth, nor was there air for him to breathe; and he did not require hands, for there was nothing of which he could take hold, nor feet, with which to walk. All that he did was done rationally in and by himself, and he moved in a circle turning within himself, which is the most intellectual of motions; but the other six motions were wanting to him; wherefore the universe had no feet or legs.

And so the thought of God made a God in the image of a perfect body, having intercourse with himself and needing no other, but in every part harmonious and self-contained and truly blessed. The soul was first made by him — the elder to rule the younger; not in the order in which our wayward fancy has led us to describe them, but the soul first and afterwards the body. God took of the unchangeable and indivisible and also of the divisible and corporeal, and out of the two he made a third nature, essence, which was in a mean between them, and partook of the same and the other, the intractable nature of the other being compressed into the same. Having made a compound of all the three, he proceeded to divide the entire mass into portions related to one another in the ratios of 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 8, 27, and proceeded to fill up the double and triple intervals thus —

- over 1, 4/3, 3/2, - over 2, 8/3, 3, - over 4, 16/3, 6,  - over 8:

- over 1, 3/2, 2,   - over 3, 9/2, 6, - over 9, 27/2, 18, - over 27;

in which double series of numbers are two kinds of means; the one exceeds and is exceeded by equal parts of the extremes, e.g. 1, 4/3, 2; the other kind of mean is one which is equidistant from the extremes — 2, 4, 6. In this manner there were formed intervals of thirds, 3:2, of fourths, 4:3, and of ninths, 9:8. And next he filled up the intervals of a fourth with ninths, leaving a remnant which is in the ratio of 256:243. The entire compound was divided by him lengthways into two parts, which he united at the centre like the letter X, and bent into an inner and outer circle or sphere, cutting one another again at a point over against the point at which they cross. The outer circle or sphere was named the sphere of the same — the inner, the sphere of the other or diverse; and the one revolved horizontally to the right, the other diagonally to the left. To the sphere of the same which was undivided he gave dominion, but the sphere of the other or diverse was distributed into seven unequal orbits, having intervals in ratios of twos and threes, three of either sort, and he bade the orbits move in opposite directions to one another — three of them, the Sun, Mercury, Venus, with equal swiftness, and the remaining four — the Moon, Saturn, Mars, Jupiter, with unequal swiftness to the three and to one another, but all in due proportion.

When the Creator had made the soul he made the body within her; and the soul interfused everywhere from the centre to the circumference of heaven, herself turning in herself, began a divine life of rational and everlasting motion. The body of heaven is visible, but the soul is invisible, and partakes of reason and harmony, and is the best of creations, being the work of the best. And being composed of the same, the other, and the essence, these three, and also divided and bound in harmonical proportion, and revolving within herself — the soul when touching anything which has essence, whether divided or undivided, is stirred to utter the sameness or diversity of that and some other thing, and to tell how and when and where individuals are affected or related, whether in the world of change or of essence. When reason is in the neighbourhood of sense, and the circle of the other or diverse is moving truly, then arise true opinions and beliefs; when reason is in the sphere of thought, and the circle of the same runs smoothly, then intelligence is perfected.

When the Father who begat the world saw the image which he had made of the Eternal Gods moving and living, he rejoiced; and in his joy resolved, since the archetype was eternal, to make the creature eternal as far as this was possible. Wherefore he made an image of eternity which is time, having an uniform motion according to number, parted into months and days and years, and also having greater divisions of past, present, and future. These all apply to becoming in time, and have no meaning in relation to the eternal nature, which ever is and never was or will be; for the unchangeable is never older or younger, and when we say that he ‘was’ or ‘will be,’ we are mistaken, for these words are applicable only to becoming, and not to true being; and equally wrong are we in saying that what has become IS become and that what becomes IS becoming, and that the non-existent IS non-existent...These are the forms of time which imitate eternity and move in a circle measured by number.

Thus was time made in the image of the eternal nature; and it was created together with the heavens, in order that if they were dissolved, it might perish with them. And God made the sun and moon and five other wanderers, as they are called, seven in all, and to each of them he gave a body moving in an orbit, being one of the seven orbits into which the circle of the other was divided. He put the moon in the orbit which was nearest to the earth, the sun in that next, the morning star and Mercury in the orbits which move opposite to the sun but with equal swiftness — this being the reason why they overtake and are overtaken by one another. All these bodies became living creatures, and learnt their appointed tasks, and began to move, the nearer more swiftly, the remoter more slowly, according to the diagonal movement of the other. And since this was controlled by the movement of the same, the seven planets in their courses appeared to describe spirals; and that appeared fastest which was slowest, and that which overtook others appeared to be overtaken by them. And God lighted a fire in the second orbit from the earth which is called the sun, to give light over the whole heaven, and to teach intelligent beings that knowledge of number which is derived from the revolution of the same. Thus arose day and night, which are the periods of the most intelligent nature; a month is created by the revolution of the moon, a year by that of the sun. Other periods of wonderful length and complexity are not observed by men in general; there is moreover a cycle or perfect year at the completion of which they all meet and coincide...To this end the stars came into being, that the created heaven might imitate the eternal nature.

Thus far the universal animal was made in the divine image, but the other animals were not as yet included in him. And God created them according to the patterns or species of them which existed in the divine original. There are four of them: one of gods, another of birds, a third of fishes, and a fourth of animals. The gods were made in the form of a circle, which is the most perfect figure and the figure of the universe. They were created chiefly of fire, that they might be bright, and were made to know and follow the best, and to be scattered over the heavens, of which they were to be the glory. Two kinds of motion were assigned to them — first, the revolution in the same and around the same, in peaceful unchanging thought of the same; and to this was added a forward motion which was under the control of the same. Thus then the fixed stars were created, being divine and eternal animals, revolving on the same spot, and the wandering stars, in their courses, were created in the manner already described. The earth, which is our nurse, clinging around the pole extended through the universe, he made to be the guardian and artificer of night and day, first and eldest of gods that are in the interior of heaven. Vain would be the labour of telling all the figures of them, moving as in dance, and their juxta-positions and approximations, and when and where and behind what other stars they appear to disappear — to tell of all this without looking at a plan of them would be labour in vain.

The knowledge of the other gods is beyond us, and we can only accept the traditions of the ancients, who were the children of the gods, as they said; for surely they must have known their own ancestors. Although they give no proof, we must believe them as is customary. They tell us that Oceanus and Tethys were the children of Earth and Heaven; that Phoreys, Cronos, and Rhea came in the next generation, and were followed by Zeus and Here, whose brothers and children are known to everybody.

When all of them, both those who show themselves in the sky, and those who retire from view, had come into being, the Creator addressed them thus:— ‘Gods, sons of gods, my works, if I will, are indissoluble. That which is bound may be dissolved, but only an evil being would dissolve that which is harmonious and happy. And although you are not immortal you shall not die, for I will hold you together. Hear me, then: — Three tribes of mortal beings have still to be created, but if created by me they would be like gods. Do ye therefore make them; I will implant in them the seed of immortality, and you shall weave together the mortal and immortal, and provide food for them, and receive them again in death.’ Thus he spake, and poured the remains of the elements into the cup in which he had mingled the soul of the universe. They were no longer pure as before, but diluted; and the mixture he distributed into souls equal in number to the stars, and assigned each to a star — then having mounted them, as in a chariot, he showed them the nature of the universe, and told them of their future birth and human lot. They were to be sown in the planets, and out of them was to come forth the most religious of animals, which would hereafter be called man. The souls were to be implanted in bodies, which were in a perpetual flux, whence, he said, would arise, first, sensation; secondly, love, which is a mixture of pleasure and pain; thirdly, fear and anger, and the opposite affections: and if they conquered these, they would live righteously, but if they were conquered by them, unrighteously. He who lived well would return to his native star, and would there have a blessed existence; but, if he lived ill, he would pass into the nature of a woman, and if he did not then alter his evil ways, into the likeness of some animal, until the reason which was in him reasserted her sway over the elements of fire, air, earth, water, which had engrossed her, and he regained his first and better nature. Having given this law to his creatures, that he might be guiltless of their future evil, he sowed them, some in the earth, some in the moon, and some in the other planets; and he ordered the younger gods to frame human bodies for them and to make the necessary additions to them, and to avert from them all but self-inflicted evil.

Having given these commands, the Creator remained in his own nature. And his children, receiving from him the immortal principle, borrowed from the world portions of earth, air, fire, water, hereafter to be returned, which they fastened together, not with the adamantine bonds which bound themselves, but by little invisible pegs, making each separate body out of all the elements, subject to influx and efflux, and containing the courses of the soul. These swelling and surging as in a river moved irregularly and irrationally in all the six possible ways, forwards, backwards, right, left, up and down. But violent as were the internal and alimentary fluids, the tide became still more violent when the body came into contact with flaming fire, or the solid earth, or gliding waters, or the stormy wind; the motions produced by these impulses pass through the body to the soul and have the name of sensations. Uniting with the ever-flowing current, they shake the courses of the soul, stopping the revolution of the same and twisting in all sorts of ways the nature of the other, and the harmonical ratios of twos and threes and the mean terms which connect them, until the circles are bent and disordered and their motion becomes irregular. You may imagine a position of the body in which the head is resting upon the ground, and the legs are in the air, and the top is bottom and the left right. And something similar happens when the disordered motions of the soul come into contact with any external thing; they say the same or the other in a manner which is the very opposite of the truth, and they are false and foolish, and have no guiding principle in them. And when external impressions enter in, they are really conquered, though they seem to conquer.

By reason of these affections the soul is at first without intelligence, but as time goes on the stream of nutriment abates, and the courses of the soul regain their proper motion, and apprehend the same and the other rightly, and become rational. The soul of him who has education is whole and perfect and escapes the worst disease, but, if a man’s education be neglected, he walks lamely through life and returns good for nothing to the world below. This, however, is an after-stage — at present, we are only concerned with the creation of the body and soul.

The two divine courses were encased by the gods in a sphere which is called the head, and is the god and lord of us. And to this they gave the body to be a vehicle, and the members to be instruments, having the power of flexion and extension. Such was the origin of legs and arms. In the next place, the gods gave a forward motion to the human body, because the front part of man was the more honourable and had authority. And they put in a face in which they inserted organs to minister in all things to the providence of the soul. They first contrived the eyes, into which they conveyed a light akin to the light of day, making it flow through the pupils. When the light of the eye is surrounded by the light of day, then like falls upon like, and they unite and form one body which conveys to the soul the motions of visible objects. But when the visual ray goes forth into the darkness, then unlike falls upon unlike — the eye no longer sees, and we go to sleep. The fire or light, when kept in by the eyelids, equalizes the inward motions, and there is rest accompanied by few dreams; only when the greater motions remain they engender in us corresponding visions of the night. And now we shall be able to understand the nature of reflections in mirrors. The fires from within and from without meet about the smooth and bright surface of the mirror; and because they meet in a manner contrary to the usual mode, the right and left sides of the object are transposed. In a concave mirror the top and bottom are inverted, but this is no transposition.

These are the second causes which God used as his ministers in fashioning the world. They are thought by many to be the prime causes, but they are not so; for they are destitute of mind and reason, and the lover of mind will not allow that there are any prime causes other than the rational and invisible ones — these he investigates first, and afterwards the causes of things which are moved by others, and which work by chance and without order. Of the second or concurrent causes of sight I have already spoken, and I will now speak of the higher purpose of God in giving us eyes. Sight is the source of the greatest benefits to us; for if our eyes had never seen the sun, stars, and heavens, the words which we have spoken would not have been uttered. The sight of them and their revolutions has given us the knowledge of number and time, the power of enquiry, and philosophy, which is the great blessing of human life; not to speak of the lesser benefits which even the vulgar can appreciate. God gave us the faculty of sight that we might behold the order of the heavens and create a corresponding order in our own erring minds. To the like end the gifts of speech and hearing were bestowed upon us; not for the sake of irrational pleasure, but in order that we might harmonize the courses of the soul by sympathy with the harmony of sound, and cure ourselves of our irregular and graceless ways.

Thus far we have spoken of the works of mind; and there are other works done from necessity, which we must now place beside them; for the creation is made up of both, mind persuading necessity as far as possible to work out good. Before the heavens there existed fire, air, water, earth, which we suppose men to know, though no one has explained their nature, and we erroneously maintain them to be the letters or elements of the whole, although they cannot reasonably be compared even to syllables or first compounds. I am not now speaking of the first principles of things, because I cannot discover them by our present mode of enquiry. But as I observed the rule of probability at first, I will begin anew, seeking by the grace of God to observe it still.

In our former discussion I distinguished two kinds of being — the unchanging or invisible, and the visible or changing. But now a third kind is required, which I shall call the receptacle or nurse of generation. There is a difficulty in arriving at an exact notion of this third kind, because the four elements themselves are of inexact natures and easily pass into one another, and are too transient to be detained by any one name; wherefore we are compelled to speak of water or fire, not as substances, but as qualities. They may be compared to images made of gold, which are continually assuming new forms. Somebody asks what they are; if you do not know, the safest answer is to reply that they are gold. In like manner there is a universal nature out of which all things are made, and which is like none of them; but they enter into and pass out of her, and are made after patterns of the true in a wonderful and inexplicable manner. The containing principle may be likened to a mother, the source or spring to a father, the intermediate nature to a child; and we may also remark that the matter which receives every variety of form must be formless, like the inodorous liquids which are prepared to receive scents, or the smooth and soft materials on which figures are impressed. In the same way space or matter is neither earth nor fire nor air nor water, but an invisible and formless being which receives all things, and in an incomprehensible manner partakes of the intelligible. But we may say, speaking generally, that fire is that part of this nature which is inflamed, water that which is moistened, and the like.

Let me ask a question in which a great principle is involved: Is there an essence of fire and the other elements, or are there only fires visible to sense? I answer in a word: If mind is one thing and true opinion another, then there are self-existent essences; but if mind is the same with opinion, then the visible and corporeal is most real. But they are not the same, and they have a different origin and nature. The one comes to us by instruction, the other by persuasion, the one is rational, the other is irrational; the one is movable by persuasion, the other immovable; the one is possessed by every man, the other by the gods and by very few men. And we must acknowledge that as there are two kinds of knowledge, so there are two kinds of being corresponding to them; the one uncreated, indestructible, immovable, which is seen by intelligence only; the other created, which is always becoming in place and vanishing out of place, and is apprehended by opinion and sense. There is also a third nature — that of space, which is indestructible, and is perceived by a kind of spurious reason without the help of sense. This is presented to us in a dreamy manner, and yet is said to be necessary, for we say that all things must be somewhere in space. For they are the images of other things and must therefore have a separate existence and exist in something (i.e. in space). But true reason assures us that while two things (i.e. the idea and the image) are different they cannot inhere in one another, so as to be one and two at the same time.

To sum up: Being and generation and space, these three, existed before the heavens, and the nurse or vessel of generation, moistened by water and inflamed by fire, and taking the forms of air and earth, assumed various shapes. By the motion of the vessel, the elements were divided, and like grain winnowed by fans, the close and heavy particles settled in one place, the light and airy ones in another. At first they were without reason and measure, and had only certain faint traces of themselves, until God fashioned them by figure and number. In this, as in every other part of creation, I suppose God to have made things, as far as was possible, fair and good, out of things not fair and good.

And now I will explain to you the generation of the world by a method with which your scientific training will have made you familiar. Fire, air, earth, and water are bodies and therefore solids, and solids are contained in planes, and plane rectilinear figures are made up of triangles. Of triangles there are two kinds; one having the opposite sides equal (isosceles), the other with unequal sides (scalene). These we may fairly assume to be the original elements of fire and the other bodies; what principles are prior to these God only knows, and he of men whom God loves. Next, we must determine what are the four most beautiful figures which are unlike one another and yet sometimes capable of resolution into one another...Of the two kinds of triangles the equal-sided has but one form, the unequal-sided has an infinite variety of forms; and there is none more beautiful than that which forms the half of an equilateral triangle. Let us then choose two triangles; one, the isosceles, the other, that form of scalene which has the square of the longer side three times as great as the square of the lesser side; and affirm that, out of these, fire and the other elements have been constructed.

I was wrong in imagining that all the four elements could be generated into and out of one another. For as they are formed, three of them from the triangle which has the sides unequal, the fourth from the triangle which has equal sides, three can be resolved into one another, but the fourth cannot be resolved into them nor they into it. So much for their passage into one another: I must now speak of their construction. From the triangle of which the hypotenuse is twice the lesser side the three first regular solids are formed — first, the equilateral pyramid or tetrahedron; secondly, the octahedron; thirdly, the icosahedron; and from the isosceles triangle is formed the cube. And there is a fifth figure (which is made out of twelve pentagons), the dodecahedron — this God used as a model for the twelvefold division of the Zodiac.

Let us now assign the geometrical forms to their respective elements. The cube is the most stable of them because resting on a quadrangular plane surface, and composed of isosceles triangles. To the earth then, which is the most stable of bodies and the most easily modelled of them, may be assigned the form of a cube; and the remaining forms to the other elements, — to fire the pyramid, to air the octahedron, and to water the icosahedron, — according to their degrees of lightness or heaviness or power, or want of power, of penetration. The single particles of any of the elements are not seen by reason of their smallness; they only become visible when collected. The ratios of their motions, numbers, and other properties, are ordered by the God, who harmonized them as far as necessity permitted.

The probable conclusion is as follows: — Earth, when dissolved by the more penetrating element of fire, whether acting immediately or through the medium of air or water, is decomposed but not transformed. Water, when divided by fire or air, becomes one part fire, and two parts air. A volume of air divided becomes two of fire. On the other hand, when condensed, two volumes of fire make a volume of air; and two and a half parts of air condense into one of water. Any element which is fastened upon by fire is cut by the sharpness of the triangles, until at length, coalescing with the fire, it is at rest; for similars are not affected by similars. When two kinds of bodies quarrel with one another, then the tendency to decomposition continues until the smaller either escapes to its kindred element or becomes one with its conqueror. And this tendency in bodies to condense or escape is a source of motion...Where there is motion there must be a mover, and where there is a mover there must be something to move. These cannot exist in what is uniform, and therefore motion is due to want of uniformity. But then why, when things are divided after their kinds, do they not cease from motion? The answer is, that the circular motion of all things compresses them, and as ‘nature abhors a vacuum,’ the finer and more subtle particles of the lighter elements, such as fire and air, are thrust into the interstices of the larger, each of them penetrating according to their rarity, and thus all the elements are on their way up and down everywhere and always into their own places. Hence there is a principle of inequality, and therefore of motion, in all time.

In the next place, we may observe that there are different kinds of fire — (1) flame, (2) light that burns not, (3) the red heat of the embers of fire. And there are varieties of air, as for example, the pure aether, the opaque mist, and other nameless forms. Water, again, is of two kinds, liquid and fusile. The liquid is composed of small and unequal particles, the fusile of large and uniform particles and is more solid, but nevertheless melts at the approach of fire, and then spreads upon the earth. When the substance cools, the fire passes into the air, which is displaced, and forces together and condenses the liquid mass. This process is called cooling and congealment. Of the fusile kinds the fairest and heaviest is gold; this is hardened by filtration through rock, and is of a bright yellow colour. A shoot of gold which is darker and denser than the rest is called adamant. Another kind is called copper, which is harder and yet lighter because the interstices are larger than in gold. There is mingled with it a fine and small portion of earth which comes out in the form of rust. These are a few of the conjectures which philosophy forms, when, leaving the eternal nature, she turns for innocent recreation to consider the truths of generation.

Water which is mingled with fire is called liquid because it rolls upon the earth, and soft because its bases give way. This becomes more equable when separated from fire and air, and then congeals into hail or ice, or the looser forms of hoar frost or snow. There are other waters which are called juices and are distilled through plants. Of these we may mention, first, wine, which warms the soul as well as the body; secondly, oily substances, as for example, oil or pitch; thirdly, honey, which relaxes the contracted parts of the mouth and so produces sweetness; fourthly, vegetable acid, which is frothy and has a burning quality and dissolves the flesh. Of the kinds of earth, that which is filtered through water passes into stone; the water is broken up by the earth and escapes in the form of air — this in turn presses upon the mass of earth, and the earth, compressed into an indissoluble union with the remaining water, becomes rock. Rock, when it is made up of equal particles, is fair and transparent, but the reverse when of unequal. Earth is converted into pottery when the watery part is suddenly drawn away; or if moisture remains, the earth, when fused by fire, becomes, on cooling, a stone of a black colour. When the earth is finer and of a briny nature then two half-solid bodies are formed by separating the water, — soda and salt. The strong compounds of earth and water are not soluble by water, but only by fire. Earth itself, when not consolidated, is dissolved by water; when consolidated, by fire only. The cohesion of water, when strong, is dissolved by fire only; when weak, either by air or fire, the former entering the interstices, the latter penetrating even the triangles. Air when strongly condensed is indissoluble by any power which does not reach the triangles, and even when not strongly condensed is only resolved by fire. Compounds of earth and water are unaffected by water while the water occupies the interstices in them, but begin to liquefy when fire enters into the interstices of the water. They are of two kinds, some of them, like glass, having more earth, others, like wax, having more water in them.

Having considered objects of sense, we now pass on to sensation. But we cannot explain sensation without explaining the nature of flesh and of the mortal soul; and as we cannot treat of both together, in order that we may proceed at once to the sensations we must assume the existence of body and soul.

What makes fire burn? The fineness of the sides, the sharpness of the angles, the smallness of the particles, the quickness of the motion. Moreover, the pyramid, which is the figure of fire, is more cutting than any other. The feeling of cold is produced by the larger particles of moisture outside the body trying to eject the smaller ones in the body which they compress. The struggle which arises between elements thus unnaturally brought together causes shivering. That is hard to which the flesh yields, and soft which yields to the flesh, and these two terms are also relative to one another. The yielding matter is that which has the slenderest base, whereas that which has a rectangular base is compact and repellent. Light and heavy are wrongly explained with reference to a lower and higher in place. For in the universe, which is a sphere, there is no opposition of above or below, and that which is to us above would be below to a man standing at the antipodes. The greater or less difficulty in detaching any element from its like is the real cause of heaviness or of lightness. If you draw the earth into the dissimilar air, the particles of earth cling to their native element, and you more easily detach a small portion than a large. There would be the same difficulty in moving any of the upper elements towards the lower. The smooth and the rough are severally produced by the union of evenness with compactness, and of hardness with inequality.

Pleasure and pain are the most important of the affections common to the whole body. According to our general doctrine of sensation, parts of the body which are easily moved readily transmit the motion to the mind; but parts which are not easily moved have no effect upon the patient. The bones and hair are of the latter kind, sight and hearing of the former. Ordinary affections are neither pleasant nor painful. The impressions of sight afford an example of these, and are neither violent nor sudden. But sudden replenishments of the body cause pleasure, and sudden disturbances, as for example cuttings and burnings, have the opposite effect.

>From sensations common to the whole body, we proceed to those of particular parts. The affections of the tongue appear to be caused by contraction and dilation, but they have more of roughness or smoothness than is found in other affections. Earthy particles, entering into the small veins of the tongue which reach to the heart, when they melt into and dry up the little veins are astringent if they are rough; or if not so rough, they are only harsh, and if excessively abstergent, like potash and soda, bitter. Purgatives of a weaker sort are called salt and, having no bitterness, are rather agreeable. Inflammatory bodies, which by their lightness are carried up into the head, cutting all that comes in their way, are termed pungent. But when these are refined by putrefaction, and enter the narrow veins of the tongue, and meet there particles of earth and air, two kinds of globules are formed — one of earthy and impure liquid, which boils and ferments, the other of pure and transparent water, which are called bubbles; of all these affections the cause is termed acid. When, on the other hand, the composition of the deliquescent particles is congenial to the tongue, and disposes the parts according to their nature, this remedial power in them is called sweet.

Smells are not divided into kinds; all of them are transitional, and arise out of the decomposition of one element into another, for the simple air or water is without smell. They are vapours or mists, thinner than water and thicker than air: and hence in drawing in the breath, when there is an obstruction, the air passes, but there is no smell. They have no names, but are distinguished as pleasant and unpleasant, and their influence extends over the whole region from the head to the navel.

Hearing is the effect of a stroke which is transmitted through the ears by means of the air, brain, and blood to the soul, beginning at the head and extending to the liver. The sound which moves swiftly is acute; that which moves slowly is grave; that which is uniform is smooth, and the opposite is harsh. Loudness depends on the quantity of the sound. Of the harmony of sounds I will hereafter speak.

Colours are flames which emanate from all bodies, having particles corresponding to the sense of sight. Some of the particles are less and some larger, and some are equal to the parts of the sight. The equal particles appear transparent; the larger contract, and the lesser dilate the sight. White is produced by the dilation, black by the contraction, of the particles of sight. There is also a swifter motion of another sort of fire which forces a way through the passages of the eyes, and elicits from them a union of fire and water which we call tears. The inner fire flashes forth, and the outer finds a way in and is extinguished in the moisture, and all sorts of colours are generated by the mixture. This affection is termed by us dazzling, and the object which produces it is called bright. There is yet another sort of fire which mingles with the moisture of the eye without flashing, and produces a colour like blood — to this we give the name of red. A bright element mingling with red and white produces a colour which we call auburn. The law of proportion, however, according to which compound colours are formed, cannot be determined scientifically or even probably. Red, when mingled with black and white, gives a purple hue, which becomes umber when the colours are burnt and there is a larger admixture of black. Flame-colour is a mixture of auburn and dun; dun of white and black; yellow of white and auburn. White and bright meeting, and falling upon a full black, become dark blue; dark blue mingling with white becomes a light blue; the union of flame-colour and black makes leek-green. There is no difficulty in seeing how other colours are probably composed. But he who should attempt to test the truth of this by experiment, would forget the difference of the human and divine nature. God only is able to compound and resolve substances; such experiments are impossible to man.

These are the elements of necessity which the Creator received in the world of generation when he made the all-sufficient and perfect creature, using the secondary causes as his ministers, but himself fashioning the good in all things. For there are two sorts of causes, the one divine, the other necessary; and we should seek to discover the divine above all, and, for their sake, the necessary, because without them the higher cannot be attained by us.

Having now before us the causes out of which the rest of our discourse is to be framed, let us go back to the point at which we began, and add a fair ending to our tale. As I said at first, all things were originally a chaos in which there was no order or proportion. The elements of this chaos were arranged by the Creator, and out of them he made the world. Of the divine he himself was the author, but he committed to his offspring the creation of the mortal. From him they received the immortal soul, but themselves made the body to be its vehicle, and constructed within another soul which was mortal, and subject to terrible affections — pleasure, the inciter of evil; pain, which deters from good; rashness and fear, foolish counsellors; anger hard to be appeased; hope easily led astray. These they mingled with irrational sense and all-daring love according to necessary laws and so framed man. And, fearing to pollute the divine element, they gave the mortal soul a separate habitation in the breast, parted off from the head by a narrow isthmus. And as in a house the women’s apartments are divided from the men’s, the cavity of the thorax was divided into two parts, a higher and a lower. The higher of the two, which is the seat of courage and anger, lies nearer to the head, between the midriff and the neck, and assists reason in restraining the desires. The heart is the house of guard in which all the veins meet, and through them reason sends her commands to the extremity of her kingdom. When the passions are in revolt, or danger approaches from without, then the heart beats and swells; and the creating powers, knowing this, implanted in the body the soft and bloodless substance of the lung, having a porous and springy nature like a sponge, and being kept cool by drink and air which enters through the trachea.

The part of the soul which desires meat and drink was placed between the midriff and navel, where they made a sort of manger; and here they bound it down, like a wild animal, away from the council-chamber, and leaving the better principle undisturbed to advise quietly for the good of the whole. For the Creator knew that the belly would not listen to reason, and was under the power of idols and fancies. Wherefore he framed the liver to connect with the lower nature, contriving that it should be compact, and bright, and sweet, and also bitter and smooth, in order that the power of thought which originates in the mind might there be reflected, terrifying the belly with the elements of bitterness and gall, and a suffusion of bilious colours when the liver is contracted, and causing pain and misery by twisting out of its place the lobe and closing up the vessels and gates. And the converse happens when some gentle inspiration coming from intelligence mirrors the opposite fancies, giving rest and sweetness and freedom, and at night, moderation and peace accompanied with prophetic insight, when reason and sense are asleep. For the authors of our being, in obedience to their Father’s will and in order to make men as good as they could, gave to the liver the power of divination, which is never active when men are awake or in health; but when they are under the influence of some disorder or enthusiasm then they receive intimations, which have to be interpreted by others who are called prophets, but should rather be called interpreters of prophecy; after death these intimations become unintelligible. The spleen which is situated in the neighbourhood, on the left side, keeps the liver bright and clean, as a napkin does a mirror, and the evacuations of the liver are received into it; and being a hollow tissue it is for a time swollen with these impurities, but when the body is purged it returns to its natural size.

The truth concerning the soul can only be established by the word of God. Still, we may venture to assert what is probable both concerning soul and body.

The creative powers were aware of our tendency to excess. And so when they made the belly to be a receptacle for food, in order that men might not perish by insatiable gluttony, they formed the convolutions of the intestines, in this way retarding the passage of food through the body, lest mankind should be absorbed in eating and drinking, and the whole race become impervious to divine philosophy.

The creation of bones and flesh was on this wise. The foundation of these is the marrow which binds together body and soul, and the marrow is made out of such of the primary triangles as are adapted by their perfection to produce all the four elements. These God took and mingled them in due proportion, making as many kinds of marrow as there were hereafter to be kinds of souls. The receptacle of the divine soul he made round, and called that portion of the marrow brain, intending that the vessel containing this substance should be the head. The remaining part he divided into long and round figures, and to these as to anchors, fastening the mortal soul, he proceeded to make the rest of the body, first forming for both parts a covering of bone. The bone was formed by sifting pure smooth earth and wetting it with marrow. It was then thrust alternately into fire and water, and thus rendered insoluble by either. Of bone he made a globe which he placed around the brain, leaving a narrow opening, and around the marrow of the neck and spine he formed the vertebrae, like hinges, which extended from the head through the whole of the trunk. And as the bone was brittle and liable to mortify and destroy the marrow by too great rigidity and susceptibility to heat and cold, he contrived sinews and flesh — the first to give flexibility, the second to guard against heat and cold, and to be a protection against falls, containing a warm moisture, which in summer exudes and cools the body, and in winter is a defence against cold. Having this in view, the Creator mingled earth with fire and water and mixed with them a ferment of acid and salt, so as to form pulpy flesh. But the sinews he made of a mixture of bone and unfermented flesh, giving them a mean nature between the two, and a yellow colour. Hence they were more glutinous than flesh, but softer than bone. The bones which have most of the living soul within them he covered with the thinnest film of flesh, those which have least of it, he lodged deeper. At the joints he diminished the flesh in order not to impede the flexure of the limbs, and also to avoid clogging the perceptions of the mind. About the thighs and arms, which have no sense because there is little soul in the marrow, and about the inner bones, he laid the flesh thicker. For where the flesh is thicker there is less feeling, except in certain parts which the Creator has made solely of flesh, as for example, the tongue. Had the combination of solid bone and thick flesh been consistent with acute perceptions, the Creator would have given man a sinewy and fleshy head, and then he would have lived twice as long. But our creators were of opinion that a shorter life which was better was preferable to a longer which was worse, and therefore they covered the head with thin bone, and placed the sinews at the extremity of the head round the neck, and fastened the jawbones to them below the face. And they framed the mouth, having teeth and tongue and lips, with a view to the necessary and the good; for food is a necessity, and the river of speech is the best of rivers. Still, the head could not be left a bare globe of bone on account of the extremes of heat and cold, nor be allowed to become dull and senseless by an overgrowth of flesh. Wherefore it was covered by a peel or skin which met and grew by the help of the cerebral humour. The diversity of the sutures was caused by the struggle of the food against the courses of the soul. The skin of the head was pierced by fire, and out of the punctures came forth a moisture, part liquid, and part of a skinny nature, which was hardened by the pressure of the external cold and became hair. And God gave hair to the head of man to be a light covering, so that it might not interfere with his perceptions. Nails were formed by combining sinew, skin, and bone, and were made by the creators with a view to the future when, as they knew, women and other animals who would require them would be framed out of man.

The gods also mingled natures akin to that of man with other forms and perceptions. Thus trees and plants were created, which were originally wild and have been adapted by cultivation to our use. They partake of that third kind of life which is seated between the midriff and the navel, and is altogether passive and incapable of reflection.

When the creators had furnished all these natures for our sustenance, they cut channels through our bodies as in a garden, watering them with a perennial stream. Two were cut down the back, along the back bone, where the skin and flesh meet, one on the right and the other on the left, having the marrow of generation between them. In the next place, they divided the veins about the head and interlaced them with each other in order that they might form an additional link between the head and the body, and that the sensations from both sides might be diffused throughout the body. In the third place, they contrived the passage of liquids, which may be explained in this way: — Finer bodies retain coarser, but not the coarser the finer, and the belly is capable of retaining food, but not fire and air. God therefore formed a network of fire and air to irrigate the veins, having within it two lesser nets, and stretched cords reaching from both the lesser nets to the extremity of the outer net. The inner parts of the net were made by him of fire, the lesser nets and their cavities of air. The two latter he made to pass into the mouth; the one ascending by the air-pipes from the lungs, the other by the side of the air-pipes from the belly. The entrance to the first he divided into two parts, both of which he made to meet at the channels of the nose, that when the mouth was closed the passage connected with it might still be fed with air. The cavity of the network he spread around the hollows of the body, making the entire receptacle to flow into and out of the lesser nets and the lesser nets into and out of it, while the outer net found a way into and out of the pores of the body, and the internal heat followed the air to and fro. These, as we affirm, are the phenomena of respiration. And all this process takes place in order that the body may be watered and cooled and nourished, and the meat and drink digested and liquefied and carried into the veins.

The causes of respiration have now to be considered. The exhalation of the breath through the mouth and nostrils displaces the external air, and at the same time leaves a vacuum into which through the pores the air which is displaced enters. Also the vacuum which is made when the air is exhaled through the pores is filled up by the inhalation of breath through the mouth and nostrils. The explanation of this double phenomenon is as follows: — Elements move towards their natural places. Now as every animal has within him a fountain of fire, the air which is inhaled through the mouth and nostrils, on coming into contact with this, is heated; and when heated, in accordance with the law of attraction, it escapes by the way it entered toward the place of fire. On leaving the body it is cooled and drives round the air which it displaces through the pores into the empty lungs. This again is in turn heated by the internal fire and escapes, as it entered, through the pores.

The phenomena of medical cupping-glasses, of swallowing, and of the hurling of bodies, are to be explained on a similar principle; as also sounds, which are sometimes discordant on account of the inequality of them, and again harmonious by reason of equality. The slower sounds reaching the swifter, when they begin to pause, by degrees assimilate with them: whence arises a pleasure which even the unwise feel, and which to the wise becomes a higher sense of delight, being an imitation of divine harmony in mortal motions. Streams flow, lightnings play, amber and the magnet attract, not by reason of attraction, but because ‘nature abhors a vacuum,’ and because things, when compounded or dissolved, move different ways, each to its own place.

I will now return to the phenomena of respiration. The fire, entering the belly, minces the food, and as it escapes, fills the veins by drawing after it the divided portions, and thus the streams of nutriment are diffused through the body. The fruits or herbs which are our daily sustenance take all sorts of colours when intermixed, but the colour of red or fire predominates, and hence the liquid which we call blood is red, being the nurturing principle of the body, whence all parts are watered and empty places filled.

The process of repletion and depletion is produced by the attraction of like to like, after the manner of the universal motion. The external elements by their attraction are always diminishing the substance of the body: the particles of blood, too, formed out of the newly digested food, are attracted towards kindred elements within the body and so fill up the void. When more is taken away than flows in, then we decay; and when less, we grow and increase.

The young of every animal has the triangles new and closely locked together, and yet the entire frame is soft and delicate, being newly made of marrow and nurtured on milk. These triangles are sharper than those which enter the body from without in the shape of food, and therefore they cut them up. But as life advances, the triangles wear out and are no longer able to assimilate food; and at length, when the bonds which unite the triangles of the marrow become undone, they in turn unloose the bonds of the soul; and if the release be according to nature, she then flies away with joy. For the death which is natural is pleasant, but that which is caused by violence is painful.

Every one may understand the origin of diseases. They may be occasioned by the disarrangement or disproportion of the elements out of which the body is framed. This is the origin of many of them, but the worst of all owe their severity to the following causes: There is a natural order in the human frame according to which the flesh and sinews are made of blood, the sinews out of the fibres, and the flesh out of the congealed substance which is formed by separation from the fibres. The glutinous matter which comes away from the sinews and the flesh, not only binds the flesh to the bones, but nourishes the bones and waters the marrow. When these processes take place in regular order the body is in health.

But when the flesh wastes and returns into the veins there is discoloured blood as well as air in the veins, having acid and salt qualities, from which is generated every sort of phlegm and bile. All things go the wrong way and cease to give nourishment to the body, no longer preserving their natural courses, but at war with themselves and destructive to the constitution of the body. The oldest part of the flesh which is hard to decompose blackens from long burning, and from being corroded grows bitter, and as the bitter element refines away, becomes acid. When tinged with blood the bitter substance has a red colour, and this when mixed with black takes the hue of grass; or again, the bitter substance has an auburn colour, when new flesh is decomposed by the internal flame. To all which phenomena some physician or philosopher who was able to see the one in many has given the name of bile. The various kinds of bile have names answering to their colours. Lymph or serum is of two kinds: first, the whey of blood, which is gentle; secondly, the secretion of dark and bitter bile, which, when mingled under the influence of heat with salt, is malignant and is called acid phlegm. There is also white phlegm, formed by the decomposition of young and tender flesh, and covered with little bubbles, separately invisible, but becoming visible when collected. The water of tears and perspiration and similar substances is also the watery part of fresh phlegm. All these humours become sources of disease when the blood is replenished in irregular ways and not by food or drink. The danger, however, is not so great when the foundation remains, for then there is a possibility of recovery. But when the substance which unites the flesh and bones is diseased, and is no longer renewed from the muscles and sinews, and instead of being oily and smooth and glutinous becomes rough and salt and dry, then the fleshy parts fall away and leave the sinews bare and full of brine, and the flesh gets back again into the circulation of the blood, and makes the previously mentioned disorders still greater. There are other and worse diseases which are prior to these; as when the bone through the density of the flesh does not receive sufficient air, and becomes stagnant and gangrened, and crumbling away passes into the food, and the food into the flesh, and the flesh returns again into the blood. Worst of all and most fatal is the disease of the marrow, by which the whole course of the body is reversed. There is a third class of diseases which are produced, some by wind and some by phlegm and some by bile. When the lung, which is the steward of the air, is obstructed, by rheums, and in one part no air, and in another too much, enters in, then the parts which are unrefreshed by air corrode, and other parts are distorted by the excess of air; and in this manner painful diseases are produced. The most painful are caused by wind generated within the body, which gets about the great sinews of the shoulders — these are termed tetanus. The cure of them is difficult, and in most cases they are relieved only by fever. White phlegm, which is dangerous if kept in, by reason of the air bubbles, is not equally dangerous if able to escape through the pores, although it variegates the body, generating diverse kinds of leprosies. If, when mingled with black bile, it disturbs the courses of the head in sleep, there is not so much danger; but if it assails those who are awake, then the attack is far more dangerous, and is called epilepsy or the sacred disease. Acid and salt phlegm is the source of catarrh.

Inflammations originate in bile, which is sometimes relieved by boils and swellings, but when detained, and above all when mingled with pure blood, generates many inflammatory disorders, disturbing the position of the fibres which are scattered about in the blood in order to maintain the balance of rare and dense which is necessary to its regular circulation. If the bile, which is only stale blood, or liquefied flesh, comes in little by little, it is congealed by the fibres and produces internal cold and shuddering. But when it enters with more of a flood it overcomes the fibres by its heat and reaches the spinal marrow, and burning up the cables of the soul sets her free from the body. When on the other hand the body, though wasted, still holds out, then the bile is expelled, like an exile from a factious state, causing associating diarrhoeas and dysenteries and similar disorders. The body which is diseased from the effects of fire is in a continual fever; when air is the agent, the fever is quotidian; when water, the fever intermits a day; when earth, which is the most sluggish element, the fever intermits three days and is with difficulty shaken off.

Of mental disorders there are two sorts, one madness, the other ignorance, and they may be justly attributed to disease. Excessive pleasures or pains are among the greatest diseases, and deprive men of their senses. When the seed about the spinal marrow is too abundant, the body has too great pleasures and pains; and during a great part of his life he who is the subject of them is more or less mad. He is often thought bad, but this is a mistake; for the truth is that the intemperance of lust is due to the fluidity of the marrow produced by the loose consistency of the bones. And this is true of vice in general, which is commonly regarded as disgraceful, whereas it is really involuntary and arises from a bad habit of the body and evil education. In like manner the soul is often made vicious by the influence of bodily pain; the briny phlegm and other bitter and bilious humours wander over the body and find no exit, but are compressed within, and mingle their own vapours with the motions of the soul, and are carried to the three places of the soul, creating infinite varieties of trouble and melancholy, of rashness and cowardice, of forgetfulness and stupidity. When men are in this evil plight of body, and evil forms of government and evil discourses are superadded, and there is no education to save them, they are corrupted through two causes; but of neither of them are they really the authors. For the planters are to blame rather than the plants, the educators and not the educated. Still, we should endeavour to attain virtue and avoid vice; but this is part of another subject.

Enough of disease — I have now to speak of the means by which the mind and body are to be preserved, a higher theme than the other. The good is the beautiful, and the beautiful is the symmetrical, and there is no greater or fairer symmetry than that of body and soul, as the contrary is the greatest of deformities. A leg or an arm too long or too short is at once ugly and unserviceable, and the same is true if body and soul are disproportionate. For a strong and impassioned soul may ‘fret the pigmy body to decay,’ and so produce convulsions and other evils. The violence of controversy, or the earnestness of enquiry, will often generate inflammations and rheums which are not understood, or assigned to their true cause by the professors of medicine. And in like manner the body may be too much for the soul, darkening the reason, and quickening the animal desires. The only security is to preserve the balance of the two, and to this end the mathematician or philosopher must practise gymnastics, and the gymnast must cultivate music. The parts of the body too must be treated in the same way — they should receive their appropriate exercise. For the body is set in motion when it is heated and cooled by the elements which enter in, or is dried up and moistened by external things; and, if given up to these processes when at rest, it is liable to destruction. But the natural motion, as in the world, so also in the human frame, produces harmony and divides hostile powers. The best exercise is the spontaneous motion of the body, as in gymnastics, because most akin to the motion of mind; not so good is the motion of which the source is in another, as in sailing or riding; least good when the body is at rest and the motion is in parts only, which is a species of motion imparted by physic. This should only be resorted to by men of sense in extreme cases; lesser diseases are not to be irritated by medicine. For every disease is akin to the living being and has an appointed term, just as life has, which depends on the form of the triangles, and cannot be protracted when they are worn out. And he who, instead of accepting his destiny, endeavours to prolong his life by medicine, is likely to multiply and magnify his diseases. Regimen and not medicine is the true cure, when a man has time at his disposal.

Enough of the nature of man and of the body, and of training and education. The subject is a great one and cannot be adequately treated as an appendage to another. To sum up all in a word: there are three kinds of soul located within us, and any one of them, if remaining inactive, becomes very weak; if exercised, very strong. Wherefore we should duly train and exercise all three kinds.

The divine soul God lodged in the head, to raise us, like plants which are not of earthly origin, to our kindred; for the head is nearest to heaven. He who is intent upon the gratification of his desires and cherishes the mortal soul, has all his ideas mortal, and is himself mortal in the truest sense. But he who seeks after knowledge and exercises the divine part of himself in godly and immortal thoughts, attains to truth and immortality, as far as is possible to man, and also to happiness, while he is training up within him the divine principle and indwelling power of order. There is only one way in which one person can benefit another; and that is by assigning to him his proper nurture and motion. To the motions of the soul answer the motions of the universe, and by the study of these the individual is restored to his original nature.

Thus we have finished the discussion of the universe, which, according to our original intention, has now been brought down to the creation of man. Completeness seems to require that something should be briefly said about other animals: first of women, who are probably degenerate and cowardly men. And when they degenerated, the gods implanted in men the desire of union with them, creating in man one animate substance and in woman another in the following manner: — The outlet for liquids they connected with the living principle of the spinal marrow, which the man has the desire to emit into the fruitful womb of the woman; this is like a fertile field in which the seed is quickened and matured, and at last brought to light. When this desire is unsatisfied the man is over-mastered by the power of the generative organs, and the woman is subjected to disorders from the obstruction of the passages of the breath, until the two meet and pluck the fruit of the tree.

The race of birds was created out of innocent, light-minded men, who thought to pursue the study of the heavens by sight; these were transformed into birds, and grew feathers instead of hair. The race of wild animals were men who had no philosophy, and never looked up to heaven or used the courses of the head, but followed only the influences of passion. Naturally they turned to their kindred earth, and put their forelegs to the ground, and their heads were crushed into strange oblong forms. Some of them have four feet, and some of them more than four, — the latter, who are the more senseless, drawing closer to their native element; the most senseless of all have no limbs and trail their whole body on the ground. The fourth kind are the inhabitants of the waters; these are made out of the most senseless and ignorant and impure of men, whom God placed in the uttermost parts of the world in return for their utter ignorance, and caused them to respire water instead of the pure element of air. Such are the laws by which animals pass into one another.

And so the world received animals, mortal and immortal, and was fulfilled with them, and became a visible God, comprehending the visible, made in the image of the Intellectual, being the one perfect only-begotten heaven.

Section 2.

Nature in the aspect which she presented to a Greek philosopher of the fourth century before Christ is not easily reproduced to modern eyes. The associations of mythology and poetry have to be added, and the unconscious influence of science has to be subtracted, before we can behold the heavens or the earth as they appeared to the Greek. The philosopher himself was a child and also a man — a child in the range of his attainments, but also a great intelligence having an insight into nature, and often anticipations of the truth. He was full of original thoughts, and yet liable to be imposed upon by the most obvious fallacies. He occasionally confused numbers with ideas, and atoms with numbers; his a priori notions were out of all proportion to his experience. He was ready to explain the phenomena of the heavens by the most trivial analogies of earth. The experiments which nature worked for him he sometimes accepted, but he never tried experiments for himself which would either prove or disprove his theories. His knowledge was unequal; while in some branches, such as medicine and astronomy, he had made considerable proficiency, there were others, such as chemistry, electricity, mechanics, of which the very names were unknown to him. He was the natural enemy of mythology, and yet mythological ideas still retained their hold over him. He was endeavouring to form a conception of principles, but these principles or ideas were regarded by him as real powers or entities, to which the world had been subjected. He was always tending to argue from what was near to what was remote, from what was known to what was unknown, from man to the universe, and back again from the universe to man. While he was arranging the world, he was arranging the forms of thought in his own mind; and the light from within and the light from without often crossed and helped to confuse one another. He might be compared to a builder engaged in some great design, who could only dig with his hands because he was unprovided with common tools; or to some poet or musician, like Tynnichus (Ion), obliged to accommodate his lyric raptures to the limits of the tetrachord or of the flute.

The Hesiodic and Orphic cosmogonies were a phase of thought intermediate between mythology and philosophy and had a great influence on the beginnings of knowledge. There was nothing behind them; they were to physical science what the poems of Homer were to early Greek history. They made men think of the world as a whole; they carried the mind back into the infinity of past time; they suggested the first observation of the effects of fire and water on the earth’s surface. To the ancient physics they stood much in the same relation which geology does to modern science. But the Greek was not, like the enquirer of the last generation, confined to a period of six thousand years; he was able to speculate freely on the effects of infinite ages in the production of physical phenomena. He could imagine cities which had existed time out of mind (States.; Laws), laws or forms of art and music which had lasted, ‘not in word only, but in very truth, for ten thousand years’ (Laws); he was aware that natural phenomena like the Delta of the Nile might have slowly accumulated in long periods of time (Hdt.). But he seems to have supposed that the course of events was recurring rather than progressive. To this he was probably led by the fixedness of Egyptian customs and the general observation that there were other civilisations in the world more ancient than that of Hellas.

The ancient philosophers found in mythology many ideas which, if not originally derived from nature, were easily transferred to her — such, for example, as love or hate, corresponding to attraction or repulsion; or the conception of necessity allied both to the regularity and irregularity of nature; or of chance, the nameless or unknown cause; or of justice, symbolizing the law of compensation; are of the Fates and Furies, typifying the fixed order or the extraordinary convulsions of nature. Their own interpretations of Homer and the poets were supposed by them to be the original meaning. Musing in themselves on the phenomena of nature, they were relieved at being able to utter the thoughts of their hearts in figures of speech which to them were not figures, and were already consecrated by tradition. Hesiod and the Orphic poets moved in a region of half-personification in which the meaning or principle appeared through the person. In their vaster conceptions of Chaos, Erebus, Aether, Night, and the like, the first rude attempts at generalization are dimly seen. The Gods themselves, especially the greater Gods, such as Zeus, Poseidon, Apollo, Athene, are universals as well as individuals. They were gradually becoming lost in a common conception of mind or God. They continued to exist for the purposes of ritual or of art; but from the sixth century onwards or even earlier there arose and gained strength in the minds of men the notion of ‘one God, greatest among Gods and men, who was all sight, all hearing, all knowing’ (Xenophanes).

Under the influence of such ideas, perhaps also deriving from the traditions of their own or of other nations scraps of medicine and astronomy, men came to the observation of nature. The Greek philosopher looked at the blue circle of the heavens and it flashed upon him that all things were one; the tumult of sense abated, and the mind found repose in the thought which former generations had been striving to realize. The first expression of this was some element, rarefied by degrees into a pure abstraction, and purged from any tincture of sense. Soon an inner world of ideas began to be unfolded, more absorbing, more overpowering, more abiding than the brightest of visible objects, which to the eye of the philosopher looking inward, seemed to pale before them, retaining only a faint and precarious existence. At the same time, the minds of men parted into the two great divisions of those who saw only a principle of motion, and of those who saw only a principle of rest, in nature and in themselves; there were born Heracliteans or Eleatics, as there have been in later ages born Aristotelians or Platonists. Like some philosophers in modern times, who are accused of making a theory first and finding their facts afterwards, the advocates of either opinion never thought of applying either to themselves or to their adversaries the criterion of fact. They were mastered by their ideas and not masters of them. Like the Heraclitean fanatics whom Plato has ridiculed in the Theaetetus, they were incapable of giving a reason of the faith that was in them, and had all the animosities of a religious sect. Yet, doubtless, there was some first impression derived from external nature, which, as in mythology, so also in philosophy, worked upon the minds of the first thinkers. Though incapable of induction or generalization in the modern sense, they caught an inspiration from the external world. The most general facts or appearances of nature, the circle of the universe, the nutritive power of water, the air which is the breath of life, the destructive force of fire, the seeming regularity of the greater part of nature and the irregularity of a remnant, the recurrence of day and night and of the seasons, the solid earth and the impalpable aether, were always present to them.

The great source of error and also the beginning of truth to them was reasoning from analogy; they could see resemblances, but not differences; and they were incapable of distinguishing illustration from argument. Analogy in modern times only points the way, and is immediately verified by experiment. The dreams and visions, which pass through the philosopher’s mind, of resemblances between different classes of substances, or between the animal and vegetable world, are put into the refiner’s fire, and the dross and other elements which adhere to them are purged away. But the contemporary of Plato and Socrates was incapable of resisting the power of any analogy which occurred to him, and was drawn into any consequences which seemed to follow. He had no methods of difference or of concomitant variations, by the use of which he could distinguish the accidental from the essential. He could not isolate phenomena, and he was helpless against the influence of any word which had an equivocal or double sense.

Yet without this crude use of analogy the ancient physical philosopher would have stood still; he could not have made even ‘one guess among many’ without comparison. The course of natural phenomena would have passed unheeded before his eyes, like fair sights or musical sounds before the eyes and ears of an animal. Even the fetichism of the savage is the beginning of reasoning; the assumption of the most fanciful of causes indicates a higher mental state than the absence of all enquiry about them. The tendency to argue from the higher to the lower, from man to the world, has led to many errors, but has also had an elevating influence on philosophy. The conception of the world as a whole, a person, an animal, has been the source of hasty generalizations; yet this general grasp of nature led also to a spirit of comprehensiveness in early philosophy, which has not increased, but rather diminished, as the fields of knowledge have become more divided. The modern physicist confines himself to one or perhaps two branches of science. But he comparatively seldom rises above his own department, and often falls under the narrowing influence which any single branch, when pursued to the exclusion of every other, has over the mind. Language, two, exercised a spell over the beginnings of physical philosophy, leading to error and sometimes to truth; for many thoughts were suggested by the double meanings of words (Greek), and the accidental distinctions of words sometimes led the ancient philosopher to make corresponding differences in things (Greek). ‘If they are the same, why have they different names; or if they are different, why have they the same name?’ — is an argument not easily answered in the infancy of knowledge. The modern philosopher has always been taught the lesson which he still imperfectly learns, that he must disengage himself from the influence of words. Nor are there wanting in Plato, who was himself too often the victim of them, impressive admonitions that we should regard not words but things (States.). But upon the whole, the ancients, though not entirely dominated by them, were much more subject to the influence of words than the moderns. They had no clear divisions of colours or substances; even the four elements were undefined; the fields of knowledge were not parted off. They were bringing order out of disorder, having a small grain of experience mingled in a confused heap of a priori notions. And yet, probably, their first impressions, the illusions and mirages of their fancy, created a greater intellectual activity and made a nearer approach to the truth than any patient investigation of isolated facts, for which the time had not yet come, could have accomplished.

There was one more illusion to which the ancient philosophers were subject, and against which Plato in his later dialogues seems to be struggling — the tendency to mere abstractions; not perceiving that pure abstraction is only negation, they thought that the greater the abstraction the greater the truth. Behind any pair of ideas a new idea which comprehended them — the (Greek), as it was technically termed — began at once to appear. Two are truer than three, one than two. The words ‘being,’ or ‘unity,’ or essence,’ or ‘good,’ became sacred to them. They did not see that they had a word only, and in one sense the most unmeaning of words. They did not understand that the content of notions is in inverse proportion to their universality — the element which is the most widely diffused is also the thinnest; or, in the language of the common logic, the greater the extension the less the comprehension. But this vacant idea of a whole without parts, of a subject without predicates, a rest without motion, has been also the most fruitful of all ideas. It is the beginning of a priori thought, and indeed of thinking at all. Men were led to conceive it, not by a love of hasty generalization, but by a divine instinct, a dialectical enthusiasm, in which the human faculties seemed to yearn for enlargement. We know that ‘being’ is only the verb of existence, the copula, the most general symbol of relation, the first and most meagre of abstractions; but to some of the ancient philosophers this little word appeared to attain divine proportions, and to comprehend all truth. Being or essence, and similar words, represented to them a supreme or divine being, in which they thought that they found the containing and continuing principle of the universe. In a few years the human mind was peopled with abstractions; a new world was called into existence to give law and order to the old. But between them there was still a gulf, and no one could pass from the one to the other.

Number and figure were the greatest instruments of thought which were possessed by the Greek philosopher; having the same power over the mind which was exerted by abstract ideas, they were also capable of practical application. Many curious and, to the early thinker, mysterious properties of them came to light when they were compared with one another. They admitted of infinite multiplication and construction; in Pythagorean triangles or in proportions of 1:2:4:8 and 1:3:9:27, or compounds of them, the laws of the world seemed to be more than half revealed. They were also capable of infinite subdivision — a wonder and also a puzzle to the ancient thinker (Rep.). They were not, like being or essence, mere vacant abstractions, but admitted of progress and growth, while at the same time they confirmed a higher sentiment of the mind, that there was order in the universe. And so there began to be a real sympathy between the world within and the world without. The numbers and figures which were present to the mind’s eye became visible to the eye of sense; the truth of nature was mathematics; the other properties of objects seemed to reappear only in the light of number. Law and morality also found a natural expression in number and figure. Instruments of such power and elasticity could not fail to be ‘a most gracious assistance’ to the first efforts of human intelligence.

There was another reason why numbers had so great an influence over the minds of early thinkers — they were verified by experience. Every use of them, even the most trivial, assured men of their truth; they were everywhere to be found, in the least things and the greatest alike. One, two, three, counted on the fingers was a ‘trivial matter (Rep.), a little instrument out of which to create a world; but from these and by the help of these all our knowledge of nature has been developed. They were the measure of all things, and seemed to give law to all things; nature was rescued from chaos and confusion by their power; the notes of music, the motions of the stars, the forms of atoms, the evolution and recurrence of days, months, years, the military divisions of an army, the civil divisions of a state, seemed to afford a ‘present witness’ of them — what would have become of man or of the world if deprived of number (Rep.)? The mystery of number and the mystery of music were akin. There was a music of rhythm and of harmonious motion everywhere; and to the real connexion which existed between music and number, a fanciful or imaginary relation was superadded. There was a music of the spheres as well as of the notes of the lyre. If in all things seen there was number and figure, why should they not also pervade the unseen world, with which by their wonderful and unchangeable nature they seemed to hold communion?

Two other points strike us in the use which the ancient philosophers made of numbers. First, they applied to external nature the relations of them which they found in their own minds; and where nature seemed to be at variance with number, as for example in the case of fractions, they protested against her (Rep.; Arist. Metaph.). Having long meditated on the properties of 1:2:4:8, or 1:3:9:27, or of 3, 4, 5, they discovered in them many curious correspondences and were disposed to find in them the secret of the universe. Secondly, they applied number and figure equally to those parts of physics, such as astronomy or mechanics, in which the modern philosopher expects to find them, and to those in which he would never think of looking for them, such as physiology and psychology. For the sciences were not yet divided, and there was nothing really irrational in arguing that the same laws which regulated the heavenly bodies were partially applied to the erring limbs or brain of man. Astrology was the form which the lively fancy of ancient thinkers almost necessarily gave to astronomy. The observation that the lower principle, e.g. mechanics, is always seen in the higher, e.g. in the phenomena of life, further tended to perplex them. Plato’s doctrine of the same and the other ruling the courses of the heavens and of the human body is not a mere vagary, but is a natural result of the state of knowledge and thought at which he had arrived.

When in modern times we contemplate the heavens, a certain amount of scientific truth imperceptibly blends, even with the cursory glance of an unscientific person. He knows that the earth is revolving round the sun, and not the sun around the earth. He does not imagine the earth to be the centre of the universe, and he has some conception of chemistry and the cognate sciences. A very different aspect of nature would have been present to the mind of the early Greek philosopher. He would have beheld the earth a surface only, not mirrored, however faintly, in the glass of science, but indissolubly connected with some theory of one, two, or more elements. He would have seen the world pervaded by number and figure, animated by a principle of motion, immanent in a principle of rest. He would have tried to construct the universe on a quantitative principle, seeming to find in endless combinations of geometrical figures or in the infinite variety of their sizes a sufficient account of the multiplicity of phenomena. To these a priori speculations he would add a rude conception of matter and his own immediate experience of health and disease. His cosmos would necessarily be imperfect and unequal, being the first attempt to impress form and order on the primaeval chaos of human knowledge. He would see all things as in a dream.

The ancient physical philosophers have been charged by Dr. Whewell and others with wasting their fine intelligences in wrong methods of enquiry; and their progress in moral and political philosophy has been sometimes contrasted with their supposed failure in physical investigations. ‘They had plenty of ideas,’ says Dr. Whewell, ‘and plenty of facts; but their ideas did not accurately represent the facts with which they were acquainted.’ This is a very crude and misleading way of describing ancient science. It is the mistake of an uneducated person — uneducated, that is, in the higher sense of the word — who imagines every one else to be like himself and explains every other age by his own. No doubt the ancients often fell into strange and fanciful errors: the time had not yet arrived for the slower and surer path of the modern inductive philosophy. But it remains to be shown that they could have done more in their age and country; or that the contributions which they made to the sciences with which they were acquainted are not as great upon the whole as those made by their successors. There is no single step in astronomy as great as that of the nameless Pythagorean who first conceived the world to be a body moving round the sun in space: there is no truer or more comprehensive principle than the application of mathematics alike to the heavenly bodies, and to the particles of matter. The ancients had not the instruments which would have enabled them to correct or verify their anticipations, and their opportunities of observation were limited. Plato probably did more for physical science by asserting the supremacy of mathematics than Aristotle or his disciples by their collections of facts. When the thinkers of modern times, following Bacon, undervalue or disparage the speculations of ancient philosophers, they seem wholly to forget the conditions of the world and of the human mind, under which they carried on their investigations. When we accuse them of being under the influence of words, do we suppose that we are altogether free from this illusion? When we remark that Greek physics soon became stationary or extinct, may we not observe also that there have been and may be again periods in the history of modern philosophy which have been barren and unproductive? We might as well maintain that Greek art was not real or great, because it had nihil simile aut secundum, as say that Greek physics were a failure because they admire no subsequent progress.

The charge of premature generalization which is often urged against ancient philosophers is really an anachronism. For they can hardly be said to have generalized at all. They may be said more truly to have cleared up and defined by the help of experience ideas which they already possessed. The beginnings of thought about nature must always have this character. A true method is the result of many ages of experiment and observation, and is ever going on and enlarging with the progress of science and knowledge. At first men personify nature, then they form impressions of nature, at last they conceive ‘measure’ or laws of nature. They pass out of mythology into philosophy. Early science is not a process of discovery in the modern sense; but rather a process of correcting by observation, and to a certain extent only, the first impressions of nature, which mankind, when they began to think, had received from poetry or language or unintelligent sense. Of all scientific truths the greatest and simplest is the uniformity of nature; this was expressed by the ancients in many ways, as fate, or necessity, or measure, or limit. Unexpected events, of which the cause was unknown to them, they attributed to chance (Thucyd.). But their conception of nature was never that of law interrupted by exceptions, — a somewhat unfortunate metaphysical invention of modern times, which is at variance with facts and has failed to satisfy the requirements of thought.

Section 3.

Plato’s account of the soul is partly mythical or figurative, and partly literal. Not that either he or we can draw a line between them, or say, ‘This is poetry, this is philosophy’; for the transition from the one to the other is imperceptible. Neither must we expect to find in him absolute consistency. He is apt to pass from one level or stage of thought to another without always making it apparent that he is changing his ground. In such passages we have to interpret his meaning by the general spirit of his writings. To reconcile his inconsistencies would be contrary to the first principles of criticism and fatal to any true understanding of him.

There is a further difficulty in explaining this part of the Timaeus — the natural order of thought is inverted. We begin with the most abstract, and proceed from the abstract to the concrete. We are searching into things which are upon the utmost limit of human intelligence, and then of a sudden we fall rather heavily to the earth. There are no intermediate steps which lead from one to the other. But the abstract is a vacant form to us until brought into relation with man and nature. God and the world are mere names, like the Being of the Eleatics, unless some human qualities are added on to them. Yet the negation has a kind of unknown meaning to us. The priority of God and of the world, which he is imagined to have created, to all other existences, gives a solemn awe to them. And as in other systems of theology and philosophy, that of which we know least has the greatest interest to us.

There is no use in attempting to define or explain the first God in the Platonic system, who has sometimes been thought to answer to God the Father; or the world, in whom the Fathers of the Church seemed to recognize ‘the firstborn of every creature.’ Nor need we discuss at length how far Plato agrees in the later Jewish idea of creation, according to which God made the world out of nothing. For his original conception of matter as something which has no qualities is really a negation. Moreover in the Hebrew Scriptures the creation of the world is described, even more explicitly than in the Timaeus, not as a single act, but as a work or process which occupied six days. There is a chaos in both, and it would be untrue to say that the Greek, any more than the Hebrew, had any definite belief in the eternal existence of matter. The beginning of things vanished into the distance. The real creation began, not with matter, but with ideas. According to Plato in the Timaeus, God took of the same and the other, of the divided and undivided, of the finite and infinite, and made essence, and out of the three combined created the soul of the world. To the soul he added a body formed out of the four elements. The general meaning of these words is that God imparted determinations of thought, or, as we might say, gave law and variety to the material universe. The elements are moving in a disorderly manner before the work of creation begins; and there is an eternal pattern of the world, which, like the ‘idea of good,’ is not the Creator himself, but not separable from him. The pattern too, though eternal, is a creation, a world of thought prior to the world of sense, which may be compared to the wisdom of God in the book of Ecclesiasticus, or to the ‘God in the form of a globe’ of the old Eleatic philosophers. The visible, which already exists, is fashioned in the likeness of this eternal pattern. On the other hand, there is no truth of which Plato is more firmly convinced than of the priority of the soul to the body, both in the universe and in man. So inconsistent are the forms in which he describes the works which no tongue can utter — his language, as he himself says, partaking of his own uncertainty about the things of which he is speaking.

We may remark in passing, that the Platonic compared with the Jewish description of the process of creation has less of freedom or spontaneity. The Creator in Plato is still subject to a remnant of necessity which he cannot wholly overcome. When his work is accomplished he remains in his own nature. Plato is more sensible than the Hebrew prophet of the existence of evil, which he seeks to put as far as possible out of the way of God. And he can only suppose this to be accomplished by God retiring into himself and committing the lesser works of creation to inferior powers. (Compare, however, Laws for another solution of the difficulty.)

Nor can we attach any intelligible meaning to his words when he speaks of the visible being in the image of the invisible. For how can that which is divided be like that which is undivided? Or that which is changing be the copy of that which is unchanging? All the old difficulties about the ideas come back upon us in an altered form. We can imagine two worlds, one of which is the mere double of the other, or one of which is an imperfect copy of the other, or one of which is the vanishing ideal of the other; but we cannot imagine an intellectual world which has no qualities— ‘a thing in itself’ — a point which has no parts or magnitude, which is nowhere, and nothing. This cannot be the archetype according to which God made the world, and is in reality, whether in Plato or in Kant, a mere negative residuum of human thought.

There is another aspect of the same difficulty which appears to have no satisfactory solution. In what relation does the archetype stand to the Creator himself? For the idea or pattern of the world is not the thought of God, but a separate, self-existent nature, of which creation is the copy. We can only reply, (1) that to the mind of Plato subject and object were not yet distinguished; (2) that he supposes the process of creation to take place in accordance with his own theory of ideas; and as we cannot give a consistent account of the one, neither can we of the other. He means (3) to say that the creation of the world is not a material process of working with legs and arms, but ideal and intellectual; according to his own fine expression, ‘the thought of God made the God that was to be.’ He means (4) to draw an absolute distinction between the invisible or unchangeable which is or is the place of mind or being, and the world of sense or becoming which is visible and changing. He means (5) that the idea of the world is prior to the world, just as the other ideas are prior to sensible objects; and like them may be regarded as eternal and self-existent, and also, like the IDEA of good, may be viewed apart from the divine mind.

There are several other questions which we might ask and which can receive no answer, or at least only an answer of the same kind as the preceding. How can matter be conceived to exist without form? Or, how can the essences or forms of things be distinguished from the eternal ideas, or essence itself from the soul? Or, how could there have been motion in the chaos when as yet time was not? Or, how did chaos come into existence, if not by the will of the Creator? Or, how could there have been a time when the world was not, if time was not? Or, how could the Creator have taken portions of an indivisible same? Or, how could space or anything else have been eternal when time is only created? Or, how could the surfaces of geometrical figures have formed solids? We must reply again that we cannot follow Plato in all his inconsistencies, but that the gaps of thought are probably more apparent to us than to him. He would, perhaps, have said that ‘the first things are known only to God and to him of men whom God loves.’ How often have the gaps in Theology been concealed from the eye of faith! And we may say that only by an effort of metaphysical imagination can we hope to understand Plato from his own point of view; we must not ask for consistency. Everywhere we find traces of the Platonic theory of knowledge expressed in an objective form, which by us has to be translated into the subjective, before we can attach any meaning to it. And this theory is exhibited in so many different points of view, that we cannot with any certainty interpret one dialogue by another; e.g. the Timaeus by the Parmenides or Phaedrus or Philebus.

The soul of the world may also be conceived as the personification of the numbers and figures in which the heavenly bodies move. Imagine these as in a Pythagorean dream, stripped of qualitative difference and reduced to mathematical abstractions. They too conform to the principle of the same, and may be compared with the modern conception of laws of nature. They are in space, but not in time, and they are the makers of time. They are represented as constantly thinking of the same; for thought in the view of Plato is equivalent to truth or law, and need not imply a human consciousness, a conception which is familiar enough to us, but has no place, hardly even a name, in ancient Greek philosophy. To this principle of the same is opposed the principle of the other — the principle of irregularity and disorder, of necessity and chance, which is only partially impressed by mathematical laws and figures. (We may observe by the way, that the principle of the other, which is the principle of plurality and variation in the Timaeus, has nothing in common with the ‘other’ of the Sophist, which is the principle of determination.) The element of the same dominates to a certain extent over the other — the fixed stars keep the ‘wanderers’ of the inner circle in their courses, and a similar principle of fixedness or order appears to regulate the bodily constitution of man. But there still remains a rebellious seed of evil derived from the original chaos, which is the source of disorder in the world, and of vice and disease in man.

But what did Plato mean by essence, (Greek), which is the intermediate nature compounded of the Same and the Other, and out of which, together with these two, the soul of the world is created? It is difficult to explain a process of thought so strange and unaccustomed to us, in which modern distinctions run into one another and are lost sight of. First, let us consider once more the meaning of the Same and the Other. The Same is the unchanging and indivisible, the heaven of the fixed stars, partaking of the divine nature, which, having law in itself, gives law to all besides and is the element of order and permanence in man and on the earth. It is the rational principle, mind regarded as a work, as creation — not as the creator. The old tradition of Parmenides and of the Eleatic Being, the foundation of so much in the philosophy of Greece and of the world, was lingering in Plato’s mind. The Other is the variable or changing element, the residuum of disorder or chaos, which cannot be reduced to order, nor altogether banished, the source of evil, seen in the errors of man and also in the wanderings of the planets, a necessity which protrudes through nature. Of this too there was a shadow in the Eleatic philosophy in the realm of opinion, which, like a mist, seemed to darken the purity of truth in itself. — So far the words of Plato may perhaps find an intelligible meaning. But when he goes on to speak of the Essence which is compounded out of both, the track becomes fainter and we can only follow him with hesitating steps. But still we find a trace reappearing of the teaching of Anaxagoras: ‘All was confusion, and then mind came and arranged things.’ We have already remarked that Plato was not acquainted with the modern distinction of subject and object, and therefore he sometimes confuses mind and the things of mind — (Greek) and (Greek). By (Greek) he clearly means some conception of the intelligible and the intelligent; it belongs to the class of (Greek). Matter, being, the Same, the eternal, — for any of these terms, being almost vacant of meaning, is equally suitable to express indefinite existence, — are compared or united with the Other or Diverse, and out of the union or comparison is elicited the idea of intelligence, the ‘One in many,’ brighter than any Promethean fire (Phil.), which co-existing with them and so forming a new existence, is or becomes the intelligible world...So we may perhaps venture to paraphrase or interpret or put into other words the parable in which Plato has wrapped up his conception of the creation of the world. The explanation may help to fill up with figures of speech the void of knowledge.

The entire compound was divided by the Creator in certain proportions and reunited; it was then cut into two strips, which were bent into an inner circle and an outer, both moving with an uniform motion around a centre, the outer circle containing the fixed, the inner the wandering stars. The soul of the world was diffused everywhere from the centre to the circumference. To this God gave a body, consisting at first of fire and earth, and afterwards receiving an addition of air and water; because solid bodies, like the world, are always connected by two middle terms and not by one. The world was made in the form of a globe, and all the material elements were exhausted in the work of creation.

The proportions in which the soul of the world as well as the human soul is divided answer to a series of numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 8, 27, composed of the two Pythagorean progressions 1, 2, 4, 8 and 1, 3, 9, 27, of which the number 1 represents a point, 2 and 3 lines, 4 and 8, 9 and 27 the squares and cubes respectively of 2 and 3. This series, of which the intervals are afterwards filled up, probably represents (1) the diatonic scale according to the Pythagoreans and Plato; (2) the order and distances of the heavenly bodies; and (3) may possibly contain an allusion to the music of the spheres, which is referred to in the myth at the end of the Republic. The meaning of the words that ‘solid bodies are always connected by two middle terms’ or mean proportionals has been much disputed. The most received explanation is that of Martin, who supposes that Plato is only speaking of surfaces and solids compounded of prime numbers (i.e. of numbers not made up of two factors, or, in other words, only measurable by unity). The square of any such number represents a surface, the cube a solid. The squares of any two such numbers (e.g. 2 squared, 3 squared = 4, 9), have always a single mean proportional (e.g. 4 and 9 have the single mean 6), whereas the cubes of primes (e.g. 3 cubed and 5 cubed) have always two mean proportionals (e.g. 27:45:75:125). But to this explanation of Martin’s it may be objected, (1) that Plato nowhere says that his proportion is to be limited to prime numbers; (2) that the limitation of surfaces to squares is also not to be found in his words; nor (3) is there any evidence to show that the distinction of prime from other numbers was known to him. What Plato chiefly intends to express is that a solid requires a stronger bond than a surface; and that the double bond which is given by two means is stronger than the single bond given by one. Having reflected on the singular numerical phenomena of the existence of one mean proportional between two square numbers are rather perhaps only between the two lowest squares; and of two mean proportionals between two cubes, perhaps again confining his attention to the two lowest cubes, he finds in the latter symbol an expression of the relation of the elements, as in the former an image of the combination of two surfaces. Between fire and earth, the two extremes, he remarks that there are introduced, not one, but two elements, air and water, which are compared to the two mean proportionals between two cube numbers. The vagueness of his language does not allow us to determine whether anything more than this was intended by him.

Leaving the further explanation of details, which the reader will find discussed at length in Boeckh and Martin, we may now return to the main argument: Why did God make the world? Like man, he must have a purpose; and his purpose is the diffusion of that goodness or good which he himself is. The term ‘goodness’ is not to be understood in this passage as meaning benevolence or love, in the Christian sense of the term, but rather law, order, harmony, like the idea of good in the Republic. The ancient mythologers, and even the Hebrew prophets, had spoken of the jealousy of God; and the Greek had imagined that there was a Nemesis always attending the prosperity of mortals. But Plato delights to think of God as the author of order in his works, who, like a father, lives over again in his children, and can never have too much of good or friendship among his creatures. Only, as there is a certain remnant of evil inherent in matter which he cannot get rid of, he detaches himself from them and leaves them to themselves, that he may be guiltless of their faults and sufferings.

Between the ideal and the sensible Plato interposes the two natures of time and space. Time is conceived by him to be only the shadow or image of eternity which ever is and never has been or will be, but is described in a figure only as past or future. This is one of the great thoughts of early philosophy, which are still as difficult to our minds as they were to the early thinkers; or perhaps more difficult, because we more distinctly see the consequences which are involved in such an hypothesis. All the objections which may be urged against Kant’s doctrine of the ideality of space and time at once press upon us. If time is unreal, then all which is contained in time is unreal — the succession of human thoughts as well as the flux of sensations; there is no connecting link between (Greek) and (Greek). Yet, on the other hand, we are conscious that knowledge is independent of time, that truth is not a thing of yesterday or tomorrow, but an ‘eternal now.’ To the ‘spectator of all time and all existence’ the universe remains at rest. The truths of geometry and arithmetic in all their combinations are always the same. The generations of men, like the leaves of the forest, come and go, but the mathematical laws by which the world is governed remain, and seem as if they could never change. The ever-present image of space is transferred to time — succession is conceived as extension. (We remark that Plato does away with the above and below in space, as he has done away with the absolute existence of past and future.) The course of time, unless regularly marked by divisions of number, partakes of the indefiniteness of the Heraclitean flux. By such reflections we may conceive the Greek to have attained the metaphysical conception of eternity, which to the Hebrew was gained by meditation on the Divine Being. No one saw that this objective was really a subjective, and involved the subjectivity of all knowledge. ‘Non in tempore sed cum tempore finxit Deus mundum,’ says St. Augustine, repeating a thought derived from the Timaeus, but apparently unconscious of the results to which his doctrine would have led.

The contradictions involved in the conception of time or motion, like the infinitesimal in space, were a source of perplexity to the mind of the Greek, who was driven to find a point of view above or beyond them. They had sprung up in the decline of the Eleatic philosophy and were very familiar to Plato, as we gather from the Parmenides. The consciousness of them had led the great Eleatic philosopher to describe the nature of God or Being under negatives. He sings of ‘Being unbegotten and imperishable, unmoved and never-ending, which never was nor will be, but always is, one and continuous, which cannot spring from any other; for it cannot be said or imagined not to be.’ The idea of eternity was for a great part a negation. There are regions of speculation in which the negative is hardly separable from the positive, and even seems to pass into it. Not only Buddhism, but Greek as well as Christian philosophy, show that it is quite possible that the human mind should retain an enthusiasm for mere negations. In different ages and countries there have been forms of light in which nothing could be discerned and which have nevertheless exercised a life-giving and illumining power. For the higher intelligence of man seems to require, not only something above sense, but above knowledge, which can only be described as Mind or Being or Truth or God or the unchangeable and eternal element, in the expression of which all predicates fail and fall short. Eternity or the eternal is not merely the unlimited in time but the truest of all Being, the most real of all realities, the most certain of all knowledge, which we nevertheless only see through a glass darkly. The passionate earnestness of Parmenides contrasts with the vacuity of the thought which he is revolving in his mind.

Space is said by Plato to be the ‘containing vessel or nurse of generation.’ Reflecting on the simplest kinds of external objects, which to the ancients were the four elements, he was led to a more general notion of a substance, more or less like themselves, out of which they were fashioned. He would not have them too precisely distinguished. Thus seems to have arisen the first dim perception of (Greek) or matter, which has played so great a part in the metaphysical philosophy of Aristotle and his followers. But besides the material out of which the elements are made, there is also a space in which they are contained. There arises thus a second nature which the senses are incapable of discerning and which can hardly be referred to the intelligible class. For it is and it is not, it is nowhere when filled, it is nothing when empty. Hence it is said to be discerned by a kind of spurious or analogous reason, partaking so feebly of existence as to be hardly perceivable, yet always reappearing as the containing mother or nurse of all things. It had not that sort of consistency to Plato which has been given to it in modern times by geometry and metaphysics. Neither of the Greek words by which it is described are so purely abstract as the English word ‘space’ or the Latin ‘spatium.’ Neither Plato nor any other Greek would have spoken of (Greek) or (Greek) in the same manner as we speak of ‘time’ and ‘space.’

Yet space is also of a very permanent or even eternal nature; and Plato seems more willing to admit of the unreality of time than of the unreality of space; because, as he says, all things must necessarily exist in space. We, on the other hand, are disposed to fancy that even if space were annihilated time might still survive. He admits indeed that our knowledge of space is of a dreamy kind, and is given by a spurious reason without the help of sense. (Compare the hypotheses and images of Rep.) It is true that it does not attain to the clearness of ideas. But like them it seems to remain, even if all the objects contained in it are supposed to have vanished away. Hence it was natural for Plato to conceive of it as eternal. We must remember further that in his attempt to realize either space or matter the two abstract ideas of weight and extension, which are familiar to us, had never passed before his mind.

Thus far God, working according to an eternal pattern, out of his goodness has created the same, the other, and the essence (compare the three principles of the Philebus — the finite, the infinite, and the union of the two), and out of them has formed the outer circle of the fixed stars and the inner circle of the planets, divided according to certain musical intervals; he has also created time, the moving image of eternity, and space, existing by a sort of necessity and hardly distinguishable from matter. The matter out of which the world is formed is not absolutely void, but retains in the chaos certain germs or traces of the elements. These Plato, like Empedocles, supposed to be four in number — fire, air, earth, and water. They were at first mixed together; but already in the chaos, before God fashioned them by form and number, the greater masses of the elements had an appointed place. Into the confusion (Greek) which preceded Plato does not attempt further to penetrate. They are called elements, but they are so far from being elements (Greek) or letters in the higher sense that they are not even syllables or first compounds. The real elements are two triangles, the rectangular isosceles which has but one form, and the most beautiful of the many forms of scalene, which is half of an equilateral triangle. By the combination of these triangles which exist in an infinite variety of sizes, the surfaces of the four elements are constructed.

That there were only five regular solids was already known to the ancients, and out of the surfaces which he has formed Plato proceeds to generate the four first of the five. He perhaps forgets that he is only putting together surfaces and has not provided for their transformation into solids. The first solid is a regular pyramid, of which the base and sides are formed by four equilateral or twenty-four scalene triangles. Each of the four solid angles in this figure is a little larger than the largest of obtuse angles. The second solid is composed of the same triangles, which unite as eight equilateral triangles, and make one solid angle out of four plane angles — six of these angles form a regular octahedron. The third solid is a regular icosahedron, having twenty triangular equilateral bases, and therefore 120 rectangular scalene triangles. The fourth regular solid, or cube, is formed by the combination of four isosceles triangles into one square and of six squares into a cube. The fifth regular solid, or dodecahedron, cannot be formed by a combination of either of these triangles, but each of its faces may be regarded as composed of thirty triangles of another kind. Probably Plato notices this as the only remaining regular polyhedron, which from its approximation to a globe, and possibly because, as Plutarch remarks, it is composed of 12 x 30 = 360 scalene triangles (Platon. Quaest.), representing thus the signs and degrees of the Zodiac, as well as the months and days of the year, God may be said to have ‘used in the delineation of the universe.’ According to Plato earth was composed of cubes, fire of regular pyramids, air of regular octahedrons, water of regular icosahedrons. The stability of the last three increases with the number of their sides.

The elements are supposed to pass into one another, but we must remember that these transformations are not the transformations of real solids, but of imaginary geometrical figures; in other words, we are composing and decomposing the faces of substances and not the substances themselves — it is a house of cards which we are pulling to pieces and putting together again (compare however Laws). Yet perhaps Plato may regard these sides or faces as only the forms which are impressed on pre-existent matter. It is remarkable that he should speak of each of these solids as a possible world in itself, though upon the whole he inclines to the opinion that they form one world and not five. To suppose that there is an infinite number of worlds, as Democritus (Hippolyt. Ref. Haer. I.) had said, would be, as he satirically observes, ‘the characteristic of a very indefinite and ignorant mind.’

The twenty triangular faces of an icosahedron form the faces or sides of two regular octahedrons and of a regular pyramid (20 = 8 x 2 + 4); and therefore, according to Plato, a particle of water when decomposed is supposed to give two particles of air and one of fire. So because an octahedron gives the sides of two pyramids (8 = 4 x 2), a particle of air is resolved into two particles of fire.

The transformation is effected by the superior power or number of the conquering elements. The manner of the change is (1) a separation of portions of the elements from the masses in which they are collected; (2) a resolution of them into their original triangles; and (3) a reunion of them in new forms. Plato himself proposes the question, Why does motion continue at all when the elements are settled in their places? He answers that although the force of attraction is continually drawing similar elements to the same spot, still the revolution of the universe exercises a condensing power, and thrusts them again out of their natural places. Thus want of uniformity, the condition of motion, is produced. In all such disturbances of matter there is an alternative for the weaker element: it may escape to its kindred, or take the form of the stronger — becoming denser, if it be denser, or rarer if rarer. This is true of fire, air, and water, which, being composed of similar triangles, are interchangeable; earth, however, which has triangles peculiar to itself, is capable of dissolution, but not of change. Of the interchangeable elements, fire, the rarest, can only become a denser, and water, the densest, only a rarer: but air may become a denser or a rarer. No single particle of the elements is visible, but only the aggregates of them are seen. The subordinate species depend, not upon differences of form in the original triangles, but upon differences of size. The obvious physical phenomena from which Plato has gathered his views of the relations of the elements seem to be the effect of fire upon air, water, and earth, and the effect of water upon earth. The particles are supposed by him to be in a perpetual process of circulation caused by inequality. This process of circulation does not admit of a vacuum, as he tells us in his strange account of respiration.

Of the phenomena of light and heavy he speaks afterwards, when treating of sensation, but they may be more conveniently considered by us in this place. They are not, he says, to be explained by ‘above’ and ‘below,’ which in the universal globe have no existence, but by the attraction of similars towards the great masses of similar substances; fire to fire, air to air, water to water, earth to earth. Plato’s doctrine of attraction implies not only (1) the attraction of similar elements to one another, but also (2) of smaller bodies to larger ones. Had he confined himself to the latter he would have arrived, though, perhaps, without any further result or any sense of the greatness of the discovery, at the modern doctrine of gravitation. He does not observe that water has an equal tendency towards both water and earth. So easily did the most obvious facts which were inconsistent with his theories escape him.

The general physical doctrines of the Timaeus may be summed up as follows: (1) Plato supposes the greater masses of the elements to have been already settled in their places at the creation: (2) they are four in number, and are formed of rectangular triangles variously combined into regular solid figures: (3) three of them, fire, air, and water, admit of transformation into one another; the fourth, earth, cannot be similarly transformed: (4) different sizes of the same triangles form the lesser species of each element: (5) there is an attraction of like to like — smaller masses of the same kind being drawn towards greater: (6) there is no void, but the particles of matter are ever pushing one another round and round (Greek). Like the atomists, Plato attributes the differences between the elements to differences in geometrical figures. But he does not explain the process by which surfaces become solids; and he characteristically ridicules Democritus for not seeing that the worlds are finite and not infinite.

Section 4.

The astronomy of Plato is based on the two principles of the same and the other, which God combined in the creation of the world. The soul, which is compounded of the same, the other, and the essence, is diffused from the centre to the circumference of the heavens. We speak of a soul of the universe; but more truly regarded, the universe of the Timaeus is a soul, governed by mind, and holding in solution a residuum of matter or evil, which the author of the world is unable to expel, and of which Plato cannot tell us the origin. The creation, in Plato’s sense, is really the creation of order; and the first step in giving order is the division of the heavens into an inner and outer circle of the other and the same, of the divisible and the indivisible, answering to the two spheres, of the planets and of the world beyond them, all together moving around the earth, which is their centre. To us there is a difficulty in apprehending how that which is at rest can also be in motion, or that which is indivisible exist in space. But the whole description is so ideal and imaginative, that we can hardly venture to attribute to many of Plato’s words in the Timaeus any more meaning than to his mythical account of the heavens in the Republic and in the Phaedrus. (Compare his denial of the ‘blasphemous opinion’ that there are planets or wandering stars; all alike move in circles — Laws.) The stars are the habitations of the souls of men, from which they come and to which they return. In attributing to the fixed stars only the most perfect motion — that which is on the same spot or circulating around the same — he might perhaps have said that to ‘the spectator of all time and all existence,’ to borrow once more his own grand expression, or viewed, in the language of Spinoza, ‘sub specie aeternitatis,’ they were still at rest, but appeared to move in order to teach men the periods of time. Although absolutely in motion, they are relatively at rest; or we may conceive of them as resting, while the space in which they are contained, or the whole anima mundi, revolves.

The universe revolves around a centre once in twenty-four hours, but the orbits of the fixed stars take a different direction from those of the planets. The outer and the inner sphere cross one another and meet again at a point opposite to that of their first contact; the first moving in a circle from left to right along the side of a parallelogram which is supposed to be inscribed in it, the second also moving in a circle along the diagonal of the same parallelogram from right to left; or, in other words, the first describing the path of the equator, the second, the path of the ecliptic. The motion of the second is controlled by the first, and hence the oblique line in which the planets are supposed to move becomes a spiral. The motion of the same is said to be undivided, whereas the inner motion is split into seven unequal orbits — the intervals between them being in the ratio of two and three, three of either: — the Sun, moving in the opposite direction to Mercury and Venus, but with equal swiftness; the remaining four, Moon, Saturn, Mars, Jupiter, with unequal swiftness to the former three and to one another. Thus arises the following progression: — Moon 1, Sun 2, Venus 3, Mercury 4, Mars 8, Jupiter 9, Saturn 27. This series of numbers is the compound of the two Pythagorean ratios, having the same intervals, though not in the same order, as the mixture which was originally divided in forming the soul of the world.

Plato was struck by the phenomenon of Mercury, Venus, and the Sun appearing to overtake and be overtaken by one another. The true reason of this, namely, that they lie within the circle of the earth’s orbit, was unknown to him, and the reason which he gives — that the two former move in an opposite direction to the latter — is far from explaining the appearance of them in the heavens. All the planets, including the sun, are carried round in the daily motion of the circle of the fixed stars, and they have a second or oblique motion which gives the explanation of the different lengths of the sun’s course in different parts of the earth. The fixed stars have also two movements — a forward movement in their orbit which is common to the whole circle; and a movement on the same spot around an axis, which Plato calls the movement of thought about the same. In this latter respect they are more perfect than the wandering stars, as Plato himself terms them in the Timaeus, although in the Laws he condemns the appellation as blasphemous.

The revolution of the world around earth, which is accomplished in a single day and night, is described as being the most perfect or intelligent. Yet Plato also speaks of an ‘annus magnus’ or cyclical year, in which periods wonderful for their complexity are found to coincide in a perfect number, i.e. a number which equals the sum of its factors, as 6 = 1 + 2 + 3. This, although not literally contradictory, is in spirit irreconcilable with the perfect revolution of twenty-four hours. The same remark may be applied to the complexity of the appearances and occultations of the stars, which, if the outer heaven is supposed to be moving around the centre once in twenty-four hours, must be confined to the effects produced by the seven planets. Plato seems to confuse the actual observation of the heavens with his desire to find in them mathematical perfection. The same spirit is carried yet further by him in the passage already quoted from the Laws, in which he affirms their wanderings to be an appearance only, which a little knowledge of mathematics would enable men to correct.

We have now to consider the much discussed question of the rotation or immobility of the earth. Plato’s doctrine on this subject is contained in the following words:— ‘The earth, which is our nurse, compacted (OR revolving) around the pole which is extended through the universe, he made to be the guardian and artificer of night and day, first and eldest of gods that are in the interior of heaven’. There is an unfortunate doubt in this passage (1) about the meaning of the word (Greek), which is translated either ‘compacted’ or ‘revolving,’ and is equally capable of both explanations. A doubt (2) may also be raised as to whether the words ‘artificer of day and night’ are consistent with the mere passive causation of them, produced by the immobility of the earth in the midst of the circling universe. We must admit, further, (3) that Aristotle attributed to Plato the doctrine of the rotation of the earth on its axis. On the other hand it has been urged that if the earth goes round with the outer heaven and sun in twenty-four hours, there is no way of accounting for the alternation of day and night; since the equal motion of the earth and sun would have the effect of absolute immobility. To which it may be replied that Plato never says that the earth goes round with the outer heaven and sun; although the whole question depends on the relation of earth and sun, their movements are nowhere precisely described. But if we suppose, with Mr. Grote, that the diurnal rotation of the earth on its axis and the revolution of the sun and outer heaven precisely coincide, it would be difficult to imagine that Plato was unaware of the consequence. For though he was ignorant of many things which are familiar to us, and often confused in his ideas where we have become clear, we have no right to attribute to him a childish want of reasoning about very simple facts, or an inability to understand the necessary and obvious deductions from geometrical figures or movements. Of the causes of day and night the pre-Socratic philosophers, and especially the Pythagoreans, gave various accounts, and therefore the question can hardly be imagined to have escaped him. On the other hand it may be urged that the further step, however simple and obvious, is just what Plato often seems to be ignorant of, and that as there is no limit to his insight, there is also no limit to the blindness which sometimes obscures his intelligence (compare the construction of solids out of surfaces in his account of the creation of the world, or the attraction of similars to similars). Further, Mr. Grote supposes, not that (Greek) means ‘revolving,’ or that this is the sense in which Aristotle understood the word, but that the rotation of the earth is necessarily implied in its adherence to the cosmical axis. But (a) if, as Mr Grote assumes, Plato did not see that the rotation of the earth on its axis and of the sun and outer heavens around the earth in equal times was inconsistent with the alternation of day and night, neither need we suppose that he would have seen the immobility of the earth to be inconsistent with the rotation of the axis. And (b) what proof is there that the axis of the world revolves at all? (c) The comparison of the two passages quoted by Mr Grote (see his pamphlet on ‘The Rotation of the Earth’) from Aristotle De Coelo, Book II (Greek) clearly shows, although this is a matter of minor importance, that Aristotle, as Proclus and Simplicius supposed, understood (Greek) in the Timaeus to mean ‘revolving.’ For the second passage, in which motion on an axis is expressly mentioned, refers to the first, but this would be unmeaning unless (Greek) in the first passage meant rotation on an axis. (4) The immobility of the earth is more in accordance with Plato’s other writings than the opposite hypothesis. For in the Phaedo the earth is described as the centre of the world, and is not said to be in motion. In the Republic the pilgrims appear to be looking out from the earth upon the motions of the heavenly bodies; in the Phaedrus, Hestia, who remains immovable in the house of Zeus while the other gods go in procession, is called the first and eldest of the gods, and is probably the symbol of the earth. The silence of Plato in these and in some other passages (Laws) in which he might be expected to speak of the rotation of the earth, is more favourable to the doctrine of its immobility than to the opposite. If he had meant to say that the earth revolves on its axis, he would have said so in distinct words, and have explained the relation of its movements to those of the other heavenly bodies. (5) The meaning of the words ‘artificer of day and night’ is literally true according to Plato’s view. For the alternation of day and night is not produced by the motion of the heavens alone, or by the immobility of the earth alone, but by both together; and that which has the inherent force or energy to remain at rest when all other bodies are moving, may be truly said to act, equally with them. (6) We should not lay too much stress on Aristotle or the writer De Caelo having adopted the other interpretation of the words, although Alexander of Aphrodisias thinks that he could not have been ignorant either of the doctrine of Plato or of the sense which he intended to give to the word (Greek). For the citations of Plato in Aristotle are frequently misinterpreted by him; and he seems hardly ever to have had in his mind the connection in which they occur. In this instance the allusion is very slight, and there is no reason to suppose that the diurnal revolution of the heavens was present to his mind. Hence we need not attribute to him the error from which we are defending Plato.

After weighing one against the other all these complicated probabilities, the final conclusion at which we arrive is that there is nearly as much to be said on the one side of the question as on the other, and that we are not perfectly certain, whether, as Bockh and the majority of commentators, ancient as well as modern, are inclined to believe, Plato thought that the earth was at rest in the centre of the universe, or, as Aristotle and Mr. Grote suppose, that it revolved on its axis. Whether we assume the earth to be stationary in the centre of the universe, or to revolve with the heavens, no explanation is given of the variation in the length of days and nights at different times of the year. The relations of the earth and heavens are so indistinct in the Timaeus and so figurative in the Phaedo, Phaedrus and Republic, that we must give up the hope of ascertaining how they were imagined by Plato, if he had any fixed or scientific conception of them at all.

Section 5.

The soul of the world is framed on the analogy of the soul of man, and many traces of anthropomorphism blend with Plato’s highest flights of idealism. The heavenly bodies are endowed with thought; the principles of the same and other exist in the universe as well as in the human mind. The soul of man is made out of the remains of the elements which had been used in creating the soul of the world; these remains, however, are diluted to the third degree; by this Plato expresses the measure of the difference between the soul human and divine. The human soul, like the cosmical, is framed before the body, as the mind is before the soul of either — this is the order of the divine work — and the finer parts of the body, which are more akin to the soul, such as the spinal marrow, are prior to the bones and flesh. The brain, the containing vessel of the divine part of the soul, is (nearly) in the form of a globe, which is the image of the gods, who are the stars, and of the universe.

There is, however, an inconsistency in Plato’s manner of conceiving the soul of man; he cannot get rid of the element of necessity which is allowed to enter. He does not, like Kant, attempt to vindicate for men a freedom out of space and time; but he acknowledges him to be subject to the influence of external causes, and leaves hardly any place for freedom of the will. The lusts of men are caused by their bodily constitution, though they may be increased by bad education and bad laws, which implies that they may be decreased by good education and good laws. He appears to have an inkling of the truth that to the higher nature of man evil is involuntary. This is mixed up with the view which, while apparently agreeing with it, is in reality the opposite of it, that vice is due to physical causes. In the Timaeus, as well as in the Laws, he also regards vices and crimes as simply involuntary; they are diseases analogous to the diseases of the body, and arising out of the same causes. If we draw together the opposite poles of Plato’s system, we find that, like Spinoza, he combines idealism with fatalism.

The soul of man is divided by him into three parts, answering roughly to the charioteer and steeds of the Phaedrus, and to the (Greek) of the Republic and Nicomachean Ethics. First, there is the immortal nature of which the brain is the seat, and which is akin to the soul of the universe. This alone thinks and knows and is the ruler of the whole. Secondly, there is the higher mortal soul which, though liable to perturbations of her own, takes the side of reason against the lower appetites. The seat of this is the heart, in which courage, anger, and all the nobler affections are supposed to reside. There the veins all meet; it is their centre or house of guard whence they carry the orders of the thinking being to the extremities of his kingdom. There is also a third or appetitive soul, which receives the commands of the immortal part, not immediately but mediately, through the liver, which reflects on its surface the admonitions and threats of the reason.

The liver is imagined by Plato to be a smooth and bright substance, having a store of sweetness and also of bitterness, which reason freely uses in the execution of her mandates. In this region, as ancient superstition told, were to be found intimations of the future. But Plato is careful to observe that although such knowledge is given to the inferior parts of man, it requires to be interpreted by the superior. Reason, and not enthusiasm, is the true guide of man; he is only inspired when he is demented by some distemper or possession. The ancient saying, that ‘only a man in his senses can judge of his own actions,’ is approved by modern philosophy too. The same irony which appears in Plato’s remark, that ‘the men of old time must surely have known the gods who were their ancestors, and we should believe them as custom requires,’ is also manifest in his account of divination.

The appetitive soul is seated in the belly, and there imprisoned like a wild beast, far away from the council chamber, as Plato graphically calls the head, in order that the animal passions may not interfere with the deliberations of reason. Though the soul is said by him to be prior to the body, yet we cannot help seeing that it is constructed on the model of the body — the threefold division into the rational, passionate, and appetitive corresponding to the head, heart and belly. The human soul differs from the soul of the world in this respect, that it is enveloped and finds its expression in matter, whereas the soul of the world is not only enveloped or diffused in matter, but is the element in which matter moves. The breath of man is within him, but the air or aether of heaven is the element which surrounds him and all things.

Pleasure and pain are attributed in the Timaeus to the suddenness of our sensations — the first being a sudden restoration, the second a sudden violation, of nature (Phileb.). The sensations become conscious to us when they are exceptional. Sight is not attended either by pleasure or pain, but hunger and the appeasing of hunger are pleasant and painful because they are extraordinary.

Section 6.

I shall not attempt to connect the physiological speculations of Plato either with ancient or modern medicine. What light I can throw upon them will be derived from the comparison of them with his general system.

There is no principle so apparent in the physics of the Timaeus, or in ancient physics generally, as that of continuity. The world is conceived of as a whole, and the elements are formed into and out of one another; the varieties of substances and processes are hardly known or noticed. And in a similar manner the human body is conceived of as a whole, and the different substances of which, to a superficial observer, it appears to be composed — the blood, flesh, sinews — like the elements out of which they are formed, are supposed to pass into one another in regular order, while the infinite complexity of the human frame remains unobserved. And diseases arise from the opposite process — when the natural proportions of the four elements are disturbed, and the secondary substances which are formed out of them, namely, blood, flesh, sinews, are generated in an inverse order.

Plato found heat and air within the human frame, and the blood circulating in every part. He assumes in language almost unintelligible to us that a network of fire and air envelopes the greater part of the body. This outer net contains two lesser nets, one corresponding to the stomach, the other to the lungs; and the entrance to the latter is forked or divided into two passages which lead to the nostrils and to the mouth. In the process of respiration the external net is said to find a way in and out of the pores of the skin: while the interior of it and the lesser nets move alternately into each other. The whole description is figurative, as Plato himself implies when he speaks of a ‘fountain of fire which we compare to the network of a creel.’ He really means by this what we should describe as a state of heat or temperature in the interior of the body. The ‘fountain of fire’ or heat is also in a figure the circulation of the blood. The passage is partly imagination, partly fact.

He has a singular theory of respiration for which he accounts solely by the movement of the air in and out of the body; he does not attribute any part of the process to the action of the body itself. The air has a double ingress and a double exit, through the mouth or nostrils, and through the skin. When exhaled through the mouth or nostrils, it leaves a vacuum which is filled up by other air finding a way in through the pores, this air being thrust out of its place by the exhalation from the mouth and nostrils. There is also a corresponding process of inhalation through the mouth or nostrils, and of exhalation through the pores. The inhalation through the pores appears to take place nearly at the same time as the exhalation through the mouth; and conversely. The internal fire is in either case the propelling cause outwards — the inhaled air, when heated by it, having a natural tendency to move out of the body to the place of fire; while the impossibility of a vacuum is the propelling cause inwards.

Thus we see that this singular theory is dependent on two principles largely employed by Plato in explaining the operations of nature, the impossibility of a vacuum and the attraction of like to like. To these there has to be added a third principle, which is the condition of the action of the other two, — the interpenetration of particles in proportion to their density or rarity. It is this which enables fire and air to permeate the flesh.

Plato’s account of digestion and the circulation of the blood is closely connected with his theory of respiration. Digestion is supposed to be effected by the action of the internal fire, which in the process of respiration moves into the stomach and minces the food. As the fire returns to its place, it takes with it the minced food or blood; and in this way the veins are replenished. Plato does not enquire how the blood is separated from the faeces.

Of the anatomy and functions of the body he knew very little, — e.g. of the uses of the nerves in conveying motion and sensation, which he supposed to be communicated by the bones and veins; he was also ignorant of the distinction between veins and arteries; — the latter term he applies to the vessels which conduct air from the mouth to the lungs; — he supposes the lung to be hollow and bloodless; the spinal marrow he conceives to be the seed of generation; he confuses the parts of the body with the states of the body — the network of fire and air is spoken of as a bodily organ; he has absolutely no idea of the phenomena of respiration, which he attributes to a law of equalization in nature, the air which is breathed out displacing other air which finds a way in; he is wholly unacquainted with the process of digestion. Except the general divisions into the spleen, the liver, the belly, and the lungs, and the obvious distinctions of flesh, bones, and the limbs of the body, we find nothing that reminds us of anatomical facts. But we find much which is derived from his theory of the universe, and transferred to man, as there is much also in his theory of the universe which is suggested by man. The microcosm of the human body is the lesser image of the macrocosm. The courses of the same and the other affect both; they are made of the same elements and therefore in the same proportions. Both are intelligent natures endued with the power of self-motion, and the same equipoise is maintained in both. The animal is a sort of ‘world’ to the particles of the blood which circulate in it. All the four elements entered into the original composition of the human frame; the bone was formed out of smooth earth; liquids of various kinds pass to and fro; the network of fire and air irrigates the veins. Infancy and childhood is the chaos or first turbid flux of sense prior to the establishment of order; the intervals of time which may be observed in some intermittent fevers correspond to the density of the elements. The spinal marrow, including the brain, is formed out of the finest sorts of triangles, and is the connecting link between body and mind. Health is only to be preserved by imitating the motions of the world in space, which is the mother and nurse of generation. The work of digestion is carried on by the superior sharpness of the triangles forming the substances of the human body to those which are introduced into it in the shape of food. The freshest and acutest forms of triangles are those that are found in children, but they become more obtuse with advancing years; and when they finally wear out and fall to pieces, old age and death supervene.

As in the Republic, Plato is still the enemy of the purgative treatment of physicians, which, except in extreme cases, no man of sense will ever adopt. For, as he adds, with an insight into the truth, ‘every disease is akin to the nature of the living being and is only irritated by stimulants.’ He is of opinion that nature should be left to herself, and is inclined to think that physicians are in vain (Laws — where he says that warm baths would be more beneficial to the limbs of the aged rustic than the prescriptions of a not over-wise doctor). If he seems to be extreme in his condemnation of medicine and to rely too much on diet and exercise, he might appeal to nearly all the best physicians of our own age in support of his opinions, who often speak to their patients of the worthlessness of drugs. For we ourselves are sceptical about medicine, and very unwilling to submit to the purgative treatment of physicians. May we not claim for Plato an anticipation of modern ideas as about some questions of astronomy and physics, so also about medicine? As in the Charmides he tells us that the body cannot be cured without the soul, so in the Timaeus he strongly asserts the sympathy of soul and body; any defect of either is the occasion of the greatest discord and disproportion in the other. Here too may be a presentiment that in the medicine of the future the interdependence of mind and body will be more fully recognized, and that the influence of the one over the other may be exerted in a manner which is not now thought possible.

Section 7.

In Plato’s explanation of sensation we are struck by the fact that he has not the same distinct conception of organs of sense which is familiar to ourselves. The senses are not instruments, but rather passages, through which external objects strike upon the mind. The eye is the aperture through which the stream of vision passes, the ear is the aperture through which the vibrations of sound pass. But that the complex structure of the eye or the ear is in any sense the cause of sight and hearing he seems hardly to be aware.

The process of sight is the most complicated (Rep.), and consists of three elements — the light which is supposed to reside within the eye, the light of the sun, and the light emitted from external objects. When the light of the eye meets the light of the sun, and both together meet the light issuing from an external object, this is the simple act of sight. When the particles of light which proceed from the object are exactly equal to the particles of the visual ray which meet them from within, then the body is transparent. If they are larger and contract the visual ray, a black colour is produced; if they are smaller and dilate it, a white. Other phenomena are produced by the variety and motion of light. A sudden flash of fire at once elicits light and moisture from the eye, and causes a bright colour. A more subdued light, on mingling with the moisture of the eye, produces a red colour. Out of these elements all other colours are derived. All of them are combinations of bright and red with white and black. Plato himself tells us that he does not know in what proportions they combine, and he is of opinion that such knowledge is granted to the gods only. To have seen the affinity of them to each other and their connection with light, is not a bad basis for a theory of colours. We must remember that they were not distinctly defined to his, as they are to our eyes; he saw them, not as they are divided in the prism, or artificially manufactured for the painter’s use, but as they exist in nature, blended and confused with one another.

We can hardly agree with him when he tells us that smells do not admit of kinds. He seems to think that no definite qualities can attach to bodies which are in a state of transition or evaporation; he also makes the subtle observation that smells must be denser than air, though thinner than water, because when there is an obstruction to the breathing, air can penetrate, but not smell.

The affections peculiar to the tongue are of various kinds, and, like many other affections, are caused by contraction and dilation. Some of them are produced by rough, others by abstergent, others by inflammatory substances, — these act upon the testing instruments of the tongue, and produce a more or less disagreeable sensation, while other particles congenial to the tongue soften and harmonize them. The instruments of taste reach from the tongue to the heart. Plato has a lively sense of the manner in which sensation and motion are communicated from one part of the body to the other, though he confuses the affections with the organs. Hearing is a blow which passes through the ear and ends in the region of the liver, being transmitted by means of the air, the brain, and the blood to the soul. The swifter sound is acute, the sound which moves slowly is grave. A great body of sound is loud, the opposite is low. Discord is produced by the swifter and slower motions of two sounds, and is converted into harmony when the swifter motions begin to pause and are overtaken by the slower.

The general phenomena of sensation are partly internal, but the more violent are caused by conflict with external objects. Proceeding by a method of superficial observation, Plato remarks that the more sensitive parts of the human frame are those which are least covered by flesh, as is the case with the head and the elbows. Man, if his head had been covered with a thicker pulp of flesh, might have been a longer-lived animal than he is, but could not have had as quick perceptions. On the other hand, the tongue is one of the most sensitive of organs; but then this is made, not to be a covering to the bones which contain the marrow or source of life, but with an express purpose, and in a separate mass.

Section 8.

We have now to consider how far in any of these speculations Plato approximated to the discoveries of modern science. The modern physical philosopher is apt to dwell exclusively on the absurdities of ancient ideas about science, on the haphazard fancies and a priori assumptions of ancient teachers, on their confusion of facts and ideas, on their inconsistency and blindness to the most obvious phenomena. He measures them not by what preceded them, but by what has followed them. He does not consider that ancient physical philosophy was not a free enquiry, but a growth, in which the mind was passive rather than active, and was incapable of resisting the impressions which flowed in upon it. He hardly allows to the notions of the ancients the merit of being the stepping-stones by which he has himself risen to a higher knowledge. He never reflects, how great a thing it was to have formed a conception, however imperfect, either of the human frame as a whole, or of the world as a whole. According to the view taken in these volumes the errors of ancient physicists were not separable from the intellectual conditions under which they lived. Their genius was their own; and they were not the rash and hasty generalizers which, since the days of Bacon, we have been apt to suppose them. The thoughts of men widened to receive experience; at first they seemed to know all things as in a dream: after a while they look at them closely and hold them in their hands. They begin to arrange them in classes and to connect causes with effects. General notions are necessary to the apprehension of particular facts, the metaphysical to the physical. Before men can observe the world, they must be able to conceive it.

To do justice to the subject, we should consider the physical philosophy of the ancients as a whole; we should remember, (1) that the nebular theory was the received belief of several of the early physicists; (2) that the development of animals out of fishes who came to land, and of man out of the animals, was held by Anaximander in the sixth century before Christ (Plut. Symp. Quaest; Plac. Phil.); (3) that even by Philolaus and the early Pythagoreans, the earth was held to be a body like the other stars revolving in space around the sun or a central fire; (4) that the beginnings of chemistry are discernible in the ‘similar particles’ of Anaxagoras. Also they knew or thought (5) that there was a sex in plants as well as in animals; (6) they were aware that musical notes depended on the relative length or tension of the strings from which they were emitted, and were measured by ratios of number; (7) that mathematical laws pervaded the world; and even qualitative differences were supposed to have their origin in number and figure; (8) the annihilation of matter was denied by several of them, and the seeming disappearance of it held to be a transformation only. For, although one of these discoveries might have been supposed to be a happy guess, taken together they seem to imply a great advance and almost maturity of natural knowledge.

We should also remember, when we attribute to the ancients hasty generalizations and delusions of language, that physical philosophy and metaphysical too have been guilty of similar fallacies in quite recent times. We by no means distinguish clearly between mind and body, between ideas and facts. Have not many discussions arisen about the Atomic theory in which a point has been confused with a material atom? Have not the natures of things been explained by imaginary entities, such as life or phlogiston, which exist in the mind only? Has not disease been regarded, like sin, sometimes as a negative and necessary, sometimes as a positive or malignant principle? The ‘idols’ of Bacon are nearly as common now as ever; they are inherent in the human mind, and when they have the most complete dominion over us, we are least able to perceive them. We recognize them in the ancients, but we fail to see them in ourselves.

Such reflections, although this is not the place in which to dwell upon them at length, lead us to take a favourable view of the speculations of the Timaeus. We should consider not how much Plato actually knew, but how far he has contributed to the general ideas of physics, or supplied the notions which, whether true or false, have stimulated the minds of later generations in the path of discovery. Some of them may seem old-fashioned, but may nevertheless have had a great influence in promoting system and assisting enquiry, while in others we hear the latest word of physical or metaphysical philosophy. There is also an intermediate class, in which Plato falls short of the truths of modern science, though he is not wholly unacquainted with them. (1) To the first class belongs the teleological theory of creation. Whether all things in the world can be explained as the result of natural laws, or whether we must not admit of tendencies and marks of design also, has been a question much disputed of late years. Even if all phenomena are the result of natural forces, we must admit that there are many things in heaven and earth which are as well expressed under the image of mind or design as under any other. At any rate, the language of Plato has been the language of natural theology down to our own time, nor can any description of the world wholly dispense with it. The notion of first and second or co-operative causes, which originally appears in the Timaeus, has likewise survived to our own day, and has been a great peace-maker between theology and science. Plato also approaches very near to our doctrine of the primary and secondary qualities of matter. (2) Another popular notion which is found in the Timaeus, is the feebleness of the human intellect— ‘God knows the original qualities of things; man can only hope to attain to probability.’ We speak in almost the same words of human intelligence, but not in the same manner of the uncertainty of our knowledge of nature. The reason is that the latter is assured to us by experiment, and is not contrasted with the certainty of ideal or mathematical knowledge. But the ancient philosopher never experimented: in the Timaeus Plato seems to have thought that there would be impiety in making the attempt; he, for example, who tried experiments in colours would ‘forget the difference of the human and divine natures.’ Their indefiniteness is probably the reason why he singles them out, as especially incapable of being tested by experiment. (Compare the saying of Anaxagoras — Sext. Pyrrh. — that since snow is made of water and water is black, snow ought to be black.)

The greatest ‘divination’ of the ancients was the supremacy which they assigned to mathematics in all the realms of nature; for in all of them there is a foundation of mechanics. Even physiology partakes of figure and number; and Plato is not wrong in attributing them to the human frame, but in the omission to observe how little could be explained by them. Thus we may remark in passing that the most fanciful of ancient philosophies is also the most nearly verified in fact. The fortunate guess that the world is a sum of numbers and figures has been the most fruitful of anticipations. The ‘diatonic’ scale of the Pythagoreans and Plato suggested to Kepler that the secret of the distances of the planets from one another was to be found in mathematical proportions. The doctrine that the heavenly bodies all move in a circle is known by us to be erroneous; but without such an error how could the human mind have comprehended the heavens? Astronomy, even in modern times, has made far greater progress by the high a priori road than could have been attained by any other. Yet, strictly speaking — and the remark applies to ancient physics generally — this high a priori road was based upon a posteriori grounds. For there were no facts of which the ancients were so well assured by experience as facts of number. Having observed that they held good in a few instances, they applied them everywhere; and in the complexity, of which they were capable, found the explanation of the equally complex phenomena of the universe. They seemed to see them in the least things as well as in the greatest; in atoms, as well as in suns and stars; in the human body as well as in external nature. And now a favourite speculation of modern chemistry is the explanation of qualitative difference by quantitative, which is at present verified to a certain extent and may hereafter be of far more universal application. What is this but the atoms of Democritus and the triangles of Plato? The ancients should not be wholly deprived of the credit of their guesses because they were unable to prove them. May they not have had, like the animals, an instinct of something more than they knew?

Besides general notions we seem to find in the Timaeus some more precise approximations to the discoveries of modern physical science. First, the doctrine of equipoise. Plato affirms, almost in so many words, that nature abhors a vacuum. Whenever a particle is displaced, the rest push and thrust one another until equality is restored. We must remember that these ideas were not derived from any definite experiment, but were the original reflections of man, fresh from the first observation of nature. The latest word of modern philosophy is continuity and development, but to Plato this is the beginning and foundation of science; there is nothing that he is so strongly persuaded of as that the world is one, and that all the various existences which are contained in it are only the transformations of the same soul of the world acting on the same matter. He would have readily admitted that out of the protoplasm all things were formed by the gradual process of creation; but he would have insisted that mind and intelligence — not meaning by this, however, a conscious mind or person — were prior to them, and could alone have created them. Into the workings of this eternal mind or intelligence he does not enter further; nor would there have been any use in attempting to investigate the things which no eye has seen nor any human language can express.

Lastly, there remain two points in which he seems to touch great discoveries of modern times — the law of gravitation, and the circulation of the blood.

(1) The law of gravitation, according to Plato, is a law, not only of the attraction of lesser bodies to larger ones, but of similar bodies to similar, having a magnetic power as well as a principle of gravitation. He observed that earth, water, and air had settled down to their places, and he imagined fire or the exterior aether to have a place beyond air. When air seemed to go upwards and fire to pierce through air — when water and earth fell downward, they were seeking their native elements. He did not remark that his own explanation did not suit all phenomena; and the simpler explanation, which assigns to bodies degrees of heaviness and lightness proportioned to the mass and distance of the bodies which attract them, never occurred to him. Yet the affinities of similar substances have some effect upon the composition of the world, and of this Plato may be thought to have had an anticipation. He may be described as confusing the attraction of gravitation with the attraction of cohesion. The influence of such affinities and the chemical action of one body upon another in long periods of time have become a recognized principle of geology.

(2) Plato is perfectly aware — and he could hardly be ignorant — that blood is a fluid in constant motion. He also knew that blood is partly a solid substance consisting of several elements, which, as he might have observed in the use of ‘cupping-glasses’, decompose and die, when no longer in motion. But the specific discovery that the blood flows out on one side of the heart through the arteries and returns through the veins on the other, which is commonly called the circulation of the blood, was absolutely unknown to him.

A further study of the Timaeus suggests some after-thoughts which may be conveniently brought together in this place. The topics which I propose briefly to reconsider are (a) the relation of the Timaeus to the other dialogues of Plato and to the previous philosophy; (b) the nature of God and of creation (c) the morality of the Timaeus: —

(a) The Timaeus is more imaginative and less scientific than any other of the Platonic dialogues. It is conjectural astronomy, conjectural natural philosophy, conjectural medicine. The writer himself is constantly repeating that he is speaking what is probable only. The dialogue is put into the mouth of Timaeus, a Pythagorean philosopher, and therefore here, as in the Parmenides, we are in doubt how far Plato is expressing his own sentiments. Hence the connexion with the other dialogues is comparatively slight. We may fill up the lacunae of the Timaeus by the help of the Republic or Phaedrus: we may identify the same and other with the (Greek) of the Philebus. We may find in the Laws or in the Statesman parallels with the account of creation and of the first origin of man. It would be possible to frame a scheme in which all these various elements might have a place. But such a mode of proceeding would be unsatisfactory, because we have no reason to suppose that Plato intended his scattered thoughts to be collected in a system. There is a common spirit in his writings, and there are certain general principles, such as the opposition of the sensible and intellectual, and the priority of mind, which run through all of them; but he has no definite forms of words in which he consistently expresses himself. While the determinations of human thought are in process of creation he is necessarily tentative and uncertain. And there is least of definiteness, whenever either in describing the beginning or the end of the world, he has recourse to myths. These are not the fixed modes in which spiritual truths are revealed to him, but the efforts of imagination, by which at different times and in various manners he seeks to embody his conceptions. The clouds of mythology are still resting upon him, and he has not yet pierced ‘to the heaven of the fixed stars’ which is beyond them. It is safer then to admit the inconsistencies of the Timaeus, or to endeavour to fill up what is wanting from our own imagination, inspired by a study of the dialogue, than to refer to other Platonic writings, — and still less should we refer to the successors of Plato, — for the elucidation of it.

More light is thrown upon the Timaeus by a comparison of the previous philosophies. For the physical science of the ancients was traditional, descending through many generations of Ionian and Pythagorean philosophers. Plato does not look out upon the heavens and describe what he sees in them, but he builds upon the foundations of others, adding something out of the ‘depths of his own self-consciousness.’ Socrates had already spoken of God the creator, who made all things for the best. While he ridiculed the superficial explanations of phenomena which were current in his age, he recognised the marks both of benevolence and of design in the frame of man and in the world. The apparatus of winds and waters is contemptuously rejected by him in the Phaedo, but he thinks that there is a power greater than that of any Atlas in the ‘Best’ (Phaedo; Arist. Met.). Plato, following his master, affirms this principle of the best, but he acknowledges that the best is limited by the conditions of matter. In the generation before Socrates, Anaxagoras had brought together ‘Chaos’ and ‘Mind’; and these are connected by Plato in the Timaeus, but in accordance with his own mode of thinking he has interposed between them the idea or pattern according to which mind worked. The circular impulse (Greek) of the one philosopher answers to the circular movement (Greek) of the other. But unlike Anaxagoras, Plato made the sun and stars living beings and not masses of earth or metal. The Pythagoreans again had framed a world out of numbers, which they constructed into figures. Plato adopted their speculations and improved upon them by a more exact knowledge of geometry. The Atomists too made the world, if not out of geometrical figures, at least out of different forms of atoms, and these atoms resembled the triangles of Plato in being too small to be visible. But though the physiology of the Timaeus is partly borrowed from them, they are either ignored by Plato or referred to with a secret contempt and dislike. He looks with more favour on the Pythagoreans, whose intervals of number applied to the distances of the planets reappear in the Timaeus. It is probable that among the Pythagoreans living in the fourth century B.C., there were already some who, like Plato, made the earth their centre. Whether he obtained his circles of the Same and Other from any previous thinker is uncertain. The four elements are taken from Empedocles; the interstices of the Timaeus may also be compared with his (Greek). The passage of one element into another is common to Heracleitus and several of the Ionian philosophers. So much of a syncretist is Plato, though not after the manner of the Neoplatonists. For the elements which he borrows from others are fused and transformed by his own genius. On the other hand we find fewer traces in Plato of early Ionic or Eleatic speculation. He does not imagine the world of sense to be made up of opposites or to be in a perpetual flux, but to vary within certain limits which are controlled by what he calls the principle of the same. Unlike the Eleatics, who relegated the world to the sphere of not-being, he admits creation to have an existence which is real and even eternal, although dependent on the will of the creator. Instead of maintaining the doctrine that the void has a necessary place in the existence of the world, he rather affirms the modern thesis that nature abhors a vacuum, as in the Sophist he also denies the reality of not-being (Aristot. Metaph.). But though in these respects he differs from them, he is deeply penetrated by the spirit of their philosophy; he differs from them with reluctance, and gladly recognizes the ‘generous depth’ of Parmenides (Theaet.).

There is a similarity between the Timaeus and the fragments of Philolaus, which by some has been thought to be so great as to create a suspicion that they are derived from it. Philolaus is known to us from the Phaedo of Plato as a Pythagorean philosopher residing at Thebes in the latter half of the fifth century B.C., after the dispersion of the original Pythagorean society. He was the teacher of Simmias and Cebes, who became disciples of Socrates. We have hardly any other information about him. The story that Plato had purchased three books of his writings from a relation is not worth repeating; it is only a fanciful way in which an ancient biographer dresses up the fact that there was supposed to be a resemblance between the two writers. Similar gossiping stories are told about the sources of the Republic and the Phaedo. That there really existed in antiquity a work passing under the name of Philolaus there can be no doubt. Fragments of this work are preserved to us, chiefly in Stobaeus, a few in Boethius and other writers. They remind us of the Timaeus, as well as of the Phaedrus and Philebus. When the writer says (Stob. Eclog.) that all things are either finite (definite) or infinite (indefinite), or a union of the two, and that this antithesis and synthesis pervades all art and nature, we are reminded of the Philebus. When he calls the centre of the world (Greek), we have a parallel to the Phaedrus. His distinction between the world of order, to which the sun and moon and the stars belong, and the world of disorder, which lies in the region between the moon and the earth, approximates to Plato’s sphere of the Same and of the Other. Like Plato (Tim.), he denied the above and below in space, and said that all things were the same in relation to a centre. He speaks also of the world as one and indestructible: ‘for neither from within nor from without does it admit of destruction’ (Tim). He mentions ten heavenly bodies, including the sun and moon, the earth and the counter-earth (Greek), and in the midst of them all he places the central fire, around which they are moving — this is hidden from the earth by the counter-earth. Of neither is there any trace in Plato, who makes the earth the centre of his system. Philolaus magnifies the virtues of particular numbers, especially of the number 10 (Stob. Eclog.), and descants upon odd and even numbers, after the manner of the later Pythagoreans. It is worthy of remark that these mystical fancies are nowhere to be found in the writings of Plato, although the importance of number as a form and also an instrument of thought is ever present to his mind. Both Philolaus and Plato agree in making the world move in certain numerical ratios according to a musical scale: though Bockh is of opinion that the two scales, of Philolaus and of the Timaeus, do not correspond...We appear not to be sufficiently acquainted with the early Pythagoreans to know how far the statements contained in these fragments corresponded with their doctrines; and we therefore cannot pronounce, either in favour of the genuineness of the fragments, with Bockh and Zeller, or, with Valentine Rose and Schaarschmidt, against them. But it is clear that they throw but little light upon the Timaeus, and that their resemblance to it has been exaggerated.

That there is a degree of confusion and indistinctness in Plato’s account both of man and of the universe has been already acknowledged. We cannot tell (nor could Plato himself have told) where the figure or myth ends and the philosophical truth begins; we cannot explain (nor could Plato himself have explained to us) the relation of the ideas to appearance, of which one is the copy of the other, and yet of all things in the world they are the most opposed and unlike. This opposition is presented to us in many forms, as the antithesis of the one and many, of the finite and infinite, of the intelligible and sensible, of the unchangeable and the changing, of the indivisible and the divisible, of the fixed stars and the planets, of the creative mind and the primeval chaos. These pairs of opposites are so many aspects of the great opposition between ideas and phenomena — they easily pass into one another; and sometimes the two members of the relation differ in kind, sometimes only in degree. As in Aristotle’s matter and form the connexion between them is really inseparable; for if we attempt to separate them they become devoid of content and therefore indistinguishable; there is no difference between the idea of which nothing can be predicated, and the chaos or matter which has no perceptible qualities — between Being in the abstract and Nothing. Yet we are frequently told that the one class of them is the reality and the other appearance; and one is often spoken of as the double or reflection of the other. For Plato never clearly saw that both elements had an equal place in mind and in nature; and hence, especially when we argue from isolated passages in his writings, or attempt to draw what appear to us to be the natural inferences from them, we are full of perplexity. There is a similar confusion about necessity and free-will, and about the state of the soul after death. Also he sometimes supposes that God is immanent in the world, sometimes that he is transcendent. And having no distinction of objective and subjective, he passes imperceptibly from one to the other; from intelligence to soul, from eternity to time. These contradictions may be softened or concealed by a judicious use of language, but they cannot be wholly got rid of. That an age of intellectual transition must also be one of inconsistency; that the creative is opposed to the critical or defining habit of mind or time, has been often repeated by us. But, as Plato would say, ‘there is no harm in repeating twice or thrice’ (Laws) what is important for the understanding of a great author.

It has not, however, been observed, that the confusion partly arises out of the elements of opposing philosophies which are preserved in him. He holds these in solution, he brings them into relation with one another, but he does not perfectly harmonize them. They are part of his own mind, and he is incapable of placing himself outside of them and criticizing them. They grow as he grows; they are a kind of composition with which his own philosophy is overlaid. In early life he fancies that he has mastered them: but he is also mastered by them; and in language (Sophist) which may be compared with the hesitating tone of the Timaeus, he confesses in his later years that they are full of obscurity to him. He attributes new meanings to the words of Parmenides and Heracleitus; but at times the old Eleatic philosophy appears to go beyond him; then the world of phenomena disappears, but the doctrine of ideas is also reduced to nothingness. All of them are nearer to one another than they themselves supposed, and nearer to him than he supposed. All of them are antagonistic to sense and have an affinity to number and measure and a presentiment of ideas. Even in Plato they still retain their contentious or controversial character, which was developed by the growth of dialectic. He is never able to reconcile the first causes of the pre-Socratic philosophers with the final causes of Socrates himself. There is no intelligible account of the relation of numbers to the universal ideas, or of universals to the idea of good. He found them all three, in the Pythagorean philosophy and in the teaching of Socrates and of the Megarians respectively; and, because they all furnished modes of explaining and arranging phenomena, he is unwilling to give up any of them, though he is unable to unite them in a consistent whole.

Lastly, Plato, though an idealist philosopher, is Greek and not Oriental in spirit and feeling. He is no mystic or ascetic; he is not seeking in vain to get rid of matter or to find absorption in the divine nature, or in the Soul of the universe. And therefore we are not surprised to find that his philosophy in the Timaeus returns at last to a worship of the heavens, and that to him, as to other Greeks, nature, though containing a remnant of evil, is still glorious and divine. He takes away or drops the veil of mythology, and presents her to us in what appears to him to be the form-fairer and truer far — of mathematical figures. It is this element in the Timaeus, no less than its affinity to certain Pythagorean speculations, which gives it a character not wholly in accordance with the other dialogues of Plato.

(b) The Timaeus contains an assertion perhaps more distinct than is found in any of the other dialogues (Rep.; Laws) of the goodness of God. ‘He was good himself, and he fashioned the good everywhere.’ He was not ‘a jealous God,’ and therefore he desired that all other things should be equally good. He is the IDEA of good who has now become a person, and speaks and is spoken of as God. Yet his personality seems to appear only in the act of creation. In so far as he works with his eye fixed upon an eternal pattern he is like the human artificer in the Republic. Here the theory of Platonic ideas intrudes upon us. God, like man, is supposed to have an ideal of which Plato is unable to tell us the origin. He may be said, in the language of modern philosophy, to resolve the divine mind into subject and object.

The first work of creation is perfected, the second begins under the direction of inferior ministers. The supreme God is withdrawn from the world and returns to his own accustomed nature (Tim.). As in the Statesman, he retires to his place of view. So early did the Epicurean doctrine take possession of the Greek mind, and so natural is it to the heart of man, when he has once passed out of the stage of mythology into that of rational religion. For he sees the marks of design in the world; but he no longer sees or fancies that he sees God walking in the garden or haunting stream or mountain. He feels also that he must put God as far as possible out of the way of evil, and therefore he banishes him from an evil world. Plato is sensible of the difficulty; and he often shows that he is desirous of justifying the ways of God to man. Yet on the other hand, in the Tenth Book of the Laws he passes a censure on those who say that the Gods have no care of human things.

The creation of the world is the impression of order on a previously existing chaos. The formula of Anaxagoras— ‘all things were in chaos or confusion, and then mind came and disposed them’ — is a summary of the first part of the Timaeus. It is true that of a chaos without differences no idea could be formed. All was not mixed but one; and therefore it was not difficult for the later Platonists to draw inferences by which they were enabled to reconcile the narrative of the Timaeus with the Mosaic account of the creation. Neither when we speak of mind or intelligence, do we seem to get much further in our conception than circular motion, which was deemed to be the most perfect. Plato, like Anaxagoras, while commencing his theory of the universe with ideas of mind and of the best, is compelled in the execution of his design to condescend to the crudest physics.

(c) The morality of the Timaeus is singular, and it is difficult to adjust the balance between the two elements of it. The difficulty which Plato feels, is that which all of us feel, and which is increased in our own day by the progress of physical science, how the responsibility of man is to be reconciled with his dependence on natural causes. And sometimes, like other men, he is more impressed by one aspect of human life, sometimes by the other. In the Republic he represents man as freely choosing his own lot in a state prior to birth — a conception which, if taken literally, would still leave him subject to the dominion of necessity in his after life; in the Statesman he supposes the human race to be preserved in the world only by a divine interposition; while in the Timaeus the supreme God commissions the inferior deities to avert from him all but self-inflicted evils — words which imply that all the evils of men are really self-inflicted. And here, like Plato (the insertion of a note in the text of an ancient writer is a literary curiosity worthy of remark), we may take occasion to correct an error. For we too hastily said that Plato in the Timaeus regarded all ‘vices and crimes as involuntary.’ But the fact is that he is inconsistent with himself; in one and the same passage vice is attributed to the relaxation of the bodily frame, and yet we are exhorted to avoid it and pursue virtue. It is also admitted that good and evil conduct are to be attributed respectively to good and evil laws and institutions. These cannot be given by individuals to themselves; and therefore human actions, in so far as they are dependent upon them, are regarded by Plato as involuntary rather than voluntary. Like other writers on this subject, he is unable to escape from some degree of self-contradiction. He had learned from Socrates that vice is ignorance, and suddenly the doctrine seems to him to be confirmed by observing how much of the good and bad in human character depends on the bodily constitution. So in modern times the speculative doctrine of necessity has often been supported by physical facts.

The Timaeus also contains an anticipation of the stoical life according to nature. Man contemplating the heavens is to regulate his erring life according to them. He is to partake of the repose of nature and of the order of nature, to bring the variable principle in himself into harmony with the principle of the same. The ethics of the Timaeus may be summed up in the single idea of ‘law.’ To feel habitually that he is part of the order of the universe, is one of the highest ethical motives of which man is capable. Something like this is what Plato means when he speaks of the soul ‘moving about the same in unchanging thought of the same.’ He does not explain how man is acted upon by the lesser influences of custom or of opinion; or how the commands of the soul watching in the citadel are conveyed to the bodily organs. But this perhaps, to use once more expressions of his own, ’is part of another subject’ or ‘may be more suitably discussed on some other occasion.’

There is no difficulty, by the help of Aristotle and later writers, in criticizing the Timaeus of Plato, in pointing out the inconsistencies of the work, in dwelling on the ignorance of anatomy displayed by the author, in showing the fancifulness or unmeaningness of some of his reasons. But the Timaeus still remains the greatest effort of the human mind to conceive the world as a whole which the genius of antiquity has bequeathed to us.

One more aspect of the Timaeus remains to be considered — the mythological or geographical. Is it not a wonderful thing that a few pages of one of Plato’s dialogues have grown into a great legend, not confined to Greece only, but spreading far and wide over the nations of Europe and reaching even to Egypt and Asia? Like the tale of Troy, or the legend of the Ten Tribes (Ewald, Hist. of Isr.), which perhaps originated in a few verses of II Esdras, it has become famous, because it has coincided with a great historical fact. Like the romance of King Arthur, which has had so great a charm, it has found a way over the seas from one country and language to another. It inspired the navigators of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; it foreshadowed the discovery of America. It realized the fiction so natural to the human mind, because it answered the enquiry about the origin of the arts, that there had somewhere existed an ancient primitive civilization. It might find a place wherever men chose to look for it; in North, South, East, or West; in the Islands of the Blest; before the entrance of the Straits of Gibraltar, in Sweden or in Palestine. It mattered little whether the description in Plato agreed with the locality assigned to it or not. It was a legend so adapted to the human mind that it made a habitation for itself in any country. It was an island in the clouds, which might be seen anywhere by the eye of faith. It was a subject especially congenial to the ponderous industry of certain French and Swedish writers, who delighted in heaping up learning of all sorts but were incapable of using it.

M. Martin has written a valuable dissertation on the opinions entertained respecting the Island of Atlantis in ancient and modern times. It is a curious chapter in the history of the human mind. The tale of Atlantis is the fabric of a vision, but it has never ceased to interest mankind. It was variously regarded by the ancients themselves. The stronger heads among them, like Strabo and Longinus, were as little disposed to believe in the truth of it as the modern reader in Gulliver or Robinson Crusoe. On the other hand there is no kind or degree of absurdity or fancy in which the more foolish writers, both of antiquity and of modern times, have not indulged respecting it. The Neo-Platonists, loyal to their master, like some commentators on the Christian Scriptures, sought to give an allegorical meaning to what they also believed to be an historical fact. It was as if some one in our own day were to convert the poems of Homer into an allegory of the Christian religion, at the same time maintaining them to be an exact and veritable history. In the Middle Ages the legend seems to have been half-forgotten until revived by the discovery of America. It helped to form the Utopia of Sir Thomas More and the New Atlantis of Bacon, although probably neither of those great men were at all imposed upon by the fiction. It was most prolific in the seventeenth or in the early part of the eighteenth century, when the human mind, seeking for Utopias or inventing them, was glad to escape out of the dulness of the present into the romance of the past or some ideal of the future. The later forms of such narratives contained features taken from the Edda, as well as from the Old and New Testament; also from the tales of missionaries and the experiences of travellers and of colonists.

The various opinions respecting the Island of Atlantis have no interest for us except in so far as they illustrate the extravagances of which men are capable. But this is a real interest and a serious lesson, if we remember that now as formerly the human mind is liable to be imposed upon by the illusions of the past, which are ever assuming some new form.

When we have shaken off the rubbish of ages, there remain one or two questions of which the investigation has a permanent value: —

1. Did Plato derive the legend of Atlantis from an Egyptian source? It may be replied that there is no such legend in any writer previous to Plato; neither in Homer, nor in Pindar, nor in Herodotus is there any mention of an Island of Atlantis, nor any reference to it in Aristotle, nor any citation of an earlier writer by a later one in which it is to be found. Nor have any traces been discovered hitherto in Egyptian monuments of a connexion between Greece and Egypt older than the eighth or ninth century B.C. It is true that Proclus, writing in the fifth century after Christ, tells us of stones and columns in Egypt on which the history of the Island of Atlantis was engraved. The statement may be false — there are similar tales about columns set up ‘by the Canaanites whom Joshua drove out’ (Procop.); but even if true, it would only show that the legend, 800 years after the time of Plato, had been transferred to Egypt, and inscribed, not, like other forgeries, in books, but on stone. Probably in the Alexandrian age, when Egypt had ceased to have a history and began to appropriate the legends of other nations, many such monuments were to be found of events which had become famous in that or other countries. The oldest witness to the story is said to be Crantor, a Stoic philosopher who lived a generation later than Plato, and therefore may have borrowed it from him. The statement is found in Proclus; but we require better assurance than Proclus can give us before we accept this or any other statement which he makes.

Secondly, passing from the external to the internal evidence, we may remark that the story is far more likely to have been invented by Plato than to have been brought by Solon from Egypt. That is another part of his legend which Plato also seeks to impose upon us. The verisimilitude which he has given to the tale is a further reason for suspecting it; for he could easily ‘invent Egyptian or any other tales’ (Phaedrus). Are not the words, ‘The truth of the story is a great advantage,’ if we read between the lines, an indication of the fiction? It is only a legend that Solon went to Egypt, and if he did he could not have conversed with Egyptian priests or have read records in their temples. The truth is that the introduction is a mosaic work of small touches which, partly by their minuteness, and also by their seeming probability, win the confidence of the reader. Who would desire better evidence than that of Critias, who had heard the narrative in youth when the memory is strongest at the age of ten from his grandfather Critias, an old man of ninety, who in turn had heard it from Solon himself? Is not the famous expression— ‘You Hellenes are ever children and there is no knowledge among you hoary with age,’ really a compliment to the Athenians who are described in these words as ‘ever young’? And is the thought expressed in them to be attributed to the learning of the Egyptian priest, and not rather to the genius of Plato? Or when the Egyptian says— ‘Hereafter at our leisure we will take up the written documents and examine in detail the exact truth about these things’ — what is this but a literary trick by which Plato sets off his narrative? Could any war between Athens and the Island of Atlantis have really coincided with the struggle between the Greeks and Persians, as is sufficiently hinted though not expressly stated in the narrative of Plato? And whence came the tradition to Egypt? or in what does the story consist except in the war between the two rival powers and the submersion of both of them? And how was the tale transferred to the poem of Solon? ‘It is not improbable,’ says Mr. Grote, ‘that Solon did leave an unfinished Egyptian poem’ (Plato). But are probabilities for which there is not a tittle of evidence, and which are without any parallel, to be deemed worthy of attention by the critic? How came the poem of Solon to disappear in antiquity? or why did Plato, if the whole narrative was known to him, break off almost at the beginning of it?

While therefore admiring the diligence and erudition of M. Martin, we cannot for a moment suppose that the tale was told to Solon by an Egyptian priest, nor can we believe that Solon wrote a poem upon the theme which was thus suggested to him — a poem which disappeared in antiquity; or that the Island of Atlantis or the antediluvian Athens ever had any existence except in the imagination of Plato. Martin is of opinion that Plato would have been terrified if he could have foreseen the endless fancies to which his Island of Atlantis has given occasion. Rather he would have been infinitely amused if he could have known that his gift of invention would have deceived M. Martin himself into the belief that the tradition was brought from Egypt by Solon and made the subject of a poem by him. M. Martin may also be gently censured for citing without sufficient discrimination ancient authors having very different degrees of authority and value.

2. It is an interesting and not unimportant question which is touched upon by Martin, whether the Atlantis of Plato in any degree held out a guiding light to the early navigators. He is inclined to think that there is no real connexion between them. But surely the discovery of the New World was preceded by a prophetic anticipation of it, which, like the hope of a Messiah, was entering into the hearts of men? And this hope was nursed by ancient tradition, which had found expression from time to time in the celebrated lines of Seneca and in many other places. This tradition was sustained by the great authority of Plato, and therefore the legend of the Island of Atlantis, though not closely connected with the voyages of the early navigators, may be truly said to have contributed indirectly to the great discovery.

The Timaeus of Plato, like the Protagoras and several portions of the Phaedrus and Republic, was translated by Cicero into Latin. About a fourth, comprehending with lacunae the first portion of the dialogue, is preserved in several MSS. These generally agree, and therefore may be supposed to be derived from a single original. The version is very faithful, and is a remarkable monument of Cicero’s skill in managing the difficult and intractable Greek. In his treatise De Natura Deorum, he also refers to the Timaeus, which, speaking in the person of Velleius the Epicurean, he severely criticises.

The commentary of Proclus on the Timaeus is a wonderful monument of the silliness and prolixity of the Alexandrian Age. It extends to about thirty pages of the book, and is thirty times the length of the original. It is surprising that this voluminous work should have found a translator (Thomas Taylor, a kindred spirit, who was himself a Neo-Platonist, after the fashion, not of the fifth or sixteenth, but of the nineteenth century A.D.). The commentary is of little or no value, either in a philosophical or philological point of view. The writer is unable to explain particular passages in any precise manner, and he is equally incapable of grasping the whole. He does not take words in their simple meaning or sentences in their natural connexion. He is thinking, not of the context in Plato, but of the contemporary Pythagorean philosophers and their wordy strife. He finds nothing in the text which he does not bring to it. He is full of Porphyry, Iamblichus and Plotinus, of misapplied logic, of misunderstood grammar, and of the Orphic theology.

Although such a work can contribute little or nothing to the understanding of Plato, it throws an interesting light on the Alexandrian times; it realizes how a philosophy made up of words only may create a deep and widespread enthusiasm, how the forms of logic and rhetoric may usurp the place of reason and truth, how all philosophies grow faded and discoloured, and are patched and made up again like worn-out garments, and retain only a second-hand existence. He who would study this degeneracy of philosophy and of the Greek mind in the original cannot do better than devote a few of his days and nights to the commentary of Proclus on the Timaeus.

A very different account must be given of the short work entitled ‘Timaeus Locrus,’ which is a brief but clear analysis of the Timaeus of Plato, omitting the introduction or dialogue and making a few small additions. It does not allude to the original from which it is taken; it is quite free from mysticism and Neo-Platonism. In length it does not exceed a fifth part of the Timaeus. It is written in the Doric dialect, and contains several words which do not occur in classical Greek. No other indication of its date, except this uncertain one of language, appears in it. In several places the writer has simplified the language of Plato, in a few others he has embellished and exaggerated it. He generally preserves the thought of the original, but does not copy the words. On the whole this little tract faithfully reflects the meaning and spirit of the Timaeus.

From the garden of the Timaeus, as from the other dialogues of Plato, we may still gather a few flowers and present them at parting to the reader. There is nothing in Plato grander and simpler than the conversation between Solon and the Egyptian priest, in which the youthfulness of Hellas is contrasted with the antiquity of Egypt. Here are to be found the famous words, ‘O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are ever young, and there is not an old man among you’ — which may be compared to the lively saying of Hegel, that ‘Greek history began with the youth Achilles and left off with the youth Alexander.’ The numerous arts of verisimilitude by which Plato insinuates into the mind of the reader the truth of his narrative have been already referred to. Here occur a sentence or two not wanting in Platonic irony (Greek — a word to the wise). ‘To know or tell the origin of the other divinities is beyond us, and we must accept the traditions of the men of old time who affirm themselves to be the offspring of the Gods — that is what they say — and they must surely have known their own ancestors. How can we doubt the word of the children of the Gods? Although they give no probable or certain proofs, still, as they declare that they are speaking of what took place in their own family, we must conform to custom and believe them.’ ‘Our creators well knew that women and other animals would some day be framed out of men, and they further knew that many animals would require the use of nails for many purposes; wherefore they fashioned in men at their first creation the rudiments of nails.’ Or once more, let us reflect on two serious passages in which the order of the world is supposed to find a place in the human soul and to infuse harmony into it. ‘The soul, when touching anything that has essence, whether dispersed in parts or undivided, is stirred through all her powers to declare the sameness or difference of that thing and some other; and to what individuals are related, and by what affected, and in what way and how and when, both in the world of generation and in the world of immutable being. And when reason, which works with equal truth, whether she be in the circle of the diverse or of the same, — in voiceless silence holding her onward course in the sphere of the self-moved, — when reason, I say, is hovering around the sensible world, and when the circle of the diverse also moving truly imparts the intimations of sense to the whole soul, then arise opinions and beliefs sure and certain. But when reason is concerned with the rational, and the circle of the same moving smoothly declares it, then intelligence and knowledge are necessarily perfected;’ where, proceeding in a similar path of contemplation, he supposes the inward and the outer world mutually to imply each other. ‘God invented and gave us sight to the end that we might behold the courses of intelligence in the heaven, and apply them to the courses of our own intelligence which are akin to them, the unperturbed to the perturbed; and that we, learning them and partaking of the natural truth of reason, might imitate the absolutely unerring courses of God and regulate our own vagaries.’ Or let us weigh carefully some other profound thoughts, such as the following. ‘He who neglects education walks lame to the end of his life, and returns imperfect and good for nothing to the world below.’ ‘The father and maker of all this universe is past finding out; and even if we found him, to tell of him to all men would be impossible.’ ‘Let me tell you then why the Creator made this world of generation. He was good, and the good can never have jealousy of anything. And being free from jealousy, he desired that all things should be as like himself as they could be. This is in the truest sense the origin of creation and of the world, as we shall do well in believing on the testimony of wise men: God desired that all things should be good and nothing bad, so far as this was attainable.’ This is the leading thought in the Timaeus, just as the IDEA of Good is the leading thought of the Republic, the one expression describing the personal, the other the impersonal Good or God, differing in form rather than in substance, and both equally implying to the mind of Plato a divine reality. The slight touch, perhaps ironical, contained in the words, ‘as we shall do well in believing on the testimony of wise men,’ is very characteristic of Plato.

TIMAEUS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, Critias, Timaeus, Hermocrates.

SOCRATES: One, two, three; but where, my dear Timaeus, is the fourth of those who were yesterday my guests and are to be my entertainers to-day?

TIMAEUS: He has been taken ill, Socrates; for he would not willingly have been absent from this gathering.

SOCRATES: Then, if he is not coming, you and the two others must supply his place.

TIMAEUS: Certainly, and we will do all that we can; having been handsomely entertained by you yesterday, those of us who remain should be only too glad to return your hospitality.

SOCRATES: Do you remember what were the points of which I required you to speak?

TIMAEUS: We remember some of them, and you will be here to remind us of anything which we have forgotten: or rather, if we are not troubling you, will you briefly recapitulate the whole, and then the particulars will be more firmly fixed in our memories?

SOCRATES: To be sure I will: the chief theme of my yesterday’s discourse was the State — how constituted and of what citizens composed it would seem likely to be most perfect.

TIMAEUS: Yes, Socrates; and what you said of it was very much to our mind.

SOCRATES: Did we not begin by separating the husbandmen and the artisans from the class of defenders of the State?

TIMAEUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And when we had given to each one that single employment and particular art which was suited to his nature, we spoke of those who were intended to be our warriors, and said that they were to be guardians of the city against attacks from within as well as from without, and to have no other employment; they were to be merciful in judging their subjects, of whom they were by nature friends, but fierce to their enemies, when they came across them in battle.

TIMAEUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: We said, if I am not mistaken, that the guardians should be gifted with a temperament in a high degree both passionate and philosophical; and that then they would be as they ought to be, gentle to their friends and fierce with their enemies.

TIMAEUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And what did we say of their education? Were they not to be trained in gymnastic, and music, and all other sorts of knowledge which were proper for them?

TIMAEUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And being thus trained they were not to consider gold or silver or anything else to be their own private property; they were to be like hired troops, receiving pay for keeping guard from those who were protected by them — the pay was to be no more than would suffice for men of simple life; and they were to spend in common, and to live together in the continual practice of virtue, which was to be their sole pursuit.

TIMAEUS: That was also said.

SOCRATES: Neither did we forget the women; of whom we declared, that their natures should be assimilated and brought into harmony with those of the men, and that common pursuits should be assigned to them both in time of war and in their ordinary life.

TIMAEUS: That, again, was as you say.

SOCRATES: And what about the procreation of children? Or rather was not the proposal too singular to be forgotten? for all wives and children were to be in common, to the intent that no one should ever know his own child, but they were to imagine that they were all one family; those who were within a suitable limit of age were to be brothers and sisters, those who were of an elder generation parents and grandparents, and those of a younger, children and grandchildren.

TIMAEUS: Yes, and the proposal is easy to remember, as you say.

SOCRATES: And do you also remember how, with a view of securing as far as we could the best breed, we said that the chief magistrates, male and female, should contrive secretly, by the use of certain lots, so to arrange the nuptial meeting, that the bad of either sex and the good of either sex might pair with their like; and there was to be no quarrelling on this account, for they would imagine that the union was a mere accident, and was to be attributed to the lot?

TIMAEUS: I remember.

SOCRATES: And you remember how we said that the children of the good parents were to be educated, and the children of the bad secretly dispersed among the inferior citizens; and while they were all growing up the rulers were to be on the look-out, and to bring up from below in their turn those who were worthy, and those among themselves who were unworthy were to take the places of those who came up?

TIMAEUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then have I now given you all the heads of our yesterday’s discussion? Or is there anything more, my dear Timaeus, which has been omitted?

TIMAEUS: Nothing, Socrates; it was just as you have said.

SOCRATES: I should like, before proceeding further, to tell you how I feel about the State which we have described. I might compare myself to a person who, on beholding beautiful animals either created by the painter’s art, or, better still, alive but at rest, is seized with a desire of seeing them in motion or engaged in some struggle or conflict to which their forms appear suited; this is my feeling about the State which we have been describing. There are conflicts which all cities undergo, and I should like to hear some one tell of our own city carrying on a struggle against her neighbours, and how she went out to war in a becoming manner, and when at war showed by the greatness of her actions and the magnanimity of her words in dealing with other cities a result worthy of her training and education. Now I, Critias and Hermocrates, am conscious that I myself should never be able to celebrate the city and her citizens in a befitting manner, and I am not surprised at my own incapacity; to me the wonder is rather that the poets present as well as past are no better — not that I mean to depreciate them; but every one can see that they are a tribe of imitators, and will imitate best and most easily the life in which they have been brought up; while that which is beyond the range of a man’s education he finds hard to carry out in action, and still harder adequately to represent in language. I am aware that the Sophists have plenty of brave words and fair conceits, but I am afraid that being only wanderers from one city to another, and having never had habitations of their own, they may fail in their conception of philosophers and statesmen, and may not know what they do and say in time of war, when they are fighting or holding parley with their enemies. And thus people of your class are the only ones remaining who are fitted by nature and education to take part at once both in politics and philosophy. Here is Timaeus, of Locris in Italy, a city which has admirable laws, and who is himself in wealth and rank the equal of any of his fellow-citizens; he has held the most important and honourable offices in his own state, and, as I believe, has scaled the heights of all philosophy; and here is Critias, whom every Athenian knows to be no novice in the matters of which we are speaking; and as to Hermocrates, I am assured by many witnesses that his genius and education qualify him to take part in any speculation of the kind. And therefore yesterday when I saw that you wanted me to describe the formation of the State, I readily assented, being very well aware, that, if you only would, none were better qualified to carry the discussion further, and that when you had engaged our city in a suitable war, you of all men living could best exhibit her playing a fitting part. When I had completed my task, I in return imposed this other task upon you. You conferred together and agreed to entertain me to-day, as I had entertained you, with a feast of discourse. Here am I in festive array, and no man can be more ready for the promised banquet.

HERMOCRATES: And we too, Socrates, as Timaeus says, will not be wanting in enthusiasm; and there is no excuse for not complying with your request. As soon as we arrived yesterday at the guest-chamber of Critias, with whom we are staying, or rather on our way thither, we talked the matter over, and he told us an ancient tradition, which I wish, Critias, that you would repeat to Socrates, so that he may help us to judge whether it will satisfy his requirements or not.

CRITIAS: I will, if Timaeus, who is our other partner, approves.

TIMAEUS: I quite approve.

CRITIAS: Then listen, Socrates, to a tale which, though strange, is certainly true, having been attested by Solon, who was the wisest of the seven sages. He was a relative and a dear friend of my great-grandfather, Dropides, as he himself says in many passages of his poems; and he told the story to Critias, my grandfather, who remembered and repeated it to us. There were of old, he said, great and marvellous actions of the Athenian city, which have passed into oblivion through lapse of time and the destruction of mankind, and one in particular, greater than all the rest. This we will now rehearse. It will be a fitting monument of our gratitude to you, and a hymn of praise true and worthy of the goddess, on this her day of festival.

SOCRATES: Very good. And what is this ancient famous action of the Athenians, which Critias declared, on the authority of Solon, to be not a mere legend, but an actual fact?

CRITIAS: I will tell an old-world story which I heard from an aged man; for Critias, at the time of telling it, was, as he said, nearly ninety years of age, and I was about ten. Now the day was that day of the Apaturia which is called the Registration of Youth, at which, according to custom, our parents gave prizes for recitations, and the poems of several poets were recited by us boys, and many of us sang the poems of Solon, which at that time had not gone out of fashion. One of our tribe, either because he thought so or to please Critias, said that in his judgment Solon was not only the wisest of men, but also the noblest of poets. The old man, as I very well remember, brightened up at hearing this and said, smiling: Yes, Amynander, if Solon had only, like other poets, made poetry the business of his life, and had completed the tale which he brought with him from Egypt, and had not been compelled, by reason of the factions and troubles which he found stirring in his own country when he came home, to attend to other matters, in my opinion he would have been as famous as Homer or Hesiod, or any poet.

And what was the tale about, Critias? said Amynander.

About the greatest action which the Athenians ever did, and which ought to have been the most famous, but, through the lapse of time and the destruction of the actors, it has not come down to us.

Tell us, said the other, the whole story, and how and from whom Solon heard this veritable tradition.

He replied: — In the Egyptian Delta, at the head of which the river Nile divides, there is a certain district which is called the district of Sais, and the great city of the district is also called Sais, and is the city from which King Amasis came. The citizens have a deity for their foundress; she is called in the Egyptian tongue Neith, and is asserted by them to be the same whom the Hellenes call Athene; they are great lovers of the Athenians, and say that they are in some way related to them. To this city came Solon, and was received there with great honour; he asked the priests who were most skilful in such matters, about antiquity, and made the discovery that neither he nor any other Hellene knew anything worth mentioning about the times of old. On one occasion, wishing to draw them on to speak of antiquity, he began to tell about the most ancient things in our part of the world — about Phoroneus, who is called ‘the first man,’ and about Niobe; and after the Deluge, of the survival of Deucalion and Pyrrha; and he traced the genealogy of their descendants, and reckoning up the dates, tried to compute how many years ago the events of which he was speaking happened. Thereupon one of the priests, who was of a very great age, said: O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are never anything but children, and there is not an old man among you. Solon in return asked him what he meant. I mean to say, he replied, that in mind you are all young; there is no old opinion handed down among you by ancient tradition, nor any science which is hoary with age. And I will tell you why. There have been, and will be again, many destructions of mankind arising out of many causes; the greatest have been brought about by the agencies of fire and water, and other lesser ones by innumerable other causes. There is a story, which even you have preserved, that once upon a time Paethon, the son of Helios, having yoked the steeds in his father’s chariot, because he was not able to drive them in the path of his father, burnt up all that was upon the earth, and was himself destroyed by a thunderbolt. Now this has the form of a myth, but really signifies a declination of the bodies moving in the heavens around the earth, and a great conflagration of things upon the earth, which recurs after long intervals; at such times those who live upon the mountains and in dry and lofty places are more liable to destruction than those who dwell by rivers or on the seashore. And from this calamity the Nile, who is our never-failing saviour, delivers and preserves us. When, on the other hand, the gods purge the earth with a deluge of water, the survivors in your country are herdsmen and shepherds who dwell on the mountains, but those who, like you, live in cities are carried by the rivers into the sea. Whereas in this land, neither then nor at any other time, does the water come down from above on the fields, having always a tendency to come up from below; for which reason the traditions preserved here are the most ancient. The fact is, that wherever the extremity of winter frost or of summer sun does not prevent, mankind exist, sometimes in greater, sometimes in lesser numbers. And whatever happened either in your country or in ours, or in any other region of which we are informed — if there were any actions noble or great or in any other way remarkable, they have all been written down by us of old, and are preserved in our temples. Whereas just when you and other nations are beginning to be provided with letters and the other requisites of civilized life, after the usual interval, the stream from heaven, like a pestilence, comes pouring down, and leaves only those of you who are destitute of letters and education; and so you have to begin all over again like children, and know nothing of what happened in ancient times, either among us or among yourselves. As for those genealogies of yours which you just now recounted to us, Solon, they are no better than the tales of children. In the first place you remember a single deluge only, but there were many previous ones; in the next place, you do not know that there formerly dwelt in your land the fairest and noblest race of men which ever lived, and that you and your whole city are descended from a small seed or remnant of them which survived. And this was unknown to you, because, for many generations, the survivors of that destruction died, leaving no written word. For there was a time, Solon, before the great deluge of all, when the city which now is Athens was first in war and in every way the best governed of all cities, is said to have performed the noblest deeds and to have had the fairest constitution of any of which tradition tells, under the face of heaven. Solon marvelled at his words, and earnestly requested the priests to inform him exactly and in order about these former citizens. You are welcome to hear about them, Solon, said the priest, both for your own sake and for that of your city, and above all, for the sake of the goddess who is the common patron and parent and educator of both our cities. She founded your city a thousand years before ours (Observe that Plato gives the same date (9000 years ago) for the foundation of Athens and for the repulse of the invasion from Atlantis (Crit.).), receiving from the Earth and Hephaestus the seed of your race, and afterwards she founded ours, of which the constitution is recorded in our sacred registers to be 8000 years old. As touching your citizens of 9000 years ago, I will briefly inform you of their laws and of their most famous action; the exact particulars of the whole we will hereafter go through at our leisure in the sacred registers themselves. If you compare these very laws with ours you will find that many of ours are the counterpart of yours as they were in the olden time. In the first place, there is the caste of priests, which is separated from all the others; next, there are the artificers, who ply their several crafts by themselves and do not intermix; and also there is the class of shepherds and of hunters, as well as that of husbandmen; and you will observe, too, that the warriors in Egypt are distinct from all the other classes, and are commanded by the law to devote themselves solely to military pursuits; moreover, the weapons which they carry are shields and spears, a style of equipment which the goddess taught of Asiatics first to us, as in your part of the world first to you. Then as to wisdom, do you observe how our law from the very first made a study of the whole order of things, extending even to prophecy and medicine which gives health, out of these divine elements deriving what was needful for human life, and adding every sort of knowledge which was akin to them. All this order and arrangement the goddess first imparted to you when establishing your city; and she chose the spot of earth in which you were born, because she saw that the happy temperament of the seasons in that land would produce the wisest of men. Wherefore the goddess, who was a lover both of war and of wisdom, selected and first of all settled that spot which was the most likely to produce men likest herself. And there you dwelt, having such laws as these and still better ones, and excelled all mankind in all virtue, as became the children and disciples of the gods.

Many great and wonderful deeds are recorded of your state in our histories. But one of them exceeds all the rest in greatness and valour. For these histories tell of a mighty power which unprovoked made an expedition against the whole of Europe and Asia, and to which your city put an end. This power came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean, for in those days the Atlantic was navigable; and there was an island situated in front of the straits which are by you called the Pillars of Heracles; the island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from these you might pass to the whole of the opposite continent which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbour, having a narrow entrance, but that other is a real sea, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a boundless continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there was a great and wonderful empire which had rule over the whole island and several others, and over parts of the continent, and, furthermore, the men of Atlantis had subjected the parts of Libya within the columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. This vast power, gathered into one, endeavoured to subdue at a blow our country and yours and the whole of the region within the straits; and then, Solon, your country shone forth, in the excellence of her virtue and strength, among all mankind. She was pre-eminent in courage and military skill, and was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet subjugated, and generously liberated all the rest of us who dwell within the pillars. But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea. For which reason the sea in those parts is impassable and impenetrable, because there is a shoal of mud in the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island.

I have told you briefly, Socrates, what the aged Critias heard from Solon and related to us. And when you were speaking yesterday about your city and citizens, the tale which I have just been repeating to you came into my mind, and I remarked with astonishment how, by some mysterious coincidence, you agreed in almost every particular with the narrative of Solon; but I did not like to speak at the moment. For a long time had elapsed, and I had forgotten too much; I thought that I must first of all run over the narrative in my own mind, and then I would speak. And so I readily assented to your request yesterday, considering that in all such cases the chief difficulty is to find a tale suitable to our purpose, and that with such a tale we should be fairly well provided.

And therefore, as Hermocrates has told you, on my way home yesterday I at once communicated the tale to my companions as I remembered it; and after I left them, during the night by thinking I recovered nearly the whole of it. Truly, as is often said, the lessons of our childhood make a wonderful impression on our memories; for I am not sure that I could remember all the discourse of yesterday, but I should be much surprised if I forgot any of these things which I have heard very long ago. I listened at the time with childlike interest to the old man’s narrative; he was very ready to teach me, and I asked him again and again to repeat his words, so that like an indelible picture they were branded into my mind. As soon as the day broke, I rehearsed them as he spoke them to my companions, that they, as well as myself, might have something to say. And now, Socrates, to make an end of my preface, I am ready to tell you the whole tale. I will give you not only the general heads, but the particulars, as they were told to me. The city and citizens, which you yesterday described to us in fiction, we will now transfer to the world of reality. It shall be the ancient city of Athens, and we will suppose that the citizens whom you imagined, were our veritable ancestors, of whom the priest spoke; they will perfectly harmonize, and there will be no inconsistency in saying that the citizens of your republic are these ancient Athenians. Let us divide the subject among us, and all endeavour according to our ability gracefully to execute the task which you have imposed upon us. Consider then, Socrates, if this narrative is suited to the purpose, or whether we should seek for some other instead.

SOCRATES: And what other, Critias, can we find that will be better than this, which is natural and suitable to the festival of the goddess, and has the very great advantage of being a fact and not a fiction? How or where shall we find another if we abandon this? We cannot, and therefore you must tell the tale, and good luck to you; and I in return for my yesterday’s discourse will now rest and be a listener.

CRITIAS: Let me proceed to explain to you, Socrates, the order in which we have arranged our entertainment. Our intention is, that Timaeus, who is the most of an astronomer amongst us, and has made the nature of the universe his special study, should speak first, beginning with the generation of the world and going down to the creation of man; next, I am to receive the men whom he has created, and of whom some will have profited by the excellent education which you have given them; and then, in accordance with the tale of Solon, and equally with his law, we will bring them into court and make them citizens, as if they were those very Athenians whom the sacred Egyptian record has recovered from oblivion, and thenceforward we will speak of them as Athenians and fellow-citizens.

SOCRATES: I see that I shall receive in my turn a perfect and splendid feast of reason. And now, Timaeus, you, I suppose, should speak next, after duly calling upon the Gods.

TIMAEUS: All men, Socrates, who have any degree of right feeling, at the beginning of every enterprise, whether small or great, always call upon God. And we, too, who are going to discourse of the nature of the universe, how created or how existing without creation, if we be not altogether out of our wits, must invoke the aid of Gods and Goddesses and pray that our words may be acceptable to them and consistent with themselves. Let this, then, be our invocation of the Gods, to which I add an exhortation of myself to speak in such manner as will be most intelligible to you, and will most accord with my own intent.

First then, in my judgment, we must make a distinction and ask, What is that which always is and has no becoming; and what is that which is always becoming and never is? That which is apprehended by intelligence and reason is always in the same state; but that which is conceived by opinion with the help of sensation and without reason, is always in a process of becoming and perishing and never really is. Now everything that becomes or is created must of necessity be created by some cause, for without a cause nothing can be created. The work of the creator, whenever he looks to the unchangeable and fashions the form and nature of his work after an unchangeable pattern, must necessarily be made fair and perfect; but when he looks to the created only, and uses a created pattern, it is not fair or perfect. Was the heaven then or the world, whether called by this or by any other more appropriate name — assuming the name, I am asking a question which has to be asked at the beginning of an enquiry about anything — was the world, I say, always in existence and without beginning? or created, and had it a beginning? Created, I reply, being visible and tangible and having a body, and therefore sensible; and all sensible things are apprehended by opinion and sense and are in a process of creation and created. Now that which is created must, as we affirm, of necessity be created by a cause. But the father and maker of all this universe is past finding out; and even if we found him, to tell of him to all men would be impossible. And there is still a question to be asked about him: Which of the patterns had the artificer in view when he made the world — the pattern of the unchangeable, or of that which is created? If the world be indeed fair and the artificer good, it is manifest that he must have looked to that which is eternal; but if what cannot be said without blasphemy is true, then to the created pattern. Every one will see that he must have looked to the eternal; for the world is the fairest of creations and he is the best of causes. And having been created in this way, the world has been framed in the likeness of that which is apprehended by reason and mind and is unchangeable, and must therefore of necessity, if this is admitted, be a copy of something. Now it is all-important that the beginning of everything should be according to nature. And in speaking of the copy and the original we may assume that words are akin to the matter which they describe; when they relate to the lasting and permanent and intelligible, they ought to be lasting and unalterable, and, as far as their nature allows, irrefutable and immovable — nothing less. But when they express only the copy or likeness and not the eternal things themselves, they need only be likely and analogous to the real words. As being is to becoming, so is truth to belief. If then, Socrates, amid the many opinions about the gods and the generation of the universe, we are not able to give notions which are altogether and in every respect exact and consistent with one another, do not be surprised. Enough, if we adduce probabilities as likely as any others; for we must remember that I who am the speaker, and you who are the judges, are only mortal men, and we ought to accept the tale which is probable and enquire no further.

SOCRATES: Excellent, Timaeus; and we will do precisely as you bid us. The prelude is charming, and is already accepted by us — may we beg of you to proceed to the strain?

TIMAEUS: Let me tell you then why the creator made this world of generation. He was good, and the good can never have any jealousy of anything. And being free from jealousy, he desired that all things should be as like himself as they could be. This is in the truest sense the origin of creation and of the world, as we shall do well in believing on the testimony of wise men: God desired that all things should be good and nothing bad, so far as this was attainable. Wherefore also finding the whole visible sphere not at rest, but moving in an irregular and disorderly fashion, out of disorder he brought order, considering that this was in every way better than the other. Now the deeds of the best could never be or have been other than the fairest; and the creator, reflecting on the things which are by nature visible, found that no unintelligent creature taken as a whole was fairer than the intelligent taken as a whole; and that intelligence could not be present in anything which was devoid of soul. For which reason, when he was framing the universe, he put intelligence in soul, and soul in body, that he might be the creator of a work which was by nature fairest and best. Wherefore, using the language of probability, we may say that the world became a living creature truly endowed with soul and intelligence by the providence of God.

This being supposed, let us proceed to the next stage: In the likeness of what animal did the Creator make the world? It would be an unworthy thing to liken it to any nature which exists as a part only; for nothing can be beautiful which is like any imperfect thing; but let us suppose the world to be the very image of that whole of which all other animals both individually and in their tribes are portions. For the original of the universe contains in itself all intelligible beings, just as this world comprehends us and all other visible creatures. For the Deity, intending to make this world like the fairest and most perfect of intelligible beings, framed one visible animal comprehending within itself all other animals of a kindred nature. Are we right in saying that there is one world, or that they are many and infinite? There must be one only, if the created copy is to accord with the original. For that which includes all other intelligible creatures cannot have a second or companion; in that case there would be need of another living being which would include both, and of which they would be parts, and the likeness would be more truly said to resemble not them, but that other which included them. In order then that the world might be solitary, like the perfect animal, the creator made not two worlds or an infinite number of them; but there is and ever will be one only-begotten and created heaven.

Now that which is created is of necessity corporeal, and also visible and tangible. And nothing is visible where there is no fire, or tangible which has no solidity, and nothing is solid without earth. Wherefore also God in the beginning of creation made the body of the universe to consist of fire and earth. But two things cannot be rightly put together without a third; there must be some bond of union between them. And the fairest bond is that which makes the most complete fusion of itself and the things which it combines; and proportion is best adapted to effect such a union. For whenever in any three numbers, whether cube or square, there is a mean, which is to the last term what the first term is to it; and again, when the mean is to the first term as the last term is to the mean — then the mean becoming first and last, and the first and last both becoming means, they will all of them of necessity come to be the same, and having become the same with one another will be all one. If the universal frame had been created a surface only and having no depth, a single mean would have sufficed to bind together itself and the other terms; but now, as the world must be solid, and solid bodies are always compacted not by one mean but by two, God placed water and air in the mean between fire and earth, and made them to have the same proportion so far as was possible (as fire is to air so is air to water, and as air is to water so is water to earth); and thus he bound and put together a visible and tangible heaven. And for these reasons, and out of such elements which are in number four, the body of the world was created, and it was harmonized by proportion, and therefore has the spirit of friendship; and having been reconciled to itself, it was indissoluble by the hand of any other than the framer.

Now the creation took up the whole of each of the four elements; for the Creator compounded the world out of all the fire and all the water and all the air and all the earth, leaving no part of any of them nor any power of them outside. His intention was, in the first place, that the animal should be as far as possible a perfect whole and of perfect parts: secondly, that it should be one, leaving no remnants out of which another such world might be created: and also that it should be free from old age and unaffected by disease. Considering that if heat and cold and other powerful forces which unite bodies surround and attack them from without when they are unprepared, they decompose them, and by bringing diseases and old age upon them, make them waste away — for this cause and on these grounds he made the world one whole, having every part entire, and being therefore perfect and not liable to old age and disease. And he gave to the world the figure which was suitable and also natural. Now to the animal which was to comprehend all animals, that figure was suitable which comprehends within itself all other figures. Wherefore he made the world in the form of a globe, round as from a lathe, having its extremes in every direction equidistant from the centre, the most perfect and the most like itself of all figures; for he considered that the like is infinitely fairer than the unlike. This he finished off, making the surface smooth all round for many reasons; in the first place, because the living being had no need of eyes when there was nothing remaining outside him to be seen; nor of ears when there was nothing to be heard; and there was no surrounding atmosphere to be breathed; nor would there have been any use of organs by the help of which he might receive his food or get rid of what he had already digested, since there was nothing which went from him or came into him: for there was nothing beside him. Of design he was created thus, his own waste providing his own food, and all that he did or suffered taking place in and by himself. For the Creator conceived that a being which was self-sufficient would be far more excellent than one which lacked anything; and, as he had no need to take anything or defend himself against any one, the Creator did not think it necessary to bestow upon him hands: nor had he any need of feet, nor of the whole apparatus of walking; but the movement suited to his spherical form was assigned to him, being of all the seven that which is most appropriate to mind and intelligence; and he was made to move in the same manner and on the same spot, within his own limits revolving in a circle. All the other six motions were taken away from him, and he was made not to partake of their deviations. And as this circular movement required no feet, the universe was created without legs and without feet.

Such was the whole plan of the eternal God about the god that was to be, to whom for this reason he gave a body, smooth and even, having a surface in every direction equidistant from the centre, a body entire and perfect, and formed out of perfect bodies. And in the centre he put the soul, which he diffused throughout the body, making it also to be the exterior environment of it; and he made the universe a circle moving in a circle, one and solitary, yet by reason of its excellence able to converse with itself, and needing no other friendship or acquaintance. Having these purposes in view he created the world a blessed god.

Now God did not make the soul after the body, although we are speaking of them in this order; for having brought them together he would never have allowed that the elder should be ruled by the younger; but this is a random manner of speaking which we have, because somehow we ourselves too are very much under the dominion of chance. Whereas he made the soul in origin and excellence prior to and older than the body, to be the ruler and mistress, of whom the body was to be the subject. And he made her out of the following elements and on this wise: Out of the indivisible and unchangeable, and also out of that which is divisible and has to do with material bodies, he compounded a third and intermediate kind of essence, partaking of the nature of the same and of the other, and this compound he placed accordingly in a mean between the indivisible, and the divisible and material. He took the three elements of the same, the other, and the essence, and mingled them into one form, compressing by force the reluctant and unsociable nature of the other into the same. When he had mingled them with the essence and out of three made one, he again divided this whole into as many portions as was fitting, each portion being a compound of the same, the other, and the essence. And he proceeded to divide after this manner: — First of all, he took away one part of the whole (1), and then he separated a second part which was double the first (2), and then he took away a third part which was half as much again as the second and three times as much as the first (3), and then he took a fourth part which was twice as much as the second (4), and a fifth part which was three times the third (9), and a sixth part which was eight times the first (8), and a seventh part which was twenty-seven times the first (27). After this he filled up the double intervals (i.e. between 1, 2, 4, 8) and the triple (i.e. between 1, 3, 9, 27) cutting off yet other portions from the mixture and placing them in the intervals, so that in each interval there were two kinds of means, the one exceeding and exceeded by equal parts of its extremes (as for example 1, 4/3, 2, in which the mean 4/3 is one-third of 1 more than 1, and one-third of 2 less than 2), the other being that kind of mean which exceeds and is exceeded by an equal number (e.g.

- over 1, 4/3, 3/2, - over 2, 8/3, 3, - over 4, 16/3, 6,  - over 8: and

- over 1, 3/2, 2,   - over 3, 9/2, 6, - over 9, 27/2, 18, - over 27.

Where there were intervals of 3/2 and of 4/3 and of 9/8, made by the connecting terms in the former intervals, he filled up all the intervals of 4/3 with the interval of 9/8, leaving a fraction over; and the interval which this fraction expressed was in the ratio of 256 to 243 (e.g.

243:256::81/64:4/3::243/128:2::81/32:8/3::243/64:4::81/16:16/3::242/32:8.

And thus the whole mixture out of which he cut these portions was all exhausted by him. This entire compound he divided lengthways into two parts, which he joined to one another at the centre like the letter X, and bent them into a circular form, connecting them with themselves and each other at the point opposite to their original meeting-point; and, comprehending them in a uniform revolution upon the same axis, he made the one the outer and the other the inner circle. Now the motion of the outer circle he called the motion of the same, and the motion of the inner circle the motion of the other or diverse. The motion of the same he carried round by the side (i.e. of the rectangular figure supposed to be inscribed in the circle of the Same) to the right, and the motion of the diverse diagonally (i.e. across the rectangular figure from corner to corner) to the left. And he gave dominion to the motion of the same and like, for that he left single and undivided; but the inner motion he divided in six places and made seven unequal circles having their intervals in ratios of two and three, three of each, and bade the orbits proceed in a direction opposite to one another; and three (Sun, Mercury, Venus) he made to move with equal swiftness, and the remaining four (Moon, Saturn, Mars, Jupiter) to move with unequal swiftness to the three and to one another, but in due proportion.

Now when the Creator had framed the soul according to his will, he formed within her the corporeal universe, and brought the two together, and united them centre to centre. The soul, interfused everywhere from the centre to the circumference of heaven, of which also she is the external envelopment, herself turning in herself, began a divine beginning of never-ceasing and rational life enduring throughout all time. The body of heaven is visible, but the soul is invisible, and partakes of reason and harmony, and being made by the best of intellectual and everlasting natures, is the best of things created. And because she is composed of the same and of the other and of the essence, these three, and is divided and united in due proportion, and in her revolutions returns upon herself, the soul, when touching anything which has essence, whether dispersed in parts or undivided, is stirred through all her powers, to declare the sameness or difference of that thing and some other; and to what individuals are related, and by what affected, and in what way and how and when, both in the world of generation and in the world of immutable being. And when reason, which works with equal truth, whether she be in the circle of the diverse or of the same — in voiceless silence holding her onward course in the sphere of the self-moved — when reason, I say, is hovering around the sensible world and when the circle of the diverse also moving truly imparts the intimations of sense to the whole soul, then arise opinions and beliefs sure and certain. But when reason is concerned with the rational, and the circle of the same moving smoothly declares it, then intelligence and knowledge are necessarily perfected. And if any one affirms that in which these two are found to be other than the soul, he will say the very opposite of the truth.

When the father and creator saw the creature which he had made moving and living, the created image of the eternal gods, he rejoiced, and in his joy determined to make the copy still more like the original; and as this was eternal, he sought to make the universe eternal, so far as might be. Now the nature of the ideal being was everlasting, but to bestow this attribute in its fulness upon a creature was impossible. Wherefore he resolved to have a moving image of eternity, and when he set in order the heaven, he made this image eternal but moving according to number, while eternity itself rests in unity; and this image we call time. For there were no days and nights and months and years before the heaven was created, but when he constructed the heaven he created them also. They are all parts of time, and the past and future are created species of time, which we unconsciously but wrongly transfer to the eternal essence; for we say that he ‘was,’ he ’is,’ he ‘will be,’ but the truth is that ‘is’ alone is properly attributed to him, and that ‘was’ and ‘will be’ are only to be spoken of becoming in time, for they are motions, but that which is immovably the same cannot become older or younger by time, nor ever did or has become, or hereafter will be, older or younger, nor is subject at all to any of those states which affect moving and sensible things and of which generation is the cause. These are the forms of time, which imitates eternity and revolves according to a law of number. Moreover, when we say that what has become IS become and what becomes IS becoming, and that what will become IS about to become and that the non-existent IS non-existent — all these are inaccurate modes of expression (compare Parmen.). But perhaps this whole subject will be more suitably discussed on some other occasion.

Time, then, and the heaven came into being at the same instant in order that, having been created together, if ever there was to be a dissolution of them, they might be dissolved together. It was framed after the pattern of the eternal nature, that it might resemble this as far as was possible; for the pattern exists from eternity, and the created heaven has been, and is, and will be, in all time. Such was the mind and thought of God in the creation of time. The sun and moon and five other stars, which are called the planets, were created by him in order to distinguish and preserve the numbers of time; and when he had made their several bodies, he placed them in the orbits in which the circle of the other was revolving, — in seven orbits seven stars. First, there was the moon in the orbit nearest the earth, and next the sun, in the second orbit above the earth; then came the morning star and the star sacred to Hermes, moving in orbits which have an equal swiftness with the sun, but in an opposite direction; and this is the reason why the sun and Hermes and Lucifer overtake and are overtaken by each other. To enumerate the places which he assigned to the other stars, and to give all the reasons why he assigned them, although a secondary matter, would give more trouble than the primary. These things at some future time, when we are at leisure, may have the consideration which they deserve, but not at present.

Now, when all the stars which were necessary to the creation of time had attained a motion suitable to them, and had become living creatures having bodies fastened by vital chains, and learnt their appointed task, moving in the motion of the diverse, which is diagonal, and passes through and is governed by the motion of the same, they revolved, some in a larger and some in a lesser orbit — those which had the lesser orbit revolving faster, and those which had the larger more slowly. Now by reason of the motion of the same, those which revolved fastest appeared to be overtaken by those which moved slower although they really overtook them; for the motion of the same made them all turn in a spiral, and, because some went one way and some another, that which receded most slowly from the sphere of the same, which was the swiftest, appeared to follow it most nearly. That there might be some visible measure of their relative swiftness and slowness as they proceeded in their eight courses, God lighted a fire, which we now call the sun, in the second from the earth of these orbits, that it might give light to the whole of heaven, and that the animals, as many as nature intended, might participate in number, learning arithmetic from the revolution of the same and the like. Thus then, and for this reason the night and the day were created, being the period of the one most intelligent revolution. And the month is accomplished when the moon has completed her orbit and overtaken the sun, and the year when the sun has completed his own orbit. Mankind, with hardly an exception, have not remarked the periods of the other stars, and they have no name for them, and do not measure them against one another by the help of number, and hence they can scarcely be said to know that their wanderings, being infinite in number and admirable for their variety, make up time. And yet there is no difficulty in seeing that the perfect number of time fulfils the perfect year when all the eight revolutions, having their relative degrees of swiftness, are accomplished together and attain their completion at the same time, measured by the rotation of the same and equally moving. After this manner, and for these reasons, came into being such of the stars as in their heavenly progress received reversals of motion, to the end that the created heaven might imitate the eternal nature, and be as like as possible to the perfect and intelligible animal.

Thus far and until the birth of time the created universe was made in the likeness of the original, but inasmuch as all animals were not yet comprehended therein, it was still unlike. What remained, the creator then proceeded to fashion after the nature of the pattern. Now as in the ideal animal the mind perceives ideas or species of a certain nature and number, he thought that this created animal ought to have species of a like nature and number. There are four such; one of them is the heavenly race of the gods; another, the race of birds whose way is in the air; the third, the watery species; and the fourth, the pedestrian and land creatures. Of the heavenly and divine, he created the greater part out of fire, that they might be the brightest of all things and fairest to behold, and he fashioned them after the likeness of the universe in the figure of a circle, and made them follow the intelligent motion of the supreme, distributing them over the whole circumference of heaven, which was to be a true cosmos or glorious world spangled with them all over. And he gave to each of them two movements: the first, a movement on the same spot after the same manner, whereby they ever continue to think consistently the same thoughts about the same things; the second, a forward movement, in which they are controlled by the revolution of the same and the like; but by the other five motions they were unaffected, in order that each of them might attain the highest perfection. And for this reason the fixed stars were created, to be divine and eternal animals, ever-abiding and revolving after the same manner and on the same spot; and the other stars which reverse their motion and are subject to deviations of this kind, were created in the manner already described. The earth, which is our nurse, clinging (or ‘circling’) around the pole which is extended through the universe, he framed to be the guardian and artificer of night and day, first and eldest of gods that are in the interior of heaven. Vain would be the attempt to tell all the figures of them circling as in dance, and their juxtapositions, and the return of them in their revolutions upon themselves, and their approximations, and to say which of these deities in their conjunctions meet, and which of them are in opposition, and in what order they get behind and before one another, and when they are severally eclipsed to our sight and again reappear, sending terrors and intimations of the future to those who cannot calculate their movements — to attempt to tell of all this without a visible representation of the heavenly system would be labour in vain. Enough on this head; and now let what we have said about the nature of the created and visible gods have an end.

To know or tell the origin of the other divinities is beyond us, and we must accept the traditions of the men of old time who affirm themselves to be the offspring of the gods — that is what they say — and they must surely have known their own ancestors. How can we doubt the word of the children of the gods? Although they give no probable or certain proofs, still, as they declare that they are speaking of what took place in their own family, we must conform to custom and believe them. In this manner, then, according to them, the genealogy of these gods is to be received and set forth.

Oceanus and Tethys were the children of Earth and Heaven, and from these sprang Phorcys and Cronos and Rhea, and all that generation; and from Cronos and Rhea sprang Zeus and Here, and all those who are said to be their brethren, and others who were the children of these.

Now, when all of them, both those who visibly appear in their revolutions as well as those other gods who are of a more retiring nature, had come into being, the creator of the universe addressed them in these words: ‘Gods, children of gods, who are my works, and of whom I am the artificer and father, my creations are indissoluble, if so I will. All that is bound may be undone, but only an evil being would wish to undo that which is harmonious and happy. Wherefore, since ye are but creatures, ye are not altogether immortal and indissoluble, but ye shall certainly not be dissolved, nor be liable to the fate of death, having in my will a greater and mightier bond than those with which ye were bound at the time of your birth. And now listen to my instructions: — Three tribes of mortal beings remain to be created — without them the universe will be incomplete, for it will not contain every kind of animal which it ought to contain, if it is to be perfect. On the other hand, if they were created by me and received life at my hands, they would be on an equality with the gods. In order then that they may be mortal, and that this universe may be truly universal, do ye, according to your natures, betake yourselves to the formation of animals, imitating the power which was shown by me in creating you. The part of them worthy of the name immortal, which is called divine and is the guiding principle of those who are willing to follow justice and you — of that divine part I will myself sow the seed, and having made a beginning, I will hand the work over to you. And do ye then interweave the mortal with the immortal, and make and beget living creatures, and give them food, and make them to grow, and receive them again in death.’

Thus he spake, and once more into the cup in which he had previously mingled the soul of the universe he poured the remains of the elements, and mingled them in much the same manner; they were not, however, pure as before, but diluted to the second and third degree. And having made it he divided the whole mixture into souls equal in number to the stars, and assigned each soul to a star; and having there placed them as in a chariot, he showed them the nature of the universe, and declared to them the laws of destiny, according to which their first birth would be one and the same for all, — no one should suffer a disadvantage at his hands; they were to be sown in the instruments of time severally adapted to them, and to come forth the most religious of animals; and as human nature was of two kinds, the superior race would hereafter be called man. Now, when they should be implanted in bodies by necessity, and be always gaining or losing some part of their bodily substance, then in the first place it would be necessary that they should all have in them one and the same faculty of sensation, arising out of irresistible impressions; in the second place, they must have love, in which pleasure and pain mingle; also fear and anger, and the feelings which are akin or opposite to them; if they conquered these they would live righteously, and if they were conquered by them, unrighteously. He who lived well during his appointed time was to return and dwell in his native star, and there he would have a blessed and congenial existence. But if he failed in attaining this, at the second birth he would pass into a woman, and if, when in that state of being, he did not desist from evil, he would continually be changed into some brute who resembled him in the evil nature which he had acquired, and would not cease from his toils and transformations until he followed the revolution of the same and the like within him, and overcame by the help of reason the turbulent and irrational mob of later accretions, made up of fire and air and water and earth, and returned to the form of his first and better state. Having given all these laws to his creatures, that he might be guiltless of future evil in any of them, the creator sowed some of them in the earth, and some in the moon, and some in the other instruments of time; and when he had sown them he committed to the younger gods the fashioning of their mortal bodies, and desired them to furnish what was still lacking to the human soul, and having made all the suitable additions, to rule over them, and to pilot the mortal animal in the best and wisest manner which they could, and avert from him all but self-inflicted evils.

When the creator had made all these ordinances he remained in his own accustomed nature, and his children heard and were obedient to their father’s word, and receiving from him the immortal principle of a mortal creature, in imitation of their own creator they borrowed portions of fire, and earth, and water, and air from the world, which were hereafter to be restored — these they took and welded them together, not with the indissoluble chains by which they were themselves bound, but with little pegs too small to be visible, making up out of all the four elements each separate body, and fastening the courses of the immortal soul in a body which was in a state of perpetual influx and efflux. Now these courses, detained as in a vast river, neither overcame nor were overcome; but were hurrying and hurried to and fro, so that the whole animal was moved and progressed, irregularly however and irrationally and anyhow, in all the six directions of motion, wandering backwards and forwards, and right and left, and up and down, and in all the six directions. For great as was the advancing and retiring flood which provided nourishment, the affections produced by external contact caused still greater tumult — when the body of any one met and came into collision with some external fire, or with the solid earth or the gliding waters, or was caught in the tempest borne on the air, and the motions produced by any of these impulses were carried through the body to the soul. All such motions have consequently received the general name of ‘sensations,’ which they still retain. And they did in fact at that time create a very great and mighty movement; uniting with the ever-flowing stream in stirring up and violently shaking the courses of the soul, they completely stopped the revolution of the same by their opposing current, and hindered it from predominating and advancing; and they so disturbed the nature of the other or diverse, that the three double intervals (i.e. between 1, 2, 4, 8), and the three triple intervals (i.e. between 1, 3, 9, 27), together with the mean terms and connecting links which are expressed by the ratios of 3:2, and 4:3, and of 9:8 — these, although they cannot be wholly undone except by him who united them, were twisted by them in all sorts of ways, and the circles were broken and disordered in every possible manner, so that when they moved they were tumbling to pieces, and moved irrationally, at one time in a reverse direction, and then again obliquely, and then upside down, as you might imagine a person who is upside down and has his head leaning upon the ground and his feet up against something in the air; and when he is in such a position, both he and the spectator fancy that the right of either is his left, and the left right. If, when powerfully experiencing these and similar effects, the revolutions of the soul come in contact with some external thing, either of the class of the same or of the other, they speak of the same or of the other in a manner the very opposite of the truth; and they become false and foolish, and there is no course or revolution in them which has a guiding or directing power; and if again any sensations enter in violently from without and drag after them the whole vessel of the soul, then the courses of the soul, though they seem to conquer, are really conquered.

And by reason of all these affections, the soul, when encased in a mortal body, now, as in the beginning, is at first without intelligence; but when the flood of growth and nutriment abates, and the courses of the soul, calming down, go their own way and become steadier as time goes on, then the several circles return to their natural form, and their revolutions are corrected, and they call the same and the other by their right names, and make the possessor of them to become a rational being. And if these combine in him with any true nurture or education, he attains the fulness and health of the perfect man, and escapes the worst disease of all; but if he neglects education he walks lame to the end of his life, and returns imperfect and good for nothing to the world below. This, however, is a later stage; at present we must treat more exactly the subject before us, which involves a preliminary enquiry into the generation of the body and its members, and as to how the soul was created — for what reason and by what providence of the gods; and holding fast to probability, we must pursue our way.

First, then, the gods, imitating the spherical shape of the universe, enclosed the two divine courses in a spherical body, that, namely, which we now term the head, being the most divine part of us and the lord of all that is in us: to this the gods, when they put together the body, gave all the other members to be servants, considering that it partook of every sort of motion. In order then that it might not tumble about among the high and deep places of the earth, but might be able to get over the one and out of the other, they provided the body to be its vehicle and means of locomotion; which consequently had length and was furnished with four limbs extended and flexible; these God contrived to be instruments of locomotion with which it might take hold and find support, and so be able to pass through all places, carrying on high the dwelling-place of the most sacred and divine part of us. Such was the origin of legs and hands, which for this reason were attached to every man; and the gods, deeming the front part of man to be more honourable and more fit to command than the hinder part, made us to move mostly in a forward direction. Wherefore man must needs have his front part unlike and distinguished from the rest of his body.

And so in the vessel of the head, they first of all put a face in which they inserted organs to minister in all things to the providence of the soul, and they appointed this part, which has authority, to be by nature the part which is in front. And of the organs they first contrived the eyes to give light, and the principle according to which they were inserted was as follows: So much of fire as would not burn, but gave a gentle light, they formed into a substance akin to the light of every-day life; and the pure fire which is within us and related thereto they made to flow through the eyes in a stream smooth and dense, compressing the whole eye, and especially the centre part, so that it kept out everything of a coarser nature, and allowed to pass only this pure element. When the light of day surrounds the stream of vision, then like falls upon like, and they coalesce, and one body is formed by natural affinity in the line of vision, wherever the light that falls from within meets with an external object. And the whole stream of vision, being similarly affected in virtue of similarity, diffuses the motions of what it touches or what touches it over the whole body, until they reach the soul, causing that perception which we call sight. But when night comes on and the external and kindred fire departs, then the stream of vision is cut off; for going forth to an unlike element it is changed and extinguished, being no longer of one nature with the surrounding atmosphere which is now deprived of fire: and so the eye no longer sees, and we feel disposed to sleep. For when the eyelids, which the gods invented for the preservation of sight, are closed, they keep in the internal fire; and the power of the fire diffuses and equalizes the inward motions; when they are equalized, there is rest, and when the rest is profound, sleep comes over us scarce disturbed by dreams; but where the greater motions still remain, of whatever nature and in whatever locality, they engender corresponding visions in dreams, which are remembered by us when we are awake and in the external world. And now there is no longer any difficulty in understanding the creation of images in mirrors and all smooth and bright surfaces. For from the communion of the internal and external fires, and again from the union of them and their numerous transformations when they meet in the mirror, all these appearances of necessity arise, when the fire from the face coalesces with the fire from the eye on the bright and smooth surface. And right appears left and left right, because the visual rays come into contact with the rays emitted by the object in a manner contrary to the usual mode of meeting; but the right appears right, and the left left, when the position of one of the two concurring lights is reversed; and this happens when the mirror is concave and its smooth surface repels the right stream of vision to the left side, and the left to the right (He is speaking of two kinds of mirrors, first the plane, secondly the concave; and the latter is supposed to be placed, first horizontally, and then vertically.). Or if the mirror be turned vertically, then the concavity makes the countenance appear to be all upside down, and the lower rays are driven upwards and the upper downwards.

All these are to be reckoned among the second and co-operative causes which God, carrying into execution the idea of the best as far as possible, uses as his ministers. They are thought by most men not to be the second, but the prime causes of all things, because they freeze and heat, and contract and dilate, and the like. But they are not so, for they are incapable of reason or intellect; the only being which can properly have mind is the invisible soul, whereas fire and water, and earth and air, are all of them visible bodies. The lover of intellect and knowledge ought to explore causes of intelligent nature first of all, and, secondly, of those things which, being moved by others, are compelled to move others. And this is what we too must do. Both kinds of causes should be acknowledged by us, but a distinction should be made between those which are endowed with mind and are the workers of things fair and good, and those which are deprived of intelligence and always produce chance effects without order or design. Of the second or co-operative causes of sight, which help to give to the eyes the power which they now possess, enough has been said. I will therefore now proceed to speak of the higher use and purpose for which God has given them to us. The sight in my opinion is the source of the greatest benefit to us, for had we never seen the stars, and the sun, and the heaven, none of the words which we have spoken about the universe would ever have been uttered. But now the sight of day and night, and the months and the revolutions of the years, have created number, and have given us a conception of time, and the power of enquiring about the nature of the universe; and from this source we have derived philosophy, than which no greater good ever was or will be given by the gods to mortal man. This is the greatest boon of sight: and of the lesser benefits why should I speak? even the ordinary man if he were deprived of them would bewail his loss, but in vain. Thus much let me say however: God invented and gave us sight to the end that we might behold the courses of intelligence in the heaven, and apply them to the courses of our own intelligence which are akin to them, the unperturbed to the perturbed; and that we, learning them and partaking of the natural truth of reason, might imitate the absolutely unerring courses of God and regulate our own vagaries. The same may be affirmed of speech and hearing: they have been given by the gods to the same end and for a like reason. For this is the principal end of speech, whereto it most contributes. Moreover, so much of music as is adapted to the sound of the voice and to the sense of hearing is granted to us for the sake of harmony; and harmony, which has motions akin to the revolutions of our souls, is not regarded by the intelligent votary of the Muses as given by them with a view to irrational pleasure, which is deemed to be the purpose of it in our day, but as meant to correct any discord which may have arisen in the courses of the soul, and to be our ally in bringing her into harmony and agreement with herself; and rhythm too was given by them for the same reason, on account of the irregular and graceless ways which prevail among mankind generally, and to help us against them.

Thus far in what we have been saying, with small exception, the works of intelligence have been set forth; and now we must place by the side of them in our discourse the things which come into being through necessity — for the creation is mixed, being made up of necessity and mind. Mind, the ruling power, persuaded necessity to bring the greater part of created things to perfection, and thus and after this manner in the beginning, when the influence of reason got the better of necessity, the universe was created. But if a person will truly tell of the way in which the work was accomplished, he must include the other influence of the variable cause as well. Wherefore, we must return again and find another suitable beginning, as about the former matters, so also about these. To which end we must consider the nature of fire, and water, and air, and earth, such as they were prior to the creation of the heaven, and what was happening to them in this previous state; for no one has as yet explained the manner of their generation, but we speak of fire and the rest of them, whatever they mean, as though men knew their natures, and we maintain them to be the first principles and letters or elements of the whole, when they cannot reasonably be compared by a man of any sense even to syllables or first compounds. And let me say thus much: I will not now speak of the first principle or principles of all things, or by whatever name they are to be called, for this reason — because it is difficult to set forth my opinion according to the method of discussion which we are at present employing. Do not imagine, any more than I can bring myself to imagine, that I should be right in undertaking so great and difficult a task. Remembering what I said at first about probability, I will do my best to give as probable an explanation as any other — or rather, more probable; and I will first go back to the beginning and try to speak of each thing and of all. Once more, then, at the commencement of my discourse, I call upon God, and beg him to be our saviour out of a strange and unwonted enquiry, and to bring us to the haven of probability. So now let us begin again.

This new beginning of our discussion of the universe requires a fuller division than the former; for then we made two classes, now a third must be revealed. The two sufficed for the former discussion: one, which we assumed, was a pattern intelligible and always the same; and the second was only the imitation of the pattern, generated and visible. There is also a third kind which we did not distinguish at the time, conceiving that the two would be enough. But now the argument seems to require that we should set forth in words another kind, which is difficult of explanation and dimly seen. What nature are we to attribute to this new kind of being? We reply, that it is the receptacle, and in a manner the nurse, of all generation. I have spoken the truth; but I must express myself in clearer language, and this will be an arduous task for many reasons, and in particular because I must first raise questions concerning fire and the other elements, and determine what each of them is; for to say, with any probability or certitude, which of them should be called water rather than fire, and which should be called any of them rather than all or some one of them, is a difficult matter. How, then, shall we settle this point, and what questions about the elements may be fairly raised?

In the first place, we see that what we just now called water, by condensation, I suppose, becomes stone and earth; and this same element, when melted and dispersed, passes into vapour and air. Air, again, when inflamed, becomes fire; and again fire, when condensed and extinguished, passes once more into the form of air; and once more, air, when collected and condensed, produces cloud and mist; and from these, when still more compressed, comes flowing water, and from water comes earth and stones once more; and thus generation appears to be transmitted from one to the other in a circle. Thus, then, as the several elements never present themselves in the same form, how can any one have the assurance to assert positively that any of them, whatever it may be, is one thing rather than another? No one can. But much the safest plan is to speak of them as follows: — Anything which we see to be continually changing, as, for example, fire, we must not call ‘this’ or ‘that,’ but rather say that it is ‘of such a nature’; nor let us speak of water as ‘this’; but always as ‘such’; nor must we imply that there is any stability in any of those things which we indicate by the use of the words ‘this’ and ‘that,’ supposing ourselves to signify something thereby; for they are too volatile to be detained in any such expressions as ‘this,’ or ‘that,’ or ‘relative to this,’ or any other mode of speaking which represents them as permanent. We ought not to apply ‘this’ to any of them, but rather the word ‘such’; which expresses the similar principle circulating in each and all of them; for example, that should be called ‘fire’ which is of such a nature always, and so of everything that has generation. That in which the elements severally grow up, and appear, and decay, is alone to be called by the name ‘this’ or ‘that’; but that which is of a certain nature, hot or white, or anything which admits of opposite qualities, and all things that are compounded of them, ought not to be so denominated. Let me make another attempt to explain my meaning more clearly. Suppose a person to make all kinds of figures of gold and to be always transmuting one form into all the rest; — somebody points to one of them and asks what it is. By far the safest and truest answer is, That is gold; and not to call the triangle or any other figures which are formed in the gold ‘these,’ as though they had existence, since they are in process of change while he is making the assertion; but if the questioner be willing to take the safe and indefinite expression, ‘such,’ we should be satisfied. And the same argument applies to the universal nature which receives all bodies — that must be always called the same; for, while receiving all things, she never departs at all from her own nature, and never in any way, or at any time, assumes a form like that of any of the things which enter into her; she is the natural recipient of all impressions, and is stirred and informed by them, and appears different from time to time by reason of them. But the forms which enter into and go out of her are the likenesses of real existences modelled after their patterns in a wonderful and inexplicable manner, which we will hereafter investigate. For the present we have only to conceive of three natures: first, that which is in process of generation; secondly, that in which the generation takes place; and thirdly, that of which the thing generated is a resemblance. And we may liken the receiving principle to a mother, and the source or spring to a father, and the intermediate nature to a child; and may remark further, that if the model is to take every variety of form, then the matter in which the model is fashioned will not be duly prepared, unless it is formless, and free from the impress of any of those shapes which it is hereafter to receive from without. For if the matter were like any of the supervening forms, then whenever any opposite or entirely different nature was stamped upon its surface, it would take the impression badly, because it would intrude its own shape. Wherefore, that which is to receive all forms should have no form; as in making perfumes they first contrive that the liquid substance which is to receive the scent shall be as inodorous as possible; or as those who wish to impress figures on soft substances do not allow any previous impression to remain, but begin by making the surface as even and smooth as possible. In the same way that which is to receive perpetually and through its whole extent the resemblances of all eternal beings ought to be devoid of any particular form. Wherefore, the mother and receptacle of all created and visible and in any way sensible things, is not to be termed earth, or air, or fire, or water, or any of their compounds or any of the elements from which these are derived, but is an invisible and formless being which receives all things and in some mysterious way partakes of the intelligible, and is most incomprehensible. In saying this we shall not be far wrong; as far, however, as we can attain to a knowledge of her from the previous considerations, we may truly say that fire is that part of her nature which from time to time is inflamed, and water that which is moistened, and that the mother substance becomes earth and air, in so far as she receives the impressions of them.

Let us consider this question more precisely. Is there any self-existent fire? and do all those things which we call self-existent exist? or are only those things which we see, or in some way perceive through the bodily organs, truly existent, and nothing whatever besides them? And is all that which we call an intelligible essence nothing at all, and only a name? Here is a question which we must not leave unexamined or undetermined, nor must we affirm too confidently that there can be no decision; neither must we interpolate in our present long discourse a digression equally long, but if it is possible to set forth a great principle in a few words, that is just what we want.

Thus I state my view: — If mind and true opinion are two distinct classes, then I say that there certainly are these self-existent ideas unperceived by sense, and apprehended only by the mind; if, however, as some say, true opinion differs in no respect from mind, then everything that we perceive through the body is to be regarded as most real and certain. But we must affirm them to be distinct, for they have a distinct origin and are of a different nature; the one is implanted in us by instruction, the other by persuasion; the one is always accompanied by true reason, the other is without reason; the one cannot be overcome by persuasion, but the other can: and lastly, every man may be said to share in true opinion, but mind is the attribute of the gods and of very few men. Wherefore also we must acknowledge that there is one kind of being which is always the same, uncreated and indestructible, never receiving anything into itself from without, nor itself going out to any other, but invisible and imperceptible by any sense, and of which the contemplation is granted to intelligence only. And there is another nature of the same name with it, and like to it, perceived by sense, created, always in motion, becoming in place and again vanishing out of place, which is apprehended by opinion and sense. And there is a third nature, which is space, and is eternal, and admits not of destruction and provides a home for all created things, and is apprehended without the help of sense, by a kind of spurious reason, and is hardly real; which we beholding as in a dream, say of all existence that it must of necessity be in some place and occupy a space, but that what is neither in heaven nor in earth has no existence. Of these and other things of the same kind, relating to the true and waking reality of nature, we have only this dreamlike sense, and we are unable to cast off sleep and determine the truth about them. For an image, since the reality, after which it is modelled, does not belong to it, and it exists ever as the fleeting shadow of some other, must be inferred to be in another (i.e. in space), grasping existence in some way or other, or it could not be at all. But true and exact reason, vindicating the nature of true being, maintains that while two things (i.e. the image and space) are different they cannot exist one of them in the other and so be one and also two at the same time.

Thus have I concisely given the result of my thoughts; and my verdict is that being and space and generation, these three, existed in their three ways before the heaven; and that the nurse of generation, moistened by water and inflamed by fire, and receiving the forms of earth and air, and experiencing all the affections which accompany these, presented a strange variety of appearances; and being full of powers which were neither similar nor equally balanced, was never in any part in a state of equipoise, but swaying unevenly hither and thither, was shaken by them, and by its motion again shook them; and the elements when moved were separated and carried continually, some one way, some another; as, when grain is shaken and winnowed by fans and other instruments used in the threshing of corn, the close and heavy particles are borne away and settle in one direction, and the loose and light particles in another. In this manner, the four kinds or elements were then shaken by the receiving vessel, which, moving like a winnowing machine, scattered far away from one another the elements most unlike, and forced the most similar elements into close contact. Wherefore also the various elements had different places before they were arranged so as to form the universe. At first, they were all without reason and measure. But when the world began to get into order, fire and water and earth and air had only certain faint traces of themselves, and were altogether such as everything might be expected to be in the absence of God; this, I say, was their nature at that time, and God fashioned them by form and number. Let it be consistently maintained by us in all that we say that God made them as far as possible the fairest and best, out of things which were not fair and good. And now I will endeavour to show you the disposition and generation of them by an unaccustomed argument, which I am compelled to use; but I believe that you will be able to follow me, for your education has made you familiar with the methods of science.

In the first place, then, as is evident to all, fire and earth and water and air are bodies. And every sort of body possesses solidity, and every solid must necessarily be contained in planes; and every plane rectilinear figure is composed of triangles; and all triangles are originally of two kinds, both of which are made up of one right and two acute angles; one of them has at either end of the base the half of a divided right angle, having equal sides, while in the other the right angle is divided into unequal parts, having unequal sides. These, then, proceeding by a combination of probability with demonstration, we assume to be the original elements of fire and the other bodies; but the principles which are prior to these God only knows, and he of men who is the friend of God. And next we have to determine what are the four most beautiful bodies which are unlike one another, and of which some are capable of resolution into one another; for having discovered thus much, we shall know the true origin of earth and fire and of the proportionate and intermediate elements. And then we shall not be willing to allow that there are any distinct kinds of visible bodies fairer than these. Wherefore we must endeavour to construct the four forms of bodies which excel in beauty, and then we shall be able to say that we have sufficiently apprehended their nature. Now of the two triangles, the isosceles has one form only; the scalene or unequal-sided has an infinite number. Of the infinite forms we must select the most beautiful, if we are to proceed in due order, and any one who can point out a more beautiful form than ours for the construction of these bodies, shall carry off the palm, not as an enemy, but as a friend. Now, the one which we maintain to be the most beautiful of all the many triangles (and we need not speak of the others) is that of which the double forms a third triangle which is equilateral; the reason of this would be long to tell; he who disproves what we are saying, and shows that we are mistaken, may claim a friendly victory. Then let us choose two triangles, out of which fire and the other elements have been constructed, one isosceles, the other having the square of the longer side equal to three times the square of the lesser side.

Now is the time to explain what was before obscurely said: there was an error in imagining that all the four elements might be generated by and into one another; this, I say, was an erroneous supposition, for there are generated from the triangles which we have selected four kinds — three from the one which has the sides unequal; the fourth alone is framed out of the isosceles triangle. Hence they cannot all be resolved into one another, a great number of small bodies being combined into a few large ones, or the converse. But three of them can be thus resolved and compounded, for they all spring from one, and when the greater bodies are broken up, many small bodies will spring up out of them and take their own proper figures; or, again, when many small bodies are dissolved into their triangles, if they become one, they will form one large mass of another kind. So much for their passage into one another. I have now to speak of their several kinds, and show out of what combinations of numbers each of them was formed. The first will be the simplest and smallest construction, and its element is that triangle which has its hypotenuse twice the lesser side. When two such triangles are joined at the diagonal, and this is repeated three times, and the triangles rest their diagonals and shorter sides on the same point as a centre, a single equilateral triangle is formed out of six triangles; and four equilateral triangles, if put together, make out of every three plane angles one solid angle, being that which is nearest to the most obtuse of plane angles; and out of the combination of these four angles arises the first solid form which distributes into equal and similar parts the whole circle in which it is inscribed. The second species of solid is formed out of the same triangles, which unite as eight equilateral triangles and form one solid angle out of four plane angles, and out of six such angles the second body is completed. And the third body is made up of 120 triangular elements, forming twelve solid angles, each of them included in five plane equilateral triangles, having altogether twenty bases, each of which is an equilateral triangle. The one element (that is, the triangle which has its hypotenuse twice the lesser side) having generated these figures, generated no more; but the isosceles triangle produced the fourth elementary figure, which is compounded of four such triangles, joining their right angles in a centre, and forming one equilateral quadrangle. Six of these united form eight solid angles, each of which is made by the combination of three plane right angles; the figure of the body thus composed is a cube, having six plane quadrangular equilateral bases. There was yet a fifth combination which God used in the delineation of the universe.

Now, he who, duly reflecting on all this, enquires whether the worlds are to be regarded as indefinite or definite in number, will be of opinion that the notion of their indefiniteness is characteristic of a sadly indefinite and ignorant mind. He, however, who raises the question whether they are to be truly regarded as one or five, takes up a more reasonable position. Arguing from probabilities, I am of opinion that they are one; another, regarding the question from another point of view, will be of another mind. But, leaving this enquiry, let us proceed to distribute the elementary forms, which have now been created in idea, among the four elements.

To earth, then, let us assign the cubical form; for earth is the most immoveable of the four and the most plastic of all bodies, and that which has the most stable bases must of necessity be of such a nature. Now, of the triangles which we assumed at first, that which has two equal sides is by nature more firmly based than that which has unequal sides; and of the compound figures which are formed out of either, the plane equilateral quadrangle has necessarily a more stable basis than the equilateral triangle, both in the whole and in the parts. Wherefore, in assigning this figure to earth, we adhere to probability; and to water we assign that one of the remaining forms which is the least moveable; and the most moveable of them to fire; and to air that which is intermediate. Also we assign the smallest body to fire, and the greatest to water, and the intermediate in size to air; and, again, the acutest body to fire, and the next in acuteness to air, and the third to water. Of all these elements, that which has the fewest bases must necessarily be the most moveable, for it must be the acutest and most penetrating in every way, and also the lightest as being composed of the smallest number of similar particles: and the second body has similar properties in a second degree, and the third body in the third degree. Let it be agreed, then, both according to strict reason and according to probability, that the pyramid is the solid which is the original element and seed of fire; and let us assign the element which was next in the order of generation to air, and the third to water. We must imagine all these to be so small that no single particle of any of the four kinds is seen by us on account of their smallness: but when many of them are collected together their aggregates are seen. And the ratios of their numbers, motions, and other properties, everywhere God, as far as necessity allowed or gave consent, has exactly perfected, and harmonized in due proportion.

From all that we have just been saying about the elements or kinds, the most probable conclusion is as follows: — earth, when meeting with fire and dissolved by its sharpness, whether the dissolution take place in the fire itself or perhaps in some mass of air or water, is borne hither and thither, until its parts, meeting together and mutually harmonising, again become earth; for they can never take any other form. But water, when divided by fire or by air, on re-forming, may become one part fire and two parts air; and a single volume of air divided becomes two of fire. Again, when a small body of fire is contained in a larger body of air or water or earth, and both are moving, and the fire struggling is overcome and broken up, then two volumes of fire form one volume of air; and when air is overcome and cut up into small pieces, two and a half parts of air are condensed into one part of water. Let us consider the matter in another way. When one of the other elements is fastened upon by fire, and is cut by the sharpness of its angles and sides, it coalesces with the fire, and then ceases to be cut by them any longer. For no element which is one and the same with itself can be changed by or change another of the same kind and in the same state. But so long as in the process of transition the weaker is fighting against the stronger, the dissolution continues. Again, when a few small particles, enclosed in many larger ones, are in process of decomposition and extinction, they only cease from their tendency to extinction when they consent to pass into the conquering nature, and fire becomes air and air water. But if bodies of another kind go and attack them (i.e. the small particles), the latter continue to be dissolved until, being completely forced back and dispersed, they make their escape to their own kindred, or else, being overcome and assimilated to the conquering power, they remain where they are and dwell with their victors, and from being many become one. And owing to these affections, all things are changing their place, for by the motion of the receiving vessel the bulk of each class is distributed into its proper place; but those things which become unlike themselves and like other things, are hurried by the shaking into the place of the things to which they grow like.

Now all unmixed and primary bodies are produced by such causes as these. As to the subordinate species which are included in the greater kinds, they are to be attributed to the varieties in the structure of the two original triangles. For either structure did not originally produce the triangle of one size only, but some larger and some smaller, and there are as many sizes as there are species of the four elements. Hence when they are mingled with themselves and with one another there is an endless variety of them, which those who would arrive at the probable truth of nature ought duly to consider.

Unless a person comes to an understanding about the nature and conditions of rest and motion, he will meet with many difficulties in the discussion which follows. Something has been said of this matter already, and something more remains to be said, which is, that motion never exists in what is uniform. For to conceive that anything can be moved without a mover is hard or indeed impossible, and equally impossible to conceive that there can be a mover unless there be something which can be moved — motion cannot exist where either of these are wanting, and for these to be uniform is impossible; wherefore we must assign rest to uniformity and motion to the want of uniformity. Now inequality is the cause of the nature which is wanting in uniformity; and of this we have already described the origin. But there still remains the further point — why things when divided after their kinds do not cease to pass through one another and to change their place — which we will now proceed to explain. In the revolution of the universe are comprehended all the four elements, and this being circular and having a tendency to come together, compresses everything and will not allow any place to be left void. Wherefore, also, fire above all things penetrates everywhere, and air next, as being next in rarity of the elements; and the two other elements in like manner penetrate according to their degrees of rarity. For those things which are composed of the largest particles have the largest void left in their compositions, and those which are composed of the smallest particles have the least. And the contraction caused by the compression thrusts the smaller particles into the interstices of the larger. And thus, when the small parts are placed side by side with the larger, and the lesser divide the greater and the greater unite the lesser, all the elements are borne up and down and hither and thither towards their own places; for the change in the size of each changes its position in space. And these causes generate an inequality which is always maintained, and is continually creating a perpetual motion of the elements in all time.

In the next place we have to consider that there are divers kinds of fire. There are, for example, first, flame; and secondly, those emanations of flame which do not burn but only give light to the eyes; thirdly, the remains of fire, which are seen in red-hot embers after the flame has been extinguished. There are similar differences in the air; of which the brightest part is called the aether, and the most turbid sort mist and darkness; and there are various other nameless kinds which arise from the inequality of the triangles. Water, again, admits in the first place of a division into two kinds; the one liquid and the other fusile. The liquid kind is composed of the small and unequal particles of water; and moves itself and is moved by other bodies owing to the want of uniformity and the shape of its particles; whereas the fusile kind, being formed of large and uniform particles, is more stable than the other, and is heavy and compact by reason of its uniformity. But when fire gets in and dissolves the particles and destroys the uniformity, it has greater mobility, and becoming fluid is thrust forth by the neighbouring air and spreads upon the earth; and this dissolution of the solid masses is called melting, and their spreading out upon the earth flowing. Again, when the fire goes out of the fusile substance, it does not pass into a vacuum, but into the neighbouring air; and the air which is displaced forces together the liquid and still moveable mass into the place which was occupied by the fire, and unites it with itself. Thus compressed the mass resumes its equability, and is again at unity with itself, because the fire which was the author of the inequality has retreated; and this departure of the fire is called cooling, and the coming together which follows upon it is termed congealment. Of all the kinds termed fusile, that which is the densest and is formed out of the finest and most uniform parts is that most precious possession called gold, which is hardened by filtration through rock; this is unique in kind, and has both a glittering and a yellow colour. A shoot of gold, which is so dense as to be very hard, and takes a black colour, is termed adamant. There is also another kind which has parts nearly like gold, and of which there are several species; it is denser than gold, and it contains a small and fine portion of earth, and is therefore harder, yet also lighter because of the great interstices which it has within itself; and this substance, which is one of the bright and denser kinds of water, when solidified is called copper. There is an alloy of earth mingled with it, which, when the two parts grow old and are disunited, shows itself separately and is called rust. The remaining phenomena of the same kind there will be no difficulty in reasoning out by the method of probabilities. A man may sometimes set aside meditations about eternal things, and for recreation turn to consider the truths of generation which are probable only; he will thus gain a pleasure not to be repented of, and secure for himself while he lives a wise and moderate pastime. Let us grant ourselves this indulgence, and go through the probabilities relating to the same subjects which follow next in order.

Water which is mingled with fire, so much as is fine and liquid (being so called by reason of its motion and the way in which it rolls along the ground), and soft, because its bases give way and are less stable than those of earth, when separated from fire and air and isolated, becomes more uniform, and by their retirement is compressed into itself; and if the condensation be very great, the water above the earth becomes hail, but on the earth, ice; and that which is congealed in a less degree and is only half solid, when above the earth is called snow, and when upon the earth, and condensed from dew, hoar-frost. Then, again, there are the numerous kinds of water which have been mingled with one another, and are distilled through plants which grow in the earth; and this whole class is called by the name of juices or saps. The unequal admixture of these fluids creates a variety of species; most of them are nameless, but four which are of a fiery nature are clearly distinguished and have names. First, there is wine, which warms the soul as well as the body: secondly, there is the oily nature, which is smooth and divides the visual ray, and for this reason is bright and shining and of a glistening appearance, including pitch, the juice of the castor berry, oil itself, and other things of a like kind: thirdly, there is the class of substances which expand the contracted parts of the mouth, until they return to their natural state, and by reason of this property create sweetness; — these are included under the general name of honey: and, lastly, there is a frothy nature, which differs from all juices, having a burning quality which dissolves the flesh; it is called opos (a vegetable acid).

As to the kinds of earth, that which is filtered through water passes into stone in the following manner: — The water which mixes with the earth and is broken up in the process changes into air, and taking this form mounts into its own place. But as there is no surrounding vacuum it thrusts away the neighbouring air, and this being rendered heavy, and, when it is displaced, having been poured around the mass of earth, forcibly compresses it and drives it into the vacant space whence the new air had come up; and the earth when compressed by the air into an indissoluble union with water becomes rock. The fairer sort is that which is made up of equal and similar parts and is transparent; that which has the opposite qualities is inferior. But when all the watery part is suddenly drawn out by fire, a more brittle substance is formed, to which we give the name of pottery. Sometimes also moisture may remain, and the earth which has been fused by fire becomes, when cool, a certain stone of a black colour. A like separation of the water which had been copiously mingled with them may occur in two substances composed of finer particles of earth and of a briny nature; out of either of them a half-solid-body is then formed, soluble in water — the one, soda, which is used for purging away oil and earth, the other, salt, which harmonizes so well in combinations pleasing to the palate, and is, as the law testifies, a substance dear to the gods. The compounds of earth and water are not soluble by water, but by fire only, and for this reason: — Neither fire nor air melt masses of earth; for their particles, being smaller than the interstices in its structure, have plenty of room to move without forcing their way, and so they leave the earth unmelted and undissolved; but particles of water, which are larger, force a passage, and dissolve and melt the earth. Wherefore earth when not consolidated by force is dissolved by water only; when consolidated, by nothing but fire; for this is the only body which can find an entrance. The cohesion of water again, when very strong, is dissolved by fire only — when weaker, then either by air or fire — the former entering the interstices, and the latter penetrating even the triangles. But nothing can dissolve air, when strongly condensed, which does not reach the elements or triangles; or if not strongly condensed, then only fire can dissolve it. As to bodies composed of earth and water, while the water occupies the vacant interstices of the earth in them which are compressed by force, the particles of water which approach them from without, finding no entrance, flow around the entire mass and leave it undissolved; but the particles of fire, entering into the interstices of the water, do to the water what water does to earth and fire to air (The text seems to be corrupt.), and are the sole causes of the compound body of earth and water liquefying and becoming fluid. Now these bodies are of two kinds; some of them, such as glass and the fusible sort of stones, have less water than they have earth; on the other hand, substances of the nature of wax and incense have more of water entering into their composition.

I have thus shown the various classes of bodies as they are diversified by their forms and combinations and changes into one another, and now I must endeavour to set forth their affections and the causes of them. In the first place, the bodies which I have been describing are necessarily objects of sense. But we have not yet considered the origin of flesh, or what belongs to flesh, or of that part of the soul which is mortal. And these things cannot be adequately explained without also explaining the affections which are concerned with sensation, nor the latter without the former: and yet to explain them together is hardly possible; for which reason we must assume first one or the other and afterwards examine the nature of our hypothesis. In order, then, that the affections may follow regularly after the elements, let us presuppose the existence of body and soul.

First, let us enquire what we mean by saying that fire is hot; and about this we may reason from the dividing or cutting power which it exercises on our bodies. We all of us feel that fire is sharp; and we may further consider the fineness of the sides, and the sharpness of the angles, and the smallness of the particles, and the swiftness of the motion — all this makes the action of fire violent and sharp, so that it cuts whatever it meets. And we must not forget that the original figure of fire (i.e. the pyramid), more than any other form, has a dividing power which cuts our bodies into small pieces (Kepmatizei), and thus naturally produces that affection which we call heat; and hence the origin of the name (thepmos, Kepma). Now, the opposite of this is sufficiently manifest; nevertheless we will not fail to describe it. For the larger particles of moisture which surround the body, entering in and driving out the lesser, but not being able to take their places, compress the moist principle in us; and this from being unequal and disturbed, is forced by them into a state of rest, which is due to equability and compression. But things which are contracted contrary to nature are by nature at war, and force themselves apart; and to this war and convulsion the name of shivering and trembling is given; and the whole affection and the cause of the affection are both termed cold. That is called hard to which our flesh yields, and soft which yields to our flesh; and things are also termed hard and soft relatively to one another. That which yields has a small base; but that which rests on quadrangular bases is firmly posed and belongs to the class which offers the greatest resistance; so too does that which is the most compact and therefore most repellent. The nature of the light and the heavy will be best understood when examined in connexion with our notions of above and below; for it is quite a mistake to suppose that the universe is parted into two regions, separate from and opposite to each other, the one a lower to which all things tend which have any bulk, and an upper to which things only ascend against their will. For as the universe is in the form of a sphere, all the extremities, being equidistant from the centre, are equally extremities, and the centre, which is equidistant from them, is equally to be regarded as the opposite of them all. Such being the nature of the world, when a person says that any of these points is above or below, may he not be justly charged with using an improper expression? For the centre of the world cannot be rightly called either above or below, but is the centre and nothing else; and the circumference is not the centre, and has in no one part of itself a different relation to the centre from what it has in any of the opposite parts. Indeed, when it is in every direction similar, how can one rightly give to it names which imply opposition? For if there were any solid body in equipoise at the centre of the universe, there would be nothing to draw it to this extreme rather than to that, for they are all perfectly similar; and if a person were to go round the world in a circle, he would often, when standing at the antipodes of his former position, speak of the same point as above and below; for, as I was saying just now, to speak of the whole which is in the form of a globe as having one part above and another below is not like a sensible man. The reason why these names are used, and the circumstances under which they are ordinarily applied by us to the division of the heavens, may be elucidated by the following supposition: — if a person were to stand in that part of the universe which is the appointed place of fire, and where there is the great mass of fire to which fiery bodies gather — if, I say, he were to ascend thither, and, having the power to do this, were to abstract particles of fire and put them in scales and weigh them, and then, raising the balance, were to draw the fire by force towards the uncongenial element of the air, it would be very evident that he could compel the smaller mass more readily than the larger; for when two things are simultaneously raised by one and the same power, the smaller body must necessarily yield to the superior power with less reluctance than the larger; and the larger body is called heavy and said to tend downwards, and the smaller body is called light and said to tend upwards. And we may detect ourselves who are upon the earth doing precisely the same thing. For we often separate earthy natures, and sometimes earth itself, and draw them into the uncongenial element of air by force and contrary to nature, both clinging to their kindred elements. But that which is smaller yields to the impulse given by us towards the dissimilar element more easily than the larger; and so we call the former light, and the place towards which it is impelled we call above, and the contrary state and place we call heavy and below respectively. Now the relations of these must necessarily vary, because the principal masses of the different elements hold opposite positions; for that which is light, heavy, below or above in one place will be found to be and become contrary and transverse and every way diverse in relation to that which is light, heavy, below or above in an opposite place. And about all of them this has to be considered: — that the tendency of each towards its kindred element makes the body which is moved heavy, and the place towards which the motion tends below, but things which have an opposite tendency we call by an opposite name. Such are the causes which we assign to these phenomena. As to the smooth and the rough, any one who sees them can explain the reason of them to another. For roughness is hardness mingled with irregularity, and smoothness is produced by the joint effect of uniformity and density.

The most important of the affections which concern the whole body remains to be considered — that is, the cause of pleasure and pain in the perceptions of which I have been speaking, and in all other things which are perceived by sense through the parts of the body, and have both pains and pleasures attendant on them. Let us imagine the causes of every affection, whether of sense or not, to be of the following nature, remembering that we have already distinguished between the nature which is easy and which is hard to move; for this is the direction in which we must hunt the prey which we mean to take. A body which is of a nature to be easily moved, on receiving an impression however slight, spreads abroad the motion in a circle, the parts communicating with each other, until at last, reaching the principle of mind, they announce the quality of the agent. But a body of the opposite kind, being immobile, and not extending to the surrounding region, merely receives the impression, and does not stir any of the neighbouring parts; and since the parts do not distribute the original impression to other parts, it has no effect of motion on the whole animal, and therefore produces no effect on the patient. This is true of the bones and hair and other more earthy parts of the human body; whereas what was said above relates mainly to sight and hearing, because they have in them the greatest amount of fire and air. Now we must conceive of pleasure and pain in this way. An impression produced in us contrary to nature and violent, if sudden, is painful; and, again, the sudden return to nature is pleasant; but a gentle and gradual return is imperceptible and vice versa. On the other hand the impression of sense which is most easily produced is most readily felt, but is not accompanied by pleasure or pain; such, for example, are the affections of the sight, which, as we said above, is a body naturally uniting with our body in the day-time; for cuttings and burnings and other affections which happen to the sight do not give pain, nor is there pleasure when the sight returns to its natural state; but the sensations are clearest and strongest according to the manner in which the eye is affected by the object, and itself strikes and touches it; there is no violence either in the contraction or dilation of the eye. But bodies formed of larger particles yield to the agent only with a struggle; and then they impart their motions to the whole and cause pleasure and pain — pain when alienated from their natural conditions, and pleasure when restored to them. Things which experience gradual withdrawings and emptyings of their nature, and great and sudden replenishments, fail to perceive the emptying, but are sensible of the replenishment; and so they occasion no pain, but the greatest pleasure, to the mortal part of the soul, as is manifest in the case of perfumes. But things which are changed all of a sudden, and only gradually and with difficulty return to their own nature, have effects in every way opposite to the former, as is evident in the case of burnings and cuttings of the body.

Thus have we discussed the general affections of the whole body, and the names of the agents which produce them. And now I will endeavour to speak of the affections of particular parts, and the causes and agents of them, as far as I am able. In the first place let us set forth what was omitted when we were speaking of juices, concerning the affections peculiar to the tongue. These too, like most of the other affections, appear to be caused by certain contractions and dilations, but they have besides more of roughness and smoothness than is found in other affections; for whenever earthy particles enter into the small veins which are the testing instruments of the tongue, reaching to the heart, and fall upon the moist, delicate portions of flesh — when, as they are dissolved, they contract and dry up the little veins, they are astringent if they are rougher, but if not so rough, then only harsh. Those of them which are of an abstergent nature, and purge the whole surface of the tongue, if they do it in excess, and so encroach as to consume some part of the flesh itself, like potash and soda, are all termed bitter. But the particles which are deficient in the alkaline quality, and which cleanse only moderately, are called salt, and having no bitterness or roughness, are regarded as rather agreeable than otherwise. Bodies which share in and are made smooth by the heat of the mouth, and which are inflamed, and again in turn inflame that which heats them, and which are so light that they are carried upwards to the sensations of the head, and cut all that comes in their way, by reason of these qualities in them, are all termed pungent. But when these same particles, refined by putrefaction, enter into the narrow veins, and are duly proportioned to the particles of earth and air which are there, they set them whirling about one another, and while they are in a whirl cause them to dash against and enter into one another, and so form hollows surrounding the particles that enter — which watery vessels of air (for a film of moisture, sometimes earthy, sometimes pure, is spread around the air) are hollow spheres of water; and those of them which are pure, are transparent, and are called bubbles, while those composed of the earthy liquid, which is in a state of general agitation and effervescence, are said to boil or ferment — of all these affections the cause is termed acid. And there is the opposite affection arising from an opposite cause, when the mass of entering particles, immersed in the moisture of the mouth, is congenial to the tongue, and smooths and oils over the roughness, and relaxes the parts which are unnaturally contracted, and contracts the parts which are relaxed, and disposes them all according to their nature; — that sort of remedy of violent affections is pleasant and agreeable to every man, and has the name sweet. But enough of this.

The faculty of smell does not admit of differences of kind; for all smells are of a half-formed nature, and no element is so proportioned as to have any smell. The veins about the nose are too narrow to admit earth and water, and too wide to detain fire and air; and for this reason no one ever perceives the smell of any of them; but smells always proceed from bodies that are damp, or putrefying, or liquefying, or evaporating, and are perceptible only in the intermediate state, when water is changing into air and air into water; and all of them are either vapour or mist. That which is passing out of air into water is mist, and that which is passing from water into air is vapour; and hence all smells are thinner than water and thicker than air. The proof of this is, that when there is any obstruction to the respiration, and a man draws in his breath by force, then no smell filters through, but the air without the smell alone penetrates. Wherefore the varieties of smell have no name, and they have not many, or definite and simple kinds; but they are distinguished only as painful and pleasant, the one sort irritating and disturbing the whole cavity which is situated between the head and the navel, the other having a soothing influence, and restoring this same region to an agreeable and natural condition.

In considering the third kind of sense, hearing, we must speak of the causes in which it originates. We may in general assume sound to be a blow which passes through the ears, and is transmitted by means of the air, the brain, and the blood, to the soul, and that hearing is the vibration of this blow, which begins in the head and ends in the region of the liver. The sound which moves swiftly is acute, and the sound which moves slowly is grave, and that which is regular is equable and smooth, and the reverse is harsh. A great body of sound is loud, and a small body of sound the reverse. Respecting the harmonies of sound I must hereafter speak.

There is a fourth class of sensible things, having many intricate varieties, which must now be distinguished. They are called by the general name of colours, and are a flame which emanates from every sort of body, and has particles corresponding to the sense of sight. I have spoken already, in what has preceded, of the causes which generate sight, and in this place it will be natural and suitable to give a rational theory of colours.

Of the particles coming from other bodies which fall upon the sight, some are smaller and some are larger, and some are equal to the parts of the sight itself. Those which are equal are imperceptible, and we call them transparent. The larger produce contraction, the smaller dilation, in the sight, exercising a power akin to that of hot and cold bodies on the flesh, or of astringent bodies on the tongue, or of those heating bodies which we termed pungent. White and black are similar effects of contraction and dilation in another sphere, and for this reason have a different appearance. Wherefore, we ought to term white that which dilates the visual ray, and the opposite of this is black. There is also a swifter motion of a different sort of fire which strikes and dilates the ray of sight until it reaches the eyes, forcing a way through their passages and melting them, and eliciting from them a union of fire and water which we call tears, being itself an opposite fire which comes to them from an opposite direction — the inner fire flashes forth like lightning, and the outer finds a way in and is extinguished in the moisture, and all sorts of colours are generated by the mixture. This affection is termed dazzling, and the object which produces it is called bright and flashing. There is another sort of fire which is intermediate, and which reaches and mingles with the moisture of the eye without flashing; and in this, the fire mingling with the ray of the moisture, produces a colour like blood, to which we give the name of red. A bright hue mingled with red and white gives the colour called auburn (Greek). The law of proportion, however, according to which the several colours are formed, even if a man knew he would be foolish in telling, for he could not give any necessary reason, nor indeed any tolerable or probable explanation of them. Again, red, when mingled with black and white, becomes purple, but it becomes umber (Greek) when the colours are burnt as well as mingled and the black is more thoroughly mixed with them. Flame-colour (Greek) is produced by a union of auburn and dun (Greek), and dun by an admixture of black and white; pale yellow (Greek), by an admixture of white and auburn. White and bright meeting, and falling upon a full black, become dark blue (Greek), and when dark blue mingles with white, a light blue (Greek) colour is formed, as flame-colour with black makes leek green (Greek). There will be no difficulty in seeing how and by what mixtures the colours derived from these are made according to the rules of probability. He, however, who should attempt to verify all this by experiment, would forget the difference of the human and divine nature. For God only has the knowledge and also the power which are able to combine many things into one and again resolve the one into many. But no man either is or ever will be able to accomplish either the one or the other operation.

These are the elements, thus of necessity then subsisting, which the creator of the fairest and best of created things associated with himself, when he made the self-sufficing and most perfect God, using the necessary causes as his ministers in the accomplishment of his work, but himself contriving the good in all his creations. Wherefore we may distinguish two sorts of causes, the one divine and the other necessary, and may seek for the divine in all things, as far as our nature admits, with a view to the blessed life; but the necessary kind only for the sake of the divine, considering that without them and when isolated from them, these higher things for which we look cannot be apprehended or received or in any way shared by us.

Seeing, then, that we have now prepared for our use the various classes of causes which are the material out of which the remainder of our discourse must be woven, just as wood is the material of the carpenter, let us revert in a few words to the point at which we began, and then endeavour to add on a suitable ending to the beginning of our tale.

As I said at first, when all things were in disorder God created in each thing in relation to itself, and in all things in relation to each other, all the measures and harmonies which they could possibly receive. For in those days nothing had any proportion except by accident; nor did any of the things which now have names deserve to be named at all — as, for example, fire, water, and the rest of the elements. All these the creator first set in order, and out of them he constructed the universe, which was a single animal comprehending in itself all other animals, mortal and immortal. Now of the divine, he himself was the creator, but the creation of the mortal he committed to his offspring. And they, imitating him, received from him the immortal principle of the soul; and around this they proceeded to fashion a mortal body, and made it to be the vehicle of the soul, and constructed within the body a soul of another nature which was mortal, subject to terrible and irresistible affections, — first of all, pleasure, the greatest incitement to evil; then, pain, which deters from good; also rashness and fear, two foolish counsellors, anger hard to be appeased, and hope easily led astray; — these they mingled with irrational sense and with all-daring love according to necessary laws, and so framed man. Wherefore, fearing to pollute the divine any more than was absolutely unavoidable, they gave to the mortal nature a separate habitation in another part of the body, placing the neck between them to be the isthmus and boundary, which they constructed between the head and breast, to keep them apart. And in the breast, and in what is termed the thorax, they encased the mortal soul; and as the one part of this was superior and the other inferior they divided the cavity of the thorax into two parts, as the women’s and men’s apartments are divided in houses, and placed the midriff to be a wall of partition between them. That part of the inferior soul which is endowed with courage and passion and loves contention they settled nearer the head, midway between the midriff and the neck, in order that it might be under the rule of reason and might join with it in controlling and restraining the desires when they are no longer willing of their own accord to obey the word of command issuing from the citadel.

The heart, the knot of the veins and the fountain of the blood which races through all the limbs, was set in the place of guard, that when the might of passion was roused by reason making proclamation of any wrong assailing them from without or being perpetrated by the desires within, quickly the whole power of feeling in the body, perceiving these commands and threats, might obey and follow through every turn and alley, and thus allow the principle of the best to have the command in all of them. But the gods, foreknowing that the palpitation of the heart in the expectation of danger and the swelling and excitement of passion was caused by fire, formed and implanted as a supporter to the heart the lung, which was, in the first place, soft and bloodless, and also had within hollows like the pores of a sponge, in order that by receiving the breath and the drink, it might give coolness and the power of respiration and alleviate the heat. Wherefore they cut the air-channels leading to the lung, and placed the lung about the heart as a soft spring, that, when passion was rife within, the heart, beating against a yielding body, might be cooled and suffer less, and might thus become more ready to join with passion in the service of reason.

The part of the soul which desires meats and drinks and the other things of which it has need by reason of the bodily nature, they placed between the midriff and the boundary of the navel, contriving in all this region a sort of manger for the food of the body; and there they bound it down like a wild animal which was chained up with man, and must be nourished if man was to exist. They appointed this lower creation his place here in order that he might be always feeding at the manger, and have his dwelling as far as might be from the council-chamber, making as little noise and disturbance as possible, and permitting the best part to advise quietly for the good of the whole. And knowing that this lower principle in man would not comprehend reason, and even if attaining to some degree of perception would never naturally care for rational notions, but that it would be led away by phantoms and visions night and day, — to be a remedy for this, God combined with it the liver, and placed it in the house of the lower nature, contriving that it should be solid and smooth, and bright and sweet, and should also have a bitter quality, in order that the power of thought, which proceeds from the mind, might be reflected as in a mirror which receives likenesses of objects and gives back images of them to the sight; and so might strike terror into the desires, when, making use of the bitter part of the liver, to which it is akin, it comes threatening and invading, and diffusing this bitter element swiftly through the whole liver produces colours like bile, and contracting every part makes it wrinkled and rough; and twisting out of its right place and contorting the lobe and closing and shutting up the vessels and gates, causes pain and loathing. And the converse happens when some gentle inspiration of the understanding pictures images of an opposite character, and allays the bile and bitterness by refusing to stir or touch the nature opposed to itself, but by making use of the natural sweetness of the liver, corrects all things and makes them to be right and smooth and free, and renders the portion of the soul which resides about the liver happy and joyful, enabling it to pass the night in peace, and to practise divination in sleep, inasmuch as it has no share in mind and reason. For the authors of our being, remembering the command of their father when he bade them create the human race as good as they could, that they might correct our inferior parts and make them to attain a measure of truth, placed in the liver the seat of divination. And herein is a proof that God has given the art of divination not to the wisdom, but to the foolishness of man. No man, when in his wits, attains prophetic truth and inspiration; but when he receives the inspired word, either his intelligence is enthralled in sleep, or he is demented by some distemper or possession. And he who would understand what he remembers to have been said, whether in a dream or when he was awake, by the prophetic and inspired nature, or would determine by reason the meaning of the apparitions which he has seen, and what indications they afford to this man or that, of past, present or future good and evil, must first recover his wits. But, while he continues demented, he cannot judge of the visions which he sees or the words which he utters; the ancient saying is very true, that ‘only a man who has his wits can act or judge about himself and his own affairs.’ And for this reason it is customary to appoint interpreters to be judges of the true inspiration. Some persons call them prophets; they are quite unaware that they are only the expositors of dark sayings and visions, and are not to be called prophets at all, but only interpreters of prophecy.

Such is the nature of the liver, which is placed as we have described in order that it may give prophetic intimations. During the life of each individual these intimations are plainer, but after his death the liver becomes blind, and delivers oracles too obscure to be intelligible. The neighbouring organ (the spleen) is situated on the left-hand side, and is constructed with a view of keeping the liver bright and pure, — like a napkin, always ready prepared and at hand to clean the mirror. And hence, when any impurities arise in the region of the liver by reason of disorders of the body, the loose nature of the spleen, which is composed of a hollow and bloodless tissue, receives them all and clears them away, and when filled with the unclean matter, swells and festers, but, again, when the body is purged, settles down into the same place as before, and is humbled.

Concerning the soul, as to which part is mortal and which divine, and how and why they are separated, and where located, if God acknowledges that we have spoken the truth, then, and then only, can we be confident; still, we may venture to assert that what has been said by us is probable, and will be rendered more probable by investigation. Let us assume thus much.

The creation of the rest of the body follows next in order, and this we may investigate in a similar manner. And it appears to be very meet that the body should be framed on the following principles: —

The authors of our race were aware that we should be intemperate in eating and drinking, and take a good deal more than was necessary or proper, by reason of gluttony. In order then that disease might not quickly destroy us, and lest our mortal race should perish without fulfilling its end — intending to provide against this, the gods made what is called the lower belly, to be a receptacle for the superfluous meat and drink, and formed the convolution of the bowels, so that the food might be prevented from passing quickly through and compelling the body to require more food, thus producing insatiable gluttony, and making the whole race an enemy to philosophy and music, and rebellious against the divinest element within us.

The bones and flesh, and other similar parts of us, were made as follows. The first principle of all of them was the generation of the marrow. For the bonds of life which unite the soul with the body are made fast there, and they are the root and foundation of the human race. The marrow itself is created out of other materials: God took such of the primary triangles as were straight and smooth, and were adapted by their perfection to produce fire and water, and air and earth — these, I say, he separated from their kinds, and mingling them in due proportions with one another, made the marrow out of them to be a universal seed of the whole race of mankind; and in this seed he then planted and enclosed the souls, and in the original distribution gave to the marrow as many and various forms as the different kinds of souls were hereafter to receive. That which, like a field, was to receive the divine seed, he made round every way, and called that portion of the marrow, brain, intending that, when an animal was perfected, the vessel containing this substance should be the head; but that which was intended to contain the remaining and mortal part of the soul he distributed into figures at once round and elongated, and he called them all by the name ‘marrow’; and to these, as to anchors, fastening the bonds of the whole soul, he proceeded to fashion around them the entire framework of our body, constructing for the marrow, first of all a complete covering of bone.

Bone was composed by him in the following manner. Having sifted pure and smooth earth he kneaded it and wetted it with marrow, and after that he put it into fire and then into water, and once more into fire and again into water — in this way by frequent transfers from one to the other he made it insoluble by either. Out of this he fashioned, as in a lathe, a globe made of bone, which he placed around the brain, and in this he left a narrow opening; and around the marrow of the neck and back he formed vertebrae which he placed under one another like pivots, beginning at the head and extending through the whole of the trunk. Thus wishing to preserve the entire seed, he enclosed it in a stone-like casing, inserting joints, and using in the formation of them the power of the other or diverse as an intermediate nature, that they might have motion and flexure. Then again, considering that the bone would be too brittle and inflexible, and when heated and again cooled would soon mortify and destroy the seed within — having this in view, he contrived the sinews and the flesh, that so binding all the members together by the sinews, which admitted of being stretched and relaxed about the vertebrae, he might thus make the body capable of flexion and extension, while the flesh would serve as a protection against the summer heat and against the winter cold, and also against falls, softly and easily yielding to external bodies, like articles made of felt; and containing in itself a warm moisture which in summer exudes and makes the surface damp, would impart a natural coolness to the whole body; and again in winter by the help of this internal warmth would form a very tolerable defence against the frost which surrounds it and attacks it from without. He who modelled us, considering these things, mixed earth with fire and water and blended them; and making a ferment of acid and salt, he mingled it with them and formed soft and succulent flesh. As for the sinews, he made them of a mixture of bone and unfermented flesh, attempered so as to be in a mean, and gave them a yellow colour; wherefore the sinews have a firmer and more glutinous nature than flesh, but a softer and moister nature than the bones. With these God covered the bones and marrow, binding them together by sinews, and then enshrouded them all in an upper covering of flesh. The more living and sensitive of the bones he enclosed in the thinnest film of flesh, and those which had the least life within them in the thickest and most solid flesh. So again on the joints of the bones, where reason indicated that no more was required, he placed only a thin covering of flesh, that it might not interfere with the flexion of our bodies and make them unwieldy because difficult to move; and also that it might not, by being crowded and pressed and matted together, destroy sensation by reason of its hardness, and impair the memory and dull the edge of intelligence. Wherefore also the thighs and the shanks and the hips, and the bones of the arms and the forearms, and other parts which have no joints, and the inner bones, which on account of the rarity of the soul in the marrow are destitute of reason — all these are abundantly provided with flesh; but such as have mind in them are in general less fleshy, except where the creator has made some part solely of flesh in order to give sensation, — as, for example, the tongue. But commonly this is not the case. For the nature which comes into being and grows up in us by a law of necessity, does not admit of the combination of solid bone and much flesh with acute perceptions. More than any other part the framework of the head would have had them, if they could have co-existed, and the human race, having a strong and fleshy and sinewy head, would have had a life twice or many times as long as it now has, and also more healthy and free from pain. But our creators, considering whether they should make a longer-lived race which was worse, or a shorter-lived race which was better, came to the conclusion that every one ought to prefer a shorter span of life, which was better, to a longer one, which was worse; and therefore they covered the head with thin bone, but not with flesh and sinews, since it had no joints; and thus the head was added, having more wisdom and sensation than the rest of the body, but also being in every man far weaker. For these reasons and after this manner God placed the sinews at the extremity of the head, in a circle round the neck, and glued them together by the principle of likeness and fastened the extremities of the jawbones to them below the face, and the other sinews he dispersed throughout the body, fastening limb to limb. The framers of us framed the mouth, as now arranged, having teeth and tongue and lips, with a view to the necessary and the good contriving the way in for necessary purposes, the way out for the best purposes; for that is necessary which enters in and gives food to the body; but the river of speech, which flows out of a man and ministers to the intelligence, is the fairest and noblest of all streams. Still the head could neither be left a bare frame of bones, on account of the extremes of heat and cold in the different seasons, nor yet be allowed to be wholly covered, and so become dull and senseless by reason of an overgrowth of flesh. The fleshy nature was not therefore wholly dried up, but a large sort of peel was parted off and remained over, which is now called the skin. This met and grew by the help of the cerebral moisture, and became the circular envelopment of the head. And the moisture, rising up under the sutures, watered and closed in the skin upon the crown, forming a sort of knot. The diversity of the sutures was caused by the power of the courses of the soul and of the food, and the more these struggled against one another the more numerous they became, and fewer if the struggle were less violent. This skin the divine power pierced all round with fire, and out of the punctures which were thus made the moisture issued forth, and the liquid and heat which was pure came away, and a mixed part which was composed of the same material as the skin, and had a fineness equal to the punctures, was borne up by its own impulse and extended far outside the head, but being too slow to escape, was thrust back by the external air, and rolled up underneath the skin, where it took root. Thus the hair sprang up in the skin, being akin to it because it is like threads of leather, but rendered harder and closer through the pressure of the cold, by which each hair, while in process of separation from the skin, is compressed and cooled. Wherefore the creator formed the head hairy, making use of the causes which I have mentioned, and reflecting also that instead of flesh the brain needed the hair to be a light covering or guard, which would give shade in summer and shelter in winter, and at the same time would not impede our quickness of perception. From the combination of sinew, skin, and bone, in the structure of the finger, there arises a triple compound, which, when dried up, takes the form of one hard skin partaking of all three natures, and was fabricated by these second causes, but designed by mind which is the principal cause with an eye to the future. For our creators well knew that women and other animals would some day be framed out of men, and they further knew that many animals would require the use of nails for many purposes; wherefore they fashioned in men at their first creation the rudiments of nails. For this purpose and for these reasons they caused skin, hair, and nails to grow at the extremities of the limbs.

And now that all the parts and members of the mortal animal had come together, since its life of necessity consisted of fire and breath, and it therefore wasted away by dissolution and depletion, the gods contrived the following remedy: They mingled a nature akin to that of man with other forms and perceptions, and thus created another kind of animal. These are the trees and plants and seeds which have been improved by cultivation and are now domesticated among us; anciently there were only the wild kinds, which are older than the cultivated. For everything that partakes of life may be truly called a living being, and the animal of which we are now speaking partakes of the third kind of soul, which is said to be seated between the midriff and the navel, having no part in opinion or reason or mind, but only in feelings of pleasure and pain and the desires which accompany them. For this nature is always in a passive state, revolving in and about itself, repelling the motion from without and using its own, and accordingly is not endowed by nature with the power of observing or reflecting on its own concerns. Wherefore it lives and does not differ from a living being, but is fixed and rooted in the same spot, having no power of self-motion.

Now after the superior powers had created all these natures to be food for us who are of the inferior nature, they cut various channels through the body as through a garden, that it might be watered as from a running stream. In the first place, they cut two hidden channels or veins down the back where the skin and the flesh join, which answered severally to the right and left side of the body. These they let down along the backbone, so as to have the marrow of generation between them, where it was most likely to flourish, and in order that the stream coming down from above might flow freely to the other parts, and equalize the irrigation. In the next place, they divided the veins about the head, and interlacing them, they sent them in opposite directions; those coming from the right side they sent to the left of the body, and those from the left they diverted towards the right, so that they and the skin might together form a bond which should fasten the head to the body, since the crown of the head was not encircled by sinews; and also in order that the sensations from both sides might be distributed over the whole body. And next, they ordered the water-courses of the body in a manner which I will describe, and which will be more easily understood if we begin by admitting that all things which have lesser parts retain the greater, but the greater cannot retain the lesser. Now of all natures fire has the smallest parts, and therefore penetrates through earth and water and air and their compounds, nor can anything hold it. And a similar principle applies to the human belly; for when meats and drinks enter it, it holds them, but it cannot hold air and fire, because the particles of which they consist are smaller than its own structure.

These elements, therefore, God employed for the sake of distributing moisture from the belly into the veins, weaving together a network of fire and air like a weel, having at the entrance two lesser weels; further he constructed one of these with two openings, and from the lesser weels he extended cords reaching all round to the extremities of the network. All the interior of the net he made of fire, but the lesser weels and their cavity, of air. The network he took and spread over the newly-formed animal in the following manner: — He let the lesser weels pass into the mouth; there were two of them, and one he let down by the air-pipes into the lungs, the other by the side of the air-pipes into the belly. The former he divided into two branches, both of which he made to meet at the channels of the nose, so that when the way through the mouth did not act, the streams of the mouth as well were replenished through the nose. With the other cavity (i.e. of the greater weel) he enveloped the hollow parts of the body, and at one time he made all this to flow into the lesser weels, quite gently, for they are composed of air, and at another time he caused the lesser weels to flow back again; and the net he made to find a way in and out through the pores of the body, and the rays of fire which are bound fast within followed the passage of the air either way, never at any time ceasing so long as the mortal being holds together. This process, as we affirm, the name-giver named inspiration and expiration. And all this movement, active as well as passive, takes place in order that the body, being watered and cooled, may receive nourishment and life; for when the respiration is going in and out, and the fire, which is fast bound within, follows it, and ever and anon moving to and fro, enters through the belly and reaches the meat and drink, it dissolves them, and dividing them into small portions and guiding them through the passages where it goes, pumps them as from a fountain into the channels of the veins, and makes the stream of the veins flow through the body as through a conduit.

Let us once more consider the phenomena of respiration, and enquire into the causes which have made it what it is. They are as follows: — Seeing that there is no such thing as a vacuum into which any of those things which are moved can enter, and the breath is carried from us into the external air, the next point is, as will be clear to every one, that it does not go into a vacant space, but pushes its neighbour out of its place, and that which is thrust out in turn drives out its neighbour; and in this way everything of necessity at last comes round to that place from whence the breath came forth, and enters in there, and following the breath, fills up the vacant space; and this goes on like the rotation of a wheel, because there can be no such thing as a vacuum. Wherefore also the breast and the lungs, when they emit the breath, are replenished by the air which surrounds the body and which enters in through the pores of the flesh and is driven round in a circle; and again, the air which is sent away and passes out through the body forces the breath inwards through the passage of the mouth and the nostrils. Now the origin of this movement may be supposed to be as follows. In the interior of every animal the hottest part is that which is around the blood and veins; it is in a manner an internal fountain of fire, which we compare to the network of a creel, being woven all of fire and extended through the centre of the body, while the outer parts are composed of air. Now we must admit that heat naturally proceeds outward to its own place and to its kindred element; and as there are two exits for the heat, the one out through the body, and the other through the mouth and nostrils, when it moves towards the one, it drives round the air at the other, and that which is driven round falls into the fire and becomes warm, and that which goes forth is cooled. But when the heat changes its place, and the particles at the other exit grow warmer, the hotter air inclining in that direction and carried towards its native element, fire, pushes round the air at the other; and this being affected in the same way and communicating the same impulse, a circular motion swaying to and fro is produced by the double process, which we call inspiration and expiration.

The phenomena of medical cupping-glasses and of the swallowing of drink and of the projection of bodies, whether discharged in the air or bowled along the ground, are to be investigated on a similar principle; and swift and slow sounds, which appear to be high and low, and are sometimes discordant on account of their inequality, and then again harmonical on account of the equality of the motion which they excite in us. For when the motions of the antecedent swifter sounds begin to pause and the two are equalized, the slower sounds overtake the swifter and then propel them. When they overtake them they do not intrude a new and discordant motion, but introduce the beginnings of a slower, which answers to the swifter as it dies away, thus producing a single mixed expression out of high and low, whence arises a pleasure which even the unwise feel, and which to the wise becomes a higher sort of delight, being an imitation of divine harmony in mortal motions. Moreover, as to the flowing of water, the fall of the thunderbolt, and the marvels that are observed about the attraction of amber and the Heraclean stones, — in none of these cases is there any attraction; but he who investigates rightly, will find that such wonderful phenomena are attributable to the combination of certain conditions — the non-existence of a vacuum, the fact that objects push one another round, and that they change places, passing severally into their proper positions as they are divided or combined.

Such as we have seen, is the nature and such are the causes of respiration, — the subject in which this discussion originated. For the fire cuts the food and following the breath surges up within, fire and breath rising together and filling the veins by drawing up out of the belly and pouring into them the cut portions of the food; and so the streams of food are kept flowing through the whole body in all animals. And fresh cuttings from kindred substances, whether the fruits of the earth or herb of the field, which God planted to be our daily food, acquire all sorts of colours by their inter-mixture; but red is the most pervading of them, being created by the cutting action of fire and by the impression which it makes on a moist substance; and hence the liquid which circulates in the body has a colour such as we have described. The liquid itself we call blood, which nourishes the flesh and the whole body, whence all parts are watered and empty places filled.

Now the process of repletion and evacuation is effected after the manner of the universal motion by which all kindred substances are drawn towards one another. For the external elements which surround us are always causing us to consume away, and distributing and sending off like to like; the particles of blood, too, which are divided and contained within the frame of the animal as in a sort of heaven, are compelled to imitate the motion of the universe. Each, therefore, of the divided parts within us, being carried to its kindred nature, replenishes the void. When more is taken away than flows in, then we decay, and when less, we grow and increase.

The frame of the entire creature when young has the triangles of each kind new, and may be compared to the keel of a vessel which is just off the stocks; they are locked firmly together and yet the whole mass is soft and delicate, being freshly formed of marrow and nurtured on milk. Now when the triangles out of which meats and drinks are composed come in from without, and are comprehended in the body, being older and weaker than the triangles already there, the frame of the body gets the better of them and its newer triangles cut them up, and so the animal grows great, being nourished by a multitude of similar particles. But when the roots of the triangles are loosened by having undergone many conflicts with many things in the course of time, they are no longer able to cut or assimilate the food which enters, but are themselves easily divided by the bodies which come in from without. In this way every animal is overcome and decays, and this affection is called old age. And at last, when the bonds by which the triangles of the marrow are united no longer hold, and are parted by the strain of existence, they in turn loosen the bonds of the soul, and she, obtaining a natural release, flies away with joy. For that which takes place according to nature is pleasant, but that which is contrary to nature is painful. And thus death, if caused by disease or produced by wounds, is painful and violent; but that sort of death which comes with old age and fulfils the debt of nature is the easiest of deaths, and is accompanied with pleasure rather than with pain.

Now every one can see whence diseases arise. There are four natures out of which the body is compacted, earth and fire and water and air, and the unnatural excess or defect of these, or the change of any of them from its own natural place into another, or — since there are more kinds than one of fire and of the other elements — the assumption by any of these of a wrong kind, or any similar irregularity, produces disorders and diseases; for when any of them is produced or changed in a manner contrary to nature, the parts which were previously cool grow warm, and those which were dry become moist, and the light become heavy, and the heavy light; all sorts of changes occur. For, as we affirm, a thing can only remain the same with itself, whole and sound, when the same is added to it, or subtracted from it, in the same respect and in the same manner and in due proportion; and whatever comes or goes away in violation of these laws causes all manner of changes and infinite diseases and corruptions. Now there is a second class of structures which are also natural, and this affords a second opportunity of observing diseases to him who would understand them. For whereas marrow and bone and flesh and sinews are composed of the four elements, and the blood, though after another manner, is likewise formed out of them, most diseases originate in the way which I have described; but the worst of all owe their severity to the fact that the generation of these substances proceeds in a wrong order; they are then destroyed. For the natural order is that the flesh and sinews should be made of blood, the sinews out of the fibres to which they are akin, and the flesh out of the clots which are formed when the fibres are separated. And the glutinous and rich matter which comes away from the sinews and the flesh, not only glues the flesh to the bones, but nourishes and imparts growth to the bone which surrounds the marrow; and by reason of the solidity of the bones, that which filters through consists of the purest and smoothest and oiliest sort of triangles, dropping like dew from the bones and watering the marrow. Now when each process takes place in this order, health commonly results; when in the opposite order, disease. For when the flesh becomes decomposed and sends back the wasting substance into the veins, then an over-supply of blood of diverse kinds, mingling with air in the veins, having variegated colours and bitter properties, as well as acid and saline qualities, contains all sorts of bile and serum and phlegm. For all things go the wrong way, and having become corrupted, first they taint the blood itself, and then ceasing to give nourishment to the body they are carried along the veins in all directions, no longer preserving the order of their natural courses, but at war with themselves, because they receive no good from one another, and are hostile to the abiding constitution of the body, which they corrupt and dissolve. The oldest part of the flesh which is corrupted, being hard to decompose, from long burning grows black, and from being everywhere corroded becomes bitter, and is injurious to every part of the body which is still uncorrupted. Sometimes, when the bitter element is refined away, the black part assumes an acidity which takes the place of the bitterness; at other times the bitterness being tinged with blood has a redder colour; and this, when mixed with black, takes the hue of grass; and again, an auburn colour mingles with the bitter matter when new flesh is decomposed by the fire which surrounds the internal flame; — to all which symptoms some physician perhaps, or rather some philosopher, who had the power of seeing in many dissimilar things one nature deserving of a name, has assigned the common name of bile. But the other kinds of bile are variously distinguished by their colours. As for serum, that sort which is the watery part of blood is innocent, but that which is a secretion of black and acid bile is malignant when mingled by the power of heat with any salt substance, and is then called acid phlegm. Again, the substance which is formed by the liquefaction of new and tender flesh when air is present, if inflated and encased in liquid so as to form bubbles, which separately are invisible owing to their small size, but when collected are of a bulk which is visible, and have a white colour arising out of the generation of foam — all this decomposition of tender flesh when intermingled with air is termed by us white phlegm. And the whey or sediment of newly-formed phlegm is sweat and tears, and includes the various daily discharges by which the body is purified. Now all these become causes of disease when the blood is not replenished in a natural manner by food and drink but gains bulk from opposite sources in violation of the laws of nature. When the several parts of the flesh are separated by disease, if the foundation remains, the power of the disorder is only half as great, and there is still a prospect of an easy recovery; but when that which binds the flesh to the bones is diseased, and no longer being separated from the muscles and sinews, ceases to give nourishment to the bone and to unite flesh and bone, and from being oily and smooth and glutinous becomes rough and salt and dry, owing to bad regimen, then all the substance thus corrupted crumbles away under the flesh and the sinews, and separates from the bone, and the fleshy parts fall away from their foundation and leave the sinews bare and full of brine, and the flesh again gets into the circulation of the blood and makes the previously-mentioned disorders still greater. And if these bodily affections be severe, still worse are the prior disorders; as when the bone itself, by reason of the density of the flesh, does not obtain sufficient air, but becomes mouldy and hot and gangrened and receives no nutriment, and the natural process is inverted, and the bone crumbling passes into the food, and the food into the flesh, and the flesh again falling into the blood makes all maladies that may occur more virulent than those already mentioned. But the worst case of all is when the marrow is diseased, either from excess or defect; and this is the cause of the very greatest and most fatal disorders, in which the whole course of the body is reversed.

There is a third class of diseases which may be conceived of as arising in three ways; for they are produced sometimes by wind, and sometimes by phlegm, and sometimes by bile. When the lung, which is the dispenser of the air to the body, is obstructed by rheums and its passages are not free, some of them not acting, while through others too much air enters, then the parts which are unrefreshed by air corrode, while in other parts the excess of air forcing its way through the veins distorts them and decomposing the body is enclosed in the midst of it and occupies the midriff; thus numberless painful diseases are produced, accompanied by copious sweats. And oftentimes when the flesh is dissolved in the body, wind, generated within and unable to escape, is the source of quite as much pain as the air coming in from without; but the greatest pain is felt when the wind gets about the sinews and the veins of the shoulders, and swells them up, and so twists back the great tendons and the sinews which are connected with them. These disorders are called tetanus and opisthotonus, by reason of the tension which accompanies them. The cure of them is difficult; relief is in most cases given by fever supervening. The white phlegm, though dangerous when detained within by reason of the air-bubbles, yet if it can communicate with the outside air, is less severe, and only discolours the body, generating leprous eruptions and similar diseases. When it is mingled with black bile and dispersed about the courses of the head, which are the divinest part of us, the attack if coming on in sleep, is not so severe; but when assailing those who are awake it is hard to be got rid of, and being an affection of a sacred part, is most justly called sacred. An acid and salt phlegm, again, is the source of all those diseases which take the form of catarrh, but they have many names because the places into which they flow are manifold.

Inflammations of the body come from burnings and inflamings, and all of them originate in bile. When bile finds a means of discharge, it boils up and sends forth all sorts of tumours; but when imprisoned within, it generates many inflammatory diseases, above all when mingled with pure blood; since it then displaces the fibres which are scattered about in the blood and are designed to maintain the balance of rare and dense, in order that the blood may not be so liquefied by heat as to exude from the pores of the body, nor again become too dense and thus find a difficulty in circulating through the veins. The fibres are so constituted as to maintain this balance; and if any one brings them all together when the blood is dead and in process of cooling, then the blood which remains becomes fluid, but if they are left alone, they soon congeal by reason of the surrounding cold. The fibres having this power over the blood, bile, which is only stale blood, and which from being flesh is dissolved again into blood, at the first influx coming in little by little, hot and liquid, is congealed by the power of the fibres; and so congealing and made to cool, it produces internal cold and shuddering. When it enters with more of a flood and overcomes the fibres by its heat, and boiling up throws them into disorder, if it have power enough to maintain its supremacy, it penetrates the marrow and burns up what may be termed the cables of the soul, and sets her free; but when there is not so much of it, and the body though wasted still holds out, the bile is itself mastered, and is either utterly banished, or is thrust through the veins into the lower or upper belly, and is driven out of the body like an exile from a state in which there has been civil war; whence arise diarrhoeas and dysenteries, and all such disorders. When the constitution is disordered by excess of fire, continuous heat and fever are the result; when excess of air is the cause, then the fever is quotidian; when of water, which is a more sluggish element than either fire or air, then the fever is a tertian; when of earth, which is the most sluggish of the four, and is only purged away in a four-fold period, the result is a quartan fever, which can with difficulty be shaken off.

Such is the manner in which diseases of the body arise; the disorders of the soul, which depend upon the body, originate as follows. We must acknowledge disease of the mind to be a want of intelligence; and of this there are two kinds; to wit, madness and ignorance. In whatever state a man experiences either of them, that state may be called disease; and excessive pains and pleasures are justly to be regarded as the greatest diseases to which the soul is liable. For a man who is in great joy or in great pain, in his unreasonable eagerness to attain the one and to avoid the other, is not able to see or to hear anything rightly; but he is mad, and is at the time utterly incapable of any participation in reason. He who has the seed about the spinal marrow too plentiful and overflowing, like a tree overladen with fruit, has many throes, and also obtains many pleasures in his desires and their offspring, and is for the most part of his life deranged, because his pleasures and pains are so very great; his soul is rendered foolish and disordered by his body; yet he is regarded not as one diseased, but as one who is voluntarily bad, which is a mistake. The truth is that the intemperance of love is a disease of the soul due chiefly to the moisture and fluidity which is produced in one of the elements by the loose consistency of the bones. And in general, all that which is termed the incontinence of pleasure and is deemed a reproach under the idea that the wicked voluntarily do wrong is not justly a matter for reproach. For no man is voluntarily bad; but the bad become bad by reason of an ill disposition of the body and bad education, things which are hateful to every man and happen to him against his will. And in the case of pain too in like manner the soul suffers much evil from the body. For where the acid and briny phlegm and other bitter and bilious humours wander about in the body, and find no exit or escape, but are pent up within and mingle their own vapours with the motions of the soul, and are blended with them, they produce all sorts of diseases, more or fewer, and in every degree of intensity; and being carried to the three places of the soul, whichever they may severally assail, they create infinite varieties of ill-temper and melancholy, of rashness and cowardice, and also of forgetfulness and stupidity. Further, when to this evil constitution of body evil forms of government are added and evil discourses are uttered in private as well as in public, and no sort of instruction is given in youth to cure these evils, then all of us who are bad become bad from two causes which are entirely beyond our control. In such cases the planters are to blame rather than the plants, the educators rather than the educated. But however that may be, we should endeavour as far as we can by education, and studies, and learning, to avoid vice and attain virtue; this, however, is part of another subject.

There is a corresponding enquiry concerning the mode of treatment by which the mind and the body are to be preserved, about which it is meet and right that I should say a word in turn; for it is more our duty to speak of the good than of the evil. Everything that is good is fair, and the fair is not without proportion, and the animal which is to be fair must have due proportion. Now we perceive lesser symmetries or proportions and reason about them, but of the highest and greatest we take no heed; for there is no proportion or disproportion more productive of health and disease, and virtue and vice, than that between soul and body. This however we do not perceive, nor do we reflect that when a weak or small frame is the vehicle of a great and mighty soul, or conversely, when a little soul is encased in a large body, then the whole animal is not fair, for it lacks the most important of all symmetries; but the due proportion of mind and body is the fairest and loveliest of all sights to him who has the seeing eye. Just as a body which has a leg too long, or which is unsymmetrical in some other respect, is an unpleasant sight, and also, when doing its share of work, is much distressed and makes convulsive efforts, and often stumbles through awkwardness, and is the cause of infinite evil to its own self — in like manner we should conceive of the double nature which we call the living being; and when in this compound there is an impassioned soul more powerful than the body, that soul, I say, convulses and fills with disorders the whole inner nature of man; and when eager in the pursuit of some sort of learning or study, causes wasting; or again, when teaching or disputing in private or in public, and strifes and controversies arise, inflames and dissolves the composite frame of man and introduces rheums; and the nature of this phenomenon is not understood by most professors of medicine, who ascribe it to the opposite of the real cause. And once more, when a body large and too strong for the soul is united to a small and weak intelligence, then inasmuch as there are two desires natural to man, — one of food for the sake of the body, and one of wisdom for the sake of the diviner part of us — then, I say, the motions of the stronger, getting the better and increasing their own power, but making the soul dull, and stupid, and forgetful, engender ignorance, which is the greatest of diseases. There is one protection against both kinds of disproportion: — that we should not move the body without the soul or the soul without the body, and thus they will be on their guard against each other, and be healthy and well balanced. And therefore the mathematician or any one else whose thoughts are much absorbed in some intellectual pursuit, must allow his body also to have due exercise, and practise gymnastic; and he who is careful to fashion the body, should in turn impart to the soul its proper motions, and should cultivate music and all philosophy, if he would deserve to be called truly fair and truly good. And the separate parts should be treated in the same manner, in imitation of the pattern of the universe; for as the body is heated and also cooled within by the elements which enter into it, and is again dried up and moistened by external things, and experiences these and the like affections from both kinds of motions, the result is that the body if given up to motion when in a state of quiescence is overmastered and perishes; but if any one, in imitation of that which we call the foster-mother and nurse of the universe, will not allow the body ever to be inactive, but is always producing motions and agitations through its whole extent, which form the natural defence against other motions both internal and external, and by moderate exercise reduces to order according to their affinities the particles and affections which are wandering about the body, as we have already said when speaking of the universe, he will not allow enemy placed by the side of enemy to stir up wars and disorders in the body, but he will place friend by the side of friend, so as to create health. Now of all motions that is the best which is produced in a thing by itself, for it is most akin to the motion of thought and of the universe; but that motion which is caused by others is not so good, and worst of all is that which moves the body, when at rest, in parts only and by some external agency. Wherefore of all modes of purifying and re-uniting the body the best is gymnastic; the next best is a surging motion, as in sailing or any other mode of conveyance which is not fatiguing; the third sort of motion may be of use in a case of extreme necessity, but in any other will be adopted by no man of sense: I mean the purgative treatment of physicians; for diseases unless they are very dangerous should not be irritated by medicines, since every form of disease is in a manner akin to the living being, whose complex frame has an appointed term of life. For not the whole race only, but each individual — barring inevitable accidents — comes into the world having a fixed span, and the triangles in us are originally framed with power to last for a certain time, beyond which no man can prolong his life. And this holds also of the constitution of diseases; if any one regardless of the appointed time tries to subdue them by medicine, he only aggravates and multiplies them. Wherefore we ought always to manage them by regimen, as far as a man can spare the time, and not provoke a disagreeable enemy by medicines.

Enough of the composite animal, and of the body which is a part of him, and of the manner in which a man may train and be trained by himself so as to live most according to reason: and we must above and before all provide that the element which is to train him shall be the fairest and best adapted to that purpose. A minute discussion of this subject would be a serious task; but if, as before, I am to give only an outline, the subject may not unfitly be summed up as follows.

I have often remarked that there are three kinds of soul located within us, having each of them motions, and I must now repeat in the fewest words possible, that one part, if remaining inactive and ceasing from its natural motion, must necessarily become very weak, but that which is trained and exercised, very strong. Wherefore we should take care that the movements of the different parts of the soul should be in due proportion.

And we should consider that God gave the sovereign part of the human soul to be the divinity of each one, being that part which, as we say, dwells at the top of the body, and inasmuch as we are a plant not of an earthly but of a heavenly growth, raises us from earth to our kindred who are in heaven. And in this we say truly; for the divine power suspended the head and root of us from that place where the generation of the soul first began, and thus made the whole body upright. When a man is always occupied with the cravings of desire and ambition, and is eagerly striving to satisfy them, all his thoughts must be mortal, and, as far as it is possible altogether to become such, he must be mortal every whit, because he has cherished his mortal part. But he who has been earnest in the love of knowledge and of true wisdom, and has exercised his intellect more than any other part of him, must have thoughts immortal and divine, if he attain truth, and in so far as human nature is capable of sharing in immortality, he must altogether be immortal; and since he is ever cherishing the divine power, and has the divinity within him in perfect order, he will be perfectly happy. Now there is only one way of taking care of things, and this is to give to each the food and motion which are natural to it. And the motions which are naturally akin to the divine principle within us are the thoughts and revolutions of the universe. These each man should follow, and correct the courses of the head which were corrupted at our birth, and by learning the harmonies and revolutions of the universe, should assimilate the thinking being to the thought, renewing his original nature, and having assimilated them should attain to that perfect life which the gods have set before mankind, both for the present and the future.

Thus our original design of discoursing about the universe down to the creation of man is nearly completed. A brief mention may be made of the generation of other animals, so far as the subject admits of brevity; in this manner our argument will best attain a due proportion. On the subject of animals, then, the following remarks may be offered. Of the men who came into the world, those who were cowards or led unrighteous lives may with reason be supposed to have changed into the nature of women in the second generation. And this was the reason why at that time the gods created in us the desire of sexual intercourse, contriving in man one animated substance, and in woman another, which they formed respectively in the following manner. The outlet for drink by which liquids pass through the lung under the kidneys and into the bladder, which receives and then by the pressure of the air emits them, was so fashioned by them as to penetrate also into the body of the marrow, which passes from the head along the neck and through the back, and which in the preceding discourse we have named the seed. And the seed having life, and becoming endowed with respiration, produces in that part in which it respires a lively desire of emission, and thus creates in us the love of procreation. Wherefore also in men the organ of generation becoming rebellious and masterful, like an animal disobedient to reason, and maddened with the sting of lust, seeks to gain absolute sway; and the same is the case with the so-called womb or matrix of women; the animal within them is desirous of procreating children, and when remaining unfruitful long beyond its proper time, gets discontented and angry, and wandering in every direction through the body, closes up the passages of the breath, and, by obstructing respiration, drives them to extremity, causing all varieties of disease, until at length the desire and love of the man and the woman, bringing them together and as it were plucking the fruit from the tree, sow in the womb, as in a field, animals unseen by reason of their smallness and without form; these again are separated and matured within; they are then finally brought out into the light, and thus the generation of animals is completed.

Thus were created women and the female sex in general. But the race of birds was created out of innocent light-minded men, who, although their minds were directed toward heaven, imagined, in their simplicity, that the clearest demonstration of the things above was to be obtained by sight; these were remodelled and transformed into birds, and they grew feathers instead of hair. The race of wild pedestrian animals, again, came from those who had no philosophy in any of their thoughts, and never considered at all about the nature of the heavens, because they had ceased to use the courses of the head, but followed the guidance of those parts of the soul which are in the breast. In consequence of these habits of theirs they had their front-legs and their heads resting upon the earth to which they were drawn by natural affinity; and the crowns of their heads were elongated and of all sorts of shapes, into which the courses of the soul were crushed by reason of disuse. And this was the reason why they were created quadrupeds and polypods: God gave the more senseless of them the more support that they might be more attracted to the earth. And the most foolish of them, who trail their bodies entirely upon the ground and have no longer any need of feet, he made without feet to crawl upon the earth. The fourth class were the inhabitants of the water: these were made out of the most entirely senseless and ignorant of all, whom the transformers did not think any longer worthy of pure respiration, because they possessed a soul which was made impure by all sorts of transgression; and instead of the subtle and pure medium of air, they gave them the deep and muddy sea to be their element of respiration; and hence arose the race of fishes and oysters, and other aquatic animals, which have received the most remote habitations as a punishment of their outlandish ignorance. These are the laws by which animals pass into one another, now, as ever, changing as they lose or gain wisdom and folly.

We may now say that our discourse about the nature of the universe has an end. The world has received animals, mortal and immortal, and is fulfilled with them, and has become a visible animal containing the visible — the sensible God who is the image of the intellectual, the greatest, best, fairest, most perfect — the one only-begotten heaven.

CRITIAS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

Following on from Timaeus, this late dialogue is famous for containing the story of the island kingdom Atlantis and its failure to conquer Athens.  It is believed that Critias was intended to be the second of a projected trilogy of dialogues, preceded by Timaeus and followed by Hermocrates, though the latter was possibly never written and Critias was left incomplete.

The identity of the real-life person of Critias is fiercely disputed among scholars. One group of classicists still claims him to be the famous oligarch Critias, member of the Thirty Tyrants, whilst others suggest that Critias was actually the grandfather of the oligarch.

Plato’s Atlantis as described in ‘Critias’

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

The Critias is a fragment which breaks off in the middle of a sentence. It was designed to be the second part of a trilogy, which, like the other great Platonic trilogy of the Sophist, Statesman, Philosopher, was never completed. Timaeus had brought down the origin of the world to the creation of man, and the dawn of history was now to succeed the philosophy of nature. The Critias is also connected with the Republic. Plato, as he has already told us (Tim.), intended to represent the ideal state engaged in a patriotic conflict. This mythical conflict is prophetic or symbolical of the struggle of Athens and Persia, perhaps in some degree also of the wars of the Greeks and Carthaginians, in the same way that the Persian is prefigured by the Trojan war to the mind of Herodotus, or as the narrative of the first part of the Aeneid is intended by Virgil to foreshadow the wars of Carthage and Rome. The small number of the primitive Athenian citizens (20,000), ‘which is about their present number’ (Crit.), is evidently designed to contrast with the myriads and barbaric array of the Atlantic hosts. The passing remark in the Timaeus that Athens was left alone in the struggle, in which she conquered and became the liberator of Greece, is also an allusion to the later history. Hence we may safely conclude that the entire narrative is due to the imagination of Plato, who has used the name of Solon and introduced the Egyptian priests to give verisimilitude to his story. To the Greek such a tale, like that of the earth-born men, would have seemed perfectly accordant with the character of his mythology, and not more marvellous than the wonders of the East narrated by Herodotus and others: he might have been deceived into believing it. But it appears strange that later ages should have been imposed upon by the fiction. As many attempts have been made to find the great island of Atlantis, as to discover the country of the lost tribes. Without regard to the description of Plato, and without a suspicion that the whole narrative is a fabrication, interpreters have looked for the spot in every part of the globe, America, Arabia Felix, Ceylon, Palestine, Sardinia, Sweden.

Timaeus concludes with a prayer that his words may be acceptable to the God whom he has revealed, and Critias, whose turn follows, begs that a larger measure of indulgence may be conceded to him, because he has to speak of men whom we know and not of gods whom we do not know. Socrates readily grants his request, and anticipating that Hermocrates will make a similar petition, extends by anticipation a like indulgence to him.

Critias returns to his story, professing only to repeat what Solon was told by the priests. The war of which he was about to speak had occurred 9000 years ago. One of the combatants was the city of Athens, the other was the great island of Atlantis. Critias proposes to speak of these rival powers first of all, giving to Athens the precedence; the various tribes of Greeks and barbarians who took part in the war will be dealt with as they successively appear on the scene.

In the beginning the gods agreed to divide the earth by lot in a friendly manner, and when they had made the allotment they settled their several countries, and were the shepherds or rather the pilots of mankind, whom they guided by persuasion, and not by force. Hephaestus and Athena, brother and sister deities, in mind and art united, obtained as their lot the land of Attica, a land suited to the growth of virtue and wisdom; and there they settled a brave race of children of the soil, and taught them how to order the state. Some of their names, such as Cecrops, Erechtheus, Erichthonius, and Erysichthon, were preserved and adopted in later times, but the memory of their deeds has passed away; for there have since been many deluges, and the remnant who survived in the mountains were ignorant of the art of writing, and during many generations were wholly devoted to acquiring the means of life...And the armed image of the goddess which was dedicated by the ancient Athenians is an evidence to other ages that men and women had in those days, as they ought always to have, common virtues and pursuits. There were various classes of citizens, including handicraftsmen and husbandmen and a superior class of warriors who dwelt apart, and were educated, and had all things in common, like our guardians. Attica in those days extended southwards to the Isthmus, and inland to the heights of Parnes and Cithaeron, and between them and the sea included the district of Oropus. The country was then, as what remains of it still is, the most fertile in the world, and abounded in rich plains and pastures. But in the course of ages much of the soil was washed away and disappeared in the deep sea. And the inhabitants of this fair land were endowed with intelligence and the love of beauty.

The Acropolis of the ancient Athens extended to the Ilissus and Eridanus, and included the Pnyx, and the Lycabettus on the opposite side to the Pnyx, having a level surface and deep soil. The side of the hill was inhabited by craftsmen and husbandmen; and the warriors dwelt by themselves on the summit, around the temples of Hephaestus and Athene, in an enclosure which was like the garden of a single house. In winter they retired into houses on the north of the hill, in which they held their syssitia. These were modest dwellings, which they bequeathed unaltered to their children’s children. In summer time the south side was inhabited by them, and then they left their gardens and dining-halls. In the midst of the Acropolis was a fountain, which gave an abundant supply of cool water in summer and warm in winter; of this there are still some traces. They were careful to preserve the number of fighting men and women at 20,000, which is equal to that of the present military force. And so they passed their lives as guardians of the citizens and leaders of the Hellenes. They were a just and famous race, celebrated for their beauty and virtue all over Europe and Asia.

And now I will speak to you of their adversaries, but first I ought to explain that the Greek names were given to Solon in an Egyptian form, and he enquired their meaning and translated them. His manuscript was left with my grandfather Dropides, and is now in my possession...In the division of the earth Poseidon obtained as his portion the island of Atlantis, and there he begat children whose mother was a mortal. Towards the sea and in the centre of the island there was a very fair and fertile plain, and near the centre, about fifty stadia from the plain, there was a low mountain in which dwelt a man named Evenor and his wife Leucippe, and their daughter Cleito, of whom Poseidon became enamoured. He to secure his love enclosed the mountain with rings or zones varying in size, two of land and three of sea, which his divine power readily enabled him to excavate and fashion, and, as there was no shipping in those days, no man could get into the place. To the interior island he conveyed under the earth springs of water hot and cold, and supplied the land with all things needed for the life of man. Here he begat a family consisting of five pairs of twin male children. The eldest was Atlas, and him he made king of the centre island, while to his twin brother, Eumelus, or Gadeirus, he assigned that part of the country which was nearest the Straits. The other brothers he made chiefs over the rest of the island. And their kingdom extended as far as Egypt and Tyrrhenia. Now Atlas had a fair posterity, and great treasures derived from mines — among them that precious metal orichalcum; and there was abundance of wood, and herds of elephants, and pastures for animals of all kinds, and fragrant herbs, and grasses, and trees bearing fruit. These they used, and employed themselves in constructing their temples, and palaces, and harbours, and docks, in the following manner: — First, they bridged over the zones of sea, and made a way to and from the royal palace which they built in the centre island. This ancient palace was ornamented by successive generations; and they dug a canal which passed through the zones of land from the island to the sea. The zones of earth were surrounded by walls made of stone of divers colours, black and white and red, which they sometimes intermingled for the sake of ornament; and as they quarried they hollowed out beneath the edges of the zones double docks having roofs of rock. The outermost of the walls was coated with brass, the second with tin, and the third, which was the wall of the citadel, flashed with the red light of orichalcum. In the interior of the citadel was a holy temple, dedicated to Cleito and Poseidon, and surrounded by an enclosure of gold, and there was Poseidon’s own temple, which was covered with silver, and the pinnacles with gold. The roof was of ivory, adorned with gold and silver and orichalcum, and the rest of the interior was lined with orichalcum. Within was an image of the god standing in a chariot drawn by six winged horses, and touching the roof with his head; around him were a hundred Nereids, riding on dolphins. Outside the temple were placed golden statues of all the descendants of the ten kings and of their wives; there was an altar too, and there were palaces, corresponding to the greatness and glory both of the kingdom and of the temple.

Also there were fountains of hot and cold water, and suitable buildings surrounding them, and trees, and there were baths both of the kings and of private individuals, and separate baths for women, and also for cattle. The water from the baths was carried to the grove of Poseidon, and by aqueducts over the bridges to the outer circles. And there were temples in the zones, and in the larger of the two there was a racecourse for horses, which ran all round the island. The guards were distributed in the zones according to the trust reposed in them; the most trusted of them were stationed in the citadel. The docks were full of triremes and stores. The land between the harbour and the sea was surrounded by a wall, and was crowded with dwellings, and the harbour and canal resounded with the din of human voices.

The plain around the city was highly cultivated and sheltered from the north by mountains; it was oblong, and where falling out of the straight line followed the circular ditch, which was of an incredible depth. This depth received the streams which came down from the mountains, as well as the canals of the interior, and found a way to the sea. The entire country was divided into sixty thousand lots, each of which was a square of ten stadia; and the owner of a lot was bound to furnish the sixth part of a war-chariot, so as to make up ten thousand chariots, two horses and riders upon them, a pair of chariot-horses without a seat, and an attendant and charioteer, two hoplites, two archers, two slingers, three stone-shooters, three javelin-men, and four sailors to make up the complement of twelve hundred ships.

Each of the ten kings was absolute in his own city and kingdom. The relations of the different governments to one another were determined by the injunctions of Poseidon, which had been inscribed by the first kings on a column of orichalcum in the temple of Poseidon, at which the kings and princes gathered together and held a festival every fifth and every sixth year alternately. Around the temple ranged the bulls of Poseidon, one of which the ten kings caught and sacrificed, shedding the blood of the victim over the inscription, and vowing not to transgress the laws of their father Poseidon. When night came, they put on azure robes and gave judgment against offenders. The most important of their laws related to their dealings with one another. They were not to take up arms against one another, and were to come to the rescue if any of their brethren were attacked. They were to deliberate in common about war, and the king was not to have the power of life and death over his kinsmen, unless he had the assent of the majority.

For many generations, as tradition tells, the people of Atlantis were obedient to the laws and to the gods, and practised gentleness and wisdom in their intercourse with one another. They knew that they could only have the true use of riches by not caring about them. But gradually the divine portion of their souls became diluted with too much of the mortal admixture, and they began to degenerate, though to the outward eye they appeared glorious as ever at the very time when they were filled with all iniquity. The all-seeing Zeus, wanting to punish them, held a council of the gods, and when he had called them together, he spoke as follows: —

No one knew better than Plato how to invent ‘a noble lie.’ Observe (1) the innocent declaration of Socrates, that the truth of the story is a great advantage: (2) the manner in which traditional names and indications of geography are intermingled (‘Why, here be truths!’): (3) the extreme minuteness with which the numbers are given, as in the Old Epic poetry: (4) the ingenious reason assigned for the Greek names occurring in the Egyptian tale: (5) the remark that the armed statue of Athena indicated the common warrior life of men and women: (6) the particularity with which the third deluge before that of Deucalion is affirmed to have been the great destruction: (7) the happy guess that great geological changes have been effected by water: (8) the indulgence of the prejudice against sailing beyond the Columns, and the popular belief of the shallowness of the ocean in that part: (9) the confession that the depth of the ditch in the Island of Atlantis was not to be believed, and ‘yet he could only repeat what he had heard’, compared with the statement made in an earlier passage that Poseidon, being a God, found no difficulty in contriving the water-supply of the centre island: (10) the mention of the old rivalry of Poseidon and Athene, and the creation of the first inhabitants out of the soil. Plato here, as elsewhere, ingeniously gives the impression that he is telling the truth which mythology had corrupted.

The world, like a child, has readily, and for the most part unhesitatingly, accepted the tale of the Island of Atlantis. In modern times we hardly seek for traces of the submerged continent; but even Mr. Grote is inclined to believe in the Egyptian poem of Solon of which there is no evidence in antiquity; while others, like Martin, discuss the Egyptian origin of the legend, or like M. de Humboldt, whom he quotes, are disposed to find in it a vestige of a widely-spread tradition. Others, adopting a different vein of reflection, regard the Island of Atlantis as the anticipation of a still greater island — the Continent of America. ‘The tale,’ says M. Martin, ‘rests upon the authority of the Egyptian priests; and the Egyptian priests took a pleasure in deceiving the Greeks.’ He never appears to suspect that there is a greater deceiver or magician than the Egyptian priests, that is to say, Plato himself, from the dominion of whose genius the critic and natural philosopher of modern times are not wholly emancipated. Although worthless in respect of any result which can be attained by them, discussions like those of M. Martin (Timee) have an interest of their own, and may be compared to the similar discussions regarding the Lost Tribes (2 Esdras), as showing how the chance word of some poet or philosopher has given birth to endless religious or historical enquiries. (See Introduction to the Timaeus.)

In contrasting the small Greek city numbering about twenty thousand inhabitants with the barbaric greatness of the island of Atlantis, Plato probably intended to show that a state, such as the ideal Athens, was invincible, though matched against any number of opponents (cp. Rep.). Even in a great empire there might be a degree of virtue and justice, such as the Greeks believed to have existed under the sway of the first Persian kings. But all such empires were liable to degenerate, and soon incurred the anger of the gods. Their Oriental wealth, and splendour of gold and silver, and variety of colours, seemed also to be at variance with the simplicity of Greek notions. In the island of Atlantis, Plato is describing a sort of Babylonian or Egyptian city, to which he opposes the frugal life of the true Hellenic citizen. It is remarkable that in his brief sketch of them, he idealizes the husbandmen ‘who are lovers of honour and true husbandmen,’ as well as the warriors who are his sole concern in the Republic; and that though he speaks of the common pursuits of men and women, he says nothing of the community of wives and children.

It is singular that Plato should have prefixed the most detested of Athenian names to this dialogue, and even more singular that he should have put into the mouth of Socrates a panegyric on him (Tim.). Yet we know that his character was accounted infamous by Xenophon, and that the mere acquaintance with him was made a subject of accusation against Socrates. We can only infer that in this, and perhaps in some other cases, Plato’s characters have no reference to the actual facts. The desire to do honour to his own family, and the connection with Solon, may have suggested the introduction of his name. Why the Critias was never completed, whether from accident, or from advancing age, or from a sense of the artistic difficulty of the design, cannot be determined.

CRITIAS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Critias, Hermocrates, Timaeus, Socrates.

TIMAEUS: How thankful I am, Socrates, that I have arrived at last, and, like a weary traveller after a long journey, may be at rest! And I pray the being who always was of old, and has now been by me revealed, to grant that my words may endure in so far as they have been spoken truly and acceptably to him; but if unintentionally I have said anything wrong, I pray that he will impose upon me a just retribution, and the just retribution of him who errs is that he should be set right. Wishing, then, to speak truly in future concerning the generation of the gods, I pray him to give me knowledge, which of all medicines is the most perfect and best. And now having offered my prayer I deliver up the argument to Critias, who is to speak next according to our agreement. (Tim.)

CRITIAS: And I, Timaeus, accept the trust, and as you at first said that you were going to speak of high matters, and begged that some forbearance might be shown to you, I too ask the same or greater forbearance for what I am about to say. And although I very well know that my request may appear to be somewhat ambitious and discourteous, I must make it nevertheless. For will any man of sense deny that you have spoken well? I can only attempt to show that I ought to have more indulgence than you, because my theme is more difficult; and I shall argue that to seem to speak well of the gods to men is far easier than to speak well of men to men: for the inexperience and utter ignorance of his hearers about any subject is a great assistance to him who has to speak of it, and we know how ignorant we are concerning the gods. But I should like to make my meaning clearer, if you will follow me. All that is said by any of us can only be imitation and representation. For if we consider the likenesses which painters make of bodies divine and heavenly, and the different degrees of gratification with which the eye of the spectator receives them, we shall see that we are satisfied with the artist who is able in any degree to imitate the earth and its mountains, and the rivers, and the woods, and the universe, and the things that are and move therein, and further, that knowing nothing precise about such matters, we do not examine or analyze the painting; all that is required is a sort of indistinct and deceptive mode of shadowing them forth. But when a person endeavours to paint the human form we are quick at finding out defects, and our familiar knowledge makes us severe judges of any one who does not render every point of similarity. And we may observe the same thing to happen in discourse; we are satisfied with a picture of divine and heavenly things which has very little likeness to them; but we are more precise in our criticism of mortal and human things. Wherefore if at the moment of speaking I cannot suitably express my meaning, you must excuse me, considering that to form approved likenesses of human things is the reverse of easy. This is what I want to suggest to you, and at the same time to beg, Socrates, that I may have not less, but more indulgence conceded to me in what I am about to say. Which favour, if I am right in asking, I hope that you will be ready to grant.

SOCRATES: Certainly, Critias, we will grant your request, and we will grant the same by anticipation to Hermocrates, as well as to you and Timaeus; for I have no doubt that when his turn comes a little while hence, he will make the same request which you have made. In order, then, that he may provide himself with a fresh beginning, and not be compelled to say the same things over again, let him understand that the indulgence is already extended by anticipation to him. And now, friend Critias, I will announce to you the judgment of the theatre. They are of opinion that the last performer was wonderfully successful, and that you will need a great deal of indulgence before you will be able to take his place.

HERMOCRATES: The warning, Socrates, which you have addressed to him, I must also take to myself. But remember, Critias, that faint heart never yet raised a trophy; and therefore you must go and attack the argument like a man. First invoke Apollo and the Muses, and then let us hear you sound the praises and show forth the virtues of your ancient citizens.

CRITIAS: Friend Hermocrates, you, who are stationed last and have another in front of you, have not lost heart as yet; the gravity of the situation will soon be revealed to you; meanwhile I accept your exhortations and encouragements. But besides the gods and goddesses whom you have mentioned, I would specially invoke Mnemosyne; for all the important part of my discourse is dependent on her favour, and if I can recollect and recite enough of what was said by the priests and brought hither by Solon, I doubt not that I shall satisfy the requirements of this theatre. And now, making no more excuses, I will proceed.

Let me begin by observing first of all, that nine thousand was the sum of years which had elapsed since the war which was said to have taken place between those who dwelt outside the pillars of Heracles and all who dwelt within them; this war I am going to describe. Of the combatants on the one side, the city of Athens was reported to have been the leader and to have fought out the war; the combatants on the other side were commanded by the kings of Atlantis, which, as I was saying, was an island greater in extent than Libya and Asia, and when afterwards sunk by an earthquake, became an impassable barrier of mud to voyagers sailing from hence to any part of the ocean. The progress of the history will unfold the various nations of barbarians and families of Hellenes which then existed, as they successively appear on the scene; but I must describe first of all the Athenians of that day, and their enemies who fought with them, and then the respective powers and governments of the two kingdoms. Let us give the precedence to Athens.

In the days of old, the gods had the whole earth distributed among them by allotment (Cp. Polit.) There was no quarrelling; for you cannot rightly suppose that the gods did not know what was proper for each of them to have, or, knowing this, that they would seek to procure for themselves by contention that which more properly belonged to others. They all of them by just apportionment obtained what they wanted, and peopled their own districts; and when they had peopled them they tended us, their nurselings and possessions, as shepherds tend their flocks, excepting only that they did not use blows or bodily force, as shepherds do, but governed us like pilots from the stern of the vessel, which is an easy way of guiding animals, holding our souls by the rudder of persuasion according to their own pleasure; — thus did they guide all mortal creatures. Now different gods had their allotments in different places which they set in order. Hephaestus and Athene, who were brother and sister, and sprang from the same father, having a common nature, and being united also in the love of philosophy and art, both obtained as their common portion this land, which was naturally adapted for wisdom and virtue; and there they implanted brave children of the soil, and put into their minds the order of government; their names are preserved, but their actions have disappeared by reason of the destruction of those who received the tradition, and the lapse of ages. For when there were any survivors, as I have already said, they were men who dwelt in the mountains; and they were ignorant of the art of writing, and had heard only the names of the chiefs of the land, but very little about their actions. The names they were willing enough to give to their children; but the virtues and the laws of their predecessors, they knew only by obscure traditions; and as they themselves and their children lacked for many generations the necessaries of life, they directed their attention to the supply of their wants, and of them they conversed, to the neglect of events that had happened in times long past; for mythology and the enquiry into antiquity are first introduced into cities when they begin to have leisure (Cp. Arist. Metaphys.), and when they see that the necessaries of life have already been provided, but not before. And this is the reason why the names of the ancients have been preserved to us and not their actions. This I infer because Solon said that the priests in their narrative of that war mentioned most of the names which are recorded prior to the time of Theseus, such as Cecrops, and Erechtheus, and Erichthonius, and Erysichthon, and the names of the women in like manner. Moreover, since military pursuits were then common to men and women, the men of those days in accordance with the custom of the time set up a figure and image of the goddess in full armour, to be a testimony that all animals which associate together, male as well as female, may, if they please, practise in common the virtue which belongs to them without distinction of sex.

Now the country was inhabited in those days by various classes of citizens; — there were artisans, and there were husbandmen, and there was also a warrior class originally set apart by divine men. The latter dwelt by themselves, and had all things suitable for nurture and education; neither had any of them anything of their own, but they regarded all that they had as common property; nor did they claim to receive of the other citizens anything more than their necessary food. And they practised all the pursuits which we yesterday described as those of our imaginary guardians. Concerning the country the Egyptian priests said what is not only probable but manifestly true, that the boundaries were in those days fixed by the Isthmus, and that in the direction of the continent they extended as far as the heights of Cithaeron and Parnes; the boundary line came down in the direction of the sea, having the district of Oropus on the right, and with the river Asopus as the limit on the left. The land was the best in the world, and was therefore able in those days to support a vast army, raised from the surrounding people. Even the remnant of Attica which now exists may compare with any region in the world for the variety and excellence of its fruits and the suitableness of its pastures to every sort of animal, which proves what I am saying; but in those days the country was fair as now and yielded far more abundant produce. How shall I establish my words? And what part of it can be truly called a remnant of the land that then was? The whole country is only a long promontory extending far into the sea away from the rest of the continent, while the surrounding basin of the sea is everywhere deep in the neighbourhood of the shore. Many great deluges have taken place during the nine thousand years, for that is the number of years which have elapsed since the time of which I am speaking; and during all this time and through so many changes, there has never been any considerable accumulation of the soil coming down from the mountains, as in other places, but the earth has fallen away all round and sunk out of sight. The consequence is, that in comparison of what then was, there are remaining only the bones of the wasted body, as they may be called, as in the case of small islands, all the richer and softer parts of the soil having fallen away, and the mere skeleton of the land being left. But in the primitive state of the country, its mountains were high hills covered with soil, and the plains, as they are termed by us, of Phelleus were full of rich earth, and there was abundance of wood in the mountains. Of this last the traces still remain, for although some of the mountains now only afford sustenance to bees, not so very long ago there were still to be seen roofs of timber cut from trees growing there, which were of a size sufficient to cover the largest houses; and there were many other high trees, cultivated by man and bearing abundance of food for cattle. Moreover, the land reaped the benefit of the annual rainfall, not as now losing the water which flows off the bare earth into the sea, but, having an abundant supply in all places, and receiving it into herself and treasuring it up in the close clay soil, it let off into the hollows the streams which it absorbed from the heights, providing everywhere abundant fountains and rivers, of which there may still be observed sacred memorials in places where fountains once existed; and this proves the truth of what I am saying.

Such was the natural state of the country, which was cultivated, as we may well believe, by true husbandmen, who made husbandry their business, and were lovers of honour, and of a noble nature, and had a soil the best in the world, and abundance of water, and in the heaven above an excellently attempered climate. Now the city in those days was arranged on this wise. In the first place the Acropolis was not as now. For the fact is that a single night of excessive rain washed away the earth and laid bare the rock; at the same time there were earthquakes, and then occurred the extraordinary inundation, which was the third before the great destruction of Deucalion. But in primitive times the hill of the Acropolis extended to the Eridanus and Ilissus, and included the Pnyx on one side, and the Lycabettus as a boundary on the opposite side to the Pnyx, and was all well covered with soil, and level at the top, except in one or two places. Outside the Acropolis and under the sides of the hill there dwelt artisans, and such of the husbandmen as were tilling the ground near; the warrior class dwelt by themselves around the temples of Athene and Hephaestus at the summit, which moreover they had enclosed with a single fence like the garden of a single house. On the north side they had dwellings in common and had erected halls for dining in winter, and had all the buildings which they needed for their common life, besides temples, but there was no adorning of them with gold and silver, for they made no use of these for any purpose; they took a middle course between meanness and ostentation, and built modest houses in which they and their children’s children grew old, and they handed them down to others who were like themselves, always the same. But in summer-time they left their gardens and gymnasia and dining halls, and then the southern side of the hill was made use of by them for the same purpose. Where the Acropolis now is there was a fountain, which was choked by the earthquake, and has left only the few small streams which still exist in the vicinity, but in those days the fountain gave an abundant supply of water for all and of suitable temperature in summer and in winter. This is how they dwelt, being the guardians of their own citizens and the leaders of the Hellenes, who were their willing followers. And they took care to preserve the same number of men and women through all time, being so many as were required for warlike purposes, then as now — that is to say, about twenty thousand. Such were the ancient Athenians, and after this manner they righteously administered their own land and the rest of Hellas; they were renowned all over Europe and Asia for the beauty of their persons and for the many virtues of their souls, and of all men who lived in those days they were the most illustrious. And next, if I have not forgotten what I heard when I was a child, I will impart to you the character and origin of their adversaries. For friends should not keep their stories to themselves, but have them in common.

Yet, before proceeding further in the narrative, I ought to warn you, that you must not be surprised if you should perhaps hear Hellenic names given to foreigners. I will tell you the reason of this: Solon, who was intending to use the tale for his poem, enquired into the meaning of the names, and found that the early Egyptians in writing them down had translated them into their own language, and he recovered the meaning of the several names and when copying them out again translated them into our language. My great-grandfather, Dropides, had the original writing, which is still in my possession, and was carefully studied by me when I was a child. Therefore if you hear names such as are used in this country, you must not be surprised, for I have told how they came to be introduced. The tale, which was of great length, began as follows: —

I have before remarked in speaking of the allotments of the gods, that they distributed the whole earth into portions differing in extent, and made for themselves temples and instituted sacrifices. And Poseidon, receiving for his lot the island of Atlantis, begat children by a mortal woman, and settled them in a part of the island, which I will describe. Looking towards the sea, but in the centre of the whole island, there was a plain which is said to have been the fairest of all plains and very fertile. Near the plain again, and also in the centre of the island at a distance of about fifty stadia, there was a mountain not very high on any side. In this mountain there dwelt one of the earth-born primeval men of that country, whose name was Evenor, and he had a wife named Leucippe, and they had an only daughter who was called Cleito. The maiden had already reached womanhood, when her father and mother died; Poseidon fell in love with her and had intercourse with her, and breaking the ground, inclosed the hill in which she dwelt all round, making alternate zones of sea and land larger and smaller, encircling one another; there were two of land and three of water, which he turned as with a lathe, each having its circumference equidistant every way from the centre, so that no man could get to the island, for ships and voyages were not as yet. He himself, being a god, found no difficulty in making special arrangements for the centre island, bringing up two springs of water from beneath the earth, one of warm water and the other of cold, and making every variety of food to spring up abundantly from the soil. He also begat and brought up five pairs of twin male children; and dividing the island of Atlantis into ten portions, he gave to the first-born of the eldest pair his mother’s dwelling and the surrounding allotment, which was the largest and best, and made him king over the rest; the others he made princes, and gave them rule over many men, and a large territory. And he named them all; the eldest, who was the first king, he named Atlas, and after him the whole island and the ocean were called Atlantic. To his twin brother, who was born after him, and obtained as his lot the extremity of the island towards the pillars of Heracles, facing the country which is now called the region of Gades in that part of the world, he gave the name which in the Hellenic language is Eumelus, in the language of the country which is named after him, Gadeirus. Of the second pair of twins he called one Ampheres, and the other Evaemon. To the elder of the third pair of twins he gave the name Mneseus, and Autochthon to the one who followed him. Of the fourth pair of twins he called the elder Elasippus, and the younger Mestor. And of the fifth pair he gave to the elder the name of Azaes, and to the younger that of Diaprepes. All these and their descendants for many generations were the inhabitants and rulers of divers islands in the open sea; and also, as has been already said, they held sway in our direction over the country within the pillars as far as Egypt and Tyrrhenia. Now Atlas had a numerous and honourable family, and they retained the kingdom, the eldest son handing it on to his eldest for many generations; and they had such an amount of wealth as was never before possessed by kings and potentates, and is not likely ever to be again, and they were furnished with everything which they needed, both in the city and country. For because of the greatness of their empire many things were brought to them from foreign countries, and the island itself provided most of what was required by them for the uses of life. In the first place, they dug out of the earth whatever was to be found there, solid as well as fusile, and that which is now only a name and was then something more than a name, orichalcum, was dug out of the earth in many parts of the island, being more precious in those days than anything except gold. There was an abundance of wood for carpenter’s work, and sufficient maintenance for tame and wild animals. Moreover, there were a great number of elephants in the island; for as there was provision for all other sorts of animals, both for those which live in lakes and marshes and rivers, and also for those which live in mountains and on plains, so there was for the animal which is the largest and most voracious of all. Also whatever fragrant things there now are in the earth, whether roots, or herbage, or woods, or essences which distil from fruit and flower, grew and thrived in that land; also the fruit which admits of cultivation, both the dry sort, which is given us for nourishment and any other which we use for food — we call them all by the common name of pulse, and the fruits having a hard rind, affording drinks and meats and ointments, and good store of chestnuts and the like, which furnish pleasure and amusement, and are fruits which spoil with keeping, and the pleasant kinds of dessert, with which we console ourselves after dinner, when we are tired of eating — all these that sacred island which then beheld the light of the sun, brought forth fair and wondrous and in infinite abundance. With such blessings the earth freely furnished them; meanwhile they went on constructing their temples and palaces and harbours and docks. And they arranged the whole country in the following manner: —

First of all they bridged over the zones of sea which surrounded the ancient metropolis, making a road to and from the royal palace. And at the very beginning they built the palace in the habitation of the god and of their ancestors, which they continued to ornament in successive generations, every king surpassing the one who went before him to the utmost of his power, until they made the building a marvel to behold for size and for beauty. And beginning from the sea they bored a canal of three hundred feet in width and one hundred feet in depth and fifty stadia in length, which they carried through to the outermost zone, making a passage from the sea up to this, which became a harbour, and leaving an opening sufficient to enable the largest vessels to find ingress. Moreover, they divided at the bridges the zones of land which parted the zones of sea, leaving room for a single trireme to pass out of one zone into another, and they covered over the channels so as to leave a way underneath for the ships; for the banks were raised considerably above the water. Now the largest of the zones into which a passage was cut from the sea was three stadia in breadth, and the zone of land which came next of equal breadth; but the next two zones, the one of water, the other of land, were two stadia, and the one which surrounded the central island was a stadium only in width. The island in which the palace was situated had a diameter of five stadia. All this including the zones and the bridge, which was the sixth part of a stadium in width, they surrounded by a stone wall on every side, placing towers and gates on the bridges where the sea passed in. The stone which was used in the work they quarried from underneath the centre island, and from underneath the zones, on the outer as well as the inner side. One kind was white, another black, and a third red, and as they quarried, they at the same time hollowed out double docks, having roofs formed out of the native rock. Some of their buildings were simple, but in others they put together different stones, varying the colour to please the eye, and to be a natural source of delight. The entire circuit of the wall, which went round the outermost zone, they covered with a coating of brass, and the circuit of the next wall they coated with tin, and the third, which encompassed the citadel, flashed with the red light of orichalcum. The palaces in the interior of the citadel were constructed on this wise: — In the centre was a holy temple dedicated to Cleito and Poseidon, which remained inaccessible, and was surrounded by an enclosure of gold; this was the spot where the family of the ten princes first saw the light, and thither the people annually brought the fruits of the earth in their season from all the ten portions, to be an offering to each of the ten. Here was Poseidon’s own temple which was a stadium in length, and half a stadium in width, and of a proportionate height, having a strange barbaric appearance. All the outside of the temple, with the exception of the pinnacles, they covered with silver, and the pinnacles with gold. In the interior of the temple the roof was of ivory, curiously wrought everywhere with gold and silver and orichalcum; and all the other parts, the walls and pillars and floor, they coated with orichalcum. In the temple they placed statues of gold: there was the god himself standing in a chariot — the charioteer of six winged horses — and of such a size that he touched the roof of the building with his head; around him there were a hundred Nereids riding on dolphins, for such was thought to be the number of them by the men of those days. There were also in the interior of the temple other images which had been dedicated by private persons. And around the temple on the outside were placed statues of gold of all the descendants of the ten kings and of their wives, and there were many other great offerings of kings and of private persons, coming both from the city itself and from the foreign cities over which they held sway. There was an altar too, which in size and workmanship corresponded to this magnificence, and the palaces, in like manner, answered to the greatness of the kingdom and the glory of the temple.

In the next place, they had fountains, one of cold and another of hot water, in gracious plenty flowing; and they were wonderfully adapted for use by reason of the pleasantness and excellence of their waters. They constructed buildings about them and planted suitable trees, also they made cisterns, some open to the heaven, others roofed over, to be used in winter as warm baths; there were the kings’ baths, and the baths of private persons, which were kept apart; and there were separate baths for women, and for horses and cattle, and to each of them they gave as much adornment as was suitable. Of the water which ran off they carried some to the grove of Poseidon, where were growing all manner of trees of wonderful height and beauty, owing to the excellence of the soil, while the remainder was conveyed by aqueducts along the bridges to the outer circles; and there were many temples built and dedicated to many gods; also gardens and places of exercise, some for men, and others for horses in both of the two islands formed by the zones; and in the centre of the larger of the two there was set apart a race-course of a stadium in width, and in length allowed to extend all round the island, for horses to race in. Also there were guard-houses at intervals for the guards, the more trusted of whom were appointed to keep watch in the lesser zone, which was nearer the Acropolis; while the most trusted of all had houses given them within the citadel, near the persons of the kings. The docks were full of triremes and naval stores, and all things were quite ready for use. Enough of the plan of the royal palace.

Leaving the palace and passing out across the three harbours, you came to a wall which began at the sea and went all round: this was everywhere distant fifty stadia from the largest zone or harbour, and enclosed the whole, the ends meeting at the mouth of the channel which led to the sea. The entire area was densely crowded with habitations; and the canal and the largest of the harbours were full of vessels and merchants coming from all parts, who, from their numbers, kept up a multitudinous sound of human voices, and din and clatter of all sorts night and day.

I have described the city and the environs of the ancient palace nearly in the words of Solon, and now I must endeavour to represent to you the nature and arrangement of the rest of the land. The whole country was said by him to be very lofty and precipitous on the side of the sea, but the country immediately about and surrounding the city was a level plain, itself surrounded by mountains which descended towards the sea; it was smooth and even, and of an oblong shape, extending in one direction three thousand stadia, but across the centre inland it was two thousand stadia. This part of the island looked towards the south, and was sheltered from the north. The surrounding mountains were celebrated for their number and size and beauty, far beyond any which still exist, having in them also many wealthy villages of country folk, and rivers, and lakes, and meadows supplying food enough for every animal, wild or tame, and much wood of various sorts, abundant for each and every kind of work.

I will now describe the plain, as it was fashioned by nature and by the labours of many generations of kings through long ages. It was for the most part rectangular and oblong, and where falling out of the straight line followed the circular ditch. The depth, and width, and length of this ditch were incredible, and gave the impression that a work of such extent, in addition to so many others, could never have been artificial. Nevertheless I must say what I was told. It was excavated to the depth of a hundred feet, and its breadth was a stadium everywhere; it was carried round the whole of the plain, and was ten thousand stadia in length. It received the streams which came down from the mountains, and winding round the plain and meeting at the city, was there let off into the sea. Further inland, likewise, straight canals of a hundred feet in width were cut from it through the plain, and again let off into the ditch leading to the sea: these canals were at intervals of a hundred stadia, and by them they brought down the wood from the mountains to the city, and conveyed the fruits of the earth in ships, cutting transverse passages from one canal into another, and to the city. Twice in the year they gathered the fruits of the earth — in winter having the benefit of the rains of heaven, and in summer the water which the land supplied by introducing streams from the canals.

As to the population, each of the lots in the plain had to find a leader for the men who were fit for military service, and the size of a lot was a square of ten stadia each way, and the total number of all the lots was sixty thousand. And of the inhabitants of the mountains and of the rest of the country there was also a vast multitude, which was distributed among the lots and had leaders assigned to them according to their districts and villages. The leader was required to furnish for the war the sixth portion of a war-chariot, so as to make up a total of ten thousand chariots; also two horses and riders for them, and a pair of chariot-horses without a seat, accompanied by a horseman who could fight on foot carrying a small shield, and having a charioteer who stood behind the man-at-arms to guide the two horses; also, he was bound to furnish two heavy-armed soldiers, two archers, two slingers, three stone-shooters and three javelin-men, who were light-armed, and four sailors to make up the complement of twelve hundred ships. Such was the military order of the royal city — the order of the other nine governments varied, and it would be wearisome to recount their several differences.

As to offices and honours, the following was the arrangement from the first. Each of the ten kings in his own division and in his own city had the absolute control of the citizens, and, in most cases, of the laws, punishing and slaying whomsoever he would. Now the order of precedence among them and their mutual relations were regulated by the commands of Poseidon which the law had handed down. These were inscribed by the first kings on a pillar of orichalcum, which was situated in the middle of the island, at the temple of Poseidon, whither the kings were gathered together every fifth and every sixth year alternately, thus giving equal honour to the odd and to the even number. And when they were gathered together they consulted about their common interests, and enquired if any one had transgressed in anything, and passed judgment, and before they passed judgment they gave their pledges to one another on this wise: — There were bulls who had the range of the temple of Poseidon; and the ten kings, being left alone in the temple, after they had offered prayers to the god that they might capture the victim which was acceptable to him, hunted the bulls, without weapons, but with staves and nooses; and the bull which they caught they led up to the pillar and cut its throat over the top of it so that the blood fell upon the sacred inscription. Now on the pillar, besides the laws, there was inscribed an oath invoking mighty curses on the disobedient. When therefore, after slaying the bull in the accustomed manner, they had burnt its limbs, they filled a bowl of wine and cast in a clot of blood for each of them; the rest of the victim they put in the fire, after having purified the column all round. Then they drew from the bowl in golden cups, and pouring a libation on the fire, they swore that they would judge according to the laws on the pillar, and would punish him who in any point had already transgressed them, and that for the future they would not, if they could help, offend against the writing on the pillar, and would neither command others, nor obey any ruler who commanded them, to act otherwise than according to the laws of their father Poseidon. This was the prayer which each of them offered up for himself and for his descendants, at the same time drinking and dedicating the cup out of which he drank in the temple of the god; and after they had supped and satisfied their needs, when darkness came on, and the fire about the sacrifice was cool, all of them put on most beautiful azure robes, and, sitting on the ground, at night, over the embers of the sacrifices by which they had sworn, and extinguishing all the fire about the temple, they received and gave judgment, if any of them had an accusation to bring against any one; and when they had given judgment, at daybreak they wrote down their sentences on a golden tablet, and dedicated it together with their robes to be a memorial.

There were many special laws affecting the several kings inscribed about the temples, but the most important was the following: They were not to take up arms against one another, and they were all to come to the rescue if any one in any of their cities attempted to overthrow the royal house; like their ancestors, they were to deliberate in common about war and other matters, giving the supremacy to the descendants of Atlas. And the king was not to have the power of life and death over any of his kinsmen unless he had the assent of the majority of the ten.

Such was the vast power which the god settled in the lost island of Atlantis; and this he afterwards directed against our land for the following reasons, as tradition tells: For many generations, as long as the divine nature lasted in them, they were obedient to the laws, and well-affectioned towards the god, whose seed they were; for they possessed true and in every way great spirits, uniting gentleness with wisdom in the various chances of life, and in their intercourse with one another. They despised everything but virtue, caring little for their present state of life, and thinking lightly of the possession of gold and other property, which seemed only a burden to them; neither were they intoxicated by luxury; nor did wealth deprive them of their self-control; but they were sober, and saw clearly that all these goods are increased by virtue and friendship with one another, whereas by too great regard and respect for them, they are lost and friendship with them. By such reflections and by the continuance in them of a divine nature, the qualities which we have described grew and increased among them; but when the divine portion began to fade away, and became diluted too often and too much with the mortal admixture, and the human nature got the upper hand, they then, being unable to bear their fortune, behaved unseemly, and to him who had an eye to see grew visibly debased, for they were losing the fairest of their precious gifts; but to those who had no eye to see the true happiness, they appeared glorious and blessed at the very time when they were full of avarice and unrighteous power. Zeus, the god of gods, who rules according to law, and is able to see into such things, perceiving that an honourable race was in a woeful plight, and wanting to inflict punishment on them, that they might be chastened and improve, collected all the gods into their most holy habitation, which, being placed in the centre of the world, beholds all created things. And when he had called them together, he spake as follows —

Here the incomplete text breaks off

SOPHIST

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

Written circa 360 BC, this work follows on from the Parmenides. In this later dialogue, Plato presents a new conception of forms, which is more mundane and less pretentious than its predecessor. The dialogue clarifies the epistemological and metaphysical puzzles of the Parmenides; thus, Plato refers to that text - a dialogue between Parmenides and young Socrates, which was written probably much earlier than the Sophist. Furthermore, he shows his expertise in dialectic, as he applies it in this dialogue in order to define the sophist. Moreover, he solves the puzzle of the false and the right opinion, as well as of the justified true belief that had been inquired in the Theaetetus.

This dialogue takes place a day after Plato’s Theaetetus, and aims at defining the role of a sophist. The participants are Socrates, who plays a minor role, the highly promising young student Theaetetus, and a visitor from Elea, the hometown of Parmenides, who plays the major role in the conversation. Plato probably replaces Socrates with the visitor from Elea, because he plans to criticise Parmenides’ notion that ‘we cannot speak or think of what is not’.  Here Plato’s strategy is to distinguish the negation of the being from the not-being, and to define the right and the false opinion by the use of dialectic. The visitor sets out to define the Sophist, the Statesman and the Philosopher, claiming that they are three distinct human types. The definition of the sophist aims at verbal explanation and requires knowledge of the nature of the kinds, as well as of their ability of blending.

An artist’s impression of Athens in Plato’s time

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

SOPHIST.

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

The dramatic power of the dialogues of Plato appears to diminish as the metaphysical interest of them increases (compare Introd. to the Philebus). There are no descriptions of time, place or persons, in the Sophist and Statesman, but we are plunged at once into philosophical discussions; the poetical charm has disappeared, and those who have no taste for abstruse metaphysics will greatly prefer the earlier dialogues to the later ones. Plato is conscious of the change, and in the Statesman expressly accuses himself of a tediousness in the two dialogues, which he ascribes to his desire of developing the dialectical method. On the other hand, the kindred spirit of Hegel seemed to find in the Sophist the crown and summit of the Platonic philosophy — here is the place at which Plato most nearly approaches to the Hegelian identity of Being and Not-being. Nor will the great importance of the two dialogues be doubted by any one who forms a conception of the state of mind and opinion which they are intended to meet. The sophisms of the day were undermining philosophy; the denial of the existence of Not-being, and of the connexion of ideas, was making truth and falsehood equally impossible. It has been said that Plato would have written differently, if he had been acquainted with the Organon of Aristotle. But could the Organon of Aristotle ever have been written unless the Sophist and Statesman had preceded? The swarm of fallacies which arose in the infancy of mental science, and which was born and bred in the decay of the pre-Socratic philosophies, was not dispelled by Aristotle, but by Socrates and Plato. The summa genera of thought, the nature of the proposition, of definition, of generalization, of synthesis and analysis, of division and cross-division, are clearly described, and the processes of induction and deduction are constantly employed in the dialogues of Plato. The ‘slippery’ nature of comparison, the danger of putting words in the place of things, the fallacy of arguing ‘a dicto secundum,’ and in a circle, are frequently indicated by him. To all these processes of truth and error, Aristotle, in the next generation, gave distinctness; he brought them together in a separate science. But he is not to be regarded as the original inventor of any of the great logical forms, with the exception of the syllogism.

There is little worthy of remark in the characters of the Sophist. The most noticeable point is the final retirement of Socrates from the field of argument, and the substitution for him of an Eleatic stranger, who is described as a pupil of Parmenides and Zeno, and is supposed to have descended from a higher world in order to convict the Socratic circle of error. As in the Timaeus, Plato seems to intimate by the withdrawal of Socrates that he is passing beyond the limits of his teaching; and in the Sophist and Statesman, as well as in the Parmenides, he probably means to imply that he is making a closer approach to the schools of Elea and Megara. He had much in common with them, but he must first submit their ideas to criticism and revision. He had once thought as he says, speaking by the mouth of the Eleatic, that he understood their doctrine of Not-being; but now he does not even comprehend the nature of Being. The friends of ideas (Soph.) are alluded to by him as distant acquaintances, whom he criticizes ab extra; we do not recognize at first sight that he is criticizing himself. The character of the Eleatic stranger is colourless; he is to a certain extent the reflection of his father and master, Parmenides, who is the protagonist in the dialogue which is called by his name. Theaetetus himself is not distinguished by the remarkable traits which are attributed to him in the preceding dialogue. He is no longer under the spell of Socrates, or subject to the operation of his midwifery, though the fiction of question and answer is still maintained, and the necessity of taking Theaetetus along with him is several times insisted upon by his partner in the discussion. There is a reminiscence of the old Theaetetus in his remark that he will not tire of the argument, and in his conviction, which the Eleatic thinks likely to be permanent, that the course of events is governed by the will of God. Throughout the two dialogues Socrates continues a silent auditor, in the Statesman just reminding us of his presence, at the commencement, by a characteristic jest about the statesman and the philosopher, and by an allusion to his namesake, with whom on that ground he claims relationship, as he had already claimed an affinity with Theaetetus, grounded on the likeness of his ugly face. But in neither dialogue, any more than in the Timaeus, does he offer any criticism on the views which are propounded by another.

The style, though wanting in dramatic power, — in this respect resembling the Philebus and the Laws, — is very clear and accurate, and has several touches of humour and satire. The language is less fanciful and imaginative than that of the earlier dialogues; and there is more of bitterness, as in the Laws, though traces of a similar temper may also be observed in the description of the ‘great brute’ in the Republic, and in the contrast of the lawyer and philosopher in the Theaetetus. The following are characteristic passages: ‘The ancient philosophers, of whom we may say, without offence, that they went on their way rather regardless of whether we understood them or not;’ the picture of the materialists, or earth-born giants, ‘who grasped oaks and rocks in their hands,’ and who must be improved before they can be reasoned with; and the equally humourous delineation of the friends of ideas, who defend themselves from a fastness in the invisible world; or the comparison of the Sophist to a painter or maker (compare Republic), and the hunt after him in the rich meadow-lands of youth and wealth; or, again, the light and graceful touch with which the older philosophies are painted (‘Ionian and Sicilian muses’), the comparison of them to mythological tales, and the fear of the Eleatic that he will be counted a parricide if he ventures to lay hands on his father Parmenides; or, once more, the likening of the Eleatic stranger to a god from heaven. — All these passages, notwithstanding the decline of the style, retain the impress of the great master of language. But the equably diffused grace is gone; instead of the endless variety of the early dialogues, traces of the rhythmical monotonous cadence of the Laws begin to appear; and already an approach is made to the technical language of Aristotle, in the frequent use of the words ‘essence,’ ‘power,’ ‘generation,’ ‘motion,’ ‘rest,’ ‘action,’ ‘passion,’ and the like.

The Sophist, like the Phaedrus, has a double character, and unites two enquirers, which are only in a somewhat forced manner connected with each other. The first is the search after the Sophist, the second is the enquiry into the nature of Not-being, which occupies the middle part of the work. For ‘Not-being’ is the hole or division of the dialectical net in which the Sophist has hidden himself. He is the imaginary impersonation of false opinion. Yet he denies the possibility of false opinion; for falsehood is that which is not, and therefore has no existence. At length the difficulty is solved; the answer, in the language of the Republic, appears ‘tumbling out at our feet.’ Acknowledging that there is a communion of kinds with kinds, and not merely one Being or Good having different names, or several isolated ideas or classes incapable of communion, we discover ‘Not-being’ to be the other of ‘Being.’ Transferring this to language and thought, we have no difficulty in apprehending that a proposition may be false as well as true. The Sophist, drawn out of the shelter which Cynic and Megarian paradoxes have temporarily afforded him, is proved to be a dissembler and juggler with words.

The chief points of interest in the dialogue are: (I) the character attributed to the Sophist: (II) the dialectical method: (III) the nature of the puzzle about ‘Not-being:’ (IV) the battle of the philosophers: (V) the relation of the Sophist to other dialogues.

I. The Sophist in Plato is the master of the art of illusion; the charlatan, the foreigner, the prince of esprits-faux, the hireling who is not a teacher, and who, from whatever point of view he is regarded, is the opposite of the true teacher. He is the ‘evil one,’ the ideal representative of all that Plato most disliked in the moral and intellectual tendencies of his own age; the adversary of the almost equally ideal Socrates. He seems to be always growing in the fancy of Plato, now boastful, now eristic, now clothing himself in rags of philosophy, now more akin to the rhetorician or lawyer, now haranguing, now questioning, until the final appearance in the Politicus of his departing shadow in the disguise of a statesman. We are not to suppose that Plato intended by such a description to depict Protagoras or Gorgias, or even Thrasymachus, who all turn out to be ‘very good sort of people when we know them,’ and all of them part on good terms with Socrates. But he is speaking of a being as imaginary as the wise man of the Stoics, and whose character varies in different dialogues. Like mythology, Greek philosophy has a tendency to personify ideas. And the Sophist is not merely a teacher of rhetoric for a fee of one or fifty drachmae (Crat.), but an ideal of Plato’s in which the falsehood of all mankind is reflected.

A milder tone is adopted towards the Sophists in a well-known passage of the Republic, where they are described as the followers rather than the leaders of the rest of mankind. Plato ridicules the notion that any individuals can corrupt youth to a degree worth speaking of in comparison with the greater influence of public opinion. But there is no real inconsistency between this and other descriptions of the Sophist which occur in the Platonic writings. For Plato is not justifying the Sophists in the passage just quoted, but only representing their power to be contemptible; they are to be despised rather than feared, and are no worse than the rest of mankind. But a teacher or statesman may be justly condemned, who is on a level with mankind when he ought to be above them. There is another point of view in which this passage should also be considered. The great enemy of Plato is the world, not exactly in the theological sense, yet in one not wholly different — the world as the hater of truth and lover of appearance, occupied in the pursuit of gain and pleasure rather than of knowledge, banded together against the few good and wise men, and devoid of true education. This creature has many heads: rhetoricians, lawyers, statesmen, poets, sophists. But the Sophist is the Proteus who takes the likeness of all of them; all other deceivers have a piece of him in them. And sometimes he is represented as the corrupter of the world; and sometimes the world as the corrupter of him and of itself.

Of late years the Sophists have found an enthusiastic defender in the distinguished historian of Greece. He appears to maintain (1) that the term ‘Sophist’ is not the name of a particular class, and would have been applied indifferently to Socrates and Plato, as well as to Gorgias and Protagoras; (2) that the bad sense was imprinted on the word by the genius of Plato; (3) that the principal Sophists were not the corrupters of youth (for the Athenian youth were no more corrupted in the age of Demosthenes than in the age of Pericles), but honourable and estimable persons, who supplied a training in literature which was generally wanted at the time. We will briefly consider how far these statements appear to be justified by facts: and, 1, about the meaning of the word there arises an interesting question: —

Many words are used both in a general and a specific sense, and the two senses are not always clearly distinguished. Sometimes the generic meaning has been narrowed to the specific, while in other cases the specific meaning has been enlarged or altered. Examples of the former class are furnished by some ecclesiastical terms: apostles, prophets, bishops, elders, catholics. Examples of the latter class may also be found in a similar field: jesuits, puritans, methodists, and the like. Sometimes the meaning is both narrowed and enlarged; and a good or bad sense will subsist side by side with a neutral one. A curious effect is produced on the meaning of a word when the very term which is stigmatized by the world (e.g. Methodists) is adopted by the obnoxious or derided class; this tends to define the meaning. Or, again, the opposite result is produced, when the world refuses to allow some sect or body of men the possession of an honourable name which they have assumed, or applies it to them only in mockery or irony.

The term ‘Sophist’ is one of those words of which the meaning has been both contracted and enlarged. Passages may be quoted from Herodotus and the tragedians, in which the word is used in a neutral sense for a contriver or deviser or inventor, without including any ethical idea of goodness or badness. Poets as well as philosophers were called Sophists in the fifth century before Christ. In Plato himself the term is applied in the sense of a ‘master in art,’ without any bad meaning attaching to it (Symp.; Meno). In the later Greek, again, ‘sophist’ and ‘philosopher’ became almost indistinguishable. There was no reproach conveyed by the word; the additional association, if any, was only that of rhetorician or teacher. Philosophy had become eclecticism and imitation: in the decline of Greek thought there was no original voice lifted up ‘which reached to a thousand years because of the god.’ Hence the two words, like the characters represented by them, tended to pass into one another. Yet even here some differences appeared; for the term ‘Sophist’ would hardly have been applied to the greater names, such as Plotinus, and would have been more often used of a professor of philosophy in general than of a maintainer of particular tenets.

But the real question is, not whether the word ‘Sophist’ has all these senses, but whether there is not also a specific bad sense in which the term is applied to certain contemporaries of Socrates. Would an Athenian, as Mr. Grote supposes, in the fifth century before Christ, have included Socrates and Plato, as well as Gorgias and Protagoras, under the specific class of Sophists? To this question we must answer, No: if ever the term is applied to Socrates and Plato, either the application is made by an enemy out of mere spite, or the sense in which it is used is neutral. Plato, Xenophon, Isocrates, Aristotle, all give a bad import to the word; and the Sophists are regarded as a separate class in all of them. And in later Greek literature, the distinction is quite marked between the succession of philosophers from Thales to Aristotle, and the Sophists of the age of Socrates, who appeared like meteors for a short time in different parts of Greece. For the purposes of comedy, Socrates may have been identified with the Sophists, and he seems to complain of this in the Apology. But there is no reason to suppose that Socrates, differing by so many outward marks, would really have been confounded in the mind of Anytus, or Callicles, or of any intelligent Athenian, with the splendid foreigners who from time to time visited Athens, or appeared at the Olympic games. The man of genius, the great original thinker, the disinterested seeker after truth, the master of repartee whom no one ever defeated in an argument, was separated, even in the mind of the vulgar Athenian, by an ‘interval which no geometry can express,’ from the balancer of sentences, the interpreter and reciter of the poets, the divider of the meanings of words, the teacher of rhetoric, the professor of morals and manners.

2. The use of the term ‘Sophist’ in the dialogues of Plato also shows that the bad sense was not affixed by his genius, but already current. When Protagoras says, ‘I confess that I am a Sophist,’ he implies that the art which he professes has already a bad name; and the words of the young Hippocrates, when with a blush upon his face which is just seen by the light of dawn he admits that he is going to be made ‘a Sophist,’ would lose their point, unless the term had been discredited. There is nothing surprising in the Sophists having an evil name; that, whether deserved or not, was a natural consequence of their vocation. That they were foreigners, that they made fortunes, that they taught novelties, that they excited the minds of youth, are quite sufficient reasons to account for the opprobrium which attached to them. The genius of Plato could not have stamped the word anew, or have imparted the associations which occur in contemporary writers, such as Xenophon and Isocrates. Changes in the meaning of words can only be made with great difficulty, and not unless they are supported by a strong current of popular feeling. There is nothing improbable in supposing that Plato may have extended and envenomed the meaning, or that he may have done the Sophists the same kind of disservice with posterity which Pascal did to the Jesuits. But the bad sense of the word was not and could not have been invented by him, and is found in his earlier dialogues, e.g. the Protagoras, as well as in the later.

3. There is no ground for disbelieving that the principal Sophists, Gorgias, Protagoras, Prodicus, Hippias, were good and honourable men. The notion that they were corrupters of the Athenian youth has no real foundation, and partly arises out of the use of the term ‘Sophist’ in modern times. The truth is, that we know little about them; and the witness of Plato in their favour is probably not much more historical than his witness against them. Of that national decline of genius, unity, political force, which has been sometimes described as the corruption of youth, the Sophists were one among many signs; — in these respects Athens may have degenerated; but, as Mr. Grote remarks, there is no reason to suspect any greater moral corruption in the age of Demosthenes than in the age of Pericles. The Athenian youth were not corrupted in this sense, and therefore the Sophists could not have corrupted them. It is remarkable, and may be fairly set down to their credit, that Plato nowhere attributes to them that peculiar Greek sympathy with youth, which he ascribes to Parmenides, and which was evidently common in the Socratic circle. Plato delights to exhibit them in a ludicrous point of view, and to show them always rather at a disadvantage in the company of Socrates. But he has no quarrel with their characters, and does not deny that they are respectable men.

The Sophist, in the dialogue which is called after him, is exhibited in many different lights, and appears and reappears in a variety of forms. There is some want of the higher Platonic art in the Eleatic Stranger eliciting his true character by a labourious process of enquiry, when he had already admitted that he knew quite well the difference between the Sophist and the Philosopher, and had often heard the question discussed; — such an anticipation would hardly have occurred in the earlier dialogues. But Plato could not altogether give up his Socratic method, of which another trace may be thought to be discerned in his adoption of a common instance before he proceeds to the greater matter in hand. Yet the example is also chosen in order to damage the ‘hooker of men’ as much as possible; each step in the pedigree of the angler suggests some injurious reflection about the Sophist. They are both hunters after a living prey, nearly related to tyrants and thieves, and the Sophist is the cousin of the parasite and flatterer. The effect of this is heightened by the accidental manner in which the discovery is made, as the result of a scientific division. His descent in another branch affords the opportunity of more ‘unsavoury comparisons.’ For he is a retail trader, and his wares are either imported or home-made, like those of other retail traders; his art is thus deprived of the character of a liberal profession. But the most distinguishing characteristic of him is, that he is a disputant, and higgles over an argument. A feature of the Eristic here seems to blend with Plato’s usual description of the Sophists, who in the early dialogues, and in the Republic, are frequently depicted as endeavouring to save themselves from disputing with Socrates by making long orations. In this character he parts company from the vain and impertinent talker in private life, who is a loser of money, while he is a maker of it.

But there is another general division under which his art may be also supposed to fall, and that is purification; and from purification is descended education, and the new principle of education is to interrogate men after the manner of Socrates, and make them teach themselves. Here again we catch a glimpse rather of a Socratic or Eristic than of a Sophist in the ordinary sense of the term. And Plato does not on this ground reject the claim of the Sophist to be the true philosopher. One more feature of the Eristic rather than of the Sophist is the tendency of the troublesome animal to run away into the darkness of Not-being. Upon the whole, we detect in him a sort of hybrid or double nature, of which, except perhaps in the Euthydemus of Plato, we find no other trace in Greek philosophy; he combines the teacher of virtue with the Eristic; while in his omniscience, in his ignorance of himself, in his arts of deception, and in his lawyer-like habit of writing and speaking about all things, he is still the antithesis of Socrates and of the true teacher.

II. The question has been asked, whether the method of ‘abscissio infinti,’ by which the Sophist is taken, is a real and valuable logical process. Modern science feels that this, like other processes of formal logic, presents a very inadequate conception of the actual complex procedure of the mind by which scientific truth is detected and verified. Plato himself seems to be aware that mere division is an unsafe and uncertain weapon, first, in the Statesman, when he says that we should divide in the middle, for in that way we are more likely to attain species; secondly, in the parallel precept of the Philebus, that we should not pass from the most general notions to infinity, but include all the intervening middle principles, until, as he also says in the Statesman, we arrive at the infima species; thirdly, in the Phaedrus, when he says that the dialectician will carve the limbs of truth without mangling them; and once more in the Statesman, if we cannot bisect species, we must carve them as well as we can. No better image of nature or truth, as an organic whole, can be conceived than this. So far is Plato from supposing that mere division and subdivision of general notions will guide men into all truth.

Plato does not really mean to say that the Sophist or the Statesman can be caught in this way. But these divisions and subdivisions were favourite logical exercises of the age in which he lived; and while indulging his dialectical fancy, and making a contribution to logical method, he delights also to transfix the Eristic Sophist with weapons borrowed from his own armoury. As we have already seen, the division gives him the opportunity of making the most damaging reflections on the Sophist and all his kith and kin, and to exhibit him in the most discreditable light.

Nor need we seriously consider whether Plato was right in assuming that an animal so various could not be confined within the limits of a single definition. In the infancy of logic, men sought only to obtain a definition of an unknown or uncertain term; the after reflection scarcely occurred to them that the word might have several senses, which shaded off into one another, and were not capable of being comprehended in a single notion. There is no trace of this reflection in Plato. But neither is there any reason to think, even if the reflection had occurred to him, that he would have been deterred from carrying on the war with weapons fair or unfair against the outlaw Sophist.

III. The puzzle about ‘Not-being’ appears to us to be one of the most unreal difficulties of ancient philosophy. We cannot understand the attitude of mind which could imagine that falsehood had no existence, if reality was denied to Not-being: How could such a question arise at all, much less become of serious importance? The answer to this, and to nearly all other difficulties of early Greek philosophy, is to be sought for in the history of ideas, and the answer is only unsatisfactory because our knowledge is defective. In the passage from the world of sense and imagination and common language to that of opinion and reflection the human mind was exposed to many dangers, and often

‘Found no end in wandering mazes lost.’

On the other hand, the discovery of abstractions was the great source of all mental improvement in after ages. It was the pushing aside of the old, the revelation of the new. But each one of the company of abstractions, if we may speak in the metaphorical language of Plato, became in turn the tyrant of the mind, the dominant idea, which would allow no other to have a share in the throne. This is especially true of the Eleatic philosophy: while the absoluteness of Being was asserted in every form of language, the sensible world and all the phenomena of experience were comprehended under Not-being. Nor was any difficulty or perplexity thus created, so long as the mind, lost in the contemplation of Being, asked no more questions, and never thought of applying the categories of Being or Not-being to mind or opinion or practical life.

But the negative as well as the positive idea had sunk deep into the intellect of man. The effect of the paradoxes of Zeno extended far beyond the Eleatic circle. And now an unforeseen consequence began to arise. If the Many were not, if all things were names of the One, and nothing could be predicated of any other thing, how could truth be distinguished from falsehood? The Eleatic philosopher would have replied that Being is alone true. But mankind had got beyond his barren abstractions: they were beginning to analyze, to classify, to define, to ask what is the nature of knowledge, opinion, sensation. Still less could they be content with the description which Achilles gives in Homer of the man whom his soul hates —

os chi eteron men keuthe eni phresin, allo de eipe.

For their difficulty was not a practical but a metaphysical one; and their conception of falsehood was really impaired and weakened by a metaphysical illusion.

The strength of the illusion seems to lie in the alternative: If we once admit the existence of Being and Not-being, as two spheres which exclude each other, no Being or reality can be ascribed to Not-being, and therefore not to falsehood, which is the image or expression of Not-being. Falsehood is wholly false; and to speak of true falsehood, as Theaetetus does (Theaet.), is a contradiction in terms. The fallacy to us is ridiculous and transparent, — no better than those which Plato satirizes in the Euthydemus. It is a confusion of falsehood and negation, from which Plato himself is not entirely free. Instead of saying, ‘This is not in accordance with facts,’ ‘This is proved by experience to be false,’ and from such examples forming a general notion of falsehood, the mind of the Greek thinker was lost in the mazes of the Eleatic philosophy. And the greater importance which Plato attributes to this fallacy, compared with others, is due to the influence which the Eleatic philosophy exerted over him. He sees clearly to a certain extent; but he has not yet attained a complete mastery over the ideas of his predecessors — they are still ends to him, and not mere instruments of thought. They are too rough-hewn to be harmonized in a single structure, and may be compared to rocks which project or overhang in some ancient city’s walls. There are many such imperfect syncretisms or eclecticisms in the history of philosophy. A modern philosopher, though emancipated from scholastic notions of essence or substance, might still be seriously affected by the abstract idea of necessity; or though accustomed, like Bacon, to criticize abstract notions, might not extend his criticism to the syllogism.

The saying or thinking the thing that is not, would be the popular definition of falsehood or error. If we were met by the Sophist’s objection, the reply would probably be an appeal to experience. Ten thousands, as Homer would say (mala murioi), tell falsehoods and fall into errors. And this is Plato’s reply, both in the Cratylus and Sophist. ‘Theaetetus is flying,’ is a sentence in form quite as grammatical as ‘Theaetetus is sitting’; the difference between the two sentences is, that the one is true and the other false. But, before making this appeal to common sense, Plato propounds for our consideration a theory of the nature of the negative.

The theory is, that Not-being is relation. Not-being is the other of Being, and has as many kinds as there are differences in Being. This doctrine is the simple converse of the famous proposition of Spinoza, — not ‘Omnis determinatio est negatio,’ but ‘Omnis negatio est determinatio’; — not, All distinction is negation, but, All negation is distinction. Not-being is the unfolding or determining of Being, and is a necessary element in all other things that are. We should be careful to observe, first, that Plato does not identify Being with Not-being; he has no idea of progression by antagonism, or of the Hegelian vibration of moments: he would not have said with Heracleitus, ‘All things are and are not, and become and become not.’ Secondly, he has lost sight altogether of the other sense of Not-being, as the negative of Being; although he again and again recognizes the validity of the law of contradiction. Thirdly, he seems to confuse falsehood with negation. Nor is he quite consistent in regarding Not-being as one class of Being, and yet as coextensive with Being in general. Before analyzing further the topics thus suggested, we will endeavour to trace the manner in which Plato arrived at his conception of Not-being.

In all the later dialogues of Plato, the idea of mind or intelligence becomes more and more prominent. That idea which Anaxagoras employed inconsistently in the construction of the world, Plato, in the Philebus, the Sophist, and the Laws, extends to all things, attributing to Providence a care, infinitesimal as well as infinite, of all creation. The divine mind is the leading religious thought of the later works of Plato. The human mind is a sort of reflection of this, having ideas of Being, Sameness, and the like. At times they seem to be parted by a great gulf (Parmenides); at other times they have a common nature, and the light of a common intelligence.

But this ever-growing idea of mind is really irreconcilable with the abstract Pantheism of the Eleatics. To the passionate language of Parmenides, Plato replies in a strain equally passionate: — What! has not Being mind? and is not Being capable of being known? and, if this is admitted, then capable of being affected or acted upon? — in motion, then, and yet not wholly incapable of rest. Already we have been compelled to attribute opposite determinations to Being. And the answer to the difficulty about Being may be equally the answer to the difficulty about Not-being.

The answer is, that in these and all other determinations of any notion we are attributing to it ‘Not-being.’ We went in search of Not-being and seemed to lose Being, and now in the hunt after Being we recover both. Not-being is a kind of Being, and in a sense co-extensive with Being. And there are as many divisions of Not-being as of Being. To every positive idea— ‘just,’ ‘beautiful,’ and the like, there is a corresponding negative idea— ‘not-just,’ ‘not-beautiful,’ and the like.

A doubt may be raised whether this account of the negative is really the true one. The common logicians would say that the ‘not-just,’ ‘not-beautiful,’ are not really classes at all, but are merged in one great class of the infinite or negative. The conception of Plato, in the days before logic, seems to be more correct than this. For the word ‘not’ does not altogether annihilate the positive meaning of the word ‘just’: at least, it does not prevent our looking for the ‘not-just’ in or about the same class in which we might expect to find the ‘just.’ ‘Not-just is not-honourable’ is neither a false nor an unmeaning proposition. The reason is that the negative proposition has really passed into an undefined positive. To say that ‘not-just’ has no more meaning than ‘not-honourable’ — that is to say, that the two cannot in any degree be distinguished, is clearly repugnant to the common use of language.

The ordinary logic is also jealous of the explanation of negation as relation, because seeming to take away the principle of contradiction. Plato, as far as we know, is the first philosopher who distinctly enunciated this principle; and though we need not suppose him to have been always consistent with himself, there is no real inconsistency between his explanation of the negative and the principle of contradiction. Neither the Platonic notion of the negative as the principle of difference, nor the Hegelian identity of Being and Not-being, at all touch the principle of contradiction. For what is asserted about Being and Not-Being only relates to our most abstract notions, and in no way interferes with the principle of contradiction employed in the concrete. Because Not-being is identified with Other, or Being with Not-being, this does not make the proposition ‘Some have not eaten’ any the less a contradiction of ‘All have eaten.’

The explanation of the negative given by Plato in the Sophist is a true but partial one; for the word ‘not,’ besides the meaning of ‘other,’ may also imply ‘opposition.’ And difference or opposition may be either total or partial: the not-beautiful may be other than the beautiful, or in no relation to the beautiful, or a specific class in various degrees opposed to the beautiful. And the negative may be a negation of fact or of thought (ou and me). Lastly, there are certain ideas, such as ‘beginning,’ ‘becoming,’ ‘the finite,’ ‘the abstract,’ in which the negative cannot be separated from the positive, and ‘Being’ and ‘Not-being’ are inextricably blended.

Plato restricts the conception of Not-being to difference. Man is a rational animal, and is not — as many other things as are not included under this definition. He is and is not, and is because he is not. Besides the positive class to which he belongs, there are endless negative classes to which he may be referred. This is certainly intelligible, but useless. To refer a subject to a negative class is unmeaning, unless the ‘not’ is a mere modification of the positive, as in the example of ‘not honourable’ and ‘dishonourable’; or unless the class is characterized by the absence rather than the presence of a particular quality.

Nor is it easy to see how Not-being any more than Sameness or Otherness is one of the classes of Being. They are aspects rather than classes of Being. Not-being can only be included in Being, as the denial of some particular class of Being. If we attempt to pursue such airy phantoms at all, the Hegelian identity of Being and Not-being is a more apt and intelligible expression of the same mental phenomenon. For Plato has not distinguished between the Being which is prior to Not-being, and the Being which is the negation of Not-being (compare Parm.).

But he is not thinking of this when he says that Being comprehends Not-being. Again, we should probably go back for the true explanation to the influence which the Eleatic philosophy exercised over him. Under ‘Not-being’ the Eleatic had included all the realities of the sensible world. Led by this association and by the common use of language, which has been already noticed, we cannot be much surprised that Plato should have made classes of Not-being. It is observable that he does not absolutely deny that there is an opposite of Being. He is inclined to leave the question, merely remarking that the opposition, if admissible at all, is not expressed by the term ‘Not-being.’

On the whole, we must allow that the great service rendered by Plato to metaphysics in the Sophist, is not his explanation of ‘Not-being’ as difference. With this he certainly laid the ghost of ‘Not-being’; and we may attribute to him in a measure the credit of anticipating Spinoza and Hegel. But his conception is not clear or consistent; he does not recognize the different senses of the negative, and he confuses the different classes of Not-being with the abstract notion. As the Pre-Socratic philosopher failed to distinguish between the universal and the true, while he placed the particulars of sense under the false and apparent, so Plato appears to identify negation with falsehood, or is unable to distinguish them. The greatest service rendered by him to mental science is the recognition of the communion of classes, which, although based by him on his account of ‘Not-being,’ is independent of it. He clearly saw that the isolation of ideas or classes is the annihilation of reasoning. Thus, after wandering in many diverging paths, we return to common sense. And for this reason we may be inclined to do less than justice to Plato, — because the truth which he attains by a real effort of thought is to us a familiar and unconscious truism, which no one would any longer think either of doubting or examining.

IV. The later dialogues of Plato contain many references to contemporary philosophy. Both in the Theaetetus and in the Sophist he recognizes that he is in the midst of a fray; a huge irregular battle everywhere surrounds him (Theaet.). First, there are the two great philosophies going back into cosmogony and poetry: the philosophy of Heracleitus, supposed to have a poetical origin in Homer, and that of the Eleatics, which in a similar spirit he conceives to be even older than Xenophanes (compare Protag.). Still older were theories of two and three principles, hot and cold, moist and dry, which were ever marrying and being given in marriage: in speaking of these, he is probably referring to Pherecydes and the early Ionians. In the philosophy of motion there were different accounts of the relation of plurality and unity, which were supposed to be joined and severed by love and hate, some maintaining that this process was perpetually going on (e.g. Heracleitus); others (e.g. Empedocles) that there was an alternation of them. Of the Pythagoreans or of Anaxagoras he makes no distinct mention. His chief opponents are, first, Eristics or Megarians; secondly, the Materialists.

The picture which he gives of both these latter schools is indistinct; and he appears reluctant to mention the names of their teachers. Nor can we easily determine how much is to be assigned to the Cynics, how much to the Megarians, or whether the ‘repellent Materialists’ (Theaet.) are Cynics or Atomists, or represent some unknown phase of opinion at Athens. To the Cynics and Antisthenes is commonly attributed, on the authority of Aristotle, the denial of predication, while the Megarians are said to have been Nominalists, asserting the One Good under many names to be the true Being of Zeno and the Eleatics, and, like Zeno, employing their negative dialectic in the refutation of opponents. But the later Megarians also denied predication; and this tenet, which is attributed to all of them by Simplicius, is certainly in accordance with their over-refining philosophy. The ‘tyros young and old,’ of whom Plato speaks, probably include both. At any rate, we shall be safer in accepting the general description of them which he has given, and in not attempting to draw a precise line between them.

Of these Eristics, whether Cynics or Megarians, several characteristics are found in Plato: —

1. They pursue verbal oppositions; 2. they make reasoning impossible by their over-accuracy in the use of language; 3. they deny predication; 4. they go from unity to plurality, without passing through the intermediate stages; 5. they refuse to attribute motion or power to Being; 6. they are the enemies of sense; — whether they are the ‘friends of ideas,’ who carry on the polemic against sense, is uncertain; probably under this remarkable expression Plato designates those who more nearly approached himself, and may be criticizing an earlier form of his own doctrines. We may observe (1) that he professes only to give us a few opinions out of many which were at that time current in Greece; (2) that he nowhere alludes to the ethical teaching of the Cynics — unless the argument in the Protagoras, that the virtues are one and not many, may be supposed to contain a reference to their views, as well as to those of Socrates; and unless they are the school alluded to in the Philebus, which is described as ‘being very skilful in physics, and as maintaining pleasure to be the absence of pain.’ That Antisthenes wrote a book called ‘Physicus,’ is hardly a sufficient reason for describing them as skilful in physics, which appear to have been very alien to the tendency of the Cynics.

The Idealism of the fourth century before Christ in Greece, as in other ages and countries, seems to have provoked a reaction towards Materialism. The maintainers of this doctrine are described in the Theaetetus as obstinate persons who will believe in nothing which they cannot hold in their hands, and in the Sophist as incapable of argument. They are probably the same who are said in the Tenth Book of the Laws to attribute the course of events to nature, art, and chance. Who they were, we have no means of determining except from Plato’s description of them. His silence respecting the Atomists might lead us to suppose that here we have a trace of them. But the Atomists were not Materialists in the grosser sense of the term, nor were they incapable of reasoning; and Plato would hardly have described a great genius like Democritus in the disdainful terms which he uses of the Materialists. Upon the whole, we must infer that the persons here spoken of are unknown to us, like the many other writers and talkers at Athens and elsewhere, of whose endless activity of mind Aristotle in his Metaphysics has preserved an anonymous memorial.

V. The Sophist is the sequel of the Theaetetus, and is connected with the Parmenides by a direct allusion (compare Introductions to Theaetetus and Parmenides). In the Theaetetus we sought to discover the nature of knowledge and false opinion. But the nature of false opinion seemed impenetrable; for we were unable to understand how there could be any reality in Not-being. In the Sophist the question is taken up again; the nature of Not-being is detected, and there is no longer any metaphysical impediment in the way of admitting the possibility of falsehood. To the Parmenides, the Sophist stands in a less defined and more remote relation. There human thought is in process of disorganization; no absurdity or inconsistency is too great to be elicited from the analysis of the simple ideas of Unity or Being. In the Sophist the same contradictions are pursued to a certain extent, but only with a view to their resolution. The aim of the dialogue is to show how the few elemental conceptions of the human mind admit of a natural connexion in thought and speech, which Megarian or other sophistry vainly attempts to deny.

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True to the appointment of the previous day, Theodorus and Theaetetus meet Socrates at the same spot, bringing with them an Eleatic Stranger, whom Theodorus introduces as a true philosopher. Socrates, half in jest, half in earnest, declares that he must be a god in disguise, who, as Homer would say, has come to earth that he may visit the good and evil among men, and detect the foolishness of Athenian wisdom. At any rate he is a divine person, one of a class who are hardly recognized on earth; who appear in divers forms — now as statesmen, now as sophists, and are often deemed madmen. ‘Philosopher, statesman, sophist,’ says Socrates, repeating the words— ‘I should like to ask our Eleatic friend what his countrymen think of them; do they regard them as one, or three?’

The Stranger has been already asked the same question by Theodorus and Theaetetus; and he at once replies that they are thought to be three; but to explain the difference fully would take time. He is pressed to give this fuller explanation, either in the form of a speech or of question and answer. He prefers the latter, and chooses as his respondent Theaetetus, whom he already knows, and who is recommended to him by Socrates.

We are agreed, he says, about the name Sophist, but we may not be equally agreed about his nature. Great subjects should be approached through familiar examples, and, considering that he is a creature not easily caught, I think that, before approaching him, we should try our hand upon some more obvious animal, who may be made the subject of logical experiment; shall we say an angler? ‘Very good.’

In the first place, the angler is an artist; and there are two kinds of art, — productive art, which includes husbandry, manufactures, imitations; and acquisitive art, which includes learning, trading, fighting, hunting. The angler’s is an acquisitive art, and acquisition may be effected either by exchange or by conquest; in the latter case, either by force or craft. Conquest by craft is called hunting, and of hunting there is one kind which pursues inanimate, and another which pursues animate objects; and animate objects may be either land animals or water animals, and water animals either fly over the water or live in the water. The hunting of the last is called fishing; and of fishing, one kind uses enclosures, catching the fish in nets and baskets, and another kind strikes them either with spears by night or with barbed spears or barbed hooks by day; the barbed spears are impelled from above, the barbed hooks are jerked into the head and lips of the fish, which are then drawn from below upwards. Thus, by a series of divisions, we have arrived at the definition of the angler’s art.

And now by the help of this example we may proceed to bring to light the nature of the Sophist. Like the angler, he is an artist, and the resemblance does not end here. For they are both hunters, and hunters of animals; the one of water, and the other of land animals. But at this point they diverge, the one going to the sea and the rivers, and the other to the rivers of wealth and rich meadow-lands, in which generous youth abide. On land you may hunt tame animals, or you may hunt wild animals. And man is a tame animal, and he may be hunted either by force or persuasion; — either by the pirate, man-stealer, soldier, or by the lawyer, orator, talker. The latter use persuasion, and persuasion is either private or public. Of the private practitioners of the art, some bring gifts to those whom they hunt: these are lovers. And others take hire; and some of these flatter, and in return are fed; others profess to teach virtue and receive a round sum. And who are these last? Tell me who? Have we not unearthed the Sophist?

But he is a many-sided creature, and may still be traced in another line of descent. The acquisitive art had a branch of exchange as well as of hunting, and exchange is either giving or selling; and the seller is either a manufacturer or a merchant; and the merchant either retails or exports; and the exporter may export either food for the body or food for the mind. And of this trading in food for the mind, one kind may be termed the art of display, and another the art of selling learning; and learning may be a learning of the arts or of virtue. The seller of the arts may be called an art-seller; the seller of virtue, a Sophist.

Again, there is a third line, in which a Sophist may be traced. For is he less a Sophist when, instead of exporting his wares to another country, he stays at home, and retails goods, which he not only buys of others, but manufactures himself?

Or he may be descended from the acquisitive art in the combative line, through the pugnacious, the controversial, the disputatious arts; and he will be found at last in the eristic section of the latter, and in that division of it which disputes in private for gain about the general principles of right and wrong.

And still there is a track of him which has not yet been followed out by us. Do not our household servants talk of sifting, straining, winnowing? And they also speak of carding, spinning, and the like. All these are processes of division; and of division there are two kinds, — one in which like is divided from like, and another in which the good is separated from the bad. The latter of the two is termed purification; and again, of purification, there are two sorts, — of animate bodies (which may be internal or external), and of inanimate. Medicine and gymnastic are the internal purifications of the animate, and bathing the external; and of the inanimate, fulling and cleaning and other humble processes, some of which have ludicrous names. Not that dialectic is a respecter of names or persons, or a despiser of humble occupations; nor does she think much of the greater or less benefits conferred by them. For her aim is knowledge; she wants to know how the arts are related to one another, and would quite as soon learn the nature of hunting from the vermin-destroyer as from the general. And she only desires to have a general name, which shall distinguish purifications of the soul from purifications of the body.

Now purification is the taking away of evil; and there are two kinds of evil in the soul, — the one answering to disease in the body, and the other to deformity. Disease is the discord or war of opposite principles in the soul; and deformity is the want of symmetry, or failure in the attainment of a mark or measure. The latter arises from ignorance, and no one is voluntarily ignorant; ignorance is only the aberration of the soul moving towards knowledge. And as medicine cures the diseases and gymnastic the deformity of the body, so correction cures the injustice, and education (which differs among the Hellenes from mere instruction in the arts) cures the ignorance of the soul. Again, ignorance is twofold, simple ignorance, and ignorance having the conceit of knowledge. And education is also twofold: there is the old-fashioned moral training of our forefathers, which was very troublesome and not very successful; and another, of a more subtle nature, which proceeds upon a notion that all ignorance is involuntary. The latter convicts a man out of his own mouth, by pointing out to him his inconsistencies and contradictions; and the consequence is that he quarrels with himself, instead of quarrelling with his neighbours, and is cured of prejudices and obstructions by a mode of treatment which is equally entertaining and effectual. The physician of the soul is aware that his patient will receive no nourishment unless he has been cleaned out; and the soul of the Great King himself, if he has not undergone this purification, is unclean and impure.

And who are the ministers of the purification? Sophists I may not call them. Yet they bear about the same likeness to Sophists as the dog, who is the gentlest of animals, does to the wolf, who is the fiercest. Comparisons are slippery things; but for the present let us assume the resemblance of the two, which may probably be disallowed hereafter. And so, from division comes purification; and from this, mental purification; and from mental purification, instruction; and from instruction, education; and from education, the nobly-descended art of Sophistry, which is engaged in the detection of conceit. I do not however think that we have yet found the Sophist, or that his will ultimately prove to be the desired art of education; but neither do I think that he can long escape me, for every way is blocked. Before we make the final assault, let us take breath, and reckon up the many forms which he has assumed: (1) he was the paid hunter of wealth and birth; (2) he was the trader in the goods of the soul; (3) he was the retailer of them; (4) he was the manufacturer of his own learned wares; (5) he was the disputant; and (6) he was the purger away of prejudices — although this latter point is admitted to be doubtful.

Now, there must surely be something wrong in the professor of any art having so many names and kinds of knowledge. Does not the very number of them imply that the nature of his art is not understood? And that we may not be involved in the misunderstanding, let us observe which of his characteristics is the most prominent. Above all things he is a disputant. He will dispute and teach others to dispute about things visible and invisible — about man, about the gods, about politics, about law, about wrestling, about all things. But can he know all things? ‘He cannot.’ How then can he dispute satisfactorily with any one who knows? ‘Impossible.’ Then what is the trick of his art, and why does he receive money from his admirers? ‘Because he is believed by them to know all things.’ You mean to say that he seems to have a knowledge of them? ‘Yes.’

Suppose a person were to say, not that he would dispute about all things, but that he would make all things, you and me, and all other creatures, the earth and the heavens and the gods, and would sell them all for a few pence — this would be a great jest; but not greater than if he said that he knew all things, and could teach them in a short time, and at a small cost. For all imitation is a jest, and the most graceful form of jest. Now the painter is a man who professes to make all things, and children, who see his pictures at a distance, sometimes take them for realities: and the Sophist pretends to know all things, and he, too, can deceive young men, who are still at a distance from the truth, not through their eyes, but through their ears, by the mummery of words, and induce them to believe him. But as they grow older, and come into contact with realities, they learn by experience the futility of his pretensions. The Sophist, then, has not real knowledge; he is only an imitator, or image-maker.

And now, having got him in a corner of the dialectical net, let us divide and subdivide until we catch him. Of image-making there are two kinds, — the art of making likenesses, and the art of making appearances. The latter may be illustrated by sculpture and painting, which often use illusions, and alter the proportions of figures, in order to adapt their works to the eye. And the Sophist also uses illusions, and his imitations are apparent and not real. But how can anything be an appearance only? Here arises a difficulty which has always beset the subject of appearances. For the argument is asserting the existence of not-being. And this is what the great Parmenides was all his life denying in prose and also in verse. ‘You will never find,’ he says, ‘that not-being is.’ And the words prove themselves! Not-being cannot be attributed to any being; for how can any being be wholly abstracted from being? Again, in every predication there is an attribution of singular or plural. But number is the most real of all things, and cannot be attributed to not-being. Therefore not-being cannot be predicated or expressed; for how can we say ’is,’ ‘are not,’ without number?

And now arises the greatest difficulty of all. If not-being is inconceivable, how can not-being be refuted? And am I not contradicting myself at this moment, in speaking either in the singular or the plural of that to which I deny both plurality and unity? You, Theaetetus, have the might of youth, and I conjure you to exert yourself, and, if you can, to find an expression for not-being which does not imply being and number. ‘But I cannot.’ Then the Sophist must be left in his hole. We may call him an image-maker if we please, but he will only say, ‘And pray, what is an image?’ And we shall reply, ‘A reflection in the water, or in a mirror’; and he will say, ‘Let us shut our eyes and open our minds; what is the common notion of all images?’ ‘I should answer, Such another, made in the likeness of the true.’ Real or not real? ‘Not real; at least, not in a true sense.’ And the real ’is,’ and the not-real ’is not’? ‘Yes.’ Then a likeness is really unreal, and essentially not. Here is a pretty complication of being and not-being, in which the many-headed Sophist has entangled us. He will at once point out that he is compelling us to contradict ourselves, by affirming being of not-being. I think that we must cease to look for him in the class of imitators.

But ought we to give him up? ‘I should say, certainly not.’ Then I fear that I must lay hands on my father Parmenides; but do not call me a parricide; for there is no way out of the difficulty except to show that in some sense not-being is; and if this is not admitted, no one can speak of falsehood, or false opinion, or imitation, without falling into a contradiction. You observe how unwilling I am to undertake the task; for I know that I am exposing myself to the charge of inconsistency in asserting the being of not-being. But if I am to make the attempt, I think that I had better begin at the beginning.

Lightly in the days of our youth, Parmenides and others told us tales about the origin of the universe: one spoke of three principles warring and at peace again, marrying and begetting children; another of two principles, hot and cold, dry and moist, which also formed relationships. There were the Eleatics in our part of the world, saying that all things are one; whose doctrine begins with Xenophanes, and is even older. Ionian, and, more recently, Sicilian muses speak of a one and many which are held together by enmity and friendship, ever parting, ever meeting. Some of them do not insist on the perpetual strife, but adopt a gentler strain, and speak of alternation only. Whether they are right or not, who can say? But one thing we can say — that they went on their way without much caring whether we understood them or not. For tell me, Theaetetus, do you understand what they mean by their assertion of unity, or by their combinations and separations of two or more principles? I used to think, when I was young, that I knew all about not-being, and now I am in great difficulties even about being.

Let us proceed first to the examination of being. Turning to the dualist philosophers, we say to them: Is being a third element besides hot and cold? or do you identify one or both of the two elements with being? At any rate, you can hardly avoid resolving them into one. Let us next interrogate the patrons of the one. To them we say: Are being and one two different names for the same thing? But how can there be two names when there is nothing but one? Or you may identify them; but then the name will be either the name of nothing or of itself, i.e. of a name. Again, the notion of being is conceived of as a whole — in the words of Parmenides, ‘like every way unto a rounded sphere.’ And a whole has parts; but that which has parts is not one, for unity has no parts. Is being, then, one, because the parts of being are one, or shall we say that being is not a whole? In the former case, one is made up of parts; and in the latter there is still plurality, viz. being, and a whole which is apart from being. And being, if not all things, lacks something of the nature of being, and becomes not-being. Nor can being ever have come into existence, for nothing comes into existence except as a whole; nor can being have number, for that which has number is a whole or sum of number. These are a few of the difficulties which are accumulating one upon another in the consideration of being.

We may proceed now to the less exact sort of philosophers. Some of them drag down everything to earth, and carry on a war like that of the giants, grasping rocks and oaks in their hands. Their adversaries defend themselves warily from an invisible world, and reduce the substances of their opponents to the minutest fractions, until they are lost in generation and flux. The latter sort are civil people enough; but the materialists are rude and ignorant of dialectics; they must be taught how to argue before they can answer. Yet, for the sake of the argument, we may assume them to be better than they are, and able to give an account of themselves. They admit the existence of a mortal living creature, which is a body containing a soul, and to this they would not refuse to attribute qualities — wisdom, folly, justice and injustice. The soul, as they say, has a kind of body, but they do not like to assert of these qualities of the soul, either that they are corporeal, or that they have no existence; at this point they begin to make distinctions. ‘Sons of earth,’ we say to them, ‘if both visible and invisible qualities exist, what is the common nature which is attributed to them by the term “being” or “existence”?’ And, as they are incapable of answering this question, we may as well reply for them, that being is the power of doing or suffering. Then we turn to the friends of ideas: to them we say, ‘You distinguish becoming from being?’ ‘Yes,’ they will reply. ‘And in becoming you participate through the bodily senses, and in being, by thought and the mind?’ ‘Yes.’ And you mean by the word ‘participation’ a power of doing or suffering? To this they answer — I am acquainted with them, Theaetetus, and know their ways better than you do — that being can neither do nor suffer, though becoming may. And we rejoin: Does not the soul know? And is not ‘being’ known? And are not ‘knowing’ and ‘being known’ active and passive? That which is known is affected by knowledge, and therefore is in motion. And, indeed, how can we imagine that perfect being is a mere everlasting form, devoid of motion and soul? for there can be no thought without soul, nor can soul be devoid of motion. But neither can thought or mind be devoid of some principle of rest or stability. And as children say entreatingly, ‘Give us both,’ so the philosopher must include both the moveable and immoveable in his idea of being. And yet, alas! he and we are in the same difficulty with which we reproached the dualists; for motion and rest are contradictions — how then can they both exist? Does he who affirms this mean to say that motion is rest, or rest motion? ‘No; he means to assert the existence of some third thing, different from them both, which neither rests nor moves.’ But how can there be anything which neither rests nor moves? Here is a second difficulty about being, quite as great as that about not-being. And we may hope that any light which is thrown upon the one may extend to the other.

Leaving them for the present, let us enquire what we mean by giving many names to the same thing, e.g. white, good, tall, to man; out of which tyros old and young derive such a feast of amusement. Their meagre minds refuse to predicate anything of anything; they say that good is good, and man is man; and that to affirm one of the other would be making the many one and the one many. Let us place them in a class with our previous opponents, and interrogate both of them at once. Shall we assume (1) that being and rest and motion, and all other things, are incommunicable with one another? or (2) that they all have indiscriminate communion? or (3) that there is communion of some and not of others? And we will consider the first hypothesis first of all.

(1) If we suppose the universal separation of kinds, all theories alike are swept away; the patrons of a single principle of rest or of motion, or of a plurality of immutable ideas — all alike have the ground cut from under them; and all creators of the universe by theories of composition and division, whether out of or into a finite or infinite number of elemental forms, in alternation or continuance, share the same fate. Most ridiculous is the discomfiture which attends the opponents of predication, who, like the ventriloquist Eurycles, have the voice that answers them in their own breast. For they cannot help using the words ’is,’ ‘apart,’ ‘from others,’ and the like; and their adversaries are thus saved the trouble of refuting them. But (2) if all things have communion with all things, motion will rest, and rest will move; here is a reductio ad absurdum. Two out of the three hypotheses are thus seen to be false. The third (3) remains, which affirms that only certain things communicate with certain other things. In the alphabet and the scale there are some letters and notes which combine with others, and some which do not; and the laws according to which they combine or are separated are known to the grammarian and musician. And there is a science which teaches not only what notes and letters, but what classes admit of combination with one another, and what not. This is a noble science, on which we have stumbled unawares; in seeking after the Sophist we have found the philosopher. He is the master who discerns one whole or form pervading a scattered multitude, and many such wholes combined under a higher one, and many entirely apart — he is the true dialectician. Like the Sophist, he is hard to recognize, though for the opposite reasons; the Sophist runs away into the obscurity of not-being, the philosopher is dark from excess of light. And now, leaving him, we will return to our pursuit of the Sophist.

Agreeing in the truth of the third hypothesis, that some things have communion and others not, and that some may have communion with all, let us examine the most important kinds which are capable of admixture; and in this way we may perhaps find out a sense in which not-being may be affirmed to have being. Now the highest kinds are being, rest, motion; and of these, rest and motion exclude each other, but both of them are included in being; and again, they are the same with themselves and the other of each other. What is the meaning of these words, ‘same’ and ‘other’? Are there two more kinds to be added to the three others? For sameness cannot be either rest or motion, because predicated both of rest and motion; nor yet being; because if being were attributed to both of them we should attribute sameness to both of them. Nor can other be identified with being; for then other, which is relative, would have the absoluteness of being. Therefore we must assume a fifth principle, which is universal, and runs through all things, for each thing is other than all other things. Thus there are five principles: (1) being, (2) motion, which is not (3) rest, and because participating both in the same and other, is and is not (4) the same with itself, and is and is not (5) other than the other. And motion is not being, but partakes of being, and therefore is and is not in the most absolute sense. Thus we have discovered that not-being is the principle of the other which runs through all things, being not excepted. And ‘being’ is one thing, and ‘not-being’ includes and is all other things. And not-being is not the opposite of being, but only the other. Knowledge has many branches, and the other or difference has as many, each of which is described by prefixing the word ‘not’ to some kind of knowledge. The not-beautiful is as real as the beautiful, the not-just as the just. And the essence of the not-beautiful is to be separated from and opposed to a certain kind of existence which is termed beautiful. And this opposition and negation is the not-being of which we are in search, and is one kind of being. Thus, in spite of Parmenides, we have not only discovered the existence, but also the nature of not-being — that nature we have found to be relation. In the communion of different kinds, being and other mutually interpenetrate; other is, but is other than being, and other than each and all of the remaining kinds, and therefore in an infinity of ways ’is not.’ And the argument has shown that the pursuit of contradictions is childish and useless, and the very opposite of that higher spirit which criticizes the words of another according to the natural meaning of them. Nothing can be more unphilosophical than the denial of all communion of kinds. And we are fortunate in having established such a communion for another reason, because in continuing the hunt after the Sophist we have to examine the nature of discourse, and there could be no discourse if there were no communion. For the Sophist, although he can no longer deny the existence of not-being, may still affirm that not-being cannot enter into discourse, and as he was arguing before that there could be no such thing as falsehood, because there was no such thing as not-being, he may continue to argue that there is no such thing as the art of image-making and phantastic, because not-being has no place in language. Hence arises the necessity of examining speech, opinion, and imagination.

And first concerning speech; let us ask the same question about words which we have already answered about the kinds of being and the letters of the alphabet: To what extent do they admit of combination? Some words have a meaning when combined, and others have no meaning. One class of words describes action, another class agents: ‘walks,’ ‘runs,’ ‘sleeps’ are examples of the first; ‘stag,’ ‘horse,’ ‘lion’ of the second. But no combination of words can be formed without a verb and a noun, e.g. ‘A man learns’; the simplest sentence is composed of two words, and one of these must be a subject. For example, in the sentence, ‘Theaetetus sits,’ which is not very long, ‘Theaetetus’ is the subject, and in the sentence ‘Theaetetus flies,’ ‘Theaetetus’ is again the subject. But the two sentences differ in quality, for the first says of you that which is true, and the second says of you that which is not true, or, in other words, attributes to you things which are not as though they were. Here is false discourse in the shortest form. And thus not only speech, but thought and opinion and imagination are proved to be both true and false. For thought is only the process of silent speech, and opinion is only the silent assent or denial which follows this, and imagination is only the expression of this in some form of sense. All of them are akin to speech, and therefore, like speech, admit of true and false. And we have discovered false opinion, which is an encouraging sign of our probable success in the rest of the enquiry.

Then now let us return to our old division of likeness-making and phantastic. When we were going to place the Sophist in one of them, a doubt arose whether there could be such a thing as an appearance, because there was no such thing as falsehood. At length falsehood has been discovered by us to exist, and we have acknowledged that the Sophist is to be found in the class of imitators. All art was divided originally by us into two branches — productive and acquisitive. And now we may divide both on a different principle into the creations or imitations which are of human, and those which are of divine, origin. For we must admit that the world and ourselves and the animals did not come into existence by chance, or the spontaneous working of nature, but by divine reason and knowledge. And there are not only divine creations but divine imitations, such as apparitions and shadows and reflections, which are equally the work of a divine mind. And there are human creations and human imitations too, — there is the actual house and the drawing of it. Nor must we forget that image-making may be an imitation of realities or an imitation of appearances, which last has been called by us phantastic. And this phantastic may be again divided into imitation by the help of instruments and impersonations. And the latter may be either dissembling or unconscious, either with or without knowledge. A man cannot imitate you, Theaetetus, without knowing you, but he can imitate the form of justice or virtue if he have a sentiment or opinion about them. Not being well provided with names, the former I will venture to call the imitation of science, and the latter the imitation of opinion.

The latter is our present concern, for the Sophist has no claims to

science or knowledge. Now the imitator, who has only opinion, may be

either the simple imitator, who thinks that he knows, or the dissembler,

who is conscious that he does not know, but disguises his ignorance. And

the last may be either a maker of long speeches, or of shorter speeches

which compel the person conversing to contradict himself. The maker of

longer speeches is the popular orator; the maker of the shorter is

the Sophist, whose art may be traced as being the

/ contradictious

/ dissembling

/ without knowledge

/ human and not divine

/ juggling with words

/ phantastic or unreal

/ art of image-making.

...

In commenting on the dialogue in which Plato most nearly approaches the great modern master of metaphysics there are several points which it will be useful to consider, such as the unity of opposites, the conception of the ideas as causes, and the relation of the Platonic and Hegelian dialectic.

The unity of opposites was the crux of ancient thinkers in the age of Plato: How could one thing be or become another? That substances have attributes was implied in common language; that heat and cold, day and night, pass into one another was a matter of experience ‘on a level with the cobbler’s understanding’ (Theat.). But how could philosophy explain the connexion of ideas, how justify the passing of them into one another? The abstractions of one, other, being, not-being, rest, motion, individual, universal, which successive generations of philosophers had recently discovered, seemed to be beyond the reach of human thought, like stars shining in a distant heaven. They were the symbols of different schools of philosophy: but in what relation did they stand to one another and to the world of sense? It was hardly conceivable that one could be other, or the same different. Yet without some reconciliation of these elementary ideas thought was impossible. There was no distinction between truth and falsehood, between the Sophist and the philosopher. Everything could be predicated of everything, or nothing of anything. To these difficulties Plato finds what to us appears to be the answer of common sense — that Not-being is the relative or other of Being, the defining and distinguishing principle, and that some ideas combine with others, but not all with all. It is remarkable however that he offers this obvious reply only as the result of a long and tedious enquiry; by a great effort he is able to look down as ‘from a height’ on the ‘friends of the ideas’ as well as on the pre-Socratic philosophies. Yet he is merely asserting principles which no one who could be made to understand them would deny.

The Platonic unity of differences or opposites is the beginning of the modern view that all knowledge is of relations; it also anticipates the doctrine of Spinoza that all determination is negation. Plato takes or gives so much of either of these theories as was necessary or possible in the age in which he lived. In the Sophist, as in the Cratylus, he is opposed to the Heracleitean flux and equally to the Megarian and Cynic denial of predication, because he regards both of them as making knowledge impossible. He does not assert that everything is and is not, or that the same thing can be affected in the same and in opposite ways at the same time and in respect of the same part of itself. The law of contradiction is as clearly laid down by him in the Republic, as by Aristotle in his Organon. Yet he is aware that in the negative there is also a positive element, and that oppositions may be only differences. And in the Parmenides he deduces the many from the one and Not-being from Being, and yet shows that the many are included in the one, and that Not-being returns to Being.

In several of the later dialogues Plato is occupied with the connexion of the sciences, which in the Philebus he divides into two classes of pure and applied, adding to them there as elsewhere (Phaedr., Crat., Republic, States.) a superintending science of dialectic. This is the origin of Aristotle’s Architectonic, which seems, however, to have passed into an imaginary science of essence, and no longer to retain any relation to other branches of knowledge. Of such a science, whether described as ‘philosophia prima,’ the science of ousia, logic or metaphysics, philosophers have often dreamed. But even now the time has not arrived when the anticipation of Plato can be realized. Though many a thinker has framed a ‘hierarchy of the sciences,’ no one has as yet found the higher science which arrays them in harmonious order, giving to the organic and inorganic, to the physical and moral, their respective limits, and showing how they all work together in the world and in man.

Plato arranges in order the stages of knowledge and of existence. They are the steps or grades by which he rises from sense and the shadows of sense to the idea of beauty and good. Mind is in motion as well as at rest (Soph.); and may be described as a dialectical progress which passes from one limit or determination of thought to another and back again to the first. This is the account of dialectic given by Plato in the Sixth Book of the Republic, which regarded under another aspect is the mysticism of the Symposium. He does not deny the existence of objects of sense, but according to him they only receive their true meaning when they are incorporated in a principle which is above them (Republic). In modern language they might be said to come first in the order of experience, last in the order of nature and reason. They are assumed, as he is fond of repeating, upon the condition that they shall give an account of themselves and that the truth of their existence shall be hereafter proved. For philosophy must begin somewhere and may begin anywhere, — with outward objects, with statements of opinion, with abstract principles. But objects of sense must lead us onward to the ideas or universals which are contained in them; the statements of opinion must be verified; the abstract principles must be filled up and connected with one another. In Plato we find, as we might expect, the germs of many thoughts which have been further developed by the genius of Spinoza and Hegel. But there is a difficulty in separating the germ from the flower, or in drawing the line which divides ancient from modern philosophy. Many coincidences which occur in them are unconscious, seeming to show a natural tendency in the human mind towards certain ideas and forms of thought. And there are many speculations of Plato which would have passed away unheeded, and their meaning, like that of some hieroglyphic, would have remained undeciphered, unless two thousand years and more afterwards an interpreter had arisen of a kindred spirit and of the same intellectual family. For example, in the Sophist Plato begins with the abstract and goes on to the concrete, not in the lower sense of returning to outward objects, but to the Hegelian concrete or unity of abstractions. In the intervening period hardly any importance would have been attached to the question which is so full of meaning to Plato and Hegel.

They differ however in their manner of regarding the question. For Plato is answering a difficulty; he is seeking to justify the use of common language and of ordinary thought into which philosophy had introduced a principle of doubt and dissolution. Whereas Hegel tries to go beyond common thought, and to combine abstractions in a higher unity: the ordinary mechanism of language and logic is carried by him into another region in which all oppositions are absorbed and all contradictions affirmed, only that they may be done away with. But Plato, unlike Hegel, nowhere bases his system on the unity of opposites, although in the Parmenides he shows an Hegelian subtlety in the analysis of one and Being.

It is difficult within the compass of a few pages to give even a faint outline of the Hegelian dialectic. No philosophy which is worth understanding can be understood in a moment; common sense will not teach us metaphysics any more than mathematics. If all sciences demand of us protracted study and attention, the highest of all can hardly be matter of immediate intuition. Neither can we appreciate a great system without yielding a half assent to it — like flies we are caught in the spider’s web; and we can only judge of it truly when we place ourselves at a distance from it. Of all philosophies Hegelianism is the most obscure: and the difficulty inherent in the subject is increased by the use of a technical language. The saying of Socrates respecting the writings of Heracleitus— ‘Noble is that which I understand, and that which I do not understand may be as noble; but the strength of a Delian diver is needed to swim through it’ — expresses the feeling with which the reader rises from the perusal of Hegel. We may truly apply to him the words in which Plato describes the Pre-Socratic philosophers: ‘He went on his way rather regardless of whether we understood him or not’; or, as he is reported himself to have said of his own pupils: ‘There is only one of you who understands me, and he does NOT understand me.’

Nevertheless the consideration of a few general aspects of the Hegelian philosophy may help to dispel some errors and to awaken an interest about it. (i) It is an ideal philosophy which, in popular phraseology, maintains not matter but mind to be the truth of things, and this not by a mere crude substitution of one word for another, but by showing either of them to be the complement of the other. Both are creations of thought, and the difference in kind which seems to divide them may also be regarded as a difference of degree. One is to the other as the real to the ideal, and both may be conceived together under the higher form of the notion. (ii) Under another aspect it views all the forms of sense and knowledge as stages of thought which have always existed implicitly and unconsciously, and to which the mind of the world, gradually disengaged from sense, has become awakened. The present has been the past. The succession in time of human ideas is also the eternal ‘now’; it is historical and also a divine ideal. The history of philosophy stripped of personality and of the other accidents of time and place is gathered up into philosophy, and again philosophy clothed in circumstance expands into history. (iii) Whether regarded as present or past, under the form of time or of eternity, the spirit of dialectic is always moving onwards from one determination of thought to another, receiving each successive system of philosophy and subordinating it to that which follows — impelled by an irresistible necessity from one idea to another until the cycle of human thought and existence is complete. It follows from this that all previous philosophies which are worthy of the name are not mere opinions or speculations, but stages or moments of thought which have a necessary place in the world of mind. They are no longer the last word of philosophy, for another and another has succeeded them, but they still live and are mighty; in the language of the Greek poet, ‘There is a great God in them, and he grows not old.’ (iv) This vast ideal system is supposed to be based upon experience. At each step it professes to carry with it the ‘witness of eyes and ears’ and of common sense, as well as the internal evidence of its own consistency; it has a place for every science, and affirms that no philosophy of a narrower type is capable of comprehending all true facts.

The Hegelian dialectic may be also described as a movement from the simple to the complex. Beginning with the generalizations of sense, (1) passing through ideas of quality, quantity, measure, number, and the like, (2) ascending from presentations, that is pictorial forms of sense, to representations in which the picture vanishes and the essence is detached in thought from the outward form, (3) combining the I and the not-I, or the subject and object, the natural order of thought is at last found to include the leading ideas of the sciences and to arrange them in relation to one another. Abstractions grow together and again become concrete in a new and higher sense. They also admit of development from within their own spheres. Everywhere there is a movement of attraction and repulsion going on — an attraction or repulsion of ideas of which the physical phenomenon described under a similar name is a figure. Freedom and necessity, mind and matter, the continuous and the discrete, cause and effect, are perpetually being severed from one another in thought, only to be perpetually reunited. The finite and infinite, the absolute and relative are not really opposed; the finite and the negation of the finite are alike lost in a higher or positive infinity, and the absolute is the sum or correlation of all relatives. When this reconciliation of opposites is finally completed in all its stages, the mind may come back again and review the things of sense, the opinions of philosophers, the strife of theology and politics, without being disturbed by them. Whatever is, if not the very best — and what is the best, who can tell? — is, at any rate, historical and rational, suitable to its own age, unsuitable to any other. Nor can any efforts of speculative thinkers or of soldiers and statesmen materially quicken the ‘process of the suns.’

Hegel was quite sensible how great would be the difficulty of presenting philosophy to mankind under the form of opposites. Most of us live in the one-sided truth which the understanding offers to us, and if occasionally we come across difficulties like the time-honoured controversy of necessity and free-will, or the Eleatic puzzle of Achilles and the tortoise, we relegate some of them to the sphere of mystery, others to the book of riddles, and go on our way rejoicing. Most men (like Aristotle) have been accustomed to regard a contradiction in terms as the end of strife; to be told that contradiction is the life and mainspring of the intellectual world is indeed a paradox to them. Every abstraction is at first the enemy of every other, yet they are linked together, each with all, in the chain of Being. The struggle for existence is not confined to the animals, but appears in the kingdom of thought. The divisions which arise in thought between the physical and moral and between the moral and intellectual, and the like, are deepened and widened by the formal logic which elevates the defects of the human faculties into Laws of Thought; they become a part of the mind which makes them and is also made up of them. Such distinctions become so familiar to us that we regard the thing signified by them as absolutely fixed and defined. These are some of the illusions from which Hegel delivers us by placing us above ourselves, by teaching us to analyze the growth of ‘what we are pleased to call our minds,’ by reverting to a time when our present distinctions of thought and language had no existence.

Of the great dislike and childish impatience of his system which would be aroused among his opponents, he was fully aware, and would often anticipate the jests which the rest of the world, ‘in the superfluity of their wits,’ were likely to make upon him. Men are annoyed at what puzzles them; they think what they cannot easily understand to be full of danger. Many a sceptic has stood, as he supposed, firmly rooted in the categories of the understanding which Hegel resolves into their original nothingness. For, like Plato, he ‘leaves no stone unturned’ in the intellectual world. Nor can we deny that he is unnecessarily difficult, or that his own mind, like that of all metaphysicians, was too much under the dominion of his system and unable to see beyond: or that the study of philosophy, if made a serious business (compare Republic), involves grave results to the mind and life of the student. For it may encumber him without enlightening his path; and it may weaken his natural faculties of thought and expression without increasing his philosophical power. The mind easily becomes entangled among abstractions, and loses hold of facts. The glass which is adapted to distant objects takes away the vision of what is near and present to us.

To Hegel, as to the ancient Greek thinkers, philosophy was a religion, a principle of life as well as of knowledge, like the idea of good in the Sixth Book of the Republic, a cause as well as an effect, the source of growth as well as of light. In forms of thought which by most of us are regarded as mere categories, he saw or thought that he saw a gradual revelation of the Divine Being. He would have been said by his opponents to have confused God with the history of philosophy, and to have been incapable of distinguishing ideas from facts. And certainly we can scarcely understand how a deep thinker like Hegel could have hoped to revive or supplant the old traditional faith by an unintelligible abstraction: or how he could have imagined that philosophy consisted only or chiefly in the categories of logic. For abstractions, though combined by him in the notion, seem to be never really concrete; they are a metaphysical anatomy, not a living and thinking substance. Though we are reminded by him again and again that we are gathering up the world in ideas, we feel after all that we have not really spanned the gulf which separates phainomena from onta.

Having in view some of these difficulties, he seeks — and we may follow his example — to make the understanding of his system easier (a) by illustrations, and (b) by pointing out the coincidence of the speculative idea and the historical order of thought.

(a) If we ask how opposites can coexist, we are told that many different qualities inhere in a flower or a tree or in any other concrete object, and that any conception of space or matter or time involves the two contradictory attributes of divisibility and continuousness. We may ponder over the thought of number, reminding ourselves that every unit both implies and denies the existence of every other, and that the one is many — a sum of fractions, and the many one — a sum of units. We may be reminded that in nature there is a centripetal as well as a centrifugal force, a regulator as well as a spring, a law of attraction as well as of repulsion. The way to the West is the way also to the East; the north pole of the magnet cannot be divided from the south pole; two minus signs make a plus in Arithmetic and Algebra. Again, we may liken the successive layers of thought to the deposits of geological strata which were once fluid and are now solid, which were at one time uppermost in the series and are now hidden in the earth; or to the successive rinds or barks of trees which year by year pass inward; or to the ripple of water which appears and reappears in an ever-widening circle. Or our attention may be drawn to ideas which the moment we analyze them involve a contradiction, such as ‘beginning’ or ‘becoming,’ or to the opposite poles, as they are sometimes termed, of necessity and freedom, of idea and fact. We may be told to observe that every negative is a positive, that differences of kind are resolvable into differences of degree, and that differences of degree may be heightened into differences of kind. We may remember the common remark that there is much to be said on both sides of a question. We may be recommended to look within and to explain how opposite ideas can coexist in our own minds; and we may be told to imagine the minds of all mankind as one mind in which the true ideas of all ages and countries inhere. In our conception of God in his relation to man or of any union of the divine and human nature, a contradiction appears to be unavoidable. Is not the reconciliation of mind and body a necessity, not only of speculation but of practical life? Reflections such as these will furnish the best preparation and give the right attitude of mind for understanding the Hegelian philosophy.

(b) Hegel’s treatment of the early Greek thinkers affords the readiest illustration of his meaning in conceiving all philosophy under the form of opposites. The first abstraction is to him the beginning of thought. Hitherto there had only existed a tumultuous chaos of mythological fancy, but when Thales said ‘All is water’ a new era began to dawn upon the world. Man was seeking to grasp the universe under a single form which was at first simply a material element, the most equable and colourless and universal which could be found. But soon the human mind became dissatisfied with the emblem, and after ringing the changes on one element after another, demanded a more abstract and perfect conception, such as one or Being, which was absolutely at rest. But the positive had its negative, the conception of Being involved Not-being, the conception of one, many, the conception of a whole, parts. Then the pendulum swung to the other side, from rest to motion, from Xenophanes to Heracleitus. The opposition of Being and Not-being projected into space became the atoms and void of Leucippus and Democritus. Until the Atomists, the abstraction of the individual did not exist; in the philosophy of Anaxagoras the idea of mind, whether human or divine, was beginning to be realized. The pendulum gave another swing, from the individual to the universal, from the object to the subject. The Sophist first uttered the word ‘Man is the measure of all things,’ which Socrates presented in a new form as the study of ethics. Once more we return from mind to the object of mind, which is knowledge, and out of knowledge the various degrees or kinds of knowledge more or less abstract were gradually developed. The threefold division of logic, physic, and ethics, foreshadowed in Plato, was finally established by Aristotle and the Stoics. Thus, according to Hegel, in the course of about two centuries by a process of antagonism and negation the leading thoughts of philosophy were evolved.

There is nothing like this progress of opposites in Plato, who in the Symposium denies the possibility of reconciliation until the opposition has passed away. In his own words, there is an absurdity in supposing that ‘harmony is discord; for in reality harmony consists of notes of a higher and lower pitch which disagreed once, but are now reconciled by the art of music’ (Symp.). He does indeed describe objects of sense as regarded by us sometimes from one point of view and sometimes from another. As he says at the end of the Fifth Book of the Republic, ‘There is nothing light which is not heavy, or great which is not small.’ And he extends this relativity to the conceptions of just and good, as well as to great and small. In like manner he acknowledges that the same number may be more or less in relation to other numbers without any increase or diminution (Theat.). But the perplexity only arises out of the confusion of the human faculties; the art of measuring shows us what is truly great and truly small. Though the just and good in particular instances may vary, the IDEA of good is eternal and unchangeable. And the IDEA of good is the source of knowledge and also of Being, in which all the stages of sense and knowledge are gathered up and from being hypotheses become realities.

Leaving the comparison with Plato we may now consider the value of this invention of Hegel. There can be no question of the importance of showing that two contraries or contradictories may in certain cases be both true. The silliness of the so-called laws of thought (‘All A = A,’ or, in the negative form, ‘Nothing can at the same time be both A, and not A’) has been well exposed by Hegel himself (Wallace’s Hegel), who remarks that ‘the form of the maxim is virtually self-contradictory, for a proposition implies a distinction between subject and predicate, whereas the maxim of identity, as it is called, A = A, does not fulfil what its form requires. Nor does any mind ever think or form conceptions in accordance with this law, nor does any existence conform to it.’ Wisdom of this sort is well parodied in Shakespeare (Twelfth Night, ‘Clown: For as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, “That that is is”...for what is “that” but “that,” and “is” but “is”?’). Unless we are willing to admit that two contradictories may be true, many questions which lie at the threshold of mathematics and of morals will be insoluble puzzles to us.

The influence of opposites is felt in practical life. The understanding sees one side of a question only — the common sense of mankind joins one of two parties in politics, in religion, in philosophy. Yet, as everybody knows, truth is not wholly the possession of either. But the characters of men are one-sided and accept this or that aspect of the truth. The understanding is strong in a single abstract principle and with this lever moves mankind. Few attain to a balance of principles or recognize truly how in all human things there is a thesis and antithesis, a law of action and of reaction. In politics we require order as well as liberty, and have to consider the proportions in which under given circumstances they may be safely combined. In religion there is a tendency to lose sight of morality, to separate goodness from the love of truth, to worship God without attempting to know him. In philosophy again there are two opposite principles, of immediate experience and of those general or a priori truths which are supposed to transcend experience. But the common sense or common opinion of mankind is incapable of apprehending these opposite sides or views — men are determined by their natural bent to one or other of them; they go straight on for a time in a single line, and may be many things by turns but not at once.

Hence the importance of familiarizing the mind with forms which will assist us in conceiving or expressing the complex or contrary aspects of life and nature. The danger is that they may be too much for us, and obscure our appreciation of facts. As the complexity of mechanics cannot be understood without mathematics, so neither can the many-sidedness of the mental and moral world be truly apprehended without the assistance of new forms of thought. One of these forms is the unity of opposites. Abstractions have a great power over us, but they are apt to be partial and one-sided, and only when modified by other abstractions do they make an approach to the truth. Many a man has become a fatalist because he has fallen under the dominion of a single idea. He says to himself, for example, that he must be either free or necessary — he cannot be both. Thus in the ancient world whole schools of philosophy passed away in the vain attempt to solve the problem of the continuity or divisibility of matter. And in comparatively modern times, though in the spirit of an ancient philosopher, Bishop Berkeley, feeling a similar perplexity, is inclined to deny the truth of infinitesimals in mathematics. Many difficulties arise in practical religion from the impossibility of conceiving body and mind at once and in adjusting their movements to one another. There is a border ground between them which seems to belong to both; and there is as much difficulty in conceiving the body without the soul as the soul without the body. To the ‘either’ and ‘or’ philosophy (‘Everything is either A or not A’) should at least be added the clause ‘or neither,’ ‘or both.’ The double form makes reflection easier and more conformable to experience, and also more comprehensive. But in order to avoid paradox and the danger of giving offence to the unmetaphysical part of mankind, we may speak of it as due to the imperfection of language or the limitation of human faculties. It is nevertheless a discovery which, in Platonic language, may be termed a ‘most gracious aid to thought.’

The doctrine of opposite moments of thought or of progression by antagonism, further assists us in framing a scheme or system of the sciences. The negation of one gives birth to another of them. The double notions are the joints which hold them together. The simple is developed into the complex, the complex returns again into the simple. Beginning with the highest notion of mind or thought, we may descend by a series of negations to the first generalizations of sense. Or again we may begin with the simplest elements of sense and proceed upwards to the highest being or thought. Metaphysic is the negation or absorption of physiology — physiology of chemistry — chemistry of mechanical philosophy. Similarly in mechanics, when we can no further go we arrive at chemistry — when chemistry becomes organic we arrive at physiology: when we pass from the outward and animal to the inward nature of man we arrive at moral and metaphysical philosophy. These sciences have each of them their own methods and are pursued independently of one another. But to the mind of the thinker they are all one — latent in one another — developed out of one another.

This method of opposites has supplied new instruments of thought for the solution of metaphysical problems, and has thrown down many of the walls within which the human mind was confined. Formerly when philosophers arrived at the infinite and absolute, they seemed to be lost in a region beyond human comprehension. But Hegel has shown that the absolute and infinite are no more true than the relative and finite, and that they must alike be negatived before we arrive at a true absolute or a true infinite. The conceptions of the infinite and absolute as ordinarily understood are tiresome because they are unmeaning, but there is no peculiar sanctity or mystery in them. We might as well make an infinitesimal series of fractions or a perpetually recurring decimal the object of our worship. They are the widest and also the thinnest of human ideas, or, in the language of logicians, they have the greatest extension and the least comprehension. Of all words they may be truly said to be the most inflated with a false meaning. They have been handed down from one philosopher to another until they have acquired a religious character. They seem also to derive a sacredness from their association with the Divine Being. Yet they are the poorest of the predicates under which we describe him — signifying no more than this, that he is not finite, that he is not relative, and tending to obscure his higher attributes of wisdom, goodness, truth.

The system of Hegel frees the mind from the dominion of abstract ideas. We acknowledge his originality, and some of us delight to wander in the mazes of thought which he has opened to us. For Hegel has found admirers in England and Scotland when his popularity in Germany has departed, and he, like the philosophers whom he criticizes, is of the past. No other thinker has ever dissected the human mind with equal patience and minuteness. He has lightened the burden of thought because he has shown us that the chains which we wear are of our own forging. To be able to place ourselves not only above the opinions of men but above their modes of thinking, is a great height of philosophy. This dearly obtained freedom, however, we are not disposed to part with, or to allow him to build up in a new form the ‘beggarly elements’ of scholastic logic which he has thrown down. So far as they are aids to reflection and expression, forms of thought are useful, but no further: — we may easily have too many of them.

And when we are asked to believe the Hegelian to be the sole or universal logic, we naturally reply that there are other ways in which our ideas may be connected. The triplets of Hegel, the division into being, essence, and notion, are not the only or necessary modes in which the world of thought can be conceived. There may be an evolution by degrees as well as by opposites. The word ‘continuity’ suggests the possibility of resolving all differences into differences of quantity. Again, the opposites themselves may vary from the least degree of diversity up to contradictory opposition. They are not like numbers and figures, always and everywhere of the same value. And therefore the edifice which is constructed out of them has merely an imaginary symmetry, and is really irregular and out of proportion. The spirit of Hegelian criticism should be applied to his own system, and the terms Being, Not-being, existence, essence, notion, and the like challenged and defined. For if Hegel introduces a great many distinctions, he obliterates a great many others by the help of the universal solvent ’is not,’ which appears to be the simplest of negations, and yet admits of several meanings. Neither are we able to follow him in the play of metaphysical fancy which conducts him from one determination of thought to another. But we begin to suspect that this vast system is not God within us, or God immanent in the world, and may be only the invention of an individual brain. The ‘beyond’ is always coming back upon us however often we expel it. We do not easily believe that we have within the compass of the mind the form of universal knowledge. We rather incline to think that the method of knowledge is inseparable from actual knowledge, and wait to see what new forms may be developed out of our increasing experience and observation of man and nature. We are conscious of a Being who is without us as well as within us. Even if inclined to Pantheism we are unwilling to imagine that the meagre categories of the understanding, however ingeniously arranged or displayed, are the image of God; — that what all religions were seeking after from the beginning was the Hegelian philosophy which has been revealed in the latter days. The great metaphysician, like a prophet of old, was naturally inclined to believe that his own thoughts were divine realities. We may almost say that whatever came into his head seemed to him to be a necessary truth. He never appears to have criticized himself, or to have subjected his own ideas to the process of analysis which he applies to every other philosopher.

Hegel would have insisted that his philosophy should be accepted as a whole or not at all. He would have urged that the parts derived their meaning from one another and from the whole. He thought that he had supplied an outline large enough to contain all future knowledge, and a method to which all future philosophies must conform. His metaphysical genius is especially shown in the construction of the categories — a work which was only begun by Kant, and elaborated to the utmost by himself. But is it really true that the part has no meaning when separated from the whole, or that knowledge to be knowledge at all must be universal? Do all abstractions shine only by the reflected light of other abstractions? May they not also find a nearer explanation in their relation to phenomena? If many of them are correlatives they are not all so, and the relations which subsist between them vary from a mere association up to a necessary connexion. Nor is it easy to determine how far the unknown element affects the known, whether, for example, new discoveries may not one day supersede our most elementary notions about nature. To a certain extent all our knowledge is conditional upon what may be known in future ages of the world. We must admit this hypothetical element, which we cannot get rid of by an assumption that we have already discovered the method to which all philosophy must conform. Hegel is right in preferring the concrete to the abstract, in setting actuality before possibility, in excluding from the philosopher’s vocabulary the word ‘inconceivable.’ But he is too well satisfied with his own system ever to consider the effect of what is unknown on the element which is known. To the Hegelian all things are plain and clear, while he who is outside the charmed circle is in the mire of ignorance and ‘logical impurity’: he who is within is omniscient, or at least has all the elements of knowledge under his hand.

Hegelianism may be said to be a transcendental defence of the world as it is. There is no room for aspiration and no need of any: ‘What is actual is rational, what is rational is actual.’ But a good man will not readily acquiesce in this aphorism. He knows of course that all things proceed according to law whether for good or evil. But when he sees the misery and ignorance of mankind he is convinced that without any interruption of the uniformity of nature the condition of the world may be indefinitely improved by human effort. There is also an adaptation of persons to times and countries, but this is very far from being the fulfilment of their higher natures. The man of the seventeenth century is unfitted for the eighteenth, and the man of the eighteenth for the nineteenth, and most of us would be out of place in the world of a hundred years hence. But all higher minds are much more akin than they are different: genius is of all ages, and there is perhaps more uniformity in excellence than in mediocrity. The sublimer intelligences of mankind — Plato, Dante, Sir Thomas More — meet in a higher sphere above the ordinary ways of men; they understand one another from afar, notwithstanding the interval which separates them. They are ‘the spectators of all time and of all existence;’ their works live for ever; and there is nothing to prevent the force of their individuality breaking through the uniformity which surrounds them. But such disturbers of the order of thought Hegel is reluctant to acknowledge.

The doctrine of Hegel will to many seem the expression of an indolent conservatism, and will at any rate be made an excuse for it. The mind of the patriot rebels when he is told that the worst tyranny and oppression has a natural fitness: he cannot be persuaded, for example, that the conquest of Prussia by Napoleon I. was either natural or necessary, or that any similar calamity befalling a nation should be a matter of indifference to the poet or philosopher. We may need such a philosophy or religion to console us under evils which are irremediable, but we see that it is fatal to the higher life of man. It seems to say to us, ‘The world is a vast system or machine which can be conceived under the forms of logic, but in which no single man can do any great good or any great harm. Even if it were a thousand times worse than it is, it could be arranged in categories and explained by philosophers. And what more do we want?’

The philosophy of Hegel appeals to an historical criterion: the ideas of men have a succession in time as well as an order of thought. But the assumption that there is a correspondence between the succession of ideas in history and the natural order of philosophy is hardly true even of the beginnings of thought. And in later systems forms of thought are too numerous and complex to admit of our tracing in them a regular succession. They seem also to be in part reflections of the past, and it is difficult to separate in them what is original and what is borrowed. Doubtless they have a relation to one another — the transition from Descartes to Spinoza or from Locke to Berkeley is not a matter of chance, but it can hardly be described as an alternation of opposites or figured to the mind by the vibrations of a pendulum. Even in Aristotle and Plato, rightly understood, we cannot trace this law of action and reaction. They are both idealists, although to the one the idea is actual and immanent, — to the other only potential and transcendent, as Hegel himself has pointed out (Wallace’s Hegel). The true meaning of Aristotle has been disguised from us by his own appeal to fact and the opinions of mankind in his more popular works, and by the use made of his writings in the Middle Ages. No book, except the Scriptures, has been so much read, and so little understood. The Pre-Socratic philosophies are simpler, and we may observe a progress in them; but is there any regular succession? The ideas of Being, change, number, seem to have sprung up contemporaneously in different parts of Greece and we have no difficulty in constructing them out of one another — we can see that the union of Being and Not-being gave birth to the idea of change or Becoming and that one might be another aspect of Being. Again, the Eleatics may be regarded as developing in one direction into the Megarian school, in the other into the Atomists, but there is no necessary connexion between them. Nor is there any indication that the deficiency which was felt in one school was supplemented or compensated by another. They were all efforts to supply the want which the Greeks began to feel at the beginning of the sixth century before Christ, — the want of abstract ideas. Nor must we forget the uncertainty of chronology; — if, as Aristotle says, there were Atomists before Leucippus, Eleatics before Xenophanes, and perhaps ‘patrons of the flux’ before Heracleitus, Hegel’s order of thought in the history of philosophy would be as much disarranged as his order of religious thought by recent discoveries in the history of religion.

Hegel is fond of repeating that all philosophies still live and that the earlier are preserved in the later; they are refuted, and they are not refuted, by those who succeed them. Once they reigned supreme, now they are subordinated to a power or idea greater or more comprehensive than their own. The thoughts of Socrates and Plato and Aristotle have certainly sunk deep into the mind of the world, and have exercised an influence which will never pass away; but can we say that they have the same meaning in modern and ancient philosophy? Some of them, as for example the words ‘Being,’ ‘essence,’ ‘matter,’ ‘form,’ either have become obsolete, or are used in new senses, whereas ‘individual,’ ‘cause,’ ‘motive,’ have acquired an exaggerated importance. Is the manner in which the logical determinations of thought, or ‘categories’ as they may be termed, have been handed down to us, really different from that in which other words have come down to us? Have they not been equally subject to accident, and are they not often used by Hegel himself in senses which would have been quite unintelligible to their original inventors — as for example, when he speaks of the ‘ground’ of Leibnitz (‘Everything has a sufficient ground’) as identical with his own doctrine of the ‘notion’ (Wallace’s Hegel), or the ‘Being and Not-being’ of Heracleitus as the same with his own ‘Becoming’?

As the historical order of thought has been adapted to the logical, so we have reason for suspecting that the Hegelian logic has been in some degree adapted to the order of thought in history. There is unfortunately no criterion to which either of them can be subjected, and not much forcing was required to bring either into near relations with the other. We may fairly doubt whether the division of the first and second parts of logic in the Hegelian system has not really arisen from a desire to make them accord with the first and second stages of the early Greek philosophy. Is there any reason why the conception of measure in the first part, which is formed by the union of quality and quantity, should not have been equally placed in the second division of mediate or reflected ideas? The more we analyze them the less exact does the coincidence of philosophy and the history of philosophy appear. Many terms which were used absolutely in the beginning of philosophy, such as ‘Being,’ ‘matter,’ ‘cause,’ and the like, became relative in the subsequent history of thought. But Hegel employs some of them absolutely, some relatively, seemingly without any principle and without any regard to their original significance.

The divisions of the Hegelian logic bear a superficial resemblance to the divisions of the scholastic logic. The first part answers to the term, the second to the proposition, the third to the syllogism. These are the grades of thought under which we conceive the world, first, in the general terms of quality, quantity, measure; secondly, under the relative forms of ‘ground’ and existence, substance and accidents, and the like; thirdly in syllogistic forms of the individual mediated with the universal by the help of the particular. Of syllogisms there are various kinds, — qualitative, quantitative, inductive, mechanical, teleological, — which are developed out of one another. But is there any meaning in reintroducing the forms of the old logic? Who ever thinks of the world as a syllogism? What connexion is there between the proposition and our ideas of reciprocity, cause and effect, and similar relations? It is difficult enough to conceive all the powers of nature and mind gathered up in one. The difficulty is greatly increased when the new is confused with the old, and the common logic is the Procrustes’ bed into which they are forced.

The Hegelian philosophy claims, as we have seen, to be based upon experience: it abrogates the distinction of a priori and a posteriori truth. It also acknowledges that many differences of kind are resolvable into differences of degree. It is familiar with the terms ‘evolution,’ ‘development,’ and the like. Yet it can hardly be said to have considered the forms of thought which are best adapted for the expression of facts. It has never applied the categories to experience; it has not defined the differences in our ideas of opposition, or development, or cause and effect, in the different sciences which make use of these terms. It rests on a knowledge which is not the result of exact or serious enquiry, but is floating in the air; the mind has been imperceptibly informed of some of the methods required in the sciences. Hegel boasts that the movement of dialectic is at once necessary and spontaneous: in reality it goes beyond experience and is unverified by it. Further, the Hegelian philosophy, while giving us the power of thinking a great deal more than we are able to fill up, seems to be wanting in some determinations of thought which we require. We cannot say that physical science, which at present occupies so large a share of popular attention, has been made easier or more intelligible by the distinctions of Hegel. Nor can we deny that he has sometimes interpreted physics by metaphysics, and confused his own philosophical fancies with the laws of nature. The very freedom of the movement is not without suspicion, seeming to imply a state of the human mind which has entirely lost sight of facts. Nor can the necessity which is attributed to it be very stringent, seeing that the successive categories or determinations of thought in different parts of his writings are arranged by the philosopher in different ways. What is termed necessary evolution seems to be only the order in which a succession of ideas presented themselves to the mind of Hegel at a particular time.

The nomenclature of Hegel has been made by himself out of the language of common life. He uses a few words only which are borrowed from his predecessors, or from the Greek philosophy, and these generally in a sense peculiar to himself. The first stage of his philosophy answers to the word ’is,’ the second to the word ‘has been,’ the third to the words ‘has been’ and ‘is’ combined. In other words, the first sphere is immediate, the second mediated by reflection, the third or highest returns into the first, and is both mediate and immediate. As Luther’s Bible was written in the language of the common people, so Hegel seems to have thought that he gave his philosophy a truly German character by the use of idiomatic German words. But it may be doubted whether the attempt has been successful. First because such words as ‘in sich seyn,’ ‘an sich seyn,’ ‘an und fur sich seyn,’ though the simplest combinations of nouns and verbs, require a difficult and elaborate explanation. The simplicity of the words contrasts with the hardness of their meaning. Secondly, the use of technical phraseology necessarily separates philosophy from general literature; the student has to learn a new language of uncertain meaning which he with difficulty remembers. No former philosopher had ever carried the use of technical terms to the same extent as Hegel. The language of Plato or even of Aristotle is but slightly removed from that of common life, and was introduced naturally by a series of thinkers: the language of the scholastic logic has become technical to us, but in the Middle Ages was the vernacular Latin of priests and students. The higher spirit of philosophy, the spirit of Plato and Socrates, rebels against the Hegelian use of language as mechanical and technical.

Hegel is fond of etymologies and often seems to trifle with words. He gives etymologies which are bad, and never considers that the meaning of a word may have nothing to do with its derivation. He lived before the days of Comparative Philology or of Comparative Mythology and Religion, which would have opened a new world to him. He makes no allowance for the element of chance either in language or thought; and perhaps there is no greater defect in his system than the want of a sound theory of language. He speaks as if thought, instead of being identical with language, was wholly independent of it. It is not the actual growth of the mind, but the imaginary growth of the Hegelian system, which is attractive to him.

Neither are we able to say why of the common forms of thought some are rejected by him, while others have an undue prominence given to them. Some of them, such as ‘ground’ and ‘existence,’ have hardly any basis either in language or philosophy, while others, such as ‘cause’ and ‘effect,’ are but slightly considered. All abstractions are supposed by Hegel to derive their meaning from one another. This is true of some, but not of all, and in different degrees. There is an explanation of abstractions by the phenomena which they represent, as well as by their relation to other abstractions. If the knowledge of all were necessary to the knowledge of any one of them, the mind would sink under the load of thought. Again, in every process of reflection we seem to require a standing ground, and in the attempt to obtain a complete analysis we lose all fixedness. If, for example, the mind is viewed as the complex of ideas, or the difference between things and persons denied, such an analysis may be justified from the point of view of Hegel: but we shall find that in the attempt to criticize thought we have lost the power of thinking, and, like the Heracliteans of old, have no words in which our meaning can be expressed. Such an analysis may be of value as a corrective of popular language or thought, but should still allow us to retain the fundamental distinctions of philosophy.

In the Hegelian system ideas supersede persons. The world of thought, though sometimes described as Spirit or ‘Geist,’ is really impersonal. The minds of men are to be regarded as one mind, or more correctly as a succession of ideas. Any comprehensive view of the world must necessarily be general, and there may be a use with a view to comprehensiveness in dropping individuals and their lives and actions. In all things, if we leave out details, a certain degree of order begins to appear; at any rate we can make an order which, with a little exaggeration or disproportion in some of the parts, will cover the whole field of philosophy. But are we therefore justified in saying that ideas are the causes of the great movement of the world rather than the personalities which conceived them? The great man is the expression of his time, and there may be peculiar difficulties in his age which he cannot overcome. He may be out of harmony with his circumstances, too early or too late, and then all his thoughts perish; his genius passes away unknown. But not therefore is he to be regarded as a mere waif or stray in human history, any more than he is the mere creature or expression of the age in which he lives. His ideas are inseparable from himself, and would have been nothing without him. Through a thousand personal influences they have been brought home to the minds of others. He starts from antecedents, but he is great in proportion as he disengages himself from them or absorbs himself in them. Moreover the types of greatness differ; while one man is the expression of the influences of his age, another is in antagonism to them. One man is borne on the surface of the water; another is carried forward by the current which flows beneath. The character of an individual, whether he be independent of circumstances or not, inspires others quite as much as his words. What is the teaching of Socrates apart from his personal history, or the doctrines of Christ apart from the Divine life in which they are embodied? Has not Hegel himself delineated the greatness of the life of Christ as consisting in his ‘Schicksalslosigkeit’ or independence of the destiny of his race? Do not persons become ideas, and is there any distinction between them? Take away the five greatest legislators, the five greatest warriors, the five greatest poets, the five greatest founders or teachers of a religion, the five greatest philosophers, the five greatest inventors, — where would have been all that we most value in knowledge or in life? And can that be a true theory of the history of philosophy which, in Hegel’s own language, ‘does not allow the individual to have his right’?

Once more, while we readily admit that the world is relative to the mind, and the mind to the world, and that we must suppose a common or correlative growth in them, we shrink from saying that this complex nature can contain, even in outline, all the endless forms of Being and knowledge. Are we not ‘seeking the living among the dead’ and dignifying a mere logical skeleton with the name of philosophy and almost of God? When we look far away into the primeval sources of thought and belief, do we suppose that the mere accident of our being the heirs of the Greek philosophers can give us a right to set ourselves up as having the true and only standard of reason in the world? Or when we contemplate the infinite worlds in the expanse of heaven can we imagine that a few meagre categories derived from language and invented by the genius of one or two great thinkers contain the secret of the universe? Or, having regard to the ages during which the human race may yet endure, do we suppose that we can anticipate the proportions human knowledge may attain even within the short space of one or two thousand years?

Again, we have a difficulty in understanding how ideas can be causes, which to us seems to be as much a figure of speech as the old notion of a creator artist, ‘who makes the world by the help of the demigods’ (Plato, Tim.), or with ‘a golden pair of compasses’ measures out the circumference of the universe (Milton, P.L.). We can understand how the idea in the mind of an inventor is the cause of the work which is produced by it; and we can dimly imagine how this universal frame may be animated by a divine intelligence. But we cannot conceive how all the thoughts of men that ever were, which are themselves subject to so many external conditions of climate, country, and the like, even if regarded as the single thought of a Divine Being, can be supposed to have made the world. We appear to be only wrapping up ourselves in our own conceits — to be confusing cause and effect — to be losing the distinction between reflection and action, between the human and divine.

These are some of the doubts and suspicions which arise in the mind of a student of Hegel, when, after living for a time within the charmed circle, he removes to a little distance and looks back upon what he has learnt, from the vantage-ground of history and experience. The enthusiasm of his youth has passed away, the authority of the master no longer retains a hold upon him. But he does not regret the time spent in the study of him. He finds that he has received from him a real enlargement of mind, and much of the true spirit of philosophy, even when he has ceased to believe in him. He returns again and again to his writings as to the recollections of a first love, not undeserving of his admiration still. Perhaps if he were asked how he can admire without believing, or what value he can attribute to what he knows to be erroneous, he might answer in some such manner as the following: —

1. That in Hegel he finds glimpses of the genius of the poet and of the common sense of the man of the world. His system is not cast in a poetic form, but neither has all this load of logic extinguished in him the feeling of poetry. He is the true countryman of his contemporaries Goethe and Schiller. Many fine expressions are scattered up and down in his writings, as when he tells us that ‘the Crusaders went to the Sepulchre but found it empty.’ He delights to find vestiges of his own philosophy in the older German mystics. And though he can be scarcely said to have mixed much in the affairs of men, for, as his biographer tells us, ‘he lived for thirty years in a single room,’ yet he is far from being ignorant of the world. No one can read his writings without acquiring an insight into life. He loves to touch with the spear of logic the follies and self-deceptions of mankind, and make them appear in their natural form, stripped of the disguises of language and custom. He will not allow men to defend themselves by an appeal to one-sided or abstract principles. In this age of reason any one can too easily find a reason for doing what he likes (Wallace). He is suspicious of a distinction which is often made between a person’s character and his conduct. His spirit is the opposite of that of Jesuitism or casuistry (Wallace). He affords an example of a remark which has been often made, that in order to know the world it is not necessary to have had a great experience of it.

2. Hegel, if not the greatest philosopher, is certainly the greatest critic of philosophy who ever lived. No one else has equally mastered the opinions of his predecessors or traced the connexion of them in the same manner. No one has equally raised the human mind above the trivialities of the common logic and the unmeaningness of ‘mere’ abstractions, and above imaginary possibilities, which, as he truly says, have no place in philosophy. No one has won so much for the kingdom of ideas. Whatever may be thought of his own system it will hardly be denied that he has overthrown Locke, Kant, Hume, and the so-called philosophy of common sense. He shows us that only by the study of metaphysics can we get rid of metaphysics, and that those who are in theory most opposed to them are in fact most entirely and hopelessly enslaved by them: ‘Die reinen Physiker sind nur die Thiere.’ The disciple of Hegel will hardly become the slave of any other system-maker. What Bacon seems to promise him he will find realized in the great German thinker, an emancipation nearly complete from the influences of the scholastic logic.

3. Many of those who are least disposed to become the votaries of Hegelianism nevertheless recognize in his system a new logic supplying a variety of instruments and methods hitherto unemployed. We may not be able to agree with him in assimilating the natural order of human thought with the history of philosophy, and still less in identifying both with the divine idea or nature. But we may acknowledge that the great thinker has thrown a light on many parts of human knowledge, and has solved many difficulties. We cannot receive his doctrine of opposites as the last word of philosophy, but still we may regard it as a very important contribution to logic. We cannot affirm that words have no meaning when taken out of their connexion in the history of thought. But we recognize that their meaning is to a great extent due to association, and to their correlation with one another. We see the advantage of viewing in the concrete what mankind regard only in the abstract. There is much to be said for his faith or conviction, that God is immanent in the world, — within the sphere of the human mind, and not beyond it. It was natural that he himself, like a prophet of old, should regard the philosophy which he had invented as the voice of God in man. But this by no means implies that he conceived himself as creating God in thought. He was the servant of his own ideas and not the master of them. The philosophy of history and the history of philosophy may be almost said to have been discovered by him. He has done more to explain Greek thought than all other writers put together. Many ideas of development, evolution, reciprocity, which have become the symbols of another school of thinkers may be traced to his speculations. In the theology and philosophy of England as well as of Germany, and also in the lighter literature of both countries, there are always appearing ‘fragments of the great banquet’ of Hegel.

SOPHIST.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Theodorus, Theaetetus, Socrates. An Eleatic Stranger, whom Theodorus and Theaetetus bring with them. The younger Socrates, who is a silent auditor.

THEODORUS: Here we are, Socrates, true to our agreement of yesterday; and we bring with us a stranger from Elea, who is a disciple of Parmenides and Zeno, and a true philosopher.

SOCRATES: Is he not rather a god, Theodorus, who comes to us in the disguise of a stranger? For Homer says that all the gods, and especially the god of strangers, are companions of the meek and just, and visit the good and evil among men. And may not your companion be one of those higher powers, a cross-examining deity, who has come to spy out our weakness in argument, and to cross-examine us?

THEODORUS: Nay, Socrates, he is not one of the disputatious sort — he is too good for that. And, in my opinion, he is not a god at all; but divine he certainly is, for this is a title which I should give to all philosophers.

SOCRATES: Capital, my friend! and I may add that they are almost as hard to be discerned as the gods. For the true philosophers, and such as are not merely made up for the occasion, appear in various forms unrecognized by the ignorance of men, and they ‘hover about cities,’ as Homer declares, looking from above upon human life; and some think nothing of them, and others can never think enough; and sometimes they appear as statesmen, and sometimes as sophists; and then, again, to many they seem to be no better than madmen. I should like to ask our Eleatic friend, if he would tell us, what is thought about them in Italy, and to whom the terms are applied.

THEODORUS: What terms?

SOCRATES: Sophist, statesman, philosopher.

THEODORUS: What is your difficulty about them, and what made you ask?

SOCRATES: I want to know whether by his countrymen they are regarded as one or two; or do they, as the names are three, distinguish also three kinds, and assign one to each name?

THEODORUS: I dare say that the Stranger will not object to discuss the question. What do you say, Stranger?

STRANGER: I am far from objecting, Theodorus, nor have I any difficulty in replying that by us they are regarded as three. But to define precisely the nature of each of them is by no means a slight or easy task.

THEODORUS: You have happened to light, Socrates, almost on the very question which we were asking our friend before we came hither, and he excused himself to us, as he does now to you; although he admitted that the matter had been fully discussed, and that he remembered the answer.

SOCRATES: Then do not, Stranger, deny us the first favour which we ask of you: I am sure that you will not, and therefore I shall only beg of you to say whether you like and are accustomed to make a long oration on a subject which you want to explain to another, or to proceed by the method of question and answer. I remember hearing a very noble discussion in which Parmenides employed the latter of the two methods, when I was a young man, and he was far advanced in years. (Compare Parm.)

STRANGER: I prefer to talk with another when he responds pleasantly, and is light in hand; if not, I would rather have my own say.

SOCRATES: Any one of the present company will respond kindly to you, and you can choose whom you like of them; I should recommend you to take a young person — Theaetetus, for example — unless you have a preference for some one else.

STRANGER: I feel ashamed, Socrates, being a new-comer into your society, instead of talking a little and hearing others talk, to be spinning out a long soliloquy or address, as if I wanted to show off. For the true answer will certainly be a very long one, a great deal longer than might be expected from such a short and simple question. At the same time, I fear that I may seem rude and ungracious if I refuse your courteous request, especially after what you have said. For I certainly cannot object to your proposal, that Theaetetus should respond, having already conversed with him myself, and being recommended by you to take him.

THEAETETUS: But are you sure, Stranger, that this will be quite so acceptable to the rest of the company as Socrates imagines?

STRANGER: You hear them applauding, Theaetetus; after that, there is nothing more to be said. Well then, I am to argue with you, and if you tire of the argument, you may complain of your friends and not of me.

THEAETETUS: I do not think that I shall tire, and if I do, I shall get my friend here, young Socrates, the namesake of the elder Socrates, to help; he is about my own age, and my partner at the gymnasium, and is constantly accustomed to work with me.

STRANGER: Very good; you can decide about that for yourself as we proceed. Meanwhile you and I will begin together and enquire into the nature of the Sophist, first of the three: I should like you to make out what he is and bring him to light in a discussion; for at present we are only agreed about the name, but of the thing to which we both apply the name possibly you have one notion and I another; whereas we ought always to come to an understanding about the thing itself in terms of a definition, and not merely about the name minus the definition. Now the tribe of Sophists which we are investigating is not easily caught or defined; and the world has long ago agreed, that if great subjects are to be adequately treated, they must be studied in the lesser and easier instances of them before we proceed to the greatest of all. And as I know that the tribe of Sophists is troublesome and hard to be caught, I should recommend that we practise beforehand the method which is to be applied to him on some simple and smaller thing, unless you can suggest a better way.

THEAETETUS: Indeed I cannot.

STRANGER: Then suppose that we work out some lesser example which will be a pattern of the greater?

THEAETETUS: Good.

STRANGER: What is there which is well known and not great, and is yet as susceptible of definition as any larger thing? Shall I say an angler? He is familiar to all of us, and not a very interesting or important person.

THEAETETUS: He is not.

STRANGER: Yet I suspect that he will furnish us with the sort of definition and line of enquiry which we want.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: Let us begin by asking whether he is a man having art or not having art, but some other power.

THEAETETUS: He is clearly a man of art.

STRANGER: And of arts there are two kinds?

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: There is agriculture, and the tending of mortal creatures, and the art of constructing or moulding vessels, and there is the art of imitation — all these may be appropriately called by a single name.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean? And what is the name?

STRANGER: He who brings into existence something that did not exist before is said to be a producer, and that which is brought into existence is said to be produced.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And all the arts which were just now mentioned are characterized by this power of producing?

THEAETETUS: They are.

STRANGER: Then let us sum them up under the name of productive or creative art.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: Next follows the whole class of learning and cognition; then comes trade, fighting, hunting. And since none of these produces anything, but is only engaged in conquering by word or deed, or in preventing others from conquering, things which exist and have been already produced — in each and all of these branches there appears to be an art which may be called acquisitive.

THEAETETUS: Yes, that is the proper name.

STRANGER: Seeing, then, that all arts are either acquisitive or creative, in which class shall we place the art of the angler?

THEAETETUS: Clearly in the acquisitive class.

STRANGER: And the acquisitive may be subdivided into two parts: there is exchange, which is voluntary and is effected by gifts, hire, purchase; and the other part of acquisitive, which takes by force of word or deed, may be termed conquest?

THEAETETUS: That is implied in what has been said.

STRANGER: And may not conquest be again subdivided?

THEAETETUS: How?

STRANGER: Open force may be called fighting, and secret force may have the general name of hunting?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And there is no reason why the art of hunting should not be further divided.

THEAETETUS: How would you make the division?

STRANGER: Into the hunting of living and of lifeless prey.

THEAETETUS: Yes, if both kinds exist.

STRANGER: Of course they exist; but the hunting after lifeless things having no special name, except some sorts of diving, and other small matters, may be omitted; the hunting after living things may be called animal hunting.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And animal hunting may be truly said to have two divisions, land-animal hunting, which has many kinds and names, and water-animal hunting, or the hunting after animals who swim?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And of swimming animals, one class lives on the wing and the other in the water?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: Fowling is the general term under which the hunting of all birds is included.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: The hunting of animals who live in the water has the general name of fishing.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And this sort of hunting may be further divided also into two principal kinds?

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: There is one kind which takes them in nets, another which takes them by a blow.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean, and how do you distinguish them?

STRANGER: As to the first kind — all that surrounds and encloses anything to prevent egress, may be rightly called an enclosure.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: For which reason twig baskets, casting-nets, nooses, creels, and the like may all be termed ‘enclosures’?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And therefore this first kind of capture may be called by us capture with enclosures, or something of that sort?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: The other kind, which is practised by a blow with hooks and three-pronged spears, when summed up under one name, may be called striking, unless you, Theaetetus, can find some better name?

THEAETETUS: Never mind the name — what you suggest will do very well.

STRANGER: There is one mode of striking, which is done at night, and by the light of a fire, and is by the hunters themselves called firing, or spearing by firelight.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And the fishing by day is called by the general name of barbing, because the spears, too, are barbed at the point.

THEAETETUS: Yes, that is the term.

STRANGER: Of this barb-fishing, that which strikes the fish who is below from above is called spearing, because this is the way in which the three-pronged spears are mostly used.

THEAETETUS: Yes, it is often called so.

STRANGER: Then now there is only one kind remaining.

THEAETETUS: What is that?

STRANGER: When a hook is used, and the fish is not struck in any chance part of his body, as he is with the spear, but only about the head and mouth, and is then drawn out from below upwards with reeds and rods: — What is the right name of that mode of fishing, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS: I suspect that we have now discovered the object of our search.

STRANGER: Then now you and I have come to an understanding not only about the name of the angler’s art, but about the definition of the thing itself. One half of all art was acquisitive — half of the acquisitive art was conquest or taking by force, half of this was hunting, and half of hunting was hunting animals, half of this was hunting water animals — of this again, the under half was fishing, half of fishing was striking; a part of striking was fishing with a barb, and one half of this again, being the kind which strikes with a hook and draws the fish from below upwards, is the art which we have been seeking, and which from the nature of the operation is denoted angling or drawing up (aspalieutike, anaspasthai).

THEAETETUS: The result has been quite satisfactorily brought out.

STRANGER: And now, following this pattern, let us endeavour to find out what a Sophist is.

THEAETETUS: By all means.

STRANGER: The first question about the angler was, whether he was a skilled artist or unskilled?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And shall we call our new friend unskilled, or a thorough master of his craft?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not unskilled, for his name, as, indeed, you imply, must surely express his nature.

STRANGER: Then he must be supposed to have some art.

THEAETETUS: What art?

STRANGER: By heaven, they are cousins! it never occurred to us.

THEAETETUS: Who are cousins?

STRANGER: The angler and the Sophist.

THEAETETUS: In what way are they related?

STRANGER: They both appear to me to be hunters.

THEAETETUS: How the Sophist? Of the other we have spoken.

STRANGER: You remember our division of hunting, into hunting after swimming animals and land animals?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And you remember that we subdivided the swimming and left the land animals, saying that there were many kinds of them?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: Thus far, then, the Sophist and the angler, starting from the art of acquiring, take the same road?

THEAETETUS: So it would appear.

STRANGER: Their paths diverge when they reach the art of animal hunting; the one going to the sea-shore, and to the rivers and to the lakes, and angling for the animals which are in them.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: While the other goes to land and water of another sort — rivers of wealth and broad meadow-lands of generous youth; and he also is intending to take the animals which are in them.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: Of hunting on land there are two principal divisions.

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: One is the hunting of tame, and the other of wild animals.

THEAETETUS: But are tame animals ever hunted?

STRANGER: Yes, if you include man under tame animals. But if you like you may say that there are no tame animals, or that, if there are, man is not among them; or you may say that man is a tame animal but is not hunted — you shall decide which of these alternatives you prefer.

THEAETETUS: I should say, Stranger, that man is a tame animal, and I admit that he is hunted.

STRANGER: Then let us divide the hunting of tame animals into two parts.

THEAETETUS: How shall we make the division?

STRANGER: Let us define piracy, man-stealing, tyranny, the whole military art, by one name, as hunting with violence.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: But the art of the lawyer, of the popular orator, and the art of conversation may be called in one word the art of persuasion.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And of persuasion, there may be said to be two kinds?

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: One is private, and the other public.

THEAETETUS: Yes; each of them forms a class.

STRANGER: And of private hunting, one sort receives hire, and the other brings gifts.

THEAETETUS: I do not understand you.

STRANGER: You seem never to have observed the manner in which lovers hunt.

THEAETETUS: To what do you refer?

STRANGER: I mean that they lavish gifts on those whom they hunt in addition to other inducements.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

STRANGER: Let us admit this, then, to be the amatory art.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: But that sort of hireling whose conversation is pleasing and who baits his hook only with pleasure and exacts nothing but his maintenance in return, we should all, if I am not mistaken, describe as possessing flattery or an art of making things pleasant.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And that sort, which professes to form acquaintances only for the sake of virtue, and demands a reward in the shape of money, may be fairly called by another name?

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

STRANGER: And what is the name? Will you tell me?

THEAETETUS: It is obvious enough; for I believe that we have discovered the Sophist: which is, as I conceive, the proper name for the class described.

STRANGER: Then now, Theaetetus, his art may be traced as a branch of the appropriative, acquisitive family — which hunts animals, — living — land — tame animals; which hunts man, — privately — for hire, — taking money in exchange — having the semblance of education; and this is termed Sophistry, and is a hunt after young men of wealth and rank — such is the conclusion.

THEAETETUS: Just so.

STRANGER: Let us take another branch of his genealogy; for he is a professor of a great and many-sided art; and if we look back at what has preceded we see that he presents another aspect, besides that of which we are speaking.

THEAETETUS: In what respect?

STRANGER: There were two sorts of acquisitive art; the one concerned with hunting, the other with exchange.

THEAETETUS: There were.

STRANGER: And of the art of exchange there are two divisions, the one of giving, and the other of selling.

THEAETETUS: Let us assume that.

STRANGER: Next, we will suppose the art of selling to be divided into two parts.

THEAETETUS: How?

STRANGER: There is one part which is distinguished as the sale of a man’s own productions; another, which is the exchange of the works of others.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And is not that part of exchange which takes place in the city, being about half of the whole, termed retailing?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And that which exchanges the goods of one city for those of another by selling and buying is the exchange of the merchant?

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

STRANGER: And you are aware that this exchange of the merchant is of two kinds: it is partly concerned with food for the use of the body, and partly with the food of the soul which is bartered and received in exchange for money.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: You want to know what is the meaning of food for the soul; the other kind you surely understand.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Take music in general and painting and marionette playing and many other things, which are purchased in one city, and carried away and sold in another — wares of the soul which are hawked about either for the sake of instruction or amusement; — may not he who takes them about and sells them be quite as truly called a merchant as he who sells meats and drinks?

THEAETETUS: To be sure he may.

STRANGER: And would you not call by the same name him who buys up knowledge and goes about from city to city exchanging his wares for money?

THEAETETUS: Certainly I should.

STRANGER: Of this merchandise of the soul, may not one part be fairly termed the art of display? And there is another part which is certainly not less ridiculous, but being a trade in learning must be called by some name germane to the matter?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: The latter should have two names, — one descriptive of the sale of the knowledge of virtue, and the other of the sale of other kinds of knowledge.

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: The name of art-seller corresponds well enough to the latter; but you must try and tell me the name of the other.

THEAETETUS: He must be the Sophist, whom we are seeking; no other name can possibly be right.

STRANGER: No other; and so this trader in virtue again turns out to be our friend the Sophist, whose art may now be traced from the art of acquisition through exchange, trade, merchandise, to a merchandise of the soul which is concerned with speech and the knowledge of virtue.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: And there may be a third reappearance of him; — for he may have settled down in a city, and may fabricate as well as buy these same wares, intending to live by selling them, and he would still be called a Sophist?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: Then that part of the acquisitive art which exchanges, and of exchange which either sells a man’s own productions or retails those of others, as the case may be, and in either way sells the knowledge of virtue, you would again term Sophistry?

THEAETETUS: I must, if I am to keep pace with the argument.

STRANGER: Let us consider once more whether there may not be yet another aspect of sophistry.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: In the acquisitive there was a subdivision of the combative or fighting art.

THEAETETUS: There was.

STRANGER: Perhaps we had better divide it.

THEAETETUS: What shall be the divisions?

STRANGER: There shall be one division of the competitive, and another of the pugnacious.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: That part of the pugnacious which is a contest of bodily strength may be properly called by some such name as violent.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And when the war is one of words, it may be termed controversy?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And controversy may be of two kinds.

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: When long speeches are answered by long speeches, and there is public discussion about the just and unjust, that is forensic controversy.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And there is a private sort of controversy, which is cut up into questions and answers, and this is commonly called disputation?

THEAETETUS: Yes, that is the name.

STRANGER: And of disputation, that sort which is only a discussion about contracts, and is carried on at random, and without rules of art, is recognized by the reasoning faculty to be a distinct class, but has hitherto had no distinctive name, and does not deserve to receive one from us.

THEAETETUS: No; for the different sorts of it are too minute and heterogeneous.

STRANGER: But that which proceeds by rules of art to dispute about justice and injustice in their own nature, and about things in general, we have been accustomed to call argumentation (Eristic)?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And of argumentation, one sort wastes money, and the other makes money.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: Suppose we try and give to each of these two classes a name.

THEAETETUS: Let us do so.

STRANGER: I should say that the habit which leads a man to neglect his own affairs for the pleasure of conversation, of which the style is far from being agreeable to the majority of his hearers, may be fairly termed loquacity: such is my opinion.

THEAETETUS: That is the common name for it.

STRANGER: But now who the other is, who makes money out of private disputation, it is your turn to say.

THEAETETUS: There is only one true answer: he is the wonderful Sophist, of whom we are in pursuit, and who reappears again for the fourth time.

STRANGER: Yes, and with a fresh pedigree, for he is the money-making species of the Eristic, disputatious, controversial, pugnacious, combative, acquisitive family, as the argument has already proven.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: How true was the observation that he was a many-sided animal, and not to be caught with one hand, as they say!

THEAETETUS: Then you must catch him with two.

STRANGER: Yes, we must, if we can. And therefore let us try another track in our pursuit of him: You are aware that there are certain menial occupations which have names among servants?

THEAETETUS: Yes, there are many such; which of them do you mean?

STRANGER: I mean such as sifting, straining, winnowing, threshing.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And besides these there are a great many more, such as carding, spinning, adjusting the warp and the woof; and thousands of similar expressions are used in the arts.

THEAETETUS: Of what are they to be patterns, and what are we going to do with them all?

STRANGER: I think that in all of these there is implied a notion of division.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Then if, as I was saying, there is one art which includes all of them, ought not that art to have one name?

THEAETETUS: And what is the name of the art?

STRANGER: The art of discerning or discriminating.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: Think whether you cannot divide this.

THEAETETUS: I should have to think a long while.

STRANGER: In all the previously named processes either like has been separated from like or the better from the worse.

THEAETETUS: I see now what you mean.

STRANGER: There is no name for the first kind of separation; of the second, which throws away the worse and preserves the better, I do know a name.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: Every discernment or discrimination of that kind, as I have observed, is called a purification.

THEAETETUS: Yes, that is the usual expression.

STRANGER: And any one may see that purification is of two kinds.

THEAETETUS: Perhaps so, if he were allowed time to think; but I do not see at this moment.

STRANGER: There are many purifications of bodies which may with propriety be comprehended under a single name.

THEAETETUS: What are they, and what is their name?

STRANGER: There is the purification of living bodies in their inward and in their outward parts, of which the former is duly effected by medicine and gymnastic, the latter by the not very dignified art of the bath-man; and there is the purification of inanimate substances — to this the arts of fulling and of furbishing in general attend in a number of minute particulars, having a variety of names which are thought ridiculous.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: There can be no doubt that they are thought ridiculous, Theaetetus; but then the dialectical art never considers whether the benefit to be derived from the purge is greater or less than that to be derived from the sponge, and has not more interest in the one than in the other; her endeavour is to know what is and is not kindred in all arts, with a view to the acquisition of intelligence; and having this in view, she honours them all alike, and when she makes comparisons, she counts one of them not a whit more ridiculous than another; nor does she esteem him who adduces as his example of hunting, the general’s art, at all more decorous than another who cites that of the vermin-destroyer, but only as the greater pretender of the two. And as to your question concerning the name which was to comprehend all these arts of purification, whether of animate or inanimate bodies, the art of dialectic is in no wise particular about fine words, if she may be only allowed to have a general name for all other purifications, binding them up together and separating them off from the purification of the soul or intellect. For this is the purification at which she wants to arrive, and this we should understand to be her aim.

THEAETETUS: Yes, I understand; and I agree that there are two sorts of purification, and that one of them is concerned with the soul, and that there is another which is concerned with the body.

STRANGER: Excellent; and now listen to what I am going to say, and try to divide further the first of the two.

THEAETETUS: Whatever line of division you suggest, I will endeavour to assist you.

STRANGER: Do we admit that virtue is distinct from vice in the soul?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And purification was to leave the good and to cast out whatever is bad?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Then any taking away of evil from the soul may be properly called purification?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And in the soul there are two kinds of evil.

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: The one may be compared to disease in the body, the other to deformity.

THEAETETUS: I do not understand.

STRANGER: Perhaps you have never reflected that disease and discord are the same.

THEAETETUS: To this, again, I know not what I should reply.

STRANGER: Do you not conceive discord to be a dissolution of kindred elements, originating in some disagreement?

THEAETETUS: Just that.

STRANGER: And is deformity anything but the want of measure, which is always unsightly?

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

STRANGER: And do we not see that opinion is opposed to desire, pleasure to anger, reason to pain, and that all these elements are opposed to one another in the souls of bad men?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And yet they must all be akin?

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: Then we shall be right in calling vice a discord and disease of the soul?

THEAETETUS: Most true.

STRANGER: And when things having motion, and aiming at an appointed mark, continually miss their aim and glance aside, shall we say that this is the effect of symmetry among them, or of the want of symmetry?

THEAETETUS: Clearly of the want of symmetry.

STRANGER: But surely we know that no soul is voluntarily ignorant of anything?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

STRANGER: And what is ignorance but the aberration of a mind which is bent on truth, and in which the process of understanding is perverted?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Then we are to regard an unintelligent soul as deformed and devoid of symmetry?

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: Then there are these two kinds of evil in the soul — the one which is generally called vice, and is obviously a disease of the soul...

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And there is the other, which they call ignorance, and which, because existing only in the soul, they will not allow to be vice.

THEAETETUS: I certainly admit what I at first disputed — that there are two kinds of vice in the soul, and that we ought to consider cowardice, intemperance, and injustice to be alike forms of disease in the soul, and ignorance, of which there are all sorts of varieties, to be deformity.

STRANGER: And in the case of the body are there not two arts which have to do with the two bodily states?

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: There is gymnastic, which has to do with deformity, and medicine, which has to do with disease.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And where there is insolence and injustice and cowardice, is not chastisement the art which is most required?

THEAETETUS: That certainly appears to be the opinion of mankind.

STRANGER: Again, of the various kinds of ignorance, may not instruction be rightly said to be the remedy?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And of the art of instruction, shall we say that there is one or many kinds? At any rate there are two principal ones. Think.

THEAETETUS: I will.

STRANGER: I believe that I can see how we shall soonest arrive at the answer to this question.

THEAETETUS: How?

STRANGER: If we can discover a line which divides ignorance into two halves. For a division of ignorance into two parts will certainly imply that the art of instruction is also twofold, answering to the two divisions of ignorance.

THEAETETUS: Well, and do you see what you are looking for?

STRANGER: I do seem to myself to see one very large and bad sort of ignorance which is quite separate, and may be weighed in the scale against all other sorts of ignorance put together.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: When a person supposes that he knows, and does not know; this appears to be the great source of all the errors of the intellect.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And this, if I am not mistaken, is the kind of ignorance which specially earns the title of stupidity.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: What name, then, shall be given to the sort of instruction which gets rid of this?

THEAETETUS: The instruction which you mean, Stranger, is, I should imagine, not the teaching of handicraft arts, but what, thanks to us, has been termed education in this part the world.

STRANGER: Yes, Theaetetus, and by nearly all Hellenes. But we have still to consider whether education admits of any further division.

THEAETETUS: We have.

STRANGER: I think that there is a point at which such a division is possible.

THEAETETUS: Where?

STRANGER: Of education, one method appears to be rougher, and another smoother.

THEAETETUS: How are we to distinguish the two?

STRANGER: There is the time-honoured mode which our fathers commonly practised towards their sons, and which is still adopted by many — either of roughly reproving their errors, or of gently advising them; which varieties may be correctly included under the general term of admonition.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: But whereas some appear to have arrived at the conclusion that all ignorance is involuntary, and that no one who thinks himself wise is willing to learn any of those things in which he is conscious of his own cleverness, and that the admonitory sort of instruction gives much trouble and does little good —

THEAETETUS: There they are quite right.

STRANGER: Accordingly, they set to work to eradicate the spirit of conceit in another way.

THEAETETUS: In what way?

STRANGER: They cross-examine a man’s words, when he thinks that he is saying something and is really saying nothing, and easily convict him of inconsistencies in his opinions; these they then collect by the dialectical process, and placing them side by side, show that they contradict one another about the same things, in relation to the same things, and in the same respect. He, seeing this, is angry with himself, and grows gentle towards others, and thus is entirely delivered from great prejudices and harsh notions, in a way which is most amusing to the hearer, and produces the most lasting good effect on the person who is the subject of the operation. For as the physician considers that the body will receive no benefit from taking food until the internal obstacles have been removed, so the purifier of the soul is conscious that his patient will receive no benefit from the application of knowledge until he is refuted, and from refutation learns modesty; he must be purged of his prejudices first and made to think that he knows only what he knows, and no more.

THEAETETUS: That is certainly the best and wisest state of mind.

STRANGER: For all these reasons, Theaetetus, we must admit that refutation is the greatest and chiefest of purifications, and he who has not been refuted, though he be the Great King himself, is in an awful state of impurity; he is uninstructed and deformed in those things in which he who would be truly blessed ought to be fairest and purest.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: And who are the ministers of this art? I am afraid to say the Sophists.

THEAETETUS: Why?

STRANGER: Lest we should assign to them too high a prerogative.

THEAETETUS: Yet the Sophist has a certain likeness to our minister of purification.

STRANGER: Yes, the same sort of likeness which a wolf, who is the fiercest of animals, has to a dog, who is the gentlest. But he who would not be found tripping, ought to be very careful in this matter of comparisons, for they are most slippery things. Nevertheless, let us assume that the Sophists are the men. I say this provisionally, for I think that the line which divides them will be marked enough if proper care is taken.

THEAETETUS: Likely enough.

STRANGER: Let us grant, then, that from the discerning art comes purification, and from purification let there be separated off a part which is concerned with the soul; of this mental purification instruction is a portion, and of instruction education, and of education, that refutation of vain conceit which has been discovered in the present argument; and let this be called by you and me the nobly-descended art of Sophistry.

THEAETETUS: Very well; and yet, considering the number of forms in which he has presented himself, I begin to doubt how I can with any truth or confidence describe the real nature of the Sophist.

STRANGER: You naturally feel perplexed; and yet I think that he must be still more perplexed in his attempt to escape us, for as the proverb says, when every way is blocked, there is no escape; now, then, is the time of all others to set upon him.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: First let us wait a moment and recover breath, and while we are resting, we may reckon up in how many forms he has appeared. In the first place, he was discovered to be a paid hunter after wealth and youth.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: In the second place, he was a merchant in the goods of the soul.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: In the third place, he has turned out to be a retailer of the same sort of wares.

THEAETETUS: Yes; and in the fourth place, he himself manufactured the learned wares which he sold.

STRANGER: Quite right; I will try and remember the fifth myself. He belonged to the fighting class, and was further distinguished as a hero of debate, who professed the eristic art.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: The sixth point was doubtful, and yet we at last agreed that he was a purger of souls, who cleared away notions obstructive to knowledge.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: Do you not see that when the professor of any art has one name and many kinds of knowledge, there must be something wrong? The multiplicity of names which is applied to him shows that the common principle to which all these branches of knowledge are tending, is not understood.

THEAETETUS: I should imagine this to be the case.

STRANGER: At any rate we will understand him, and no indolence shall prevent us. Let us begin again, then, and re-examine some of our statements concerning the Sophist; there was one thing which appeared to me especially characteristic of him.

THEAETETUS: To what are you referring?

STRANGER: We were saying of him, if I am not mistaken, that he was a disputer?

THEAETETUS: We were.

STRANGER: And does he not also teach others the art of disputation?

THEAETETUS: Certainly he does.

STRANGER: And about what does he profess that he teaches men to dispute? To begin at the beginning — Does he make them able to dispute about divine things, which are invisible to men in general?

THEAETETUS: At any rate, he is said to do so.

STRANGER: And what do you say of the visible things in heaven and earth, and the like?

THEAETETUS: Certainly he disputes, and teaches to dispute about them.

STRANGER: Then, again, in private conversation, when any universal assertion is made about generation and essence, we know that such persons are tremendous argufiers, and are able to impart their own skill to others.

THEAETETUS: Undoubtedly.

STRANGER: And do they not profess to make men able to dispute about law and about politics in general?

THEAETETUS: Why, no one would have anything to say to them, if they did not make these professions.

STRANGER: In all and every art, what the craftsman ought to say in answer to any question is written down in a popular form, and he who likes may learn.

THEAETETUS: I suppose that you are referring to the precepts of Protagoras about wrestling and the other arts?

STRANGER: Yes, my friend, and about a good many other things. In a word, is not the art of disputation a power of disputing about all things?

THEAETETUS: Certainly; there does not seem to be much which is left out.

STRANGER: But oh! my dear youth, do you suppose this possible? for perhaps your young eyes may see things which to our duller sight do not appear.

THEAETETUS: To what are you alluding? I do not think that I understand your present question.

STRANGER: I ask whether anybody can understand all things.

THEAETETUS: Happy would mankind be if such a thing were possible!

SOCRATES: But how can any one who is ignorant dispute in a rational manner against him who knows?

THEAETETUS: He cannot.

STRANGER: Then why has the sophistical art such a mysterious power?

THEAETETUS: To what do you refer?

STRANGER: How do the Sophists make young men believe in their supreme and universal wisdom? For if they neither disputed nor were thought to dispute rightly, or being thought to do so were deemed no wiser for their controversial skill, then, to quote your own observation, no one would give them money or be willing to learn their art.

THEAETETUS: They certainly would not.

STRANGER: But they are willing.

THEAETETUS: Yes, they are.

STRANGER: Yes, and the reason, as I should imagine, is that they are supposed to have knowledge of those things about which they dispute?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And they dispute about all things?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And therefore, to their disciples, they appear to be all-wise?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: But they are not; for that was shown to be impossible.

THEAETETUS: Impossible, of course.

STRANGER: Then the Sophist has been shown to have a sort of conjectural or apparent knowledge only of all things, which is not the truth?

THEAETETUS: Exactly; no better description of him could be given.

STRANGER: Let us now take an illustration, which will still more clearly explain his nature.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: I will tell you, and you shall answer me, giving your very closest attention. Suppose that a person were to profess, not that he could speak or dispute, but that he knew how to make and do all things, by a single art.

THEAETETUS: All things?

STRANGER: I see that you do not understand the first word that I utter, for you do not understand the meaning of ‘all.’

THEAETETUS: No, I do not.

STRANGER: Under all things, I include you and me, and also animals and trees.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: Suppose a person to say that he will make you and me, and all creatures.

THEAETETUS: What would he mean by ‘making’? He cannot be a husbandman; — for you said that he is a maker of animals.

STRANGER: Yes; and I say that he is also the maker of the sea, and the earth, and the heavens, and the gods, and of all other things; and, further, that he can make them in no time, and sell them for a few pence.

THEAETETUS: That must be a jest.

STRANGER: And when a man says that he knows all things, and can teach them to another at a small cost, and in a short time, is not that a jest?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And is there any more artistic or graceful form of jest than imitation?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not; and imitation is a very comprehensive term, which includes under one class the most diverse sorts of things.

STRANGER: We know, of course, that he who professes by one art to make all things is really a painter, and by the painter’s art makes resemblances of real things which have the same name with them; and he can deceive the less intelligent sort of young children, to whom he shows his pictures at a distance, into the belief that he has the absolute power of making whatever he likes.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And may there not be supposed to be an imitative art of reasoning? Is it not possible to enchant the hearts of young men by words poured through their ears, when they are still at a distance from the truth of facts, by exhibiting to them fictitious arguments, and making them think that they are true, and that the speaker is the wisest of men in all things?

THEAETETUS: Yes; why should there not be another such art?

STRANGER: But as time goes on, and their hearers advance in years, and come into closer contact with realities, and have learnt by sad experience to see and feel the truth of things, are not the greater part of them compelled to change many opinions which they formerly entertained, so that the great appears small to them, and the easy difficult, and all their dreamy speculations are overturned by the facts of life?

THEAETETUS: That is my view, as far as I can judge, although, at my age, I may be one of those who see things at a distance only.

STRANGER: And the wish of all of us, who are your friends, is and always will be to bring you as near to the truth as we can without the sad reality. And now I should like you to tell me, whether the Sophist is not visibly a magician and imitator of true being; or are we still disposed to think that he may have a true knowledge of the various matters about which he disputes?

THEAETETUS: But how can he, Stranger? Is there any doubt, after what has been said, that he is to be located in one of the divisions of children’s play?

STRANGER: Then we must place him in the class of magicians and mimics.

THEAETETUS: Certainly we must.

STRANGER: And now our business is not to let the animal out, for we have got him in a sort of dialectical net, and there is one thing which he decidedly will not escape.

THEAETETUS: What is that?

STRANGER: The inference that he is a juggler.

THEAETETUS: Precisely my own opinion of him.

STRANGER: Then, clearly, we ought as soon as possible to divide the image-making art, and go down into the net, and, if the Sophist does not run away from us, to seize him according to orders and deliver him over to reason, who is the lord of the hunt, and proclaim the capture of him; and if he creeps into the recesses of the imitative art, and secretes himself in one of them, to divide again and follow him up until in some sub-section of imitation he is caught. For our method of tackling each and all is one which neither he nor any other creature will ever escape in triumph.

THEAETETUS: Well said; and let us do as you propose.

STRANGER: Well, then, pursuing the same analytic method as before, I think that I can discern two divisions of the imitative art, but I am not as yet able to see in which of them the desired form is to be found.

THEAETETUS: Will you tell me first what are the two divisions of which you are speaking?

STRANGER: One is the art of likeness-making; — generally a likeness of anything is made by producing a copy which is executed according to the proportions of the original, similar in length and breadth and depth, each thing receiving also its appropriate colour.

THEAETETUS: Is not this always the aim of imitation?

STRANGER: Not always; in works either of sculpture or of painting, which are of any magnitude, there is a certain degree of deception; for artists were to give the true proportions of their fair works, the upper part, which is farther off, would appear to be out of proportion in comparison with the lower, which is nearer; and so they give up the truth in their images and make only the proportions which appear to be beautiful, disregarding the real ones.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: And that which being other is also like, may we not fairly call a likeness or image?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And may we not, as I did just now, call that part of the imitative art which is concerned with making such images the art of likeness-making?

THEAETETUS: Let that be the name.

STRANGER: And what shall we call those resemblances of the beautiful, which appear such owing to the unfavourable position of the spectator, whereas if a person had the power of getting a correct view of works of such magnitude, they would appear not even like that to which they profess to be like? May we not call these ‘appearances,’ since they appear only and are not really like?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: There is a great deal of this kind of thing in painting, and in all imitation.

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: And may we not fairly call the sort of art, which produces an appearance and not an image, phantastic art?

THEAETETUS: Most fairly.

STRANGER: These then are the two kinds of image-making — the art of making likenesses, and phantastic or the art of making appearances?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: I was doubtful before in which of them I should place the Sophist, nor am I even now able to see clearly; verily he is a wonderful and inscrutable creature. And now in the cleverest manner he has got into an impossible place.

THEAETETUS: Yes, he has.

STRANGER: Do you speak advisedly, or are you carried away at the moment by the habit of assenting into giving a hasty answer?

THEAETETUS: May I ask to what you are referring?

STRANGER: My dear friend, we are engaged in a very difficult speculation — there can be no doubt of that; for how a thing can appear and seem, and not be, or how a man can say a thing which is not true, has always been and still remains a very perplexing question. Can any one say or think that falsehood really exists, and avoid being caught in a contradiction? Indeed, Theaetetus, the task is a difficult one.

THEAETETUS: Why?

STRANGER: He who says that falsehood exists has the audacity to assert the being of not-being; for this is implied in the possibility of falsehood. But, my boy, in the days when I was a boy, the great Parmenides protested against this doctrine, and to the end of his life he continued to inculcate the same lesson — always repeating both in verse and out of verse:

‘Keep your mind from this way of enquiry, for never will you show that not-being is.’

Such is his testimony, which is confirmed by the very expression when sifted a little. Would you object to begin with the consideration of the words themselves?

THEAETETUS: Never mind about me; I am only desirous that you should carry on the argument in the best way, and that you should take me with you.

STRANGER: Very good; and now say, do we venture to utter the forbidden word ‘not-being’?

THEAETETUS: Certainly we do.

STRANGER: Let us be serious then, and consider the question neither in strife nor play: suppose that one of the hearers of Parmenides was asked, ‘To what is the term “not-being” to be applied?’ — do you know what sort of object he would single out in reply, and what answer he would make to the enquirer?

THEAETETUS: That is a difficult question, and one not to be answered at all by a person like myself.

STRANGER: There is at any rate no difficulty in seeing that the predicate ‘not-being’ is not applicable to any being.

THEAETETUS: None, certainly.

STRANGER: And if not to being, then not to something.

THEAETETUS: Of course not.

STRANGER: It is also plain, that in speaking of something we speak of being, for to speak of an abstract something naked and isolated from all being is impossible.

THEAETETUS: Impossible.

STRANGER: You mean by assenting to imply that he who says something must say some one thing?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Some in the singular (ti) you would say is the sign of one, some in the dual (tine) of two, some in the plural (tines) of many?

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

STRANGER: Then he who says ‘not something’ must say absolutely nothing.

THEAETETUS: Most assuredly.

STRANGER: And as we cannot admit that a man speaks and says nothing, he who says ‘not-being’ does not speak at all.

THEAETETUS: The difficulty of the argument can no further go.

STRANGER: Not yet, my friend, is the time for such a word; for there still remains of all perplexities the first and greatest, touching the very foundation of the matter.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean? Do not be afraid to speak.

STRANGER: To that which is, may be attributed some other thing which is?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: But can anything which is, be attributed to that which is not?

THEAETETUS: Impossible.

STRANGER: And all number is to be reckoned among things which are?

THEAETETUS: Yes, surely number, if anything, has a real existence.

STRANGER: Then we must not attempt to attribute to not-being number either in the singular or plural?

THEAETETUS: The argument implies that we should be wrong in doing so.

STRANGER: But how can a man either express in words or even conceive in thought things which are not or a thing which is not without number?

THEAETETUS: How indeed?

STRANGER: When we speak of things which are not, are we not attributing plurality to not-being?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: But, on the other hand, when we say ‘what is not,’ do we not attribute unity?

THEAETETUS: Manifestly.

STRANGER: Nevertheless, we maintain that you may not and ought not to attribute being to not-being?

THEAETETUS: Most true.

STRANGER: Do you see, then, that not-being in itself can neither be spoken, uttered, or thought, but that it is unthinkable, unutterable, unspeakable, indescribable?

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: But, if so, I was wrong in telling you just now that the difficulty which was coming is the greatest of all.

THEAETETUS: What! is there a greater still behind?

STRANGER: Well, I am surprised, after what has been said already, that you do not see the difficulty in which he who would refute the notion of not-being is involved. For he is compelled to contradict himself as soon as he makes the attempt.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean? Speak more clearly.

STRANGER: Do not expect clearness from me. For I, who maintain that not-being has no part either in the one or many, just now spoke and am still speaking of not-being as one; for I say ‘not-being.’ Do you understand?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And a little while ago I said that not-being is unutterable, unspeakable, indescribable: do you follow?

THEAETETUS: I do after a fashion.

STRANGER: When I introduced the word ’is,’ did I not contradict what I said before?

THEAETETUS: Clearly.

STRANGER: And in using the singular verb, did I not speak of not-being as one?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And when I spoke of not-being as indescribable and unspeakable and unutterable, in using each of these words in the singular, did I not refer to not-being as one?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And yet we say that, strictly speaking, it should not be defined as one or many, and should not even be called ‘it,’ for the use of the word ‘it’ would imply a form of unity.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: How, then, can any one put any faith in me? For now, as always, I am unequal to the refutation of not-being. And therefore, as I was saying, do not look to me for the right way of speaking about not-being; but come, let us try the experiment with you.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: Make a noble effort, as becomes youth, and endeavour with all your might to speak of not-being in a right manner, without introducing into it either existence or unity or plurality.

THEAETETUS: It would be a strange boldness in me which would attempt the task when I see you thus discomfited.

STRANGER: Say no more of ourselves; but until we find some one or other who can speak of not-being without number, we must acknowledge that the Sophist is a clever rogue who will not be got out of his hole.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

STRANGER: And if we say to him that he professes an art of making appearances, he will grapple with us and retort our argument upon ourselves; and when we call him an image-maker he will say, ‘Pray what do you mean at all by an image?’ — and I should like to know, Theaetetus, how we can possibly answer the younker’s question?

THEAETETUS: We shall doubtless tell him of the images which are reflected in water or in mirrors; also of sculptures, pictures, and other duplicates.

STRANGER: I see, Theaetetus, that you have never made the acquaintance of the Sophist.

THEAETETUS: Why do you think so?

STRANGER: He will make believe to have his eyes shut, or to have none.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: When you tell him of something existing in a mirror, or in sculpture, and address him as though he had eyes, he will laugh you to scorn, and will pretend that he knows nothing of mirrors and streams, or of sight at all; he will say that he is asking about an idea.

THEAETETUS: What can he mean?

STRANGER: The common notion pervading all these objects, which you speak of as many, and yet call by the single name of image, as though it were the unity under which they were all included. How will you maintain your ground against him?

THEAETETUS: How, Stranger, can I describe an image except as something fashioned in the likeness of the true?

STRANGER: And do you mean this something to be some other true thing, or what do you mean?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not another true thing, but only a resemblance.

STRANGER: And you mean by true that which really is?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And the not true is that which is the opposite of the true?

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

STRANGER: A resemblance, then, is not really real, if, as you say, not true?

THEAETETUS: Nay, but it is in a certain sense.

STRANGER: You mean to say, not in a true sense?

THEAETETUS: Yes; it is in reality only an image.

STRANGER: Then what we call an image is in reality really unreal.

THEAETETUS: In what a strange complication of being and not-being we are involved!

STRANGER: Strange! I should think so. See how, by his reciprocation of opposites, the many-headed Sophist has compelled us, quite against our will, to admit the existence of not-being.

THEAETETUS: Yes, indeed, I see.

STRANGER: The difficulty is how to define his art without falling into a contradiction.

THEAETETUS: How do you mean? And where does the danger lie?

STRANGER: When we say that he deceives us with an illusion, and that his art is illusory, do we mean that our soul is led by his art to think falsely, or what do we mean?

THEAETETUS: There is nothing else to be said.

STRANGER: Again, false opinion is that form of opinion which thinks the opposite of the truth: — You would assent?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: You mean to say that false opinion thinks what is not?

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: Does false opinion think that things which are not are not, or that in a certain sense they are?

THEAETETUS: Things that are not must be imagined to exist in a certain sense, if any degree of falsehood is to be possible.

STRANGER: And does not false opinion also think that things which most certainly exist do not exist at all?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And here, again, is falsehood?

THEAETETUS: Falsehood — yes.

STRANGER: And in like manner, a false proposition will be deemed to be one which asserts the non-existence of things which are, and the existence of things which are not.

THEAETETUS: There is no other way in which a false proposition can arise.

STRANGER: There is not; but the Sophist will deny these statements. And indeed how can any rational man assent to them, when the very expressions which we have just used were before acknowledged by us to be unutterable, unspeakable, indescribable, unthinkable? Do you see his point, Theaetetus?

THEAETETUS: Of course he will say that we are contradicting ourselves when we hazard the assertion, that falsehood exists in opinion and in words; for in maintaining this, we are compelled over and over again to assert being of not-being, which we admitted just now to be an utter impossibility.

STRANGER: How well you remember! And now it is high time to hold a consultation as to what we ought to do about the Sophist; for if we persist in looking for him in the class of false workers and magicians, you see that the handles for objection and the difficulties which will arise are very numerous and obvious.

THEAETETUS: They are indeed.

STRANGER: We have gone through but a very small portion of them, and they are really infinite.

THEAETETUS: If that is the case, we cannot possibly catch the Sophist.

STRANGER: Shall we then be so faint-hearted as to give him up?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not, I should say, if we can get the slightest hold upon him.

STRANGER: Will you then forgive me, and, as your words imply, not be altogether displeased if I flinch a little from the grasp of such a sturdy argument?

THEAETETUS: To be sure I will.

STRANGER: I have a yet more urgent request to make.

THEAETETUS: Which is — ?

STRANGER: That you will promise not to regard me as a parricide.

THEAETETUS: And why?

STRANGER: Because, in self-defence, I must test the philosophy of my father Parmenides, and try to prove by main force that in a certain sense not-being is, and that being, on the other hand, is not.

THEAETETUS: Some attempt of the kind is clearly needed.

STRANGER: Yes, a blind man, as they say, might see that, and, unless these questions are decided in one way or another, no one when he speaks of false words, or false opinion, or idols, or images, or imitations, or appearances, or about the arts which are concerned with them; can avoid falling into ridiculous contradictions.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

STRANGER: And therefore I must venture to lay hands on my father’s argument; for if I am to be over-scrupulous, I shall have to give the matter up.

THEAETETUS: Nothing in the world should ever induce us to do so.

STRANGER: I have a third little request which I wish to make.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: You heard me say what I have always felt and still feel — that I have no heart for this argument?

THEAETETUS: I did.

STRANGER: I tremble at the thought of what I have said, and expect that you will deem me mad, when you hear of my sudden changes and shiftings; let me therefore observe, that I am examining the question entirely out of regard for you.

THEAETETUS: There is no reason for you to fear that I shall impute any impropriety to you, if you attempt this refutation and proof; take heart, therefore, and proceed.

STRANGER: And where shall I begin the perilous enterprise? I think that the road which I must take is —

THEAETETUS: Which? — Let me hear.

STRANGER: I think that we had better, first of all, consider the points which at present are regarded as self-evident, lest we may have fallen into some confusion, and be too ready to assent to one another, fancying that we are quite clear about them.

THEAETETUS: Say more distinctly what you mean.

STRANGER: I think that Parmenides, and all ever yet undertook to determine the number and nature of existences, talked to us in rather a light and easy strain.

THEAETETUS: How?

STRANGER: As if we had been children, to whom they repeated each his own mythus or story; — one said that there were three principles, and that at one time there was war between certain of them; and then again there was peace, and they were married and begat children, and brought them up; and another spoke of two principles, — a moist and a dry, or a hot and a cold, and made them marry and cohabit. The Eleatics, however, in our part of the world, say that all things are many in name, but in nature one; this is their mythus, which goes back to Xenophanes, and is even older. Then there are Ionian, and in more recent times Sicilian muses, who have arrived at the conclusion that to unite the two principles is safer, and to say that being is one and many, and that these are held together by enmity and friendship, ever parting, ever meeting, as the severer Muses assert, while the gentler ones do not insist on the perpetual strife and peace, but admit a relaxation and alternation of them; peace and unity sometimes prevailing under the sway of Aphrodite, and then again plurality and war, by reason of a principle of strife. Whether any of them spoke the truth in all this is hard to determine; besides, antiquity and famous men should have reverence, and not be liable to accusations so serious. Yet one thing may be said of them without offence —

THEAETETUS: What thing?

STRANGER: That they went on their several ways disdaining to notice people like ourselves; they did not care whether they took us with them, or left us behind them.

THEAETETUS: How do you mean?

STRANGER: I mean to say, that when they talk of one, two, or more elements, which are or have become or are becoming, or again of heat mingling with cold, assuming in some other part of their works separations and mixtures, — tell me, Theaetetus, do you understand what they mean by these expressions? When I was a younger man, I used to fancy that I understood quite well what was meant by the term ‘not-being,’ which is our present subject of dispute; and now you see in what a fix we are about it.

THEAETETUS: I see.

STRANGER: And very likely we have been getting into the same perplexity about ‘being,’ and yet may fancy that when anybody utters the word, we understand him quite easily, although we do not know about not-being. But we may be; equally ignorant of both.

THEAETETUS: I dare say.

STRANGER: And the same may be said of all the terms just mentioned.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: The consideration of most of them may be deferred; but we had better now discuss the chief captain and leader of them.

THEAETETUS: Of what are you speaking? You clearly think that we must first investigate what people mean by the word ‘being.’

STRANGER: You follow close at my heels, Theaetetus. For the right method, I conceive, will be to call into our presence the dualistic philosophers and to interrogate them. ‘Come,’ we will say, ‘Ye, who affirm that hot and cold or any other two principles are the universe, what is this term which you apply to both of them, and what do you mean when you say that both and each of them “are”? How are we to understand the word “are”? Upon your view, are we to suppose that there is a third principle over and above the other two, — three in all, and not two? For clearly you cannot say that one of the two principles is being, and yet attribute being equally to both of them; for, if you did, whichever of the two is identified with being, will comprehend the other; and so they will be one and not two.’

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: But perhaps you mean to give the name of ‘being’ to both of them together?

THEAETETUS: Quite likely.

STRANGER: ‘Then, friends,’ we shall reply to them, ‘the answer is plainly that the two will still be resolved into one.’

THEAETETUS: Most true.

STRANGER: ‘Since, then, we are in a difficulty, please to tell us what you mean, when you speak of being; for there can be no doubt that you always from the first understood your own meaning, whereas we once thought that we understood you, but now we are in a great strait. Please to begin by explaining this matter to us, and let us no longer fancy that we understand you, when we entirely misunderstand you.’ There will be no impropriety in our demanding an answer to this question, either of the dualists or of the pluralists?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

STRANGER: And what about the assertors of the oneness of the all — must we not endeavour to ascertain from them what they mean by ‘being’?

THEAETETUS: By all means.

STRANGER: Then let them answer this question: One, you say, alone is? ‘Yes,’ they will reply.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And there is something which you call ‘being’?

THEAETETUS: ‘Yes.’

STRANGER: And is being the same as one, and do you apply two names to the same thing?

THEAETETUS: What will be their answer, Stranger?

STRANGER: It is clear, Theaetetus, that he who asserts the unity of being will find a difficulty in answering this or any other question.

THEAETETUS: Why so?

STRANGER: To admit of two names, and to affirm that there is nothing but unity, is surely ridiculous?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And equally irrational to admit that a name is anything?

THEAETETUS: How so?

STRANGER: To distinguish the name from the thing, implies duality.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And yet he who identifies the name with the thing will be compelled to say that it is the name of nothing, or if he says that it is the name of something, even then the name will only be the name of a name, and of nothing else.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And the one will turn out to be only one of one, and being absolute unity, will represent a mere name.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And would they say that the whole is other than the one that is, or the same with it?

THEAETETUS: To be sure they would, and they actually say so.

STRANGER: If being is a whole, as Parmenides sings, —

‘Every way like unto the fullness of a well-rounded sphere, Evenly balanced from the centre on every side, And must needs be neither greater nor less in any way, Neither on this side nor on that—’

then being has a centre and extremes, and, having these, must also have parts.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Yet that which has parts may have the attribute of unity in all the parts, and in this way being all and a whole, may be one?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: But that of which this is the condition cannot be absolute unity?

THEAETETUS: Why not?

STRANGER: Because, according to right reason, that which is truly one must be affirmed to be absolutely indivisible.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: But this indivisible, if made up of many parts, will contradict reason.

THEAETETUS: I understand.

STRANGER: Shall we say that being is one and a whole, because it has the attribute of unity? Or shall we say that being is not a whole at all?

THEAETETUS: That is a hard alternative to offer.

STRANGER: Most true; for being, having in a certain sense the attribute of one, is yet proved not to be the same as one, and the all is therefore more than one.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And yet if being be not a whole, through having the attribute of unity, and there be such a thing as an absolute whole, being lacks something of its own nature?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: Upon this view, again, being, having a defect of being, will become not-being?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And, again, the all becomes more than one, for being and the whole will each have their separate nature.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: But if the whole does not exist at all, all the previous difficulties remain the same, and there will be the further difficulty, that besides having no being, being can never have come into being.

THEAETETUS: Why so?

STRANGER: Because that which comes into being always comes into being as a whole, so that he who does not give whole a place among beings, cannot speak either of essence or generation as existing.

THEAETETUS: Yes, that certainly appears to be true.

STRANGER: Again; how can that which is not a whole have any quantity? For that which is of a certain quantity must necessarily be the whole of that quantity.

THEAETETUS: Exactly.

STRANGER: And there will be innumerable other points, each of them causing infinite trouble to him who says that being is either one or two.

THEAETETUS: The difficulties which are dawning upon us prove this; for one objection connects with another, and they are always involving what has preceded in a greater and worse perplexity.

STRANGER: We are far from having exhausted the more exact thinkers who treat of being and not-being. But let us be content to leave them, and proceed to view those who speak less precisely; and we shall find as the result of all, that the nature of being is quite as difficult to comprehend as that of not-being.

THEAETETUS: Then now we will go to the others.

STRANGER: There appears to be a sort of war of Giants and Gods going on amongst them; they are fighting with one another about the nature of essence.

THEAETETUS: How is that?

STRANGER: Some of them are dragging down all things from heaven and from the unseen to earth, and they literally grasp in their hands rocks and oaks; of these they lay hold, and obstinately maintain, that the things only which can be touched or handled have being or essence, because they define being and body as one, and if any one else says that what is not a body exists they altogether despise him, and will hear of nothing but body.

THEAETETUS: I have often met with such men, and terrible fellows they are.

STRANGER: And that is the reason why their opponents cautiously defend themselves from above, out of an unseen world, mightily contending that true essence consists of certain intelligible and incorporeal ideas; the bodies of the materialists, which by them are maintained to be the very truth, they break up into little bits by their arguments, and affirm them to be, not essence, but generation and motion. Between the two armies, Theaetetus, there is always an endless conflict raging concerning these matters.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Let us ask each party in turn, to give an account of that which they call essence.

THEAETETUS: How shall we get it out of them?

STRANGER: With those who make being to consist in ideas, there will be less difficulty, for they are civil people enough; but there will be very great difficulty, or rather an absolute impossibility, in getting an opinion out of those who drag everything down to matter. Shall I tell you what we must do?

THEAETETUS: What?

STRANGER: Let us, if we can, really improve them; but if this is not possible, let us imagine them to be better than they are, and more willing to answer in accordance with the rules of argument, and then their opinion will be more worth having; for that which better men acknowledge has more weight than that which is acknowledged by inferior men. Moreover we are no respecters of persons, but seekers after truth.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: Then now, on the supposition that they are improved, let us ask them to state their views, and do you interpret them.

THEAETETUS: Agreed.

STRANGER: Let them say whether they would admit that there is such a thing as a mortal animal.

THEAETETUS: Of course they would.

STRANGER: And do they not acknowledge this to be a body having a soul?

THEAETETUS: Certainly they do.

STRANGER: Meaning to say that the soul is something which exists?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And do they not say that one soul is just, and another unjust, and that one soul is wise, and another foolish?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And that the just and wise soul becomes just and wise by the possession of justice and wisdom, and the opposite under opposite circumstances?

THEAETETUS: Yes, they do.

STRANGER: But surely that which may be present or may be absent will be admitted by them to exist?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And, allowing that justice, wisdom, the other virtues, and their opposites exist, as well as a soul in which they inhere, do they affirm any of them to be visible and tangible, or are they all invisible?

THEAETETUS: They would say that hardly any of them are visible.

STRANGER: And would they say that they are corporeal?

THEAETETUS: They would distinguish: the soul would be said by them to have a body; but as to the other qualities of justice, wisdom, and the like, about which you asked, they would not venture either to deny their existence, or to maintain that they were all corporeal.

STRANGER: Verily, Theaetetus, I perceive a great improvement in them; the real aborigines, children of the dragon’s teeth, would have been deterred by no shame at all, but would have obstinately asserted that nothing is which they are not able to squeeze in their hands.

THEAETETUS: That is pretty much their notion.

STRANGER: Let us push the question; for if they will admit that any, even the smallest particle of being, is incorporeal, it is enough; they must then say what that nature is which is common to both the corporeal and incorporeal, and which they have in their mind’s eye when they say of both of them that they ‘are.’ Perhaps they may be in a difficulty; and if this is the case, there is a possibility that they may accept a notion of ours respecting the nature of being, having nothing of their own to offer.

THEAETETUS: What is the notion? Tell me, and we shall soon see.

STRANGER: My notion would be, that anything which possesses any sort of power to affect another, or to be affected by another, if only for a single moment, however trifling the cause and however slight the effect, has real existence; and I hold that the definition of being is simply power.

THEAETETUS: They accept your suggestion, having nothing better of their own to offer.

STRANGER: Very good; perhaps we, as well as they, may one day change our minds; but, for the present, this may be regarded as the understanding which is established with them.

THEAETETUS: Agreed.

STRANGER: Let us now go to the friends of ideas; of their opinions, too, you shall be the interpreter.

THEAETETUS: I will.

STRANGER: To them we say — You would distinguish essence from generation?

THEAETETUS: ‘Yes,’ they reply.

STRANGER: And you would allow that we participate in generation with the body, and through perception, but we participate with the soul through thought in true essence; and essence you would affirm to be always the same and immutable, whereas generation or becoming varies?

THEAETETUS: Yes; that is what we should affirm.

STRANGER: Well, fair sirs, we say to them, what is this participation, which you assert of both? Do you agree with our recent definition?

THEAETETUS: What definition?

STRANGER: We said that being was an active or passive energy, arising out of a certain power which proceeds from elements meeting with one another. Perhaps your ears, Theaetetus, may fail to catch their answer, which I recognize because I have been accustomed to hear it.

THEAETETUS: And what is their answer?

STRANGER: They deny the truth of what we were just now saying to the aborigines about existence.

THEAETETUS: What was that?

STRANGER: Any power of doing or suffering in a degree however slight was held by us to be a sufficient definition of being?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: They deny this, and say that the power of doing or suffering is confined to becoming, and that neither power is applicable to being.

THEAETETUS: And is there not some truth in what they say?

STRANGER: Yes; but our reply will be, that we want to ascertain from them more distinctly, whether they further admit that the soul knows, and that being or essence is known.

THEAETETUS: There can be no doubt that they say so.

STRANGER: And is knowing and being known doing or suffering, or both, or is the one doing and the other suffering, or has neither any share in either?

THEAETETUS: Clearly, neither has any share in either; for if they say anything else, they will contradict themselves.

STRANGER: I understand; but they will allow that if to know is active, then, of course, to be known is passive. And on this view being, in so far as it is known, is acted upon by knowledge, and is therefore in motion; for that which is in a state of rest cannot be acted upon, as we affirm.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And, O heavens, can we ever be made to believe that motion and life and soul and mind are not present with perfect being? Can we imagine that being is devoid of life and mind, and exists in awful unmeaningness an everlasting fixture?

THEAETETUS: That would be a dreadful thing to admit, Stranger.

STRANGER: But shall we say that has mind and not life?

THEAETETUS: How is that possible?

STRANGER: Or shall we say that both inhere in perfect being, but that it has no soul which contains them?

THEAETETUS: And in what other way can it contain them?

STRANGER: Or that being has mind and life and soul, but although endowed with soul remains absolutely unmoved?

THEAETETUS: All three suppositions appear to me to be irrational.

STRANGER: Under being, then, we must include motion, and that which is moved.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: Then, Theaetetus, our inference is, that if there is no motion, neither is there any mind anywhere, or about anything or belonging to any one.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: And yet this equally follows, if we grant that all things are in motion — upon this view too mind has no existence.

THEAETETUS: How so?

STRANGER: Do you think that sameness of condition and mode and subject could ever exist without a principle of rest?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

STRANGER: Can you see how without them mind could exist, or come into existence anywhere?

THEAETETUS: No.

STRANGER: And surely contend we must in every possible way against him who would annihilate knowledge and reason and mind, and yet ventures to speak confidently about anything.

THEAETETUS: Yes, with all our might.

STRANGER: Then the philosopher, who has the truest reverence for these qualities, cannot possibly accept the notion of those who say that the whole is at rest, either as unity or in many forms: and he will be utterly deaf to those who assert universal motion. As children say entreatingly ‘Give us both,’ so he will include both the moveable and immoveable in his definition of being and all.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

STRANGER: And now, do we seem to have gained a fair notion of being?

THEAETETUS: Yes truly.

STRANGER: Alas, Theaetetus, methinks that we are now only beginning to see the real difficulty of the enquiry into the nature of it.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: O my friend, do you not see that nothing can exceed our ignorance, and yet we fancy that we are saying something good?

THEAETETUS: I certainly thought that we were; and I do not at all understand how we never found out our desperate case.

STRANGER: Reflect: after having made these admissions, may we not be justly asked the same questions which we ourselves were asking of those who said that all was hot and cold?

THEAETETUS: What were they? Will you recall them to my mind?

STRANGER: To be sure I will, and I will remind you of them, by putting the same questions to you which I did to them, and then we shall get on.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Would you not say that rest and motion are in the most entire opposition to one another?

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: And yet you would say that both and either of them equally are?

THEAETETUS: I should.

STRANGER: And when you admit that both or either of them are, do you mean to say that both or either of them are in motion?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

STRANGER: Or do you wish to imply that they are both at rest, when you say that they are?

THEAETETUS: Of course not.

STRANGER: Then you conceive of being as some third and distinct nature, under which rest and motion are alike included; and, observing that they both participate in being, you declare that they are.

THEAETETUS: Truly we seem to have an intimation that being is some third thing, when we say that rest and motion are.

STRANGER: Then being is not the combination of rest and motion, but something different from them.

THEAETETUS: So it would appear.

STRANGER: Being, then, according to its own nature, is neither in motion nor at rest.

THEAETETUS: That is very much the truth.

STRANGER: Where, then, is a man to look for help who would have any clear or fixed notion of being in his mind?

THEAETETUS: Where, indeed?

STRANGER: I scarcely think that he can look anywhere; for that which is not in motion must be at rest, and again, that which is not at rest must be in motion; but being is placed outside of both these classes. Is this possible?

THEAETETUS: Utterly impossible.

STRANGER: Here, then, is another thing which we ought to bear in mind.

THEAETETUS: What?

STRANGER: When we were asked to what we were to assign the appellation of not-being, we were in the greatest difficulty: — do you remember?

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

STRANGER: And are we not now in as great a difficulty about being?

THEAETETUS: I should say, Stranger, that we are in one which is, if possible, even greater.

STRANGER: Then let us acknowledge the difficulty; and as being and not-being are involved in the same perplexity, there is hope that when the one appears more or less distinctly, the other will equally appear; and if we are able to see neither, there may still be a chance of steering our way in between them, without any great discredit.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: Let us enquire, then, how we come to predicate many names of the same thing.

THEAETETUS: Give an example.

STRANGER: I mean that we speak of man, for example, under many names — that we attribute to him colours and forms and magnitudes and virtues and vices, in all of which instances and in ten thousand others we not only speak of him as a man, but also as good, and having numberless other attributes, and in the same way anything else which we originally supposed to be one is described by us as many, and under many names.

THEAETETUS: That is true.

STRANGER: And thus we provide a rich feast for tyros, whether young or old; for there is nothing easier than to argue that the one cannot be many, or the many one; and great is their delight in denying that a man is good; for man, they insist, is man and good is good. I dare say that you have met with persons who take an interest in such matters — they are often elderly men, whose meagre sense is thrown into amazement by these discoveries of theirs, which they believe to be the height of wisdom.

THEAETETUS: Certainly, I have.

STRANGER: Then, not to exclude any one who has ever speculated at all upon the nature of being, let us put our questions to them as well as to our former friends.

THEAETETUS: What questions?

STRANGER: Shall we refuse to attribute being to motion and rest, or anything to anything, and assume that they do not mingle, and are incapable of participating in one another? Or shall we gather all into one class of things communicable with one another? Or are some things communicable and others not? — Which of these alternatives, Theaetetus, will they prefer?

THEAETETUS: I have nothing to answer on their behalf. Suppose that you take all these hypotheses in turn, and see what are the consequences which follow from each of them.

STRANGER: Very good, and first let us assume them to say that nothing is capable of participating in anything else in any respect; in that case rest and motion cannot participate in being at all.

THEAETETUS: They cannot.

STRANGER: But would either of them be if not participating in being?

THEAETETUS: No.

STRANGER: Then by this admission everything is instantly overturned, as well the doctrine of universal motion as of universal rest, and also the doctrine of those who distribute being into immutable and everlasting kinds; for all these add on a notion of being, some affirming that things ‘are’ truly in motion, and others that they ‘are’ truly at rest.

THEAETETUS: Just so.

STRANGER: Again, those who would at one time compound, and at another resolve all things, whether making them into one and out of one creating infinity, or dividing them into finite elements, and forming compounds out of these; whether they suppose the processes of creation to be successive or continuous, would be talking nonsense in all this if there were no admixture.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Most ridiculous of all will the men themselves be who want to carry out the argument and yet forbid us to call anything, because participating in some affection from another, by the name of that other.

THEAETETUS: Why so?

STRANGER: Why, because they are compelled to use the words ‘to be,’ ‘apart,’ ‘from others,’ ‘in itself,’ and ten thousand more, which they cannot give up, but must make the connecting links of discourse; and therefore they do not require to be refuted by others, but their enemy, as the saying is, inhabits the same house with them; they are always carrying about with them an adversary, like the wonderful ventriloquist, Eurycles, who out of their own bellies audibly contradicts them.

THEAETETUS: Precisely so; a very true and exact illustration.

STRANGER: And now, if we suppose that all things have the power of communion with one another — what will follow?

THEAETETUS: Even I can solve that riddle.

STRANGER: How?

THEAETETUS: Why, because motion itself would be at rest, and rest again in motion, if they could be attributed to one another.

STRANGER: But this is utterly impossible.

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: Then only the third hypothesis remains.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: For, surely, either all things have communion with all; or nothing with any other thing; or some things communicate with some things and others not.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And two out of these three suppositions have been found to be impossible.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Every one then, who desires to answer truly, will adopt the third and remaining hypothesis of the communion of some with some.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: This communion of some with some may be illustrated by the case of letters; for some letters do not fit each other, while others do.

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: And the vowels, especially, are a sort of bond which pervades all the other letters, so that without a vowel one consonant cannot be joined to another.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: But does every one know what letters will unite with what? Or is art required in order to do so?

THEAETETUS: Art is required.

STRANGER: What art?

THEAETETUS: The art of grammar.

STRANGER: And is not this also true of sounds high and low? — Is not he who has the art to know what sounds mingle, a musician, and he who is ignorant, not a musician?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And we shall find this to be generally true of art or the absence of art.

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: And as classes are admitted by us in like manner to be some of them capable and others incapable of intermixture, must not he who would rightly show what kinds will unite and what will not, proceed by the help of science in the path of argument? And will he not ask if the connecting links are universal, and so capable of intermixture with all things; and again, in divisions, whether there are not other universal classes, which make them possible?

THEAETETUS: To be sure he will require science, and, if I am not mistaken, the very greatest of all sciences.

STRANGER: How are we to call it? By Zeus, have we not lighted unwittingly upon our free and noble science, and in looking for the Sophist have we not entertained the philosopher unawares?

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: Should we not say that the division according to classes, which neither makes the same other, nor makes other the same, is the business of the dialectical science?

THEAETETUS: That is what we should say.

STRANGER: Then, surely, he who can divide rightly is able to see clearly one form pervading a scattered multitude, and many different forms contained under one higher form; and again, one form knit together into a single whole and pervading many such wholes, and many forms, existing only in separation and isolation. This is the knowledge of classes which determines where they can have communion with one another and where not.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: And the art of dialectic would be attributed by you only to the philosopher pure and true?

THEAETETUS: Who but he can be worthy?

STRANGER: In this region we shall always discover the philosopher, if we look for him; like the Sophist, he is not easily discovered, but for a different reason.

THEAETETUS: For what reason?

STRANGER: Because the Sophist runs away into the darkness of not-being, in which he has learned by habit to feel about, and cannot be discovered because of the darkness of the place. Is not that true?

THEAETETUS: It seems to be so.

STRANGER: And the philosopher, always holding converse through reason with the idea of being, is also dark from excess of light; for the souls of the many have no eye which can endure the vision of the divine.

THEAETETUS: Yes; that seems to be quite as true as the other.

STRANGER: Well, the philosopher may hereafter be more fully considered by us, if we are disposed; but the Sophist must clearly not be allowed to escape until we have had a good look at him.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: Since, then, we are agreed that some classes have a communion with one another, and others not, and some have communion with a few and others with many, and that there is no reason why some should not have universal communion with all, let us now pursue the enquiry, as the argument suggests, not in relation to all ideas, lest the multitude of them should confuse us, but let us select a few of those which are reckoned to be the principal ones, and consider their several natures and their capacity of communion with one another, in order that if we are not able to apprehend with perfect clearness the notions of being and not-being, we may at least not fall short in the consideration of them, so far as they come within the scope of the present enquiry, if peradventure we may be allowed to assert the reality of not-being, and yet escape unscathed.

THEAETETUS: We must do so.

STRANGER: The most important of all the genera are those which we were just now mentioning — being and rest and motion.

THEAETETUS: Yes, by far.

STRANGER: And two of these are, as we affirm, incapable of communion with one another.

THEAETETUS: Quite incapable.

STRANGER: Whereas being surely has communion with both of them, for both of them are?

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: That makes up three of them.

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

STRANGER: And each of them is other than the remaining two, but the same with itself.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: But then, what is the meaning of these two words, ‘same’ and ‘other’? Are they two new kinds other than the three, and yet always of necessity intermingling with them, and are we to have five kinds instead of three; or when we speak of the same and other, are we unconsciously speaking of one of the three first kinds?

THEAETETUS: Very likely we are.

STRANGER: But, surely, motion and rest are neither the other nor the same.

THEAETETUS: How is that?

STRANGER: Whatever we attribute to motion and rest in common, cannot be either of them.

THEAETETUS: Why not?

STRANGER: Because motion would be at rest and rest in motion, for either of them, being predicated of both, will compel the other to change into the opposite of its own nature, because partaking of its opposite.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: Yet they surely both partake of the same and of the other?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Then we must not assert that motion, any more than rest, is either the same or the other.

THEAETETUS: No; we must not.

STRANGER: But are we to conceive that being and the same are identical?

THEAETETUS: Possibly.

STRANGER: But if they are identical, then again in saying that motion and rest have being, we should also be saying that they are the same.

THEAETETUS: Which surely cannot be.

STRANGER: Then being and the same cannot be one.

THEAETETUS: Scarcely.

STRANGER: Then we may suppose the same to be a fourth class, which is now to be added to the three others.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: And shall we call the other a fifth class? Or should we consider being and other to be two names of the same class?

THEAETETUS: Very likely.

STRANGER: But you would agree, if I am not mistaken, that existences are relative as well as absolute?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And the other is always relative to other?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: But this would not be the case unless being and the other entirely differed; for, if the other, like being, were absolute as well as relative, then there would have been a kind of other which was not other than other. And now we find that what is other must of necessity be what it is in relation to some other.

THEAETETUS: That is the true state of the case.

STRANGER: Then we must admit the other as the fifth of our selected classes.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And the fifth class pervades all classes, for they all differ from one another, not by reason of their own nature, but because they partake of the idea of the other.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: Then let us now put the case with reference to each of the five.

THEAETETUS: How?

STRANGER: First there is motion, which we affirm to be absolutely ‘other’ than rest: what else can we say?

THEAETETUS: It is so.

STRANGER: And therefore is not rest.

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

STRANGER: And yet is, because partaking of being.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Again, motion is other than the same?

THEAETETUS: Just so.

STRANGER: And is therefore not the same.

THEAETETUS: It is not.

STRANGER: Yet, surely, motion is the same, because all things partake of the same.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: Then we must admit, and not object to say, that motion is the same and is not the same, for we do not apply the terms ‘same’ and ‘not the same,’ in the same sense; but we call it the ‘same,’ in relation to itself, because partaking of the same; and not the same, because having communion with the other, it is thereby severed from the same, and has become not that but other, and is therefore rightly spoken of as ‘not the same.’

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

STRANGER: And if absolute motion in any point of view partook of rest, there would be no absurdity in calling motion stationary.

THEAETETUS: Quite right, — that is, on the supposition that some classes mingle with one another, and others not.

STRANGER: That such a communion of kinds is according to nature, we had already proved before we arrived at this part of our discussion.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: Let us proceed, then. May we not say that motion is other than the other, having been also proved by us to be other than the same and other than rest?

THEAETETUS: That is certain.

STRANGER: Then, according to this view, motion is other and also not other?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: What is the next step? Shall we say that motion is other than the three and not other than the fourth, — for we agreed that there are five classes about and in the sphere of which we proposed to make enquiry?

THEAETETUS: Surely we cannot admit that the number is less than it appeared to be just now.

STRANGER: Then we may without fear contend that motion is other than being?

THEAETETUS: Without the least fear.

STRANGER: The plain result is that motion, since it partakes of being, really is and also is not?

THEAETETUS: Nothing can be plainer.

STRANGER: Then not-being necessarily exists in the case of motion and of every class; for the nature of the other entering into them all, makes each of them other than being, and so non-existent; and therefore of all of them, in like manner, we may truly say that they are not; and again, inasmuch as they partake of being, that they are and are existent.

THEAETETUS: So we may assume.

STRANGER: Every class, then, has plurality of being and infinity of not-being.

THEAETETUS: So we must infer.

STRANGER: And being itself may be said to be other than the other kinds.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: Then we may infer that being is not, in respect of as many other things as there are; for not-being these it is itself one, and is not the other things, which are infinite in number.

THEAETETUS: That is not far from the truth.

STRANGER: And we must not quarrel with this result, since it is of the nature of classes to have communion with one another; and if any one denies our present statement [viz., that being is not, etc.], let him first argue with our former conclusion [i.e., respecting the communion of ideas], and then he may proceed to argue with what follows.

THEAETETUS: Nothing can be fairer.

STRANGER: Let me ask you to consider a further question.

THEAETETUS: What question?

STRANGER: When we speak of not-being, we speak, I suppose, not of something opposed to being, but only different.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: When we speak of something as not great, does the expression seem to you to imply what is little any more than what is equal?

THEAETETUS: Certainly not.

STRANGER: The negative particles, ou and me, when prefixed to words, do not imply opposition, but only difference from the words, or more correctly from the things represented by the words, which follow them.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: There is another point to be considered, if you do not object.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: The nature of the other appears to me to be divided into fractions like knowledge.

THEAETETUS: How so?

STRANGER: Knowledge, like the other, is one; and yet the various parts of knowledge have each of them their own particular name, and hence there are many arts and kinds of knowledge.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: And is not the case the same with the parts of the other, which is also one?

THEAETETUS: Very likely; but will you tell me how?

STRANGER: There is some part of the other which is opposed to the beautiful?

THEAETETUS: There is.

STRANGER: Shall we say that this has or has not a name?

THEAETETUS: It has; for whatever we call not-beautiful is other than the beautiful, not than something else.

STRANGER: And now tell me another thing.

THEAETETUS: What?

STRANGER: Is the not-beautiful anything but this — an existence parted off from a certain kind of existence, and again from another point of view opposed to an existing something?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Then the not-beautiful turns out to be the opposition of being to being?

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: But upon this view, is the beautiful a more real and the not-beautiful a less real existence?

THEAETETUS: Not at all.

STRANGER: And the not-great may be said to exist, equally with the great?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And, in the same way, the just must be placed in the same category with the not-just — the one cannot be said to have any more existence than the other.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: The same may be said of other things; seeing that the nature of the other has a real existence, the parts of this nature must equally be supposed to exist.

THEAETETUS: Of course.

STRANGER: Then, as would appear, the opposition of a part of the other, and of a part of being, to one another, is, if I may venture to say so, as truly essence as being itself, and implies not the opposite of being, but only what is other than being.

THEAETETUS: Beyond question.

STRANGER: What then shall we call it?

THEAETETUS: Clearly, not-being; and this is the very nature for which the Sophist compelled us to search.

STRANGER: And has not this, as you were saying, as real an existence as any other class? May I not say with confidence that not-being has an assured existence, and a nature of its own? Just as the great was found to be great and the beautiful beautiful, and the not-great not-great, and the not-beautiful not-beautiful, in the same manner not-being has been found to be and is not-being, and is to be reckoned one among the many classes of being. Do you, Theaetetus, still feel any doubt of this?

THEAETETUS: None whatever.

STRANGER: Do you observe that our scepticism has carried us beyond the range of Parmenides’ prohibition?

THEAETETUS: In what?

STRANGER: We have advanced to a further point, and shown him more than he forbad us to investigate.

THEAETETUS: How is that?

STRANGER: Why, because he says —

‘Not-being never is, and do thou keep thy thoughts from this way of enquiry.’

THEAETETUS: Yes, he says so.

STRANGER: Whereas, we have not only proved that things which are not are, but we have shown what form of being not-being is; for we have shown that the nature of the other is, and is distributed over all things in their relations to one another, and whatever part of the other is contrasted with being, this is precisely what we have ventured to call not-being.

THEAETETUS: And surely, Stranger, we were quite right.

STRANGER: Let not any one say, then, that while affirming the opposition of not-being to being, we still assert the being of not-being; for as to whether there is an opposite of being, to that enquiry we have long said good-bye — it may or may not be, and may or may not be capable of definition. But as touching our present account of not-being, let a man either convince us of error, or, so long as he cannot, he too must say, as we are saying, that there is a communion of classes, and that being, and difference or other, traverse all things and mutually interpenetrate, so that the other partakes of being, and by reason of this participation is, and yet is not that of which it partakes, but other, and being other than being, it is clearly a necessity that not-being should be. And again, being, through partaking of the other, becomes a class other than the remaining classes, and being other than all of them, is not each one of them, and is not all the rest, so that undoubtedly there are thousands upon thousands of cases in which being is not, and all other things, whether regarded individually or collectively, in many respects are, and in many respects are not.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And he who is sceptical of this contradiction, must think how he can find something better to say; or if he sees a puzzle, and his pleasure is to drag words this way and that, the argument will prove to him, that he is not making a worthy use of his faculties; for there is no charm in such puzzles, and there is no difficulty in detecting them; but we can tell him of something else the pursuit of which is noble and also difficult.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: A thing of which I have already spoken; — letting alone these puzzles as involving no difficulty, he should be able to follow and criticize in detail every argument, and when a man says that the same is in a manner other, or that other is the same, to understand and refute him from his own point of view, and in the same respect in which he asserts either of these affections. But to show that somehow and in some sense the same is other, or the other same, or the great small, or the like unlike; and to delight in always bringing forward such contradictions, is no real refutation, but is clearly the new-born babe of some one who is only beginning to approach the problem of being.

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

STRANGER: For certainly, my friend, the attempt to separate all existences from one another is a barbarism and utterly unworthy of an educated or philosophical mind.

THEAETETUS: Why so?

STRANGER: The attempt at universal separation is the final annihilation of all reasoning; for only by the union of conceptions with one another do we attain to discourse of reason.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And, observe that we were only just in time in making a resistance to such separatists, and compelling them to admit that one thing mingles with another.

THEAETETUS: Why so?

STRANGER: Why, that we might be able to assert discourse to be a kind of being; for if we could not, the worst of all consequences would follow; we should have no philosophy. Moreover, the necessity for determining the nature of discourse presses upon us at this moment; if utterly deprived of it, we could no more hold discourse; and deprived of it we should be if we admitted that there was no admixture of natures at all.

THEAETETUS: Very true. But I do not understand why at this moment we must determine the nature of discourse.

STRANGER: Perhaps you will see more clearly by the help of the following explanation.

THEAETETUS: What explanation?

STRANGER: Not-being has been acknowledged by us to be one among many classes diffused over all being.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And thence arises the question, whether not-being mingles with opinion and language.

THEAETETUS: How so?

STRANGER: If not-being has no part in the proposition, then all things must be true; but if not-being has a part, then false opinion and false speech are possible, for to think or to say what is not — is falsehood, which thus arises in the region of thought and in speech.

THEAETETUS: That is quite true.

STRANGER: And where there is falsehood surely there must be deceit.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And if there is deceit, then all things must be full of idols and images and fancies.

THEAETETUS: To be sure.

STRANGER: Into that region the Sophist, as we said, made his escape, and, when he had got there, denied the very possibility of falsehood; no one, he argued, either conceived or uttered falsehood, inasmuch as not-being did not in any way partake of being.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And now, not-being has been shown to partake of being, and therefore he will not continue fighting in this direction, but he will probably say that some ideas partake of not-being, and some not, and that language and opinion are of the non-partaking class; and he will still fight to the death against the existence of the image-making and phantastic art, in which we have placed him, because, as he will say, opinion and language do not partake of not-being, and unless this participation exists, there can be no such thing as falsehood. And, with the view of meeting this evasion, we must begin by enquiring into the nature of language, opinion, and imagination, in order that when we find them we may find also that they have communion with not-being, and, having made out the connexion of them, may thus prove that falsehood exists; and therein we will imprison the Sophist, if he deserves it, or, if not, we will let him go again and look for him in another class.

THEAETETUS: Certainly, Stranger, there appears to be truth in what was said about the Sophist at first, that he was of a class not easily caught, for he seems to have abundance of defences, which he throws up, and which must every one of them be stormed before we can reach the man himself. And even now, we have with difficulty got through his first defence, which is the not-being of not-being, and lo! here is another; for we have still to show that falsehood exists in the sphere of language and opinion, and there will be another and another line of defence without end.

STRANGER: Any one, Theaetetus, who is able to advance even a little ought to be of good cheer, for what would he who is dispirited at a little progress do, if he were making none at all, or even undergoing a repulse? Such a faint heart, as the proverb says, will never take a city: but now that we have succeeded thus far, the citadel is ours, and what remains is easier.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: Then, as I was saying, let us first of all obtain a conception of language and opinion, in order that we may have clearer grounds for determining, whether not-being has any concern with them, or whether they are both always true, and neither of them ever false.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Then, now, let us speak of names, as before we were speaking of ideas and letters; for that is the direction in which the answer may be expected.

THEAETETUS: And what is the question at issue about names?

STRANGER: The question at issue is whether all names may be connected with one another, or none, or only some of them.

THEAETETUS: Clearly the last is true.

STRANGER: I understand you to say that words which have a meaning when in sequence may be connected, but that words which have no meaning when in sequence cannot be connected?

THEAETETUS: What are you saying?

STRANGER: What I thought that you intended when you gave your assent; for there are two sorts of intimation of being which are given by the voice.

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: One of them is called nouns, and the other verbs.

THEAETETUS: Describe them.

STRANGER: That which denotes action we call a verb.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And the other, which is an articulate mark set on those who do the actions, we call a noun.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: A succession of nouns only is not a sentence, any more than of verbs without nouns.

THEAETETUS: I do not understand you.

STRANGER: I see that when you gave your assent you had something else in your mind. But what I intended to say was, that a mere succession of nouns or of verbs is not discourse.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: I mean that words like ‘walks,’ ‘runs,’ ‘sleeps,’ or any other words which denote action, however many of them you string together, do not make discourse.

THEAETETUS: How can they?

STRANGER: Or, again, when you say ‘lion,’ ‘stag,’ ‘horse,’ or any other words which denote agents — neither in this way of stringing words together do you attain to discourse; for there is no expression of action or inaction, or of the existence of existence or non-existence indicated by the sounds, until verbs are mingled with nouns; then the words fit, and the smallest combination of them forms language, and is the simplest and least form of discourse.

THEAETETUS: Again I ask, What do you mean?

STRANGER: When any one says ‘A man learns,’ should you not call this the simplest and least of sentences?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Yes, for he now arrives at the point of giving an intimation about something which is, or is becoming, or has become, or will be. And he not only names, but he does something, by connecting verbs with nouns; and therefore we say that he discourses, and to this connexion of words we give the name of discourse.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And as there are some things which fit one another, and other things which do not fit, so there are some vocal signs which do, and others which do not, combine and form discourse.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: There is another small matter.

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: A sentence must and cannot help having a subject.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And must be of a certain quality.

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And now let us mind what we are about.

THEAETETUS: We must do so.

STRANGER: I will repeat a sentence to you in which a thing and an action are combined, by the help of a noun and a verb; and you shall tell me of whom the sentence speaks.

THEAETETUS: I will, to the best of my power.

STRANGER: ‘Theaetetus sits’ — not a very long sentence.

THEAETETUS: Not very.

STRANGER: Of whom does the sentence speak, and who is the subject? that is what you have to tell.

THEAETETUS: Of me; I am the subject.

STRANGER: Or this sentence, again —

THEAETETUS: What sentence?

STRANGER: ‘Theaetetus, with whom I am now speaking, is flying.’

THEAETETUS: That also is a sentence which will be admitted by every one to speak of me, and to apply to me.

STRANGER: We agreed that every sentence must necessarily have a certain quality.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And what is the quality of each of these two sentences?

THEAETETUS: The one, as I imagine, is false, and the other true.

STRANGER: The true says what is true about you?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And the false says what is other than true?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And therefore speaks of things which are not as if they were?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And say that things are real of you which are not; for, as we were saying, in regard to each thing or person, there is much that is and much that is not.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: The second of the two sentences which related to you was first of all an example of the shortest form consistent with our definition.

THEAETETUS: Yes, this was implied in recent admission.

STRANGER: And, in the second place, it related to a subject?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Who must be you, and can be nobody else?

THEAETETUS: Unquestionably.

STRANGER: And it would be no sentence at all if there were no subject, for, as we proved, a sentence which has no subject is impossible.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: When other, then, is asserted of you as the same, and not-being as being, such a combination of nouns and verbs is really and truly false discourse.

THEAETETUS: Most true.

STRANGER: And therefore thought, opinion, and imagination are now proved to exist in our minds both as true and false.

THEAETETUS: How so?

STRANGER: You will know better if you first gain a knowledge of what they are, and in what they severally differ from one another.

THEAETETUS: Give me the knowledge which you would wish me to gain.

STRANGER: Are not thought and speech the same, with this exception, that what is called thought is the unuttered conversation of the soul with herself?

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: But the stream of thought which flows through the lips and is audible is called speech?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And we know that there exists in speech...

THEAETETUS: What exists?

STRANGER: Affirmation.

THEAETETUS: Yes, we know it.

STRANGER: When the affirmation or denial takes Place in silence and in the mind only, have you any other name by which to call it but opinion?

THEAETETUS: There can be no other name.

STRANGER: And when opinion is presented, not simply, but in some form of sense, would you not call it imagination?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: And seeing that language is true and false, and that thought is the conversation of the soul with herself, and opinion is the end of thinking, and imagination or phantasy is the union of sense and opinion, the inference is that some of them, since they are akin to language, should have an element of falsehood as well as of truth?

THEAETETUS: Certainly.

STRANGER: Do you perceive, then, that false opinion and speech have been discovered sooner than we expected? — For just now we seemed to be undertaking a task which would never be accomplished.

THEAETETUS: I perceive.

STRANGER: Then let us not be discouraged about the future; but now having made this discovery, let us go back to our previous classification.

THEAETETUS: What classification?

STRANGER: We divided image-making into two sorts; the one likeness-making, the other imaginative or phantastic.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And we said that we were uncertain in which we should place the Sophist.

THEAETETUS: We did say so.

STRANGER: And our heads began to go round more and more when it was asserted that there is no such thing as an image or idol or appearance, because in no manner or time or place can there ever be such a thing as falsehood.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And now, since there has been shown to be false speech and false opinion, there may be imitations of real existences, and out of this condition of the mind an art of deception may arise.

THEAETETUS: Quite possible.

STRANGER: And we have already admitted, in what preceded, that the Sophist was lurking in one of the divisions of the likeness-making art?

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Let us, then, renew the attempt, and in dividing any class, always take the part to the right, holding fast to that which holds the Sophist, until we have stripped him of all his common properties, and reached his difference or peculiar. Then we may exhibit him in his true nature, first to ourselves and then to kindred dialectical spirits.

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: You may remember that all art was originally divided by us into creative and acquisitive.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And the Sophist was flitting before us in the acquisitive class, in the subdivisions of hunting, contests, merchandize, and the like.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: But now that the imitative art has enclosed him, it is clear that we must begin by dividing the art of creation; for imitation is a kind of creation — of images, however, as we affirm, and not of real things.

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: In the first place, there are two kinds of creation.

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: One of them is human and the other divine.

THEAETETUS: I do not follow.

STRANGER: Every power, as you may remember our saying originally, which causes things to exist, not previously existing, was defined by us as creative.

THEAETETUS: I remember.

STRANGER: Looking, now, at the world and all the animals and plants, at things which grow upon the earth from seeds and roots, as well as at inanimate substances which are formed within the earth, fusile or non-fusile, shall we say that they come into existence — not having existed previously — by the creation of God, or shall we agree with vulgar opinion about them?

THEAETETUS: What is it?

STRANGER: The opinion that nature brings them into being from some spontaneous and unintelligent cause. Or shall we say that they are created by a divine reason and a knowledge which comes from God?

THEAETETUS: I dare say that, owing to my youth, I may often waver in my view, but now when I look at you and see that you incline to refer them to God, I defer to your authority.

STRANGER: Nobly said, Theaetetus, and if I thought that you were one of those who would hereafter change your mind, I would have gently argued with you, and forced you to assent; but as I perceive that you will come of yourself and without any argument of mine, to that belief which, as you say, attracts you, I will not forestall the work of time. Let me suppose, then, that things which are said to be made by nature are the work of divine art, and that things which are made by man out of these are works of human art. And so there are two kinds of making and production, the one human and the other divine.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Then, now, subdivide each of the two sections which we have already.

THEAETETUS: How do you mean?

STRANGER: I mean to say that you should make a vertical division of production or invention, as you have already made a lateral one.

THEAETETUS: I have done so.

STRANGER: Then, now, there are in all four parts or segments — two of them have reference to us and are human, and two of them have reference to the gods and are divine.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And, again, in the division which was supposed to be made in the other way, one part in each subdivision is the making of the things themselves, but the two remaining parts may be called the making of likenesses; and so the productive art is again divided into two parts.

THEAETETUS: Tell me the divisions once more.

STRANGER: I suppose that we, and the other animals, and the elements out of which things are made — fire, water, and the like — are known by us to be each and all the creation and work of God.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: And there are images of them, which are not them, but which correspond to them; and these are also the creation of a wonderful skill.

THEAETETUS: What are they?

STRANGER: The appearances which spring up of themselves in sleep or by day, such as a shadow when darkness arises in a fire, or the reflection which is produced when the light in bright and smooth objects meets on their surface with an external light, and creates a perception the opposite of our ordinary sight.

THEAETETUS: Yes; and the images as well as the creation are equally the work of a divine hand.

STRANGER: And what shall we say of human art? Do we not make one house by the art of building, and another by the art of drawing, which is a sort of dream created by man for those who are awake?

THEAETETUS: Quite true.

STRANGER: And other products of human creation are also twofold and go in pairs; there is the thing, with which the art of making the thing is concerned, and the image, with which imitation is concerned.

THEAETETUS: Now I begin to understand, and am ready to acknowledge that there are two kinds of production, and each of them twofold; in the lateral division there is both a divine and a human production; in the vertical there are realities and a creation of a kind of similitudes.

STRANGER: And let us not forget that of the imitative class the one part was to have been likeness-making, and the other phantastic, if it could be shown that falsehood is a reality and belongs to the class of real being.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: And this appeared to be the case; and therefore now, without hesitation, we shall number the different kinds as two.

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Then, now, let us again divide the phantastic art.

THEAETETUS: Where shall we make the division?

STRANGER: There is one kind which is produced by an instrument, and another in which the creator of the appearance is himself the instrument.

THEAETETUS: What do you mean?

STRANGER: When any one makes himself appear like another in his figure or his voice, imitation is the name for this part of the phantastic art.

THEAETETUS: Yes.

STRANGER: Let this, then, be named the art of mimicry, and this the province assigned to it; as for the other division, we are weary and will give that up, leaving to some one else the duty of making the class and giving it a suitable name.

THEAETETUS: Let us do as you say — assign a sphere to the one and leave the other.

STRANGER: There is a further distinction, Theaetetus, which is worthy of our consideration, and for a reason which I will tell you.

THEAETETUS: Let me hear.

STRANGER: There are some who imitate, knowing what they imitate, and some who do not know. And what line of distinction can there possibly be greater than that which divides ignorance from knowledge?

THEAETETUS: There can be no greater.

STRANGER: Was not the sort of imitation of which we spoke just now the imitation of those who know? For he who would imitate you would surely know you and your figure?

THEAETETUS: Naturally.

STRANGER: And what would you say of the figure or form of justice or of virtue in general? Are we not well aware that many, having no knowledge of either, but only a sort of opinion, do their best to show that this opinion is really entertained by them, by expressing it, as far as they can, in word and deed?

THEAETETUS: Yes, that is very common.

STRANGER: And do they always fail in their attempt to be thought just, when they are not? Or is not the very opposite true?

THEAETETUS: The very opposite.

STRANGER: Such a one, then, should be described as an imitator — to be distinguished from the other, as he who is ignorant is distinguished from him who knows?

THEAETETUS: True.

STRANGER: Can we find a suitable name for each of them? This is clearly not an easy task; for among the ancients there was some confusion of ideas, which prevented them from attempting to divide genera into species; wherefore there is no great abundance of names. Yet, for the sake of distinctness, I will make bold to call the imitation which coexists with opinion, the imitation of appearance — that which coexists with science, a scientific or learned imitation.

THEAETETUS: Granted.

STRANGER: The former is our present concern, for the Sophist was classed with imitators indeed, but not among those who have knowledge.

THEAETETUS: Very true.

STRANGER: Let us, then, examine our imitator of appearance, and see whether he is sound, like a piece of iron, or whether there is still some crack in him.

THEAETETUS: Let us examine him.

STRANGER: Indeed there is a very considerable crack; for if you look, you find that one of the two classes of imitators is a simple creature, who thinks that he knows that which he only fancies; the other sort has knocked about among arguments, until he suspects and fears that he is ignorant of that which to the many he pretends to know.

THEAETETUS: There are certainly the two kinds which you describe.

STRANGER: Shall we regard one as the simple imitator — the other as the dissembling or ironical imitator?

THEAETETUS: Very good.

STRANGER: And shall we further speak of this latter class as having one or two divisions?

THEAETETUS: Answer yourself.

STRANGER: Upon consideration, then, there appear to me to be two; there is the dissembler, who harangues a multitude in public in a long speech, and the dissembler, who in private and in short speeches compels the person who is conversing with him to contradict himself.

THEAETETUS: What you say is most true.

STRANGER: And who is the maker of the longer speeches? Is he the statesman or the popular orator?

THEAETETUS: The latter.

STRANGER: And what shall we call the other? Is he the philosopher or the Sophist?

THEAETETUS: The philosopher he cannot be, for upon our view he is ignorant; but since he is an imitator of the wise he will have a name which is formed by an adaptation of the word sophos. What shall we name him? I am pretty sure that I cannot be mistaken in terming him the true and very Sophist.

STRANGER: Shall we bind up his name as we did before, making a chain from one end of his genealogy to the other?

THEAETETUS: By all means.

STRANGER: He, then, who traces the pedigree of his art as follows — who, belonging to the conscious or dissembling section of the art of causing self-contradiction, is an imitator of appearance, and is separated from the class of phantastic which is a branch of image-making into that further division of creation, the juggling of words, a creation human, and not divine — any one who affirms the real Sophist to be of this blood and lineage will say the very truth.

THEAETETUS: Undoubtedly.

STATESMAN

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This dialogue describes a conversation between Socrates, the mathematician Theodorus, another man named Socrates and an unnamed philosopher from Elea referred to as the Stranger. This late dialogue is ostensibly an attempt to arrive at a definition of “statesman,” as opposed to “sophist” or “philosopher” and is presented as following the action of the Sophist.

A bust of Socrates in the Palermo Archaeological Museum

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

STATESMAN

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

In the Phaedrus, the Republic, the Philebus, the Parmenides, and the Sophist, we may observe the tendency of Plato to combine two or more subjects or different aspects of the same subject in a single dialogue. In the Sophist and Statesman especially we note that the discussion is partly regarded as an illustration of method, and that analogies are brought from afar which throw light on the main subject. And in his later writings generally we further remark a decline of style, and of dramatic power; the characters excite little or no interest, and the digressions are apt to overlay the main thesis; there is not the ‘callida junctura’ of an artistic whole. Both the serious discussions and the jests are sometimes out of place. The invincible Socrates is withdrawn from view; and new foes begin to appear under old names. Plato is now chiefly concerned, not with the original Sophist, but with the sophistry of the schools of philosophy, which are making reasoning impossible; and is driven by them out of the regions of transcendental speculation back into the path of common sense. A logical or psychological phase takes the place of the doctrine of Ideas in his mind. He is constantly dwelling on the importance of regular classification, and of not putting words in the place of things. He has banished the poets, and is beginning to use a technical language. He is bitter and satirical, and seems to be sadly conscious of the realities of human life. Yet the ideal glory of the Platonic philosophy is not extinguished. He is still looking for a city in which kings are either philosophers or gods (compare Laws).

The Statesman has lost the grace and beauty of the earlier dialogues. The mind of the writer seems to be so overpowered in the effort of thought as to impair his style; at least his gift of expression does not keep up with the increasing difficulty of his theme. The idea of the king or statesman and the illustration of method are connected, not like the love and rhetoric of the Phaedrus, by ‘little invisible pegs,’ but in a confused and inartistic manner, which fails to produce any impression of a whole on the mind of the reader. Plato apologizes for his tediousness, and acknowledges that the improvement of his audience has been his only aim in some of his digressions. His own image may be used as a motto of his style: like an inexpert statuary he has made the figure or outline too large, and is unable to give the proper colours or proportions to his work. He makes mistakes only to correct them — this seems to be his way of drawing attention to common dialectical errors. The Eleatic stranger, here, as in the Sophist, has no appropriate character, and appears only as the expositor of a political ideal, in the delineation of which he is frequently interrupted by purely logical illustrations. The younger Socrates resembles his namesake in nothing but a name. The dramatic character is so completely forgotten, that a special reference is twice made to discussions in the Sophist; and this, perhaps, is the strongest ground which can be urged for doubting the genuineness of the work. But, when we remember that a similar allusion is made in the Laws to the Republic, we see that the entire disregard of dramatic propriety is not always a sufficient reason for doubting the genuineness of a Platonic writing.

The search after the Statesman, which is carried on, like that for the Sophist, by the method of dichotomy, gives an opportunity for many humorous and satirical remarks. Several of the jests are mannered and laboured: for example, the turn of words with which the dialogue opens; or the clumsy joke about man being an animal, who has a power of two-feet — both which are suggested by the presence of Theodorus, the geometrician. There is political as well as logical insight in refusing to admit the division of mankind into Hellenes and Barbarians: ‘if a crane could speak, he would in like manner oppose men and all other animals to cranes.’ The pride of the Hellene is further humbled, by being compared to a Phrygian or Lydian. Plato glories in this impartiality of the dialectical method, which places birds in juxtaposition with men, and the king side by side with the bird-catcher; king or vermin-destroyer are objects of equal interest to science (compare Parmen.). There are other passages which show that the irony of Socrates was a lesson which Plato was not slow in learning — as, for example, the passing remark, that ‘the kings and statesmen of our day are in their breeding and education very like their subjects;’ or the anticipation that the rivals of the king will be found in the class of servants; or the imposing attitude of the priests, who are the established interpreters of the will of heaven, authorized by law. Nothing is more bitter in all his writings than his comparison of the contemporary politicians to lions, centaurs, satyrs, and other animals of a feebler sort, who are ever changing their forms and natures. But, as in the later dialogues generally, the play of humour and the charm of poetry have departed, never to return.

Still the Politicus contains a higher and more ideal conception of politics than any other of Plato’s writings. The city of which there is a pattern in heaven (Republic), is here described as a Paradisiacal state of human society. In the truest sense of all, the ruler is not man but God; and such a government existed in a former cycle of human history, and may again exist when the gods resume their care of mankind. In a secondary sense, the true form of government is that which has scientific rulers, who are irresponsible to their subjects. Not power but knowledge is the characteristic of a king or royal person. And the rule of a man is better and higher than law, because he is more able to deal with the infinite complexity of human affairs. But mankind, in despair of finding a true ruler, are willing to acquiesce in any law or custom which will save them from the caprice of individuals. They are ready to accept any of the six forms of government which prevail in the world. To the Greek, nomos was a sacred word, but the political idealism of Plato soars into a region beyond; for the laws he would substitute the intelligent will of the legislator. Education is originally to implant in men’s minds a sense of truth and justice, which is the divine bond of states, and the legislator is to contrive human bonds, by which dissimilar natures may be united in marriage and supply the deficiencies of one another. As in the Republic, the government of philosophers, the causes of the perversion of states, the regulation of marriages, are still the political problems with which Plato’s mind is occupied. He treats them more slightly, partly because the dialogue is shorter, and also because the discussion of them is perpetually crossed by the other interest of dialectic, which has begun to absorb him.

The plan of the Politicus or Statesman may be briefly sketched as follows: (1) By a process of division and subdivision we discover the true herdsman or king of men. But before we can rightly distinguish him from his rivals, we must view him, (2) as he is presented to us in a famous ancient tale: the tale will also enable us to distinguish the divine from the human herdsman or shepherd: (3) and besides our fable, we must have an example; for our example we will select the art of weaving, which will have to be distinguished from the kindred arts; and then, following this pattern, we will separate the king from his subordinates or competitors. (4) But are we not exceeding all due limits; and is there not a measure of all arts and sciences, to which the art of discourse must conform? There is; but before we can apply this measure, we must know what is the aim of discourse: and our discourse only aims at the dialectical improvement of ourselves and others. — Having made our apology, we return once more to the king or statesman, and proceed to contrast him with pretenders in the same line with him, under their various forms of government. (5) His characteristic is, that he alone has science, which is superior to law and written enactments; these do but spring out of the necessities of mankind, when they are in despair of finding the true king. (6) The sciences which are most akin to the royal are the sciences of the general, the judge, the orator, which minister to him, but even these are subordinate to him. (7) Fixed principles are implanted by education, and the king or statesman completes the political web by marrying together dissimilar natures, the courageous and the temperate, the bold and the gentle, who are the warp and the woof of society.

The outline may be filled up as follows: —

SOCRATES: I have reason to thank you, Theodorus, for the acquaintance of Theaetetus and the Stranger.

THEODORUS: And you will have three times as much reason to thank me when they have delineated the Statesman and Philosopher, as well as the Sophist.

SOCRATES: Does the great geometrician apply the same measure to all three? Are they not divided by an interval which no geometrical ratio can express?

THEODORUS: By the god Ammon, Socrates, you are right; and I am glad to see that you have not forgotten your geometry. But before I retaliate on you, I must request the Stranger to finish the argument...

The Stranger suggests that Theaetetus shall be allowed to rest, and that Socrates the younger shall respond in his place; Theodorus agrees to the suggestion, and Socrates remarks that the name of the one and the face of the other give him a right to claim relationship with both of them. They propose to take the Statesman after the Sophist; his path they must determine, and part off all other ways, stamping upon them a single negative form (compare Soph.).

The Stranger begins the enquiry by making a division of the arts and sciences into theoretical and practical — the one kind concerned with knowledge exclusively, and the other with action; arithmetic and the mathematical sciences are examples of the former, and carpentering and handicraft arts of the latter (compare Philebus). Under which of the two shall we place the Statesman? Or rather, shall we not first ask, whether the king, statesman, master, householder, practise one art or many? As the adviser of a physician may be said to have medical science and to be a physician, so the adviser of a king has royal science and is a king. And the master of a large household may be compared to the ruler of a small state. Hence we conclude that the science of the king, statesman, and householder is one and the same. And this science is akin to knowledge rather than to action. For a king rules with his mind, and not with his hands.

But theoretical science may be a science either of judging, like arithmetic, or of ruling and superintending, like that of the architect or master-builder. And the science of the king is of the latter nature; but the power which he exercises is underived and uncontrolled, — a characteristic which distinguishes him from heralds, prophets, and other inferior officers. He is the wholesale dealer in command, and the herald, or other officer, retails his commands to others. Again, a ruler is concerned with the production of some object, and objects may be divided into living and lifeless, and rulers into the rulers of living and lifeless objects. And the king is not like the master-builder, concerned with lifeless matter, but has the task of managing living animals. And the tending of living animals may be either a tending of individuals, or a managing of herds. And the Statesman is not a groom, but a herdsman, and his art may be called either the art of managing a herd, or the art of collective management: — Which do you prefer? ‘No matter.’ Very good, Socrates, and if you are not too particular about words you will be all the richer some day in true wisdom. But how would you subdivide the herdsman’s art? ‘I should say, that there is one management of men, and another of beasts.’ Very good, but you are in too great a hurry to get to man. All divisions which are rightly made should cut through the middle; if you attend to this rule, you will be more likely to arrive at classes. ‘I do not understand the nature of my mistake.’ Your division was like a division of the human race into Hellenes and Barbarians, or into Lydians or Phrygians and all other nations, instead of into male and female; or like a division of number into ten thousand and all other numbers, instead of into odd and even. And I should like you to observe further, that though I maintain a class to be a part, there is no similar necessity for a part to be a class. But to return to your division, you spoke of men and other animals as two classes — the second of which you comprehended under the general name of beasts. This is the sort of division which an intelligent crane would make: he would put cranes into a class by themselves for their special glory, and jumble together all others, including man, in the class of beasts. An error of this kind can only be avoided by a more regular subdivision. Just now we divided the whole class of animals into gregarious and non-gregarious, omitting the previous division into tame and wild. We forgot this in our hurry to arrive at man, and found by experience, as the proverb says, that ‘the more haste the worse speed.’

And now let us begin again at the art of managing herds. You have probably heard of the fish-preserves in the Nile and in the ponds of the Great King, and of the nurseries of geese and cranes in Thessaly. These suggest a new division into the rearing or management of land-herds and of water-herds: — I need not say with which the king is concerned. And land-herds may be divided into walking and flying; and every idiot knows that the political animal is a pedestrian. At this point we may take a longer or a shorter road, and as we are already near the end, I see no harm in taking the longer, which is the way of mesotomy, and accords with the principle which we were laying down. The tame, walking, herding animal, may be divided into two classes — the horned and the hornless, and the king is concerned with the hornless; and these again may be subdivided into animals having or not having cloven feet, or mixing or not mixing the breed; and the king or statesman has the care of animals which have not cloven feet, and which do not mix the breed. And now, if we omit dogs, who can hardly be said to herd, I think that we have only two species left which remain undivided: and how are we to distinguish them? To geometricians, like you and Theaetetus, I can have no difficulty in explaining that man is a diameter, having a power of two feet; and the power of four-legged creatures, being the double of two feet, is the diameter of our diameter. There is another excellent jest which I spy in the two remaining species. Men and birds are both bipeds, and human beings are running a race with the airiest and freest of creation, in which they are far behind their competitors; — this is a great joke, and there is a still better in the juxtaposition of the bird-taker and the king, who may be seen scampering after them. For, as we remarked in discussing the Sophist, the dialectical method is no respecter of persons. But we might have proceeded, as I was saying, by another and a shorter road. In that case we should have begun by dividing land animals into bipeds and quadrupeds, and bipeds into winged and wingless; we should than have taken the Statesman and set him over the ‘bipes implume,’ and put the reins of government into his hands.

Here let us sum up: — The science of pure knowledge had a part which was the science of command, and this had a part which was a science of wholesale command; and this was divided into the management of animals, and was again parted off into the management of herds of animals, and again of land animals, and these into hornless, and these into bipeds; and so at last we arrived at man, and found the political and royal science. And yet we have not clearly distinguished the political shepherd from his rivals. No one would think of usurping the prerogatives of the ordinary shepherd, who on all hands is admitted to be the trainer, matchmaker, doctor, musician of his flock. But the royal shepherd has numberless competitors, from whom he must be distinguished; there are merchants, husbandmen, physicians, who will all dispute his right to manage the flock. I think that we can best distinguish him by having recourse to a famous old tradition, which may amuse as well as instruct us; the narrative is perfectly true, although the scepticism of mankind is prone to doubt the tales of old. You have heard what happened in the quarrel of Atreus and Thyestes? ‘You mean about the golden lamb?’ No, not that; but another part of the story, which tells how the sun and stars once arose in the west and set in the east, and that the god reversed their motion, as a witness to the right of Atreus. ‘There is such a story.’ And no doubt you have heard of the empire of Cronos, and of the earthborn men? The origin of these and the like stories is to be found in the tale which I am about to narrate.

There was a time when God directed the revolutions of the world, but at the completion of a certain cycle he let go; and the world, by a necessity of its nature, turned back, and went round the other way. For divine things alone are unchangeable; but the earth and heavens, although endowed with many glories, have a body, and are therefore liable to perturbation. In the case of the world, the perturbation is very slight, and amounts only to a reversal of motion. For the lord of moving things is alone self-moved; neither can piety allow that he goes at one time in one direction and at another time in another; or that God has given the universe opposite motions; or that there are two gods, one turning it in one direction, another in another. But the truth is, that there are two cycles of the world, and in one of them it is governed by an immediate Providence, and receives life and immortality, and in the other is let go again, and has a reverse action during infinite ages. This new action is spontaneous, and is due to exquisite perfection of balance, to the vast size of the universe, and to the smallness of the pivot upon which it turns. All changes in the heaven affect the animal world, and this being the greatest of them, is most destructive to men and animals. At the beginning of the cycle before our own very few of them had survived; and on these a mighty change passed. For their life was reversed like the motion of the world, and first of all coming to a stand then quickly returned to youth and beauty. The white locks of the aged became black; the cheeks of the bearded man were restored to their youth and fineness; the young men grew softer and smaller, and, being reduced to the condition of children in mind as well as body, began to vanish away; and the bodies of those who had died by violence, in a few moments underwent a parallel change and disappeared. In that cycle of existence there was no such thing as the procreation of animals from one another, but they were born of the earth, and of this our ancestors, who came into being immediately after the end of the last cycle and at the beginning of this, have preserved the recollection. Such traditions are often now unduly discredited, and yet they may be proved by internal evidence. For observe how consistent the narrative is; as the old returned to youth, so the dead returned to life; the wheel of their existence having been reversed, they rose again from the earth: a few only were reserved by God for another destiny. Such was the origin of the earthborn men.

‘And is this cycle, of which you are speaking, the reign of Cronos, or our present state of existence?’ No, Socrates, that blessed and spontaneous life belongs not to this, but to the previous state, in which God was the governor of the whole world, and other gods subject to him ruled over parts of the world, as is still the case in certain places. They were shepherds of men and animals, each of them sufficing for those of whom he had the care. And there was no violence among them, or war, or devouring of one another. Their life was spontaneous, because in those days God ruled over man; and he was to man what man is now to the animals. Under his government there were no estates, or private possessions, or families; but the earth produced a sufficiency of all things, and men were born out of the earth, having no traditions of the past; and as the temperature of the seasons was mild, they took no thought for raiment, and had no beds, but lived and dwelt in the open air.

Such was the age of Cronos, and the age of Zeus is our own. Tell me, which is the happier of the two? Or rather, shall I tell you that the happiness of these children of Cronos must have depended on how they used their time? If having boundless leisure, and the power of discoursing not only with one another but with the animals, they had employed these advantages with a view to philosophy, gathering from every nature some addition to their store of knowledge; — or again, if they had merely eaten and drunk, and told stories to one another, and to the beasts; — in either case, I say, there would be no difficulty in answering the question. But as nobody knows which they did, the question must remain unanswered. And here is the point of my tale. In the fulness of time, when the earthborn men had all passed away, the ruler of the universe let go the helm, and became a spectator; and destiny and natural impulse swayed the world. At the same instant all the inferior deities gave up their hold; the whole universe rebounded, and there was a great earthquake, and utter ruin of all manner of animals. After a while the tumult ceased, and the universal creature settled down in his accustomed course, having authority over all other creatures, and following the instructions of his God and Father, at first more precisely, afterwards with less exactness. The reason of the falling off was the disengagement of a former chaos; ‘a muddy vesture of decay’ was a part of his original nature, out of which he was brought by his Creator, under whose immediate guidance, while he remained in that former cycle, the evil was minimized and the good increased to the utmost. And in the beginning of the new cycle all was well enough, but as time went on, discord entered in; at length the good was minimized and the evil everywhere diffused, and there was a danger of universal ruin. Then the Creator, seeing the world in great straits, and fearing that chaos and infinity would come again, in his tender care again placed himself at the helm and restored order, and made the world immortal and imperishable. Once more the cycle of life and generation was reversed; the infants grew into young men, and the young men became greyheaded; no longer did the animals spring out of the earth; as the whole world was now lord of its own progress, so the parts were to be self-created and self-nourished. At first the case of men was very helpless and pitiable; for they were alone among the wild beasts, and had to carry on the struggle for existence without arts or knowledge, and had no food, and did not know how to get any. That was the time when Prometheus brought them fire, Hephaestus and Athene taught them arts, and other gods gave them seeds and plants. Out of these human life was framed; for mankind were left to themselves, and ordered their own ways, living, like the universe, in one cycle after one manner, and in another cycle after another manner.

Enough of the myth, which may show us two errors of which we were guilty in our account of the king. The first and grand error was in choosing for our king a god, who belongs to the other cycle, instead of a man from our own; there was a lesser error also in our failure to define the nature of the royal functions. The myth gave us only the image of a divine shepherd, whereas the statesmen and kings of our own day very much resemble their subjects in education and breeding. On retracing our steps we find that we gave too narrow a designation to the art which was concerned with command-for-self over living creatures, when we called it the ‘feeding’ of animals in flocks. This would apply to all shepherds, with the exception of the Statesman; but if we say ‘managing’ or ‘tending’ animals, the term would include him as well. Having remodelled the name, we may subdivide as before, first separating the human from the divine shepherd or manager. Then we may subdivide the human art of governing into the government of willing and unwilling subjects — royalty and tyranny — which are the extreme opposites of one another, although we in our simplicity have hitherto confounded them.

And yet the figure of the king is still defective. We have taken up a lump of fable, and have used more than we needed. Like statuaries, we have made some of the features out of proportion, and shall lose time in reducing them. Or our mythus may be compared to a picture, which is well drawn in outline, but is not yet enlivened by colour. And to intelligent persons language is, or ought to be, a better instrument of description than any picture. ‘But what, Stranger, is the deficiency of which you speak?’ No higher truth can be made clear without an example; every man seems to know all things in a dream, and to know nothing when he is awake. And the nature of example can only be illustrated by an example. Children are taught to read by being made to compare cases in which they do not know a certain letter with cases in which they know it, until they learn to recognize it in all its combinations. Example comes into use when we identify something unknown with that which is known, and form a common notion of both of them. Like the child who is learning his letters, the soul recognizes some of the first elements of things; and then again is at fault and unable to recognize them when they are translated into the difficult language of facts. Let us, then, take an example, which will illustrate the nature of example, and will also assist us in characterizing the political science, and in separating the true king from his rivals.

I will select the example of weaving, or, more precisely, weaving of wool. In the first place, all possessions are either productive or preventive; of the preventive sort are spells and antidotes, divine and human, and also defences, and defences are either arms or screens, and screens are veils and also shields against heat and cold, and shields against heat and cold are shelters and coverings, and coverings are blankets or garments, and garments are in one piece or have many parts; and of these latter, some are stitched and others are fastened, and of these again some are made of fibres of plants and some of hair, and of these some are cemented with water and earth, and some are fastened with their own material; the latter are called clothes, and are made by the art of clothing, from which the art of weaving differs only in name, as the political differs from the royal science. Thus we have drawn several distinctions, but as yet have not distinguished the weaving of garments from the kindred and co-operative arts. For the first process to which the material is subjected is the opposite of weaving — I mean carding. And the art of carding, and the whole art of the fuller and the mender, are concerned with the treatment and production of clothes, as well as the art of weaving. Again, there are the arts which make the weaver’s tools. And if we say that the weaver’s art is the greatest and noblest of those which have to do with woollen garments, — this, although true, is not sufficiently distinct; because these other arts require to be first cleared away. Let us proceed, then, by regular steps: — There are causal or principal, and co-operative or subordinate arts. To the causal class belong the arts of washing and mending, of carding and spinning the threads, and the other arts of working in wool; these are chiefly of two kinds, falling under the two great categories of composition and division. Carding is of the latter sort. But our concern is chiefly with that part of the art of wool-working which composes, and of which one kind twists and the other interlaces the threads, whether the firmer texture of the warp or the looser texture of the woof. These are adapted to each other, and the orderly composition of them forms a woollen garment. And the art which presides over these operations is the art of weaving.

But why did we go through this circuitous process, instead of saying at once that weaving is the art of entwining the warp and the woof? In order that our labour may not seem to be lost, I must explain the whole nature of excess and defect. There are two arts of measuring — one is concerned with relative size, and the other has reference to a mean or standard of what is meet. The difference between good and evil is the difference between a mean or measure and excess or defect. All things require to be compared, not only with one another, but with the mean, without which there would be no beauty and no art, whether the art of the statesman or the art of weaving or any other; for all the arts guard against excess or defect, which are real evils. This we must endeavour to show, if the arts are to exist; and the proof of this will be a harder piece of work than the demonstration of the existence of not-being which we proved in our discussion about the Sophist. At present I am content with the indirect proof that the existence of such a standard is necessary to the existence of the arts. The standard or measure, which we are now only applying to the arts, may be some day required with a view to the demonstration of absolute truth.

We may now divide this art of measurement into two parts; placing in the one part all the arts which measure the relative size or number of objects, and in the other all those which depend upon a mean or standard. Many accomplished men say that the art of measurement has to do with all things, but these persons, although in this notion of theirs they may very likely be right, are apt to fail in seeing the differences of classes — they jumble together in one the ‘more’ and the ‘too much,’ which are very different things. Whereas the right way is to find the differences of classes, and to comprehend the things which have any affinity under the same class.

I will make one more observation by the way. When a pupil at a school is asked the letters which make up a particular word, is he not asked with a view to his knowing the same letters in all words? And our enquiry about the Statesman in like manner is intended not only to improve our knowledge of politics, but our reasoning powers generally. Still less would any one analyze the nature of weaving for its own sake. There is no difficulty in exhibiting sensible images, but the greatest and noblest truths have no outward form adapted to the eye of sense, and are only revealed in thought. And all that we are now saying is said for the sake of them. I make these remarks, because I want you to get rid of any impression that our discussion about weaving and about the reversal of the universe, and the other discussion about the Sophist and not-being, were tedious and irrelevant. Please to observe that they can only be fairly judged when compared with what is meet; and yet not with what is meet for producing pleasure, nor even meet for making discoveries, but for the great end of developing the dialectical method and sharpening the wits of the auditors. He who censures us, should prove that, if our words had been fewer, they would have been better calculated to make men dialecticians.

And now let us return to our king or statesman, and transfer to him the example of weaving. The royal art has been separated from that of other herdsmen, but not from the causal and co-operative arts which exist in states; these do not admit of dichotomy, and therefore they must be carved neatly, like the limbs of a victim, not into more parts than are necessary. And first (1) we have the large class of instruments, which includes almost everything in the world; from these may be parted off (2) vessels which are framed for the preservation of things, moist or dry, prepared in the fire or out of the fire. The royal or political art has nothing to do with either of these, any more than with the arts of making (3) vehicles, or (4) defences, whether dresses, or arms, or walls, or (5) with the art of making ornaments, whether pictures or other playthings, as they may be fitly called, for they have no serious use. Then (6) there are the arts which furnish gold, silver, wood, bark, and other materials, which should have been put first; these, again, have no concern with the kingly science; any more than the arts (7) which provide food and nourishment for the human body, and which furnish occupation to the husbandman, huntsman, doctor, cook, and the like, but not to the king or statesman. Further, there are small things, such as coins, seals, stamps, which may with a little violence be comprehended in one of the above-mentioned classes. Thus they will embrace every species of property with the exception of animals, — but these have been already included in the art of tending herds. There remains only the class of slaves or ministers, among whom I expect that the real rivals of the king will be discovered. I am not speaking of the veritable slave bought with money, nor of the hireling who lets himself out for service, nor of the trader or merchant, who at best can only lay claim to economical and not to royal science. Nor am I referring to government officials, such as heralds and scribes, for these are only the servants of the rulers, and not the rulers themselves. I admit that there may be something strange in any servants pretending to be masters, but I hardly think that I could have been wrong in supposing that the principal claimants to the throne will be of this class. Let us try once more: There are diviners and priests, who are full of pride and prerogative; these, as the law declares, know how to give acceptable gifts to the gods, and in many parts of Hellas the duty of performing solemn sacrifices is assigned to the chief magistrate, as at Athens to the King Archon. At last, then, we have found a trace of those whom we were seeking. But still they are only servants and ministers.

And who are these who next come into view in various forms of men and animals and other monsters appearing — lions and centaurs and satyrs — who are these? I did not know them at first, for every one looks strange when he is unexpected. But now I recognize the politician and his troop, the chief of Sophists, the prince of charlatans, the most accomplished of wizards, who must be carefully distinguished from the true king or statesman. And here I will interpose a question: What are the true forms of government? Are they not three — monarchy, oligarchy, and democracy? and the distinctions of freedom and compulsion, law and no law, poverty and riches expand these three into six. Monarchy may be divided into royalty and tyranny; oligarchy into aristocracy and plutocracy; and democracy may observe the law or may not observe it. But are any of these governments worthy of the name? Is not government a science, and are we to suppose that scientific government is secured by the rulers being many or few, rich or poor, or by the rule being compulsory or voluntary? Can the many attain to science? In no Hellenic city are there fifty good draught players, and certainly there are not as many kings, for by kings we mean all those who are possessed of the political science. A true government must therefore be the government of one, or of a few. And they may govern us either with or without law, and whether they are poor or rich, and however they govern, provided they govern on some scientific principle, — it makes no difference. And as the physician may cure us with our will, or against our will, and by any mode of treatment, burning, bleeding, lowering, fattening, if he only proceeds scientifically: so the true governor may reduce or fatten or bleed the body corporate, while he acts according to the rules of his art, and with a view to the good of the state, whether according to law or without law.

‘I do not like the notion, that there can be good government without law.’

I must explain: Law-making certainly is the business of a king; and yet the best thing of all is, not that the law should rule, but that the king should rule, for the varieties of circumstances are endless, and no simple or universal rule can suit them all, or last for ever. The law is just an ignorant brute of a tyrant, who insists always on his commands being fulfilled under all circumstances. ‘Then why have we laws at all?’ I will answer that question by asking you whether the training master gives a different discipline to each of his pupils, or whether he has a general rule of diet and exercise which is suited to the constitutions of the majority? ‘The latter.’ The legislator, too, is obliged to lay down general laws, and cannot enact what is precisely suitable to each particular case. He cannot be sitting at every man’s side all his life, and prescribe for him the minute particulars of his duty, and therefore he is compelled to impose on himself and others the restriction of a written law. Let me suppose now, that a physician or trainer, having left directions for his patients or pupils, goes into a far country, and comes back sooner than he intended; owing to some unexpected change in the weather, the patient or pupil seems to require a different mode of treatment: Would he persist in his old commands, under the idea that all others are noxious and heterodox? Viewed in the light of science, would not the continuance of such regulations be ridiculous? And if the legislator, or another like him, comes back from a far country, is he to be prohibited from altering his own laws? The common people say: Let a man persuade the city first, and then let him impose new laws. But is a physician only to cure his patients by persuasion, and not by force? Is he a worse physician who uses a little gentle violence in effecting the cure? Or shall we say, that the violence is just, if exercised by a rich man, and unjust, if by a poor man? May not any man, rich or poor, with or without law, and whether the citizens like or not, do what is for their good? The pilot saves the lives of the crew, not by laying down rules, but by making his art a law, and, like him, the true governor has a strength of art which is superior to the law. This is scientific government, and all others are imitations only. Yet no great number of persons can attain to this science. And hence follows an important result. The true political principle is to assert the inviolability of the law, which, though not the best thing possible, is best for the imperfect condition of man.

I will explain my meaning by an illustration: — Suppose that mankind, indignant at the rogueries and caprices of physicians and pilots, call together an assembly, in which all who like may speak, the skilled as well as the unskilled, and that in their assembly they make decrees for regulating the practice of navigation and medicine which are to be binding on these professions for all time. Suppose that they elect annually by vote or lot those to whom authority in either department is to be delegated. And let us further imagine, that when the term of their magistracy has expired, the magistrates appointed by them are summoned before an ignorant and unprofessional court, and may be condemned and punished for breaking the regulations. They even go a step further, and enact, that he who is found enquiring into the truth of navigation and medicine, and is seeking to be wise above what is written, shall be called not an artist, but a dreamer, a prating Sophist and a corruptor of youth; and if he try to persuade others to investigate those sciences in a manner contrary to the law, he shall be punished with the utmost severity. And like rules might be extended to any art or science. But what would be the consequence?

‘The arts would utterly perish, and human life, which is bad enough already, would become intolerable.’

But suppose, once more, that we were to appoint some one as the guardian of the law, who was both ignorant and interested, and who perverted the law: would not this be a still worse evil than the other? ‘Certainly.’ For the laws are based on some experience and wisdom. Hence the wiser course is, that they should be observed, although this is not the best thing of all, but only the second best. And whoever, having skill, should try to improve them, would act in the spirit of the law-giver. But then, as we have seen, no great number of men, whether poor or rich, can be makers of laws. And so, the nearest approach to true government is, when men do nothing contrary to their own written laws and national customs. When the rich preserve their customs and maintain the law, this is called aristocracy, or if they neglect the law, oligarchy. When an individual rules according to law, whether by the help of science or opinion, this is called monarchy; and when he has royal science he is a king, whether he be so in fact or not; but when he rules in spite of law, and is blind with ignorance and passion, he is called a tyrant. These forms of government exist, because men despair of the true king ever appearing among them; if he were to appear, they would joyfully hand over to him the reins of government. But, as there is no natural ruler of the hive, they meet together and make laws. And do we wonder, when the foundation of politics is in the letter only, at the miseries of states? Ought we not rather to admire the strength of the political bond? For cities have endured the worst of evils time out of mind; many cities have been shipwrecked, and some are like ships foundering, because their pilots are absolutely ignorant of the science which they profess.

Let us next ask, which of these untrue forms of government is the least bad, and which of them is the worst? I said at the beginning, that each of the three forms of government, royalty, aristocracy, and democracy, might be divided into two, so that the whole number of them, including the best, will be seven. Under monarchy we have already distinguished royalty and tyranny; of oligarchy there were two kinds, aristocracy and plutocracy; and democracy may also be divided, for there is a democracy which observes, and a democracy which neglects, the laws. The government of one is the best and the worst — the government of a few is less bad and less good — the government of the many is the least bad and least good of them all, being the best of all lawless governments, and the worst of all lawful ones. But the rulers of all these states, unless they have knowledge, are maintainers of idols, and themselves idols — wizards, and also Sophists; for, after many windings, the term ‘Sophist’ comes home to them.

And now enough of centaurs and satyrs: the play is ended, and they may quit the political stage. Still there remain some other and better elements, which adhere to the royal science, and must be drawn off in the refiner’s fire before the gold can become quite pure. The arts of the general, the judge, and the orator, will have to be separated from the royal art; when the separation has been made, the nature of the king will be unalloyed. Now there are inferior sciences, such as music and others; and there is a superior science, which determines whether music is to be learnt or not, and this is different from them, and the governor of them. The science which determines whether we are to use persuasion, or not, is higher than the art of persuasion; the science which determines whether we are to go to war, is higher than the art of the general. The science which makes the laws, is higher than that which only administers them. And the science which has this authority over the rest, is the science of the king or statesman.

Once more we will endeavour to view this royal science by the light of our example. We may compare the state to a web, and I will show you how the different threads are drawn into one. You would admit — would you not? — that there are parts of virtue (although this position is sometimes assailed by Eristics), and one part of virtue is temperance, and another courage. These are two principles which are in a manner antagonistic to one another; and they pervade all nature; the whole class of the good and beautiful is included under them. The beautiful may be subdivided into two lesser classes: one of these is described by us in terms expressive of motion or energy, and the other in terms expressive of rest and quietness. We say, how manly! how vigorous! how ready! and we say also, how calm! how temperate! how dignified! This opposition of terms is extended by us to all actions, to the tones of the voice, the notes of music, the workings of the mind, the characters of men. The two classes both have their exaggerations; and the exaggerations of the one are termed ‘hardness,’ ‘violence,’ ‘madness;’ of the other ‘cowardliness,’ or ‘sluggishness.’ And if we pursue the enquiry, we find that these opposite characters are naturally at variance, and can hardly be reconciled. In lesser matters the antagonism between them is ludicrous, but in the State may be the occasion of grave disorders, and may disturb the whole course of human life. For the orderly class are always wanting to be at peace, and hence they pass imperceptibly into the condition of slaves; and the courageous sort are always wanting to go to war, even when the odds are against them, and are soon destroyed by their enemies. But the true art of government, first preparing the material by education, weaves the two elements into one, maintaining authority over the carders of the wool, and selecting the proper subsidiary arts which are necessary for making the web. The royal science is queen of educators, and begins by choosing the natures which she is to train, punishing with death and exterminating those who are violently carried away to atheism and injustice, and enslaving those who are wallowing in the mire of ignorance. The rest of the citizens she blends into one, combining the stronger element of courage, which we may call the warp, with the softer element of temperance, which we may imagine to be the woof. These she binds together, first taking the eternal elements of the honourable, the good, and the just, and fastening them with a divine cord in a heaven-born nature, and then fastening the animal elements with a human cord. The good legislator can implant by education the higher principles; and where they exist there is no difficulty in inserting the lesser human bonds, by which the State is held together; these are the laws of intermarriage, and of union for the sake of offspring. Most persons in their marriages seek after wealth or power; or they are clannish, and choose those who are like themselves, — the temperate marrying the temperate, and the courageous the courageous. The two classes thrive and flourish at first, but they soon degenerate; the one become mad, and the other feeble and useless. This would not have been the case, if they had both originally held the same notions about the honourable and the good; for then they never would have allowed the temperate natures to be separated from the courageous, but they would have bound them together by common honours and reputations, by intermarriages, and by the choice of rulers who combine both qualities. The temperate are careful and just, but are wanting in the power of action; the courageous fall short of them in justice, but in action are superior to them: and no state can prosper in which either of these qualities is wanting. The noblest and best of all webs or states is that which the royal science weaves, combining the two sorts of natures in a single texture, and in this enfolding freeman and slave and every other social element, and presiding over them all.

‘Your picture, Stranger, of the king and statesman, no less than of the Sophist, is quite perfect.’

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The principal subjects in the Statesman may be conveniently embraced under six or seven heads: — (1) the myth; (2) the dialectical interest; (3) the political aspects of the dialogue; (4) the satirical and paradoxical vein; (5) the necessary imperfection of law; (6) the relation of the work to the other writings of Plato; lastly (7), we may briefly consider the genuineness of the Sophist and Statesman, which can hardly be assumed without proof, since the two dialogues have been questioned by three such eminent Platonic scholars as Socher, Schaarschmidt, and Ueberweg.

I. The hand of the master is clearly visible in the myth. First in the connection with mythology; — he wins a kind of verisimilitude for this as for his other myths, by adopting received traditions, of which he pretends to find an explanation in his own larger conception (compare Introduction to Critias). The young Socrates has heard of the sun rising in the west and setting in the east, and of the earth-born men; but he has never heard the origin of these remarkable phenomena. Nor is Plato, here or elsewhere, wanting in denunciations of the incredulity of ‘this latter age,’ on which the lovers of the marvellous have always delighted to enlarge. And he is not without express testimony to the truth of his narrative; — such testimony as, in the Timaeus, the first men gave of the names of the gods (‘They must surely have known their own ancestors’). For the first generation of the new cycle, who lived near the time, are supposed to have preserved a recollection of a previous one. He also appeals to internal evidence, viz. the perfect coherence of the tale, though he is very well aware, as he says in the Cratylus, that there may be consistency in error as well as in truth. The gravity and minuteness with which some particulars are related also lend an artful aid. The profound interest and ready assent of the young Socrates, who is not too old to be amused ‘with a tale which a child would love to hear,’ are a further assistance. To those who were naturally inclined to believe that the fortunes of mankind are influenced by the stars, or who maintained that some one principle, like the principle of the Same and the Other in the Timaeus, pervades all things in the world, the reversal of the motion of the heavens seemed necessarily to produce a reversal of the order of human life. The spheres of knowledge, which to us appear wide asunder as the poles, astronomy and medicine, were naturally connected in the minds of early thinkers, because there was little or nothing in the space between them. Thus there is a basis of philosophy, on which the improbabilities of the tale may be said to rest. These are some of the devices by which Plato, like a modern novelist, seeks to familiarize the marvellous.

The myth, like that of the Timaeus and Critias, is rather historical than poetical, in this respect corresponding to the general change in the later writings of Plato, when compared with the earlier ones. It is hardly a myth in the sense in which the term might be applied to the myth of the Phaedrus, the Republic, the Phaedo, or the Gorgias, but may be more aptly compared with the didactic tale in which Protagoras describes the fortunes of primitive man, or with the description of the gradual rise of a new society in the Third Book of the Laws. Some discrepancies may be observed between the mythology of the Statesman and the Timaeus, and between the Timaeus and the Republic. But there is no reason to expect that all Plato’s visions of a former, any more than of a future, state of existence, should conform exactly to the same pattern. We do not find perfect consistency in his philosophy; and still less have we any right to demand this of him in his use of mythology and figures of speech. And we observe that while employing all the resources of a writer of fiction to give credibility to his tales, he is not disposed to insist upon their literal truth. Rather, as in the Phaedo, he says, ‘Something of the kind is true;’ or, as in the Gorgias, ‘This you will think to be an old wife’s tale, but you can think of nothing truer;’ or, as in the Statesman, he describes his work as a ‘mass of mythology,’ which was introduced in order to teach certain lessons; or, as in the Phaedrus, he secretly laughs at such stories while refusing to disturb the popular belief in them.

The greater interest of the myth consists in the philosophical lessons which Plato presents to us in this veiled form. Here, as in the tale of Er, the son of Armenius, he touches upon the question of freedom and necessity, both in relation to God and nature. For at first the universe is governed by the immediate providence of God, — this is the golden age, — but after a while the wheel is reversed, and man is left to himself. Like other theologians and philosophers, Plato relegates his explanation of the problem to a transcendental world; he speaks of what in modern language might be termed ‘impossibilities in the nature of things,’ hindering God from continuing immanent in the world. But there is some inconsistency; for the ‘letting go’ is spoken of as a divine act, and is at the same time attributed to the necessary imperfection of matter; there is also a numerical necessity for the successive births of souls. At first, man and the world retain their divine instincts, but gradually degenerate. As in the Book of Genesis, the first fall of man is succeeded by a second; the misery and wickedness of the world increase continually. The reason of this further decline is supposed to be the disorganisation of matter: the latent seeds of a former chaos are disengaged, and envelope all things. The condition of man becomes more and more miserable; he is perpetually waging an unequal warfare with the beasts. At length he obtains such a measure of education and help as is necessary for his existence. Though deprived of God’s help, he is not left wholly destitute; he has received from Athene and Hephaestus a knowledge of the arts; other gods give him seeds and plants; and out of these human life is reconstructed. He now eats bread in the sweat of his brow, and has dominion over the animals, subjected to the conditions of his nature, and yet able to cope with them by divine help. Thus Plato may be said to represent in a figure — (1) the state of innocence; (2) the fall of man; (3) the still deeper decline into barbarism; (4) the restoration of man by the partial interference of God, and the natural growth of the arts and of civilised society. Two lesser features of this description should not pass unnoticed: — (1) the primitive men are supposed to be created out of the earth, and not after the ordinary manner of human generation — half the causes of moral evil are in this way removed; (2) the arts are attributed to a divine revelation: and so the greatest difficulty in the history of pre-historic man is solved. Though no one knew better than Plato that the introduction of the gods is not a reason, but an excuse for not giving a reason (Cratylus), yet, considering that more than two thousand years later mankind are still discussing these problems, we may be satisfied to find in Plato a statement of the difficulties which arise in conceiving the relation of man to God and nature, without expecting to obtain from him a solution of them. In such a tale, as in the Phaedrus, various aspects of the Ideas were doubtless indicated to Plato’s own mind, as the corresponding theological problems are to us. The immanence of things in the Ideas, or the partial separation of them, and the self-motion of the supreme Idea, are probably the forms in which he would have interpreted his own parable.

He touches upon another question of great interest — the consciousness of evil — what in the Jewish Scriptures is called ‘eating of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.’ At the end of the narrative, the Eleatic asks his companion whether this life of innocence, or that which men live at present, is the better of the two. He wants to distinguish between the mere animal life of innocence, the ‘city of pigs,’ as it is comically termed by Glaucon in the Republic, and the higher life of reason and philosophy. But as no one can determine the state of man in the world before the Fall, ‘the question must remain unanswered.’ Similar questions have occupied the minds of theologians in later ages; but they can hardly be said to have found an answer. Professor Campbell well observes, that the general spirit of the myth may be summed up in the words of the Lysis: ‘If evil were to perish, should we hunger any more, or thirst any more, or have any similar sensations? Yet perhaps the question what will or will not be is a foolish one, for who can tell?’ As in the Theaetetus, evil is supposed to continue, — here, as the consequence of a former state of the world, a sort of mephitic vapour exhaling from some ancient chaos, — there, as involved in the possibility of good, and incident to the mixed state of man.

Once more — and this is the point of connexion with the rest of the dialogue — the myth is intended to bring out the difference between the ideal and the actual state of man. In all ages of the world men have dreamed of a state of perfection, which has been, and is to be, but never is, and seems to disappear under the necessary conditions of human society. The uselessness, the danger, the true value of such political ideals have often been discussed; youth is too ready to believe in them; age to disparage them. Plato’s ‘prudens quaestio’ respecting the comparative happiness of men in this and in a former cycle of existence is intended to elicit this contrast between the golden age and ‘the life under Zeus’ which is our own. To confuse the divine and human, or hastily apply one to the other, is a ‘tremendous error.’ Of the ideal or divine government of the world we can form no true or adequate conception; and this our mixed state of life, in which we are partly left to ourselves, but not wholly deserted by the gods, may contain some higher elements of good and knowledge than could have existed in the days of innocence under the rule of Cronos. So we may venture slightly to enlarge a Platonic thought which admits of a further application to Christian theology. Here are suggested also the distinctions between God causing and permitting evil, and between his more and less immediate government of the world.

II. The dialectical interest of the Statesman seems to contend in Plato’s mind with the political; the dialogue might have been designated by two equally descriptive titles — either the ‘Statesman,’ or ‘Concerning Method.’ Dialectic, which in the earlier writings of Plato is a revival of the Socratic question and answer applied to definition, is now occupied with classification; there is nothing in which he takes greater delight than in processes of division (compare Phaedr.); he pursues them to a length out of proportion to his main subject, and appears to value them as a dialectical exercise, and for their own sake. A poetical vision of some order or hierarchy of ideas or sciences has already been floating before us in the Symposium and the Republic. And in the Phaedrus this aspect of dialectic is further sketched out, and the art of rhetoric is based on the division of the characters of mankind into their several classes. The same love of divisions is apparent in the Gorgias. But in a well-known passage of the Philebus occurs the first criticism on the nature of classification. There we are exhorted not to fall into the common error of passing from unity to infinity, but to find the intermediate classes; and we are reminded that in any process of generalization, there may be more than one class to which individuals may be referred, and that we must carry on the process of division until we have arrived at the infima species.

These precepts are not forgotten, either in the Sophist or in the Statesman. The Sophist contains four examples of division, carried on by regular steps, until in four different lines of descent we detect the Sophist. In the Statesman the king or statesman is discovered by a similar process; and we have a summary, probably made for the first time, of possessions appropriated by the labour of man, which are distributed into seven classes. We are warned against preferring the shorter to the longer method; — if we divide in the middle, we are most likely to light upon species; at the same time, the important remark is made, that ‘a part is not to be confounded with a class.’ Having discovered the genus under which the king falls, we proceed to distinguish him from the collateral species. To assist our imagination in making this separation, we require an example. The higher ideas, of which we have a dreamy knowledge, can only be represented by images taken from the external world. But, first of all, the nature of example is explained by an example. The child is taught to read by comparing the letters in words which he knows with the same letters in unknown combinations; and this is the sort of process which we are about to attempt. As a parallel to the king we select the worker in wool, and compare the art of weaving with the royal science, trying to separate either of them from the inferior classes to which they are akin. This has the incidental advantage, that weaving and the web furnish us with a figure of speech, which we can afterwards transfer to the State.

There are two uses of examples or images — in the first place, they suggest thoughts — secondly, they give them a distinct form. In the infancy of philosophy, as in childhood, the language of pictures is natural to man: truth in the abstract is hardly won, and only by use familiarized to the mind. Examples are akin to analogies, and have a reflex influence on thought; they people the vacant mind, and may often originate new directions of enquiry. Plato seems to be conscious of the suggestiveness of imagery; the general analogy of the arts is constantly employed by him as well as the comparison of particular arts — weaving, the refining of gold, the learning to read, music, statuary, painting, medicine, the art of the pilot — all of which occur in this dialogue alone: though he is also aware that ‘comparisons are slippery things,’ and may often give a false clearness to ideas. We shall find, in the Philebus, a division of sciences into practical and speculative, and into more or less speculative: here we have the idea of master-arts, or sciences which control inferior ones. Besides the supreme science of dialectic, ‘which will forget us, if we forget her,’ another master-science for the first time appears in view — the science of government, which fixes the limits of all the rest. This conception of the political or royal science as, from another point of view, the science of sciences, which holds sway over the rest, is not originally found in Aristotle, but in Plato.

The doctrine that virtue and art are in a mean, which is familiarized to us by the study of the Nicomachean Ethics, is also first distinctly asserted in the Statesman of Plato. The too much and the too little are in restless motion: they must be fixed by a mean, which is also a standard external to them. The art of measuring or finding a mean between excess and defect, like the principle of division in the Phaedrus, receives a particular application to the art of discourse. The excessive length of a discourse may be blamed; but who can say what is excess, unless he is furnished with a measure or standard? Measure is the life of the arts, and may some day be discovered to be the single ultimate principle in which all the sciences are contained. Other forms of thought may be noted — the distinction between causal and co-operative arts, which may be compared with the distinction between primary and co-operative causes in the Timaeus; or between cause and condition in the Phaedo; the passing mention of economical science; the opposition of rest and motion, which is found in all nature; the general conception of two great arts of composition and division, in which are contained weaving, politics, dialectic; and in connexion with the conception of a mean, the two arts of measuring.

In the Theaetetus, Plato remarks that precision in the use of terms, though sometimes pedantic, is sometimes necessary. Here he makes the opposite reflection, that there may be a philosophical disregard of words. The evil of mere verbal oppositions, the requirement of an impossible accuracy in the use of terms, the error of supposing that philosophy was to be found in language, the danger of word-catching, have frequently been discussed by him in the previous dialogues, but nowhere has the spirit of modern inductive philosophy been more happily indicated than in the words of the Statesman:— ‘If you think more about things, and less about words, you will be richer in wisdom as you grow older.’ A similar spirit is discernible in the remarkable expressions, ‘the long and difficult language of facts;’ and ‘the interrogation of every nature, in order to obtain the particular contribution of each to the store of knowledge.’ Who has described ‘the feeble intelligence of all things; given by metaphysics better than the Eleatic Stranger in the words— ‘The higher ideas can hardly be set forth except through the medium of examples; every man seems to know all things in a kind of dream, and then again nothing when he is awake?’ Or where is the value of metaphysical pursuits more truly expressed than in the words,— ‘The greatest and noblest things have no outward image of themselves visible to man: therefore we should learn to give a rational account of them?’

III. The political aspects of the dialogue are closely connected with the dialectical. As in the Cratylus, the legislator has ‘the dialectician standing on his right hand;’ so in the Statesman, the king or statesman is the dialectician, who, although he may be in a private station, is still a king. Whether he has the power or not, is a mere accident; or rather he has the power, for what ought to be is (‘Was ist vernunftig, das ist wirklich’); and he ought to be and is the true governor of mankind. There is a reflection in this idealism of the Socratic ‘Virtue is knowledge;’ and, without idealism, we may remark that knowledge is a great part of power. Plato does not trouble himself to construct a machinery by which ‘philosophers shall be made kings,’ as in the Republic: he merely holds up the ideal, and affirms that in some sense science is really supreme over human life.

He is struck by the observation ‘quam parva sapientia regitur mundus,’ and is touched with a feeling of the ills which afflict states. The condition of Megara before and during the Peloponnesian War, of Athens under the Thirty and afterwards, of Syracuse and the other Sicilian cities in their alternations of democratic excess and tyranny, might naturally suggest such reflections. Some states he sees already shipwrecked, others foundering for want of a pilot; and he wonders not at their destruction, but at their endurance. For they ought to have perished long ago, if they had depended on the wisdom of their rulers. The mingled pathos and satire of this remark is characteristic of Plato’s later style.

The king is the personification of political science. And yet he is something more than this, — the perfectly good and wise tyrant of the Laws, whose will is better than any law. He is the special providence who is always interfering with and regulating all things. Such a conception has sometimes been entertained by modern theologians, and by Plato himself, of the Supreme Being. But whether applied to Divine or to human governors the conception is faulty for two reasons, neither of which are noticed by Plato: — first, because all good government supposes a degree of co-operation in the ruler and his subjects, — an ‘education in politics’ as well as in moral virtue; secondly, because government, whether Divine or human, implies that the subject has a previous knowledge of the rules under which he is living. There is a fallacy, too, in comparing unchangeable laws with a personal governor. For the law need not necessarily be an ‘ignorant and brutal tyrant,’ but gentle and humane, capable of being altered in the spirit of the legislator, and of being administered so as to meet the cases of individuals. Not only in fact, but in idea, both elements must remain — the fixed law and the living will; the written word and the spirit; the principles of obligation and of freedom; and their applications whether made by law or equity in particular cases.

There are two sides from which positive laws may be attacked: — either from the side of nature, which rises up and rebels against them in the spirit of Callicles in the Gorgias; or from the side of idealism, which attempts to soar above them, — and this is the spirit of Plato in the Statesman. But he soon falls, like Icarus, and is content to walk instead of flying; that is, to accommodate himself to the actual state of human things. Mankind have long been in despair of finding the true ruler; and therefore are ready to acquiesce in any of the five or six received forms of government as better than none. And the best thing which they can do (though only the second best in reality), is to reduce the ideal state to the conditions of actual life. Thus in the Statesman, as in the Laws, we have three forms of government, which we may venture to term, (1) the ideal, (2) the practical, (3) the sophistical — what ought to be, what might be, what is. And thus Plato seems to stumble, almost by accident, on the notion of a constitutional monarchy, or of a monarchy ruling by laws.

The divine foundations of a State are to be laid deep in education (Republic), and at the same time some little violence may be used in exterminating natures which are incapable of education (compare Laws). Plato is strongly of opinion that the legislator, like the physician, may do men good against their will (compare Gorgias). The human bonds of states are formed by the inter-marriage of dispositions adapted to supply the defects of each other. As in the Republic, Plato has observed that there are opposite natures in the world, the strong and the gentle, the courageous and the temperate, which, borrowing an expression derived from the image of weaving, he calls the warp and the woof of human society. To interlace these is the crowning achievement of political science. In the Protagoras, Socrates was maintaining that there was only one virtue, and not many: now Plato is inclined to think that there are not only parallel, but opposite virtues, and seems to see a similar opposition pervading all art and nature. But he is satisfied with laying down the principle, and does not inform us by what further steps the union of opposites is to be effected.

In the loose framework of a single dialogue Plato has thus combined two distinct subjects — politics and method. Yet they are not so far apart as they appear: in his own mind there was a secret link of connexion between them. For the philosopher or dialectician is also the only true king or statesman. In the execution of his plan Plato has invented or distinguished several important forms of thought, and made incidentally many valuable remarks. Questions of interest both in ancient and modern politics also arise in the course of the dialogue, which may with advantage be further considered by us: —

a. The imaginary ruler, whether God or man, is above the law, and is a law to himself and to others. Among the Greeks as among the Jews, law was a sacred name, the gift of God, the bond of states. But in the Statesman of Plato, as in the New Testament, the word has also become the symbol of an imperfect good, which is almost an evil. The law sacrifices the individual to the universal, and is the tyranny of the many over the few (compare Republic). It has fixed rules which are the props of order, and will not swerve or bend in extreme cases. It is the beginning of political society, but there is something higher — an intelligent ruler, whether God or man, who is able to adapt himself to the endless varieties of circumstances. Plato is fond of picturing the advantages which would result from the union of the tyrant who has power with the legislator who has wisdom: he regards this as the best and speediest way of reforming mankind. But institutions cannot thus be artificially created, nor can the external authority of a ruler impose laws for which a nation is unprepared. The greatest power, the highest wisdom, can only proceed one or two steps in advance of public opinion. In all stages of civilization human nature, after all our efforts, remains intractable, — not like clay in the hands of the potter, or marble under the chisel of the sculptor. Great changes occur in the history of nations, but they are brought about slowly, like the changes in the frame of nature, upon which the puny arm of man hardly makes an impression. And, speaking generally, the slowest growths, both in nature and in politics, are the most permanent.

b. Whether the best form of the ideal is a person or a law may fairly be doubted. The former is more akin to us: it clothes itself in poetry and art, and appeals to reason more in the form of feeling: in the latter there is less danger of allowing ourselves to be deluded by a figure of speech. The ideal of the Greek state found an expression in the deification of law: the ancient Stoic spoke of a wise man perfect in virtue, who was fancifully said to be a king; but neither they nor Plato had arrived at the conception of a person who was also a law. Nor is it easy for the Christian to think of God as wisdom, truth, holiness, and also as the wise, true, and holy one. He is always wanting to break through the abstraction and interrupt the law, in order that he may present to himself the more familiar image of a divine friend. While the impersonal has too slender a hold upon the affections to be made the basis of religion, the conception of a person on the other hand tends to degenerate into a new kind of idolatry. Neither criticism nor experience allows us to suppose that there are interferences with the laws of nature; the idea is inconceivable to us and at variance with facts. The philosopher or theologian who could realize to mankind that a person is a law, that the higher rule has no exception, that goodness, like knowledge, is also power, would breathe a new religious life into the world.

c. Besides the imaginary rule of a philosopher or a God, the actual forms of government have to be considered. In the infancy of political science, men naturally ask whether the rule of the many or of the few is to be preferred. If by ‘the few’ we mean ‘the good’ and by ‘the many,’ ‘the bad,’ there can be but one reply: ‘The rule of one good man is better than the rule of all the rest, if they are bad.’ For, as Heracleitus says, ‘One is ten thousand if he be the best.’ If, however, we mean by the rule of the few the rule of a class neither better nor worse than other classes, not devoid of a feeling of right, but guided mostly by a sense of their own interests, and by the rule of the many the rule of all classes, similarly under the influence of mixed motives, no one would hesitate to answer— ‘The rule of all rather than one, because all classes are more likely to take care of all than one of another; and the government has greater power and stability when resting on a wider basis.’ Both in ancient and modern times the best balanced form of government has been held to be the best; and yet it should not be so nicely balanced as to make action and movement impossible.

The statesman who builds his hope upon the aristocracy, upon the middle classes, upon the people, will probably, if he have sufficient experience of them, conclude that all classes are much alike, and that one is as good as another, and that the liberties of no class are safe in the hands of the rest. The higher ranks have the advantage in education and manners, the middle and lower in industry and self-denial; in every class, to a certain extent, a natural sense of right prevails, sometimes communicated from the lower to the higher, sometimes from the higher to the lower, which is too strong for class interests. There have been crises in the history of nations, as at the time of the Crusades or the Reformation, or the French Revolution, when the same inspiration has taken hold of whole peoples, and permanently raised the sense of freedom and justice among mankind.

But even supposing the different classes of a nation, when viewed impartially, to be on a level with each other in moral virtue, there remain two considerations of opposite kinds which enter into the problem of government. Admitting of course that the upper and lower classes are equal in the eye of God and of the law, yet the one may be by nature fitted to govern and the other to be governed. A ruling caste does not soon altogether lose the governing qualities, nor a subject class easily acquire them. Hence the phenomenon so often observed in the old Greek revolutions, and not without parallel in modern times, that the leaders of the democracy have been themselves of aristocratic origin. The people are expecting to be governed by representatives of their own, but the true man of the people either never appears, or is quickly altered by circumstances. Their real wishes hardly make themselves felt, although their lower interests and prejudices may sometimes be flattered and yielded to for the sake of ulterior objects by those who have political power. They will often learn by experience that the democracy has become a plutocracy. The influence of wealth, though not the enjoyment of it, has become diffused among the poor as well as among the rich; and society, instead of being safer, is more at the mercy of the tyrant, who, when things are at the worst, obtains a guard — that is, an army — and announces himself as the saviour.

The other consideration is of an opposite kind. Admitting that a few wise men are likely to be better governors than the unwise many, yet it is not in their power to fashion an entire people according to their behest. When with the best intentions the benevolent despot begins his regime, he finds the world hard to move. A succession of good kings has at the end of a century left the people an inert and unchanged mass. The Roman world was not permanently improved by the hundred years of Hadrian and the Antonines. The kings of Spain during the last century were at least equal to any contemporary sovereigns in virtue and ability. In certain states of the world the means are wanting to render a benevolent power effectual. These means are not a mere external organisation of posts or telegraphs, hardly the introduction of new laws or modes of industry. A change must be made in the spirit of a people as well as in their externals. The ancient legislator did not really take a blank tablet and inscribe upon it the rules which reflection and experience had taught him to be for a nation’s interest; no one would have obeyed him if he had. But he took the customs which he found already existing in a half-civilised state of society: these he reduced to form and inscribed on pillars; he defined what had before been undefined, and gave certainty to what was uncertain. No legislation ever sprang, like Athene, in full power out of the head either of God or man.

Plato and Aristotle are sensible of the difficulty of combining the wisdom of the few with the power of the many. According to Plato, he is a physician who has the knowledge of a physician, and he is a king who has the knowledge of a king. But how the king, one or more, is to obtain the required power, is hardly at all considered by him. He presents the idea of a perfect government, but except the regulation for mixing different tempers in marriage, he never makes any provision for the attainment of it. Aristotle, casting aside ideals, would place the government in a middle class of citizens, sufficiently numerous for stability, without admitting the populace; and such appears to have been the constitution which actually prevailed for a short time at Athens — the rule of the Five Thousand — characterized by Thucydides as the best government of Athens which he had known. It may however be doubted how far, either in a Greek or modern state, such a limitation is practicable or desirable; for those who are left outside the pale will always be dangerous to those who are within, while on the other hand the leaven of the mob can hardly affect the representation of a great country. There is reason for the argument in favour of a property qualification; there is reason also in the arguments of those who would include all and so exhaust the political situation.

The true answer to the question is relative to the circumstances of nations. How can we get the greatest intelligence combined with the greatest power? The ancient legislator would have found this question more easy than we do. For he would have required that all persons who had a share of government should have received their education from the state and have borne her burdens, and should have served in her fleets and armies. But though we sometimes hear the cry that we must ‘educate the masses, for they are our masters,’ who would listen to a proposal that the franchise should be confined to the educated or to those who fulfil political duties? Then again, we know that the masses are not our masters, and that they are more likely to become so if we educate them. In modern politics so many interests have to be consulted that we are compelled to do, not what is best, but what is possible.

d. Law is the first principle of society, but it cannot supply all the wants of society, and may easily cause more evils than it cures. Plato is aware of the imperfection of law in failing to meet the varieties of circumstances: he is also aware that human life would be intolerable if every detail of it were placed under legal regulation. It may be a great evil that physicians should kill their patients or captains cast away their ships, but it would be a far greater evil if each particular in the practice of medicine or seamanship were regulated by law. Much has been said in modern times about the duty of leaving men to themselves, which is supposed to be the best way of taking care of them. The question is often asked, What are the limits of legislation in relation to morals? And the answer is to the same effect, that morals must take care of themselves. There is a one-sided truth in these answers, if they are regarded as condemnations of the interference with commerce in the last century or of clerical persecution in the Middle Ages. But ‘laissez-faire’ is not the best but only the second best. What the best is, Plato does not attempt to determine; he only contrasts the imperfection of law with the wisdom of the perfect ruler.

Laws should be just, but they must also be certain, and we are obliged to sacrifice something of their justice to their certainty. Suppose a wise and good judge, who paying little or no regard to the law, attempted to decide with perfect justice the cases that were brought before him. To the uneducated person he would appear to be the ideal of a judge. Such justice has been often exercised in primitive times, or at the present day among eastern rulers. But in the first place it depends entirely on the personal character of the judge. He may be honest, but there is no check upon his dishonesty, and his opinion can only be overruled, not by any principle of law, but by the opinion of another judging like himself without law. In the second place, even if he be ever so honest, his mode of deciding questions would introduce an element of uncertainty into human life; no one would know beforehand what would happen to him, or would seek to conform in his conduct to any rule of law. For the compact which the law makes with men, that they shall be protected if they observe the law in their dealings with one another, would have to be substituted another principle of a more general character, that they shall be protected by the law if they act rightly in their dealings with one another. The complexity of human actions and also the uncertainty of their effects would be increased tenfold. For one of the principal advantages of law is not merely that it enforces honesty, but that it makes men act in the same way, and requires them to produce the same evidence of their acts. Too many laws may be the sign of a corrupt and overcivilized state of society, too few are the sign of an uncivilized one; as soon as commerce begins to grow, men make themselves customs which have the validity of laws. Even equity, which is the exception to the law, conforms to fixed rules and lies for the most part within the limits of previous decisions.

IV. The bitterness of the Statesman is characteristic of Plato’s later style, in which the thoughts of youth and love have fled away, and we are no longer tended by the Muses or the Graces. We do not venture to say that Plato was soured by old age, but certainly the kindliness and courtesy of the earlier dialogues have disappeared. He sees the world under a harder and grimmer aspect: he is dealing with the reality of things, not with visions or pictures of them: he is seeking by the aid of dialectic only, to arrive at truth. He is deeply impressed with the importance of classification: in this alone he finds the true measure of human things; and very often in the process of division curious results are obtained. For the dialectical art is no respecter of persons: king and vermin-taker are all alike to the philosopher. There may have been a time when the king was a god, but he now is pretty much on a level with his subjects in breeding and education. Man should be well advised that he is only one of the animals, and the Hellene in particular should be aware that he himself was the author of the distinction between Hellene and Barbarian, and that the Phrygian would equally divide mankind into Phrygians and Barbarians, and that some intelligent animal, like a crane, might go a step further, and divide the animal world into cranes and all other animals. Plato cannot help laughing (compare Theaet.) when he thinks of the king running after his subjects, like the pig-driver or the bird-taker. He would seriously have him consider how many competitors there are to his throne, chiefly among the class of serving-men. A good deal of meaning is lurking in the expression— ‘There is no art of feeding mankind worthy the name.’ There is a similar depth in the remark,— ‘The wonder about states is not that they are short-lived, but that they last so long in spite of the badness of their rulers.’

V. There is also a paradoxical element in the Statesman which delights in reversing the accustomed use of words. The law which to the Greek was the highest object of reverence is an ignorant and brutal tyrant — the tyrant is converted into a beneficent king. The sophist too is no longer, as in the earlier dialogues, the rival of the statesman, but assumes his form. Plato sees that the ideal of the state in his own day is more and more severed from the actual. From such ideals as he had once formed, he turns away to contemplate the decline of the Greek cities which were far worse now in his old age than they had been in his youth, and were to become worse and worse in the ages which followed. He cannot contain his disgust at the contemporary statesmen, sophists who had turned politicians, in various forms of men and animals, appearing, some like lions and centaurs, others like satyrs and monkeys. In this new disguise the Sophists make their last appearance on the scene: in the Laws Plato appears to have forgotten them, or at any rate makes only a slight allusion to them in a single passage (Laws).

VI. The Statesman is naturally connected with the Sophist. At first sight we are surprised to find that the Eleatic Stranger discourses to us, not only concerning the nature of Being and Not-being, but concerning the king and statesman. We perceive, however, that there is no inappropriateness in his maintaining the character of chief speaker, when we remember the close connexion which is assumed by Plato to exist between politics and dialectic. In both dialogues the Proteus Sophist is exhibited, first, in the disguise of an Eristic, secondly, of a false statesman. There are several lesser features which the two dialogues have in common. The styles and the situations of the speakers are very similar; there is the same love of division, and in both of them the mind of the writer is greatly occupied about method, to which he had probably intended to return in the projected ‘Philosopher.’

The Statesman stands midway between the Republic and the Laws, and is also related to the Timaeus. The mythical or cosmical element reminds us of the Timaeus, the ideal of the Republic. A previous chaos in which the elements as yet were not, is hinted at both in the Timaeus and Statesman. The same ingenious arts of giving verisimilitude to a fiction are practised in both dialogues, and in both, as well as in the myth at the end of the Republic, Plato touches on the subject of necessity and free-will. The words in which he describes the miseries of states seem to be an amplification of the ‘Cities will never cease from ill’ of the Republic. The point of view in both is the same; and the differences not really important, e.g. in the myth, or in the account of the different kinds of states. But the treatment of the subject in the Statesman is fragmentary, and the shorter and later work, as might be expected, is less finished, and less worked out in detail. The idea of measure and the arrangement of the sciences supply connecting links both with the Republic and the Philebus.

More than any of the preceding dialogues, the Statesman seems to approximate in thought and language to the Laws. There is the same decline and tendency to monotony in style, the same self-consciousness, awkwardness, and over-civility; and in the Laws is contained the pattern of that second best form of government, which, after all, is admitted to be the only attainable one in this world. The ‘gentle violence,’ the marriage of dissimilar natures, the figure of the warp and the woof, are also found in the Laws. Both expressly recognize the conception of a first or ideal state, which has receded into an invisible heaven. Nor does the account of the origin and growth of society really differ in them, if we make allowance for the mythic character of the narrative in the Statesman. The virtuous tyrant is common to both of them; and the Eleatic Stranger takes up a position similar to that of the Athenian Stranger in the Laws.

VII. There would have been little disposition to doubt the genuineness of the Sophist and Statesman, if they had been compared with the Laws rather than with the Republic, and the Laws had been received, as they ought to be, on the authority of Aristotle and on the ground of their intrinsic excellence, as an undoubted work of Plato. The detailed consideration of the genuineness and order of the Platonic dialogues has been reserved for another place: a few of the reasons for defending the Sophist and Statesman may be given here.

1. The excellence, importance, and metaphysical originality of the two dialogues: no works at once so good and of such length are known to have proceeded from the hands of a forger.

2. The resemblances in them to other dialogues of Plato are such as might be expected to be found in works of the same author, and not in those of an imitator, being too subtle and minute to have been invented by another. The similar passages and turns of thought are generally inferior to the parallel passages in his earlier writings; and we might a priori have expected that, if altered, they would have been improved. But the comparison of the Laws proves that this repetition of his own thoughts and words in an inferior form is characteristic of Plato’s later style.

3. The close connexion of them with the Theaetetus, Parmenides, and Philebus, involves the fate of these dialogues, as well as of the two suspected ones.

4. The suspicion of them seems mainly to rest on a presumption that in Plato’s writings we may expect to find an uniform type of doctrine and opinion. But however we arrange the order, or narrow the circle of the dialogues, we must admit that they exhibit a growth and progress in the mind of Plato. And the appearance of change or progress is not to be regarded as impugning the genuineness of any particular writings, but may be even an argument in their favour. If we suppose the Sophist and Politicus to stand halfway between the Republic and the Laws, and in near connexion with the Theaetetus, the Parmenides, the Philebus, the arguments against them derived from differences of thought and style disappear or may be said without paradox in some degree to confirm their genuineness. There is no such interval between the Republic or Phaedrus and the two suspected dialogues, as that which separates all the earlier writings of Plato from the Laws. And the Theaetetus, Parmenides, and Philebus, supply links, by which, however different from them, they may be reunited with the great body of the Platonic writings.

STATESMAN

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Theodorus, Socrates, The Eleatic Stranger, The Younger Socrates.

SOCRATES: I owe you many thanks, indeed, Theodorus, for the acquaintance both of Theaetetus and of the Stranger.

THEODORUS: And in a little while, Socrates, you will owe me three times as many, when they have completed for you the delineation of the Statesman and of the Philosopher, as well as of the Sophist.

SOCRATES: Sophist, statesman, philosopher! O my dear Theodorus, do my ears truly witness that this is the estimate formed of them by the great calculator and geometrician?

THEODORUS: What do you mean, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I mean that you rate them all at the same value, whereas they are really separated by an interval, which no geometrical ratio can express.

THEODORUS: By Ammon, the god of Cyrene, Socrates, that is a very fair hit; and shows that you have not forgotten your geometry. I will retaliate on you at some other time, but I must now ask the Stranger, who will not, I hope, tire of his goodness to us, to proceed either with the Statesman or with the Philosopher, whichever he prefers.

STRANGER: That is my duty, Theodorus; having begun I must go on, and not leave the work unfinished. But what shall be done with Theaetetus?

THEODORUS: In what respect?

STRANGER: Shall we relieve him, and take his companion, the Young Socrates, instead of him? What do you advise?

THEODORUS: Yes, give the other a turn, as you propose. The young always do better when they have intervals of rest.

SOCRATES: I think, Stranger, that both of them may be said to be in some way related to me; for the one, as you affirm, has the cut of my ugly face (compare Theaet.), the other is called by my name. And we should always be on the look-out to recognize a kinsman by the style of his conversation. I myself was discoursing with Theaetetus yesterday, and I have just been listening to his answers; my namesake I have not yet examined, but I must. Another time will do for me; to-day let him answer you.

STRANGER: Very good. Young Socrates, do you hear what the elder Socrates is proposing?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I do.

STRANGER: And do you agree to his proposal?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: As you do not object, still less can I. After the Sophist, then, I think that the Statesman naturally follows next in the order of enquiry. And please to say, whether he, too, should be ranked among those who have science.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: Then the sciences must be divided as before?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I dare say.

STRANGER: But yet the division will not be the same?

YOUNG SOCRATES: How then?

STRANGER: They will be divided at some other point.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: Where shall we discover the path of the Statesman? We must find and separate off, and set our seal upon this, and we will set the mark of another class upon all diverging paths. Thus the soul will conceive of all kinds of knowledge under two classes.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To find the path is your business, Stranger, and not mine.

STRANGER: Yes, Socrates, but the discovery, when once made, must be yours as well as mine.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: Well, and are not arithmetic and certain other kindred arts, merely abstract knowledge, wholly separated from action?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: But in the art of carpentering and all other handicrafts, the knowledge of the workman is merged in his work; he not only knows, but he also makes things which previously did not exist.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Then let us divide sciences in general into those which are practical and those which are purely intellectual.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Let us assume these two divisions of science, which is one whole.

STRANGER: And are ‘statesman,’ ‘king,’ ‘master,’ or ‘householder,’ one and the same; or is there a science or art answering to each of these names? Or rather, allow me to put the matter in another way.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Let me hear.

STRANGER: If any one who is in a private station has the skill to advise one of the public physicians, must not he also be called a physician?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And if any one who is in a private station is able to advise the ruler of a country, may not he be said to have the knowledge which the ruler himself ought to have?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: But surely the science of a true king is royal science?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And will not he who possesses this knowledge, whether he happens to be a ruler or a private man, when regarded only in reference to his art, be truly called ‘royal’?

YOUNG SOCRATES: He certainly ought to be.

STRANGER: And the householder and master are the same?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Of course.

STRANGER: Again, a large household may be compared to a small state: — will they differ at all, as far as government is concerned?

YOUNG SOCRATES: They will not.

STRANGER: Then, returning to the point which we were just now discussing, do we not clearly see that there is one science of all of them; and this science may be called either royal or political or economical; we will not quarrel with any one about the name.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: This too, is evident, that the king cannot do much with his hands, or with his whole body, towards the maintenance of his empire, compared with what he does by the intelligence and strength of his mind.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly not.

STRANGER: Then, shall we say that the king has a greater affinity to knowledge than to manual arts and to practical life in general?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly he has.

STRANGER: Then we may put all together as one and the same — statesmanship and the statesman — the kingly science and the king.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly.

STRANGER: And now we shall only be proceeding in due order if we go on to divide the sphere of knowledge?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: Think whether you can find any joint or parting in knowledge.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Tell me of what sort.

STRANGER: Such as this: You may remember that we made an art of calculation?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: Which was, unmistakeably, one of the arts of knowledge?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: And to this art of calculation which discerns the differences of numbers shall we assign any other function except to pass judgment on their differences?

YOUNG SOCRATES: How could we?

STRANGER: You know that the master-builder does not work himself, but is the ruler of workmen?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: He contributes knowledge, not manual labour?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And may therefore be justly said to share in theoretical science?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite true.

STRANGER: But he ought not, like the calculator, to regard his functions as at an end when he has formed a judgment; — he must assign to the individual workmen their appropriate task until they have completed the work.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: Are not all such sciences, no less than arithmetic and the like, subjects of pure knowledge; and is not the difference between the two classes, that the one sort has the power of judging only, and the other of ruling as well?

YOUNG SOCRATES: That is evident.

STRANGER: May we not very properly say, that of all knowledge, there are two divisions — one which rules, and the other which judges?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I should think so.

STRANGER: And when men have anything to do in common, that they should be of one mind is surely a desirable thing?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Then while we are at unity among ourselves, we need not mind about the fancies of others?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: And now, in which of these divisions shall we place the king? — Is he a judge and a kind of spectator? Or shall we assign to him the art of command — for he is a ruler?

YOUNG SOCRATES: The latter, clearly.

STRANGER: Then we must see whether there is any mark of division in the art of command too. I am inclined to think that there is a distinction similar to that of manufacturer and retail dealer, which parts off the king from the herald.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How is this?

STRANGER: Why, does not the retailer receive and sell over again the productions of others, which have been sold before?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly he does.

STRANGER: And is not the herald under command, and does he not receive orders, and in his turn give them to others?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Then shall we mingle the kingly art in the same class with the art of the herald, the interpreter, the boatswain, the prophet, and the numerous kindred arts which exercise command; or, as in the preceding comparison we spoke of manufacturers, or sellers for themselves, and of retailers, — seeing, too, that the class of supreme rulers, or rulers for themselves, is almost nameless — shall we make a word following the same analogy, and refer kings to a supreme or ruling-for-self science, leaving the rest to receive a name from some one else? For we are seeking the ruler; and our enquiry is not concerned with him who is not a ruler.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: Thus a very fair distinction has been attained between the man who gives his own commands, and him who gives another’s. And now let us see if the supreme power allows of any further division.

YOUNG SOCRATES: By all means.

STRANGER: I think that it does; and please to assist me in making the division.

YOUNG SOCRATES: At what point?

STRANGER: May not all rulers be supposed to command for the sake of producing something?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Nor is there any difficulty in dividing the things produced into two classes.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How would you divide them?

STRANGER: Of the whole class, some have life and some are without life.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And by the help of this distinction we may make, if we please, a subdivision of the section of knowledge which commands.

YOUNG SOCRATES: At what point?

STRANGER: One part may be set over the production of lifeless, the other of living objects; and in this way the whole will be divided.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: That division, then, is complete; and now we may leave one half, and take up the other; which may also be divided into two.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Which of the two halves do you mean?

STRANGER: Of course that which exercises command about animals. For, surely, the royal science is not like that of a master-workman, a science presiding over lifeless objects; — the king has a nobler function, which is the management and control of living beings.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And the breeding and tending of living beings may be observed to be sometimes a tending of the individual; in other cases, a common care of creatures in flocks?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: But the statesman is not a tender of individuals — not like the driver or groom of a single ox or horse; he is rather to be compared with the keeper of a drove of horses or oxen.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, I see, thanks to you.

STRANGER: Shall we call this art of tending many animals together, the art of managing a herd, or the art of collective management?

YOUNG SOCRATES: No matter; — whichever suggests itself to us in the course of conversation.

STRANGER: Very good, Socrates; and, if you continue to be not too particular about names, you will be all the richer in wisdom when you are an old man. And now, as you say, leaving the discussion of the name, — can you see a way in which a person, by showing the art of herding to be of two kinds, may cause that which is now sought amongst twice the number of things, to be then sought amongst half that number?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I will try; — there appears to me to be one management of men and another of beasts.

STRANGER: You have certainly divided them in a most straightforward and manly style; but you have fallen into an error which hereafter I think that we had better avoid.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is the error?

STRANGER: I think that we had better not cut off a single small portion which is not a species, from many larger portions; the part should be a species. To separate off at once the subject of investigation, is a most excellent plan, if only the separation be rightly made; and you were under the impression that you were right, because you saw that you would come to man; and this led you to hasten the steps. But you should not chip off too small a piece, my friend; the safer way is to cut through the middle; which is also the more likely way of finding classes. Attention to this principle makes all the difference in a process of enquiry.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean, Stranger?

STRANGER: I will endeavour to speak more plainly out of love to your good parts, Socrates; and, although I cannot at present entirely explain myself, I will try, as we proceed, to make my meaning a little clearer.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What was the error of which, as you say, we were guilty in our recent division?

STRANGER: The error was just as if some one who wanted to divide the human race, were to divide them after the fashion which prevails in this part of the world; here they cut off the Hellenes as one species, and all the other species of mankind, which are innumerable, and have no ties or common language, they include under the single name of ‘barbarians,’ and because they have one name they are supposed to be of one species also. Or suppose that in dividing numbers you were to cut off ten thousand from all the rest, and make of it one species, comprehending the rest under another separate name, you might say that here too was a single class, because you had given it a single name. Whereas you would make a much better and more equal and logical classification of numbers, if you divided them into odd and even; or of the human species, if you divided them into male and female; and only separated off Lydians or Phrygians, or any other tribe, and arrayed them against the rest of the world, when you could no longer make a division into parts which were also classes.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true; but I wish that this distinction between a part and a class could still be made somewhat plainer.

STRANGER: O Socrates, best of men, you are imposing upon me a very difficult task. We have already digressed further from our original intention than we ought, and you would have us wander still further away. But we must now return to our subject; and hereafter, when there is a leisure hour, we will follow up the other track; at the same time, I wish you to guard against imagining that you ever heard me declare —

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: That a class and a part are distinct.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What did I hear, then?

STRANGER: That a class is necessarily a part, but there is no similar necessity that a part should be a class; that is the view which I should always wish you to attribute to me, Socrates.

YOUNG SOCRATES: So be it.

STRANGER: There is another thing which I should like to know.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is it?

STRANGER: The point at which we digressed; for, if I am not mistaken, the exact place was at the question, Where you would divide the management of herds. To this you appeared rather too ready to answer that there were two species of animals; man being one, and all brutes making up the other.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: I thought that in taking away a part, you imagined that the remainder formed a class, because you were able to call them by the common name of brutes.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That again is true.

STRANGER: Suppose now, O most courageous of dialecticians, that some wise and understanding creature, such as a crane is reputed to be, were, in imitation of you, to make a similar division, and set up cranes against all other animals to their own special glorification, at the same time jumbling together all the others, including man, under the appellation of brutes, — here would be the sort of error which we must try to avoid.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How can we be safe?

STRANGER: If we do not divide the whole class of animals, we shall be less likely to fall into that error.

YOUNG SOCRATES: We had better not take the whole?

STRANGER: Yes, there lay the source of error in our former division.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How?

STRANGER: You remember how that part of the art of knowledge which was concerned with command, had to do with the rearing of living creatures, — I mean, with animals in herds?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: In that case, there was already implied a division of all animals into tame and wild; those whose nature can be tamed are called tame, and those which cannot be tamed are called wild.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And the political science of which we are in search, is and ever was concerned with tame animals, and is also confined to gregarious animals.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: But then we ought not to divide, as we did, taking the whole class at once. Neither let us be in too great haste to arrive quickly at the political science; for this mistake has already brought upon us the misfortune of which the proverb speaks.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What misfortune?

STRANGER: The misfortune of too much haste, which is too little speed.

YOUNG SOCRATES: And all the better, Stranger; — we got what we deserved.

STRANGER: Very well: Let us then begin again, and endeavour to divide the collective rearing of animals; for probably the completion of the argument will best show what you are so anxious to know. Tell me, then —

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: Have you ever heard, as you very likely may — for I do not suppose that you ever actually visited them — of the preserves of fishes in the Nile, and in the ponds of the Great King; or you may have seen similar preserves in wells at home?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, to be sure, I have seen them, and I have often heard the others described.

STRANGER: And you may have heard also, and may have been assured by report, although you have not travelled in those regions, of nurseries of geese and cranes in the plains of Thessaly?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: I asked you, because here is a new division of the management of herds, into the management of land and of water herds.

YOUNG SOCRATES: There is.

STRANGER: And do you agree that we ought to divide the collective rearing of herds into two corresponding parts, the one the rearing of water, and the other the rearing of land herds?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: There is surely no need to ask which of these two contains the royal art, for it is evident to everybody.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Any one can divide the herds which feed on dry land?

YOUNG SOCRATES: How would you divide them?

STRANGER: I should distinguish between those which fly and those which walk.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Most true.

STRANGER: And where shall we look for the political animal? Might not an idiot, so to speak, know that he is a pedestrian?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: The art of managing the walking animal has to be further divided, just as you might halve an even number.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly.

STRANGER: Let me note that here appear in view two ways to that part or class which the argument aims at reaching, — the one a speedier way, which cuts off a small portion and leaves a large; the other agrees better with the principle which we were laying down, that as far as we can we should divide in the middle; but it is longer. We can take either of them, whichever we please.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Cannot we have both ways?

STRANGER: Together? What a thing to ask! but, if you take them in turn, you clearly may.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Then I should like to have them in turn.

STRANGER: There will be no difficulty, as we are near the end; if we had been at the beginning, or in the middle, I should have demurred to your request; but now, in accordance with your desire, let us begin with the longer way; while we are fresh, we shall get on better. And now attend to the division.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Let me hear.

STRANGER: The tame walking herding animals are distributed by nature into two classes.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Upon what principle?

STRANGER: The one grows horns; and the other is without horns.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly.

STRANGER: Suppose that you divide the science which manages pedestrian animals into two corresponding parts, and define them; for if you try to invent names for them, you will find the intricacy too great.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How must I speak of them, then?

STRANGER: In this way: let the science of managing pedestrian animals be divided into two parts, and one part assigned to the horned herd, and the other to the herd that has no horns.

YOUNG SOCRATES: All that you say has been abundantly proved, and may therefore be assumed.

STRANGER: The king is clearly the shepherd of a polled herd, who have no horns.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That is evident.

STRANGER: Shall we break up this hornless herd into sections, and endeavour to assign to him what is his?

YOUNG SOCRATES: By all means.

STRANGER: Shall we distinguish them by their having or not having cloven feet, or by their mixing or not mixing the breed? You know what I mean.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: I mean that horses and asses naturally breed from one another.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: But the remainder of the hornless herd of tame animals will not mix the breed.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: And of which has the Statesman charge, — of the mixed or of the unmixed race?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly of the unmixed.

STRANGER: I suppose that we must divide this again as before.

YOUNG SOCRATES: We must.

STRANGER: Every tame and herding animal has now been split up, with the exception of two species; for I hardly think that dogs should be reckoned among gregarious animals.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not; but how shall we divide the two remaining species?

STRANGER: There is a measure of difference which may be appropriately employed by you and Theaetetus, who are students of geometry.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is that?

STRANGER: The diameter; and, again, the diameter of a diameter. (Compare Meno.)

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: How does man walk, but as a diameter whose power is two feet?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Just so.

STRANGER: And the power of the remaining kind, being the power of twice two feet, may be said to be the diameter of our diameter.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly; and now I think that I pretty nearly understand you.

STRANGER: In these divisions, Socrates, I descry what would make another famous jest.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is it?

STRANGER: Human beings have come out in the same class with the freest and airiest of creation, and have been running a race with them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I remark that very singular coincidence.

STRANGER: And would you not expect the slowest to arrive last?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Indeed I should.

STRANGER: And there is a still more ridiculous consequence, that the king is found running about with the herd and in close competition with the bird-catcher, who of all mankind is most of an adept at the airy life. (Plato is here introducing a new subdivision, i.e. that of bipeds into men and birds. Others however refer the passage to the division into quadrupeds and bipeds, making pigs compete with human beings and the pig-driver with the king. According to this explanation we must translate the words above, ‘freest and airiest of creation,’ ‘worthiest and laziest of creation.’)

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Then here, Socrates, is still clearer evidence of the truth of what was said in the enquiry about the Sophist? (Compare Sophist.)

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: That the dialectical method is no respecter of persons, and does not set the great above the small, but always arrives in her own way at the truest result.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly.

STRANGER: And now, I will not wait for you to ask, but will of my own accord take you by the shorter road to the definition of a king.

YOUNG SOCRATES: By all means.

STRANGER: I say that we should have begun at first by dividing land animals into biped and quadruped; and since the winged herd, and that alone, comes out in the same class with man, we should divide bipeds into those which have feathers and those which have not, and when they have been divided, and the art of the management of mankind is brought to light, the time will have come to produce our Statesman and ruler, and set him like a charioteer in his place, and hand over to him the reins of state, for that too is a vocation which belongs to him.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good; you have paid me the debt, — I mean, that you have completed the argument, and I suppose that you added the digression by way of interest. (Compare Republic.)

STRANGER: Then now, let us go back to the beginning, and join the links, which together make the definition of the name of the Statesman’s art.

YOUNG SOCRATES: By all means.

STRANGER: The science of pure knowledge had, as we said originally, a part which was the science of rule or command, and from this was derived another part, which was called command-for-self, on the analogy of selling-for-self; an important section of this was the management of living animals, and this again was further limited to the management of them in herds; and again in herds of pedestrian animals. The chief division of the latter was the art of managing pedestrian animals which are without horns; this again has a part which can only be comprehended under one term by joining together three names — shepherding pure-bred animals. The only further subdivision is the art of man-herding, — this has to do with bipeds, and is what we were seeking after, and have now found, being at once the royal and political.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To be sure.

STRANGER: And do you think, Socrates, that we really have done as you say?

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: Do you think, I mean, that we have really fulfilled our intention? — There has been a sort of discussion, and yet the investigation seems to me not to be perfectly worked out: this is where the enquiry fails.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I do not understand.

STRANGER: I will try to make the thought, which is at this moment present in my mind, clearer to us both.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Let me hear.

STRANGER: There were many arts of shepherding, and one of them was the political, which had the charge of one particular herd?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And this the argument defined to be the art of rearing, not horses or other brutes, but the art of rearing man collectively?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: Note, however, a difference which distinguishes the king from all other shepherds.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To what do you refer?

STRANGER: I want to ask, whether any one of the other herdsmen has a rival who professes and claims to share with him in the management of the herd?

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: I mean to say that merchants, husbandmen, providers of food, and also training-masters and physicians, will all contend with the herdsmen of humanity, whom we call Statesmen, declaring that they themselves have the care of rearing or managing mankind, and that they rear not only the common herd, but also the rulers themselves.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Are they not right in saying so?

STRANGER: Very likely they may be, and we will consider their claim. But we are certain of this, — that no one will raise a similar claim as against the herdsman, who is allowed on all hands to be the sole and only feeder and physician of his herd; he is also their match-maker and accoucheur; no one else knows that department of science. And he is their merry-maker and musician, as far as their nature is susceptible of such influences, and no one can console and soothe his own herd better than he can, either with the natural tones of his voice or with instruments. And the same may be said of tenders of animals in general.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: But if this is as you say, can our argument about the king be true and unimpeachable? Were we right in selecting him out of ten thousand other claimants to be the shepherd and rearer of the human flock?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Surely not.

STRANGER: Had we not reason just to now to apprehend, that although we may have described a sort of royal form, we have not as yet accurately worked out the true image of the Statesman? and that we cannot reveal him as he truly is in his own nature, until we have disengaged and separated him from those who hang about him and claim to share in his prerogatives?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: And that, Socrates, is what we must do, if we do not mean to bring disgrace upon the argument at its close.

YOUNG SOCRATES: We must certainly avoid that.

STRANGER: Then let us make a new beginning, and travel by a different road.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What road?

STRANGER: I think that we may have a little amusement; there is a famous tale, of which a good portion may with advantage be interwoven, and then we may resume our series of divisions, and proceed in the old path until we arrive at the desired summit. Shall we do as I say?

YOUNG SOCRATES: By all means.

STRANGER: Listen, then, to a tale which a child would love to hear; and you are not too old for childish amusement.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Let me hear.

STRANGER: There did really happen, and will again happen, like many other events of which ancient tradition has preserved the record, the portent which is traditionally said to have occurred in the quarrel of Atreus and Thyestes. You have heard, no doubt, and remember what they say happened at that time?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I suppose you to mean the token of the birth of the golden lamb.

STRANGER: No, not that; but another part of the story, which tells how the sun and the stars once rose in the west, and set in the east, and that the god reversed their motion, and gave them that which they now have as a testimony to the right of Atreus.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes; there is that legend also.

STRANGER: Again, we have been often told of the reign of Cronos.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, very often.

STRANGER: Did you ever hear that the men of former times were earth-born, and not begotten of one another?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, that is another old tradition.

STRANGER: All these stories, and ten thousand others which are still more wonderful, have a common origin; many of them have been lost in the lapse of ages, or are repeated only in a disconnected form; but the origin of them is what no one has told, and may as well be told now; for the tale is suited to throw light on the nature of the king.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good; and I hope that you will give the whole story, and leave out nothing.

STRANGER: Listen, then. There is a time when God himself guides and helps to roll the world in its course; and there is a time, on the completion of a certain cycle, when he lets go, and the world being a living creature, and having originally received intelligence from its author and creator, turns about and by an inherent necessity revolves in the opposite direction.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Why is that?

STRANGER: Why, because only the most divine things of all remain ever unchanged and the same, and body is not included in this class. Heaven and the universe, as we have termed them, although they have been endowed by the Creator with many glories, partake of a bodily nature, and therefore cannot be entirely free from perturbation. But their motion is, as far as possible, single and in the same place, and of the same kind; and is therefore only subject to a reversal, which is the least alteration possible. For the lord of all moving things is alone able to move of himself; and to think that he moves them at one time in one direction and at another time in another is blasphemy. Hence we must not say that the world is either self-moved always, or all made to go round by God in two opposite courses; or that two Gods, having opposite purposes, make it move round. But as I have already said (and this is the only remaining alternative) the world is guided at one time by an external power which is divine and receives fresh life and immortality from the renewing hand of the Creator, and again, when let go, moves spontaneously, being set free at such a time as to have, during infinite cycles of years, a reverse movement: this is due to its perfect balance, to its vast size, and to the fact that it turns on the smallest pivot.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Your account of the world seems to be very reasonable indeed.

STRANGER: Let us now reflect and try to gather from what has been said the nature of the phenomenon which we affirmed to be the cause of all these wonders. It is this.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: The reversal which takes place from time to time of the motion of the universe.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How is that the cause?

STRANGER: Of all changes of the heavenly motions, we may consider this to be the greatest and most complete.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I should imagine so.

STRANGER: And it may be supposed to result in the greatest changes to the human beings who are the inhabitants of the world at the time.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Such changes would naturally occur.

STRANGER: And animals, as we know, survive with difficulty great and serious changes of many different kinds when they come upon them at once.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Hence there necessarily occurs a great destruction of them, which extends also to the life of man; few survivors of the race are left, and those who remain become the subjects of several novel and remarkable phenomena, and of one in particular, which takes place at the time when the transition is made to the cycle opposite to that in which we are now living.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is it?

STRANGER: The life of all animals first came to a standstill, and the mortal nature ceased to be or look older, and was then reversed and grew young and delicate; the white locks of the aged darkened again, and the cheeks the bearded man became smooth, and recovered their former bloom; the bodies of youths in their prime grew softer and smaller, continually by day and night returning and becoming assimilated to the nature of a newly-born child in mind as well as body; in the succeeding stage they wasted away and wholly disappeared. And the bodies of those who died by violence at that time quickly passed through the like changes, and in a few days were no more seen.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Then how, Stranger, were the animals created in those days; and in what way were they begotten of one another?

STRANGER: It is evident, Socrates, that there was no such thing in the then order of nature as the procreation of animals from one another; the earth-born race, of which we hear in story, was the one which existed in those days — they rose again from the ground; and of this tradition, which is now-a-days often unduly discredited, our ancestors, who were nearest in point of time to the end of the last period and came into being at the beginning of this, are to us the heralds. And mark how consistent the sequel of the tale is; after the return of age to youth, follows the return of the dead, who are lying in the earth, to life; simultaneously with the reversal of the world the wheel of their generation has been turned back, and they are put together and rise and live in the opposite order, unless God has carried any of them away to some other lot. According to this tradition they of necessity sprang from the earth and have the name of earth-born, and so the above legend clings to them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly that is quite consistent with what has preceded; but tell me, was the life which you said existed in the reign of Cronos in that cycle of the world, or in this? For the change in the course of the stars and the sun must have occurred in both.

STRANGER: I see that you enter into my meaning; — no, that blessed and spontaneous life does not belong to the present cycle of the world, but to the previous one, in which God superintended the whole revolution of the universe; and the several parts the universe were distributed under the rule of certain inferior deities, as is the way in some places still. There were demigods, who were the shepherds of the various species and herds of animals, and each one was in all respects sufficient for those of whom he was the shepherd; neither was there any violence, or devouring of one another, or war or quarrel among them; and I might tell of ten thousand other blessings, which belonged to that dispensation. The reason why the life of man was, as tradition says, spontaneous, is as follows: In those days God himself was their shepherd, and ruled over them, just as man, who is by comparison a divine being, still rules over the lower animals. Under him there were no forms of government or separate possession of women and children; for all men rose again from the earth, having no memory of the past. And although they had nothing of this sort, the earth gave them fruits in abundance, which grew on trees and shrubs unbidden, and were not planted by the hand of man. And they dwelt naked, and mostly in the open air, for the temperature of their seasons was mild; and they had no beds, but lay on soft couches of grass, which grew plentifully out of the earth. Such was the life of man in the days of Cronos, Socrates; the character of our present life, which is said to be under Zeus, you know from your own experience. Can you, and will you, determine which of them you deem the happier?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Impossible.

STRANGER: Then shall I determine for you as well as I can?

YOUNG SOCRATES: By all means.

STRANGER: Suppose that the nurslings of Cronos, having this boundless leisure, and the power of holding intercourse, not only with men, but with the brute creation, had used all these advantages with a view to philosophy, conversing with the brutes as well as with one another, and learning of every nature which was gifted with any special power, and was able to contribute some special experience to the store of wisdom, there would be no difficulty in deciding that they would be a thousand times happier than the men of our own day. Or, again, if they had merely eaten and drunk until they were full, and told stories to one another and to the animals — such stories as are now attributed to them — in this case also, as I should imagine, the answer would be easy. But until some satisfactory witness can be found of the love of that age for knowledge and discussion, we had better let the matter drop, and give the reason why we have unearthed this tale, and then we shall be able to get on. In the fulness of time, when the change was to take place, and the earth-born race had all perished, and every soul had completed its proper cycle of births and been sown in the earth her appointed number of times, the pilot of the universe let the helm go, and retired to his place of view; and then Fate and innate desire reversed the motion of the world. Then also all the inferior deities who share the rule of the supreme power, being informed of what was happening, let go the parts of the world which were under their control. And the world turning round with a sudden shock, being impelled in an opposite direction from beginning to end, was shaken by a mighty earthquake, which wrought a new destruction of all manner of animals. Afterwards, when sufficient time had elapsed, the tumult and confusion and earthquake ceased, and the universal creature, once more at peace, attained to a calm, and settled down into his own orderly and accustomed course, having the charge and rule of himself and of all the creatures which are contained in him, and executing, as far as he remembered them, the instructions of his Father and Creator, more precisely at first, but afterwords with less exactness. The reason of the falling off was the admixture of matter in him; this was inherent in the primal nature, which was full of disorder, until attaining to the present order. From God, the constructor, the world received all that is good in him, but from a previous state came elements of evil and unrighteousness, which, thence derived, first of all passed into the world, and were then transmitted to the animals. While the world was aided by the pilot in nurturing the animals, the evil was small, and great the good which he produced, but after the separation, when the world was let go, at first all proceeded well enough; but, as time went on, there was more and more forgetting, and the old discord again held sway and burst forth in full glory; and at last small was the good, and great was the admixture of evil, and there was a danger of universal ruin to the world, and to the things contained in him. Wherefore God, the orderer of all, in his tender care, seeing that the world was in great straits, and fearing that all might be dissolved in the storm and disappear in infinite chaos, again seated himself at the helm; and bringing back the elements which had fallen into dissolution and disorder to the motion which had prevailed under his dispensation, he set them in order and restored them, and made the world imperishable and immortal. And this is the whole tale, of which the first part will suffice to illustrate the nature of the king. For when the world turned towards the present cycle of generation, the age of man again stood still, and a change opposite to the previous one was the result. The small creatures which had almost disappeared grew in and stature, and the newly-born children of the earth became grey and died and sank into the earth again. All things changed, imitating and following the condition of the universe, and of necessity agreeing with that in their mode of conception and generation and nurture; for no animal was any longer allowed to come into being in the earth through the agency of other creative beings, but as the world was ordained to be the lord of his own progress, in like manner the parts were ordained to grow and generate and give nourishment, as far as they could, of themselves, impelled by a similar movement. And so we have arrived at the real end of this discourse; for although there might be much to tell of the lower animals, and of the condition out of which they changed and of the causes of the change, about men there is not much, and that little is more to the purpose. Deprived of the care of God, who had possessed and tended them, they were left helpless and defenceless, and were torn in pieces by the beasts, who were naturally fierce and had now grown wild. And in the first ages they were still without skill or resource; the food which once grew spontaneously had failed, and as yet they knew not how to procure it, because they had never felt the pressure of necessity. For all these reasons they were in a great strait; wherefore also the gifts spoken of in the old tradition were imparted to man by the gods, together with so much teaching and education as was indispensable; fire was given to them by Prometheus, the arts by Hephaestus and his fellow-worker, Athene, seeds and plants by others. From these is derived all that has helped to frame human life; since the care of the Gods, as I was saying, had now failed men, and they had to order their course of life for themselves, and were their own masters, just like the universal creature whom they imitate and follow, ever changing, as he changes, and ever living and growing, at one time in one manner, and at another time in another. Enough of the story, which may be of use in showing us how greatly we erred in the delineation of the king and the statesman in our previous discourse.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What was this great error of which you speak?

STRANGER: There were two; the first a lesser one, the other was an error on a much larger and grander scale.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: I mean to say that when we were asked about a king and statesman of the present cycle and generation, we told of a shepherd of a human flock who belonged to the other cycle, and of one who was a god when he ought to have been a man; and this a great error. Again, we declared him to be the ruler of the entire State, without explaining how: this was not the whole truth, nor very intelligible; but still it was true, and therefore the second error was not so great as the first.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: Before we can expect to have a perfect description of the statesman we must define the nature of his office.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: And the myth was introduced in order to show, not only that all others are rivals of the true shepherd who is the object of our search, but in order that we might have a clearer view of him who is alone worthy to receive this appellation, because he alone of shepherds and herdsmen, according to the image which we have employed, has the care of human beings.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: And I cannot help thinking, Socrates, that the form of the divine shepherd is even higher than that of a king; whereas the statesmen who are now on earth seem to be much more like their subjects in character, and much more nearly to partake of their breeding and education.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Still they must be investigated all the same, to see whether, like the divine shepherd, they are above their subjects or on a level with them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Of course.

STRANGER: To resume: — Do you remember that we spoke of a command-for-self exercised over animals, not singly but collectively, which we called the art of rearing a herd?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, I remember.

STRANGER: There, somewhere, lay our error; for we never included or mentioned the Statesman; and we did not observe that he had no place in our nomenclature.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How was that?

STRANGER: All other herdsmen ‘rear’ their herds, but this is not a suitable term to apply to the Statesman; we should use a name which is common to them all.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True, if there be such a name.

STRANGER: Why, is not ‘care’ of herds applicable to all? For this implies no feeding, or any special duty; if we say either ‘tending’ the herds, or ‘managing’ the herds, or ‘having the care’ of them, the same word will include all, and then we may wrap up the Statesman with the rest, as the argument seems to require.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite right; but how shall we take the next step in the division?

STRANGER: As before we divided the art of ‘rearing’ herds accordingly as they were land or water herds, winged and wingless, mixing or not mixing the breed, horned and hornless, so we may divide by these same differences the ‘tending’ of herds, comprehending in our definition the kingship of to-day and the rule of Cronos.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That is clear; but I still ask, what is to follow.

STRANGER: If the word had been ‘managing’ herds, instead of feeding or rearing them, no one would have argued that there was no care of men in the case of the politician, although it was justly contended, that there was no human art of feeding them which was worthy of the name, or at least, if there were, many a man had a prior and greater right to share in such an art than any king.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: But no other art or science will have a prior or better right than the royal science to care for human society and to rule over men in general.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite true.

STRANGER: In the next place, Socrates, we must surely notice that a great error was committed at the end of our analysis.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What was it?

STRANGER: Why, supposing we were ever so sure that there is such an art as the art of rearing or feeding bipeds, there was no reason why we should call this the royal or political art, as though there were no more to be said.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: Our first duty, as we were saying, was to remodel the name, so as to have the notion of care rather than of feeding, and then to divide, for there may be still considerable divisions.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How can they be made?

STRANGER: First, by separating the divine shepherd from the human guardian or manager.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And the art of management which is assigned to man would again have to be subdivided.

YOUNG SOCRATES: On what principle?

STRANGER: On the principle of voluntary and compulsory.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Why?

STRANGER: Because, if I am not mistaken, there has been an error here; for our simplicity led us to rank king and tyrant together, whereas they are utterly distinct, like their modes of government.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: Then, now, as I said, let us make the correction and divide human care into two parts, on the principle of voluntary and compulsory.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: And if we call the management of violent rulers tyranny, and the voluntary management of herds of voluntary bipeds politics, may we not further assert that he who has this latter art of management is the true king and statesman?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I think, Stranger, that we have now completed the account of the Statesman.

STRANGER: Would that we had, Socrates, but I have to satisfy myself as well as you; and in my judgment the figure of the king is not yet perfected; like statuaries who, in their too great haste, having overdone the several parts of their work, lose time in cutting them down, so too we, partly out of haste, partly out of a magnanimous desire to expose our former error, and also because we imagined that a king required grand illustrations, have taken up a marvellous lump of fable, and have been obliged to use more than was necessary. This made us discourse at large, and, nevertheless, the story never came to an end. And our discussion might be compared to a picture of some living being which had been fairly drawn in outline, but had not yet attained the life and clearness which is given by the blending of colours. Now to intelligent persons a living being had better be delineated by language and discourse than by any painting or work of art: to the duller sort by works of art.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true; but what is the imperfection which still remains? I wish that you would tell me.

STRANGER: The higher ideas, my dear friend, can hardly be set forth except through the medium of examples; every man seems to know all things in a dreamy sort of way, and then again to wake up and to know nothing.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: I fear that I have been unfortunate in raising a question about our experience of knowledge.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Why so?

STRANGER: Why, because my ‘example’ requires the assistance of another example.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Proceed; you need not fear that I shall tire.

STRANGER: I will proceed, finding, as I do, such a ready listener in you: when children are beginning to know their letters —

YOUNG SOCRATES: What are you going to say?

STRANGER: That they distinguish the several letters well enough in very short and easy syllables, and are able to tell them correctly.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Whereas in other syllables they do not recognize them, and think and speak falsely of them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Will not the best and easiest way of bringing them to a knowledge of what they do not as yet know be —

YOUNG SOCRATES: Be what?

STRANGER: To refer them first of all to cases in which they judge correctly about the letters in question, and then to compare these with the cases in which they do not as yet know, and to show them that the letters are the same, and have the same character in both combinations, until all cases in which they are right have been placed side by side with all cases in which they are wrong. In this way they have examples, and are made to learn that each letter in every combination is always the same and not another, and is always called by the same name.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Are not examples formed in this manner? We take a thing and compare it with another distinct instance of the same thing, of which we have a right conception, and out of the comparison there arises one true notion, which includes both of them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Exactly.

STRANGER: Can we wonder, then, that the soul has the same uncertainty about the alphabet of things, and sometimes and in some cases is firmly fixed by the truth in each particular, and then, again, in other cases is altogether at sea; having somehow or other a correct notion of combinations; but when the elements are transferred into the long and difficult language (syllables) of facts, is again ignorant of them?

YOUNG SOCRATES: There is nothing wonderful in that.

STRANGER: Could any one, my friend, who began with false opinion ever expect to arrive even at a small portion of truth and to attain wisdom?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Hardly.

STRANGER: Then you and I will not be far wrong in trying to see the nature of example in general in a small and particular instance; afterwards from lesser things we intend to pass to the royal class, which is the highest form of the same nature, and endeavour to discover by rules of art what the management of cities is; and then the dream will become a reality to us.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Then, once more, let us resume the previous argument, and as there were innumerable rivals of the royal race who claim to have the care of states, let us part them all off, and leave him alone; and, as I was saying, a model or example of this process has first to be framed.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Exactly.

STRANGER: What model is there which is small, and yet has any analogy with the political occupation? Suppose, Socrates, that if we have no other example at hand, we choose weaving, or, more precisely, weaving of wool — this will be quite enough, without taking the whole of weaving, to illustrate our meaning?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Why should we not apply to weaving the same processes of division and subdivision which we have already applied to other classes; going once more as rapidly as we can through all the steps until we come to that which is needed for our purpose?

YOUNG SOCRATES: How do you mean?

STRANGER: I shall reply by actually performing the process.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: All things which we make or acquire are either creative or preventive; of the preventive class are antidotes, divine and human, and also defences; and defences are either military weapons or protections; and protections are veils, and also shields against heat and cold, and shields against heat and cold are shelters and coverings; and coverings are blankets and garments; and garments are some of them in one piece, and others of them are made in several parts; and of these latter some are stitched, others are fastened and not stitched; and of the not stitched, some are made of the sinews of plants, and some of hair; and of these, again, some are cemented with water and earth, and others are fastened together by themselves. And these last defences and coverings which are fastened together by themselves are called clothes, and the art which superintends them we may call, from the nature of the operation, the art of clothing, just as before the art of the Statesman was derived from the State; and may we not say that the art of weaving, at least that largest portion of it which was concerned with the making of clothes, differs only in name from this art of clothing, in the same way that, in the previous case, the royal science differed from the political?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Most true.

STRANGER: In the next place, let us make the reflection, that the art of weaving clothes, which an incompetent person might fancy to have been sufficiently described, has been separated off from several others which are of the same family, but not from the co-operative arts.

YOUNG SOCRATES: And which are the kindred arts?

STRANGER: I see that I have not taken you with me. So I think that we had better go backwards, starting from the end. We just now parted off from the weaving of clothes, the making of blankets, which differ from each other in that one is put under and the other is put around: and these are what I termed kindred arts.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I understand.

STRANGER: And we have subtracted the manufacture of all articles made of flax and cords, and all that we just now metaphorically termed the sinews of plants, and we have also separated off the process of felting and the putting together of materials by stitching and sewing, of which the most important part is the cobbler’s art.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Precisely.

STRANGER: Then we separated off the currier’s art, which prepared coverings in entire pieces, and the art of sheltering, and subtracted the various arts of making water-tight which are employed in building, and in general in carpentering, and in other crafts, and all such arts as furnish impediments to thieving and acts of violence, and are concerned with making the lids of boxes and the fixing of doors, being divisions of the art of joining; and we also cut off the manufacture of arms, which is a section of the great and manifold art of making defences; and we originally began by parting off the whole of the magic art which is concerned with antidotes, and have left, as would appear, the very art of which we were in search, the art of protection against winter cold, which fabricates woollen defences, and has the name of weaving.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Yes, my boy, but that is not all; for the first process to which the material is subjected is the opposite of weaving.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How so?

STRANGER: Weaving is a sort of uniting?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: But the first process is a separation of the clotted and matted fibres?

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: I mean the work of the carder’s art; for we cannot say that carding is weaving, or that the carder is a weaver.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: Again, if a person were to say that the art of making the warp and the woof was the art of weaving, he would say what was paradoxical and false.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To be sure.

STRANGER: Shall we say that the whole art of the fuller or of the mender has nothing to do with the care and treatment of clothes, or are we to regard all these as arts of weaving?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: And yet surely all these arts will maintain that they are concerned with the treatment and production of clothes; they will dispute the exclusive prerogative of weaving, and though assigning a larger sphere to that, will still reserve a considerable field for themselves.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Besides these, there are the arts which make tools and instruments of weaving, and which will claim at least to be co-operative causes in every work of the weaver.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Most true.

STRANGER: Well, then, suppose that we define weaving, or rather that part of it which has been selected by us, to be the greatest and noblest of arts which are concerned with woollen garments — shall we be right? Is not the definition, although true, wanting in clearness and completeness; for do not all those other arts require to be first cleared away?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: Then the next thing will be to separate them, in order that the argument may proceed in a regular manner?

YOUNG SOCRATES: By all means.

STRANGER: Let us consider, in the first place, that there are two kinds of arts entering into everything which we do.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What are they?

STRANGER: The one kind is the conditional or co-operative, the other the principal cause.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: The arts which do not manufacture the actual thing, but which furnish the necessary tools for the manufacture, without which the several arts could not fulfil their appointed work, are co-operative; but those which make the things themselves are causal.

YOUNG SOCRATES: A very reasonable distinction.

STRANGER: Thus the arts which make spindles, combs, and other instruments of the production of clothes, may be called co-operative, and those which treat and fabricate the things themselves, causal.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: The arts of washing and mending, and the other preparatory arts which belong to the causal class, and form a division of the great art of adornment, may be all comprehended under what we call the fuller’s art.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: Carding and spinning threads and all the parts of the process which are concerned with the actual manufacture of a woollen garment form a single art, which is one of those universally acknowledged, — the art of working in wool.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To be sure.

STRANGER: Of working in wool, again, there are two divisions, and both these are parts of two arts at once.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How is that?

STRANGER: Carding and one half of the use of the comb, and the other processes of wool-working which separate the composite, may be classed together as belonging both to the art of wool-working, and also to one of the two great arts which are of universal application — the art of composition and the art of division.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: To the latter belong carding and the other processes of which I was just now speaking; the art of discernment or division in wool and yarn, which is effected in one manner with the comb and in another with the hands, is variously described under all the names which I just now mentioned.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Again, let us take some process of wool-working which is also a portion of the art of composition, and, dismissing the elements of division which we found there, make two halves, one on the principle of composition, and the other on the principle of division.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Let that be done.

STRANGER: And once more, Socrates, we must divide the part which belongs at once both to wool-working and composition, if we are ever to discover satisfactorily the aforesaid art of weaving.

YOUNG SOCRATES: We must.

STRANGER: Yes, certainly, and let us call one part of the art the art of twisting threads, the other the art of combining them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Do I understand you, in speaking of twisting, to be referring to manufacture of the warp?

STRANGER: Yes, and of the woof too; how, if not by twisting, is the woof made?

YOUNG SOCRATES: There is no other way.

STRANGER: Then suppose that you define the warp and the woof, for I think that the definition will be of use to you.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How shall I define them?

STRANGER: As thus: A piece of carded wool which is drawn out lengthwise and breadthwise is said to be pulled out.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And the wool thus prepared, when twisted by the spindle, and made into a firm thread, is called the warp, and the art which regulates these operations the art of spinning the warp.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And the threads which are more loosely spun, having a softness proportioned to the intertexture of the warp and to the degree of force used in dressing the cloth, — the threads which are thus spun are called the woof, and the art which is set over them may be called the art of spinning the woof.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: And, now, there can be no mistake about the nature of the part of weaving which we have undertaken to define. For when that part of the art of composition which is employed in the working of wool forms a web by the regular intertexture of warp and woof, the entire woven substance is called by us a woollen garment, and the art which presides over this is the art of weaving.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: But why did we not say at once that weaving is the art of entwining warp and woof, instead of making a long and useless circuit?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I thought, Stranger, that there was nothing useless in what was said.

STRANGER: Very likely, but you may not always think so, my sweet friend; and in case any feeling of dissatisfaction should hereafter arise in your mind, as it very well may, let me lay down a principle which will apply to arguments in general.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Proceed.

STRANGER: Let us begin by considering the whole nature of excess and defect, and then we shall have a rational ground on which we may praise or blame too much length or too much shortness in discussions of this kind.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Let us do so.

STRANGER: The points on which I think that we ought to dwell are the following: —

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: Length and shortness, excess and defect; with all of these the art of measurement is conversant.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And the art of measurement has to be divided into two parts, with a view to our present purpose.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Where would you make the division?

STRANGER: As thus: I would make two parts, one having regard to the relativity of greatness and smallness to each other; and there is another, without which the existence of production would be impossible.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: Do you not think that it is only natural for the greater to be called greater with reference to the less alone, and the less less with reference to the greater alone?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: Well, but is there not also something exceeding and exceeded by the principle of the mean, both in speech and action, and is not this a reality, and the chief mark of difference between good and bad men?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Plainly.

STRANGER: Then we must suppose that the great and small exist and are discerned in both these ways, and not, as we were saying before, only relatively to one another, but there must also be another comparison of them with the mean or ideal standard; would you like to hear the reason why?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: If we assume the greater to exist only in relation to the less, there will never be any comparison of either with the mean.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And would not this doctrine be the ruin of all the arts and their creations; would not the art of the Statesman and the aforesaid art of weaving disappear? For all these arts are on the watch against excess and defect, not as unrealities, but as real evils, which occasion a difficulty in action; and the excellence or beauty of every work of art is due to this observance of measure.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: But if the science of the Statesman disappears, the search for the royal science will be impossible.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Well, then, as in the case of the Sophist we extorted the inference that not-being had an existence, because here was the point at which the argument eluded our grasp, so in this we must endeavour to show that the greater and less are not only to be measured with one another, but also have to do with the production of the mean; for if this is not admitted, neither a statesman nor any other man of action can be an undisputed master of his science.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, we must certainly do again what we did then.

STRANGER: But this, Socrates, is a greater work than the other, of which we only too well remember the length. I think, however, that we may fairly assume something of this sort —

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: That we shall some day require this notion of a mean with a view to the demonstration of absolute truth; meanwhile, the argument that the very existence of the arts must be held to depend on the possibility of measuring more or less, not only with one another, but also with a view to the attainment of the mean, seems to afford a grand support and satisfactory proof of the doctrine which we are maintaining; for if there are arts, there is a standard of measure, and if there is a standard of measure, there are arts; but if either is wanting, there is neither.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True; and what is the next step?

STRANGER: The next step clearly is to divide the art of measurement into two parts, as we have said already, and to place in the one part all the arts which measure number, length, depth, breadth, swiftness with their opposites; and to have another part in which they are measured with the mean, and the fit, and the opportune, and the due, and with all those words, in short, which denote a mean or standard removed from the extremes.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Here are two vast divisions, embracing two very different spheres.

STRANGER: There are many accomplished men, Socrates, who say, believing themselves to speak wisely, that the art of measurement is universal, and has to do with all things. And this means what we are now saying; for all things which come within the province of art do certainly in some sense partake of measure. But these persons, because they are not accustomed to distinguish classes according to real forms, jumble together two widely different things, relation to one another, and to a standard, under the idea that they are the same, and also fall into the converse error of dividing other things not according to their real parts. Whereas the right way is, if a man has first seen the unity of things, to go on with the enquiry and not desist until he has found all the differences contained in it which form distinct classes; nor again should he be able to rest contented with the manifold diversities which are seen in a multitude of things until he has comprehended all of them that have any affinity within the bounds of one similarity and embraced them within the reality of a single kind. But we have said enough on this head, and also of excess and defect; we have only to bear in mind that two divisions of the art of measurement have been discovered which are concerned with them, and not forget what they are.

YOUNG SOCRATES: We will not forget.

STRANGER: And now that this discussion is completed, let us go on to consider another question, which concerns not this argument only but the conduct of such arguments in general.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is this new question?

STRANGER: Take the case of a child who is engaged in learning his letters: when he is asked what letters make up a word, should we say that the question is intended to improve his grammatical knowledge of that particular word, or of all words?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly, in order that he may have a better knowledge of all words.

STRANGER: And is our enquiry about the Statesman intended only to improve our knowledge of politics, or our power of reasoning generally?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly, as in the former example, the purpose is general.

STRANGER: Still less would any rational man seek to analyse the notion of weaving for its own sake. But people seem to forget that some things have sensible images, which are readily known, and can be easily pointed out when any one desires to answer an enquirer without any trouble or argument; whereas the greatest and highest truths have no outward image of themselves visible to man, which he who wishes to satisfy the soul of the enquirer can adapt to the eye of sense (compare Phaedr.), and therefore we ought to train ourselves to give and accept a rational account of them; for immaterial things, which are the noblest and greatest, are shown only in thought and idea, and in no other way, and all that we are now saying is said for the sake of them. Moreover, there is always less difficulty in fixing the mind on small matters than on great.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: Let us call to mind the bearing of all this.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is it?

STRANGER: I wanted to get rid of any impression of tediousness which we may have experienced in the discussion about weaving, and the reversal of the universe, and in the discussion concerning the Sophist and the being of not-being. I know that they were felt to be too long, and I reproached myself with this, fearing that they might be not only tedious but irrelevant; and all that I have now said is only designed to prevent the recurrence of any such disagreeables for the future.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good. Will you proceed?

STRANGER: Then I would like to observe that you and I, remembering what has been said, should praise or blame the length or shortness of discussions, not by comparing them with one another, but with what is fitting, having regard to the part of measurement, which, as we said, was to be borne in mind.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: And yet, not everything is to be judged even with a view to what is fitting; for we should only want such a length as is suited to give pleasure, if at all, as a secondary matter; and reason tells us, that we should be contented to make the ease or rapidity of an enquiry, not our first, but our second object; the first and highest of all being to assert the great method of division according to species — whether the discourse be shorter or longer is not to the point. No offence should be taken at length, but the longer and shorter are to be employed indifferently, according as either of them is better calculated to sharpen the wits of the auditors. Reason would also say to him who censures the length of discourses on such occasions and cannot away with their circumlocution, that he should not be in such a hurry to have done with them, when he can only complain that they are tedious, but he should prove that if they had been shorter they would have made those who took part in them better dialecticians, and more capable of expressing the truth of things; about any other praise and blame, he need not trouble himself — he should pretend not to hear them. But we have had enough of this, as you will probably agree with me in thinking. Let us return to our Statesman, and apply to his case the aforesaid example of weaving.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good; — let us do as you say.

STRANGER: The art of the king has been separated from the similar arts of shepherds, and, indeed, from all those which have to do with herds at all. There still remain, however, of the causal and co-operative arts those which are immediately concerned with States, and which must first be distinguished from one another.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: You know that these arts cannot easily be divided into two halves; the reason will be very evident as we proceed.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Then we had better do so.

STRANGER: We must carve them like a victim into members or limbs, since we cannot bisect them. (Compare Phaedr.) For we certainly should divide everything into as few parts as possible.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is to be done in this case?

STRANGER: What we did in the example of weaving — all those arts which furnish the tools were regarded by us as co-operative.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: So now, and with still more reason, all arts which make any implement in a State, whether great or small, may be regarded by us as co-operative, for without them neither State nor Statesmanship would be possible; and yet we are not inclined to say that any of them is a product of the kingly art.

YOUNG SOCRATES: No, indeed.

STRANGER: The task of separating this class from others is not an easy one; for there is plausibility in saying that anything in the world is the instrument of doing something. But there is another class of possessions in a city, of which I have a word to say.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What class do you mean?

STRANGER: A class which may be described as not having this power; that is to say, not like an instrument, framed for production, but designed for the preservation of that which is produced.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To what do you refer?

STRANGER: To the class of vessels, as they are comprehensively termed, which are constructed for the preservation of things moist and dry, of things prepared in the fire or out of the fire; this is a very large class, and has, if I am not mistaken, literally nothing to do with the royal art of which we are in search.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: There is also a third class of possessions to be noted, different from these and very extensive, moving or resting on land or water, honourable and also dishonourable. The whole of this class has one name, because it is intended to be sat upon, being always a seat for something.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is it?

STRANGER: A vehicle, which is certainly not the work of the Statesman, but of the carpenter, potter, and coppersmith.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I understand.

STRANGER: And is there not a fourth class which is again different, and in which most of the things formerly mentioned are contained, — every kind of dress, most sorts of arms, walls and enclosures, whether of earth or stone, and ten thousand other things? all of which being made for the sake of defence, may be truly called defences, and are for the most part to be regarded as the work of the builder or of the weaver, rather than of the Statesman.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Shall we add a fifth class, of ornamentation and drawing, and of the imitations produced by drawing and music, which are designed for amusement only, and may be fairly comprehended under one name?

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is it?

STRANGER: Plaything is the name.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: That one name may be fitly predicated of all of them, for none of these things have a serious purpose — amusement is their sole aim.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That again I understand.

STRANGER: Then there is a class which provides materials for all these, out of which and in which the arts already mentioned fabricate their works; — this manifold class, I say, which is the creation and offspring of many other arts, may I not rank sixth?

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: I am referring to gold, silver, and other metals, and all that wood-cutting and shearing of every sort provides for the art of carpentry and plaiting; and there is the process of barking and stripping the cuticle of plants, and the currier’s art, which strips off the skins of animals, and other similar arts which manufacture corks and papyri and cords, and provide for the manufacture of composite species out of simple kinds — the whole class may be termed the primitive and simple possession of man, and with this the kingly science has no concern at all.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: The provision of food and of all other things which mingle their particles with the particles of the human body, and minister to the body, will form a seventh class, which may be called by the general term of nourishment, unless you have any better name to offer. This, however, appertains rather to the husbandman, huntsman, trainer, doctor, cook, and is not to be assigned to the Statesman’s art.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: These seven classes include nearly every description of property, with the exception of tame animals. Consider; — there was the original material, which ought to have been placed first; next come instruments, vessels, vehicles, defences, playthings, nourishment; small things, which may be included under one of these — as for example, coins, seals and stamps, are omitted, for they have not in them the character of any larger kind which includes them; but some of them may, with a little forcing, be placed among ornaments, and others may be made to harmonize with the class of implements. The art of herding, which has been already divided into parts, will include all property in tame animals, except slaves.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: The class of slaves and ministers only remains, and I suspect that in this the real aspirants for the throne, who are the rivals of the king in the formation of the political web, will be discovered; just as spinners, carders, and the rest of them, were the rivals of the weaver. All the others, who were termed co-operators, have been got rid of among the occupations already mentioned, and separated from the royal and political science.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I agree.

STRANGER: Let us go a little nearer, in order that we may be more certain of the complexion of this remaining class.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Let us do so.

STRANGER: We shall find from our present point of view that the greatest servants are in a case and condition which is the reverse of what we anticipated.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Who are they?

STRANGER: Those who have been purchased, and have so become possessions; these are unmistakably slaves, and certainly do not claim royal science.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: Again, freemen who of their own accord become the servants of the other classes in a State, and who exchange and equalise the products of husbandry and the other arts, some sitting in the market-place, others going from city to city by land or sea, and giving money in exchange for money or for other productions — the money-changer, the merchant, the ship-owner, the retailer, will not put in any claim to statecraft or politics?

YOUNG SOCRATES: No; unless, indeed, to the politics of commerce.

STRANGER: But surely men whom we see acting as hirelings and serfs, and too happy to turn their hand to anything, will not profess to share in royal science?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly not.

STRANGER: But what would you say of some other serviceable officials?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Who are they, and what services do they perform?

STRANGER: There are heralds, and scribes perfected by practice, and divers others who have great skill in various sorts of business connected with the government of states — what shall we call them?

YOUNG SOCRATES: They are the officials, and servants of the rulers, as you just now called them, but not themselves rulers.

STRANGER: There may be something strange in any servant pretending to be a ruler, and yet I do not think that I could have been dreaming when I imagined that the principal claimants to political science would be found somewhere in this neighbourhood.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Well, let us draw nearer, and try the claims of some who have not yet been tested: in the first place, there are diviners, who have a portion of servile or ministerial science, and are thought to be the interpreters of the gods to men.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: There is also the priestly class, who, as the law declares, know how to give the gods gifts from men in the form of sacrifices which are acceptable to them, and to ask on our behalf blessings in return from them. Now both these are branches of the servile or ministerial art.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, clearly.

STRANGER: And here I think that we seem to be getting on the right track; for the priest and the diviner are swollen with pride and prerogative, and they create an awful impression of themselves by the magnitude of their enterprises; in Egypt, the king himself is not allowed to reign, unless he have priestly powers, and if he should be of another class and has thrust himself in, he must get enrolled in the priesthood. In many parts of Hellas, the duty of offering the most solemn propitiatory sacrifices is assigned to the highest magistracies, and here, at Athens, the most solemn and national of the ancient sacrifices are supposed to be celebrated by him who has been chosen by lot to be the King Archon.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Precisely.

STRANGER: But who are these other kings and priests elected by lot who now come into view followed by their retainers and a vast throng, as the former class disappears and the scene changes?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Whom can you mean?

STRANGER: They are a strange crew.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Why strange?

STRANGER: A minute ago I thought that they were animals of every tribe; for many of them are like lions and centaurs, and many more like satyrs and such weak and shifty creatures; — Protean shapes quickly changing into one another’s forms and natures; and now, Socrates, I begin to see who they are.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Who are they? You seem to be gazing on some strange vision.

STRANGER: Yes; every one looks strange when you do not know him; and just now I myself fell into this mistake — at first sight, coming suddenly upon him, I did not recognize the politician and his troop.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Who is he?

STRANGER: The chief of Sophists and most accomplished of wizards, who must at any cost be separated from the true king or Statesman, if we are ever to see daylight in the present enquiry.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That is a hope not lightly to be renounced.

STRANGER: Never, if I can help it; and, first, let me ask you a question.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What?

STRANGER: Is not monarchy a recognized form of government?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And, after monarchy, next in order comes the government of the few?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Of course.

STRANGER: Is not the third form of government the rule of the multitude, which is called by the name of democracy?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: And do not these three expand in a manner into five, producing out of themselves two other names?

YOUNG SOCRATES: What are they?

YOUNG SOCRATES: What are they?

STRANGER: There is a criterion of voluntary and involuntary, poverty and riches, law and the absence of law, which men now-a-days apply to them; the two first they subdivide accordingly, and ascribe to monarchy two forms and two corresponding names, royalty and tyranny.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: And the government of the few they distinguish by the names of aristocracy and oligarchy.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Democracy alone, whether rigidly observing the laws or not, and whether the multitude rule over the men of property with their consent or against their consent, always in ordinary language has the same name.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: But do you suppose that any form of government which is defined by these characteristics of the one, the few, or the many, of poverty or wealth, of voluntary or compulsory submission, of written law or the absence of law, can be a right one?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Why not?

STRANGER: Reflect; and follow me.

YOUNG SOCRATES: In what direction?

STRANGER: Shall we abide by what we said at first, or shall we retract our words?

YOUNG SOCRATES: To what do you refer?

STRANGER: If I am not mistaken, we said that royal power was a science?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And a science of a peculiar kind, which was selected out of the rest as having a character which is at once judicial and authoritative?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And there was one kind of authority over lifeless things and another other living animals; and so we proceeded in the division step by step up to this point, not losing the idea of science, but unable as yet to determine the nature of the particular science?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: Hence we are led to observe that the distinguishing principle of the State cannot be the few or many, the voluntary or involuntary, poverty or riches; but some notion of science must enter into it, if we are to be consistent with what has preceded.

YOUNG SOCRATES: And we must be consistent.

STRANGER: Well, then, in which of these various forms of States may the science of government, which is among the greatest of all sciences and most difficult to acquire, be supposed to reside? That we must discover, and then we shall see who are the false politicians who pretend to be politicians but are not, although they persuade many, and shall separate them from the wise king.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That, as the argument has already intimated, will be our duty.

STRANGER: Do you think that the multitude in a State can attain political science?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Impossible.

STRANGER: But, perhaps, in a city of a thousand men, there would be a hundred, or say fifty, who could?

YOUNG SOCRATES: In that case political science would certainly be the easiest of all sciences; there could not be found in a city of that number as many really first-rate draught-players, if judged by the standard of the rest of Hellas, and there would certainly not be as many kings. For kings we may truly call those who possess royal science, whether they rule or not, as was shown in the previous argument.

STRANGER: Thank you for reminding me; and the consequence is that any true form of government can only be supposed to be the government of one, two, or, at any rate, of a few.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: And these, whether they rule with the will, or against the will, of their subjects, with written laws or without written laws, and whether they are poor or rich, and whatever be the nature of their rule, must be supposed, according to our present view, to rule on some scientific principle; just as the physician, whether he cures us against our will or with our will, and whatever be his mode of treatment, — incision, burning, or the infliction of some other pain, — whether he practises out of a book or not out of a book, and whether he be rich or poor, whether he purges or reduces in some other way, or even fattens his patients, is a physician all the same, so long as he exercises authority over them according to rules of art, if he only does them good and heals and saves them. And this we lay down to be the only proper test of the art of medicine, or of any other art of command.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite true.

STRANGER: Then that can be the only true form of government in which the governors are really found to possess science, and are not mere pretenders, whether they rule according to law or without law, over willing or unwilling subjects, and are rich or poor themselves — none of these things can with any propriety be included in the notion of the ruler.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And whether with a view to the public good they purge the State by killing some, or exiling some; whether they reduce the size of the body corporate by sending out from the hive swarms of citizens, or, by introducing persons from without, increase it; while they act according to the rules of wisdom and justice, and use their power with a view to the general security and improvement, the city over which they rule, and which has these characteristics, may be described as the only true State. All other governments are not genuine or real; but only imitations of this, and some of them are better and some of them are worse; the better are said to be well governed, but they are mere imitations like the others.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I agree, Stranger, in the greater part of what you say; but as to their ruling without laws — the expression has a harsh sound.

STRANGER: You have been too quick for me, Socrates; I was just going to ask you whether you objected to any of my statements. And now I see that we shall have to consider this notion of there being good government without laws.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: There can be no doubt that legislation is in a manner the business of a king, and yet the best thing of all is not that the law should rule, but that a man should rule supposing him to have wisdom and royal power. Do you see why this is?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Why?

STRANGER: Because the law does not perfectly comprehend what is noblest and most just for all and therefore cannot enforce what is best. The differences of men and actions, and the endless irregular movements of human things, do not admit of any universal and simple rule. And no art whatsoever can lay down a rule which will last for all time.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Of course not.

STRANGER: But the law is always striving to make one; — like an obstinate and ignorant tyrant, who will not allow anything to be done contrary to his appointment, or any question to be asked — not even in sudden changes of circumstances, when something happens to be better than what he commanded for some one.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly; the law treats us all precisely in the manner which you describe.

STRANGER: A perfectly simple principle can never be applied to a state of things which is the reverse of simple.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: Then if the law is not the perfection of right, why are we compelled to make laws at all? The reason of this has next to be investigated.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Let me ask, whether you have not meetings for gymnastic contests in your city, such as there are in other cities, at which men compete in running, wrestling, and the like?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes; they are very common among us.

STRANGER: And what are the rules which are enforced on their pupils by professional trainers or by others having similar authority? Can you remember?

YOUNG SOCRATES: To what do you refer?

STRANGER: The training-masters do not issue minute rules for individuals, or give every individual what is exactly suited to his constitution; they think that they ought to go more roughly to work, and to prescribe generally the regimen which will benefit the majority.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: And therefore they assign equal amounts of exercise to them all; they send them forth together, and let them rest together from their running, wrestling, or whatever the form of bodily exercise may be.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And now observe that the legislator who has to preside over the herd, and to enforce justice in their dealings with one another, will not be able, in enacting for the general good, to provide exactly what is suitable for each particular case.

YOUNG SOCRATES: He cannot be expected to do so.

STRANGER: He will lay down laws in a general form for the majority, roughly meeting the cases of individuals; and some of them he will deliver in writing, and others will be unwritten; and these last will be traditional customs of the country.

YOUNG SOCRATES: He will be right.

STRANGER: Yes, quite right; for how can he sit at every man’s side all through his life, prescribing for him the exact particulars of his duty? Who, Socrates, would be equal to such a task? No one who really had the royal science, if he had been able to do this, would have imposed upon himself the restriction of a written law.

YOUNG SOCRATES: So I should infer from what has now been said.

STRANGER: Or rather, my good friend, from what is going to be said.

YOUNG SOCRATES: And what is that?

STRANGER: Let us put to ourselves the case of a physician, or trainer, who is about to go into a far country, and is expecting to be a long time away from his patients — thinking that his instructions will not be remembered unless they are written down, he will leave notes of them for the use of his pupils or patients.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: But what would you say, if he came back sooner than he had intended, and, owing to an unexpected change of the winds or other celestial influences, something else happened to be better for them, — would he not venture to suggest this new remedy, although not contemplated in his former prescription? Would he persist in observing the original law, neither himself giving any new commandments, nor the patient daring to do otherwise than was prescribed, under the idea that this course only was healthy and medicinal, all others noxious and heterodox? Viewed in the light of science and true art, would not all such enactments be utterly ridiculous?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Utterly.

STRANGER: And if he who gave laws, written or unwritten, determining what was good or bad, honourable or dishonourable, just or unjust, to the tribes of men who flock together in their several cities, and are governed in accordance with them; if, I say, the wise legislator were suddenly to come again, or another like to him, is he to be prohibited from changing them? — would not this prohibition be in reality quite as ridiculous as the other?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Do you know a plausible saying of the common people which is in point?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I do not recall what you mean at the moment.

STRANGER: They say that if any one knows how the ancient laws may be improved, he must first persuade his own State of the improvement, and then he may legislate, but not otherwise.

YOUNG SOCRATES: And are they not right?

STRANGER: I dare say. But supposing that he does use some gentle violence for their good, what is this violence to be called? Or rather, before you answer, let me ask the same question in reference to our previous instances.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: Suppose that a skilful physician has a patient, of whatever sex or age, whom he compels against his will to do something for his good which is contrary to the written rules; what is this compulsion to be called? Would you ever dream of calling it a violation of the art, or a breach of the laws of health? Nothing could be more unjust than for the patient to whom such violence is applied, to charge the physician who practises the violence with wanting skill or aggravating his disease.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Most true.

STRANGER: In the political art error is not called disease, but evil, or disgrace, or injustice.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite true.

STRANGER: And when the citizen, contrary to law and custom, is compelled to do what is juster and better and nobler than he did before, the last and most absurd thing which he could say about such violence is that he has incurred disgrace or evil or injustice at the hands of those who compelled him.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: And shall we say that the violence, if exercised by a rich man, is just, and if by a poor man, unjust? May not any man, rich or poor, with or without laws, with the will of the citizens or against the will of the citizens, do what is for their interest? Is not this the true principle of government, according to which the wise and good man will order the affairs of his subjects? As the pilot, by watching continually over the interests of the ship and of the crew, — not by laying down rules, but by making his art a law, — preserves the lives of his fellow-sailors, even so, and in the self-same way, may there not be a true form of polity created by those who are able to govern in a similar spirit, and who show a strength of art which is superior to the law? Nor can wise rulers ever err while they observing the one great rule of distributing justice to the citizens with intelligence and skill, are able to preserve them, and, as far as may be, to make them better from being worse.

YOUNG SOCRATES: No one can deny what has been now said.

STRANGER: Neither, if you consider, can any one deny the other statement.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What was it?

STRANGER: We said that no great number of persons, whoever they may be, can attain political knowledge, or order a State wisely, but that the true government is to be found in a small body, or in an individual, and that other States are but imitations of this, as we said a little while ago, some for the better and some for the worse.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean? I cannot have understood your previous remark about imitations.

STRANGER: And yet the mere suggestion which I hastily threw out is highly important, even if we leave the question where it is, and do not seek by the discussion of it to expose the error which prevails in this matter.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: The idea which has to be grasped by us is not easy or familiar; but we may attempt to express it thus: — Supposing the government of which I have been speaking to be the only true model, then the others must use the written laws of this — in no other way can they be saved; they will have to do what is now generally approved, although not the best thing in the world.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is this?

STRANGER: No citizen should do anything contrary to the laws, and any infringement of them should be punished with death and the most extreme penalties; and this is very right and good when regarded as the second best thing, if you set aside the first, of which I was just now speaking. Shall I explain the nature of what I call the second best?

YOUNG SOCRATES: By all means.

STRANGER: I must again have recourse to my favourite images; through them, and them alone, can I describe kings and rulers.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What images?

STRANGER: The noble pilot and the wise physician, who ’is worth many another man’ — in the similitude of these let us endeavour to discover some image of the king.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What sort of an image?

STRANGER: Well, such as this: — Every man will reflect that he suffers strange things at the hands of both of them; the physician saves any whom he wishes to save, and any whom he wishes to maltreat he maltreats — cutting or burning them; and at the same time requiring them to bring him payments, which are a sort of tribute, of which little or nothing is spent upon the sick man, and the greater part is consumed by him and his domestics; and the finale is that he receives money from the relations of the sick man or from some enemy of his, and puts him out of the way. And the pilots of ships are guilty of numberless evil deeds of the same kind; they intentionally play false and leave you ashore when the hour of sailing arrives; or they cause mishaps at sea and cast away their freight; and are guilty of other rogueries. Now suppose that we, bearing all this in mind, were to determine, after consideration, that neither of these arts shall any longer be allowed to exercise absolute control either over freemen or over slaves, but that we will summon an assembly either of all the people, or of the rich only, that anybody who likes, whatever may be his calling, or even if he have no calling, may offer an opinion either about seamanship or about diseases — whether as to the manner in which physic or surgical instruments are to be applied to the patient, or again about the vessels and the nautical implements which are required in navigation, and how to meet the dangers of winds and waves which are incidental to the voyage, how to behave when encountering pirates, and what is to be done with the old-fashioned galleys, if they have to fight with others of a similar build — and that, whatever shall be decreed by the multitude on these points, upon the advice of persons skilled or unskilled, shall be written down on triangular tablets and columns, or enacted although unwritten to be national customs; and that in all future time vessels shall be navigated and remedies administered to the patient after this fashion.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What a strange notion!

STRANGER: Suppose further, that the pilots and physicians are appointed annually, either out of the rich, or out of the whole people, and that they are elected by lot; and that after their election they navigate vessels and heal the sick according to the written rules.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Worse and worse.

STRANGER: But hear what follows: — When the year of office has expired, the pilot or physician has to come before a court of review, in which the judges are either selected from the wealthy classes or chosen by lot out of the whole people; and anybody who pleases may be their accuser, and may lay to their charge, that during the past year they have not navigated their vessels or healed their patients according to the letter of the law and the ancient customs of their ancestors; and if either of them is condemned, some of the judges must fix what he is to suffer or pay.

YOUNG SOCRATES: He who is willing to take a command under such conditions, deserves to suffer any penalty.

STRANGER: Yet once more, we shall have to enact that if any one is detected enquiring into piloting and navigation, or into health and the true nature of medicine, or about the winds, or other conditions of the atmosphere, contrary to the written rules, and has any ingenious notions about such matters, he is not to be called a pilot or physician, but a cloudy prating sophist; — further, on the ground that he is a corrupter of the young, who would persuade them to follow the art of medicine or piloting in an unlawful manner, and to exercise an arbitrary rule over their patients or ships, any one who is qualified by law may inform against him, and indict him in some court, and then if he is found to be persuading any, whether young or old, to act contrary to the written law, he is to be punished with the utmost rigour; for no one should presume to be wiser than the laws; and as touching healing and health and piloting and navigation, the nature of them is known to all, for anybody may learn the written laws and the national customs. If such were the mode of procedure, Socrates, about these sciences and about generalship, and any branch of hunting, or about painting or imitation in general, or carpentry, or any sort of handicraft, or husbandry, or planting, or if we were to see an art of rearing horses, or tending herds, or divination, or any ministerial service, or draught-playing, or any science conversant with number, whether simple or square or cube, or comprising motion, — I say, if all these things were done in this way according to written regulations, and not according to art, what would be the result?

YOUNG SOCRATES: All the arts would utterly perish, and could never be recovered, because enquiry would be unlawful. And human life, which is bad enough already, would then become utterly unendurable.

STRANGER: But what, if while compelling all these operations to be regulated by written law, we were to appoint as the guardian of the laws some one elected by a show of hands, or by lot, and he caring nothing about the laws, were to act contrary to them from motives of interest or favour, and without knowledge, — would not this be a still worse evil than the former?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: To go against the laws, which are based upon long experience, and the wisdom of counsellors who have graciously recommended them and persuaded the multitude to pass them, would be a far greater and more ruinous error than any adherence to written law?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: Therefore, as there is a danger of this, the next best thing in legislating is not to allow either the individual or the multitude to break the law in any respect whatever.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: The laws would be copies of the true particulars of action as far as they admit of being written down from the lips of those who have knowledge?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly they would.

STRANGER: And, as we were saying, he who has knowledge and is a true Statesman, will do many things within his own sphere of action by his art without regard to the laws, when he is of opinion that something other than that which he has written down and enjoined to be observed during his absence would be better.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, we said so.

STRANGER: And any individual or any number of men, having fixed laws, in acting contrary to them with a view to something better, would only be acting, as far as they are able, like the true Statesman?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: If they had no knowledge of what they were doing, they would imitate the truth, and they would always imitate ill; but if they had knowledge, the imitation would be the perfect truth, and an imitation no longer.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite true.

STRANGER: And the principle that no great number of men are able to acquire a knowledge of any art has been already admitted by us.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, it has.

STRANGER: Then the royal or political art, if there be such an art, will never be attained either by the wealthy or by the other mob.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Impossible.

STRANGER: Then the nearest approach which these lower forms of government can ever make to the true government of the one scientific ruler, is to do nothing contrary to their own written laws and national customs.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: When the rich imitate the true form, such a government is called aristocracy; and when they are regardless of the laws, oligarchy.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: Or again, when an individual rules according to law in imitation of him who knows, we call him a king; and if he rules according to law, we give him the same name, whether he rules with opinion or with knowledge.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To be sure.

STRANGER: And when an individual truly possessing knowledge rules, his name will surely be the same — he will be called a king; and thus the five names of governments, as they are now reckoned, become one.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That is true.

STRANGER: And when an individual ruler governs neither by law nor by custom, but following in the steps of the true man of science pretends that he can only act for the best by violating the laws, while in reality appetite and ignorance are the motives of the imitation, may not such an one be called a tyrant?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: And this we believe to be the origin of the tyrant and the king, of oligarchies, and aristocracies, and democracies, — because men are offended at the one monarch, and can never be made to believe that any one can be worthy of such authority, or is able and willing in the spirit of virtue and knowledge to act justly and holily to all; they fancy that he will be a despot who will wrong and harm and slay whom he pleases of us; for if there could be such a despot as we describe, they would acknowledge that we ought to be too glad to have him, and that he alone would be the happy ruler of a true and perfect State.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To be sure.

STRANGER: But then, as the State is not like a beehive, and has no natural head who is at once recognized to be the superior both in body and in mind, mankind are obliged to meet and make laws, and endeavour to approach as nearly as they can to the true form of government.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And when the foundation of politics is in the letter only and in custom, and knowledge is divorced from action, can we wonder, Socrates, at the miseries which there are, and always will be, in States? Any other art, built on such a foundation and thus conducted, would ruin all that it touched. Ought we not rather to wonder at the natural strength of the political bond? For States have endured all this, time out of mind, and yet some of them still remain and are not overthrown, though many of them, like ships at sea, founder from time to time, and perish and have perished and will hereafter perish, through the badness of their pilots and crews, who have the worst sort of ignorance of the highest truths — I mean to say, that they are wholly unaquainted with politics, of which, above all other sciences, they believe themselves to have acquired the most perfect knowledge.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Then the question arises: — which of these untrue forms of government is the least oppressive to their subjects, though they are all oppressive; and which is the worst of them? Here is a consideration which is beside our present purpose, and yet having regard to the whole it seems to influence all our actions: we must examine it.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, we must.

STRANGER: You may say that of the three forms, the same is at once the hardest and the easiest.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What do you mean?

STRANGER: I am speaking of the three forms of government, which I mentioned at the beginning of this discussion — monarchy, the rule of the few, and the rule of the many.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: If we divide each of these we shall have six, from which the true one may be distinguished as a seventh.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How would you make the division?

STRANGER: Monarchy divides into royalty and tyranny; the rule of the few into aristocracy, which has an auspicious name, and oligarchy; and democracy or the rule of the many, which before was one, must now be divided.

YOUNG SOCRATES: On what principle of division?

STRANGER: On the same principle as before, although the name is now discovered to have a twofold meaning. For the distinction of ruling with law or without law, applies to this as well as to the rest.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: The division made no difference when we were looking for the perfect State, as we showed before. But now that this has been separated off, and, as we said, the others alone are left for us, the principle of law and the absence of law will bisect them all.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That would seem to follow, from what has been said.

STRANGER: Then monarchy, when bound by good prescriptions or laws, is the best of all the six, and when lawless is the most bitter and oppressive to the subject.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: The government of the few, which is intermediate between that of the one and many, is also intermediate in good and evil; but the government of the many is in every respect weak and unable to do either any great good or any great evil, when compared with the others, because the offices are too minutely subdivided and too many hold them. And this therefore is the worst of all lawful governments, and the best of all lawless ones. If they are all without the restraints of law, democracy is the form in which to live is best; if they are well ordered, then this is the last which you should choose, as royalty, the first form, is the best, with the exception of the seventh, for that excels them all, and is among States what God is among men.

YOUNG SOCRATES: You are quite right, and we should choose that above all.

STRANGER: The members of all these States, with the exception of the one which has knowledge, may be set aside as being not Statesmen but partisans, — upholders of the most monstrous idols, and themselves idols; and, being the greatest imitators and magicians, they are also the greatest of Sophists.

YOUNG SOCRATES: The name of Sophist after many windings in the argument appears to have been most justly fixed upon the politicians, as they are termed.

STRANGER: And so our satyric drama has been played out; and the troop of Centaurs and Satyrs, however unwilling to leave the stage, have at last been separated from the political science.

YOUNG SOCRATES: So I perceive.

STRANGER: There remain, however, natures still more troublesome, because they are more nearly akin to the king, and more difficult to discern; the examination of them may be compared to the process of refining gold.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is your meaning?

STRANGER: The workmen begin by sifting away the earth and stones and the like; there remain in a confused mass the valuable elements akin to gold, which can only be separated by fire, — copper, silver, and other precious metal; these are at last refined away by the use of tests, until the gold is left quite pure.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes, that is the way in which these things are said to be done.

STRANGER: In like manner, all alien and uncongenial matter has been separated from political science, and what is precious and of a kindred nature has been left; there remain the nobler arts of the general and the judge, and the higher sort of oratory which is an ally of the royal art, and persuades men to do justice, and assists in guiding the helm of States: — How can we best clear away all these, leaving him whom we seek alone and unalloyed?

YOUNG SOCRATES: That is obviously what has in some way to be attempted.

STRANGER: If the attempt is all that is wanting, he shall certainly be brought to light; and I think that the illustration of music may assist in exhibiting him. Please to answer me a question.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What question?

STRANGER: There is such a thing as learning music or handicraft arts in general?

YOUNG SOCRATES: There is.

STRANGER: And is there any higher art or science, having power to decide which of these arts are and are not to be learned; — what do you say?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I should answer that there is.

STRANGER: And do we acknowledge this science to be different from the others?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: And ought the other sciences to be superior to this, or no single science to any other? Or ought this science to be the overseer and governor of all the others?

YOUNG SOCRATES: The latter.

STRANGER: You mean to say that the science which judges whether we ought to learn or not, must be superior to the science which is learned or which teaches?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Far superior.

STRANGER: And the science which determines whether we ought to persuade or not, must be superior to the science which is able to persuade?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Of course.

STRANGER: Very good; and to what science do we assign the power of persuading a multitude by a pleasing tale and not by teaching?

YOUNG SOCRATES: That power, I think, must clearly be assigned to rhetoric.

STRANGER: And to what science do we give the power of determining whether we are to employ persuasion or force towards any one, or to refrain altogether?

YOUNG SOCRATES: To that science which governs the arts of speech and persuasion.

STRANGER: Which, if I am not mistaken, will be politics?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: Rhetoric seems to be quickly distinguished from politics, being a different species, yet ministering to it.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: But what would you think of another sort of power or science?

YOUNG SOCRATES: What science?

STRANGER: The science which has to do with military operations against our enemies — is that to be regarded as a science or not?

YOUNG SOCRATES: How can generalship and military tactics be regarded as other than a science?

STRANGER: And is the art which is able and knows how to advise when we are to go to war, or to make peace, the same as this or different?

YOUNG SOCRATES: If we are to be consistent, we must say different.

STRANGER: And we must also suppose that this rules the other, if we are not to give up our former notion?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And, considering how great and terrible the whole art of war is, can we imagine any which is superior to it but the truly royal?

YOUNG SOCRATES: No other.

STRANGER: The art of the general is only ministerial, and therefore not political?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Exactly.

STRANGER: Once more let us consider the nature of the righteous judge.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very good.

STRANGER: Does he do anything but decide the dealings of men with one another to be just or unjust in accordance with the standard which he receives from the king and legislator, — showing his own peculiar virtue only in this, that he is not perverted by gifts, or fears, or pity, or by any sort of favour or enmity, into deciding the suits of men with one another contrary to the appointment of the legislator?

YOUNG SOCRATES: No; his office is such as you describe.

STRANGER: Then the inference is that the power of the judge is not royal, but only the power of a guardian of the law which ministers to the royal power?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: The review of all these sciences shows that none of them is political or royal. For the truly royal ought not itself to act, but to rule over those who are able to act; the king ought to know what is and what is not a fitting opportunity for taking the initiative in matters of the greatest importance, whilst others should execute his orders.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And, therefore, the arts which we have described, as they have no authority over themselves or one another, but are each of them concerned with some special action of their own, have, as they ought to have, special names corresponding to their several actions.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I agree.

STRANGER: And the science which is over them all, and has charge of the laws, and of all matters affecting the State, and truly weaves them all into one, if we would describe under a name characteristic of their common nature, most truly we may call politics.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Exactly so.

STRANGER: Then, now that we have discovered the various classes in a State, shall I analyse politics after the pattern which weaving supplied?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I greatly wish that you would.

STRANGER: Then I must describe the nature of the royal web, and show how the various threads are woven into one piece.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Clearly.

STRANGER: A task has to be accomplished, which, although difficult, appears to be necessary.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly the attempt must be made.

STRANGER: To assume that one part of virtue differs in kind from another, is a position easily assailable by contentious disputants, who appeal to popular opinion.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I do not understand.

STRANGER: Let me put the matter in another way: I suppose that you would consider courage to be a part of virtue?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly I should.

STRANGER: And you would think temperance to be different from courage; and likewise to be a part of virtue?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: I shall venture to put forward a strange theory about them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is it?

STRANGER: That they are two principles which thoroughly hate one another and are antagonistic throughout a great part of nature.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How singular!

STRANGER: Yes, very — for all the parts of virtue are commonly said to be friendly to one another.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes.

STRANGER: Then let us carefully investigate whether this is universally true, or whether there are not parts of virtue which are at war with their kindred in some respect.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Tell me how we shall consider that question.

STRANGER: We must extend our enquiry to all those things which we consider beautiful and at the same time place in two opposite classes.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Explain; what are they?

STRANGER: Acuteness and quickness, whether in body or soul or in the movement of sound, and the imitations of them which painting and music supply, you must have praised yourself before now, or been present when others praised them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: And do you remember the terms in which they are praised?

YOUNG SOCRATES: I do not.

STRANGER: I wonder whether I can explain to you in words the thought which is passing in my mind.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Why not?

STRANGER: You fancy that this is all so easy: Well, let us consider these notions with reference to the opposite classes of action under which they fall. When we praise quickness and energy and acuteness, whether of mind or body or sound, we express our praise of the quality which we admire by one word, and that one word is manliness or courage.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How?

STRANGER: We speak of an action as energetic and brave, quick and manly, and vigorous too; and when we apply the name of which I speak as the common attribute of all these natures, we certainly praise them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: And do we not often praise the quiet strain of action also?

YOUNG SOCRATES: To be sure.

STRANGER: And do we not then say the opposite of what we said of the other?

YOUNG SOCRATES: How do you mean?

STRANGER: We exclaim How calm! How temperate! in admiration of the slow and quiet working of the intellect, and of steadiness and gentleness in action, of smoothness and depth of voice, and of all rhythmical movement and of music in general, when these have a proper solemnity. Of all such actions we predicate not courage, but a name indicative of order.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: But when, on the other hand, either of these is out of place, the names of either are changed into terms of censure.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How so?

STRANGER: Too great sharpness or quickness or hardness is termed violence or madness; too great slowness or gentleness is called cowardice or sluggishness; and we may observe, that for the most part these qualities, and the temperance and manliness of the opposite characters, are arrayed as enemies on opposite sides, and do not mingle with one another in their respective actions; and if we pursue the enquiry, we shall find that men who have these different qualities of mind differ from one another.

YOUNG SOCRATES: In what respect?

STRANGER: In respect of all the qualities which I mentioned, and very likely of many others. According to their respective affinities to either class of actions they distribute praise and blame, — praise to the actions which are akin to their own, blame to those of the opposite party — and out of this many quarrels and occasions of quarrel arise among them.

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: The difference between the two classes is often a trivial concern; but in a state, and when affecting really important matters, becomes of all disorders the most hateful.

YOUNG SOCRATES: To what do you refer?

STRANGER: To nothing short of the whole regulation of human life. For the orderly class are always ready to lead a peaceful life, quietly doing their own business; this is their manner of behaving with all men at home, and they are equally ready to find some way of keeping the peace with foreign States. And on account of this fondness of theirs for peace, which is often out of season where their influence prevails, they become by degrees unwarlike, and bring up their young men to be like themselves; they are at the mercy of their enemies; whence in a few years they and their children and the whole city often pass imperceptibly from the condition of freemen into that of slaves.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What a cruel fate!

STRANGER: And now think of what happens with the more courageous natures. Are they not always inciting their country to go to war, owing to their excessive love of the military life? they raise up enemies against themselves many and mighty, and either utterly ruin their native-land or enslave and subject it to its foes?

YOUNG SOCRATES: That, again, is true.

STRANGER: Must we not admit, then, that where these two classes exist, they always feel the greatest antipathy and antagonism towards one another?

YOUNG SOCRATES: We cannot deny it.

STRANGER: And returning to the enquiry with which we began, have we not found that considerable portions of virtue are at variance with one another, and give rise to a similar opposition in the characters who are endowed with them?

YOUNG SOCRATES: True.

STRANGER: Let us consider a further point.

YOUNG SOCRATES: What is it?

STRANGER: I want to know, whether any constructive art will make any, even the most trivial thing, out of bad and good materials indifferently, if this can be helped? does not all art rather reject the bad as far as possible, and accept the good and fit materials, and from these elements, whether like or unlike, gathering them all into one, work out some nature or idea?

YOUNG SOCRATES: To, be sure.

STRANGER: Then the true and natural art of statesmanship will never allow any State to be formed by a combination of good and bad men, if this can be avoided; but will begin by testing human natures in play, and after testing them, will entrust them to proper teachers who are the ministers of her purposes — she will herself give orders, and maintain authority; just as the art of weaving continually gives orders and maintains authority over the carders and all the others who prepare the material for the work, commanding the subsidiary arts to execute the works which she deems necessary for making the web.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite true.

STRANGER: In like manner, the royal science appears to me to be the mistress of all lawful educators and instructors, and having this queenly power, will not permit them to train men in what will produce characters unsuited to the political constitution which she desires to create, but only in what will produce such as are suitable. Those which have no share of manliness and temperance, or any other virtuous inclination, and, from the necessity of an evil nature, are violently carried away to godlessness and insolence and injustice, she gets rid of by death and exile, and punishes them with the greatest of disgraces.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That is commonly said.

STRANGER: But those who are wallowing in ignorance and baseness she bows under the yoke of slavery.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite right.

STRANGER: The rest of the citizens, out of whom, if they have education, something noble may be made, and who are capable of being united by the statesman, the kingly art blends and weaves together; taking on the one hand those whose natures tend rather to courage, which is the stronger element and may be regarded as the warp, and on the other hand those which incline to order and gentleness, and which are represented in the figure as spun thick and soft, after the manner of the woof — these, which are naturally opposed, she seeks to bind and weave together in the following manner:

YOUNG SOCRATES: In what manner?

STRANGER: First of all, she takes the eternal element of the soul and binds it with a divine cord, to which it is akin, and then the animal nature, and binds that with human cords.

YOUNG SOCRATES: I do not understand what you mean.

STRANGER: The meaning is, that the opinion about the honourable and the just and good and their opposites, which is true and confirmed by reason, is a divine principle, and when implanted in the soul, is implanted, as I maintain, in a nature of heavenly birth.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Yes; what else should it be?

STRANGER: Only the Statesman and the good legislator, having the inspiration of the royal muse, can implant this opinion, and he, only in the rightly educated, whom we were just now describing.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Likely enough.

STRANGER: But him who cannot, we will not designate by any of the names which are the subject of the present enquiry.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very right.

STRANGER: The courageous soul when attaining this truth becomes civilized, and rendered more capable of partaking of justice; but when not partaking, is inclined to brutality. Is not that true?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly.

STRANGER: And again, the peaceful and orderly nature, if sharing in these opinions, becomes temperate and wise, as far as this may be in a State, but if not, deservedly obtains the ignominious name of silliness.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite true.

STRANGER: Can we say that such a connexion as this will lastingly unite the evil with one another or with the good, or that any science would seriously think of using a bond of this kind to join such materials?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Impossible.

STRANGER: But in those who were originally of a noble nature, and who have been nurtured in noble ways, and in those only, may we not say that union is implanted by law, and that this is the medicine which art prescribes for them, and of all the bonds which unite the dissimilar and contrary parts of virtue is not this, as I was saying, the divinest?

YOUNG SOCRATES: Very true.

STRANGER: Where this divine bond exists there is no difficulty in imagining, or when you have imagined, in creating the other bonds, which are human only.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How is that, and what bonds do you mean?

STRANGER: Rights of intermarriage, and ties which are formed between States by giving and taking children in marriage, or between individuals by private betrothals and espousals. For most persons form marriage connexions without due regard to what is best for the procreation of children.

YOUNG SOCRATES: In what way?

STRANGER: They seek after wealth and power, which in matrimony are objects not worthy even of a serious censure.

YOUNG SOCRATES: There is no need to consider them at all.

STRANGER: More reason is there to consider the practice of those who make family their chief aim, and to indicate their error.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Quite true.

STRANGER: They act on no true principle at all; they seek their ease and receive with open arms those who are like themselves, and hate those who are unlike them, being too much influenced by feelings of dislike.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How so?

STRANGER: The quiet orderly class seek for natures like their own, and as far as they can they marry and give in marriage exclusively in this class, and the courageous do the same; they seek natures like their own, whereas they should both do precisely the opposite.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How and why is that?

STRANGER: Because courage, when untempered by the gentler nature during many generations, may at first bloom and strengthen, but at last bursts forth into downright madness.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Like enough.

STRANGER: And then, again, the soul which is over-full of modesty and has no element of courage in many successive generations, is apt to grow too indolent, and at last to become utterly paralyzed and useless.

YOUNG SOCRATES: That, again, is quite likely.

STRANGER: It was of these bonds I said that there would be no difficulty in creating them, if only both classes originally held the same opinion about the honourable and good; — indeed, in this single work, the whole process of royal weaving is comprised — never to allow temperate natures to be separated from the brave, but to weave them together, like the warp and the woof, by common sentiments and honours and reputation, and by the giving of pledges to one another; and out of them forming one smooth and even web, to entrust to them the offices of State.

YOUNG SOCRATES: How do you mean?

STRANGER: Where one officer only is needed, you must choose a ruler who has both these qualities — when many, you must mingle some of each, for the temperate ruler is very careful and just and safe, but is wanting in thoroughness and go.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly, that is very true.

STRANGER: The character of the courageous, on the other hand, falls short of the former in justice and caution, but has the power of action in a remarkable degree, and where either of these two qualities is wanting, there cities cannot altogether prosper either in their public or private life.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Certainly they cannot.

STRANGER: This then we declare to be the completion of the web of political action, which is created by a direct intertexture of the brave and temperate natures, whenever the royal science has drawn the two minds into communion with one another by unanimity and friendship, and having perfected the noblest and best of all the webs which political life admits, and enfolding therein all other inhabitants of cities, whether slaves or freemen, binds them in one fabric and governs and presides over them, and, in so far as to be happy is vouchsafed to a city, in no particular fails to secure their happiness.

YOUNG SOCRATES: Your picture, Stranger, of the king and statesman, no less than of the Sophist, is quite perfect.

PHILEBUS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This is one of Plato’s last dialogues, which was completed by 347 BC.  The dialogue concerns the relative value of pleasure and knowledge, and offers a model for thinking about how complex structures are developed. The dialogue is generally considered to contain less humour than earlier dialogues, emphasising philosophy and speculation over drama and poetry.

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

PHILEBUS.

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

The Philebus appears to be one of the later writings of Plato, in which the style has begun to alter, and the dramatic and poetical element has become subordinate to the speculative and philosophical. In the development of abstract thought great advances have been made on the Protagoras or the Phaedrus, and even on the Republic. But there is a corresponding diminution of artistic skill, a want of character in the persons, a laboured march in the dialogue, and a degree of confusion and incompleteness in the general design. As in the speeches of Thucydides, the multiplication of ideas seems to interfere with the power of expression. Instead of the equally diffused grace and ease of the earlier dialogues there occur two or three highly-wrought passages; instead of the ever-flowing play of humour, now appearing, now concealed, but always present, are inserted a good many bad jests, as we may venture to term them. We may observe an attempt at artificial ornament, and far-fetched modes of expression; also clamorous demands on the part of his companions, that Socrates shall answer his own questions, as well as other defects of style, which remind us of the Laws. The connection is often abrupt and inharmonious, and far from clear. Many points require further explanation; e.g. the reference of pleasure to the indefinite class, compared with the assertion which almost immediately follows, that pleasure and pain naturally have their seat in the third or mixed class: these two statements are unreconciled. In like manner, the table of goods does not distinguish between the two heads of measure and symmetry; and though a hint is given that the divine mind has the first place, nothing is said of this in the final summing up. The relation of the goods to the sciences does not appear; though dialectic may be thought to correspond to the highest good, the sciences and arts and true opinions are enumerated in the fourth class. We seem to have an intimation of a further discussion, in which some topics lightly passed over were to receive a fuller consideration. The various uses of the word ‘mixed,’ for the mixed life, the mixed class of elements, the mixture of pleasures, or of pleasure and pain, are a further source of perplexity. Our ignorance of the opinions which Plato is attacking is also an element of obscurity. Many things in a controversy might seem relevant, if we knew to what they were intended to refer. But no conjecture will enable us to supply what Plato has not told us; or to explain, from our fragmentary knowledge of them, the relation in which his doctrine stood to the Eleatic Being or the Megarian good, or to the theories of Aristippus or Antisthenes respecting pleasure. Nor are we able to say how far Plato in the Philebus conceives the finite and infinite (which occur both in the fragments of Philolaus and in the Pythagorean table of opposites) in the same manner as contemporary Pythagoreans.

There is little in the characters which is worthy of remark. The Socrates of the Philebus is devoid of any touch of Socratic irony, though here, as in the Phaedrus, he twice attributes the flow of his ideas to a sudden inspiration. The interlocutor Protarchus, the son of Callias, who has been a hearer of Gorgias, is supposed to begin as a disciple of the partisans of pleasure, but is drawn over to the opposite side by the arguments of Socrates. The instincts of ingenuous youth are easily induced to take the better part. Philebus, who has withdrawn from the argument, is several times brought back again, that he may support pleasure, of which he remains to the end the uncompromising advocate. On the other hand, the youthful group of listeners by whom he is surrounded, ‘Philebus’ boys’ as they are termed, whose presence is several times intimated, are described as all of them at last convinced by the arguments of Socrates. They bear a very faded resemblance to the interested audiences of the Charmides, Lysis, or Protagoras. Other signs of relation to external life in the dialogue, or references to contemporary things and persons, with the single exception of the allusions to the anonymous enemies of pleasure, and the teachers of the flux, there are none.

The omission of the doctrine of recollection, derived from a previous state of existence, is a note of progress in the philosophy of Plato. The transcendental theory of pre-existent ideas, which is chiefly discussed by him in the Meno, the Phaedo, and the Phaedrus, has given way to a psychological one. The omission is rendered more significant by his having occasion to speak of memory as the basis of desire. Of the ideas he treats in the same sceptical spirit which appears in his criticism of them in the Parmenides. He touches on the same difficulties and he gives no answer to them. His mode of speaking of the analytical and synthetical processes may be compared with his discussion of the same subject in the Phaedrus; here he dwells on the importance of dividing the genera into all the species, while in the Phaedrus he conveys the same truth in a figure, when he speaks of carving the whole, which is described under the image of a victim, into parts or members, ‘according to their natural articulation, without breaking any of them.’ There is also a difference, which may be noted, between the two dialogues. For whereas in the Phaedrus, and also in the Symposium, the dialectician is described as a sort of enthusiast or lover, in the Philebus, as in all the later writings of Plato, the element of love is wanting; the topic is only introduced, as in the Republic, by way of illustration. On other subjects of which they treat in common, such as the nature and kinds of pleasure, true and false opinion, the nature of the good, the order and relation of the sciences, the Republic is less advanced than the Philebus, which contains, perhaps, more metaphysical truth more obscurely expressed than any other Platonic dialogue. Here, as Plato expressly tells us, he is ‘forging weapons of another make,’ i.e. new categories and modes of conception, though ‘some of the old ones might do again.’

But if superior in thought and dialectical power, the Philebus falls very far short of the Republic in fancy and feeling. The development of the reason undisturbed by the emotions seems to be the ideal at which Plato aims in his later dialogues. There is no mystic enthusiasm or rapturous contemplation of ideas. Whether we attribute this change to the greater feebleness of age, or to the development of the quarrel between philosophy and poetry in Plato’s own mind, or perhaps, in some degree, to a carelessness about artistic effect, when he was absorbed in abstract ideas, we can hardly be wrong in assuming, amid such a variety of indications, derived from style as well as subject, that the Philebus belongs to the later period of his life and authorship. But in this, as in all the later writings of Plato, there are not wanting thoughts and expressions in which he rises to his highest level.

The plan is complicated, or rather, perhaps, the want of plan renders the progress of the dialogue difficult to follow. A few leading ideas seem to emerge: the relation of the one and many, the four original elements, the kinds of pleasure, the kinds of knowledge, the scale of goods. These are only partially connected with one another. The dialogue is not rightly entitled ‘Concerning pleasure’ or ‘Concerning good,’ but should rather be described as treating of the relations of pleasure and knowledge, after they have been duly analyzed, to the good. (1) The question is asked, whether pleasure or wisdom is the chief good, or some nature higher than either; and if the latter, how pleasure and wisdom are related to this higher good. (2) Before we can reply with exactness, we must know the kinds of pleasure and the kinds of knowledge. (3) But still we may affirm generally, that the combined life of pleasure and wisdom or knowledge has more of the character of the good than either of them when isolated. (4) to determine which of them partakes most of the higher nature, we must know under which of the four unities or elements they respectively fall. These are, first, the infinite; secondly, the finite; thirdly, the union of the two; fourthly, the cause of the union. Pleasure is of the first, wisdom or knowledge of the third class, while reason or mind is akin to the fourth or highest.

(5) Pleasures are of two kinds, the mixed and unmixed. Of mixed pleasures there are three classes — (a) those in which both the pleasures and pains are corporeal, as in eating and hunger; (b) those in which there is a pain of the body and pleasure of the mind, as when you are hungry and are looking forward to a feast; (c) those in which the pleasure and pain are both mental. Of unmixed pleasures there are four kinds: those of sight, hearing, smell, knowledge.

(6) The sciences are likewise divided into two classes, theoretical and productive: of the latter, one part is pure, the other impure. The pure part consists of arithmetic, mensuration, and weighing. Arts like carpentering, which have an exact measure, are to be regarded as higher than music, which for the most part is mere guess-work. But there is also a higher arithmetic, and a higher mensuration, which is exclusively theoretical; and a dialectical science, which is higher still and the truest and purest knowledge.

(7) We are now able to determine the composition of the perfect life. First, we admit the pure pleasures and the pure sciences; secondly, the impure sciences, but not the impure pleasures. We have next to discover what element of goodness is contained in this mixture. There are three criteria of goodness — beauty, symmetry, truth. These are clearly more akin to reason than to pleasure, and will enable us to fix the places of both of them in the scale of good. First in the scale is measure; the second place is assigned to symmetry; the third, to reason and wisdom; the fourth, to knowledge and true opinion; the fifth, to pure pleasures; and here the Muse says ‘Enough.’

‘Bidding farewell to Philebus and Socrates,’ we may now consider the metaphysical conceptions which are presented to us. These are (I) the paradox of unity and plurality; (II) the table of categories or elements; (III) the kinds of pleasure; (IV) the kinds of knowledge; (V) the conception of the good. We may then proceed to examine (VI) the relation of the Philebus to the Republic, and to other dialogues.

I. The paradox of the one and many originated in the restless dialectic of Zeno, who sought to prove the absolute existence of the one by showing the contradictions that are involved in admitting the existence of the many (compare Parm.). Zeno illustrated the contradiction by well-known examples taken from outward objects. But Socrates seems to intimate that the time had arrived for discarding these hackneyed illustrations; such difficulties had long been solved by common sense (‘solvitur ambulando’); the fact of the co-existence of opposites was a sufficient answer to them. He will leave them to Cynics and Eristics; the youth of Athens may discourse of them to their parents. To no rational man could the circumstance that the body is one, but has many members, be any longer a stumbling-block.

Plato’s difficulty seems to begin in the region of ideas. He cannot understand how an absolute unity, such as the Eleatic Being, can be broken up into a number of individuals, or be in and out of them at once. Philosophy had so deepened or intensified the nature of one or Being, by the thoughts of successive generations, that the mind could no longer imagine ‘Being’ as in a state of change or division. To say that the verb of existence is the copula, or that unity is a mere unit, is to us easy; but to the Greek in a particular stage of thought such an analysis involved the same kind of difficulty as the conception of God existing both in and out of the world would to ourselves. Nor was he assisted by the analogy of sensible objects. The sphere of mind was dark and mysterious to him; but instead of being illustrated by sense, the greatest light appeared to be thrown on the nature of ideas when they were contrasted with sense.

Both here and in the Parmenides, where similar difficulties are raised, Plato seems prepared to desert his ancient ground. He cannot tell the relation in which abstract ideas stand to one another, and therefore he transfers the one and many out of his transcendental world, and proceeds to lay down practical rules for their application to different branches of knowledge. As in the Republic he supposes the philosopher to proceed by regular steps, until he arrives at the idea of good; as in the Sophist and Politicus he insists that in dividing the whole into its parts we should bisect in the middle in the hope of finding species; as in the Phaedrus (see above) he would have ‘no limb broken’ of the organism of knowledge; — so in the Philebus he urges the necessity of filling up all the intermediate links which occur (compare Bacon’s ‘media axiomata’) in the passage from unity to infinity. With him the idea of science may be said to anticipate science; at a time when the sciences were not yet divided, he wants to impress upon us the importance of classification; neither neglecting the many individuals, nor attempting to count them all, but finding the genera and species under which they naturally fall. Here, then, and in the parallel passages of the Phaedrus and of the Sophist, is found the germ of the most fruitful notion of modern science.

Plato describes with ludicrous exaggeration the influence exerted by the one and many on the minds of young men in their first fervour of metaphysical enthusiasm (compare Republic). But they are none the less an everlasting quality of reason or reasoning which never grows old in us. At first we have but a confused conception of them, analogous to the eyes blinking at the light in the Republic. To this Plato opposes the revelation from Heaven of the real relations of them, which some Prometheus, who gave the true fire from heaven, is supposed to have imparted to us. Plato is speaking of two things — (1) the crude notion of the one and many, which powerfully affects the ordinary mind when first beginning to think; (2) the same notion when cleared up by the help of dialectic.

To us the problem of the one and many has lost its chief interest and perplexity. We readily acknowledge that a whole has many parts, that the continuous is also the divisible, that in all objects of sense there is a one and many, and that a like principle may be applied to analogy to purely intellectual conceptions. If we attend to the meaning of the words, we are compelled to admit that two contradictory statements are true. But the antinomy is so familiar as to be scarcely observed by us. Our sense of the contradiction, like Plato’s, only begins in a higher sphere, when we speak of necessity and free-will, of mind and body, of Three Persons and One Substance, and the like. The world of knowledge is always dividing more and more; every truth is at first the enemy of every other truth. Yet without this division there can be no truth; nor any complete truth without the reunion of the parts into a whole. And hence the coexistence of opposites in the unity of the idea is regarded by Hegel as the supreme principle of philosophy; and the law of contradiction, which is affirmed by logicians to be an ultimate principle of the human mind, is displaced by another law, which asserts the coexistence of contradictories as imperfect and divided elements of the truth. Without entering further into the depths of Hegelianism, we may remark that this and all similar attempts to reconcile antinomies have their origin in the old Platonic problem of the ‘One and Many.’

II. 1. The first of Plato’s categories or elements is the infinite. This is the negative of measure or limit; the unthinkable, the unknowable; of which nothing can be affirmed; the mixture or chaos which preceded distinct kinds in the creation of the world; the first vague impression of sense; the more or less which refuses to be reduced to rule, having certain affinities with evil, with pleasure, with ignorance, and which in the scale of being is farthest removed from the beautiful and good. To a Greek of the age of Plato, the idea of an infinite mind would have been an absurdity. He would have insisted that ‘the good is of the nature of the finite,’ and that the infinite is a mere negative, which is on the level of sensation, and not of thought. He was aware that there was a distinction between the infinitely great and the infinitely small, but he would have equally denied the claim of either to true existence. Of that positive infinity, or infinite reality, which we attribute to God, he had no conception.

The Greek conception of the infinite would be more truly described, in our way of speaking, as the indefinite. To us, the notion of infinity is subsequent rather than prior to the finite, expressing not absolute vacancy or negation, but only the removal of limit or restraint, which we suppose to exist not before but after we have already set bounds to thought and matter, and divided them after their kinds. From different points of view, either the finite or infinite may be looked upon respectively both as positive and negative (compare ‘Omnis determinatio est negatio’)’ and the conception of the one determines that of the other. The Greeks and the moderns seem to be nearly at the opposite poles in their manner of regarding them. And both are surprised when they make the discovery, as Plato has done in the Sophist, how large an element negation forms in the framework of their thoughts.

2, 3. The finite element which mingles with and regulates the infinite is best expressed to us by the word ‘law.’ It is that which measures all things and assigns to them their limit; which preserves them in their natural state, and brings them within the sphere of human cognition. This is described by the terms harmony, health, order, perfection, and the like. All things, in as far as they are good, even pleasures, which are for the most part indefinite, partake of this element. We should be wrong in attributing to Plato the conception of laws of nature derived from observation and experiment. And yet he has as intense a conviction as any modern philosopher that nature does not proceed by chance. But observing that the wonderful construction of number and figure, which he had within himself, and which seemed to be prior to himself, explained a part of the phenomena of the external world, he extended their principles to the whole, finding in them the true type both of human life and of the order of nature.

Two other points may be noticed respecting the third class. First, that Plato seems to be unconscious of any interval or chasm which separates the finite from the infinite. The one is in various ways and degrees working in the other. Hence he has implicitly answered the difficulty with which he started, of how the one could remain one and yet be divided among many individuals, or ‘how ideas could be in and out of themselves,’ and the like. Secondly, that in this mixed class we find the idea of beauty. Good, when exhibited under the aspect of measure or symmetry, becomes beauty. And if we translate his language into corresponding modern terms, we shall not be far wrong in saying that here, as well as in the Republic, Plato conceives beauty under the idea of proportion.

4. Last and highest in the list of principles or elements is the cause of the union of the finite and infinite, to which Plato ascribes the order of the world. Reasoning from man to the universe, he argues that as there is a mind in the one, there must be a mind in the other, which he identifies with the royal mind of Zeus. This is the first cause of which ‘our ancestors spoke,’ as he says, appealing to tradition, in the Philebus as well as in the Timaeus. The ‘one and many’ is also supposed to have been revealed by tradition. For the mythical element has not altogether disappeared.

Some characteristic differences may here be noted, which distinguish the ancient from the modern mode of conceiving God.

a. To Plato, the idea of God or mind is both personal and impersonal. Nor in ascribing, as appears to us, both these attributes to him, and in speaking of God both in the masculine and neuter gender, did he seem to himself inconsistent. For the difference between the personal and impersonal was not marked to him as to ourselves. We make a fundamental distinction between a thing and a person, while to Plato, by the help of various intermediate abstractions, such as end, good, cause, they appear almost to meet in one, or to be two aspects of the same. Hence, without any reconciliation or even remark, in the Republic he speaks at one time of God or Gods, and at another time of the Good. So in the Phaedrus he seems to pass unconsciously from the concrete to the abstract conception of the Ideas in the same dialogue. Nor in the Philebus is he careful to show in what relation the idea of the divine mind stands to the supreme principle of measure.

b. Again, to us there is a strongly-marked distinction between a first cause and a final cause. And we should commonly identify a first cause with God, and the final cause with the world, which is His work. But Plato, though not a Pantheist, and very far from confounding God with the world, tends to identify the first with the final cause. The cause of the union of the finite and infinite might be described as a higher law; the final measure which is the highest expression of the good may also be described as the supreme law. Both these conceptions are realized chiefly by the help of the material world; and therefore when we pass into the sphere of ideas can hardly be distinguished.

The four principles are required for the determination of the relative places of pleasure and wisdom. Plato has been saying that we should proceed by regular steps from the one to the many. Accordingly, before assigning the precedence either to good or pleasure, he must first find out and arrange in order the general principles of things. Mind is ascertained to be akin to the nature of the cause, while pleasure is found in the infinite or indefinite class. We may now proceed to divide pleasure and knowledge after their kinds.

III. 1. Plato speaks of pleasure as indefinite, as relative, as a generation, and in all these points of view as in a category distinct from good. For again we must repeat, that to the Greek ‘the good is of the nature of the finite,’ and, like virtue, either is, or is nearly allied to, knowledge. The modern philosopher would remark that the indefinite is equally real with the definite. Health and mental qualities are in the concrete undefined; they are nevertheless real goods, and Plato rightly regards them as falling under the finite class. Again, we are able to define objects or ideas, not in so far as they are in the mind, but in so far as they are manifested externally, and can therefore be reduced to rule and measure. And if we adopt the test of definiteness, the pleasures of the body are more capable of being defined than any other pleasures. As in art and knowledge generally, we proceed from without inwards, beginning with facts of sense, and passing to the more ideal conceptions of mental pleasure, happiness, and the like.

2. Pleasure is depreciated as relative, while good is exalted as absolute. But this distinction seems to arise from an unfair mode of regarding them; the abstract idea of the one is compared with the concrete experience of the other. For all pleasure and all knowledge may be viewed either abstracted from the mind, or in relation to the mind (compare Aristot. Nic. Ethics). The first is an idea only, which may be conceived as absolute and unchangeable, and then the abstract idea of pleasure will be equally unchangeable with that of knowledge. But when we come to view either as phenomena of consciousness, the same defects are for the most part incident to both of them. Our hold upon them is equally transient and uncertain; the mind cannot be always in a state of intellectual tension, any more than capable of feeling pleasure always. The knowledge which is at one time clear and distinct, at another seems to fade away, just as the pleasure of health after sickness, or of eating after hunger, soon passes into a neutral state of unconsciousness and indifference. Change and alternation are necessary for the mind as well as for the body; and in this is to be acknowledged, not an element of evil, but rather a law of nature. The chief difference between subjective pleasure and subjective knowledge in respect of permanence is that the latter, when our feeble faculties are able to grasp it, still conveys to us an idea of unchangeableness which cannot be got rid of.

3. In the language of ancient philosophy, the relative character of pleasure is described as becoming or generation. This is relative to Being or Essence, and from one point of view may be regarded as the Heraclitean flux in contrast with the Eleatic Being; from another, as the transient enjoyment of eating and drinking compared with the supposed permanence of intellectual pleasures. But to us the distinction is unmeaning, and belongs to a stage of philosophy which has passed away. Plato himself seems to have suspected that the continuance or life of things is quite as much to be attributed to a principle of rest as of motion (compare Charm. Cratyl.). A later view of pleasure is found in Aristotle, who agrees with Plato in many points, e.g. in his view of pleasure as a restoration to nature, in his distinction between bodily and mental, between necessary and non-necessary pleasures. But he is also in advance of Plato; for he affirms that pleasure is not in the body at all; and hence not even the bodily pleasures are to be spoken of as generations, but only as accompanied by generation (Nic. Eth.).

4. Plato attempts to identify vicious pleasures with some form of error, and insists that the term false may be applied to them: in this he appears to be carrying out in a confused manner the Socratic doctrine, that virtue is knowledge, vice ignorance. He will allow of no distinction between the pleasures and the erroneous opinions on which they are founded, whether arising out of the illusion of distance or not. But to this we naturally reply with Protarchus, that the pleasure is what it is, although the calculation may be false, or the after-effects painful. It is difficult to acquit Plato, to use his own language, of being a ‘tyro in dialectics,’ when he overlooks such a distinction. Yet, on the other hand, we are hardly fair judges of confusions of thought in those who view things differently from ourselves.

5. There appears also to be an incorrectness in the notion which occurs both here and in the Gorgias, of the simultaneousness of merely bodily pleasures and pains. We may, perhaps, admit, though even this is not free from doubt, that the feeling of pleasureable hope or recollection is, or rather may be, simultaneous with acute bodily suffering. But there is no such coexistence of the pain of thirst with the pleasures of drinking; they are not really simultaneous, for the one expels the other. Nor does Plato seem to have considered that the bodily pleasures, except in certain extreme cases, are unattended with pain. Few philosophers will deny that a degree of pleasure attends eating and drinking; and yet surely we might as well speak of the pains of digestion which follow, as of the pains of hunger and thirst which precede them. Plato’s conception is derived partly from the extreme case of a man suffering pain from hunger or thirst, partly from the image of a full and empty vessel. But the truth is rather, that while the gratification of our bodily desires constantly affords some degree of pleasure, the antecedent pains are scarcely perceived by us, being almost done away with by use and regularity.

6. The desire to classify pleasures as accompanied or not accompanied by antecedent pains, has led Plato to place under one head the pleasures of smell and sight, as well as those derived from sounds of music and from knowledge. He would have done better to make a separate class of the pleasures of smell, having no association of mind, or perhaps to have divided them into natural and artificial. The pleasures of sight and sound might then have been regarded as being the expression of ideas. But this higher and truer point of view never appears to have occurred to Plato. Nor has he any distinction between the fine arts and the mechanical; and, neither here nor anywhere, an adequate conception of the beautiful in external things.

7. Plato agrees partially with certain ‘surly or fastidious’ philosophers, as he terms them, who defined pleasure to be the absence of pain. They are also described as eminent in physics. There is unfortunately no school of Greek philosophy known to us which combined these two characteristics. Antisthenes, who was an enemy of pleasure, was not a physical philosopher; the atomists, who were physical philosophers, were not enemies of pleasure. Yet such a combination of opinions is far from being impossible. Plato’s omission to mention them by name has created the same uncertainty respecting them which also occurs respecting the ‘friends of the ideas’ and the ‘materialists’ in the Sophist.

On the whole, this discussion is one of the least satisfactory in the dialogues of Plato. While the ethical nature of pleasure is scarcely considered, and the merely physical phenomenon imperfectly analysed, too much weight is given to ideas of measure and number, as the sole principle of good. The comparison of pleasure and knowledge is really a comparison of two elements, which have no common measure, and which cannot be excluded from each other. Feeling is not opposed to knowledge, and in all consciousness there is an element of both. The most abstract kinds of knowledge are inseparable from some pleasure or pain, which accompanies the acquisition or possession of them: the student is liable to grow weary of them, and soon discovers that continuous mental energy is not granted to men. The most sensual pleasure, on the other hand, is inseparable from the consciousness of pleasure; no man can be happy who, to borrow Plato’s illustration, is leading the life of an oyster. Hence (by his own confession) the main thesis is not worth determining; the real interest lies in the incidental discussion. We can no more separate pleasure from knowledge in the Philebus than we can separate justice from happiness in the Republic.

IV. An interesting account is given in the Philebus of the rank and order of the sciences or arts, which agrees generally with the scheme of knowledge in the Sixth Book of the Republic. The chief difference is, that the position of the arts is more exactly defined. They are divided into an empirical part and a scientific part, of which the first is mere guess-work, the second is determined by rule and measure. Of the more empirical arts, music is given as an example; this, although affirmed to be necessary to human life, is depreciated. Music is regarded from a point of view entirely opposite to that of the Republic, not as a sublime science, coordinate with astronomy, but as full of doubt and conjecture. According to the standard of accuracy which is here adopted, it is rightly placed lower in the scale than carpentering, because the latter is more capable of being reduced to measure.

The theoretical element of the arts may also become a purely abstract science, when separated from matter, and is then said to be pure and unmixed. The distinction which Plato here makes seems to be the same as that between pure and applied mathematics, and may be expressed in the modern formula — science is art theoretical, art is science practical. In the reason which he gives for the superiority of the pure science of number over the mixed or applied, we can only agree with him in part. He says that the numbers which the philosopher employs are always the same, whereas the numbers which are used in practice represent different sizes or quantities. He does not see that this power of expressing different quantities by the same symbol is the characteristic and not the defect of numbers, and is due to their abstract nature; — although we admit of course what Plato seems to feel in his distinctions between pure and impure knowledge, that the imperfection of matter enters into the applications of them.

Above the other sciences, as in the Republic, towers dialectic, which is the science of eternal Being, apprehended by the purest mind and reason. The lower sciences, including the mathematical, are akin to opinion rather than to reason, and are placed together in the fourth class of goods. The relation in which they stand to dialectic is obscure in the Republic, and is not cleared up in the Philebus.

V. Thus far we have only attained to the vestibule or ante-chamber of the good; for there is a good exceeding knowledge, exceeding essence, which, like Glaucon in the Republic, we find a difficulty in apprehending. This good is now to be exhibited to us under various aspects and gradations. The relative dignity of pleasure and knowledge has been determined; but they have not yet received their exact position in the scale of goods. Some difficulties occur to us in the enumeration: First, how are we to distinguish the first from the second class of goods, or the second from the third? Secondly, why is there no mention of the supreme mind? Thirdly, the nature of the fourth class. Fourthly, the meaning of the allusion to a sixth class, which is not further investigated.

(I) Plato seems to proceed in his table of goods, from the more abstract to the less abstract; from the subjective to the objective; until at the lower end of the scale we fairly descend into the region of human action and feeling. To him, the greater the abstraction the greater the truth, and he is always tending to see abstractions within abstractions; which, like the ideas in the Parmenides, are always appearing one behind another. Hence we find a difficulty in following him into the sphere of thought which he is seeking to attain. First in his scale of goods he places measure, in which he finds the eternal nature: this would be more naturally expressed in modern language as eternal law, and seems to be akin both to the finite and to the mind or cause, which were two of the elements in the former table. Like the supreme nature in the Timaeus, like the ideal beauty in the Symposium or the Phaedrus, or like the ideal good in the Republic, this is the absolute and unapproachable being. But this being is manifested in symmetry and beauty everywhere, in the order of nature and of mind, in the relations of men to one another. For the word ‘measure’ he now substitutes the word ‘symmetry,’ as if intending to express measure conceived as relation. He then proceeds to regard the good no longer in an objective form, but as the human reason seeking to attain truth by the aid of dialectic; such at least we naturally infer to be his meaning, when we consider that both here and in the Republic the sphere of nous or mind is assigned to dialectic. (2) It is remarkable (see above) that this personal conception of mind is confined to the human mind, and not extended to the divine. (3) If we may be allowed to interpret one dialogue of Plato by another, the sciences of figure and number are probably classed with the arts and true opinions, because they proceed from hypotheses (compare Republic). (4) The sixth class, if a sixth class is to be added, is playfully set aside by a quotation from Orpheus: Plato means to say that a sixth class, if there be such a class, is not worth considering, because pleasure, having only gained the fifth place in the scale of goods, is already out of the running.

VI. We may now endeavour to ascertain the relation of the Philebus to the other dialogues. Here Plato shows the same indifference to his own doctrine of Ideas which he has already manifested in the Parmenides and the Sophist. The principle of the one and many of which he here speaks, is illustrated by examples in the Sophist and Statesman. Notwithstanding the differences of style, many resemblances may be noticed between the Philebus and Gorgias. The theory of the simultaneousness of pleasure and pain is common to both of them (Phil. Gorg.); there is also a common tendency in them to take up arms against pleasure, although the view of the Philebus, which is probably the later of the two dialogues, is the more moderate. There seems to be an allusion to the passage in the Gorgias, in which Socrates dilates on the pleasures of itching and scratching. Nor is there any real discrepancy in the manner in which Gorgias and his art are spoken of in the two dialogues. For Socrates is far from implying that the art of rhetoric has a real sphere of practical usefulness: he only means that the refutation of the claims of Gorgias is not necessary for his present purpose. He is saying in effect: ‘Admit, if you please, that rhetoric is the greatest and usefullest of sciences: — this does not prove that dialectic is not the purest and most exact.’ From the Sophist and Statesman we know that his hostility towards the sophists and rhetoricians was not mitigated in later life; although both in the Statesman and Laws he admits of a higher use of rhetoric.

Reasons have been already given for assigning a late date to the Philebus. That the date is probably later than that of the Republic, may be further argued on the following grounds: — 1. The general resemblance to the later dialogues and to the Laws: 2. The more complete account of the nature of good and pleasure: 3. The distinction between perception, memory, recollection, and opinion which indicates a great progress in psychology; also between understanding and imagination, which is described under the figure of the scribe and the painter. A superficial notion may arise that Plato probably wrote shorter dialogues, such as the Philebus, the Sophist, and the Statesman, as studies or preparations for longer ones. This view may be natural; but on further reflection is seen to be fallacious, because these three dialogues are found to make an advance upon the metaphysical conceptions of the Republic. And we can more easily suppose that Plato composed shorter writings after longer ones, than suppose that he lost hold of further points of view which he had once attained.

It is more easy to find traces of the Pythagoreans, Eleatics, Megarians, Cynics, Cyrenaics and of the ideas of Anaxagoras, in the Philebus, than to say how much is due to each of them. Had we fuller records of those old philosophers, we should probably find Plato in the midst of the fray attempting to combine Eleatic and Pythagorean doctrines, and seeking to find a truth beyond either Being or number; setting up his own concrete conception of good against the abstract practical good of the Cynics, or the abstract intellectual good of the Megarians, and his own idea of classification against the denial of plurality in unity which is also attributed to them; warring against the Eristics as destructive of truth, as he had formerly fought against the Sophists; taking up a middle position between the Cynics and Cyrenaics in his doctrine of pleasure; asserting with more consistency than Anaxagoras the existence of an intelligent mind and cause. Of the Heracliteans, whom he is said by Aristotle to have cultivated in his youth, he speaks in the Philebus, as in the Theaetetus and Cratylus, with irony and contempt. But we have not the knowledge which would enable us to pursue further the line of reflection here indicated; nor can we expect to find perfect clearness or order in the first efforts of mankind to understand the working of their own minds. The ideas which they are attempting to analyse, they are also in process of creating; the abstract universals of which they are seeking to adjust the relations have been already excluded by them from the category of relation.

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The Philebus, like the Cratylus, is supposed to be the continuation of a previous discussion. An argument respecting the comparative claims of pleasure and wisdom to rank as the chief good has been already carried on between Philebus and Socrates. The argument is now transferred to Protarchus, the son of Callias, a noble Athenian youth, sprung from a family which had spent ‘a world of money’ on the Sophists (compare Apol.; Crat.; Protag.). Philebus, who appears to be the teacher, or elder friend, and perhaps the lover, of Protarchus, takes no further part in the discussion beyond asserting in the strongest manner his adherence, under all circumstances, to the cause of pleasure.

Socrates suggests that they shall have a first and second palm of victory. For there may be a good higher than either pleasure or wisdom, and then neither of them will gain the first prize, but whichever of the two is more akin to this higher good will have a right to the second. They agree, and Socrates opens the game by enlarging on the diversity and opposition which exists among pleasures. For there are pleasures of all kinds, good and bad, wise and foolish — pleasures of the temperate as well as of the intemperate. Protarchus replies that although pleasures may be opposed in so far as they spring from opposite sources, nevertheless as pleasures they are alike. Yes, retorts Socrates, pleasure is like pleasure, as figure is like figure and colour like colour; yet we all know that there is great variety among figures and colours. Protarchus does not see the drift of this remark; and Socrates proceeds to ask how he can have a right to attribute a new predicate (i.e. ‘good’) to pleasures in general, when he cannot deny that they are different? What common property in all of them does he mean to indicate by the term ‘good’? If he continues to assert that there is some trivial sense in which pleasure is one, Socrates may retort by saying that knowledge is one, but the result will be that such merely verbal and trivial conceptions, whether of knowledge or pleasure, will spoil the discussion, and will prove the incapacity of the two disputants. In order to avoid this danger, he proposes that they shall beat a retreat, and, before they proceed, come to an understanding about the ‘high argument’ of the one and the many.

Protarchus agrees to the proposal, but he is under the impression that Socrates means to discuss the common question — how a sensible object can be one, and yet have opposite attributes, such as ‘great’ and ‘small,’ ‘light’ and ‘heavy,’ or how there can be many members in one body, and the like wonders. Socrates has long ceased to see any wonder in these phenomena; his difficulties begin with the application of number to abstract unities (e.g.’man,’ ‘good’) and with the attempt to divide them. For have these unities of idea any real existence? How, if imperishable, can they enter into the world of generation? How, as units, can they be divided and dispersed among different objects? Or do they exist in their entirety in each object? These difficulties are but imperfectly answered by Socrates in what follows.

We speak of a one and many, which is ever flowing in and out of all things, concerning which a young man often runs wild in his first metaphysical enthusiasm, talking about analysis and synthesis to his father and mother and the neighbours, hardly sparing even his dog. This ‘one in many’ is a revelation of the order of the world, which some Prometheus first made known to our ancestors; and they, who were better men and nearer the gods than we are, have handed it down to us. To know how to proceed by regular steps from one to many, and from many to one, is just what makes the difference between eristic and dialectic. And the right way of proceeding is to look for one idea or class in all things, and when you have found one to look for more than one, and for all that there are, and when you have found them all and regularly divided a particular field of knowledge into classes, you may leave the further consideration of individuals. But you must not pass at once either from unity to infinity, or from infinity to unity. In music, for example, you may begin with the most general notion, but this alone will not make you a musician: you must know also the number and nature of the intervals, and the systems which are framed out of them, and the rhythms of the dance which correspond to them. And when you have a similar knowledge of any other subject, you may be said to know that subject. In speech again there are infinite varieties of sound, and some one who was a wise man, or more than man, comprehended them all in the classes of mutes, vowels, and semivowels, and gave to each of them a name, and assigned them to the art of grammar.

‘But whither, Socrates, are you going? And what has this to do with the comparative eligibility of pleasure and wisdom:’ Socrates replies, that before we can adjust their respective claims, we want to know the number and kinds of both of them. What are they? He is requested to answer the question himself. That he will, if he may be allowed to make one or two preliminary remarks. In the first place he has a dreamy recollection of hearing that neither pleasure nor knowledge is the highest good, for the good should be perfect and sufficient. But is the life of pleasure perfect and sufficient, when deprived of memory, consciousness, anticipation? Is not this the life of an oyster? Or is the life of mind sufficient, if devoid of any particle of pleasure? Must not the union of the two be higher and more eligible than either separately? And is not the element which makes this mixed life eligible more akin to mind than to pleasure? Thus pleasure is rejected and mind is rejected. And yet there may be a life of mind, not human but divine, which conquers still.

But, if we are to pursue this argument further, we shall require some new weapons; and by this, I mean a new classification of existence. (1) There is a finite element of existence, and (2) an infinite, and (3) the union of the two, and (4) the cause of the union. More may be added if they are wanted, but at present we can do without them. And first of the infinite or indefinite: — That is the class which is denoted by the terms more or less, and is always in a state of comparison. All words or ideas to which the words ‘gently,’ ‘extremely,’ and other comparative expressions are applied, fall under this class. The infinite would be no longer infinite, if limited or reduced to measure by number and quantity. The opposite class is the limited or finite, and includes all things which have number and quantity. And there is a third class of generation into essence by the union of the finite and infinite, in which the finite gives law to the infinite; — under this are comprehended health, strength, temperate seasons, harmony, beauty, and the like. The goddess of beauty saw the universal wantonness of all things, and gave law and order to be the salvation of the soul. But no effect can be generated without a cause, and therefore there must be a fourth class, which is the cause of generation; for the cause or agent is not the same as the patient or effect.

And now, having obtained our classes, we may determine in which our conqueror life is to be placed: Clearly in the third or mixed class, in which the finite gives law to the infinite. And in which is pleasure to find a place? As clearly in the infinite or indefinite, which alone, as Protarchus thinks (who seems to confuse the infinite with the superlative), gives to pleasure the character of the absolute good. Yes, retorts Socrates, and also to pain the character of absolute evil. And therefore the infinite cannot be that which imparts to pleasure the nature of the good. But where shall we place mind? That is a very serious and awful question, which may be prefaced by another. Is mind or chance the lord of the universe? All philosophers will say the first, and yet, perhaps, they may be only magnifying themselves. And for this reason I should like to consider the matter a little more deeply, even though some lovers of disorder in the world should ridicule my attempt.

Now the elements earth, air, fire, water, exist in us, and they exist in the cosmos; but they are purer and fairer in the cosmos than they are in us, and they come to us from thence. And as we have a soul as well as a body, in like manner the elements of the finite, the infinite, the union of the two, and the cause, are found to exist in us. And if they, like the elements, exist in us, and the three first exist in the world, must not the fourth or cause which is the noblest of them, exist in the world? And this cause is wisdom or mind, the royal mind of Zeus, who is the king of all, as there are other gods who have other noble attributes. Observe how well this agrees with the testimony of men of old, who affirmed mind to be the ruler of the universe. And remember that mind belongs to the class which we term the cause, and pleasure to the infinite or indefinite class. We will examine the place and origin of both.

What is the origin of pleasure? Her natural seat is the mixed class, in which health and harmony were placed. Pain is the violation, and pleasure the restoration of limit. There is a natural union of finite and infinite, which in hunger, thirst, heat, cold, is impaired — this is painful, but the return to nature, in which the elements are restored to their normal proportions, is pleasant. Here is our first class of pleasures. And another class of pleasures and pains are hopes and fears; these are in the mind only. And inasmuch as the pleasures are unalloyed by pains and the pains by pleasures, the examination of them may show us whether all pleasure is to be desired, or whether this entire desirableness is not rather the attribute of another class. But if pleasures and pains consist in the violation and restoration of limit, may there not be a neutral state, in which there is neither dissolution nor restoration? That is a further question, and admitting, as we must, the possibility of such a state, there seems to be no reason why the life of wisdom should not exist in this neutral state, which is, moreover, the state of the gods, who cannot, without indecency, be supposed to feel either joy or sorrow.

The second class of pleasures involves memory. There are affections which are extinguished before they reach the soul, and of these there is no consciousness, and therefore no memory. And there are affections which the body and soul feel together, and this feeling is termed consciousness. And memory is the preservation of consciousness, and reminiscence is the recovery of consciousness. Now the memory of pleasure, when a man is in pain, is the memory of the opposite of his actual bodily state, and is therefore not in the body, but in the mind. And there may be an intermediate state, in which a person is balanced between pleasure and pain; in his body there is want which is a cause of pain, but in his mind a sure hope of replenishment, which is pleasant. (But if the hope be converted into despair, he has two pains and not a balance of pain and pleasure.) Another question is raised: May not pleasures, like opinions, be true and false? In the sense of being real, both must be admitted to be true: nor can we deny that to both of them qualities may be attributed; for pleasures as well as opinions may be described as good or bad. And though we do not all of us allow that there are true and false pleasures, we all acknowledge that there are some pleasures associated with right opinion, and others with falsehood and ignorance. Let us endeavour to analyze the nature of this association.

Opinion is based on perception, which may be correct or mistaken. You may see a figure at a distance, and say first of all, ‘This is a man,’ and then say, ‘No, this is an image made by the shepherds.’ And you may affirm this in a proposition to your companion, or make the remark mentally to yourself. Whether the words are actually spoken or not, on such occasions there is a scribe within who registers them, and a painter who paints the images of the things which the scribe has written down in the soul, — at least that is my own notion of the process; and the words and images which are inscribed by them may be either true or false; and they may represent either past, present, or future. And, representing the future, they must also represent the pleasures and pains of anticipation — the visions of gold and other fancies which are never wanting in the mind of man. Now these hopes, as they are termed, are propositions, which are sometimes true, and sometimes false; for the good, who are the friends of the gods, see true pictures of the future, and the bad false ones. And as there may be opinion about things which are not, were not, and will not be, which is opinion still, so there may be pleasure about things which are not, were not, and will not be, which is pleasure still, — that is to say, false pleasure; and only when false, can pleasure, like opinion, be vicious. Against this conclusion Protarchus reclaims.

Leaving his denial for the present, Socrates proceeds to show that some pleasures are false from another point of view. In desire, as we admitted, the body is divided from the soul, and hence pleasures and pains are often simultaneous. And we further admitted that both of them belonged to the infinite class. How, then, can we compare them? Are we not liable, or rather certain, as in the case of sight, to be deceived by distance and relation? In this case the pleasures and pains are not false because based upon false opinion, but are themselves false. And there is another illusion: pain has often been said by us to arise out of the derangement — pleasure out of the restoration — of our nature. But in passing from one to the other, do we not experience neutral states, which although they appear pleasureable or painful are really neither? For even if we admit, with the wise man whom Protarchus loves (and only a wise man could have ever entertained such a notion), that all things are in a perpetual flux, still these changes are often unconscious, and devoid either of pleasure or pain. We assume, then, that there are three states — pleasureable, painful, neutral; we may embellish a little by calling them gold, silver, and that which is neither.

But there are certain natural philosophers who will not admit a third state. Their instinctive dislike to pleasure leads them to affirm that pleasure is only the absence of pain. They are noble fellows, and, although we do not agree with them, we may use them as diviners who will indicate to us the right track. They will say, that the nature of anything is best known from the examination of extreme cases, e.g. the nature of hardness from the examination of the hardest things; and that the nature of pleasure will be best understood from an examination of the most intense pleasures. Now these are the pleasures of the body, not of the mind; the pleasures of disease and not of health, the pleasures of the intemperate and not of the temperate. I am speaking, not of the frequency or continuance, but only of the intensity of such pleasures, and this is given them by contrast with the pain or sickness of body which precedes them. Their morbid nature is illustrated by the lesser instances of itching and scratching, respecting which I swear that I cannot tell whether they are a pleasure or a pain. (1) Some of these arise out of a transition from one state of the body to another, as from cold to hot; (2) others are caused by the contrast of an internal pain and an external pleasure in the body: sometimes the feeling of pain predominates, as in itching and tingling, when they are relieved by scratching; sometimes the feeling of pleasure: or the pleasure which they give may be quite overpowering, and is then accompanied by all sorts of unutterable feelings which have a death of delights in them. But there are also mixed pleasures which are in the mind only. For are not love and sorrow as well as anger ‘sweeter than honey,’ and also full of pain? Is there not a mixture of feelings in the spectator of tragedy? and of comedy also? ‘I do not understand that last.’ Well, then, with the view of lighting up the obscurity of these mixed feelings, let me ask whether envy is painful. ‘Yes.’ And yet the envious man finds something pleasing in the misfortunes of others? ‘True.’ And ignorance is a misfortune? ‘Certainly.’ And one form of ignorance is self-conceit — a man may fancy himself richer, fairer, better, wiser than he is? ‘Yes.’ And he who thus deceives himself may be strong or weak? ‘He may.’ And if he is strong we fear him, and if he is weak we laugh at him, which is a pleasure, and yet we envy him, which is a pain? These mixed feelings are the rationale of tragedy and comedy, and equally the rationale of the greater drama of human life. (There appears to be some confusion in this passage. There is no difficulty in seeing that in comedy, as in tragedy, the spectator may view the performance with mixed feelings of pain as well as of pleasure; nor is there any difficulty in understanding that envy is a mixed feeling, which rejoices not without pain at the misfortunes of others, and laughs at their ignorance of themselves. But Plato seems to think further that he has explained the feeling of the spectator in comedy sufficiently by a theory which only applies to comedy in so far as in comedy we laugh at the conceit or weakness of others. He has certainly given a very partial explanation of the ridiculous.) Having shown how sorrow, anger, envy are feelings of a mixed nature, I will reserve the consideration of the remainder for another occasion.

Next follow the unmixed pleasures; which, unlike the philosophers of whom I was speaking, I believe to be real. These unmixed pleasures are: (1) The pleasures derived from beauty of form, colour, sound, smell, which are absolutely pure; and in general those which are unalloyed with pain: (2) The pleasures derived from the acquisition of knowledge, which in themselves are pure, but may be attended by an accidental pain of forgetting; this, however, arises from a subsequent act of reflection, of which we need take no account. At the same time, we admit that the latter pleasures are the property of a very few. To these pure and unmixed pleasures we ascribe measure, whereas all others belong to the class of the infinite, and are liable to every species of excess. And here several questions arise for consideration: — What is the meaning of pure and impure, of moderate and immoderate? We may answer the question by an illustration: Purity of white paint consists in the clearness or quality of the white, and this is distinct from the quantity or amount of white paint; a little pure white is fairer than a great deal which is impure. But there is another question: — Pleasure is affirmed by ingenious philosophers to be a generation; they say that there are two natures — one self-existent, the other dependent; the one noble and majestic, the other failing in both these qualities. ‘I do not understand.’ There are lovers and there are loves. ‘Yes, I know, but what is the application?’ The argument is in play, and desires to intimate that there are relatives and there are absolutes, and that the relative is for the sake of the absolute; and generation is for the sake of essence. Under relatives I class all things done with a view to generation; and essence is of the class of good. But if essence is of the class of good, generation must be of some other class; and our friends, who affirm that pleasure is a generation, would laugh at the notion that pleasure is a good; and at that other notion, that pleasure is produced by generation, which is only the alternative of destruction. Who would prefer such an alternation to the equable life of pure thought? Here is one absurdity, and not the only one, to which the friends of pleasure are reduced. For is there not also an absurdity in affirming that good is of the soul only; or in declaring that the best of men, if he be in pain, is bad?

And now, from the consideration of pleasure, we pass to that of knowledge. Let us reflect that there are two kinds of knowledge — the one creative or productive, and the other educational and philosophical. Of the creative arts, there is one part purer or more akin to knowledge than the other. There is an element of guess-work and an element of number and measure in them. In music, for example, especially in flute-playing, the conjectural element prevails; while in carpentering there is more application of rule and measure. Of the creative arts, then, we may make two classes — the less exact and the more exact. And the exacter part of all of them is really arithmetic and mensuration. But arithmetic and mensuration again may be subdivided with reference either to their use in the concrete, or to their nature in the abstract — as they are regarded popularly in building and binding, or theoretically by philosophers. And, borrowing the analogy of pleasure, we may say that the philosophical use of them is purer than the other. Thus we have two arts of arithmetic, and two of mensuration. And truest of all in the estimation of every rational man is dialectic, or the science of being, which will forget and disown us, if we forget and disown her.

‘But, Socrates, I have heard Gorgias say that rhetoric is the greatest and usefullest of arts; and I should not like to quarrel either with him or you.’ Neither is there any inconsistency, Protarchus, with his statement in what I am now saying; for I am not maintaining that dialectic is the greatest or usefullest, but only that she is the truest of arts; my remark is not quantitative but qualitative, and refers not to the advantage or repetition of either, but to the degree of truth which they attain — here Gorgias will not care to compete; this is what we affirm to be possessed in the highest degree by dialectic. And do not let us appeal to Gorgias or Philebus or Socrates, but ask, on behalf of the argument, what are the highest truths which the soul has the power of attaining. And is not this the science which has a firmer grasp of them than any other? For the arts generally are only occupied with matters of opinion, and with the production and action and passion of this sensible world. But the highest truth is that which is eternal and unchangeable. And reason and wisdom are concerned with the eternal; and these are the very claimants, if not for the first, at least for the second place, whom I propose as rivals to pleasure.

And now, having the materials, we may proceed to mix them — first recapitulating the question at issue.

Philebus affirmed pleasure to be the good, and assumed them to be one nature; I affirmed that they were two natures, and declared that knowledge was more akin to the good than pleasure. I said that the two together were more eligible than either taken singly; and to this we adhere. Reason intimates, as at first, that we should seek the good not in the unmixed life, but in the mixed.

The cup is ready, waiting to be mingled, and here are two fountains, one of honey, the other of pure water, out of which to make the fairest possible mixture. There are pure and impure pleasures — pure and impure sciences. Let us consider the sections of each which have the most of purity and truth; to admit them all indiscriminately would be dangerous. First we will take the pure sciences; but shall we mingle the impure — the art which uses the false rule and the false measure? That we must, if we are any of us to find our way home; man cannot live upon pure mathematics alone. And must I include music, which is admitted to be guess-work? ‘Yes, you must, if human life is to have any humanity.’ Well, then, I will open the door and let them all in; they shall mingle in an Homeric ‘meeting of the waters.’ And now we turn to the pleasures; shall I admit them? ‘Admit first of all the pure pleasures; secondly, the necessary.’ And what shall we say about the rest? First, ask the pleasures — they will be too happy to dwell with wisdom. Secondly, ask the arts and sciences — they reply that the excesses of intemperance are the ruin of them; and that they would rather only have the pleasures of health and temperance, which are the handmaidens of virtue. But still we want truth? That is now added; and so the argument is complete, and may be compared to an incorporeal law, which is to hold fair rule over a living body. And now we are at the vestibule of the good, in which there are three chief elements — truth, symmetry, and beauty. These will be the criterion of the comparative claims of pleasure and wisdom.

Which has the greater share of truth? Surely wisdom; for pleasure is the veriest impostor in the world, and the perjuries of lovers have passed into a proverb.

Which of symmetry? Wisdom again; for nothing is more immoderate than pleasure.

Which of beauty? Once more, wisdom; for pleasure is often unseemly, and the greatest pleasures are put out of sight.

Not pleasure, then, ranks first in the scale of good, but measure, and eternal harmony.

Second comes the symmetrical and beautiful and perfect.

Third, mind and wisdom.

Fourth, sciences and arts and true opinions.

Fifth, painless pleasures.

Of a sixth class, I have no more to say. Thus, pleasure and mind may both renounce the claim to the first place. But mind is ten thousand times nearer to the chief good than pleasure. Pleasure ranks fifth and not first, even though all the animals in the world assert the contrary.

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From the days of Aristippus and Epicurus to our own times the nature of pleasure has occupied the attention of philosophers. ’Is pleasure an evil? a good? the only good?’ are the simple forms which the enquiry assumed among the Socratic schools. But at an early stage of the controversy another question was asked: ‘Do pleasures differ in kind? and are some bad, some good, and some neither bad nor good?’ There are bodily and there are mental pleasures, which were at first confused but afterwards distinguished. A distinction was also made between necessary and unnecessary pleasures; and again between pleasures which had or had not corresponding pains. The ancient philosophers were fond of asking, in the language of their age, ’Is pleasure a “becoming” only, and therefore transient and relative, or do some pleasures partake of truth and Being?’ To these ancient speculations the moderns have added a further question:— ‘Whose pleasure? The pleasure of yourself, or of your neighbour, — of the individual, or of the world?’ This little addition has changed the whole aspect of the discussion: the same word is now supposed to include two principles as widely different as benevolence and self-love. Some modern writers have also distinguished between pleasure the test, and pleasure the motive of actions. For the universal test of right actions (how I know them) may not always be the highest or best motive of them (why I do them).

Socrates, as we learn from the Memorabilia of Xenophon, first drew attention to the consequences of actions. Mankind were said by him to act rightly when they knew what they were doing, or, in the language of the Gorgias, ‘did what they would.’ He seems to have been the first who maintained that the good was the useful (Mem.). In his eagerness for generalization, seeking, as Aristotle says, for the universal in Ethics (Metaph.), he took the most obvious intellectual aspect of human action which occurred to him. He meant to emphasize, not pleasure, but the calculation of pleasure; neither is he arguing that pleasure is the chief good, but that we should have a principle of choice. He did not intend to oppose ‘the useful’ to some higher conception, such as the Platonic ideal, but to chance and caprice. The Platonic Socrates pursues the same vein of thought in the Protagoras, where he argues against the so-called sophist that pleasure and pain are the final standards and motives of good and evil, and that the salvation of human life depends upon a right estimate of pleasures greater or less when seen near and at a distance. The testimony of Xenophon is thus confirmed by that of Plato, and we are therefore justified in calling Socrates the first utilitarian; as indeed there is no side or aspect of philosophy which may not with reason be ascribed to him — he is Cynic and Cyrenaic, Platonist and Aristotelian in one. But in the Phaedo the Socratic has already passed into a more ideal point of view; and he, or rather Plato speaking in his person, expressly repudiates the notion that the exchange of a less pleasure for a greater can be an exchange of virtue. Such virtue is the virtue of ordinary men who live in the world of appearance; they are temperate only that they may enjoy the pleasures of intemperance, and courageous from fear of danger. Whereas the philosopher is seeking after wisdom and not after pleasure, whether near or distant: he is the mystic, the initiated, who has learnt to despise the body and is yearning all his life long for a truth which will hereafter be revealed to him. In the Republic the pleasures of knowledge are affirmed to be superior to other pleasures, because the philosopher so estimates them; and he alone has had experience of both kinds. (Compare a similar argument urged by one of the latest defenders of Utilitarianism, Mill’s Utilitarianism). In the Philebus, Plato, although he regards the enemies of pleasure with complacency, still further modifies the transcendentalism of the Phaedo. For he is compelled to confess, rather reluctantly, perhaps, that some pleasures, i.e. those which have no antecedent pains, claim a place in the scale of goods.

There have been many reasons why not only Plato but mankind in general have been unwilling to acknowledge that ‘pleasure is the chief good.’ Either they have heard a voice calling to them out of another world; or the life and example of some great teacher has cast their thoughts of right and wrong in another mould; or the word ‘pleasure’ has been associated in their mind with merely animal enjoyment. They could not believe that what they were always striving to overcome, and the power or principle in them which overcame, were of the same nature. The pleasure of doing good to others and of bodily self-indulgence, the pleasures of intellect and the pleasures of sense, are so different: — Why then should they be called by a common name? Or, if the equivocal or metaphorical use of the word is justified by custom (like the use of other words which at first referred only to the body, and then by a figure have been transferred to the mind), still, why should we make an ambiguous word the corner-stone of moral philosophy? To the higher thinker the Utilitarian or hedonist mode of speaking has been at variance with religion and with any higher conception both of politics and of morals. It has not satisfied their imagination; it has offended their taste. To elevate pleasure, ‘the most fleeting of all things,’ into a general idea seems to such men a contradiction. They do not desire to bring down their theory to the level of their practice. The simplicity of the ‘greatest happiness’ principle has been acceptable to philosophers, but the better part of the world has been slow to receive it.

Before proceeding, we may make a few admissions which will narrow the field of dispute; and we may as well leave behind a few prejudices, which intelligent opponents of Utilitarianism have by this time ‘agreed to discard’. We admit that Utility is coextensive with right, and that no action can be right which does not tend to the happiness of mankind; we acknowledge that a large class of actions are made right or wrong by their consequences only; we say further that mankind are not too mindful, but that they are far too regardless of consequences, and that they need to have the doctrine of utility habitually inculcated on them. We recognize the value of a principle which can supply a connecting link between Ethics and Politics, and under which all human actions are or may be included. The desire to promote happiness is no mean preference of expediency to right, but one of the highest and noblest motives by which human nature can be animated. Neither in referring actions to the test of utility have we to make a laborious calculation, any more than in trying them by other standards of morals. For long ago they have been classified sufficiently for all practical purposes by the thinker, by the legislator, by the opinion of the world. Whatever may be the hypothesis on which they are explained, or which in doubtful cases may be applied to the regulation of them, we are very rarely, if ever, called upon at the moment of performing them to determine their effect upon the happiness of mankind.

There is a theory which has been contrasted with Utility by Paley and others — the theory of a moral sense: Are our ideas of right and wrong innate or derived from experience? This, perhaps, is another of those speculations which intelligent men might ‘agree to discard.’ For it has been worn threadbare; and either alternative is equally consistent with a transcendental or with an eudaemonistic system of ethics, with a greatest happiness principle or with Kant’s law of duty. Yet to avoid misconception, what appears to be the truth about the origin of our moral ideas may be shortly summed up as follows: — To each of us individually our moral ideas come first of all in childhood through the medium of education, from parents and teachers, assisted by the unconscious influence of language; they are impressed upon a mind which at first is like a waxen tablet, adapted to receive them; but they soon become fixed or set, and in after life are strengthened, or perhaps weakened by the force of public opinion. They may be corrected and enlarged by experience, they may be reasoned about, they may be brought home to us by the circumstances of our lives, they may be intensified by imagination, by reflection, by a course of action likely to confirm them. Under the influence of religious feeling or by an effort of thought, any one beginning with the ordinary rules of morality may create out of them for himself ideals of holiness and virtue. They slumber in the minds of most men, yet in all of us there remains some tincture of affection, some desire of good, some sense of truth, some fear of the law. Of some such state or process each individual is conscious in himself, and if he compares his own experience with that of others he will find the witness of their consciences to coincide with that of his own. All of us have entered into an inheritance which we have the power of appropriating and making use of. No great effort of mind is required on our part; we learn morals, as we learn to talk, instinctively, from conversing with others, in an enlightened age, in a civilized country, in a good home. A well-educated child of ten years old already knows the essentials of morals: ‘Thou shalt not steal,’ ‘thou shalt speak the truth,’ ‘thou shalt love thy parents,’ ‘thou shalt fear God.’ What more does he want?

But whence comes this common inheritance or stock of moral ideas? Their beginning, like all other beginnings of human things, is obscure, and is the least important part of them. Imagine, if you will, that Society originated in the herding of brutes, in their parental instincts, in their rude attempts at self-preservation: — Man is not man in that he resembles, but in that he differs from them. We must pass into another cycle of existence, before we can discover in him by any evidence accessible to us even the germs of our moral ideas. In the history of the world, which viewed from within is the history of the human mind, they have been slowly created by religion, by poetry, by law, having their foundation in the natural affections and in the necessity of some degree of truth and justice in a social state; they have been deepened and enlarged by the efforts of great thinkers who have idealized and connected them — by the lives of saints and prophets who have taught and exemplified them. The schools of ancient philosophy which seem so far from us — Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, the Stoics, the Epicureans, and a few modern teachers, such as Kant and Bentham, have each of them supplied ‘moments’ of thought to the world. The life of Christ has embodied a divine love, wisdom, patience, reasonableness. For his image, however imperfectly handed down to us, the modern world has received a standard more perfect in idea than the societies of ancient times, but also further removed from practice. For there is certainly a greater interval between the theory and practice of Christians than between the theory and practice of the Greeks and Romans; the ideal is more above us, and the aspiration after good has often lent a strange power to evil. And sometimes, as at the Reformation, or French Revolution, when the upper classes of a so-called Christian country have become corrupted by priestcraft, by casuistry, by licentiousness, by despotism, the lower have risen up and re-asserted the natural sense of religion and right.

We may further remark that our moral ideas, as the world grows older, perhaps as we grow older ourselves, unless they have been undermined in us by false philosophy or the practice of mental analysis, or infected by the corruption of society or by some moral disorder in the individual, are constantly assuming a more natural and necessary character. The habit of the mind, the opinion of the world, familiarizes them to us; and they take more and more the form of immediate intuition. The moral sense comes last and not first in the order of their development, and is the instinct which we have inherited or acquired, not the nobler effort of reflection which created them and which keeps them alive. We do not stop to reason about common honesty. Whenever we are not blinded by self-deceit, as for example in judging the actions of others, we have no hesitation in determining what is right and wrong. The principles of morality, when not at variance with some desire or worldly interest of our own, or with the opinion of the public, are hardly perceived by us; but in the conflict of reason and passion they assert their authority and are not overcome without remorse.

Such is a brief outline of the history of our moral ideas. We have to distinguish, first of all, the manner in which they have grown up in the world from the manner in which they have been communicated to each of us. We may represent them to ourselves as flowing out of the boundless ocean of language and thought in little rills, which convey them to the heart and brain of each individual. But neither must we confound the theories or aspects of morality with the origin of our moral ideas. These are not the roots or ‘origines’ of morals, but the latest efforts of reflection, the lights in which the whole moral world has been regarded by different thinkers and successive generations of men. If we ask: Which of these many theories is the true one? we may answer: All of them — moral sense, innate ideas, a priori, a posteriori notions, the philosophy of experience, the philosophy of intuition — all of them have added something to our conception of Ethics; no one of them is the whole truth. But to decide how far our ideas of morality are derived from one source or another; to determine what history, what philosophy has contributed to them; to distinguish the original, simple elements from the manifold and complex applications of them, would be a long enquiry too far removed from the question which we are now pursuing.

Bearing in mind the distinction which we have been seeking to establish between our earliest and our most mature ideas of morality, we may now proceed to state the theory of Utility, not exactly in the words, but in the spirit of one of its ablest and most moderate supporters (Mill’s Utilitarianism):— ‘That which alone makes actions either right or desirable is their utility, or tendency to promote the happiness of mankind, or, in other words, to increase the sum of pleasure in the world. But all pleasures are not the same: they differ in quality as well as in quantity, and the pleasure which is superior in quality is incommensurable with the inferior. Neither is the pleasure or happiness, which we seek, our own pleasure, but that of others, — of our family, of our country, of mankind. The desire of this, and even the sacrifice of our own interest to that of other men, may become a passion to a rightly educated nature. The Utilitarian finds a place in his system for this virtue and for every other.’

Good or happiness or pleasure is thus regarded as the true and only end of human life. To this all our desires will be found to tend, and in accordance with this all the virtues, including justice, may be explained. Admitting that men rest for a time in inferior ends, and do not cast their eyes beyond them, these ends are really dependent on the greater end of happiness, and would not be pursued, unless in general they had been found to lead to it. The existence of such an end is proved, as in Aristotle’s time, so in our own, by the universal fact that men desire it. The obligation to promote it is based upon the social nature of man; this sense of duty is shared by all of us in some degree, and is capable of being greatly fostered and strengthened. So far from being inconsistent with religion, the greatest happiness principle is in the highest degree agreeable to it. For what can be more reasonable than that God should will the happiness of all his creatures? and in working out their happiness we may be said to be ‘working together with him.’ Nor is it inconceivable that a new enthusiasm of the future, far stronger than any old religion, may be based upon such a conception.

But then for the familiar phrase of the ‘greatest happiness principle,’ it seems as if we ought now to read ‘the noblest happiness principle,’ ‘the happiness of others principle’ — the principle not of the greatest, but of the highest pleasure, pursued with no more regard to our own immediate interest than is required by the law of self-preservation. Transfer the thought of happiness to another life, dropping the external circumstances which form so large a part of our idea of happiness in this, and the meaning of the word becomes indistinguishable from holiness, harmony, wisdom, love. By the slight addition ‘of others,’ all the associations of the word are altered; we seem to have passed over from one theory of morals to the opposite. For allowing that the happiness of others is reflected on ourselves, and also that every man must live before he can do good to others, still the last limitation is a very trifling exception, and the happiness of another is very far from compensating for the loss of our own. According to Mr. Mill, he would best carry out the principle of utility who sacrificed his own pleasure most to that of his fellow-men. But if so, Hobbes and Butler, Shaftesbury and Hume, are not so far apart as they and their followers imagine. The thought of self and the thought of others are alike superseded in the more general notion of the happiness of mankind at large. But in this composite good, until society becomes perfected, the friend of man himself has generally the least share, and may be a great sufferer.

And now what objection have we to urge against a system of moral philosophy so beneficent, so enlightened, so ideal, and at the same time so practical, — so Christian, as we may say without exaggeration, — and which has the further advantage of resting morality on a principle intelligible to all capacities? Have we not found that which Socrates and Plato ‘grew old in seeking’? Are we not desirous of happiness, at any rate for ourselves and our friends, if not for all mankind? If, as is natural, we begin by thinking of ourselves first, we are easily led on to think of others; for we cannot help acknowledging that what is right for us is the right and inheritance of others. We feel the advantage of an abstract principle wide enough and strong enough to override all the particularisms of mankind; which acknowledges a universal good, truth, right; which is capable of inspiring men like a passion, and is the symbol of a cause for which they are ready to contend to their life’s end.

And if we test this principle by the lives of its professors, it would certainly appear inferior to none as a rule of action. From the days of Eudoxus (Arist. Ethics) and Epicurus to our own, the votaries of pleasure have gained belief for their principles by their practice. Two of the noblest and most disinterested men who have lived in this century, Bentham and J. S. Mill, whose lives were a long devotion to the service of their fellows, have been among the most enthusiastic supporters of utility; while among their contemporaries, some who were of a more mystical turn of mind, have ended rather in aspiration than in action, and have been found unequal to the duties of life. Looking back on them now that they are removed from the scene, we feel that mankind has been the better for them. The world was against them while they lived; but this is rather a reason for admiring than for depreciating them. Nor can any one doubt that the influence of their philosophy on politics — especially on foreign politics, on law, on social life, has been upon the whole beneficial. Nevertheless, they will never have justice done to them, for they do not agree either with the better feeling of the multitude or with the idealism of more refined thinkers. Without Bentham, a great word in the history of philosophy would have remained unspoken. Yet to this day it is rare to hear his name received with any mark of respect such as would be freely granted to the ambiguous memory of some father of the Church. The odium which attached to him when alive has not been removed by his death. For he shocked his contemporaries by egotism and want of taste; and this generation which has reaped the benefit of his labours has inherited the feeling of the last. He was before his own age, and is hardly remembered in this.

While acknowledging the benefits which the greatest happiness principle has conferred upon mankind, the time appears to have arrived, not for denying its claims, but for criticizing them and comparing them with other principles which equally claim to lie at the foundation of ethics. Any one who adds a general principle to knowledge has been a benefactor to the world. But there is a danger that, in his first enthusiasm, he may not recognize the proportions or limitations to which his truth is subjected; he does not see how far he has given birth to a truism, or how that which is a truth to him is a truism to the rest of the world; or may degenerate in the next generation. He believes that to be the whole which is only a part, — to be the necessary foundation which is really only a valuable aspect of the truth. The systems of all philosophers require the criticism of ‘the morrow,’ when the heat of imagination which forged them has cooled, and they are seen in the temperate light of day. All of them have contributed to enrich the mind of the civilized world; none of them occupy that supreme or exclusive place which their authors would have assigned to them.

We may preface the criticism with a few preliminary remarks: —

Mr. Mill, Mr. Austin, and others, in their eagerness to maintain the doctrine of utility, are fond of repeating that we are in a lamentable state of uncertainty about morals. While other branches of knowledge have made extraordinary progress, in moral philosophy we are supposed by them to be no better than children, and with few exceptions — that is to say, Bentham and his followers — to be no further advanced than men were in the age of Socrates and Plato, who, in their turn, are deemed to be as backward in ethics as they necessarily were in physics. But this, though often asserted, is recanted almost in a breath by the same writers who speak thus depreciatingly of our modern ethical philosophy. For they are the first to acknowledge that we have not now to begin classifying actions under the head of utility; they would not deny that about the general conceptions of morals there is a practical agreement. There is no more doubt that falsehood is wrong than that a stone falls to the ground, although the first does not admit of the same ocular proof as the second. There is no greater uncertainty about the duty of obedience to parents and to the law of the land than about the properties of triangles. Unless we are looking for a new moral world which has no marrying and giving in marriage, there is no greater disagreement in theory about the right relations of the sexes than about the composition of water. These and a few other simple principles, as they have endless applications in practice, so also may be developed in theory into counsels of perfection.

To what then is to be attributed this opinion which has been often entertained about the uncertainty of morals? Chiefly to this, — that philosophers have not always distinguished the theoretical and the casuistical uncertainty of morals from the practical certainty. There is an uncertainty about details, — whether, for example, under given circumstances such and such a moral principle is to be enforced, or whether in some cases there may not be a conflict of duties: these are the exceptions to the ordinary rules of morality, important, indeed, but not extending to the one thousandth or one ten-thousandth part of human actions. This is the domain of casuistry. Secondly, the aspects under which the most general principles of morals may be presented to us are many and various. The mind of man has been more than usually active in thinking about man. The conceptions of harmony, happiness, right, freedom, benevolence, self-love, have all of them seemed to some philosopher or other the truest and most comprehensive expression of morality. There is no difference, or at any rate no great difference, of opinion about the right and wrong of actions, but only about the general notion which furnishes the best explanation or gives the most comprehensive view of them. This, in the language of Kant, is the sphere of the metaphysic of ethics. But these two uncertainties at either end, en tois malista katholou and en tois kath ekasta, leave space enough for an intermediate principle which is practically certain.

The rule of human life is not dependent on the theories of philosophers: we know what our duties are for the most part before we speculate about them. And the use of speculation is not to teach us what we already know, but to inspire in our minds an interest about morals in general, to strengthen our conception of the virtues by showing that they confirm one another, to prove to us, as Socrates would have said, that they are not many, but one. There is the same kind of pleasure and use in reducing morals, as in reducing physics, to a few very simple truths. And not unfrequently the more general principle may correct prejudices and misconceptions, and enable us to regard our fellow-men in a larger and more generous spirit.

The two qualities which seem to be most required in first principles of ethics are, (1) that they should afford a real explanation of the facts, (2) that they should inspire the mind, — should harmonize, strengthen, settle us. We can hardly estimate the influence which a simple principle such as ‘Act so as to promote the happiness of mankind,’ or ‘Act so that the rule on which thou actest may be adopted as a law by all rational beings,’ may exercise on the mind of an individual. They will often seem to open a new world to him, like the religious conceptions of faith or the spirit of God. The difficulties of ethics disappear when we do not suffer ourselves to be distracted between different points of view. But to maintain their hold on us, the general principles must also be psychologically true — they must agree with our experience, they must accord with the habits of our minds.

When we are told that actions are right or wrong only in so far as they tend towards happiness, we naturally ask what is meant by ‘happiness.’ For the term in the common use of language is only to a certain extent commensurate with moral good and evil. We should hardly say that a good man could be utterly miserable (Arist. Ethics), or place a bad man in the first rank of happiness. But yet, from various circumstances, the measure of a man’s happiness may be out of all proportion to his desert. And if we insist on calling the good man alone happy, we shall be using the term in some new and transcendental sense, as synonymous with well-being. We have already seen that happiness includes the happiness of others as well as our own; we must now comprehend unconscious as well as conscious happiness under the same word. There is no harm in this extension of the meaning, but a word which admits of such an extension can hardly be made the basis of a philosophical system. The exactness which is required in philosophy will not allow us to comprehend under the same term two ideas so different as the subjective feeling of pleasure or happiness and the objective reality of a state which receives our moral approval.

Like Protarchus in the Philebus, we can give no answer to the question, ‘What is that common quality which in all states of human life we call happiness? which includes the lower and the higher kind of happiness, and is the aim of the noblest, as well as of the meanest of mankind?’ If we say ‘Not pleasure, not virtue, not wisdom, nor yet any quality which we can abstract from these’ — what then? After seeming to hover for a time on the verge of a great truth, we have gained only a truism.

Let us ask the question in another form. What is that which constitutes happiness, over and above the several ingredients of health, wealth, pleasure, virtue, knowledge, which are included under it? Perhaps we answer, ‘The subjective feeling of them.’ But this is very far from being coextensive with right. Or we may reply that happiness is the whole of which the above-mentioned are the parts. Still the question recurs, ‘In what does the whole differ from all the parts?’ And if we are unable to distinguish them, happiness will be the mere aggregate of the goods of life.

Again, while admitting that in all right action there is an element of happiness, we cannot help seeing that the utilitarian theory supplies a much easier explanation of some virtues than of others. Of many patriotic or benevolent actions we can give a straightforward account by their tendency to promote happiness. For the explanation of justice, on the other hand, we have to go a long way round. No man is indignant with a thief because he has not promoted the greatest happiness of the greatest number, but because he has done him a wrong. There is an immeasurable interval between a crime against property or life, and the omission of an act of charity or benevolence. Yet of this interval the utilitarian theory takes no cognizance. The greatest happiness principle strengthens our sense of positive duties towards others, but weakens our recognition of their rights. To promote in every way possible the happiness of others may be a counsel of perfection, but hardly seems to offer any ground for a theory of obligation. For admitting that our ideas of obligation are partly derived from religion and custom, yet they seem also to contain other essential elements which cannot be explained by the tendency of actions to promote happiness. Whence comes the necessity of them? Why are some actions rather than others which equally tend to the happiness of mankind imposed upon us with the authority of law? ‘You ought’ and ‘you had better’ are fundamental distinctions in human thought; and having such distinctions, why should we seek to efface and unsettle them?

Bentham and Mr. Mill are earnest in maintaining that happiness includes the happiness of others as well as of ourselves. But what two notions can be more opposed in many cases than these? Granting that in a perfect state of the world my own happiness and that of all other men would coincide, in the imperfect state they often diverge, and I cannot truly bridge over the difficulty by saying that men will always find pleasure in sacrificing themselves or in suffering for others. Upon the greatest happiness principle it is admitted that I am to have a share, and in consistency I should pursue my own happiness as impartially as that of my neighbour. But who can decide what proportion should be mine and what his, except on the principle that I am most likely to be deceived in my own favour, and had therefore better give the larger share, if not all, to him?

Further, it is admitted that utility and right coincide, not in particular instances, but in classes of actions. But is it not distracting to the conscience of a man to be told that in the particular case they are opposed? Happiness is said to be the ground of moral obligation, yet he must not do what clearly conduces to his own happiness if it is at variance with the good of the whole. Nay, further, he will be taught that when utility and right are in apparent conflict any amount of utility does not alter by a hair’s-breadth the morality of actions, which cannot be allowed to deviate from established law or usage; and that the non-detection of an immoral act, say of telling a lie, which may often make the greatest difference in the consequences, not only to himself, but to all the world, makes none whatever in the act itself.

Again, if we are concerned not with particular actions but with classes of actions, is the tendency of actions to happiness a principle upon which we can classify them? There is a universal law which imperatively declares certain acts to be right or wrong: — can there be any universality in the law which measures actions by their tendencies towards happiness? For an act which is the cause of happiness to one person may be the cause of unhappiness to another; or an act which if performed by one person may increase the happiness of mankind may have the opposite effect if performed by another. Right can never be wrong, or wrong right, that there are no actions which tend to the happiness of mankind which may not under other circumstances tend to their unhappiness. Unless we say not only that all right actions tend to happiness, but that they tend to happiness in the same degree in which they are right (and in that case the word ‘right’ is plainer), we weaken the absoluteness of our moral standard; we reduce differences in kind to differences in degree; we obliterate the stamp which the authority of ages has set upon vice and crime.

Once more: turning from theory to practice we feel the importance of retaining the received distinctions of morality. Words such as truth, justice, honesty, virtue, love, have a simple meaning; they have become sacred to us,— ‘the word of God’ written on the human heart: to no other words can the same associations be attached. We cannot explain them adequately on principles of utility; in attempting to do so we rob them of their true character. We give them a meaning often paradoxical and distorted, and generally weaker than their signification in common language. And as words influence men’s thoughts, we fear that the hold of morality may also be weakened, and the sense of duty impaired, if virtue and vice are explained only as the qualities which do or do not contribute to the pleasure of the world. In that very expression we seem to detect a false ring, for pleasure is individual not universal; we speak of eternal and immutable justice, but not of eternal and immutable pleasure; nor by any refinement can we avoid some taint of bodily sense adhering to the meaning of the word.

Again: the higher the view which men take of life, the more they lose sight of their own pleasure or interest. True religion is not working for a reward only, but is ready to work equally without a reward. It is not ‘doing the will of God for the sake of eternal happiness,’ but doing the will of God because it is best, whether rewarded or unrewarded. And this applies to others as well as to ourselves. For he who sacrifices himself for the good of others, does not sacrifice himself that they may be saved from the persecution which he endures for their sakes, but rather that they in their turn may be able to undergo similar sufferings, and like him stand fast in the truth. To promote their happiness is not his first object, but to elevate their moral nature. Both in his own case and that of others there may be happiness in the distance, but if there were no happiness he would equally act as he does. We are speaking of the highest and noblest natures; and a passing thought naturally arises in our minds, ‘Whether that can be the first principle of morals which is hardly regarded in their own case by the greatest benefactors of mankind?’

The admissions that pleasures differ in kind, and that actions are already classified; the acknowledgment that happiness includes the happiness of others, as well as of ourselves; the confusion (not made by Aristotle) between conscious and unconscious happiness, or between happiness the energy and happiness the result of the energy, introduce uncertainty and inconsistency into the whole enquiry. We reason readily and cheerfully from a greatest happiness principle. But we find that utilitarians do not agree among themselves about the meaning of the word. Still less can they impart to others a common conception or conviction of the nature of happiness. The meaning of the word is always insensibly slipping away from us, into pleasure, out of pleasure, now appearing as the motive, now as the test of actions, and sometimes varying in successive sentences. And as in a mathematical demonstration an error in the original number disturbs the whole calculation which follows, this fundamental uncertainty about the word vitiates all the applications of it. Must we not admit that a notion so uncertain in meaning, so void of content, so at variance with common language and opinion, does not comply adequately with either of our two requirements? It can neither strike the imaginative faculty, nor give an explanation of phenomena which is in accordance with our individual experience. It is indefinite; it supplies only a partial account of human actions: it is one among many theories of philosophers. It may be compared with other notions, such as the chief good of Plato, which may be best expressed to us under the form of a harmony, or with Kant’s obedience to law, which may be summed up under the word ‘duty,’ or with the Stoical ‘Follow nature,’ and seems to have no advantage over them. All of these present a certain aspect of moral truth. None of them are, or indeed profess to be, the only principle of morals.

And this brings us to speak of the most serious objection to the utilitarian system — its exclusiveness. There is no place for Kant or Hegel, for Plato and Aristotle alongside of it. They do not reject the greatest happiness principle, but it rejects them. Now the phenomena of moral action differ, and some are best explained upon one principle and some upon another: the virtue of justice seems to be naturally connected with one theory of morals, the virtues of temperance and benevolence with another. The characters of men also differ; and some are more attracted by one aspect of the truth, some by another. The firm stoical nature will conceive virtue under the conception of law, the philanthropist under that of doing good, the quietist under that of resignation, the enthusiast under that of faith or love. The upright man of the world will desire above all things that morality should be plain and fixed, and should use language in its ordinary sense. Persons of an imaginative temperament will generally be dissatisfied with the words ‘utility’ or ‘pleasure’: their principle of right is of a far higher character — what or where to be found they cannot always distinctly tell; — deduced from the laws of human nature, says one; resting on the will of God, says another; based upon some transcendental idea which animates more worlds than one, says a third:

on nomoi prokeintai upsipodes, ouranian

di aithera teknothentes.

To satisfy an imaginative nature in any degree, the doctrine of utility must be so transfigured that it becomes altogether different and loses all simplicity.

But why, since there are different characters among men, should we not allow them to envisage morality accordingly, and be thankful to the great men who have provided for all of us modes and instruments of thought? Would the world have been better if there had been no Stoics or Kantists, no Platonists or Cartesians? No more than if the other pole of moral philosophy had been excluded. All men have principles which are above their practice; they admit premises which, if carried to their conclusions, are a sufficient basis of morals. In asserting liberty of speculation we are not encouraging individuals to make right or wrong for themselves, but only conceding that they may choose the form under which they prefer to contemplate them. Nor do we say that one of these aspects is as true and good as another; but that they all of them, if they are not mere sophisms and illusions, define and bring into relief some part of the truth which would have been obscure without their light. Why should we endeavour to bind all men within the limits of a single metaphysical conception? The necessary imperfection of language seems to require that we should view the same truth under more than one aspect.

We are living in the second age of utilitarianism, when the charm of novelty and the fervour of the first disciples has passed away. The doctrine is no longer stated in the forcible paradoxical manner of Bentham, but has to be adapted to meet objections; its corners are rubbed off, and the meaning of its most characteristic expressions is softened. The array of the enemy melts away when we approach him. The greatest happiness of the greatest number was a great original idea when enunciated by Bentham, which leavened a generation and has left its mark on thought and civilization in all succeeding times. His grasp of it had the intensity of genius. In the spirit of an ancient philosopher he would have denied that pleasures differed in kind, or that by happiness he meant anything but pleasure. He would perhaps have revolted us by his thoroughness. The ‘guardianship of his doctrine’ has passed into other hands; and now we seem to see its weak points, its ambiguities, its want of exactness while assuming the highest exactness, its one-sidedness, its paradoxical explanation of several of the virtues. No philosophy has ever stood this criticism of the next generation, though the founders of all of them have imagined that they were built upon a rock. And the utilitarian system, like others, has yielded to the inevitable analysis. Even in the opinion of ‘her admirers she has been terribly damaged’ (Phil.), and is no longer the only moral philosophy, but one among many which have contributed in various degrees to the intellectual progress of mankind.

But because the utilitarian philosophy can no longer claim ‘the prize,’ we must not refuse to acknowledge the great benefits conferred by it on the world. All philosophies are refuted in their turn, says the sceptic, and he looks forward to all future systems sharing the fate of the past. All philosophies remain, says the thinker; they have done a great work in their own day, and they supply posterity with aspects of the truth and with instruments of thought. Though they may be shorn of their glory, they retain their place in the organism of knowledge.

And still there remain many rules of morals which are better explained and more forcibly inculcated on the principle of utility than on any other. The question Will such and such an action promote the happiness of myself, my family, my country, the world? may check the rising feeling of pride or honour which would cause a quarrel, an estrangement, a war. ‘How can I contribute to the greatest happiness of others?’ is another form of the question which will be more attractive to the minds of many than a deduction of the duty of benevolence from a priori principles. In politics especially hardly any other argument can be allowed to have weight except the happiness of a people. All parties alike profess to aim at this, which though often used only as the disguise of self-interest has a great and real influence on the minds of statesmen. In religion, again, nothing can more tend to mitigate superstition than the belief that the good of man is also the will of God. This is an easy test to which the prejudices and superstitions of men may be brought: — whatever does not tend to the good of men is not of God. And the ideal of the greatest happiness of mankind, especially if believed to be the will of God, when compared with the actual fact, will be one of the strongest motives to do good to others.

On the other hand, when the temptation is to speak falsely, to be dishonest or unjust, or in any way to interfere with the rights of others, the argument that these actions regarded as a class will not conduce to the happiness of mankind, though true enough, seems to have less force than the feeling which is already implanted in the mind by conscience and authority. To resolve this feeling into the greatest happiness principle takes away from its sacred and authoritative character. The martyr will not go to the stake in order that he may promote the happiness of mankind, but for the sake of the truth: neither will the soldier advance to the cannon’s mouth merely because he believes military discipline to be for the good of mankind. It is better for him to know that he will be shot, that he will be disgraced, if he runs away — he has no need to look beyond military honour, patriotism, ‘England expects every man to do his duty.’ These are stronger motives than the greatest happiness of the greatest number, which is the thesis of a philosopher, not the watchword of an army. For in human actions men do not always require broad principles; duties often come home to us more when they are limited and defined, and sanctioned by custom and public opinion.

Lastly, if we turn to the history of ethics, we shall find that our moral ideas have originated not in utility but in religion, in law, in conceptions of nature, of an ideal good, and the like. And many may be inclined to think that this conclusively disproves the claim of utility to be the basis of morals. But the utilitarian will fairly reply (see above) that we must distinguish the origin of ethics from the principles of them — the historical germ from the later growth of reflection. And he may also truly add that for two thousand years and more, utility, if not the originating, has been the great corrective principle in law, in politics, in religion, leading men to ask how evil may be diminished and good increased — by what course of policy the public interest may be promoted, and to understand that God wills the happiness, not of some of his creatures and in this world only, but of all of them and in every stage of their existence.

‘What is the place of happiness or utility in a system of moral philosophy?’ is analogous to the question asked in the Philebus, ‘What rank does pleasure hold in the scale of goods?’ Admitting the greatest happiness principle to be true and valuable, and the necessary foundation of that part of morals which relates to the consequences of actions, we still have to consider whether this or some other general notion is the highest principle of human life. We may try them in this comparison by three tests — definiteness, comprehensiveness, and motive power.

There are three subjective principles of morals, — sympathy, benevolence, self-love. But sympathy seems to rest morality on feelings which differ widely even in good men; benevolence and self-love torture one half of our virtuous actions into the likeness of the other. The greatest happiness principle, which includes both, has the advantage over all these in comprehensiveness, but the advantage is purchased at the expense of definiteness.

Again, there are the legal and political principles of morals — freedom, equality, rights of persons; ‘Every man to count for one and no man for more than one,’ ‘Every man equal in the eye of the law and of the legislator.’ There is also the other sort of political morality, which if not beginning with ‘Might is right,’ at any rate seeks to deduce our ideas of justice from the necessities of the state and of society. According to this view the greatest good of men is obedience to law: the best human government is a rational despotism, and the best idea which we can form of a divine being is that of a despot acting not wholly without regard to law and order. To such a view the present mixed state of the world, not wholly evil or wholly good, is supposed to be a witness. More we might desire to have, but are not permitted. Though a human tyrant would be intolerable, a divine tyrant is a very tolerable governor of the universe. This is the doctrine of Thrasymachus adapted to the public opinion of modern times.

There is yet a third view which combines the two: — freedom is obedience to the law, and the greatest order is also the greatest freedom; ‘Act so that thy action may be the law of every intelligent being.’ This view is noble and elevating; but it seems to err, like other transcendental principles of ethics, in being too abstract. For there is the same difficulty in connecting the idea of duty with particular duties as in bridging the gulf between phainomena and onta; and when, as in the system of Kant, this universal idea or law is held to be independent of space and time, such a mataion eidos becomes almost unmeaning.

Once more there are the religious principles of morals: — the will of God revealed in Scripture and in nature. No philosophy has supplied a sanction equal in authority to this, or a motive equal in strength to the belief in another life. Yet about these too we must ask What will of God? how revealed to us, and by what proofs? Religion, like happiness, is a word which has great influence apart from any consideration of its content: it may be for great good or for great evil. But true religion is the synthesis of religion and morality, beginning with divine perfection in which all human perfection is embodied. It moves among ideas of holiness, justice, love, wisdom, truth; these are to God, in whom they are personified, what the Platonic ideas are to the idea of good. It is the consciousness of the will of God that all men should be as he is. It lives in this world and is known to us only through the phenomena of this world, but it extends to worlds beyond. Ordinary religion which is alloyed with motives of this world may easily be in excess, may be fanatical, may be interested, may be the mask of ambition, may be perverted in a thousand ways. But of that religion which combines the will of God with our highest ideas of truth and right there can never be too much. This impossibility of excess is the note of divine moderation.

So then, having briefly passed in review the various principles of moral philosophy, we may now arrange our goods in order, though, like the reader of the Philebus, we have a difficulty in distinguishing the different aspects of them from one another, or defining the point at which the human passes into the divine.

First, the eternal will of God in this world and in another, — justice, holiness, wisdom, love, without succession of acts (ouch e genesis prosestin), which is known to us in part only, and reverenced by us as divine perfection.

Secondly, human perfection, or the fulfilment of the will of God in this world, and co-operation with his laws revealed to us by reason and experience, in nature, history, and in our own minds.

Thirdly, the elements of human perfection, — virtue, knowledge, and right opinion.

Fourthly, the external conditions of perfection, — health and the goods of life.

Fifthly, beauty and happiness, — the inward enjoyment of that which is best and fairest in this world and in the human soul.

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The Philebus is probably the latest in time of the writings of Plato with the exception of the Laws. We have in it therefore the last development of his philosophy. The extreme and one-sided doctrines of the Cynics and Cyrenaics are included in a larger whole; the relations of pleasure and knowledge to each other and to the good are authoritatively determined; the Eleatic Being and the Heraclitean Flux no longer divide the empire of thought; the Mind of Anaxagoras has become the Mind of God and of the World. The great distinction between pure and applied science for the first time has a place in philosophy; the natural claim of dialectic to be the Queen of the Sciences is once more affirmed. This latter is the bond of union which pervades the whole or nearly the whole of the Platonic writings. And here as in several other dialogues (Phaedrus, Republic, etc.) it is presented to us in a manner playful yet also serious, and sometimes as if the thought of it were too great for human utterance and came down from heaven direct. It is the organization of knowledge wonderful to think of at a time when knowledge itself could hardly be said to exist. It is this more than any other element which distinguishes Plato, not only from the presocratic philosophers, but from Socrates himself.

We have not yet reached the confines of Aristotle, but we make a somewhat nearer approach to him in the Philebus than in the earlier Platonic writings. The germs of logic are beginning to appear, but they are not collected into a whole, or made a separate science or system. Many thinkers of many different schools have to be interposed between the Parmenides or Philebus of Plato, and the Physics or Metaphysics of Aristotle. It is this interval upon which we have to fix our minds if we would rightly understand the character of the transition from one to the other. Plato and Aristotle do not dovetail into one another; nor does the one begin where the other ends; there is a gulf between them not to be measured by time, which in the fragmentary state of our knowledge it is impossible to bridge over. It follows that the one cannot be interpreted by the other. At any rate, it is not Plato who is to be interpreted by Aristotle, but Aristotle by Plato. Of all philosophy and of all art the true understanding is to be sought not in the afterthoughts of posterity, but in the elements out of which they have arisen. For the previous stage is a tendency towards the ideal at which they are aiming; the later is a declination or deviation from them, or even a perversion of them. No man’s thoughts were ever so well expressed by his disciples as by himself.

But although Plato in the Philebus does not come into any close connexion with Aristotle, he is now a long way from himself and from the beginnings of his own philosophy. At the time of his death he left his system still incomplete; or he may be more truly said to have had no system, but to have lived in the successive stages or moments of metaphysical thought which presented themselves from time to time. The earlier discussions about universal ideas and definitions seem to have died away; the correlation of ideas has taken their place. The flowers of rhetoric and poetry have lost their freshness and charm; and a technical language has begun to supersede and overgrow them. But the power of thinking tends to increase with age, and the experience of life to widen and deepen. The good is summed up under categories which are not summa genera, but heads or gradations of thought. The question of pleasure and the relation of bodily pleasures to mental, which is hardly treated of elsewhere in Plato, is here analysed with great subtlety. The mean or measure is now made the first principle of good. Some of these questions reappear in Aristotle, as does also the distinction between metaphysics and mathematics. But there are many things in Plato which have been lost in Aristotle; and many things in Aristotle not to be found in Plato. The most remarkable deficiency in Aristotle is the disappearance of the Platonic dialectic, which in the Aristotelian school is only used in a comparatively unimportant and trivial sense. The most remarkable additions are the invention of the Syllogism, the conception of happiness as the foundation of morals, the reference of human actions to the standard of the better mind of the world, or of the one ‘sensible man’ or ‘superior person.’ His conception of ousia, or essence, is not an advance upon Plato, but a return to the poor and meagre abstractions of the Eleatic philosophy. The dry attempt to reduce the presocratic philosophy by his own rather arbitrary standard of the four causes, contrasts unfavourably with Plato’s general discussion of the same subject (Sophist). To attempt further to sum up the differences between the two great philosophers would be out of place here. Any real discussion of their relation to one another must be preceded by an examination into the nature and character of the Aristotelian writings and the form in which they have come down to us. This enquiry is not really separable from an investigation of Theophrastus as well as Aristotle and of the remains of other schools of philosophy as well as of the Peripatetics. But, without entering on this wide field, even a superficial consideration of the logical and metaphysical works which pass under the name of Aristotle, whether we suppose them to have come directly from his hand or to be the tradition of his school, is sufficient to show how great was the mental activity which prevailed in the latter half of the fourth century B.C.; what eddies and whirlpools of controversies were surging in the chaos of thought, what transformations of the old philosophies were taking place everywhere, what eclecticisms and syncretisms and realisms and nominalisms were affecting the mind of Hellas. The decline of philosophy during this period is no less remarkable than the loss of freedom; and the two are not unconnected with each other. But of the multitudinous sea of opinions which were current in the age of Aristotle we have no exact account. We know of them from allusions only. And we cannot with advantage fill up the void of our knowledge by conjecture: we can only make allowance for our ignorance.

There are several passages in the Philebus which are very characteristic of Plato, and which we shall do well to consider not only in their connexion, but apart from their connexion as inspired sayings or oracles which receive their full interpretation only from the history of philosophy in later ages. The more serious attacks on traditional beliefs which are often veiled under an unusual simplicity or irony are of this kind. Such, for example, is the excessive and more than human awe which Socrates expresses about the names of the gods, which may be not unaptly compared with the importance attached by mankind to theological terms in other ages; for this also may be comprehended under the satire of Socrates. Let us observe the religious and intellectual enthusiasm which shines forth in the following, ‘The power and faculty of loving the truth, and of doing all things for the sake of the truth’: or, again, the singular acknowledgment which may be regarded as the anticipation of a new logic, that ‘In going to war for mind I must have weapons of a different make from those which I used before, although some of the old ones may do again.’ Let us pause awhile to reflect on a sentence which is full of meaning to reformers of religion or to the original thinker of all ages: ‘Shall we then agree with them of old time, and merely reassert the notions of others without risk to ourselves; or shall we venture also to share in the risk and bear the reproach which will await us’: i.e. if we assert mind to be the author of nature. Let us note the remarkable words, ‘That in the divine nature of Zeus there is the soul and mind of a King, because there is in him the power of the cause,’ a saying in which theology and philosophy are blended and reconciled; not omitting to observe the deep insight into human nature which is shown by the repetition of the same thought ‘All philosophers are agreed that mind is the king of heaven and earth’ with the ironical addition, ‘in this way truly they magnify themselves.’ Nor let us pass unheeded the indignation felt by the generous youth at the ‘blasphemy’ of those who say that Chaos and Chance Medley created the world; or the significance of the words ‘those who said of old time that mind rules the universe’; or the pregnant observation that ‘we are not always conscious of what we are doing or of what happens to us,’ a chance expression to which if philosophers had attended they would have escaped many errors in psychology. We may contrast the contempt which is poured upon the verbal difficulty of the one and many, and the seriousness with the unity of opposites is regarded from the higher point of view of abstract ideas: or compare the simple manner in which the question of cause and effect and their mutual dependence is regarded by Plato (to which modern science has returned in Mill and Bacon), and the cumbrous fourfold division of causes in the Physics and Metaphysics of Aristotle, for which it has puzzled the world to find a use in so many centuries. When we consider the backwardness of knowledge in the age of Plato, the boldness with which he looks forward into the distance, the many questions of modern philosophy which are anticipated in his writings, may we not truly describe him in his own words as a ‘spectator of all time and of all existence’?

PHILEBUS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, Protarchus, Philebus.

SOCRATES: Observe, Protarchus, the nature of the position which you are now going to take from Philebus, and what the other position is which I maintain, and which, if you do not approve of it, is to be controverted by you. Shall you and I sum up the two sides?

PROTARCHUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: Philebus was saying that enjoyment and pleasure and delight, and the class of feelings akin to them, are a good to every living being, whereas I contend, that not these, but wisdom and intelligence and memory, and their kindred, right opinion and true reasoning, are better and more desirable than pleasure for all who are able to partake of them, and that to all such who are or ever will be they are the most advantageous of all things. Have I not given, Philebus, a fair statement of the two sides of the argument?

PHILEBUS: Nothing could be fairer, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And do you, Protarchus, accept the position which is assigned to you?

PROTARCHUS: I cannot do otherwise, since our excellent Philebus has left the field.

SOCRATES: Surely the truth about these matters ought, by all means, to be ascertained.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Shall we further agree —

PROTARCHUS: To what?

SOCRATES: That you and I must now try to indicate some state and disposition of the soul, which has the property of making all men happy.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, by all means.

SOCRATES: And you say that pleasure, and I say that wisdom, is such a state?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And what if there be a third state, which is better than either? Then both of us are vanquished — are we not? But if this life, which really has the power of making men happy, turn out to be more akin to pleasure than to wisdom, the life of pleasure may still have the advantage over the life of wisdom.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Or suppose that the better life is more nearly allied to wisdom, then wisdom conquers, and pleasure is defeated; — do you agree?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And what do you say, Philebus?

PHILEBUS: I say, and shall always say, that pleasure is easily the conqueror; but you must decide for yourself, Protarchus.

PROTARCHUS: You, Philebus, have handed over the argument to me, and have no longer a voice in the matter?

PHILEBUS: True enough. Nevertheless I would clear myself and deliver my soul of you; and I call the goddess herself to witness that I now do so.

PROTARCHUS: You may appeal to us; we too will be the witnesses of your words. And now, Socrates, whether Philebus is pleased or displeased, we will proceed with the argument.

SOCRATES: Then let us begin with the goddess herself, of whom Philebus says that she is called Aphrodite, but that her real name is Pleasure.

PROTARCHUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: The awe which I always feel, Protarchus, about the names of the gods is more than human — it exceeds all other fears. And now I would not sin against Aphrodite by naming her amiss; let her be called what she pleases. But Pleasure I know to be manifold, and with her, as I was just now saying, we must begin, and consider what her nature is. She has one name, and therefore you would imagine that she is one; and yet surely she takes the most varied and even unlike forms. For do we not say that the intemperate has pleasure, and that the temperate has pleasure in his very temperance, — that the fool is pleased when he is full of foolish fancies and hopes, and that the wise man has pleasure in his wisdom? and how foolish would any one be who affirmed that all these opposite pleasures are severally alike!

PROTARCHUS: Why, Socrates, they are opposed in so far as they spring from opposite sources, but they are not in themselves opposite. For must not pleasure be of all things most absolutely like pleasure, — that is, like itself?

SOCRATES: Yes, my good friend, just as colour is like colour; — in so far as colours are colours, there is no difference between them; and yet we all know that black is not only unlike, but even absolutely opposed to white: or again, as figure is like figure, for all figures are comprehended under one class; and yet particular figures may be absolutely opposed to one another, and there is an infinite diversity of them. And we might find similar examples in many other things; therefore do not rely upon this argument, which would go to prove the unity of the most extreme opposites. And I suspect that we shall find a similar opposition among pleasures.

PROTARCHUS: Very likely; but how will this invalidate the argument?

SOCRATES: Why, I shall reply, that dissimilar as they are, you apply to them a new predicate, for you say that all pleasant things are good; now although no one can argue that pleasure is not pleasure, he may argue, as we are doing, that pleasures are oftener bad than good; but you call them all good, and at the same time are compelled, if you are pressed, to acknowledge that they are unlike. And so you must tell us what is the identical quality existing alike in good and bad pleasures, which makes you designate all of them as good.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean, Socrates? Do you think that any one who asserts pleasure to be the good, will tolerate the notion that some pleasures are good and others bad?

SOCRATES: And yet you will acknowledge that they are different from one another, and sometimes opposed?

PROTARCHUS: Not in so far as they are pleasures.

SOCRATES: That is a return to the old position, Protarchus, and so we are to say (are we?) that there is no difference in pleasures, but that they are all alike; and the examples which have just been cited do not pierce our dull minds, but we go on arguing all the same, like the weakest and most inexperienced reasoners? (Probably corrupt.)

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Why, I mean to say, that in self-defence I may, if I like, follow your example, and assert boldly that the two things most unlike are most absolutely alike; and the result will be that you and I will prove ourselves to be very tyros in the art of disputing; and the argument will be blown away and lost. Suppose that we put back, and return to the old position; then perhaps we may come to an understanding with one another.

PROTARCHUS: How do you mean?

SOCRATES: Shall I, Protarchus, have my own question asked of me by you?

PROTARCHUS: What question?

SOCRATES: Ask me whether wisdom and science and mind, and those other qualities which I, when asked by you at first what is the nature of the good, affirmed to be good, are not in the same case with the pleasures of which you spoke.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: The sciences are a numerous class, and will be found to present great differences. But even admitting that, like the pleasures, they are opposite as well as different, should I be worthy of the name of dialectician if, in order to avoid this difficulty, I were to say (as you are saying of pleasure) that there is no difference between one science and another; — would not the argument founder and disappear like an idle tale, although we might ourselves escape drowning by clinging to a fallacy?

PROTARCHUS: May none of this befal us, except the deliverance! Yet I like the even-handed justice which is applied to both our arguments. Let us assume, then, that there are many and diverse pleasures, and many and different sciences.

SOCRATES: And let us have no concealment, Protarchus, of the differences between my good and yours; but let us bring them to the light in the hope that, in the process of testing them, they may show whether pleasure is to be called the good, or wisdom, or some third quality; for surely we are not now simply contending in order that my view or that yours may prevail, but I presume that we ought both of us to be fighting for the truth.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly we ought.

SOCRATES: Then let us have a more definite understanding and establish the principle on which the argument rests.

PROTARCHUS: What principle?

SOCRATES: A principle about which all men are always in a difficulty, and some men sometimes against their will.

PROTARCHUS: Speak plainer.

SOCRATES: The principle which has just turned up, which is a marvel of nature; for that one should be many or many one, are wonderful propositions; and he who affirms either is very open to attack.

PROTARCHUS: Do you mean, when a person says that I, Protarchus, am by nature one and also many, dividing the single ‘me’ into many ‘me’s,’ and even opposing them as great and small, light and heavy, and in ten thousand other ways?

SOCRATES: Those, Protarchus, are the common and acknowledged paradoxes about the one and many, which I may say that everybody has by this time agreed to dismiss as childish and obvious and detrimental to the true course of thought; and no more favour is shown to that other puzzle, in which a person proves the members and parts of anything to be divided, and then confessing that they are all one, says laughingly in disproof of his own words: Why, here is a miracle, the one is many and infinite, and the many are only one.

PROTARCHUS: But what, Socrates, are those other marvels connected with this subject which, as you imply, have not yet become common and acknowledged?

SOCRATES: When, my boy, the one does not belong to the class of things that are born and perish, as in the instances which we were giving, for in those cases, and when unity is of this concrete nature, there is, as I was saying, a universal consent that no refutation is needed; but when the assertion is made that man is one, or ox is one, or beauty one, or the good one, then the interest which attaches to these and similar unities and the attempt which is made to divide them gives birth to a controversy.

PROTARCHUS: Of what nature?

SOCRATES: In the first place, as to whether these unities have a real existence; and then how each individual unity, being always the same, and incapable either of generation or of destruction, but retaining a permanent individuality, can be conceived either as dispersed and multiplied in the infinity of the world of generation, or as still entire and yet divided from itself, which latter would seem to be the greatest impossibility of all, for how can one and the same thing be at the same time in one and in many things? These, Protarchus, are the real difficulties, and this is the one and many to which they relate; they are the source of great perplexity if ill decided, and the right determination of them is very helpful.

PROTARCHUS: Then, Socrates, let us begin by clearing up these questions.

SOCRATES: That is what I should wish.

PROTARCHUS: And I am sure that all my other friends will be glad to hear them discussed; Philebus, fortunately for us, is not disposed to move, and we had better not stir him up with questions.

SOCRATES: Good; and where shall we begin this great and multifarious battle, in which such various points are at issue? Shall we begin thus?

PROTARCHUS: How?

SOCRATES: We say that the one and many become identified by thought, and that now, as in time past, they run about together, in and out of every word which is uttered, and that this union of them will never cease, and is not now beginning, but is, as I believe, an everlasting quality of thought itself, which never grows old. Any young man, when he first tastes these subtleties, is delighted, and fancies that he has found a treasure of wisdom; in the first enthusiasm of his joy he leaves no stone, or rather no thought unturned, now rolling up the many into the one, and kneading them together, now unfolding and dividing them; he puzzles himself first and above all, and then he proceeds to puzzle his neighbours, whether they are older or younger, or of his own age — that makes no difference; neither father nor mother does he spare; no human being who has ears is safe from him, hardly even his dog, and a barbarian would have no chance of escaping him, if an interpreter could only be found.

PROTARCHUS: Considering, Socrates, how many we are, and that all of us are young men, is there not a danger that we and Philebus may all set upon you, if you abuse us? We understand what you mean; but is there no charm by which we may dispel all this confusion, no more excellent way of arriving at the truth? If there is, we hope that you will guide us into that way, and we will do our best to follow, for the enquiry in which we are engaged, Socrates, is not unimportant.

SOCRATES: The reverse of unimportant, my boys, as Philebus calls you, and there neither is nor ever will be a better than my own favourite way, which has nevertheless already often deserted me and left me helpless in the hour of need.

PROTARCHUS: Tell us what that is.

SOCRATES: One which may be easily pointed out, but is by no means easy of application; it is the parent of all the discoveries in the arts.

PROTARCHUS: Tell us what it is.

SOCRATES: A gift of heaven, which, as I conceive, the gods tossed among men by the hands of a new Prometheus, and therewith a blaze of light; and the ancients, who were our betters and nearer the gods than we are, handed down the tradition, that whatever things are said to be are composed of one and many, and have the finite and infinite implanted in them: seeing, then, that such is the order of the world, we too ought in every enquiry to begin by laying down one idea of that which is the subject of enquiry; this unity we shall find in everything. Having found it, we may next proceed to look for two, if there be two, or, if not, then for three or some other number, subdividing each of these units, until at last the unity with which we began is seen not only to be one and many and infinite, but also a definite number; the infinite must not be suffered to approach the many until the entire number of the species intermediate between unity and infinity has been discovered, — then, and not till then, we may rest from division, and without further troubling ourselves about the endless individuals may allow them to drop into infinity. This, as I was saying, is the way of considering and learning and teaching one another, which the gods have handed down to us. But the wise men of our time are either too quick or too slow in conceiving plurality in unity. Having no method, they make their one and many anyhow, and from unity pass at once to infinity; the intermediate steps never occur to them. And this, I repeat, is what makes the difference between the mere art of disputation and true dialectic.

PROTARCHUS: I think that I partly understand you Socrates, but I should like to have a clearer notion of what you are saying.

SOCRATES: I may illustrate my meaning by the letters of the alphabet, Protarchus, which you were made to learn as a child.

PROTARCHUS: How do they afford an illustration?

SOCRATES: The sound which passes through the lips whether of an individual or of all men is one and yet infinite.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And yet not by knowing either that sound is one or that sound is infinite are we perfect in the art of speech, but the knowledge of the number and nature of sounds is what makes a man a grammarian.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And the knowledge which makes a man a musician is of the same kind.

PROTARCHUS: How so?

SOCRATES: Sound is one in music as well as in grammar?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And there is a higher note and a lower note, and a note of equal pitch: — may we affirm so much?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But you would not be a real musician if this was all that you knew; though if you did not know this you would know almost nothing of music.

PROTARCHUS: Nothing.

SOCRATES: But when you have learned what sounds are high and what low, and the number and nature of the intervals and their limits or proportions, and the systems compounded out of them, which our fathers discovered, and have handed down to us who are their descendants under the name of harmonies; and the affections corresponding to them in the movements of the human body, which when measured by numbers ought, as they say, to be called rhythms and measures; and they tell us that the same principle should be applied to every one and many; — when, I say, you have learned all this, then, my dear friend, you are perfect; and you may be said to understand any other subject, when you have a similar grasp of it. But the infinity of kinds and the infinity of individuals which there is in each of them, when not classified, creates in every one of us a state of infinite ignorance; and he who never looks for number in anything, will not himself be looked for in the number of famous men.

PROTARCHUS: I think that what Socrates is now saying is excellent, Philebus.

PHILEBUS: I think so too, but how do his words bear upon us and upon the argument?

SOCRATES: Philebus is right in asking that question of us, Protarchus.

PROTARCHUS: Indeed he is, and you must answer him.

SOCRATES: I will; but you must let me make one little remark first about these matters; I was saying, that he who begins with any individual unity, should proceed from that, not to infinity, but to a definite number, and now I say conversely, that he who has to begin with infinity should not jump to unity, but he should look about for some number representing a certain quantity, and thus out of all end in one. And now let us return for an illustration of our principle to the case of letters.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Some god or divine man, who in the Egyptian legend is said to have been Theuth, observing that the human voice was infinite, first distinguished in this infinity a certain number of vowels, and then other letters which had sound, but were not pure vowels (i.e., the semivowels); these too exist in a definite number; and lastly, he distinguished a third class of letters which we now call mutes, without voice and without sound, and divided these, and likewise the two other classes of vowels and semivowels, into the individual sounds, and told the number of them, and gave to each and all of them the name of letters; and observing that none of us could learn any one of them and not learn them all, and in consideration of this common bond which in a manner united them, he assigned to them all a single art, and this he called the art of grammar or letters.

PHILEBUS: The illustration, Protarchus, has assisted me in understanding the original statement, but I still feel the defect of which I just now complained.

SOCRATES: Are you going to ask, Philebus, what this has to do with the argument?

PHILEBUS: Yes, that is a question which Protarchus and I have been long asking.

SOCRATES: Assuredly you have already arrived at the answer to the question which, as you say, you have been so long asking?

PHILEBUS: How so?

SOCRATES: Did we not begin by enquiring into the comparative eligibility of pleasure and wisdom?

PHILEBUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And we maintain that they are each of them one?

PHILEBUS: True.

SOCRATES: And the precise question to which the previous discussion desires an answer is, how they are one and also many (i.e., how they have one genus and many species), and are not at once infinite, and what number of species is to be assigned to either of them before they pass into infinity (i.e. into the infinite number of individuals).

PROTARCHUS: That is a very serious question, Philebus, to which Socrates has ingeniously brought us round, and please to consider which of us shall answer him; there may be something ridiculous in my being unable to answer, and therefore imposing the task upon you, when I have undertaken the whole charge of the argument, but if neither of us were able to answer, the result methinks would be still more ridiculous. Let us consider, then, what we are to do: — Socrates, if I understood him rightly, is asking whether there are not kinds of pleasure, and what is the number and nature of them, and the same of wisdom.

SOCRATES: Most true, O son of Callias; and the previous argument showed that if we are not able to tell the kinds of everything that has unity, likeness, sameness, or their opposites, none of us will be of the smallest use in any enquiry.

PROTARCHUS: That seems to be very near the truth, Socrates. Happy would the wise man be if he knew all things, and the next best thing for him is that he should know himself. Why do I say so at this moment? I will tell you. You, Socrates, have granted us this opportunity of conversing with you, and are ready to assist us in determining what is the best of human goods. For when Philebus said that pleasure and delight and enjoyment and the like were the chief good, you answered — No, not those, but another class of goods; and we are constantly reminding ourselves of what you said, and very properly, in order that we may not forget to examine and compare the two. And these goods, which in your opinion are to be designated as superior to pleasure, and are the true objects of pursuit, are mind and knowledge and understanding and art, and the like. There was a dispute about which were the best, and we playfully threatened that you should not be allowed to go home until the question was settled; and you agreed, and placed yourself at our disposal. And now, as children say, what has been fairly given cannot be taken back; cease then to fight against us in this way.

SOCRATES: In what way?

PHILEBUS: Do not perplex us, and keep asking questions of us to which we have not as yet any sufficient answer to give; let us not imagine that a general puzzling of us all is to be the end of our discussion, but if we are unable to answer, do you answer, as you have promised. Consider, then, whether you will divide pleasure and knowledge according to their kinds; or you may let the matter drop, if you are able and willing to find some other mode of clearing up our controversy.

SOCRATES: If you say that, I have nothing to apprehend, for the words ‘if you are willing’ dispel all my fear; and, moreover, a god seems to have recalled something to my mind.

PHILEBUS: What is that?

SOCRATES: I remember to have heard long ago certain discussions about pleasure and wisdom, whether awake or in a dream I cannot tell; they were to the effect that neither the one nor the other of them was the good, but some third thing, which was different from them, and better than either. If this be clearly established, then pleasure will lose the victory, for the good will cease to be identified with her: — Am I not right?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And there will cease to be any need of distinguishing the kinds of pleasures, as I am inclined to think, but this will appear more clearly as we proceed.

PROTARCHUS: Capital, Socrates; pray go on as you propose.

SOCRATES: But, let us first agree on some little points.

PROTARCHUS: What are they?

SOCRATES: Is the good perfect or imperfect?

PROTARCHUS: The most perfect, Socrates, of all things.

SOCRATES: And is the good sufficient?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, certainly, and in a degree surpassing all other things.

SOCRATES: And no one can deny that all percipient beings desire and hunt after good, and are eager to catch and have the good about them, and care not for the attainment of anything which is not accompanied by good.

PROTARCHUS: That is undeniable.

SOCRATES: Now let us part off the life of pleasure from the life of wisdom, and pass them in review.

PROTARCHUS: How do you mean?

SOCRATES: Let there be no wisdom in the life of pleasure, nor any pleasure in the life of wisdom, for if either of them is the chief good, it cannot be supposed to want anything, but if either is shown to want anything, then it cannot really be the chief good.

PROTARCHUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: And will you help us to test these two lives?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then answer.

PROTARCHUS: Ask.

SOCRATES: Would you choose, Protarchus, to live all your life long in the enjoyment of the greatest pleasures?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly I should.

SOCRATES: Would you consider that there was still anything wanting to you if you had perfect pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Reflect; would you not want wisdom and intelligence and forethought, and similar qualities? would you not at any rate want sight?

PROTARCHUS: Why should I? Having pleasure I should have all things.

SOCRATES: Living thus, you would always throughout your life enjoy the greatest pleasures?

PROTARCHUS: I should.

SOCRATES: But if you had neither mind, nor memory, nor knowledge, nor true opinion, you would in the first place be utterly ignorant of whether you were pleased or not, because you would be entirely devoid of intelligence.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And similarly, if you had no memory you would not recollect that you had ever been pleased, nor would the slightest recollection of the pleasure which you feel at any moment remain with you; and if you had no true opinion you would not think that you were pleased when you were; and if you had no power of calculation you would not be able to calculate on future pleasure, and your life would be the life, not of a man, but of an oyster or ‘pulmo marinus.’ Could this be otherwise?

PROTARCHUS: No.

SOCRATES: But is such a life eligible?

PROTARCHUS: I cannot answer you, Socrates; the argument has taken away from me the power of speech.

SOCRATES: We must keep up our spirits; — let us now take the life of mind and examine it in turn.

PROTARCHUS: And what is this life of mind?

SOCRATES: I want to know whether any one of us would consent to live, having wisdom and mind and knowledge and memory of all things, but having no sense of pleasure or pain, and wholly unaffected by these and the like feelings?

PROTARCHUS: Neither life, Socrates, appears eligible to me, nor is likely, as I should imagine, to be chosen by any one else.

SOCRATES: What would you say, Protarchus, to both of these in one, or to one that was made out of the union of the two?

PROTARCHUS: Out of the union, that is, of pleasure with mind and wisdom?

SOCRATES: Yes, that is the life which I mean.

PROTARCHUS: There can be no difference of opinion; not some but all would surely choose this third rather than either of the other two, and in addition to them.

SOCRATES: But do you see the consequence?

PROTARCHUS: To be sure I do. The consequence is, that two out of the three lives which have been proposed are neither sufficient nor eligible for man or for animal.

SOCRATES: Then now there can be no doubt that neither of them has the good, for the one which had would certainly have been sufficient and perfect and eligible for every living creature or thing that was able to live such a life; and if any of us had chosen any other, he would have chosen contrary to the nature of the truly eligible, and not of his own free will, but either through ignorance or from some unhappy necessity.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly that seems to be true.

SOCRATES: And now have I not sufficiently shown that Philebus’ goddess is not to be regarded as identical with the good?

PHILEBUS: Neither is your ‘mind’ the good, Socrates, for that will be open to the same objections.

SOCRATES: Perhaps, Philebus, you may be right in saying so of my ‘mind’; but of the true, which is also the divine mind, far otherwise. However, I will not at present claim the first place for mind as against the mixed life; but we must come to some understanding about the second place. For you might affirm pleasure and I mind to be the cause of the mixed life; and in that case although neither of them would be the good, one of them might be imagined to be the cause of the good. And I might proceed further to argue in opposition to Philebus, that the element which makes this mixed life eligible and good, is more akin and more similar to mind than to pleasure. And if this is true, pleasure cannot be truly said to share either in the first or second place, and does not, if I may trust my own mind, attain even to the third.

PROTARCHUS: Truly, Socrates, pleasure appears to me to have had a fall; in fighting for the palm, she has been smitten by the argument, and is laid low. I must say that mind would have fallen too, and may therefore be thought to show discretion in not putting forward a similar claim. And if pleasure were deprived not only of the first but of the second place, she would be terribly damaged in the eyes of her admirers, for not even to them would she still appear as fair as before.

SOCRATES: Well, but had we not better leave her now, and not pain her by applying the crucial test, and finally detecting her?

PROTARCHUS: Nonsense, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Why? because I said that we had better not pain pleasure, which is an impossibility?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, and more than that, because you do not seem to be aware that none of us will let you go home until you have finished the argument.

SOCRATES: Heavens! Protarchus, that will be a tedious business, and just at present not at all an easy one. For in going to war in the cause of mind, who is aspiring to the second prize, I ought to have weapons of another make from those which I used before; some, however, of the old ones may do again. And must I then finish the argument?

PROTARCHUS: Of course you must.

SOCRATES: Let us be very careful in laying the foundation.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Let us divide all existing things into two, or rather, if you do not object, into three classes.

PROTARCHUS: Upon what principle would you make the division?

SOCRATES: Let us take some of our newly-found notions.

PROTARCHUS: Which of them?

SOCRATES: Were we not saying that God revealed a finite element of existence, and also an infinite?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Let us assume these two principles, and also a third, which is compounded out of them; but I fear that I am ridiculously clumsy at these processes of division and enumeration.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean, my good friend?

SOCRATES: I say that a fourth class is still wanted.

PROTARCHUS: What will that be?

SOCRATES: Find the cause of the third or compound, and add this as a fourth class to the three others.

PROTARCHUS: And would you like to have a fifth class or cause of resolution as well as a cause of composition?

SOCRATES: Not, I think, at present; but if I want a fifth at some future time you shall allow me to have it.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Let us begin with the first three; and as we find two out of the three greatly divided and dispersed, let us endeavour to reunite them, and see how in each of them there is a one and many.

PROTARCHUS: If you would explain to me a little more about them, perhaps I might be able to follow you.

SOCRATES: Well, the two classes are the same which I mentioned before, one the finite, and the other the infinite; I will first show that the infinite is in a certain sense many, and the finite may be hereafter discussed.

PROTARCHUS: I agree.

SOCRATES: And now consider well; for the question to which I invite your attention is difficult and controverted. When you speak of hotter and colder, can you conceive any limit in those qualities? Does not the more and less, which dwells in their very nature, prevent their having any end? for if they had an end, the more and less would themselves have an end.

PROTARCHUS: That is most true.

SOCRATES: Ever, as we say, into the hotter and the colder there enters a more and a less.

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then, says the argument, there is never any end of them, and being endless they must also be infinite.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, Socrates, that is exceedingly true.

SOCRATES: Yes, my dear Protarchus, and your answer reminds me that such an expression as ‘exceedingly,’ which you have just uttered, and also the term ‘gently,’ have the same significance as more or less; for whenever they occur they do not allow of the existence of quantity — they are always introducing degrees into actions, instituting a comparison of a more or a less excessive or a more or a less gentle, and at each creation of more or less, quantity disappears. For, as I was just now saying, if quantity and measure did not disappear, but were allowed to intrude in the sphere of more and less and the other comparatives, these last would be driven out of their own domain. When definite quantity is once admitted, there can be no longer a ‘hotter’ or a ‘colder’ (for these are always progressing, and are never in one stay); but definite quantity is at rest, and has ceased to progress. Which proves that comparatives, such as the hotter and the colder, are to be ranked in the class of the infinite.

PROTARCHUS: Your remark certainly has the look of truth, Socrates; but these subjects, as you were saying, are difficult to follow at first. I think however, that if I could hear the argument repeated by you once or twice, there would be a substantial agreement between us.

SOCRATES: Yes, and I will try to meet your wish; but, as I would rather not waste time in the enumeration of endless particulars, let me know whether I may not assume as a note of the infinite —

PROTARCHUS: What?

SOCRATES: I want to know whether such things as appear to us to admit of more or less, or are denoted by the words ‘exceedingly,’ ‘gently,’ ‘extremely,’ and the like, may not be referred to the class of the infinite, which is their unity, for, as was asserted in the previous argument, all things that were divided and dispersed should be brought together, and have the mark or seal of some one nature, if possible, set upon them — do you remember?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And all things which do not admit of more or less, but admit their opposites, that is to say, first of all, equality, and the equal, or again, the double, or any other ratio of number and measure — all these may, I think, be rightly reckoned by us in the class of the limited or finite; what do you say?

PROTARCHUS: Excellent, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And now what nature shall we ascribe to the third or compound kind?

PROTARCHUS: You, I think, will have to tell me that.

SOCRATES: Rather God will tell you, if there be any God who will listen to my prayers.

PROTARCHUS: Offer up a prayer, then, and think.

SOCRATES: I am thinking, Protarchus, and I believe that some God has befriended us.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean, and what proof have you to offer of what you are saying?

SOCRATES: I will tell you, and do you listen to my words.

PROTARCHUS: Proceed.

SOCRATES: Were we not speaking just now of hotter and colder?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Add to them drier, wetter, more, less, swifter, slower, greater, smaller, and all that in the preceding argument we placed under the unity of more and less.

PROTARCHUS: In the class of the infinite, you mean?

SOCRATES: Yes; and now mingle this with the other.

PROTARCHUS: What is the other.

SOCRATES: The class of the finite which we ought to have brought together as we did the infinite; but, perhaps, it will come to the same thing if we do so now; — when the two are combined, a third will appear.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean by the class of the finite?

SOCRATES: The class of the equal and the double, and any class which puts an end to difference and opposition, and by introducing number creates harmony and proportion among the different elements.

PROTARCHUS: I understand; you seem to me to mean that the various opposites, when you mingle with them the class of the finite, takes certain forms.

SOCRATES: Yes, that is my meaning.

PROTARCHUS: Proceed.

SOCRATES: Does not the right participation in the finite give health — in disease, for instance?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And whereas the high and low, the swift and the slow are infinite or unlimited, does not the addition of the principles aforesaid introduce a limit, and perfect the whole frame of music?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, certainly.

SOCRATES: Or, again, when cold and heat prevail, does not the introduction of them take away excess and indefiniteness, and infuse moderation and harmony?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And from a like admixture of the finite and infinite come the seasons, and all the delights of life?

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: I omit ten thousand other things, such as beauty and health and strength, and the many beauties and high perfections of the soul: O my beautiful Philebus, the goddess, methinks, seeing the universal wantonness and wickedness of all things, and that there was in them no limit to pleasures and self-indulgence, devised the limit of law and order, whereby, as you say, Philebus, she torments, or as I maintain, delivers the soul. — What think you, Protarchus?

PROTARCHUS: Her ways are much to my mind, Socrates.

SOCRATES: You will observe that I have spoken of three classes?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, I think that I understand you: you mean to say that the infinite is one class, and that the finite is a second class of existences; but what you would make the third I am not so certain.

SOCRATES: That is because the amazing variety of the third class is too much for you, my dear friend; but there was not this difficulty with the infinite, which also comprehended many classes, for all of them were sealed with the note of more and less, and therefore appeared one.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And the finite or limit had not many divisions, and we readily acknowledged it to be by nature one?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Yes, indeed; and when I speak of the third class, understand me to mean any offspring of these, being a birth into true being, effected by the measure which the limit introduces.

PROTARCHUS: I understand.

SOCRATES: Still there was, as we said, a fourth class to be investigated, and you must assist in the investigation; for does not everything which comes into being, of necessity come into being through a cause?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, certainly; for how can there be anything which has no cause?

SOCRATES: And is not the agent the same as the cause in all except name; the agent and the cause may be rightly called one?

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And the same may be said of the patient, or effect; we shall find that they too differ, as I was saying, only in name — shall we not?

PROTARCHUS: We shall.

SOCRATES: The agent or cause always naturally leads, and the patient or effect naturally follows it?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then the cause and what is subordinate to it in generation are not the same, but different?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Did not the things which were generated, and the things out of which they were generated, furnish all the three classes?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the creator or cause of them has been satisfactorily proven to be distinct from them, — and may therefore be called a fourth principle?

PROTARCHUS: So let us call it.

SOCRATES: Quite right; but now, having distinguished the four, I think that we had better refresh our memories by recapitulating each of them in order.

PROTARCHUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: Then the first I will call the infinite or unlimited, and the second the finite or limited; then follows the third, an essence compound and generated; and I do not think that I shall be far wrong in speaking of the cause of mixture and generation as the fourth.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And now what is the next question, and how came we hither? Were we not enquiring whether the second place belonged to pleasure or wisdom?

PROTARCHUS: We were.

SOCRATES: And now, having determined these points, shall we not be better able to decide about the first and second place, which was the original subject of dispute?

PROTARCHUS: I dare say.

SOCRATES: We said, if you remember, that the mixed life of pleasure and wisdom was the conqueror — did we not?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And we see what is the place and nature of this life and to what class it is to be assigned?

PROTARCHUS: Beyond a doubt.

SOCRATES: This is evidently comprehended in the third or mixed class; which is not composed of any two particular ingredients, but of all the elements of infinity, bound down by the finite, and may therefore be truly said to comprehend the conqueror life.

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: And what shall we say, Philebus, of your life which is all sweetness; and in which of the aforesaid classes is that to be placed? Perhaps you will allow me to ask you a question before you answer?

PHILEBUS: Let me hear.

SOCRATES: Have pleasure and pain a limit, or do they belong to the class which admits of more and less?

PHILEBUS: They belong to the class which admits of more, Socrates; for pleasure would not be perfectly good if she were not infinite in quantity and degree.

SOCRATES: Nor would pain, Philebus, be perfectly evil. And therefore the infinite cannot be that element which imparts to pleasure some degree of good. But now — admitting, if you like, that pleasure is of the nature of the infinite — in which of the aforesaid classes, O Protarchus and Philebus, can we without irreverence place wisdom and knowledge and mind? And let us be careful, for I think that the danger will be very serious if we err on this point.

PHILEBUS: You magnify, Socrates, the importance of your favourite god.

SOCRATES: And you, my friend, are also magnifying your favourite goddess; but still I must beg you to answer the question.

PROTARCHUS: Socrates is quite right, Philebus, and we must submit to him.

PHILEBUS: And did not you, Protarchus, propose to answer in my place?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly I did; but I am now in a great strait, and I must entreat you, Socrates, to be our spokesman, and then we shall not say anything wrong or disrespectful of your favourite.

SOCRATES: I must obey you, Protarchus; nor is the task which you impose a difficult one; but did I really, as Philebus implies, disconcert you with my playful solemnity, when I asked the question to what class mind and knowledge belong?

PROTARCHUS: You did, indeed, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Yet the answer is easy, since all philosophers assert with one voice that mind is the king of heaven and earth — in reality they are magnifying themselves. And perhaps they are right. But still I should like to consider the class of mind, if you do not object, a little more fully.

PHILEBUS: Take your own course, Socrates, and never mind length; we shall not tire of you.

SOCRATES: Very good; let us begin then, Protarchus, by asking a question.

PROTARCHUS: What question?

SOCRATES: Whether all this which they call the universe is left to the guidance of unreason and chance medley, or, on the contrary, as our fathers have declared, ordered and governed by a marvellous intelligence and wisdom.

PROTARCHUS: Wide asunder are the two assertions, illustrious Socrates, for that which you were just now saying to me appears to be blasphemy; but the other assertion, that mind orders all things, is worthy of the aspect of the world, and of the sun, and of the moon, and of the stars and of the whole circle of the heavens; and never will I say or think otherwise.

SOCRATES: Shall we then agree with them of old time in maintaining this doctrine, — not merely reasserting the notions of others, without risk to ourselves, — but shall we share in the danger, and take our part of the reproach which will await us, when an ingenious individual declares that all is disorder?

PROTARCHUS: That would certainly be my wish.

SOCRATES: Then now please to consider the next stage of the argument.

PROTARCHUS: Let me hear.

SOCRATES: We see that the elements which enter into the nature of the bodies of all animals, fire, water, air, and, as the storm-tossed sailor cries, ‘land’ (i.e., earth), reappear in the constitution of the world.

PROTARCHUS: The proverb may be applied to us; for truly the storm gathers over us, and we are at our wit’s end.

SOCRATES: There is something to be remarked about each of these elements.

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: Only a small fraction of any one of them exists in us, and that of a mean sort, and not in any way pure, or having any power worthy of its nature. One instance will prove this of all of them; there is fire within us, and in the universe.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And is not our fire small and weak and mean? But the fire in the universe is wonderful in quantity and beauty, and in every power that fire has.

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: And is the fire in the universe nourished and generated and ruled by the fire in us, or is the fire in you and me, and in other animals, dependent on the universal fire?

PROTARCHUS: That is a question which does not deserve an answer.

SOCRATES: Right; and you would say the same, if I am not mistaken, of the earth which is in animals and the earth which is in the universe, and you would give a similar reply about all the other elements?

PROTARCHUS: Why, how could any man who gave any other be deemed in his senses?

SOCRATES: I do not think that he could — but now go on to the next step. When we saw those elements of which we have been speaking gathered up in one, did we not call them a body?

PROTARCHUS: We did.

SOCRATES: And the same may be said of the cosmos, which for the same reason may be considered to be a body, because made up of the same elements.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: But is our body nourished wholly by this body, or is this body nourished by our body, thence deriving and having the qualities of which we were just now speaking?

PROTARCHUS: That again, Socrates, is a question which does not deserve to be asked.

SOCRATES: Well, tell me, is this question worth asking?

PROTARCHUS: What question?

SOCRATES: May our body be said to have a soul?

PROTARCHUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And whence comes that soul, my dear Protarchus, unless the body of the universe, which contains elements like those in our bodies but in every way fairer, had also a soul? Can there be another source?

PROTARCHUS: Clearly, Socrates, that is the only source.

SOCRATES: Why, yes, Protarchus; for surely we cannot imagine that of the four classes, the finite, the infinite, the composition of the two, and the cause, the fourth, which enters into all things, giving to our bodies souls, and the art of self-management, and of healing disease, and operating in other ways to heal and organize, having too all the attributes of wisdom; — we cannot, I say, imagine that whereas the self-same elements exist, both in the entire heaven and in great provinces of the heaven, only fairer and purer, this last should not also in that higher sphere have designed the noblest and fairest things?

PROTARCHUS: Such a supposition is quite unreasonable.

SOCRATES: Then if this be denied, should we not be wise in adopting the other view and maintaining that there is in the universe a mighty infinite and an adequate limit, of which we have often spoken, as well as a presiding cause of no mean power, which orders and arranges years and seasons and months, and may be justly called wisdom and mind?

PROTARCHUS: Most justly.

SOCRATES: And wisdom and mind cannot exist without soul?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And in the divine nature of Zeus would you not say that there is the soul and mind of a king, because there is in him the power of the cause? And other gods have other attributes, by which they are pleased to be called.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Do not then suppose that these words are rashly spoken by us, O Protarchus, for they are in harmony with the testimony of those who said of old time that mind rules the universe.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And they furnish an answer to my enquiry; for they imply that mind is the parent of that class of the four which we called the cause of all; and I think that you now have my answer.

PROTARCHUS: I have indeed, and yet I did not observe that you had answered.

SOCRATES: A jest is sometimes refreshing, Protarchus, when it interrupts earnest.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: I think, friend, that we have now pretty clearly set forth the class to which mind belongs and what is the power of mind.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And the class to which pleasure belongs has also been long ago discovered?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And let us remember, too, of both of them, (1) that mind was akin to the cause and of this family; and (2) that pleasure is infinite and belongs to the class which neither has, nor ever will have in itself, a beginning, middle, or end of its own.

PROTARCHUS: I shall be sure to remember.

SOCRATES: We must next examine what is their place and under what conditions they are generated. And we will begin with pleasure, since her class was first examined; and yet pleasure cannot be rightly tested apart from pain.

PROTARCHUS: If this is the road, let us take it.

SOCRATES: I wonder whether you would agree with me about the origin of pleasure and pain.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean to say that their natural seat is in the mixed class.

PROTARCHUS: And would you tell me again, sweet Socrates, which of the aforesaid classes is the mixed one?

SOCRATES: I will, my fine fellow, to the best of my ability.

PROTARCHUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: Let us then understand the mixed class to be that which we placed third in the list of four.

PROTARCHUS: That which followed the infinite and the finite; and in which you ranked health, and, if I am not mistaken, harmony.

SOCRATES: Capital; and now will you please to give me your best attention?

PROTARCHUS: Proceed; I am attending.

SOCRATES: I say that when the harmony in animals is dissolved, there is also a dissolution of nature and a generation of pain.

PROTARCHUS: That is very probable.

SOCRATES: And the restoration of harmony and return to nature is the source of pleasure, if I may be allowed to speak in the fewest and shortest words about matters of the greatest moment.

PROTARCHUS: I believe that you are right, Socrates; but will you try to be a little plainer?

SOCRATES: Do not obvious and every-day phenomena furnish the simplest illustration?

PROTARCHUS: What phenomena do you mean?

SOCRATES: Hunger, for example, is a dissolution and a pain.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Whereas eating is a replenishment and a pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Thirst again is a destruction and a pain, but the effect of moisture replenishing the dry place is a pleasure: once more, the unnatural separation and dissolution caused by heat is painful, and the natural restoration and refrigeration is pleasant.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And the unnatural freezing of the moisture in an animal is pain, and the natural process of resolution and return of the elements to their original state is pleasure. And would not the general proposition seem to you to hold, that the destroying of the natural union of the finite and infinite, which, as I was observing before, make up the class of living beings, is pain, and that the process of return of all things to their own nature is pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Granted; what you say has a general truth.

SOCRATES: Here then is one kind of pleasures and pains originating severally in the two processes which we have described?

PROTARCHUS: Good.

SOCRATES: Let us next assume that in the soul herself there is an antecedent hope of pleasure which is sweet and refreshing, and an expectation of pain, fearful and anxious.

PROTARCHUS: Yes; this is another class of pleasures and pains, which is of the soul only, apart from the body, and is produced by expectation.

SOCRATES: Right; for in the analysis of these, pure, as I suppose them to be, the pleasures being unalloyed with pain and the pains with pleasure, methinks that we shall see clearly whether the whole class of pleasure is to be desired, or whether this quality of entire desirableness is not rather to be attributed to another of the classes which have been mentioned; and whether pleasure and pain, like heat and cold, and other things of the same kind, are not sometimes to be desired and sometimes not to be desired, as being not in themselves good, but only sometimes and in some instances admitting of the nature of good.

PROTARCHUS: You say most truly that this is the track which the investigation should pursue.

SOCRATES: Well, then, assuming that pain ensues on the dissolution, and pleasure on the restoration of the harmony, let us now ask what will be the condition of animated beings who are neither in process of restoration nor of dissolution. And mind what you say: I ask whether any animal who is in that condition can possibly have any feeling of pleasure or pain, great or small?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then here we have a third state, over and above that of pleasure and of pain?

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And do not forget that there is such a state; it will make a great difference in our judgment of pleasure, whether we remember this or not. And I should like to say a few words about it.

PROTARCHUS: What have you to say?

SOCRATES: Why, you know that if a man chooses the life of wisdom, there is no reason why he should not live in this neutral state.

PROTARCHUS: You mean that he may live neither rejoicing nor sorrowing?

SOCRATES: Yes; and if I remember rightly, when the lives were compared, no degree of pleasure, whether great or small, was thought to be necessary to him who chose the life of thought and wisdom.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, certainly, we said so.

SOCRATES: Then he will live without pleasure; and who knows whether this may not be the most divine of all lives?

PROTARCHUS: If so, the gods, at any rate, cannot be supposed to have either joy or sorrow.

SOCRATES: Certainly not — there would be a great impropriety in the assumption of either alternative. But whether the gods are or are not indifferent to pleasure is a point which may be considered hereafter if in any way relevant to the argument, and whatever is the conclusion we will place it to the account of mind in her contest for the second place, should she have to resign the first.

PROTARCHUS: Just so.

SOCRATES: The other class of pleasures, which as we were saying is purely mental, is entirely derived from memory.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: I must first of all analyze memory, or rather perception which is prior to memory, if the subject of our discussion is ever to be properly cleared up.

PROTARCHUS: How will you proceed?

SOCRATES: Let us imagine affections of the body which are extinguished before they reach the soul, and leave her unaffected; and again, other affections which vibrate through both soul and body, and impart a shock to both and to each of them.

PROTARCHUS: Granted.

SOCRATES: And the soul may be truly said to be oblivious of the first but not of the second?

PROTARCHUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: When I say oblivious, do not suppose that I mean forgetfulness in a literal sense; for forgetfulness is the exit of memory, which in this case has not yet entered; and to speak of the loss of that which is not yet in existence, and never has been, is a contradiction; do you see?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then just be so good as to change the terms.

PROTARCHUS: How shall I change them?

SOCRATES: Instead of the oblivion of the soul, when you are describing the state in which she is unaffected by the shocks of the body, say unconsciousness.

PROTARCHUS: I see.

SOCRATES: And the union or communion of soul and body in one feeling and motion would be properly called consciousness?

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: Then now we know the meaning of the word?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And memory may, I think, be rightly described as the preservation of consciousness?

PROTARCHUS: Right.

SOCRATES: But do we not distinguish memory from recollection?

PROTARCHUS: I think so.

SOCRATES: And do we not mean by recollection the power which the soul has of recovering, when by herself, some feeling which she experienced when in company with the body?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And when she recovers of herself the lost recollection of some consciousness or knowledge, the recovery is termed recollection and reminiscence?

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: There is a reason why I say all this.

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: I want to attain the plainest possible notion of pleasure and desire, as they exist in the mind only, apart from the body; and the previous analysis helps to show the nature of both.

PROTARCHUS: Then now, Socrates, let us proceed to the next point.

SOCRATES: There are certainly many things to be considered in discussing the generation and whole complexion of pleasure. At the outset we must determine the nature and seat of desire.

PROTARCHUS: Ay; let us enquire into that, for we shall lose nothing.

SOCRATES: Nay, Protarchus, we shall surely lose the puzzle if we find the answer.

PROTARCHUS: A fair retort; but let us proceed.

SOCRATES: Did we not place hunger, thirst, and the like, in the class of desires?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And yet they are very different; what common nature have we in view when we call them by a single name?

PROTARCHUS: By heavens, Socrates, that is a question which is not easily answered; but it must be answered.

SOCRATES: Then let us go back to our examples.

PROTARCHUS: Where shall we begin?

SOCRATES: Do we mean anything when we say ‘a man thirsts’?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: We mean to say that he ’is empty’?

PROTARCHUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: And is not thirst desire?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, of drink.

SOCRATES: Would you say of drink, or of replenishment with drink?

PROTARCHUS: I should say, of replenishment with drink.

SOCRATES: Then he who is empty desires, as would appear, the opposite of what he experiences; for he is empty and desires to be full?

PROTARCHUS: Clearly so.

SOCRATES: But how can a man who is empty for the first time, attain either by perception or memory to any apprehension of replenishment, of which he has no present or past experience?

PROTARCHUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: And yet he who desires, surely desires something?

PROTARCHUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: He does not desire that which he experiences, for he experiences thirst, and thirst is emptiness; but he desires replenishment?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then there must be something in the thirsty man which in some way apprehends replenishment?

PROTARCHUS: There must.

SOCRATES: And that cannot be the body, for the body is supposed to be emptied?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: The only remaining alternative is that the soul apprehends the replenishment by the help of memory; as is obvious, for what other way can there be?

PROTARCHUS: I cannot imagine any other.

SOCRATES: But do you see the consequence?

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: That there is no such thing as desire of the body.

PROTARCHUS: Why so?

SOCRATES: Why, because the argument shows that the endeavour of every animal is to the reverse of his bodily state.

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the impulse which leads him to the opposite of what he is experiencing proves that he has a memory of the opposite state.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And the argument, having proved that memory attracts us towards the objects of desire, proves also that the impulses and the desires and the moving principle in every living being have their origin in the soul.

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: The argument will not allow that our body either hungers or thirsts or has any similar experience.

PROTARCHUS: Quite right.

SOCRATES: Let me make a further observation; the argument appears to me to imply that there is a kind of life which consists in these affections.

PROTARCHUS: Of what affections, and of what kind of life, are you speaking?

SOCRATES: I am speaking of being emptied and replenished, and of all that relates to the preservation and destruction of living beings, as well as of the pain which is felt in one of these states and of the pleasure which succeeds to it.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And what would you say of the intermediate state?

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean by ‘intermediate’?

SOCRATES: I mean when a person is in actual suffering and yet remembers past pleasures which, if they would only return, would relieve him; but as yet he has them not. May we not say of him, that he is in an intermediate state?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Would you say that he was wholly pained or wholly pleased?

PROTARCHUS: Nay, I should say that he has two pains; in his body there is the actual experience of pain, and in his soul longing and expectation.

SOCRATES: What do you mean, Protarchus, by the two pains? May not a man who is empty have at one time a sure hope of being filled, and at other times be quite in despair?

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And has he not the pleasure of memory when he is hoping to be filled, and yet in that he is empty is he not at the same time in pain?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then man and the other animals have at the same time both pleasure and pain?

PROTARCHUS: I suppose so.

SOCRATES: But when a man is empty and has no hope of being filled, there will be the double experience of pain. You observed this and inferred that the double experience was the single case possible.

PROTARCHUS: Quite true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Shall the enquiry into these states of feeling be made the occasion of raising a question?

PROTARCHUS: What question?

SOCRATES: Whether we ought to say that the pleasures and pains of which we are speaking are true or false? or some true and some false?

PROTARCHUS: But how, Socrates, can there be false pleasures and pains?

SOCRATES: And how, Protarchus, can there be true and false fears, or true and false expectations, or true and false opinions?

PROTARCHUS: I grant that opinions may be true or false, but not pleasures.

SOCRATES: What do you mean? I am afraid that we are raising a very serious enquiry.

PROTARCHUS: There I agree.

SOCRATES: And yet, my boy, for you are one of Philebus’ boys, the point to be considered, is, whether the enquiry is relevant to the argument.

PROTARCHUS: Surely.

SOCRATES: No tedious and irrelevant discussion can be allowed; what is said should be pertinent.

PROTARCHUS: Right.

SOCRATES: I am always wondering at the question which has now been raised.

PROTARCHUS: How so?

SOCRATES: Do you deny that some pleasures are false, and others true?

PROTARCHUS: To be sure I do.

SOCRATES: Would you say that no one ever seemed to rejoice and yet did not rejoice, or seemed to feel pain and yet did not feel pain, sleeping or waking, mad or lunatic?

PROTARCHUS: So we have always held, Socrates.

SOCRATES: But were you right? Shall we enquire into the truth of your opinion?

PROTARCHUS: I think that we should.

SOCRATES: Let us then put into more precise terms the question which has arisen about pleasure and opinion. Is there such a thing as opinion?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And such a thing as pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And an opinion must be of something?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And a man must be pleased by something?

PROTARCHUS: Quite correct.

SOCRATES: And whether the opinion be right or wrong, makes no difference; it will still be an opinion?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And he who is pleased, whether he is rightly pleased or not, will always have a real feeling of pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Yes; that is also quite true.

SOCRATES: Then, how can opinion be both true and false, and pleasure true only, although pleasure and opinion are both equally real?

PROTARCHUS: Yes; that is the question.

SOCRATES: You mean that opinion admits of truth and falsehood, and hence becomes not merely opinion, but opinion of a certain quality; and this is what you think should be examined?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And further, even if we admit the existence of qualities in other objects, may not pleasure and pain be simple and devoid of quality?

PROTARCHUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: But there is no difficulty in seeing that pleasure and pain as well as opinion have qualities, for they are great or small, and have various degrees of intensity; as was indeed said long ago by us.

PROTARCHUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And if badness attaches to any of them, Protarchus, then we should speak of a bad opinion or of a bad pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Quite true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And if rightness attaches to any of them, should we not speak of a right opinion or right pleasure; and in like manner of the reverse of rightness?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And if the thing opined be erroneous, might we not say that the opinion, being erroneous, is not right or rightly opined?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And if we see a pleasure or pain which errs in respect of its object, shall we call that right or good, or by any honourable name?

PROTARCHUS: Not if the pleasure is mistaken; how could we?

SOCRATES: And surely pleasure often appears to accompany an opinion which is not true, but false?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly it does; and in that case, Socrates, as we were saying, the opinion is false, but no one could call the actual pleasure false.

SOCRATES: How eagerly, Protarchus, do you rush to the defence of pleasure!

PROTARCHUS: Nay, Socrates, I only repeat what I hear.

SOCRATES: And is there no difference, my friend, between that pleasure which is associated with right opinion and knowledge, and that which is often found in all of us associated with falsehood and ignorance?

PROTARCHUS: There must be a very great difference, between them.

SOCRATES: Then, now let us proceed to contemplate this difference.

PROTARCHUS: Lead, and I will follow.

SOCRATES: Well, then, my view is —

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: We agree — do we not? — that there is such a thing as false, and also such a thing as true opinion?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And pleasure and pain, as I was just now saying, are often consequent upon these — upon true and false opinion, I mean.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And do not opinion and the endeavour to form an opinion always spring from memory and perception?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Might we imagine the process to be something of this nature?

PROTARCHUS: Of what nature?

SOCRATES: An object may be often seen at a distance not very clearly, and the seer may want to determine what it is which he sees.

PROTARCHUS: Very likely.

SOCRATES: Soon he begins to interrogate himself.

PROTARCHUS: In what manner?

SOCRATES: He asks himself— ‘What is that which appears to be standing by the rock under the tree?’ This is the question which he may be supposed to put to himself when he sees such an appearance.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: To which he may guess the right answer, saying as if in a whisper to himself— ‘It is a man.’

PROTARCHUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: Or again, he may be misled, and then he will say— ‘No, it is a figure made by the shepherds.’

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if he has a companion, he repeats his thought to him in articulate sounds, and what was before an opinion, has now become a proposition.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But if he be walking alone when these thoughts occur to him, he may not unfrequently keep them in his mind for a considerable time.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: Well, now, I wonder whether you would agree in my explanation of this phenomenon.

PROTARCHUS: What is your explanation?

SOCRATES: I think that the soul at such times is like a book.

PROTARCHUS: How so?

SOCRATES: Memory and perception meet, and they and their attendant feelings seem to almost to write down words in the soul, and when the inscribing feeling writes truly, then true opinion and true propositions which are the expressions of opinion come into our souls — but when the scribe within us writes falsely, the result is false.

PROTARCHUS: I quite assent and agree to your statement.

SOCRATES: I must bespeak your favour also for another artist, who is busy at the same time in the chambers of the soul.

PROTARCHUS: Who is he?

SOCRATES: The painter, who, after the scribe has done his work, draws images in the soul of the things which he has described.

PROTARCHUS: But when and how does he do this?

SOCRATES: When a man, besides receiving from sight or some other sense certain opinions or statements, sees in his mind the images of the subjects of them; — is not this a very common mental phenomenon?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And the images answering to true opinions and words are true, and to false opinions and words false; are they not?

PROTARCHUS: They are.

SOCRATES: If we are right so far, there arises a further question.

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: Whether we experience the feeling of which I am speaking only in relation to the present and the past, or in relation to the future also?

PROTARCHUS: I should say in relation to all times alike.

SOCRATES: Have not purely mental pleasures and pains been described already as in some cases anticipations of the bodily ones; from which we may infer that anticipatory pleasures and pains have to do with the future?

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: And do all those writings and paintings which, as we were saying a little while ago, are produced in us, relate to the past and present only, and not to the future?

PROTARCHUS: To the future, very much.

SOCRATES: When you say, ‘Very much,’ you mean to imply that all these representations are hopes about the future, and that mankind are filled with hopes in every stage of existence?

PROTARCHUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Answer me another question.

PROTARCHUS: What question?

SOCRATES: A just and pious and good man is the friend of the gods; is he not?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly he is.

SOCRATES: And the unjust and utterly bad man is the reverse?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And all men, as we were saying just now, are always filled with hopes?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And these hopes, as they are termed, are propositions which exist in the minds of each of us?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And the fancies of hope are also pictured in us; a man may often have a vision of a heap of gold, and pleasures ensuing, and in the picture there may be a likeness of himself mightily rejoicing over his good fortune.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And may we not say that the good, being friends of the gods, have generally true pictures presented to them, and the bad false pictures?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: The bad, too, have pleasures painted in their fancy as well as the good; but I presume that they are false pleasures.

PROTARCHUS: They are.

SOCRATES: The bad then commonly delight in false pleasures, and the good in true pleasures?

PROTARCHUS: Doubtless.

SOCRATES: Then upon this view there are false pleasures in the souls of men which are a ludicrous imitation of the true, and there are pains of a similar character?

PROTARCHUS: There are.

SOCRATES: And did we not allow that a man who had an opinion at all had a real opinion, but often about things which had no existence either in the past, present, or future?

PROTARCHUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And this was the source of false opinion and opining; am I not right?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And must we not attribute to pleasure and pain a similar real but illusory character?

PROTARCHUS: How do you mean?

SOCRATES: I mean to say that a man must be admitted to have real pleasure who is pleased with anything or anyhow; and he may be pleased about things which neither have nor have ever had any real existence, and, more often than not, are never likely to exist.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, Socrates, that again is undeniable.

SOCRATES: And may not the same be said about fear and anger and the like; are they not often false?

PROTARCHUS: Quite so.

SOCRATES: And can opinions be good or bad except in as far as they are true or false?

PROTARCHUS: In no other way.

SOCRATES: Nor can pleasures be conceived to be bad except in so far as they are false.

PROTARCHUS: Nay, Socrates, that is the very opposite of truth; for no one would call pleasures and pains bad because they are false, but by reason of some other great corruption to which they are liable.

SOCRATES: Well, of pleasures which are corrupt and caused by corruption we will hereafter speak, if we care to continue the enquiry; for the present I would rather show by another argument that there are many false pleasures existing or coming into existence in us, because this may assist our final decision.

PROTARCHUS: Very true; that is to say, if there are such pleasures.

SOCRATES: I think that there are, Protarchus; but this is an opinion which should be well assured, and not rest upon a mere assertion.

PROTARCHUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: Then now, like wrestlers, let us approach and grasp this new argument.

PROTARCHUS: Proceed.

SOCRATES: We were maintaining a little while since, that when desires, as they are termed, exist in us, then the body has separate feelings apart from the soul — do you remember?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, I remember that you said so.

SOCRATES: And the soul was supposed to desire the opposite of the bodily state, while the body was the source of any pleasure or pain which was experienced.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then now you may infer what happens in such cases.

PROTARCHUS: What am I to infer?

SOCRATES: That in such cases pleasures and pains come simultaneously; and there is a juxtaposition of the opposite sensations which correspond to them, as has been already shown.

PROTARCHUS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And there is another point to which we have agreed.

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: That pleasure and pain both admit of more and less, and that they are of the class of infinites.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly, we said so.

SOCRATES: But how can we rightly judge of them?

PROTARCHUS: How can we?

SOCRATES: Is it our intention to judge of their comparative importance and intensity, measuring pleasure against pain, and pain against pain, and pleasure against pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, such is our intention, and we shall judge of them accordingly.

SOCRATES: Well, take the case of sight. Does not the nearness or distance of magnitudes obscure their true proportions, and make us opine falsely; and do we not find the same illusion happening in the case of pleasures and pains?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, Socrates, and in a degree far greater.

SOCRATES: Then what we are now saying is the opposite of what we were saying before.

PROTARCHUS: What was that?

SOCRATES: Then the opinions were true and false, and infected the pleasures and pains with their own falsity.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: But now it is the pleasures which are said to be true and false because they are seen at various distances, and subjected to comparison; the pleasures appear to be greater and more vehement when placed side by side with the pains, and the pains when placed side by side with the pleasures.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly, and for the reason which you mention.

SOCRATES: And suppose you part off from pleasures and pains the element which makes them appear to be greater or less than they really are: you will acknowledge that this element is illusory, and you will never say that the corresponding excess or defect of pleasure or pain is real or true.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Next let us see whether in another direction we may not find pleasures and pains existing and appearing in living beings, which are still more false than these.

PROTARCHUS: What are they, and how shall we find them?

SOCRATES: If I am not mistaken, I have often repeated that pains and aches and suffering and uneasiness of all sorts arise out of a corruption of nature caused by concretions, and dissolutions, and repletions, and evacuations, and also by growth and decay?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, that has been often said.

SOCRATES: And we have also agreed that the restoration of the natural state is pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Right.

SOCRATES: But now let us suppose an interval of time at which the body experiences none of these changes.

PROTARCHUS: When can that be, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Your question, Protarchus, does not help the argument.

PROTARCHUS: Why not, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Because it does not prevent me from repeating mine.

PROTARCHUS: And what was that?

SOCRATES: Why, Protarchus, admitting that there is no such interval, I may ask what would be the necessary consequence if there were?

PROTARCHUS: You mean, what would happen if the body were not changed either for good or bad?

SOCRATES: Yes.

PROTARCHUS: Why then, Socrates, I should suppose that there would be neither pleasure nor pain.

SOCRATES: Very good; but still, if I am not mistaken, you do assert that we must always be experiencing one of them; that is what the wise tell us; for, say they, all things are ever flowing up and down.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, and their words are of no mean authority.

SOCRATES: Of course, for they are no mean authorities themselves; and I should like to avoid the brunt of their argument. Shall I tell you how I mean to escape from them? And you shall be the partner of my flight.

PROTARCHUS: How?

SOCRATES: To them we will say: ‘Good; but are we, or living things in general, always conscious of what happens to us — for example, of our growth, or the like? Are we not, on the contrary, almost wholly unconscious of this and similar phenomena?’ You must answer for them.

PROTARCHUS: The latter alternative is the true one.

SOCRATES: Then we were not right in saying, just now, that motions going up and down cause pleasures and pains?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: A better and more unexceptionable way of speaking will be —

PROTARCHUS: What?

SOCRATES: If we say that the great changes produce pleasures and pains, but that the moderate and lesser ones do neither.

PROTARCHUS: That, Socrates, is the more correct mode of speaking.

SOCRATES: But if this be true, the life to which I was just now referring again appears.

PROTARCHUS: What life?

SOCRATES: The life which we affirmed to be devoid either of pain or of joy.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: We may assume then that there are three lives, one pleasant, one painful, and the third which is neither; what say you?

PROTARCHUS: I should say as you do that there are three of them.

SOCRATES: But if so, the negation of pain will not be the same with pleasure.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Then when you hear a person saying, that always to live without pain is the pleasantest of all things, what would you understand him to mean by that statement?

PROTARCHUS: I think that by pleasure he must mean the negative of pain.

SOCRATES: Let us take any three things; or suppose that we embellish a little and call the first gold, the second silver, and there shall be a third which is neither.

PROTARCHUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: Now, can that which is neither be either gold or silver?

PROTARCHUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: No more can that neutral or middle life be rightly or reasonably spoken or thought of as pleasant or painful.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And yet, my friend, there are, as we know, persons who say and think so.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And do they think that they have pleasure when they are free from pain?

PROTARCHUS: They say so.

SOCRATES: And they must think or they would not say that they have pleasure.

PROTARCHUS: I suppose not.

SOCRATES: And yet if pleasure and the negation of pain are of distinct natures, they are wrong.

PROTARCHUS: But they are undoubtedly of distinct natures.

SOCRATES: Then shall we take the view that they are three, as we were just now saying, or that they are two only — the one being a state of pain, which is an evil, and the other a cessation of pain, which is of itself a good, and is called pleasant?

PROTARCHUS: But why, Socrates, do we ask the question at all? I do not see the reason.

SOCRATES: You, Protarchus, have clearly never heard of certain enemies of our friend Philebus.

PROTARCHUS: And who may they be?

SOCRATES: Certain persons who are reputed to be masters in natural philosophy, who deny the very existence of pleasure.

PROTARCHUS: Indeed!

SOCRATES: They say that what the school of Philebus calls pleasures are all of them only avoidances of pain.

PROTARCHUS: And would you, Socrates, have us agree with them?

SOCRATES: Why, no, I would rather use them as a sort of diviners, who divine the truth, not by rules of art, but by an instinctive repugnance and extreme detestation which a noble nature has of the power of pleasure, in which they think that there is nothing sound, and her seductive influence is declared by them to be witchcraft, and not pleasure. This is the use which you may make of them. And when you have considered the various grounds of their dislike, you shall hear from me what I deem to be true pleasures. Having thus examined the nature of pleasure from both points of view, we will bring her up for judgment.

PROTARCHUS: Well said.

SOCRATES: Then let us enter into an alliance with these philosophers and follow in the track of their dislike. I imagine that they would say something of this sort; they would begin at the beginning, and ask whether, if we wanted to know the nature of any quality, such as hardness, we should be more likely to discover it by looking at the hardest things, rather than at the least hard? You, Protarchus, shall answer these severe gentlemen as you answer me.

PROTARCHUS: By all means, and I reply to them, that you should look at the greatest instances.

SOCRATES: Then if we want to see the true nature of pleasures as a class, we should not look at the most diluted pleasures, but at the most extreme and most vehement?

PROTARCHUS: In that every one will agree.

SOCRATES: And the obvious instances of the greatest pleasures, as we have often said, are the pleasures of the body?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And are they felt by us to be or become greater, when we are sick or when we are in health? And here we must be careful in our answer, or we shall come to grief.

PROTARCHUS: How will that be?

SOCRATES: Why, because we might be tempted to answer, ‘When we are in health.’

PROTARCHUS: Yes, that is the natural answer.

SOCRATES: Well, but are not those pleasures the greatest of which mankind have the greatest desires?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And do not people who are in a fever, or any similar illness, feel cold or thirst or other bodily affections more intensely? Am I not right in saying that they have a deeper want and greater pleasure in the satisfaction of their want?

PROTARCHUS: That is obvious as soon as it is said.

SOCRATES: Well, then, shall we not be right in saying, that if a person would wish to see the greatest pleasures he ought to go and look, not at health, but at disease? And here you must distinguish: — do not imagine that I mean to ask whether those who are very ill have more pleasures than those who are well, but understand that I am speaking of the magnitude of pleasure; I want to know where pleasures are found to be most intense. For, as I say, we have to discover what is pleasure, and what they mean by pleasure who deny her very existence.

PROTARCHUS: I think I follow you.

SOCRATES: You will soon have a better opportunity of showing whether you do or not, Protarchus. Answer now, and tell me whether you see, I will not say more, but more intense and excessive pleasures in wantonness than in temperance? Reflect before you speak.

PROTARCHUS: I understand you, and see that there is a great difference between them; the temperate are restrained by the wise man’s aphorism of ‘Never too much,’ which is their rule, but excess of pleasure possessing the minds of fools and wantons becomes madness and makes them shout with delight.

SOCRATES: Very good, and if this be true, then the greatest pleasures and pains will clearly be found in some vicious state of soul and body, and not in a virtuous state.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And ought we not to select some of these for examination, and see what makes them the greatest?

PROTARCHUS: To be sure we ought.

SOCRATES: Take the case of the pleasures which arise out of certain disorders.

PROTARCHUS: What disorders?

SOCRATES: The pleasures of unseemly disorders, which our severe friends utterly detest.

PROTARCHUS: What pleasures?

SOCRATES: Such, for example, as the relief of itching and other ailments by scratching, which is the only remedy required. For what in Heaven’s name is the feeling to be called which is thus produced in us? — Pleasure or pain?

PROTARCHUS: A villainous mixture of some kind, Socrates, I should say.

SOCRATES: I did not introduce the argument, O Protarchus, with any personal reference to Philebus, but because, without the consideration of these and similar pleasures, we shall not be able to determine the point at issue.

PROTARCHUS: Then we had better proceed to analyze this family of pleasures.

SOCRATES: You mean the pleasures which are mingled with pain?

PROTARCHUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: There are some mixtures which are of the body, and only in the body, and others which are of the soul, and only in the soul; while there are other mixtures of pleasures with pains, common both to soul and body, which in their composite state are called sometimes pleasures and sometimes pains.

PROTARCHUS: How is that?

SOCRATES: Whenever, in the restoration or in the derangement of nature, a man experiences two opposite feelings; for example, when he is cold and is growing warm, or again, when he is hot and is becoming cool, and he wants to have the one and be rid of the other; — the sweet has a bitter, as the common saying is, and both together fasten upon him and create irritation and in time drive him to distraction.

PROTARCHUS: That description is very true to nature.

SOCRATES: And in these sorts of mixtures the pleasures and pains are sometimes equal, and sometimes one or other of them predominates?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Of cases in which the pain exceeds the pleasure, an example is afforded by itching, of which we were just now speaking, and by the tingling which we feel when the boiling and fiery element is within, and the rubbing and motion only relieves the surface, and does not reach the parts affected; then if you put them to the fire, and as a last resort apply cold to them, you may often produce the most intense pleasure or pain in the inner parts, which contrasts and mingles with the pain or pleasure, as the case may be, of the outer parts; and this is due to the forcible separation of what is united, or to the union of what is separated, and to the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain.

PROTARCHUS: Quite so.

SOCRATES: Sometimes the element of pleasure prevails in a man, and the slight undercurrent of pain makes him tingle, and causes a gentle irritation; or again, the excessive infusion of pleasure creates an excitement in him, — he even leaps for joy, he assumes all sorts of attitudes, he changes all manner of colours, he gasps for breath, and is quite amazed, and utters the most irrational exclamations.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, indeed.

SOCRATES: He will say of himself, and others will say of him, that he is dying with these delights; and the more dissipated and good-for-nothing he is, the more vehemently he pursues them in every way; of all pleasures he declares them to be the greatest; and he reckons him who lives in the most constant enjoyment of them to be the happiest of mankind.

PROTARCHUS: That, Socrates, is a very true description of the opinions of the majority about pleasures.

SOCRATES: Yes, Protarchus, quite true of the mixed pleasures, which arise out of the communion of external and internal sensations in the body; there are also cases in which the mind contributes an opposite element to the body, whether of pleasure or pain, and the two unite and form one mixture. Concerning these I have already remarked, that when a man is empty he desires to be full, and has pleasure in hope and pain in vacuity. But now I must further add what I omitted before, that in all these and similar emotions in which body and mind are opposed (and they are innumerable), pleasure and pain coalesce in one.

PROTARCHUS: I believe that to be quite true.

SOCRATES: There still remains one other sort of admixture of pleasures and pains.

PROTARCHUS: What is that?

SOCRATES: The union which, as we were saying, the mind often experiences of purely mental feelings.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Why, do we not speak of anger, fear, desire, sorrow, love, emulation, envy, and the like, as pains which belong to the soul only?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And shall we not find them also full of the most wonderful pleasures? need I remind you of the anger

‘Which stirs even a wise man to violence, And is sweeter than honey and the honeycomb?’

And you remember how pleasures mingle with pains in lamentation and bereavement?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, there is a natural connexion between them.

SOCRATES: And you remember also how at the sight of tragedies the spectators smile through their tears?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly I do.

SOCRATES: And are you aware that even at a comedy the soul experiences a mixed feeling of pain and pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: I do not quite understand you.

SOCRATES: I admit, Protarchus, that there is some difficulty in recognizing this mixture of feelings at a comedy.

PROTARCHUS: There is, I think.

SOCRATES: And the greater the obscurity of the case the more desirable is the examination of it, because the difficulty in detecting other cases of mixed pleasures and pains will be less.

PROTARCHUS: Proceed.

SOCRATES: I have just mentioned envy; would you not call that a pain of the soul?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And yet the envious man finds something in the misfortunes of his neighbours at which he is pleased?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And ignorance, and what is termed clownishness, are surely an evil?

PROTARCHUS: To be sure.

SOCRATES: From these considerations learn to know the nature of the ridiculous.

PROTARCHUS: Explain.

SOCRATES: The ridiculous is in short the specific name which is used to describe the vicious form of a certain habit; and of vice in general it is that kind which is most at variance with the inscription at Delphi.

PROTARCHUS: You mean, Socrates, ‘Know thyself.’

SOCRATES: I do; and the opposite would be, ‘Know not thyself.’

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And now, O Protarchus, try to divide this into three.

PROTARCHUS: Indeed I am afraid that I cannot.

SOCRATES: Do you mean to say that I must make the division for you?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, and what is more, I beg that you will.

SOCRATES: Are there not three ways in which ignorance of self may be shown?

PROTARCHUS: What are they?

SOCRATES: In the first place, about money; the ignorant may fancy himself richer than he is.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, that is a very common error.

SOCRATES: And still more often he will fancy that he is taller or fairer than he is, or that he has some other advantage of person which he really has not.

PROTARCHUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: And yet surely by far the greatest number err about the goods of the mind; they imagine themselves to be much better men than they are.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, that is by far the commonest delusion.

SOCRATES: And of all the virtues, is not wisdom the one which the mass of mankind are always claiming, and which most arouses in them a spirit of contention and lying conceit of wisdom?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And may not all this be truly called an evil condition?

PROTARCHUS: Very evil.

SOCRATES: But we must pursue the division a step further, Protarchus, if we would see in envy of the childish sort a singular mixture of pleasure and pain.

PROTARCHUS: How can we make the further division which you suggest?

SOCRATES: All who are silly enough to entertain this lying conceit of themselves may of course be divided, like the rest of mankind, into two classes — one having power and might; and the other the reverse.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Let this, then, be the principle of division; those of them who are weak and unable to revenge themselves, when they are laughed at, may be truly called ridiculous, but those who can defend themselves may be more truly described as strong and formidable; for ignorance in the powerful is hateful and horrible, because hurtful to others both in reality and in fiction, but powerless ignorance may be reckoned, and in truth is, ridiculous.

PROTARCHUS: That is very true, but I do not as yet see where is the admixture of pleasures and pains.

SOCRATES: Well, then, let us examine the nature of envy.

PROTARCHUS: Proceed.

SOCRATES: Is not envy an unrighteous pleasure, and also an unrighteous pain?

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: There is nothing envious or wrong in rejoicing at the misfortunes of enemies?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: But to feel joy instead of sorrow at the sight of our friends’ misfortunes — is not that wrong?

PROTARCHUS: Undoubtedly.

SOCRATES: Did we not say that ignorance was always an evil?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And the three kinds of vain conceit in our friends which we enumerated — the vain conceit of beauty, of wisdom, and of wealth, are ridiculous if they are weak, and detestable when they are powerful: May we not say, as I was saying before, that our friends who are in this state of mind, when harmless to others, are simply ridiculous?

PROTARCHUS: They are ridiculous.

SOCRATES: And do we not acknowledge this ignorance of theirs to be a misfortune?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And do we feel pain or pleasure in laughing at it?

PROTARCHUS: Clearly we feel pleasure.

SOCRATES: And was not envy the source of this pleasure which we feel at the misfortunes of friends?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then the argument shows that when we laugh at the folly of our friends, pleasure, in mingling with envy, mingles with pain, for envy has been acknowledged by us to be mental pain, and laughter is pleasant; and so we envy and laugh at the same instant.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And the argument implies that there are combinations of pleasure and pain in lamentations, and in tragedy and comedy, not only on the stage, but on the greater stage of human life; and so in endless other cases.

PROTARCHUS: I do not see how any one can deny what you say, Socrates, however eager he may be to assert the opposite opinion.

SOCRATES: I mentioned anger, desire, sorrow, fear, love, emulation, envy, and similar emotions, as examples in which we should find a mixture of the two elements so often named; did I not?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: We may observe that our conclusions hitherto have had reference only to sorrow and envy and anger.

PROTARCHUS: I see.

SOCRATES: Then many other cases still remain?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And why do you suppose me to have pointed out to you the admixture which takes place in comedy? Why but to convince you that there was no difficulty in showing the mixed nature of fear and love and similar affections; and I thought that when I had given you the illustration, you would have let me off, and have acknowledged as a general truth that the body without the soul, and the soul without the body, as well as the two united, are susceptible of all sorts of admixtures of pleasures and pains; and so further discussion would have been unnecessary. And now I want to know whether I may depart; or will you keep me here until midnight? I fancy that I may obtain my release without many words; — if I promise that to-morrow I will give you an account of all these cases. But at present I would rather sail in another direction, and go to other matters which remain to be settled, before the judgment can be given which Philebus demands.

PROTARCHUS: Very good, Socrates; in what remains take your own course.

SOCRATES: Then after the mixed pleasures the unmixed should have their turn; this is the natural and necessary order.

PROTARCHUS: Excellent.

SOCRATES: These, in turn, then, I will now endeavour to indicate; for with the maintainers of the opinion that all pleasures are a cessation of pain, I do not agree, but, as I was saying, I use them as witnesses, that there are pleasures which seem only and are not, and there are others again which have great power and appear in many forms, yet are intermingled with pains, and are partly alleviations of agony and distress, both of body and mind.

PROTARCHUS: Then what pleasures, Socrates, should we be right in conceiving to be true?

SOCRATES: True pleasures are those which are given by beauty of colour and form, and most of those which arise from smells; those of sound, again, and in general those of which the want is painless and unconscious, and of which the fruition is palpable to sense and pleasant and unalloyed with pain.

PROTARCHUS: Once more, Socrates, I must ask what you mean.

SOCRATES: My meaning is certainly not obvious, and I will endeavour to be plainer. I do not mean by beauty of form such beauty as that of animals or pictures, which the many would suppose to be my meaning; but, says the argument, understand me to mean straight lines and circles, and the plane or solid figures which are formed out of them by turning-lathes and rulers and measurers of angles; for these I affirm to be not only relatively beautiful, like other things, but they are eternally and absolutely beautiful, and they have peculiar pleasures, quite unlike the pleasures of scratching. And there are colours which are of the same character, and have similar pleasures; now do you understand my meaning?

PROTARCHUS: I am trying to understand, Socrates, and I hope that you will try to make your meaning clearer.

SOCRATES: When sounds are smooth and clear, and have a single pure tone, then I mean to say that they are not relatively but absolutely beautiful, and have natural pleasures associated with them.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, there are such pleasures.

SOCRATES: The pleasures of smell are of a less ethereal sort, but they have no necessary admixture of pain; and all pleasures, however and wherever experienced, which are unattended by pains, I assign to an analogous class. Here then are two kinds of pleasures.

PROTARCHUS: I understand.

SOCRATES: To these may be added the pleasures of knowledge, if no hunger of knowledge and no pain caused by such hunger precede them.

PROTARCHUS: And this is the case.

SOCRATES: Well, but if a man who is full of knowledge loses his knowledge, are there not pains of forgetting?

PROTARCHUS: Not necessarily, but there may be times of reflection, when he feels grief at the loss of his knowledge.

SOCRATES: Yes, my friend, but at present we are enumerating only the natural perceptions, and have nothing to do with reflection.

PROTARCHUS: In that case you are right in saying that the loss of knowledge is not attended with pain.

SOCRATES: These pleasures of knowledge, then, are unmixed with pain; and they are not the pleasures of the many but of a very few.

PROTARCHUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And now, having fairly separated the pure pleasures and those which may be rightly termed impure, let us further add to our description of them, that the pleasures which are in excess have no measure, but that those which are not in excess have measure; the great, the excessive, whether more or less frequent, we shall be right in referring to the class of the infinite, and of the more and less, which pours through body and soul alike; and the others we shall refer to the class which has measure.

PROTARCHUS: Quite right, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Still there is something more to be considered about pleasures.

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: When you speak of purity and clearness, or of excess, abundance, greatness and sufficiency, in what relation do these terms stand to truth?

PROTARCHUS: Why do you ask, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Because, Protarchus, I should wish to test pleasure and knowledge in every possible way, in order that if there be a pure and impure element in either of them, I may present the pure element for judgment, and then they will be more easily judged of by you and by me and by all of us.

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: Let us investigate all the pure kinds; first selecting for consideration a single instance.

PROTARCHUS: What instance shall we select?

SOCRATES: Suppose that we first of all take whiteness.

PROTARCHUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: How can there be purity in whiteness, and what purity? Is that purest which is greatest or most in quantity, or that which is most unadulterated and freest from any admixture of other colours?

PROTARCHUS: Clearly that which is most unadulterated.

SOCRATES: True, Protarchus; and so the purest white, and not the greatest or largest in quantity, is to be deemed truest and most beautiful?

PROTARCHUS: Right.

SOCRATES: And we shall be quite right in saying that a little pure white is whiter and fairer and truer than a great deal that is mixed.

PROTARCHUS: Perfectly right.

SOCRATES: There is no need of adducing many similar examples in illustration of the argument about pleasure; one such is sufficient to prove to us that a small pleasure or a small amount of pleasure, if pure or unalloyed with pain, is always pleasanter and truer and fairer than a great pleasure or a great amount of pleasure of another kind.

PROTARCHUS: Assuredly; and the instance you have given is quite sufficient.

SOCRATES: But what do you say of another question: — have we not heard that pleasure is always a generation, and has no true being? Do not certain ingenious philosophers teach this doctrine, and ought not we to be grateful to them?

PROTARCHUS: What do they mean?

SOCRATES: I will explain to you, my dear Protarchus, what they mean, by putting a question.

PROTARCHUS: Ask, and I will answer.

SOCRATES: I assume that there are two natures, one self-existent, and the other ever in want of something.

PROTARCHUS: What manner of natures are they?

SOCRATES: The one majestic ever, the other inferior.

PROTARCHUS: You speak riddles.

SOCRATES: You have seen loves good and fair, and also brave lovers of them.

PROTARCHUS: I should think so.

SOCRATES: Search the universe for two terms which are like these two and are present everywhere.

PROTARCHUS: Yet a third time I must say, Be a little plainer, Socrates.

SOCRATES: There is no difficulty, Protarchus; the argument is only in play, and insinuates that some things are for the sake of something else (relatives), and that other things are the ends to which the former class subserve (absolutes).

PROTARCHUS: Your many repetitions make me slow to understand.

SOCRATES: As the argument proceeds, my boy, I dare say that the meaning will become clearer.

PROTARCHUS: Very likely.

SOCRATES: Here are two new principles.

PROTARCHUS: What are they?

SOCRATES: One is the generation of all things, and the other is essence.

PROTARCHUS: I readily accept from you both generation and essence.

SOCRATES: Very right; and would you say that generation is for the sake of essence, or essence for the sake of generation?

PROTARCHUS: You want to know whether that which is called essence is, properly speaking, for the sake of generation?

SOCRATES: Yes.

PROTARCHUS: By the gods, I wish that you would repeat your question.

SOCRATES: I mean, O my Protarchus, to ask whether you would tell me that ship-building is for the sake of ships, or ships for the sake of ship-building? and in all similar cases I should ask the same question.

PROTARCHUS: Why do you not answer yourself, Socrates?

SOCRATES: I have no objection, but you must take your part.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: My answer is, that all things instrumental, remedial, material, are given to us with a view to generation, and that each generation is relative to, or for the sake of, some being or essence, and that the whole of generation is relative to the whole of essence.

PROTARCHUS: Assuredly.

SOCRATES: Then pleasure, being a generation, must surely be for the sake of some essence?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And that for the sake of which something else is done must be placed in the class of good, and that which is done for the sake of something else, in some other class, my good friend.

PROTARCHUS: Most certainly.

SOCRATES: Then pleasure, being a generation, will be rightly placed in some other class than that of good?

PROTARCHUS: Quite right.

SOCRATES: Then, as I said at first, we ought to be very grateful to him who first pointed out that pleasure was a generation only, and had no true being at all; for he is clearly one who laughs at the notion of pleasure being a good.

PROTARCHUS: Assuredly.

SOCRATES: And he would surely laugh also at those who make generation their highest end.

PROTARCHUS: Of whom are you speaking, and what do they mean?

SOCRATES: I am speaking of those who when they are cured of hunger or thirst or any other defect by some process of generation are delighted at the process as if it were pleasure; and they say that they would not wish to live without these and other feelings of a like kind which might be mentioned.

PROTARCHUS: That is certainly what they appear to think.

SOCRATES: And is not destruction universally admitted to be the opposite of generation?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then he who chooses thus, would choose generation and destruction rather than that third sort of life, in which, as we were saying, was neither pleasure nor pain, but only the purest possible thought.

PROTARCHUS: He who would make us believe pleasure to be a good is involved in great absurdities, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Great, indeed; and there is yet another of them.

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: Is there not an absurdity in arguing that there is nothing good or noble in the body, or in anything else, but that good is in the soul only, and that the only good of the soul is pleasure; and that courage or temperance or understanding, or any other good of the soul, is not really a good? — and is there not yet a further absurdity in our being compelled to say that he who has a feeling of pain and not of pleasure is bad at the time when he is suffering pain, even though he be the best of men; and again, that he who has a feeling of pleasure, in so far as he is pleased at the time when he is pleased, in that degree excels in virtue?

PROTARCHUS: Nothing, Socrates, can be more irrational than all this.

SOCRATES: And now, having subjected pleasure to every sort of test, let us not appear to be too sparing of mind and knowledge: let us ring their metal bravely, and see if there be unsoundness in any part, until we have found out what in them is of the purest nature; and then the truest elements both of pleasure and knowledge may be brought up for judgment.

PROTARCHUS: Right.

SOCRATES: Knowledge has two parts, — the one productive, and the other educational?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And in the productive or handicraft arts, is not one part more akin to knowledge, and the other less; and may not the one part be regarded as the pure, and the other as the impure?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Let us separate the superior or dominant elements in each of them.

PROTARCHUS: What are they, and how do you separate them?

SOCRATES: I mean to say, that if arithmetic, mensuration, and weighing be taken away from any art, that which remains will not be much.

PROTARCHUS: Not much, certainly.

SOCRATES: The rest will be only conjecture, and the better use of the senses which is given by experience and practice, in addition to a certain power of guessing, which is commonly called art, and is perfected by attention and pains.

PROTARCHUS: Nothing more, assuredly.

SOCRATES: Music, for instance, is full of this empiricism; for sounds are harmonized, not by measure, but by skilful conjecture; the music of the flute is always trying to guess the pitch of each vibrating note, and is therefore mixed up with much that is doubtful and has little which is certain.

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: And the same will be found to hold good of medicine and husbandry and piloting and generalship.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: The art of the builder, on the other hand, which uses a number of measures and instruments, attains by their help to a greater degree of accuracy than the other arts.

PROTARCHUS: How is that?

SOCRATES: In ship-building and house-building, and in other branches of the art of carpentering, the builder has his rule, lathe, compass, line, and a most ingenious machine for straightening wood.

PROTARCHUS: Very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: Then now let us divide the arts of which we were speaking into two kinds, — the arts which, like music, are less exact in their results, and those which, like carpentering, are more exact.

PROTARCHUS: Let us make that division.

SOCRATES: Of the latter class, the most exact of all are those which we just now spoke of as primary.

PROTARCHUS: I see that you mean arithmetic, and the kindred arts of weighing and measuring.

SOCRATES: Certainly, Protarchus; but are not these also distinguishable into two kinds?

PROTARCHUS: What are the two kinds?

SOCRATES: In the first place, arithmetic is of two kinds, one of which is popular, and the other philosophical.

PROTARCHUS: How would you distinguish them?

SOCRATES: There is a wide difference between them, Protarchus; some arithmeticians reckon unequal units; as for example, two armies, two oxen, two very large things or two very small things. The party who are opposed to them insist that every unit in ten thousand must be the same as every other unit.

PROTARCHUS: Undoubtedly there is, as you say, a great difference among the votaries of the science; and there may be reasonably supposed to be two sorts of arithmetic.

SOCRATES: And when we compare the art of mensuration which is used in building with philosophical geometry, or the art of computation which is used in trading with exact calculation, shall we say of either of the pairs that it is one or two?

PROTARCHUS: On the analogy of what has preceded, I should be of opinion that they were severally two.

SOCRATES: Right; but do you understand why I have discussed the subject?

PROTARCHUS: I think so, but I should like to be told by you.

SOCRATES: The argument has all along been seeking a parallel to pleasure, and true to that original design, has gone on to ask whether one sort of knowledge is purer than another, as one pleasure is purer than another.

PROTARCHUS: Clearly; that was the intention.

SOCRATES: And has not the argument in what has preceded, already shown that the arts have different provinces, and vary in their degrees of certainty?

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And just now did not the argument first designate a particular art by a common term, thus making us believe in the unity of that art; and then again, as if speaking of two different things, proceed to enquire whether the art as pursed by philosophers, or as pursued by non-philosophers, has more of certainty and purity?

PROTARCHUS: That is the very question which the argument is asking.

SOCRATES: And how, Protarchus, shall we answer the enquiry?

PROTARCHUS: O Socrates, we have reached a point at which the difference of clearness in different kinds of knowledge is enormous.

SOCRATES: Then the answer will be the easier.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly; and let us say in reply, that those arts into which arithmetic and mensuration enter, far surpass all others; and that of these the arts or sciences which are animated by the pure philosophic impulse are infinitely superior in accuracy and truth.

SOCRATES: Then this is your judgment; and this is the answer which, upon your authority, we will give to all masters of the art of misinterpretation?

PROTARCHUS: What answer?

SOCRATES: That there are two arts of arithmetic, and two of mensuration; and also several other arts which in like manner have this double nature, and yet only one name.

PROTARCHUS: Let us boldly return this answer to the masters of whom you speak, Socrates, and hope for good luck.

SOCRATES: We have explained what we term the most exact arts or sciences.

PROTARCHUS: Very good.

SOCRATES: And yet, Protarchus, dialectic will refuse to acknowledge us, if we do not award to her the first place.

PROTARCHUS: And pray, what is dialectic?

SOCRATES: Clearly the science which has to do with all that knowledge of which we are now speaking; for I am sure that all men who have a grain of intelligence will admit that the knowledge which has to do with being and reality, and sameness and unchangeableness, is by far the truest of all. But how would you decide this question, Protarchus?

PROTARCHUS: I have often heard Gorgias maintain, Socrates, that the art of persuasion far surpassed every other; this, as he says, is by far the best of them all, for to it all things submit, not by compulsion, but of their own free will. Now, I should not like to quarrel either with you or with him.

SOCRATES: You mean to say that you would like to desert, if you were not ashamed?

PROTARCHUS: As you please.

SOCRATES: May I not have led you into a misapprehension?

PROTARCHUS: How?

SOCRATES: Dear Protarchus, I never asked which was the greatest or best or usefullest of arts or sciences, but which had clearness and accuracy, and the greatest amount of truth, however humble and little useful an art. And as for Gorgias, if you do not deny that his art has the advantage in usefulness to mankind, he will not quarrel with you for saying that the study of which I am speaking is superior in this particular of essential truth; as in the comparison of white colours, a little whiteness, if that little be only pure, was said to be superior in truth to a great mass which is impure. And now let us give our best attention and consider well, not the comparative use or reputation of the sciences, but the power or faculty, if there be such, which the soul has of loving the truth, and of doing all things for the sake of it; let us search into the pure element of mind and intelligence, and then we shall be able to say whether the science of which I have been speaking is most likely to possess the faculty, or whether there be some other which has higher claims.

PROTARCHUS: Well, I have been considering, and I can hardly think that any other science or art has a firmer grasp of the truth than this.

SOCRATES: Do you say so because you observe that the arts in general and those engaged in them make use of opinion, and are resolutely engaged in the investigation of matters of opinion? Even he who supposes himself to be occupied with nature is really occupied with the things of this world, how created, how acting or acted upon. Is not this the sort of enquiry in which his life is spent?

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: He is labouring, not after eternal being, but about things which are becoming, or which will or have become.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And can we say that any of these things which neither are nor have been nor will be unchangeable, when judged by the strict rule of truth ever become certain?

PROTARCHUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: How can anything fixed be concerned with that which has no fixedness?

PROTARCHUS: How indeed?

SOCRATES: Then mind and science when employed about such changing things do not attain the highest truth?

PROTARCHUS: I should imagine not.

SOCRATES: And now let us bid farewell, a long farewell, to you or me or Philebus or Gorgias, and urge on behalf of the argument a single point.

PROTARCHUS: What point?

SOCRATES: Let us say that the stable and pure and true and unalloyed has to do with the things which are eternal and unchangeable and unmixed, or if not, at any rate what is most akin to them has; and that all other things are to be placed in a second or inferior class.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: And of the names expressing cognition, ought not the fairest to be given to the fairest things?

PROTARCHUS: That is natural.

SOCRATES: And are not mind and wisdom the names which are to be honoured most?

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And these names may be said to have their truest and most exact application when the mind is engaged in the contemplation of true being?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And these were the names which I adduced of the rivals of pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Very true, Socrates.

SOCRATES: In the next place, as to the mixture, here are the ingredients, pleasure and wisdom, and we may be compared to artists who have their materials ready to their hands.

PROTARCHUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And now we must begin to mix them?

PROTARCHUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: But had we not better have a preliminary word and refresh our memories?

PROTARCHUS: Of what?

SOCRATES: Of that which I have already mentioned. Well says the proverb, that we ought to repeat twice and even thrice that which is good.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Well then, by Zeus, let us proceed, and I will make what I believe to be a fair summary of the argument.

PROTARCHUS: Let me hear.

SOCRATES: Philebus says that pleasure is the true end of all living beings, at which all ought to aim, and moreover that it is the chief good of all, and that the two names ‘good’ and ‘pleasant’ are correctly given to one thing and one nature; Socrates, on the other hand, begins by denying this, and further says, that in nature as in name they are two, and that wisdom partakes more than pleasure of the good. Is not and was not this what we were saying, Protarchus?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And is there not and was there not a further point which was conceded between us?

PROTARCHUS: What was it?

SOCRATES: That the good differs from all other things.

PROTARCHUS: In what respect?

SOCRATES: In that the being who possesses good always everywhere and in all things has the most perfect sufficiency, and is never in need of anything else.

PROTARCHUS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: And did we not endeavour to make an imaginary separation of wisdom and pleasure, assigning to each a distinct life, so that pleasure was wholly excluded from wisdom, and wisdom in like manner had no part whatever in pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: We did.

SOCRATES: And did we think that either of them alone would be sufficient?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And if we erred in any point, then let any one who will, take up the enquiry again and set us right; and assuming memory and wisdom and knowledge and true opinion to belong to the same class, let him consider whether he would desire to possess or acquire, — I will not say pleasure, however abundant or intense, if he has no real perception that he is pleased, nor any consciousness of what he feels, nor any recollection, however momentary, of the feeling, — but would he desire to have anything at all, if these faculties were wanting to him? And about wisdom I ask the same question; can you conceive that any one would choose to have all wisdom absolutely devoid of pleasure, rather than with a certain degree of pleasure, or all pleasure devoid of wisdom, rather than with a certain degree of wisdom?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly not, Socrates; but why repeat such questions any more?

SOCRATES: Then the perfect and universally eligible and entirely good cannot possibly be either of them?

PROTARCHUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: Then now we must ascertain the nature of the good more or less accurately, in order, as we were saying, that the second place may be duly assigned.

PROTARCHUS: Right.

SOCRATES: Have we not found a road which leads towards the good?

PROTARCHUS: What road?

SOCRATES: Supposing that a man had to be found, and you could discover in what house he lived, would not that be a great step towards the discovery of the man himself?

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And now reason intimates to us, as at our first beginning, that we should seek the good, not in the unmixed life but in the mixed.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: There is greater hope of finding that which we are seeking in the life which is well mixed than in that which is not?

PROTARCHUS: Far greater.

SOCRATES: Then now let us mingle, Protarchus, at the same time offering up a prayer to Dionysus or Hephaestus, or whoever is the god who presides over the ceremony of mingling.

PROTARCHUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: Are not we the cup-bearers? and here are two fountains which are flowing at our side: one, which is pleasure, may be likened to a fountain of honey; the other, wisdom, a sober draught in which no wine mingles, is of water unpleasant but healthful; out of these we must seek to make the fairest of all possible mixtures.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Tell me first; — should we be most likely to succeed if we mingled every sort of pleasure with every sort of wisdom?

PROTARCHUS: Perhaps we might.

SOCRATES: But I should be afraid of the risk, and I think that I can show a safer plan.

PROTARCHUS: What is it?

SOCRATES: One pleasure was supposed by us to be truer than another, and one art to be more exact than another.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: There was also supposed to be a difference in sciences; some of them regarding only the transient and perishing, and others the permanent and imperishable and everlasting and immutable; and when judged by the standard of truth, the latter, as we thought, were truer than the former.

PROTARCHUS: Very good and right.

SOCRATES: If, then, we were to begin by mingling the sections of each class which have the most of truth, will not the union suffice to give us the loveliest of lives, or shall we still want some elements of another kind?

PROTARCHUS: I think that we ought to do what you suggest.

SOCRATES: Let us suppose a man who understands justice, and has reason as well as understanding about the true nature of this and of all other things.

PROTARCHUS: We will suppose such a man.

SOCRATES: Will he have enough of knowledge if he is acquainted only with the divine circle and sphere, and knows nothing of our human spheres and circles, but uses only divine circles and measures in the building of a house?

PROTARCHUS: The knowledge which is only superhuman, Socrates, is ridiculous in man.

SOCRATES: What do you mean? Do you mean that you are to throw into the cup and mingle the impure and uncertain art which uses the false measure and the false circle?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, we must, if any of us is ever to find his way home.

SOCRATES: And am I to include music, which, as I was saying just now, is full of guesswork and imitation, and is wanting in purity?

PROTARCHUS: Yes, I think that you must, if human life is to be a life at all.

SOCRATES: Well, then, suppose that I give way, and, like a doorkeeper who is pushed and overborne by the mob, I open the door wide, and let knowledge of every sort stream in, and the pure mingle with the impure?

PROTARCHUS: I do not know, Socrates, that any great harm would come of having them all, if only you have the first sort.

SOCRATES: Well, then, shall I let them all flow into what Homer poetically terms ‘a meeting of the waters’?

PROTARCHUS: By all means.

SOCRATES: There — I have let them in, and now I must return to the fountain of pleasure. For we were not permitted to begin by mingling in a single stream the true portions of both according to our original intention; but the love of all knowledge constrained us to let all the sciences flow in together before the pleasures.

PROTARCHUS: Quite true.

SOCRATES: And now the time has come for us to consider about the pleasures also, whether we shall in like manner let them go all at once, or at first only the true ones.

PROTARCHUS: It will be by far the safer course to let flow the true ones first.

SOCRATES: Let them flow, then; and now, if there are any necessary pleasures, as there were arts and sciences necessary, must we not mingle them?

PROTARCHUS: Yes; the necessary pleasures should certainly be allowed to mingle.

SOCRATES: The knowledge of the arts has been admitted to be innocent and useful always; and if we say of pleasures in like manner that all of them are good and innocent for all of us at all times, we must let them all mingle?

PROTARCHUS: What shall we say about them, and what course shall we take?

SOCRATES: Do not ask me, Protarchus; but ask the daughters of pleasure and wisdom to answer for themselves.

PROTARCHUS: How?

SOCRATES: Tell us, O beloved — shall we call you pleasures or by some other name? — would you rather live with or without wisdom? I am of opinion that they would certainly answer as follows:

PROTARCHUS: How?

SOCRATES: They would answer, as we said before, that for any single class to be left by itself pure and isolated is not good, nor altogether possible; and that if we are to make comparisons of one class with another and choose, there is no better companion than knowledge of things in general, and likewise the perfect knowledge, if that may be, of ourselves in every respect.

PROTARCHUS: And our answer will be: — In that ye have spoken well.

SOCRATES: Very true. And now let us go back and interrogate wisdom and mind: Would you like to have any pleasures in the mixture? And they will reply:— ‘What pleasures do you mean?’

PROTARCHUS: Likely enough.

SOCRATES: And we shall take up our parable and say: Do you wish to have the greatest and most vehement pleasures for your companions in addition to the true ones? ‘Why, Socrates,’ they will say, ‘how can we? seeing that they are the source of ten thousand hindrances to us; they trouble the souls of men, which are our habitation, with their madness; they prevent us from coming to the birth, and are commonly the ruin of the children which are born to us, causing them to be forgotten and unheeded; but the true and pure pleasures, of which you spoke, know to be of our family, and also those pleasures which accompany health and temperance, and which every Virtue, like a goddess, has in her train to follow her about wherever she goes, — mingle these and not the others; there would be great want of sense in any one who desires to see a fair and perfect mixture, and to find in it what is the highest good in man and in the universe, and to divine what is the true form of good — there would be great want of sense in his allowing the pleasures, which are always in the company of folly and vice, to mingle with mind in the cup.’ — Is not this a very rational and suitable reply, which mind has made, both on her own behalf, as well as on the behalf of memory and true opinion?

PROTARCHUS: Most certainly.

SOCRATES: And still there must be something more added, which is a necessary ingredient in every mixture.

PROTARCHUS: What is that?

SOCRATES: Unless truth enter into the composition, nothing can truly be created or subsist.

PROTARCHUS: Impossible.

SOCRATES: Quite impossible; and now you and Philebus must tell me whether anything is still wanting in the mixture, for to my way of thinking the argument is now completed, and may be compared to an incorporeal law, which is going to hold fair rule over a living body.

PROTARCHUS: I agree with you, Socrates.

SOCRATES: And may we not say with reason that we are now at the vestibule of the habitation of the good?

PROTARCHUS: I think that we are.

SOCRATES: What, then, is there in the mixture which is most precious, and which is the principal cause why such a state is universally beloved by all? When we have discovered it, we will proceed to ask whether this omnipresent nature is more akin to pleasure or to mind.

PROTARCHUS: Quite right; in that way we shall be better able to judge.

SOCRATES: And there is no difficulty in seeing the cause which renders any mixture either of the highest value or of none at all.

PROTARCHUS: What do you mean?

SOCRATES: Every man knows it.

PROTARCHUS: What?

SOCRATES: He knows that any want of measure and symmetry in any mixture whatever must always of necessity be fatal, both to the elements and to the mixture, which is then not a mixture, but only a confused medley which brings confusion on the possessor of it.

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: And now the power of the good has retired into the region of the beautiful; for measure and symmetry are beauty and virtue all the world over.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Also we said that truth was to form an element in the mixture.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then, if we are not able to hunt the good with one idea only, with three we may catch our prey; Beauty, Symmetry, Truth are the three, and these taken together we may regard as the single cause of the mixture, and the mixture as being good by reason of the infusion of them.

PROTARCHUS: Quite right.

SOCRATES: And now, Protarchus, any man could decide well enough whether pleasure or wisdom is more akin to the highest good, and more honourable among gods and men.

PROTARCHUS: Clearly, and yet perhaps the argument had better be pursued to the end.

SOCRATES: We must take each of them separately in their relation to pleasure and mind, and pronounce upon them; for we ought to see to which of the two they are severally most akin.

PROTARCHUS: You are speaking of beauty, truth, and measure?

SOCRATES: Yes, Protarchus, take truth first, and, after passing in review mind, truth, pleasure, pause awhile and make answer to yourself — as to whether pleasure or mind is more akin to truth.

PROTARCHUS: There is no need to pause, for the difference between them is palpable; pleasure is the veriest impostor in the world; and it is said that in the pleasures of love, which appear to be the greatest, perjury is excused by the gods; for pleasures, like children, have not the least particle of reason in them; whereas mind is either the same as truth, or the most like truth, and the truest.

SOCRATES: Shall we next consider measure, in like manner, and ask whether pleasure has more of this than wisdom, or wisdom than pleasure?

PROTARCHUS: Here is another question which may be easily answered; for I imagine that nothing can ever be more immoderate than the transports of pleasure, or more in conformity with measure than mind and knowledge.

SOCRATES: Very good; but there still remains the third test: Has mind a greater share of beauty than pleasure, and is mind or pleasure the fairer of the two?

PROTARCHUS: No one, Socrates, either awake or dreaming, ever saw or imagined mind or wisdom to be in aught unseemly, at any time, past, present, or future.

SOCRATES: Right.

PROTARCHUS: But when we see some one indulging in pleasures, perhaps in the greatest of pleasures, the ridiculous or disgraceful nature of the action makes us ashamed; and so we put them out of sight, and consign them to darkness, under the idea that they ought not to meet the eye of day.

SOCRATES: Then, Protarchus, you will proclaim everywhere, by word of mouth to this company, and by messengers bearing the tidings far and wide, that pleasure is not the first of possessions, nor yet the second, but that in measure, and the mean, and the suitable, and the like, the eternal nature has been found.

PROTARCHUS: Yes, that seems to be the result of what has been now said.

SOCRATES: In the second class is contained the symmetrical and beautiful and perfect or sufficient, and all which are of that family.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if you reckon in the third class mind and wisdom, you will not be far wrong, if I divine aright.

PROTARCHUS: I dare say.

SOCRATES: And would you not put in the fourth class the goods which we were affirming to appertain specially to the soul — sciences and arts and true opinions as we called them? These come after the third class, and form the fourth, as they are certainly more akin to good than pleasure is.

PROTARCHUS: Surely.

SOCRATES: The fifth class are the pleasures which were defined by us as painless, being the pure pleasures of the soul herself, as we termed them, which accompany, some the sciences, and some the senses.

PROTARCHUS: Perhaps.

SOCRATES: And now, as Orpheus says,

‘With the sixth generation cease the glory of my song.’

Here, at the sixth award, let us make an end; all that remains is to set the crown on our discourse.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: Then let us sum up and reassert what has been said, thus offering the third libation to the saviour Zeus.

PROTARCHUS: How?

SOCRATES: Philebus affirmed that pleasure was always and absolutely the good.

PROTARCHUS: I understand; this third libation, Socrates, of which you spoke, meant a recapitulation.

SOCRATES: Yes, but listen to the sequel; convinced of what I have just been saying, and feeling indignant at the doctrine, which is maintained, not by Philebus only, but by thousands of others, I affirmed that mind was far better and far more excellent, as an element of human life, than pleasure.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: But, suspecting that there were other things which were also better, I went on to say that if there was anything better than either, then I would claim the second place for mind over pleasure, and pleasure would lose the second place as well as the first.

PROTARCHUS: You did.

SOCRATES: Nothing could be more satisfactorily shown than the unsatisfactory nature of both of them.

PROTARCHUS: Very true.

SOCRATES: The claims both of pleasure and mind to be the absolute good have been entirely disproven in this argument, because they are both wanting in self-sufficiency and also in adequacy and perfection.

PROTARCHUS: Most true.

SOCRATES: But, though they must both resign in favour of another, mind is ten thousand times nearer and more akin to the nature of the conqueror than pleasure.

PROTARCHUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And, according to the judgment which has now been given, pleasure will rank fifth.

PROTARCHUS: True.

SOCRATES: But not first; no, not even if all the oxen and horses and animals in the world by their pursuit of enjoyment proclaim her to be so; — although the many trusting in them, as diviners trust in birds, determine that pleasures make up the good of life, and deem the lusts of animals to be better witnesses than the inspirations of divine philosophy.

PROTARCHUS: And now, Socrates, we tell you that the truth of what you have been saying is approved by the judgment of all of us.

SOCRATES: And will you let me go?

PROTARCHUS: There is a little which yet remains, and I will remind you of it, for I am sure that you will not be the first to go away from an argument.

LAWS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

This is Plato’s last and longest dialogue, which concerns a debate on laws and the men who are credited with making laws.  It is generally believed that Plato wrote this dialogue as an older man, having failed in his effort in Syracuse to guide a tyrant’s rule, having been thrown in prison.

Unlike most of Plato’s dialogues, Socrates does not appear in Laws. This is fitting as the dialogue takes place on the island of Crete, and Socrates appears outside of Athens in Plato’s writings only twice, in the Phaedrus, where he is just outside the city’s walls, and in The Republic, where he goes down to the seaport Piraeus five miles outside of Athens. Instead of Socrates we have the Athenian Stranger, ‘xenos’ in Greek, two other old men, an ordinary Spartan citizen and a Cretan politician and lawgiver from Knossos.

The Athenian Stranger, who is said to be similar to Socrates but whose name is never mentioned, joins the other two on their religious pilgrimage to the cave of Zeus. The entire dialogue takes place during this journey, which mimics the action of Minos, who is said by the Cretans to have made their ancient laws, who walked this path every nine years in order to receive instruction from Zeus on lawgiving. It is also said to be the longest day of the year, allowing for a densely-packed twelve chapters.

Knossos, Crete — the main setting of the dialogue

CONTENTS

The Translations

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

BOOK I.

BOOK II.

BOOK III.

BOOK IV.

BOOK V.

BOOK VI.

BOOK VII.

BOOK VIII.

BOOK IX.

BOOK X.

BOOK XI.

BOOK XII.

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

The genuineness of the Laws is sufficiently proved (1) by more than twenty citations of them in the writings of Aristotle, who was residing at Athens during the last twenty years of the life of Plato, and who, having left it after his death (B.C. 347), returned thither twelve years later (B.C. 335); (2) by the allusion of Isocrates

(Oratio ad Philippum missa, p.84: To men tais paneguresin enochlein kai pros apantas legein tous sunprechontas en autais pros oudena legein estin, all omoios oi toioutoi ton logon (sc. speeches in the assembly) akuroi tugchanousin ontes tois nomois kai tais politeiais tais upo ton sophiston gegrammenais.) — writing 346 B.C., a year after the death of Plato, and probably not more than three or four years after the composition of the Laws — who speaks of the Laws and Republics written by philosophers (upo ton sophiston); (3) by the reference (Athen.) of the comic poet Alexis, a younger contemporary of Plato (fl. B.C 356-306), to the enactment about prices, which occurs in Laws xi., viz that the same goods should not be offered at two prices on the same day

(Ou gegone kreitton nomothetes tou plousiou

Aristonikou tithesi gar nuni nomon,

ton ichthuopolon ostis an polon tini

ichthun upotimesas apodot elattonos

es eipe times, eis to desmoterion

euthus apagesthai touton, ina dedoikotes

tes axias agaposin, e tes esperas

saprous apantas apopherosin oikade.

Meineke, Frag. Com. Graec.); (4) by the unanimous voice of later antiquity and the absence of any suspicion among ancient writers worth speaking of to the contrary; for it is not said of Philippus of Opus that he composed any part of the Laws, but only that he copied them out of the waxen tablets, and was thought by some to have written the Epinomis (Diog. Laert.) That the longest and one of the best writings bearing the name of Plato should be a forgery, even if its genuineness were unsupported by external testimony, would be a singular phenomenon in ancient literature; and although the critical worth of the consensus of late writers is generally not to be compared with the express testimony of contemporaries, yet a somewhat greater value may be attributed to their consent in the present instance, because the admission of the Laws is combined with doubts about the Epinomis, a spurious writing, which is a kind of epilogue to the larger work probably of a much later date. This shows that the reception of the Laws was not altogether undiscriminating.

The suspicion which has attached to the Laws of Plato in the judgment of some modern writers appears to rest partly (1) on differences in the style and form of the work, and (2) on differences of thought and opinion which they observe in them. Their suspicion is increased by the fact that these differences are accompanied by resemblances as striking to passages in other Platonic writings. They are sensible of a want of point in the dialogue and a general inferiority in the ideas, plan, manners, and style. They miss the poetical flow, the dramatic verisimilitude, the life and variety of the characters, the dialectic subtlety, the Attic purity, the luminous order, the exquisite urbanity; instead of which they find tautology, obscurity, self-sufficiency, sermonizing, rhetorical declamation, pedantry, egotism, uncouth forms of sentences, and peculiarities in the use of words and idioms. They are unable to discover any unity in the patched, irregular structure. The speculative element both in government and education is superseded by a narrow economical or religious vein. The grace and cheerfulness of Athenian life have disappeared; and a spirit of moroseness and religious intolerance has taken their place. The charm of youth is no longer there; the mannerism of age makes itself unpleasantly felt. The connection is often imperfect; and there is a want of arrangement, exhibited especially in the enumeration of the laws towards the end of the work. The Laws are full of flaws and repetitions. The Greek is in places very ungrammatical and intractable. A cynical levity is displayed in some passages, and a tone of disappointment and lamentation over human things in others. The critics seem also to observe in them bad imitations of thoughts which are better expressed in Plato’s other writings. Lastly, they wonder how the mind which conceived the Republic could have left the Critias, Hermocrates, and Philosophus incomplete or unwritten, and have devoted the last years of life to the Laws.

The questions which have been thus indirectly suggested may be considered by us under five or six heads: I, the characters; II, the plan; III, the style; IV, the imitations of other writings of Plato; V; the more general relation of the Laws to the Republic and the other dialogues; and VI, to the existing Athenian and Spartan states.

I. Already in the Philebus the distinctive character of Socrates has disappeared; and in the Timaeus, Sophist, and Statesman his function of chief speaker is handed over to the Pythagorean philosopher Timaeus, and to the Eleatic Stranger, at whose feet he sits, and is silent. More and more Plato seems to have felt in his later writings that the character and method of Socrates were no longer suited to be the vehicle of his own philosophy. He is no longer interrogative but dogmatic; not ‘a hesitating enquirer,’ but one who speaks with the authority of a legislator. Even in the Republic we have seen that the argument which is carried on by Socrates in the old style with Thrasymachus in the first book, soon passes into the form of exposition. In the Laws he is nowhere mentioned. Yet so completely in the tradition of antiquity is Socrates identified with Plato, that in the criticism of the Laws which we find in the so-called Politics of Aristotle he is supposed by the writer still to be playing his part of the chief speaker (compare Pol.).

The Laws are discussed by three representatives of Athens, Crete, and Sparta. The Athenian, as might be expected, is the protagonist or chief speaker, while the second place is assigned to the Cretan, who, as one of the leaders of a new colony, has a special interest in the conversation. At least four-fifths of the answers are put into his mouth. The Spartan is every inch a soldier, a man of few words himself, better at deeds than words. The Athenian talks to the two others, although they are his equals in age, in the style of a master discoursing to his scholars; he frequently praises himself; he entertains a very poor opinion of the understanding of his companions. Certainly the boastfulness and rudeness of the Laws is the reverse of the refined irony and courtesy which characterize the earlier dialogues. We are no longer in such good company as in the Phaedrus and Symposium. Manners are lost sight of in the earnestness of the speakers, and dogmatic assertions take the place of poetical fancies.

The scene is laid in Crete, and the conversation is held in the course of a walk from Cnosus to the cave and temple of Zeus, which takes place on one of the longest and hottest days of the year. The companions start at dawn, and arrive at the point in their conversation which terminates the fourth book, about noon. The God to whose temple they are going is the lawgiver of Crete, and this may be supposed to be the very cave at which he gave his oracles to Minos. But the externals of the scene, which are briefly and inartistically described, soon disappear, and we plunge abruptly into the subject of the dialogue. We are reminded by contrast of the higher art of the Phaedrus, in which the summer’s day, and the cool stream, and the chirping of the grasshoppers, and the fragrance of the agnus castus, and the legends of the place are present to the imagination throughout the discourse.

The typical Athenian apologizes for the tendency of his countrymen ‘to spin a long discussion out of slender materials,’ and in a similar spirit the Lacedaemonian Megillus apologizes for the Spartan brevity (compare Thucydid.), acknowledging at the same time that there may be occasions when long discourses are necessary. The family of Megillus is the proxenus of Athens at Sparta; and he pays a beautiful compliment to the Athenian, significant of the character of the work, which, though borrowing many elements from Sparta, is also pervaded by an Athenian spirit. A good Athenian, he says, is more than ordinarily good, because he is inspired by nature and not manufactured by law. The love of listening which is attributed to the Timocrat in the Republic is also exhibited in him. The Athenian on his side has a pleasure in speaking to the Lacedaemonian of the struggle in which their ancestors were jointly engaged against the Persians. A connexion with Athens is likewise intimated by the Cretan Cleinias. He is the relative of Epimenides, whom, by an anachronism of a century, — perhaps arising as Zeller suggests (Plat. Stud.) out of a confusion of the visit of Epimenides and Diotima (Symp.), — he describes as coming to Athens, not after the attempt of Cylon, but ten years before the Persian war. The Cretan and Lacedaemonian hardly contribute at all to the argument of which the Athenian is the expounder; they only supply information when asked about the institutions of their respective countries. A kind of simplicity or stupidity is ascribed to them. At first, they are dissatisfied with the free criticisms which the Athenian passes upon the laws of Minos and Lycurgus, but they acquiesce in his greater experience and knowledge of the world. They admit that there can be no objection to the enquiry; for in the spirit of the legislator himself, they are discussing his laws when there are no young men present to listen. They are unwilling to allow that the Spartan and Cretan lawgivers can have been mistaken in honouring courage as the first part of virtue, and are puzzled at hearing for the first time that ‘Goods are only evil to the evil.’ Several times they are on the point of quarrelling, and by an effort learn to restrain their natural feeling (compare Shakespeare, Henry V, act iii. sc. 2). In Book vii., the Lacedaemonian expresses a momentary irritation at the accusation which the Athenian brings against the Spartan institutions, of encouraging licentiousness in their women, but he is reminded by the Cretan that the permission to criticize them freely has been given, and cannot be retracted. His only criterion of truth is the authority of the Spartan lawgiver; he is ‘interested,’ in the novel speculations of the Athenian, but inclines to prefer the ordinances of Lycurgus.

The three interlocutors all of them speak in the character of old men, which forms a pleasant bond of union between them. They have the feelings of old age about youth, about the state, about human things in general. Nothing in life seems to be of much importance to them; they are spectators rather than actors, and men in general appear to the Athenian speaker to be the playthings of the Gods and of circumstances. Still they have a fatherly care of the young, and are deeply impressed by sentiments of religion. They would give confidence to the aged by an increasing use of wine, which, as they get older, is to unloose their tongues and make them sing. The prospect of the existence of the soul after death is constantly present to them; though they can hardly be said to have the cheerful hope and resignation which animates Socrates in the Phaedo or Cephalus in the Republic. Plato appears to be expressing his own feelings in remarks of this sort. For at the time of writing the first book of the Laws he was at least seventy-four years of age, if we suppose him to allude to the victory of the Syracusans under Dionysius the Younger over the Locrians, which occurred in the year 356. Such a sadness was the natural effect of declining years and failing powers, which make men ask, ‘After all, what profit is there in life?’ They feel that their work is beginning to be over, and are ready to say, ‘All the world is a stage;’ or, in the actual words of Plato, ‘Let us play as good plays as we can,’ though ‘we must be sometimes serious, which is not agreeable, but necessary.’ These are feelings which have crossed the minds of reflective persons in all ages, and there is no reason to connect the Laws any more than other parts of Plato’s writings with the very uncertain narrative of his life, or to imagine that this melancholy tone is attributable to disappointment at having failed to convert a Sicilian tyrant into a philosopher.

II. The plan of the Laws is more irregular and has less connexion than any other of the writings of Plato. As Aristotle says in the Politics, ‘The greater part consists of laws’; in Books v, vi, xi, xii the dialogue almost entirely disappears. Large portions of them are rather the materials for a work than a finished composition which may rank with the other Platonic dialogues. To use his own image, ‘Some stones are regularly inserted in the building; others are lying on the ground ready for use.’ There is probably truth in the tradition that the Laws were not published until after the death of Plato. We can easily believe that he has left imperfections, which would have been removed if he had lived a few years longer. The arrangement might have been improved; the connexion of the argument might have been made plainer, and the sentences more accurately framed. Something also may be attributed to the feebleness of old age. Even a rough sketch of the Phaedrus or Symposium would have had a very different look. There is, however, an interest in possessing one writing of Plato which is in the process of creation.

We must endeavour to find a thread of order which will carry us through this comparative disorder. The first four books are described by Plato himself as the preface or preamble. Having arrived at the conclusion that each law should have a preamble, the lucky thought occurs to him at the end of the fourth book that the preceding discourse is the preamble of the whole. This preamble or introduction may be abridged as follows: —

The institutions of Sparta and Crete are admitted by the Lacedaemonian and Cretan to have one aim only: they were intended by the legislator to inspire courage in war. To this the Athenian objects that the true lawgiver should frame his laws with a view to all the virtues and not to one only. Better is he who has temperance as well as courage, than he who has courage only; better is he who is faithful in civil broils, than he who is a good soldier only. Better, too, is peace than war; the reconciliation than the defeat of an enemy. And he who would attain all virtue should be trained amid pleasures as well as pains. Hence there should be convivial intercourse among the citizens, and a man’s temperance should be tested in his cups, as we test his courage amid dangers. He should have a fear of the right sort, as well as a courage of the right sort.

At the beginning of the second book the subject of pleasure leads to education, which in the early years of life is wholly a discipline imparted by the means of pleasure and pain. The discipline of pleasure is implanted chiefly by the practice of the song and the dance. Of these the forms should be fixed, and not allowed to depend on the fickle breath of the multitude. There will be choruses of boys, girls, and grown-up persons, and all will be heard repeating the same strain, that ‘virtue is happiness.’ One of them will give the law to the rest; this will be the chorus of aged minstrels, who will sing the most beautiful and the most useful of songs. They will require a little wine, to mellow the austerity of age, and make them amenable to the laws.

After having laid down as the first principle of politics, that peace, and not war, is the true aim of the legislator, and briefly discussed music and festive intercourse, at the commencement of the third book Plato makes a digression, in which he speaks of the origin of society. He describes, first of all, the family; secondly, the patriarchal stage, which is an aggregation of families; thirdly, the founding of regular cities, like Ilium; fourthly, the establishment of a military and political system, like that of Sparta, with which he identifies Argos and Messene, dating from the return of the Heraclidae. But the aims of states should be good, or else, like the prayer of Theseus, they may be ruinous to themselves. This was the case in two out of three of the Heracleid kingdoms. They did not understand that the powers in a state should be balanced. The balance of powers saved Sparta, while the excess of tyranny in Persia and the excess of liberty at Athens have been the ruin of both...This discourse on politics is suddenly discovered to have an immediate practical use; for Cleinias the Cretan is about to give laws to a new colony.

At the beginning of the fourth book, after enquiring into the circumstances and situation of the colony, the Athenian proceeds to make further reflections. Chance, and God, and the skill of the legislator, all co-operate in the formation of states. And the most favourable condition for the foundation of a new one is when the government is in the hands of a virtuous tyrant who has the good fortune to be the contemporary of a great legislator. But a virtuous tyrant is a contradiction in terms; we can at best only hope to have magistrates who are the servants of reason and the law. This leads to the enquiry, what is to be the polity of our new state. And the answer is, that we are to fear God, and honour our parents, and to cultivate virtue and justice; these are to be our first principles. Laws must be definite, and we should create in the citizens a predisposition to obey them. The legislator will teach as well as command; and with this view he will prefix preambles to his principal laws.

The fifth book commences in a sort of dithyramb with another and higher preamble about the honour due to the soul, whence are deduced the duties of a man to his parents and his friends, to the suppliant and stranger. He should be true and just, free from envy and excess of all sorts, forgiving to crimes which are not incurable and are partly involuntary; and he should have a true taste. The noblest life has the greatest pleasures and the fewest pains...Having finished the preamble, and touched on some other preliminary considerations, we proceed to the Laws, beginning with the constitution of the state. This is not the best or ideal state, having all things common, but only the second-best, in which the land and houses are to be distributed among 5040 citizens divided into four classes. There is to be no gold or silver among them, and they are to have moderate wealth, and to respect number and numerical order in all things.

In the first part of the sixth book, Plato completes his sketch of the constitution by the appointment of officers. He explains the manner in which guardians of the law, generals, priests, wardens of town and country, ministers of education, and other magistrates are to be appointed; and also in what way courts of appeal are to be constituted, and omissions in the law to be supplied. Next — and at this point the Laws strictly speaking begin — there follow enactments respecting marriage and the procreation of children, respecting property in slaves as well as of other kinds, respecting houses, married life, common tables for men and women. The question of age in marriage suggests the consideration of a similar question about the time for holding offices, and for military service, which had been previously omitted.

Resuming the order of the discussion, which was indicated in the previous book, from marriage and birth we proceed to education in the seventh book. Education is to begin at or rather before birth; to be continued for a time by mothers and nurses under the supervision of the state; finally, to comprehend music and gymnastics. Under music is included reading, writing, playing on the lyre, arithmetic, geometry, and a knowledge of astronomy sufficient to preserve the minds of the citizens from impiety in after-life. Gymnastics are to be practised chiefly with a view to their use in war. The discussion of education, which was lightly touched upon in Book ii, is here completed.

The eighth book contains regulations for civil life, beginning with festivals, games, and contests, military exercises and the like. On such occasions Plato seems to see young men and maidens meeting together, and hence he is led into discussing the relations of the sexes, the evil consequences which arise out of the indulgence of the passions, and the remedies for them. Then he proceeds to speak of agriculture, of arts and trades, of buying and selling, and of foreign commerce.

The remaining books of the Laws, ix-xii, are chiefly concerned with criminal offences. In the first class are placed offences against the Gods, especially sacrilege or robbery of temples: next follow offences against the state, — conspiracy, treason, theft. The mention of thefts suggests a distinction between voluntary and involuntary, curable and incurable offences. Proceeding to the greater crime of homicide, Plato distinguishes between mere homicide, manslaughter, which is partly voluntary and partly involuntary, and murder, which arises from avarice, ambition, fear. He also enumerates murders by kindred, murders by slaves, wounds with or without intent to kill, wounds inflicted in anger, crimes of or against slaves, insults to parents. To these, various modes of purification or degrees of punishment are assigned, and the terrors of another world are also invoked against them.

At the beginning of Book x, all acts of violence, including sacrilege, are summed up in a single law. The law is preceded by an admonition, in which the offenders are informed that no one ever did an unholy act or said an unlawful word while he retained his belief in the existence of the Gods; but either he denied their existence, or he believed that they took no care of man, or that they might be turned from their course by sacrifices and prayers. The remainder of the book is devoted to the refutation of these three classes of unbelievers, and concludes with the means to be taken for their reformation, and the announcement of their punishments if they continue obstinate and impenitent.

The eleventh book is taken up with laws and with admonitions relating to individuals, which follow one another without any exact order. There are laws concerning deposits and the finding of treasure; concerning slaves and freedmen; concerning retail trade, bequests, divorces, enchantments, poisonings, magical arts, and the like. In the twelfth book the same subjects are continued. Laws are passed concerning violations of military discipline, concerning the high office of the examiners and their burial; concerning oaths and the violation of them, and the punishments of those who neglect their duties as citizens. Foreign travel is then discussed, and the permission to be accorded to citizens of journeying in foreign parts; the strangers who may come to visit the city are also spoken of, and the manner in which they are to be received. Laws are added respecting sureties, searches for property, right of possession by prescription, abduction of witnesses, theatrical competition, waging of private warfare, and bribery in offices. Rules are laid down respecting taxation, respecting economy in sacred rites, respecting judges, their duties and sentences, and respecting sepulchral places and ceremonies. Here the Laws end. Lastly, a Nocturnal Council is instituted for the preservation of the state, consisting of older and younger members, who are to exhibit in their lives that virtue which is the basis of the state, to know the one in many, and to be educated in divine and every other kind of knowledge which will enable them to fulfil their office.

III. The style of the Laws differs in several important respects from that of the other dialogues of Plato: (1) in the want of character, power, and lively illustration; (2) in the frequency of mannerisms (compare Introduction to the Philebus); (3) in the form and rhythm of the sentences; (4) in the use of words. On the other hand, there are many passages (5) which are characterized by a sort of ethical grandeur; and (6) in which, perhaps, a greater insight into human nature, and a greater reach of practical wisdom is shown, than in any other of Plato’s writings.

1. The discourse of the three old men is described by themselves as an old man’s game of play. Yet there is little of the liveliness of a game in their mode of treating the subject. They do not throw the ball to and fro, but two out of the three are listeners to the third, who is constantly asserting his superior wisdom and opportunities of knowledge, and apologizing (not without reason) for his own want of clearness of speech. He will ‘carry them over the stream;’ he will answer for them when the argument is beyond their comprehension; he is afraid of their ignorance of mathematics, and thinks that gymnastic is likely to be more intelligible to them; — he has repeated his words several times, and yet they cannot understand him. The subject did not properly take the form of dialogue, and also the literary vigour of Plato had passed away. The old men speak as they might be expected to speak, and in this there is a touch of dramatic truth. Plato has given the Laws that form or want of form which indicates the failure of natural power. There is no regular plan — none of that consciousness of what has preceded and what is to follow, which makes a perfect style, — but there are several attempts at a plan; the argument is ‘pulled up,’ and frequent explanations are offered why a particular topic was introduced.

The fictions of the Laws have no longer the verisimilitude which is characteristic of the Phaedrus and the Timaeus, or even of the Statesman. We can hardly suppose that an educated Athenian would have placed the visit of Epimenides to Athens ten years before the Persian war, or have imagined that a war with Messene prevented the Lacedaemonians from coming to the rescue of Hellas. The narrative of the origin of the Dorian institutions, which are said to have been due to a fear of the growing power of the Assyrians, is a plausible invention, which may be compared with the tale of the island of Atlantis and the poem of Solon, but is not accredited by similar arts of deception. The other statement that the Dorians were Achaean exiles assembled by Dorieus, and the assertion that Troy was included in the Assyrian Empire, have some foundation (compare for the latter point, Diod. Sicul.). Nor is there anywhere in the Laws that lively enargeia, that vivid mise en scene, which is as characteristic of Plato as of some modern novelists.

The old men are afraid of the ridicule which ‘will fall on their heads more than enough,’ and they do not often indulge in a joke. In one of the few which occur, the book of the Laws, if left incomplete, is compared to a monster wandering about without a head. But we no longer breathe the atmosphere of humour which pervades the Symposium and the Euthydemus, in which we pass within a few sentences from the broadest Aristophanic joke to the subtlest refinement of wit and fancy; instead of this, in the Laws an impression of baldness and feebleness is often left upon our minds. Some of the most amusing descriptions, as, for example, of children roaring for the first three years of life; or of the Athenians walking into the country with fighting-cocks under their arms; or of the slave doctor who knocks about his patients finely; and the gentleman doctor who courteously persuades them; or of the way of keeping order in the theatre, ‘by a hint from a stick,’ are narrated with a commonplace gravity; but where we find this sort of dry humour we shall not be far wrong in thinking that the writer intended to make us laugh. The seriousness of age takes the place of the jollity of youth. Life should have holidays and festivals; yet we rebuke ourselves when we laugh, and take our pleasures sadly. The irony of the earlier dialogues, of which some traces occur in the tenth book, is replaced by a severity which hardly condescends to regard human things. ‘Let us say, if you please, that man is of some account, but I was speaking of him in comparison with God.’

The imagery and illustrations are poor in themselves, and are not assisted by the surrounding phraseology. We have seen how in the Republic, and in the earlier dialogues, figures of speech such as ‘the wave,’ ‘the drone,’ ‘the chase,’ ‘the bride,’ appear and reappear at intervals. Notes are struck which are repeated from time to time, as in a strain of music. There is none of this subtle art in the Laws. The illustrations, such as the two kinds of doctors, ‘the three kinds of funerals,’ the fear potion, the puppet, the painter leaving a successor to restore his picture, the ‘person stopping to consider where three ways meet,’ the ‘old laws about water of which he will not divert the course,’ can hardly be said to do much credit to Plato’s invention. The citations from the poets have lost that fanciful character which gave them their charm in the earlier dialogues. We are tired of images taken from the arts of navigation, or archery, or weaving, or painting, or medicine, or music. Yet the comparisons of life to a tragedy, or of the working of mind to the revolution of the self-moved, or of the aged parent to the image of a God dwelling in the house, or the reflection that ‘man is made to be the plaything of God, and that this rightly considered is the best of him,’ have great beauty.

2. The clumsiness of the style is exhibited in frequent mannerisms and repetitions. The perfection of the Platonic dialogue consists in the accuracy with which the question and answer are fitted into one another, and the regularity with which the steps of the argument succeed one another. This finish of style is no longer discernible in the Laws. There is a want of variety in the answers; nothing can be drawn out of the respondents but ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ ‘True,’ ‘To be sure,’ etc.; the insipid forms, ‘What do you mean?’ ‘To what are you referring?’ are constantly returning. Again and again the speaker is charged, or charges himself, with obscurity; and he repeats again and again that he will explain his views more clearly. The process of thought which should be latent in the mind of the writer appears on the surface. In several passages the Athenian praises himself in the most unblushing manner, very unlike the irony of the earlier dialogues, as when he declares that ‘the laws are a divine work given by some inspiration of the Gods,’ and that ‘youth should commit them to memory instead of the compositions of the poets.’ The prosopopoeia which is adopted by Plato in the Protagoras and other dialogues is repeated until we grow weary of it. The legislator is always addressing the speakers or the youth of the state, and the speakers are constantly making addresses to the legislator. A tendency to a paradoxical manner of statement is also observable. ‘We must have drinking,’ ‘we must have a virtuous tyrant’ — this is too much for the duller wits of the Lacedaemonian and Cretan, who at first start back in surprise. More than in any other writing of Plato the tone is hortatory; the laws are sermons as well as laws; they are considered to have a religious sanction, and to rest upon a religious sentiment in the mind of the citizens. The words of the Athenian are attributed to the Lacedaemonian and Cretan, who are supposed to have made them their own, after the manner of the earlier dialogues. Resumptions of subjects which have been half disposed of in a previous passage constantly occur: the arrangement has neither the clearness of art nor the freedom of nature. Irrelevant remarks are made here and there, or illustrations used which are not properly fitted in. The dialogue is generally weak and laboured, and is in the later books fairly given up, apparently, because unsuited to the subject of the work. The long speeches or sermons of the Athenian, often extending over several pages, have never the grace and harmony which are exhibited in the earlier dialogues. For Plato is incapable of sustained composition; his genius is dramatic rather than oratorical; he can converse, but he cannot make a speech. Even the Timaeus, which is one of his most finished works, is full of abrupt transitions. There is the same kind of difference between the dialogue and the continuous discourse of Plato as between the narrative and speeches of Thucydides.

3. The perfection of style is variety in unity, freedom, ease, clearness, the power of saying anything, and of striking any note in the scale of human feelings without impropriety; and such is the divine gift of language possessed by Plato in the Symposium and Phaedrus. From this there are many fallings-off in the Laws: first, in the structure of the sentences, which are rhythmical and monotonous, — the formal and sophistical manner of the age is superseding the natural genius of Plato: secondly, many of them are of enormous length, and the latter end often forgets the beginning of them, — they seem never to have received the second thoughts of the author; either the emphasis is wrongly placed, or there is a want of point in a clause; or an absolute case occurs which is not properly separated from the rest of the sentence; or words are aggregated in a manner which fails to show their relation to one another; or the connecting particles are omitted at the beginning of sentences; the uses of the relative and antecedent are more indistinct, the changes of person and number more frequent, examples of pleonasm, tautology, and periphrasis, antitheses of positive and negative, false emphasis, and other affectations, are more numerous than in the other writings of Plato; there is also a more common and sometimes unmeaning use of qualifying formulae, os epos eipein, kata dunamin, and of double expressions, pante pantos, oudame oudamos, opos kai ope — these are too numerous to be attributed to errors in the text; again, there is an over-curious adjustment of verb and participle, noun and epithet, and other artificial forms of cadence and expression take the place of natural variety: thirdly, the absence of metaphorical language is remarkable — the style is not devoid of ornament, but the ornament is of a debased rhetorical kind, patched on to instead of growing out of the subject; there is a great command of words, and a laboured use of them; forced attempts at metaphor occur in several passages, — e.g. parocheteuein logois; ta men os tithemena ta d os paratithemena; oinos kolazomenos upo nephontos eterou theou; the plays on the word nomos = nou dianome, ode etara: fourthly, there is a foolish extravagance of language in other passages,— ‘the swinish ignorance of arithmetic;’ ‘the justice and suitableness of the discourse on laws;’ over-emphasis; ‘best of Greeks,’ said of all the Greeks, and the like: fifthly, poor and insipid illustrations are also common: sixthly, we may observe an excessive use of climax and hyperbole, aischron legein chre pros autous doulon te kai doulen kai paida kai ei pos oion te olen ten oikian: dokei touto to epitedeuma kata phusin tas peri ta aphrodisia edonas ou monon anthropon alla kai therion diephtharkenai.

4. The peculiarities in the use of words which occur in the Laws have been collected by Zeller (Platonische Studien) and Stallbaum (Legg.): first, in the use of nouns, such as allodemia, apeniautesis, glukuthumia, diatheter, thrasuxenia, koros, megalonoia, paidourgia: secondly, in the use of adjectives, such as aistor, biodotes, echthodopos, eitheos, chronios, and of adverbs, such as aniditi, anatei, nepoivei: thirdly, in the use of verbs, such as athurein, aissein (aixeien eipein), euthemoneisthai, parapodizesthai, sebein, temelein, tetan. These words however, as Stallbaum remarks, are formed according to analogy, and nearly all of them have the support of some poetical or other authority.

Zeller and Stallbaum have also collected forms of words in the Laws, differing from the forms of the same words which occur in other places: e.g. blabos for blabe, abios for abiotos, acharistos for acharis, douleios for doulikos, paidelos for paidikos, exagrio for exagriaino, ileoumai for ilaskomai, and the Ionic word sophronistus, meaning ‘correction.’ Zeller has noted a fondness for substantives ending in -ma and -sis, such as georgema, diapauma, epithumema, zemioma, komodema, omilema; blapsis, loidoresis, paraggelsis, and others; also a use of substantives in the plural, which are commonly found only in the singular, maniai, atheotetes, phthonoi, phoboi, phuseis; also, a peculiar use of prepositions in composition, as in eneirgo, apoblapto, dianomotheteo, dieiretai, dieulabeisthai, and other words; also, a frequent occurrence of the Ionic datives plural in -aisi and -oisi, perhaps used for the sake of giving an ancient or archaic effect.

To these peculiarities of words he has added a list of peculiar expressions and constructions. Among the most characteristic are the following: athuta pallakon spermata; amorphoi edrai; osa axiomata pros archontas; oi kata polin kairoi; muthos, used in several places of ‘the discourse about laws;’ and connected with this the frequent use of paramuthion and paramutheisthai in the general sense of ‘address,’ ‘addressing’; aimulos eros; ataphoi praxeis; muthos akephalos; ethos euthuporon. He remarks also on the frequent employment of the abstract for the concrete; e.g. uperesia for uperetai, phugai for phugades, mechanai in the sense of ‘contrivers,’ douleia for douloi, basileiai for basileis, mainomena kedeumata for ganaika mainomenen; e chreia ton paidon in the sense of ‘indigent children,’ and paidon ikanotes; to ethos tes apeirias for e eiothuia apeiria; kuparitton upse te kai kalle thaumasia for kuparittoi mala upselai kai kalai. He further notes some curious uses of the genitive case, e.g. philias omologiai, maniai orges, laimargiai edones, cheimonon anupodesiai, anosioi plegon tolmai; and of the dative, omiliai echthrois, nomothesiai, anosioi plegon tolmai; and of the dative omiliai echthrois, nomothesiai epitropois; and also some rather uncommon periphrases, thremmata Neilou, xuggennetor teknon for alochos, Mouses lexis for poiesis, zographon paides, anthropon spermata and the like; the fondness for particles of limitation, especially tis and ge, sun tisi charisi, tois ge dunamenois and the like; the pleonastic use of tanun, of os, of os eros eipein, of ekastote; and the periphrastic use of the preposition peri. Lastly, he observes the tendency to hyperbata or transpositions of words, and to rhythmical uniformity as well as grammatical irregularity in the structure of the sentences.

For nearly all the expressions which are adduced by Zeller as arguments against the genuineness of the Laws, Stallbaum finds some sort of authority. There is no real ground for doubting that the work was written by Plato, merely because several words occur in it which are not found in his other writings. An imitator may preserve the usual phraseology of a writer better than he would himself. But, on the other hand, the fact that authorities may be quoted in support of most of these uses of words, does not show that the diction is not peculiar. Several of them seem to be poetical or dialectical, and exhibit an attempt to enlarge the limits of Greek prose by the introduction of Homeric and tragic expressions. Most of them do not appear to have retained any hold on the later language of Greece. Like several experiments in language of the writers of the Elizabethan age, they were afterwards lost; and though occasionally found in Plutarch and imitators of Plato, they have not been accepted by Aristotle or passed into the common dialect of Greece.

5. Unequal as the Laws are in style, they contain a few passages which are very grand and noble. For example, the address to the poets: ‘Best of strangers, we also are poets of the best and noblest tragedy; for our whole state is an imitation of the best and noblest life, which we affirm to be indeed the very truth of tragedy.’ Or again, the sight of young men and maidens in friendly intercourse with one another, suggesting the dangers to which youth is liable from the violence of passion; or the eloquent denunciation of unnatural lusts in the same passage; or the charming thought that the best legislator ‘orders war for the sake of peace and not peace for the sake of war;’ or the pleasant allusion, ‘O Athenian — inhabitant of Attica, I will not say, for you seem to me worthy to be named after the Goddess Athene because you go back to first principles;’ or the pithy saying, ‘Many a victory has been and will be suicidal to the victors, but education is never suicidal;’ or the fine expression that ‘the walls of a city should be allowed to sleep in the earth, and that we should not attempt to disinter them;’ or the remark that ‘God is the measure of all things in a sense far higher than any man can be;’ or that ‘a man should be from the first a partaker of the truth, that he may live a true man as long as possible;’ or the principle repeatedly laid down, that ‘the sins of the fathers are not to be visited on the children;’ or the description of the funeral rites of those priestly sages who depart in innocence; or the noble sentiment, that we should do more justice to slaves than to equals; or the curious observation, founded, perhaps, on his own experience, that there are a few ‘divine men in every state however corrupt, whose conversation is of inestimable value;’ or the acute remark, that public opinion is to be respected, because the judgments of mankind about virtue are better than their practice; or the deep religious and also modern feeling which pervades the tenth book (whatever may be thought of the arguments); the sense of the duty of living as a part of a whole, and in dependence on the will of God, who takes care of the least things as well as the greatest; and the picture of parents praying for their children — not as we may say, slightly altering the words of Plato, as if there were no truth or reality in the Gentile religions, but as if there were the greatest — are very striking to us. We must remember that the Laws, unlike the Republic, do not exhibit an ideal state, but are supposed to be on the level of human motives and feelings; they are also on the level of the popular religion, though elevated and purified: hence there is an attempt made to show that the pleasant is also just. But, on the other hand, the priority of the soul to the body, and of God to the soul, is always insisted upon as the true incentive to virtue; especially with great force and eloquence at the commencement of Book v. And the work of legislation is carried back to the first principles of morals.

6. No other writing of Plato shows so profound an insight into the world and into human nature as the Laws. That ‘cities will never cease from ill until they are better governed,’ is the text of the Laws as well as of the Statesman and Republic. The principle that the balance of power preserves states; the reflection that no one ever passed his whole life in disbelief of the Gods; the remark that the characters of men are best seen in convivial intercourse; the observation that the people must be allowed to share not only in the government, but in the administration of justice; the desire to make laws, not with a view to courage only, but to all virtue; the clear perception that education begins with birth, or even, as he would say, before birth; the attempt to purify religion; the modern reflections, that punishment is not vindictive, and that limits must be set to the power of bequest; the impossibility of undeceiving the victims of quacks and jugglers; the provision for water, and for other requirements of health, and for concealing the bodies of the dead with as little hurt as possible to the living; above all, perhaps, the distinct consciousness that under the actual circumstances of mankind the ideal cannot be carried out, and yet may be a guiding principle — will appear to us, if we remember that we are still in the dawn of politics, to show a great depth of political wisdom.

IV. The Laws of Plato contain numerous passages which closely resemble other passages in his writings. And at first sight a suspicion arises that the repetition shows the unequal hand of the imitator. For why should a writer say over again, in a more imperfect form, what he had already said in his most finished style and manner? And yet it may be urged on the other side that an author whose original powers are beginning to decay will be very liable to repeat himself, as in conversation, so in books. He may have forgotten what he had written before; he may be unconscious of the decline of his own powers. Hence arises a question of great interest, bearing on the genuineness of ancient writers. Is there any criterion by which we can distinguish the genuine resemblance from the spurious, or, in other words, the repetition of a thought or passage by an author himself from the appropriation of it by another? The question has, perhaps, never been fully discussed; and, though a real one, does not admit of a precise answer. A few general considerations on the subject may be offered: —

(a) Is the difference such as might be expected to arise at different times of life or under different circumstances? — There would be nothing surprising in a writer, as he grew older, losing something of his own originality, and falling more and more under the spirit of his age. ‘What a genius I had when I wrote that book!’ was the pathetic exclamation of a famous English author, when in old age he chanced to take up one of his early works. There would be nothing surprising again in his losing somewhat of his powers of expression, and becoming less capable of framing language into a harmonious whole. There would also be a strong presumption that if the variation of style was uniform, it was attributable to some natural cause, and not to the arts of the imitator. The inferiority might be the result of feebleness and of want of activity of mind. But the natural weakness of a great author would commonly be different from the artificial weakness of an imitator; it would be continuous and uniform. The latter would be apt to fill his work with irregular patches, sometimes taken verbally from the writings of the author whom he personated, but rarely acquiring his spirit. His imitation would be obvious, irregular, superficial. The patches of purple would be easily detected among his threadbare and tattered garments. He would rarely take the pains to put the same thought into other words. There were many forgeries in English literature which attained a considerable degree of success 50 or 100 years ago; but it is doubtful whether attempts such as these could now escape detection, if there were any writings of the same author or of the same age to be compared with them. And ancient forgers were much less skilful than modern; they were far from being masters in the art of deception, and had rarely any motive for being so.

(b) But, secondly, the imitator will commonly be least capable of understanding or imitating that part of a great writer which is most characteristic of him. In every man’s writings there is something like himself and unlike others, which gives individuality. To appreciate this latent quality would require a kindred mind, and minute study and observation. There are a class of similarities which may be called undesigned coincidences, which are so remote as to be incapable of being borrowed from one another, and yet, when they are compared, find a natural explanation in their being the work of the same mind. The imitator might copy the turns of style — he might repeat images or illustrations, but he could not enter into the inner circle of Platonic philosophy. He would understand that part of it which became popular in the next generation, as for example, the doctrine of ideas or of numbers: he might approve of communism. But the higher flights of Plato about the science of dialectic, or the unity of virtue, or a person who is above the law, would be unintelligible to him.

(c) The argument from imitation assumes a different character when the supposed imitations are associated with other passages having the impress of original genius. The strength of the argument from undesigned coincidences of style is much increased when they are found side by side with thoughts and expressions which can only have come from a great original writer. The great excellence, not only of the whole, but even of the parts of writings, is a strong proof of their genuineness — for although the great writer may fall below, the forger or imitator cannot rise much above himself. Whether we can attribute the worst parts of a work to a forger and the best to a great writer, — as for example, in the case of some of Shakespeare’s plays, — depends upon the probability that they have been interpolated, or have been the joint work of two writers; and this can only be established either by express evidence or by a comparison of other writings of the same class. If the interpolation or double authorship of Greek writings in the time of Plato could be shown to be common, then a question, perhaps insoluble, would arise, not whether the whole, but whether parts of the Platonic dialogues are genuine, and, if parts only, which parts. Hebrew prophecies and Homeric poems and Laws of Manu may have grown together in early times, but there is no reason to think that any of the dialogues of Plato is the result of a similar process of accumulation. It is therefore rash to say with Oncken (Die Staatslehre des Aristoteles) that the form in which Aristotle knew the Laws of Plato must have been different from that in which they have come down to us.

It must be admitted that these principles are difficult of application. Yet a criticism may be worth making which rests only on probabilities or impressions. Great disputes will arise about the merits of different passages, about what is truly characteristic and original or trivial and borrowed. Many have thought the Laws to be one of the greatest of Platonic writings, while in the judgment of Mr. Grote they hardly rise above the level of the forged epistles. The manner in which a writer would or would not have written at a particular time of life must be acknowledged to be a matter of conjecture. But enough has been said to show that similarities of a certain kind, whether criticism is able to detect them or not, may be such as must be attributed to an original writer, and not to a mere imitator.

(d) Applying these principles to the case of the Laws, we have now to point out that they contain the class of refined or unconscious similarities which are indicative of genuineness. The parallelisms are like the repetitions of favourite thoughts into which every one is apt to fall unawares in conversation or in writing. They are found in a work which contains many beautiful and remarkable passages. We may therefore begin by claiming this presumption in their favour. Such undesigned coincidences, as we may venture to call them, are the following. The conception of justice as the union of temperance, wisdom, courage (Laws; Republic): the latent idea of dialectic implied in the notion of dividing laws after the kinds of virtue (Laws); the approval of the method of looking at one idea gathered from many things, ‘than which a truer was never discovered by any man’ (compare Republic): or again the description of the Laws as parents (Laws; Republic): the assumption that religion has been already settled by the oracle of Delphi (Laws; Republic), to which an appeal is also made in special cases (Laws): the notion of the battle with self, a paradox for which Plato in a manner apologizes both in the Laws and the Republic: the remark (Laws) that just men, even when they are deformed in body, may still be perfectly beautiful in respect of the excellent justice of their minds (compare Republic): the argument that ideals are none the worse because they cannot be carried out (Laws; Republic): the near approach to the idea of good in ‘the principle which is common to all the four virtues,’ a truth which the guardians must be compelled to recognize (Laws; compare Republic): or again the recognition by reason of the right pleasure and pain, which had previously been matter of habit (Laws; Republic): or the blasphemy of saying that the excellency of music is to give pleasure (Laws; Republic): again the story of the Sidonian Cadmus (Laws), which is a variation of the Phoenician tale of the earth-born men (Republic): the comparison of philosophy to a yelping she-dog, both in the Republic and in the Laws: the remark that no man can practise two trades (Laws; Republic): or the advantage of the middle condition (Laws; Republic): the tendency to speak of principles as moulds or forms; compare the ekmageia of song (Laws), and the tupoi of religion (Republic): or the remark (Laws) that ‘the relaxation of justice makes many cities out of one,’ which may be compared with the Republic: or the description of lawlessness ‘creeping in little by little in the fashions of music and overturning all things,’ — to us a paradox, but to Plato’s mind a fixed idea, which is found in the Laws as well as in the Republic: or the figure of the parts of the human body under which the parts of the state are described (Laws; Republic): the apology for delay and diffuseness, which occurs not unfrequently in the Republic, is carried to an excess in the Laws (compare Theaet.): the remarkable thought (Laws) that the soul of the sun is better than the sun, agrees with the relation in which the idea of good stands to the sun in the Republic, and with the substitution of mind for the idea of good in the Philebus: the passage about the tragic poets (Laws) agrees generally with the treatment of them in the Republic, but is more finely conceived, and worked out in a nobler spirit. Some lesser similarities of thought and manner should not be omitted, such as the mention of the thirty years’ old students in the Republic, and the fifty years’ old choristers in the Laws; or the making of the citizens out of wax (Laws) compared with the other image (Republic); or the number of the tyrant (729), which is NEARLY equal with the number of days and nights in the year (730), compared with the ‘slight correction’ of the sacred number 5040, which is divisible by all the numbers from 1 to 12 except 11, and divisible by 11, if two families be deducted; or once more, we may compare the ignorance of solid geometry of which he complains in the Republic and the puzzle about fractions with the difficulty in the Laws about commensurable and incommensurable quantities — and the malicious emphasis on the word gunaikeios (Laws) with the use of the same word (Republic). These and similar passages tend to show that the author of the Republic is also the author of the Laws. They are echoes of the same voice, expressions of the same mind, coincidences too subtle to have been invented by the ingenuity of any imitator. The force of the argument is increased, if we remember that no passage in the Laws is exactly copied, — nowhere do five or six words occur together which are found together elsewhere in Plato’s writings.

In other dialogues of Plato, as well as in the Republic, there are to be found parallels with the Laws. Such resemblances, as we might expect, occur chiefly (but not exclusively) in the dialogues which, on other grounds, we may suppose to be of later date. The punishment of evil is to be like evil men (Laws), as he says also in the Theaetetus. Compare again the dependence of tragedy and comedy on one another, of which he gives the reason in the Laws— ‘For serious things cannot be understood without laughable, nor opposites at all without opposites, if a man is really to have intelligence of either’; here he puts forward the principle which is the groundwork of the thesis of Socrates in the Symposium, ‘that the genius of tragedy is the same as that of comedy, and that the writer of comedy ought to be a writer of tragedy also.’ There is a truth and right which is above Law (Laws), as we learn also from the Statesman. That men are the possession of the Gods (Laws), is a reflection which likewise occurs in the Phaedo. The remark, whether serious or ironical (Laws), that ‘the sons of the Gods naturally believed in the Gods, because they had the means of knowing about them,’ is found in the Timaeus. The reign of Cronos, who is the divine ruler (Laws), is a reminiscence of the Statesman. It is remarkable that in the Sophist and Statesman (Soph.), Plato, speaking in the character of the Eleatic Stranger, has already put on the old man. The madness of the poets, again, is a favourite notion of Plato’s, which occurs also in the Laws, as well as in the Phaedrus, Ion, and elsewhere. There are traces in the Laws of the same desire to base speculation upon history which we find in the Critias. Once more, there is a striking parallel with the paradox of the Gorgias, that ‘if you do evil, it is better to be punished than to be unpunished,’ in the Laws: ‘To live having all goods without justice and virtue is the greatest of evils if life be immortal, but not so great if the bad man lives but a short time.’

The point to be considered is whether these are the kind of parallels which would be the work of an imitator. Would a forger have had the wit to select the most peculiar and characteristic thoughts of Plato; would he have caught the spirit of his philosophy; would he, instead of openly borrowing, have half concealed his favourite ideas; would he have formed them into a whole such as the Laws; would he have given another the credit which he might have obtained for himself; would he have remembered and made use of other passages of the Platonic writings and have never deviated into the phraseology of them? Without pressing such arguments as absolutely certain, we must acknowledge that such a comparison affords a new ground of real weight for believing the Laws to be a genuine writing of Plato.

V. The relation of the Republic to the Laws is clearly set forth by Plato in the Laws. The Republic is the best state, the Laws is the best possible under the existing conditions of the Greek world. The Republic is the ideal, in which no man calls anything his own, which may or may not have existed in some remote clime, under the rule of some God, or son of a God (who can say?), but is, at any rate, the pattern of all other states and the exemplar of human life. The Laws distinctly acknowledge what the Republic partly admits, that the ideal is inimitable by us, but that we should ‘lift up our eyes to the heavens’ and try to regulate our lives according to the divine image. The citizens are no longer to have wives and children in common, and are no longer to be under the government of philosophers. But the spirit of communism or communion is to continue among them, though reverence for the sacredness of the family, and respect of children for parents, not promiscuous hymeneals, are now the foundation of the state; the sexes are to be as nearly on an equality as possible; they are to meet at common tables, and to share warlike pursuits (if the women will consent), and to have a common education. The legislator has taken the place of the philosopher, but a council of elders is retained, who are to fulfil the duties of the legislator when he has passed out of life. The addition of younger persons to this council by co-optation is an improvement on the governing body of the Republic. The scheme of education in the Laws is of a far lower kind than that which Plato had conceived in the Republic. There he would have his rulers trained in all knowledge meeting in the idea of good, of which the different branches of mathematical science are but the hand-maidens or ministers; here he treats chiefly of popular education, stopping short with the preliminary sciences, — these are to be studied partly with a view to their practical usefulness, which in the Republic he holds cheap, and even more with a view to avoiding impiety, of which in the Republic he says nothing; he touches very lightly on dialectic, which is still to be retained for the rulers. Yet in the Laws there remain traces of the old educational ideas. He is still for banishing the poets; and as he finds the works of prose writers equally dangerous, he would substitute for them the study of his own laws. He insists strongly on the importance of mathematics as an educational instrument. He is no more reconciled to the Greek mythology than in the Republic, though he would rather say nothing about it out of a reverence for antiquity; and he is equally willing to have recourse to fictions, if they have a moral tendency. His thoughts recur to a golden age in which the sanctity of oaths was respected and in which men living nearer the Gods were more disposed to believe in them; but we must legislate for the world as it is, now that the old beliefs have passed away. Though he is no longer fired with dialectical enthusiasm, he would compel the guardians to ‘look at one idea gathered from many things,’ and to ‘perceive the principle which is the same in all the four virtues.’ He still recognizes the enormous influence of music, in which every youth is to be trained for three years; and he seems to attribute the existing degeneracy of the Athenian state and the laxity of morals partly to musical innovation, manifested in the unnatural divorce of the instrument and the voice, of the rhythm from the words, and partly to the influence of the mob who ruled at the theatres. He assimilates the education of the two sexes, as far as possible, both in music and gymnastic, and, as in the Republic, he would give to gymnastic a purely military character. In marriage, his object is still to produce the finest children for the state. As in the Statesman, he would unite in wedlock dissimilar natures — the passionate with the dull, the courageous with the gentle. And the virtuous tyrant of the Statesman, who has no place in the Republic, again appears. In this, as in all his writings, he has the strongest sense of the degeneracy and incapacity of the rulers of his own time.

In the Laws, the philosophers, if not banished, like the poets, are at least ignored; and religion takes the place of philosophy in the regulation of human life. It must however be remembered that the religion of Plato is co-extensive with morality, and is that purified religion and mythology of which he speaks in the second book of the Republic. There is no real discrepancy in the two works. In a practical treatise, he speaks of religion rather than of philosophy; just as he appears to identify virtue with pleasure, and rather seeks to find the common element of the virtues than to maintain his old paradoxical theses that they are one, or that they are identical with knowledge. The dialectic and the idea of good, which even Glaucon in the Republic could not understand, would be out of place in a less ideal work. There may also be a change in his own mind, the purely intellectual aspect of philosophy having a diminishing interest to him in his old age.

Some confusion occurs in the passage in which Plato speaks of the Republic, occasioned by his reference to a third state, which he proposes (D.V.) hereafter to expound. Like many other thoughts in the Laws, the allusion is obscure from not being worked out. Aristotle (Polit.) speaks of a state which is neither the best absolutely, nor the best under existing conditions, but an imaginary state, inferior to either, destitute, as he supposes, of the necessaries of life — apparently such a beginning of primitive society as is described in Laws iii. But it is not clear that by this the third state of Plato is intended. It is possible that Plato may have meant by his third state an historical sketch, bearing the same relation to the Laws which the unfinished Critias would have borne to the Republic; or he may, perhaps, have intended to describe a state more nearly approximating than the Laws to existing Greek states.

The Statesman is a mere fragment when compared with the Laws, yet combining a second interest of dialectic as well as politics, which is wanting in the larger work. Several points of similarity and contrast may be observed between them. In some respects the Statesman is even more ideal than the Republic, looking back to a former state of paradisiacal life, in which the Gods ruled over mankind, as the Republic looks forward to a coming kingdom of philosophers. Of this kingdom of Cronos there is also mention in the Laws. Again, in the Statesman, the Eleatic Stranger rises above law to the conception of the living voice of the lawgiver, who is able to provide for individual cases. A similar thought is repeated in the Laws: ‘If in the order of nature, and by divine destiny, a man were able to apprehend the truth about these things, he would have no need of laws to rule over him; for there is no law or order above knowledge, nor can mind without impiety be deemed the subject or slave of any, but rather the lord of all.’ The union of opposite natures, who form the warp and the woof of the political web, is a favourite thought which occurs in both dialogues (Laws; Statesman).

The Laws are confessedly a Second-best, an inferior Ideal, to which Plato has recourse, when he finds that the city of Philosophers is no longer ‘within the horizon of practical politics.’ But it is curious to observe that the higher Ideal is always returning (compare Arist. Polit.), and that he is not much nearer the actual fact, nor more on the level of ordinary life in the Laws than in the Republic. It is also interesting to remark that the new Ideal is always falling away, and that he hardly supposes the one to be more capable of being realized than the other. Human beings are troublesome to manage; and the legislator cannot adapt his enactments to the infinite variety of circumstances; after all he must leave the administration of them to his successors; and though he would have liked to make them as permanent as they are in Egypt, he cannot escape from the necessity of change. At length Plato is obliged to institute a Nocturnal Council which is supposed to retain the mind of the legislator, and of which some of the members are even supposed to go abroad and inspect the institutions of foreign countries, as a foundation for changes in their own. The spirit of such changes, though avoiding the extravagance of a popular assembly, being only so much change as the conservative temper of old members is likely to allow, is nevertheless inconsistent with the fixedness of Egypt which Plato wishes to impress upon Hellenic institutions. He is inconsistent with himself as the truth begins to dawn upon him that ‘in the execution things for the most part fall short of our conception of them’ (Republic).

And is not this true of ideals of government in general? We are always disappointed in them. Nothing great can be accomplished in the short space of human life; wherefore also we look forward to another (Republic). As we grow old, we are sensible that we have no power actively to pursue our ideals any longer. We have had our opportunity and do not aspire to be more than men: we have received our ‘wages and are going home.’ Neither do we despair of the future of mankind, because we have been able to do so little in comparison of the whole. We look in vain for consistency either in men or things. But we have seen enough of improvement in our own time to justify us in the belief that the world is worth working for and that a good man’s life is not thrown away. Such reflections may help us to bring home to ourselves by inward sympathy the language of Plato in the Laws, and to combine into something like a whole his various and at first sight inconsistent utterances.

VI. The Republic may be described as the Spartan constitution appended to a government of philosophers. But in the Laws an Athenian element is also introduced. Many enactments are taken from the Athenian; the four classes are borrowed from the constitution of Cleisthenes, which Plato regards as the best form of Athenian government, and the guardians of the law bear a certain resemblance to the archons. In the constitution of the Laws nearly all officers are elected by a vote more or less popular and by lot. But the assembly only exists for the purposes of election, and has no legislative or executive powers. The Nocturnal Council, which is the highest body in the state, has several of the functions of the ancient Athenian Areopagus, after which it appears to be modelled. Life is to wear, as at Athens, a joyous and festive look; there are to be Bacchic choruses, and men of mature age are encouraged in moderate potations. On the other hand, the common meals, the public education, the crypteia are borrowed from Sparta and not from Athens, and the superintendence of private life, which was to be practised by the governors, has also its prototype in Sparta. The extravagant dislike which Plato shows both to a naval power and to extreme democracy is the reverse of Athenian.

The best-governed Hellenic states traced the origin of their laws to individual lawgivers. These were real persons, though we are uncertain how far they originated or only modified the institutions which are ascribed to them. But the lawgiver, though not a myth, was a fixed idea in the mind of the Greek, — as fixed as the Trojan war or the earth-born Cadmus. ‘This was what Solon meant or said’ — was the form in which the Athenian expressed his own conception of right and justice, or argued a disputed point of law. And the constant reference in the Laws of Plato to the lawgiver is altogether in accordance with Greek modes of thinking and speaking.

There is also, as in the Republic, a Pythagorean element. The highest branch of education is arithmetic; to know the order of the heavenly bodies, and to reconcile the apparent contradiction of their movements, is an important part of religion; the lives of the citizens are to have a common measure, as also their vessels and coins; the great blessing of the state is the number 5040. Plato is deeply impressed by the antiquity of Egypt, and the unchangeableness of her ancient forms of song and dance. And he is also struck by the progress which the Egyptians had made in the mathematical sciences — in comparison of them the Greeks appeared to him to be little better than swine. Yet he censures the Egyptian meanness and inhospitality to strangers. He has traced the growth of states from their rude beginnings in a philosophical spirit; but of any life or growth of the Hellenic world in future ages he is silent. He has made the reflection that past time is the maker of states (Book iii.); but he does not argue from the past to the future, that the process is always going on, or that the institutions of nations are relative to their stage of civilization. If he could have stamped indelibly upon Hellenic states the will of the legislator, he would have been satisfied. The utmost which he expects of future generations is that they should supply the omissions, or correct the errors which younger statesmen detect in his enactments. When institutions have been once subjected to this process of criticism, he would have them fixed for ever.

THE PREAMBLE.

BOOK I. Strangers, let me ask a question of you — Was a God or a man the author of your laws? ‘A God, Stranger. In Crete, Zeus is said to have been the author of them; in Sparta, as Megillus will tell you, Apollo.’ You Cretans believe, as Homer says, that Minos went every ninth year to converse with his Olympian sire, and gave you laws which he brought from him. ‘Yes; and there was Rhadamanthus, his brother, who is reputed among us to have been a most righteous judge.’ That is a reputation worthy of the son of Zeus. And as you and Megillus have been trained under these laws, I may ask you to give me an account of them. We can talk about them in our walk from Cnosus to the cave and temple of Zeus. I am told that the distance is considerable, but probably there are shady places under the trees, where, being no longer young, we may often rest and converse. ‘Yes, Stranger, a little onward there are beautiful groves of cypresses, and green meadows in which we may repose.’

My first question is, Why has the law ordained that you should have common meals, and practise gymnastics, and bear arms? ‘My answer is, that all our institutions are of a military character. We lead the life of the camp even in time of peace, keeping up the organization of an army, and having meals in common; and as our country, owing to its ruggedness, is ill-suited for heavy-armed cavalry or infantry, our soldiers are archers, equipped with bows and arrows. The legislator was under the idea that war was the natural state of all mankind, and that peace is only a pretence; he thought that no possessions had any value which were not secured against enemies.’ And do you think that superiority in war is the proper aim of government? ‘Certainly I do, and my Spartan friend will agree with me.’ And are there wars, not only of state against state, but of village against village, of family against family, of individual against individual? ‘Yes.’ And is a man his own enemy? ‘There you come to first principles, like a true votary of the goddess Athene; and this is all the better, for you will the sooner recognize the truth of what I am saying — that all men everywhere are the enemies of all, and each individual of every other and of himself; and, further, that there is a victory and defeat — the best and the worst — which each man sustains, not at the hands of another, but of himself.’ And does this extend to states and villages as well as to individuals? ‘Certainly; there is a better in them which conquers or is conquered by the worse.’ Whether the worse ever really conquers the better, is a question which may be left for the present; but your meaning is, that bad citizens do sometimes overcome the good, and that the state is then conquered by herself, and that when they are defeated the state is victorious over herself. Or, again, in a family there may be several brothers, and the bad may be a majority; and when the bad majority conquer the good minority, the family are worse than themselves. The use of the terms ‘better or worse than himself or themselves’ may be doubtful, but about the thing meant there can be no dispute. ‘Very true.’ Such a struggle might be determined by a judge. And which will be the better judge — he who destroys the worse and lets the better rule, or he who lets the better rule and makes the others voluntarily obey; or, thirdly, he who destroys no one, but reconciles the two parties? ‘The last, clearly.’ But the object of such a judge or legislator would not be war. ‘True.’ And as there are two kinds of war, one without and one within a state, of which the internal is by far the worse, will not the legislator chiefly direct his attention to this latter? He will reconcile the contending factions, and unite them against their external enemies. ‘Certainly.’ Every legislator will aim at the greatest good, and the greatest good is not victory in war, whether civil or external, but mutual peace and good-will, as in the body health is preferable to the purgation of disease. He who makes war his object instead of peace, or who pursues war except for the sake of peace, is not a true statesman. ‘And yet, Stranger, the laws both of Crete and Sparta aim entirely at war.’ Perhaps so; but do not let us quarrel about your legislators — let us be gentle; they were in earnest quite as much as we are, and we must try to discover their meaning. The poet Tyrtaeus (you know his poems in Crete, and my Lacedaemonian friend is only too familiar with them) — he was an Athenian by birth, and a Spartan citizen:— ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I sing not, I care not about any man, however rich or happy, unless he is brave in war.’ Now I should like, in the name of us all, to ask the poet a question. Oh Tyrtaeus, I would say to him, we agree with you in praising those who excel in war, but which kind of war do you mean? — that dreadful war which is termed civil, or the milder sort which is waged against foreign enemies? You say that you abominate ‘those who are not eager to taste their enemies’ blood,’ and you seem to mean chiefly their foreign enemies. ‘Certainly he does.’ But we contend that there are men better far than your heroes, Tyrtaeus, concerning whom another poet, Theognis the Sicilian, says that ‘in a civil broil they are worth their weight in gold and silver.’ For in a civil war, not only courage, but justice and temperance and wisdom are required, and all virtue is better than a part. The mercenary soldier is ready to die at his post; yet he is commonly a violent, senseless creature. And the legislator, whether inspired or uninspired, will make laws with a view to the highest virtue; and this is not brute courage, but loyalty in the hour of danger. The virtue of Tyrtaeus, although needful enough in his own time, is really of a fourth-rate description. ‘You are degrading our legislator to a very low level.’ Nay, we degrade not him, but ourselves, if we believe that the laws of Lycurgus and Minos had a view to war only. A divine lawgiver would have had regard to all the different kinds of virtue, and have arranged his laws in corresponding classes, and not in the modern fashion, which only makes them after the want of them is felt, — about inheritances and heiresses and assaults, and the like. As you truly said, virtue is the business of the legislator; but you went wrong when you referred all legislation to a part of virtue, and to an inferior part. For the object of laws, whether the Cretan or any other, is to make men happy. Now happiness or good is of two kinds — there are divine and there are human goods. He who has the divine has the human added to him; but he who has lost the greater is deprived of both. The lesser goods are health, beauty, strength, and, lastly, wealth; not the blind God, Pluto, but one who has eyes to see and follow wisdom. For mind or wisdom is the most divine of all goods; and next comes temperance, and justice springs from the union of wisdom and temperance with courage, which is the fourth or last. These four precede other goods, and the legislator will arrange all his ordinances accordingly, the human going back to the divine, and the divine to their leader mind. There will be enactments about marriage, about education, about all the states and feelings and experiences of men and women, at every age, in weal and woe, in war and peace; upon all the law will fix a stamp of praise and blame. There will also be regulations about property and expenditure, about contracts, about rewards and punishments, and finally about funeral rites and honours of the dead. The lawgiver will appoint guardians to preside over these things; and mind will harmonize his ordinances, and show them to be in agreement with temperance and justice. Now I want to know whether the same principles are observed in the laws of Lycurgus and Minos, or, as I should rather say, of Apollo and Zeus. We must go through the virtues, beginning with courage, and then we will show that what has preceded has relation to virtue.

‘I wish,’ says the Lacedaemonian, ‘that you, Stranger, would first criticize Cleinias and the Cretan laws.’ Yes, is the reply, and I will criticize you and myself, as well as him. Tell me, Megillus, were not the common meals and gymnastic training instituted by your legislator with a view to war? ‘Yes; and next in the order of importance comes hunting, and fourth the endurance of pain in boxing contests, and in the beatings which are the punishment of theft. There is, too, the so-called Crypteia or secret service, in which our youth wander about the country night and day unattended, and even in winter go unshod and have no beds to lie on. Moreover they wrestle and exercise under a blazing sun, and they have many similar customs.’ Well, but is courage only a combat against fear and pain, and not against pleasure and flattery? ‘Against both, I should say.’ And which is worse, — to be overcome by pain, or by pleasure? ‘The latter.’ But did the lawgivers of Crete and Sparta legislate for a courage which is lame of one leg, — able to meet the attacks of pain but not those of pleasure, or for one which can meet both? ‘For a courage which can meet both, I should say.’ But if so, where are the institutions which train your citizens to be equally brave against pleasure and pain, and superior to enemies within as well as without? ‘We confess that we have no institutions worth mentioning which are of this character.’ I am not surprised, and will therefore only request forbearance on the part of us all, in case the love of truth should lead any of us to censure the laws of the others. Remember that I am more in the way of hearing criticisms of your laws than you can be; for in well-ordered states like Crete and Sparta, although an old man may sometimes speak of them in private to a ruler or elder, a similar liberty is not allowed to the young. But now being alone we shall not offend your legislator by a friendly examination of his laws. ‘Take any freedom which you like.’

My first observation is, that your lawgiver ordered you to endure hardships, because he thought that those who had not this discipline would run away from those who had. But he ought to have considered further, that those who had never learned to resist pleasure would be equally at the mercy of those who had, and these are often among the worst of mankind. Pleasure, like fear, would overcome them and take away their courage and freedom. ‘Perhaps; but I must not be hasty in giving my assent.’

Next as to temperance: what institutions have you which are adapted to promote temperance? ‘There are the common meals and gymnastic exercises.’ These are partly good and partly bad, and, as in medicine, what is good at one time and for one person, is bad at another time and for another person. Now although gymnastics and common meals do good, they are also a cause of evil in civil troubles, and they appear to encourage unnatural love, as has been shown at Miletus, in Boeotia, and at Thurii. And the Cretans are said to have invented the tale of Zeus and Ganymede in order to justify their evil practices by the example of the God who was their lawgiver. Leaving the story, we may observe that all law has to do with pleasure and pain; these are two fountains which are ever flowing in human nature, and he who drinks of them when and as much as he ought, is happy, and he who indulges in them to excess, is miserable. ‘You may be right, but I still incline to think that the Lacedaemonian lawgiver did well in forbidding pleasure, if I may judge from the result. For there is no drunken revelry in Sparta, and any one found in a state of intoxication is severely punished; he is not excused as an Athenian would be at Athens on account of a festival. I myself have seen the Athenians drunk at the Dionysia — and at our colony, Tarentum, on a similar occasion, I have beheld the whole city in a state of intoxication.’ I admit that these festivals should be properly regulated. Yet I might reply, ‘Yes, Spartans, that is not your vice; but look at home and remember the licentiousness of your women.’ And to all such accusations every one of us may reply in turn:— ‘Wonder not, Stranger; there are different customs in different countries.’ Now this may be a sufficient answer; but we are speaking about the wisdom of lawgivers and not about the customs of men. To return to the question of drinking: shall we have total abstinence, as you have, or hard drinking, like the Scythians and Thracians, or moderate potations like the Persians? ‘Give us arms, and we send all these nations flying before us.’ My good friend, be modest; victories and defeats often arise from unknown causes, and afford no proof of the goodness or badness of institutions. The stronger overcomes the weaker, as the Athenians have overcome the Ceans, or the Syracusans the Locrians, who are, perhaps, the best governed state in that part of the world. People are apt to praise or censure practices without enquiring into the nature of them. This is the way with drink: one person brings many witnesses, who sing the praises of wine; another declares that sober men defeat drunkards in battle; and he again is refuted in turn. I should like to conduct the argument on some other method; for if you regard numbers, there are two cities on one side, and ten thousand on the other. ‘I am ready to pursue any method which is likely to lead us to the truth.’ Let me put the matter thus: Somebody praises the useful qualities of a goat; another has seen goats running about wild in a garden, and blames a goat or any other animal which happens to be without a keeper. ‘How absurd!’ Would a pilot who is sea-sick be a good pilot? ‘No.’ Or a general who is sick and drunk with fear and ignorant of war a good general? ‘A general of old women he ought to be.’ But can any one form an estimate of any society, which is intended to have a ruler, and which he only sees in an unruly and lawless state? ‘No.’ There is a convivial form of society — is there not? ‘Yes.’ And has this convivial society ever been rightly ordered? Of course you Spartans and Cretans have never seen anything of the kind, but I have had wide experience, and made many enquiries about such societies, and have hardly ever found anything right or good in them. ‘We acknowledge our want of experience, and desire to learn of you.’ Will you admit that in all societies there must be a leader? ‘Yes.’ And in time of war he must be a man of courage and absolutely devoid of fear, if this be possible? ‘Certainly.’ But we are talking now of a general who shall preside at meetings of friends — and as these have a tendency to be uproarious, they ought above all others to have a governor. ‘Very good.’ He should be a sober man and a man of the world, who will keep, make, and increase the peace of the society; a drunkard in charge of drunkards would be singularly fortunate if he avoided doing a serious mischief. ‘Indeed he would.’ Suppose a person to censure such meetings — he may be right, but also he may have known them only in their disorderly state, under a drunken master of the feast; and a drunken general or pilot cannot save his army or his ships. ‘True; but although I see the advantage of an army having a good general, I do not equally see the good of a feast being well managed.’ If you mean to ask what good accrues to the state from the right training of a single youth or a single chorus, I should reply, ‘Not much’; but if you ask what is the good of education in general, I answer, that education makes good men, and that good men act nobly and overcome their enemies in battle. Victory is often suicidal to the victors, because it creates forgetfulness of education, but education itself is never suicidal. ‘You imply that the regulation of convivial meetings is a part of education; how will you prove this?’ I will tell you. But first let me offer a word of apology. We Athenians are always thought to be fond of talking, whereas the Lacedaemonian is celebrated for brevity, and the Cretan is considered to be sagacious and reserved. Now I fear that I may be charged with spinning a long discourse out of slender materials. For drinking cannot be rightly ordered without correct principles of music, and music runs up into education generally, and to discuss all these matters may be tedious; if you like, therefore, we will pass on to another part of our subject. ‘Are you aware, Athenian, that our family is your proxenus at Sparta, and that from my boyhood I have regarded Athens as a second country, and having often fought your battles in my youth, I have become attached to you, and love the sound of the Attic dialect? The saying is true, that the best Athenians are more than ordinarily good, because they are good by nature; therefore, be assured that I shall be glad to hear you talk as much as you please.’ ‘I, too,’ adds Cleinias, ‘have a tie which binds me to you. You know that Epimenides, the Cretan prophet, came and offered sacrifices in your city by the command of an oracle ten years before the Persian war. He told the Athenians that the Persian host would not come for ten years, and would go away again, having suffered more harm than they had inflicted. Now Epimenides was of my family, and when he visited Athens he entered into friendship with your forefathers.’ I see that you are willing to listen, and I have the will to speak, if I had only the ability. But, first, I must define the nature and power of education, and by this road we will travel on to the God Dionysus. The man who is to be good at anything must have early training; — the future builder must play at building, and the husbandman at digging; the soldier must learn to ride, and the carpenter to measure and use the rule, — all the thoughts and pleasures of children should bear on their after-profession. — Do you agree with me? ‘Certainly.’ And we must remember further that we are speaking of the education, not of a trainer, or of the captain of a ship, but of a perfect citizen who knows how to rule and how to obey; and such an education aims at virtue, and not at wealth or strength or mere cleverness. To the good man, education is of all things the most precious, and is also in constant need of renovation. ‘We agree.’ And we have before agreed that good men are those who are able to control themselves, and bad men are those who are not. Let me offer you an illustration which will assist our argument. Man is one; but in one and the same man are two foolish counsellors who contend within him — pleasure and pain, and of either he has expectations which we call hope and fear; and he is able to reason about good and evil, and reason, when affirmed by the state, becomes law. ‘We cannot follow you.’ Let me put the matter in another way: Every creature is a puppet of the Gods — whether he is a mere plaything or has any serious use we do not know; but this we do know, that he is drawn different ways by cords and strings. There is a soft golden cord which draws him towards virtue — this is the law of the state; and there are other cords made of iron and hard materials drawing him other ways. The golden reasoning influence has nothing of the nature of force, and therefore requires ministers in order to vanquish the other principles. This explains the doctrine that cities and citizens both conquer and are conquered by themselves. The individual follows reason, and the city law, which is embodied reason, either derived from the Gods or from the legislator. When virtue and vice are thus distinguished, education will be better understood, and in particular the relation of education to convivial intercourse. And now let us set wine before the puppet. You admit that wine stimulates the passions? ‘Yes.’ And does wine equally stimulate the reasoning faculties? ‘No; it brings the soul back to a state of childhood.’ In such a state a man has the least control over himself, and is, therefore, worst. ‘Very true.’ Then how can we believe that drinking should be encouraged? ‘You seem to think that it ought to be.’ And I am ready to maintain my position. ‘We should like to hear you prove that a man ought to make a beast of himself.’ You are speaking of the degradation of the soul: but how about the body? Would any man willingly degrade or weaken that? ‘Certainly not.’ And yet if he goes to a doctor or a gymnastic master, does he not make himself ill in the hope of getting well? for no one would like to be always taking medicine, or always to be in training. ‘True.’ And may not convivial meetings have a similar remedial use? And if so, are they not to be preferred to other modes of training because they are painless? ‘But have they any such use?’ Let us see: Are there not two kinds of fear — fear of evil and fear of an evil reputation? ‘There are.’ The latter kind of fear is opposed both to the fear of pain and to the love of pleasure. This is called by the legislator reverence, and is greatly honoured by him and by every good man; whereas confidence, which is the opposite quality, is the worst fault both of individuals and of states. This sort of fear or reverence is one of the two chief causes of victory in war, fearlessness of enemies being the other. ‘True.’ Then every one should be both fearful and fearless? ‘Yes.’ The right sort of fear is infused into a man when he comes face to face with shame, or cowardice, or the temptations of pleasure, and has to conquer them. He must learn by many trials to win the victory over himself, if he is ever to be made perfect. ‘That is reasonable enough.’ And now, suppose that the Gods had given mankind a drug, of which the effect was to exaggerate every sort of evil and danger, so that the bravest man entirely lost his presence of mind and became a coward for a time: — would such a drug have any value? ‘But is there such a drug?’ No; but suppose that there were; might not the legislator use such a mode of testing courage and cowardice? ‘To be sure.’ The legislator would induce fear in order to implant fearlessness; and would give rewards or punishments to those who behaved well or the reverse, under the influence of the drug? ‘Certainly.’ And this mode of training, whether practised in the case of one or many, whether in solitude or in the presence of a large company — if a man have sufficient confidence in himself to drink the potion amid his boon companions, leaving off in time and not taking too much, — would be an equally good test of temperance? ‘Very true.’ Let us return to the lawgiver and say to him, ‘Well, lawgiver, no such fear-producing potion has been given by God or invented by man, but there is a potion which will make men fearless.’ ‘You mean wine.’ Yes; has not wine an effect the contrary of that which I was just now describing, — first mellowing and humanizing a man, and then filling him with confidence, making him ready to say or do anything? ‘Certainly.’ Let us not forget that there are two qualities which should be cultivated in the soul — first, the greatest fearlessness, and, secondly, the greatest fear, which are both parts of reverence. Courage and fearlessness are trained amid dangers; but we have still to consider how fear is to be trained. We desire to attain fearlessness and confidence without the insolence and boldness which commonly attend them. For do not love, ignorance, avarice, wealth, beauty, strength, while they stimulate courage, also madden and intoxicate the soul? What better and more innocent test of character is there than festive intercourse? Would you make a bargain with a man in order to try whether he is honest? Or would you ascertain whether he is licentious by putting your wife or daughter into his hands? No one would deny that the test proposed is fairer, speedier, and safer than any other. And such a test will be particularly useful in the political science, which desires to know human natures and characters. ‘Very true.’
BOOK II. And are there any other uses of well-ordered potations? There are; but in order to explain them, I must repeat what I mean by right education; which, if I am not mistaken, depends on the due regulation of convivial intercourse. ‘A high assumption.’ I believe that virtue and vice are originally present to the mind of children in the form of pleasure and pain; reason and fixed principles come later, and happy is he who acquires them even in declining years; for he who possesses them is the perfect man. When pleasure and pain, and love and hate, are rightly implanted in the yet unconscious soul, and after the attainment of reason are discovered to be in harmony with her, this harmony of the soul is virtue, and the preparatory stage, anticipating reason, I call education. But the finer sense of pleasure and pain is apt to be impaired in the course of life; and therefore the Gods, pitying the toils and sorrows of mortals, have allowed them to have holidays, and given them the Muses and Apollo and Dionysus for leaders and playfellows. All young creatures love motion and frolic, and utter sounds of delight; but man only is capable of taking pleasure in rhythmical and harmonious movements. With these education begins; and the uneducated is he who has never known the discipline of the chorus, and the educated is he who has. The chorus is partly dance and partly song, and therefore the well-educated must sing and dance well. But when we say, ‘He sings and dances well,’ we mean that he sings and dances what is good. And if he thinks that to be good which is really good, he will have a much higher music and harmony in him, and be a far greater master of imitation in sound and gesture than he who is not of this opinion. ‘True.’ Then, if we know what is good and bad in song and dance, we shall know what education is? ‘Very true.’ Let us now consider the beauty of figure, melody, song, and dance. Will the same figures or sounds be equally well adapted to the manly and the cowardly when they are in trouble? ‘How can they be, when the very colours of their faces are different?’ Figures and melodies have a rhythm and harmony which are adapted to the expression of different feelings (I may remark, by the way, that the term ‘colour,’ which is a favourite word of music-masters, is not really applicable to music). And one class of harmonies is akin to courage and all virtue, the other to cowardice and all vice. ‘We agree.’ And do all men equally like all dances? ‘Far otherwise.’ Do some figures, then, appear to be beautiful which are not? For no one will admit that the forms of vice are more beautiful than the forms of virtue, or that he prefers the first kind to the second. And yet most persons say that the merit of music is to give pleasure. But this is impiety. There is, however, a more plausible account of the matter given by others, who make their likes or dislikes the criterion of excellence. Sometimes nature crosses habit, or conversely, and then they say that such and such fashions or gestures are pleasant, but they do not like to exhibit them before men of sense, although they enjoy them in private. ‘Very true.’ And do vicious measures and strains do any harm, or good measures any good to the lovers of them? ‘Probably.’ Say, rather ‘Certainly’: for the gentle indulgence which we often show to vicious men inevitably makes us become like them. And what can be worse than this? ‘Nothing.’ Then in a well-administered city, the poet will not be allowed to make the songs of the people just as he pleases, or to train his choruses without regard to virtue and vice. ‘Certainly not.’ And yet he may do this anywhere except in Egypt; for there ages ago they discovered the great truth which I am now asserting, that the young should be educated in forms and strains of virtue. These they fixed and consecrated in their temples; and no artist or musician is allowed to deviate from them. They are literally the same which they were ten thousand years ago. And this practice of theirs suggests the reflection that legislation about music is not an impossible thing. But the particular enactments must be the work of God or of some God-inspired man, as in Egypt their ancient chants are said to be the composition of the goddess Isis. The melodies which have a natural truth and correctness should be embodied in a law, and then the desire of novelty is not strong enough to change the old fashions. Is not the origin of music as follows? We rejoice when we think that we prosper, and we think that we prosper when we rejoice, and at such times we cannot rest, but our young men dance dances and sing songs, and our old men, who have lost the elasticity of youth, regale themselves with the memory of the past, while they contemplate the life and activity of the young. ‘Most true.’ People say that he who gives us most pleasure at such festivals is to win the palm: are they right? ‘Possibly.’ Let us not be hasty in deciding, but first imagine a festival at which the lord of the festival, having assembled the citizens, makes a proclamation that he shall be crowned victor who gives the most pleasure, from whatever source derived. We will further suppose that there are exhibitions of rhapsodists and musicians, tragic and comic poets, and even marionette-players — which of the pleasure-makers will win? Shall I answer for you? — the marionette-players will please the children; youths will decide for comedy; young men, educated women, and people in general will prefer tragedy; we old men are lovers of Homer and Hesiod. Now which of them is right? If you and I are asked, we shall certainly say that the old men’s way of thinking ought to prevail. ‘Very true.’ So far I agree with the many that the excellence of music is to be measured by pleasure; but then the pleasure must be that of the good and educated, or better still, of one supremely virtuous and educated man. The true judge must have both wisdom and courage. For he must lead the multitude and not be led by them, and must not weakly yield to the uproar of the theatre, nor give false judgment out of that mouth which has just appealed to the Gods. The ancient custom of Hellas, which still prevails in Italy and Sicily, left the judgment to the spectators, but this custom has been the ruin of the poets, who seek only to please their patrons, and has degraded the audience by the representation of inferior characters. What is the inference? The same which we have often drawn, that education is the training of the young idea in what the law affirms and the elders approve. And as the soul of a child is too young to be trained in earnest, a kind of education has been invented which tempts him with plays and songs, as the sick are tempted by pleasant meats and drinks. And the wise legislator will compel the poet to express in his poems noble thoughts in fitting words and rhythms. ‘But is this the practice elsewhere than in Crete and Lacedaemon? In other states, as far as I know, dances and music are constantly changed at the pleasure of the hearers.’ I am afraid that I misled you; not liking to be always finding fault with mankind as they are, I described them as they ought to be. But let me understand: you say that such customs exist among the Cretans and Lacedaemonians, and that the rest of the world would be improved by adopting them? ‘Much improved.’ And you compel your poets to declare that the righteous are happy, and that the wicked man, even if he be as rich as Midas, is unhappy? Or, in the words of Tyrtaeus, ‘I sing not, I care not about him’ who is a great warrior not having justice; if he be unjust, ‘I would not have him look calmly upon death or be swifter than the wind’; and may he be deprived of every good — that is, of every true good. For even if he have the goods which men regard, these are not really goods: first health; beauty next; thirdly wealth; and there are others. A man may have every sense purged and improved; he may be a tyrant, and do what he likes, and live for ever: but you and I will maintain that all these things are goods to the just, but to the unjust the greatest of evils, if life be immortal; not so great if he live for a short time only. If a man had health and wealth, and power, and was insolent and unjust, his life would still be miserable; he might be fair and rich, and do what he liked, but he would live basely, and if basely evilly, and if evilly painfully. ‘There I cannot agree with you.’ Then may heaven give us the spirit of agreement, for I am as convinced of the truth of what I say as that Crete is an island; and, if I were a lawgiver, I would exercise a censorship over the poets, and I would punish them if they said that the wicked are happy, or that injustice is profitable. And these are not the only matters in which I should make my citizens talk in a different way to the world in general. If I asked Zeus and Apollo, the divine legislators of Crete and Sparta,— ‘Are the just and pleasant life the same or not the same’? — and they replied,— ‘Not the same’; and I asked again— ‘Which is the happier’? And they said’— ‘The pleasant life,’ this is an answer not fit for a God to utter, and therefore I ought rather to put the same question to some legislator. And if he replies ‘The pleasant,’ then I should say to him, ‘O my father, did you not tell me that I should live as justly as possible’? and if to be just is to be happy, what is that principle of happiness or good which is superior to pleasure? Is the approval of gods and men to be deemed good and honourable, but unpleasant, and their disapproval the reverse? Or is the neither doing nor suffering evil good and honourable, although not pleasant? But you cannot make men like what is not pleasant, and therefore you must make them believe that the just is pleasant. The business of the legislator is to clear up this confusion. He will show that the just and the unjust are identical with the pleasurable and the painful, from the point of view of the just man, of the unjust the reverse. And which is the truer judgment? Surely that of the better soul. For if not the truth, it is the best and most moral of fictions; and the legislator who desires to propagate this useful lie, may be encouraged by remarking that mankind have believed the story of Cadmus and the dragon’s teeth, and therefore he may be assured that he can make them believe anything, and need only consider what fiction will do the greatest good. That the happiest is also the holiest, this shall be our strain, which shall be sung by all three choruses alike. First will enter the choir of children, who will lift up their voices on high; and after them the young men, who will pray the God Paean to be gracious to the youth, and to testify to the truth of their words; then will come the chorus of elder men, between thirty and sixty; and, lastly, there will be the old men, and they will tell stories enforcing the same virtues, as with the voice of an oracle. ‘Whom do you mean by the third chorus?’ You remember how I spoke at first of the restless nature of young creatures, who jumped about and called out in a disorderly manner, and I said that no other animal attained any perception of rhythm; but that to us the Gods gave Apollo and the Muses and Dionysus to be our playfellows. Of the two first choruses I have already spoken, and I have now to speak of the third, or Dionysian chorus, which is composed of those who are between thirty and sixty years old. ‘Let us hear.’ We are agreed (are we not?) that men, women, and children should be always charming themselves with strains of virtue, and that there should be a variety in the strains, that they may not weary of them? Now the fairest and most useful of strains will be uttered by the elder men, and therefore we cannot let them off. But how can we make them sing? For a discreet elderly man is ashamed to hear the sound of his own voice in private, and still more in public. The only way is to give them drink; this will mellow the sourness of age. No one should be allowed to taste wine until they are eighteen; from eighteen to thirty they may take a little; but when they have reached forty years, they may be initiated into the mystery of drinking. Thus they will become softer and more impressible; and when a man’s heart is warm within him, he will be more ready to charm himself and others with song. And what songs shall he sing? ‘At Crete and Lacedaemon we only know choral songs.’ Yes; that is because your way of life is military. Your young men are like wild colts feeding in a herd together; no one takes the individual colt and trains him apart, and tries to give him the qualities of a statesman as well as of a soldier. He who was thus trained would be a greater warrior than those of whom Tyrtaeus speaks, for he would be courageous, and yet he would know that courage was only fourth in the scale of virtue. ‘Once more, I must say, Stranger, that you run down our lawgivers.’ Not intentionally, my good friend, but whither the argument leads I follow; and I am trying to find some style of poetry suitable for those who dislike the common sort. ‘Very good.’ In all things which have a charm, either this charm is their good, or they have some accompanying truth or advantage. For example, in eating and drinking there is pleasure and also profit, that is to say, health; and in learning there is a pleasure and also truth. There is a pleasure or charm, too, in the imitative arts, as well as a law of proportion or equality; but the pleasure which they afford, however innocent, is not the criterion of their truth. The test of pleasure cannot be applied except to that which has no other good or evil, no truth or falsehood. But that which has truth must be judged of by the standard of truth, and therefore imitation and proportion are to be judged of by their truth alone. ‘Certainly.’ And as music is imitative, it is not to be judged by the criterion of pleasure, and the Muse whom we seek is the muse not of pleasure but of truth, for imitation has a truth. ‘Doubtless.’ And if so, the judge must know what is being imitated before he decides on the quality of the imitation, and he who does not know what is true will not know what is good. ‘He will not.’ Will any one be able to imitate the human body, if he does not know the number, proportion, colour, or figure of the limbs? ‘How can he?’ But suppose we know some picture or figure to be an exact resemblance of a man, should we not also require to know whether the picture is beautiful or not? ‘Quite right.’ The judge of the imitation is required to know, therefore, first the original, secondly the truth, and thirdly the merit of the execution? ‘True.’ Then let us not weary in the attempt to bring music to the standard of the Muses and of truth. The Muses are not like human poets; they never spoil or mix rhythms or scales, or mingle instruments and human voices, or confuse the manners and strains of men and women, or of freemen and slaves, or of rational beings and brute animals. They do not practise the baser sorts of musical arts, such as the ‘matured judgments,’ of whom Orpheus speaks, would ridicule. But modern poets separate metre from music, and melody and rhythm from words, and use the instrument alone without the voice. The consequence is, that the meaning of the rhythm and of the time are not understood. I am endeavouring to show how our fifty-year-old choristers are to be trained, and what they are to avoid. The opinion of the multitude about these matters is worthless; they who are only made to step in time by sheer force cannot be critics of music. ‘Impossible.’ Then our newly-appointed minstrels must be trained in music sufficiently to understand the nature of rhythms and systems; and they should select such as are suitable to men of their age, and will enable them to give and receive innocent pleasure. This is a knowledge which goes beyond that either of the poets or of their auditors in general. For although the poet must understand rhythm and music, he need not necessarily know whether the imitation is good or not, which was the third point required in a judge; but our chorus of elders must know all three, if they are to be the instructors of youth.

And now we will resume the original argument, which may be summed up as follows: A convivial meeting is apt to grow tumultuous as the drinking proceeds; every man becomes light-headed, and fancies that he can rule the whole world. ‘Doubtless.’ And did we not say that the souls of the drinkers, when subdued by wine, are made softer and more malleable at the hand of the legislator? the docility of childhood returns to them. At times however they become too valiant and disorderly, drinking out of their turn, and interrupting one another. And the business of the legislator is to infuse into them that divine fear, which we call shame, in opposition to this disorderly boldness. But in order to discipline them there must be guardians of the law of drinking, and sober generals who shall take charge of the private soldiers; they are as necessary in drinking as in fighting, and he who disobeys these Dionysiac commanders will be equally disgraced. ‘Very good.’ If a drinking festival were well regulated, men would go away, not as they now do, greater enemies, but better friends. Of the greatest gift of Dionysus I hardly like to speak, lest I should be misunderstood. ‘What is that?’ According to tradition Dionysus was driven mad by his stepmother Here, and in order to revenge himself he inspired mankind with Bacchic madness. But these are stories which I would rather not repeat. However I do acknowledge that all men are born in an imperfect state, and are at first restless, irrational creatures: this, as you will remember, has been already said by us. ‘I remember.’ And that Apollo and the Muses and Dionysus gave us harmony and rhythm? ‘Very true.’ The other story implies that wine was given to punish us and make us mad; but we contend that wine is a balm and a cure; a spring of modesty in the soul, and of health and strength in the body. Again, the work of the chorus is co-extensive with the work of education; rhythm and melody answer to the voice, and the motions of the body correspond to all three, and the sound enters in and educates the soul in virtue. ‘Yes.’ And the movement which, when pursued as an amusement, is termed dancing, when studied with a view to the improvement of the body, becomes gymnastic. Shall we now proceed to speak of this? ‘What Cretan or Lacedaemonian would approve of your omitting gymnastic?’ Your question implies assent; and you will easily understand a subject which is familiar to you. Gymnastic is based on the natural tendency of every animal to rapid motion; and man adds a sense of rhythm, which is awakened by music; music and dancing together form the choral art. But before proceeding I must add a crowning word about drinking. Like other pleasures, it has a lawful use; but if a state or an individual is inclined to drink at will, I cannot allow them. I would go further than Crete or Lacedaemon and have the law of the Carthaginians, that no slave of either sex should drink wine at all, and no soldier while he is on a campaign, and no magistrate or officer while he is on duty, and that no one should drink by daylight or on a bridal night. And there are so many other occasions on which wine ought to be prohibited, that there will not be many vines grown or vineyards required in the state.

BOOK III. If a man wants to know the origin of states and societies, he should behold them from the point of view of time. Thousands of cities have come into being and have passed away again in infinite ages, every one of them having had endless forms of government; and if we can ascertain the cause of these changes in states, that will probably explain their origin. What do you think of ancient traditions about deluges and destructions of mankind, and the preservation of a remnant? ‘Every one believes in them.’ Then let us suppose the world to have been destroyed by a deluge. The survivors would be hill-shepherds, small sparks of the human race, dwelling in isolation, and unacquainted with the arts and vices of civilization. We may further suppose that the cities on the plain and on the coast have been swept away, and that all inventions, and every sort of knowledge, have perished. ‘Why, if all things were as they now are, nothing would have ever been invented. All our famous discoveries have been made within the last thousand years, and many of them are but of yesterday.’ Yes, Cleinias, and you must not forget Epimenides, who was really of yesterday; he practised the lesson of moderation and abstinence which Hesiod only preached. ‘True.’ After the great destruction we may imagine that the earth was a desert, in which there were a herd or two of oxen and a few goats, hardly enough to support those who tended them; while of politics and governments the survivors would know nothing. And out of this state of things have arisen arts and laws, and a great deal of virtue and a great deal of vice; little by little the world has come to be what it is. At first, the few inhabitants would have had a natural fear of descending into the plains; although they would want to have intercourse with one another, they would have a difficulty in getting about, having lost the arts, and having no means of extracting metals from the earth, or of felling timber; for even if they had saved any tools, these would soon have been worn out, and they could get no more until the art of metallurgy had been again revived. Faction and war would be extinguished among them, for being solitary they would incline to be friendly; and having abundance of pasture and plenty of milk and flesh, they would have nothing to quarrel about. We may assume that they had also dwellings, clothes, pottery, for the weaving and plastic arts do not require the use of metals. In those days they were neither poor nor rich, and there was no insolence or injustice among them; for they were of noble natures, and lived up to their principles, and believed what they were told; knowing nothing of land or naval warfare, or of legal practices or party conflicts, they were simpler and more temperate, and also more just than the men of our day. ‘Very true.’ I am showing whence the need of lawgivers arises, for in primitive ages they neither had nor wanted them. Men lived according to the customs of their fathers, in a simple manner, under a patriarchal government, such as still exists both among Hellenes and barbarians, and is described in Homer as prevailing among the Cyclopes: —

‘They have no laws, and they dwell in rocks or on the tops of mountains, and every one is the judge of his wife and children, and they do not trouble themselves about one another.’

‘That is a charming poet of yours, though I know little of him, for in Crete foreign poets are not much read.’ ‘But he is well known in Sparta, though he describes Ionian rather than Dorian manners, and he seems to take your view of primitive society.’ May we not suppose that government arose out of the union of single families who survived the destruction, and were under the rule of patriarchs, because they had originally descended from a single father and mother? ‘That is very probable.’ As time went on, men increased in number, and tilled the ground, living in a common habitation, which they protected by walls against wild beasts; but the several families retained the laws and customs which they separately received from their first parents. They would naturally like their own laws better than any others, and would be already formed by them when they met in a common society: thus legislation imperceptibly began among them. For in the next stage the associated families would appoint plenipotentiaries, who would select and present to the chiefs those of all their laws which they thought best. The chiefs in turn would make a further selection, and would thus become the lawgivers of the state, which they would form into an aristocracy or a monarchy. ‘Probably.’ In the third stage various other forms of government would arise. This state of society is described by Homer in speaking of the foundation of Dardania, which, he says,

‘was built at the foot of many-fountained Ida, for Ilium,

the city of the plain, as yet was not.’

Here, as also in the account of the Cyclopes, the poet by some divine inspiration has attained truth. But to proceed with our tale. Ilium was built in a wide plain, on a low hill, which was surrounded by streams descending from Ida. This shows that many ages must have passed; for the men who remembered the deluge would never have placed their city at the mercy of the waters. When mankind began to multiply, many other cities were built in similar situations. These cities carried on a ten years’ war against Troy, by sea as well as land, for men were ceasing to be afraid of the sea, and, in the meantime, while the chiefs of the army were at Troy, their homes fell into confusion. The youth revolted and refused to receive their own fathers; deaths, murders, exiles ensued. Under the new name of Dorians, which they received from their chief Dorieus, the exiles returned: the rest of the story is part of the history of Sparta.

Thus, after digressing from the subject of laws into music and drinking, we return to the settlement of Sparta, which in laws and institutions is the sister of Crete. We have seen the rise of a first, second, and third state, during the lapse of ages; and now we arrive at a fourth state, and out of the comparison of all four we propose to gather the nature of laws and governments, and the changes which may be desirable in them. ‘If,’ replies the Spartan, ‘our new discussion is likely to be as good as the last, I would think the longest day too short for such an employment.’

Let us imagine the time when Lacedaemon, and Argos, and Messene were all subject, Megillus, to your ancestors. Afterwards, they distributed the army into three portions, and made three cities — Argos, Messene, Lacedaemon. ‘Yes.’ Temenus was the king of Argos, Cresphontes of Messene, Procles and Eurysthenes ruled at Lacedaemon. ‘Just so.’ And they all swore to assist any one of their number whose kingdom was subverted. ‘Yes.’ But did we not say that kingdoms or governments can only be subverted by themselves? ‘That is true.’ Yes, and the truth is now proved by facts: there were certain conditions upon which the three kingdoms were to assist one another; the government was to be mild and the people obedient, and the kings and people were to unite in assisting either of the two others when they were wronged. This latter condition was a great security. ‘Clearly.’ Such a provision is in opposition to the common notion that the lawgiver should make only such laws as the people like; but we say that he should rather be like a physician, prepared to effect a cure even at the cost of considerable suffering. ‘Very true.’ The early lawgivers had another great advantage — they were saved from the reproach which attends a division of land and the abolition of debts. No one could quarrel with the Dorians for dividing the territory, and they had no debts of long standing. ‘They had not.’ Then what was the reason why their legislation signally failed? For there were three kingdoms, two of them quickly lost their original constitution. That is a question which we cannot refuse to answer, if we mean to proceed with our old man’s game of enquiring into laws and institutions. And the Dorian institutions are more worthy of consideration than any other, having been evidently intended to be a protection not only to the Peloponnese, but to all the Hellenes against the Barbarians. For the capture of Troy by the Achaeans had given great offence to the Assyrians, of whose empire it then formed part, and they were likely to retaliate. Accordingly the royal Heraclid brothers devised their military constitution, which was organised on a far better plan than the old Trojan expedition; and the Dorians themselves were far superior to the Achaeans, who had taken part in that expedition, and had been conquered by them. Such a scheme, undertaken by men who had shared with one another toils and dangers, sanctioned by the Delphian oracle, under the guidance of the Heraclidae, seemed to have a promise of permanence. ‘Naturally.’ Yet this has not proved to be the case. Instead of the three being one, they have always been at war; had they been united, in accordance with the original intention, they would have been invincible.

And what caused their ruin? Did you ever observe that there are beautiful things of which men often say, ‘What wonders they would have effected if rightly used?’ and yet, after all, this may be a mistake. And so I say of the Heraclidae and their expedition, which I may perhaps have been justified in admiring, but which nevertheless suggests to me the general reflection,— ‘What wonders might not strength and military resources have accomplished, if the possessor had only known how to use them!’ For consider: if the generals of the army had only known how to arrange their forces, might they not have given their subjects everlasting freedom, and the power of doing what they would in all the world? ‘Very true.’ Suppose a person to express his admiration of wealth or rank, does he not do so under the idea that by the help of these he can attain his desires? All men wish to obtain the control of all things, and they are always praying for what they desire. ‘Certainly.’ And we ask for our friends what they ask for themselves. ‘Yes.’ Dear is the son to the father, and yet the son, if he is young and foolish, will often pray to obtain what the father will pray that he may not obtain. ‘True.’ And when the father, in the heat of youth or the dotage of age, makes some rash prayer, the son, like Hippolytus, may have reason to pray that the word of his father may be ineffectual. ‘You mean that a man should pray to have right desires, before he prays that his desires may be fulfilled; and that wisdom should be the first object of our prayers?’ Yes; and you will remember my saying that wisdom should be the principal aim of the legislator; but you said that defence in war came first. And I replied, that there were four virtues, whereas you acknowledged one only — courage, and not wisdom which is the guide of all the rest. And I repeat — in jest if you like, but I am willing that you should receive my words in earnest — that ‘the prayer of a fool is full of danger.’ I will prove to you, if you will allow me, that the ruin of those states was not caused by cowardice or ignorance in war, but by ignorance of human affairs. ‘Pray proceed: our attention will show better than compliments that we prize your words.’ I maintain that ignorance is, and always has been, the ruin of states; wherefore the legislator should seek to banish it from the state; and the greatest ignorance is the love of what is known to be evil, and the hatred of what is known to be good; this is the last and greatest conflict of pleasure and reason in the soul. I say the greatest, because affecting the greater part of the soul; for the passions are in the individual what the people are in a state. And when they become opposed to reason or law, and instruction no longer avails — that is the last and greatest ignorance of states and men. ‘I agree.’ Let this, then, be our first principle: — That the citizen who does not know how to choose between good and evil must not have authority, although he possess great mental gifts, and many accomplishments; for he is really a fool. On the other hand, he who has this knowledge may be unable either to read or swim; nevertheless, he shall be counted wise and permitted to rule. For how can there be wisdom where there is no harmony? — the wise man is the saviour, and he who is devoid of wisdom is the destroyer of states and households. There are rulers and there are subjects in states. And the first claim to rule is that of parents to rule over their children; the second, that of the noble to rule over the ignoble; thirdly, the elder must govern the younger; in the fourth place, the slave must obey his master; fifthly, there is the power of the stronger, which the poet Pindar declares to be according to nature; sixthly, there is the rule of the wiser, which is also according to nature, as I must inform Pindar, if he does not know, and is the rule of law over obedient subjects. ‘Most true.’ And there is a seventh kind of rule which the Gods love, — in this the ruler is elected by lot.

Then, now, we playfully say to him who fancies that it is easy to make laws: — You see, legislator, the many and inconsistent claims to authority; here is a spring of troubles which you must stay. And first of all you must help us to consider how the kings of Argos and Messene in olden days destroyed their famous empire — did they forget the saying of Hesiod, that ‘the half is better than the whole’? And do we suppose that the ignorance of this truth is less fatal to kings than to peoples? ‘Probably the evil is increased by their way of life.’ The kings of those days transgressed the laws and violated their oaths. Their deeds were not in harmony with their words, and their folly, which seemed to them wisdom, was the ruin of the state. And how could the legislator have prevented this evil? — the remedy is easy to see now, but was not easy to foresee at the time. ‘What is the remedy?’ The institutions of Sparta may teach you, Megillus. Wherever there is excess, whether the vessel has too large a sail, or the body too much food, or the mind too much power, there destruction is certain. And similarly, a man who possesses arbitrary power is soon corrupted, and grows hateful to his dearest friends. In order to guard against this evil, the God who watched over Sparta gave you two kings instead of one, that they might balance one another; and further to lower the pulse of your body politic, some human wisdom, mingled with divine power, tempered the strength and self-sufficiency of youth with the moderation of age in the institution of your senate. A third saviour bridled your rising and swelling power by ephors, whom he assimilated to officers elected by lot: and thus the kingly power was preserved, and became the preserver of all the rest. Had the constitution been arranged by the original legislators, not even the portion of Aristodemus would have been saved; for they had no political experience, and imagined that a youthful spirit invested with power could be restrained by oaths. Now that God has instructed us in the arts of legislation, there is no merit in seeing all this, or in learning wisdom after the event. But if the coming danger could have been foreseen, and the union preserved, then no Persian or other enemy would have dared to attack Hellas; and indeed there was not so much credit to us in defeating the enemy, as discredit in our disloyalty to one another. For of the three cities one only fought on behalf of Hellas; and of the two others, Argos refused her aid; and Messenia was actually at war with Sparta: and if the Lacedaemonians and Athenians had not united, the Hellenes would have been absorbed in the Persian empire, and dispersed among the barbarians. We make these reflections upon past and present legislators because we desire to find out what other course could have been followed. We were saying just now, that a state can only be free and wise and harmonious when there is a balance of powers. There are many words by which we express the aims of the legislator, — temperance, wisdom, friendship; but we need not be disturbed by the variety of expression, — these words have all the same meaning. ‘I should like to know at what in your opinion the legislator should aim.’ Hear me, then. There are two mother forms of states — one monarchy, and the other democracy: the Persians have the first in the highest form, and the Athenians the second; and no government can be well administered which does not include both. There was a time when both the Persians and Athenians had more the character of a constitutional state than they now have. In the days of Cyrus the Persians were freemen as well as lords of others, and their soldiers were free and equal, and the kings used and honoured all the talent which they could find, and so the nation waxed great, because there was freedom and friendship and communion of soul. But Cyrus, though a wise general, never troubled himself about the education of his family. He was a soldier from his youth upward, and left his children who were born in the purple to be educated by women, who humoured and spoilt them. ‘A rare education, truly!’ Yes, such an education as princesses who had recently grown rich might be expected to give them in a country where the men were solely occupied with warlike pursuits. ‘Likely enough.’ Their father had possessions of men and animals, and never considered that the race to whom he was about to make them over had been educated in a very different school, not like the Persian shepherd, who was well able to take care of himself and his own. He did not see that his children had been brought up in the Median fashion, by women and eunuchs. The end was that one of the sons of Cyrus slew the other, and lost the kingdom by his own folly. Observe, again, that Darius, who restored the kingdom, had not received a royal education. He was one of the seven chiefs, and when he came to the throne he divided the empire into seven provinces; and he made equal laws, and implanted friendship among the people. Hence his subjects were greatly attached to him, and cheerfully helped him to extend his empire. Next followed Xerxes, who had received the same royal education as Cambyses, and met with a similar fate. The reflection naturally occurs to us — How could Darius, with all his experience, have made such a mistake! The ruin of Xerxes was not a mere accident, but the evil life which is generally led by the sons of very rich and royal persons; and this is what the legislator has seriously to consider. Justly may the Lacedaemonians be praised for not giving special honour to birth or wealth; for such advantages are not to be highly esteemed without virtue, and not even virtue is to be esteemed unless it be accompanied by temperance. ‘Explain.’ No one would like to live in the same house with a courageous man who had no control over himself, nor with a clever artist who was a rogue. Nor can justice and wisdom ever be separated from temperance. But considering these qualities with reference to the honour and dishonour which is to be assigned to them in states, would you say, on the other hand, that temperance, if existing without the other virtues in the soul, is worth anything or nothing? ‘I cannot tell.’ You have answered well. It would be absurd to speak of temperance as belonging to the class of honourable or of dishonourable qualities, because all other virtues in their various classes require temperance to be added to them; having the addition, they are honoured not in proportion to that, but to their own excellence. And ought not the legislator to determine these classes? ‘Certainly.’ Suppose then that, without going into details, we make three great classes of them. Most honourable are the goods of the soul, always assuming temperance as a condition of them; secondly, those of the body; thirdly, external possessions. The legislator who puts them in another order is doing an unholy and unpatriotic thing.

These remarks were suggested by the history of the Persian kings; and to them I will now return. The ruin of their empire was caused by the loss of freedom and the growth of despotism; all community of feeling disappeared. Hatred and spoliation took the place of friendship; the people no longer fought heartily for their masters; the rulers, finding their myriads useless on the field of battle, resorted to mercenaries as their only salvation, and were thus compelled by their circumstances to proclaim the stupidest of falsehoods — that virtue is a trifle in comparison of money.

But enough of the Persians: a different lesson is taught by the Athenians, whose example shows that a limited freedom is far better than an unlimited. Ancient Athens, at the time of the Persian invasion, had such a limited freedom. The people were divided into four classes, according to the amount of their property, and the universal love of order, as well as the fear of the approaching host, made them obedient and willing citizens. For Darius had sent Datis and Artaphernes, commanding them under pain of death to subjugate the Eretrians and Athenians. A report, whether true or not, came to Athens that all the Eretrians had been ‘netted’; and the Athenians in terror sent all over Hellas for assistance. None came to their relief except the Lacedaemonians, and they arrived a day too late, when the battle of Marathon had been already fought. In process of time Xerxes came to the throne, and the Athenians heard of nothing but the bridge over the Hellespont, and the canal of Athos, and the innumerable host and fleet. They knew that these were intended to avenge the defeat of Marathon. Their case seemed desperate, for there was no Hellene likely to assist them by land, and at sea they were attacked by more than a thousand vessels; — their only hope, however slender, was in victory; so they relied upon themselves and upon the Gods. Their common danger, and the influence of their ancient constitution, greatly tended to promote harmony among them. Reverence and fear — that fear which the coward never knows — made them fight for their altars and their homes, and saved them from being dispersed all over the world. ‘Your words, Athenian, are worthy of your country.’ And you Megillus, who have inherited the virtues of your ancestors, are worthy to hear them. Let me ask you to take the moral of my tale. The Persians have lost their liberty in absolute slavery, and we in absolute freedom. In ancient times the Athenian people were not the masters, but the servants of the laws. ‘Of what laws?’ In the first place, there were laws about music, and the music was of various kinds: there was one kind which consisted of hymns, another of lamentations; there was also the paean and the dithyramb, and the so-called ‘laws’ (nomoi) or strains, which were played upon the harp. The regulation of such matters was not left to the whistling and clapping of the crowd; there was silence while the judges decided, and the boys, and the audience in general, were kept in order by raps of a stick. But after a while there arose a new race of poets, men of genius certainly, however careless of musical truth and propriety, who made pleasure the only criterion of excellence. That was a test which the spectators could apply for themselves; the whole audience, instead of being mute, became vociferous, and a theatrocracy took the place of an aristocracy. Could the judges have been free, there would have been no great harm done; a musical democracy would have been well enough — but conceit has been our ruin. Everybody knows everything, and is ready to say anything; the age of reverence is gone, and the age of irreverence and licentiousness has succeeded. ‘Most true.’ And with this freedom comes disobedience to rulers, parents, elders, — in the latter days to the law also; the end returns to the beginning, and the old Titanic nature reappears — men have no regard for the Gods or for oaths; and the evils of the human race seem as if they would never cease. Whither are we running away? Once more we must pull up the argument with bit and curb, lest, as the proverb says, we should fall off our ass. ‘Good.’ Our purpose in what we have been saying is to prove that the legislator ought to aim at securing for a state three things — freedom, friendship, wisdom. And we chose two states; — one was the type of freedom, and the other of despotism; and we showed that when in a mean they attained their highest perfection. In a similar spirit we spoke of the Dorian expedition, and of the settlement on the hills and in the plains of Troy; and of music, and the use of wine, and of all that preceded.

And now, has our discussion been of any use? ‘Yes, stranger; for by a singular coincidence the Cretans are about to send out a colony, of which the settlement has been confided to the Cnosians. Ten commissioners, of whom I am one, are to give laws to the colonists, and we may give any which we please — Cretan or foreign. And therefore let us make a selection from what has been said, and then proceed with the construction of the state.’ Very good: I am quite at your service. ‘And I too,’ says Megillus.

BOOK IV. And now, what is this city? I do not want to know what is to be the name of the place (for some accident, — a river or a local deity, will determine that), but what the situation is, whether maritime or inland. ‘The city will be about eleven miles from the sea.’ Are there harbours? ‘Excellent.’ And is the surrounding country self-supporting? ‘Almost.’ Any neighbouring states? ‘No; and that is the reason for choosing the place, which has been deserted from time immemorial.’ And is there a fair proportion of hill and plain and wood? ‘Like Crete in general, more hill than plain.’ Then there is some hope for your citizens; had the city been on the sea, and dependent for support on other countries, no human power could have preserved you from corruption. Even the distance of eleven miles is hardly enough. For the sea, although an agreeable, is a dangerous companion, and a highway of strange morals and manners as well as of commerce. But as the country is only moderately fertile there will be no great export trade and no great returns of gold and silver, which are the ruin of states. Is there timber for ship-building? ‘There is no pine, nor much cypress; and very little stone-pine or plane wood for the interior of ships.’ That is good. ‘Why?’ Because the city will not be able to imitate the bad ways of her enemies. ‘What is the bearing of that remark?’ To explain my meaning, I would ask you to remember what we said about the Cretan laws, that they had an eye to war only; whereas I maintained that they ought to have included all virtue. And I hope that you in your turn will retaliate upon me if I am false to my own principle. For I consider that the lawgiver should go straight to the mark of virtue and justice, and disregard wealth and every other good when separated from virtue. What further I mean, when I speak of the imitation of enemies, I will illustrate by the story of Minos, if our Cretan friend will allow me to mention it. Minos, who was a great sea-king, imposed upon the Athenians a cruel tribute, for in those days they were not a maritime power; they had no timber for ship-building, and therefore they could not ‘imitate their enemies’; and better far, as I maintain, would it have been for them to have lost many times over the lives which they devoted to the tribute than to have turned soldiers into sailors. Naval warfare is not a very praiseworthy art; men should not be taught to leap on shore, and then again to hurry back to their ships, or to find specious excuses for throwing away their arms; bad customs ought not to be gilded with fine words. And retreat is always bad, as we are taught in Homer, when he introduces Odysseus, setting forth to Agamemnon the danger of ships being at hand when soldiers are disposed to fly. An army of lions trained in such ways would fly before a herd of deer. Further, a city which owes its preservation to a crowd of pilots and oarsmen and other undeserving persons, cannot bestow rewards of honour properly; and this is the ruin of states. ‘Still, in Crete we say that the battle of Salamis was the salvation of Hellas.’ Such is the prevailing opinion. But I and Megillus say that the battle of Marathon began the deliverance, and that the battle of Plataea completed it; for these battles made men better, whereas the battles of Salamis and Artemisium made them no better. And we further affirm that mere existence is not the great political good of individuals or states, but the continuance of the best existence. ‘Certainly.’ Let us then endeavour to follow this principle in colonization and legislation.

And first, let me ask you who are to be the colonists? May any one come from any city of Crete? For you would surely not send a general invitation to all Hellas. Yet I observe that in Crete there are people who have come from Argos and Aegina and other places. ‘Our recruits will be drawn from all Crete, and of other Hellenes we should prefer Peloponnesians. As you observe, there are Argives among the Cretans; moreover the Gortynians, who are the best of all Cretans, have come from Gortys in Peloponnesus.’

Colonization is in some ways easier when the colony goes out in a swarm from one country, owing to the pressure of population, or revolution, or war. In this case there is the advantage that the new colonists have a community of race, language, and laws. But then again, they are less obedient to the legislator; and often they are anxious to keep the very laws and customs which caused their ruin at home. A mixed multitude, on the other hand, is more tractable, although there is a difficulty in making them pull together. There is nothing, however, which perfects men’s virtue more than legislation and colonization. And yet I have a word to say which may seem to be depreciatory of legislators. ‘What is that?’

I was going to make the saddening reflection, that accidents of all sorts are the true legislators, — wars and pestilences and famines and the frequent recurrence of bad seasons. The observer will be inclined to say that almost all human things are chance; and this is certainly true about navigation and medicine, and the art of the general. But there is another thing which may equally be said. ‘What is it?’ That God governs all things, and that chance and opportunity co-operate with Him. And according to yet a third view, art has part with them, for surely in a storm it is well to have a pilot? And the same is true of legislation: even if circumstances are favourable, a skilful lawgiver is still necessary. ‘Most true.’ All artists would pray for certain conditions under which to exercise their art: and would not the legislator do the same? ‘Certainly?’ Come, legislator, let us say to him, and what are the conditions which you would have? He will answer, Grant me a city which is ruled by a tyrant; and let the tyrant be young, mindful, teachable, courageous, magnanimous; and let him have the inseparable condition of all virtue, which is temperance — not prudence, but that natural temperance which is the gift of children and animals, and is hardly reckoned among goods — with this he must be endowed, if the state is to acquire the form most conducive to happiness in the speediest manner. And I must add one other condition: the tyrant must be fortunate, and his good fortune must consist in his having the co-operation of a great legislator. When God has done all this, He has done the best which He can for a state; not so well if He has given them two legislators instead of one, and less and less well if He has given them a great many. An orderly tyranny most easily passes into the perfect state; in the second degree, a monarchy; in the third degree, a democracy; an oligarchy is worst of all. ‘I do not understand.’ I suppose that you have never seen a city which is subject to a tyranny? ‘I have no desire to see one.’ You would have seen what I am describing, if you ever had. The tyrant can speedily change the manners of a state, and affix the stamp of praise or blame on any action which he pleases; for the citizens readily follow the example which he sets. There is no quicker way of making changes; but there is a counterbalancing difficulty. It is hard to find the divine love of temperance and justice existing in any powerful form of government, whether in a monarchy or an oligarchy. In olden days there were chiefs like Nestor, who was the most eloquent and temperate of mankind, but there is no one his equal now. If such an one ever arises among us, blessed will he be, and blessed they who listen to his words. For where power and wisdom and temperance meet in one, there are the best laws and constitutions. I am endeavouring to show you how easy under the conditions supposed, and how difficult under any other, is the task of giving a city good laws. ‘How do you mean?’ Let us old men attempt to mould in words a constitution for your new state, as children make figures out of wax. ‘Proceed. What constitution shall we give — democracy, oligarchy, or aristocracy?’ To which of these classes, Megillus, do you refer your own state? ‘The Spartan constitution seems to me to contain all these elements. Our state is a democracy and also an aristocracy; the power of the Ephors is tyrannical, and we have an ancient monarchy.’ ‘Much the same,’ adds Cleinias, ‘may be said of Cnosus.’ The reason is that you have polities, but other states are mere aggregations of men dwelling together, which are named after their several ruling powers; whereas a state, if an ‘ocracy’ at all, should be called a theocracy. A tale of old will explain my meaning. There is a tradition of a golden age, in which all things were spontaneous and abundant. Cronos, then lord of the world, knew that no mortal nature could endure the temptations of power, and therefore he appointed demons or demi-gods, who are of a superior race, to have dominion over man, as man has dominion over the animals. They took care of us with great ease and pleasure to themselves, and no less to us; and the tradition says that only when God, and not man, is the ruler, can the human race cease from ill. This was the manner of life which prevailed under Cronos, and which we must strive to follow so far as the principle of immortality still abides in us and we live according to law and the dictates of right reason. But in an oligarchy or democracy, when the governing principle is athirst for pleasure, the laws are trampled under foot, and there is no possibility of salvation. Is it not often said that there are as many forms of laws as there are governments, and that they have no concern either with any one virtue or with all virtue, but are relative to the will of the government? Which is as much as to say that ‘might makes right.’ ‘What do you mean?’ I mean that governments enact their own laws, and that every government makes self-preservation its principal aim. He who transgresses the laws is regarded as an evil-doer, and punished accordingly. This was one of the unjust principles of government which we mentioned when speaking of the different claims to rule. We were agreed that parents should rule their children, the elder the younger, the noble the ignoble. But there were also several other principles, and among them Pindar’s ‘law of violence.’ To whom then is our state to be entrusted? For many a government is only a victorious faction which has a monopoly of power, and refuses any share to the conquered, lest when they get into office they should remember their wrongs. Such governments are not polities, but parties; nor are any laws good which are made in the interest of particular classes only, and not of the whole. And in our state I mean to protest against making any man a ruler because he is rich, or strong, or noble. But those who are obedient to the laws, and who win the victory of obedience, shall be promoted to the service of the Gods according to the degree of their obedience. When I call the ruler the servant or minister of the law, this is not a mere paradox, but I mean to say that upon a willingness to obey the law the existence of the state depends. ‘Truly, Stranger, you have a keen vision.’ Why, yes; every man when he is old has his intellectual vision most keen. And now shall we call in our colonists and make a speech to them? Friends, we say to them, God holds in His hand the beginning, middle, and end of all things, and He moves in a straight line towards the accomplishment of His will. Justice always bears Him company, and punishes those who fall short of His laws. He who would be happy follows humbly in her train; but he who is lifted up with pride, or wealth, or honour, or beauty, is soon deserted by God, and, being deserted, he lives in confusion and disorder. To many he seems a great man; but in a short time he comes to utter destruction. Wherefore, seeing these things, what ought we to do or think? ‘Every man ought to follow God.’ What life, then, is pleasing to God? There is an old saying that ‘like agrees with like, measure with measure,’ and God ought to be our measure in all things. The temperate man is the friend of God because he is like Him, and the intemperate man is not His friend, because he is not like Him. And the conclusion is, that the best of all things for a good man is to pray and sacrifice to the Gods; but the bad man has a polluted soul; and therefore his service is wasted upon the Gods, while the good are accepted of them. I have told you the mark at which we ought to aim. You will say, How, and with what weapons? In the first place we affirm, that after the Olympian Gods and the Gods of the state, honour should be given to the Gods below, and to them should be offered everything in even numbers and of the second choice; the auspicious odd numbers and everything of the first choice are reserved for the Gods above. Next demi-gods or spirits must be honoured, and then heroes, and after them family gods, who will be worshipped at their local seats according to law. Further, the honour due to parents should not be forgotten; children owe all that they have to them, and the debt must be repaid by kindness and attention in old age. No unbecoming word must be uttered before them; for there is an avenging angel who hears them when they are angry, and the child should consider that the parent when he has been wronged has a right to be angry. After their death let them have a moderate funeral, such as their fathers have had before them; and there shall be an annual commemoration of them. Living on this wise, we shall be accepted of the Gods, and shall pass our days in good hope. The law will determine all our various duties towards relatives and friends and other citizens, and the whole state will be happy and prosperous. But if the legislator would persuade as well as command, he will add prefaces to his laws which will predispose the citizens to virtue. Even a little accomplished in the way of gaining the hearts of men is of great value. For most men are in no particular haste to become good. As Hesiod says:

‘Long and steep is the first half of the way to virtue, But when you have reached the top the rest is easy.’

‘Those are excellent words.’ Yes; but may I tell you the effect which the preceding discourse has had upon me? I will express my meaning in an address to the lawgiver: — O lawgiver, if you know what we ought to do and say, you can surely tell us; — you are not like the poet, who, as you were just now saying, does not know the effect of his own words. And the poet may reply, that when he sits down on the tripod of the Muses he is not in his right mind, and that being a mere imitator he may be allowed to say all sorts of opposite things, and cannot tell which of them is true. But this licence cannot be allowed to the lawgiver. For example, there are three kinds of funerals; one of them is excessive, another mean, a third moderate, and you say that the last is right. Now if I had a rich wife, and she told me to bury her, and I were to sing of her burial, I should praise the extravagant kind; a poor man would commend a funeral of the meaner sort, and a man of moderate means would prefer a moderate funeral. But you, as legislator, would have to say exactly what you meant by ‘moderate.’ ‘Very true.’ And is our lawgiver to have no preamble or interpretation of his laws, never offering a word of advice to his subjects, after the manner of some doctors? For of doctors are there not two kinds? The one gentle and the other rough, doctors who are freemen and learn themselves and teach their pupils scientifically, and doctor’s assistants who get their knowledge empirically by attending on their masters? ‘Of course there are.’ And did you ever observe that the gentlemen doctors practise upon freemen, and that slave doctors confine themselves to slaves? The latter go about the country or wait for the slaves at the dispensaries. They hold no parley with their patients about their diseases or the remedies of them; they practise by the rule of thumb, and give their decrees in the most arbitrary manner. When they have doctored one patient they run off to another, whom they treat with equal assurance, their duty being to relieve the master of the care of his sick slaves. But the other doctor, who practises on freemen, proceeds in quite a different way. He takes counsel with his patient and learns from him, and never does anything until he has persuaded him of what he is doing. He trusts to influence rather than force. Now is not the use of both methods far better than the use of either alone? And both together may be advantageously employed by us in legislation.

We may illustrate our proposal by an example. The laws relating to marriage naturally come first, and therefore we may begin with them. The simple law would be as follows: — A man shall marry between the ages of thirty and thirty-five; if he do not, he shall be fined or deprived of certain privileges. The double law would add the reason why: Forasmuch as man desires immortality, which he attains by the procreation of children, no one should deprive himself of his share in this good. He who obeys the law is blameless, but he who disobeys must not be a gainer by his celibacy; and therefore he shall pay a yearly fine, and shall not be allowed to receive honour from the young. That is an example of what I call the double law, which may enable us to judge how far the addition of persuasion to threats is desirable. ‘Lacedaemonians in general, Stranger, are in favour of brevity; in this case, however, I prefer length. But Cleinias is the real lawgiver, and he ought to be first consulted.’ ‘Thank you, Megillus.’ Whether words are to be many or few, is a foolish question: — the best and not the shortest forms are always to be approved. And legislators have never thought of the advantages which they might gain by using persuasion as well as force, but trust to force only. And I have something else to say about the matter. Here have we been from early dawn until noon, discoursing about laws, and all that we have been saying is only the preamble of the laws which we are about to give. I tell you this, because I want you to observe that songs and strains have all of them preludes, but that laws, though called by the same name (nomoi), have never any prelude. Now I am disposed to give preludes to laws, dividing them into two parts — one containing the despotic command, which I described under the image of the slave doctor — the other the persuasive part, which I term the preamble. The legislator should give preludes or preambles to his laws. ‘That shall be the way in my colony.’ I am glad that you agree with me; this is a matter which it is important to remember. A preamble is not always necessary to a law: the lawgiver must determine when it is needed, as the musician determines when there is to be a prelude to a song. ‘Most true: and now, having a preamble, let us recommence our discourse.’ Enough has been said of Gods and parents, and we may proceed to consider what relates to the citizens — their souls, bodies, properties, — their occupations and amusements; and so arrive at the nature of education.

The first word of the Laws somewhat abruptly introduces the thought which is present to the mind of Plato throughout the work, namely, that Law is of divine origin. In the words of a great English writer— ‘Her seat is the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of the world.’ Though the particular laws of Sparta and Crete had a narrow and imperfect aim, this is not true of divine laws, which are based upon the principles of human nature, and not framed to meet the exigencies of the moment. They have their natural divisions, too, answering to the kinds of virtue; very unlike the discordant enactments of an Athenian assembly or of an English Parliament. Yet we may observe two inconsistencies in Plato’s treatment of the subject: first, a lesser, inasmuch as he does not clearly distinguish the Cretan and Spartan laws, of which the exclusive aim is war, from those other laws of Zeus and Apollo which are said to be divine, and to comprehend all virtue. Secondly, we may retort on him his own complaint against Sparta and Crete, that he has himself given us a code of laws, which for the most part have a military character; and that we cannot point to ‘obvious examples of similar institutions which are concerned with pleasure;’ at least there is only one such, that which relates to the regulation of convivial intercourse. The military spirit which is condemned by him in the beginning of the Laws, reappears in the seventh and eighth books.

The mention of Minos the great lawgiver, and of Rhadamanthus the righteous administrator of the law, suggests the two divisions of the laws into enactments and appointments of officers. The legislator and the judge stand side by side, and their functions cannot be wholly distinguished. For the judge is in some sort a legislator, at any rate in small matters; and his decisions growing into precedents, must determine the innumerable details which arise out of the conflict of circumstances. These Plato proposes to leave to a younger generation of legislators. The action of courts of law in making law seems to have escaped him, probably because the Athenian law-courts were popular assemblies; and, except in a mythical form, he can hardly be said to have had before his eyes the ideal of a judge. In reading the Laws of Plato, or any other ancient writing about Laws, we should consider how gradual the process is by which not only a legal system, but the administration of a court of law, becomes perfected.

There are other subjects on which Plato breaks ground, as his manner is, early in the work. First, he gives a sketch of the subject of laws; they are to comprehend the whole of human life, from infancy to age, and from birth to death, although the proposed plan is far from being regularly executed in the books which follow, partly owing to the necessity of describing the constitution as well as the laws of his new colony. Secondly, he touches on the power of music, which may exercise so great an influence on the character of men for good or evil; he refers especially to the great offence — which he mentions again, and which he had condemned in the Republic — of varying the modes and rhythms, as well as to that of separating the words from the music. Thirdly, he reprobates the prevalence of unnatural loves in Sparta and Crete, which he attributes to the practice of syssitia and gymnastic exercises, and considers to be almost inseparable from them. To this subject he again returns in the eighth book. Fourthly, the virtues are affirmed to be inseparable from one another, even if not absolutely one; this, too, is a principle which he reasserts at the conclusion of the work. As in the beginnings of Plato’s other writings, we have here several ‘notes’ struck, which form the preludes of longer discussions, although the hint is less ingeniously given, and the promise more imperfectly fulfilled than in the earlier dialogues.

The distinction between ethics and politics has not yet dawned upon Plato’s mind. To him, law is still floating in a region between the two. He would have desired that all the acts and laws of a state should have regard to all virtue. But he did not see that politics and law are subject to their own conditions, and are distinguished from ethics by natural differences. The actions of which politics take cognisance are necessarily collective or representative; and law is limited to external acts which affect others as well as the agents. Ethics, on the other hand, include the whole duty of man in relation both to himself and others. But Plato has never reflected on these differences. He fancies that the life of the state can be as easily fashioned as that of the individual. He is favourable to a balance of power, but never seems to have considered that power might be so balanced as to produce an absolute immobility in the state. Nor is he alive to the evils of confounding vice and crime; or to the necessity of governments abstaining from excessive interference with their subjects.

Yet this confusion of ethics and politics has also a better and a truer side. If unable to grasp some important distinctions, Plato is at any rate seeking to elevate the lower to the higher; he does not pull down the principles of men to their practice, or narrow the conception of the state to the immediate necessities of politics. Political ideals of freedom and equality, of a divine government which has been or will be in some other age or country, have greatly tended to educate and ennoble the human race. And if not the first author of such ideals (for they are as old as Hesiod), Plato has done more than any other writer to impress them on the world. To those who censure his idealism we may reply in his own words— ‘He is not the worse painter who draws a perfectly beautiful figure, because no such figure of a man could ever have existed’ (Republic).

A new thought about education suddenly occurs to him, and for a time exercises a sort of fascination over his mind, though in the later books of the Laws it is forgotten or overlooked. As true courage is allied to temperance, so there must be an education which shall train mankind to resist pleasure as well as to endure pain. No one can be on his guard against that of which he has no experience. The perfectly trained citizen should have been accustomed to look his enemy in the face, and to measure his strength against her. This education in pleasure is to be given, partly by festive intercourse, but chiefly by the song and dance. Youth are to learn music and gymnastics; their elders are to be trained and tested at drinking parties. According to the old proverb, in vino veritas, they will then be open and visible to the world in their true characters; and also they will be more amenable to the laws, and more easily moulded by the hand of the legislator. The first reason is curious enough, though not important; the second can hardly be thought deserving of much attention. Yet if Plato means to say that society is one of the principal instruments of education in after-life, he has expressed in an obscure fashion a principle which is true, and to his contemporaries was also new. That at a banquet a degree of moral discipline might be exercised is an original thought, but Plato has not yet learnt to express his meaning in an abstract form. He is sensible that moderation is better than total abstinence, and that asceticism is but a one-sided training. He makes the sagacious remark, that ‘those who are able to resist pleasure may often be among the worst of mankind.’ He is as much aware as any modern utilitarian that the love of pleasure is the great motive of human action. This cannot be eradicated, and must therefore be regulated, — the pleasure must be of the right sort. Such reflections seem to be the real, though imperfectly expressed, groundwork of the discussion. As in the juxtaposition of the Bacchic madness and the great gift of Dionysus, or where he speaks of the different senses in which pleasure is and is not the object of imitative art, or in the illustration of the failure of the Dorian institutions from the prayer of Theseus, we have to gather his meaning as well as we can from the connexion.

The feeling of old age is discernible in this as well as in several other passages of the Laws. Plato has arrived at the time when men sit still and look on at life; and he is willing to allow himself and others the few pleasures which remain to them. Wine is to cheer them now that their limbs are old and their blood runs cold. They are the best critics of dancing and music, but cannot be induced to join in song unless they have been enlivened by drinking. Youth has no need of the stimulus of wine, but age can only be made young again by its invigorating influence. Total abstinence for the young, moderate and increasing potations for the old, is Plato’s principle. The fire, of which there is too much in the one, has to be brought to the other. Drunkenness, like madness, had a sacredness and mystery to the Greek; if, on the one hand, as in the case of the Tarentines, it degraded a whole population, it was also a mode of worshipping the god Dionysus, which was to be practised on certain occasions. Moreover, the intoxication produced by the fruit of the vine was very different from the grosser forms of drunkenness which prevail among some modern nations.

The physician in modern times would restrict the old man’s use of wine within narrow limits. He would tell us that you cannot restore strength by a stimulus. Wine may call back the vital powers in disease, but cannot reinvigorate old age. In his maxims of health and longevity, though aware of the importance of a simple diet, Plato has omitted to dwell on the perfect rule of moderation. His commendation of wine is probably a passing fancy, and may have arisen out of his own habits or tastes. If so, he is not the only philosopher whose theory has been based upon his practice.

Plato’s denial of wine to the young and his approval of it for their elders has some points of view which may be illustrated by the temperance controversy of our own times. Wine may be allowed to have a religious as well as a festive use; it is commended both in the Old and New Testament; it has been sung of by nearly all poets; and it may be truly said to have a healing influence both on body and mind. Yet it is also very liable to excess and abuse, and for this reason is prohibited by Mahometans, as well as of late years by many Christians, no less than by the ancient Spartans; and to sound its praises seriously seems to partake of the nature of a paradox. But we may rejoin with Plato that the abuse of a good thing does not take away the use of it. Total abstinence, as we often say, is not the best rule, but moderate indulgence; and it is probably true that a temperate use of wine may contribute some elements of character to social life which we can ill afford to lose. It draws men out of their reserve; it helps them to forget themselves and to appear as they by nature are when not on their guard, and therefore to make them more human and greater friends to their fellow-men. It gives them a new experience; it teaches them to combine self-control with a measure of indulgence; it may sometimes restore to them the simplicity of childhood. We entirely agree with Plato in forbidding the use of wine to the young; but when we are of mature age there are occasions on which we derive refreshment and strength from moderate potations. It is well to make abstinence the rule, but the rule may sometimes admit of an exception. We are in a higher, as well as in a lower sense, the better for the use of wine. The question runs up into wider ones — What is the general effect of asceticism on human nature? and, Must there not be a certain proportion between the aspirations of man and his powers? — questions which have been often discussed both by ancient and modern philosophers. So by comparing things old and new we may sometimes help to realize to ourselves the meaning of Plato in the altered circumstances of our own life.

Like the importance which he attaches to festive entertainments, his depreciation of courage to the fourth place in the scale of virtue appears to be somewhat rhetorical and exaggerated. But he is speaking of courage in the lower sense of the term, not as including loyalty or temperance. He does not insist in this passage, as in the Protagoras, on the unity of the virtues; or, as in the Laches, on the identity of wisdom and courage. But he says that they all depend upon their leader mind, and that, out of the union of wisdom and temperance with courage, springs justice. Elsewhere he is disposed to regard temperance rather as a condition of all virtue than as a particular virtue. He generalizes temperance, as in the Republic he generalizes justice. The nature of the virtues is to run up into one another, and in many passages Plato makes but a faint effort to distinguish them. He still quotes the poets, somewhat enlarging, as his manner is, or playing with their meaning. The martial poet Tyrtaeus, and the oligarch Theognis, furnish him with happy illustrations of the two sorts of courage. The fear of fear, the division of goods into human and divine, the acknowledgment that peace and reconciliation are better than the appeal to the sword, the analysis of temperance into resistance of pleasure as well as endurance of pain, the distinction between the education which is suitable for a trade or profession, and for the whole of life, are important and probably new ethical conceptions. Nor has Plato forgotten his old paradox (Gorgias) that to be punished is better than to be unpunished, when he says, that to the bad man death is the only mitigation of his evil. He is not less ideal in many passages of the Laws than in the Gorgias or Republic. But his wings are heavy, and he is unequal to any sustained flight.

There is more attempt at dramatic effect in the first book than in the later parts of the work. The outburst of martial spirit in the Lacedaemonian, ‘O best of men’; the protest which the Cretan makes against the supposed insult to his lawgiver; the cordial acknowledgment on the part of both of them that laws should not be discussed publicly by those who live under their rule; the difficulty which they alike experience in following the speculations of the Athenian, are highly characteristic.

In the second book, Plato pursues further his notion of educating by a right use of pleasure. He begins by conceiving an endless power of youthful life, which is to be reduced to rule and measure by harmony and rhythm. Men differ from the lower animals in that they are capable of musical discipline. But music, like all art, must be truly imitative, and imitative of what is true and good. Art and morality agree in rejecting pleasure as the criterion of good. True art is inseparable from the highest and most ennobling ideas. Plato only recognizes the identity of pleasure and good when the pleasure is of the higher kind. He is the enemy of ‘songs without words,’ which he supposes to have some confusing or enervating effect on the mind of the hearer; and he is also opposed to the modern degeneracy of the drama, which he would probably have illustrated, like Aristophanes, from Euripides and Agathon. From this passage may be gathered a more perfect conception of art than from any other of Plato’s writings. He understands that art is at once imitative and ideal, an exact representation of truth, and also a representation of the highest truth. The same double view of art may be gathered from a comparison of the third and tenth books of the Republic, but is here more clearly and pointedly expressed.

We are inclined to suspect that both here and in the Republic Plato exaggerates the influence really exercised by the song and the dance. But we must remember also the susceptible nature of the Greek, and the perfection to which these arts were carried by him. Further, the music had a sacred and Pythagorean character; the dance too was part of a religious festival. And only at such festivals the sexes mingled in public, and the youths passed under the eyes of their elders.

At the beginning of the third book, Plato abruptly asks the question, What is the origin of states? The answer is, Infinite time. We have already seen — in the Theaetetus, where he supposes that in the course of ages every man has had numberless progenitors, kings and slaves, Greeks and barbarians; and in the Critias, where he says that nine thousand years have elapsed since the island of Atlantis fought with Athens — that Plato is no stranger to the conception of long periods of time. He imagines human society to have been interrupted by natural convulsions; and beginning from the last of these, he traces the steps by which the family has grown into the state, and the original scattered society, becoming more and more civilised, has finally passed into military organizations like those of Crete and Sparta. His conception of the origin of states is far truer in the Laws than in the Republic; but it must be remembered that here he is giving an historical, there an ideal picture of the growth of society.

Modern enquirers, like Plato, have found in infinite ages the explanation not only of states, but of languages, men, animals, the world itself; like him, also, they have detected in later institutions the vestiges of a patriarchal state still surviving. Thus far Plato speaks as ‘the spectator of all time and all existence,’ who may be thought by some divine instinct to have guessed at truths which were hereafter to be revealed. He is far above the vulgar notion that Hellas is the civilized world (Statesman), or that civilization only began when the Hellenes appeared on the scene. But he has no special knowledge of ‘the days before the flood’; and when he approaches more historical times, in preparing the way for his own theory of mixed government, he argues partially and erroneously. He is desirous of showing that unlimited power is ruinous to any state, and hence he is led to attribute a tyrannical spirit to the first Dorian kings. The decay of Argos and the destruction of Messene are adduced by him as a manifest proof of their failure; and Sparta, he thinks, was only preserved by the limitations which the wisdom of successive legislators introduced into the government. But there is no more reason to suppose that the Dorian rule of life which was followed at Sparta ever prevailed in Argos and Messene, than to assume that Dorian institutions were framed to protect the Greeks against the power of Assyria; or that the empire of Assyria was in any way affected by the Trojan war; or that the return of the Heraclidae was only the return of Achaean exiles, who received a new name from their leader Dorieus. Such fancies were chiefly based, as far as they had any foundation, on the use of analogy, which played a great part in the dawn of historical and geographical research. Because there was a Persian empire which was the natural enemy of the Greek, there must also have been an Assyrian empire, which had a similar hostility; and not only the fable of the island of Atlantis, but the Trojan war, in Plato’s mind derived some features from the Persian struggle. So Herodotus makes the Nile answer to the Ister, and the valley of the Nile to the Red Sea. In the Republic, Plato is flying in the air regardless of fact and possibility — in the Laws, he is making history by analogy. In the former, he appears to be like some modern philosophers, absolutely devoid of historical sense; in the latter, he is on a level, not with Thucydides, or the critical historians of Greece, but with Herodotus, or even with Ctesias.

The chief object of Plato in tracing the origin of society is to show the point at which regular government superseded the patriarchical authority, and the separate customs of different families were systematized by legislators, and took the form of laws consented to by them all. According to Plato, the only sound principle on which any government could be based was a mixture or balance of power. The balance of power saved Sparta, when the two other Heraclid states fell into disorder. Here is probably the first trace of a political idea, which has exercised a vast influence both in ancient and modern times. And yet we might fairly ask, a little parodying the language of Plato — O legislator, is unanimity only ‘the struggle for existence’; or is the balance of powers in a state better than the harmony of them?

In the fourth book we approach the realities of politics, and Plato begins to ascend to the height of his great argument. The reign of Cronos has passed away, and various forms of government have succeeded, which are all based on self-interest and self-preservation. Right and wrong, instead of being measured by the will of God, are created by the law of the state. The strongest assertions are made of the purely spiritual nature of religion— ‘Without holiness no man is accepted of God’; and of the duty of filial obedience,— ‘Honour thy parents.’ The legislator must teach these precepts as well as command them. He is to be the educator as well as the lawgiver of future ages, and his laws are themselves to form a part of the education of the state. Unlike the poet, he must be definite and rational; he cannot be allowed to say one thing at one time, and another thing at another — he must know what he is about. And yet legislation has a poetical or rhetorical element, and must find words which will wing their way to the hearts of men. Laws must be promulgated before they are put in execution, and mankind must be reasoned with before they are punished. The legislator, when he promulgates a particular law, will courteously entreat those who are willing to hear his voice. Upon the rebellious only does the heavy blow descend. A sermon and a law in one, blending the secular punishment with the religious sanction, appeared to Plato a new idea which might have a great result in reforming the world. The experiment had never been tried of reasoning with mankind; the laws of others had never had any preambles, and Plato seems to have great pleasure in contemplating his discovery.

In these quaint forms of thought and language, great principles of morals and legislation are enunciated by him for the first time. They all go back to mind and God, who holds the beginning, middle, and end of all things in His hand. The adjustment of the divine and human elements in the world is conceived in the spirit of modern popular philosophy, differing not much in the mode of expression. At first sight the legislator appears to be impotent, for all things are the sport of chance. But we admit also that God governs all things, and that chance and opportunity co-operate with Him (compare the saying, that chance is the name of the unknown cause). Lastly, while we acknowledge that God and chance govern mankind and provide the conditions of human action, experience will not allow us to deny a place to art. We know that there is a use in having a pilot, though the storm may overwhelm him; and a legislator is required to provide for the happiness of a state, although he will pray for favourable conditions under which he may exercise his art.

BOOK V. Hear now, all ye who heard the laws about Gods and ancestors: Of all human possessions the soul is most divine, and most truly a man’s own. For in every man there are two parts — a better which rules, and an inferior which serves; and the ruler is to be preferred to the servant. Wherefore I bid every one next after the Gods to honour his own soul, and he can only honour her by making her better. A man does not honour his soul by flattery, or gifts, or self-indulgence, or conceit of knowledge, nor when he blames others for his own errors; nor when he indulges in pleasure or refuses to bear pain; nor when he thinks that life at any price is a good, because he fears the world below, which, far from being an evil, may be the greatest good; nor when he prefers beauty to virtue — not reflecting that the soul, which came from heaven, is more honourable than the body, which is earth-born; nor when he covets dishonest gains, of which no amount is equal in value to virtue; — in a word, when he counts that which the legislator pronounces evil to be good, he degrades his soul, which is the divinest part of him. He does not consider that the real punishment of evil-doing is to grow like evil men, and to shun the conversation of the good: and that he who is joined to such men must do and suffer what they by nature do and say to one another, which suffering is not justice but retribution. For justice is noble, but retribution is only the companion of injustice. And whether a man escapes punishment or not, he is equally miserable; for in the one case he is not cured, and in the other case he perishes that the rest may be saved.

The glory of man is to follow the better and improve the inferior. And the soul is that part of man which is most inclined to avoid the evil and dwell with the good. Wherefore also the soul is second only to the Gods in honour, and in the third place the body is to be esteemed, which often has a false honour. For honour is not to be given to the fair or the strong, or the swift or the tall, or to the healthy, any more than to their opposites, but to the mean states of all these habits; and so of property and external goods. No man should heap up riches that he may leave them to his children. The best condition for them as for the state is a middle one, in which there is a freedom without luxury. And the best inheritance of children is modesty. But modesty cannot be implanted by admonition only — the elders must set the example. He who would train the young must first train himself.

He who honours his kindred and family may fairly expect that the Gods will give him children. He who would have friends must think much of their favours to him, and little of his to them. He who prefers to an Olympic, or any other victory, to win the palm of obedience to the laws, serves best both the state and his fellow-citizens. Engagements with strangers are to be deemed most sacred, because the stranger, having neither kindred nor friends, is immediately under the protection of Zeus, the God of strangers. A prudent man will not sin against the stranger; and still more carefully will he avoid sinning against the suppliant, which is an offence never passed over by the Gods.

I will now speak of those particulars which are matters of praise and blame only, and which, although not enforced by the law, greatly affect the disposition to obey the law. Truth has the first place among the gifts of Gods and men, for truth begets trust; but he is not to be trusted who loves voluntary falsehood, and he who loves involuntary falsehood is a fool. Neither the ignorant nor the untrustworthy man is happy; for they have no friends in life, and die unlamented and untended. Good is he who does no injustice — better who prevents others from doing any — best of all who joins the rulers in punishing injustice. And this is true of goods and virtues in general; he who has and communicates them to others is the man of men; he who would, if he could, is second-best; he who has them and is jealous of imparting them to others is to be blamed, but the good or virtue which he has is to be valued still. Let every man contend in the race without envy; for the unenvious man increases the strength of the city; himself foremost in the race, he harms no one with calumny. Whereas the envious man is weak himself, and drives his rivals to despair with his slanders, thus depriving the whole city of incentives to the exercise of virtue, and tarnishing her glory. Every man should be gentle, but also passionate; for he must have the spirit to fight against incurable and malignant evil. But the evil which is remediable should be dealt with more in sorrow than anger. He who is unjust is to be pitied in any case; for no man voluntarily does evil or allows evil to exist in his soul. And therefore he who deals with the curable sort must be long-suffering and forbearing; but the incurable shall have the vials of our wrath poured out upon him. The greatest of all evils is self-love, which is thought to be natural and excusable, and is enforced as a duty, and yet is the cause of many errors. The lover is blinded about the beloved, and prefers his own interests to truth and right; but the truly great man seeks justice before all things. Self-love is the source of that ignorant conceit of knowledge which is always doing and never succeeding. Wherefore let every man avoid self-love, and follow the guidance of those who are better than himself. There are lesser matters which a man should recall to mind; for wisdom is like a stream, ever flowing in and out, and recollection flows in when knowledge is failing. Let no man either laugh or grieve overmuch; but let him control his feelings in the day of good- or ill-fortune, believing that the Gods will diminish the evils and increase the blessings of the righteous. These are thoughts which should ever occupy a good man’s mind; he should remember them both in lighter and in more serious hours, and remind others of them.

So much of divine matters and the relation of man to God. But man is man, and dependent on pleasure and pain; and therefore to acquire a true taste respecting either is a great matter. And what is a true taste? This can only be explained by a comparison of one life with another. Pleasure is an object of desire, pain of avoidance; and the absence of pain is to be preferred to pain, but not to pleasure. There are infinite kinds and degrees of both of them, and we choose the life which has more pleasure and avoid that which has less; but we do not choose that life in which the elements of pleasure are either feeble or equally balanced with pain. All the lives which we desire are pleasant; the choice of any others is due to inexperience.

Now there are four lives — the temperate, the rational, the courageous, the healthful; and to these let us oppose four others — the intemperate, the foolish, the cowardly, the diseased. The temperate life has gentle pains and pleasures and placid desires, the intemperate life has violent delights, and still more violent desires. And the pleasures of the temperate exceed the pains, while the pains of the intemperate exceed the pleasures. But if this is true, none are voluntarily intemperate, but all who lack temperance are either ignorant or wanting in self-control: for men always choose the life which (as they think) exceeds in pleasure. The wise, the healthful, the courageous life have a similar advantage — they also exceed their opposites in pleasure. And, generally speaking, the life of virtue is far more pleasurable and honourable, fairer and happier far, than the life of vice. Let this be the preamble of our laws; the strain will follow.

As in a web the warp is stronger than the woof, so should the rulers be stronger than their half-educated subjects. Let us suppose, then, that in the constitution of a state there are two parts, the appointment of the rulers, and the laws which they have to administer. But, before going further, there are some preliminary matters which have to be considered.

As of animals, so also of men, a selection must be made; the bad breed must be got rid of, and the good retained. The legislator must purify them, and if he be not a despot he will find this task to be a difficult one. The severer kinds of purification are practised when great offenders are punished by death or exile, but there is a milder process which is necessary when the poor show a disposition to attack the property of the rich, for then the legislator will send them off to another land, under the name of a colony. In our case, however, we shall only need to purify the streams before they meet. This is often a troublesome business, but in theory we may suppose the operation performed, and the desired purity attained. Evil men we will hinder from coming, and receive the good as friends.

Like the old Heraclid colony, we are fortunate in escaping the abolition of debts and the distribution of land, which are difficult and dangerous questions. But, perhaps, now that we are speaking of the subject, we ought to say how, if the danger existed, the legislator should try to avert it. He would have recourse to prayers, and trust to the healing influence of time. He would create a kindly spirit between creditors and debtors: those who have should give to those who have not, and poverty should be held to be rather the increase of a man’s desires than the diminution of his property. Good-will is the only safe and enduring foundation of the political society; and upon this our city shall be built. The lawgiver, if he is wise, will not proceed with the arrangement of the state until all disputes about property are settled. And for him to introduce fresh grounds of quarrel would be madness.

Let us now proceed to the distribution of our state, and determine the size of the territory and the number of the allotments. The territory should be sufficient to maintain the citizens in moderation, and the population should be numerous enough to defend themselves, and sometimes to aid their neighbours. We will fix the number of citizens at 5040, to which the number of houses and portions of land shall correspond. Let the number be divided into two parts and then into three; for it is very convenient for the purposes of distribution, and is capable of fifty-nine divisions, ten of which proceed without interval from one to ten. Here are numbers enough for war and peace, and for all contracts and dealings. These properties of numbers are true, and should be ascertained with a view to use.

In carrying out the distribution of the land, a prudent legislator will be careful to respect any provision for religious worship which has been sanctioned by ancient tradition or by the oracles of Delphi, Dodona, or Ammon. All sacrifices, and altars, and temples, whatever may be their origin, should remain as they are. Every division should have a patron God or hero; to these a portion of the domain should be appropriated, and at their temples the inhabitants of the districts should meet together from time to time, for the sake of mutual help and friendship. All the citizens of a state should be known to one another; for where men are in the dark about each other’s characters, there can be no justice or right administration. Every man should be true and single-minded, and should not allow himself to be deceived by others.

And now the game opens, and we begin to move the pieces. At first sight, our constitution may appear singular and ill-adapted to a legislator who has not despotic power; but on second thoughts will be deemed to be, if not the very best, the second best. For there are three forms of government, a first, a second, and a third best, out of which Cleinias has now to choose. The first and highest form is that in which friends have all things in common, including wives and property, — in which they have common fears, hopes, desires, and do not even call their eyes or their hands their own. This is the ideal state; than which there never can be a truer or better — a state, whether inhabited by Gods or sons of Gods, which will make the dwellers therein blessed. Here is the pattern on which we must ever fix our eyes; but we are now concerned with another, which comes next to it, and we will afterwards proceed to a third.

Inasmuch as our citizens are not fitted either by nature or education to receive the saying, Friends have all things in common, let them retain their houses and private property, but use them in the service of their country, who is their God and parent, and of the Gods and demigods of the land. Their first care should be to preserve the number of their lots. This may be secured in the following manner: when the possessor of a lot dies, he shall leave his lot to his best-beloved child, who will become the heir of all duties and interests, and will minister to the Gods and to the family, to the living and to the dead. Of the remaining children, the females must be given in marriage according to the law to be hereafter enacted; the males may be assigned to citizens who have no children of their own. How to equalize families and allotments will be one of the chief cares of the guardians of the laws. When parents have too many children they may give to those who have none, or couples may abstain from having children, or, if there is a want of offspring, special care may be taken to obtain them; or if the number of citizens becomes excessive, we may send away the surplus to found a colony. If, on the other hand, a war or plague diminishes the number of inhabitants, new citizens must be introduced; and these ought not, if possible, to be men of low birth or inferior training; but even God, it is said, cannot always fight against necessity.

Wherefore we will thus address our citizens: — Good friends, honour order and equality, and above all the number 5040. Secondly, respect the original division of the lots, which must not be infringed by buying and selling, for the law says that the land which a man has is sacred and is given to him by God. And priests and priestesses will offer frequent sacrifices and pray that he who alienates either house or lot may receive the punishment which he deserves, and their prayers shall be inscribed on tablets of cypress-wood for the instruction of posterity. The guardians will keep a vigilant watch over the citizens, and they will punish those who disobey God and the law.

To appreciate the benefit of such an institution a man requires to be well educated; for he certainly will not make a fortune in our state, in which all illiberal occupations are forbidden to freemen. The law also provides that no private person shall have gold or silver, except a little coin for daily use, which will not pass current in other countries. The state must also possess a common Hellenic currency, but this is only to be used in defraying the expenses of expeditions, or of embassies, or while a man is on foreign travels; but in the latter case he must deliver up what is over, when he comes back, to the treasury in return for an equal amount of local currency, on pain of losing the sum in question; and he who does not inform against an offender is to be mulcted in a like sum. No money is to be given or taken as a dowry, or to be lent on interest. The law will not protect a man in recovering either interest or principal. All these regulations imply that the aim of the legislator is not to make the city as rich or as mighty as possible, but the best and happiest. Now men can hardly be at the same time very virtuous and very rich. And why? Because he who makes twice as much and saves twice as much as he ought, receiving where he ought not and not spending where he ought, will be at least twice as rich as he who makes money where he ought, and spends where he ought. On the other hand, an utterly bad man is generally profligate and poor, while he who acquires honestly, and spends what he acquires on noble objects, can hardly be very rich. A very rich man is therefore not a good man, and therefore not a happy one. But the object of our laws is to make the citizens as friendly and happy as possible, which they cannot be if they are always at law and injuring each other in the pursuit of gain. And therefore we say that there is to be no silver or gold in the state, nor usury, nor the rearing of the meaner kinds of live-stock, but only agriculture, and only so much of this as will not lead men to neglect that for the sake of which money is made, first the soul and afterwards the body; neither of which are good for much without music and gymnastic. Money is to be held in honour last or third; the highest interests being those of the soul, and in the second class are to be ranked those of the body. This is the true order of legislation, which would be inverted by placing health before temperance, and wealth before health.

It might be well if every man could come to the colony having equal property; but equality is impossible, and therefore we must avoid causes of offence by having property valued and by equalizing taxation. To this end, let us make four classes in which the citizens may be placed according to the measure of their original property, and the changes of their fortune. The greatest of evils is revolution; and this, as the law will say, is caused by extremes of poverty or wealth. The limit of poverty shall be the lot, which must not be diminished, and may be increased fivefold, but not more. He who exceeds the limit must give up the excess to the state; but if he does not, and is informed against, the surplus shall be divided between the informer and the Gods, and he shall pay a sum equal to the surplus out Of his own property. All property other than the lot must be inscribed in a register, so that any disputes which arise may be easily determined.

The city shall be placed in a suitable situation, as nearly as possible in the centre of the country, and shall be divided into twelve wards. First, we will erect an acropolis, encircled by a wall, within which shall be placed the temples of Hestia, and Zeus, and Athene. From this shall be drawn lines dividing the city, and also the country, into twelve sections, and the country shall be subdivided into 5040 lots. Each lot shall contain two parts, one at a distance, the other near the city; and the distance of one part shall be compensated by the nearness of the other, the badness and goodness by the greater or less size. Twelve lots will be assigned to twelve Gods, and they will give their names to the tribes. The divisions of the city shall correspond to those of the country; and every man shall have two habitations, one near the centre of the country, the other at the extremity.

The objection will naturally arise, that all the advantages of which we have been speaking will never concur. The citizens will not tolerate a settlement in which they are deprived of gold and silver, and have the number of their families regulated, and the sites of their houses fixed by law. It will be said that our city is a mere image of wax. And the legislator will answer: ‘I know it, but I maintain that we ought to set forth an ideal which is as perfect as possible. If difficulties arise in the execution of the plan, we must avoid them and carry out the remainder. But the legislator must first be allowed to complete his idea without interruption.’

The number twelve, which we have chosen for the number of division, must run through all parts of the state, — phratries, villages, ranks of soldiers, coins, and measures wet and dry, which are all to be made commensurable with one another. There is no meanness in requiring that the smallest vessels should have a common measure; for the divisions of number are useful in measuring height and depth, as well as sounds and motions, upwards or downwards, or round and round. The legislator should impress on his citizens the value of arithmetic. No instrument of education has so much power; nothing more tends to sharpen and inspire the dull intellect. But the legislator must be careful to instil a noble and generous spirit into the students, or they will tend to become cunning rather than wise. This may be proved by the example of the Egyptians and Phoenicians, who, notwithstanding their knowledge of arithmetic, are degraded in their general character; whether this defect in them is due to some natural cause or to a bad legislator. For it is clear that there are great differences in the power of regions to produce good men: heat and cold, and water and food, have great effects both on body and soul; and those spots are peculiarly fortunate in which the air is holy, and the Gods are pleased to dwell. To all this the legislator must attend, so far as in him lies.

BOOK VI. And now we are about to consider (1) the appointment of magistrates; (2) the laws which they will have to administer must be determined. I may observe by the way that laws, however good, are useless and even injurious unless the magistrates are capable of executing them. And therefore (1) the intended rulers of our imaginary state should be tested from their youth upwards until the time of their election; and (2) those who are to elect them ought to be trained in habits of law, that they may form a right judgment of good and bad men. But uneducated colonists, who are unacquainted with each other, will not be likely to choose well. What, then, shall we do? I will tell you: The colony will have to be intrusted to the ten commissioners, of whom you are one, and I will help you and them, which is my reason for inventing this romance. And I cannot bear that the tale should go wandering about the world without a head, — it will be such an ugly monster. ‘Very good.’ Yes; and I will be as good as my word, if God be gracious and old age permit. But let us not forget what a courageously mad creation this our city is. ‘What makes you say so?’ Why, surely our courage is shown in imagining that the new colonists will quietly receive our laws? For no man likes to receive laws when they are first imposed: could we only wait until those who had been educated under them were grown up, and of an age to vote in the public elections, there would be far greater reason to expect permanence in our institutions. ‘Very true.’ The Cnosian founders should take the utmost pains in the matter of the colony, and in the election of the higher officers, particularly of the guardians of the law. The latter should be appointed in this way: The Cnosians, who take the lead in the colony, together with the colonists, will choose thirty-seven persons, of whom nineteen will be colonists, and the remaining eighteen Cnosians — you must be one of the eighteen yourself, and become a citizen of the new state. ‘Why do not you and Megillus join us?’ Athens is proud, and Sparta too; and they are both a long way off. But let me proceed with my scheme. When the state is permanently established, the mode of election will be as follows: All who are serving, or have served, in the army will be electors; and the election will be held in the most sacred of the temples. The voter will place on the altar a tablet, inscribing thereupon the name of the candidate whom he prefers, and of his father, tribe, and ward, writing at the side of them his own name in like manner; and he may take away any tablet which does not appear written to his mind, and place it in the Agora for thirty days. The 300 who obtain the greatest number of votes will be publicly announced, and out of them there will be a second election of 100; and out of the 100 a third and final election of thirty-seven, accompanied by the solemnity of the electors passing through victims. But then who is to arrange all this? There is a common saying, that the beginning is half the whole; and I should say a good deal more than half. ‘Most true.’ The only way of making a beginning is from the parent city; and though in after ages the tie may be broken, and quarrels may arise between them, yet in early days the child naturally looks to the mother for care and education. And, as I said before, the Cnosians ought to take an interest in the colony, and select 100 elders of their own citizens, to whom shall be added 100 of the colonists, to arrange and supervise the first elections and scrutinies; and when the colony has been started, the Cnosians may return home and leave the colonists to themselves.

The thirty-seven magistrates who have been elected in the manner described, shall have the following duties: first, they shall be guardians of the law; secondly, of the registers of property in the four classes — not including the one, two, three, four minae, which are allowed as a surplus. He who is found to possess what is not entered in the registers, in addition to the confiscation of such property shall be proceeded against by law, and if he be cast he shall lose his share in the public property and in distributions of money; and his sentence shall be inscribed in some public place. The guardians are to continue in office twenty years only, and to commence holding office at fifty years, or if elected at sixty they are not to remain after seventy.

Generals have now to be elected, and commanders of horse and brigadiers of foot. The generals shall be natives of the city, proposed by the guardians of the law, and elected by those who are or have been of the age for military service. Any one may challenge the person nominated and start another candidate, whom he affirms upon oath to be better qualified. The three who obtain the greatest number of votes shall be elected. The generals thus elected shall propose the taxiarchs or brigadiers, and the challenge may be made, and the voting shall take place, in the same manner as before. The elective assembly will be presided over in the first instance, and until the prytanes and council come into being, by the guardians of the law in some holy place; and they shall divide the citizens into three divisions, — hoplites, cavalry, and the rest of the army — placing each of them by itself. All are to vote for generals and cavalry officers. The brigadiers are to be voted for only by the hoplites. Next, the cavalry are to choose phylarchs for the generals; but captains of archers and other irregular troops are to be appointed by the generals themselves. The cavalry-officers shall be proposed and voted upon by the same persons who vote for the generals. The two who have the greatest number of votes shall be leaders of all the horse. Disputes about the voting may be raised once or twice, but, if a third time, the presiding officers shall decide.

The council shall consist of 360, who may be conveniently divided into four sections, making ninety councillors of each class. In the first place, all the citizens shall select candidates from the first class; and they shall be compelled to vote under pain of a fine. This shall be the business of the first day. On the second day a similar selection shall be made from the second class under the same conditions. On the third day, candidates shall be selected from the third class; but the compulsion to vote shall only extend to the voters of the first three classes. On the fourth day, members of the council shall be selected from the fourth class; they shall be selected by all, but the compulsion to vote shall only extend to the second class, who, if they do not vote, shall pay a fine of triple the amount which was exacted at first, and to the first class, who shall pay a quadruple fine. On the fifth day, the names shall be exhibited, and out of them shall be chosen by all the citizens 180 of each class: these are severally to be reduced by lot to ninety, and 90 x 4 will form the council for the year.

The mode of election which has been described is a mean between monarchy and democracy, and such a mean should ever be observed in the state. For servants and masters cannot be friends, and, although equality makes friendship, we must remember that there are two sorts of equality. One of them is the rule of number and measure; but there is also a higher equality, which is the judgment of Zeus. Of this he grants but little to mortal men; yet that little is the source of the greatest good to cities and individuals. It is proportioned to the nature of each man; it gives more to the better and less to the inferior, and is the true political justice; to this we in our state desire to look, as every legislator should, not to the interests either of tyrants or mobs. But justice cannot always be strictly enforced, and then equity and mercy have to be substituted: and for a similar reason, when true justice will not be endured, we must have recourse to the rougher justice of the lot, which God must be entreated to guide.

These are the principal means of preserving the state, but perpetual care will also be required. When a ship is sailing on the sea, vigilance must not be relaxed night or day; and the vessel of state is tossing in a political sea, and therefore watch must continually succeed watch, and rulers must join hands with rulers. A small body will best perform this duty, and therefore the greater part of the 360 senators may be permitted to go and manage their own affairs, but a twelfth portion must be set aside in each month for the administration of the state. Their business will be to receive information and answer embassies; also they must endeavour to prevent or heal internal disorders; and with this object they must have the control of all assemblies of the citizens.

Besides the council, there must be wardens of the city and of the agora, who will superintend houses, ways, harbours, markets, and fountains, in the city and the suburbs, and prevent any injury being done to them by man or beast. The temples, also, will require priests and priestesses. Those who hold the priestly office by hereditary tenure shall not be disturbed; but as there will probably be few or none such in a new colony, priests and priestesses shall be appointed for the Gods who have no servants. Some of these officers shall be elected by vote, some by lot; and all classes shall mingle in a friendly manner at the elections. The appointment of priests should be left to God, — that is, to the lot; but the person elected must prove that he is himself sound in body and of legitimate birth, and that his family has been free from homicide or any other stain of impurity. Priests and priestesses are to be not less than sixty years of age, and shall hold office for a year only. The laws which are to regulate matters of religion shall be brought from Delphi, and interpreters appointed to superintend their execution. These shall be elected in the following manner: — The twelve tribes shall be formed into three bodies of four, each of which shall select four candidates, and this shall be done three times: of each twelve thus selected the three who receive the largest number of votes, nine in all, after undergoing a scrutiny shall go to Delphi, in order that the God may elect one out of each triad. They shall be appointed for life; and when any of them dies, another shall be elected by the four tribes who made the original appointment. There shall also be treasurers of the temples; three for the greater temples, two for the lesser, and one for those of least importance.

The defence of the city should be committed to the generals and other officers of the army, and to the wardens of the city and agora. The defence of the country shall be on this wise: — The twelve tribes shall allot among themselves annually the twelve divisions of the country, and each tribe shall appoint five wardens and commanders of the watch. The five wardens in each division shall choose out of their own tribe twelve guards, who are to be between twenty-five and thirty years of age. Both the wardens and the guards are to serve two years; and they shall make a round of the divisions, staying a month in each. They shall go from West to East during the first year, and back from East to West during the second. Thus they will gain a perfect knowledge of the country at every season of the year.

While on service, their first duty will be to see that the country is well protected by means of fortifications and entrenchments; they will use the beasts of burden and the labourers whom they find on the spot, taking care however not to interfere with the regular course of agriculture. But while they thus render the country as inaccessible as possible to enemies, they will also make it as accessible as possible to friends by constructing and maintaining good roads. They will restrain and preserve the rain which comes down from heaven, making the barren places fertile, and the wet places dry. They will ornament the fountains with plantations and buildings, and provide water for irrigation at all seasons of the year. They will lead the streams to the temples and groves of the Gods; and in such spots the youth shall make gymnasia for themselves, and warm baths for the aged; there the rustic worn with toil will receive a kindly welcome, and be far better treated than at the hands of an unskilful doctor.

These works will be both useful and ornamental; but the sixty wardens must not fail to give serious attention to other duties. For they must watch over the districts assigned to them, and also act as judges. In small matters the five commanders shall decide: in greater matters up to three minae, the five commanders and the twelve guards. Like all other judges, except those who have the final decision, they shall be liable to give an account. If the wardens impose unjust tasks on the villagers, or take by force their crops or implements, or yield to flattery or bribes in deciding suits, let them be publicly dishonoured. In regard to any other wrong-doing, if the question be of a mina, let the neighbours decide; but if the accused person will not submit, trusting that his monthly removals will enable him to escape payment, and also in suits about a larger amount, the injured party may have recourse to the common court; in the former case, if successful, he may exact a double penalty.

The wardens and guards, while on their two years’ service, shall live and eat together, and the guard who is absent from the daily meals without permission or sleeps out at night, shall be regarded as a deserter, and may be punished by any one who meets him. If any of the commanders is guilty of such an irregularity, the whole sixty shall have him punished; and he of them who screens him shall suffer a still heavier penalty than the offender himself. Now by service a man learns to rule; and he should pride himself upon serving well the laws and the Gods all his life, and upon having served ancient and honourable men in his youth. The twelve and the five should be their own servants, and use the labour of the villagers only for the good of the public. Let them search the country through, and acquire a perfect knowledge of every locality; with this view, hunting and field sports should be encouraged.

Next we have to speak of the elections of the wardens of the agora and of the city. The wardens of the city shall be three in number, and they shall have the care of the streets, roads, buildings, and also of the water-supply. They shall be chosen out of the highest class, and when the number of candidates has been reduced to six who have the greatest number of votes, three out of the six shall be taken by lot, and, after a scrutiny, shall be admitted to their office. The wardens of the agora shall be five in number — ten are to be first elected, and every one shall vote for all the vacant places; the ten shall be afterwards reduced to five by lot, as in the former election. The first and second class shall be compelled to go to the assembly, but not the third and fourth, unless they are specially summoned. The wardens of the agora shall have the care of the temples and fountains which are in the agora, and shall punish those who injure them by stripes and bonds, if they be slaves or strangers; and by fines, if they be citizens. And the wardens of the city shall have a similar power of inflicting punishment and fines in their own department.

In the next place, there must be directors of music and gymnastic; one class of them superintending gymnasia and schools, and the attendance and lodging of the boys and girls — the other having to do with contests of music and gymnastic. In musical contests there shall be one kind of judges of solo singing or playing, who will judge of rhapsodists, flute-players, harp-players and the like, and another of choruses. There shall be choruses of men and boys and maidens — one director will be enough to introduce them all, and he should not be less than forty years of age; secondly, of solos also there shall be one director, aged not less than thirty years; he will introduce the competitors and give judgment upon them. The director of the choruses is to be elected in an assembly at which all who take an interest in music are compelled to attend, and no one else. Candidates must only be proposed for their fitness, and opposed on the ground of unfitness. Ten are to be elected by vote, and the one of these on whom the lot falls shall be director for a year. Next shall be elected out of the second and third classes the judges of gymnastic contests, who are to be three in number, and are to be tested, after being chosen by lot out of twenty who have been elected by the three highest classes — these being compelled to attend at the election.

One minister remains, who will have the general superintendence of education. He must be not less than fifty years old, and be himself the father of children born in wedlock. His office must be regarded by all as the highest in the state. For the right growth of the first shoot in plants and animals is the chief cause of matured perfection. Man is supposed to be a tame animal, but he becomes either the gentlest or the fiercest of creatures, accordingly as he is well or ill educated. Wherefore he who is elected to preside over education should be the best man possible. He shall hold office for five years, and shall be elected out of the guardians of the law, by the votes of the other magistrates with the exception of the senate and prytanes; and the election shall be held by ballot in the temple of Apollo.

When a magistrate dies before his term of office has expired, another shall be elected in his place; and, if the guardian of an orphan dies, the relations shall appoint another within ten days, or be fined a drachma a day for neglect.

The city which has no courts of law will soon cease to be a city; and a judge who sits in silence and leaves the enquiry to the litigants, as in arbitrations, is not a good judge. A few judges are better than many, but the few must be good. The matter in dispute should be clearly elicited; time and examination will find out the truth. Causes should first be tried before a court of neighbours: if the decision is unsatisfactory, let them be referred to a higher court; or, if necessary, to a higher still, of which the decision shall be final.

Every magistrate is a judge, and every judge is a magistrate, on the day on which he is deciding the suit. This will therefore be an appropriate place to speak of judges and their functions. The supreme tribunal will be that on which the litigants agree; and let there be two other tribunals, one for public and the other for private causes. The high court of appeal shall be composed as follows: — All the officers of state shall meet on the last day but one of the year in some temple, and choose for a judge the best man out of every magistracy: and those who are elected, after they have undergone a scrutiny, shall be judges of appeal. They shall give their decisions openly, in the presence of the magistrates who have elected them; and the public may attend. If anybody charges one of them with having intentionally decided wrong, he shall lay his accusation before the guardians of the law, and if the judge be found guilty he shall pay damages to the extent of half the injury, unless the guardians of the law deem that he deserves a severer punishment, in which case the judges shall assess the penalty.

As the whole people are injured by offences against the state, they should share in the trial of them. Such causes should originate with the people and be decided by them: the enquiry shall take place before any three of the highest magistrates upon whom the defendant and plaintiff can agree. Also in private suits all should judge as far as possible, and therefore there should be a court of law in every ward; for he who has no share in the administration of justice, believes that he has no share in the state. The judges in these courts shall be elected by lot and give their decision at once. The final judgment in all cases shall rest with the court of appeal. And so, having done with the appointment of courts and the election of officers, we will now make our laws.

‘Your way of proceeding, Stranger, is admirable.’

Then so far our old man’s game of play has gone off well.

‘Say, rather, our serious and noble pursuit.’

Perhaps; but let me ask you whether you have ever observed the manner in which painters put in and rub out colour: yet their endless labour will last but a short time, unless they leave behind them some successor who will restore the picture and remove its defects. ‘Certainly.’ And have we not a similar object at the present moment? We are old ourselves, and therefore we must leave our work of legislation to be improved and perfected by the next generation; not only making laws for our guardians, but making them lawgivers. ‘We must at least do our best.’ Let us address them as follows. Beloved saviours of the laws, we give you an outline of legislation which you must fill up, according to a rule which we will prescribe for you. Megillus and Cleinias and I are agreed, and we hope that you will agree with us in thinking, that the whole energies of a man should be devoted to the attainment of manly virtue, whether this is to be gained by study, or habit, or desire, or opinion. And rather than accept institutions which tend to degrade and enslave him, he should fly his country and endure any hardship. These are our principles, and we would ask you to judge of our laws, and praise or blame them, accordingly as they are or are not capable of improving our citizens.

And first of laws concerning religion. We have already said that the number 5040 has many convenient divisions: and we took a twelfth part of this (420), which is itself divisible by twelve, for the number of the tribe. Every divisor is a gift of God, and corresponds to the months of the year and to the revolution of the universe. All cities have a number, but none is more fortunate than our own, which can be divided by all numbers up to 12, with the exception of 11, and even by 11, if two families are deducted. And now let us divide the state, assigning to each division some God or demigod, who shall have altars raised to them, and sacrifices offered twice a month; and assemblies shall be held in their honour, twelve for the tribes, and twelve for the city, corresponding to their divisions. The object of them will be first to promote religion, secondly to encourage friendship and intercourse between families; for families must be acquainted before they marry into one another, or great mistakes will occur. At these festivals there shall be innocent dances of young men and maidens, who may have the opportunity of seeing one another in modest undress. To the details of all this the masters of choruses and the guardians will attend, embodying in laws the results of their experience; and, after ten years, making the laws permanent, with the consent of the legislator, if he be alive, or, if he be not alive, of the guardians of the law, who shall perfect them and settle them once for all. At least, if any further changes are required, the magistrates must take the whole people into counsel, and obtain the sanction of all the oracles.

Whenever any one who is between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five wants to marry, let him do so; but first let him hear the strain which we will address to him: —

My son, you ought to marry, but not in order to gain wealth or to avoid poverty; neither should you, as men are wont to do, choose a wife who is like yourself in property and character. You ought to consult the interests of the state rather than your own pleasure; for by equal marriages a society becomes unequal. And yet to enact a law that the rich and mighty shall not marry the rich and mighty, that the quick shall be united to the slow, and the slow to the quick, will arouse anger in some persons and laughter in others; for they do not understand that opposite elements ought to be mingled in the state, as wine should be mingled with water. The object at which we aim must therefore be left to the influence of public opinion. And do not forget our former precept, that every one should seek to attain immortality and raise up a fair posterity to serve God. — Let this be the prelude of the law about the duty of marriage. But if a man will not listen, and at thirty-five years of age is still unmarried, he shall pay an annual fine: if he be of the first class, 100 drachmas; if of the second, 70; if of the third, 60; and if of the fourth, 30. This fine shall be sacred to Here; and if he refuse to pay, a tenfold penalty shall be exacted by the treasurer of Here, who shall be responsible for the payment. Further, the unmarried man shall receive no honour or obedience from the young, and he shall not retain the right of punishing others. A man is neither to give nor receive a dowry beyond a certain fixed sum; in our state, for his consolation, if he be poor, let him know that he need neither receive nor give one, for every citizen is provided with the necessaries of life. Again, if the woman is not rich, her husband will not be her humble servant. He who disobeys this law shall pay a fine according to his class, which shall be exacted by the treasurers of Here and Zeus.

The betrothal of the parties shall be made by the next of kin, or if there are none, by the guardians. The offerings and ceremonies of marriage shall be determined by the interpreters of sacred rites. Let the wedding party be moderate; five male and five female friends, and a like number of kinsmen, will be enough. The expense should not exceed, for the first class, a mina; and for the second, half a mina; and should be in like proportion for the other classes. Extravagance is to be regarded as vulgarity and ignorance of nuptial proprieties. Much wine is only to be drunk at the festivals of Dionysus, and certainly not on the occasion of a marriage. The bride and bridegroom, who are taking a great step in life, ought to have all their wits about them; they should be especially careful of the night on which God may give them increase, and which this will be none can say. Their bodies and souls should be in the most temperate condition; they should abstain from all that partakes of the nature of disease or vice, which will otherwise become hereditary. There is an original divinity in man which preserves all things, if used with proper respect. He who marries should make one of the two houses on the lot the nest and nursery of his young; he should leave his father and mother, and then his affection for them will be only increased by absence. He will go forth as to a colony, and will there rear up his offspring, handing on the torch of life to another generation.

About property in general there is little difficulty, with the exception of property in slaves, which is an institution of a very doubtful character. The slavery of the Helots is approved by some and condemned by others; and there is some doubt even about the slavery of the Mariandynians at Heraclea and of the Thessalian Penestae. This makes us ask, What shall we do about slaves? To which every one would agree in replying, — Let us have the best and most attached whom we can get. All of us have heard stories of slaves who have been better to their masters than sons or brethren. Yet there is an opposite doctrine, that slaves are never to be trusted; as Homer says, ‘Slavery takes away half a man’s understanding.’ And different persons treat them in different ways: there are some who never trust them, and beat them like dogs, until they make them many times more slavish than they were before; and others pursue the opposite plan. Man is a troublesome animal, as has been often shown, Megillus, notably in the revolts of the Messenians; and great mischiefs have arisen in countries where there are large bodies of slaves of one nationality. Two rules may be given for their management: first that they should not, if possible, be of the same country or have a common language; and secondly, that they should be treated by their master with more justice even than equals, out of regard to himself quite as much as to them. For he who is righteous in the treatment of his slaves, or of any inferiors, will sow in them the seed of virtue. Masters should never jest with their slaves: this, which is a common but foolish practice, increases the difficulty and painfulness of managing them.

Next as to habitations. These ought to have been spoken of before; for no man can marry a wife, and have slaves, who has not a house for them to live in. Let us supply the omission. The temples should be placed round the Agora, and the city built in a circle on the heights. Near the temples, which are holy places and the habitations of the Gods, should be buildings for the magistrates, and the courts of law, including those in which capital offences are to be tried. As to walls, Megillus, I agree with Sparta that they should sleep in the earth; ‘cold steel is the best wall,’ as the poet finely says. Besides, how absurd to be sending out our youth to fortify and guard the borders of our country, and then to build a city wall, which is very unhealthy, and is apt to make people fancy that they may run there and rest in idleness, not knowing that true repose comes from labour, and that idleness is only a renewal of trouble. If, however, there must be a wall, the private houses had better be so arranged as to form one wall; this will have an agreeable aspect, and the building will be safer and more defensible. These objects should be attended to at the foundation of the city. The wardens of the city must see that they are carried out; and they must also enforce cleanliness, and preserve the public buildings from encroachments. Moreover, they must take care to let the rain flow off easily, and must regulate other matters concerning the general administration of the city. If any further enactments prove to be necessary, the guardians of the law must supply them.

And now, having provided buildings, and having married our citizens, we will proceed to speak of their mode of life. In a well-constituted state, individuals cannot be allowed to live as they please. Why do I say this? Because I am going to enact that the bridegroom shall not absent himself from the common meals. They were instituted originally on the occasion of some war, and, though deemed singular when first founded, they have tended greatly to the security of states. There was a difficulty in introducing them, but there is no difficulty in them now. There is, however, another institution about which I would speak, if I dared. I may preface my proposal by remarking that disorder in a state is the source of all evil, and order of all good. Now in Sparta and Crete there are common meals for men, and this, as I was saying, is a divine and natural institution. But the women are left to themselves; they live in dark places, and, being weaker, and therefore wickeder, than men, they are at the bottom of a good deal more than half the evil of states. This must be corrected, and the institution of common meals extended to both sexes. But, in the present unfortunate state of opinion, who would dare to establish them? And still more, who can compel women to eat and drink in public? They will defy the legislator to drag them out of their holes. And in any other state such a proposal would be drowned in clamour, but in our own I think that I can show the attempt to be just and reasonable. ‘There is nothing which we should like to hear better.’ Listen, then; having plenty of time, we will go back to the beginning of things, which is an old subject with us. ‘Right.’ Either the race of mankind never had a beginning and will never have an end, or the time which has elapsed since man first came into being is all but infinite. ‘No doubt.’ And in this infinity of time there have been changes of every kind, both in the order of the seasons and in the government of states and in the customs of eating and drinking. Vines and olives were at length discovered, and the blessings of Demeter and Persephone, of which one Triptolemus is said to have been the minister; before his time the animals had been eating one another. And there are nations in which mankind still sacrifice their fellow-men, and other nations in which they lead a kind of Orphic existence, and will not sacrifice animals, or so much as taste of a cow — they offer fruits or cakes moistened with honey. Perhaps you will ask me what is the bearing of these remarks? ‘We would gladly hear.’ I will endeavour to explain their drift. I see that the virtue of human life depends on the due regulation of three wants or desires. The first is the desire of meat, the second of drink; these begin with birth, and make us disobedient to any voice other than that of pleasure. The third and fiercest and greatest need is felt latest; this is love, which is a madness setting men’s whole nature on fire. These three disorders of mankind we must endeavour to restrain by three mighty influences — fear, and law, and reason, which, with the aid of the Muses and the Gods of contests, may extinguish our lusts.

But to return. After marriage let us proceed to the generation of children, and then to their nurture and education — thus gradually approaching the subject of syssitia. There are, however, some other points which are suggested by the three words — meat, drink, love. ‘Proceed,’ the bride and bridegroom ought to set their mind on having a brave offspring. Now a man only succeeds when he takes pains; wherefore the bridegroom ought to take special care of the bride, and the bride of the bridegroom, at the time when their children are about to be born. And let there be a committee of matrons who shall meet every day at the temple of Eilithyia at a time fixed by the magistrates, and inform against any man or woman who does not observe the laws of married life. The time of begetting children and the supervision of the parents shall last for ten years only; if at the expiration of this period they have no children, they may part, with the consent of their relatives and the official matrons, and with a due regard to the interests of either; if a dispute arise, ten of the guardians of the law shall be chosen as arbiters. The matrons shall also have power to enter the houses of the young people, if necessary, and to advise and threaten them. If their efforts fail, let them go to the guardians of the law; and if they too fail, the offender, whether man or woman, shall be forbidden to be present at all family ceremonies. If when the time for begetting children has ceased, either husband or wife have connexion with others who are of an age to beget children, they shall be liable to the same penalties as those who are still having a family. But when both parties have ceased to beget children there shall be no penalties. If men and women live soberly, the enactments of law may be left to slumber; punishment is necessary only when there is great disorder of manners.

The first year of children’s lives is to be registered in their ancestral temples; the name of the archon of the year is to be inscribed on a whited wall in every phratry, and the names of the living members of the phratry close to them, to be erased at their decease. The proper time of marriage for a woman shall be from sixteen years to twenty; for a man, from thirty to thirty-five (compare Republic). The age of holding office for a woman is to be forty, for a man thirty years. The time for military service for a man is to be from twenty years to sixty; for a woman, from the time that she has ceased to bear children until fifty.

BOOK VII. Now that we have married our citizens and brought their children into the world, we have to find nurture and education for them. This is a matter of precept rather than of law, and cannot be precisely regulated by the legislator. For minute regulations are apt to be transgressed, and frequent transgressions impair the habit of obedience to the laws. I speak darkly, but I will also try to exhibit my wares in the light of day. Am I not right in saying that a good education tends to the improvement of body and mind? ‘Certainly.’ And the body is fairest which grows up straight and well-formed from the time of birth. ‘Very true.’ And we observe that the first shoot of every living thing is the greatest; many even contend that man is not at twenty-five twice the height that he was at five. ‘True.’ And growth without exercise of the limbs is the source of endless evils in the body. ‘Yes.’ The body should have the most exercise when growing most. ‘What, the bodies of young infants?’ Nay, the bodies of unborn infants. I should like to explain to you this singular kind of gymnastics. The Athenians are fond of cock-fighting, and the people who keep cocks carry them about in their hands or under their arms, and take long walks, to improve, not their own health, but the health of the birds. Here is a proof of the usefulness of motion, whether of rocking, swinging, riding, or tossing upon the wave; for all these kinds of motion greatly increase strength and the powers of digestion. Hence we infer that our women, when they are with child, should walk about and fashion the embryo; and the children, when born, should be carried by strong nurses, — there must be more than one of them, — and should not be suffered to walk until they are three years old. Shall we impose penalties for the neglect of these rules? The greatest penalty, that is, ridicule, and the difficulty of making the nurses do as we bid them, will be incurred by ourselves. ‘Then why speak of such matters?’ In the hope that heads of families may learn that the due regulation of them is the foundation of law and order in the state.

And now, leaving the body, let us proceed to the soul; but we must first repeat that perpetual motion by night and by day is good for the young creature. This is proved by the Corybantian cure of motion, and by the practice of nurses who rock children in their arms, lapping them at the same time in sweet strains. And the reason of this is obvious. The affections, both of the Bacchantes and of the children, arise from fear, and this fear is occasioned by something wrong which is going on within them. Now a violent external commotion tends to calm the violent internal one; it quiets the palpitation of the heart, giving to the children sleep, and bringing back the Bacchantes to their right minds by the help of dances and acceptable sacrifices. But if fear has such power, will not a child who is always in a state of terror grow up timid and cowardly, whereas if he learns from the first to resist fear he will develop a habit of courage? ‘Very true.’ And we may say that the use of motion will inspire the souls of children with cheerfulness and therefore with courage. ‘Of course.’ Softness enervates and irritates the temper of the young, and violence renders them mean and misanthropical. ‘But how is the state to educate them when they are as yet unable to understand the meaning of words?’ Why, surely they roar and cry, like the young of any other animal, and the nurse knows the meaning of these intimations of the child’s likes or dislikes, and the occasions which call them forth. About three years is passed by children in a state of imperfect articulation, which is quite long enough time to make them either good- or ill-tempered. And, therefore, during these first three years, the infant should be as free as possible from fear and pain. ‘Yes, and he should have as much pleasure as possible.’ There, I think, you are wrong; for the influence of pleasure in the beginning of education is fatal. A man should neither pursue pleasure nor wholly avoid pain. He should embrace the mean, and cultivate that state of calm which mankind, taught by some inspiration, attribute to God; and he who would be like God should neither be too fond of pleasure himself, nor should he permit any other to be thus given; above all, not the infant, whose character is just in the making. It may sound ridiculous, but I affirm that a woman in her pregnancy should be carefully tended, and kept from excessive pleasures and pains.

‘I quite agree with you about the duty of avoiding extremes and following the mean.’

Let us consider a further point. The matters which are now in question are generally called customs rather than laws; and we have already made the reflection that, though they are not, properly speaking, laws, yet neither can they be neglected. For they fill up the interstices of law, and are the props and ligatures on which the strength of the whole building depends. Laws without customs never last; and we must not wonder if habit and custom sometimes lengthen out our laws. ‘Very true.’ Up to their third year, then, the life of children may be regulated by customs such as we have described. From three to six their minds have to be amused; but they must not be allowed to become self-willed and spoilt. If punishment is necessary, the same rule will hold as in the case of slaves; they must neither be punished in hot blood nor ruined by indulgence. The children of that age will have their own modes of amusing themselves; they should be brought for their play to the village temples, and placed under the care of nurses, who will be responsible to twelve matrons annually chosen by the women who have authority over marriage. These shall be appointed, one out of each tribe, and their duty shall be to keep order at the meetings: slaves who break the rules laid down by them, they shall punish by the help of some of the public slaves; but citizens who dispute their authority shall be brought before the magistrates. After six years of age there shall be a separation of the sexes; the boys will go to learn riding and the use of arms, and the girls may, if they please, also learn. Here I note a practical error in early training. Mothers and nurses foolishly believe that the left hand is by nature different from the right, whereas the left leg and foot are acknowledged to be the same as the right. But the truth is that nature made all things to balance, and the power of using the left hand, which is of little importance in the case of the plectrum of the lyre, may make a great difference in the art of the warrior, who should be a skilled gymnast and able to fight and balance himself in any position. If a man were a Briareus, he should use all his hundred hands at once; at any rate, let everybody employ the two which they have. To these matters the magistrates, male and female, should attend; the women superintending the nursing and amusement of the children, and the men superintending their education, that all of them, boys and girls alike, may be sound, wind and limb, and not spoil the gifts of nature by bad habits.

Education has two branches — gymnastic, which is concerned with the body; and music, which improves the soul. And gymnastic has two parts, dancing and wrestling. Of dancing one kind imitates musical recitation and aims at stateliness and freedom; another kind is concerned with the training of the body, and produces health, agility, and beauty. There is no military use in the complex systems of wrestling which pass under the names of Antaeus and Cercyon, or in the tricks of boxing, which are attributed to Amycus and Epeius; but good wrestling and the habit of extricating the neck, hands, and sides, should be diligently learnt and taught. In our dances imitations of war should be practised, as in the dances of the Curetes in Crete and of the Dioscuri at Sparta, or as in the dances in complete armour which were taught us Athenians by the goddess Athene. Youths who are not yet of an age to go to war should make religious processions armed and on horseback; and they should also engage in military games and contests. These exercises will be equally useful in peace and war, and will benefit both states and families.

Next follows music, to which we will once more return; and here I shall venture to repeat my old paradox, that amusements have great influence on laws. He who has been taught to play at the same games and with the same playthings will be content with the same laws. There is no greater evil in a state than the spirit of innovation. In the case of the seasons and winds, in the management of our bodies and in the habits of our minds, change is a dangerous thing. And in everything but what is bad the same rule holds. We all venerate and acquiesce in the laws to which we are accustomed; and if they have continued during long periods of time, and there is no remembrance of their ever having been otherwise, people are absolutely afraid to change them. Now how can we create this quality of immobility in the laws? I say, by not allowing innovations in the games and plays of children. The children who are always having new plays, when grown up will be always having new laws. Changes in mere fashions are not serious evils, but changes in our estimate of men’s characters are most serious; and rhythms and music are representations of characters, and therefore we must avoid novelties in dance and song. For securing permanence no better method can be imagined than that of the Egyptians. ‘What is their method?’ They make a calendar for the year, arranging on what days the festivals of the various Gods shall be celebrated, and for each festival they consecrate an appropriate hymn and dance. In our state a similar arrangement shall in the first instance be framed by certain individuals, and afterwards solemnly ratified by all the citizens. He who introduces other hymns or dances shall be excluded by the priests and priestesses and the guardians of the law; and if he refuses to submit, he may be prosecuted for impiety. But we must not be too ready to speak about such great matters. Even a young man, when he hears something unaccustomed, stands and looks this way and that, like a traveller at a place where three ways meet; and at our age a man ought to be very sure of his ground in so singular an argument. ‘Very true.’ Then, leaving the subject for further examination at some future time, let us proceed with our laws about education, for in this manner we may probably throw light upon our present difficulty. ‘Let us do as you say.’ The ancients used the term nomoi to signify harmonious strains, and perhaps they fancied that there was a connexion between the songs and laws of a country. And we say — Whosoever shall transgress the strains by law established is a transgressor of the laws, and shall be punished by the guardians of the law and by the priests and priestesses. ‘Very good.’ How can we legislate about these consecrated strains without incurring ridicule? Moulds or types must be first framed, and one of the types shall be — Abstinence from evil words at sacrifices. When a son or brother blasphemes at a sacrifice there is a sound of ill-omen heard in the family; and many a chorus stands by the altar uttering inauspicious words, and he is crowned victor who excites the hearers most with lamentations. Such lamentations should be reserved for evil days, and should be uttered only by hired mourners; and let the singers not wear circlets or ornaments of gold. To avoid every evil word, then, shall be our first type. ‘Agreed.’ Our second law or type shall be, that prayers ever accompany sacrifices; and our third, that, inasmuch as all prayers are requests, they shall be only for good; this the poets must be made to understand. ‘Certainly.’ Have we not already decided that no gold or silver Plutus shall be allowed in our city? And did not this show that we were dissatisfied with the poets? And may we not fear that, if they are allowed to utter injudicious prayers, they will bring the greatest misfortunes on the state? And we must therefore make a law that the poet is not to contradict the laws or ideas of the state; nor is he to show his poems to any private persons until they have first received the imprimatur of the director of education. A fourth musical law will be to the effect that hymns and praises shall be offered to Gods, and to heroes and demigods. Still another law will permit eulogies of eminent citizens, whether men or women, but only after their death. As to songs and dances, we will enact as follows: — There shall be a selection made of the best ancient musical compositions and dances; these shall be chosen by judges, who ought not to be less than fifty years of age. They will accept some, and reject or amend others, for which purpose they will call, if necessary, the poets themselves into council. The severe and orderly music is the style in which to educate children, who, if they are accustomed to this, will deem the opposite kind to be illiberal, but if they are accustomed to the other, will count this to be cold and unpleasing. ‘True.’ Further, a distinction should be made between the melodies of men and women. Nature herself teaches that the grand or manly style should be assigned to men, and to women the moderate and temperate. So much for the subjects of education. But to whom are they to be taught, and when? I must try, like the shipwright, who lays down the keel of a vessel, to build a secure foundation for the vessel of the soul in her voyage through life. Human affairs are hardly serious, and yet a sad necessity compels us to be serious about them. Let us, therefore, do our best to bring the matter to a conclusion. ‘Very good.’ I say then, that God is the object of a man’s most serious endeavours. But man is created to be the plaything of the Gods; and therefore the aim of every one should be to pass through life, not in grim earnest, but playing at the noblest of pastimes, in another spirit from that which now prevails. For the common opinion is, that work is for the sake of play, war of peace; whereas in war there is neither amusement nor instruction worth speaking of. The life of peace is that which men should chiefly desire to lengthen out and improve. They should live sacrificing, singing, and dancing, with the view of propitiating Gods and heroes. I have already told you the types of song and dance which they should follow: and ‘Some things,’ as the poet well says, ‘you will devise for yourself — others, God will suggest to you.’

These words of his may be applied to our pupils. They will partly teach themselves, and partly will be taught by God, the art of propitiating Him; for they are His puppets, and have only a small portion in truth. ‘You have a poor opinion of man.’ No wonder, when I compare him with God; but, if you are offended, I will place him a little higher.

Next follow the building for gymnasia and schools; these will be in the midst of the city, and outside will be riding-schools and archery-grounds. In all of them there ought to be instructors of the young, drawn from foreign parts by pay, and they will teach them music and war. Education shall be compulsory; the children must attend school, whether their parents like it or not; for they belong to the state more than to their parents. And I say further, without hesitation, that the same education in riding and gymnastic shall be given both to men and women. The ancient tradition about the Amazons confirms my view, and at the present day there are myriads of women, called Sauromatides, dwelling near the Pontus, who practise the art of riding as well as archery and the use of arms. But if I am right, nothing can be more foolish than our modern fashion of training men and women differently, whereby the power the city is reduced to a half. For reflect — if women are not to have the education of men, some other must be found for them, and what other can we propose? Shall they, like the women of Thrace, tend cattle and till the ground; or, like our own, spin and weave, and take care of the house? or shall they follow the Spartan custom, which is between the two? — there the maidens share in gymnastic exercises and in music; and the grown women, no longer engaged in spinning, weave the web of life, although they are not skilled in archery, like the Amazons, nor can they imitate our warrior goddess and carry shield or spear, even in the extremity of their country’s need. Compared with our women, the Sauromatides are like men. But your legislators, Megillus, as I maintain, only half did their work; they took care of the men, and left the women to take care of themselves.

‘Shall we suffer the Stranger, Cleinias, to run down Sparta in this way?’

‘Why, yes; for we cannot withdraw the liberty which we have already conceded to him.’

What will be the manner of life of men in moderate circumstances, freed from the toils of agriculture and business, and having common tables for themselves and their families which are under the inspection of magistrates, male and female? Are men who have these institutions only to eat and fatten like beasts? If they do, how can they escape the fate of a fatted beast, which is to be torn in pieces by some other beast more valiant than himself? True, theirs is not the perfect way of life, for they have not all things in common; but the second best way of life also confers great blessings. Even those who live in the second state have a work to do twice as great as the work of any Pythian or Olympic victor; for their labour is for the body only, but ours both for body and soul. And this higher work ought to be pursued night and day to the exclusion of every other. The magistrates who keep the city should be wakeful, and the master of the household should be up early and before all his servants; and the mistress, too, should awaken her handmaidens, and not be awakened by them. Much sleep is not required either for our souls or bodies. When a man is asleep, he is no better than if he were dead; and he who loves life and wisdom will take no more sleep than is necessary for health. Magistrates who are wide awake at night are terrible to the bad; but they are honoured by the good, and are useful to themselves and the state.

When the morning dawns, let the boy go to school. As the sheep need the shepherd, so the boy needs a master; for he is at once the most cunning and the most insubordinate of creatures. Let him be taken away from mothers and nurses, and tamed with bit and bridle, being treated as a freeman in that he learns and is taught, but as a slave in that he may be chastised by all other freemen; and the freeman who neglects to chastise him shall be disgraced. All these matters will be under the supervision of the Director of Education.

Him we will address as follows: We have spoken to you, O illustrious teacher of youth, of the song, the time, and the dance, and of martial strains; but of the learning of letters and of prose writings, and of music, and of the use of calculation for military and domestic purposes we have not spoken, nor yet of the higher use of numbers in reckoning divine things — such as the revolutions of the stars, or the arrangements of days, months, and years, of which the true calculation is necessary in order that seasons and festivals may proceed in regular course, and arouse and enliven the city, rendering to the Gods their due, and making men know them better. There are, we say, many things about which we have not as yet instructed you — and first, as to reading and music: Shall the pupil be a perfect scholar and musician, or not even enter on these studies? He should certainly enter on both: — to letters he will apply himself from the age of ten to thirteen, and at thirteen he will begin to handle the lyre, and continue to learn music until he is sixteen; no shorter and no longer time will be allowed, however fond he or his parents may be of the pursuit. The study of letters he should carry to the extent of simple reading and writing, but he need not care for calligraphy and tachygraphy, if his natural gifts do not enable him to acquire them in the three years. And here arises a question as to the learning of compositions when unaccompanied with music, I mean, prose compositions. They are a dangerous species of literature. Speak then, O guardians of the law, and tell us what we shall do about them. ‘You seem to be in a difficulty.’ Yes; it is difficult to go against the opinion of all the world. ‘But have we not often already done so?’ Very true. And you imply that the road which we are taking, though disagreeable to many, is approved by those whose judgment is most worth having. ‘Certainly.’ Then I would first observe that we have many poets, comic as well as tragic, with whose compositions, as people say, youth are to be imbued and saturated. Some would have them learn by heart entire poets; others prefer extracts. Now I believe, and the general opinion is, that some of the things which they learn are good, and some bad. ‘Then how shall we reject some and select others?’ A happy thought occurs to me; this long discourse of ours is a sample of what we want, and is moreover an inspired work and a kind of poem. I am naturally pleased in reflecting upon all our words, which appear to me to be just the thing for a young man to hear and learn. I would venture, then, to offer to the Director of Education this treatise of laws as a pattern for his guidance; and in case he should find any similar compositions, written or oral, I would have him carefully preserve them, and commit them in the first place to the teachers who are willing to learn them (he should turn off the teacher who refuses), and let them communicate the lesson to the young.

I have said enough to the teacher of letters; and now we will proceed to the teacher of the lyre. He must be reminded of the advice which we gave to the sexagenarian minstrels; like them he should be quick to perceive the rhythms suited to the expression of virtue, and to reject the opposite. With a view to the attainment of this object, the pupil and his instructor are to use the lyre because its notes are pure; the voice and string should coincide note for note: nor should there be complex harmonies and contrasts of intervals, or variations of times or rhythms. Three years’ study is not long enough to give a knowledge of these intricacies; and our pupils will have many things of more importance to learn. The tunes and hymns which are to be consecrated for each festival have been already determined by us.

Having given these instructions to the Director of Music, let us now proceed to dancing and gymnastic, which must also be taught to boys and girls by masters and mistresses. Our minister of education will have a great deal to do; and being an old man, how will he get through so much work? There is no difficulty; — the law will provide him with assistants, male and female; and he will consider how important his office is, and how great the responsibility of choosing them. For if education prospers, the vessel of state sails merrily along; or if education fails, the consequences are not even to be mentioned. Of dancing and gymnastics something has been said already. We include under the latter military exercises, the various uses of arms, all that relates to horsemanship, and military evolutions and tactics. There should be public teachers of both arts, paid by the state, and women as well as men should be trained in them. The maidens should learn the armed dance, and the grown-up women be practised in drill and the use of arms, if only in case of extremity, when the men are gone out to battle, and they are left to guard their families. Birds and beasts defend their young, but women instead of fighting run to the altars, thus degrading man below the level of the animals. ‘Such a lack of education, Stranger, is both unseemly and dangerous.’

Wrestling is to be pursued as a military exercise, but the meaning of this, and the nature of the art, can only be explained when action is combined with words. Next follows dancing, which is of two kinds; imitative, first, of the serious and beautiful; and, secondly, of the ludicrous and grotesque. The first kind may be further divided into the dance of war and the dance of peace. The former is called the Pyrrhic; in this the movements of attack and defence are imitated in a direct and manly style, which indicates strength and sufficiency of body and mind. The latter of the two, the dance of peace, is suitable to orderly and law-abiding men. These must be distinguished from the Bacchic dances which imitate drunken revelry, and also from the dances by which purifications are effected and mysteries celebrated. Such dances cannot be characterized either as warlike or peaceful, and are unsuited to a civilized state. Now the dances of peace are of two classes: — the first of them is the more violent, being an expression of joy and triumph after toil and danger; the other is more tranquil, symbolizing the continuance and preservation of good. In speaking or singing we naturally move our bodies, and as we have more or less courage or self-control we become less or more violent and excited. Thus from the imitation of words in gestures the art of dancing arises. Now one man imitates in an orderly, another in a disorderly manner: and so the peaceful kinds of dance have been appropriately called Emmeleiai, or dances of order, as the warlike have been called Pyrrhic. In the latter a man imitates all sorts of blows and the hurling of weapons and the avoiding of them; in the former he learns to bear himself gracefully and like a gentleman. The types of these dances are to be fixed by the legislator, and when the guardians of the law have assigned them to the several festivals, and consecrated them in due order, no further change shall be allowed.

Thus much of the dances which are appropriate to fair forms and noble souls. Comedy, which is the opposite of them, remains to be considered. For the serious implies the ludicrous, and opposites cannot be understood without opposites. But a man of repute will desire to avoid doing what is ludicrous. He should leave such performances to slaves, — they are not fit for freemen; and there should be some element of novelty in them. Concerning tragedy, let our law be as follows: When the inspired poet comes to us with a request to be admitted into our state, we will reply in courteous words — We also are tragedians and your rivals; and the drama which we enact is the best and noblest, being the imitation of the truest and noblest life, with a view to which our state is ordered. And we cannot allow you to pitch your stage in the agora, and make your voices to be heard above ours, or suffer you to address our women and children and the common people on opposite principles to our own. Come then, ye children of the Lydian Muse, and present yourselves first to the magistrates, and if they decide that your hymns are as good or better than ours, you shall have your chorus; but if not, not.

There remain three kinds of knowledge which should be learnt by freemen — arithmetic, geometry of surfaces and of solids, and thirdly, astronomy. Few need make an accurate study of such sciences; and of special students we will speak at another time. But most persons must be content with the study of them which is absolutely necessary, and may be said to be a necessity of that nature against which God himself is unable to contend. ‘What are these divine necessities of knowledge?’ Necessities of a knowledge without which neither gods, nor demigods, can govern mankind. And far is he from being a divine man who cannot distinguish one, two, odd and even; who cannot number day and night, and is ignorant of the revolutions of the sun and stars; for to every higher knowledge a knowledge of number is necessary — a fool may see this; how much, is a matter requiring more careful consideration. ‘Very true.’ But the legislator cannot enter into such details, and therefore we must defer the more careful consideration of these matters to another occasion. ‘You seem to fear our habitual want of training in these subjects.’ Still more do I fear the danger of bad training, which is often worse than none at all. ‘Very true.’ I think that a gentleman and a freeman may be expected to know as much as an Egyptian child. In Egypt, arithmetic is taught to children in their sports by a distribution of apples or garlands among a greater or less number of people; or a calculation is made of the various combinations which are possible among a set of boxers or wrestlers; or they distribute cups among the children, sometimes of gold, brass, and silver intermingled, sometimes of one metal only. The knowledge of arithmetic which is thus acquired is a great help, either to the general or to the manager of a household; wherever measure is employed, men are more wide-awake in their dealings, and they get rid of their ridiculous ignorance. ‘What do you mean?’ I have observed this ignorance among my countrymen — they are like pigs — and I am heartily ashamed both on my own behalf and on that of all the Hellenes. ‘In what respect?’ Let me ask you a question. You know that there are such things as length, breadth, and depth? ‘Yes.’ And the Hellenes imagine that they are commensurable (1) with themselves, and (2) with each other; whereas they are only commensurable with themselves. But if this is true, then we are in an unfortunate case, and may well say to our compatriots that not to possess necessary knowledge is a disgrace, though to possess such knowledge is nothing very grand. ‘Certainly.’ The discussion of arithmetical problems is a much better amusement for old men than their favourite game of draughts. ‘True.’ Mathematics, then, will be one of the subjects in which youth should be trained. They may be regarded as an amusement, as well as a useful and innocent branch of knowledge; — I think that we may include them provisionally. ‘Yes; that will be the way.’ The next question is, whether astronomy shall be made a part of education. About the stars there is a strange notion prevalent. Men often suppose that it is impious to enquire into the nature of God and the world, whereas the very reverse is the truth. ‘How do you mean?’ What I am going to say may seem absurd and at variance with the usual language of age, and yet if true and advantageous to the state, and pleasing to God, ought not to be withheld. ‘Let us hear.’ My dear friend, how falsely do we and all the Hellenes speak about the sun and moon! ‘In what respect?’ We are always saying that they and certain of the other stars do not keep the same path, and we term them planets. ‘Yes; and I have seen the morning and evening stars go all manner of ways, and the sun and moon doing what we know that they always do. But I wish that you would explain your meaning further.’ You will easily understand what I have had no difficulty in understanding myself, though we are both of us past the time of learning. ‘True; but what is this marvellous knowledge which youth are to acquire, and of which we are ignorant?’ Men say that the sun, moon, and stars are planets or wanderers; but this is the reverse of the fact. Each of them moves in one orbit only, which is circular, and not in many; nor is the swiftest of them the slowest, as appears to human eyes. What an insult should we offer to Olympian runners if we were to put the first last and the last first! And if that is a ridiculous error in speaking of men, how much more in speaking of the Gods? They cannot be pleased at our telling falsehoods about them. ‘They cannot.’ Then people should at least learn so much about them as will enable them to avoid impiety.

Enough of education. Hunting and similar pursuits now claim our attention. These require for their regulation that mixture of law and admonition of which we have often spoken; e.g., in what we were saying about the nurture of young children. And therefore the whole duty of the citizen will not consist in mere obedience to the laws; he must regard not only the enactments but also the precepts of the legislator. I will illustrate my meaning by an example. Of hunting there are many kinds — hunting of fish and fowl, man and beast, enemies and friends; and the legislator can neither omit to speak about these things, nor make penal ordinances about them all. ‘What is he to do then?’ He will praise and blame hunting, having in view the discipline and exercise of youth. And the young man will listen obediently and will regard his praises and censures; neither pleasure nor pain should hinder him. The legislator will express himself in the form of a pious wish for the welfare of the young: — O my friends, he will say, may you never be induced to hunt for fish in the waters, either by day or night; or for men, whether by sea or land. Never let the wish to steal enter into your minds; neither be ye fowlers, which is not an occupation for gentlemen. As to land animals, the legislator will discourage hunting by night, and also the use of nets and snares by day; for these are indolent and unmanly methods. The only mode of hunting which he can praise is with horses and dogs, running, shooting, striking at close quarters. Enough of the prelude: the law shall be as follows: —

Let no one hinder the holy order of huntsmen; but let the nightly hunters who lay snares and nets be everywhere prohibited. Let the fowler confine himself to waste places and to the mountains. The fisherman is also permitted to exercise his calling, except in harbours and sacred streams, marshes and lakes; in all other places he may fish, provided he does not make use of poisonous mixtures.

BOOK VIII. Next, with the help of the Delphian Oracle, we will appoint festivals and sacrifices. There shall be 365 of them, one for every day in the year; and one magistrate, at least, shall offer sacrifice daily according to rites prescribed by a convocation of priests and interpreters, who shall co-operate with the guardians of the law, and supply what the legislator has omitted. Moreover there shall be twelve festivals to the twelve Gods after whom the twelve tribes are named: these shall be celebrated every month with appropriate musical and gymnastic contests. There shall also be festivals for women, to be distinguished from the men’s festivals. Nor shall the Gods below be forgotten, but they must be separated from the Gods above — Pluto shall have his own in the twelfth month. He is not the enemy, but the friend of man, who releases the soul from the body, which is at least as good a work as to unite them. Further, those who have to regulate these matters should consider that our state has leisure and abundance, and wishing to be happy, like an individual, should lead a good life; for he who leads such a life neither does nor suffers injury, of which the first is very easy, and the second very difficult of attainment, and is only to be acquired by perfect virtue. A good city has peace, but the evil city is full of wars within and without. To guard against the danger of external enemies the citizens should practise war at least one day in every month; they should go out en masse, including their wives and children, or in divisions, as the magistrates determine, and have mimic contests, imitating in a lively manner real battles; they should also have prizes and encomiums of valour, both for the victors in these contests, and for the victors in the battle of life. The poet who celebrates the victors should be fifty years old at least, and himself a man who has done great deeds. Of such an one the poems may be sung, even though he is not the best of poets. To the director of education and the guardians of the law shall be committed the judgment, and no song, however sweet, which has not been licensed by them shall be recited. These regulations about poetry, and about military expeditions, apply equally to men and to women.

The legislator may be conceived to make the following address to himself: — With what object am I training my citizens? Are they not strivers for mastery in the greatest of combats? Certainly, will be the reply. And if they were boxers or wrestlers, would they think of entering the lists without many days’ practice? Would they not as far as possible imitate all the circumstances of the contest; and if they had no one to box with, would they not practise on a lifeless image, heedless of the laughter of the spectators? And shall our soldiers go out to fight for life and kindred and property unprepared, because sham fights are thought to be ridiculous? Will not the legislator require that his citizens shall practise war daily, performing lesser exercises without arms, while the combatants on a greater scale will carry arms, and take up positions, and lie in ambuscade? And let their combats be not without danger, that opportunity may be given for distinction, and the brave man and the coward may receive their meed of honour or disgrace. If occasionally a man is killed, there is no great harm done — there are others as good as he is who will replace him; and the state can better afford to lose a few of her citizens than to lose the only means of testing them.

‘We agree, Stranger, that such warlike exercises are necessary.’ But why are they so rarely practised? Or rather, do we not all know the reasons? One of them (1) is the inordinate love of wealth. This absorbs the soul of a man, and leaves him no time for any other pursuit. Knowledge is valued by him only as it tends to the attainment of wealth. All is lost in the desire of heaping up gold and silver; anybody is ready to do anything, right or wrong, for the sake of eating and drinking, and the indulgence of his animal passions. ‘Most true.’ This is one of the causes which prevents a man being a good soldier, or anything else which is good; it converts the temperate and orderly into shopkeepers or servants, and the brave into burglars or pirates. Many of these latter are men of ability, and are greatly to be pitied, because their souls are hungering and thirsting all their lives long. The bad forms of government (2) are another reason — democracy, oligarchy, tyranny, which, as I was saying, are not states, but states of discord, in which the rulers are afraid of their subjects, and therefore do not like them to become rich, or noble, or valiant. Now our state will escape both these causes of evil; the society is perfectly free, and has plenty of leisure, and is not allowed by the laws to be absorbed in the pursuit of wealth; hence we have an excellent field for a perfect education, and for the introduction of martial pastimes. Let us proceed to describe the character of these pastimes. All gymnastic exercises in our state must have a military character; no other will be allowed. Activity and quickness are most useful in war; and yet these qualities do not attain their greatest efficiency unless the competitors are armed. The runner should enter the lists in armour, and in the races which our heralds proclaim, no prize is to be given except to armed warriors. Let there be six courses — first, the stadium; secondly, the diaulos or double course; thirdly, the horse course; fourthly, the long course; fifthly, races (1) between heavy-armed soldiers who shall pass over sixty stadia and finish at a temple of Ares, and (2) between still more heavily-armed competitors who run over smoother ground; sixthly, a race for archers, who shall run over hill and dale a distance of a hundred stadia, and their goal shall be a temple of Apollo and Artemis. There shall be three contests of each kind — one for boys, another for youths, a third for men; the course for the boys we will fix at half, and that for the youths at two-thirds of the entire length. Women shall join in the races: young girls who are not grown up shall run naked; but after thirteen they shall be suitably dressed; from thirteen to eighteen they shall be obliged to share in these contests, and from eighteen to twenty they may if they please and if they are unmarried. As to trials of strength, single combats in armour, or battles between two and two, or of any number up to ten, shall take the place of wrestling and the heavy exercises. And there must be umpires, as there are now in wrestling, to determine what is a fair hit and who is conqueror. Instead of the pancratium, let there be contests in which the combatants carry bows and wear light shields and hurl javelins and throw stones. The next provision of the law will relate to horses, which, as we are in Crete, need be rarely used by us, and chariots never; our horse-racing prizes will only be given to single horses, whether colts, half-grown, or full-grown. Their riders are to wear armour, and there shall be a competition between mounted archers. Women, if they have a mind, may join in the exercises of men.

But enough of gymnastics, and nearly enough of music. All musical contests will take place at festivals, whether every third or every fifth year, which are to be fixed by the guardians of the law, the judges of the games, and the director of education, who for this purpose shall become legislators and arrange times and conditions. The principles on which such contests are to be ordered have been often repeated by the first legislator; no more need be said of them, nor are the details of them important. But there is another subject of the highest importance, which, if possible, should be determined by the laws, not of man, but of God; or, if a direct revelation is impossible, there is need of some bold man who, alone against the world, will speak plainly of the corruption of human nature, and go to war with the passions of mankind. ‘We do not understand you.’ I will try to make my meaning plainer. In speaking of education, I seemed to see young men and maidens in friendly intercourse with one another; and there arose in my mind a natural fear about a state, in which the young of either sex are well nurtured, and have little to do, and occupy themselves chiefly with festivals and dances. How can they be saved from those passions which reason forbids them to indulge, and which are the ruin of so many? The prohibition of wealth, and the influence of education, and the all-seeing eye of the ruler, will alike help to promote temperance; but they will not wholly extirpate the unnatural loves which have been the destruction of states; and against this evil what remedy can be devised? Lacedaemon and Crete give no assistance here; on the subject of love, as I may whisper in your ear, they are against us. Suppose a person were to urge that you ought to restore the natural use which existed before the days of Laius; he would be quite right, but he would not be supported by public opinion in either of your states. Or try the matter by the test which we apply to all laws, — who will say that the permission of such things tends to virtue? Will he who is seduced learn the habit of courage; or will the seducer acquire temperance? And will any legislator be found to make such actions legal?

But to judge of this matter truly, we must understand the nature of love and friendship, which may take very different forms. For we speak of friendship, first, when there is some similarity or equality of virtue; secondly, when there is some want; and either of these, when in excess, is termed love. The first kind is gentle and sociable; the second is fierce and unmanageable; and there is also a third kind, which is akin to both, and is under the dominion of opposite principles. The one is of the body, and has no regard for the character of the beloved; but he who is under the influence of the other disregards the body, and is a looker rather than a lover, and desires only with his soul to be knit to the soul of his friend; while the intermediate sort is both of the body and of the soul. Here are three kinds of love: ought the legislator to prohibit all of them equally, or to allow the virtuous love to remain? ‘The latter, clearly.’ I expected to gain your approval; but I will reserve the task of convincing our friend Cleinias for another occasion. ‘Very good.’ To make right laws on this subject is in one point of view easy, and in another most difficult; for we know that in some cases most men abstain willingly from intercourse with the fair. The unwritten law which prohibits members of the same family from such intercourse is strictly obeyed, and no thought of anything else ever enters into the minds of men in general. A little word puts out the fire of their lusts. ‘What is it?’ The declaration that such things are hateful to the Gods, and most abominable and unholy. The reason is that everywhere, in jest and earnest alike, this is the doctrine which is repeated to all from their earliest youth. They see on the stage that an Oedipus or a Thyestes or a Macareus, when undeceived, are ready to kill themselves. There is an undoubted power in public opinion when no breath is heard adverse to the law; and the legislator who would enslave these enslaving passions must consecrate such a public opinion all through the city. ‘Good: but how can you create it?’ A fair objection; but I promised to try and find some means of restraining loves to their natural objects. A law which would extirpate unnatural love as effectually as incest is at present extirpated, would be the source of innumerable blessings, because it would be in accordance with nature, and would get rid of excess in eating and drinking and of adulteries and frenzies, making men love their wives, and having other excellent effects. I can imagine that some lusty youth overhears what we are saying, and roars out in abusive terms that we are legislating for impossibilities. And so a person might have said of the syssitia, or common meals; but this is refuted by facts, although even now they are not extended to women. ‘True.’ There is no impossibility or super-humanity in my proposed law, as I shall endeavour to prove. ‘Do so.’ Will not a man find abstinence more easy when his body is sound than when he is in ill-condition? ‘Yes.’ Have we not heard of Iccus of Tarentum and other wrestlers who abstained wholly for a time? Yet they were infinitely worse educated than our citizens, and far more lusty in their bodies. And shall they have abstained for the sake of an athletic contest, and our citizens be incapable of a similar endurance for the sake of a much nobler victory, — the victory over pleasure, which is true happiness? Will not the fear of impiety enable them to conquer that which many who were inferior to them have conquered? ‘I dare say.’ And therefore the law must plainly declare that our citizens should not fall below the other animals, who live all together in flocks, and yet remain pure and chaste until the time of procreation comes, when they pair, and are ever after faithful to their compact. But if the corruption of public opinion is too great to allow our first law to be carried out, then our guardians of the law must turn legislators, and try their hand at a second law. They must minimize the appetites, diverting the vigour of youth into other channels, allowing the practice of love in secret, but making detection shameful. Three higher principles may be brought to bear on all these corrupt natures. ‘What are they?’ Religion, honour, and the love of the higher qualities of the soul. Perhaps this is a dream only, yet it is the best of dreams; and if not the whole, still, by the grace of God, a part of what we desire may be realized. Either men may learn to abstain wholly from any loves, natural or unnatural, except of their wedded wives; or, at least, they may give up unnatural loves; or, if detected, they shall be punished with loss of citizenship, as aliens from the state in their morals. ‘I entirely agree with you,’ said Megillus, ‘but Cleinias must speak for himself.’ ‘I will give my opinion by-and-by.’

We were speaking of the syssitia, which will be a natural institution in a Cretan colony. Whether they shall be established after the model of Crete or Lacedaemon, or shall be different from either, is an unimportant question which may be determined without difficulty. We may, therefore, proceed to speak of the mode of life among our citizens, which will be far less complex than in other cities; a state which is inland and not maritime requires only half the number of laws. There is no trouble about trade and commerce, and a thousand other things. The legislator has only to regulate the affairs of husbandmen and shepherds, which will be easily arranged, now that the principal questions, such as marriage, education, and government, have been settled.

Let us begin with husbandry: First, let there be a law of Zeus against removing a neighbour’s landmark, whether he be a citizen or stranger. For this is ‘to move the immoveable’; and Zeus, the God of kindred, witnesses to the wrongs of citizens, and Zeus, the God of strangers, to the wrongs of strangers. The offence of removing a boundary shall receive two punishments — the first will be inflicted by the God himself; the second by the judges. In the next place, the differences between neighbours about encroachments must be guarded against. He who encroaches shall pay twofold the amount of the injury; of all such matters the wardens of the country shall be the judges, in lesser cases the officers, and in greater the whole number of them belonging to any one division. Any injury done by cattle, the decoying of bees, the careless firing of woods, the planting unduly near a neighbour’s ground, shall all be visited with proper damages. Such details have been determined by previous legislators, and need not now be mixed up with greater matters. Husbandmen have had of old excellent rules about streams and waters; and we need not ‘divert their course.’ Anybody may take water from a common stream, if he does not thereby cut off a private spring; he may lead the water in any direction, except through a house or temple, but he must do no harm beyond the channel. If land is without water the occupier shall dig down to the clay, and if at this depth he find no water, he shall have a right of getting water from his neighbours for his household; and if their supply is limited, he shall receive from them a measure of water fixed by the wardens of the country. If there be heavy rains, the dweller on the higher ground must not recklessly suffer the water to flow down upon a neighbour beneath him, nor must he who lives upon lower ground or dwells in an adjoining house refuse an outlet. If the two parties cannot agree, they shall go before the wardens of the city or country, and if a man refuse to abide by their decision, he shall pay double the damage which he has caused.

In autumn God gives us two boons — one the joy of Dionysus not to be laid up — the other to be laid up. About the fruits of autumn let the law be as follows: He who gathers the storing fruits of autumn, whether grapes or figs, before the time of the vintage, which is the rising of Arcturus, shall pay fifty drachmas as a fine to Dionysus, if he gathers on his own ground; if on his neighbour’s ground, a mina, and two-thirds of a mina if on that of any one else. The grapes or figs not used for storing a man may gather when he pleases on his own ground, but on that of others he must pay the penalty of removing what he has not laid down. If he be a slave who has gathered, he shall receive a stroke for every grape or fig. A metic must purchase the choice fruit; but a stranger may pluck for himself and his attendant. This right of hospitality, however, does not extend to storing grapes. A slave who eats of the storing grapes or figs shall be beaten, and the freeman be dismissed with a warning. Pears, apples, pomegranates, may be taken secretly, but he who is detected in the act of taking them shall be lightly beaten off, if he be not more than thirty years of age. The stranger and the elder may partake of them, but not carry any away; the latter, if he does not obey the law, shall fail in the competition of virtue, if anybody brings up his offence against him.

Water is also in need of protection, being the greatest element of nutrition, and, unlike the other elements — soil, air, and sun — which conspire in the growth of plants, easily polluted. And therefore he who spoils another’s water, whether in springs or reservoirs, either by trenching, or theft, or by means of poisonous substances, shall pay the damage and purify the stream. At the getting-in of the harvest everybody shall have a right of way over his neighbour’s ground, provided he is careful to do no damage beyond the trespass, or if he himself will gain three times as much as his neighbour loses. Of all this the magistrates are to take cognizance, and they are to assess the damage where the injury does not exceed three minae; cases of greater damage can be tried only in the public courts. A charge against a magistrate is to be referred to the public courts, and any one who is found guilty of deciding corruptly shall pay twofold to the aggrieved person. Matters of detail relating to punishments and modes of procedure, and summonses, and witnesses to summonses, do not require the mature wisdom of the aged legislator; the younger generation may determine them according to their experience; but when once determined, they shall remain unaltered.

The following are to be the regulations respecting handicrafts: — No citizen, or servant of a citizen, is to practise them. For the citizen has already an art and mystery, which is the care of the state; and no man can practise two arts, or practise one and superintend another. No smith should be a carpenter, and no carpenter, having many slaves who are smiths, should look after them himself; but let each man practise one art which shall be his means of livelihood. The wardens of the city should see to this, punishing the citizen who offends with temporary deprival of his rights — the foreigner shall be imprisoned, fined, exiled. Any disputes about contracts shall be determined by the wardens of the city up to fifty drachmae — above that sum by the public courts. No customs are to be exacted either on imports or exports. Nothing unnecessary is to be imported from abroad, whether for the service of the Gods or for the use of man — neither purple, nor other dyes, nor frankincense, — and nothing needed in the country is to be exported. These things are to be decided on by the twelve guardians of the law who are next in seniority to the five elders. Arms and the materials of war are to be imported and exported only with the consent of the generals, and then only by the state. There is to be no retail trade either in these or any other articles. For the distribution of the produce of the country, the Cretan laws afford a rule which may be usefully followed. All shall be required to distribute corn, grain, animals, and other valuable produce, into twelve portions. Each of these shall be subdivided into three parts — one for freemen, another for servants, and the third shall be sold for the supply of artisans, strangers, and metics. These portions must be equal whether the produce be much or little; and the master of a household may distribute the two portions among his family and his slaves as he pleases — the remainder is to be measured out to the animals.

Next as to the houses in the country — there shall be twelve villages, one in the centre of each of the twelve portions; and in every village there shall be temples and an agora — also shrines for heroes or for any old Magnesian deities who linger about the place. In every division there shall be temples of Hestia, Zeus, and Athene, as well as of the local deity, surrounded by buildings on eminences, which will be the guard-houses of the rural police. The dwellings of the artisans will be thus arranged: — The artisans shall be formed into thirteen guilds, one of which will be divided into twelve parts and settled in the city; of the rest there shall be one in each division of the country. And the magistrates will fix them on the spots where they will cause the least inconvenience and be most serviceable in supplying the wants of the husbandmen.

The care of the agora will fall to the wardens of the agora. Their first duty will be the regulation of the temples which surround the market-place; and their second to see that the markets are orderly and that fair dealing is observed. They will also take care that the sales which the citizens are required to make to strangers are duly executed. The law shall be, that on the first day of each month the auctioneers to whom the sale is entrusted shall offer grain; and at this sale a twelfth part of the whole shall be exposed, and the foreigner shall supply his wants for a month. On the tenth, there shall be a sale of liquids, and on the twenty-third of animals, skins, woven or woollen stuffs, and other things which husbandmen have to sell and foreigners want to buy. None of these commodities, any more than barley or flour, or any other food, may be retailed by a citizen to a citizen; but foreigners may sell them to one another in the foreigners’ market. There must also be butchers who will sell parts of animals to foreigners and craftsmen, and their servants; and foreigners may buy firewood wholesale of the commissioners of woods, and may sell retail to foreigners. All other goods must be sold in the market, at some place indicated by the magistrates, and shall be paid for on the spot. He who gives credit, and is cheated, will have no redress. In buying or selling, any excess or diminution of what the law allows shall be registered. The same rule is to be observed about the property of metics. Anybody who practises a handicraft may come and remain twenty years from the day on which he is enrolled; at the expiration of this time he shall take what he has and depart. The only condition which is to be imposed upon him as the tax of his sojourn is good conduct; and he is not to pay any tax for being allowed to buy or sell. But if he wants to extend the time of his sojourn, and has done any service to the state, and he can persuade the council and assembly to grant his request, he may remain. The children of metics may also be metics; and the period of twenty years, during which they are permitted to sojourn, is to count, in their case, from their fifteenth year.

No mention occurs in the Laws of the doctrine of Ideas. The will of God, the authority of the legislator, and the dignity of the soul, have taken their place in the mind of Plato. If we ask what is that truth or principle which, towards the end of his life, seems to have absorbed him most, like the idea of good in the Republic, or of beauty in the Symposium, or of the unity of virtue in the Protagoras, we should answer — The priority of the soul to the body: his later system mainly hangs upon this. In the Laws, as in the Sophist and Statesman, we pass out of the region of metaphysical or transcendental ideas into that of psychology.

The opening of the fifth book, though abrupt and unconnected in style, is one of the most elevated passages in Plato. The religious feeling which he seeks to diffuse over the commonest actions of life, the blessedness of living in the truth, the great mistake of a man living for himself, the pity as well as anger which should be felt at evil, the kindness due to the suppliant and the stranger, have the temper of Christian philosophy. The remark that elder men, if they want to educate others, should begin by educating themselves; the necessity of creating a spirit of obedience in the citizens; the desirableness of limiting property; the importance of parochial districts, each to be placed under the protection of some God or demigod, have almost the tone of a modern writer. In many of his views of politics, Plato seems to us, like some politicians of our own time, to be half socialist, half conservative.

In the Laws, we remark a change in the place assigned by him to pleasure and pain. There are two ways in which even the ideal systems of morals may regard them: either like the Stoics, and other ascetics, we may say that pleasure must be eradicated; or if this seems unreal to us, we may affirm that virtue is the true pleasure; and then, as Aristotle says, ‘to be brought up to take pleasure in what we ought, exercises a great and paramount influence on human life’ (Arist. Eth. Nic.). Or as Plato says in the Laws, ‘A man will recognize the noblest life as having the greatest pleasure and the least pain, if he have a true taste.’ If we admit that pleasures differ in kind, the opposition between these two modes of speaking is rather verbal than real; and in the greater part of the writings of Plato they alternate with each other. In the Republic, the mere suggestion that pleasure may be the chief good, is received by Socrates with a cry of abhorrence; but in the Philebus, innocent pleasures vindicate their right to a place in the scale of goods. In the Protagoras, speaking in the person of Socrates rather than in his own, Plato admits the calculation of pleasure to be the true basis of ethics, while in the Phaedo he indignantly denies that the exchange of one pleasure for another is the exchange of virtue. So wide of the mark are they who would attribute to Plato entire consistency in thoughts or words.

He acknowledges that the second state is inferior to the first — in this, at any rate, he is consistent; and he still casts longing eyes upon the ideal. Several features of the first are retained in the second: the education of men and women is to be as far as possible the same; they are to have common meals, though separate, the men by themselves, the women with their children; and they are both to serve in the army; the citizens, if not actually communists, are in spirit communistic; they are to be lovers of equality; only a certain amount of wealth is permitted to them, and their burdens and also their privileges are to be proportioned to this. The constitution in the Laws is a timocracy of wealth, modified by an aristocracy of merit. Yet the political philosopher will observe that the first of these two principles is fixed and permanent, while the latter is uncertain and dependent on the opinion of the multitude. Wealth, after all, plays a great part in the Second Republic of Plato. Like other politicians, he deems that a property qualification will contribute stability to the state. The four classes are derived from the constitution of Athens, just as the form of the city, which is clustered around a citadel set on a hill, is suggested by the Acropolis at Athens. Plato, writing under Pythagorean influences, seems really to have supposed that the well-being of the city depended almost as much on the number 5040 as on justice and moderation. But he is not prevented by Pythagoreanism from observing the effects which climate and soil exercise on the characters of nations.

He was doubtful in the Republic whether the ideal or communistic state could be realized, but was at the same time prepared to maintain that whether it existed or not made no difference to the philosopher, who will in any case regulate his life by it (Republic). He has now lost faith in the practicability of his scheme — he is speaking to ‘men, and not to Gods or sons of Gods’ (Laws). Yet he still maintains it to be the true pattern of the state, which we must approach as nearly as possible: as Aristotle says, ‘After having created a more general form of state, he gradually brings it round to the other’ (Pol.). He does not observe, either here or in the Republic, that in such a commonwealth there would be little room for the development of individual character. In several respects the second state is an improvement on the first, especially in being based more distinctly on the dignity of the soul. The standard of truth, justice, temperance, is as high as in the Republic; — in one respect higher, for temperance is now regarded, not as a virtue, but as the condition of all virtue. It is finally acknowledged that the virtues are all one and connected, and that if they are separated, courage is the lowest of them. The treatment of moral questions is less speculative but more human. The idea of good has disappeared; the excellences of individuals — of him who is faithful in a civil broil, of the examiner who is incorruptible, are the patterns to which the lives of the citizens are to conform. Plato is never weary of speaking of the honour of the soul, which can only be honoured truly by being improved. To make the soul as good as possible, and to prepare her for communion with the Gods in another world by communion with divine virtue in this, is the end of life. If the Republic is far superior to the Laws in form and style, and perhaps in reach of thought, the Laws leave on the mind of the modern reader much more strongly the impression of a struggle against evil, and an enthusiasm for human improvement. When Plato says that he must carry out that part of his ideal which is practicable, he does not appear to have reflected that part of an ideal cannot be detached from the whole.

The great defect of both his constitutions is the fixedness which he seeks to impress upon them. He had seen the Athenian empire, almost within the limits of his own life, wax and wane, but he never seems to have asked himself what would happen if, a century from the time at which he was writing, the Greek character should have as much changed as in the century which had preceded. He fails to perceive that the greater part of the political life of a nation is not that which is given them by their legislators, but that which they give themselves. He has never reflected that without progress there cannot be order, and that mere order can only be preserved by an unnatural and despotic repression. The possibility of a great nation or of an universal empire arising never occurred to him. He sees the enfeebled and distracted state of the Hellenic world in his own later life, and thinks that the remedy is to make the laws unchangeable. The same want of insight is apparent in his judgments about art. He would like to have the forms of sculpture and of music fixed as in Egypt. He does not consider that this would be fatal to the true principles of art, which, as Socrates had himself taught, was to give life (Xen. Mem.). We wonder how, familiar as he was with the statues of Pheidias, he could have endured the lifeless and half-monstrous works of Egyptian sculpture. The ‘chants of Isis’ (Laws), we might think, would have been barbarous in an Athenian ear. But although he is aware that there are some things which are not so well among ‘the children of the Nile,’ he is deeply struck with the stability of Egyptian institutions. Both in politics and in art Plato seems to have seen no way of bringing order out of disorder, except by taking a step backwards. Antiquity, compared with the world in which he lived, had a sacredness and authority for him: the men of a former age were supposed by him to have had a sense of reverence which was wanting among his contemporaries. He could imagine the early stages of civilization; he never thought of what the future might bring forth. His experience is confined to two or three centuries, to a few Greek states, and to an uncertain report of Egypt and the East. There are many ways in which the limitations of their knowledge affected the genius of the Greeks. In criticism they were like children, having an acute vision of things which were near to them, blind to possibilities which were in the distance.

The colony is to receive from the mother-country her original constitution, and some of the first guardians of the law. The guardians of the law are to be ministers of justice, and the president of education is to take precedence of them all. They are to keep the registers of property, to make regulations for trade, and they are to be superannuated at seventy years of age. Several questions of modern politics, such as the limitation of property, the enforcement of education, the relations of classes, are anticipated by Plato. He hopes that in his state will be found neither poverty nor riches; every man having the necessaries of life, he need not go fortune-hunting in marriage. Almost in the spirit of the Gospel he would say, ‘How hardly can a rich man dwell in a perfect state.’ For he cannot be a good man who is always gaining too much and spending too little (Laws; compare Arist. Eth. Nic.). Plato, though he admits wealth as a political element, would deny that material prosperity can be the foundation of a really great community. A man’s soul, as he often says, is more to be esteemed than his body; and his body than external goods. He repeats the complaint which has been made in all ages, that the love of money is the corruption of states. He has a sympathy with thieves and burglars, ‘many of whom are men of ability and greatly to be pitied, because their souls are hungering and thirsting all their lives long;’ but he has little sympathy with shopkeepers or retailers, although he makes the reflection, which sometimes occurs to ourselves, that such occupations, if they were carried on honestly by the best men and women, would be delightful and honourable. For traders and artisans a moderate gain was, in his opinion, best. He has never, like modern writers, idealized the wealth of nations, any more than he has worked out the problems of political economy, which among the ancients had not yet grown into a science. The isolation of Greek states, their constant wars, the want of a free industrial population, and of the modern methods and instruments of ‘credit,’ prevented any great extension of commerce among them; and so hindered them from forming a theory of the laws which regulate the accumulation and distribution of wealth.

The constitution of the army is aristocratic and also democratic; official appointment is combined with popular election. The two principles are carried out as follows: The guardians of the law nominate generals out of whom three are chosen by those who are or have been of the age for military service; and the generals elected have the nomination of certain of the inferior officers. But if either in the case of generals or of the inferior officers any one is ready to swear that he knows of a better man than those nominated, he may put the claims of his candidate to the vote of the whole army, or of the division of the service which he will, if elected, command. There is a general assembly, but its functions, except at elections, are hardly noticed. In the election of the Boule, Plato again attempts to mix aristocracy and democracy. This is effected, first as in the Servian constitution, by balancing wealth and numbers; for it cannot be supposed that those who possessed a higher qualification were equal in number with those who had a lower, and yet they have an equal number of representatives. In the second place, all classes are compelled to vote in the election of senators from the first and second class; but the fourth class is not compelled to elect from the third, nor the third and fourth from the fourth. Thirdly, out of the 180 persons who are thus chosen from each of the four classes, 720 in all, 360 are to be taken by lot; these form the council for the year.

These political adjustments of Plato’s will be criticised by the practical statesman as being for the most part fanciful and ineffectual. He will observe, first of all, that the only real check on democracy is the division into classes. The second of the three proposals, though ingenious, and receiving some light from the apathy to politics which is often shown by the higher classes in a democracy, would have little power in times of excitement and peril, when the precaution was most needed. At such political crises, all the lower classes would vote equally with the higher. The subtraction of half the persons chosen at the first election by the chances of the lot would not raise the character of the senators, and is open to the objection of uncertainty, which necessarily attends this and similar schemes of double representative government. Nor can the voters be expected to retain the continuous political interest required for carrying out such a proposal as Plato’s. Who could select 180 persons of each class, fitted to be senators? And whoever were chosen by the voter in the first instance, his wishes might be neutralized by the action of the lot. Yet the scheme of Plato is not really so extravagant as the actual constitution of Athens, in which all the senators appear to have been elected by lot (apo kuamou bouleutai), at least, after the revolution made by Cleisthenes; for the constitution of the senate which was established by Solon probably had some aristocratic features, though their precise nature is unknown to us. The ancients knew that election by lot was the most democratic of all modes of appointment, seeming to say in the objectionable sense, that ‘one man is as good as another.’ Plato, who is desirous of mingling different elements, makes a partial use of the lot, which he applies to candidates already elected by vote. He attempts also to devise a system of checks and balances such as he supposes to have been intended by the ancient legislators. We are disposed to say to him, as he himself says in a remarkable passage, that ‘no man ever legislates, but accidents of all sorts, which legislate for us in all sorts of ways. The violence of war and the hard necessity of poverty are constantly overturning governments and changing laws.’ And yet, as he adds, the true legislator is still required: he must co-operate with circumstances. Many things which are ascribed to human foresight are the result of chance. Ancient, and in a less degree modern political constitutions, are never consistent with themselves, because they are never framed on a single design, but are added to from time to time as new elements arise and gain the preponderance in the state. We often attribute to the wisdom of our ancestors great political effects which have sprung unforeseen from the accident of the situation. Power, not wisdom, is most commonly the source of political revolutions. And the result, as in the Roman Republic, of the co-existence of opposite elements in the same state is, not a balance of power or an equable progress of liberal principles, but a conflict of forces, of which one or other may happen to be in the ascendant. In Greek history, as well as in Plato’s conception of it, this ‘progression by antagonism’ involves reaction: the aristocracy expands into democracy and returns again to tyranny.

The constitution of the Laws may be said to consist, besides the magistrates, mainly of three elements, — an administrative Council, the judiciary, and the Nocturnal Council, which is an intellectual aristocracy, composed of priests and the ten eldest guardians of the law and some younger co-opted members. To this latter chiefly are assigned the functions of legislation, but to be exercised with a sparing hand. The powers of the ordinary council are administrative rather than legislative. The whole number of 360, as in the Athenian constitution, is distributed among the months of the year according to the number of the tribes. Not more than one-twelfth is to be in office at once, so that the government would be made up of twelve administrations succeeding one another in the course of the year. They are to exercise a general superintendence, and, like the Athenian counsellors, are to preside in monthly divisions over all assemblies. Of the ecclesia over which they presided little is said, and that little relates to comparatively trifling duties. Nothing is less present to the mind of Plato than a House of Commons, carrying on year by year the work of legislation. For he supposes the laws to be already provided. As little would he approve of a body like the Roman Senate. The people and the aristocracy alike are to be represented, not by assemblies, but by officers elected for one or two years, except the guardians of the law, who are elected for twenty years.

The evils of this system are obvious. If in any state, as Plato says in the Statesman, it is easier to find fifty good draught-players than fifty good rulers, the greater part of the 360 who compose the council must be unfitted to rule. The unfitness would be increased by the short period during which they held office. There would be no traditions of government among them, as in a Greek or Italian oligarchy, and no individual would be responsible for any of their acts. Everything seems to have been sacrificed to a false notion of equality, according to which all have a turn of ruling and being ruled. In the constitution of the Magnesian state Plato has not emancipated himself from the limitations of ancient politics. His government may be described as a democracy of magistrates elected by the people. He never troubles himself about the political consistency of his scheme. He does indeed say that the greater part of the good of this world arises, not from equality, but from proportion, which he calls the judgment of Zeus (compare Aristotle’s Distributive Justice), but he hardly makes any attempt to carry out the principle in practice. There is no attempt to proportion representation to merit; nor is there any body in his commonwealth which represents the life either of a class or of the whole state. The manner of appointing magistrates is taken chiefly from the old democratic constitution of Athens, of which it retains some of the worst features, such as the use of the lot, while by doing away with the political character of the popular assembly the mainspring of the machine is taken out. The guardians of the law, thirty-seven in number, of whom the ten eldest reappear as a part of the Nocturnal Council at the end of the twelfth book, are to be elected by the whole military class, but they are to hold office for twenty years, and would therefore have an oligarchical rather than a democratic character. Nothing is said of the manner in which the functions of the Nocturnal Council are to be harmonized with those of the guardians of the law, or as to how the ordinary council is related to it.

Similar principles are applied to inferior offices. To some the appointment is made by vote, to others by lot. In the elections to the priesthood, Plato endeavours to mix or balance in a friendly manner ‘demus and not demus.’ The commonwealth of the Laws, like the Republic, cannot dispense with a spiritual head, which is the same in both — the oracle of Delphi. From this the laws about all divine things are to be derived. The final selection of the Interpreters, the choice of an heir for a vacant lot, the punishment for removing a deposit, are also to be determined by it. Plato is not disposed to encourage amateur attempts to revive religion in states. For, as he says in the Laws, ‘To institute religious rites is the work of a great intelligence.’

Though the council is framed on the model of the Athenian Boule, the law courts of Plato do not equally conform to the pattern of the Athenian dicasteries. Plato thinks that the judges should speak and ask questions: — this is not possible if they are numerous; he would, therefore, have a few judges only, but good ones. He is nevertheless aware that both in public and private suits there must be a popular element. He insists that the whole people must share in the administration of justice — in public causes they are to take the first step, and the final decision is to remain with them. In private suits they are also to retain a share; ‘for the citizen who has no part in the administration of justice is apt to think that he has no share in the state. For this reason there is to be a court of law in every tribe (i.e. for about every 2,000 citizens), and the judges are to be chosen by lot.’ Of the courts of law he gives what he calls a superficial sketch. Nor, indeed is it easy to reconcile his various accounts of them. It is however clear that although some officials, like the guardians of the law, the wardens of the agora, city, and country have power to inflict minor penalties, the administration of justice is in the main popular. The ingenious expedient of dividing the questions of law and fact between a judge and jury, which would have enabled Plato to combine the popular element with the judicial, did not occur to him or to any other ancient political philosopher. Though desirous of limiting the number of judges, and thereby confining the office to persons specially fitted for it, he does not seem to have understood that a body of law must be formed by decisions as well as by legal enactments.

He would have men in the first place seek justice from their friends and neighbours, because, as he truly remarks, they know best the questions at issue; these are called in another passage arbiters rather than judges. But if they cannot settle the matter, it is to be referred to the courts of the tribes, and a higher penalty is to be paid by the party who is unsuccessful in the suit. There is a further appeal allowed to the select judges, with a further increase of penalty. The select judges are to be appointed by the magistrates, who are to choose one from every magistracy. They are to be elected annually, and therefore probably for a year only, and are liable to be called to account before the guardians of the law. In cases of which death is the penalty, the trial takes place before a special court, which is composed of the guardians of the law and of the judges of appeal.

In treating of the subject in Book ix, he proposes to leave for the most part the methods of procedure to a younger generation of legislators; the procedure in capital causes he determines himself. He insists that the vote of the judges shall be given openly, and before they vote they are to hear speeches from the plaintiff and defendant. They are then to take evidence in support of what has been said, and to examine witnesses. The eldest judge is to ask his questions first, and then the second, and then the third. The interrogatories are to continue for three days, and the evidence is to be written down. Apparently he does not expect the judges to be professional lawyers, any more than he expects the members of the council to be trained statesmen.

In forming marriage connexions, Plato supposes that the public interest will prevail over private inclination. There was nothing in this very shocking to the notions of Greeks, among whom the feeling of love towards the other sex was almost deprived of sentiment or romance. Married life is to be regulated solely with a view to the good of the state. The newly-married couple are not allowed to absent themselves from their respective syssitia, even during their honeymoon; they are to give their whole mind to the procreation of children; their duties to one another at a later period of life are not a matter about which the state is equally solicitous. Divorces are readily allowed for incompatibility of temper. As in the Republic, physical considerations seem almost to exclude moral and social ones. To modern feelings there is a degree of coarseness in Plato’s treatment of the subject. Yet he also makes some shrewd remarks on marriage, as for example, that a man who does not marry for money will not be the humble servant of his wife. And he shows a true conception of the nature of the family, when he requires that the newly-married couple ‘should leave their father and mother,’ and have a separate home. He also provides against extravagance in marriage festivals, which in some states of society, for instance in the case of the Hindoos, has been a social evil of the first magnitude.

In treating of property, Plato takes occasion to speak of property in slaves. They are to be treated with perfect justice; but, for their own sake, to be kept at a distance. The motive is not so much humanity to the slave, of which there are hardly any traces (although Plato allows that many in the hour of peril have found a slave more attached than members of their own family), but the self-respect which the freeman and citizen owes to himself (compare Republic). If they commit crimes, they are doubly punished; if they inform against illegal practices of their masters, they are to receive a protection, which would probably be ineffectual, from the guardians of the law; in rare cases they are to be set free. Plato still breathes the spirit of the old Hellenic world, in which slavery was a necessity, because leisure must be provided for the citizen.

The education propounded in the Laws differs in several points from that of the Republic. Plato seems to have reflected as deeply and earnestly on the importance of infancy as Rousseau, or Jean Paul (compare the saying of the latter— ‘Not the moment of death, but the moment of birth, is probably the more important’). He would fix the amusements of children in the hope of fixing their characters in after-life. In the spirit of the statesman who said, ‘Let me make the ballads of a country, and I care not who make their laws,’ Plato would say, ‘Let the amusements of children be unchanged, and they will not want to change the laws. The ‘Goddess Harmonia’ plays a great part in Plato’s ideas of education. The natural restless force of life in children, ‘who do nothing but roar until they are three years old,’ is gradually to be reduced to law and order. As in the Republic, he fixes certain forms in which songs are to be composed: (1) they are to be strains of cheerfulness and good omen; (2) they are to be hymns or prayers addressed to the Gods; (3) they are to sing only of the lawful and good. The poets are again expelled or rather ironically invited to depart; and those who remain are required to submit their poems to the censorship of the magistrates. Youth are no longer compelled to commit to memory many thousand lyric and tragic Greek verses; yet, perhaps, a worse fate is in store for them. Plato has no belief in ‘liberty of prophesying’; and having guarded against the dangers of lyric poetry, he remembers that there is an equal danger in other writings. He cannot leave his old enemies, the Sophists, in possession of the field; and therefore he proposes that youth shall learn by heart, instead of the compositions of poets or prose writers, his own inspired work on laws. These, and music and mathematics, are the chief parts of his education.

Mathematics are to be cultivated, not as in the Republic with a view to the science of the idea of good, — though the higher use of them is not altogether excluded, — but rather with a religious and political aim. They are a sacred study which teaches men how to distribute the portions of a state, and which is to be pursued in order that they may learn not to blaspheme about astronomy. Against three mathematical errors Plato is in profound earnest. First, the error of supposing that the three dimensions of length, breadth, and height, are really commensurable with one another. The difficulty which he feels is analogous to the difficulty which he formerly felt about the connexion of ideas, and is equally characteristic of ancient philosophy: he fixes his mind on the point of difference, and cannot at the same time take in the similarity. Secondly, he is puzzled about the nature of fractions: in the Republic, he is disposed to deny the possibility of their existence. Thirdly, his optimism leads him to insist (unlike the Spanish king who thought that he could have improved on the mechanism of the heavens) on the perfect or circular movement of the heavenly bodies. He appears to mean, that instead of regarding the stars as overtaking or being overtaken by one another, or as planets wandering in many paths, a more comprehensive survey of the heavens would enable us to infer that they all alike moved in a circle around a centre (compare Timaeus; Republic). He probably suspected, though unacquainted with the true cause, that the appearance of the heavens did not agree with the reality: at any rate, his notions of what was right or fitting easily overpowered the results of actual observation. To the early astronomers, who lived at the revival of science, as to Plato, there was nothing absurd in a priori astronomy, and they would probably have made fewer real discoveries of they had followed any other track. (Compare Introduction to the Republic.)

The science of dialectic is nowhere mentioned by name in the Laws, nor is anything said of the education of after-life. The child is to begin to learn at ten years of age: he is to be taught reading and writing for three years, from ten to thirteen, and no longer; and for three years more, from thirteen to sixteen, he is to be instructed in music. The great fault which Plato finds in the contemporary education is the almost total ignorance of arithmetic and astronomy, in which the Greeks would do well to take a lesson from the Egyptians (compare Republic). Dancing and wrestling are to have a military character, and women as well as men are to be taught the use of arms. The military spirit which Plato has vainly endeavoured to expel in the first two books returns again in the seventh and eighth. He has evidently a sympathy with the soldier, as well as with the poet, and he is no mean master of the art, or at least of the theory, of war (compare Laws; Republic), though inclining rather to the Spartan than to the Athenian practice of it (Laws). Of a supreme or master science which was to be the ‘coping-stone’ of the rest, few traces appear in the Laws. He seems to have lost faith in it, or perhaps to have realized that the time for such a science had not yet come, and that he was unable to fill up the outline which he had sketched. There is no requirement that the guardians of the law shall be philosophers, although they are to know the unity of virtue, and the connexion of the sciences. Nor are we told that the leisure of the citizens, when they are grown up, is to be devoted to any intellectual employment. In this respect we note a falling off from the Republic, but also there is ‘the returning to it’ of which Aristotle speaks in the Politics. The public and family duties of the citizens are to be their main business, and these would, no doubt, take up a great deal more time than in the modern world we are willing to allow to either of them. Plato no longer entertains the idea of any regular training to be pursued under the superintendence of the state from eighteen to thirty, or from thirty to thirty-five; he has taken the first step downwards on ‘Constitution Hill’ (Republic). But he maintains as earnestly as ever that ‘to men living under this second polity there remains the greatest of all works, the education of the soul,’ and that no bye-work should be allowed to interfere with it. Night and day are not long enough for the consummation of it.

Few among us are either able or willing to carry education into later life; five or six years spent at school, three or four at a university, or in the preparation for a profession, an occasional attendance at a lecture to which we are invited by friends when we have an hour to spare from house-keeping or money-making — these comprise, as a matter of fact, the education even of the educated; and then the lamp is extinguished ‘more truly than Heracleitus’ sun, never to be lighted again’ (Republic). The description which Plato gives in the Republic of the state of adult education among his contemporaries may be applied almost word for word to our own age. He does not however acquiesce in this widely-spread want of a higher education; he would rather seek to make every man something of a philosopher before he enters on the duties of active life. But in the Laws he no longer prescribes any regular course of study which is to be pursued in mature years. Nor does he remark that the education of after-life is of another kind, and must consist with the majority of the world rather in the improvement of character than in the acquirement of knowledge. It comes from the study of ourselves and other men: from moderation and experience: from reflection on circumstances: from the pursuit of high aims: from a right use of the opportunities of life. It is the preservation of what we have been, and the addition of something more. The power of abstract study or continuous thought is very rare, but such a training as this can be given by every one to himself.

The singular passage in Book vii., in which Plato describes life as a pastime, like many other passages in the Laws is imperfectly expressed. Two thoughts seem to be struggling in his mind: first, the reflection, to which he returns at the end of the passage, that men are playthings or puppets, and that God only is the serious aim of human endeavours; this suggests to him the afterthought that, although playthings, they are the playthings of the Gods, and that this is the best of them. The cynical, ironical fancy of the moment insensibly passes into a religious sentiment. In another passage he says that life is a game of which God, who is the player, shifts the pieces so as to procure the victory of good on the whole. Or once more: Tragedies are acted on the stage; but the best and noblest of them is the imitation of the noblest life, which we affirm to be the life of our whole state. Again, life is a chorus, as well as a sort of mystery, in which we have the Gods for playmates. Men imagine that war is their serious pursuit, and they make war that they may return to their amusements. But neither wars nor amusements are the true satisfaction of men, which is to be found only in the society of the Gods, in sacrificing to them and propitiating them. Like a Christian ascetic, Plato seems to suppose that life should be passed wholly in the enjoyment of divine things. And after meditating in amazement on the sadness and unreality of the world, he adds, in a sort of parenthesis, ‘Be cheerful, Sirs’ (Shakespeare, Tempest.)

In one of the noblest passages of Plato, he speaks of the relation of the sexes. Natural relations between members of the same family have been established of old; a ‘little word’ has put a stop to incestuous connexions. But unnatural unions of another kind continued to prevail at Crete and Lacedaemon, and were even justified by the example of the Gods. They, too, might be banished, if the feeling that they were unholy and abominable could sink into the minds of men. The legislator is to cry aloud, and spare not, ‘Let not men fall below the level of the beasts.’ Plato does not shrink, like some modern philosophers, from ‘carrying on war against the mightiest lusts of mankind;’ neither does he expect to extirpate them, but only to confine them to their natural use and purpose, by the enactments of law, and by the influence of public opinion. He will not feed them by an over-luxurious diet, nor allow the healthier instincts of the soul to be corrupted by music and poetry. The prohibition of excessive wealth is, as he says, a very considerable gain in the way of temperance, nor does he allow of those enthusiastic friendships between older and younger persons which in his earlier writings appear to be alluded to with a certain degree of amusement and without reproof (compare Introduction to the Symposium). Sappho and Anacreon are celebrated by him in the Charmides and the Phaedrus; but they would have been expelled from the Magnesian state.

Yet he does not suppose that the rule of absolute purity can be enforced on all mankind. Something must be conceded to the weakness of human nature. He therefore adopts a ‘second legal standard of honourable and dishonourable, having a second standard of right.’ He would abolish altogether ‘the connexion of men with men...As to women, if any man has to do with any but those who come into his house duly married by sacred rites, and he offends publicly in the face of all mankind, we shall be right in enacting that he be deprived of civic honours and privileges.’ But feeling also that it is impossible wholly to control the mightiest passions of mankind,’ Plato, like other legislators, makes a compromise. The offender must not be found out; decency, if not morality, must be respected. In this he appears to agree with the practice of all civilized ages and countries. Much may be truly said by the moralist on the comparative harm of open and concealed vice. Nor do we deny that some moral evils are better turned out to the light, because, like diseases, when exposed, they are more easily cured. And secrecy introduces mystery which enormously exaggerates their power; a mere animal want is thus elevated into a sentimental ideal. It may very well be that a word spoken in season about things which are commonly concealed may have an excellent effect. But having regard to the education of youth, to the innocence of children, to the sensibilities of women, to the decencies of society, Plato and the world in general are not wrong in insisting that some of the worst vices, if they must exist, should be kept out of sight; this, though only a second-best rule, is a support to the weakness of human nature. There are some things which may be whispered in the closet, but should not be shouted on the housetop. It may be said of this, as of many other things, that it is a great part of education to know to whom they are to be spoken of, and when, and where.

BOOK IX. Punishments of offences and modes of procedure come next in order. We have a sense of disgrace in making regulations for all the details of crime in a virtuous and well-ordered state. But seeing that we are legislating for men and not for Gods, there is no uncharitableness in apprehending that some one of our citizens may have a heart, like the seed which has touched the ox’s horn, so hard as to be impenetrable to the law. Let our first enactment be directed against the robbing of temples. No well-educated citizen will be guilty of such a crime, but one of their servants, or some stranger, may, and with a view to him, and at the same time with a remoter eye to the general infirmity of human nature, I will lay down the law, beginning with a prelude. To the intending robber we will say — O sir, the complaint which troubles you is not human; but some curse has fallen upon you, inherited from the crimes of your ancestors, of which you must purge yourself: go and sacrifice to the Gods, associate with the good, avoid the wicked; and if you are cured of the fatal impulse, well; but if not, acknowledge death to be better than life, and depart.

These are the accents, soft and low, in which we address the would-be criminal. And if he will not listen, then cry aloud as with the sound of a trumpet: Whosoever robs a temple, if he be a slave or foreigner shall be branded in the face and hands, and scourged, and cast naked beyond the border. And perhaps this may improve him: for the law aims either at the reformation of the criminal, or the repression of crime. No punishment is designed to inflict useless injury. But if the offender be a citizen, he must be incurable, and for him death is the only fitting penalty. His iniquity, however, shall not be visited on his children, nor shall his property be confiscated.

As to the exaction of penalties, any person who is fined for an offence shall not be liable to pay the fine, unless he have property in excess of his lot. For the lots must never go uncultivated for lack of means; the guardians of the law are to provide against this. If a fine is inflicted upon a man which he cannot pay, and for which his friends are unwilling to give security, he shall be imprisoned and otherwise dishonoured. But no criminal shall go unpunished: — whether death, or imprisonment, or stripes, or fines, or the stocks, or banishment to a remote temple, be the penalty. Capital offences shall come under the cognizance of the guardians of the law, and a college of the best of the last year’s magistrates. The order of suits and similar details we shall leave to the lawgivers of the future, and only determine the mode of voting. The judges are to sit in order of seniority, and the proceedings shall begin with the speeches of the plaintiff and the defendant; and then the judges, beginning with the eldest, shall ask questions and collect evidence during three days, which, at the end of each day, shall be deposited in writing under their seals on the altar of Hestia; and when they have evidence enough, after a solemn declaration that they will decide justly, they shall vote and end the case. The votes are to be given openly in the presence of the citizens.

Next to religion, the preservation of the constitution is the first object of the law. The greatest enemy of the state is he who attempts to set up a tyrant, or breeds plots and conspiracies; not far below him in guilt is a magistrate who either knowingly, or in ignorance, fails to bring the offender to justice. Any one who is good for anything will give information against traitors. The mode of proceeding at such trials will be the same as at trials for sacrilege; the penalty, death. But neither in this case nor in any other is the son to bear the iniquity of the father, unless father, grandfather, great-grandfather, have all of them been capitally convicted, and then the family of the criminal are to be sent off to the country of their ancestor, retaining their property, with the exception of the lot and its fixtures. And ten are to be selected from the younger sons of the other citizens — one of whom is to be chosen by the oracle of Delphi to be heir of the lot.

Our third law will be a general one, concerning the procedure and the judges in cases of treason. As regards the remaining or departure of the family of the offender, the same law shall apply equally to the traitor, the sacrilegious, and the conspirator.

A thief, whether he steals much or little, must refund twice the amount, if he can do so without impairing his lot; if he cannot, he must go to prison until he either pays the plaintiff, or in case of a public theft, the city, or they agree to forgive him. ‘But should all kinds of theft incur the same penalty?’ You remind me of what I know — that legislation is never perfect. The men for whom laws are now made may be compared to the slave who is being doctored, according to our old image, by the unscientific doctor. For the empirical practitioner, if he chance to meet the educated physician talking to his patient, and entering into the philosophy of his disease, would burst out laughing and say, as doctors delight in doing, ‘Foolish fellow, instead of curing the patient you are educating him!’ ‘And would he not be right?’ Perhaps; and he might add, that he who discourses in our fashion preaches to the citizens instead of legislating for them. ‘True.’ There is, however, one advantage which we possess — that being amateurs only, we may either take the most ideal, or the most necessary and utilitarian view. ‘But why offer such an alternative? As if all our legislation must be done to-day, and nothing put off until the morrow. We may surely rough-hew our materials first, and shape and place them afterwards.’ That will be the natural way of proceeding. There is a further point. Of all writings either in prose or verse the writings of the legislator are the most important. For it is he who has to determine the nature of good and evil, and how they should be studied with a view to our instruction. And is it not as disgraceful for Solon and Lycurgus to lay down false precepts about the institutions of life as for Homer and Tyrtaeus? The laws of states ought to be the models of writing, and what is at variance with them should be deemed ridiculous. And we may further imagine them to express the affection and good sense of a father or mother, and not to be the fiats of a tyrant. ‘Very true.’

Let us enquire more particularly about sacrilege, theft and other crimes, for which we have already legislated in part. And this leads us to ask, first of all, whether we are agreed or disagreed about the nature of the honourable and just. ‘To what are you referring?’ I will endeavour to explain. All are agreed that justice is honourable, whether in men or things, and no one who maintains that a very ugly men who is just, is in his mind fair, would be thought extravagant. ‘Very true.’ But if honour is to be attributed to justice, are just sufferings honourable, or only just actions? ‘What do you mean?’ Our laws supply a case in point; for we enacted that the robber of temples and the traitor should die; and this was just, but the reverse of honourable. In this way does the language of the many rend asunder the just and honourable. ‘That is true.’ But is our own language consistent? I have already said that the evil are involuntarily evil; and the evil are the unjust. Now the voluntary cannot be the involuntary; and if you two come to me and say, ‘Then shall we legislate for our city?’ Of course, I shall reply.— ‘Then will you distinguish what crimes are voluntary and what involuntary, and shall we impose lighter penalties on the latter, and heavier on the former? Or shall we refuse to determine what is the meaning of voluntary and involuntary, and maintain that our words have come down from heaven, and that they should be at once embodied in a law?’ All states legislate under the idea that there are two classes of actions, the voluntary and the involuntary, but there is great confusion about them in the minds of men; and the law can never act unless they are distinguished. Either we must abstain from affirming that unjust actions are involuntary, or explain the meaning of this statement. Believing, then, that acts of injustice cannot be divided into voluntary and involuntary, I must endeavour to find some other mode of classifying them. Hurts are voluntary and involuntary, but all hurts are not injuries: on the other hand, a benefit when wrongly conferred may be an injury. An act which gives or takes away anything is not simply just; but the legislator who has to decide whether the case is one of hurt or injury, must consider the animus of the agent; and when there is hurt, he must as far as possible, provide a remedy and reparation: but if there is injustice, he must, when compensation has been made, further endeavour to reconcile the two parties. ‘Excellent.’ Where injustice, like disease, is remediable, there the remedy must be applied in word or deed, with the assistance of pleasures and pains, of bounties and penalties, or any other influence which may inspire man with the love of justice, or hatred of injustice; and this is the noblest work of law. But when the legislator perceives the evil to be incurable, he will consider that the death of the offender will be a good to himself, and in two ways a good to society: first, as he becomes an example to others; secondly, because the city will be quit of a rogue; and in such a case, but in no other, the legislator will punish with death. ‘There is some truth in what you say. I wish, however, that you would distinguish more clearly the difference of injury and hurt, and the complications of voluntary and involuntary.’ You will admit that anger is of a violent and destructive nature? ‘Certainly.’ And further, that pleasure is different from anger, and has an opposite power, working by persuasion and deceit? ‘Yes.’ Ignorance is the third source of crimes; this is of two kinds — simple ignorance and ignorance doubled by conceit of knowledge; the latter, when accompanied with power, is a source of terrible errors, but is excusable when only weak and childish. ‘True.’ We often say that one man masters, and another is mastered by pleasure and anger. ‘Just so.’ But no one says that one man masters, and another is mastered by ignorance. ‘You are right.’ All these motives actuate men and sometimes drive them in different ways. ‘That is so.’ Now, then, I am in a position to define the nature of just and unjust. By injustice I mean the dominion of anger and fear, pleasure and pain, envy and desire, in the soul, whether doing harm or not: by justice I mean the rule of the opinion of the best, whether in states or individuals, extending to the whole of life; although actions done in error are often thought to be involuntary injustice. No controversy need be raised about names at present; we are only desirous of fixing in our memories the heads of error. And the pain which is called fear and anger is our first head of error; the second is the class of pleasures and desires; and the third, of hopes which aim at true opinion about the best; — this latter falls into three divisions (i.e. (1) when accompanied by simple ignorance, (2) when accompanied by conceit of wisdom combined with power, or (3) with weakness), so that there are in all five. And the laws relating to them may be summed up under two heads, laws which deal with acts of open violence and with acts of deceit; to which may be added acts both violent and deceitful, and these last should be visited with the utmost rigour of the law. ‘Very properly.’

Let us now return to the enactment of laws. We have treated of sacrilege, and of conspiracy, and of treason. Any of these crimes may be committed by a person not in his right mind, or in the second childhood of old age. If this is proved to be the fact before the judges, the person in question shall only have to pay for the injury, and not be punished further, unless he have on his hands the stain of blood. In this case he shall be exiled for a year, and if he return before the expiration of the year, he shall be retained in the public prison two years.

Homicides may be divided into voluntary and involuntary: and first of involuntary homicide. He who unintentionally kills another man at the games or in military exercises duly authorized by the magistrates, whether death follow immediately or after an interval, shall be acquitted, subject only to the purification required by the Delphian Oracle. Any physician whose patient dies against his will shall in like manner be acquitted. Any one who unintentionally kills the slave of another, believing that he is his own, with or without weapons, shall bear the master of the slave harmless, or pay a penalty amounting to twice the value of the slave, and to this let him add a purification greater than in the case of homicide at the games. If a man kill his own slave, a purification only is required of him. If he kill a freeman unintentionally, let him also make purification; and let him remember the ancient tradition which says that the murdered man is indignant when he sees the murderer walk about in his own accustomed haunts, and that he terrifies him with the remembrance of his crime. And therefore the homicide should keep away from his native land for a year, or, if he have slain a stranger, let him avoid the land of the stranger for a like period. If he complies with this condition, the nearest kinsman of the deceased shall take pity upon him and be reconciled to him; but if he refuses to remain in exile, or visits the temples unpurified, then let the kinsman proceed against him, and demand a double penalty. The kinsman who neglects this duty shall himself incur the curse, and any one who likes may proceed against him, and compel him to leave his country for five years. If a stranger involuntarily kill a stranger, any one may proceed against him in the same manner: and the homicide, if he be a metic, shall be banished for a year; but if he be an entire stranger, whether he have murdered metic, citizen, or stranger, he shall be banished for ever; and if he return, he shall be punished with death, and his property shall go to the next of kin of the murdered man. If he come back by sea against his will, he shall remain on the seashore, wetting his feet in the water while he waits for a vessel to sail; or if he be brought back by land, the magistrates shall send him unharmed beyond the border.

Next follows murder done from anger, which is of two kinds — either arising out of a sudden impulse, and attended with remorse; or committed with premeditation, and unattended with remorse. The cause of both is anger, and both are intermediate between voluntary and involuntary. The one which is committed from sudden impulse, though not wholly involuntary, bears the image of the involuntary, and is therefore the more excusable of the two, and should receive a gentler punishment. The act of him who nurses his wrath is more voluntary, and therefore more culpable. The degree of culpability depends on the presence or absence of intention, to which the degree of punishment should correspond. For the first kind of murder, that which is done on a momentary impulse, let two years’ exile be the penalty; for the second, that which is accompanied with malice prepense, three. When the time of any one’s exile has expired, the guardians shall send twelve judges to the borders of the land, who shall have authority to decide whether he may return or not. He who after returning repeats the offence, shall be exiled and return no more, and, if he return, shall be put to death, like the stranger in a similar case. He who in a fit of anger kills his own slave, shall purify himself; and he who kills another man’s slave, shall pay to his master double the value. Any one may proceed against the offender if he appear in public places, not having been purified; and may bring to trial both the next of kin to the dead man and the homicide, and compel the one to exact, and the other to pay, a double penalty. If a slave kill his master, or a freeman who is not his master, in anger, the kinsmen of the murdered person may do with the murderer whatever they please, but they must not spare his life. If a father or mother kill their son or daughter in anger, let the slayer remain in exile for three years; and on the return of the exile let the parents separate, and no longer continue to cohabit, or have the same sacred rites with those whom he or she has deprived of a brother or sister. The same penalty is decreed against the husband who murders his wife, and also against the wife who murders her husband. Let them be absent three years, and on their return never again share in the same sacred rites with their children, or sit at the same table with them. Nor is a brother or sister who have lifted up their hands against a brother or sister, ever to come under the same roof or share in the same rites with those whom they have robbed of a child. If a son feels such hatred against his father or mother as to take the life of either of them, then, if the parent before death forgive him, he shall only suffer the penalty due to involuntary homicide; but if he be unforgiven, there are many laws against which he has offended; he is guilty of outrage, impiety, sacrilege all in one, and deserves to be put to death many times over. For if the law will not allow a man to kill the authors of his being even in self-defence, what other penalty than death can be inflicted upon him who in a fit of passion wilfully slays his father or mother? If a brother kill a brother in self-defence during a civil broil, or a citizen a citizen, or a slave a slave, or a stranger a stranger, let them be free from blame, as he is who slays an enemy in battle. But if a slave kill a freeman, let him be as a parricide. In all cases, however, the forgiveness of the injured party shall acquit the agents; and then they shall only be purified, and remain in exile for a year.

Enough of actions that are involuntary, or done in anger; let us proceed to voluntary and premeditated actions. The great source of voluntary crime is the desire of money, which is begotten by evil education; and this arises out of the false praise of riches, common both among Hellenes and barbarians; they think that to be the first of goods which is really the third. For the body is not for the sake of wealth, but wealth for the body, as the body is for the soul. If this were better understood, the crime of murder, of which avarice is the chief cause, would soon cease among men. Next to avarice, ambition is a source of crime, troublesome to the ambitious man himself, as well as to the chief men of the state. And next to ambition, base fear is a motive, which has led many an one to commit murder in order that he may get rid of the witnesses of his crimes. Let this be said as a prelude to all enactments about crimes of violence; and the tradition must not be forgotten, which tells that the murderer is punished in the world below, and that when he returns to this world he meets the fate which he has dealt out to others. If a man is deterred by the prelude and the fear of future punishment, he will have no need of the law; but in case he disobey, let the law be declared against him as follows: — He who of malice prepense kills one of his kindred, shall in the first place be outlawed; neither temple, harbour, nor agora shall be polluted by his presence. And if a kinsman of the deceased refuse to proceed against his slayer, he shall take the curse of pollution upon himself, and also be liable to be prosecuted by any one who will avenge the dead. The prosecutor, however, must observe the customary ceremonial before he proceeds against the offender. The details of these observances will be best determined by a conclave of prophets and interpreters and guardians of the law, and the judges of the cause itself shall be the same as in cases of sacrilege. He who is convicted shall be punished with death, and not be buried within the country of the murdered person. He who flies from the law shall undergo perpetual banishment; if he return, he may be put to death with impunity by any relative of the murdered man or by any other citizen, or bound and delivered to the magistrates. He who accuses a man of murder shall demand satisfactory bail of the accused, and if this is not forthcoming, the magistrate shall keep him in prison against the day of trial. If a man commit murder by the hand of another, he shall be tried in the same way as in the cases previously supposed, but if the offender be a citizen, his body after execution shall be buried within the land.

If a slave kill a freeman, either with his own hand or by contrivance, let him be led either to the grave or to a place whence he can see the grave of the murdered man, and there receive as many stripes at the hand of the public executioner as the person who took him pleases; and if he survive he shall be put to death. If a slave be put out of the way to prevent his informing of some crime, his death shall be punished like that of a citizen. If there are any of those horrible murders of kindred which sometimes occur even in well-regulated societies, and of which the legislator, however unwilling, cannot avoid taking cognizance, he will repeat the old myth of the divine vengeance against the perpetrators of such atrocities. The myth will say that the murderer must suffer what he has done: if he have slain his father, he must be slain by his children; if his mother, he must become a woman and perish at the hands of his offspring in another age of the world. Such a preamble may terrify him; but if, notwithstanding, in some evil hour he murders father or mother or brethren or children, the mode of proceeding shall be as follows: — Him who is convicted, the officers of the judges shall lead to a spot without the city where three ways meet, and there slay him and expose his body naked; and each of the magistrates shall cast a stone upon his head and justify the city, and he shall be thrown unburied beyond the border. But what shall we say of him who takes the life which is dearest to him, that is to say, his own; and this not from any disgrace or calamity, but from cowardice and indolence? The manner of his burial and the purification of his crime is a matter for God and the interpreters to decide and for his kinsmen to execute. Let him, at any rate, be buried alone in some uncultivated and nameless spot, and be without name or monument. If a beast kill a man, not in a public contest, let it be prosecuted for murder, and after condemnation slain and cast without the border. Also inanimate things which have caused death, except in the case of lightning and other visitations from heaven, shall be carried without the border. If the body of a dead man be found, and the murderer remain unknown, the trial shall take place all the same, and the unknown murderer shall be warned not to set foot in the temples or come within the borders of the land; if discovered, he shall die, and his body shall be cast out. A man is justified in taking the life of a burglar, of a footpad, of a violator of women or youth; and he may take the life of another with impunity in defence of father, mother, brother, wife, or other relations.

The nurture and education which are necessary to the existence of men have been considered, and the punishment of acts of violence which destroy life. There remain maiming, wounding, and the like, which admit of a similar division into voluntary and involuntary. About this class of actions the preamble shall be: Whereas men would be like wild beasts unless they obeyed the laws, the first duty of citizens is the care of the public interests, which unite and preserve states, as private interests distract them. A man may know what is for the public good, but if he have absolute power, human nature will impel him to seek pleasure instead of virtue, and so darkness will come over his soul and over the state. If he had mind, he would have no need of law; for mind is the perfection of law. But such a freeman, ‘whom the truth makes free,’ is hardly to be found; and therefore law and order are necessary, which are the second-best, and they regulate things as they exist in part only, but cannot take in the whole. For actions have innumerable characteristics, which must be partly determined by the law and partly left to the judge. The judge must determine the fact; and to him also the punishment must sometimes be left. What shall the law prescribe, and what shall be left to the judge? A city is unfortunate in which the tribunals are either secret and speechless, or, what is worse, noisy and public, when the people, as if they were in a theatre, clap and hoot the various speakers. Such courts a legislator would rather not have; but if he is compelled to have them, he will speak distinctly, and leave as little as possible to their discretion. But where the courts are good, and presided over by well-trained judges, the penalties to be inflicted may be in a great measure left to them; and as there are to be good courts among our colonists, we need not determine beforehand the exact proportion of the penalty and the crime. Returning, then, to our legislator, let us indite a law about wounding, which shall run as follows: — He who wounds with intent to kill, and fails in his object, shall be tried as if he had succeeded. But since God has favoured both him and his victim, instead of being put to death, he shall be allowed to go into exile and take his property with him, the damage due to the sufferer having been previously estimated by the court, which shall be the same as would have tried the case if death had ensued. If a child should intentionally wound a parent, or a servant his master, or brother or sister wound brother or sister with malice prepense, the penalty shall be death. If a husband or wife wound one another with intent to kill, the penalty which is inflicted upon them shall be perpetual exile; and if they have young children, the guardians shall take care of them and administer their property as if they were orphans. If they have no children, their kinsmen male and female shall meet, and after a consultation with the priests and guardians of the law, shall appoint an heir of the house; for the house and family belong to the state, being a 5040th portion of the whole. And the state is bound to preserve her families happy and holy; therefore, when the heir of a house has committed a capital offence, or is in exile for life, the house is to be purified, and then the kinsmen of the house and the guardians of the law are to find out a family which has a good name and in which there are many sons, and introduce one of them to be the heir and priest of the house. He shall assume the fathers and ancestors of the family, while the first son dies in dishonour and his name is blotted out.

Some actions are intermediate between the voluntary and involuntary. Those done from anger are of this class. If a man wound another in anger, let him pay double the damage, if the injury is curable; or fourfold, if curable, and at the same time dishonourable; and fourfold, if incurable; the amount is to be assessed by the judges. If the wounded person is rendered incapable of military service, the injurer, besides the other penalties, shall serve in his stead, or be liable to a suit for refusing to serve. If brother wounds brother, then their parents and kindred, of both sexes, shall meet and judge the crime. The damages shall be assessed by the parents; and if the amount fixed by them is disputed, an appeal shall be made to the male kindred; or in the last resort to the guardians of the law. Parents who wound their children are to be tried by judges of at least sixty years of age, who have children of their own; and they are to determine whether death, or some lesser punishment, is to be inflicted upon them — no relatives are to take part in the trial. If a slave in anger smite a freeman, he is to be delivered up by his master to the injured person. If the master suspect collusion between the slave and the injured person, he may bring the matter to trial: and if he fail he shall pay three times the injury; or if he obtain a conviction, the contriver of the conspiracy shall be liable to an action for kidnapping. He who wounds another unintentionally shall only pay for the actual harm done.

In all outrages and acts of violence, the elder is to be more regarded than the younger. An injury done by a younger man to an elder is abominable and hateful; but the younger man who is struck by an elder is to bear with him patiently, considering that he who is twenty years older is loco parentis, and remembering the reverence which is due to the Gods who preside over birth. Let him keep his hands, too, from the stranger; instead of taking upon himself to chastise him when he is insolent, he shall bring him before the wardens of the city, who shall examine into the case, and if they find him guilty, shall scourge him with as many blows as he has given; or if he be innocent, they shall warn and threaten his accuser. When an equal strikes an equal, whether an old man an old man, or a young man a young man, let them use only their fists and have no weapons. He who being above forty years of age commences a fight, or retaliates, shall be counted mean and base.

To this preamble, let the law be added: If a man smite another who is his elder by twenty years or more, let the bystander, in case he be older than the combatants, part them; or if he be younger than the person struck, or of the same age with him, let him defend him as he would a father or brother; and let the striker be brought to trial, and if convicted imprisoned for a year or more at the discretion of the judges. If a stranger smite one who is his elder by twenty years or more, he shall be imprisoned for two years, and a metic, in like case, shall suffer three years’ imprisonment. He who is standing by and gives no assistance, shall be punished according to his class in one of four penalties — a mina, fifty, thirty, twenty drachmas. The generals and other superior officers of the army shall form the court which tries this class of offences.

Laws are made to instruct the good, and in the hope that there may be no need of them; also to control the bad, whose hardness of heart will not be hindered from crime. The uttermost penalty will fall upon those who lay violent hands upon a parent, having no fear of the Gods above, or of the punishments which will pursue them in the world below. They are too wise in their own conceits to believe in such things: wherefore the tortures which await them in another life must be anticipated in this. Let the law be as follows: —

If a man, being in his right mind, dare to smite his father and mother, or his grandfather and grandmother, let the passer-by come to the rescue; and if he be a metic or stranger who comes to the rescue, he shall have the first place at the games; or if he do not come to the rescue, he shall be a perpetual exile. Let the citizen in the like case be praised or blamed, and the slave receive freedom or a hundred stripes. The wardens of the agora, the city, or the country, as the case may be, shall see to the execution of the law. And he who is an inhabitant of the same place and is present shall come to the rescue, or he shall fall under a curse.

If a man be convicted of assaulting his parents, let him be banished for ever from the city into the country, and let him abstain from all sacred rites; and if he do not abstain, let him be punished by the wardens of the country; and if he return to the city, let him be put to death. If any freeman consort with him, let him be purified before he returns to the city. If a slave strike a freeman, whether citizen or stranger, let the bystander be obliged to seize and deliver him into the hands of the injured person, who may inflict upon him as many blows as he pleases, and shall then return him to his master. The law will be as follows: — The slave who strikes a freeman shall be bound by his master, and not set at liberty without the consent of the person whom he has injured. All these laws apply to women as well as to men.

BOOK X. The greatest wrongs arise out of youthful insolence, and the greatest of all are committed against public temples; they are in the second degree great when private rites and sepulchres are insulted; in the third degree, when committed against parents; in the fourth degree, when they are done against the authority or property of the rulers; in the fifth degree, when the rights of individuals are violated. Most of these offences have been already considered; but there remains the question of admonition and punishment of offences against the Gods. Let the admonition be in the following terms: — No man who ever intentionally did or said anything impious, had a true belief in the existence of the Gods; but either he thought that there were no Gods, or that they did not care about men, or that they were easily appeased by sacrifices and prayers. ‘What shall we say or do to such persons?’ My good sir, let us first hear the jests which they in their superiority will make upon us. ‘What will they say?’ Probably something of this kind:— ‘Strangers you are right in thinking that some of us do not believe in the existence of the Gods; while others assert that they do not care for us, and others that they are propitiated by prayers and offerings. But we want you to argue with us before you threaten; you should prove to us by reasonable evidence that there are Gods, and that they are too good to be bribed. Poets, priests, prophets, rhetoricians, even the best of them, speak to us of atoning for evil, and not of avoiding it. From legislators who profess to be gentle we ask for instruction, which may, at least, have the persuasive power of truth, if no other.’ What have you to say? ‘Well, there is no difficulty in proving the being of the Gods. The sun, and earth, and stars, moving in their courses, the recurring seasons, furnish proofs of their existence; and there is the general opinion of mankind.’ I fear that the unbelievers — not that I care for their opinion — will despise us. You are not aware that their impiety proceeds, not from sensuality, but from ignorance taking the garb of wisdom. ‘What do you mean?’ At Athens there are tales current both in prose and verse of a kind which are not tolerated in a well-regulated state like yours. The oldest of them relate the origin of the world, and the birth and life of the Gods. These narratives have a bad influence on family relations; but as they are old we will let them pass, and consider another kind of tales, invented by the wisdom of a younger generation, who, if any one argues for the existence of the Gods and claims that the stars have a divine being, insist that these are mere earth and stones, which can have no care of human things, and that all theology is a cooking up of words. Now what course ought we to take? Shall we suppose some impious man to charge us with assuming the existence of the Gods, and make a defence? Or shall we leave the preamble and go on to the laws? ‘There is no hurry, and we have often said that the shorter and worse method should not be preferred to the longer and better. The proof that there are Gods who are good, and the friends of justice, is the best preamble of all our laws.’ Come, let us talk with the impious, who have been brought up from their infancy in the belief of religion, and have heard their own fathers and mothers praying for them and talking with the Gods as if they were absolutely convinced of their existence; who have seen mankind prostrate in prayer at the rising and setting of the sun and moon and at every turn of fortune, and have dared to despise and disbelieve all this. Can we keep our temper with them, when they compel us to argue on such a theme? We must; or like them we shall go mad, though with more reason. Let us select one of them and address him as follows:

O my son, you are young; time and experience will make you change many of your opinions. Do not be hasty in forming a conclusion about the divine nature; and let me mention to you a fact which I know. You and your friends are not the first or the only persons who have had these notions about the Gods. There are always a considerable number who are infected by them: I have known many myself, and can assure you that no one who was an unbeliever in his youth ever persisted till he was old in denying the existence of the Gods. The two other opinions, first, that the Gods exist and have no care of men, secondly, that they care for men, but may be propitiated by sacrifices and prayers, may indeed last through life in a few instances, but even this is not common. I would beg of you to be patient, and learn the truth of the legislator and others; in the mean time abstain from impiety. ‘So far, our discourse has gone well.’

I will now speak of a strange doctrine, which is regarded by many as the crown of philosophy. They affirm that all things come into being either by art or nature or chance, and that the greater things are done by nature and chance, and the lesser things by art, which receiving from nature the greater creations, moulds and fashions all those lesser works which are termed works of art. Their meaning is that fire, water, earth, and air all exist by nature and chance, and not by art; and that out of these, according to certain chance affinities of opposites, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the earth have been framed, not by any action of mind, but by nature and chance only. Thus, in their opinion, the heaven and earth were created, as well as the animals and plants. Art came later, and is of mortal birth; by her power were invented certain images and very partial imitations of the truth, of which kind are the creations of musicians and painters: but they say that there are other arts which combine with nature, and have a deeper truth, such as medicine, husbandry, gymnastic. Also the greater part of politics they imagine to co-operate with nature, but in a less degree, having more of art, while legislation is declared by them to be wholly a work of art. ‘How do you mean?’ In the first place, they say that the Gods exist neither by nature nor by art, but by the laws of states, which are different in different countries; and that virtue is one thing by nature and another by convention; and that justice is altogether conventional, made by law, and having authority for the moment only. This is repeated to young men by sages and poets, and leads to impiety, and the pretended life according to nature and in disobedience to law; for nobody believes the Gods to be such as the law affirms. ‘How true! and oh! how injurious to states and to families!’ But then, what should the lawgiver do? Should he stand up in the state and threaten mankind with the severest penalties if they persist in their unbelief, while he makes no attempt to win them by persuasion? ‘Nay, Stranger, the legislator ought never to weary of trying to persuade the world that there are Gods; and he should declare that law and art exist by nature.’ Yes, Cleinias; but these are difficult and tedious questions. ‘And shall our patience, which was not exhausted in the enquiry about music or drink, fail now that we are discoursing about the Gods? There may be a difficulty in framing laws, but when written down they remain, and time and diligence will make them clear; if they are useful there would be neither reason nor religion in rejecting them on account of their length.’ Most true. And the general spread of unbelief shows that the legislator should do something in vindication of the laws, when they are being undermined by bad men. ‘He should.’ You agree with me, Cleinias, that the heresy consists in supposing earth, air, fire, and water to be the first of all things. These the heretics call nature, conceiving them to be prior to the soul. ‘I agree.’ You would further agree that natural philosophy is the source of this impiety — the study appears to be pursued in a wrong way. ‘In what way do you mean?’ The error consists in transposing first and second causes. They do not see that the soul is before the body, and before all other things, and the author and ruler of them all. And if the soul is prior to the body, then the things of the soul are prior to the things of the body. In other words, opinion, attention, mind, art, law, are prior to sensible qualities; and the first and greater works of creation are the results of art and mind, whereas the works of nature, as they are improperly termed, are secondary and subsequent. ‘Why do you say “improperly”?’ Because when they speak of nature they seem to mean the first creative power. But if the soul is first, and not fire and air, then the soul above all things may be said to exist by nature. And this can only be on the supposition that the soul is prior to the body. Shall we try to prove that it is so? ‘By all means.’ I fear that the greenness of our argument will ludicrously contrast with the ripeness of our ages. But as we must go into the water, and the stream is strong, I will first attempt to cross by myself, and if I arrive at the bank, you shall follow. Remembering that you are unaccustomed to such discussions, I will ask and answer the questions myself, while you listen in safety. But first I must pray the Gods to assist at the demonstration of their own existence — if ever we are to call upon them, now is the time. Let me hold fast to the rope, and enter into the depths: Shall I put the question to myself in this form? — Are all things at rest, and is nothing in motion? or are some things in motion, and some things at rest? ‘The latter.’ And do they move and rest, some in one place, some in more? ‘Yes.’ There may be (1) motion in the same place, as in revolution on an axis, which is imparted swiftly to the larger and slowly to the lesser circle; and there may be motion in different places, having sometimes (2) one centre of motion and sometimes (3) more. (4) When bodies in motion come against other bodies which are at rest, they are divided by them, and (5) when they are caught between other bodies coming from opposite directions they unite with them; and (6) they grow by union and (7) waste by dissolution while their constitution remains the same, but are (8) destroyed when their constitution fails. There is a growth from one dimension to two, and from a second to a third, which then becomes perceptible to sense; this process is called generation, and the opposite, destruction. We have now enumerated all possible motions with the exception of two. ‘What are they?’ Just the two with which our enquiry is concerned; for our enquiry relates to the soul. There is one kind of motion which is only able to move other things; there is another which can move itself as well, working in composition and decomposition, by increase and diminution, by generation and destruction. ‘Granted.’ (9) That which moves and is moved by another is the ninth kind of motion; (10) that which is self-moved and moves others is the tenth. And this tenth kind of motion is the mightiest, and is really the first, and is followed by that which was improperly called the ninth. ‘How do you mean?’ Must not that which is moved by others finally depend upon that which is moved by itself? Nothing can be affected by any transition prior to self-motion. Then the first and eldest principle of motion, whether in things at rest or not at rest, will be the principle of self-motion; and that which is moved by others and can move others will be the second. ‘True.’ Let me ask another question:

What is the name which is given to self-motion when manifested in any material substance? ‘Life.’ And soul too is life? ‘Very good.’ And are there not three kinds of knowledge — a knowledge (1) of the essence, (2) of the definition, (3) of the name? And sometimes the name leads us to ask the definition, sometimes the definition to ask the name. For example, number can be divided into equal parts, and when thus divided is termed even, and the definition of even and the word ‘even’ refer to the same thing. ‘Very true.’ And what is the definition of the thing which is named ‘soul’? Must we not reply, ‘The self-moved’? And have we not proved that the self-moved is the source of motion in other things? ‘Yes.’ And the motion which is not self-moved will be inferior to this? ‘True.’ And if so, we shall be right in saying that the soul is prior and superior to the body, and the body by nature subject and inferior to the soul? ‘Quite right.’ And we agreed that if the soul was prior to the body, the things of the soul were prior to the things of the body? ‘Certainly.’ And therefore desires, and manners, and thoughts, and true opinions, and recollections, are prior to the length and breadth and force of bodies. ‘To be sure.’ In the next place, we acknowledge that the soul is the cause of good and evil, just and unjust, if we suppose her to be the cause of all things? ‘Certainly.’ And the soul which orders all things must also order the heavens? ‘Of course.’ One soul or more? More; for less than two are inconceivable, one good, the other evil. ‘Most true.’ The soul directs all things by her movements, which we call will, consideration, attention, deliberation, opinion true and false, joy, sorrow, courage, fear, hatred, love, and similar affections. These are the primary movements, and they receive the secondary movements of bodies, and guide all things to increase and diminution, separation and union, and to all the qualities which accompany them — cold, hot, heavy, light, hard, soft, white, black, sweet, bitter; these and other such qualities the soul, herself a goddess, uses, when truly receiving the divine mind she leads all things rightly to their happiness; but under the impulse of folly she works out an opposite result. For the controller of heaven and earth and the circle of the world is either the wise and good soul, or the foolish and vicious soul, working in them. ‘What do you mean?’ If we say that the whole course and motion of heaven and earth is in accordance with the workings and reasonings of mind, clearly the best soul must have the care of the heaven, and guide it along that better way. ‘True.’ But if the heavens move wildly and disorderly, then they must be under the guidance of the evil soul. ‘True again.’ What is the nature of the movement of the soul? We must not suppose that we can see and know the soul with our bodily eyes, any more than we can fix them on the midday sun; it will be safer to look at an image only. ‘How do you mean?’ Let us find among the ten kinds of motion an image of the motion of the mind. You remember, as we said, that all things are divided into two classes; and some of them were moved and some at rest. ‘Yes.’ And of those which were moved, some were moved in the same place, others in more places than one. ‘Just so.’ The motion which was in one place was circular, like the motion of a spherical body; and such a motion in the same place, and in the same relations, is an excellent image of the motion of mind. ‘Very true.’ The motion of the other sort, which has no fixed place or manner or relation or order or proportion, is akin to folly and nonsense. ‘Very true.’ After what has been said, it is clear that, since the soul carries round all things, some soul which is either very good or the opposite carries round the circumference of heaven. But that soul can be no other than the best. Again, the soul carries round the sun, moon, and stars, and if the sun has a soul, then either the soul of the sun is within and moves the sun as the human soul moves the body; or, secondly, the sun is contained in some external air or fire, which the soul provides and through which she operates; or, thirdly, the course of the sun is guided by the soul acting in a wonderful manner without a body. ‘Yes, in one of those ways the soul must guide all things.’ And this soul of the sun, which is better than the sun, whether driving him in a chariot or employing any other agency, is by every man called a God? ‘Yes, by every man who has any sense.’ And of the seasons, stars, moon, and year, in like manner, it may be affirmed that the soul or souls from which they derive their excellence are divine; and without insisting on the manner of their working, no one can deny that all things are full of Gods. ‘No one.’ And now let us offer an alternative to him who denies that there are Gods. Either he must show that the soul is not the origin of all things, or he must live for the future in the belief that there are Gods.

Next, as to the man who believes in the Gods, but refuses to acknowledge that they take care of human things — let him too have a word of admonition. ‘Best of men,’ we will say to him, ‘some affinity to the Gods leads you to honour them and to believe in them. But you have heard the happiness of wicked men sung by poets and admired by the world, and this has drawn you away from your natural piety. Or you have seen the wicked growing old in prosperity, and leaving great offices to their children; or you have watched the tyrant succeeding in his career of crime; and considering all these things you have been led to believe in an irrational way that the Gods take no care of human affairs. That your error may not increase, I will endeavour to purify your soul.’ Do you, Megillus and Cleinias, make answer for the youth, and when we come to a difficulty, I will carry you over the water as I did before. ‘Very good.’ He will easily be convinced that the Gods care for the small as well as the great; for he heard what was said of their goodness and of their having all things under their care. ‘He certainly heard.’ Then now let us enquire what is meant by the virtue of the Gods. To possess mind belongs to virtue, and the contrary to vice. ‘That is what we say.’ And is not courage a part of virtue, and cowardice of vice? ‘Certainly.’ And to the Gods we ascribe virtues; but idleness and indolence are not virtues. ‘Of course not.’ And is God to be conceived of as a careless, indolent fellow, such as the poet would compare to a stingless drone? ‘Impossible.’ Can we be right in praising any one who cares for great matters and leaves the small to take care of themselves? Whether God or man, he who does so, must either think the neglect of such matters to be of no consequence, or he is indolent and careless. For surely neither of them can be charged with neglect if they fail to attend to something which is beyond their power? ‘Certainly not.’

And now we will examine the two classes of offenders who admit that there are Gods, but say, — the one that they may be appeased, the other that they take no care of small matters: do they not acknowledge that the Gods are omnipotent and omniscient, and also good and perfect? ‘Certainly.’ Then they cannot be indolent, for indolence is the offspring of idleness, and idleness of cowardice, and there is no cowardice in God. ‘True.’ If the Gods neglect small matters, they must either know or not know that such things are not to be regarded. But of course they know that they should be regarded, and knowing, they cannot be supposed to neglect their duty, overcome by the seductions of pleasure or pain. ‘Impossible.’ And do not all human things share in soul, and is not man the most religious of animals and the possession of the Gods? And the Gods, who are the best of owners, will surely take care of their property, small or great. Consider further, that the greater the power of perception, the less the power of action. For it is harder to see and hear the small than the great, but easier to control them. Suppose a physician who had to cure a patient — would he ever succeed if he attended to the great and neglected the little? ‘Impossible.’ Is not life made up of littles? — the pilot, general, householder, statesman, all attend to small matters; and the builder will tell you that large stones do not lie well without small ones. And God is not inferior to mortal craftsmen, who in proportion to their skill are careful in the details of their work; we must not imagine the best and wisest to be a lazy good-for-nothing, who wearies of his work and hurries over small and easy matters. ‘Never, never!’ He who charges the Gods with neglect has been forced to admit his error; but I should like further to persuade him that the author of all has made every part for the sake of the whole, and that the smallest part has an appointed state of action or passion, and that the least action or passion of any part has a presiding minister. You, we say to him, are a minute fraction of this universe, created with a view to the whole; the world is not made for you, but you for the world; for the good artist considers the whole first, and afterwards the parts. And you are annoyed at not seeing how you and the universe are all working together for the best, so far as the laws of the common creation admit. The soul undergoes many changes from her contact with bodies; and all that the player does is to put the pieces into their right places. ‘What do you mean?’ I mean that God acts in the way which is simplest and easiest. Had each thing been formed without any regard to the rest, the transposition of the Cosmos would have been endless; but now there is not much trouble in the government of the world. For when the king saw the actions of the living souls and bodies, and the virtue and vice which were in them, and the indestructibility of the soul and body (although they were not eternal), he contrived so to arrange them that virtue might conquer and vice be overcome as far as possible; giving them a seat and room adapted to them, but leaving the direction of their separate actions to men’s own wills, which make our characters to be what they are. ‘That is very probable.’ All things which have a soul possess in themselves the principle of change, and in changing move according to fate and law; natures which have undergone lesser changes move on the surface; but those which have changed utterly for the worse, sink into Hades and the infernal world. And in all great changes for good and evil which are produced either by the will of the soul or the influence of others, there is a change of place. The good soul, which has intercourse with the divine nature, passes into a holier and better place; and the evil soul, as she grows worse, changes her place for the worse. This, — as we declare to the youth who fancies that he is neglected of the Gods, — is the law of divine justice — the worse to the worse, the better to the better, like to like, in life and in death. And from this law no man will ever boast that he has escaped. Even if you say— ‘I am small, and will creep into the earth,’ or ‘I am high, and will mount to heaven’ — you are not so small or so high that you shall not pay the fitting penalty, either here or in the world below. This is also the explanation of the seeming prosperity of the wicked, in whose actions as in a mirror you imagined that you saw the neglect of the Gods, not considering that they make all things contribute to the whole. And how then could you form any idea of true happiness? — If Cleinias and Megillus and I have succeeded in persuading you that you know not what you say about the Gods, God will help you; but if there is still any deficiency of proof, hear our answer to the third opponent.

Enough has been said to prove that the Gods exist and care for us; that they can be propitiated, or that they receive gifts, is not to be allowed or admitted for an instant. ‘Let us proceed with the argument.’ Tell me, by the Gods, I say, how the Gods are to be propitiated by us? Are they not rulers, who may be compared to charioteers, pilots, perhaps generals, or physicians providing against the assaults of disease, husbandmen observing the perils of the seasons, shepherds watching their flocks? To whom shall we compare them? We acknowledged that the world is full both of good and evil, but having more of evil than of good. There is an immortal conflict going on, in which Gods and demigods are our allies, and we their property; for injustice and folly and wickedness make war in our souls upon justice and temperance and wisdom. There is little virtue to be found on earth; and evil natures fawn upon the Gods, like wild beasts upon their keepers, and believe that they can win them over by flattery and prayers. And this sin, which is termed dishonesty, is to the soul what disease is to the body, what pestilence is to the seasons, what injustice is to states. ‘Quite so.’ And they who maintain that the Gods can be appeased must say that they forgive the sins of men, if they are allowed to share in their spoils; as you might suppose wolves to mollify the dogs by throwing them a portion of the prey. ‘That is the argument.’ But let us apply our images to the Gods — are they the pilots who are won by gifts to wreck their own ships — or the charioteers who are bribed to lose the race — or the generals, or doctors, or husbandmen, who are perverted from their duty — or the dogs who are silenced by wolves? ‘God forbid.’ Are they not rather our best guardians; and shall we suppose them to fall short even of a moderate degree of human or even canine virtue, which will not betray justice for reward? ‘Impossible.’ He, then, who maintains such a doctrine, is the most blasphemous of mankind.

And now our three points are proven; and we are agreed (1) that there are Gods, (2) that they care for men, (3) that they cannot be bribed to do injustice. I have spoken warmly, from a fear lest this impiety of theirs should lead to a perversion of life. And our warmth will not have been in vain, if we have succeeded in persuading these men to abominate themselves, and to change their ways. ‘So let us hope.’ Then now that the preamble is completed, we will make a proclamation commanding the impious to renounce their evil ways; and in case they refuse, the law shall be added: — If a man is guilty of impiety in word or deed, let the bystander inform the magistrates, and let the magistrates bring the offender before the court; and if any of the magistrates refuses to act, he likewise shall be tried for impiety. Any one who is found guilty of such an offence shall be fined at the discretion of the court, and shall also be punished by a term of imprisonment. There shall be three prisons — one for common offences against life and property; another, near by the spot where the Nocturnal Council will assemble, which is to be called the ‘House of Reformation’; the third, to be situated in some desolate region in the centre of the country, shall be called by a name indicating retribution. There are three causes of impiety, and from each of them spring impieties of two kinds, six in all. First, there is the impiety of those who deny the existence of the Gods; these may be honest men, haters of evil, who are only dangerous because they talk loosely about the Gods and make others like themselves; but there is also a more vicious class, who are full of craft and licentiousness. To this latter belong diviners, jugglers, despots, demagogues, generals, hierophants of private mysteries, and sophists. The first class shall be only imprisoned and admonished. The second class should be put to death, if they could be, many times over. The two other sorts of impiety, first of those who deny the care of the Gods, and secondly, of those who affirm that they may be propitiated, have similar subdivisions, varying in degree of guilt. Those who have learnt to blaspheme from mere ignorance shall be imprisoned in the House of Reformation for five years at least, and not allowed to see any one but members of the Nocturnal Council, who shall converse with them touching their souls health. If any of the prisoners come to their right mind, at the end of five years let them be restored to sane company; but he who again offends shall die. As to that class of monstrous natures who not only believe that the Gods are negligent, or may be propitiated, but pretend to practise on the souls of quick and dead, and promise to charm the Gods, and to effect the ruin of houses and states — he, I say, who is guilty of these things, shall be bound in the central prison, and shall have no intercourse with any freeman, receiving only his daily rations of food from the public slaves; and when he dies, let him be cast beyond the border; and if any freeman assist to bury him, he shall be liable to a suit for impiety. But the sins of the father shall not be visited upon his children, who, like other orphans, shall be educated by the state. Further, let there be a general law which will have a tendency to repress impiety. No man shall have religious services in his house, but he shall go with his friends to pray and sacrifice in the temples. The reason of this is, that religious institutions can only be framed by a great intelligence. But women and weak men are always consecrating the event of the moment; they are under the influence of dreams and apparitions, and they build altars and temples in every village and in any place where they have had a vision. The law is designed to prevent this, and also to deter men from attempting to propitiate the Gods by secret sacrifices, which only multiply their sins. Therefore let the law run: — No one shall have private religious rites; and if a man or woman who has not been previously noted for any impiety offend in this way, let them be admonished to remove their rites to a public temple; but if the offender be one of the obstinate sort, he shall be brought to trial before the guardians, and if he be found guilty, let him die.

BOOK XI. As to dealings between man and man, the principle of them is simple — Thou shalt not take what is not thine; and shalt do to others as thou wouldst that they should do to thee. First, of treasure trove: — May I never desire to find, or lift, if I find, or be induced by the counsel of diviners to lift, a treasure which one who was not my ancestor has laid down; for I shall not gain so much in money as I shall lose in virtue. The saying, ‘Move not the immovable,’ may be repeated in a new sense; and there is a common belief which asserts that such deeds prevent a man from having a family. To him who is careless of such consequences, and, despising the word of the wise, takes up a treasure which is not his — what will be done by the hand of the Gods, God only knows, — but I would have the first person who sees the offender, inform the wardens of the city or the country; and they shall send to Delphi for a decision, and whatever the oracle orders, they shall carry out. If the informer be a freeman, he shall be honoured, and if a slave, set free; but he who does not inform, if he be a freeman, shall be dishonoured, and if a slave, shall be put to death. If a man leave anywhere anything great or small, intentionally or unintentionally, let him who may find the property deem the deposit sacred to the Goddess of ways. And he who appropriates the same, if he be a slave, shall be beaten with many stripes; if a freeman, he shall pay tenfold, and be held to have done a dishonourable action. If a person says that another has something of his, and the other allows that he has the property in dispute, but maintains it to be his own, let the ownership be proved out of the registers of property. If the property is registered as belonging to some one who is absent, possession shall be given to him who offers sufficient security on behalf of the absentee; or if the property is not registered, let it remain with the three eldest magistrates, and if it should be an animal, the defeated party must pay the cost of its keep. A man may arrest his own slave, and he may also imprison for safe-keeping the runaway slave of a friend. Any one interfering with him must produce three sureties; otherwise, he will be liable to an action for violence, and if he be cast, must pay a double amount of damages to him from whom he has taken the slave. A freedman who does not pay due respect to his patron, may also be seized. Due respect consists in going three times a month to the house of his patron, and offering to perform any lawful service for him; he must also marry as his master pleases; and if his property be greater than his master’s, he must hand over to him the excess. A freedman may not remain in the state, except with the consent of the magistrates and of his master, for more than twenty years; and whenever his census exceeds that of the third class, he must in any case leave the country within thirty days, taking his property with him. If he break this regulation, the penalty shall be death, and his property shall be confiscated. Suits about these matters are to be decided in the courts of the tribes, unless the parties have settled the matter before a court of neighbours or before arbiters. If anybody claim a beast, or anything else, let the possessor refer to the seller or giver of the property within thirty days, if the latter reside in the city, or, if the goods have been received from a stranger, within five months, of which the middle month shall include the summer solstice. All purchases and exchanges are to be made in the agora, and paid for on the spot; the law will not allow credit to be given. No law shall protect the money subscribed for clubs. He who sells anything of greater value than fifty drachmas shall abide in the city for ten days, and let his whereabouts be known to the buyer, in case of any reclamation. When a slave is sold who is subject to epilepsy, stone, or any other invisible disorder, the buyer, if he be a physician or trainer, or if he be warned, shall have no redress; but in other cases within six months, or within twelve months in epileptic disorders, he may bring the matter before a jury of physicians to be agreed upon by both parties; and the seller who loses the suit, if he be an expert, shall pay twice the price; or if he be a private person, the bargain shall be rescinded, and he shall simply refund. If a person knowingly sells a homicide to another, who is informed of his character, there is no redress. But if the judges — who are to be the five youngest guardians of the law — decide that the purchaser was not aware, then the seller is to pay threefold, and to purify the house of the buyer.

He who exchanges money for money, or beast for beast, must warrant either of them to be sound and good. As in the case of other laws, let us have a preamble, relating to all this class of crime. Adulteration is a kind of falsehood about which the many commonly say that at proper times the practice may often be right, but they do not define at what times. But the legislator will tell them, that no man should invoke the Gods when he is practising deceit or fraud, in word or deed. For he is the enemy of heaven, first, who swears falsely, not thinking of the Gods by whom he swears, and secondly, he who lies to his superiors. (Now the superiors are the betters of inferiors, — the elder of the younger, parents of children, men of women, and rulers of subjects.) The trader who cheats in the agora is a liar and is perjured — he respects neither the name of God nor the regulations of the magistrates. If after hearing this he will still be dishonest, let him listen to the law: — The seller shall not have two prices on the same day, neither must he puff his goods, nor offer to swear about them. If he break the law, any citizen not less than thirty years of age may smite him. If he sell adulterated goods, the slave or metic who informs against him shall have the goods; the citizen who brings such a charge, if he prove it, shall offer up the goods in question to the Gods of the agora; or if he fail to prove it, shall be dishonoured. He who is detected in selling adulterated goods shall be deprived of them, and shall receive a stripe for every drachma of their value. The wardens of the agora and the guardians of the law shall take experienced persons into counsel, and draw up regulations for the agora. These shall be inscribed on a column in front of the court of the wardens of the agora. — As to the wardens of the city, enough has been said already. But if any omissions in the law are afterwards discovered, the wardens and the guardians shall supply them, and have them inscribed after the original regulations on a column before the court of the wardens of the city.

Next in order follows the subject of retail trades, which in their natural use are the reverse of mischievous; for every man is a benefactor who reduces what is unequal to symmetry and proportion. Money is the instrument by which this is accomplished, and the shop-keeper, the merchant, and hotel-keeper do but supply the wants and equalize the possessions of mankind. Why, then, does any dishonour attach to a beneficent occupation? Let us consider the nature of the accusation first, and then see whether it can be removed. ‘What is your drift?’ Dear Cleinias, there are few men who are so gifted by nature, and improved by education, as to be able to control the desire of making money; or who are sober in their wishes and prefer moderation to accumulation. The great majority think that they can never have enough, and the consequence is that retail trade has become a reproach. Whereas, however ludicrous the idea may seem, if noble men and noble women could be induced to open a shop, and to trade upon incorruptible principles, then the aspect of things would change, and retail traders would be regarded as nursing fathers and mothers. In our own day the trader goes and settles in distant places, and receives the weary traveller hospitably at first, but in the end treats him as an enemy and a captive, whom he only liberates for an enormous ransom. This is what has brought retail trade into disrepute, and against this the legislator ought to provide. Men have said of old, that to fight against two opponents is hard; and the two opponents of whom I am thinking are wealth and poverty — the one corrupting men by luxury; the other, through misery, depriving them of the sense of shame. What remedies can a city find for this disease? First, to have as few retail traders as possible; secondly, to give retail trade over to a class whose corruption will not injure the state; and thirdly, to restrain the insolence and meanness of the retailers.

Let us make the following laws: — (1) In the city of the Magnetes none of the 5040 citizens shall be a retailer or merchant, or do any service to any private persons who do not equally serve him, except to his father and mother and their fathers and mothers, and generally to his elders who are freemen, and whom he serves as a freeman. He who follows an illiberal pursuit may be cited for dishonouring his family, and kept in bonds for a year; and if he offend again, he shall be bound for two years; and for every offence his punishment shall be doubled: (2) Every retailer shall be a metic or a foreigner: (3) The guardians of the law shall have a special care of this part of the community, whose calling exposes them to peculiar temptations. They shall consult with persons of experience, and find out what prices will yield the traders a moderate profit, and fix them.

When a man does not fulfil his contract, he being under no legal or other impediment, the case shall be brought before the court of the tribes, if not previously settled by arbitration. The class of artisans is consecrated to Hephaestus and Athene; the makers of weapons to Ares and Athene: all of whom, remembering that the Gods are their ancestors, should be ashamed to deceive in the practice of their craft. If any man is lazy in the fulfilment of his work, and fancies, foolish fellow, that his patron God will not deal hardly with him, he will be punished by the God; and let the law follow: — He who fails in his undertaking shall pay the value, and do the work gratis in a specified time. The contractor, like the seller, is enjoined by law to charge the simple value of his work; in a free city, art should be a true thing, and the artist must not practise on the ignorance of others. On the other hand, he who has ordered any work and does not pay the workman according to agreement, dishonours Zeus and Athene, and breaks the bonds of society. And if he does not pay at the time agreed, let him pay double; and although interest is forbidden in other cases, let the workman receive after the expiration of a year interest at the rate of an obol a month for every drachma (equal to 200 per cent. per ann.). And we may observe by the way, in speaking of craftsmen, that if our military craft do their work well, the state will praise those who honour them, and blame those who do not honour them. Not that the first place of honour is to be assigned to the warrior; a higher still is reserved for those who obey the laws.

Most of the dealings between man and man are now settled, with the exception of such as relate to orphans and guardianships. These lead us to speak of the intentions of the dying, about which we must make regulations. I say ‘must’; for mankind cannot be allowed to dispose of their property as they please, in ways at variance with one another and with law and custom. But a dying person is a strange being, and is not easily managed; he wants to be master of all he has, and is apt to use angry words. He will say,— ‘May I not do what I will with my own, and give much to my friends, and little to my enemies?’ ‘There is reason in that.’ O Cleinias, in my judgment the older lawgivers were too soft-hearted, and wanting in insight into human affairs. They were too ready to listen to the outcry of a dying man, and hence they were induced to give him an absolute power of bequest. But I would say to him: — O creature of a day, you know neither what is yours nor yourself: for you and your property are not your own, but belong to your whole family, past and to come, and property and family alike belong to the State. And therefore I must take out of your hands the charge of what you leave behind you, with a view to the interests of all. And I hope that you will not quarrel with us, now that you are going the way of all mankind; we will do our best for you and yours when you are no longer here. Let this be our address to the living and dying, and let the law be as follows: — The father who has sons shall appoint one of them to be the heir of the lot; and if he has given any other son to be adopted by another, the adoption shall also be recorded; and if he has still a son who has no lot, and has a chance of going to a colony, he may give him what he has more than the lot; or if he has more than one son unprovided for, he may divide the money between them. A son who has a house of his own, and a daughter who is betrothed, are not to share in the bequest of money; and the son or daughter who, having inherited one lot, acquires another, is to bequeath the new inheritance to the next of kin. If a man have only daughters, he may adopt the husband of any one of them; or if he have lost a son, let him make mention of the circumstance in his will and adopt another. If he have no children, he may give away a tenth of his acquired property to whomsoever he likes; but he must adopt an heir to inherit the lot, and may leave the remainder to him. Also he may appoint guardians for his children; or if he die without appointing them or without making a will, the nearest kinsmen, — two on the father’s and two on the mother’s side, — and one friend of the departed, shall be appointed guardians. The fifteen eldest guardians of the law are to have special charge of all orphans, the whole number of fifteen being divided into bodies of three, who will succeed one another according to seniority every year for five years. If a man dying intestate leave daughters, he must pardon the law which marries them for looking, first to kinship, and secondly to the preservation of the lot. The legislator cannot regard the character of the heir, which to the father is the first consideration. The law will therefore run as follows: — If the intestate leave daughters, husbands are to be found for them among their kindred according to the following table of affinity: first, their father’s brothers; secondly, the sons of their father’s brothers; thirdly, of their father’s sisters; fourthly, their great-uncles; fifthly, the sons of a great-uncle; sixthly, the sons of a great-aunt. The kindred in such cases shall always be reckoned in this way; the relationship shall proceed upwards through brothers and sisters and brothers’ and sisters’ children, and first the male line must be taken and then the female. If there is a dispute in regard to fitness of age for marriage, this the judge shall decide, after having made an inspection of the youth naked, and of the maiden naked down to the waist. If the maiden has no relations within the degree of third cousin, she may choose whom she likes, with the consent of her guardians; or she may even select some one who has gone to a colony, and he, if he be a kinsman, will take the lot by law; if not, he must have her guardians’ consent, as well as hers. When a man dies without children and without a will, let a young man and a young woman go forth from the family and take up their abode in the desolate house. The woman shall be selected from the kindred in the following order of succession: — first, a sister of the deceased; second, a brother’s daughter; third, a sister’s daughter; fourth, a father’s sister; fifth, a daughter of a father’s brother; sixth, a daughter of a father’s sister. For the man the same order shall be observed as in the preceding case. The legislator foresees that laws of this kind will sometimes press heavily, and that his intention cannot always be fulfilled; as for example, when there are mental and bodily defects in the persons who are enjoined to marry. But he must be excused for not being always able to reconcile the general principles of public interest with the particular circumstances of individuals; and he is willing to allow, in like manner, that the individual cannot always do what the lawgiver wishes. And then arbiters must be chosen, who will determine equitably the cases which may arise under the law: e.g. a rich cousin may sometimes desire a grander match, or the requirements of the law can only be fulfilled by marrying a madwoman. To meet such cases let the following law be enacted: — If any one comes forward and says that the lawgiver, had he been alive, would not have required the carrying out of the law in a particular case, let him go to the fifteen eldest guardians of the law who have the care of orphans; but if he thinks that too much power is thus given to them, he may bring the case before the court of select judges.

Thus will orphans have a second birth. In order to make their sad condition as light as possible, the guardians of the law shall be their parents, and shall be admonished to take care of them. And what admonition can be more appropriate than the assurance which we formerly gave, that the souls of the dead watch over mortal affairs? About this there are many ancient traditions, which may be taken on trust from the legislator. Let men fear, in the first place, the Gods above; secondly, the souls of the departed, who naturally care for their own descendants; thirdly, the aged living, who are quick to hear of any neglect of family duties, especially in the case of orphans. For they are the holiest and most sacred of all deposits, and the peculiar care of guardians and magistrates; and those who try to bring them up well will contribute to their own good and to that of their families. He who listens to the preamble of the law will never know the severity of the legislator; but he who disobeys, and injures the orphan, will pay twice the penalty he would have paid if the parents had been alive. More laws might have been made about orphans, did we not suppose that the guardians have children and property of their own which are protected by the laws; and the duty of the guardian in our state is the same as that of a father, though his honour or disgrace is greater. A legal admonition and threat may, however, be of service: the guardian of the orphan and the guardian of the law who is over him, shall love the orphan as their own children, and take more care of his or her property than of their own. If the guardian of the child neglect his duty, the guardian of the law shall fine him; and the guardian may also have the magistrate tried for neglect in the court of select judges, and he shall pay, if convicted, a double penalty. Further, the guardian of the orphan who is careless or dishonest may be fined on the information of any of the citizens in a fourfold penalty, half to go to the orphan and half to the prosecutor of the suit. When the orphan is of age, if he thinks that he has been ill-used, his guardian may be brought to trial by him within five years, and the penalty shall be fixed by the court. Or if the magistrate has neglected the orphan, he shall pay damages to him; but if he have defrauded him, he shall make compensation and also be deposed from his office of guardian of the law.

If irremediable differences arise between fathers and sons, the father may want to renounce his son, or the son may indict his father for imbecility: such violent separations only take place when the family are ‘a bad lot’; if only one of the two parties is bad, the differences do not grow to so great a height. But here arises a difficulty. Although in any other state a son who is disinherited does not cease to be a citizen, in ours he does; for the number of citizens cannot exceed 5040. And therefore he who is to suffer such a penalty ought to be abjured, not only by his father, but by the whole family. The law, then, should run as follows: — If any man’s evil fortune or temper incline him to disinherit his son, let him not do so lightly or on the instant; but let him have a council of his own relations and of the maternal relations of his son, and set forth to them the propriety of disinheriting him, and allow his son to answer. And if more than half of the kindred male and female, being of full age, condemn the son, let him be disinherited. If any other citizen desires to adopt him, he may, for young men’s characters often change in the course of life. But if, after ten years, he remains unadopted, let him be sent to a colony. If disease, or old age, or evil disposition cause a man to go out of his mind, and he is ruining his house and property, and his son doubts about indicting him for insanity, let him lay the case before the eldest guardians of the law, and consult with them. And if they advise him to proceed, and the father is decided to be imbecile, he shall have no more control over his property, but shall live henceforward like a child in the house.

If a man and his wife are of incompatible tempers, ten guardians of the law and ten of the matrons who regulate marriage shall take their case in hand, and reconcile them, if possible. If, however, their swelling souls cannot be pacified, the wife may try and find a new husband, and the husband a new wife; probably they are not very gentle creatures, and should therefore be joined to milder natures. The younger of those who are separated should also select their partners with a view to the procreation of children; while the older should seek a companion for their declining years. If a woman dies, leaving children male or female, the law will advise, but not compel, the widower to abstain from a second marriage; if she leave no children, he shall be compelled to marry. Also a widow, if she is not old enough to live honestly without marriage, shall marry again; and in case she have no children, she should marry for the sake of them. There is sometimes an uncertainty which parent the offspring is to follow: in unions of a female slave with a male slave, or with a freedman or free man, or of a free woman with a male slave, the offspring is to belong to the master; but if the master or mistress be themselves the parent of the child, the slave and the child are to be sent away to another land.

Concerning duty to parents, let the preamble be as follows: — We honour the Gods in their lifeless images, and believe that we thus propitiate them. But he who has an aged father or mother has a living image, which if he cherish it will do him far more good than any statue. ‘What do you mean by cherishing them?’ I will tell you. Oedipus and Amyntor and Theseus cursed their children, and their curses took effect. This proves that the Gods hear the curses of parents who are wronged; and shall we doubt that they hear and fulfil their blessings too?’ ‘Surely not.’ And, as we were saying, no image is more honoured by the Gods than an aged father and mother, to whom when honour is done, the God who hears their prayers is rejoiced, and their influence is greater than that of the lifeless statue; for they pray that good or evil may come to us in proportion as they are honoured or dishonoured, but the statue is silent. ‘Excellent.’ Good men are glad when their parents live to extreme old age, or if they depart early, lament their loss; but to bad man their parents are always terrible. Wherefore let every one honour his parents, and if this preamble fails of influencing him, let him hear the law: — If any one does not take sufficient care of his parents, let the aggrieved person inform the three eldest guardians of the law and three of the women who are concerned with marriages. Women up to forty years of age, and men up to thirty, who thus offend, shall be beaten and imprisoned. After that age they are to be brought before a court composed of the eldest citizens, who may inflict any punishment upon them which they please. If the injured party cannot inform, let any freeman who hears of the case inform; a slave who does so shall be set free, — if he be the slave of the one of the parties, by the magistrate, — if owned by another, at the cost of the state; and let the magistrates, take care that he is not wronged by any one out of revenge.

The injuries which one person does to another by the use of poisons are of two kinds; — one affects the body by the employment of drugs and potions; the other works on the mind by the practice of sorcery and magic. Fatal cases of either sort have been already mentioned; and now we must have a law respecting cases which are not fatal. There is no use in arguing with a man whose mind is disturbed by waxen images placed at his own door, or on the sepulchre of his father or mother, or at a spot where three ways meet. But to the wizards themselves we must address a solemn preamble, begging them not to treat the world as if they were children, or compel the legislator to expose them, and to show men that the poisoner who is not a physician and the wizard who is not a prophet or diviner are equally ignorant of what they are doing. Let the law be as follows: — He who by the use of poison does any injury not fatal to a man or his servants, or any injury whether fatal or not to another’s cattle or bees, is to be punished with death if he be a physician, and if he be not a physician he is to suffer the punishment awarded by the court: and he who injures another by sorcery, if he be a diviner or prophet, shall be put to death; and, if he be not a diviner, the court shall determine what he ought to pay or suffer.

Any one who injures another by theft or violence shall pay damages at least equal to the injury; and besides the compensation, a suitable punishment shall be inflicted. The foolish youth who is the victim of others is to have a lighter punishment; he whose folly is occasioned by his own jealousy or desire or anger is to suffer more heavily. Punishment is to be inflicted, not for the sake of vengeance, for what is done cannot be undone, but for the sake of prevention and reformation. And there should be a proportion between the punishment and the crime, in which the judge, having a discretion left him, must, by estimating the crime, second the legislator, who, like a painter, furnishes outlines for him to fill up.

A madman is not to go about at large in the city, but is to be taken care of by his relatives. Neglect on their part is to be punished in the first class by a fine of a hundred drachmas, and proportionally in the others. Now madness is of various kinds; in addition to that which arises from disease there is the madness which originates in a passionate temperament, and makes men when engaged in a quarrel use foul and abusive language against each other. This is intolerable in a well-ordered state; and therefore our law shall be as follows: — No one is to speak evil of another, but when men differ in opinion they are to instruct one another without speaking evil. Nor should any one seek to rouse the passions which education has calmed; for he who feeds and nurses his wrath is apt to make ribald jests at his opponent, with a loss of character or dignity to himself. And for this reason no one may use any abusive word in a temple, or at sacrifices, or games, or in any public assembly, and he who offends shall be censured by the proper magistrate; and the magistrate, if he fail to censure him, shall not claim the prize of virtue. In any other place the angry man who indulges in revilings, whether he be the beginner or not, may be chastised by an elder. The reviler is always trying to make his opponent ridiculous; and the use of ridicule in anger we cannot allow. We forbid the comic poet to ridicule our citizens, under a penalty of expulsion from the country or a fine of three minae. Jest in which there is no offence may be allowed; but the question of offence shall be determined by the director of education, who is to be the licenser of theatrical performances.

The righteous man who is in adversity will not be allowed to starve in a well-ordered city; he will never be a beggar. Nor is a man to be pitied, merely because he is hungry, unless he be temperate. Therefore let the law be as follows: — Let there be no beggars in our state; and he who begs shall be expelled by the magistrates both from town and country.

If a slave, male or female, does any harm to the property of another, who is not himself a party to the harm, the master shall compensate the injury or give up the offending slave. But if the master argue that the charge has arisen by collusion, with the view of obtaining the slave, he may put the plaintiff on his trial for malpractices, and recover from him twice the value of the slave; or if he is cast he must make good the damage and deliver up the slave. The injury done by a horse or other animal shall be compensated in like manner.

A witness who will not come of himself may be summoned, and if he fail in appearing, he shall be liable for any harm which may ensue: if he swears that he does not know, he may leave the court. A judge who is called upon as a witness must not vote. A free woman, if she is over forty, may bear witness and plead, and, if she have no husband, she may also bring an action. A slave, male or female, and a child may witness and plead only in case of murder, but they must give sureties that they will appear at the trial, if they should be charged with false witness. Such charges must be made pending the trial, and the accusations shall be sealed by both parties and kept by the magistrates until the trial for perjury comes off. If a man is twice convicted of perjury, he is not to be required, if three times, he is not to be allowed to bear witness, or, if he persists in bearing witness, is to be punished with death. When more than half the evidence is proved to be false there must be a new trial.

The best and noblest things in human life are liable to be defiled and perverted. Is not justice the civilizer of mankind? And yet upon the noble profession of the advocate has come an evil name. For he is said to make the worse appear the better cause, and only requires money in return for his services. Such an art will be forbidden by the legislator, and if existing among us will be requested to depart to another city. To the disobedient let the voice of the law be heard saying: — He who tries to pervert justice in the minds of the judges, or to increase litigation, shall be brought before the supreme court. If he does so from contentiousness, let him be silenced for a time, and, if he offend again, put to death. If he have acted from a love of gain, let him be sent out of the country if he be a foreigner, or if he be a citizen let him be put to death.

BOOK XII. If a false message be taken to or brought from other states, whether friendly or hostile, by ambassadors or heralds, they shall be indicted for having dishonoured their sacred office, and, if convicted, shall suffer a penalty. — Stealing is mean; robbery is shameless. Let no man deceive himself by the supposed example of the Gods, for no God or son of a God ever really practised either force or fraud. On this point the legislator is better informed than all the poets put together. He who listens to him shall be for ever happy, but he who will not listen shall have the following law directed against him: — He who steals much, or he who steals little of the public property is deserving of the same penalty; for they are both impelled by the same evil motive. When the law punishes one man more lightly than another, this is done under the idea, not that he is less guilty, but that he is more curable. Now a thief who is a foreigner or slave may be curable; but the thief who is a citizen, and has had the advantages of education, should be put to death, for he is incurable.

Much consideration and many regulations are necessary about military expeditions; the great principal of all is that no one, male or female, in war or peace, in great matters or small, shall be without a commander. Whether men stand or walk, or drill, or pursue, or retreat, or wash, or eat, they should all act together and in obedience to orders. We should practise from our youth upwards the habits of command and obedience. All dances, relaxations, endurances of meats and drinks, of cold and heat, and of hard couches, should have a view to war, and care should be taken not to destroy the natural covering and use of the head and feet by wearing shoes and caps; for the head is the lord of the body, and the feet are the best of servants. The soldier should have thoughts like these; and let him hear the law: — He who is enrolled shall serve, and if he absent himself without leave he shall be indicted for failure of service before his own branch of the army when the expedition returns, and if he be found guilty he shall suffer the penalty which the courts award, and never be allowed to contend for any prize of valour, or to accuse another of misbehaviour in military matters. Desertion shall also be tried and punished in the same manner. After the courts for trying failure of service and desertion have been held, the generals shall hold another court, in which the several arms of the service will award prizes for the expedition which has just concluded. The prize is to be a crown of olive, which the victor shall offer up at the temple of his favourite war God...In any suit which a man brings, let the indictment be scrupulously true, for justice is an honourable maiden, to whom falsehood is naturally hateful. For example, when men are prosecuted for having lost their arms, great care should be taken by the witnesses to distinguish between cases in which they have been lost from necessity and from cowardice. If the hero Patroclus had not been killed but had been brought back alive from the field, he might have been reproached with having lost the divine armour. And a man may lose his arms in a storm at sea, or from a fall, and under many other circumstances. There is a distinction of language to be observed in the use of the two terms, ‘thrower away of a shield’ (ripsaspis), and ‘loser of arms’ (apoboleus oplon), one being the voluntary, the other the involuntary relinquishment of them. Let the law then be as follows: — If any one is overtaken by the enemy, having arms in his hands, and he leaves them behind him voluntarily, choosing base life instead of honourable death, let justice be done. The old legend of Caeneus, who was changed by Poseidon from a woman into a man, may teach by contraries the appropriate punishment. Let the thrower away of his shield be changed from a man into a woman — that is to say, let him be all his life out of danger, and never again be admitted by any commander into the ranks of his army; and let him pay a heavy fine according to his class. And any commander who permits him to serve shall also be punished by a fine.

All magistrates, whatever be their tenure of office, must give an account of their magistracy. But where shall we find the magistrate who is worthy to supervise them or look into their short-comings and crooked ways? The examiner must be more than man who is sufficient for these things. For the truth is that there are many causes of the dissolution of states; which, like ships or animals, have their cords, and girders, and sinews easily relaxed, and nothing tends more to their welfare and preservation than the supervision of them by examiners who are better than the magistrates; failing in this they fall to pieces, and each becomes many instead of one. Wherefore let the people meet after the summer solstice, in the precincts of Apollo and the Sun, and appoint three men of not less than fifty years of age. They shall proceed as follows: — Each citizen shall select some one, not himself, whom he thinks the best. The persons selected shall be reduced to one half, who have the greatest number of votes, if they are an even number; but if an odd number, he who has the smallest number of votes shall be previously withdrawn. The voting shall continue in the same manner until three only remain; and if the number of votes cast for them be equal, a distinction between the first, second, and third shall be made by lot. The three shall be crowned with an olive wreath, and proclamation made, that the city of the Magnetes, once more preserved by the Gods, presents her three best men to Apollo and the Sun, to whom she dedicates them as long as their lives answer to the judgment formed of them. They shall choose in the first year of their office twelve examiners, to continue until they are seventy-five years of age; afterwards three shall be added annually. While they hold office, they shall dwell within the precinct of the God. They are to divide all the magistracies into twelve classes, and may apply any methods of enquiry, and inflict any punishments which they please; in some cases singly, in other cases together, announcing the acquittal or punishment of the magistrate on a tablet which they will place in the agora. A magistrate who has been condemned by the examiners may appeal to the select judges, and, if he gain his suit, may in turn prosecute the examiners; but if the appellant is cast, his punishment shall be doubled, unless he was previously condemned to death.

And what honours shall be paid to these examiners, whom the whole state counts worthy of the rewards of virtue? They shall have the first place at all sacrifices and other ceremonies, and in all assemblies and public places; they shall go on sacred embassies, and have the exclusive privilege of wearing a crown of laurel. They are priests of Apollo and the Sun, and he of their number who is judged first shall be high priest, and give his name to the year. The manner of their burial, too, shall be different from that of the other citizens. The colour of their funeral array shall be white, and, instead of the voice of lamentation, around the bier shall stand a chorus of fifteen boys and fifteen maidens, chanting hymns in honour of the deceased in alternate strains during an entire day; and at dawn a band of a hundred youths shall carry the bier to the grave, marching in the garb of warriors, and the boys in front of the bier shall sing their national hymn, while the maidens and women past child-bearing follow after. Priests and priestesses may also follow, unless the Pythian oracle forbids. The sepulchre shall be a vault built underground, which will last for ever, having couches of stone placed side by side; on one of these they shall lay the departed saint, and then cover the tomb with a mound, and plant trees on every side except one, where an opening shall be left for other interments. Every year there shall be games — musical, gymnastic, or equestrian, in honour of those who have passed every ordeal. But if any of them, after having been acquitted on any occasion, begin to show the wickedness of human nature, he who pleases may bring them to trial before a court composed of the guardians of the law, and of the select judges, and of any of the examiners who are alive. If he be convicted he shall be deprived of his honours, and if the accuser do not obtain a fifth part of the votes, he shall pay a fine according to his class.

What is called the judgment of Rhadamanthus is suited to ‘ages of faith,’ but not to our days. He knew that his contemporaries believed in the Gods, for many of them were the sons of Gods; and he thought that the easiest and surest method of ending litigation was to commit the decision to Heaven. In our own day, men either deny the existence of Gods or their care of men, or maintain that they may be bribed by attentions and gifts; and the procedure of Rhadamanthus would therefore be out of date. When the religious ideas of mankind change, their laws should also change. Thus oaths should no longer be taken from plaintiff and defendant; simple statements of affirmation and denial should be substituted. For there is something dreadful in the thought, that nearly half the citizens of a state are perjured men. There is no objection to an oath, where a man has no interest in forswearing himself; as, for example, when a judge is about to give his decision, or in voting at an election, or in the judgment of games and contests. But where there would be a premium on perjury, oaths and imprecations should be prohibited as irrelevant, like appeals to feeling. Let the principles of justice be learned and taught without words of evil omen. The oaths of a stranger against a stranger may be allowed, because strangers are not permitted to become permanent residents in our state.

Trials in private causes are to be decided in the same manner as lesser offences against the state. The non-attendance at a chorus or sacrifice, or the omission to pay a war-tax, may be regarded as in the first instance remediable, and the defaulter may give security; but if he forfeits the security, the goods pledged shall be sold and the money given to the state. And for obstinate disobedience, the magistrate shall have the power of inflicting greater penalties.

A city which is without trade or commerce must consider what it will do about the going abroad of its own people and the admission of strangers. For out of intercourse with strangers there arises great confusion of manners, which in most states is not of any consequence, because the confusion exists already; but in a well-ordered state it may be a great evil. Yet the absolute prohibition of foreign travel, or the exclusion of strangers, is impossible, and would appear barbarous to the rest of mankind. Public opinion should never be lightly regarded, for the many are not so far wrong in their judgments as in their lives. Even the worst of men have often a divine instinct, which enables them to judge of the differences between the good and bad. States are rightly advised when they desire to have the praise of men; and the greatest and truest praise is that of virtue. And our Cretan colony should, and probably will, have a character for virtue, such as few cities have. Let this, then, be our law about foreign travel and the reception of strangers: — No one shall be allowed to leave the country who is under forty years of age — of course military service abroad is not included in this regulation — and no one at all except in a public capacity. To the Olympic, and Pythian, and Nemean, and Isthmian games, shall be sent the fairest and best and bravest, who shall support the dignity of the city in time of peace. These, when they come home, shall teach the youth the inferiority of all other governments. Besides those who go on sacred missions, other persons shall be sent out by permission of the guardians to study the institutions of foreign countries. For a people which has no experience, and no knowledge of the characters of men or the reason of things, but lives by habit only, can never be perfectly civilized. Moreover, in all states, bad as well as good, there are holy and inspired men; these the citizen of a well-ordered city should be ever seeking out; he should go forth to find them over sea and over land, that he may more firmly establish institutions in his own state which are good already and amend the bad. ‘What will be the best way of accomplishing such an object?’ In the first place, let the visitor of foreign countries be between fifty and sixty years of age, and let him be a citizen of repute, especially in military matters. On his return he shall appear before the Nocturnal Council: this is a body which sits from dawn to sunrise, and includes amongst its members the priests who have gained the prize of virtue, and the ten oldest guardians of the law, and the director and past directors of education; each of whom has power to bring with him a younger friend of his own selection, who is between thirty and forty. The assembly thus constituted shall consider the laws of their own and other states, and gather information relating to them. Anything of the sort which is approved by the elder members of the council shall be studied with all diligence by the younger; who are to be specially watched by the rest of the citizens, and shall receive honour, if they are deserving of honour, or dishonour, if they prove inferior. This is the assembly to which the visitor of foreign countries shall come and tell anything which he has heard from others in the course of his travels, or which he has himself observed. If he be made neither better nor worse, let him at least be praised for his zeal; and let him receive still more praise, and special honour after death, if he be improved. But if he be deteriorated by his travels, let him be prohibited from speaking to any one; and if he submit, he may live as a private individual: but if he be convicted of attempting to make innovations in education and the laws, let him die.

Next, as to the reception of strangers. Of these there are four classes: — First, merchants, who, like birds of passage, find their way over the sea at a certain time of the year, that they may exhibit their wares. These should be received in markets and public buildings without the city, by proper officers, who shall see that justice is done them, and shall also watch against any political designs which they may entertain; no more intercourse is to be held with them than is absolutely necessary. Secondly, there are the visitors at the festivals, who shall be entertained by hospitable persons at the temples for a reasonable time; the priests and ministers of the temples shall have a care of them. In small suits brought by them or against them, the priests shall be the judges; but in the more important, the wardens of the agora. Thirdly, there are ambassadors of foreign states; these are to be honourably received by the generals and commanders, and placed under the care of the Prytanes and of the persons with whom they are lodged. Fourthly, there is the philosophical stranger, who, like our own spectators, from time to time goes to see what is rich and rare in foreign countries. Like them he must be fifty years of age: and let him go unbidden to the doors of the wise and rich, that he may learn from them, and they from him.

These are the rules of missions into foreign countries, and of the reception of strangers. Let Zeus, the God of hospitality, be honoured; and let not the stranger be excluded, as in Egypt, from meals and sacrifices, or, (as at Sparta,) driven away by savage proclamations.

Let guarantees be clearly given in writing and before witnesses. The number of witnesses shall be three when the sum lent is under a thousand drachmas, or five when above. The agent and principal at a fraudulent sale shall be equally liable. He who would search another man’s house for anything must swear that he expects to find it there; and he shall enter naked, or having on a single garment and no girdle. The owner shall place at the disposal of the searcher all his goods, sealed as well as unsealed; if he refuse, he shall be liable in double the value of the property, if it shall prove to be in his possession. If the owner be absent, the searcher may counter-seal the property which is under seal, and place watchers. If the owner remain absent more than five days, the searcher shall take the magistrates, and open the sealed property, and seal it up again in their presence. The recovery of goods disputed, except in the case of lands and houses, (about which there can be no dispute in our state), is to be barred by time. The public and unimpeached use of anything for a year in the city, or for five years in the country, or the private possession and domestic use for three years in the city, or for ten years in the country, is to give a right of ownership. But if the possessor have the property in a foreign country, there shall be no bar as to time. The proceedings of any trial are to be void, in which either the parties or the witnesses, whether bond or free, have been prevented by violence from attending: — if a slave be prevented, the suit shall be invalid; or if a freeman, he who is guilty of the violence shall be imprisoned for a year, and shall also be liable to an action for kidnapping. If one competitor forcibly prevents another from attending at the games, the other may be inscribed as victor in the temples, and the first, whether victor or not, shall be liable to an action for damages. The receiver of stolen goods shall undergo the same punishment as the thief. The receiver of an exile shall be punished with death. A man ought to have the same friends and enemies as his country; and he who makes war or peace for himself shall be put to death. And if a party in the state make war or peace, their leaders shall be indicted by the generals, and, if convicted, they shall be put to death. The ministers and officers of a country ought not to receive gifts, even as the reward of good deeds. He who disobeys shall die.

With a view to taxation a man should have his property and income valued: and the government may, at their discretion, levy the tax upon the annual return, or take a portion of the whole.

The good man will offer moderate gifts to the Gods; his land or hearth cannot be offered, because they are already consecrated to all Gods. Gold and silver, which arouse envy, and ivory, which is taken from the dead body of an animal, are unsuitable offerings; iron and brass are materials of war. Wood and stone of a single piece may be offered; also woven work which has not occupied one woman more than a month in making. White is a colour which is acceptable to the Gods; figures of birds and similar offerings are the best of gifts, but they must be such as the painter can execute in a day.

Next concerning lawsuits. Judges, or rather arbiters, may be agreed upon by the plaintiff and defendant; and if no decision is obtained from them, their fellow-tribesmen shall judge. At this stage there shall be an increase of the penalty: the defendant, if he be cast, shall pay a fifth more than the damages claimed. If he further persist, and appeal a second time, the case shall be heard before the select judges; and he shall pay, if defeated, the penalty and half as much again. And the pursuer, if on the first appeal he is defeated, shall pay one fifth of the damages claimed by him; and if on the second, one half. Other matters relating to trials, such as the assignment of judges to courts, the times of sitting, the number of judges, the modes of pleading and procedure, as we have already said, may be determined by younger legislators.

These are to be the rules of private courts. As regards public courts, many states have excellent modes of procedure which may serve for models; these, when duly tested by experience, should be ratified and made permanent by us.

Let the judge be accomplished in the laws. He should possess writings about them, and make a study of them; for laws are the highest instrument of mental improvement, and derive their name from mind (nous, nomos). They afford a measure of all censure and praise, whether in verse or prose, in conversation or in books, and are an antidote to the vain disputes of men and their equally vain acquiescence in each other’s opinions. The just judge, who imbibes their spirit, makes the city and himself to stand upright. He establishes justice for the good, and cures the tempers of the bad, if they can be cured; but denounces death, which is the only remedy, to the incurable, the threads of whose life cannot be reversed.

When the suits of the year are completed, execution is to follow. The court is to award to the plaintiff the property of the defendant, if he is cast, reserving to him only his lot of land. If the plaintiff is not satisfied within a month, the court shall put into his hands the property of the defendant. If the defendant fails in payment to the amount of a drachma, he shall lose the use and protection of the court; or if he rebel against the authority of the court, he shall be brought before the guardians of the law, and if found guilty he shall be put to death.

Man having been born, educated, having begotten and brought up children, and gone to law, fulfils the debt of nature. The rites which are to be celebrated after death in honour of the Gods above and below shall be determined by the Interpreters. The dead shall be buried in uncultivated places, where they will be out of the way and do least injury to the living. For no one either in life or after death has any right to deprive other men of the sustenance which mother earth provides for them. No sepulchral mound is to be piled higher than five men can raise it in five days, and the grave-stone shall not be larger than is sufficient to contain an inscription of four heroic verses. The dead are only to be exposed for three days, which is long enough to test the reality of death. The legislator will instruct the people that the body is a mere shadow or image, and that the soul, which is our true being, is gone to give an account of herself before the Gods below. When they hear this, the good are full of hope, and the evil are terrified. It is also said that not much can be done for any one after death. And therefore while in life all man should be helped by their kindred to pass their days justly and holily, that they may depart in peace. When a man loses a son or a brother, he should consider that the beloved one has gone away to fulfil his destiny in another place, and should not waste money over his lifeless remains. Let the law then order a moderate funeral of five minae for the first class, of three for the second, of two for the third, of one for the fourth. One of the guardians of the law, to be selected by the relatives, shall assist them in arranging the affairs of the deceased. There would be a want of delicacy in prescribing that there should or should not be mourning for the dead. But, at any rate, such mourning is to be confined to the house; there must be no processions in the streets, and the dead body shall be taken out of the city before daybreak. Regulations about other forms of burial and about the non-burial of parricides and other sacrilegious persons have already been laid down. The work of legislation is therefore nearly completed; its end will be finally accomplished when we have provided for the continuance of the state.

Do you remember the names of the Fates? Lachesis, the giver of the lots, is the first of them; Clotho, the spinster, the second; Atropos, the unchanging one, is the third and last, who makes the threads of the web irreversible. And we too want to make our laws irreversible, for the unchangeable quality in them will be the salvation of the state, and the source of health and order in the bodies and souls of our citizens. ‘But can such a quality be implanted?’ I think that it may; and at any rate we must try; for, after all our labour, to have been piling up a fabric which has no foundation would be too ridiculous. ‘What foundation would you lay?’ We have already instituted an assembly which was composed of the ten oldest guardians of the law, and secondly, of those who had received prizes of virtue, and thirdly, of the travellers who had gone abroad to enquire into the laws of other countries. Moreover, each of the members was to choose a young man, of not less than thirty years of age, to be approved by the rest; and they were to meet at dawn, when all the world is at leisure. This assembly will be an anchor to the vessel of state, and provide the means of permanence; for the constitutions of states, like all other things, have their proper saviours, which are to them what the head and soul are to the living being. ‘How do you mean?’ Mind in the soul, and sight and hearing in the head, or rather, the perfect union of mind and sense, may be justly called every man’s salvation. ‘Certainly.’ Yes; but of what nature is this union? In the case of a ship, for example, the senses of the sailors are added to the intelligence of the pilot, and the two together save the ship and the men in the ship. Again, the physician and the general have their objects; and the object of the one is health, of the other victory. States, too, have their objects, and the ruler must understand, first, their nature, and secondly, the means of attaining them, whether in laws or men. The state which is wanting in this knowledge cannot be expected to be wise when the time for action arrives. Now what class or institution is there in our state which has such a saving power? ‘I suspect that you are referring to the Nocturnal Council.’ Yes, to that council which is to have all virtue, and which should aim directly at the mark. ‘Very true.’ The inconsistency of legislation in most states is not surprising, when the variety of their objects is considered. One of them makes their rule of justice the government of a class; another aims at wealth; another at freedom, or at freedom and power; and some who call themselves philosophers maintain that you should seek for all of them at once. But our object is unmistakeably virtue, and virtue is of four kinds. ‘Yes; and we said that mind is the chief and ruler of the three other kinds of virtue and of all else.’ True, Cleinias; and now, having already declared the object which is present to the mind of the pilot, the general, the physician, we will interrogate the mind of the statesman. Tell me, I say, as the physician and general have told us their object, what is the object of the statesman. Can you tell me? ‘We cannot.’ Did we not say that there are four virtues — courage, wisdom, and two others, all of which are called by the common name of virtue, and are in a sense one? ‘Certainly we did.’ The difficulty is, not in understanding the differences of the virtues, but in apprehending their unity. Why do we call virtue, which is a single thing, by the two names of wisdom and courage? The reason is that courage is concerned with fear, and is found both in children and in brutes; for the soul may be courageous without reason, but no soul was, or ever will be, wise without reason. ‘That is true.’ I have explained to you the difference, and do you in return explain to me the unity. But first let us consider whether any one who knows the name of a thing without the definition has any real knowledge of it. Is not such knowledge a disgrace to a man of sense, especially where great and glorious truths are concerned? and can any subject be more worthy of the attention of our legislators than the four virtues of which we are speaking — courage, temperance, justice, wisdom? Ought not the magistrates and officers of the state to instruct the citizens in the nature of virtue and vice, instead of leaving them to be taught by some chance poet or sophist? A city which is without instruction suffers the usual fate of cities in our day. What then shall we do? How shall we perfect the ideas of our guardians about virtue? how shall we give our state a head and eyes? ‘Yes, but how do you apply the figure?’ The city will be the body or trunk; the best of our young men will mount into the head or acropolis and be our eyes; they will look about them, and inform the elders, who are the mind and use the younger men as their instruments: together they will save the state. Shall this be our constitution, or shall all be educated alike, and the special training be given up? ‘That is impossible.’ Let us then endeavour to attain to some more exact idea of education. Did we not say that the true artist or guardian ought to have an eye, not only to the many, but to the one, and to order all things with a view to the one? Can there be any more philosophical speculation than how to reduce many things which are unlike to one idea? ‘Perhaps not.’ Say rather, ‘Certainly not.’ And the rulers of our divine state ought to have an exact knowledge of the common principle in courage, temperance, justice, wisdom, which is called by the name of virtue; and unless we know whether virtue is one or many, we shall hardly know what virtue is. Shall we contrive some means of engrafting this knowledge on our state, or give the matter up? ‘Anything rather than that.’ Let us begin by making an agreement. ‘By all means, if we can.’ Well, are we not agreed that our guardians ought to know, not only how the good and the honourable are many, but also how they are one? ‘Yes, certainly.’ The true guardian of the laws ought to know their truth, and should also be able to interpret and execute them? ‘He should.’ And is there any higher knowledge than the knowledge of the existence and power of the Gods? The people may be excused for following tradition; but the guardian must be able to give a reason of the faith which is in him. And there are two great evidences of religion — the priority of the soul and the order of the heavens. For no man of sense, when he contemplates the universe, will be likely to substitute necessity for reason and will. Those who maintain that the sun and the stars are inanimate beings are utterly wrong in their opinions. The men of a former generation had a suspicion, which has been confirmed by later thinkers, that things inanimate could never without mind have attained such scientific accuracy; and some (Anaxagoras) even in those days ventured to assert that mind had ordered all things in heaven; but they had no idea of the priority of mind, and they turned the world, or more properly themselves, upside down, and filled the universe with stones, and earth, and other inanimate bodies. This led to great impiety, and the poets said many foolish things against the philosophers, whom they compared to ‘yelping she-dogs,’ besides making other abusive remarks. No man can now truly worship the Gods who does not believe that the soul is eternal, and prior to the body, and the ruler of all bodies, and does not perceive also that there is mind in the stars; or who has not heard the connexion of these things with music, and has not harmonized them with manners and laws, giving a reason of things which are matters of reason. He who is unable to acquire this knowledge, as well as the ordinary virtues of a citizen, can only be a servant, and not a ruler in the state.

Let us then add another law to the effect that the Nocturnal Council shall be a guard set for the salvation of the state. ‘Very good.’ To establish this will be our aim, and I hope that others besides myself will assist. ‘Let us proceed along the road in which God seems to guide us.’ We cannot, Megillus and Cleinias, anticipate the details which will hereafter be needed; they must be supplied by experience. ‘What do you mean?’ First of all a register will have to be made of all those whose age, character, or education would qualify them to be guardians. The subjects which they are to learn, and the order in which they are to be learnt, are mysteries which cannot be explained beforehand, but not mysteries in any other sense. ‘If that is the case, what is to be done?’ We must stake our all on a lucky throw, and I will share the risk by stating my views on education. And I would have you, Cleinias, who are the founder of the Magnesian state, and will obtain the greatest glory if you succeed, and will at least be praised for your courage, if you fail, take especial heed of this matter. If we can only establish the Nocturnal Council, we will hand over the city to its keeping; none of the present company will hesitate about that. Our dream will then become a reality; and our citizens, if they are carefully chosen and well educated, will be saviours and guardians such as the world hitherto has never seen.

The want of completeness in the Laws becomes more apparent in the later books. There is less arrangement in them, and the transitions are more abrupt from one subject to another. Yet they contain several noble passages, such as the ‘prelude to the discourse concerning the honour and dishonour of parents,’ or the picture of the dangers attending the ‘friendly intercourse of young men and maidens with one another,’ or the soothing remonstrance which is addressed to the dying man respecting his right to do what he will with his own, or the fine description of the burial of the dead. The subject of religion in Book X is introduced as a prelude to offences against the Gods, and this portion of the work appears to be executed in Plato’s best manner.

In the last four books, several questions occur for consideration: among them are (I) the detection and punishment of offences; (II) the nature of the voluntary and involuntary; (III) the arguments against atheism, and against the opinion that the Gods have no care of human affairs; (IV) the remarks upon retail trade; (V) the institution of the Nocturnal Council.

I. A weak point in the Laws of Plato is the amount of inquisition into private life which is to be made by the rulers. The magistrate is always watching and waylaying the citizens. He is constantly to receive information against improprieties of life. Plato does not seem to be aware that espionage can only have a negative effect. He has not yet discovered the boundary line which parts the domain of law from that of morality or social life. Men will not tell of one another; nor will he ever be the most honoured citizen, who gives the most frequent information about offenders to the magistrates.

As in some writers of fiction, so also in philosophers, we may observe the effect of age. Plato becomes more conservative as he grows older, and he would govern the world entirely by men like himself, who are above fifty years of age; for in them he hopes to find a principle of stability. He does not remark that, in destroying the freedom he is destroying also the life of the State. In reducing all the citizens to rule and measure, he would have been depriving the Magnesian colony of those great men ‘whose acquaintance is beyond all price;’ and he would have found that in the worst-governed Hellenic State, there was more of a carriere ouverte for extraordinary genius and virtue than in his own.

Plato has an evident dislike of the Athenian dicasteries; he prefers a few judges who take a leading part in the conduct of trials to a great number who only listen in silence. He allows of two appeals — in each case however with an increase of the penalty. Modern jurists would disapprove of the redress of injustice being purchased only at an increasing risk; though indirectly the burden of legal expenses, which seems to have been little felt among the Athenians, has a similar effect. The love of litigation, which is a remnant of barbarism quite as much as a corruption of civilization, and was innate in the Athenian people, is diminished in the new state by the imposition of severe penalties. If persevered in, it is to be punished with death.

In the Laws murder and homicide besides being crimes, are also pollutions. Regarded from this point of view, the estimate of such offences is apt to depend on accidental circumstances, such as the shedding of blood, and not on the real guilt of the offender or the injury done to society. They are measured by the horror which they arouse in a barbarous age. For there is a superstition in law as well as in religion, and the feelings of a primitive age have a traditional hold on the mass of the people. On the other hand, Plato is innocent of the barbarity which would visit the sins of the fathers upon the children, and he is quite aware that punishment has an eye to the future, and not to the past. Compared with that of most European nations in the last century his penal code, though sometimes capricious, is reasonable and humane.

A defect in Plato’s criminal jurisprudence is his remission of the punishment when the homicide has obtained the forgiveness of the murdered person; as if crime were a personal affair between individuals, and not an offence against the State. There is a ridiculous disproportion in his punishments. Because a slave may fairly receive a blow for stealing one fig or one bunch of grapes, or a tradesman for selling adulterated goods to the value of one drachma, it is rather hard upon the slave that he should receive as many blows as he has taken grapes or figs, or upon the tradesman who has sold adulterated goods to the value of a thousand drachmas that he should receive a thousand blows.

II. But before punishment can be inflicted at all, the legislator must determine the nature of the voluntary and involuntary. The great question of the freedom of the will, which in modern times has been worn threadbare with purely abstract discussion, was approached both by Plato and Aristotle — first, from the judicial; secondly, from the sophistical point of view. They were puzzled by the degrees and kinds of crime; they observed also that the law only punished hurts which are inflicted by a voluntary agent on an involuntary patient.

In attempting to distinguish between hurt and injury, Plato says that mere hurt is not injury; but that a benefit when done in a wrong spirit may sometimes injure, e.g. when conferred without regard to right and wrong, or to the good or evil consequences which may follow. He means to say that the good or evil disposition of the agent is the principle which characterizes actions; and this is not sufficiently described by the terms voluntary and involuntary. You may hurt another involuntarily, and no one would suppose that you had injured him; and you may hurt him voluntarily, as in inflicting punishment — neither is this injury; but if you hurt him from motives of avarice, ambition, or cowardly fear, this is injury. Injustice is also described as the victory of desire or passion or self-conceit over reason, as justice is the subordination of them to reason. In some paradoxical sense Plato is disposed to affirm all injustice to be involuntary; because no man would do injustice who knew that it never paid and could calculate the consequences of what he was doing. Yet, on the other hand, he admits that the distinction of voluntary and involuntary, taken in another and more obvious sense, is the basis of legislation. His conception of justice and injustice is complicated (1) by the want of a distinction between justice and virtue, that is to say, between the quality which primarily regards others, and the quality in which self and others are equally regarded; (2) by the confusion of doing and suffering justice; (3) by the unwillingness to renounce the old Socratic paradox, that evil is involuntary.

III. The Laws rest on a religious foundation; in this respect they bear the stamp of primitive legislation. They do not escape the almost inevitable consequence of making irreligion penal. If laws are based upon religion, the greatest offence against them must be irreligion. Hence the necessity for what in modern language, and according to a distinction which Plato would scarcely have understood, might be termed persecution. But the spirit of persecution in Plato, unlike that of modern religious bodies, arises out of the desire to enforce a true and simple form of religion, and is directed against the superstitions which tend to degrade mankind. Sir Thomas More, in his Utopia, is in favour of tolerating all except the intolerant, though he would not promote to high offices those who disbelieved in the immortality of the soul. Plato has not advanced quite so far as this in the path of toleration. But in judging of his enlightenment, we must remember that the evils of necromancy and divination were far greater than those of intolerance in the ancient world. Human nature is always having recourse to the first; but only when organized into some form of priesthood falls into the other; although in primitive as in later ages the institution of a priesthood may claim probably to be an advance on some form of religion which preceded. The Laws would have rested on a sounder foundation, if Plato had ever distinctly realized to his mind the difference between crime and sin or vice. Of this, as of many other controversies, a clear definition might have been the end. But such a definition belongs to a later age of philosophy.

The arguments which Plato uses for the being of a God, have an extremely modern character: first, the consensus gentium; secondly, the argument which has already been adduced in the Phaedrus, of the priority of the self-moved. The answer to those who say that God ‘cares not,’ is, that He governs by general laws; and that he who takes care of the great will assuredly take care of the small. Plato did not feel, and has not attempted to consider, the difficulty of reconciling the special with the general providence of God. Yet he is on the road to a solution, when he regards the world as a whole, of which all the parts work together towards the final end.

We are surprised to find that the scepticism, which we attribute to young men in our own day, existed then (compare Republic); that the Epicureanism expressed in the line of Horace (borrowed from Lucretius) —

‘Namque Deos didici securum agere aevum,’

was already prevalent in the age of Plato; and that the terrors of another world were freely used in order to gain advantages over other men in this. The same objection which struck the Psalmist— ‘when I saw the prosperity of the wicked’ — is supposed to lie at the root of the better sort of unbelief. And the answer is substantially the same which the modern theologian would offer: — that the ways of God in this world cannot be justified unless there be a future state of rewards and punishments. Yet this future state of rewards and punishments is in Plato’s view not any addition of happiness or suffering imposed from without, but the permanence of good and evil in the soul: here he is in advance of many modern theologians. The Greek, too, had his difficulty about the existence of evil, which in one solitary passage, remarkable for being inconsistent with his general system, Plato explains, after the Magian fashion, by a good and evil spirit (compare Theaet., Statesman). This passage is also remarkable for being at variance with the general optimism of the Tenth Book — not ‘all things are ordered by God for the best,’ but some things by a good, others by an evil spirit.

The Tenth Book of the Laws presents a picture of the state of belief among the Greeks singularly like that of the world in which we live. Plato is disposed to attribute the incredulity of his own age to several causes. First, to the bad effect of mythological tales, of which he retains his disapproval; but he has a weak side for antiquity, and is unwilling, as in the Republic, wholly to proscribe them. Secondly, he remarks the self-conceit of a newly-fledged generation of philosophers, who declare that the sun, moon, and stars, are earth and stones only; and who also maintain that the Gods are made by the laws of the state. Thirdly, he notes a confusion in the minds of men arising out of their misinterpretation of the appearances of the world around them: they do not always see the righteous rewarded and the wicked punished. So in modern times there are some whose infidelity has arisen from doubts about the inspiration of ancient writings; others who have been made unbelievers by physical science, or again by the seemingly political character of religion; while there is a third class to whose minds the difficulty of ‘justifying the ways of God to man’ has been the chief stumblingblock. Plato is very much out of temper at the impiety of some of his contemporaries; yet he is determined to reason with the victims, as he regards them, of these illusions before he punishes them. His answer to the unbelievers is twofold: first, that the soul is prior to the body; secondly, that the ruler of the universe being perfect has made all things with a view to their perfection. The difficulties arising out of ancient sacred writings were far less serious in the age of Plato than in our own.

We too have our popular Epicureanism, which would allow the world to go on as if there were no God. When the belief in Him, whether of ancient or modern times, begins to fade away, men relegate Him, either in theory or practice, into a distant heaven. They do not like expressly to deny God when it is more convenient to forget Him; and so the theory of the Epicurean becomes the practice of mankind in general. Nor can we be said to be free from that which Plato justly considers to be the worst unbelief — of those who put superstition in the place of true religion. For the larger half of Christians continue to assert that the justice of God may be turned aside by gifts, and, if not by the ‘odour of fat, and the sacrifice steaming to heaven,’ still by another kind of sacrifice placed upon the altar — by masses for the quick and dead, by dispensations, by building churches, by rites and ceremonies — by the same means which the heathen used, taking other names and shapes. And the indifference of Epicureanism and unbelief is in two ways the parent of superstition, partly because it permits, and also because it creates, a necessity for its development in religious and enthusiastic temperaments. If men cannot have a rational belief, they will have an irrational. And hence the most superstitious countries are also at a certain point of civilization the most unbelieving, and the revolution which takes one direction is quickly followed by a reaction in the other. So we may read ‘between the lines’ ancient history and philosophy into modern, and modern into ancient. Whether we compare the theory of Greek philosophy with the Christian religion, or the practice of the Gentile world with the practice of the Christian world, they will be found to differ more in words and less in reality than we might have supposed. The greater opposition which is sometimes made between them seems to arise chiefly out of a comparison of the ideal of the one with the practice of the other.

To the errors of superstition and unbelief Plato opposes the simple and natural truth of religion; the best and highest, whether conceived in the form of a person or a principle — as the divine mind or as the idea of good — is believed by him to be the basis of human life. That all things are working together for good to the good and evil to the evil in this or in some other world to which human actions are transferred, is the sum of his faith or theology. Unlike Socrates, he is absolutely free from superstition. Religion and morality are one and indivisible to him. He dislikes the ‘heathen mythology,’ which, as he significantly remarks, was not tolerated in Crete, and perhaps (for the meaning of his words is not quite clear) at Sparta. He gives no encouragement to individual enthusiasm; ‘the establishment of religion could only be the work of a mighty intellect.’ Like the Hebrews, he prohibits private rites; for the avoidance of superstition, he would transfer all worship of the Gods to the public temples. He would not have men and women consecrating the accidents of their lives. He trusts to human punishments and not to divine judgments; though he is not unwilling to repeat the old tradition that certain kinds of dishonesty ‘prevent a man from having a family.’ He considers that the ‘ages of faith’ have passed away and cannot now be recalled. Yet he is far from wishing to extirpate the sentiment of religion, which he sees to be common to all mankind — Barbarians as well as Hellenes. He remarks that no one passes through life without, sooner or later, experiencing its power. To which we may add the further remark that the greater the irreligion, the more violent has often been the religious reaction.

It is remarkable that Plato’s account of mind at the end of the Laws goes beyond Anaxagoras, and beyond himself in any of his previous writings. Aristotle, in a well-known passage (Met.) which is an echo of the Phaedo, remarks on the inconsistency of Anaxagoras in introducing the agency of mind, and yet having recourse to other and inferior, probably material causes. But Plato makes the further criticism, that the error of Anaxagoras consisted, not in denying the universal agency of mind, but in denying the priority, or, as we should say, the eternity of it. Yet in the Timaeus he had himself allowed that God made the world out of pre-existing materials: in the Statesman he says that there were seeds of evil in the world arising out of the remains of a former chaos which could not be got rid of; and even in the Tenth Book of the Laws he has admitted that there are two souls, a good and evil. In the Meno, the Phaedrus, and the Phaedo, he had spoken of the recovery of ideas from a former state of existence. But now he has attained to a clearer point of view: he has discarded these fancies. From meditating on the priority of the human soul to the body, he has learnt the nature of soul absolutely. The power of the best, of which he gave an intimation in the Phaedo and in the Republic, now, as in the Philebus, takes the form of an intelligence or person. He no longer, like Anaxagoras, supposes mind to be introduced at a certain time into the world and to give order to a pre-existing chaos, but to be prior to the chaos, everlasting and evermoving, and the source of order and intelligence in all things. This appears to be the last form of Plato’s religious philosophy, which might almost be summed up in the words of Kant, ‘the starry heaven above and the moral law within.’ Or rather, perhaps, ‘the starry heaven above and mind prior to the world.’

IV. The remarks about retail trade, about adulteration, and about mendicity, have a very modern character. Greek social life was more like our own than we are apt to suppose. There was the same division of ranks, the same aristocratic and democratic feeling, and, even in a democracy, the same preference for land and for agricultural pursuits. Plato may be claimed as the first free trader, when he prohibits the imposition of customs on imports and exports, though he was clearly not aware of the importance of the principle which he enunciated. The discredit of retail trade he attributes to the rogueries of traders, and is inclined to believe that if a nobleman would keep a shop, which heaven forbid! retail trade might become honourable. He has hardly lighted upon the true reason, which appears to be the essential distinction between buyers and sellers, the one class being necessarily in some degree dependent on the other. When he proposes to fix prices ‘which would allow a moderate gain,’ and to regulate trade in several minute particulars, we must remember that this is by no means so absurd in a city consisting of 5040 citizens, in which almost every one would know and become known to everybody else, as in our own vast population. Among ourselves we are very far from allowing every man to charge what he pleases. Of many things the prices are fixed by law. Do we not often hear of wages being adjusted in proportion to the profits of employers? The objection to regulating them by law and thus avoiding the conflicts which continually arise between the buyers and sellers of labour, is not so much the undesirableness as the impossibility of doing so. Wherever free competition is not reconcileable either with the order of society, or, as in the case of adulteration, with common honesty, the government may lawfully interfere. The only question is, — Whether the interference will be effectual, and whether the evil of interference may not be greater than the evil which is prevented by it.

He would prohibit beggars, because in a well-ordered state no good man would be left to starve. This again is a prohibition which might have been easily enforced, for there is no difficulty in maintaining the poor when the population is small. In our own times the difficulty of pauperism is rendered far greater, (1) by the enormous numbers, (2) by the facility of locomotion, (3) by the increasing tenderness for human life and suffering. And the only way of meeting the difficulty seems to be by modern nations subdividing themselves into small bodies having local knowledge and acting together in the spirit of ancient communities (compare Arist. Pol.)

V. Regarded as the framework of a polity the Laws are deemed by Plato to be a decline from the Republic, which is the dream of his earlier years. He nowhere imagines that he has reached a higher point of speculation. He is only descending to the level of human things, and he often returns to his original idea. For the guardians of the Republic, who were the elder citizens, and were all supposed to be philosophers, is now substituted a special body, who are to review and amend the laws, preserving the spirit of the legislator. These are the Nocturnal Council, who, although they are not specially trained in dialectic, are not wholly destitute of it; for they must know the relation of particular virtues to the general principle of virtue. Plato has been arguing throughout the Laws that temperance is higher than courage, peace than war, that the love of both must enter into the character of the good citizen. And at the end the same thought is summed up by him in an abstract form. The true artist or guardian must be able to reduce the many to the one, than which, as he says with an enthusiasm worthy of the Phaedrus or Philebus, ‘no more philosophical method was ever devised by the wit of man.’ But the sense of unity in difference can only be acquired by study; and Plato does not explain to us the nature of this study, which we may reasonably infer, though there is a remarkable omission of the word, to be akin to the dialectic of the Republic.

The Nocturnal Council is to consist of the priests who have obtained the rewards of virtue, of the ten eldest guardians of the law, and of the director and ex-directors of education; each of whom is to select for approval a younger coadjutor. To this council the ‘Spectator,’ who is sent to visit foreign countries, has to make his report. It is not an administrative body, but an assembly of sages who are to make legislation their study. Plato is not altogether disinclined to changes in the law where experience shows them to be necessary; but he is also anxious that the original spirit of the constitution should never be lost sight of.

The Laws of Plato contain the latest phase of his philosophy, showing in many respects an advance, and in others a decline, in his views of life and the world. His Theory of Ideas in the next generation passed into one of Numbers, the nature of which we gather chiefly from the Metaphysics of Aristotle. Of the speculative side of this theory there are no traces in the Laws, but doubtless Plato found the practical value which he attributed to arithmetic greatly confirmed by the possibility of applying number and measure to the revolution of the heavens, and to the regulation of human life. In the return to a doctrine of numbers there is a retrogression rather than an advance; for the most barren logical abstraction is of a higher nature than number and figure. Philosophy fades away into the distance; in the Laws it is confined to the members of the Nocturnal Council. The speculative truth which was the food of the guardians in the Republic, is for the majority of the citizens to be superseded by practical virtues. The law, which is the expression of mind written down, takes the place of the living word of the philosopher. (Compare the contrast of Phaedrus, and Laws; also the plays on the words nous, nomos, nou dianome; and the discussion in the Statesman of the difference between the personal rule of a king and the impersonal reign of law.) The State is based on virtue and religion rather than on knowledge; and virtue is no longer identified with knowledge, being of the commoner sort, and spoken of in the sense generally understood. Yet there are many traces of advance as well as retrogression in the Laws of Plato. The attempt to reconcile the ideal with actual life is an advance; to ‘have brought philosophy down from heaven to earth,’ is a praise which may be claimed for him as well as for his master Socrates. And the members of the Nocturnal Council are to continue students of the ‘one in many’ and of the nature of God. Education is the last word with which Plato supposes the theory of the Laws to end and the reality to begin.

Plato’s increasing appreciation of the difficulties of human affairs, and of the element of chance which so largely influences them, is an indication not of a narrower, but of a maturer mind, which had become more conversant with realities. Nor can we fairly attribute any want of originality to him, because he has borrowed many of his provisions from Sparta and Athens. Laws and institutions grow out of habits and customs; and they have ‘better opinion, better confirmation,’ if they have come down from antiquity and are not mere literary inventions. Plato would have been the first to acknowledge that the Book of Laws was not the creation of his fancy, but a collection of enactments which had been devised by inspired legislators, like Minos, Lycurgus, and Solon, to meet the actual needs of men, and had been approved by time and experience.

In order to do justice therefore to the design of the work, it is necessary to examine how far it rests on an historical foundation and coincides with the actual laws of Sparta and Athens. The consideration of the historical aspect of the Laws has been reserved for this place. In working out the comparison the writer has been greatly assisted by the excellent essays of C.F. Hermann (‘De vestigiis institutorum veterum, imprimis Atticorum, per Platonis de Legibus libros indagandis,’ and ‘Juris domestici et familiaris apud Platonem in Legibus cum veteris Graeciae inque primis Athenarum institutis comparatio’: Marburg, 1836), and by J.B. Telfy’s ‘Corpus Juris Attici’ (Leipzig, 1868).

EXCURSUS ON THE RELATION OF THE LAWS OF PLATO TO THE INSTITUTIONS OF CRETE AND LACEDAEMON AND TO THE LAWS AND CONSTITUTION OF ATHENS.

The Laws of Plato are essentially Greek: unlike Xenophon’s Cyropaedia, they contain nothing foreign or oriental. Their aim is to reconstruct the work of the great lawgivers of Hellas in a literary form. They partake both of an Athenian and a Spartan character. Some of them too are derived from Crete, and are appropriately transferred to a Cretan colony. But of Crete so little is known to us, that although, as Montesquieu (Esprit des Lois) remarks, ‘the Laws of Crete are the original of those of Sparta and the Laws of Plato the correction of these latter,’ there is only one point, viz. the common meals, in which they can be compared. Most of Plato’s provisions resemble the laws and customs which prevailed in these three states (especially in the two former), and which the personifying instinct of the Greeks attributed to Minos, Lycurgus, and Solon. A very few particulars may have been borrowed from Zaleucus (Cic. de Legibus), and Charondas, who is said to have first made laws against perjury (Arist. Pol.) and to have forbidden credit (Stob. Florileg., Gaisford). Some enactments are Plato’s own, and were suggested by his experience of defects in the Athenian and other Greek states. The Laws also contain many lesser provisions, which are not found in the ordinary codes of nations, because they cannot be properly defined, and are therefore better left to custom and common sense. ‘The greater part of the work,’ as Aristotle remarks (Pol.), ’is taken up with laws’: yet this is not wholly true, and applies to the latter rather than to the first half of it. The book rests on an ethical and religious foundation: the actual laws begin with a hymn of praise in honour of the soul. And the same lofty aspiration after the good is perpetually recurring, especially in Books X, XI, XII, and whenever Plato’s mind is filled with his highest themes. In prefixing to most of his laws a prooemium he has two ends in view, to persuade and also to threaten. They are to have the sanction of laws and the effect of sermons. And Plato’s ‘Book of Laws,’ if described in the language of modern philosophy, may be said to be as much an ethical and educational, as a political or legal treatise.

But although the Laws partake both of an Athenian and a Spartan character, the elements which are borrowed from either state are necessarily very different, because the character and origin of the two governments themselves differed so widely. Sparta was the more ancient and primitive: Athens was suited to the wants of a later stage of society. The relation of the two states to the Laws may be conceived in this manner: — The foundation and ground-plan of the work are more Spartan, while the superstructure and details are more Athenian. At Athens the laws were written down and were voluminous; more than a thousand fragments of them have been collected by Telfy. Like the Roman or English law, they contained innumerable particulars. Those of them which regulated daily life were familiarly known to the Athenians; for every citizen was his own lawyer, and also a judge, who decided the rights of his fellow-citizens according to the laws, often after hearing speeches from the parties interested or from their advocates. It is to Rome and not to Athens that the invention of law, in the modern sense of the term, is commonly ascribed. But it must be remembered that long before the times of the Twelve Tables (B.C. 451), regular courts and forms of law had existed at Athens and probably in the Greek colonies. And we may reasonably suppose, though without any express proof of the fact, that many Roman institutions and customs, like Latin literature and mythology, were partly derived from Hellas and had imperceptibly drifted from one shore of the Ionian Sea to the other (compare especially the constitutions of Servius Tullius and of Solon).

It is not proved that the laws of Sparta were in ancient times either written down in books or engraved on tablets of marble or brass. Nor is it certain that, if they had been, the Spartans could have read them. They were ancient customs, some of them older probably than the settlement in Laconia, of which the origin is unknown; they occasionally received the sanction of the Delphic oracle, but there was a still stronger obligation by which they were enforced, — the necessity of self-defence: the Spartans were always living in the presence of their enemies. They belonged to an age when written law had not yet taken the place of custom and tradition. The old constitution was very rarely affected by new enactments, and these only related to the duties of the Kings or Ephors, or the new relations of classes which arose as time went on. Hence there was as great a difference as could well be conceived between the Laws of Athens and Sparta: the one was the creation of a civilized state, and did not differ in principle from our modern legislation, the other of an age in which the people were held together and also kept down by force of arms, and which afterwards retained many traces of its barbaric origin ‘surviving in culture.’

Nevertheless the Lacedaemonian was the ideal of a primitive Greek state. According to Thucydides it was the first which emerged out of confusion and became a regular government. It was also an army devoted to military exercises, but organized with a view to self-defence and not to conquest. It was not quick to move or easily excited; but stolid, cautious, unambitious, procrastinating. For many centuries it retained the same character which was impressed upon it by the hand of the legislator. This singular fabric was partly the result of circumstances, partly the invention of some unknown individual in prehistoric times, whose ideal of education was military discipline, and who, by the ascendency of his genius, made a small tribe into a nation which became famous in the world’s history. The other Hellenes wondered at the strength and stability of his work. The rest of Hellas, says Thucydides, undertook the colonisation of Heraclea the more readily, having a feeling of security now that they saw the Lacedaemonians taking part in it. The Spartan state appears to us in the dawn of history as a vision of armed men, irresistible by any other power then existing in the world. It can hardly be said to have understood at all the rights or duties of nations to one another, or indeed to have had any moral principle except patriotism and obedience to commanders. Men were so trained to act together that they lost the freedom and spontaneity of human life in cultivating the qualities of the soldier and ruler. The Spartan state was a composite body in which kings, nobles, citizens, perioeci, artisans, slaves, had to find a ‘modus vivendi’ with one another. All of them were taught some use of arms. The strength of the family tie was diminished among them by an enforced absence from home and by common meals. Sparta had no life or growth; no poetry or tradition of the past; no art, no thought. The Athenians started on their great career some centuries later, but the Spartans would have been easily conquered by them, if Athens had not been deficient in the qualities which constituted the strength (and also the weakness) of her rival.

The ideal of Athens has been pictured for all time in the speech which Thucydides puts into the mouth of Pericles, called the Funeral Oration. He contrasts the activity and freedom and pleasantness of Athenian life with the immobility and severe looks and incessant drill of the Spartans. The citizens of no city were more versatile, or more readily changed from land to sea or more quickly moved about from place to place. They ‘took their pleasures’ merrily, and yet, when the time for fighting arrived, were not a whit behind the Spartans, who were like men living in a camp, and, though always keeping guard, were often too late for the fray. Any foreigner might visit Athens; her ships found a way to the most distant shores; the riches of the whole earth poured in upon her. Her citizens had their theatres and festivals; they ‘provided their souls with many relaxations’; yet they were not less manly than the Spartans or less willing to sacrifice this enjoyable existence for their country’s good. The Athenian was a nobler form of life than that of their rivals, a life of music as well as of gymnastic, the life of a citizen as well as of a soldier. Such is the picture which Thucydides has drawn of the Athenians in their glory. It is the spirit of this life which Plato would infuse into the Magnesian state and which he seeks to combine with the common meals and gymnastic discipline of Sparta.

The two great types of Athens and Sparta had deeply entered into his mind. He had heard of Sparta at a distance and from common Hellenic fame: he was a citizen of Athens and an Athenian of noble birth. He must often have sat in the law-courts, and may have had personal experience of the duties of offices such as he is establishing. There is no need to ask the question, whence he derived his knowledge of the Laws of Athens: they were a part of his daily life. Many of his enactments are recognized to be Athenian laws from the fragments preserved in the Orators and elsewhere: many more would be found to be so if we had better information. Probably also still more of them would have been incorporated in the Magnesian code, if the work had ever been finally completed. But it seems to have come down to us in a form which is partly finished and partly unfinished, having a beginning and end, but wanting arrangement in the middle. The Laws answer to Plato’s own description of them, in the comparison which he makes of himself and his two friends to gatherers of stones or the beginners of some composite work, ‘who are providing materials and partly putting them together: — having some of their laws, like stones, already fixed in their places, while others lie about.’

Plato’s own life coincided with the period at which Athens rose to her greatest heights and sank to her lowest depths. It was impossible that he should regard the blessings of democracy in the same light as the men of a former generation, whose view was not intercepted by the evil shadow of the taking of Athens, and who had only the glories of Marathon and Salamis and the administration of Pericles to look back upon. On the other hand the fame and prestige of Sparta, which had outlived so many crimes and blunders, was not altogether lost at the end of the life of Plato. Hers was the only great Hellenic government which preserved something of its ancient form; and although the Spartan citizens were reduced to almost one-tenth of their original number (Arist. Pol.), she still retained, until the rise of Thebes and Macedon, a certain authority and predominance due to her final success in the struggle with Athens and to the victories which Agesilaus won in Asia Minor.

Plato, like Aristotle, had in his mind some form of a mean state which should escape the evils and secure the advantages of both aristocracy and democracy. It may however be doubted whether the creation of such a state is not beyond the legislator’s art, although there have been examples in history of forms of government, which through some community of interest or of origin, through a balance of parties in the state itself, or through the fear of a common enemy, have for a while preserved such a character of moderation. But in general there arises a time in the history of a state when the struggle between the few and the many has to be fought out. No system of checks and balances, such as Plato has devised in the Laws, could have given equipoise and stability to an ancient state, any more than the skill of the legislator could have withstood the tide of democracy in England or France during the last hundred years, or have given life to China or India.

The basis of the Magnesian constitution is the equal division of land. In the new state, as in the Republic, there was to be neither poverty nor riches. Every citizen under all circumstances retained his lot, and as much money as was necessary for the cultivation of it, and no one was allowed to accumulate property to the amount of more than five times the value of the lot, inclusive of it. The equal division of land was a Spartan institution, not known to have existed elsewhere in Hellas. The mention of it in the Laws of Plato affords considerable presumption that it was of ancient origin, and not first introduced, as Mr. Grote and others have imagined, in the reformation of Cleomenes III. But at Sparta, if we may judge from the frequent complaints of the accumulation of property in the hands of a few persons (Arist. Pol.), no provision could have been made for the maintenance of the lot. Plutarch indeed speaks of a law introduced by the Ephor Epitadeus soon after the Peloponnesian War, which first allowed the Spartans to sell their land (Agis): but from the manner in which Aristotle refers to the subject, we should imagine this evil in the state to be of a much older standing. Like some other countries in which small proprietors have been numerous, the original equality passed into inequality, and, instead of a large middle class, there was probably at Sparta greater disproportion in the property of the citizens than in any other state of Hellas. Plato was aware of the danger, and has improved on the Spartan custom. The land, as at Sparta, must have been tilled by slaves, since other occupations were found for the citizens. Bodies of young men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty were engaged in making biennial peregrinations of the country. They and their officers are to be the magistrates, police, engineers, aediles, of the twelve districts into which the colony was divided. Their way of life may be compared with that of the Spartan secret police or Crypteia, a name which Plato freely applies to them without apparently any consciousness of the odium which has attached to the word in history.

Another great institution which Plato borrowed from Sparta (or Crete) is the Syssitia or common meals. These were established in both states, and in some respects were considered by Aristotle to be better managed in Crete than at Lacedaemon (Pol.). In the Laws the Cretan custom appears to be adopted (This is not proved, as Hermann supposes (‘De Vestigiis,’ etc.)): that is to say, if we may interpret Plato by Aristotle, the cost of them was defrayed by the state and not by the individuals (Arist. Pol); so that the members of the mess, who could not pay their quota, still retained their rights of citizenship. But this explanation is hardly consistent with the Laws, where contributions to the Syssitia from private estates are expressly mentioned. Plato goes further than the legislators of Sparta and Crete, and would extend the common meals to women as well as men: he desires to curb the disorders, which existed among the female sex in both states, by the application to women of the same military discipline to which the men were already subject. It was an extension of the custom of Syssitia from which the ancient legislators shrank, and which Plato himself believed to be very difficult of enforcement.

Like Sparta, the new colony was not to be surrounded by walls, — a state should learn to depend upon the bravery of its citizens only — a fallacy or paradox, if it is not to be regarded as a poetical fancy, which is fairly enough ridiculed by Aristotle (Pol.). Women, too, must be ready to assist in the defence of their country: they are not to rush to the temples and altars, but to arm themselves with shield and spear. In the regulation of the Syssitia, in at least one of his enactments respecting property, and in the attempt to correct the licence of women, Plato shows, that while he borrowed from the institutions of Sparta and favoured the Spartan mode of life, he also sought to improve upon them.

The enmity to the sea is another Spartan feature which is transferred by Plato to the Magnesian state. He did not reflect that a non-maritime power would always be at the mercy of one which had a command of the great highway. Their many island homes, the vast extent of coast which had to be protected by them, their struggles first of all with the Phoenicians and Carthaginians, and secondly with the Persian fleets, forced the Greeks, mostly against their will, to devote themselves to the sea. The islanders before the inhabitants of the continent, the maritime cities before the inland, the Corinthians and Athenians before the Spartans, were compelled to fit out ships: last of all the Spartans, by the pressure of the Peloponnesian War, were driven to establish a naval force, which, after the battle of Aegospotami, for more than a generation commanded the Aegean. Plato, like the Spartans, had a prejudice against a navy, because he regarded it as the nursery of democracy. But he either never considered, or did not care to explain, how a city, set upon an island and ‘distant not more than ten miles from the sea, having a seaboard provided with excellent harbours,’ could have safely subsisted without one.

Neither the Spartans nor the Magnesian colonists were permitted to engage in trade or commerce. In order to limit their dealings as far as possible to their own country, they had a separate coinage; the Magnesians were only allowed to use the common currency of Hellas when they travelled abroad, which they were forbidden to do unless they received permission from the government. Like the Spartans, Plato was afraid of the evils which might be introduced into his state by intercourse with foreigners; but he also shrinks from the utter exclusiveness of Sparta, and is not unwilling to allow visitors of a suitable age and rank to come from other states to his own, as he also allows citizens of his own state to go to foreign countries and bring back a report of them. Such international communication seemed to him both honourable and useful.

We may now notice some points in which the commonwealth of the Laws approximates to the Athenian model. These are much more numerous than the previous class of resemblances; we are better able to compare the laws of Plato with those of Athens, because a good deal more is known to us of Athens than of Sparta.

The information which we possess about Athenian law, though comparatively fuller, is still fragmentary. The sources from which our knowledge is derived are chiefly the following: —

(1) The Orators, — Antiphon, Andocides, Lysias, Isocrates, Demosthenes, Aeschines, Lycurgus, and others.

(2) Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Plato, Aristotle, as well as later writers, such as Cicero de Legibus, Plutarch, Aelian, Pausanias.

(3) Lexicographers, such as Harpocration, Pollux, Hesychius, Suidas, and the compiler of the Etymologicum Magnum, many of whom are of uncertain date, and to a great extent based upon one another. Their writings extend altogether over more than eight hundred years, from the second to the tenth century.

(4) The Scholia on Aristophanes, Plato, Demosthenes.

(5) A few inscriptions.

Our knowledge of a subject derived from such various sources and for the most part of uncertain date and origin, is necessarily precarious. No critic can separate the actual laws of Solon from those which passed under his name in later ages. Nor do the Scholiasts and Lexicographers attempt to distinguish how many of these laws were still in force at the time when they wrote, or when they fell into disuse and were to be found in books only. Nor can we hastily assume that enactments which occur in the Laws of Plato were also a part of Athenian law, however probable this may appear.

There are two classes of similarities between Plato’s Laws and those of Athens: (i) of institutions (ii) of minor enactments.

(i) The constitution of the Laws in its general character resembles much more nearly the Athenian constitution of Solon’s time than that which succeeded it, or the extreme democracy which prevailed in Plato’s own day. It was a mean state which he hoped to create, equally unlike a Syracusan tyranny or the mob-government of the Athenian assembly. There are various expedients by which he sought to impart to it the quality of moderation. (1) The whole people were to be educated: they could not be all trained in philosophy, but they were to acquire the simple elements of music, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy; they were also to be subject to military discipline, archontes kai archomenoi. (2) The majority of them were, or had been at some time in their lives, magistrates, and had the experience which is given by office. (3) The persons who held the highest offices were to have a further education, not much inferior to that provided for the guardians in the Republic, though the range of their studies is narrowed to the nature and divisions of virtue: here their philosophy comes to an end. (4) The entire number of the citizens (5040) rarely, if ever, assembled, except for purposes of elections. The whole people were divided into four classes, each having the right to be represented by the same number of members in the Council. The result of such an arrangement would be, as in the constitution of Servius Tullius, to give a disproportionate share of power to the wealthier classes, who may be supposed to be always much fewer in number than the poorer. This tendency was qualified by the complicated system of selection by vote, previous to the final election by lot, of which the object seems to be to hand over to the wealthy few the power of selecting from the many poor, and vice versa. (5) The most important body in the state was the Nocturnal Council, which is borrowed from the Areopagus at Athens, as it existed, or was supposed to have existed, in the days before Ephialtes and the Eumenides of Aeschylus, when its power was undiminished. In some particulars Plato appears to have copied exactly the customs and procedure of the Areopagus: both assemblies sat at night (Telfy). There was a resemblance also in more important matters. Like the Areopagus, the Nocturnal Council was partly composed of magistrates and other state officials, whose term of office had expired. (7) The constitution included several diverse and even opposing elements, such as the Assembly and the Nocturnal Council. (8) There was much less exclusiveness than at Sparta; the citizens were to have an interest in the government of neighbouring states, and to know what was going on in the rest of the world. — All these were moderating influences.

A striking similarity between Athens and the constitution of the Magnesian colony is the use of the lot in the election of judges and other magistrates. That such a mode of election should have been resorted to in any civilized state, or that it should have been transferred by Plato to an ideal or imaginary one, is very singular to us. The most extreme democracy of modern times has never thought of leaving government wholly to chance. It was natural that Socrates should scoff at it, and ask, ‘Who would choose a pilot or carpenter or flute-player by lot’ (Xen. Mem.)? Yet there were many considerations which made this mode of choice attractive both to the oligarch and to the democrat: — (1) It seemed to recognize that one man was as good as another, and that all the members of the governing body, whether few or many, were on a perfect equality in every sense of the word. (2) To the pious mind it appeared to be a choice made, not by man, but by heaven (compare Laws). (3) It afforded a protection against corruption and intrigue...It must also be remembered that, although elected by lot, the persons so elected were subject to a scrutiny before they entered on their office, and were therefore liable, after election, if disqualified, to be rejected (Laws). They were, moreover, liable to be called to account after the expiration of their office. In the election of councillors Plato introduces a further check: they are not to be chosen directly by lot from all the citizens, but from a select body previously elected by vote. In Plato’s state at least, as we may infer from his silence on this point, judges and magistrates performed their duties without pay, which was a guarantee both of their disinterestedness and of their belonging probably to the higher class of citizens (compare Arist. Pol.). Hence we are not surprised that the use of the lot prevailed, not only in the election of the Athenian Council, but also in many oligarchies, and even in Plato’s colony. The evil consequences of the lot are to a great extent avoided, if the magistrates so elected do not, like the dicasts at Athens, receive pay from the state.

Another parallel is that of the Popular Assembly, which at Athens was omnipotent, but in the Laws has only a faded and secondary existence. In Plato it was chiefly an elective body, having apparently no judicial and little political power entrusted to it. At Athens it was the mainspring of the democracy; it had the decision of war or peace, of life and death; the acts of generals or statesmen were authorized or condemned by it; no office or person was above its control. Plato was far from allowing such a despotic power to exist in his model community, and therefore he minimizes the importance of the Assembly and narrows its functions. He probably never asked himself a question, which naturally occurs to the modern reader, where was to be the central authority in this new community, and by what supreme power would the differences of inferior powers be decided. At the same time he magnifies and brings into prominence the Nocturnal Council (which is in many respects a reflection of the Areopagus), but does not make it the governing body of the state.

Between the judicial system of the Laws and that of Athens there was very great similarity, and a difference almost equally great. Plato not unfrequently adopts the details when he rejects the principle. At Athens any citizen might be a judge and member of the great court of the Heliaea. This was ordinarily subdivided into a number of inferior courts, but an occasion is recorded on which the whole body, in number six thousand, met in a single court (Andoc. de Myst.). Plato significantly remarks that a few judges, if they are good, are better than a great number. He also, at least in capital cases, confines the plaintiff and defendant to a single speech each, instead of allowing two apiece, as was the common practice at Athens. On the other hand, in all private suits he gives two appeals, from the arbiters to the courts of the tribes, and from the courts of the tribes to the final or supreme court. There was nothing answering to this at Athens. The three courts were appointed in the following manner: — the arbiters were to be agreed upon by the parties to the cause; the judges of the tribes to be elected by lot; the highest tribunal to be chosen at the end of each year by the great officers of state out of their own number — they were to serve for a year, to undergo a scrutiny, and, unlike the Athenian judges, to vote openly. Plato does not dwell upon methods of procedure: these are the lesser matters which he leaves to the younger legislators. In cases of murder and some other capital offences, the cause was to be tried by a special tribunal, as was the custom at Athens: military offences, too, as at Athens, were decided by the soldiers. Public causes in the Laws, as sometimes at Athens, were voted upon by the whole people: because, as Plato remarks, they are all equally concerned in them. They were to be previously investigated by three of the principal magistrates. He believes also that in private suits all should take part; ‘for he who has no share in the administration of justice is apt to imagine that he has no share in the state at all.’ The wardens of the country, like the Forty at Athens, also exercised judicial power in small matters, as well as the wardens of the agora and city. The department of justice is better organized in Plato than in an ordinary Greek state, proceeding more by regular methods, and being more restricted to distinct duties.

The executive of Plato’s Laws, like the Athenian, was different from that of a modern civilized state. The difference chiefly consists in this, that whereas among ourselves there are certain persons or classes of persons set apart for the execution of the duties of government, in ancient Greece, as in all other communities in the earlier stages of their development, they were not equally distinguished from the rest of the citizens. The machinery of government was never so well organized as in the best modern states. The judicial department was not so completely separated from the legislative, nor the executive from the judicial, nor the people at large from the professional soldier, lawyer, or priest. To Aristotle (Pol.) it was a question requiring serious consideration — Who should execute a sentence? There was probably no body of police to whom were entrusted the lives and properties of the citizens in any Hellenic state. Hence it might be reasonably expected that every man should be the watchman of every other, and in turn be watched by him. The ancients do not seem to have remembered the homely adage that, ‘What is every man’s business is no man’s business,’ or always to have thought of applying the principle of a division of labour to the administration of law and to government. Every Athenian was at some time or on some occasion in his life a magistrate, judge, advocate, soldier, sailor, policeman. He had not necessarily any private business; a good deal of his time was taken up with the duties of office and other public occupations. So, too, in Plato’s Laws. A citizen was to interfere in a quarrel, if older than the combatants, or to defend the outraged party, if his junior. He was especially bound to come to the rescue of a parent who was ill-treated by his children. He was also required to prosecute the murderer of a kinsman. In certain cases he was allowed to arrest an offender. He might even use violence to an abusive person. Any citizen who was not less than thirty years of age at times exercised a magisterial authority, to be enforced even by blows. Both in the Magnesian state and at Athens many thousand persons must have shared in the highest duties of government, if a section only of the Council, consisting of thirty or of fifty persons, as in the Laws, or at Athens after the days of Cleisthenes, held office for a month, or for thirty-five days only. It was almost as if, in our own country, the Ministry or the Houses of Parliament were to change every month. The average ability of the Athenian and Magnesian councillors could not have been very high, considering there were so many of them. And yet they were entrusted with the performance of the most important executive duties. In these respects the constitution of the Laws resembles Athens far more than Sparta. All the citizens were to be, not merely soldiers, but politicians and administrators.

(ii) There are numerous minor particulars in which the Laws of Plato resemble those of Athens. These are less interesting than the preceding, but they show even more strikingly how closely in the composition of his work Plato has followed the laws and customs of his own country.

(1) Evidence. (a) At Athens a child was not allowed to give evidence (Telfy). Plato has a similar law: ‘A child shall be allowed to give evidence only in cases of murder.’ (b) At Athens an unwilling witness might be summoned; but he was not required to appear if he was ready to declare on oath that he knew nothing about the matter in question (Telfy). So in the Laws. (c) Athenian law enacted that when more than half the witnesses in a case had been convicted of perjury, there was to be a new trial (anadikos krisis — Telfy). There is a similar provision in the Laws. (d) False-witness was punished at Athens by atimia and a fine (Telfy). Plato is at once more lenient and more severe: ‘If a man be twice convicted of false-witness, he shall not be required, and if thrice, he shall not be allowed to bear witness; and if he dare to witness after he has been convicted three times,...he shall be punished with death.’

(2) Murder. (a) Wilful murder was punished in Athenian law by death, perpetual exile, and confiscation of property (Telfy). Plato, too, has the alternative of death or exile, but he does not confiscate the murderer’s property. (b) The Parricide was not allowed to escape by going into exile at Athens (Telfy), nor, apparently, in the Laws. (c) A homicide, if forgiven by his victim before death, received no punishment, either at Athens (Telfy), or in the Magnesian state. In both (Telfy) the contriver of a murder is punished as severely as the doer; and persons accused of the crime are forbidden to enter temples or the agora until they have been tried (Telfy). (d) At Athens slaves who killed their masters and were caught red-handed, were not to be put to death by the relations of the murdered man, but to be handed over to the magistrates (Telfy). So in the Laws, the slave who is guilty of wilful murder has a public execution: but if the murder is committed in anger, it is punished by the kinsmen of the victim.

(3) Involuntary homicide. (a) The guilty person, according to the Athenian law, had to go into exile, and might not return, until the family of the man slain were conciliated. Then he must be purified (Telfy). If he is caught before he has obtained forgiveness, he may be put to death. These enactments reappear in the Laws. (b) The curious provision of Plato, that a stranger who has been banished for involuntary homicide and is subsequently wrecked upon the coast, must ‘take up his abode on the sea-shore, wetting his feet in the sea, and watching for an opportunity of sailing,’ recalls the procedure of the Judicium Phreatteum at Athens, according to which an involuntary homicide, who, having gone into exile, is accused of a wilful murder, was tried at Phreatto for this offence in a boat by magistrates on the shore. (c) A still more singular law, occurring both in the Athenian and Magnesian code, enacts that a stone or other inanimate object which kills a man is to be tried, and cast over the border (Telfy).

(4) Justifiable or excusable homicide. Plato and Athenian law agree in making homicide justifiable or excusable in the following cases: — (1) at the games (Telfy); (2) in war (Telfy); (3) if the person slain was found doing violence to a free woman (Telfy); (4) if a doctor’s patient dies; (5) in the case of a robber (Telfy); (6) in self-defence (Telfy).

(5) Impiety. Death or expulsion was the Athenian penalty for impiety (Telfy). In the Laws it is punished in various cases by imprisonment for five years, for life, and by death.

(6) Sacrilege. Robbery of temples at Athens was punished by death, refusal of burial in the land, and confiscation of property (Telfy). In the Laws the citizen who is guilty of such a crime is to ‘perish ingloriously and be cast beyond the borders of the land,’ but his property is not confiscated.

(7) Sorcery. The sorcerer at Athens was to be executed (Telfy): compare Laws, where it is enacted that the physician who poisons and the professional sorcerer shall be punished with death.

(8) Treason. Both at Athens and in the Laws the penalty for treason was death (Telfy), and refusal of burial in the country (Telfy).

(9) Sheltering exiles. ‘If a man receives an exile, he shall be punished with death.’ So, too, in Athenian law (Telfy.).

(10) Wounding. Athenian law compelled a man who had wounded another to go into exile; if he returned, he was to be put to death (Telfy). Plato only punishes the offence with death when children wound their parents or one another, or a slave wounds his master.

(11) Bribery. Death was the punishment for taking a bribe, both at Athens (Telfy) and in the Laws; but Athenian law offered an alternative — the payment of a fine of ten times the amount of the bribe.

(12) Theft. Plato, like Athenian law (Telfy), punishes the theft of public property by death; the theft of private property in both involves a fine of double the value of the stolen goods (Telfy).

(13) Suicide. He ‘who slays him who of all men, as they say, is his own best friend,’ is regarded in the same spirit by Plato and by Athenian law. Plato would have him ‘buried ingloriously on the borders of the twelve portions of the land, in such places as are uncultivated and nameless,’ and ‘no column or inscription is to mark the place of his interment.’ Athenian law enacted that the hand which did the deed should be separated from the body and be buried apart (Telfy).

(14) Injury. In cases of wilful injury, Athenian law compelled the guilty person to pay double the damage; in cases of involuntary injury, simple damages (Telfy). Plato enacts that if a man wounds another in passion, and the wound is curable, he shall pay double the damage, if incurable or disfiguring, fourfold damages. If, however, the wounding is accidental, he shall simply pay for the harm done.

(15) Treatment of parents. Athenian law allowed any one to indict another for neglect or illtreatment of parents (Telfy). So Plato bids bystanders assist a father who is assaulted by his son, and allows any one to give information against children who neglect their parents.

(16) Execution of sentences. Both Plato and Athenian law give to the winner of a suit power to seize the goods of the loser, if he does not pay within the appointed time (Telfy). At Athens the penalty was also doubled (Telfy); not so in Plato. Plato however punishes contempt of court by death, which at Athens seems only to have been visited with a further fine (Telfy).

(17) Property. (a) Both at Athens and in the Laws a man who has disputed property in his possession must give the name of the person from whom he received it (Telfy); and any one searching for lost property must enter a house naked (Telfy), or, as Plato says, ‘naked, or wearing only a short tunic and without a girdle. (b) Athenian law, as well as Plato, did not allow a father to disinherit his son without good reason and the consent of impartial persons (Telfy). Neither grants to the eldest son any special claim on the paternal estate (Telfy). In the law of inheritance both prefer males to females (Telfy). (c) Plato and Athenian law enacted that a tree should be planted at a fair distance from a neighbour’s property (Telfy), and that when a man could not get water, his neighbour must supply him (Telfy). Both at Athens and in Plato there is a law about bees, the former providing that a beehive must be set up at not less a distance than 300 feet from a neighbour’s (Telfy), and the latter forbidding the decoying of bees.

(18) Orphans. A ward must proceed against a guardian whom he suspects of fraud within five years of the expiration of the guardianship. This provision is common to Plato and to Athenian law (Telfy). Further, the latter enacted that the nearest male relation should marry or provide a husband for an heiress (Telfy), — a point in which Plato follows it closely.

(19) Contracts. Plato’s law that ‘when a man makes an agreement which he does not fulfil, unless the agreement be of a nature which the law or a vote of the assembly does not allow, or which he has made under the influence of some unjust compulsion, or which he is prevented from fulfilling against his will by some unexpected chance, — the other party may go to law with him,’ according to Pollux (quoted in Telfy’s note) prevailed also at Athens.

(20) Trade regulations. (a) Lying was forbidden in the agora both by Plato and at Athens (Telfy). (b) Athenian law allowed an action of recovery against a man who sold an unsound slave as sound (Telfy). Plato’s enactment is more explicit: he allows only an unskilled person (i.e. one who is not a trainer or physician) to take proceedings in such a case. (c) Plato diverges from Athenian practice in the disapproval of credit, and does not even allow the supply of goods on the deposit of a percentage of their value (Telfy). He enacts that ‘when goods are exchanged by buying and selling, a man shall deliver them and receive the price of them at a fixed place in the agora, and have done with the matter,’ and that ‘he who gives credit must be satisfied whether he obtain his money or not, for in such exchanges he will not be protected by law. (d) Athenian law forbad an extortionate rate of interest (Telfy); Plato allows interest in one case only — if a contractor does not receive the price of his work within a year of the time agreed — and at the rate of 200 per cent. per annum for every drachma a monthly interest of an obol. (e) Both at Athens and in the Laws sales were to be registered (Telfy), as well as births (Telfy).

(21) Sumptuary laws. Extravagance at weddings (Telfy), and at funerals (Telfy) was forbidden at Athens and also in the Magnesian state.

There remains the subject of family life, which in Plato’s Laws partakes both of an Athenian and Spartan character. Under this head may conveniently be included the condition of women and of slaves. To family life may be added citizenship.

As at Sparta, marriages are to be contracted for the good of the state; and they may be dissolved on the same ground, where there is a failure of issue, — the interest of the state requiring that every one of the 5040 lots should have an heir. Divorces are likewise permitted by Plato where there is an incompatibility of temper, as at Athens by mutual consent. The duty of having children is also enforced by a still higher motive, expressed by Plato in the noble words:— ‘A man should cling to immortality, and leave behind him children’s children to be the servants of God in his place.’ Again, as at Athens, the father is allowed to put away his undutiful son, but only with the consent of impartial persons (Telfy), and the only suit which may be brought by a son against a father is for imbecility. The class of elder and younger men and women are still to regard one another, as in the Republic, as standing in the relation of parents and children. This is a trait of Spartan character rather than of Athenian. A peculiar sanctity and tenderness was to be shown towards the aged; the parent or grandparent stricken with years was to be loved and worshipped like the image of a God, and was to be deemed far more able than any lifeless statue to bring good or ill to his descendants. Great care is to be taken of orphans: they are entrusted to the fifteen eldest Guardians of the Law, who are to be ‘lawgivers and fathers to them not inferior to their natural fathers,’ as at Athens they were entrusted to the Archons. Plato wishes to make the misfortune of orphanhood as little sad to them as possible.

Plato, seeing the disorder into which half the human race had fallen at Athens and Sparta, is minded to frame for them a new rule of life. He renounces his fanciful theory of communism, but still desires to place women as far as possible on an equality with men. They were to be trained in the use of arms, they are to live in public. Their time was partly taken up with gymnastic exercises; there could have been little family or private life among them. Their lot was to be neither like that of Spartan women, who were made hard and common by excessive practice of gymnastic and the want of all other education, — nor yet like that of Athenian women, who, at least among the upper classes, retired into a sort of oriental seclusion, — but something better than either. They were to be the perfect mothers of perfect children, yet not wholly taken up with the duties of motherhood, which were to be made easy to them as far as possible (compare Republic), but able to share in the perils of war and to be the companions of their husbands. Here, more than anywhere else, the spirit of the Laws reverts to the Republic. In speaking of them as the companions of their husbands we must remember that it is an Athenian and not a Spartan way of life which they are invited to share, a life of gaiety and brightness, not of austerity and abstinence, which often by a reaction degenerated into licence and grossness.

In Plato’s age the subject of slavery greatly interested the minds of thoughtful men; and how best to manage this ‘troublesome piece of goods’ exercised his own mind a good deal. He admits that they have often been found better than brethren or sons in the hour of danger, and are capable of rendering important public services by informing against offenders — for this they are to be rewarded; and the master who puts a slave to death for the sake of concealing some crime which he has committed, is held guilty of murder. But they are not always treated with equal consideration. The punishments inflicted on them bear no proportion to their crimes. They are to be addressed only in the language of command. Their masters are not to jest with them, lest they should increase the hardship of their lot. Some privileges were granted to them by Athenian law of which there is no mention in Plato; they were allowed to purchase their freedom from their master, and if they despaired of being liberated by him they could demand to be sold, on the chance of falling into better hands. But there is no suggestion in the Laws that a slave who tried to escape should be branded with the words — kateche me, pheugo, or that evidence should be extracted from him by torture, that the whole household was to be executed if the master was murdered and the perpetrator remained undetected: all these were provisions of Athenian law. Plato is more consistent than either the Athenians or the Spartans; for at Sparta too the Helots were treated in a manner almost unintelligible to us. On the one hand, they had arms put into their hands, and served in the army, not only, as at Plataea, in attendance on their masters, but, after they had been manumitted, as a separate body of troops called Neodamodes: on the other hand, they were the victims of one of the greatest crimes recorded in Greek history (Thucyd.). The two great philosophers of Hellas sought to extricate themselves from this cruel condition of human life, but acquiesced in the necessity of it. A noble and pathetic sentiment of Plato, suggested by the thought of their misery, may be quoted in this place:— ‘The right treatment of slaves is to behave properly to them, and to do to them, if possible, even more justice than to those who are our equals; for he who naturally and genuinely reverences justice, and hates injustice, is discovered in his dealings with any class of men to whom he can easily be unjust. And he who in regard to the natures and actions of his slaves is undefiled by impiety and injustice, will best sow the seeds of virtue in them; and this may be truly said of every master, and tyrant, and of every other having authority in relation to his inferiors.’

All the citizens of the Magnesian state were free and equal; there was no distinction of rank among them, such as is believed to have prevailed at Sparta. Their number was a fixed one, corresponding to the 5040 lots. One of the results of this is the requirement that younger sons or those who have been disinherited shall go out to a colony. At Athens, where there was not the same religious feeling against increasing the size of the city, the number of citizens must have been liable to considerable fluctuations. Several classes of persons, who were not citizens by birth, were admitted to the privilege. Perpetual exiles from other countries, people who settled there to practise a trade (Telfy), any one who had shown distinguished valour in the cause of Athens, the Plataeans who escaped from the siege, metics and strangers who offered to serve in the army, the slaves who fought at Arginusae, — all these could or did become citizens. Even those who were only on one side of Athenian parentage were at more than one period accounted citizens. But at times there seems to have arisen a feeling against this promiscuous extension of the citizen body, an expression of which is to be found in the law of Pericles — monous Athenaious einai tous ek duoin Athenaion gegonotas (Plutarch, Pericles); and at no time did the adopted citizen enjoy the full rights of citizenship — e.g. he might not be elected archon or to the office of priest (Telfy), although this prohibition did not extend to his children, if born of a citizen wife. Plato never thinks of making the metic, much less the slave, a citizen. His treatment of the former class is at once more gentle and more severe than that which prevailed at Athens. He imposes upon them no tax but good behaviour, whereas at Athens they were required to pay twelve drachmae per annum, and to have a patron: on the other hand, he only allows them to reside in the Magnesian state on condition of following a trade; they were required to depart when their property exceeded that of the third class, and in any case after a residence of twenty years, unless they could show that they had conferred some great benefit on the state. This privileged position reflects that of the isoteleis at Athens, who were excused from the metoikion. It is Plato’s greatest concession to the metic, as the bestowal of freedom is his greatest concession to the slave.

Lastly, there is a more general point of view under which the Laws of Plato may be considered, — the principles of Jurisprudence which are contained in them. These are not formally announced, but are scattered up and down, to be observed by the reflective reader for himself. Some of them are only the common principles which all courts of justice have gathered from experience; others are peculiar and characteristic. That judges should sit at fixed times and hear causes in a regular order, that evidence should be laid before them, that false witnesses should be disallowed, and corruption punished, that defendants should be heard before they are convicted, — these are the rules, not only of the Hellenic courts, but of courts of law in all ages and countries. But there are also points which are peculiar, and in which ancient jurisprudence differs considerably from modern; some of them are of great importance...It could not be said at Athens, nor was it ever contemplated by Plato, that all men, including metics and slaves, should be equal ‘in the eye of the law.’ There was some law for the slave, but not much; no adequate protection was given him against the cruelty of his master...It was a singular privilege granted, both by the Athenian and Magnesian law, to a murdered man, that he might, before he died, pardon his murderer, in which case no legal steps were afterwards to be taken against him. This law is the remnant of an age in which the punishment of offences against the person was the concern rather of the individual and his kinsmen than of the state...Plato’s division of crimes into voluntary and involuntary and those done from passion, only partially agrees with the distinction which modern law has drawn between murder and manslaughter; his attempt to analyze them is confused by the Socratic paradox, that ‘All vice is involuntary’...It is singular that both in the Laws and at Athens theft is commonly punished by a twofold restitution of the article stolen. The distinction between civil and criminal courts or suits was not yet recognized...Possession gives a right of property after a certain time...The religious aspect under which certain offences were regarded greatly interfered with a just and natural estimate of their guilt...As among ourselves, the intent to murder was distinguished by Plato from actual murder...We note that both in Plato and the laws of Athens, libel in the market-place and personality in the theatre were forbidden...Both in Plato and Athenian law, as in modern times, the accomplice of a crime is to be punished as well as the principal...Plato does not allow a witness in a cause to act as a judge of it...Oaths are not to be taken by the parties to a suit...Both at Athens and in Plato’s Laws capital punishment for murder was not to be inflicted, if the offender was willing to go into exile...Respect for the dead, duty towards parents, are to be enforced by the law as well as by public opinion...Plato proclaims the noble sentiment that the object of all punishment is the improvement of the offender... Finally, he repeats twice over, as with the voice of a prophet, that the crimes of the fathers are not to be visited upon the children. In this respect he is nobly distinguished from the Oriental, and indeed from the spirit of Athenian law (compare Telfy, — dei kai autous kai tous ek touton atimous einai), as the Hebrew in the age of Ezekial is from the Jewish people of former ages.

Of all Plato’s provisions the object is to bring the practice of the law more into harmony with reason and philosophy; to secure impartiality, and while acknowledging that every citizen has a right to share in the administration of justice, to counteract the tendency of the courts to become mere popular assemblies.

...

Thus we have arrived at the end of the writings of Plato, and at the last stage of philosophy which was really his. For in what followed, which we chiefly gather from the uncertain intimations of Aristotle, the spirit of the master no longer survived. The doctrine of Ideas passed into one of numbers; instead of advancing from the abstract to the concrete, the theories of Plato were taken out of their context, and either asserted or refuted with a provoking literalism; the Socratic or Platonic element in his teaching was absorbed into the Pythagorean or Megarian. His poetry was converted into mysticism; his unsubstantial visions were assailed secundum artem by the rules of logic. His political speculations lost their interest when the freedom of Hellas had passed away. Of all his writings the Laws were the furthest removed from the traditions of the Platonic school in the next generation. Both his political and his metaphysical philosophy are for the most part misinterpreted by Aristotle. The best of him — his love of truth, and his ‘contemplation of all time and all existence,’ was soonest lost; and some of his greatest thoughts have slept in the ear of mankind almost ever since they were first uttered.

We have followed him during his forty or fifty years of authorship, from the beginning when he first attempted to depict the teaching of Socrates in a dramatic form, down to the time at which the character of Socrates had disappeared, and we have the latest reflections of Plato’s own mind upon Hellas and upon philosophy. He, who was ‘the last of the poets,’ in his book of Laws writes prose only; he has himself partly fallen under the rhetorical influences which in his earlier dialogues he was combating. The progress of his writings is also the history of his life; we have no other authentic life of him. They are the true self of the philosopher, stripped of the accidents of time and place. The great effort which he makes is, first, to realize abstractions, secondly, to connect them. In the attempt to realize them, he was carried into a transcendental region in which he isolated them from experience, and we pass out of the range of science into poetry or fiction. The fancies of mythology for a time cast a veil over the gulf which divides phenomena from onta (Meno, Phaedrus, Symposium, Phaedo). In his return to earth Plato meets with a difficulty which has long ceased to be a difficulty to us. He cannot understand how these obstinate, unmanageable ideas, residing alone in their heaven of abstraction, can be either combined with one another, or adapted to phenomena (Parmenides, Philebus, Sophist). That which is the most familiar process of our own minds, to him appeared to be the crowning achievement of the dialectical art. The difficulty which in his own generation threatened to be the destruction of philosophy, he has rendered unmeaning and ridiculous. For by his conquests in the world of mind our thoughts are widened, and he has furnished us with new dialectical instruments which are of greater compass and power. We have endeavoured to see him as he truly was, a great original genius struggling with unequal conditions of knowledge, not prepared with a system nor evolving in a series of dialogues ideas which he had long conceived, but contradictory, enquiring as he goes along, following the argument, first from one point of view and then from another, and therefore arriving at opposite conclusions, hovering around the light, and sometimes dazzled with excess of light, but always moving in the same element of ideal truth. We have seen him also in his decline, when the wings of his imagination have begun to droop, but his experience of life remains, and he turns away from the contemplation of the eternal to take a last sad look at human affairs.

...

And so having brought into the world ‘noble children’ (Phaedr.), he rests from the labours of authorship. More than two thousand two hundred years have passed away since he returned to the place of Apollo and the Muses. Yet the echo of his words continues to be heard among men, because of all philosophers he has the most melodious voice. He is the inspired prophet or teacher who can never die, the only one in whom the outward form adequately represents the fair soul within; in whom the thoughts of all who went before him are reflected and of all who come after him are partly anticipated. Other teachers of philosophy are dried up and withered, — after a few centuries they have become dust; but he is fresh and blooming, and is always begetting new ideas in the minds of men. They are one-sided and abstract; but he has many sides of wisdom. Nor is he always consistent with himself, because he is always moving onward, and knows that there are many more things in philosophy than can be expressed in words, and that truth is greater than consistency. He who approaches him in the most reverent spirit shall reap most of the fruit of his wisdom; he who reads him by the light of ancient commentators will have the least understanding of him.

We may see him with the eye of the mind in the groves of the Academy, or on the banks of the Ilissus, or in the streets of Athens, alone or walking with Socrates, full of those thoughts which have since become the common possession of mankind. Or we may compare him to a statue hid away in some temple of Zeus or Apollo, no longer existing on earth, a statue which has a look as of the God himself. Or we may once more imagine him following in another state of being the great company of heaven which he beheld of old in a vision (Phaedr.). So, ‘partly trifling, but with a certain degree of seriousness’ (Symp.), we linger around the memory of a world which has passed away (Phaedr.).

LAWS.

BOOK I.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: An Athenian Stranger, Cleinias (a Cretan), Megillus (a Lacedaemonian).

ATHENIAN: Tell me, Strangers, is a God or some man supposed to be the author of your laws?

CLEINIAS: A God, Stranger; in very truth a God: among us Cretans he is said to have been Zeus, but in Lacedaemon, whence our friend here comes, I believe they would say that Apollo is their lawgiver: would they not, Megillus?

MEGILLUS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And do you, Cleinias, believe, as Homer tells, that every ninth year Minos went to converse with his Olympian sire, and was inspired by him to make laws for your cities?

CLEINIAS: Yes, that is our tradition; and there was Rhadamanthus, a brother of his, with whose name you are familiar; he is reputed to have been the justest of men, and we Cretans are of opinion that he earned this reputation from his righteous administration of justice when he was alive.

ATHENIAN: Yes, and a noble reputation it was, worthy of a son of Zeus. As you and Megillus have been trained in these institutions, I dare say that you will not be unwilling to give an account of your government and laws; on our way we can pass the time pleasantly in talking about them, for I am told that the distance from Cnosus to the cave and temple of Zeus is considerable; and doubtless there are shady places under the lofty trees, which will protect us from this scorching sun. Being no longer young, we may often stop to rest beneath them, and get over the whole journey without difficulty, beguiling the time by conversation.

CLEINIAS: Yes, Stranger, and if we proceed onward we shall come to groves of cypresses, which are of rare height and beauty, and there are green meadows, in which we may repose and converse.

ATHENIAN: Very good.

CLEINIAS: Very good, indeed; and still better when we see them; let us move on cheerily.

ATHENIAN: I am willing — And first, I want to know why the law has ordained that you shall have common meals and gymnastic exercises, and wear arms.

CLEINIAS: I think, Stranger, that the aim of our institutions is easily intelligible to any one. Look at the character of our country: Crete is not like Thessaly, a large plain; and for this reason they have horsemen in Thessaly, and we have runners — the inequality of the ground in our country is more adapted to locomotion on foot; but then, if you have runners you must have light arms — no one can carry a heavy weight when running, and bows and arrows are convenient because they are light. Now all these regulations have been made with a view to war, and the legislator appears to me to have looked to this in all his arrangements: — the common meals, if I am not mistaken, were instituted by him for a similar reason, because he saw that while they are in the field the citizens are by the nature of the case compelled to take their meals together for the sake of mutual protection. He seems to me to have thought the world foolish in not understanding that all men are always at war with one another; and if in war there ought to be common meals and certain persons regularly appointed under others to protect an army, they should be continued in peace. For what men in general term peace would be said by him to be only a name; in reality every city is in a natural state of war with every other, not indeed proclaimed by heralds, but everlasting. And if you look closely, you will find that this was the intention of the Cretan legislator; all institutions, private as well as public, were arranged by him with a view to war; in giving them he was under the impression that no possessions or institutions are of any value to him who is defeated in battle; for all the good things of the conquered pass into the hands of the conquerors.

ATHENIAN: You appear to me, Stranger, to have been thoroughly trained in the Cretan institutions, and to be well informed about them; will you tell me a little more explicitly what is the principle of government which you would lay down? You seem to imagine that a well-governed state ought to be so ordered as to conquer all other states in war: am I right in supposing this to be your meaning?

CLEINIAS: Certainly; and our Lacedaemonian friend, if I am not mistaken, will agree with me.

MEGILLUS: Why, my good friend, how could any Lacedaemonian say anything else?

ATHENIAN: And is what you say applicable only to states, or also to villages?

CLEINIAS: To both alike.

ATHENIAN: The case is the same?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And in the village will there be the same war of family against family, and of individual against individual?

CLEINIAS: The same.

ATHENIAN: And should each man conceive himself to be his own enemy: — what shall we say?

CLEINIAS: O Athenian Stranger — inhabitant of Attica I will not call you, for you seem to deserve rather to be named after the goddess herself, because you go back to first principles, — you have thrown a light upon the argument, and will now be better able to understand what I was just saying, — that all men are publicly one another’s enemies, and each man privately his own.

(ATHENIAN: My good sir, what do you mean?) —

CLEINIAS:...Moreover, there is a victory and defeat — the first and best of victories, the lowest and worst of defeats — which each man gains or sustains at the hands, not of another, but of himself; this shows that there is a war against ourselves going on within every one of us.

ATHENIAN: Let us now reverse the order of the argument: Seeing that every individual is either his own superior or his own inferior, may we say that there is the same principle in the house, the village, and the state?

CLEINIAS: You mean that in each of them there is a principle of superiority or inferiority to self?

ATHENIAN: Yes.

CLEINIAS: You are quite right in asking the question, for there certainly is such a principle, and above all in states; and the state in which the better citizens win a victory over the mob and over the inferior classes may be truly said to be better than itself, and may be justly praised, where such a victory is gained, or censured in the opposite case.

ATHENIAN: Whether the better is ever really conquered by the worse, is a question which requires more discussion, and may be therefore left for the present. But I now quite understand your meaning when you say that citizens who are of the same race and live in the same cities may unjustly conspire, and having the superiority in numbers may overcome and enslave the few just; and when they prevail, the state may be truly called its own inferior and therefore bad; and when they are defeated, its own superior and therefore good.

CLEINIAS: Your remark, Stranger, is a paradox, and yet we cannot possibly deny it.

ATHENIAN: Here is another case for consideration; — in a family there may be several brothers, who are the offspring of a single pair; very possibly the majority of them may be unjust, and the just may be in a minority.

CLEINIAS: Very possibly.

ATHENIAN: And you and I ought not to raise a question of words as to whether this family and household are rightly said to be superior when they conquer, and inferior when they are conquered; for we are not now considering what may or may not be the proper or customary way of speaking, but we are considering the natural principles of right and wrong in laws.

CLEINIAS: What you say, Stranger, is most true.

MEGILLUS: Quite excellent, in my opinion, as far as we have gone.

ATHENIAN: Again; might there not be a judge over these brethren, of whom we were speaking?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Now, which would be the better judge — one who destroyed the bad and appointed the good to govern themselves; or one who, while allowing the good to govern, let the bad live, and made them voluntarily submit? Or third, I suppose, in the scale of excellence might be placed a judge, who, finding the family distracted, not only did not destroy any one, but reconciled them to one another for ever after, and gave them laws which they mutually observed, and was able to keep them friends.

CLEINIAS: The last would be by far the best sort of judge and legislator.

ATHENIAN: And yet the aim of all the laws which he gave would be the reverse of war.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And will he who constitutes the state and orders the life of man have in view external war, or that kind of intestine war called civil, which no one, if he could prevent, would like to have occurring in his own state; and when occurring, every one would wish to be quit of as soon as possible?

CLEINIAS: He would have the latter chiefly in view.

ATHENIAN: And would he prefer that this civil war should be terminated by the destruction of one of the parties, and by the victory of the other, or that peace and friendship should be re-established, and that, being reconciled, they should give their attention to foreign enemies?

CLEINIAS: Every one would desire the latter in the case of his own state.

ATHENIAN: And would not that also be the desire of the legislator?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And would not every one always make laws for the sake of the best?

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: But war, whether external or civil, is not the best, and the need of either is to be deprecated; but peace with one another, and good will, are best. Nor is the victory of the state over itself to be regarded as a really good thing, but as a necessity; a man might as well say that the body was in the best state when sick and purged by medicine, forgetting that there is also a state of the body which needs no purge. And in like manner no one can be a true statesman, whether he aims at the happiness of the individual or state, who looks only, or first of all, to external warfare; nor will he ever be a sound legislator who orders peace for the sake of war, and not war for the sake of peace.

CLEINIAS: I suppose that there is truth, Stranger, in that remark of yours; and yet I am greatly mistaken if war is not the entire aim and object of our own institutions, and also of the Lacedaemonian.

ATHENIAN: I dare say; but there is no reason why we should rudely quarrel with one another about your legislators, instead of gently questioning them, seeing that both we and they are equally in earnest. Please follow me and the argument closely: — And first I will put forward Tyrtaeus, an Athenian by birth, but also a Spartan citizen, who of all men was most eager about war: Well, he says,

‘I sing not, I care not, about any man,

even if he were the richest of men, and possessed every good (and then he gives a whole list of them), if he be not at all times a brave warrior.’ I imagine that you, too, must have heard his poems; our Lacedaemonian friend has probably heard more than enough of them.

MEGILLUS: Very true.

CLEINIAS: And they have found their way from Lacedaemon to Crete.

ATHENIAN: Come now and let us all join in asking this question of Tyrtaeus: O most divine poet, we will say to him, the excellent praise which you have bestowed on those who excel in war sufficiently proves that you are wise and good, and I and Megillus and Cleinias of Cnosus do, as I believe, entirely agree with you. But we should like to be quite sure that we are speaking of the same men; tell us, then, do you agree with us in thinking that there are two kinds of war; or what would you say? A far inferior man to Tyrtaeus would have no difficulty in replying quite truly, that war is of two kinds, — one which is universally called civil war, and is, as we were just now saying, of all wars the worst; the other, as we should all admit, in which we fall out with other nations who are of a different race, is a far milder form of warfare.

CLEINIAS: Certainly, far milder.

ATHENIAN: Well, now, when you praise and blame war in this high-flown strain, whom are you praising or blaming, and to which kind of war are you referring? I suppose that you must mean foreign war, if I am to judge from expressions of yours in which you say that you abominate those

‘Who refuse to look upon fields of blood, and will not draw near and strike at their enemies.’

And we shall naturally go on to say to him, — You, Tyrtaeus, as it seems, praise those who distinguish themselves in external and foreign war; and he must admit this.

CLEINIAS: Evidently.

ATHENIAN: They are good; but we say that there are still better men whose virtue is displayed in the greatest of all battles. And we too have a poet whom we summon as a witness, Theognis, citizen of Megara in Sicily:

‘Cyrnus,’ he says, ‘he who is faithful in a civil broil is worth his weight in gold and silver.’

And such an one is far better, as we affirm, than the other in a more difficult kind of war, much in the same degree as justice and temperance and wisdom, when united with courage, are better than courage only; for a man cannot be faithful and good in civil strife without having all virtue. But in the war of which Tyrtaeus speaks, many a mercenary soldier will take his stand and be ready to die at his post, and yet they are generally and almost without exception insolent, unjust, violent men, and the most senseless of human beings. You will ask what the conclusion is, and what I am seeking to prove: I maintain that the divine legislator of Crete, like any other who is worthy of consideration, will always and above all things in making laws have regard to the greatest virtue; which, according to Theognis, is loyalty in the hour of danger, and may be truly called perfect justice. Whereas, that virtue which Tyrtaeus highly praises is well enough, and was praised by the poet at the right time, yet in place and dignity may be said to be only fourth rate (i.e., it ranks after justice, temperance, and wisdom.).

CLEINIAS: Stranger, we are degrading our inspired lawgiver to a rank which is far beneath him.

ATHENIAN: Nay, I think that we degrade not him but ourselves, if we imagine that Lycurgus and Minos laid down laws both in Lacedaemon and Crete mainly with a view to war.

CLEINIAS: What ought we to say then?

ATHENIAN: What truth and what justice require of us, if I am not mistaken, when speaking in behalf of divine excellence; — that the legislator when making his laws had in view not a part only, and this the lowest part of virtue, but all virtue, and that he devised classes of laws answering to the kinds of virtue; not in the way in which modern inventors of laws make the classes, for they only investigate and offer laws whenever a want is felt, and one man has a class of laws about allotments and heiresses, another about assaults; others about ten thousand other such matters. But we maintain that the right way of examining into laws is to proceed as we have now done, and I admired the spirit of your exposition; for you were quite right in beginning with virtue, and saying that this was the aim of the giver of the law, but I thought that you went wrong when you added that all his legislation had a view only to a part, and the least part of virtue, and this called forth my subsequent remarks. Will you allow me then to explain how I should have liked to have heard you expound the matter?

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: You ought to have said, Stranger — The Cretan laws are with reason famous among the Hellenes; for they fulfil the object of laws, which is to make those who use them happy; and they confer every sort of good. Now goods are of two kinds: there are human and there are divine goods, and the human hang upon the divine; and the state which attains the greater, at the same time acquires the less, or, not having the greater, has neither. Of the lesser goods the first is health, the second beauty, the third strength, including swiftness in running and bodily agility generally, and the fourth is wealth, not the blind god (Pluto), but one who is keen of sight, if only he has wisdom for his companion. For wisdom is chief and leader of the divine class of goods, and next follows temperance; and from the union of these two with courage springs justice, and fourth in the scale of virtue is courage. All these naturally take precedence of the other goods, and this is the order in which the legislator must place them, and after them he will enjoin the rest of his ordinances on the citizens with a view to these, the human looking to the divine, and the divine looking to their leader mind. Some of his ordinances will relate to contracts of marriage which they make one with another, and then to the procreation and education of children, both male and female; the duty of the lawgiver will be to take charge of his citizens, in youth and age, and at every time of life, and to give them punishments and rewards; and in reference to all their intercourse with one another, he ought to consider their pains and pleasures and desires, and the vehemence of all their passions; he should keep a watch over them, and blame and praise them rightly by the mouth of the laws themselves. Also with regard to anger and terror, and the other perturbations of the soul, which arise out of misfortune, and the deliverances from them which prosperity brings, and the experiences which come to men in diseases, or in war, or poverty, or the opposite of these; in all these states he should determine and teach what is the good and evil of the condition of each. In the next place, the legislator has to be careful how the citizens make their money and in what way they spend it, and to have an eye to their mutual contracts and dissolutions of contracts, whether voluntary or involuntary: he should see how they order all this, and consider where justice as well as injustice is found or is wanting in their several dealings with one another; and honour those who obey the law, and impose fixed penalties on those who disobey, until the round of civil life is ended, and the time has come for the consideration of the proper funeral rites and honours of the dead. And the lawgiver reviewing his work, will appoint guardians to preside over these things, — some who walk by intelligence, others by true opinion only, and then mind will bind together all his ordinances and show them to be in harmony with temperance and justice, and not with wealth or ambition. This is the spirit, Stranger, in which I was and am desirous that you should pursue the subject. And I want to know the nature of all these things, and how they are arranged in the laws of Zeus, as they are termed, and in those of the Pythian Apollo, which Minos and Lycurgus gave; and how the order of them is discovered to his eyes, who has experience in laws gained either by study or habit, although they are far from being self-evident to the rest of mankind like ourselves.

CLEINIAS: How shall we proceed, Stranger?

ATHENIAN: I think that we must begin again as before, and first consider the habit of courage; and then we will go on and discuss another and then another form of virtue, if you please. In this way we shall have a model of the whole; and with these and similar discourses we will beguile the way. And when we have gone through all the virtues, we will show, by the grace of God, that the institutions of which I was speaking look to virtue.

MEGILLUS: Very good; and suppose that you first criticize this praiser of Zeus and the laws of Crete.

ATHENIAN: I will try to criticize you and myself, as well as him, for the argument is a common concern. Tell me, — were not first the syssitia, and secondly the gymnasia, invented by your legislator with a view to war?

MEGILLUS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And what comes third, and what fourth? For that, I think, is the sort of enumeration which ought to be made of the remaining parts of virtue, no matter whether you call them parts or what their name is, provided the meaning is clear.

MEGILLUS: Then I, or any other Lacedaemonian, would reply that hunting is third in order.

ATHENIAN: Let us see if we can discover what comes fourth and fifth.

MEGILLUS: I think that I can get as far as the fourth head, which is the frequent endurance of pain, exhibited among us Spartans in certain hand-to-hand fights; also in stealing with the prospect of getting a good beating; there is, too, the so-called Crypteia, or secret service, in which wonderful endurance is shown, — our people wander over the whole country by day and by night, and even in winter have not a shoe to their foot, and are without beds to lie upon, and have to attend upon themselves. Marvellous, too, is the endurance which our citizens show in their naked exercises, contending against the violent summer heat; and there are many similar practices, to speak of which in detail would be endless.

ATHENIAN: Excellent, O Lacedaemonian Stranger. But how ought we to define courage? Is it to be regarded only as a combat against fears and pains, or also against desires and pleasures, and against flatteries; which exercise such a tremendous power, that they make the hearts even of respectable citizens to melt like wax?

MEGILLUS: I should say the latter.

ATHENIAN: In what preceded, as you will remember, our Cnosian friend was speaking of a man or a city being inferior to themselves: — Were you not, Cleinias?

CLEINIAS: I was.

ATHENIAN: Now, which is in the truest sense inferior, the man who is overcome by pleasure or by pain?

CLEINIAS: I should say the man who is overcome by pleasure; for all men deem him to be inferior in a more disgraceful sense, than the other who is overcome by pain.

ATHENIAN: But surely the lawgivers of Crete and Lacedaemon have not legislated for a courage which is lame of one leg, able only to meet attacks which come from the left, but impotent against the insidious flatteries which come from the right?

CLEINIAS: Able to meet both, I should say.

ATHENIAN: Then let me once more ask, what institutions have you in either of your states which give a taste of pleasures, and do not avoid them any more than they avoid pains; but which set a person in the midst of them, and compel or induce him by the prospect of reward to get the better of them? Where is an ordinance about pleasure similar to that about pain to be found in your laws? Tell me what there is of this nature among you: — What is there which makes your citizen equally brave against pleasure and pain, conquering what they ought to conquer, and superior to the enemies who are most dangerous and nearest home?

MEGILLUS: I was able to tell you, Stranger, many laws which were directed against pain; but I do not know that I can point out any great or obvious examples of similar institutions which are concerned with pleasure; there are some lesser provisions, however, which I might mention.

CLEINIAS: Neither can I show anything of that sort which is at all equally prominent in the Cretan laws.

ATHENIAN: No wonder, my dear friends; and if, as is very likely, in our search after the true and good, one of us may have to censure the laws of the others, we must not be offended, but take kindly what another says.

CLEINIAS: You are quite right, Athenian Stranger, and we will do as you say.

ATHENIAN: At our time of life, Cleinias, there should be no feeling of irritation.

CLEINIAS: Certainly not.

ATHENIAN: I will not at present determine whether he who censures the Cretan or Lacedaemonian polities is right or wrong. But I believe that I can tell better than either of you what the many say about them. For assuming that you have reasonably good laws, one of the best of them will be the law forbidding any young men to enquire which of them are right or wrong; but with one mouth and one voice they must all agree that the laws are all good, for they came from God; and any one who says the contrary is not to be listened to. But an old man who remarks any defect in your laws may communicate his observation to a ruler or to an equal in years when no young man is present.

CLEINIAS: Exactly so, Stranger; and like a diviner, although not there at the time, you seem to me quite to have hit the meaning of the legislator, and to say what is most true.

ATHENIAN: As there are no young men present, and the legislator has given old men free licence, there will be no impropriety in our discussing these very matters now that we are alone.

CLEINIAS: True. And therefore you may be as free as you like in your censure of our laws, for there is no discredit in knowing what is wrong; he who receives what is said in a generous and friendly spirit will be all the better for it.

ATHENIAN: Very good; however, I am not going to say anything against your laws until to the best of my ability I have examined them, but I am going to raise doubts about them. For you are the only people known to us, whether Greek or barbarian, whom the legislator commanded to eschew all great pleasures and amusements and never to touch them; whereas in the matter of pains or fears which we have just been discussing, he thought that they who from infancy had always avoided pains and fears and sorrows, when they were compelled to face them would run away from those who were hardened in them, and would become their subjects. Now the legislator ought to have considered that this was equally true of pleasure; he should have said to himself, that if our citizens are from their youth upward unacquainted with the greatest pleasures, and unused to endure amid the temptations of pleasure, and are not disciplined to refrain from all things evil, the sweet feeling of pleasure will overcome them just as fear would overcome the former class; and in another, and even a worse manner, they will be the slaves of those who are able to endure amid pleasures, and have had the opportunity of enjoying them, they being often the worst of mankind. One half of their souls will be a slave, the other half free; and they will not be worthy to be called in the true sense men and freemen. Tell me whether you assent to my words?

CLEINIAS: On first hearing, what you say appears to be the truth; but to be hasty in coming to a conclusion about such important matters would be very childish and simple.

ATHENIAN: Suppose, Cleinias and Megillus, that we consider the virtue which follows next of those which we intended to discuss (for after courage comes temperance), what institutions shall we find relating to temperance, either in Crete or Lacedaemon, which, like your military institutions, differ from those of any ordinary state.

MEGILLUS: That is not an easy question to answer; still I should say that the common meals and gymnastic exercises have been excellently devised for the promotion both of temperance and courage.

ATHENIAN: There seems to be a difficulty, Stranger, with regard to states, in making words and facts coincide so that there can be no dispute about them. As in the human body, the regimen which does good in one way does harm in another; and we can hardly say that any one course of treatment is adapted to a particular constitution. Now the gymnasia and common meals do a great deal of good, and yet they are a source of evil in civil troubles; as is shown in the case of the Milesian, and Boeotian, and Thurian youth, among whom these institutions seem always to have had a tendency to degrade the ancient and natural custom of love below the level, not only of man, but of the beasts. The charge may be fairly brought against your cities above all others, and is true also of most other states which especially cultivate gymnastics. Whether such matters are to be regarded jestingly or seriously, I think that the pleasure is to be deemed natural which arises out of the intercourse between men and women; but that the intercourse of men with men, or of women with women, is contrary to nature, and that the bold attempt was originally due to unbridled lust. The Cretans are always accused of having invented the story of Ganymede and Zeus because they wanted to justify themselves in the enjoyment of unnatural pleasures by the practice of the god whom they believe to have been their lawgiver. Leaving the story, we may observe that any speculation about laws turns almost entirely on pleasure and pain, both in states and in individuals: these are two fountains which nature lets flow, and he who draws from them where and when, and as much as he ought, is happy; and this holds of men and animals — of individuals as well as states; and he who indulges in them ignorantly and at the wrong time, is the reverse of happy.

MEGILLUS: I admit, Stranger, that your words are well spoken, and I hardly know what to say in answer to you; but still I think that the Spartan lawgiver was quite right in forbidding pleasure. Of the Cretan laws, I shall leave the defence to my Cnosian friend. But the laws of Sparta, in as far as they relate to pleasure, appear to me to be the best in the world; for that which leads mankind in general into the wildest pleasure and licence, and every other folly, the law has clean driven out; and neither in the country nor in towns which are under the control of Sparta, will you find revelries and the many incitements of every kind of pleasure which accompany them; and any one who meets a drunken and disorderly person, will immediately have him most severely punished, and will not let him off on any pretence, not even at the time of a Dionysiac festival; although I have remarked that this may happen at your performances ‘on the cart,’ as they are called; and among our Tarentine colonists I have seen the whole city drunk at a Dionysiac festival; but nothing of the sort happens among us.

ATHENIAN: O Lacedaemonian Stranger, these festivities are praiseworthy where there is a spirit of endurance, but are very senseless when they are under no regulations. In order to retaliate, an Athenian has only to point out the licence which exists among your women. To all such accusations, whether they are brought against the Tarentines, or us, or you, there is one answer which exonerates the practice in question from impropriety. When a stranger expresses wonder at the singularity of what he sees, any inhabitant will naturally answer him: — Wonder not, O stranger; this is our custom, and you may very likely have some other custom about the same things. Now we are speaking, my friends, not about men in general, but about the merits and defects of the lawgivers themselves. Let us then discourse a little more at length about intoxication, which is a very important subject, and will seriously task the discrimination of the legislator. I am not speaking of drinking, or not drinking, wine at all, but of intoxication. Are we to follow the custom of the Scythians, and Persians, and Carthaginians, and Celts, and Iberians, and Thracians, who are all warlike nations, or that of your countrymen, for they, as you say, altogether abstain? But the Scythians and Thracians, both men and women, drink unmixed wine, which they pour on their garments, and this they think a happy and glorious institution. The Persians, again, are much given to other practices of luxury which you reject, but they have more moderation in them than the Thracians and Scythians.

MEGILLUS: O best of men, we have only to take arms into our hands, and we send all these nations flying before us.

ATHENIAN: Nay, my good friend, do not say that; there have been, as there always will be, flights and pursuits of which no account can be given, and therefore we cannot say that victory or defeat in battle affords more than a doubtful proof of the goodness or badness of institutions. For when the greater states conquer and enslave the lesser, as the Syracusans have done the Locrians, who appear to be the best-governed people in their part of the world, or as the Athenians have done the Ceans (and there are ten thousand other instances of the same sort of thing), all this is not to the point; let us endeavour rather to form a conclusion about each institution in itself and say nothing, at present, of victories and defeats. Let us only say that such and such a custom is honourable, and another not. And first permit me to tell you how good and bad are to be estimated in reference to these very matters.

MEGILLUS: How do you mean?

ATHENIAN: All those who are ready at a moment’s notice to praise or censure any practice which is matter of discussion, seem to me to proceed in a wrong way. Let me give you an illustration of what I mean: — You may suppose a person to be praising wheat as a good kind of food, whereupon another person instantly blames wheat, without ever enquiring into its effect or use, or in what way, or to whom, or with what, or in what state and how, wheat is to be given. And that is just what we are doing in this discussion. At the very mention of the word intoxication, one side is ready with their praises and the other with their censures; which is absurd. For either side adduce their witnesses and approvers, and some of us think that we speak with authority because we have many witnesses; and others because they see those who abstain conquering in battle, and this again is disputed by us. Now I cannot say that I shall be satisfied, if we go on discussing each of the remaining laws in the same way. And about this very point of intoxication I should like to speak in another way, which I hold to be the right one; for if number is to be the criterion, are there not myriads upon myriads of nations ready to dispute the point with you, who are only two cities?

MEGILLUS: I shall gladly welcome any method of enquiry which is right.

ATHENIAN: Let me put the matter thus: — Suppose a person to praise the keeping of goats, and the creatures themselves as capital things to have, and then some one who had seen goats feeding without a goatherd in cultivated spots, and doing mischief, were to censure a goat or any other animal who has no keeper, or a bad keeper, would there be any sense or justice in such censure?

MEGILLUS: Certainly not.

ATHENIAN: Does a captain require only to have nautical knowledge in order to be a good captain, whether he is sea-sick or not? What do you say?

MEGILLUS: I say that he is not a good captain if, although he have nautical skill, he is liable to sea-sickness.

ATHENIAN: And what would you say of the commander of an army? Will he be able to command merely because he has military skill if he be a coward, who, when danger comes, is sick and drunk with fear?

MEGILLUS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: And what if besides being a coward he has no skill?

MEGILLUS: He is a miserable fellow, not fit to be a commander of men, but only of old women.

ATHENIAN: And what would you say of some one who blames or praises any sort of meeting which is intended by nature to have a ruler, and is well enough when under his presidency? The critic, however, has never seen the society meeting together at an orderly feast under the control of a president, but always without a ruler or with a bad one: — when observers of this class praise or blame such meetings, are we to suppose that what they say is of any value?

MEGILLUS: Certainly not, if they have never seen or been present at such a meeting when rightly ordered.

ATHENIAN: Reflect; may not banqueters and banquets be said to constitute a kind of meeting?

MEGILLUS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: And did any one ever see this sort of convivial meeting rightly ordered? Of course you two will answer that you have never seen them at all, because they are not customary or lawful in your country; but I have come across many of them in many different places, and moreover I have made enquiries about them wherever I went, as I may say, and never did I see or hear of anything of the kind which was carried on altogether rightly; in some few particulars they might be right, but in general they were utterly wrong.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean, Stranger, by this remark? Explain. For we, as you say, from our inexperience in such matters, might very likely not know, even if they came in our way, what was right or wrong in such societies.

ATHENIAN: Likely enough; then let me try to be your instructor: You would acknowledge, would you not, that in all gatherings of mankind, of whatever sort, there ought to be a leader?

CLEINIAS: Certainly I should.

ATHENIAN: And we were saying just now, that when men are at war the leader ought to be a brave man?

CLEINIAS: We were.

ATHENIAN: The brave man is less likely than the coward to be disturbed by fears?

CLEINIAS: That again is true.

ATHENIAN: And if there were a possibility of having a general of an army who was absolutely fearless and imperturbable, should we not by all means appoint him?

CLEINIAS: Assuredly.

ATHENIAN: Now, however, we are speaking not of a general who is to command an army, when foe meets foe in time of war, but of one who is to regulate meetings of another sort, when friend meets friend in time of peace.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And that sort of meeting, if attended with drunkenness, is apt to be unquiet.

CLEINIAS: Certainly; the reverse of quiet.

ATHENIAN: In the first place, then, the revellers as well as the soldiers will require a ruler?

CLEINIAS: To be sure; no men more so.

ATHENIAN: And we ought, if possible, to provide them with a quiet ruler?

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: And he should be a man who understands society; for his duty is to preserve the friendly feelings which exist among the company at the time, and to increase them for the future by his use of the occasion.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Must we not appoint a sober man and a wise to be our master of the revels? For if the ruler of drinkers be himself young and drunken, and not over-wise, only by some special good fortune will he be saved from doing some great evil.

CLEINIAS: It will be by a singular good fortune that he is saved.

ATHENIAN: Now suppose such associations to be framed in the best way possible in states, and that some one blames the very fact of their existence — he may very likely be right. But if he blames a practice which he only sees very much mismanaged, he shows in the first place that he is not aware of the mismanagement, and also not aware that everything done in this way will turn out to be wrong, because done without the superintendence of a sober ruler. Do you not see that a drunken pilot or a drunken ruler of any sort will ruin ship, chariot, army — anything, in short, of which he has the direction?

CLEINIAS: The last remark is very true, Stranger; and I see quite clearly the advantage of an army having a good leader — he will give victory in war to his followers, which is a very great advantage; and so of other things. But I do not see any similar advantage which either individuals or states gain from the good management of a feast; and I want you to tell me what great good will be effected, supposing that this drinking ordinance is duly established.

ATHENIAN: If you mean to ask what great good accrues to the state from the right training of a single youth, or of a single chorus — when the question is put in that form, we cannot deny that the good is not very great in any particular instance. But if you ask what is the good of education in general, the answer is easy — that education makes good men, and that good men act nobly, and conquer their enemies in battle, because they are good. Education certainly gives victory, although victory sometimes produces forgetfulness of education; for many have grown insolent from victory in war, and this insolence has engendered in them innumerable evils; and many a victory has been and will be suicidal to the victors; but education is never suicidal.

CLEINIAS: You seem to imply, my friend, that convivial meetings, when rightly ordered, are an important element of education.

ATHENIAN: Certainly I do.

CLEINIAS: And can you show that what you have been saying is true?

ATHENIAN: To be absolutely sure of the truth of matters concerning which there are many opinions, is an attribute of the Gods not given to man, Stranger; but I shall be very happy to tell you what I think, especially as we are now proposing to enter on a discussion concerning laws and constitutions.

CLEINIAS: Your opinion, Stranger, about the questions which are now being raised, is precisely what we want to hear.

ATHENIAN: Very good; I will try to find a way of explaining my meaning, and you shall try to have the gift of understanding me. But first let me make an apology. The Athenian citizen is reputed among all the Hellenes to be a great talker, whereas Sparta is renowned for brevity, and the Cretans have more wit than words. Now I am afraid of appearing to elicit a very long discourse out of very small materials. For drinking indeed may appear to be a slight matter, and yet is one which cannot be rightly ordered according to nature, without correct principles of music; these are

necessary to any clear or satisfactory treatment of the subject, and music again runs up into education generally, and there is much to be said about all this. What would you say then to leaving these matters for the present, and passing on to some other question of law?

MEGILLUS: O Athenian Stranger, let me tell you what perhaps you do not know, that our family is the proxenus of your state. I imagine that from their earliest youth all boys, when they are told that they are the proxeni of a particular state, feel kindly towards their second country; and this has certainly been my own feeling. I can well remember from the days of my boyhood, how, when any Lacedaemonians praised or blamed the Athenians, they used to say to me,— ‘See, Megillus, how ill or how well,’ as the case might be, ‘has your state treated us’; and having always had to fight your battles against detractors when I heard you assailed, I became warmly attached to you. And I always like to hear the Athenian tongue spoken; the common saying is quite true, that a good Athenian is more than ordinarily good, for he is the only man who is freely and genuinely good by the divine inspiration of his own nature, and is not manufactured. Therefore be assured that I shall like to hear you say whatever you have to say.

CLEINIAS: Yes, Stranger; and when you have heard me speak, say boldly what is in your thoughts. Let me remind you of a tie which unites you to Crete. You must have heard here the story of the prophet Epimenides, who was of my family, and came to Athens ten years before the Persian war, in accordance with the response of the Oracle, and offered certain sacrifices which the God commanded. The Athenians were at that time in dread of the Persian invasion; and he said that for ten years they would not come, and that when they came, they would go away again without accomplishing any of their objects, and would suffer more evil than they inflicted. At that time my forefathers formed ties of hospitality with you; thus ancient is the friendship which I and my parents have had for you.

ATHENIAN: You seem to be quite ready to listen; and I am also ready to perform as much as I can of an almost impossible task, which I will nevertheless attempt. At the outset of the discussion, let me define the nature and power of education; for this is the way by which our argument must travel onwards to the God Dionysus.

CLEINIAS: Let us proceed, if you please.

ATHENIAN: Well, then, if I tell you what are my notions of education, will you consider whether they satisfy you?

CLEINIAS: Let us hear.

ATHENIAN: According to my view, any one who would be good at anything must practise that thing from his youth upwards, both in sport and earnest, in its several branches: for example, he who is to be a good builder, should play at building children’s houses; he who is to be a good husbandman, at tilling the ground; and those who have the care of their education should provide them when young with mimic tools. They should learn beforehand the knowledge which they will afterwards require for their art. For example, the future carpenter should learn to measure or apply the line in play; and the future warrior should learn riding, or some other exercise, for amusement, and the teacher should endeavour to direct the children’s inclinations and pleasures, by the help of amusements, to their final aim in life. The most important part of education is right training in the nursery. The soul of the child in his play should be guided to the love of that sort of excellence in which when he grows up to manhood he will have to be perfected. Do you agree with me thus far?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Then let us not leave the meaning of education ambiguous or ill-defined. At present, when we speak in terms of praise or blame about the bringing-up of each person, we call one man educated and another uneducated, although the uneducated man may be sometimes very well educated for the calling of a retail trader, or of a captain of a ship, and the like. For we are not speaking of education in this narrower sense, but of that other education in virtue from youth upwards, which makes a man eagerly pursue the ideal perfection of citizenship, and teaches him how rightly to rule and how to obey. This is the only education which, upon our view, deserves the name; that other sort of training, which aims at the acquisition of wealth or bodily strength, or mere cleverness apart from intelligence and justice, is mean and illiberal, and is not worthy to be called education at all. But let us not quarrel with one another about a word, provided that the proposition which has just been granted hold good: to wit, that those who are rightly educated generally become good men. Neither must we cast a slight upon education, which is the first and fairest thing that the best of men can ever have, and which, though liable to take a wrong direction, is capable of reformation. And this work of reformation is the great business of every man while he lives.

CLEINIAS: Very true; and we entirely agree with you.

ATHENIAN: And we agreed before that they are good men who are able to rule themselves, and bad men who are not.

CLEINIAS: You are quite right.

ATHENIAN: Let me now proceed, if I can, to clear up the subject a little further by an illustration which I will offer you.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: Do we not consider each of ourselves to be one?

CLEINIAS: We do.

ATHENIAN: And each one of us has in his bosom two counsellors, both foolish and also antagonistic; of which we call the one pleasure, and the other pain.

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: Also there are opinions about the future, which have the general name of expectations; and the specific name of fear, when the expectation is of pain; and of hope, when of pleasure; and further, there is reflection about the good or evil of them, and this, when embodied in a decree by the State, is called Law.

CLEINIAS: I am hardly able to follow you; proceed, however, as if I were.

MEGILLUS: I am in the like case.

ATHENIAN: Let us look at the matter thus: May we not conceive each of us living beings to be a puppet of the Gods, either their plaything only, or created with a purpose — which of the two we cannot certainly know? But we do know, that these affections in us are like cords and strings, which pull us different and opposite ways, and to opposite actions; and herein lies the difference between virtue and vice. According to the argument there is one among these cords which every man ought to grasp and never let go, but to pull with it against all the rest; and this is the sacred and golden cord of reason, called by us the common law of the State; there are others which are hard and of iron, but this one is soft because golden; and there are several other kinds. Now we ought always to cooperate with the lead of the best, which is law. For inasmuch as reason is beautiful and gentle, and not violent, her rule must needs have ministers in order to help the golden principle in vanquishing the other principles. And thus the moral of the tale about our being puppets will not have been lost, and the meaning of the expression ‘superior or inferior to a man’s self’ will become clearer; and the individual, attaining to right reason in this matter of pulling the strings of the puppet, should live according to its rule; while the city, receiving the same from some god or from one who has knowledge of these things, should embody it in a law, to be her guide in her dealings with herself and with other states. In this way virtue and vice will be more clearly distinguished by us. And when they have become clearer, education and other institutions will in like manner become clearer; and in particular that question of convivial entertainment, which may seem, perhaps, to have been a very trifling matter, and to have taken a great many more words than were necessary.

CLEINIAS: Perhaps, however, the theme may turn out not to be unworthy of the length of discourse.

ATHENIAN: Very good; let us proceed with any enquiry which really bears on our present object.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: Suppose that we give this puppet of ours drink, — what will be the effect on him?

CLEINIAS: Having what in view do you ask that question?

ATHENIAN: Nothing as yet; but I ask generally, when the puppet is brought to the drink, what sort of result is likely to follow. I will endeavour to explain my meaning more clearly: what I am now asking is this — Does the drinking of wine heighten and increase pleasures and pains, and passions and loves?

CLEINIAS: Very greatly.

ATHENIAN: And are perception and memory, and opinion and prudence, heightened and increased? Do not these qualities entirely desert a man if he becomes saturated with drink?

CLEINIAS: Yes, they entirely desert him.

ATHENIAN: Does he not return to the state of soul in which he was when a young child?

CLEINIAS: He does.

ATHENIAN: Then at that time he will have the least control over himself?

CLEINIAS: The least.

ATHENIAN: And will he not be in a most wretched plight?

CLEINIAS: Most wretched.

ATHENIAN: Then not only an old man but also a drunkard becomes a second time a child?

CLEINIAS: Well said, Stranger.

ATHENIAN: Is there any argument which will prove to us that we ought to encourage the taste for drinking instead of doing all we can to avoid it?

CLEINIAS: I suppose that there is; you at any rate, were just now saying that you were ready to maintain such a doctrine.

ATHENIAN: True, I was; and I am ready still, seeing that you have both declared that you are anxious to hear me.

CLEINIAS: To be sure we are, if only for the strangeness of the paradox, which asserts that a man ought of his own accord to plunge into utter degradation.

ATHENIAN: Are you speaking of the soul?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And what would you say about the body, my friend? Are you not surprised at any one of his own accord bringing upon himself deformity, leanness, ugliness, decrepitude?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Yet when a man goes of his own accord to a doctor’s shop, and takes medicine, is he not aware that soon, and for many days afterwards, he will be in a state of body which he would die rather than accept as the permanent condition of his life? Are not those who train in gymnasia, at first beginning reduced to a state of weakness?

CLEINIAS: Yes, all that is well known.

ATHENIAN: Also that they go of their own accord for the sake of the subsequent benefit?

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: And we may conceive this to be true in the same way of other practices?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And the same view may be taken of the pastime of drinking wine, if we are right in supposing that the same good effect follows?

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: If such convivialities should turn out to have any advantage equal in importance to that of gymnastic, they are in their very nature to be preferred to mere bodily exercise, inasmuch as they have no accompaniment of pain.

CLEINIAS: True; but I hardly think that we shall be able to discover any such benefits to be derived from them.

ATHENIAN: That is just what we must endeavour to show. And let me ask you a question: — Do we not distinguish two kinds of fear, which are very different?

CLEINIAS: What are they?

ATHENIAN: There is the fear of expected evil.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And there is the fear of an evil reputation; we are afraid of being thought evil, because we do or say some dishonourable thing, which fear we and all men term shame.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: These are the two fears, as I called them; one of which is the opposite of pain and other fears, and the opposite also of the greatest and most numerous sort of pleasures.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And does not the legislator and every one who is good for anything, hold this fear in the greatest honour? This is what he terms reverence, and the confidence which is the reverse of this he terms insolence; and the latter he always deems to be a very great evil both to individuals and to states.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Does not this kind of fear preserve us in many important ways? What is there which so surely gives victory and safety in war? For there are two things which give victory — confidence before enemies, and fear of disgrace before friends.

CLEINIAS: There are.

ATHENIAN: Then each of us should be fearless and also fearful; and why we should be either has now been determined.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And when we want to make any one fearless, we and the law bring him face to face with many fears.

CLEINIAS: Clearly.

ATHENIAN: And when we want to make him rightly fearful, must we not introduce him to shameless pleasures, and train him to take up arms against them, and to overcome them? Or does this principle apply to courage only, and must he who would be perfect in valour fight against and overcome his own natural character, — since if he be unpractised and inexperienced in such conflicts, he will not be half the man which he might have been, — and are we to suppose, that with temperance it is otherwise, and that he who has never fought with the shameless and unrighteous temptations of his pleasures and lusts, and conquered them, in earnest and in play, by word, deed, and act, will still be perfectly temperate?

CLEINIAS: A most unlikely supposition.

ATHENIAN: Suppose that some God had given a fear-potion to men, and that the more a man drank of this the more he regarded himself at every draught as a child of misfortune, and that he feared everything happening or about to happen to him; and that at last the most courageous of men utterly lost his presence of mind for a time, and only came to himself again when he had slept off the influence of the draught.

CLEINIAS: But has such a draught, Stranger, ever really been known among men?

ATHENIAN: No; but, if there had been, might not such a draught have been of use to the legislator as a test of courage? Might we not go and say to him, ‘O legislator, whether you are legislating for the Cretan, or for any other state, would you not like to have a touchstone of the courage and cowardice of your citizens?’

CLEINIAS: ‘I should,’ will be the answer of every one.

ATHENIAN: ‘And you would rather have a touchstone in which there is no risk and no great danger than the reverse?’

CLEINIAS: In that proposition every one may safely agree.

ATHENIAN: ‘And in order to make use of the draught, you would lead them amid these imaginary terrors, and prove them, when the affection of fear was working upon them, and compel them to be fearless, exhorting and admonishing them; and also honouring them, but dishonouring any one who will not be persuaded by you to be in all respects such as you command him; and if he underwent the trial well and manfully, you would let him go unscathed; but if ill, you would inflict a punishment upon him? Or would you abstain from using the potion altogether, although you have no reason for abstaining?’

CLEINIAS: He would be certain, Stranger, to use the potion.

ATHENIAN: This would be a mode of testing and training which would be wonderfully easy in comparison with those now in use, and might be applied to a single person, or to a few, or indeed to any number; and he would do well who provided himself with the potion only, rather than with any number of other things, whether he preferred to be by himself in solitude, and there contend with his fears, because he was ashamed to be seen by the eye of man until he was perfect; or trusting to the force of his own nature and habits, and believing that he had been already disciplined sufficiently, he did not hesitate to train himself in company with any number of others, and display his power in conquering the irresistible change effected by the draught — his virtue being such, that he never in any instance fell into any great unseemliness, but was always himself, and left off before he arrived at the last cup, fearing that he, like all other men, might be overcome by the potion.

CLEINIAS: Yes, Stranger, in that last case, too, he might equally show his self-control.

ATHENIAN: Let us return to the lawgiver, and say to him:— ‘Well, lawgiver, there is certainly no such fear-potion which man has either received from the Gods or himself discovered; for witchcraft has no place at our board. But is there any potion which might serve as a test of overboldness and excessive and indiscreet boasting?

CLEINIAS: I suppose that he will say, Yes, — meaning that wine is such a potion.

ATHENIAN: Is not the effect of this quite the opposite of the effect of the other? When a man drinks wine he begins to be better pleased with himself, and the more he drinks the more he is filled full of brave hopes, and conceit of his power, and at last the string of his tongue is loosened, and fancying himself wise, he is brimming over with lawlessness, and has no more fear or respect, and is ready to do or say anything.

CLEINIAS: I think that every one will admit the truth of your description.

MEGILLUS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Now, let us remember, as we were saying, that there are two things which should be cultivated in the soul: first, the greatest courage; secondly, the greatest fear —

CLEINIAS: Which you said to be characteristic of reverence, if I am not mistaken.

ATHENIAN: Thank you for reminding me. But now, as the habit of courage and fearlessness is to be trained amid fears, let us consider whether the opposite quality is not also to be trained among opposites.

CLEINIAS: That is probably the case.

ATHENIAN: There are times and seasons at which we are by nature more than commonly valiant and bold; now we ought to train ourselves on these occasions to be as free from impudence and shamelessness as possible, and to be afraid to say or suffer or do anything that is base.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Are not the moments in which we are apt to be bold and shameless such as these? — when we are under the influence of anger, love, pride, ignorance, avarice, cowardice? or when wealth, beauty, strength, and all the intoxicating workings of pleasure madden us? What is better adapted than the festive use of wine, in the first place to test, and in the second place to train the character of a man, if care be taken in the use of it? What is there cheaper, or more innocent? For do but consider which is the greater risk: — Would you rather test a man of a morose and savage nature, which is the source of ten thousand acts of injustice, by making bargains with him at a risk to yourself, or by having him as a companion at the festival of Dionysus? Or would you, if you wanted to apply a touchstone to a man who is prone to love, entrust your wife, or your sons, or daughters to him, perilling your dearest interests in order to have a view of the condition of his soul? I might mention numberless cases, in which the advantage would be manifest of getting to know a character in sport, and without paying dearly for experience. And I do not believe that either a Cretan, or any other man, will doubt that such a test is a fair test, and safer, cheaper, and speedier than any other.

CLEINIAS: That is certainly true.

ATHENIAN: And this knowledge of the natures and habits of men’s souls will be of the greatest use in that art which has the management of them; and that art, if I am not mistaken, is politics.

CLEINIAS: Exactly so.

BOOK II.

ATHENIAN: And now we have to consider whether the insight into human nature is the only benefit derived from well-ordered potations, or whether there are not other advantages great and much to be desired. The argument seems to imply that there are. But how and in what way these are to be attained, will have to be considered attentively, or we may be entangled in error.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: Let me once more recall our doctrine of right education; which, if I am not mistaken, depends on the due regulation of convivial intercourse.

CLEINIAS: You talk rather grandly.

ATHENIAN: Pleasure and pain I maintain to be the first perceptions of children, and I say that they are the forms under which virtue and vice are originally present to them. As to wisdom and true and fixed opinions, happy is the man who acquires them, even when declining in years; and we may say that he who possesses them, and the blessings which are contained in them, is a perfect man. Now I mean by education that training which is given by suitable habits to the first instincts of virtue in children; — when pleasure, and friendship, and pain, and hatred, are rightly implanted in souls not yet capable of understanding the nature of them, and who find them, after they have attained reason, to be in harmony with her. This harmony of the soul, taken as a whole, is virtue; but the particular training in respect of pleasure and pain, which leads you always to hate what you ought to hate, and love what you ought to love from the beginning of life to the end, may be separated off; and, in my view, will be rightly called education.

CLEINIAS: I think, Stranger, that you are quite right in all that you have said and are saying about education.

ATHENIAN: I am glad to hear that you agree with me; for, indeed, the discipline of pleasure and pain which, when rightly ordered, is a principle of education, has been often relaxed and corrupted in human life. And the Gods, pitying the toils which our race is born to undergo, have appointed holy festivals, wherein men alternate rest with labour; and have given them the Muses and Apollo, the leader of the Muses, and Dionysus, to be companions in their revels, that they may improve their education by taking part in the festivals of the Gods, and with their help. I should like to know whether a common saying is in our opinion true to nature or not. For men say that the young of all creatures cannot be quiet in their bodies or in their voices; they are always wanting to move and cry out; some leaping and skipping, and overflowing with sportiveness and delight at something, others uttering all sorts of cries. But, whereas the animals have no perception of order or disorder in their movements, that is, of rhythm or harmony, as they are called, to us, the Gods, who, as we say, have been appointed to be our companions in the dance, have given the pleasurable sense of harmony and rhythm; and so they stir us into life, and we follow them, joining hands together in dances and songs; and these they call choruses, which is a term naturally expressive of cheerfulness. Shall we begin, then, with the acknowledgment that education is first given through Apollo and the Muses? What do you say?

CLEINIAS: I assent.

ATHENIAN: And the uneducated is he who has not been trained in the chorus, and the educated is he who has been well trained?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And the chorus is made up of two parts, dance and song?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Then he who is well educated will be able to sing and dance well?

CLEINIAS: I suppose that he will.

ATHENIAN: Let us see; what are we saying?

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: He sings well and dances well; now must we add that he sings what is good and dances what is good?

CLEINIAS: Let us make the addition.

ATHENIAN: We will suppose that he knows the good to be good, and the bad to be bad, and makes use of them accordingly: which now is the better trained in dancing and music — he who is able to move his body and to use his voice in what is understood to be the right manner, but has no delight in good or hatred of evil; or he who is incorrect in gesture and voice, but is right in his sense of pleasure and pain, and welcomes what is good, and is offended at what is evil?

CLEINIAS: There is a great difference, Stranger, in the two kinds of education.

ATHENIAN: If we three know what is good in song and dance, then we truly know also who is educated and who is uneducated; but if not, then we certainly shall not know wherein lies the safeguard of education, and whether there is any or not.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Let us follow the scent like hounds, and go in pursuit of beauty of figure, and melody, and song, and dance; if these escape us, there will be no use in talking about true education, whether Hellenic or barbarian.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And what is beauty of figure, or beautiful melody? When a manly soul is in trouble, and when a cowardly soul is in similar case, are they likely to use the same figures and gestures, or to give utterance to the same sounds?

CLEINIAS: How can they, when the very colours of their faces differ?

ATHENIAN: Good, my friend; I may observe, however, in passing, that in music there certainly are figures and there are melodies: and music is concerned with harmony and rhythm, so that you may speak of a melody or figure having good rhythm or good harmony — the term is correct enough; but to speak metaphorically of a melody or figure having a ‘good colour,’ as the masters of choruses do, is not allowable, although you can speak of the melodies or figures of the brave and the coward, praising the one and censuring the other. And not to be tedious, let us say that the figures and melodies which are expressive of virtue of soul or body, or of images of virtue, are without exception good, and those which are expressive of vice are the reverse of good.

CLEINIAS: Your suggestion is excellent; and let us answer that these things are so.

ATHENIAN: Once more, are all of us equally delighted with every sort of dance?

CLEINIAS: Far otherwise.

ATHENIAN: What, then, leads us astray? Are beautiful things not the same to us all, or are they the same in themselves, but not in our opinion of them? For no one will admit that forms of vice in the dance are more beautiful than forms of virtue, or that he himself delights in the forms of vice, and others in a muse of another character. And yet most persons say, that the excellence of music is to give pleasure to our souls. But this is intolerable and blasphemous; there is, however, a much more plausible account of the delusion.

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: The adaptation of art to the characters of men. Choric movements are imitations of manners occurring in various actions, fortunes, dispositions, — each particular is imitated, and those to whom the words, or songs, or dances are suited, either by nature or habit or both, cannot help feeling pleasure in them and applauding them, and calling them beautiful. But those whose natures, or ways, or habits are unsuited to them, cannot delight in them or applaud them, and they call them base. There are others, again, whose natures are right and their habits wrong, or whose habits are right and their natures wrong, and they praise one thing, but are pleased at another. For they say that all these imitations are pleasant, but not good. And in the presence of those whom they think wise, they are ashamed of dancing and singing in the baser manner, or of deliberately lending any countenance to such proceedings; and yet, they have a secret pleasure in them.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And is any harm done to the lover of vicious dances or songs, or any good done to the approver of the opposite sort of pleasure?

CLEINIAS: I think that there is.

ATHENIAN: ‘I think’ is not the word, but I would say, rather, ‘I am certain.’ For must they not have the same effect as when a man associates with bad characters, whom he likes and approves rather than dislikes, and only censures playfully because he has a suspicion of his own badness? In that case, he who takes pleasure in them will surely become like those in whom he takes pleasure, even though he be ashamed to praise them. And what greater good or evil can any destiny ever make us undergo?

CLEINIAS: I know of none.

ATHENIAN: Then in a city which has good laws, or in future ages is to have them, bearing in mind the instruction and amusement which are given by music, can we suppose that the poets are to be allowed to teach in the dance anything which they themselves like, in the way of rhythm, or melody, or words, to the young children of any well-conditioned parents? Is the poet to train his choruses as he pleases, without reference to virtue or vice?

CLEINIAS: That is surely quite unreasonable, and is not to be thought of.

ATHENIAN: And yet he may do this in almost any state with the exception of Egypt.

CLEINIAS: And what are the laws about music and dancing in Egypt?

ATHENIAN: You will wonder when I tell you: Long ago they appear to have recognized the very principle of which we are now speaking — that their young citizens must be habituated to forms and strains of virtue. These they fixed, and exhibited the patterns of them in their temples; and no painter or artist is allowed to innovate upon them, or to leave the traditional forms and invent new ones. To this day, no alteration is allowed either in these arts, or in music at all. And you will find that their works of art are painted or moulded in the same forms which they had ten thousand years ago; — this is literally true and no exaggeration, — their ancient paintings and sculptures are not a whit better or worse than the work of to-day, but are made with just the same skill.

CLEINIAS: How extraordinary!

ATHENIAN: I should rather say, How statesmanlike, how worthy of a legislator! I know that other things in Egypt are not so well. But what I am telling you about music is true and deserving of consideration, because showing that a lawgiver may institute melodies which have a natural truth and correctness without any fear of failure. To do this, however, must be the work of God, or of a divine person; in Egypt they have a tradition that their ancient chants which have been preserved for so many ages are the composition of the Goddess Isis. And therefore, as I was saying, if a person can only find in any way the natural melodies, he may confidently embody them in a fixed and legal form. For the love of novelty which arises out of pleasure in the new and weariness of the old, has not strength enough to corrupt the consecrated song and dance, under the plea that they have become antiquated. At any rate, they are far from being corrupted in Egypt.

CLEINIAS: Your arguments seem to prove your point.

ATHENIAN: May we not confidently say that the true use of music and of choral festivities is as follows: We rejoice when we think that we prosper, and again we think that we prosper when we rejoice?

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: And when rejoicing in our good fortune, we are unable to be still?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Our young men break forth into dancing and singing, and we who are their elders deem that we are fulfilling our part in life when we look on at them. Having lost our agility, we delight in their sports and merry-making, because we love to think of our former selves; and gladly institute contests for those who are able to awaken in us the memory of our youth.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Is it altogether unmeaning to say, as the common people do about festivals, that he should be adjudged the wisest of men, and the winner of the palm, who gives us the greatest amount of pleasure and mirth? For on such occasions, and when mirth is the order of the day, ought not he to be honoured most, and, as I was saying, bear the palm, who gives most mirth to the greatest number? Now is this a true way of speaking or of acting?

CLEINIAS: Possibly.

ATHENIAN: But, my dear friend, let us distinguish between different cases, and not be hasty in forming a judgment: One way of considering the question will be to imagine a festival at which there are entertainments of all sorts, including gymnastic, musical, and equestrian contests: the citizens are assembled; prizes are offered, and proclamation is made that any one who likes may enter the lists, and that he is to bear the palm who gives the most pleasure to the spectators — there is to be no regulation about the manner how; but he who is most successful in giving pleasure is to be crowned victor, and deemed to be the pleasantest of the candidates: What is likely to be the result of such a proclamation?

CLEINIAS: In what respect?

ATHENIAN: There would be various exhibitions: one man, like Homer, will exhibit a rhapsody, another a performance on the lute; one will have a tragedy, and another a comedy. Nor would there be anything astonishing in some one imagining that he could gain the prize by exhibiting a puppet-show. Suppose these competitors to meet, and not these only, but innumerable others as well — can you tell me who ought to be the victor?

CLEINIAS: I do not see how any one can answer you, or pretend to know, unless he has heard with his own ears the several competitors; the question is absurd.

ATHENIAN: Well, then, if neither of you can answer, shall I answer this question which you deem so absurd?

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: If very small children are to determine the question, they will decide for the puppet show.

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: The older children will be advocates of comedy; educated women, and young men, and people in general, will favour tragedy.

CLEINIAS: Very likely.

ATHENIAN: And I believe that we old men would have the greatest pleasure in hearing a rhapsodist recite well the Iliad and Odyssey, or one of the Hesiodic poems, and would award the victory to him. But, who would really be the victor? — that is the question.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: Clearly you and I will have to declare that those whom we old men adjudge victors ought to win; for our ways are far and away better than any which at present exist anywhere in the world.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Thus far I too should agree with the many, that the excellence of music is to be measured by pleasure. But the pleasure must not be that of chance persons; the fairest music is that which delights the best and best educated, and especially that which delights the one man who is pre-eminent in virtue and education. And therefore the judges must be men of character, for they will require both wisdom and courage; the true judge must not draw his inspiration from the theatre, nor ought he to be unnerved by the clamour of the many and his own incapacity; nor again, knowing the truth, ought he through cowardice and unmanliness carelessly to deliver a lying judgment, with the very same lips which have just appealed to the Gods before he judged. He is sitting not as the disciple of the theatre, but, in his proper place, as their instructor, and he ought to be the enemy of all pandering to the pleasure of the spectators. The ancient and common custom of Hellas, which still prevails in Italy and Sicily, did certainly leave the judgment to the body of spectators, who determined the victor by show of hands. But this custom has been the destruction of the poets; for they are now in the habit of composing with a view to please the bad taste of their judges, and the result is that the spectators instruct themselves; — and also it has been the ruin of the theatre; they ought to be having characters put before them better than their own, and so receiving a higher pleasure, but now by their own act the opposite result follows. What inference is to be drawn from all this? Shall I tell you?

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: The inference at which we arrive for the third or fourth time is, that education is the constraining and directing of youth towards that right reason, which the law affirms, and which the experience of the eldest and best has agreed to be truly right. In order, then, that the soul of the child may not be habituated to feel joy and sorrow in a manner at variance with the law, and those who obey the law, but may rather follow the law and rejoice and sorrow at the same things as the aged — in order, I say, to produce this effect, chants appear to have been invented, which really enchant, and are designed to implant that harmony of which we speak. And, because the mind of the child is incapable of enduring serious training, they are called plays and songs, and are performed in play; just as when men are sick and ailing in their bodies, their attendants give them wholesome diet in pleasant meats and drinks, but unwholesome diet in disagreeable things, in order that they may learn, as they ought, to like the one, and to dislike the other. And similarly the true legislator will persuade, and, if he cannot persuade, will compel the poet to express, as he ought, by fair and noble words, in his rhythms, the figures, and in his melodies, the music of temperate and brave and in every way good men.

CLEINIAS: But do you really imagine, Stranger, that this is the way in which poets generally compose in States at the present day? As far as I can observe, except among us and among the Lacedaemonians, there are no regulations like those of which you speak; in other places novelties are always being introduced in dancing and in music, generally not under the authority of any law, but at the instigation of lawless pleasures; and these pleasures are so far from being the same, as you describe the Egyptian to be, or having the same principles, that they are never the same.

ATHENIAN: Most true, Cleinias; and I daresay that I may have expressed myself obscurely, and so led you to imagine that I was speaking of some really existing state of things, whereas I was only saying what regulations I would like to have about music; and hence there occurred a misapprehension on your part. For when evils are far gone and irremediable, the task of censuring them is never pleasant, although at times necessary. But as we do not really differ, will you let me ask you whether you consider such institutions to be more prevalent among the Cretans and Lacedaemonians than among the other Hellenes?

CLEINIAS: Certainly they are.

ATHENIAN: And if they were extended to the other Hellenes, would it be an improvement on the present state of things?

CLEINIAS: A very great improvement, if the customs which prevail among them were such as prevail among us and the Lacedaemonians, and such as you were just now saying ought to prevail.

ATHENIAN: Let us see whether we understand one another: — Are not the principles of education and music which prevail among you as follows: you compel your poets to say that the good man, if he be temperate and just, is fortunate and happy; and this whether he be great and strong or small and weak, and whether he be rich or poor; and, on the other hand, if he have a wealth passing that of Cinyras or Midas, and be unjust, he is wretched and lives in misery? As the poet says, and with truth: I sing not, I care not about him who accomplishes all noble things, not having justice; let him who ‘draws near and stretches out his hand against his enemies be a just man.’ But if he be unjust, I would not have him ‘look calmly upon bloody death,’ nor ‘surpass in swiftness the Thracian Boreas;’ and let no other thing that is called good ever be his. For the goods of which the many speak are not really good: first in the catalogue is placed health, beauty next, wealth third; and then innumerable others, as for example to have a keen eye or a quick ear, and in general to have all the senses perfect; or, again, to be a tyrant and do as you like; and the final consummation of happiness is to have acquired all these things, and when you have acquired them to become at once immortal. But you and I say, that while to the just and holy all these things are the best of possessions, to the unjust they are all, including even health, the greatest of evils. For in truth, to have sight, and hearing, and the use of the senses, or to live at all without justice and virtue, even though a man be rich in all the so-called goods of fortune, is the greatest of evils, if life be immortal; but not so great, if the bad man lives only a very short time. These are the truths which, if I am not mistaken, you will persuade or compel your poets to utter with suitable accompaniments of harmony and rhythm, and in these they must train up your youth. Am I not right? For I plainly declare that evils as they are termed are goods to the unjust, and only evils to the just, and that goods are truly good to the good, but evil to the evil. Let me ask again, Are you and I agreed about this?

CLEINIAS: I think that we partly agree and partly do not.

ATHENIAN: When a man has health and wealth and a tyranny which lasts, and when he is pre-eminent in strength and courage, and has the gift of immortality, and none of the so-called evils which counter-balance these goods, but only the injustice and insolence of his own nature — of such an one you are, I suspect, unwilling to believe that he is miserable rather than happy.

CLEINIAS: That is quite true.

ATHENIAN: Once more: Suppose that he be valiant and strong, and handsome and rich, and does throughout his whole life whatever he likes, still, if he be unrighteous and insolent, would not both of you agree that he will of necessity live basely? You will surely grant so much?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And an evil life too?

CLEINIAS: I am not equally disposed to grant that.

ATHENIAN: Will he not live painfully and to his own disadvantage?

CLEINIAS: How can I possibly say so?

ATHENIAN: How! Then may Heaven make us to be of one mind, for now we are of two. To me, dear Cleinias, the truth of what I am saying is as plain as the fact that Crete is an island. And, if I were a lawgiver, I would try to make the poets and all the citizens speak in this strain, and I would inflict the heaviest penalties on any one in all the land who should dare to say that there are bad men who lead pleasant lives, or that the profitable and gainful is one thing, and the just another; and there are many other matters about which I should make my citizens speak in a manner different from the Cretans and Lacedaemonians of this age, and I may say, indeed, from the world in general. For tell me, my good friends, by Zeus and Apollo tell me, if I were to ask these same Gods who were your legislators, — Is not the most just life also the pleasantest? or are there two lives, one of which is the justest and the other the pleasantest? — and they were to reply that there are two; and thereupon I proceeded to ask, (that would be the right way of pursuing the enquiry), Which are the happier — those who lead the justest, or those who lead the pleasantest life? and they replied, Those who lead the pleasantest — that would be a very strange answer, which I should not like to put into the mouth of the Gods. The words will come with more propriety from the lips of fathers and legislators, and therefore I will repeat my former questions to one of them, and suppose him to say again that he who leads the pleasantest life is the happiest. And to that I rejoin: — O my father, did you not wish me to live as happily as possible? And yet you also never ceased telling me that I should live as justly as possible. Now, here the giver of the rule, whether he be legislator or father, will be in a dilemma, and will in vain endeavour to be consistent with himself. But if he were to declare that the justest life is also the happiest, every one hearing him would enquire, if I am not mistaken, what is that good and noble principle in life which the law approves, and which is superior to pleasure. For what good can the just man have which is separated from pleasure? Shall we say that glory and fame, coming from Gods and men, though good and noble, are nevertheless unpleasant, and infamy pleasant? Certainly not, sweet legislator. Or shall we say that the not-doing of wrong and there being no wrong done is good and honourable, although there is no pleasure in it, and that the doing wrong is pleasant, but evil and base?

CLEINIAS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: The view which identifies the pleasant and the pleasant and the just and the good and the noble has an excellent moral and religious tendency. And the opposite view is most at variance with the designs of the legislator, and is, in his opinion, infamous; for no one, if he can help, will be persuaded to do that which gives him more pain than pleasure. But as distant prospects are apt to make us dizzy, especially in childhood, the legislator will try to purge away the darkness and exhibit the truth; he will persuade the citizens, in some way or other, by customs and praises and words, that just and unjust are shadows only, and that injustice, which seems opposed to justice, when contemplated by the unjust and evil man appears pleasant and the just most unpleasant; but that from the just man’s point of view, the very opposite is the appearance of both of them.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And which may be supposed to be the truer judgment — that of the inferior or of the better soul?

CLEINIAS: Surely, that of the better soul.

ATHENIAN: Then the unjust life must not only be more base and depraved, but also more unpleasant than the just and holy life?

CLEINIAS: That seems to be implied in the present argument.

ATHENIAN: And even supposing this were otherwise, and not as the argument has proven, still the lawgiver, who is worth anything, if he ever ventures to tell a lie to the young for their good, could not invent a more useful lie than this, or one which will have a better effect in making them do what is right, not on compulsion but voluntarily.

CLEINIAS: Truth, Stranger, is a noble thing and a lasting, but a thing of which men are hard to be persuaded.

ATHENIAN: And yet the story of the Sidonian Cadmus, which is so improbable, has been readily believed, and also innumerable other tales.

CLEINIAS: What is that story?

ATHENIAN: The story of armed men springing up after the sowing of teeth, which the legislator may take as a proof that he can persuade the minds of the young of anything; so that he has only to reflect and find out what belief will be of the greatest public advantage, and then use all his efforts to make the whole community utter one and the same word in their songs and tales and discourses all their life long. But if you do not agree with me, there is no reason why you should not argue on the other side.

CLEINIAS: I do not see that any argument can fairly be raised by either of us against what you are now saying.

ATHENIAN: The next suggestion which I have to offer is, that all our three choruses shall sing to the young and tender souls of children, reciting in their strains all the noble thoughts of which we have already spoken, or are about to speak; and the sum of them shall be, that the life which is by the Gods deemed to be the happiest is also the best; — we shall affirm this to be a most certain truth; and the minds of our young disciples will be more likely to receive these words of ours than any others which we might address to them.

CLEINIAS: I assent to what you say.

ATHENIAN: First will enter in their natural order the sacred choir composed of children, which is to sing lustily the heaven-taught lay to the whole city. Next will follow the choir of young men under the age of thirty, who will call upon the God Paean to testify to the truth of their words, and will pray him to be gracious to the youth and to turn their hearts. Thirdly, the choir of elder men, who are from thirty to sixty years of age, will also sing. There remain those who are too old to sing, and they will tell stories, illustrating the same virtues, as with the voice of an oracle.

CLEINIAS: Who are those who compose the third choir, Stranger? for I do not clearly understand what you mean to say about them.

ATHENIAN: And yet almost all that I have been saying has been said with a view to them.

CLEINIAS: Will you try to be a little plainer?

ATHENIAN: I was speaking at the commencement of our discourse, as you will remember, of the fiery nature of young creatures: I said that they were unable to keep quiet either in limb or voice, and that they called out and jumped about in a disorderly manner; and that no other animal attained to any perception of order, but man only. Now the order of motion is called rhythm, and the order of the voice, in which high and low are duly mingled, is called harmony; and both together are termed choric song. And I said that the Gods had pity on us, and gave us Apollo and the Muses to be our playfellows and leaders in the dance; and Dionysus, as I dare say that you will remember, was the third.

CLEINIAS: I quite remember.

ATHENIAN: Thus far I have spoken of the chorus of Apollo and the Muses, and I have still to speak of the remaining chorus, which is that of Dionysus.

CLEINIAS: How is that arranged? There is something strange, at any rate on first hearing, in a Dionysiac chorus of old men, if you really mean that those who are above thirty, and may be fifty, or from fifty to sixty years of age, are to dance in his honour.

ATHENIAN: Very true; and therefore it must be shown that there is good reason for the proposal.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Are we agreed thus far?

CLEINIAS: About what?

ATHENIAN: That every man and boy, slave and free, both sexes, and the whole city, should never cease charming themselves with the strains of which we have spoken; and that there should be every sort of change and variation of them in order to take away the effect of sameness, so that the singers may always receive pleasure from their hymns, and may never weary of them?

CLEINIAS: Every one will agree.

ATHENIAN: Where, then, will that best part of our city which, by reason of age and intelligence, has the greatest influence, sing these fairest of strains, which are to do so much good? Shall we be so foolish as to let them off who would give us the most beautiful and also the most useful of songs?

CLEINIAS: But, says the argument, we cannot let them off.

ATHENIAN: Then how can we carry out our purpose with decorum? Will this be the way?

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: When a man is advancing in years, he is afraid and reluctant to sing; — he has no pleasure in his own performances; and if compulsion is used, he will be more and more ashamed, the older and more discreet he grows; — is not this true?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Well, and will he not be yet more ashamed if he has to stand up and sing in the theatre to a mixed audience? — and if moreover when he is required to do so, like the other choirs who contend for prizes, and have been trained under a singing master, he is pinched and hungry, he will certainly have a feeling of shame and discomfort which will make him very unwilling to exhibit.

CLEINIAS: No doubt.

ATHENIAN: How, then, shall we reassure him, and get him to sing? Shall we begin by enacting that boys shall not taste wine at all until they are eighteen years of age; we will tell them that fire must not be poured upon fire, whether in the body or in the soul, until they begin to go to work — this is a precaution which has to be taken against the excitableness of youth; — afterwards they may taste wine in moderation up to the age of thirty, but while a man is young he should abstain altogether from intoxication and from excess of wine; when, at length, he has reached forty years, after dinner at a public mess, he may invite not only the other Gods, but Dionysus above all, to the mystery and festivity of the elder men, making use of the wine which he has given men to lighten the sourness of old age; that in age we may renew our youth, and forget our sorrows; and also in order that the nature of the soul, like iron melted in the fire, may become softer and so more impressible. In the first place, will not any one who is thus mellowed be more ready and less ashamed to sing — I do not say before a large audience, but before a moderate company; nor yet among strangers, but among his familiars, and, as we have often said, to chant, and to enchant?

CLEINIAS: He will be far more ready.

ATHENIAN: There will be no impropriety in our using such a method of persuading them to join with us in song.

CLEINIAS: None at all.

ATHENIAN: And what strain will they sing, and what muse will they hymn? The strain should clearly be one suitable to them.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And what strain is suitable for heroes? Shall they sing a choric strain?

CLEINIAS: Truly, Stranger, we of Crete and Lacedaemon know no strain other than that which we have learnt and been accustomed to sing in our chorus.

ATHENIAN: I dare say; for you have never acquired the knowledge of the most beautiful kind of song, in your military way of life, which is modelled after the camp, and is not like that of dwellers in cities; and you have your young men herding and feeding together like young colts. No one takes his own individual colt and drags him away from his fellows against his will, raging and foaming, and gives him a groom to attend to him alone, and trains and rubs him down privately, and gives him the qualities in education which will make him not only a good soldier, but also a governor of a state and of cities. Such an one, as we said at first, would be a greater warrior than he of whom Tyrtaeus sings; and he would honour courage everywhere, but always as the fourth, and not as the first part of virtue, either in individuals or states.

CLEINIAS: Once more, Stranger, I must complain that you depreciate our lawgivers.

ATHENIAN: Not intentionally, if at all, my good friend; but whither the argument leads, thither let us follow; for if there be indeed some strain of song more beautiful than that of the choruses or the public theatres, I should like to impart it to those who, as we say, are ashamed of these, and want to have the best.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: When things have an accompanying charm, either the best thing in them is this very charm, or there is some rightness or utility possessed by them; — for example, I should say that eating and drinking, and the use of food in general, have an accompanying charm which we call pleasure; but that this rightness and utility is just the healthfulness of the things served up to us, which is their true rightness.

CLEINIAS: Just so.

ATHENIAN: Thus, too, I should say that learning has a certain accompanying charm which is the pleasure; but that the right and the profitable, the good and the noble, are qualities which the truth gives to it.

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: And so in the imitative arts — if they succeed in making likenesses, and are accompanied by pleasure, may not their works be said to have a charm?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: But equal proportions, whether of quality or quantity, and not pleasure, speaking generally, would give them truth or rightness.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: Then that only can be rightly judged by the standard of pleasure, which makes or furnishes no utility or truth or likeness, nor on the other hand is productive of any hurtful quality, but exists solely for the sake of the accompanying charm; and the term ‘pleasure’ is most appropriately applied to it when these other qualities are absent.

CLEINIAS: You are speaking of harmless pleasure, are you not?

ATHENIAN: Yes; and this I term amusement, when doing neither harm nor good in any degree worth speaking of.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Then, if such be our principles, we must assert that imitation is not to be judged of by pleasure and false opinion; and this is true of all equality, for the equal is not equal or the symmetrical symmetrical, because somebody thinks or likes something, but they are to be judged of by the standard of truth, and by no other whatever.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: Do we not regard all music as representative and imitative?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Then, when any one says that music is to be judged of by pleasure, his doctrine cannot be admitted; and if there be any music of which pleasure is the criterion, such music is not to be sought out or deemed to have any real excellence, but only that other kind of music which is an imitation of the good.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And those who seek for the best kind of song and music ought not to seek for that which is pleasant, but for that which is true; and the truth of imitation consists, as we were saying, in rendering the thing imitated according to quantity and quality.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And every one will admit that musical compositions are all imitative and representative. Will not poets and spectators and actors all agree in this?

CLEINIAS: They will.

ATHENIAN: Surely then he who would judge correctly must know what each composition is; for if he does not know what is the character and meaning of the piece, and what it represents, he will never discern whether the intention is true or false.

CLEINIAS: Certainly not.

ATHENIAN: And will he who does not know what is true be able to distinguish what is good and bad? My statement is not very clear; but perhaps you will understand me better if I put the matter in another way.

CLEINIAS: How?

ATHENIAN: There are ten thousand likenesses of objects of sight?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And can he who does not know what the exact object is which is imitated, ever know whether the resemblance is truthfully executed? I mean, for example, whether a statue has the proportions of a body, and the true situation of the parts; what those proportions are, and how the parts fit into one another in due order; also their colours and conformations, or whether this is all confused in the execution: do you think that any one can know about this, who does not know what the animal is which has been imitated?

CLEINIAS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: But even if we know that the thing pictured or sculptured is a man, who has received at the hand of the artist all his proper parts and colours and shapes, must we not also know whether the work is beautiful or in any respect deficient in beauty?

CLEINIAS: If this were not required, Stranger, we should all of us be judges of beauty.

ATHENIAN: Very true; and may we not say that in everything imitated, whether in drawing, music, or any other art, he who is to be a competent judge must possess three things; — he must know, in the first place, of what the imitation is; secondly, he must know that it is true; and thirdly, that it has been well executed in words and melodies and rhythms?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Then let us not faint in discussing the peculiar difficulty of music. Music is more celebrated than any other kind of imitation, and therefore requires the greatest care of them all. For if a man makes a mistake here, he may do himself the greatest injury by welcoming evil dispositions, and the mistake may be very difficult to discern, because the poets are artists very inferior in character to the Muses themselves, who would never fall into the monstrous error of assigning to the words of men the gestures and songs of women; nor after combining the melodies with the gestures of freemen would they add on the rhythms of slaves and men of the baser sort; nor, beginning with the rhythms and gestures of freemen, would they assign to them a melody or words which are of an opposite character; nor would they mix up the voices and sounds of animals and of men and instruments, and every other sort of noise, as if they were all one. But human poets are fond of introducing this sort of inconsistent mixture, and so make themselves ridiculous in the eyes of those who, as Orpheus says, ‘are ripe for true pleasure.’ The experienced see all this confusion, and yet the poets go on and make still further havoc by separating the rhythm and the figure of the dance from the melody, setting bare words to metre, and also separating the melody and the rhythm from the words, using the lyre or the flute alone. For when there are no words, it is very difficult to recognize the meaning of the harmony and rhythm, or to see that any worthy object is imitated by them. And we must acknowledge that all this sort of thing, which aims only at swiftness and smoothness and a brutish noise, and uses the flute and the lyre not as the mere accompaniments of the dance and song, is exceedingly coarse and tasteless. The use of either instrument, when unaccompanied, leads to every sort of irregularity and trickery. This is all rational enough. But we are considering not how our choristers, who are from thirty to fifty years of age, and may be over fifty, are not to use the Muses, but how they are to use them. And the considerations which we have urged seem to show in what way these fifty years’ old choristers who are to sing, may be expected to be better trained. For they need to have a quick perception and knowledge of harmonies and rhythms; otherwise, how can they ever know whether a melody would be rightly sung to the Dorian mode, or to the rhythm which the poet has assigned to it?

CLEINIAS: Clearly they cannot.

ATHENIAN: The many are ridiculous in imagining that they know what is in proper harmony and rhythm, and what is not, when they can only be made to sing and step in rhythm by force; it never occurs to them that they are ignorant of what they are doing. Now every melody is right when it has suitable harmony and rhythm, and wrong when unsuitable.

CLEINIAS: That is most certain.

ATHENIAN: But can a man who does not know a thing, as we were saying, know that the thing is right?

CLEINIAS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: Then now, as would appear, we are making the discovery that our newly-appointed choristers, whom we hereby invite and, although they are their own masters, compel to sing, must be educated to such an extent as to be able to follow the steps of the rhythm and the notes of the song, that they may know the harmonies and rhythms, and be able to select what are suitable for men of their age and character to sing; and may sing them, and have innocent pleasure from their own performance, and also lead younger men to welcome with dutiful delight good dispositions. Having such training, they will attain a more accurate knowledge than falls to the lot of the common people, or even of the poets themselves. For the poet need not know the third point, viz., whether the imitation is good or not, though he can hardly help knowing the laws of melody and rhythm. But the aged chorus must know all the three, that they may choose the best, and that which is nearest to the best; for otherwise they will never be able to charm the souls of young men in the way of virtue. And now the original design of the argument which was intended to bring eloquent aid to the Chorus of Dionysus, has been accomplished to the best of our ability, and let us see whether we were right: — I should imagine that a drinking assembly is likely to become more and more tumultuous as the drinking goes on: this, as we were saying at first, will certainly be the case.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Every man has a more than natural elevation; his heart is glad within him, and he will say anything and will be restrained by nobody at such a time; he fancies that he is able to rule over himself and all mankind.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: Were we not saying that on such occasions the souls of the drinkers become like iron heated in the fire, and grow softer and younger, and are easily moulded by him who knows how to educate and fashion them, just as when they were young, and that this fashioner of them is the same who prescribed for them in the days of their youth, viz., the good legislator; and that he ought to enact laws of the banquet, which, when a man is confident, bold, and impudent, and unwilling to wait his turn and have his share of silence and speech, and drinking and music, will change his character into the opposite — such laws as will infuse into him a just and noble fear, which will take up arms at the approach of insolence, being that divine fear which we have called reverence and shame?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And the guardians of these laws and fellow-workers with them are the calm and sober generals of the drinkers; and without their help there is greater difficulty in fighting against drink than in fighting against enemies when the commander of an army is not himself calm; and he who is unwilling to obey them and the commanders of Dionysiac feasts who are more than sixty years of age, shall suffer a disgrace as great as he who disobeys military leaders, or even greater.

CLEINIAS: Right.

ATHENIAN: If, then, drinking and amusement were regulated in this way, would not the companions of our revels be improved? they would part better friends than they were, and not, as now, enemies. Their whole intercourse would be regulated by law and observant of it, and the sober would be the leaders of the drunken.

CLEINIAS: I think so too, if drinking were regulated as you propose.

ATHENIAN: Let us not then simply censure the gift of Dionysus as bad and unfit to be received into the State. For wine has many excellences, and one pre-eminent one, about which there is a difficulty in speaking to the many, from a fear of their misconceiving and misunderstanding what is said.

CLEINIAS: To what do you refer?

ATHENIAN: There is a tradition or story, which has somehow crept about the world, that Dionysus was robbed of his wits by his stepmother Here, and that out of revenge he inspires Bacchic furies and dancing madnesses in others; for which reason he gave men wine. Such traditions concerning the Gods I leave to those who think that they may be safely uttered (compare Euthyph.; Republic); I only know that no animal at birth is mature or perfect in intelligence; and in the intermediate period, in which he has not yet acquired his own proper sense, he rages and roars without rhyme or reason; and when he has once got on his legs he jumps about without rhyme or reason; and this, as you will remember, has been already said by us to be the origin of music and gymnastic.

CLEINIAS: To be sure, I remember.

ATHENIAN: And did we not say that the sense of harmony and rhythm sprang from this beginning among men, and that Apollo and the Muses and Dionysus were the Gods whom we had to thank for them?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: The other story implied that wine was given man out of revenge, and in order to make him mad; but our present doctrine, on the contrary, is, that wine was given him as a balm, and in order to implant modesty in the soul, and health and strength in the body.

CLEINIAS: That, Stranger, is precisely what was said.

ATHENIAN: Then half the subject may now be considered to have been discussed; shall we proceed to the consideration of the other half?

CLEINIAS: What is the other half, and how do you divide the subject?

ATHENIAN: The whole choral art is also in our view the whole of education; and of this art, rhythms and harmonies form the part which has to do with the voice.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: The movement of the body has rhythm in common with the movement of the voice, but gesture is peculiar to it, whereas song is simply the movement of the voice.

CLEINIAS: Most true.

ATHENIAN: And the sound of the voice which reaches and educates the soul, we have ventured to term music.

CLEINIAS: We were right.

ATHENIAN: And the movement of the body, when regarded as an amusement, we termed dancing; but when extended and pursued with a view to the excellence of the body, this scientific training may be called gymnastic.

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: Music, which was one half of the choral art, may be said to have been completely discussed. Shall we proceed to the other half or not? What would you like?

CLEINIAS: My good friend, when you are talking with a Cretan and Lacedaemonian, and we have discussed music and not gymnastic, what answer are either of us likely to make to such an enquiry?

ATHENIAN: An answer is contained in your question; and I understand and accept what you say not only as an answer, but also as a command to proceed with gymnastic.

CLEINIAS: You quite understand me; do as you say.

ATHENIAN: I will; and there will not be any difficulty in speaking intelligibly to you about a subject with which both of you are far more familiar than with music.

CLEINIAS: There will not.

ATHENIAN: Is not the origin of gymnastics, too, to be sought in the tendency to rapid motion which exists in all animals; man, as we were saying, having attained the sense of rhythm, created and invented dancing; and melody arousing and awakening rhythm, both united formed the choral art?

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And one part of this subject has been already discussed by us, and there still remains another to be discussed?

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: I have first a final word to add to my discourse about drink, if you will allow me to do so.

CLEINIAS: What more have you to say?

ATHENIAN: I should say that if a city seriously means to adopt the practice of drinking under due regulation and with a view to the enforcement of temperance, and in like manner, and on the same principle, will allow of other pleasures, designing to gain the victory over them — in this way all of them may be used. But if the State makes drinking an amusement only, and whoever likes may drink whenever he likes, and with whom he likes, and add to this any other indulgences, I shall never agree or allow that this city or this man should practise drinking. I would go further than the Cretans and Lacedaemonians, and am disposed rather to the law of the Carthaginians, that no one while he is on a campaign should be allowed to taste wine at all, but that he should drink water during all that time, and that in the city no slave, male or female, should ever drink wine; and that no magistrates should drink during their year of office, nor should pilots of vessels or judges while on duty taste wine at all, nor any one who is going to hold a consultation about any matter of importance; nor in the day-time at all, unless in consequence of exercise or as medicine; nor again at night, when any one, either man or woman, is minded to get children. There are numberless other cases also in which those who have good sense and good laws ought not to drink wine, so that if what I say is true, no city will need many vineyards. Their husbandry and their way of life in general will follow an appointed order, and their cultivation of the vine will be the most limited and the least common of their employments. And this, Stranger, shall be the crown of my discourse about wine, if you agree.

CLEINIAS: Excellent: we agree.

BOOK III.

ATHENIAN: Enough of this. And what, then, is to be regarded as the origin of government? Will not a man be able to judge of it best from a point of view in which he may behold the progress of states and their transitions to good or evil?

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I mean that he might watch them from the point of view of time, and observe the changes which take place in them during infinite ages.

CLEINIAS: How so?

ATHENIAN: Why, do you think that you can reckon the time which has elapsed since cities first existed and men were citizens of them?

CLEINIAS: Hardly.

ATHENIAN: But are sure that it must be vast and incalculable?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And have not thousands and thousands of cities come into being during this period and as many perished? And has not each of them had every form of government many times over, now growing larger, now smaller, and again improving or declining?

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: Let us endeavour to ascertain the cause of these changes; for that will probably explain the first origin and development of forms of government.

CLEINIAS: Very good. You shall endeavour to impart your thoughts to us, and we will make an effort to understand you.

ATHENIAN: Do you believe that there is any truth in ancient traditions?

CLEINIAS: What traditions?

ATHENIAN: The traditions about the many destructions of mankind which have been occasioned by deluges and pestilences, and in many other ways, and of the survival of a remnant?

CLEINIAS: Every one is disposed to believe them.

ATHENIAN: Let us consider one of them, that which was caused by the famous deluge.

CLEINIAS: What are we to observe about it?

ATHENIAN: I mean to say that those who then escaped would only be hill shepherds, — small sparks of the human race preserved on the tops of mountains.

CLEINIAS: Clearly.

ATHENIAN: Such survivors would necessarily be unacquainted with the arts and the various devices which are suggested to the dwellers in cities by interest or ambition, and with all the wrongs which they contrive against one another.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Let us suppose, then, that the cities in the plain and on the sea-coast were utterly destroyed at that time.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Would not all implements have then perished and every other excellent invention of political or any other sort of wisdom have utterly disappeared?

CLEINIAS: Why, yes, my friend; and if things had always continued as they are at present ordered, how could any discovery have ever been made even in the least particular? For it is evident that the arts were unknown during ten thousand times ten thousand years. And no more than a thousand or two thousand years have elapsed since the discoveries of Daedalus, Orpheus and Palamedes, — since Marsyas and Olympus invented music, and Amphion the lyre — not to speak of numberless other inventions which are but of yesterday.

ATHENIAN: Have you forgotten, Cleinias, the name of a friend who is really of yesterday?

CLEINIAS: I suppose that you mean Epimenides.

ATHENIAN: The same, my friend; he does indeed far overleap the heads of all mankind by his invention; for he carried out in practice, as you declare, what of old Hesiod (Works and Days) only preached.

CLEINIAS: Yes, according to our tradition.

ATHENIAN: After the great destruction, may we not suppose that the state of man was something of this sort: — In the beginning of things there was a fearful illimitable desert and a vast expanse of land; a herd or two of oxen would be the only survivors of the animal world; and there might be a few goats, these too hardly enough to maintain the shepherds who tended them?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And of cities or governments or legislation, about which we are now talking, do you suppose that they could have any recollection at all?

CLEINIAS: None whatever.

ATHENIAN: And out of this state of things has there not sprung all that we now are and have: cities and governments, and arts and laws, and a great deal of vice and a great deal of virtue?

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Why, my good friend, how can we possibly suppose that those who knew nothing of all the good and evil of cities could have attained their full development, whether of virtue or of vice?

CLEINIAS: I understand your meaning, and you are quite right.

ATHENIAN: But, as time advanced and the race multiplied, the world came to be what the world is.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Doubtless the change was not made all in a moment, but little by little, during a very long period of time.

CLEINIAS: A highly probable supposition.

ATHENIAN: At first, they would have a natural fear ringing in their ears which would prevent their descending from the heights into the plain.

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: The fewness of the survivors at that time would have made them all the more desirous of seeing one another; but then the means of travelling either by land or sea had been almost entirely lost, as I may say, with the loss of the arts, and there was great difficulty in getting at one another; for iron and brass and all metals were jumbled together and had disappeared in the chaos; nor was there any possibility of extracting ore from them; and they had scarcely any means of felling timber. Even if you suppose that some implements might have been preserved in the mountains, they must quickly have worn out and vanished, and there would be no more of them until the art of metallurgy had again revived.

CLEINIAS: There could not have been.

ATHENIAN: In how many generations would this be attained?

CLEINIAS: Clearly, not for many generations.

ATHENIAN: During this period, and for some time afterwards, all the arts which require iron and brass and the like would disappear.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Faction and war would also have died out in those days, and for many reasons.

CLEINIAS: How would that be?

ATHENIAN: In the first place, the desolation of these primitive men would create in them a feeling of affection and goodwill towards one another; and, secondly, they would have no occasion to quarrel about their subsistence, for they would have pasture in abundance, except just at first, and in some particular cases; and from their pasture-land they would obtain the greater part of their food in a primitive age, having plenty of milk and flesh; moreover they would procure other food by the chase, not to be despised either in quantity or quality. They would also have abundance of clothing, and bedding, and dwellings, and utensils either capable of standing on the fire or not; for the plastic and weaving arts do not require any use of iron: and God has given these two arts to man in order to provide him with all such things, that, when reduced to the last extremity, the human race may still grow and increase. Hence in those days mankind were not very poor; nor was poverty a cause of difference among them; and rich they could not have been, having neither gold nor silver: — such at that time was their condition. And the community which has neither poverty nor riches will always have the noblest principles; in it there is no insolence or injustice, nor, again, are there any contentions or envyings. And therefore they were good, and also because they were what is called simple-minded; and when they were told about good and evil, they in their simplicity believed what they heard to be very truth and practised it. No one had the wit to suspect another of a falsehood, as men do now; but what they heard about Gods and men they believed to be true, and lived accordingly; and therefore they were in all respects such as we have described them.

CLEINIAS: That quite accords with my views, and with those of my friend here.

ATHENIAN: Would not many generations living on in a simple manner, although ruder, perhaps, and more ignorant of the arts generally, and in particular of those of land or naval warfare, and likewise of other arts, termed in cities legal practices and party conflicts, and including all conceivable ways of hurting one another in word and deed; — although inferior to those who lived before the deluge, or to the men of our day in these respects, would they not, I say, be simpler and more manly, and also more temperate and altogether more just? The reason has been already explained.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: I should wish you to understand that what has preceded and what is about to follow, has been, and will be said, with the intention of explaining what need the men of that time had of laws, and who was their lawgiver.

CLEINIAS: And thus far what you have said has been very well said.

ATHENIAN: They could hardly have wanted lawgivers as yet; nothing of that sort was likely to have existed in their days, for they had no letters at this early period; they lived by habit and the customs of their ancestors, as they are called.

CLEINIAS: Probably.

ATHENIAN: But there was already existing a form of government which, if I am not mistaken, is generally termed a lordship, and this still remains in many places, both among Hellenes and barbarians (compare Arist. Pol.), and is the government which is declared by Homer to have prevailed among the Cyclopes: —

‘They have neither councils nor judgments, but they dwell in hollow caves on the tops of high mountains, and every one gives law to his wife and children, and they do not busy themselves about one another.’ (Odyss.)

CLEINIAS: That seems to be a charming poet of yours; I have read some other verses of his, which are very clever; but I do not know much of him, for foreign poets are very little read among the Cretans.

MEGILLUS: But they are in Lacedaemon, and he appears to be the prince of them all; the manner of life, however, which he describes is not Spartan, but rather Ionian, and he seems quite to confirm what you are saying, when he traces up the ancient state of mankind by the help of tradition to barbarism.

ATHENIAN: Yes, he does confirm it; and we may accept his witness to the fact that such forms of government sometimes arise.

CLEINIAS: We may.

ATHENIAN: And were not such states composed of men who had been dispersed in single habitations and families by the poverty which attended the devastations; and did not the eldest then rule among them, because with them government originated in the authority of a father and a mother, whom, like a flock of birds, they followed, forming one troop under the patriarchal rule and sovereignty of their parents, which of all sovereignties is the most just?

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: After this they came together in greater numbers, and increased the size of their cities, and betook themselves to husbandry, first of all at the foot of the mountains, and made enclosures of loose walls and works of defence, in order to keep off wild beasts; thus creating a single large and common habitation.

CLEINIAS: Yes; at least we may suppose so.

ATHENIAN: There is another thing which would probably happen.

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: When these larger habitations grew up out of the lesser original ones, each of the lesser ones would survive in the larger; every family would be under the rule of the eldest, and, owing to their separation from one another, would have peculiar customs in things divine and human, which they would have received from their several parents who had educated them; and these customs would incline them to order, when the parents had the element of order in their nature, and to courage, when they had the element of courage. And they would naturally stamp upon their children, and upon their children’s children, their own likings; and, as we are saying, they would find their way into the larger society, having already their own peculiar laws.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And every man surely likes his own laws best, and the laws of others not so well.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Then now we seem to have stumbled upon the beginnings of legislation.

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: The next step will be that these persons who have met together, will select some arbiters, who will review the laws of all of them, and will publicly present such as they approve to the chiefs who lead the tribes, and who are in a manner their kings, allowing them to choose those which they think best. These persons will themselves be called legislators, and will appoint the magistrates, framing some sort of aristocracy, or perhaps monarchy, out of the dynasties or lordships, and in this altered state of the government they will live.

CLEINIAS: Yes, that would be the natural order of things.

ATHENIAN: Then, now let us speak of a third form of government, in which all other forms and conditions of polities and cities concur.

CLEINIAS: What is that?

ATHENIAN: The form which in fact Homer indicates as following the second. This third form arose when, as he says, Dardanus founded Dardania: —

‘For not as yet had the holy Ilium been built on the plain to be a city of speaking men; but they were still dwelling at the foot of many-fountained Ida.’

For indeed, in these verses, and in what he said of the Cyclopes, he speaks the words of God and nature; for poets are a divine race, and often in their strains, by the aid of the Muses and the Graces, they attain truth.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: Then now let us proceed with the rest of our tale, which will probably be found to illustrate in some degree our proposed design: — Shall we do so?

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: Ilium was built, when they descended from the mountain, in a large and fair plain, on a sort of low hill, watered by many rivers descending from Ida.

CLEINIAS: Such is the tradition.

ATHENIAN: And we must suppose this event to have taken place many ages after the deluge?

ATHENIAN: A marvellous forgetfulness of the former destruction would appear to have come over them, when they placed their town right under numerous streams flowing from the heights, trusting for their security to not very high hills, either.

CLEINIAS: There must have been a long interval, clearly.

ATHENIAN: And, as population increased, many other cities would begin to be inhabited.

CLEINIAS: Doubtless.

ATHENIAN: Those cities made war against Troy — by sea as well as land — for at that time men were ceasing to be afraid of the sea.

CLEINIAS: Clearly.

ATHENIAN: The Achaeans remained ten years, and overthrew Troy.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And during the ten years in which the Achaeans were besieging Ilium, the homes of the besiegers were falling into an evil plight. Their youth revolted; and when the soldiers returned to their own cities and families, they did not receive them properly, and as they ought to have done, and numerous deaths, murders, exiles, were the consequence. The exiles came again, under a new name, no longer Achaeans, but Dorians, — a name which they derived from Dorieus; for it was he who gathered them together. The rest of the story is told by you Lacedaemonians as part of the history of Sparta.

MEGILLUS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: Thus, after digressing from the original subject of laws into music and drinking-bouts, the argument has, providentially, come back to the same point, and presents to us another handle. For we have reached the settlement of Lacedaemon; which, as you truly say, is in laws and in institutions the sister of Crete. And we are all the better for the digression, because we have gone through various governments and settlements, and have been present at the foundation of a first, second, and third state, succeeding one another in infinite time. And now there appears on the horizon a fourth state or nation which was once in process of settlement and has continued settled to this day. If, out of all this, we are able to discern what is well or ill settled, and what laws are the salvation and what are the destruction of cities, and what changes would make a state happy, O Megillus and Cleinias, we may now begin again, unless we have some fault to find with the previous discussion.

MEGILLUS: If some God, Stranger, would promise us that our new enquiry about legislation would be as good and full as the present, I would go a great way to hear such another, and would think that a day as long as this — and we are now approaching the longest day of the year — was too short for the discussion.

ATHENIAN: Then I suppose that we must consider this subject?

MEGILLUS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Let us place ourselves in thought at the moment when Lacedaemon and Argos and Messene and the rest of the Peloponnesus were all in complete subjection, Megillus, to your ancestors; for afterwards, as the legend informs us, they divided their army into three portions, and settled three cities, Argos, Messene, Lacedaemon.

MEGILLUS: True.

ATHENIAN: Temenus was the king of Argos, Cresphontes of Messene, Procles and Eurysthenes of Lacedaemon.

MEGILLUS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: To these kings all the men of that day made oath that they would assist them, if any one subverted their kingdom.

MEGILLUS: True.

ATHENIAN: But can a kingship be destroyed, or was any other form of government ever destroyed, by any but the rulers themselves? No indeed, by Zeus. Have we already forgotten what was said a little while ago?

MEGILLUS: No.

ATHENIAN: And may we not now further confirm what was then mentioned? For we have come upon facts which have brought us back again to the same principle; so that, in resuming the discussion, we shall not be enquiring about an empty theory, but about events which actually happened. The case was as follows: — Three royal heroes made oath to three cities which were under a kingly government, and the cities to the kings, that both rulers and subjects should govern and be governed according to the laws which were common to all of them: the rulers promised that as time and the race went forward they would not make their rule more arbitrary; and the subjects said that, if the rulers observed these conditions, they would never subvert or permit others to subvert those kingdoms; the kings were to assist kings and peoples when injured, and the peoples were to assist peoples and kings in like manner. Is not this the fact?

MEGILLUS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And the three states to whom these laws were given, whether their kings or any others were the authors of them, had therefore the greatest security for the maintenance of their constitutions?

MEGILLUS: What security?

ATHENIAN: That the other two states were always to come to the rescue against a rebellious third.

MEGILLUS: True.

ATHENIAN: Many persons say that legislators ought to impose such laws as the mass of the people will be ready to receive; but this is just as if one were to command gymnastic masters or physicians to treat or cure their pupils or patients in an agreeable manner.

MEGILLUS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: Whereas the physician may often be too happy if he can restore health, and make the body whole, without any very great infliction of pain.

MEGILLUS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: There was also another advantage possessed by the men of that day, which greatly lightened the task of passing laws.

MEGILLUS: What advantage?

ATHENIAN: The legislators of that day, when they equalized property, escaped the great accusation which generally arises in legislation, if a person attempts to disturb the possession of land, or to abolish debts, because he sees that without this reform there can never be any real equality. Now, in general, when the legislator attempts to make a new settlement of such matters, every one meets him with the cry, that ‘he is not to disturb vested interests,’ — declaring with imprecations that he is introducing agrarian laws and cancelling of debts, until a man is at his wits’ end; whereas no one could quarrel with the Dorians for distributing the land, — there was nothing to hinder them; and as for debts, they had none which were considerable or of old standing.

MEGILLUS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: But then, my good friends, why did the settlement and legislation of their country turn out so badly?

MEGILLUS: How do you mean; and why do you blame them?

ATHENIAN: There were three kingdoms, and of these, two quickly corrupted their original constitution and laws, and the only one which remained was the Spartan.

MEGILLUS: The question which you ask is not easily answered.

ATHENIAN: And yet must be answered when we are enquiring about laws, this being our old man’s sober game of play, whereby we beguile the way, as I was saying when we first set out on our journey.

MEGILLUS: Certainly; and we must find out why this was.

ATHENIAN: What laws are more worthy of our attention than those which have regulated such cities? or what settlements of states are greater or more famous?

MEGILLUS: I know of none.

ATHENIAN: Can we doubt that your ancestors intended these institutions not only for the protection of Peloponnesus, but of all the Hellenes, in case they were attacked by the barbarian? For the inhabitants of the region about Ilium, when they provoked by their insolence the Trojan war, relied upon the power of the Assyrians and the Empire of Ninus, which still existed and had a great prestige; the people of those days fearing the united Assyrian Empire just as we now fear the Great King. And the second capture of Troy was a serious offence against them, because Troy was a portion of the Assyrian Empire. To meet the danger the single army was distributed between three cities by the royal brothers, sons of Heracles, — a fair device, as it seemed, and a far better arrangement than the expedition against Troy. For, firstly, the people of that day had, as they thought, in the Heraclidae better leaders than the Pelopidae; in the next place, they considered that their army was superior in valour to that which went against Troy; for, although the latter conquered the Trojans, they were themselves conquered by the Heraclidae — Achaeans by Dorians. May we not suppose that this was the intention with which the men of those days framed the constitutions of their states?

MEGILLUS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: And would not men who had shared with one another many dangers, and were governed by a single race of royal brothers, and had taken the advice of oracles, and in particular of the Delphian Apollo, be likely to think that such states would be firmly and lastingly established?

MEGILLUS: Of course they would.

ATHENIAN: Yet these institutions, of which such great expectations were entertained, seem to have all rapidly vanished away; with the exception, as I was saying, of that small part of them which existed in your land. And this third part has never to this day ceased warring against the two others; whereas, if the original idea had been carried out, and they had agreed to be one, their power would have been invincible in war.

MEGILLUS: No doubt.

ATHENIAN: But what was the ruin of this glorious confederacy? Here is a subject well worthy of consideration.

MEGILLUS: Certainly, no one will ever find more striking instances of laws or governments being the salvation or destruction of great and noble interests, than are here presented to his view.

ATHENIAN: Then now we seem to have happily arrived at a real and important question.

MEGILLUS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Did you never remark, sage friend, that all men, and we ourselves at this moment, often fancy that they see some beautiful thing which might have effected wonders if any one had only known how to make a right use of it in some way; and yet this mode of looking at things may turn out after all to be a mistake, and not according to nature, either in our own case or in any other?

MEGILLUS: To what are you referring, and what do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I was thinking of my own admiration of the aforesaid Heracleid expedition, which was so noble, and might have had such wonderful results for the Hellenes, if only rightly used; and I was just laughing at myself.

MEGILLUS: But were you not right and wise in speaking as you did, and we in assenting to you?

ATHENIAN: Perhaps; and yet I cannot help observing that any one who sees anything great or powerful, immediately has the feeling that— ‘If the owner only knew how to use his great and noble possession, how happy would he be, and what great results would he achieve!’

MEGILLUS: And would he not be justified?

ATHENIAN: Reflect; in what point of view does this sort of praise appear just: First, in reference to the question in hand: — If the then commanders had known how to arrange their army properly, how would they have attained success? Would not this have been the way? They would have bound them all firmly together and preserved them for ever, giving them freedom and dominion at pleasure, combined with the power of doing in the whole world, Hellenic and barbarian, whatever they and their descendants desired. What other aim would they have had?

MEGILLUS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Suppose any one were in the same way to express his admiration at the sight of great wealth or family honour, or the like, he would praise them under the idea that through them he would attain either all or the greater and chief part of what he desires.

MEGILLUS: He would.

ATHENIAN: Well, now, and does not the argument show that there is one common desire of all mankind?

MEGILLUS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: The desire which a man has, that all things, if possible, — at any rate, things human, — may come to pass in accordance with his soul’s desire.

MEGILLUS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And having this desire always, and at every time of life, in youth, in manhood, in age, he cannot help always praying for the fulfilment of it.

MEGILLUS: No doubt.

ATHENIAN: And we join in the prayers of our friends, and ask for them what they ask for themselves.

MEGILLUS: We do.

ATHENIAN: Dear is the son to the father — the younger to the elder.

MEGILLUS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: And yet the son often prays to obtain things which the father prays that he may not obtain.

MEGILLUS: When the son is young and foolish, you mean?

ATHENIAN: Yes; or when the father, in the dotage of age or the heat of youth, having no sense of right and justice, prays with fervour, under the influence of feelings akin to those of Theseus when he cursed the unfortunate Hippolytus, do you imagine that the son, having a sense of right and justice, will join in his father’s prayers?

MEGILLUS: I understand you to mean that a man should not desire or be in a hurry to have all things according to his wish, for his wish may be at variance with his reason. But every state and every individual ought to pray and strive for wisdom.

ATHENIAN: Yes; and I remember, and you will remember, what I said at first, that a statesman and legislator ought to ordain laws with a view to wisdom; while you were arguing that the good lawgiver ought to order all with a view to war. And to this I replied that there were four virtues, but that upon your view one of them only was the aim of legislation; whereas you ought to regard all virtue, and especially that which comes first, and is the leader of all the rest — I mean wisdom and mind and opinion, having affection and desire in their train. And now the argument returns to the same point, and I say once more, in jest if you like, or in earnest if you like, that the prayer of a fool is full of danger, being likely to end in the opposite of what he desires. And if you would rather receive my words in earnest, I am willing that you should; and you will find, I suspect, as I have said already, that not cowardice was the cause of the ruin of the Dorian kings and of their whole design, nor ignorance of military matters, either on the part of the rulers or of their subjects; but their misfortunes were due to their general degeneracy, and especially to their ignorance of the most important human affairs. That was then, and is still, and always will be the case, as I will endeavour, if you will allow me, to make out and demonstrate as well as I am able to you who are my friends, in the course of the argument.

CLEINIAS: Pray go on, Stranger; — compliments are troublesome, but we will show, not in word but in deed, how greatly we prize your words, for we will give them our best attention; and that is the way in which a freeman best shows his approval or disapproval.

MEGILLUS: Excellent, Cleinias; let us do as you say.

CLEINIAS: By all means, if Heaven wills. Go on.

ATHENIAN: Well, then, proceeding in the same train of thought, I say that the greatest ignorance was the ruin of the Dorian power, and that now, as then, ignorance is ruin. And if this be true, the legislator must endeavour to implant wisdom in states, and banish ignorance to the utmost of his power.

CLEINIAS: That is evident.

ATHENIAN: Then now consider what is really the greatest ignorance. I should like to know whether you and Megillus would agree with me in what I am about to say; for my opinion is —

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: That the greatest ignorance is when a man hates that which he nevertheless thinks to be good and noble, and loves and embraces that which he knows to be unrighteous and evil. This disagreement between the sense of pleasure and the judgment of reason in the soul is, in my opinion, the worst ignorance; and also the greatest, because affecting the great mass of the human soul; for the principle which feels pleasure and pain in the individual is like the mass or populace in a state. And when the soul is opposed to knowledge, or opinion, or reason, which are her natural lords, that I call folly, just as in the state, when the multitude refuses to obey their rulers and the laws; or, again, in the individual, when fair reasonings have their habitation in the soul and yet do no good, but rather the reverse of good. All these cases I term the worst ignorance, whether in individuals or in states. You will understand, Stranger, that I am speaking of something which is very different from the ignorance of handicraftsmen.

CLEINIAS: Yes, my friend, we understand and agree.

ATHENIAN: Let us, then, in the first place declare and affirm that the citizen who does not know these things ought never to have any kind of authority entrusted to him: he must be stigmatized as ignorant, even though he be versed in calculation and skilled in all sorts of accomplishments, and feats of mental dexterity; and the opposite are to be called wise, even although, in the words of the proverb, they know neither how to read nor how to swim; and to them, as to men of sense, authority is to be committed. For, O my friends, how can there be the least shadow of wisdom when there is no harmony? There is none; but the noblest and greatest of harmonies may be truly said to be the greatest wisdom; and of this he is a partaker who lives according to reason; whereas he who is devoid of reason is the destroyer of his house and the very opposite of a saviour of the state: he is utterly ignorant of political wisdom. Let this, then, as I was saying, be laid down by us.

CLEINIAS: Let it be so laid down.

ATHENIAN: I suppose that there must be rulers and subjects in states?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And what are the principles on which men rule and obey in cities, whether great or small; and similarly in families? What are they, and how many in number? Is there not one claim of authority which is always just, — that of fathers and mothers and in general of progenitors to rule over their offspring?

CLEINIAS: There is.

ATHENIAN: Next follows the principle that the noble should rule over the ignoble; and, thirdly, that the elder should rule and the younger obey?

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: And, fourthly, that slaves should be ruled, and their masters rule?

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: Fifthly, if I am not mistaken, comes the principle that the stronger shall rule, and the weaker be ruled?

CLEINIAS: That is a rule not to be disobeyed.

ATHENIAN: Yes, and a rule which prevails very widely among all creatures, and is according to nature, as the Theban poet Pindar once said; and the sixth principle, and the greatest of all, is, that the wise should lead and command, and the ignorant follow and obey; and yet, O thou most wise Pindar, as I should reply him, this surely is not contrary to nature, but according to nature, being the rule of law over willing subjects, and not a rule of compulsion.

CLEINIAS: Most true.

ATHENIAN: There is a seventh kind of rule which is awarded by lot, and is dear to the Gods and a token of good fortune: he on whom the lot falls is a ruler, and he who fails in obtaining the lot goes away and is the subject; and this we affirm to be quite just.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: ‘Then now,’ as we say playfully to any of those who lightly undertake the making of laws, ‘you see, legislator, the principles of government, how many they are, and that they are naturally opposed to each other. There we have discovered a fountain-head of seditions, to which you must attend. And, first, we will ask you to consider with us, how and in what respect the kings of Argos and Messene violated these our maxims, and ruined themselves and the great and famous Hellenic power of the olden time. Was it because they did not know how wisely Hesiod spoke when he said that the half is often more than the whole? His meaning was, that when to take the whole would be dangerous, and to take the half would be the safe and moderate course, then the moderate or better was more than the immoderate or worse.’

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And may we suppose this immoderate spirit to be more fatal when found among kings than when among peoples?

CLEINIAS: The probability is that ignorance will be a disorder especially prevalent among kings, because they lead a proud and luxurious life.

ATHENIAN: Is it not palpable that the chief aim of the kings of that time was to get the better of the established laws, and that they were not in harmony with the principles which they had agreed to observe by word and oath? This want of harmony may have had the appearance of wisdom, but was really, as we assert, the greatest ignorance, and utterly overthrew the whole empire by dissonance and harsh discord.

CLEINIAS: Very likely.

ATHENIAN: Good; and what measures ought the legislator to have then taken in order to avert this calamity? Truly there is no great wisdom in knowing, and no great difficulty in telling, after the evil has happened; but to have foreseen the remedy at the time would have taken a much wiser head than ours.

MEGILLUS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Any one who looks at what has occurred with you Lacedaemonians, Megillus, may easily know and may easily say what ought to have been done at that time.

MEGILLUS: Speak a little more clearly.

ATHENIAN: Nothing can be clearer than the observation which I am about to make.

MEGILLUS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: That if any one gives too great a power to anything, too large a sail to a vessel, too much food to the body, too much authority to the mind, and does not observe the mean, everything is overthrown, and, in the wantonness of excess, runs in the one case to disorders, and in the other to injustice, which is the child of excess. I mean to say, my dear friends, that there is no soul of man, young and irresponsible, who will be able to sustain the temptation of arbitrary power — no one who will not, under such circumstances, become filled with folly, that worst of diseases, and be hated by his nearest and dearest friends: when this happens his kingdom is undermined, and all his power vanishes from him. And great legislators who know the mean should take heed of the danger. As far as we can guess at this distance of time, what happened was as follows: —

MEGILLUS: What?

ATHENIAN: A God, who watched over Sparta, seeing into the future, gave you two families of kings instead of one; and thus brought you more within the limits of moderation. In the next place, some human wisdom mingled with divine power, observing that the constitution of your government was still feverish and excited, tempered your inborn strength and pride of birth with the moderation which comes of age, making the power of your twenty-eight elders equal with that of the kings in the most important matters. But your third saviour, perceiving that your government was still swelling and foaming, and desirous to impose a curb upon it, instituted the Ephors, whose power he made to resemble that of magistrates elected by lot; and by this arrangement the kingly office, being compounded of the right elements and duly moderated, was preserved, and was the means of preserving all the rest. Since, if there had been only the original legislators, Temenus, Cresphontes, and their contemporaries, as far as they were concerned not even the portion of Aristodemus would have been preserved; for they had no proper experience in legislation, or they would surely not have imagined that oaths would moderate a youthful spirit invested with a power which might be converted into a tyranny. Now that God has instructed us what sort of government would have been or will be lasting, there is no wisdom, as I have already said, in judging after the event; there is no difficulty in learning from an example which has already occurred. But if any one could have foreseen all this at the time, and had been able to moderate the government of the three kingdoms and unite them into one, he might have saved all the excellent institutions which were then conceived; and no Persian or any other armament would have dared to attack us, or would have regarded Hellas as a power to be despised.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: There was small credit to us, Cleinias, in defeating them; and the discredit was, not that the conquerors did not win glorious victories both by land and sea, but what, in my opinion, brought discredit was, first of all, the circumstance that of the three cities one only fought on behalf of Hellas, and the two others were so utterly good for nothing that the one was waging a mighty war against Lacedaemon, and was thus preventing her from rendering assistance, while the city of Argos, which had the precedence at the time of the distribution, when asked to aid in repelling the barbarian, would not answer to the call, or give aid. Many things might be told about Hellas in connexion with that war which are far from honourable; nor, indeed, can we rightly say that Hellas repelled the invader; for the truth is, that unless the Athenians and Lacedaemonians, acting in concert, had warded off the impending yoke, all the tribes of Hellas would have been fused in a chaos of Hellenes mingling with one another, of barbarians mingling with Hellenes, and Hellenes with barbarians; just as nations who are now subject to the Persian power, owing to unnatural separations and combinations of them, are dispersed and scattered, and live miserably. These, Cleinias and Megillus, are the reproaches which we have to make against statesmen and legislators, as they are called, past and present, if we would analyse the causes of their failure, and find out what else might have been done. We said, for instance, just now, that there ought to be no great and unmixed powers; and this was under the idea that a state ought to be free and wise and harmonious, and that a legislator ought to legislate with a view to this end. Nor is there any reason to be surprised at our continually proposing aims for the legislator which appear not to be always the same; but we should consider when we say that temperance is to be the aim, or wisdom is to be the aim, or friendship is to be the aim, that all these aims are really the same; and if so, a variety in the modes of expression ought not to disturb us.

CLEINIAS: Let us resume the argument in that spirit. And now, speaking of friendship and wisdom and freedom, I wish that you would tell me at what, in your opinion, the legislator should aim.

ATHENIAN: Hear me, then: there are two mother forms of states from which the rest may be truly said to be derived; and one of them may be called monarchy and the other democracy: the Persians have the highest form of the one, and we of the other; almost all the rest, as I was saying, are variations of these. Now, if you are to have liberty and the combination of friendship with wisdom, you must have both these forms of government in a measure; the argument emphatically declares that no city can be well governed which is not made up of both.

CLEINIAS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: Neither the one, if it be exclusively and excessively attached to monarchy, nor the other, if it be similarly attached to freedom, observes moderation; but your states, the Laconian and Cretan, have more of it; and the same was the case with the Athenians and Persians of old time, but now they have less. Shall I tell you why?

CLEINIAS: By all means, if it will tend to elucidate our subject.

ATHENIAN: Hear, then: — There was a time when the Persians had more of the state which is a mean between slavery and freedom. In the reign of Cyrus they were freemen and also lords of many others: the rulers gave a share of freedom to the subjects, and being treated as equals, the soldiers were on better terms with their generals, and showed themselves more ready in the hour of danger. And if there was any wise man among them, who was able to give good counsel, he imparted his wisdom to the public; for the king was not jealous, but allowed him full liberty of speech, and gave honour to those who could advise him in any matter. And the nation waxed in all respects, because there was freedom and friendship and communion of mind among them.

CLEINIAS: That certainly appears to have been the case.

ATHENIAN: How, then, was this advantage lost under Cambyses, and again recovered under Darius? Shall I try to divine?

CLEINIAS: The enquiry, no doubt, has a bearing upon our subject.

ATHENIAN: I imagine that Cyrus, though a great and patriotic general, had never given his mind to education, and never attended to the order of his household.

CLEINIAS: What makes you say so?

ATHENIAN: I think that from his youth upwards he was a soldier, and entrusted the education of his children to the women; and they brought them up from their childhood as the favourites of fortune, who were blessed already, and needed no more blessings. They thought that they were happy enough, and that no one should be allowed to oppose them in any way, and they compelled every one to praise all that they said or did. This was how they brought them up.

CLEINIAS: A splendid education truly!

ATHENIAN: Such an one as women were likely to give them, and especially princesses who had recently grown rich, and in the absence of the men, too, who were occupied in wars and dangers, and had no time to look after them.

CLEINIAS: What would you expect?

ATHENIAN: Their father had possessions of cattle and sheep, and many herds of men and other animals, but he did not consider that those to whom he was about to make them over were not trained in his own calling, which was Persian; for the Persians are shepherds — sons of a rugged land, which is a stern mother, and well fitted to produce a sturdy race able to live in the open air and go without sleep, and also to fight, if fighting is required (compare Arist. Pol.). He did not observe that his sons were trained differently; through the so-called blessing of being royal they were educated in the Median fashion by women and eunuchs, which led to their becoming such as people do become when they are brought up unreproved. And so, after the death of Cyrus, his sons, in the fulness of luxury and licence, took the kingdom, and first one slew the other because he could not endure a rival; and, afterwards, the slayer himself, mad with wine and brutality, lost his kingdom through the Medes and the Eunuch, as they called him, who despised the folly of Cambyses.

CLEINIAS: So runs the tale, and such probably were the facts.

ATHENIAN: Yes; and the tradition says, that the empire came back to the Persians, through Darius and the seven chiefs.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Let us note the rest of the story. Observe, that Darius was not the son of a king, and had not received a luxurious education. When he came to the throne, being one of the seven, he divided the country into seven portions, and of this arrangement there are some shadowy traces still remaining; he made laws upon the principle of introducing universal equality in the order of the state, and he embodied in his laws the settlement of the tribute which Cyrus promised, — thus creating a feeling of friendship and community among all the Persians, and attaching the people to him with money and gifts. Hence his armies cheerfully acquired for him countries as large as those which Cyrus had left behind him. Darius was succeeded by his son Xerxes; and he again was brought up in the royal and luxurious fashion. Might we not most justly say: ‘O Darius, how came you to bring up Xerxes in the same way in which Cyrus brought up Cambyses, and not to see his fatal mistake?’ For Xerxes, being the creation of the same education, met with much the same fortune as Cambyses; and from that time until now there has never been a really great king among the Persians, although they are all called Great. And their degeneracy is not to be attributed to chance, as I maintain; the reason is rather the evil life which is generally led by the sons of very rich and royal persons; for never will boy or man, young or old, excel in virtue, who has been thus educated. And this, I say, is what the legislator has to consider, and what at the present moment has to be considered by us. Justly may you, O Lacedaemonians, be praised, in that you do not give special honour or a special education to wealth rather than to poverty, or to a royal rather than to a private station, where the divine and inspired lawgiver has not originally commanded them to be given. For no man ought to have pre-eminent honour in a state because he surpasses others in wealth, any more than because he is swift of foot or fair or strong, unless he have some virtue in him; nor even if he have virtue, unless he have this particular virtue of temperance.

MEGILLUS: What do you mean, Stranger?

ATHENIAN: I suppose that courage is a part of virtue?

MEGILLUS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: Then, now hear and judge for yourself: — Would you like to have for a fellow-lodger or neighbour a very courageous man, who had no control over himself?

MEGILLUS: Heaven forbid!

ATHENIAN: Or an artist, who was clever in his profession, but a rogue?

MEGILLUS: Certainly not.

ATHENIAN: And surely justice does not grow apart from temperance?

MEGILLUS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: Any more than our pattern wise man, whom we exhibited as having his pleasures and pains in accordance with and corresponding to true reason, can be intemperate?

MEGILLUS: No.

ATHENIAN: There is a further consideration relating to the due and undue award of honours in states.

MEGILLUS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: I should like to know whether temperance without the other virtues, existing alone in the soul of man, is rightly to be praised or blamed?

MEGILLUS: I cannot tell.

ATHENIAN: And that is the best answer; for whichever alternative you had chosen, I think that you would have gone wrong.

MEGILLUS: I am fortunate.

ATHENIAN: Very good; a quality, which is a mere appendage of things which can be praised or blamed, does not deserve an expression of opinion, but is best passed over in silence.

MEGILLUS: You are speaking of temperance?

ATHENIAN: Yes; but of the other virtues, that which having this appendage is also most beneficial, will be most deserving of honour, and next that which is beneficial in the next degree; and so each of them will be rightly honoured according to a regular order.

MEGILLUS: True.

ATHENIAN: And ought not the legislator to determine these classes?

MEGILLUS: Certainly he should.

ATHENIAN: Suppose that we leave to him the arrangement of details. But the general division of laws according to their importance into a first and second and third class, we who are lovers of law may make ourselves.

MEGILLUS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: We maintain, then, that a State which would be safe and happy, as far as the nature of man allows, must and ought to distribute honour and dishonour in the right way. And the right way is to place the goods of the soul first and highest in the scale, always assuming temperance to be the condition of them; and to assign the second place to the goods of the body; and the third place to money and property. And if any legislator or state departs from this rule by giving money the place of honour, or in any way preferring that which is really last, may we not say, that he or the state is doing an unholy and unpatriotic thing?

MEGILLUS: Yes; let that be plainly declared.

ATHENIAN: The consideration of the Persian governments led us thus far to enlarge. We remarked that the Persians grew worse and worse. And we affirm the reason of this to have been, that they too much diminished the freedom of the people, and introduced too much of despotism, and so destroyed friendship and community of feeling. And when there is an end of these, no longer do the governors govern on behalf of their subjects or of the people, but on behalf of themselves; and if they think that they can gain ever so small an advantage for themselves, they devastate cities, and send fire and desolation among friendly races. And as they hate ruthlessly and horribly, so are they hated; and when they want the people to fight for them, they find no community of feeling or willingness to risk their lives on their behalf; their untold myriads are useless to them on the field of battle, and they think that their salvation depends on the employment of mercenaries and strangers whom they hire, as if they were in want of more men. And they cannot help being stupid, since they proclaim by their actions that the ordinary distinctions of right and wrong which are made in a state are a trifle, when compared with gold and silver.

MEGILLUS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: And now enough of the Persians, and their present mal-administration of their government, which is owing to the excess of slavery and despotism among them.

MEGILLUS: Good.

ATHENIAN: Next, we must pass in review the government of Attica in like manner, and from this show that entire freedom and the absence of all superior authority is not by any means so good as government by others when properly limited, which was our ancient Athenian constitution at the time when the Persians made their attack on Hellas, or, speaking more correctly, on the whole continent of Europe. There were four classes, arranged according to a property census, and reverence was our queen and mistress, and made us willing to live in obedience to the laws which then prevailed. Also the vastness of the Persian armament, both by sea and on land, caused a helpless terror, which made us more and more the servants of our rulers and of the laws; and for all these reasons an exceeding harmony prevailed among us. About ten years before the naval engagement at Salamis, Datis came, leading a Persian host by command of Darius, which was expressly directed against the Athenians and Eretrians, having orders to carry them away captive; and these orders he was to execute under pain of death. Now Datis and his myriads soon became complete masters of Eretria, and he sent a fearful report to Athens that no Eretrian had escaped him; for the soldiers of Datis had joined hands and netted the whole of Eretria. And this report, whether well or ill founded, was terrible to all the Hellenes, and above all to the Athenians, and they dispatched embassies in all directions, but no one was willing to come to their relief, with the exception of the Lacedaemonians; and they, either because they were detained by the Messenian war, which was then going on, or for some other reason of which we are not told, came a day too late for the battle of Marathon. After a while, the news arrived of mighty preparations being made, and innumerable threats came from the king. Then, as time went on, a rumour reached us that Darius had died, and that his son, who was young and hot-headed, had come to the throne and was persisting in his design. The Athenians were under the impression that the whole expedition was directed against them, in consequence of the battle of Marathon; and hearing of the bridge over the Hellespont, and the canal of Athos, and the host of ships, considering that there was no salvation for them either by land or by sea, for there was no one to help them, and remembering that in the first expedition, when the Persians destroyed Eretria, no one came to their help, or would risk the danger of an alliance with them, they thought that this would happen again, at least on land; nor, when they looked to the sea, could they descry any hope of salvation; for they were attacked by a thousand vessels and more. One chance of safety remained, slight indeed and desperate, but their only one. They saw that on the former occasion they had gained a seemingly impossible victory, and borne up by this hope, they found that their only refuge was in themselves and in the Gods. All these things created in them the spirit of friendship; there was the fear of the moment, and there was that higher fear, which they had acquired by obedience to their ancient laws, and which I have several times in the preceding discourse called reverence, of which the good man ought to be a willing servant, and of which the coward is independent and fearless. If this fear had not possessed them, they would never have met the enemy, or defended their temples and sepulchres and their country, and everything that was near and dear to them, as they did; but little by little they would have been all scattered and dispersed.

MEGILLUS: Your words, Athenian, are quite true, and worthy of yourself and of your country.

ATHENIAN: They are true, Megillus; and to you, who have inherited the virtues of your ancestors, I may properly speak of the actions of that day. And I would wish you and Cleinias to consider whether my words have not also a bearing on legislation; for I am not discoursing only for the pleasure of talking, but for the argument’s sake. Please to remark that the experience both of ourselves and the Persians was, in a certain sense, the same; for as they led their people into utter servitude, so we too led ours into all freedom. And now, how shall we proceed? for I would like you to observe that our previous arguments have good deal to say for themselves.

MEGILLUS: True; but I wish that you would give us a fuller explanation.

ATHENIAN: I will. Under the ancient laws, my friends, the people was not as now the master, but rather the willing servant of the laws.

MEGILLUS: What laws do you mean?

ATHENIAN: In the first place, let us speak of the laws about music, — that is to say, such music as then existed — in order that we may trace the growth of the excess of freedom from the beginning. Now music was early divided among us into certain kinds and manners. One sort consisted of prayers to the Gods, which were called hymns; and there was another and opposite sort called lamentations, and another termed paeans, and another, celebrating the birth of Dionysus, called, I believe, ‘dithyrambs.’ And they used the actual word ‘laws,’ or nomoi, for another kind of song; and to this they added the term ‘citharoedic.’ All these and others were duly distinguished, nor were the performers allowed to confuse one style of music with another. And the authority which determined and gave judgment, and punished the disobedient, was not expressed in a hiss, nor in the most unmusical shouts of the multitude, as in our days, nor in applause and clapping of hands. But the directors of public instruction insisted that the spectators should listen in silence to the end; and boys and their tutors, and the multitude in general, were kept quiet by a hint from a stick. Such was the good order which the multitude were willing to observe; they would never have dared to give judgment by noisy cries. And then, as time went on, the poets themselves introduced the reign of vulgar and lawless innovation. They were men of genius, but they had no perception of what is just and lawful in music; raging like Bacchanals and possessed with inordinate delights — mingling lamentations with hymns, and paeans with dithyrambs; imitating the sounds of the flute on the lyre, and making one general confusion; ignorantly affirming that music has no truth, and, whether good or bad, can only be judged of rightly by the pleasure of the hearer (compare Republic). And by composing such licentious works, and adding to them words as licentious, they have inspired the multitude with lawlessness and boldness, and made them fancy that they can judge for themselves about melody and song. And in this way the theatres from being mute have become vocal, as though they had understanding of good and bad in music and poetry; and instead of an aristocracy, an evil sort of theatrocracy has grown up (compare Arist. Pol.). For if the democracy which judged had only consisted of educated persons, no fatal harm would have been done; but in music there first arose the universal conceit of omniscience and general lawlessness; — freedom came following afterwards, and men, fancying that they knew what they did not know, had no longer any fear, and the absence of fear begets shamelessness. For what is this shamelessness, which is so evil a thing, but the insolent refusal to regard the opinion of the better by reason of an over-daring sort of liberty?

MEGILLUS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Consequent upon this freedom comes the other freedom, of disobedience to rulers (compare Republic); and then the attempt to escape the control and exhortation of father, mother, elders, and when near the end, the control of the laws also; and at the very end there is the contempt of oaths and pledges, and no regard at all for the Gods, — herein they exhibit and imitate the old so-called Titanic nature, and come to the same point as the Titans when they rebelled against God, leading a life of endless evils. But why have I said all this? I ask, because the argument ought to be pulled up from time to time, and not be allowed to run away, but held with bit and bridle, and then we shall not, as the proverb says, fall off our ass. Let us then once more ask the question, To what end has all this been said?

MEGILLUS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: This, then, has been said for the sake —

MEGILLUS: Of what?

ATHENIAN: We were maintaining that the lawgiver ought to have three things in view: first, that the city for which he legislates should be free; and secondly, be at unity with herself; and thirdly, should have understanding; — these were our principles, were they not?

MEGILLUS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: With a view to this we selected two kinds of government, the one the most despotic, and the other the most free; and now we are considering which of them is the right form: we took a mean in both cases, of despotism in the one, and of liberty in the other, and we saw that in a mean they attained their perfection; but that when they were carried to the extreme of either, slavery or licence, neither party were the gainers.

MEGILLUS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And that was our reason for considering the settlement of the Dorian army, and of the city built by Dardanus at the foot of the mountains, and the removal of cities to the seashore, and of our mention of the first men, who were the survivors of the deluge. And all that was previously said about music and drinking, and what preceded, was said with the view of seeing how a state might be best administered, and how an individual might best order his own life. And now, Megillus and Cleinias, how can we put to the proof the value of our words?

CLEINIAS: Stranger, I think that I see how a proof of their value may be obtained. This discussion of ours appears to me to have been singularly fortunate, and just what I at this moment want; most auspiciously have you and my friend Megillus come in my way. For I will tell you what has happened to me; and I regard the coincidence as a sort of omen. The greater part of Crete is going to send out a colony, and they have entrusted the management of the affair to the Cnosians; and the Cnosian government to me and nine others. And they desire us to give them any laws which we please, whether taken from the Cretan model or from any other; and they do not mind about their being foreign if they are better. Grant me then this favour, which will also be a gain to yourselves: — Let us make a selection from what has been said, and then let us imagine a State of which we will suppose ourselves to be the original founders. Thus we shall proceed with our enquiry, and, at the same time, I may have the use of the framework which you are constructing, for the city which is in contemplation.

ATHENIAN: Good news, Cleinias; if Megillus has no objection, you may be sure that I will do all in my power to please you.

CLEINIAS: Thank you.

MEGILLUS: And so will I.

CLEINIAS: Excellent; and now let us begin to frame the State.

BOOK IV.

ATHENIAN: And now, what will this city be? I do not mean to ask what is or will hereafter be the name of the place; that may be determined by the accident of locality or of the original settlement — a river or fountain, or some local deity may give the sanction of a name to the newly-founded city; but I do want to know what the situation is, whether maritime or inland.

CLEINIAS: I should imagine, Stranger, that the city of which we are speaking is about eighty stadia distant from the sea.

ATHENIAN: And are there harbours on the seaboard?

CLEINIAS: Excellent harbours, Stranger; there could not be better.

ATHENIAN: Alas! what a prospect! And is the surrounding country productive, or in need of importations?

CLEINIAS: Hardly in need of anything.

ATHENIAN: And is there any neighbouring State?

CLEINIAS: None whatever, and that is the reason for selecting the place; in days of old, there was a migration of the inhabitants, and the region has been deserted from time immemorial.

ATHENIAN: And has the place a fair proportion of hill, and plain, and wood?

CLEINIAS: Like the rest of Crete in that.

ATHENIAN: You mean to say that there is more rock than plain?

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: Then there is some hope that your citizens may be virtuous: had you been on the sea, and well provided with harbours, and an importing rather than a producing country, some mighty saviour would have been needed, and lawgivers more than mortal, if you were ever to have a chance of preserving your state from degeneracy and discordance of manners (compare Ar. Pol.). But there is comfort in the eighty stadia; although the sea is too near, especially if, as you say, the harbours are so good. Still we may be content. The sea is pleasant enough as a daily companion, but has indeed also a bitter and brackish quality; filling the streets with merchants and shopkeepers, and begetting in the souls of men uncertain and unfaithful ways — making the state unfriendly and unfaithful both to her own citizens, and also to other nations. There is a consolation, therefore, in the country producing all things at home; and yet, owing to the ruggedness of the soil, not providing anything in great abundance. Had there been abundance, there might have been a great export trade, and a great return of gold and silver; which, as we may safely affirm, has the most fatal results on a State whose aim is the attainment of just and noble sentiments: this was said by us, if you remember, in the previous discussion.

CLEINIAS: I remember, and am of opinion that we both were and are in the right.

ATHENIAN: Well, but let me ask, how is the country supplied with timber for ship-building?

CLEINIAS: There is no fir of any consequence, nor pine, and not much cypress; and you will find very little stone-pine or plane-wood, which shipwrights always require for the interior of ships.

ATHENIAN: These are also natural advantages.

CLEINIAS: Why so?

ATHENIAN: Because no city ought to be easily able to imitate its enemies in what is mischievous.

CLEINIAS: How does that bear upon any of the matters of which we have been speaking?

ATHENIAN: Remember, my good friend, what I said at first about the Cretan laws, that they looked to one thing only, and this, as you both agreed, was war; and I replied that such laws, in so far as they tended to promote virtue, were good; but in that they regarded a part only, and not the whole of virtue, I disapproved of them. And now I hope that you in your turn will follow and watch me if I legislate with a view to anything but virtue, or with a view to a part of virtue only. For I consider that the true lawgiver, like an archer, aims only at that on which some eternal beauty is always attending, and dismisses everything else, whether wealth or any other benefit, when separated from virtue. I was saying that the imitation of enemies was a bad thing; and I was thinking of a case in which a maritime people are harassed by enemies, as the Athenians were by Minos (I do not speak from any desire to recall past grievances); but he, as we know, was a great naval potentate, who compelled the inhabitants of Attica to pay him a cruel tribute; and in those days they had no ships of war as they now have, nor was the country filled with ship-timber, and therefore they could not readily build them. Hence they could not learn how to imitate their enemy at sea, and in this way, becoming sailors themselves, directly repel their enemies. Better for them to have lost many times over the seven youths, than that heavy-armed and stationary troops should have been turned into sailors, and accustomed to be often leaping on shore, and again to come running back to their ships; or should have fancied that there was no disgrace in not awaiting the attack of an enemy and dying boldly; and that there were good reasons, and plenty of them, for a man throwing away his arms, and betaking himself to flight, — which is not dishonourable, as people say, at certain times. This is the language of naval warfare, and is anything but worthy of extraordinary praise. For we should not teach bad habits, least of all to the best part of the citizens. You may learn the evil of such a practice from Homer, by whom Odysseus is introduced, rebuking Agamemnon, because he desires to draw down the ships to the sea at a time when the Achaeans are hard pressed by the Trojans, — he gets angry with him, and says:

‘Who, at a time when the battle is in full cry, biddest to drag the well-benched ships into the sea, that the prayers of the Trojans may be accomplished yet more, and high ruin fall upon us. For the Achaeans will not maintain the battle, when the ships are drawn into the sea, but they will look behind and will cease from strife; in that the counsel which you give will prove injurious.’

You see that he quite knew triremes on the sea, in the neighbourhood of fighting men, to be an evil; — lions might be trained in that way to fly from a herd of deer. Moreover, naval powers which owe their safety to ships, do not give honour to that sort of warlike excellence which is most deserving of it. For he who owes his safety to the pilot and the captain, and the oarsman, and all sorts of rather inferior persons, cannot rightly give honour to whom honour is due. But how can a state be in a right condition which cannot justly award honour?

CLEINIAS: It is hardly possible, I admit; and yet, Stranger, we Cretans are in the habit of saying that the battle of Salamis was the salvation of Hellas.

ATHENIAN: Why, yes; and that is an opinion which is widely spread both among Hellenes and barbarians. But Megillus and I say rather, that the battle of Marathon was the beginning, and the battle of Plataea the completion, of the great deliverance, and that these battles by land made the Hellenes better; whereas the sea-fights of Salamis and Artemisium — for I may as well put them both together — made them no better, if I may say so without offence about the battles which helped to save us. And in estimating the goodness of a state, we regard both the situation of the country and the order of the laws, considering that the mere preservation and continuance of life is not the most honourable thing for men, as the vulgar think, but the continuance of the best life, while we live; and that again, if I am not mistaken, is a remark which has been made already.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: Then we have only to ask, whether we are taking the course which we acknowledge to be the best for the settlement and legislation of states.

CLEINIAS: The best by far.

ATHENIAN: And now let me proceed to another question: Who are to be the colonists? May any one come out of all Crete; and is the idea that the population in the several states is too numerous for the means of subsistence? For I suppose that you are not going to send out a general invitation to any Hellene who likes to come. And yet I observe that to your country settlers have come from Argos and Aegina and other parts of Hellas. Tell me, then, whence do you draw your recruits in the present enterprise?

CLEINIAS: They will come from all Crete; and of other Hellenes, Peloponnesians will be most acceptable. For, as you truly observe, there are Cretans of Argive descent; and the race of Cretans which has the highest character at the present day is the Gortynian, and this has come from Gortys in the Peloponnesus.

ATHENIAN: Cities find colonization in some respects easier if the colonists are one race, which like a swarm of bees is sent out from a single country, either when friends leave friends, owing to some pressure of population or other similar necessity, or when a portion of a state is driven by factions to emigrate. And there have been whole cities which have taken flight when utterly conquered by a superior power in war. This, however, which is in one way an advantage to the colonist or legislator, in another point of view creates a difficulty. There is an element of friendship in the community of race, and language, and laws, and in common temples and rites of worship; but colonies which are of this homogeneous sort are apt to kick against any laws or any form of constitution differing from that which they had at home; and although the badness of their own laws may have been the cause of the factions which prevailed among them, yet from the force of habit they would fain preserve the very customs which were their ruin, and the leader of the colony, who is their legislator, finds them troublesome and rebellious. On the other hand, the conflux of several populations might be more disposed to listen to new laws; but then, to make them combine and pull together, as they say of horses, is a most difficult task, and the work of years. And yet there is nothing which tends more to the improvement of mankind than legislation and colonization.

CLEINIAS: No doubt; but I should like to know why you say so.

ATHENIAN: My good friend, I am afraid that the course of my speculations is leading me to say something depreciatory of legislators; but if the word be to the purpose, there can be no harm. And yet, why am I disquieted, for I believe that the same principle applies equally to all human things?

CLEINIAS: To what are you referring?

ATHENIAN: I was going to say that man never legislates, but accidents of all sorts, which legislate for us in all sorts of ways. The violence of war and the hard necessity of poverty are constantly overturning governments and changing laws. And the power of disease has often caused innovations in the state, when there have been pestilences, or when there has been a succession of bad seasons continuing during many years. Any one who sees all this, naturally rushes to the conclusion of which I was speaking, that no mortal legislates in anything, but that in human affairs chance is almost everything. And this may be said of the arts of the sailor, and the pilot, and the physician, and the general, and may seem to be well said; and yet there is another thing which may be said with equal truth of all of them.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: That God governs all things, and that chance and opportunity co-operate with Him in the government of human affairs. There is, however, a third and less extreme view, that art should be there also; for I should say that in a storm there must surely be a great advantage in having the aid of the pilot’s art. You would agree?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And does not a like principle apply to legislation as well as to other things: even supposing all the conditions to be favourable which are needed for the happiness of the state, yet the true legislator must from time to time appear on the scene?

CLEINIAS: Most true.

ATHENIAN: In each case the artist would be able to pray rightly for certain conditions, and if these were granted by fortune, he would then only require to exercise his art?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And all the other artists just now mentioned, if they were bidden to offer up each their special prayer, would do so?

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: And the legislator would do likewise?

CLEINIAS: I believe that he would.

ATHENIAN: ‘Come, legislator,’ we will say to him; ‘what are the conditions which you require in a state before you can organize it?’ How ought he to answer this question? Shall I give his answer?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: He will say— ‘Give me a state which is governed by a tyrant, and let the tyrant be young and have a good memory; let him be quick at learning, and of a courageous and noble nature; let him have that quality which, as I said before, is the inseparable companion of all the other parts of virtue, if there is to be any good in them.’

CLEINIAS: I suppose, Megillus, that this companion virtue of which the Stranger speaks, must be temperance?

ATHENIAN: Yes, Cleinias, temperance in the vulgar sense; not that which in the forced and exaggerated language of some philosophers is called prudence, but that which is the natural gift of children and animals, of whom some live continently and others incontinently, but when isolated, was, as we said, hardly worth reckoning in the catalogue of goods. I think that you must understand my meaning.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Then our tyrant must have this as well as the other qualities, if the state is to acquire in the best manner and in the shortest time the form of government which is most conducive to happiness; for there neither is nor ever will be a better or speedier way of establishing a polity than by a tyranny.

CLEINIAS: By what possible arguments, Stranger, can any man persuade himself of such a monstrous doctrine?

ATHENIAN: There is surely no difficulty in seeing, Cleinias, what is in accordance with the order of nature?

CLEINIAS: You would assume, as you say, a tyrant who was young, temperate, quick at learning, having a good memory, courageous, of a noble nature?

ATHENIAN: Yes; and you must add fortunate; and his good fortune must be that he is the contemporary of a great legislator, and that some happy chance brings them together. When this has been accomplished, God has done all that he ever does for a state which he desires to be eminently prosperous; He has done second best for a state in which there are two such rulers, and third best for a state in which there are three. The difficulty increases with the increase, and diminishes with the diminution of the number.

CLEINIAS: You mean to say, I suppose, that the best government is produced from a tyranny, and originates in a good lawgiver and an orderly tyrant, and that the change from such a tyranny into a perfect form of government takes place most easily; less easily when from an oligarchy; and, in the third degree, from a democracy: is not that your meaning?

ATHENIAN: Not so; I mean rather to say that the change is best made out of a tyranny; and secondly, out of a monarchy; and thirdly, out of some sort of democracy: fourth, in the capacity for improvement, comes oligarchy, which has the greatest difficulty in admitting of such a change, because the government is in the hands of a number of potentates. I am supposing that the legislator is by nature of the true sort, and that his strength is united with that of the chief men of the state; and when the ruling element is numerically small, and at the same time very strong, as in a tyranny, there the change is likely to be easiest and most rapid.

CLEINIAS: How? I do not understand.

ATHENIAN: And yet I have repeated what I am saying a good many times; but I suppose that you have never seen a city which is under a tyranny?

CLEINIAS: No, and I cannot say that I have any great desire to see one.

ATHENIAN: And yet, where there is a tyranny, you might certainly see that of which I am now speaking.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I mean that you might see how, without trouble and in no very long period of time, the tyrant, if he wishes, can change the manners of a state: he has only to go in the direction of virtue or of vice, whichever he prefers, he himself indicating by his example the lines of conduct, praising and rewarding some actions and reproving others, and degrading those who disobey.

CLEINIAS: But how can we imagine that the citizens in general will at once follow the example set to them; and how can he have this power both of persuading and of compelling them?

ATHENIAN: Let no one, my friends, persuade us that there is any quicker and easier way in which states change their laws than when the rulers lead: such changes never have, nor ever will, come to pass in any other way. The real impossibility or difficulty is of another sort, and is rarely surmounted in the course of ages; but when once it is surmounted, ten thousand or rather all blessings follow.

CLEINIAS: Of what are you speaking?

ATHENIAN: The difficulty is to find the divine love of temperate and just institutions existing in any powerful forms of government, whether in a monarchy or oligarchy of wealth or of birth. You might as well hope to reproduce the character of Nestor, who is said to have excelled all men in the power of speech, and yet more in his temperance. This, however, according to the tradition, was in the times of Troy; in our own days there is nothing of the sort; but if such an one either has or ever shall come into being, or is now among us, blessed is he and blessed are they who hear the wise words that flow from his lips. And this may be said of power in general: When the supreme power in man coincides with the greatest wisdom and temperance, then the best laws and the best constitution come into being; but in no other way. And let what I have been saying be regarded as a kind of sacred legend or oracle, and let this be our proof that, in one point of view, there may be a difficulty for a city to have good laws, but that there is another point of view in which nothing can be easier or sooner effected, granting our supposition.

CLEINIAS: How do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Let us try to amuse ourselves, old boys as we are, by moulding in words the laws which are suitable to your state.

CLEINIAS: Let us proceed without delay.

ATHENIAN: Then let us invoke God at the settlement of our state; may He hear and be propitious to us, and come and set in order the State and the laws!

CLEINIAS: May He come!

ATHENIAN: But what form of polity are we going to give the city?

CLEINIAS: Tell us what you mean a little more clearly. Do you mean some form of democracy, or oligarchy, or aristocracy, or monarchy? For we cannot suppose that you would include tyranny.

ATHENIAN: Which of you will first tell me to which of these classes his own government is to be referred?

MEGILLUS: Ought I to answer first, since I am the elder?

CLEINIAS: Perhaps you should.

MEGILLUS: And yet, Stranger, I perceive that I cannot say, without more thought, what I should call the government of Lacedaemon, for it seems to me to be like a tyranny, — the power of our Ephors is marvellously tyrannical; and sometimes it appears to me to be of all cities the most democratical; and who can reasonably deny that it is an aristocracy (compare Ar. Pol.)? We have also a monarchy which is held for life, and is said by all mankind, and not by ourselves only, to be the most ancient of all monarchies; and, therefore, when asked on a sudden, I cannot precisely say which form of government the Spartan is.

CLEINIAS: I am in the same difficulty, Megillus; for I do not feel confident that the polity of Cnosus is any of these.

ATHENIAN: The reason is, my excellent friends, that you really have polities, but the states of which we were just now speaking are merely aggregations of men dwelling in cities who are the subjects and servants of a part of their own state, and each of them is named after the dominant power; they are not polities at all. But if states are to be named after their rulers, the true state ought to be called by the name of the God who rules over wise men.

CLEINIAS: And who is this God?

ATHENIAN: May I still make use of fable to some extent, in the hope that I may be better able to answer your question: shall I?

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: In the primeval world, and a long while before the cities came into being whose settlements we have described, there is said to have been in the time of Cronos a blessed rule and life, of which the best-ordered of existing states is a copy (compare Statesman).

CLEINIAS: It will be very necessary to hear about that.

ATHENIAN: I quite agree with you; and therefore I have introduced the subject.

CLEINIAS: Most appropriately; and since the tale is to the point, you will do well in giving us the whole story.

ATHENIAN: I will do as you suggest. There is a tradition of the happy life of mankind in days when all things were spontaneous and abundant. And of this the reason is said to have been as follows: — Cronos knew what we ourselves were declaring, that no human nature invested with supreme power is able to order human affairs and not overflow with insolence and wrong. Which reflection led him to appoint not men but demigods, who are of a higher and more divine race, to be the kings and rulers of our cities; he did as we do with flocks of sheep and other tame animals. For we do not appoint oxen to be the lords of oxen, or goats of goats; but we ourselves are a superior race, and rule over them. In like manner God, in His love of mankind, placed over us the demons, who are a superior race, and they with great ease and pleasure to themselves, and no less to us, taking care of us and giving us peace and reverence and order and justice never failing, made the tribes of men happy and united. And this tradition, which is true, declares that cities of which some mortal man and not God is the ruler, have no escape from evils and toils. Still we must do all that we can to imitate the life which is said to have existed in the days of Cronos, and, as far as the principle of immortality dwells in us, to that we must hearken, both in private and public life, and regulate our cities and houses according to law, meaning by the very term ‘law,’ the distribution of mind. But if either a single person or an oligarchy or a democracy has a soul eager after pleasures and desires — wanting to be filled with them, yet retaining none of them, and perpetually afflicted with an endless and insatiable disorder; and this evil spirit, having first trampled the laws under foot, becomes the master either of a state or of an individual, — then, as I was saying, salvation is hopeless. And now, Cleinias, we have to consider whether you will or will not accept this tale of mine.

CLEINIAS: Certainly we will.

ATHENIAN: You are aware, — are you not? — that there are often said to be as many forms of laws as there are of governments, and of the latter we have already mentioned all those which are commonly recognized. Now you must regard this as a matter of first-rate importance. For what is to be the standard of just and unjust, is once more the point at issue. Men say that the law ought not to regard either military virtue, or virtue in general, but only the interests and power and preservation of the established form of government; this is thought by them to be the best way of expressing the natural definition of justice.

CLEINIAS: How?

ATHENIAN: Justice is said by them to be the interest of the stronger (Republic).

CLEINIAS: Speak plainer.

ATHENIAN: I will:— ‘Surely,’ they say, ‘the governing power makes whatever laws have authority in any state’?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: ‘Well,’ they would add, ‘and do you suppose that tyranny or democracy, or any other conquering power, does not make the continuance of the power which is possessed by them the first or principal object of their laws’?

CLEINIAS: How can they have any other?

ATHENIAN: ‘And whoever transgresses these laws is punished as an evil-doer by the legislator, who calls the laws just’?

CLEINIAS: Naturally.

ATHENIAN: ‘This, then, is always the mode and fashion in which justice exists.’

CLEINIAS: Certainly, if they are correct in their view.

ATHENIAN: Why, yes, this is one of those false principles of government to which we were referring.

CLEINIAS: Which do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Those which we were examining when we spoke of who ought to govern whom. Did we not arrive at the conclusion that parents ought to govern their children, and the elder the younger, and the noble the ignoble? And there were many other principles, if you remember, and they were not always consistent. One principle was this very principle of might, and we said that Pindar considered violence natural and justified it.

CLEINIAS: Yes; I remember.

ATHENIAN: Consider, then, to whom our state is to be entrusted. For there is a thing which has occurred times without number in states —

CLEINIAS: What thing?

ATHENIAN: That when there has been a contest for power, those who gain the upper hand so entirely monopolize the government, as to refuse all share to the defeated party and their descendants — they live watching one another, the ruling class being in perpetual fear that some one who has a recollection of former wrongs will come into power and rise up against them. Now, according to our view, such governments are not polities at all, nor are laws right which are passed for the good of particular classes and not for the good of the whole state. States which have such laws are not polities but parties, and their notions of justice are simply unmeaning. I say this, because I am going to assert that we must not entrust the government in your state to any one because he is rich, or because he possesses any other advantage, such as strength, or stature, or again birth: but he who is most obedient to the laws of the state, he shall win the palm; and to him who is victorious in the first degree shall be given the highest office and chief ministry of the gods; and the second to him who bears the second palm; and on a similar principle shall all the other offices be assigned to those who come next in order. And when I call the rulers servants or ministers of the law, I give them this name not for the sake of novelty, but because I certainly believe that upon such service or ministry depends the well- or ill-being of the state. For that state in which the law is subject and has no authority, I perceive to be on the highway to ruin; but I see that the state in which the law is above the rulers, and the rulers are the inferiors of the law, has salvation, and every blessing which the Gods can confer.

CLEINIAS: Truly, Stranger, you see with the keen vision of age.

ATHENIAN: Why, yes; every man when he is young has that sort of vision dullest, and when he is old keenest.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And now, what is to be the next step? May we not suppose the colonists to have arrived, and proceed to make our speech to them?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: ‘Friends,’ we say to them,— ‘God, as the old tradition declares, holding in his hand the beginning, middle, and end of all that is, travels according to His nature in a straight line towards the accomplishment of His end. Justice always accompanies Him, and is the punisher of those who fall short of the divine law. To justice, he who would be happy holds fast, and follows in her company with all humility and order; but he who is lifted up with pride, or elated by wealth or rank, or beauty, who is young and foolish, and has a soul hot with insolence, and thinks that he has no need of any guide or ruler, but is able himself to be the guide of others, he, I say, is left deserted of God; and being thus deserted, he takes to him others who are like himself, and dances about, throwing all things into confusion, and many think that he is a great man, but in a short time he pays a penalty which justice cannot but approve, and is utterly destroyed, and his family and city with him. Wherefore, seeing that human things are thus ordered, what should a wise man do or think, or not do or think’?

CLEINIAS: Every man ought to make up his mind that he will be one of the followers of God; there can be no doubt of that.

ATHENIAN: Then what life is agreeable to God, and becoming in His followers? One only, expressed once for all in the old saying that ‘like agrees with like, with measure measure,’ but things which have no measure agree neither with themselves nor with the things which have. Now God ought to be to us the measure of all things, and not man (compare Crat.; Theaet.), as men commonly say (Protagoras): the words are far more true of Him. And he who would be dear to God must, as far as is possible, be like Him and such as He is. Wherefore the temperate man is the friend of God, for he is like Him; and the intemperate man is unlike Him, and different from Him, and unjust. And the same applies to other things; and this is the conclusion, which is also the noblest and truest of all sayings, — that for the good man to offer sacrifice to the Gods, and hold converse with them by means of prayers and offerings and every kind of service, is the noblest and best of all things, and also the most conducive to a happy life, and very fit and meet. But with the bad man, the opposite of this is true: for the bad man has an impure soul, whereas the good is pure; and from one who is polluted, neither a good man nor God can without impropriety receive gifts. Wherefore the unholy do only waste their much service upon the Gods, but when offered by any holy man, such service is most acceptable to them. This is the mark at which we ought to aim. But what weapons shall we use, and how shall we direct them? In the first place, we affirm that next after the Olympian Gods and the Gods of the State, honour should be given to the Gods below; they should receive everything in even numbers, and of the second choice, and ill omen, while the odd numbers, and the first choice, and the things of lucky omen, are given to the Gods above, by him who would rightly hit the mark of piety. Next to these Gods, a wise man will do service to the demons or spirits, and then to the heroes, and after them will follow the private and ancestral Gods, who are worshipped as the law prescribes in the places which are sacred to them. Next comes the honour of living parents, to whom, as is meet, we have to pay the first and greatest and oldest of all debts, considering that all which a man has belongs to those who gave him birth and brought him up, and that he must do all that he can to minister to them, first, in his property, secondly, in his person, and thirdly, in his soul, in return for the endless care and travail which they bestowed upon him of old, in the days of his infancy, and which he is now to pay back to them when they are old and in the extremity of their need. And all his life long he ought never to utter, or to have uttered, an unbecoming word to them; for of light and fleeting words the penalty is most severe; Nemesis, the messenger of justice, is appointed to watch over all such matters. When they are angry and want to satisfy their feelings in word or deed, he should give way to them; for a father who thinks that he has been wronged by his son may be reasonably expected to be very angry. At their death, the most moderate funeral is best, neither exceeding the customary expense, nor yet falling short of the honour which has been usually shown by the former generation to their parents. And let a man not forget to pay the yearly tribute of respect to the dead, honouring them chiefly by omitting nothing that conduces to a perpetual remembrance of them, and giving a reasonable portion of his fortune to the dead. Doing this, and living after this manner, we shall receive our reward from the Gods and those who are above us (i.e. the demons); and we shall spend our days for the most part in good hope. And how a man ought to order what relates to his descendants and his kindred and friends and fellow-citizens, and the rites of hospitality taught by Heaven, and the intercourse which arises out of all these duties, with a view to the embellishment and orderly regulation of his own life — these things, I say, the laws, as we proceed with them, will accomplish, partly persuading, and partly when natures do not yield to the persuasion of custom, chastising them by might and right, and will thus render our state, if the Gods co-operate with us, prosperous and happy. But of what has to be said, and must be said by the legislator who is of my way of thinking, and yet, if said in the form of law, would be out of place — of this I think that he may give a sample for the instruction of himself and of those for whom he is legislating; and then when, as far as he is able, he has gone through all the preliminaries, he may proceed to the work of legislation. Now, what will be the form of such prefaces? There may be a difficulty in including or describing them all under a single form, but I think that we may get some notion of them if we can guarantee one thing.

CLEINIAS: What is that?

ATHENIAN: I should wish the citizens to be as readily persuaded to virtue as possible; this will surely be the aim of the legislator in all his laws.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: The proposal appears to me to be of some value; and I think that a person will listen with more gentleness and good-will to the precepts addressed to him by the legislator, when his soul is not altogether unprepared to receive them. Even a little done in the way of conciliation gains his ear, and is always worth having. For there is no great inclination or readiness on the part of mankind to be made as good, or as quickly good, as possible. The case of the many proves the wisdom of Hesiod, who says that the road to wickedness is smooth and can be travelled without perspiring, because it is so very short:

‘But before virtue the immortal Gods have placed the sweat of labour, and long and steep is the way thither, and rugged at first; but when you have reached the top, although difficult before, it is then easy.’ (Works and Days.)

CLEINIAS: Yes; and he certainly speaks well.

ATHENIAN: Very true: and now let me tell you the effect which the preceding discourse has had upon me.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: Suppose that we have a little conversation with the legislator, and say to him— ‘O, legislator, speak; if you know what we ought to say and do, you can surely tell.’

CLEINIAS: Of course he can.

ATHENIAN: ‘Did we not hear you just now saying, that the legislator ought not to allow the poets to do what they liked? For that they would not know in which of their words they went against the laws, to the hurt of the state.’

CLEINIAS: That is true.

ATHENIAN: May we not fairly make answer to him on behalf of the poets?

CLEINIAS: What answer shall we make to him?

ATHENIAN: That the poet, according to the tradition which has ever prevailed among us, and is accepted of all men, when he sits down on the tripod of the muse, is not in his right mind; like a fountain, he allows to flow out freely whatever comes in, and his art being imitative, he is often compelled to represent men of opposite dispositions, and thus to contradict himself; neither can he tell whether there is more truth in one thing that he has said than in another. This is not the case in a law; the legislator must give not two rules about the same thing, but one only. Take an example from what you have just been saying. Of three kinds of funerals, there is one which is too extravagant, another is too niggardly, the third in a mean; and you choose and approve and order the last without qualification. But if I had an extremely rich wife, and she bade me bury her and describe her burial in a poem, I should praise the extravagant sort; and a poor miserly man, who had not much money to spend, would approve of the niggardly; and the man of moderate means, who was himself moderate, would praise a moderate funeral. Now you in the capacity of legislator must not barely say ‘a moderate funeral,’ but you must define what moderation is, and how much; unless you are definite, you must not suppose that you are speaking a language that can become law.

CLEINIAS: Certainly not.

ATHENIAN: And is our legislator to have no preface to his laws, but to say at once Do this, avoid that — and then holding the penalty in terrorem, to go on to another law; offering never a word of advice or exhortation to those for whom he is legislating, after the manner of some doctors? For of doctors, as I may remind you, some have a gentler, others a ruder method of cure; and as children ask the doctor to be gentle with them, so we will ask the legislator to cure our disorders with the gentlest remedies. What I mean to say is, that besides doctors there are doctors’ servants, who are also styled doctors.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And whether they are slaves or freemen makes no difference; they acquire their knowledge of medicine by obeying and observing their masters; empirically and not according to the natural way of learning, as the manner of freemen is, who have learned scientifically themselves the art which they impart scientifically to their pupils. You are aware that there are these two classes of doctors?

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: And did you ever observe that there are two classes of patients in states, slaves and freemen; and the slave doctors run about and cure the slaves, or wait for them in the dispensaries — practitioners of this sort never talk to their patients individually, or let them talk about their own individual complaints? The slave doctor prescribes what mere experience suggests, as if he had exact knowledge; and when he has given his orders, like a tyrant, he rushes off with equal assurance to some other servant who is ill; and so he relieves the master of the house of the care of his invalid slaves. But the other doctor, who is a freeman, attends and practices upon freemen; and he carries his enquiries far back, and goes into the nature of the disorder; he enters into discourse with the patient and with his friends, and is at once getting information from the sick man, and also instructing him as far as he is able, and he will not prescribe for him until he has first convinced him; at last, when he has brought the patient more and more under his persuasive influences and set him on the road to health, he attempts to effect a cure. Now which is the better way of proceeding in a physician and in a trainer? Is he the better who accomplishes his ends in a double way, or he who works in one way, and that the ruder and inferior?

CLEINIAS: I should say, Stranger, that the double way is far better.

ATHENIAN: Should you like to see an example of the double and single method in legislation?

CLEINIAS: Certainly I should.

ATHENIAN: What will be our first law? Will not the legislator, observing the order of nature, begin by making regulations for states about births?

CLEINIAS: He will.

ATHENIAN: In all states the birth of children goes back to the connexion of marriage?

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And, according to the true order, the laws relating to marriage should be those which are first determined in every state?

CLEINIAS: Quite so.

ATHENIAN: Then let me first give the law of marriage in a simple form; it may run as follows: — A man shall marry between the ages of thirty and thirty-five, or, if he does not, he shall pay such and such a fine, or shall suffer the loss of such and such privileges. This would be the simple law about marriage. The double law would run thus: — A man shall marry between the ages of thirty and thirty-five, considering that in a manner the human race naturally partakes of immortality, which every man is by nature inclined to desire to the utmost; for the desire of every man that he may become famous, and not lie in the grave without a name, is only the love of continuance. Now mankind are coeval with all time, and are ever following, and will ever follow, the course of time; and so they are immortal, because they leave children’s children behind them, and partake of immortality in the unity of generation. And for a man voluntarily to deprive himself of this gift, as he deliberately does who will not have a wife or children, is impiety. He who obeys the law shall be free, and shall pay no fine; but he who is disobedient, and does not marry, when he has arrived at the age of thirty-five, shall pay a yearly fine of a certain amount, in order that he may not imagine his celibacy to bring ease and profit to him; and he shall not share in the honours which the young men in the state give to the aged. Comparing now the two forms of the law, you will be able to arrive at a judgment about any other laws — whether they should be double in length even when shortest, because they have to persuade as well as threaten, or whether they shall only threaten and be of half the length.

MEGILLUS: The shorter form, Stranger, would be more in accordance with Lacedaemonian custom; although, for my own part, if any one were to ask me which I myself prefer in the state, I should certainly determine in favour of the longer; and I would have every law made after the same pattern, if I had to choose. But I think that Cleinias is the person to be consulted, for his is the state which is going to use these laws.

CLEINIAS: Thank you, Megillus.

ATHENIAN: Whether, in the abstract, words are to be many or few, is a very foolish question; the best form, and not the shortest, is to be approved; nor is length at all to be regarded. Of the two forms of law which have been recited, the one is not only twice as good in practical usefulness as the other, but the case is like that of the two kinds of doctors, which I was just now mentioning. And yet legislators never appear to have considered that they have two instruments which they might use in legislation — persuasion and force; for in dealing with the rude and uneducated multitude, they use the one only as far as they can; they do not mingle persuasion with coercion, but employ force pure and simple. Moreover, there is a third point, sweet friends, which ought to be, and never is, regarded in our existing laws.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: A point arising out of our previous discussion, which comes into my mind in some mysterious way. All this time, from early dawn until noon, have we been talking about laws in this charming retreat: now we are going to promulgate our laws, and what has preceded was only the prelude of them. Why do I mention this? For this reason: — Because all discourses and vocal exercises have preludes and overtures, which are a sort of artistic beginnings intended to help the strain which is to be performed; lyric measures and music of every other kind have preludes framed with wonderful care. But of the truer and higher strain of law and politics, no one has ever yet uttered any prelude, or composed or published any, as though there was no such thing in nature. Whereas our present discussion seems to me to imply that there is; — these double laws, of which we were speaking, are not exactly double, but they are in two parts, the law and the prelude of the law. The arbitrary command, which was compared to the commands of doctors, whom we described as of the meaner sort, was the law pure and simple; and that which preceded, and was described by our friend here as being hortatory only, was, although in fact, an exhortation, likewise analogous to the preamble of a discourse. For I imagine that all this language of conciliation, which the legislator has been uttering in the preface of the law, was intended to create good-will in the person whom he addressed, in order that, by reason of this good-will, he might more intelligently receive his command, that is to say, the law. And therefore, in my way of speaking, this is more rightly described as the preamble than as the matter of the law. And I must further proceed to observe, that to all his laws, and to each separately, the legislator should prefix a preamble; he should remember how great will be the difference between them, according as they have, or have not, such preambles, as in the case already given.

CLEINIAS: The lawgiver, if he asks my opinion, will certainly legislate in the form which you advise.

ATHENIAN: I think that you are right, Cleinias, in affirming that all laws have preambles, and that throughout the whole of this work of legislation every single law should have a suitable preamble at the beginning; for that which is to follow is most important, and it makes all the difference whether we clearly remember the preambles or not. Yet we should be wrong in requiring that all laws, small and great alike, should have preambles of the same kind, any more than all songs or speeches; although they may be natural to all, they are not always necessary, and whether they are to be employed or not has in each case to be left to the judgment of the speaker or the musician, or, in the present instance, of the lawgiver.

CLEINIAS: That I think is most true. And now, Stranger, without delay let us return to the argument, and, as people say in play, make a second and better beginning, if you please, with the principles which we have been laying down, which we never thought of regarding as a preamble before, but of which we may now make a preamble, and not merely consider them to be chance topics of discourse. Let us acknowledge, then, that we have a preamble. About the honour of the Gods and the respect of parents, enough has been already said; and we may proceed to the topics which follow next in order, until the preamble is deemed by you to be complete; and after that you shall go through the laws themselves.

ATHENIAN: I understand you to mean that we have made a sufficient preamble about Gods and demigods, and about parents living or dead; and now you would have us bring the rest of the subject into the light of day?

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: After this, as is meet and for the interest of us all, I the speaker, and you the listeners, will try to estimate all that relates to the souls and bodies and properties of the citizens, as regards both their occupations and amusements, and thus arrive, as far as in us lies, at the nature of education. These then are the topics which follow next in order.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

BOOK V.

ATHENIAN: Listen, all ye who have just now heard the laws about Gods, and about our dear forefathers: — Of all the things which a man has, next to the Gods, his soul is the most divine and most truly his own. Now in every man there are two parts: the better and superior, which rules, and the worse and inferior, which serves; and the ruling part of him is always to be preferred to the subject. Wherefore I am right in bidding every one next to the Gods, who are our masters, and those who in order follow them (i.e. the demons), to honour his own soul, which every one seems to honour, but no one honours as he ought; for honour is a divine good, and no evil thing is honourable; and he who thinks that he can honour the soul by word or gift, or any sort of compliance, without making her in any way better, seems to honour her, but honours her not at all. For example, every man, from his very boyhood, fancies that he is able to know everything, and thinks that he honours his soul by praising her, and he is very ready to let her do whatever she may like. But I mean to say that in acting thus he injures his soul, and is far from honouring her; whereas, in our opinion, he ought to honour her as second only to the Gods. Again, when a man thinks that others are to be blamed, and not himself, for the errors which he has committed from time to time, and the many and great evils which befell him in consequence, and is always fancying himself to be exempt and innocent, he is under the idea that he is honouring his soul; whereas the very reverse is the fact, for he is really injuring her. And when, disregarding the word and approval of the legislator, he indulges in pleasure, then again he is far from honouring her; he only dishonours her, and fills her full of evil and remorse; or when he does not endure to the end the labours and fears and sorrows and pains which the legislator approves, but gives way before them, then, by yielding, he does not honour the soul, but by all such conduct he makes her to be dishonourable; nor when he thinks that life at any price is a good, does he honour her, but yet once more he dishonours her; for the soul having a notion that the world below is all evil, he yields to her, and does not resist and teach or convince her that, for aught she knows, the world of the Gods below, instead of being evil, may be the greatest of all goods. Again, when any one prefers beauty to virtue, what is this but the real and utter dishonour of the soul? For such a preference implies that the body is more honourable than the soul; and this is false, for there is nothing of earthly birth which is more honourable than the heavenly, and he who thinks otherwise of the soul has no idea how greatly he undervalues this wonderful possession; nor, again, when a person is willing, or not unwilling, to acquire dishonest gains, does he then honour his soul with gifts — far otherwise; he sells her glory and honour for a small piece of gold; but all the gold which is under or upon the earth is not enough to give in exchange for virtue. In a word, I may say that he who does not estimate the base and evil, the good and noble, according to the standard of the legislator, and abstain in every possible way from the one and practise the other to the utmost of his power, does not know that in all these respects he is most foully and disgracefully abusing his soul, which is the divinest part of man; for no one, as I may say, ever considers that which is declared to be the greatest penalty of evil-doing — namely, to grow into the likeness of bad men, and growing like them to fly from the conversation of the good, and be cut off from them, and cleave to and follow after the company of the bad. And he who is joined to them must do and suffer what such men by nature do and say to one another, — a suffering which is not justice but retribution; for justice and the just are noble, whereas retribution is the suffering which waits upon injustice; and whether a man escape or endure this, he is miserable, — in the former case, because he is not cured; while in the latter, he perishes in order that the rest of mankind may be saved.

Speaking generally, our glory is to follow the better and improve the inferior, which is susceptible of improvement, as far as this is possible. And of all human possessions, the soul is by nature most inclined to avoid the evil, and track out and find the chief good; which when a man has found, he should take up his abode with it during the remainder of his life. Wherefore the soul also is second (or next to God) in honour; and third, as every one will perceive, comes the honour of the body in natural order. Having determined this, we have next to consider that there is a natural honour of the body, and that of honours some are true and some are counterfeit. To decide which are which is the business of the legislator; and he, I suspect, would intimate that they are as follows: — Honour is not to be given to the fair body, or to the strong or the swift or the tall, or to the healthy body (although many may think otherwise), any more than to their opposites; but the mean states of all these habits are by far the safest and most moderate; for the one extreme makes the soul braggart and insolent, and the other, illiberal and base; and money, and property, and distinction all go to the same tune. The excess of any of these things is apt to be a source of hatreds and divisions among states and individuals; and the defect of them is commonly a cause of slavery. And, therefore, I would not have any one fond of heaping up riches for the sake of his children, in order that he may leave them as rich as possible. For the possession of great wealth is of no use, either to them or to the state. The condition of youth which is free from flattery, and at the same time not in need of the necessaries of life, is the best and most harmonious of all, being in accord and agreement with our nature, and making life to be most entirely free from sorrow. Let parents, then, bequeath to their children not a heap of riches, but the spirit of reverence. We, indeed, fancy that they will inherit reverence from us, if we rebuke them when they show a want of reverence. But this quality is not really imparted to them by the present style of admonition, which only tells them that the young ought always to be reverential. A sensible legislator will rather exhort the elders to reverence the younger, and above all to take heed that no young man sees or hears one of themselves doing or saying anything disgraceful; for where old men have no shame, there young men will most certainly be devoid of reverence. The best way of training the young is to train yourself at the same time; not to admonish them, but to be always carrying out your own admonitions in practice. He who honours his kindred, and reveres those who share in the same Gods and are of the same blood and family, may fairly expect that the Gods who preside over generation will be propitious to him, and will quicken his seed. And he who deems the services which his friends and acquaintances do for him, greater and more important than they themselves deem them, and his own favours to them less than theirs to him, will have their good-will in the intercourse of life. And surely in his relations to the state and his fellow citizens, he is by far the best, who rather than the Olympic or any other victory of peace or war, desires to win the palm of obedience to the laws of his country, and who, of all mankind, is the person reputed to have obeyed them best through life. In his relations to strangers, a man should consider that a contract is a most holy thing, and that all concerns and wrongs of strangers are more directly dependent on the protection of God, than wrongs done to citizens; for the stranger, having no kindred and friends, is more to be pitied by Gods and men. Wherefore, also, he who is most able to avenge him is most zealous in his cause; and he who is most able is the genius and the god of the stranger, who follow in the train of Zeus, the god of strangers. And for this reason, he who has a spark of caution in him, will do his best to pass through life without sinning against the stranger. And of offences committed, whether against strangers or fellow-countrymen, that against suppliants is the greatest. For the God who witnessed to the agreement made with the suppliant, becomes in a special manner the guardian of the sufferer; and he will certainly not suffer unavenged.

Thus we have fairly described the manner in which a man is to act about his parents, and himself, and his own affairs; and in relation to the state, and his friends, and kindred, both in what concerns his own countrymen, and in what concerns the stranger. We will now consider what manner of man he must be who would best pass through life in respect of those other things which are not matters of law, but of praise and blame only; in which praise and blame educate a man, and make him more tractable and amenable to the laws which are about to be imposed.

Truth is the beginning of every good thing, both to Gods and men; and he who would be blessed and happy, should be from the first a partaker of the truth, that he may live a true man as long as possible, for then he can be trusted; but he is not to be trusted who loves voluntary falsehood, and he who loves involuntary falsehood is a fool. Neither condition is enviable, for the untrustworthy and ignorant has no friend, and as time advances he becomes known, and lays up in store for himself isolation in crabbed age when life is on the wane: so that, whether his children or friends are alive or not, he is equally solitary. — Worthy of honour is he who does no injustice, and of more than twofold honour, if he not only does no injustice himself, but hinders others from doing any; the first may count as one man, the second is worth many men, because he informs the rulers of the injustice of others. And yet more highly to be esteemed is he who co-operates with the rulers in correcting the citizens as far as he can — he shall be proclaimed the great and perfect citizen, and bear away the palm of virtue. The same praise may be given about temperance and wisdom, and all other goods which may be imparted to others, as well as acquired by a man for himself; he who imparts them shall be honoured as the man of men, and he who is willing, yet is not able, may be allowed the second place; but he who is jealous and will not, if he can help, allow others to partake in a friendly way of any good, is deserving of blame: the good, however, which he has, is not to be undervalued by us because it is possessed by him, but must be acquired by us also to the utmost of our power. Let every man, then, freely strive for the prize of virtue, and let there be no envy. For the unenvious nature increases the greatness of states — he himself contends in the race, blasting the fair fame of no man; but the envious, who thinks that he ought to get the better by defaming others, is less energetic himself in the pursuit of true virtue, and reduces his rivals to despair by his unjust slanders of them. And so he makes the whole city to enter the arena untrained in the practice of virtue, and diminishes her glory as far as in him lies. Now every man should be valiant, but he should also be gentle. From the cruel, or hardly curable, or altogether incurable acts of injustice done to him by others, a man can only escape by fighting and defending himself and conquering, and by never ceasing to punish them; and no man who is not of a noble spirit is able to accomplish this. As to the actions of those who do evil, but whose evil is curable, in the first place, let us remember that the unjust man is not unjust of his own free will. For no man of his own free will would choose to possess the greatest of evils, and least of all in the most honourable part of himself. And the soul, as we said, is of a truth deemed by all men the most honourable. In the soul, then, which is the most honourable part of him, no one, if he could help, would admit, or allow to continue the greatest of evils (compare Republic). The unrighteous and vicious are always to be pitied in any case; and one can afford to forgive as well as pity him who is curable, and refrain and calm one’s anger, not getting into a passion, like a woman, and nursing ill-feeling. But upon him who is incapable of reformation and wholly evil, the vials of our wrath should be poured out; wherefore I say that good men ought, when occasion demands, to be both gentle and passionate.

Of all evils the greatest is one which in the souls of most men is innate, and which a man is always excusing in himself and never correcting; I mean, what is expressed in the saying that ‘Every man by nature is and ought to be his own friend.’ Whereas the excessive love of self is in reality the source to each man of all offences; for the lover is blinded about the beloved, so that he judges wrongly of the just, the good, and the honourable, and thinks that he ought always to prefer himself to the truth. But he who would be a great man ought to regard, not himself or his interests, but what is just, whether the just act be his own or that of another. Through a similar error men are induced to fancy that their own ignorance is wisdom, and thus we who may be truly said to know nothing, think that we know all things; and because we will not let others act for us in what we do not know, we are compelled to act amiss ourselves. Wherefore let every man avoid excess of self-love, and condescend to follow a better man than himself, not allowing any false shame to stand in the way. There are also minor precepts which are often repeated, and are quite as useful; a man should recollect them and remind himself of them. For when a stream is flowing out, there should be water flowing in too; and recollection flows in while wisdom is departing. Therefore I say that a man should refrain from excess either of laughter or tears, and should exhort his neighbour to do the same; he should veil his immoderate sorrow or joy, and seek to behave with propriety, whether the genius of his good fortune remains with him, or whether at the crisis of his fate, when he seems to be mounting high and steep places, the Gods oppose him in some of his enterprises. Still he may ever hope, in the case of good men, that whatever afflictions are to befall them in the future God will lessen, and that present evils He will change for the better; and as to the goods which are the opposite of these evils, he will not doubt that they will be added to them, and that they will be fortunate. Such should be men’s hopes, and such should be the exhortations with which they admonish one another, never losing an opportunity, but on every occasion distinctly reminding themselves and others of all these things, both in jest and earnest.

Enough has now been said of divine matters, both as touching the practices which men ought to follow, and as to the sort of persons who they ought severally to be. But of human things we have not as yet spoken, and we must; for to men we are discoursing and not to Gods. Pleasures and pains and desires are a part of human nature, and on them every mortal being must of necessity hang and depend with the most eager interest. And therefore we must praise the noblest life, not only as the fairest in appearance, but as being one which, if a man will only taste, and not, while still in his youth, desert for another, he will find to surpass also in the very thing which we all of us desire, — I mean in having a greater amount of pleasure and less of pain during the whole of life. And this will be plain, if a man has a true taste of them, as will be quickly and clearly seen. But what is a true taste? That we have to learn from the argument — the point being what is according to nature, and what is not according to nature. One life must be compared with another, the more pleasurable with the more painful, after this manner: — We desire to have pleasure, but we neither desire nor choose pain; and the neutral state we are ready to take in exchange, not for pleasure but for pain; and we also wish for less pain and greater pleasure, but less pleasure and greater pain we do not wish for; and an equal balance of either we cannot venture to assert that we should desire. And all these differ or do not differ severally in number and magnitude and intensity and equality, and in the opposites of these when regarded as objects of choice, in relation to desire. And such being the necessary order of things, we wish for that life in which there are many great and intense elements of pleasure and pain, and in which the pleasures are in excess, and do not wish for that in which the opposites exceed; nor, again, do we wish for that in which the elements of either are small and few and feeble, and the pains exceed. And when, as I said before, there is a balance of pleasure and pain in life, this is to be regarded by us as the balanced life; while other lives are preferred by us because they exceed in what we like, or are rejected by us because they exceed in what we dislike. All the lives of men may be regarded by us as bound up in these, and we must also consider what sort of lives we by nature desire. And if we wish for any others, I say that we desire them only through some ignorance and inexperience of the lives which actually exist.

Now, what lives are they, and how many in which, having searched out and beheld the objects of will and desire and their opposites, and making of them a law, choosing, I say, the dear and the pleasant and the best and noblest, a man may live in the happiest way possible? Let us say that the temperate life is one kind of life, and the rational another, and the courageous another, and the healthful another; and to these four let us oppose four other lives — the foolish, the cowardly, the intemperate, the diseased. He who knows the temperate life will describe it as in all things gentle, having gentle pains and gentle pleasures, and placid desires and loves not insane; whereas the intemperate life is impetuous in all things, and has violent pains and pleasures, and vehement and stinging desires, and loves utterly insane; and in the temperate life the pleasures exceed the pains, but in the intemperate life the pains exceed the pleasures in greatness and number and frequency. Hence one of the two lives is naturally and necessarily more pleasant and the other more painful, and he who would live pleasantly cannot possibly choose to live intemperately. And if this is true, the inference clearly is that no man is voluntarily intemperate; but that the whole multitude of men lack temperance in their lives, either from ignorance, or from want of self-control, or both. And the same holds of the diseased and healthy life; they both have pleasures and pains, but in health the pleasure exceeds the pain, and in sickness the pain exceeds the pleasure. Now our intention in choosing the lives is not that the painful should exceed, but the life in which pain is exceeded by pleasure we have determined to be the more pleasant life. And we should say that the temperate life has the elements both of pleasure and pain fewer and smaller and less frequent than the intemperate, and the wise life than the foolish life, and the life of courage than the life of cowardice; one of each pair exceeding in pleasure and the other in pain, the courageous surpassing the cowardly, and the wise exceeding the foolish. And so the one class of lives exceeds the other class in pleasure; the temperate and courageous and wise and healthy exceed the cowardly and foolish and intemperate and diseased lives; and generally speaking, that which has any virtue, whether of body or soul, is pleasanter than the vicious life, and far superior in beauty and rectitude and excellence and reputation, and causes him who lives accordingly to be infinitely happier than the opposite.

Enough of the preamble; and now the laws should follow; or, to speak more correctly, an outline of them. As, then, in the case of a web or any other tissue, the warp and the woof cannot be made of the same materials (compare Statesman), but the warp is necessarily superior as being stronger, and having a certain character of firmness, whereas the woof is softer and has a proper degree of elasticity; — in a similar manner those who are to hold great offices in states, should be distinguished truly in each case from those who have been but slenderly proven by education. Let us suppose that there are two parts in the constitution of a state — one the creation of offices, the other the laws which are assigned to them to administer.

But, before all this, comes the following consideration: — The shepherd or herdsman, or breeder of horses or the like, when he has received his animals will not begin to train them until he has first purified them in a manner which befits a community of animals; he will divide the healthy and unhealthy, and the good breed and the bad breed, and will send away the unhealthy and badly bred to other herds, and tend the rest, reflecting that his labours will be vain and have no effect, either on the souls or bodies of those whom nature and ill nurture have corrupted, and that they will involve in destruction the pure and healthy nature and being of every other animal, if he should neglect to purify them. Now the case of other animals is not so important — they are only worth introducing for the sake of illustration; but what relates to man is of the highest importance; and the legislator should make enquiries, and indicate what is proper for each one in the way of purification and of any other procedure. Take, for example, the purification of a city — there are many kinds of purification, some easier and others more difficult; and some of them, and the best and most difficult of them, the legislator, if he be also a despot, may be able to effect; but the legislator, who, not being a despot, sets up a new government and laws, even if he attempt the mildest of purgations, may think himself happy if he can complete his work. The best kind of purification is painful, like similar cures in medicine, involving righteous punishment and inflicting death or exile in the last resort. For in this way we commonly dispose of great sinners who are incurable, and are the greatest injury of the whole state. But the milder form of purification is as follows: — when men who have nothing, and are in want of food, show a disposition to follow their leaders in an attack on the property of the rich — these, who are the natural plague of the state, are sent away by the legislator in a friendly spirit as far as he is able; and this dismissal of them is euphemistically termed a colony. And every legislator should contrive to do this at once. Our present case, however, is peculiar. For there is no need to devise any colony or purifying separation under the circumstances in which we are placed. But as, when many streams flow together from many sources, whether springs or mountain torrents, into a single lake, we ought to attend and take care that the confluent waters should be perfectly clear, and in order to effect this, should pump and draw off and divert impurities, so in every political arrangement there may be trouble and danger. But, seeing that we are now only discoursing and not acting, let our selection be supposed to be completed, and the desired purity attained. Touching evil men, who want to join and be citizens of our state, after we have tested them by every sort of persuasion and for a sufficient time, we will prevent them from coming; but the good we will to the utmost of our ability receive as friends with open arms.

Another piece of good fortune must not be forgotten, which, as we were saying, the Heraclid colony had, and which is also ours, — that we have escaped division of land and the abolition of debts; for these are always a source of dangerous contention, and a city which is driven by necessity to legislate upon such matters can neither allow the old ways to continue, nor yet venture to alter them. We must have recourse to prayers, so to speak, and hope that a slight change may be cautiously effected in a length of time. And such a change can be accomplished by those who have abundance of land, and having also many debtors, are willing, in a kindly spirit, to share with those who are in want, sometimes remitting and sometimes giving, holding fast in a path of moderation, and deeming poverty to be the increase of a man’s desires and not the diminution of his property. For this is the great beginning of salvation to a state, and upon this lasting basis may be erected afterwards whatever political order is suitable under the circumstances; but if the change be based upon an unsound principle, the future administration of the country will be full of difficulties. That is a danger which, as I am saying, is escaped by us, and yet we had better say how, if we had not escaped, we might have escaped; and we may venture now to assert that no other way of escape, whether narrow or broad, can be devised but freedom from avarice and a sense of justice — upon this rock our city shall be built; for there ought to be no disputes among citizens about property. If there are quarrels of long standing among them, no legislator of any degree of sense will proceed a step in the arrangement of the state until they are settled. But that they to whom God has given, as He has to us, to be the founders of a new state as yet free from enmity — that they should create themselves enmities by their mode of distributing lands and houses, would be superhuman folly and wickedness.

How then can we rightly order the distribution of the land? In the first place, the number of the citizens has to be determined, and also the number and size of the divisions into which they will have to be formed; and the land and the houses will then have to be apportioned by us as fairly as we can. The number of citizens can only be estimated satisfactorily in relation to the territory and the neighbouring states. The territory must be sufficient to maintain a certain number of inhabitants in a moderate way of life — more than this is not required; and the number of citizens should be sufficient to defend themselves against the injustice of their neighbours, and also to give them the power of rendering efficient aid to their neighbours when they are wronged. After having taken a survey of their’s and their neighbours’ territory, we will determine the limits of them in fact as well as in theory. And now, let us proceed to legislate with a view to perfecting the form and outline of our state. The number of our citizens shall be 5040 — this will be a convenient number; and these shall be owners of the land and protectors of the allotment. The houses and the land will be divided in the same way, so that every man may correspond to a lot. Let the whole number be first divided into two parts, and then into three; and the number is further capable of being divided into four or five parts, or any number of parts up to ten. Every legislator ought to know so much arithmetic as to be able to tell what number is most likely to be useful to all cities; and we are going to take that number which contains the greatest and most regular and unbroken series of divisions. The whole of number has every possible division, and the number 5040 can be divided by exactly fifty-nine divisors, and ten of these proceed without interval from one to ten: this will furnish numbers for war and peace, and for all contracts and dealings, including taxes and divisions of the land. These properties of number should be ascertained at leisure by those who are bound by law to know them; for they are true, and should be proclaimed at the foundation of the city, with a view to use. Whether the legislator is establishing a new state or restoring an old and decayed one, in respect of Gods and temples, — the temples which are to be built in each city, and the Gods or demi-gods after whom they are to be called, — if he be a man of sense, he will make no change in anything which the oracle of Delphi, or Dodona, or the God Ammon, or any ancient tradition has sanctioned in whatever manner, whether by apparitions or reputed inspiration of Heaven, in obedience to which mankind have established sacrifices in connexion with mystic rites, either originating on the spot, or derived from Tyrrhenia or Cyprus or some other place, and on the strength of which traditions they have consecrated oracles and images, and altars and temples, and portioned out a sacred domain for each of them. The least part of all these ought not to be disturbed by the legislator; but he should assign to the several districts some God, or demi-god, or hero, and, in the distribution of the soil, should give to these first their chosen domain and all things fitting, that the inhabitants of the several districts may meet at fixed times, and that they may readily supply their various wants, and entertain one another with sacrifices, and become friends and acquaintances; for there is no greater good in a state than that the citizens should be known to one another. When not light but darkness and ignorance of each other’s characters prevails among them, no one will receive the honour of which he is deserving, or the power or the justice to which he is fairly entitled: wherefore, in every state, above all things, every man should take heed that he have no deceit in him, but that he be always true and simple; and that no deceitful person take any advantage of him.

The next move in our pastime of legislation, like the withdrawal of the stone from the holy line in the game of draughts, being an unusual one, will probably excite wonder when mentioned for the first time. And yet, if a man will only reflect and weigh the matter with care, he will see that our city is ordered in a manner which, if not the best, is the second best. Perhaps also some one may not approve this form, because he thinks that such a constitution is ill adapted to a legislator who has not despotic power. The truth is, that there are three forms of government, the best, the second and the third best, which we may just mention, and then leave the selection to the ruler of the settlement. Following this method in the present instance, let us speak of the states which are respectively first, second, and third in excellence, and then we will leave the choice to Cleinias now, or to any one else who may hereafter have to make a similar choice among constitutions, and may desire to give to his state some feature which is congenial to him and which he approves in his own country.

The first and highest form of the state and of the government and of the law is that in which there prevails most widely the ancient saying, that ‘Friends have all things in common.’ Whether there is anywhere now, or will ever be, this communion of women and children and of property, in which the private and individual is altogether banished from life, and things which are by nature private, such as eyes and ears and hands, have become common, and in some way see and hear and act in common, and all men express praise and blame and feel joy and sorrow on the same occasions, and whatever laws there are unite the city to the utmost (compare Republic), — whether all this is possible or not, I say that no man, acting upon any other principle, will ever constitute a state which will be truer or better or more exalted in virtue. Whether such a state is governed by Gods or sons of Gods, one, or more than one, happy are the men who, living after this manner, dwell there; and therefore to this we are to look for the pattern of the state, and to cling to this, and to seek with all our might for one which is like this. The state which we have now in hand, when created, will be nearest to immortality and the only one which takes the second place; and after that, by the grace of God, we will complete the third one. And we will begin by speaking of the nature and origin of the second.

Let the citizens at once distribute their land and houses, and not till the land in common, since a community of goods goes beyond their proposed origin, and nurture, and education. But in making the distribution, let the several possessors feel that their particular lots also belong to the whole city; and seeing that the earth is their parent, let them tend her more carefully than children do their mother. For she is a goddess and their queen, and they are her mortal subjects. Such also are the feelings which they ought to entertain to the Gods and demi-gods of the country. And in order that the distribution may always remain, they ought to consider further that the present number of families should be always retained, and neither increased nor diminished. This may be secured for the whole city in the following manner: — Let the possessor of a lot leave the one of his children who is his best beloved, and one only, to be the heir of his dwelling, and his successor in the duty of ministering to the Gods, the state and the family, as well the living members of it as those who are departed when he comes into the inheritance; but of his other children, if he have more than one, he shall give the females in marriage according to the law to be hereafter enacted, and the males he shall distribute as sons to those citizens who have no children, and are disposed to receive them; or if there should be none such, and particular individuals have too many children, male or female, or too few, as in the case of barrenness — in all these cases let the highest and most honourable magistracy created by us judge and determine what is to be done with the redundant or deficient, and devise a means that the number of 5040 houses shall always remain the same. There are many ways of regulating numbers; for they in whom generation is affluent may be made to refrain (compare Arist. Pol.), and, on the other hand, special care may be taken to increase the number of births by rewards and stigmas, or we may meet the evil by the elder men giving advice and administering rebuke to the younger — in this way the object may be attained. And if after all there be very great difficulty about the equal preservation of the 5040 houses, and there be an excess of citizens, owing to the too great love of those who live together, and we are at our wits’ end, there is still the old device often mentioned by us of sending out a colony, which will part friends with us, and be composed of suitable persons. If, on the other hand, there come a wave bearing a deluge of disease, or a plague of war, and the inhabitants become much fewer than the appointed number by reason of bereavement, we ought not to introduce citizens of spurious birth and education, if this can be avoided; but even God is said not to be able to fight against necessity.

Wherefore let us suppose this ‘high argument’ of ours to address us in the following terms: — Best of men, cease not to honour according to nature similarity and equality and sameness and agreement, as regards number and every good and noble quality. And, above all, observe the aforesaid number 5040 throughout life; in the second place, do not disparage the small and modest proportions of the inheritances which you received in the distribution, by buying and selling them to one another. For then neither will the God who gave you the lot be your friend, nor will the legislator; and indeed the law declares to the disobedient that these are the terms upon which he may or may not take the lot. In the first place, the earth as he is informed is sacred to the Gods; and in the next place, priests and priestesses will offer up prayers over a first, and second, and even a third sacrifice, that he who buys or sells the houses or lands which he has received, may suffer the punishment which he deserves; and these their prayers they shall write down in the temples, on tablets of cypress-wood, for the instruction of posterity. Moreover they will set a watch over all these things, that they may be observed; — the magistracy which has the sharpest eyes shall keep watch that any infringement of these commands may be discovered and punished as offences both against the law and the God. How great is the benefit of such an ordinance to all those cities, which obey and are administered accordingly, no bad man can ever know, as the old proverb says; but only a man of experience and good habits. For in such an order of things there will not be much opportunity for making money; no man either ought, or indeed will be allowed, to exercise any ignoble occupation, of which the vulgarity is a matter of reproach to a freeman, and should never want to acquire riches by any such means.

Further, the law enjoins that no private man shall be allowed to possess gold and silver, but only coin for daily use, which is almost necessary in dealing with artisans, and for payment of hirelings, whether slaves or immigrants, by all those persons who require the use of them. Wherefore our citizens, as we say, should have a coin passing current among themselves, but not accepted among the rest of mankind; with a view, however, to expeditions and journeys to other lands, — for embassies, or for any other occasion which may arise of sending out a herald, the state must also possess a common Hellenic currency. If a private person is ever obliged to go abroad, let him have the consent of the magistrates and go; and if when he returns he has any foreign money remaining, let him give the surplus back to the treasury, and receive a corresponding sum in the local currency. And if he is discovered to appropriate it, let it be confiscated, and let him who knows and does not inform be subject to curse and dishonour equally him who brought the money, and also to a fine not less in amount than the foreign money which has been brought back. In marrying and giving in marriage, no one shall give or receive any dowry at all; and no one shall deposit money with another whom he does not trust as a friend, nor shall he lend money upon interest; and the borrower should be under no obligation to repay either capital or interest. That these principles are best, any one may see who compares them with the first principle and intention of a state. The intention, as we affirm, of a reasonable statesman, is not what the many declare to be the object of a good legislator, namely, that the state for the true interests of which he is advising should be as great and as rich as possible, and should possess gold and silver, and have the greatest empire by sea and land; — this they imagine to be the real object of legislation, at the same time adding, inconsistently, that the true legislator desires to have the city the best and happiest possible. But they do not see that some of these things are possible, and some of them are impossible; and he who orders the state will desire what is possible, and will not indulge in vain wishes or attempts to accomplish that which is impossible. The citizen must indeed be happy and good, and the legislator will seek to make him so; but very rich and very good at the same time he cannot be, not, at least, in the sense in which the many speak of riches. For they mean by ‘the rich’ the few who have the most valuable possessions, although the owner of them may quite well be a rogue. And if this is true, I can never assent to the doctrine that the rich man will be happy — he must be good as well as rich. And good in a high degree, and rich in a high degree at the same time, he cannot be. Some one will ask, why not? And we shall answer — Because acquisitions which come from sources which are just and unjust indifferently, are more than double those which come from just sources only; and the sums which are expended neither honourably nor disgracefully, are only half as great as those which are expended honourably and on honourable purposes. Thus, if the one acquires double and spends half, the other who is in the opposite case and is a good man cannot possibly be wealthier than he. The first — I am speaking of the saver and not of the spender — is not always bad; he may indeed in some cases be utterly bad, but, as I was saying, a good man he never is. For he who receives money unjustly as well as justly, and spends neither nor unjustly, will be a rich man if he be also thrifty. On the other hand, the utterly bad is in general profligate, and therefore very poor; while he who spends on noble objects, and acquires wealth by just means only, can hardly be remarkable for riches, any more than he can be very poor. Our statement, then, is true, that the very rich are not good, and, if they are not good, they are not happy. But the intention of our laws was, that the citizens should be as happy as may be, and as friendly as possible to one another. And men who are always at law with one another, and amongst whom there are many wrongs done, can never be friends to one another, but only those among whom crimes and lawsuits are few and slight. Therefore we say that gold and silver ought not to be allowed in the city, nor much of the vulgar sort of trade which is carried on by lending money, or rearing the meaner kinds of live stock; but only the produce of agriculture, and only so much of this as will not compel us in pursuing it to neglect that for the sake of which riches exist — I mean, soul and body, which without gymnastics, and without education, will never be worth anything; and therefore, as we have said not once but many times, the care of riches should have the last place in our thoughts. For there are in all three things about which every man has an interest; and the interest about money, when rightly regarded, is the third and lowest of them: midway comes the interest of the body; and, first of all, that of the soul; and the state which we are describing will have been rightly constituted if it ordains honours according to this scale. But if, in any of the laws which have been ordained, health has been preferred to temperance, or wealth to health and temperate habits, that law must clearly be wrong. Wherefore, also, the legislator ought often to impress upon himself the question— ‘What do I want?’ and ‘Do I attain my aim, or do I miss the mark?’ In this way, and in this way only, he may acquit himself and free others from the work of legislation.

Let the allottee then hold his lot upon the conditions which we have mentioned.

It would be well that every man should come to the colony having all things equal; but seeing that this is not possible, and one man will have greater possessions than another, for many reasons and in particular in order to preserve equality in special crises of the state, qualifications of property must be unequal, in order that offices and contributions and distributions may be proportioned to the value of each person’s wealth, and not solely to the virtue of his ancestors or himself, nor yet to the strength and beauty of his person, but also to the measure of his wealth or poverty; and so by a law of inequality, which will be in proportion to his wealth, he will receive honours and offices as equally as possible, and there will be no quarrels and disputes. To which end there should be four different standards appointed according to the amount of property: there should be a first and a second and a third and a fourth class, in which the citizens will be placed, and they will be called by these or similar names: they may continue in the same rank, or pass into another in any individual case, on becoming richer from being poorer, or poorer from being richer. The form of law which I should propose as the natural sequel would be as follows: — In a state which is desirous of being saved from the greatest of all plagues — not faction, but rather distraction; — there should exist among the citizens neither extreme poverty, nor, again, excess of wealth, for both are productive of both these evils. Now the legislator should determine what is to be the limit of poverty or wealth. Let the limit of poverty be the value of the lot; this ought to be preserved, and no ruler, nor any one else who aspires after a reputation for virtue, will allow the lot to be impaired in any case. This the legislator gives as a measure, and he will permit a man to acquire double or triple, or as much as four times the amount of this (compare Arist. Pol.). But if a person have yet greater riches, whether he has found them, or they have been given to him, or he has made them in business, or has acquired by any stroke of fortune that which is in excess of the measure, if he give back the surplus to the state, and to the Gods who are the patrons of the state, he shall suffer no penalty or loss of reputation; but if he disobeys this our law, any one who likes may inform against him and receive half the value of the excess, and the delinquent shall pay a sum equal to the excess out of his own property, and the other half of the excess shall belong to the Gods. And let every possession of every man, with the exception of the lot, be publicly registered before the magistrates whom the law appoints, so that all suits about money may be easy and quite simple.

The next thing to be noted is, that the city should be placed as nearly as possible in the centre of the country; we should choose a place which possesses what is suitable for a city, and this may easily be imagined and described. Then we will divide the city into twelve portions, first founding temples to Hestia, to Zeus and to Athene, in a spot which we will call the Acropolis, and surround with a circular wall, making the division of the entire city and country radiate from this point. The twelve portions shall be equalized by the provision that those which are of good land shall be smaller, while those of inferior quality shall be larger. The number of the lots shall be 5040, and each of them shall be divided into two, and every allotment shall be composed of two such sections; one of land near the city, the other of land which is at a distance (compare Arist. Pol.). This arrangement shall be carried out in the following manner: The section which is near the city shall be added to that which is on the borders, and form one lot, and the portion which is next nearest shall be added to the portion which is next farthest; and so of the rest. Moreover, in the two sections of the lots the same principle of equalization of the soil ought to be maintained; the badness and goodness shall be compensated by more and less. And the legislator shall divide the citizens into twelve parts, and arrange the rest of their property, as far as possible, so as to form twelve equal parts; and there shall be a registration of all. After this they shall assign twelve lots to twelve Gods, and call them by their names, and dedicate to each God their several portions, and call the tribes after them. And they shall distribute the twelve divisions of the city in the same way in which they divided the country; and every man shall have two habitations, one in the centre of the country, and the other at the extremity. Enough of the manner of settlement.

Now we ought by all means to consider that there can never be such a happy concurrence of circumstances as we have described; neither can all things coincide as they are wanted. Men who will not take offence at such a mode of living together, and will endure all their life long to have their property fixed at a moderate limit, and to beget children in accordance with our ordinances, and will allow themselves to be deprived of gold and other things which the legislator, as is evident from these enactments, will certainly forbid them; and will endure, further, the situation of the land with the city in the middle and dwellings round about; — all this is as if the legislator were telling his dreams, or making a city and citizens of wax. There is truth in these objections, and therefore every one should take to heart what I am going to say. Once more, then, the legislator shall appear and address us:— ‘O my friends,’ he will say to us, ‘do not suppose me ignorant that there is a certain degree of truth in your words; but I am of opinion that, in matters which are not present but future, he who exhibits a pattern of that at which he aims, should in nothing fall short of the fairest and truest; and that if he finds any part of this work impossible of execution he should avoid and not execute it, but he should contrive to carry out that which is nearest and most akin to it; you must allow the legislator to perfect his design, and when it is perfected, you should join with him in considering what part of his legislation is expedient and what will arouse opposition; for surely the artist who is to be deemed worthy of any regard at all, ought always to make his work self-consistent.’

Having determined that there is to be a distribution into twelve parts, let us now see in what way this may be accomplished. There is no difficulty in perceiving that the twelve parts admit of the greatest number of divisions of that which they include, or in seeing the other numbers which are consequent upon them, and are produced out of them up to 5040; wherefore the law ought to order phratries and demes and villages, and also military ranks and movements, as well as coins and measures, dry and liquid, and weights, so as to be commensurable and agreeable to one another. Nor should we fear the appearance of minuteness, if the law commands that all the vessels which a man possesses should have a common measure, when we consider generally that the divisions and variations of numbers have a use in respect of all the variations of which they are susceptible, both in themselves and as measures of height and depth, and in all sounds, and in motions, as well those which proceed in a straight direction, upwards or downwards, as in those which go round and round. The legislator is to consider all these things and to bid the citizens, as far as possible, not to lose sight of numerical order; for no single instrument of youthful education has such mighty power, both as regards domestic economy and politics, and in the arts, as the study of arithmetic. Above all, arithmetic stirs up him who is by nature sleepy and dull, and makes him quick to learn, retentive, shrewd, and aided by art divine he makes progress quite beyond his natural powers (compare Republic). All such things, if only the legislator, by other laws and institutions, can banish meanness and covetousness from the souls of men, so that they can use them properly and to their own good, will be excellent and suitable instruments of education. But if he cannot, he will unintentionally create in them, instead of wisdom, the habit of craft, which evil tendency may be observed in the Egyptians and Phoenicians, and many other races, through the general vulgarity of their pursuits and acquisitions, whether some unworthy legislator of theirs has been the cause, or some impediment of chance or nature. For we must not fail to observe, O Megillus and Cleinias, that there is a difference in places, and that some beget better men and others worse; and we must legislate accordingly. Some places are subject to strange and fatal influences by reason of diverse winds and violent heats, some by reason of waters; or, again, from the character of the food given by the earth, which not only affects the bodies of men for good or evil, but produces similar results in their souls. And in all such qualities those spots excel in which there is a divine inspiration, and in which the demigods have their appointed lots, and are propitious, not adverse, to the settlers in them. To all these matters the legislator, if he have any sense in him, will attend as far as man can, and frame his laws accordingly. And this is what you, Cleinias, must do, and to matters of this kind you must turn your mind since you are going to colonize a new country.

CLEINIAS: Your words, Athenian Stranger, are excellent, and I will do as you say.

BOOK VI.

ATHENIAN: And now having made an end of the preliminaries we will proceed to the appointment of magistracies.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: In the ordering of a state there are two parts: first, the number of the magistracies, and the mode of establishing them; and, secondly, when they have been established, laws again will have to be provided for each of them, suitable in nature and number. But before electing the magistrates let us stop a little and say a word in season about the election of them.

CLEINIAS: What have you got to say?

ATHENIAN: This is what I have to say; — every one can see, that although the work of legislation is a most important matter, yet if a well-ordered city superadd to good laws unsuitable offices, not only will there be no use in having the good laws, — not only will they be ridiculous and useless, but the greatest political injury and evil will accrue from them.

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: Then now, my friend, let us observe what will happen in the constitution of out intended state. In the first place, you will acknowledge that those who are duly appointed to magisterial power, and their families, should severally have given satisfactory proof of what they are, from youth upward until the time of election; in the next place, those who are to elect should have been trained in habits of law, and be well educated, that they may have a right judgment, and may be able to select or reject men whom they approve or disapprove, as they are worthy of either. But how can we imagine that those who are brought together for the first time, and are strangers to one another, and also uneducated, will avoid making mistakes in the choice of magistrates?

CLEINIAS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: The matter is serious, and excuses will not serve the turn. I will tell you, then, what you and I will have to do, since you, as you tell me, with nine others, have offered to settle the new state on behalf of the people of Crete, and I am to help you by the invention of the present romance. I certainly should not like to leave the tale wandering all over the world without a head; — a headless monster is such a hideous thing.

CLEINIAS: Excellent, Stranger.

ATHENIAN: Yes; and I will be as good as my word.

CLEINIAS: Let us by all means do as you propose.

ATHENIAN: That we will, by the grace of God, if old age will only permit us.

CLEINIAS: But God will be gracious.

ATHENIAN: Yes; and under his guidance let us consider a further point.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: Let us remember what a courageously mad and daring creation this our city is.

CLEINIAS: What had you in your mind when you said that?

ATHENIAN: I had in my mind the free and easy manner in which we are ordaining that the inexperienced colonists shall receive our laws. Now a man need not be very wise, Cleinias, in order to see that no one can easily receive laws at their first imposition. But if we could anyhow wait until those who have been imbued with them from childhood, and have been nurtured in them, and become habituated to them, take their part in the public elections of the state; I say, if this could be accomplished, and rightly accomplished by any way or contrivance — then, I think that there would be very little danger, at the end of the time, of a state thus trained not being permanent.

CLEINIAS: A reasonable supposition.

ATHENIAN: Then let us consider if we can find any way out of the difficulty; for I maintain, Cleinias, that the Cnosians, above all the other Cretans, should not be satisfied with barely discharging their duty to the colony, but they ought to take the utmost pains to establish the offices which are first created by them in the best and surest manner. Above all, this applies to the selection of the guardians of the law, who must be chosen first of all, and with the greatest care; the others are of less importance.

CLEINIAS: What method can we devise of electing them?

ATHENIAN: This will be the method: — Sons of the Cretans, I shall say to them, inasmuch as the Cnosians have precedence over the other states, they should, in common with those who join this settlement, choose a body of thirty-seven in all, nineteen of them being taken from the settlers, and the remainder from the citizens of Cnosus. Of these latter the Cnosians shall make a present to your colony, and you yourself shall be one of the eighteen, and shall become a citizen of the new state; and if you and they cannot be persuaded to go, the Cnosians may fairly use a little violence in order to make you.

CLEINIAS: But why, Stranger, do not you and Megillus take a part in our new city?

ATHENIAN: O, Cleinias, Athens is proud, and Sparta too; and they are both a long way off. But you and likewise the other colonists are conveniently situated as you describe. I have been speaking of the way in which the new citizens may be best managed under present circumstances; but in after-ages, if the city continues to exist, let the election be on this wise. All who are horse or foot soldiers, or have seen military service at the proper ages when they were severally fitted for it (compare Arist. Pol.), shall share in the election of magistrates; and the election shall be held in whatever temple the state deems most venerable, and every one shall carry his vote to the altar of the God, writing down on a tablet the name of the person for whom he votes, and his father’s name, and his tribe, and ward; and at the side he shall write his own name in like manner. Any one who pleases may take away any tablet which he does not think properly filled up, and exhibit it in the Agora for a period of not less than thirty days. The tablets which are judged to be first, to the number of 300, shall be shown by the magistrates to the whole city, and the citizens shall in like manner select from these the candidates whom they prefer; and this second selection, to the number of 100, shall be again exhibited to the citizens; in the third, let any one who pleases select whom he pleases out of the 100, walking through the parts of victims, and let them choose for magistrates and proclaim the seven-and-thirty who have the greatest number of votes. But who, Cleinias and Megillus, will order for us in the colony all this matter of the magistrates, and the scrutinies of them? If we reflect, we shall see that cities which are in process of construction like ours must have some such persons, who cannot possibly be elected before there are any magistrates; and yet they must be elected in some way, and they are not to be inferior men, but the best possible. For as the proverb says, ‘a good beginning is half the business’; and ‘to have begun well’ is praised by all, and in my opinion is a great deal more than half the business, and has never been praised by any one enough.

CLEINIAS: That is very true.

ATHENIAN: Then let us recognize the difficulty, and make clear to our own minds how the beginning is to be accomplished. There is only one proposal which I have to offer, and that is one which, under our circumstances, is both necessary and expedient.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: I maintain that this colony of ours has a father and mother, who are no other than the colonizing state. Well I know that many colonies have been, and will be, at enmity with their parents. But in early days the child, as in a family, loves and is beloved; even if there come a time later when the tie is broken, still, while he is in want of education, he naturally loves his parents and is beloved by them, and flies to his relatives for protection, and finds in them his only natural allies in time of need; and this parental feeling already exists in the Cnosians, as is shown by their care of the new city; and there is a similar feeling on the part of the young city towards Cnosus. And I repeat what I was saying — for there is no harm in repeating a good thing — that the Cnosians should take a common interest in all these matters, and choose, as far as they can, the eldest and best of the colonists, to the number of not less than a hundred; and let there be another hundred of the Cnosians themselves. These, I say, on their arrival, should have a joint care that the magistrates should be appointed according to law, and that when they are appointed they should undergo a scrutiny. When this has been effected, the Cnosians shall return home, and the new city do the best she can for her own preservation and happiness. I would have the seven-and-thirty now, and in all future time, chosen to fulfil the following duties: — Let them, in the first place, be the guardians of the law; and, secondly, of the registers in which each one registers before the magistrate the amount of his property, excepting four minae which are allowed to citizens of the first class, three allowed to the second, two to the third, and a single mina to the fourth. And if any one, despising the laws for the sake of gain, be found to possess anything more which has not been registered, let all that he has in excess be confiscated, and let him be liable to a suit which shall be the reverse of honourable or fortunate. And let any one who will, indict him on the charge of loving base gains, and proceed against him before the guardians of the law. And if he be cast, let him lose his share of the public possessions, and when there is any public distribution, let him have nothing but his original lot; and let him be written down a condemned man as long as he lives, in some place in which any one who pleases can read about his offences. The guardian of the law shall not hold office longer than twenty years, and shall not be less than fifty years of age when he is elected; or if he is elected when he is sixty years of age, he shall hold office for ten years only; and upon the same principle, he must not imagine that he will be permitted to hold such an important office as that of guardian of the laws after he is seventy years of age, if he live so long.

These are the three first ordinances about the guardians of the law; as the work of legislation progresses, each law in turn will assign to them their further duties. And now we may proceed in order to speak of the election of other officers; for generals have to be elected, and these again must have their ministers, commanders, and colonels of horse, and commanders of brigades of foot, who would be more rightly called by their popular name of brigadiers. The guardians of the law shall propose as generals men who are natives of the city, and a selection from the candidates proposed shall be made by those who are or have been of the age for military service. And if one who is not proposed is thought by somebody to be better than one who is, let him name whom he prefers in the place of whom, and make oath that he is better, and propose him; and whichever of them is approved by vote shall be admitted to the final selection; and the three who have the greatest number of votes shall be appointed generals, and superintendents of military affairs, after previously undergoing a scrutiny, like the guardians of the law. And let the generals thus elected propose twelve brigadiers, one for each tribe; and there shall be a right of counter-proposal as in the case of the generals, and the voting and decision shall take place in the same way. Until the prytanes and council are elected, the guardians of the law shall convene the assembly in some holy spot which is suitable to the purpose, placing the hoplites by themselves, and the cavalry by themselves, and in a third division all the rest of the army. All are to vote for the generals (and for the colonels of horse), but the brigadiers are to be voted for only by those who carry shields (i.e. the hoplites). Let the body of cavalry choose phylarchs for the generals; but captains of light troops, or archers, or any other division of the army, shall be appointed by the generals for themselves. There only remains the appointment of officers of cavalry: these shall be proposed by the same persons who proposed the generals, and the election and the counter-proposal of other candidates shall be arranged in the same way as in the case of the generals, and let the cavalry vote and the infantry look on at the election; the two who have the greatest number of votes shall be the leaders of all the horse. Disputes about the voting may be raised once or twice; but if the dispute be raised a third time, the officers who preside at the several elections shall decide.

The council shall consist of 30 x 12 members — 360 will be a convenient number for sub-division. If we divide the whole number into four parts of ninety each, we get ninety counsellors for each class. First, all the citizens shall select candidates from the first class; they shall be compelled to vote, and, if they do not, shall be duly fined. When the candidates have been selected, some one shall mark them down; this shall be the business of the first day. And on the following day, candidates shall be selected from the second class in the same manner and under the same conditions as on the previous day; and on the third day a selection shall be made from the third class, at which every one may, if he likes vote, and the three first classes shall be compelled to vote; but the fourth and lowest class shall be under no compulsion, and any member of this class who does not vote shall not be punished. On the fourth day candidates shall be selected from the fourth and smallest class; they shall be selected by all, but he who is of the fourth class shall suffer no penalty, nor he who is of the third, if he be not willing to vote; but he who is of the first or second class, if he does not vote shall be punished; — he who is of the second class shall pay a fine of triple the amount which was exacted at first, and he who is of the first class quadruple. On the fifth day the rulers shall bring out the names noted down, for all the citizens to see, and every man shall choose out of them, under pain, if he do not, of suffering the first penalty; and when they have chosen 180 out of each of the classes, they shall choose one-half of them by lot, who shall undergo a scrutiny: — These are to form the council for the year.

The mode of election which has been described is in a mean between monarchy and democracy, and such a mean the state ought always to observe; for servants and masters never can be friends, nor good and bad, merely because they are declared to have equal privileges. For to unequals equals become unequal, if they are not harmonised by measure; and both by reason of equality, and by reason of inequality, cities are filled with seditions. The old saying, that ‘equality makes friendship,’ is happy and also true; but there is obscurity and confusion as to what sort of equality is meant. For there are two equalities which are called by the same name, but are in reality in many ways almost the opposite of one another; one of them may be introduced without difficulty, by any state or any legislator in the distribution of honours: this is the rule of measure, weight, and number, which regulates and apportions them. But there is another equality, of a better and higher kind, which is not so easily recognized. This is the judgment of Zeus; among men it avails but little; that little, however, is the source of the greatest good to individuals and states. For it gives to the greater more, and to the inferior less and in proportion to the nature of each; and, above all, greater honour always to the greater virtue, and to the less less; and to either in proportion to their respective measure of virtue and education. And this is justice, and is ever the true principle of states, at which we ought to aim, and according to this rule order the new city which is now being founded, and any other city which may be hereafter founded. To this the legislator should look, — not to the interests of tyrants one or more, or to the power of the people, but to justice always; which, as I was saying, is the distribution of natural equality among unequals in each case. But there are times at which every state is compelled to use the words, ‘just,’ ‘equal,’ in a secondary sense, in the hope of escaping in some degree from factions. For equity and indulgence are infractions of the perfect and strict rule of justice. And this is the reason why we are obliged to use the equality of the lot, in order to avoid the discontent of the people; and so we invoke God and fortune in our prayers, and beg that they themselves will direct the lot with a view to supreme justice. And therefore, although we are compelled to use both equalities, we should use that into which the element of chance enters as seldom as possible.

Thus, O my friends, and for the reasons given, should a state act which would endure and be saved. But as a ship sailing on the sea has to be watched night and day, in like manner a city also is sailing on a sea of politics, and is liable to all sorts of insidious assaults; and therefore from morning to night, and from night to morning, rulers must join hands with rulers, and watchers with watchers, receiving and giving up their trust in a perpetual succession. Now a multitude can never fulfil a duty of this sort with anything like energy. Moreover, the greater number of the senators will have to be left during the greater part of the year to order their concerns at their own homes. They will therefore have to be arranged in twelve portions, answering to the twelve months, and furnish guardians of the state, each portion for a single month. Their business is to be at hand and receive any foreigner or citizen who comes to them, whether to give information, or to put one of those questions, to which, when asked by other cities, a city should give an answer, and to which, if she ask them herself, she should receive an answer; or again, when there is a likelihood of internal commotions, which are always liable to happen in some form or other, they will, if they can, prevent their occurring; or if they have already occurred, will lose no time in making them known to the city, and healing the evil. Wherefore, also, this which is the presiding body of the state ought always to have the control of their assemblies, and of the dissolutions of them, ordinary as well as extraordinary. All this is to be ordered by the twelfth part of the council, which is always to keep watch together with the other officers of the state during one portion of the year, and to rest during the remaining eleven portions.

Thus will the city be fairly ordered. And now, who is to have the superintendence of the country, and what shall be the arrangement? Seeing that the whole city and the entire country have been both of them divided into twelve portions, ought there not to be appointed superintendents of the streets of the city, and of the houses, and buildings, and harbours, and the agora, and fountains, and sacred domains, and temples, and the like?

CLEINIAS: To be sure there ought.

ATHENIAN: Let us assume, then, that there ought to be servants of the temples, and priests and priestesses. There must also be superintendents of roads and buildings, who will have a care of men, that they may do no harm, and also of beasts, both within the enclosure and in the suburbs. Three kinds of officers will thus have to be appointed, in order that the city may be suitably provided according to her needs. Those who have the care of the city shall be called wardens of the city; and those who have the care of the agora shall be called wardens of the agora; and those who have the care of the temples shall be called priests. Those who hold hereditary offices as priests or priestesses, shall not be disturbed; but if there be few or none such, as is probable at the foundation of a new city, priests and priestesses shall be appointed to be servants of the Gods who have no servants. Some of our officers shall be elected, and others appointed by lot, those who are of the people and those who are not of the people mingling in a friendly manner in every place and city, that the state may be as far as possible of one mind. The officers of the temples shall be appointed by lot; in this way their election will be committed to God, that He may do what is agreeable to Him. And he who obtains a lot shall undergo a scrutiny, first, as to whether he is sound of body and of legitimate birth; and in the second place, in order to show that he is of a perfectly pure family, not stained with homicide or any similar impiety in his own person, and also that his father and mother have led a similar unstained life. Now the laws about all divine things should be brought from Delphi, and interpreters appointed, under whose direction they should be used. The tenure of the priesthood should always be for a year and no longer; and he who will duly execute the sacred office, according to the laws of religion, must be not less than sixty years of age — the laws shall be the same about priestesses. As for the interpreters, they shall be appointed thus: — Let the twelve tribes be distributed into groups of four, and let each group select four, one out of each tribe within the group, three times; and let the three who have the greatest number of votes (out of the twelve appointed by each group), after undergoing a scrutiny, nine in all, be sent to Delphi, in order that the God may return one out of each triad; their age shall be the same as that of the priests, and the scrutiny of them shall be conducted in the same manner; let them be interpreters for life, and when any one dies let the four tribes select another from the tribe of the deceased. Moreover, besides priests and interpreters, there must be treasurers, who will take charge of the property of the several temples, and of the sacred domains, and shall have authority over the produce and the letting of them; and three of them shall be chosen from the highest classes for the greater temples, and two for the lesser, and one for the least of all; the manner of their election and the scrutiny of them shall be the same as that of the generals. This shall be the order of the temples.

Let everything have a guard as far as possible. Let the defence of the city be commited to the generals, and taxiarchs, and hipparchs, and phylarchs, and prytanes, and the wardens of the city, and of the agora, when the election of them has been completed. The defence of the country shall be provided for as follows: — The entire land has been already distributed into twelve as nearly as possible equal parts, and let the tribe allotted to a division provide annually for it five wardens of the country and commanders of the watch; and let each body of five have the power of selecting twelve others out of the youth of their own tribe, — these shall be not less than twenty-five years of age, and not more than thirty. And let there be allotted to them severally every month the various districts, in order that they may all acquire knowledge and experience of the whole country. The term of service for commanders and for watchers shall continue during two years. After having had their stations allotted to them, they will go from place to place in regular order, making their round from left to right as their commanders direct them; (when I speak of going to the right, I mean that they are to go to the east). And at the commencement of the second year, in order that as many as possible of the guards may not only get a knowledge of the country at any one season of the year, but may also have experience of the manner in which different places are affected at different seasons of the year, their then commanders shall lead them again towards the left, from place to place in succession, until they have completed the second year. In the third year other wardens of the country shall be chosen and commanders of the watch, five for each division, who are to be the superintendents of the bands of twelve. While on service at each station, their attention shall be directed to the following points: — In the first place, they shall see that the country is well protected against enemies; they shall trench and dig wherever this is required, and, as far as they can, they shall by fortifications keep off the evil-disposed, in order to prevent them from doing any harm to the country or the property; they shall use the beasts of burden and the labourers whom they find on the spot: these will be their instruments whom they will superintend, taking them, as far as possible, at the times when they are not engaged in their regular business. They shall make every part of the country inaccessible to enemies, and as accessible as possible to friends (compare Arist. Pol.); there shall be ways for man and beasts of burden and for cattle, and they shall take care to have them always as smooth as they can; and shall provide against the rains doing harm instead of good to the land, when they come down from the mountains into the hollow dells; and shall keep in the overflow by the help of works and ditches, in order that the valleys, receiving and drinking up the rain from heaven, and providing fountains and streams in the fields and regions which lie underneath, may furnish even to the dry places plenty of good water. The fountains of water, whether of rivers or of springs, shall be ornamented with plantations and buildings for beauty; and let them bring together the streams in subterraneous channels, and make all things plenteous; and if there be a sacred grove or dedicated precinct in the neighbourhood, they shall conduct the water to the actual temples of the Gods, and so beautify them at all seasons of the year. Everywhere in such places the youth shall make gymnasia for themselves, and warm baths for the aged, placing by them abundance of dry wood, for the benefit of those labouring under disease — there the weary frame of the rustic, worn with toil, will receive a kindly welcome, far better than he would at the hands of a not over-wise doctor.

The building of these and the like works will be useful and ornamental; they will provide a pleasing amusement, but they will be a serious employment too; for the sixty wardens will have to guard their several divisions, not only with a view to enemies, but also with an eye to professing friends. When a quarrel arises among neighbours or citizens, and any one whether slave or freeman wrongs another, let the five wardens decide small matters on their own authority; but where the charge against another relates to greater matters, the seventeen composed of the fives and twelves, shall determine any charges which one man brings against another, not involving more than three minae. Every judge and magistrate shall be liable to give an account of his conduct in office, except those who, like kings, have the final decision. Moreover, as regards the aforesaid wardens of the country, if they do any wrong to those of whom they have the care, whether by imposing upon them unequal tasks, or by taking the produce of the soil or implements of husbandry without their consent; also if they receive anything in the way of a bribe, or decide suits unjustly, or if they yield to the influences of flattery, let them be publicly dishonoured; and in regard to any other wrong which they do to the inhabitants of the country, if the question be of a mina, let them submit to the decision of the villagers in the neighbourhood; but in suits of greater amount, or in case of lesser, if they refuse to submit, trusting that their monthly removal into another part of the country will enable them to escape — in such cases the injured party may bring his suit in the common court, and if he obtain a verdict he may exact from the defendant, who refused to submit, a double penalty.

The wardens and the overseers of the country, while on their two years’ service, shall have common meals at their several stations, and shall all live together; and he who is absent from the common meal, or sleeps out, if only for one day or night, unless by order of his commanders, or by reason of absolute necessity, if the five denounce him and inscribe his name in the agora as not having kept his guard, let him be deemed to have betrayed the city, as far as lay in his power, and let him be disgraced and beaten with impunity by any one who meets him and is willing to punish him. If any of the commanders is guilty of such an irregularity, the whole company of sixty shall see to it, and he who is cognisant of the offence, and does not bring the offender to trial, shall be amenable to the same laws as the younger offender himself, and shall pay a heavier fine, and be incapable of ever commanding the young. The guardians of the law are to be careful inspectors of these matters, and shall either prevent or punish offenders. Every man should remember the universal rule, that he who is not a good servant will not be a good master; a man should pride himself more upon serving well than upon commanding well: first upon serving the laws, which is also the service of the Gods; in the second place, upon having served ancient and honourable men in the days of his youth. Furthermore, during the two years in which any one is a warden of the country, his daily food ought to be of a simple and humble kind. When the twelve have been chosen, let them and the five meet together, and determine that they will be their own servants, and, like servants, will not have other slaves and servants for their own use, neither will they use those of the villagers and husbandmen for their private advantage, but for the public service only; and in general they should make up their minds to live independently by themselves, servants of each other and of themselves. Further, at all seasons of the year, summer and winter alike, let them be under arms and survey minutely the whole country; thus they will at once keep guard, and at the same time acquire a perfect knowledge of every locality. There can be no more important kind of information than the exact knowledge of a man’s own country; and for this as well as for more general reasons of pleasure and advantage, hunting with dogs and other kinds of sports should be pursued by the young. The service to whom this is committed may be called the secret police or wardens of the country; the name does not much signify, but every one who has the safety of the state at heart will use his utmost diligence in this service.

After the wardens of the country, we have to speak of the election of wardens of the agora and of the city. The wardens of the country were sixty in number, and the wardens of the city will be three, and will divide the twelve parts of the city into three; like the former, they shall have care of the ways, and of the different high roads which lead out of the country into the city, and of the buildings, that they may be all made according to law; — also of the waters, which the guardians of the supply preserve and convey to them, care being taken that they may reach the fountains pure and abundant, and be both an ornament and a benefit to the city. These also should be men of influence, and at leisure to take care of the public interest. Let every man propose as warden of the city any one whom he likes out of the highest class, and when the vote has been given on them, and the number is reduced to the six who have the greatest number of votes, let the electing officers choose by lot three out of the six, and when they have undergone a scrutiny let them hold office according to the laws laid down for them. Next, let the wardens of the agora be elected in like manner, out of the first and second class, five in number: ten are to be first elected, and out of the ten five are to be chosen by lot, as in the election of the wardens of the city: — these when they have undergone a scrutiny are to be declared magistrates. Every one shall vote for every one, and he who will not vote, if he be informed against before the magistrates, shall be fined fifty drachmae, and shall also be deemed a bad citizen. Let any one who likes go to the assembly and to the general council; it shall be compulsory to go on citizens of the first and second class, and they shall pay a fine of ten drachmae if they be found not answering to their names at the assembly. But the third and fourth class shall be under no compulsion, and shall be let off without a fine, unless the magistrates have commanded all to be present, in consequence of some urgent necessity. The wardens of the agora shall observe the order appointed by law for the agora, and shall have the charge of the temples and fountains which are in the agora; and they shall see that no one injures anything, and punish him who does, with stripes and bonds, if he be a slave or stranger; but if he be a citizen who misbehaves in this way, they shall have the power themselves of inflicting a fine upon him to the amount of a hundred drachmae, or with the consent of the wardens of the city up to double that amount. And let the wardens of the city have a similar power of imposing punishments and fines in their own department; and let them impose fines by their own department; and let them impose fines by their own authority, up to a mina, or up to two minae with the consent of the wardens of the agora.

In the next place, it will be proper to appoint directors of music and gymnastic, two kinds of each — of the one kind the business will be education, of the other, the superintendence of contests. In speaking of education, the law means to speak of those who have the care of order and instruction in gymnasia and schools, and of the going to school, and of school buildings for boys and girls; and in speaking of contests, the law refers to the judges of gymnastics and of music; these again are divided into two classes, the one having to do with music, the other with gymnastics; and the same who judge of the gymnastic contests of men, shall judge of horses; but in music there shall be one set of judges of solo singing, and of imitation — I mean of rhapsodists, players on the harp, the flute and the like, and another who shall judge of choral song. First of all, we must choose directors for the choruses of boys, and men, and maidens, whom they shall follow in the amusement of the dance, and for our other musical arrangements; — one director will be enough for the choruses, and he should be not less than forty years of age. One director will also be enough to introduce the solo singers, and to give judgment on the competitors, and he ought not to be less than thirty years of age. The director and manager of the choruses shall be elected after the following manner: — Let any persons who commonly take an interest in such matters go to the meeting, and be fined if they do not go (the guardians of the law shall judge of their fault), but those who have no interest shall not be compelled. The elector shall propose as director some one who understands music, and he in the scrutiny may be challenged on the one part by those who say he has no skill, and defended on the other hand by those who say that he has. Ten are to be elected by vote, and he of the ten who is chosen by lot shall undergo a scrutiny, and lead the choruses for a year according to law. And in like manner the competitor who wins the lot shall be leader of the solo and concert music for that year; and he who is thus elected shall deliver the award to the judges. In the next place, we have to choose judges in the contests of horses and of men; these shall be selected from the third and also from the second class of citizens, and three first classes shall be compelled to go to the election, but the lowest may stay away with impunity; and let there be three elected by lot out of the twenty who have been chosen previously, and they must also have the vote and approval of the examiners. But if any one is rejected in the scrutiny at any ballot or decision, others shall be chosen in the same manner, and undergo a similar scrutiny.

There remains the minister of the education of youth, male and female; he too will rule according to law; one such minister will be sufficient, and he must be fifty years old, and have children lawfully begotten, both boys and girls by preference, at any rate, one or the other. He who is elected, and he who is the elector, should consider that of all the great offices of state this is the greatest; for the first shoot of any plant, if it makes a good start towards the attainment of its natural excellence, has the greatest effect on its maturity; and this is not only true of plants, but of animals wild and tame, and also of men. Man, as we say, is a tame or civilized animal; nevertheless, he requires proper instruction and a fortunate nature, and then of all animals he becomes the most divine and most civilized (Arist. Pol.); but if he be insufficiently or ill educated he is the most savage of earthly creatures. Wherefore the legislator ought not to allow the education of children to become a secondary or accidental matter. In the first place, he who would be rightly provident about them, should begin by taking care that he is elected, who of all the citizens is in every way best; him the legislator shall do his utmost to appoint guardian and superintendent. To this end all the magistrates, with the exception of the council and prytanes, shall go to the temple of Apollo, and elect by ballot him of the guardians of the law whom they severally think will be the best superintendent of education. And he who has the greatest number of votes, after he has undergone a scrutiny at the hands of all the magistrates who have been his electors, with the exception of the guardians of the law, — shall hold office for five years; and in the sixth year let another be chosen in like manner to fill his office.

If any one dies while he is holding a public office, and more than thirty days before his term of office expires, let those whose business it is elect another to the office in the same manner as before. And if any one who is entrusted with orphans dies, let the relations both on the father’s and mother’s side, who are residing at home, including cousins, appoint another guardian within ten days, or be fined a drachma a day for neglect to do so.

A city which has no regular courts of law ceases to be a city; and again, if a judge is silent and says no more in preliminary proceedings than the litigants, as is the case in arbitrations, he will never be able to decide justly; wherefore a multitude of judges will not easily judge well, nor a few if they are bad. The point in dispute between the parties should be made clear; and time, and deliberation, and repeated examination, greatly tend to clear up doubts. For this reason, he who goes to law with another, should go first of all to his neighbours and friends who know best the questions at issue. And if he be unable to obtain from them a satisfactory decision, let him have recourse to another court; and if the two courts cannot settle the matter, let a third put an end to the suit.

Now the establishment of courts of justice may be regarded as a choice of magistrates, for every magistrate must also be a judge of some things; and the judge, though he be not a magistrate, yet in certain respects is a very important magistrate on the day on which he is determining a suit. Regarding then the judges also as magistrates, let us say who are fit to be judges, and of what they are to be judges, and how many of them are to judge in each suit. Let that be the supreme tribunal which the litigants appoint in common for themselves, choosing certain persons by agreement. And let there be two other tribunals: one for private causes, when a citizen accuses another of wronging him and wishes to get a decision; the other for public causes, in which some citizen is of opinion that the public has been wronged by an individual, and is willing to vindicate the common interests. And we must not forget to mention how the judges are to be qualified, and who they are to be. In the first place, let there be a tribunal open to all private persons who are trying causes one against another for the third time, and let this be composed as follows: — All the officers of state, as well annual as those holding office for a longer period, when the new year is about to commence, in the month following after the summer solstice, on the last day but one of the year, shall meet in some temple, and calling God to witness, shall dedicate one judge from every magistracy to be their first-fruits, choosing in each office him who seems to them to be the best, and whom they deem likely to decide the causes of his fellow-citizens during the ensuing year in the best and holiest manner. And when the election is completed, a scrutiny shall be held in the presence of the electors themselves, and if any one be rejected another shall be chosen in the same manner. Those who have undergone the scrutiny shall judge the causes of those who have declined the inferior courts, and shall give their vote openly. The councillors and other magistrates who have elected them shall be required to be hearers and spectators of the causes; and any one else may be present who pleases. If one man charges another with having intentionally decided wrong, let him go to the guardians of the law and lay his accusation before them, and he who is found guilty in such a case shall pay damages to the injured party equal to half the injury; but if he shall appear to deserve a greater penalty, the judges shall determine what additional punishment he shall suffer, and how much more he ought to pay to the public treasury, and to the party who brought the suit.

In the judgment of offences against the state, the people ought to participate, for when any one wrongs the state all are wronged, and may reasonably complain if they are not allowed to share in the decision. Such causes ought to originate with the people, and the ought also to have the final decision of them, but the trial of them shall take place before three of the highest magistrates, upon whom the plaintiff and the defendant shall agree; and if they are not able to come to an agreement themselves, the council shall choose one of the two proposed. And in private suits, too, as far as is possible, all should have a share; for he who has no share in the administration of justice, is apt to imagine that he has no share in the state at all. And for this reason there shall be a court of law in every tribe, and the judges shall be chosen by lot; — they shall give their decisions at once, and shall be inaccessible to entreaties. The final judgment shall rest with that court which, as we maintain, has been established in the most incorruptible form of which human things admit: this shall be the court established for those who are unable to get rid of their suits either in the courts of neighbours or of the tribes.

Thus much of the courts of law, which, as I was saying, cannot be precisely defined either as being or not being offices; a superficial sketch has been given of them, in which some things have been told and others omitted. For the right place of an exact statement of the laws respecting suits, under their several heads, will be at the end of the body of legislation; — let us then expect them at the end. Hitherto our legislation has been chiefly occupied with the appointment of offices. Perfect unity and exactness, extending to the whole and every particular of political administration, cannot be attained to the full, until the discussion shall have a beginning, middle, and end, and is complete in every part. At present we have reached the election of magistrates, and this may be regarded as a sufficient termination of what preceded. And now there need no longer be any delay or hesitation in beginning the work of legislation.

CLEINIAS: I like what you have said, Stranger; and I particularly like your manner of tacking on the beginning of your new discourse to the end of the former one.

ATHENIAN: Thus far, then, the old men’s rational pastime has gone off well.

CLEINIAS: You mean, I suppose, their serious and noble pursuit?

ATHENIAN: Perhaps; but I should like to know whether you and I are agreed about a certain thing.

CLEINIAS: About what thing?

ATHENIAN: You know the endless labour which painters expend upon their pictures — they are always putting in or taking out colours, or whatever be the term which artists employ; they seem as if they would never cease touching up their works, which are always being made brighter and more beautiful.

CLEINIAS: I know something of these matters from report, although I have never had any great acquaintance with the art.

ATHENIAN: No matter; we may make use of the illustration notwithstanding: — Suppose that some one had a mind to paint a figure in the most beautiful manner, in the hope that his work instead of losing would always improve as time went on — do you not see that being a mortal, unless he leaves some one to succeed him who will correct the flaws which time may introduce, and be able to add what is left imperfect through the defect of the artist, and who will further brighten up and improve the picture, all his great labour will last but a short time?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And is not the aim of the legislator similar? First, he desires that his laws should be written down with all possible exactness; in the second place, as time goes on and he has made an actual trial of his decrees, will he not find omissions? Do you imagine that there ever was a legislator so foolish as not to know that many things are necessarily omitted, which some one coming after him must correct, if the constitution and the order of government is not to deteriorate, but to improve in the state which he has established?

CLEINIAS: Assuredly, that is the sort of thing which every one would desire.

ATHENIAN: And if any one possesses any means of accomplishing this by word or deed, or has any way great or small by which he can teach a person to understand how he can maintain and amend the laws, he should finish what he has to say, and not leave the work incomplete.

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: And is not this what you and I have to do at the present moment?

CLEINIAS: What have we to do?

ATHENIAN: As we are about to legislate and have chosen our guardians of the law, and are ourselves in the evening of life, and they as compared with us are young men, we ought not only to legislate for them, but to endeavour to make them not only guardians of the law but legislators themselves, as far as this is possible.

CLEINIAS: Certainly; if we can.

ATHENIAN: At any rate, we must do our best.

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: We will say to them — O friends and saviours of our laws, in laying down any law, there are many particulars which we shall omit, and this cannot be helped; at the same time, we will do our utmost to describe what is important, and will give an outline which you shall fill up. And I will explain on what principle you are to act. Megillus and Cleinias and I have often spoken to one another touching these matters, and we are of opinion that we have spoken well. And we hope that you will be of the same mind with us, and become our disciples, and keep in view the things which in our united opinion the legislator and guardian of the law ought to keep in view. There was one main point about which we were agreed — that a man’s whole energies throughout life should be devoted to the acquisition of the virtue proper to a man, whether this was to be gained by study, or habit, or some mode of acquisition, or desire, or opinion, or knowledge — and this applies equally to men and women, old and young — the aim of all should always be such as I have described; anything which may be an impediment, the good man ought to show that he utterly disregards. And if at last necessity plainly compels him to be an outlaw from his native land, rather than bow his neck to the yoke of slavery and be ruled by inferiors, and he has to fly, an exile he must be and endure all such trials, rather than accept another form of government, which is likely to make men worse. These are our original principles; and do you now, fixing your eyes upon the standard of what a man and a citizen ought or ought not to be, praise and blame the laws — blame those which have not this power of making the citizen better, but embrace those which have; and with gladness receive and live in them; bidding a long farewell to other institutions which aim at goods, as they are termed, of a different kind.

Let us proceed to another class of laws, beginning with their foundation in religion. And we must first return to the number 5040 — the entire number had, and has, a great many convenient divisions, and the number of the tribes which was a twelfth part of the whole, being correctly formed by 21 x 20 (5040/(21 x 20), i.e., 5040/420 = 12), also has them. And not only is the whole number divisible by twelve, but also the number of each tribe is divisible by twelve. Now every portion should be regarded by us as a sacred gift of Heaven, corresponding to the months and to the revolution of the universe (compare Tim.). Every city has a guiding and sacred principle given by nature, but in some the division or distribution has been more right than in others, and has been more sacred and fortunate. In our opinion, nothing can be more right than the selection of the number 5040, which may be divided by all numbers from one to twelve with the single exception of eleven, and that admits of a very easy correction; for if, turning to the dividend (5040), we deduct two families, the defect in the division is cured. And the truth of this may be easily proved when we have leisure. But for the present, trusting to the mere assertion of this principle, let us divide the state; and assigning to each portion some God or son of a God, let us give them altars and sacred rites, and at the altars let us hold assemblies for sacrifice twice in the month — twelve assemblies for the tribes, and twelve for the city, according to their divisions; the first in honour of the Gods and divine things, and the second to promote friendship and ‘better acquaintance,’ as the phrase is, and every sort of good fellowship with one another. For people must be acquainted with those into whose families and whom they marry and with those to whom they give in marriage; in such matters, as far as possible, a man should deem it all important to avoid a mistake, and with this serious purpose let games be instituted (compare Republic) in which youths and maidens shall dance together, seeing one another and being seen naked, at a proper age, and on a suitable occasion, not transgressing the rules of modesty.

The directors of choruses will be the superintendents and regulators of these games, and they, together with the guardians of the law, will legislate in any matters which we have omitted; for, as we said, where there are numerous and minute details, the legislator must leave out something. And the annual officers who have experience, and know what is wanted, must make arrangements and improvements year by year, until such enactments and provisions are sufficiently determined. A ten years’ experience of sacrifices and dances, if extending to all particulars, will be quite sufficient; and if the legislator be alive they shall communicate with him, but if he be dead then the several officers shall refer the omissions which come under their notice to the guardians of the law, and correct them, until all is perfect; and from that time there shall be no more change, and they shall establish and use the new laws with the others which the legislator originally gave them, and of which they are never, if they can help, to change aught; or, if some necessity overtakes them, the magistrates must be called into counsel, and the whole people, and they must go to all the oracles of the Gods; and if they are all agreed, in that case they may make the change, but if they are not agreed, by no manner of means, and any one who dissents shall prevail, as the law ordains.

Whenever any one over twenty-five years of age, having seen and been seen by others, believes himself to have found a marriage connexion which is to his mind, and suitable for the procreation of children, let him marry if he be still under the age of five-and-thirty years; but let him first hear how he ought to seek after what is suitable and appropriate (compare Arist. Pol.). For, as Cleinias says, every law should have a suitable prelude.

CLEINIAS: You recollect at the right moment, Stranger, and do not miss the opportunity which the argument affords of saying a word in season.

ATHENIAN: I thank you. We will say to him who is born of good parents — O my son, you ought to make such a marriage as wise men would approve. Now they would advise you neither to avoid a poor marriage, nor specially to desire a rich one; but if other things are equal, always to honour inferiors, and with them to form connexions; — this will be for the benefit of the city and of the families which are united; for the equable and symmetrical tends infinitely more to virtue than the unmixed. And he who is conscious of being too headstrong, and carried away more than is fitting in all his actions, ought to desire to become the relation of orderly parents; and he who is of the opposite temper ought to seek the opposite alliance. Let there be one word concerning all marriages: — Every man shall follow, not after the marriage which is most pleasing to himself, but after that which is most beneficial to the state. For somehow every one is by nature prone to that which is likest to himself, and in this way the whole city becomes unequal in property and in disposition; and hence there arise in most states the very results which we least desire to happen. Now, to add to the law an express provision, not only that the rich man shall not marry into the rich family, nor the powerful into the family of the powerful, but that the slower natures shall be compelled to enter into marriage with the quicker, and the quicker with the slower, may awaken anger as well as laughter in the minds of many; for there is a difficulty in perceiving that the city ought to be well mingled like a cup, in which the maddening wine is hot and fiery, but when chastened by a soberer God, receives a fair associate and becomes an excellent and temperate drink (compare Statesman). Yet in marriage no one is able to see that the same result occurs. Wherefore also the law must let alone such matters, but we should try to charm the spirits of men into believing the equability of their children’s disposition to be of more importance than equality in excessive fortune when they marry; and him who is too desirous of making a rich marriage we should endeavour to turn aside by reproaches, not, however, by any compulsion of written law.

Let this then be our exhortation concerning marriage, and let us remember what was said before — that a man should cling to immortality, and leave behind him children’s children to be the servants of God in his place for ever. All this and much more may be truly said by way of prelude about the duty of marriage. But if a man will not listen, and remains unsocial and alien among his fellow-citizens, and is still unmarried at thirty-five years of age, let him pay a yearly fine; — he who of the highest class shall pay a fine of a hundred drachmae, and he who is of the second class a fine of seventy drachmae; the third class shall pay sixty drachmae, and the fourth thirty drachmae, and let the money be sacred to Here; he who does not pay the fine annually shall owe ten times the sum, which the treasurer of the goddess shall exact; and if he fails in doing so, let him be answerable and give an account of the money at his audit. He who refuses to marry shall be thus punished in money, and also be deprived of all honour which the younger show to the elder; let no young man voluntarily obey him, and, if he attempt to punish any one, let every one come to the rescue and defend the injured person, and he who is present and does not come to the rescue, shall be pronounced by the law to be a coward and a bad citizen. Of the marriage portion I have already spoken; and again I say for the instruction of poor men that he who neither gives nor receives a dowry on account of poverty, has a compensation; for the citizens of our state are provided with the necessaries of life, and wives will be less likely to be insolent, and husbands to be mean and subservient to them on account of property. And he who obeys this law will do a noble action; but he who will not obey, and gives or receives more than fifty drachmae as the price of the marriage garments if he be of the lowest, or more than a mina, or a mina-and-a-half, if he be of the third or second classes, or two minae if he be of the highest class, shall owe to the public treasury a similar sum, and that which is given or received shall be sacred to Here and Zeus; and let the treasurers of these Gods exact the money, as was said before about the unmarried — that the treasurers of Here were to exact the money, or pay the fine themselves.

The betrothal by a father shall be valid in the first degree, that by a grandfather in the second degree, and in the third degree, betrothal by brothers who have the same father; but if there are none of these alive, the betrothal by a mother shall be valid in like manner; in cases of unexampled fatality, the next of kin and the guardians shall have authority. What are to be the rites before marriages, or any other sacred acts, relating either to future, present, or past marriages, shall be referred to the interpreters; and he who follows their advice may be satisfied. Touching the marriage festival, they shall assemble not more than five male and five female friends of both families; and a like number of members of the family of either sex, and no man shall spend more than his means will allow; he who is of the richest class may spend a mina, — he who is of the second, half a mina, and in the same proportion as the census of each decreases: all men shall praise him who is obedient to the law; but he who is disobedient shall be punished by the guardians of the law as a man wanting in true taste, and uninstructed in the laws of bridal song. Drunkenness is always improper, except at the festivals of the God who gave wine; and peculiarly dangerous, when a man is engaged in the business of marriage; at such a crisis of their lives a bride and bridegroom ought to have all their wits about them — they ought to take care that their offspring may be born of reasonable beings; for on what day or night Heaven will give them increase, who can say? Moreover, they ought not to begetting children when their bodies are dissipated by intoxication, but their offspring should be compact and solid, quiet and compounded properly; whereas the drunkard is all abroad in all his actions, and beside himself both in body and soul. Wherefore, also, the drunken man is bad and unsteady in sowing the seed of increase, and is likely to beget offspring who will be unstable and untrustworthy, and cannot be expected to walk straight either in body or mind. Hence during the whole year and all his life long, and especially while he is begetting children, he ought to take care and not intentionally do what is injurious to health, or what involves insolence and wrong; for he cannot help leaving the impression of himself on the souls and bodies of his offspring, and he begets children in every way inferior. And especially on the day and night of marriage should a man abstain from such things. For the beginning, which is also a God dwelling in man, preserves all things, if it meet with proper respect from each individual. He who marries is further to consider, that one of the two houses in the lot is the nest and nursery of his young, and there he is to marry and make a home for himself and bring up his children, going away from his father and mother. For in friendships there must be some degree of desire, in order to cement and bind together diversities of character; but excessive intercourse not having the desire which is created by time, insensibly dissolves friendships from a feeling of satiety; wherefore a man and his wife shall leave to his and her father and mother their own dwelling-places, and themselves go as to a colony and dwell there, and visit and be visited by their parents; and they shall beget and bring up children, handing on the torch of life from one generation to another, and worshipping the Gods according to law for ever.

In the next place, we have to consider what sort of property will be most convenient. There is no difficulty either in understanding or acquiring most kinds of property, but there is great difficulty in what relates to slaves. And the reason is, that we speak about them in a way which is right and which is not right; for what we say about our slaves is consistent and also inconsistent with our practice about them.

MEGILLUS: I do not understand, Stranger, what you mean.

ATHENIAN: I am not surprised, Megillus, for the state of the Helots among the Lacedaemonians is of all Hellenic forms of slavery the most controverted and disputed about, some approving and some condemning it; there is less dispute about the slavery which exists among the Heracleots, who have subjugated the Mariandynians, and about the Thessalian Penestae. Looking at these and the like examples, what ought we to do concerning property in slaves? I made a remark, in passing, which naturally elicited a question about my meaning from you. It was this: — We know that all would agree that we should have the best and most attached slaves whom we can get. For many a man has found his slaves better in every way than brethren or sons, and many times they have saved the lives and property of their masters and their whole house — such tales are well known.

MEGILLUS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: But may we not also say that the soul of the slave is utterly corrupt, and that no man of sense ought to trust them? And the wisest of our poets, speaking of Zeus, says:

‘Far-seeing Zeus takes away half the understanding of men whom the day of slavery subdues.’

Different persons have got these two different notions of slaves in their minds — some of them utterly distrust their servants, and, as if they were wild beasts, chastise them with goads and whips, and make their souls three times, or rather many times, as slavish as they were before; — and others do just the opposite.

MEGILLUS: True.

CLEINIAS: Then what are we to do in our own country, Stranger, seeing that there are such differences in the treatment of slaves by their owners?

ATHENIAN: Well, Cleinias, there can be no doubt that man is a troublesome animal, and therefore he is not very manageable, nor likely to become so, when you attempt to introduce the necessary division of slave, and freeman, and master.

CLEINIAS: That is obvious.

ATHENIAN: He is a troublesome piece of goods, as has been often shown by the frequent revolts of the Messenians, and the great mischiefs which happen in states having many slaves who speak the same language, and the numerous robberies and lawless life of the Italian banditti, as they are called. A man who considers all this is fairly at a loss. Two remedies alone remain to us, — not to have the slaves of the same country, nor if possible, speaking the same language (compare Aris. Pol.); in this way they will more easily be held in subjection: secondly, we should tend them carefully, not only out of regard to them, but yet more out of respect to ourselves. And the right treatment of slaves is to behave properly to them, and to do to them, if possible, even more justice than to those who are our equals; for he who naturally and genuinely reverences justice, and hates injustice, is discovered in his dealings with any class of men to whom he can easily be unjust. And he who in regard to the natures and actions of his slaves is undefiled by impiety and injustice, will best sow the seeds of virtue in them; and this may be truly said of every master, and tyrant, and of every other having authority in relation to his inferiors. Slaves ought to be punished as they deserve, and not admonished as if they were freemen, which will only make them conceited. The language used to a servant ought always to be that of a command (compare Arist. Pol.), and we ought not to jest with them, whether they are males or females — this is a foolish way which many people have of setting up their slaves, and making the life of servitude more disagreeable both for them and for their masters.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Now that each of the citizens is provided, as far as possible, with a sufficient number of suitable slaves who can help him in what he has to do, we may next proceed to describe their dwellings.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: The city being new and hitherto uninhabited, care ought to be taken of all the buildings, and the manner of building each of them, and also of the temples and walls. These, Cleinias, were matters which properly came before the marriages; — but, as we are only talking, there is no objection to changing the order. If, however, our plan of legislation is ever to take effect, then the house shall precede the marriage if God so will, and afterwards we will come to the regulations about marriage; but at present we are only describing these matters in a general outline.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: The temples are to be placed all round the agora, and the whole city built on the heights in a circle (compare Arist. Pol.), for the sake of defence and for the sake of purity. Near the temples are to be placed buildings for the magistrates and the courts of law; in these plaintiff and defendant will receive their due, and the places will be regarded as most holy, partly because they have to do with holy things: and partly because they are the dwelling-places of holy Gods: and in them will be held the courts in which cases of homicide and other trials of capital offences may fitly take place. As to the walls, Megillus, I agree with Sparta in thinking that they should be allowed to sleep in the earth, and that we should not attempt to disinter them (compare Arist. Pol.); there is a poetical saying, which is finely expressed, that ‘walls ought to be of steel and iron, and not of earth;’ besides, how ridiculous of us to be sending out our young men annually into the country to dig and to trench, and to keep off the enemy by fortifications, under the idea that they are not to be allowed to set foot in our territory, and then, that we should surround ourselves with a wall, which, in the first place, is by no means conducive to the health of cities, and is also apt to produce a certain effeminacy in the minds of the inhabitants, inviting men to run thither instead of repelling their enemies, and leading them to imagine that their safety is due not to their keeping guard day and night, but that when they are protected by walls and gates, then they may sleep in safety; as if they were not meant to labour, and did not know that true repose comes from labour, and that disgraceful indolence and a careless temper of mind is only the renewal of trouble. But if men must have walls, the private houses ought to be so arranged from the first that the whole city may be one wall, having all the houses capable of defence by reason of their uniformity and equality towards the streets (compare Arist. Pol.). The form of the city being that of a single dwelling will have an agreeable aspect, and being easily guarded will be infinitely better for security. Until the original building is completed, these should be the principal objects of the inhabitants; and the wardens of the city should superintend the work, and should impose a fine on him who is negligent; and in all that relates to the city they should have a care of cleanliness, and not allow a private person to encroach upon any public property either by buildings or excavations. Further, they ought to take care that the rains from heaven flow off easily, and of any other matters which may have to be administered either within or without the city. The guardians of the law shall pass any further enactments which their experience may show to be necessary, and supply any other points in which the law may be deficient. And now that these matters, and the buildings about the agora, and the gymnasia, and places of instruction, and theatres, are all ready and waiting for scholars and spectators, let us proceed to the subjects which follow marriage in the order of legislation.

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: Assuming that marriages exist already, Cleinias, the mode of life during the year after marriage, before children are born, will follow next in order. In what way bride and bridegroom ought to live in a city which is to be superior to other cities, is a matter not at all easy for us to determine. There have been many difficulties already, but this will be the greatest of them, and the most disagreeable to the many. Still I cannot but say what appears to me to be right and true, Cleinias.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: He who imagines that he can give laws for the public conduct of states, while he leaves the private life of citizens wholly to take care of itself; who thinks that individuals may pass the day as they please, and that there is no necessity of order in all things; he, I say, who gives up the control of their private lives, and supposes that they will conform to law in their common and public life, is making a great mistake. Why have I made this remark? Why, because I am going to enact that the bridegrooms should live at the common tables, just as they did before marriage. This was a singularity when first enacted by the legislator in your parts of the world, Megillus and Cleinias, as I should suppose, on the occasion of some war or other similar danger, which caused the passing of the law, and which would be likely to occur in thinly-peopled places, and in times of pressure. But when men had once tried and been accustomed to a common table, experience showed that the institution greatly conduced to security; and in some such manner the custom of having common tables arose among you.

CLEINIAS: Likely enough.

ATHENIAN: I said that there may have been singularity and danger in imposing such a custom at first, but that now there is not the same difficulty. There is, however, another institution which is the natural sequel to this, and would be excellent, if it existed anywhere, but at present it does not. The institution of which I am about to speak is not easily described or executed; and would be like the legislator ‘combing wool into the fire,’ as people say, or performing any other impossible and useless feat.

CLEINIAS: What is the cause, Stranger, of this extreme hesitation?

ATHENIAN: You shall hear without any fruitless loss of time. That which has law and order in a state is the cause of every good, but that which is disordered or ill-ordered is often the ruin of that which is well-ordered; and at this point the argument is now waiting. For with you, Cleinias and Megillus, the common tables of men are, as I said, a heaven-born and admirable institution, but you are mistaken in leaving the women unregulated by law. They have no similar institution of public tables in the light of day, and just that part of the human race which is by nature prone to secrecy and stealth on account of their weakness — I mean the female sex — has been left without regulation by the legislator, which is a great mistake. And, in consequence of this neglect, many things have grown lax among you, which might have been far better, if they had been only regulated by law; for the neglect of regulations about women may not only be regarded as a neglect of half the entire matter (Arist. Pol.), but in proportion as woman’s nature is inferior to that of men in capacity for virtue, in that degree the consequence of such neglect is more than twice as important. The careful consideration of this matter, and the arranging and ordering on a common principle of all our institutions relating both to men and women, greatly conduces to the happiness of the state. But at present, such is the unfortunate condition of mankind, that no man of sense will even venture to speak of common tables in places and cities in which they have never been established at all; and how can any one avoid being utterly ridiculous, who attempts to compel women to show in public how much they eat and drink? There is nothing at which the sex is more likely to take offence. For women are accustomed to creep into dark places, and when dragged out into the light they will exert their utmost powers of resistance, and be far too much for the legislator. And therefore, as I said before, in most places they will not endure to have the truth spoken without raising a tremendous outcry, but in this state perhaps they may. And if we may assume that our whole discussion about the state has not been mere idle talk, I should like to prove to you, if you will consent to listen, that this institution is good and proper; but if you had rather not, I will refrain.

CLEINIAS: There is nothing which we should both of us like better, Stranger, than to hear what you have to say.

ATHENIAN: Very good; and you must not be surprised if I go back a little, for we have plenty of leisure, and there is nothing to prevent us from considering in every point of view the subject of law.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Then let us return once more to what we were saying at first. Every man should understand that the human race either had no beginning at all, and will never have an end, but always will be and has been; or that it began an immense while ago.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Well, and have there not been constitutions and destructions of states, and all sorts of pursuits both orderly and disorderly, and diverse desires of meats and drinks always, and in all the world, and all sorts of changes of the seasons in which animals may be expected to have undergone innumerable transformations of themselves?

CLEINIAS: No doubt.

ATHENIAN: And may we not suppose that vines appeared, which had previously no existence, and also olives, and the gifts of Demeter and her daughter, of which one Triptolemus was the minister, and that, before these existed, animals took to devouring each other as they do still?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Again, the practice of men sacrificing one another still exists among many nations; while, on the other hand, we hear of other human beings who did not even venture to taste the flesh of a cow and had no animal sacrifices, but only cakes and fruits dipped in honey, and similar pure offerings, but no flesh of animals; from these they abstained under the idea that they ought not to eat them, and might not stain the altars of the Gods with blood. For in those days men are said to have lived a sort of Orphic life, having the use of all lifeless things, but abstaining from all living things.

CLEINIAS: Such has been the constant tradition, and is very likely true.

ATHENIAN: Some one might say to us, What is the drift of all this?

CLEINIAS: A very pertinent question, Stranger.

ATHENIAN: And therefore I will endeavour, Cleinias, if I can, to draw the natural inference.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: I see that among men all things depend upon three wants and desires, of which the end is virtue, if they are rightly led by them, or the opposite if wrongly. Now these are eating and drinking, which begin at birth — every animal has a natural desire for them, and is violently excited, and rebels against him who says that he must not satisfy all his pleasures and appetites, and get rid of all the corresponding pains — and the third and greatest and sharpest want and desire breaks out last, and is the fire of sexual lust, which kindles in men every species of wantonness and madness. And these three disorders we must endeavour to master by the three great principles of fear and law and right reason; turning them away from that which is called pleasantest to the best, using the Muses and the Gods who preside over contests to extinguish their increase and influx.

But to return: — After marriage let us speak of the birth of children, and after their birth of their nurture and education. In the course of discussion the several laws will be perfected, and we shall at last arrive at the common tables. Whether such associations are to be confined to men, or extended to women also, we shall see better when we approach and take a nearer view of them; and we may then determine what previous institutions are required and will have to precede them. As I said before, we shall see them more in detail, and shall be better able to lay down the laws which are proper or suited to them.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Let us keep in mind the words which have now been spoken; for hereafter there may be need of them.

CLEINIAS: What do you bid us keep in mind?

ATHENIAN: That which we comprehended under the three words — first, eating, secondly, drinking, thirdly, the excitement of love.

CLEINIAS: We shall be sure to remember, Stranger.

ATHENIAN: Very good. Then let us now proceed to marriage, and teach persons in what way they shall beget children, threatening them, if they disobey, with the terrors of the law.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: The bride and bridegroom should consider that they are to produce for the state the best and fairest specimens of children which they can. Now all men who are associated in any action always succeed when they attend and give their mind to what they are doing, but when they do not give their mind or have no mind, they fail; wherefore let the bridegroom give his mind to the bride and to the begetting of children, and the bride in like manner give her mind to the bridegroom, and particularly at the time when their children are not yet born. And let the women whom we have chosen be the overseers of such matters, and let them in whatever number, large or small, and at whatever time the magistrates may command, assemble every day in the temple of Eileithyia during a third part of the day, and being there assembled, let them inform one another of any one whom they see, whether man or woman, of those who are begetting children, disregarding the ordinances given at the time when the nuptial sacrifices and ceremonies were performed. Let the begetting of children and the supervision of those who are begetting them continue ten years and no longer, during the time when marriage is fruitful. But if any continue without children up to this time, let them take counsel with their kindred and with the women holding the office of overseer and be divorced for their mutual benefit. If, however, any dispute arises about what is proper and for the interest of either party, they shall choose ten of the guardians of the law and abide by their permission and appointment. The women who preside over these matters shall enter into the houses of the young, and partly by admonitions and partly by threats make them give over their folly and error: if they persist, let the women go and tell the guardians of the law, and the guardians shall prevent them. But if they too cannot prevent them, they shall bring the matter before the people; and let them write up their names and make oath that they cannot reform such and such an one; and let him who is thus written up, if he cannot in a court of law convict those who have inscribed his name, be deprived of the privileges of a citizen in the following respects: — let him not go to weddings nor to the thanksgivings after the birth of children; and if he go, let any one who pleases strike him with impunity; and let the same regulations hold about women: let not a woman be allowed to appear abroad, or receive honour, or go to nuptial and birthday festivals, if she in like manner be written up as acting disorderly and cannot obtain a verdict. And if, when they themselves have done begetting children according to the law, a man or woman have connexion with another man or woman who are still begetting children, let the same penalties be inflicted upon them as upon those who are still having a family; and when the time for procreation has passed let the man or woman who refrains in such matters be held in esteem, and let those who do not refrain be held in the contrary of esteem — that is to say, disesteem. Now, if the greater part of mankind behave modestly, the enactments of law may be left to slumber; but, if they are disorderly, the enactments having been passed, let them be carried into execution. To every man the first year is the beginning of life, and the time of birth ought to be written down in the temples of their fathers as the beginning of existence to every child, whether boy or girl. Let every phratria have inscribed on a whited wall the names of the successive archons by whom the years are reckoned. And near to them let the living members of the phratria be inscribed, and when they depart life let them be erased. The limit of marriageable ages for a woman shall be from sixteen to twenty years at the longest, — for a man, from thirty to thirty-five years; and let a woman hold office at forty, and a man at thirty years. Let a man go out to war from twenty to sixty years, and for a woman, if there appear any need to make use of her in military service, let the time of service be after she shall have brought forth children up to fifty years of age; and let regard be had to what is possible and suitable to each.

BOOK VII.

And now, assuming children of both sexes to have been born, it will be proper for us to consider, in the next place, their nurture and education; this cannot be left altogether unnoticed, and yet may be thought a subject fitted rather for precept and admonition than for law. In private life there are many little things, not always apparent, arising out of the pleasures and pains and desires of individuals, which run counter to the intention of the legislator, and make the characters of the citizens various and dissimilar: — this is an evil in states; for by reason of their smallness and frequent occurrence, there would be an unseemliness and want of propriety in making them penal by law; and if made penal, they are the destruction of the written law because mankind get the habit of frequently transgressing the law in small matters. The result is that you cannot legislate about them, and still less can you be silent. I speak somewhat darkly, but I shall endeavour also to bring my wares into the light of day, for I acknowledge that at present there is a want of clearness in what I am saying.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN. Am I not right in maintaining that a good education is that which tends most to the improvement of mind and body?

CLEINIAS: Undoubtedly.

ATHENIAN: And nothing can be plainer than that the fairest bodies are those which grow up from infancy in the best and straightest manner?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And do we not further observe that the first shoot of every living thing is by far the greatest and fullest? Many will even contend that a man at twenty-five does not reach twice the height which he attained at five.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Well, and is not rapid growth without proper and abundant exercise the source endless evils in the body?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And the body should have the most exercise when it receives most nourishment?

CLEINIAS: But, Stranger, are we to impose this great amount of exercise upon newly-born infants?

ATHENIAN: Nay, rather on the bodies of infants still unborn.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean, my good sir? In the process of gestation?

ATHENIAN: Exactly. I am not at all surprised that you have never heard of this very peculiar sort of gymnastic applied to such little creatures, which, although strange, I will endeavour to explain to you.

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: The practice is more easy for us to understand than for you, by reason of certain amusements which are carried to excess by us at Athens. Not only boys, but often older persons, are in the habit of keeping quails and cocks (compare Republic), which they train to fight one another. And they are far from thinking that the contests in which they stir them up to fight with one another are sufficient exercise; for, in addition to this, they carry them about tucked beneath their armpits, holding the smaller birds in their hands, the larger under their arms, and go for a walk of a great many miles for the sake of health, that is to say, not their own health, but the health of the birds; whereby they prove to any intelligent person, that all bodies are benefited by shakings and movements, when they are moved without weariness, whether the motion proceeds from themselves, or is caused by a swing, or at sea, or on horseback, or by other bodies in whatever way moving, and that thus gaining the mastery over food and drink, they are able to impart beauty and health and strength. But admitting all this, what follows? Shall we make a ridiculous law that the pregnant woman shall walk about and fashion the embryo within as we fashion wax before it hardens, and after birth swathe the infant for two years? Suppose that we compel nurses, under penalty of a legal fine, to be always carrying the children somewhere or other, either to the temples, or into the country, or to their relations’ houses, until they are well able to stand, and to take care that their limbs are not distorted by leaning on them when they are too young (compare Arist. Pol.), — they should continue to carry them until the infant has completed its third year; the nurses should be strong, and there should be more than one of them. Shall these be our rules, and shall we impose a penalty for the neglect of them? No, no; the penalty of which we were speaking will fall upon our own heads more than enough.

CLEINIAS: What penalty?

ATHENIAN: Ridicule, and the difficulty of getting the feminine and servant-like dispositions of the nurses to comply.

CLEINIAS: Then why was there any need to speak of the matter at all?

ATHENIAN: The reason is, that masters and freemen in states, when they hear of it, are very likely to arrive at a true conviction that without due regulation of private life in cities, stability in the laying down of laws is hardly to be expected (compare Republic); and he who makes this reflection may himself adopt the laws just now mentioned, and, adopting them, may order his house and state well and be happy.

CLEINIAS: Likely enough.

ATHENIAN: And therefore let us proceed with our legislation until we have determined the exercises which are suited to the souls of young children, in the same manner in which we have begun to go through the rules relating to their bodies.

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: Let us assume, then, as a first principle in relation both to the body and soul of very young creatures, that nursing and moving about by day and night is good for them all, and that the younger they are, the more they will need it (compare Arist. Pol.); infants should live, if that were possible, as if they were always rocking at sea. This is the lesson which we may gather from the experience of nurses, and likewise from the use of the remedy of motion in the rites of the Corybantes; for when mothers want their restless children to go to sleep they do not employ rest, but, on the contrary, motion — rocking them in their arms; nor do they give them silence, but they sing to them and lap them in sweet strains; and the Bacchic women are cured of their frenzy in the same manner by the use of the dance and of music.

CLEINIAS: Well, Stranger, and what is the reason of this?

ATHENIAN: The reason is obvious.

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: The affection both of the Bacchantes and of the children is an emotion of fear, which springs out of an evil habit of the soul. And when some one applies external agitation to affections of this sort, the motion coming from without gets the better of the terrible and violent internal one, and produces a peace and calm in the soul, and quiets the restless palpitation of the heart, which is a thing much to be desired, sending the children to sleep, and making the Bacchantes, although they remain awake, to dance to the pipe with the help of the Gods to whom they offer acceptable sacrifices, and producing in them a sound mind, which takes the place of their frenzy. And, to express what I mean in a word, there is a good deal to be said in favour of this treatment.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: But if fear has such a power we ought to infer from these facts, that every soul which from youth upward has been familiar with fears, will be made more liable to fear (compare Republic), and every one will allow that this is the way to form a habit of cowardice and not of courage.

CLEINIAS: No doubt.

ATHENIAN: And, on the other hand, the habit of overcoming, from our youth upwards, the fears and terrors which beset us, may be said to be an exercise of courage.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And we may say that the use of exercise and motion in the earliest years of life greatly contributes to create a part of virtue in the soul.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: Further, a cheerful temper, or the reverse, may be regarded as having much to do with high spirit on the one hand, or with cowardice on the other.

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: Then now we must endeavour to show how and to what extent we may, if we please, without difficulty implant either character in the young.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: There is a common opinion, that luxury makes the disposition of youth discontented and irascible and vehemently excited by trifles; that on the other hand excessive and savage servitude makes men mean and abject, and haters of their kind, and therefore makes them undesirable associates.

CLEINIAS: But how must the state educate those who do not as yet understand the language of the country, and are therefore incapable of appreciating any sort of instruction?

ATHENIAN: I will tell you how: — Every animal that is born is wont to utter some cry, and this is especially the case with man, and he is also affected with the inclination to weep more than any other animal.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: Do not nurses, when they want to know what an infant desires, judge by these signs? — when anything is brought to the infant and he is silent, then he is supposed to be pleased, but, when he weeps and cries out, then he is not pleased. For tears and cries are the inauspicious signs by which children show what they love and hate. Now the time which is thus spent is no less than three years, and is a very considerable portion of life to be passed ill or well.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Does not the discontented and ungracious nature appear to you to be full of lamentations and sorrows more than a good man ought to be?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Well, but if during these three years every possible care were taken that our nursling should have as little of sorrow and fear, and in general of pain as was possible, might we not expect in early childhood to make his soul more gentle and cheerful? (Compare Arist. Pol.)

CLEINIAS: To be sure, Stranger — more especially if we could procure him a variety of pleasures.

ATHENIAN: There I can no longer agree, Cleinias: you amaze me. To bring him up in such a way would be his utter ruin; for the beginning is always the most critical part of education. Let us see whether I am right.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: The point about which you and I differ is of great importance, and I hope that you, Megillus, will help to decide between us. For I maintain that the true life should neither seek for pleasures, nor, on the other hand, entirely avoid pains, but should embrace the middle state (compare Republic), which I just spoke of as gentle and benign, and is a state which we by some divine presage and inspiration rightly ascribe to God. Now, I say, he among men, too, who would be divine ought to pursue after this mean habit — he should not rush headlong into pleasures, for he will not be free from pains; nor should we allow any one, young or old, male or female, to be thus given any more than ourselves, and least of all the newly-born infant, for in infancy more than at any other time the character is engrained by habit. Nay, more, if I were not afraid of appearing to be ridiculous, I would say that a woman during her year of pregnancy should of all women be most carefully tended, and kept from violent or excessive pleasures and pains, and should at that time cultivate gentleness and benevolence and kindness.

CLEINIAS: You need not ask Megillus, Stranger, which of us has most truly spoken; for I myself agree that all men ought to avoid the life of unmingled pain or pleasure, and pursue always a middle course. And having spoken well, may I add that you have been well answered?

ATHENIAN: Very good, Cleinias; and now let us all three consider a further point.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: That all the matters which we are now describing are commonly called by the general name of unwritten customs, and what are termed the laws of our ancestors are all of similar nature. And the reflection which lately arose in our minds, that we can neither call these things laws, nor yet leave them unmentioned, is justified; for they are the bonds of the whole state, and come in between the written laws which are or are hereafter to be laid down; they are just ancestral customs of great antiquity, which, if they are rightly ordered and made habitual, shield and preserve the previously existing written law; but if they depart from right and fall into disorder, then they are like the props of builders which slip away out of their place and cause a universal ruin — one part drags another down, and the fair super-structure falls because the old foundations are undermined. Reflecting upon this, Cleinias, you ought to bind together the new state in every possible way, omitting nothing, whether great or small, of what are called laws or manners or pursuits, for by these means a city is bound together, and all these things are only lasting when they depend upon one another; and, therefore, we must not wonder if we find that many apparently trifling customs or usages come pouring in and lengthening out our laws.

CLEINIAS: Very true: we are disposed to agree with you.

ATHENIAN: Up to the age of three years, whether of boy or girl, if a person strictly carries out our previous regulations and makes them a principal aim, he will do much for the advantage of the young creatures. But at three, four, five, and even six years the childish nature will require sports; now is the time to get rid of self-will in him, punishing him, but not so as to disgrace him. We were saying about slaves, that we ought neither to add insult to punishment so as to anger them, nor yet to leave them unpunished lest they become self-willed; and a like rule is to be observed in the case of the free-born. Children at that age have certain natural modes of amusement which they find out for themselves when they meet. And all the children who are between the ages of three and six ought to meet at the temples of the villages, the several families of a village uniting on one spot. The nurses are to see that the children behave properly and orderly — they themselves and all their companies are to be under the control of twelve matrons, one for each company, who are annually selected to inspect them from the women previously mentioned [i.e. the women who have authority over marriage], whom the guardians of the law appoint. These matrons shall be chosen by the women who have authority over marriage, one out of each tribe; all are to be of the same age; and let each of them, as soon as she is appointed, hold office and go to the temples every day, punishing all offenders, male or female, who are slaves or strangers, by the help of some of the public slaves; but if any citizen disputes the punishment, let her bring him before the wardens of the city; or, if there be no dispute, let her punish him herself. After the age of six years the time has arrived for the separation of the sexes — let boys live with boys, and girls in like manner with girls. Now they must begin to learn — the boys going to teachers of horsemanship and the use of the bow, the javelin, and sling, and the girls too, if they do not object, at any rate until they know how to manage these weapons, and especially how to handle heavy arms; for I may note, that the practice which now prevails is almost universally misunderstood.

CLEINIAS: In what respect?

ATHENIAN: In that the right and left hand are supposed to be by nature differently suited for our various uses of them; whereas no difference is found in the use of the feet and the lower limbs; but in the use of the hands we are, as it were, maimed by the folly of nurses and mothers; for although our several limbs are by nature balanced, we create a difference in them by bad habit. In some cases this is of no consequence, as, for example, when we hold the lyre in the left hand, and the plectrum in the right, but it is downright folly to make the same distinction in other cases. The custom of the Scythians proves our error; for they not only hold the bow from them with the left hand and draw the arrow to them with their right, but use either hand for both purposes. And there are many similar examples in charioteering and other things, from which we may learn that those who make the left side weaker than the right act contrary to nature. In the case of the plectrum, which is of horn only, and similar instruments, as I was saying, it is of no consequence, but makes a great difference, and may be of very great importance to the warrior who has to use iron weapons, bows and javelins, and the like; above all, when in heavy armour, he has to fight against heavy armour. And there is a very great difference between one who has learnt and one who has not, and between one who has been trained in gymnastic exercises and one who has not been. For as he who is perfectly skilled in the Pancratium or boxing or wrestling, is not unable to fight from his left side, and does not limp and draggle in confusion when his opponent makes him change his position, so in heavy-armed fighting, and in all other things, if I am not mistaken, the like holds — he who has these double powers of attack and defence ought not in any case to leave them either unused or untrained, if he can help; and if a person had the nature of Geryon or Briareus he ought to be able with his hundred hands to throw a hundred darts. Now, the magistrates, male and female, should see to all these things, the women superintending the nursing and amusements of the children, and the men superintending their education, that all of them, boys and girls alike, may be sound hand and foot, and may not, if they can help, spoil the gifts of nature by bad habits.

Education has two branches — one of gymnastic, which is concerned with the body, and the other of music, which is designed for the improvement of the soul. And gymnastic has also two branches — dancing and wrestling; and one sort of dancing imitates musical recitation, and aims at preserving dignity and freedom, the other aims at producing health, agility, and beauty in the limbs and parts of the body, giving the proper flexion and extension to each of them, a harmonious motion being diffused everywhere, and forming a suitable accompaniment to the dance. As regards wrestling, the tricks which Antaeus and Cercyon devised in their systems out of a vain spirit of competition, or the tricks of boxing which Epeius or Amycus invented, are useless and unsuitable for war, and do not deserve to have much said about them; but the art of wrestling erect and keeping free the neck and hands and sides, working with energy and constancy, with a composed strength, for the sake of health — these are always useful, and are not to be neglected, but to be enjoined alike on masters and scholars, when we reach that part of legislation; and we will desire the one to give their instructions freely, and the others to receive them thankfully. Nor, again, must we omit suitable imitations of war in our choruses; here in Crete you have the armed dances of the Curetes, and the Lacedaemonians have those of the Dioscuri. And our virgin lady, delighting in the amusement of the dance, thought it not fit to amuse herself with empty hands; she must be clothed in a complete suit of armour, and in this attire go through the dance; and youths and maidens should in every respect imitate her, esteeming highly the favour of the Goddess, both with a view to the necessities of war, and to festive occasions: it will be right also for the boys, until such time as they go out to war, to make processions and supplications to all the Gods in goodly array, armed and on horseback, in dances and marches, fast or slow, offering up prayers to the Gods and to the sons of Gods; and also engaging in contests and preludes of contests, if at all, with these objects. For these sorts of exercises, and no others, are useful both in peace and war, and are beneficial alike to states and to private houses. But other labours and sports and exercises of the body are unworthy of freemen, O Megillus and Cleinias.

I have now completely described the kind of gymnastic which I said at first ought to be described; if you know of any better, will you communicate your thoughts?

CLEINIAS: It is not easy, Stranger, to put aside these principles of gymnastic and wrestling and to enunciate better ones.

ATHENIAN: Now we must say what has yet to be said about the gifts of the Muses and of Apollo: before, we fancied that we had said all, and that gymnastic alone remained; but now we see clearly what points have been omitted, and should be first proclaimed; of these, then, let us proceed to speak.

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: Let me tell you once more — although you have heard me say the same before — that caution must be always exercised, both by the speaker and by the hearer, about anything that is very singular and unusual. For my tale is one which many a man would be afraid to tell, and yet I have a confidence which makes me go on.

CLEINIAS: What have you to say, Stranger?

ATHENIAN: I say that in states generally no one has observed that the plays of childhood have a great deal to do with the permanence or want of permanence in legislation. For when plays are ordered with a view to children having the same plays, and amusing themselves after the same manner, and finding delight in the same playthings, the more solemn institutions of the state are allowed to remain undisturbed. Whereas if sports are disturbed, and innovations are made in them, and they constantly change, and the young never speak of their having the same likings, or the same established notions of good and bad taste, either in the bearing of their bodies or in their dress, but he who devises something new and out of the way in figures and colours and the like is held in special honour, we may truly say that no greater evil can happen in a state; for he who changes the sports is secretly changing the manners of the young, and making the old to be dishonoured among them and the new to be honoured. And I affirm that there is nothing which is a greater injury to all states than saying or thinking thus. Will you hear me tell how great I deem the evil to be?

CLEINIAS: You mean the evil of blaming antiquity in states?

ATHENIAN: Exactly.

CLEINIAS: If you are speaking of that, you will find in us hearers who are disposed to receive what you say not unfavourably but most favourably.

ATHENIAN: I should expect so.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: Well, then, let us give all the greater heed to one another’s words. The argument affirms that any change whatever except from evil is the most dangerous of all things; this is true in the case of the seasons and of the winds, in the management of our bodies and the habits of our minds — true of all things except, as I said before, of the bad. He who looks at the constitution of individuals accustomed to eat any sort of meat, or drink any drink, or to do any work which they can get, may see that they are at first disordered by them, but afterwards, as time goes on, their bodies grow adapted to them, and they learn to know and like variety, and have good health and enjoyment of life; and if ever afterwards they are confined again to a superior diet, at first they are troubled with disorders, and with difficulty become habituated to their new food. A similar principle we may imagine to hold good about the minds of men and the natures of their souls. For when they have been brought up in certain laws, which by some Divine Providence have remained unchanged during long ages, so that no one has any memory or tradition of their ever having been otherwise than they are, then every one is afraid and ashamed to change that which is established. The legislator must somehow find a way of implanting this reverence for antiquity, and I would propose the following way: People are apt to fancy, as I was saying before, that when the plays of children are altered they are merely plays, not seeing that the most serious and detrimental consequences arise out of the change; and they readily comply with the child’s wishes instead of deterring him, not considering that these children who make innovations in their games, when they grow up to be men, will be different from the last generation of children, and, being different, will desire a different sort of life, and under the influence of this desire will want other institutions and laws; and no one of them reflects that there will follow what I just now called the greatest of evils to states. Changes in bodily fashions are no such serious evils, but frequent changes in the praise and censure of manners are the greatest of evils, and require the utmost prevision.

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: And now do we still hold to our former assertion, that rhythms and music in general are imitations of good and evil characters in men? What say you?

CLEINIAS: That is the only doctrine which we can admit.

ATHENIAN: Must we not, then, try in every possible way to prevent our youth from even desiring to imitate new modes either in dance or song? nor must any one be allowed to offer them varieties of pleasures.

CLEINIAS: Most true.

ATHENIAN: Can any of us imagine a better mode of effecting this object than that of the Egyptians?

CLEINIAS: What is their method?

ATHENIAN: To consecrate every sort of dance or melody. First we should ordain festivals — calculating for the year what they ought to be, and at what time, and in honour of what Gods, sons of Gods, and heroes they ought to be celebrated; and, in the next place, what hymns ought to be sung at the several sacrifices, and with what dances the particular festival is to be honoured. This has to be arranged at first by certain persons, and, when arranged, the whole assembly of the citizens are to offer sacrifices and libations to the Fates and all the other Gods, and to consecrate the several odes to Gods and heroes: and if any one offers any other hymns or dances to any one of the Gods, the priests and priestesses, acting in concert with the guardians of the law, shall, with the sanction of religion and the law, exclude him, and he who is excluded, if he do not submit, shall be liable all his life long to have a suit of impiety brought against him by any one who likes.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: In the consideration of this subject, let us remember what is due to ourselves.

CLEINIAS: To what are you referring?

ATHENIAN: I mean that any young man, and much more any old one, when he sees or hears anything strange or unaccustomed, does not at once run to embrace the paradox, but he stands considering, like a person who is at a place where three paths meet, and does not very well know his way — he may be alone or he may be walking with others, and he will say to himself and them, ‘Which is the way?’ and will not move forward until he is satisfied that he is going right. And this is what we must do in the present instance: A strange discussion on the subject of law has arisen, which requires the utmost consideration, and we should not at our age be too ready to speak about such great matters, or be confident that we can say anything certain all in a moment.

CLEINIAS: Most true.

ATHENIAN: Then we will allow time for reflection, and decide when we have given the subject sufficient consideration. But that we may not be hindered from completing the natural arrangement of our laws, let us proceed to the conclusion of them in due order; for very possibly, if God will, the exposition of them, when completed, may throw light on our present perplexity.

CLEINIAS: Excellent, Stranger; let us do as you propose.

ATHENIAN: Let us then affirm the paradox that strains of music are our laws (nomoi), and this latter being the name which the ancients gave to lyric songs, they probably would not have very much objected to our proposed application of the word. Some one, either asleep or awake, must have had a dreamy suspicion of their nature. And let our decree be as follows: No one in singing or dancing shall offend against public and consecrated models, and the general fashion among the youth, any more than he would offend against any other law. And he who observes this law shall be blameless; but he who is disobedient, as I was saying, shall be punished by the guardians of the laws, and by the priests and priestesses. Suppose that we imagine this to be our law.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Can any one who makes such laws escape ridicule? Let us see. I think that our only safety will be in first framing certain models for composers. One of these models shall be as follows: If when a sacrifice is going on, and the victims are being burnt according to law — if, I say, any one who may be a son or brother, standing by another at the altar and over the victims, horribly blasphemes, will not his words inspire despondency and evil omens and forebodings in the mind of his father and of his other kinsmen?

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: And this is just what takes place in almost all our cities. A magistrate offers a public sacrifice, and there come in not one but many choruses, who take up a position a little way from the altar, and from time to time pour forth all sorts of horrible blasphemies on the sacred rites, exciting the souls of the audience with words and rhythms and melodies most sorrowful to hear; and he who at the moment when the city is offering sacrifice makes the citizens weep most, carries away the palm of victory. Now, ought we not to forbid such strains as these? And if ever our citizens must hear such lamentations, then on some unblest and inauspicious day let there be choruses of foreign and hired minstrels, like those hirelings who accompany the departed at funerals with barbarous Carian chants. That is the sort of thing which will be appropriate if we have such strains at all; and let the apparel of the singers be, not circlets and ornaments of gold, but the reverse. Enough of all this. I will simply ask once more whether we shall lay down as one of our principles of song —

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: That we should avoid every word of evil omen; let that kind of song which is of good omen be heard everywhere and always in our state. I need hardly ask again, but shall assume that you agree with me.

CLEINIAS: By all means; that law is approved by the suffrages of us all.

ATHENIAN: But what shall be our next musical law or type? Ought not prayers to be offered up to the Gods when we sacrifice?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And our third law, if I am not mistaken, will be to the effect that our poets, understanding prayers to be requests which we make to the Gods, will take especial heed that they do not by mistake ask for evil instead of good. To make such a prayer would surely be too ridiculous.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Were we not a little while ago quite convinced that no silver or golden Plutus should dwell in our state?

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: And what has it been the object of our argument to show? Did we not imply that the poets are not always quite capable of knowing what is good or evil? And if one of them utters a mistaken prayer in song or words, he will make our citizens pray for the opposite of what is good in matters of the highest import; than which, as I was saying, there can be few greater mistakes. Shall we then propose as one of our laws and models relating to the Muses —

CLEINIAS: What? will you explain the law more precisely?

ATHENIAN: Shall we make a law that the poet shall compose nothing contrary to the ideas of the lawful, or just, or beautiful, or good, which are allowed in the state? nor shall he be permitted to communicate his compositions to any private individuals, until he shall have shown them to the appointed judges and the guardians of the law, and they are satisfied with them. As to the persons whom we appoint to be our legislators about music and as to the director of education, these have been already indicated. Once more then, as I have asked more than once, shall this be our third law, and type, and model — What do you say?

CLEINIAS: Let it be so, by all means.

ATHENIAN: Then it will be proper to have hymns and praises of the Gods, intermingled with prayers; and after the Gods prayers and praises should be offered in like manner to demigods and heroes, suitable to their several characters.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: In the next place there will be no objection to a law, that citizens who are departed and have done good and energetic deeds, either with their souls or with their bodies, and have been obedient to the laws, should receive eulogies; this will be very fitting.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: But to honour with hymns and panegyrics those who are still alive is not safe; a man should run his course, and make a fair ending, and then we will praise him; and let praise be given equally to women as well as men who have been distinguished in virtue. The order of songs and dances shall be as follows: There are many ancient musical compositions and dances which are excellent, and from these the newly-founded city may freely select what is proper and suitable; and they shall choose judges of not less than fifty years of age, who shall make the selection, and any of the old poems which they deem sufficient they shall include; any that are deficient or altogether unsuitable, they shall either utterly throw aside, or examine and amend, taking into their counsel poets and musicians, and making use of their poetical genius; but explaining to them the wishes of the legislator in order that they may regulate dancing, music, and all choral strains, according to the mind of the judges; and not allowing them to indulge, except in some few matters, their individual pleasures and fancies. Now the irregular strain of music is always made ten thousand times better by attaining to law and order, and rejecting the honeyed Muse — not however that we mean wholly to exclude pleasure, which is the characteristic of all music. And if a man be brought up from childhood to the age of discretion and maturity in the use of the orderly and severe music, when he hears the opposite he detests it, and calls it illiberal; but if trained in the sweet and vulgar music, he deems the severer kind cold and displeasing. So that, as I was saying before, while he who hears them gains no more pleasure from the one than from the other, the one has the advantage of making those who are trained in it better men, whereas the other makes them worse.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Again, we must distinguish and determine on some general principle what songs are suitable to women, and what to men, and must assign to them their proper melodies and rhythms. It is shocking for a whole harmony to be inharmonical, or for a rhythm to be unrhythmical, and this will happen when the melody is inappropriate to them. And therefore the legislator must assign to these also their forms. Now both sexes have melodies and rhythms which of necessity belong to them; and those of women are clearly enough indicated by their natural difference. The grand, and that which tends to courage, may be fairly called manly; but that which inclines to moderation and temperance, may be declared both in law and in ordinary speech to be the more womanly quality. This, then, will be the general order of them.

Let us now speak of the manner of teaching and imparting them, and the persons to whom, and the time when, they are severally to be imparted. As the shipwright first lays down the lines of the keel, and thus, as it were, draws the ship in outline, so do I seek to distinguish the patterns of life, and lay down their keels according to the nature of different men’s souls; seeking truly to consider by what means, and in what ways, we may go through the voyage of life best. Now human affairs are hardly worth considering in earnest, and yet we must be in earnest about them — a sad necessity constrains us. And having got thus far, there will be a fitness in our completing the matter, if we can only find some suitable method of doing so. But what do I mean? Some one may ask this very question, and quite rightly, too.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: I say that about serious matters a man should be serious, and about a matter which is not serious he should not be serious; and that God is the natural and worthy object of our most serious and blessed endeavours, for man, as I said before, is made to be the plaything of God, and this, truly considered, is the best of him; wherefore also every man and woman should walk seriously, and pass life in the noblest of pastimes, and be of another mind from what they are at present.

CLEINIAS: In what respect?

ATHENIAN: At present they think that their serious pursuits should be for the sake of their sports, for they deem war a serious pursuit, which must be managed well for the sake of peace; but the truth is, that there neither is, nor has been, nor ever will be, either amusement or instruction in any degree worth speaking of in war, which is nevertheless deemed by us to be the most serious of our pursuits. And therefore, as we say, every one of us should live the life of peace as long and as well as he can. And what is the right way of living? Are we to live in sports always? If so, in what kind of sports? We ought to live sacrificing, and singing, and dancing, and then a man will be able to propitiate the Gods, and to defend himself against his enemies and conquer them in battle. The type of song or dance by which he will propitiate them has been described, and the paths along which he is to proceed have been cut for him. He will go forward in the spirit of the poet:

‘Telemachus, some things thou wilt thyself find in thy heart, but other things God will suggest; for I deem that thou wast not born or brought up without the will of the Gods.’

And this ought to be the view of our alumni; they ought to think that what has been said is enough for them, and that any other things their Genius and God will suggest to them — he will tell them to whom, and when, and to what Gods severally they are to sacrifice and perform dances, and how they may propitiate the deities, and live according to the appointment of nature; being for the most part puppets, but having some little share of reality.

MEGILLUS: You have a low opinion of mankind, Stranger.

ATHENIAN: Nay, Megillus, be not amazed, but forgive me: I was comparing them with the Gods; and under that feeling I spoke. Let us grant, if you wish, that the human race is not to be despised, but is worthy of some consideration.

Next follow the buildings for gymnasia and schools open to all; these are to be in three places in the midst of the city; and outside the city and in the surrounding country, also in three places, there shall be schools for horse exercise, and large grounds arranged with a view to archery and the throwing of missiles, at which young men may learn and practise. Of these mention has already been made; and if the mention be not sufficiently explicit, let us speak further of them and embody them in laws. In these several schools let there be dwellings for teachers, who shall be brought from foreign parts by pay, and let them teach those who attend the schools the art of war and the art of music, and the children shall come not only if their parents please, but if they do not please; there shall be compulsory education, as the saying is, of all and sundry, as far as this is possible; and the pupils shall be regarded as belonging to the state rather than to their parents. My law would apply to females as well as males; they shall both go through the same exercises. I assert without fear of contradiction that gymnastic and horsemanship are as suitable to women as to men. Of the truth of this I am persuaded from ancient tradition, and at the present day there are said to be countless myriads of women in the neighbourhood of the Black Sea, called Sauromatides, who not only ride on horseback like men, but have enjoined upon them the use of bows and other weapons equally with the men. And I further affirm, that if these things are possible, nothing can be more absurd than the practice which prevails in our own country, of men and women not following the same pursuits with all their strength and with one mind, for thus the state, instead of being a whole, is reduced to a half, but has the same imposts to pay and the same toils to undergo; and what can be a greater mistake for any legislator to make than this?

CLEINIAS: Very true; yet much of what has been asserted by us, Stranger, is contrary to the custom of states; still, in saying that the discourse should be allowed to proceed, and that when the discussion is completed, we should choose what seems best, you spoke very properly, and I now feel compunction for what I have said. Tell me, then, what you would next wish to say.

ATHENIAN: I should wish to say, Cleinias, as I said before, that if the possibility of these things were not sufficiently proven in fact, then there might be an objection to the argument, but the fact being as I have said, he who rejects the law must find some other ground of objection; and, failing this, our exhortation will still hold good, nor will any one deny that women ought to share as far as possible in education and in other ways with men. For consider; if women do not share in their whole life with men, then they must have some other order of life.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And what arrangement of life to be found anywhere is preferable to this community which we are now assigning to them? Shall we prefer that which is adopted by the Thracians and many other races who use their women to till the ground and to be shepherds of their herds and flocks, and to minister to them like slaves? Or shall we do as we and people in our part of the world do — getting together, as the phrase is, all our goods and chattels into one dwelling, we entrust them to our women, who are the stewards of them, and who also preside over the shuttles and the whole art of spinning? Or shall we take a middle course, as in Lacedaemon, Megillus — letting the girls share in gymnastic and music, while the grown-up women, no longer employed in spinning wool, are hard at work weaving the web of life, which will be no cheap or mean employment, and in the duty of serving and taking care of the household and bringing up the children, in which they will observe a sort of mean, not participating in the toils of war; and if there were any necessity that they should fight for their city and families, unlike the Amazons, they would be unable to take part in archery or any other skilled use of missiles, nor could they, after the example of the Goddess, carry shield or spear, or stand up nobly for their country when it was being destroyed, and strike terror into their enemies, if only because they were seen in regular order? Living as they do, they would never dare at all to imitate the Sauromatides, who, when compared with ordinary women, would appear to be like men. Let him who will, praise your legislators, but I must say what I think. The legislator ought to be whole and perfect, and not half a man only; he ought not to let the female sex live softly and waste money and have no order of life, while he takes the utmost care of the male sex, and leaves half of life only blest with happiness, when he might have made the whole state happy.

MEGILLUS: What shall we do, Cleinias? Shall we allow a stranger to run down Sparta in this fashion?

CLEINIAS: Yes; for as we have given him liberty of speech we must let him go on until we have perfected the work of legislation.

MEGILLUS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Then now I may proceed?

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: What will be the manner of life among men who may be supposed to have their food and clothing provided for them in moderation, and who have entrusted the practice of the arts to others, and whose husbandry committed to slaves paying a part of the produce, brings them a return sufficient for men living temperately; who, moreover, have common tables in which the men are placed apart, and near them are the common tables of their families, of their daughters and mothers, which day by day, the officers, male and female, are to inspect — they shall see to the behaviour of the company, and so dismiss them; after which the presiding magistrate and his attendants shall honour with libations those Gods to whom that day and night are dedicated, and then go home? To men whose lives are thus ordered, is there no work remaining to be done which is necessary and fitting, but shall each one of them live fattening like a beast? Such a life is neither just nor honourable, nor can he who lives it fail of meeting his due; and the due reward of the idle fatted beast is that he should be torn in pieces by some other valiant beast whose fatness is worn down by brave deeds and toil. These regulations, if we duly consider them, will never be exactly carried into execution under present circumstances, nor as long as women and children and houses and all other things are the private property of individuals; but if we can attain the second-best form of polity, we shall be very well off. And to men living under this second polity there remains a work to be accomplished which is far from being small or insignificant, but is the greatest of all works, and ordained by the appointment of righteous law. For the life which may be truly said to be concerned with the virtue of body and soul is twice, or more than twice, as full of toil and trouble as the pursuit after Pythian and Olympic victories, which debars a man from every employment of life. For there ought to be no bye-work interfering with the greater work of providing the necessary exercise and nourishment for the body, and instruction and education for the soul. Night and day are not long enough for the accomplishment of their perfection and consummation; and therefore to this end all freemen ought to arrange the way in which they will spend their time during the whole course of the day, from morning till evening and from evening till the morning of the next sunrise. There may seem to be some impropriety in the legislator determining minutely the numberless details of the management of the house, including such particulars as the duty of wakefulness in those who are to be perpetual watchmen of the whole city; for that any citizen should continue during the whole of any night in sleep, instead of being seen by all his servants, always the first to awake and get up — this, whether the regulation is to be called a law or only a practice, should be deemed base and unworthy of a freeman; also that the mistress of the house should be awakened by her hand-maidens instead of herself first awakening them, is what the slaves, male and female, and the serving-boys, and, if that were possible, everybody and everything in the house should regard as base. If they rise early, they may all of them do much of their public and of their household business, as magistrates in the city, and masters and mistresses in their private houses, before the sun is up. Much sleep is not required by nature, either for our souls or bodies, or for the actions which they perform. For no one who is asleep is good for anything, any more than if he were dead; but he of us who has the most regard for life and reason keeps awake as long as he can, reserving only so much time for sleep as is expedient for health; and much sleep is not required, if the habit of moderation be once rightly formed. Magistrates in states who keep awake at night are terrible to the bad, whether enemies or citizens, and are honoured and reverenced by the just and temperate, and are useful to themselves and to the whole state.

A night which is passed in such a manner, in addition to all the above-mentioned advantages, infuses a sort of courage into the minds of the citizens. When the day breaks, the time has arrived for youth to go to their schoolmasters. Now neither sheep nor any other animals can live without a shepherd, nor can children be left without tutors, or slaves without masters. And of all animals the boy is the most unmanageable, inasmuch as he has the fountain of reason in him not yet regulated; he is the most insidious, sharp-witted, and insubordinate of animals. Wherefore he must be bound with many bridles; in the first place, when he gets away from mothers and nurses, he must be under the management of tutors on account of his childishness and foolishness; then, again, being a freeman, he must be controlled by teachers, no matter what they teach, and by studies; but he is also a slave, and in that regard any freeman who comes in his way may punish him and his tutor and his instructor, if any of them does anything wrong; and he who comes across him and does not inflict upon him the punishment which he deserves, shall incur the greatest disgrace; and let the guardian of the law, who is the director of education, see to him who coming in the way of the offences which we have mentioned, does not chastise them when he ought, or chastises them in a way which he ought not; let him keep a sharp look-out, and take especial care of the training of our children, directing their natures, and always turning them to good according to the law.

But how can our law sufficiently train the director of education himself; for as yet all has been imperfect, and nothing has been said either clear or satisfactory? Now, as far as possible, the law ought to leave nothing to him, but to explain everything, that he may be an interpreter and tutor to others. About dances and music and choral strains, I have already spoken both as to the character of the selection of them, and the manner in which they are to be amended and consecrated. But we have not as yet spoken, O illustrious guardian of education, of the manner in which your pupils are to use those strains which are written in prose, although you have been informed what martial strains they are to learn and practise; what relates in the first place to the learning of letters, and secondly, to the lyre, and also to calculation, which, as we were saying, is needful for them all to learn, and any other things which are required with a view to war and the management of house and city, and, looking to the same object, what is useful in the revolutions of the heavenly bodies — the stars and sun and moon, and the various regulations about these matters which are necessary for the whole state — I am speaking of the arrangements of days in periods of months, and of months in years, which are to be observed, in order that seasons and sacrifices and festivals may have their regular and natural order, and keep the city alive and awake, the Gods receiving the honours due to them, and men having a better understanding about them: all these things, O my friend, have not yet been sufficiently declared to you by the legislator. Attend, then, to what I am now going to say: We were telling you, in the first place, that you were not sufficiently informed about letters, and the objection was to this effect — that you were never told whether he who was meant to be a respectable citizen should apply himself in detail to that sort of learning, or not apply himself at all; and the same remark holds good of the study of the lyre. But now we say that he ought to attend to them. A fair time for a boy of ten years old to spend in letters is three years; the age of thirteen is the proper time for him to begin to handle the lyre, and he may continue at this for another three years, neither more nor less, and whether his father or himself like or dislike the study, he is not to be allowed to spend more or less time in learning music than the law allows. And let him who disobeys the law be deprived of those youthful honours of which we shall hereafter speak. Hear, however, first of all, what the young ought to learn in the early years of life, and what their instructors ought to teach them. They ought to be occupied with their letters until they are able to read and write; but the acquisition of perfect beauty or quickness in writing, if nature has not stimulated them to acquire these accomplishments in the given number of years, they should let alone. And as to the learning of compositions committed to writing which are not set to the lyre, whether metrical or without rhythmical divisions, compositions in prose, as they are termed, having no rhythm or harmony — seeing how dangerous are the writings handed down to us by many writers of this class — what will you do with them, O most excellent guardians of the law? or how can the lawgiver rightly direct you about them? I believe that he will be in great difficulty.

CLEINIAS: What troubles you, Stranger? and why are you so perplexed in your mind?

ATHENIAN: You naturally ask, Cleinias, and to you and Megillus, who are my partners in the work of legislation, I must state the more difficult as well as the easier parts of the task.

CLEINIAS: To what do you refer in this instance?

ATHENIAN: I will tell you. There is a difficulty in opposing many myriads of mouths.

CLEINIAS: Well, and have we not already opposed the popular voice in many important enactments?

ATHENIAN: That is quite true; and you mean to imply that the road which we are taking may be disagreeable to some but is agreeable to as many others, or if not to as many, at any rate to persons not inferior to the others, and in company with them you bid me, at whatever risk, to proceed along the path of legislation which has opened out of our present discourse, and to be of good cheer, and not to faint.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And I do not faint; I say, indeed, that we have a great many poets writing in hexameter, trimeter, and all sorts of measures — some who are serious, others who aim only at raising a laugh — and all mankind declare that the youth who are rightly educated should be brought up in them and saturated with them; some insist that they should be constantly hearing them read aloud, and always learning them, so as to get by heart entire poets; while others select choice passages and long speeches, and make compendiums of them, saying that these ought to be committed to memory, if a man is to be made good and wise by experience and learning of many things. And you want me now to tell them plainly in what they are right and in what they are wrong.

CLEINIAS: Yes, I do.

ATHENIAN: But how can I in one word rightly comprehend all of them? I am of opinion, and, if I am not mistaken, there is a general agreement, that every one of these poets has said many things well and many things the reverse of well; and if this be true, then I do affirm that much learning is dangerous to youth.

CLEINIAS: How would you advise the guardian of the law to act?

ATHENIAN: In what respect?

CLEINIAS: I mean to what pattern should he look as his guide in permitting the young to learn some things and forbidding them to learn others. Do not shrink from answering.

ATHENIAN: My good Cleinias, I rather think that I am fortunate.

CLEINIAS: How so?

ATHENIAN: I think that I am not wholly in want of a pattern, for when I consider the words which we have spoken from early dawn until now, and which, as I believe, have been inspired by Heaven, they appear to me to be quite like a poem. When I reflected upon all these words of ours, I naturally felt pleasure, for of all the discourses which I have ever learnt or heard, either in poetry or prose, this seemed to me to be the justest, and most suitable for young men to hear; I cannot imagine any better pattern than this which the guardian of the law who is also the director of education can have. He cannot do better than advise the teachers to teach the young these words and any which are of a like nature, if he should happen to find them, either in poetry or prose, or if he come across unwritten discourses akin to ours, he should certainly preserve them, and commit them to writing. And, first of all, he shall constrain the teachers themselves to learn and approve them, and any of them who will not, shall not be employed by him, but those whom he finds agreeing in his judgment, he shall make use of and shall commit to them the instruction and education of youth. And here and on this wise let my fanciful tale about letters and teachers of letters come to an end.

CLEINIAS: I do not think, Stranger, that we have wandered out of the proposed limits of the argument; but whether we are right or not in our whole conception, I cannot be very certain.

ATHENIAN: The truth, Cleinias, may be expected to become clearer when, as we have often said, we arrive at the end of the whole discussion about laws.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And now that we have done with the teacher of letters, the teacher of the lyre has to receive orders from us.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: I think that we have only to recollect our previous discussions, and we shall be able to give suitable regulations touching all this part of instruction and education to the teachers of the lyre.

CLEINIAS: To what do you refer?

ATHENIAN: We were saying, if I remember rightly, that the sixty years old choristers of Dionysus were to be specially quick in their perceptions of rhythm and musical composition, that they might be able to distinguish good and bad imitation, that is to say, the imitation of the good or bad soul when under the influence of passion, rejecting the one and displaying the other in hymns and songs, charming the souls of youth, and inviting them to follow and attain virtue by the way of imitation.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And with this view the teacher and the learner ought to use the sounds of the lyre, because its notes are pure, the player who teaches and his pupil rendering note for note in unison; but complexity, and variation of notes, when the strings give one sound and the poet or composer of the melody gives another — also when they make concords and harmonies in which lesser and greater intervals, slow and quick, or high and low notes, are combined — or, again, when they make complex variations of rhythms, which they adapt to the notes of the lyre — all that sort of thing is not suited to those who have to acquire speedy and useful knowledge of music in three years; for opposite principles are confusing, and create a difficulty in learning, and our young men should learn quickly, and their mere necessary acquirements are not few or trifling, as will be shown in due course. Let the director of education attend to the principles concerning music which we are laying down. As to the songs and words themselves which the masters of choruses are to teach and the character of them, they have been already described by us, and are the same which, when consecrated and adapted to the different festivals, we said were to benefit cities by affording them an innocent amusement.

CLEINIAS: That, again, is true.

ATHENIAN: Then let him who has been elected a director of music receive these rules from us as containing the very truth; and may he prosper in his office! Let us now proceed to lay down other rules in addition to the preceding about dancing and gymnastic exercise in general. Having said what remained to be said about the teaching of music, let us speak in like manner about gymnastic. For boys and girls ought to learn to dance and practise gymnastic exercises — ought they not?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: Then the boys ought to have dancing masters, and the girls dancing mistresses to exercise them.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Then once more let us summon him who has the chief concern in the business, the superintendent of youth [i.e. the director of education]; he will have plenty to do, if he is to have the charge of music and gymnastic.

CLEINIAS: But how will an old man be able to attend to such great charges?

ATHENIAN: O my friend, there will be no difficulty, for the law has already given and will give him permission to select as his assistants in this charge any citizens, male or female, whom he desires; and he will know whom he ought to choose, and will be anxious not to make a mistake, from a due sense of responsibility, and from a consciousness of the importance of his office, and also because he will consider that if young men have been and are well brought up, then all things go swimmingly, but if not, it is not meet to say, nor do we say, what will follow, lest the regarders of omens should take alarm about our infant state. Many things have been said by us about dancing and about gymnastic movements in general; for we include under gymnastics all military exercises, such as archery, and all hurling of weapons, and the use of the light shield, and all fighting with heavy arms, and military evolutions, and movements of armies, and encampings, and all that relates to horsemanship. Of all these things there ought to be public teachers, receiving pay from the state, and their pupils should be the men and boys in the state, and also the girls and women, who are to know all these things. While they are yet girls they should have practised dancing in arms and the whole art of fighting — when grown-up women, they should apply themselves to evolutions and tactics, and the mode of grounding and taking up arms; if for no other reason, yet in case the whole military force should have to leave the city and carry on operations of war outside, that those who will have to guard the young and the rest of the city may be equal to the task; and, on the other hand, when enemies, whether barbarian or Hellenic, come from without with mighty force and make a violent assault upon them, and thus compel them to fight for the possession of the city, which is far from being an impossibility, great would be the disgrace to the state, if the women had been so miserably trained that they could not fight for their young, as birds will, against any creature however strong, and die or undergo any danger, but must instantly rush to the temples and crowd at the altars and shrines, and bring upon human nature the reproach, that of all animals man is the most cowardly!

CLEINIAS: Such a want of education, Stranger, is certainly an unseemly thing to happen in a state, as well as a great misfortune.

ATHENIAN: Suppose that we carry our law to the extent of saying that women ought not to neglect military matters, but that all citizens, male and female alike, shall attend to them?

CLEINIAS: I quite agree.

ATHENIAN: Of wrestling we have spoken in part, but of what I should call the most important part we have not spoken, and cannot easily speak without showing at the same time by gesture as well as in word what we mean; when word and action combine, and not till then, we shall explain clearly what has been said, pointing out that of all movements wrestling is most akin to the military art, and is to be pursued for the sake of this, and not this for the sake of wrestling.

CLEINIAS: Excellent. ATHENIAN: Enough of wrestling; we will now proceed to speak of other movements of the body. Such motion may be in general called dancing, and is of two kinds: one of nobler figures, imitating the honourable, the other of the more ignoble figures, imitating the mean; and of both these there are two further subdivisions. Of the serious, one kind is of those engaged in war and vehement action, and is the exercise of a noble person and a manly heart; the other exhibits a temperate soul in the enjoyment of prosperity and modest pleasures, and may be truly called and is the dance of peace. The warrior dance is different from the peaceful one, and may be rightly termed Pyrrhic; this imitates the modes of avoiding blows and missiles by dropping or giving way, or springing aside, or rising up or falling down; also the opposite postures which are those of action, as, for example, the imitation of archery and the hurling of javelins, and of all sorts of blows. And when the imitation is of brave bodies and souls, and the action is direct and muscular, giving for the most part a straight movement to the limbs of the body — that, I say, is the true sort; but the opposite is not right. In the dance of peace what we have to consider is whether a man bears himself naturally and gracefully, and after the manner of men who duly conform to the law. But before proceeding I must distinguish the dancing about which there is any doubt, from that about which there is no doubt. Which is the doubtful kind, and how are the two to be distinguished? There are dances of the Bacchic sort, both those in which, as they say, they imitate drunken men, and which are named after the Nymphs, and Pan, and Silenuses, and Satyrs; and also those in which purifications are made or mysteries celebrated — all this sort of dancing cannot be rightly defined as having either a peaceful or a warlike character, or indeed as having any meaning whatever, and may, I think, be most truly described as distinct from the warlike dance, and distinct from the peaceful, and not suited for a city at all. There let it lie; and so leaving it to lie, we will proceed to the dances of war and peace, for with these we are undoubtedly concerned. Now the unwarlike muse, which honours in dance the Gods and the sons of the Gods, is entirely associated with the consciousness of prosperity; this class may be subdivided into two lesser classes, of which one is expressive of an escape from some labour or danger into good, and has greater pleasures, the other expressive of preservation and increase of former good, in which the pleasure is less exciting — in all these cases, every man when the pleasure is greater, moves his body more, and less when the pleasure is less; and, again, if he be more orderly and has learned courage from discipline he moves less, but if he be a coward, and has no training or self-control, he makes greater and more violent movements, and in general when he is speaking or singing he is not altogether able to keep his body still; and so out of the imitation of words in gestures the whole art of dancing has arisen. And in these various kinds of imitation one man moves in an orderly, another in a disorderly manner; and as the ancients may be observed to have given many names which are according to nature and deserving of praise, so there is an excellent one which they have given to the dances of men who in their times of prosperity are moderate in their pleasures — the giver of names, whoever he was, assigned to them a very true, and poetical, and rational name, when he called them Emmeleiai, or dances of order, thus establishing two kinds of dances of the nobler sort, the dance of war which he called the Pyrrhic, and the dance of peace which he called Emmeleia, or the dance of order; giving to each their appropriate and becoming name. These things the legislator should indicate in general outline, and the guardian of the law should enquire into them and search them out, combining dancing with music, and assigning to the several sacrificial feasts that which is suitable to them; and when he has consecrated all of them in due order, he shall for the future change nothing, whether of dance or song. Thenceforward the city and the citizens shall continue to have the same pleasures, themselves being as far as possible alike, and shall live well and happily.

I have described the dances which are appropriate to noble bodies and generous souls. But it is necessary also to consider and know uncomely persons and thoughts, and those which are intended to produce laughter in comedy, and have a comic character in respect of style, song, and dance, and of the imitations which these afford. For serious things cannot be understood without laughable things, nor opposites at all without opposites, if a man is really to have intelligence of either; but he cannot carry out both in action, if he is to have any degree of virtue. And for this very reason he should learn them both, in order that he may not in ignorance do or say anything which is ridiculous and out of place — he should command slaves and hired strangers to imitate such things, but he should never take any serious interest in them himself, nor should any freeman or freewoman be discovered taking pains to learn them; and there should always be some element of novelty in the imitation. Let these then be laid down, both in law and in our discourse, as the regulations of laughable amusements which are generally called comedy. And, if any of the serious poets, as they are termed, who write tragedy, come to us and say— ‘O strangers, may we go to your city and country or may we not, and shall we bring with us our poetry — what is your will about these matters?’ — how shall we answer the divine men? I think that our answer should be as follows: Best of strangers, we will say to them, we also according to our ability are tragic poets, and our tragedy is the best and noblest; for our whole state is an imitation of the best and noblest life, which we affirm to be indeed the very truth of tragedy. You are poets and we are poets, both makers of the same strains, rivals and antagonists in the noblest of dramas, which true law can alone perfect, as our hope is. Do not then suppose that we shall all in a moment allow you to erect your stage in the agora, or introduce the fair voices of your actors, speaking above our own, and permit you to harangue our women and children, and the common people, about our institutions, in language other than our own, and very often the opposite of our own. For a state would be mad which gave you this licence, until the magistrates had determined whether your poetry might be recited, and was fit for publication or not. Wherefore, O ye sons and scions of the softer Muses, first of all show your songs to the magistrates, and let them compare them with our own, and if they are the same or better we will give you a chorus; but if not, then, my friends, we cannot. Let these, then, be the customs ordained by law about all dances and the teaching of them, and let matters relating to slaves be separated from those relating to masters, if you do not object.

CLEINIAS: We can have no hesitation in assenting when you put the matter thus.

ATHENIAN: There still remain three studies suitable for freemen. Arithmetic is one of them; the measurement of length, surface, and depth is the second; and the third has to do with the revolutions of the stars in relation to one another. Not every one has need to toil through all these things in a strictly scientific manner, but only a few, and who they are to be we will hereafter indicate at the end, which will be the proper place; not to know what is necessary for mankind in general, and what is the truth, is disgraceful to every one: and yet to enter into these matters minutely is neither easy, nor at all possible for every one; but there is something in them which is necessary and cannot be set aside, and probably he who made the proverb about God originally had this in view when he said, that ‘not even God himself can fight against necessity;’ he meant, if I am not mistaken, divine necessity; for as to the human necessities of which the many speak, when they talk in this manner, nothing can be more ridiculous than such an application of the words.

CLEINIAS: And what necessities of knowledge are there, Stranger, which are divine and not human?

ATHENIAN: I conceive them to be those of which he who has no use nor any knowledge at all cannot be a God, or demi-god, or hero to mankind, or able to take any serious thought or charge of them. And very unlike a divine man would he be, who is unable to count one, two, three, or to distinguish odd and even numbers, or is unable to count at all, or reckon night and day, and who is totally unacquainted with the revolution of the sun and moon, and the other stars. There would be great folly in supposing that all these are not necessary parts of knowledge to him who intends to know anything about the highest kinds of knowledge; but which these are, and how many there are of them, and when they are to be learned, and what is to be learned together and what apart, and the whole correlation of them, must be rightly apprehended first; and these leading the way we may proceed to the other parts of knowledge. For so necessity grounded in nature constrains us, against which we say that no God contends, or ever will contend.

CLEINIAS: I think, Stranger, that what you have now said is very true and agreeable to nature.

ATHENIAN: Yes, Cleinias, that is so. But it is difficult for the legislator to begin with these studies; at a more convenient time we will make regulations for them.

CLEINIAS: You seem, Stranger, to be afraid of our habitual ignorance of the subject: there is no reason why that should prevent you from speaking out.

ATHENIAN: I certainly am afraid of the difficulties to which you allude, but I am still more afraid of those who apply themselves to this sort of knowledge, and apply themselves badly. For entire ignorance is not so terrible or extreme an evil, and is far from being the greatest of all; too much cleverness and too much learning, accompanied with an ill bringing up, are far more fatal.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: All freemen I conceive, should learn as much of these branches of knowledge as every child in Egypt is taught when he learns the alphabet. In that country arithmetical games have been invented for the use of mere children, which they learn as a pleasure and amusement. They have to distribute apples and garlands, using the same number sometimes for a larger and sometimes for a lesser number of persons; and they arrange pugilists and wrestlers as they pair together by lot or remain over, and show how their turns come in natural order. Another mode of amusing them is to distribute vessels, sometimes of gold, brass, silver, and the like, intermixed with one another, sometimes of one metal only; as I was saying they adapt to their amusement the numbers in common use, and in this way make more intelligible to their pupils the arrangements and movements of armies and expeditions, and in the management of a household they make people more useful to themselves, and more wide awake; and again in measurements of things which have length, and breadth, and depth, they free us from that natural ignorance of all these things which is so ludicrous and disgraceful.

CLEINIAS: What kind of ignorance do you mean?

ATHENIAN: O my dear Cleinias, I, like yourself, have late in life heard with amazement of our ignorance in these matters; to me we appear to be more like pigs than men, and I am quite ashamed, not only of myself, but of all Hellenes.

CLEINIAS: About what? Say, Stranger, what you mean.

ATHENIAN: I will; or rather I will show you my meaning by a question, and do you please to answer me: You know, I suppose, what length is?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And what breadth is?

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: And you know that these are two distinct things, and that there is a third thing called depth?

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: And do not all these seem to you to be commensurable with themselves?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: That is to say, length is naturally commensurable with length, and breadth with breadth, and depth in like manner with depth?

CLEINIAS: Undoubtedly.

ATHENIAN: But if some things are commensurable and others wholly incommensurable, and you think that all things are commensurable, what is your position in regard to them?

CLEINIAS: Clearly, far from good.

ATHENIAN: Concerning length and breadth when compared with depth, or breadth and length when compared with one another, are not all the Hellenes agreed that these are commensurable with one another in some way?

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: But if they are absolutely incommensurable, and yet all of us regard them as commensurable, have we not reason to be ashamed of our compatriots; and might we not say to them: O ye best of Hellenes, is not this one of the things of which we were saying that not to know them is disgraceful, and of which to have a bare knowledge only is no great distinction?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And there are other things akin to these, in which there spring up other errors of the same family.

CLEINIAS: What are they?

ATHENIAN: The natures of commensurable and incommensurable quantities in their relation to one another. A man who is good for anything ought to be able, when he thinks, to distinguish them; and different persons should compete with one another in asking questions, which will be a far better and more graceful way of passing their time than the old man’s game of draughts.

CLEINIAS: I dare say; and these pastimes are not so very unlike a game of draughts.

ATHENIAN: And these, as I maintain, Cleinias, are the studies which our youth ought to learn, for they are innocent and not difficult; the learning of them will be an amusement, and they will benefit the state. If any one is of another mind, let him say what he has to say.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Then if these studies are such as we maintain, we will include them; if not, they shall be excluded.

CLEINIAS: Assuredly: but may we not now, Stranger, prescribe these studies as necessary, and so fill up the lacunae of our laws?

ATHENIAN: They shall be regarded as pledges which may be hereafter redeemed and removed from our state, if they do not please either us who give them, or you who accept them.

CLEINIAS: A fair condition.

ATHENIAN: Next let us see whether we are or are not willing that the study of astronomy shall be proposed for our youth.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: Here occurs a strange phenomenon, which certainly cannot in any point of view be tolerated.

CLEINIAS: To what are you referring?

ATHENIAN: Men say that we ought not to enquire into the supreme God and the nature of the universe, nor busy ourselves in searching out the causes of things, and that such enquiries are impious; whereas the very opposite is the truth.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Perhaps what I am saying may seem paradoxical, and at variance with the usual language of age. But when any one has any good and true notion which is for the advantage of the state and in every way acceptable to God, he cannot abstain from expressing it.

CLEINIAS: Your words are reasonable enough; but shall we find any good or true notion about the stars?

ATHENIAN: My good friends, at this hour all of us Hellenes tell lies, if I may use such an expression, about those great Gods, the Sun and the Moon.

CLEINIAS: Lies of what nature?

ATHENIAN: We say that they and divers other stars do not keep the same path, and we call them planets or wanderers.

CLEINIAS: Very true, Stranger; and in the course of my life I have often myself seen the morning star and the evening star and divers others not moving in their accustomed course, but wandering out of their path in all manner of ways, and I have seen the sun and moon doing what we all know that they do.

ATHENIAN: Just so, Megillus and Cleinias; and I maintain that our citizens and our youth ought to learn about the nature of the Gods in heaven, so far as to be able to offer sacrifices and pray to them in pious language, and not to blaspheme about them.

CLEINIAS: There you are right, if such a knowledge be only attainable; and if we are wrong in our mode of speaking now, and can be better instructed and learn to use better language, then I quite agree with you that such a degree of knowledge as will enable us to speak rightly should be acquired by us. And now do you try to explain to us your whole meaning, and we, on our part, will endeavour to understand you.

ATHENIAN: There is some difficulty in understanding my meaning, but not a very great one, nor will any great length of time be required. And of this I am myself a proof; for I did not know these things long ago, nor in the days of my youth, and yet I can explain them to you in a brief space of time; whereas if they had been difficult I could certainly never have explained them all, old as I am, to old men like yourselves.

CLEINIAS: True; but what is this study which you describe as wonderful and fitting for youth to learn, but of which we are ignorant? Try and explain the nature of it to us as clearly as you can.

ATHENIAN: I will. For, O my good friends, that other doctrine about the wandering of the sun and the moon and the other stars is not the truth, but the very reverse of the truth. Each of them moves in the same path — not in many paths, but in one only, which is circular, and the varieties are only apparent. Nor are we right in supposing that the swiftest of them is the slowest, nor conversely, that the slowest is the quickest. And if what I say is true, only just imagine that we had a similar notion about horses running at Olympia, or about men who ran in the long course, and that we addressed the swiftest as the slowest and the slowest as the swiftest, and sang the praises of the vanquished as though he were the victor — in that case our praises would not be true, nor very agreeable to the runners, though they be but men; and now, to commit the same error about the Gods which would have been ludicrous and erroneous in the case of men — is not that ludicrous and erroneous?

CLEINIAS: Worse than ludicrous, I should say.

ATHENIAN: At all events, the Gods cannot like us to be spreading a false report of them.

CLEINIAS: Most true, if such is the fact.

ATHENIAN: And if we can show that such is really the fact, then all these matters ought to be learned so far as is necessary for the avoidance of impiety; but if we cannot, they may be let alone, and let this be our decision.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Enough of laws relating to education and learning. But hunting and similar pursuits in like manner claim our attention. For the legislator appears to have a duty imposed upon him which goes beyond mere legislation. There is something over and above law which lies in a region between admonition and law, and has several times occurred to us in the course of discussion; for example, in the education of very young children there were things, as we maintain, which are not to be defined, and to regard them as matters of positive law is a great absurdity. Now, our laws and the whole constitution of our state having been thus delineated, the praise of the virtuous citizen is not complete when he is described as the person who serves the laws best and obeys them most, but the higher form of praise is that which describes him as the good citizen who passes through life undefiled and is obedient to the words of the legislator, both when he is giving laws and when he assigns praise and blame. This is the truest word that can be spoken in praise of a citizen; and the true legislator ought not only to write his laws, but also to interweave with them all such things as seem to him honourable and dishonourable. And the perfect citizen ought to seek to strengthen these no less than the principles of law which are sanctioned by punishments. I will adduce an example which will clear up my meaning, and will be a sort of witness to my words. Hunting is of wide extent, and has a name under which many things are included, for there is a hunting of creatures in the water, and of creatures in the air, and there is a great deal of hunting of land animals of all kinds, and not of wild beasts only. The hunting after man is also worthy of consideration; there is the hunting after him in war, and there is often a hunting after him in the way of friendship, which is praised and also blamed; and there is thieving, and the hunting which is practised by robbers, and that of armies against armies. Now the legislator, in laying down laws about hunting, can neither abstain from noting these things, nor can he make threatening ordinances which will assign rules and penalties about all of them. What is he to do? He will have to praise and blame hunting with a view to the exercise and pursuits of youth. And, on the other hand, the young man must listen obediently; neither pleasure nor pain should hinder him, and he should regard as his standard of action the praises and injunctions of the legislator rather than the punishments which he imposes by law. This being premised, there will follow next in order moderate praise and censure of hunting; the praise being assigned to that kind which will make the souls of young men better, and the censure to that which has the opposite effect. And now let us address young men in the form of a prayer for their welfare: O friends, we will say to them, may no desire or love of hunting in the sea, or of angling or of catching the creatures in the waters, ever take possession of you, either when you are awake or when you are asleep, by hook or with weels, which latter is a very lazy contrivance; and let not any desire of catching men and of piracy by sea enter into your souls and make you cruel and lawless hunters. And as to the desire of thieving in town or country, may it never enter into your most passing thoughts; nor let the insidious fancy of catching birds, which is hardly worthy of freemen, come into the head of any youth. There remains therefore for our athletes only the hunting and catching of land animals, of which the one sort is called hunting by night, in which the hunters sleep in turn and are lazy; this is not to be commended any more than that which has intervals of rest, in which the wild strength of beasts is subdued by nets and snares, and not by the victory of a laborious spirit. Thus, only the best kind of hunting is allowed at all — that of quadrupeds, which is carried on with horses and dogs and men’s own persons, and they get the victory over the animals by running them down and striking them and hurling at them, those who have a care of godlike manhood taking them with their own hands. The praise and blame which is assigned to all these things has now been declared; and let the law be as follows: Let no one hinder these who verily are sacred hunters from following the chase wherever and whithersoever they will; but the hunter by night, who trusts to his nets and gins, shall not be allowed to hunt anywhere. The fowler in the mountains and waste places shall be permitted, but on cultivated ground and on consecrated wilds he shall not be permitted; and any one who meets him may stop him. As to the hunter in waters, he may hunt anywhere except in harbours or sacred streams or marshes or pools, provided only that he do not pollute the water with poisonous juices. And now we may say that all our enactments about education are complete.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

BOOK VIII.

ATHENIAN: Next, with the help of the Delphian oracle, we have to institute festivals and make laws about them, and to determine what sacrifices will be for the good of the city, and to what Gods they shall be offered; but when they shall be offered, and how often, may be partly regulated by us.

CLEINIAS: The number — yes.

ATHENIAN: Then we will first determine the number; and let the whole number be 365 — one for every day — so that one magistrate at least will sacrifice daily to some God or demi-god on behalf of the city, and the citizens, and their possessions. And the interpreters, and priests, and priestesses, and prophets shall meet, and, in company with the guardians of the law, ordain those things which the legislator of necessity omits; and I may remark that they are the very persons who ought to take note of what is omitted. The law will say that there are twelve feasts dedicated to the twelve Gods, after whom the several tribes are named; and that to each of them they shall sacrifice every month, and appoint choruses, and musical and gymnastic contests, assigning them so as to suit the Gods and seasons of the year. And they shall have festivals for women, distinguishing those which ought to be separated from the men’s festivals, and those which ought not. Further, they shall not confuse the infernal deities and their rites with the Gods who are termed heavenly and their rites, but shall separate them, giving to Pluto his own in the twelfth month, which is sacred to him, according to the law. To such a deity warlike men should entertain no aversion, but they should honour him as being always the best friend of man. For the connexion of soul and body is no way better than the dissolution of them, as I am ready to maintain quite seriously. Moreover, those who would regulate these matters rightly should consider, that our city among existing cities has no fellow, either in respect of leisure or command of the necessaries of life, and that like an individual she ought to live happily. And those who would live happily should in the first place do no wrong to one another, and ought not themselves to be wronged by others; to attain the first is not difficult, but there is great difficulty in acquiring the power of not being wronged. No man can be perfectly secure against wrong, unless he has become perfectly good; and cities are like individuals in this, for a city if good has a life of peace, but if evil, a life of war within and without. Wherefore the citizens ought to practise war — not in time of war, but rather while they are at peace. And every city which has any sense, should take the field at least for one day in every month, and for more if the magistrates think fit, having no regard to winter cold or summer heat; and they should go out en masse, including their wives and their children, when the magistrates determine to lead forth the whole people, or in separate portions when summoned by them; and they should always provide that there should be games and sacrificial feasts, and they should have tournaments, imitating in as lively a manner as they can real battles. And they should distribute prizes of victory and valour to the competitors, passing censures and encomiums on one another according to the characters which they bear in the contests and in their whole life, honouring him who seems to be the best, and blaming him who is the opposite. And let poets celebrate the victors — not however every poet, but only one who in the first place is not less than fifty years of age; nor should he be one who, although he may have musical and poetical gifts, has never in his life done any noble or illustrious action; but those who are themselves good and also honourable in the state, creators of noble actions — let their poems be sung, even though they be not very musical. And let the judgment of them rest with the instructor of youth and the other guardians of the laws, who shall give them this privilege, and they alone shall be free to sing; but the rest of the world shall not have this liberty. Nor shall any one dare to sing a song which has not been approved by the judgment of the guardians of the laws, not even if his strain be sweeter than the songs of Thamyras and Orpheus; but only such poems as have been judged sacred and dedicated to the Gods, and such as are the works of good men, in which praise or blame has been awarded and which have been deemed to fulfil their design fairly.

The regulations about war, and about liberty of speech in poetry, ought to apply equally to men and women. The legislator may be supposed to argue the question in his own mind: Who are my citizens for whom I have set in order the city? Are they not competitors in the greatest of all contests, and have they not innumerable rivals? To be sure, will be the natural reply. Well, but if we were training boxers, or pancratiasts, or any other sort of athletes, would they never meet until the hour of contest arrived; and should we do nothing to prepare ourselves previously by daily practice? Surely, if we were boxers, we should have been learning to fight for many days before, and exercising ourselves in imitating all those blows and wards which we were intending to use in the hour of conflict; and in order that we might come as near to reality as possible, instead of cestuses we should put on boxing-gloves, that the blows and the wards might be practised by us to the utmost of our power. And if there were a lack of competitors, the ridicule of fools would not deter us from hanging up a lifeless image and practising at that. Or if we had no adversary at all, animate or inanimate, should we not venture in the dearth of antagonists to spar by ourselves? In what other manner could we ever study the art of self-defence?

CLEINIAS: The way which you mention, Stranger, would be the only way.

ATHENIAN: And shall the warriors of our city, who are destined when occasion calls to enter the greatest of all contests, and to fight for their lives, and their children, and their property, and the whole city, be worse prepared than boxers? And will the legislator, because he is afraid that their practising with one another may appear to some ridiculous, abstain from commanding them to go out and fight; will he not ordain that soldiers shall perform lesser exercises without arms every day, making dancing and all gymnastic tend to this end; and also will he not require that they shall practise some gymnastic exercises, greater as well as lesser, as often as every month; and that they shall have contests one with another in every part of the country, seizing upon posts and lying in ambush, and imitating in every respect the reality of war; fighting with boxing-gloves and hurling javelins, and using weapons somewhat dangerous, and as nearly as possible like the true ones, in order that the sport may not be altogether without fear, but may have terrors and to a certain degree show the man who has and who has not courage; and that the honour and dishonour which are assigned to them respectively, may prepare the whole city for the true conflict of life? If any one dies in these mimic contests, the homicide is involuntary, and we will make the slayer, when he has been purified according to law, to be pure of blood, considering that if a few men should die, others as good as they will be born; but that if fear is dead, then the citizens will never find a test of superior and inferior natures, which is a far greater evil to the state than the loss of a few.

CLEINIAS: We are quite agreed, Stranger, that we should legislate about such things, and that the whole state should practise them.

ATHENIAN: And what is the reason that dances and contests of this sort hardly ever exist in states, at least not to any extent worth speaking of? Is this due to the ignorance of mankind and their legislators?

CLEINIAS: Perhaps.

ATHENIAN: Certainly not, sweet Cleinias; there are two causes, which are quite enough to account for the deficiency.

CLEINIAS: What are they?

ATHENIAN: One cause is the love of wealth, which wholly absorbs men, and never for a moment allows them to think of anything but their own private possessions; on this the soul of every citizen hangs suspended, and can attend to nothing but his daily gain; mankind are ready to learn any branch of knowledge, and to follow any pursuit which tends to this end, and they laugh at every other: that is one reason why a city will not be in earnest about such contests or any other good and honourable pursuit. But from an insatiable love of gold and silver, every man will stoop to any art or contrivance, seemly or unseemly, in the hope of becoming rich; and will make no objection to performing any action, holy, or unholy and utterly base; if only like a beast he have the power of eating and drinking all kinds of things, and procuring for himself in every sort of way the gratification of his lusts.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Let this, then, be deemed one of the causes which prevent states from pursuing in an efficient manner the art of war, or any other noble aim, but makes the orderly and temperate part of mankind into merchants, and captains of ships, and servants, and converts the valiant sort into thieves and burglars, and robbers of temples, and violent, tyrannical persons; many of whom are not without ability, but they are unfortunate.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Must not they be truly unfortunate whose souls are compelled to pass through life always hungering?

CLEINIAS: Then that is one cause, Stranger; but you spoke of another.

ATHENIAN: Thank you for reminding me.

CLEINIAS: The insatiable lifelong love of wealth, as you were saying, is one cause which absorbs mankind, and prevents them from rightly practising the arts of war: Granted; and now tell me, what is the other?

ATHENIAN: Do you imagine that I delay because I am in a perplexity?

CLEINIAS: No; but we think that you are too severe upon the money-loving temper, of which you seem in the present discussion to have a peculiar dislike.

ATHENIAN: That is a very fair rebuke, Cleinias; and I will now proceed to the second cause.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: I say that governments are a cause — democracy, oligarchy, tyranny, concerning which I have often spoken in the previous discourse; or rather governments they are not, for none of them exercises a voluntary rule over voluntary subjects; but they may be truly called states of discord, in which while the government is voluntary, the subjects always obey against their will, and have to be coerced; and the ruler fears the subject, and will not, if he can help, allow him to become either noble, or rich, or strong, or valiant, or warlike at all. These two are the chief causes of almost all evils, and of the evils of which I have been speaking they are notably the causes. But our state has escaped both of them; for her citizens have the greatest leisure, and they are not subject to one another, and will, I think, be made by these laws the reverse of lovers of money. Such a constitution may be reasonably supposed to be the only one existing which will accept the education which we have described, and the martial pastimes which have been perfected according to our idea.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Then next we must remember, about all gymnastic contests, that only the warlike sort of them are to be practised and to have prizes of victory; and those which are not military are to be given up. The military sort had better be completely described and established by law; and first, let us speak of running and swiftness.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Certainly the most military of all qualities is general activity of body, whether of foot or hand. For escaping or for capturing an enemy, quickness of foot is required; but hand-to-hand conflict and combat need vigour and strength.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Neither of them can attain their greatest efficiency without arms.

CLEINIAS: How can they?

ATHENIAN: Then our herald, in accordance with the prevailing practice, will first summon the runner — he will appear armed, for to an unarmed competitor we will not give a prize. And he shall enter first who is to run the single course bearing arms; next, he who is to run the double course; third, he who is to run the horse-course; and fourthly, he who is to run the long course; the fifth whom we start, shall be the first sent forth in heavy armour, and shall run a course of sixty stadia to some temple of Ares — and we will send forth another, whom we will style the more heavily armed, to run over smoother ground. There remains the archer; and he shall run in the full equipments of an archer a distance of 100 stadia over mountains, and across every sort of country, to a temple of Apollo and Artemis; this shall be the order of the contest, and we will wait for them until they return, and will give a prize to the conqueror in each.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Let us suppose that there are three kinds of contests — one of boys, another of beardless youths, and a third of men. For the youths we will fix the length of the contest at two-thirds, and for the boys at half of the entire course, whether they contend as archers or as heavy-armed. Touching the women, let the girls who are not grown up compete naked in the stadium and the double course, and the horse-course and the long course, and let them run on the race-ground itself; those who are thirteen years of age and upwards until their marriage shall continue to share in contests if they are not more than twenty, and shall be compelled to run up to eighteen; and they shall descend into the arena in suitable dresses. Let these be the regulations about contests in running both for men and women.

Respecting contests of strength, instead of wrestling and similar contests of the heavier sort, we will institute conflicts in armour of one against one, and two against two, and so on up to ten against ten. As to what a man ought not to suffer or do, and to what extent, in order to gain the victory — as in wrestling, the masters of the art have laid down what is fair and what is not fair, so in fighting in armour — we ought to call in skilful persons, who shall judge for us and be our assessors in the work of legislation; they shall say who deserves to be victor in combats of this sort, and what he is not to do or have done to him, and in like manner what rule determines who is defeated; and let these ordinances apply to women until they are married as well as to men. The pancration shall have a counterpart in a combat of the light-armed; they shall contend with bows and with light shields and with javelins and in the throwing of stones by slings and by hand: and laws shall be made about it, and rewards and prizes given to him who best fulfils the ordinances of the law.

Next in order we shall have to legislate about the horse contests. Now we do not need many horses, for they cannot be of much use in a country like Crete, and hence we naturally do not take great pains about the rearing of them or about horse races. There is no one who keeps a chariot among us, and any rivalry in such matters would be altogether out of place; there would be no sense nor any shadow of sense in instituting contests which are not after the manner of our country. And therefore we give our prizes for single horses — for colts who have not yet cast their teeth, and for those who are intermediate, and for the full-grown horses themselves; and thus our equestrian games will accord with the nature of the country. Let them have conflict and rivalry in these matters in accordance with the law, and let the colonels and generals of horse decide together about all courses and about the armed competitors in them. But we have nothing to say to the unarmed either in gymnastic exercises or in these contests. On the other hand, the Cretan bowman or javelin-man who fights in armour on horseback is useful, and therefore we may as well place a competition of this sort among our amusements. Women are not to be forced to compete by laws and ordinances; but if from previous training they have acquired the habit and are strong enough and like to take part, let them do so, girls as well as boys, and no blame to them.

Thus the competition in gymnastic and the mode of learning it have been described; and we have spoken also of the toils of the contest, and of daily exercises under the superintendence of masters. Likewise, what relates to music has been, for the most part, completed. But as to rhapsodes and the like, and the contests of choruses which are to perform at feasts, all this shall be arranged when the months and days and years have been appointed for Gods and demi-gods, whether every third year, or again every fifth year, or in whatever way or manner the Gods may put into men’s minds the distribution and order of them. At the same time, we may expect that the musical contests will be celebrated in their turn by the command of the judges and the director of education and the guardians of the law meeting together for this purpose, and themselves becoming legislators of the times and nature and conditions of the choral contests and of dancing in general. What they ought severally to be in language and song, and in the admixture of harmony with rhythm and the dance, has been often declared by the original legislator; and his successors ought to follow him, making the games and sacrifices duly to correspond at fitting times, and appointing public festivals. It is not difficult to determine how these and the like matters may have a regular order; nor, again, will the alteration of them do any great good or harm to the state. There is, however, another matter of great importance and difficulty, concerning which God should legislate, if there were any possibility of obtaining from Him an ordinance about it. But seeing that divine aid is not to be had, there appears to be a need of some bold man who specially honours plainness of speech, and will say outright what he thinks best for the city and citizens — ordaining what is good and convenient for the whole state amid the corruptions of human souls, opposing the mightiest lusts, and having no man his helper but himself standing alone and following reason only.

CLEINIAS: What is this, Stranger, that you are saying? For we do not as yet understand your meaning.

ATHENIAN: Very likely; I will endeavour to explain myself more clearly. When I came to the subject of education, I beheld young men and maidens holding friendly intercourse with one another. And there naturally arose in my mind a sort of apprehension — I could not help thinking how one is to deal with a city in which youths and maidens are well nurtured, and have nothing to do, and are not undergoing the excessive and servile toils which extinguish wantonness, and whose only cares during their whole life are sacrifices and festivals and dances. How, in such a state as this, will they abstain from desires which thrust many a man and woman into perdition; and from which reason, assuming the functions of law, commands them to abstain? The ordinances already made may possibly get the better of most of these desires; the prohibition of excessive wealth is a very considerable gain in the direction of temperance, and the whole education of our youth imposes a law of moderation on them; moreover, the eye of the rulers is required always to watch over the young, and never to lose sight of them; and these provisions do, as far as human means can effect anything, exercise a regulating influence upon the desires in general. But how can we take precautions against the unnatural loves of either sex, from which innumerable evils have come upon individuals and cities? How shall we devise a remedy and way of escape out of so great a danger? Truly, Cleinias, here is a difficulty. In many ways Crete and Lacedaemon furnish a great help to those who make peculiar laws; but in the matter of love, as we are alone, I must confess that they are quite against us. For if any one following nature should lay down the law which existed before the days of Laius, and denounce these lusts as contrary to nature, adducing the animals as a proof that such unions were monstrous, he might prove his point, but he would be wholly at variance with the custom of your states. Further, they are repugnant to a principle which we say that a legislator should always observe; for we are always enquiring which of our enactments tends to virtue and which not. And suppose we grant that these loves are accounted by law to the honourable, or at least not disgraceful, in what degree will they contribute to virtue? Will such passions implant in the soul of him who is seduced the habit of courage, or in the soul of the seducer the principle of temperance? Who will ever believe this? or rather, who will not blame the effeminacy of him who yields to pleasures and is unable to hold out against them? Will not all men censure as womanly him who imitates the woman? And who would ever think of establishing such a practice by law? certainly no one who had in his mind the image of true law. How can we prove that what I am saying is true? He who would rightly consider these matters must see the nature of friendship and desire, and of these so-called loves, for they are of two kinds, and out of the two arises a third kind, having the same name; and this similarity of name causes all the difficulty and obscurity.

CLEINIAS: How is that?

ATHENIAN: Dear is the like in virtue to the like, and the equal to the equal; dear also, though unlike, is he who has abundance to him who is in want. And when either of these friendships becomes excessive, we term the excess love.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: The friendship which arises from contraries is horrible and coarse, and has often no tie of communion; but that which arises from likeness is gentle, and has a tie of communion which lasts through life. As to the mixed sort which is made up of them both, there is, first of all, a difficulty in determining what he who is possessed by this third love desires; moreover, he is drawn different ways, and is in doubt between the two principles; the one exhorting him to enjoy the beauty of youth, and the other forbidding him. For the one is a lover of the body, and hungers after beauty, like ripe fruit, and would fain satisfy himself without any regard to the character of the beloved; the other holds the desire of the body to be a secondary matter, and looking rather than loving and with his soul desiring the soul of the other in a becoming manner, regards the satisfaction of the bodily love as wantonness; he reverences and respects temperance and courage and magnanimity and wisdom, and wishes to live chastely with the chaste object of his affection. Now the sort of love which is made up of the other two is that which we have described as the third. Seeing then that there are these three sorts of love, ought the law to prohibit and forbid them all to exist among us? Is it not rather clear that we should wish to have in the state the love which is of virtue and which desires the beloved youth to be the best possible; and the other two, if possible, we should hinder? What do you say, friend Megillus?

MEGILLUS: I think, Stranger, that you are perfectly right in what you have been now saying.

Athenian: I knew well, my friend, that I should obtain your assent, which I accept, and therefore have no need to analyze your custom any further. Cleinias shall be prevailed upon to give me his assent at some other time. Enough of this; and now let us proceed to the laws.

MEGILLUS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Upon reflection I see a way of imposing the law, which, in one respect, is easy, but, in another, is of the utmost difficulty.

MEGILLUS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: We are all aware that most men, in spite of their lawless natures, are very strictly and precisely restrained from intercourse with the fair, and this is not at all against their will, but entirely with their will.

MEGILLUS: When do you mean?

ATHENIAN: When any one has a brother or sister who is fair; and about a son or daughter the same unwritten law holds, and is a most perfect safeguard, so that no open or secret connexion ever takes place between them. Nor does the thought of such a thing ever enter at all into the minds of most of them.

MEGILLUS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Does not a little word extinguish all pleasures of that sort?

MEGILLUS: What word?

ATHENIAN: The declaration that they are unholy, hated of God, and most infamous; and is not the reason of this that no one has ever said the opposite, but every one from his earliest childhood has heard men speaking in the same manner about them always and everywhere, whether in comedy or in the graver language of tragedy? When the poet introduces on the stage a Thyestes or an Oedipus, or a Macareus having secret intercourse with his sister, he represents him, when found out, ready to kill himself as the penalty of his sin.

MEGILLUS: You are very right in saying that tradition, if no breath of opposition ever assails it, has a marvellous power.

ATHENIAN: Am I not also right in saying that the legislator who wants to master any of the passions which master man may easily know how to subdue them? He will consecrate the tradition of their evil character among all, slaves and freemen, women and children, throughout the city: that will be the surest foundation of the law which he can make.

MEGILLUS: Yes; but will he ever succeed in making all mankind use the same language about them?

ATHENIAN: A good objection; but was I not just now saying that I had a way to make men use natural love and abstain from unnatural, not intentionally destroying the seeds of human increase, or sowing them in stony places, in which they will take no root; and that I would command them to abstain too from any female field of increase in which that which is sown is not likely to grow? Now if a law to this effect could only be made perpetual, and gain an authority such as already prevents intercourse of parents and children — such a law, extending to other sensual desires, and conquering them, would be the source of ten thousand blessings. For, in the first place, moderation is the appointment of nature, and deters men from all frenzy and madness of love, and from all adulteries and immoderate use of meats and drinks, and makes them good friends to their own wives. And innumerable other benefits would result if such a law could only be enforced. I can imagine some lusty youth who is standing by, and who, on hearing this enactment, declares in scurrilous terms that we are making foolish and impossible laws, and fills the world with his outcry. And therefore I said that I knew a way of enacting and perpetuating such a law, which was very easy in one respect, but in another most difficult. There is no difficulty in seeing that such a law is possible, and in what way; for, as I was saying, the ordinance once consecrated would master the soul of every man, and terrify him into obedience. But matters have now come to such a pass that even then the desired result seems as if it could not be attained, just as the continuance of an entire state in the practice of common meals is also deemed impossible. And although this latter is partly disproven by the fact of their existence among you, still even in your cities the common meals of women would be regarded as unnatural and impossible. I was thinking of the rebelliousness of the human heart when I said that the permanent establishment of these things is very difficult.

MEGILLUS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Shall I try and find some sort of persuasive argument which will prove to you that such enactments are possible, and not beyond human nature?

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: Is a man more likely to abstain from the pleasures of love and to do what he is bidden about them, when his body is in a good condition, or when he is in an ill condition, and out of training?

CLEINIAS: He will be far more temperate when he is in training.

ATHENIAN: And have we not heard of Iccus of Tarentum, who, with a view to the Olympic and other contests, in his zeal for his art, and also because he was of a manly and temperate disposition, never had any connexion with a woman or a youth during the whole time of his training? And the same is said of Crison and Astylus and Diopompus and many others; and yet, Cleinias, they were far worse educated in their minds than your and my citizens, and in their bodies far more lusty.

CLEINIAS: No doubt this fact has been often affirmed positively by the ancients of these athletes.

ATHENIAN: And had they the courage to abstain from what is ordinarily deemed a pleasure for the sake of a victory in wrestling, running, and the like; and shall our young men be incapable of a similar endurance for the sake of a much nobler victory, which is the noblest of all, as from their youth upwards we will tell them, charming them, as we hope, into the belief of this by tales and sayings and songs?

CLEINIAS: Of what victory are you speaking?

ATHENIAN: Of the victory over pleasure, which if they win, they will live happily; or if they are conquered, the reverse of happily. And, further, may we not suppose that the fear of impiety will enable them to master that which other inferior people have mastered?

CLEINIAS: I dare say.

ATHENIAN: And since we have reached this point in our legislation, and have fallen into a difficulty by reason of the vices of mankind, I affirm that our ordinance should simply run in the following terms: Our citizens ought not to fall below the nature of birds and beasts in general, who are born in great multitudes, and yet remain until the age for procreation virgin and unmarried, but when they have reached the proper time of life are coupled, male and female, and lovingly pair together, and live the rest of their lives in holiness and innocence, abiding firmly in their original compact: surely, we will say to them, you should be better than the animals. But if they are corrupted by the other Hellenes and the common practice of barbarians, and they see with their eyes and hear with their ears of the so-called free love everywhere prevailing among them, and they themselves are not able to get the better of the temptation, the guardians of the law, exercising the functions of lawgivers, shall devise a second law against them.

CLEINIAS: And what law would you advise them to pass if this one failed?

ATHENIAN: Clearly, Cleinias, the one which would naturally follow.

CLEINIAS: What is that?

ATHENIAN: Our citizens should not allow pleasures to strengthen with indulgence, but should by toil divert the aliment and exuberance of them into other parts of the body; and this will happen if no immodesty be allowed in the practice of love. Then they will be ashamed of frequent intercourse, and they will find pleasure, if seldom enjoyed, to be a less imperious mistress. They should not be found out doing anything of the sort. Concealment shall be honourable, and sanctioned by custom and made law by unwritten prescription; on the other hand, to be detected shall be esteemed dishonourable, but not, to abstain wholly. In this way there will be a second legal standard of honourable and dishonourable, involving a second notion of right. Three principles will comprehend all those corrupt natures whom we call inferior to themselves, and who form but one class, and will compel them not to transgress.

CLEINIAS: What are they?

ATHENIAN: The principle of piety, the love of honour, and the desire of beauty, not in the body but in the soul. These are, perhaps, romantic aspirations; but they are the noblest of aspirations, if they could only be realised in all states, and, God willing, in the matter of love we may be able to enforce one of two things — either that no one shall venture to touch any person of the freeborn or noble class except his wedded wife, or sow the unconsecrated and bastard seed among harlots, or in barren and unnatural lusts; or at least we may abolish altogether the connection of men with men; and as to women, if any man has to do with any but those who come into his house duly married by sacred rites, whether they be bought or acquired in any other way, and he offends publicly in the face of all mankind, we shall be right in enacting that he be deprived of civic honours and privileges, and be deemed to be, as he truly is, a stranger. Let this law, then, whether it is one, or ought rather to be called two, be laid down respecting love in general, and the intercourse of the sexes which arises out of the desires, whether rightly or wrongly indulged.

MEGILLUS: I, for my part, Stranger, would gladly receive this law. Cleinias shall speak for himself, and tell you what is his opinion.

CLEINIAS: I will, Megillus, when an opportunity offers; at present, I think that we had better allow the Stranger to proceed with his laws.

MEGILLUS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: We had got about as far as the establishment of the common tables, which in most places would be difficult, but in Crete no one would think of introducing any other custom. There might arise a question about the manner of them — whether they shall be such as they are here in Crete, or such as they are in Lacedaemon — or is there a third kind which may be better than either of them? The answer to this question might be easily discovered, but the discovery would do no great good, for at present they are very well ordered.

Leaving the common tables, we may therefore proceed to the means of providing food. Now, in cities the means of life are gained in many ways and from divers sources, and in general from two sources, whereas our city has only one. For most of the Hellenes obtain their food from sea and land, but our citizens from land only. And this makes the task of the legislator less difficult — half as many laws will be enough, and much less than half; and they will be of a kind better suited to free men. For he has nothing to do with laws about shipowners and merchants and retailers and inn-keepers and tax collectors and mines and moneylending and compound interest and innumerable other things — bidding good-bye to these, he gives laws to husbandmen and shepherds and bee-keepers, and to the guardians and superintendents of their implements; and he has already legislated for greater matters, as for example, respecting marriage and the procreation and nurture of children, and for education, and the establishment of offices — and now he must direct his laws to those who provide food and labour in preparing it.

Let us first of all, then, have a class of laws which shall be called the laws of husbandmen. And let the first of them be the law of Zeus, the God of boundaries. Let no one shift the boundary line either of a fellow-citizen who is a neighbour, or, if he dwells at the extremity of the land, of any stranger who is conterminous with him, considering that this is truly ‘to move the immovable,’ and every one should be more willing to move the largest rock which is not a landmark, than the least stone which is the sworn mark of friendship and hatred between neighbours; for Zeus, the god of kindred, is the witness of the citizen, and Zeus, the god of strangers, of the stranger, and when aroused, terrible are the wars which they stir up. He who obeys the law will never know the fatal consequences of disobedience, but he who despises the law shall be liable to a double penalty, the first coming from the Gods, and the second from the law. For let no one wilfully remove the boundaries of his neighbour’s land, and if any one does, let him who will inform the landowners, and let them bring him into court, and if he be convicted of re-dividing the land by stealth or by force, let the court determine what he ought to suffer or pay. In the next place, many small injuries done by neighbours to one another, through their multiplication, may cause a weight of enmity, and make neighbourhood a very disagreeable and bitter thing. Wherefore a man ought to be very careful of committing any offence against his neighbour, and especially of encroaching on his neighbour’s land; for any man may easily do harm, but not every man can do good to another. He who encroaches on his neighbour’s land, and transgresses his boundaries, shall make good the damage, and, to cure him of his impudence and also of his meanness, he shall pay a double penalty to the injured party. Of these and the like matters the wardens of the country shall take cognizance, and be the judges of them and assessors of the damage; in the more important cases, as has been already said, the whole number of them belonging to any one of the twelve divisions shall decide, and in the lesser cases the commanders: or, again, if any one pastures his cattle on his neighbour’s land, they shall see the injury, and adjudge the penalty. And if any one, by decoying the bees, gets possession of another’s swarms, and draws them to himself by making noises, he shall pay the damage; or if any one sets fire to his own wood and takes no care of his neighbour’s property, he shall be fined at the discretion of the magistrates. And if in planting he does not leave a fair distance between his own and his neighbour’s land, he shall be punished, in accordance with the enactments of many lawgivers, which we may use, not deeming it necessary that the great legislator of our state should determine all the trifles which might be decided by any body; for example, husbandmen have had of old excellent laws about waters, and there is no reason why we should propose to divert their course: He who likes may draw water from the fountain-head of the common stream on to his own land, if he do not cut off the spring which clearly belongs to some other owner; and he may take the water in any direction which he pleases, except through a house or temple or sepulchre, but he must be careful to do no harm beyond the channel. And if there be in any place a natural dryness of the earth, which keeps in the rain from heaven, and causes a deficiency in the supply of water, let him dig down on his own land as far as the clay, and if at this depth he finds no water, let him obtain water from his neighbours, as much as is required for his servants’ drinking, and if his neighbours, too, are limited in their supply, let him have a fixed measure, which shall be determined by the wardens of the country. This he shall receive each day, and on these terms have a share of his neighbours’ water. If there be heavy rain, and one of those on the lower ground injures some tiller of the upper ground, or some one who has a common wall, by refusing to give them an outlet for water; or, again, if some one living on the higher ground recklessly lets off the water on his lower neighbour, and they cannot come to terms with one another, let him who will call in a warden of the city, if he be in the city, or if he be in the country, a warden of the country, and let him obtain a decision determining what each of them is to do. And he who will not abide by the decision shall suffer for his malignant and morose temper, and pay a fine to the injured party, equivalent to double the value of the injury, because he was unwilling to submit to the magistrates.

Now the participation of fruits shall be ordered on this wise. The goddess of Autumn has two gracious gifts: one the joy of Dionysus which is not treasured up; the other, which nature intends to be stored. Let this be the law, then, concerning the fruits of autumn: He who tastes the common or storing fruits of autumn, whether grapes or figs, before the season of vintage which coincides with Arcturus, either on his own land or on that of others — let him pay fifty drachmae, which shall be sacred to Dionysus, if he pluck them from his own land; and if from his neighbour’s land, a mina, and if from any others’, two-thirds of a mina. And he who would gather the ‘choice’ grapes or the ‘choice’ figs, as they are now termed, if he take them off his own land, let him pluck them how and when he likes; but if he take them from the ground of others without their leave, let him in that case be always punished in accordance with the law which ordains that he should not move what he has not laid down. And if a slave touches any fruit of this sort, without the consent of the owner of the land, he shall be beaten with as many blows as there are grapes on the bunch, or figs on the fig-tree. Let a metic purchase the ‘choice’ autumnal fruit, and then, if he pleases, he may gather it; but if a stranger is passing along the road, and desires to eat, let him take of the ‘choice’ grape for himself and a single follower without payment, as a tribute of hospitality. The law however forbids strangers from sharing in the sort which is not used for eating; and if any one, whether he be master or slave, takes of them in ignorance, let the slave be beaten, and the freeman dismissed with admonitions, and instructed to take of the other autumnal fruits which are unfit for making raisins and wine, or for laying by as dried figs. As to pears, and apples, and pomegranates, and similar fruits, there shall be no disgrace in taking them secretly; but he who is caught, if he be of less than thirty years of age, shall be struck and beaten off, but not wounded; and no freeman shall have any right of satisfaction for such blows. Of these fruits the stranger may partake, just as he may of the fruits of autumn. And if an elder, who is more than thirty years of age, eat of them on the spot, let him, like the stranger, be allowed to partake of all such fruits, but he must carry away nothing. If, however, he will not obey the law, let him run the risk of failing in the competition of virtue, in case any one takes notice of his actions before the judges at the time.

Water is the greatest element of nutrition in gardens, but is easily polluted. You cannot poison the soil, or the sun, or the air, which are the other elements of nutrition in plants, or divert them, or steal them; but all these things may very likely happen in regard to water, which must therefore be protected by law. And let this be the law: If any one intentionally pollutes the water of another, whether the water of a spring, or collected in reservoirs, either by poisonous substances, or by digging, or by theft, let the injured party bring the cause before the wardens of the city, and claim in writing the value of the loss; if the accused be found guilty of injuring the water by deleterious substances, let him not only pay damages, but purify the stream or the cistern which contains the water, in such manner as the laws of the interpreters order the purification to be made by the offender in each case.

With respect to the gathering in of the fruits of the soil, let a man, if he pleases, carry his own fruits through any place in which he either does no harm to any one, or himself gains three times as much as his neighbour loses. Now of these things the magistrates should be cognizant, as of all other things in which a man intentionally does injury to another or to the property of another, by fraud or force, in the use which he makes of his own property. All these matters a man should lay before the magistrates, and receive damages, supposing the injury to be not more than three minae; or if he have a charge against another which involves a larger amount, let him bring his suit into the public courts and have the evil-doer punished. But if any of the magistrates appear to adjudge the penalties which he imposes in an unjust spirit, let him be liable to pay double to the injured party. Any one may bring the offences of magistrates, in any particular case, before the public courts. There are innumerable little matters relating to the modes of punishment, and applications for suits, and summonses and the witnesses to summonses — for example, whether two witnesses should be required for a summons, or how many — and all such details, which cannot be omitted in legislation, but are beneath the wisdom of an aged legislator. These lesser matters, as they indeed are in comparison with the greater ones, let a younger generation regulate by law, after the patterns which have preceded, and according to their own experience of the usefulness and necessity of such laws; and when they are duly regulated let there be no alteration, but let the citizens live in the observance of them.

Now of artisans, let the regulations be as follows: In the first place, let no citizen or servant of a citizen be occupied in handicraft arts; for he who is to secure and preserve the public order of the state, has an art which requires much study and many kinds of knowledge, and does not admit of being made a secondary occupation; and hardly any human being is capable of pursuing two professions or two arts rightly, or of practising one art himself, and superintending some one else who is practising another. Let this, then, be our first principle in the state: No one who is a smith shall also be a carpenter, and if he be a carpenter, he shall not superintend the smith’s art rather than his own, under the pretext that in superintending many servants who are working for him, he is likely to superintend them better, because more revenue will accrue to him from them than from his own art; but let every man in the state have one art, and get his living by that. Let the wardens of the city labour to maintain this law, and if any citizen incline to any other art rather than the study of virtue, let them punish him with disgrace and infamy, until they bring him back into his own right course; and if any stranger profess two arts, let them chastise him with bonds and money penalties, and expulsion from the state, until they compel him to be one only and not many.

But as touching payments for hire, and contracts of work, or in case any one does wrong to any of the citizens, or they do wrong to any other, up to fifty drachmae, let the wardens of the city decide the case; but if a greater amount be involved, then let the public courts decide according to law. Let no one pay any duty either on the importation or exportation of goods; and as to frankincense and similar perfumes, used in the service of the Gods, which come from abroad, and purple and other dyes which are not produced in the country, or the materials of any art which have to be imported, and which are not necessary — no one should import them; nor, again, should any one export anything which is wanted in the country. Of all these things let there be inspectors and superintendents, taken from the guardians of the law; and they shall be the twelve next in order to the five seniors. Concerning arms, and all implements which are required for military purposes, if there be need of introducing any art, or plant, or metal, or chains of any kind, or animals for use in war, let the commanders of the horse and the generals have authority over their importation and exportation; the city shall send them out and also receive them, and the guardians of the law shall make fit and proper laws about them. But let there be no retail trade for the sake of moneymaking, either in these or any other articles, in the city or country at all.

With respect to food and the distribution of the produce of the country, the right and proper way seems to be nearly that which is the custom of Crete; for all should be required to distribute the fruits of the soil into twelve parts, and in this way consume them. Let the twelfth portion of each as for instance of wheat and barley, to which the rest of the fruits of the earth shall be added, as well as the animals which are for sale in each of the twelve divisions, be divided in due proportion into three parts; one part for freemen, another for their servants, and a third for craftsmen and in general for strangers, whether sojourners who may be dwelling in the city, and like other men must live, or those who come on some business which they have with the state, or with some individual. Let only this third part of all necessaries be required to be sold; out of the other two-thirds no one shall be compelled to sell. And how will they be best distributed? In the first place, we see clearly that the distribution will be of equals in one point of view, and in another point of view of unequals.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I mean that the earth of necessity produces and nourishes the various articles of food, sometimes better and sometimes worse.

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: Such being the case, let no one of the three portions be greater than either of the other two — neither that which is assigned to masters or to slaves, nor again that of the stranger; but let the distribution to all be equal and alike, and let every citizen take his two portions and distribute them among slaves and freemen, he having power to determine the quantity and quality. And what remains he shall distribute by measure and number among the animals who have to be sustained from the earth, taking the whole number of them.

In the second place, our citizens should have separate houses duly ordered; and this will be the order proper for men like them. There shall be twelve hamlets, one in the middle of each twelfth portion, and in each hamlet they shall first set apart a market-place, and the temples of the Gods, and of their attendant demi-gods; and if there be any local deities of the Magnetes, or holy seats of other ancient deities, whose memory has been preserved, to these let them pay their ancient honours. But Hestia, and Zeus, and Athene will have temples everywhere together with the God who presides in each of the twelve districts. And the first erection of houses shall be around these temples, where the ground is highest, in order to provide the safest and most defensible place of retreat for the guards. All the rest of the country they shall settle in the following manner: They shall make thirteen divisions of the craftsmen; one of them they shall establish in the city, and this, again, they shall subdivide into twelve lesser divisions, among the twelve districts of the city, and the remainder shall be distributed in the country round about; and in each village they shall settle various classes of craftsmen, with a view to the convenience of the husbandmen. And the chief officers of the wardens of the country shall superintend all these matters, and see how many of them, and which class of them, each place requires; and fix them where they are likely to be least troublesome, and most useful to the husbandman. And the wardens of the city shall see to similar matters in the city.

Now the wardens of the agora ought to see to the details of the agora. Their first care, after the temples which are in the agora have been seen to, should be to prevent any one from doing any wrong in dealings between man and man; in the second place, as being inspectors of temperance and violence, they should chastise him who requires chastisement. Touching articles of sale, they should first see whether the articles which the citizens are under regulations to sell to strangers are sold to them, as the law ordains. And let the law be as follows: On the first day of the month, the persons in charge, whoever they are, whether strangers or slaves, who have the charge on behalf of the citizens, shall produce to the strangers the portion which falls to them, in the first place, a twelfth portion of the corn — the stranger shall purchase corn for the whole month, and other cereals, on the first market day; and on the tenth day of the month the one party shall sell, and the other buy, liquids sufficient to last during the whole month; and on the twenty-third day there shall be a sale of animals by those who are willing to sell to the people who want to buy, and of implements and other things which husbandmen sell, (such as skins and all kinds of clothing, either woven or made of felt and other goods of the same sort) and which strangers are compelled to buy and purchase of others. As to the retail trade in these things, whether of barley or wheat set apart for meal and flour, or any other kind of food, no one shall sell them to citizens or their slaves, nor shall any one buy of a citizen; but let the stranger sell them in the market of strangers, to artisans and their slaves, making an exchange of wine and food, which is commonly called retail trade. And butchers shall offer for sale parts of dismembered animals to the strangers, and artisans, and their servants. Let any stranger who likes buy fuel from day to day wholesale, from those who have the care of it in the country, and let him sell to the strangers as much as he pleases and when he pleases. As to other goods and implements which are likely to be wanted, they shall sell them in the common market, at any place which the guardians of the law and the wardens of the market and city, choosing according to their judgment, shall determine; at such places they shall exchange money for goods, and goods for money, neither party giving credit to the other; and he who gives credit must be satisfied, whether he obtain his money or not, for in such exchanges he will not be protected by law. But whenever property has been bought or sold, greater in quantity or value than is allowed by the law, which has determined within what limits a man may increase and diminish his possessions, let the excess be registered in the books of the guardians of the law; or in case of diminution, let there be an erasure made. And let the same rule be observed about the registration of the property of the metics. Any one who likes may come and be a metic on certain conditions; a foreigner, if he likes, and is able to settle, may dwell in the land, but he must practise an art, and not abide more than twenty years from the time at which he has registered himself; and he shall pay no sojourner’s tax, however small, except good conduct, nor any other tax for buying and selling. But when the twenty years have expired, he shall take his property with him and depart. And if in the course of these years he should chance to distinguish himself by any considerable benefit which he confers on the state, and he thinks that he can persuade the council and assembly, either to grant him delay in leaving the country, or to allow him to remain for the whole of his life, let him go and persuade the city, and whatever they assent to at his instance shall take effect. For the children of the metics, being artisans, and of fifteen years of age, let the time of their sojourn commence after their fifteenth year; and let them remain for twenty years, and then go where they like; but any of them who wishes to remain, may do so, if he can persuade the council and assembly. And if he depart, let him erase all the entries which have been made by him in the register kept by the magistrates.

BOOK IX.

Next to all the matters which have preceded in the natural order of legislation will come suits of law. Of suits those which relate to agriculture have been already described, but the more important have not been described. Having mentioned them severally under their usual names, we will proceed to say what punishments are to be inflicted for each offence, and who are to be the judges of them.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: There is a sense of disgrace in legislating, as we are about to do, for all the details of crime in a state which, as we say, is to be well regulated and will be perfectly adapted to the practice of virtue. To assume that in such a state there will arise some one who will be guilty of crimes as heinous as any which are ever perpetrated in other states, and that we must legislate for him by anticipation, and threaten and make laws against him if he should arise, in order to deter him, and punish his acts, under the idea that he will arise — this, as I was saying, is in a manner disgraceful. Yet seeing that we are not like the ancient legislators, who gave laws to heroes and sons of gods, being, according to the popular belief, themselves the offspring of the gods, and legislating for others, who were also the children of divine parents, but that we are only men who are legislating for the sons of men, there is no uncharitableness in apprehending that some one of our citizens may be like a seed which has touched the ox’s horn, having a heart so hard that it cannot be softened any more than those seeds can be softened by fire. Among our citizens there may be those who cannot be subdued by all the strength of the laws; and for their sake, though an ungracious task, I will proclaim my first law about the robbing of temples, in case any one should dare to commit such a crime. I do not expect or imagine that any well-brought-up citizen will ever take the infection, but their servants, and strangers, and strangers’ servants may be guilty of many impieties. And with a view to them especially, and yet not without a provident eye to the weakness of human nature generally, I will proclaim the law about robbers of temples and similar incurable, or almost incurable, criminals. Having already agreed that such enactments ought always to have a short prelude, we may speak to the criminal, whom some tormenting desire by night and by day tempts to go and rob a temple, the fewest possible words of admonition and exhortation: O sir, we will say to him, the impulse which moves you to rob temples is not an ordinary human malady, nor yet a visitation of heaven, but a madness which is begotten in a man from ancient and unexpiated crimes of his race, an ever-recurring curse — against this you must guard with all your might, and how you are to guard we will explain to you. When any such thought comes into your mind, go and perform expiations, go as a suppliant to the temples of the Gods who avert evils, go to the society of those who are called good men among you; hear them tell and yourself try to repeat after them, that every man should honour the noble and the just. Fly from the company of the wicked — fly and turn not back; and if your disorder is lightened by these remedies, well and good, but if not, then acknowledge death to be nobler than life, and depart hence.

Such are the preludes which we sing to all who have thoughts of unholy and treasonable actions, and to him who hearkens to them the law has nothing to say. But to him who is disobedient when the prelude is over, cry with a loud voice — He who is taken in the act of robbing temples, if he be a slave or stranger, shall have his evil deed engraven on his face and hands, and shall be beaten with as many stripes as may seem good to the judges, and be cast naked beyond the borders of the land. And if he suffers this punishment he will probably return to his right mind and be improved; for no penalty which the law inflicts is designed for evil, but always makes him who suffers either better or not so much worse as he would have been. But if any citizen be found guilty of any great or unmentionable wrong, either in relation to the Gods, or his parents, or the state, let the judge deem him to be incurable, remembering that after receiving such an excellent education and training from youth upward, he has not abstained from the greatest of crimes. His punishment shall be death, which to him will be the least of evils; and his example will benefit others, if he perish ingloriously, and be cast beyond the borders of the land. But let his children and family, if they avoid the ways of their father, have glory, and let honourable mention be made of them, as having nobly and manfully escaped out of evil into good. None of them should have their goods confiscated to the state, for the lots of the citizens ought always to continue the same and equal.

Touching the exaction of penalties, when a man appears to have done anything which deserves a fine, he shall pay the fine, if he have anything in excess of the lot which is assigned to him; but more than that he shall not pay. And to secure exactness, let the guardians of the law refer to the registers, and inform the judges of the precise truth, in order that none of the lots may go uncultivated for want of money. But if any one seems to deserve a greater penalty, let him undergo a long and public imprisonment and be dishonoured, unless some of his friends are willing to be surety for him, and liberate him by assisting him to pay the fine. No criminal shall go unpunished, not even for a single offence, nor if he have fled the country; but let the penalty be according to his deserts — death, or bonds, or blows, or degrading places of sitting or standing, or removal to some temple on the borders of the land; or let him pay fines, as we said before. In cases of death, let the judges be the guardians of the law, and a court selected by merit from the last year’s magistrates. But how the causes are to be brought into court, how the summonses are to be served, and the like, these things may be left to the younger generation of legislators to determine; the manner of voting we must determine ourselves.

Let the vote be given openly; but before they come to the vote let the judges sit in order of seniority over against plaintiff and defendant, and let all the citizens who can spare time hear and take a serious interest in listening to such causes. First of all the plaintiff shall make one speech, and then the defendant shall make another; and after the speeches have been made the eldest judge shall begin to examine the parties, and proceed to make an adequate enquiry into what has been said; and after the oldest has spoken, the rest shall proceed in order to examine either party as to what he finds defective in the evidence, whether of statement or omission; and he who has nothing to ask shall hand over the examination to another. And on so much of what has been said as is to the purpose all the judges shall set their seals, and place the writings on the altar of Hestia. On the next day they shall meet again, and in like manner put their questions and go through the cause, and again set their seals upon the evidence; and when they have three times done this, and have had witnesses and evidence enough, they shall each of them give a holy vote, after promising by Hestia that they will decide justly and truly to the utmost of their power; and so they shall put an end to the suit.

Next, after what relates to the Gods, follows what relates to the dissolution of the state: Whoever by permitting a man to power enslaves the laws, and subjects the city to factions, using violence and stirring up sedition contrary to law, him we will deem the greatest enemy of the whole state. But he who takes no part in such proceedings, and, being one of the chief magistrates of the state, has no knowledge of treason, or, having knowledge of it, by reason of cowardice does not interfere on behalf of his country, such an one we must consider nearly as bad. Every man who is worth anything will inform the magistrates, and bring the conspirator to trial for making a violent and illegal attempt to change the government. The judges of such cases shall be the same as of the robbers of temples; and let the whole proceeding be carried on in the same way, and the vote of the majority condemn to death. But let there be a general rule, that the disgrace and punishment of the father is not to be visited on the children, except in the case of some one whose father, grandfather, and great-grandfather have successively undergone the penalty of death. Such persons the city shall send away with all their possessions to the city and country of their ancestors, retaining only and wholly their appointed lot. And out of the citizens who have more than one son of not less than ten years of age, they shall select ten whom their father or grandfather by the mother’s or father’s side shall appoint, and let them send to Delphi the names of those who are selected, and him whom the God chooses they shall establish as heir of the house which has failed; and may he have better fortune than his predecessors!

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Once more let there be a third general law respecting the judges who are to give judgment, and the manner of conducting suits against those who are tried on an accusation of treason; and as concerning the remaining or departure of their descendants — there shall be one law for all three, for the traitor, and the robber of temples, and the subverter by violence of the laws of the state. For a thief, whether he steal much or little, let there be one law, and one punishment for all alike: in the first place, let him pay double the amount of the theft if he be convicted, and if he have so much over and above the allotment — if he have not, he shall be bound until he pay the penalty, or persuade him who has obtained the sentence against him to forgive him. But if a person be convicted of a theft against the state, then if he can persuade the city, or if he will pay back twice the amount of the theft, he shall be set free from his bonds.

CLEINIAS: What makes you say, Stranger, that a theft is all one, whether the thief may have taken much or little, and either from sacred or secular places — and these are not the only differences in thefts — seeing, then, that they are of many kinds, ought not the legislator to adapt himself to them, and impose upon them entirely different penalties?

ATHENIAN: Excellent. I was running on too fast, Cleinias, and you impinged upon me, and brought me to my senses, reminding me of what, indeed, had occurred to my mind already, that legislation was never yet rightly worked out, as I may say in passing. Do you remember the image in which I likened the men for whom laws are now made to slaves who are doctored by slaves? For of this you may be very sure, that if one of those empirical physicians, who practise medicine without science, were to come upon the gentleman physician talking to his gentleman patient, and using the language almost of philosophy, beginning at the beginning of the disease and discoursing about the whole nature of the body, he would burst into a hearty laugh — he would say what most of those who are called doctors always have at their tongue’s end: Foolish fellow, he would say, you are not healing the sick man, but you are educating him; and he does not want to be made a doctor, but to get well.

CLEINIAS: And would he not be right?

ATHENIAN: Perhaps he would; and he might remark upon us, that he who discourses about laws, as we are now doing, is giving the citizens education and not laws; that would be rather a telling observation.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: But we are fortunate.

CLEINIAS: In what way?

ATHENIAN: Inasmuch as we are not compelled to give laws, but we may take into consideration every form of government, and ascertain what is best and what is most needful, and how they may both be carried into execution; and we may also, if we please, at this very moment choose what is best, or, if we prefer, what is most necessary — which shall we do?

CLEINIAS: There is something ridiculous, Stranger, in our proposing such an alternative, as if we were legislators, simply bound under some great necessity which cannot be deferred to the morrow. But we, as I may by the grace of Heaven affirm, like gatherers of stones or beginners of some composite work, may gather a heap of materials, and out of this, at our leisure, select what is suitable for our projected construction. Let us then suppose ourselves to be at leisure, not of necessity building, but rather like men who are partly providing materials, and partly putting them together. And we may truly say that some of our laws, like stones, are already fixed in their places, and others lie at hand.

ATHENIAN: Certainly, in that case, Cleinias, our view of law will be more in accordance with nature. For there is another matter affecting legislators, which I must earnestly entreat you to consider.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: There are many writings to be found in cities, and among them there are discourses composed by legislators as well as by other persons.

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: Shall we give heed rather to the writings of those others — poets and the like, who either in metre or out of metre have recorded their advice about the conduct of life, and not to the writings of legislators? or shall we give heed to them above all?

CLEINIAS: Yes; to them far above all others.

ATHENIAN: And ought the legislator alone among writers to withhold his opinion about the beautiful, the good, and the just, and not to teach what they are, and how they are to be pursued by those who intend to be happy?

CLEINIAS: Certainly not.

ATHENIAN: And is it disgraceful for Homer and Tyrtaeus and other poets to lay down evil precepts in their writings respecting life and the pursuits of men, but not so disgraceful for Lycurgus and Solon and others who were legislators as well as writers? Is it not true that of all the writings to be found in cities, those which relate to laws, when you unfold and read them, ought to be by far the noblest and the best? and should not other writings either agree with them, or if they disagree, be deemed ridiculous? We should consider whether the laws of states ought not to have the character of loving and wise parents, rather than of tyrants and masters, who command and threaten, and, after writing their decrees on walls, go their ways; and whether, in discoursing of laws, we should not take the gentler view of them which may or may not be attainable — at any rate, we will show our readiness to entertain such a view, and be prepared to undergo whatever may be the result. And may the result be good, and if God be gracious, it will be good!

CLEINIAS: Excellent; let us do as you say.

ATHENIAN: Then we will now consider accurately, as we proposed, what relates to robbers of temples, and all kinds of thefts, and offences in general; and we must not be annoyed if, in the course of legislation, we have enacted some things, and have not made up our minds about some others; for as yet we are not legislators, but we may soon be. Let us, if you please, consider these matters.

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: Concerning all things honourable and just, let us then endeavour to ascertain how far we are consistent with ourselves, and how far we are inconsistent, and how far the many, from whom at any rate we should profess a desire to differ, agree and disagree among themselves.

CLEINIAS: What are the inconsistencies which you observe in us?

ATHENIAN: I will endeavour to explain. If I am not mistaken, we are all agreed that justice, and just men and things and actions, are all fair, and, if a person were to maintain that just men, even when they are deformed in body, are still perfectly beautiful in respect of the excellent justice of their minds, no one would say that there was any inconsistency in this.

CLEINIAS: They would be quite right.

ATHENIAN: Perhaps; but let us consider further, that if all things which are just are fair and honourable, in the term ‘all’ we must include just sufferings which are the correlatives of just actions.

CLEINIAS: And what is the inference?

ATHENIAN: The inference is, that a just action in partaking of the just partakes also in the same degree of the fair and honourable.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And must not a suffering which partakes of the just principle be admitted to be in the same degree fair and honourable, if the argument is consistently carried out?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: But then if we admit suffering to be just and yet dishonourable, and the term ‘dishonourable’ is applied to justice, will not the just and the honourable disagree?

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: A thing not difficult to understand; the laws which have been already enacted would seem to announce principles directly opposed to what we are saying.

CLEINIAS: To what?

ATHENIAN: We had enacted, if I am not mistaken, that the robber of temples, and he who was the enemy of law and order, might justly be put to death, and we were proceeding to make divers other enactments of a similar nature. But we stopped short, because we saw that these sufferings are infinite in number and degree, and that they are, at once, the most just and also the most dishonourable of all sufferings. And if this be true, are not the just and the honourable at one time all the same, and at another time in the most diametrical opposition?

CLEINIAS: Such appears to be the case.

ATHENIAN: In this discordant and inconsistent fashion does the language of the many rend asunder the honourable and just.

CLEINIAS: Very true, Stranger.

ATHENIAN: Then now, Cleinias, let us see how far we ourselves are consistent about these matters.

CLEINIAS: Consistent in what?

ATHENIAN: I think that I have clearly stated in the former part of the discussion, but if I did not, let me now state —

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: That all bad men are always involuntarily bad; and from this I must proceed to draw a further inference.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: That the unjust man may be bad, but that he is bad against his will. Now that an action which is voluntary should be done involuntarily is a contradiction; wherefore he who maintains that injustice is involuntary will deem that the unjust does injustice involuntarily. I too admit that all men do injustice involuntarily, and if any contentious or disputatious person says that men are unjust against their will, and yet that many do injustice willingly, I do not agree with him. But, then, how can I avoid being inconsistent with myself, if you, Cleinias, and you, Megillus, say to me — Well, Stranger, if all this be as you say, how about legislating for the city of the Magnetes — shall we legislate or not — what do you advise? Certainly we will, I should reply. Then will you determine for them what are voluntary and what are involuntary crimes, and shall we make the punishments greater of voluntary errors and crimes and less for the involuntary? or shall we make the punishment of all to be alike, under the idea that there is no such thing as voluntary crime?

CLEINIAS: Very good, Stranger; and what shall we say in answer to these objections?

ATHENIAN: That is a very fair question. In the first place, let us —

CLEINIAS: Do what?

ATHENIAN: Let us remember what has been well said by us already, that our ideas of justice are in the highest degree confused and contradictory. Bearing this in mind, let us proceed to ask ourselves once more whether we have discovered a way out of the difficulty. Have we ever determined in what respect these two classes of actions differ from one another? For in all states and by all legislators whatsoever, two kinds of actions have been distinguished — the one, voluntary, the other, involuntary; and they have legislated about them accordingly. But shall this new word of ours, like an oracle of God, be only spoken, and get away without giving any explanation or verification of itself? How can a word not understood be the basis of legislation? Impossible. Before proceeding to legislate, then, we must prove that they are two, and what is the difference between them, that when we impose the penalty upon either, every one may understand our proposal, and be able in some way to judge whether the penalty is fitly or unfitly inflicted.

CLEINIAS: I agree with you, Stranger; for one of two things is certain: either we must not say that all unjust acts are involuntary, or we must show the meaning and truth of this statement.

ATHENIAN: Of these two alternatives, the one is quite intolerable — not to speak what I believe to be the truth would be to me unlawful and unholy. But if acts of injustice cannot be divided into voluntary and involuntary, I must endeavour to find some other distinction between them.

CLEINIAS: Very true, Stranger; there cannot be two opinions among us upon that point.

ATHENIAN: Reflect, then; there are hurts of various kinds done by the citizens to one another in the intercourse of life, affording plentiful examples both of the voluntary and involuntary.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: I would not have any one suppose that all these hurts are injuries, and that these injuries are of two kinds — one, voluntary, and the other, involuntary; for the involuntary hurts of all men are quite as many and as great as the voluntary. And please to consider whether I am right or quite wrong in what I am going to say; for I deny, Cleinias and Megillus, that he who harms another involuntarily does him an injury involuntarily, nor should I legislate about such an act under the idea that I am legislating for an involuntary injury. But I should rather say that such a hurt, whether great or small, is not an injury at all; and, on the other hand, if I am right, when a benefit is wrongly conferred, the author of the benefit may often be said to injure. For I maintain, O my friends, that the mere giving or taking away of anything is not to be described either as just or unjust; but the legislator has to consider whether mankind do good or harm to one another out of a just principle and intention. On the distinction between injustice and hurt he must fix his eye; and when there is hurt, he must, as far as he can, make the hurt good by law, and save that which is ruined, and raise up that which is fallen, and make that which is dead or wounded whole. And when compensation has been given for injustice, the law must always seek to win over the doers and sufferers of the several hurts from feelings of enmity to those of friendship.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Then as to unjust hurts (and gains also, supposing the injustice to bring gain), of these we may heal as many as are capable of being healed, regarding them as diseases of the soul; and the cure of injustice will take the following direction.

CLEINIAS: What direction?

ATHENIAN: When any one commits any injustice, small or great, the law will admonish and compel him either never at all to do the like again, or never voluntarily, or at any rate in a far less degree; and he must in addition pay for the hurt. Whether the end is to be attained by word or action, with pleasure or pain, by giving or taking away privileges, by means of fines or gifts, or in whatsoever way the law shall proceed to make a man hate injustice, and love or not hate the nature of the just — this is quite the noblest work of law. But if the legislator sees any one who is incurable, for him he will appoint a law and a penalty. He knows quite well that to such men themselves there is no profit in the continuance of their lives, and that they would do a double good to the rest of mankind if they would take their departure, inasmuch as they would be an example to other men not to offend, and they would relieve the city of bad citizens. In such cases, and in such cases only, the legislator ought to inflict death as the punishment of offences.

CLEINIAS: What you have said appears to me to be very reasonable, but will you favour me by stating a little more clearly the difference between hurt and injustice, and the various complications of the voluntary and involuntary which enter into them?

ATHENIAN: I will endeavour to do as you wish: Concerning the soul, thus much would be generally said and allowed, that one element in her nature is passion, which may be described either as a state or a part of her, and is hard to be striven against and contended with, and by irrational force overturns many things.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: And pleasure is not the same with passion, but has an opposite power, working her will by persuasion and by the force of deceit in all things.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: A man may truly say that ignorance is a third cause of crimes. Ignorance, however, may be conveniently divided by the legislator into two sorts: there is simple ignorance, which is the source of lighter offences, and double ignorance, which is accompanied by a conceit of wisdom; and he who is under the influence of the latter fancies that he knows all about matters of which he knows nothing. This second kind of ignorance, when possessed of power and strength, will be held by the legislator to be the source of great and monstrous crimes, but when attended with weakness, will only result in the errors of children and old men; and these he will treat as errors, and will make laws accordingly for those who commit them, which will be the mildest and most merciful of all laws.

CLEINIAS: You are perfectly right.

ATHENIAN: We all of us remark of one man that he is superior to pleasure and passion, and of another that he is inferior to them; and this is true.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: But no one was ever yet heard to say that one of us is superior and another inferior to ignorance.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: We are speaking of motives which incite men to the fulfilment of their will; although an individual may be often drawn by them in opposite directions at the same time.

CLEINIAS: Yes, often.

ATHENIAN: And now I can define to you clearly, and without ambiguity, what I mean by the just and unjust, according to my notion of them: When anger and fear, and pleasure and pain, and jealousies and desires, tyrannize over the soul, whether they do any harm or not — I call all this injustice. But when the opinion of the best, in whatever part of human nature states or individuals may suppose that to dwell, has dominion in the soul and orders the life of every man, even if it be sometimes mistaken, yet what is done in accordance therewith, and the principle in individuals which obeys this rule, and is best for the whole life of man, is to be called just; although the hurt done by mistake is thought by many to be involuntary injustice. Leaving the question of names, about which we are not going to quarrel, and having already delineated three sources of error, we may begin by recalling them somewhat more vividly to our memory: One of them was of the painful sort, which we denominate anger and fear.

CLEINIAS: Quite right.

ATHENIAN: There was a second consisting of pleasures and desires, and a third of hopes, which aimed at true opinion about the best. The latter being subdivided into three, we now get five sources of actions, and for these five we will make laws of two kinds.

CLEINIAS: What are the two kinds?

ATHENIAN: There is one kind of actions done by violence and in the light of day, and another kind of actions which are done in darkness and with secret deceit, or sometimes both with violence and deceit; the laws concerning these last ought to have a character of severity.

CLEINIAS: Naturally.

ATHENIAN: And now let us return from this digression and complete the work of legislation. Laws have been already enacted by us concerning the robbers of the Gods, and concerning traitors, and also concerning those who corrupt the laws for the purpose of subverting the government. A man may very likely commit some of these crimes, either in a state of madness or when affected by disease, or under the influence of extreme old age, or in a fit of childish wantonness, himself no better than a child. And if this be made evident to the judges elected to try the cause, on the appeal of the criminal or his advocate, and he be judged to have been in this state when he committed the offence, he shall simply pay for the hurt which he may have done to another; but he shall be exempt from other penalties, unless he have slain some one, and have on his hands the stain of blood. And in that case he shall go to another land and country, and there dwell for a year; and if he return before the expiration of the time which the law appoints, or even set his foot at all on his native land, he shall be bound by the guardians of the law in the public prison for two years, and then go free.

Having begun to speak of homicide, let us endeavour to lay down laws concerning every different kind of homicide; and, first of all, concerning violent and involuntary homicides. If any one in an athletic contest, and at the public games, involuntarily kills a friend, and he dies either at the time or afterwards of the blows which he has received; or if the like misfortune happens to any one in war, or military exercises, or mimic contests of which the magistrates enjoin the practice, whether with or without arms, when he has been purified according to the law brought from Delphi relating to these matters, he shall be innocent. And so in the case of physicians: if their patient dies against their will, they shall be held guiltless by the law. And if one slay another with his own hand, but unintentionally, whether he be unarmed or have some instrument or dart in his hand; or if he kill him by administering food or drink, or by the application of fire or cold, or by suffocating him, whether he do the deed by his own hand, or by the agency of others, he shall be deemed the agent, and shall suffer one of the following penalties: If he kill the slave of another in the belief that he is his own, he shall bear the master of the dead man harmless from loss, or shall pay a penalty of twice the value of the dead man, which the judges shall assess; but purifications must be used greater and more numerous than for those who committed homicide at the games — what they are to be, the interpreters whom the God appoints shall be authorised to declare. And if a man kills his own slave, when he has been purified according to law, he shall be quit of the homicide. And if a man kills a freeman unintentionally, he shall undergo the same purification as he did who killed the slave. But let him not forget also a tale of olden time, which is to this effect: He who has suffered a violent end, when newly dead, if he has had the soul of a freeman in life, is angry with the author of his death; and being himself full of fear and panic by reason of his violent end, when he sees his murderer walking about in his own accustomed haunts, he is stricken with terror and becomes disordered, and this disorder of his, aided by the guilty recollection of the other, is communicated by him with overwhelming force to the murderer and his deeds. Wherefore also the murderer must go out of the way of his victim for the entire period of a year, and not himself be found in any spot which was familiar to him throughout the country. And if the dead man be a stranger, the homicide shall be kept from the country of the stranger during a like period. If any one voluntarily obeys this law, the next of kin to the deceased, seeing all that has happened, shall take pity on him, and make peace with him, and show him all gentleness. But if any one is disobedient, and either ventures to go to any of the temples and sacrifice unpurified, or will not continue in exile during the appointed time, the next of kin to the deceased shall proceed against him for murder; and if he be convicted, every part of his punishment shall be doubled. And if the next of kin do not proceed against the perpetrator of the crime, then the pollution shall be deemed to fall upon his own head — the murdered man will fix the guilt upon his kinsman, and he who has a mind to proceed against him may compel him to be absent from his country during five years, according to law. If a stranger unintentionally kill a stranger who is dwelling in the city, he who likes shall prosecute the cause according to the same rules. If he be a metic, let him be absent for a year, or if he be an entire stranger, in addition to the purification, whether he have slain a stranger, or a metic, or a citizen, he shall be banished for life from the country which is in possession of our laws. And if he return contrary to law, let the guardians of the law punish him with death; and let them hand over his property, if he have any, to him who is next of kin to the sufferer. And if he be wrecked, and driven on the coast against his will, he shall take up his abode on the seashore, wetting his feet in the sea, and watching for an opportunity of sailing; but if he be brought by land, and is not his own master, let the magistrate whom he first comes across in the city, release him and send him unharmed over the border.

If any one slays a freeman with his own hand, and the deed be done in passion, in the case of such actions we must begin by making a distinction. For a deed is done from passion either when men suddenly, and without intention to kill, cause the death of another by blows and the like on a momentary impulse, and are sorry for the deed immediately afterwards; or again, when after having been insulted in deed or word, men pursue revenge, and kill a person intentionally, and are not sorry for the act. And, therefore, we must assume that these homicides are of two kinds, both of them arising from passion, which may be justly said to be in a mean between the voluntary and involuntary; at the same time, they are neither of them anything more than a likeness or shadow of either. He who treasures up his anger, and avenges himself, not immediately and at the moment, but with insidious design, and after an interval, is like the voluntary; but he who does not treasure up his anger, and takes vengeance on the instant, and without malice prepense, approaches to the involuntary; and yet even he is not altogether involuntary, but is only the image or shadow of the involuntary; wherefore about homicides committed in hot blood, there is a difficulty in determining whether in legislating we shall reckon them as voluntary or as partly involuntary. The best and truest view is to regard them respectively as likenesses only of the voluntary and involuntary, and to distinguish them accordingly as they are done with or without premeditation. And we should make the penalties heavier for those who commit homicide with angry premeditation, and lighter for those who do not premeditate, but smite upon the instant; for that which is like a greater evil should be punished more severely, and that which is like a less evil should be punished less severely: this shall be the rule of our laws.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Let us proceed: If any one slays a freeman with his own hand, and the deed be done in a moment of anger, and without premeditation, let the offender suffer in other respects as the involuntary homicide would have suffered, and also undergo an exile of two years, that he may learn to school his passions. But he who slays another from passion, yet with premeditation, shall in other respects suffer as the former; and to this shall be added an exile of three instead of two years — his punishment is to be longer because his passion is greater. The manner of their return shall be on this wise: (and here the law has difficulty in determining exactly; for in some cases the murderer who is judged by the law to be the worse may really be the less cruel, and he who is judged the less cruel may be really the worse, and may have executed the murder in a more savage manner, whereas the other may have been gentler. But in general the degrees of guilt will be such as we have described them. Of all these things the guardians of the law must take cognizance): When a homicide of either kind has completed his term of exile, the guardians shall send twelve judges to the borders of the land; these during the interval shall have informed themselves of the actions of the criminals, and they shall judge respecting their pardon and reception; and the homicides shall abide by their judgment. But if after they have returned home, any one of them in a moment of anger repeats the deed, let him be an exile, and return no more; or if he returns, let him suffer as the stranger was to suffer in a similar case. He who kills his own slave shall undergo a purification, but if he kills the slave of another in anger, he shall pay twice the amount of the loss to his owner. And if any homicide is disobedient to the law, and without purification pollutes the agora, or the games, or the temples, he who pleases may bring to trial the next of kin to the dead man for permitting him, and the murderer with him, and may compel the one to exact and the other to suffer a double amount of fines and purifications; and the accuser shall himself receive the fine in accordance with the law. If a slave in a fit of passion kills his master, the kindred of the deceased man may do with the murderer (provided only they do not spare his life) whatever they please, and they will be pure; or if he kills a freeman, who is not his master, the owner shall give up the slave to the relatives of the deceased, and they shall be under an obligation to put him to death, but this may be done in any manner which they please. And if (which is a rare occurrence, but does sometimes happen) a father or a mother in a moment of passion slays a son or daughter by blows, or some other violence, the slayer shall undergo the same purification as in other cases, and be exiled during three years; but when the exile returns the wife shall separate from the husband, and the husband from the wife, and they shall never afterwards beget children together, or live under the same roof, or partake of the same sacred rites with those whom they have deprived of a child or of a brother. And he who is impious and disobedient in such a case shall be brought to trial for impiety by any one who pleases. If in a fit of anger a husband kills his wedded wife, or the wife her husband, the slayer shall undergo the same purification, and the term of exile shall be three years. And when he who has committed any such crime returns, let him have no communication in sacred rites with his children, neither let him sit at the same table with them, and the father or son who disobeys shall be liable to be brought to trial for impiety by any one who pleases. If a brother or a sister in a fit of passion kills a brother or a sister, they shall undergo purification and exile, as was the case with parents who killed their offspring: they shall not come under the same roof, or share in the sacred rites of those whom they have deprived of their brethren, or of their children. And he who is disobedient shall be justly liable to the law concerning impiety, which relates to these matters. If any one is so violent in his passion against his parents, that in the madness of his anger he dares to kill one of them, if the murdered person before dying freely forgives the murderer, let him undergo the purification which is assigned to those who have been guilty of involuntary homicide, and do as they do, and he shall be pure. But if he be not acquitted, the perpetrator of such a deed shall be amenable to many laws — he shall be amenable to the extreme punishments for assault, and impiety, and robbing of temples, for he has robbed his parent of life; and if a man could be slain more than once, most justly would he who in a fit of passion has slain father or mother, undergo many deaths. How can he, whom, alone of all men, even in defence of his life, and when about to suffer death at the hands of his parents, no law will allow to kill his father or his mother who are the authors of his being, and whom the legislator will command to endure any extremity rather than do this — how can he, I say, lawfully receive any other punishment? Let death then be the appointed punishment of him who in a fit of passion slays his father or his mother. But if brother kills brother in a civil broil, or under other like circumstances, if the other has begun, and he only defends himself, let him be free from guilt, as he would be if he had slain an enemy; and the same rule will apply if a citizen kill a citizen, or a stranger a stranger. Or if a stranger kill a citizen or a citizen a stranger in self-defence, let him be free from guilt in like manner; and so in the case of a slave who has killed a slave; but if a slave have killed a freeman in self-defence, let him be subject to the same law as he who has killed a father; and let the law about the remission of penalties in the case of parricide apply equally to every other remission. Whenever any sufferer of his own accord remits the guilt of homicide to another, under the idea that his act was involuntary, let the perpetrator of the deed undergo a purification and remain in exile for a year, according to law.

Enough has been said of murders violent and involuntary and committed in passion: we have now to speak of voluntary crimes done with injustice of every kind and with premeditation, through the influence of pleasures, and desires, and jealousies.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Let us first speak, as far as we are able, of their various kinds. The greatest cause of them is lust, which gets the mastery of the soul maddened by desire; and this is most commonly found to exist where the passion reigns which is strongest and most prevalent among the mass of mankind: I mean where the power of wealth breeds endless desires of never-to-be-satisfied acquisition, originating in natural disposition, and a miserable want of education. Of this want of education, the false praise of wealth which is bruited about both among Hellenes and barbarians is the cause; they deem that to be the first of goods which in reality is only the third. And in this way they wrong both posterity and themselves, for nothing can be nobler and better than that the truth about wealth should be spoken in all states — namely, that riches are for the sake of the body, as the body is for the sake of the soul. They are good, and wealth is intended by nature to be for the sake of them, and is therefore inferior to them both, and third in order of excellence. This argument teaches us that he who would be happy ought not to seek to be rich, or rather he should seek to be rich justly and temperately, and then there would be no murders in states requiring to be purged away by other murders. But now, as I said at first, avarice is the chiefest cause and source of the worst trials for voluntary homicide. A second cause is ambition: this creates jealousies, which are troublesome companions, above all to the jealous man himself, and in a less degree to the chiefs of the state. And a third cause is cowardly and unjust fear, which has been the occasion of many murders. When a man is doing or has done something which he desires that no one should know him to be doing or to have done, he will take the life of those who are likely to inform of such things, if he have no other means of getting rid of them. Let this be said as a prelude concerning crimes of violence in general; and I must not omit to mention a tradition which is firmly believed by many, and has been received by them from those who are learned in the mysteries: they say that such deeds will be punished in the world below, and also that when the perpetrators return to this world they will pay the natural penalty which is due to the sufferer, and end their lives in like manner by the hand of another. If he who is about to commit murder believes this, and is made by the mere prelude to dread such a penalty, there is no need to proceed with the proclamation of the law. But if he will not listen, let the following law be declared and registered against him: Whoever shall wrongfully and of design slay with his own hand any of his kinsmen, shall in the first place be deprived of legal privileges; and he shall not pollute the temples, or the agora, or the harbours, or any other place of meeting, whether he is forbidden of men or not; for the law, which represents the whole state, forbids him, and always is and will be in the attitude of forbidding him. And if a cousin or nearer relative of the deceased, whether on the male or female side, does not prosecute the homicide when he ought, and have him proclaimed an outlaw, he shall in the first place be involved in the pollution, and incur the hatred of the Gods, even as the curse of the law stirs up the voices of men against him; and in the second place he shall be liable to be prosecuted by any one who is willing to inflict retribution on behalf of the dead. And he who would avenge a murder shall observe all the precautionary ceremonies of lavation, and any others which the God commands in cases of this kind. Let him have proclamation made, and then go forth and compel the perpetrator to suffer the execution of justice according to the law. Now the legislator may easily show that these things must be accomplished by prayers and sacrifices to certain Gods, who are concerned with the prevention of murders in states. But who these Gods are, and what should be the true manner of instituting such trials with due regard to religion, the guardians of the law, aided by the interpreters, and the prophets, and the God, shall determine, and when they have determined let them carry on the prosecution at law. The cause shall have the same judges who are appointed to decide in the case of those who plunder temples. Let him who is convicted be punished with death, and let him not be buried in the country of the murdered man, for this would be shameless as well as impious. But if he fly and will not stand his trial, let him fly for ever; or, if he set foot anywhere on any part of the murdered man’s country, let any relation of the deceased, or any other citizen who may first happen to meet with him, kill him with impunity, or bind and deliver him to those among the judges of the case who are magistrates, that they may put him to death. And let the prosecutor demand surety of him whom he prosecutes; three sureties sufficient in the opinion of the magistrates who try the cause shall be provided by him, and they shall undertake to produce him at the trial. But if he be unwilling or unable to provide sureties, then the magistrates shall take him and keep him in bonds, and produce him at the day of trial.

If a man do not commit a murder with his own hand, but contrives the death of another, and is the author of the deed in intention and design, and he continues to dwell in the city, having his soul not pure of the guilt of murder, let him be tried in the same way, except in what relates to the sureties; and also, if he be found guilty, his body after execution may have burial in his native land, but in all other respects his case shall be as the former; and whether a stranger shall kill a citizen, or a citizen a stranger, or a slave a slave, there shall be no difference as touching murder by one’s own hand or by contrivance, except in the matter of sureties; and these, as has been said, shall be required of the actual murderer only, and he who brings the accusation shall bind them over at the time. If a slave be convicted of slaying a freeman voluntarily, either by his own hand or by contrivance, let the public executioner take him in the direction of the sepulchre, to a place whence he can see the tomb of the dead man, and inflict upon him as many stripes as the person who caught him orders, and if he survive, let him put him to death. And if any one kills a slave who has done no wrong, because he is afraid that he may inform of some base and evil deeds of his own, or for any similar reason, in such a case let him pay the penalty of murder, as he would have done if he had slain a citizen. There are things about which it is terrible and unpleasant to legislate, but impossible not to legislate. If, for example, there should be murders of kinsmen, either perpetrated by the hands of kinsmen, or by their contrivance, voluntary and purely malicious, which most often happen in ill-regulated and ill-educated states, and may perhaps occur even in a country where a man would not expect to find them, we must repeat once more the tale which we narrated a little while ago, in the hope that he who hears us will be the more disposed to abstain voluntarily on these grounds from murders which are utterly abominable. For the myth, or saying, or whatever we ought to call it, has been plainly set forth by priests of old; they have pronounced that the justice which guards and avenges the blood of kindred, follows the law of retaliation, and ordains that he who has done any murderous act should of necessity suffer that which he has done. He who has slain a father shall himself be slain at some time or other by his children — if a mother, he shall of necessity take a woman’s nature, and lose his life at the hands of his offspring in after ages; for where the blood of a family has been polluted there is no other purification, nor can the pollution be washed out until the homicidal soul which did the deed has given life for life, and has propitiated and laid to sleep the wrath of the whole family. These are the retributions of Heaven, and by such punishments men should be deterred. But if they are not deterred, and any one should be incited by some fatality to deprive his father, or mother, or brethren, or children, of life voluntarily and of purpose, for him the earthly lawgiver legislates as follows: There shall be the same proclamations about outlawry, and there shall be the same sureties which have been enacted in the former cases. But in his case, if he be convicted, the servants of the judges and the magistrates shall slay him at an appointed place without the city where three ways meet, and there expose his body naked, and each of the magistrates on behalf of the whole city shall take a stone and cast it upon the head of the dead man, and so deliver the city from pollution; after that, they shall bear him to the borders of the land, and cast him forth unburied, according to law. And what shall he suffer who slays him who of all men, as they say, is his own best friend? I mean the suicide, who deprives himself by violence of his appointed share of life, not because the law of the state requires him, nor yet under the compulsion of some painful and inevitable misfortune which has come upon him, nor because he has had to suffer from irremediable and intolerable shame, but who from sloth or want of manliness imposes upon himself an unjust penalty. For him, what ceremonies there are to be of purification and burial God knows, and about these the next of kin should enquire of the interpreters and of the laws thereto relating, and do according to their injunctions. They who meet their death in this way shall be buried alone, and none shall be laid by their side; they shall be buried ingloriously in the borders of the twelve portions of the land, in such places as are uncultivated and nameless, and no column or inscription shall mark the place of their interment. And if a beast of burden or other animal cause the death of any one, except in the case of anything of that kind happening to a competitor in the public contests, the kinsmen of the deceased shall prosecute the slayer for murder, and the wardens of the country, such, and so many as the kinsmen appoint, shall try the cause, and let the beast when condemned be slain by them, and let them cast it beyond the borders. And if any lifeless thing deprive a man of life, except in the case of a thunderbolt or other fatal dart sent from the Gods — whether a man is killed by lifeless objects falling upon him, or by his falling upon them, the nearest of kin shall appoint the nearest neighbour to be a judge, and thereby acquit himself and the whole family of guilt. And he shall cast forth the guilty thing beyond the border, as has been said about the animals.

If a man is found dead, and his murderer be unknown, and after a diligent search cannot be detected, there shall be the same proclamation as in the previous cases, and the same interdict on the murderer; and having proceeded against him, they shall proclaim in the agora by a herald, that he who has slain such and such a person, and has been convicted of murder, shall not set his foot in the temples, nor at all in the country of the murdered man, and if he appears and is discovered, he shall die, and be cast forth unburied beyond the border. Let this one law then be laid down by us about murder; and let cases of this sort be so regarded.

And now let us say in what cases and under what circumstances the murderer is rightly free from guilt: If a man catch a thief coming into his house by night to steal, and he take and kill him, or if he slay a footpad in self-defence, he shall be guiltless. And any one who does violence to a free woman or a youth, shall be slain with impunity by the injured person, or by his or her father or brothers or sons. If a man find his wife suffering violence, he may kill the violator, and be guiltless in the eye of the law; or if a person kill another in warding off death from his father or mother or children or brethren or wife who are doing no wrong, he shall assuredly be guiltless.

Thus much as to the nurture and education of the living soul of man, having which, he can, and without which, if he unfortunately be without them, he cannot live; and also concerning the punishments which are to be inflicted for violent deaths, let thus much be enacted. Of the nurture and education of the body we have spoken before, and next in order we have to speak of deeds of violence, voluntary and involuntary, which men do to one another; these we will now distinguish, as far as we are able, according to their nature and number, and determine what will be the suitable penalties of each, and so assign to them their proper place in the series of our enactments. The poorest legislator will have no difficulty in determining that wounds and mutilations arising out of wounds should follow next in order after deaths. Let wounds be divided as homicides were divided — into those which are involuntary, and which are given in passion or from fear, and those inflicted voluntarily and with premeditation. Concerning all this, we must make some such proclamation as the following: Mankind must have laws, and conform to them, or their life would be as bad as that of the most savage beast. And the reason of this is that no man’s nature is able to know what is best for human society; or knowing, always able and willing to do what is best. In the first place, there is a difficulty in apprehending that the true art of politics is concerned, not with private but with public good (for public good binds together states, but private only distracts them); and that both the public and private good as well of individuals as of states is greater when the state and not the individual is first considered. In the second place, although a person knows in the abstract that this is true, yet if he be possessed of absolute and irresponsible power, he will never remain firm in his principles or persist in regarding the public good as primary in the state, and the private good as secondary. Human nature will be always drawing him into avarice and selfishness, avoiding pain and pursuing pleasure without any reason, and will bring these to the front, obscuring the juster and better; and so working darkness in his soul will at last fill with evils both him and the whole city. For if a man were born so divinely gifted that he could naturally apprehend the truth, he would have no need of laws to rule over him; for there is no law or order which is above knowledge, nor can mind, without impiety, be deemed the subject or slave of any man, but rather the lord of all. I speak of mind, true and free, and in harmony with nature. But then there is no such mind anywhere, or at least not much; and therefore we must choose law and order, which are second best. These look at things as they exist for the most part only, and are unable to survey the whole of them. And therefore I have spoken as I have.

And now we will determine what penalty he ought to pay or suffer who has hurt or wounded another. Any one may easily imagine the questions which have to be asked in all such cases: What did he wound, or whom, or how, or when? for there are innumerable particulars of this sort which greatly vary from one another. And to allow courts of law to determine all these things, or not to determine any of them, is alike impossible. There is one particular which they must determine in all cases — the question of fact. And then, again, that the legislator should not permit them to determine what punishment is to be inflicted in any of these cases, but should himself decide about all of them, small or great, is next to impossible.

CLEINIAS: Then what is to be the inference?

ATHENIAN: The inference is, that some things should be left to courts of law; others the legislator must decide for himself.

CLEINIAS: And what ought the legislator to decide, and what ought he to leave to the courts of law?

ATHENIAN: I may reply, that in a state in which the courts are bad and mute, because the judges conceal their opinions and decide causes clandestinely; or what is worse, when they are disorderly and noisy, as in a theatre, clapping or hooting in turn this or that orator — I say that then there is a very serious evil, which affects the whole state. Unfortunate is the necessity of having to legislate for such courts, but where the necessity exists, the legislator should only allow them to ordain the penalties for the smallest offences; if the state for which he is legislating be of this character, he must take most matters into his own hands and speak distinctly. But when a state has good courts, and the judges are well trained and scrupulously tested, the determination of the penalties or punishments which shall be inflicted on the guilty may fairly and with advantage be left to them. And we are not to be blamed for not legislating concerning all that large class of matters which judges far worse educated than ours would be able to determine, assigning to each offence what is due both to the perpetrator and to the sufferer. We believe those for whom we are legislating to be best able to judge, and therefore to them the greater part may be left. At the same time, as I have often said, we should exhibit to the judges, as we have done, the outline and form of the punishments to be inflicted, and then they will not transgress the just rule. That was an excellent practice, which we observed before, and which now that we are resuming the work of legislation, may with advantage be repeated by us.

Let the enactment about wounding be in the following terms: If any one has a purpose and intention to slay another who is not his enemy, and whom the law does not permit him to slay, and he wounds him, but is unable to kill him, he who had the intent and has wounded him is not to be pitied — he deserves no consideration, but should be regarded as a murderer and be tried for murder. Still having respect to the fortune which has in a manner favoured him, and to the providence which in pity to him and to the wounded man saved the one from a fatal blow, and the other from an accursed fate and calamity — as a thank-offering to this deity, and in order not to oppose his will — in such a case the law will remit the punishment of death, and only compel the offender to emigrate to a neighbouring city for the rest of his life, where he shall remain in the enjoyment of all his possessions. But if he have injured the wounded man, he shall make such compensation for the injury as the court deciding the cause shall assess, and the same judges shall decide who would have decided if the man had died of his wounds. And if a child intentionally wound his parents, or a servant his master, death shall be the penalty. And if a brother or a sister intentionally wound a brother or a sister, and is found guilty, death shall be the penalty. And if a husband wound a wife, or a wife a husband, with intent to kill, let him or her undergo perpetual exile; if they have sons or daughters who are still young, the guardians shall take care of their property, and have charge of the children as orphans. If their sons are grown up, they shall be under no obligation to support the exiled parent, but they shall possess the property themselves. And if he who meets with such a misfortune has no children, the kindred of the exiled man to the degree of sons of cousins, both on the male and female side, shall meet together, and after taking counsel with the guardians of the law and the priests, shall appoint a 5040th citizen to be the heir of the house, considering and reasoning that no house of all the 5040 belongs to the inhabitant or to the whole family, but is the public and private property of the state. Now the state should seek to have its houses as holy and happy as possible. And if any one of the houses be unfortunate, and stained with impiety, and the owner leave no posterity, but dies unmarried, or married and childless, having suffered death as the penalty of murder or some other crime committed against the Gods or against his fellow-citizens, of which death is the penalty distinctly laid down in the law; or if any of the citizens be in perpetual exile, and also childless, that house shall first of all be purified and undergo expiation according to law; and then let the kinsmen of the house, as we were just now saying, and the guardians of the law, meet and consider what family there is in the state which is of the highest repute for virtue and also for good fortune, in which there are a number of sons; from that family let them take one and introduce him to the father and forefathers of the dead man as their son, and, for the sake of the omen, let him be called so, that he may be the continuer of their family, the keeper of their hearth, and the minister of their sacred rites with better fortune than his father had; and when they have made this supplication, they shall make him heir according to law, and the offending person they shall leave nameless and childless and portionless when calamities such as these overtake him.

Now the boundaries of some things do not touch one another, but there is a borderland which comes in between, preventing them from touching. And we were saying that actions done from passion are of this nature, and come in between the voluntary and involuntary. If a person be convicted of having inflicted wounds in a passion, in the first place he shall pay twice the amount of the injury, if the wound be curable, or, if incurable, four times the amount of the injury; or if the wound be curable, and at the same time cause great and notable disgrace to the wounded person, he shall pay fourfold. And whenever any one in wounding another injures not only the sufferer, but also the city, and makes him incapable of defending his country against the enemy, he, besides the other penalties, shall pay a penalty for the loss which the state has incurred. And the penalty shall be, that in addition to his own times of service, he shall serve on behalf of the disabled person, and shall take his place in war; or, if he refuse, he shall be liable to be convicted by law of refusal to serve. The compensation for the injury, whether to be twofold or threefold or fourfold, shall be fixed by the judges who convict him. And if, in like manner, a brother wounds a brother, the parents and kindred of either sex, including the children of cousins, whether on the male or female side, shall meet, and when they have judged the cause, they shall entrust the assessment of damages to the parents, as is natural; and if the estimate be disputed, then the kinsmen on the male side shall make the estimate, or if they cannot, they shall commit the matter to the guardians of the law. And when similar charges of wounding are brought by children against their parents, those who are more than sixty years of age, having children of their own, not adopted, shall be required to decide; and if any one is convicted, they shall determine whether he or she ought to die, or suffer some other punishment either greater than death, or, at any rate, not much less. A kinsman of the offender shall not be allowed to judge the cause, not even if he be of the age which is prescribed by the law. If a slave in a fit of anger wound a freeman, the owner of the slave shall give him up to the wounded man, who may do as he pleases with him, and if he do not give him up he shall himself make good the injury. And if any one says that the slave and the wounded man are conspiring together, let him argue the point, and if he is cast, he shall pay for the wrong three times over, but if he gains his case, the freeman who conspired with the slave shall be liable to an action for kidnapping. And if any one unintentionally wounds another he shall simply pay for the harm, for no legislator is able to control chance. In such a case the judges shall be the same as those who are appointed in the case of children suing their parents; and they shall estimate the amount of the injury.

All the preceding injuries and every kind of assault are deeds of violence; and every man, woman, or child ought to consider that the elder has the precedence of the younger in honour, both among the Gods and also among men who would live in security and happiness. Wherefore it is a foul thing and hateful to the Gods to see an elder man assaulted by a younger in the city, and it is reasonable that a young man when struck by an elder should lightly endure his anger, laying up in store for himself a like honour when he is old. Let this be the law: Every one shall reverence his elder in word and deed; he shall respect any one who is twenty years older than himself, whether male or female, regarding him or her as his father or mother; and he shall abstain from laying hands on any one who is of an age to have been his father or mother, out of reverence to the Gods who preside over birth; similarly he shall keep his hands from a stranger, whether he be an old inhabitant or newly arrived; he shall not venture to correct such an one by blows, either as the aggressor or in self-defence. If he thinks that some stranger has struck him out of wantonness or insolence, and ought to be punished, he shall take him to the wardens of the city, but let him not strike him, that the stranger may be kept far away from the possibility of lifting up his hand against a citizen, and let the wardens of the city take the offender and examine him, not forgetting their duty to the God of Strangers, and in case the stranger appears to have struck the citizen unjustly, let them inflict upon him as many blows with the scourge as he was himself inflicted, and quell his presumption. But if he be innocent, they shall threaten and rebuke the man who arrested him, and let them both go. If a person strikes another of the same age or somewhat older than himself, who has no children, whether he be an old man who strikes an old man or a young man who strikes a young man, let the person struck defend himself in the natural way without a weapon and with his hands only. He who, being more than forty years of age, dares to fight with another, whether he be the aggressor or in self-defence, shall be regarded as rude and ill-mannered and slavish — this will be a disgraceful punishment, and therefore suitable to him. The obedient nature will readily yield to such exhortations, but the disobedient, who heeds not the prelude, shall have the law ready for him: If any man smite another who is older than himself, either by twenty or by more years, in the first place, he who is at hand, not being younger than the combatants, nor their equal in age, shall separate them, or be disgraced according to law; but if he be the equal in age of the person who is struck or younger, he shall defend the person injured as he would a brother or father or still older relative. Further, let him who dares to smite an elder be tried for assault, as I have said, and if he be found guilty, let him be imprisoned for a period of not less than a year, or if the judges approve of a longer period, their decision shall be final. But if a stranger or metic smite one who is older by twenty years or more, the same law shall hold about the bystanders assisting, and he who is found guilty in such a suit, if he be a stranger but not resident, shall be imprisoned during a period of two years; and a metic who disobeys the laws shall be imprisoned for three years, unless the court assign him a longer term. And let him who was present in any of these cases and did not assist according to law be punished, if he be of the highest class, by paying a fine of a mina; or if he be of the second class, of fifty drachmas; or if of the third class, by a fine of thirty drachmas; or if he be of the fourth class, by a fine of twenty drachmas; and the generals and taxiarchs and phylarchs and hipparchs shall form the court in such cases.

Laws are partly framed for the sake of good men, in order to instruct them how they may live on friendly terms with one another, and partly for the sake of those who refuse to be instructed, whose spirit cannot be subdued, or softened, or hindered from plunging into evil. These are the persons who cause the word to be spoken which I am about to utter; for them the legislator legislates of necessity, and in the hope that there may be no need of his laws. He who shall dare to lay violent hands upon his father or mother, or any still older relative, having no fear either of the wrath of the Gods above, or of the punishments that are spoken of in the world below, but transgresses in contempt of ancient and universal traditions as though he were too wise to believe in them, requires some extreme measure of prevention. Now death is not the worst that can happen to men; far worse are the punishments which are said to pursue them in the world below. But although they are most true tales, they work on such souls no prevention; for if they had any effect there would be no slayers of mothers, or impious hands lifted up against parents; and therefore the punishments of this world which are inflicted during life ought not in such cases to fall short, if possible, of the terrors of the world below. Let our enactment then be as follows: If a man dare to strike his father or his mother, or their fathers or mothers, he being at the time of sound mind, then let any one who is at hand come to the rescue as has been already said, and the metic or stranger who comes to the rescue shall be called to the first place in the games; but if he do not come he shall suffer the punishment of perpetual exile. He who is not a metic, if he comes to the rescue, shall have praise, and if he do not come, blame. And if a slave come to the rescue, let him be made free, but if he do not come to the rescue, let him receive 100 strokes of the whip, by order of the wardens of the agora, if the occurrence take place in the agora; or if somewhere in the city beyond the limits of the agora, any warden of the city who is in residence shall punish him; or if in the country, then the commanders of the wardens of the country. If those who are near at the time be inhabitants of the same place, whether they be youths, or men, or women, let them come to the rescue and denounce him as the impious one; and he who does not come to the rescue shall fall under the curse of Zeus, the God of kindred and of ancestors, according to law. And if any one is found guilty of assaulting a parent, let him in the first place be forever banished from the city into the country, and let him abstain from the temples; and if he do not abstain, the wardens of the country shall punish him with blows, or in any way which they please, and if he return he shall be put to death. And if any freeman eat or drink, or have any other sort of intercourse with him, or only meeting him have voluntarily touched him, he shall not enter into any temple, nor into the agora, nor into the city, until he is purified; for he should consider that he has become tainted by a curse. And if he disobeys the law, and pollutes the city and the temples contrary to law, and one of the magistrates sees him and does not indict him, when he gives in his account this omission shall be a most serious charge.

If a slave strike a freeman, whether a stranger or a citizen, let any one who is present come to the rescue, or pay the penalty already mentioned; and let the bystanders bind him, and deliver him up to the injured person, and he receiving him shall put him in chains, and inflict on him as many stripes as he pleases; but having punished him he must surrender him to his master according to law, and not deprive him of his property. Let the law be as follows: The slave who strikes a freeman, not at the command of the magistrates, his owner shall receive bound from the man whom he has stricken, and not release him until the slave has persuaded the man whom he has stricken that he ought to be released. And let there be the same laws about women in relation to women, and about men and women in relation to one another.

BOOK X.

And now having spoken of assaults, let us sum up all acts of violence under a single law, which shall be as follows: No one shall take or carry away any of his neighbour’s goods, neither shall he use anything which is his neighbour’s without the consent of the owner; for these are the offences which are and have been, and will ever be, the source of all the aforesaid evils. The greatest of them are excesses and insolences of youth, and are offences against the greatest when they are done against religion; and especially great when in violation of public and holy rites, or of the partly-common rites in which tribes and phratries share; and in the second degree great when they are committed against private rites and sepulchres, and in the third degree (not to repeat the acts formerly mentioned), when insults are offered to parents; the fourth kind of violence is when any one, regardless of the authority of the rulers, takes or carries away or makes use of anything which belongs to them, not having their consent; and the fifth kind is when the violation of the civil rights of an individual demands reparation. There should be a common law embracing all these cases. For we have already said in general terms what shall be the punishment of sacrilege, whether fraudulent or violent, and now we have to determine what is to be the punishment of those who speak or act insolently toward the Gods. But first we must give them an admonition which may be in the following terms: No one who in obedience to the laws believed that there were Gods, ever intentionally did any unholy act, or uttered any unlawful word; but he who did must have supposed one of three things — either that they did not exist — which is the first possibility, or secondly, that, if they did, they took no care of man, or thirdly, that they were easily appeased and turned aside from their purpose by sacrifices and prayers.

CLEINIAS: What shall we say or do to these persons?

ATHENIAN: My good friend, let us first hear the jests which I suspect that they in their superiority will utter against us.

CLEINIAS: What jests?

ATHENIAN: They will make some irreverent speech of this sort: ‘O inhabitants of Athens, and Sparta, and Cnosus,’ they will reply, ‘in that you speak truly; for some of us deny the very existence of the Gods, while others, as you say, are of opinion that they do not care about us; and others that they are turned from their course by gifts. Now we have a right to claim, as you yourself allowed, in the matter of laws, that before you are hard upon us and threaten us, you should argue with us and convince us — you should first attempt to teach and persuade us that there are Gods by reasonable evidences, and also that they are too good to be unrighteous, or to be propitiated, or turned from their course by gifts. For when we hear such things said of them by those who are esteemed to be the best of poets, and orators, and prophets, and priests, and by innumerable others, the thoughts of most of us are not set upon abstaining from unrighteous acts, but upon doing them and atoning for them. When lawgivers profess that they are gentle and not stern, we think that they should first of all use persuasion to us, and show us the existence of Gods, if not in a better manner than other men, at any rate in a truer; and who knows but that we shall hearken to you? If then our request is a fair one, please to accept our challenge.

CLEINIAS: But is there any difficulty in proving the existence of the Gods?

ATHENIAN: How would you prove it?

CLEINIAS: How? In the first place, the earth and the sun, and the stars and the universe, and the fair order of the seasons, and the division of them into years and months, furnish proofs of their existence, and also there is the fact that all Hellenes and barbarians believe in them.

ATHENIAN: I fear, my sweet friend, though I will not say that I much regard, the contempt with which the profane will be likely to assail us. For you do not understand the nature of their complaint, and you fancy that they rush into impiety only from a love of sensual pleasure.

CLEINIAS: Why, Stranger, what other reason is there?

ATHENIAN: One which you who live in a different atmosphere would never guess.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: A very grievous sort of ignorance which is imagined to be the greatest wisdom.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: At Athens there are tales preserved in writing which the virtue of your state, as I am informed, refuses to admit. They speak of the Gods in prose as well as verse, and the oldest of them tell of the origin of the heavens and of the world, and not far from the beginning of their story they proceed to narrate the birth of the Gods, and how after they were born they behaved to one another. Whether these stories have in other ways a good or a bad influence, I should not like to be severe upon them, because they are ancient; but, looking at them with reference to the duties of children to their parents, I cannot praise them, or think that they are useful, or at all true. Of the words of the ancients I have nothing more to say; and I should wish to say of them only what is pleasing to the Gods. But as to our younger generation and their wisdom, I cannot let them off when they do mischief. For do but mark the effect of their words: when you and I argue for the existence of the Gods, and produce the sun, moon, stars, and earth, claiming for them a divine being, if we would listen to the aforesaid philosophers we should say that they are earth and stones only, which can have no care at all of human affairs, and that all religion is a cooking up of words and a make-believe.

CLEINIAS: One such teacher, O stranger, would be bad enough, and you imply that there are many of them, which is worse.

ATHENIAN: Well, then; what shall we say or do? Shall we assume that some one is accusing us among unholy men, who are trying to escape from the effect of our legislation; and that they say of us — How dreadful that you should legislate on the supposition that there are Gods! Shall we make a defence of ourselves? or shall we leave them and return to our laws, lest the prelude should become longer than the law? For the discourse will certainly extend to great length, if we are to treat the impiously disposed as they desire, partly demonstrating to them at some length the things of which they demand an explanation, partly making them afraid or dissatisfied, and then proceed to the requisite enactments.

CLEINIAS: Yes, Stranger; but then how often have we repeated already that on the present occasion there is no reason why brevity should be preferred to length; for who is ‘at our heels?’ as the saying goes, and it would be paltry and ridiculous to prefer the shorter to the better. It is a matter of no small consequence, in some way or other to prove that there are Gods, and that they are good, and regard justice more than men do. The demonstration of this would be the best and noblest prelude of all our laws. And therefore, without impatience, and without hurry, let us unreservedly consider the whole matter, summoning up all the power of persuasion which we possess.

ATHENIAN: Seeing you thus in earnest, I would fain offer up a prayer that I may succeed: but I must proceed at once. Who can be calm when he is called upon to prove the existence of the Gods? Who can avoid hating and abhorring the men who are and have been the cause of this argument; I speak of those who will not believe the tales which they have heard as babes and sucklings from their mothers and nurses, repeated by them both in jest and earnest, like charms, who have also heard them in the sacrificial prayers, and seen sights accompanying them — sights and sounds delightful to children — and their parents during the sacrifices showing an intense earnestness on behalf of their children and of themselves, and with eager interest talking to the Gods, and beseeching them, as though they were firmly convinced of their existence; who likewise see and hear the prostrations and invocations which are made by Hellenes and barbarians at the rising and setting of the sun and moon, in all the vicissitudes of life, not as if they thought that there were no Gods, but as if there could be no doubt of their existence, and no suspicion of their non-existence; when men, knowing all these things, despise them on no real grounds, as would be admitted by all who have any particle of intelligence, and when they force us to say what we are now saying, how can any one in gentle terms remonstrate with the like of them, when he has to begin by proving to them the very existence of the Gods? Yet the attempt must be made; for it would be unseemly that one half of mankind should go mad in their lust of pleasure, and the other half in their indignation at such persons. Our address to these lost and perverted natures should not be spoken in passion; let us suppose ourselves to select some one of them, and gently reason with him, smothering our anger: O my son, we will say to him, you are young, and the advance of time will make you reverse many of the opinions which you now hold. Wait awhile, and do not attempt to judge at present of the highest things; and that is the highest of which you now think nothing — to know the Gods rightly and to live accordingly. And in the first place let me indicate to you one point which is of great importance, and about which I cannot be deceived: You and your friends are not the first who have held this opinion about the Gods. There have always been persons more or less numerous who have had the same disorder. I have known many of them, and can tell you, that no one who had taken up in youth this opinion, that the Gods do not exist, ever continued in the same until he was old; the two other notions certainly do continue in some cases, but not in many; the notion, I mean, that the Gods exist, but take no heed of human things, and the other notion that they do take heed of them, but are easily propitiated with sacrifices and prayers. As to the opinion about the Gods which may some day become clear to you, I advise you to wait and consider if it be true or not; ask of others, and above all of the legislator. In the meantime take care that you do not offend against the Gods. For the duty of the legislator is and always will be to teach you the truth of these matters.

CLEINIAS: Our address, Stranger, thus far, is excellent.

ATHENIAN: Quite true, Megillus and Cleinias, but I am afraid that we have unconsciously lighted on a strange doctrine.

CLEINIAS: What doctrine do you mean?

ATHENIAN: The wisest of all doctrines, in the opinion of many.

CLEINIAS: I wish that you would speak plainer.

ATHENIAN: The doctrine that all things do become, have become, and will become, some by nature, some by art, and some by chance.

CLEINIAS: Is not that true?

ATHENIAN: Well, philosophers are probably right; at any rate we may as well follow in their track, and examine what is the meaning of them and their disciples.

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: They say that the greatest and fairest things are the work of nature and of chance, the lesser of art, which, receiving from nature the greater and primeval creations, moulds and fashions all those lesser works which are generally termed artificial.

CLEINIAS: How is that?

ATHENIAN: I will explain my meaning still more clearly. They say that fire and water, and earth and air, all exist by nature and chance, and none of them by art, and that as to the bodies which come next in order — earth, and sun, and moon, and stars — they have been created by means of these absolutely inanimate existences. The elements are severally moved by chance and some inherent force according to certain affinities among them — of hot with cold, or of dry with moist, or of soft with hard, and according to all the other accidental admixtures of opposites which have been formed by necessity. After this fashion and in this manner the whole heaven has been created, and all that is in the heaven, as well as animals and all plants, and all the seasons come from these elements, not by the action of mind, as they say, or of any God, or from art, but as I was saying, by nature and chance only. Art sprang up afterwards and out of these, mortal and of mortal birth, and produced in play certain images and very partial imitations of the truth, having an affinity to one another, such as music and painting create and their companion arts. And there are other arts which have a serious purpose, and these co-operate with nature, such, for example, as medicine, and husbandry, and gymnastic. And they say that politics co-operate with nature, but in a less degree, and have more of art; also that legislation is entirely a work of art, and is based on assumptions which are not true.

CLEINIAS: How do you mean?

ATHENIAN: In the first place, my dear friend, these people would say that the Gods exist not by nature, but by art, and by the laws of states, which are different in different places, according to the agreement of those who make them; and that the honourable is one thing by nature and another thing by law, and that the principles of justice have no existence at all in nature, but that mankind are always disputing about them and altering them; and that the alterations which are made by art and by law have no basis in nature, but are of authority for the moment and at the time at which they are made. These, my friends, are the sayings of wise men, poets and prose writers, which find a way into the minds of youth. They are told by them that the highest right is might, and in this way the young fall into impieties, under the idea that the Gods are not such as the law bids them imagine; and hence arise factions, these philosophers inviting them to lead a true life according to nature, that is, to live in real dominion over others, and not in legal subjection to them.

CLEINIAS: What a dreadful picture, Stranger, have you given, and how great is the injury which is thus inflicted on young men to the ruin both of states and families!

ATHENIAN: True, Cleinias; but then what should the lawgiver do when this evil is of long standing? should he only rise up in the state and threaten all mankind, proclaiming that if they will not say and think that the Gods are such as the law ordains (and this may be extended generally to the honourable, the just, and to all the highest things, and to all that relates to virtue and vice), and if they will not make their actions conform to the copy which the law gives them, then he who refuses to obey the law shall die, or suffer stripes and bonds, or privation of citizenship, or in some cases be punished by loss of property and exile? Should he not rather, when he is making laws for men, at the same time infuse the spirit of persuasion into his words, and mitigate the severity of them as far as he can?

CLEINIAS: Why, Stranger, if such persuasion be at all possible, then a legislator who has anything in him ought never to weary of persuading men; he ought to leave nothing unsaid in support of the ancient opinion that there are Gods, and of all those other truths which you were just now mentioning; he ought to support the law and also art, and acknowledge that both alike exist by nature, and no less than nature, if they are the creations of mind in accordance with right reason, as you appear to me to maintain, and I am disposed to agree with you in thinking.

ATHENIAN: Yes, my enthusiastic Cleinias; but are not these things when spoken to a multitude hard to be understood, not to mention that they take up a dismal length of time?

CLEINIAS: Why, Stranger, shall we, whose patience failed not when drinking or music were the themes of discourse, weary now of discoursing about the Gods, and about divine things? And the greatest help to rational legislation is that the laws when once written down are always at rest; they can be put to the test at any future time, and therefore, if on first hearing they seem difficult, there is no reason for apprehension about them, because any man however dull can go over them and consider them again and again; nor if they are tedious but useful, is there any reason or religion, as it seems to me, in any man refusing to maintain the principles of them to the utmost of his power.

MEGILLUS: Stranger, I like what Cleinias is saying.

ATHENIAN: Yes, Megillus, and we should do as he proposes; for if impious discourses were not scattered, as I may say, throughout the world, there would have been no need for any vindication of the existence of the Gods — but seeing that they are spread far and wide, such arguments are needed; and who should come to the rescue of the greatest laws, when they are being undermined by bad men, but the legislator himself?

MEGILLUS: There is no more proper champion of them.

ATHENIAN: Well, then, tell me, Cleinias — for I must ask you to be my partner — does not he who talks in this way conceive fire and water and earth and air to be the first elements of all things? these he calls nature, and out of these he supposes the soul to be formed afterwards; and this is not a mere conjecture of ours about his meaning, but is what he really means.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Then, by Heaven, we have discovered the source of this vain opinion of all those physical investigators; and I would have you examine their arguments with the utmost care, for their impiety is a very serious matter; they not only make a bad and mistaken use of argument, but they lead away the minds of others: that is my opinion of them.

CLEINIAS: You are right; but I should like to know how this happens.

ATHENIAN: I fear that the argument may seem singular.

CLEINIAS: Do not hesitate, Stranger; I see that you are afraid of such a discussion carrying you beyond the limits of legislation. But if there be no other way of showing our agreement in the belief that there are Gods, of whom the law is said now to approve, let us take this way, my good sir.

ATHENIAN: Then I suppose that I must repeat the singular argument of those who manufacture the soul according to their own impious notions; they affirm that which is the first cause of the generation and destruction of all things, to be not first, but last, and that which is last to be first, and hence they have fallen into error about the true nature of the Gods.

CLEINIAS: Still I do not understand you.

ATHENIAN: Nearly all of them, my friends, seem to be ignorant of the nature and power of the soul, especially in what relates to her origin: they do not know that she is among the first of things, and before all bodies, and is the chief author of their changes and transpositions. And if this is true, and if the soul is older than the body, must not the things which are of the soul’s kindred be of necessity prior to those which appertain to the body?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Then thought and attention and mind and art and law will be prior to that which is hard and soft and heavy and light; and the great and primitive works and actions will be works of art; they will be the first, and after them will come nature and works of nature, which however is a wrong term for men to apply to them; these will follow, and will be under the government of art and mind.

CLEINIAS: But why is the word ‘nature’ wrong?

ATHENIAN: Because those who use the term mean to say that nature is the first creative power; but if the soul turn out to be the primeval element, and not fire or air, then in the truest sense and beyond other things the soul may be said to exist by nature; and this would be true if you proved that the soul is older than the body, but not otherwise.

CLEINIAS: You are quite right.

ATHENIAN: Shall we, then, take this as the next point to which our attention should be directed?

CLEINIAS: By all means.

ATHENIAN: Let us be on our guard lest this most deceptive argument with its youthful looks, beguiling us old men, give us the slip and make a laughing-stock of us. Who knows but we may be aiming at the greater, and fail of attaining the lesser? Suppose that we three have to pass a rapid river, and I, being the youngest of the three and experienced in rivers, take upon me the duty of making the attempt first by myself; leaving you in safety on the bank, I am to examine whether the river is passable by older men like yourselves, and if such appears to be the case then I shall invite you to follow, and my experience will help to convey you across; but if the river is impassable by you, then there will have been no danger to anybody but myself — would not that seem to be a very fair proposal? I mean to say that the argument in prospect is likely to be too much for you, out of your depth and beyond your strength, and I should be afraid that the stream of my questions might create in you who are not in the habit of answering, giddiness and confusion of mind, and hence a feeling of unpleasantness and unsuitableness might arise. I think therefore that I had better first ask the questions and then answer them myself while you listen in safety; in that way I can carry on the argument until I have completed the proof that the soul is prior to the body.

CLEINIAS: Excellent, Stranger, and I hope that you will do as you propose.

ATHENIAN: Come, then, and if ever we are to call upon the Gods, let us call upon them now in all seriousness to come to the demonstration of their own existence. And so holding fast to the rope we will venture upon the depths of the argument. When questions of this sort are asked of me, my safest answer would appear to be as follows: Some one says to me, ‘O Stranger, are all things at rest and nothing in motion, or is the exact opposite of this true, or are some things in motion and others at rest?’ To this I shall reply that some things are in motion and others at rest. ‘And do not things which move move in a place, and are not the things which are at rest at rest in a place?’ Certainly. ‘And some move or rest in one place and some in more places than one?’ You mean to say, we shall rejoin, that those things which rest at the centre move in one place, just as the circumference goes round of globes which are said to be at rest? ‘Yes.’ And we observe that, in the revolution, the motion which carries round the larger and the lesser circle at the same time is proportionally distributed to greater and smaller, and is greater and smaller in a certain proportion. Here is a wonder which might be thought an impossibility, that the same motion should impart swiftness and slowness in due proportion to larger and lesser circles. ‘Very true.’ And when you speak of bodies moving in many places, you seem to me to mean those which move from one place to another, and sometimes have one centre of motion and sometimes more than one because they turn upon their axis; and whenever they meet anything, if it be stationary, they are divided by it; but if they get in the midst between bodies which are approaching and moving towards the same spot from opposite directions, they unite with them. ‘I admit the truth of what you are saying.’ Also when they unite they grow, and when they are divided they waste away — that is, supposing the constitution of each to remain, or if that fails, then there is a second reason of their dissolution. ‘And when are all things created and how?’ Clearly, they are created when the first principle receives increase and attains to the second dimension, and from this arrives at the one which is neighbour to this, and after reaching the third becomes perceptible to sense. Everything which is thus changing and moving is in process of generation; only when at rest has it real existence, but when passing into another state it is destroyed utterly. Have we not mentioned all motions that there are, and comprehended them under their kinds and numbered them with the exception, my friends, of two?

CLEINIAS: Which are they?

ATHENIAN: Just the two, with which our present enquiry is concerned.

CLEINIAS: Speak plainer.

ATHENIAN: I suppose that our enquiry has reference to the soul?

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Let us assume that there is a motion able to move other things, but not to move itself; that is one kind; and there is another kind which can move itself as well as other things, working in composition and decomposition, by increase and diminution and generation and destruction — that is also one of the many kinds of motion.

CLEINIAS: Granted.

ATHENIAN: And we will assume that which moves other, and is changed by other, to be the ninth, and that which changes itself and others, and is coincident with every action and every passion, and is the true principle of change and motion in all that is — that we shall be inclined to call the tenth.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And which of these ten motions ought we to prefer as being the mightiest and most efficient?

CLEINIAS: I must say that the motion which is able to move itself is ten thousand times superior to all the others.

ATHENIAN: Very good; but may I make one or two corrections in what I have been saying?

CLEINIAS: What are they?

ATHENIAN: When I spoke of the tenth sort of motion, that was not quite correct.

CLEINIAS: What was the error?

ATHENIAN: According to the true order, the tenth was really the first in generation and power; then follows the second, which was strangely enough termed the ninth by us.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I mean this: when one thing changes another, and that another, of such will there be any primary changing element? How can a thing which is moved by another ever be the beginning of change? Impossible. But when the self-moved changes other, and that again other, and thus thousands upon tens of thousands of bodies are set in motion, must not the beginning of all this motion be the change of the self-moving principle?

CLEINIAS: Very true, and I quite agree.

ATHENIAN: Or, to put the question in another way, making answer to ourselves: If, as most of these philosophers have the audacity to affirm, all things were at rest in one mass, which of the above-mentioned principles of motion would first spring up among them?

CLEINIAS: Clearly the self-moving; for there could be no change in them arising out of any external cause; the change must first take place in themselves.

ATHENIAN: Then we must say that self-motion being the origin of all motions, and the first which arises among things at rest as well as among things in motion, is the eldest and mightiest principle of change, and that which is changed by another and yet moves other is second.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: At this stage of the argument let us put a question.

CLEINIAS: What question?

ATHENIAN: If we were to see this power existing in any earthy, watery, or fiery substance, simple or compound — how should we describe it?

CLEINIAS: You mean to ask whether we should call such a self-moving power life?

ATHENIAN: I do.

CLEINIAS: Certainly we should.

ATHENIAN: And when we see soul in anything, must we not do the same — must we not admit that this is life?

CLEINIAS: We must.

ATHENIAN: And now, I beseech you, reflect — you would admit that we have a threefold knowledge of things?

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I mean that we know the essence, and that we know the definition of the essence, and the name — these are the three; and there are two questions which may be raised about anything.

CLEINIAS: How two?

ATHENIAN: Sometimes a person may give the name and ask the definition; or he may give the definition and ask the name. I may illustrate what I mean in this way.

CLEINIAS: How?

ATHENIAN: Number like some other things is capable of being divided into equal parts; when thus divided, number is named ‘even,’ and the definition of the name ‘even’ is ‘number divisible into two equal parts’?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: I mean, that when we are asked about the definition and give the name, or when we are asked about the name and give the definition — in either case, whether we give name or definition, we speak of the same thing, calling ‘even’ the number which is divided into two equal parts.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: And what is the definition of that which is named ‘soul’? Can we conceive of any other than that which has been already given — the motion which can move itself?

CLEINIAS: You mean to say that the essence which is defined as the self-moved is the same with that which has the name soul?

ATHENIAN: Yes; and if this is true, do we still maintain that there is anything wanting in the proof that the soul is the first origin and moving power of all that is, or has become, or will be, and their contraries, when she has been clearly shown to be the source of change and motion in all things?

CLEINIAS: Certainly not; the soul as being the source of motion, has been most satisfactorily shown to be the oldest of all things.

ATHENIAN: And is not that motion which is produced in another, by reason of another, but never has any self-moving power at all, being in truth the change of an inanimate body, to be reckoned second, or by any lower number which you may prefer?

CLEINIAS: Exactly.

ATHENIAN: Then we are right, and speak the most perfect and absolute truth, when we say that the soul is prior to the body, and that the body is second and comes afterwards, and is born to obey the soul, which is the ruler?

CLEINIAS: Nothing can be more true.

ATHENIAN: Do you remember our old admission, that if the soul was prior to the body the things of the soul were also prior to those of the body?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Then characters and manners, and wishes and reasonings, and true opinions, and reflections, and recollections are prior to length and breadth and depth and strength of bodies, if the soul is prior to the body.

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: In the next place, we must not of necessity admit that the soul is the cause of good and evil, base and honourable, just and unjust, and of all other opposites, if we suppose her to be the cause of all things?

CLEINIAS: We must.

ATHENIAN: And as the soul orders and inhabits all things that move, however moving, must we not say that she orders also the heavens?

CLEINIAS: Of course.

ATHENIAN: One soul or more? More than one — I will answer for you; at any rate, we must not suppose that there are less than two — one the author of good, and the other of evil.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Yes, very true; the soul then directs all things in heaven, and earth, and sea by her movements, and these are described by the terms — will, consideration, attention, deliberation, opinion true and false, joy and sorrow, confidence, fear, hatred, love, and other primary motions akin to these; which again receive the secondary motions of corporeal substances, and guide all things to growth and decay, to composition and decomposition, and to the qualities which accompany them, such as heat and cold, heaviness and lightness, hardness and softness, blackness and whiteness, bitterness and sweetness, and all those other qualities which the soul uses, herself a goddess, when truly receiving the divine mind she disciplines all things rightly to their happiness; but when she is the companion of folly, she does the very contrary of all this. Shall we assume so much, or do we still entertain doubts?

CLEINIAS: There is no room at all for doubt.

ATHENIAN: Shall we say then that it is the soul which controls heaven and earth, and the whole world? that it is a principle of wisdom and virtue, or a principle which has neither wisdom nor virtue? Suppose that we make answer as follows:

CLEINIAS: How would you answer?

ATHENIAN: If, my friend, we say that the whole path and movement of heaven, and of all that is therein, is by nature akin to the movement and revolution and calculation of mind, and proceeds by kindred laws, then, as is plain, we must say that the best soul takes care of the world and guides it along the good path.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: But if the world moves wildly and irregularly, then the evil soul guides it.

CLEINIAS: True again.

ATHENIAN: Of what nature is the movement of mind? To this question it is not easy to give an intelligent answer; and therefore I ought to assist you in framing one.

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Then let us not answer as if we would look straight at the sun, making ourselves darkness at midday — I mean as if we were under the impression that we could see with mortal eyes, or know adequately the nature of mind — it will be safer to look at the image only.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Let us select of the ten motions the one which mind chiefly resembles; this I will bring to your recollection, and will then make the answer on behalf of us all.

CLEINIAS: That will be excellent.

ATHENIAN: You will surely remember our saying that all things were either at rest or in motion?

CLEINIAS: I do.

ATHENIAN: And that of things in motion some were moving in one place, and others in more than one?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: Of these two kinds of motion, that which moves in one place must move about a centre like globes made in a lathe, and is most entirely akin and similar to the circular movement of mind.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: In saying that both mind and the motion which is in one place move in the same and like manner, in and about the same, and in relation to the same, and according to one proportion and order, and are like the motion of a globe, we invented a fair image, which does no discredit to our ingenuity.

CLEINIAS: It does us great credit.

ATHENIAN: And the motion of the other sort which is not after the same manner, nor in the same, nor about the same, nor in relation to the same, nor in one place, nor in order, nor according to any rule or proportion, may be said to be akin to senselessness and folly?

CLEINIAS: That is most true.

ATHENIAN: Then, after what has been said, there is no difficulty in distinctly stating, that since soul carries all things round, either the best soul or the contrary must of necessity carry round and order and arrange the revolution of the heaven.

CLEINIAS: And judging from what has been said, Stranger, there would be impiety in asserting that any but the most perfect soul or souls carries round the heavens.

ATHENIAN: You have understood my meaning right well, Cleinias, and now let me ask you another question.

CLEINIAS: What are you going to ask?

ATHENIAN: If the soul carries round the sun and moon, and the other stars, does she not carry round each individual of them?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Then of one of them let us speak, and the same argument will apply to all.

CLEINIAS: Which will you take?

ATHENIAN: Every one sees the body of the sun, but no one sees his soul, nor the soul of any other body living or dead; and yet there is great reason to believe that this nature, unperceived by any of our senses, is circumfused around them all, but is perceived by mind; and therefore by mind and reflection only let us apprehend the following point.

CLEINIAS: What is that?

ATHENIAN: If the soul carries round the sun, we shall not be far wrong in supposing one of three alternatives.

CLEINIAS: What are they?

ATHENIAN: Either the soul which moves the sun this way and that, resides within the circular and visible body, like the soul which carries us about every way; or the soul provides herself with an external body of fire or air, as some affirm, and violently propels body by body; or thirdly, she is without such a body, but guides the sun by some extraordinary and wonderful power.

CLEINIAS: Yes, certainly; the soul can only order all things in one of these three ways.

ATHENIAN: And this soul of the sun, which is therefore better than the sun, whether taking the sun about in a chariot to give light to men, or acting from without, or in whatever way, ought by every man to be deemed a God.

CLEINIAS: Yes, by every man who has the least particle of sense.

ATHENIAN: And of the stars too, and of the moon, and of the years and months and seasons, must we not say in like manner, that since a soul or souls having every sort of excellence are the causes of all of them, those souls are Gods, whether they are living beings and reside in bodies, and in this way order the whole heaven, or whatever be the place and mode of their existence — and will any one who admits all this venture to deny that all things are full of Gods?

CLEINIAS: No one, Stranger, would be such a madman.

ATHENIAN: And now, Megillus and Cleinias, let us offer terms to him who has hitherto denied the existence of the Gods, and leave him.

CLEINIAS: What terms?

ATHENIAN: Either he shall teach us that we were wrong in saying that the soul is the original of all things, and arguing accordingly; or, if he be not able to say anything better, then he must yield to us and live for the remainder of his life in the belief that there are Gods. Let us see, then, whether we have said enough or not enough to those who deny that there are Gods.

CLEINIAS: Certainly, quite enough, Stranger.

ATHENIAN: Then to them we will say no more. And now we are to address him who, believing that there are Gods, believes also that they take no heed of human affairs: To him we say — O thou best of men, in believing that there are Gods you are led by some affinity to them, which attracts you towards your kindred and makes you honour and believe in them. But the fortunes of evil and unrighteous men in private as well as public life, which, though not really happy, are wrongly counted happy in the judgment of men, and are celebrated both by poets and prose writers — these draw you aside from your natural piety. Perhaps you have seen impious men growing old and leaving their children’s children in high offices, and their prosperity shakes your faith — you have known or heard or been yourself an eyewitness of many monstrous impieties, and have beheld men by such criminal means from small beginnings attaining to sovereignty and the pinnacle of greatness; and considering all these things you do not like to accuse the Gods of them, because they are your relatives; and so from some want of reasoning power, and also from an unwillingness to find fault with them, you have come to believe that they exist indeed, but have no thought or care of human things. Now, that your present evil opinion may not grow to still greater impiety, and that we may if possible use arguments which may conjure away the evil before it arrives, we will add another argument to that originally addressed to him who utterly denied the existence of the Gods. And do you, Megillus and Cleinias, answer for the young man as you did before; and if any impediment comes in our way, I will take the word out of your mouths, and carry you over the river as I did just now.

CLEINIAS: Very good; do as you say, and we will help you as well as we can.

ATHENIAN: There will probably be no difficulty in proving to him that the Gods care about the small as well as about the great. For he was present and heard what was said, that they are perfectly good, and that the care of all things is most entirely natural to them.

CLEINIAS: No doubt he heard that.

ATHENIAN: Let us consider together in the next place what we mean by this virtue which we ascribe to them. Surely we should say that to be temperate and to possess mind belongs to virtue, and the contrary to vice?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Yes; and courage is a part of virtue, and cowardice of vice?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And the one is honourable, and the other dishonourable?

CLEINIAS: To be sure.

ATHENIAN: And the one, like other meaner things, is a human quality, but the Gods have no part in anything of the sort?

CLEINIAS: That again is what everybody will admit.

ATHENIAN: But do we imagine carelessness and idleness and luxury to be virtues? What do you think?

CLEINIAS: Decidedly not.

ATHENIAN: They rank under the opposite class?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And their opposites, therefore, would fall under the opposite class?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: But are we to suppose that one who possesses all these good qualities will be luxurious and heedless and idle, like those whom the poet compares to stingless drones?

CLEINIAS: And the comparison is a most just one.

ATHENIAN: Surely God must not be supposed to have a nature which He Himself hates? he who dares to say this sort of thing must not be tolerated for a moment.

CLEINIAS: Of course not. How could he have?

ATHENIAN: Should we not on any principle be entirely mistaken in praising any one who has some special business entrusted to him, if he have a mind which takes care of great matters and no care of small ones? Reflect; he who acts in this way, whether he be God or man, must act from one of two principles.

CLEINIAS: What are they?

ATHENIAN: Either he must think that the neglect of the small matters is of no consequence to the whole, or if he knows that they are of consequence, and he neglects them, his neglect must be attributed to carelessness and indolence. Is there any other way in which his neglect can be explained? For surely, when it is impossible for him to take care of all, he is not negligent if he fails to attend to these things great or small, which a God or some inferior being might be wanting in strength or capacity to manage?

CLEINIAS: Certainly not.

ATHENIAN: Now, then, let us examine the offenders, who both alike confess that there are Gods, but with a difference — the one saying that they may be appeased, and the other that they have no care of small matters: there are three of us and two of them, and we will say to them — In the first place, you both acknowledge that the Gods hear and see and know all things, and that nothing can escape them which is matter of sense and knowledge: do you admit this?

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: And do you admit also that they have all power which mortals and immortals can have?

CLEINIAS: They will, of course, admit this also.

ATHENIAN: And surely we three and they two — five in all — have acknowledged that they are good and perfect?

CLEINIAS: Assuredly.

ATHENIAN: But, if they are such as we conceive them to be, can we possibly suppose that they ever act in the spirit of carelessness and indolence? For in us inactivity is the child of cowardice, and carelessness of inactivity and indolence.

CLEINIAS: Most true.

ATHENIAN: Then not from inactivity and carelessness is any God ever negligent; for there is no cowardice in them.

CLEINIAS: That is very true.

ATHENIAN: Then the alternative which remains is, that if the Gods neglect the lighter and lesser concerns of the universe, they neglect them because they know that they ought not to care about such matters — what other alternative is there but the opposite of their knowing?

CLEINIAS: There is none.

ATHENIAN: And, O most excellent and best of men, do I understand you to mean that they are careless because they are ignorant, and do not know that they ought to take care, or that they know, and yet like the meanest sort of men, knowing the better, choose the worse because they are overcome by pleasures and pains?

CLEINIAS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: Do not all human things partake of the nature of soul? And is not man the most religious of all animals?

CLEINIAS: That is not to be denied.

ATHENIAN: And we acknowledge that all mortal creatures are the property of the Gods, to whom also the whole of heaven belongs?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And, therefore, whether a person says that these things are to the Gods great or small — in either case it would not be natural for the Gods who own us, and who are the most careful and the best of owners, to neglect us. There is also a further consideration.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: Sensation and power are in an inverse ratio to each other in respect to their ease and difficulty.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I mean that there is greater difficulty in seeing and hearing the small than the great, but more facility in moving and controlling and taking care of small and unimportant things than of their opposites.

CLEINIAS: Far more.

ATHENIAN: Suppose the case of a physician who is willing and able to cure some living thing as a whole — how will the whole fare at his hands if he takes care only of the greater and neglects the parts which are lesser?

CLEINIAS: Decidedly not well.

ATHENIAN: No better would be the result with pilots or generals, or householders or statesmen, or any other such class, if they neglected the small and regarded only the great — as the builders say, the larger stones do not lie well without the lesser.

CLEINIAS: Of course not.

ATHENIAN: Let us not, then, deem God inferior to human workmen, who, in proportion to their skill, finish and perfect their works, small as well as great, by one and the same art; or that God, the wisest of beings, who is both willing and able to take care, is like a lazy good-for-nothing, or a coward, who turns his back upon labour and gives no thought to smaller and easier matters, but to the greater only.

CLEINIAS: Never, Stranger, let us admit a supposition about the Gods which is both impious and false.

ATHENIAN: I think that we have now argued enough with him who delights to accuse the Gods of neglect.

CLEINIAS: Yes.

ATHENIAN: He has been forced to acknowledge that he is in error, but he still seems to me to need some words of consolation.

CLEINIAS: What consolation will you offer him?

ATHENIAN: Let us say to the youth: The ruler of the universe has ordered all things with a view to the excellence and preservation of the whole, and each part, as far as may be, has an action and passion appropriate to it. Over these, down to the least fraction of them, ministers have been appointed to preside, who have wrought out their perfection with infinitesimal exactness. And one of these portions of the universe is thine own, unhappy man, which, however little, contributes to the whole; and you do not seem to be aware that this and every other creation is for the sake of the whole, and in order that the life of the whole may be blessed; and that you are created for the sake of the whole, and not the whole for the sake of you. For every physician and every skilled artist does all things for the sake of the whole, directing his effort towards the common good, executing the part for the sake of the whole, and not the whole for the sake of the part. And you are annoyed because you are ignorant how what is best for you happens to you and to the universe, as far as the laws of the common creation admit. Now, as the soul combining first with one body and then with another undergoes all sorts of changes, either of herself, or through the influence of another soul, all that remains to the player of the game is that he should shift the pieces; sending the better nature to the better place, and the worse to the worse, and so assigning to them their proper portion.

CLEINIAS: In what way do you mean?

ATHENIAN: In a way which may be supposed to make the care of all things easy to the Gods. If any one were to form or fashion all things without any regard to the whole — if, for example, he formed a living element of water out of fire, instead of forming many things out of one or one out of many in regular order attaining to a first or second or third birth, the transmutation would have been infinite; but now the ruler of the world has a wonderfully easy task.

CLEINIAS: How so?

ATHENIAN: I will explain: When the king saw that our actions had life, and that there was much virtue in them and much vice, and that the soul and body, although not, like the Gods of popular opinion, eternal, yet having once come into existence, were indestructible (for if either of them had been destroyed, there would have been no generation of living beings); and when he observed that the good of the soul was ever by nature designed to profit men, and the evil to harm them — he, seeing all this, contrived so to place each of the parts that their position might in the easiest and best manner procure the victory of good and the defeat of evil in the whole. And he contrived a general plan by which a thing of a certain nature found a certain seat and room. But the formation of qualities he left to the wills of individuals. For every one of us is made pretty much what he is by the bent of his desires and the nature of his soul.

CLEINIAS: Yes, that is probably true.

ATHENIAN: Then all things which have a soul change, and possess in themselves a principle of change, and in changing move according to law and to the order of destiny: natures which have undergone a lesser change move less and on the earth’s surface, but those which have suffered more change and have become more criminal sink into the abyss, that is to say, into Hades and other places in the world below, of which the very names terrify men, and which they picture to themselves as in a dream, both while alive and when released from the body. And whenever the soul receives more of good or evil from her own energy and the strong influence of others — when she has communion with divine virtue and becomes divine, she is carried into another and better place, which is perfect in holiness; but when she has communion with evil, then she also changes the place of her life.

‘This is the justice of the Gods who inhabit Olympus.’

O youth or young man, who fancy that you are neglected by the Gods, know that if you become worse you shall go to the worse souls, or if better to the better, and in every succession of life and death you will do and suffer what like may fitly suffer at the hands of like. This is the justice of heaven, which neither you nor any other unfortunate will ever glory in escaping, and which the ordaining powers have specially ordained; take good heed thereof, for it will be sure to take heed of you. If you say: I am small and will creep into the depths of the earth, or I am high and will fly up to heaven, you are not so small or so high but that you shall pay the fitting penalty, either here or in the world below or in some still more savage place whither you shall be conveyed. This is also the explanation of the fate of those whom you saw, who had done unholy and evil deeds, and from small beginnings had grown great, and you fancied that from being miserable they had become happy; and in their actions, as in a mirror, you seemed to see the universal neglect of the Gods, not knowing how they make all things work together and contribute to the great whole. And thinkest thou, bold man, that thou needest not to know this? he who knows it not can never form any true idea of the happiness or unhappiness of life or hold any rational discourse respecting either. If Cleinias and this our reverend company succeed in proving to you that you know not what you say of the Gods, then will God help you; but should you desire to hear more, listen to what we say to the third opponent, if you have any understanding whatsoever. For I think that we have sufficiently proved the existence of the Gods, and that they care for men: The other notion that they are appeased by the wicked, and take gifts, is what we must not concede to any one, and what every man should disprove to the utmost of his power.

CLEINIAS: Very good; let us do as you say.

ATHENIAN: Well, then, by the Gods themselves I conjure you to tell me — if they are to be propitiated, how are they to be propitiated? Who are they, and what is their nature? Must they not be at least rulers who have to order unceasingly the whole heaven?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And to what earthly rulers can they be compared, or who to them? How in the less can we find an image of the greater? Are they charioteers of contending pairs of steeds, or pilots of vessels? Perhaps they might be compared to the generals of armies, or they might be likened to physicians providing against the diseases which make war upon the body, or to husbandmen observing anxiously the effects of the seasons on the growth of plants; or perhaps to shepherds of flocks. For as we acknowledge the world to be full of many goods and also of evils, and of more evils than goods, there is, as we affirm, an immortal conflict going on among us, which requires marvellous watchfulness; and in that conflict the Gods and demigods are our allies, and we are their property. Injustice and insolence and folly are the destruction of us, and justice and temperance and wisdom are our salvation; and the place of these latter is in the life of the Gods, although some vestige of them may occasionally be discerned among mankind. But upon this earth we know that there dwell souls possessing an unjust spirit, who may be compared to brute animals, which fawn upon their keepers, whether dogs or shepherds, or the best and most perfect masters; for they in like manner, as the voices of the wicked declare, prevail by flattery and prayers and incantations, and are allowed to make their gains with impunity. And this sin, which is termed dishonesty, is an evil of the same kind as what is termed disease in living bodies or pestilence in years or seasons of the year, and in cities and governments has another name, which is injustice.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: What else can he say who declares that the Gods are always lenient to the doers of unjust acts, if they divide the spoil with them? As if wolves were to toss a portion of their prey to the dogs, and they, mollified by the gift, suffered them to tear the flocks. Must not he who maintains that the Gods can be propitiated argue thus?

CLEINIAS: Precisely so.

ATHENIAN: And to which of the above-mentioned classes of guardians would any man compare the Gods without absurdity? Will he say that they are like pilots, who are themselves turned away from their duty by ‘libations of wine and the savour of fat,’ and at last overturn both ship and sailors?

CLEINIAS: Assuredly not.

ATHENIAN: And surely they are not like charioteers who are bribed to give up the victory to other chariots?

CLEINIAS: That would be a fearful image of the Gods.

ATHENIAN: Nor are they like generals, or physicians, or husbandmen, or shepherds; and no one would compare them to dogs who have been silenced by wolves.

CLEINIAS: A thing not to be spoken of.

ATHENIAN: And are not all the Gods the chiefest of all guardians, and do they not guard our highest interests?

CLEINIAS: Yes; the chiefest.

ATHENIAN: And shall we say that those who guard our noblest interests, and are the best of guardians, are inferior in virtue to dogs, and to men even of moderate excellence, who would never betray justice for the sake of gifts which unjust men impiously offer them?

CLEINIAS: Certainly not; nor is such a notion to be endured, and he who holds this opinion may be fairly singled out and characterized as of all impious men the wickedest and most impious.

ATHENIAN: Then are the three assertions — that the Gods exist, and that they take care of men, and that they can never be persuaded to do injustice, now sufficiently demonstrated? May we say that they are?

CLEINIAS: You have our entire assent to your words.

ATHENIAN: I have spoken with vehemence because I am zealous against evil men; and I will tell you, dear Cleinias, why I am so. I would not have the wicked think that, having the superiority in argument, they may do as they please and act according to their various imaginations about the Gods; and this zeal has led me to speak too vehemently; but if we have at all succeeded in persuading the men to hate themselves and love their opposites, the prelude of our laws about impiety will not have been spoken in vain.

CLEINIAS: So let us hope; and even if we have failed, the style of our argument will not discredit the lawgiver.

ATHENIAN: After the prelude shall follow a discourse, which will be the interpreter of the law; this shall proclaim to all impious persons that they must depart from their ways and go over to the pious. And to those who disobey, let the law about impiety be as follows: If a man is guilty of any impiety in word or deed, any one who happens to be present shall give information to the magistrates, in aid of the law; and let the magistrates who first receive the information bring him before the appointed court according to the law; and if a magistrate, after receiving information, refuses to act, he shall be tried for impiety at the instance of any one who is willing to vindicate the laws; and if any one be cast, the court shall estimate the punishment of each act of impiety; and let all such criminals be imprisoned. There shall be three prisons in the state: the first of them is to be the common prison in the neighbourhood of the agora for the safe-keeping of the generality of offenders; another is to be in the neighbourhood of the nocturnal council, and is to be called the ‘House of Reformation’; another, to be situated in some wild and desolate region in the centre of the country, shall be called by some name expressive of retribution. Now, men fall into impiety from three causes, which have been already mentioned, and from each of these causes arise two sorts of impiety, in all six, which are worth distinguishing, and should not all have the same punishment. For he who does not believe in the Gods, and yet has a righteous nature, hates the wicked and dislikes and refuses to do injustice, and avoids unrighteous men, and loves the righteous. But they who besides believing that the world is devoid of Gods are intemperate, and have at the same time good memories and quick wits, are worse; although both of them are unbelievers, much less injury is done by the one than by the other. The one may talk loosely about the Gods and about sacrifices and oaths, and perhaps by laughing at other men he may make them like himself, if he be not punished. But the other who holds the same opinions and is called a clever man, is full of stratagem and deceit — men of this class deal in prophecy and jugglery of all kinds, and out of their ranks sometimes come tyrants and demagogues and generals and hierophants of private mysteries and the Sophists, as they are termed, with their ingenious devices. There are many kinds of unbelievers, but two only for whom legislation is required; one the hypocritical sort, whose crime is deserving of death many times over, while the other needs only bonds and admonition. In like manner also the notion that the Gods take no thought of men produces two other sorts of crimes, and the notion that they may be propitiated produces two more. Assuming these divisions, let those who have been made what they are only from want of understanding, and not from malice or an evil nature, be placed by the judge in the House of Reformation, and ordered to suffer imprisonment during a period of not less than five years. And in the meantime let them have no intercourse with the other citizens, except with members of the nocturnal council, and with them let them converse with a view to the improvement of their soul’s health. And when the time of their imprisonment has expired, if any of them be of sound mind let him be restored to sane company, but if not, and if he be condemned a second time, let him be punished with death. As to that class of monstrous natures who not only believe that there are no Gods, or that they are negligent, or to be propitiated, but in contempt of mankind conjure the souls of the living and say that they can conjure the dead and promise to charm the Gods with sacrifices and prayers, and will utterly overthrow individuals and whole houses and states for the sake of money — let him who is guilty of any of these things be condemned by the court to be bound according to law in the prison which is in the centre of the land, and let no freeman ever approach him, but let him receive the rations of food appointed by the guardians of the law from the hands of the public slaves; and when he is dead let him be cast beyond the borders unburied, and if any freeman assist in burying him, let him pay the penalty of impiety to any one who is willing to bring a suit against him. But if he leaves behind him children who are fit to be citizens, let the guardians of orphans take care of them, just as they would of any other orphans, from the day on which their father is convicted.

In all these cases there should be one law, which will make men in general less liable to transgress in word or deed, and less foolish, because they will not be allowed to practise religious rites contrary to law. And let this be the simple form of the law: No man shall have sacred rites in a private house. When he would sacrifice, let him go to the temples and hand over his offerings to the priests and priestesses, who see to the sanctity of such things, and let him pray himself, and let any one who pleases join with him in prayer. The reason of this is as follows: Gods and temples are not easily instituted, and to establish them rightly is the work of a mighty intellect. And women especially, and men too, when they are sick or in danger, or in any sort of difficulty, or again on their receiving any good fortune, have a way of consecrating the occasion, vowing sacrifices, and promising shrines to Gods, demigods, and sons of Gods; and when they are awakened by terrible apparitions and dreams or remember visions, they find in altars and temples the remedies of them, and will fill every house and village with them, placing them in the open air, or wherever they may have had such visions; and with a view to all these cases we should obey the law. The law has also regard to the impious, and would not have them fancy that by the secret performance of these actions — by raising temples and by building altars in private houses, they can propitiate the God secretly with sacrifices and prayers, while they are really multiplying their crimes infinitely, bringing guilt from heaven upon themselves, and also upon those who permit them, and who are better men than they are; and the consequence is that the whole state reaps the fruit of their impiety, which, in a certain sense, is deserved. Assuredly God will not blame the legislator, who will enact the following law: No one shall possess shrines of the Gods in private houses, and he who is found to possess them, and perform any sacred rites not publicly authorised — supposing the offender to be some man or woman who is not guilty of any other great and impious crime — shall be informed against by him who is acquainted with the fact, which shall be announced by him to the guardians of the law; and let them issue orders that he or she shall carry away their private rites to the public temples, and if they do not persuade them, let them inflict a penalty on them until they comply. And if a person be proven guilty of impiety, not merely from childish levity, but such as grown-up men may be guilty of, whether he have sacrificed publicly or privately to any Gods, let him be punished with death, for his sacrifice is impure. Whether the deed has been done in earnest, or only from childish levity, let the guardians of the law determine, before they bring the matter into court and prosecute the offender for impiety.

BOOK XI.

In the next place, dealings between man and man require to be suitably regulated. The principle of them is very simple: Thou shalt not, if thou canst help, touch that which is mine, or remove the least thing which belongs to me without my consent; and may I be of a sound mind, and do to others as I would that they should do to me. First, let us speak of treasure-trove: May I never pray the Gods to find the hidden treasure, which another has laid up for himself and his family, he not being one of my ancestors, nor lift, if I should find, such a treasure. And may I never have any dealings with those who are called diviners, and who in any way or manner counsel me to take up the deposit entrusted to the earth, for I should not gain so much in the increase of my possessions, if I take up the prize, as I should grow in justice and virtue of soul, if I abstain; and this will be a better possession to me than the other in a better part of myself; for the possession of justice in the soul is preferable to the possession of wealth. And of many things it is well said— ‘Move not the immovables,’ and this may be regarded as one of them. And we shall do well to believe the common tradition which says, that such deeds prevent a man from having a family. Now as to him who is careless about having children and regardless of the legislator, taking up that which neither he deposited, nor any ancestor of his, without the consent of the depositor, violating the simplest and noblest of laws which was the enactment of no mean man: ‘Take not up that which was not laid down by thee’ — of him, I say, who despises these two legislators, and takes up, not some small matter which he has not deposited, but perhaps a great heap of treasure, what he ought to suffer at the hands of the Gods, God only knows; but I would have the first person who sees him go and tell the wardens of the city, if the occurrence has taken place in the city, or if the occurrence has taken place in the agora he shall tell the wardens of the agora, or if in the country he shall tell the wardens of the country and their commanders. When information has been received the city shall send to Delphi, and, whatever the God answers about the money and the remover of the money, that the city shall do in obedience to the oracle; the informer, if he be a freeman, shall have the honour of doing rightly, and he who informs not, the dishonour of doing wrongly; and if he be a slave who gives information, let him be freed, as he ought to be, by the state, which shall give his master the price of him; but if he do not inform he shall be punished with death. Next in order shall follow a similar law, which shall apply equally to matters great and small: If a man happens to leave behind him some part of his property, whether intentionally or unintentionally, let him who may come upon the left property suffer it to remain, reflecting that such things are under the protection of the Goddess of ways, and are dedicated to her by the law. But if any one defies the law, and takes the property home with him, let him, if the thing is of little worth, and the man who takes it a slave, be beaten with many stripes by him who meets him, being a person of not less than thirty years of age. Or if he be a freeman, in addition to being thought a mean person and a despiser of the laws, let him pay ten times the value of the treasure which he has moved to the leaver. And if some one accuses another of having anything which belongs to him, whether little or much, and the other admits that he has this thing, but denies that the property in dispute belongs to the other, if the property be registered with the magistrates according to law, the claimant shall summon the possessor, who shall bring it before the magistrates; and when it is brought into court, if it be registered in the public registers, to which of the litigants it belonged, let him take it and go his way. Or if the property be registered as belonging to some one who is not present, whoever will offer sufficient surety on behalf of the absent person that he will give it up to him, shall take it away as the representative of the other. But if the property which is deposited be not registered with the magistrates, let it remain until the time of trial with three of the eldest of the magistrates; and if it be an animal which is deposited, then he who loses the suit shall pay the magistrates for its keep, and they shall determine the cause within three days.

Any one who is of sound mind may arrest his own slave, and do with him whatever he will of such things as are lawful; and he may arrest the runaway slave of any of his friends or kindred with a view to his safe-keeping. And if any one takes away him who is being carried off as a slave, intending to liberate him, he who is carrying him off shall let him go; but he who takes him away shall give three sufficient sureties; and if he give them, and not without giving them, he may take him away, but if he take him away after any other manner he shall be deemed guilty of violence, and being convicted shall pay as a penalty double the amount of the damages claimed to him who has been deprived of the slave. Any man may also carry off a freedman, if he do not pay respect or sufficient respect to him who freed him. Now the respect shall be, that the freedman go three times in the month to the hearth of the person who freed him, and offer to do whatever he ought, so far as he can; and he shall agree to make such a marriage as his former master approves. He shall not be permitted to have more property than he who gave him liberty, and what more he has shall belong to his master. The freedman shall not remain in the state more than twenty years, but like other foreigners shall go away, taking his entire property with him, unless he has the consent of the magistrates and of his former master to remain. If a freedman or any other stranger has a property greater than the census of the third class, at the expiration of thirty days from the day on which this comes to pass, he shall take that which is his and go his way, and in this case he shall not be allowed to remain any longer by the magistrates. And if any one disobeys this regulation, and is brought into court and convicted, he shall be punished with death, and his property shall be confiscated. Suits about these matters shall take place before the tribes, unless the plaintiff and defendant have got rid of the accusation either before their neighbours or before judges chosen by them. If a man lay claim to any animal or anything else which he declares to be his, let the possessor refer to the seller or to some honest and trustworthy person, who has given, or in some legitimate way made over the property to him; if he be a citizen or a metic, sojourning in the city, within thirty days, or, if the property have been delivered to him by a stranger, within five months, of which the middle month shall include the summer solstice. When goods are exchanged by selling and buying, a man shall deliver them, and receive the price of them, at a fixed place in the agora, and have done with the matter; but he shall not buy or sell anywhere else, nor give credit. And if in any other manner or in any other place there be an exchange of one thing for another, and the seller give credit to the man who buys from him, he must do this on the understanding that the law gives no protection in cases of things sold not in accordance with these regulations. Again, as to contributions, any man who likes may go about collecting contributions as a friend among friends, but if any difference arises about the collection, he is to act on the understanding that the law gives no protection in such cases. He who sells anything above the value of fifty drachmas shall be required to remain in the city for ten days, and the purchaser shall be informed of the house of the seller, with a view to the sort of charges which are apt to arise in such cases, and the restitutions which the law allows. And let legal restitution be on this wise: If a man sells a slave who is in a consumption, or who has the disease of the stone, or of strangury, or epilepsy, or some other tedious and incurable disorder of body or mind, which is not discernible to the ordinary man, if the purchaser be a physician or trainer, he shall have no right of restitution; nor shall there be any right of restitution if the seller has told the truth beforehand to the buyer. But if a skilled person sells to another who is not skilled, let the buyer appeal for restitution within six months, except in the case of epilepsy, and then the appeal may be made within a year. The cause shall be determined by such physicians as the parties may agree to choose; and the defendant, if he lose the suit, shall pay double the price at which he sold. If a private person sell to another private person, he shall have the right of restitution, and the decision shall be given as before, but the defendant, if he be cast, shall only pay back the price of the slave. If a person sells a homicide to another, and they both know of the fact, let there be no restitution in such a case, but if he do not know of the fact, there shall be a right of restitution, whenever the buyer makes the discovery; and the decision shall rest with the five youngest guardians of the law, and if the decision be that the seller was cognisant of the fact, he shall purify the house of the purchaser, according to the law of the interpreters, and shall pay back three times the purchase-money.

If a man exchanges either money for money, or anything whatever for anything else, either with or without life, let him give and receive them genuine and unadulterated, in accordance with the law. And let us have a prelude about all this sort of roguery, like the preludes of our other laws. Every man should regard adulteration as of one and the same class with falsehood and deceit, concerning which the many are too fond of saying that at proper times and places the practice may often be right. But they leave the occasion, and the when, and the where, undefined and unsettled, and from this want of definiteness in their language they do a great deal of harm to themselves and to others. Now a legislator ought not to leave the matter undetermined; he ought to prescribe some limit, either greater or less. Let this be the rule prescribed: No one shall call the Gods to witness, when he says or does anything false or deceitful or dishonest, unless he would be the most hateful of mankind to them. And he is most hateful to them who takes a false oath, and pays no heed to the Gods; and in the next degree, he who tells a falsehood in the presence of his superiors. Now better men are the superiors of worse men, and in general elders are the superiors of the young; wherefore also parents are the superiors of their offspring, and men of women and children, and rulers of their subjects; for all men ought to reverence any one who is in any position of authority, and especially those who are in state offices. And this is the reason why I have spoken of these matters. For every one who is guilty of adulteration in the agora tells a falsehood, and deceives, and when he invokes the Gods, according to the customs and cautions of the wardens of the agora, he does but swear without any respect for God or man. Certainly, it is an excellent rule not lightly to defile the names of the Gods, after the fashion of men in general, who care little about piety and purity in their religious actions. But if a man will not conform to this rule, let the law be as follows: He who sells anything in the agora shall not ask two prices for that which he sells, but he shall ask one price, and if he do not obtain this, he shall take away his goods; and on that day he shall not value them either at more or less; and there shall be no praising of any goods, or oath taken about them. If a person disobeys this command, any citizen who is present, not being less than thirty years of age, may with impunity chastise and beat the swearer, but if instead of obeying the laws he takes no heed, he shall be liable to the charge of having betrayed them. If a man sells any adulterated goods and will not obey these regulations, he who knows and can prove the fact, and does prove it in the presence of the magistrates, if he be a slave or a metic, shall have the adulterated goods; but if he be a citizen, and do not pursue the charge, he shall be called a rogue, and deemed to have robbed the Gods of the agora; or if he proves the charge, he shall dedicate the goods to the Gods of the agora. He who is proved to have sold any adulterated goods, in addition to losing the goods themselves, shall be beaten with stripes — a stripe for a drachma, according to the price of the goods; and the herald shall proclaim in the agora the offence for which he is going to be beaten. The wardens of the agora and the guardians of the law shall obtain information from experienced persons about the rogueries and adulterations of the sellers, and shall write up what the seller ought and ought not to do in each case; and let them inscribe their laws on a column in front of the court of the wardens of the agora, that they may be clear instructors of those who have business in the agora. Enough has been said in what has preceded about the wardens of the city, and if anything seems to be wanting, let them communicate with the guardians of the law, and write down the omission, and place on a column in the court of the wardens of the city the primary and secondary regulations which are laid down for them about their office.

After the practices of adulteration naturally follow the practices of retail trade. Concerning these, we will first of all give a word of counsel and reason, and the law shall come afterwards. Retail trade in a city is not by nature intended to do any harm, but quite the contrary; for is not he a benefactor who reduces the inequalities and incommensurabilities of goods to equality and common measure? And this is what the power of money accomplishes, and the merchant may be said to be appointed for this purpose. The hireling and the tavern-keeper, and many other occupations, some of them more and others less seemly — all alike have this object — they seek to satisfy our needs and equalize our possessions. Let us then endeavour to see what has brought retail trade into ill-odour, and wherein lies the dishonour and unseemliness of it, in order that if not entirely, we may yet partially, cure the evil by legislation. To effect this is no easy matter, and requires a great deal of virtue.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Dear Cleinias, the class of men is small — they must have been rarely gifted by nature, and trained by education — who, when assailed by wants and desires, are able to hold out and observe moderation, and when they might make a great deal of money are sober in their wishes, and prefer a moderate to a large gain. But the mass of mankind are the very opposite: their desires are unbounded, and when they might gain in moderation they prefer gains without limit; wherefore all that relates to retail trade, and merchandise, and the keeping of taverns, is denounced and numbered among dishonourable things. For if what I trust may never be and will not be, we were to compel, if I may venture to say a ridiculous thing, the best men everywhere to keep taverns for a time, or carry on retail trade, or do anything of that sort; or if, in consequence of some fate or necessity, the best women were compelled to follow similar callings, then we should know how agreeable and pleasant all these things are; and if all such occupations were managed on incorrupt principles, they would be honoured as we honour a mother or a nurse. But now that a man goes to desert places and builds houses which can only be reached by long journeys, for the sake of retail trade, and receives strangers who are in need at the welcome resting-place, and gives them peace and calm when they are tossed by the storm, or cool shade in the heat; and then instead of behaving to them as friends, and showing the duties of hospitality to his guests, treats them as enemies and captives who are at his mercy, and will not release them until they have paid the most unjust, abominable, and extortionate ransom — these are the sort of practises, and foul evils they are, which cast a reproach upon the succour of adversity. And the legislator ought always to be devising a remedy for evils of this nature. There is an ancient saying, which is also a true one— ‘To fight against two opponents is a difficult thing,’ as is seen in diseases and in many other cases. And in this case also the war is against two enemies — wealth and poverty; one of whom corrupts the soul of man with luxury, while the other drives him by pain into utter shamelessness. What remedy can a city of sense find against this disease? In the first place, they must have as few retail traders as possible; and in the second place, they must assign the occupation to that class of men whose corruption will be the least injury to the state; and in the third place, they must devise some way whereby the followers of these occupations themselves will not readily fall into habits of unbridled shamelessness and meanness.

After this preface let our law run as follows, and may fortune favour us: No landowner among the Magnetes, whose city the God is restoring and resettling — no one, that is, of the 5040 families, shall become a retail trader either voluntarily or involuntarily; neither shall he be a merchant, or do any service for private persons unless they equally serve him, except for his father or his mother, and their fathers and mothers; and in general for his elders who are freemen, and whom he serves as a freeman. Now it is difficult to determine accurately the things which are worthy or unworthy of a freeman, but let those who have obtained the prize of virtue give judgment about them in accordance with their feelings of right and wrong. He who in any way shares in the illiberality of retail trades may be indicted for dishonouring his race by any one who likes, before those who have been judged to be the first in virtue; and if he appear to throw dirt upon his father’s house by an unworthy occupation, let him be imprisoned for a year and abstain from that sort of thing; and if he repeat the offence, for two years; and every time that he is convicted let the length of his imprisonment be doubled. This shall be the second law: He who engages in retail trade must be either a metic or a stranger. And a third law shall be: In order that the retail trader who dwells in our city may be as good or as little bad as possible, the guardians of the law shall remember that they are not only guardians of those who may be easily watched and prevented from becoming lawless or bad, because they are well-born and bred; but still more should they have a watch over those who are of another sort, and follow pursuits which have a very strong tendency to make men bad. And, therefore, in respect of the multifarious occupations of retail trade, that is to say, in respect of such of them as are allowed to remain, because they seem to be quite necessary in a state — about these the guardians of the law should meet and take counsel with those who have experience of the several kinds of retail trade, as we before commanded concerning adulteration (which is a matter akin to this), and when they meet they shall consider what amount of receipts, after deducting expenses, will produce a moderate gain to the retail trades, and they shall fix in writing and strictly maintain what they find to be the right percentage of profit; this shall be seen to by the wardens of the agora, and by the wardens of the city, and by the wardens of the country. And so retail trade will benefit every one, and do the least possible injury to those in the state who practise it.

When a man makes an agreement which he does not fulfil, unless the agreement be of a nature which the law or a vote of the assembly does not allow, or which he has made under the influence of some unjust compulsion, or which he is prevented from fulfilling against his will by some unexpected chance, the other party may go to law with him in the courts of the tribes, for not having completed his agreement, if the parties are not able previously to come to terms before arbiters or before their neighbours. The class of craftsmen who have furnished human life with the arts is dedicated to Hephaestus and Athene; and there is a class of craftsmen who preserve the works of all craftsmen by arts of defence, the votaries of Ares and Athene, to which divinities they too are rightly dedicated. All these continue through life serving the country and the people; some of them are leaders in battle; others make for hire implements and works, and they ought not to deceive in such matters, out of respect to the Gods who are their ancestors. If any craftsman through indolence omit to execute his work in a given time, not reverencing the God who gives him the means of life, but considering, foolish fellow, that he is his own God and will let him off easily, in the first place, he shall suffer at the hands of the God, and in the second place, the law shall follow in a similar spirit. He shall owe to him who contracted with him the price of the works which he has failed in performing, and he shall begin again and execute them gratis in the given time. When a man undertakes a work, the law gives him the same advice which was given to the seller, that he should not attempt to raise the price, but simply ask the value; this the law enjoins also on the contractor; for the craftsman assuredly knows the value of his work. Wherefore, in free states the man of art ought not to attempt to impose upon private individuals by the help of his art, which is by nature a true thing; and he who is wronged in a matter of this sort, shall have a right of action against the party who has wronged him. And if any one lets out work to a craftsman, and does not pay him duly according to the lawful agreement, disregarding Zeus the guardian of the city and Athene, who are the partners of the state, and overthrows the foundations of society for the sake of a little gain, in his case let the law and the Gods maintain the common bonds of the state. And let him who, having already received the work in exchange, does not pay the price in the time agreed, pay double the price; and if a year has elapsed, although interest is not to be taken on loans, yet for every drachma which he owes to the contractor let him pay a monthly interest of an obol. Suits about these matters are to be decided by the courts of the tribes; and by the way, since we have mentioned craftsmen at all, we must not forget that other craft of war, in which generals and tacticians are the craftsmen, who undertake voluntarily or involuntarily the work of our safety, as other craftsmen undertake other public works — if they execute their work well the law will never tire of praising him who gives them those honours which are the just rewards of the soldier; but if any one, having already received the benefit of any noble service in war, does not make the due return of honour, the law will blame him. Let this then be the law, having an ingredient of praise, not compelling but advising the great body of the citizens to honour the brave men who are the saviours of the whole state, whether by their courage or by their military skill — they should honour them, I say, in the second place; for the first and highest tribute of respect is to be given to those who are able above other men to honour the words of good legislators.

The greater part of the dealings between man and man have been now regulated by us with the exception of those that relate to orphans and the supervision of orphans by their guardians. These follow next in order, and must be regulated in some way. But to arrive at them we must begin with the testamentary wishes of the dying and the case of those who may have happened to die intestate. When I said, Cleinias, that we must regulate them, I had in my mind the difficulty and perplexity in which all such matters are involved. You cannot leave them unregulated, for individuals would make regulations at variance with one another, and repugnant to the laws and habits of the living and to their own previous habits, if a person were simply allowed to make any will which he pleased, and this were to take effect in whatever state he may have been at the end of his life; for most of us lose our senses in a manner, and feel crushed when we think that we are about to die.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean, Stranger?

ATHENIAN: O Cleinias, a man when he is about to die is an intractable creature, and is apt to use language which causes a great deal of anxiety and trouble to the legislator.

CLEINIAS: In what way?

ATHENIAN: He wants to have the entire control of all his property, and will use angry words.

CLEINIAS: Such as what?

ATHENIAN: O ye Gods, he will say, how monstrous that I am not allowed to give, or not to give, my own to whom I will — less to him who has been bad to me, and more to him who has been good to me, and whose badness and goodness have been tested by me in time of sickness or in old age and in every other sort of fortune!

CLEINIAS: Well, Stranger, and may he not very fairly say so?

ATHENIAN: In my opinion, Cleinias, the ancient legislators were too good-natured, and made laws without sufficient observation or consideration of human things.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I mean, my friend, that they were afraid of the testator’s reproaches, and so they passed a law to the effect that a man should be allowed to dispose of his property in all respects as he liked; but you and I, if I am not mistaken, will have something better to say to our departing citizens.

CLEINIAS: What?

ATHENIAN: O my friends, we will say to them, hard is it for you, who are creatures of a day, to know what is yours — hard too, as the Delphic oracle says, to know yourselves at this hour. Now I, as the legislator, regard you and your possessions, not as belonging to yourselves, but as belonging to your whole family, both past and future, and yet more do I regard both family and possessions as belonging to the state; wherefore, if some one steals upon you with flattery, when you are tossed on the sea of disease or old age, and persuades you to dispose of your property in a way that is not for the best, I will not, if I can help, allow this; but I will legislate with a view to the whole, considering what is best both for the state and for the family, esteeming as I ought the feelings of an individual at a lower rate; and I hope that you will depart in peace and kindness towards us, as you are going the way of all mankind; and we will impartially take care of all your concerns, not neglecting any of them, if we can possibly help. Let this be our prelude and consolation to the living and dying, Cleinias, and let the law be as follows: He who makes a disposition in a testament, if he be the father of a family, shall first of all inscribe as his heir any one of his sons whom he may think fit; and if he gives any of his children to be adopted by another citizen, let the adoption be inscribed. And if he has a son remaining over and above who has not been adopted upon any lot, and who may be expected to be sent out to a colony according to law, to him his father may give as much as he pleases of the rest of his property, with the exception of the paternal lot and the fixtures on the lot. And if there are other sons, let him distribute among them what there is more than the lot in such portions as he pleases. And if one of the sons has already a house of his own, he shall not give him of the money, nor shall he give money to a daughter who has been betrothed, but if she is not betrothed he may give her money. And if any of the sons or daughters shall be found to have another lot of land in the country, which has accrued after the testament has been made, they shall leave the lot which they have inherited to the heir of the man who has made the will. If the testator has no sons, but only daughters, let him choose the husband of any one of his daughters whom he pleases, and leave and inscribe him as his son and heir. And if a man have lost his son, when he was a child, and before he could be reckoned among grown up men, whether his own or an adopted son, let the testator make mention of the circumstance and inscribe whom he will to be his second son in hope of better fortune. If the testator has no children at all, he may select and give to any one whom he pleases the tenth part of the property which he has acquired; but let him not be blamed if he gives all the rest to his adopted son, and makes a friend of him according to the law. If the sons of a man require guardians, and the father when he dies leaves a will appointing guardians, those who have been named by him, whoever they are and whatever their number be, if they are able and willing to take charge of the children, shall be recognised according to the provisions of the will. But if he dies and has made no will, or a will in which he has appointed no guardians, then the next of kin, two on the father’s and two on the mother’s side, and one of the friends of the deceased, shall have the authority of guardians, whom the guardians of the law shall appoint when the orphans require guardians. And the fifteen eldest guardians of the law shall have the whole care and charge of the orphans, divided into threes according to seniority — a body of three for one year, and then another body of three for the next year, until the cycle of the five periods is complete; and this, as far as possible, is to continue always. If a man dies, having made no will at all, and leaves sons who require the care of guardians, they shall share in the protection which is afforded by these laws. And if a man dying by some unexpected fate leaves daughters behind him, let him pardon the legislator if when he gives them in marriage, he have a regard only to two out of three conditions — nearness of kin and the preservation of the lot, and omits the third condition, which a father would naturally consider, for he would choose out of all the citizens a son for himself, and a husband for his daughter, with a view to his character and disposition — the father, I say, shall forgive the legislator if he disregards this, which to him is an impossible consideration. Let the law about these matters where practicable be as follows: If a man dies without making a will, and leaves behind him daughters, let his brother, being the son of the same father or of the same mother, having no lot, marry the daughter and have the lot of the dead man. And if he have no brother, but only a brother’s son, in like manner let them marry, if they be of a suitable age; and if there be not even a brother’s son, but only the son of a sister, let them do likewise, and so in the fourth degree, if there be only the testator’s father’s brother, or in the fifth degree, his father’s brother’s son, or in the sixth degree, the child of his father’s sister. Let kindred be always reckoned in this way: if a person leaves daughters the relationship shall proceed upwards through brothers and sisters, and brothers’ and sisters’ children, and first the males shall come, and after them the females in the same family. The judge shall consider and determine the suitableness or unsuitableness of age in marriage; he shall make an inspection of the males naked, and of the women naked down to the navel. And if there be a lack of kinsmen in a family extending to grandchildren of a brother, or to the grandchildren of a grandfather’s children, the maiden may choose with the consent of her guardians any one of the citizens who is willing and whom she wills, and he shall be the heir of the dead man, and the husband of his daughter. Circumstances vary, and there may sometimes be a still greater lack of relations within the limits of the state; and if any maiden has no kindred living in the city, and there is some one who has been sent out to a colony, and she is disposed to make him the heir of her father’s possessions, if he be indeed of her kindred, let him proceed to take the lot according to the regulation of the law; but if he be not of her kindred, she having no kinsmen within the city, and he be chosen by the daughter of the dead man, and empowered to marry by the guardians, let him return home and take the lot of him who died intestate. And if a man has no children, either male or female, and dies without making a will, let the previous law in general hold; and let a man and a woman go forth from the family and share the deserted house, and let the lot belong absolutely to them; and let the heiress in the first degree be a sister, and in a second degree a daughter of a brother, and in the third, a daughter of a sister, in the fourth degree the sister of a father, and in the fifth degree the daughter of a father’s brother, and in a sixth degree of a father’s sister; and these shall dwell with their male kinsmen, according to the degree of relationship and right, as we enacted before. Now we must not conceal from ourselves that such laws are apt to be oppressive and that there may sometimes be a hardship in the lawgiver commanding the kinsman of the dead man to marry his relation; he may be thought not to have considered the innumerable hindrances which may arise among men in the execution of such ordinances; for there may be cases in which the parties refuse to obey, and are ready to do anything rather than marry, when there is some bodily or mental malady or defect among those who are bidden to marry or be married. Persons may fancy that the legislator never thought of this, but they are mistaken; wherefore let us make a common prelude on behalf of the lawgiver and of his subjects, the law begging the latter to forgive the legislator, in that he, having to take care of the common weal, cannot order at the same time the various circumstances of individuals, and begging him to pardon them if naturally they are sometimes unable to fulfil the act which he in his ignorance imposes upon them.

CLEINIAS: And how, Stranger, can we act most fairly under the circumstances?

ATHENIAN: There must be arbiters chosen to deal with such laws and the subjects of them.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I mean to say, that a case may occur in which the nephew, having a rich father, will be unwilling to marry the daughter of his uncle; he will have a feeling of pride, and he will wish to look higher. And there are cases in which the legislator will be imposing upon him the greatest calamity, and he will be compelled to disobey the law, if he is required, for example, to take a wife who is mad, or has some other terrible malady of soul or body, such as makes life intolerable to the sufferer. Then let what we are saying concerning these cases be embodied in a law: If any one finds fault with the established laws respecting testaments, both as to other matters and especially in what relates to marriage, and asserts that the legislator, if he were alive and present, would not compel him to obey — that is to say, would not compel those who are by our law required to marry or be given in marriage, to do either — and some kinsman or guardian dispute this, the reply is that the legislator left fifteen of the guardians of the law to be arbiters and fathers of orphans, male or female, and to them let the disputants have recourse, and by their aid determine any matters of the kind, admitting their decision to be final. But if any one thinks that too great power is thus given to the guardians of the law, let him bring his adversaries into the court of the select judges, and there have the points in dispute determined. And he who loses the cause shall have censure and blame from the legislator, which, by a man of sense, is felt to be a penalty far heavier than a great loss of money.

Thus will orphan children have a second birth. After their first birth we spoke of their nurture and education, and after their second birth, when they have lost their parents, we ought to take measures that the misfortune of orphanhood may be as little sad to them as possible. In the first place, we say that the guardians of the law are lawgivers and fathers to them, not inferior to their natural fathers. Moreover, they shall take charge of them year by year as of their own kindred; and we have given both to them and to the children’s own guardians as suitable admonition concerning the nurture of orphans. And we seem to have spoken opportunely in our former discourse, when we said that the souls of the dead have the power after death of taking an interest in human affairs, about which there are many tales and traditions, long indeed, but true; and seeing that they are so many and so ancient, we must believe them, and we must also believe the lawgivers, who tell us that these things are true, if they are not to be regarded as utter fools. But if these things are really so, in the first place men should have a fear of the Gods above, who regard the loneliness of the orphans; and in the second place of the souls of the departed, who by nature incline to take an especial care of their own children, and are friendly to those who honour, and unfriendly to those who dishonour them. Men should also fear the souls of the living who are aged and high in honour; wherever a city is well ordered and prosperous, their descendants cherish them, and so live happily; old persons are quick to see and hear all that relates to them, and are propitious to those who are just in the fulfilment of such duties, and they punish those who wrong the orphan and the desolate, considering that they are the greatest and most sacred of trusts. To all which matters the guardian and magistrate ought to apply his mind, if he has any, and take heed of the nurture and education of the orphans, seeking in every possible way to do them good, for he is making a contribution to his own good and that of his children. He who obeys the tale which precedes the law, and does no wrong to an orphan, will never experience the wrath of the legislator. But he who is disobedient, and wrongs any one who is bereft of father or mother, shall pay twice the penalty which he would have paid if he had wronged one whose parents had been alive. As touching other legislation concerning guardians in their relation to orphans, or concerning magistrates and their superintendence of the guardians, if they did not possess examples of the manner in which children of freemen would be brought up in the bringing up of their own children, and of the care of their property in the care of their own, or if they had not just laws fairly stated about these very things — there would have been reason in making laws for them, under the idea that they were a peculiar class, and we might distinguish and make separate rules for the life of those who are orphans and of those who are not orphans. But as the case stands, the condition of orphans with us is not different from the case of those who have a father, though in regard to honour and dishonour, and the attention given to them, the two are not usually placed upon a level. Wherefore, touching the legislation about orphans, the law speaks in serious accents, both of persuasion and threatening, and such a threat as the following will be by no means out of place: He who is the guardian of an orphan of either sex, and he among the guardians of the law to whom the superintendence of this guardian has been assigned, shall love the unfortunate orphan as though he were his own child, and he shall be as careful and diligent in the management of his possessions as he would be if they were his own, or even more careful and diligent. Let every one who has the care of an orphan observe this law. But any one who acts contrary to the law on these matters, if he be a guardian of the child, may be fined by a magistrate, or, if he be himself a magistrate, the guardian may bring him before the court of select judges, and punish him, if convicted, by exacting a fine of double the amount of that inflicted by the court. And if a guardian appears to the relations of the orphan, or to any other citizen, to act negligently or dishonestly, let them bring him before the same court, and whatever damages are given against him, let him pay fourfold, and let half belong to the orphan and half to him who procured the conviction. If any orphan arrives at years of discretion, and thinks that he has been ill-used by his guardians, let him within five years of the expiration of the guardianship be allowed to bring them to trial; and if any of them be convicted, the court shall determine what he shall pay or suffer. And if a magistrate shall appear to have wronged the orphan by neglect, and he be convicted, let the court determine what he shall suffer or pay to the orphan, and if there be dishonesty in addition to neglect, besides paying the fine, let him be deposed from his office of guardian of the law, and let the state appoint another guardian of the law for the city and for the country in his room.

Greater differences than there ought to be sometimes arise between fathers and sons, on the part either of fathers who will be of opinion that the legislator should enact that they may, if they wish, lawfully renounce their son by the proclamation of a herald in the face of the world, or of sons who think that they should be allowed to indict their fathers on the charge of imbecility when they are disabled by disease or old age. These things only happen, as a matter of fact, where the natures of men are utterly bad; for where only half is bad, as, for example, if the father be not bad, but the son be bad, or conversely, no great calamity is the result of such an amount of hatred as this. In another state, a son disowned by his father would not of necessity cease to be a citizen, but in our state, of which these are to be the laws, the disinherited must necessarily emigrate into another country, for no addition can be made even of a single family to the 5040 households; and, therefore, he who deserves to suffer these things must be renounced not only by his father, who is a single person, but by the whole family, and what is done in these cases must be regulated by some such law as the following: He who in the sad disorder of his soul has a mind, justly or unjustly, to expel from his family a son whom he has begotten and brought up, shall not lightly or at once execute his purpose; but first of all he shall collect together his own kinsmen, extending to cousins, and in like manner his son’s kinsmen by the mother’s side, and in their presence he shall accuse his son, setting forth that he deserves at the hands of them all to be dismissed from the family; and the son shall be allowed to address them in a similar manner, and show that he does not deserve to suffer any of these things. And if the father persuades them, and obtains the suffrages of more than half of his kindred, exclusive of the father and mother and the offender himself — I say, if he obtains more than half the suffrages of all the other grown-up members of the family, of both sexes, the father shall be permitted to put away his son, but not otherwise. And if any other citizen is willing to adopt the son who is put away, no law shall hinder him; for the characters of young men are subject to many changes in the course of their lives. And if he has been put away, and in a period of ten years no one is willing to adopt him, let those who have the care of the superabundant population which is sent out into colonies, see to him, in order that he may be suitably provided for in the colony. And if disease or age or harshness of temper, or all these together, makes a man to be more out of his mind than the rest of the world are — but this is not observable, except to those who live with him — and he, being master of his property, is the ruin of the house, and his son doubts and hesitates about indicting his father for insanity, let the law in that case ordain that he shall first of all go to the eldest guardians of the law and tell them of his father’s misfortune, and they shall duly look into the matter, and take counsel as to whether he shall indict him or not. And if they advise him to proceed, they shall be both his witnesses and his advocates; and if the father is cast, he shall henceforth be incapable of ordering the least particular of his life; let him be as a child dwelling in the house for the remainder of his days. And if a man and his wife have an unfortunate incompatibility of temper, ten of the guardians of the law, who are impartial, and ten of the women who regulate marriages, shall look to the matter, and if they are able to reconcile them they shall be formally reconciled; but if their souls are too much tossed with passion, they shall endeavour to find other partners. Now they are not likely to have very gentle tempers; and, therefore, we must endeavour to associate with them deeper and softer natures. Those who have no children, or only a few, at the time of their separation, should choose their new partners with a view to the procreation of children; but those who have a sufficient number of children should separate and marry again in order that they may have some one to grow old with and that the pair may take care of one another in age. If a woman dies, leaving children, male or female, the law will advise rather than compel the husband to bring up the children without introducing into the house a stepmother. But if he have no children, then he shall be compelled to marry until he has begotten a sufficient number of sons to his family and to the state. And if a man dies leaving a sufficient number of children, the mother of his children shall remain with them and bring them up. But if she appears to be too young to live virtuously without a husband, let her relations communicate with the women who superintend marriage, and let both together do what they think best in these matters; if there is a lack of children, let the choice be made with a view to having them; two children, one of either sex, shall be deemed sufficient in the eye of the law. When a child is admitted to be the offspring of certain parents and is acknowledged by them, but there is need of a decision as to which parent the child is to follow — in case a female slave have intercourse with a male slave, or with a freeman or freedman, the offspring shall always belong to the master of the female slave. Again, if a free woman have intercourse with a male slave, the offspring shall belong to the master of the slave; but if a child be born either of a slave by her master, or of his mistress by a slave — and this be proven — the offspring of the woman and its father shall be sent away by the women who superintend marriage into another country, and the guardians of the law shall send away the offspring of the man and its mother.

Neither God, nor a man who has understanding, will ever advise any one to neglect his parents. To a discourse concerning the honour and dishonour of parents, a prelude such as the following, about the service of the Gods, will be a suitable introduction: There are ancient customs about the Gods which are universal, and they are of two kinds: some of the Gods we see with our eyes and we honour them, of others we honour the images, raising statues of them which we adore; and though they are lifeless, yet we imagine that the living Gods have a good will and gratitude to us on this account. Now, if a man has a father or mother, or their fathers or mothers treasured up in his house stricken in years, let him consider that no statue can be more potent to grant his requests than they are, who are sitting at his hearth, if only he knows how to show true service to them.

CLEINIAS: And what do you call the true mode of service?

ATHENIAN: I will tell you, O my friend, for such things are worth listening to.

CLEINIAS: Proceed.

ATHENIAN: Oedipus, as tradition says, when dishonoured by his sons, invoked on them curses which every one declares to have been heard and ratified by the Gods, and Amyntor in his wrath invoked curses on his son Phoenix, and Theseus upon Hippolytus, and innumerable others have also called down wrath upon their children, whence it is clear that the Gods listen to the imprecations of parents; for the curses of parents are, as they ought to be, mighty against their children as no others are. And shall we suppose that the prayers of a father or mother who is specially dishonoured by his or her children, are heard by the Gods in accordance with nature; and that if a parent is honoured by them, and in the gladness of his heart earnestly entreats the Gods in his prayers to do them good, he is not equally heard, and that they do not minister to his request? If not, they would be very unjust ministers of good, and that we affirm to be contrary to their nature.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: May we not think, as I was saying just now, that we can possess no image which is more honoured by the Gods, than that of a father or grandfather, or of a mother stricken in years? whom when a man honours, the heart of the God rejoices, and he is ready to answer their prayers. And, truly, the figure of an ancestor is a wonderful thing, far higher than that of a lifeless image. For the living, when they are honoured by us, join in our prayers, and when they are dishonoured, they utter imprecations against us; but lifeless objects do neither. And therefore, if a man makes a right use of his father and grandfather and other aged relations, he will have images which above all others will win him the favour of the Gods.

CLEINIAS: Excellent.

ATHENIAN: Every man of any understanding fears and respects the prayers of parents, knowing well that many times and to many persons they have been accomplished. Now these things being thus ordered by nature, good men think it a blessing from heaven if their parents live to old age and reach the utmost limit of human life, or if taken away before their time they are deeply regretted by them; but to bad men parents are always a cause of terror. Wherefore let every man honour with every sort of lawful honour his own parents, agreeably to what has now been said. But if this prelude be an unmeaning sound in the ears of any one, let the law follow, which may be rightly imposed in these terms: If any one in this city be not sufficiently careful of his parents, and do not regard and gratify in every respect their wishes more than those of his sons and of his other offspring or of himself — let him who experiences this sort of treatment either come himself, or send some one to inform the three eldest guardians of the law, and three of the women who have the care of marriages; and let them look to the matter and punish youthful evil-doers with stripes and bonds if they are under thirty years of age, that is to say, if they be men, or if they be women, let them undergo the same punishment up to forty years of age. But if, when they are still more advanced in years, they continue the same neglect of their parents, and do any hurt to any of them, let them be brought before a court in which every single one of the eldest citizens shall be the judges, and if the offender be convicted, let the court determine what he ought to pay or suffer, and any penalty may be imposed on him which a man can pay or suffer. If the person who has been wronged be unable to inform the magistrates, let any freeman who hears of his case inform, and if he do not, he shall be deemed base, and shall be liable to have a suit for damage brought against him by any one who likes. And if a slave inform, he shall receive freedom; and if he be the slave of the injurer or injured party, he shall be set free by the magistrates, or if he belong to any other citizen, the public shall pay a price on his behalf to the owner; and let the magistrates take heed that no one wrongs him out of revenge, because he has given information.

Cases in which one man injures another by poisons, and which prove fatal, have been already discussed; but about other cases in which a person intentionally and of malice harms another with meats, or drinks, or ointments, nothing has as yet been determined. For there are two kinds of poisons used among men, which cannot clearly be distinguished. There is the kind just now explicitly mentioned, which injures bodies by the use of other bodies according to a natural law; there is also another kind which persuades the more daring class that they can do injury by sorceries, and incantations, and magic knots, as they are termed, and makes others believe that they above all persons are injured by the powers of the magician. Now it is not easy to know the nature of all these things; nor if a man do know can he readily persuade others to believe him. And when men are disturbed in their minds at the sight of waxen images fixed either at their doors, or in a place where three ways meet, or on the sepulchres of parents, there is no use in trying to persuade them that they should despise all such things because they have no certain knowledge about them. But we must have a law in two parts, concerning poisoning, in whichever of the two ways the attempt is made, and we must entreat, and exhort, and advise men not to have recourse to such practises, by which they scare the multitude out of their wits, as if they were children, compelling the legislator and the judge to heal the fears which the sorcerer arouses, and to tell them in the first place, that he who attempts to poison or enchant others knows not what he is doing, either as regards the body (unless he has a knowledge of medicine), or as regards his enchantments (unless he happens to be a prophet or diviner). Let the law, then, run as follows about poisoning or witchcraft: He who employs poison to do any injury, not fatal, to a man himself, or to his servants, or any injury, whether fatal or not, to his cattle or his bees, if he be a physician, and be convicted of poisoning, shall be punished with death; or if he be a private person, the court shall determine what he is to pay or suffer. But he who seems to be the sort of man who injures others by magic knots, or enchantments, or incantations, or any of the like practices, if he be a prophet or diviner, let him die; and if, not being a prophet, he be convicted of witchcraft, as in the previous case, let the court fix what he ought to pay or suffer.

When a man does another any injury by theft or violence, for the greater injury let him pay greater damages to the injured man, and less for the smaller injury; but in all cases, whatever the injury may have been, as much as will compensate the loss. And besides the compensation of the wrong, let a man pay a further penalty for the chastisement of his offence: he who has done the wrong instigated by the folly of another, through the lightheartedness of youth or the like, shall pay a lighter penalty; but he who has injured another through his own folly, when overcome by pleasure or pain, in cowardly fear, or lust, or envy, or implacable anger, shall endure a heavier punishment. Not that he is punished because he did wrong, for that which is done can never be undone, but in order that in future times, he, and those who see him corrected, may utterly hate injustice, or at any rate abate much of their evil-doing. Having an eye to all these things, the law, like a good archer, should aim at the right measure of punishment, and in all cases at the deserved punishment. In the attainment of this the judge shall be a fellow-worker with the legislator, whenever the law leaves to him to determine what the offender shall suffer or pay; and the legislator, like a painter, shall give a rough sketch of the cases in which the law is to be applied. This is what we must do, Megillus and Cleinias, in the best and fairest manner that we can, saying what the punishments are to be of all actions of theft and violence, and giving laws of such a kind as the Gods and sons of Gods would have us give.

If a man is mad he shall not be at large in the city, but his relations shall keep him at home in any way which they can; or if not, let them pay a penalty — he who is of the highest class shall pay a penalty of one hundred drachmas, whether he be a slave or a freeman whom he neglects; and he of the second class shall pay four-fifths of a mina; and he of the third class three-fifths; and he of the fourth class two-fifths. Now there are many sorts of madness, some arising out of disease, which we have already mentioned; and there are other kinds, which originate in an evil and passionate temperament, and are increased by bad education; out of a slight quarrel this class of madmen will often raise a storm of abuse against one another, and nothing of that sort ought to be allowed to occur in a well-ordered state. Let this, then, be the law about abuse, which shall relate to all cases: No one shall speak evil of another; and when a man disputes with another he shall teach and learn of the disputant and the company, but he shall abstain from evil-speaking; for out of the imprecations which men utter against one another, and the feminine habit of casting aspersions on one another, and using foul names, out of words light as air, in very deed the greatest enmities and hatreds spring up. For the speaker gratifies his anger, which is an ungracious element of his nature; and nursing up his wrath by the entertainment of evil thoughts, and exacerbating that part of his soul which was formerly civilised by education, he lives in a state of savageness and moroseness, and pays a bitter penalty for his anger. And in such cases almost all men take to saying something ridiculous about their opponent, and there is no man who is in the habit of laughing at another who does not miss virtue and earnestness altogether, or lose the better half of greatness. Wherefore let no one utter any taunting word at a temple, or at the public sacrifices, or at the games, or in the agora, or in a court of justice, or in any public assembly. And let the magistrate who presides on these occasions chastise an offender, and he shall be blameless; but if he fails in doing so, he shall not claim the prize of virtue; for he is one who heeds not the laws, and does not do what the legislator commands. And if in any other place any one indulges in these sort of revilings, whether he has begun the quarrel or is only retaliating, let any elder who is present support the law, and control with blows those who indulge in passion, which is another great evil; and if he do not, let him be liable to pay the appointed penalty. And we say now, that he who deals in reproaches against others cannot reproach them without attempting to ridicule them; and this, when done in a moment of anger, is what we make matter of reproach against him. But then, do we admit into our state the comic writers who are so fond of making mankind ridiculous, if they attempt in a good-natured manner to turn the laugh against our citizens? or do we draw the distinction of jest and earnest, and allow a man to make use of ridicule in jest and without anger about any thing or person; though as we were saying, not if he be angry and have a set purpose? We forbid earnest — that is unalterably fixed; but we have still to say who are to be sanctioned or not to be sanctioned by the law in the employment of innocent humour. A comic poet, or maker of iambic or satirical lyric verse, shall not be permitted to ridicule any of the citizens, either by word or likeness, either in anger or without anger. And if any one is disobedient, the judges shall either at once expel him from the country, or he shall pay a fine of three minae, which shall be dedicated to the God who presides over the contests. Those only who have received permission shall be allowed to write verses at one another, but they shall be without anger and in jest; in anger and in serious earnest they shall not be allowed. The decision of this matter shall be left to the superintendent of the general education of the young, and whatever he may license, the writer shall be allowed to produce, and whatever he rejects let not the poet himself exhibit, or ever teach anybody else, slave or freeman, under the penalty of being dishonoured, and held disobedient to the laws.

Now he is not to be pitied who is hungry, or who suffers any bodily pain, but he who is temperate, or has some other virtue, or part of a virtue, and at the same time suffers from misfortune; it would be an extraordinary thing if such an one, whether slave or freeman, were utterly forsaken and fell into the extremes of poverty in any tolerably well-ordered city or government. Wherefore the legislator may safely make a law applicable to such cases in the following terms: Let there be no beggars in our state; and if anybody begs, seeking to pick up a livelihood by unavailing prayers, let the wardens of the agora turn him out of the agora, and the wardens of the city out of the city, and the wardens of the country send him out of any other parts of the land across the border, in order that the land may be cleared of this sort of animal.

If a slave of either sex injure anything, which is not his or her own, through inexperience, or some improper practice, and the person who suffers damage be not himself in part to blame, the master of the slave who has done the harm shall either make full satisfaction, or give up the slave who has done the injury. But if the master argue that the charge has arisen by collusion between the injured party and the injurer, with the view of obtaining the slave, let him sue the person, who says that he has been injured, for malpractices. And if he gain a conviction, let him receive double the value which the court fixes as the price of the slave; and if he lose his suit, let him make amends for the injury, and give up the slave. And if a beast of burden, or horse, or dog, or any other animal, injure the property of a neighbour, the owner shall in like manner pay for the injury.

If any man refuses to be a witness, he who wants him shall summon him, and he who is summoned shall come to the trial; and if he knows and is willing to bear witness, let him bear witness, but if he says he does not know let him swear by the three divinities Zeus, and Apollo, and Themis, that he does not, and have no more to do with the cause. And he who is summoned to give witness and does not answer to his summoner, shall be liable for the harm which ensues according to law. And if a person calls up as a witness any one who is acting as a judge, let him give his witness, but he shall not afterwards vote in the cause. A free woman may give her witness and plead, if she be more than forty years of age, and may bring an action if she have no husband; but if her husband be alive she shall only be allowed to bear witness. A slave of either sex and a child shall be allowed to give evidence and to plead, but only in cases of murder; and they must produce sufficient sureties that they will certainly remain until the trial, in case they should be charged with false witness. And either of the parties in a cause may bring an accusation of perjury against witnesses, touching their evidence in whole or in part, if he asserts that such evidence has been given; but the accusation must be brought previous to the final decision of the cause. The magistrates shall preserve the accusations of false witness, and have them kept under the seal of both parties, and produce them on the day when the trial for false witness takes place. If a man be twice convicted of false witness, he shall not be required, and if thrice, he shall not be allowed to bear witness; and if he dare to witness after he has been convicted three times, let any one who pleases inform against him to the magistrates, and let the magistrates hand him over to the court, and if he be convicted he shall be punished with death. And in any case in which the evidence is rightly found to be false, and yet to have given the victory to him who wins the suit, and more than half the witnesses are condemned, the decision which was gained by these means shall be rescinded, and there shall be a discussion and a decision as to whether the suit was determined by that false evidence or not; and in whichever way the decision may be given, the previous suit shall be determined accordingly.

There are many noble things in human life, but to most of them attach evils which are fated to corrupt and spoil them. Is not justice noble, which has been the civiliser of humanity? How then can the advocate of justice be other than noble? And yet upon this profession which is presented to us under the fair name of art has come an evil reputation. In the first place, we are told that by ingenious pleas and the help of an advocate the law enables a man to win a particular cause, whether just or unjust; and that both the art, and the power of speech which is thereby imparted, are at the service of him who is willing to pay for them. Now in our state this so-called art, whether really an art or only an experience and practice destitute of any art, ought if possible never to come into existence, or if existing among us should listen to the request of the legislator and go away into another land, and not speak contrary to justice. If the offenders obey we say no more; but for those who disobey, the voice of the law is as follows: If any one thinks that he will pervert the power of justice in the minds of the judges, and unseasonably litigate or advocate, let any one who likes indict him for malpractices of law and dishonest advocacy, and let him be judged in the court of select judges; and if he be convicted, let the court determine whether he may be supposed to act from a love of money or from contentiousness. And if he is supposed to act from contentiousness, the court shall fix a time during which he shall not be allowed to institute or plead a cause; and if he is supposed to act as he does from love of money, in case he be a stranger, he shall leave the country, and never return under penalty of death; but if he be a citizen, he shall die, because he is a lover of money, in whatever manner gained; and equally, if he be judged to have acted more than once from contentiousness, he shall die.

BOOK XII.

If a herald or an ambassador carry a false message from our city to any other, or bring back a false message from the city to which he is sent, or be proved to have brought back, whether from friends or enemies, in his capacity of herald or ambassador, what they have never said, let him be indicted for having violated, contrary to the law, the commands and duties imposed upon him by Hermes and Zeus, and let there be a penalty fixed, which he shall suffer or pay if he be convicted.

Theft is a mean, and robbery a shameless thing; and none of the sons of Zeus delight in fraud and violence, or ever practised either. Wherefore let no one be deluded by poets or mythologers into a mistaken belief of such things, nor let him suppose, when he thieves or is guilty of violence, that he is doing nothing base, but only what the Gods themselves do. For such tales are untrue and improbable; and he who steals or robs contrary to the law, is never either a God or the son of a God; of this the legislator ought to be better informed than all the poets put together. Happy is he and may he be for ever happy, who is persuaded and listens to our words; but he who disobeys shall have to contend against the following law: If a man steal anything belonging to the public, whether that which he steals be much or little, he shall have the same punishment. For he who steals a little steals with the same wish as he who steals much, but with less power, and he who takes up a greater amount, not having deposited it, is wholly unjust. Wherefore the law is not disposed to inflict a less penalty on the one than on the other because his theft is less, but on the ground that the thief may possibly be in one case still curable, and may in another case be incurable. If any one convict in a court of law a stranger or a slave of a theft of public property, let the court determine what punishment he shall suffer, or what penalty he shall pay, bearing in mind that he is probably not incurable. But the citizen who has been brought up as our citizens will have been, if he be found guilty of robbing his country by fraud or violence, whether he be caught in the act or not, shall be punished with death; for he is incurable.

Now for expeditions of war much consideration and many laws are required; the great principle of all is that no one of either sex should be without a commander; nor should the mind of any one be accustomed to do anything, either in jest or earnest, of his own motion, but in war and in peace he should look to and follow his leader, even in the least things being under his guidance; for example, he should stand or move, or exercise, or wash, or take his meals, or get up in the night to keep guard and deliver messages when he is bidden; and in the hour of danger he should not pursue and not retreat except by order of his superior; and in a word, not teach the soul or accustom her to know or understand how to do anything apart from others. Of all soldiers the life should be always and in all things as far as possible in common and together; there neither is nor ever will be a higher, or better, or more scientific principle than this for the attainment of salvation and victory in war. And we ought in time of peace from youth upwards to practise this habit of commanding others, and of being commanded by others; anarchy should have no place in the life of man or of the beasts who are subject to man. I may add that all dances ought to be performed with a view to military excellence; and agility and ease should be cultivated for the same object, and also endurance of the want of meats and drinks, and of winter cold and summer heat, and of hard couches; and, above all, care should be taken not to destroy the peculiar qualities of the head and the feet by surrounding them with extraneous coverings, and so hindering their natural growth of hair and soles. For these are the extremities, and of all the parts of the body, whether they are preserved or not is of the greatest consequence; the one is the servant of the whole body, and the other the master, in whom all the ruling senses are by nature set. Let the young men imagine that he hears in what has preceded the praises of the military life; the law shall be as follows: He shall serve in war who is on the roll or appointed to some special service, and if any one is absent from cowardice, and without the leave of the generals, he shall be indicted before the military commanders for failure of service when the army comes home; and the soldiers shall be his judges; the heavy-armed, and the cavalry, and the other arms of the service shall form separate courts; and they shall bring the heavy-armed before the heavy-armed, and the horsemen before the horsemen, and the others in like manner before their peers; and he who is found guilty shall never be allowed to compete for any prize of valour, or indict another for not serving on an expedition, or be an accuser at all in any military matters. Moreover, the court shall further determine what punishment he shall suffer, or what penalty he shall pay. When the suits for failure of service are completed, the leaders of the several kinds of troops shall again hold an assembly, and they shall adjudge the prizes of valour; and he who likes searching for judgment in his own branch of the service, saying nothing about any former expedition, nor producing any proof or witnesses to confirm his statement, but speaking only of the present occasion. The crown of victory shall be an olive wreath which the victor shall offer up at the temple of any war-god whom he likes, adding an inscription for a testimony to last during life, that such an one has received the first, the second, or the third prize. If any one goes on an expedition, and returns home before the appointed time, when the generals have not withdrawn the army, he shall be indicted for desertion before the same persons who took cognizance of failure of service, and if he be found guilty, the same punishment shall be inflicted on him. Now every man who is engaged in any suit ought to be very careful of bringing false witness against any one, either intentionally or unintentionally, if he can help; for justice is truly said to be an honourable maiden, and falsehood is naturally repugnant to honour and justice. A witness ought to be very careful not to sin against justice, as for example in what relates to the throwing away of arms — he must distinguish the throwing them away when necessary, and not make that a reproach, or bring an action against some innocent person on that account. To make the distinction may be difficult; but still the law must attempt to define the different kinds in some way. Let me endeavour to explain my meaning by an ancient tale: If Patroclus had been brought to the tent still alive but without his arms (and this has happened to innumerable persons), the original arms, which the poet says were presented to Peleus by the Gods as a nuptial gift when he married Thetis, remaining in the hands of Hector, then the base spirits of that day might have reproached the son of Menoetius with having cast away his arms. Again, there is the case of those who have been thrown down precipices and lost their arms; and of those who at sea, and in stormy places, have been suddenly overwhelmed by floods of water; and there are numberless things of this kind which one might adduce by way of extenuation, and with the view of justifying a misfortune which is easily misrepresented. We must, therefore, endeavour to divide to the best of our power the greater and more serious evil from the lesser. And a distinction may be drawn in the use of terms of reproach. A man does not always deserve to be called the thrower away of his shield; he may be only the loser of his arms. For there is a great or rather absolute difference between him who is deprived of his arms by a sufficient force, and him who voluntarily lets his shield go. Let the law then be as follows: If a person having arms is overtaken by the enemy and does not turn round and defend himself, but lets them go voluntarily or throws them away, choosing a base life and a swift escape rather than a courageous and noble and blessed death — in such a case of the throwing away of arms let justice be done, but the judge need take no note of the case just now mentioned; for the bad men ought always to be punished, in the hope that he may be improved, but not the unfortunate, for there is no advantage in that. And what shall be the punishment suited to him who has thrown away his weapons of defence? Tradition says that Caeneus, the Thessalian, was changed by a God from a woman into a man; but the converse miracle cannot now be wrought, or no punishment would be more proper than that the man who throws away his shield should be changed into a woman. This however is impossible, and therefore let us make a law as nearly like this as we can — that he who loves his life too well shall be in no danger for the remainder of his days, but shall live for ever under the stigma of cowardice. And let the law be in the following terms: When a man is found guilty of disgracefully throwing away his arms in war, no general or military officer shall allow him to serve as a soldier, or give him any place at all in the ranks of soldiers; and the officer who gives the coward any place, shall suffer a penalty which the public examiner shall exact of him; and if he be of the highest class, he shall pay a thousand drachmae; or if he be of the second class, five minae; or if he be of the third, three minae; or if he be of the fourth class, one mina. And he who is found guilty of cowardice, shall not only be dismissed from manly dangers, which is a disgrace appropriate to his nature, but he shall pay a thousand drachmae, if he be of the highest class, and five minae if he be of the second class, and three if he be of the third class, and a mina, like the preceding, if he be of the fourth class.

What regulations will be proper about examiners, seeing that some of our magistrates are elected by lot, and for a year, and some for a longer time and from selected persons? Of such magistrates, who will be a sufficient censor or examiner, if any of them, weighed down by the pressure of office or his own inability to support the dignity of his office, be guilty of any crooked practice? It is by no means easy to find a magistrate who excels other magistrates in virtue, but still we must endeavour to discover some censor or examiner who is more than man. For the truth is, that there are many elements of dissolution in a state, as there are also in a ship, or in an animal; they all have their cords, and girders, and sinews — one nature diffused in many places, and called by many names; and the office of examiner is a most important element in the preservation and dissolution of states. For if the examiners are better than the magistrates, and their duty is fulfilled justly and without blame, then the whole state and country flourishes and is happy; but if the examination of the magistrates is carried on in a wrong way, then, by the relaxation of that justice which is the uniting principle of all constitutions, every power in the state is rent asunder from every other; they no longer incline in the same direction, but fill the city with faction, and make many cities out of one, and soon bring all to destruction. Wherefore the examiners ought to be admirable in every sort of virtue. Let us invent a mode of creating them, which shall be as follows: Every year, after the summer solstice, the whole city shall meet in the common precincts of Helios and Apollo, and shall present to the God three men out of their own number in the manner following: Each citizen shall select, not himself, but some other citizen whom he deems in every way the best, and who is not less than fifty years of age. And out of the selected persons who have the greatest number of votes, they shall make a further selection until they reduce them to one-half, if they are an even number; but if they are not an even number, they shall subtract the one who has the smallest number of votes, and make them an even number, and then leave the half which have the greater number of votes. And if two persons have an equal number of votes, and thus increase the number beyond one-half, they shall withdraw the younger of the two and do away the excess; and then including all the rest they shall again vote, until there are left three having an unequal number of votes. But if all the three, or two out of the three, have equal votes, let them commit the election to good fate and fortune, and separate off by lot the first, and the second, and the third; these they shall crown with an olive wreath and give them the prize of excellence, at the same time proclaiming to all the world that the city of the Magnetes, by the providence of the Gods, is again preserved, and presents to the Sun and to Apollo her three best men as first-fruits, to be a common offering to them, according to the ancient law, as long as their lives answer to the judgment formed of them. And these shall appoint in their first year twelve examiners, to continue until each has completed seventy-five years, to whom three shall afterwards be added yearly; and let these divide all the magistracies into twelve parts, and prove the holders of them by every sort of test to which a freeman may be subjected; and let them live while they hold office in the precinct of Helios and Apollo, in which they were chosen, and let each one form a judgment of some things individually, and of others in company with his colleagues; and let him place a writing in the agora about each magistracy, and what the magistrate ought to suffer or pay, according to the decision of the examiners. And if a magistrate does not admit that he has been justly judged, let him bring the examiners before the select judges, and if he be acquitted by their decision, let him, if he will, accuse the examiners themselves; if, however, he be convicted, and have been condemned to death by the examiners, let him die (and of course he can only die once): but any other penalties which admit of being doubled let him suffer twice over.

And now let us pass under review the examiners themselves; what will their examination be, and how conducted? During the life of these men, whom the whole state counts worthy of the rewards of virtue, they shall have the first seat at all public assemblies, and at all Hellenic sacrifices and sacred missions, and other public and holy ceremonies in which they share. The chiefs of each sacred mission shall be selected from them, and they only of all the citizens shall be adorned with a crown of laurel; they shall all be priests of Apollo and Helios; and one of them, who is judged first of the priests created in that year, shall be high priest; and they shall write up his name in each year to be a measure of time as long as the city lasts; and after their death they shall be laid out and carried to the grave and entombed in a manner different from the other citizens. They shall be decked in a robe all of white, and there shall be no crying or lamentation over them; but a chorus of fifteen maidens, and another of boys, shall stand around the bier on either side, hymning the praises of the departed priests in alternate responses, declaring their blessedness in song all day long; and at dawn a hundred of the youths who practise gymnastic exercises, and whom the relations of the departed shall choose, shall carry the bier to the sepulchre, the young men marching first, dressed in the garb of warriors — the cavalry with their horses, the heavy-armed with their arms, and the others in like manner. And boys near the bier and in front of it shall sing their national hymn, and maidens shall follow behind, and with them the women who have passed the age of child-bearing; next, although they are interdicted from other burials, let priests and priestesses follow, unless the Pythian oracle forbid them; for this burial is free from pollution. The place of burial shall be an oblong vaulted chamber underground, constructed of tufa, which will last for ever, having stone couches placed side by side. And here they will lay the blessed person, and cover the sepulchre with a circular mound of earth and plant a grove of trees around on every side but one; and on that side the sepulchre shall be allowed to extend for ever, and a new mound will not be required. Every year they shall have contests in music and gymnastics, and in horsemanship, in honour of the dead. These are the honours which shall be given to those who at the examination are found blameless; but if any of them, trusting to the scrutiny being over, should, after the judgment has been given, manifest the wickedness of human nature, let the law ordain that he who pleases shall indict him, and let the cause be tried in the following manner. In the first place, the court shall be composed of the guardians of the law, and to them the surviving examiners shall be added, as well as the court of select judges; and let the pursuer lay his indictment in this form — he shall say that so-and-so is unworthy of the prize of virtue and of his office; and if the defendant be convicted let him be deprived of his office, and of the burial, and of the other honours given him. But if the prosecutor do not obtain the fifth part of the votes, let him, if he be of the first-class, pay twelve minae, and eight if he be of the second class, and six if he be of the third class, and two minae if he be of the fourth class.

The so-called decision of Rhadamanthus is worthy of all admiration. He knew that the men of his own time believed and had no doubt that there were Gods, which was a reasonable belief in those days, because most men were the sons of Gods, and according to tradition he was one himself. He appears to have thought that he ought to commit judgment to no man, but to the Gods only, and in this way suits were simply and speedily decided by him. For he made the two parties take an oath respecting the points in dispute, and so got rid of the matter speedily and safely. But now that a certain portion of mankind do not believe at all in the existence of the Gods, and others imagine that they have no care of us, and the opinion of most men, and of the worst men, is that in return for a small sacrifice and a few flattering words they will be their accomplices in purloining large sums and save them from many terrible punishments, the way of Rhadamanthus is no longer suited to the needs of justice; for as the opinions of men about the Gods are changed, the laws should also be changed — in the granting of suits a rational legislation ought to do away with the oaths of the parties on either side — he who obtains leave to bring an action should write down the charges, but should not add an oath; and the defendant in like manner should give his denial to the magistrates in writing, and not swear; for it is a dreadful thing to know, when many lawsuits are going on in a state, that almost half the people who meet one another quite unconcernedly at the public meals and in other companies and relations of private life are perjured. Let the law, then, be as follows: A judge who is about to give judgment shall take an oath, and he who is choosing magistrates for the state shall either vote on oath or with a voting tablet which he brings from a temple; so too the judge of dances and of all music, and the superintendents and umpires of gymnastic and equestrian contests, and any matters in which, as far as men can judge, there is nothing to be gained by a false oath; but all cases in which a denial confirmed by an oath clearly results in a great advantage to the taker of the oath, shall be decided without the oath of the parties to the suit, and the presiding judges shall not permit either of them to use an oath for the sake of persuading, nor to call down curses on himself and his race, nor to use unseemly supplications or womanish laments. But they shall ever be teaching and learning what is just in auspicious words; and he who does otherwise shall be supposed to speak beside the point, and the judges shall again bring him back to the question at issue. On the other hand, strangers in their dealings with strangers shall as at present have power to give and receive oaths, for they will not often grow old in the city or leave a fry of young ones like themselves to be the sons and heirs of the land.

As to the initiation of private suits, let the manner of deciding causes between all citizens be the same as in cases in which any freeman is disobedient to the state in minor matters, of which the penalty is not stripes, imprisonment, or death. But as regards attendance at choruses or processions or other shows, and as regards public services, whether the celebration of sacrifice in peace, or the payment of contributions in war — in all these cases, first comes the necessity of providing a remedy for the loss; and by those who will not obey, there shall be security given to the officers whom the city and the law empower to exact the sum due; and if they forfeit their security, let the goods which they have pledged be sold and the money given to the city; but if they ought to pay a larger sum, the several magistrates shall impose upon the disobedient a suitable penalty, and bring them before the court, until they are willing to do what they are ordered.

Now a state which makes money from the cultivation of the soil only, and has no foreign trade, must consider what it will do about the emigration of its own people to other countries, and the reception of strangers from elsewhere. About these matters the legislator has to consider, and he will begin by trying to persuade men as far as he can. The intercourse of cities with one another is apt to create a confusion of manners; strangers are always suggesting novelties to strangers. When states are well governed by good laws the mixture causes the greatest possible injury; but seeing that most cities are the reverse of well-ordered, the confusion which arises in them from the reception of strangers, and from the citizens themselves rushing off into other cities, when any one either young or old desires to travel anywhere abroad at whatever time, is of no consequence. On the other hand, the refusal of states to receive others, and for their own citizens never to go to other places, is an utter impossibility, and to the rest of the world is likely to appear ruthless and uncivilised; it is a practice adopted by people who use harsh words, such as xenelasia or banishment of strangers, and who have harsh and morose ways, as men think. And to be thought or not to be thought well of by the rest of the world is no light matter; for the many are not so far wrong in their judgment of who are bad and who are good, as they are removed from the nature of virtue in themselves. Even bad men have a divine instinct which guesses rightly, and very many who are utterly depraved form correct notions and judgments of the differences between the good and bad. And the generality of cities are quite right in exhorting us to value a good reputation in the world, for there is no truth greater and more important than this — that he who is really good (I am speaking of the men who would be perfect) seeks for reputation with, but not without, the reality of goodness. And our Cretan colony ought also to acquire the fairest and noblest reputation for virtue from other men; and there is every reason to expect that, if the reality answers to the idea, she will be one of the few well-ordered cities which the sun and the other Gods behold. Wherefore, in the matter of journeys to other countries and the reception of strangers, we enact as follows: In the first place, let no one be allowed to go anywhere at all into a foreign country who is less than forty years of age; and no one shall go in a private capacity, but only in some public one, as a herald, or on an embassy, or on a sacred mission. Going abroad on an expedition or in war is not to be included among travels of the class authorised by the state. To Apollo at Delphi and to Zeus at Olympia and to Nemea and to the Isthmus, citizens should be sent to take part in the sacrifices and games there dedicated to the Gods; and they should send as many as possible, and the best and fairest that can be found, and they will make the city renowned at holy meetings in time of peace, procuring a glory which shall be the converse of that which is gained in war; and when they come home they shall teach the young that the institutions of other states are inferior to their own. And they shall send spectators of another sort, if they have the consent of the guardians, being such citizens as desire to look a little more at leisure at the doings of other men; and these no law shall hinder. For a city which has no experience of good and bad men or intercourse with them, can never be thoroughly and perfectly civilised, nor, again, can the citizens of a city properly observe the laws by habit only, and without an intelligent understanding of them. And there always are in the world a few inspired men whose acquaintance is beyond price, and who spring up quite as much in ill-ordered as in well-ordered cities. These are they whom the citizens of a well-ordered city should be ever seeking out, going forth over sea and over land to find him who is incorruptible — that he may establish more firmly institutions in his own state which are good already, and amend what is deficient; for without this examination and enquiry a city will never continue perfect any more than if the examination is ill-conducted.

CLEINIAS: How can we have an examination and also a good one?

ATHENIAN: In this way: In the first place, our spectator shall be of not less than fifty years of age; he must be a man of reputation, especially in war, if he is to exhibit to other cities a model of the guardians of the law, but when he is more than sixty years of age he shall no longer continue in his office of spectator. And when he has carried on his inspection during as many out of the ten years of his office as he pleases, on his return home let him go to the assembly of those who review the laws. This shall be a mixed body of young and old men, who shall be required to meet daily between the hour of dawn and the rising of the sun. They shall consist, in the first place, of the priests who have obtained the rewards of virtue; and, in the second place, of guardians of the law, the ten eldest being chosen; the general superintendent of education shall also be a member, as well as the last appointed as those who have been released from the office; and each of them shall take with him as his companion a young man, whomsoever he chooses, between the ages of thirty and forty. These shall be always holding conversation and discourse about the laws of their own city or about any specially good ones which they may hear to be existing elsewhere; also about kinds of knowledge which may appear to be of use and will throw light upon the examination, or of which the want will make the subject of laws dark and uncertain to them. Any knowledge of this sort which the elders approve, the younger men shall learn with all diligence; and if any one of those who have been invited appear to be unworthy, the whole assembly shall blame him who invited him. The rest of the city shall watch over those among the young men who distinguish themselves, having an eye upon them, and especially honouring them if they succeed, but dishonouring them above the rest if they turn out to be inferior. This is the assembly to which he who has visited the institutions of other men, on his return home shall straightway go, and if he have discovered any one who has anything to say about the enactment of laws or education or nurture, or if he have himself made any observations, let him communicate his discoveries to the whole assembly. And if he be seen to have come home neither better nor worse, let him be praised at any rate for his enthusiasm; and if he be much better, let him be praised so much the more; and not only while he lives but after his death let the assembly honour him with fitting honours. But if on his return home he appear to have been corrupted, pretending to be wise when he is not, let him hold no communication with any one, whether young or old; and if he will hearken to the rulers, then he shall be permitted to live as a private individual; but if he will not, let him die, if he be convicted in a court of law of interfering about education and the laws. And if he deserve to be indicted, and none of the magistrates indict him, let that be counted as a disgrace to them when the rewards of virtue are decided.

Let such be the character of the person who goes abroad, and let him go abroad under these conditions. In the next place, the stranger who comes from abroad should be received in a friendly spirit. Now there are four kinds of strangers, of whom we must make some mention — the first is he who comes and stays throughout the summer; this class are like birds of passage, taking wing in pursuit of commerce, and flying over the sea to other cities, while the season lasts; he shall be received in market-places and harbours and public buildings, near the city but outside, by those magistrates who are appointed to superintend these matters; and they shall take care that a stranger, whoever he be, duly receives justice; but he shall not be allowed to make any innovation. They shall hold the intercourse with him which is necessary, and this shall be as little as possible. The second kind is just a spectator who comes to see with his eyes and hear with his ears the festivals of the Muses; such ought to have entertainment provided them at the temples by hospitable persons, and the priests and ministers of the temples should see and attend to them. But they should not remain more than a reasonable time; let them see and hear that for the sake of which they came, and then go away, neither having suffered nor done any harm. The priests shall be their judges, if any of them receive or do any wrong up to the sum of fifty drachmae, but if any greater charge be brought, in such cases the suit shall come before the wardens of the agora. The third kind of stranger is he who comes on some public business from another land, and is to be received with public honours. He is to be received only by the generals and commanders of horse and foot, and the host by whom he is entertained, in conjunction with the Prytanes, shall have the sole charge of what concerns him. There is a fourth class of persons answering to our spectators, who come from another land to look at ours. In the first place, such visits will be rare, and the visitor should be at least fifty years of age; he may possibly be wanting to see something that is rich and rare in other states, or himself to show something in like manner to another city. Let such an one, then, go unbidden to the doors of the wise and rich, being one of them himself: let him go, for example, to the house of the superintendent of education, confident that he is a fitting guest of such a host, or let him go to the house of some of those who have gained the prize of virtue and hold discourse with them, both learning from them, and also teaching them; and when he has seen and heard all, he shall depart, as a friend taking leave of friends, and be honoured by them with gifts and suitable tributes of respect. These are the customs, according to which our city should receive all strangers of either sex who come from other countries, and should send forth her own citizens, showing respect to Zeus, the God of hospitality, not forbidding strangers at meals and sacrifices, as is the manner which prevails among the children of the Nile, nor driving them away by savage proclamations.

When a man becomes surety, let him give the security in a distinct form, acknowledging the whole transaction in a written document, and in the presence of not less than three witnesses if the sum be under a thousand drachmae, and of not less than five witnesses if the sum be above a thousand drachmae. The agent of a dishonest or untrustworthy seller shall himself be responsible; both the agent and the principal shall be equally liable. If a person wishes to find anything in the house of another, he shall enter naked, or wearing only a short tunic and without a girdle, having first taken an oath by the customary Gods that he expects to find it there; he shall then make his search, and the other shall throw open his house and allow him to search things both sealed and unsealed. And if a person will not allow the searcher to make his search, he who is prevented shall go to law with him, estimating the value of the goods after which he is searching, and if the other be convicted he shall pay twice the value of the article. If the master be absent from home, the dwellers in the house shall let him search the unsealed property, and on the sealed property the searcher shall set another seal, and shall appoint any one whom he likes to guard them during five days; and if the master of the house be absent during a longer time, he shall take with him the wardens of the city, and so make his search, opening the sealed property as well as the unsealed, and then, together with the members of the family and the wardens of the city, he shall seal them up again as they were before. There shall be a limit of time in the case of disputed things, and he who has had possession of them during a certain time shall no longer be liable to be disturbed. As to houses and lands there can be no dispute in this state of ours; but if a man has any other possessions which he has used and openly shown in the city and in the agora and in the temples, and no one has put in a claim to them, and some one says that he was looking for them during this time, and the possessor is proved to have made no concealment, if they have continued for a year, the one having the goods and the other looking for them, the claim of the seeker shall not be allowed after the expiration of the year; or if he does not use or show the lost property in the market or in the city, but only in the country, and no one offers himself as the owner during five years, at the expiration of the five years the claim shall be barred for ever after; or if he uses them in the city but within the house, then the appointed time of claiming the goods shall be three years, or ten years if he has them in the country in private. And if he has them in another land, there shall be no limit of time or prescription, but whenever the owner finds them he may claim them.

If any one prevents another by force from being present at a trial, whether a principal party or his witnesses; if the person prevented be a slave, whether his own or belonging to another, the suit shall be incomplete and invalid; but if he who is prevented be a freeman, besides the suit being incomplete, the other who has prevented him shall be imprisoned for a year, and shall be prosecuted for kidnapping by any one who pleases. And if any one hinders by force a rival competitor in gymnastic or music, or any other sort of contest, from being present at the contest, let him who has a mind inform the presiding judges, and they shall liberate him who is desirous of competing; and if they are not able, and he who hinders the other from competing wins the prize, then they shall give the prize of victory to him who is prevented, and inscribe him as the conqueror in any temples which he pleases; and he who hinders the other shall not be permitted to make any offering or inscription having reference to that contest, and in any case he shall be liable for damages, whether he be defeated or whether he conquer.

If any one knowingly receives anything which has been stolen, he shall undergo the same punishment as the thief, and if a man receives an exile he shall be punished with death. Every man should regard the friend and enemy of the state as his own friend and enemy; and if any one makes peace or war with another on his own account, and without the authority of the state, he, like the receiver of the exile, shall undergo the penalty of death. And if any fraction of the city declare war or peace against any, the generals shall indict the authors of this proceeding, and if they are convicted death shall be the penalty. Those who serve their country ought to serve without receiving gifts, and there ought to be no excusing or approving the saying, ‘Men should receive gifts as the reward of good, but not of evil deeds’; for to know which we are doing, and to stand fast by our knowledge, is no easy matter. The safest course is to obey the law which says, ‘Do no service for a bribe,’ and let him who disobeys, if he be convicted, simply die. With a view to taxation, for various reasons, every man ought to have had his property valued: and the tribesmen should likewise bring a register of the yearly produce to the wardens of the country, that in this way there may be two valuations; and the public officers may use annually whichever on consideration they deem the best, whether they prefer to take a certain portion of the whole value, or of the annual revenue, after subtracting what is paid to the common tables.

Touching offerings to the Gods, a moderate man should observe moderation in what he offers. Now the land and the hearth of the house of all men is sacred to all Gods; wherefore let no man dedicate them a second time to the Gods. Gold and silver, whether possessed by private persons or in temples, are in other cities provocative of envy, and ivory, the product of a dead body, is not a proper offering; brass and iron, again, are instruments of war; but of wood let a man bring what offering he likes, provided it be a single block, and in like manner of stone, to the public temples; of woven work let him not offer more than one woman can execute in a month. White is a colour suitable to the Gods, especially in woven works, but dyes should only be used for the adornments of war. The most divine of gifts are birds and images, and they should be such as one painter can execute in a single day. And let all other offerings follow a similar rule.

Now that the whole city has been divided into parts of which the nature and number have been described, and laws have been given about all the most important contracts as far as this was possible, the next thing will be to have justice done. The first of the courts shall consist of elected judges, who shall be chosen by the plaintiff and the defendant in common: these shall be called arbiters rather than judges. And in the second court there shall be judges of the villages and tribes corresponding to the twelvefold division of the land, and before these the litigants shall go to contend for greater damages, if the suit be not decided before the first judges; the defendant, if he be defeated the second time, shall pay a fifth more than the damages mentioned in the indictment; and if he find fault with his judges and would try a third time, let him carry the suit before the select judges, and if he be again defeated, let him pay the whole of the damages and half as much again. And the plaintiff, if when defeated before the first judges he persist in going on to the second, shall if he wins receive in addition to the damages a fifth part more, and if defeated he shall pay a like sum; but if he is not satisfied with the previous decision, and will insist on proceeding to a third court, then if he win he shall receive from the defendant the amount of the damages and, as I said before, half as much again, and the plaintiff, if he lose, shall pay half of the damages claimed. Now the assignment by lot of judges to courts and the completion of the number of them, and the appointment of servants to the different magistrates, and the times at which the several causes should be heard, and the votings and delays, and all the things that necessarily concern suits, and the order of causes, and the time in which answers have to be put in and parties are to appear — of these and other things akin to these we have indeed already spoken, but there is no harm in repeating what is right twice or thrice: All lesser and easier matters which the elder legislator has omitted may be supplied by the younger one. Private courts will be sufficiently regulated in this way, and the public and state courts, and those which the magistrates must use in the administration of their several offices, exist in many other states. Many very respectable institutions of this sort have been framed by good men, and from them the guardians of the law may by reflection derive what is necessary for the order of our new state, considering and correcting them, and bringing them to the test of experience, until every detail appears to be satisfactorily determined; and then putting the final seal upon them, and making them irreversible, they shall use them for ever afterwards. As to what relates to the silence of judges and the abstinence from words of evil omen and the reverse, and the different notions of the just and good and honourable which exist in our own as compared with other states, they have been partly mentioned already, and another part of them will be mentioned hereafter as we draw near the end. To all these matters he who would be an equal judge shall justly look, and he shall possess writings about them that he may learn them. For of all kinds of knowledge the knowledge of good laws has the greatest power of improving the learner; otherwise there would be no meaning in the divine and admirable law possessing a name akin to mind (nous, nomos). And of all other words, such as the praises and censures of individuals which occur in poetry and also in prose, whether written down or uttered in daily conversation, whether men dispute about them in the spirit of contention or weakly assent to them, as is often the case — of all these the one sure test is the writings of the legislator, which the righteous judge ought to have in his mind as the antidote of all other words, and thus make himself and the city stand upright, procuring for the good the continuance and increase of justice, and for the bad, on the other hand, a conversion from ignorance and intemperance, and in general from all unrighteousness, as far as their evil minds can be healed, but to those whose web of life is in reality finished, giving death, which is the only remedy for souls in their condition, as I may say truly again and again. And such judges and chiefs of judges will be worthy of receiving praise from the whole city.

When the suits of the year are completed the following laws shall regulate their execution: In the first place, the judge shall assign to the party who wins the suit the whole property of him who loses, with the exception of mere necessaries, and the assignment shall be made through the herald immediately after each decision in the hearing of the judges; and when the month arrives following the month in which the courts are sitting, (unless the gainer of the suit has been previously satisfied) the court shall follow up the case, and hand over to the winner the goods of the loser; but if they find that he has not the means of paying, and the sum deficient is not less than a drachma, the insolvent person shall not have any right of going to law with any other man until he have satisfied the debt of the winning party; but other persons shall still have the right of bringing suits against him. And if any one after he is condemned refuses to acknowledge the authority which condemned him, let the magistrates who are thus deprived of their authority bring him before the court of the guardians of the law, and if he be cast, let him be punished with death, as a subverter of the whole state and of the laws.

Thus a man is born and brought up, and after this manner he begets and brings up his own children, and has his share of dealings with other men, and suffers if he has done wrong to any one, and receives satisfaction if he has been wronged, and so at length in due time he grows old under the protection of the laws, and his end comes in the order of nature. Concerning the dead of either sex, the religious ceremonies which may fittingly be performed, whether appertaining to the Gods of the under-world or of this, shall be decided by the interpreters with absolute authority. Their sepulchres are not to be in places which are fit for cultivation, and there shall be no monuments in such spots, either large or small, but they shall occupy that part of the country which is naturally adapted for receiving and concealing the bodies of the dead with as little hurt as possible to the living. No man, living or dead, shall deprive the living of the sustenance which the earth, their foster-parent, is naturally inclined to provide for them. And let not the mound be piled higher than would be the work of five men completed in five days; nor shall the stone which is placed over the spot be larger than would be sufficient to receive the praises of the dead included in four heroic lines. Nor shall the laying out of the dead in the house continue for a longer time than is sufficient to distinguish between him who is in a trance only and him who is really dead, and speaking generally, the third day after death will be a fair time for carrying out the body to the sepulchre. Now we must believe the legislator when he tells us that the soul is in all respects superior to the body, and that even in life what makes each one of us to be what we are is only the soul; and that the body follows us about in the likeness of each of us, and therefore, when we are dead, the bodies of the dead are quite rightly said to be our shades or images; for the true and immortal being of each one of us which is called the soul goes on her way to other Gods, before them to give an account — which is an inspiring hope to the good, but very terrible to the bad, as the laws of our fathers tell us; and they also say that not much can be done in the way of helping a man after he is dead. But the living — he should be helped by all his kindred, that while in life he may be the holiest and justest of men, and after death may have no great sins to be punished in the world below. If this be true, a man ought not to waste his substance under the idea that all this lifeless mass of flesh which is in process of burial is connected with him; he should consider that the son, or brother, or the beloved one, whoever he may be, whom he thinks he is laying in the earth, has gone away to complete and fulfil his own destiny, and that his duty is rightly to order the present, and to spend moderately on the lifeless altar of the Gods below. But the legislator does not intend moderation to be taken in the sense of meanness. Let the law, then, be as follows: The expenditure on the entire funeral of him who is of the highest class, shall not exceed five minae; and for him who is of the second class, three minae, and for him who is of the third class, two minae, and for him who is of the fourth class, one mina, will be a fair limit of expense. The guardians of the law ought to take especial care of the different ages of life, whether childhood, or manhood, or any other age. And at the end of all, let there be some one guardian of the law presiding, who shall be chosen by the friends of the deceased to superintend, and let it be glory to him to manage with fairness and moderation what relates to the dead, and a discredit to him if they are not well managed. Let the laying out and other ceremonies be in accordance with custom, but to the statesman who adopts custom as his law we must give way in certain particulars. It would be monstrous for example that he should command any man to weep or abstain from weeping over the dead; but he may forbid cries of lamentation, and not allow the voice of the mourner to be heard outside the house; also, he may forbid the bringing of the dead body into the open streets, or the processions of mourners in the streets, and may require that before daybreak they should be outside the city. Let these, then, be our laws relating to such matters, and let him who obeys be free from penalty; but he who disobeys even a single guardian of the law shall be punished by them all with a fitting penalty. Other modes of burial, or again the denial of burial, which is to be refused in the case of robbers of temples and parricides and the like, have been devised and are embodied in the preceding laws, so that now our work of legislation is pretty nearly at an end; but in all cases the end does not consist in doing something or acquiring something or establishing something — the end will be attained and finally accomplished, when we have provided for the perfect and lasting continuance of our institutions; until then our creation is incomplete.

CLEINIAS: That is very good, Stranger; but I wish you would tell me more clearly what you mean.

ATHENIAN: O Cleinias, many things of old time were well said and sung; and the saying about the Fates was one of them.

CLEINIAS: What is it?

ATHENIAN: The saying that Lachesis or the giver of the lots is the first of them, and that Clotho or the spinster is the second of them, and that Atropos or the unchanging one is the third of them; and that she is the preserver of the things which we have spoken, and which have been compared in a figure to things woven by fire, they both (i.e. Atropos and the fire) producing the quality of unchangeableness. I am speaking of the things which in a state and government give not only health and salvation to the body, but law, or rather preservation of the law, in the soul; and, if I am not mistaken, this seems to be still wanting in our laws: we have still to see how we can implant in them this irreversible nature.

CLEINIAS: It will be no small matter if we can only discover how such a nature can be implanted in anything.

ATHENIAN: But it certainly can be; so much I clearly see.

CLEINIAS: Then let us not think of desisting until we have imparted this quality to our laws; for it is ridiculous, after a great deal of labour has been spent, to place a thing at last on an insecure foundation.

ATHENIAN: I approve of your suggestion, and am quite of the same mind with you.

CLEINIAS: Very good: And now what, according to you, is to be the salvation of our government and of our laws, and how is it to be effected?

ATHENIAN: Were we not saying that there must be in our city a council which was to be of this sort: The ten oldest guardians of the law, and all those who have obtained prizes of virtue, were to meet in the same assembly, and the council was also to include those who had visited foreign countries in the hope of hearing something that might be of use in the preservation of the laws, and who, having come safely home, and having been tested in these same matters, had proved themselves to be worthy to take part in the assembly — each of the members was to select some young man of not less than thirty years of age, he himself judging in the first instance whether the young man was worthy by nature and education, and then suggesting him to the others, and if he seemed to them also to be worthy they were to adopt him; but if not, the decision at which they arrived was to be kept a secret from the citizens at large, and, more especially, from the rejected candidate. The meeting of the council was to be held early in the morning, when everybody was most at leisure from all other business, whether public or private — was not something of this sort said by us before?

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: Then, returning to the council, I would say further, that if we let it down to be the anchor of the state, our city, having everything which is suitable to her, will preserve all that we wish to preserve.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Now is the time for me to speak the truth in all earnestness.

CLEINIAS: Well said, and I hope that you will fulfil your intention.

ATHENIAN: Know, Cleinias, that everything, in all that it does, has a natural saviour, as of an animal the soul and the head are the chief saviours.

CLEINIAS: Once more, what do you mean?

ATHENIAN: The well-being of those two is obviously the preservation of every living thing.

CLEINIAS: How is that?

ATHENIAN: The soul, besides other things, contains mind, and the head, besides other things, contains sight and hearing; and the mind, mingling with the noblest of the senses, and becoming one with them, may be truly called the salvation of all.

CLEINIAS: Yes, quite so.

ATHENIAN: Yes, indeed; but with what is that intellect concerned which, mingling with the senses, is the salvation of ships in storms as well as in fair weather? In a ship, when the pilot and the sailors unite their perceptions with the piloting mind, do they not save both themselves and their craft?

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: We do not want many illustrations about such matters: What aim would the general of an army, or what aim would a physician propose to himself, if he were seeking to attain salvation?

CLEINIAS: Very good.

ATHENIAN: Does not the general aim at victory and superiority in war, and do not the physician and his assistants aim at producing health in the body?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And a physician who is ignorant about the body, that is to say, who knows not that which we just now called health, or a general who knows not victory, or any others who are ignorant of the particulars of the arts which we mentioned, cannot be said to have understanding about any of these matters.

CLEINIAS: They cannot.

ATHENIAN: And what would you say of the state? If a person proves to be ignorant of the aim to which the statesman should look, ought he, in the first place, to be called a ruler at all; and further, will he ever be able to preserve that of which he does not even know the aim?

CLEINIAS: Impossible.

ATHENIAN: And therefore, if our settlement of the country is to be perfect, we ought to have some institution, which, as I was saying, will tell what is the aim of the state, and will inform us how we are to attain this, and what law or what man will advise us to that end. Any state which has no such institution is likely to be devoid of mind and sense, and in all her actions will proceed by mere chance.

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: In which, then, of the parts or institutions of the state is any such guardian power to be found? Can we say?

CLEINIAS: I am not quite certain, Stranger; but I have a suspicion that you are referring to the assembly which you just now said was to meet at night.

ATHENIAN: You understand me perfectly, Cleinias; and we must assume, as the argument implies, that this council possesses all virtue; and the beginning of virtue is not to make mistakes by guessing many things, but to look steadily at one thing, and on this to fix all our aims.

CLEINIAS: Quite true.

ATHENIAN: Then now we shall see why there is nothing wonderful in states going astray — the reason is that their legislators have such different aims; nor is there anything wonderful in some laying down as their rule of justice, that certain individuals should bear rule in the state, whether they be good or bad, and others that the citizens should be rich, not caring whether they are the slaves of other men or not. The tendency of others, again, is towards freedom; and some legislate with a view to two things at once — they want to be at the same time free and the lords of other states; but the wisest men, as they deem themselves to be, look to all these and similar aims, and there is no one of them which they exclusively honour, and to which they would have all things look.

CLEINIAS: Then, Stranger, our former assertion will hold; for we were saying that laws generally should look to one thing only; and this, as we admitted, was rightly said to be virtue.

ATHENIAN: Yes.

CLEINIAS: And we said that virtue was of four kinds?

ATHENIAN: Quite true.

CLEINIAS: And that mind was the leader of the four, and that to her the three other virtues and all other things ought to have regard?

ATHENIAN: You follow me capitally, Cleinias, and I would ask you to follow me to the end, for we have already said that the mind of the pilot, the mind of the physician and of the general look to that one thing to which they ought to look; and now we may turn to mind political, of which, as of a human creature, we will ask a question: O wonderful being, and to what are you looking? The physician is able to tell his single aim in life, but you, the superior, as you declare yourself to be, of all intelligent beings, when you are asked are not able to tell. Can you, Megillus, and you, Cleinias, say distinctly what is the aim of mind political, in return for the many explanations of things which I have given you?

CLEINIAS: We cannot, Stranger.

ATHENIAN: Well, but ought we not to desire to see it, and to see where it is to be found?

CLEINIAS: For example, where?

ATHENIAN: For example, we were saying that there are four kinds of virtue, and as there are four of them, each of them must be one.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And further, all four of them we call one; for we say that courage is virtue, and that prudence is virtue, and the same of the two others, as if they were in reality not many but one, that is, virtue.

CLEINIAS: Quite so.

ATHENIAN: There is no difficulty in seeing in what way the two differ from one another, and have received two names, and so of the rest. But there is more difficulty in explaining why we call these two and the rest of them by the single name of virtue.

CLEINIAS: How do you mean?

ATHENIAN: I have no difficulty in explaining what I mean. Let us distribute the subject into questions and answers.

CLEINIAS: Once more, what do you mean?

ATHENIAN: Ask me what is that one thing which I call virtue, and then again speak of as two, one part being courage and the other wisdom. I will tell you how that occurs: One of them has to do with fear; in this the beasts also participate, and quite young children — I mean courage; for a courageous temper is a gift of nature and not of reason. But without reason there never has been, or is, or will be a wise and understanding soul; it is of a different nature.

CLEINIAS: That is true.

ATHENIAN: I have now told you in what way the two are different, and do you in return tell me in what way they are one and the same. Suppose that I ask you in what way the four are one, and when you have answered me, you will have a right to ask of me in return in what way they are four; and then let us proceed to enquire whether in the case of things which have a name and also a definition to them, true knowledge consists in knowing the name only and not the definition. Can he who is good for anything be ignorant of all this without discredit where great and glorious truths are concerned?

CLEINIAS: I suppose not.

ATHENIAN: And is there anything greater to the legislator and the guardian of the law, and to him who thinks that he excels all other men in virtue, and has won the palm of excellence, than these very qualities of which we are now speaking — courage, temperance, wisdom, justice?

CLEINIAS: How can there be anything greater?

ATHENIAN: And ought not the interpreters, the teachers, the lawgivers, the guardians of the other citizens, to excel the rest of mankind, and perfectly to show him who desires to learn and know or whose evil actions require to be punished and reproved, what is the nature of virtue and vice? Or shall some poet who has found his way into the city, or some chance person who pretends to be an instructor of youth, show himself to be better than him who has won the prize for every virtue? And can we wonder that when the guardians are not adequate in speech or action, and have no adequate knowledge of virtue, the city being unguarded should experience the common fate of cities in our day?

CLEINIAS: Wonder! no.

ATHENIAN: Well, then, must we do as we said? Or can we give our guardians a more precise knowledge of virtue in speech and action than the many have? or is there any way in which our city can be made to resemble the head and senses of rational beings because possessing such a guardian power?

CLEINIAS: What, Stranger, is the drift of your comparison?

ATHENIAN: Do we not see that the city is the trunk, and are not the younger guardians, who are chosen for their natural gifts, placed in the head of the state, having their souls all full of eyes, with which they look about the whole city? They keep watch and hand over their perceptions to the memory, and inform the elders of all that happens in the city; and those whom we compared to the mind, because they have many wise thoughts — that is to say, the old men — take counsel, and making use of the younger men as their ministers, and advising with them — in this way both together truly preserve the whole state: Shall this or some other be the order of our state? Are all our citizens to be equal in acquirements, or shall there be special persons among them who have received a more careful training and education?

CLEINIAS: That they should be equal, my good sir, is impossible.

ATHENIAN: Then we ought to proceed to some more exact training than any which has preceded.

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: And must not that of which we are in need be the one to which we were just now alluding?

CLEINIAS: Very true.

ATHENIAN: Did we not say that the workman or guardian, if he be perfect in every respect, ought not only to be able to see the many aims, but he should press onward to the one? This he should know, and knowing, order all things with a view to it.

CLEINIAS: True.

ATHENIAN: And can any one have a more exact way of considering or contemplating anything, than the being able to look at one idea gathered from many different things?

CLEINIAS: Perhaps not.

ATHENIAN: Not ‘Perhaps not,’ but ‘Certainly not,’ my good sir, is the right answer. There never has been a truer method than this discovered by any man.

CLEINIAS: I bow to your authority, Stranger; let us proceed in the way which you propose.

ATHENIAN: Then, as would appear, we must compel the guardians of our divine state to perceive, in the first place, what that principle is which is the same in all the four — the same, as we affirm, in courage and in temperance, and in justice and in prudence, and which, being one, we call as we ought, by the single name of virtue. To this, my friends, we will, if you please, hold fast, and not let go until we have sufficiently explained what that is to which we are to look, whether to be regarded as one, or as a whole, or as both, or in whatever way. Are we likely ever to be in a virtuous condition, if we cannot tell whether virtue is many, or four, or one? Certainly, if we take counsel among ourselves, we shall in some way contrive that this principle has a place amongst us; but if you have made up your mind that we should let the matter alone, we will.

CLEINIAS: We must not, Stranger, by the God of strangers I swear that we must not, for in our opinion you speak most truly; but we should like to know how you will accomplish your purpose.

ATHENIAN: Wait a little before you ask; and let us, first of all, be quite agreed with one another that the purpose has to be accomplished.

CLEINIAS: Certainly, it ought to be, if it can be.

ATHENIAN: Well, and about the good and the honourable, are we to take the same view? Are our guardians only to know that each of them is many, or also how and in what way they are one?

CLEINIAS: They must consider also in what sense they are one.

ATHENIAN: And are they to consider only, and to be unable to set forth what they think?

CLEINIAS: Certainly not; that would be the state of a slave.

ATHENIAN: And may not the same be said of all good things — that the true guardians of the laws ought to know the truth about them, and to be able to interpret them in words, and carry them out in action, judging of what is and of what is not well, according to nature?

CLEINIAS: Certainly.

ATHENIAN: Is not the knowledge of the Gods which we have set forth with so much zeal one of the noblest sorts of knowledge — to know that they are, and know how great is their power, as far as in man lies? We do indeed excuse the mass of the citizens, who only follow the voice of the laws, but we refuse to admit as guardians any who do not labour to obtain every possible evidence that there is respecting the Gods; our city is forbidden and not allowed to choose as a guardian of the law, or to place in the select order of virtue, him who is not an inspired man, and has not laboured at these things.

CLEINIAS: It is certainly just, as you say, that he who is indolent about such matters or incapable should be rejected, and that things honourable should be put away from him.

ATHENIAN: Are we assured that there are two things which lead men to believe in the Gods, as we have already stated?

CLEINIAS: What are they?

ATHENIAN: One is the argument about the soul, which has been already mentioned — that it is the eldest and most divine of all things, to which motion attaining generation gives perpetual existence; the other was an argument from the order of the motion of the stars, and of all things under the dominion of the mind which ordered the universe. If a man look upon the world not lightly or ignorantly, there was never any one so godless who did not experience an effect opposite to that which the many imagine. For they think that those who handle these matters by the help of astronomy, and the accompanying arts of demonstration, may become godless, because they see, as far as they can see, things happening by necessity, and not by an intelligent will accomplishing good.

CLEINIAS: But what is the fact?

ATHENIAN: Just the opposite, as I said, of the opinion which once prevailed among men, that the sun and stars are without soul. Even in those days men wondered about them, and that which is now ascertained was then conjectured by some who had a more exact knowledge of them — that if they had been things without soul, and had no mind, they could never have moved with numerical exactness so wonderful; and even at that time some ventured to hazard the conjecture that mind was the orderer of the universe. But these same persons again mistaking the nature of the soul, which they conceived to be younger and not older than the body, once more overturned the world, or rather, I should say, themselves; for the bodies which they saw moving in heaven all appeared to be full of stones, and earth, and many other lifeless substances, and to these they assigned the causes of all things. Such studies gave rise to much atheism and perplexity, and the poets took occasion to be abusive — comparing the philosophers to she-dogs uttering vain howlings, and talking other nonsense of the same sort. But now, as I said, the case is reversed.

CLEINIAS: How so?

ATHENIAN: No man can be a true worshipper of the Gods who does not know these two principles — that the soul is the eldest of all things which are born, and is immortal and rules over all bodies; moreover, as I have now said several times, he who has not contemplated the mind of nature which is said to exist in the stars, and gone through the previous training, and seen the connexion of music with these things, and harmonized them all with laws and institutions, is not able to give a reason of such things as have a reason. And he who is unable to acquire this in addition to the ordinary virtues of a citizen, can hardly be a good ruler of a whole state; but he should be the subordinate of other rulers. Wherefore, Cleinias and Megillus, let us consider whether we may not add to all the other laws which we have discussed this further one — that the nocturnal assembly of the magistrates, which has also shared in the whole scheme of education proposed by us, shall be a guard set according to law for the salvation of the state. Shall we propose this?

CLEINIAS: Certainly, my good friend, we will if the thing is in any degree possible.

ATHENIAN: Let us make a common effort to gain such an object; for I too will gladly share in the attempt. Of these matters I have had much experience, and have often considered them, and I dare say that I shall be able to find others who will also help.

CLEINIAS: I agree, Stranger, that we should proceed along the road in which God is guiding us; and how we can proceed rightly has now to be investigated and explained.

ATHENIAN: O Megillus and Cleinias, about these matters we cannot legislate further until the council is constituted; when that is done, then we will determine what authority they shall have of their own; but the explanation of how this is all to be ordered would only be given rightly in a long discourse.

CLEINIAS: What do you mean, and what new thing is this?

ATHENIAN: In the first place, a list would have to be made out of those who by their ages and studies and dispositions and habits are well fitted for the duty of a guardian. In the next place, it will not be easy for them to discover themselves what they ought to learn, or become the disciple of one who has already made the discovery. Furthermore, to write down the times at which, and during which, they ought to receive the several kinds of instruction, would be a vain thing; for the learners themselves do not know what is learned to advantage until the knowledge which is the result of learning has found a place in the soul of each. And so these details, although they could not be truly said to be secret, might be said to be incapable of being stated beforehand, because when stated they would have no meaning.

CLEINIAS: What then are we to do, Stranger, under these circumstances?

ATHENIAN: As the proverb says, the answer is no secret, but open to all of us: We must risk the whole on the chance of throwing, as they say, thrice six or thrice ace, and I am willing to share with you the danger by stating and explaining to you my views about education and nurture, which is the question coming to the surface again. The danger is not a slight or ordinary one, and I would advise you, Cleinias, in particular, to see to the matter; for if you order rightly the city of the Magnetes, or whatever name God may give it, you will obtain the greatest glory; or at any rate you will be thought the most courageous of men in the estimation of posterity. Dear companions, if this our divine assembly can only be established, to them we will hand over the city; none of the present company of legislators, as I may call them, would hesitate about that. And the state will be perfected and become a waking reality, which a little while ago we attempted to create as a dream and in idea only, mingling together reason and mind in one image, in the hope that our citizens might be duly mingled and rightly educated; and being educated, and dwelling in the citadel of the land, might become perfect guardians, such as we have never seen in all our previous life, by reason of the saving virtue which is in them.

MEGILLUS: Dear Cleinias, after all that has been said, either we must detain the Stranger, and by supplications and in all manner of ways make him share in the foundation of the city, or we must give up the undertaking.

CLEINIAS: Very true, Megillus; and you must join with me in detaining him.

MEGILLUS: I will.

The Spurious Works

The ancient Agora, Athens

SECOND ALCIBIADES

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

There is dispute amongst scholars about the text’s authenticity, and it is generally considered apocryphal.  In the dialogue, Socrates attempts to persuade Alcibiades that it is unsafe for him to pray to the gods if he does not know whether what he prays for is actually good or bad for him.

SECOND ALCIBIADES.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates

Alcibiades

SOCRATES: Are you going, Alcibiades, to offer prayer to Zeus?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, Socrates, I am.

SOCRATES: you seem to be troubled and to cast your eyes on the ground, as though you were thinking about something.

ALCIBIADES: Of what do you suppose that I am thinking?

SOCRATES: Of the greatest of all things, as I believe. Tell me, do you not suppose that the Gods sometimes partly grant and partly reject the requests which we make in public and private, and favour some persons and not others?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Do you not imagine, then, that a man ought to be very careful, lest perchance without knowing it he implore great evils for himself, deeming that he is asking for good, especially if the Gods are in the mood to grant whatever he may request? There is the story of Oedipus, for instance, who prayed that his children might divide their inheritance between them by the sword: he did not, as he might have done, beg that his present evils might be averted, but called down new ones. And was not his prayer accomplished, and did not many and terrible evils thence arise, upon which I need not dilate?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, Socrates, but you are speaking of a madman: surely you do not think that any one in his senses would venture to make such a prayer?

SOCRATES: Madness, then, you consider to be the opposite of discretion?

ALCIBIADES: Of course.

SOCRATES: And some men seem to you to be discreet, and others the contrary?

ALCIBIADES: They do.

SOCRATES: Well, then, let us discuss who these are. We acknowledge that some are discreet, some foolish, and that some are mad?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And again, there are some who are in health?

ALCIBIADES: There are.

SOCRATES: While others are ailing?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And they are not the same?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Nor are there any who are in neither state?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: A man must either be sick or be well?

ALCIBIADES: That is my opinion.

SOCRATES: Very good: and do you think the same about discretion and want of discretion?

ALCIBIADES: How do you mean?

SOCRATES: Do you believe that a man must be either in or out of his senses; or is there some third or intermediate condition, in which he is neither one nor the other?

ALCIBIADES: Decidedly not.

SOCRATES: He must be either sane or insane?

ALCIBIADES: So I suppose.

SOCRATES: Did you not acknowledge that madness was the opposite of discretion?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And that there is no third or middle term between discretion and indiscretion?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And there cannot be two opposites to one thing?

ALCIBIADES: There cannot.

SOCRATES: Then madness and want of sense are the same?

ALCIBIADES: That appears to be the case.

SOCRATES: We shall be in the right, therefore, Alcibiades, if we say that all who are senseless are mad. For example, if among persons of your own age or older than yourself there are some who are senseless, — as there certainly are, — they are mad. For tell me, by heaven, do you not think that in the city the wise are few, while the foolish, whom you call mad, are many?

ALCIBIADES: I do.

SOCRATES: But how could we live in safety with so many crazy people? Should we not long since have paid the penalty at their hands, and have been struck and beaten and endured every other form of ill-usage which madmen are wont to inflict? Consider, my dear friend: may it not be quite otherwise?

ALCIBIADES: Why, Socrates, how is that possible? I must have been mistaken.

SOCRATES: So it seems to me. But perhaps we may consider the matter thus: —

ALCIBIADES: How?

SOCRATES: I will tell you. We think that some are sick; do we not?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And must every sick person either have the gout, or be in a fever, or suffer from ophthalmia? Or do you believe that a man may labour under some other disease, even although he has none of these complaints? Surely, they are not the only maladies which exist?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And is every kind of ophthalmia a disease?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And every disease ophthalmia?

ALCIBIADES: Surely not. But I scarcely understand what I mean myself.

SOCRATES: Perhaps, if you give me your best attention, ‘two of us’ looking together, we may find what we seek.

ALCIBIADES: I am attending, Socrates, to the best of my power.

SOCRATES: We are agreed, then, that every form of ophthalmia is a disease, but not every disease ophthalmia?

ALCIBIADES: We are.

SOCRATES: And so far we seem to be right. For every one who suffers from a fever is sick; but the sick, I conceive, do not all have fever or gout or ophthalmia, although each of these is a disease, which, according to those whom we call physicians, may require a different treatment. They are not all alike, nor do they produce the same result, but each has its own effect, and yet they are all diseases. May we not take an illustration from the artizans?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: There are cobblers and carpenters and sculptors and others of all sorts and kinds, whom we need not stop to enumerate. All have their distinct employments and all are workmen, although they are not all of them cobblers or carpenters or sculptors.

ALCIBIADES: No, indeed.

SOCRATES: And in like manner men differ in regard to want of sense. Those who are most out of their wits we call ‘madmen,’ while we term those who are less far gone ‘stupid’ or ‘idiotic,’ or, if we prefer gentler language, describe them as ‘romantic’ or ‘simple-minded,’ or, again, as ‘innocent’ or ‘inexperienced’ or ‘foolish.’ You may even find other names, if you seek for them; but by all of them lack of sense is intended. They only differ as one art appeared to us to differ from another or one disease from another. Or what is your opinion?

ALCIBIADES: I agree with you.

SOCRATES: Then let us return to the point at which we digressed. We said at first that we should have to consider who were the wise and who the foolish. For we acknowledged that there are these two classes? Did we not?

ALCIBIADES: To be sure.

SOCRATES: And you regard those as sensible who know what ought to be done or said?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: The senseless are those who do not know this?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: The latter will say or do what they ought not without their own knowledge?

ALCIBIADES: Exactly.

SOCRATES: Oedipus, as I was saying, Alcibiades, was a person of this sort. And even now-a-days you will find many who (have offered inauspicious prayers), although, unlike him, they were not in anger nor thought that they were asking evil. He neither sought, nor supposed that he sought for good, but others have had quite the contrary notion. I believe that if the God whom you are about to consult should appear to you, and, in anticipation of your request, enquired whether you would be contented to become tyrant of Athens, and if this seemed in your eyes a small and mean thing, should add to it the dominion of all Hellas; and seeing that even then you would not be satisfied unless you were ruler of the whole of Europe, should promise, not only that, but, if you so desired, should proclaim to all mankind in one and the same day that Alcibiades, son of Cleinias, was tyrant: — in such a case, I imagine, you would depart full of joy, as one who had obtained the greatest of goods.

ALCIBIADES: And not only I, Socrates, but any one else who should meet with such luck.

SOCRATES: Yet you would not accept the dominion and lordship of all the Hellenes and all the barbarians in exchange for your life?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not: for then what use could I make of them?

SOCRATES: And would you accept them if you were likely to use them to a bad and mischievous end?

ALCIBIADES: I would not.

SOCRATES: You see that it is not safe for a man either rashly to accept whatever is offered him, or himself to request a thing, if he is likely to suffer thereby or immediately to lose his life. And yet we could tell of many who, having long desired and diligently laboured to obtain a tyranny, thinking that thus they would procure an advantage, have nevertheless fallen victims to designing enemies. You must have heard of what happened only the other day, how Archelaus of Macedonia was slain by his beloved (compare Aristotle, Pol.), whose love for the tyranny was not less than that of Archelaus for him. The tyrannicide expected by his crime to become tyrant and afterwards to have a happy life; but when he had held the tyranny three or four days, he was in his turn conspired against and slain. Or look at certain of our own citizens, — and of their actions we have been not hearers, but eyewitnesses, — who have desired to obtain military command: of those who have gained their object, some are even to this day exiles from the city, while others have lost their lives. And even they who seem to have fared best, have not only gone through many perils and terrors during their office, but after their return home they have been beset by informers worse than they once were by their foes, insomuch that several of them have wished that they had remained in a private station rather than have had the glories of command. If, indeed, such perils and terrors were of profit to the commonwealth, there would be reason in undergoing them; but the very contrary is the case. Again, you will find persons who have prayed for offspring, and when their prayers were heard, have fallen into the greatest pains and sufferings. For some have begotten children who were utterly bad, and have therefore passed all their days in misery, while the parents of good children have undergone the misfortune of losing them, and have been so little happier than the others that they would have preferred never to have had children rather than to have had them and lost them. And yet, although these and the like examples are manifest and known of all, it is rare to find any one who has refused what has been offered him, or, if he were likely to gain aught by prayer, has refrained from making his petition. The mass of mankind would not decline to accept a tyranny, or the command of an army, or any of the numerous things which cause more harm than good: but rather, if they had them not, would have prayed to obtain them. And often in a short space of time they change their tone, and wish their old prayers unsaid. Wherefore also I suspect that men are entirely wrong when they blame the gods as the authors of the ills which befall them (compare Republic): ‘their own presumption,’ or folly (whichever is the right word) —

‘Has brought these unmeasured woes upon them.’ (Homer. Odyss.)

He must have been a wise poet, Alcibiades, who, seeing as I believe, his friends foolishly praying for and doing things which would not really profit them, offered up a common prayer in behalf of them all: —

‘King Zeus, grant us good whether prayed for or unsought by us; But that which we ask amiss, do thou avert.’ (The author of these lines, which are probably of Pythagorean origin, is unknown. They are found also in the Anthology (Anth. Pal.).)

In my opinion, I say, the poet spoke both well and prudently; but if you have anything to say in answer to him, speak out.

ALCIBIADES: It is difficult, Socrates, to oppose what has been well said. And I perceive how many are the ills of which ignorance is the cause, since, as would appear, through ignorance we not only do, but what is worse, pray for the greatest evils. No man would imagine that he would do so; he would rather suppose that he was quite capable of praying for what was best: to call down evils seems more like a curse than a prayer.

SOCRATES: But perhaps, my good friend, some one who is wiser than either you or I will say that we have no right to blame ignorance thus rashly, unless we can add what ignorance we mean and of what, and also to whom and how it is respectively a good or an evil?

ALCIBIADES: How do you mean? Can ignorance possibly be better than knowledge for any person in any conceivable case?

SOCRATES: So I believe: — you do not think so?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And yet surely I may not suppose that you would ever wish to act towards your mother as they say that Orestes and Alcmeon and others have done towards their parent.

ALCIBIADES: Good words, Socrates, prithee.

SOCRATES: You ought not to bid him use auspicious words, who says that you would not be willing to commit so horrible a deed, but rather him who affirms the contrary, if the act appear to you unfit even to be mentioned. Or do you think that Orestes, had he been in his senses and knew what was best for him to do, would ever have dared to venture on such a crime?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: Nor would any one else, I fancy?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: That ignorance is bad then, it would appear, which is of the best and does not know what is best?

ALCIBIADES: So I think, at least.

SOCRATES: And both to the person who is ignorant and everybody else?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Let us take another case. Suppose that you were suddenly to get into your head that it would be a good thing to kill Pericles, your kinsman and guardian, and were to seize a sword and, going to the doors of his house, were to enquire if he were at home, meaning to slay only him and no one else: — the servants reply, ‘Yes’: (Mind, I do not mean that you would really do such a thing; but there is nothing, you think, to prevent a man who is ignorant of the best, having occasionally the whim that what is worst is best?

ALCIBIADES: No.)

SOCRATES: — If, then, you went indoors, and seeing him, did not know him, but thought that he was some one else, would you venture to slay him?

ALCIBIADES: Most decidedly not (it seems to me). (These words are omitted in several MSS.)

SOCRATES: For you designed to kill, not the first who offered, but Pericles himself?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And if you made many attempts, and each time failed to recognize Pericles, you would never attack him?

ALCIBIADES: Never.

SOCRATES: Well, but if Orestes in like manner had not known his mother, do you think that he would ever have laid hands upon her?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: He did not intend to slay the first woman he came across, nor any one else’s mother, but only his own?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: Ignorance, then, is better for those who are in such a frame of mind, and have such ideas?

ALCIBIADES: Obviously.

SOCRATES: You acknowledge that for some persons in certain cases the ignorance of some things is a good and not an evil, as you formerly supposed?

ALCIBIADES: I do.

SOCRATES: And there is still another case which will also perhaps appear strange to you, if you will consider it? (The reading is here uncertain.)

ALCIBIADES: What is that, Socrates?

SOCRATES: It may be, in short, that the possession of all the sciences, if unaccompanied by the knowledge of the best, will more often than not injure the possessor. Consider the matter thus: — Must we not, when we intend either to do or say anything, suppose that we know or ought to know that which we propose so confidently to do or say?

ALCIBIADES: Yes, in my opinion.

SOCRATES: We may take the orators for an example, who from time to time advise us about war and peace, or the building of walls and the construction of harbours, whether they understand the business in hand, or only think that they do. Whatever the city, in a word, does to another city, or in the management of her own affairs, all happens by the counsel of the orators.

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But now see what follows, if I can (make it clear to you). (Some words appear to have dropped out here.) You would distinguish the wise from the foolish?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: The many are foolish, the few wise?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And you use both the terms, ‘wise’ and ‘foolish,’ in reference to something?

ALCIBIADES: I do.

SOCRATES: Would you call a person wise who can give advice, but does not know whether or when it is better to carry out the advice?

ALCIBIADES: Decidedly not.

SOCRATES: Nor again, I suppose, a person who knows the art of war, but does not know whether it is better to go to war or for how long?

ALCIBIADES: No.

SOCRATES: Nor, once more, a person who knows how to kill another or to take away his property or to drive him from his native land, but not when it is better to do so or for whom it is better?

ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: But he who understands anything of the kind and has at the same time the knowledge of the best course of action: — and the best and the useful are surely the same? —

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: — Such an one, I say, we should call wise and a useful adviser both of himself and of the city. What do you think?

ALCIBIADES: I agree.

SOCRATES: And if any one knows how to ride or to shoot with the bow or to box or to wrestle, or to engage in any other sort of contest or to do anything whatever which is in the nature of an art, — what do you call him who knows what is best according to that art? Do you not speak of one who knows what is best in riding as a good rider?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And in a similar way you speak of a good boxer or a good flute-player or a good performer in any other art?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: But is it necessary that the man who is clever in any of these arts should be wise also in general? Or is there a difference between the clever artist and the wise man?

ALCIBIADES: All the difference in the world.

SOCRATES: And what sort of a state do you think that would be which was composed of good archers and flute-players and athletes and masters in other arts, and besides them of those others about whom we spoke, who knew how to go to war and how to kill, as well as of orators puffed up with political pride, but in which not one of them all had this knowledge of the best, and there was no one who could tell when it was better to apply any of these arts or in regard to whom?

ALCIBIADES: I should call such a state bad, Socrates.

SOCRATES: You certainly would when you saw each of them rivalling the other and esteeming that of the greatest importance in the state,

‘Wherein he himself most excelled.’ (Euripides, Antiope.) — I mean that which was best in any art, while he was entirely ignorant of what was best for himself and for the state, because, as I think, he trusts to opinion which is devoid of intelligence. In such a case should we not be right if we said that the state would be full of anarchy and lawlessness?

ALCIBIADES: Decidedly.

SOCRATES: But ought we not then, think you, either to fancy that we know or really to know, what we confidently propose to do or say?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: And if a person does that which he knows or supposes that he knows, and the result is beneficial, he will act advantageously both for himself and for the state?

ALCIBIADES: True.

SOCRATES: And if he do the contrary, both he and the state will suffer?

ALCIBIADES: Yes.

SOCRATES: Well, and are you of the same mind, as before?

ALCIBIADES: I am.

SOCRATES: But were you not saying that you would call the many unwise and the few wise?

ALCIBIADES: I was.

SOCRATES: And have we not come back to our old assertion that the many fail to obtain the best because they trust to opinion which is devoid of intelligence?

ALCIBIADES: That is the case.

SOCRATES: It is good, then, for the many, if they particularly desire to do that which they know or suppose that they know, neither to know nor to suppose that they know, in cases where if they carry out their ideas in action they will be losers rather than gainers?

ALCIBIADES: What you say is very true.

SOCRATES: Do you not see that I was really speaking the truth when I affirmed that the possession of any other kind of knowledge was more likely to injure than to benefit the possessor, unless he had also the knowledge of the best?

ALCIBIADES: I do now, if I did not before, Socrates.

SOCRATES: The state or the soul, therefore, which wishes to have a right existence must hold firmly to this knowledge, just as the sick man clings to the physician, or the passenger depends for safety on the pilot. And if the soul does not set sail until she have obtained this she will be all the safer in the voyage through life. But when she rushes in pursuit of wealth or bodily strength or anything else, not having the knowledge of the best, so much the more is she likely to meet with misfortune. And he who has the love of learning (Or, reading polumatheian, ‘abundant learning.’), and is skilful in many arts, and does not possess the knowledge of the best, but is under some other guidance, will make, as he deserves, a sorry voyage: — he will, I believe, hurry through the brief space of human life, pilotless in mid-ocean, and the words will apply to him in which the poet blamed his enemy: —

‘...Full many a thing he knew; But knew them all badly.’ (A fragment from the pseudo-Homeric poem, ‘Margites.’)

ALCIBIADES: How in the world, Socrates, do the words of the poet apply to him? They seem to me to have no bearing on the point whatever.

SOCRATES: Quite the contrary, my sweet friend: only the poet is talking in riddles after the fashion of his tribe. For all poetry has by nature an enigmatical character, and it is by no means everybody who can interpret it. And if, moreover, the spirit of poetry happen to seize on a man who is of a begrudging temper and does not care to manifest his wisdom but keeps it to himself as far as he can, it does indeed require an almost superhuman wisdom to discover what the poet would be at. You surely do not suppose that Homer, the wisest and most divine of poets, was unaware of the impossibility of knowing a thing badly: for it was no less a person than he who said of Margites that ‘he knew many things, but knew them all badly.’ The solution of the riddle is this, I imagine: — By ‘badly’ Homer meant ‘bad’ and ‘knew’ stands for ‘to know.’ Put the words together; — the metre will suffer, but the poet’s meaning is clear;— ‘Margites knew all these things, but it was bad for him to know them.’ And, obviously, if it was bad for him to know so many things, he must have been a good-for-nothing, unless the argument has played us false.

ALCIBIADES: But I do not think that it has, Socrates: at least, if the argument is fallacious, it would be difficult for me to find another which I could trust.

SOCRATES: And you are right in thinking so.

ALCIBIADES: Well, that is my opinion.

SOCRATES: But tell me, by Heaven: — you must see now the nature and greatness of the difficulty in which you, like others, have your part. For you change about in all directions, and never come to rest anywhere: what you once most strongly inclined to suppose, you put aside again and quite alter your mind. If the God to whose shrine you are going should appear at this moment, and ask before you made your prayer, ‘Whether you would desire to have one of the things which we mentioned at first, or whether he should leave you to make your own request:’ — what in either case, think you, would be the best way to take advantage of the opportunity?

ALCIBIADES: Indeed, Socrates, I could not answer you without consideration. It seems to me to be a wild thing (The Homeric word margos is said to be here employed in allusion to the quotation from the ‘Margites’ which Socrates has just made; but it is not used in the sense which it has in Homer.) to make such a request; a man must be very careful lest he pray for evil under the idea that he is asking for good, when shortly after he may have to recall his prayer, and, as you were saying, demand the opposite of what he at first requested.

SOCRATES: And was not the poet whose words I originally quoted wiser than we are, when he bade us (pray God) to defend us from evil even though we asked for it?

ALCIBIADES: I believe that you are right.

SOCRATES: The Lacedaemonians, too, whether from admiration of the poet or because they have discovered the idea for themselves, are wont to offer the prayer alike in public and private, that the Gods will give unto them the beautiful as well as the good: — no one is likely to hear them make any further petition. And yet up to the present time they have not been less fortunate than other men; or if they have sometimes met with misfortune, the fault has not been due to their prayer. For surely, as I conceive, the Gods have power either to grant our requests, or to send us the contrary of what we ask.

And now I will relate to you a story which I have heard from certain of our elders. It chanced that when the Athenians and Lacedaemonians were at war, our city lost every battle by land and sea and never gained a victory. The Athenians being annoyed and perplexed how to find a remedy for their troubles, decided to send and enquire at the shrine of Ammon. Their envoys were also to ask, ‘Why the Gods always granted the victory to the Lacedaemonians?’ ‘We,’ (they were to say,) ‘offer them more and finer sacrifices than any other Hellenic state, and adorn their temples with gifts, as nobody else does; moreover, we make the most solemn and costly processions to them every year, and spend more money in their service than all the rest of the Hellenes put together. But the Lacedaemonians take no thought of such matters, and pay so little respect to the Gods that they have a habit of sacrificing blemished animals to them, and in various ways are less zealous than we are, although their wealth is quite equal to ours.’ When they had thus spoken, and had made their request to know what remedy they could find against the evils which troubled them, the prophet made no direct answer, — clearly because he was not allowed by the God to do so; — but he summoned them to him and said: ‘Thus saith Ammon to the Athenians: “The silent worship of the Lacedaemonians pleaseth me better than all the offerings of the other Hellenes.”’ Such were the words of the God, and nothing more. He seems to have meant by ‘silent worship’ the prayer of the Lacedaemonians, which is indeed widely different from the usual requests of the Hellenes. For they either bring to the altar bulls with gilded horns or make offerings to the Gods, and beg at random for what they need, good or bad. When, therefore, the Gods hear them using words of ill omen they reject these costly processions and sacrifices of theirs. And we ought, I think, to be very careful and consider well what we should say and what leave unsaid. Homer, too, will furnish us with similar stories. For he tells us how the Trojans in making their encampment,

‘Offered up whole hecatombs to the immortals,’

and how the ‘sweet savour’ was borne ‘to the heavens by the winds;

‘But the blessed Gods were averse and received it not.

For exceedingly did they hate the holy Ilium,

Both Priam and the people of the spear-skilled king.’

So that it was in vain for them to sacrifice and offer gifts, seeing that they were hateful to the Gods, who are not, like vile usurers, to be gained over by bribes. And it is foolish for us to boast that we are superior to the Lacedaemonians by reason of our much worship. The idea is inconceivable that the Gods have regard, not to the justice and purity of our souls, but to costly processions and sacrifices, which men may celebrate year after year, although they have committed innumerable crimes against the Gods or against their fellow-men or the state. For the Gods, as Ammon and his prophet declare, are no receivers of gifts, and they scorn such unworthy service. Wherefore also it would seem that wisdom and justice are especially honoured both by the Gods and by men of sense; and they are the wisest and most just who know how to speak and act towards Gods and men. But I should like to hear what your opinion is about these matters.

ALCIBIADES: I agree, Socrates, with you and with the God, whom, indeed, it would be unbecoming for me to oppose.

SOCRATES: Do you not remember saying that you were in great perplexity, lest perchance you should ask for evil, supposing that you were asking for good?

ALCIBIADES: I do.

SOCRATES: You see, then, that there is a risk in your approaching the God in prayer, lest haply he should refuse your sacrifice when he hears the blasphemy which you utter, and make you partake of other evils as well. The wisest plan, therefore, seems to me that you should keep silence; for your ‘highmindedness’ — to use the mildest term which men apply to folly — will most likely prevent you from using the prayer of the Lacedaemonians. You had better wait until we find out how we should behave towards the Gods and towards men.

ALCIBIADES: And how long must I wait, Socrates, and who will be my teacher? I should be very glad to see the man.

SOCRATES: It is he who takes an especial interest in you. But first of all, I think, the darkness must be taken away in which your soul is now enveloped, just as Athene in Homer removes the mist from the eyes of Diomede that

‘He may distinguish between God and mortal man.’

Afterwards the means may be given to you whereby you may distinguish between good and evil. At present, I fear, this is beyond your power.

ALCIBIADES: Only let my instructor take away the impediment, whether it pleases him to call it mist or anything else! I care not who he is; but I am resolved to disobey none of his commands, if I am likely to be the better for them.

SOCRATES: And surely he has a wondrous care for you.

ALCIBIADES: It seems to be altogether advisable to put off the sacrifice until he is found.

SOCRATES: You are right: that will be safer than running such a tremendous risk.

ALCIBIADES: But how shall we manage, Socrates? — At any rate I will set this crown of mine upon your head, as you have given me such excellent advice, and to the Gods we will offer crowns and perform the other customary rites when I see that day approaching: nor will it be long hence, if they so will.

SOCRATES: I accept your gift, and shall be ready and willing to receive whatever else you may proffer. Euripides makes Creon say in the play, when he beholds Teiresias with his crown and hears that he has gained it by his skill as the first-fruits of the spoil: —

‘An auspicious omen I deem thy victor’s wreath: For well thou knowest that wave and storm oppress us.’

And so I count your gift to be a token of good-fortune; for I am in no less stress than Creon, and would fain carry off the victory over your lovers.

HIPPARCHUS

Translated by W.R.M. Lamb

Stylistically, this dialogue has many similarities to the Minos, which is also considered to be a spurious text.  The primary aim of the dialogue is an attempt to define greed. A friend of Socrates argues that greed is a desire to profit from things of no value, but Socrates replies that no sensible man attempts to profit from worthless things, but inasfar as greed is a desire for profit, then it is a desire for the good, and thus everyone is greedy. The friend of Socrates thinks there is something wrong with Socrates’ argument, but cannot say what is wrong with it.

HIPPARCHUS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates and Friend

Socrates
And what is love of gain? What can it be, and who are the lovers of gain?

Friend
In my opinion, they are those who think it worth while to make gain out of things of no worth.

Socrates
Is it your opinion that they know those things to be of no worth, or do not know? For if they do not know, you mean that the lovers of gain are fools.

Friend
No, I do not mean they are fools, but rascals who wickedly yield to gain, because they know that the things out of which they dare to make their gain are worthless, [225b] and yet they dare to be lovers of gain from mere shamelessness.

Socrates
Well now, do you mean by the lover of gain such a man, for instance, as a farmer who plants something which he knows is a worthless herb, and thinks fit to make gain out of it when he has reared it up? Is that the sort of man you mean?

Friend
The lover of gain, as such, Socrates, thinks he ought to make gain from everything.

Socrates
Please do not speak so recklessly, as though you had been wronged by someone, but give me your attention and answer just as you would if I were beginning my questions over again. Do you not admit that the lover of gain has knowledge of the worth of the thing from which he thinks it worth while to make gain?

Friend
I do.

Socrates
Then who has knowledge of the worth of plants, and of the sort of season and soil in which they are worth planting — if we too may throw in one of those artful phrases1 which adroit pleaders use to trick out their speeches in the law courts? [225d]

Friend
For my part, I should say a farmer.

Socrates
And by “think it worth while to make gain” do you mean aught but “thinking one ought to make gain”?

Friend
I mean that.

Socrates
Then do not attempt to deceive me, who am now quite an elderly person, [226a] and you so young, by making, as you did just now, an answer that is not even your own thought; but tell me in all truth, do you suppose that any man who was taking up farming and who knew it was a worthless plant that he was planting, could think to make gain from it?

Friend
Upon my word, I do not.

Socrates
Or again, take a horseman who knows that he is providing worthless food for his horse; do you suppose he is unaware that he is destroying his horse?

Friend
I do not. [226b]

Socrates
So he does not think to make gain from that worthless food.

Friend
No.

Socrates
Or again, take a navigator who has furnished his ship with worthless spars and ropes; do you think he is unaware that he will suffer for it, and will be in danger of being lost himself, and of losing the ship and all her cargo?

Friend
I do not.

Socrates
So he does not think to make gain from [226c] that worthless tackle?

Friend
No, indeed.

Socrates
But does a general, who knows that his army has worthless arms, think to make gain, or think it worth while to make gain, from them?

Friend
By no means.

Socrates
Or does a flute-player who has worthless flutes, or a harper with a lyre, a bowman with a bow, or anyone else at all, in short, among ordinary craftsmen or sensible men in general, with any implement or other equipment of any sort that is worthless, think to make gain from it? [226d]

Friend
To all appearance, no.

Socrates
Then whoever can they be, your lovers of gain? For I presume they are not the people whom we have successively mentioned, but people who know their worthless things, and yet think they are to make gain from them. But in that case, by what you say, remarkable sir, no man alive is a lover of gain

Friend
Well, Socrates, I should like to call those lovers of gain who from insatiable greed consumedly long for things that are even quite petty and of little or no worth, [226e] and so love gain, in each case.

Socrates
Not knowing, of course, my excellent friend, that the things are worthless; for we have already convinced ourselves by our argument that this is impossible.

Friend
I agree.

Socrates
And if not knowing this, clearly they are ignorant of it, but think that those worthless things are worth a great deal.

Friend
Apparently.

Socrates
Now, of course lovers of gain must love gain?

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
And by gain you mean the opposite of loss? [227a]

Friend
I do.

Socrates
And is it a good thing for anyone to suffer loss?

Friend
For no one.

Socrates
Rather an evil?

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
So mankind are harmed by loss.

Friend
They are harmed.

Socrates
Then loss is an evil.

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
And gain is the opposite of loss.

Friend
The opposite.

Socrates
So that gain is a good.

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
Hence it is those who love the good that you call lovers of gain.

Friend
So it seems. [227b]

Socrates
At least there is nothing mad, my friend, about lovers of gain, as you describe them. But tell me, do you yourself love, or not love, whatever is good?

Friend
I love it.

Socrates
And is there anything good that you do not love, or must it then be evil?

Friend
Upon my word, nothing.

Socrates
In fact, I expect you love all good things.

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
Well now, ask me on my side whether I do not likewise: for I shall agree with you, for my part, that I love good things. But besides you and me, do you not think that all the rest of mankind [227c] love good things, and hate evil things?

Friend
It appears so to me.

Socrates
And we admitted that gain is good?

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
On this new showing, everyone appears to be a lover of gain; whereas, by our former way of arguing, no one was a lover of gain. So on which of the two arguments are we to rely, in order to avoid error?

Friend
What has to be done, I think, Socrates, is to conceive the lover of gain rightly. The right view of the lover of gain is that he is one who concerns himself with, [227d] and thinks fit to make gain from, things from which honest men do not dare to make gain.

Socrates
But you see, my sweet sir, we have just admitted that making gain is being benefited.

Friend
Well, what of that?

Socrates
There is the further point we have admitted in addition to this — that all men wish for good things always.

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
Then good men likewise wish to have all gains, if these are good things. [227e]

Friend
Not those gains from which they are bound, Socrates, to suffer harm.

Socrates
By “suffer harm” do you mean “suffer loss,” or something else?

Friend
No, I mean just “suffer loss.”

Socrates
Well, do men suffer loss from gain or from loss?

Friend
From both; for they suffer loss from loss and from wicked gain.

Socrates
Pray now, do you consider that any useful and good thing is wicked?

Friend
I do not. [228a]

Socrates
And we admitted a little while ago that gain is the opposite of loss, which is an evil.

Friend
I agree.

Socrates
And that, being the opposite of an evil, it is good?

Friend
That was our admission.

Socrates
So you see, you are attempting to deceive me, for you deliberately contradict what we agreed to just now.

Friend
No, on my honor, Socrates; on the contrary, it is you who are deceiving me, by twisting this way and that so perplexingly in your talk. [228b]

Socrates
Hush, hush! Why, surely it would be wrong of me not to obey a good and wise person.

Friend
Who is that? And to what are you referring now?

Socrates
I mean my and your fellow-citizen, Pisistratus’s son Hipparchus, of Philaidae, who was the eldest and wisest of Pisistratus’s sons, and who, among the many goodly proofs of wisdom that he showed, first brought the poems of Homer into this country of ours, and compelled the rhapsodes at the Panathenaea to recite them in relay, one man following on another, as [228c] they still do now. He dispatched a fifty-oared galley for Anacreon of Teos, and brought him into our city. Simonides of Ceos he always had about him, prevailing on him by plenteous fees and gifts. All this he did from a wish to educate the citizens, in order that he might have subjects of the highest excellence; for he thought it not right to grudge wisdom to any, so noble and good was he. And when his people in the city had been educated and were admiring him for his wisdom, [228d] he proceeded next, with the design of educating those of the countryside, to set up figures of Hermes for them along the roads in the midst of the city and every district town; and then, after selecting from his own wise lore, both learnt from others and discovered for himself, the things that he considered the wisest, he threw these into elegiac form and inscribed them on the figures as verses of his own and testimonies of his wisdom, so that in the first place [228e] his people should not admire those wise Delphic legends of ““Know thyself”“ and ““Nothing overmuch”“, and the other sayings of the sort, but should rather regard as wise the utterances of Hipparchus; and that in the second place, through passing up and down and reading his words and acquiring a taste for his wisdom, they might resort hither from the country for the completion of their education. There are two such inscriptions of his: on the left side [229a] of each Hermes there is one in which the god says that he stands in the midst of the city or the township, while on the right side he says:”The memorial of Hipparchus: walk with just intent.
“There are many other fine inscriptions from his poems on other figures of Hermes, and this one in particular, on the Steiria2 road, in which he says: [229b] “The memorial of Hipparchus: deceive not a friend.
“I therefore should never dare, I am sure, to deceive you, who are my friend, or disobey the great Hipparchus, after whose death the Athenians were for three years under the despotic rule of his brother Hippias, and you might have heard anyone of the earlier period say that it was only in these years that there was despotism in Athens,3 and that at all other times the Athenians lived very much as in the reign of Cronos. And the subtler sort of people say [229c] that Hipparchus’s death was due, not to the cause supposed by most — the disqualification of the assassin’s sister from bearing the basket,4 for that is a silly motive — but because Harmodius had become the favorite of Aristogeiton and had been educated by him. Thus Aristogeiton also prided himself on educating people, and he regarded Hipparchus as a dangerous rival. And at that time, it is said, Harmodius [229d] happened to be himself in love with one of the handsome and well-born youths of the day; they do tell his name, but I cannot remember it. Well, for a while this youth admired both Harmodius and Aristogeiton as wise men, but afterwards, when he associated with Hipparchus, he despised them, and they were so overcome with the pain of this “disqualification” that they slew Hipparchus.5

Friend
It would seem, then, Socrates, either that you do not regard me as your friend, or if you do, that you do not obey Hipparchus. [229e] For that you are not deceiving me — though I cannot tell how you contrive it — in your talk, is more than I can believe.

Socrates
Well now, as though we were playing draughts, I am willing to let you revoke, as you please, anything you have said in carrying on the discussion, in order that you may not think you are being deceived. So tell me, shall I revoke for you the statement that all men desire good things?

Friend
No, thank you.

Socrates
Well, that suffering loss, or loss, is an evil?

Friend
No, thank you.

Socrates
Well, that gain, or making gain, is the opposite of loss, or suffering loss? [230a]

Friend
Nor that either.

Socrates
Well, that making gain, as the opposite of evil, is a good?

Friend
Nothing of all this do I bid you revoke for me.

Socrates
You think, then, it seems, that some gain is good, and some evil.

Friend
I do.

Socrates
Well then, I revoke so much for you; so let us assume that some gain is good, and some other gain evil. But the good sort is no more gain than the evil sort, is it?

Friend
What do you mean by this question?

Socrates
I will explain. Is there both good and evil food? [230b]

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
And is the one sort more food than the other, or are they both similarly this same thing, food, and in this respect does the one differ no wise from the other, in being food, but only in the fact of the one being good and the other evil?

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
And so with drink and every other class of things that exist, when some things in any class come to be good, and others evil, one thing does not differ from another in that respect whereby they are the same? For instance, [230c] one man, I suppose, is virtuous, and another wicked.

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
But neither of them, I conceive, is more or less man than the other — neither the virtuous than the wicked, nor the wicked than the virtuous.

Friend
What you say is true.

Socrates
Then are we to take the same view of gain also, that both the wicked and the virtuous sort are similarly gain?

Friend
Necessarily.

Socrates
So he who has virtuous gain is no whit the more a gainer than he who has wicked gain: neither sort [230d] is found to be more gain, as we agree.

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
For neither of them has addition of either more or less.

Friend
No, indeed.

Socrates
And how could one do or suffer anything more or less with a thing of this sort, that had neither of these additions?

Friend
Impossible.

Socrates
Since, therefore, both of these are gains and gain-making affairs, we must now consider what it can be that leads you to call both of them gain: [230e] what is it that you see to be the same in both? Suppose you were to ask me, in those instances that I gave just now, what it is that leads me to call both good food and evil food alike food, I should tell you — for this reason, because both are a dry sustenance of the body. For that, I am sure you would agree, is what food is, would you not?

Friend
I would.

Socrates
And so too about drink the answer would be on the same lines, that the wet sustenance of the body, [231a] whether it be wholesome or pernicious, has this name of drink; and likewise with the rest. Try therefore on your part to imitate my method of answering. When you say that virtuous gain and wicked gain are both gain, what is it that you see to be the same in them, judging it to be the actual element of gain? And if again you are yourself unable to answer, just let me put it for your consideration, whether you describe as gain every acquisition that one has acquired either with no expense, or as a profit over and above one’s expense. [231b]

Friend
I believe that is what I call gain.

Socrates
Do you include a case where, after enjoying a banquet at which one has had much good cheer without any expense, one acquires an illness?

Friend
Upon my word, not I.

Socrates
And if one acquired health from attending a banquet, would one acquire gain or loss?

Friend
Gain.

Socrates
Hence gain is not just acquiring any acquisition.

Friend
No, indeed.

Socrates
Do you mean, not if it is evil? Or will one acquire no gain even if one acquires something good?

Friend
Apparently one will, if it is good. [231c]

Socrates
And if it is evil, will not one acquire loss?

Friend
I think so.

Socrates
You see, then, how you are running round again to the same old point? Gain is found to be good, and loss evil.

Friend
For my part, I cannot tell what to say.

Socrates
And not without good reason, sir. Now answer this further question: you say that if one acquires more than the amount one has spent, it is gain?

Friend
I do not mean, when it is evil, but if one gets more gold or silver than one has spent.

Socrates
Now, I am just going to ask you about that. Tell me, [231d] if one spends half a pound of gold and gets double that weight in silver, has one got gain or loss?

Friend
Loss, I presume, Socrates for one’s gold is reduced to twice, instead of twelve times, the value of silver.

Socrates
But you see, one has got more; or is double not more than half?

Friend
Not in worth, the one being silver and the other gold.

Socrates
So gain, it seems, must have this addition of worth. At least, you now say that silver, though more than gold, is not worth as much, and that gold, though less, is of equal worth. [231e]

Friend
Assuredly, for that is the case.

Socrates
Then the valuable is what produces gain, whether it be small or great, and the valueless produces no gain.

Friend
Yes.

Socrates
And by the valuable you mean simply, valuable to possess?

Friend
Yes, to possess.

Socrates
And again, by what is valuable to possess, do you mean the unprofitable or the profitable?

Friend
The profitable, I presume.

Socrates
And the profitable is good?

Friend
Yes. [232a]

Socrates
And so, most valiant of men, have we not here once more, for the third or fourth time, the admission that what produces gain is good?

Friend
So it seems.

Socrates
Then do you remember the point from which this discussion of ours arose?

Friend
I think I do.

Socrates
In case you do not, I will remind you. You maintained against me that good men do not wish to make all sorts of gain, but only those gains that are good, and not those that are wicked.

Friend
Yes. [232b]

Socrates
And now the argument has compelled us to acknowledge that all gains, both small and great, are good?

Friend
Yes, it has compelled me, at least, Socrates, rather than persuaded me.

Socrates
Well, later on, perhaps, it might also persuade you. Now, however, whether you are persuaded or whatever is your feeling, you at least agree with me that all gains are good, both small and great ones.

Friend
Yes, I do admit it.

Socrates
And you admit that virtuous men all wish for all good things, do you not?

Friend
I do. [232c]

Socrates
But, you know, you stated yourself that wicked men love both small and great gains.

Friend
I did.

Socrates
And so, by your account, all men will be lovers of gain, whether they be virtuous or wicked.

Friend
Apparently.

Socrates
Hence it is not right to reproach anybody with being a lover of gain: for he who makes this reproach is actually such an one himself.

THE RIVAL LOVERS

Translated by W.R.M. Lamb

This dialogue was included in the traditional listing of Plato’s works, though its authenticity has often been doubted.  The Greek title Erastai is the plural form of the term erastēs, which refers to the older partner in a pederastic relationship. Since in Classical Greek terms such a relationship consists of an erastēs and an erōmenos, the title Lovers, sometimes used for this dialogue, makes sense only if understood in the technical sense of lover versus beloved but is misleading if taken to refer to two people in a love relationship.

The rival erastai of the title are a devotee of wrestling and athletics, who censors philosophy as shameful nonsense, and a young man who cultivates art.  As the dialogue opens, they are quarrelling, at a grammarian’s school in the presence of the boy they love and of other boys and young men, over the question whether philosophy is noble and admirable.  Socrates soon enters the quarrel, questioning the censorship of philosophy.

Pederast couples at a symposium, as depicted on a fresco in Paestum, Italy

THE RIVAL LOVERS.

SOCRATES

I entered the grammar school of the teacher Dionysius, and saw there the young men who are accounted the most comely in form and of distinguished family, and their lovers. Now it chanced that two of the young people were disputing, but about what, I did not clearly overhear: it appeared, however, that they were disputing either about Anaxagoras1 or about Oenopides2; at any rate, they appeared to be drawing circles, [132b] and they were imitating certain inclinations3 with their arms, bending to it and taking it most earnestly. Then I — for I was sitting beside the lover of one of the pair — nudged him with my elbow and asked him what on earth the two youngsters were so earnest about, and I said: Is it then something great and fine, in which they are so earnestly immersed?

Great and fine, indeed! he replied: why, these fellows are prating about the heavenly bodies, and babbling philosophy. [132c] Then I, surprised at his answer, said: Young man, do you consider philosophizing to be shameful? Else, why do you speak so sharply?

Then the other youth — for he chanced to be sitting near him, as his rival in love — when he heard my question and his rival’s answer, said: You do yourself no good, Socrates, by pressing this fellow with a further question, as to whether he considers philosophizing to be shameful. Do you not know that he has spent the whole of his life in practising the neckhold, and stuffing himself, and sleeping? So why did you suppose he would make any other reply than that philosophy is shameful? [132d] Now this one of the two lovers had spent his time on humane studies,4 whereas the other, whom he was abusing, had spent his on athletics. So I decided that I had best relinquish the other, whom I had been questioning, since he did not even himself set up to be experienced in words, but only in deeds; and that I should interrogate the one who set up to be wiser, in order that so far as I was able I might get some benefit from him. I said therefore: I addressed my question to both in common; but if you think you could answer more creditably than he, I put the same question to you as I did to him: do you consider philosophizing to be honorable or not? [133a] Then the two striplings, overhearing us speak somewhat like this, were silent, and ceasing from their own contention they became listeners to ours. What their lovers’ sensations were, I do not know, but I myself, at any rate, was staggered; for every time I am staggered by handsome young people. It seemed to me, however, that my young friend too was in as great a flutter as myself; but nevertheless he answered me in a most ambitious spirit: Why, of course, Socrates, he said, if I should ever consider philosophizing to be shameful, I should not account myself so much as a man, [133b] nor anyone else either who was disposed to think so. Here he pointed to his rival lover, and spoke with a loud voice, in order that his favorite might hear every word.

Then I remarked: So philosophizing seems to you to be honorable?

Quite so, he said.

Well now, I said; does it seem to you possible to know whether anything is honorable or shameful without knowing what it is fundamentally?

No, he said. [133c] Then do you know, I went on, what philosophizing is?

Certainly I do, said he.

Then what is it? I asked.

Why, just what Solon called it; you know it was Solon who said:”And ever, as I older grow, I learn yet more and more;
“Solon Fr. 18 — and I agree with him that a man who intends to philosophize should in this way be ever learning something or other, whether he be younger or older, in order that he may learn as many things as possible in his life. Now at first I felt there was something in his reply, but then, on second thoughts, I asked him whether he considered philosophy to be much learning. [133d] To which he answered: Certainly.

And do you consider philosophy to be merely honorable, I asked, or good as well?

Good as well, he said: very much so.

Then do you observe this as peculiar to philosophy, or do you find it similarly in everything else? For example, do you consider the love of athletics to be not merely honorable, but good as well, or do you not?

Whereupon he, most slily, gave a double answer: To him my statement must be “neither” ; but to you, Socrates, I acknowledge it to be both honorable and good: [133e] for I consider this the right view.

Then I asked him: Well now, in athletics, do you consider that much exercise is love of athletics?

To which he replied: Certainly, just as in philosophizing I consider much learning to be philosophy.

Then I said: And do you then consider that the lovers of athletics desire anything else than that which will cause them to be in good bodily condition?

Only that, he replied.

And does much exercise, I asked, cause them to be in good bodily condition? [134a] Yes, for how, he replied, could one be in good bodily condition through little exercise?

Here I felt it was time to stir up the lover of athletics, in order that he might give me the support of his athletic experience; so I proceeded to ask him: And you then, pray, why are you silent, excellent sir, while your friend here is speaking thus? Do you agree that men are in good bodily condition through much exercise, or is it rather through moderate exercise?

For my part, Socrates, he said, I thought even a pig — [134b] as the saying is — would have known that moderate exercise causes them to be in good bodily condition, so why should not a fellow who is sleepless and unfed, with unchafed neck and slender, care-worn frame! And when he had said this the boys were delighted and laughed their approval, while the other lover blushed.

Then I said to him: Well, do you now concede that it is neither much, nor little, but moderate exercise that causes men to be in good bodily condition? Or do you bid defiance to the two of us on this point? [134c] To which he answered: Against him I should be only too glad to fight it out, and I am certain I should prove able to support the theory I have put forward, even had I put forward a weaker one; for he is naught. But with you I do not aim at winning an unscrupulous success; and so I admit that not a great but a moderate amount of athletics causes good condition in men.

And what of food? Moderate or much? I asked.

The same applied to food, he admitted. [134d] Then I went on and tried to compel him also to admit that everything else connected with the body when most beneficial, was the moderate thing, not the much or the little; and he admitted that it was the moderate thing.

And now, I said, as regards the soul; are moderate or immoderate things beneficial, as adjuncts of it?

Moderate things, he replied.

And are studies among the adjuncts of the soul?

He admitted they were.

So among these also it is the moderate that are beneficial, and not the much?

He agreed.

Then whom should we be justified in asking what sort of exercise or food is moderate for the body?

The three of us agreed that it must be a doctor or a trainer. [134e] And whom should we ask about the moderate measure in the sowing of seed?

In that matter, we agreed, it must be a farmer.

And whom should we be justified in asking as to the moderate degree and kind, in regard to the sowing and planting of studies in the soul?

At this point we all began to be full of perplexity; [135a] then I, mocking at them, asked: Do you mind, since we are in perplexity, if we ask these boys here? or perhaps we are ashamed, as Homer5 said the suitors were, and do not think it fit there should be someone else who will string the bow?

Then, as it seemed to me that they were losing their zeal for the argument, I tried to pursue the inquiry in another way, and said: But what, as nearly as we can guess, are the kinds of learning which the philosopher should learn, since he is not to learn all things or many things? [135b] At this the wiser one interjected: The finest and most suitable kinds of learning are those which will bring him the most reputation for philosophy; and he will get most reputation if he appears well versed in all the arts, or if not in all, in as many of them, and those the most considerable, as he can, by learning so much of them as befits a free man to learn, that is, what belongs to the understanding rather than the handiwork of each.

Well now, do you mean, I asked, in the same way as in carpentry? For there, you know, you can buy a carpenter for five [135c] or six minae,6 but a first-rate architect cannot be got for even ten thousand drachmae; few such, indeed, could be found throughout the whole of Greece. Is it something of this sort that you mean? When he heard me say this, he admitted that something like this was what he himself meant.

I next asked him if it was not impossible for the same person to learn in this way merely two of the arts, not to speak of many or the principal ones; to which he replied: Do not conceive me, Socrates, [135d] to be stating that the philosopher must have accurate knowledge of each of the arts, like the actual adept in any of them; I mean only so far as may be expected of a free and educated man: that is, he should be able to follow the explanations of the craftsman more readily than the rest of the company, and to contribute an opinion of his own which will make him appear the cleverest and most accomplished of the company who may at any time be present at some verbal or practical exposition of the arts.

Then, as I was still unsettled in my mind as to the drift of his words, I asked him: Do I quite grasp the sort of man whom you mean by the philosopher? [135e] For you seem to me to mean someone like the all-round athletes7 in contest with the runners or the wrestlers: the former yield, you know, to the latter in their particular exercises, and are their inferiors in these, but are superior to the usual sort of athletes and beat them. I daresay it may be something of this sort that you would suggest as the effect produced by philosophy on those who make it their pursuit: they yield to those who are first-rate [136a] in an understanding of the arts, but in taking the second place they surpass the rest; and in this way the man who has studied philosophy comes just next to the top in everything. That is the kind of person whom you appear to me to indicate.

You are quite right, it seems to me, Socrates, he said, in your conception of the philosopher’s position, with your comparison of him to the all-round athlete. For it is precisely his nature not to be enslaved to any business, or to work out anything exactly, so as to let his application to that one matter make him deficient in the rest, [136b] as the craftsmen do, but to have a moderate contact with all of them.

Well, after this answer I was eager to know clearly what he meant, so I inquired of him whether he conceived of good men as useful or useless.

Useful, I should say, Socrates, he replied.

Then if good men are useful, are wicked men useless?

He agreed that they were.

Again, do you consider that philosophers are useful persons or not? [136c] He agreed that they were useful; nay, more, that he considered they were most useful of all.

Come now, let us make out, if what you say is true, where these second-best men are also useful to us: for clearly the philosopher is inferior to any particular adept in the arts.

He agreed.

Well now, I went on, if you yourself, or one of your friends for whom you feel great concern, should have fallen sick, would you fetch that second-best man into the house with a view to obtaining health, or would you summon a doctor? [136d] For my part, I should have both, he replied.

Please do not say “both,” I said, but which of the two you would prefer and also summon first.

No one, he replied,would make any question but that the doctor should be preferred and also summoned first.

And again, if you were in a ship that was making rough weather, to which would you rather entrust yourself and yours, the pilot or the philosopher?

I should choose the pilot.

And so it will be in everything else: so long as there is some craftsman, the philosopher will not be useful?

Apparently, he replied. [136e] So now we find that the philosopher is a useless person? For I suppose we always have craftsmen; and we have agreed that good men are useful, and bad ones useless.

He was obliged to agree to this.

Then what follows? Am I to ask you, or will it be too ill-mannered?

Ask whatever you please.

Well, my aim, I said, is merely to recall our agreements upon [137a] what has been stated. The matter stands somewhat like this. We agreed that philosophy is an honorable thing, and that philosophers are good; and that good men are useful, and wicked men useless: but then again we agreed that philosophers, so long as we have craftsmen, are useless, and that we always do have craftsmen. Has not all this been agreed?

Yes, to be sure, he replied.

Then we agreed, it seems, by your account — if philosophizing means having knowledge of the arts in the way you describe — that philosophers are wicked and useless so long as there are arts [137b] among mankind. But I expect they are not so really, my friend, and that philosophizing is not just having a concernment in the arts or spending one’s life in meddlesome stooping and prying and accumulation of learning, but something else; because I imagined that this life was actually a disgrace, and that people who concerned themselves with the arts were called sordid.8 But we shall know more definitely whether this statement of mine is true, if you will answer me this: What men know how to punish horses rightly? [137c] Is it those who make them into the best horses, or some other men?

Those who make them into the best horses.

Or again, is it not the men who know how to make dogs into the best dogs that know also how to punish them rightly?

Yes.

Then it is the same art that makes them into the best dogs and punishes them rightly?

It appears so to me, he replied.

Again, is the art that makes them into the best ones and punishes them rightly the same as that which knows the good and the bad ones, or is it some other?

The same, he said.

Then in the case of men also will you be prepared to agree that the art [137d] which makes them into the best men is that which punishes them rightly and distinguishes the good and the bad ones?

Certainly, he said.

And that which does this to one, does it also to many, and that which does it to many, does it also to one?

Yes.

And so it is also with horses and everything else?

I agree.

Then what is the knowledge which rightly punishes the licentious and law-breaking people in our cities? Is it not judicature?

Yes.

And is it any other art than this that you call justice?

No, only this. [137e] And that whereby they punish rightly is that whereby they know the good and bad people?

It is.

And whoever knows one will know many also?

Yes.

And whoever does not know many will not know one?

I agree.

Then if one were a horse, and did not know the good and wicked horses, would one not know which sort one was oneself?

I think not.

And if one were an ox and did not know the wicked and good oxen, would one not know which sort one was oneself?

That is so, he said.

And so it would be, if one were a dog?

He agreed. [138a] Well now, when one is a man, and does not know the good and bad men, one surely cannot know whether one is good or wicked oneself, since one is a man also oneself?

He granted this.

And is “not knowing oneself” being temperate,9 or not being temperate?

Not being temperate.

So “knowing oneself” is being temperate?

I agree, he said.

So this is the message, it seems, of the Delphic inscription — that one is to practise temperance and justice.

It seems so.

And it is by this same art that we know also how to punish rightly?

Yes.

Then that whereby we know how to punish rightly [138b] is justice, and that whereby we know how to distinguish our own and others’ quality is temperance?

It seems so, he said.

Then justice and temperance are the same thing?

Apparently.

And further, it is thus, you know, that cities are well ordered — when the wrongdoers pay the penalty.

That is true, he said.

Hence this is also statecraft.

He concurred.

Again, when one man governs a city rightly, is he not called a despot and king?

I agree.

And he governs by a kingly and despotic art?

That is so.

And these arts are the same as the former?

Apparently. [138c] Again, when a man singly governs a house aright, what is he called? Is he not a house-manager and master?

Yes.

Then would he also govern his house well by justice, or by some other art?

By justice.

Hence they are all the same, it seems, — king, despot, statesman, house-manager, master, and the temperate man and the just man; and it is all one art, — the kingly, the despotic, the statesman’s, the master’s, the house-manager’s, and justice and temperance.

It is so, apparently, he said. [138d] Then, if it is disgraceful in the philosopher to be unable, when a doctor speaks about the sick, either to follow his remarks or to contribute anything of his own to what is being said or done, and to be in the same case when any other of the craftsmen speaks, is it not disgraceful that he should be unable, when it is a judge or a king or some other of the persons whom we have just instanced, either to follow their words or contribute anything to their business?

It must indeed be disgraceful, Socrates, to have nothing to contribute to subjects of such great importance! [138e] Are we then to say, I asked, that in these matters also he is to be an all-round athlete, a second-rate man, taking the second place in all the subjects of this art — he, the philosopher — and is to be useless so long as there is one of these persons; or that, first of all, he is to entrust his own house to nobody else and is not to take the second place in it, but is himself to judge and punish rightly, if his house is to be well managed?

He granted me that it must be so.

Secondly, I presume, whether his friends entrust him with an arbitration, or the state charges him to determine [139a] or judge any matter, it is disgraceful for him, my good friend, in such cases, to be found in the second or third place, and not to lead?

I agree.

Hence we see, my excellent sir, that philosophizing is very far from being much learning and that affair of busying oneself with the arts.

On my saying this the cultivated youth was silent, feeling ashamed for what he had said before, while the unlearned one said it was as I stated; and the rest of the company praised the argument.

THEAGES

Translated by W.R.M. Lamb

In this spurious dialogue, Demodocus introduces his son Theages to Socrates for the first time, and they discuss Socrates’ divine inner voice. Four separate cases are described in which Socrates received a premonition from the gods, but in each case the advice was ignored with disastrous consequences.  Socrates is also presented as having a divine power which has a magical effect on his pupils, but which disappears when they abandon him to pursue other interests.

THEAGES.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Demodocus, Socrates, Theages

Demodocus
Socrates, I was wanting to have some private talk with you, if you had time to spare; even if there is some demand, which is not particularly important, on your time, do spare some, nevertheless, for me.

Socrates
Why, in any case I happen to have time to spare, and for you, moreover, I have plenty. Well, you are free to say whatever you wish.

Demodocus
Then do you mind if we step aside here from the street into the portico of Zeus the Liberator1?

Socrates
As you think best. [121b]

Demodocus
Let us go, then. Socrates, it would seem that all growths follow the same course, both those that grow from the earth, and the animals, including man. In regard to the plants, as you know, we who cultivate the earth find it the easiest part of our work to make all our preparations that are needed before planting, and to do the planting itself; but when the plant begins to grow, thenceforward we have a great deal of difficult and vexatious business in tending the new growth. [121c] Such, it seems, is also the case in regard to men: I take my own concerns as evidence for judging of the rest. For indeed I have found the planting, or the procreation — whichever one ought to call it — of this son of mine the easiest thing in the world; but his upbringing has been vexatious and a constant source of alarm, so great are my fears for him. Among the many instances that I could mention, the desire which occupies him at the moment is a thing that especially alarms me: for it is not an ill-bred desire, but a dangerous one, since here we have him, Socrates, as he says, desiring to become wise. [121d] My opinion is that some of his fellow-townsmen, about his own age, who pay visits to the city, excite him with accounts of certain discussions they have heard there; and in his envy of these he has long been pestering me with the demand that I should take due thought for his needs, and pay fees to some sophist or other who will make him wise. Now I do not mind so much about the fees, but I believe he is running into no slight danger [122a] where he is hastening. I did for a time restrain him with good advice; but since I am no longer able to do so, I believe my best course is to comply with his request, in order that he may not resort, perchance, behind my back to somebody who will corrupt him. So I have come now on this very business of placing this youth with one of these sophists, or purveyors of wisdom, as they are held to be. It is a happy chance, therefore, that has thrown you in our way, as I should be particularly glad, with this plan of action in my mind, to ask your advice. Come, if you have any advice to give [122b] on what you have heard from me, you not only may, but should, give it.

Socrates
Well, you know, Demodocus, they do say that advice is a holy thing.2 And so, if ever it is to be accounted holy, it must be in this instance, in which you now seek it. For there is no more divine matter on which a mortal could take counsel than the education either [122c] of himself or of his relations. Now, first of all, let you and me come to an agreement as to what we suppose that this thing can be, on which we are taking counsel; for it may happen that I conceive it to be one thing, and you another, and then when we have proceeded some little way in our conference, we may perceive how ridiculous we are, I the adviser and you the advised, in having no common ground in our notions.

Demodocus
Why, I think you are right there, Socrates, and we should do as you suggest.

Socrates
Yes, I am right, but yet not entirely, because I have a slight change to make. For it occurs to me that [122d] this youngster may not be desiring the thing that we suppose him to desire, but something else, and there again we may be still more absurdly taking counsel on some other thing. Hence our most proper course, it seems to me, is to begin with the youth himself, and inquire of him what it actually is that he desires.

Demodocus
It does rather look, in fact, as though our best way would be thus, as you suggest.

Socrates
Then tell me, what is the young person’s goodly name: how are we to address him?

Demodocus
Theages is his name, Socrates. [122e]

Socrates
Goodly is the name, Demodocus, and holy-sounding,3 that you have bestowed on your son. Tell me, then, Theages, do you say you desire to become wise, and do you require your father here to find out a school of some man who is qualified to make you wise?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
And which sort of man do you call wise, those who have knowledge of such and such a thing, whatever it may be, or those who have not?

Theages
Those who have knowledge, I say.

Socrates
Well now, has not your father taught and educated you in the subjects which form the education of everyone else here — all the sons of noble and honorable fathers — in letters, I mean, and harping and wrestling and the other sorts of contest? [123a]

Theages
Yes, he has.

Socrates
And you think you are still lacking in some knowledge which it behoves your father to provide for you?

Theages
I do

Socrates
What knowledge is it? Tell us on our side, that we may oblige you.

Theages
He knows it, as well as I, Socrates, since I have often told him; only he says this to you of set purpose, making as if he did not know what I desire. For he assails me too with other statements of the same sort, and refuses to place me with any instructor. [123b]

Socrates
Well, what you said to him before was spoken, as it were, without witnesses; but now you shall take me as a witness, and declare before me what is this wisdom that you desire. Come now; suppose you desired the wisdom whereby men steer a ship, and I happened to put this further question to you: Theages, what wisdom is it that you lack, when you blame your father for refusing to place you with people who would enable you to become wise? What answer would you have given me? What wisdom would you name? The steersman’s art, would you not?

Theages
Yes. [123c]

Socrates
And if a desire to be wise in the wisdom whereby they steer chariots led you to blame your father, and I asked what wisdom this was, what would you name in reply? The charioteer’s art, would you not?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
And is that which you happen to be desiring now a nameless one, or has it a name?

Theages
I should say it has a name.

Socrates
Now do you know it, though not its name, or do you know its name as well?

Theages
I know its name as well.

Socrates
Then what is it? Tell me. [123d]

Theages
What other name, Socrates, can one give it but wisdom?

Socrates
And the driver’s art too is wisdom? Or do you think it is ignorance?

Theages
I do not.

Socrates
You call it wisdom?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
What use do we make of it? Is it not the art whereby we know how to govern a team of horses?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
And the steersman’s art too is wisdom?

Theages
I think so.

Socrates
Is not this the art whereby we know how to govern ships?

Theages
Yes, it is.

Socrates
And the wisdom that you so desire, what is it? [123e] That whereby we know how to govern whom?

Theages
To govern men, I imagine.

Socrates
Sick men, do you mean?

Theages
Oh, no.

Socrates
For that is medicine, is it not?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
Well, that whereby we know how to govern the singers in a chorus?

Theages
No.

Socrates
For that is music?

Theages
To be sure.

Socrates
Well, that whereby we know how to govern men in gymnastic training?

Theages
No.

Socrates
For that is gymnastics?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
Well, to govern people who do what? Endeavor your best to speak, as I did to you at the beginning. [124a]

Theages
To govern the people in the city, I imagine.

Socrates
And are the sick people also in the city?

Theages
Yes, but I mean not these only, but all the rest who are in the city besides.

Socrates
Do I understand what art it is that you mean? For you strike me as meaning, not that whereby we know how to govern reapers and harvesters and planters and sowers and threshers, for it is the farmer’s art whereby we govern these, is it not?

Theages
Yes. [124b]

Socrates
Nor, I suppose, do you mean that whereby we know how to govern sawyers and borers and planers and turners, as a class together; for is not that carpentry?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
But perhaps it is that whereby we govern, not only all these, but farmers themselves also, and carpenters, and all craftsmen and ordinary people, whether men or women: that, perhaps, is the wisdom you mean.

Theages
That, Socrates, is what I have been intending to mean all the time. [124c]

Socrates
Then can you tell me whether Aegisthus, who slew Agamemnon in Argos, governed all these people that you mean craftsmen and ordinary people, both men and women, or some other persons?

Theages
No, just those.

Socrates
Well now, did not Peleus, son of Aeacus, govern these same people in Phthia?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
And have you ever heard of Periander, son of Cypselus, and how he governed at Corinth?

Theages
I have.

Socrates
Did he not govern these same people in his city? [124d]

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
Or again, do you not consider that Archelaus, son of Perdiccas, who governed recently in Macedonia, governed these same people?

Theages
I do.

Socrates
And who do you think were governed by Hippias, son of Peisistratus, who governed in this city? Were they not these people ?

Theages
To be sure they were.

Socrates
Now, can you tell me what appellation is given to Bacis and Sibyl and our native Amphilytus?4

Theages
Why, soothsayers, of course, Socrates. [124e]

Socrates
That is correct. But try to answer me in that way regarding those others — Hippias and Periander: what appellation is given them on account of their government?

Theages
Despots, I suppose; it must be that.

Socrates
And when a man desires to govern the whole of the people in his city, he desires the same government as those did — despotism, and to be a despot?

Theages
Apparently.

Socrates
And it is this that you say you desire?

Theages
It seems so, from what I have said. [125a]

Socrates
You scoundrel! So you were desiring to govern us, all the time that you were blaming your father for not sending you to some seminary of despots! And you, Demodocus, are you not ashamed of having known all the time what he is desiring, and though you could have sent him where you would have made him an expert in the wisdom which he desires, actually grudging it to him and refusing to send him? But now, look here, as he has declared against you in my presence, shall you and I consult together on the question of whose school we shall send him to, and whose classes will help him to become a wise despot? [125b]

Demodocus
Yes, in faith, Socrates, let us certainly consult, as I feel this is a matter on which no slight counsel is needed.

Socrates
By and by, my good sir. Let us first cross-examine him thoroughly.

Demodocus
Examine him then.

Socrates
Well now, what if we called in Euripides to our aid, Theages? For you know Euripides says:”Despots are wise by converse with the wise.
“ Soph. Fr. 14.15 Now, if someone should ask Euripides: Euripides, in what [125c] are these men wise, by whose converse you say that despots are wise? I mean, suppose he had said:”Farmers are wise by converse with the wise,
“and we had asked him, — Wise in what? — what answer would he have given us? Surely none other than, — In farming.

Theages
That, and none other.

Socrates
Or again, if he had said:”Piemen are wise by converse with the wise,
“and we had asked him, Wise in what? — what answer would he have given us? He would have said, — In the pie-making business, — would he not?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
Or again, if he had said”Wrestlers are wise by converse with the wise,
“and we had asked him, Wise in what? — would he not reply, — [125d] In wrestling?

Theages
Yes.

Socrates
But as he said:”Despots are wise by converse with the wise,
“? Soph. Fr. 14.1 and we ask him, — In what do you mean that the latter are wise, Euripides? — what will he reply? What sort of subjects will he mention here?

Theages
Why, upon my word, I for my part do not know.

Socrates
Well, do you mind if I tell you?

Theages
If you do not mind.

Socrates
They are the same subjects that Anacreon said Callicrite understood; or do you not know the ode?6

Theages
I do.

Socrates
Well then, do you desire to partake in some instruction of that sort from any man [125e] who is a fellow-craftsman of Callicrite, daughter of Cyane, and knows all about despotism as she did, according to the poet, in order that you may become a despot over us and our city?

Theages
You are joking all this time, Socrates, and making fun of me.

Socrates
Why, do you not say that you desire that wisdom which will enable you to govern all the citizens? And in doing that, will you be anything else but a despot ?

Theages
I should indeed pray, I imagine, that I might become a despot, [126a] if possible, over all men, and failing that, over as many as might be; so would you, I imagine, and everybody else besides: nay, even more, I daresay, that I might become a god; but I did not say I desired that.

Socrates
Well, what on earth then is it that you do desire? Do you not say you desire to govern the citizens?

Theages
Yes, but not by force, or as despots do, but with their consent, as is done by all the other men of importance in the state.

Socrates
Do you mean, as by Themistocles and Pericles and Cimon, and by all those who have shown themselves able statesmen?

Theages
Yes, in good earnest, I mean those people. [126b]

Socrates
Then what if you chanced to desire to become wise in horsemanship? To whom would you have had to resort before expecting to be a clever horseman? To whom else but the horse-masters?

Theages
To none else, I am sure.

Socrates
And moreover, you would go to the actual men who are clever at the business, and who have horses and constantly use them in great numbers, both their own and other people’s?

Theages
Obviously I should.

Socrates
And what if you wished to become wise in javelin-throwing? Would you not expect to get this wisdom by having resorted to those javelin-masters who have javelins and who constantly use javelins, [126c] both other people’s and their own, in great numbers?

Theages
I think so.

Socrates
Then pray tell me, since it is your wish to become wise in state-matters, do you expect to get your wisdom by resorting to any other persons than those statesmen, who not only have their own ability in state-matters, but have constant dealings with other cities besides their own, by their intercourse alike with Greek cities and with foreign peoples? Or do you think to get wisdom in their business by resorting to any other persons than these particular men? [126d]

Theages
Well, Socrates, I have heard of the argument that you are said to put forward — that the sons of those statesmen are no better men than the sons of shoemakers7; and in my opinion your words are very true, from what I am able to gather. Hence I should be an utter fool if I supposed that any of these men would impart his wisdom to me when he never was of any use to his own son, as he would have been, if he were able to be of use in this matter to anyone at all in the world.

Socrates
Then which way, most excellent sir, would you turn if, when you came to have a son, he should trouble you in the same manner, [126e] and tell you he desired to become a good painter, and should blame you, his father, for refusing to spend money on him for that very purpose, but at the same time should disregard the practitioners of that very thing, the painters, and decline to learn from them? Or the flute-players, when he wished to become a flute-player, or the harp-players? Would you know what to do with him, and where else you should send him if he refused to learn from these?

Theages
Upon my word, I should not. [127a]

Socrates
And do you now, when you are behaving in just the same way to your father, feel surprised and blame him for being at a loss what to do with you and where to send you? Why, we are ready to place you with any well-bred Athenian statesman you may choose, who will train you free of charge8; and so not only will you be at no expense of money, but will gain far greater commendation amongst the mass of men than if you studied with anyone else.

Theages
But then, Socrates, are not you too one of our well-bred gentlemen? Indeed, if you will agree to instruct me, I am content and seek no other. [127b]

Socrates
What do you mean by that, Theages?

Demodocus
Nay, Socrates, there is nothing amiss in what he says, and you will oblige me at the same time; for I should count it the greatest possible stroke of luck if he should welcome your instruction and you also should consent to instruct him. Nay, indeed, I am quite ashamed to say how keenly I wish it; but I entreat you both — you, to consent to teach Theages, and you, to seek the teaching of no one else than Socrates; you will thus relieve me [127c] of a harassing load of anxiety. For just now I am sorely afraid of his falling in with some other person who is likely to corrupt him.

Theages
Have no more fears for me now, father, so long as you are able to persuade him to receive me as his pupil.

Demodocus
Very rightly spoken. Socrates, from now onward we must address ourselves to you; for I am ready, in short, to place both myself and all that I hold dearest of what is mine in your hands — whatever you may require, [127d] absolutely — if you will open your arms to Theages here, and do him any service that you can.

Socrates
Demodocus, your zeal is no wonder to me, if you suppose that I especially could be of use to him; for I know of nothing for which a sensible man could be more zealous than for his own son’s utmost improvement. But how you came to form this opinion, that I would be better able to be of use to your son in his aim of becoming a good citizen than you would yourself, and how he came to suppose that I rather than yourself would be of use to him — this does fill me with wonder. For you, [127e] in the first place, are my elder, and further, you have held in your time many of the highest offices in Athens, and are respected by the people of Anagyrus9 above all your fellow-townsmen, and by the whole state as much as any man, whereas neither of you can notice anything like this about me. And moreover, if Theages here does despise the instruction of our statesmen, and is looking for some other persons who profess to be able to educate young people, we have here Prodicus of Ceos, Gorgias of Leontini, Polus of Acragas, [128a] and many more, who are so wise that they go to our cities and persuade the noblest and wealthiest of our young men — who have the choice of learning from any citizen they choose, free of charge — they persuade them to abandon that instruction and learn from them, with a deposit, besides, of a large sum of money as their fee, and to feel thankful in addition. Some of these persons might naturally have been chosen both by your son and by yourself, in preference to me; [128b] for I have no knowledge of those fair and beatific subjects of study: I only wish that I had. But what I always say, you know, is that I am in the position of knowing practically nothing except one little subject, that of love-matters. In this subject, however, I claim to be skilled above anybody who has ever lived or is now living in the world.

Theages
Do you see, father? Socrates does not seem to me to be at all willing now to spend his time on me; for there is readiness enough on my part, [128c] if he is willing. But he is only jesting in what he has just told us. For I know of some of my equals in age, and some a little older, who were of no account before they learnt from him, but after beginning to learn from him have in a very short time proved themselves superior to all whose inferiors they were before.

Socrates
And do you know what the meaning of it is, son of Demodocus?

Theages
Yes, on my soul, I do — that, if it be your pleasure, I too shall be able to become such as those others are. [128d]

Socrates
No, good sir, the meaning of it escapes you; but I will tell it you. There is something spiritual which, by a divine dispensation, has accompanied me from my childhood up. It is a voice that, when it occurs, always indicates to me a prohibition of something I may be about to do, but never urges me on to anything; and if one of my friends consults me and the voice occurs, the same thing happens: it prohibits, and does not allow him to act. And I will produce witnesses to convince you of these facts. You know our Charmides here, who has grown so handsome, the son of Glaucon: [128e] he once happened to be consulting me on his intention of training for the Nemean races, and he had no sooner begun to say that he intended to train than the voice occurred, and I tried to prevent him, saying— “Just as you were speaking my spirit-voice has occurred: no, you must not train.” “Perhaps,” said he, “it indicates to you that I shall not win; but even if I am not to win, at any rate the exercise I shall get in the meantime will do me good.” So saying, he went and trained; and so you may as well inquire of him [129a] as to the results he got from his training. Or if you like, ask Cleitomachus, brother of Timarchus, what Timarchus said to him when he was going straight to the prison to meet his death, he and Euathlus the racing runner, who had harbored Timarchus as a fugitive; for he will tell you that the words he spoke to him were these:

Theages
What?

Socrates
“Cleitomachus,” he said, “I tell you I am going to my death now, because I would not take Socrates’ advice.” Now, why on earth did Timarchus say that? I will tell you. When Timarchus and Philemon, [129b] son of Philemonides, got up from the wine-party to kill Nicias, son of Heroscamandrus, those two alone had knowledge of the plot; and Timarchus, as he got up, said to me: “What say you, Socrates? Go on drinking, all of you; I have to get up and go somewhere, but I will join you a little later, if I get the chance.” Then occurred that voice of mine, and I said to him: “No, no, do not get up; for my accustomed spiritual sign has occurred to me.” [129c] So he stopped. Then after an interval of time he again started to go, and said: “Well, I am going, Socrates.” Again the voice occurred, and so again I constrained him to stop. The third time, wishing to give me the slip, he got up without saying another word to me; he gave me the slip by watching until my attention was turned elsewhere. Thus it was that he went right off and committed the deed which was the cause of his going then to his death. And hence it was that he spoke those words to his brother which I quoted to you just now, that he was going to his death because he had not taken my advice. [129d] And moreover, in regard to the Sicilian business,10 many will tell you what I said about the destruction of the army. As to bygones, you may hear from those who know: but there is an opportunity now of testing the worth of what the sign says. For as the handsome Sannio was setting out on campaign, the sign occurred to me, and he has gone now with Thrasyllus on an expedition bound for Ephesus and Ionia.11 I accordingly expect him to be either killed or brought very near it, and I have great fears for our force as a whole. [129e]

Now I have told you all this, because this spiritual power that attends me also exerts itself to the full in my intercourse with those who spend their time with me. To many, indeed, it is adverse, and it is not possible for these to get any good by conversing with me, and I am therefore unable to spend my time in conversing with them. And there are many with whom it does not prohibit my intercourse, yet the intercourse does them no good. But those who are assisted in their intercourse by that spiritual power are the persons whom you have noticed; for they make rapid progress there and then. And of these, again, who make progress some find the benefit [130a] both solid and enduring; while there are many who, for as long a time as they are with me, make wonderful progress, but when they are parted from me relapse, and are no different from anybody else. This once befell Aristeides,12 son of Lysimachus, son of Aristeides. For by conversing with me he had made immense progress in a little time; and then he had to go on an expedition, and he went and sailed away. On his return he found that Thucydides, son of Melesias, son of Thucydides, had been conversing with me. Now Thucydides, the day before, had quarrelled with me [130b] over some arguments we had had. So when Aristeides saw me, after greeting me and talking of other affairs, he said: “But Thucydides, I hear, Socrates, is somewhat on his dignity with you, and is annoyed as though he were somebody. “Yes, that is so,” I replied. “Well, but does he not know,” he said, “what a sad slave he was, before he associated with you?” “It seems not,” I replied, “upon my soul.” “But indeed I myself also,” he said, “am in a ridiculous position, [130c] Socrates.” “How exactly?” I asked. “Because,” he replied, “before I sailed away, I was able to discuss things with anybody, and show myself inferior to none in argument, so that I even sought out the debates of the most accomplished people: but now, on the contrary, I shun them, wherever I notice there is anyone of education, so ashamed I am of my own ineptitude.” “Tell me,” I said, “did this power forsake you of a sudden, or little by little?” “Little by little,” he replied. “And when it was present with you,” I asked, [130d] “was it present through your having learnt something from me, or in some other way?” “I will tell you, Socrates,” he said, “what is incredible, upon my soul, yet true. For I never yet learnt anything from you, as you know yourself: but I made progress, whenever I was with you, if I was merely in the same house, without being in the same room, but more progress, when I was in the same room. And it seemed to me to be much more when I was in the same room and looked at you as you were speaking, than when [130e] I turned my eyes elsewhere: but my progress was far the greatest and most marked whenever I sat beside you and held and touched you. Now, however,” he said, “that condition has all oozed away.”

Such then, Theages, is the intercourse you would have with me: if God so wills, you will make very great and rapid progress, but otherwise, you will not. Consider, therefore, if it is not safer for you to be educated by one of those persons who have command themselves of the benefit which they bestow on mankind, rather than follow the course on which you may chance with me. [131a]

Theages
Well then, I decide, Socrates, that our plan shall be to make trial of that spiritual sign by associating with each other. Thus, if it leaves us free, that will be best of all; if it does not, it will be time then for us to consider, at the moment, what we shall do — whether we shall associate with someone else, or try to conciliate the divine sign itself that occurs to you with prayers and sacrifices and anything else that the seers may indicate.

Demodocus
In view of this, Socrates, say no more in opposition to the lad; for Theages is right in what he says.

Socrates
Well, if you consider that this is what we ought to do, let us do it.

MINOS

Translated by W.R.M. Lamb

This spurious dialogue features Socrates and a nameless companion. It begins with Socrates asking his companion, “What is the law for us?” It then proceeds to examine the nature of law before praising Minos, the mythical king of Crete and an ancient enemy of Athens. Socrates defends an extraordinary definition of law as that which “wishes to be the discovery of what is,” as opposed to the companion’s more common-sense understanding that law is the decreed “official opinion” of a city. The culminating praise of Minos seems part of Socrates’ intention to liberate the companion from loyalty to Athens and its opinions.

Minos, the mythical king of Crete

MINOS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates and Companion

Socrates
Tell me, what is law?

Companion
To what kind of law does your question refer?

Socrates
What! Is there any difference between law and law, in this particular point of being law? For just consider what is the actual question I am putting to you. It is as though I had asked, what is gold: if you had asked me in the same manner, to what kind of gold I refer, I think your question would have been incorrect. For I presume there is no difference between gold and gold, [313b] or between stone and stone, in point of being gold or stone; and so neither does law differ at all from law, I suppose, but they are all the same thing. For each of them is law alike, not one more so, and another less. That is the particular point of my question — what is law as a whole? So if you are ready, tell me.

Companion
Well, what else should law be, Socrates, but things loyally accepted?1

Socrates
And so speech, you think, is the things that are spoken, or sight the things seen, or hearing the things heard? Or is speech [313c] something distinct from the things spoken, sight something distinct from the things seen, and hearing something distinct from the things heard; and so law is something distinct from things loyally accepted? Is this so, or what is your view?

Companion
I find it now to be something distinct.

Socrates
Then law is not things loyally accepted.

Companion
I think not.

Socrates
Now what can law be? Let us consider it in this way. Suppose someone had asked us about what was stated just now: [314a] Since you say it is by sight that things seen are seen, what is this sight whereby they are seen? Our answer to him would have been: That sensation which shows objects by means of the eyes. And if he had asked us again: Well then, since it is by hearing that things heard are heard, what is hearing? Our answer to him would have been: That sensation which shows us sounds by means of the ears. In the same way then, suppose he should also ask us: Since it is by law that loyally accepted things are so accepted, what is this law whereby they are so accepted? [314b] Is it some sensation or showing, as when things learnt are learnt by knowledge showing them, or some discovery, as when things discovered are discovered — for instance, the causes of health and sickness by medicine, or the designs of the gods, as the prophets say, by prophecy; for art is surely our discovery of things, is it not?

Companion
Certainly.

Socrates
Then what thing especially of this sort shall we surmise law to be?

Companion
Our resolutions and decrees, I imagine: for how else can one describe law? [314c] So that apparently the whole thing, law, as you put it in your question, is a city’s resolution.

Socrates
State opinion, it seems, is what you call law.

Companion
I do.

Socrates
And perhaps you are right: but I fancy we shall get a better knowledge in this way. You call some men wise?

Companion
I do.

Socrates
And the wise are wise by wisdom?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And again, the just are just by justice?

Companion
Certainly.

Socrates
And so the law-abiding are law-abiding by law? [314d]

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And the lawless are lawless by lawlessness?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And the law-abiding are just?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And the lawless are unjust?

Companion
Unjust.

Socrates
And justice and law are most noble?

Companion
That is so.

Socrates
And injustice and lawlessness most base?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And the former preserve cities and everything else, while the latter destroy and overturn them?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
Hence we must regard law as something noble, and seek after it as a good.

Companion
Undeniably.

Socrates
And we said that law is a city’s resolution? [314e]

Companion
So we did.

Socrates
Well now, are not some resolutions good, and others evil?

Companion
Yes, to be sure.

Socrates
And, you know, law was not evil.

Companion
No, indeed.

Socrates
So it is not right to reply, in that simple fashion, that law is a city’s resolution.

Companion
I agree that it is not.

Socrates
An evil resolution, you see, cannot properly be a law.

Companion
No, to be sure.

Socrates
But still, I am quite clear myself that law is some sort of opinion; and since it is not evil opinion, is it not manifest by this time that it is good opinion, granting that law is opinion?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
But what is good opinion? Is it not true opinion?

Companion
Yes. [315a]

Socrates
And true opinion is discovery of reality?

Companion
Yes, it is.

Socrates
So law tends to be discovery of reality.

Companion
Then how is it, Socrates, if law is discovery of reality, that we do not use always the same laws on the same matters, if we have thus got realities discovered?

Socrates
Law tends none the less to be discovery of reality: but men, who do not use [315b] always the same laws, as we observe, are not always able to discover what the law is intent on — reality. For come now, let us see if from this point onward we can get it clear whether we use always the same laws or different ones at different times, and whether we all use the same, or some of us use some, and others others.

Companion
Why, that, Socrates, is no difficult matter to determine — that the same men do not use always the same laws, and also that different men use different ones. With us, for instance, human sacrifice is not legal, but unholy, [315c] whereas the Carthaginians perform it as a thing they account holy and legal, and that too when some of them sacrifice even their own sons to Cronos, as I daresay you yourself have heard. And not merely is it foreign peoples who use different laws from ours, but our neighbors in Lycaea2 and the descendants of Athamas3 — you know their sacrifices, Greeks though they be. And as to ourselves too, you know, of course, from what you have heard yourself, the kind of laws we formerly used in regard to our dead, when we slaughtered sacred victims before [315d] the funeral procession, and engaged urn-women to collect the bones from the ashes. Then again, a yet earlier generation used to bury the dead where they were, in the house: but we do none of these things. One might give thousands of other instances; for there is ample means of proving that neither we copy ourselves nor mankind each other always in laws and customs.

Socrates
And it is no wonder, my excellent friend, if what you say is correct, and I have overlooked it. But if you continue to express your views after your own fashion in lengthy speeches, [315e] and I speak likewise, we shall never come to any agreement, in my opinion: but if we study the matter jointly, we may perhaps concur. Well now, if you like, hold a joint inquiry with me by asking me questions; or if you prefer, by answering them.

Companion
Why, I am willing, Socrates, to answer anything you like.

Socrates
Come then, do you consider4 just things to be unjust and unjust things just, or just things to be just and unjust things unjust?

Companion
I consider just things to be just, and unjust things unjust. [316a]

Socrates
And are they so considered among all men elsewhere as they are here?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And among the Persians also?

Companion
Among the Persians also.

Socrates
Always, I presume?

Companion
Always.

Socrates
Are things that weigh more considered heavier here, and things that weigh less lighter, or the contrary?

Companion
No, those that weigh more are considered heavier, and those that weigh less lighter.

Socrates
And is it so in Carthage also, and in Lycaea?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
Noble things, it would seem, are everywhere considered noble, [316b] and base things base; not base things noble or noble things base.

Companion
That is so.

Socrates
And thus, as a universal rule, realities, and not unrealities, are accepted as real, both among us and among all other men.

Companion
I agree.

Socrates
Then whoever fails to attain reality, fails to attain accepted law.

Companion
In your present way of putting it, Socrates, the same things appear to be accepted as lawful both by us and by the rest of the world, always: [316c] but when I reflect that we are continually changing our laws in all sorts of ways, I cannot bring myself to assent.

Socrates
Perhaps it is because you do not reflect that when we change our pieces at draughts they are the same pieces. But look at it, as I do, in this way. Have you in your time come across a treatise on healing the sick?

Companion
I have.

Socrates
Then do you know to what art such a treatise belongs?

Companion
I do: medicine.

Socrates
And you give the name of doctors to those who have knowledge of these matters?

Companion
Yes. [316d]

Socrates
Then do those who have knowledge accept the same views on the same things, or do they accept different views?

Companion
The same, in my opinion.

Socrates
Do Greeks only accept the same views as Greeks on what they know, or do foreigners also agree on these matters, both among themselves and with Greeks?

Companion
It is quite inevitable, I should say, that those who know should agree in accepting the same views, whether Greeks or foreigners.

Socrates
Well answered. And do they so always?

Companion
Yes, it is so always.

Socrates
And do doctors on their part, in their treatises on health, [316e] write what they accept as real?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
Then these treatises of the doctors are medical, and medical laws.

Companion
Medical, to be sure.

Socrates
And are agricultural treatises likewise agricultural laws?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And whose are the treatises and accepted rules about garden-work?

Companion
Gardeners’.

Socrates
So these are our gardening laws.

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
Of people who know how to control gardens?

Companion
Certainly.

Socrates
And it is the gardeners who know.

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And whose are the treatises and accepted rules about the confection of tasty dishes?

Companion
Cooks’.

Socrates
Then there are laws of cookery?

Companion
Of cookery.

Socrates
Of people who know, it would seem, how to control the confection of tasty dishes? [317a]

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And it is the cooks, they say, who know?

Companion
Yes, it is they who know.

Socrates
Very well; and now, whose are the treatises and accepted rules about the government of a state? Of the people who know how to control states, are they not?

Companion
I agree.

Socrates
And is it anyone else than statesmen and royal persons5 who know?

Companion
It is they, to be sure.

Socrates
Then what people call “laws” are treatises of state, — [317b] writings of kings and good men.

Companion
That is true.

Socrates
And must it not be that those who know will not write differently at different times on the same matters?

Companion
They will not.

Socrates
Nor will they ever change one set of accepted rules for another in respect of the same matters.

Companion
No, indeed.

Socrates
So if we see some persons anywhere doing this, shall we say that those who do so have knowledge, or have none?

Companion
That they have no knowledge.

Socrates
And again, whatever is right, we shall say is lawful for each person, whether in medicine or in cookery or in gardening?

Companion
Yes. [317c]

Socrates
And whatever is not right we shall decline to call lawful?

Companion
We shall decline.

Socrates
Then it becomes unlawful.

Companion
It must.

Socrates
And again, in writings about what is just and unjust, and generally about the government of a state and the proper way of governing it, that which is right is the king’s law, but not so that which is not right, though it seems to be law to those who do not know; for it is unlawful.

Companion
Yes. [317d]

Socrates
Then we rightly admitted that law is discovery of reality.

Companion
So it appears.

Socrates
Now let us observe this further point about it. Who has knowledge of distributing6 seed over land?

Companion
A farmer.

Socrates
And does he distribute the suitable seed to each sort of land?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
Then the farmer is a good apportioner of it, and his laws and distributions are right in this matter?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And who is a good apportioner of notes struck for a tune, skilled in distributing suitable notes, and who is it whose laws are right here? [317e]

Companion
The flute-player and the harp-player.

Socrates
Then he who is the best lawyer in these matters is the best flute-player.

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And who is most skilled in distributing food to human bodies? Is it not he who assigns suitable food?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
Then his distributions and laws are best, and whoever is the best lawyer in this matter is also the best apportioner.

Companion
Certainly.

Socrates
Who is he?

Companion
A trainer. [318a]

Socrates
He is the best man to pasture7 the human herd of the body?8

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And who is the best man to pasture a flock of sheep? What is his name?

Companion
A shepherd.

Socrates
Then the shepherd’s laws are best for sheep.

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And the herdsman’s for oxen.

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
And whose laws are best for the souls of men? The king’s, are they not? Say if you agree.

Companion
I do. [318b]

Socrates
Then you are quite right. Now can you tell me who, in former times, has proved himself a good lawgiver in regard to the laws of flute-playing? Perhaps you cannot think of him: would you like me to remind you?

Companion
Do by all means.

Socrates
Then is it Marsyas, by tradition, and his beloved Olympus, the Phrygian?

Companion
That is true.

Socrates
And their flute-tunes also are most divine, and alone stir and make manifest those who are in need of the gods;9 and to this day they only remain, as being divine. [318c]

Companion
That is so.

Socrates
And who by tradition has shown himself a good lawgiver among the ancient kings, so that to this day his ordinances remain, as being divine?

Companion
I cannot think.

Socrates
Do you not know which of the Greeks use the most ancient laws?

Companion
Do you mean the Spartans, and Lycurgus the lawgiver?

Socrates
Why, that is a matter, I daresay, of less than three hundred years ago, or but a little more. But whence is it that [318d] the best of those ordinances come? Do you know?

Companion
From Crete, so they say.

Socrates
Then the people there use the most ancient laws in Greece?

Companion
Yes.

Socrates
Then do you know who were their good kings? Minos and Rhadamanthus, the sons of Zeus and Europa; those laws were theirs.

Companion
Rhadamanthus, they do say, Socrates, was a just man; but Minos was a savage sort of person, harsh and unjust.

Socrates
Your tale, my excellent friend, is a fiction of Attic tragedy. [318e]

Companion
What! Is not this the tradition about Minos?

Socrates
Not in Homer and Hesiod; and yet they are more to be believed than all the tragedians together, from whom you heard your tale.

Companion
Well, and what, pray, is their tale about Minos?

Socrates
I will tell you, in order that you may not share the impiety of the multitude: for there cannot conceivably be anything more impious or more to be guarded against than being mistaken in word and deed with regard to the gods, and after them, with regard to divine men; you must take very great precaution, whenever you are about to [319a] blame or praise a man, so as not to speak incorrectly. For this reason you must learn to distinguish honest and dishonest men: for God feels resentment when one blames a man who is like himself, or praises a man who is the opposite; and the former is the good man. For you must not suppose that while stocks and stones and birds and snakes are sacred, men are not; nay, the good man is the most sacred of all these things, and the wicked man is the most defiled.

So if I now proceed to relate how Minos is eulogized by Homer [319b] and Hesiod, my purpose is to prevent you, a man sprung from a man, from making a mistake in regard to a hero who was the son of Zeus.10 For Homer, in telling of Crete that there were in it many men and “ninety cities,” says:”And amongst them is the mighty city of Cnossos, where Minos was king, having colloquy11 with mighty Zeus in the ninth year.
“Hom. Od. 19.179 [319c] Now here in Homer we have a eulogy of Minos, briefly expressed, such as the poet never composed for a single one of the heroes. For that Zeus is a sophist, and that sophistry is a highly honorable art, he makes plain in many other places, and particularly here. For he says that Minos consorted and discoursed with Zeus in the ninth year, and went regularly to be educated by Zeus as though he were a sophist. And the fact that Homer assigned this privilege of having been educated by Zeus to no one among the heroes but Minos makes this a marvellous piece of praise. [319d] And in the Ghost-raising in the Odyssey12 he has described Minos as judging with a golden scepter in his hand, but not Rhadamanthus: Rhadamanthus he has neither described here as judging nor anywhere as consorting with Zeus; wherefore I say that Minos above all persons has been eulogized by Homer. For to have been the son of Zeus, and to have been the only one who was educated by Zeus, is praise unsurpassable.

For the meaning of the verse— “he was king having colloquy with mighty Zeus in the ninth year” —
“Hom. Od. 19.179 [319e] is that Minos was a disciple of Zeus. For colloquies are discourses, and he who has colloquy is a disciple by means of discourse. So every ninth year Minos repaired to the cave of Zeus, to learn some things, and to show his knowledge of others that he had learnt from Zeus in the preceding nine years. Some there are who suppose that he who has colloquy is a cup-companion and fellow-jester of Zeus: but one may take the following as a proof that [320a] they who suppose so are babblers. For of all the many nations of men, both Greek and foreign, the only people who refrain from drinking-bouts and the jesting that occurs where there is wine, are the Cretans, and after them the Spartans, who learnt it from the Cretans. In Crete it is one of their laws which Minos ordained that they are not to drink with each other to intoxication. And yet it is evident that the things he thought honorable were what he ordained as lawful for his people as well. For surely Minos did not, like an inferior person, [320b] think one thing and do another, different from what he thought: no, this intercourse, as I say, was held by means of discussion for education in virtue. Wherefore he ordained for his people these very laws, which have made Crete happy through the length of time, and Sparta happy also, since she began to use them; for they are divine.

Rhadamanthus was a good man indeed, for he had been educated by Minos; he had, however, been educated, [320c] not in the whole of the kingly art, but in one subsidiary to the kingly, enough for presiding in law courts; so that he was spoken of as a good judge. For Minos used him as guardian of the law in the city, and Talos13 as the same for the rest of Crete. For Talos thrice a year made a round of the villages, guarding the laws in them, by holding their laws inscribed on brazen tablets, which gave him his name of “brazen.” And what Hesiod14 also has said [320d] of Minos is akin to this. For after mentioning him by name he remarks— “Who was most kingly of mortal kings, and lorded it over more neighboring folk than any, holding the scepter of Zeus: therewith it was that he ruled the cities as king.
“Hes. Fr. 144And by the scepter of Zeus he means nothing else than the education that he had of Zeus, whereby he directed Crete.

Companion
Then how has it ever come about, Socrates, that this report is spread abroad of Minos, as an uneducated [320e] and harsh-tempered person?

Socrates
Because of something that will make both you, if you are wise, my excellent friend, and everybody else who cares to have a good reputation, beware of ever quarreling with any man of a poetic turn. For poets have great influence over opinion, according as they create it in the minds of men by either commending or vilifying. And this was the mistake that Minos made, in waging war on this city of ours, which besides all its various culture has poets of every kind, and especially those who write tragedy. [321a] Now tragedy is a thing of ancient standing here; it did not begin, as people suppose, from Thespis or from Phrynicus, but if you will reflect, you will find it is a very ancient invention of our city. Tragedy is the most popularly delightful and soul-enthralling branch of poetry: in it, accordingly, we get Minos on the rack of verse,15, and thus avenge ourselves for that tribute which he compelled us to pay16 This, then, was the mistake that Minos made — his quarrel with us — and hence it is that, as you said in your question, he has fallen more and more into evil repute. For that he was a good [321b] and law-abiding person, as we stated in what went before — a good apportioner — is most convincingly shown by the fact the his laws are unshaken, since they were made by one who discovered aright the truth of reality in regard to the management of a state.

Companion
In my opinion, Socrates, your statement is a probable one.

Socrates
Then if what I say is true, do you consider that the Cretan people of Minos and Rhadamanthus use the most ancient laws?

Companion
I do.

Socrates
So these have shown themselves the best lawgivers among men of ancient times — [321c] apportioners and shepherds of men; just as Homer called the good general a “shepherd of the folk.”

Companion
Quite so, indeed.

Socrates
Come then, in good friendship’s name: if someone should ask us what it is that the good lawgiver and apportioner for the body distributes to it when he makes it better, we should say, if we were to make a correct and brief answer, that it was food and labor; the former to strengthen, and the latter to exercise and brace it.

Companion
And we should be right. [321d]

Socrates
And if he then proceeded to ask us — And what might that be which the good lawgiver and apportioner distributes to the soul to make it better? — what would be our answer if we would avoid being ashamed of ourselves and our years?

Companion
This time I am unable to say.

Socrates
But indeed it is shameful for the soul of either of us to be found ignorant of those things within it on which its good and abject states depend, while it has studied those that pertain to the body and rest.

EPINOMIS

Translated by W.R.M. Lamb

Widely considered to be a spurious work, this dialogue is believed by some to have been written as a thirteenth book of the Laws.  Epinomis features the same characters as in Laws, including Clinias of Crete, Megillus of Sparta, and an Athenian stranger.

EPINOMIS.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Cleinias of Crete, Athenian Visitor, Megillus of Sparta

Cleinias
True to our agreement, good sir, we have come all three — you and I and Megillus here — to consider in what terms we ought to describe that part of understanding which we say produces, when it so intends, the most excellent disposition of the human being for wisdom which is possible for man. For we claim that we have described all the other matters [973b] connected with law-giving; but the most important thing for us to discover and state — what it is that mortal man should learn in order to be wise — this we have neither stated nor discovered. Let us, however, now try to make good this defect: else we shall practically leave incomplete the quest on which we all set out, with the purpose of making our subject clear from beginning to end.

Athenian
My dear Cleinias, you are quite right, yet I think you are about to hear a strange statement; and, in a sense, one that is not so strange either. For many on becoming acquainted with life [973c] have the same account to give — that the human race will not be blessed or happy. So follow me now and apprehend if you conceive me, as well as them, to be giving a proper account of this matter. I say it is impossible for men to be blessed and happy, except a few; that is, so long as we are living: I limit it to that. But one may rightly hope to attain after death all the things for whose sake one may strive both in life to live as nobly as one can and in death to find a noble end.2 What I say is [973d] no subtle doctrine, but a thing that all of us, Greeks and foreigners alike, in some way perceive — that from the beginning existence is difficult for every live creature: first, partaking of the state of things conceived, then again, being born, and further, being reared and educated — all these processes involve a vast amount of toil, [974a] we all agree. And our time must be a short one, I do not say in the reckoning of the wretched, but on any supposition of what is tolerable. It does seem to give just a breathing-space about the middle of human life: yet swiftly old age is upon us, and must make any of us loth ever to live our life again, when one reckons over the life one has lived — unless one happens to be a bundle of childish notions. And what, pray, is my evidence for this? It is that such is the nature of the matter now under inquiry [974b] in our discussion. We are inquiring, you know, in what way we shall become wise, presuming that each of us has this power in some sort or other: but it evades and escapes us as soon as we attempt any knowledge of reputed arts or knowledges or any of the ordinary sciences, as we suppose them to be; for none of them is worthy to be called by the title of the wisdom that pertains to these human affairs. Yet the soul firmly believes and divines that in some fashion she has it, [974c] but what it is that she has, or when, or how, she is quite unable to discover. Is not this a fair picture of our puzzle about wisdom and the inquiry that we have to make — a greater one than any of us could expect who are found able to examine ourselves and others intelligently and consistently by every kind and manner of argument? Is the case not so, or shall we agree that so it is?

Cleinias
We shall probably agree with you on that, my good sir, [974d] in the hope which in time you will surely give us of forming hereafter the truest opinion on these matters.

Athenian
Then first we must go through the other sciences, which are reputed as such, but do not render him wise who acquires and possesses them; in order that, having put them out of the way, we may try to bring forward those that we require, and having brought them forward, to learn them.

First, therefore, let us observe that while the sciences which are first needs of the human race [974e] are about the most necessary and truly the first, yet he who acquires a knowledge of them, though in the beginning he may have been regarded as wise in some sort, is now not reputed wise at all, but rather incurs reproach [975a] by the knowledge he has got. Now we must mention what they are, and that almost everyone who makes it his aim to be thought likely to prove himself in the end as good a man as possible avoids them, in order to gain the acquirements of understanding and study. So first let us take the practice among animate beings of eating each other, which, as the story goes, has made us refrain entirely from some, while it has settled us in the lawful eating of others.3 May the men of old time be gracious to us, as they are: for we must take our leave of whatever men were the first of those we were just mentioning4; but at any rate [975b] the making of barley-meal and flour, with the sustenance thereof, is noble and good indeed, yet it is never like to produce a perfectly wise man. For this very name of making must produce5 an irksomeness in the actual things that are made. Nor can it well be husbandry of land in general: for it is not by art but by a natural gift from Heaven, it seems, that we all have the earth put into our hands. Nor again is it the fabrication of dwellings and building in general, nor the production of all sorts of appliances — smiths’ work, [975c] and the supply of carpenters’, moulders’, plaiters’, and, in fine, all kinds of implements; for this is of advantage to the public, but is not accounted for virtue. Nor again the whole practice of hunting, which although grown extensive and a matter of skilled art, gives no return of magnificence with its wisdom. Nor surely can it be divination or interpretation6 as a whole; for these only know what is said, but have not learnt whether it be true.

And now that we see that the acquisition of necessaries [975d] is achieved by means of art, but that no such art makes any man wise, there may be some diversion remaining after this — imitative for the most part, but in no way serious. For they imitate with many instruments, and with many imitative acts, not altogether seemly, of their very bodies, in performances both of speech and of every Muse, and in those whereof painting is mother, and whereby many and most various designs are elaborated in many sorts, moist and dry; and though a man ply his craft in these with the greatest zeal, in nothing is he rendered wise by imitation. [975e] And when all these have been performed, there may yet remain assistance, in countless forms and countless cases: the greatest and most useful is called warfare, the art of generalship; most glorified in time of need, requiring most good fortune, and assigned rather to a natural valor than to wisdom. [976a] And that which they call medicine is likewise, of course, an assistance in almost every case towards things of which animal nature is deprived by seasons of untimely cold and heat and all such visitations. But none of these is of high repute for the truest wisdom: for they are borne along by opinion, as inaccurate matter of conjecture. We may, I suppose, speak of pilots and sailors alike as giving assistance: yet you shall not report, to appease us, a single wise man from amongst them all; for a man cannot know [976b] the wrath or amity of the wind, a desirable thing for all piloting. Nor again all those who say they can give assistance in law suits by their powers of speech, men who by memory and exercise of opinion pay attention to human character, but are far astray from the truth of what is really just.

There still remains, as a claimant to the name of wisdom, a certain strange power, which most people would call a natural gift rather than wisdom, appearing when one perceives someone learning this or that lesson with ease, or remembering a great many things [976c] securely; or when one recalls what is suitable to each person, what should properly be done, and does it quickly. Some people will describe all this as nature, others as wisdom, and others as a natural readiness of mind: but no sensible person will ever call a man really wise for any of these gifts.

But surely there must be found some science, the possession of which will cause the wisdom of him who is really wise and not wise merely in men’s opinion. Well, let us see: for in this laborious discussion we are trying our hardest to find some other science, [976d] apart from those we have mentioned, which can really and reasonably be termed wisdom; such an acquirement as will not make one a mean and witless drudge, but will enable one to be a wise and good citizen, at once a just ruler and subject of his city, and decorous.7 So let us examine this one first, and see what single science it is of those that we now have which, by removing itself or being absent from human nature, must render mankind the most thoughtless and senseless of creatures. [976e] Well, there is no great difficulty in making that out. For if there is one more than another, so to speak, which will do this, it is the science which gave number to the whole race of mortals; and I believe God rather than some chance gave it to us, and so preserves us. And I must explain who it is that I believe to be God, though he be a strange one, and somehow not strange either: for why should we not believe [977a] the cause of all the good things that are ours to have been the cause also of what is far the greatest, understanding? And who is it that I magnify with the name of God, Megillus and Cleinias? Merely Heaven, which it is most our duty to honor and pray to especially, as do all other spirits and gods. That it has been the cause of all the other good things we have, we shall all admit; that it likewise gave us number we do really say, and that it will give us this hereafter, if we will but follow its lead. [977b] For if one enters on the right theory about it, whether one be pleased to call it World-order or Olympus or Heaven — let one call it this or that, but follow where, in bespangling itself and turning the stars that it contains, it produces all their courses and the seasons and food for all. And thence, accordingly, we have understanding in general, we may say, and therewith all number, and all other good things: but the greatest of these is when, after receiving its gift of numbers, one has covered the whole circuit.8

Moreover, let us turn back some little way in our discussion [977c] and recall how entirely right we were in conceiving that if we should deprive human nature of number we should never attain to any understanding. For then the soul of that creature which could not tell9 things would never any more be able, one may say, to attain virtue in general; and the creature that did not know two and three, or odd or even, and was completely ignorant of number, could never clearly tell of things about which it had only acquired sensations and memories. From the attainment of ordinary virtue — [977d] courage and temperance — it is certainly not debarred: but if a man is deprived of true telling he can never become wise, and he who has not the acquirement of wisdom — the greatest part of virtue as a whole — can no more achieve the perfect goodness which may make him happy. Thus it is absolutely necessary to postulate number; and why this is necessary can be shown by a still fuller argument than any that has been advanced. But here is one that will be particularly correct — that of the properties of the other arts, which we recounted just now in granting the existence of all the arts, [977e] not a single one can remain, but all of them are utterly defective, when once you remove numeration.

And one may judge, perhaps, for brevity’s sake how the human race needs number, by glancing at the arts — and yet that too is a great matter — but if you note the divinity of birth, and its mortality, in which awe of the divine must be acknowledged, and real number,10 [978a] it is not anybody who can tell how great is the power which we owe to the accompaniment of number as a whole — for it is clear that everything in music needs a distinct numeration of movement and notes — and above all, how it is the cause of all good things; and that it is the cause of no evil thing is a point that must be well understood, as it may be quickly enough. Nay, the motion that we may call unreasoned and unordered, lacking shape and rhythm and harmony, and everything that has a share of some evil, [978b] is deficient in number altogether; and in this light must the matter be regarded by him who means to end his life in happiness. And no one who does not know the just, the good, the honorable and all the rest of such qualities, with a hold on true opinion, will number them off so as fully to persuade both himself and his neighbor.

Now let us go on to inquire into the actual question of how we learnt to count in numbers. Tell me, whence have we got the conception of one and two, a natural gift that [978c] we have from the All to enable us to conceive of their existence? Then again, many other living creatures are not endowed by nature even to the actual point of being able to learn from their father to count; whereas in us, in the first place, God implanted this very conception, so that we might be equal to comprehending it when shown to us, and in the second place, he showed it and shows it. Among such things, what one more singularly beautiful can a man behold than the world of day? Then he comes to the province of night, and views it; and there quite another sight [978d] lies before him. And so the heaven, revolving these very objects for many nights and many days, never ceases to teach men one and two, until even the most unintelligent have learnt sufficiently to number; for that there are also three and four and many, each of us must further conceive on seeing those objects. And God made one thing that he wrought from them, the moon, which shows herself at one time larger, at another smaller, and runs her course, [978e] showing ever a new shape,11 until fifteen days and nights are passed: this is her circuit, if one chooses to sum her orbit, as one and entire, in one12; so that, we may say, even the least intelligent creature must learn it, among those on whom God has bestowed the natural gift of being able to learn. Within certain limits, and in certain cases, every creature so enabled has been made fully apt for numeration, — [979a] when it considers any unit in itself. But as to reckoning number generally in the relations of things to each other, I think that God, if not for a greater reason, to this end interposed, as we mentioned, the waxing and waning of the moon, and arranged the months to make up the year, and all things began to comprehend number in relation to number by a happy fortune. Hence it is that we have fruits and the teeming of the earth, so that there may be food for all creatures, with no inordinate or immoderate occurrences of winds and rains: [979b] but if in spite of this something does occur in an evil way, we ought not to charge it upon the divine but upon the human nature, for not disposing our own lives aright.

Now in our inquiry about laws, you know we decided that all other things that are best for men are easy to discover, and that everyone may become competent both to understand and to perform what he is told, if he discovers what is that which is likely to profit him, and what is not profitable: well, we decided, and we are still of the same mind, that all other studies [979c] are not very difficult, but that this of learning in what way we should become good men is one of the utmost difficulty. Everything else, again, that is good, as they say, is both possible and not difficult to acquire, and the amount of property that is wanted or not wanted, and the kind of body that is wanted or not: everyone agrees that a good soul is wanted, and agrees, moreover, as to the manner of its goodness, that for this again it must be just and temperate and brave; but whereas everyone says it must be wise, no one any longer agrees at all with anyone else, in most cases — we have just now [979d] explained — as to what its wisdom should be. So now we are discovering, besides all those former kinds, a wisdom of no mean worth for this very purpose of showing how he is wise who has learnt the things that we have explained. And if he is wise who has knowledge of these things and is good at them, we must now take account of him.

Cleinias
Good sir, how properly you said that you are undertaking to express great thoughts on great subjects! [979e]

Athenian
Yes, for they are not small, Cleinias: but what is more difficult is to show that they are entirely and in every sense true.

Cleinias
Very much so, good sir: but still, do not weary of the task of stating your views.

Athenian
I will not, and therefore you two must not weary either of listening to me.

Cleinias
Agreed: I give you my word for us both. [980a]

Athenian
Thank you. To begin with, then, we must necessarily state first, it would seem best of all, in a single word, if we are able so to put it — what is that which we suppose to be wisdom; but if we are utterly unable to do this, we must say in the second place what and how many kinds of it there are that a man must have acquired, if he is to be wise according to our story.

Cleinias
Pray speak on.

Athenian
And as to the next step, it will be no offence in the lawgiver that he speaks finer things than have been previously said about the gods, and uses higher terms of portrayal, making as it were a noble sport [980b] and honoring the gods, with high tribute of his hymns and affluence throughout the period of his own life.

Cleinias
Well spoken, indeed, good sir. Yes, may you have this consummation of your laws, after making fine sport in praising the gods and having passed a purer life, to find thereby the best and fairest end!

Athenian
Then how, Cleinias, do we state it? Do we honor the gods, think you, to the utmost with our hymns, praying that we may be moved to speak the fairest and best things about them? Do you state it so, or how? [980c]

Cleinias
Nay, absolutely so. Now, my excellent friend, pray to the gods with confidence, and utter the fine specimen of a speech that you are moved to make about the gods and goddesses.

Athenian
It shall be done, if the god himself will be our guide. Do but join in my prayer.

Cleinias
Speak what follows next.

Athenian
It is necessary, then, it seems, that I should first portray in better terms, according to our previous statement, the generation of gods and of living creatures, which has been ill portrayed by those before us; I must resume the statement which I have attempted [980d] in speaking against the impious,13 declaring that there are gods who have a care for all things, small and greater, and who are well-nigh inexorable in what relates to the justice of things: that is, if you remember, Cleinias; for you did take memoranda14 besides, and indeed what then was spoken was very true. And the most important part of it was that every soul was senior to each body15: do you remember? Or in any case, surely, this must be so? For that which is better and more ancient and more godlike is credibly so [980e] in comparison with the young, the junior, and the less emancipated; and altogether, a thing governing is senior to a thing governed, and the driver every way senior to the driven. So much, then, let us conclude — that soul is senior to body; and if this is the case, [981a] what came first in that which first was born will more credibly seem almost to have been original. So let us take it that the beginning of the beginning is more august in state, and that we are most correctly entering upon wisdom in the greatest matters relating to the generation of the gods.

Cleinias
Let this be so, as far as we can state it.

Athenian
Come then, shall we say that a living creature is most truly described by its nature, as a case of one combination of soul and body so uniting as to beget one shape?

Cleinias
Correct. [981b]

Athenian
And such a thing is most justly called a living creature?

Cleinias
Yes.

Athenian
On the most likely account there are to be reckoned five solid bodies,16 from which one might fashion things fairest and best; but all the rest of creation has a single shape,17 for there is nothing that could come to be without a body and never possessing any color at all, except only that really most divine creature, the soul. And this alone, one may say, has the business of fashioning and manufacturing, [981c] whereas the body, as we call it, has that of being fashioned and produced and seen. But the other — let us repeat it, for not once only be it said — has to be invisible even to the inquiring, and merely thought, if he has got a share of memory and reckoning by both odd and even variations.18 The bodies, then, being five, we must name them as fire, water, and thirdly air, earth fourth, and ether fifth; and by predominance of these are each of the many varieties of creatures perfected. We should learn this by single instances in the following way. [981d] Let us take as earthy our first single element — all men, all things that have many feet or none, and those that move along and that stay still, held in place by roots; but we must conceive its unity thus, though all these things are the outcome of all kinds, yet for the most part it is of earth and of solid nature. And another kind of creature we must regard as second in birth as well as one that can be seen: for its greatest part is of fire, though it has some earth and [981e] air, and has slight portions of all the others also, wherefore we must say that all sorts of creatures are born of them, and things seen, and here again we must conceive the heavenly kinds of creatures, which altogether, we must agree, have been born as the divine race of stars, endowed with the fairest body as also with the happiest and best soul.19 One or other of two lots we may very well, in our judgement, assign to them: for each of them is either imperishable [982a] and immortal, and by all necessity wholly divine, or has a certain longevity sufficient for the life of each, such that nothing could ever require a longer one.

Let us therefore first observe that, as we state it, such creatures are of two sorts — for let us state it again — both visible, the one of fire, as would appear, entirely, and the other of earth; and the earthy is in disorder, whereas that of fire has its motion in perfect order. Now that which has motion in disorder we should regard as unintelligent, acting [982b] like the animal creatures about us for the most part; but that which has an orderly and heavenly progress must be taken as strongly evincing its intelligence. For in passing on and acting and being acted upon always in the same respects and manner it must provide sufficient evidence of its intelligent life. The necessity20 of a soul that has acquired mind will prove itself by far the greatest of all necessities; for it makes laws as ruler, not as ruled: but this inalterable thing, when [982c] the soul has taken the best counsel in accord with the best mind, comes out as the perfect thing in truth and in accord with mind, and not even adamant could ever prove stronger than it or more inalterable; but in fact the three Fates have it in hold, and keep watch that what has been decided by each of the gods with the best counsel shall be perfect. And men ought to have found proof of the stars and the whole of that travelling system being possessed of mind in the fact that they always do the same things because they do what has been decided long ago for an incalculable time, [982d] not deciding differently this way and that, and doing sometimes one thing, sometimes another, in wanderings and changes of circuit. Most of us have thought just the opposite — that because they do the same things in the same way they have no soul: the multitude followed the lead of the unintelligent so far as to suppose that, whereas humanity was intelligent and living because it moved about, divinity was unintelligent because it abode in the same courses. But if man had sided with the fairer and better and [982e] friendly part, he might have concluded that he ought to regard as intelligent — and for this very reason — that which acts always in the same respects, in the same way, and for the same reasons; and that this is the nature of the stars, fairest to see, and passing along, dancing21 the fairest and most magnificent of all dances in the world, they make good the needs of all living creatures. And now, to see how justly we speak of their living spirit, [983a] let us first consider their great size. For they are not actually those small things that they appear to be, but each of them is immense in its bulk; we should do well to believe this, because there are ample proofs of such a conclusion. For we can rightly consider the whole of the sun as larger than the whole of the earth, and all the travelling stars are of amazing size. Let us conclude then whether it can possibly be that any natural force revolves this great mass that is now being revolved, continually and at the same time. [983b] God, then, I say, will be the cause, and never in any other way is it possible. For never can a thing get living spirit by any other means than by the act of God, as we have explained; and when God is able to do this, he has found it a perfectly easy matter, firstly that all body and all mass should be made a living creature, and secondly to move it in the course he considers best. So now I trust we may make one true statement about all these things: it cannot be that earth and heaven and all the [983c] stars and all the masses they comprise, without soul attached to each or resident in each, should pass along as they do, so exactly to every year and month and day, and that all the things that happen should happen for the good of us all.

And according as man is a meaner creature, he should show himself, not a babbler, but a speaker of clear sense. If, then, anyone shall speak of onrushes or natural forces or the like as in a sort the causes of bodies, he will say nothing clear: but we must firmly recall what we have said, and see whether [983d] our statement is reasonable or is utterly at fault — namely, in the first place, that existence is of two kinds, the one soul, and the other body, and that many things are in either, though all are different from each other and those of the one kind from those of the other,22 and that there is no other third thing common to any of them; but soul differs from body. Intelligent, of course, we shall hold it to be, and the other unintelligent; the one governs, the other is governed; and the one is cause of all things, while the other is incapable of causing any of its experiences: so that to assert that the heavenly bodies [983e] have come into existence through anything else, and are not the offspring, as we have said, of soul and body, is great folly and unreason. However, if our statements on all such existences are to prevail, and the whole order of them is to be convincingly shown to be divine by their origin, we must certainly class them as one or the other of two things: either we must in all correctness glorify them as actual gods, [984a] or suppose them to be images produced as likenesses of the gods, creations of the gods themselves. For they are the work of no mindless or inconsiderable beings but, as we have said, we must class them as one or other of these things; and, if classed as the latter, we must honor them far above all images: for never will fairer or more generally-known images be found among all mankind, none established in more various places, more pre-eminent in purity, majesty, and [984b] life altogether, than in the way in which their existence is altogether fashioned. Well then, for the present let us attempt so much in treating of the gods, as to try — after observing the two living creatures visible to us, of which we call one immortal, and the other, all earthy, a mortal creation — to tell of the three middle things of the five,23 which come most evidently, according to the probable opinion, between those two. For let us consider ether as coming next after fire, and let us hold that soul fashions from it live creatures with their faculties, as it does creatures from the other kinds of element, [984c] each being for the most part of that one nature, but in its lesser parts derived from the other elements for the sake of connection. After ether, there is fashioned by soul another kind of creature from air, and the third kind from water; and by having produced all these it is likely that soul filled the whole heaven with creatures, having made use of all the elements so far as it could, and all the creatures having been made participators in life; but the second, third, fourth, and fifth kinds, which took their first origin from what are manifest gods, [984d] end finally in us men.24

Now the gods — Zeus and Hera and all the rest — each man must regard in what light he pleases, though according to the same law,25 and must take this account as reliable. But as our visible gods, greatest and most honorable and having keenest vision every way, we must count first the order of the stars and all else that we perceive existing with them; and after these, and [984e] next below these, the divine spirits,26 and air-born race, holding the third and middle situation, cause of interpretation, which we must surely honor with prayers for the sake of an auspicious journey across.27 We must say of either of these two creatures — that which is of ether and, next to it, of air — that it is not entirely plain to sight: when it is near by, it is not made manifest to us; [985a] but partaking of extraordinary intelligence, as belonging to an order which is quick to learn and strong in memory, we may say that they understand the whole of our thoughts, and show extraordinary kindness to anyone of us who is a good man and true, and hate him who is utterly evil, as one who already partakes of suffering. For we know that God, who has the privilege of the divine portion, is remote from these affections of pain and pleasure, but has a share of intelligence and knowledge in every sphere; and the heaven being filled full of live creatures, [985b] they interpret all men and all things both to one another and to the most exalted gods, because the middle creatures move both to earth and to the whole of heaven with a lightly rushing motion. The kind which is of water,28 the fifth, we shall be right in representing as a semi-divine product of that element, and it is at one time seen, but at another is concealed through becoming obscure, presenting a marvel in the dimness of vision. So these [985c] five being really existent creatures, wherever any of us came upon them, either happening upon them in the dream-world of sleep, or by something spoken to persons listening in health, or equally in sickness, through ominous utterances and prophecies, or again when they have arrived at the end of life opinions that occur to us both in private and in public, whence many sanctities of many beings have arisen, and others shall arise — in regard to all these the lawgiver who possesses even the slightest degree of mind will never dare by innovations to turn his city to a divine worship which is [985d] lacking in certainty. Nor indeed will he put a stop to sacrifices on which the ancestral custom has pronounced, when he knows nothing at all of the matter, just as it is not possible for mortal nature to know about such things. And of the gods who are really manifest to us29 the same statement must surely hold — that those men are most evil who have not courage to tell and make manifest to us that these are likewise gods, but without any frenzied rites, or any tribute of the honors that are their due. But as things are, we have a strange conjunction [985e] of proceedings: for it is as though one of us should see the sun or moon being born and all of us looking on, and should utter no word through some impotence of speech, and should not also at the same time be zealous, so far as in him lay, when they lacked their share of honor, to bring them in all evidence to an honored place, and cause festivals and sacrifices to be offered to them, and apportion to each a reserved space of time for the greater or lesser length of its year,30 as may happen: [986a] would it not be agreed both by himself and by another who observed it that he would justly be described as an evil man?

Cleinias
To be sure he would, my good sir; nay, most evil.

Athenian
Well then, this, my dear Cleinias, is what, you may take it, has evidently happened to me now.

Cleinias
How do you mean?

Athenian
You know that there are eight powers of those contained in the whole heaven which are cognate to each other: these I have observed, and it is no great achievement; for it is easy enough [986b] for anybody. Three of them are that of the sun, for one, that of the moon for another, and a third that of the stars which we mentioned a little while ago; and there are five others besides.31 Now in regard to all these and those beings who either have their own motion in these, or are borne in vehicles so as to make their progress thus, let none of us all ever idly suppose that some of them are gods, while others are not, or that some are genuine, while others are of a certain kind which it is not permissible to any of us even to express; but let us all declare and say that they are all cognate [986c] and have cognate lots, and let us render them due honor, not by giving to one a year, to another a month; but to none of them let us appoint either a certain lot or a certain time in which it travels through its particular orbit, completing the system which the divinest reason of all32 appointed to be visible. This first the man who is blest admires, and then he feels a passion for understanding so much as is possible for mortal nature, believing that thus he will best and most happily pass through life, [986d] and at the end of his days will arrive at regions meet for virtue; and having been truly and really initiated, and won his individual intelligence, and become for the rest of time a spectator of what is fairest, so far as sight can go, in this state he continues. And now after this it remains for us to say how many and who these beings are: [986e] for we shall never be found to have spoken falsely. Thus far, at least, I asseverate with certainty: I say, once more, that there are eight of them, and that while three33 of the eight have been told, five yet remain. The fourth34 in motion and transit together, and the fifth,35 are almost equal to the sun in speed, and on the whole are neither slower nor swifter. These being three, must be so regarded by him who has sufficient mind. So let us speak of them as powers of the sun and of Lucifer, and of a third,36 such that we cannot express it in a name because it is not known; and he is to blame for this who first beheld these things, since he was a foreigner: for it was an ancient custom that nurtured those who first [987a] remarked these things owing to the fairness of the summer season which Egypt and Syria amply possess, so that they constantly beheld the whole mass, one may say, of stars revealed to their sight, since they had got then, continually without obstruction of clouds and rains in the sky; whence they have emerged in every direction and in ours likewise, after having been examined for thousands of years, nay, for an infinite time. And therefore we should not hesitate to include them in the scope of our laws; for to have divine things lacking honor, while other things are honored, [987b] is clearly a sign of witlessness; and as to their having got no names, the cause of it should be stated as we have done. For indeed they have received titles of gods: thus, that Lucifer, or Hesperus（which is the same）, should almost belong to Aphrodite,37 is reasonable, and quite befitting a Syrian lawgiver38; and that that which follows the same course as the sun and this39 together should almost belong to Hermes.40 Let us also note three motions of bodies41 travelling to the right with the moon and the sun. One must be mentioned, the eighth,42 which we may especially address as the world-order, and which travels in opposition to the whole company of the others, not impelling them, as might appear to mankind in the scant knowledge that they have of these matters. But we are bound to state, [987c] and do state, so much as adequate knowledge tells us. For real wisdom shows herself in some such way as this to him who has got even a little share of right and divine meditation. And now there remain three stars, of which one is distinguished from the others by its slowness, and some speak of it under the title of Saturn; the next after it in slowness is to be cited as Jupiter; and the next after this, as Mars, which has the ruddiest hue of all. Nothing in all this is hard to understand [987d] when someone expresses it; but it is through learning, as we declare, that one must believe it.

But there is one point which every Greek should bear in mind — that of all Greeks we have a situation which is about the most favorable to human excellence.43 The praiseworthy thing in it that we have to mention is that it may be taken as midway between a wintry and a summery climate; and our climate, being inferior in its summer to that in the region over there,44 as we said, has been so much later in imparting the cognizance of these cosmic deities. And let us note that [987e] whatever Greeks acquire from foreigners is finally turned by them into something nobler; and moreover the same thing must be borne in mind regarding our present statements — that although it is hard to discover everything of this kind beyond dispute, there is hope, [988a] both strong and noble, that a really nobler and juster respect than is in the combined repute and worship which came from foreigners will be paid to all these gods by the Greeks, who have the benefit of their various education, their prophecies from Delphi, and the whole system of worship under their laws. And let none of the Greeks ever be apprehensive that being mortals we should never have dealings with divine affairs45; they should rather be of the quite opposite opinion, that the divine is never either unintelligent or in any ignorance of [988b] human nature, but knows that if it teaches us we shall follow its guidance and learn what is taught us. That it so teaches us, and that we learn number and numeration, it knows of course: for it would be most utterly unintelligent if it were ignorant of this; since it would truly, as the saying is, be ignorant of itself, vexed with that which was able to learn, instead of whole-heartedly rejoicing with one who became good by God’s help. And indeed there is much good reason to suppose that formerly, [988c] when men had their first conceptions of how the gods came to exist and with what qualities, and whence, and to what kind of actions they proceeded, they were spoken of in a manner not approved or welcomed by the wise, nor were even the views of those who came later, among whom the greatest dignity was given to fire and water and the other elements, while the wonderful soul was accounted inferior; and higher and more honored with them was a motion assigned to the body for moving itself by heat and chills and everything of that kind, [988d] instead of that which the soul had for moving both the body and itself.46 But now that we account it no marvel that the soul, once it is in the body, should stir and move about this and itself, neither does our soul on any reckoning mistrust her power of moving about any weight. And therefore, since we now claim that, as the soul is cause of the whole, and all good things are causes of like things, while on the other hand evil things are causes of other things like them, it is no marvel [988e] that soul should be cause of all motion and stirring — that the motion and stirring towards the good are the function of the best soul, and those to the opposite are the opposite47 — it must be that good things have conquered and conquer things that are not their like.

All this we have stated in accordance with justice, which wreaks vengeance on the impious: but now, as regards the matter under examination, it is not possible for us to disbelieve that we must deem the good man [989a] to be wise; and let us see if we may perhaps be able, either by education or by art, to perceive this wisdom which we have all this while been seeking; for if we fall behind the just in failing to know it, our condition will be that of ignorant persons. Such, then, seems our case to me, and I must say so: for I have sought this wisdom high and low, and so far as it has been revealed to me I will try to render it plain to you. Now the fact that the greatest part of virtue is not properly practiced is the cause of our condition, as is just now indicated — it seems clear to me — by what has been said. [989b] For let no one ever persuade us that there is a greater part of virtue, for the race of mortals, than piety; and I must say it is owing to the greatest stupidity that this has not appeared in the best natures. And the best are they which can only become so with the greatest difficulty, and the benefit is greatest if they do become so: for a soul that admits of slowness and the opposite inclination moderately and gently will be good-tempered48; and if it admires courage, and is easily persuaded to temperance, and, most important of all, is enabled [989c] by these natural gifts to learn and has a good memory, it will be able to rejoice most fully in these very things, so as to be a lover of learning. For these things are not easily engendered, but when once they are begotten, and receive due nourishment and education, they will be able to restrain the greater number of men, even the worse among us, in the most correct way by our every thought, every action, and every word about the gods, in due manner and due season, as regards both sacrifices and purifications in matters concerning gods and men alike, so that we are contriving no life of pretence, [989d] but truly honoring virtue, which indeed is the most important of all business for the whole state. That section49 of us, then, we say is naturally the most competent, and supremely able to learn the best and noblest lessons that it may be taught: but it cannot get this teaching either, unless God gives his guidance. If, however, it should be so taught, but should fail in some way to do accordingly, it were better for it not to learn. Nevertheless it follows of necessity from our present statements, that I agree that the nature which is of this kind, and the best, should learn certain things. [989e] Let us try, then, to set forth in our statement what things these are, and of what kind, and how one should learn — so far as our ability permits both me the speaker and those who are able to hearken — [990a] in what manner one will learn the proper reverence of the gods. It is, indeed, a rather strange thing to hear; but the name that we, at any rate, give it — one that people would never approve, from inexperience in the matter — is astronomy; people are ignorant that he who is truly an astronomer must be wisest, not he who is an astronomer in the sense understood by Hesiod and all the rest of such writers, the sort of man who has studied settings and risings; but the man who has studied the seven50 out of the eight orbits, each travelling over its own circuit in such a manner as [990b] could not ever be easily observed by any ordinary nature, that did not partake of a marvellous nature. As to this, we have now told, and shall tell, as we profess, by what means and in what manner it ought to be learnt; and first let us make the following statement.

The moon travels through its orbit very swiftly, bringing first the month and full-moon; and in the second place we must remark the sun, with his turning motion through the whole of his orbit, and with him his satellites. But to avoid repeating again and again the same things on the same subjects [990c] in our discussion, the other courses of these bodies that we have previously described are not easily understood: we must rather prepare our faculties, such as they may possibly be, for these matters; and so one must teach the pupil many things beforehand, and continually strive hard to habituate him in childhood and youth. And therefore there will be need of studies: the most important and first is of numbers in themselves; not of those which are corporeal, but of the whole origin of the odd and the even, and the greatness of their influence on the nature of reality. [990d] When he has learnt these things, there comes next after these what they call by the very ridiculous name of geometry,51 when it proves to be a manifest likening52 of numbers not like one another by nature in respect of the province of planes; and this will be clearly seen by him who is able to understand it to be a marvel not of human, but of divine origin. And then, after that, the numbers thrice increased and like to the solid nature, and those again which have been made unlike, he likens by another art, namely, that which [990e] its adepts called stereometry; and a divine and marvellous thing it is to those who envisage it and reflect, how the whole of nature is impressed with species and class according to each analogy, as power and its opposite53 continually turn [991a] upon the double. Thus the first analogy is of the double in point of number, passing from one to two in order of counting, and that which is according to power is double; that which passes to the solid and tangible is likewise again double, having proceeded from one to eight; but that of the double has a mean, as much more than the less as it is less than the greater, while its other mean54 exceeds and is exceeded by the same portion of the extremes themselves. Between six and [991b] twelve comes the whole-and-a-half（9=6+3）and whole-and-a-third（8=6+2）: turning between these very two, to one side or the other, this power（9）assigned to men an accordant and proportioned use for the purpose of rhythm and harmony in their pastimes, and has been assigned to the blessed dance of the Muses.55

In this way then let all these things come to pass, and so let them be. But as to their crowning point, we must go to divine generation and therewith the fairest and divinest nature of visible things, so far as God granted the vision of it to men; a vision that none of us may ever boast of having received at his leisure [991c] without the conditions here laid down. And besides these requirements, one must refer the particular thing to its generic form in our various discussions, questioning and disproving what has been wrongly stated; for it56 is rightly found to be altogether the finest and first of tests for the use of men, while any that pretend to be tests, without being so, are the vainest of all labors. And further, we must mark the exactness of time, how exactly it completes all the processes of the heavens, in order that he who is convinced of [991d] the truth of the statement which has been made — that the soul is at once older and more divine than the body — might believe it a most admirable and satisfactory saying that all things are full of gods, and that we have never been disregarded in the least through any forgetfulness or neglect in our superiors. And our view about all such matters must be that, if one conceives of each of them aright, it turns out a great boon to him who receives it in a proper way; but failing this, he had better always call it God. The way is this — [991e] for it is necessary to explain it thus far: every diagram, and system of number, and every combination of harmony, and the agreement of the revolution of the stars must be made manifest as one through all57 to him who learns in the proper way, and will be made manifest if, as we say, a man learns aright by keeping his gaze on unity; [992a] for it will be manifest to us, as we reflect, that there is one bond naturally uniting all these things: but if one goes about it in some other way, one must call it Fortune, as we also put it. For never, without these lessons, will any nature be happy in our cities: no, this is the way, this the nurture, these the studies, whether difficult or easy, this the path to pursue: to neglect the gods is not permissible, when it has been made manifest that the fame of them, stated in proper terms, hits the mark. [992b] And the man who has acquired all these things in this manner is he whom I account the most truly wisest: of him I also assert, both in jest and in earnest, that when one of his like completes his allotted span at death, I would say if he still be dead, he will not partake any more of the various sensations then as he does now, but having alone partaken of a single lot and having become one out of many,58 will be happy and at the same time most wise and blessed, whether one has a blessed life in continents or in islands; and that such a man will partake [992c] always of the like fortune, and whether his life is spent in a public or in a private practice of these studies he will get the same treatment, in just the same manner, from the gods. And what we said at the beginning, and stands now also unchanged as a really true statement, that it is not possible for men to be completely blessed and happy, except a few, has been correctly spoken. For as many as are divine and temperate also, and partakers of virtue as a whole in their nature, [992d] and have acquired besides all that pertains to blessed study — and this we have explained — are the only persons by whom all the spiritual gifts are fully obtained and held. Those then who have thus worked through all these tasks we speak of privately, and publicly establish by law, as the men to whom, when they have attained the fullness of seniority, the highest offices should be entrusted, while the rest should follow their lead, giving praise to all gods and goddesses; and we should most rightly invite the Nocturnal Council to this wisdom, when we have duly distinguished and approved [992e] all its members.

SISYPHUS

Translated by George Burges

This dialogue is generally acknowledged to be spurious. It dates from the fourth century BC, and the author was presumably one of Plato’s pupils.  The dialogue features a debate between Socrates and Sisyphus, who believes that deliberation allows one to find the best course of action, but Socrates is puzzled by what deliberation is, and why it is supposed to be different from guesswork. By the end of the dialogue, it becomes clear that Sisyphus does not know what deliberation is.  The dialogue seems to engage with an idea of good deliberation for which Isocrates was a noted exponent.

SISYPHUS.

Persons of the dialogue.

SOCRATES and SISYPHUS.

Soc. And  we too waited a long time for you yesterday, Sisyphus, at the display made by Stratonicus, in order that you might, together with us, hear a clever man, who both by word and deed exhibited many and beautiful things; and when we thought you would no longer be present, we were by ourselves the hearers of the man.

Sis.  Truly by Zeus. For a want of leisure of rather a compulsory kind occurred to me, so that I neglected the display. For our rulers had a consultation yesterday, and they compelled me to consult with them. Now with us Pharsalians  it is a law to obey the rulers, should they order any of us to consult with them.

Soc. And honourable it is to obey the law and to be reputed by fellow-citizens to be a good counsellor, as you are [reputed to be a good counsellor as one of the Pharsalians]. But, Sisyphus, although I should not be able to enter upon a discussion against you on the subject of consulting correctly, conceiving it to be a work requiring much leisure, and a lengthy argument, still I would endeavour to converse with you first about consulting in the abstract, what it is. Can you then tell me what it is to consult in the abstract? Do not (tell)  me what it is to do so well or ill or in any manner, but what kind of thing it is alone by itself. For you could well and easily tell, being so good a counsellor. But (I fear) lest it is a superfluous work for me to make of you the inquiry.

Sis. Is it then unknown to you what it is to consult?

Soc. It is, Sisyphus, to myself at least, if it be any thing else than for a person, who does not know any thing of those matters respecting which it is requisite to do some act, to speak like a diviner and off-handed, whatever may present itself, and to make a guess  according to the same things for himself; like persons playing at odd and even, who, knowing nothing about the even and odd, which they hold .in their own  hands, nevertheless happen by accident to say what is true about the same things. To consult then is oftentimes a thing of this kind, that a person, although knowing nothing of the matters, about which he is consulting, yet happens by accident to say what is the truth. If then it is a thing of this kind, I know what to consult is; if however it is not a thing of this kind, I should not know it at all.

Sis. It is not of such a kind as not to know in reality any thing at all, but to know partly something of the matter in hand, and partly not to know at all.

Soc. Do you mean that to consult is, by Zeus, a thing of this kind; that, as I seem to myself to divine somewhat your notions relating to the act of consulting well, it is the seeking to discover the best things for a person to employ himself in for his own benefit, but not to know them clearly,  but for this to be, as it were, in some form of a thought? Do you not mean somehow in this way.

Sis. I do.

Soc. Whether do men seek such things as they know, or such as they do not know?

Sis. Both.

Soc. Do you mean by this something of this kind, that men seek both what they know and what they do not know? just as if a person should know Callistratus, who he is; but not know to find where he is,  not who is Callistratus. Do you mean that to seek both is after this manner.

Sis. I do.

Soc. He then, who knows Callistratus, would not seek that matter, namely, to know him.

Sis. He would not.

Soc. But he would, where he might be.

Sis. It seems so to myself at least.

Soc. Nor would he seek even this, namely, where it was possible to find him, if he knew already; but he would find him forthwith.

Sis. Yes.

Soc. Men then do not seek the things, which they know, but, as it seems, what they do not know. But if this reasoning appears to you to be of a captious kind, and to have been spoken, not for the sake of a practical purpose, but for conversation merely, consider the matter in this way, if the case seems to be such as has been.just now stated. Do you not know that· this takes place in geometry? that by geometricians the diameter is not unknown, whether it be a diameter or not, — for this I well know is not sought to be discovered by them, — but how great it is in measurement in proportion to the sides of the space which it intersects? Is not this the very thing which is sought respecting it?

Sis. So it seems at least to me.

Soc. For it is that, which is unknown. Is it not so?

Sis. Certainly.

Soc. Know you not that the doubling of the cube is sought to be discovered by geometricians, how great it is by calculation? But the cube itself is not sought for by them, whether it is a cube, or not; for that at least they know well. Is it not so?

Sis. Yes.

Soc. Respecting the air likewise, do you not know that Anaxagoras and Empedocles, and the rest of those,  who talk about meteorology, are all seeking whether it is boundless or has a limit?

Sis. Yes I do.

Soc. But not the question, whether it is air. Is it not so?

Sis. It is.

Soc. Will you then agree with me that such is the case with all other things now that to no person is there any seeking after the things he knows, but rather after those which he does not know?

Sis. I will.

Soc. Did not the consulting appear to us to be this very thing, namely, that a person is seeking after the best things relating to what he would require to employ himself in for his own benefit.

Sis. Yes.

Soc. And the seeking was, like the consulting, about things to be done. Is it not so?

Sis. Entirely.

Soc. Must we not consider then at present, what impediment is in the way of those, who are seeking, to the discovery of the things, about which they are making the search?

Sis. So it seems at least to me.

Soc. Could we say that any thing else was an impediment to them except a want of knowledge?

(Sis. Nothing else).

Soc. Let us, by Zeus, consider the matter very much, letting out, as the saying is, every rope, and sending out every voice. And view thou this point with me. Think you that a man could consult about music, who knows nothing of music; or how he ought to play on the guitar, or to perform any thing according to the musician’s art?

Sis. Not I indeed.

Soc. What then, as regards generalship, or piloting? Do you think that the person, who knows neither of those arts, would have it in his power to consult about either of those matters,  as to what is to be done by him, and how, who knows not to act the general or pilot?

Sis. I do not.

Soc. Do you think then that the case is so respecting all other matters, of which a person knows nothing; that it is not possible for him even to consult, who knows nothing about them?

Sis. I do.

Soc. But it is (possible) for him to seek (to know). Is it not?

Sis. Certainly.

Soc. To seek then would not be the same as to consult.

Sis. How could it?

Soc. Because to seek is surely applied to the matters, which a person does not know; but it seems to be not possible for a person to consult about those matters, of which he is ignorant. Or has not this been said correctly?

Sis. Very much so.

Soc. Ye were then yesterday seeking to discover what was best for the state; but ye did not know it. For if ye had known, ye would not surely have been seeking it, just as we do not seek any thing amongst those which we know. Is it not so?

Sis. It is.

Soc. Whether does it seem to you, Sisyphus, if a person does not know, that he ought to seek or to learn?

Sis. To myself at least it seems, by Zeus, to learn.

Soc. And correctly does it seem so. But does it seem to you that he ought to learn rather than seek on this account, because a person would discover more quickly and easily, if he learnt from those, who know, than if he were to seek himself what he did not know? Or is it on some other account?

Sis.  On no other than this.

Why did ye not then yesterday, disregarding the act of consulting about matters, of which ye knew nothing, and of seeking to do the best for the state, learn from some one of those, who did know, how ye might do the best for the state? But ye seem to me to liave been sitting the whole of yesterday and speaking off-hand, and prophesying about matters, of which ye were ignorant, and neglecting to learn, both the rulers of the state and you together with them. But perhaps you will say that this has been played off by myself against you for the sake of a conversation merely, and it has not been proved to you seriously. Consider then, by Zeus, this question at least for the present with seriousness. If it were conceded that to consult is something, and not, as now discovered, to be nothing else than a knowledge according to conjecture, and a speaking off-hand, making use of merely a more solemn name, but nothing else, do you think, that as regards the act of consulting well and being good counsellors, persons differ one from another on that point, as persons  [differ one from another] on all the other kinds of knowledge, (such as) carpenters from carpenters, physicians from physicians, and hautboy-players from hautboy-players, and all the rest of handicraftsmen differ from each other? As then those engaged in these arts (differ), think you that in the act of consulting persons would differ at all in this manner, one from another?

Sis. Yes I do.

Soc. Now tell me, do not all, both those who consult well, and those who do so ill, consult about matters that are about to be?

Sis. Certainly.

Soc.  Is the future any thing else than what is not as yet?

Sis. It is not.

Soc. For if it were, it would not surely be still about”, to be, but it would be already. Is it not so?

Sis. Yes.

Soc.  Therefore that, which is not yet, in reality has not been produced.

Sis. It has not.

Soc.  Therefore that, which is not and has not been produced, has no existence in reality.

Sis. It has not.

Soc. Do not all, then, who consult well or ill, consult about things which neither are, nor have been, and which have no existence, when they consult respecting things about to be?

Sis. At least they seem so.

Soc. Does it seem to you possible for a person to hit well or ill a thing, that does not exist?

Sis. How say you this?

Soc. I will explain, what I mean to say. Consider then. How would you distinguish out of many archers, which of them was the good and (which) the bad?

Sis. Surely this is not difficult to know.

Soc. ‘For perhaps you would bid them shoot at some mark. Is it not so?

Sis. Certainly.

Soc. Would you not decide that he is the conqueror, who hits most often the mark in a direct way.

Sis. Yes, I would.

Soc. But if there were no mark laid down for them to shoot at, but each shot where he liked, how could you distinguish between the good and bad archer?

Sis. Not at all.

Soc. Would you then not be at a loss to distinguish between

those consulting well or ill, if they did not know what they were consulting about?

Sis. Yes, I should.

Soc. Do not those then, who consult respecting things about to be, consult respecting things not in existence?

Sis. Certainly.

Soc. It is not therefore possible for any person to hit the thing not in existence. For how does any one seem to you to be able to hit, what is not in existence?

Sis. Not at all.

Soc. Since then it is not possible to hit, what is not in existence, no one would be able to hit any thing of those not in existence by consulting. For things that are about to be belong to those not in existence. Is it not so?

Sis. So it seems at least to me.

Soc. He then, who does not hit things about to be, would be amongst men neither a good counsellor, nor a bad counsellor.

Sis. It seems he would not.

Soc. Nor is a person (said) to be either a better counsellor, or a worse counsellor, not even if he should be more successful or less successful in hitting, what is not in existence.

Sis. He is not.

Soc. Looking then to what circumstance men call certain persons by the name of good counsellors, or bad counsellors, is it not worthy, Sisyphus, to think again upon this matter?

Sis. (I say so).

AXIOCHUS

Translated by George Burges

This apocryphal dialogue dates from the Hellenistic era, circa 100 BC. In the dialogue, Axiochus has come close to death, and is scared by the experience, despite his familiarity with the arguments which were supposed to make him scorn the fear of death. Socrates is summoned to his bedside, and consoles him with a wide variety of teachings to help Axiochus welcome death as the release of the soul to a better place.

AXIOCHUS.

Persons of the dialogue.

SOCRATES, CLINIAS, AXIOCHUS.

Soc. When I bad gone out on the road to Cynosarges,- and had arrived at the Ilissus, the voice of some one reached me, calling out, “ Socrates, Socrates.” And when on turning towards (the sound) I looked round to see from whence it might be, I beheld Clinias, the son of Axiochus, running towards the fountain Callirrhoe, together with Damon the musician, and Charmides, the son of Glaucon. Of these, one was the other’s music-master, and the other was, from a feeling of friendship, at once the loving and beloved. I determined therefore to give up the direct road, and to meet them, that we might come together in the easiest manner.  And Clinias, with tears in his eyes, said — Now, Socrates, is the time for you to exhibit the wisdom ever bruited by you. For my father has at some sudden season become powerless, and is at the end of life, and with pain supports the idea of dissolution; although at a former period he used to ridicule those, who were afraid of the bugbear of death, and to rebuke them mildly. Come then, and console him as you are wont, in order that  he may without a groan proceed on the road of fate, and that,  together with the remaining acts of piety, this too may be done by me. In no moderate matter, Clinias, (said I,) shall you be disappointed in me; especially as you are inviting me to do a holy act. Let us then make haste; for if such is the state of affairs, there is a need of haste.

Clin. On merely seeing you, Socrates, he will rally; for often has he been on his legs again after a (serious) symptom.  Soc. When we had traversed rather quickly the road along the wall, at the Itonian gates — for he dwells near there, close to the pillar of the Amazon — we came upon him, when he had already recovered his senses, and  his body some strength, although his mind was weak, and he stood greatly in need of consolation; and frequently did  he raise himself up, and give vent to moans, together with the shedding of tears, and the noisy beating of his hands. On beholding him, Why is this, Axiochus? said I. Where are your former boastings and frequent praises of virtue, and your boldness not to be broken down? since, like a cowardly combatant, you have exhibited yourself of noble bearing in the place of exercise, but have failed in the fight. Will not you, a man of so long a life, and the hearer of (the finest) reasonings, and, if nothing else, at least an Athenian, after surveying  nature consider that this is surely a common (saying), and bruited amongst all, that life is a kind of sojourn (upon earth); and that we must pass through it in a reasonable and good-tempered manner, and take our departure, only not singing paeans on the road to fate; while to conduct yourself in so cowardly a manner, and to be torn with difficulty from existence, is to exhibit, like a child, a period of life not overwise.

Axio. This, Socrates, is true; and you appear to me to speak correctly. And yet I know not how, when I am at the very point of what is dreadful, those powerful and very clever reasonings unconsciously fall away, and are held in no honour; while in their stead a fear lays hold of me, tearing my mind in various ways, if I am to be deprived of this light here, and of the good things (of life), and to lie rotting, wherever it may be, unseen and unheard of, after passing into worms and nondescript creatures.

Soc. Through your own ignorance, Axiochus, you are combining sensation with the want of sensation; and you are acting and speaking in a manner at variance with yourself; and you do not consider that you are at one and the same time lamenting your want of sensation, and pained at the idea of your rotting away, and of being deprived of what is pleasant, as if you are to die and live in another state, and not to pass into insensibility complete, and the same as that before you were born. As then none of the mischief during the political period of Draco and Clisthenes pertained to yourself — for you, to whom it might have pertained, did not exist at all — so it will not after death occur to you; for you, to whom it might occur, will not be in existence.  Throw aside then all silliness of this kind, and think upon this, that, after the union of soul with body has been once dissolved by the former being settled in its own home-place, what is left of the latter is of the earth and devoid of reason, nor is it a man. For we are soul, a thing of life and immortal, pent up in a mortal prison. And nature has for some mischief fitted round this tabernacle,  to which pleasant things are in a recess, and on the wing, and mixed up with the majority of pains; but the things of sorrow are unmixed, and last a long time, and have no share in what is pleasant: (I say nothing) of diseases and inflammations in the sensoria and of internal ills, with which the soul, as if sown with pores, does, when it sympathizes, of necessity desire its congenial atmosphere of heaven, and feels a thirst for the life that is there, and a hankering after its dancing; so that a removal from this life is but a change from an evil to a good.

Axio. Since then, Socrates, you consider life to be an ill, why do you remain in it? and this too, when you are a person of reflection, and excel us, the mass, in mind.

Soc. You do not, Axiochus, testify truly in my case; but you conceive, as the mass of Athenians do, that, since I am searcher after facts, I am acquainted with something. And indeed I would pray to know all things of even a common kind, so much am I deficient in what are superior. But what I am now saying are the proclaimed doctrincs of Prodicus the wise, that have been bought, some for half a drachm, others for two drachms, and others for four; for that person never teaches any thing for nothing, but his custom is perpetually to proclaim the sentiment of Epicharmus — Hand handwashes; give then something, ‘and get something in return.  And lately, when he was making a display at the house of Callias, the son of Hipponicus, he spoke so much against living, that I drew a line through (the word) life as a thing of the least value; and from that time, Axiochus, my soul yearned for death.

Axio. And what was said then?

Soc. I will tell you all can remember. For what part of life, said he, is free from pain? Does not the infant cry at its first birth, beginning to live from pain? Nor is it deficient in any suffering, but is affected painfully either by the want of something, or excessive cold or heat, or a blow; and being unable to tell what it is suffering, it cries continually, possessing this voice alone of its discontentment. And when it reaches its seventh year, after having gone through many troubles, there are boy-leaders, and teachers of grammar, and drilling-masters tyrannizing over him. And as he grows bigger, there is a still larger- number of despots, who teach him correctness in composition, and geometry, and military tactics.

And when he is registered amongst the young men, there are, what is a worse fear, the Lyceum and Academy, and the Gymnasiarchs and their staves, and a measureless amount of ills. And the whole period  of youth is under Moderators and the selection of those placed over young persons by the Council of the Areopagus. And when he is forced from them, cares straightway come upon him in secret, and considerations as to what road of life he is to tread; and (compared with)  the after difficulties the first appear to be childish, and the terrors in truth of infants; for there are campaigns, and wounds, and continuous contests.  And then old age stealthily and unconsciously comes on, to which flow together all that is on the verge of death and hard to be remedied. And should a person not pay, as a debt, his life rather quickly, Nature, like an usurer, stands near and takes as a pledge from one his eye-sight, and from another his hearing, and frequently both; and should he still delay, she brings on a paralysis, (or) a mutilation (or) a distortion of limbs;  while they, who on the threshold of old age are still vigorous,  in mind, become twice children, though grown  old. And hence even the gods, who take cognizance of human affairs, release more quickly from life  those, on whom they set the greatest value.  For example, Agamedes and Trophonius, who built up the close, sacred to the god at Pytlio, did, after praying that the best thing might befall them, lay themselves on their bed and never rise from it again. So too the sons of the priestess at Argos, after their mother had in like manner prayed for some honour to be paid them by Juno in return for their piety, when, through the pair (of mules) being too late, they undressed themselves, and drew her (in the car) to the temple, they did, after the prayer, change, during the night, their existence. And long would be the story to go through of the poets, who, with their more divine mouths, have told in holy hymns the tales relating to life, how they utter lamentations against living. Of one alone I will however remember me, the most worthy to be spoken of, who says, The gods for mortals, in a hapless state To live, in sorrow wove the web of fate — and, (II. xvii.,)

Of all that breathe and creep upon the earth, There’s nought than man more wretched (from his birth).

And what does he say of Amphiraus? (Od. xv. .) Him heartily the Egis-bearing Zeus Loved, and Apollo with the feelings all Of friendship; yet he did not of old age The threshold reach.

And what does he appear to you, who bids us

Weep for the ills, to which the new-born comes.

But I will stop here, lest, contrary to my engagement, I become prolix by making mention of others likewise.  With what pursuit or art does not he,  who has chosen it, find fault, and is discontented with his present state? Let us go to handicraftsmen and workers at a furnace, who labour from night to night, and with difficulty procure the necessaries of life, and let (us hear) them bewailing their fate and filling up their sleepless hours with lamentations and tears. Or let us reckon up the sailor’s (life), passed in the midst of so many dangers’, and which, as Bias has shown, is neither amongst the living nor the dead;  for the man who belongs to earth, has, as if he were amphibious, thrown himself upon the sea, and become wholly in the power of fortune. But  farming is at least a pleasant thing. Clearly so. But is it not wholly a sore, for ever finding for itself a pretext for sorrow? crying now at a drought; now at a continued rain; now at a burning up; now at a mildew; now at unseasonable heat or cold.  And the much-honoured statesmanship — for many things I pass over — through revolutions how great is it driven, while it possesses a pleasure, like that of a state of fever, in its quiverings and palpitations, but a failure, full of pain, and worse than a thousand deaths. Who then living for the mob can be happy? even if he has been favourably received with a gentle buzz, or noisy hubbub, as the plaything of the people, (but afterwards) rejected, hissed, fined, put to death, and pitied.  Tell me this, thou statesman, Axiochus, where died Miltiades? where Themistocles? where Ephialtes? and where recently the ten army-leaders? when I did not put (the question) to the vote; for it did not seem to me a solemn act to hold office in union with a maddened mob; whereas Theramenes and Callixenus did on the day after introduce secretly fictitious chairmen (of the meeting), and got against the men a vote of death without a trial; and yet did you (Axiochus) lawfully defend them and Euryptolemus likewise, while thirty thousand were at the general meeting.

Axio. It is so, Socrates. And from that time I have had enough of the platform, and nothing has seemed to me more disagreeable than statesmanship. And this is plain to those who have been engaged in the business. And you indeed speak thus, as taking a view from a look-out; but we, who have made the experiment, know it more accurately. For the mob, my dear Socrates, is a thing ungrateful, satiated with the mere touch, cruel, envious, uneducated, as being made up of a mass of persons brought together, violent (and) triflers; while he, who acts the courtesan to it, is more miserable by far.

Soc. Since then, Axiochus, you lay down the science, which is the most free, as the least to be prayed for amongst the rest, what shall we think of the remaining pursuits? Are they not to be avoided? I once indeed heard Prodicus saying that death does not exist as regards either the living or those, who have changed their existence.

Axio. How say you, Socrates?

Soc. That as regards the living, it does not exist; while they, who are dead, do not exist; so that neither, as regards you, does it exist; for you are not dead; nor, should you suffer aught, will it exist, as regards you; for you will then not exist. Vain then is the sorrow in Axiochus grieving for Axiochus, touching a thing that neither is nor will be; and it is just the same, as if a person were to grieve for Scylla or the Centaur, which, as regards you, do not exist now, nor will they, after your close of life, exist. For what is fearful is so to those, who exist; but to those, who do not exist, how can it be so?

Axio. These clever things you have said from the talkativeness, which is floating on the surface (of society) just now. For from thence is this idle speaking, which has been cleverly got up for the young men. But the deprivation of the good things of life is what gives me pain, even should you rattle out reasons, Socrates, still more plausible than those just now. For the mind, when it is wandering, thinks nothing of fine-spoken words; nor do these touch even its surface,  which affect indeed a mere pomp and splendour of diction, but are wanting in truth. Now sufferings do not endure sophisms; and upon those things alone, that can reach the soul, rests there any aid.

Soc. You are putting together, Axiochus, (words) without reason, in bringing the perception of things that are bad as opposed to the deprivation of things that are good, through your forgetting that you are dead. For the counter- suffering of ill pains him who is deprived of good; but he, who does not exist, does not lay hold even of deprivation. How then should there be a grief for that, which is about to furnish no knowledge of the things that will cause pain? For had you, Axiochus, at the beginning laid down (with me), in some way that there is no perception (to the dead), you would not, through your ignorance, have shuddered at death. But now you are turning yourself round, while fearing that you shall be deprived of soul,  and place a soul round deprivation; and you fear that you shall not have a perception; and yet you imagine that you shall by perception comprehend a perception, that will not exist.   In addition to their being many and beautiful reasons for the immortality of the soul. For a mortal nature would surely not have proceeded and been lifted up to such a greatness in action,  as to despise the violence of superior wild animals, and to pass over seas, and to build cities, and to lay down forms of polity, and to look up to heaven and behold the revolutions of the stars, and the courses of the sun and moon, and their eclipses, and rapid return to their former state, and the equality of days, and the two tropical movements, during winter and summer, and the rising and setting of the Pleiades, and the winds, and the fall of rain,  and the ill-fated trailing along of fiery meteors, and to lay down on a tablet what the universe is to undergo for ages, unless there had been in the soul some  breath of divinity, through which he possessed the power of thinking upon and knowing subjects of so vast a kind; so that you are not, Axiochus, changing your existence for death, but for immortality; nor will you have a deprivation of good things, but a still purer enjoyment of them; nor pleasures mixed up with a mortal body, but unmixed with every pain. For you will, when released from this prison, depart thither, where all is without trouble, and moanings, and old age, and life is a calm, and with no taste of ill, and where in a mild atmosphere of unruffled tranquillity you (will dwell), looking round upon Nature, and acting the philosopher not before a mob and a theatre, but in the presence of Truth, blooming around.

Axio. You have by your discourse brought me round to a contrary point. For I have no longer a fear of death, but already a desire to say myself, in imitation of the orators, something still more; and for a long time I have been thinking upon things on high, and I will go through the eternal and divine course, since after my weakness I have collected my strength and am become a new man.

Soc. (Hear too), if you are willing, another account which Gobryas related to me — a man of the Magi, (who) said that during the expedition of Xerxes, his grandfather, we thus recover a noun, required to govern Πλειάδων, but perceive likewise why the Pleiades are introduced here; since, as we learn from Hesiod Epy.  and, both farmers and sailors were wont to pay attention to the rising and setting of the Pleiades, who was his namesake, was sent to Delos to watch over the island, where the two deities presided, according to some brazen tablets, that Opis and Hecaergus had brought from the Hyperboreans; and that he learnt that after the soul was released from the body, it departed to the uncertain spot, and some dwelling under ground, where is the royal palace of Pluto, not less than the hall of Zeus, inasmuch as the earth possesses the middle portion of the world, and the pole (of heaven) is spherical; of which the gods of heaven have obtained by lot one portion of the hemisphere, and the gods below the other, being some of them brothers, and others the children of brothers; and that the gates before the road to Pluto’s domain are fast bound by iron locks and keys; and that the river Acheron receives him, who has opened them, and, after it, Cocytus, both of which it is necessary for him to pass over, and to be led to Minos and Rhadamanthus,  (where is) what is called the plain of Truth.  There are they seated as judges to sift each of the comers as to what life he had led, and in what pursuits he had dwelt in the body; and that to tell a falsehood is out of his power. On such then as a kind daemon has breathed during life, these are located in the region of the pious.  There without stint the seasons bloom with every kind of produce, and fountains of pure water flow; and every where are meadows made beautiful by flowers of varied hues, and places of discussions for philosophers, and theatres of poets, and cyclic choirs, and the hearing of music, and elegant banquets, and feasts self-furnished, and an unmixed freedom from pain, and a delightful mode of living. Nor is produced there violent cold or heat, but a well-tempered air is diffused around, mixed with the sun’s mild beams. There is the seat of honour to those, who have shared in the Mysteries; for they perform together their holy rites even thither. How then is there not to you first a share in the honour, as being of the family of the goddesses? And there is a report that Heracles and Dionysus descended to Hades after having previously shared in the Mysteries here; and that they put on  a boldness for the journey thither from the Eleusinian (rites).  But they, whose life has been passed in a course of evil doings, are driven by the Furies to Erebus and Chaos through Tartarus, where is the region of the impious, and the unfilled urns of the daughters of Danaus, and the thirst of Tantalus, and the entrails of Tityus, and the uncompleted stone of Sisyphus, To whom begins again his labour’s end. There too are persons licked round by wild beasts, and terrified by the torches of the Furies glaring around them; and enduring every kind of ignominious treatment, they are by eternal punishments worn down. This account did I hear from Gobryas; and you, Axiochus, can decide upon it. For carried along myself by reason I know firmly this alone, that the soul is wholly immortal, and that, when it is removed from this spot, it is there without pain; so that it must needs be, Axiochus, that, if you have lived piously, you will be happy either below or above.

Axio. I am ashamed, Socrates, to say a word. For so far am I from fearing death, that already I feel a desire for it; so greatly has this beautiful discourse of yours persuaded me, as if it were a heavenly one. And even now I have a contempt for life, as being about to remove to a better home. For the present then I will cast up quietly with myself what has been said; and at mid-day you will be with me, Socrates.

Soc. I will do as you say. And for a while I will go back for a walk to Cynosarges, from whence I was sent for hither.

DEMODOCUS

Translated by George Burges

This dialogue is now generally acknowledged to be a spurious work by a late sophist, although it was included in the Stephanus edition published in Geneva in 1578. Demodocus appears to be a combination of separate works. The first part is a monologue, addressed to the title character, arguing against collective decision-making. There then follows three further dialogues with anonymous participants, concerning three elements of doubt against common sense.

DEMODOCUS.

You are, Demodocus, requesting me to advise you on the matters, about which you are come together to deliberate. But it has come into my mind to consider, what avails this meeting of yours, and the eagerness of those, who think to advise with you, and the vote, which each of you thinks of giving. For, in the first place, unless it be possible to advise correctly and skilfully on the points, respecting which ye are come to deliberate, how is it not ridiculous for you to come together to deliberate on points, respecting which it is not possible to advise correctly? And in the second place, if it be possible to advise correctly and skilfully upon matters of this kind, still the knowledge, by which it is possible to advise correctly on them, is none. How then is it not out of place? But if there be any knowledge, by which it is possible to advise correctly on such matters, is it not necessary that there should be certain persons skilled to advise correctly on matters of this kind? And if there are certain persons, skilled to advise on those points, about which you are come together to deliberate, is it not necessary for you likewise to know how to advise on these matters, or not to know? Or that some persons should know, and some not? If then all of you know, what need is there for you to come together to deliberate? for each of you is competent to advise. But if, on the other hand, all of you do not know, how will you be able to deliberate? Or what advantage would there be to you in this meeting together, if you are not able to deliberate? But if some of you know, and others do not know, but these are in want of counsel, whether it is possible for an intellectual person to advise the unskilled, even a single person is sufficient to advise with those of you, who do know. Or do not all, who know, advise the same thing? so that it is fitting, after you have heard that person, to separate. But now you do not this; but you wish to hear many giving their advice; for you do not take upon yourselves to know those, who are attempting to advise with you on points, on which they are advising. For if you had taken upon yourselves to know those, who were advising with you, it would have been sufficient for you to have heard one person alone. To come together then with the view of hearing those, who do not know, as if you were doing something of importance, how is it not a thing out of place? Respecting then this meeting of yours, I am in this way at” a loss.

And that too is a thing of difficulty relating to the eagerness of those, who think they can advise with you. For if, while advising, they do not give the same advice upon the same points, how can they all advise correctly, when they do not advise what he, who advises correctly, would advise? Or how can the eagerness of those, who are eager to advise on points, in which they are unskilled, not be out of place? for being skilled, they would not choose to advise incorrectly. But if, on the other hand, they advise the same, what need is there for them all to advise? for a single one of them would, if advising the same, be sufficient. To be eager then on such matters, as would be of no importance, how is it not ridi-. culous? Neither then would the eagerness of the unskilled be not out of place, when it is of such a kind; nor would men of sense feel an eagerness on such matters, knowing that even one of them would do the same thing by advising what was fitting; so that I am unable to discover how the eagerness of those, who fancy they are advising, is not ridiculous.

But as regards the vote which you are thinking to give, I am the most at a loss, what it can avail. For whether are you giving a judgment upon those, who kriow how to advise?  But more persons will not advise at all any better than one, nor some one way and others another correctly upon the same matter; so that respecting them there will be no need for you to give a vote. But are you giving a judgment  upon some, who are unskilled and who ought not to advise any persons? Surely it is not fitting to intrust to such persons, as if they were madmen, to advise. But if you are to give a judgment upon neither the skilled nor the unskilled, upon whom are you to give it? But what need is there for other persons to advise with you at all, if you are competent to give a judgment upon such matters? But if on the other hand you are not competent, of what avail are your votes? Or how is it not ridiculous for you to come together, as if about to consult, when you yourselves are in want of advice, and are incompetent, and yet fancy that you ought to come together and give a vote, as if competent to form a judgment? For neither by being taken singly are you ignorant, and become sensible by being taken together; nor, on the other hand, are you at a loss individually, but by coming together are no longer at a loss. But do you become competent to see together what things are to be done by you? and this too, when you have neither learnt them from any one, nor discovered them yourselves; which is the most shocking thing of all. For being unable to see together, what is to be done, you will not be competent to give a j udgment upon the party, who is advising you correctly upon these matters;  nor, if a person, standing alone, as an adviser, should say this, that he himself will teach you what is to be done, is it in your power to form a correct judgment upon those, who are advising you correctly or not. Now this would be a state not less shocking than that. If then neither the meeting nor the (single)  adviser is able to make you competent to give a judgment, what need is there to you for voting? Or how is this meeting of yours not opposed to your votes, and the vote to the eagerness of those advising you? For this meeting of your is that of persons not competent, but in need of advisers; while the votes are given as of persons not wanting advisers, but able to form a judgment, and to advise; and the eagerness of those advising you, is as of persons who know; but the votes are given by you, as if the persons advising did not know. Now if any one were to ask you, who have voted, and the person advising you, respecting the matters on which you have voted — do you know what will that be, for the sake of which you think of doing what you have voted? you would not, I think, be able to say. And even if that should take place, for the sake of which you have it in your thoughts to do every thing, do you know how it will benefit you? I think that neither you nor the party advising you would be able to tell this. But you conceive that some of those with intellect  know somehow this. But if a person should ask you who is the party, I do not think you would agree on this point. When therefore both the things, about which you are consulting, are such as not to be manifest, and the persons likewise, who vote and advise, are unskilled, reasonably will you say that it often falls out that persons have no faith in, and repent of, those things, for which they have taken counsel and voted. Now such events it is not becoming to fall out to the sensible. For they know the things, about which they give advice, both of what kind they are, and that they,exist firmly to the parties persuaded, for the sake of whom they give the advice, and that neither to themselves nor to the parties persuaded will there be a repentance for any thing senseless. On matters then of this kind I conceive that those, who possess any sense, should think it fit to give advice; but not about the matters on which you are requesting me to advise; for from their advice the result is good fortune, but from the trifling of these misfortune.

I was once present with a person while he was admonishing his friend, because the latter had trusted to an accuser, not having heard the other party making an apology for himself, but hearing only the accuser. He said that (the friend) had done a terrible thing, in deciding against the party without having been present himself, or having heard from the friends of the party, to whose statements it was reasonable for him to trust. For, after having heard both, he would not have so hastily trusted to the accuser; but that it was just, before conferring praise or blame, to hear the party make his defence, as well as the accuser. · For how could any one decide correctly a suit, or judge in a proper manner between persons, without hearing the opposite parties? for that it is better that assertions, like a purple colour and gold-money, should be judged of by being placed side by side. Or for what purpose has time been allowed to both the opposite parties in a suit? or the judges sworn to hear both sides equally? unless the lawgiver conceived that suits would be decided more justly and better by the judges. But you seem to me to have not even heard of what is said by the multitude. What is it? said (the other).

Decide no suit, till both accounts you’ve heard.

And yet this would not have been thus circulated, if it had not been well said, and as is fitting. I advise you therefore, said he, for the future not to blame or praise persons so hastily. The other then said that it appeared to him an absurd thing, if it were impossible to know, when one person was speaking, whether he was telling the truth or a falsehood, and yet possible to know, when two persons were speaking; and impossible to r learn from a person, when telling the truth, but possible to be taught by that very person and another, when telling a falsehood; and if one by speaking straightforwardly and truly should be unable to show what he is saying clearly, but that two, one of whom should tell a falsehood, and not speak straightforwardly, should be able to show clearly that, which the party speaking straightforwardly was not able to show clearly. And I am at a loss, said he,· on this point likewise, how they are to show it clearly; whether by being silent, or speaking. For if they are to show it clearly by being silent, there would be a need of hearing neither, much less both. But if by speaking both are to show it clearly, and both parties speak according to no regular manner and time — for both think they have a right to speak in turn — how is it possible for both to show the matter clearly? For if both are showing the matter clearly at the same time, both will be speaking together at the same time.  But this they are not  wont to do, nor do the laws permit it; so that if they are to show the matter clearly by speaking, each of them will do so by speaking; and when either party speaks, then either party will show the matter clearly; so that they will speak one before and the other after; and they will show the matter clearly, one before and the other after. Now if each party in turn shows the same matter clearly, what need is there to hear the latter? for the matter will have become clear by the party first speaking. But if both parties show clearly  that matter, said he, how will not either of them have done so? for how would both be able to show clearly that, which one of them shall not have done so? But if either shall have shown it clearly, it is evident that the former will have spoken of it, and the former will have shown it clearly; so that how is it not possible for the person hearing him alone to know all correctly? On hearing them I was at a loss, and unable to decide. For the others, who were present, said that the first reasoning was true. If then you can advise me on this matter, whether it is possible,  when one person is saying any thing, to know correctly what he is saying, say so; or whether there is need of a speaker on the opposite side, if a person would know which is speaking straightforwardly. Or whether it is not necessary to hear both parties? Or how do you think?

The day before yesterday a person was finding fault with another, because he was unwilling to lend money or to trust him; and the party, with whom he was finding fault, was defending himself; whereupon another person amongst those, who were present, inquired of the party finding fault — whether he, who had not trusted nor lent the money, had erred? and have not you too, said he, who did not persuade him to lend, erred? In what, said the other party, have I erred? Which of the two, said (the inquirer), seems to you to err? the person, who fails in what he wishes, or he, who does not (fail)? The person who fails, said he. Have you then not failed in wishing to borrow; while he, who did not wish to give up (his money), has not failed in that point. Truly so, said he; but in what have I erred, even if he has not given it me? Because, said (the inquirer), if you have begged the things which you ought not, how do you think that you have not erred? while he has acted correctly in not giving them up; but if, on the other hand, you have begged what you ought, and failed in this point, how have you not of necessity erred? Perhaps so, said he; but how has he not erred, who did not trust me? If you had treated with him, said (the inquirer), as was fitting, you would not have erred at all. Not at all. But now you have not treated with him, as was fitting. I appear so, said he.” If then’he was not persuaded, when you were treating with him, as was not fitting, how can you justly find fault with him? I am unable to say. Nor can you say that one must not pay attention to those, who conduct themselves ill? This (I can say) very much, said he. Do not then those persons seem to you to conduct themselves ill, who treat with a party in a manner that is not fitting? To me at least (they seem so), said he. In what then did he err, if he paid no attention to you, when conducting yourself ill? It appears, said he, in nothing. Why then, said (the inquirer), do persons find fault on such matters with each other, and blame those, who are not persuaded by them, because they are not persuaded, but do not find fault with themselves at all, because they have not persuaded them? Hereupon another party who was present, observed — When a person has conducted himself well towards any one, and has assisted him, and subsequently requests that party to conduct himself in a similar manner towards him, but does not meet with such conduct, how does he not reasonably find fault? Is not, said (the inquirer), the person whom the party requests to conduct himself in a similar manner, either able to conduct himself well, or unable? (Yes.) And if he is unable, how can he properly make the request, who requests him (to perform) what he cannot? but if he is able, how did he not persuade him (to do so)? or how do persons, who speak in this way, speak correctly? But, said (the other), it is requisite, by Zeus, to find fault with such a person, in order that both he may for the remainder of his life conduct himself better, and the other mean fellows, who hear the party finding fault. Think you, said (the inquirer), that any persons will conduct themselves better when they hear a party speaking correctly, or when in error? When speaking correctly, said he. Now the party, who was speaking not correctly, did not seem to you to make a request correctly? Truly so, said he. How then will those, who hear a person finding’fault in this way, conduct themselves better. Not at all, said he. For what purpose, then,  would a person find fault in this way? He confessed lie could not discover  Some one was accusing a person of stupidity, because lie had given credence quickly even to parties he happened to meet with, while they were speaking. To fellow-citizens and familiar friends, when speaking, it is reasonable to trust. But to persons of that kind, whom he had never seen nor heard of before, to give credence, and this too when he was not ignorant that the majority of men are braggarts and knaves, was no little proof of silliness. When one of those present observed — For my part I thought that you considered a person of greater value, who could quickly understand even any one he met with, rather than him, who did so slowly. And so I do consider, said the other. Why then, said (the former), do you find fault, if a person gives credence quickly, even to those he meets with, when they speak the truth? But, said (the other), I do not find fault with this, but because he gives credence to those, who tell falsehoods. But, if after a longer period even to those not accidentally met with he had given credence, and suffered annoyance, would you not have found fault with him still more? Yes; I should have done so, said he. Is it, because he gave credence slowly, even to those not accidentally met with? No, by Zeus, said he. For I suppose, said the other, you do not conceive that it is right to find fault with a person on this account, but because he gives credence to those, who state what is not credible. I do so, said he. Whether then, said (the other), do you think it is not right to find fault with him for giving credence slowly even to those not accidentally met with, but right (to do so) for giving credence quickly even to those accidentally met with? Not I indeed, said he. Why then do you find fault with him? said (the other). Because he errs in giving credence to persons accidentally met with, previous to making an inquiry. But if he had slowly given credence, previous to making an inquiry, he would not have erred. Not so, by Zeus, said he; but he would have erred even thus not the less; but I think one ought not to give credence to persons accidentally met with. But if, said (the other), you think one ought not to give credence to persons accidentally met with, how is it fitting to give credence quickly to persons unknown? and do you think that it is requisite to make an inquiry, whether they are speaking the truth? I think so, said he. Say then, said (the other), is it not requisite to make inquiry about familiar friends and acquaintances, whether they are speaking the truth? I should say so, said he. For perhaps, said (the other), some of these state what is not credible. And very much so, said he. Why then, said (the other), is it more reasonable to give credence to familiar friends and acquaintances than to persons accidentally met with? I cannot tell, said he. What then, if it is requisite (not) to give more credence to familiar friends than to persons accidentally met with, is it not requisite to consider them less trustworthy than persons accidentally met with? How not? said he. If then there are familiar friends to some persons, and persons unknown to others, how will it not be necessary to consider the same persons more trustworthy than the same? For it is requisite to consider familiar friends and persons unknown, as not equally trustworthy, as you say yourself. This does not please me, said he. Equally, said (the former), do. some believe what is stated by them, but others disbelieve? And. this too is strange, said he. If then, said (the other), both familiar friends and persons accidentally met with state the same things, would not all things stated equally to all be credible or incredible (equally)? Necessarily so, said he. Must we not give credence then equally to those who state the same things?  It is probable, said he.

On their conversing in this way, I was at a loss to whom one ought to give credence and to whom not, and whether to the trust-worthy and those who know what they are speaking about, or to familiar friends and acquaintances. Upon these matters then how think you?

ERYXIAS

Translated by Benjamin Jowett

Set in the Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios, this spurious dialogue features Socrates in conversation with Critias, Eryxias, and Erasistratus, the nephew of Phaeax.  The dialogue concerns the topic of wealth and virtue. Eryxias believes that it is good to be materially prosperous, but he is defeated when Critias argues that having money is not always a good thing. Socrates then shows that money has only a conventional value. In an argument addressed to Critias, Socrates concludes that money can never be considered useful, even when it is used to buy something useful. The final conclusion of the Eryxias is that the most wealthy are the most wretched because they have so many material wants.

Stoa of Zeus Eleutherios, on the west side of the Athenian Agora — the setting of this dialogue

ERYXIAS

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

SOCRATES, ERYXIAS, ERASISTRATUS, CRITIAS.

SCENE: The portico of a temple of Zeus.

It happened by chance that Eryxias the Steirian was walking with me in the Portico of Zeus the Deliverer, when there came up to us Critias and Erasistratus, the latter the son of Phaeax, who was the nephew of Erasistratus. Now Erasistratus had just arrived from Sicily and that part of the world. As they approached, he said, Hail, Socrates!

SOCRATES: The same to you, I said; have you any good news from Sicily to tell us?

ERASISTRATUS: Most excellent. But, if you please, let us first sit down; for I am tired with my yesterday’s journey from Megara.

SOCRATES: Gladly, if that is your desire.

ERASISTRATUS: What would you wish to hear first? he said. What the Sicilians are doing, or how they are disposed towards our city? To my mind, they are very like wasps: so long as you only cause them a little annoyance they are quite unmanageable; you must destroy their nests if you wish to get the better of them. And in a similar way, the Syracusans, unless we set to work in earnest, and go against them with a great expedition, will never submit to our rule. The petty injuries which we at present inflict merely irritate them enough to make them utterly intractable. And now they have sent ambassadors to Athens, and intend, I suspect, to play us some trick. — While we were talking, the Syracusan envoys chanced to go by, and Erasistratus, pointing to one of them, said to me, That, Socrates, is the richest man in all Italy and Sicily. For who has larger estates or more land at his disposal to cultivate if he please? And they are of a quality, too, finer than any other land in Hellas. Moreover, he has all the things which go to make up wealth, slaves and horses innumerable, gold and silver without end.

I saw that he was inclined to expatiate on the riches of the man; so I asked him, Well, Erasistratus, and what sort of character does he bear in Sicily?

ERASISTRATUS: He is esteemed to be, and really is, the wickedest of all the Sicilians and Italians, and even more wicked than he is rich; indeed, if you were to ask any Sicilian whom he thought to be the worst and the richest of mankind, you would never hear any one else named.

I reflected that we were speaking, not of trivial matters, but about wealth and virtue, which are deemed to be of the greatest moment, and I asked Erasistratus whom he considered the wealthier, — he who was the possessor of a talent of silver or he who had a field worth two talents?

ERASISTRATUS: The owner of the field.

SOCRATES: And on the same principle he who had robes and bedding and such things which are of greater value to him than to a stranger would be richer than the stranger?

ERASISTRATUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if any one gave you a choice, which of these would you prefer?

ERASISTRATUS: That which was most valuable.

SOCRATES: In which way do you think you would be the richer?

ERASISTRATUS: By choosing as I said.

SOCRATES: And he appears to you to be the richest who has goods of the greatest value?

ERASISTRATUS: He does.

SOCRATES: And are not the healthy richer than the sick, since health is a possession more valuable than riches to the sick? Surely there is no one who would not prefer to be poor and well, rather than to have all the King of Persia’s wealth and to be ill. And this proves that men set health above wealth, else they would never choose the one in preference to the other.

ERASISTRATUS: True.

SOCRATES: And if anything appeared to be more valuable than health, he would be the richest who possessed it?

ERASISTRATUS: He would.

SOCRATES: Suppose that some one came to us at this moment and were to ask, Well, Socrates and Eryxias and Erasistratus, can you tell me what is of the greatest value to men? Is it not that of which the possession will best enable a man to advise how his own and his friend’s affairs should be administered? — What will be our reply?

ERASISTRATUS: I should say, Socrates, that happiness was the most precious of human possessions.

SOCRATES: Not a bad answer. But do we not deem those men who are most prosperous to be the happiest?

ERASISTRATUS: That is my opinion.

SOCRATES: And are they not most prosperous who commit the fewest errors in respect either of themselves or of other men?

ERASISTRATUS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And they who know what is evil and what is good; what should be done and what should be left undone; — these behave the most wisely and make the fewest mistakes?

Erasistratus agreed to this.

SOCRATES: Then the wisest and those who do best and the most fortunate and the richest would appear to be all one and the same, if wisdom is really the most valuable of our possessions?

Yes, said Eryxias, interposing, but what use would it be if a man had the wisdom of Nestor and wanted the necessaries of life, food and drink and clothes and the like? Where would be the advantage of wisdom then? Or how could he be the richest of men who might even have to go begging, because he had not wherewithal to live?

I thought that what Eryxias was saying had some weight, and I replied, Would the wise man really suffer in this way, if he were so ill-provided; whereas if he had the house of Polytion, and the house were full of gold and silver, he would lack nothing?

ERYXIAS: Yes; for then he might dispose of his property and obtain in exchange what he needed, or he might sell it for money with which he could supply his wants and in a moment procure abundance of everything.

SOCRATES: True, if he could find some one who preferred such a house to the wisdom of Nestor. But if there are persons who set great store by wisdom like Nestor’s and the advantages accruing from it, to sell these, if he were so disposed, would be easier still. Or is a house a most useful and necessary possession, and does it make a great difference in the comfort of life to have a mansion like Polytion’s instead of living in a shabby little cottage, whereas wisdom is of small use and it is of no importance whether a man is wise or ignorant about the highest matters? Or is wisdom despised of men and can find no buyers, although cypress wood and marble of Pentelicus are eagerly bought by numerous purchasers? Surely the prudent pilot or the skilful physician, or the artist of any kind who is proficient in his art, is more worth than the things which are especially reckoned among riches; and he who can advise well and prudently for himself and others is able also to sell the product of his art, if he so desire.

Eryxias looked askance, as if he had received some unfair treatment, and said, I believe, Socrates, that if you were forced to speak the truth, you would declare that you were richer than Callias the son of Hipponicus. And yet, although you claimed to be wiser about things of real importance, you would not any the more be richer than he.

I dare say, Eryxias, I said, that you may regard these arguments of ours as a kind of game; you think that they have no relation to facts, but are like the pieces in the game of draughts which the player can move in such a way that his opponents are unable to make any countermove. (Compare Republic.) And perhaps, too, as regards riches you are of opinion that while facts remain the same, there are arguments, no matter whether true or false, which enable the user of them to prove that the wisest and the richest are one and the same, although he is in the wrong and his opponents are in the right. There would be nothing strange in this; it would be as if two persons were to dispute about letters, one declaring that the word Socrates began with an S, the other that it began with an A, and the latter could gain the victory over the former.

Eryxias glanced at the audience, laughing and blushing at once, as if he had had nothing to do with what had just been said, and replied, — No, indeed, Socrates, I never supposed that our arguments should be of a kind which would never convince any one of those here present or be of advantage to them. For what man of sense could ever be persuaded that the wisest and the richest are the same? The truth is that we are discussing the subject of riches, and my notion is that we should argue respecting the honest and dishonest means of acquiring them, and, generally, whether they are a good thing or a bad.

Very good, I said, and I am obliged to you for the hint: in future we will be more careful. But why do not you yourself, as you introduced the argument, and do not think that the former discussion touched the point at issue, tell us whether you consider riches to be a good or an evil?

I am of opinion, he said, that they are a good. He was about to add something more, when Critias interrupted him: — Do you really suppose so, Eryxias?

Certainly, replied Eryxias; I should be mad if I did not: and I do not fancy that you would find any one else of a contrary opinion.

And I, retorted Critias, should say that there is no one whom I could not compel to admit that riches are bad for some men. But surely, if they were a good, they could not appear bad for any one?

Here I interposed and said to them: If you two were having an argument about equitation and what was the best way of riding, supposing that I knew the art myself, I should try to bring you to an agreement. For I should be ashamed if I were present and did not do what I could to prevent your difference. And I should do the same if you were quarrelling about any other art and were likely, unless you agreed on the point in dispute, to part as enemies instead of as friends. But now, when we are contending about a thing of which the usefulness continues during the whole of life, and it makes an enormous difference whether we are to regard it as beneficial or not, — a thing, too, which is esteemed of the highest importance by the Hellenes: — (for parents, as soon as their children are, as they think, come to years of discretion, urge them to consider how wealth may be acquired, since by riches the value of a man is judged): — When, I say, we are thus in earnest, and you, who agree in other respects, fall to disputing about a matter of such moment, that is, about wealth, and not merely whether it is black or white, light or heavy, but whether it is a good or an evil, whereby, although you are now the dearest of friends and kinsmen, the most bitter hatred may arise betwixt you, I must hinder your dissension to the best of my power. If I could, I would tell you the truth, and so put an end to the dispute; but as I cannot do this, and each of you supposes that you can bring the other to an agreement, I am prepared, as far as my capacity admits, to help you in solving the question. Please, therefore, Critias, try to make us accept the doctrines which you yourself entertain.

CRITIAS: I should like to follow up the argument, and will ask Eryxias whether he thinks that there are just and unjust men?

ERYXIAS: Most decidedly.

CRITIAS: And does injustice seem to you an evil or a good?

ERYXIAS: An evil.

CRITIAS: Do you consider that he who bribes his neighbour’s wife and commits adultery with her, acts justly or unjustly, and this although both the state and the laws forbid?

ERYXIAS: Unjustly.

CRITIAS: And if the wicked man has wealth and is willing to spend it, he will carry out his evil purposes? whereas he who is short of means cannot do what he fain would, and therefore does not sin? In such a case, surely, it is better that a person should not be wealthy, if his poverty prevents the accomplishment of his desires, and his desires are evil? Or, again, should you call sickness a good or an evil?

ERYXIAS: An evil.

CRITIAS: Well, and do you think that some men are intemperate?

ERYXIAS: Yes.

CRITIAS: Then, if it is better for his health that the intemperate man should refrain from meat and drink and other pleasant things, but he cannot owing to his intemperance, will it not also be better that he should be too poor to gratify his lust rather than that he should have a superabundance of means? For thus he will not be able to sin, although he desire never so much.

Critias appeared to be arguing so admirably that Eryxias, if he had not been ashamed of the bystanders, would probably have got up and struck him. For he thought that he had been robbed of a great possession when it became obvious to him that he had been wrong in his former opinion about wealth. I observed his vexation, and feared that they would proceed to abuse and quarrelling: so I said, — I heard that very argument used in the Lyceum yesterday by a wise man, Prodicus of Ceos; but the audience thought that he was talking mere nonsense, and no one could be persuaded that he was speaking the truth. And when at last a certain talkative young gentleman came in, and, taking his seat, began to laugh and jeer at Prodicus, tormenting him and demanding an explanation of his argument, he gained the ear of the audience far more than Prodicus.

Can you repeat the discourse to us? Said Erasistratus.

SOCRATES: If I can only remember it, I will. The youth began by asking Prodicus, In what way did he think that riches were a good and in what an evil? Prodicus answered, as you did just now, that they were a good to good men and to those who knew in what way they should be employed, while to the bad and the ignorant they were an evil. The same is true, he went on to say, of all other things; men make them to be what they are themselves. The saying of Archilochus is true: —

‘Men’s thoughts correspond to the things which they meet with.’

Well, then, replied the youth, if any one makes me wise in that wisdom whereby good men become wise, he must also make everything else good to me. Not that he concerns himself at all with these other things, but he has converted my ignorance into wisdom. If, for example, a person teach me grammar or music, he will at the same time teach me all that relates to grammar or music, and so when he makes me good, he makes things good to me.

Prodicus did not altogether agree: still he consented to what was said.

And do you think, said the youth, that doing good things is like building a house, — the work of human agency; or do things remain what they were at first, good or bad, for all time?

Prodicus began to suspect, I fancy, the direction which the argument was likely to take, and did not wish to be put down by a mere stripling before all those present: — (if they two had been alone, he would not have minded): — so he answered, cleverly enough: I think that doing good things is a work of human agency.

And is virtue in your opinion, Prodicus, innate or acquired by instruction?

The latter, said Prodicus.

Then you would consider him a simpleton who supposed that he could obtain by praying to the Gods the knowledge of grammar or music or any other art, which he must either learn from another or find out for himself?

Prodicus agreed to this also.

And when you pray to the Gods that you may do well and receive good, you mean by your prayer nothing else than that you desire to become good and wise: — if, at least, things are good to the good and wise and evil to the evil. But in that case, if virtue is acquired by instruction, it would appear that you only pray to be taught what you do not know.

Hereupon I said to Prodicus that it was no misfortune to him if he had been proved to be in error in supposing that the Gods immediately granted to us whatever we asked: — if, I added, whenever you go up to the Acropolis you earnestly entreat the Gods to grant you good things, although you know not whether they can yield your request, it is as though you went to the doors of the grammarian and begged him, although you had never made a study of the art, to give you a knowledge of grammar which would enable you forthwith to do the business of a grammarian.

While I was speaking, Prodicus was preparing to retaliate upon his youthful assailant, intending to employ the argument of which you have just made use; for he was annoyed to have it supposed that he offered a vain prayer to the Gods. But the master of the gymnasium came to him and begged him to leave because he was teaching the youths doctrines which were unsuited to them, and therefore bad for them.

I have told you this because I want you to understand how men are circumstanced in regard to philosophy. Had Prodicus been present and said what you have said, the audience would have thought him raving, and he would have been ejected from the gymnasium. But you have argued so excellently well that you have not only persuaded your hearers, but have brought your opponent to an agreement. For just as in the law courts, if two witnesses testify to the same fact, one of whom seems to be an honest fellow and the other a rogue, the testimony of the rogue often has the contrary effect on the judges’ minds to what he intended, while the same evidence if given by the honest man at once strikes them as perfectly true. And probably the audience have something of the same feeling about yourself and Prodicus; they think him a Sophist and a braggart, and regard you as a gentleman of courtesy and worth. For they do not pay attention to the argument so much as to the character of the speaker.

But truly, Socrates, said Erasistratus, though you may be joking, Critias does seem to me to be saying something which is of weight.

SOCRATES: I am in profound earnest, I assure you. But why, as you have begun your argument so prettily, do you not go on with the rest? There is still something lacking, now you have agreed that (wealth) is a good to some and an evil to others. It remains to enquire what constitutes wealth; for unless you know this, you cannot possibly come to an understanding as to whether it is a good or an evil. I am ready to assist you in the enquiry to the utmost of my power: but first let him who affirms that riches are a good, tell us what, in his opinion, is wealth.

ERASISTRATUS: Indeed, Socrates, I have no notion about wealth beyond that which men commonly have. I suppose that wealth is a quantity of money (compare Arist. Pol.); and this, I imagine, would also be Critias’ definition.

SOCRATES: Then now we have to consider, What is money? Or else later on we shall be found to differ about the question. For instance, the Carthaginians use money of this sort. Something which is about the size of a stater is tied up in a small piece of leather: what it is, no one knows but the makers. A seal is next set upon the leather, which then passes into circulation, and he who has the largest number of such pieces is esteemed the richest and best off. And yet if any one among us had a mass of such coins he would be no wealthier than if he had so many pebbles from the mountain. At Lacedaemon, again, they use iron by weight which has been rendered useless: and he who has the greatest mass of such iron is thought to be the richest, although elsewhere it has no value. In Ethiopia engraved stones are employed, of which a Lacedaemonian could make no use. Once more, among the Nomad Scythians a man who owned the house of Polytion would not be thought richer than one who possessed Mount Lycabettus among ourselves. And clearly those things cannot all be regarded as possessions; for in some cases the possessors would appear none the richer thereby: but, as I was saying, some one of them is thought in one place to be money, and the possessors of it are the wealthy, whereas in some other place it is not money, and the ownership of it does not confer wealth; just as the standard of morals varies, and what is honourable to some men is dishonourable to others. And if we wish to enquire why a house is valuable to us but not to the Scythians, or why the Carthaginians value leather which is worthless to us, or the Lacedaemonians find wealth in iron and we do not, can we not get an answer in some such way as this: Would an Athenian, who had a thousand talents weight of the stones which lie about in the Agora and which we do not employ for any purpose, be thought to be any the richer?

ERASISTRATUS: He certainly would not appear so to me.

SOCRATES: But if he possessed a thousand talents weight of some precious stone, we should say that he was very rich?

ERASISTRATUS: Of course.

SOCRATES: The reason is that the one is useless and the other useful?

ERASISTRATUS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And in the same way among the Scythians a house has no value because they have no use for a house, nor would a Scythian set so much store on the finest house in the world as on a leather coat, because he could use the one and not the other. Or again, the Carthaginian coinage is not wealth in our eyes, for we could not employ it, as we can silver, to procure what we need, and therefore it is of no use to us.

ERASISTRATUS: True.

SOCRATES: What is useful to us, then, is wealth, and what is useless to us is not wealth?

But how do you mean, Socrates? said Eryxias, interrupting. Do we not employ in our intercourse with one another speech and violence (?) and various other things? These are useful and yet they are not wealth.

SOCRATES: Clearly we have not yet answered the question, What is wealth? That wealth must be useful, to be wealth at all, — thus much is acknowledged by every one. But what particular thing is wealth, if not all things? Let us pursue the argument in another way; and then we may perhaps find what we are seeking. What is the use of wealth, and for what purpose has the possession of riches been invented, — in the sense, I mean, in which drugs have been discovered for the cure of disease? Perhaps in this way we may throw some light on the question. It appears to be clear that whatever constitutes wealth must be useful, and that wealth is one class of useful things; and now we have to enquire, What is the use of those useful things which constitute wealth? For all things probably may be said to be useful which we use in production, just as all things which have life are animals, but there is a special kind of animal which we call ‘man.’ Now if any one were to ask us, What is that of which, if we were rid, we should not want medicine and the instruments of medicine, we might reply that this would be the case if disease were absent from our bodies and either never came to them at all or went away again as soon as it appeared; and we may therefore conclude that medicine is the science which is useful for getting rid of disease. But if we are further asked, What is that from which, if we were free, we should have no need of wealth? can we give an answer? If we have none, suppose that we restate the question thus: — If a man could live without food or drink, and yet suffer neither hunger nor thirst, would he want either money or anything else in order to supply his needs?

ERYXIAS: He would not.

SOCRATES: And does not this apply in other cases? If we did not want for the service of the body the things of which we now stand in need, and heat and cold and the other bodily sensations were unperceived by us, there would be no use in this so-called wealth, if no one, that is, had any necessity for those things which now make us wish for wealth in order that we may satisfy the desires and needs of the body in respect of our various wants. And therefore if the possession of wealth is useful in ministering to our bodily wants, and bodily wants were unknown to us, we should not need wealth, and possibly there would be no such thing as wealth.

ERYXIAS: Clearly not.

SOCRATES: Then our conclusion is, as would appear, that wealth is what is useful to this end?

Eryxias once more gave his assent, but the small argument considerably troubled him.

SOCRATES: And what is your opinion about another question: — Would you say that the same thing can be at one time useful and at another useless for the production of the same result?

ERYXIAS: I cannot say more than that if we require the same thing to produce the same result, then it seems to me to be useful; if not, not.

SOCRATES: Then if without the aid of fire we could make a brazen statue, we should not want fire for that purpose; and if we did not want it, it would be useless to us? And the argument applies equally in other cases.

ERYXIAS: Clearly.

SOCRATES: And therefore conditions which are not required for the existence of a thing are not useful for the production of it?

ERYXIAS: Of course not.

SOCRATES: And if without gold or silver or anything else which we do not use directly for the body in the way that we do food and drink and bedding and houses, — if without these we could satisfy the wants of the body, they would be of no use to us for that purpose?

ERYXIAS: They would not.

SOCRATES: They would no longer be regarded as wealth, because they are useless, whereas that would be wealth which enabled us to obtain what was useful to us?

ERYXIAS: O Socrates, you will never be able to persuade me that gold and silver and similar things are not wealth. But I am very strongly of opinion that things which are useless to us are not wealth, and that the money which is useful for this purpose is of the greatest use; not that these things are not useful towards life, if by them we can procure wealth.

SOCRATES: And how would you answer another question? There are persons, are there not, who teach music and grammar and other arts for pay, and thus procure those things of which they stand in need?

ERYXIAS: There are.

SOCRATES: And these men by the arts which they profess, and in exchange for them, obtain the necessities of life just as we do by means of gold and silver?

ERYXIAS: True.

SOCRATES: Then if they procure by this means what they want for the purposes of life, that art will be useful towards life? For do we not say that silver is useful because it enables us to supply our bodily needs?

ERYXIAS: We do.

SOCRATES: Then if these arts are reckoned among things useful, the arts are wealth for the same reason as gold and silver are, for, clearly, the possession of them gives wealth. Yet a little while ago we found it difficult to accept the argument which proved that the wisest are the wealthiest. But now there seems no escape from this conclusion. Suppose that we are asked, ’Is a horse useful to everybody?’ will not our reply be, ‘No, but only to those who know how to use a horse?’

ERYXIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And so, too, physic is not useful to every one, but only to him who knows how to use it?

ERYXIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And the same is the case with everything else?

ERYXIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: Then gold and silver and all the other elements which are supposed to make up wealth are only useful to the person who knows how to use them?

ERYXIAS: Exactly.

SOCRATES: And were we not saying before that it was the business of a good man and a gentleman to know where and how anything should be used?

ERYXIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: The good and gentle, therefore will alone have profit from these things, supposing at least that they know how to use them. But if so, to them only will they seem to be wealth. It appears, however, that where a person is ignorant of riding, and has horses which are useless to him, if some one teaches him that art, he makes him also richer, for what was before useless has now become useful to him, and in giving him knowledge he has also conferred riches upon him.

ERYXIAS: That is the case.

SOCRATES: Yet I dare be sworn that Critias will not be moved a whit by the argument.

CRITIAS: No, by heaven, I should be a madman if I were. But why do you not finish the argument which proves that gold and silver and other things which seem to be wealth are not real wealth? For I have been exceedingly delighted to hear the discourses which you have just been holding.

SOCRATES: My argument, Critias (I said), appears to have given you the same kind of pleasure which you might have derived from some rhapsode’s recitation of Homer; for you do not believe a word of what has been said. But come now, give me an answer to this question. Are not certain things useful to the builder when he is building a house?

CRITIAS: They are.

SOCRATES: And would you say that those things are useful which are employed in house building, — stones and bricks and beams and the like, and also the instruments with which the builder built the house, the beams and stones which they provided, and again the instruments by which these were obtained?

CRITIAS: It seems to me that they are all useful for building.

SOCRATES: And is it not true of every art, that not only the materials but the instruments by which we procure them and without which the work could not go on, are useful for that art?

CRITIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: And further, the instruments by which the instruments are procured, and so on, going back from stage to stage ad infinitum, — are not all these, in your opinion, necessary in order to carry out the work?

CRITIAS: We may fairly suppose such to be the case.

SOCRATES: And if a man has food and drink and clothes and the other things which are useful to the body, would he need gold or silver or any other means by which he could procure that which he now has?

CRITIAS: I do not think so.

SOCRATES: Then you consider that a man never wants any of these things for the use of the body?

CRITIAS: Certainly not.

SOCRATES: And if they appear useless to this end, ought they not always to appear useless? For we have already laid down the principle that things cannot be at one time useful and at another time not, in the same process.

CRITIAS: But in that respect your argument and mine are the same. For you maintain if they are useful to a certain end, they can never become useless; whereas I say that in order to accomplish some results bad things are needed, and good for others.

SOCRATES: But can a bad thing be used to carry out a good purpose?

CRITIAS: I should say not.

SOCRATES: And we call those actions good which a man does for the sake of virtue?

CRITIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: But can a man learn any kind of knowledge which is imparted by word of mouth if he is wholly deprived of the sense of hearing?

CRITIAS: Certainly not, I think.

SOCRATES: And will not hearing be useful for virtue, if virtue is taught by hearing and we use the sense of hearing in giving instruction?

CRITIAS: Yes.

SOCRATES: And since medicine frees the sick man from his disease, that art too may sometimes appear useful in the acquisition of virtue, e.g. when hearing is procured by the aid of medicine.

CRITIAS: Very likely.

SOCRATES: But if, again, we obtain by wealth the aid of medicine, shall we not regard wealth as useful for virtue?

CRITIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And also the instruments by which wealth is procured?

CRITIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: Then you think that a man may gain wealth by bad and disgraceful means, and, having obtained the aid of medicine which enables him to acquire the power of hearing, may use that very faculty for the acquisition of virtue?

CRITIAS: Yes, I do.

SOCRATES: But can that which is evil be useful for virtue?

CRITIAS: No.

SOCRATES: It is not therefore necessary that the means by which we obtain what is useful for a certain object should always be useful for the same object: for it seems that bad actions may sometimes serve good purposes? The matter will be still plainer if we look at it in this way: — If things are useful towards the several ends for which they exist, which ends would not come into existence without them, how would you regard them? Can ignorance, for instance, be useful for knowledge, or disease for health, or vice for virtue?

CRITIAS: Never.

SOCRATES: And yet we have already agreed — have we not? — that there can be no knowledge where there has not previously been ignorance, nor health where there has not been disease, nor virtue where there has not been vice?

CRITIAS: I think that we have.

SOCRATES: But then it would seem that the antecedents without which a thing cannot exist are not necessarily useful to it. Otherwise ignorance would appear useful for knowledge, disease for health, and vice for virtue.

Critias still showed great reluctance to accept any argument which went to prove that all these things were useless. I saw that it was as difficult to persuade him as (according to the proverb) it is to boil a stone, so I said: Let us bid ‘good-bye’ to the discussion, since we cannot agree whether these things are useful and a part of wealth or not. But what shall we say to another question: Which is the happier and better man, — he who requires the greatest quantity of necessaries for body and diet, or he who requires only the fewest and least? The answer will perhaps become more obvious if we suppose some one, comparing the man himself at different times, to consider whether his condition is better when he is sick or when he is well?

CRITIAS: That is not a question which needs much consideration.

SOCRATES: Probably, I said, every one can understand that health is a better condition than disease. But when have we the greatest and the most various needs, when we are sick or when we are well?

CRITIAS: When we are sick.

SOCRATES: And when we are in the worst state we have the greatest and most especial need and desire of bodily pleasures?

CRITIAS: True.

SOCRATES: And seeing that a man is best off when he is least in need of such things, does not the same reasoning apply to the case of any two persons, of whom one has many and great wants and desires, and the other few and moderate? For instance, some men are gamblers, some drunkards, and some gluttons: and gambling and the love of drink and greediness are all desires?

CRITIAS: Certainly.

SOCRATES: But desires are only the lack of something: and those who have the greatest desires are in a worse condition than those who have none or very slight ones?

CRITIAS: Certainly I consider that those who have such wants are bad, and that the greater their wants the worse they are.

SOCRATES: And do we think it possible that a thing should be useful for a purpose unless we have need of it for that purpose?

CRITIAS: No.

SOCRATES: Then if these things are useful for supplying the needs of the body, we must want them for that purpose?

CRITIAS: That is my opinion.

SOCRATES: And he to whom the greatest number of things are useful for his purpose, will also want the greatest number of means of accomplishing it, supposing that we necessarily feel the want of all useful things?

CRITIAS: It seems so.

SOCRATES: The argument proves then that he who has great riches has likewise need of many things for the supply of the wants of the body; for wealth appears useful towards that end. And the richest must be in the worst condition, since they seem to be most in want of such things.

HALCYON

Translated by George Pallatos

This short dialogue relates the ancient myth of the Halcyon, a woman transformed into a bird, who must forever search the seas in lament.  As well as being attributed to Plato, Halcyon was claimed by others to have been written by Lucian, though this is widely doubted.

‘Halcyone’ by Herbert James Draper, 1915 — a modern depiction of the myth

HALCYON.

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE:

Socrates, Chaerephon.

CHAEREPHON: Socrates, what was that call that came to us from down along the beach and under the cliff?  It was so sweet to my ears!  What creature can make such a sound?  Surely sea creatures are silent.

SOCRATES: It’s a kind of sea bird, Chaerephon, called a halcyon, which is accustomed to lamenting and weeping.  There’s an ancient tale about this bird, which was handed down as a myth by the Ancients.  They tell that it was once the daughter of Aeolus, son of Hellen, who ached with love and lamented the death of her husband, Ceyx of Trachis, the son of Eosphorus the Dawn Star - a handsome son of a likewise father.  And then, due to an act of divine will, she developed wings like a bird and so now flies over the sea searching for him, who she could not find when wandering all over the earth.

CHAEREPHON: Is it Halcyon that you’re referring to?  I had never heard the voice before, it rally did strike me as something exotic.  Anyway, the creature certainly does produce a mournful sound.  About how big is it, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Not very large.  Yet great is the honour she has been given by the gods because of her love for her husband.  For it’s when the halcyons are nesting that the cosmos brings us what are called the ‘halcyon days’ in mid-winter, days distinguished for their fair weather - today is an especially good example.  Don’t you see how bright they sky above is and how the whole sea is calm and tranquil, like a mirror, so to speak?

CHAEREPHON: You’re right; today does seem to be a halcyon day, and yesterday was much like it.  But by the gods, Socrates!  How can we actually believe these ancient tales, that once upon a time birds turned into women or women into birds? All of that is entirely impossible.

SOCRATES: Ah, my dear friend, we seem to be completely short-sighted judges of what is likely or unlikely - we make our judgment according to the best of our human ability, which is weak, unreliable and blind.  Numerous things which are possible seem, to us, not possible, and many things which are possible seem unachievable; often because of our inexperience, and often because of the childish folly in our minds.  For in fact all human beings, even very old men, really do seem to me as foolish as children, since the span of our lives is small indeed, no longer than childhood when compared with all eternity.  My friend, how could people who know nothing about the goads’ powers or of nature as a whole, possibly tell whether something like this is possible or impossible?

Did you notice, Chaerephon, how large a storm we had the day before yesterday? Someone pondering those lightning flashes and thunderbolts and the marvellous force of the winds might well be struck by terror; someone might have thought the whole inhabited world was actually going to collapse.  But a little later there was an astonishing restoration of fair weather which lasted right up to the present moment.  Do you think then, that it is a greater and more laborious task to conjure up the kind of fair weather out of such an overwhelming storm and disturbance and to bring the entire cosmos into a state of calm, than it is to reshape a woman’s form and turn it into a bird’s? Even our little children who know how to model such things out of clay or wax can easily work them into all kinds of shapes, all out of the same material.  Since the divinity possesses great power, incomparably greater than ours, perhaps all such things are actually very easy for it.  After all, how much greater than yourself would you say the whole of heaven is?

CHAEREPHON: Socrates, who among men could imagine or find words for anything of the sort? Even to say it is beyond human attainment.

SOCRATES: When we compare people with each other, do we not see that there are vast differences in their abilities and inabilities?  Adult men, when compared to mere infants who are five or ten days old, possess a remarkable superiority in their ability at virtually all practical affairs in life, those carried out by means of our sophisticated skills as well as those carried out by means of the body and soul; these things cannot, as I said, even cross the minds of youngsters.  And how immeasurably superior is the physical strength of one man grown to full size, compared to them, for one man could easily vanquish thousands of such children; and it is surely natural that in the initial stages of life men should be utterly helpless and incapable of anything.  When one person, as it seems, is so far superior to another, how are we to suppose that the powers of the whole heaven would appear, compared with our powers, to those who are capable of grasping such matters?  Possibly many people will think it is probable that, just as the size of the cosmos surpasses the form of Socrates or Chaerephon, so its power and wisdom and intelligence will to the same degree surpass our condition.

For you and me and many others like us, numerous acts are impossible which are quite easy for others to do.  For as long as they lack the knowledge, it is more impossible that people who cannot play the flute should do so or that the illiterate should read or write, than it is to make women out of birds or birds out of women.  Nature practically tosses into a honeycomb an animal which is footless and wingless; then she allows it feet and wings, adorning it with all kinds of variegated and beautiful colours and so produces a bee, prudent producer of heavenly honey; and from mute and lifeless eggs she shapes may species of winged, walking and water-dwelling animals, using the sacred arts of the vast aether.  We are mortal and entirely unimportant, not capable of seeing clearly great or small matters and we are in the dark about most of the things which happen to us; so we could not possibly make any reliable claim about the mighty powers of the immortals, whether as regards halcyons or as regards nightingales.

O bird of musical lamentations.  I shall pass on to any children the far-famed myth about your songs, just as I received it from my ancient ancestors, and I’ll sing frequently to my wives, Xanthippe and Myrto, of your piety and loving devotion to your husband, with special emphasis on the honour you received from the gods.  Will you also do something like this, Chaerephon?

CHAEREPHON: That would be suitable, Socrates, and what you say proves the tie between husbands and wives.

SOCRATES: Well, now it’s time to say farewell to Halcyon, and push on to the city from Phaleron.

CHAEREPHON: Indeed; let’s do that.

ON JUSTICE

Translated by George Burges

In this short and spurious dialogue, Socrates discusses with an unnamed friend questions about what is deemed as just and unjust.

ON JUSTICE.

Persons of the dialogue:

SOCRATES and a FRIEND.

Can you tell us what is justice? or does it seem to you not worth entering into a discourse about it? To me at least (it seems) very much so. What is it then? What else than the things considered jtlst. Do not (speak)’ to me in this way; but, as if you had asked me — What is the eye? I should have said to you — It is that, by which we see; and if you should bid me to prove it, I would prove it. And if you should ask — To what is given the name of soul? I would say — To that, by which we know (something). And if again — What is the voice? I would answer — That, by which we converse. In this way then do you tell me that justice is that, which we use for something, as are the things, of which I was just now asking. I have it not in my power to reply in this way at all. But, since such is the case, perhaps we shall discover it more easily in this way. Come then, (say,) by what do we, on consideration, distinguish the greater and the less? Is it not by a measure? Yes. And together with a measure by what art? Is it not by that of measurement? Yes. And how things light and heavy? Is it not by weight? Yes. And together with a weight by what art? Is it not that of weighing? Certainly. Well then, by what instrument do we, on consideration, distinguish what is just and unjust? and together with the instrument, by what art previously? Is it not somehow manifest to you thus? No.  But  (let us consider it) again in this way. When we are disputing about things greater and less, who decides between us? Is it not the measurers? Yes. And when about things many and few, who are the persons to decide? Is it not the num- berers?, But what, when we are disputing with each other about things just and unjust, to whom do we come? and who are the persons to decide on each occasion between us? Say. Do you not, Socrates, mean the judges? You have correctly made the discovery. Come then and try to tell this likewise. By doing what do the measurers decide respecting things large and small? Is it not by measuring? Yes. And respecting things heavy and light? Is it not by weighing? Yes. And respecting things many and few? Is it not by numbering? Yes. But how, respecting things just and unjust? Answer me. I cannot say. Say, by speaking. Yes. By speaking then do judges decide between us, when they are forming a judgment respecting things just and unjust. Yes. And by measuring, those skilled in measuring things small and great? for a measure is that, by which these things are judged. It is so. And by weighing, those skilled in weighing things heavy and light? for a weight is that, by which these things are judged. Yes, it is. And again by numbering, those skilled in numbering things many and few? for number is that by which these things are judged. It is so. But by speaking, as we just now agreed, the judges decide respecting things just and unjust. You speak correctly, Socrates.  It is true then; and speech is that, it seems, by which things just and unjust are judged. What then are things just and unjust? As if a person had asked us — Since a measure, and the measuring art, and the person skilled in measuring, decide which is the greater and the less, what is the greater and the less? Shall we say to him that the greater exceeds, and the less is exceeded? and since a weight and the weighing art and the person skilled in weighing decide the heavy and the light, shall we say to him, that the thing going downwards in the scales is heavy, but the thing (going) upwards is light? In like manner if he should ask us — Since speech and the art of judging and the judge is the party who decides what is just and unjust,-what is the just and unjust? “What answer shall we have to give him?  Or have we not a single word to say? We have not. Whether willingly or unwillingly do men, think you, have this injustice? I mean in this way. Think you that they do injustice  [and are unjust]  willingly or unwillingly? Willingly, I imagine, Socrates; for they are wicked.  You conceive then that men are willingly wicked and unjust. I So; and do not you? No; at least if we are to be persuaded by the poet. What kind of poet? He who said —

Not one is wicked willingly, nor blest Unwillingly.

But still on the other hand, Socrates, well is the old proverb, that Poets do many falsehoods sing. But I should marvel, if this poet has told a falsehood. Come then, if you are at leisure, let us consider, whether he is saying what is false or true. Nay, I am at leisure. Come then, (say,) do you deem it just to tell a falsehood, or to tell the truth? To tell the truth. To tell a falsehood then is unjust? Yes. But whether to deceive or to not deceive? To not deceive, assuredly. To deceive then is unjust? Yes. But what, is it just to hurt, or to benefit? To benefit. To hurt then is unjust? Yes.  It is just then to tell the truth, and to not deceive, and to benefit; but to tell a falsehood, and to hurt, and to deceive, unjust. Yes, by Zeus, and greatly so. What, to do so to enemies? By no means. But it is just to do a hurt to enemies, but to do a benefit, unjust. Yes. It is then just by deceiving enemies to do them a hurt? How not? Well then, to tell a falsehood in order that we may deceive and do a hurt to enemies, is it not just? It is. But what, do you not say that it is just to do a benefit to friends? I do. Whether by not deceiving or by deceiving for their benefit? By deceiving even, by Zeus. But is it just to do a benefit by deceiving, and yet not by telling a falsehood? or by telling a falsehood? It is just by telling even a falsehood. To tell a falsehood and to tell the truth is, as it seems, both just and unjust. Yes. And to not deceive and to deceive is both just and unjust. So it seems. And to do a hurt and to do a benefit is just and unjust. Yes. All things of this kind are it seems the same, both just and unjust. To me at least they appear so.  Hear then. I have, like other men, a right eye and a left. Yes. And a right nostril and a left. Certainly. And a right hand and a left. Yes. Hence, since after giving the same name, you say that some of my (members) are on the right side, and others on the left, would you not be able to say, if I asked you, on which side they were, that some on one side are the right, and others on the other side the left? Yes. Come then, likewise, to that point, since after giving the same name, you say that some acts are just, and some unjust, can you tell which are the just, and which the unjust? To me then it now appears that each of these acts, taking place at a proper time, are just; but at not a proper one, unjust. And correctly does it appear to you. He then, who does each of these acts at a proper time, does what is just; but he, who does not at a proper time, (does) what is unjust. Yes. He then, who does what is just, is just; but he who does what is unjust, is unjust. It is so.  Who then at a proper time is able to cut and burn and to make lean? The medical man. Because he knows, or for some other reason? Because he knows. And who (is able) at a proper time to dig, and to plough, and to plant? The land-tiller. Because he knows, or because he does not? Because he knows. And in this way as regards other matters, he who knows, is able to do what is proper at a proper time; but he who does not know, is not. Thus it is. And he who knows how to tell falsehoods, and to deceive, and to do a benefit, is able to do each of these things at a proper time; but he who does not know, is not. You say what is true. And he who does these acts at a fitting time is just. Yes. He does them then through knowledge. How not? The just man then is just through knowledge. Yes. The unjust man then is unjust through what is opposite to what is just. It appears so. Now the just man is just through wisdom. Yes. And the unjust man is unjust through the want of instruction. It seems so.  That, which our ancestors left us, as wisdom, seems near to being justice; but that, which (they left) as want of instruction, to be injustice. It is likely. Are men uninstructed willingly, or unwillingly? Unwillingly. Unwillingly then they are unjust. It appears so. But the unjust are wicked. Yes. Unwillingly then persons are wicked and unjust. By all means. But they act unjustly through there being the unjust. Yes. Through an act of unwillingness. Certainly. But that, which is willing, does not take place through what is unwilling. It does not. But the doing of injustice takes place through the existence of injustice. Yes. Now injustice is an involuntary act. Involuntary. Unwillingly then persons do an injustice, and are unjust and wicked. Unwillingly, as it appears. The poet then did not in this case tell a falsehood. It seems not.

ON VIRTUE

Translated by George Burges

This short dialogue features Socrates, who discusses with a friend whether virtue can be taught. However, instead of offering any fresh insight, the author of the spurious dialogue does little more than copy out passages from the Meno almost word for word.

ON VIRTUE.

Persons of the dialogue.

SOCRATES and a FRIEND.

Is Virtue a thing to be taught, or to be not taught? but do men become good by nature, or by any other means? I cannot, Socrates, state at present. But let us consider the matter in this way. Come then, (say,) if a person wished to become good in the virtue, in which clever cooks are good, from whence would he become so? It is evident, if he learnt from good cooks. Well then, if a person wished to become a good physician, by going to whom would he become a good physician? It is evident, by going to some one of the good physicians. But if he wished to become good in the art, in which clever carpenters (are good)? To (some one) of the (good) carpenters.

If then he wished to be good in the virtue, in which men are good and clever, whither must he go and learn? I conceive to (some one) of the (good) men (to learn) this, if it is to be learnt; for from whence else? Come then, (say,) who are the men that have become good? in order that we may see whether these are the persons, who make men good, Thucydides, and Themistocles, and Aristides, and Pericles.

Have we it in our power to say who was the teacher of each of these? We have not; for it is not told. Well then, (can we mention) any pupil, either amongst strangers or citizens or any one else, either a free man or a slave, who assigns as the cause of his having become wise and good his intercourse with them? This too is not told. But they did not surely grudge to share their virtue with other persons. Perhaps so. Was it that there might not be rival artists, just as cooks, and physicians, and carpenters feel a jealousy; since it is not to their advantage for many rival artists to exist, nor for them to dwell amongst many similar persons. Is it then in like manner not an advantage for good men to dwell amongst many similar persons? Perhaps so.  Are not the good and the just the same? Yes, they are. Is there the individual, to whom it is an advantage to live not amongst good persons, but amongst bad? I cannot tell. Can you not tell this too, whether it is the work of good men to do a hurt, and of bad men to do a benefit, or the reverse’? The reverse. The good then do a benefit, the bad do a hurt. Yes. Is there a person who wishes to be hurt rather than to be benefited? By no means. No one therefore wishes to live amongst bad persons, rather than amongst good. It is so. Not one then of the good is so jealous of another, as (not) to make him a good person and similar to himself. From this reasoning it seems so.  You have heard that Cleophantus was the son of Themis- tocles. I have heard it. It is evident then that Themistocles was not jealous of his son becoming the best possible; who (was jealous of) no one else, if indeed he was a good man; and (good)  they say he was. Yes. You know then that Themistocles caused his son to be taught to be a clever and a good horseman. For instance he used to remain  standing upright in the Meno,  where Sydenham was the first to remark that this Thucydides was not the historian, but a political opponent of Pericles.

upon horses, and upright too hurled a javelin from (the backs of) the horses, and did many other wonderful feats, and taught him, and made him wise in many other things, such as are closely connected with a good education. Or have you not heard  from elderly persons? I have heard it. No one then could find fault with the son’s nature as being bad. Not justly so at least from what you have said.  But what is this? that Cleophantus, the son of Themistocles, became; a good and wise man in the matters where his father was wise, have you ever heard from any younger or older person? I have not heard it. Do we then conceive that he wished to instruct his own son in these matters; but in the wisdom, in which he was wise himself, not to make him better than any of his neighbours, if virtue were a thing to be taught? It is not likely at least.  Of such a kind then is this your teacher of virtue, to whom you have alluded? Let us then look to another, by name Aristides, who brought up Lysimachus, and instructed him the best of the Athenians on such subjects as are connected with (good) teachers; and yet he made him a man no better than any body; for both you and I have seen and associated with him. It is true.·  You know too that Pericles brought up well  his sons Paralus and Xan- thippus,  of the latter of whom you seem to me to have been the lover. These, as you know yourself, he taught to be horsemen inferior to none of the Athenians; and he instructed them to be inferior to no one in the rest of contests, and all the other things that are learnt by art. But did he not wish to make them good men? But perhaps, Socrates, they would have become so, had they not died young.  You reasonably come to the aid of your beloved. But Pericles would have much rather made them clever in his own wisdom, than in music and contests, had virtue been a thing to be taught, and had he been able to make them good men.  But (I fear) that it is a thing not to be taught; since Thu- cydides brought up well his two sons, Melesias and Stepha- nus,  in behalf of whom you will not have it in your power to say, what you have done in behalf of the sons of Pericles; for one of these you surely know lived to old age, and the other much beyond. And yet their father taught them well other pursuits, and they wrestled the best of the Athenians. For he put one under Xanthias, and the other under Eudorus; and these were surely thought to wrestle the best of those of that period. Yes, they were.  Is it not evident then, that-he would not have taught his sons these things, where it was requisite to instruct them at an expense to himself, but those where without expending any thing it was requisite to make them good men. Now would he not have taught them this, if it were to be taught? It is likely at least. But perhaps Thucydides was a man of small means, and had not very many friends amongst the Athenians or their allies; and he was of a great family, and of great power in the state, and amongst the rest of the Greeks, so that if this had been a thing to be taught, he would have discovered a person amongst those of the country, or foreigners, who would have made his son a good man, if he himself had, through his attention to state affairs, no leisure. But (I fear) that virtue is a thing not to be taught. Perhaps not.  But if it is not to be taught, are the good naturally so from their birth? But this perhaps we shall discover by considering the matter in this way. Come then, (say,) do there exist the natures of good horses? They do exist. Are there not men, who possess an art, by which they know the natures of good horses, both as regards their body, with reference to running, and their feelings, which of them are full of spirit or devoid of it. Yes. What is this art, and what its name? Equestrian. Is there not in like manner an art relating to dogs, by which persons discriminate between the good and bad natures of dogs? There is. What isit? The hunter’s art. There are too assayers amongst us of gold and silver, who, by looking, decide upon both the better and the worse (metal). There are. And what do you call them? Silver assayers.  The boy-drillers moreover know, by examining the natures of the bodies of men, which of them are useful and which not, for each of their labours, and which of the bodies of persons older and young, are about to be worthy of note, and in which there is much hope of their executing works connected with the body. It is so.  Whether then are good horses and dogs, and other things of such a kind, of more importance in states, or good men? Good men. Well then, do you conceive that, if the natures of men were good for virtue, that mankind would not have planned in every way to discover those natures? It is likely at least. Can you then mention any art, which has been exhibited and applied to the natures of good men, so as to enable persons to decide upon them? I cannot.’ And yet the art would be worth much, and so too the parties possessing it. For they would have pointed out the young men, who, when they were still boys, were about to be good; and whom we should have taken and kept in the Acropolis for the public use, ae if it were silver, and something more beautiful, in order that they might not suffer any mischief, either in a fight or in any other danger, but be laid up as the saviours and benefactors of the state, since they should have arrived at a proper age. But it seems almost that virtue does not exist to mankind either by nature or instruction.  How then, Socrates, would persons seem to become (good), if they do not become so by nature or instruction? By what other means could the good exist? This, I think, could not be shown easily; but I conjecture that the property (of goodness) is something especially divine, and that good men exist, as prophets do and oracle chaunters. For these exist neither by nature nor by art, but become such by the inspiration of the gods. And so too good men point out to states what is about on each occasion to happen, and what is about to be, from the inspiration  of a god, much more, and more clearly, than oracle chaunters do: and even women  somehow say that such a person is a divine man; and the Lacedaemonians too, when they praise in a very handsome manner, say that a man is divine, and often does Homer make use of the same expression, and the rest of poets likewise. When therefore a god wishes a state to do well, he causes some men in it to be good; but when a state is about to do ill, the god takes away the good men from it. Thus then it is likely that virtue is a thing not to be taught nor (derived) from nature, but exists by a divine allotment to those who possess it.

DEFINITIONS

Translated by George Burges

This is a dictionary of 185 philosophical terms sometimes included in editions of Plato’s works. Plato is generally not regarded as the editor of the Definitions, with some ancient scholars attributing the work to Speusippus, Plato’s nephew and follower.

A medieval depiction of Plato’s nephew, the scholar Speussipus

INTRODUCTION.

Of these Definitions, which are appended to all the complete editions of Plato, and found likewise in eleven MSS. collated by Bekker, the authorship is attributed in the Vienna MS. to Speusippus. (Φ.) But since the writing relied upon, as the authority for this statement, is more modern than the rest of the Manuscript, the remark is probably due to Sambucus, once the possessor of it; who, says Menage, on Diogen. L. iv., asserted that the “Οροι, mentioned in the Life of Speusippus, had been falsely attributed to Plato; and he might have added, that although the Definitions are attributed to Plato by Casaubon, they are distinctly assigned to Speusippus by Ficinus; whose version of them is to be found towards the end of a volume in folio, containing his translation of “ Iambli- chus de Mysteriis,” and other Greek treatises of a similar character, printed by Aldus in . Stobaeus, however, found the Definitions at the end of his MS. of Plato; to whom he says they were attributed, in iii. p., . But instead of Speusippus being the, author of these Definitions, internal evidence would rather lead to the supposition of their being the production of some more recent philosopher of Alexandria. For we find δόμα twice used in the sense of a “ gift,” a word first met with in Holy Writ, and subsequently in Plutarch, as remarked by H. Stephens; and while its compound πρόδομα is found in Hesych. Άρραβων, as duly noticed by Lobeck on Phrynichus, p., the simple δόμα is reckoned amongst irregular formations by Herodian, Πίρί Μονήρους Αίζιως, p.,, where Lehr refers to Lobeck’s ΠαραΧ«τό/«ι/α, p. .

But granting even that from this fact no inference could be fairly drawn against the supposed authorship and antiquity of the Definitions, yet the matter of them is such as to disprove their being written by a disciple of Plato, and suggests rather that they are the production of some philosopher, who concocted them from a faithless representation of the doctrines promulgated in the Socratic, Stoic, Academic, aud Peripatetic schools; and this too with so little judgment, as frequently to give an unintelligible definition, when he might have found an intelligible one elsewhere, as I have shown on various occasions in the notes. Socrates, it is true, as remarked by Menage on Diogenes L. vii., is said by Aristotle in Metaphys. i., and xiii., and Theopompus the rhetorician, quoted by Arrian on Epictetus ii., to have paid considerable attention to Definitions; and this may be inferred from some instances furnished by Xenophon in Memorab. iv. . But it is to Zeno and his followers that we must refer the practice of laying down Definitions, as the basis of subsequent discussions. For they were accustomed to apply to moral philosophy the principle they had learnt from the Pythagoreans, as the groundwork of physical philosophy, developed by mathematics, as may be inferred from the ‘Life of Pythagoras by Diogenes; who appeals to Phavorinus to prove that “ Pythagoras made use of definitions through his ‘ Mathematical Woodand still more so did Socrates and his followers; and so did Aristotle and the Stoics.” Menage too, on Diogen. L. vii., remarks that a mass of such definitions are to be found in the Life of Zeno alone.

To the preceding proofs that the author of the Definitions was some philosopher of Alexandria, may be added those which Cousin has adduced. He remarks that ‘Αζίωσις, in the sense of “ dignity “ or “ majesty,” does not belong to the period of Plato, nor even to any age of good Greek; and neither does Λογισμός σεμνότατος. So too Άγάπησις is not a word of Plato or his time; while on the unintelligible definition of the word “Ονομα, “ a noun,” he observes that “ the language used there is altogether of the Alexandrine school, and is better suited to a treatise by Dionysius the Areopagite than to one attributed to Plato.”

G. B.

DEFINITIONS.

Eternal — that which has existed formerly through all time, and is now not destroyed.

God — an immortal living-being, sufficient in itself for happiness; an eternal existence; the cause of the nature of the good.

Generation — a movement towards existence; a sharing through a change in existence; a progression towards existence.

The sun — a fire in heaven, which can alone be seen from morning to evening by the same;  the greatest star, visible by day; a perpetually living being, possessing a soul. Time — a movement of the sun; a measure of progress.

Day — a journeying of the sun from its rising (east) to its setting (west); a light, the opposite to Night.

Morning — the beginning of day; the first light from the sun.

Mid-day — the time when the shadows of substances have the least length.

Evening — the close of day.

Night — darkness, the opposite to Day; a deprivation of the sun.

Chance — a proceeding from uncertainty to uncertainty, and from what is spontaneous; the cause  of a fortuitous action.

Old Age — the wasting away of a thing with life, the result of time.

Wind — a movement in the air around the earth.

Air — an element, all of whose movements  according to spabe are according to nature.

Heaven — a substance, surrounding all things perceived by the senses, except the uppermost air.

Soul — that which moves itself; the cause of vital motion in living beings.

Power — that, which is able by itself to produce an effect.

Vision — the (bodily) habit of distinguishing substances.

Bone — marrow, consolidated by heat.

Element — that, which combines and separates (particles) brought together.

Virtue — a (mental) constitution of the best kind; a habit of a mortal living being; the object of praise on account of itself; a habit, according to which that, which possesses it, is said to be good; a just communion of laws; a disposition, according to which  that, which is constituted perfectly, is called steady; a habit, effective of a good state of law.

Discretion — a power effective by itself of the good fortune of man; a knowledge of things good and evil;  a knowledge effective of felicity; a (mental) constitution, by which we determine what is to be done and what is not to be done.

Justice — an agreement of the soul with itself, and a correct arrangement of the parts of the soul towards each other and about each other; a habit, distributive to each person of that, which is according to worthiness; a habit, according to which he, who possesses it, can select what seems to him to be just; a habit in life, subservient to law;  an equality that can share in common; a habit ministering to upright laws.

Temperance — a moderation of soul relating to the desires and pleasures, which exist in it according to nature; a fitness in, and correct ordering of, the soul, as regards its natural pleasures and pains; a harmony in the soul touching the states of ruling and being ruled; a self-acting according to nature; ί [a well-ordering of the soul;] an intercourse of the soul, founded on reason, relating to things honourable and base; a habit according to which he, who has it, can select and be cautious of what he ought.

Fortitude — a habit of the soul, not to be moved by fear; a boldness in war; a knowledge of the things relating to war; a command over the soul relating to things of fear and dread; a boldness subservient to discretion; a bold bearing under the expectation of death; a habit, preservative of right reasoning in dangers;  a strength (of mind) balancing (the apprehension) of danger;”a strength, bearing up on the side of virtue; a tranquillity of soul with reference to things that appear, according to correct reasoning, to be full of dread and daring; the safe preservation of uncertain determinations relating to things of dread; a skill in war; a habit, that can abide in law.

Continence-a power enduring pain;  a following of correct reasoning;  a power not exceeded by that which is perceived by correct reasoning.

Self-sufficiency — a completion in the possession of good things;  a habit, according to which they, who possess it, are the masters of themselves.

Reasonableness — a reduction in what is just and useful; a moderation in compacts; a well-ordering of the soul, founded on reason, as regards things honourable and base.

Endurance — the bearing-up against pain, for the sake of what is honourable; a bearing-up under labour for the sake of what is honourable.

Boldness — the non-expectation of an ill; an imperturbability in the presence of an ill.

Non-perception of pain — a habit, according to which we do not fall into sorrows.

The love of labour — a habit, that accomplishes what a person chooses (to do); a voluntary endurance; a habit not to be cavilled at on the subject of labour.

Modesty — a voluntary shrinking from daring on just grounds towards what seems to be the best; a voluntary laying hold of the best; a cautious care of blame on just grounds.

Freedom — the ruling power of life; a power ruling by itself on every occasion;  a power over that, which relates to oneself in life; an unsparingness in the use and possession of property.

Liberality — a habit in transacting money matters in a way that is fitting; the adding to, and possession of, property, as is meet.

Mildness — the settling down of an excitement arising from passion; a moderated temperament of soul.

Decorum — a voluntary yielding to what appears the best; a well-ordering respecting the movement of the body.

Felicity — a good composed of all good things; a power self-sufficient towards living well; a consummation as regards virtue; an utility self-sufficient for a living being.

Magnificence — the estimation according to correct reason  of that which is the most worthy of respect.

Sagacity — a natural ability in the soul, according to which he, who possesses it, makes a conjecture in the quickest (time) relating to what  needful; an acuteness of intellect.

Honesty — a simplicity in moral conduct in union with fair speaking; a steadiness in moral conduct.

Kalokagathia — a habit of selecting things that are the best.

High-mindedness — a gentlemanly use of accidental circumstances; a majesty of soul in union with reason.

Philanthropy — a habit of moral conduct that easily leads to a friendship with man; a habit of acting kindly towards men; the having thanks; a’recollection with kind conduct.

Piety — -justice relating to the gods; a power paying attention to the gods willingly; a correct perception of the honour due to the gods; a knowledge of the honour due to the gods.

Good — that on account of itself.

Fearlessness — a habit, according to which we do not fall into fear.

Apathy — a habit, according to which we do not fall into sufferings.

Peace — a quietness as regards enmity in war.

Listlessness — an easiness of soul; apathy respecting the objects of anger.

Skilfulness — a habit, according to which he, who pos-

sesses it, is able to form a conjecture about the peculiar termination (of a thing).

Friendship — a union of sentiment, relating to things honourable and just; the choice of the same kind of life; a union in opinion on questions of sect and practice; a union in sentiment relating to a communion in life in combination with kind feelings; a communion in doing well and in suffering.

Nobility of birth — the virtue of a noble moral conduct; an easy leading of the soul to words and deeds.

Selection — a correct approval after examination.

Kind feeling — the selection of a person for the purpose of embracing by a person.

Familiarity — a sharing in the same family.

Agreement — a sharing in all things existing; a concordance in thoughts and conceptions.

Lovingness — a perfect exhibition. · Statesmanship — the knowledge of what is honourable and advantageous (for a state); a knowledge productive of justice in a state.

‘ Sociality — a friendship arising from an association amongst persons of the same age.

Good counsel — the cognate virtue of reasoning. Belief — the correct conception  of a thing being really as it seems to be;  a firmness in moral conduct.

Truth — a. habit in affirming and denying; a knowledge of things true.

A wishing — a desire with right reason; a reasonable longing; a longing with reason, according to nature.

Counselling — an exhortation to another person, previous to acting, as to what manner it is meet to act.

Fit opportunity — the meeting with the time in which it is requisite to suffer or do something.

Caution — a guard against ill; the care of guarding (oneself).

Order — the working out a similarity in all things existing with a relation to each other; a symmetry of communion; the cause of all things existing with a relation to each other;  a symmetry towards learning.

Application — a bracing up of the soul for learning.

Natural ability — a quickness in learning; a good production of nature; an excellence from nature.

Docility — a natural ability in the soul towards a quickness in learning.

Judgment — a peremptory decision respecting a disputed matter.

Law — the (process of a) contest respecting the having done an injury or not. .

Good legal conduct — an obedience shown to proper laws.

Cheerfulness — a. delight at the acts of a temperate person.

Honour — a gift of good things presented on actions done through virtue; a mark of esteem in return for virtue; the outward bearing of what is an object of reverence; the watching of a mark of esteem.

Alacrity — the exhibition of a practical preference.

Favour — a voluntary act of ldndness; the return for a good act; a ministering at a fit time.

Concord — a similarity of opinion between rulers and ruled, how they ought to rule and be ruled.

A polity — the community of a multitude of persons, self- sufficient for a happy state; the community of a multitude according to law.

Forethought — a preparation with respect to things about to be.

Counsel — a consideration respecting future things how they may be advantageous.

Victory — a power having the superiority, as regards contention.

A ready-way-finding — a ready discrimination, that pos- ‘ sesses a power over what is thought upon.

Bribe — the exchange for a favour.

Opportunity — the point of time suited to what is advantageous; a time that works for some good.

Memory — a disposition of the soul preservative of the truth that is in it.

The keeping in mind — the having thought on the stretch.

Thinking — the commencement of knowledge.

Holiness — a religious dread of sins against the gods; an attention to the honour due naturally to a deity.

A prophecy — a knowledge, that points out beforehand an action, without a demonstrative proof.

The prophetic art — a science, that speculates upon what is now and will be to a mortal being.

Wisdom — a science not-hypothetical; a knowledge of things as they happen to exist; a science that speculates upon the cause of things existing.

Philosophy — a longing after the knowledge of things as they happen to exist; a habit of speculating upon the truth as to how it is true; a careful study in combination with correct reasoning.

Knowledge — a comprehension by the soul,  not to be changed or cast down by reasoning;  [the power of comprehending a thing or things, not to be changed or thrown down by reasoning;] a true reasoning not to be changed or cast down upon reflection. .

Opinion — a conception  to be changed by the persuasion of reason; a rational impetus; a notion falling upon false- “ hood and truth by (not-)reason.

Sensation — an impetus of the soul; a movement of mind; a heralding of the soul through the body to the seasons of man; from which there results a power of the soul devoid of reason,  having a cognizance through the body.

Habit — a disposition of the soul, according to which we are said to be with certain qualities.

Voice — a flowing through the mouth from a thought.

Speech — voice expressed by letters descriptive of each of things existing; a form of language, compounded of nouns and verbs, without melody.

Noun — a form of language uncompounded, the interpreter of that which is predicated  against being, and of every thing which is not spoken of against itself.

Language — the voice of a man, expressed by letters, and some common symbol, acting as an interpreter, without melody.

Syllable — an articulation of the human voice, expressed by letters.

Definition — a. sentence composed of difference and genus.

Proof — the showing forth of a thing not evident.

Demonstration — ·true reasoning ‘founded on syllogisms; a reasoning, that makes a matter plain by what is previously known.

Element (of voice) — a vocal sound uncompounded; the cause to the rest of vocal sounds of their being vocal sounds.

Useful — the cause of doing well; the cause of good.

Advantageous — that which conduces to good.

Honourable — that which is good.

Good — the cause of safety to things existing; the cause of all that relates to itself; from which it happens to choose’ what is meet.

Temperate — the orderly conduct of the soul.

Just — an ordonnance of law, productive of justice.

Voluntary — that which is drawn on by itself; that which is selected with reference to itself,  (and) completed according to design.

Free — that which rules itself.

Moderate — a mean between excess and deficiency; and sufficient according to art.

Moderation — a mean between excess and deficiency.

Prize — the reward of excellence, that is chosen for its own sake.

Immortality — an existence endowed with soul and a remaining for ever.

A holy thing — service paid to a god, acceptable to a god.

Festival — a holy time according to law.

Man — an animal, wingless, biped, with wide nails; the only one of beings that is a recipient of knowledge founded on reason.

Sacrifice — the gift of a victim to a god.

Prayer — an asking for good things, or that seem so, by man from gods.

King — a ruler according to laws; not subject to the auditing of his accounts; the chief magistrate in a political constitution.

Government — the care of the whole.

Licence — a superintendence of law.

Law-giver — a maker of laws according to which it is meet for a polity to exist.

Law — a decree, relating to the state, made by the multitude, not limited to any time.

Hypothesis — a principle not demonstrated; the summary of a discourse.

A vote — a decree of the state limited to a certain time.

Statesman — a person skilled in the constitution of a state.

A state — the residence of a multitude of persons making use of decrees in common; a multitude of persons existing under the same law.

The excellence of a state — a constitution of a correct polity.

The science of war — skill in war.

Alliance — a communion in war.

Safety — a protection from injury.

Tyrant — Vi person ruling a state according to his own notion.

Sophist — a mercenary hunter after the young, rich, (and) in high repute.

Wealth — a possession suited for happiness; an abundance of means tending to happiness.

Deposit — a thing given  with faith.

Purgation — a separation of the worse from the better.

To conquer — to possess the power, when having a difference.

A good man — such a one as is able to effect good for a person.

A temperate man — one who has moderate desires.

A continent man — one who has a power over the portions of the soul contending against right reason.

A steady man — one who is perfectly good; one who preserves his virtue.

Conscience — a reflection with pain without reason.

Indocility — a slowness in learning.

Lordship — a just government, not subject to the auditing of accounts.

Dislike of wisdom — a habit, according to which he, who has it, dislikes reasoning.

Fear — a consternation of the soul on the expectation of ill.

Passion — a violent impetus without reason;  mind of regulation of soul without reason.

Consternation — a fear on the expectation of ill.

Flattery — a conversation to gratify ‘without the best;’ a habit of conversing to gratify, exceeding moderation.

Anger — an exhortation by passion to revenge.

Insult — an injury leading to dishonour.

Intemperance — Ά habit forcing a person, contrary to right reason, towards what seem to be pleasant.

Hesitation — a flight from the commencement of labours.

Cowardice — that which lays hold of (and detains) a rushing on; the cause of a (mental) contraction.

(A beginning) — the first cause of existence.

Calumny — the setting friends apart by a word.

Opportunity — that in which it is fitting to do and suffer each thing.

Injustice — a habit disregardful of laws.

Want — a diminution of good things.

Shame — a fear on the expectation of dishonour.

Vain-gloriousness — a habit of laying claim to a good or good things, not belonging to a person.

Sinning — acting contrary to right reason.

Envy — a pain at the good things of friends, which either are or have been.

Shamelessness — a habit of the soul, that endures dishonour for the sake of gain.

Rashness — the excess of boldness in the case of dangers,  which it ought not.

A love of honour — a habit of the soul, lavish of every expense without consideration.

Natural depravity — a badness by nature, and a sinning in that, which is according to nature; a disease of that, which is according to nature.

Hope — the expectation of a good.

Madness — a habit destructive of a correct perception.

Talkativeness — intemperance in speech, devoid of reason.

Contrariety — the greatest standing apart of things, that according to a certain difference fall under the same genus.

Involuntary — that which is brought to an end contrary to intention.

Instruction — a power that has the cure of the soul.

Instructing — the delivering of instruction.

Legislation — the science that renders a state  firmly fixed (and without suffering.)

Admonition — a speech that finds fault from design; a speech for the sake of turning aside from error.

Assistance — the hindering an ill either existing or in the way of existing.

Punishment — a curing of the soul for an error committed.  Power — a superiority in doing or speaking; a habit according to which that, which possesses it, is powerful; a strength according to nature.

To preserve — to protect from hurt.

(Science — is a knowledge without stumbling.)

EPIGRAMS

Translated by George Pallatos

These 18 epigrams — short witty and pithy sayings, many of which were inscribed on tombs — were attributed in antiquity to Plato, but are now generally considered to be spurious work by various later writers.

EPIGRAMS.

I

You stare at the stars, my Star. If only I was Heaven, so I might look at you with my many eyes.

II

Even as you shone once as the Star of Morning among the living, so too in death you shine as the Star of Evening among the dead.

III

The Fates decreed tears to Hecuba and Troy’s women from their very birth; but for you, Dion, the gods spilled your widespread hopes upon the ground after you had triumphed in the doing of noble deeds.  And so to the spacious land of your fathers, you lie honoured by your citizens, O Dion, how you made my heart mad with love.

IV

Now, when I have whispered that Alexis is beautiful, he is observed by all the observers.  O my heart, why show dogs a bone? You’ll be sorry; thus we lost Phædrus.

V

My mistress is Archeanassa of Colophon, on whose wrinkles there is bitter love. Luckless are all who met such beauty on its first voyage; through what burning did you leave behind!

VI

When I kiss Agathon, my soul is on my lips, where the pitiable thing hopes to cross over.

VII

I fling an apple at you and if you are willing to love me, take it and share your girlhood with me; but if your thoughts are what I hope they are not, even then take it, and consider how ephemeral beauty is.

VIII

I’m an apple; one who loves you and throws me at you.  Say yes, Xanthippe; we fade, you and I.

IX

We are the Eretrians of Euboea, but we rest near Susa, so far from home…

X

A man who discovered gold left a noose and the man who did not find the gold, instead tied on the noose he had found.

XI

I, Laïs, who laughed so scornfully at Greece and kept a swarm of young lovers at my door, dedicate this mirror to Venus’ for I do not wish to see me as I am and may never again see me as I once was.

XII

This man was agreeable to foreigners and beloved by his fellow citizens: Pindar, the servant of the mellifluous Muses.

XIII

We left the beating waves of the Aegean to rest here amid the plains of Ecbatana.  Farewell, famous Eretria, our former home.  Farewell, Athens, Euboea’s neighbour.  Farewell, beloved sea.

XIV

I am the tomb of a ship’s captain and the tomb opposite belongs to a farmer; and yet beneath the land and beneath the sea lies the same Underworld.

XV

Be safe, O sailors, by the sea and the land; I must tell you now that the tomb you pass belongs to a shipwrecked man.

XVI

Some claim there are only nine Muses. How foolish they are!  Consider Sappho of Lesbos, surely the tenth!

XVII

When Cypris met Cypris at Cnidus, “Alas!” said she, “whenever did Praxiteles see me naked?”

XVIII

The graces, seeking a shrine that would not fall, discovered the soul of Aristophanes.

The Epistles

Translated by R. G. Bury

The epistles are a series of thirteen letters, which were traditionally included in Plato’s works, though their authenticity has been the subject of dispute for centuries, with the scholarly consensus having shifted back and forth many times. The two letters that are most commonly claimed to have been written by Plato are the Seventh and the Eighth, on the belief that these are open letters and therefore less likely to be the result of invention or forgery. The other letters enjoy varying levels of acceptance among scholars: The Sixth, Third, and Eleventh have the greatest support of the remaining letters, followed by the Fourth, Tenth, Thirteenth, and Second Letter; fewer scholars consider the Fifth, Ninth, and Twelfth to be genuine, while almost none dispute that the First is spurious.

The numbering of each letter is due solely to their placement in traditional manuscripts and does not appear to follow any apparent principle.  The addressees of the Epistles fall into three main categories. Four are addressed to Dionysius II of Syracuse (I, II, III, XIII), four to Dionysius’ uncle Dion and his associates (IV, VII, VIII, X), and five to various others (the Fifth to Perdiccas III of Macedon; the Sixth to Hermias of Atarneus, Erastus, and Coriscus; the Tenth to Aristodorus; the Eleventh to Laodamas; and the Ninth and Twelfth to Archytas).

Archaeological site of Plato’s academy, north of Athens

LIST OF EPISTLES

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

I

Plato to Dionysius wishes well-doing.

After I had spent so long a time with you and was trusted above all others in my administration of your government, while you were enjoying the benefits I was enduring the slanders, grievous as they were. For I knew that men would not believe that any of your more brutal acts were done with my consent, seeing that I have for my witnesses all those who take a part in your government, many of whom I have helped in their times of trial and saved them from no small damage. But after I had oftentimes kept guard over your City as sole Dictator, I was dismissed with more ignominy than a beggar would deserve who had stayed with you for so long a time, were you to pack him off and order him to sail away. For the future, therefore, I for my part will consult my own interests in less philanthropic fashion, while you, “gross tyrant that you are, will dwell alone.” And as for the splendid sum of gold which you gave for my journey home, Baccheius, the bearer of this letter, is taking it back to you. For it was neither a sufficient sum for my journey nor was it otherwise useful for my support; and since it reflects the greatest disgrace on you who offer it, and not much less on me if I accept it, I therefore refuse to accept it. But evidently neither the giving nor the accepting of such an amount makes any difference to you; take it, then, and befriend therewith some other companion of yours as you did me; for I, in sooth, have had enough of your “befriending.” Indeed, I may appropriately quote the verse of Euripides — that one day, when other fortunes befall you,

Thou’lt pray for such a helper by thy side.

And I desire to remind you that most of the other tragedians also, when they show a tyrant on the stage slaughtered by someone, represent him as crying out —

Bereft of friends — ah! woe is me — I die.

But not one of them has represented him as dying for lack of gold. This other poem also to men of judgement seemeth not amiss —

In this our human life, with halting hopes,
It is not glittering gold that rarest is:
Not diamond nor couches silver-wrought
Appear so brilliant in the eyes of men:
Nor do the fertile fields of earth’s broad breast,
Laden with crops, so all-sufficing seem
As gallant men’s unanimous resolve.

Farewell; and may you learn how much you have lost in us, so that you may behave yourself better towards all others.

II

Plato to Dionysius wishes well-doing.

I hear from Archedemus that you think that not only I myself should keep quiet but my friends also from doing or saying anything bad about you; and that “you except Dion only.” Now your saying this, that Dion is excepted, implies that I have no control over my friends; for had I had this control over you and Dion, as well as the rest, more blessings would have come to us all and to the rest of the Greeks also, as I affirm. But as it is, my greatness consists in making myself follow my own instructions. However, I do not say this as though what Cratistolus and Polyxenus have told you is to be trusted; for it is said that one of these men declares that at Olympia he heard quite a number of my companions maligning you. No doubt his hearing is more acute than mine; for I certainly heard no such thing. For the future, whenever anyone makes such a statement about any of us, what you ought, I think, to do is to send me a letter of inquiry; for I shall tell the truth without scruple or shame. Now as for you and me, the relation in which we stand towards each other is really this. There is not a single Greek, one may say, to whom we are unknown, and our intercourse is a matter of common talk; and you may be sure of this, that it will be common talk also in days to come, because so many have heard tell of it owing to its duration and its publicity. What, now, is the point of this remark? I will go back to the beginning and tell you. It is natural for wisdom and great power to come together, and they are for ever pursuing and seeking each other and consorting together. Moreover, these are qualities which people delight in discussing themselves in private conversation and hearing others discuss in their poems. For example, when men talk about Hiero or about Pausanias the Lacedaemonian they delight to bring in their meeting with Simonides and what he did and said to them; and they are wont to harp on Periander of Corinth and Thales of Miletus, and on Pericles and Anaxagoras, and on Croesus also and Solon as wise men with Cyrus as potentate. The poets, too, follow their example, and bring together Creon and Tiresias, Polyeidus and Minos, Agamemnon and Nestor, Odysseus and Palamedes; and so it was, I suppose, that the earliest men also brought together Prometheus and Zeus. And of these some were — as the poets tell — at feud with each other, and others were friends; while others again were now friends and now foes, and partly in agreement and partly in disagreement. Now my object in saying all this is to make it clear, that when we ourselves die men’s talk about us will not likewise be silenced; so that we must be careful about it. We must necessarily, it seems, have a care also for the future, seeing that, by some law of nature, the most slavish men pay no regard to it, whereas the most upright do all they can to ensure that they shall be well spoken of in the future. Now I count this as a proof that the dead have some perception of things here on earth; for the best souls divine that this is so, while the worst deny it; and the divinings of men who are godlike are of more authority than those of men who are not. I certainly think that, had it been in their power to rectify what was wrong in their intercourse, those men of the past whom I have mentioned would have striven to the utmost to ensure a better report of themselves than they now have. In our case, then — if God so grant — it still remains possible to put right whatever has been amiss in word or deed during our intercourse in the past. For I maintain that, as regards the true philosophy, men will think and speak well of it if we ourselves are upright, and ill if we are base. And in truth we could do nothing more pious than to give attention to this matter, nothing more impious than to disregard it. How this result should be brought about, and what is the just course to pursue, I will now explain. I came to Sicily with the reputation of being by far the most eminent of those engaged in philosophy; and I desired, on my arrival in Syracuse, to gain your testimony as well, in order that I might get philosophy held in honor even by the multitude. In this, however, I was disappointed. But the reason I give for this is not that which is commonly given; rather it was because you showed that you did not fully trust me but wished rather to get rid of me somehow and invite others in my place; and owing, as I believe, to your distrust of me, you showed yourself inquisitive as to what my business was. Thereupon it was proclaimed aloud by many that you utterly despised me and were devoted to other affairs. This certainly was the story noised abroad. And now I will tell you what it is right to do after this, that so I may reply also to your question how you and I ought to behave towards each other. If you altogether despise philosophy, leave it alone. If, again, you have been taught by someone else or have yourself invented better doctrines than mine, hold them in honor. But if you are contented with my doctrines, then you should hold me also in special honor. So now, just as at the beginning, do you lead the way and I will follow. If I am honored by you, I will honor you; but if I am not honored I will keep to myself. Moreover, if you honor me and take the lead in so doing, you will be thought to be honoring philosophy; and the very fact that you have studied other systems as well will gain you the credit, in the eyes of many, of being a philosopher yourself. But if I honor you, while you do not honor me, I shall be deemed to be a man who worships and pursues after wealth; and to such conduct everyone, we know, gives a bad name. So, to sum it all up, if you pay the honor, it will be a credit to both of us, but if I pay it a disgrace to both. So much, then, about this subject. As to the globe, there is something wrong with it; and Archedemus will point it out to you when he arrives. There is also another matter — much more valuable and divine than the globe — which he most certainly must explain, as you were puzzled about it when you sent him. For, according to his report, you say that you have not had a sufficient demonstration of the doctrine concerning the nature of “the First.” Now I must expound it to you in a riddling way in order that, should the tablet come to any harm “in folds of ocean or of earth,” he that readeth may not understand. The matter stands thus: Related to the King of All are all things, and for his sake they are, and of all things fair He is the cause. And related to the Second are the second things and related to the Third the third. About these, then, the human soul strives to learn, looking to the things that are akin to itself, whereof none is fully perfect. But as to the King and the objects I have mentioned, they are of quite different quality. In the next place the soul inquires— “Well then, what quality have they?” But the cause of all the mischief, O son of Dionysius and Doris, lies in this very question, or rather in the travail which this question creates in the soul; and unless a man delivers himself from this he will never really attain the truth. You, however, declared to me in the garden, under the laurels, that you had formed this notion yourself and that it was a discovery of your own; and I made answer that if it was plain to you that this was so, you would have saved me from a long discourse. I said, however, that I had never met with any other person who had made this discovery; on the contrary most of the trouble I had was about this very problem. So then, after you had either, as is probable, got the true solution from someone else, or had possibly (by Heaven’s favor) hit on it yourself, you fancied you had a firm grip on the proofs of it, and so you omitted to make them fast; thus your view of the truth sways now this way, now that, round about the apparent object; whereas the true object is wholly different. Nor are you alone in this experience; on the contrary, there has never yet been anyone, I assure you, who has not suffered the same confusion at the beginning, when he first learnt this doctrine from me; and they all overcome it with difficulty, one man having more trouble and another less, but scarcely a single one of them escapes with but little. So now that this has occurred, and things are in this state, we have pretty well found an answer, as I think, to the question how we ought to behave towards each other. For seeing that you are testing my doctrines both by attending the lectures of other teachers and by examining my teaching side by side with theirs, as well as by itself, then, if the test you make is a true one, not only will these doctrines implant themselves now in your mind, but you also will be devoted both to them and to us. How, then, will this, and all that I have said, be brought to pass? You have done right now in sending Archedemus; and in the future also, after he returns to you and reports my answer, you will probably be beset later on with fresh perplexities. Then, if you are rightly advised, you will send Archedemus back to me, and he with his cargo will return to you again. And if you do this twice or thrice, and fully test the doctrines I send you, I shall be surprised if your present difficulties do not assume quite a new aspect. Do you, therefore, act so, and with confidence; for there is no merchandise more fair than this or dearer to Heaven which you can ever dispatch or Archedemus transport. Beware, however, lest these doctrines be ever divulged to uneducated people. For there are hardly any doctrines, I believe, which sound more absurd than these to the vulgar, or, on the other hand, more admirable and inspired to men of fine disposition. For it is through being repeated and listened to frequently for many years that these doctrines are refined at length, like gold, with prolonged labor. But listen now to the most remarkable result of all. Quite a number of men there are who have listened to these doctrines — men capable of learning and capable also of holding them in mind and judging them by all sorts of tests — and who have been hearers of mine for no less than thirty years and are now quite old; and these men now declare that the doctrines that they once held to be most incredible appear to them now the most credible, and what they then held most credible now appears the opposite. So, bearing this in mind, have a care lest one day you should repent of what has now been divulged improperly. The greatest safeguard is to avoid writing and to learn by heart; for it is not possible that what is written down should not get divulged. For this reason I myself have never yet written anything on these subjects, and no treatise by Plato exists or will exist, but those which now bear his name belong to a Socrates become fair and young. Fare thee well, and give me credence; and now, to begin with, read this letter over repeatedly and then burn it up.

So much, then, for that. You were surprised at my sending Polyxenus to you; but now as of old I repeat the same statement about Lycophron also and the others you have with you, that, as respects dialectic, you are far superior to them all both in natural intelligence and in argumentative ability; and I maintain that if any of them is beaten in argument, this defeat is not voluntary, as some imagine, but involuntary. All the same, it appears that you treat them with the greatest consideration and make them presents. So much, then, about these men; too much, indeed, about such as they! As for Philistion, if you are making use of him yourself by all means do so; but if not, lend him if possible to Speusippus and send him home. Speusippus, too, begs you to do so; and Philistion also promised me, that, if you would release him, he would gladly come to Athens. Many thanks for releasing the man in the stone-quarries; and my request with regard to his household and Hegesippus, the son of Ariston, is no hard matter; for in your letter you said that should anyone wrong him or them and you come to know of it you would not allow it. It is proper for me also to say what is true about Lysicleides; for of all those who have come to Athens from Sicily he is the only one who has not misrepresented your association with me; on the contrary, he always speaks nicely about past events and puts the best construction on them.

III

Plato to Dionysius wishes well-doing.

“Plato to Dionysius wishes joy!”

If I wrote thus, should I be hitting on the best mode of address? Or rather, by writing, according to my custom, “wishes well-doing,” this being my usual mode of address, in my letters to my friends? You, indeed, — as was reported by the spectators then present — addressed even the God himself at Delphi in this same flattering phrase, and wrote, as they say, this verse —

I wish you joy! And may you always keep
The tyrant’s life a life of pleasantness.

But as for me, I would not call upon a man, and much less a god, and bid him enjoy himself — a god, because I would be imposing a task contrary to his nature (since the Deity has his abode far beyond pleasure or pain), — nor yet a man, because pleasure and pain generate mischief for the most part, since they breed in the soul mental sloth and forgetfulness and witlessness and insolence. Let such, then, be my declaration regarding the mode of address; and you, when you read it, accept it in what sense you please. It is stated by not a few that you related to some of the ambassadors at your Court, that upon one occasion I heard you speaking of your intention to occupy the Greek cities in Italy and to relieve the Syracusans by changing the government to a monarchy instead of a tyranny, and at that time (as you assert) I stopped you from doing so, although you were most eager to do it, whereas now I am urging Dion to do precisely the same thing; and thus we are robbing you of your empire by means of your own plans. Whether you derive any benefit from this talk you know best yourself, but you certainly wrong me by saying what is contrary to the fact. For of false accusation I have had enough from Philistides and many others who accused me to the mercenaries and to the Syracusan populace because I stayed in the acropolis; and the people outside, whenever a mistake occurred, ascribed it entirely to me, alleging that you obeyed me in all things. But you yourself know for certain that I willingly took part in some few of your political acts at the first, when I thought that I was doing some good by it and that I gave a fair amount of attention to the Preludes of the laws, besides other small matters, apart from the additions in writing made by you or anyone else — for I am told that some of you afterwards revised my Preludes; but no doubt the several contributions will be evident to those who are competent to appreciate my style. Well then, as I said just now, what I need is not any further accusation to the Syracusans, or any others there may be who believe your story, but much rather a defence not only against the previous false accusations, but also against the graver and more violent accusation which is now being concocted to follow it. Against the two accusations I must necessarily make a twofold defence — stating, firstly, that I reasonably avoided sharing in your political transactions; and, secondly, that neither the advice was mine, nor yet the hindrance you alleged, — when you said that I had stopped you when you proposed to plant colonists in the Greek cities.

So, listen first to the origin of the first of the accusations I have mentioned. It was on your invitation and Dion’s that I came to Syracuse. Dion was a tried comrade of mine and a guest-friend of old standing, and he was a man of staid middle age, — qualities that are specially required by men who possess even a particle of sense when they intend to advise concerning affairs so important as yours then were. You, on the other hand, were extremely young, and in your case I was quite without experience of those points regarding which experience was required, as I was totally unacquainted with you. Thereafter, some man or god or chance, with your assistance, cast out Dion, and you were left alone. Do you suppose, then, that I took any part with you in your political acts, when I had lost my wise partner and saw the unwise one left behind in the company of a crowd of evil men, not ruling himself, but being ruled by men of that sort, while fancying himself the ruler? In these circumstances what ought I to have done? Was I not bound to do as I did, — to bid farewell for the future to politics, shunning the slanders which proceed from envy, and to use every endeavor to make you and Dion as friendly to each other as possible, separated though you were and at variance with each other? Yea, you yourself also are a witness of this, that I have never yet ceased to strive for this very object. And it was agreed between us — although with difficulty — that I should sail home, since you were engaged in war, and that, when peace was restored, Dion and I should go to Syracuse and that you should invite us. And that was how things took place as regards my first sojourn at Syracuse and my safe return home again. But on the second occasion, when peace was restored, you did not keep to our agreement in the invitation you gave me but wrote that I should come alone, and stated that you would send for Dion later on. On this account I did not go; and, moreover, I was vexed also with Dion; for he was of opinion that it was better for me to go and to yield to your wishes. Subsequently, after a year’s interval, a trireme arrived with letters from you, and the first words written in the letters were to the effect that if I came I should find that Dion’s affairs would all proceed as I desired, but the opposite if I failed to come. And indeed I am ashamed to say how many letters came at that time from Italy and Sicily from you and from others on your account, or to how many of my friends and acquaintances they were addressed, all enjoining me to go and beseeching me to trust you entirely. It was the firm opinion of everyone, beginning with Dion, that it was my duty to make the voyage and not be faint-hearted. But I always made my age an excuse; and as for you, I kept assuring them that you would not be able to withstand those who slander us and desire that we should quarrel; for I saw then, as I see now, that, as a rule, when great and exorbitant wealth is in the hands either of private citizens or of monarchs, the greater it is, the greater and more numerous are the slanderers it breeds and the hordes of parasites and wastrels — than which there is no greater evil generated by wealth or by the other privileges of power. Notwithstanding, I put aside all these considerations and went, resolving that none of my friends should lay it to my charge that owing to my lack of energy all their fortunes were ruined when they might have been saved from ruin. On my arrival — for you know, to be sure, all that subsequently took place — I, of course, requested, in accordance with the agreement in your letters, that you should, in the first place, recall Dion on terms of friendship — which terms I mentioned; and if you had then yielded to this request, things would probably have turned out better than they have done now both for you and Syracuse and for the rest of Greece — that, at least, is my own intuitive belief. Next, I requested that Dion’s family should have possession of his property, instead of the distributors, whom you wot of, having the distribution of it. And further, I deemed it right that the revenue which was usually paid over to him year by year should be forwarded to him all the more, rather than all the less, because of my presence. None of these requests being granted, I asked leave to depart. Thereupon you kept urging me to stop for the year, declaring that you would sell all Dion’s property and send one half of the proceeds to Corinth and retain the other half for his son. And I could mention many other promises none of which you fulfilled; but the number of them is so great that I cut it short. For when you had sold all the goods, without Dion’s consent — though you had declared that without his consent you would not dispose of them — you put the coping-stone on all your promises, my admirable friend, in a most outrageous way: you invented a plan that was neither noble nor ingenious nor just nor profitable — namely, to scare me off from so much as seeking for the dispatch of the money, as being in ignorance of the events then going on. For when you sought to expel Heracleides unjustly, as it seemed to the Syracusans as well as to myself — because I had joined with Theodotes and Eurybius in entreating you not to do so, you took this as an ample excuse, and asserted that it had long been plain to you that I paid no regard to you, but only to Dion and Dion’s friends and connections, and now that Theodotes and Heracleides, who were Dion’s connections, were the subjects of accusations, I was using every means to prevent their paying the just penalty.

Such, then, was the course of events as regards our association in political affairs. And if you perceived any other estrangement in my attitude towards you, you may reasonably suppose that that was the way in which all these things took place. Nor need you be surprised; for I should justly be accounted base by any man of sense had I been influenced by the greatness of your power to betray my old and intimate guest-friend — a man, to say the least, in no wise inferior to you — when, because of you, he was in distress, and to prefer you, the man who did the wrong, and to do everything just as you bade me — for filthy lucre’s sake, obviously; for to this, and nothing else, men would have ascribed this change of front in me, if I had changed. Well, then, it was the fact that things took this course, owing to you, which produced this wolf-love and want of fellowship between you and me.

Practically continuous with the statement made just now there comes, I find, that other statement against which, as I said, I have to make my second defence. Consider now and pay the closest attention, in case I seem to you to be lying at all and not speaking the truth. I affirm that when Archedemus and Aristocritus were with us in the garden, some twenty days before I departed home from Syracuse, you made the same complaint against me that you are making now — that I cared more for Heracleides and for all the rest than for you. And in the presence of those men you asked me whether I remembered bidding you, when I first arrived, to plant settlers in the Greek cities. I granted you that I did remember, and that I still believed that this was the best policy. But, Dionysius, I must also repeat, the next observation that was made on this occasion. For I asked you whether this and this only was what I advised, or something else besides and you made answer to me in a most indignant and most mocking tone, as you supposed — and consequently the object of your mockery then has now turned out a reality instead of a dream; for you said with a very artificial laugh, if my memory serves me— “You bade me be educated before I did all these things or else not do them.” I replied that your memory was excellent. You then said— “Did you mean educated in land-measuring or what?” But I refrained from making the retort which it occurred to me to make, for I was alarmed about the homeward voyage I was hoping for, lest instead of having an open road I should find it shut, and all because of a short saying. Well then, the purpose of all I have said is this: do not slander me by declaring that I was hindering you from colonizing the Greek cities that were ruined by the barbarians, and from relieving the Syracusans by substituting a monarchy for a tyranny. For you could never bring any false accusation against me that was less appropriate than these; and, moreover, in refutation of them I could bring still clearer statements if any competent tribunal were anywhere to be seen — showing that it was I who was urging you, and you who were refusing, to execute these plans. And, verily, it is easy to affirm frankly that these plans, if they had been executed, were the best both for you and the Syracusans, and for all the Siceliots. But, my friend, if you deny having said this, when you have said it, I am justified; while if you confess it, you should further agree that Stesichorus was a wise man, and imitate his palinode, and renounce the false for the true tale.

IV

Plato to Dion of Syracuse wishes well-doing.

It has been plain, I believe, all along that I took a keen interest in the operations that have been carried out, and that I was most anxious to see them finally completed. In this I was mainly prompted by my jealous regard for what is noble; for I esteem it just that those who are truly virtuous, and who act accordingly, should achieve the reputation they deserve. Now for the present (God willing) affairs are going well; but it is in the future that the chief struggle lies. For while it might be thought that excellence in courage and speed and strength might belong to various other men, everyone would agree that surpassing excellence in truth, justice, generosity and the outward exhibition of all these virtues naturally belongs to those who profess to hold them in honor. Now the point of this remark is plain; but none the less it is right that we should remind ourselves that it behoves certain persons (who these are of course you know) to surpass the rest of mankind as if they were less than children. It is, therefore, incumbent upon us to show plainly that we are the sort of men we claim to be, and that all the more because (God willing) it will be an easy task. For whereas all other men find it necessary to wander far afield if they mean to get themselves known, you are in such a position now that people all the world over — bold though it be to say so — have their eyes fixed on one place only, and in that place upon you above all men. Seeing, then, that you have the eyes of all upon you, prepare yourself to play the part of that ancient worthy Lycurgus and of Cyrus and of all those others who have been famed hitherto for their excellence of character and of statesmanship; and that all the more because there are many, including nearly all the people here, who keep saying that, now that Dionysius is overthrown, there is every prospect that things will go to ruin owing to the jealous rivalry of yourself, and Heracleides and Theodotes and the other notables. I pray, then, that no one, if possible, may suffer from this complaint; but in case anyone should, after all, do so, you must play the part of a physician; and so things will turn out best for you all.

Probably it strikes you as ridiculous that I should say this, seeing that you yourself also know it quite well; but I notice how even in the theaters the players are spurred on by the plaudits of the children — not to speak of their own friends — whenever a player believes them to be genuine and well-meaning in their encouragement. So do you also play your parts now; and if you have need of anything send us word. Affairs with us are in much the same state as when you were here. Send us word also about what you have already done or happen to be doing now, since we know nothing although we hear many reports. Even at this moment letters have come to Lacedaemon and Aegina from Theodotes and Heracleides; but we, as I said, know nothing, although we hear many reports from the people here. And, Dion, do you also bear in mind that you are thought by some to be unduly wanting in affability; so do not forget that successful action depends on pleasing people, whereas arrogance is next neighbor to isolation. Good-luck attend thee!

V

Plato to Perdiccas wishes well-doing.

I counselled Euphraeus, in accordance with your message, to devote his time to the task of caring for your interests; and I feel myself bound also to give you friendly, and what is called “sacred,” counsel both about the other matters you mention and as to how you ought now to make use of Euphraeus. For the man is useful for many things, the most important being that in which you yourself are deficient owing to your youth, and also because it is a matter about which there are not many counsellors available for the young. For forms of government, like animals, have each their own kind of language, one for democracy, another for oligarchy, and a third kind for monarchy; and though a vast number of people would assert that they understand these languages, yet all but a few of them are very far indeed from discerning them. Now each of these polities, if it speaks its own language both to gods and to men, and renders its actions conformable to its language, remains always flourishing and secure; but if it imitates another it becomes corrupted. It is for this study, then, that Euphraeus will be specially useful to you, although there are also other studies in which he is competent. For he, I hope, will help you to explore the speech of monarchy as well as any of the persons you employ. So if you make use of him for this purpose you will not only benefit yourself but will also be helping him immensely. Suppose, however, that on hearing this someone were to say: “Plato, as it seems, is claiming to know what is of advantage to democracy; yet when he has had it in his power to speak before the demos and to counsel it for the best he has never yet stood up and made a speech” — to this you may reply that “Plato was born late in the history of his country, and he found the demos already old and habituated by the previous statesmen to do many things at variance with his own counsel. For he would have given counsel to it, as to his father, with the greatest possible pleasure, had he not supposed that he would be running risks in vain, and would do no good. And I suppose that he would do the same as regards counselling me. For if he deemed us to be in an incurable state, he would bid us a long farewell and leave off giving counsel about me or my affairs.” Good-luck be thine!

VI

Plato to Hermeias and Erastus and Coriscus wishes well-doing.

Some God, as it seems plain to me, is preparing for you good fortune in a gracious and bountiful way, if only you accept it with grace. For you dwell near together as neighbors in close association so that you can help one another in the things of greatest importance. For Hermeias will find in his multitude of horses or of other military equipment, or even in the gaining of gold itself, no greater source of power for all purposes than in the gaining of steadfast friends possessed of a sound character; while Erastus and Coriscus, in addition to this fair Science of Ideas, need also — as I, old though I am, assert — the science which is a safeguard in dealing with the wicked and unjust, and a kind of self-defensive power. For they lack experience owing to the fact that they have spent a large part of their lives in company with us who are men of moderation and free from vice; and for this reason, as I have said, they need these additional qualities, so that they may not be compelled to neglect the true Science, and to pay more attention than is right to that which is human and necessitated. Now Hermeias, on the other hand, seems to me — so far as I can judge without having met him as yet — to possess this practical ability both by nature and also through the skill bred of experience. What, then, do I suggest? To you, Hermeias, I, who have made trial of Erastus and Coriscus more fully than you, affirm and proclaim and testify that you will not easily discover more trustworthy characters than these your neighbors; and I counsel you to hold fast to these men by every righteous means, and regard this as a duty of no secondary importance. To Coriscus and Erastus the counsel I give is this — that they in turn should hold fast to Hermeias, and endeavor by thus holding to one another to become united in the bonds of friendship. But in case any one of you should be thought to be breaking up this union in any way — for what is human is not altogether durable — send a letter here to me and my friends stating the grounds of complaint; for I believe that — unless the disruption should happen to be serious — the arguments sent you from here by us, based on justice and reverence, will serve better than any incantation to weld you and bind you together once again into your former state of friendship and fellowship. If, then, all of us — both we and you — practice this philosophy, as each is able, to the utmost of our power, the prophecy I have now made will come true; but if we fail to do this, I keep silence as to the consequence; for the prophecy I am making is one of good omen, and I declare that we shall, God willing, do all these things well. All you three must read this letter, all together if possible, or if not by twos; and as often as you possibly can read it in common, and use it as a form of covenant and a binding law, as is right; and with an earnestness that is not out of tune combined with the playfulness that is sister to earnestness, swear by the God that is Ruler of all that is and that shall be, and swear by the Lord and Father of the Ruler and Cause, Whom, if we are real philosophers, we shall all know truly so far as men well-fortuned can.

VII

The seventh letter is addressed to Plato’s associates and the companions of Dion, most likely after Dion’s assassination in 353 BCE. It is the longest of the epistles and is now considered to be the most important. It contains a defense of Plato’s political activities in Syracuse as well as a long digression concerning the nature of philosophy, the theory of the forms, and the problems inherent to teaching. It also espouses the so called “unwritten doctrine” of Plato which urges that nothing of importance should be committed to writing.

Plato to Dion’s associates and friends wishes well-doing.

You wrote to me that I ought to consider that your policy was the same as that which Dion had; and moreover you charged me to support it, so far as I can, both by deed and word. Now if you really hold the same views and aims as he, I consent to support them, but if not, I will ponder the matter many times over. And what was his policy and his aim I will tell you, and that, as I may say, not from mere conjecture but from certain knowledge. For when I originally arrived at Syracuse, being about forty years old, Dion was of the age which Hipparinus has now reached, and the views which he had then come to hold he continued to hold unchanged; for he believed that the Syracusans ought to be free and dwell under the best laws. Consequently, it is no matter of surprise if some Deity has made Hipparinus also come to share his views about government and be of the same mind. Now the manner in which these views originated is a story well worth hearing for young and old alike, and I shall endeavor to narrate it to you from the beginning; for at the present moment it is opportune.

In my youth I went through the same experience as many other men. I fancied that if, early in life, I became my own master, I should at once embark on a political career. And I found myself confronted with the following occurrences in the public affairs of my own city. The existing constitution being generally condemned, a revolution took place, and fifty-one men came to the front as rulers of the revolutionary government, namely eleven in the city and ten in the Peiraeus — each of these bodies being in charge of the market and municipal matters — while thirty were appointed rulers with full powers over public affairs as a whole. Some of these were relatives and acquaintances of mine, and they at once invited me to share in their doings, as something to which I had a claim. The effect on me was not surprising in the case of a young man. I considered that they would, of course, so manage the State as to bring men out of a bad way of life into a good one. So I watched them very closely to see what they would do.

And seeing, as I did, that in quite a short time they made the former government seem by comparison something precious as gold — for among other things they tried to send a friend of mine, the aged Socrates, whom I should scarcely scruple to describe as the most upright man of that day, with some other persons to carry off one of the citizens by force to execution, in order that, whether he wished it, or not, he might share the guilt of their conduct; but he would not obey them, risking all consequences in preference to becoming a partner in their iniquitous deeds — seeing all these things and others of the same kind on a considerable scale, I disapproved of their proceedings, and withdrew from any connection with the abuses of the time.

Not long after that a revolution terminated the power of the thirty and the form of government as it then was. And once more, though with more hesitation, I began to be moved by the desire to take part in public and political affairs. Well, even in the new government, unsettled as it was, events occurred which one would naturally view with disapproval; and it was not surprising that in a period of revolution excessive penalties were inflicted by some persons on political opponents, though those who had returned from exile at that time showed very considerable forbearance. But once more it happened that some of those in power brought my friend Socrates, whom I have mentioned, to trial before a court of law, laying a most iniquitous charge against him and one most inappropriate in his case: for it was on a charge of impiety that some of them prosecuted and others condemned and executed the very man who would not participate in the iniquitous arrest of one of the friends of the party then in exile, at the time when they themselves were in exile and misfortune.

As I observed these incidents and the men engaged in public affairs, the laws too and the customs, the more closely I examined them and the farther I advanced in life, the more difficult it seemed to me to handle public affairs aright. For it was not possible to be active in politics without friends and trustworthy supporters; and to find these ready to my hand was not an easy matter, since public affairs at Athens were not carried on in accordance with the manners and practices of our fathers; nor was there any ready method by which I could make new friends. The laws too, written and unwritten, were being altered for the worse, and the evil was growing with startling rapidity. The result was that, though at first I had been full of a strong impulse towards political life, as I looked at the course of affairs and saw them being swept in all directions by contending currents, my head finally began to swim; and, though I did not stop looking to see if there was any likelihood of improvement in these symptoms and in the general course of public life, I postponed action till a suitable opportunity should arise. Finally, it became clear to me, with regard to all existing communities, that they were one and all misgoverned. For their laws have got into a state that is almost incurable, except by some extraordinary reform with good luck to support it. And I was forced to say, when praising true philosophy that it is by this that men are enabled to see what justice in public and private life really is. Therefore, I said, there will be no cessation of evils for the sons of men, till either those who are pursuing a right and true philosophy receive sovereign power in the States, or those in power in the States by some dispensation of providence become true philosophers.

With these thoughts in my mind I came to Italy and Sicily on my first visit. My first impressions on arrival were those of strong disapproval — disapproval of the kind of life which was there called the life of happiness, stuffed full as it was with the banquets of the Italian Greeks and Syracusans, who ate to repletion twice every day, and were never without a partner for the night; and disapproval of the habits which this manner of life produces. For with these habits formed early in life, no man under heaven could possibly attain to wisdom — human nature is not capable of such an extraordinary combination. Temperance also is out of the question for such a man; and the same applies to virtue generally. No city could remain in a state of tranquillity under any laws whatsoever, when men think it right to squander all their property in extravagant spending, and consider it a duty to be idle in everything else except eating and drinking and the laborious prosecution of debauchery. It follows necessarily that the constitutions of such cities must be constantly changing, tyrannies, oligarchies and democracies succeeding one another, while those who hold the power cannot so much as endure the name of any form of government which maintains justice and equality of rights.

With a mind full of these thoughts, on the top of my previous convictions, I crossed over to Syracuse — led there perhaps by chance — but it really looks as if some higher power was even then planning to lay a foundation for all that has now come to pass with regard to Dion and Syracuse — and for further troubles too, I fear, unless you listen to the advice which is now for the second time offered by me. What do I mean by saying that my arrival in Sicily at that movement proved to be the foundation on which all the sequel rests? I was brought into close intercourse with Dion who was then a young man, and explained to him my views as to the ideals at which men should aim, advising him to carry them out in practice. In doing this I seem to have been unaware that I was, in a fashion, without knowing it, contriving the overthrow of the tyranny which subsequently took place. For Dion, who rapidly assimilated my teaching as he did all forms of knowledge, listened to me with an eagerness which I had never seen equalled in any young man, and resolved to live for the future in a better way than the majority of Italian and Sicilian Greeks, having set his affection on virtue in preference to pleasure and self-indulgence. The result was that until the death of Dionysios he lived in a way which rendered him somewhat unpopular among those whose manner of life was that which is usual in the courts of despots.

After that event he came to the conclusion that this conviction, which he himself had gained under the influence of good teaching, was not likely to be confined to himself. Indeed, he saw it being actually implanted in other minds — not many perhaps, but certainly in some; and he thought that with the aid of the Gods, Dionysios might perhaps become one of these, and that, if such a thing did come to pass, the result would be a life of unspeakable happiness both for himself and for the rest of the Syracusans. Further, he thought it essential that I should come to Syracuse by all manner of means and with the utmost possible speed to be his partner in these plans, remembering in his own case how readily intercourse with me had produced in him a longing for the noblest and best life. And if it should produce a similar effect on Dionysios, as his aim was that it should, he had great hope that, without bloodshed, loss of life, and those disastrous events which have now taken place, he would be able to introduce the true life of happiness throughout the whole territory.

Holding these sound views, Dion persuaded Dionysios to send for me; he also wrote himself entreating me to come by all manner of means and with the utmost possible speed, before certain other persons coming in contact with Dionysios should turn him aside into some way of life other than the best. What he said, though perhaps it is rather long to repeat, was as follows: “What opportunities,” he said, “shall we wait for, greater than those now offered to us by Providence?” And he described the Syracusan empire in Italy and Sicily, his own influential position in it, and the youth of Dionysios and how strongly his desire was directed towards philosophy and education. His own nephews and relatives, he said, would be readily attracted towards the principles and manner of life described by me, and would be most influential in attracting Dionysios in the same direction, so that, now if ever, we should see the accomplishment of every hope that the same persons might actually become both philosophers and the rulers of great States. These were the appeals addressed to me and much more to the same effect.

My own opinion, so far as the young men were concerned, and the probable line which their conduct would take, was full of apprehension — for young men are quick in forming desires, which often take directions conflicting with one another. But I knew that the character of Dion’s mind was naturally a stable one and had also the advantage of somewhat advanced years.

Therefore, I pondered the matter and was in two minds as to whether I ought to listen to entreaties and go, or how I ought to act; and finally the scale turned in favour of the view that, if ever anyone was to try to carry out in practice my ideas about laws and constitutions, now was the time for making the attempt; for if only I could fully convince one man, I should have secured thereby the accomplishment of all good things.

With these views and thus nerved to the task, I sailed from home, in the spirit which some imagined, but principally through a feeling of shame with regard to myself, lest I might some day appear to myself wholly and solely a mere man of words, one who would never of his own will lay his hand to any act. Also there was reason to think that I should be betraying first and foremost my friendship and comradeship with Dion, who in very truth was in a position of considerable danger. If therefore anything should happen to him, or if he were banished by Dionysios and his other enemies and coming to us as exile addressed this question to me: “Plato, I have come to you as a fugitive, not for want of hoplites, nor because I had no cavalry for defence against my enemies, but for want of words and power of persuasion, which I knew to be a special gift of yours, enabling you to lead young men into the path of goodness and justice, and to establish in every case relations of friendship and comradeship among them. It is for the want of this assistance on your part that I have left Syracuse and am here now. And the disgrace attaching to your treatment of me is a small matter. But philosophy — whose praises you are always singing, while you say she is held in dishonour by the rest of mankind — must we not say that philosophy along with me has now been betrayed, so far as your action was concerned? Had I been living at Megara, you would certainly have come to give me your aid towards the objects for which I asked it; or you would have thought yourself the most contemptible of mankind. But as it is, do you think that you will escape the reputation of cowardice by making excuses about the distance of the journey, the length of the sea voyage, and the amount of labour involved? Far from it.” To reproaches of this kind what creditable reply could I have made? Surely none.

I took my departure, therefore, acting, so far as a man can act, in obedience to reason and justice, and for these reasons leaving my own occupations, which were certainly not discreditable ones, to put myself under a tyranny which did not seem likely to harmonise with my teaching or with myself. By my departure I secured my own freedom from the displeasure of Zeus Xenios, and made myself clear of any charge on the part of philosophy, which would have been exposed to detraction, if any disgrace had come upon me for faint-heartedness and cowardice.

On my arrival, to cut a long story short, I found the court of Dionysios full of intrigues and of attempts to create in the sovereign ill-feeling against Dion. I combated these as far as I could, but with very little success; and in the fourth month or thereabouts, charging Dion with conspiracy to seize the throne, Dionysios put him on board a small boat and expelled him from Syracuse with ignominy. All of us who were Dion’s friends were afraid that he might take vengeance on one or other of us as an accomplice in Dion’s conspiracy. With regard to me, there was even a rumour current in Syracuse that I had been put to death by Dionysios as the cause of all that had occurred. Perceiving that we were all in this state of mind and apprehending that our fears might lead to some serious consequence, he now tried to win all of us over by kindness: me in particular he encouraged, bidding me be of good cheer and entreating me on all grounds to remain. For my flight from him was not likely to redound to his credit, but my staying might do so. Therefore, he made a great pretence of entreating me. And we know that the entreaties of sovereigns are mixed with compulsion. So to secure his object he proceeded to render my departure impossible, bringing me into the acropolis, and establishing me in quarters from which not a single ship’s captain would have taken me away against the will of Dionysios, nor indeed without a special messenger sent by him to order my removal. Nor was there a single merchant, or a single official in charge of points of departure from the country, who would have allowed me to depart unaccompanied, and would not have promptly seized me and taken me back to Dionysios, especially since a statement had now been circulated contradicting the previous rumours and giving out that Dionysios was becoming extraordinarily attached to Plato. What were the facts about this attachment? I must tell the truth. As time went on, and as intercourse made him acquainted with my disposition and character, he did become more and more attached to me, and wished me to praise him more than I praised Dion, and to look upon him as more specially my friend than Dion, and he was extraordinarily eager about this sort of thing. But when confronted with the one way in which this might have been done, if it was to be done at all, he shrank from coming into close and intimate relations with me as a pupil and listener to my discourses on philosophy, fearing the danger suggested by mischief-makers, that he might be ensnared, and so Dion would prove to have accomplished all his object. I endured all this patiently, retaining the purpose with which I had come and the hope that he might come to desire the philosophic life. But his resistance prevailed against me.

The time of my first visit to Sicily and my stay there was taken up with all these incidents. On a later occasion I left home and again came on an urgent summons from Dionysios. But before giving the motives and particulars of my conduct then and showing how suitable and right it was, I must first, in order that I may not treat as the main point what is only a side issue, give you my advice as to what your acts should be in the present position of affairs; afterwards, to satisfy those who put the question why I came a second time, I will deal fully with the facts about my second visit; what I have now to say is this.

He who advises a sick man, whose manner of life is prejudicial to health, is clearly bound first of all to change his patient’s manner of life, and if the patient is willing to obey him, he may go on to give him other advice. But if he is not willing, I shall consider one who declines to advise such a patient to be a man and a physician, and one who gives in to him to be unmanly and unprofessional. In the same way with regard to a State, whether it be under a single ruler or more than one, if, while the government is being carried on methodically and in a right course, it asks advice about any details of policy, it is the part of a wise man to advise such people. But when men are travelling altogether outside the path of right government and flatly refuse to move in the right path, and start by giving notice to their adviser that he must leave the government alone and make no change in it under penalty of death — if such men should order their counsellors to pander to their wishes and desires and to advise them in what way their object may most readily and easily be once for all accomplished, I should consider as unmanly one who accepts the duty of giving such forms of advice, and one who refuses it to be a true man.

Holding these views, whenever anyone consults me about any of the weightiest matters affecting his own life, as, for instance, the acquisition of property or the proper treatment of body or mind, if it seems to me that his daily life rests on any system, or if he seems likely to listen to advice about the things on which he consults me, I advise him with readiness, and do not content myself with giving him a merely perfunctory answer. But if a man does not consult me at all, or evidently does not intend to follow my advice, I do not take the initiative in advising such a man, and will not use compulsion to him, even if he be my own son. I would advise a slave under such circumstances, and would use compulsion to him if he were unwilling. To a father or mother I do not think that piety allows one to offer compulsion, unless they are suffering from an attack of insanity; and if they are following any regular habits of life which please them but do not please me, I would not offend them by offering useless advice, nor would I flatter them or truckle to them, providing them with the means of satisfying desires which I myself would sooner die than cherish. The wise man should go through life with the same attitude of mind towards his country. If she should appear to him to be following a policy which is not a good one, he should say so, provided that his words are not likely either to fall on deaf ears or to lead to the loss of his own life. But force against his native land he should not use in order to bring about a change of constitution, when it is not possible for the best constitution to be introduced without driving men into exile or putting them to death; he should keep quiet and offer up prayers for his own welfare and for that of his country.

These are the principles in accordance with which I should advise you, as also, jointly with Dion, I advised Dionysios, bidding him in the first place to live his daily life in a way that would make him as far as possible master of himself and able to gain faithful friends and supporters, in order that he might not have the same experience as his father. For his father, having taken under his rule many great cities of Sicily which had been utterly destroyed by the barbarians, was not able to found them afresh and to establish in them trustworthy governments carried on by his own supporters, either by men who had no ties of blood with him, or by his brothers whom he had brought up when they were younger, and had raised from humble station to high office and from poverty to immense wealth. Not one of these was he able to work upon by persuasion, instruction, services and ties of kindred, so as to make him a partner in his rule; and he showed himself inferior to Darius with a sevenfold inferiority. For Darius did not put his trust in brothers or in men whom he had brought up, but only in his confederates in the overthrow of the Mede and Eunuch; and to these he assigned portions of his empire, seven in number, each of them greater than all Sicily; and they were faithful to him and did not attack either him or one another. Thus he showed a pattern of what the good lawgiver and king ought to be; for he drew up laws by which he has secured the Persian empire in safety down to the present time.

Again, to give another instance, the Athenians took under their rule very many cities not founded by themselves, which had been hard hit by the barbarians but were still in existence, and maintained their rule over these for seventy years, because they had in each of them men whom they could trust. But Dionysios, who had gathered the whole of Sicily into a single city, and was so clever that he trusted no one, only secured his own safety with great difficulty. For he was badly off for trustworthy friends; and there is no surer criterion of virtue and vice than this, whether a man is or is not destitute of such friends.

This, then, was the advice which Dion and I gave to Dionysios, since, owing to the bringing up which he had received from his father, he had had no advantages in the way of education or of suitable lessons, in the first place . . . ; and, in the second place, that, after starting in this way, he should make friends of others among his connections who were of the same age and were in sympathy with his pursuit of virtue, but above all that he should be in harmony with himself; for this it was of which he was remarkably in need. This we did not say in plain words, for that would not have been safe; but in covert language we maintained that every man in this way would save both himself and those whom he was leading, and if he did not follow this path, he would do just the opposite of this. And after proceeding on the course which we described, and making himself a wise and temperate man, if he were then to found again the cities of Sicily which had been laid waste, and bind them together by laws and constitutions, so as to be loyal to him and to one another in their resistance to the attacks of the barbarians, he would, we told him, make his father’s empire not merely double what it was but many times greater. For, if these things were done, his way would be clear to a more complete subjugation of the Carthaginians than that which befell them in Gelon’s time, whereas in our own day his father had followed the opposite course of levying attribute for the barbarians. This was the language and these the exhortations given by us, the conspirators against Dionysios according to the charges circulated from various sources — charges which, prevailing as they did with Dionysios, caused the expulsion of Dion and reduced me to a state of apprehension. But when — to summarise great events which happened in no great time — Dion returned from the Peloponnese and Athens, his advice to Dionysios took the form of action.

To proceed — when Dion had twice over delivered the city and restored it to the citizens, the Syracusans went through the same changes of feeling towards him as Dionysios had gone through, when Dion attempted first to educate him and train him to be a sovereign worthy of supreme power and, when that was done, to be his coadjutor in all the details of his career. Dionysios listened to those who circulated slanders to the effect that Dion was aiming at the tyranny in all the steps which he took at that time, his intention being that Dionysios, when his mind had fallen under the spell of culture, should neglect the government and leave it in his hands, and that he should then appropriate it for himself and treacherously depose Dionysios. These slanders were victorious on that occasion; they were so once more when circulated among the Syracusans, winning a victory which took an extraordinary course and proved disgraceful to its authors. The story of what then took place is one which deserves careful attention on the part of those who are inviting me to deal with the present situation.

I, an Athenian and friend of Dion, came as his ally to the court of Dionysios, in order that I might create good will in place of a state of war; in my conflict with the authors of these slanders I was worsted. When Dionysios tried to persuade me by offers of honours and wealth to attach myself to him, and with a view to giving a decent colour to Dion’s expulsion a witness and friend on his side, he failed completely in his attempt. Later on, when Dion returned from exile, he took with him from Athens two brothers, who had been his friends, not from community in philosophic study, but with the ordinary companionship common among most friends, which they form as the result of relations of hospitality and the intercourse which occurs when one man initiates the other in the mysteries. It was from this kind of intercourse and from services connected with his return that these two helpers in his restoration became his companions. Having come to Sicily, when they perceived that Dion had been misrepresented to the Sicilian Greeks, whom he had liberated, as one that plotted to become monarch, they not only betrayed their companion and friend, but shared personally in the guilt of his murder, standing by his murderers as supporters with weapons in their hands. The guilt and impiety of their conduct I neither excuse nor do I dwell upon it. For many others make it their business to harp upon it, and will make it their business in the future. But I do take exception to the statement that, because they were Athenians, they have brought shame upon this city. For I say that he too is an Athenian who refused to betray this same Dion, when he had the offer of riches and many other honours. For his was no common or vulgar friendship, but rested on community in liberal education, and this is the one thing in which a wise man will put his trust, far more than in ties of personal and bodily kinship. So the two murderers of Dion were not of sufficient importance to be causes of disgrace to this city, as though they had been men of any note.

All this has been said with a view to counselling the friends and family of Dion. And in addition to this I give for the third time to you the same advice and counsel which I have given twice before to others — not to enslave Sicily or any other State to despots — this is my counsel — but to put it under the rule of laws — for the other course is better neither for the enslavers nor for the enslaved, for themselves, their children’s children and descendants; the attempt is in every way fraught with disaster. It is only small and mean natures that are bent upon seizing such gains for themselves, natures that know nothing of goodness and justice, divine as well as human, in this life and in the next.

These are the lessons which I tried to teach, first to Dion, secondly to Dionysios, and now for the third time to you. Do you obey me thinking of Zeus the Preserver, the patron of third ventures, and looking at the lot of Dionysios and Dion, of whom the one who disobeyed me is living in dishonour, while he who obeyed me has died honourably. For the one thing which is wholly right and noble is to strive for that which is most honourable for a man’s self and for his country, and to face the consequences whatever they may be. For none of us can escape death, nor, if a man could do so, would it, as the vulgar suppose, make him happy. For nothing evil or good, which is worth mentioning at all, belongs to things soulless; but good or evil will be the portion of every soul, either while attached to the body or when separated from it.

And we should in very truth always believe those ancient and sacred teachings, which declare that the soul is immortal, that it has judges, and suffers the greatest penalties when it has been separated from the body. Therefore also we should consider it a lesser evil to suffer great wrongs and outrages than to do them. The covetous man, impoverished as he is in the soul, turns a deaf ear to this teaching; or if he hears it, he laughs it to scorn with fancied superiority, and shamelessly snatches for himself from every source whatever his bestial fancy supposes will provide for him the means of eating or drinking or glutting himself with that slavish and gross pleasure which is falsely called after the goddess of love. He is blind and cannot see in those acts of plunder which are accompanied by impiety what heinous guilt is attached to each wrongful deed, and that the offender must drag with him the burden of this impiety while he moves about on earth, and when he has travelled beneath the earth on a journey which has every circumstance of shame and misery.

It was by urging these and other like truths that I convinced Dion, and it is I who have the best right to be angered with his murderers in much the same way as I have with Dionysios. For both they and he have done the greatest injury to me, and I might almost say to all mankind, they by slaying the man that was willing to act righteously, and he by refusing to act righteously during the whole of his rule, when he held supreme power, in which rule if philosophy and power had really met together, it would have sent forth a light to all men, Greeks and barbarians, establishing fully for all the true belief that there can be no happiness either for the community or for the individual man, unless he passes his life under the rule of righteousness with the guidance of wisdom, either possessing these virtues in himself, or living under the rule of godly men and having received a right training and education in morals. These were the aims which Dionysios injured, and for me everything else is a trifling injury compared with this.

The murderer of Dion has, without knowing it, done the same as Dionysios. For as regards Dion, I know right well, so far as it is possible for a man to say anything positively about other men, that, if he had got the supreme power, he would never have turned his mind to any other form of rule, but that, dealing first with Syracuse, his own native land, when he had made an end of her slavery, clothed her in bright apparel, and given her the garb of freedom, he would then by every means in his power have ordered aright the lives of his fellow-citizens by suitable and excellent laws; and the thing next in order, which he would have set his heart to accomplish, was to found again all the States of Sicily and make them free from the barbarians, driving out some and subduing others, an easier task for him than it was for Hiero. If these things had been accomplished by a man who was just and brave and temperate and a philosopher, the same belief with regard to virtue would have been established among the majority which, if Dionysios had been won over, would have been established, I might almost say, among all mankind and would have given them salvation. But now some higher power or avenging fiend has fallen upon them, inspiring them with lawlessness, godlessness and acts of recklessness issuing from ignorance, the seed from which all evils for all mankind take root and grow and will in future bear the bitterest harvest for those who brought them into being. This ignorance it was which in that second venture wrecked and ruined everything.

And now, for good luck’s sake, let us on this third venture abstain from words of ill omen. But, nevertheless, I advise you, his friends, to imitate in Dion his love for his country and his temperate habits of daily life, and to try with better auspices to carry out his wishes — what these were, you have heard from me in plain words. And whoever among you cannot live the simple Dorian life according to the customs of your forefathers, but follows the manner of life of Dion’s murderers and of the Sicilians, do not invite this man to join you, or expect him to do any loyal or salutary act; but invite all others to the work of resettling all the States of Sicily and establishing equality under the laws, summoning them from Sicily itself and from the whole Peloponnese — and have no fear even of Athens; for there, also, are men who excel all mankind in their devotion to virtue and in hatred of the reckless acts of those who shed the blood of friends.

But if, after all, this is work for a future time, whereas immediate action is called for by the disorders of all sorts and kinds which arise every day from your state of civil strife, every man to whom Providence has given even a moderate share of right intelligence ought to know that in times of civil strife there is no respite from trouble till the victors make an end of feeding their grudge by combats and banishments and executions, and of wreaking their vengeance on their enemies. They should master themselves and, enacting impartial laws, framed not to gratify themselves more than the conquered party, should compel men to obey these by two restraining forces, respect and fear; fear, because they are the masters and can display superior force; respect, because they rise superior to pleasures and are willing and able to be servants to the laws. There is no other way save this for terminating the troubles of a city that is in a state of civil strife; but a constant continuance of internal disorders, struggles, hatred and mutual distrust is the common lot of cities which are in that plight.

Therefore, those who have for the time being gained the upper hand, when they desire to secure their position, must by their own act and choice select from all Hellas men whom they have ascertained to be the best for the purpose. These must in the first place be men of mature years, who have children and wives at home, and, as far as possible, a long line of ancestors of good repute, and all must be possessed of sufficient property. For a city of ten thousand householders their numbers should be fifty; that is enough. These they must induce to come from their own homes by entreaties and the promise of the highest honours; and having induced them to come they must entreat and command them to draw up laws after binding themselves by oath to show no partiality either to conquerors or to conquered, but to give equal and common rights to the whole State.

When laws have been enacted, what everything then hinges on is this. If the conquerors show more obedience to the laws than the conquered, the whole State will be full of security and happiness, and there will be an escape from all your troubles. But if they do not, then do not summon me or any other helper to aid you against those who do not obey the counsel I now give you. For this course is akin to that which Dion and I attempted to carry out with our hearts set on the welfare of Syracuse. It is indeed a second best course. The first and best was that scheme of welfare to all mankind which we attempted to carry out with the co-operation of Dionysios; but some chance, mightier than men, brought it to nothing. Do you now, with good fortune attending you and with Heaven’s help, try to bring your efforts to a happier issue.

Let this be the end of my advice and injunction and of the narrative of my first visit to Dionysios. Whoever wishes may next hear of my second journey and voyage, and learn that it was a reasonable and suitable proceeding. My first period of residence in Sicily was occupied in the way which I related before giving my advice to the relatives and friends of Dion. After those events I persuaded Dionysios by such arguments as I could to let me go; and we made an agreement as to what should be done when peace was made; for at that time there was a state of war in Sicily. Dionysios said that, when he had put the affairs of his empire in a position of greater safety for himself, he would send for Dion and me again; and he desired that Dion should regard what had befallen him not as an exile, but as a change of residence. I agreed to come again on these conditions.

When peace had been made, he began sending for me; he requested that Dion should wait for another year, but begged that I should by all means come. Dion now kept urging and entreating me to go. For persistent rumours came from Sicily that Dionysios was now once more possessed by an extraordinary desire for philosophy. For this reason Dion pressed me urgently not to decline his invitation. But though I was well aware that as regards philosophy such symptoms were not uncommon in young men, still it seemed to me safer at that time to part company altogether with Dion and Dionysios; and I offended both of them by replying that I was an old man, and that the steps now being taken were quite at variance with the previous agreement.

After this, it seems, Archytes came to the court of Dionysios. Before my departure I had brought him and his Tarentine circle into friendly relations with Dionysios. There were some others in Syracuse who had received some instruction from Dion, and others had learnt from these, getting their heads full of erroneous teaching on philosophical questions. These, it seems, were attempting to hold discussions with Dionysios on questions connected with such subjects, in the idea that he had been fully instructed in my views. Now he is not at all devoid of natural gifts for learning, and he has a great craving for honour and glory. What was said probably pleased him, and he felt some shame when it became clear that he had not taken advantage of my teaching during my visit. For these reasons he conceived a desire for more definite instruction, and his love of glory was an additional incentive to him. The real reasons why he had learnt nothing during my previous visit have just been set forth in the preceding narrative. Accordingly, now that I was safe at home and had refused his second invitation, as I just now related, Dionysios seems to have felt all manner of anxiety lest certain people should suppose that I was unwilling to visit him again because I had formed a poor opinion of his natural gifts and character, and because, knowing as I did his manner of life, I disapproved of it.

It is right for me to speak the truth, and make no complaint if anyone, after hearing the facts, forms a poor opinion of my philosophy, and thinks that the tyrant was in the right. Dionysios now invited me for the third time, sending a trireme to ensure me comfort on the voyage; he sent also Archedemos — one of those who had spent some time with Archytes, and of whom he supposed that I had a higher opinion than of any of the Sicilian Greeks — and, with him, other men of repute in Sicily. These all brought the same report, that Dionysios had made progress in philosophy. He also sent a very long letter, knowing as he did my relations with Dion and Dion’s eagerness also that I should take ship and go to Syracuse. The letter was framed in its opening sentences to meet all these conditions, and the tenor of it was as follows: “Dionysios to Plato,” here followed the customary greeting and immediately after it he said, “If in compliance with our request you come now, in the first place, Dion’s affairs will be dealt with in whatever way you yourself desire; I know that you will desire what is reasonable, and I shall consent to it. But if not, none of Dion’s affairs will have results in accordance with your wishes, with regard either to Dion himself or to other matters.” This he said in these words; the rest it would be tedious and inopportune to quote. Other letters arrived from Archytes and the Tarentines, praising the philosophical studies of Dionysios and saying that, if I did not now come, I should cause a complete rupture in their friendship with Dionysios, which had been brought about by me and was of no small importance to their political interests.

When this invitation came to me at that time in such terms, and those who had come from Sicily and Italy were trying to drag me thither, while my friends at Athens were literally pushing me out with their urgent entreaties, it was the same old tale — that I must not betray Dion and my Tarentine friends and supporters. Also I myself had a lurking feeling that there was nothing surprising in the fact that a young man, quick to learn, hearing talk of the great truths of philosophy, should feel a craving for the higher life. I thought therefore that I must put the matter definitely to the test to see whether his desire was genuine or the reverse, and on no account leave such an impulse unaided nor make myself responsible for such a deep and real disgrace, if the reports brought by anyone were really true. So blindfolding myself with this reflection, I set out, with many fears and with no very favourable anticipations, as was natural enough. However, I went, and my action on this occasion at any rate was really a case of “the third to the Preserver,” for I had the good fortune to return safely; and for this I must, next to the God, thank Dionysios, because, though many wished to make an end of me, he prevented them and paid some proper respect to my situation.

On my arrival, I thought that first I must put to the test the question whether Dionysios had really been kindled with the fire of philosophy, or whether all the reports which had come to Athens were empty rumours. Now there is a way of putting such things to the test which is not to be despised and is well suited to monarchs, especially to those who have got their heads full of erroneous teaching, which immediately upon my arrival I found to be very much the case with Dionysios. One should show such men what philosophy is in all its extent; what their range of studies is by which it is approached, and how much labour it involves. For the man who has heard this, if he has the true philosophic spirit and that godlike temperament which makes him akin to philosophy and worthy of it, thinks that he has been told of a marvellous road lying before him, that he must forthwith press on with all his strength, and that life is not worth living if he does anything else. After this he uses to the full his own powers and those of his guide in the path, and relaxes not his efforts, till he has either reached the end of the whole course of study or gained such power that he is not incapable of directing his steps without the aid of a guide. This is the spirit and these are the thoughts by which such a man guides his life, carrying out his work, whatever his occupation may be, but throughout it all ever cleaving to philosophy and to such rules of diet in his daily life as will give him inward sobriety and therewith quickness in learning, a good memory, and reasoning power; the kind of life which is opposed to this he consistently hates. Those who have not the true philosophic temper, but a mere surface colouring of opinions penetrating, like sunburn, only skin deep, when they see how great the range of studies is, how much labour is involved in it, and how necessary to the pursuit it is to have an orderly regulation of the daily life, come to the conclusion that the thing is difficult and impossible for them, and are actually incapable of carrying out the course of study; while some of them persuade themselves that they have sufficiently studied the whole matter and have no need of any further effort. This is the sure test and is the safest one to apply to those who live in luxury and are incapable of continuous effort; it ensures that such a man shall not throw the blame upon his teacher but on himself, because he cannot bring to the pursuit all the qualities necessary to it. Thus it came about that I said to Dionysios what I did say on that occasion.

I did not, however, give a complete exposition, nor did Dionysios ask for one. For he professed to know many, and those the most important, points, and to have a sufficient hold of them through instruction given by others. I hear also that he has since written about what he heard from me, composing what professes to be his own handbook, very different, so he says, from the doctrines which he heard from me; but of its contents I know nothing; I know indeed that others have written on the same subjects; but who they are, is more than they know themselves. Thus much at least, I can say about all writers, past or future, who say they know the things to which I devote myself, whether by hearing the teaching of me or of others, or by their own discoveries — that according to my view it is not possible for them to have any real skill in the matter. There neither is nor ever will be a treatise of mine on the subject. For it does not admit of exposition like other branches of knowledge; but after much converse about the matter itself and a life lived together, suddenly a light, as it were, is kindled in one soul by a flame that leaps to it from another, and thereafter sustains itself. Yet this much I know — that if the things were written or put into words, it would be done best by me, and that, if they were written badly, I should be the person most pained. Again, if they had appeared to me to admit adequately of writing and exposition, what task in life could I have performed nobler than this, to write what is of great service to mankind and to bring the nature of things into the light for all to see? But I do not think it a good thing for men that there should be a disquisition, as it is called, on this topic — except for some few, who are able with a little teaching to find it out for themselves. As for the rest, it would fill some of them quite illogically with a mistaken feeling of contempt, and others with lofty and vain-glorious expectations, as though they had learnt something high and mighty.

On this point I intend to speak a little more at length; for perhaps, when I have done so, things will be clearer with regard to my present subject. There is an argument which holds good against the man who ventures to put anything whatever into writing on questions of this nature; it has often before been stated by me, and it seems suitable to the present occasion.

For everything that exists there are three instruments by which the knowledge of it is necessarily imparted; fourth, there is the knowledge itself, and, as fifth, we must count the thing itself which is known and truly exists. The first is the name, the second the definition, the third the image, and the fourth the knowledge. If you wish to learn what I mean, take these in the case of one instance, and so understand them in the case of all. A circle is a thing spoken of, and its name is that very word which we have just uttered. The second thing belonging to it is its definition, made up names and verbal forms. For that which has the name “round,” “annular,” or, “circle,” might be defined as that which has the distance from its circumference to its centre everywhere equal. Third, comes that which is drawn and rubbed out again, or turned on a lathe and broken up — none of which things can happen to the circle itself — to which the other things mentioned have reference; for it is something of a different order from them. Fourth, comes knowledge, intelligence and right opinion about these things. Under this one head we must group everything which has its existence, not in words nor in bodily shapes, but in souls — from which it is clear that it is something different from the nature of the circle itself and from the three things mentioned before. Of these things intelligence comes closest in kinship and likeness to the fifth, and the others are farther distant.

The same applies to straight as well as to circular form, to colours, to the good, the beautiful, the just, to all bodies whether manufactured or coming into being in the course of nature, to fire, water, and all such things, to every living being, to character in souls, and to all things done and suffered. For in the case of all these, no one, if he has not somehow or other got hold of the four things first mentioned, can ever be completely a partaker of knowledge of the fifth. Further, on account of the weakness of language, these (i.e., the four) attempt to show what each thing is like, not less than what each thing is. For this reason no man of intelligence will venture to express his philosophical views in language, especially not in language that is unchangeable, which is true of that which is set down in written characters.

Again you must learn the point which comes next. Every circle, of those which are by the act of man drawn or even turned on a lathe, is full of that which is opposite to the fifth thing. For everywhere it has contact with the straight. But the circle itself, we say, has nothing in either smaller or greater, of that which is its opposite. We say also that the name is not a thing of permanence for any of them, and that nothing prevents the things now called round from being called straight, and the straight things round; for those who make changes and call things by opposite names, nothing will be less permanent (than a name). Again with regard to the definition, if it is made up of names and verbal forms, the same remark holds that there is no sufficiently durable permanence in it. And there is no end to the instances of the ambiguity from which each of the four suffers; but the greatest of them is that which we mentioned a little earlier, that, whereas there are two things, that which has real being, and that which is only a quality, when the soul is seeking to know, not the quality, but the essence, each of the four presenting to the soul by word and in act that which it is not seeking (i.e., the quality), a thing open to refutation by the senses, being merely the thing presented to the soul in each particular case whether by statement or the act of showing, fills, one may say, every man with puzzlement and perplexity.

Now in subjects in which, by reason of our defective education, we have not been accustomed even to search for the truth, but are satisfied with whatever images are presented to us, we are not held up to ridicule by one another, the questioned by questioners, who can pull to pieces and criticise the four things. But in subjects where we try to compel a man to give a clear answer about the fifth, any one of those who are capable of overthrowing an antagonist gets the better of us, and makes the man, who gives an exposition in speech or writing or in replies to questions, appear to most of his hearers to know nothing of the things on which he is attempting to write or speak; for they are sometimes not aware that it is not the mind of the writer or speaker which is proved to be at fault, but the defective nature of each of the four instruments. The process however of dealing with all of these, as the mind moves up and down to each in turn, does after much effort give birth in a well-constituted mind to knowledge of that which is well constituted. But if a man is ill-constituted by nature (as the state of the soul is naturally in the majority both in its capacity for learning and in what is called moral character) — or it may have become so by deterioration — not even Lynceus could endow such men with the power of sight.

In one word, the man who has no natural kinship with this matter cannot be made akin to it by quickness of learning or memory; for it cannot be engendered at all in natures which are foreign to it. Therefore, if men are not by nature or kinship allied to justice and all other things that are honourable, though they may be good at learning and remembering other knowledge of various kinds — or if they have the kinship but are slow learners and have no memory — none of all these will ever learn to the full the truth about virtue and vice. For both must be learnt together; and together also must be learnt, by complete and long continued study, as I said at the beginning, the true and the false about all that has real being. After much effort, as names, definitions, sights, and other data of sense are brought into contact and friction one with another, in the course of scrutiny and kindly testing by men who proceed by question and answer without ill will, with a sudden flash there shines forth understanding about every problem, and an intelligence whose efforts reach the furthest limits of human powers. Therefore every man of worth, when dealing with matters of worth, will be far from exposing them to ill feeling and misunderstanding among men by committing them to writing. In one word, then, it may be known from this that, if one sees written treatises composed by anyone, either the laws of a lawgiver, or in any other form whatever, these are not for that man the things of most worth, if he is a man of worth, but that his treasures are laid up in the fairest spot that he possesses. But if these things were worked at by him as things of real worth, and committed to writing, then surely, not gods, but men “have themselves bereft him of his wits.”

Anyone who has followed this discourse and digression will know well that, if Dionysios or anyone else, great or small, has written a treatise on the highest matters and the first principles of things, he has, so I say, neither heard nor learnt any sound teaching about the subject of his treatise; otherwise, he would have had the same reverence for it, which I have, and would have shrunk from putting it forth into a world of discord and uncomeliness. For he wrote it, not as an aid to memory — since there is no risk of forgetting it, if a man’s soul has once laid hold of it; for it is expressed in the shortest of statements — but if he wrote it at all, it was from a mean craving for honour, either putting it forth as his own invention, or to figure as a man possessed of culture, of which he was not worthy, if his heart was set on the credit of possessing it. If then Dionysios gained this culture from the one lesson which he had from me, we may perhaps grant him the possession of it, though how he acquired it — God wot, as the Theban says; for I gave him the teaching, which I have described, on that one occasion and never again.

The next point which requires to be made clear to anyone who wishes to discover how things really happened, is the reason why it came about that I did not continue my teaching in a second and third lesson and yet oftener. Does Dionysios, after a single lesson, believe himself to know the matter, and has he an adequate knowledge of it, either as having discovered it for himself or learnt it before from others, or does he believe my teaching to be worthless, or, thirdly, to be beyond his range and too great for him, and himself to be really unable to live as one who gives his mind to wisdom and virtue? For if he thinks it worthless, he will have to contend with many who say the opposite, and who would be held in far higher repute as judges than Dionysios; if, on the other hand, he thinks he has discovered or learnt the things and that they are worth having as part of a liberal education, how could he, unless he is an extraordinary person, have so recklessly dishonoured the master who has led the way in these subjects? How he dishonoured him, I will now state.

Up to this time he had allowed Dion to remain in possession of his property and to receive the income from it. But not long after the foregoing events, as if he had entirely forgotten his letter to that effect, he no longer allowed Dion’s trustees to send him remittances to the Peloponnese, on the pretence that the owner of the property was not Dion but Dion’s son, his own nephew, of whom he himself was legally the trustee. These were the actual facts which occurred up to the point which we have reached. They had opened my eyes as to the value of Dionysios’ desire for philosophy, and I had every right to complain, whether I wished to do so or not. Now by this time it was summer and the season for sea voyages; therefore I decided that I must not be vexed with Dionysios rather than with myself and those who had forced me to come for the third time into the strait of Scylla, that once again I might to fell Charybdis measure back my course, but must tell Dionysios that it was impossible for me to remain after this outrage had been put upon Dion. He tried to soothe me and begged me to remain, not thinking it desirable for himself that I should arrive post haste in person as the bearer of such tidings. When his entreaties produced no effect, he promised that he himself would provide me with transport. For my intention was to embark on one of the trading ships and sail away, being indignant and thinking it my duty to face all dangers, in case I was prevented from going — since plainly and obviously I was doing no wrong, but was the party wronged.

Seeing me not at all inclined to stay, he devised the following scheme to make me stay during that sailing season. On the next day he came to me and made a plausible proposal: “Let us put an end,” he said, “to these constant quarrels between you and me about Dion and his affairs. For your sake I will do this for Dion. I require him to take his own property and reside in the Peloponnese, not as an exile, but on the understanding that it is open for him to migrate here, when this step has the joint approval of himself, me, and you his friends; and this shall be open to him on the understanding that he does not plot against me. You and your friends and Dion’s friends here must be sureties for him in this, and he must give you security. Let the funds which he receives be deposited in the Peloponnese and at Athens, with persons approved by you, and let Dion enjoy the income from them but have no power to take them out of deposit without the approval of you and your friends. For I have no great confidence in him, that, if he has this property at his disposal, he will act justly towards me, for it will be no small amount; but I have more confidence in you and your friends. See if this satisfies you; and on these conditions remain for the present year, and at the next season you shall depart taking the property with you. I am quite sure that Dion will be grateful to you, if you accomplish so much on his behalf.”

When I heard this proposal I was vexed, but after reflection said I would let him know my view of it on the following day. We agreed to that effect for the moment, and afterwards when I was by myself I pondered the matter in much distress. The first reflection that came up, leading the way in my self-communing, was this: “Come, suppose that Dionysios intends to do none of the things which he has mentioned, but that, after my departure, he writes a plausible letter to Dion, and orders several of his creatures to write to the same effect, telling him of the proposal which he has now made to me, making out that he was willing to do what he proposed, but that I refused and completely neglected Dion’s interests. Further, suppose that he is not willing to allow my departure, and without giving personal orders to any of the merchants, makes it clear, as he easily can, to all that he not wish me to sail, will anyone consent to take me as a passenger, when I leave the house of Dionysios?”

For in addition to my other troubles, I was lodging at that time in the garden which surrounds his house, from which even the gatekeeper would have refused to let me go, unless an order had been sent to him from Dionysios. “Suppose however that I wait for the year, I shall be able to write word of these things to Dion, stating the position in which I am, and the steps which I am trying to take. And if Dionysios does any of the things which he says, I shall have accomplished something that is not altogether to be sneered at; for Dion’s property is, at a fair estimate, perhaps not less than a hundred talents. If however the prospect which I see looming in the future takes the course which may reasonably be expected, I know not what I shall do with myself. Still it is perhaps necessary to go on working for a year, and to attempt to prove by actual fact the machinations of Dionysios.”

Having come to this decision, on the following day I said to Dionysios, “I have decided to remain. But,” I continued, “I must ask that you will not regard me as empowered to act for Dion, but will along with me write a letter to him, stating what has now been decided, and enquire whether this course satisfies him. If it does not, and if he has other wishes and demands, he must write particulars of them as soon as possible, and you must not as yet take any hasty step with regard to his interests.”

This was what was said and this was the agreement which was made, almost in these words. Well, after this the trading-ships took their departure, and it was no longer possible for me to take mine, when Dionysios, if you please, addressed me with the remark that half the property must be regarded as belonging to Dion and half to his son. Therefore, he said, he would sell it, and when it was sold would give half to me to take away, and would leave half on the spot for the son. This course, he said, was the most just. This proposal was a blow to me, and I thought it absurd to argue any longer with him; however, I said that we must wait for Dion’s letter, and then once more write to tell him of this new proposal. His next step was the brilliant one of selling the whole of Dion’s property, using his own discretion with regard to the manner and terms of the sale and of the purchasers. He spoke not a word to me about the matter from beginning to end, and I followed his example and never talked to him again about Dion’s affairs; for I did not think that I could do any good by doing so. This is the history so far of my efforts to come to the rescue of philosophy and of my friends.

After this Dionysios and I went on with our daily life, I with my eyes turned abroad like a bird yearning to fly from its perch, and he always devising some new way of scaring me back and of keeping a tight hold on Dion’s property. However, we gave out to all Sicily that we were friends. Dionysios, now deserting the policy of his father, attempted to lower the pay of the older members of his body guard. The soldiers were furious, and, assembling in great numbers, declared that they would not submit. He attempted to use force to them, shutting the gates of the acropolis; but they charged straight for the walls, yelling out an unintelligible and ferocious war cry. Dionysios took fright and conceded all their demands and more to the peltasts then assembled.

A rumour soon spread that Heracleides had been the cause of all the trouble. Hearing this, Heracleides kept out of the way. Dionysios was trying to get hold of him, and being unable to do so, sent for Theodotes to come to him in his garden. It happened that I was walking in the garden at the same time. I neither know nor did I hear the rest of what passed between them, but what Theodotes said to Dionysios in my presence I know and remember. “Plato,” he said, “I am trying to convince our friend Dionysios that, if I am able to bring Heracleides before us to defend himself on the charges which have been made against him, and if he decides that Heracleides must no longer live in Sicily, he should be allowed (this is my point) to take his son and wife and sail to the Peloponnese and reside there, taking no action there against Dionysios and enjoying the income of his property. I have already sent for him and will send for him again; and if he comes in obedience either to my former message or to this one — well and good. But I beg and entreat Dionysios that, if anyone finds Heracleides either in the country or here, no harm shall come to him, but that he may retire from the country till Dionysios comes to some other decision. Do you agree to this?” he added, addressing Dionysios. “I agree,” he replied, “that even if he is found at your house, no harm shall be done to him beyond what has now been said.”

On the following day Eurybios and Theodotes came to me in the evening, both greatly disturbed. Theodotes said, “Plato, you were present yesterday during the promises made by Dionysios to me and to you about Heracleides?” “Certainly,” I replied. “Well,” he continued, “at this moment peltasts are scouring the country seeking to arrest Heracleides; and he must be somewhere in this neighbourhood. For Heaven’s sake come with us to Dionysios.” So we went and stood in the presence of Dionysios; and those two stood shedding silent tears, while I said: “These men are afraid that you may take strong measures with regard to Heracleides contrary to what was agreed yesterday. For it seems that he has returned and has been seen somewhere about here.” On hearing this he blazed up and turned all colours, as a man would in a rage. Theodotes, falling before him in tears, took his hand and entreated him to do nothing of the sort. But I broke in and tried to encourage him, saying: “Be of good cheer, Theodotes; Dionysios will not have the heart to take any fresh step contrary to his promises of yesterday.” Fixing his eye on me, and assuming his most autocratic air he said, “To you I promised nothing small or great.” “By the gods,” I said, “you did promise that forbearance for which our friend here now appeals.” With these words I turned away and went out. After this he continued the hunt for Heracleides, and Theodotes, sending messages, urged Heracleides to take flight. Dionysios sent out Teisias and some peltasts with orders to pursue him. But Heracleides, as it was said, was just in time, by a small fraction of a day, in making his escape into Carthaginian territory.

After this Dionysios thought that his long-cherished scheme not to restore Dion’s property would give him a plausible excuse for hostility towards me; and first of all he sent me out of the acropolis, finding a pretext that the women were obliged to hold a sacrificial service for ten days in the garden in which I had my lodging. He therefore ordered me to stay outside in the house of Archedemos during this period. While I was there, Theodotes sent for me and made a great outpouring of indignation at these occurrences, throwing the blame on Dionysios. Hearing that I had been to see Theodotes he regarded this as another excuse, sister to the previous one, for quarrelling with me. Sending a messenger, he enquired if I had really been conferring with Theodotes on his invitation. “Certainly,” I replied. “Well,” continued the messenger, “he ordered me to tell you that you are not acting at all well in preferring always Dion and Dion’s friends to him.” And he did not send for me to return to his house, as though it were now clear that Theodotes and Heracleides were my friends, and he my enemy. He also thought that I had no kind feelings towards him because the property of Dion was now entirely done for.

After this I resided outside the acropolis among the mercenaries. Various people then came to me, among them those of the ships’ crews who came from Athens, my own fellow citizens, and reported that I was evil spoken of among the peltasts, and that some of them were threatening to make an end of me, if they could get hold of me. Accordingly I devised the following plan for my safety.

I sent to Archytes and my other friends in Taras, telling them the plight I was in. Finding some excuse for an embassy from their city, they sent a thirty-oared galley with Lamiscos, one of themselves, who came and entreated Dionysios about me, saying that I wanted to go, and that he should on no account stand in my way. He consented and allowed me to go, giving me money for the journey. But for Dion’s property I made no further request, nor was any of it restored.

I made my way to the Peloponnese to Olympia, where I found Dion a spectator at the Games, and told him what had occurred. Calling Zeus to be his witness, he at once urged me with my relatives and friends to make preparations for taking vengeance on Dionysios — our ground for action being the breach of faith to a guest — so he put it and regarded it, while his own was his unjust expulsion and banishment. Hearing this, I told him that he might call my friends to his aid, if they wished to go; “But for myself,” I continued, “you and others in a way forced me to be the sharer of Dionysios’ table and hearth and his associate in the acts of religion. He probably believed the current slanders, that I was plotting with you against him and his despotic rule; yet feelings of scruple prevailed with him, and he spared my life. Again, I am hardly of the age for being comrade in arms to anyone; also I stand as a neutral between you, if ever you desire friendship and wish to benefit one another; so long as you aim at injuring one another, call others to your aid.” This I said, because I was disgusted with my misguided journeyings to Sicily and my ill-fortune there. But they disobeyed me and would not listen to my attempts at reconciliation, and so brought on their own heads all the evils which have since taken place. For if Dionysios had restored to Dion his property or been reconciled with him on any terms, none of these things would have happened, so far as human foresight can foretell. Dion would have easily been kept in check by my wishes and influence. But now, rushing upon one another, they have caused universal disaster.

Dion’s aspiration however was the same that I should say my own or that of any other right-minded man ought to be. With regard to his own power, his friends and his country the ideal of such a man would be to win the greatest power and honour by rendering the greatest services. And this end is not attained if a man gets riches for himself, his supporters and his country, by forming plots and getting together conspirators, being all the while a poor creature, not master of himself, overcome by the cowardice which fears to fight against pleasures; nor is it attained if he goes on to kill the men of substance, whom he speaks of as the enemy, and to plunder their possessions, and invites his confederates and supporters to do the same, with the object that no one shall say that it is his fault, if he complains of being poor. The same is true if anyone renders services of this kind to the State and receives honours from her for distributing by decrees the property of the few among the many — or if, being in charge of the affairs of a great State which rules over many small ones, he unjustly appropriates to his own State the possessions of the small ones. For neither a Dion nor any other man will, with his eyes open, make his way by steps like these to a power which will be fraught with destruction to himself and his descendants for all time; but he will advance towards constitutional government and the framing of the justest and best laws, reaching these ends without executions and murders even on the smallest scale.

This course Dion actually followed, thinking it preferable to suffer iniquitous deeds rather than to do them; but, while taking precautions against them, he nevertheless, when he had reached the climax of victory over his enemies, took a false step and fell, a catastrophe not at all surprising. For a man of piety, temperance and wisdom, when dealing with the impious, would not be entirely blind to the character of such men, but it would perhaps not be surprising if he suffered the catastrophe that might befall a good ship’s captain, who would not be entirely unaware of the approach of a storm, but might be unaware of its extraordinary and startling violence, and might therefore be overwhelmed by its force. The same thing caused Dion’s downfall. For he was not unaware that his assailants were thoroughly bad men, but he was unaware how high a pitch of infatuation and of general wickedness and greed they had reached. This was the cause of his downfall, which has involved Sicily in countless sorrows.

What counsel I have to offer, after this narrative of events, has been given already, and so let it suffice. But I deemed it necessary to explain the reasons why I undertook my second journey to Sicily because absurd and irrational stories are being told about it. If, therefore, the account I have now given appears to anyone more rational, and if anyone believes that it supplies sufficient excuses for what took place, then I shall regard that account as both reasonable and sufficient.

VIII

The eighth epistle is addressed to the companions of Dion and was probably written some months after the Seventh Letter but before Dion’s assassin, Callippus, had been driven out by Hipparinus. It councels compromise between the parties of Dion and Dionysius the Younger, the former favoring democracy, the latter, tyranny. The compromise would be a monarchy limited by laws.Plato to the relatives and companions of Dion wishes well-doing.

The policy which would best serve to secure your real “well-doing” is that which I shall now endeavor as best I can to describe to you. And I hope that my advice will not only be salutary to you (though to you in special), but also to all the Syracusans, in the second place, and, in the third, to your enemies and your foes, unless any of them be a doer of impious deeds; for such deeds are irremediable and none could ever wash out their stain. Mark, then, what I now say. Now that the tyranny is broken down over the whole of Sicily all your fighting rages round this one subject of dispute, the one party desiring to recover the headship, and the other to put the finishing touch to the expulsion of the tyrants. Now the majority of men always believe that the right advice about these matters is the advising of such action as will do the greatest possible harm to one’s enemies and the greatest possible good to one’s friends; whereas it is by no means easy to do much harm to others without also suffering in turn much harm oneself. And without going far afield one may see such consequences clearly in the recent events in Sicily itself, where the one faction is trying to inflict injury and the other to ward off the injurers; and the tale thereof, if ever you told it to others, would inevitably prove a most impressive lesson. Of such policies, one may say, there is no lack; but as for a policy which would prove beneficial to all alike, foes as well as friends, or at least as little detrimental as possible to either, such a policy is neither easy to discern, nor, when discerned, easy to carry out; and to advise such a policy or attempt to describe it is much like saying a prayer. Be it so, then, that this is nothing but a prayer (and in truth every man ought always to begin his speaking and his thinking with the gods); yet may it attain fulfilment in indicating some such counsel as this: — Now and almost ever since the war began both you and your enemies have been ruled continuously by that one family which your fathers set on the throne in the hour of their greatest distress, when Greek Sicily was in the utmost danger of being entirely overrun by the Carthaginians and barbarized. On that occasion they chose Dionysius because of his youth and warlike prowess to take charge of the military operations for which he was suited, with Hipparinus, who was older, as his fellow-counsellor, appointing them dictators for the safeguarding of Sicily, with the title, as men say, of “tyrants.” But whether one prefers to suppose that the cause which ultimately brought about their salvation was divine Fortune and the Deity, or the virtue of the rulers, or possibly the combination of both assisted by the citizens of that age — as to this let everyone form his own notion; in any case this was the way in which salvation for the men of that generation came about. Seeing, then, that they proved themselves men of such a quality, it is surely right that they should be repaid with gratitude by all those whom they saved. But if in after times the tyrant’s house has wrongly abused the bounty of the city, the penalty for this it has suffered in part, and in part it will have to pay. What, then, is the penalty rightly to be exacted from them under existing circumstances? If you were able to get quit of them easily, without serious dangers and trouble, or if they were able to regain the empire without difficulty, then, in either case, it would not have been possible for me so much as to offer the advice which I am now about to utter; but as it is, both of you ought to bear in mind and remember how many times each party has hopefully imagined that it lacked but a little of achieving complete success almost every time; and, what is more, that it is precisely this little deficiency which is always turning out to be the cause of great and numberless evils. And of these evils no limit is ever reached, but what seems to be the end of the old is always being linked on to the beginning of a new brood; and because of this endless chain of evil the whole tribe of tyrants and democrats alike will be in danger of destruction. But should any of these consequences — likely as they are though lamentable — come to pass, hardly a trace of the Greek tongue will remain in all Sicily, since it will have been transformed into a province or dependency of Phoenicians or Opicians. Against this all the Greeks must with all zeal provide a remedy. If, therefore, any man knows of a remedy that is truer and better than that which I am now about to propose, and puts it openly before us, he shall have the best right to the title “Friend of Greece.” The remedy, however, which commends itself to me I shall now endeavor to explain, using the utmost freedom of speech and a tone of impartial justice. For indeed I am speaking somewhat like an arbitrator, and addressing to the two parties, the former despot and his subjects, as though each were a single person, the counsel I gave of old. And now also my word of advice to every despot would be that he should shun the despot’s title and his task, and change his despotism for kingship. That this is possible has been actually proved by that wise and good man Lycurgus; for when he saw that the family of his kinsmen in Argos and in Messene had in both cases destroyed both themselves and their city by advancing from kingship to despotic power, he was alarmed about his own city as well as his own family, and as a remedy he introduced the authority of the Elders and of the Ephors to serve as a bond of safety for the kingly power; and because of this they have already been kept safe and glorious all these generations since Law became with them supreme king over men instead of men being despots over the laws. And now also I urgently admonish you all to do the same. Those of you who are rushing after despotic power I exhort to change their course and to flee betimes from what is counted as “bliss” by men of insatiable cravings and empty heads, and to try to transform themselves into the semblance of a king, and to become subject to kingly laws, owing their possession of the highest honors to the voluntary goodwill of the citizens and to the laws. And I should counsel those who follow after the ways of freedom, and shun as a really evil thing the yoke of bondage, to beware lest by their insatiable craving for an immoderate freedom they should ever fall sick of their forefathers’ disease, which the men of that time suffered because of their excessive anarchy, through indulging an unmeasured love of freedom. For the Siceliots of the age before Dionysius and Hipparinus began to rule were living blissfully, as they supposed, being in luxury and ruling also over their rulers; and they even stoned to death the ten generals who preceded Dionysius, without any legal trial, to show that they were no slaves of any rightful master, nor of any law, but were in all ways altogether free. Hence it was that the rule of the despots befell them. For as regards both slavery and freedom, when either is in excess it is wholly evil, but when in moderation wholly good; and moderate slavery consists in being the slave of God, immoderate, in being the slave of men; and men of sound sense have Law for their God, but men without sense Pleasure. Since these things are naturally ordained thus, I exhort Dion’s friends to declare what I am advising to all the Syracusans, as being the joint advice both of Dion and myself; and I will be the interpreter of what he would have said to you now, were he alive and able to speak. “Pray then,” someone might say, “what message does the advice of Dion declare to us concerning the present situation?” It is this: “Above all else, O ye Syracusans, accept such laws as do not appear to you likely to turn your minds covetously to money-making and wealth; but rather — since there are three objects, the soul, the body, and money besides, — accept such laws as cause the virtue of the soul to be held first in honor, that of the body second, subordinate to that of the soul, and the honor paid to money to come third and last, in subjection to both the body and the soul. The ordinance which effects this will be truly laid down by you as law, since it really makes those who obey it blessed; whereas the phrase which terms the rich “blessed” is not only a miserable one in itself, being the senseless phrase of women and children, but also renders those who believe it equally miserable. That this exhortation of mine is true you will learn by actual experience if you make trial of what I am now saying concerning laws; for in all matters experience is held to be the truest test. And when you have accepted laws of this kind, inasmuch as Sicily is beset with dangers, and you are neither complete victors nor utterly vanquished, it will be, no doubt, both just and profitable for you all to pursue a middle course — not only those of you who flee from the harshness of the tyranny, but also those who crave to win back that tyranny — the men whose ancestors in those days performed the mightiest deed in saving the Greeks from the barbarians, with the result that it is possible for us now to talk about constitutions; whereas, if they had then been ruined, no place would have been left at all for either talk or hope. So, then, let the one party of you gain freedom by the aid of kingly rule, and the other gain a form of kingly rule that is not irresponsible, with the laws exercising despotic sway over the kings themselves as well as the rest of the citizens, in case they do anything illegal. On these conditions set up kings for all of you, by the help of the gods and with honest and sound intent, — my own son first in return for twofold favors, namely that conferred by me and that conferred by my father; for he delivered the city from barbarians in his own day, while I, in the present day, have twice delivered it from tyrants, whereof you yourselves are witnesses. And as your second king created the man who possesses the same name as my father and is son to Dionysius, in return for his present assistance and for his pious disposition; for he, though he is sprung from a tyrant’s loins, is in act of delivering the city of his own free will, gaining thereby for himself and for his race everlasting honor in place of a transitory and unrighteous tyranny. And, thirdly, you ought to invite to become king of Syracuse — as willing king of a willing city — him who is now commander of your enemies’ army, Dionysius, son of Dionysius, if so be that he is willing of his own accord to transform himself into a king, being moved thereto by fear of fortune’s changes, and by pity for his country and the untended state of her temples and her tombs, lest because of his ambition he utterly ruin all and become a cause of rejoicing to the barbarians. And these three, — whether you grant them the power of the Laconian kings or curtail that power by a common agreement, — you should establish as kings in some such manner as the following, which indeed has been described to you before, yet listen to it now again. If you find that the family of Dionysius and Hipparinus is willing to make an end of the evils now occurring in order to secure the salvation of Sicily provided that they receive honors both in the present and for the future for themselves and for their family, then on these terms, as was said before, convoke envoys empowered to negotiate a pact, such men as they may choose, whether they come from Sicily or from abroad or both, and in such numbers as may be mutually agreed. And these men, on their arrival, should first lay down laws and a constitution which is so framed as to permit the kings to be put in control of the temples and of all else that fitly belongs to those who once were benefactors. And as controllers of war and peace they should appoint Law-wardens, thirty-five in number, in conjunction with the People and the Council. And there should be various courts of law for various suits, but in matters involving death or exile the Thirty-five should form the court; and in addition to these there should be judges selected from the magistrates of each preceding year, one from each magistracy — the one, that is, who is approved as the most good and just; and these should decide for the ensuing year all cases which involve the death, imprisonment or transportation of citizens; and it should not be permissible for a king to be a judge of such suits, but he, like a priest, should remain clean from bloodshed and imprisonment and exile. This is what I planned for you when I was alive, and it is still my plan now. With your aid, had not Furies in the guise of guests prevented me, I should then have overcome our foes, and established the State in the way I planned; and after this, had my intentions been realized, I should have resettled the rest of Sicily by depriving the barbarians of the land they now hold — excepting those who fought in defence of the common liberty against the tyranny — and restoring the former occupiers of the Greek regions to their ancient and ancestral homes. And now likewise I counsel you all with one accord to adopt and execute these same plans, and to summon all to this task, and to count him who refuses as a common enemy. Nor is such a course impossible; for when plans actually exist in two souls, and when they are readily perceived upon reflection to be the best, he who pronounces such plans impossible is hardly a man of understanding. And by the “two souls” I mean the soul of Hipparinus the son of Dionysius and that of my own son; for should these agree together, I believe that all the rest of the Syracusans who have a care for their city will consent. Well then, when you have paid due honor, with prayer, to all the gods and all the other powers to whom, along with the gods, it is due, cease not from urging and exhorting both friends and opponents by gentle means and every means, until, like a heaven-sent dream presented to waking eyes, the plan which I have pictured in words be wrought by you into plain deeds and brought to a happy consummation.”

IX

Plato to Archytas of Tarentum wishes well-doing.

Archippus and Philonides and their party have arrived, bringing us the letter which you gave them, and also reporting your news. Their business with the city they have completed without difficulty — for in truth it was not at all a hard task; and they have given us a full account of you, telling us that you are somewhat distressed at not being able to get free from your public engagements. Now it is plain to almost everyone that the pleasantest thing in life is to attend to one’s own business, especially when the business one chooses is such as yours; yet you ought also to bear in mind that no one of us exists for himself alone, but one share of our existence belongs to our country, another to our parents, a third to the rest of our friends, while a great part is given over to those needs of the hour with which our life is beset. And when our country itself calls us to public duties, it were surely improper not to hearken to the call; for to do so will involve the further consequence of leaving room to worthless men who engage in public affairs from motives that are by no means the best. Enough, however, of this subject. We are looking after Echecrates now and we shall do so in the future also, for your sake and that of his father Phrynion, as well as for the sake of the youth himself.

X

Plato to Aristodorus wishes well-doing.

I hear that you now are and always have been one of Dion’s most intimate companions, since of all who pursue philosophy you exhibit the most philosophic disposition; for steadfastness, trustiness, and sincerity — these I affirm to be the genuine philosophy, but as to all other forms of science and cleverness which tend in other directions, I shall, I believe, be giving them their right names if I dub them “parlor-tricks.” So farewell, and continue in the same disposition in which you are continuing now.

XI

Plato to Laodamas wishes well-doing.

I wrote to you before that in view of all that you say it is of great importance that you yourself should come to Athens. But since you say that this is impossible, the second best course would have been that I, if possible, or Socrates should go to you, as in fact you said in your letter. At present, however, Socrates is laid up with an attack of strangury; while if I were to go there, it would be humiliating if I failed to succeed in the task for which you are inviting me. But I myself have no great hopes of success (as to my reasons for this, another long letter would be required to explain them in full), and moreover, because of my age, I am not physically fit to go wandering about and to run such risks as one encounters both by sea and land; and at present there is nothing but danger for travellers everywhere. I am able, however, to give you and the settlers advice which may seem to be, as Hesiod says, “Trivial when uttered by me, but hard to be understanded.” For they are mistaken if they believe that a constitution could ever be well established by any kind of legislation whatsoever without the existence of some authority in the State which supervises the daily life both of slaves and freemen, to see that it is both temperate and manly. And this condition might be secured if you already possess men who are worthy of such authority. If, however, you require someone to train them, you do not, in my opinion, possess either the trainer or the pupils to be trained; so it only remains for you to pray to the gods. For, in truth, the earlier States also were mostly organized in this way; and they came to have a good constitution at a later date, as a result of their being confronted with grave troubles, either through war or other difficulties, whenever there arose in their midst at such a crisis a man of noble character in possession of great power. So it is both right and necessary that you should at first be eager for these results, but also that you should conceive of them in the way I suggest, and not be so foolish as to suppose that you will readily accomplish anything. Good-fortune attend you!

XII

Plato to Archytas of Tarentum wishes well-doing.

We have been wonderfully pleased at receiving the treatises which have come from you and felt the utmost possible admiration for their author; indeed we judged the man to be worthy of those ancient ancestors of his. For in truth these men are said to be Myrians; and they were amongst those Trojans who emigrated in the reign of Laomedon — valiant men, as the traditional story declares. As to those treatises of mine about which you wrote, they are not as yet completed, but I have sent them to you just in the state in which they happen to be; as concerns their preservation we are both in accord, so that there is no need to give directions.

XIII

Plato to Dionysius, Tyrant of Syracuse, wishes well-doing.

Let this greeting not only commence my letter but serve at the same time as a token that it is from me. Once when you were feasting the Locrian youths and were seated at a distance from me, you got up and came over to me and in a friendly spirit made some remark which I thought excellent, as also did my neighbor at the table, who was one of the beautiful youths. And he then said— “No doubt, Dionysius, you find Plato of great benefit as regards philosophy!” And you replied— “Yes, and in regard to much else; since from the very moment of my inviting him I derived benefit at once from the very fact that I had invited him.” This tone, then, should be carefully preserved, in order that the mutual benefit we derive from one another may always go on increasing. So by way of helping towards this end I am now sending you some of the Pythagorean works and of the “Divisions,” and also, as we arranged at that time, a man of whom you and Archytas — if Archytas has come to your court — may be able to make use. His name is Helicon, he is a native of Cyzicus, and he is a pupil of Eudoxus and exceedingly well versed in all his doctrine. Moreover, he has associated with one of the pupils of Isocrates and with Polyxenus, one of Bryson’s companions; and, what is rare in these cases, he is not without charm of address nor is he of a churlish disposition; rather he would seem to be gay and good-tempered. This, however, I say with trepidation, since I am uttering an opinion about a man, and man though not a worthless is an inconstant creature, save in very few instances and in few respects. For even in this man’s case my fears and suspicions were such that, when I met him, I observed him carefully myself and I made inquiry also from his fellow-citizens, and no one had anything bad to say of the man. But do you yourself also keep him under observation and be cautious. It were best, then, if you have any leisure at all, to take lessons from him in addition to your other studies in philosophy; but if not, get someone else thoroughly taught so that you may learn from him when you have leisure, and thereby make progress and gain glory, — that so the benefit you gain from me may still continue. So much, then, for this subject.

As regards the things you wrote to me to send you, I have had the Apollo made and Leptines is bringing it to you. It is by a young and good craftsman named Leochares. He had at his shop another piece which was, as I thought, very artistic; so I bought it with the intention of presenting it to your wife, because she tended me both in health and sickness in a manner which did credit both to you and to me. So will you give it to her, unless you prefer to do otherwise. I am also sending twelve jars of sweet wine for the children and two of honey. We arrived too late for the stoling of the figs, and the myrtle-berries that were stored have rotted; but in future we shall take better care of them. About the plants Leptines will tell you. The money to meet these expenses — I mean for the purchases mentioned and for certain State taxes — I obtained from Leptines, telling him what I thought it best became us to tell him, it being also true, — that the sum of about sixteen minas which we spent on the Leucadian ship belonged to us; this, then, was the sum I obtained, and on obtaining it I used it myself and sent off these purchases to you. Next, let me tell you what your position is in regard to money, both what you have at Athens and my own. I shall make use of your money, as I told you previously, just as I do that of all my other friends; I use as little as I possibly can, only just so much as I and the man I get it from agree to be necessary or right or fitting. Now this is how I am situated at present. I have in my charge four daughters of those nieces of mine who died at the time when you bade me to wear a crown, and I refused; and of these one is of marriageable age, one eight years old, one a little over three years, and the fourth not yet a year old. To these girls I and my friends must give portions — to all of them, that is, whom I live to see married; as to the rest, they must look to themselves. Nor should I give portions to any whose fathers may get to be richer than I; though at present I am the wealthiest of them, and it was I who, with the help of Dion and others, gave their mothers their portions. Now the eldest one is marrying Speusippus, she being his sister’s daughter. So for her I require no more than thirty minas, that being for us a reasonable dowry. Moreover, in case my own mother should die, no more than ten minas would be required for the building of her tomb. For such purposes, then, these are pretty well all my necessary requirements at the present time. And should any further expense, private or public, be incurred owing to my visit to your court, we must do as I said before: I must strive hard to keep the expense as low as possible, and if ever that is beyond my power, the charge must fall upon you. In the next place, as regards the spending of your own money at Athens, I have to tell you, first of all, that, contrary to what we supposed, you have not a single friend who will advance money in case I am required to spend something on furnishing a chorus or the like; and further, if you yourself have some urgent affair on hand in which prompt expenditure is to your advantage, whereas it is to your disadvantage to have the expenditure deferred until the arrival of a messenger from you, such a state of affairs is not only awkward but reflects also on your honor. And in fact I discovered this myself when I sent Erastus to Andromedes the Aeginetan — from whom, as a friend of yours, you told me to borrow what I needed; as I wished to send you also some other valuable items which you had written for. He replied — naturally enough, as any man might — that when, on a previous occasion, he had advanced money on your father’s account he had had difficulty in recovering it, and that he would now loan a small amount but no more. That was how I came to borrow from Leptines; and for this Leptines is deserving of praise, not that he gave it, but that he did so readily, and plainly showed his friendship and its quality in all else that he did or said regarding you. For it is surely right that I should report such actions, as well as the opposite kind, to show what I believe to be each man’s attitude towards you. However, I will tell you candidly the position with regard to money matters; for it is right to do so, and, moreover, I shall be speaking from experience of your court. The agents who bring you the reports every time are unwilling to report anything which they think entails an expense, as being likely to bring them odium. Do you therefore accustom them and compel them to declare these matters as well as the rest; for it is right that you should know the whole state of affairs so far as you can and act as the judge, and not avoid this knowledge. For such a course will best serve to enhance your authority. For expenditure that is rightly laid out and rightly paid back is a good thing — as you yourself maintain and will maintain — not only for other purposes but also for the acquisition of money itself. Therefore, do not let those who profess to be devoted to you slander you before the world; for to have the reputation of being ill to deal with is neither good for your reputation nor honorable.

In the next place I shall speak about Dion. Other matters I cannot speak of as yet, until the letters from you arrive, as you said; with regard, however, to those matters which you forbade me to mention to him, I neither mentioned nor discussed them, but I did try to discover whether he would take their occurrence hardly or calmly, and it seemed to me that if they occurred it would cause him no small vexation. As to all else Dion’s attitude towards you seems to me to be reasonable both in word and deed.

To Cratinus the brother of Timotheus, and my own companion, let us present a hoplite’s corslet, one of the soft kind for foot-soldiers; and to the daughters of Cebes three tunics of seven cubits, not made of the costly Amorgos stuff but of the Sicilian linen. The name of Cebes you probably know; for he is mentioned in writing in the Socratic discourses as conversing with Socrates, in company with Simmias, in the discourse concerning the Soul, he being an intimate and kindly friend of us all.

Concerning the sign which indicates which of my letters are seriously written and which not, I suppose that you remember it, but none the less bear it in mind and pay the utmost attention; for there are many bidding me to write, whom it is not easy to repulse openly. “God,” then, is at the head of the serious letter, but “gods” of the less serious. The ambassadors requested me to write to you, and naturally so; for they are everywhere lauding both you and me with the utmost zeal; and not least Philagrus, who was then suffering with his hand. Philaides also, on his arrival from the Great King, was talking about you; and if it had not required a very long letter I would have told you in writing what he said; but as it is, ask Leptines to tell you. If you are sending the corslet or any of the other things I have written about, in case you have anyone you prefer yourself, give it to him, but if not, give it to Terillus; he is one of those who are constantly making the voyage, and he is a friend of ours who is skilled in philosophy as well as in other things. He is also a son-in-law of Teison who was city-steward at the time when we sailed away. Keep well and study philosophy and exhort thereto all the other young men; and greet for me your comrades at the game of ball; and charge Aristocritus, as well as the rest, that if any message or letter from me should come to your palace, he must take care that you are informed of it as soon as possible; and bid him remind you not to neglect the contents of my letters. So too now, do not neglect to repay Leptines his money, but pay it back as promptly as possible, in order that the others also, seeing how you deal with him, may be the more ready to assist us.

Iatrocles, the man whom I released on that occasion, along with Myronides, is now sailing with the things that I am sending: I ask you, then, to give him some paid post, as he is well-disposed towards you, and employ him for whatever you wish. Preserve also this letter, either itself or a precis of it, and continue as you are.

The Greek Texts

Temple of Zeus, Athens

PRONOUNCING ANCIENT GREEK

Here is a brief guide to pronouncing Ancient Greek, allowing you to voice aloud Plato’s original text. You may wish to bookmark this page for future reference.

The Letters

Like the Roman alphabet, Greek has separate capitals and lowercase letters, which are all provided here with their Roman equivalents.

Α, α   a

Β, β   b

Γ, γ   g

Δ, δ   d

Ε, ε   e

Ζ, ζ   z

Η, η   ê

Θ, θ   th

Ι, ι    i

Κ, κ   k

Λ, λ   l

Μ, μ  m

Ν, ν   n

Ξ, ξ   x

Ο, ο   o

Π, π   p

Ρ, ρ   r

Σ, σ, ς s

Τ, τ   t

Υ, υ   y

Φ, φ   ph

Χ, χ   ch

Ψ, ψ   ps

Ω, ω  ô

Consonants

Most of the consonants are pronounced exactly as in English, except for:

The g is always hard as in ‘golf’, never soft.

z is pronounced zd.

x is pronounced with a ks sound.

r is rolled as in Spanish or Italian.

ps is always pronounced as two sounds

With aspirated consonants ph, th, ch and rh, ignore the h.

The ch should be pronounced the same as a k.

Diphthongs

ai as in aisle

ei as in vein

oi as in oil

au as ow in cow

eu as e of get followed by oo

ou as in soup

LIST OF GREEK TEXTS

EUTHYPHRO

APOLOGY

CRITO

HIPPIAS MAJOR

HIPPIAS MINOR

FIRST ALCIBIADES

CHARMIDES

LACHES

LYSIS

ION

PHAEDO

CRATYLUS

EUTHYDEMUS

PROTAGORAS

GORGIAS

MENO

MENEXENUS

SYMPOSIUM

THE REPUBLIC

PHAEDRUS

PARMENIDES

THEAETETUS

CLITOPHON

TIMAEUS

CRITIAS

SOPHIST

STATESMAN

PHILEBUS

LAWS

SECOND ALCIBIADES

HIPPARCHUS

THE RIVAL LOVERS

THEAGES

MINOS

EPINOMIS

AXIOCHUS

ERYXIAS

HALCYON

EPIGRAMS

THE EPISTLES

EUTHYPHRO

Εὐθύφρων [2a] τί νεώτερον, ὦ Σώκρατες, γέγονεν, ὅτι σὺ τὰς ἐν Λυκείῳ καταλιπὼν διατριβὰς ἐνθάδε νῦν διατρίβεις περὶ τὴν τοῦ βασιλέως στοάν; οὐ γάρ που καὶ σοί γε δίκη τις οὖσα τυγχάνει πρὸς τὸν βασιλέα ὥσπερ ἐμοί.

Σωκράτης οὔτοι δὴ Ἀθηναῖοί γε, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, δίκην αὐτὴν καλοῦσιν ἀλλὰ γραφήν.

Εὐθύφρων [2b] τί φῄς; γραφὴν σέ τις, ὡς ἔοικε, γέγραπται· οὐ γὰρ ἐκεῖνό γε καταγνώσομαι, ὡς σὺ ἕτερον.

Σωκράτης οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλὰ σὲ ἄλλος;

Σωκράτης πάνυ γε.

Εὐθύφρων τίς οὗτος;

Σωκράτης οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸς πάνυ τι γιγνώσκω, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τὸν ἄνδρα, νέος γάρ τίς μοι φαίνεται καὶ ἀγνώς· ὀνομάζουσι μέντοι αὐτόν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, Μέλητον. ἔστι δὲ τῶν δήμων Πιτθεύς, εἴ τινα νῷ ἔχεις Πιτθέα Μέλητον οἷον τετανότριχα καὶ οὐ πάνυ εὐγένειον, ἐπίγρυπον δέ.

Εὐθύφρων οὐκ ἐννοῶ, ὦ Σώκρατες· ἀλλὰ δὴ τίνα γραφήν [2c] σε γέγραπται;

Σωκράτης ἥντινα; οὐκ ἀγεννῆ, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ· τὸ γὰρ νέον ὄντα τοσοῦτον πρᾶγμα ἐγνωκέναι οὐ φαῦλόν ἐστιν. ἐκεῖνος γάρ, ὥς φησιν, οἶδε τίνα τρόπον οἱ νέοι διαφθείρονται καὶ τίνες οἱ διαφθείροντες αὐτούς. καὶ κινδυνεύει σοφός τις εἶναι, καὶ τὴν ἐμὴν ἀμαθίαν κατιδὼν ὡς διαφθείροντος τοὺς ἡλικιώτας αὐτοῦ, ἔρχεται κατηγορήσων μου ὥσπερ πρὸς μητέρα πρὸς τὴν πόλιν. καὶ φαίνεταί μοι τῶν πολιτικῶν [2d] μόνος ἄρχεσθαι ὀρθῶς· ὀρθῶς γάρ ἐστι τῶν νέων πρῶτον ἐπιμεληθῆναι ὅπως ἔσονται ὅτι ἄριστοι, ὥσπερ γεωργὸν ἀγαθὸν τῶν νέων φυτῶν εἰκὸς πρῶτον ἐπιμεληθῆναι, μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο καὶ τῶν ἄλλων. καὶ δὴ καὶ Μέλητος ἴσως πρῶτον [3a] μὲν ἡμᾶς ἐκκαθαίρει τοὺς τῶν νέων τὰς βλάστας διαφθείροντας, ὥς φησιν· ἔπειτα μετὰ τοῦτο δῆλον ὅτι τῶν πρεσβυτέρων ἐπιμεληθεὶς πλείστων καὶ μεγίστων ἀγαθῶν αἴτιος τῇ πόλει γενήσεται, ὥς γε τὸ εἰκὸς συμβῆναι ἐκ τοιαύτης ἀρχῆς ἀρξαμένῳ.

Εὐθύφρων βουλοίμην ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ὀῤῥωδῶ μὴ τοὐναντίον γένηται· ἀτεχνῶς γάρ μοι δοκεῖ ἀφ᾽ ἑστίας ἄρχεσθαι κακουργεῖν τὴν πόλιν, ἐπιχειρῶν ἀδικεῖν σέ. καί μοι λέγε, τί καὶ ποιοῦντά σέ φησι διαφθείρειν τοὺς νέους;

Σωκράτης [3b] ἄτοπα, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ὡς οὕτω γ᾽ ἀκοῦσαι. φησὶ γάρ με ποιητὴν εἶναι θεῶν, καὶ ὡς καινοὺς ποιοῦντα θεοὺς τοὺς δ᾽ ἀρχαίους οὐ νομίζοντα ἐγράψατο τούτων αὐτῶν ἕνεκα, ὥς φησιν.

Εὐθύφρων μανθάνω, ὦ Σώκρατες· ὅτι δὴ σὺ τὸ δαιμόνιον φῂς σαυτῷ ἑκάστοτε γίγνεσθαι. ὡς οὖν καινοτομοῦντός σου περὶ τὰ θεῖα γέγραπται ταύτην τὴν γραφήν, καὶ ὡς διαβαλῶν δὴ ἔρχεται εἰς τὸ δικαστήριον, εἰδὼς ὅτι εὐδιάβολα τὰ τοιαῦτα πρὸς τοὺς πολλούς. καὶ ἐμοῦ γάρ τοι, [3c] ὅταν τι λέγω ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ περὶ τῶν θείων, προλέγων αὐτοῖς τὰ μέλλοντα, καταγελῶσιν ὡς μαινομένου· καίτοι οὐδὲν ὅτι οὐκ ἀληθὲς εἴρηκα ὧν προεῖπον, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως φθονοῦσιν ἡμῖν πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις. ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν αὐτῶν χρὴ φροντίζειν, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμόσε ἰέναι.

Σωκράτης ὦ φίλε Εὐθύφρων, ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν καταγελασθῆναι ἴσως οὐδὲν πρᾶγμα. Ἀθηναίοις γάρ τοι, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐ σφόδρα μέλει ἄν τινα δεινὸν οἴωνται εἶναι, μὴ μέντοι διδασκαλικὸν τῆς αὑτοῦ σοφίας· ὃν δ᾽ ἂν καὶ ἄλλους οἴωνται [3d] ποιεῖν τοιούτους, θυμοῦνται, εἴτ᾽ οὖν φθόνῳ ὡς σὺ λέγεις, εἴτε δι᾽ ἄλλο τι.

Εὐθύφρων τούτου οὖν πέρι ὅπως ποτὲ πρὸς ἐμὲ ἔχουσιν, οὐ πάνυ ἐπιθυμῶ πειραθῆναι.

Σωκράτης ἴσως γὰρ σὺ μὲν δοκεῖς σπάνιον σεαυτὸν παρέχειν καὶ διδάσκειν οὐκ ἐθέλειν τὴν σεαυτοῦ σοφίαν· ἐγὼ δὲ φοβοῦμαι μὴ ὑπὸ φιλανθρωπίας δοκῶ αὐτοῖς ὅτιπερ ἔχω ἐκκεχυμένως παντὶ ἀνδρὶ λέγειν, οὐ μόνον ἄνευ μισθοῦ, ἀλλὰ καὶ προστιθεὶς ἂν ἡδέως εἴ τίς μου ἐθέλει ἀκούειν. εἰ μὲν οὖν, ὃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, μέλλοιέν μου καταγελᾶν ὥσπερ [3e] σὺ φῂς σαυτοῦ, οὐδὲν ἂν εἴη ἀηδὲς παίζοντας καὶ γελῶντας ἐν τῷ δικαστηρίῳ διαγαγεῖν· εἰ δὲ σπουδάσονται, τοῦτ᾽ ἤδη ὅπῃ ἀποβήσεται ἄδηλον πλὴν ὑμῖν τοῖς μάντεσιν.

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως οὐδὲν ἔσται, ὦ Σώκρατες, πρᾶγμα, ἀλλὰ σύ τε κατὰ νοῦν ἀγωνιῇ τὴν δίκην, οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ἐμὲ τὴν ἐμήν.

Σωκράτης ἔστιν δὲ δὴ σοί, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τίς ἡ δίκη; φεύγεις αὐτὴν ἢ διώκεις;

Εὐθύφρων διώκω.

Σωκράτης τίνα;

Εὐθύφρων [4a] ὃν διώκων αὖ δοκῶ μαίνεσθαι.

Σωκράτης τί δέ; πετόμενόν τινα διώκεις;

Εὐθύφρων πολλοῦ γε δεῖ πέτεσθαι, ὅς γε τυγχάνει ὢν εὖ μάλα πρεσβύτης.

Σωκράτης τίς οὗτος;

Εὐθύφρων ὁ ἐμὸς πατήρ.

Σωκράτης ὁ σός, ὦ βέλτιστε;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης ἔστιν δὲ τί τὸ ἔγκλημα καὶ τίνος ἡ δίκη;

Εὐθύφρων φόνου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης Ἡράκλεις. ἦ που, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ἀγνοεῖται ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ὅπῃ ποτὲ ὀρθῶς ἔχει· οὐ γὰρ οἶμαί γε τοῦ ἐπιτυχόντος [4b] [ὀρθῶς] αὐτὸ πρᾶξαι ἀλλὰ πόῤῥω που ἤδη σοφίας ἐλαύνοντος.

Εὐθύφρων πόῤῥω μέντοι νὴ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης ἔστιν δὲ δὴ τῶν οἰκείων τις ὁ τεθνεὼς ὑπὸ τοῦ σοῦ πατρός; ἢ δῆλα δή; οὐ γὰρ ἄν που ὑπέρ γε ἀλλοτρίου ἐπεξῇσθα φόνου αὐτῷ.

Εὐθύφρων γελοῖον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι οἴει τι διαφέρειν εἴτε ἀλλότριος εἴτε οἰκεῖος ὁ τεθνεώς, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τοῦτο μόνον δεῖν φυλάττειν, εἴτε ἐν δίκῃ ἔκτεινεν ὁ κτείνας εἴτε μή, καὶ εἰ μὲν ἐν δίκῃ, ἐᾶν, εἰ δὲ μή, ἐπεξιέναι, ἐάνπερ ὁ κτείνας συνέστιός [4c] σοι καὶ ὁμοτράπεζος ᾖ· ἴσον γὰρ τὸ μίασμα γίγνεται ἐὰν συνῇς τῷ τοιούτῳ συνειδὼς καὶ μὴ ἀφοσιοῖς σεαυτόν τε καὶ ἐκεῖνον τῇ δίκῃ ἐπεξιών. ἐπεὶ ὅ γε ἀποθανὼν πελάτης τις ἦν ἐμός, καὶ ὡς ἐγεωργοῦμεν ἐν τῇ Νάξῳ, ἐθήτευεν ἐκεῖ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν. παροινήσας οὖν καὶ ὀργισθεὶς τῶν οἰκετῶν τινι τῶν ἡμετέρων ἀποσφάττει αὐτόν. ὁ οὖν πατὴρ συνδήσας τοὺς πόδας καὶ τὰς χεῖρας αὐτοῦ, καταβαλὼν εἰς τάφρον τινά, πέμπει δεῦρο ἄνδρα πευσόμενον τοῦ ἐξηγητοῦ ὅτι χρείη [4d] ποιεῖν. ἐν δὲ τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ τοῦ δεδεμένου ὠλιγώρει τε καὶ ἠμέλει ὡς ἀνδροφόνου καὶ οὐδὲν ὂν πρᾶγμα εἰ καὶ ἀποθάνοι, ὅπερ οὖν καὶ ἔπαθεν· ὑπὸ γὰρ λιμοῦ καὶ ῥίγους καὶ τῶν δεσμῶν ἀποθνῄσκει πρὶν τὸν ἄγγελον παρὰ τοῦ ἐξηγητοῦ ἀφικέσθαι. ταῦτα δὴ οὖν καὶ ἀγανακτεῖ ὅ τε πατὴρ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι οἰκεῖοι, ὅτι ἐγὼ ὑπὲρ τοῦ ἀνδροφόνου τῷ πατρὶ φόνου ἐπεξέρχομαι οὔτε ἀποκτείναντι, ὥς φασιν ἐκεῖνοι, οὔτ᾽ εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα ἀπέκτεινεν, ἀνδροφόνου γε ὄντος τοῦ ἀποθανόντος, οὐ δεῖν φροντίζειν ὑπὲρ τοῦ τοιούτου — ἀνόσιον [4e] γὰρ εἶναι τὸ ὑὸν πατρὶ φόνου ἐπεξιέναι — κακῶς εἰδότες, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ θεῖον ὡς ἔχει τοῦ ὁσίου τε πέρι καὶ τοῦ ἀνοσίου.

Σωκράτης σὺ δὲ δὴ πρὸς Διός, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, οὑτωσὶ ἀκριβῶς οἴει ἐπίστασθαι περὶ τῶν θείων ὅπῃ ἔχει, καὶ τῶν ὁσίων τε καὶ ἀνοσίων, ὥστε τούτων οὕτω πραχθέντων ὡς σὺ λέγεις, οὐ φοβῇ δικαζόμενος τῷ πατρὶ ὅπως μὴ αὖ σὺ ἀνόσιον πρᾶγμα τυγχάνῃς πράττων;

Εὐθύφρων οὐδὲν γὰρ ἄν μου ὄφελος εἴη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδέ [5a] τῳ ἂν διαφέροι Εὐθύφρων τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων, εἰ μὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα ἀκριβῶς εἰδείην.

Σωκράτης ἆρ᾽ οὖν μοι, ὦ θαυμάσιε Εὐθύφρων, κράτιστόν ἐστι μαθητῇ σῷ γενέσθαι, καὶ πρὸ τῆς γραφῆς τῆς πρὸς Μέλητον αὐτὰ ταῦτα προκαλεῖσθαι αὐτόν, λέγοντα ὅτι ἔγωγε καὶ ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν χρόνῳ τὰ θεῖα περὶ πολλοῦ ἐποιούμην εἰδέναι, καὶ νῦν ἐπειδή με ἐκεῖνος αὐτοσχεδιάζοντά φησι καὶ καινοτομοῦντα περὶ τῶν θείων ἐξαμαρτάνειν, μαθητὴς δὴ γέγονα σός—”καὶ εἰ μέν, ὦ Μέλητε”, φαίην ἄν, “Εὐθύφρονα ὁμολογεῖς [5b] σοφὸν εἶναι τὰ τοιαῦτα, [καὶ] ὀρθῶς νομίζειν καὶ ἐμὲ ἡγοῦ καὶ μὴ δικάζου· εἰ δὲ μή, ἐκείνῳ τῷ διδασκάλῳ λάχε δίκην πρότερον ἢ ἐμοί, ὡς τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους διαφθείροντι ἐμέ τε καὶ τὸν αὑτοῦ πατέρα, ἐμὲ μὲν διδάσκοντι, ἐκεῖνον δὲ νουθετοῦντί τε καὶ κολάζοντι” — καὶ ἂν μή μοι πείθηται μηδὲ ἀφίῃ τῆς δίκης ἢ ἀντ᾽ ἐμοῦ γράφηται σέ, αὐτὰ ταῦτα λέγειν ἐν τῷ δικαστηρίῳ ἃ προυκαλούμην αὐτόν;

Εὐθύφρων ναὶ μὰ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ ἄρα ἐμὲ ἐπιχειρήσειε [5c] γράφεσθαι, εὕροιμ᾽ ἄν, ὡς οἶμαι, ὅπῃ σαθρός ἐστιν, καὶ πολὺ ἂν ἡμῖν πρότερον περὶ ἐκείνου λόγος ἐγένετο ἐν τῷ δικαστηρίῳ ἢ περὶ ἐμοῦ.

Σωκράτης καὶ ἐγώ τοι, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε, ταῦτα γιγνώσκων μαθητὴς ἐπιθυμῶ γενέσθαι σός, εἰδὼς ὅτι καὶ ἄλλος πού τις καὶ ὁ Μέλητος οὗτος σὲ μὲν οὐδὲ δοκεῖ ὁρᾶν, ἐμὲ δὲ οὕτως ὀξέως [ἀτεχνῶς] καὶ ῥᾳδίως κατεῖδεν ὥστε ἀσεβείας ἐγράψατο. νῦν οὖν πρὸς Διὸς λέγε μοι ὃ νυνδὴ σαφῶς εἰδέναι διισχυρίζου, ποῖόν τι τὸ εὐσεβὲς φῂς εἶναι καὶ τὸ ἀσεβὲς [5d] καὶ περὶ φόνου καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων; ἢ οὐ ταὐτόν ἐστιν ἐν πάσῃ πράξει τὸ ὅσιον αὐτὸ αὑτῷ, καὶ τὸ ἀνόσιον αὖ τοῦ μὲν ὁσίου παντὸς ἐναντίον, αὐτὸ δὲ αὑτῷ ὅμοιον καὶ ἔχον μίαν τινὰ ἰδέαν κατὰ τὴν ἀνοσιότητα πᾶν ὅτιπερ ἂν μέλλῃ ἀνόσιον εἶναι;

Εὐθύφρων πάντως δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης λέγε δή, τί φῂς εἶναι τὸ ὅσιον καὶ τί τὸ ἀνόσιον;

Εὐθύφρων λέγω τοίνυν ὅτι τὸ μὲν ὅσιόν ἐστιν ὅπερ ἐγὼ νῦν ποιῶ, τῷ ἀδικοῦντι ἢ περὶ φόνους ἢ περὶ ἱερῶν κλοπὰς ἤ τι ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων ἐξαμαρτάνοντι ἐπεξιέναι, ἐάντε πατὴρ [5e] ὢν τυγχάνῃ ἐάντε μήτηρ ἐάντε ἄλλος ὁστισοῦν, τὸ δὲ μὴ ἐπεξιέναι ἀνόσιον· ἐπεί, ὦ Σώκρατες, θέασαι ὡς μέγα σοι ἐρῶ τεκμήριον τοῦ νόμου ὅτι οὕτως ἔχει — ὃ καὶ ἄλλοις ἤδη εἶπον, ὅτι ταῦτα ὀρθῶς ἂν εἴη οὕτω γιγνόμενα — μὴ ἐπιτρέπειν τῷ ἀσεβοῦντι μηδ᾽ ἂν ὁστισοῦν τυγχάνῃ ὤν. αὐτοὶ γὰρ οἱ ἄνθρωποι τυγχάνουσι νομίζοντες τὸν Δία τῶν θεῶν ἄριστον καὶ δικαιότατον, [6a] καὶ τοῦτον ὁμολογοῦσι τὸν αὑτοῦ πατέρα δῆσαι ὅτι τοὺς ὑεῖς κατέπινεν οὐκ ἐν δίκῃ, κἀκεῖνόν γε αὖ τὸν αὑτοῦ πατέρα ἐκτεμεῖν δι᾽ ἕτερα τοιαῦτα· ἐμοὶ δὲ χαλεπαίνουσιν ὅτι τῷ πατρὶ ἐπεξέρχομαι ἀδικοῦντι, καὶ οὕτως αὐτοὶ αὑτοῖς τὰ ἐναντία λέγουσι περί τε τῶν θεῶν καὶ περὶ ἐμοῦ.

Σωκράτης ἆρά γε, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν [οὗ] οὕνεκα τὴν γραφὴν φεύγω, ὅτι τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐπειδάν τις περὶ τῶν θεῶν λέγῃ, δυσχερῶς πως ἀποδέχομαι; διὸ δή, ὡς ἔοικε, φήσει τίς με ἐξαμαρτάνειν. νῦν οὖν εἰ καὶ σοὶ ταῦτα συνδοκεῖ τῷ [6b] εὖ εἰδότι περὶ τῶν τοιούτων, ἀνάγκη δή, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ ἡμῖν συγχωρεῖν. τί γὰρ καὶ φήσομεν, οἵ γε καὶ αὐτοὶ ὁμολογοῦμεν περὶ αὐτῶν μηδὲν εἰδέναι; ἀλλά μοι εἰπὲ πρὸς Φιλίου, σὺ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἡγῇ ταῦτα οὕτως γεγονέναι;

Εὐθύφρων καὶ ἔτι γε τούτων θαυμασιώτερα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἃ οἱ πολλοὶ οὐκ ἴσασιν.

Σωκράτης καὶ πόλεμον ἆρα ἡγῇ σὺ εἶναι τῷ ὄντι ἐν τοῖς θεοῖς πρὸς ἀλλήλους, καὶ ἔχθρας γε δεινὰς καὶ μάχας καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα πολλά, οἷα λέγεταί τε ὑπὸ τῶν ποιητῶν, καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν [6c] ἀγαθῶν γραφέων τά τε ἄλλα ἱερὰ ἡμῖν καταπεποίκιλται, καὶ δὴ καὶ τοῖς μεγάλοις Παναθηναίοις ὁ πέπλος μεστὸς τῶν τοιούτων ποικιλμάτων ἀνάγεται εἰς τὴν ἀκρόπολιν; ταῦτα ἀληθῆ φῶμεν εἶναι, ὦ Εὐθύφρων;

Εὐθύφρων μὴ μόνον γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ ἄρτι εἶπον, καὶ ἄλλα σοι ἐγὼ πολλά, ἐάνπερ βούλῃ, περὶ τῶν θείων διηγήσομαι, ἃ σὺ ἀκούων εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι ἐκπλαγήσῃ.

Σωκράτης οὐκ ἂν θαυμάζοιμι. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μέν μοι εἰς αὖθις ἐπὶ σχολῆς διηγήσῃ· νυνὶ δὲ ὅπερ ἄρτι σε ἠρόμην πειρῶ [6d] σαφέστερον εἰπεῖν. οὐ γάρ με, ὦ ἑταῖρε, τὸ πρότερον ἱκανῶς ἐδίδαξας ἐρωτήσαντα τὸ ὅσιον ὅτι ποτ᾽ εἴη, ἀλλά μοι εἶπες ὅτι τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὅσιον ὂν ὃ σὺ νῦν ποιεῖς, φόνου ἐπεξιὼν τῷ πατρί.

Εὐθύφρων καὶ ἀληθῆ γε ἔλεγον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης ἴσως. ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ φῂς εἶναι ὅσια.

Εὐθύφρων καὶ γὰρ ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης μέμνησαι οὖν ὅτι οὐ τοῦτό σοι διεκελευόμην, ἕν τι ἢ δύο με διδάξαι τῶν πολλῶν ὁσίων, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο αὐτὸ τὸ εἶδος ᾧ πάντα τὰ ὅσια ὅσιά ἐστιν; ἔφησθα γάρ που μιᾷ ἰδέᾳ [6e] τά τε ἀνόσια ἀνόσια εἶναι καὶ τὰ ὅσια ὅσια· ἢ οὐ μνημονεύεις;

Εὐθύφρων ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης ταύτην τοίνυν με αὐτὴν δίδαξον τὴν ἰδέαν τίς ποτέ ἐστιν, ἵνα εἰς ἐκείνην ἀποβλέπων καὶ χρώμενος αὐτῇ παραδείγματι, ὃ μὲν ἂν τοιοῦτον ᾖ ὧν ἂν ἢ σὺ ἢ ἄλλος τις πράττῃ φῶ ὅσιον εἶναι, ὃ δ᾽ ἂν μὴ τοιοῦτον, μὴ φῶ.

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλ᾽ εἰ οὕτω βούλει, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ οὕτω σοι φράσω.

Σωκράτης ἀλλὰ μὴν βούλομαί γε.

Εὐθύφρων ἔστι τοίνυν τὸ μὲν τοῖς θεοῖς προσφιλὲς ὅσιον, τὸ [7a] δὲ μὴ προσφιλὲς ἀνόσιον.

Σωκράτης παγκάλως, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, καὶ ὡς ἐγὼ ἐζήτουν ἀποκρίνασθαί σε, οὕτω νῦν ἀπεκρίνω. εἰ μέντοι ἀληθῶς, τοῦτο οὔπω οἶδα, ἀλλὰ σὺ δῆλον ὅτι ἐπεκδιδάξεις ὡς ἔστιν ἀληθῆ ἃ λέγεις.

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης φέρε δή, ἐπισκεψώμεθα τί λέγομεν. τὸ μὲν θεοφιλές τε καὶ θεοφιλὴς ἄνθρωπος ὅσιος, τὸ δὲ θεομισὲς καὶ ὁ θεομισὴς ἀνόσιος· οὐ ταὐτὸν δ᾽ ἐστίν, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐναντιώτατον, τὸ ὅσιον τῷ ἀνοσίῳ· οὐχ οὕτως;

Εὐθύφρων οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης καὶ εὖ γε φαίνεται εἰρῆσθαι;

Εὐθύφρων [7b] δοκῶ, ὦ Σώκρατες. [εἴρηται γάρ.]

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅτι στασιάζουσιν οἱ θεοί, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, καὶ διαφέρονται ἀλλήλοις καὶ ἔχθρα ἐστὶν ἐν αὐτοῖς πρὸς ἀλλήλους, καὶ τοῦτο εἴρηται;

Εὐθύφρων εἴρηται γάρ.

Σωκράτης ἔχθραν δὲ καὶ ὀργάς, ὦ ἄριστε, ἡ περὶ τίνων διαφορὰ ποιεῖ; ὧδε δὲ σκοπῶμεν. ἆρ᾽ ἂν εἰ διαφεροίμεθα ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ περὶ ἀριθμοῦ ὁπότερα πλείω, ἡ περὶ τούτων διαφορὰ ἐχθροὺς ἂν ἡμᾶς ποιοῖ καὶ ὀργίζεσθαι ἀλλήλοις, ἢ ἐπὶ λογισμὸν ἐλθόντες περί γε τῶν τοιούτων ταχὺ ἂν [7c] ἀπαλλαγεῖμεν;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ τοῦ μείζονος καὶ ἐλάττονος εἰ διαφεροίμεθα, ἐπὶ τὸ μετρεῖν ἐλθόντες ταχὺ παυσαίμεθ᾽ ἂν τῆς διαφορᾶς;

Εὐθύφρων ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης καὶ ἐπί γε τὸ ἱστάναι ἐλθόντες, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, περὶ τοῦ βαρυτέρου τε καὶ κουφοτέρου διακριθεῖμεν ἄν;

Εὐθύφρων πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης περὶ τίνος δὲ δὴ διενεχθέντες καὶ ἐπὶ τίνα κρίσιν οὐ δυνάμενοι ἀφικέσθαι ἐχθροί γε ἂν ἀλλήλοις εἶμεν καὶ ὀργιζοίμεθα; ἴσως οὐ πρόχειρόν σοί ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοῦ λέγοντος [7d] σκόπει εἰ τάδε ἐστὶ τό τε δίκαιον καὶ τὸ ἄδικον καὶ καλὸν καὶ αἰσχρὸν καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ κακόν. ἆρα οὐ ταῦτά ἐστιν περὶ ὧν διενεχθέντες καὶ οὐ δυνάμενοι ἐπὶ ἱκανὴν κρίσιν αὐτῶν ἐλθεῖν ἐχθροὶ ἀλλήλοις γιγνόμεθα, ὅταν γιγνώμεθα, καὶ ἐγὼ καὶ σὺ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι πάντες;

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλ᾽ ἔστιν αὕτη ἡ διαφορά, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ περὶ τούτων.

Σωκράτης τί δὲ οἱ θεοί, ὦ Εὐθύφρων; οὐκ εἴπερ τι διαφέρονται, δι᾽ αὐτὰ ταῦτα διαφέροιντ᾽ ἄν;

Εὐθύφρων πολλὴ ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης [7e] καὶ τῶν θεῶν ἄρα, ὦ γενναῖε Εὐθύφρων, ἄλλοι ἄλλα δίκαια ἡγοῦνται κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον, καὶ καλὰ καὶ αἰσχρὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ καὶ κακά· οὐ γὰρ ἄν που ἐστασίαζον ἀλλήλοις εἰ μὴ περὶ τούτων διεφέροντο· ἦ γάρ;

Εὐθύφρων ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν ἅπερ καλὰ ἡγοῦνται ἕκαστοι καὶ ἀγαθὰ καὶ δίκαια, ταῦτα καὶ φιλοῦσιν, τὰ δὲ ἐναντία τούτων μισοῦσιν;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης ταὐτὰ δέ γε, ὡς σὺ φῄς, οἱ μὲν δίκαια ἡγοῦνται, [8a] οἱ δὲ ἄδικα, περὶ ἃ καὶ ἀμφισβητοῦντες στασιάζουσί τε καὶ πολεμοῦσιν ἀλλήλοις· ἆρα οὐχ οὕτω;

Εὐθύφρων οὕτω.

Σωκράτης ταὔτ᾽ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, μισεῖταί τε ὑπὸ τῶν θεῶν καὶ φιλεῖται, καὶ θεομισῆ τε καὶ θεοφιλῆ ταὔτ᾽ ἂν εἴη.

Εὐθύφρων ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης καὶ ὅσια ἄρα καὶ ἀνόσια τὰ αὐτὰ ἂν εἴη, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ.

Εὐθύφρων κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης οὐκ ἄρα ὃ ἠρόμην ἀπεκρίνω, ὦ θαυμάσιε. οὐ γὰρ τοῦτό γε ἠρώτων, ὃ τυγχάνει ταὐτὸν ὂν ὅσιόν τε καὶ ἀνόσιον· ὃ δ᾽ ἂν θεοφιλὲς ᾖ καὶ θεομισές ἐστιν, ὡς ἔοικεν. [8b] ὥστε, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ὃ σὺ νῦν ποιεῖς τὸν πατέρα κολάζων, οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν εἰ τοῦτο δρῶν τῷ μὲν Διὶ προσφιλὲς ποιεῖς, τῷ δὲ Κρόνῳ καὶ τῷ Οὐρανῷ ἐχθρόν, καὶ τῷ μὲν Ἡφαίστῳ φίλον, τῇ δὲ Ἥρᾳ ἐχθρόν, καὶ εἴ τις ἄλλος τῶν θεῶν ἕτερος ἑτέρῳ διαφέρεται περὶ αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἐκείνοις κατὰ τὰ αὐτά.

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, περί γε τούτου τῶν θεῶν οὐδένα ἕτερον ἑτέρῳ διαφέρεσθαι, ὡς οὐ δεῖ δίκην διδόναι ἐκεῖνον ὃς ἂν ἀδίκως τινὰ ἀποκτείνῃ.

Σωκράτης τί δέ; ἀνθρώπων, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ἤδη τινὸς ἤκουσας [8c] ἀμφισβητοῦντος ὡς τὸν ἀδίκως ἀποκτείναντα ἢ ἄλλο ἀδίκως ποιοῦντα ὁτιοῦν οὐ δεῖ δίκην διδόναι;

Εὐθύφρων οὐδὲν μὲν οὖν παύονται ταῦτα ἀμφισβητοῦντες καὶ ἄλλοθι καὶ ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις· ἀδικοῦντες γὰρ πάμπολλα, πάντα ποιοῦσι καὶ λέγουσι φεύγοντες τὴν δίκην.

Σωκράτης ἦ καὶ ὁμολογοῦσιν, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ἀδικεῖν, καὶ ὁμολογοῦντες ὅμως οὐ δεῖν φασὶ σφᾶς διδόναι δίκην;

Εὐθύφρων οὐδαμῶς τοῦτό γε.

Σωκράτης οὐκ ἄρα πᾶν γε ποιοῦσι καὶ λέγουσι· τοῦτο γὰρ οἶμαι οὐ τολμῶσι λέγειν οὐδ᾽ ἀμφισβητεῖν, ὡς οὐχὶ εἴπερ [8d] ἀδικοῦσί γε δοτέον δίκην, ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι οὔ φασιν ἀδικεῖν· ἦ γάρ;

Εὐθύφρων ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης οὐκ ἄρα ἐκεῖνό γε ἀμφισβητοῦσιν, ὡς οὐ τὸν ἀδικοῦντα δεῖ διδόναι δίκην, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο ἴσως ἀμφισβητοῦσιν, τὸ τίς ἐστιν ὁ ἀδικῶν καὶ τί δρῶν καὶ πότε.

Εὐθύφρων ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν αὐτά γε ταῦτα καὶ οἱ θεοὶ πεπόνθασιν, εἴπερ στασιάζουσι περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων ὡς ὁ σὸς λόγος, καὶ οἱ μέν φασιν ἀλλήλους ἀδικεῖν, οἱ δὲ οὔ φασιν; ἐπεὶ ἐκεῖνό γε δήπου, ὦ θαυμάσιε, οὐδεὶς οὔτε θεῶν οὔτε [8e] ἀνθρώπων τολμᾷ λέγειν, ὡς οὐ τῷ γε ἀδικοῦντι δοτέον δίκην.

Εὐθύφρων ναί, τοῦτο μὲν ἀληθὲς λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, τό γε κεφάλαιον.

Σωκράτης ἀλλ᾽ ἕκαστόν γε οἶμαι, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τῶν πραχθέντων ἀμφισβητοῦσιν οἱ ἀμφισβητοῦντες, καὶ ἄνθρωποι καὶ θεοί, εἴπερ ἀμφισβητοῦσιν θεοί· πράξεώς τινος πέρι διαφερόμενοι οἱ μὲν δικαίως φασὶν αὐτὴν πεπρᾶχθαι, οἱ δὲ ἀδίκως· ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὕτω;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης [9a] ἴθι νυν, ὦ φίλε Εὐθύφρων, δίδαξον καὶ ἐμέ, ἵνα σοφώτερος γένωμαι, τί σοι τεκμήριόν ἐστιν ὡς πάντες θεοὶ ἡγοῦνται ἐκεῖνον ἀδίκως τεθνάναι, ὃς ἂν θητεύων ἀνδροφόνος γενόμενος, συνδεθεὶς ὑπὸ τοῦ δεσπότου τοῦ ἀποθανόντος, φθάσῃ τελευτήσας διὰ τὰ δεσμὰ πρὶν τὸν συνδήσαντα παρὰ τῶν ἐξηγητῶν περὶ αὐτοῦ πυθέσθαι τί χρὴ ποιεῖν, καὶ ὑπὲρ τοῦ τοιούτου δὴ ὀρθῶς ἔχει ἐπεξιέναι καὶ ἐπισκήπτεσθαι φόνου τὸν ὑὸν τῷ πατρί; ἴθι, περὶ τούτων πειρῶ τί μοι [9b] σαφὲς ἐνδείξασθαι ὡς παντὸς μᾶλλον πάντες θεοὶ ἡγοῦνται ὀρθῶς ἔχειν ταύτην τὴν πρᾶξιν· κἄν μοι ἱκανῶς ἐνδείξῃ, ἐγκωμιάζων σε ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ οὐδέποτε παύσομαι.

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως οὐκ ὀλίγον ἔργον ἐστίν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπεὶ πάνυ γε σαφῶς ἔχοιμι ἂν ἐπιδεῖξαί σοι.

Σωκράτης μανθάνω· ὅτι σοι δοκῶ τῶν δικαστῶν δυσμαθέστερος εἶναι, ἐπεὶ ἐκείνοις γε ἐνδείξῃ δῆλον ὅτι ὡς ἄδικά τέ ἐστιν καὶ οἱ θεοὶ ἅπαντες τὰ τοιαῦτα μισοῦσιν.

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε σαφῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐάνπερ ἀκούωσί γέ μου λέγοντος.

Σωκράτης [9c] ἀλλ᾽ ἀκούσονται. ἐάνπερ εὖ δοκῇς λέγειν. τόδε δέ σου ἐνενόησα ἅμα λέγοντος καὶ πρὸς ἐμαυτὸν σκοπῶ· “εἰ ὅτι μάλιστά με Εὐθύφρων διδάξειεν ὡς οἱ θεοὶ ἅπαντες τὸν τοιοῦτον θάνατον ἡγοῦνται ἄδικον εἶναι, τί μᾶλλον ἐγὼ μεμάθηκα παρ᾽ Εὐθύφρονος τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν τὸ ὅσιόν τε καὶ τὸ ἀνόσιον; θεομισὲς μὲν γὰρ τοῦτο τὸ ἔργον, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἴη ἄν. ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὐ τούτῳ ἐφάνη ἄρτι ὡρισμένα τὸ ὅσιον καὶ μή· τὸ γὰρ θεομισὲς ὂν καὶ θεοφιλὲς ἐφάνη”. ὥστε τούτου μὲν ἀφίημί σε, ὦ Εὐθύφρων· εἰ βούλει, πάντες αὐτὸ [9d] ἡγείσθων θεοὶ ἄδικον καὶ πάντες μισούντων. ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα τοῦτο ὃ νῦν ἐπανορθούμεθα ἐν τῷ λόγῳ — ὡς ὃ μὲν ἂν πάντες οἱ θεοὶ μισῶσιν ἀνόσιόν ἐστιν, ὃ δ᾽ ἂν φιλῶσιν, ὅσιον· ὃ δ᾽ ἂν οἱ μὲν φιλῶσιν οἱ δὲ μισῶσιν, οὐδέτερα ἢ ἀμφότερα — ἆρ᾽ οὕτω βούλει ἡμῖν ὡρίσθαι νῦν περὶ τοῦ ὁσίου καὶ τοῦ ἀνοσίου;

Εὐθύφρων τί γὰρ κωλύει, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης οὐδὲν ἐμέ γε, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ἀλλὰ σὺ δὴ τὸ σὸν σκόπει, εἰ τοῦτο ὑποθέμενος οὕτω ῥᾷστά με διδάξεις ὃ ὑπέσχου.

Εὐθύφρων [9e] ἀλλ᾽ ἔγωγε φαίην ἂν τοῦτο εἶναι τὸ ὅσιον ὃ ἂν πάντες οἱ θεοὶ φιλῶσιν, καὶ τὸ ἐναντίον, ὃ ἂν πάντες θεοὶ μισῶσιν, ἀνόσιον.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν ἐπισκοπῶμεν αὖ τοῦτο, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, εἰ καλῶς λέγεται, ἢ ἐῶμεν καὶ οὕτω ἡμῶν τε αὐτῶν ἀποδεχώμεθα καὶ τῶν ἄλλων, ἐὰν μόνον φῇ τίς τι ἔχειν οὕτω συγχωροῦντες ἔχειν; ἢ σκεπτέον τί λέγει ὁ λέγων;

Εὐθύφρων σκεπτέον· οἶμαι μέντοι ἔγωγε τοῦτο νυνὶ καλῶς λέγεσθαι.

Σωκράτης [10a] τάχ᾽, ὠγαθέ, βέλτιον εἰσόμεθα. ἐννόησον γὰρ τὸ τοιόνδε· ἆρα τὸ ὅσιον ὅτι ὅσιόν ἐστιν φιλεῖται ὑπὸ τῶν θεῶν, ἢ ὅτι φιλεῖται ὅσιόν ἐστιν;

Εὐθύφρων οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ πειράσομαι σαφέστερον φράσαι. λέγομέν τι φερόμενον καὶ φέρον καὶ ἀγόμενον καὶ ἄγον καὶ ὁρώμενον καὶ ὁρῶν καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα μανθάνεις ὅτι ἕτερα ἀλλήλων ἐστὶ καὶ ᾗ ἕτερα;

Εὐθύφρων ἔγωγέ μοι δοκῶ μανθάνειν.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν καὶ φιλούμενόν τί ἐστιν καὶ τούτου ἕτερον τὸ φιλοῦν;

Εὐθύφρων πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης [10b] λέγε δή μοι, πότερον τὸ φερόμενον διότι φέρεται φερόμενόν ἐστιν, ἢ δι᾽ ἄλλο τι;

Εὐθύφρων οὔκ, ἀλλὰ διὰ τοῦτο.

Σωκράτης καὶ τὸ ἀγόμενον δὴ διότι ἄγεται, καὶ τὸ ὁρώμενον διότι ὁρᾶται;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης οὐκ ἄρα διότι ὁρώμενόν γέ ἐστιν, διὰ τοῦτο ὁρᾶται, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐναντίον διότι ὁρᾶται, διὰ τοῦτο ὁρώμενον· οὐδὲ διότι ἀγόμενόν ἐστιν, διὰ τοῦτο ἄγεται, ἀλλὰ διότι ἄγεται, διὰ τοῦτο ἀγόμενον· οὐδὲ διότι φερόμενον φέρεται, ἀλλὰ διότι φέρεται φερόμενον. ἆρα κατάδηλον, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ὃ [10c] βούλομαι λέγειν; βούλομαι δὲ τόδε, ὅτι εἴ τι γίγνεται ἤ τι πάσχει, οὐχ ὅτι γιγνόμενόν ἐστι γίγνεται, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι γίγνεται γιγνόμενόν ἐστιν· οὐδ᾽ ὅτι πάσχον ἐστὶ πάσχει, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι πάσχει πάσχον ἐστίν· ἢ οὐ συγχωρεῖς οὕτω;

Εὐθύφρων ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ φιλούμενον ἢ γιγνόμενόν τί ἐστιν ἢ πάσχον τι ὑπό του;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης καὶ τοῦτο ἄρα οὕτως ἔχει ὥσπερ τὰ πρότερα· οὐχ ὅτι φιλούμενόν ἐστιν φιλεῖται ὑπὸ ὧν φιλεῖται, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι φιλεῖται φιλούμενον;

Εὐθύφρων ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης [10d] τί δὴ οὖν λέγομεν περὶ τοῦ ὁσίου, ὦ Εὐθύφρων; ἄλλο τι φιλεῖται ὑπὸ θεῶν πάντων, ὡς ὁ σὸς λόγος;

Εὐθύφρων ναί.

Σωκράτης ἆρα διὰ τοῦτο, ὅτι ὅσιόν ἐστιν, ἢ δι᾽ ἄλλο τι;

Εὐθύφρων οὔκ, ἀλλὰ διὰ τοῦτο.

Σωκράτης διότι ἄρα ὅσιόν ἐστιν φιλεῖται, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὅτι φιλεῖται, διὰ τοῦτο ὅσιόν ἐστιν;

Εὐθύφρων ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ διότι γε φιλεῖται ὑπὸ θεῶν φιλούμενόν ἐστι καὶ θεοφιλές.

Εὐθύφρων πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης οὐκ ἄρα τὸ θεοφιλὲς ὅσιόν ἐστιν, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, οὐδὲ τὸ ὅσιον θεοφιλές, ὡς σὺ λέγεις, ἀλλ᾽ ἕτερον τοῦτο τούτου.

Εὐθύφρων [10e] πῶς δή, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης ὅτι ὁμολογοῦμεν τὸ μὲν ὅσιον διὰ τοῦτο φιλεῖσθαι, ὅτι ὅσιόν ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ διότι φιλεῖται ὅσιον εἶναι· ἦ γάρ;

Εὐθύφρων ναί.

Σωκράτης τὸ δέ γε θεοφιλὲς ὅτι φιλεῖται ὑπὸ θεῶν, αὐτῷ τούτῳ τῷ φιλεῖσθαι θεοφιλὲς εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὅτι θεοφιλές, διὰ τοῦτο φιλεῖσθαι.

Εὐθύφρων ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης ἀλλ᾽ εἴ γε ταὐτὸν ἦν, ὦ φίλε Εὐθύφρων, τὸ θεοφιλὲς καὶ τὸ ὅσιον, εἰ μὲν διὰ τὸ ὅσιον εἶναι ἐφιλεῖτο τὸ [11a] ὅσιον, καὶ διὰ τὸ θεοφιλὲς εἶναι ἐφιλεῖτο ἂν τὸ θεοφιλές, εἰ δὲ διὰ τὸ φιλεῖσθαι ὑπὸ θεῶν τὸ θεοφιλὲς θεοφιλὲς ἦν, καὶ τὸ ὅσιον ἂν διὰ τὸ φιλεῖσθαι ὅσιον ἦν· νῦν δὲ ὁρᾷς ὅτι ἐναντίως ἔχετον, ὡς παντάπασιν ἑτέρω ὄντε ἀλλήλων. τὸ μὲν γάρ, ὅτι φιλεῖται, ἐστὶν οἷον φιλεῖσθαι· τὸ δ᾽ ὅτι ἐστὶν οἷον φιλεῖσθαι, διὰ τοῦτο φιλεῖται. καὶ κινδυνεύεις, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ἐρωτώμενος τὸ ὅσιον ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστίν, τὴν μὲν οὐσίαν μοι αὐτοῦ οὐ βούλεσθαι δηλῶσαι, πάθος δέ τι περὶ αὐτοῦ λέγειν, ὅτι πέπονθε τοῦτο τὸ ὅσιον, φιλεῖσθαι ὑπὸ πάντων [11b] θεῶν· ὅτι δὲ ὄν, οὔπω εἶπες. εἰ οὖν σοι φίλον, μή με ἀποκρύψῃ ἀλλὰ πάλιν εἰπὲ ἐξ ἀρχῆς τί ποτε ὂν τὸ ὅσιον εἴτε φιλεῖται ὑπὸ θεῶν εἴτε ὁτιδὴ πάσχει — οὐ γὰρ περὶ τούτου διοισόμεθα — ἀλλ᾽ εἰπὲ προθύμως τί ἐστιν τό τε ὅσιον καὶ τὸ ἀνόσιον;

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἔχω ἔγωγε ὅπως σοι εἴπω ὃ νοῶ· περιέρχεται γάρ πως ἡμῖν ἀεὶ ὃ ἂν προθώμεθα καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλει μένειν ὅπου ἂν ἱδρυσώμεθα αὐτό.

Σωκράτης τοῦ ἡμετέρου προγόνου, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ἔοικεν εἶναι [11c] Δαιδάλου τὰ ὑπὸ σοῦ λεγόμενα. καὶ εἰ μὲν αὐτὰ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον καὶ ἐτιθέμην, ἴσως ἄν με ἐπέσκωπτες ὡς ἄρα καὶ ἐμοὶ κατὰ τὴν ἐκείνου συγγένειαν τὰ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἔργα ἀποδιδράσκει καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλει μένειν ὅπου ἄν τις αὐτὰ θῇ· νῦν δὲ σαὶ γὰρ αἱ ὑποθέσεις εἰσίν. ἄλλου δή τινος δεῖ σκώμματος· οὐ γὰρ ἐθέλουσι σοὶ μένειν, ὡς καὶ αὐτῷ σοι δοκεῖ.

Εὐθύφρων ἐμοὶ δὲ δοκεῖ σχεδόν τι τοῦ αὐτοῦ σκώμματος, ὦ Σώκρατες, δεῖσθαι τὰ λεγόμενα· τὸ γὰρ περιιέναι αὐτοῖς τοῦτο καὶ μὴ μένειν ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ οὐκ ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ἐντιθείς, [11d] ἀλλὰ σύ μοι δοκεῖς ὁ Δαίδαλος, ἐπεὶ ἐμοῦ γε ἕνεκα ἔμενεν ἂν ταῦτα οὕτως.

Σωκράτης κινδυνεύω ἄρα, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἐκείνου τοῦ ἀνδρὸς δεινότερος γεγονέναι τὴν τέχνην τοσούτῳ, ὅσῳ ὁ μὲν τὰ αὑτοῦ μόνα ἐποίει οὐ μένοντα, ἐγὼ δὲ πρὸς τοῖς ἐμαυτοῦ, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ τὰ ἀλλότρια. καὶ δῆτα τοῦτό μοι τῆς τέχνης ἐστὶ κομψότατον, ὅτι ἄκων εἰμὶ σοφός· ἐβουλόμην γὰρ ἄν μοι τοὺς λόγους μένειν καὶ ἀκινήτως ἱδρῦσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ πρὸς τῇ [11e] Δαιδάλου σοφίᾳ τὰ Ταντάλου χρήματα γενέσθαι. καὶ τούτων μὲν ἅδην· ἐπειδὴ δέ μοι δοκεῖς σὺ τρυφᾶν, αὐτός σοι συμπροθυμήσομαι [δεῖξαι] ὅπως ἄν με διδάξῃς περὶ τοῦ ὁσίου. καὶ μὴ προαποκάμῃς· ἰδὲ γὰρ εἰ οὐκ ἀναγκαῖόν σοι δοκεῖ δίκαιον εἶναι πᾶν τὸ ὅσιον.

Εὐθύφρων ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ πᾶν τὸ δίκαιον ὅσιον; ἢ τὸ μὲν ὅσιον [12a] πᾶν δίκαιον, τὸ δὲ δίκαιον οὐ πᾶν ὅσιον, ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν αὐτοῦ ὅσιον, τὸ δέ τι καὶ ἄλλο;

Εὐθύφρων οὐχ ἕπομαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῖς λεγομένοις.

Σωκράτης καὶ μὴν νεώτερός γέ μου εἶ οὐκ ἔλαττον ἢ ὅσῳ σοφώτερος· ἀλλ᾽, ὃ λέγω, τρυφᾷς ὑπὸ πλούτου τῆς σοφίας. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ μακάριε, σύντεινε σαυτόν· καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲ χαλεπὸν κατανοῆσαι ὃ λέγω. λέγω γὰρ δὴ τὸ ἐναντίον ἢ ὁ ποιητὴς ἐποίησεν ὁ ποιήσας —

Ζῆνα δὲ τὸν [θ᾽] ἔρξαντα καὶ ὃς τάδε πάντ᾽ ἐφύτευσεν [12b] οὐκ ἐθέλει νεικεῖν· ἵνα γὰρ δέος ἔνθα καὶ αἰδώς. (Stasinus Cypria Fr. 20)

ἐγὼ οὖν τούτῳ διαφέρομαι τῷ ποιητῇ. εἴπω σοι ὅπῃ;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης οὐ δοκεῖ μοι εἶναι “ἵνα δέος ἔνθα καὶ αἰδώς” πολλοὶ γάρ μοι δοκοῦσι καὶ νόσους καὶ πενίας καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ τοιαῦτα δεδιότες δεδιέναι μέν, αἰδεῖσθαι δὲ μηδὲν ταῦτα ἃ δεδίασιν· οὐ καὶ σοὶ δοκεῖ;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα γε αἰδὼς ἔνθα καὶ δέος εἶναι· ἐπεὶ ἔστιν ὅστις αἰδούμενός τι πρᾶγμα καὶ αἰσχυνόμενος οὐ πεφόβηταί [12c] τε καὶ δέδοικεν ἅμα δόξαν πονηρίας;

Εὐθύφρων δέδοικε μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης οὐκ ἄρ᾽ ὀρθῶς ἔχει λέγειν· “ἵνα γὰρ δέος ἔνθα καὶ αἰδώς”, ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα μὲν αἰδὼς ἔνθα καὶ δέος, οὐ μέντοι ἵνα γε δέος πανταχοῦ αἰδώς· ἐπὶ πλέον γὰρ οἶμαι δέος αἰδοῦς. μόριον γὰρ αἰδὼς δέους ὥσπερ ἀριθμοῦ περιττόν, ὥστε οὐχ ἵναπερ ἀριθμὸς ἔνθα καὶ περιττόν, ἵνα δὲ περιττὸν ἔνθα καὶ ἀριθμός. ἕπῃ γάρ που νῦν γε;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης τὸ τοιοῦτον τοίνυν καὶ ἐκεῖ λέγων ἠρώτων· ἆρα ἵνα [12d] δίκαιον ἔνθα καὶ ὅσιον; ἢ ἵνα μὲν ὅσιον ἔνθα καὶ δίκαιον, ἵνα δὲ δίκαιον οὐ πανταχοῦ ὅσιον· μόριον γὰρ τοῦ δικαίου τὸ ὅσιον; οὕτω φῶμεν ἢ ἄλλως σοι δοκεῖ;

Εὐθύφρων οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω. φαίνῃ γάρ μοι ὀρθῶς λέγειν.

Σωκράτης ὅρα δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο. εἰ γὰρ μέρος τὸ ὅσιον τοῦ δικαίου, δεῖ δὴ ἡμᾶς, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐξευρεῖν τὸ ποῖον μέρος ἂν εἴη τοῦ δικαίου τὸ ὅσιον. εἰ μὲν οὖν σύ με ἠρώτας τι τῶν νυνδή, οἷον ποῖον μέρος ἐστὶν ἀριθμοῦ τὸ ἄρτιον καὶ τίς ὢν τυγχάνει οὗτος ὁ ἀριθμός, εἶπον ἂν ὅτι ὃς ἂν μὴ σκαληνὸς ᾖ ἀλλ᾽ ἰσοσκελής· ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι;

Εὐθύφρων ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης [12e] πειρῶ δὴ καὶ σὺ ἐμὲ οὕτω διδάξαι τὸ ποῖον μέρος τοῦ δικαίου ὅσιόν ἐστιν, ἵνα καὶ Μελήτῳ λέγωμεν μηκέθ᾽ ἡμᾶς ἀδικεῖν μηδὲ ἀσεβείας γράφεσθαι, ὡς ἱκανῶς ἤδη παρὰ σοῦ μεμαθηκότας τά τε εὐσεβῆ καὶ ὅσια καὶ τὰ μή.

Εὐθύφρων τοῦτο τοίνυν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ μέρος τοῦ δικαίου εἶναι εὐσεβές τε καὶ ὅσιον, τὸ περὶ τὴν τῶν θεῶν θεραπείαν, τὸ δὲ περὶ τὴν τῶν ἀνθρώπων τὸ λοιπὸν εἶναι τοῦ δικαίου μέρος.

Σωκράτης καὶ καλῶς γέ μοι, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, φαίνῃ λέγειν, ἀλλὰ [13a] σμικροῦ τινος ἔτι ἐνδεής εἰμι· τὴν γὰρ θεραπείαν οὔπω συνίημι ἥντινα ὀνομάζεις. οὐ γάρ που λέγεις γε, οἷαίπερ καὶ αἱ περὶ τὰ ἄλλα θεραπεῖαί εἰσιν, τοιαύτην καὶ περὶ θεούς — λέγομεν γάρ που — οἷόν φαμεν ἵππους οὐ πᾶς ἐπίσταται θεραπεύειν ἀλλὰ ὁ ἱππικός· ἦ γάρ;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης ἡ γάρ που ἱππικὴ ἵππων θεραπεία.

Εὐθύφρων ναί.

Σωκράτης οὐδέ γε κύνας πᾶς ἐπίσταται θεραπεύειν ἀλλὰ ὁ κυνηγετικός.

Εὐθύφρων οὕτω.

Σωκράτης ἡ γάρ που κυνηγετικὴ κυνῶν θεραπεία.

Εὐθύφρων [13b] ναί.

Σωκράτης ἡ δέ γε βοηλατικὴ βοῶν.

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης ἡ δὲ δὴ ὁσιότης τε καὶ εὐσέβεια θεῶν, ὦ Εὐθύφρων; οὕτω λέγεις;

Εὐθύφρων ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν θεραπεία γε πᾶσα ταὐτὸν διαπράττεται; οἷον τοιόνδε· ἐπ᾽ ἀγαθῷ τινί ἐστι καὶ ὠφελίᾳ τοῦ θεραπευομένου, ὥσπερ ὁρᾷς δὴ ὅτι οἱ ἵπποι ὑπὸ τῆς ἱππικῆς θεραπευόμενοι ὠφελοῦνται καὶ βελτίους γίγνονται· ἢ οὐ δοκοῦσί σοι;

Εὐθύφρων ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης καὶ οἱ κύνες γέ που ὑπὸ τῆς κυνηγετικῆς, καὶ οἱ [13c] βόες ὑπὸ τῆς βοηλατικῆς, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ὡσαύτως· ἢ ἐπὶ βλάβῃ οἴει τοῦ θεραπευομένου τὴν θεραπείαν εἶναι;

Εὐθύφρων μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης ἀλλ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ὠφελίᾳ;

Εὐθύφρων πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης ἦ οὖν καὶ ἡ ὁσιότης θεραπεία οὖσα θεῶν ὠφελία τέ ἐστι θεῶν καὶ βελτίους τοὺς θεοὺς ποιεῖ; καὶ σὺ τοῦτο συγχωρήσαις ἄν, ὡς ἐπειδάν τι ὅσιον ποιῇς, βελτίω τινὰ τῶν θεῶν ἀπεργάζῃ;

Εὐθύφρων μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐγώ, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, οἶμαί σε τοῦτο λέγειν — πολλοῦ καὶ δέω — ἀλλὰ τούτου δὴ ἕνεκα καὶ ἀνηρόμην [13d] τίνα ποτὲ λέγοις τὴν θεραπείαν τῶν θεῶν, οὐχ ἡγούμενός σε τοιαύτην λέγειν.

Εὐθύφρων καὶ ὀρθῶς γε, ὦ Σώκρατες· οὐ γὰρ τοιαύτην λέγω.

Σωκράτης εἶεν· ἀλλὰ τίς δὴ θεῶν θεραπεία εἴη ἂν ἡ ὁσιότης;

Εὐθύφρων ἥνπερ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἱ δοῦλοι τοὺς δεσπότας θεραπεύουσιν.

Σωκράτης μανθάνω· ὑπηρετική τις ἄν, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἴη θεοῖς.

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης ἔχοις ἂν οὖν εἰπεῖν ἡ ἰατροῖς ὑπηρετικὴ εἰς τίνος ἔργου ἀπεργασίαν τυγχάνει οὖσα ὑπηρετική; οὐκ εἰς ὑγιείας οἴει;

Εὐθύφρων ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης [13e] τί δὲ ἡ ναυπηγοῖς ὑπηρετική; εἰς τίνος ἔργου ἀπεργασίαν ὑπηρετική ἐστιν;

Εὐθύφρων δῆλον ὅτι, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰς πλοίου.

Σωκράτης καὶ ἡ οἰκοδόμοις γέ που εἰς οἰκίας;

Εὐθύφρων ναί.

Σωκράτης εἰπὲ δή, ὦ ἄριστε· ἡ δὲ θεοῖς ὑπηρετικὴ εἰς τίνος ἔργου ἀπεργασίαν ὑπηρετικὴ ἂν εἴη; δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι σὺ οἶσθα, ἐπειδήπερ τά γε θεῖα κάλλιστα φῂς εἰδέναι ἀνθρώπων.

Εὐθύφρων καὶ ἀληθῆ γε λέγω, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης εἰπὲ δὴ πρὸς Διὸς τί ποτέ ἐστιν ἐκεῖνο τὸ πάγκαλον ἔργον ὃ οἱ θεοὶ ἀπεργάζονται ἡμῖν ὑπηρέταις χρώμενοι;

Εὐθύφρων πολλὰ καὶ καλά, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης [14a] καὶ γὰρ οἱ στρατηγοί, ὦ φίλε· ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως τὸ κεφάλαιον αὐτῶν ῥᾳδίως ἂν εἴποις, ὅτι νίκην ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ ἀπεργάζονται· ἢ οὔ;

Εὐθύφρων πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης πολλὰ δέ γ᾽, οἶμαι, καὶ καλὰ καὶ οἱ γεωργοί· ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως τὸ κεφάλαιον αὐτῶν ἐστιν τῆς ἀπεργασίας ἡ ἐκ τῆς γῆς τροφή.

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης τί δὲ δὴ τῶν πολλῶν καὶ καλῶν ἃ οἱ θεοὶ ἀπεργάζονται; τί τὸ κεφάλαιόν ἐστι τῆς ἐργασίας;

Εὐθύφρων καὶ ὀλίγον σοι πρότερον εἶπον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι [14b] πλείονος ἔργου ἐστὶν ἀκριβῶς πάντα ταῦτα ὡς ἔχει μαθεῖν· τόδε μέντοι σοι ἁπλῶς λέγω, ὅτι ἐὰν μὲν κεχαρισμένα τις ἐπίστηται τοῖς θεοῖς λέγειν τε καὶ πράττειν εὐχόμενός τε καὶ θύων, ταῦτ᾽ ἔστι τὰ ὅσια, καὶ σῴζει τὰ τοιαῦτα τούς τε ἰδίους οἴκους καὶ τὰ κοινὰ τῶν πόλεων· τὰ δ᾽ ἐναντία τῶν κεχαρισμένων ἀσεβῆ, ἃ δὴ καὶ ἀνατρέπει ἅπαντα καὶ ἀπόλλυσιν.

Σωκράτης ἦ πολύ μοι διὰ βραχυτέρων, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, εἰ ἐβούλου, εἶπες ἂν τὸ κεφάλαιον ὧν ἠρώτων· ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὐ [14c] πρόθυμός με εἶ διδάξαι — δῆλος εἶ. καὶ γὰρ νῦν ἐπειδὴ ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ ἦσθα ἀπετράπου, ὃ εἰ ἀπεκρίνω, ἱκανῶς ἂν ἤδη παρὰ σοῦ τὴν ὁσιότητα ἐμεμαθήκη. νῦν δὲ ἀνάγκη γὰρ τὸν ἐρῶντα τῷ ἐρωμένῳ ἀκολουθεῖν ὅπῃ ἂν ἐκεῖνος ὑπάγῃ, τί δὴ αὖ λέγεις τὸ ὅσιον εἶναι καὶ τὴν ὁσιότητα; οὐχὶ ἐπιστήμην τινὰ τοῦ θύειν τε καὶ εὔχεσθαι;

Εὐθύφρων ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν τὸ θύειν δωρεῖσθαί ἐστι τοῖς θεοῖς, τὸ δ᾽ εὔχεσθαι αἰτεῖν τοὺς θεούς;

Εὐθύφρων καὶ μάλα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης [14d] ἐπιστήμη ἄρα αἰτήσεως καὶ δόσεως θεοῖς ὁσιότης ἂν εἴη ἐκ τούτου τοῦ λόγου.

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ καλῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, συνῆκας ὃ εἶπον.

Σωκράτης ἐπιθυμητὴς γάρ εἰμι, ὦ φίλε, τῆς σῆς σοφίας καὶ προσέχω τὸν νοῦν αὐτῇ, ὥστε οὐ χαμαὶ πεσεῖται ὅτι ἂν εἴπῃς. ἀλλά μοι λέξον τίς αὕτη ἡ ὑπηρεσία ἐστὶ τοῖς θεοῖς; αἰτεῖν τε φῂς αὐτοὺς καὶ διδόναι ἐκείνοις;

Εὐθύφρων ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τό γε ὀρθῶς αἰτεῖν ἂν εἴη ὧν δεόμεθα παρ᾽ ἐκείνων, ταῦτα αὐτοὺς αἰτεῖν;

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλὰ τί;

Σωκράτης [14e] καὶ αὖ τὸ διδόναι ὀρθῶς, ὧν ἐκεῖνοι τυγχάνουσιν δεόμενοι παρ᾽ ἡμῶν, ταῦτα ἐκείνοις αὖ ἀντιδωρεῖσθαι; οὐ γάρ που τεχνικόν γ᾽ ἂν εἴη δωροφορεῖν διδόντα τῳ ταῦτα ὧν οὐδὲν δεῖται.

Εὐθύφρων ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης ἐμπορικὴ ἄρα τις ἂν εἴη, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τέχνη ἡ ὁσιότης θεοῖς καὶ ἀνθρώποις παρ᾽ ἀλλήλων.

Εὐθύφρων ἐμπορική, εἰ οὕτως ἥδιόν σοι ὀνομάζειν.

Σωκράτης ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν ἥδιον ἔμοιγε, εἰ μὴ τυγχάνει ἀληθὲς ὄν. φράσον δέ μοι, τίς ἡ ὠφελία τοῖς θεοῖς τυγχάνει οὖσα ἀπὸ τῶν δώρων ὧν παρ᾽ ἡμῶν λαμβάνουσιν; ἃ μὲν γὰρ διδόασι [15a] παντὶ δῆλον· οὐδὲν γὰρ ἡμῖν ἐστιν ἀγαθὸν ὅτι ἂν μὴ ἐκεῖνοι δῶσιν. ἃ δὲ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν λαμβάνουσιν, τί ὠφελοῦνται; ἢ τοσοῦτον αὐτῶν πλεονεκτοῦμεν κατὰ τὴν ἐμπορίαν, ὥστε πάντα τὰ ἀγαθὰ παρ᾽ αὐτῶν λαμβάνομεν, ἐκεῖνοι δὲ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν οὐδέν;

Εὐθύφρων ἀλλ᾽ οἴει, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοὺς θεοὺς ὠφελεῖσθαι ἀπὸ τούτων ἃ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν λαμβάνουσιν;

Σωκράτης ἀλλὰ τί δήποτ᾽ ἂν εἴη ταῦτα, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τὰ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν δῶρα τοῖς θεοῖς;

Εὐθύφρων τί δ᾽ οἴει ἄλλο ἢ τιμή τε καὶ γέρα καί, ὅπερ ἐγὼ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, χάρις;

Σωκράτης [15b] κεχαρισμένον ἄρα ἐστίν, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τὸ ὅσιον, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχὶ ὠφέλιμον οὐδὲ φίλον τοῖς θεοῖς;

Εὐθύφρων οἶμαι ἔγωγε πάντων γε μάλιστα φίλον.

Σωκράτης τοῦτο ἄρ᾽ ἐστὶν αὖ, ὡς ἔοικε, τὸ ὅσιον, τὸ τοῖς θεοῖς φίλον.

Εὐθύφρων μάλιστά γε.

Σωκράτης θαυμάσῃ οὖν ταῦτα λέγων ἐάν σοι οἱ λόγοι φαίνωνται μὴ μένοντες ἀλλὰ βαδίζοντες, καὶ ἐμὲ αἰτιάσῃ τὸν Δαίδαλον βαδίζοντας αὐτοὺς ποιεῖν, αὐτὸς ὢν πολύ γε τεχνικώτερος τοῦ Δαιδάλου καὶ κύκλῳ περιιόντα ποιῶν; ἢ οὐκ αἰσθάνῃ ὅτι ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν περιελθὼν πάλιν εἰς ταὐτὸν [15c] ἥκει; μέμνησαι γάρ που ὅτι ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν τό τε ὅσιον καὶ τὸ θεοφιλὲς οὐ ταὐτὸν ἡμῖν ἐφάνη ἀλλ᾽ ἕτερα ἀλλήλων· ἢ οὐ μέμνησαι;

Εὐθύφρων ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης νῦν οὖν οὐκ ἐννοεῖς ὅτι τὸ τοῖς θεοῖς φίλον φῂς ὅσιον εἶναι; τοῦτο δ᾽ ἄλλο τι ἢ θεοφιλὲς γίγνεται; ἢ οὔ;

Εὐθύφρων πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν ἢ ἄρτι οὐ καλῶς ὡμολογοῦμεν, ἢ εἰ τότε καλῶς, νῦν οὐκ ὀρθῶς τιθέμεθα.

Εὐθύφρων ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἄρα ἡμῖν πάλιν σκεπτέον τί ἐστι τὸ ὅσιον, ὡς ἐγὼ πρὶν ἂν μάθω ἑκὼν εἶναι οὐκ ἀποδειλιάσω. [15d] ἀλλὰ μή με ἀτιμάσῃς ἀλλὰ παντὶ τρόπῳ προσσχὼν τὸν νοῦν ὅτι μάλιστα νῦν εἰπὲ τὴν ἀλήθειαν· οἶσθα γὰρ εἴπερ τις ἄλλος ἀνθρώπων, καὶ οὐκ ἀφετέος εἶ ὥσπερ ὁ Πρωτεὺς πρὶν ἂν εἴπῃς. εἰ γὰρ μὴ ᾔδησθα σαφῶς τό τε ὅσιον καὶ τὸ ἀνόσιον, οὐκ ἔστιν ὅπως ἄν ποτε ἐπεχείρησας ὑπὲρ ἀνδρὸς θητὸς ἄνδρα πρεσβύτην πατέρα διωκάθειν φόνου, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς θεοὺς ἂν ἔδεισας παρακινδυνεύειν μὴ οὐκ ὀρθῶς αὐτὸ ποιήσοις, καὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ᾐσχύνθης· νῦν δὲ εὖ οἶδα ὅτι [15e] σαφῶς οἴει εἰδέναι τό τε ὅσιον καὶ μή. εἰπὲ οὖν, ὦ βέλτιστε Εὐθύφρων, καὶ μὴ ἀποκρύψῃ ὅτι αὐτὸ ἡγῇ.

Εὐθύφρων εἰς αὖθις τοίνυν, ὦ Σώκρατες· νῦν γὰρ σπεύδω ποι, καί μοι ὥρα ἀπιέναι.

Σωκράτης οἷα ποιεῖς, ὦ ἑταῖρε. ἀπ᾽ ἐλπίδος με καταβαλὼν μεγάλης ἀπέρχῃ ἣν εἶχον, ὡς παρὰ σοῦ μαθὼν τά τε ὅσια καὶ μὴ καὶ τῆς πρὸς Μέλητον γραφῆς ἀπαλλάξομαι, ἐνδειξάμενος [16a] ἐκείνῳ ὅτι σοφὸς ἤδη παρ᾽ Εὐθύφρονος τὰ θεῖα γέγονα καὶ ὅτι οὐκέτι ὑπ᾽ ἀγνοίας αὐτοσχεδιάζω οὐδὲ καινοτομῶ περὶ αὐτά, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν ἄλλον βίον ὅτι ἄμεινον βιωσοίμην.

APOLOGY

[17a] ὅτι μὲν ὑμεῖς, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, πεπόνθατε ὑπὸ τῶν ἐμῶν κατηγόρων, οὐκ οἶδα· ἐγὼ δ᾽ οὖν καὶ αὐτὸς ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν ὀλίγου ἐμαυτοῦ ἐπελαθόμην, οὕτω πιθανῶς ἔλεγον. καίτοι ἀληθές γε ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδὲν εἰρήκασιν. μάλιστα δὲ αὐτῶν ἓν ἐθαύμασα τῶν πολλῶν ὧν ἐψεύσαντο, τοῦτο ἐν ᾧ ἔλεγον ὡς χρῆν ὑμᾶς εὐλαβεῖσθαι μὴ ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ ἐξαπατηθῆτε [17b] ὡς δεινοῦ ὄντος λέγειν. τὸ γὰρ μὴ αἰσχυνθῆναι ὅτι αὐτίκα ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ ἐξελεγχθήσονται ἔργῳ, ἐπειδὰν μηδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν φαίνωμαι δεινὸς λέγειν, τοῦτό μοι ἔδοξεν αὐτῶν ἀναισχυντότατον εἶναι, εἰ μὴ ἄρα δεινὸν καλοῦσιν οὗτοι λέγειν τὸν τἀληθῆ λέγοντα· εἰ μὲν γὰρ τοῦτο λέγουσιν, ὁμολογοίην ἂν ἔγωγε οὐ κατὰ τούτους εἶναι ῥήτωρ. οὗτοι μὲν οὖν, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ λέγω, ἤ τι ἢ οὐδὲν ἀληθὲς εἰρήκασιν, ὑμεῖς δέ μου ἀκούσεσθε πᾶσαν τὴν ἀλήθειαν — οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δία, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, κεκαλλιεπημένους γε λόγους, ὥσπερ οἱ τούτων, [17c] ῥήμασί τε καὶ ὀνόμασιν οὐδὲ κεκοσμημένους, ἀλλ᾽ ἀκούσεσθε εἰκῇ λεγόμενα τοῖς ἐπιτυχοῦσιν ὀνόμασιν — πιστεύω γὰρ δίκαια εἶναι ἃ λέγω — καὶ μηδεὶς ὑμῶν προσδοκησάτω ἄλλως· οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν δήπου πρέποι, ὦ ἄνδρες, τῇδε τῇ ἡλικίᾳ ὥσπερ μειρακίῳ πλάττοντι λόγους εἰς ὑμᾶς εἰσιέναι. καὶ μέντοι καὶ πάνυ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, τοῦτο ὑμῶν δέομαι καὶ παρίεμαι· ἐὰν διὰ τῶν αὐτῶν λόγων ἀκούητέ μου ἀπολογουμένου δι᾽ ὧνπερ εἴωθα λέγειν καὶ ἐν ἀγορᾷ ἐπὶ τῶν τραπεζῶν, ἵνα ὑμῶν πολλοὶ ἀκηκόασι, καὶ ἄλλοθι, μήτε [17d] θαυμάζειν μήτε θορυβεῖν τούτου ἕνεκα. ἔχει γὰρ οὑτωσί. νῦν ἐγὼ πρῶτον ἐπὶ δικαστήριον ἀναβέβηκα, ἔτη γεγονὼς ἑβδομήκοντα· ἀτεχνῶς οὖν ξένως ἔχω τῆς ἐνθάδε λέξεως. ὥσπερ οὖν ἄν, εἰ τῷ ὄντι ξένος ἐτύγχανον ὤν, συνεγιγνώσκετε δήπου ἄν μοι εἰ ἐν ἐκείνῃ τῇ φωνῇ τε καὶ τῷ τρόπῳ [18a] ἔλεγον ἐν οἷσπερ ἐτεθράμμην, καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν τοῦτο ὑμῶν δέομαι δίκαιον, ὥς γέ μοι δοκῶ, τὸν μὲν τρόπον τῆς λέξεως ἐᾶν — ἴσως μὲν γὰρ χείρων, ἴσως δὲ βελτίων ἂν εἴη — αὐτὸ δὲ τοῦτο σκοπεῖν καὶ τούτῳ τὸν νοῦν προσέχειν, εἰ δίκαια λέγω ἢ μή· δικαστοῦ μὲν γὰρ αὕτη ἀρετή, ῥήτορος δὲ τἀληθῆ λέγειν.

πρῶτον μὲν οὖν δίκαιός εἰμι ἀπολογήσασθαι, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, πρὸς τὰ πρῶτά μου ψευδῆ κατηγορημένα καὶ τοὺς πρώτους κατηγόρους, ἔπειτα δὲ πρὸς τὰ ὕστερον καὶ τοὺς [18b] ὑστέρους. ἐμοῦ γὰρ πολλοὶ κατήγοροι γεγόνασι πρὸς ὑμᾶς καὶ πάλαι πολλὰ ἤδη ἔτη καὶ οὐδὲν ἀληθὲς λέγοντες, οὓς ἐγὼ μᾶλλον φοβοῦμαι ἢ τοὺς ἀμφὶ Ἄνυτον, καίπερ ὄντας καὶ τούτους δεινούς· ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνοι δεινότεροι, ὦ ἄνδρες, οἳ ὑμῶν τοὺς πολλοὺς ἐκ παίδων παραλαμβάνοντες ἔπειθόν τε καὶ κατηγόρουν ἐμοῦ μᾶλλον οὐδὲν ἀληθές, ὡς ἔστιν τις Σωκράτης σοφὸς ἀνήρ, τά τε μετέωρα φροντιστὴς καὶ τὰ ὑπὸ γῆς πάντα ἀνεζητηκὼς καὶ τὸν ἥττω λόγον κρείττω [18c] ποιῶν. οὗτοι, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, <οἱ> ταύτην τὴν φήμην κατασκεδάσαντες, οἱ δεινοί εἰσίν μου κατήγοροι· οἱ γὰρ ἀκούοντες ἡγοῦνται τοὺς ταῦτα ζητοῦντας οὐδὲ θεοὺς νομίζειν. ἔπειτά εἰσιν οὗτοι οἱ κατήγοροι πολλοὶ καὶ πολὺν χρόνον ἤδη κατηγορηκότες, ἔτι δὲ καὶ ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ ἡλικίᾳ λέγοντες πρὸς ὑμᾶς ἐν ᾗ ἂν μάλιστα ἐπιστεύσατε, παῖδες ὄντες ἔνιοι ὑμῶν καὶ μειράκια, ἀτεχνῶς ἐρήμην κατηγοροῦντες ἀπολογουμένου οὐδενός. ὃ δὲ πάντων ἀλογώτατον, ὅτι οὐδὲ τὰ [18d] ὀνόματα οἷόν τε αὐτῶν εἰδέναι καὶ εἰπεῖν, πλὴν εἴ τις κωμῳδοποιὸς τυγχάνει ὤν. ὅσοι δὲ φθόνῳ καὶ διαβολῇ χρώμενοι ὑμᾶς ἀνέπειθον — οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ πεπεισμένοι ἄλλους πείθοντες — οὗτοι πάντες ἀπορώτατοί εἰσιν· οὐδὲ γὰρ ἀναβιβάσασθαι οἷόν τ᾽ ἐστὶν αὐτῶν ἐνταυθοῖ οὐδ᾽ ἐλέγξαι οὐδένα, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάγκη ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ σκιαμαχεῖν ἀπολογούμενόν τε καὶ ἐλέγχειν μηδενὸς ἀποκρινομένου. ἀξιώσατε οὖν καὶ ὑμεῖς, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ λέγω, διττούς μου τοὺς κατηγόρους γεγονέναι, ἑτέρους μὲν τοὺς ἄρτι κατηγορήσαντας, ἑτέρους δὲ [18e] τοὺς πάλαι οὓς ἐγὼ λέγω, καὶ οἰήθητε δεῖν πρὸς ἐκείνους πρῶτόν με ἀπολογήσασθαι· καὶ γὰρ ὑμεῖς ἐκείνων πρότερον ἠκούσατε κατηγορούντων καὶ πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ τῶνδε τῶν ὕστερον.

εἶεν· ἀπολογητέον δή, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, καὶ ἐπιχειρητέον [19a] ὑμῶν ἐξελέσθαι τὴν διαβολὴν ἣν ὑμεῖς ἐν πολλῷ χρόνῳ ἔσχετε ταύτην ἐν οὕτως ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ. βουλοίμην μὲν οὖν ἂν τοῦτο οὕτως γενέσθαι, εἴ τι ἄμεινον καὶ ὑμῖν καὶ ἐμοί, καὶ πλέον τί με ποιῆσαι ἀπολογούμενον· οἶμαι δὲ αὐτὸ χαλεπὸν εἶναι, καὶ οὐ πάνυ με λανθάνει οἷόν ἐστιν. ὅμως τοῦτο μὲν ἴτω ὅπῃ τῷ θεῷ φίλον, τῷ δὲ νόμῳ πειστέον καὶ ἀπολογητέον.

ἀναλάβωμεν οὖν ἐξ ἀρχῆς τίς ἡ κατηγορία ἐστὶν ἐξ ἧς [19b] ἡ ἐμὴ διαβολὴ γέγονεν, ᾗ δὴ καὶ πιστεύων Μέλητός με ἐγράψατο τὴν γραφὴν ταύτην. εἶεν· τί δὴ λέγοντες διέβαλλον οἱ διαβάλλοντες; ὥσπερ οὖν κατηγόρων τὴν ἀντωμοσίαν δεῖ ἀναγνῶναι αὐτῶν· “Σωκράτης ἀδικεῖ καὶ περιεργάζεται ζητῶν τά τε ὑπὸ γῆς καὶ οὐράνια καὶ τὸν ἥττω λόγον κρείττω [19c] ποιῶν καὶ ἄλλους ταὐτὰ ταῦτα διδάσκων”. τοιαύτη τίς ἐστιν· ταῦτα γὰρ ἑωρᾶτε καὶ αὐτοὶ ἐν τῇ Ἀριστοφάνους κωμῳδίᾳ, Σωκράτη τινὰ ἐκεῖ περιφερόμενον, φάσκοντά τε ἀεροβατεῖν καὶ ἄλλην πολλὴν φλυαρίαν φλυαροῦντα, ὧν ἐγὼ οὐδὲν οὔτε μέγα οὔτε μικρὸν πέρι ἐπαΐω. καὶ οὐχ ὡς ἀτιμάζων λέγω τὴν τοιαύτην ἐπιστήμην, εἴ τις περὶ τῶν τοιούτων σοφός ἐστιν — μή πως ἐγὼ ὑπὸ Μελήτου τοσαύτας δίκας φεύγοιμι — ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐμοὶ τούτων, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, οὐδὲν μέτεστιν. [19d] μάρτυρας δὲ αὖ ὑμῶν τοὺς πολλοὺς παρέχομαι, καὶ ἀξιῶ ὑμᾶς ἀλλήλους διδάσκειν τε καὶ φράζειν, ὅσοι ἐμοῦ πώποτε ἀκηκόατε διαλεγομένου — πολλοὶ δὲ ὑμῶν οἱ τοιοῦτοί εἰσιν — φράζετε οὖν ἀλλήλοις εἰ πώποτε ἢ μικρὸν ἢ μέγα ἤκουσέ τις ὑμῶν ἐμοῦ περὶ τῶν τοιούτων διαλεγομένου, καὶ ἐκ τούτου γνώσεσθε ὅτι τοιαῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ τἆλλα περὶ ἐμοῦ ἃ οἱ πολλοὶ λέγουσιν.

ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὔτε τούτων οὐδέν ἐστιν, οὐδέ γ᾽ εἴ τινος ἀκηκόατε ὡς ἐγὼ παιδεύειν ἐπιχειρῶ ἀνθρώπους καὶ χρήματα [19e] πράττομαι, οὐδὲ τοῦτο ἀληθές. ἐπεὶ καὶ τοῦτό γέ μοι δοκεῖ καλὸν εἶναι, εἴ τις οἷός τ᾽ εἴη παιδεύειν ἀνθρώπους ὥσπερ Γοργίας τε ὁ Λεοντῖνος καὶ Πρόδικος ὁ Κεῖος καὶ Ἱππίας ὁ Ἠλεῖος. τούτων γὰρ ἕκαστος, ὦ ἄνδρες, οἷός τ᾽ ἐστὶν ἰὼν εἰς ἑκάστην τῶν πόλεων τοὺς νέους — οἷς ἔξεστι τῶν ἑαυτῶν πολιτῶν προῖκα συνεῖναι ᾧ ἂν βούλωνται — τούτους πείθουσι [20a] τὰς ἐκείνων συνουσίας ἀπολιπόντας σφίσιν συνεῖναι χρήματα διδόντας καὶ χάριν προσειδέναι. ἐπεὶ καὶ ἄλλος ἀνήρ ἐστι Πάριος ἐνθάδε σοφὸς ὃν ἐγὼ ᾐσθόμην ἐπιδημοῦντα· ἔτυχον γὰρ προσελθὼν ἀνδρὶ ὃς τετέλεκε χρήματα σοφισταῖς πλείω ἢ σύμπαντες οἱ ἄλλοι, Καλλίᾳ τῷ Ἱππονίκου· τοῦτον οὖν ἀνηρόμην — ἐστὸν γὰρ αὐτῷ δύο ὑεῖ—”ὦ Καλλία”, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, “εἰ μέν σου τὼ ὑεῖ πώλω ἢ μόσχω ἐγενέσθην, εἴχομεν ἂν αὐτοῖν ἐπιστάτην λαβεῖν καὶ μισθώσασθαι ὃς [20b] ἔμελλεν αὐτὼ καλώ τε κἀγαθὼ ποιήσειν τὴν προσήκουσαν ἀρετήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἂν οὗτος ἢ τῶν ἱππικῶν τις ἢ τῶν γεωργικῶν· νῦν δ᾽ ἐπειδὴ ἀνθρώπω ἐστόν, τίνα αὐτοῖν ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἐπιστάτην λαβεῖν; τίς τῆς τοιαύτης ἀρετῆς, τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης τε καὶ πολιτικῆς, ἐπιστήμων ἐστίν; οἶμαι γάρ σε ἐσκέφθαι διὰ τὴν τῶν ὑέων κτῆσιν. ἔστιν τις”, ἔφην ἐγώ, “ἢ οὔ;” “πάνυ γε”, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. “τίς”, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, “καὶ ποδαπός, καὶ πόσου διδάσκει;” “Εὔηνος”, ἔφη, “ὦ Σώκρατες, Πάριος, πέντε μνῶν”. καὶ ἐγὼ τὸν Εὔηνον ἐμακάρισα εἰ ὡς ἀληθῶς [20c] ἔχοι ταύτην τὴν τέχνην καὶ οὕτως ἐμμελῶς διδάσκει. ἐγὼ γοῦν καὶ αὐτὸς ἐκαλλυνόμην τε καὶ ἡβρυνόμην ἂν εἰ ἠπιστάμην ταῦτα· ἀλλ᾽ οὐ γὰρ ἐπίσταμαι, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι.

ὑπολάβοι ἂν οὖν τις ὑμῶν ἴσως· “ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ σὸν τί ἐστι πρᾶγμα; πόθεν αἱ διαβολαί σοι αὗται γεγόνασιν; οὐ γὰρ δήπου σοῦ γε οὐδὲν τῶν ἄλλων περιττότερον πραγματευομένου ἔπειτα τοσαύτη φήμη τε καὶ λόγος γέγονεν, εἰ μή τι ἔπραττες ἀλλοῖον ἢ οἱ πολλοί. λέγε οὖν ἡμῖν τί [20d] ἐστιν, ἵνα μὴ ἡμεῖς περὶ σοῦ αὐτοσχεδιάζωμεν”. ταυτί μοι δοκεῖ δίκαια λέγειν ὁ λέγων, κἀγὼ ὑμῖν πειράσομαι ἀποδεῖξαι τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν τοῦτο ὃ ἐμοὶ πεποίηκεν τό τε ὄνομα καὶ τὴν διαβολήν. ἀκούετε δή. καὶ ἴσως μὲν δόξω τισὶν ὑμῶν παίζειν· εὖ μέντοι ἴστε, πᾶσαν ὑμῖν τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἐρῶ. ἐγὼ γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, δι᾽ οὐδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ διὰ σοφίαν τινὰ τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα ἔσχηκα. ποίαν δὴ σοφίαν ταύτην; ἥπερ ἐστὶν ἴσως ἀνθρωπίνη σοφία· τῷ ὄντι γὰρ κινδυνεύω ταύτην εἶναι σοφός. οὗτοι δὲ τάχ᾽ ἄν, οὓς ἄρτι [20e] ἔλεγον, μείζω τινὰ ἢ κατ᾽ ἄνθρωπον σοφίαν σοφοὶ εἶεν, ἢ οὐκ ἔχω τί λέγω· οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἔγωγε αὐτὴν ἐπίσταμαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅστις φησὶ ψεύδεταί τε καὶ ἐπὶ διαβολῇ τῇ ἐμῇ λέγει. καί μοι, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, μὴ θορυβήσητε, μηδ᾽ ἐὰν δόξω τι ὑμῖν μέγα λέγειν· οὐ γὰρ ἐμὸν ἐρῶ τὸν λόγον ὃν ἂν λέγω, ἀλλ᾽ εἰς ἀξιόχρεων ὑμῖν τὸν λέγοντα ἀνοίσω. τῆς γὰρ ἐμῆς, εἰ δή τίς ἐστιν σοφία καὶ οἵα, μάρτυρα ὑμῖν παρέξομαι τὸν θεὸν τὸν ἐν Δελφοῖς. Χαιρεφῶντα γὰρ ἴστε που. οὗτος [21a] ἐμός τε ἑταῖρος ἦν ἐκ νέου καὶ ὑμῶν τῷ πλήθει ἑταῖρός τε καὶ συνέφυγε τὴν φυγὴν ταύτην καὶ μεθ᾽ ὑμῶν κατῆλθε. καὶ ἴστε δὴ οἷος ἦν Χαιρεφῶν, ὡς σφοδρὸς ἐφ᾽ ὅτι ὁρμήσειεν. καὶ δή ποτε καὶ εἰς Δελφοὺς ἐλθὼν ἐτόλμησε τοῦτο μαντεύσασθαι — καί, ὅπερ λέγω, μὴ θορυβεῖτε, ὦ ἄνδρες — ἤρετο γὰρ δὴ εἴ τις ἐμοῦ εἴη σοφώτερος. ἀνεῖλεν οὖν ἡ Πυθία μηδένα σοφώτερον εἶναι. καὶ τούτων πέρι ὁ ἀδελφὸς ὑμῖν αὐτοῦ οὑτοσὶ μαρτυρήσει, ἐπειδὴ ἐκεῖνος τετελεύτηκεν. [21b] σκέψασθε δὴ ὧν ἕνεκα ταῦτα λέγω· μέλλω γὰρ ὑμᾶς διδάξειν ὅθεν μοι ἡ διαβολὴ γέγονεν. ταῦτα γὰρ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας ἐνεθυμούμην οὑτωσί· “τί ποτε λέγει ὁ θεός, καὶ τί ποτε αἰνίττεται; ἐγὼ γὰρ δὴ οὔτε μέγα οὔτε σμικρὸν σύνοιδα ἐμαυτῷ σοφὸς ὤν· τί οὖν ποτε λέγει φάσκων ἐμὲ σοφώτατον εἶναι; οὐ γὰρ δήπου ψεύδεταί γε· οὐ γὰρ θέμις αὐτῷ”. καὶ πολὺν μὲν χρόνον ἠπόρουν τί ποτε λέγει· ἔπειτα μόγις πάνυ ἐπὶ ζήτησιν αὐτοῦ τοιαύτην τινὰ ἐτραπόμην. ἦλθον ἐπί τινα τῶν δοκούντων σοφῶν εἶναι, ὡς [21c] ἐνταῦθα εἴπερ που ἐλέγξων τὸ μαντεῖον καὶ ἀποφανῶν τῷ χρησμῷ ὅτι “οὑτοσὶ ἐμοῦ σοφώτερός ἐστι, σὺ δ᾽ ἐμὲ ἔφησθα”. διασκοπῶν οὖν τοῦτον — ὀνόματι γὰρ οὐδὲν δέομαι λέγειν, ἦν δέ τις τῶν πολιτικῶν πρὸς ὃν ἐγὼ σκοπῶν τοιοῦτόν τι ἔπαθον, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, καὶ διαλεγόμενος αὐτῷ — ἔδοξέ μοι οὗτος ὁ ἀνὴρ δοκεῖν μὲν εἶναι σοφὸς ἄλλοις τε πολλοῖς ἀνθρώποις καὶ μάλιστα ἑαυτῷ, εἶναι δ᾽ οὔ· κἄπειτα ἐπειρώμην αὐτῷ δεικνύναι ὅτι οἴοιτο μὲν εἶναι σοφός, εἴη δ᾽ οὔ. [21d] ἐντεῦθεν οὖν τούτῳ τε ἀπηχθόμην καὶ πολλοῖς τῶν παρόντων· πρὸς ἐμαυτὸν δ᾽ οὖν ἀπιὼν ἐλογιζόμην ὅτι τούτου μὲν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐγὼ σοφώτερός εἰμι· κινδυνεύει μὲν γὰρ ἡμῶν οὐδέτερος οὐδὲν καλὸν κἀγαθὸν εἰδέναι, ἀλλ᾽ οὗτος μὲν οἴεταί τι εἰδέναι οὐκ εἰδώς, ἐγὼ δέ, ὥσπερ οὖν οὐκ οἶδα, οὐδὲ οἴομαι· ἔοικα γοῦν τούτου γε σμικρῷ τινι αὐτῷ τούτῳ σοφώτερος εἶναι, ὅτι ἃ μὴ οἶδα οὐδὲ οἴομαι εἰδέναι. ἐντεῦθεν ἐπ᾽ ἄλλον ᾖα τῶν ἐκείνου δοκούντων σοφωτέρων εἶναι καί [21e] μοι ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ἔδοξε, καὶ ἐνταῦθα κἀκείνῳ καὶ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς ἀπηχθόμην.

μετὰ ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ἤδη ἐφεξῆς ᾖα, αἰσθανόμενος μὲν καὶ λυπούμενος καὶ δεδιὼς ὅτι ἀπηχθανόμην, ὅμως δὲ ἀναγκαῖον ἐδόκει εἶναι τὸ τοῦ θεοῦ περὶ πλείστου ποιεῖσθαι — ἰτέον οὖν, σκοποῦντι τὸν χρησμὸν τί λέγει, ἐπὶ ἅπαντας τούς τι [22a] δοκοῦντας εἰδέναι. καὶ νὴ τὸν κύνα, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι — δεῖ γὰρ πρὸς ὑμᾶς τἀληθῆ λέγειν — ἦ μὴν ἐγὼ ἔπαθόν τι τοιοῦτον· οἱ μὲν μάλιστα εὐδοκιμοῦντες ἔδοξάν μοι ὀλίγου δεῖν τοῦ πλείστου ἐνδεεῖς εἶναι ζητοῦντι κατὰ τὸν θεόν, ἄλλοι δὲ δοκοῦντες φαυλότεροι ἐπιεικέστεροι εἶναι ἄνδρες πρὸς τὸ φρονίμως ἔχειν. δεῖ δὴ ὑμῖν τὴν ἐμὴν πλάνην ἐπιδεῖξαι ὥσπερ πόνους τινὰς πονοῦντος ἵνα μοι καὶ ἀνέλεγκτος ἡ μαντεία γένοιτο. μετὰ γὰρ τοὺς πολιτικοὺς ᾖα ἐπὶ τοὺς ποιητὰς τούς τε τῶν τραγῳδιῶν καὶ τοὺς τῶν [22b] διθυράμβων καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, ὡς ἐνταῦθα ἐπ᾽ αὐτοφώρῳ καταληψόμενος ἐμαυτὸν ἀμαθέστερον ἐκείνων ὄντα. ἀναλαμβάνων οὖν αὐτῶν τὰ ποιήματα ἅ μοι ἐδόκει μάλιστα πεπραγματεῦσθαι αὐτοῖς, διηρώτων ἂν αὐτοὺς τί λέγοιεν, ἵν᾽ ἅμα τι καὶ μανθάνοιμι παρ᾽ αὐτῶν. αἰσχύνομαι οὖν ὑμῖν εἰπεῖν, ὦ ἄνδρες, τἀληθῆ· ὅμως δὲ ῥητέον. ὡς ἔπος γὰρ εἰπεῖν ὀλίγου αὐτῶν ἅπαντες οἱ παρόντες ἂν βέλτιον ἔλεγον περὶ ὧν αὐτοὶ ἐπεποιήκεσαν. ἔγνων οὖν αὖ καὶ περὶ τῶν ποιητῶν ἐν ὀλίγῳ τοῦτο, ὅτι οὐ σοφίᾳ ποιοῖεν [22c] ἃ ποιοῖεν, ἀλλὰ φύσει τινὶ καὶ ἐνθουσιάζοντες ὥσπερ οἱ θεομάντεις καὶ οἱ χρησμῳδοί· καὶ γὰρ οὗτοι λέγουσι μὲν πολλὰ καὶ καλά, ἴσασιν δὲ οὐδὲν ὧν λέγουσι. τοιοῦτόν τί μοι ἐφάνησαν πάθος καὶ οἱ ποιηταὶ πεπονθότες, καὶ ἅμα ᾐσθόμην αὐτῶν διὰ τὴν ποίησιν οἰομένων καὶ τἆλλα σοφωτάτων εἶναι ἀνθρώπων ἃ οὐκ ἦσαν. ἀπῇα οὖν καὶ ἐντεῦθεν τῷ αὐτῷ οἰόμενος περιγεγονέναι ᾧπερ καὶ τῶν πολιτικῶν.

τελευτῶν οὖν ἐπὶ τοὺς χειροτέχνας ᾖα· ἐμαυτῷ γὰρ [22d] συνῄδη οὐδὲν ἐπισταμένῳ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν, τούτους δέ γ᾽ ᾔδη ὅτι εὑρήσοιμι πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ ἐπισταμένους. καὶ τούτου μὲν οὐκ ἐψεύσθην, ἀλλ᾽ ἠπίσταντο ἃ ἐγὼ οὐκ ἠπιστάμην καί μου ταύτῃ σοφώτεροι ἦσαν. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ταὐτόν μοι ἔδοξαν ἔχειν ἁμάρτημα ὅπερ καὶ οἱ ποιηταὶ καὶ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ δημιουργοί — διὰ τὸ τὴν τέχνην καλῶς ἐξεργάζεσθαι ἕκαστος ἠξίου καὶ τἆλλα τὰ μέγιστα σοφώτατος εἶναι — καὶ αὐτῶν αὕτη ἡ πλημμέλεια ἐκείνην τὴν σοφίαν [22e] ἀποκρύπτειν· ὥστε με ἐμαυτὸν ἀνερωτᾶν ὑπὲρ τοῦ χρησμοῦ πότερα δεξαίμην ἂν οὕτως ὥσπερ ἔχω ἔχειν, μήτε τι σοφὸς ὢν τὴν ἐκείνων σοφίαν μήτε ἀμαθὴς τὴν ἀμαθίαν, ἢ ἀμφότερα ἃ ἐκεῖνοι ἔχουσιν ἔχειν. ἀπεκρινάμην οὖν ἐμαυτῷ καὶ τῷ χρησμῷ ὅτι μοι λυσιτελοῖ ὥσπερ ἔχω ἔχειν.

ἐκ ταυτησὶ δὴ τῆς ἐξετάσεως, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, [23a] πολλαὶ μὲν ἀπέχθειαί μοι γεγόνασι καὶ οἷαι χαλεπώταται καὶ βαρύταται, ὥστε πολλὰς διαβολὰς ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν γεγονέναι, ὄνομα δὲ τοῦτο λέγεσθαι, σοφὸς εἶναι· οἴονται γάρ με ἑκάστοτε οἱ παρόντες ταῦτα αὐτὸν εἶναι σοφὸν ἃ ἂν ἄλλον ἐξελέγξω. τὸ δὲ κινδυνεύει, ὦ ἄνδρες, τῷ ὄντι ὁ θεὸς σοφὸς εἶναι, καὶ ἐν τῷ χρησμῷ τούτῳ τοῦτο λέγειν, ὅτι ἡ ἀνθρωπίνη σοφία ὀλίγου τινὸς ἀξία ἐστὶν καὶ οὐδενός. καὶ φαίνεται τοῦτον λέγειν τὸν Σωκράτη, προσκεχρῆσθαι δὲ [23b] τῷ ἐμῷ ὀνόματι, ἐμὲ παράδειγμα ποιούμενος, ὥσπερ ἂν <εἰ> εἴποι ὅτι “οὗτος ὑμῶν, ὦ ἄνθρωποι, σοφώτατός ἐστιν, ὅστις ὥσπερ Σωκράτης ἔγνωκεν ὅτι οὐδενὸς ἄξιός ἐστι τῇ ἀληθείᾳ πρὸς σοφίαν”. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ἐγὼ μὲν ἔτι καὶ νῦν περιιὼν ζητῶ καὶ ἐρευνῶ κατὰ τὸν θεὸν καὶ τῶν ἀστῶν καὶ ξένων ἄν τινα οἴωμαι σοφὸν εἶναι· καὶ ἐπειδάν μοι μὴ δοκῇ, τῷ θεῷ βοηθῶν ἐνδείκνυμαι ὅτι οὐκ ἔστι σοφός. καὶ ὑπὸ ταύτης τῆς ἀσχολίας οὔτε τι τῶν τῆς πόλεως πρᾶξαί μοι σχολὴ γέγονεν ἄξιον λόγου οὔτε τῶν οἰκείων, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν [23c] πενίᾳ μυρίᾳ εἰμὶ διὰ τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ λατρείαν.

πρὸς δὲ τούτοις οἱ νέοι μοι ἐπακολουθοῦντες — οἷς μάλιστα σχολή ἐστιν, οἱ τῶν πλουσιωτάτων — αὐτόματοι, χαίρουσιν ἀκούοντες ἐξεταζομένων τῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ αὐτοὶ πολλάκις ἐμὲ μιμοῦνται, εἶτα ἐπιχειροῦσιν ἄλλους ἐξετάζειν· κἄπειτα οἶμαι εὑρίσκουσι πολλὴν ἀφθονίαν οἰομένων μὲν εἰδέναι τι ἀνθρώπων, εἰδότων δὲ ὀλίγα ἢ οὐδέν. ἐντεῦθεν οὖν οἱ ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν ἐξεταζόμενοι ἐμοὶ ὀργίζονται, οὐχ αὑτοῖς, [23d] καὶ λέγουσιν ὡς Σωκράτης τίς ἐστι μιαρώτατος καὶ διαφθείρει τοὺς νέους· καὶ ἐπειδάν τις αὐτοὺς ἐρωτᾷ ὅτι ποιῶν καὶ ὅτι διδάσκων, ἔχουσι μὲν οὐδὲν εἰπεῖν ἀλλ᾽ ἀγνοοῦσιν, ἵνα δὲ μὴ δοκῶσιν ἀπορεῖν, τὰ κατὰ πάντων τῶν φιλοσοφούντων πρόχειρα ταῦτα λέγουσιν, ὅτι “τὰ μετέωρα καὶ τὰ ὑπὸ γῆς” καὶ “θεοὺς μὴ νομίζειν” καὶ “τὸν ἥττω λόγον κρείττω ποιεῖν”. τὰ γὰρ ἀληθῆ οἴομαι οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοιεν λέγειν, ὅτι κατάδηλοι γίγνονται προσποιούμενοι μὲν εἰδέναι, εἰδότες δὲ οὐδέν. ἅτε οὖν οἶμαι φιλότιμοι [23e] ὄντες καὶ σφοδροὶ καὶ πολλοί, καὶ συντεταμένως καὶ πιθανῶς λέγοντες περὶ ἐμοῦ, ἐμπεπλήκασιν ὑμῶν τὰ ὦτα καὶ πάλαι καὶ σφοδρῶς διαβάλλοντες. ἐκ τούτων καὶ Μέλητός μοι ἐπέθετο καὶ Ἄνυτος καὶ Λύκων, Μέλητος μὲν ὑπὲρ τῶν ποιητῶν ἀχθόμενος, Ἄνυτος δὲ ὑπὲρ τῶν δημιουργῶν καὶ [24a] τῶν πολιτικῶν, Λύκων δὲ ὑπὲρ τῶν ῥητόρων· ὥστε, ὅπερ ἀρχόμενος ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, θαυμάζοιμ᾽ ἂν εἰ οἷός τ᾽ εἴην ἐγὼ ὑμῶν ταύτην τὴν διαβολὴν ἐξελέσθαι ἐν οὕτως ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ οὕτω πολλὴν γεγονυῖαν. ταῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὑμῖν, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, τἀληθῆ, καὶ ὑμᾶς οὔτε μέγα οὔτε μικρὸν ἀποκρυψάμενος ἐγὼ λέγω οὐδ᾽ ὑποστειλάμενος. καίτοι οἶδα σχεδὸν ὅτι αὐτοῖς τούτοις ἀπεχθάνομαι, ὃ καὶ τεκμήριον ὅτι ἀληθῆ λέγω καὶ ὅτι αὕτη ἐστὶν ἡ διαβολὴ ἡ ἐμὴ καὶ τὰ αἴτια [24b] ταῦτά ἐστιν. καὶ ἐάντε νῦν ἐάντε αὖθις ζητήσητε ταῦτα, οὕτως εὑρήσετε.

περὶ μὲν οὖν ὧν οἱ πρῶτοί μου κατήγοροι κατηγόρουν αὕτη ἔστω ἱκανὴ ἀπολογία πρὸς ὑμᾶς· πρὸς δὲ Μέλητον τὸν ἀγαθὸν καὶ φιλόπολιν, ὥς φησι, καὶ τοὺς ὑστέρους μετὰ ταῦτα πειράσομαι ἀπολογήσασθαι. αὖθις γὰρ δή, ὥσπερ ἑτέρων τούτων ὄντων κατηγόρων, λάβωμεν αὖ τὴν τούτων ἀντωμοσίαν. ἔχει δέ πως ὧδε· Σωκράτη φησὶν ἀδικεῖν τούς τε νέους διαφθείροντα καὶ θεοὺς οὓς ἡ πόλις [24c] νομίζει οὐ νομίζοντα, ἕτερα δὲ δαιμόνια καινά. τὸ μὲν δὴ ἔγκλημα τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν· τούτου δὲ τοῦ ἐγκλήματος ἓν ἕκαστον ἐξετάσωμεν.

φησὶ γὰρ δὴ τοὺς νέους ἀδικεῖν με διαφθείροντα. ἐγὼ δέ γε, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ἀδικεῖν φημι Μέλητον, ὅτι σπουδῇ χαριεντίζεται, ῥᾳδίως εἰς ἀγῶνα καθιστὰς ἀνθρώπους, περὶ πραγμάτων προσποιούμενος σπουδάζειν καὶ κήδεσθαι ὧν οὐδὲν τούτῳ πώποτε ἐμέλησεν· ὡς δὲ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, πειράσομαι καὶ ὑμῖν ἐπιδεῖξαι. καί μοι δεῦρο, ὦ Μέλητε, εἰπέ· ἄλλο τι ἢ [24d] περὶ πλείστου ποιῇ ὅπως ὡς βέλτιστοι οἱ νεώτεροι ἔσονται;

ἔγωγε.

ἴθι δή νυν εἰπὲ τούτοις, τίς αὐτοὺς βελτίους ποιεῖ; δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι οἶσθα, μέλον γέ σοι. τὸν μὲν γὰρ διαφθείροντα ἐξευρών, ὡς φῄς, ἐμέ, εἰσάγεις τουτοισὶ καὶ κατηγορεῖς· τὸν δὲ δὴ βελτίους ποιοῦντα ἴθι εἰπὲ καὶ μήνυσον αὐτοῖς τίς ἐστιν. — ὁρᾷς, ὦ Μέλητε, ὅτι σιγᾷς καὶ οὐκ ἔχεις εἰπεῖν; καίτοι οὐκ αἰσχρόν σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι καὶ ἱκανὸν τεκμήριον οὗ δὴ ἐγὼ λέγω, ὅτι σοι οὐδὲν μεμέληκεν; ἀλλ᾽ εἰπέ, ὠγαθέ, τίς αὐτοὺς ἀμείνους ποιεῖ;

οἱ νόμοι.

[24e] ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τοῦτο ἐρωτῶ, ὦ βέλτιστε, ἀλλὰ τίς ἄνθρωπος, ὅστις πρῶτον καὶ αὐτὸ τοῦτο οἶδε, τοὺς νόμους;

οὗτοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἱ δικασταί.

πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Μέλητε; οἵδε τοὺς νέους παιδεύειν οἷοί τέ εἰσι καὶ βελτίους ποιοῦσιν;

μάλιστα.

πότερον ἅπαντες, ἢ οἱ μὲν αὐτῶν, οἱ δ᾽ οὔ;

ἅπαντες.

εὖ γε νὴ τὴν Ἥραν λέγεις καὶ πολλὴν ἀφθονίαν τῶν ὠφελούντων. τί δὲ δή; οἱ δὲ ἀκροαταὶ βελτίους ποιοῦσιν [25a] ἢ οὔ;

καὶ οὗτοι.

τί δέ, οἱ βουλευταί;

καὶ οἱ βουλευταί.

ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα, ὦ Μέλητε, μὴ οἱ ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ, οἱ ἐκκλησιασταί, διαφθείρουσι τοὺς νεωτέρους; ἢ κἀκεῖνοι βελτίους ποιοῦσιν ἅπαντες;

κἀκεῖνοι.

πάντες ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, Ἀθηναῖοι καλοὺς κἀγαθοὺς ποιοῦσι πλὴν ἐμοῦ, ἐγὼ δὲ μόνος διαφθείρω. οὕτω λέγεις;

πάνυ σφόδρα ταῦτα λέγω.

πολλήν γέ μου κατέγνωκας δυστυχίαν. καί μοι ἀπόκριναι· ἦ καὶ περὶ ἵππους οὕτω σοι δοκεῖ ἔχειν; οἱ μὲν [25b] βελτίους ποιοῦντες αὐτοὺς πάντες ἄνθρωποι εἶναι, εἷς δέ τις ὁ διαφθείρων; ἢ τοὐναντίον τούτου πᾶν εἷς μέν τις ὁ βελτίους οἷός τ᾽ ὢν ποιεῖν ἢ πάνυ ὀλίγοι, οἱ ἱππικοί, οἱ δὲ πολλοὶ ἐάνπερ συνῶσι καὶ χρῶνται ἵπποις, διαφθείρουσιν; οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει, ὦ Μέλητε, καὶ περὶ ἵππων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων ζῴων; πάντως δήπου, ἐάντε σὺ καὶ Ἄνυτος οὐ φῆτε ἐάντε φῆτε· πολλὴ γὰρ ἄν τις εὐδαιμονία εἴη περὶ τοὺς νέους εἰ εἷς μὲν μόνος αὐτοὺς διαφθείρει, οἱ δ᾽ ἄλλοι [25c] ὠφελοῦσιν. ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ Μέλητε, ἱκανῶς ἐπιδείκνυσαι ὅτι οὐδεπώποτε ἐφρόντισας τῶν νέων, καὶ σαφῶς ἀποφαίνεις τὴν σαυτοῦ ἀμέλειαν, ὅτι οὐδέν σοι μεμέληκεν περὶ ὧν ἐμὲ εἰσάγεις.

ἔτι δὲ ἡμῖν εἰπέ, ὦ πρὸς Διὸς Μέλητε, πότερόν ἐστιν οἰκεῖν ἄμεινον ἐν πολίταις χρηστοῖς ἢ πονηροῖς; ὦ τάν, ἀπόκριναι· οὐδὲν γάρ τοι χαλεπὸν ἐρωτῶ. οὐχ οἱ μὲν πονηροὶ κακόν τι ἐργάζονται τοὺς ἀεὶ ἐγγυτάτω αὑτῶν ὄντας, οἱ δ᾽ ἀγαθοὶ ἀγαθόν τι;

πάνυ γε.

[25d] ἔστιν οὖν ὅστις βούλεται ὑπὸ τῶν συνόντων βλάπτεσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ ὠφελεῖσθαι; ἀποκρίνου, ὦ ἀγαθέ· καὶ γὰρ ὁ νόμος κελεύει ἀποκρίνεσθαι. ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις βούλεται βλάπτεσθαι;

οὐ δῆτα.

φέρε δή, πότερον ἐμὲ εἰσάγεις δεῦρο ὡς διαφθείροντα τοὺς νέους καὶ πονηροτέρους ποιοῦντα ἑκόντα ἢ ἄκοντα;

ἑκόντα ἔγωγε.

τί δῆτα, ὦ Μέλητε; τοσοῦτον σὺ ἐμοῦ σοφώτερος εἶ τηλικούτου ὄντος τηλικόσδε ὤν, ὥστε σὺ μὲν ἔγνωκας ὅτι οἱ μὲν κακοὶ κακόν τι ἐργάζονται ἀεὶ τοὺς μάλιστα πλησίον [25e] ἑαυτῶν, οἱ δὲ ἀγαθοὶ ἀγαθόν, ἐγὼ δὲ δὴ εἰς τοσοῦτον ἀμαθίας ἥκω ὥστε καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἀγνοῶ, ὅτι ἐάν τινα μοχθηρὸν ποιήσω τῶν συνόντων, κινδυνεύσω κακόν τι λαβεῖν ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ, ὥστε τοῦτο <τὸ> τοσοῦτον κακὸν ἑκὼν ποιῶ, ὡς φῂς σύ; ταῦτα ἐγώ σοι οὐ πείθομαι, ὦ Μέλητε, οἶμαι δὲ οὐδὲ ἄλλον ἀνθρώπων οὐδένα· ἀλλ᾽ ἢ οὐ διαφθείρω, ἢ εἰ διαφθείρω, [26a] ἄκων, ὥστε σύ γε κατ᾽ ἀμφότερα ψεύδῃ. εἰ δὲ ἄκων διαφθείρω, τῶν τοιούτων [καὶ ἀκουσίων] ἁμαρτημάτων οὐ δεῦρο νόμος εἰσάγειν ἐστίν, ἀλλὰ ἰδίᾳ λαβόντα διδάσκειν καὶ νουθετεῖν· δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι ἐὰν μάθω, παύσομαι ὅ γε ἄκων ποιῶ. σὺ δὲ συγγενέσθαι μέν μοι καὶ διδάξαι ἔφυγες καὶ οὐκ ἠθέλησας, δεῦρο δὲ εἰσάγεις, οἷ νόμος ἐστὶν εἰσάγειν τοὺς κολάσεως δεομένους ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μαθήσεως.

ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, τοῦτο μὲν ἤδη δῆλον [26b] οὑγὼ ἔλεγον, ὅτι Μελήτῳ τούτων οὔτε μέγα οὔτε μικρὸν πώποτε ἐμέλησεν. ὅμως δὲ δὴ λέγε ἡμῖν, πῶς με φῂς διαφθείρειν, ὦ Μέλητε, τοὺς νεωτέρους; ἢ δῆλον δὴ ὅτι κατὰ τὴν γραφὴν ἣν ἐγράψω θεοὺς διδάσκοντα μὴ νομίζειν οὓς ἡ πόλις νομίζει, ἕτερα δὲ δαιμόνια καινά; οὐ ταῦτα λέγεις ὅτι διδάσκων διαφθείρω;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν σφόδρα ταῦτα λέγω.

πρὸς αὐτῶν τοίνυν, ὦ Μέλητε, τούτων τῶν θεῶν ὧν νῦν ὁ λόγος ἐστίν, εἰπὲ ἔτι σαφέστερον καὶ ἐμοὶ καὶ τοῖς ἀνδράσιν [26c] τουτοισί. ἐγὼ γὰρ οὐ δύναμαι μαθεῖν πότερον λέγεις διδάσκειν με νομίζειν εἶναί τινας θεούς — καὶ αὐτὸς ἄρα νομίζω εἶναι θεοὺς καὶ οὐκ εἰμὶ τὸ παράπαν ἄθεος οὐδὲ ταύτῃ ἀδικῶ — οὐ μέντοι οὕσπερ γε ἡ πόλις ἀλλὰ ἑτέρους, καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὅ μοι ἐγκαλεῖς, ὅτι ἑτέρους, ἢ παντάπασί με φῂς οὔτε αὐτὸν νομίζειν θεοὺς τούς τε ἄλλους ταῦτα διδάσκειν.

ταῦτα λέγω, ὡς τὸ παράπαν οὐ νομίζεις θεούς.

[26d] ὦ θαυμάσιε Μέλητε, ἵνα τί ταῦτα λέγεις; οὐδὲ ἥλιον οὐδὲ σελήνην ἄρα νομίζω θεοὺς εἶναι, ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι;

μὰ Δί᾽, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί, ἐπεὶ τὸν μὲν ἥλιον λίθον φησὶν εἶναι, τὴν δὲ σελήνην γῆν.

Ἀναξαγόρου οἴει κατηγορεῖν, ὦ φίλε Μέλητε; καὶ οὕτω καταφρονεῖς τῶνδε καὶ οἴει αὐτοὺς ἀπείρους γραμμάτων εἶναι ὥστε οὐκ εἰδέναι ὅτι τὰ Ἀναξαγόρου βιβλία τοῦ Κλαζομενίου γέμει τούτων τῶν λόγων; καὶ δὴ καὶ οἱ νέοι ταῦτα παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ μανθάνουσιν, ἃ ἔξεστιν ἐνίοτε εἰ πάνυ πολλοῦ δραχμῆς [26e] ἐκ τῆς ὀρχήστρας πριαμένοις Σωκράτους καταγελᾶν, ἐὰν προσποιῆται ἑαυτοῦ εἶναι, ἄλλως τε καὶ οὕτως ἄτοπα ὄντα; ἀλλ᾽, ὦ πρὸς Διός, οὑτωσί σοι δοκῶ; οὐδένα νομίζω θεὸν εἶναι;

οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δία οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν.

ἄπιστός γ᾽ εἶ, ὦ Μέλητε, καὶ ταῦτα μέντοι, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖς, σαυτῷ. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δοκεῖ οὑτοσί, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, πάνυ εἶναι ὑβριστὴς καὶ ἀκόλαστος, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς τὴν γραφὴν ταύτην ὕβρει τινὶ καὶ ἀκολασίᾳ καὶ νεότητι γράψασθαι.

[27a] ἔοικεν γὰρ ὥσπερ αἴνιγμα συντιθέντι διαπειρωμένῳ “ἆρα γνώσεται Σωκράτης ὁ σοφὸς δὴ ἐμοῦ χαριεντιζομένου καὶ ἐναντί᾽ ἐμαυτῷ λέγοντος, ἢ ἐξαπατήσω αὐτὸν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους τοὺς ἀκούοντας;” οὗτος γὰρ ἐμοὶ φαίνεται τὰ ἐναντία λέγειν αὐτὸς ἑαυτῷ ἐν τῇ γραφῇ ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ εἴποι· “ἀδικεῖ Σωκράτης θεοὺς οὐ νομίζων, ἀλλὰ θεοὺς νομίζων”. καίτοι τοῦτό ἐστι παίζοντος.

συνεπισκέψασθε δή, ὦ ἄνδρες, ᾗ μοι φαίνεται ταῦτα λέγειν· σὺ δὲ ἡμῖν ἀπόκριναι, ὦ Μέλητε. ὑμεῖς δέ, ὅπερ [27b] κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ὑμᾶς παρῃτησάμην, μέμνησθέ μοι μὴ θορυβεῖν ἐὰν ἐν τῷ εἰωθότι τρόπῳ τοὺς λόγους ποιῶμαι.

ἔστιν ὅστις ἀνθρώπων, ὦ Μέλητε, ἀνθρώπεια μὲν νομίζει πράγματ᾽ εἶναι, ἀνθρώπους δὲ οὐ νομίζει; ἀποκρινέσθω, ὦ ἄνδρες, καὶ μὴ ἄλλα καὶ ἄλλα θορυβείτω· ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις ἵππους μὲν οὐ νομίζει, ἱππικὰ δὲ πράγματα; ἢ αὐλητὰς μὲν οὐ νομίζει εἶναι, αὐλητικὰ δὲ πράγματα; οὐκ ἔστιν, ὦ ἄριστε ἀνδρῶν· εἰ μὴ σὺ βούλει ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἐγὼ σοὶ λέγω καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τουτοισί. ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐπὶ τούτῳ γε ἀπόκριναι· [27c] ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις δαιμόνια μὲν νομίζει πράγματ᾽ εἶναι, δαίμονας δὲ οὐ νομίζει;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

ὡς ὤνησας ὅτι μόγις ἀπεκρίνω ὑπὸ τουτωνὶ ἀναγκαζόμενος. οὐκοῦν δαιμόνια μὲν φῄς με καὶ νομίζειν καὶ διδάσκειν, εἴτ᾽ οὖν καινὰ εἴτε παλαιά, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν δαιμόνιά γε νομίζω κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον, καὶ ταῦτα καὶ διωμόσω ἐν τῇ ἀντιγραφῇ. εἰ δὲ δαιμόνια νομίζω, καὶ δαίμονας δήπου πολλὴ ἀνάγκη νομίζειν μέ ἐστιν· οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει; ἔχει δή· τίθημι γάρ σε ὁμολογοῦντα, ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἀποκρίνῃ. τοὺς δὲ [27d] δαίμονας οὐχὶ ἤτοι θεούς γε ἡγούμεθα ἢ θεῶν παῖδας; φῂς ἢ οὔ;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ δαίμονας ἡγοῦμαι, ὡς σὺ φῄς, εἰ μὲν θεοί τινές εἰσιν οἱ δαίμονες, τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη ὃ ἐγώ φημί σε αἰνίττεσθαι καὶ χαριεντίζεσθαι, θεοὺς οὐχ ἡγούμενον φάναι με θεοὺς αὖ ἡγεῖσθαι πάλιν, ἐπειδήπερ γε δαίμονας ἡγοῦμαι· εἰ δ᾽ αὖ οἱ δαίμονες θεῶν παῖδές εἰσιν νόθοι τινὲς ἢ ἐκ νυμφῶν ἢ ἔκ τινων ἄλλων ὧν δὴ καὶ λέγονται, τίς ἂν ἀνθρώπων θεῶν μὲν παῖδας ἡγοῖτο εἶναι, θεοὺς δὲ μή; ὁμοίως γὰρ [27e] ἂν ἄτοπον εἴη ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τις ἵππων μὲν παῖδας ἡγοῖτο ἢ καὶ ὄνων, τοὺς ἡμιόνους, ἵππους δὲ καὶ ὄνους μὴ ἡγοῖτο εἶναι. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Μέλητε, οὐκ ἔστιν ὅπως σὺ ταῦτα οὐχὶ ἀποπειρώμενος ἡμῶν ἐγράψω τὴν γραφὴν ταύτην ἢ ἀπορῶν ὅτι ἐγκαλοῖς ἐμοὶ ἀληθὲς ἀδίκημα· ὅπως δὲ σύ τινα πείθοις ἂν καὶ σμικρὸν νοῦν ἔχοντα ἀνθρώπων, ὡς οὐ τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἔστιν καὶ δαιμόνια καὶ θεῖα ἡγεῖσθαι, καὶ αὖ τοῦ αὐτοῦ μήτε [28a] δαίμονας μήτε θεοὺς μήτε ἥρωας, οὐδεμία μηχανή ἐστιν.

ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ὡς μὲν ἐγὼ οὐκ ἀδικῶ κατὰ τὴν Μελήτου γραφήν, οὐ πολλῆς μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι ἀπολογίας, ἀλλὰ ἱκανὰ καὶ ταῦτα· ὃ δὲ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἔλεγον, ὅτι πολλή μοι ἀπέχθεια γέγονεν καὶ πρὸς πολλούς, εὖ ἴστε ὅτι ἀληθές ἐστιν. καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὃ ἐμὲ αἱρεῖ, ἐάνπερ αἱρῇ, οὐ Μέλητος οὐδὲ Ἄνυτος ἀλλ᾽ ἡ τῶν πολλῶν διαβολή τε καὶ φθόνος. ἃ δὴ πολλοὺς καὶ ἄλλους καὶ ἀγαθοὺς [28b] ἄνδρας ᾕρηκεν, οἶμαι δὲ καὶ αἱρήσει· οὐδὲν δὲ δεινὸν μὴ ἐν ἐμοὶ στῇ.

ἴσως ἂν οὖν εἴποι τις· “εἶτ᾽ οὐκ αἰσχύνῃ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοιοῦτον ἐπιτήδευμα ἐπιτηδεύσας ἐξ οὗ κινδυνεύεις νυνὶ ἀποθανεῖν;” ἐγὼ δὲ τούτῳ ἂν δίκαιον λόγον ἀντείποιμι, ὅτι ‘οὐ καλῶς λέγεις, ὦ ἄνθρωπε, εἰ οἴει δεῖν κίνδυνον ὑπολογίζεσθαι τοῦ ζῆν ἢ τεθνάναι ἄνδρα ὅτου τι καὶ σμικρὸν ὄφελός ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκεῖνο μόνον σκοπεῖν ὅταν πράττῃ, πότερον δίκαια ἢ ἄδικα πράττει, καὶ ἀνδρὸς ἀγαθοῦ ἔργα ἢ κακοῦ. φαῦλοι [28c] γὰρ ἂν τῷ γε σῷ λόγῳ εἶεν τῶν ἡμιθέων ὅσοι ἐν Τροίᾳ τετελευτήκασιν οἵ τε ἄλλοι καὶ ὁ τῆς Θέτιδος υἱός, ὃς τοσοῦτον τοῦ κινδύνου κατεφρόνησεν παρὰ τὸ αἰσχρόν τι ὑπομεῖναι ὥστε, ἐπειδὴ εἶπεν ἡ μήτηρ αὐτῷ προθυμουμένῳ Ἕκτορα ἀποκτεῖναι, θεὸς οὖσα, οὑτωσί πως, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι· “ὦ παῖ, εἰ τιμωρήσεις Πατρόκλῳ τῷ ἑταίρῳ τὸν φόνον καὶ Ἕκτορα ἀποκτενεῖς, αὐτὸς ἀποθανῇ — αὐτίκα γάρ τοι”, φησί, “μεθ᾽ Ἕκτορα πότμος ἑτοῖμος” — ὁ δὲ τοῦτο ἀκούσας τοῦ μὲν θανάτου καὶ τοῦ κινδύνου ὠλιγώρησε, πολὺ δὲ μᾶλλον [28d] δείσας τὸ ζῆν κακὸς ὢν καὶ τοῖς φίλοις μὴ τιμωρεῖν, “αὐτίκα”, φησί, “τεθναίην, δίκην ἐπιθεὶς τῷ ἀδικοῦντι, ἵνα μὴ ἐνθάδε μένω καταγέλαστος παρὰ νηυσὶ κορωνίσιν ἄχθος ἀρούρης”. μὴ αὐτὸν οἴει φροντίσαι θανάτου καὶ κινδύνου;’

οὕτω γὰρ ἔχει, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, τῇ ἀληθείᾳ· οὗ ἄν τις ἑαυτὸν τάξῃ ἡγησάμενος βέλτιστον εἶναι ἢ ὑπ᾽ ἄρχοντος ταχθῇ, ἐνταῦθα δεῖ, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, μένοντα κινδυνεύειν, μηδὲν ὑπολογιζόμενον μήτε θάνατον μήτε ἄλλο μηδὲν πρὸ τοῦ αἰσχροῦ. ἐγὼ οὖν δεινὰ ἂν εἴην εἰργασμένος, ὦ ἄνδρες [28e] Ἀθηναῖοι, εἰ ὅτε μέν με οἱ ἄρχοντες ἔταττον, οὓς ὑμεῖς εἵλεσθε ἄρχειν μου, καὶ ἐν Ποτειδαίᾳ καὶ ἐν Ἀμφιπόλει καὶ ἐπὶ Δηλίῳ, τότε μὲν οὗ ἐκεῖνοι ἔταττον ἔμενον ὥσπερ καὶ ἄλλος τις καὶ ἐκινδύνευον ἀποθανεῖν, τοῦ δὲ θεοῦ τάττοντος, ὡς ἐγὼ ᾠήθην τε καὶ ὑπέλαβον, φιλοσοφοῦντά με δεῖν ζῆν καὶ ἐξετάζοντα ἐμαυτὸν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, ἐνταῦθα δὲ φοβηθεὶς ἢ θάνατον [29a] ἣ ἄλλ᾽ ὁτιοῦν πρᾶγμα λίποιμι τὴν τάξιν.

δεινόν τἂν εἴη, καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς τότ᾽ ἄν με δικαίως εἰσάγοι τις εἰς δικαστήριον, ὅτι οὐ νομίζω θεοὺς εἶναι ἀπειθῶν τῇ μαντείᾳ καὶ δεδιὼς θάνατον καὶ οἰόμενος σοφὸς εἶναι οὐκ ὤν. τὸ γάρ τοι θάνατον δεδιέναι, ὦ ἄνδρες, οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἐστὶν ἢ δοκεῖν σοφὸν εἶναι μὴ ὄντα· δοκεῖν γὰρ εἰδέναι ἐστὶν ἃ οὐκ οἶδεν. οἶδε μὲν γὰρ οὐδεὶς τὸν θάνατον οὐδ᾽ εἰ τυγχάνει τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ πάντων μέγιστον ὂν τῶν ἀγαθῶν, δεδίασι δ᾽ ὡς εὖ εἰδότες [29b] ὅτι μέγιστον τῶν κακῶν ἐστι.

καίτοι πῶς οὐκ ἀμαθία ἐστὶν αὕτη ἡ ἐπονείδιστος, ἡ τοῦ οἴεσθαι εἰδέναι ἃ οὐκ οἶδεν; ἐγὼ δ᾽, ὦ ἄνδρες, τούτῳ καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἴσως διαφέρω τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ εἰ δή τῳ σοφώτερός του φαίην εἶναι, τούτῳ ἄν, ὅτι οὐκ εἰδὼς ἱκανῶς περὶ τῶν ἐν Ἅιδου οὕτω καὶ οἴομαι οὐκ εἰδέναι· τὸ δὲ ἀδικεῖν καὶ ἀπειθεῖν τῷ βελτίονι καὶ θεῷ καὶ ἀνθρώπῳ, ὅτι κακὸν καὶ αἰσχρόν ἐστιν οἶδα. πρὸ οὖν τῶν κακῶν ὧν οἶδα ὅτι κακά ἐστιν, ἃ μὴ οἶδα εἰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ ὄντα τυγχάνει οὐδέποτε φοβήσομαι οὐδὲ φεύξομαι· ὥστε οὐδ᾽ εἴ [29c] με νῦν ὑμεῖς ἀφίετε Ἀνύτῳ ἀπιστήσαντες, ὃς ἔφη ἢ τὴν ἀρχὴν οὐ δεῖν ἐμὲ δεῦρο εἰσελθεῖν ἤ, ἐπειδὴ εἰσῆλθον, οὐχ οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι τὸ μὴ ἀποκτεῖναί με, λέγων πρὸς ὑμᾶς ὡς εἰ διαφευξοίμην ἤδη [ἂν] ὑμῶν οἱ ὑεῖς ἐπιτηδεύοντες ἃ Σωκράτης διδάσκει πάντες παντάπασι διαφθαρήσονται, — εἴ μοι πρὸς ταῦτα εἴποιτε· “ὦ Σώκρατες, νῦν μὲν Ἀνύτῳ οὐ πεισόμεθα ἀλλ᾽ ἀφίεμέν σε, ἐπὶ τούτῳ μέντοι, ἐφ᾽ ᾧτε μηκέτι ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ ζητήσει διατρίβειν μηδὲ φιλοσοφεῖν· ἐὰν δὲ [29d] ἁλῷς ἔτι τοῦτο πράττων, ἀποθανῇ” —

εἰ οὖν με, ὅπερ εἶπον, ἐπὶ τούτοις ἀφίοιτε, εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν ὑμῖν ὅτι “ἐγὼ ὑμᾶς, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ἀσπάζομαι μὲν καὶ φιλῶ, πείσομαι δὲ μᾶλλον τῷ θεῷ ἢ ὑμῖν, καὶ ἕωσπερ ἂν ἐμπνέω καὶ οἷός τε ὦ, οὐ μὴ παύσωμαι φιλοσοφῶν καὶ ὑμῖν παρακελευόμενός τε καὶ ἐνδεικνύμενος ὅτῳ ἂν ἀεὶ ἐντυγχάνω ὑμῶν, λέγων οἷάπερ εἴωθα, ὅτι “ὦ ἄριστε ἀνδρῶν, Ἀθηναῖος ὤν, πόλεως τῆς μεγίστης καὶ εὐδοκιμωτάτης εἰς σοφίαν καὶ ἰσχύν, χρημάτων μὲν οὐκ αἰσχύνῃ ἐπιμελούμενος ὅπως σοι ἔσται ὡς πλεῖστα, [29e] καὶ δόξης καὶ τιμῆς, φρονήσεως δὲ καὶ ἀληθείας καὶ τῆς ψυχῆς ὅπως ὡς βελτίστη ἔσται οὐκ ἐπιμελῇ οὐδὲ φροντίζεις;” καὶ ἐάν τις ὑμῶν ἀμφισβητήσῃ καὶ φῇ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, οὐκ εὐθὺς ἀφήσω αὐτὸν οὐδ᾽ ἄπειμι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐρήσομαι αὐτὸν καὶ ἐξετάσω καὶ ἐλέγξω, καὶ ἐάν μοι μὴ δοκῇ κεκτῆσθαι ἀρετήν, [30a] φάναι δέ, ὀνειδιῶ ὅτι τὰ πλείστου ἄξια περὶ ἐλαχίστου ποιεῖται, τὰ δὲ φαυλότερα περὶ πλείονος. ταῦτα καὶ νεωτέρῳ καὶ πρεσβυτέρῳ ὅτῳ ἂν ἐντυγχάνω ποιήσω, καὶ ξένῳ καὶ ἀστῷ, μᾶλλον δὲ τοῖς ἀστοῖς, ὅσῳ μου ἐγγυτέρω ἐστὲ γένει. ταῦτα γὰρ κελεύει ὁ θεός, εὖ ἴστε, καὶ ἐγὼ οἴομαι οὐδέν πω ὑμῖν μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι ἐν τῇ πόλει ἢ τὴν ἐμὴν τῷ θεῷ ὑπηρεσίαν. οὐδὲν γὰρ ἄλλο πράττων ἐγὼ περιέρχομαι ἢ πείθων ὑμῶν καὶ νεωτέρους καὶ πρεσβυτέρους μήτε σωμάτων [30b] ἐπιμελεῖσθαι μήτε χρημάτων πρότερον μηδὲ οὕτω σφόδρα ὡς τῆς ψυχῆς ὅπως ὡς ἀρίστη ἔσται, λέγων ὅτι ‘οὐκ ἐκ χρημάτων ἀρετὴ γίγνεται, ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ἀρετῆς χρήματα καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ἀγαθὰ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἅπαντα καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ’. εἰ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα λέγων διαφθείρω τοὺς νέους, ταῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη βλαβερά· εἰ δέ τίς μέ φησιν ἄλλα λέγειν ἢ ταῦτα, οὐδὲν λέγει. πρὸς ταῦτα”, φαίην ἄν, “ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ἢ πείθεσθε Ἀνύτῳ ἢ μή, καὶ ἢ ἀφίετέ με ἢ μή, ὡς ἐμοῦ οὐκ [30c] ἂν ποιήσαντος ἄλλα, οὐδ᾽ εἰ μέλλω πολλάκις τεθνάναι”.

μὴ θορυβεῖτε, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμμείνατέ μοι οἷς ἐδεήθην ὑμῶν, μὴ θορυβεῖν ἐφ᾽ οἷς ἂν λέγω ἀλλ᾽ ἀκούειν· καὶ γάρ, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, ὀνήσεσθε ἀκούοντες. μέλλω γὰρ οὖν ἄττα ὑμῖν ἐρεῖν καὶ ἄλλα ἐφ᾽ οἷς ἴσως βοήσεσθε· ἀλλὰ μηδαμῶς ποιεῖτε τοῦτο. εὖ γὰρ ἴστε, ἐάν με ἀποκτείνητε τοιοῦτον ὄντα οἷον ἐγὼ λέγω, οὐκ ἐμὲ μείζω βλάψετε ἢ ὑμᾶς αὐτούς· ἐμὲ μὲν γὰρ οὐδὲν ἂν βλάψειεν οὔτε Μέλητος οὔτε Ἄνυτος — οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν δύναιτο — οὐ γὰρ οἴομαι θεμιτὸν [30d] εἶναι ἀμείνονι ἀνδρὶ ὑπὸ χείρονος βλάπτεσθαι. ἀποκτείνειε μεντἂν ἴσως ἢ ἐξελάσειεν ἢ ἀτιμώσειεν· ἀλλὰ ταῦτα οὗτος μὲν ἴσως οἴεται καὶ ἄλλος τίς που μεγάλα κακά, ἐγὼ δ᾽ οὐκ οἴομαι, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον ποιεῖν ἃ οὑτοσὶ νῦν ποιεῖ, ἄνδρα ἀδίκως ἐπιχειρεῖν ἀποκτεινύναι. νῦν οὖν, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, πολλοῦ δέω ἐγὼ ὑπὲρ ἐμαυτοῦ ἀπολογεῖσθαι, ὥς τις ἂν οἴοιτο, ἀλλὰ ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν, μή τι ἐξαμάρτητε περὶ τὴν τοῦ [30e] θεοῦ δόσιν ὑμῖν ἐμοῦ καταψηφισάμενοι. ἐὰν γάρ με ἀποκτείνητε, οὐ ῥᾳδίως ἄλλον τοιοῦτον εὑρήσετε, ἀτεχνῶς — εἰ καὶ γελοιότερον εἰπεῖν — προσκείμενον τῇ πόλει ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ ὥσπερ ἵππῳ μεγάλῳ μὲν καὶ γενναίῳ, ὑπὸ μεγέθους δὲ νωθεστέρῳ καὶ δεομένῳ ἐγείρεσθαι ὑπὸ μύωπός τινος, οἷον δή μοι δοκεῖ ὁ θεὸς ἐμὲ τῇ πόλει προστεθηκέναι τοιοῦτόν τινα, ὃς ὑμᾶς ἐγείρων καὶ πείθων καὶ ὀνειδίζων ἕνα ἕκαστον [31a] οὐδὲν παύομαι τὴν ἡμέραν ὅλην πανταχοῦ προσκαθίζων. τοιοῦτος οὖν ἄλλος οὐ ῥᾳδίως ὑμῖν γενήσεται, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν ἐμοὶ πείθησθε, φείσεσθέ μου· ὑμεῖς δ᾽ ἴσως τάχ᾽ ἂν ἀχθόμενοι, ὥσπερ οἱ νυστάζοντες ἐγειρόμενοι, κρούσαντες ἄν με, πειθόμενοι Ἀνύτῳ, ῥᾳδίως ἂν ἀποκτείναιτε, εἶτα τὸν λοιπὸν βίον καθεύδοντες διατελοῖτε ἄν, εἰ μή τινα ἄλλον ὁ θεὸς ὑμῖν ἐπιπέμψειεν κηδόμενος ὑμῶν. ὅτι δ᾽ ἐγὼ τυγχάνω ὢν τοιοῦτος οἷος ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ τῇ πόλει δεδόσθαι, ἐνθένδε [31b] ἂν κατανοήσαιτε· οὐ γὰρ ἀνθρωπίνῳ ἔοικε τὸ ἐμὲ τῶν μὲν ἐμαυτοῦ πάντων ἠμεληκέναι καὶ ἀνέχεσθαι τῶν οἰκείων ἀμελουμένων τοσαῦτα ἤδη ἔτη, τὸ δὲ ὑμέτερον πράττειν ἀεί, ἰδίᾳ ἑκάστῳ προσιόντα ὥσπερ πατέρα ἢ ἀδελφὸν πρεσβύτερον πείθοντα ἐπιμελεῖσθαι ἀρετῆς. καὶ εἰ μέν τι ἀπὸ τούτων ἀπέλαυον καὶ μισθὸν λαμβάνων ταῦτα παρεκελευόμην, εἶχον ἄν τινα λόγον· νῦν δὲ ὁρᾶτε δὴ καὶ αὐτοὶ ὅτι οἱ κατήγοροι τἆλλα πάντα ἀναισχύντως οὕτω κατηγοροῦντες τοῦτό γε οὐχ οἷοί τε ἐγένοντο ἀπαναισχυντῆσαι [31c] παρασχόμενοι μάρτυρα, ὡς ἐγώ ποτέ τινα ἢ ἐπραξάμην μισθὸν ἢ ᾔτησα. ἱκανὸν γάρ, οἶμαι, ἐγὼ παρέχομαι τὸν μάρτυρα ὡς ἀληθῆ λέγω, τὴν πενίαν.

ἴσως ἂν οὖν δόξειεν ἄτοπον εἶναι, ὅτι δὴ ἐγὼ ἰδίᾳ μὲν ταῦτα συμβουλεύω περιιὼν καὶ πολυπραγμονῶ, δημοσίᾳ δὲ οὐ τολμῶ ἀναβαίνων εἰς τὸ πλῆθος τὸ ὑμέτερον συμβουλεύειν τῇ πόλει. τούτου δὲ αἴτιόν ἐστιν ὃ ὑμεῖς ἐμοῦ πολλάκις ἀκηκόατε πολλαχοῦ λέγοντος, ὅτι μοι θεῖόν τι καὶ [31d] δαιμόνιον γίγνεται [φωνή], ὃ δὴ καὶ ἐν τῇ γραφῇ ἐπικωμῳδῶν Μέλητος ἐγράψατο. ἐμοὶ δὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ἐκ παιδὸς ἀρξάμενον, φωνή τις γιγνομένη, ἣ ὅταν γένηται, ἀεὶ ἀποτρέπει με τοῦτο ὃ ἂν μέλλω πράττειν, προτρέπει δὲ οὔποτε. τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὅ μοι ἐναντιοῦται τὰ πολιτικὰ πράττειν, καὶ παγκάλως γέ μοι δοκεῖ ἐναντιοῦσθαι· εὖ γὰρ ἴστε, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, εἰ ἐγὼ πάλαι ἐπεχείρησα πράττειν τὰ πολιτικὰ πράγματα, πάλαι ἂν ἀπολώλη καὶ οὔτ᾽ ἂν ὑμᾶς ὠφελήκη [31e] οὐδὲν οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἐμαυτόν. καί μοι μὴ ἄχθεσθε λέγοντι τἀληθῆ· οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ὅστις ἀνθρώπων σωθήσεται οὔτε ὑμῖν οὔτε ἄλλῳ πλήθει οὐδενὶ γνησίως ἐναντιούμενος καὶ διακωλύων πολλὰ ἄδικα καὶ παράνομα ἐν τῇ πόλει γίγνεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ [32a] ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστι τὸν τῷ ὄντι μαχούμενον ὑπὲρ τοῦ δικαίου, καὶ εἰ μέλλει ὀλίγον χρόνον σωθήσεσθαι, ἰδιωτεύειν ἀλλὰ μὴ δημοσιεύειν.

μεγάλα δ᾽ ἔγωγε ὑμῖν τεκμήρια παρέξομαι τούτων, οὐ λόγους ἀλλ᾽ ὃ ὑμεῖς τιμᾶτε, ἔργα. ἀκούσατε δή μοι τὰ συμβεβηκότα, ἵνα εἰδῆτε ὅτι οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἑνὶ ὑπεικάθοιμι παρὰ τὸ δίκαιον δείσας θάνατον, μὴ ὑπείκων δὲ ἀλλὰ κἂν ἀπολοίμην. ἐρῶ δὲ ὑμῖν φορτικὰ μὲν καὶ δικανικά, ἀληθῆ δέ. ἐγὼ γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ἄλλην μὲν ἀρχὴν οὐδεμίαν [32b] πώποτε ἦρξα ἐν τῇ πόλει, ἐβούλευσα δέ· καὶ ἔτυχεν ἡμῶν ἡ φυλὴ Ἀντιοχὶς πρυτανεύουσα ὅτε ὑμεῖς τοὺς δέκα στρατηγοὺς τοὺς οὐκ ἀνελομένους τοὺς ἐκ τῆς ναυμαχίας ἐβουλεύσασθε ἁθρόους κρίνειν, παρανόμως, ὡς ἐν τῷ ὑστέρῳ χρόνῳ πᾶσιν ὑμῖν ἔδοξεν. τότ᾽ ἐγὼ μόνος τῶν πρυτάνεων ἠναντιώθην ὑμῖν μηδὲν ποιεῖν παρὰ τοὺς νόμους καὶ ἐναντία ἐψηφισάμην· καὶ ἑτοίμων ὄντων ἐνδεικνύναι με καὶ ἀπάγειν τῶν ῥητόρων, καὶ ὑμῶν κελευόντων καὶ βοώντων, μετὰ τοῦ [32c] νόμου καὶ τοῦ δικαίου ᾤμην μᾶλλόν με δεῖν διακινδυνεύειν ἢ μεθ᾽ ὑμῶν γενέσθαι μὴ δίκαια βουλευομένων, φοβηθέντα δεσμὸν ἢ θάνατον. καὶ ταῦτα μὲν ἦν ἔτι δημοκρατουμένης τῆς πόλεως· ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὀλιγαρχία ἐγένετο, οἱ τριάκοντα αὖ μεταπεμψάμενοί με πέμπτον αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν θόλον προσέταξαν ἀγαγεῖν ἐκ Σαλαμῖνος Λέοντα τὸν Σαλαμίνιον ἵνα ἀποθάνοι, οἷα δὴ καὶ ἄλλοις ἐκεῖνοι πολλοῖς πολλὰ προσέταττον, βουλόμενοι ὡς πλείστους ἀναπλῆσαι αἰτιῶν. τότε μέντοι ἐγὼ [32d] οὐ λόγῳ ἀλλ᾽ ἔργῳ αὖ ἐνεδειξάμην ὅτι ἐμοὶ θανάτου μὲν μέλει, εἰ μὴ ἀγροικότερον ἦν εἰπεῖν, οὐδ᾽ ὁτιοῦν, τοῦ δὲ μηδὲν ἄδικον μηδ᾽ ἀνόσιον ἐργάζεσθαι, τούτου δὲ τὸ πᾶν μέλει. ἐμὲ γὰρ ἐκείνη ἡ ἀρχὴ οὐκ ἐξέπληξεν, οὕτως ἰσχυρὰ οὖσα, ὥστε ἄδικόν τι ἐργάσασθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ ἐκ τῆς θόλου ἐξήλθομεν, οἱ μὲν τέτταρες ᾤχοντο εἰς Σαλαμῖνα καὶ ἤγαγον Λέοντα, ἐγὼ δὲ ᾠχόμην ἀπιὼν οἴκαδε. καὶ ἴσως ἂν διὰ ταῦτα ἀπέθανον, εἰ μὴ ἡ ἀρχὴ διὰ ταχέων κατελύθη. καὶ [32e] τούτων ὑμῖν ἔσονται πολλοὶ μάρτυρες.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἄν με οἴεσθε τοσάδε ἔτη διαγενέσθαι εἰ ἔπραττον τὰ δημόσια, καὶ πράττων ἀξίως ἀνδρὸς ἀγαθοῦ ἐβοήθουν τοῖς δικαίοις καὶ ὥσπερ χρὴ τοῦτο περὶ πλείστου ἐποιούμην; πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι· οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν ἄλλος [33a] ἀνθρώπων οὐδείς. ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου δημοσίᾳ τε εἴ πού τι ἔπραξα τοιοῦτος φανοῦμαι, καὶ ἰδίᾳ ὁ αὐτὸς οὗτος, οὐδενὶ πώποτε συγχωρήσας οὐδὲν παρὰ τὸ δίκαιον οὔτε ἄλλῳ οὔτε τούτων οὐδενὶ οὓς δὴ διαβάλλοντες ἐμέ φασιν ἐμοὺς μαθητὰς εἶναι. ἐγὼ δὲ διδάσκαλος μὲν οὐδενὸς πώποτ᾽ ἐγενόμην· εἰ δέ τίς μου λέγοντος καὶ τὰ ἐμαυτοῦ πράττοντος ἐπιθυμοῖ ἀκούειν, εἴτε νεώτερος εἴτε πρεσβύτερος, οὐδενὶ πώποτε ἐφθόνησα, οὐδὲ χρήματα μὲν λαμβάνων διαλέγομαι [33b] μὴ λαμβάνων δὲ οὔ, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμοίως καὶ πλουσίῳ καὶ πένητι παρέχω ἐμαυτὸν ἐρωτᾶν, καὶ ἐάν τις βούληται ἀποκρινόμενος ἀκούειν ὧν ἂν λέγω. καὶ τούτων ἐγὼ εἴτε τις χρηστὸς γίγνεται εἴτε μή, οὐκ ἂν δικαίως τὴν αἰτίαν ὑπέχοιμι, ὧν μήτε ὑπεσχόμην μηδενὶ μηδὲν πώποτε μάθημα μήτε ἐδίδαξα· εἰ δέ τίς φησι παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ πώποτέ τι μαθεῖν ἢ ἀκοῦσαι ἰδίᾳ ὅτι μὴ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες, εὖ ἴστε ὅτι οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγει.

ἀλλὰ διὰ τί δή ποτε μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ χαίρουσί τινες πολὺν [33c] χρόνον διατρίβοντες; ἀκηκόατε, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, πᾶσαν ὑμῖν τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἐγὼ εἶπον· ὅτι ἀκούοντες χαίρουσιν ἐξεταζομένοις τοῖς οἰομένοις μὲν εἶναι σοφοῖς, οὖσι δ᾽ οὔ. ἔστι γὰρ οὐκ ἀηδές. ἐμοὶ δὲ τοῦτο, ὡς ἐγώ φημι, προστέτακται ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ πράττειν καὶ ἐκ μαντείων καὶ ἐξ ἐνυπνίων καὶ παντὶ τρόπῳ ᾧπέρ τίς ποτε καὶ ἄλλη θεία μοῖρα ἀνθρώπῳ καὶ ὁτιοῦν προσέταξε πράττειν. ταῦτα, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, καὶ ἀληθῆ ἐστιν καὶ εὐέλεγκτα. εἰ γὰρ δὴ ἔγωγε τῶν νέων [33d] τοὺς μὲν διαφθείρω τοὺς δὲ διέφθαρκα, χρῆν δήπου, εἴτε τινὲς αὐτῶν πρεσβύτεροι γενόμενοι ἔγνωσαν ὅτι νέοις οὖσιν αὐτοῖς ἐγὼ κακὸν πώποτέ τι συνεβούλευσα, νυνὶ αὐτοὺς ἀναβαίνοντας ἐμοῦ κατηγορεῖν καὶ τιμωρεῖσθαι· εἰ δὲ μὴ αὐτοὶ ἤθελον, τῶν οἰκείων τινὰς τῶν ἐκείνων, πατέρας καὶ ἀδελφοὺς καὶ ἄλλους τοὺς προσήκοντας, εἴπερ ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ τι κακὸν ἐπεπόνθεσαν αὐτῶν οἱ οἰκεῖοι, νῦν μεμνῆσθαι καὶ τιμωρεῖσθαι. πάντως δὲ πάρεισιν αὐτῶν πολλοὶ ἐνταυθοῖ οὓς ἐγὼ ὁρῶ, πρῶτον μὲν Κρίτων οὑτοσί, ἐμὸς ἡλικιώτης [33e] καὶ δημότης, Κριτοβούλου τοῦδε πατήρ, ἔπειτα Λυσανίας ὁ Σφήττιος, Αἰσχίνου τοῦδε πατήρ, ἔτι δ᾽ Ἀντιφῶν ὁ Κηφισιεὺς οὑτοσί, Ἐπιγένους πατήρ, ἄλλοι τοίνυν οὗτοι ὧν οἱ ἀδελφοὶ ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ διατριβῇ γεγόνασιν, Νικόστρατος Θεοζοτίδου, ἀδελφὸς Θεοδότου — καὶ ὁ μὲν Θεόδοτος τετελεύτηκεν, ὥστε οὐκ ἂν ἐκεῖνός γε αὐτοῦ καταδεηθείη — καὶ Παράλιος ὅδε, ὁ Δημοδόκου, οὗ ἦν Θεάγης ἀδελφός· ὅδε δὲ [34a] Ἀδείμαντος, ὁ Ἀρίστωνος, οὗ ἀδελφὸς οὑτοσὶ Πλάτων, καὶ Αἰαντόδωρος, οὗ Ἀπολλόδωρος ὅδε ἀδελφός. καὶ ἄλλους πολλοὺς ἐγὼ ἔχω ὑμῖν εἰπεῖν, ὧν τινα ἐχρῆν μάλιστα μὲν ἐν τῷ ἑαυτοῦ λόγῳ παρασχέσθαι Μέλητον μάρτυρα· εἰ δὲ τότε ἐπελάθετο, νῦν παρασχέσθω — ἐγὼ παραχωρῶ — καὶ λεγέτω εἴ τι ἔχει τοιοῦτον. ἀλλὰ τούτου πᾶν τοὐναντίον εὑρήσετε, ὦ ἄνδρες, πάντας ἐμοὶ βοηθεῖν ἑτοίμους τῷ διαφθείροντι, τῷ κακὰ ἐργαζομένῳ τοὺς οἰκείους αὐτῶν, ὥς φασι Μέλητος καὶ [34b] Ἄνυτος. αὐτοὶ μὲν γὰρ οἱ διεφθαρμένοι τάχ᾽ ἂν λόγον ἔχοιεν βοηθοῦντες· οἱ δὲ ἀδιάφθαρτοι, πρεσβύτεροι ἤδη ἄνδρες, οἱ τούτων προσήκοντες, τίνα ἄλλον ἔχουσι λόγον βοηθοῦντες ἐμοὶ ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τὸν ὀρθόν τε καὶ δίκαιον, ὅτι συνίσασι Μελήτῳ μὲν ψευδομένῳ, ἐμοὶ δὲ ἀληθεύοντι;

εἶεν δή, ὦ ἄνδρες· ἃ μὲν ἐγὼ ἔχοιμ᾽ ἂν ἀπολογεῖσθαι, σχεδόν ἐστι ταῦτα καὶ ἄλλα ἴσως τοιαῦτα.

τάχα δ᾽ ἄν τις [34c] ὑμῶν ἀγανακτήσειεν ἀναμνησθεὶς ἑαυτοῦ, εἰ ὁ μὲν καὶ ἐλάττω τουτουῒ τοῦ ἀγῶνος ἀγῶνα ἀγωνιζόμενος ἐδεήθη τε καὶ ἱκέτευσε τοὺς δικαστὰς μετὰ πολλῶν δακρύων, παιδία τε αὑτοῦ ἀναβιβασάμενος ἵνα ὅτι μάλιστα ἐλεηθείη, καὶ ἄλλους τῶν οἰκείων καὶ φίλων πολλούς, ἐγὼ δὲ οὐδὲν ἄρα τούτων ποιήσω, καὶ ταῦτα κινδυνεύων, ὡς ἂν δόξαιμι, τὸν ἔσχατον κίνδυνον. τάχ᾽ ἂν οὖν τις ταῦτα ἐννοήσας αὐθαδέστερον ἂν πρός με σχοίη καὶ ὀργισθεὶς αὐτοῖς τούτοις θεῖτο ἂν μετ᾽ [34d] ὀργῆς τὴν ψῆφον. εἰ δή τις ὑμῶν οὕτως ἔχει — οὐκ ἀξιῶ μὲν γὰρ ἔγωγε, εἰ δ᾽ οὖν — ἐπιεικῆ ἄν μοι δοκῶ πρὸς τοῦτον λέγειν λέγων ὅτι “ἐμοί, ὦ ἄριστε, εἰσὶν μέν πού τινες καὶ οἰκεῖοι· καὶ γὰρ τοῦτο αὐτὸ τὸ τοῦ Ὁμήρου, οὐδ᾽ ἐγὼ ‘ἀπὸ δρυὸς οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ πέτρης’ πέφυκα ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ἀνθρώπων, ὥστε καὶ οἰκεῖοί μοί εἰσι καὶ ὑεῖς γε, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, τρεῖς, εἷς μὲν μειράκιον ἤδη, δύο δὲ παιδία· ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως οὐδένα αὐτῶν δεῦρο ἀναβιβασάμενος δεήσομαι ὑμῶν ἀποψηφίσασθαι”. τί δὴ οὖν οὐδὲν τούτων ποιήσω; οὐκ αὐθαδιζόμενος, ὦ ἄνδρες [34e] Ἀθηναῖοι, οὐδ᾽ ὑμᾶς ἀτιμάζων, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὲν θαῤῥαλέως ἐγὼ ἔχω πρὸς θάνατον ἢ μή, ἄλλος λόγος, πρὸς δ᾽ οὖν δόξαν καὶ ἐμοὶ καὶ ὑμῖν καὶ ὅλῃ τῇ πόλει οὔ μοι δοκεῖ καλὸν εἶναι ἐμὲ τούτων οὐδὲν ποιεῖν καὶ τηλικόνδε ὄντα καὶ τοῦτο τοὔνομα ἔχοντα, εἴτ᾽ οὖν ἀληθὲς εἴτ᾽ οὖν ψεῦδος, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν δεδογμένον [35a] γέ ἐστί τῳ Σωκράτη διαφέρειν τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων. εἰ οὖν ὑμῶν οἱ δοκοῦντες διαφέρειν εἴτε σοφίᾳ εἴτε ἀνδρείᾳ εἴτε ἄλλῃ ᾑτινιοῦν ἀρετῇ τοιοῦτοι ἔσονται, αἰσχρὸν ἂν εἴη· οἵουσπερ ἐγὼ πολλάκις ἑώρακά τινας ὅταν κρίνωνται, δοκοῦντας μέν τι εἶναι, θαυμάσια δὲ ἐργαζομένους, ὡς δεινόν τι οἰομένους πείσεσθαι εἰ ἀποθανοῦνται, ὥσπερ ἀθανάτων ἐσομένων ἂν ὑμεῖς αὐτοὺς μὴ ἀποκτείνητε· οἳ ἐμοὶ δοκοῦσιν αἰσχύνην τῇ πόλει περιάπτειν, ὥστ᾽ ἄν τινα καὶ τῶν ξένων [35b] ὑπολαβεῖν ὅτι οἱ διαφέροντες Ἀθηναίων εἰς ἀρετήν, οὓς αὐτοὶ ἑαυτῶν ἔν τε ταῖς ἀρχαῖς καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις τιμαῖς προκρίνουσιν, οὗτοι γυναικῶν οὐδὲν διαφέρουσιν. ταῦτα γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, οὔτε ὑμᾶς χρὴ ποιεῖν τοὺς δοκοῦντας καὶ ὁπῃοῦν τι εἶναι, οὔτ᾽, ἂν ἡμεῖς ποιῶμεν, ὑμᾶς ἐπιτρέπειν, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἐνδείκνυσθαι, ὅτι πολὺ μᾶλλον καταψηφιεῖσθε τοῦ τὰ ἐλεινὰ ταῦτα δράματα εἰσάγοντος καὶ καταγέλαστον τὴν πόλιν ποιοῦντος ἢ τοῦ ἡσυχίαν ἄγοντος.

χωρὶς δὲ τῆς δόξης, ὦ ἄνδρες, οὐδὲ δίκαιόν μοι δοκεῖ [35c] εἶναι δεῖσθαι τοῦ δικαστοῦ οὐδὲ δεόμενον ἀποφεύγειν, ἀλλὰ διδάσκειν καὶ πείθειν. οὐ γὰρ ἐπὶ τούτῳ κάθηται ὁ δικαστής, ἐπὶ τῷ καταχαρίζεσθαι τὰ δίκαια, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τῷ κρίνειν ταῦτα· καὶ ὀμώμοκεν οὐ χαριεῖσθαι οἷς ἂν δοκῇ αὐτῷ, ἀλλὰ δικάσειν κατὰ τοὺς νόμους. οὔκουν χρὴ οὔτε ἡμᾶς ἐθίζειν ὑμᾶς ἐπιορκεῖν οὔθ᾽ ὑμᾶς ἐθίζεσθαι· οὐδέτεροι γὰρ ἂν ἡμῶν εὐσεβοῖεν. μὴ οὖν ἀξιοῦτέ με, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, τοιαῦτα δεῖν πρὸς ὑμᾶς πράττειν ἃ μήτε ἡγοῦμαι καλὰ εἶναι μήτε [35d] δίκαια μήτε ὅσια, ἄλλως τε μέντοι νὴ Δία πάντως καὶ ἀσεβείας φεύγοντα ὑπὸ Μελήτου τουτουΐ. σαφῶς γὰρ ἄν, εἰ πείθοιμι ὑμᾶς καὶ τῷ δεῖσθαι βιαζοίμην ὀμωμοκότας, θεοὺς ἂν διδάσκοιμι μὴ ἡγεῖσθαι ὑμᾶς εἶναι, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς ἀπολογούμενος κατηγοροίην ἂν ἐμαυτοῦ ὡς θεοὺς οὐ νομίζω. ἀλλὰ πολλοῦ δεῖ οὕτως ἔχειν· νομίζω τε γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ὡς οὐδεὶς τῶν ἐμῶν κατηγόρων, καὶ ὑμῖν ἐπιτρέπω καὶ τῷ θεῷ κρῖναι περὶ ἐμοῦ ὅπῃ μέλλει ἐμοί τε ἄριστα εἶναι καὶ ὑμῖν.

[35e] τὸ μὲν μὴ ἀγανακτεῖν, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ἐπὶ τούτῳ [36a] τῷ γεγονότι, ὅτι μου κατεψηφίσασθε, ἄλλα τέ μοι πολλὰ συμβάλλεται, καὶ οὐκ ἀνέλπιστόν μοι γέγονεν τὸ γεγονὸς τοῦτο, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον θαυμάζω ἑκατέρων τῶν ψήφων τὸν γεγονότα ἀριθμόν. οὐ γὰρ ᾠόμην ἔγωγε οὕτω παρ᾽ ὀλίγον ἔσεσθαι ἀλλὰ παρὰ πολύ· νῦν δέ, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἰ τριάκοντα μόναι μετέπεσον τῶν ψήφων, ἀπεπεφεύγη ἄν. Μέλητον μὲν οὖν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκῶ, καὶ νῦν ἀποπέφευγα, καὶ οὐ μόνον ἀποπέφευγα, ἀλλὰ παντὶ δῆλον τοῦτό γε, ὅτι εἰ μὴ ἀνέβη Ἄνυτος καὶ Λύκων κατηγορήσοντες ἐμοῦ, κἂν ὦφλε [36b] χιλίας δραχμάς, οὐ μεταλαβὼν τὸ πέμπτον μέρος τῶν ψήφων.

τιμᾶται δ᾽ οὖν μοι ὁ ἀνὴρ θανάτου. εἶεν· ἐγὼ δὲ δὴ τίνος ὑμῖν ἀντιτιμήσομαι, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι τῆς ἀξίας; τί οὖν; τί ἄξιός εἰμι παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτεῖσαι, ὅτι μαθὼν ἐν τῷ βίῳ οὐχ ἡσυχίαν ἦγον, ἀλλ᾽ ἀμελήσας ὧνπερ οἱ πολλοί, χρηματισμοῦ τε καὶ οἰκονομίας καὶ στρατηγιῶν καὶ δημηγοριῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀρχῶν καὶ συνωμοσιῶν καὶ στάσεων τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει γιγνομένων, ἡγησάμενος ἐμαυτὸν [36c] τῷ ὄντι ἐπιεικέστερον εἶναι ἢ ὥστε εἰς ταῦτ᾽ ἰόντα σῴζεσθαι, ἐνταῦθα μὲν οὐκ ᾖα οἷ ἐλθὼν μήτε ὑμῖν μήτε ἐμαυτῷ ἔμελλον μηδὲν ὄφελος εἶναι, ἐπὶ δὲ τὸ ἰδίᾳ ἕκαστον ἰὼν εὐεργετεῖν τὴν μεγίστην εὐεργεσίαν, ὡς ἐγώ φημι, ἐνταῦθα ᾖα, ἐπιχειρῶν ἕκαστον ὑμῶν πείθειν μὴ πρότερον μήτε τῶν ἑαυτοῦ μηδενὸς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι πρὶν ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιμεληθείη ὅπως ὡς βέλτιστος καὶ φρονιμώτατος ἔσοιτο, μήτε τῶν τῆς πόλεως, πρὶν αὐτῆς τῆς πόλεως, τῶν τε ἄλλων οὕτω κατὰ τὸν [36d] αὐτὸν τρόπον ἐπιμελεῖσθαι — τί οὖν εἰμι ἄξιος παθεῖν τοιοῦτος ὤν; ἀγαθόν τι, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, εἰ δεῖ γε κατὰ τὴν ἀξίαν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ τιμᾶσθαι· καὶ ταῦτά γε ἀγαθὸν τοιοῦτον ὅτι ἂν πρέποι ἐμοί. τί οὖν πρέπει ἀνδρὶ πένητι εὐεργέτῃ δεομένῳ ἄγειν σχολὴν ἐπὶ τῇ ὑμετέρᾳ παρακελεύσει; οὐκ ἔσθ᾽ ὅτι μᾶλλον, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, πρέπει οὕτως ὡς τὸν τοιοῦτον ἄνδρα ἐν πρυτανείῳ σιτεῖσθαι, πολύ γε μᾶλλον ἢ εἴ τις ὑμῶν ἵππῳ ἢ συνωρίδι ἢ ζεύγει νενίκηκεν Ὀλυμπίασιν· ὁ μὲν γὰρ ὑμᾶς ποιεῖ εὐδαίμονας δοκεῖν εἶναι, ἐγὼ δὲ [36e] εἶναι, καὶ ὁ μὲν τροφῆς οὐδὲν δεῖται, ἐγὼ δὲ δέομαι. εἰ οὖν δεῖ με κατὰ τὸ δίκαιον τῆς ἀξίας τιμᾶσθαι, τούτου [37a] τιμῶμαι, ἐν πρυτανείῳ σιτήσεως.

ἴσως οὖν ὑμῖν καὶ ταυτὶ λέγων παραπλησίως δοκῶ λέγειν ὥσπερ περὶ τοῦ οἴκτου καὶ τῆς ἀντιβολήσεως, ἀπαυθαδιζόμενος· τὸ δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, τοιοῦτον ἀλλὰ τοιόνδε μᾶλλον. πέπεισμαι ἐγὼ ἑκὼν εἶναι μηδένα ἀδικεῖν ἀνθρώπων, ἀλλὰ ὑμᾶς τοῦτο οὐ πείθω· ὀλίγον γὰρ χρόνον ἀλλήλοις διειλέγμεθα. ἐπεί, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, εἰ ἦν ὑμῖν νόμος, ὥσπερ καὶ ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις, περὶ θανάτου μὴ μίαν ἡμέραν [37b] μόνον κρίνειν ἀλλὰ πολλάς, ἐπείσθητε ἄν· νῦν δ᾽ οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἐν χρόνῳ ὀλίγῳ μεγάλας διαβολὰς ἀπολύεσθαι. πεπεισμένος δὴ ἐγὼ μηδένα ἀδικεῖν πολλοῦ δέω ἐμαυτόν γε ἀδικήσειν καὶ κατ᾽ ἐμαυτοῦ ἐρεῖν αὐτὸς ὡς ἄξιός εἰμί του κακοῦ καὶ τιμήσεσθαι τοιούτου τινὸς ἐμαυτῷ. τί δείσας; ἦ μὴ πάθω τοῦτο οὗ Μέλητός μοι τιμᾶται, ὅ φημι οὐκ εἰδέναι οὔτ᾽ εἰ ἀγαθὸν οὔτ᾽ εἰ κακόν ἐστιν; ἀντὶ τούτου δὴ ἕλωμαι ὧν εὖ οἶδά τι κακῶν ὄντων τούτου τιμησάμενος; πότερον δεσμοῦ;

[37c] καὶ τί με δεῖ ζῆν ἐν δεσμωτηρίῳ, δουλεύοντα τῇ ἀεὶ καθισταμένῃ ἀρχῇ, τοῖς ἕνδεκα; ἀλλὰ χρημάτων καὶ δεδέσθαι ἕως ἂν ἐκτείσω; ἀλλὰ ταὐτόν μοί ἐστιν ὅπερ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον· οὐ γὰρ ἔστι μοι χρήματα ὁπόθεν ἐκτείσω. ἀλλὰ δὴ φυγῆς τιμήσωμαι; ἴσως γὰρ ἄν μοι τούτου τιμήσαιτε. πολλὴ μεντἄν με φιλοψυχία ἔχοι, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, εἰ οὕτως ἀλόγιστός εἰμι ὥστε μὴ δύνασθαι λογίζεσθαι ὅτι ὑμεῖς μὲν ὄντες πολῖταί μου οὐχ οἷοί τε ἐγένεσθε ἐνεγκεῖν τὰς ἐμὰς [37d] διατριβὰς καὶ τοὺς λόγους, ἀλλ᾽ ὑμῖν βαρύτεραι γεγόνασιν καὶ ἐπιφθονώτεραι, ὥστε ζητεῖτε αὐτῶν νυνὶ ἀπαλλαγῆναι· ἄλλοι δὲ ἄρα αὐτὰς οἴσουσι ῥᾳδίως; πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι. καλὸς οὖν ἄν μοι ὁ βίος εἴη ἐξελθόντι τηλικῷδε ἀνθρώπῳ ἄλλην ἐξ ἄλλης πόλεως ἀμειβομένῳ καὶ ἐξελαυνομένῳ ζῆν. εὖ γὰρ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι ὅποι ἂν ἔλθω, λέγοντος ἐμοῦ ἀκροάσονται οἱ νέοι ὥσπερ ἐνθάδε· κἂν μὲν τούτους ἀπελαύνω, οὗτοί με αὐτοὶ ἐξελῶσι πείθοντες τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους· [37e] ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ἀπελαύνω, οἱ τούτων πατέρες δὲ καὶ οἰκεῖοι δι᾽ αὐτοὺς τούτους.

ἴσως οὖν ἄν τις εἴποι· “σιγῶν δὲ καὶ ἡσυχίαν ἄγων, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἔσῃ ἡμῖν ἐξελθὼν ζῆν;” τουτὶ δή ἐστι πάντων χαλεπώτατον πεῖσαί τινας ὑμῶν. ἐάντε γὰρ λέγω ὅτι τῷ θεῷ ἀπειθεῖν τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ διὰ τοῦτ᾽ ἀδύνατον [38a] ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν, οὐ πείσεσθέ μοι ὡς εἰρωνευομένῳ· ἐάντ᾽ αὖ λέγω ὅτι καὶ τυγχάνει μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν ὂν ἀνθρώπῳ τοῦτο, ἑκάστης ἡμέρας περὶ ἀρετῆς τοὺς λόγους ποιεῖσθαι καὶ τῶν ἄλλων περὶ ὧν ὑμεῖς ἐμοῦ ἀκούετε διαλεγομένου καὶ ἐμαυτὸν καὶ ἄλλους ἐξετάζοντος, ὁ δὲ ἀνεξέταστος βίος οὐ βιωτὸς ἀνθρώπῳ, ταῦτα δ᾽ ἔτι ἧττον πείσεσθέ μοι λέγοντι. τὰ δὲ ἔχει μὲν οὕτως, ὡς ἐγώ φημι, ὦ ἄνδρες, πείθειν δὲ οὐ ῥᾴδιον. καὶ ἐγὼ ἅμα οὐκ εἴθισμαι ἐμαυτὸν ἀξιοῦν κακοῦ [38b] οὐδενός. εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἦν μοι χρήματα, ἐτιμησάμην ἂν χρημάτων ὅσα ἔμελλον ἐκτείσειν, οὐδὲν γὰρ ἂν ἐβλάβην· νῦν δὲ οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν, εἰ μὴ ἄρα ὅσον ἂν ἐγὼ δυναίμην ἐκτεῖσαι, τοσούτου βούλεσθέ μοι τιμῆσαι. ἴσως δ᾽ ἂν δυναίμην ἐκτεῖσαι ὑμῖν που μνᾶν ἀργυρίου· τοσούτου οὖν τιμῶμαι.

Πλάτων δὲ ὅδε, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, καὶ Κρίτων καὶ Κριτόβουλος καὶ Ἀπολλόδωρος κελεύουσί με τριάκοντα μνῶν τιμήσασθαι, αὐτοὶ δ᾽ ἐγγυᾶσθαι· τιμῶμαι οὖν τοσούτου, ἐγγυηταὶ δὲ ὑμῖν ἔσονται τοῦ ἀργυρίου οὗτοι ἀξιόχρεῳ.

[38c] οὐ πολλοῦ γ᾽ ἕνεκα χρόνου, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ὄνομα ἕξετε καὶ αἰτίαν ὑπὸ τῶν βουλομένων τὴν πόλιν λοιδορεῖν ὡς Σωκράτη ἀπεκτόνατε, ἄνδρα σοφόν — φήσουσι γὰρ δὴ σοφὸν εἶναι, εἰ καὶ μή εἰμι, οἱ βουλόμενοι ὑμῖν ὀνειδίζειν — εἰ γοῦν περιεμείνατε ὀλίγον χρόνον, ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου ἂν ὑμῖν τοῦτο ἐγένετο· ὁρᾶτε γὰρ δὴ τὴν ἡλικίαν ὅτι πόῤῥω ἤδη ἐστὶ τοῦ βίου θανάτου δὲ ἐγγύς. λέγω δὲ τοῦτο οὐ [38d] πρὸς πάντας ὑμᾶς, ἀλλὰ πρὸς τοὺς ἐμοῦ καταψηφισαμένους θάνατον. λέγω δὲ καὶ τόδε πρὸς τοὺς αὐτοὺς τούτους. ἴσως με οἴεσθε, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, ἀπορίᾳ λόγων ἑαλωκέναι τοιούτων οἷς ἂν ὑμᾶς ἔπεισα, εἰ ᾤμην δεῖν ἅπαντα ποιεῖν καὶ λέγειν ὥστε ἀποφυγεῖν τὴν δίκην. πολλοῦ γε δεῖ. ἀλλ᾽ ἀπορίᾳ μὲν ἑάλωκα, οὐ μέντοι λόγων, ἀλλὰ τόλμης καὶ ἀναισχυντίας καὶ τοῦ μὴ ἐθέλειν λέγειν πρὸς ὑμᾶς τοιαῦτα οἷ᾽ ἂν ὑμῖν μὲν ἥδιστα ἦν ἀκούειν — θρηνοῦντός τέ μου καὶ ὀδυρομένου καὶ ἄλλα ποιοῦντος καὶ [38e] λέγοντος πολλὰ καὶ ἀνάξια ἐμοῦ, ὡς ἐγώ φημι, οἷα δὴ καὶ εἴθισθε ὑμεῖς τῶν ἄλλων ἀκούειν. ἀλλ᾽ οὔτε τότε ᾠήθην δεῖν ἕνεκα τοῦ κινδύνου πρᾶξαι οὐδὲν ἀνελεύθερον, οὔτε νῦν μοι μεταμέλει οὕτως ἀπολογησαμένῳ, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον αἱροῦμαι ὧδε ἀπολογησάμενος τεθνάναι ἢ ἐκείνως ζῆν. οὔτε γὰρ ἐν δίκῃ οὔτ᾽ ἐν πολέμῳ οὔτ᾽ ἐμὲ οὔτ᾽ ἄλλον οὐδένα δεῖ [39a] τοῦτο μηχανᾶσθαι, ὅπως ἀποφεύξεται πᾶν ποιῶν θάνατον. καὶ γὰρ ἐν ταῖς μάχαις πολλάκις δῆλον γίγνεται ὅτι τό γε ἀποθανεῖν ἄν τις ἐκφύγοι καὶ ὅπλα ἀφεὶς καὶ ἐφ᾽ ἱκετείαν τραπόμενος τῶν διωκόντων· καὶ ἄλλαι μηχαναὶ πολλαί εἰσιν ἐν ἑκάστοις τοῖς κινδύνοις ὥστε διαφεύγειν θάνατον, ἐάν τις τολμᾷ πᾶν ποιεῖν καὶ λέγειν. ἀλλὰ μὴ οὐ τοῦτ᾽ ᾖ χαλεπόν, ὦ ἄνδρες, θάνατον ἐκφυγεῖν, ἀλλὰ πολὺ χαλεπώτερον πονηρίαν· [39b] θᾶττον γὰρ θανάτου θεῖ. καὶ νῦν ἐγὼ μὲν ἅτε βραδὺς ὢν καὶ πρεσβύτης ὑπὸ τοῦ βραδυτέρου ἑάλων, οἱ δ᾽ ἐμοὶ κατήγοροι ἅτε δεινοὶ καὶ ὀξεῖς ὄντες ὑπὸ τοῦ θάττονος, τῆς κακίας. καὶ νῦν ἐγὼ μὲν ἄπειμι ὑφ᾽ ὑμῶν θανάτου δίκην ὀφλών, οὗτοι δ᾽ ὑπὸ τῆς ἀληθείας ὠφληκότες μοχθηρίαν καὶ ἀδικίαν. καὶ ἐγώ τε τῷ τιμήματι ἐμμένω καὶ οὗτοι. ταῦτα μέν που ἴσως οὕτως καὶ ἔδει σχεῖν, καὶ οἶμαι αὐτὰ μετρίως ἔχειν.

[39c] τὸ δὲ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο ἐπιθυμῶ ὑμῖν χρησμῳδῆσαι, ὦ καταψηφισάμενοί μου· καὶ γάρ εἰμι ἤδη ἐνταῦθα ἐν ᾧ μάλιστα ἄνθρωποι χρησμῳδοῦσιν, ὅταν μέλλωσιν ἀποθανεῖσθαι. φημὶ γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες οἳ ἐμὲ ἀπεκτόνατε, τιμωρίαν ὑμῖν ἥξειν εὐθὺς μετὰ τὸν ἐμὸν θάνατον πολὺ χαλεπωτέραν νὴ Δία ἢ οἵαν ἐμὲ ἀπεκτόνατε· νῦν γὰρ τοῦτο εἴργασθε οἰόμενοι μὲν ἀπαλλάξεσθαι τοῦ διδόναι ἔλεγχον τοῦ βίου, τὸ δὲ ὑμῖν πολὺ ἐναντίον ἀποβήσεται, ὡς ἐγώ φημι. πλείους ἔσονται ὑμᾶς [39d] οἱ ἐλέγχοντες, οὓς νῦν ἐγὼ κατεῖχον, ὑμεῖς δὲ οὐκ ᾐσθάνεσθε· καὶ χαλεπώτεροι ἔσονται ὅσῳ νεώτεροί εἰσιν, καὶ ὑμεῖς μᾶλλον ἀγανακτήσετε. εἰ γὰρ οἴεσθε ἀποκτείνοντες ἀνθρώπους ἐπισχήσειν τοῦ ὀνειδίζειν τινὰ ὑμῖν ὅτι οὐκ ὀρθῶς ζῆτε, οὐ καλῶς διανοεῖσθε· οὐ γάρ ἐσθ᾽ αὕτη ἡ ἀπαλλαγὴ οὔτε πάνυ δυνατὴ οὔτε καλή, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνη καὶ καλλίστη καὶ ῥᾴστη, μὴ τοὺς ἄλλους κολούειν ἀλλ᾽ ἑαυτὸν παρασκευάζειν ὅπως ἔσται ὡς βέλτιστος. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν ὑμῖν τοῖς καταψηφισαμένοις μαντευσάμενος ἀπαλλάττομαι.

[39e] τοῖς δὲ ἀποψηφισαμένοις ἡδέως ἂν διαλεχθείην ὑπὲρ τοῦ γεγονότος τουτουῒ πράγματος, ἐν ᾧ οἱ ἄρχοντες ἀσχολίαν ἄγουσι καὶ οὔπω ἔρχομαι οἷ ἐλθόντα με δεῖ τεθνάναι. ἀλλά μοι, ὦ ἄνδρες, παραμείνατε τοσοῦτον χρόνον· οὐδὲν γὰρ κωλύει διαμυθολογῆσαι πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἕως ἔξεστιν. ὑμῖν [40a] γὰρ ὡς φίλοις οὖσιν ἐπιδεῖξαι ἐθέλω τὸ νυνί μοι συμβεβηκὸς τί ποτε νοεῖ. ἐμοὶ γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί — ὑμᾶς γὰρ δικαστὰς καλῶν ὀρθῶς ἂν καλοίην — θαυμάσιόν τι γέγονεν. ἡ γὰρ εἰωθυῖά μοι μαντικὴ ἡ τοῦ δαιμονίου ἐν μὲν τῷ πρόσθεν χρόνῳ παντὶ πάνυ πυκνὴ ἀεὶ ἦν καὶ πάνυ ἐπὶ σμικροῖς ἐναντιουμένη, εἴ τι μέλλοιμι μὴ ὀρθῶς πράξειν. νυνὶ δὲ συμβέβηκέ μοι ἅπερ ὁρᾶτε καὶ αὐτοί, ταυτὶ ἅ γε δὴ οἰηθείη ἄν τις καὶ νομίζεται ἔσχατα κακῶν εἶναι· ἐμοὶ δὲ [40b] οὔτε ἐξιόντι ἕωθεν οἴκοθεν ἠναντιώθη τὸ τοῦ θεοῦ σημεῖον, οὔτε ἡνίκα ἀνέβαινον ἐνταυθοῖ ἐπὶ τὸ δικαστήριον, οὔτε ἐν τῷ λόγῳ οὐδαμοῦ μέλλοντί τι ἐρεῖν. καίτοι ἐν ἄλλοις λόγοις πολλαχοῦ δή με ἐπέσχε λέγοντα μεταξύ· νῦν δὲ οὐδαμοῦ περὶ ταύτην τὴν πρᾶξιν οὔτ᾽ ἐν ἔργῳ οὐδενὶ οὔτ᾽ ἐν λόγῳ ἠναντίωταί μοι. τί οὖν αἴτιον εἶναι ὑπολαμβάνω; ἐγὼ ὑμῖν ἐρῶ· κινδυνεύει γάρ μοι τὸ συμβεβηκὸς τοῦτο ἀγαθὸν γεγονέναι, καὶ οὐκ ἔσθ᾽ ὅπως ἡμεῖς ὀρθῶς ὑπολαμβάνομεν, [40c] ὅσοι οἰόμεθα κακὸν εἶναι τὸ τεθνάναι. μέγα μοι τεκμήριον τούτου γέγονεν· οὐ γὰρ ἔσθ᾽ ὅπως οὐκ ἠναντιώθη ἄν μοι τὸ εἰωθὸς σημεῖον, εἰ μή τι ἔμελλον ἐγὼ ἀγαθὸν πράξειν. ἐννοήσωμεν δὲ καὶ τῇδε ὡς πολλὴ ἐλπίς ἐστιν ἀγαθὸν αὐτὸ εἶναι. δυοῖν γὰρ θάτερόν ἐστιν τὸ τεθνάναι· ἢ γὰρ οἷον μηδὲν εἶναι μηδὲ αἴσθησιν μηδεμίαν μηδενὸς ἔχειν τὸν τεθνεῶτα, ἢ κατὰ τὰ λεγόμενα μεταβολή τις τυγχάνει οὖσα καὶ μετοίκησις τῇ ψυχῇ τοῦ τόπου τοῦ ἐνθένδε εἰς ἄλλον τόπον. καὶ εἴτε δὴ μηδεμία αἴσθησίς ἐστιν ἀλλ᾽ [40d] οἷον ὕπνος ἐπειδάν τις καθεύδων μηδ᾽ ὄναρ μηδὲν ὁρᾷ, θαυμάσιον κέρδος ἂν εἴη ὁ θάνατος — ἐγὼ γὰρ ἂν οἶμαι, εἴ τινα ἐκλεξάμενον δέοι ταύτην τὴν νύκτα ἐν ᾗ οὕτω κατέδαρθεν ὥστε μηδὲ ὄναρ ἰδεῖν, καὶ τὰς ἄλλας νύκτας τε καὶ ἡμέρας τὰς τοῦ βίου τοῦ ἑαυτοῦ ἀντιπαραθέντα ταύτῃ τῇ νυκτὶ δέοι σκεψάμενον εἰπεῖν πόσας ἄμεινον καὶ ἥδιον ἡμέρας καὶ νύκτας ταύτης τῆς νυκτὸς βεβίωκεν ἐν τῷ ἑαυτοῦ βίῳ, οἶμαι ἂν μὴ ὅτι ἰδιώτην τινά, ἀλλὰ τὸν μέγαν βασιλέα εὐαριθμήτους [40e] ἂν εὑρεῖν αὐτὸν ταύτας πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας ἡμέρας καὶ νύκτας — εἰ οὖν τοιοῦτον ὁ θάνατός ἐστιν, κέρδος ἔγωγε λέγω· καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲν πλείων ὁ πᾶς χρόνος φαίνεται οὕτω δὴ εἶναι ἢ μία νύξ. εἰ δ᾽ αὖ οἷον ἀποδημῆσαί ἐστιν ὁ θάνατος ἐνθένδε εἰς ἄλλον τόπον, καὶ ἀληθῆ ἐστιν τὰ λεγόμενα, ὡς ἄρα ἐκεῖ εἰσι πάντες οἱ τεθνεῶτες, τί μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν τούτου εἴη ἄν, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί; εἰ γάρ τις [41a] ἀφικόμενος εἰς Ἅιδου, ἀπαλλαγεὶς τουτωνὶ τῶν φασκόντων δικαστῶν εἶναι, εὑρήσει τοὺς ὡς ἀληθῶς δικαστάς, οἵπερ καὶ λέγονται ἐκεῖ δικάζειν, Μίνως τε καὶ Ῥαδάμανθυς καὶ Αἰακὸς καὶ Τριπτόλεμος καὶ ἄλλοι ὅσοι τῶν ἡμιθέων δίκαιοι ἐγένοντο ἐν τῷ ἑαυτῶν βίῳ, ἆρα φαύλη ἂν εἴη ἡ ἀποδημία; ἢ αὖ Ὀρφεῖ συγγενέσθαι καὶ Μουσαίῳ καὶ Ἡσιόδῳ καὶ Ὁμήρῳ ἐπὶ πόσῳ ἄν τις δέξαιτ᾽ ἂν ὑμῶν; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ πολλάκις ἐθέλω τεθνάναι εἰ ταῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ἀληθῆ. ἐπεὶ [41b] ἔμοιγε καὶ αὐτῷ θαυμαστὴ ἂν εἴη ἡ διατριβὴ αὐτόθι, ὁπότε ἐντύχοιμι Παλαμήδει καὶ Αἴαντι τῷ Τελαμῶνος καὶ εἴ τις ἄλλος τῶν παλαιῶν διὰ κρίσιν ἄδικον τέθνηκεν, ἀντιπαραβάλλοντι τὰ ἐμαυτοῦ πάθη πρὸς τὰ ἐκείνων — ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, οὐκ ἂν ἀηδὲς εἴη — καὶ δὴ τὸ μέγιστον, τοὺς ἐκεῖ ἐξετάζοντα καὶ ἐρευνῶντα ὥσπερ τοὺς ἐνταῦθα διάγειν, τίς αὐτῶν σοφός ἐστιν καὶ τίς οἴεται μέν, ἔστιν δ᾽ οὔ. ἐπὶ πόσῳ δ᾽ ἄν τις, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί, δέξαιτο ἐξετάσαι τὸν ἐπὶ Τροίαν ἀγαγόντα [41c] τὴν πολλὴν στρατιὰν ἢ Ὀδυσσέα ἢ Σίσυφον ἢ ἄλλους μυρίους ἄν τις εἴποι καὶ ἄνδρας καὶ γυναῖκας, οἷς ἐκεῖ διαλέγεσθαι καὶ συνεῖναι καὶ ἐξετάζειν ἀμήχανον ἂν εἴη εὐδαιμονίας; πάντως οὐ δήπου τούτου γε ἕνεκα οἱ ἐκεῖ ἀποκτείνουσι· τά τε γὰρ ἄλλα εὐδαιμονέστεροί εἰσιν οἱ ἐκεῖ τῶν ἐνθάδε, καὶ ἤδη τὸν λοιπὸν χρόνον ἀθάνατοί εἰσιν, εἴπερ γε τὰ λεγόμενα ἀληθῆ.

ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑμᾶς χρή, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί, εὐέλπιδας εἶναι πρὸς τὸν θάνατον, καὶ ἕν τι τοῦτο διανοεῖσθαι ἀληθές, ὅτι [41d] οὐκ ἔστιν ἀνδρὶ ἀγαθῷ κακὸν οὐδὲν οὔτε ζῶντι οὔτε τελευτήσαντι, οὐδὲ ἀμελεῖται ὑπὸ θεῶν τὰ τούτου πράγματα· οὐδὲ τὰ ἐμὰ νῦν ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου γέγονεν, ἀλλά μοι δῆλόν ἐστι τοῦτο, ὅτι ἤδη τεθνάναι καὶ ἀπηλλάχθαι πραγμάτων βέλτιον ἦν μοι. διὰ τοῦτο καὶ ἐμὲ οὐδαμοῦ ἀπέτρεψεν τὸ σημεῖον, καὶ ἔγωγε τοῖς καταψηφισαμένοις μου καὶ τοῖς κατηγόροις οὐ πάνυ χαλεπαίνω. καίτοι οὐ ταύτῃ τῇ διανοίᾳ κατεψηφίζοντό μου καὶ κατηγόρουν, ἀλλ᾽ οἰόμενοι βλάπτειν· [41e] τοῦτο αὐτοῖς ἄξιον μέμφεσθαι. τοσόνδε μέντοι αὐτῶν δέομαι· τοὺς ὑεῖς μου, ἐπειδὰν ἡβήσωσι, τιμωρήσασθε, ὦ ἄνδρες, ταὐτὰ ταῦτα λυποῦντες ἅπερ ἐγὼ ὑμᾶς ἐλύπουν, ἐὰν ὑμῖν δοκῶσιν ἢ χρημάτων ἢ ἄλλου του πρότερον ἐπιμελεῖσθαι ἢ ἀρετῆς, καὶ ἐὰν δοκῶσί τι εἶναι μηδὲν ὄντες, ὀνειδίζετε αὐτοῖς ὥσπερ ἐγὼ ὑμῖν, ὅτι οὐκ ἐπιμελοῦνται ὧν δεῖ, καὶ οἴονταί τι εἶναι ὄντες οὐδενὸς ἄξιοι. καὶ ἐὰν [42a] ταῦτα ποιῆτε, δίκαια πεπονθὼς ἐγὼ ἔσομαι ὑφ᾽ ὑμῶν αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ ὑεῖς. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἤδη ὥρα ἀπιέναι, ἐμοὶ μὲν ἀποθανουμένῳ, ὑμῖν δὲ βιωσομένοις· ὁπότεροι δὲ ἡμῶν ἔρχονται ἐπὶ ἄμεινον πρᾶγμα, ἄδηλον παντὶ πλὴν ἢ τῷ θεῷ.

CRITO

Σωκράτης

[43a] τί τηνικάδε ἀφῖξαι, ὦ Κρίτων; ἢ οὐ πρῲ ἔτι ἐστίν;

Κρίτων

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

πηνίκα μάλιστα;

Κρίτων

ὄρθρος βαθύς.

Σωκράτης

θαυμάζω ὅπως ἠθέλησέ σοι ὁ τοῦ δεσμωτηρίου φύλαξ ὑπακοῦσαι.

Κρίτων

συνήθης ἤδη μοί ἐστιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, διὰ τὸ πολλάκις δεῦρο φοιτᾶν, καί τι καὶ εὐεργέτηται ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ.

Σωκράτης

ἄρτι δὲ ἥκεις ἢ πάλαι;

Κρίτων

ἐπιεικῶς πάλαι.

Σωκράτης

[43b] εἶτα πῶς οὐκ εὐθὺς ἐπήγειράς με, ἀλλὰ σιγῇ παρακάθησαι;

Κρίτων

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδ᾽ ἂν αὐτὸς ἤθελον ἐν τοσαύτῃ τε ἀγρυπνίᾳ καὶ λύπῃ εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ σοῦ πάλαι θαυμάζω αἰσθανόμενος ὡς ἡδέως καθεύδεις· καὶ ἐπίτηδές σε οὐκ ἤγειρον ἵνα ὡς ἥδιστα διάγῃς. καὶ πολλάκις μὲν δή σε καὶ πρότερον ἐν παντὶ τῷ βίῳ ηὐδαιμόνισα τοῦ τρόπου, πολὺ δὲ μάλιστα ἐν τῇ νῦν παρεστώσῃ συμφορᾷ, ὡς ῥᾳδίως αὐτὴν καὶ πρᾴως φέρεις.

Σωκράτης

καὶ γὰρ ἄν, ὦ Κρίτων, πλημμελὲς εἴη ἀγανακτεῖν τηλικοῦτον ὄντα εἰ δεῖ ἤδη τελευτᾶν.

Κρίτων

[43c] καὶ ἄλλοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τηλικοῦτοι ἐν τοιαύταις συμφοραῖς ἁλίσκονται, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν αὐτοὺς ἐπιλύεται ἡ ἡλικία τὸ μὴ οὐχὶ ἀγανακτεῖν τῇ παρούσῃ τύχῃ.

Σωκράτης

ἔστι ταῦτα. ἀλλὰ τί δὴ οὕτω πρῲ ἀφῖξαι;

Κρίτων

ἀγγελίαν, ὦ Σώκρατες, φέρων χαλεπήν, οὐ σοί, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοὶ καὶ τοῖς σοῖς ἐπιτηδείοις πᾶσιν καὶ χαλεπὴν καὶ βαρεῖαν, ἣν ἐγώ, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκῶ, ἐν τοῖς βαρύτατ᾽ ἂν ἐνέγκαιμι.

Σωκράτης

τίνα ταύτην; ἢ τὸ πλοῖον ἀφῖκται ἐκ Δήλου, οὗ δεῖ [43d] ἀφικομένου τεθνάναι με;

Κρίτων

οὔτοι δὴ ἀφῖκται, ἀλλὰ δοκεῖν μέν μοι ἥξει τήμερον ἐξ ὧν ἀπαγγέλλουσιν ἥκοντές τινες ἀπὸ Σουνίου καὶ καταλιπόντες ἐκεῖ αὐτό. δῆλον οὖν ἐκ τούτων [τῶν ἀγγέλων] ὅτι ἥξει τήμερον, καὶ ἀνάγκη δὴ εἰς αὔριον ἔσται, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸν βίον σε τελευτᾶν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Κρίτων, τύχῃ ἀγαθῇ, εἰ ταύτῃ τοῖς θεοῖς φίλον, ταύτῃ ἔστω· οὐ μέντοι οἶμαι ἥξειν αὐτὸ τήμερον.

[44a] Κρίτων

πόθεν τοῦτο τεκμαίρῃ;

Σωκράτης

ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ. τῇ γάρ που ὑστεραίᾳ δεῖ με ἀποθνῄσκειν ἢ ᾗ ἂν ἔλθῃ τὸ πλοῖον.

Κρίτων

φασί γέ τοι δὴ οἱ τούτων κύριοι.

Σωκράτης

οὐ τοίνυν τῆς ἐπιούσης ἡμέρας οἶμαι αὐτὸ ἥξειν ἀλλὰ τῆς ἑτέρας. τεκμαίρομαι δὲ ἔκ τινος ἐνυπνίου ὃ ἑώρακα ὀλίγον πρότερον ταύτης τῆς νυκτός· καὶ κινδυνεύεις ἐν καιρῷ τινι οὐκ ἐγεῖραί με.

Κρίτων

ἦν δὲ δὴ τί τὸ ἐνύπνιον;

Σωκράτης

ἐδόκει τίς μοι γυνὴ προσελθοῦσα καλὴ καὶ εὐειδής, [44b] λευκὰ ἱμάτια ἔχουσα, καλέσαι με καὶ εἰπεῖν· “ὦ Σώκρατες,

ἤματί κεν τριτάτῳ Φθίην ἐρίβωλον ἵκοιο”.

Κρίτων

ἄτοπον τὸ ἐνύπνιον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ἐναργὲς μὲν οὖν, ὥς γέ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Κρίτων.

Κρίτων

λίαν γε, ὡς ἔοικεν. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ δαιμόνιε Σώκρατες, ἔτι καὶ νῦν ἐμοὶ πιθοῦ καὶ σώθητι· ὡς ἐμοί, ἐὰν σὺ ἀποθάνῃς, οὐ μία συμφορά ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ χωρὶς μὲν τοῦ ἐστερῆσθαι τοιούτου ἐπιτηδείου οἷον ἐγὼ οὐδένα μή ποτε εὑρήσω, ἔτι δὲ καὶ πολλοῖς δόξω, οἳ ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ μὴ σαφῶς ἴσασιν, [44c] ὡς οἷός τ᾽ ὤν σε σῴζειν εἰ ἤθελον ἀναλίσκειν χρήματα, ἀμελῆσαι. καίτοι τίς ἂν αἰσχίων εἴη ταύτης δόξα ἢ δοκεῖν χρήματα περὶ πλείονος ποιεῖσθαι ἢ φίλους; οὐ γὰρ πείσονται οἱ πολλοὶ ὡς σὺ αὐτὸς οὐκ ἠθέλησας ἀπιέναι ἐνθένδε ἡμῶν προθυμουμένων.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τί ἡμῖν, ὦ μακάριε Κρίτων, οὕτω τῆς τῶν πολλῶν δόξης μέλει; οἱ γὰρ ἐπιεικέστατοι, ὧν μᾶλλον ἄξιον φροντίζειν, ἡγήσονται αὐτὰ οὕτω πεπρᾶχθαι ὥσπερ ἂν πραχθῇ.

Κρίτων

[44d] ἀλλ᾽ ὁρᾷς δὴ ὅτι ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ τῆς τῶν πολλῶν δόξης μέλειν. αὐτὰ δὲ δῆλα τὰ παρόντα νυνὶ ὅτι οἷοί τ᾽ εἰσὶν οἱ πολλοὶ οὐ τὰ σμικρότατα τῶν κακῶν ἐξεργάζεσθαι ἀλλὰ τὰ μέγιστα σχεδόν, ἐάν τις ἐν αὐτοῖς διαβεβλημένος ᾖ.

Σωκράτης

εἰ γὰρ ὤφελον, ὦ Κρίτων, οἷοί τ᾽ εἶναι οἱ πολλοὶ τὰ μέγιστα κακὰ ἐργάζεσθαι, ἵνα οἷοί τ᾽ ἦσαν καὶ ἀγαθὰ τὰ μέγιστα, καὶ καλῶς ἂν εἶχεν. νῦν δὲ οὐδέτερα οἷοί τε· οὔτε γὰρ φρόνιμον οὔτε ἄφρονα δυνατοὶ ποιῆσαι, ποιοῦσι δὲ τοῦτο ὅτι ἂν τύχωσι.

Κρίτων

[44e] ταῦτα μὲν δὴ οὕτως ἐχέτω· τάδε δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰπέ μοι. ἆρά γε μὴ ἐμοῦ προμηθῇ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδείων μή, ἐὰν σὺ ἐνθένδε ἐξέλθῃς, οἱ συκοφάνται ἡμῖν πράγματα παρέχωσιν ὡς σὲ ἐνθένδε ἐκκλέψασιν, καὶ ἀναγκασθῶμεν ἢ καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν οὐσίαν ἀποβαλεῖν ἢ συχνὰ χρήματα, ἢ καὶ ἄλλο τι πρὸς τούτοις παθεῖν; εἰ γάρ τι [45a] τοιοῦτον φοβῇ, ἔασον αὐτὸ χαίρειν· ἡμεῖς γάρ που δίκαιοί ἐσμεν σώσαντές σε κινδυνεύειν τοῦτον τὸν κίνδυνον καὶ ἐὰν δέῃ ἔτι τούτου μείζω. ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοὶ πείθου καὶ μὴ ἄλλως ποίει.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ταῦτα προμηθοῦμαι, ὦ Κρίτων, καὶ ἄλλα πολλά.

Κρίτων

μήτε τοίνυν ταῦτα φοβοῦ — καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲ πολὺ τἀργύριόν ἐστιν ὃ θέλουσι λαβόντες τινὲς σῶσαί σε καὶ ἐξαγαγεῖν ἐνθένδε. ἔπειτα οὐχ ὁρᾷς τούτους τοὺς συκοφάντας ὡς εὐτελεῖς, καὶ οὐδὲν ἂν δέοι ἐπ᾽ αὐτοὺς πολλοῦ ἀργυρίου; [45b] σοὶ δὲ ὑπάρχει μὲν τὰ ἐμὰ χρήματα, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, ἱκανά· ἔπειτα καὶ εἴ τι ἐμοῦ κηδόμενος οὐκ οἴει δεῖν ἀναλίσκειν τἀμά, ξένοι οὗτοι ἐνθάδε ἕτοιμοι ἀναλίσκειν· εἷς δὲ καὶ κεκόμικεν ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἀργύριον ἱκανόν, Σιμμίας ὁ Θηβαῖος, ἕτοιμος δὲ καὶ Κέβης καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ πάνυ. ὥστε, ὅπερ λέγω, μήτε ταῦτα φοβούμενος ἀποκάμῃς σαυτὸν σῶσαι, μήτε, ὃ ἔλεγες ἐν τῷ δικαστηρίῳ, δυσχερές σοι γενέσθω ὅτι οὐκ ἂν ἔχοις ἐξελθὼν ὅτι χρῷο σαυτῷ· πολλαχοῦ [45c] μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἄλλοσε ὅποι ἂν ἀφίκῃ ἀγαπήσουσί σε· ἐὰν δὲ βούλῃ εἰς Θετταλίαν ἰέναι, εἰσὶν ἐμοὶ ἐκεῖ ξένοι οἵ σε περὶ πολλοῦ ποιήσονται καὶ ἀσφάλειάν σοι παρέξονται, ὥστε σε μηδένα λυπεῖν τῶν κατὰ Θετταλίαν.

ἔτι δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδὲ δίκαιόν μοι δοκεῖς ἐπιχειρεῖν πρᾶγμα, σαυτὸν προδοῦναι, ἐξὸν σωθῆναι, καὶ τοιαῦτα σπεύδεις περὶ σαυτὸν γενέσθαι ἅπερ ἂν καὶ οἱ ἐχθροί σου σπεύσαιέν τε καὶ ἔσπευσαν σὲ διαφθεῖραι βουλόμενοι. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις καὶ τοὺς ὑεῖς τοὺς σαυτοῦ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖς προδιδόναι, οὕς σοι [45d] ἐξὸν καὶ ἐκθρέψαι καὶ ἐκπαιδεῦσαι οἰχήσῃ καταλιπών, καὶ τὸ σὸν μέρος ὅτι ἂν τύχωσι τοῦτο πράξουσιν· τεύξονται δέ, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, τοιούτων οἷάπερ εἴωθεν γίγνεσθαι ἐν ταῖς ὀρφανίαις περὶ τοὺς ὀρφανούς. ἢ γὰρ οὐ χρὴ ποιεῖσθαι παῖδας ἢ συνδιαταλαιπωρεῖν καὶ τρέφοντα καὶ παιδεύοντα, σὺ δέ μοι δοκεῖς τὰ ῥᾳθυμότατα αἱρεῖσθαι. χρὴ δέ, ἅπερ ἂν ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς καὶ ἀνδρεῖος ἕλοιτο, ταῦτα αἱρεῖσθαι, φάσκοντά γε δὴ ἀρετῆς διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου ἐπιμελεῖσθαι· ὡς ἔγωγε καὶ [45e] ὑπὲρ σοῦ καὶ ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν τῶν σῶν ἐπιτηδείων αἰσχύνομαι μὴ δόξῃ ἅπαν τὸ πρᾶγμα τὸ περὶ σὲ ἀνανδρίᾳ τινὶ τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ πεπρᾶχθαι, καὶ ἡ εἴσοδος τῆς δίκης εἰς τὸ δικαστήριον ὡς εἰσῆλθεν ἐξὸν μὴ εἰσελθεῖν, καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ ἀγὼν τῆς δίκης ὡς ἐγένετο, καὶ τὸ τελευταῖον δὴ τουτί, ὥσπερ κατάγελως τῆς πράξεως, κακίᾳ τινὶ καὶ ἀνανδρίᾳ τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ διαπεφευγέναι [46a] ἡμᾶς δοκεῖν, οἵτινές σε οὐχὶ ἐσώσαμεν οὐδὲ σὺ σαυτόν, οἷόν τε ὂν καὶ δυνατὸν εἴ τι καὶ μικρὸν ἡμῶν ὄφελος ἦν. ταῦτα οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅρα μὴ ἅμα τῷ κακῷ καὶ αἰσχρὰ ᾖ σοί τε καὶ ἡμῖν. ἀλλὰ βουλεύου — μᾶλλον δὲ οὐδὲ βουλεύεσθαι ἔτι ὥρα ἀλλὰ βεβουλεῦσθαι — μία δὲ βουλή· τῆς γὰρ ἐπιούσης νυκτὸς πάντα ταῦτα δεῖ πεπρᾶχθαι, εἰ δ᾽ ἔτι περιμενοῦμεν, ἀδύνατον καὶ οὐκέτι οἷόν τε. ἀλλὰ παντὶ τρόπῳ, ὦ Σώκρατες, πείθου μοι καὶ μηδαμῶς ἄλλως ποίει.

Σωκράτης

[46b] ὦ φίλε Κρίτων, ἡ προθυμία σου πολλοῦ ἀξία εἰ μετά τινος ὀρθότητος εἴη· εἰ δὲ μή, ὅσῳ μείζων τοσούτῳ χαλεπωτέρα. σκοπεῖσθαι οὖν χρὴ ἡμᾶς εἴτε ταῦτα πρακτέον εἴτε μή· ὡς ἐγὼ οὐ νῦν πρῶτον ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀεὶ τοιοῦτος οἷος τῶν ἐμῶν μηδενὶ ἄλλῳ πείθεσθαι ἢ τῷ λόγῳ ὃς ἄν μοι λογιζομένῳ βέλτιστος φαίνηται. τοὺς δὴ λόγους οὓς ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν ἔλεγον οὐ δύναμαι νῦν ἐκβαλεῖν, ἐπειδή μοι ἥδε ἡ τύχη γέγονεν, ἀλλὰ σχεδόν τι ὅμοιοι φαίνονταί μοι, [46c] καὶ τοὺς αὐτοὺς πρεσβεύω καὶ τιμῶ οὕσπερ καὶ πρότερον· ὧν ἐὰν μὴ βελτίω ἔχωμεν λέγειν ἐν τῷ παρόντι, εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι οὐ μή σοι συγχωρήσω, οὐδ᾽ ἂν πλείω τῶν νῦν παρόντων ἡ τῶν πολλῶν δύναμις ὥσπερ παῖδας ἡμᾶς μορμολύττηται, δεσμοὺς καὶ θανάτους ἐπιπέμπουσα καὶ χρημάτων ἀφαιρέσεις. πῶς οὖν ἂν μετριώτατα σκοποίμεθα αὐτά; εἰ πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἀναλάβοιμεν, ὃν σὺ λέγεις περὶ τῶν δοξῶν. πότερον καλῶς ἐλέγετο ἑκάστοτε ἢ οὔ, [46d] ὅτι ταῖς μὲν δεῖ τῶν δοξῶν προσέχειν τὸν νοῦν, ταῖς δὲ οὔ; ἢ πρὶν μὲν ἐμὲ δεῖν ἀποθνῄσκειν καλῶς ἐλέγετο, νῦν δὲ κατάδηλος ἄρα ἐγένετο ὅτι ἄλλως ἕνεκα λόγου ἐλέγετο, ἦν δὲ παιδιὰ καὶ φλυαρία ὡς ἀληθῶς; ἐπιθυμῶ δ᾽ ἔγωγ᾽ ἐπισκέψασθαι, ὦ Κρίτων, κοινῇ μετὰ σοῦ εἴ τί μοι ἀλλοιότερος φανεῖται, ἐπειδὴ ὧδε ἔχω, ἢ ὁ αὐτός, καὶ ἐάσομεν χαίρειν ἢ πεισόμεθα αὐτῷ. ἐλέγετο δέ πως, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἑκάστοτε ὧδε ὑπὸ τῶν οἰομένων τὶ λέγειν, ὥσπερ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, ὅτι τῶν δοξῶν ἃς οἱ ἄνθρωποι [46e] δοξάζουσιν δέοι τὰς μὲν περὶ πολλοῦ ποιεῖσθαι, τὰς δὲ μή. τοῦτο πρὸς θεῶν, ὦ Κρίτων, οὐ δοκεῖ καλῶς σοι λέγεσθαι; — σὺ γάρ, ὅσα γε τἀνθρώπεια, ἐκτὸς εἶ τοῦ μέλλειν ἀποθνῄσκειν [47a] αὔριον, καὶ οὐκ ἂν σὲ παρακρούοι ἡ παροῦσα συμφορά· σκόπει δή — οὐχ ἱκανῶς δοκεῖ σοι λέγεσθαι ὅτι οὐ πάσας χρὴ τὰς δόξας τῶν ἀνθρώπων τιμᾶν ἀλλὰ τὰς μέν, τὰς δ᾽ οὔ, οὐδὲ πάντων ἀλλὰ τῶν μέν, τῶν δ᾽ οὔ; τί φῄς; ταῦτα οὐχὶ καλῶς λέγεται;

Κρίτων

καλῶς.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τὰς μὲν χρηστὰς τιμᾶν, τὰς δὲ πονηρὰς μή;

Κρίτων

ναί.

Σωκράτης

χρησταὶ δὲ οὐχ αἱ τῶν φρονίμων, πονηραὶ δὲ αἱ τῶν ἀφρόνων;

Κρίτων

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

φέρε δή, πῶς αὖ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐλέγετο; γυμναζόμενος [47b] ἀνὴρ καὶ τοῦτο πράττων πότερον παντὸς ἀνδρὸς ἐπαίνῳ καὶ ψόγῳ καὶ δόξῃ τὸν νοῦν προσέχει, ἢ ἑνὸς μόνου ἐκείνου ὃς ἂν τυγχάνῃ ἰατρὸς ἢ παιδοτρίβης ὤν;

Κρίτων

ἑνὸς μόνου.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν φοβεῖσθαι χρὴ τοὺς ψόγους καὶ ἀσπάζεσθαι τοὺς ἐπαίνους τοὺς τοῦ ἑνὸς ἐκείνου ἀλλὰ μὴ τοὺς τῶν πολλῶν.

Κρίτων

δῆλα δή.

Σωκράτης

ταύτῃ ἄρα αὐτῷ πρακτέον καὶ γυμναστέον καὶ ἐδεστέον γε καὶ ποτέον, ᾗ ἂν τῷ ἑνὶ δοκῇ, τῷ ἐπιστάτῃ καὶ ἐπαΐοντι, μᾶλλον ἢ ᾗ σύμπασι τοῖς ἄλλοις.

Κρίτων

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης

[47c] εἶεν. ἀπειθήσας δὲ τῷ ἑνὶ καὶ ἀτιμάσας αὐτοῦ τὴν δόξαν καὶ τοὺς ἐπαίνους, τιμήσας δὲ τοὺς τῶν πολλῶν [λόγους] καὶ μηδὲν ἐπαϊόντων, ἆρα οὐδὲν κακὸν πείσεται;

Κρίτων

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

τί δ᾽ ἔστι τὸ κακὸν τοῦτο, καὶ ποῖ τείνει, καὶ εἰς τί τῶν τοῦ ἀπειθοῦντος;

Κρίτων

δῆλον ὅτι εἰς τὸ σῶμα· τοῦτο γὰρ διόλλυσι.

Σωκράτης

καλῶς λέγεις. οὐκοῦν καὶ τἆλλα, ὦ Κρίτων, οὕτως, ἵνα μὴ πάντα διΐωμεν, καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων καὶ αἰσχρῶν καὶ καλῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ κακῶν, περὶ ὧν νῦν ἡ βουλὴ ἡμῖν ἐστιν, πότερον τῇ τῶν πολλῶν δόξῃ [47d] δεῖ ἡμᾶς ἕπεσθαι καὶ φοβεῖσθαι αὐτὴν ἢ τῇ τοῦ ἑνός, εἴ τίς ἐστιν ἐπαΐων, ὃν δεῖ καὶ αἰσχύνεσθαι καὶ φοβεῖσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ σύμπαντας τοὺς ἄλλους; ᾧ εἰ μὴ ἀκολουθήσομεν, διαφθεροῦμεν ἐκεῖνο καὶ λωβησόμεθα, ὃ τῷ μὲν δικαίῳ βέλτιον ἐγίγνετο τῷ δὲ ἀδίκῳ ἀπώλλυτο. ἢ οὐδέν ἐστι τοῦτο;

Κρίτων

οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δή, ἐὰν τὸ ὑπὸ τοῦ ὑγιεινοῦ μὲν βέλτιον γιγνόμενον, ὑπὸ τοῦ νοσώδους δὲ διαφθειρόμενον διολέσωμεν πειθόμενοι μὴ τῇ τῶν ἐπαϊόντων δόξῃ, ἆρα βιωτὸν ἡμῖν ἐστιν [47e] διεφθαρμένου αὐτοῦ; ἔστι δέ που τοῦτο σῶμα· ἢ οὐχί;

Κρίτων

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν βιωτὸν ἡμῖν ἐστιν μετὰ μοχθηροῦ καὶ διεφθαρμένου σώματος;

Κρίτων

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μετ᾽ ἐκείνου ἄρ᾽ ἡμῖν βιωτὸν διεφθαρμένου, ᾧ τὸ ἄδικον μὲν λωβᾶται, τὸ δὲ δίκαιον ὀνίνησιν; ἢ φαυλότερον ἡγούμεθα εἶναι τοῦ σώματος ἐκεῖνο, ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστὶ τῶν [48a] ἡμετέρων, περὶ ὃ ἥ τε ἀδικία καὶ ἡ δικαιοσύνη ἐστίν;

Κρίτων

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τιμιώτερον;

Κρίτων

πολύ γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα, ὦ βέλτιστε, πάνυ ἡμῖν οὕτω φροντιστέον τί ἐροῦσιν οἱ πολλοὶ ἡμᾶς, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι ὁ ἐπαΐων περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων, ὁ εἷς καὶ αὐτὴ ἡ ἀλήθεια. ὥστε πρῶτον μὲν ταύτῃ οὐκ ὀρθῶς εἰσηγῇ, εἰσηγούμενος τῆς τῶν πολλῶν δόξης δεῖν ἡμᾶς φροντίζειν περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ καλῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων. “ἀλλὰ μὲν δή”, φαίη γ᾽ ἄν τις, “οἷοί τέ εἰσιν ἡμᾶς οἱ πολλοὶ ἀποκτεινύναι”.

Κρίτων

[48b] δῆλα δὴ καὶ ταῦτα· φαίη γὰρ ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ θαυμάσιε, οὗτός τε ὁ λόγος ὃν διεληλύθαμεν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ ἔτι ὅμοιος εἶναι καὶ πρότερον· καὶ τόνδε δὲ αὖ σκόπει εἰ ἔτι μένει ἡμῖν ἢ οὔ, ὅτι οὐ τὸ ζῆν περὶ πλείστου ποιητέον ἀλλὰ τὸ εὖ ζῆν.

Κρίτων

ἀλλὰ μένει.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ εὖ καὶ καλῶς καὶ δικαίως ὅτι ταὐτόν ἐστιν, μένει ἢ οὐ μένει;

Κρίτων

μένει.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐκ τῶν ὁμολογουμένων τοῦτο σκεπτέον, πότερον δίκαιον ἐμὲ ἐνθένδε πειρᾶσθαι ἐξιέναι μὴ ἀφιέντων [48c] Ἀθηναίων ἢ οὐ δίκαιον· καὶ ἐὰν μὲν φαίνηται δίκαιον, πειρώμεθα, εἰ δὲ μή, ἐῶμεν. ἃς δὲ σὺ λέγεις τὰς σκέψεις περί τε ἀναλώσεως χρημάτων καὶ δόξης καὶ παίδων τροφῆς, μὴ ὡς ἀληθῶς ταῦτα, ὦ Κρίτων, σκέμματα ᾖ τῶν ῥᾳδίως ἀποκτεινύντων καὶ ἀναβιωσκομένων γ᾽ ἄν, εἰ οἷοί τ᾽ ἦσαν, οὐδενὶ ξὺν νῷ, τούτων τῶν πολλῶν. ἡμῖν δ᾽, ἐπειδὴ ὁ λόγος οὕτως αἱρεῖ, μὴ οὐδὲν ἄλλο σκεπτέον ᾖ ἢ ὅπερ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, πότερον δίκαια πράξομεν καὶ χρήματα τελοῦντες τούτοις [48d] τοῖς ἐμὲ ἐνθένδε ἐξάξουσιν καὶ χάριτας, καὶ αὐτοὶ ἐξάγοντές τε καὶ ἐξαγόμενοι, ἢ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ ἀδικήσομεν πάντα ταῦτα ποιοῦντες· κἂν φαινώμεθα ἄδικα αὐτὰ ἐργαζόμενοι, μὴ οὐ δέῃ ὑπολογίζεσθαι οὔτ᾽ εἰ ἀποθνῄσκειν δεῖ παραμένοντας καὶ ἡσυχίαν ἄγοντας, οὔτε ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν πάσχειν πρὸ τοῦ ἀδικεῖν.

Κρίτων

καλῶς μέν μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅρα δὲ τί δρῶμεν.

Σωκράτης

σκοπῶμεν, ὦ ἀγαθέ, κοινῇ, καὶ εἴ πῃ ἔχεις ἀντιλέγειν [48e] ἐμοῦ λέγοντος, ἀντίλεγε καί σοι πείσομαι· εἰ δὲ μή, παῦσαι ἤδη, ὦ μακάριε, πολλάκις μοι λέγων τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, ὡς χρὴ ἐνθένδε ἀκόντων Ἀθηναίων ἐμὲ ἀπιέναι· ὡς ἐγὼ περὶ πολλοῦ ποιοῦμαι πείσας σε ταῦτα πράττειν, ἀλλὰ μὴ ἄκοντος. ὅρα δὲ δὴ τῆς σκέψεως τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐάν σοι [49a] ἱκανῶς λέγηται, καὶ πειρῶ ἀποκρίνεσθαι τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ᾗ ἂν μάλιστα οἴῃ.

Κρίτων

ἀλλὰ πειράσομαι.

Σωκράτης

οὐδενὶ τρόπῳ φαμὲν ἑκόντας ἀδικητέον εἶναι, ἢ τινὶ μὲν ἀδικητέον τρόπῳ τινὶ δὲ οὔ; ἢ οὐδαμῶς τό γε ἀδικεῖν οὔτε ἀγαθὸν οὔτε καλόν, ὡς πολλάκις ἡμῖν καὶ ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν χρόνῳ ὡμολογήθη; [ὅπερ καὶ ἄρτι ἐλέγετο] ἢ πᾶσαι ἡμῖν ἐκεῖναι αἱ πρόσθεν ὁμολογίαι ἐν ταῖσδε ταῖς ὀλίγαις ἡμέραις ἐκκεχυμέναι εἰσίν, καὶ πάλαι, ὦ Κρίτων, ἄρα τηλικοίδε [γέροντες] ἄνδρες πρὸς ἀλλήλους σπουδῇ διαλεγόμενοι [49b] ἐλάθομεν ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς παίδων οὐδὲν διαφέροντες; ἢ παντὸς μᾶλλον οὕτως ἔχει ὥσπερ τότε ἐλέγετο ἡμῖν· εἴτε φασὶν οἱ πολλοὶ εἴτε μή, καὶ εἴτε δεῖ ἡμᾶς ἔτι τῶνδε χαλεπώτερα πάσχειν εἴτε καὶ πρᾳότερα, ὅμως τό γε ἀδικεῖν τῷ ἀδικοῦντι καὶ κακὸν καὶ αἰσχρὸν τυγχάνει ὂν παντὶ τρόπῳ; φαμὲν ἢ οὔ;

Κρίτων

φαμέν.

Σωκράτης

οὐδαμῶς ἄρα δεῖ ἀδικεῖν.

Κρίτων

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲ ἀδικούμενον ἄρα ἀνταδικεῖν, ὡς οἱ πολλοὶ οἴονται, ἐπειδή γε οὐδαμῶς δεῖ ἀδικεῖν.

Κρίτων

[49c] οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ δή; κακουργεῖν δεῖ, ὦ Κρίτων, ἢ οὔ;

Κρίτων

οὐ δεῖ δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; ἀντικακουργεῖν κακῶς πάσχοντα, ὡς οἱ πολλοί φασιν, δίκαιον ἢ οὐ δίκαιον;

Κρίτων

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

τὸ γάρ που κακῶς ποιεῖν ἀνθρώπους τοῦ ἀδικεῖν οὐδὲν διαφέρει.

Κρίτων

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

οὔτε ἄρα ἀνταδικεῖν δεῖ οὔτε κακῶς ποιεῖν οὐδένα ἀνθρώπων, οὐδ᾽ ἂν ὁτιοῦν πάσχῃ ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν. καὶ ὅρα, ὦ [49d] Κρίτων, ταῦτα καθομολογῶν, ὅπως μὴ παρὰ δόξαν ὁμολογῇς· οἶδα γὰρ ὅτι ὀλίγοις τισὶ ταῦτα καὶ δοκεῖ καὶ δόξει. οἷς οὖν οὕτω δέδοκται καὶ οἷς μή, τούτοις οὐκ ἔστι κοινὴ βουλή, ἀλλὰ ἀνάγκη τούτους ἀλλήλων καταφρονεῖν ὁρῶντας ἀλλήλων τὰ βουλεύματα. σκόπει δὴ οὖν καὶ σὺ εὖ μάλα πότερον κοινωνεῖς καὶ συνδοκεῖ σοι καὶ ἀρχώμεθα ἐντεῦθεν βουλευόμενοι, ὡς οὐδέποτε ὀρθῶς ἔχοντος οὔτε τοῦ ἀδικεῖν οὔτε τοῦ ἀνταδικεῖν οὔτε κακῶς πάσχοντα ἀμύνεσθαι ἀντιδρῶντα κακῶς, ἢ ἀφίστασαι καὶ οὐ κοινωνεῖς τῆς ἀρχῆς; [49e] ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ καὶ πάλαι οὕτω καὶ νῦν ἔτι δοκεῖ, σοὶ δὲ εἴ πῃ ἄλλῃ δέδοκται, λέγε καὶ δίδασκε. εἰ δ᾽ ἐμμένεις τοῖς πρόσθε, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἄκουε.

Κρίτων

ἀλλ᾽ ἐμμένω τε καὶ συνδοκεῖ μοι· ἀλλὰ λέγε.

Σωκράτης

λέγω δὴ αὖ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, μᾶλλον δ᾽ ἐρωτῶ· πότερον ἃ ἄν τις ὁμολογήσῃ τῳ δίκαια ὄντα ποιητέον ἢ ἐξαπατητέον;

Κρίτων

ποιητέον.

Σωκράτης

ἐκ τούτων δὴ ἄθρει. ἀπιόντες ἐνθένδε ἡμεῖς μὴ [50a] πείσαντες τὴν πόλιν πότερον κακῶς τινας ποιοῦμεν, καὶ ταῦτα οὓς ἥκιστα δεῖ, ἢ οὔ; καὶ ἐμμένομεν οἷς ὡμολογήσαμεν δικαίοις οὖσιν ἢ οὔ;

Κρίτων

οὐκ ἔχω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀποκρίνασθαι πρὸς ὃ ἐρωτᾷς· οὐ γὰρ ἐννοῶ.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε σκόπει. εἰ μέλλουσιν ἡμῖν ἐνθένδε εἴτε ἀποδιδράσκειν, εἴθ᾽ ὅπως δεῖ ὀνομάσαι τοῦτο, ἐλθόντες οἱ νόμοι καὶ τὸ κοινὸν τῆς πόλεως ἐπιστάντες ἔροιντο· “εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τί ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ποιεῖν; ἄλλο τι ἢ τούτῳ [50b] τῷ ἔργῳ ᾧ ἐπιχειρεῖς διανοῇ τούς τε νόμους ἡμᾶς ἀπολέσαι καὶ σύμπασαν τὴν πόλιν τὸ σὸν μέρος; ἢ δοκεῖ σοι οἷόν τε ἔτι ἐκείνην τὴν πόλιν εἶναι καὶ μὴ ἀνατετράφθαι, ἐν ᾗ ἂν αἱ γενόμεναι δίκαι μηδὲν ἰσχύωσιν ἀλλὰ ὑπὸ ἰδιωτῶν ἄκυροί τε γίγνωνται καὶ διαφθείρωνται;” τί ἐροῦμεν, ὦ Κρίτων, πρὸς ταῦτα καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα; πολλὰ γὰρ ἄν τις ἔχοι, ἄλλως τε καὶ ῥήτωρ, εἰπεῖν ὑπὲρ τούτου τοῦ νόμου ἀπολλυμένου ὃς τὰς δίκας τὰς δικασθείσας προστάττει κυρίας εἶναι. [50c] ἢ ἐροῦμεν πρὸς αὐτοὺς ὅτι “ἠδίκει γὰρ ἡμᾶς ἡ πόλις καὶ οὐκ ὀρθῶς τὴν δίκην ἔκρινεν;” ταῦτα ἢ τί ἐροῦμεν;

Κρίτων

ταῦτα νὴ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν ἂν εἴπωσιν οἱ νόμοι· “ὦ Σώκρατες, ἦ καὶ ταῦτα ὡμολόγητο ἡμῖν τε καὶ σοί, ἢ ἐμμενεῖν ταῖς δίκαις αἷς ἂν ἡ πόλις δικάζῃ;” εἰ οὖν αὐτῶν θαυμάζοιμεν λεγόντων, ἴσως ἂν εἴποιεν ὅτι “ὦ Σώκρατες, μὴ θαύμαζε τὰ λεγόμενα ἀλλ᾽ ἀποκρίνου, ἐπειδὴ καὶ εἴωθας χρῆσθαι τῷ ἐρωτᾶν τε καὶ ἀποκρίνεσθαι. φέρε γάρ, τί ἐγκαλῶν [50d] ἡμῖν καὶ τῇ πόλει ἐπιχειρεῖς ἡμᾶς ἀπολλύναι; οὐ πρῶτον μέν σε ἐγεννήσαμεν ἡμεῖς, καὶ δι᾽ ἡμῶν ἔλαβε τὴν μητέρα σου ὁ πατὴρ καὶ ἐφύτευσέν σε; φράσον οὖν, τούτοις ἡμῶν, τοῖς νόμοις τοῖς περὶ τοὺς γάμους, μέμφῃ τι ὡς οὐ καλῶς ἔχουσιν;” “οὐ μέμφομαι”, φαίην ἄν. “ἀλλὰ τοῖς περὶ τὴν τοῦ γενομένου τροφήν τε καὶ παιδείαν ἐν ᾗ καὶ σὺ ἐπαιδεύθης; ἢ οὐ καλῶς προσέταττον ἡμῶν οἱ ἐπὶ τούτῳ τεταγμένοι νόμοι, παραγγέλλοντες τῷ πατρὶ τῷ σῷ σε ἐν [50e] μουσικῇ καὶ γυμναστικῇ παιδεύειν;” “καλῶς”, φαίην ἄν. “εἶεν. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐγένου τε καὶ ἐξετράφης καὶ ἐπαιδεύθης, ἔχοις ἂν εἰπεῖν πρῶτον μὲν ὡς οὐχὶ ἡμέτερος ἦσθα καὶ ἔκγονος καὶ δοῦλος, αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ σοὶ πρόγονοι; καὶ εἰ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει, ἆρ᾽ ἐξ ἴσου οἴει εἶναι σοὶ τὸ δίκαιον καὶ ἡμῖν, καὶ ἅττ᾽ ἂν ἡμεῖς σε ἐπιχειρῶμεν ποιεῖν, καὶ σοὶ ταῦτα ἀντιποιεῖν οἴει δίκαιον εἶναι; ἢ πρὸς μὲν ἄρα σοι τὸν πατέρα οὐκ ἐξ ἴσου ἦν τὸ δίκαιον καὶ πρὸς δεσπότην, εἴ σοι ὢν ἐτύγχανεν, ὥστε ἅπερ πάσχοις ταῦτα καὶ ἀντιποιεῖν, οὔτε κακῶς ἀκούοντα [51a] ἀντιλέγειν οὔτε τυπτόμενον ἀντιτύπτειν οὔτε ἄλλα τοιαῦτα πολλά· πρὸς δὲ τὴν πατρίδα ἄρα καὶ τοὺς νόμους ἐξέσται σοι, ὥστε, ἐάν σε ἐπιχειρῶμεν ἡμεῖς ἀπολλύναι δίκαιον ἡγούμενοι εἶναι, καὶ σὺ δὲ ἡμᾶς τοὺς νόμους καὶ τὴν πατρίδα καθ᾽ ὅσον δύνασαι ἐπιχειρήσεις ἀνταπολλύναι, καὶ φήσεις ταῦτα ποιῶν δίκαια πράττειν, ὁ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ τῆς ἀρετῆς ἐπιμελόμενος; ἢ οὕτως εἶ σοφὸς ὥστε λέληθέν σε ὅτι μητρός τε καὶ πατρὸς καὶ τῶν ἄλλων προγόνων ἁπάντων τιμιώτερόν ἐστιν πατρὶς καὶ σεμνότερον καὶ ἁγιώτερον [51b] καὶ ἐν μείζονι μοίρᾳ καὶ παρὰ θεοῖς καὶ παρ᾽ ἀνθρώποις τοῖς νοῦν ἔχουσι, καὶ σέβεσθαι δεῖ καὶ μᾶλλον ὑπείκειν καὶ θωπεύειν πατρίδα χαλεπαίνουσαν ἢ πατέρα, καὶ ἢ πείθειν ἢ ποιεῖν ἃ ἂν κελεύῃ, καὶ πάσχειν ἐάν τι προστάττῃ παθεῖν ἡσυχίαν ἄγοντα, ἐάντε τύπτεσθαι ἐάντε δεῖσθαι, ἐάντε εἰς πόλεμον ἄγῃ τρωθησόμενον ἢ ἀποθανούμενον, ποιητέον ταῦτα, καὶ τὸ δίκαιον οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ οὐχὶ ὑπεικτέον οὐδὲ ἀναχωρητέον οὐδὲ λειπτέον τὴν τάξιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν πολέμῳ καὶ ἐν δικαστηρίῳ καὶ πανταχοῦ ποιητέον ἃ ἂν κελεύῃ ἡ [51c] πόλις καὶ ἡ πατρίς, ἢ πείθειν αὐτὴν ᾗ τὸ δίκαιον πέφυκε· βιάζεσθαι δὲ οὐχ ὅσιον οὔτε μητέρα οὔτε πατέρα, πολὺ δὲ τούτων ἔτι ἧττον τὴν πατρίδα;” τί φήσομεν πρὸς ταῦτα, ὦ Κρίτων; ἀληθῆ λέγειν τοὺς νόμους ἢ οὔ;

Κρίτων

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

“σκόπει τοίνυν, ὦ Σώκρατες”, φαῖεν ἂν ἴσως οἱ νόμοι, “εἰ ἡμεῖς ταῦτα ἀληθῆ λέγομεν, ὅτι οὐ δίκαια ἡμᾶς ἐπιχειρεῖς δρᾶν ἃ νῦν ἐπιχειρεῖς. ἡμεῖς γάρ σε γεννήσαντες, ἐκθρέψαντες, παιδεύσαντες, μεταδόντες ἁπάντων ὧν οἷοί τ᾽ [51d] ἦμεν καλῶν σοὶ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσιν πολίταις, ὅμως προαγορεύομεν τῷ ἐξουσίαν πεποιηκέναι Ἀθηναίων τῷ βουλομένῳ, ἐπειδὰν δοκιμασθῇ καὶ ἴδῃ τὰ ἐν τῇ πόλει πράγματα καὶ ἡμᾶς τοὺς νόμους, ᾧ ἂν μὴ ἀρέσκωμεν ἡμεῖς, ἐξεῖναι λαβόντα τὰ αὑτοῦ ἀπιέναι ὅποι ἂν βούληται. καὶ οὐδεὶς ἡμῶν τῶν νόμων ἐμποδών ἐστιν οὐδ᾽ ἀπαγορεύει, ἐάντε τις βούληται ὑμῶν εἰς ἀποικίαν ἰέναι, εἰ μὴ ἀρέσκοιμεν ἡμεῖς τε καὶ ἡ πόλις, ἐάντε μετοικεῖν ἄλλοσέ ποι ἐλθών, ἰέναι ἐκεῖσε ὅποι [51e] ἂν βούληται, ἔχοντα τὰ αὑτοῦ. ὃς δ᾽ ἂν ὑμῶν παραμείνῃ, ὁρῶν ὃν τρόπον ἡμεῖς τάς τε δίκας δικάζομεν καὶ τἆλλα τὴν πόλιν διοικοῦμεν, ἤδη φαμὲν τοῦτον ὡμολογηκέναι ἔργῳ ἡμῖν ἃ ἂν ἡμεῖς κελεύωμεν ποιήσειν ταῦτα, καὶ τὸν μὴ πειθόμενον τριχῇ φαμεν ἀδικεῖν, ὅτι τε γεννηταῖς οὖσιν ἡμῖν οὐ πείθεται, καὶ ὅτι τροφεῦσι, καὶ ὅτι ὁμολογήσας ἡμῖν πείσεσθαι οὔτε πείθεται οὔτε πείθει ἡμᾶς, εἰ μὴ καλῶς τι ποιοῦμεν, [52a] προτιθέντων ἡμῶν καὶ οὐκ ἀγρίως ἐπιταττόντων ποιεῖν ἃ ἂν κελεύωμεν, ἀλλὰ ἐφιέντων δυοῖν θάτερα, ἢ πείθειν ἡμᾶς ἢ ποιεῖν, τούτων οὐδέτερα ποιεῖ. ταύταις δή φαμεν καὶ σέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταῖς αἰτίαις ἐνέξεσθαι, εἴπερ ποιήσεις ἃ ἐπινοεῖς, καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα Ἀθηναίων σέ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα”. εἰ οὖν ἐγὼ εἴποιμι· “διὰ τί δή;” ἴσως ἄν μου δικαίως καθάπτοιντο λέγοντες ὅτι ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα Ἀθηναίων ἐγὼ αὐτοῖς ὡμολογηκὼς τυγχάνω ταύτην τὴν ὁμολογίαν. φαῖεν γὰρ ἂν ὅτι [52b] “ὦ Σώκρατες, μεγάλα ἡμῖν τούτων τεκμήριά ἐστιν, ὅτι σοι καὶ ἡμεῖς ἠρέσκομεν καὶ ἡ πόλις· οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε τῶν ἄλλων Ἀθηναίων ἁπάντων διαφερόντως ἐν αὐτῇ ἐπεδήμεις εἰ μή σοι διαφερόντως ἤρεσκεν, καὶ οὔτ᾽ ἐπὶ θεωρίαν πώποτ᾽ ἐκ τῆς πόλεως ἐξῆλθες, ὅτι μὴ ἅπαξ εἰς Ἰσθμόν, οὔτε ἄλλοσε οὐδαμόσε, εἰ μή ποι στρατευσόμενος, οὔτε ἄλλην ἀποδημίαν ἐποιήσω πώποτε ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι, οὐδ᾽ ἐπιθυμία σε ἄλλης πόλεως οὐδὲ ἄλλων νόμων ἔλαβεν εἰδέναι, ἀλλὰ ἡμεῖς [52c] σοι ἱκανοὶ ἦμεν καὶ ἡ ἡμετέρα πόλις· οὕτω σφόδρα ἡμᾶς ᾑροῦ καὶ ὡμολόγεις καθ᾽ ἡμᾶς πολιτεύσεσθαι, τά τε ἄλλα καὶ παῖδας ἐν αὐτῇ ἐποιήσω, ὡς ἀρεσκούσης σοι τῆς πόλεως. ἔτι τοίνυν ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ δίκῃ ἐξῆν σοι φυγῆς τιμήσασθαι εἰ ἐβούλου, καὶ ὅπερ νῦν ἀκούσης τῆς πόλεως ἐπιχειρεῖς, τότε ἑκούσης ποιῆσαι. σὺ δὲ τότε μὲν ἐκαλλωπίζου ὡς οὐκ ἀγανακτῶν εἰ δέοι τεθνάναι σε, ἀλλὰ ᾑροῦ, ὡς ἔφησθα, πρὸ τῆς φυγῆς θάνατον· νῦν δὲ οὔτ᾽ ἐκείνους τοὺς λόγους αἰσχύνῃ, οὔτε ἡμῶν τῶν νόμων ἐντρέπῃ, ἐπιχειρῶν διαφθεῖραι, πράττεις [52d] τε ἅπερ ἂν δοῦλος ὁ φαυλότατος πράξειεν, ἀποδιδράσκειν ἐπιχειρῶν παρὰ τὰς συνθήκας τε καὶ τὰς ὁμολογίας καθ᾽ ἃς ἡμῖν συνέθου πολιτεύεσθαι. πρῶτον μὲν οὖν ἡμῖν τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ἀπόκριναι, εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγομεν φάσκοντές σε ὡμολογηκέναι πολιτεύσεσθαι καθ᾽ ἡμᾶς ἔργῳ ἀλλ᾽ οὐ λόγῳ, ἢ οὐκ ἀληθῆ”. τί φῶμεν πρὸς ταῦτα, ὦ Κρίτων; ἄλλο τι ἢ ὁμολογῶμεν;

Κρίτων

ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

“ἄλλο τι οὖν”, ἂν φαῖεν, “ἢ συνθήκας τὰς πρὸς [52e] ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς καὶ ὁμολογίας παραβαίνεις, οὐχ ὑπὸ ἀνάγκης ὁμολογήσας οὐδὲ ἀπατηθεὶς οὐδὲ ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ ἀναγκασθεὶς βουλεύσασθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν ἔτεσιν ἑβδομήκοντα, ἐν οἷς ἐξῆν σοι ἀπιέναι, εἰ μὴ ἠρέσκομεν ἡμεῖς μηδὲ δίκαιαι ἐφαίνοντό σοι αἱ ὁμολογίαι εἶναι. σὺ δὲ οὔτε Λακεδαίμονα προῃροῦ οὔτε Κρήτην, ἃς δὴ ἑκάστοτε φῂς εὐνομεῖσθαι, οὔτε ἄλλην οὐδεμίαν [53a] τῶν Ἑλληνίδων πόλεων οὐδὲ τῶν βαρβαρικῶν, ἀλλὰ ἐλάττω ἐξ αὐτῆς ἀπεδήμησας ἢ οἱ χωλοί τε καὶ τυφλοὶ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἀνάπηροι· οὕτω σοι διαφερόντως τῶν ἄλλων Ἀθηναίων ἤρεσκεν ἡ πόλις τε καὶ ἡμεῖς οἱ νόμοι δῆλον ὅτι· τίνι γὰρ ἂν πόλις ἀρέσκοι ἄνευ νόμων; νῦν δὲ δὴ οὐκ ἐμμενεῖς τοῖς ὡμολογημένοις; ἐὰν ἡμῖν γε πείθῃ, ὦ Σώκρατες· καὶ οὐ καταγέλαστός γε ἔσῃ ἐκ τῆς πόλεως ἐξελθών.

“σκόπει γὰρ δή, ταῦτα παραβὰς καὶ ἐξαμαρτάνων τι τούτων τί ἀγαθὸν ἐργάσῃ σαυτὸν ἢ τοὺς ἐπιτηδείους τοὺς [53b] σαυτοῦ. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ κινδυνεύσουσί γέ σου οἱ ἐπιτήδειοι καὶ αὐτοὶ φεύγειν καὶ στερηθῆναι τῆς πόλεως ἢ τὴν οὐσίαν ἀπολέσαι, σχεδόν τι δῆλον· αὐτὸς δὲ πρῶτον μὲν ἐὰν εἰς τῶν ἐγγύτατά τινα πόλεων ἔλθῃς, ἢ Θήβαζε ἢ Μέγαράδε — εὐνομοῦνται γὰρ ἀμφότεραι — πολέμιος ἥξεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῇ τούτων πολιτείᾳ, καὶ ὅσοιπερ κήδονται τῶν αὑτῶν πόλεων ὑποβλέψονταί σε διαφθορέα ἡγούμενοι τῶν νόμων, καὶ βεβαιώσεις τοῖς δικασταῖς τὴν δόξαν, ὥστε δοκεῖν ὀρθῶς τὴν [53c] δίκην δικάσαι· ὅστις γὰρ νόμων διαφθορεύς ἐστιν σφόδρα που δόξειεν ἂν νέων γε καὶ ἀνοήτων ἀνθρώπων διαφθορεὺς εἶναι. πότερον οὖν φεύξῃ τάς τε εὐνομουμένας πόλεις καὶ τῶν ἀνδρῶν τοὺς κοσμιωτάτους; καὶ τοῦτο ποιοῦντι ἆρα ἄξιόν σοι ζῆν ἔσται; ἢ πλησιάσεις τούτοις καὶ ἀναισχυντήσεις διαλεγόμενος — τίνας λόγους, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἢ οὕσπερ ἐνθάδε, ὡς ἡ ἀρετὴ καὶ ἡ δικαιοσύνη πλείστου ἄξιον τοῖς ἀνθρώποις καὶ τὰ νόμιμα καὶ οἱ νόμοι; καὶ οὐκ οἴει ἄσχημον [ἂν] [53d] φανεῖσθαι τὸ τοῦ Σωκράτους πρᾶγμα; οἴεσθαί γε χρή. ἀλλ᾽ ἐκ μὲν τούτων τῶν τόπων ἀπαρεῖς, ἥξεις δὲ εἰς Θετταλίαν παρὰ τοὺς ξένους τοὺς Κρίτωνος; ἐκεῖ γὰρ δὴ πλείστη ἀταξία καὶ ἀκολασία, καὶ ἴσως ἂν ἡδέως σου ἀκούοιεν ὡς γελοίως ἐκ τοῦ δεσμωτηρίου ἀπεδίδρασκες σκευήν τέ τινα περιθέμενος, ἢ διφθέραν λαβὼν ἢ ἄλλα οἷα δὴ εἰώθασιν ἐνσκευάζεσθαι οἱ ἀποδιδράσκοντες, καὶ τὸ σχῆμα τὸ σαυτοῦ μεταλλάξας· ὅτι δὲ γέρων ἀνήρ, σμικροῦ χρόνου τῷ βίῳ λοιποῦ ὄντος ὡς τὸ [53e] εἰκός, ἐτόλμησας οὕτω γλίσχρως ἐπιθυμεῖν ζῆν, νόμους τοὺς μεγίστους παραβάς, οὐδεὶς ὃς ἐρεῖ; ἴσως, ἂν μή τινα λυπῇς· εἰ δὲ μή, ἀκούσῃ, ὦ Σώκρατες, πολλὰ καὶ ἀνάξια σαυτοῦ. ὑπερχόμενος δὴ βιώσῃ πάντας ἀνθρώπους καὶ δουλεύων — τί ποιῶν ἢ εὐωχούμενος ἐν Θετταλίᾳ, ὥσπερ ἐπὶ δεῖπνον ἀποδεδημηκὼς εἰς Θετταλίαν; λόγοι δὲ ἐκεῖνοι οἱ περὶ [54a] δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς ποῦ ἡμῖν ἔσονται; ἀλλὰ δὴ τῶν παίδων ἕνεκα βούλει ζῆν, ἵνα αὐτοὺς ἐκθρέψῃς καὶ παιδεύσῃς; τί δέ; εἰς Θετταλίαν αὐτοὺς ἀγαγὼν θρέψεις τε καὶ παιδεύσεις, ξένους ποιήσας, ἵνα καὶ τοῦτο ἀπολαύσωσιν; ἢ τοῦτο μὲν οὔ, αὐτοῦ δὲ τρεφόμενοι σοῦ ζῶντος βέλτιον θρέψονται καὶ παιδεύσονται μὴ συνόντος σοῦ αὐτοῖς; οἱ γὰρ ἐπιτήδειοι οἱ σοὶ ἐπιμελήσονται αὐτῶν. πότερον ἐὰν μὲν εἰς Θετταλίαν ἀποδημήσῃς, ἐπιμελήσονται, ἐὰν δὲ εἰς Ἅιδου ἀποδημήσῃς, οὐχὶ ἐπιμελήσονται; εἴπερ γέ τι ὄφελος αὐτῶν [54b] ἐστιν τῶν σοι φασκόντων ἐπιτηδείων εἶναι, οἴεσθαί γε χρή.

“ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, πειθόμενος ἡμῖν τοῖς σοῖς τροφεῦσι μήτε παῖδας περὶ πλείονος ποιοῦ μήτε τὸ ζῆν μήτε ἄλλο μηδὲν πρὸ τοῦ δικαίου, ἵνα εἰς Ἅιδου ἐλθὼν ἔχῃς πάντα ταῦτα ἀπολογήσασθαι τοῖς ἐκεῖ ἄρχουσιν· οὔτε γὰρ ἐνθάδε σοι φαίνεται ταῦτα πράττοντι ἄμεινον εἶναι οὐδὲ δικαιότερον οὐδὲ ὁσιώτερον, οὐδὲ ἄλλῳ τῶν σῶν οὐδενί, οὔτε ἐκεῖσε ἀφικομένῳ ἄμεινον ἔσται. ἀλλὰ νῦν μὲν ἠδικημένος ἄπει, [54c] ἐὰν ἀπίῃς, οὐχ ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν τῶν νόμων ἀλλὰ ὑπ᾽ ἀνθρώπων· ἐὰν δὲ ἐξέλθῃς οὕτως αἰσχρῶς ἀνταδικήσας τε καὶ ἀντικακουργήσας, τὰς σαυτοῦ ὁμολογίας τε καὶ συνθήκας τὰς πρὸς ἡμᾶς παραβὰς καὶ κακὰ ἐργασάμενος τούτους οὓς ἥκιστα ἔδει, σαυτόν τε καὶ φίλους καὶ πατρίδα καὶ ἡμᾶς, ἡμεῖς τέ σοι χαλεπανοῦμεν ζῶντι, καὶ ἐκεῖ οἱ ἡμέτεροι ἀδελφοὶ οἱ ἐν Ἅιδου νόμοι οὐκ εὐμενῶς σε ὑποδέξονται, εἰδότες ὅτι καὶ ἡμᾶς ἐπεχείρησας ἀπολέσαι τὸ σὸν μέρος. ἀλλὰ μή σε [54d] πείσῃ Κρίτων ποιεῖν ἃ λέγει μᾶλλον ἢ ἡμεῖς”.

ταῦτα, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε Κρίτων, εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι ἐγὼ δοκῶ ἀκούειν, ὥσπερ οἱ κορυβαντιῶντες τῶν αὐλῶν δοκοῦσιν ἀκούειν, καὶ ἐν ἐμοὶ αὕτη ἡ ἠχὴ τούτων τῶν λόγων βομβεῖ καὶ ποιεῖ μὴ δύνασθαι τῶν ἄλλων ἀκούειν· ἀλλὰ ἴσθι, ὅσα γε τὰ νῦν ἐμοὶ δοκοῦντα, ἐὰν λέγῃς παρὰ ταῦτα, μάτην ἐρεῖς. ὅμως μέντοι εἴ τι οἴει πλέον ποιήσειν, λέγε.

Κρίτων

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν.

Σωκράτης

[54e] ἔα τοίνυν, ὦ Κρίτων, καὶ πράττωμεν ταύτῃ, ἐπειδὴ ταύτῃ ὁ θεὸς ὑφηγεῖται.

HIPPIAS MAJOR

Σωκράτης, Ἱππίας.

[281a] Σωκράτης: Ἱππίας: ὁ καλός τε καὶ σοφός: ὡς διὰ χρόνου ἡμῖν κατῆρας εἰς τὰς Ἀθήνας.

Ἱππίας: οὐ γὰρ σχολή, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἡ γὰρ Ἦλις ὅταν τι δέηται διαπράξασθαι πρός τινα τῶν πόλεων, ἀεὶ ἐπὶ πρῶτον ἐμὲ ἔρχεται τῶν πολιτῶν αἱρουμένη πρεσβευτήν, ἡγουμένη δικαστὴν καὶ ἄγγελον ἱκανώτατον εἶναι τῶν λόγων οἳ ἂν [281b] παρὰ τῶν πόλεων ἑκάστων λέγωνται. πολλάκις μὲν οὖν καὶ εἰς ἄλλας πόλεις ἐπρέσβευσα, πλεῖστα δὲ καὶ περὶ πλείστων καὶ μεγίστων εἰς τὴν Λακεδαίμονα: διὸ δή, ὃ σὺ ἐρωτᾷς, οὐ θαμίζω εἰς τούσδε τοὺς τόπους.

Σωκράτης: τοιοῦτον μέντοι, ὦ Ἱππία, ἔστι τὸ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ σοφόν τε καὶ τέλειον ἄνδρα εἶναι. σὺ γὰρ καὶ ἰδίᾳ ἱκανὸς εἶ παρὰ τῶν νέων πολλὰ χρήματα λαμβάνων ἔτι πλείω [281c] ὠφελεῖν ὧν λαμβάνεις, καὶ αὖ δημοσίᾳ τὴν σαυτοῦ πόλιν ἱκανὸς εὐεργετεῖν, ὥσπερ χρὴ τὸν μέλλοντα μὴ καταφρονήσεσθαι ἀλλ᾽ εὐδοκιμήσειν ἐν τοῖς πολλοῖς. ἀτάρ, ὦ Ἱππία, τί ποτε τὸ αἴτιον ὅτι οἱ παλαιοὶ ἐκεῖνοι, ὧν ὀνόματα μεγάλα λέγεται ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ, Πιττακοῦ τε καὶ Βίαντος καὶ τῶν ἀμφὶ τὸν Μιλήσιον Θαλῆν καὶ ἔτι τῶν ὕστερον μέχρι Ἀναξαγόρου, ὡς ἢ πάντες ἢ οἱ πολλοὶ αὐτῶν φαίνονται ἀπεχόμενοι τῶν πολιτικῶν πράξεων;

Ἱππίας: τί δ᾽ οἴει, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄλλο γε ἢ ἀδύνατοι ἦσαν [281d]καὶ οὐχ ἱκανοὶ ἐξικνεῖσθαι φρονήσει ἐπ᾽ ἀμφότερα, τά τε κοινὰ καὶ τὰ ἴδια;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν πρὸς Διός, ὥσπερ αἱ ἄλλαι τέχναι ἐπιδεδώκασι καὶ εἰσὶ παρὰ τοὺς νῦν δημιουργοὺς οἱ παλαιοὶ φαῦλοι, οὕτω καὶ τὴν ὑμετέραν τὴν τῶν σοφιστῶν τέχνην ἐπιδεδωκέναι φῶμεν καὶ εἶναι τῶν ἀρχαίων τοὺς περὶ τὴν σοφίαν φαύλους πρὸς ὑμᾶς;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ μὲν οὖν ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: εἰ ἄρα νῦν ἡμῖν, ὦ Ἱππία, ὁ Βίας ἀναβιοίη, γέλωτ᾽ [282a] ἂν ὄφλοι πρὸς ὑμᾶς, ὥσπερ καὶ τὸν Δαίδαλόν φασιν οἱ ἀνδριαντοποιοί, νῦν εἰ γενόμενος τοιαῦτ᾽ ἐργάζοιτο οἷα ἦν ἀφ᾽ ὧν τοὔνομ᾽ ἔσχεν, καταγέλαστον ἂν εἶναι.

Ἱππίας: ἔστι μὲν ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτως ὡς σὺ λέγεις: εἴωθα μέντοι ἔγωγε τοὺς παλαιούς τε καὶ προτέρους ἡμῶν προτέρους τε καὶ μᾶλλον ἐγκωμιάζειν ἢ τοὺς νῦν, εὐλαβούμενος μὲν φθόνον τῶν ζώντων, φοβούμενος δὲ μῆνιν τῶν τετελευτηκότων. [282b]

Σωκράτης: καλῶς γε σύ, ὦ Ἱππία, ὀνομάζων τε καὶ διανοούμενος, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖς. συμμαρτυρῆσαι δέ σοι ἔχω ὅτι ἀληθῆ λέγεις, καὶ τῷ ὄντι ὑμῶν ἐπιδέδωκεν ἡ τέχνη πρὸς τὸ καὶ τὰ δημόσια πράττειν δύνασθαι μετὰ τῶν ἰδίων. Γοργίας τε γὰρ οὗτος ὁ Λεοντῖνος σοφιστὴς δεῦρο ἀφίκετο δημοσίᾳ οἴκοθεν πρεσβεύων, ὡς ἱκανώτατος ὢν Λεοντίνων τὰ κοινὰ πράττειν, καὶ ἔν τε τῷ δήμῳ ἔδοξεν ἄριστα εἰπεῖν, καὶ ἰδίᾳ ἐπιδείξεις ποιούμενος καὶ συνὼν τοῖς νέοις χρήματα πολλὰ ἠργάσατο [282c] καὶ ἔλαβεν ἐκ τῆσδε τῆς πόλεως: εἰ δὲ βούλει, ὁ ἡμέτερος ἑταῖρος Πρόδικος οὗτος πολλάκις μὲν καὶ ἄλλοτε δημοσίᾳ ἀφίκετο, ἀτὰρ τὰ τελευταῖα ἔναγχος ἀφικόμενος δημοσίᾳ ἐκ Κέω λέγων τ᾽ ἐν τῇ βουλῇ πάνυ ηὐδοκίμησεν καὶ ἰδίᾳ ἐπιδείξεις ποιούμενος καὶ τοῖς νέοις συνὼν χρήματα ἔλαβεν θαυμαστὰ ὅσα. τῶν δὲ παλαιῶν ἐκείνων οὐδεὶς πώποτε ἠξίωσεν ἀργύριον μισθὸν πράξασθαι οὐδ᾽ ἐπιδείξεις ποιήσασθαι [282d]ἐν παντοδαποῖς ἀνθρώποις τῆς ἑαυτοῦ σοφίας: οὕτως ἦσαν εὐήθεις καὶ ἐλελήθει αὐτοὺς ἀργύριον ὡς πολλοῦ ἄξιον εἴη. τούτων δ᾽ ἑκάτερος πλέον ἀργύριον ἀπὸ σοφίας εἴργασται ἢ ἄλλος δημιουργὸς ἀφ᾽ ἧστινος τέχνης: καὶ ἔτι πρότερος τούτων Πρωταγόρας.

Ἱππίας: οὐδὲν γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἶσθα τῶν καλῶν περὶ τοῦτο. εἰ γὰρ εἰδείης ὅσον ἀργύριον εἴργασμαι ἐγώ, θαυμάσαις ἄν: καὶ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ἐῶ, ἀφικόμενος δέ ποτε εἰς Σικελίαν, Πρωταγόρου [282e] αὐτόθι ἐπιδημοῦντος καὶ εὐδοκιμοῦντος καὶ πρεσβυτέρου ὄντος πολὺ νεώτερος ὢν ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ πάνυ πλέον ἢ πεντήκοντα καὶ ἑκατὸν μνᾶς ἠργασάμην, καὶ ἐξ ἑνός γε χωρίου πάνυ σμικροῦ, Ἰνυκοῦ, πλέον ἢ εἴκοσι μνᾶς: καὶ τοῦτο ἐλθὼν οἴκαδε φέρων τῷ πατρὶ ἔδωκα, ὥστε ἐκεῖνον καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πολίτας θαυμάζειν τε καὶ ἐκπεπλῆχθαι. καὶ σχεδόν τι οἶμαι ἐμὲ πλείω χρήματα εἰργάσθαι ἢ ἄλλους σύνδυο οὕστινας βούλει τῶν σοφιστῶν.

Σωκράτης: καλόν γε, ὦ Ἱππία, λέγεις καὶ μέγα τεκμήριον [283a] σοφίας τῆς τε σεαυτοῦ καὶ τῶν νῦν ἀνθρώπων πρὸς τοὺς ἀρχαίους ὅσον διαφέρουσι. τῶν γὰρ προτέρων [περὶ Ἀναξαγόρου λέγεται] πολλὴ ἀμαθία κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον. τοὐναντίον γὰρ Ἀναξαγόρᾳ φασὶ συμβῆναι ἢ ὑμῖν: καταλειφθέντων γὰρ αὐτῷ πολλῶν χρημάτων καταμελῆσαι καὶ ἀπολέσαι πάνταοὕτως αὐτὸν ἀνόητα σοφίζεσθαιλέγουσι δὲ καὶ περὶ ἄλλων τῶν παλαιῶν ἕτερα τοιαῦτα. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν μοι δοκεῖς καλὸν τεκμήριον ἀποφαίνειν περὶ σοφίας τῶν [283b] νῦν πρὸς τοὺς προτέρους, καὶ πολλοῖς συνδοκεῖ ὅτι τὸν σοφὸν αὐτὸν αὑτῷ μάλιστα δεῖ σοφὸν εἶναι: τούτου δ᾽ ὅρος ἐστὶν ἄρα, ὃς ἂν πλεῖστον ἀργύριον ἐργάσηται. καὶ ταῦτα μὲν ἱκανῶς ἐχέτω: τόδε δέ μοι εἰπέ, σὺ αὐτὸς πόθεν πλεῖστον ἀργύριον ἠργάσω τῶν πόλεων εἰς ἃς ἀφικνῇ; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι ἐκ Λακεδαίμονος, οἷπερ καὶ πλειστάκις ἀφῖξαι;

Ἱππίας: οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: πῶς φῄς; ἀλλ᾽ ἐλάχιστον; [283c]

Ἱππίας: οὐδὲν μὲν οὖν τὸ παράπαν πώποτε.

Σωκράτης: τέρας λέγεις καὶ θαυμαστόν, ὦ Ἱππία. καί μοι εἰπέ: πότερον ἡ σοφία ἡ σὴ οὐχ οἵα τοὺς συνόντας αὐτῇ καὶ μανθάνοντας εἰς ἀρετὴν βελτίους ποιεῖν;

Ἱππίας: καὶ πολύ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τοὺς μὲν Ἰνυκίνων ὑεῖς οἷός τε ἦσθα ἀμείνους ποιῆσαι, τοὺς δὲ Σπαρτιατῶν ἠδυνάτεις;

Ἱππίας: πολλοῦ γε δέω.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ δῆτα Σικελιῶται μὲν ἐπιθυμοῦσιν ἀμείνους γίγνεσθαι, Λακεδαιμόνιοι [283d]δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἱππίας: πάντως γέ που, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ Λακεδαιμόνιοι.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν χρημάτων ἐνδείᾳ ἔφευγον τὴν σὴν ὁμιλίαν;

Ἱππίας: οὐ δῆτα, ἐπεὶ ἱκανὰ αὐτοῖς ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης: τί δῆτ᾽ ἂν εἴη ὅτι ἐπιθυμοῦντες καὶ ἔχοντες χρήματα, καὶ σοῦ δυναμένου τὰ μέγιστα αὐτοὺς ὠφελεῖν, οὐ πλήρη σε ἀργυρίου ἀπέπεμψαν; ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο, μῶν μὴ Λακεδαιμόνιοι σοῦ βέλτιον ἂν παιδεύσειαν τοὺς αὑτῶν παῖδας; ἢ τοῦτο φῶμεν οὕτω, καὶ σὺ συγχωρεῖς; [283e]

Ἱππίας: οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν τοὺς νέους οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἦσθα πείθειν ἐν Λακεδαίμονι ὡς σοὶ συνόντες πλέον ἂν εἰς ἀρετὴν ἐπιδιδοῖεν ἢ τοῖς ἑαυτῶν, ἢ τοὺς ἐκείνων πατέρας ἠδυνάτεις πείθειν ὅτι σοὶ χρὴ παραδιδόναι μᾶλλον ἢ αὐτοὺς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, εἴπερ τι τῶν ὑέων κήδονται; οὐ γάρ που ἐφθόνουν γε τοῖς ἑαυτῶν παισὶν ὡς βελτίστοις γενέσθαι.

Ἱππίας: οὐκ οἶμαι ἔγωγε φθονεῖν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν εὔνομός γ᾽ ἡ Λακεδαίμων.

Ἱππίας: πῶς γὰρ [284a] οὔ;

Σωκράτης: ἐν δέ γε ταῖς εὐνόμοις πόλεσιν τιμιώτατον ἡ ἀρετή.

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: σὺ δὲ ταύτην παραδιδόναι ἄλλῳ κάλλιστ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἐπίστασαι.

Ἱππίας: καὶ πολύ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ὁ οὖν κάλλιστ᾽ ἐπιστάμενος ἱππικὴν παραδιδόναι ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν ἐν Θετταλίᾳ τῆς Ἑλλάδος μάλιστα τιμῷτο καὶ πλεῖστα χρήματα λαμβάνοι, καὶ ἄλλοθι ὅπου τοῦτο σπουδάζοιτο;

Ἱππίας: εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης: ὁ δὴ δυνάμενος παραδιδόναι τὰ πλείστου ἄξια μαθήματα εἰς ἀρετὴν οὐκ ἐν [284b] Λακεδαίμονι μάλιστα τιμήσεται καὶ πλεῖστα ἐργάσεται χρήματα, ἂν βούληται, καὶ ἐν ἄλλῃ πόλει ἥτις τῶν Ἑλληνίδων εὐνομεῖται; ἀλλ᾽ ἐν Σικελίᾳ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, οἴει μᾶλλον καὶ ἐν Ἰνυκῷ; ταῦτα πειθώμεθα, ὦ Ἱππία; ἐὰν γὰρ σὺ κελεύῃς, πειστέον.

Ἱππίας: οὐ γὰρ πάτριον, ὦ Σώκρατες, Λακεδαιμονίοις κινεῖν τοὺς νόμους, οὐδὲ παρὰ τὰ εἰωθότα παιδεύειν τοὺς ὑεῖς.

Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις; Λακεδαιμονίοις οὐ πάτριον ὀρθῶς [284c] πράττειν ἀλλ᾽ ἐξαμαρτάνειν;

Ἱππίας: οὐκ ἂν φαίην ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς ἂν πράττοιεν βέλτιον ἀλλὰ μὴ χεῖρον παιδεύοντες τοὺς νέους;

Ἱππίας: ὀρθῶς: ἀλλὰ ξενικὴν παίδευσιν οὐ νόμιμον αὐτοῖς παιδεύειν, ἐπεὶ εὖ ἴσθι, εἴπερ τις ἄλλος ἐκεῖθεν χρήματα ἔλαβεν πώποτε ἐπὶ παιδεύσει, καὶ ἐμὲ ἂν λαβεῖν πολὺ μάλισταχαίρουσι γοῦν ἀκούοντες ἐμοῦ καὶ ἐπαινοῦσιν ἀλλ᾽, ὃ λέγω, οὐ νόμος. [284d]

Σωκράτης: νόμον δὲ λέγεις, ὦ Ἱππία, βλάβην πόλεως εἶναι ἢ ὠφελίαν;

Ἱππίας: τίθεται μὲν οἶμαι ὠφελίας ἕνεκα, ἐνίοτε δὲ καὶ βλάπτει, ἐὰν κακῶς τεθῇ ὁ νόμος.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; οὐχ ὡς ἀγαθὸν μέγιστον πόλει τίθενται τὸν νόμον οἱ τιθέμενοι; καὶ ἄνευ τούτου μετὰ εὐνομίας ἀδύνατον οἰκεῖν;

Ἱππίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ὅταν ἄρα ἀγαθοῦ ἁμάρτωσιν οἱ ἐπιχειροῦντες τοὺς νόμους τιθέναι, νομίμου τε καὶ νόμου ἡμαρτήκασιν: ἢ [284e] πῶς λέγεις;

Ἱππίας: τῷ μὲν ἀκριβεῖ λόγῳ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτως ἔχει: οὐ μέντοι εἰώθασιν ἅνθρωποι ὀνομάζειν οὕτω.

Σωκράτης: πότερον, ὦ Ἱππία, οἱ εἰδότες ἢ οἱ μὴ εἰδότες;

Ἱππίας: οἱ πολλοί.

Σωκράτης: εἰσὶν δ᾽ οὗτοι οἱ εἰδότες τἀληθές, οἱ πολλοί;

Ἱππίας: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μήν που οἵ γ᾽ εἰδότες τὸ ὠφελιμώτερον τοῦ ἀνωφελεστέρου νομιμώτερον ἡγοῦνται τῇ ἀληθείᾳ πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις: ἢ οὐ συγχωρεῖς;

Ἱππίας: ναί, συγχωρῶ, ὅτι γε τῇ ἀληθείᾳ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἔστιν τε καὶ ἔχει οὕτως ὡς οἱ εἰδότες ἡγοῦνται;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἔστι δέ γε Λακεδαιμονίοις, ὡς σὺ φῄς, ὠφελιμώτερον [285a] τὴν ὑπὸ σοῦ παίδευσιν, ξενικὴν οὖσαν, παιδεύεσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ τὴν ἐπιχωρίαν.

Ἱππίας: καὶ ἀληθῆ γε λέγω.

Σωκράτης: καὶ γὰρ ὅτι τὰ ὠφελιμώτερα νομιμώτερά ἐστι, καὶ τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: εἶπον γάρ.

Σωκράτης: κατὰ τὸν σὸν ἄρα λόγον τοῖς Λακεδαιμονίων ὑέσιν ὑπὸ Ἱππίου παιδεύεσθαι νομιμώτερόν ἐστιν, ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν πατέρων ἀνομώτερον, εἴπερ τῷ ὄντι ὑπὸ σοῦ πλείω ὠφεληθήσονται.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ μὴν ὠφεληθήσονται, [285b] ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: παρανομοῦσιν ἄρα Λακεδαιμόνιοι οὐ διδόντες σοι χρυσίον καὶ ἐπιτρέποντες τοὺς αὑτῶν ὑεῖς.

Ἱππίας: συγχωρῶ ταῦτα: δοκεῖς γάρ μοι τὸν λόγον πρὸς ἐμοῦ λέγειν, καὶ οὐδέν με δεῖ αὐτῷ ἐναντιοῦσθαι.

Σωκράτης: παρανόμους μὲν δή, ὦ ἑταῖρε, τοὺς Λάκωνας εὑρίσκομεν, καὶ ταῦτ᾽ εἰς τὰ μέγιστα, τοὺς νομιμωτάτους δοκοῦντας εἶναι. ἐπαινοῦσι δὲ δή σε πρὸς θεῶν, ὦ Ἱππία, καὶ χαίρουσιν ἀκούοντες ποῖα; ἢ δῆλον δὴ ὅτι ἐκεῖνα ἃ σὺ κάλλιστα [285c] ἐπίστασαι, τὰ περὶ τὰ ἄστρα τε καὶ τὰ οὐράνια πάθη;

Ἱππίας: οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν: ταῦτά γε οὐδ᾽ ἀνέχονται.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ περὶ γεωμετρίας τι χαίρουσιν ἀκούοντες;

Ἱππίας: οὐδαμῶς, ἐπεὶ οὐδ᾽ ἀριθμεῖν ἐκείνων γε, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν, πολλοὶ ἐπίστανται.

Σωκράτης: πολλοῦ ἄρα δέουσιν περί γε λογισμῶν ἀνέχεσθαί σου ἐπιδεικνυμένου.

Ἱππίας: πολλοῦ μέντοι νὴ Δία.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ δῆτα ἐκεῖνα ἃ σὺ ἀκριβέστατα ἐπίστασαι [285d]ἀνθρώπων διαιρεῖν, περί τε γραμμάτων δυνάμεως καὶ συλλαβῶν καὶ ῥυθμῶν καὶ ἁρμονιῶν;

Ἱππίας: ποίων, ὠγαθέ, ἁρμονιῶν καὶ γραμμάτων;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τί μήν ἐστιν ἃ ἡδέως σου ἀκροῶνται καὶ ἐπαινοῦσιν; αὐτός μοι εἰπέ, ἐπειδὴ ἐγὼ οὐχ εὑρίσκω.

Ἱππίας: περὶ τῶν γενῶν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῶν τε ἡρώων καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ τῶν κατοικίσεων, ὡς τὸ ἀρχαῖον ἐκτίσθησαν αἱ πόλεις, καὶ συλλήβδην πάσης τῆς ἀρχαιολογίας ἥδιστα [285e] ἀκροῶνται, ὥστ᾽ ἔγωγε δι᾽ αὐτοὺς ἠνάγκασμαι ἐκμεμαθηκέναι τε καὶ ἐκμεμελετηκέναι πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα.

Σωκράτης: ναὶ μὰ Δί᾽, ὦ Ἱππία, ηὐτύχηκάς γε ὅτι Λακεδαιμόνιοι οὐ χαίρουσιν ἄν τις αὐτοῖς ἀπὸ Σόλωνος τοὺς ἄρχοντας τοὺς ἡμετέρους καταλέγῃ: εἰ δὲ μή, πράγματ᾽ ἂν εἶχες ἐκμανθάνων.

Ἱππίας: πόθεν, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἅπαξ ἀκούσας πεντήκοντα ὀνόματα ἀπομνημονεύσω.

Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ οὐκ ἐνενόησα ὅτι τὸ μνημονικὸν ἔχεις: ὥστ᾽ ἐννοῶ ὅτι εἰκότως σοι χαίρουσιν [286a] οἱ Λακεδαιμόνιοι ἅτε πολλὰ εἰδότι, καὶ χρῶνται ὥσπερ ταῖς πρεσβύτισιν οἱ παῖδες πρὸς τὸ ἡδέως μυθολογῆσαι.

Ἱππίας: καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δί᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, περί γε ἐπιτηδευμάτων καλῶν καὶ ἔναγχος αὐτόθι ηὐδοκίμησα διεξιὼν ἃ χρὴ τὸν νέον ἐπιτηδεύειν. ἔστι γάρ μοι περὶ αὐτῶν παγκάλως λόγος συγκείμενος, καὶ ἄλλως εὖ διακείμενος καὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασι: πρόσχημα δέ μοί ἐστι καὶ ἀρχὴ τοιάδε τις τοῦ λόγου. ἐπειδὴ ἡ Τροία ἥλω, λέγει ὁ λόγος ὅτι Νεοπτόλεμος [286b] Νέστορα ἔροιτο ποῖά ἐστι καλὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα, ἃ ἄν τις ἐπιτηδεύσας νέος ὢν εὐδοκιμώτατος γένοιτο: μετὰ ταῦτα δὴ λέγων ἐστὶν ὁ Νέστωρ καὶ ὑποτιθέμενος αὐτῷ πάμπολλα νόμιμα καὶ πάγκαλα. τοῦτον δὴ καὶ ἐκεῖ ἐπεδειξάμην καὶ ἐνθάδε μέλλω ἐπιδεικνύναι εἰς τρίτην ἡμέραν, ἐν τῷ Φειδοστράτου διδασκαλείῳ, καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ ἄξια ἀκοῆς: ἐδεήθη γάρ μου Εὔδικος ὁ Ἀπημάντου. ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως παρέσῃ [286c] καὶ αὐτὸς καὶ ἄλλους ἄξεις, οἵτινες ἱκανοὶ ἀκούσαντες κρῖναι τὰ λεγόμενα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ ταῦτ᾽ ἔσται, ἂν θεὸς θέλῃ, ὦ Ἱππία. νυνὶ μέντοι βραχύ τί μοι περὶ αὐτοῦ ἀπόκριναι: καὶ γάρ με εἰς καλὸν ὑπέμνησας. ἔναγχος γάρ τις, ὦ ἄριστε, εἰς ἀπορίαν με κατέβαλεν ἐν λόγοις τισὶ τὰ μὲν ψέγοντα ὡς αἰσχρά, τὰ δ᾽ ἐπαινοῦντα ὡς καλά, οὕτω πως ἐρόμενος καὶ μάλα ὑβριστικῶς: πόθεν δέ μοι σύ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἶσθα [286d]ὁποῖα καλὰ καὶ αἰσχρά; ἐπεὶ φέρε, ἔχοις ἂν εἰπεῖν τί ἐστι τὸ καλόν; καὶ ἐγὼ διὰ τὴν ἐμὴν φαυλότητα ἠπορούμην τε καὶ οὐκ εἶχον αὐτῷ κατὰ τρόπον ἀποκρίνασθαι: ἀπιὼν οὖν ἐκ τῆς συνουσίας ἐμαυτῷ τε ὠργιζόμην καὶ ὠνείδιζον, καὶ ἠπείλουν, ὁπότε πρῶτον ὑμῶν τῳ τῶν σοφῶν ἐντύχοιμι, ἀκούσας καὶ μαθὼν καὶ ἐκμελετήσας ἰέναι πάλιν ἐπὶ τὸν ἐρωτήσαντα, ἀναμαχούμενος τὸν λόγον. νῦν οὖν, ὃ λέγω, εἰς καλὸν ἥκεις, καί με δίδαξον ἱκανῶς αὐτὸ τὸ καλὸν ὅτι [286e] ἐστί, καὶ πειρῶ μοι ὅτι μάλιστα ἀκριβῶς εἰπεῖν ἀποκρινόμενος, μὴ ἐξελεγχθεὶς τὸ δεύτερον αὖθις γέλωτα ὄφλω. οἶσθα γὰρ δήπου σαφῶς, καὶ σμικρόν που τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη μάθημα ὧν σὺ τῶν πολλῶν ἐπίστασαι.

Ἱππίας: σμικρὸν μέντοι νὴ Δί᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ οὐδενὸς ἄξιον, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν.

Σωκράτης: ῥᾳδίως ἄρα μαθήσομαι καὶ οὐδείς με ἐξελέγξει ἔτι.

Ἱππίας: οὐδεὶς μέντοι: φαῦλον γὰρ ἂν εἴη τὸ ἐμὸν πρᾶγμα [287a] καὶ ἰδιωτικόν.

Σωκράτης: εὖ γε νὴ τὴν Ἥραν λέγεις, ὦ Ἱππία, εἰ χειρωσόμεθα τὸν ἄνδρα. ἀτὰρ μή τι κωλύω μιμούμενος ἐγὼ ἐκεῖνον, ἐὰν σοῦ ἀποκρινομένου ἀντιλαμβάνωμαι τῶν λόγων, ἵνα ὅτι μάλιστά με ἐκμελετήσῃς; σχεδὸν γάρ τι ἔμπειρός εἰμι τῶν ἀντιλήψεων. εἰ οὖν μή τί σοι διαφέρει, βούλομαι ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι, ἵν᾽ ἐρρωμενέστερον μάθω. Ἱππίας:

ἀλλ᾽ ἀντιλαμβάνου. καὶ γάρ, ὃ νυνδὴ εἶπον, οὐ [287b] μέγα ἐστὶ τὸ ἐρώτημα, ἀλλὰ καὶ πολὺ τούτου χαλεπώτερα ἂν ἀποκρίνασθαι ἐγώ σε διδάξαιμι, ὥστε μηδένα ἀνθρώπων δύνασθαί σε ἐξελέγχειν.

Σωκράτης: φεῦ ὡς εὖ λέγεις: ἀλλ᾽ ἄγ᾽, ἐπειδὴ καὶ σὺ κελεύεις, φέρε ὅτι μάλιστα ἐκεῖνος γενόμενος πειρῶμαί σε ἐρωτᾶν. εἰ γὰρ δὴ αὐτῷ τὸν λόγον τοῦτον ἐπιδείξαις ὃν φῄς, τὸν περὶ τῶν καλῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων, ἀκούσας, ἐπειδὴ παύσαιο λέγων, ἔροιτ᾽ ἂν οὐ περὶ ἄλλου πρότερον ἢ περὶ τοῦ καλοῦἔθος [287c] γάρ τι τοῦτ᾽ ἔχεικαὶ εἴποι ἄν: ὦ ξένε Ἠλεῖε, ἆρ᾽ οὐ δικαιοσύνῃ δίκαιοί εἰσιν οἱ δίκαιοι; ἀπόκριναι δή, ὦ Ἱππία, ὡς ἐκείνου ἐρωτῶντος.

Ἱππίας: ἀποκρινοῦμαι ὅτι δικαιοσύνῃ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἔστι τι τοῦτο, ἡ δικαιοσύνη;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ σοφίᾳ οἱ σοφοί εἰσι σοφοὶ καὶ τῷ ἀγαθῷ πάντα τἀγαθὰ ἀγαθά;

Ἱππίας: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὖσί γέ τισι τούτοις: οὐ γὰρ δήπου μὴ οὖσί γε.

Ἱππίας: οὖσι μέντοι.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ καὶ τὰ καλὰ πάντα τῷ καλῷ [287d]ἐστι καλά;

Ἱππίας: ναί, τῷ καλῷ.

Σωκράτης: ὄντι γέ τινι τούτῳ;

Ἱππίας: ὄντι: ἀλλὰ τί γὰρ μέλλει;

Σωκράτης: εἰπὲ δή, ὦ ξένε, φήσει, τί ἐστι τοῦτο τὸ καλόν;

Ἱππίας: ἄλλο τι οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ τοῦτο ἐρωτῶν δεῖται πυθέσθαι τί ἐστι καλόν;

Σωκράτης: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι ἐστὶ τὸ καλόν, ὦ Ἱππία.

Ἱππίας: καὶ τί διαφέρει τοῦτ᾽ ἐκείνου;

Σωκράτης: οὐδέν σοι δοκεῖ;

Ἱππίας: οὐδὲν γὰρ διαφέρει.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μέντοι δῆλον ὅτι σὺ κάλλιον οἶσθα. ὅμως δέ, ὠγαθέ, ἄθρει: ἐρωτᾷ γάρ σε οὐ τί ἐστι καλόν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι [287e] ἐστὶ τὸ καλόν.

Ἱππίας: μανθάνω, ὠγαθέ, καὶ ἀποκρινοῦμαί γε αὐτῷ ὅτι ἐστι τὸ καλόν, καὶ οὐ μή ποτε ἐλεγχθῶ. ἔστι γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, εὖ ἴσθι, εἰ δεῖ τὸ ἀληθὲς λέγειν, παρθένος καλὴ καλόν.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς γε, ὦ Ἱππία, νὴ τὸν κύνα καὶ εὐδόξως ἀπεκρίνω. ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἂν ἐγὼ τοῦτο ἀποκρίνωμαι, τὸ [288a] ἐρωτώμενόν τε ἀποκεκριμένος ἔσομαι καὶ ὀρθῶς, καὶ οὐ μή ποτε ἐλεγχθῶ;

Ἱππίας: πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐλεγχθείης, ὅ γε πᾶσιν δοκεῖ καὶ πάντες σοι μαρτυρήσουσιν οἱ ἀκούοντες ὅτι ὀρθῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: πάνυ μὲν οὖν. φέρε δή, ὦ Ἱππία, πρὸς ἐμαυτὸν ἀναλάβω ὃ λέγεις. ὁ μὲν ἐρήσεταί με οὑτωσί πως: ἴθι μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀπόκριναι: ταῦτα πάντα ἃ φῂς καλὰ εἶναι, εἰ τί ἐστιν αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν, ταῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη καλά; ἐγὼ δὲ δὴ ἐρῶ ὅτι εἰ παρθένος καλὴ καλόν, ἔστι δι᾽ ὃ ταῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη καλά; [288b]

Ἱππίας: οἴει οὖν ἔτι αὐτὸν ἐπιχειρήσειν σε ἐλέγχειν ὡς οὐ καλόν ἐστιν ὃ λέγεις, ἢ ἐὰν ἐπιχειρήσῃ, οὐ καταγέλαστον ἔσεσθαι;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι μὲν ἐπιχειρήσει, ὦ θαυμάσιε, εὖ οἶδα: εἰ δὲ ἐπιχειρήσας ἔσται καταγέλαστος, αὐτὸ δείξει. ἃ μέντοι ἐρεῖ, ἐθέλω σοι λέγειν.

Ἱππίας: λέγε δή.

Σωκράτης: ὡς γλυκὺς εἶ, φήσει, ὦ Σώκρατες. θήλεια δὲ ἵππος καλὴ οὐ καλόν, ἣν καὶ ὁ θεὸς ἐν τῷ χρησμῷ ἐπῄνεσεν; [288c] τί φήσομεν, ὦ Ἱππία; ἄλλο τι ἢ φῶμεν καὶ τὴν ἵππον καλὸν εἶναι, τήν γε καλήν; πῶς γὰρ ἂν τολμῷμεν ἔξαρνοι εἶναι τὸ καλὸν μὴ καλὸν εἶναι;

Ἱππίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἐπεί τοι καὶ ὀρθῶς αὐτὸ ὁ θεὸς εἶπεν: πάγκαλαι γὰρ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἵπποι γίγνονται.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν, φήσει δή: τί δὲ λύρα καλή; οὐ καλόν; φῶμεν, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἐρεῖ τοίνυν μετὰ τοῦτ᾽ ἐκεῖνος, σχεδόν τι εὖ οἶδα ἐκ τοῦ τρόπου τεκμαιρόμενος: ὦ βέλτιστε σύ, τί δὲ χύτρα καλή; οὐ καλὸν ἄρα; [288d]

Ἱππίας: ὦ Σώκρατες, τίς δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὁ ἄνθρωπος; ὡς ἀπαίδευτός τις ὃς οὕτω φαῦλα ὀνόματα ὀνομάζειν τολμᾷ ἐν σεμνῷ πράγματι.

Σωκράτης: τοιοῦτός τις, ὦ Ἱππία, οὐ κομψὸς ἀλλὰ συρφετός, οὐδὲν ἄλλο φροντίζων ἢ τὸ ἀληθές. ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως ἀποκριτέον τῷ ἀνδρί, καὶ ἔγωγε προαποφαίνομαι: εἴπερ ἡ χύτρα κεκεραμευμένη εἴη ὑπὸ ἀγαθοῦ κεραμέως λεία καὶ στρογγύλη καὶ καλῶς ὠπτημένη, οἷαι τῶν καλῶν χυτρῶν εἰσί τινες δίωτοι, τῶν ἓξ χοᾶς χωρουσῶν, πάγκαλαι, εἰ τοιαύτην ἐρωτῴη [288e] χύτραν, καλὴν ὁμολογητέον εἶναι. πῶς γὰρ ἂν φαῖμεν καλὸν ὂν μὴ καλὸν εἶναι;

Ἱππίας: οὐδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ χύτρα, φήσει, καλὴ καλόν; ἀποκρίνου.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔχει, οἶμαι: καλὸν μὲν καὶ τοῦτο τὸ σκεῦός ἐστι καλῶς εἰργασμένον, ἀλλὰ τὸ ὅλον τοῦτο οὐκ ἔστιν ἄξιον κρίνειν ὡς ὂν καλὸν πρὸς ἵππον τε καὶ παρθένον καὶ τἆλλα πάντα τὰ καλά. [289a]

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: μανθάνω, ὦ Ἱππία, ὡς ἄρα χρὴ ἀντιλέγειν πρὸς τὸν ταῦτα ἐρωτῶντα τάδε: ὦ ἄνθρωπε, ἀγνοεῖς ὅτι τὸ τοῦ Ἡρακλείτου εὖ ἔχει, ὡς ἄρα πιθήκων ὁ κάλλιστος αἰσχρὸς ἀνθρώπων γένει συμβάλλειν, καὶ χυτρῶν ἡ καλλίστη αἰσχρὰ παρθένων γένει συμβάλλειν, ὥς φησιν Ἱππίας:ὁ σοφός. οὐχ οὕτως, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀρθῶς ἀπεκρίνω.

Σωκράτης: ἄκουε δή. μετὰ τοῦτο γὰρ εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι φήσει: τί δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες; τὸ τῶν παρθένων γένος θεῶν γένει ἄν τις [289b] συμβάλλῃ, οὐ ταὐτὸν πείσεται ὅπερ τὸ τῶν χυτρῶν τῷ τῶν παρθένων συμβαλλόμενον; οὐχ ἡ καλλίστη παρθένος αἰσχρὰ φανεῖται; ἢ οὐ καὶ Ἡράκλειτος αὐτὸ τοῦτο λέγει, ὃν σὺ ἐπάγῃ, ὅτι ἀνθρώπων ὁ σοφώτατος πρὸς θεὸν πίθηκος φανεῖται καὶ σοφίᾳ καὶ κάλλει καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσιν; ὁμολογήσωμεν, Ἱππία, τὴν καλλίστην παρθένον πρὸς θεῶν γένος αἰσχρὰν εἶναι;

Ἱππίας: τίς γὰρ ἂν ἀντείποι τούτῳ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες; [289c]

Σωκράτης: ἂν τοίνυν ταῦτα ὁμολογήσωμεν, γελάσεταί τε καὶ ἐρεῖ: ὦ Σώκρατες, μέμνησαι οὖν ὅτι ἠρωτήθης; ἔγωγε, φήσω, ὅτι αὐτὸ τὸ καλὸν ὅτι ποτέ ἐστιν. ἔπειτα, φήσει, ἐρωτηθεὶς τὸ καλὸν ἀποκρίνῃ ὃ τυγχάνει ὄν, ὡς αὐτὸς φῄς, οὐδὲν μᾶλλον καλὸν ἢ αἰσχρόν; ἔοικε, φήσω: ἢ τί μοι συμβουλεύεις, ὦ φίλε, φάναι;

Ἱππίας: τοῦτο ἔγωγε: καὶ γὰρ δὴ πρός γε θεοὺς ὅτι οὐ καλὸν τὸ ἀνθρώπειον γένος, ἀληθῆ ἐρεῖ.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δέ σε ἠρόμην, φήσει, ἐξ ἀρχῆς τί ἐστι [289d]καλόν τε καὶ αἰσχρόν, εἴ μοι ἅπερ νῦν ἀπεκρίνω, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν ὀρθῶς ἀπεκέκρισο; ἔτι δὲ καὶ δοκεῖ σοι αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν, ᾧ καὶ τἆλλα πάντα κοσμεῖται καὶ καλὰ φαίνεται, ἐπειδὰν προσγένηται ἐκεῖνο τὸ εἶδος, τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι παρθένος ἢ ἵππος ἢ λύρα;

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ τοῦτό γε ζητεῖ, πάντων ῥᾷστον ἀποκρίνασθαι αὐτῷ τί ἐστι τὸ καλὸν ᾧ καὶ τὰ ἄλλα πάντα κοσμεῖται καὶ προσγενομένου αὐτοῦ καλὰ φαίνεται. [289e] εὐηθέστατος οὖν ἐστιν ὁ ἄνθρωπος καὶ οὐδὲν ἐπαΐει περὶ καλῶν κτημάτων. ἐὰν γὰρ αὐτῷ ἀποκρίνῃ ὅτι τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ὃ ἐρωτᾷ τὸ καλὸν οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ χρυσός, ἀπορήσει καὶ οὐκ ἐπιχειρήσει σε ἐλέγχειν. ἴσμεν γάρ που πάντες ὅτι ὅπου ἂν τοῦτο προσγένηται, κἂν πρότερον αἰσχρὸν φαίνηται, καλὸν φανεῖται χρυσῷ γε κοσμηθέν.

Σωκράτης: ἄπειρος εἶ τοῦ ἀνδρός, ὦ Ἱππία, ὡς σχέτλιός ἐστι καὶ οὐδὲν ῥᾳδίως ἀποδεχόμενος.

Ἱππίας: τί οὖν τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες; τὸ γὰρ ὀρθῶς λεγόμενον [290a] ἀνάγκη αὐτῷ ἀποδέχεσθαι, ἢ μὴ ἀποδεχομένῳ καταγελάστῳ εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὲν δὴ ταύτην γε τὴν ἀπόκρισιν, ὦ ἄριστε, οὐ μόνον οὐκ ἀποδέξεται, ἀλλὰ πάνυ με καὶ τωθάσεται, καὶ ἐρεῖ: ὦ τετυφωμένε σύ, Φειδίαν οἴει κακὸν εἶναι δημιουργόν; καὶ ἐγὼ οἶμαι ἐρῶ ὅτι οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν.

Ἱππίας: καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽ ἐρεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς μέντοι. τοιγάρτοι ἐκεῖνος, ἐπειδὰν ἐγὼ ὁμολογῶ ἀγαθὸν εἶναι δημιουργὸν τὸν Φειδίαν, εἶτα, [290b] φήσει, οἴει τοῦτο τὸ καλὸν ὃ σὺ λέγεις ἠγνόει Φειδίας; καὶ ἐγώ: τί μάλιστα; φήσω. ὅτι, ἐρεῖ, τῆς Ἀθηνᾶς τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς οὐ χρυσοῦς ἐποίησεν, οὐδὲ τὸ ἄλλο πρόσωπον οὐδὲ τοὺς πόδας οὐδὲ τὰς χεῖρας, εἴπερ χρυσοῦν γε δὴ ὂν κάλλιστον ἔμελλε φαίνεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐλεφάντινον: δῆλον ὅτι τοῦτο ὑπὸ ἀμαθίας ἐξήμαρτεν, ἀγνοῶν ὅτι χρυσὸς ἄρ᾽ ἐστὶν ὁ πάντα καλὰ ποιῶν, ὅπου ἂν προσγένηται. ταῦτα οὖν λέγοντι τί ἀποκρινώμεθα, ὦ Ἱππία; [290c]

Ἱππίας: οὐδὲν χαλεπόν: ἐροῦμεν γὰρ ὅτι ὀρθῶς ἐποίησε. καὶ γὰρ τὸ ἐλεφάντινον οἶμαι καλόν ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης: τοῦ οὖν ἕνεκα, φήσει, οὐ καὶ τὰ μέσα τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν ἐλεφάντινα ἠργάσατο, ἀλλὰ λίθινα, ὡς οἷόν τ᾽ ἦν ὁμοιότητα τοῦ λίθου τῷ ἐλέφαντι ἐξευρών; ἢ καὶ ὁ λίθος ὁ καλὸς καλόν ἐστι; φήσομεν, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: φήσομεν μέντοι, ὅταν γε πρέπων ᾖ.

Σωκράτης: ὅταν δὲ μὴ πρέπων, αἰσχρόν; ὁμολογῶ ἢ μή;

Ἱππίας: ὁμολόγει, ὅταν γε μὴ πρέπῃ. [290d]

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ δή; ὁ ἐλέφας καὶ ὁ χρυσός, φήσει, ὦ σοφὲ σύ, οὐχ ὅταν μὲν πρέπῃ, καλὰ ποιεῖ φαίνεσθαι, ὅταν δὲ μή, αἰσχρά; ἔξαρνοι ἐσόμεθα ἢ ὁμολογήσομεν αὐτῷ ὀρθῶς λέγειν αὐτόν;

Ἱππίας: ὁμολογήσομεν τοῦτό γε, ὅτι ὃ ἂν πρέπῃ ἑκάστῳ, τοῦτο καλὸν ποιεῖ ἕκαστον.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν πρέπει, φήσει, ὅταν τις τὴν χύτραν ἣν ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν, τὴν καλήν, ἕψῃ ἔτνους καλοῦ μεστήν, χρυσῆ τορύνη αὐτῇ ἢ συκίνη;

Ἱππίας: Ἡράκλεις, οἷον λέγεις ἄνθρωπον, ὦ Σώκρατες. οὐ [290e] βούλει μοι εἰπεῖν τίς ἐστιν;

Σωκράτης: οὐ γὰρ ἂν γνοίης, εἴ σοι εἴποιμι τοὔνομα.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ καὶ νῦν ἔγωγε γιγνώσκω, ὅτι ἀμαθής τίς ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης: μέρμερος πάνυ ἐστίν, ὦ Ἱππία: ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως τί φήσομεν; ποτέραν πρέπειν τοῖν τορύναιν τῷ ἔτνει καὶ τῇ χύτρᾳ; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι τὴν συκίνην; εὐωδέστερον γάρ που τὸ ἔτνος ποιεῖ, καὶ ἅμα, ὦ ἑταῖρε, οὐκ ἂν συντρίψασα ἡμῖν τὴν χύτραν ἐκχέαι τὸ ἔτνος καὶ τὸ πῦρ ἀποσβέσειεν καὶ τοὺς μέλλοντας ἑστιᾶσθαι ἄνευ ὄψου ἂν πάνυ γενναίου ποιήσειεν: ἡ δὲ χρυσῆ ἐκείνη πάντα ἂν ταῦτα ποιήσειεν, ὥστ᾽ ἔμοιγε [291a] δοκεῖν τὴν συκίνην ἡμᾶς μᾶλλον φάναι πρέπειν ἢ τὴν χρυσῆν, εἰ μή τι σὺ ἄλλο λέγεις.

Ἱππίας: πρέπει μὲν γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, μᾶλλον: οὐ μεντἂν ἔγωγε τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ τοιαῦτα ἐρωτῶντι διαλεγοίμην.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς γε, ὦ φίλε: σοὶ μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ἂν πρέποι τοιούτων ὀνομάτων ἀναπίμπλασθαι, καλῶς μὲν οὑτωσὶ ἀμπεχομένῳ, καλῶς δὲ ὑποδεδεμένῳ, εὐδοκιμοῦντι δὲ ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ ἐν πᾶσι τοῖς Ἕλλησιν. ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοὶ οὐδὲν πρᾶγμα φύρεσθαι [291b] πρὸς τὸν ἄνθρωπον: ἐμὲ οὖν προδίδασκε καὶ ἐμὴν χάριν ἀποκρίνου. εἰ γὰρ δὴ πρέπει γε μᾶλλον ἡ συκίνη τῆς χρυσῆς, φήσει ὁ ἄνθρωπος, ἄλλο τι καὶ καλλίων ἂν εἴη, ἐπειδήπερ τὸ πρέπον, ὦ Σώκρατες, κάλλιον ὡμολόγησας εἶναι τοῦ μὴ πρέποντος; ἄλλο τι ὁμολογῶμεν, ὦ Ἱππία, τὴν συκίνην καλλίω τῆς χρυσῆς εἶναι;

Ἱππίας: βούλει σοι εἴπω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὃ εἰπὼν εἶναι τὸ καλὸν ἀπαλλάξεις σαυτὸν τῶν πολλῶν λόγων; [291c]

Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν: μὴ μέντοι πρότερόν γε πρὶν ἄν μοι εἴπῃς ποτέραν ἀποκρίνωμαι οἷν ἄρτι ἔλεγον τοῖν τορύναιν πρέπουσάν τε καὶ καλλίω εἶναι.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλ᾽, εἰ βούλει, αὐτῷ ἀπόκριναι ὅτι ἡ ἐκ τῆς συκῆς εἰργασμένη.

Σωκράτης: λέγε δὴ νυνὶ ὃ ἄρτι ἔμελλες λέγειν. ταύτῃ μὲν γὰρ τῇ ἀποκρίσει, [ᾗ] ἂν φῶ τὸ καλὸν χρυσὸν εἶναι, οὐδὲν ὡς ἔοικέ μοι ἀναφανήσεται κάλλιον ὂν χρυσὸς ἢ ξύλον σύκινον: τὸ δὲ νῦν τί αὖ λέγεις τὸ καλὸν εἶναι; [291d]

Ἱππίας: ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ. ζητεῖν γάρ μοι δοκεῖς τοιοῦτόν τι τὸ καλὸν ἀποκρίνασθαι, ὃ μηδέποτε αἰσχρὸν μηδαμοῦ μηδενὶ φανεῖται.

Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Ἱππία: καὶ καλῶς γε νῦν ὑπολαμβάνεις.

Ἱππίας: ἄκουε δή: πρὸς γὰρ τοῦτο ἴσθι, ἐάν τις ἔχῃ ὅτι ἀντείπῃ, φάναι ἐμὲ μηδ᾽ ὁτιοῦν ἐπαΐειν.

Σωκράτης: λέγε δὴ ὡς τάχιστα πρὸς θεῶν.

Ἱππίας: λέγω τοίνυν ἀεὶ καὶ παντὶ καὶ πανταχοῦ κάλλιστον εἶναι ἀνδρί, πλουτοῦντι, ὑγιαίνοντι, τιμωμένῳ ὑπὸ τῶν Ἑλλήνων, ἀφικομένῳ εἰς γῆρας, τοὺς αὑτοῦ γονέας τελευτήσαντας [291e] καλῶς περιστείλαντι, ὑπὸ τῶν αὑτοῦ ἐκγόνων καλῶς καὶ μεγαλοπρεπῶς ταφῆναι.

Σωκράτης: ἰοὺ ἰού, ὦ Ἱππία, ἦ θαυμασίως τε καὶ μεγαλείως καὶ ἀξίως σαυτοῦ εἴρηκας: καὶ νὴ τὴν Ἥραν ἄγαμαί σου ὅτι μοι δοκεῖς εὐνοϊκῶς, καθ᾽ ὅσον οἷός τ᾽ εἶ, βοηθεῖν: ἀλλὰ γὰρ τοῦ ἀνδρὸς οὐ τυγχάνομεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡμῶν δὴ νῦν καὶ πλεῖστον καταγελάσεται, εὖ ἴσθι.

Ἱππίας: πονηρόν γ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, γέλωτα: ὅταν γὰρ πρὸς ταῦτα ἔχῃ μὲν μηδὲν ὅτι λέγῃ, γελᾷ δέ, αὑτοῦ καταγελάσεται [292a] καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν παρόντων αὐτὸς ἔσται καταγέλαστος.

Σωκράτης: ἴσως οὕτως ἔχει: ἴσως μέντοι ἐπί γε ταύτῃ τῇ ἀποκρίσει, ὡς ἐγὼ μαντεύομαι, κινδυνεύσει οὐ μόνον μου καταγελᾶν.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι, ἂν τύχῃ βακτηρίαν ἔχων, ἂν μὴ ἐκφύγω φεύγων αὐτόν, εὖ μάλα μου ἐφικέσθαι πειράσεται.

Ἱππίας: πῶς λέγεις; δεσπότης τίς σου ὁ ἄνθρωπός ἐστιν, καὶ τοῦτο ποιήσας οὐκ ἀχθήσεται καὶ δίκας ὀφλήσει; ἢ οὐκ [292b] ἔνδικος ὑμῖν ἡ πόλις ἐστίν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐᾷ ἀδίκως τύπτειν ἀλλήλους τοὺς πολίτας;

Σωκράτης: οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν ἐᾷ.

Ἱππίας: οὐκοῦν δώσει δίκην ἀδίκως γέ σε τύπτων.

Σωκράτης: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Ἱππία, οὔκ, εἰ ταῦτά γε ἀποκριναίμην, ἀλλὰ δικαίως, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Ἱππίας: καὶ ἐμοὶ τοίνυν δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπειδήπερ γε αὐτὸς ταῦτα οἴει.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπω σοι καὶ ᾗ αὐτὸς οἴομαι δικαίως ἂν τύπτεσθαι ταῦτα ἀποκρινόμενος; ἢ καὶ σύ με ἄκριτον τυπτήσεις; ἢ δέξῃ λόγον; [292c]

Ἱππίας: δεινὸν γὰρ ἂν εἴη, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ μὴ δεχοίμην: ἀλλὰ πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ, τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ὅνπερ νυνδή, μιμούμενος ἐκεῖνον, ἵνα μὴ πρὸς σὲ λέγω ῥήματα, οἷα ἐκεῖνος εἰς ἐμὲ ἐρεῖ, χαλεπά τε καὶ ἀλλόκοτα. εὖ γὰρ ἴσθι, εἰπέ μοι, φήσει, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἴει ἂν ἀδίκως πληγὰς λαβεῖν, ὅστις διθύραμβον τοσουτονὶ ᾁσας οὕτως ἀμούσως πολὺ ἀπῇσας ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐρωτήματος; πῶς δή; φήσω ἐγώ. ὅπως; φήσει: οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ εἶ μεμνῆσθαι ὅτι τὸ καλὸν αὐτὸ ἠρώτων, [292d]ὃ παντὶ ᾧ ἂν προσγένηται, ὑπάρχει ἐκείνῳ καλῷ εἶναι, καὶ λίθῳ καὶ ξύλῳ καὶ ἀνθρώπῳ καὶ θεῷ καὶ πάσῃ πράξει καὶ παντὶ μαθήματι; αὐτὸ γὰρ ἔγωγε, ὤνθρωπε, κάλλος ἐρωτῶ ὅτι ἐστίν, καὶ οὐδέν σοι μᾶλλον γεγωνεῖν δύναμαι ἢ εἴ μοι παρεκάθησο λίθος, καὶ οὗτος μυλίας, μήτε ὦτα μήτε ἐγκέφαλον ἔχων. εἰ οὖν φοβηθεὶς εἴποιμι ἐγὼ ἐπὶ τούτοις τάδε, ἆρα οὐκ ἂν ἄχθοιο, ὦ Ἱππία; ἀλλὰ μέντοι τόδε τὸ [292e] καλὸν εἶναι Ἱππίας ἔφη: καίτοι ἐγὼ αὐτὸν ἠρώτων οὕτως ὥσπερ σὺ ἐμέ, ὃ πᾶσι καλὸν καὶ ἀεί ἐστι. πῶς οὖν φῄς; οὐκ ἀχθέσῃ, ἂν εἴπω ταῦτα;

Ἱππίας: εὖ γ᾽ οὖν οἶδα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι πᾶσι καλὸν τοῦτ᾽ ἐστίν, ὃ ἐγὼ εἶπον, καὶ δόξει.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ ἔσται; φήσει: ἀεὶ γάρ που τό γε καλὸν καλόν.

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἦν; φήσει.

Ἱππίας: καὶ ἦν.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ τῷ Ἀχιλλεῖ, φήσει, ὁ ξένος ὁ Ἠλεῖος ἔφη καλὸν εἶναι ὑστέρῳ τῶν προγόνων ταφῆναι, καὶ τῷ πάππῳ αὐτοῦ Αἰακῷ, καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὅσοι [293a] ἐκ θεῶν γεγόνασι, καὶ αὐτοῖς τοῖς θεοῖς;

Ἱππίας: τί τοῦτο; βάλλ᾽ ἐς μακαρίαν. τοῦ ἀνθρώπου οὐδ᾽ εὔφημα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταῦτά γε τὰ ἐρωτήματα.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; τὸ ἐρομένου ἑτέρου φάναι ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν οὐ πάνυ δύσφημον;

Ἱππίας: ἴσως.

Σωκράτης: ἴσως τοίνυν σὺ εἶ οὗτος, φήσει, ὃς παντὶ φῂς καὶ ἀεὶ καλὸν εἶναι ὑπὸ μὲν τῶν ἐκγόνων ταφῆναι, τοὺς δὲ γονέας θάψαι: ἢ οὐχ εἷς τῶν ἁπάντων καὶ Ἡρακλῆς ἦν καὶ οὓς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν πάντες;

Ἱππίας: ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τοῖς θεοῖς ἔγωγε ἔλεγον. [293b]

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ τοῖς ἥρωσιν, ὡς ἔοικας.

Ἱππίας: οὐχ ὅσοι γε θεῶν παῖδες ἦσαν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ὅσοι μή;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν κατὰ τὸν σὸν αὖ λόγον, ὡς φαίνεται, τῶν ἡρώων τῷ μὲν Ταντάλῳ καὶ τῷ Δαρδάνῳ καὶ τῷ Ζήθῳ δεινόν τε καὶ ἀνόσιον καὶ αἰσχρόν ἐστι, Πέλοπι δὲ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τοῖς οὕτω γεγονόσι καλόν.

Ἱππίας: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: σοὶ τοίνυν δοκεῖ, φήσει, ὃ ἄρτι οὐκ ἔφησθα, τὸ θάψαντι τοὺς προγόνους ταφῆναι ὑπὸ τῶν ἐκγόνων ἐνίοτε καὶ [293c] ἐνίοις αἰσχρὸν εἶναι: ἔτι δὲ μᾶλλον, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀδύνατον πᾶσι τοῦτο γενέσθαι καὶ εἶναι καλόν, ὥστε τοῦτό γε ὥσπερ καὶ τὰ ἔμπροσθεν ἐκεῖνα, ἥ τε παρθένος καὶ ἡ χύτρα, ταὐτὸν πέπονθε, καὶ ἔτι γελοιοτέρως τοῖς μέν ἐστι καλόν, τοῖς δ᾽ οὐ καλόν. καὶ οὐδέπω καὶ τήμερον, φήσει, οἷός τ᾽ εἶ, ὦ Σώκρατες, περὶ τοῦ καλοῦ ὅτι ἐστὶ τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ἀποκρίνασθαι. ταῦτά μοι καὶ τοιαῦτα ὀνειδιεῖ δικαίως, ἐὰν αὐτῷ οὕτως ἀποκρίνωμαι. τὰ μὲν οὖν πολλά, ὦ Ἱππία, σχεδόν [293d]τί μοι οὕτω διαλέγεται: ἐνίοτε δὲ ὥσπερ ἐλεήσας μου τὴν ἀπειρίαν καὶ ἀπαιδευσίαν αὐτός μοι προβάλλει ἐρωτῶν εἰ τοιόνδε μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι τὸ καλόν, ἢ καὶ περὶ ἄλλου ὅτου ἂν τύχῃ πυνθανόμενος καὶ περὶ οὗ ἂν λόγος ᾖ.

Ἱππίας: πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἐγώ σοι φράσω. ὦ δαιμόνιε, φησί, Σώκρατες, τὰ μὲν τοιαῦτα ἀποκρινόμενος καὶ οὕτω παῦσαι λίαν γὰρ εὐήθη τε καὶ εὐεξέλεγκτά ἐστινἀλλὰ τὸ τοιόνδε [293e] σκόπει εἴ σοι δοκεῖ καλὸν εἶναι, οὗ καὶ νυνδὴ ἐπελαβόμεθα ἐν τῇ ἀποκρίσει, ἡνίκ᾽ ἔφαμεν τὸν χρυσὸν οἷς μὲν πρέπει καλὸν εἶναι, οἷς δὲ μή, οὔ, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οἷς ἂν τοῦτο προσῇ: αὐτὸ δὴ τοῦτο τὸ πρέπον καὶ τὴν φύσιν αὐτοῦ τοῦ πρέποντος σκόπει εἰ τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὂν τὸ καλόν. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν εἴωθα συμφάναι τὰ τοιαῦτα ἑκάστοτεοὐ γὰρ ἔχω ὅτι λέγωσοὶ δ᾽ οὖν δοκεῖ τὸ πρέπον καλὸν εἶναι;

Ἱππίας: πάντως δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: σκοπώμεθα, μή πῃ ἄρ᾽ ἐξαπατώμεθα.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ χρὴ σκοπεῖν.

Σωκράτης: ὅρα τοίνυν: τὸ πρέπον ἆρα τοῦτο λέγομεν, ὃ παραγενόμενον [294a] ποιεῖ ἕκαστα φαίνεσθαι καλὰ τούτων οἷς ἂν παρῇ, ἢ ὃ εἶναι ποιεῖ, ἢ οὐδέτερα τούτων;

Ἱππίας: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ [πότερa}} ὃ ποιεῖ φαίνεσθαι καλά: ὥσπερ γε ἐπειδὰν ἱμάτιά τις λάβῃ ἢ ὑποδήματα ἁρμόττοντα, κἂν ᾖ γελοῖος, καλλίων φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ καλλίω ποιεῖ φαίνεσθαι ἢ ἔστι τὸ πρέπον, ἀπάτη τις ἂν εἴη περὶ τὸ καλὸν τὸ πρέπον, καὶ οὐκ ἂν εἴη τοῦτο ὃ ἡμεῖς ζητοῦμεν, ὦ Ἱππία; ἡμεῖς μὲν γάρ που [294b] ἐκεῖνο ἐζητοῦμεν, ᾧ πάντα τὰ καλὰ πράγματα καλά ἐστιν ὥσπερ ᾧ πάντα τὰ μεγάλα ἐστὶ μεγάλα, τῷ ὑπερέχοντι: τούτῳ γὰρ πάντα μεγάλα ἐστί, καὶ ἐὰν μὴ φαίνηται, ὑπερέχῃ δέ, ἀνάγκη αὐτοῖς μεγάλοις εἶναιοὕτω δή, φαμέν, καὶ τὸ καλόν, ᾧ καλὰ πάντα ἐστίν, ἄντ᾽ οὖν φαίνηται ἄντε μή, τί ἂν εἴη; τὸ μὲν γὰρ πρέπον οὐκ ἂν εἴη: καλλίω γὰρ ποιεῖ φαίνεσθαι ἢ ἔστιν, ὡς ὁ σὸς λόγος, οἷα δ᾽ ἔστιν οὐκ ἐᾷ φαίνεσθαι. τὸ δὲ ποιοῦν εἶναι καλά, ὅπερ νυνδὴ εἶπον, [294c] ἐάντε φαίνηται ἐάντε μή, πειρατέον λέγειν τί ἐστι: τοῦτο γὰρ ζητοῦμεν, εἴπερ τὸ καλὸν ζητοῦμεν.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ τὸ πρέπον, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ εἶναι καὶ φαίνεσθαι ποιεῖ καλὰ παρόν.

Σωκράτης: ἀδύνατον ἄρα τῷ ὄντι καλὰ ὄντα μὴ φαίνεσθαι καλὰ εἶναι, παρόντος γε τοῦ ποιοῦντος φαίνεσθαι;

Ἱππίας: ἀδύνατον.

Σωκράτης: ὁμολογήσομεν οὖν τοῦτο, ὦ Ἱππία, πάντα τὰ τῷ ὄντι καλὰ καὶ νόμιμα καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα καὶ δοξάζεσθαι καλὰ [294d]εἶναι καὶ φαίνεσθαι ἀεὶ πᾶσιν, ἢ πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἀγνοεῖσθαι καὶ πάντων μάλιστα ἔριν καὶ μάχην περὶ αὐτῶν εἶναι καὶ ἰδίᾳ ἑκάστοις καὶ δημοσίᾳ ταῖς πόλεσιν;

Ἱππίας: οὕτω μᾶλλον, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἀγνοεῖσθαι.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄν, εἴ γέ που τὸ φαίνεσθαι αὐτοῖς προσῆν: προσῆν δ᾽ ἄν, εἴπερ τὸ πρέπον καλὸν ἦν καὶ μὴ μόνον καλὰ ἐποίει εἶναι ἀλλὰ καὶ φαίνεσθαι. ὥστε τὸ πρέπον, εἰ μὲν τὸ καλὰ ποιοῦν ἐστιν εἶναι, τὸ μὲν καλὸν ἂν εἴη, ὃ ἡμεῖς ζητοῦμεν, οὐ μέντοι τό γε ποιοῦν φαίνεσθαι: εἰ δ᾽ αὖ τὸ [294e] φαίνεσθαι ποιοῦν ἐστιν τὸ πρέπον, οὐκ ἂν εἴη τὸ καλόν, ὃ ἡμεῖς ζητοῦμεν. εἶναι γὰρ ἐκεῖνό γε ποιεῖ, φαίνεσθαι δὲ καὶ [ποιεῖν] εἶναι οὐ μόνον καλὰ οὐκ ἄν ποτε δύναιτο τὸ αὐτό, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν. ἑλώμεθα δὴ πότερα δοκεῖ τὸ πρέπον εἶναι τὸ φαίνεσθαι καλὰ ποιοῦν, ἢ τὸ εἶναι.

Ἱππίας: τὸ φαίνεσθαι, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: βαβαῖ, οἴχεται ἄρ᾽ ἡμᾶς διαπεφευγός, ὦ Ἱππία, τὸ καλὸν γνῶναι ὅτι ποτέ ἐστιν, ἐπειδή γε τὸ πρέπον ἄλλο τι ἐφάνη ὂν ἢ καλόν.

Ἱππίας: ναὶ μὰ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ μάλα ἔμοιγε ἀτόπως. [295a]

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ὦ ἑταῖρε, μήπω γε ἀνῶμεν αὐτό: ἔτι γάρ τινα ἐλπίδα ἔχω ἐκφανήσεσθαι τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν τὸ καλόν.

Ἱππίας: πάντως δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες: οὐδὲ γὰρ χαλεπόν ἐστιν εὑρεῖν. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι, εἰ ὀλίγον χρόνον εἰς ἐρημίαν ἐλθὼν σκεψαίμην πρὸς ἐμαυτόν, ἀκριβέστερον ἂν αὐτό σοι εἴποιμι τῆς ἁπάσης ἀκριβείας.

Σωκράτης: ἆ μὴ μέγα, ὦ Ἱππία, λέγε. ὁρᾷς ὅσα πράγματα ἡμῖν ἤδη παρέσχηκε: μὴ καὶ ὀργισθὲν ἡμῖν ἔτι μᾶλλον [295b] ἀποδρᾷ. καίτοι οὐδὲν λέγω: σὺ μὲν γὰρ οἶμαι ῥᾳδίως αὐτὸ εὑρήσεις, ἐπειδὰν μόνος γένῃ. ἀλλὰ πρὸς θεῶν ἐμοῦ ἐναντίον αὐτὸ ἔξευρε, εἰ δὲ βούλει, ὥσπερ νῦν ἐμοὶ συζήτει: καὶ ἐὰν μὲν εὕρωμεν, κάλλιστα ἕξει, εἰ δὲ μή, στέρξω οἶμαι ἐγὼ τῇ ἐμῇ τύχῃ, σὺ δ᾽ ἀπελθὼν ῥᾳδίως εὑρήσεις: καὶ ἐὰν μὲν νῦν εὕρωμεν, ἀμέλει οὐκ ὀχληρὸς ἔσομαί σοι πυνθανόμενος ὅτι ἦν ἐκεῖνο ὃ κατὰ σαυτὸν ἐξηῦρες: νῦν δὲ θέασαι αὐτὸ ὅ σοι [295c] δοκεῖ εἶναι τὸ καλόν. λέγω δὴ αὐτὸ εἶναιἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐπισκόπει μοι πάνυ προσέχων τὸν νοῦν μὴ παραληρήσωτοῦτο γὰρ δὴ ἔστω ἡμῖν καλόν, ὃ ἂν χρήσιμον ᾖ. εἶπον δὲ ἐκ τῶνδε ἐννοούμενος: καλοί, φαμέν, οἱ ὀφθαλμοί εἰσιν, οὐχ οἳ ἂν δοκῶσι τοιοῦτοι εἶναι οἷοι μὴ δυνατοὶ ὁρᾶν, ἀλλ᾽ οἳ ἂν δυνατοί τε καὶ χρήσιμοι πρὸς τὸ ἰδεῖν. ἦ γάρ;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ὅλον σῶμα οὕτω λέγομεν καλὸν εἶναι, τὸ μὲν πρὸς δρόμον, τὸ δὲ πρὸς πάλην, καὶ αὖ τὰ [295d]ζῷα πάντα, ἵππον καλὸν καὶ ἀλεκτρυόνα καὶ ὄρτυγα, καὶ τὰ σκεύη πάντα καὶ τὰ ὀχήματα τά τε πεζὰ καὶ τὰ ἐν τῇ θαλάττῃ πλοῖά τε καὶ τριήρεις, καὶ τά γε ὄργανα πάντα τά τε ὑπὸ τῇ μουσικῇ καὶ τὰ ὑπὸ ταῖς ἄλλαις τέχναις, εἰ δὲ βούλει, τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα καὶ τοὺς νόμους, σχεδόν τι πάντα ταῦτα καλὰ προσαγορεύομεν τῷ αὐτῷ τρόπῳ: ἀποβλέποντες πρὸς ἕκαστον αὐτῶν ᾗ πέφυκεν, ᾗ εἴργασται, ᾗ κεῖται, τὸ μὲν χρήσιμον καὶ ᾗ χρήσιμον καὶ πρὸς ὃ χρήσιμον [295e] καὶ ὁπότε χρήσιμον καλόν φαμεν εἶναι, τὸ δὲ ταύτῃ πάντῃ ἄχρηστον αἰσχρόν: ἆρ᾽ οὐ καὶ σοὶ δοκεῖ οὕτως, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς ἄρα νῦν λέγομεν ὅτι τυγχάνει παντὸς ὂν μᾶλλον καλὸν τὸ χρήσιμον;

Ἱππίας: ὀρθῶς μέντοι, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ δυνατὸν ἕκαστον ἀπεργάζεσθαι, εἰς ὅπερ δυνατόν, εἰς τοῦτο καὶ χρήσιμον, τὸ δὲ ἀδύνατον ἄχρηστον;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: δύναμις μὲν ἄρα καλόν, ἀδυναμία δὲ αἰσχρόν;

Ἱππίας: σφόδρα γε. τά τε γοῦν ἄλλα, [296a] ὦ Σώκρατες, μαρτυρεῖ ἡμῖν ὅτι τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, ἀτὰρ οὖν καὶ τὰ πολιτικά: ἐν γὰρ τοῖς πολιτικοῖς τε καὶ τῇ ἑαυτοῦ πόλει τὸ μὲν δυνατὸν εἶναι πάντων κάλλιστον, τὸ δὲ ἀδύνατον πάντων αἴσχιστον.

Σωκράτης: εὖ λέγεις. ἆρ᾽ οὖν πρὸς θεῶν, Ἱππία, διὰ ταῦτα καὶ ἡ σοφία πάντων κάλλιστον, ἡ δὲ ἀμαθία πάντων αἴσχιστον;

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ τί οἴει, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἔχε δὴ ἠρέμα, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε: ὡς φοβοῦμαι τί ποτ᾽ αὖ λέγομεν. [296b]

Ἱππίας: τί δ᾽ αὖ φοβῇ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπεὶ νῦν γέ σοι ὁ λόγος παγκάλως προβέβηκε;

Σωκράτης: βουλοίμην ἄν, ἀλλά μοι τόδε συνεπίσκεψαι: ἆρ᾽ ἄν τίς τι ποιήσειεν ὃ μήτ᾽ ἐπίσταιτο μήτε τὸ παράπαν δύναιτο;

Ἱππίας: οὐδαμῶς: πῶς γὰρ ἂν ὅ γε μὴ δύναιτο;

Σωκράτης: οἱ οὖν ἐξαμαρτάνοντες καὶ κακὰ ἐργαζόμενοί τε καὶ ποιοῦντες ἄκοντες, ἄλλο τι οὗτοι, εἰ μὴ ἐδύναντο ταῦτα ποιεῖν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐποίουν;

Ἱππίας: δῆλον δή.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μέντοι δυνάμει [296c] γε δύνανται οἱ δυνάμενοι: οὐ γάρ που ἀδυναμίᾳ γε.

Ἱππίας: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: δύνανται δέ γε πάντες ποιεῖν οἱ ποιοῦντες ἃ ποιοῦσιν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: κακὰ δέ γε πολὺ πλείω ποιοῦσιν ἢ ἀγαθὰ πάντες ἄνθρωποι, ἀρξάμενοι ἐκ παίδων, καὶ ἐξαμαρτάνουσιν ἄκοντες.

Ἱππίας: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ταύτην τὴν δύναμιν καὶ ταῦτα τὰ χρήσιμα, ἃ ἂν ᾖ ἐπὶ τὸ κακόν τι ἐργάζεσθαι χρήσιμα, ἆρα φήσομεν ταῦτα εἶναι [296d]καλά, ἢ πολλοῦ δεῖ;

Ἱππίας: πολλοῦ, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα, ὦ Ἱππία, τὸ δυνατόν τε καὶ τὸ χρήσιμον ἡμῖν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐστὶ τὸ καλόν.

Ἱππίας: ἐάν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀγαθὰ δύνηται καὶ ἐπὶ τοιαῦτα χρήσιμον ᾖ.

Σωκράτης: ἐκεῖνο μὲν τοίνυν οἴχεται, τὸ δυνατόν τε καὶ χρήσιμον ἁπλῶς εἶναι καλόν: ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα τοῦτ᾽ ἦν ἐκεῖνο, ὦ Ἱππία, ὃ ἐβούλετο ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ εἰπεῖν, ὅτι τὸ χρήσιμόν τε καὶ τὸ δυνατὸν ἐπὶ τὸ ἀγαθόν τι ποιῆσαι, τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ [296e] καλόν;

Ἱππίας: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε ὠφέλιμόν ἐστιν. ἢ οὔ;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὕτω δὴ καὶ τὰ καλὰ σώματα καὶ τὰ καλὰ νόμιμα καὶ ἡ σοφία καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν πάντα καλά ἐστιν, ὅτι ὠφέλιμα.

Ἱππίας: δῆλον ὅτι.

Σωκράτης: τὸ ὠφέλιμον ἄρα ἔοικεν ἡμῖν εἶναι τὸ καλόν, ὦ Ἱππία.

Ἱππίας: πάντως δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε ὠφέλιμον τὸ ποιοῦν ἀγαθόν ἐστιν.

Ἱππίας: ἔστι γάρ.

Σωκράτης: τὸ ποιοῦν δέ γ᾽ ἐστὶν οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ τὸ αἴτιον: ἦ γάρ;

Ἱππίας: οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἄρα [297a] αἴτιόν ἐστιν τὸ καλόν.

Ἱππίας: ἔστι γάρ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε αἴτιον, ὦ Ἱππία, καὶ οὗ ἂν αἴτιον ᾖ τὸ αἴτιον, ἄλλο ἐστίν: οὐ γάρ που τό γε αἴτιον αἰτίου αἴτιον ἂν εἴη. ὧδε δὲ σκόπει: οὐ τὸ αἴτιον ποιοῦν ἐφάνη;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιοῦντος ποιεῖται οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ τὸ γιγνόμενον, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὸ ποιοῦν;

Ἱππίας: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἄλλο τι τὸ γιγνόμενον, ἄλλο δὲ τὸ ποιοῦν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα τό γ᾽ αἴτιον αἴτιον [297b] αἰτίου ἐστίν, ἀλλὰ τοῦ γιγνομένου ὑφ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ.

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: εἰ ἄρα τὸ καλόν ἐστιν αἴτιον ἀγαθοῦ, γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὑπὸ τοῦ καλοῦ τὸ ἀγαθόν: καὶ διὰ ταῦτα, ὡς ἔοικε, σπουδάζομεν καὶ τὴν φρόνησιν καὶ τἆλλα πάντα τὰ καλά, ὅτι τὸ ἔργον αὐτῶν καὶ τὸ ἔκγονον σπουδαστόν ἐστι, τὸ ἀγαθόν, καὶ κινδυνεύει ἐξ ὧν εὑρίσκομεν ἐν πατρός τινος ἰδέᾳ εἶναι τὸ καλὸν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ.

Ἱππίας: πάνυ μὲν οὖν: καλῶς γὰρ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τόδε καλῶς λέγω, ὅτι οὔτε ὁ πατὴρ ὑός [297c] ἐστιν, οὔτε ὁ ὑὸς πατήρ;

Ἱππίας: καλῶς μέντοι.

Σωκράτης: οὐδέ γε τὸ αἴτιον γιγνόμενόν ἐστιν, οὐδὲ τὸ γιγνόμενον αὖ αἴτιον.

Ἱππίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: μὰ Δία, ὦ ἄριστε, οὐδὲ ἄρα τὸ καλὸν ἀγαθόν ἐστιν, οὐδὲ τὸ ἀγαθὸν καλόν: ἢ δοκεῖ σοι οἷόν τε εἶναι ἐκ τῶν προειρημένων;

Ἱππίας: οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, οὔ μοι φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: ἀρέσκει οὖν ἡμῖν καὶ ἐθέλοιμεν ἂν λέγειν ὡς τὸ καλὸν οὐκ ἀγαθὸν οὐδὲ τὸ ἀγαθὸν καλόν;

Ἱππίας: οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, οὐ πάνυ μοι ἀρέσκει.

Σωκράτης: ναὶ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Ἱππία: ἐμοὶ δέ γε πάντων [297d]ἥκιστα ἀρέσκει ὧν εἰρήκαμεν λόγων.

Ἱππίας: ἔοικε γὰρ οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύει ἄρα ἡμῖν, οὐχ ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἐφαίνετο κάλλιστος εἶναι τῶν λόγων τὸ ὠφέλιμον καὶ τὸ χρήσιμόν τε καὶ τὸ δυνατὸν ἀγαθόν τι ποιεῖν καλὸν εἶναι, οὐχ οὕτως ἔχειν, ἀλλ᾽, εἰ οἷόν τέ ἐστιν, ἐκείνων εἶναι γελοιότερος τῶν πρώτων, ἐν οἷς τήν τε παρθένον ᾠόμεθα εἶναι τὸ καλὸν καὶ ἓν ἕκαστον τῶν ἔμπροσθεν λεχθέντων.

Ἱππίας: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐγὼ μέν γε οὐκ ἔτι ἔχω, ὦ Ἱππία, ὅποι τράπωμαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπορῶ: σὺ δὲ ἔχεις τι λέγειν; [297e]

Ἱππίας: οὐκ ἔν γε τῷ παρόντι, ἀλλ᾽, ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, σκεψάμενος εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι εὑρήσω.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἐγώ μοι δοκῶ ὑπὸ ἐπιθυμίας τοῦ εἰδέναι οὐχ οἷός τε σὲ εἶναι περιμένειν μέλλοντα: καὶ γὰρ οὖν δή τι καὶ οἶμαι ἄρτι ηὐπορηκέναι. ὅρα γάρ: εἰ ὃ ἂν χαίρειν ἡμᾶς ποιῇ, μήτι πάσας τὰς ἡδονάς, ἀλλ᾽ ὃ ἂν διὰ τῆς ἀκοῆς καὶ τῆς ὄψεως, τοῦτο φαῖμεν εἶναι καλόν, πῶς τι ἄρ᾽ ἂν ἀγωνιζοίμεθα; [298a] οἵ τέ γέ που καλοὶ ἄνθρωποι, ὦ Ἱππία, καὶ τὰ ποικίλματα πάντα καὶ τὰ ζωγραφήματα καὶ τὰ πλάσματα τέρπει ἡμᾶς ὁρῶντας, ἃ ἂν καλὰ ᾖ: καὶ οἱ φθόγγοι οἱ καλοὶ καὶ ἡ μουσικὴ σύμπασα καὶ οἱ λόγοι καὶ αἱ μυθολογίαι ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἐργάζονται, ὥστ᾽ εἰ ἀποκριναίμεθα τῷ θρασεῖ ἐκείνῳ ἀνθρώπῳ ὅτι ὦ γενναῖε, τὸ καλόν ἐστι τὸ δι᾽ ἀκοῆς τε καὶ δι᾽ ὄψεως ἡδύ, οὐκ ἂν οἴει αὐτὸν τοῦ θράσους ἐπίσχοιμεν;

Ἱππίας: ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ νῦν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, εὖ λέγεσθαι [298b] τὸ καλὸν ὃ ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽; ἆρα τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα τὰ καλὰ καὶ τοὺς νόμους, ὦ Ἱππία, δι᾽ ἀκοῆς ἢ δι᾽ ὄψεως φήσομεν ἡδέα ὄντα καλὰ εἶναι, ἢ ἄλλο τι εἶδος ἔχειν;

Ἱππίας: ταῦτα δ᾽ ἴσως, ὦ Σώκρατες, κἂν παραλάθοι τὸν ἄνθρωπον.

Σωκράτης: μὰ τὸν κύνα, ὦ Ἱππία, οὐχ ὅν γ᾽ ἂν ἐγὼ μάλιστα αἰσχυνοίμην ληρῶν καὶ προσποιούμενός τι λέγειν μηδὲν λέγων.

Ἱππίας: τίνα τοῦτον;

Σωκράτης: τὸν Σωφρονίσκου, ὃς ἐμοὶ οὐδὲν ἂν μᾶλλον ταῦτα [298c] ἐπιτρέποι ἀνερεύνητα ὄντα ῥᾳδίως λέγειν ἢ ὡς εἰδότα ἃ μὴ οἶδα.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ μὴν ἔμοιγε καὶ αὐτῷ, ἐπειδὴ σὺ εἶπες, δοκεῖ τι ἄλλο εἶναι τοῦτο τὸ περὶ τοὺς νόμους.

Σωκράτης: ἔχ᾽ ἡσυχῇ, ὦ Ἱππία: κινδυνεύομεν γάρ τοι, ἐν τῇ αὐτῇ ἐμπεπτωκότες ἀπορίᾳ περὶ τοῦ καλοῦ ἐν ᾗπερ νυνδή, οἴεσθαι ἐν ἄλλῃ τινὶ εὐπορίᾳ εἶναι.

Ἱππίας: πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἐγώ σοι φράσω ὅ γ᾽ ἐμοὶ καταφαίνεται, εἰ ἄρα τὶ [298d]λέγω. ταῦτα μὲν γὰρ τὰ περὶ τοὺς νόμους τε καὶ τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα τάχ᾽ ἂν φανείη οὐκ ἐκτὸς ὄντα τῆς αἰσθήσεως ἣ διὰ τῆς ἀκοῆς τε καὶ ὄψεως ἡμῖν οὖσα τυγχάνει: ἀλλ᾽ ὑπομείνωμεν τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, τὸ διὰ τούτων ἡδὺ καλὸν εἶναι, μηδὲν τὸ τῶν νόμων εἰς μέσον παράγοντες. ἀλλ᾽ εἰ ἡμᾶς ἔροιτο εἴτε οὗτος ὃν λέγω, εἴτε ἄλλος ὁστισοῦν: τί δή, ὦ Ἱππία τε καὶ Σώκρατες, ἀφωρίσατε τοῦ ἡδέος τὸ ταύτῃ ἡδὺ ᾗ λέγετε καλὸν εἶναι, τὸ δὲ κατὰ τὰς ἄλλας [298e] αἰσθήσεις σίτων τε καὶ ποτῶν καὶ τῶν περὶ τἀφροδίσια καὶ τἆλλα πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα οὔ φατε καλὰ εἶναι; ἢ οὐδὲ ἡδέα, οὐδὲ ἡδονὰς τὸ παράπαν ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις φατὲ εἶναι, οὐδ᾽ ἐν ἄλλῳ ἢ τῷ ἰδεῖν τε καὶ ἀκοῦσαι; τί φήσομεν, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: πάντως δήπου φήσομεν, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις μεγάλας πάνυ ἡδονὰς εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν, φήσει, ἡδονὰς οὔσας οὐδὲν ἧττον ἢ καὶ ἐκείνας ἀφαιρεῖσθε τοῦτο τοὔνομα καὶ ἀποστερεῖτε τοῦ [299a] καλὰς εἶναι; ὅτι, φήσομεν, καταγελῴη ἂν ἡμῶν οὐδεὶς ὅστις οὔ, εἰ φαῖμεν μὴ ἡδὺ εἶναι φαγεῖν, ἀλλὰ καλόν, καὶ ὄζειν ἡδὺ μὴ ἡδὺ ἀλλὰ καλόν: τὰ δέ που περὶ τὰ ἀφροδίσια πάντες ἂν ἡμῖν μάχοιντο ὡς ἥδιστον ὄν, δεῖν δὲ αὐτό, ἐάν τις καὶ πράττῃ, οὕτω πράττειν ὥστε μηδένα ὁρᾶν, ὡς αἴσχιστον ὂν ὁρᾶσθαι. ταῦτα ἡμῶν λεγόντων, ὦ Ἱππία, μανθάνω, ἂν ἴσως φαίη, καὶ ἐγὼ ὅτι πάλαι αἰσχύνεσθε ταύτας τὰς ἡδονὰς φάναι καλὰς εἶναι, ὅτι οὐ δοκεῖ τοῖς [299b] ἀνθρώποις: ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ οὐ τοῦτο ἠρώτων, ὃ δοκεῖ τοῖς πολλοῖς καλὸν εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι ἔστιν. ἐροῦμεν δὴ οἶμαι ὅπερ ὑπεθέμεθα, ὅτι τοῦθ᾽ ἡμεῖς γέ φαμεν τὸ μέρος τοῦ ἡδέος, τὸ ἐπὶ τῇ ὄψει τε καὶ ἀκοῇ γιγνόμενον, καλὸν εἶναι. ἀλλὰ ἔχεις ἔτι τι χρῆσθαι τῷ λόγῳ, ἤ τι καὶ ἄλλο ἐροῦμεν, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: ἀνάγκη πρός γε τὰ εἰρημένα, ὦ Σώκρατες, μὴ ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα ἢ ταῦτα λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς δὴ λέγετε, φήσει. οὐκοῦν εἴπερ τὸ [299c] δι᾽ ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοῆς ἡδὺ καλόν ἐστιν, ὃ μὴ τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὂν τῶν ἡδέων, δῆλον ὅτι οὐκ ἂν καλὸν εἴη; ὁμολογήσομεν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἦ οὖν τὸ δι᾽ ὄψεως ἡδύ, φήσει, δι᾽ ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοῆς ἐστιν ἡδύ, ἢ τὸ δι᾽ ἀκοῆς ἡδὺ δι᾽ ἀκοῆς καὶ δι᾽ ὄψεώς ἐστιν ἡδύ; οὐδαμῶς, φήσομεν, τὸ διὰ τοῦ ἑτέρου ὂν τοῦτο δι᾽ ἀμφοτέρων εἴη ἄντοῦτο γὰρ δοκεῖς ἡμῖν λέγεινἀλλ᾽ ἡμεῖς ἐλέγομεν ὅτι καὶ ἑκάτερον τούτων αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ τῶν ἡδέων καλὸν εἴη, καὶ ἀμφότερα. οὐχ οὕτως ἀποκρινούμεθα; [299d]

Ἱππίας: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν, φήσει, ἡδὺ ἡδέος ὁτιοῦν ὁτουοῦν διαφέρει τούτῳ, τῷ ἡδὺ εἶναι; μὴ γὰρ εἰ μείζων τις ἡδονὴ ἢ ἐλάττων ἢ μᾶλλον ἢ ἧττόν ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τις αὐτῷ τούτῳ διαφέρει, τῷ ἡ μὲν ἡδονὴ εἶναι, ἡ δὲ μὴ ἡδονή, τῶν ἡδονῶν; οὐχ ἡμῖν γε δοκεῖ: οὐ γάρ;

Ἱππίας: οὐ γὰρ οὖν δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν, φήσει, δι᾽ ἄλλο τι ἢ ὅτι ἡδοναί εἰσι προείλεσθε ταύτας τὰς ἡδονὰς ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων ἡδονῶν, τοιοῦτόν [299e] τι ὁρῶντες ἐπ᾽ ἀμφοῖν, ὅτι ἔχουσί τι διάφορον τῶν ἄλλων, εἰς ὃ ἀποβλέποντες καλάς φατε αὐτὰς εἶναι; οὐ γάρ που διὰ τοῦτο καλή ἐστιν ἡδονὴ ἡ διὰ τῆς ὄψεως, ὅτι δι᾽ ὄψεώς ἐστιν: εἰ γὰρ τοῦτο αὐτῇ ἦν τὸ αἴτιον καλῇ εἶναι, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἦν ἡ ἑτέρα, ἡ διὰ τῆς ἀκοῆς, καλή: οὔκουν ἔστι γε δι᾽ ὄψεως ἡδονή. ἀληθῆ λέγεις, φήσομεν;

Ἱππίας: φήσομεν γάρ. [300a]

Σωκράτης: οὐδέ γ᾽ αὖ ἡ δι᾽ ἀκοῆς ἡδονή, ὅτι δι᾽ ἀκοῆς ἐστι, διὰ ταῦτα τυγχάνει καλή: οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε αὖ ἡ διὰ τῆς ὄψεως καλὴ ἦν: οὔκουν ἔστι γε δι᾽ ἀκοῆς ἡδονή. ἀληθῆ φήσομεν, ὦ Ἱππία, λέγειν τὸν ἄνδρα ταῦτα λέγοντα;

Ἱππίας: ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μέντοι ἀμφότεραί γ᾽ εἰσὶ καλαί, ὡς φατέ. φαμὲν γάρ;

Ἱππίας: φαμέν.

Σωκράτης: ἔχουσιν ἄρα τι τὸ αὐτὸ ὃ ποιεῖ αὐτὰς καλὰς εἶναι, τὸ κοινὸν τοῦτο, ὃ καὶ ἀμφοτέραις αὐταῖς ἔπεστι κοινῇ [300b] καὶ ἑκατέρᾳ ἰδίᾳ: οὐ γὰρ ἄν που ἄλλως ἀμφότεραί γε καλαὶ ἦσαν καὶ ἑκατέρα. ἀποκρίνου ἐμοὶ ὡς ἐκείνῳ.

Ἱππίας: ἀποκρίνομαι, καὶ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ ἔχειν ὡς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: εἰ ἄρα τι αὗται αἱ ἡδοναὶ ἀμφότεραι πεπόνθασιν, ἑκατέρα δὲ μή, οὐκ ἂν τούτῳ γε τῷ παθήματι εἶεν καλαί.

Ἱππίας: καὶ πῶς ἂν εἴη τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες, μηδετέρας πεπονθυίας τι τῶν ὄντων ὁτιοῦν, ἔπειτα τοῦτο τὸ πάθος, ὃ μηδετέρα πέπονθεν, ἀμφοτέρας πεπονθέναι; [300c]

Σωκράτης: οὐ δοκεῖ σοι;

Ἱππίας: πολλὴ γὰρ ἄν μ᾽ ἔχοι ἀπειρία καὶ τῆς τούτων φύσεως καὶ τῆς τῶν παρόντων λέξεως λόγων.

Σωκράτης: ἡδέως γε, ὦ Ἱππία. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐγὼ ἴσως κινδυνεύω δοκεῖν μέν τι ὁρᾶν οὕτως ἔχον ὡς σὺ φῂς ἀδύνατον εἶναι, ὁρῶ δ᾽ οὐδέν.

Ἱππίας: οὐ κινδυνεύεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ πάνυ ἑτοίμως παρορᾷς.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν πολλά γέ μοι προφαίνεται τοιαῦτα πρὸ τῆς ψυχῆς, ἀλλὰ ἀπιστῶ αὐτοῖς, ὅτι σοὶ μὲν οὐ φαντάζεται, [300d]ἀνδρὶ πλεῖστον ἀργύριον εἰργασμένῳ τῶν νῦν ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ, ἐμοὶ δέ, ὃς οὐδὲν πώποτε ἠργασάμην. καὶ ἐνθυμοῦμαι, ὦ ἑταῖρε, μὴ παίζῃς πρός με καὶ ἑκὼν ἐξαπατᾷς: οὕτως μοι σφόδρα καὶ πολλὰ φαίνεται.

Ἱππίας: οὐδεὶς σοῦ, ὦ Σώκρατες, κάλλιον εἴσεται εἴτε παίζω εἴτε μή, ἐὰν ἐπιχειρήσῃς λέγειν τὰ προφαινόμενά σοι ταῦτα: φανήσῃ γὰρ οὐδὲν λέγων. οὐ γὰρ μήποτε εὕρῃς, ὃ μήτ᾽ ἐγὼ πέπονθα μήτε σύ, τοῦτ᾽ ἀμφοτέρους ἡμᾶς πεπονθότας. [300e]

Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Ἱππία; ἴσως μὲν τὶ λέγεις, ἐγὼ δ᾽ οὐ μανθάνω: ἀλλά μου σαφέστερον ἄκουσον ὃ βούλομαι λέγειν. ἐμοὶ γὰρ φαίνεται, ὃ μήτ᾽ ἐγὼ πέπονθα εἶναι μήτ᾽ εἰμὶ μηδ᾽ αὖ σὺ εἶ, τοῦτο ἀμφοτέρους πεπονθέναι ἡμᾶς οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι: ἕτερα δ᾽ αὖ, ἃ ἀμφότεροι πεπόνθαμεν εἶναι, ταῦτα οὐδέτερον εἶναι ἡμῶν.

Ἱππίας: τέρατα αὖ ἀποκρινομένῳ ἔοικας, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔτι μείζω ἢ ὀλίγον πρότερον ἀπεκρίνω. σκόπει γάρ: πότερον εἰ ἀμφότεροι δίκαιοί ἐσμεν, οὐ καὶ ἑκάτερος ἡμῶν εἴη ἄν, ἢ εἰ ἄδικος ἑκάτερος, οὐ καὶ ἀμφότεροι, ἢ εἰ ὑγιαίνοντες, [301a] οὐ καὶ ἑκάτερος; ἢ εἰ κεκμηκώς τι ἢ τετρωμένος ἢ πεπληγμένος ἢ ἄλλ᾽ ὁτιοῦν πεπονθὼς ἑκάτερος ἡμῶν εἴη, οὐ καὶ ἀμφότεροι αὖ ἂν τοῦτο πεπόνθοιμεν; ἔτι τοίνυν εἰ χρυσοῖ ἢ ἀργυροῖ ἢ ἐλεφάντινοι, εἰ δὲ βούλει, γενναῖοι ἢ σοφοὶ ἢ τίμιοι ἢ γέροντές γε ἢ νέοι ἢ ἄλλο ὅτι βούλει τῶν ἐν ἀνθρώποις ἀμφότεροι τύχοιμεν ὄντες, ἆρ᾽ οὐ μεγάλη ἀνάγκη καὶ ἑκάτερον ἡμῶν τοῦτο εἶναι; [301b]

Σωκράτης: πάντως γε δήπου.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ γὰρ δὴ σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὰ μὲν ὅλα τῶν πραγμάτων οὐ σκοπεῖς, οὐδ᾽ ἐκεῖνοι οἷς σὺ εἴωθας διαλέγεσθαι, κρούετε δὲ ἀπολαμβάνοντες τὸ καλὸν καὶ ἕκαστον τῶν ὄντων ἐν τοῖς λόγοις κατατέμνοντες. διὰ ταῦτα οὕτω μεγάλα ὑμᾶς λανθάνει καὶ διανεκῆ σώματα τῆς οὐσίας πεφυκότα. καὶ νῦν τοσοῦτόν σε λέληθεν, ὥστε οἴει εἶναί τι ἢ πάθος ἢ οὐσίαν, ἣ περὶ μὲν ἀμφότερα ταῦτα ἔστιν ἅμα, [301c] περὶ δὲ ἑκάτερον οὔ, ἢ αὖ περὶ μὲν ἑκάτερον, περὶ δὲ ἀμφότερα οὔ: οὕτως ἀλογίστως καὶ ἀσκέπτως καὶ εὐήθως καὶ ἀδιανοήτως διάκεισθε.

Σωκράτης: τοιαῦτα, ὦ Ἱππία, τὰ ἡμέτερά ἐστιν, οὐχ οἷα βούλεταί τις, φασὶν ἄνθρωποι ἑκάστοτε παροιμιαζόμενοι, ἀλλ᾽ οἷα δύναται: ἀλλὰ σὺ ἡμᾶς ὀνίνης ἀεὶ νουθετῶν. ἐπεὶ καὶ νῦν, πρὶν ὑπὸ σοῦ ταῦτα νουθετηθῆναι, ὡς εὐήθως διεκείμεθα, ἔτι σοι μᾶλλον ἐγὼ ἐπιδείξω εἰπὼν ἃ διενοούμεθα [301d]περὶ αὐτῶν, ἢ μὴ εἴπω;

Ἱππίας: εἰδότι μὲν ἐρεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες: οἶδα γὰρ ἑκάστους τῶν περὶ τοὺς λόγους ὡς διάκεινται. ὅμως δ᾽ εἴ τι σοὶ ἥδιον, λέγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ἥδιόν γε. ἡμεῖς γάρ, ὦ βέλτιστε, οὕτως ἀβέλτεροι ἦμεν, πρίν σε ταῦτ᾽ εἰπεῖν, ὥστε δόξαν εἴχομεν περὶ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ ὡς ἑκάτερος ἡμῶν εἷς ἐστι, τοῦτο δὲ ὃ ἑκάτερος ἡμῶν εἴη οὐκ ἄρα εἶμεν ἀμφότεροιοὐ γὰρ εἷς ἐσμεν, ἀλλὰ δύοοὕτως εὐηθικῶς εἴχομεν: νῦν δὲ παρὰ [301e] σοῦ ἤδη ἀνεδιδάχθημεν ὅτι εἰ μὲν δύο ἀμφότεροί ἐσμεν, δύο καὶ ἑκάτερον ἡμῶν ἀνάγκη εἶναι, εἰ δὲ εἷς ἑκάτερος, ἕνα καὶ ἀμφοτέρους ἀνάγκη: οὐ γὰρ οἷόν τε διανεκεῖ λόγῳ τῆς οὐσίας κατὰ Ἱππίαν ἄλλως ἔχειν, ἀλλ᾽ ὃ ἂν ἀμφότερα ᾖ, τοῦτο καὶ ἑκάτερον, καὶ ὃ ἑκάτερον, ἀμφότερα εἶναι. πεπεισμένος δὴ νῦν ἐγὼ ὑπὸ σοῦ ἐνθάδε κάθημαι. πρότερον μέντοι, ὦ Ἱππία, ὑπόμνησόν με: πότερον εἷς ἐσμεν ἐγώ τε καὶ σύ, ἢ σύ τε δύο εἶ κἀγὼ δύο;

Ἱππίας: τί λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ταῦτα ἅπερ λέγω: φοβοῦμαι γάρ σε σαφῶς λέγειν, [302a] ὅτι μοι χαλεπαίνεις, ἐπειδὰν τὶ δόξῃς σαυτῷ λέγειν. ὅμως δ᾽ ἔτι μοι εἰπέ: οὐχ εἷς ἡμῶν ἑκάτερός ἐστι καὶ πέπονθε τοῦτο, εἷς εἶναι;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ εἷς, καὶ περιττὸς ἂν εἴη ἑκάτερος ἡμῶν: ἢ οὐ τὸ ἓν περιττὸν ἡγῇ;

Ἱππίας: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ ἀμφότεροι οὖν περιττοί ἐσμεν δύο ὄντες;

Ἱππίας: οὐκ ἂν εἴη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἄρτιοί γε ἀμφότεροι: ἦ γάρ;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: μῶν οὖν, ὅτι ἀμφότεροι ἄρτιοι, τούτου ἕνεκα καὶ ἑκάτερος [302b] ἄρτιος ἡμῶν ἐστιν;

Ἱππίας: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα πᾶσα ἀνάγκη, ὡς νυνδὴ ἔλεγες, ἃ ἂν ἀμφότεροι καὶ ἑκάτερον, καὶ ἃ ἂν ἑκάτερος καὶ ἀμφοτέρους εἶναι.

Ἱππίας: οὐ τά γε τοιαῦτα, ἀλλ᾽ οἷα ἐγὼ πρότερον ἔλεγον.

Σωκράτης: ἐξαρκεῖ, ὦ Ἱππία: ἀγαπητὰ γὰρ καὶ ταῦτα, ἐπειδὴ τὰ μὲν οὕτω φαίνεται, τὰ δ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχοντα. καὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, εἰ μέμνησαι ὅθεν οὗτος ὁ λόγος ἐλέχθη, ὅτι ἡ διὰ τῆς ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοῆς ἡδονὴ οὐ τούτῳ εἶεν καλαί, [302c] ὅτι τυγχάνοιεν ἑκατέρα μὲν αὐτῶν εἶναι πεπονθυῖα, ἀμφότεραι δὲ μή, ἢ ἀμφότεραι μέν, ἑκατέρα δὲ μή, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνῳ ᾧ ἀμφότεραί τε καὶ ἑκατέρα, διότι συνεχώρεις ἀμφοτέρας τε αὐτὰς εἶναι καλὰς καὶ ἑκατέραν. τούτου δὴ ἕνεκα τῇ οὐσίᾳ τῇ ἐπ᾽ ἀμφότερα ἑπομένῃ ᾤμην, εἴπερ ἀμφότερά ἐστι καλά, ταύτῃ δεῖν αὐτὰ καλὰ εἶναι, τῇ δὲ κατὰ τὰ ἕτερα ἀπολειπομένῃ μή: καὶ ἔτι νῦν οἴομαι. ἀλλά μοι λέγε, ὥσπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς: ἡ δι᾽ ὄψεως ἡδονὴ καὶ ἡ δι᾽ ἀκοῆς, εἴπερ [302d]ἀμφότεραί τ᾽ εἰσὶ καλαὶ καὶ ἑκατέρα, ἆρα καὶ ὃ ποιεῖ αὐτὰς καλὰς οὐχὶ καὶ ἀμφοτέραις γε αὐταῖς ἕπεται καὶ ἑκατέρᾳ;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὅτι ἡδονὴ ἑκατέρα τ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ ἀμφότεραι, διὰ τοῦτο ἂν εἶεν καλαί; ἢ διὰ τοῦτο μὲν καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι πᾶσαι ἂν οὐδὲν τούτων ἧττον εἶεν καλαί; οὐδὲν γὰρ ἧττον ἡδοναὶ ἐφάνησαν οὖσαι, εἰ μέμνησαι.

Ἱππίας: μέμνημαι.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι γε δι᾽ ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοῆς αὗταί [302e] εἰσι, διὰ τοῦτο ἐλέγετο καλὰς αὐτὰς εἶναι.

Ἱππίας: καὶ ἐρρήθη οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: σκόπει δὲ εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγω. ἐλέγετο γάρ, ὡς ἐγὼ μνήμης ἔχω, τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι καλὸν τὸ ἡδύ, οὐ πᾶν, ἀλλ᾽ ὃ ἂν δι᾽ ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοῆς ᾖ.

Ἱππίας: ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τοῦτό γε τὸ πάθος ἀμφοτέραις μὲν ἕπεται, ἑκατέρᾳ δ᾽ οὔ; οὐ γάρ που ἑκάτερόν γε αὐτῶν, ὅπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγετο, δι᾽ ἀμφοτέρων ἐστίν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀμφότερα μὲν δι᾽ ἀμφοῖν, ἑκάτερον δ᾽ οὔ: ἔστι ταῦτα;

Ἱππίας: ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα τούτῳ γε ἑκάτερον αὐτῶν ἐστι καλόν, ὃ μὴ ἕπεται ἑκατέρῳ （τὸ γὰρ ἀμφότερον ἑκατέρῳ οὐχ ἕπεται） ὥστε ἀμφότερα μὲν αὐτὰ φάναι καλὰ κατὰ τὴν ὑπόθεσιν ἔξεστιν, ἑκάτερον δὲ οὐκ [303a] ἔξεστιν: ἢ πῶς λέγομεν; οὐκ ἀνάγκη;

Ἱππίας: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: φῶμεν οὖν ἀμφότερα μὲν καλὰ εἶναι, ἑκάτερον δὲ μὴ φῶμεν;

Ἱππίας: τί γὰρ κωλύει;

Σωκράτης: τόδε ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ φίλε, κωλύειν, ὅτι ἦν που ἡμῖν τὰ μὲν οὕτως ἐπιγιγνόμενα ἑκάστοις, εἴπερ ἀμφοτέροις ἐπιγίγνοιτο, καὶ ἑκατέρῳ, καὶ εἴπερ ἑκατέρῳ, καὶ ἀμφοτέροις, ἅπαντα ὅσα σὺ διῆλθες: ἦ γάρ;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἃ δέ γε αὖ ἐγὼ διῆλθον, οὔ: ὧν δὴ ἦν καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ ἑκάτερον καὶ τὸ ἀμφότερον. ἔστιν οὕτως;

Ἱππίας: ἔστιν. [303b]

Σωκράτης: ποτέρων οὖν, ὦ Ἱππία, δοκεῖ σοι τὸ καλὸν εἶναι; πότερον ὧν σὺ ἔλεγες: εἴπερ ἐγὼ ἰσχυρὸς καὶ σύ, καὶ ἀμφότεροι, καὶ εἴπερ ἐγὼ δίκαιος καὶ σύ, καὶ ἀμφότεροι, καὶ εἴπερ ἀμφότεροι, καὶ ἑκάτερος: οὕτω δὴ καὶ εἴπερ ἐγὼ καλὸς καὶ σύ, καὶ ἀμφότεροι, καὶ εἴπερ ἀμφότεροι, καὶ ἑκάτερος; ἢ οὐδὲν κωλύει, ὥσπερ ἀρτίων ὄντων τινῶν ἀμφοτέρων τάχα μὲν ἑκάτερα περιττὰ εἶναι, τάχα δ᾽ ἄρτια, καὶ αὖ ἀρρήτων ἑκατέρων ὄντων τάχα μὲν ῥητὰ τὰ συναμφότερα εἶναι, τάχα [303c] δ᾽ ἄρρητα, καὶ ἄλλα μυρία τοιαῦτα, ἃ δὴ καὶ ἐγὼ ἔφην ἐμοὶ προφαίνεσθαι; ποτέρων δὴ τιθεῖς τὸ καλόν; ἢ ὥσπερ ἐμοὶ περὶ αὐτοῦ καταφαίνεται, καὶ σοί; πολλὴ γὰρ ἀλογία ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ εἶναι ἀμφοτέρους μὲν ἡμᾶς εἶναι καλούς, ἑκάτερον δὲ μή, ἢ ἑκάτερον μέν, ἀμφοτέρους δὲ μή, ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν τῶν τοιούτων. οὕτως αἱρῇ, ὥσπερ ἐγώ, ἢ ‘κείνως;

Ἱππίας: οὕτως ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: εὖ γε σὺ ποιῶν, ὦ Ἱππία, ἵνα καὶ ἀπαλλαγῶμεν [303d]πλείονος ζητήσεως: εἰ γὰρ τούτων γ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ καλόν, οὐκ ἂν ἔτι εἴη τὸ δι᾽ ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοῆς ἡδὺ καλόν. ἀμφότερα μὲν γὰρ ποιεῖ καλὰ τὸ δι᾽ ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοῆς, ἑκάτερον δ᾽ οὔ: τοῦτο δ᾽ ἦν ἀδύνατον, ὡς ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ δὴ ὁμολογοῦμεν, ὦ Ἱππία.

Ἱππίας: ὁμολογοῦμεν γάρ.

Σωκράτης: ἀδύνατον ἄρα τὸ δι᾽ ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοῆς ἡδὺ καλὸν εἶναι, ἐπειδή γε καλὸν γιγνόμενον τῶν ἀδυνάτων τι παρέχεται.

Ἱππίας: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: λέγετε δὴ πάλιν, φήσει, ἐξ ἀρχῆς, ἐπειδὴ [303e] τούτου διημάρτετε: τί φατε εἶναι τοῦτο τὸ καλὸν τὸ ἐπ᾽ ἀμφοτέραις ταῖς ἡδοναῖς, δι᾽ ὅτι ταύτας πρὸ τῶν ἄλλων τιμήσαντες καλὰς ὠνομάσατε; ἀνάγκη δή μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι, ὦ Ἱππία, λέγειν ὅτι ἀσινέσταται αὗται τῶν ἡδονῶν εἰσι καὶ βέλτισται, καὶ ἀμφότεραι καὶ ἑκατέρα: ἢ σύ τι ἔχεις λέγειν ἄλλο ᾧ διαφέρουσι τῶν ἄλλων;

Ἱππίας: οὐδαμῶς: τῷ ὄντι γὰρ βέλτισταί εἰσιν.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτ᾽ ἄρα, φήσει, λέγετε δὴ τὸ καλὸν εἶναι, ἡδονὴν ὠφέλιμον; ἐοίκαμεν, φήσω ἔγωγε: σὺ δέ;

Ἱππίας: καὶ ἐγώ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὠφέλιμον, φήσει, τὸ ποιοῦν τἀγαθόν, τὸ δὲ ποιοῦν καὶ τὸ ποιούμενον ἕτερον νυνδὴ ἐφάνη, καὶ εἰς τὸν πρότερον λόγον ἥκει ὑμῖν ὁ λόγος; οὔτε γὰρ τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἂν [304a] εἴη καλὸν οὔτε τὸ καλὸν ἀγαθόν, εἴπερ ἄλλο αὐτῶν ἑκάτερόν ἐστι. παντός γε μᾶλλον, φήσομεν, ὦ Ἱππία, ἂν σωφρονῶμεν: οὐ γάρ που θέμις τῷ ὀρθῶς λέγοντι μὴ συγχωρεῖν.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ δή γ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, τί οἴει ταῦτα εἶναι συνάπαντα; κνήσματά τοί ἐστι καὶ περιτμήματα τῶν λόγων, ὅπερ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, κατὰ βραχὺ διῃρημένα: ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο καὶ καλὸν καὶ πολλοῦ ἄξιον, οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι εὖ καὶ καλῶς λόγον καταστησάμενον ἐν δικαστηρίῳ ἢ ἐν βουλευτηρίῳ ἢ ἐπὶ ἄλλῃ [304b] τινὶ ἀρχῇ, πρὸς ἣν ἂν ὁ λόγος ᾖ, πείσαντα οἴχεσθαι φέροντα οὐ τὰ σμικρότατα ἀλλὰ τὰ μέγιστα τῶν ἄθλων, σωτηρίαν αὑτοῦ τε καὶ τῶν αὑτοῦ χρημάτων καὶ φίλων. τούτων οὖν χρὴ ἀντέχεσθαι, χαίρειν ἐάσαντα τὰς σμικρολογίας ταύτας, ἵνα μὴ δοκῇ λίαν ἀνόητος εἶναι λήρους καὶ φλυαρίας ὥσπερ νῦν μεταχειριζόμενος.

Σωκράτης: ὦ Ἱππία φίλε, σὺ μὲν μακάριος εἶ, ὅτι τε οἶσθα ἃ χρὴ ἐπιτηδεύειν ἄνθρωπον, καὶ ἐπιτετήδευκας ἱκανῶς, ὡς [304c] φῄς: ἐμὲ δὲ δαιμονία τις τύχη, ὡς ἔοικε, κατέχει, ὅστις πλανῶμαι μὲν καὶ ἀπορῶ ἀεί, ἐπιδεικνὺς δὲ τὴν ἐμαυτοῦ ἀπορίαν ὑμῖν τοῖς σοφοῖς λόγῳ αὖ ὑπὸ ὑμῶν προπηλακίζομαι, ἐπειδὰν ἐπιδείξω. λέγετε γάρ με, ἅπερ καὶ σὺ νῦν λέγεις, ὡς ἠλίθιά τε καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ οὐδενὸς ἄξια πραγματεύομαι: ἐπειδὰν δὲ αὖ ἀναπεισθεὶς ὑπὸ ὑμῶν λέγω ἅπερ ὑμεῖς, ὡς πολὺ κράτιστόν ἐστιν οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι λόγον εὖ καὶ καλῶς καταστησάμενον περαίνειν ἐν δικαστηρίῳ ἢ ἐν ἄλλῳ [304d]τινὶ συλλόγῳ, ὑπό τε ἄλλων τινῶν τῶν ἐνθάδε καὶ ὑπὸ τούτου τοῦ ἀνθρώπου τοῦ ἀεί με ἐλέγχοντος πάντα κακὰ ἀκούω. καὶ γάρ μοι τυγχάνει ἐγγύτατα γένους ὢν καὶ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ οἰκῶν: ἐπειδὰν οὖν εἰσέλθω οἴκαδε εἰς ἐμαυτοῦ καί μου ἀκούσῃ ταῦτα λέγοντος, ἐρωτᾷ εἰ οὐκ αἰσχύνομαι τολμῶν περὶ καλῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων διαλέγεσθαι, οὕτω φανερῶς ἐξελεγχόμενος περὶ τοῦ καλοῦ ὅτι οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ὅτι ποτέ ἐστιν οἶδα. καίτοι πῶς σὺ εἴσῃ, φησίν, ἢ λόγον [304e] ὅστις καλῶς κατεστήσατο ἢ μή, ἢ ἄλλην πρᾶξιν ἡντινοῦν, τὸ καλὸν ἀγνοῶν; καὶ ὁπότε οὕτω διάκεισαι, οἴει σοι κρεῖττον εἶναι ζῆν μᾶλλον ἢ τεθνάναι; συμβέβηκε δή μοι, ὅπερ λέγω, κακῶς μὲν ὑπὸ ὑμῶν ἀκούειν καὶ ὀνειδίζεσθαι, κακῶς δὲ ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἴσως ἀναγκαῖον ὑπομένειν ταῦτα πάντα: οὐδὲν γὰρ ἄτοπον εἰ ὠφελοίμην. ἐγὼ οὖν μοι δοκῶ, ὦ Ἱππία, ὠφελῆσθαι ἀπὸ τῆς ἀμφοτέρων ὑμῶν ὁμιλίας: τὴν γὰρ παροιμίαν ὅτι ποτὲ λέγει, τὸ χαλεπὰ τὰ καλά, δοκῶ μοι εἰδέναι.

HIPPIAS MINOR

Εὔδικος, Σωκράτης, Ἱππίας.

[363a] Εὔδικος: σὺ δὲ δὴ τί σιγᾷς, ὦ Σώκρατες, Ἱππίου τοσαῦτα ἐπιδειξαμένου, καὶ οὐχὶ ἢ συνεπαινεῖς τι τῶν εἰρημένων ἢ καὶ ἐλέγχεις, εἴ τί σοι μὴ καλῶς δοκεῖ εἰρηκέναι; ἄλλως τε ἐπειδὴ καὶ αὐτοὶ λελείμμεθα, οἳ μάλιστ᾽ ἂν ἀντιποιησαίμεθα μετεῖναι ἡμῖν τῆς ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ διατριβῆς.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μήν, ὦ Εὔδικε, ἔστι γε ἃ ἡδέως ἂν πυθοίμην [363b] Ἱππίου ὧν νυνδὴ ἔλεγεν περὶ Ὁμήρου. καὶ γὰρ τοῦ σοῦ πατρὸς Ἀπημάντου ἤκουον ὅτι ἡ Ἰλιὰς κάλλιον εἴη ποίημα τῷ Ὁμήρῳ ἢ ἡ Ὀδύσσεια, τοσούτῳ δὲ κάλλιον, ὅσῳ ἀμείνων Ἀχιλλεὺς Ὀδυσσέως εἴη: ἑκάτερον γὰρ τούτων τὸ μὲν εἰς Ὀδυσσέα ἔφη πεποιῆσθαι, τὸ δ᾽ εἰς Ἀχιλλέα. περὶ ἐκείνου οὖν ἡδέως ἄν, εἰ βουλομένῳ ἐστὶν Ἱππίᾳ, ἀναπυθοίμην ὅπως αὐτῷ δοκεῖ περὶ τοῖν ἀνδροῖν τούτοιν, πότερον [363c] ἀμείνω φησὶν εἶναι, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ παντοδαπὰ ἡμῖν ἐπιδέδεικται καὶ περὶ ποιητῶν τε ἄλλων καὶ περὶ Ὁμήρου.

Εὔδικος: ἀλλὰ δῆλον ὅτι οὐ φθονήσει Ἱππίας, ἐάν τι αὐτὸν ἐρωτᾷς, ἀποκρίνεσθαι. ἦ γάρ, ὦ Ἱππία, ἐάν τι ἐρωτᾷ σε Σωκράτης, ἀποκρινῇ; ἢ πῶς ποιήσεις;

Ἱππίας: καὶ γὰρ ἂν δεινὰ ποιοίην, ὦ Εὔδικε, εἰ Ὀλυμπίαζε μὲν εἰς τὴν τῶν Ἑλλήνων πανήγυριν, ὅταν τὰ Ὀλύμπια ᾖ, [363d] ἀεὶ ἐπανιὼν οἴκοθεν ἐξ Ἤλιδος εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν παρέχω ἐμαυτὸν καὶ λέγοντα ὅτι ἄν τις βούληται ὧν ἄν μοι εἰς ἐπίδειξιν παρεσκευασμένον ᾖ, καὶ ἀποκρινόμενον τῷ βουλομένῳ ὅτι ἄν τις ἐρωτᾷ, νῦν δὲ τὴν Σωκράτους ἐρώτησιν φύγοιμι. [364a]

Σωκράτης: μακάριόν γε, ὦ Ἱππία, πάθος πέπονθας, εἰ ἑκάστης Ὀλυμπιάδος οὕτως εὔελπις ὢν περὶ τῆς ψυχῆς εἰς σοφίαν ἀφικνῇ εἰς τὸ ἱερόν: καὶ θαυμάσαιμ᾽ ἂν εἴ τις τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα ἀθλητῶν οὕτως ἀφόβως τε καὶ πιστευτικῶς ἔχων τῷ σώματι ἔρχεται αὐτόσε ἀγωνιούμενος, ὥσπερ σὺ φῂς τῇ διανοίᾳ.

Ἱππίας: εἰκότως, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐγὼ τοῦτο πέπονθα: ἐξ οὗ γὰρ ἦργμαι Ὀλυμπίασιν ἀγωνίζεσθαι, οὐδενὶ πώποτε κρείττονι εἰς οὐδὲν ἐμαυτοῦ ἐνέτυχον. [364b]

Σωκράτης: καλόν γε λέγεις, ὦ Ἱππία, καὶ τῇ Ἠλείων πόλει τῆς σοφίας ἀνάθημα τὴν δόξαν εἶναι τὴν σὴν καὶ τοῖς γονεῦσι τοῖς σοῖς. ἀτὰρ τί δὴ λέγεις ἡμῖν περὶ τοῦ Ἀχιλλέως τε καὶ τοῦ Ὀδυσσέως; πότερον ἀμείνω καὶ κατὰ τί φῂς εἶναι; ἡνίκα μὲν γὰρ πολλοὶ ἔνδον ἦμεν καὶ σὺ τὴν ἐπίδειξιν ἐποιοῦ, ἀπελείφθην σου τῶν λεγομένωνὤκνουν γὰρ ἐπανερέσθαι, διότι ὄχλος τε πολὺς ἔνδον ἦν, καὶ μή σοι ἐμποδὼν εἴην ἐρωτῶν τῇ ἐπιδείξεινυνὶ δὲ ἐπειδὴ ἐλάττους τέ ἐσμεν καὶ Εὔδικος ὅδε κελεύει ἐρέσθαι, εἰπέ τε καὶ [364c] δίδαξον ἡμᾶς σαφῶς, τί ἔλεγες περὶ τούτοιν τοῖν ἀνδροῖν; πῶς διέκρινες αὐτούς;

Ἱππίας: ἀλλ᾽ ἐγώ σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐθέλω ἔτι σαφέστερον ἢ τότε διελθεῖν ἃ λέγω καὶ περὶ τούτων καὶ ἄλλων. φημὶ γὰρ Ὅμηρον πεποιηκέναι ἄριστον μὲν ἄνδρα Ἀχιλλέα τῶν εἰς Τροίαν ἀφικομένων, σοφώτατον δὲ Νέστορα, πολυτροπώτατον δὲ Ὀδυσσέα.

Σωκράτης: βαβαῖ, ὦ Ἱππία: ἆρ᾽ ἄν τί μοι χαρίσαιο τοιόνδε, μή μου καταγελᾶν, ἐὰν μόγις μανθάνω τὰ λεγόμενα καὶ [364d] πολλάκις ἀνερωτῶ; ἀλλά μοι πειρῶ πρᾴως τε καὶ εὐκόλως ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

Ἱππίας: αἰσχρὸν γὰρ ἂν εἴη, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ ἄλλους μὲν αὐτὰ ταῦτα παιδεύω καὶ ἀξιῶ διὰ ταῦτα χρήματα λαμβάνειν, αὐτὸς δὲ ὑπὸ σοῦ ἐρωτώμενος μὴ συγγνώμην τ᾽ ἔχοιμι καὶ πρᾴως ἀποκρινοίμην.

Σωκράτης: πάνυ καλῶς λέγεις. ἐγὼ γάρ τοι, ἡνίκα μὲν ἄριστον τὸν Ἀχιλλέα ἔφησθα πεποιῆσθαι, ἐδόκουν σου μανθάνειν [364e] ὅτι ἔλεγες, καὶ ἡνίκα τὸν Νέστορα σοφώτατον: ἐπειδὴ δὲ τὸν Ὀδυσσέα εἶπες ὅτι πεποιηκὼς εἴη ὁ ποιητὴς πολυτροπώτατον, τοῦτο δ᾽, ὥς γε πρὸς σὲ τἀληθῆ εἰρῆσθαι, παντάπασιν οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι λέγεις. καί μοι εἰπέ, ἄν τι ἐνθένδε μᾶλλον μάθω: ὁ Ἀχιλλεὺς οὐ πολύτροπος τῷ Ὁμήρῳ πεποίηται;

Ἱππίας: ἥκιστά γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ἁπλούστατος καὶ ἀληθέστατος, ἐπεὶ καὶ ἐν Λιταῖς, ἡνίκα πρὸς ἀλλήλους ποιεῖ αὐτοὺς διαλεγομένους, λέγει αὐτῷ ὁ Ἀχιλλεὺς πρὸς τὸν Ὀδυσσέα [365a] διογενὲς Λαερτιάδη, πολυμήχαν᾽ Ὀδυσσεῦ,

χρὴ μὲν δὴ τὸν μῦθον ἀπηλεγέως ἀποειπεῖν,

ὥσπερ δὴ κρανέω τε καὶ ὡς τελέεσθαι ὀίω:

ἐχθρὸς γάρ μοι κεῖνος ὁμῶς Ἀΐδαο πύλῃσιν,

Hom. Il. 9.308

[365b] ὅς χ᾽ ἕτερον μὲν κεύθῃ ἐνὶ φρεσίν, ἄλλο δὲ εἴπῃ. αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν ἐρέω, ὡς καὶ τετελεσμένον ἔσται.

Σωκράτης: νῦν ἤδη, ὦ Ἱππία, κινδυνεύω μανθάνειν ὃ λέγεις: τὸν πολύτροπον ψευδῆ λέγεις, ὥς γε φαίνεται. [365c]

Ἱππίας: μάλιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες: τοιοῦτον γὰρ πεποίηκεν τὸν Ὀδυσσέα Ὅμηρος πολλαχοῦ καὶ ἐν Ἰλιάδι καὶ ἐν Ὀδυσσείᾳ.

Σωκράτης: ἐδόκει ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, Ὁμήρῳ ἕτερος μὲν εἶναι ἀνὴρ ἀληθής, ἕτερος δὲ ψευδής, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὁ αὐτός.

Ἱππίας: πῶς γὰρ οὐ μέλλει, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ σοὶ δοκεῖ αὐτῷ, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: πάντων μάλιστα: καὶ γὰρ ἂν δεινὸν εἴη εἰ μή.

Σωκράτης: τὸν μὲν Ὅμηρον τοίνυν ἐάσωμεν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ [365d] ἀδύνατον ἐπανερέσθαι τί ποτε νοῶν ταῦτα ἐποίησεν τὰ ἔπη: σὺ δ᾽ ἐπειδὴ φαίνῃ ἀναδεχόμενος τὴν αἰτίαν, καὶ σοὶ συνδοκεῖ ταῦτα ἅπερ φῂς Ὅμηρον λέγειν, ἀπόκριναι κοινῇ ὑπὲρ Ὁμήρου τε καὶ σαυτοῦ.

Ἱππίας: ἔσται ταῦτα: ἀλλ᾽ ἐρώτα ἔμβραχυ ὅτι βούλει.

Σωκράτης: τοὺς ψευδεῖς λέγεις οἷον ἀδυνάτους τι ποιεῖν, ὥσπερ τοὺς κάμνοντας, ἢ δυνατούς τι ποιεῖν;

Ἱππίας: δυνατοὺς ἔγωγε καὶ μάλα σφόδρα ἄλλα τε πολλὰ καὶ ἐξαπατᾶν ἀνθρώπους. [365e]

Σωκράτης: δυνατοὶ μὲν δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἰσὶ κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον καὶ πολύτροποι: ἦ γάρ;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πολύτροποι δ᾽ εἰσὶ καὶ ἀπατεῶνες ὑπὸ ἠλιθιότητος καὶ ἀφροσύνης, ἢ ὑπὸ πανουργίας καὶ φρονήσεώς τινος;

Ἱππίας: ὑπὸ πανουργίας πάντων μάλιστα καὶ φρονήσεως.

Σωκράτης: φρόνιμοι μὲν ἄρα εἰσίν, ὡς ἔοικεν.

Ἱππίας: ναὶ μὰ Δία, λίαν γε.

Σωκράτης: φρόνιμοι δὲ ὄντες οὐκ ἐπίστανται ὅτι ποιοῦσιν, ἢ ἐπίστανται;

Ἱππίας: καὶ μάλα σφόδρα ἐπίστανται: διὰ ταῦτα καὶ κακουργοῦσιν.

Σωκράτης: ἐπιστάμενοι δὲ ταῦτα ἃ ἐπίστανται πότερον ἀμαθεῖς εἰσιν ἢ σοφοί;

Ἱππίας: σοφοὶ μὲν οὖν αὐτά γε ταῦτα, [366a] ἐξαπατᾶν.

Σωκράτης: ἔχε δή: ἀναμνησθῶμεν τί ἐστιν ὃ λέγεις. τοὺς ψευδεῖς φῂς εἶναι δυνατοὺς καὶ φρονίμους καὶ ἐπιστήμονας καὶ σοφοὺς εἰς ἅπερ ψευδεῖς;

Ἱππίας: φημὶ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἄλλους δὲ τοὺς ἀληθεῖς τε καὶ ψευδεῖς, καὶ ἐναντιωτάτους ἀλλήλοις;

Ἱππίας: λέγω ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή: τῶν μὲν δυνατῶν τινες καὶ σοφῶν, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἰσὶν οἱ ψευδεῖς κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον.

Ἱππίας: μάλιστά γε.

Σωκράτης: ὅταν δὲ [366b] λέγῃς δυνατοὺς καὶ σοφοὺς εἶναι τοὺς ψευδεῖς εἰς αὐτὰ ταῦτα, πότερον λέγεις δυνατοὺς εἶναι ψεύδεσθαι ἐὰν βούλωνται, ἢ ἀδυνάτους εἰς ταῦτα ἅπερ ψεύδονται;

Ἱππίας: δυνατοὺς ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ὡς ἐν κεφαλαίῳ ἄρα εἰρῆσθαι, οἱ ψευδεῖς εἰσιν οἱ σοφοί τε καὶ δυνατοὶ ψεύδεσθαι.

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἀδύνατος ἄρα ψεύδεσθαι ἀνὴρ καὶ ἀμαθὴς οὐκ ἂν εἴη ψευδής.

Ἱππίας: ἔχει οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: δυνατὸς δέ γ᾽ ἐστὶν ἕκαστος ἄρα, ὃς ἂν ποιῇ τότε ὃ ἂν βούληται, ὅταν βούληται: [366c] οὐχ ὑπὸ νόσου λέγω ἐξειργόμενον οὐδὲ τῶν τοιούτων, ἀλλὰ ὥσπερ σὺ δυνατὸς εἶ γράψαι τοὐμὸν ὄνομα ὅταν βούλῃ, οὕτω λέγω. ἢ οὐχ, ὃς ἂν οὕτως ἔχῃ, καλεῖς σὺ δυνατόν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: λέγε δή μοι, ὦ Ἱππία, οὐ σὺ μέντοι ἔμπειρος εἶ λογισμῶν καὶ λογιστικῆς;

Ἱππίας: πάντων μάλιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ καί τίς σε ἔροιτο τὰ τρὶς ἑπτακόσια ὁπόσος ἐστὶν ἀριθμός, εἰ βούλοιο, πάντων τάχιστα καὶ [366d] μάλιστ᾽ ἂν εἴποις τἀληθῆ περὶ τούτου;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα ὅτι δυνατώτατός τε εἶ καὶ σοφώτατος κατὰ ταῦτα;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν σοφώτατός τε εἶ καὶ δυνατώτατος μόνον, ἢ καὶ ἄριστος ταῦτα ἅπερ δυνατώτατός τε καὶ σοφώτατος, τὰ λογιστικά;

Ἱππίας: καὶ ἄριστος δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: τὰ μὲν δὴ ἀληθῆ σὺ ἂν δυνατώτατα εἴποις [366e] περὶ τούτων: ἦ γάρ;

Ἱππίας: οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ τὰ ψευδῆ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν τούτων; καί μοι, ὥσπερ τὰ πρότερα, γενναίως καὶ μεγαλοπρεπῶς ἀπόκριναι, ὦ Ἱππία: εἴ τίς σε ἔροιτο τὰ τρὶς ἑπτακόσια πόσα ἐστί, πότερον σὺ ἂν μάλιστα ψεύδοιο καὶ ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ψευδῆ λέγοις περὶ τούτων, βουλόμενος ψεύδεσθαι καὶ μηδέποτε ἀληθῆ ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἢ ὁ [367a] ἀμαθὴς εἰς λογισμοὺς δύναιτ᾽ ἂν σοῦ μᾶλλον ψεύδεσθαι βουλομένου; ἢ ὁ μὲν ἀμαθὴς πολλάκις ἂν βουλόμενος ψευδῆ λέγειν τἀληθῆ ἂν εἴποι ἄκων, εἰ τύχοι, διὰ τὸ μὴ εἰδέναι, σὺ δὲ ὁ σοφός, εἴπερ βούλοιο ψεύδεσθαι, ἀεὶ ἂν κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ ψεύδοιο;

Ἱππίας: ναί, οὕτως ἔχει ὡς σὺ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ὁ ψευδὴς οὖν πότερον περὶ μὲν τἆλλα ψευδής ἐστιν, οὐ μέντοι περὶ ἀριθμόν, οὐδὲ ἀριθμῶν ἂν ψεύσαιτο;

Ἱππίας: καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δία περὶ ἀριθμόν.

Σωκράτης: θῶμεν ἄρα καὶ τοῦτο, ὦ Ἱππία, περὶ λογισμόν τε καὶ ἀριθμὸν εἶναί τινα [367b] ἄνθρωπον ψευδῆ;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν ἂν εἴη οὗτος; οὐχὶ δεῖ ὑπάρχειν αὐτῷ, εἴπερ μέλλει ψευδὴς ἔσεσθαι, ὡς σὺ ἄρτι ὡμολόγεις, δυνατὸν εἶναι ψεύδεσθαι; ὁ γὰρ ἀδύνατος ψεύδεσθαι, εἰ μέμνησαι, ὑπὸ σοῦ ἐλέγετο ὅτι οὐκ ἄν ποτε ψευδὴς γένοιτο.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ μέμνημαι καὶ ἐλέχθη οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἄρτι ἐφάνης σὺ δυνατώτατος ὢν ψεύδεσθαι περὶ λογισμῶν;

Ἱππίας: ναί, ἐλέχθη γέ τοι καὶ τοῦτο. [367c]

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ δυνατώτατος εἶ ἀληθῆ λέγειν περὶ λογισμῶν;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁ αὐτὸς ψευδῆ καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγειν περὶ λογισμῶν δυνατώτατος: οὗτος δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὁ ἀγαθὸς περὶ τούτων, ὁ λογιστικός.

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν ψευδὴς περὶ λογισμὸν γίγνεται, ὦ Ἱππία, ἄλλος ἢ ὁ ἀγαθός; ὁ αὐτὸς γὰρ καὶ δυνατός: οὗτος δὲ καὶ ἀληθής.

Ἱππίας: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: ὁρᾷς οὖν ὅτι ὁ αὐτὸς ψευδής τε καὶ ἀληθὴς περὶ τούτων, καὶ οὐδὲν ἀμείνων ὁ ἀληθὴς τοῦ ψευδοῦς; [367d] ὁ αὐτὸς γὰρ δήπου ἐστὶ καὶ οὐκ ἐναντιώτατα ἔχει, ὥσπερ σὺ ᾤου ἄρτι.

Ἱππίας: οὐ φαίνεται ἐνταῦθά γε.

Σωκράτης: βούλει οὖν σκεψώμεθα καὶ ἄλλοθι;

Ἱππίας: εἰ [ἄλλως] γε σὺ βούλει.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ γεωμετρίας ἔμπειρος εἶ;

Ἱππίας: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; οὐ καὶ ἐν γεωμετρίᾳ οὕτως ἔχει: ὁ αὐτὸς δυνατώτατος ψεύδεσθαι καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγειν περὶ τῶν διαγραμμάτων, ὁ γεωμετρικός;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: περὶ ταῦτα οὖν [367e] ἀγαθὸς ἄλλος τις ἢ οὗτος;

Ἱππίας: οὐκ ἄλλος.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁ ἀγαθὸς καὶ σοφὸς γεωμέτρης δυνατώτατός γε ἀμφότερα; καὶ εἴπερ τις ἄλλος ψευδὴς περὶ διαγράμματα, οὗτος ἂν εἴη, ὁ ἀγαθός; οὗτος γὰρ δυνατός, ὁ δὲ κακὸς ἀδύνατος ἦν ψεύδεσθαι: ὥστε οὐκ ἂν γένοιτο ψευδὴς ὁ μὴ δυνάμενος ψεύδεσθαι, ὡς ὡμολόγηται.

Ἱππίας: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ τὸν τρίτον ἐπισκεψώμεθα, τὸν ἀστρονόμον, ἧς αὖ σὺ τέχνης ἔτι μᾶλλον ἐπιστήμων οἴει [368a] εἶναι ἢ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν. ἦ γάρ, ὦ Ἱππία;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐν ἀστρονομίᾳ ταὐτὰ ταῦτά ἐστιν;

Ἱππίας: εἰκός γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐν ἀστρονομίᾳ ἄρα εἴπερ τις καὶ ἄλλος ψευδής, ὁ ἀγαθὸς ἀστρονόμος ψευδὴς ἔσται, ὁ δυνατὸς ψεύδεσθαι. οὐ γὰρ ὅ γε ἀδύνατος: ἀμαθὴς γάρ.

Ἱππίας: φαίνεται οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ὁ αὐτὸς ἄρα καὶ ἐν ἀστρονομίᾳ ἀληθής τε καὶ ψευδὴς ἔσται.

Ἱππίας: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή, ὦ Ἱππία, ἀνέδην οὑτωσὶ ἐπίσκεψαι κατὰ [368b] πασῶν τῶν ἐπιστημῶν, εἴ που ἔστιν ἄλλως ἔχον ἢ οὕτως. πάντως δὲ πλείστας τέχνας πάντων σοφώτατος εἶ ἀνθρώπων, ὡς ἐγώ ποτέ σου ἤκουον μεγαλαυχουμένου, πολλὴν σοφίαν καὶ ζηλωτὴν σαυτοῦ διεξιόντος ἐν ἀγορᾷ ἐπὶ ταῖς τραπέζαις. ἔφησθα δὲ ἀφικέσθαι ποτὲ εἰς Ὀλυμπίαν ἃ εἶχες περὶ τὸ σῶμα ἅπαντα σαυτοῦ ἔργα ἔχων: πρῶτον μὲν δακτύλιονἐντεῦθεν γὰρ ἤρχουὃν εἶχες σαυτοῦ ἔχειν [368c] ἔργον, ὡς ἐπιστάμενος δακτυλίους γλύφειν, καὶ ἄλλην σφραγῖδα σὸν ἔργον, καὶ στλεγγίδα καὶ λήκυθον ἃ αὐτὸς ἠργάσω: ἔπειτα ὑποδήματα ἃ εἶχες ἔφησθα αὐτὸς σκυτοτομῆσαι, καὶ τὸ ἱμάτιον ὑφῆναι καὶ τὸν χιτωνίσκον: καὶ ὅ γε πᾶσιν ἔδοξεν ἀτοπώτατον καὶ σοφίας πλείστης ἐπίδειγμα, ἐπειδὴ τὴν ζώνην ἔφησθα τοῦ χιτωνίσκου, ἣν εἶχες, εἶναι μὲν οἷαι αἱ Περσικαὶ τῶν πολυτελῶν, ταύτην δὲ αὐτὸς πλέξαι: πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ποιήματα ἔχων ἐλθεῖν, καὶ ἔπη καὶ τραγῳδίας [368d] καὶ διθυράμβους, καὶ καταλογάδην πολλοὺς λόγους καὶ παντοδαποὺς συγκειμένους: καὶ περὶ τῶν τεχνῶν δὴ ὧν ἄρτι ἐγὼ ἔλεγον ἐπιστήμων ἀφικέσθαι διαφερόντως τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ περὶ ῥυθμῶν καὶ ἁρμονιῶν καὶ γραμμάτων ὀρθότητος, καὶ ἄλλα ἔτι πρὸς τούτοις πάνυ πολλά, ὡς ἐγὼ δοκῶ μνημονεύειν: καίτοι τό γε μνημονικὸν ἐπελαθόμην σου, ὡς ἔοικε, τέχνημα, ἐν ᾧ σὺ οἴει λαμπρότατος εἶναι: οἶμαι δὲ καὶ [368e] ἄλλα πάμπολλα ἐπιλελῆσθαι. ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ ἐγὼ λέγω, καὶ εἰς τὰς σαυτοῦ τέχνας βλέψαςἱκαναὶ δέκαὶ εἰς τὰς τῶν ἄλλων εἰπέ μοι, ἐάν που εὕρῃς ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων ἐμοί τε καὶ σοί, ὅπου ἐστὶν ὁ μὲν ἀληθής, ὁ δὲ ψευδής, χωρὶς καὶ οὐχ ὁ αὐτός; ἐν ᾗτινι βούλει σοφίᾳ τοῦτο σκέψαι ἢ πανουργίᾳ [369a] ἢ ὁτιοῦν χαίρεις ὀνομάζων: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ εὑρήσεις, ὦ ἑταῖρε οὐ γὰρ ἔστινἐπεὶ σὺ εἰπέ.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἔχω, ὦ Σώκρατες, νῦν γε οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: οὐδέ γε ἕξεις, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι: εἰ δ᾽ ἐγὼ ἀληθῆ λέγω, μέμνησαι ὃ ἡμῖν συμβαίνει ἐκ τοῦ λόγου, ὦ Ἱππία.

Ἱππίας: οὐ πάνυ τι ἐννοῶ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὃ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: νυνὶ γὰρ ἴσως οὐ χρῇ τῷ μνημονικῷ τεχνήματι δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι οὐκ οἴει δεῖνἀλλὰ ἐγώ σε ὑπομνήσω. οἶσθα ὅτι τὸν μὲν Ἀχιλλέα ἔφησθα ἀληθῆ εἶναι, τὸν δὲ Ὀδυσσέα [369b] ψευδῆ καὶ πολύτροπον;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: νῦν οὖν αἰσθάνῃ ὅτι ἀναπέφανται ὁ αὐτὸς ὢν ψευδής τε καὶ ἀληθής, ὥστε εἰ ψευδὴς ὁ Ὀδυσσεὺς ἦν, καὶ ἀληθὴς γίγνεται, καὶ εἰ ἀληθὴς ὁ Ἀχιλλεύς, καὶ ψευδής, καὶ οὐ διάφοροι ἀλλήλων οἱ ἄνδρες οὐδ᾽ ἐναντίοι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμοιοι;

Ἱππίας: ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀεὶ σύ τινας τοιούτους πλέκεις λόγους, καὶ ἀπολαμβάνων ὃ ἂν ᾖ δυσχερέστατον τοῦ λόγου, τούτου [369c] ἔχῃ κατὰ σμικρὸν ἐφαπτόμενος, καὶ οὐχ ὅλῳ ἀγωνίζῃ τῷ πράγματι περὶ ὅτου ἂν ὁ λόγος ᾖ: ἐπεὶ καὶ νῦν, ἐὰν βούλῃ, ἐπὶ πολλῶν τεκμηρίων ἀποδείξω σοι ἱκανῷ λόγῳ Ὅμηρον Ἀχιλλέα πεποιηκέναι ἀμείνω Ὀδυσσέως καὶ ἀψευδῆ, τὸν δὲ δολερόν τε καὶ πολλὰ ψευδόμενον καὶ χείρω Ἀχιλλέως. εἰ δὲ βούλει, σὺ αὖ ἀντιπαράβαλλε λόγον παρὰ λόγον, ὡς ὁ ἕτερος ἀμείνων ἐστί: καὶ μᾶλλον εἴσονται οὗτοι ὁπότερος ἄμεινον λέγει. [369d]

Σωκράτης: ὦ Ἱππία, ἐγώ τοι οὐκ ἀμφισβητῶ μὴ οὐχὶ σὲ εἶναι σοφώτερον ἢ ἐμέ: ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ εἴωθα, ἐπειδάν τις λέγῃ τι, προσέχειν τὸν νοῦν, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐπειδάν μοι δοκῇ σοφὸς εἶναι ὁ λέγων, καὶ ἐπιθυμῶν μαθεῖν ὅτι λέγει διαπυνθάνομαι καὶ ἐπανασκοπῶ καὶ συμβιβάζω τὰ λεγόμενα, ἵνα μάθω: ἐὰν δὲ φαῦλος δοκῇ μοι εἶναι ὁ λέγων, οὔτε ἐπανερωτῶ οὔτε μοι μέλει ὧν λέγει. καὶ γνώσῃ τούτῳ οὓς ἂν ἐγὼ ἡγῶμαι σοφοὺς εἶναι: εὑρήσεις γάρ με λιπαρῆ ὄντα περὶ τὰ λεγόμενα [369e] ὑπὸ τούτου καὶ πυνθανόμενον παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ, ἵνα μαθών τι ὠφεληθῶ. ἐπεὶ καὶ νῦν ἐννενόηκα σοῦ λέγοντος, ὅτι ἐν τοῖς ἔπεσιν οἷς σὺ ἄρτι ἔλεγες, ἐνδεικνύμενος τὸν Ἀχιλλέα εἰς τὸν Ὀδυσσέα λέγειν ὡς ἀλαζόνα ὄντα, ἄτοπόν μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι, εἰ σὺ ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὅτι ὁ μὲν Ὀδυσσεὺς οὐδαμοῦ [370a] φαίνεται ψευσάμενος, ὁ πολύτροπος, ὁ δὲ Ἀχιλλεὺς πολύτροπός τις φαίνεται κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον: ψεύδεται γοῦν. προειπὼν γὰρ ταῦτα τὰ ἔπη, ἅπερ καὶ σὺ εἶπες ἄρτιἐχθρὸς γάρ μοι κεῖνος ὁμῶς Ἀίδαο πύλῃσιν, ὅς χ᾽ ἕτερον μὲν κεύθῃ ἐνὶ φρεσίν, ἄλλο δὲ εἴπῃ, Hom. Il. 9.312f. [370b] ὀλίγον ὕστερον λέγει ὡς οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἀναπεισθείη ὑπὸ τοῦ Ὀδυσσέως τε καὶ τοῦ Ἀγαμέμνονος οὔτε μένοι τὸ παράπαν ἐν τῇ Τροίᾳ, ἀλλ᾽αὔριον ἱρὰ Διὶ ῥέξας, φησί, καὶ πᾶσι θεοῖσιν,

νηήσας εὖ νῆας, ἐπὴν ἅλαδε προερύσσω,

ὄψεαι, αἴ κ᾽ ἐθέλῃσθα καὶ αἴ κέν τοι τὰ μεμήλῃ,

ἦρι μάλ᾽ Ἑλλήσποντον ἐπ᾽ ἰχθυόεντα πλεούσας [370c]

νῆας ἐμάς, ἐν δ᾽ ἄνδρας ἐρεσσέμεναι μεμαῶτας:

εἰ δέ κεν εὐπλοΐην δώῃ κλυτὸς Ἐννοσίγαιος,

ἤματί κεν τριτάτῳ Φθίην ἐρίβωλον ἱκοίμην.

Hom. Il. 9.357

ἔτι δὲ πρότερον τούτων πρὸς τὸν Ἀγαμέμνονα λοιδορούμενος εἶπεννῦν δ᾽ εἶμι Φθίηνδ᾽, ἐπεὶ ἦ πολὺ λώϊόν ἐστιν

οἴκαδ᾽ ἴμεν σὺν νηυσὶ κορωνίσιν, οὐδέ ς᾽ ὀίω

[370d] ἐνθάδ᾽ ἄτιμος ἐὼν ἄφενος καὶ πλοῦτον ἀφύξειν.

Hom. Il. 1.169

ταῦτα εἰπὼν τοτὲ μὲν ἐναντίον τῆς στρατιᾶς ἁπάσης, τοτὲ δὲ πρὸς τοὺς ἑαυτοῦ ἑταίρους, οὐδαμοῦ φαίνεται οὔτε παρασκευασάμενος οὔτ᾽ ἐπιχειρήσας καθέλκειν τὰς ναῦς ὡς ἀποπλευσούμενος οἴκαδε, ἀλλὰ πάνυ γενναίως ὀλιγωρῶν τοῦ τἀληθῆ λέγειν. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Ἱππία, καὶ ἐξ ἀρχῆς σε ἠρόμην ἀπορῶν ὁπότερος τούτοιν τοῖν ἀνδροῖν ἀμείνων [370e] πεποίηται τῷ ποιητῇ, καὶ ἡγούμενος ἀμφοτέρω ἀρίστω εἶναι καὶ δύσκριτον ὁπότερος ἀμείνων εἴη καὶ περὶ ψεύδους καὶ ἀληθείας καὶ τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς: ἀμφοτέρω γὰρ καὶ κατὰ τοῦτο παραπλησίω ἐστόν.

Ἱππίας: οὐ γὰρ καλῶς σκοπεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἃ μὲν γὰρ ὁ Ἀχιλλεὺς ψεύδεται, οὐκ ἐξ ἐπιβουλῆς φαίνεται ψευδόμενος ἀλλ᾽ ἄκων, διὰ τὴν συμφορὰν τὴν τοῦ στρατοπέδου ἀναγκασθεὶς καταμεῖναι καὶ βοηθῆσαι: ἃ δὲ ὁ Ὀδυσσεύς, ἑκών τε καὶ ἐξ ἐπιβουλῆς.

Σωκράτης: ἐξαπατᾷς με, ὦ φίλτατε Ἱππία, καὶ αὐτὸς τὸν Ὀδυσσέα μιμῇ. [371a]

Ἱππίας: οὐδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες: λέγεις δὴ τί καὶ πρὸς τί;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι οὐκ ἐξ ἐπιβουλῆς φῂς τὸν Ἀχιλλέα ψεύδεσθαι, ὃς ἦν οὕτω γόης καὶ ἐπίβουλος πρὸς τῇ ἀλαζονείᾳ, ὡς πεποίηκεν Ὅμηρος, ὥστε καὶ τοῦ Ὀδυσσέως τοσοῦτον φαίνεται φρονεῖν πλέον πρὸς τὸ ῥᾳδίως λανθάνειν αὐτὸν ἀλαζονευόμενος, ὥστε ἐναντίον αὐτοῦ αὐτὸς ἑαυτῷ ἐτόλμα ἐναντία λέγειν καὶ ἐλάνθανεν τὸν Ὀδυσσέα: οὐδὲν γοῦν φαίνεται εἰπὼν πρὸς αὐτὸν ὡς αἰσθανόμενος αὐτοῦ ψευδομένου [371b] ὁ Ὀδυσσεύς.

Ἱππίας: ποῖα δὴ ταῦτα λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι λέγων ὕστερον ἢ ὡς πρὸς τὸν Ὀδυσσέα ἔφη ἅμα τῇ ἠοῖ ἀποπλευσεῖσθαι, πρὸς τὸν Αἴαντα οὐκ αὖ φησιν ἀποπλευσεῖσθαι, ἀλλὰ ἄλλα λέγει;

Ἱππίας: ποῦ δή;

Σωκράτης: ἐν οἷς λέγειοὐ γὰρ πρὶν πολέμοιο μεδήσομαι αἱματόεντος, [371c]

πρίν γ᾽ υἱὸν Πριάμοιο δαΐφρονος, Ἕκτορα δῖον,

Μυρμιδόνων ἐπί τε κλισίας καὶ νῆας ἱκέσθαι

κτείνοντ᾽ Ἀργείους, κατά τε φλέξαι πυρὶ νῆας:

ἀμφὶ δέ μιν τῇ ‘μῇ κλισίῃ καὶ νηῒ μελαίνῃ

Ἕκτορα καὶ μεμαῶτα μάχης σχήσεσθαι ὀίω.

Hom. Il. 9.360

σὺ δὴ οὖν, ὦ Ἱππία, πότερον οὕτως ἐπιλήσμονα οἴει εἶναι [371d] τὸν τῆς Θέτιδός τε καὶ ὑπὸ τοῦ σοφωτάτου Χείρωνος πεπαιδευμένον, ὥστε ὀλίγον πρότερον λοιδοροῦντα τοὺς ἀλαζόνας τῇ ἐσχάτῃ λοιδορίᾳ αὐτὸν παραχρῆμα πρὸς μὲν τὸν Ὀδυσσέα φάναι ἀποπλευσεῖσθαι, πρὸς δὲ τὸν Αἴαντα μενεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐπιβουλεύοντά τε καὶ ἡγούμενον ἀρχαῖον εἶναι τὸν Ὀδυσσέα καὶ αὐτοῦ αὐτῷ τούτῳ τῷ τεχνάζειν τε καὶ ψεύδεσθαι περιέσεσθαι;

Ἱππίας: οὔκουν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτὰ [371e] ταῦτα ὑπὸ εὐνοίας ἀναπεισθεὶς πρὸς τὸν Αἴαντα ἄλλα εἶπεν ἢ πρὸς τὸν Ὀδυσσέα: ὁ δὲ Ὀδυσσεὺς ἅ τε ἀληθῆ λέγει, ἐπιβουλεύσας ἀεὶ λέγει, καὶ ὅσα ψεύδεται, ὡσαύτως.

Σωκράτης: ἀμείνων ἄρ᾽ ἐστίν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὁ Ὀδυσσεὺς Ἀχιλλέως.

Ἱππίας: ἥκιστά γε δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; οὐκ ἄρτι ἐφάνησαν οἱ ἑκόντες ψευδόμενοι βελτίους ἢ οἱ ἄκοντες;

Ἱππίας: καὶ πῶς ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἱ ἑκόντες ἀδικοῦντες καὶ [372a] ἑκόντες ἐπιβουλεύσαντες καὶ κακὰ ἐργασάμενοι βελτίους ἂν εἶεν τῶν ἀκόντων, οἷς πολλὴ δοκεῖ συγγνώμη εἶναι, ἐὰν μὴ εἰδώς τις ἀδικήσῃ ἢ ψεύσηται ἢ ἄλλο τι κακὸν ποιήσῃ; καὶ οἱ νόμοι δήπου πολὺ χαλεπώτεροί εἰσι τοῖς ἑκοῦσι κακὰ ἐργαζομένοις καὶ ψευδομένοις ἢ τοῖς ἄκουσιν.

Σωκράτης: ὁρᾷς, ὦ Ἱππία, ὅτι ἐγὼ ἀληθῆ λέγω, λέγων ὡς [372b] λιπαρής εἰμι πρὸς τὰς ἐρωτήσεις τῶν σοφῶν; καὶ κινδυνεύω ἓν μόνον ἔχειν τοῦτο ἀγαθόν, τἆλλα ἔχων πάνυ φαῦλα: τῶν μὲν γὰρ πραγμάτων ᾗ ἔχει ἔσφαλμαι, καὶ οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅπῃ ἐστί. τεκμήριον δέ μοι τούτου ἱκανόν, ὅτι ἐπειδὰν συγγένωμαί τῳ ὑμῶν τῶν εὐδοκιμούντων ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ καὶ οἷς οἱ Ἕλληνες πάντες μάρτυρές εἰσι τῆς σοφίας, φαίνομαι οὐδὲν εἰδώς: οὐδὲν γάρ μοι δοκεῖ τῶν αὐτῶν καὶ ὑμῖν, ὡς ἔπος [372c] εἰπεῖν. καίτοι τί μεῖζον ἀμαθίας τεκμήριον ἢ ἐπειδάν τις σοφοῖς ἀνδράσι διαφέρηται; ἓν δὲ τοῦτο θαυμάσιον ἔχω ἀγαθόν, ὅ με σῴζει: οὐ γὰρ αἰσχύνομαι μανθάνων, ἀλλὰ πυνθάνομαι καὶ ἐρωτῶ καὶ χάριν πολλὴν ἔχω τῷ ἀποκρινομένῳ, καὶ οὐδένα πώποτε ἀπεστέρησα χάριτος. οὐ γὰρ πώποτε ἔξαρνος ἐγενόμην μαθών τι, ἐμαυτοῦ ποιούμενος τὸ μάθημα εἶναι ὡς εὕρημα: ἀλλ᾽ ἐγκωμιάζω τὸν διδάξαντά με ὡς σοφὸν ὄντα, ἀποφαίνων ἃ ἔμαθον παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ. καὶ δὴ καὶ [372d] νῦν ἃ σὺ λέγεις οὐχ ὁμολογῶ σοι, ἀλλὰ διαφέρομαι πάνυ σφόδρα: καὶ τοῦτ᾽ εὖ οἶδα ὅτι δι᾽ ἐμὲ γίγνεται, ὅτι τοιοῦτός εἰμι οἷόσπερ εἰμί, ἵνα μηδὲν ἐμαυτὸν μεῖζον εἴπω. ἐμοὶ γὰρ φαίνεται, ὦ Ἱππία, πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἢ ὃ σὺ λέγεις: οἱ βλάπτοντες τοὺς ἀνθρώπους καὶ ἀδικοῦντες καὶ ψευδόμενοι καὶ ἐξαπατῶντες καὶ ἁμαρτάνοντες ἑκόντες ἀλλὰ μὴ ἄκοντες, βελτίους εἶναι ἢ οἱ ἄκοντες. ἐνίοτε μέντοι καὶ τοὐναντίον δοκεῖ μοι τούτων καὶ πλανῶμαι περὶ ταῦτα, δῆλον ὅτι διὰ [372e] τὸ μὴ εἰδέναι: νυνὶ δὲ ἐν τῷ παρόντι μοι ὥσπερ κατηβολὴ περιελήλυθεν, καὶ δοκοῦσί μοι οἱ ἑκόντες ἐξαμαρτάνοντες περί τι βελτίους εἶναι τῶν ἀκόντων. αἰτιῶμαι δὲ τοῦ νῦν παρόντος παθήματος τοὺς ἔμπροσθεν λόγους αἰτίους εἶναι, ὥστε φαίνεσθαι νῦν ἐν τῷ παρόντι τοὺς ἄκοντας τούτων ἕκαστα ποιοῦντας πονηροτέρους ἢ τοὺς ἑκόντας. σὺ οὖν χάρισαι καὶ μὴ φθονήσῃς ἰάσασθαι τὴν ψυχήν μου: πολὺ [373a] γάρ τοι μεῖζόν με ἀγαθὸν ἐργάσῃ ἀμαθίας παύσας τὴν ψυχὴν ἢ νόσου τὸ σῶμα. μακρὸν μὲν οὖν λόγον εἰ ‘θέλεις λέγειν, προλέγω σοι ὅτι οὐκ ἄν με ἰάσαιοοὐ γὰρ ἂν ἀκολουθήσαιμι ὥσπερ δὲ ἄρτι εἰ ‘θέλεις μοι ἀποκρίνεσθαι, πάνυ ὀνήσεις, οἶμαι δὲ οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸν σὲ βλαβήσεσθαι. δικαίως δ᾽ ἂν καὶ σὲ παρακαλοίην, ὦ παῖ Ἀπημάντου: σὺ γάρ με ἐπῆρας Ἱππίᾳ διαλέγεσθαι, καὶ νῦν, ἐὰν μή μοι ἐθέλῃ Ἱππίας: ἀποκρίνεσθαι, δέου αὐτοῦ ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ.

Εὔδικος: ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἶμαι οὐδὲν δεήσεσθαι Ἱππίαν [373b] τῆς ἡμετέρας δεήσεως: οὐ γὰρ τοιαῦτα αὐτῷ ἐστι τὰ προειρημένα, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι οὐδενὸς ἂν φύγοι ἀνδρὸς ἐρώτησιν. ἦ γάρ, ὦ Ἱππία; οὐ ταῦτα ἦν ἃ ἔλεγες;

Ἱππίας: ἔγωγε: ἀλλὰ Σωκράτης, ὦ Εὔδικε, ἀεὶ ταράττει ἐν τοῖς λόγοις καὶ ἔοικεν ὥσπερ κακουργοῦντι.

Σωκράτης: ὦ βέλτιστε Ἱππία, οὔτι ἑκών γε ταῦτα ἐγὼ ποιῶ σοφὸς γὰρ ἂν ἦ καὶ δεινὸς κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγονἀλλὰ ἄκων, ὥστε μοι συγγνώμην ἔχε: φῂς γὰρ αὖ δεῖν, ὃς ἂν κακουργῇ ἄκων, συγγνώμην ἔχειν. [373c]

Εὔδικος: καὶ μηδαμῶς γε, ὦ Ἱππία, ἄλλως ποίει, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἡμῶν ἕνεκα καὶ τῶν προειρημένων σοι λόγων ἀποκρίνου ἃ ἄν σε ἐρωτᾷ Σωκράτης.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλ᾽ ἀποκρινοῦμαι, σοῦ γε δεομένου. ἀλλ᾽ ἐρώτα ὅτι βούλει.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν σφόδρα γε ἐπιθυμῶ, ὦ Ἱππία, διασκέψασθαι τὸ νυνδὴ λεγόμενον, πότεροί ποτε ἀμείνους, οἱ ἑκόντες ἢ οἱ ἄκοντες ἁμαρτάνοντες. οἶμαι οὖν ἐπὶ τὴν σκέψιν ὀρθότατ᾽ ἂν ὧδε ἐλθεῖν. ἀλλ᾽ ἀπόκριναι: καλεῖς τινα δρομέα ἀγαθόν; [373d]

Ἱππίας: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ κακόν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀγαθὸς μὲν ὁ εὖ θέων, κακὸς δὲ ὁ κακῶς;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁ βραδέως θέων κακῶς θεῖ, ὁ δὲ ταχέως εὖ;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἐν δρόμῳ μὲν ἄρα καὶ τῷ θεῖν τάχος μὲν ἀγαθόν, βραδυτὴς δὲ κακόν;

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ τί μέλλει;

Σωκράτης: πότερος οὖν ἀμείνων δρομεύς, ὁ ἑκὼν βραδέως θέων ἢ ὁ ἄκων;

Ἱππίας: ὁ ἑκών.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ ποιεῖν τί ἐστι τὸ θεῖν;

Ἱππίας: ποιεῖν μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δὲ ποιεῖν, οὐ καὶ ἐργάζεσθαί [373e] τι;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ὁ κακῶς ἄρα θέων κακὸν καὶ αἰσχρὸν ἐν δρόμῳ τοῦτο ἐργάζεται;

Ἱππίας: κακόν: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: κακῶς δὲ θεῖ ὁ βραδέως θέων;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁ μὲν ἀγαθὸς δρομεὺς ἑκὼν τὸ κακὸν τοῦτο ἐργάζεται καὶ τὸ αἰσχρόν, ὁ δὲ κακὸς ἄκων;

Ἱππίας: ἔοικέν γε.

Σωκράτης: ἐν δρόμῳ μὲν ἄρα πονηρότερος ὁ ἄκων κακὰ ἐργαζόμενος [374a] ἢ ὁ ἑκών;

Ἱππίας: ἐν δρόμῳ γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ἐν πάλῃ; πότερος παλαιστὴς ἀμείνων, ὁ ἑκὼν πίπτων ἢ ὁ ἄκων;

Ἱππίας: ὁ ἑκών, ὡς ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: πονηρότερον δὲ καὶ αἴσχιον ἐν πάλῃ τὸ πίπτειν ἢ τὸ καταβάλλειν;

Ἱππίας: τὸ πίπτειν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐν πάλῃ ἄρα ὁ ἑκὼν τὰ πονηρὰ καὶ αἰσχρὰ ἐργαζόμενος βελτίων παλαιστὴς ἢ ὁ ἄκων.

Ἱππίας: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ἐν τῇ ἄλλῃ πάσῃ τῇ τοῦ σώματος χρείᾳ; οὐχ ὁ βελτίων τὸ σῶμα δύναται ἀμφότερα ἐργάζεσθαι, καὶ τὰ ἰσχυρὰ καὶ τὰ [374b] ἀσθενῆ, καὶ τὰ αἰσχρὰ καὶ τὰ καλά: ὥστε ὅταν κατὰ τὸ σῶμα πονηρὰ ἐργάζηται, ἑκὼν ἐργάζεται ὁ βελτίων τὸ σῶμα, ὁ δὲ πονηρότερος ἄκων;

Ἱππίας: ἔοικεν καὶ τὰ κατὰ τὴν ἰσχὺν οὕτως ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ κατ᾽ εὐσχημοσύνην, ὦ Ἱππία; οὐ τοῦ βελτίονος σώματός ἐστιν ἑκόντος τὰ αἰσχρὰ καὶ πονηρὰ σχήματα σχηματίζειν, τοῦ δὲ πονηροτέρου ἄκοντος; ἢ πῶς σοι δοκεῖ;

Ἱππίας: οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἀσχημοσύνη ἄρα ἡ μὲν ἑκούσιος [374c] πρὸς ἀρετῆς ἐστιν, ἡ δὲ ἀκούσιος πρὸς πονηρίας σώματος.

Ἱππίας: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ φωνῆς πέρι λέγεις; ποτέραν φῂς εἶναι βελτίω, τὴν ἑκουσίως ἀπᾴδουσαν ἢ τὴν ἀκουσίως;

Ἱππίας: τὴν ἑκουσίως.

Σωκράτης: μοχθηροτέραν δὲ τὴν ἀκουσίως;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: δέξαιο δ᾽ ἂν πότερον τἀγαθὰ κεκτῆσθαι ἢ τὰ κακά;

Ἱππίας: τἀγαθά.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν ἂν δέξαιο πόδας κεκτῆσθαι ἑκουσίως χωλαίνοντας ἢ ἀκουσίως; [374d]

Ἱππίας: ἑκουσίως.

Σωκράτης: χωλεία δὲ ποδῶν οὐχὶ πονηρία καὶ ἀσχημοσύνη ἐστίν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἀμβλυωπία οὐ πονηρία ὀφθαλμῶν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ποτέρους οὖν ἂν βούλοιο ὀφθαλμοὺς κεκτῆσθαι καὶ ποτέροις συνεῖναι; οἷς ἑκὼν ἄν τις ἀμβλυώττοι καὶ παρορῴη ἢ οἷς ἄκων;

Ἱππίας: οἷς ἑκών.

Σωκράτης: βελτίω ἄρα ἥγησαι τῶν σαυτοῦ τὰ ἑκουσίως πονηρὰ ἐργαζόμενα ἢ τὰ ἀκουσίως;

Ἱππίας: τὰ γοῦν τοιαῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν πάντα, οἷον καὶ ὦτα καὶ ῥῖνας καὶ στόμα καὶ πάσας τὰς αἰσθήσεις, εἷς λόγος συνέχει, τὰς μὲν ἀκόντως [374e] κακὰ ἐργαζομένας ἀκτήτους εἶναι ὡς πονηρὰς οὔσας, τὰς δὲ ἑκουσίως κτητὰς ὡς ἀγαθὰς οὔσας.

Ἱππίας: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ὀργάνων ποτέρων βελτίων ἡ κοινωνία, οἷς ἑκών τις κακὰ ἐργάζεται ἢ οἷς ἄκων; οἷον πηδάλιον ᾧ ἄκων κακῶς τις κυβερνήσει βέλτιον ἢ ᾧ ἑκών;

Ἱππίας: ὧι ἑκών.

Σωκράτης: οὐ καὶ τόξον ὡσαύτως καὶ λύρα καὶ αὐλοὶ καὶ τἆλλα σύμπαντα; [375a]

Ἱππίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ψυχὴν κεκτῆσθαι ἵππου, ᾗ ἑκών τις κακῶς ἱππεύσει, ἄμεινον ἢ <ᾗ> ἄκων;

Ἱππίας: ἧι ἑκών.

Σωκράτης: ἀμείνων ἄρα ἐστίν.

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τῇ ἀμείνονι ἄρα ψυχῇ ἵππου τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἔργα ταύτης τὰ πονηρὰ ἑκουσίως ἂν ποιοῖ, τῇ δὲ τῆς πονηρᾶς ἀκουσίως;

Ἱππίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ κυνὸς καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων πάντων;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ δή; ἀνθρώπου ψυχὴν ἐκτῆσθαι τοξότου ἄμεινόν ἐστιν, ἥτις ἑκουσίως ἁμαρτάνει [375b] τοῦ σκοποῦ, ἢ ἥτις ἀκουσίως;

Ἱππίας: ἥτις ἑκουσίως.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ αὕτη ἀμείνων εἰς τοξικήν ἐστιν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ψυχὴ ἄρα ἀκουσίως ἁμαρτάνουσα πονηροτέρα ἢ ἑκουσίως;

Ἱππίας: ἐν τοξικῇ γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ἐν ἰατρικῇ; οὐχὶ ἡ ἑκοῦσα κακὰ ἐργαζομένη περὶ τὰ σώματα ἰατρικωτέρα;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἀμείνων ἄρα αὕτη ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ τέχνῃ τῆς μὴ [ἰατρικῆς].

Ἱππίας: ἀμείνων.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἡ κιθαριστικωτέρα καὶ αὐλητικωτέρα καὶ τἆλλα πάντα τὰ κατὰ τὰς τέχνας [375c] τε καὶ τὰς ἐπιστήμας, οὐχὶ ἡ ἀμείνων ἑκοῦσα τὰ κακὰ ἐργάζεται καὶ τὰ αἰσχρὰ καὶ ἐξαμαρτάνει, ἡ δὲ πονηροτέρα ἄκουσα;

Ἱππίας: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μήν που τάς γε τῶν δούλων ψυχὰς κεκτῆσθαι δεξαίμεθ᾽ ἂν μᾶλλον τὰς ἑκουσίως ἢ τὰς ἀκουσίως ἁμαρτανούσας τε καὶ κακουργούσας, ὡς ἀμείνους οὔσας εἰς ταῦτα.

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; τὴν ἡμετέραν αὐτῶν οὐ βουλοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ὡς βελτίστην ἐκτῆσθαι; [375d]

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν βελτίων ἔσται, ἐὰν ἑκοῦσα κακουργῇ τε καὶ ἐξαμαρτάνῃ, ἢ ἐὰν ἄκουσα;

Ἱππίας: δεινὸν μεντἂν εἴη, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ οἱ ἑκόντες ἀδικοῦντες βελτίους ἔσονται ἢ οἱ ἄκοντες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν φαίνονταί γε ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων.

Ἱππίας: οὔκουν ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ δ᾽ ᾤμην, ὦ Ἱππία, καὶ σοὶ φανῆναι. πάλιν δ᾽ ἀπόκριναι: ἡ δικαιοσύνη οὐχὶ ἢ δύναμίς τίς ἐστιν ἢ ἐπιστήμη ἢ ἀμφότερα; ἢ οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἕν γέ τι τούτων εἶναι τὴν [375e] δικαιοσύνην;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν δύναμίς ἐστι τῆς ψυχῆς ἡ δικαιοσύνη, ἡ δυνατωτέρα ψυχὴ δικαιοτέρα ἐστί; βελτίων γάρ που ἡμῖν ἐφάνη, ὦ ἄριστε, ἡ τοιαύτη.

Ἱππίας: ἐφάνη γάρ.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ εἰ ἐπιστήμη; οὐχ ἡ σοφωτέρα ψυχὴ δικαιοτέρα, ἡ δὲ ἀμαθεστέρα ἀδικωτέρα;<

Ἱππίας: ναί.>

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ εἰ ἀμφότερα; οὐχ ἡ ἀμφοτέρας ἔχουσα, ἐπιστήμην καὶ δύναμιν, δικαιοτέρα, ἡ δ᾽ ἀμαθεστέρα ἀδικωτέρα; οὐχ οὕτως ἀνάγκη ἔχειν;

Ἱππίας: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἡ δυνατωτέρα καὶ σοφωτέρα αὕτη ἀμείνων οὖσα ἐφάνη καὶ ἀμφότερα μᾶλλον δυναμένη ποιεῖν, καὶ τὰ [376a] καλὰ καὶ τὰ αἰσχρά, περὶ πᾶσαν ἐργασίαν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ὅταν ἄρα τὰ αἰσχρὰ ἐργάζηται, ἑκοῦσα ἐργάζεται διὰ δύναμιν καὶ τέχνην: ταῦτα δὲ δικαιοσύνης φαίνεται, ἤτοι ἀμφότερα ἢ τὸ ἕτερον.

Ἱππίας: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τὸ μέν γε ἀδικεῖν κακὰ ποιεῖν ἐστιν, τὸ δὲ μὴ ἀδικεῖν καλά.

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἡ δυνατωτέρα καὶ ἀμείνων ψυχή, ὅτανπερ ἀδικῇ, ἑκοῦσα ἀδικήσει, ἡ δὲ πονηρὰ ἄκουσα;

Ἱππίας: φαίνεται. [376b]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀγαθὸς ἀνὴρ ὁ τὴν ἀγαθὴν ψυχὴν ἔχων, κακὸς δὲ ὁ τὴν κακήν;

Ἱππίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἀγαθοῦ μὲν ἄρα ἀνδρός ἐστιν ἑκόντα ἀδικεῖν, κακοῦ δὲ ἄκοντα, εἴπερ ὁ ἀγαθὸς ἀγαθὴν ψυχὴν ἔχει.

Ἱππίας: ἀλλὰ μὴν ἔχει γε.

Σωκράτης: ὁ ἄρα ἑκὼν ἁμαρτάνων καὶ αἰσχρὰ καὶ ἄδικα ποιῶν, ὦ Ἱππία, εἴπερ τίς ἐστιν οὗτος, οὐκ ἂν ἄλλος εἴη ἢ ὁ ἀγαθός.

Ἱππίας: οὐκ ἔχω ὅπως σοι συγχωρήσω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐγὼ ἐμοί, ὦ Ἱππία: ἀλλ᾽ ἀναγκαῖον οὕτω [376c] φαίνεσθαι νῦν γε ἡμῖν ἐκ τοῦ λόγου. ὅπερ μέντοι πάλαι ἔλεγον, ἐγὼ περὶ ταῦτα ἄνω καὶ κάτω πλανῶμαι καὶ οὐδέποτε ταὐτά μοι δοκεῖ. καὶ ἐμὲ μὲν οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν πλανᾶσθαι οὐδὲ ἄλλον ἰδιώτην: εἰ δὲ καὶ ὑμεῖς πλανήσεσθε οἱ σοφοί, τοῦτο ἤδη καὶ ἡμῖν δεινὸν εἰ μηδὲ παρ᾽ ὑμᾶς ἀφικόμενοι παυσόμεθα τῆς πλάνης.

FIRST ALCIBIADES

[103a] Σωκράτης

ὦ παῖ Κλεινίου, οἶμαί σε θαυμάζειν ὅτι πρῶτος ἐραστής σου γενόμενος τῶν ἄλλων πεπαυμένων μόνος οὐκ ἀπαλλάττομαι, καὶ ὅτι οἱ μὲν ἄλλοι δι’ ὄχλου ἐγένοντό σοι διαλεγόμενοι, ἐγὼ δὲ τοσούτων ἐτῶν οὐδὲ προσεῖπον. τούτου δὲ τὸ αἴτιον γέγονεν οὐκ ἀνθρώπειον, ἀλλά τι δαιμόνιον ἐναντίωμα, οὗ σὺ τὴν δύναμιν καὶ ὕστερον πεύσῃ. νῦν δὲ [103b] ἐπειδὴ οὐκέτι ἐναντιοῦται, οὕτω προσελήλυθα: εὔελπις δ’ εἰμὶ καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν μὴ ἐναντιώσεσθαι αὐτό. σχεδὸν οὖν κατανενόηκα ἐν τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ σκοπούμενος ὡς πρὸς τοὺς ἐραστὰς ἔσχες: πολλῶν γὰρ γενομένων καὶ μεγαλοφρόνων οὐδεὶς ὃς οὐχ ὑπερβληθεὶς τῷ φρονήματι ὑπὸ σοῦ πέφευγεν. [104a] τὸν δὲ λόγον, ᾧ ὑπερπεφρόνηκας, ἐθέλω διελθεῖν. οὐδενὸς φῂς ἀνθρώπων ἐνδεὴς εἶναι εἰς οὐδέν: τὰ γὰρ ὑπάρχοντά σοι μεγάλα εἶναι, ὥστε μηδενὸς δεῖσθαι, ἀπὸ τοῦ σώματος ἀρξάμενα τελευτῶντα εἰς τὴν ψυχήν. οἴει γὰρ δὴ εἶναι πρῶτον μὲν κάλλιστός τε καὶ μέγιστος — καὶ τοῦτο μὲν δὴ παντὶ δῆλον ἰδεῖν ὅτι οὐ ψεύδῃ — ἔπειτα νεανικωτάτου γένους ἐν τῇ σεαυτοῦ πόλει, οὔσῃ μεγίστῃ τῶν Ἑλληνίδων, καὶ [104b] ἐνταῦθα πρὸς πατρός τέ σοι φίλους καὶ συγγενεῖς πλείστους εἶναι καὶ ἀρίστους, οἳ εἴ τι δέοι ὑπηρετοῖεν ἄν σοι, τούτων δὲ τοὺς πρὸς μητρὸς οὐδὲν χείρους οὐδ’ ἐλάττους. συμπάντων δὲ ὧν εἶπον μείζω οἴει σοι δύναμιν ὑπάρχειν Περικλέα τὸν Ξανθίππου, ὃν ὁ πατὴρ ἐπίτροπον κατέλιπε σοί τε καὶ τῷ ἀδελφῷ: ὃς οὐ μόνον ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει δύναται πράττειν ὅτι ἂν βούληται, ἀλλ’ ἐν πάσῃ τῇ Ἑλλάδι καὶ τῶν βαρβάρων ἐν πολλοῖς καὶ μεγάλοις γένεσιν. προσθήσω δὲ καὶ ὅτι τῶν [104c] πλουσίων: δοκεῖς δέ μοι ἐπὶ τούτῳ ἥκιστα μέγα φρονεῖν. κατὰ πάντα δὴ ταῦτα σύ τε μεγαλαυχούμενος κεκράτηκας τῶν ἐραστῶν ἐκεῖνοί τε ὑποδεέστεροι ὄντες ἐκρατήθησαν, καί σε ταῦτ’ οὐ λέληθεν: ὅθεν δὴ εὖ οἶδα ὅτι θαυμάζεις τί διανοούμενός ποτε οὐκ ἀπαλλάττομαι τοῦ ἔρωτος, καὶ ἥντιν’ ἔχων ἐλπίδα ὑπομένω τῶν ἄλλων πεφευγότων.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ ἴσως γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ οἶσθ’ ὅτι σμικρόν [104d] με ἔφθης. ἐγὼ γάρ τοι ἐν νῷ εἶχον πρότερός σοι προσελθὼν αὐτὰ ταῦτ’ ἐρέσθαι, τί ποτε βούλει καὶ εἰς τίνα ἐλπίδα βλέπων ἐνοχλεῖς με, ἀεὶ ὅπου ἂν ὦ ἐπιμελέστατα παρών: τῷ ὄντι γὰρ θαυμάζω ὅτι ποτ’ ἐστὶ τὸ σὸν πρᾶγμα, καὶ ἥδιστ’ ἂν πυθοίμην.

Σωκράτης

ἀκούσῃ μὲν ἄρα μου, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, προθύμως, εἴπερ, ὡς φῄς, ἐπιθυμεῖς εἰδέναι τί διανοοῦμαι, καὶ ὡς ἀκουσομένῳ καὶ περιμενοῦντι λέγω.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν: ἀλλὰ λέγε.

[104e] Σωκράτης

ὅρα δή: οὐ γάρ τοι εἴη ἂν θαυμαστὸν εἰ, ὥσπερ μόγις ἠρξάμην, οὕτω μόγις καὶ παυσαίμην.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὠγαθὲ λέγε: ἀκούσομαι γάρ.

Σωκράτης

λεκτέον ἂν εἴη. χαλεπὸν μὲν οὖν πρὸς ἄνδρα οὐχ ἥττονα ἐραστῶν προσφέρεσθαι ἐραστῇ, ὅμως δὲ τολμητέον φράσαι τὴν ἐμὴν διάνοιαν. ἐγὼ γάρ, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, εἰ μέν σε ἑώρων ἃ νυνδὴ διῆλθον ἀγαπῶντα καὶ οἰόμενον δεῖν ἐν τούτοις καταβιῶναι, πάλαι ἂν ἀπηλλάγμην τοῦ ἔρωτος, ὥς [105a] γε δὴ ἐμαυτὸν πείθω: νῦν δ’ ἕτερ’ αὖ κατηγορήσω διανοήματα σὰ πρὸς αὐτὸν σέ, ᾧ καὶ γνώσῃ ὅτι προσέχων γέ σοι τὸν νοῦν διατετέλεκα. δοκεῖς γάρ μοι, εἴ τίς σοι εἴποι θεῶν: “ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, πότερον βούλει ζῆν ἔχων ἃ νῦν ἔχεις, ἢ αὐτίκα τεθνάναι εἰ μή σοι ἐξέσται μείζω κτήσασθαι;” δοκεῖς ἄν μοι ἑλέσθαι τεθνάναι: ἀλλὰ νῦν ἐπὶ τίνι δή ποτε ἐλπίδι ζῇς, ἐγὼ φράσω. ἡγῇ, ἐὰν θᾶττον εἰς τὸν Ἀθηναίων [105b] δῆμον παρέλθῃς — τοῦτο δ’ ἔσεσθαι μάλα ὀλίγων ἡμερῶν — παρελθὼν οὖν ἐνδείξεσθαι Ἀθηναίοις ὅτι ἄξιος εἶ τιμᾶσθαι ὡς οὔτε Περικλῆς οὔτ’ ἄλλος οὐδεὶς τῶν πώποτε γενομένων, καὶ τοῦτ’ ἐνδειξάμενος μέγιστον δυνήσεσθαι ἐν τῇ πόλει, ἐὰν δ’ ἐνθάδε μέγιστος ᾖς, καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησι, καὶ οὐ μόνον ἐν Ἕλλησιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τοῖς βαρβάροις, ὅσοι ἐν τῇ αὐτῇ ἡμῖν οἰκοῦσιν ἠπείρῳ. καὶ εἰ αὖ σοι εἴποι ὁ αὐτὸς οὗτος θεὸς ὅτι αὐτοῦ σε δεῖ δυναστεύειν ἐν τῇ Εὐρώπῃ, [105c] διαβῆναι δὲ εἰς τὴν Ἀσίαν οὐκ ἐξέσται σοι οὐδὲ ἐπιθέσθαι τοῖς ἐκεῖ πράγμασιν, οὐκ ἂν αὖ μοι δοκεῖς ἐθέλειν οὐδ’ ἐπὶ τούτοις μόνοις ζῆν, εἰ μὴ ἐμπλήσεις τοῦ σοῦ ὀνόματος καὶ τῆς σῆς δυνάμεως πάντας ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἀνθρώπους: καὶ οἶμαί σε πλὴν Κύρου καὶ Ξέρξου ἡγεῖσθαι οὐδένα ἄξιον λόγου γεγονέναι. ὅτι μὲν οὖν ἔχεις ταύτην τὴν ἐλπίδα, εὖ οἶδα καὶ οὐκ εἰκάζω. ἴσως ἂν οὖν εἴποις, ἅτε εἰδὼς ὅτι ἀληθῆ λέγω, “τί δὴ οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτ’ ἐστί σοι πρὸς [105d] λόγον; [ὃν ἔφησθα ἐρεῖν, διὸ ἐμοῦ οὐκ ἀπαλλάττῃ;]” ἐγὼ δὲ σοί γε ἐρῶ, ὦ φίλε παῖ Κλεινίου καὶ Δεινομάχης. τούτων γάρ σοι ἁπάντων τῶν διανοημάτων τέλος ἐπιτεθῆναι ἄνευ ἐμοῦ ἀδύνατον: τοσαύτην ἐγὼ δύναμιν οἶμαι ἔχειν εἰς τὰ σὰ πράγματα καὶ εἰς σέ, διὸ δὴ καὶ πάλαι οἴομαί με τὸν θεὸν οὐκ ἐᾶν διαλέγεσθαί σοι, ὃν ἐγὼ περιέμενον ὁπηνίκα ἐάσει. ὥσπερ γὰρ σὺ ἐλπίδας ἔχεις ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐνδείξασθαι ὅτι [105e] αὐτῇ παντὸς ἄξιος εἶ, ἐνδειξάμενος δὲ [ὅτι] οὐδὲν ὅτι οὐ παραυτίκα δυνήσεσθαι, οὕτω κἀγὼ παρὰ σοὶ ἐλπίζω μέγιστον δυνήσεσθαι ἐνδειξάμενος ὅτι παντὸς ἄξιός εἰμί σοι καὶ οὔτε ἐπίτροπος οὔτε συγγενὴς οὔτ’ ἄλλος οὐδεὶς ἱκανὸς παραδοῦναι τὴν δύναμιν ἧς ἐπιθυμεῖς πλὴν ἐμοῦ, μετὰ τοῦ θεοῦ μέντοι. νεωτέρῳ μὲν οὖν ὄντι σοι καὶ πρὶν τοσαύτης ἐλπίδος γέμειν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐκ εἴα ὁ θεὸς διαλέγεσθαι, ἵνα μὴ μάτην [106a] διαλεγοίμην. νῦν δ’ ἐφῆκεν: νῦν γὰρ ἄν μου ἀκούσαις.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πολύ γέ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, νῦν ἀτοπώτερος αὖ φαίνῃ, ἐπειδὴ ἤρξω λέγειν, ἢ ὅτε σιγῶν εἵπου: καίτοι σφόδρα γε ἦσθ’ ἰδεῖν καὶ τότε τοιοῦτος. εἰ μὲν οὖν ἐγὼ ταῦτα διανοοῦμαι ἢ μή, ὡς ἔοικε, διέγνωκας, καὶ ἐὰν μὴ φῶ, οὐδέν μοι ἔσται πλέον πρὸς τὸ πείθειν σε. εἶεν: εἰ δὲ δὴ ὅτι μάλιστα ταῦτα διανενόημαι, πῶς διὰ σοῦ μοι ἔσται καὶ ἄνευ σοῦ οὐκ ἂν γένοιτο; ἔχεις λέγειν;

[106b] Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ ἐρωτᾷς εἴ τιν’ ἔχω εἰπεῖν λόγον μακρόν, οἵους δὴ ἀκούειν εἴθισαι; οὐ γάρ ἐστι τοιοῦτον τὸ ἐμόν: ἀλλ’ ἐνδείξασθαι μέν σοι, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, οἷός τ’ ἂν εἴην ὅτι ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει, ἐὰν ἓν μόνον μοι ἐθελήσῃς βραχὺ ὑπηρετῆσαι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’ εἴ γε δὴ μὴ χαλεπόν τι λέγεις τὸ ὑπηρέτημα, ἐθέλω.

Σωκράτης

ἦ χαλεπὸν δοκεῖ τὸ ἀποκρίνασθαι τὰ ἐρωτώμενα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ χαλεπόν.

Σωκράτης

ἀποκρίνου δή.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

Ἐρώτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὡς διανοουμένου σου ταῦτα ἐρωτῶ, ἅ φημί σε [106c] διανοεῖσθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔστω, εἰ βούλει, οὕτως, ἵνα καὶ εἰδῶ ὅτι καὶ ἐρεῖς.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δή: διανοῇ γάρ, ὡς ἐγώ φημι, παριέναι συμβουλεύσων Ἀθηναίοις ἐντὸς οὐ πολλοῦ χρόνου: εἰ οὖν μέλλοντός σου ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὸ βῆμα λαβόμενος ἐροίμην: “ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, ἐπειδὴ περὶ τίνος Ἀθηναῖοι διανοοῦνται βουλεύεσθαι, ἀνίστασαι συμβουλεύσων; ἆρ’ ἐπειδὴ περὶ ὧν σὺ ἐπίστασαι βέλτιον ἢ οὗτοι;” τί ἂν ἀποκρίναιο;

[106d] Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἴποιμ’ ἂν δήπου, περὶ ὧν οἶδα βέλτιον ἢ οὗτοι.

Σωκράτης

περὶ ὧν ἄρ’ εἰδὼς τυγχάνεις, ἀγαθὸς σύμβουλος εἶ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ταῦτα μόνον οἶσθα, ἃ παρ’ ἄλλων ἔμαθες ἢ αὐτὸς ἐξηῦρες;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ποῖα γὰρ ἄλλα;

Σωκράτης

ἔστιν οὖν ὅπως ἄν ποτε ἔμαθές τι ἢ ἐξηῦρες μήτε μανθάνειν ἐθέλων μήτ’ αὐτὸς ζητεῖν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; ἠθέλησας ἂν ζητῆσαι ἢ μαθεῖν ἃ ἐπίστασθαι ᾤου;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

[106e] Σωκράτης

ἃ ἄρα νῦν τυγχάνεις ἐπιστάμενος, ἦν χρόνος ὅτε οὐχ ἡγοῦ εἰδέναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἅ γε μεμάθηκας σχεδόν τι καὶ ἐγὼ οἶδα: εἰ δέ τι ἐμὲ λέληθεν, εἰπέ. ἔμαθες γὰρ δὴ σύ γε κατὰ μνήμην τὴν ἐμὴν γράμματα καὶ κιθαρίζειν καὶ παλαίειν: οὐ γὰρ δὴ αὐλεῖν γε ἤθελες μαθεῖν. ταῦτ’ ἐστὶν ἃ σὺ ἐπίστασαι, εἰ μή πού τι μανθάνων ἐμὲ λέληθας: οἶμαι δέ γε, οὔτε νύκτωρ οὔτε μεθ’ ἡμέραν ἐξιὼν ἔνδοθεν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’ οὐ πεφοίτηκα εἰς ἄλλων ἢ τούτων.

[107a] Σωκράτης

πότερον οὖν, ὅταν περὶ γραμμάτων Ἀθηναῖοι βουλεύωνται, πῶς ἂν ὀρθῶς γράφοιεν, τότε ἀναστήσῃ αὐτοῖς συμβουλεύσων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ὅταν περὶ κρουμάτων ἐν λύρᾳ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲ μὴν οὐδὲ περὶ παλαισμάτων γε εἰώθασι βουλεύεσθαι ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ μέντοι.

Σωκράτης

ὅταν οὖν περὶ τίνος βουλεύωνται; οὐ γάρ που ὅταν γε περὶ οἰκοδομίας.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οἰκοδόμος γὰρ ταῦτά γε σοῦ βέλτιον συμβουλεύσει.

[107b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲ μὴν ὅταν περὶ μαντικῆς βουλεύωνται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔ.

Σωκράτης

μάντις γὰρ αὖ ταῦτα ἄμεινον ἢ σύ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἐάν τέ γε σμικρὸς ἢ μέγας ᾖ, ἐάν τε καλὸς ἢ αἰσχρός, ἔτι τε γενναῖος ἢ ἀγεννής.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

εἰδότος γὰρ οἶμαι περὶ ἑκάστου ἡ συμβουλή, καὶ οὐ πλουτοῦντος.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἐάντε πένης ἐάντε πλούσιος ᾖ ὁ παραινῶν, οὐδὲν διοίσει Ἀθηναίοις ὅταν περὶ τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει βουλεύωνται, [107c] πῶς ἂν ὑγιαίνοιεν, ἀλλὰ ζητήσουσιν ἰατρὸν εἶναι τὸν σύμβουλον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰκότως γε.

Σωκράτης

ὅταν οὖν περὶ τίνος σκοπῶνται, τότε σὺ ἀνιστάμενος ὡς συμβουλεύσων ὀρθῶς ἀναστήσῃ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὅταν περὶ τῶν ἑαυτῶν πραγμάτων, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τῶν περὶ ναυπηγίας λέγεις, ὁποίας τινὰς χρὴ αὐτοὺς τὰς ναῦς ναυπηγεῖσθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ναυπηγεῖν γὰρ οἶμαι οὐκ ἐπίστασαι. τοῦτ’ αἴτιον ἢ ἄλλο τι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο.

[107d] Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ περὶ ποίων τῶν ἑαυτῶν λέγεις πραγμάτων ὅταν βουλεύωνται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὅταν περὶ πολέμου, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἢ περὶ εἰρήνης ἢ ἄλλου του τῶν τῆς πόλεως πραγμάτων.

Σωκράτης

ἆρα λέγεις ὅταν βουλεύωνται πρὸς τίνας χρὴ εἰρήνην ποιεῖσθαι καὶ τίσιν πολεμεῖν καὶ τίνα τρόπον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

χρὴ δ’ οὐχ οἷς βέλτιον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[107e] Σωκράτης

καὶ τόθ’ ὁπότε βέλτιον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ τοσοῦτον χρόνον ὅσον ἄμεινον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

εἰ οὖν βουλεύοιντο Ἀθηναῖοι τίσιν χρὴ προσπαλαίειν καὶ τίσιν ἀκροχειρίζεσθαι καὶ τίνα τρόπον, σὺ ἄμεινον ἂν συμβουλεύοις ἢ ὁ παιδοτρίβης;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὁ παιδοτρίβης δήπου.

Σωκράτης

ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν πρὸς τί <ἂν> βλέπων ὁ παιδοτρίβης συμβουλεύσειεν οἷς δεῖ προσπαλαίειν καὶ οἷς μή, καὶ ὁπότε καὶ ὅντινα τρόπον; λέγω δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε: ἆρα τούτοις δεῖ προσπαλαίειν οἷς βέλτιον, ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[108a] Σωκράτης

ἆρα καὶ τοσαῦτα ὅσα ἄμεινον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τοσαῦτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ τότε ὅτε ἄμεινον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ ᾄδοντα δεῖ κιθαρίζειν ποτὲ πρὸς τὴν ᾠδὴν καὶ βαίνειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δεῖ γάρ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τότε ὁπότε βέλτιον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ τοσαῦθ’ ὅσα βέλτιον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φημί.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; ἐπειδὴ βέλτιον μὲν ὠνόμαζες ἐπ’ ἀμφοτέροις, [108b] τῷ τε κιθαρίζειν πρὸς τὴν ᾠδὴν καὶ τῷ προσπαλαίειν, τί καλεῖς τὸ ἐν τῷ κιθαρίζειν βέλτιον, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ τὸ ἐν τῷ παλαίειν καλῶ γυμναστικόν: σὺ δ’ ἐκεῖνο τί καλεῖς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἐννοῶ.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ πειρῶ ἐμὲ μιμεῖσθαι. ἐγὼ γάρ που ἀπεκρινάμην τὸ διὰ παντὸς ὀρθῶς ἔχον, ὀρθῶς δὲ δήπου ἔχει τὸ κατὰ τὴν τέχνην γιγνόμενον: ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἡ δὲ τέχνη οὐ γυμναστικὴ ἦν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

[108c] Σωκράτης

ἐγὼ δ’ εἶπον τὸ ἐν τῷ παλαίειν βέλτιον γυμναστικόν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἶπες γάρ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καλῶς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ἴθι δὴ καὶ σύ — πρέποι γὰρ ἄν που καὶ σοὶ τὸ καλῶς διαλέγεσθαι — εἰπὲ πρῶτον τίς ἡ τέχνη ἧς τὸ κιθαρίζειν καὶ τὸ ᾄδειν καὶ τὸ ἐμβαίνειν ὀρθῶς; συνάπασα τίς καλεῖται; οὔπω δύνασαι εἰπεῖν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ὧδε πειρῶ: τίνες αἱ θεαὶ ὧν ἡ τέχνη;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τὰς μούσας, ὦ Σώκρατες, λέγεις;

[108d] Σωκράτης

ἔγωγε. ὅρα δή: τίνα ἀπ’ αὐτῶν ἐπωνυμίαν ἡ τέχνη ἔχει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μουσικήν μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν.

Σωκράτης

λέγω γάρ. τί οὖν τὸ κατὰ ταύτην ὀρθῶς γιγνόμενόν ἐστιν; ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ ἐγώ σοι τὸ κατὰ τὴν τέχνην ἔλεγον ὀρθῶς, τὴν γυμναστικήν, καὶ σὺ δὴ οὖν οὕτως ἐνταῦθα τί φῄς; πῶς γίγνεσθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μουσικῶς μοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

εὖ λέγεις. ἴθι δή, καὶ τὸ ἐν τῷ πολεμεῖν βέλτιον καὶ τὸ ἐν τῷ εἰρήνην ἄγειν, τοῦτο τὸ βέλτιον τί [108e] ὀνομάζεις; ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ ἐφ’ ἑκάστῳ ἔλεγες τὸ ἄμεινον, ὅτι μουσικώτερον καὶ ἐπὶ τῷ ἑτέρῳ, ὅτι γυμναστικώτερον: πειρῶ δὴ καὶ ἐνταῦθα λέγειν τὸ βέλτιον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’ οὐ πάνυ τι ἔχω.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μέντοι αἰσχρόν γε εἰ μέν τις σε λέγοντα καὶ συμβουλεύοντα περὶ σιτίων ὅτι βέλτιον τόδε τοῦδε καὶ νῦν καὶ τοσοῦτον, ἔπειτα ἐρωτήσειεν “τί τὸ ἄμεινον λέγεις, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη;” περὶ μὲν τούτων ἔχειν εἰπεῖν ὅτι τὸ ὑγιεινότερον, καίτοι οὐ προσποιῇ γε ἰατρὸς εἶναι: περὶ δὲ οὗ [109a] προσποιῇ ἐπιστήμων εἶναι καὶ συμβουλεύσεις ἀνιστάμενος ὡς εἰδώς, τούτου δ’, ὡς ἔοικας, πέρι ἐρωτηθεὶς ἐὰν μὴ ἔχῃς εἰπεῖν, οὐκ αἰσχύνῃ; ἢ οὐκ αἰσχρὸν φανεῖται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

σκόπει δὴ καὶ προθυμοῦ εἰπεῖν πρὸς τί τείνει τὸ ἐν τῷ εἰρήνην τε ἄγειν ἄμεινον καὶ τὸ ἐν τῷ πολεμεῖν οἷς δεῖ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ σκοπῶν οὐ δύναμαι ἐννοῆσαι.

Σωκράτης

οὐδ’ οἶσθα, ἐπειδὰν πόλεμον ποιώμεθα, ὅτι ἐγκαλοῦντες ἀλλήλοις πάθημα ἐρχόμεθα εἰς τὸ πολεμεῖν, καὶ ὅτι αὐτὸ ὀνομάζοντες ἐρχόμεθα;

[109b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε, ὅτι γε ἐξαπατώμενοί τι ἢ βιαζόμενοι ἢ ἀποστερούμενοι.

Σωκράτης

ἔχε: πῶς ἕκαστα τούτων πάσχοντες; πειρῶ εἰπεῖν τί διαφέρει τὸ ὧδε ἢ ὧδε.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἦ τὸ ὧδε λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ δικαίως ἢ τὸ ἀδίκως;

Σωκράτης

αὐτὸ τοῦτο.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτο γε διαφέρει ὅλον τε καὶ πᾶν.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; Ἀθηναίοις σὺ πρὸς ποτέρους συμβουλεύσεις πολεμεῖν, τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας ἢ τοὺς τὰ δίκαια πράττοντας;

[109c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

δεινὸν τοῦτό γε ἐρωτᾷς: εἰ γὰρ καὶ διανοεῖταί τις ὡς δεῖ πρὸς τοὺς τὰ δίκαια πράττοντας πολεμεῖν, οὐκ ἂν ὁμολογήσειέν γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐ γὰρ νόμιμον τοῦθ’, ὡς ἔοικεν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα: οὐδέ γε καλὸν δοκεῖ εἶναι.

Σωκράτης

πρὸς ταῦτ’ ἄρα καὶ σὺ [τὸ δίκαιον] τοὺς λόγους ποιήσῃ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

ἄλλο τι οὖν, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἠρώτων βέλτιον πρὸς τὸ πολεμεῖν καὶ μή, καὶ οἷς δεῖ καὶ οἷς μή, καὶ ὁπότε καὶ μή, τὸ δικαιότερον τυγχάνει ὄν; ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεταί γε.

[109d] Σωκράτης

πῶς οὖν, ὦ φίλε Ἀλκιβιάδη; πότερον σαυτὸν λέληθας ὅτι οὐκ ἐπίστασαι τοῦτο, ἢ ἐμὲ ἔλαθες μανθάνων καὶ φοιτῶν εἰς διδασκάλου ὅς σε ἐδίδασκε διαγιγνώσκειν τὸ δικαιότερόν τε καὶ ἀδικώτερον; καὶ τίς ἐστιν οὗτος; φράσον καὶ ἐμοί, ἵνα αὐτῷ φοιτητὴν προξενήσῃς καὶ ἐμέ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

σκώπτεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐ μὰ τὸν Φίλιον τὸν ἐμόν τε καὶ σόν, ὃν ἐγὼ ἥκιστ’ ἂν ἐπιορκήσαιμι: ἀλλ’ εἴπερ ἔχεις, εἰπὲ τίς ἐστιν.

[109e] Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί δ’ εἰ μὴ ἔχω; οὐκ ἂν οἴει με ἄλλως εἰδέναι περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων;

Σωκράτης

ναί, εἴ γε εὕροις.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἂν εὑρεῖν με ἡγῇ;

Σωκράτης

καὶ μάλα γε, εἰ ζητήσαις.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἶτα ζητῆσαι οὐκ ἂν οἴει με;

Σωκράτης

ἔγωγε, εἰ οἰηθείης γε μὴ εἰδέναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἶτα οὐκ ἦν ὅτ’ εἶχον οὕτω;

Σωκράτης

καλῶς λέγεις. ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον [110a] ὅτε οὐκ ᾤου εἰδέναι τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα; φέρε, πέρυσιν ἐζήτεις τε καὶ οὐκ ᾤου εἰδέναι; ἢ ᾤου; καὶ τἀληθῆ ἀποκρίνου, ἵνα μὴ μάτην οἱ διάλογοι γίγνωνται.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’ ᾤμην εἰδέναι.

Σωκράτης

τρίτον δ’ ἔτος καὶ τέταρτον καὶ πέμπτον οὐχ οὕτως;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε πρὸ τοῦ παῖς ἦσθα. ἦ γάρ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τότε μὲν τοίνυν εὖ οἶδα ὅτι ᾤου εἰδέναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς εὖ οἶσθα;

[110b] Σωκράτης

πολλάκις σοῦ ἐν διδασκάλων ἤκουον παιδὸς ὄντος καὶ ἄλλοθι, καὶ ὁπότε ἀστραγαλίζοις ἢ ἄλλην τινὰ παιδιὰν παίζοις, οὐχ ὡς ἀποροῦντος περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων, ἀλλὰ μάλα μέγα καὶ θαῤῥαλέως λέγοντος περὶ ὅτου τύχοις τῶν παίδων ὡς πονηρός τε καὶ ἄδικος εἴη καὶ ὡς ἀδικοῖ: ἢ οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγω;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ τί ἔμελλον ποιεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁπότε τίς με ἀδικοῖ;

Σωκράτης

σὺ δ’ εἰ τύχοις ἀγνοῶν εἴτ’ ἀδικοῖο εἴτε μὴ τότε, λέγεις, τί σε χρὴ ποιεῖν;

[110c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

μὰ Δί’ ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἠγνόουν ἔγωγε, ἀλλὰ σαφῶς ἐγίγνωσκον ὅτι ἠδικούμην.

Σωκράτης

ὤιου ἄρα ἐπίστασθαι καὶ παῖς ὤν, ὡς ἔοικε, τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε: καὶ ἠπιστάμην γε.

Σωκράτης

ἐν ποίῳ χρόνῳ ἐξευρών; οὐ γὰρ δήπου ἐν ᾧ γε ᾤου εἰδέναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

πότε οὖν ἀγνοεῖν ἡγοῦ; σκόπει: οὐ γὰρ εὑρήσεις τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μὰ τὸν Δί’, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὔκουν ἔχω γ’ εἰπεῖν.

[110d] Σωκράτης

εὑρὼν μὲν ἄρ’ οὐκ οἶσθα αὐτά.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ πάνυ φαίνομαι.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἄρτι γε οὐδὲ μαθὼν ἔφησθα εἰδέναι: εἰ δὲ μήθ’ ηὗρες μήτ’ ἔμαθες, πῶς οἶσθα καὶ πόθεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’ ἴσως τοῦτό σοι οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἀπεκρινάμην, τὸ φάναι εἰδέναι αὐτὸς ἐξευρών.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ πῶς εἶχεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμαθον οἶμαι καὶ ἐγὼ ὥσπερ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι.

Σωκράτης

πάλιν εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν ἥκομεν λόγον. παρὰ τοῦ; φράζε κἀμοί.

[110e] Ἀλκιβιάδης

παρὰ τῶν πολλῶν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ εἰς σπουδαίους γε διδασκάλους καταφεύγεις εἰς τοὺς πολλοὺς ἀναφέρων.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί δέ; οὐχ ἱκανοὶ διδάξαι οὗτοι;

Σωκράτης

οὔκουν τὰ πεττευτικά γε καὶ τὰ μή: καίτοι φαυλότερα αὐτὰ οἶμαι τῶν δικαίων εἶναι. τί δέ; σὺ οὐχ οὕτως οἴει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

εἶτα τὰ μὲν φαυλότερα οὐχ οἷοί τε διδάσκειν, τὰ δὲ σπουδαιότερα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οἶμαι ἔγωγε: ἄλλα γοῦν πολλὰ οἷοί τ’ εἰσὶν διδάσκειν σπουδαιότερα τοῦ πεττεύειν.

Σωκράτης

ποῖα ταῦτα;

[111a] Ἀλκιβιάδης

οἷον καὶ τὸ ἑλληνίζειν παρὰ τούτων ἔγωγ’ ἔμαθον, καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιμι εἰπεῖν ἐμαυτοῦ διδάσκαλον, ἀλλ’ εἰς τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἀναφέρω οὓς σὺ φῂς οὐ σπουδαίους εἶναι διδασκάλους.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’, ὦ γενναῖε, τούτου μὲν ἀγαθοὶ διδάσκαλοι οἱ πολλοί, καὶ δικαίως ἐπαινοῖντ’ ἂν αὐτῶν εἰς διδασκαλίαν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί δή;

Σωκράτης

ὅτι ἔχουσι περὶ αὐτὰ ἃ χρὴ τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς διδασκάλους ἔχειν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

οὐκ οἶσθ’ ὅτι χρὴ τοὺς μέλλοντας διδάσκειν ὁτιοῦν [111b] αὐτοὺς πρῶτον εἰδέναι; ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοὺς εἰδότας ὁμολογεῖν τε ἀλλήλοις καὶ μὴ διαφέρεσθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἐν οἷς δ’ ἂν διαφέρωνται, ταῦτα φήσεις εἰδέναι αὐτούς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

τούτων οὖν διδάσκαλοι πῶς ἂν εἶεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; δοκοῦσί σοι διαφέρεσθαι οἱ πολλοὶ ποῖόν ἐστι λίθος ἢ ξύλον; καὶ ἐάν τινα ἐρωτᾷς, ἆρ’ οὐ τὰ αὐτὰ [111c] ὁμολογοῦσιν, καὶ ἐπὶ ταὐτὰ ὁρμῶσιν ὅταν βούλωνται λαβεῖν λίθον ἢ ξύλον; ὡσαύτως καὶ πάνθ’ ὅσα τοιαῦτα: σχεδὸν γάρ τι μανθάνω τὸ ἑλληνίζειν ἐπίστασθαι ὅτι τοῦτο λέγεις: ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰς μὲν ταῦθ’, ὥσπερ εἴπομεν, ἀλλήλοις τε ὁμολογοῦσι καὶ αὐτοὶ ἑαυτοῖς ἰδίᾳ, καὶ δημοσίᾳ αἱ πόλεις πρὸς ἀλλήλας οὐκ ἀμφισβητοῦσιν αἱ μὲν ταῦθ’ αἱ δ’ ἄλλα φάσκουσαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ γάρ.

Σωκράτης

εἰκότως ἂν ἄρα τούτων γε καὶ διδάσκαλοι εἶεν ἀγαθοί.

[111d] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν βουλοίμεθα ποιῆσαί τινα περὶ αὐτῶν εἰδέναι, ὀρθῶς ἂν αὐτὸν πέμποιμεν εἰς διδασκαλίαν τούτων τῶν πολλῶν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’ εἰ βουληθεῖμεν εἰδέναι, μὴ μόνον ποῖοι ἄνθρωποί εἰσιν ἢ ποῖοι ἵπποι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τίνες αὐτῶν δρομικοί τε καὶ μή, ἆρ’ ἔτι οἱ πολλοὶ τοῦτο ἱκανοὶ διδάξαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἱκανὸν δέ σοι τεκμήριον ὅτι οὐκ ἐπίστανται οὐδὲ [111e] κρήγυοι διδάσκαλοί εἰσιν τούτων, ἐπειδὴ οὐδὲν ὁμολογοῦσιν ἑαυτοῖς περὶ αὐτῶν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’ εἰ βουληθεῖμεν εἰδέναι, μὴ μόνον ποῖοι ἄνθρωποί εἰσιν, ἀλλ’ ὁποῖοι ὑγιεινοὶ ἢ νοσώδεις, ἆρ’ ἱκανοὶ ἂν ἡμῖν ἦσαν διδάσκαλοι οἱ πολλοί;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἦν δ’ ἄν σοι τεκμήριον ὅτι μοχθηροί εἰσι τούτων διδάσκαλοι, εἰ ἑώρας αὐτοὺς διαφερομένους;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ δή; νῦν περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων ἀνθρώπων [112a] καὶ πραγμάτων οἱ πολλοὶ δοκοῦσί σοι ὁμολογεῖν αὐτοὶ ἑαυτοῖς ἢ ἀλλήλοις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἥκιστα νὴ Δί’, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; μάλιστα περὶ αὐτῶν διαφέρεσθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πολύ γε.

Σωκράτης

οὔκουν οἴομαί γε πώποτέ σε ἰδεῖν οὐδ’ ἀκοῦσαι σφόδρα οὕτω διαφερομένους ἀνθρώπους περὶ ὑγιεινῶν καὶ μή, ὥστε διὰ ταῦτα μάχεσθαί τε καὶ ἀποκτεινύναι ἀλλήλους.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων ἔγωγ’ οἶδ’ ὅτι, [112b] καὶ εἰ μὴ ἑώρακας, ἀκήκοας γοῦν ἄλλων τε πολλῶν καὶ Ὁμήρου: καὶ Ὀδυσσείας γὰρ καὶ Ἰλιάδος ἀκήκοας.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάντως δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ταῦτα ποιήματά ἐστι περὶ διαφορᾶς δικαίων τε καὶ ἀδίκων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ αἱ μάχαι γε καὶ οἱ θάνατοι διὰ ταύτην τὴν διαφορὰν τοῖς τε Ἀχαιοῖς καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις Τρωσὶν ἐγένοντο, καὶ τοῖς μνηστῆρσι τοῖς τῆς Πηνελόπης καὶ τῷ Ὀδυσσεῖ.

[112c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

οἶμαι δὲ καὶ τοῖς ἐν Τανάγρᾳ Ἀθηναίων τε καὶ Λακεδαιμονίων καὶ Βοιωτῶν ἀποθανοῦσι, καὶ τοῖς ὕστερον ἐν Κορωνείᾳ, ἐν οἷς καὶ ὁ σὸς πατὴρ [Κλεινίας] ἐτελεύτησεν, οὐδὲ περὶ ἑνὸς ἄλλου ἡ διαφορὰ ἢ περὶ τοῦ δικαίου καὶ ἀδίκου τοὺς θανάτους καὶ τὰς μάχας πεποίηκεν: ἦ γάρ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

τούτους οὖν φῶμεν ἐπίστασθαι περὶ ὧν οὕτως [112d] σφόδρα διαφέρονται, ὥστε ἀμφισβητοῦντες ἀλλήλοις τὰ ἔσχατα σφᾶς αὐτοὺς ἐργάζονται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ φαίνεταί γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰς τοὺς τοιούτους διδασκάλους ἀναφέρεις οὓς ὁμολογεῖς αὐτὸς μὴ εἰδέναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔοικα.

Σωκράτης

πῶς οὖν εἰκός σε εἰδέναι τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα, περὶ ὧν οὕτω πλανᾷ καὶ οὔτε μαθὼν φαίνῃ παρ’ οὐδενὸς οὔτ’ αὐτὸς ἐξευρών;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐκ μὲν ὧν σὺ λέγεις οὐκ εἰκός.

[112e] Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς αὖ τοῦθ’ ὡς οὐ καλῶς εἶπες, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης

ὅτι ἐμὲ φῂς ταῦτα λέγειν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί δέ; οὐ σὺ λέγεις ὡς ἐγὼ οὐδὲν ἐπίσταμαι περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων;

Σωκράτης

οὐ μέντοι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’ ἐγώ;

Σωκράτης

ναί.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης

ὧδε εἴσῃ. ἐάν σε ἔρωμαι τὸ ἓν καὶ τὰ δύο πότερα πλείω ἐστί, φήσεις ὅτι τὰ δύο;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

πόσῳ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἑνί.

Σωκράτης

πότερος οὖν ἡμῶν ὁ λέγων ὅτι τὰ δύο τοῦ ἑνὸς ἑνὶ πλείω;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐγώ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐγὼ μὲν ἠρώτων, σὺ δ’ ἀπεκρίνου;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[113a] Σωκράτης

περὶ δὴ τούτων μῶν ἐγὼ φαίνομαι λέγων ὁ ἐρωτῶν, ἢ σὺ ὁ ἀποκρινόμενος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐγώ.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’ ἂν ἐγὼ μὲν ἔρωμαι ποῖα γράμματα Σωκράτους, σὺ δ’ εἴπῃς, πότερος ὁ λέγων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐγώ.

Σωκράτης

ἴθι δή, ἑνὶ λόγῳ εἰπέ: ὅταν ἐρώτησίς τε καὶ ἀπόκρισις γίγνηται, πότερος ὁ λέγων, ὁ ἐρωτῶν ἢ ὁ ἀποκρινόμενος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὁ ἀποκρινόμενος, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

[113b] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἄρτι διὰ παντὸς ἐγὼ μὲν ἦ ὁ ἐρωτῶν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

σὺ δ’ ὁ ἀποκρινόμενος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; τὰ λεχθέντα πότερος ἡμῶν εἴρηκεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνομαι μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων ἐγώ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐλέχθη περὶ δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων ὅτι Ἀλκιβιάδης ὁ καλὸς ὁ Κλεινίου οὐκ ἐπίσταιτο, οἴοιτο δέ, καὶ μέλλοι εἰς ἐκκλησίαν ἐλθὼν συμβουλεύσειν Ἀθηναίοις περὶ ὧν οὐδὲν οἶδεν; οὐ ταῦτ’ ἦν;

[113c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

τὸ τοῦ Εὐριπίδου ἄρα συμβαίνει, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη: σοῦ τάδε κινδυνεύεις, οὐκ ἐμοῦ ἀκηκοέναι, οὐδ’ ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ ταῦτα λέγων, ἀλλὰ σύ, ἐμὲ δὲ αἰτιᾷ μάτην. καὶ μέντοι καὶ εὖ λέγεις. μανικὸν γὰρ ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἐπιχείρημα ἐπιχειρεῖν, ὦ βέλτιστε, διδάσκειν ἃ οὐκ οἶσθα, ἀμελήσας μανθάνειν.

[113d] Ἀλκιβιάδης

οἶμαι μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀλιγάκις Ἀθηναίους βουλεύεσθαι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους Ἕλληνας πότερα δικαιότερα ἢ ἀδικώτερα: τὰ μὲν γὰρ τοιαῦτα ἡγοῦνται δῆλα εἶναι, ἐάσαντες οὖν περὶ αὐτῶν σκοποῦσιν ὁπότερα συνοίσει πράξασιν. οὐ γὰρ ταὐτὰ οἶμαι ἐστὶν τά τε δίκαια καὶ τὰ συμφέροντα, ἀλλὰ πολλοῖς δὴ ἐλυσιτέλησεν ἀδικήσασι μεγάλα ἀδικήματα, καὶ ἑτέροις γε οἶμαι δίκαια ἐργασαμένοις οὐ συνήνεγκεν.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα ἕτερα μὲν τὰ δίκαια [113e] τυγχάνει ὄντα, ἕτερα δὲ τὰ συμφέροντα, οὔ τί που αὖ σὺ οἴει ταῦτ’ εἰδέναι ἃ συμφέρει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, καὶ δι’ ὅτι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί γὰρ κωλύει, ὦ Σώκρατες; εἰ μή με αὖ ἐρήσῃ παρ’ ὅτου ἔμαθον ἢ ὅπως αὐτὸς ηὗρον.

Σωκράτης

οἷον τοῦτο ποιεῖς. εἴ τι μὴ ὀρθῶς λέγεις, τυγχάνει δὲ δυνατὸν ὂν ἀποδεῖξαι δι’ οὗπερ καὶ τὸ πρότερον λόγου, οἴει δὴ καινὰ ἄττα δεῖν ἀκούειν ἀποδείξεις τε ἑτέρας, ὡς τῶν προτέρων οἷον σκευαρίων κατατετριμμένων, καὶ οὐκέτ’ ἂν σὺ αὐτὰ ἀμπίσχοιο, εἰ μή τίς σοι τεκμήριον καθαρὸν [114a] καὶ ἄχραντον οἴσει. ἐγὼ δὲ χαίρειν ἐάσας τὰς σὰς προδρομὰς τοῦ λόγου οὐδὲν ἧττον ἐρήσομαι πόθεν μαθὼν αὖ τὰ συμφέροντ’ ἐπίστασαι, καὶ ὅστις ἐστὶν ὁ διδάσκαλος, καὶ πάντ’ ἐκεῖνα τὰ πρότερον ἐρωτῶ μιᾷ ἐρωτήσει; ἀλλὰ γὰρ δῆλον ὡς εἰς ταὐτὸν ἥξεις καὶ οὐχ ἕξεις ἀποδεῖξαι οὔθ’ ὡς ἐξευρὼν οἶσθα τὰ συμφέροντα οὔθ’ ὡς μαθών. ἐπειδὴ δὲ τρυφᾷς καὶ οὐκέτ’ ἂν ἡδέως τοῦ αὐτοῦ γεύσαιο λόγου, τοῦτον μὲν ἐῶ χαίρειν, εἴτ’ οἶσθα εἴτε μὴ τὰ Ἀθηναίοις συμφέροντα: [114b] πότερον δὲ ταὐτά ἐστι δίκαιά τε καὶ συμφέροντ’ ἢ ἕτερα, τί οὐκ ἀπέδειξας; εἰ μὲν βούλει, ἐρωτῶν με ὥσπερ ἐγὼ σέ, εἰ δέ, καὶ αὐτὸς ἐπὶ σεαυτοῦ λόγῳ διέξελθε.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’ οὐκ οἶδα εἰ οἷός τ’ ἂν εἴην, ὦ Σώκρατες, πρὸς σὲ διελθεῖν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’, ὠγαθέ, ἐμὲ ἐκκλησίαν νόμισον καὶ δῆμον: καὶ ἐκεῖ τοί σε δεήσει ἕνα ἕκαστον πείθειν. ἦ γάρ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἕνα τε οἷόν τε εἶναι κατὰ μόνας [114c] πείθειν καὶ συμπόλλους περὶ ὧν ἂν εἰδῇ, ὥσπερ ὁ γραμματιστὴς ἕνα τέ που πείθει περὶ γραμμάτων καὶ πολλούς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ καὶ περὶ ἀριθμοῦ ὁ αὐτὸς ἕνα τε καὶ πολλοὺς πείσει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὗτος δ’ ἔσται ὁ εἰδώς, ὁ ἀριθμητικός;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ σὺ ἅπερ καὶ πολλοὺς οἷός τε πείθειν εἶ, ταῦτα καὶ ἕνα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης

ἔστι δὲ ταῦτα δῆλον ὅτι ἃ οἶσθα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἄλλο τι οὖν τοσοῦτον μόνον διαφέρει τοῦ ἐν τῷ [114d] δήμῳ ῥήτορος ὁ ἐν τῇ τοιᾷδε συνουσίᾳ, ὅτι ὁ μὲν ἁθρόους πείθει τὰ αὐτά, ὁ δὲ καθ’ ἕνα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης

ἴθι νῦν, ἐπειδὴ τοῦ αὐτοῦ φαίνεται πολλούς τε καὶ ἕνα πείθειν, ἐν ἐμοὶ ἐμμελέτησον καὶ ἐπιχείρησον ἐπιδεῖξαι ὡς τὸ δίκαιον ἐνίοτε οὐ συμφέρει.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὑβριστὴς εἶ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

νῦν γοῦν ὑφ’ ὕβρεως μέλλω σε πείθειν τἀναντία οἷς σὺ ἐμὲ οὐκ ἐθέλεις.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

λέγε δή.

Σωκράτης

ἀποκρίνου μόνον τὰ ἐρωτώμενα.

[114e] Ἀλκιβιάδης

μή, ἀλλὰ σὺ αὐτὸς λέγε.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’; οὐχ ὅτι μάλιστα βούλει πεισθῆναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάντως δήπου.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰ λέγεις ὅτι ταῦθ’ οὕτως ἔχει, μάλιστ’ ἂν εἴης πεπεισμένος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ἀποκρίνου δή: καὶ ἐὰν μὴ αὐτὸς σὺ σαυτοῦ ἀκούσῃς ὅτι τὰ δίκαια καὶ συμφέροντά ἐστιν, ἄλλῳ γε λέγοντι μὴ πιστεύσῃς.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔτοι, ἀλλ’ ἀποκριτέον: καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲν οἴομαι βλαβήσεσθαι.

[115a] Σωκράτης

μαντικὸς γὰρ εἶ. καί μοι λέγε: τῶν δικαίων φῂς ἔνια μὲν συμφέρειν, ἔνια δ’ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; τὰ μὲν καλὰ αὐτῶν εἶναι, τὰ δ’ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς τοῦτο ἐρωτᾷς;

Σωκράτης

εἴ τις ἤδη σοι ἔδοξεν αἰσχρὰ μέν, δίκαια δὲ πράττειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ πάντα τὰ δίκαια καὶ καλά;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’ αὖ τὰ καλά; πότερον πάντα ἀγαθά, ἢ τὰ μέν, τὰ δ’ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οἴομαι ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔνια τῶν καλῶν κακὰ εἶναι.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ αἰσχρὰ ἀγαθά;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[115b] Σωκράτης

ἆρα λέγεις τὰ τοιάδε, οἷον πολλοὶ ἐν πολέμῳ βοηθήσαντες ἑταίρῳ ἢ οἰκείῳ τραύματα ἔλαβον καὶ ἀπέθανον, οἱ δ’ οὐ βοηθήσαντες, δέον, ὑγιεῖς ἀπῆλθον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τὴν τοιαύτην βοήθειαν καλὴν μὲν λέγεις κατὰ τὴν ἐπιχείρησιν τοῦ σῶσαι οὓς ἔδει, τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶν ἀνδρεία: ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

κακὴν δέ γε κατὰ τοὺς θανάτους τε καὶ ἕλκη: ἦ γάρ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[115c] Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐκ ἄλλο μὲν ἡ ἀνδρεία, ἄλλο δὲ ὁ θάνατος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα κατὰ ταὐτόν γ’ ἐστι καλὸν καὶ κακὸν τὸ τοῖς φίλοις βοηθεῖν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ὅρα τοίνυν εἰ, ᾗ γε καλόν, καὶ ἀγαθόν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐνταῦθα. κατὰ τὴν ἀνδρείαν γὰρ ὡμολόγεις καλὸν εἶναι τὴν βοήθειαν: τοῦτ’ οὖν αὐτὸ σκόπει, τὴν ἀνδρείαν, ἀγαθὸν ἢ κακόν; ὧδε δὲ σκόπει: σὺ πότερ’ ἂν δέξαιό σοι εἶναι, ἀγαθὰ ἢ κακά;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀγαθά.

[115d] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τὰ μέγιστα μάλιστα.

<

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.>

Σωκράτης

καὶ ἥκιστα τῶν τοιούτων δέξαιο ἂν στέρεσθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

πῶς οὖν λέγεις περὶ ἀνδρείας; ἐπὶ πόσῳ ἂν αὐτοῦ δέξαιο στέρεσθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐδὲ ζῆν ἂν ἐγὼ δεξαίμην δειλὸς ὤν.

Σωκράτης

ἔσχατον ἄρα κακῶν εἶναί σοι δοκεῖ ἡ δειλία.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης

ἐξ ἴσου τῷ τεθνάναι, ὡς ἔοικε.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φημί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν θανάτῳ τε καὶ δειλίᾳ ἐναντιώτατον ζωὴ καὶ ἀνδρεία;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[115e] Σωκράτης

καὶ τὰ μὲν μάλιστ’ ἂν εἶναι βούλοιό σοι, τὰ δὲ ἥκιστα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἄριστα ἡγῇ, τὰ δὲ κάκιστα;

<

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἐν τοῖς ἀρίστοις ἄρα σὺ ἡγῇ ἀνδρείαν εἶναι κἀν τοῖς κακίστοις θάνατον.>

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τὸ ἄρα βοηθεῖν ἐν πολέμῳ τοῖς φίλοις, ᾗ μὲν καλόν, κατ’ ἀγαθοῦ πρᾶξιν τὴν τῆς ἀνδρείας, καλὸν αὐτὸ προσεῖπας;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνομαί γε.

Σωκράτης

κατὰ δέ γε κακοῦ πρᾶξιν τὴν τοῦ θανάτου κακόν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὧδε δίκαιον προσαγορεύειν ἑκάστην τῶν πράξεων: εἴπερ ᾗ κακὸν ἀπεργάζεται κακὴν καλεῖς, καὶ ᾗ [116a] ἀγαθὸν ἀγαθὴν κλητέον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν καὶ ᾗ ἀγαθόν, καλόν: ᾗ δὲ κακόν, αἰσχρόν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὴν ἄρ’ ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ τοῖς φίλοις βοήθειαν λέγων καλὴν μὲν εἶναι, κακὴν δέ, οὐδὲν διαφερόντως λέγεις ἢ εἰ προσεῖπες αὐτὴν ἀγαθὴν μέν, κακὴν δέ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲν ἄρα τῶν καλῶν, καθ’ ὅσον καλόν, κακόν, οὐδὲ τῶν αἰσχρῶν, καθ’ ὅσον αἰσχρόν, ἀγαθόν.

[116b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ ὧδε σκέψαι. ὅστις καλῶς πράττει, οὐχὶ καὶ εὖ πράττει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οἱ δ’ εὖ πράττοντες οὐκ εὐδαίμονες;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εὐδαίμονες δι’ ἀγαθῶν κτῆσιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης

κτῶνται δὲ ταῦτα τῷ εὖ καὶ καλῶς πράττειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὸ εὖ ἄρα πράττειν ἀγαθόν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καλὸν ἡ εὐπραγία;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[116c] Σωκράτης

ταὐτὸν ἄρα ἐφάνη ἡμῖν πάλιν αὖ καλόν τε καὶ ἀγαθόν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ὅτι ἂν ἄρα εὕρωμεν καλόν, καὶ ἀγαθὸν εὑρήσομεν ἔκ γε τούτου τοῦ λόγου.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; τὰ ἀγαθὰ συμφέρει ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

συμφέρει.

Σωκράτης

μνημονεύεις οὖν περὶ τῶν δικαίων πῶς ὡμολογήσαμεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οἶμαί γε τοὺς τὰ δίκαια πράττοντας ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι καλὰ πράττειν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ τοὺς τὰ καλὰ ἀγαθά;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[116d] Σωκράτης

τὰ δὲ ἀγαθὰ συμφέρειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὰ δίκαια ἄρα, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, συμφέροντά ἐστιν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; ταῦτα οὐ σὺ ὁ λέγων, ἐγὼ δὲ ὁ ἐρωτῶν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνομαι, ὡς ἔοικα.

Σωκράτης

εἰ οὖν τις ἀνίσταται συμβουλεύσων εἴτε Ἀθηναίοις εἴτε Πεπαρηθίοις, οἰόμενος γιγνώσκειν τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα, φήσει δ’ εἶναι τὰ δίκαια κακὰ ἐνίοτε, ἄλλο τι ἢ καταγελῴης ἂν αὐτοῦ, ἐπειδήπερ τυγχάνεις καὶ σὺ λέγων [116e] ὅτι ταὐτά ἐστι δίκαιά τε καὶ συμφέροντα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ μὰ τοὺς θεούς, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ οἶδ’ ἔγωγε οὐδ’ ὅτι λέγω, ἀλλ’ ἀτεχνῶς ἔοικα ἀτόπως ἔχοντι: τοτὲ μὲν γάρ μοι ἕτερα δοκεῖ σοῦ ἐρωτῶντος, τοτὲ δ’ ἄλλα.

Σωκράτης

εἶτα τοῦτο, ὦ φίλε, ἀγνοεῖς τὸ πάθημα τί ἐστιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

οἴει ἂν οὖν, εἴ τις ἐρωτῴη σε δύο ὀφθαλμοὺς ἢ τρεῖς ἔχεις, καὶ δύο χεῖρας ἢ τέτταρας, ἢ ἄλλο τι τῶν τοιούτων, τοτὲ μὲν ἕτερα ἂν ἀποκρίνασθαι, τοτὲ δὲ ἄλλα, ἢ ἀεὶ τὰ αὐτά;

[117a] Ἀλκιβιάδης

δέδοικα μὲν ἔγωγε ἤδη περὶ ἐμαυτοῦ, οἶμαι μέντοι τὰ αὐτά.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὅτι οἶσθα; τοῦτ’ αἴτιον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

περὶ ὧν ἄρα ἄκων τἀναντία ἀποκρίνῃ, δῆλον ὅτι περὶ τούτων οὐκ οἶσθα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων καὶ καλῶν καὶ αἰσχρῶν καὶ κακῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ συμφερόντων καὶ μὴ ἀποκρινόμενος φῂς πλανᾶσθαι; εἶτα οὐ δῆλον ὅτι διὰ τὸ μὴ εἰδέναι περὶ αὐτῶν, διὰ ταῦτα πλανᾷ;

[117b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν οὕτω καὶ ἔχει: ἐπειδάν τίς τι μὴ εἰδῇ, ἀναγκαῖον περὶ τούτου πλανᾶσθαι τὴν ψυχήν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; οἶσθα ὅντινα τρόπον ἀναβήσῃ εἰς τὸν οὐρανόν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ πλανᾶταί σου ἡ δόξα περὶ ταῦτα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δ’ αἴτιον οἶσθα ἢ ἐγὼ φράσω;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φράσον.

Σωκράτης

ὅτι, ὦ φίλε, οὐκ οἴει αὐτὸ ἐπίστασθαι οὐκ ἐπιστάμενος.

[117c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς αὖ τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

ὅρα καὶ σὺ κοινῇ. ἃ μὴ ἐπίστασαι, γιγνώσκεις δὲ ὅτι οὐκ ἐπίστασαι, πλανᾷ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα; ὥσπερ περὶ ὄψου σκευασίας οἶσθα δήπου ὅτι οὐκ οἶσθα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

πότερον οὖν αὐτὸς περὶ ταῦτα δοξάζεις ὅπως χρὴ σκευάζειν καὶ πλανᾷ, ἢ τῷ ἐπισταμένῳ ἐπιτρέπεις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’ εἰ ἐν νηὶ¨ πλέοις, ἆρα δοξάζοις ἂν πότερον [117d] χρὴ τὸν οἴακα εἴσω ἄγειν ἢ ἔξω, καὶ ἅτε οὐκ εἰδὼς πλανῷο ἄν, ἢ τῷ κυβερνήτῃ ἐπιτρέψας ἂν ἡσυχίαν ἄγοις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τῷ κυβερνήτῃ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα περὶ ἃ μὴ οἶσθα πλανᾷ, ἄνπερ εἰδῇς ὅτι οὐκ οἶσθα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔοικα.

Σωκράτης

ἐννοεῖς οὖν ὅτι καὶ τὰ ἁμαρτήματα ἐν τῇ πράξει διὰ ταύτην τὴν ἄγνοιάν ἐστι, τὴν τοῦ μὴ εἰδότα οἴεσθαι εἰδέναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς αὖ λέγεις τοῦτο;

Σωκράτης

τότε που ἐπιχειροῦμεν πράττειν, ὅταν οἰώμεθα εἰδέναι ὅτι πράττομεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[117e] Σωκράτης

ὅταν δέ γέ πού τινες μὴ οἴωνται εἰδέναι, ἄλλοις παραδιδόασι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οἱ τοιοῦτοι τῶν μὴ εἰδότων ἀναμάρτητοι ζῶσι διὰ τὸ ἄλλοις περὶ αὐτῶν ἐπιτρέπειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τίνες οὖν οἱ ἁμαρτάνοντες; οὐ γάρ που οἵ γε εἰδότες.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἐπειδὴ δ’ οὔθ’ οἱ εἰδότες οὔθ’ οἱ τῶν μὴ εἰδότων [118a] εἰδότες ὅτι οὐκ ἴσασιν, ἦ ἄλλοι λείπονται ἢ οἱ μὴ εἰδότες, οἰόμενοι δ’ εἰδέναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔκ, ἀλλ’ οὗτοι.

Σωκράτης

αὕτη ἄρα ἡ ἄγνοια τῶν κακῶν αἰτία καὶ ἡ ἐπονείδιστος ἀμαθία;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὅταν ᾖ περὶ τὰ μέγιστα, τότε κακουργοτάτη καὶ αἰσχίστη;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πολύ γε.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; ἔχεις μείζω εἰπεῖν δικαίων τε καὶ καλῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ συμφερόντων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν περὶ ταῦτα σὺ φῂς πλανᾶσθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

εἰ δὲ πλανᾷ, ἆρ’ οὐ δῆλον ἐκ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ὅτι [118b] οὐ μόνον ἀγνοεῖς τὰ μέγιστα, ἀλλὰ καὶ οὐκ εἰδὼς οἴει αὐτὰ εἰδέναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

κινδυνεύω.

Σωκράτης

βαβαῖ ἄρα, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, οἷον πάθος πέπονθας: ὃ ἐγὼ ὀνομάζειν μὲν ὀκνῶ, ὅμως δέ, ἐπειδὴ μόνω ἐσμέν, ῥητέον. ἀμαθίᾳ γὰρ συνοικεῖς, ὦ βέλτιστε, τῇ ἐσχάτῃ, ὡς ὁ λόγος σου κατηγορεῖ καὶ σὺ σαυτοῦ: διὸ καὶ ᾄττεις ἄρα πρὸς τὰ πολιτικὰ πρὶν παιδευθῆναι. πέπονθας δὲ τοῦτο οὐ σὺ μόνος, ἀλλὰ καὶ οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν πραττόντων τὰ τῆσδε [118c] τῆς πόλεως, πλὴν ὀλίγων γε καὶ ἴσως τοῦ σοῦ ἐπιτρόπου Περικλέους.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

λέγεταί γέ τοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου σοφὸς γεγονέναι, ἀλλὰ πολλοῖς καὶ σοφοῖς συγγεγονέναι, καὶ Πυθοκλείδῃ καὶ Ἀναξαγόρᾳ: καὶ νῦν ἔτι τηλικοῦτος ὢν Δάμωνι σύνεστιν αὐτοῦ τούτου ἕνεκα.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; ἤδη τιν’ εἶδες σοφὸν ὁτιοῦν ἀδυνατοῦντα ποιῆσαι ἄλλον σοφὸν ἅπερ αὐτός; ὥσπερ ὅς σε ἐδίδαξεν γράμματα, αὐτός τ’ ἦν σοφὸς καὶ σὲ ἐποίησε τῶν τε ἄλλων ὅντιν’ ἐβούλετο: ἦ γάρ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[118d] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ σὺ ὁ παρ’ ἐκείνου μαθὼν ἄλλον οἷός τε ἔσῃ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὁ κιθαριστὴς δὲ καὶ ὁ παιδοτρίβης ὡσαύτως;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

καλὸν γὰρ δήπου τεκμήριον τοῦτο τῶν ἐπισταμένων ὁτιοῦν ὅτι ἐπίστανται, ἐπειδὰν καὶ ἄλλον οἷοί τ’ ὦσιν ἀποδεῖξαι ἐπιστάμενον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; ἔχεις εἰπεῖν Περικλῆς τίνα ἐποίησεν σοφόν, ἀπὸ τῶν ὑέων ἀρξάμενος;

[118e] Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί δ’ εἰ τὼ Περικλέους ὑεῖ ἠλιθίω ἐγενέσθην, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ Κλεινίαν τὸν σὸν ἀδελφόν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί δ’ ἂν αὖ Κλεινίαν λέγοις, μαινόμενον ἄνθρωπον;

Σωκράτης

ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν Κλεινίας μὲν μαίνεται, τὼ δὲ Περικλέους ὑεῖ ἠλιθίω ἐγενέσθην, σοὶ τίνα αἰτίαν ἀναθῶμεν, δι’ ὅτι σε οὕτως ἔχοντα περιορᾷ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐγὼ οἶμαι αἴτιος οὐ προσέχων τὸν νοῦν.

[119a] Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τῶν ἄλλων Ἀθηναίων ἢ τῶν ξένων δοῦλον ἢ ἐλεύθερον εἰπὲ ὅστις αἰτίαν ἔχει διὰ τὴν Περικλέους συνουσίαν σοφώτερος γεγονέναι, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ ἔχω σοι εἰπεῖν διὰ τὴν Ζήνωνος Πυθόδωρον τὸν Ἰσολόχου καὶ Καλλίαν τὸν Καλλιάδου, ὧν ἑκάτερος Ζήνωνι ἑκατὸν μνᾶς τελέσας σοφός τε καὶ ἐλλόγιμος γέγονεν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔχω.

Σωκράτης

εἶεν: τί οὖν διανοῇ περὶ σαυτοῦ; πότερον ἐᾶν ὡς νῦν ἔχεις, ἢ ἐπιμέλειάν τινα ποιεῖσθαι;

[119b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

κοινὴ βουλή, ὦ Σώκρατες. καίτοι ἐννοῶ σου εἰπόντος καὶ συγχωρῶ: δοκοῦσι γάρ μοι οἱ τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράττοντες ἐκτὸς ὀλίγων ἀπαίδευτοι εἶναι.

Σωκράτης

εἶτα τί δὴ τοῦτο;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰ μέν που ἦσαν πεπαιδευμένοι, ἔδει ἂν τὸν ἐπιχειροῦντα αὐτοῖς ἀνταγωνίζεσθαι μαθόντα καὶ ἀσκήσαντα ἰέναι ὡς ἐπ’ ἀθλητάς: νῦν δ’ ἐπειδὴ καὶ οὗτοι ἰδιωτικῶς ἔχοντες ἐληλύθασιν ἐπὶ τὰ τῆς πόλεως, τί δεῖ ἀσκεῖν καὶ μανθάνοντα πράγματα ἔχειν; ἐγὼ γὰρ εὖ οἶδ’ ὅτι τούτων [119c] τῇ γε φύσει πάνυ πολὺ περιέσομαι.

Σωκράτης

βαβαῖ, οἷον, ὦ ἄριστε, τοῦτ’ εἴρηκας: ὡς ἀνάξιον τῆς ἰδέας καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν σοι ὑπαρχόντων.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί μάλιστα καὶ πρὸς τί τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

ἀγανακτῶ ὑπέρ τε σοῦ καὶ τοῦ ἐμαυτοῦ ἔρωτος.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί δή;

Σωκράτης

εἰ ἠξίωσας τὸν ἀγῶνά σοι εἶναι πρὸς τοὺς ἐνθάδε ἀνθρώπους.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ πρὸς τίνας μήν;

[119d] Σωκράτης

ἄξιον τοῦτό γε καὶ ἐρέσθαι ἄνδρα οἰόμενον μεγαλόφρονα εἶναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς λέγεις; οὐ πρὸς τούτους μοι ὁ ἀγών;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ κἂν εἰ τριήρη διενοοῦ κυβερνᾶν μέλλουσαν ναυμαχεῖν, ἤρκει ἄν σοι τῶν συνναυτῶν βελτίστῳ εἶναι τὰ κυβερνητικά, ἢ ταῦτα μὲν ᾤου ἂν δεῖν ὑπάρχειν, ἀπέβλεπες δ’ ἂν εἰς τοὺς ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀνταγωνιστάς, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὡς νῦν εἰς τοὺς συναγωνιστάς; ὧν δήπου περιγενέσθαι σε δεῖ τοσοῦτον [119e] ὥστε μὴ ἀξιοῦν ἀνταγωνίζεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καταφρονηθέντας συναγωνίζεσθαί σοι πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους, εἰ δὴ τῷ ὄντι γε καλόν τι ἔργον ἀποδείξασθαι διανοῇ καὶ ἄξιον σαυτοῦ τε καὶ τῆς πόλεως.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ διανοοῦμαί γε.

Σωκράτης

πάνυ σοι ἄρα ἄξιον ἀγαπᾶν εἰ τῶν στρατιωτῶν βελτίων εἶ, ἀλλ’ οὐ πρὸς τοὺς τῶν ἀντιπάλων ἡγεμόνας ἀποβλέπειν εἴ ποτε ἐκείνων βελτίων γέγονας, σκοποῦντα καὶ ἀσκοῦντα πρὸς ἐκείνους.

[120a] Ἀλκιβιάδης

λέγεις δὲ τίνας τούτους, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

οὐκ οἶσθα ἡμῶν τὴν πόλιν Λακεδαιμονίοις τε καὶ τῷ μεγάλῳ βασιλεῖ πολεμοῦσαν ἑκάστοτε;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἡγεμὼν εἶναι τῆσδε τῆς πόλεως, πρὸς τοὺς Λακεδαιμονίων βασιλέας καὶ τοὺς Περσῶν τὸν ἀγῶνα ἡγούμενός σοι εἶναι ὀρθῶς ἂν ἡγοῖο;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

κινδυνεύεις ἀληθῆ λέγειν.

Σωκράτης

οὔκ, ὠγαθέ, ἀλλὰ πρὸς Μειδίαν σε δεῖ τὸν ὀρτυγοκόπον [120b] ἀποβλέπειν καὶ ἄλλους τοιούτους — οἳ τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράττειν ἐπιχειροῦσιν, ἔτι τὴν ἀνδραποδώδη, φαῖεν ἂν αἱ γυναῖκες, τρίχα ἔχοντες ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ὑπ’ ἀμουσίας καὶ οὔπω ἀποβεβληκότες, ἔτι δὲ βαρβαρίζοντες ἐληλύθασι κολακεύσοντες τὴν πόλιν ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἄρξοντες — πρὸς τούτους σε δεῖ, οὕσπερ λέγω, βλέποντα σαυτοῦ δὴ ἀμελεῖν, καὶ μήτε μανθάνειν ὅσα μαθήσεως ἔχεται, μέλλοντα τοσοῦτον ἀγῶνα ἀγωνίζεσθαι, μήτε ἀσκεῖν ὅσα δεῖται ἀσκήσεως, [120c] καὶ πᾶσαν παρασκευὴν παρεσκευασμένον οὕτως ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὰ τῆς πόλεως.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ’, ὦ Σώκρατες, δοκεῖς μέν μοι ἀληθῆ λέγειν, οἶμαι μέντοι τούς τε Λακεδαιμονίων στρατηγοὺς καὶ τὸν Περσῶν βασιλέα οὐδὲν διαφέρειν τῶν ἄλλων.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’, ὦ ἄριστε, τὴν οἴησιν ταύτην σκόπει οἵαν ἔχεις.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τοῦ πέρι;

Σωκράτης

πρῶτον μὲν ποτέρως ἂν οἴει σαυτοῦ μᾶλλον ἐπιμεληθῆναι, [120d] φοβούμενός τε καὶ οἰόμενος δεινοὺς αὐτοὺς εἶναι, ἢ μή;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δῆλον ὅτι εἰ δεινοὺς οἰοίμην.

Σωκράτης

μῶν οὖν οἴει τι βλαβήσεσθαι ἐπιμεληθεὶς σαυτοῦ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐδαμῶς, ἀλλὰ καὶ μεγάλα ὀνήσεσθαι.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἓν μὲν τοῦτο τοσοῦτον κακὸν ἔχει ἡ οἴησις αὕτη.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δεύτερον τοίνυν, ὅτι καὶ ψευδής ἐστιν, ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων σκέψαι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης

πότερον εἰκὸς ἀμείνους γίγνεσθαι φύσεις ἐν γενναίοις [120e] γένεσιν ἢ μή;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δῆλον ὅτι ἐν τοῖς γενναίοις.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοὺς εὖ φύντας, ἐὰν καὶ εὖ τραφῶσιν, οὕτω τελέους γίγνεσθαι πρὸς ἀρετήν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

σκεψώμεθα δή, τοῖς ἐκείνων τὰ ἡμέτερα ἀντιτιθέντες, πρῶτον μὲν εἰ δοκοῦσι φαυλοτέρων γενῶν εἶναι οἱ Λακεδαιμονίων καὶ Περσῶν βασιλῆς. ἢ οὐκ ἴσμεν ὡς οἱ μὲν Ἡρακλέους, οἱ δὲ Ἀχαιμένους ἔκγονοι, τὸ δ’ Ἡρακλέους τε γένος καὶ τὸ Ἀχαιμένους εἰς Περσέα τὸν Διὸς ἀναφέρεται;

[121a] Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ γὰρ τὸ ἡμέτερον, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰς Εὐρυσάκη, τὸ δ’ Εὐρυσάκους εἰς Δία.

Σωκράτης

καὶ γὰρ τὸ ἡμέτερον, ὦ γενναῖε Ἀλκιβιάδη, εἰς Δαίδαλον, ὁ δὲ Δαίδαλος εἰς Ἥφαιστον τὸν Διός. ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν τούτων ἀπ’ αὐτῶν ἀρξάμενα βασιλῆς εἰσιν ἐκ βασιλέων μέχρι Διός, οἱ μὲν Ἄργους τε καὶ Λακεδαίμονος, οἱ δὲ τῆς Περσίδος τὸ ἀεί, πολλάκις δὲ καὶ τῆς Ἀσίας, ὥσπερ καὶ νῦν: ἡμεῖς δὲ αὐτοί τε ἰδιῶται καὶ οἱ πατέρες. [121b] εἰ δὲ καὶ τοὺς προγόνους σε δέοι καὶ τὴν πατρίδα Εὐρυσάκους ἐπιδεῖξαι Σαλαμῖνα ἢ τὴν Αἰακοῦ τοῦ ἔτι προτέρου Αἴγιναν Ἀρτοξέρξῃ τῷ Ξέρξου, πόσον ἂν οἴει γέλωτα ὀφλεῖν; ἀλλ’ ὅρα μὴ τοῦ τε γένους ὄγκῳ ἐλαττώμεθα τῶν ἀνδρῶν καὶ τῇ ἄλλῃ τροφῇ. ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι τοῖς τε Λακεδαιμονίων βασιλεῦσιν ὡς μεγάλα τὰ ὑπάρχοντα, ὧν αἱ γυναῖκες δημοσίᾳ φυλάττονται ὑπὸ τῶν ἐφόρων, ὅπως εἰς δύναμιν μὴ λάθῃ ἐξ ἄλλου γενόμενος ὁ βασιλεὺς ἢ ἐξ [121c] Ἡρακλειδῶν; ὁ δὲ Περσῶν τοσοῦτον ὑπερβάλλει, ὥστ’ οὐδεὶς ὑποψίαν ἔχει ὡς ἐξ ἄλλου ἂν βασιλεὺς γένοιτο ἢ ἐξ αὐτοῦ: διὸ οὐ φρουρεῖται ἡ βασιλέως γυνὴ ἀλλ’ ἢ ὑπὸ φόβου. ἐπειδὰν δὲ γένηται ὁ παῖς ὁ πρεσβύτατος, οὗπερ ἡ ἀρχή, πρῶτον μὲν ἑορτάζουσι πάντες οἱ ἐν τῇ βασιλέως, ὧν ἂν ἄρχῃ, εἶτα εἰς τὸν ἄλλον χρόνον ταύτῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ βασιλέως γενέθλια πᾶσα θύει καὶ ἑορτάζει ἡ Ἀσία: ἡμῶν [121d] δὲ γενομένων, τὸ τοῦ κωμῳδοποιοῦ, οὐδ’ οἱ γείτονες σφόδρα τι αἰσθάνονται, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη. μετὰ τοῦτο τρέφεται ὁ παῖς, οὐχ ὑπὸ γυναικὸς τροφοῦ ὀλίγου ἀξίας, ἀλλ’ ὑπ’ εὐνούχων οἳ ἂν δοκῶσιν τῶν περὶ βασιλέα ἄριστοι εἶναι: οἷς τά τε ἄλλα προστέτακται ἐπιμέλεσθαι τοῦ γενομένου, καὶ ὅπως ὅτι κάλλιστος ἔσται μηχανᾶσθαι, ἀναπλάττοντας τὰ μέλη τοῦ παιδὸς καὶ κατορθοῦντας: καὶ ταῦτα δρῶντες [121e] ἐν μεγάλῃ τιμῇ εἰσιν. ἐπειδὰν δὲ ἑπτέτεις γένωνται οἱ παῖδες, ἐπὶ τοὺς ἵππους καὶ ἐπὶ τοὺς τούτων διδασκάλους φοιτῶσιν, καὶ ἐπὶ τὰς θήρας ἄρχονται ἰέναι. δὶς ἑπτὰ δὲ γενόμενον ἐτῶν τὸν παῖδα παραλαμβάνουσιν οὓς ἐκεῖνοι βασιλείους παιδαγωγοὺς ὀνομάζουσιν: εἰσὶ δὲ ἐξειλεγμένοι Περσῶν οἱ ἄριστοι δόξαντες ἐν ἡλικίᾳ τέτταρες, ὅ τε σοφώτατος καὶ ὁ δικαιότατος καὶ ὁ σωφρονέστατος καὶ ὁ [122a] ἀνδρειότατος. ὧν ὁ μὲν μαγείαν τε διδάσκει τὴν Ζωροάστρου τοῦ Ὡρομάζου — ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο θεῶν θεραπεία — διδάσκει δὲ καὶ τὰ βασιλικά, ὁ δὲ δικαιότατος ἀληθεύειν διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου, ὁ δὲ σωφρονέστατος μηδ’ ὑπὸ μιᾶς ἄρχεσθαι τῶν ἡδονῶν, ἵνα ἐλεύθερος εἶναι ἐθίζηται καὶ ὄντως βασιλεύς, ἄρχων πρῶτον τῶν ἐν αὑτῷ ἀλλὰ μὴ δουλεύων, ὁ δὲ ἀνδρειότατος ἄφοβον καὶ ἀδεᾶ παρασκευάζων, ὡς ὅταν δείσῃ δοῦλον ὄντα: σοὶ δ’, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, [122b] Περικλῆς ἐπέστησε παιδαγωγὸν τῶν οἰκετῶν τὸν ἀχρειότατον ὑπὸ γήρως, Ζώπυρον τὸν Θρᾷκα. διῆλθον δὲ καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ἄν σοι τῶν ἀνταγωνιστῶν τροφήν τε καὶ παιδείαν, εἰ μὴ πολὺ ἔργον ἦν καὶ ἅμα ταῦθ’ ἱκανὰ δηλῶσαι καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα τούτοις ἀκόλουθα: τῆς δὲ σῆς γενέσεως, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, καὶ τροφῆς καὶ παιδείας, ἢ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν Ἀθηναίων, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδενὶ μέλει, εἰ μὴ εἴ τις ἐραστής σου τυγχάνει ὤν. εἰ δ’ αὖ ἐθέλεις εἰς πλούτους [122c] ἀποβλέψαι καὶ τρυφὰς καὶ ἐσθῆτας ἱματίων θ’ ἕλξεις καὶ μύρων ἀλοιφὰς καὶ θεραπόντων πλήθους ἀκολουθίας τήν τε ἄλλην ἁβρότητα τὴν Περσῶν, αἰσχυνθείης ἂν ἐπὶ σεαυτῷ, αἰσθόμενος ὅσον αὐτῶν ἐλλείπεις. εἰ δ’ αὖ ἐθελήσεις εἰς σωφροσύνην τε καὶ κοσμιότητα ἀποβλέψαι καὶ εὐχέρειαν καὶ εὐκολίαν καὶ μεγαλοφροσύνην καὶ εὐταξίαν καὶ ἀνδρείαν καὶ καρτερίαν καὶ φιλοπονίαν καὶ φιλονικίαν καὶ φιλοτιμίας τὰς Λακεδαιμονίων, παῖδ’ ἂν ἡγήσαιο σαυτὸν πᾶσι τοῖς [122d] τοιούτοις. εἰ δ’ αὖ τι καὶ πλούτῳ προσέχεις καὶ κατὰ τοῦτο οἴει τι εἶναι, μηδὲ τοῦθ’ ἡμῖν ἄῤῥητον ἔστω, ἐάν πως αἴσθῃ οὗ εἶ. τοῦτο μὲν γὰρ εἰ ἐθέλεις <εἰς> τοὺς Λακεδαιμονίων πλούτους ἰδεῖν, γνώσῃ ὅτι πολὺ τἀνθάδε τῶν ἐκεῖ ἐλλείπει: γῆν μὲν γὰρ ὅσην ἔχουσιν τῆς θ’ ἑαυτῶν καὶ Μεσσήνης, οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς ἀμφισβητήσειε τῶν τῇδε πλήθει οὐδ’ ἀρετῇ, οὐδ’ αὖ ἀνδραπόδων κτήσει τῶν τε ἄλλων καὶ τῶν εἱλωτικῶν, οὐδὲ μὴν ἵππων γε, οὐδ’ ὅσα ἄλλα βοσκήματα [122e] κατὰ Μεσσήνην νέμεται. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν πάντα ἐῶ χαίρειν, χρυσίον δὲ καὶ ἀργύριον οὐκ ἔστιν ἐν πᾶσιν Ἕλλησιν ὅσον ἐν Λακεδαίμονι ἰδίᾳ: πολλὰς γὰρ ἤδη γενεὰς εἰσέρχεται μὲν αὐτόσε ἐξ ἁπάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων, πολλάκις δὲ καὶ ἐκ τῶν βαρβάρων, ἐξέρχεται δὲ οὐδαμόσε, [123a] ἀλλ’ ἀτεχνῶς κατὰ τὸν Αἰσώπου μῦθον ὃν ἡ ἀλώπηξ πρὸς τὸν λέοντα εἶπεν, καὶ τοῦ εἰς Λακεδαίμονα νομίσματος εἰσιόντος μὲν τὰ ἴχνη τὰ ἐκεῖσε τετραμμένα δῆλα, ἐξιόντος δὲ οὐδαμῇ ἄν τις ἴδοι. ὥστε εὖ χρὴ εἰδέναι ὅτι καὶ χρυσῷ καὶ ἀργύρῳ οἱ ἐκεῖ πλουσιώτατοί εἰσιν τῶν Ἑλλήνων, καὶ αὐτῶν ἐκείνων ὁ βασιλεύς: ἔκ τε γὰρ τῶν τοιούτων μέγισται λήψεις καὶ πλεῖσταί εἰσι τοῖς βασιλεῦσιν, ἔτι δὲ καὶ ὁ βασιλικὸς φόρος οὐκ ὀλίγος γίγνεται, ὃν τελοῦσιν οἱ Λακεδαιμόνιοι [123b] τοῖς βασιλεῦσιν. καὶ τὰ μὲν Λακεδαιμονίων ὡς πρὸς Ἑλληνικοὺς μὲν πλούτους μεγάλα, ὡς δὲ πρὸς τοὺς Περσικοὺς καὶ τοῦ ἐκείνων βασιλέως οὐδέν. ἐπεί ποτ’ ἐγὼ ἤκουσα ἀνδρὸς ἀξιοπίστου τῶν ἀναβεβηκότων παρὰ βασιλέα, ὃς ἔφη παρελθεῖν χώραν πάνυ πολλὴν καὶ ἀγαθήν, ἐγγὺς ἡμερησίαν ὁδόν, ἣν καλεῖν τοὺς ἐπιχωρίους ζώνην τῆς βασιλέως γυναικός: εἶναι δὲ καὶ ἄλλην ἣν αὖ καλεῖσθαι [123c] καλύπτραν, καὶ ἄλλους πολλοὺς τόπους καλοὺς καὶ ἀγαθοὺς εἰς τὸν κόσμον ἐξῃρημένους τὸν τῆς γυναικός, καὶ ὀνόματα ἔχειν ἑκάστους τῶν τόπων ἀπὸ ἑκάστου τῶν κόσμων. ὥστ’ οἶμαι ἐγώ, εἴ τις εἴποι τῇ βασιλέως μητρί, Ξέρξου δὲ γυναικί, Ἀμήστριδι, ὅτι ἐν νῷ ἔχει σοῦ τῷ ὑεῖ ἀντιτάττεσθαι ὁ Δεινομάχης ὑός, ᾗ ἔστι κόσμος ἴσως ἄξιος μνῶν πεντήκοντα εἰ πάνυ πολλοῦ, τῷ δ’ ὑεῖ αὐτῆς γῆς πλέθρα Ἐρχίασιν οὐδὲ τριακόσια, θαυμάσαι ἂν ὅτῳ ποτὲ πιστεύων [123d] ἐν νῷ ἔχει οὗτος ὁ Ἀλκιβιάδης τῷ Ἀρτοξέρξῃ διαγωνίζεσθαι, καὶ οἶμαι ἂν αὐτὴν εἰπεῖν ὅτι οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὅτῳ ἄλλῳ πιστεύων οὗτος ἀνὴρ ἐπιχειρεῖ πλὴν ἐπιμελείᾳ τε καὶ σοφίᾳ: ταῦτα γὰρ μόνα ἄξια λόγου ἐν Ἕλλησιν. ἐπεὶ εἴ γε πύθοιτο ὅτι Ἀλκιβιάδης οὗτος νῦν ἐπιχειρεῖ πρῶτον μὲν ἔτη οὐδέπω γεγονὼς σφόδρα εἴκοσιν, ἔπειτα παντάπασιν ἀπαίδευτος, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις, τοῦ ἐραστοῦ αὐτῷ λέγοντος ὅτι χρὴ πρῶτον μαθόντα καὶ ἐπιμεληθέντα αὑτοῦ [123e] καὶ ἀσκήσαντα οὕτως ἰέναι διαγωνιούμενον βασιλεῖ, οὐκ ἐθέλει, ἀλλά φησιν ἐξαρκεῖν καὶ ὡς ἔχει, οἶμαι ἂν αὐτὴν θαυμάσαι τε καὶ ἐρέσθαι: “τί οὖν ποτ’ ἔστιν ὅτῳ πιστεύει τὸ μειράκιον;” εἰ οὖν λέγοιμεν ὅτι κάλλει τε καὶ μεγέθει καὶ γένει καὶ πλούτῳ καὶ φύσει τῆς ψυχῆς, ἡγήσαιτ’ ἂν ἡμᾶς, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, μαίνεσθαι πρὸς τὰ παρὰ σφίσιν ἀποβλέψασα πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα. οἶμαι δὲ κἂν Λαμπιδώ, τὴν [124a] Λεωτυχίδου μὲν θυγατέρα, Ἀρχιδάμου δὲ γυναῖκα, Ἄγιδος δὲ μητέρα, οἳ πάντες βασιλῆς γεγόνασιν, θαυμάσαι ἂν καὶ ταύτην εἰς τὰ παρὰ σφίσιν ὑπάρχοντα ἀποβλέψασαν, εἰ σὺ ἐν νῷ ἔχεις τῷ ὑεῖ αὐτῆς διαγωνίζεσθαι οὕτω κακῶς ἠγμένος. καίτοι οὐκ αἰσχρὸν δοκεῖ εἶναι, εἰ αἱ τῶν πολεμίων γυναῖκες βέλτιον περὶ ἡμῶν διανοοῦνται, οἵους χρὴ ὄντας σφίσιν ἐπιχειρεῖν, ἢ ἡμεῖς περὶ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν; ἀλλ’, ὦ μακάριε, πειθόμενος ἐμοί τε καὶ τῷ ἐν Δελφοῖς γράμματι, γνῶθι [124b] σαυτόν, ὅτι οὗτοι ἡμῖν εἰσιν ἀντίπαλοι, ἀλλ’ οὐχ οὓς σὺ οἴει: ὧν ἄλλῳ μὲν οὐδ’ ἂν ἑνὶ περιγενοίμεθα, εἰ μή περ ἐπιμελείᾳ γε ἂν καὶ τέχνῃ. ὧν σὺ εἰ ἀπολειφθήσῃ, καὶ τοῦ ὀνομαστὸς γενέσθαι ἀπολειφθήσῃ ἐν Ἕλλησί τε καὶ βαρβάροις, οὗ μοι δοκεῖς ἐρᾶν ὡς οὐδεὶς ἄλλος ἄλλου.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τίνα οὖν χρὴ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ποιεῖσθαι; ἔχεις ἐξηγήσασθαι; παντὸς γὰρ μᾶλλον ἔοικας ἀληθῆ εἰρηκότι.

Σωκράτης

ναί: ἀλλὰ γὰρ κοινὴ βουλὴ ᾧτινι τρόπῳ ἂν ὅτι [124c] βέλτιστοι γενοίμεθα. ἐγὼ γάρ τοι οὐ περὶ μὲν σοῦ λέγω ὡς χρὴ παιδευθῆναι, περὶ ἐμοῦ δὲ οὔ: οὐ γὰρ ἔσθ’ ὅτῳ σου διαφέρω πλήν γ’ ἑνί.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τίνι;

Σωκράτης

ὁ ἐπίτροπος ὁ ἐμὸς βελτίων ἐστὶ καὶ σοφώτερος ἢ Περικλῆς ὁ σός.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τίς οὗτος, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

θεός, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, ὅσπερ σοί με οὐκ εἴα πρὸ τῆσδε τῆς ἡμέρας διαλεχθῆναι: ᾧ καὶ πιστεύων λέγω ὅτι ἡ ἐπιφάνεια δι’ οὐδενὸς ἄλλου σοι ἔσται ἢ δι’ ἐμοῦ.

[124d] Ἀλκιβιάδης

παίζεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ἴσως: λέγω μέντοι ἀληθῆ, ὅτι ἐπιμελείας δεόμεθα, μᾶλλον μὲν πάντες ἄνθρωποι, ἀτὰρ νώ γε καὶ μάλα σφόδρα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὅτι μὲν ἐγώ, οὐ ψεύδῃ.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲ μὴν ὅτι γε ἐγώ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί οὖν ἂν ποιοῖμεν;

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἀποῤῥητέον οὐδὲ μαλθακιστέον, ὦ ἑταῖρε.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔτοι δὴ πρέπει γ’, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐ γάρ, ἀλλὰ σκεπτέον κοινῇ. καί μοι λέγε: [124e] φαμὲν γὰρ δὴ ὡς ἄριστοι βούλεσθαι γενέσθαι. ἦ γάρ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τίνα ἀρετήν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δῆλον ὅτι ἥνπερ οἱ ἄνδρες οἱ ἀγαθοί.

Σωκράτης

οἱ τί ἀγαθοί;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δῆλον ὅτι οἱ πράττειν τὰ πράγματα.

Σωκράτης

ποῖα; ἆρα τὰ ἱππικά;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

παρὰ τοὺς ἱππικοὺς γὰρ ἂν ᾖμεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τὰ ναυτικὰ λέγεις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔ.

Σωκράτης

παρὰ τοὺς ναυτικοὺς γὰρ ἂν ᾖμεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ ποῖα; ἃ τίνες πράττουσιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἅπερ Ἀθηναίων οἱ καλοὶ κἀγαθοί.

[125a] Σωκράτης

καλοὺς δὲ κἀγαθοὺς λέγεις τοὺς φρονίμους ἢ τοὺς ἄφρονας;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τοὺς φρονίμους.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὃ ἕκαστος φρόνιμος, τοῦτ’ ἀγαθός;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ὃ δὲ ἄφρων, πονηρός;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ὁ σκυτοτόμος φρόνιμος εἰς ὑποδημάτων ἐργασίαν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἀγαθὸς ἄρ’ εἰς αὐτά;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀγαθός.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’; εἰς ἱματίων ἐργασίαν οὐκ ἄφρων ὁ σκυτοτόμος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[125b] Σωκράτης

κακὸς ἄρα εἰς τοῦτο;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ὁ αὐτὸς ἄρα τούτῳ γε τῷ λόγῳ κακός τε καὶ ἀγαθός.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν λέγεις τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας εἶναι καὶ κακούς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τίνας ποτὲ τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς λέγεις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τοὺς δυναμένους ἔγωγε ἄρχειν ἐν τῇ πόλει.

Σωκράτης

οὐ δήπου ἵππων γε;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἀνθρώπων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἆρα καμνόντων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔ.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ πλεόντων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔ φημι.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ θεριζόντων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔ.

[125c] Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν ποιούντων ἤ τι ποιούντων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ποιούντων λέγω.

Σωκράτης

τί; πειρῶ καὶ ἐμοὶ δηλῶσαι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκοῦν τῶν καὶ συμβαλλόντων ἑαυτοῖς καὶ χρωμένων ἀλλήλοις, ὥσπερ ἡμεῖς ζῶμεν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἀνθρώπων λέγεις ἄρχειν ἀνθρώποις χρωμένων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἆρα κελευστῶν χρωμένων ἐρέταις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

κυβερνητικὴ γὰρ αὕτη γε ἀρετή;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἀνθρώπων λέγεις ἄρχειν αὐλητῶν, ἀνθρώποις [125d] ἡγουμένων ᾠδῆς καὶ χρωμένων χορευταῖς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

χοροδιδασκαλικὴ γὰρ αὕτη γ’ αὖ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τί ποτε λέγεις χρωμένων ἀνθρώπων ἀνθρώποις οἷόν τ’ εἶναι ἄρχειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

κοινωνούντων ἔγωγε λέγω πολιτείας καὶ συμβαλλόντων πρὸς ἀλλήλους, τούτων ἄρχειν τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει.

Σωκράτης

τίς οὖν αὕτη ἡ τέχνη; ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ σε ἐροίμην πάλιν τὰ νυνδή, κοινωνούντων ναυτιλίας ἐπίστασθαι ἄρχειν τίς ποιεῖ τέχνη;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

κυβερνητική.

[125e] Σωκράτης

κοινωνούντων δ’ ᾠδῆς, ὡς νυνδὴ ἐλέγετο, τις ἐπιστήμη ποιεῖ ἄρχειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἥνπερ σὺ ἄρτι ἔλεγες, ἡ χοροδιδασκαλία.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; πολιτείας κοινωνούντων τίνα καλεῖς ἐπιστήμην;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εὐβουλίαν ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; μῶν ἀβουλία δοκεῖ εἶναι ἡ τῶν κυβερνητῶν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ εὐβουλία;

[126a] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, εἴς γε τὸ σῴζεσθαι πλέοντας.

Σωκράτης

καλῶς λέγεις. τί δέ; ἣν σὺ λέγεις εὐβουλίαν, εἰς τί ἐστιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰς τὸ ἄμεινον τὴν πόλιν διοικεῖν καὶ σῴζεσθαι.

Σωκράτης

ἄμεινον δὲ διοικεῖται καὶ σῴζεται τίνος παραγιγνομένου ἢ ἀπογιγνομένου; ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ σύ με ἔροιο: “ἄμεινον διοικεῖται σῶμα καὶ σῴζεται τίνος παραγιγνομένου ἢ ἀπογιγνομένου;” εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι ὑγιείας μὲν παραγιγνομένης, νόσου δὲ ἀπογιγνομένης. οὐ καὶ σὺ οἴει οὕτως;

[126b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ εἴ μ’ αὖ ἔροιο: “τίνος δὲ παραγιγνομένου ἄμεινον ὄμματα;” ὡσαύτως εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι ὄψεως μὲν παραγιγνομένης, τυφλότητος δὲ ἀπογιγνομένης. καὶ ὦτα δὲ κωφότητος μὲν ἀπογιγνομένης, ἀκοῆς δὲ ἐγγιγνομένης βελτίω τε γίγνεται καὶ ἄμεινον θεραπεύεται.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὀρθῶς.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ δή; πόλις τίνος παραγιγνομένου καὶ ἀπογιγνομένου βελτίων τε γίγνεται καὶ ἄμεινον θεραπεύεται καὶ διοικεῖται;

[126c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅταν φιλία μὲν αὐτοῖς γίγνηται πρὸς ἀλλήλους, τὸ μισεῖν δὲ καὶ στασιάζειν ἀπογίγνηται.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν φιλίαν λέγεις ὁμόνοιαν ἢ διχόνοιαν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὁμόνοιαν.

Σωκράτης

διὰ τίν’ οὖν τέχνην ὁμονοοῦσιν αἱ πόλεις περὶ ἀριθμούς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

διὰ τὴν ἀριθμητικήν.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ οἱ ἰδιῶται; οὐ διὰ τὴν αὐτήν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ἕκαστος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

διὰ τίνα δὲ τέχνην ἕκαστος αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ὁμονοεῖ [126d] περὶ σπιθαμῆς καὶ πήχεος ὁπότερον μεῖζον; οὐ διὰ τὴν μετρητικήν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ οἱ ἰδιῶται ἀλλήλοις καὶ αἱ πόλεις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; περὶ σταθμοῦ οὐχ ὡσαύτως;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φημί.

Σωκράτης

ἣν δὲ δὴ σὺ λέγεις ὁμόνοιαν, τίς ἐστι καὶ περὶ τοῦ, καὶ τίς αὐτὴν τέχνη παρασκευάζει; καὶ ἆρα ἥπερ πόλει, αὑτὴ καὶ ἰδιώτῃ, αὐτῷ τε πρὸς αὑτὸν καὶ πρὸς ἄλλον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰκός γέ τοι.

Σωκράτης

τίς οὖν ἔστι; μὴ κάμῃς ἀποκρινόμενος, ἀλλὰ [126e] προθυμοῦ εἰπεῖν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι φιλίαν τε λέγειν καὶ ὁμόνοιαν, ἥνπερ πατήρ τε ὑὸν φιλῶν ὁμονοεῖ καὶ μήτηρ, καὶ ἀδελφὸς ἀδελφῷ καὶ γυνὴ ἀνδρί.

Σωκράτης

οἴει ἂν οὖν, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, ἄνδρα γυναικὶ περὶ ταλασιουργίας δύνασθαι ὁμονοεῖν, τὸν μὴ ἐπιστάμενον τῇ ἐπισταμένῃ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐδέ γε δεῖ οὐδέν: γυναικεῖον γὰρ τοῦτό γε μάθημα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[127a] Σωκράτης

τί δέ; γυνὴ ἀνδρὶ περὶ ὁπλιτικῆς δύναιτ’ ἂν ὁμονοεῖν μὴ μαθοῦσα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀνδρεῖον γὰρ τοῦτό γε ἴσως αὖ φαίης ἂν εἶναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἔστιν ἄρα τὰ μὲν γυναικεῖα, τὰ δὲ ἀνδρεῖα μαθήματα κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα ἔν γε τούτοις ἐστὶν ὁμόνοια γυναιξὶ πρὸς ἄνδρας.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔ.

Σωκράτης

οὐδ’ ἄρα φιλία, εἴπερ ἡ φιλία ὁμόνοια ἦν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἧι ἄρα αἱ γυναῖκες τὰ αὑτῶν πράττουσιν, οὐ φιλοῦνται ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνδρῶν.

[127b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

οὐδ’ ἄρα οἱ ἄνδρες ὑπὸ τῶν γυναικῶν ᾗ τὰ αὑτῶν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔ.

Σωκράτης

οὐδ’ εὖ ἄρα ταύτῃ οἰκοῦνται αἱ πόλεις, ὅταν τὰ αὑτῶν ἕκαστοι πράττωσιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

πῶς λέγεις, φιλίας μὴ παρούσης, ἧς ἔφαμεν ἐγγιγνομένης εὖ οἰκεῖσθαι τὰς πόλεις, ἄλλως δ’ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖ καὶ κατὰ τοῦτ’ αὐτοῖς φιλία ἐγγίγνεσθαι, ὅτι τὰ αὑτῶν ἑκάτεροι πράττουσιν.

[127c] Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρτι γε: νῦν δὲ πῶς αὖ λέγεις; ὁμονοίας μὴ ἐγγιγνομένης φιλία ἐγγίγνεται; ἢ οἷόν θ’ ὁμόνοιαν ἐγγίγνεσθαι [περὶ τούτων] ὧν οἱ μὲν ἴσασι περὶ τούτων, οἱ δ’ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀδύνατον.

Σωκράτης

δίκαια δὲ πράττουσιν ἢ ἄδικα, ὅταν τὰ αὑτῶν ἕκαστοι πράττωσιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δίκαια: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

τὰ δίκαια οὖν πραττόντων ἐν τῇ πόλει τῶν πολιτῶν φιλία οὐκ ἐγγίγνεται πρὸς ἀλλήλους;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀνάγκη αὖ μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι, ὦ Σώκρατες.

[127d] Σωκράτης

τίνα οὖν ποτε λέγεις τὴν φιλίαν ἢ ὁμόνοιαν περὶ ἧς δεῖ ἡμᾶς σοφούς τε εἶναι καὶ εὐβούλους, ἵνα ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες ὦμεν; οὐ γὰρ δύναμαι μαθεῖν οὔθ’ ἥτις οὔτ’ ἐν οἷστισιν: τοτὲ μὲν γὰρ ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς φαίνεται ἐνοῦσα, τοτὲ δ’ οὔ, ὡς ἐκ τοῦ σοῦ λόγου.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ μὰ τοὺς θεούς, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδ’ αὐτὸς οἶδ’ ὅτι λέγω, κινδυνεύω δὲ καὶ πάλαι λεληθέναι ἐμαυτὸν αἴσχιστα ἔχων.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ χρὴ θαῤῥεῖν. εἰ μὲν γὰρ αὐτὸ ᾔσθου πεπονθὼς [127e] πεντηκονταετής, χαλεπὸν ἂν ἦν σοι ἐπιμεληθῆναι σαυτοῦ: νῦν δ’ ἣν ἔχεις ἡλικίαν, αὕτη ἐστὶν ἐν ᾗ δεῖ αὐτὸ αἰσθέσθαι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί οὖν τὸν αἰσθανόμενον χρὴ ποιεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

ἀποκρίνεσθαι τὰ ἐρωτώμενα, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη: καὶ ἐὰν τοῦτο ποιῇς, ἂν θεὸς θέλῃ, εἴ τι δεῖ καὶ τῇ ἐμῇ μαντείᾳ πιστεύειν, σύ τε κἀγὼ βέλτιον σχήσομεν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔσται ταῦτα ἕνεκά γε τοῦ ἐμὲ ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δή, τί ἐστιν τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι — μὴ πολλάκις [128a] λάθωμεν οὐχ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιμελούμενοι, οἰόμενοι δέ — καὶ πότ’ ἄρα αὐτὸ ποιεῖ ἅνθρωπος; ἆρ’ ὅταν τῶν αὑτοῦ ἐπιμελῆται, τότε καὶ αὑτοῦ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; ποδῶν ἅνθρωπος ποτε ἐπιμελεῖται; ἆρ’ ὅταν ἐκείνων ἐπιμελῆται ἅ ἐστι τῶν ποδῶν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ μανθάνω.

Σωκράτης

καλεῖς δέ τι χειρός; οἷον δακτύλιον ἔστιν ὅτου ἂν ἄλλου τῶν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου φαίης ἢ δακτύλου;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ποδὸς ὑπόδημα τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

<

Σωκράτης

καὶ ἱμάτια καὶ στρώματα τοῦ ἄλλου σώματος ὁμοίως;

[128b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.>

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ὅταν ὑποδημάτων ἐπιμελώμεθα, τότε ποδῶν ἐπιμελούμεθα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ πάνυ μανθάνω, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη; ὀρθῶς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καλεῖς τι ὁτουοῦν πράγματος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ὅταν τίς τι βέλτιον ποιῇ, τότε ὀρθὴν λέγεις ἐπιμέλειαν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τίς οὖν τέχνη ὑποδήματα βελτίω ποιεῖ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

σκυτική.

Σωκράτης

σκυτικῇ ἄρα ὑποδημάτων ἐπιμελούμεθα;

[128c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ ποδὸς σκυτικῇ; ἢ ἐκείνῃ ᾗ πόδας βελτίους ποιοῦμεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐκείνῃ.

Σωκράτης

βελτίους δὲ πόδας οὐχ ᾗπερ καὶ τὸ ἄλλο σῶμα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

αὕτη δ’ οὐ γυμναστική;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης

γυμναστικῇ μὲν ἄρα ποδὸς ἐπιμελούμεθα, σκυτικῇ δὲ τῶν τοῦ ποδός;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ γυμναστικῇ μὲν χειρῶν, δακτυλιογλυφίᾳ δὲ τῶν τῆς χειρός;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ γυμναστικῇ μὲν σώματος, ὑφαντικῇ δὲ καὶ ταῖς [128d] ἄλλαις τῶν τοῦ σώματος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἄλλῃ μὲν ἄρα τέχνῃ αὐτοῦ ἑκάστου ἐπιμελούμεθα, ἄλλῃ δὲ τῶν αὐτοῦ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα ὅταν τῶν σαυτοῦ ἐπιμελῇ, σαυτοῦ ἐπιμελῇ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

οὐ γὰρ ἡ αὐτὴ τέχνη, ὡς ἔοικεν, ᾗ τις ἂν αὑτοῦ τε ἐπιμελοῖτο καὶ τῶν αὑτοῦ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δή, ποίᾳ ποτ’ ἂν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιμεληθείημεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν.

[128e] Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τοσόνδε γε ὡμολόγηται, ὅτι οὐχ ᾗ ἂν τῶν ἡμετέρων καὶ ὁτιοῦν βέλτιον ποιοῖμεν, ἀλλ’ ᾗ ἡμᾶς αὐτούς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν ἔγνωμεν ἄν ποτε τίς τέχνη ὑπόδημα βέλτιον ποιεῖ, μὴ εἰδότες ὑπόδημα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀδύνατον.

Σωκράτης

οὐδέ γε τίς τέχνη δακτυλίους βελτίους ποιεῖ, ἀγνοοῦντες δακτύλιον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; τίς τέχνη βελτίω ποιεῖ αὐτόν, ἆρ’ ἄν ποτε γνοῖμεν ἀγνοοῦντες τί ποτ’ ἐσμὲν αὐτοί;

[129a] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀδύνατον.

Σωκράτης

πότερον οὖν δὴ ῥᾴδιον τυγχάνει τὸ γνῶναι ἑαυτόν, καί τις ἦν φαῦλος ὁ τοῦτο ἀναθεὶς εἰς τὸν ἐν Πυθοῖ νεών, ἢ χαλεπόν τι καὶ οὐχὶ παντός;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐμοὶ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, πολλάκις μὲν ἔδοξε παντὸς εἶναι, πολλάκις δὲ παγχάλεπον.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, εἴτε ῥᾴδιον εἴτε μή ἐστιν, ὅμως γε ἡμῖν ὧδ’ ἔχει: γνόντες μὲν αὐτὸ τάχ’ ἂν γνοῖμεν τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν, ἀγνοοῦντες δὲ οὐκ ἄν ποτε.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔστι ταῦτα.

[129b] Σωκράτης

φέρε δή, τίν’ ἂν τρόπον εὑρεθείη αὐτὸ ταὐτό; οὕτω μὲν γὰρ ἂν τάχ’ εὕροιμεν τί ποτ’ ἐσμὲν αὐτοί, τούτου δ’ ἔτι ὄντες ἐν ἀγνοίᾳ ἀδύνατοί που.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ἔχε οὖν πρὸς Διός. τῷ διαλέγῃ σὺ νῦν; ἄλλο τι ἢ ἐμοί;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐγὼ σοί;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

Σωκράτης ἄρ’ ἐστὶν ὁ διαλεγόμενος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

Ἀλκιβιάδης δ’ ὁ ἀκούων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν λόγῳ διαλέγεται ὁ Σωκράτης;

[129c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ διαλέγεσθαι καὶ τὸ λόγῳ χρῆσθαι ταὐτόν που καλεῖς.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ὁ δὲ χρώμενος καὶ ᾧ χρῆται οὐκ ἄλλο;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

ὥσπερ σκυτοτόμος τέμνει που τομεῖ καὶ σμίλῃ καὶ ἄλλοις ὀργάνοις.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἄλλο μὲν ὁ τέμνων καὶ χρώμενος, ἄλλο δὲ οἷς τέμνων χρῆται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν οὕτως καὶ οἷς ὁ κιθαριστὴς κιθαρίζει καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ κιθαριστὴς ἄλλο ἂν εἴη;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[129d] Σωκράτης

τοῦτο τοίνυν ἀρτίως ἠρώτων, εἰ ὁ χρώμενος καὶ ᾧ χρῆται ἀεὶ δοκεῖ ἕτερον εἶναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν φῶμεν τὸν σκυτοτόμον; τέμνειν ὀργάνοις μόνον ἢ καὶ χερσίν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ χερσίν.

Σωκράτης

χρῆται ἄρα καὶ ταύταις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς χρώμενος σκυτοτομεῖ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὸν δὲ χρώμενον καὶ οἷς χρῆται ἕτερα ὁμολογοῦμεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἕτερον ἄρα σκυτοτόμος καὶ κιθαριστὴς χειρῶν καὶ [129e] ὀφθαλμῶν οἷς ἐργάζονται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ παντὶ τῷ σώματι χρῆται ἅνθρωπος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἕτερον δ’ ἦν τό τε χρώμενον καὶ ᾧ χρῆται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἕτερον ἄρα ἅνθρωπός ἐστι τοῦ σώματος τοῦ ἑαυτοῦ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

τί ποτ’ οὖν ὁ ἄνθρωπος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν.

Σωκράτης

ἔχεις μὲν οὖν, ὅτι γε τὸ τῷ σώματι χρώμενον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[130a] Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν ἄλλο τι χρῆται αὐτῷ ἢ ψυχή;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἄλλο.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἄρχουσα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν τόδε γ’ οἶμαι οὐδένα ἂν ἄλλως οἰηθῆναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης

μὴ οὐ τριῶν ἕν γέ τι εἶναι τὸν ἄνθρωπον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τίνων;

Σωκράτης

ψυχὴν ἢ σῶμα ἢ συναμφότερον, τὸ ὅλον τοῦτο.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν αὐτό γε τὸ τοῦ σώματος ἄρχον ὡμολογήσαμεν ἄνθρωπον εἶναι;

[130b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὡμολογήσαμεν.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν σῶμα αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ ἄρχει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

ἄρχεσθαι γὰρ αὐτὸ εἴπομεν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἂν δὴ τοῦτό γε εἴη ὃ ζητοῦμεν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἄρα τὸ συναμφότερον τοῦ σώματος ἄρχει, καὶ ἔστι δὴ τοῦτο ἄνθρωπος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἴσως δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

πάντων γε ἥκιστα: μὴ γὰρ συνάρχοντος τοῦ ἑτέρου οὐδεμία που μηχανὴ τὸ συναμφότερον ἄρχειν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὀρθῶς.

[130c] Σωκράτης

ἐπειδὴ δ’ οὔτε σῶμα οὔτε τὸ συναμφότερόν ἐστιν ἄνθρωπος, λείπεται οἶμαι ἢ μηδὲν αὔτ’ εἶναι, ἢ εἴπερ τί ἐστι, μηδὲν ἄλλο τὸν ἄνθρωπον συμβαίνειν ἢ ψυχήν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι οὖν τι σαφέστερον δεῖ ἀποδειχθῆναί σοι ὅτι ἡ ψυχή ἐστιν ἄνθρωπος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μὰ Δία, ἀλλ’ ἱκανῶς μοι δοκεῖ ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης

εἰ δέ γε μὴ ἀκριβῶς ἀλλὰ καὶ μετρίως, ἐξαρκεῖ ἡμῖν: ἀκριβῶς μὲν γὰρ τότε εἰσόμεθα, ὅταν εὕρωμεν ὃ νυνδὴ [130d] παρήλθομεν διὰ τὸ πολλῆς εἶναι σκέψεως.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί τοῦτο;

Σωκράτης

ὃ ἄρτι οὕτω πως ἐῤῥήθη, ὅτι πρῶτον σκεπτέον εἴη αὐτὸ τὸ αὐτό: νῦν δὲ ἀντὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ αὐτὸ ἕκαστον ἐσκέμμεθα ὅτι ἐστί. καὶ ἴσως ἐξαρκέσει: οὐ γάρ που κυριώτερόν γε οὐδὲν ἂν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν φήσαιμεν ἢ τὴν ψυχήν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καλῶς ἔχει οὕτω νομίζειν, ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ προσομιλεῖν ἀλλήλοις τοῖς λόγοις χρωμένους τῇ ψυχῇ πρὸς τὴν ψυχήν;

[130e] Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτ’ ἄρα ἦν ὃ καὶ ὀλίγῳ ἔμπροσθεν εἴπομεν, ὅτι Σωκράτης Ἀλκιβιάδῃ διαλέγεται λόγῳ χρώμενος, οὐ πρὸς τὸ σὸν πρόσωπον, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην ποιούμενος τοὺς λόγους: τοῦτο δέ ἐστιν ἡ ψυχή.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ψυχὴν ἄρα ἡμᾶς κελεύει γνωρίσαι ὁ ἐπιτάττων γνῶναι ἑαυτόν.

[131a] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ὅστις ἄρα τῶν τοῦ σώματός τι γιγνώσκει, τὰ αὑτοῦ ἀλλ’ οὐχ αὑτὸν ἔγνωκεν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

οὐδεὶς ἄρα τῶν ἰατρῶν ἑαυτὸν γιγνώσκει, καθ’ ὅσον ἰατρός, οὐδὲ τῶν παιδοτριβῶν, καθ’ ὅσον παιδοτρίβης.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

πολλοῦ ἄρα δέουσιν οἱ γεωργοὶ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι δημιουργοὶ γιγνώσκειν ἑαυτούς. οὐδὲ γὰρ τὰ ἑαυτῶν οὗτοί γε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀλλ’ ἔτι ποῤῥωτέρω τῶν ἑαυτῶν κατά γε τὰς [131b] τέχνας ἃς ἔχουσιν: τὰ γὰρ τοῦ σώματος γιγνώσκουσιν, οἷς τοῦτο θεραπεύεται.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

εἰ ἄρα σωφροσύνη ἐστὶ τὸ ἑαυτὸν γιγνώσκειν, οὐδεὶς τούτων σώφρων κατὰ τὴν τέχνην.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

διὰ ταῦτα δὴ καὶ βάναυσοι αὗται αἱ τέχναι δοκοῦσιν εἶναι καὶ οὐκ ἀνδρὸς ἀγαθοῦ μαθήματα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν πάλιν ὅστις αὖ σῶμα θεραπεύει, τὰ ἑαυτοῦ ἀλλ’ οὐχ αὑτὸν θεραπεύει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης

ὅστις δέ γε τὰ χρήματα, οὔθ’ ἑαυτὸν οὔτε τὰ [131c] ἑαυτοῦ, ἀλλ’ ἔτι ποῤῥωτέρω τῶν ἑαυτοῦ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐ τὰ αὑτοῦ ἄρα ἔτι πράττει ὁ χρηματιστής.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὀρθῶς.

Σωκράτης

εἰ ἄρα τις γέγονεν ἐραστὴς τοῦ Ἀλκιβιάδου σώματος, οὐκ Ἀλκιβιάδου ἄρα ἠράσθη ἀλλά τινος τῶν Ἀλκιβιάδου.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ὅστις δέ σου τῆς ψυχῆς ἐρᾷ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀνάγκη φαίνεται ἐκ τοῦ λόγου.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὁ μὲν τοῦ σώματός σου ἐρῶν, ἐπειδὴ λήγει ἀνθοῦν, ἀπιὼν οἴχεται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

[131d] Σωκράτης

ὁ δέ γε τῆς ψυχῆς ἐρῶν οὐκ ἄπεισιν, ἕως ἂν ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιον ἴῃ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ οὐκ ἀπιὼν ἀλλὰ παραμένων λήγοντος τοῦ σώματος, τῶν ἄλλων ἀπεληλυθότων.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εὖ γε ποιῶν, ὦ Σώκρατες: καὶ μηδὲ ἀπέλθοις.

Σωκράτης

προθυμοῦ τοίνυν ὅτι κάλλιστος εἶναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ προθυμήσομαι.

[131e] Σωκράτης

ὡς οὕτω γέ σοι ἔχει: οὔτ’ ἐγένεθ’, ὡς ἔοικεν, Ἀλκιβιάδῃ τῷ Κλεινίου ἐραστὴς οὔτ’ ἔστιν ἀλλ’ ἢ εἷς μόνος, καὶ οὗτος ἀγαπητός, Σωκράτης ὁ Σωφρονίσκου καὶ Φαιναρέτης.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἔφησθα σμικρὸν φθῆναί με προσελθόντα σοι, ἐπεὶ πρότερος ἄν μοι προσελθεῖν, βουλόμενος πυθέσθαι δι’ ὅτι μόνος οὐκ ἀπέρχομαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἦν γὰρ οὕτω.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο τοίνυν αἴτιον, ὅτι μόνος ἐραστὴς ἦν σός, οἱ δ’ ἄλλοι τῶν σῶν: τὰ δὲ σὰ λήγει ὥρας, σὺ δ’ ἄρχῃ ἀνθεῖν. [132a] καὶ νῦν γε ἂν μὴ διαφθαρῇς ὑπὸ τοῦ Ἀθηναίων δήμου καὶ αἰσχίων γένῃ, οὐ μή σε ἀπολίπω. τοῦτο γὰρ δὴ μάλιστα ἐγὼ φοβοῦμαι, μὴ δημεραστὴς ἡμῖν γενόμενος διαφθαρῇς: πολλοὶ γὰρ ἤδη καὶ ἀγαθοὶ αὐτὸ πεπόνθασιν Ἀθηναίων. εὐπρόσωπος γὰρ ὁ τοῦ μεγαλήτορος δῆμος Ἐρεχθέως:ηομ. ιλ. 2.547 ἀλλ’ ἀποδύντα χρὴ αὐτὸν θεάσασθαι. εὐλαβοῦ οὖν τὴν εὐλάβειαν ἣν ἐγὼ λέγω.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τίνα;

[132b] Σωκράτης

γύμνασαι πρῶτον, ὦ μακάριε, καὶ μάθε ἃ δεῖ μαθόντα ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὰ τῆς πόλεως, πρότερον δὲ μή, ἵν’ ἀλεξιφάρμακα ἔχων ἴῃς καὶ μηδὲν πάθῃς δεινόν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εὖ μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἀλλὰ πειρῶ ἐξηγεῖσθαι ὅντιν’ ἂν τρόπον ἐπιμεληθεῖμεν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοσοῦτον μὲν ἡμῖν εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν πεπέρανται — ὃ γὰρ ἐσμέν, ἐπιεικῶς ὡμολόγηται — ἐφοβούμεθα δὲ μὴ τούτου σφαλέντες λάθωμεν ἑτέρου τινὸς ἐπιμελόμενοι ἀλλ’ οὐχ ἡμῶν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔστι ταῦτα.

[132c] Σωκράτης

καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο δὴ ὅτι ψυχῆς ἐπιμελητέον καὶ εἰς τοῦτο βλεπτέον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δῆλον.

Σωκράτης

σωμάτων δὲ καὶ χρημάτων τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ἑτέροις παραδοτέον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

τίν’ οὖν ἂν τρόπον γνοῖμεν αὐτὸ ἐναργέστατα; ἐπειδὴ τοῦτο γνόντες, ὡς ἔοικεν, καὶ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς γνωσόμεθα. ἆρα πρὸς θεῶν εὖ λέγοντος οὗ νυνδὴ ἐμνήσθημεν τοῦ Δελφικοῦ γράμματος οὐ συνίεμεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τὸ ποῖόν τι διανοούμενος λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

[132d] Σωκράτης

ἐγώ σοι φράσω, ὅ γε ὑποπτεύω λέγειν καὶ συμβουλεύειν ἡμῖν τοῦτο τὸ γράμμα. κινδυνεύει γὰρ οὐδὲ πολλαχοῦ εἶναι παράδειγμα αὐτοῦ, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὴν ὄψιν μόνον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

σκόπει καὶ σύ. εἰ ἡμῶν τῷ ὄμματι ὥσπερ ἀνθρώπῳ συμβουλεῦον εἶπεν “ἰδὲ σαυτόν,” πῶς ἂν ὑπελάβομεν τί παραινεῖν; ἆρα οὐχὶ εἰς τοῦτο βλέπειν, εἰς ὃ βλέπων ὁ ὀφθαλμὸς ἔμελλεν αὑτὸν ἰδεῖν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δῆλον.

Σωκράτης

ἐννοῶμεν δὴ εἰς τί βλέποντες τῶν ὄντων ἐκεῖνό [132e] τε ὁρῷμεν ἅμα ἂν καὶ ἡμᾶς αὐτούς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δῆλον δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι εἰς κάτοπτρά τε καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα.

Σωκράτης

ὀρθῶς λέγεις. οὐκοῦν καὶ τῷ ὀφθαλμῷ ᾧ ὁρῶμεν ἔνεστί <τι> τῶν τοιούτων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἐννενόηκας οὖν ὅτι τοῦ ἐμβλέποντος εἰς τὸν [133a] ὀφθαλμὸν τὸ πρόσωπον ἐμφαίνεται ἐν τῇ τοῦ καταντικρὺ ὄψει ὥσπερ ἐν κατόπτρῳ, ὃ δὴ καὶ κόρην καλοῦμεν, εἴδωλον ὄν τι τοῦ ἐμβλέποντος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ὀφθαλμὸς ἄρα ὀφθαλμὸν θεώμενος, καὶ ἐμβλέπων εἰς τοῦτο ὅπερ βέλτιστον αὐτοῦ καὶ ᾧ ὁρᾷ, οὕτως ἂν αὑτὸν ἴδοι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

εἰ δέ γ’ εἰς ἄλλο τῶν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου βλέποι ἤ τι τῶν ὄντων, πλὴν εἰς ἐκεῖνο ᾧ τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὅμοιον, οὐκ ὄψεται ἑαυτόν.

[133b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ὀφθαλμὸς ἄρ’ εἰ μέλλει ἰδεῖν αὑτόν, εἰς ὀφθαλμὸν αὐτῷ βλεπτέον, καὶ τοῦ ὄμματος εἰς ἐκεῖνον τὸν τόπον ἐν ᾧ τυγχάνει ἡ ὀφθαλμοῦ ἀρετὴ ἐγγιγνομένη: ἔστι δὲ τοῦτό που ὄψις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν, ὦ φίλε Ἀλκιβιάδη, καὶ ψυχὴ εἰ μέλλει γνώσεσθαι αὑτήν, εἰς ψυχὴν αὐτῇ βλεπτέον, καὶ μάλιστ’ εἰς τοῦτον αὐτῆς τὸν τόπον ἐν ᾧ ἐγγίγνεται ἡ ψυχῆς ἀρετή, σοφία, καὶ εἰς ἄλλο ᾧ τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὅμοιον ὄν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

[133c] Σωκράτης

ἔχομεν οὖν εἰπεῖν ὅτι ἐστὶ τῆς ψυχῆς θειότερον ἢ τοῦτο, περὶ ὃ τὸ εἰδέναι τε καὶ φρονεῖν ἐστιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ ἔχομεν.

Σωκράτης

τῷ θεῷ ἄρα τοῦτ’ ἔοικεν αὐτῆς, καί τις εἰς τοῦτο βλέπων καὶ πᾶν τὸ θεῖον γνούς, θεόν τε καὶ φρόνησιν, οὕτω καὶ ἑαυτὸν ἂν γνοίη μάλιστα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

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Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν, ὅθ’ ὥσπερ κάτοπτρά ἐστι σαφέστερα τοῦ ἐν τῷ ὀφθαλμῷ ἐνόπτρου καὶ καθαρώτερα καὶ λαμπρότερα, οὕτω καὶ ὁ θεὸς τοῦ ἐν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ ψυχῇ βελτίστου καθαρώτερόν τε καὶ λαμπρότερον τυγχάνει ὄν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔοικέ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

εἰς τὸν θεὸν ἄρα βλέποντες ἐκείνῳ καλλίστῳ ἐνόπτρῳ χρῴμεθ’ ἂν καὶ τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων εἰς τὴν ψυχῆς ἀρετήν, καὶ οὕτως ἂν μάλιστα ὁρῷμεν καὶ γιγνώσκοιμεν ἡμᾶς αὐτούς.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.>

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ γιγνώσκειν αὑτὸν ὡμολογοῦμεν σωφροσύνην εἶναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν μὴ γιγνώσκοντες ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς μηδὲ σώφρονες ὄντες δυναίμεθ’ ἂν εἰδέναι τὰ ἡμέτερα αὐτῶν κακά τε καὶ ἀγαθά;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ πῶς ἂν τοῦτο γένοιτο, ὦ Σώκρατες;

[133d] Σωκράτης

ἀδύνατον γὰρ ἴσως σοι φαίνεται μὴ γιγνώσκοντα Ἀλκιβιάδην τὰ Ἀλκιβιάδου γιγνώσκειν ὅτι Ἀλκιβιάδου ἐστίν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀδύνατον μέντοι νὴ Δία.

Σωκράτης

οὐδ’ ἄρα τὰ ἡμέτερα ὅτι ἡμέτερα, εἰ μηδ’ ἡμᾶς αὐτούς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γάρ;

Σωκράτης

εἰ δ’ ἄρα μηδὲ τὰ ἡμέτερα, οὐδὲ τὰ τῶν ἡμετέρων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα πάνυ τι ὀρθῶς ὡμολογοῦμεν ὁμολογοῦντες ἄρτι εἶναί τινας οἳ ἑαυτοὺς μὲν οὐ γιγνώσκουσιν, τὰ δ’ αὑτῶν, ἄλλους δὲ τὰ τῶν ἑαυτῶν. ἔοικε γὰρ πάντα ταῦτα εἶναι [133e] κατιδεῖν ἑνός τε καὶ μιᾶς τέχνης, αὑτόν, τὰ αὑτοῦ, τὰ τῶν ἑαυτοῦ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης

ὅστις δὲ τὰ αὑτοῦ ἀγνοεῖ, καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων που ἂν ἀγνοοῖ κατὰ ταὐτά.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ τὰ τῶν πόλεων ἀγνοήσει.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρ’ ἂν γένοιτο ὁ τοιοῦτος ἀνὴρ πολιτικός.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐ μὴν οὐδ’ οἰκονομικός γε.

[134a] Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐδέ γε εἴσεται ὅτι πράττει.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ὁ δὲ μὴ εἰδὼς οὐχ ἁμαρτήσεται;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἐξαμαρτάνων δὲ οὐ κακῶς πράξει ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

κακῶς δὲ πράττων οὐκ ἄθλιος;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’ οἷς οὗτος πράττει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ οὗτοι.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα οἷόν τε, ἐὰν μή τις σώφρων καὶ ἀγαθὸς ᾖ, εὐδαίμονα εἶναι.

[134b] Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐχ οἷόν τε.

Σωκράτης

οἱ ἄρα κακοὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἄθλιοι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα οὐδ’ ὁ πλουτήσας ἀθλιότητος ἀπαλλάττεται, ἀλλ’ ὁ σωφρονήσας.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα τειχῶν οὐδὲ τριήρων οὐδὲ νεωρίων δέονται αἱ πόλεις, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, εἰ μέλλουσιν εὐδαιμονήσειν, οὐδὲ πλήθους οὐδὲ μεγέθους ἄνευ ἀρετῆς.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ μέντοι.

Σωκράτης

εἰ δὴ μέλλεις τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράξειν ὀρθῶς καὶ [134c] καλῶς, ἀρετῆς σοι μεταδοτέον τοῖς πολίταις.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

δύναιτο δ’ ἄν τις μεταδιδόναι ὃ μὴ ἔχοι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ πῶς;

Σωκράτης

αὐτῷ ἄρα σοὶ πρῶτον κτητέον ἀρετήν, καὶ ἄλλῳ ὃς μέλλει μὴ ἰδίᾳ μόνον αὑτοῦ τε καὶ τῶν αὑτοῦ ἄρξειν καὶ ἐπιμελήσεσθαι, ἀλλὰ πόλεως καὶ τῶν τῆς πόλεως.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα ἐξουσίαν σοι οὐδ’ ἀρχὴν παρασκευαστέον σαυτῷ ποιεῖν ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ, οὐδὲ τῇ πόλει, ἀλλὰ δικαιοσύνην καὶ σωφροσύνην.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

[134d] Σωκράτης

δικαίως μὲν γὰρ πράττοντες καὶ σωφρόνως σύ τε καὶ ἡ πόλις θεοφιλῶς πράξετε.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὅπερ γε ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν, εἰς τὸ θεῖον καὶ λαμπρὸν ὁρῶντες πράξετε.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἐνταῦθά γε βλέποντες ὑμᾶς τε αὐτοὺς καὶ τὰ ὑμέτερα ἀγαθὰ κατόψεσθε καὶ γνώσεσθε.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς τε καὶ εὖ πράξετε;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

[134e] Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν οὕτω γε πράττοντας ὑμᾶς ἐθέλω ἐγγυήσασθαι ἦ μὴν εὐδαιμονήσειν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀσφαλὴς γὰρ εἶ ἐγγυητής.

Σωκράτης

ἀδίκως δέ γε πράττοντες, εἰς τὸ ἄθεον καὶ σκοτεινὸν βλέποντες, ὡς τὰ εἰκότα, ὅμοια τούτοις πράξετε ἀγνοοῦντες ὑμᾶς αὐτούς.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ὧι γὰρ <ἄν>, ὦ φίλε Ἀλκιβιάδη, ἐξουσία μὲν ᾖ ποιεῖν ὃ βούλεται, νοῦν δὲ μὴ ἔχῃ, τί τὸ εἰκὸς συμβαίνειν, ἰδιώτῃ ἢ καὶ πόλει; οἷον νοσοῦντι ἐξουσίας οὔσης δρᾶν ὃ [135a] βούλεται, νοῦν ἰατρικὸν μὴ ἔχοντι, τυραννοῦντι δὲ ὡς μηδὲν ἐπιπλήττοι τις αὐτῷ, τί τὸ συμβησόμενον; ἆρ’ οὐχ, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, διαφθαρῆναι τὸ σῶμα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’ ἐν νηί, εἴ τῳ ἐξουσία εἴη ποιεῖν ὃ δοκεῖ, νοῦ τε καὶ ἀρετῆς κυβερνητικῆς ἐστερημένῳ, καθορᾷς ἃ ἂν συμβαίη αὐτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς συνναύταις;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε, ὅτι γε ἀπόλοιντο πάντες ἄν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὡσαύτως ἐν πόλει τε καὶ πάσαις ἀρχαῖς καὶ [135b] ἐξουσίαις ἀπολειπομέναις ἀρετῆς ἕπεται τὸ κακῶς πράττειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα τυραννίδα χρή, ὦ ἄριστε Ἀλκιβιάδη, παρασκευάζεσθαι οὔθ’ αὑτῷ οὔτε τῇ πόλει, εἰ μέλλετε εὐδαιμονεῖν, ἀλλ’ ἀρετήν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

πρὶν δέ γε ἀρετὴν ἔχειν, τὸ ἄρχεσθαι ἄμεινον ὑπὸ τοῦ βελτίονος ἢ τὸ ἄρχειν ἀνδρί, οὐ μόνον παιδί.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τό γ’ ἄμεινον καὶ κάλλιον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ κάλλιον πρεπωδέστερον;

[135c] Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

πρέπει ἄρα τῷ κακῷ δουλεύειν: ἄμεινον γάρ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

δουλοπρεπὲς ἄρ’ ἡ κακία.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἐλευθεροπρεπὲς δὲ ἡ ἀρετή.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν φεύγειν χρή, ὦ ἑταῖρε, τὴν δουλοπρέπειαν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

μάλιστά γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

αἰσθάνῃ δὲ νῦν πῶς ἔχεις; ἐλευθεροπρεπῶς ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

δοκῶ μοι καὶ μάλα σφόδρα αἰσθάνεσθαι.

Σωκράτης

οἶσθ’ οὖν πῶς ἀποφεύξῃ τοῦτο τὸ περὶ σὲ νῦν; ἵνα μὴ ὀνομάζωμεν αὐτὸ ἐπὶ καλῷ ἀνδρί,

[135d] Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

πῶς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐὰν βούλῃ σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐ καλῶς λέγεις, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ πῶς χρὴ λέγειν;

Σωκράτης

ὅτι ἐὰν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

λέγω δή. καὶ πρὸς τούτοις μέντοι τόδε λέγω, ὅτι κινδυνεύσομεν μεταβαλεῖν τὸ σχῆμα, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ μὲν σὸν ἐγώ, σὺ δὲ τοὐμόν: οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ὅπως οὐ παιδαγωγήσω σε ἀπὸ τῆσδε τῆς ἡμέρας, σὺ δ’ ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ παιδαγωγήσῃ.

[135e] Σωκράτης

ὦ γενναῖε, πελαργοῦ ἄρα ὁ ἐμὸς ἔρως οὐδὲν διοίσει, εἰ παρὰ σοὶ ἐννεοττεύσας ἔρωτα ὑπόπτερον ὑπὸ τούτου πάλιν θεραπεύσεται.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ ἄρξομαί γε ἐντεῦθεν τῆς δικαιοσύνης ἐπιμέλεσθαι.

Σωκράτης

βουλοίμην ἄν σε καὶ διατελέσαι: ὀῤῥωδῶ δέ, οὔ τι τῇ σῇ φύσει ἀπιστῶν, ἀλλὰ τὴν τῆς πόλεως ὁρῶν ῥώμην, μὴ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ κρατήσῃ.

CHARMIDES

[153a] Σωκράτης

ἥκομεν τῇ προτεραίᾳ ἑσπέρας ἐκ Ποτειδαίας ἀπὸ τοῦ στρατοπέδου, οἷον δὲ διὰ χρόνου ἀφιγμένος ἁσμένως ᾖα ἐπὶ τὰς συνήθεις διατριβάς. καὶ δὴ καὶ εἰς τὴν Ταυρέου παλαίστραν τὴν καταντικρὺ τοῦ τῆς Βασίλης ἱεροῦ εἰσῆλθον, καὶ αὐτόθι κατέλαβον πάνυ πολλούς, τοὺς μὲν καὶ ἀγνῶτας ἐμοί, τοὺς δὲ πλείστους γνωρίμους. καί με ὡς [153b] εἶδον εἰσιόντα ἐξ ἀπροσδοκήτου, εὐθὺς πόῤῥωθεν ἠσπάζοντο ἄλλος ἄλλοθεν: Χαιρεφῶν δέ, ἅτε καὶ μανικὸς ὤν, ἀναπηδήσας ἐκ μέσων ἔθει πρός με, καί μου λαβόμενος+ τῆς χειρός+, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἦ δ’ ὅς, πῶς ἐσώθης ἐκ τῆς μάχης; Ὀλίγον δὲ πρὶν ἡμᾶς ἀπιέναι μάχη ἐγεγόνει ἐν τῇ Ποτειδαίᾳ, ἣν ἄρτι ἦσαν οἱ τῇδε πεπυσμένοι.

καὶ ἐγὼ πρὸς αὐτὸν ἀποκρινόμενος, Οὑτωσί, ἔφην, ὡς σὺ ὁρᾷς.

καὶ μὴν ἤγγελταί γε δεῦρο, ἔφη, ἥ τε μάχη πάνυ ἰσχυρὰ [153c] γεγονέναι καὶ ἐν αὐτῇ πολλοὺς τῶν γνωρίμων τεθνάναι.

καὶ ἐπιεικῶς, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀληθῆ ἀπήγγελται.

παρεγένου μέν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, τῇ μάχῃ;

παρεγενόμην.

δεῦρο δή, ἔφη, καθεζόμενος ἡμῖν διήγησαι: οὐ γάρ τί πω πάντα+ σαφῶς πεπύσμεθα. καὶ ἅμα με καθίζει ἄγων παρὰ Κριτίαν τὸν Καλλαίσχρου.

παρακαθεζόμενος οὖν+ ἠσπαζόμην τόν τε Κριτίαν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, καὶ διηγούμην αὐτοῖς τὰ ἀπὸ στρατοπέδου, ὅτι μέ [153d] τις ἀνέροιτο: ἠρώτων δὲ ἄλλος ἄλλο.

ἐπειδὴ δὲ τῶν τοιούτων ἅδην+ εἴχομεν, αὖθις ἐγὼ αὐτοὺς ἀνηρώτων τὰ τῇδε, περὶ φιλοσοφίας ὅπως ἔχοι τὰ νῦν, περί τε τῶν νέων, εἴ τινες ἐν αὐτοῖς διαφέροντες ἢ σοφίᾳ ἢ κάλλει ἢ ἀμφοτέροις ἐγγεγονότες εἶεν. καὶ ὁ Κριτίας ἀποβλέψας [154a] πρὸς τὴν θύραν, ἰδών τινας νεανίσκους εἰσιόντας καὶ λοιδορουμένους ἀλλήλοις καὶ ἄλλον ὄχλον ὄπισθεν ἑπόμενον, περὶ μὲν τῶν καλῶν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὐτίκα μοι δοκεῖς εἴσεσθαι: οὗτοι γὰρ τυγχάνουσιν οἱ εἰσιόντες πρόδρομοί τε καὶ ἐρασταὶ ὄντες τοῦ δοκοῦντος καλλίστου εἶναι τά γε δὴ νῦν, φαίνεται δέ μοι καὶ αὐτὸς ἐγγὺς ἤδη που εἶναι προσιών.

ἔστιν δέ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τίς τε καὶ τοῦ;

οἶσθά που σύ γε, ἔφη, ἀλλ’ οὔπω ἐν ἡλικίᾳ ἦν πρίν σε [154b] ἀπιέναι, Χαρμίδην τὸν τοῦ Γλαύκωνος τοῦ ἡμετέρου θείου ὑόν, ἐμὸν δὲ ἀνεψιόν.

οἶδα μέντοι νὴ Δία, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ: οὐ γάρ τι φαῦλος οὐδὲ τότε ἦν ἔτι παῖς ὤν, νῦν δ’ οἶμαί που εὖ μάλα ἂν ἤδη μειράκιον εἴη.

αὐτίκα, ἔφη, εἴσῃ καὶ ἡλίκος καὶ οἷος γέγονεν. καὶ ἅμα ταῦτ’ αὐτοῦ λέγοντος ὁ Χαρμίδης εἰσέρχεται.

ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, οὐδὲν σταθμητόν: ἀτεχνῶς γὰρ λευκὴ στάθμη εἰμὶ πρὸς τοὺς καλούς — σχεδὸν γάρ τί μοι πάντες οἱ ἐν τῇ ἡλικίᾳ καλοὶ φαίνονται — ἀτὰρ οὖν δὴ καὶ [154c] τότε ἐκεῖνος ἐμοὶ θαυμαστὸς ἐφάνη τό τε μέγεθος καὶ τὸ κάλλος, οἱ δὲ δὴ ἄλλοι πάντες ἐρᾶν ἔμοιγε ἐδόκουν αὐτοῦ — οὕτως ἐκπεπληγμένοι τε καὶ τεθορυβημένοι ἦσαν, ἡνίκ’ εἰσῄει — πολλοὶ δὲ δὴ ἄλλοι ἐρασταὶ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ὄπισθεν εἵποντο. καὶ τὸ μὲν ἡμέτερον τὸ τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἧττον θαυμαστὸν ἦν: ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ καὶ τοῖς παισὶ προσέσχον τὸν νοῦν, ὡς οὐδεὶς ἄλλοσ’ ἔβλεπεν αὐτῶν, οὐδ’ ὅστις σμικρότατος ἦν, ἀλλὰ πάντες ὥσπερ ἄγαλμα ἐθεῶντο αὐτόν. καὶ ὁ [154d] Χαιρεφῶν καλέσας με, τί σοι φαίνεται ὁ νεανίσκος, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες; οὐκ εὐπρόσωπος;

ὑπερφυῶς, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ.

οὗτος μέντοι, ἔφη, εἰ ἐθέλοι ἀποδῦναι, δόξει σοι ἀπρόσωπος εἶναι: οὕτως τὸ εἶδος πάγκαλός ἐστιν.

συνέφασαν οὖν καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ταὐτὰ ταῦτα+ τῷ Χαιρεφῶντι: κἀγώ, Ἡράκλεις, ἔφην, ὡς ἄμαχον λέγετε τὸν ἄνδρα, εἰ ἔτι αὐτῷ ἓν δὴ μόνον τυγχάνει προσὸν σμικρόν τι.

τί; ἔφη ὁ Κριτίας.

[154e] εἰ τὴν ψυχήν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τυγχάνει εὖ πεφυκώς. πρέπει δέ που, ὦ Κριτία, τοιοῦτον αὐτὸν εἶναι τῆς γε ὑμετέρας ὄντα οἰκίας.

ἀλλ’, ἔφη, πάνυ καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθός ἐστιν καὶ ταῦτα.

τί οὖν, ἔφην, οὐκ ἀπεδύσαμεν αὐτοῦ αὐτὸ τοῦτο καὶ ἐθεασάμεθα πρότερον τοῦ εἴδους; πάντως γάρ που τηλικοῦτος ὢν ἤδη ἐθέλει διαλέγεσθαι.

καὶ πάνυ γε, ἔφη ὁ Κριτίας, ἐπεί τοι καὶ ἔστιν φιλόσοφός [155a] τε καί, ὡς δοκεῖ ἄλλοις τε καὶ ἑαυτῷ, πάνυ ποιητικός.

τοῦτο μέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε Κριτία, πόῤῥωθεν ὑμῖν τὸ καλὸν ὑπάρχει ἀπὸ τῆς Σόλωνος συγγενείας. ἀλλὰ τί οὐκ ἐπέδειξάς μοι τὸν νεανίαν καλέσας δεῦρο; οὐδὲ γὰρ ἄν που εἰ ἔτι ἐτύγχανε νεώτερος ὤν, αἰσχρὸν ἂν ἦν αὐτῷ διαλέγεσθαι ἡμῖν ἐναντίον γε σοῦ, ἐπιτρόπου τε ἅμα καὶ ἀνεψιοῦ ὄντος.

ἀλλὰ καλῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις, καὶ καλοῦμεν αὐτόν. καὶ [155b] ἅμα πρὸς τὸν ἀκόλουθον, Παῖ, ἔφη, κάλει Χαρμίδην, εἰπὼν ὅτι βούλομαι αὐτὸν ἰατρῷ συστῆσαι περὶ τῆς ἀσθενείας ἧς πρῴην πρός με ἔλεγεν ὅτι ἀσθενοῖ. πρὸς οὖν ἐμὲ ὁ Κριτίας, Ἔναγχός τοι ἔφη βαρύνεσθαί τι τὴν κεφαλὴν ἕωθεν ἀνιστάμενος: ἀλλὰ τί σε κωλύει προσποιήσασθαι πρὸς αὐτὸν ἐπίστασθαί τι κεφαλῆς φάρμακον;

οὐδέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ: μόνον ἐλθέτω.

ἀλλ’ ἥξει, ἔφη.

ὃ οὖν καὶ ἐγένετο. ἧκε γάρ, καὶ ἐποίησε γέλωτα [155c] πολύν: ἕκαστος γὰρ ἡμῶν τῶν καθημένων συγχωρῶν τὸν πλησίον ἐώθει σπουδῇ, ἵνα παρ’ αὑτῷ καθέζοιτο, ἕως τῶν ἐπ’ ἐσχάτῳ καθημένων τὸν μὲν ἀνεστήσαμεν, τὸν δὲ πλάγιον κατεβάλομεν. ὁ δ’ ἐλθὼν μεταξὺ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ τοῦ Κριτίου ἐκαθέζετο. ἐνταῦθα μέντοι, ὦ φίλε, ἐγὼ ἤδη ἠπόρουν, καί μου ἡ πρόσθεν θρασύτης ἐξεκέκοπτο, ἣν εἶχον ἐγὼ ὡς πάνυ ῥᾳδίως αὐτῷ διαλεξόμενος: ἐπειδὴ δέ, φράσαντος τοῦ Κριτίου ὅτι ἐγὼ εἴην ὁ τὸ φάρμακον ἐπιστάμενος, ἐνέβλεψέν τέ μοι [155d] τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς ἀμήχανόν τι οἷον καὶ ἀνήγετο ὡς ἐρωτήσων, καὶ οἱ ἐν τῇ παλαίστρᾳ ἅπαντες περιέῤῥεον ἡμᾶς κύκλῳ κομιδῇ, τότε δή, ὦ γεννάδα, εἶδόν τε τὰ ἐντὸς τοῦ ἱματίου καὶ ἐφλεγόμην καὶ οὐκέτ’ ἐν ἐμαυτοῦ ἦν καὶ ἐνόμισα σοφώτατον εἶναι τὸν Κυδίαν τὰ ἐρωτικά, ὃς εἶπεν ἐπὶ καλοῦ λέγων παιδός, ἄλλῳ ὑποτιθέμενος, εὐλαβεῖσθαι μὴ κατέναντα λέοντος νεβρὸν ἐλθόντα μοῖραν αἱρεῖσθαι [155e] κρεῶν: αὐτὸς γάρ μοι ἐδόκουν ὑπὸ τοῦ τοιούτου θρέμματος ἑαλωκέναι. ὅμως δὲ αὐτοῦ ἐρωτήσαντος εἰ ἐπισταίμην τὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς φάρμακον, μόγις πως ἀπεκρινάμην ὅτι ἐπισταίμην.

τί οὖν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἐστίν;

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ὅτι αὐτὸ μὲν εἴη φύλλον τι, ἐπῳδὴ δέ τις ἐπὶ τῷ φαρμάκῳ εἴη, ἣν εἰ μέν τις ἐπᾴδοι ἅμα καὶ χρῷτο αὐτῷ, παντάπασιν ὑγιᾶ ποιοῖ τὸ φάρμακον: ἄνευ δὲ τῆς ἐπῳδῆς οὐδὲν ὄφελος εἴη τοῦ φύλλου.

[156a] καὶ ὅς, Ἀπογράψομαι τοίνυν, ἔφη, παρὰ σοῦ τὴν ἐπῳδήν.

πότερον, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἐάν με πείθῃς ἢ κἂν μή;

γελάσας οὖν, ἐάν σε πείθω, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ: καὶ τοὔνομά μου σὺ ἀκριβοῖς;

εἰ μὴ ἀδικῶ γε, ἔφη: οὐ γάρ τι σοῦ ὀλίγος λόγος ἐστὶν ἐν τοῖς ἡμετέροις ἡλικιώταις, μέμνημαι+ δὲ ἔγωγε καὶ παῖς ὢν Κριτίᾳ+ τῷδε+ συνόντα σε.

καλῶς γε σύ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ποιῶν: μᾶλλον γάρ σοι παῤῥησιάσομαι [156b] περὶ τῆς ἐπῳδῆς οἵα τυγχάνει οὖσα: ἄρτι δ’ ἠπόρουν τίνι τρόπῳ σοι ἐνδειξαίμην τὴν δύναμιν αὐτῆς. ἔστι γάρ, ὦ Χαρμίδη, τοιαύτη οἵα μὴ δύνασθαι τὴν κεφαλὴν μόνον ὑγιᾶ ποιεῖν, ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ ἴσως ἤδη καὶ σὺ ἀκήκοας τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἰατρῶν, ἐπειδάν τις αὐτοῖς προσέλθῃ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ἀλγῶν, λέγουσί που ὅτι οὐχ οἷόν τε αὐτοὺς μόνους ἐπιχειρεῖν τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ἰᾶσθαι, ἀλλ’ ἀναγκαῖον εἴη ἅμα καὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν θεραπεύειν, εἰ μέλλοι [156c] καὶ τὰ τῶν ὀμμάτων εὖ ἔχειν: καὶ αὖ τὸ τὴν κεφαλὴν οἴεσθαι ἄν ποτε θεραπεῦσαι αὐτὴν ἐφ’ ἑαυτῆς ἄνευ ὅλου τοῦ σώματος πολλὴν ἄνοιαν εἶναι. ἐκ δὴ τούτου τοῦ λόγου διαίταις ἐπὶ πᾶν τὸ σῶμα τρεπόμενοι μετὰ τοῦ ὅλου τὸ μέρος ἐπιχειροῦσιν θεραπεύειν τε καὶ ἰᾶσθαι: ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι ὅτι ταῦτα οὕτως λέγουσίν τε καὶ ἔχει;

πάνυ γε, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καλῶς σοι δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι καὶ ἀποδέχῃ τὸν λόγον;

πάντων μάλιστα, ἔφη.

[156d] κἀγὼ ἀκούσας αὐτοῦ ἐπαινέσαντος ἀνεθάῤῥησά τε, καί μοι κατὰ σμικρὸν πάλιν ἡ θρασύτης συνηγείρετο, καὶ ἀνεζωπυρούμην. καὶ εἶπον: τοιοῦτον τοίνυν ἐστίν, ὦ Χαρμίδη, καὶ τὸ ταύτης τῆς ἐπῳδῆς. ἔμαθον δ’ αὐτὴν ἐγὼ ἐκεῖ ἐπὶ στρατιᾶς παρά τινος τῶν Θρᾳκῶν τῶν Ζαλμόξιδος ἰατρῶν, οἳ λέγονται καὶ ἀπαθανατίζειν. ἔλεγεν δὲ ὁ Θρᾲξ οὗτος ὅτι ταῦτα μὲν [ἰατροὶ] οἱ Ἕλληνες, ἃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, καλῶς λέγοιεν: ἀλλὰ Ζάλμοξις, ἔφη, λέγει ὁ ἡμέτερος βασιλεύς, θεὸς ὤν, [156e] ὅτι ὥσπερ ὀφθαλμοὺς ἄνευ κεφαλῆς οὐ δεῖ ἐπιχειρεῖν ἰᾶσθαι οὐδὲ κεφαλὴν ἄνευ σώματος, οὕτως οὐδὲ σῶμα ἄνευ ψυχῆς, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο καὶ αἴτιον εἴη τοῦ διαφεύγειν τοὺς παρὰ τοῖς Ἕλλησιν ἰατροὺς τὰ πολλὰ νοσήματα, ὅτι τοῦ ὅλου ἀμελοῖεν οὗ δέοι τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ποιεῖσθαι, οὗ μὴ καλῶς ἔχοντος ἀδύνατον εἴη τὸ μέρος εὖ ἔχειν. πάντα γὰρ ἔφη ἐκ τῆς ψυχῆς ὡρμῆσθαι καὶ τὰ κακὰ καὶ τὰ ἀγαθὰ τῷ σώματι καὶ παντὶ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, καὶ ἐκεῖθεν ἐπιῤῥεῖν ὥσπερ ἐκ τῆς κεφαλῆς ἐπὶ [157a] τὰ ὄμματα: δεῖν οὖν ἐκεῖνο καὶ πρῶτον καὶ μάλιστα θεραπεύειν, εἰ μέλλει καὶ τὰ τῆς κεφαλῆς καὶ τὰ τοῦ ἄλλου σώματος καλῶς ἔχειν. θεραπεύεσθαι δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν ἔφη, ὦ μακάριε, ἐπῳδαῖς τισιν, τὰς δ’ ἐπῳδὰς ταύτας τοὺς λόγους εἶναι τοὺς καλούς: ἐκ δὲ τῶν τοιούτων λόγων ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς σωφροσύνην ἐγγίγνεσθαι, ἧς ἐγγενομένης καὶ παρούσης ῥᾴδιον ἤδη εἶναι τὴν ὑγίειαν καὶ τῇ κεφαλῇ καὶ τῷ ἄλλῳ [157b] σώματι πορίζειν. διδάσκων οὖν με τό τε φάρμακον καὶ τὰς ἐπῳδάς, “ὅπως,” ἔφη, “τῷ φαρμάκῳ τούτῳ μηδείς σε πείσει τὴν αὑτοῦ κεφαλὴν θεραπεύειν, ὃς ἂν μὴ τὴν ψυχὴν πρῶτον παράσχῃ τῇ ἐπῳδῇ ὑπὸ σοῦ θεραπευθῆναι. καὶ γὰρ νῦν,” ἔφη, “τοῦτ’ ἔστιν τὸ ἁμάρτημα περὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους, ὅτι χωρὶς ἑκατέρου, σωφροσύνης τε καὶ ὑγιείας, ἰατροί τινες ἐπιχειροῦσιν εἶναι:” καί μοι πάνυ σφόδρα ἐνετέλλετο μήτε πλούσιον οὕτω μηδένα εἶναι μήτε γενναῖον μήτε καλόν, ὃς [157c] ἐμὲ πείσει ἄλλως ποιεῖν. ἐγὼ οὖν — ὀμώμοκα γὰρ αὐτῷ, καί μοι ἀνάγκη πείθεσθαι — πείσομαι οὖν, καὶ σοί, ἐὰν μὲν βούλῃ κατὰ τὰς τοῦ ξένου ἐντολὰς τὴν ψυχὴν πρῶτον παρασχεῖν ἐπᾷσαι ταῖς τοῦ Θρᾳκὸς ἐπῳδαῖς, προσοίσω τὸ φάρμακον τῇ κεφαλῇ: εἰ δὲ μή, οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιμεν+ ὅτι ποιοῖμέν+ σοι, ὦ φίλε Χαρμίδη.

ἀκούσας οὖν μου ὁ Κριτίας ταῦτ’ εἰπόντος, Ἕρμαιον, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, γεγονὸς ἂν εἴη ἡ τῆς κεφαλῆς ἀσθένεια τῷ νεανίσκῳ, εἰ ἀναγκασθήσεται καὶ τὴν διάνοιαν διὰ τὴν [157d] κεφαλὴν βελτίων γενέσθαι. λέγω+ μέντοι σοι ὅτι Χαρμίδης τῶν ἡλικιωτῶν οὐ μόνον τῇ ἰδέᾳ δοκεῖ διαφέρειν, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτῷ τούτῳ, οὗ σὺ φῂς τὴν ἐπῳδὴν ἔχειν: φῂς δὲ σωφροσύνης: ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ.

εὖ τοίνυν ἴσθι, ἔφη, ὅτι πάνυ πολὺ δοκεῖ σωφρονέστατος εἶναι τῶν νυνί, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα, εἰς ὅσον ἡλικίας ἥκει, οὐδενὸς χείρων ὤν.

καὶ γάρ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ δίκαιον, ὦ Χαρμίδη, διαφέρειν σε [157e] τῶν ἄλλων πᾶσιν τοῖς τοιούτοις: οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι ἄλλον οὐδένα τῶν ἐνθάδε ῥᾳδίως ἂν ἔχειν ἐπιδεῖξαι ποῖαι δύο οἰκίαι συνελθοῦσαι εἰς ταὐτὸν τῶν Ἀθήνησιν ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων καλλίω ἂν καὶ ἀμείνω γεννήσειαν ἢ ἐξ ὧν σὺ γέγονας. ἥ τε γὰρ πατρῴα ὑμῖν οἰκία, ἡ Κριτίου τοῦ Δρωπίδου, καὶ ὑπὸ Ἀνακρέοντος καὶ ὑπὸ Σόλωνος καὶ ὑπ’ ἄλλων πολλῶν ποιητῶν ἐγκεκωμιασμένη παραδέδοται ἡμῖν, ὡς διαφέρουσα κάλλει τε [158a] καὶ ἀρετῇ καὶ τῇ ἄλλῃ λεγομένῃ εὐδαιμονίᾳ, καὶ αὖ ἡ πρὸς μητρὸς ὡσαύτως: Πυριλάμπους γὰρ τοῦ σοῦ θείου οὐδεὶς τῶν ἐν τῇ ἠπείρῳ λέγεται καλλίων καὶ μείζων ἀνὴρ δόξαι εἶναι, ὁσάκις ἐκεῖνος ἢ παρὰ μέγαν βασιλέα ἢ παρὰ ἄλλον τινὰ τῶν ἐν τῇ ἠπείρῳ πρεσβεύων ἀφίκετο, σύμπασα δὲ αὕτη ἡ οἰκία οὐδὲν τῆς ἑτέρας ὑποδεεστέρα. ἐκ δὴ τοιούτων γεγονότα εἰκός σε εἰς πάντα πρῶτον εἶναι. τὰ μὲν οὖν ὁρώμενα+ τῆς [158b] ἰδέας+, ὦ φίλε παῖ Γλαύκωνος, δοκεῖς μοι οὐδένα τῶν πρὸ σοῦ ἐν οὐδενὶ ὑποβεβηκέναι: εἰ δὲ δὴ καὶ πρὸς σωφροσύνην καὶ πρὸς τἆλλα κατὰ τὸν τοῦδε λόγον ἱκανῶς πέφυκας, μακάριόν σε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε Χαρμίδη, ἡ μήτηρ ἔτικτεν. ἔχει δ’ οὖν οὕτως. εἰ μέν σοι ἤδη πάρεστιν, ὡς λέγει Κριτίας ὅδε, σωφροσύνη καὶ εἶ σώφρων ἱκανῶς, οὐδὲν ἔτι σοι ἔδει οὔτε τῶν Ζαλμόξιδος οὔτε τῶν Ἀβάριδος τοῦ Ὑπερβορέου ἐπῳδῶν, ἀλλ’ αὐτό σοι ἂν ἤδη δοτέον εἴη τὸ [158c] τῆς κεφαλῆς φάρμακον: εἰ δ’ ἔτι τούτων ἐπιδεὴς εἶναι δοκεῖς, ἐπᾳστέον πρὸ τῆς τοῦ φαρμάκου δόσεως. αὐτὸς οὖν μοι εἰπὲ πότερον ὁμολογεῖς τῷδε καὶ φῂς ἱκανῶς ἤδη σωφροσύνης μετέχειν ἢ ἐνδεὴς εἶναι;

ἀνερυθριάσας οὖν ὁ Χαρμίδης πρῶτον μὲν ἔτι καλλίων ἐφάνη — καὶ γὰρ τὸ αἰσχυντηλὸν αὐτοῦ τῇ ἡλικίᾳ ἔπρεψεν — ἔπειτα καὶ οὐκ ἀγεννῶς ἀπεκρίνατο: εἶπεν γὰρ ὅτι οὐ ῥᾴδιον εἴη ἐν τῷ παρόντι οὔθ’ ὁμολογεῖν οὔτε ἐξάρνῳ εἶναι τὰ [158d] ἐρωτώμενα. ἐὰν μὲν γάρ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, μὴ φῶ εἶναι σώφρων, ἅμα μὲν ἄτοπον αὐτὸν καθ’ ἑαυτοῦ τοιαῦτα λέγειν, ἅμα δὲ καὶ Κριτίαν τόνδε ψευδῆ ἐπιδείξω καὶ ἄλλους πολλούς, οἷς δοκῶ εἶναι σώφρων, ὡς ὁ τούτου λόγος: ἐὰν δ’ αὖ φῶ καὶ ἐμαυτὸν ἐπαινῶ, ἴσως ἐπαχθὲς φανεῖται. ὥστε οὐκ ἔχω ὅτι σοι ἀποκρίνωμαι.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ὅτι μοι εἰκότα φαίνῃ λέγειν, ὦ Χαρμίδη. καί μοι δοκεῖ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, κοινῇ ἂν εἴη σκεπτέον εἴτε κέκτησαι [158e] εἴτε μὴ ὃ πυνθάνομαι, ἵνα μήτε σὺ ἀναγκάζῃ λέγειν ἃ μὴ βούλει, μήτ’ αὖ ἐγὼ ἀσκέπτως ἐπὶ τὴν ἰατρικὴν τρέπωμαι. εἰ οὖν σοι φίλον, ἐθέλω σκοπεῖν μετὰ σοῦ: εἰ δὲ μή, ἐᾶν.

ἀλλὰ πάντων μάλιστα, ἔφη, φίλον: ὥστε τούτου γε ἕνεκα+, ὅπῃ αὐτὸς οἴει βέλτιον σκέψασθαι, ταύτῃ σκόπει.

τῇδε τοίνυν, ἔφην ἐγώ, δοκεῖ μοι βελτίστη εἶναι ἡ σκέψις περὶ αὐτοῦ. δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι εἴ σοι πάρεστιν σωφροσύνη, [159a] ἔχεις τι περὶ αὐτῆς δοξάζειν. ἀνάγκη γάρ που ἐνοῦσαν αὐτήν, εἴπερ ἔνεστιν, αἴσθησίν τινα παρέχειν, ἐξ ἧς δόξα ἄν τίς σοι περὶ αὐτῆς εἴη ὅτι ἐστὶν καὶ ὁποῖόν τι ἡ σωφροσύνη: ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

ἔγωγε, ἔφη, οἶμαι.

οὐκοῦν τοῦτό γε, ἔφην, ὃ οἴει, ἐπειδήπερ ἑλληνίζειν ἐπίστασαι, κἂν εἴποις δήπου αὐτὸ ὅτι σοι φαίνεται;

ἴσως, ἔφη.

ἵνα τοίνυν τοπάσωμεν εἴτε σοι ἔνεστιν εἴτε μή, εἰπέ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τί φῂς εἶναι σωφροσύνην κατὰ τὴν σὴν δόξαν.

[159b] καὶ ὃς τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ὤκνει τε καὶ οὐ πάνυ ἤθελεν ἀποκρίνασθαι: ἔπειτα μέντοι εἶπεν ὅτι οἷ δοκοῖ σωφροσύνη εἶναι τὸ κοσμίως πάντα πράττειν καὶ ἡσυχῇ, ἔν τε ταῖς ὁδοῖς βαδίζειν καὶ διαλέγεσθαι, καὶ τὰ ἄλλα πάντα ὡσαύτως ποιεῖν. καί μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη, συλλήβδην ἡσυχιότης τις εἶναι ὃ ἐρωτᾷς.

ἆρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εὖ λέγεις; φασί γέ τοι, ὦ Χαρμίδη, τοὺς ἡσυχίους σώφρονας εἶναι: ἴδωμεν δὴ εἴ τι λέγουσιν. [159c] εἰπὲ γάρ μοι, οὐ τῶν καλῶν μέντοι ἡ σωφροσύνη ἐστίν;

πάνυ γε, ἔφη.

πότερον οὖν κάλλιστον ἐν γραμματιστοῦ τὰ ὅμοια γράμματα γράφειν ταχὺ ἢ ἡσυχῇ;

ταχύ.

τί δ’ ἀναγιγνώσκειν; ταχέως ἢ βραδέως;

ταχέως.

καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ τὸ κιθαρίζειν ταχέως καὶ τὸ παλαίειν ὀξέως πολὺ κάλλιον τοῦ ἡσυχῇ τε καὶ βραδέως;

ναί.

τί δὲ πυκτεύειν τε καὶ παγκρατιάζειν; οὐχ ὡσαύτως;

πάνυ γε.

θεῖν δὲ καὶ ἅλλεσθαι καὶ τὰ τοῦ σώματος ἅπαντα ἔργα, [159d] οὐ τὰ μὲν ὀξέως καὶ ταχὺ γιγνόμενα τὰ τοῦ καλοῦ ἐστιν, τὰ δὲ [βραδέα] μόγις τε καὶ ἡσυχῇ τὰ τοῦ αἰσχροῦ;

φαίνεται.

φαίνεται ἄρα ἡμῖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, κατά γε τὸ σῶμα οὐ τὸ ἡσύχιον, ἀλλὰ τὸ τάχιστον καὶ ὀξύτατον κάλλιστον ὄν. ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γε.

ἡ δέ γε σωφροσύνη καλόν τι ἦν;

ναί.

οὐ τοίνυν κατά γε τὸ σῶμα ἡ ἡσυχιότης ἂν ἀλλ’ ἡ ταχυτὴς σωφρονέστερον εἴη, ἐπειδὴ καλὸν ἡ σωφροσύνη.

ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

[159e] τί δέ; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εὐμαθία κάλλιον ἢ δυσμαθία;

εὐμαθία.

ἔστιν δέ γ’, ἔφην, ἡ μὲν εὐμαθία ταχέως μανθάνειν, ἡ δὲ δυσμαθία ἡσυχῇ καὶ βραδέως;

ναί.

διδάσκειν δὲ ἄλλον οὐ ταχέως [καὶ] κάλλιον καὶ σφόδρα μᾶλλον ἢ ἡσυχῇ τε καὶ βραδέως;

ναί.

τί δέ; ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι καὶ μεμνῆσθαι ἡσυχῇ τε καὶ βραδέως κάλλιον ἢ σφόδρα καὶ ταχέως;

σφόδρ’, ἔφη, καὶ ταχέως.

[160a] ἡ δ’ ἀγχίνοια οὐχὶ ὀξύτης τίς ἐστιν τῆς ψυχῆς ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ ἡσυχία;

ἀληθῆ.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ συνιέναι τὰ λεγόμενα, καὶ ἐν γραμματιστοῦ καὶ κιθαριστοῦ καὶ ἄλλοθι πανταχοῦ, οὐχ ὡς ἡσυχαίτατα ἀλλ’ ὡς τάχιστά ἐστι κάλλιστα;

ναί.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἔν γε ταῖς ζητήσεσιν τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ τῷ βουλεύεσθαι οὐχ ὁ ἡσυχιώτατος, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, καὶ μόγις βουλευόμενός τε καὶ ἀνευρίσκων ἐπαίνου δοκεῖ ἄξιος εἶναι, [160b] ἀλλ’ ὁ ῥᾷστά τε καὶ τάχιστα τοῦτο δρῶν.

ἔστιν ταῦτα, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν πάντα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Χαρμίδη, ἡμῖν καὶ τὰ περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ τὰ περὶ τὸ σῶμα, τὰ τοῦ τάχους τε καὶ τῆς ὀξύτητος καλλίω φαίνεται ἢ τὰ τῆς βραδυτῆτός τε καὶ ἡσυχιότητος;

κινδυνεύει, ἔφη.

οὐκ ἄρα ἡσυχιότης τις ἡ σωφροσύνη ἂν εἴη, οὐδ’ ἡσύχιος ὁ σώφρων βίος, ἔκ γε τούτου τοῦ λόγου, ἐπειδὴ καλὸν αὐτὸν δεῖ εἶναι σώφρονα ὄντα. δυοῖν γὰρ δὴ τὰ ἕτερα: ἢ οὐδαμοῦ [160c] ἡμῖν ἢ πάνυ που ὀλιγαχοῦ αἱ ἡσύχιοι πράξεις ἐν τῷ βίῳ καλλίους ἐφάνησαν ἢ αἱ ταχεῖαί τε καὶ ἰσχυραί. εἰ δ’ οὖν, ὦ φίλε, ὅτι μάλιστα μηδὲν ἐλάττους αἱ ἡσύχιοι τῶν σφοδρῶν τε καὶ ταχειῶν πράξεων τυγχάνουσιν καλλίους οὖσαι, οὐδὲ ταύτῃ σωφροσύνη ἂν εἴη μᾶλλόν τι τὸ ἡσυχῇ πράττειν ἢ τὸ σφόδρα τε καὶ ταχέως, οὔτε ἐν βαδισμῷ οὔτε ἐν λέξει οὔτε ἄλλοθι οὐδαμοῦ, οὐδὲ ὁ ἡσύχιος βίος [κόσμιος] τοῦ μὴ ἡσυχίου [160d] σωφρονέστερος ἂν εἴη, ἐπειδὴ ἐν τῷ λόγῳ τῶν καλῶν τι ἡμῖν ἡ σωφροσύνη ὑπετέθη, καλὰ δὲ οὐχ ἧττον ταχέα τῶν ἡσυχίων πέφανται.

ὀρθῶς μοι δοκεῖς, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰρηκέναι.

πάλιν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Χαρμίδη, μᾶλλον προσέχων τὸν νοῦν καὶ εἰς σεαυτὸν ἐμβλέψας, ἐννοήσας ὁποῖόν τινά σε ποιεῖ ἡ σωφροσύνη παροῦσα καὶ ποία τις οὖσα τοιοῦτον ἀπεργάζοιτο ἄν, πάντα ταῦτα συλλογισάμενος εἰπὲ εὖ καὶ [160e] ἀνδρείως τί σοι φαίνεται εἶναι;

καὶ ὃς ἐπισχὼν καὶ πάνυ ἀνδρικῶς πρὸς ἑαυτὸν διασκεψάμενος, δοκεῖ τοίνυν μοι, ἔφη, αἰσχύνεσθαι ποιεῖν ἡ σωφροσύνη καὶ αἰσχυντηλὸν τὸν ἄνθρωπον, καὶ εἶναι ὅπερ αἰδὼς ἡ σωφροσύνη.

εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὐ καλὸν ἄρτι ὡμολόγεις τὴν σωφροσύνην εἶναι;

πάνυ γ’, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες οἱ σώφρονες;

ναί.

ἆρ’ οὖν ἂν εἴη ἀγαθὸν ὃ μὴ ἀγαθοὺς ἀπεργάζεται;

οὐ δῆτα.

οὐ μόνον οὖν ἄρα καλόν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀγαθόν ἐστιν.

[161a] ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

τί οὖν; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ: Ὁμήρῳ οὐ πιστεύεις καλῶς λέγειν, λέγοντι ὅτι

αἰδὼς δ’ οὐκ ἀγαθὴ κεχρημένῳ ἀνδρὶ παρεῖναι;

ηομ. οδ. 17.347

ἔγωγ’, ἔφη.

ἔστιν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, αἰδὼς οὐκ ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἀγαθόν.

φαίνεται.

σωφροσύνη δέ γε ἀγαθόν, εἴπερ ἀγαθοὺς ποιεῖ οἷς ἂν παρῇ, κακοὺς δὲ μή.

ἀλλὰ μὴν οὕτω γε δοκεῖ μοι ἔχειν, ὡς σὺ λέγεις.

οὐκ ἄρα σωφροσύνη ἂν εἴη αἰδώς, εἴπερ τὸ μὲν ἀγαθὸν [161b] τυγχάνει ὄν, αἰδὼς δὲ [μὴ] οὐδὲν μᾶλλον ἀγαθὸν ἢ καὶ κακόν.

ἀλλ’ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτο μὲν ὀρθῶς λέγεσθαι: τόδε δὲ σκέψαι τί σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι περὶ σωφροσύνης. ἄρτι γὰρ ἀνεμνήσθην — ὃ ἤδη του ἤκουσα λέγοντος — ὅτι σωφροσύνη ἂν εἴη τὸ τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν. σκόπει οὖν τοῦτο εἰ ὀρθῶς σοι δοκεῖ λέγειν ὁ λέγων.

καὶ ἐγώ, ὦ μιαρέ, ἔφην, Κριτίου τοῦδε ἀκήκοας αὐτὸ ἢ [161c] ἄλλου του τῶν σοφῶν.

ἔοικεν, ἔφη ὁ Κριτίας, ἄλλου: οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἐμοῦ γε.

ἀλλὰ τί διαφέρει, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ὁ Χαρμίδης, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτου ἤκουσα;

οὐδέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ: πάντως γὰρ οὐ τοῦτο σκεπτέον, ὅστις αὐτὸ εἶπεν, ἀλλὰ πότερον ἀληθὲς λέγεται ἢ οὔ.

νῦν ὀρθῶς λέγεις, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

νὴ Δία, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ εὑρήσομεν αὐτὸ ὅπῃ γε ἔχει, θαυμάζοιμ’ ἄν: αἰνίγματι γάρ τινι ἔοικεν.

ὅτι δὴ τί γε; ἔφη.

[161d] ὅτι οὐ δήπου, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ᾗ τὰ ῥήματα ἐφθέγξατο ταύτῃ καὶ ἐνόει, λέγων σωφροσύνην εἶναι τὸ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν. ἢ σὺ οὐδὲν ἡγῇ πράττειν τὸν γραμματιστὴν ὅταν γράφῃ ἢ ἀναγιγνώσκῃ;

ἔγωγε, ἡγοῦμαι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

δοκεῖ οὖν σοι τὸ αὑτοῦ ὄνομα μόνον γράφειν ὁ γραμματιστὴς καὶ ἀναγιγνώσκειν ἢ ὑμᾶς τοὺς παῖδας διδάσκειν, ἢ οὐδὲν ἧττον τὰ τῶν ἐχθρῶν ἐγράφετε ἢ τὰ ὑμέτερα καὶ τὰ τῶν φίλων ὀνόματα;

οὐδὲν ἧττον.

ἦ οὖν ἐπολυπραγμονεῖτε καὶ οὐκ ἐσωφρονεῖτε τοῦτο [161e] δρῶντες;

οὐδαμῶς.

καὶ μὴν οὐ τὰ ὑμέτερά γε αὐτῶν ἐπράττετε, εἴπερ τὸ γράφειν πράττειν τί ἐστιν καὶ τὸ ἀναγιγνώσκειν.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἔστιν.

καὶ γὰρ τὸ ἰᾶσθαι, ὦ ἑταῖρε, καὶ τὸ οἰκοδομεῖν καὶ τὸ ὑφαίνειν καὶ τὸ ᾑτινιοῦν τέχνῃ ὁτιοῦν τῶν τέχνης ἔργων ἀπεργάζεσθαι πράττειν δήπου τί ἐστιν.

πάνυ γε.

τί οὖν; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δοκεῖ ἄν σοι πόλις εὖ οἰκεῖσθαι ὑπὸ τούτου τοῦ νόμου τοῦ κελεύοντος τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἱμάτιον ἕκαστον ὑφαίνειν καὶ πλύνειν, καὶ ὑποδήματα σκυτοτομεῖν, καὶ λήκυθον καὶ στλεγγίδα καὶ τἆλλα πάντα κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, [162a] τῶν μὲν ἀλλοτρίων μὴ ἅπτεσθαι, τὰ δὲ ἑαυτοῦ ἕκαστον ἐργάζεσθαί τε καὶ πράττειν;

οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἔφην ἐγώ, σωφρόνως γε οἰκοῦσα εὖ ἂν οἰκοῖτο.

πῶς δ’ οὔκ; ἔφη.

οὐκ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ τὰ τοιαῦτά τε καὶ οὕτω τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν σωφροσύνη ἂν εἴη.

οὐ φαίνεται.

ἠινίττετο ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅπερ ἄρτι ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, ὁ λέγων τὸ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν σωφροσύνην εἶναι: οὐ γάρ που οὕτω [162b] γε ἦν εὐήθης. ἤ τινος ἠλιθίου ἤκουσας τουτὶ λέγοντος, ὦ Χαρμίδη;

ἥκιστά γε, ἔφη, ἐπεί τοι καὶ πάνυ ἐδόκει σοφὸς εἶναι.

παντὸς τοίνυν μᾶλλον, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, αἴνιγμα αὐτὸ προύβαλεν, ὡς ὂν χαλεπὸν τὸ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν γνῶναι ὅτι ποτε ἔστιν.

ἴσως, ἔφη.

τί οὖν ἂν εἴη ποτὲ τὸ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν; ἔχεις εἰπεῖν;

οὐκ οἶδα μὰ Δία ἔγωγε, ἦ δ’ ὅς: ἀλλ’ ἴσως οὐδὲν κωλύει μηδὲ τὸν λέγοντα μηδὲν εἰδέναι ὅτι ἐνόει. καὶ ἅμα ταῦτα λέγων ὑπεγέλα τε καὶ εἰς τὸν Κριτίαν ἀπέβλεπεν.

[162c] καὶ ὁ Κριτίας δῆλος μὲν ἦν καὶ πάλαι ἀγωνιῶν καὶ φιλοτίμως πρός τε τὸν Χαρμίδην καὶ πρὸς τοὺς παρόντας ἔχων, μόγις δ’ ἑαυτὸν ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν κατέχων τότε οὐχ οἷός τε ἐγένετο: δοκεῖ γάρ μοι παντὸς μᾶλλον ἀληθὲς εἶναι, ὃ ἐγὼ ὑπέλαβον, τοῦ Κριτίου ἀκηκοέναι τὸν Χαρμίδην ταύτην τὴν ἀπόκρισιν περὶ τῆς σωφροσύνης. ὁ μὲν οὖν Χαρμίδης βουλόμενος μὴ αὐτὸς ὑπέχειν λόγον ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνον τῆς ἀποκρίσεως, [162d] ὑπεκίνει αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον, καὶ ἐνεδείκνυτο ὡς ἐξεληλεγμένος εἴη: ὁ δ’ οὐκ ἠνέσχετο, ἀλλά μοι ἔδοξεν ὀργισθῆναι αὐτῷ ὥσπερ ποιητὴς ὑποκριτῇ κακῶς διατιθέντι τὰ ἑαυτοῦ ποιήματα. ὥστ’ ἐμβλέψας αὐτῷ+ εἶπεν, οὕτως οἴει, ὦ Χαρμίδη, εἰ σὺ μὴ οἶσθα ὅτι ποτ’ ἐνόει ὃς ἔφη σωφροσύνην εἶναι τὸ τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν, οὐδὲ δὴ ἐκεῖνον εἰδέναι;

ἀλλ’, ὦ βέλτιστε, ἔφην ἐγώ, Κριτία, τοῦτον μὲν οὐδὲν [162e] θαυμαστὸν ἀγνοεῖν τηλικοῦτον ὄντα: σὲ δέ που εἰκὸς εἰδέναι καὶ ἡλικίας ἕνεκα καὶ ἐπιμελείας. εἰ οὖν συγχωρεῖς τοῦτ’ εἶναι σωφροσύνην ὅπερ οὑτοσὶ λέγει καὶ παραδέχῃ τὸν λόγον, ἔγωγε πολὺ ἂν ἥδιον μετὰ σοῦ σκοποίμην εἴτ’ ἀληθὲς εἴτε μὴ τὸ λεχθέν.

ἀλλὰ πάνυ συγχωρῶ, ἔφη, καὶ παραδέχομαι.

καλῶς γε σὺ τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ποιῶν. καί μοι λέγε, ἦ καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἠρώτων ἐγὼ συγχωρεῖς, τοὺς δημιουργοὺς πάντας ποιεῖν τι;

ἔγωγε.

[163a] ἦ οὖν δοκοῦσί σοι τὰ ἑαυτῶν μόνον ποιεῖν ἢ καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων;

καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων.

σωφρονοῦσιν οὖν οὐ τὰ ἑαυτῶν μόνον ποιοῦντες;

τί γὰρ κωλύει; ἔφη.

οὐδὲν ἐμέ γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ: ἀλλ’ ὅρα μὴ ἐκεῖνον κωλύει+, ὃς ὑποθέμενος σωφροσύνην εἶναι τὸ τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν ἔπειτα οὐδέν φησι κωλύειν καὶ τοὺς τὰ τῶν ἄλλων πράττοντας σωφρονεῖν.

ἐγὼ γάρ που, ἦ δ’ ὅς, τοῦθ’ ὡμολόγηκα, ὡς οἱ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων πράττοντες σωφρονοῦσιν, εἰ τοὺς ποιοῦντας ὡμολόγησα.

[163b] εἰπέ μοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὐ ταὐτὸν καλεῖς τὸ ποιεῖν καὶ τὸ πράττειν;

οὐ μέντοι, ἔφη: οὐδέ γε τὸ ἐργάζεσθαι καὶ τὸ ποιεῖν. ἔμαθον γὰρ παρ’ Ἡσιόδου, ὃς ἔφη ἔργον [δ’] οὐδὲν εἶναι ὄνειδος. οἴει οὖν αὐτόν, εἰ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἔργα ἐκάλει καὶ ἐργάζεσθαι καὶ πράττειν, οἷα νυνδὴ σὺ ἔλεγες, οὐδενὶ ἂν ὄνειδος φάναι εἶναι σκυτοτομοῦντι ἢ ταριχοπωλοῦντι ἢ ἐπ’ οἰκήματος καθημένῳ+; οὐκ οἴεσθαί γε χρή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐκεῖνος οἶμαι ποίησιν πράξεως καὶ ἐργασίας ἄλλο ἐνόμιζεν, [163c] καὶ ποίημα μὲν γίγνεσθαι ὄνειδος ἐνίοτε, ὅταν μὴ

1 μετὰ τοῦ καλοῦ γίγνηται, ἔργον δὲ οὐδέποτε οὐδὲν ὄνειδος: τὰ γὰρ καλῶς τε καὶ ὠφελίμως ποιούμενα ἔργα ἐκάλει, καὶ ἐργασίας τε καὶ πράξεις τὰς τοιαύτας ποιήσεις. φάναι δέ γε χρὴ καὶ οἰκεῖα μόνα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἡγεῖσθαι αὐτόν, τὰ δὲ βλαβερὰ πάντα ἀλλότρια: ὥστε καὶ Ἡσίοδον χρὴ οἴεσθαι καὶ ἄλλον ὅστις φρόνιμος τὸν τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττοντα τοῦτον σώφρονα καλεῖν.

[163d] ὦ Κριτία, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ εὐθὺς ἀρχομένου σου σχεδὸν ἐμάνθανον τὸν λόγον, ὅτι τὰ οἰκεῖά τε καὶ τὰ αὑτοῦ ἀγαθὰ καλοίης, καὶ τὰς τῶν ἀγαθῶν ποιήσεις πράξεις: καὶ γὰρ Προδίκου μυρία τινὰ ἀκήκοα περὶ ὀνομάτων διαιροῦντος. ἀλλ’ ἐγώ σοι τίθεσθαι μὲν τῶν ὀνομάτων δίδωμι ὅπῃ ἂν βούλῃ ἕκαστον: δήλου δὲ μόνον ἐφ’ ὅτι ἂν φέρῃς τοὔνομα ὅτι ἂν λέγῃς. νῦν οὖν πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς σαφέστερον ὅρισαι: [163e] ἆρα τὴν τῶν ἀγαθῶν πρᾶξιν ἢ ποίησιν ἢ ὅπως σὺ βούλει ὀνομάζειν, ταύτην λέγεις σὺ σωφροσύνην εἶναι;

ἔγωγε, ἔφη.

οὐκ ἄρα σωφρονεῖ ὁ τὰ κακὰ πράττων, ἀλλ’ ὁ τἀγαθά;

σοὶ δέ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ὦ βέλτιστε, οὐχ οὕτω δοκεῖ;

ἔα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ: μὴ γάρ πω τὸ ἐμοὶ δοκοῦν σκοπῶμεν, ἀλλ’ ὃ σὺ λέγεις νῦν.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι ἔγωγε, ἔφη, τὸν μὴ ἀγαθὰ ἀλλὰ κακὰ ποιοῦντα οὔ φημι σωφρονεῖν, τὸν δὲ ἀγαθὰ ἀλλὰ μὴ κακὰ σωφρονεῖν: τὴν γὰρ τῶν ἀγαθῶν πρᾶξιν σωφροσύνην εἶναι σαφῶς σοι διορίζομαι.

[164a] καὶ οὐδέν γέ σε ἴσως κωλύει ἀληθῆ λέγειν: τόδε γε μέντοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, θαυμάζω, εἰ σωφρονοῦντας ἀνθρώπους ἡγῇ σὺ ἀγνοεῖν ὅτι σωφρονοῦσιν.

ἀλλ’ οὐχ ἡγοῦμαι, ἔφη.

οὐκ ὀλίγον πρότερον, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐλέγετο ὑπὸ σοῦ ὅτι τοὺς δημιουργοὺς οὐδὲν κωλύει καὶ αὖ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ποιοῦντας σωφρονεῖν;

ἐλέγετο γάρ, ἔφη: ἀλλὰ τί τοῦτο;

οὐδέν: ἀλλὰ λέγε εἰ δοκεῖ τίς σοι ἰατρός, ὑγιᾶ τινα [164b] ποιῶν, ὠφέλιμα καὶ ἑαυτῷ ποιεῖν καὶ ἐκείνῳ ὃν ἰῷτο;

ἔμοιγε.

οὐκοῦν τὰ δέοντα πράττει ὅ γε ταῦτα πράττων;

ναί.

ὁ τὰ δέοντα πράττων οὐ σωφρονεῖ;

σωφρονεῖ μὲν οὖν.

ἦ οὖν καὶ γιγνώσκειν ἀνάγκη τῷ ἰατρῷ ὅταν τε ὠφελίμως ἰᾶται καὶ ὅταν μή; καὶ ἑκάστῳ τῶν δημιουργῶν ὅταν τε μέλλῃ ὀνήσεσθαι ἀπὸ τοῦ ἔργου οὗ ἂν πράττῃ καὶ ὅταν μή;

ἴσως οὔ.

ἐνίοτε ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὠφελίμως πράξας ἢ βλαβερῶς ὁ [164c] ἰατρὸς οὐ γιγνώσκει ἑαυτὸν ὡς ἔπραξεν: καίτοι ὠφελίμως πράξας, ὡς ὁ σὸς λόγος, σωφρόνως ἔπραξεν. ἢ οὐχ οὕτως ἔλεγες;

ἔγωγε.

οὐκοῦν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐνίοτε ὠφελίμως πράξας πράττει μὲν σωφρόνως καὶ σωφρονεῖ, ἀγνοεῖ δ’ ἑαυτὸν ὅτι σωφρονεῖ;

ἀλλὰ τοῦτο μέν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο, ἀλλ’ εἴ τι σὺ οἴει ἐκ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ ὡμολογημένων εἰς τοῦτο ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι συμβαίνειν, ἐκείνων ἄν τι ἔγωγε [164d] μᾶλλον ἀναθείμην, καὶ οὐκ ἂν αἰσχυνθείην μὴ οὐχὶ ὀρθῶς φάναι εἰρηκέναι, μᾶλλον ἤ ποτε συγχωρήσαιμ’ ἂν ἀγνοοῦντα αὐτὸν ἑαυτὸν ἄνθρωπον σωφρονεῖν. σχεδὸν γάρ τι ἔγωγε αὐτὸ τοῦτό φημι εἶναι σωφροσύνην, τὸ γιγνώσκειν ἑαυτόν, καὶ συμφέρομαι τῷ ἐν Δελφοῖς ἀναθέντι τὸ τοιοῦτον γράμμα. καὶ γὰρ τοῦτο οὕτω μοι δοκεῖ τὸ γράμμα ἀνακεῖσθαι, ὡς δὴ πρόσρησις οὖσα τοῦ θεοῦ τῶν εἰσιόντων ἀντὶ τοῦ χαῖρε, ὡς [164e] τούτου μὲν οὐκ ὀρθοῦ ὄντος τοῦ προσρήματος, τοῦ χαίρειν, οὐδὲ δεῖν τοῦτο παρακελεύεσθαι ἀλλήλοις ἀλλὰ σωφρονεῖν. οὕτω μὲν δὴ ὁ θεὸς προσαγορεύει τοὺς εἰσιόντας εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν διαφέρον τι ἢ οἱ ἄνθρωποι, ὡς διανοούμενος ἀνέθηκεν ὁ ἀναθείς, ὥς μοι δοκεῖ: καὶ λέγει πρὸς τὸν ἀεὶ εἰσιόντα οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ Σωφρόνει, φησίν. αἰνιγματωδέστερον δὲ δή, ὡς μάντις, λέγει: τὸ γὰρ Γνῶθι+ σαυτόν καὶ τὸ Σωφρόνει ἔστιν [165a] μὲν ταὐτόν, ὡς τὰ γράμματά φησιν καὶ ἐγώ, τάχα δ’ ἄν τις οἰηθείη ἄλλο εἶναι, ὃ δή μοι δοκοῦσιν παθεῖν καὶ οἱ τὰ ὕστερον γράμματα ἀναθέντες, τό τε μηδὲν ἄγαν καὶ τὸ Ἐγγύη πάρα δ’ ἄτη. καὶ γὰρ οὗτοι συμβουλὴν ᾠήθησαν εἶναι τὸ Γνῶθι σαυτόν, ἀλλ’ οὐ τῶν εἰσιόντων [ἕνεκεν] ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ πρόσρησιν: εἶθ’ ἵνα δὴ καὶ σφεῖς μηδὲν ἧττον συμβουλὰς χρησίμους ἀναθεῖεν, ταῦτα γράψαντες ἀνέθεσαν. οὗ δὴ οὖν ἕνεκα λέγω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταῦτα πάντα, τόδ’+ ἐστίν: τὰ μὲν [165b] ἔμπροσθέν σοι πάντα ἀφίημι — ἴσως μὲν γάρ τι σὺ ἔλεγες περὶ αὐτῶν ὀρθότερον, ἴσως δ’ ἐγώ, σαφὲς δ’ οὐδὲν πάνυ ἦν ὧν ἐλέγομεν — νῦν δ’ ἐθέλω τούτου σοι διδόναι λόγον, εἰ μὴ ὁμολογεῖς σωφροσύνην εἶναι τὸ γιγνώσκειν αὐτὸν ἑαυτόν.

ἀλλ’, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Κριτία, σὺ μὲν ὡς φάσκοντος ἐμοῦ εἰδέναι περὶ ὧν ἐρωτῶ προσφέρῃ πρός με, καὶ ἐὰν δὴ βούλωμαι, ὁμολογήσοντός σοι: τὸ δ’ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει, ἀλλὰ ζητῶ γὰρ μετὰ σοῦ ἀεὶ τὸ προτιθέμενον διὰ τὸ μὴ αὐτὸς [165c] εἰδέναι. σκεψάμενος οὖν ἐθέλω εἰπεῖν εἴτε ὁμολογῶ εἴτε μή. ἀλλ’ ἐπίσχες ἕως ἂν σκέψωμαι.

σκόπει δή, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

καὶ γάρ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, σκοπῶ. εἰ γὰρ δὴ γιγνώσκειν γέ τί ἐστιν ἡ σωφροσύνη, δῆλον ὅτι ἐπιστήμη τις ἂν εἴη καὶ τινός: ἢ οὔ;

ἔστιν, ἔφη, ἑαυτοῦ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἰατρική, ἔφην, ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν τοῦ ὑγιεινοῦ;

πάνυ γε.

εἰ τοίνυν με, ἔφην, ἔροιο σύ: “ἰατρικὴ ὑγιεινοῦ ἐπιστήμη οὖσα τί ἡμῖν χρησίμη ἐστὶν καὶ τί ἀπεργάζεται,” [165d] εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι οὐ σμικρὰν ὠφελίαν: τὴν γὰρ ὑγίειαν καλὸν ἡμῖν ἔργον ἀπεργάζεται, εἰ ἀποδέχῃ τοῦτο.

ἀποδέχομαι.

καὶ εἰ τοίνυν με ἔροιο τὴν οἰκοδομικήν, ἐπιστήμην οὖσαν τοῦ οἰκοδομεῖν, τί φημι ἔργον ἀπεργάζεσθαι, εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι οἰκήσεις: ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν+. χρὴ οὖν καὶ σὲ ὑπὲρ τῆς σωφροσύνης, ἐπειδὴ φῂς αὐτὴν ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιστήμην εἶναι, ἔχειν εἰπεῖν ἐρωτηθέντα, “ὦ Κριτία, σωφροσύνη, [165e] ἐπιστήμη οὖσα ἑαυτοῦ, τί καλὸν ἡμῖν ἔργον ἀπεργάζεται καὶ ἄξιον τοῦ ὀνόματος;” ἴθι οὖν, εἰπέ.

ἀλλ’, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, οὐκ ὀρθῶς ζητεῖς. οὐ γὰρ ὁμοία αὕτη πέφυκεν ταῖς ἄλλαις ἐπιστήμαις, οὐδέ γε αἱ ἄλλαι ἀλλήλαις: σὺ δ’ ὡς ὁμοίων οὐσῶν ποιῇ τὴν ζήτησιν. ἐπεὶ λέγε μοι, ἔφη, τῆς λογιστικῆς τέχνης ἢ τῆς γεωμετρικῆς τί ἐστιν τοιοῦτον ἔργον οἷον οἰκία οἰκοδομικῆς ἢ ἱμάτιον ὑφαντικῆς ἢ ἄλλα τοιαῦτ’ ἔργα, ἃ πολλὰ ἄν τις ἔχοι πολλῶν τεχνῶν [166a] δεῖξαι; ἔχεις οὖν μοι καὶ σὺ τούτων τοιοῦτόν τι ἔργον δεῖξαι; ἀλλ’ οὐχ ἕξεις.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ὅτι ἀληθῆ λέγεις: ἀλλὰ τόδε σοι ἔχω δεῖξαι, τίνος ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη ἑκάστη τούτων τῶν ἐπιστημῶν, ὃ τυγχάνει ὂν ἄλλο αὐτῆς τῆς ἐπιστήμης. οἷον ἡ λογιστική ἐστίν που τοῦ ἀρτίου καὶ τοῦ περιττοῦ, πλήθους ὅπως ἔχει πρὸς αὑτὰ καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα: ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γε, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἑτέρου ὄντος τοῦ περιττοῦ καὶ ἀρτίου αὐτῆς τῆς λογιστικῆς;

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

[166b] καὶ μὴν αὖ ἡ στατικὴ τοῦ βαρυτέρου τε καὶ κουφοτέρου σταθμοῦ ἐστιν στατική: ἕτερον δέ ἐστιν τὸ βαρύ τε καὶ κοῦφον τῆς στατικῆς αὐτῆς. συγχωρεῖς;

ἔγωγε.

λέγε δή, καὶ ἡ σωφροσύνη τίνος ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη, ὃ τυγχάνει ἕτερον ὂν αὐτῆς τῆς σωφροσύνης;

τοῦτό ἐστιν ἐκεῖνο, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἐπ’ αὐτὸ ἥκεις ἐρευνῶν τὸ ᾧ διαφέρει πασῶν τῶν ἐπιστημῶν ἡ σωφροσύνη: σὺ δὲ ὁμοιότητά τινα ζητεῖς αὐτῆς ταῖς ἄλλαις. τὸ δ’ οὐκ [166c] ἔστιν οὕτως, ἀλλ’ αἱ μὲν ἄλλαι πᾶσαι ἄλλου εἰσὶν ἐπιστῆμαι, ἑαυτῶν δ’ οὔ, ἡ δὲ μόνη τῶν τε ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶ καὶ αὐτὴ ἑαυτῆς. καὶ ταῦτά σε πολλοῦ δεῖ λεληθέναι, ἀλλὰ γὰρ οἶμαι ὃ ἄρτι οὐκ ἔφησθα ποιεῖν, τοῦτο ποιεῖς: ἐμὲ γὰρ ἐπιχειρεῖς ἐλέγχειν, ἐάσας περὶ οὗ ὁ λόγος ἐστίν.

οἷον, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ποιεῖς ἡγούμενος, εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα σὲ ἐλέγχω, ἄλλου τινὸς ἕνεκα ἐλέγχειν ἢ οὗπερ ἕνεκα κἂν [166d] ἐμαυτὸν διερευνῴμην τί λέγω, φοβούμενος μή ποτε λάθω οἰόμενος μέν τι εἰδέναι, εἰδὼς δὲ μή. καὶ νῦν δὴ οὖν ἔγωγέ φημι τοῦτο ποιεῖν, τὸν λόγον σκοπεῖν μάλιστα μὲν ἐμαυτοῦ ἕνεκα, ἴσως δὲ δὴ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδείων: ἢ οὐ κοινὸν οἴει ἀγαθὸν εἶναι σχεδόν τι πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις, γίγνεσθαι καταφανὲς ἕκαστον τῶν ὄντων ὅπῃ ἔχει;

καὶ μάλα, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

θαῤῥῶν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ μακάριε, ἀποκρινόμενος τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ὅπῃ σοι φαίνεται, ἔα χαίρειν εἴτε Κριτίας ἐστὶν [166e] εἴτε Σωκράτης ὁ ἐλεγχόμενος: ἀλλ’ αὐτῷ προσέχων τὸν νοῦν τῷ λόγῳ σκόπει ὅπῃ ποτὲ ἐκβήσεται ἐλεγχόμενος.

ἀλλά, ἔφη, ποιήσω οὕτω: δοκεῖς γάρ μοι μέτρια λέγειν.

λέγε τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, περὶ τῆς σωφροσύνης πῶς λέγεις;

λέγω τοίνυν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ὅτι μόνη τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν αὐτή τε αὑτῆς ἐστιν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν ἐπιστήμη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνης ἐπιστήμη ἂν εἴη, εἴπερ καὶ ἐπιστήμης;

πάνυ γε, ἔφη.

[167a] ὁ ἄρα σώφρων μόνος αὐτός τε ἑαυτὸν γνώσεται καὶ οἷός τε ἔσται ἐξετάσαι τί τε τυγχάνει εἰδὼς καὶ τί μή, καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ὡσαύτως δυνατὸς ἔσται ἐπισκοπεῖν τί τις οἶδεν καὶ οἴεται, εἴπερ οἶδεν, καὶ τί αὖ οἴεται μὲν εἰδέναι, οἶδεν δ’ οὔ, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων οὐδείς: καὶ ἔστιν δὴ τοῦτο τὸ σωφρονεῖν τε καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ τὸ ἑαυτὸν αὐτὸν γιγνώσκειν, τὸ εἰδέναι ἅ τε οἶδεν καὶ ἃ μὴ οἶδεν. ἆρα ταῦτά ἐστιν ἃ λέγεις;

ἔγωγ’, ἔφη.

πάλιν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ τρίτον τῷ σωτῆρι, ὥσπερ ἐξ [167b] ἀρχῆς ἐπισκεψώμεθα πρῶτον μὲν εἰ δυνατόν ἐστιν τοῦτ’ εἶναι ἢ οὔ — τὸ ἃ οἶδεν καὶ ἃ μὴ οἶδεν εἰδέναι ὅτι οὐκ οἶδεν — ἔπειτα εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα δυνατόν, τίς ἂν εἴη ἡμῖν ὠφελία εἰδόσιν αὐτό.

ἀλλὰ χρή, ἔφη, σκοπεῖν.

ἴθι δή, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὦ Κριτία, σκέψαι, ἐάν τι περὶ αὐτῶν εὐπορώτερος φανῇς ἐμοῦ: ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ ἀπορῶ. ᾗ δὲ ἀπορῶ, φράσω σοι;

πάνυ γ’, ἔφη.

ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πάντα ταῦτ’ ἂν εἴη, εἰ ἔστιν ὅπερ σὺ νυνδὴ ἔλεγες, μία τις ἐπιστήμη, ἣ οὐκ ἄλλου τινός [167c] ἐστιν ἢ ἑαυτῆς τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν ἐπιστήμη, καὶ δὴ καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνης ἡ αὐτὴ αὕτη;

πάνυ γε.

ἰδὲ δὴ ὡς ἄτοπον ἐπιχειροῦμεν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, λέγειν: ἐν ἄλλοις γάρ που τὸ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἐὰν σκοπῇς, δόξει σοι, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἀδύνατον εἶναι.

πῶς δὴ καὶ ποῦ;

ἐν τοῖσδε. ἐννόει γὰρ εἴ σοι δοκεῖ ὄψις τις εἶναι, ἣ ὧν μὲν αἱ ἄλλαι ὄψεις εἰσίν, οὐκ ἔστιν τούτων ὄψις, ἑαυτῆς δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὄψεων ὄψις ἐστὶν καὶ μὴ ὄψεων ὡσαύτως, [167d] καὶ χρῶμα μὲν ὁρᾷ οὐδὲν ὄψις οὖσα, αὑτὴν δὲ καὶ τὰς ἄλλας ὄψεις: δοκεῖ τίς σοι εἶναι τοιαύτη;

μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

τί δὲ ἀκοήν, ἣ φωνῆς μὲν οὐδεμιᾶς ἀκούει, αὑτῆς δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀκοῶν ἀκούει καὶ τῶν μὴ ἀκοῶν;

οὐδὲ τοῦτο.

συλλήβδην δὴ σκόπει περὶ πασῶν τῶν αἰσθήσεων εἴ τίς σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι αἰσθήσεων μὲν αἴσθησις καὶ ἑαυτῆς, ὧν δὲ δὴ αἱ ἄλλαι αἰσθήσεις αἰσθάνονται, μηδενὸς αἰσθανομένη;

οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

[167e] ἀλλ’ ἐπιθυμία δοκεῖ τίς σοι εἶναι, ἥτις ἡδονῆς μὲν οὐδεμιᾶς ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία, αὑτῆς δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιθυμιῶν;

οὐ δῆτα.

οὐδὲ μὴν βούλησις, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἣ ἀγαθὸν μὲν οὐδὲν βούλεται, αὑτὴν δὲ καὶ τὰς ἄλλας βουλήσεις βούλεται.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ἔρωτα δὲ φαίης ἄν τινα εἶναι τοιοῦτον, ὃς τυγχάνει ὢν ἔρως καλοῦ μὲν οὐδενός, αὑτοῦ δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐρώτων;

οὔκ, ἔφη, ἔγωγε.

φόβον δὲ ἤδη τινὰ κατανενόηκας, ὃς ἑαυτὸν μὲν καὶ τοὺς [168a] ἄλλους φόβους φοβεῖται, τῶν δεινῶν δ’ οὐδὲ ἓν φοβεῖται;

οὐ κατανενόηκα, ἔφη.

δόξαν δὲ δοξῶν δόξαν καὶ αὑτῆς, ὧν δὲ αἱ ἄλλαι δοξάζουσιν μηδὲν δοξάζουσαν;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀλλ’ ἐπιστήμην, ὡς ἔοικεν, φαμέν τινα εἶναι τοιαύτην, ἥτις μαθήματος μὲν οὐδενός ἐστιν ἐπιστήμη, αὑτῆς δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν ἐπιστήμη;

φαμὲν γάρ.

οὐκοῦν ἄτοπον, εἰ ἄρα καὶ ἔστιν; μηδὲν γάρ πω διισχυριζώμεθα ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν, ἀλλ’ εἰ ἔστιν ἔτι σκοπῶμεν.

[168b] ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

φέρε δή: ἔστι μὲν αὕτη ἡ ἐπιστήμη τινὸς ἐπιστήμη, καὶ ἔχει τινὰ τοιαύτην δύναμιν ὥστε τινὸς εἶναι: ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γε.

καὶ γὰρ τὸ μεῖζόν φαμεν τοιαύτην τινὰ ἔχειν δύναμιν, ὥστε τινὸς εἶναι μεῖζον;

ἔχει γάρ.

οὐκοῦν ἐλάττονός τινος, εἴπερ ἔσται μεῖζον.

ἀνάγκη.

εἰ οὖν τι εὕροιμεν μεῖζον, ὃ τῶν μὲν μειζόνων ἐστὶν μεῖζον καὶ ἑαυτοῦ, ὧν δὲ τἆλλα μείζω ἐστὶν μηδενὸς μεῖζον, [168c] πάντως ἄν που ἐκεῖνό γ’ αὐτῷ ὑπάρχοι, εἴπερ ἑαυτοῦ μεῖζον εἴη, καὶ ἔλαττον ἑαυτοῦ εἶναι: ἢ οὔ;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐκοῦν καὶ εἴ τι διπλάσιόν ἐστιν τῶν τε ἄλλων διπλασίων καὶ ἑαυτοῦ, ἡμίσεος δήπου ὄντος ἑαυτοῦ τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων διπλάσιον ἂν εἴη: οὐ γάρ ἐστίν που ἄλλου διπλάσιον ἢ ἡμίσεος.

ἀληθῆ.

πλέον δὲ αὑτοῦ ὂν οὐ καὶ ἔλαττον ἔσται, καὶ βαρύτερον ὂν κουφότερον, καὶ πρεσβύτερον ὂν νεώτερον, καὶ τἆλλα [168d] πάντα ὡσαύτως, ὅτιπερ ἂν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ δύναμιν πρὸς ἑαυτὸ ἔχῃ, οὐ καὶ ἐκείνην ἕξει τὴν οὐσίαν, πρὸς ἣν ἡ δύναμις αὐτοῦ ἦν; λέγω δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε: οἷον ἡ ἀκοή, φαμέν, οὐκ ἄλλου τινὸς ἦν ἀκοὴ ἢ φωνῆς: ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ αὐτὴ αὑτῆς ἀκούσεται, φωνὴν ἐχούσης ἑαυτῆς ἀκούσεται: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἄλλως ἀκούσειεν.

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη.

καὶ ἡ ὄψις γέ που, ὦ ἄριστε, εἴπερ ὄψεται αὐτὴ ἑαυτήν, χρῶμά τι αὐτὴν ἀνάγκη ἔχειν: ἄχρων γὰρ ὄψις οὐδὲν [ἂν] [168e] μή ποτε ἴδῃ.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ὁρᾷς οὖν, ὦ Κριτία, ὅτι ὅσα διεληλύθαμεν, τὰ μὲν αὐτῶν ἀδύνατα παντάπασι φαίνεται ἡμῖν, τὰ δ’ ἀπιστεῖται σφόδρα μή ποτ’ ἂν τὴν ἑαυτῶν δύναμιν πρὸς ἑαυτὰ σχεῖν; μεγέθη μὲν γὰρ καὶ πλήθη καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα παντάπασιν ἀδύνατον: ἢ οὐχί;

πάνυ γε.

ἀκοὴ δ’ αὖ καὶ ὄψις καὶ ἔτι γε κίνησις αὐτὴ ἑαυτὴν κινεῖν, καὶ θερμότης κάειν, καὶ πάντα αὖ τὰ τοιαῦτα τοῖς [169a] μὲν ἀπιστίαν παράσχοι, ἴσως δέ τισιν οὔ. μεγάλου δή τινος, ὦ φίλε, ἀνδρὸς δεῖ, ὅστις τοῦτο κατὰ πάντων ἱκανῶς διαιρήσεται, πότερον οὐδὲν τῶν ὄντων τὴν αὑτοῦ δύναμιν αὐτὸ πρὸς ἑαυτὸ πέφυκεν ἔχειν [πλὴν ἐπιστήμης], ἀλλὰ πρὸς ἄλλο, ἢ τὰ μέν, τὰ δ’ οὔ: καὶ εἰ ἔστιν αὖ ἅτινα αὐτὰ πρὸς αὑτὰ ἔχει, ἆρ’ ἐν τούτοις ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη, ἣν δὴ ἡμεῖς σωφροσύνην φαμὲν εἶναι. ἐγὼ μὲν οὐ πιστεύω ἐμαυτῷ ἱκανὸς εἶναι ταῦτα διελέσθαι: διὸ καὶ οὔτ’ εἰ δυνατόν ἐστι τοῦτο γενέσθαι, [169b] ἐπιστήμης ἐπιστήμην εἶναι, ἔχω διισχυρίσασθαι, οὔτ’ εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα ἔστι, σωφροσύνην ἀποδέχομαι αὐτὸ εἶναι, πρὶν ἂν ἐπισκέψωμαι εἴτε τι ἂν ἡμᾶς ὠφελοῖ τοιοῦτον ὂν εἴτε μή. τὴν γὰρ οὖν δὴ σωφροσύνην ὠφέλιμόν τι καὶ ἀγαθὸν μαντεύομαι εἶναι: σὺ οὖν, ὦ παῖ Καλλαίσχρου — τίθεσαι γὰρ σωφροσύνην τοῦτ’ εἶναι, ἐπιστήμην ἐπιστήμης καὶ δὴ καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνης — πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτο ἔνδειξαι, ὅτι δυνατὸν [ἀποδεῖξαί σε] ὃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, ἔπειτα πρὸς τῷ δυνατῷ ὅτι [169c] καὶ ὠφέλιμον: κἀμὲ τάχ’ ἂν ἀποπληρώσαις ὡς ὀρθῶς λέγεις περὶ σωφροσύνης ὃ ἔστιν.

καὶ ὁ Κριτίας ἀκούσας ταῦτα καὶ ἰδών με ἀποροῦντα, ὥσπερ οἱ τοὺς χασμωμένους καταντικρὺ ὁρῶντες ταὐτὸν τοῦτο συμπάσχουσιν, κἀκεῖνος ἔδοξέ μοι ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ ἀποροῦντος ἀναγκασθῆναι καὶ αὐτὸς ἁλῶναι ὑπὸ ἀπορίας. ἅτε οὖν εὐδοκιμῶν ἑκάστοτε, ᾐσχύνετο τοὺς παρόντας, καὶ οὔτε συγχωρῆσαί μοι ἤθελεν ἀδύνατος εἶναι διελέσθαι ἃ προυκαλούμην [169d] αὐτόν, ἔλεγέν τε οὐδὲν σαφές, ἐπικαλύπτων τὴν ἀπορίαν. κἀγὼ ἡμῖν ἵνα ὁ λόγος προί¨οι, εἶπον: ἀλλ’ εἰ δοκεῖ, ὦ Κριτία, νῦν μὲν τοῦτο συγχωρήσωμεν, δυνατὸν εἶναι γενέσθαι ἐπιστήμην ἐπιστήμης: αὖθις δὲ ἐπισκεψόμεθα εἴτε οὕτως ἔχει εἴτε μή. ἴθι δὴ οὖν, εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα δυνατὸν τοῦτο, τί μᾶλλον οἷόν τέ ἐστιν εἰδέναι ἅ τέ τις οἶδε καὶ ἃ μή; τοῦτο γὰρ δήπου ἔφαμεν εἶναι τὸ γιγνώσκειν αὑτὸν καὶ σωφρονεῖν: ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γε, ἦ δ’ ὅς, καὶ συμβαίνει γέ που, ὦ Σώκρατες. εἰ [169e] γάρ τις ἔχει ἐπιστήμην ἣ αὐτὴ αὑτὴν γιγνώσκει, τοιοῦτος ἂν αὐτὸς εἴη οἷόνπερ ἐστὶν ὃ ἔχει: ὥσπερ ὅταν τάχος τις ἔχῃ, ταχύς, καὶ ὅταν κάλλος, καλός, καὶ ὅταν γνῶσιν, γιγνώσκων, ὅταν δὲ δὴ γνῶσιν αὐτὴν αὑτῆς τις ἔχῃ, γιγνώσκων που αὐτὸς ἑαυτὸν τότε ἔσται.

οὐ τοῦτο, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀμφισβητῶ, ὡς οὐχ ὅταν τὸ αὑτὸ γιγνῶσκόν τις ἔχῃ, αὐτὸς αὑτὸν γνώσεται, ἀλλ’ ἔχοντι τοῦτο τίς ἀνάγκη εἰδέναι ἅ τε οἶδεν καὶ ἃ μὴ οἶδεν;

[170a] ὅτι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταὐτόν ἐστιν τοῦτο ἐκείνῳ.

ἴσως, ἔφην, ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ κινδυνεύω ἀεὶ ὅμοιος εἶναι: οὐ γὰρ αὖ μανθάνω ὡς ἔστιν τὸ αὐτό, ἃ οἶδεν εἰδέναι καὶ ἅ τις μὴ οἶδεν εἰδέναι.

πῶς λέγεις, ἔφη;

ὧδε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. ἐπιστήμη που ἐπιστήμης οὖσα ἆρα πλέον τι οἵα τ’ ἔσται διαιρεῖν, ἢ ὅτι τούτων τόδε μὲν ἐπιστήμη, τόδε δ’ οὐκ ἐπιστήμη;

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοσοῦτον.

ταὐτὸν οὖν ἐστιν ἐπιστήμῃ τε καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνῃ ὑγιεινοῦ, [170b] καὶ ἐπιστήμῃ τε καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνῃ δικαίου;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν οἶμαι ἰατρική, τὸ δὲ πολιτική, τὸ δὲ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ ἐπιστήμη.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν ἐὰν μὴ προσεπίστηταί τις τὸ ὑγιεινὸν καὶ τὸ δίκαιον, ἀλλ’ ἐπιστήμην μόνον γιγνώσκῃ ἅτε τούτου μόνον ἔχων ἐπιστήμην, ὅτι μέν τι ἐπίσταται καὶ ὅτι ἐπιστήμην τινὰ ἔχει, εἰκότως ἂν γιγνώσκοι καὶ περὶ αὑτοῦ καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων: ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

ὅτι δὲ γιγνώσκει, ταύτῃ τῇ ἐπιστήμῃ πῶς εἴσεται; [170c] γιγνώσκει γὰρ δὴ τὸ μὲν ὑγιεινὸν τῇ ἰατρικῇ ἀλλ’ οὐ σωφροσύνῃ, τὸ δ’ ἁρμονικὸν μουσικῇ ἀλλ’ οὐ σωφροσύνῃ, τὸ δ’ οἰκοδομικὸν οἰκοδομικῇ ἀλλ’ οὐ σωφροσύνῃ, καὶ οὕτω πάντα: ἢ οὔ;

φαίνεται.

σωφροσύνῃ δέ, εἴπερ μόνον ἐστὶν ἐπιστημῶν ἐπιστήμη, πῶς εἴσεται ὅτι τὸ ὑγιεινὸν γιγνώσκει ἢ ὅτι τὸ οἰκοδομικόν;

οὐδαμῶς.

οὐκ ἄρα εἴσεται ὃ οἶδεν ὁ τοῦτο ἀγνοῶν, ἀλλ’ ὅτι οἶδεν μόνον.

ἔοικεν.

[170d] οὐκ ἄρα σωφρονεῖν τοῦτ’ ἂν εἴη οὐδὲ σωφροσύνη, εἰδέναι ἅ τε οἶδεν καὶ ἃ μὴ οἶδεν, ἀλλ’, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅτι οἶδεν καὶ ὅτι οὐκ οἶδεν μόνον.

κινδυνεύει.

οὐδὲ ἄλλον ἄρα οἷός τε ἔσται οὗτος ἐξετάσαι φάσκοντά τι ἐπίστασθαι, πότερον ἐπίσταται ὅ φησιν ἐπίστασθαι ἢ οὐκ ἐπίσταται: ἀλλὰ τοσοῦτον μόνον, ὡς ἔοικεν, γνώσεται, ὅτι ἔχει τινὰ ἐπιστήμην, ὅτου δέ γε, ἡ σωφροσύνη οὐ ποιήσει αὐτὸν γιγνώσκειν.

οὐ φαίνεται.

[170e] οὔτε ἄρα τὸν προσποιούμενον ἰατρὸν εἶναι, ὄντα δὲ μή, καὶ τὸν ὡς ἀληθῶς ὄντα οἷός τε ἔσται διακρίνειν, οὔτε ἄλλον οὐδένα τῶν ἐπιστημόνων καὶ μή. σκεψώμεθα δὲ ἐκ τῶνδε: εἰ μέλλει ὁ σώφρων ἢ ὁστισοῦν ἄλλος τὸν ὡς ἀληθῶς ἰατρὸν διαγνώσεσθαι καὶ τὸν μή, ἆρ’ οὐχ ὧδε ποιήσει: περὶ μὲν ἰατρικῆς δήπου αὐτῷ οὐ διαλέξεται — οὐδὲν γὰρ ἐπαί¨ει, ὡς ἔφαμεν, ὁ ἰατρὸς ἀλλ’ ἢ τὸ ὑγιεινὸν καὶ τὸ νοσῶδες — ἢ οὔ;

ναί, οὕτως.

περὶ δέ γε ἐπιστήμης οὐδὲν οἶδεν, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο δὴ τῇ σωφροσύνῃ μόνῃ ἀπέδομεν.

ναί.

οὐδὲ περὶ ἰατρικῆς ἄρα οἶδεν ὁ ἰατρικός, ἐπειδήπερ ἡ [171a] ἰατρικὴ ἐπιστήμη οὖσα τυγχάνει.

ἀληθῆ.

ὅτι μὲν δὴ ἐπιστήμην τινὰ ἔχει, γνώσεται ὁ σώφρων τὸν ἰατρόν: δέον δὲ πεῖραν λαβεῖν ἥτις ἐστίν, ἄλλο τι σκέψεται ὧντινων; ἢ οὐ τούτῳ ὥρισται ἑκάστη ἐπιστήμη μὴ μόνον ἐπιστήμη εἶναι ἀλλὰ καὶ τίς, τῷ τινῶν εἶναι;

τούτῳ μὲν οὖν.

καὶ ἡ ἰατρικὴ δὴ ἑτέρα εἶναι τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν ὡρίσθη τῷ τοῦ ὑγιεινοῦ εἶναι καὶ νοσώδους ἐπιστήμη.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν ἐν τούτοις ἀναγκαῖον σκοπεῖν τὸν βουλόμενον [171b] ἰατρικὴν σκοπεῖν, ἐν οἷς ποτ’ ἔστιν: οὐ γὰρ δήπου ἔν γε τοῖς ἔξω, ἐν οἷς οὐκ ἔστιν;

οὐ δῆτα.

ἐν τοῖς ὑγιεινοῖς ἄρα καὶ νοσώδεσιν ἐπισκέψεται τὸν ἰατρόν, ᾗ ἰατρικός ἐστιν, ὁ ὀρθῶς σκοπούμενος.

ἔοικεν.

οὐκοῦν ἐν τοῖς οὕτως ἢ λεγομένοις ἢ πραττομένοις τὰ μὲν λεγόμενα, εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγεται, σκοπούμενος, τὰ δὲ πραττόμενα, εἰ ὀρθῶς πράττεται;

ἀνάγκη.

ἦ οὖν ἄνευ ἰατρικῆς δύναιτ’ ἄν τις τούτων ποτέροις ἐπακολουθῆσαι;

οὐ δῆτα.

[171c] οὐδέ γε ἄλλος οὐδείς, ὡς ἔοικεν, πλὴν ἰατρός, οὔτε δὴ ὁ σώφρων: ἰατρὸς γὰρ ἂν εἴη πρὸς τῇ σωφροσύνῃ.

ἔστι ταῦτα.

παντὸς ἄρα μᾶλλον, εἰ ἡ σωφροσύνη ἐπιστήμης ἐπιστήμη μόνον ἐστὶν καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνης, οὔτε ἰατρὸν διακρῖναι οἵα τε ἔσται ἐπιστάμενον τὰ τῆς τέχνης ἢ μὴ ἐπιστάμενον, προσποιούμενον δὲ ἢ οἰόμενον, οὔτε ἄλλον οὐδένα τῶν ἐπισταμένων καὶ ὁτιοῦν, πλήν γε τὸν αὑτοῦ ὁμότεχνον, ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι δημιουργοί.

φαίνεται, ἔφη.

[171d] τίς οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Κριτία, ὠφελία ἡμῖν ἔτι ἂν εἴη ἀπὸ τῆς σωφροσύνης τοιαύτης οὔσης; εἰ μὲν γάρ, ὃ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑπετιθέμεθα, ᾔδει ὁ σώφρων ἅ τε ᾔδει καὶ ἃ μὴ ᾔδει, τὰ μὲν ὅτι οἶδεν, τὰ δ’ ὅτι οὐκ οἶδεν, καὶ ἄλλον ταὐτὸν τοῦτο πεπονθότα ἐπισκέψασθαι οἷός τ’ ἦν, μεγαλωστὶ ἂν ἡμῖν, φαμέν, ὠφέλιμον ἦν σώφροσιν εἶναι: ἀναμάρτητοι γὰρ ἂν τὸν βίον διεζῶμεν αὐτοί τε [καὶ] οἱ τὴν σωφροσύνην ἔχοντες καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες ὅσοι ὑφ’ ἡμῶν ἤρχοντο. οὔτε [171e] γὰρ ἂν αὐτοὶ ἐπεχειροῦμεν πράττειν ἃ μὴ ἠπιστάμεθα, ἀλλ’ ἐξευρίσκοντες τοὺς ἐπισταμένους ἐκείνοις ἂν παρεδίδομεν, οὔτε τοῖς ἄλλοις ἐπετρέπομεν, ὧν ἤρχομεν, ἄλλο τι πράττειν ἢ ὅτι πράττοντες ὀρθῶς ἔμελλον πράξειν — τοῦτο δ’ ἦν ἄν, οὗ ἐπιστήμην εἶχον — καὶ οὕτω δὴ ὑπὸ σωφροσύνης οἰκία τε οἰκουμένη ἔμελλεν καλῶς οἰκεῖσθαι, πόλις τε πολιτευομένη, καὶ ἄλλο πᾶν οὗ σωφροσύνη ἄρχοι: ἁμαρτίας γὰρ [172a] ἐξῃρημένης, ὀρθότητος δὲ ἡγουμένης, ἐν πάσῃ πράξει καλῶς καὶ εὖ πράττειν ἀναγκαῖον τοὺς οὕτω διακειμένους, τοὺς δὲ εὖ πράττοντας εὐδαίμονας εἶναι. ἆρ’ οὐχ οὕτως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Κριτία, ἐλέγομεν περὶ σωφροσύνης, λέγοντες ὅσον ἀγαθὸν εἴη τὸ εἰδέναι ἅ τε οἶδέν τις καὶ ἃ μὴ οἶδεν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, οὕτως.

νῦν δέ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὁρᾷς ὅτι οὐδαμοῦ ἐπιστήμη οὐδεμία τοιαύτη οὖσα πέφανται.

ὁρῶ, ἔφη.

[172b] ἆρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τοῦτ’ ἔχει τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἣν νῦν εὑρίσκομεν σωφροσύνην οὖσαν, τὸ ἐπιστήμην ἐπίστασθαι καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνην, ὅτι ὁ ταύτην ἔχων, ὅτι ἂν ἄλλο μανθάνῃ, ῥᾷόν τε μαθήσεται καὶ ἐναργέστερα πάντα αὐτῷ φανεῖται, ἅτε πρὸς ἑκάστῳ ᾧ ἂν μανθάνῃ προσκαθορῶντι τὴν ἐπιστήμην: καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους δὴ κάλλιον ἐξετάσει περὶ ὧν ἂν καὶ αὐτὸς μάθῃ, οἱ δὲ ἄνευ τούτου ἐξετάζοντες ἀσθενέστερον καὶ φαυλότερον τοῦτο δράσουσιν; ἆρ’, ὦ φίλε, τοιαῦτα [172c] ἄττα ἐστὶν ἃ ἀπολαυσόμεθα τῆς σωφροσύνης, ἡμεῖς δὲ μεῖζόν τι βλέπομεν καὶ ζητοῦμεν αὐτὸ μεῖζόν τι εἶναι ἢ ὅσον ἐστίν;

τάχα δ’ ἄν, ἔφη, οὕτως ἔχοι.

ἴσως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ: ἴσως δέ γε ἡμεῖς οὐδὲν χρηστὸν ἐζητήσαμεν. τεκμαίρομαι δέ, ὅτι μοι ἄτοπ’ ἄττα καταφαίνεται περὶ σωφροσύνης, εἰ τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν. ἴδωμεν γάρ, εἰ βούλει, συγχωρήσαντες καὶ ἐπίστασθαι ἐπιστήμην δυνατὸν εἶναι [εἰδέναι], καὶ ὅ γε ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐτιθέμεθα σωφροσύνην εἶναι, τὸ εἰδέναι ἅ τε οἶδεν καὶ ἃ μὴ οἶδεν, μὴ [172d] ἀποστερήσωμεν, ἀλλὰ δῶμεν: καὶ πάντα ταῦτα δόντες ἔτι βέλτιον σκεψώμεθα εἰ ἄρα τι καὶ ἡμᾶς ὀνήσει τοιοῦτον ὄν. ἃ γὰρ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ὡς μέγα ἂν εἴη ἀγαθὸν ἡ σωφροσύνη εἰ τοιοῦτον εἴη, ἡγουμένη διοικήσεως καὶ οἰκίας καὶ πόλεως, οὔ μοι δοκοῦμεν, ὦ Κριτία, καλῶς ὡμολογηκέναι.

πῶς δή; ἦ δ’ ὅς.

ὅτι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ῥᾳδίως ὡμολογήσαμεν μέγα τι ἀγαθὸν εἶναι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις εἰ ἕκαστοι ἡμῶν, ἃ μὲν ἴσασιν, πράττοιεν ταῦτα, ἃ δὲ μὴ ἐπίσταιντο, ἄλλοις παραδιδοῖεν τοῖς ἐπισταμένοις.

[172e] οὐκ οὖν, ἔφη, καλῶς ὡμολογήσαμεν;

οὔ μοι δοκοῦμεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ.

ἄτοπα λέγεις ὡς ἀληθῶς, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

νὴ τὸν κύνα, ἔφην, καὶ ἐμοί τοι δοκεῖ οὕτω, κἀνταῦθα καὶ ἄρτι ἀποβλέψας ἄτοπ’ ἄττ’ ἔφην μοι προφαίνεσθαι, καὶ ὅτι φοβοίμην μὴ οὐκ ὀρθῶς σκοποῖμεν. ὡς ἀληθῶς γάρ, εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν ἡ σωφροσύνη, οὐδέν μοι [173a] δῆλον εἶναι δοκεῖ ὅτι ἀγαθὸν ἡμᾶς ἀπεργάζεται.

πῶς δή; ἦ δ’ ὅς. λέγε, ἵνα καὶ ἡμεῖς εἰδῶμεν ὅτι λέγεις.

οἶμαι μέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ληρεῖν με: ὅμως τό γε προφαινόμενον ἀναγκαῖον σκοπεῖν καὶ μὴ εἰκῇ παριέναι, εἴ τίς γε αὑτοῦ καὶ σμικρὸν κήδεται.

καλῶς γάρ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ἄκουε δή, ἔφην, τὸ ἐμὸν ὄναρ, εἴτε διὰ κεράτων εἴτε δι’ ἐλέφαντος ἐλήλυθεν. εἰ γὰρ ὅτι μάλιστα ἡμῶν ἄρχοι ἡ σωφροσύνη, οὖσα οἵαν νῦν ὁριζόμεθα, ἄλλο τι κατὰ τὰς [173b] ἐπιστήμας πάντ’ ἂν πράττοιτο, καὶ οὔτε τις κυβερνήτης φάσκων εἶναι, ὢν δὲ οὔ, ἐξαπατῷ ἂν ἡμᾶς, οὔτε ἰατρὸς οὔτε στρατηγὸς οὔτ’ ἄλλος οὐδείς, προσποιούμενός τι εἰδέναι ὃ μὴ οἶδεν, λανθάνοι ἄν: ἐκ δὴ τούτων οὕτως ἐχόντων ἄλλο ἂν ἡμῖν τι συμβαίνοι ἢ ὑγιέσιν τε τὰ σώματα εἶναι μᾶλλον ἢ νῦν, καὶ ἐν τῇ θαλάττῃ κινδυνεύοντας καὶ ἐν πολέμῳ σῴζεσθαι, καὶ τὰ σκεύη καὶ τὴν ἀμπεχόνην καὶ ὑπόδεσιν [173c] πᾶσαν καὶ τὰ χρήματα πάντα τεχνικῶς ἡμῖν εἰργασμένα εἶναι καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ διὰ τὸ ἀληθινοῖς δημιουργοῖς χρῆσθαι; εἰ δὲ βούλοιό γε, καὶ τὴν μαντικὴν εἶναι συγχωρήσωμεν ἐπιστήμην τοῦ μέλλοντος ἔσεσθαι+, καὶ τὴν σωφροσύνην, αὐτῆς ἐπιστατοῦσαν, τοὺς μὲν ἀλαζόνας ἀποτρέπειν, τοὺς δὲ ὡς ἀληθῶς μάντεις καθιστάναι ἡμῖν προφήτας τῶν μελλόντων. κατεσκευασμένον δὴ οὕτω τὸ ἀνθρώπινον γένος [173d] ὅτι μὲν ἐπιστημόνως ἂν πράττοι καὶ ζῴη, ἕπομαι — ἡ γὰρ σωφροσύνη φυλάττουσα οὐκ ἂν ἐῴη παρεμπίπτουσαν τὴν ἀνεπιστημοσύνην συνεργὸν ἡμῖν εἶναι — ὅτι δ’ ἐπιστημόνως ἂν πράττοντες εὖ ἂν πράττοιμεν καὶ εὐδαιμονοῖμεν, τοῦτο δὲ οὔπω δυνάμεθα μαθεῖν, ὦ φίλε Κριτία.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐ ῥᾳδίως εὑρήσεις ἄλλο τι τέλος τοῦ εὖ πράττειν, ἐὰν τὸ ἐπιστημόνως ἀτιμάσῃς.

σμικρὸν τοίνυν με, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔτι προσδίδαξον. τίνος ἐπιστημόνως λέγεις; ἦ σκυτῶν τομῆς;

[173e] μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

ἀλλὰ χαλκοῦ ἐργασίας;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀλλὰ ἐρίων ἢ ξύλων ἢ ἄλλου του τῶν τοιούτων;

οὐ δῆτα.

οὐκ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔτι ἐμμένομεν τῷ λόγῳ τῷ εὐδαίμονα εἶναι τὸν ἐπιστημόνως ζῶντα. οὗτοι γὰρ ἐπιστημόνως ζῶντες οὐχ ὁμολογοῦνται παρὰ σοῦ εὐδαίμονες εἶναι, ἀλλὰ περί τινων ἐπιστημόνως ζῶντα σὺ δοκεῖς μοι ἀφορίζεσθαι τὸν εὐδαίμονα. καὶ ἴσως λέγεις ὃν νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, τὸν [174a] εἰδότα τὰ μέλλοντα ἔσεσθαι πάντα, τὸν μάντιν. τοῦτον ἢ ἄλλον τινὰ λέγεις;

καὶ τοῦτον ἔγωγε, ἔφη, καὶ ἄλλον.

τίνα; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. ἆρα μὴ τὸν τοιόνδε, εἴ τις πρὸς τοῖς μέλλουσιν καὶ τὰ γεγονότα πάντα εἰδείη καὶ τὰ νῦν ὄντα, καὶ μηδὲν ἀγνοοῖ; θῶμεν γάρ τινα εἶναι αὐτόν. οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι τούτου γε ἔτι ἂν εἴποις οὐδένα ἐπιστημονέστερον ζῶντα εἶναι.

οὐ δῆτα.

τόδε δὴ ἔτι προσποθῶ, τίς αὐτὸν τῶν ἐπιστημῶν ποιεῖ εὐδαίμονα; ἢ ἅπασαι ὁμοίως;

οὐδαμῶς ὁμοίως, ἔφη.

[174b] ἀλλὰ ποία μάλιστα; ᾗ τί οἶδεν καὶ τῶν ὄντων καὶ τῶν γεγονότων καὶ τῶν μελλόντων ἔσεσθαι; ἆρά γε ᾗ τὸ πεττευτικόν;

ποῖον, ἦ δ’ ὅς, πεττευτικόν;

ἀλλ’ ᾗ τὸ λογιστικόν;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀλλ’ ᾗ τὸ ὑγιεινόν;

μᾶλλον, ἔφη.

ἐκείνη δ’ ἣν λέγω μάλιστα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ᾗ τί;

ἧι τὸ ἀγαθόν, ἔφη, καὶ τὸ κακόν.

ὦ μιαρέ, ἔφην ἐγώ, πάλαι με περιέλκεις κύκλῳ, ἀποκρυπτόμενος ὅτι οὐ τὸ ἐπιστημόνως ἦν ζῆν τὸ εὖ πράττειν [174c] τε καὶ εὐδαιμονεῖν ποιοῦν, οὐδὲ συμπασῶν τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν, ἀλλὰ μιᾶς οὔσης ταύτης μόνον τῆς περὶ τὸ ἀγαθόν τε καὶ κακόν. ἐπεί, ὦ Κριτία, εἰ ‘θέλεις ἐξελεῖν ταύτην τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν, ἧττόν τι ἡ μὲν ἰατρικὴ ὑγιαίνειν ποιήσει, ἡ δὲ σκυτικὴ ὑποδεδέσθαι, ἡ δὲ ὑφαντικὴ ἠμφιέσθαι, ἡ δὲ κυβερνητικὴ κωλύσει ἐν τῇ θαλάττῃ ἀποθνῄσκειν καὶ ἡ στρατηγικὴ ἐν πολέμῳ;

οὐδὲν ἧττον, ἔφη.

ἀλλ’, ὦ φίλε Κριτία, τὸ εὖ γε τούτων ἕκαστα γίγνεσθαι [174d] καὶ ὠφελίμως ἀπολελοιπὸς ἡμᾶς ἔσται ταύτης ἀπούσης.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

οὐχ αὕτη δέ γε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐστὶν ἡ σωφροσύνη, ἀλλ’ ἧς ἔργον ἐστὶν τὸ ὠφελεῖν ἡμᾶς. οὐ γὰρ ἐπιστημῶν γε καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσυνῶν ἡ ἐπιστήμη ἐστίν, ἀλλὰ ἀγαθοῦ τε καὶ κακοῦ: ὥστε εἰ αὕτη ἐστὶν ὠφέλιμος, ἡ σωφροσύνη ἄλλο τι ἂν εἴη [ἡ ὠφελίμη] ἡμῖν.

τί δ’, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐκ ἂν αὕτη ὠφελοῖ; εἰ γὰρ ὅτι μάλιστα τῶν ἐπιστημῶν ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν ἡ σωφροσύνη, ἐπιστατεῖ [174e] δὲ καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις ἐπιστήμαις, καὶ ταύτης δήπου ἂν ἄρχουσα τῆς περὶ τἀγαθὸν ἐπιστήμης ὠφελοῖ ἂν ἡμᾶς.

ἦ κἂν ὑγιαίνειν ποιοῖ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, αὕτη, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ἡ ἰατρική; καὶ τἆλλα τὰ τῶν τεχνῶν αὕτη ἂν ποιοῖ, καὶ οὐχ αἱ ἄλλαι τὸ αὑτῆς ἔργον ἑκάστη; ἢ οὐ πάλαι διεμαρτυρόμεθα ὅτι ἐπιστήμης μόνον ἐστὶν καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνης ἐπιστήμη, ἄλλου δὲ οὐδενός: οὐχ οὕτω;

φαίνεταί γε.

οὐκ ἄρα ὑγιείας ἔσται δημιουργός;

οὐ δῆτα.

[175a] ἄλλης γὰρ ἦν τέχνης ὑγίεια: ἢ οὔ;

ἄλλης.

οὐδ’ ἄρα ὠφελίας, ὦ ἑταῖρε: ἄλλῃ γὰρ αὖ ἀπέδομεν τοῦτο τὸ ἔργον τέχνῃ νυνδή: ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γε.

πῶς οὖν ὠφέλιμος ἔσται ἡ σωφροσύνη, οὐδεμιᾶς ὠφελίας οὖσα δημιουργός;

οὐδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔοικέν γε.

ὁρᾷς οὖν, ὦ Κριτία, ὡς ἐγὼ πάλαι εἰκότως ἐδεδοίκη καὶ δικαίως ἐμαυτὸν ᾐτιώμην ὅτι οὐδὲν χρηστὸν περὶ σωφροσύνης σκοπῶ; οὐ γὰρ ἄν που ὅ γε κάλλιστον πάντων [175b] ὁμολογεῖται εἶναι, τοῦτο ἡμῖν ἀνωφελὲς ἐφάνη, εἴ τι ἐμοῦ ὄφελος ἦν πρὸς τὸ καλῶς ζητεῖν. νῦν δὲ πανταχῇ γὰρ ἡττώμεθα, καὶ οὐ δυνάμεθα εὑρεῖν ἐφ’ ὅτῳ ποτὲ τῶν ὄντων ὁ νομοθέτης τοῦτο τοὔνομα ἔθετο, τὴν σωφροσύνην. καίτοι πολλά γε συγκεχωρήκαμεν οὐ συμβαίνονθ’ ἡμῖν ἐν τῷ λόγῳ. καὶ γὰρ ἐπιστήμην ἐπιστήμης εἶναι συνεχωρήσαμεν, οὐκ ἐῶντος τοῦ λόγου οὐδὲ φάσκοντος εἶναι: καὶ ταύτῃ αὖ τῇ ἐπιστήμῃ καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν ἔργα γιγνώσκειν [175c] συνεχωρήσαμεν, οὐδὲ τοῦτ’ ἐῶντος τοῦ λόγου, ἵνα δὴ ἡμῖν γένοιτο ὁ σώφρων ἐπιστήμων ὧν τε οἶδεν ὅτι οἶδεν, καὶ ὧν μὴ οἶδεν ὅτι οὐκ οἶδεν. τοῦτο μὲν δὴ καὶ παντάπασι μεγαλοπρεπῶς συνεχωρήσαμεν, οὐδ’ ἐπισκεψάμενοι τὸ ἀδύνατον εἶναι ἅ τις μὴ οἶδεν μηδαμῶς, ταῦτα εἰδέναι ἁμῶς γέ πως: ὅτι γὰρ οὐκ οἶδεν, φησὶν αὐτὰ εἰδέναι ἡ ἡμετέρα ὁμολογία. καίτοι, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, οὐδενὸς ὅτου οὐχὶ ἀλογώτερον+ τοῦτ’ ἂν φανείη. ἀλλ’ ὅμως οὕτως ἡμῶν εὐηθικῶν [175d] τυχοῦσα ἡ ζήτησις καὶ οὐ σκληρῶν, οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον εὑρεῖν δύναται τὴν ἀλήθειαν, ἀλλὰ τοσοῦτον κατεγέλασεν αὐτῆς, ὥστε ὃ ἡμεῖς πάλαι συνομολογοῦντες καὶ συμπλάττοντες ἐτιθέμεθα σωφροσύνην εἶναι, τοῦτο ἡμῖν πάνυ ὑβριστικῶς ἀνωφελὲς ὂν ἀπέφαινε. τὸ μὲν οὖν ἐμὸν καὶ ἧττον ἀγανακτῶ: ὑπὲρ δὲ σοῦ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Χαρμίδη, πάνυ ἀγανακτῶ, εἰ σὺ τοιοῦτος ὢν τὴν ἰδέαν καὶ πρὸς τούτῳ τὴν ψυχὴν [175e] σωφρονέστατος, μηδὲν ὀνήσῃ ἀπὸ ταύτης τῆς σωφροσύνης μηδέ τί σ’ ὠφελήσει ἐν τῷ βίῳ παροῦσα. ἔτι δὲ μᾶλλον ἀγανακτῶ ὑπὲρ τῆς ἐπῳδῆς ἣν παρὰ τοῦ Θρᾳκὸς ἔμαθον, εἰ μηδενὸς ἀξίου πράγματος οὖσαν αὐτὴν μετὰ πολλῆς σπουδῆς ἐμάνθανον. ταῦτ’ οὖν πάνυ μὲν [οὖν] οὐκ οἴομαι οὕτως ἔχειν, ἀλλ’ ἐμὲ φαῦλον εἶναι ζητητήν: ἐπεὶ τήν γε σωφροσύνην μέγα τι ἀγαθὸν εἶναι, καὶ εἴπερ γε ἔχεις αὐτό, [176a] μακάριον εἶναί σε. ἀλλ’ ὅρα εἰ ἔχεις τε καὶ μηδὲν δέῃ τῆς ἐπῳδῆς: εἰ γὰρ ἔχεις, μᾶλλον ἂν ἔγωγέ σοι συμβουλεύσαιμι ἐμὲ μὲν λῆρον ἡγεῖσθαι εἶναι καὶ ἀδύνατον λόγῳ ὁτιοῦν ζητεῖν, σεαυτὸν δέ, ὅσῳπερ σωφρονέστερος εἶ, τοσούτῳ εἶναι καὶ εὐδαιμονέστερον.

καὶ ὁ Χαρμίδης, ἀλλὰ μὰ Δί’, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ οἶδα οὔτ’ εἰ ἔχω οὔτ’ εἰ μὴ ἔχω: πῶς γὰρ ἂν εἰδείην ὅ γε μηδ’ ὑμεῖς οἷοί τέ ἐστε ἐξευρεῖν ὅτι ποτ’ ἔστιν, [176b] ὡς φῂς σύ; ἐγὼ μέντοι οὐ πάνυ σοι πείθομαι, καὶ ἐμαυτόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, πάνυ οἶμαι δεῖσθαι τῆς ἐπῳδῆς, καὶ τό γ’ ἐμὸν οὐδὲν κωλύει ἐπᾴδεσθαι ὑπὸ σοῦ ὅσαι ἡμέραι, ἕως ἂν φῇς σὺ ἱκανῶς ἔχειν.

εἶεν: ἀλλ’, ἔφη ὁ Κριτίας, ὦ Χαρμίδη, δρᾷς τοῦτο ἔμοιγ’ ἔσται τοῦτο τεκμήριον ὅτι σωφρονεῖς, ἢν ἐπᾴδειν παρέχῃς Σωκράτει καὶ μὴ ἀπολείπῃ τούτου μήτε μέγα μήτε σμικρόν.

ὡς ἀκολουθήσοντος, ἔφη, καὶ μὴ ἀπολειψομένου: δεινὰ [176c] γὰρ ἂν ποιοίην, εἰ μὴ πειθοίμην σοὶ τῷ ἐπιτρόπῳ καὶ μὴ ποιοίην ἃ κελεύεις.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη, κελεύω ἔγωγε.

ποιήσω τοίνυν, ἔφη, ἀπὸ ταυτησὶ τῆς ἡμέρας ἀρξάμενος.

οὗτοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τί βουλεύεσθον ποιεῖν;

οὐδέν, ἔφη ὁ Χαρμίδης, ἀλλὰ βεβουλεύμεθα.

βιάσῃ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ οὐδ’ ἀνάκρισίν μοι δώσεις;

ὡς βιασομένου, ἔφη, ἐπειδήπερ ὅδε γε ἐπιτάττει: πρὸς ταῦτα σὺ αὖ βουλεύου ὅτι ποιήσεις.

[176d] ἀλλ’ οὐδεμία, ἔφην ἐγώ, λείπεται βουλή: σοὶ γὰρ ἐπιχειροῦντι πράττειν ὁτιοῦν καὶ βιαζομένῳ οὐδεὶς οἷός τ’ ἔσται ἐναντιοῦσθαι ἀνθρώπων.

μὴ τοίνυν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, μηδὲ σὺ ἐναντιοῦ.

οὐ τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἐναντιώσομαι.

LACHES

[178a] Λυσίμαχος

τεθέασθε μὲν τὸν ἄνδρα μαχόμενον ἐν ὅπλοις, ὦ Νικία τε καὶ Λάχης: οὗ δ’ ἕνεκα ὑμᾶς ἐκελεύσαμεν συνθεάσασθαι ἐγώ τε καὶ Μελησίας ὅδε, τότε μὲν οὐκ εἴπομεν, νῦν δ’ ἐροῦμεν. ἡγούμεθα γὰρ χρῆναι πρός γε ὑμᾶς παῤῥησιάζεσθαι. εἰσὶ γάρ τινες οἳ τῶν τοιούτων καταγελῶσι, καὶ ἐάν [178b] τις αὐτοῖς συμβουλεύσηται, οὐκ ἂν εἴποιεν ἃ νοοῦσιν, ἀλλὰ στοχαζόμενοι τοῦ συμβουλευομένου ἄλλα λέγουσι παρὰ τὴν αὑτῶν δόξαν: ὑμᾶς δὲ ἡμεῖς ἡγησάμενοι καὶ ἱκανοὺς γνῶναι καὶ γνόντας ἁπλῶς ἂν εἰπεῖν ἃ δοκεῖ ὑμῖν, οὕτω παρελάβομεν ἐπὶ τὴν συμβουλὴν περὶ ὧν μέλλομεν ἀνακοινοῦσθαι. ἔστιν [179a] οὖν τοῦτο, περὶ οὗ πάλαι τοσαῦτα προοιμιάζομαι, τόδε. ἡμῖν εἰσὶν ὑεῖς οὑτοιί, ὅδε μὲν τοῦδε, πάππου ἔχων ὄνομα Θουκυδίδης, ἐμὸς δὲ αὖ ὅδε — παππῷον δὲ καὶ οὗτος ὄνομ’ ἔχει τοὐμοῦ πατρός: Ἀριστείδην γὰρ αὐτὸν καλοῦμεν — ἡμῖν οὖν τούτων δέδοκται ἐπιμεληθῆναι ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα, καὶ μὴ ποιῆσαι ὅπερ οἱ πολλοί, ἐπειδὴ μειράκια γέγονεν, ἀνεῖναι αὐτοὺς ὅτι βούλονται ποιεῖν, ἀλλὰ νῦν δὴ καὶ ἄρχεσθαι αὐτῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καθ’ ὅσον οἷοί τ’ ἐσμέν. εἰδότες οὖν καὶ [179b] ὑμῖν ὑεῖς ὄντας ἡγησάμεθα μεμεληκέναι περὶ αὐτῶν, εἴπερ τισὶν ἄλλοις, πῶς ἂν θεραπευθέντες γένοιντο ἄριστοι: εἰ δ’ ἄρα πολλάκις μὴ προσεσχήκατε τὸν νοῦν τῷ τοιούτῳ, ὑπομνήσοντες ὅτι οὐ χρὴ αὐτοῦ ἀμελεῖν, καὶ παρακαλοῦντες ὑμᾶς ἐπὶ τὸ ἐπιμέλειάν τινα ποιήσασθαι τῶν ὑέων κοινῇ μεθ’ ἡμῶν. ὅθεν δὲ ἡμῖν ταῦτ’ ἔδοξεν, ὦ Νικία τε καὶ Λάχης, χρὴ ἀκοῦσαι, κἂν ᾖ ὀλίγῳ μακρότερα. συσσιτοῦμεν γὰρ δὴ ἐγώ τε καὶ Μελησίας ὅδε, καὶ ἡμῖν τὰ μειράκια παρασιτεῖ. [179c] ὅπερ οὖν καὶ ἀρχόμενος εἶπον τοῦ λόγου, παῤῥησιασόμεθα πρὸς ὑμᾶς. ἡμῶν γὰρ ἑκάτερος περὶ τοῦ ἑαυτοῦ πατρὸς πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ ἔργα ἔχει λέγειν πρὸς τοὺς νεανίσκους, καὶ ὅσα ἐν πολέμῳ ἠργάσαντο καὶ ὅσα ἐν εἰρήνῃ, διοικοῦντες τά τε τῶν συμμάχων καὶ τὰ τῆσδε τῆς πόλεως: ἡμέτερα δ’ αὐτῶν ἔργα οὐδέτερος ἔχει λέγειν. ταῦτα δὴ ὑπαισχυνόμεθά τε τούσδε καὶ αἰτιώμεθα τοὺς πατέρας ἡμῶν ὅτι ἡμᾶς μὲν [179d] εἴων τρυφᾶν, ἐπειδὴ μειράκια ἐγενόμεθα, τὰ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων πράγματα ἔπραττον: καὶ τοῖσδε τοῖς νεανίσκοις αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἐνδεικνύμεθα, λέγοντες ὅτι εἰ μὲν ἀμελήσουσιν ἑαυτῶν καὶ μὴ πείσονται ἡμῖν, ἀκλεεῖς γενήσονται, εἰ δ’ ἐπιμελήσονται, τάχ’ ἂν τῶν ὀνομάτων ἄξιοι γένοιντο ἃ ἔχουσιν. οὗτοι μὲν οὖν φασιν πείσεσθαι: ἡμεῖς δὲ δὴ τοῦτο σκοποῦμεν, τί ἂν οὗτοι μαθόντες ἢ ἐπιτηδεύσαντες ὅτι ἄριστοι γένοιντο. [179e] εἰσηγήσατο οὖν τις ἡμῖν καὶ τοῦτο τὸ μάθημα, ὅτι καλὸν εἴη τῷ νέῳ μαθεῖν ἐν ὅπλοις μάχεσθαι: καὶ ἐπῄνει τοῦτον ὃν νῦν ὑμεῖς ἐθεάσασθε ἐπιδεικνύμενον, κᾆτ’ ἐκέλευε θεάσασθαι. ἔδοξε δὴ χρῆναι αὐτούς τε ἐλθεῖν ἐπὶ θέαν τἀνδρὸς καὶ ὑμᾶς συμπαραλαβεῖν ἅμα μὲν συνθεατάς, ἅμα δὲ συμβούλους τε καὶ κοινωνούς, ἐὰν βούλησθε, περὶ τῆς τῶν ὑέων ἐπιμελείας. [180a] ταῦτ’ ἐστὶν ἃ ἐβουλόμεθα ὑμῖν ἀνακοινώσασθαι. ἤδη οὖν ὑμέτερον μέρος συμβουλεύειν καὶ περὶ τούτου τοῦ μαθήματος, εἴτε δοκεῖ χρῆναι μανθάνειν εἴτε μή, καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων, εἴ τι ἔχετε ἐπαινέσαι μάθημα νέῳ ἀνδρὶ ἢ ἐπιτήδευμα, καὶ περὶ τῆς κοινωνίας λέγειν ὁποῖόν τι ποιήσετε.

Νικίας

ἐγὼ μέν, ὦ Λυσίμαχε καὶ Μελησία, ἐπαινῶ τε ὑμῶν τὴν διάνοιαν καὶ κοινωνεῖν ἕτοιμος, οἶμαι δὲ καὶ Λάχητα τόνδε.

[180b] Λάχης

ἀληθῆ γὰρ οἴει, ὦ Νικία. ὡς ὅ γε ἔλεγεν ὁ Λυσίμαχος ἄρτι περὶ τοῦ πατρὸς τοῦ αὑτοῦ τε καὶ τοῦ Μελησίου, πάνυ μοι δοκεῖ εὖ εἰρῆσθαι καὶ εἰς ἐκείνους καὶ εἰς ἡμᾶς καὶ εἰς ἅπαντας ὅσοι τὰ τῶν πόλεων πράττουσιν, ὅτι αὐτοῖς σχεδόν τι ταῦτα συμβαίνει ἃ οὗτος λέγει καὶ περὶ παῖδας καὶ περὶ τἆλλα, τὰ ἴδια ὀλιγωρεῖσθαί τε καὶ ἀμελῶς διατίθεσθαι. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν καλῶς λέγεις, ὦ Λυσίμαχε: ὅτι δ’ ἡμᾶς μὲν συμβούλους παρακαλεῖς ἐπὶ τὴν τῶν νεανίσκων [180c] παιδείαν, Σωκράτη δὲ τόνδε οὐ παρακαλεῖς, θαυμάζω, πρῶτον μὲν ὄντα δημότην, ἔπειτα ἐνταῦθα ἀεὶ τὰς διατριβὰς ποιούμενον ὅπου τί ἐστι τῶν τοιούτων ὧν σὺ ζητεῖς περὶ τοὺς νέους ἢ μάθημα ἢ ἐπιτήδευμα καλόν.

Λυσίμαχος

πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Λάχης; Σωκράτης γὰρ ὅδε τινὸς τῶν τοιούτων ἐπιμέλειαν πεποίηται;

Λάχης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Λυσίμαχε.

Νικίας

τοῦτο μέν σοι κἂν ἐγὼ ἔχοιμι εἰπεῖν οὐ χεῖρον Λάχητος: καὶ γὰρ αὐτῷ μοι ἔναγχος ἄνδρα προυξένησε τῷ [180d] ὑεῖ διδάσκαλον μουσικῆς, Ἀγαθοκλέους μαθητὴν Δάμωνα, ἀνδρῶν χαριέστατον οὐ μόνον τὴν μουσικήν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τἆλλα ὁπόσου βούλει ἄξιον συνδιατρίβειν τηλικούτοις νεανίσκοις.

Λυσίμαχος

οὔτοι, ὦ Σώκρατές τε καὶ Νικία καὶ Λάχης, οἱ ἡλίκοι ἐγὼ ἔτι γιγνώσκομεν τοὺς νεωτέρους, ἅτε κατ’ οἰκίαν τὰ πολλὰ διατρίβοντες ὑπὸ τῆς ἡλικίας: ἀλλ’ εἴ τι καὶ σύ, ὦ παῖ Σωφρονίσκου, ἔχεις τῷδε τῷ σαυτοῦ δημότῃ ἀγαθὸν [180e] συμβουλεῦσαι, χρὴ συμβουλεύειν. δίκαιος δ’ εἶ: καὶ γὰρ πατρικὸς ἡμῖν φίλος τυγχάνεις ὤν: ἀεὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ ὁ σὸς πατὴρ ἑταίρω τε καὶ φίλω ἦμεν, καὶ πρότερον ἐκεῖνος ἐτελεύτησε, πρίν τι ἐμοὶ διενεχθῆναι. περιφέρει δέ τίς με καὶ μνήμη ἄρτι τῶνδε λεγόντων: τὰ γὰρ μειράκια τάδε πρὸς ἀλλήλους οἴκοι διαλεγόμενοι θαμὰ ἐπιμέμνηνται Σωκράτους καὶ σφόδρα ἐπαινοῦσιν: οὐ μέντοι πώποτε αὐτοὺς ἀνηρώτησα [181a] εἰ τὸν Σωφρονίσκου λέγοιεν. ἀλλ’, ὦ παῖδες, λέγετέ μοι, ὅδ’ ἐστὶ Σωκράτης, περὶ οὗ ἑκάστοτε ἐμέμνησθε;

Παῖδες

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ πάτερ, οὗτος.

Λυσίμαχος

εὖ γε νὴ τὴν Ἥραν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι ὀρθοῖς τὸν πατέρα, ἄριστον ἀνδρῶν ὄντα, καὶ ἄλλως καὶ δὴ καὶ ὅτι οἰκεῖα τά τε σὰ ἡμῖν ὑπάρξει καὶ σοὶ τὰ ἡμέτερα.

Λάχης

καὶ μήν, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, μὴ ἀφίεσό γε τἀνδρός: ὡς ἐγὼ καὶ ἄλλοθί γε αὐτὸν ἐθεασάμην οὐ μόνον τὸν πατέρα [181b] ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν πατρίδα ὀρθοῦντα: ἐν γὰρ τῇ ἀπὸ Δηλίου φυγῇ μετ’ ἐμοῦ συνανεχώρει, κἀγώ σοι λέγω ὅτι εἰ οἱ ἄλλοι ἤθελον τοιοῦτοι εἶναι, ὀρθὴ ἂν ἡμῶν ἡ πόλις ἦν καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἔπεσε τότε τοιοῦτον πτῶμα.

Λυσίμαχος

ὦ Σώκρατες, οὗτος μέντοι ὁ ἔπαινός ἐστιν καλός, ὃν σὺ νῦν ἐπαινῇ ὑπ’ ἀνδρῶν ἀξίων πιστεύεσθαι καὶ εἰς ταῦτα εἰς ἃ οὗτοι ἐπαινοῦσιν. εὖ οὖν ἴσθι ὅτι ἐγὼ ταῦτα ἀκούων χαίρω ὅτι εὐδοκιμεῖς, καὶ σὺ δὲ ἡγοῦ με ἐν τοῖς εὐνούστατόν [181c] σοι εἶναι. χρῆν μὲν οὖν καὶ πρότερόν γε φοιτᾶν αὐτὸν παρ’ ἡμᾶς καὶ οἰκείους ἡγεῖσθαι, ὥσπερ τὸ δίκαιον: νῦν δ’ οὖν ἀπὸ τῆσδε τῆς ἡμέρας, ἐπειδὴ ἀνεγνωρίσαμεν ἀλλήλους, μὴ ἄλλως ποίει, ἀλλὰ σύνισθί τε καὶ γνώριζε καὶ ἡμᾶς καὶ τούσδε τοὺς νεωτέρους, ὅπως ἂν διασῴζητε καὶ ὑμεῖς τὴν ἡμετέραν φιλίαν. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν καὶ σὺ ποιήσεις καὶ ἡμεῖς σε καὶ αὖθις ὑπομνήσομεν: περὶ δὲ ὧν ἠρξάμεθα τί φατε; τί δοκεῖ; τὸ μάθημα τοῖς μειρακίοις ἐπιτήδειον εἶναι ἢ οὔ, τὸ μαθεῖν ἐν ὅπλοις μάχεσθαι;

[181d] Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ καὶ τούτων πέρι, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, ἔγωγε πειράσομαι συμβουλεύειν ἄν τι δύνωμαι, καὶ αὖ ἃ προκαλῇ πάντα ποιεῖν. δικαιότατον μέντοι μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι ἐμὲ νεώτερον ὄντα τῶνδε καὶ ἀπειρότερον τούτων ἀκούειν πρότερον τί λέγουσιν καὶ μανθάνειν παρ’ αὐτῶν: ἐὰν δ’ ἔχω τι ἄλλο παρὰ τὰ ὑπὸ τούτων λεγόμενα, τότ’ ἤδη διδάσκειν καὶ πείθειν καὶ σὲ καὶ τούτους. ἀλλ’, ὦ Νικία, τί οὐ λέγει πότερος ὑμῶν;

Νικίας

ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν κωλύει, ὦ Σώκρατες. δοκεῖ γὰρ καὶ [181e] ἐμοὶ τοῦτο τὸ μάθημα τοῖς νέοις ὠφέλιμον εἶναι ἐπίστασθαι πολλαχῇ. καὶ γὰρ τὸ μὴ ἄλλοθι διατρίβειν, ἐν οἷς δὴ φιλοῦσιν οἱ νέοι τὰς διατριβὰς ποιεῖσθαι ὅταν σχολὴν ἄγωσιν, ἀλλ’ ἐν τούτῳ, εὖ ἔχει, ὅθεν καὶ τὸ σῶμα βέλτιον ἴσχειν ἀνάγκη — οὐδενὸς γὰρ τῶν γυμνασίων φαυλότερον οὐδ’ [182a] ἐλάττω πόνον ἔχει — καὶ ἅμα προσήκει μάλιστ’ ἐλευθέρῳ τοῦτό τε τὸ γυμνάσιον καὶ ἡ ἱππική: οὗ γὰρ ἀγῶνος ἀθληταί ἐσμεν καὶ ἐν οἷς ἡμῖν ὁ ἀγὼν πρόκειται, μόνοι οὗτοι γυμνάζονται οἱ ἐν τούτοις τοῖς [τὸν] περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ὀργάνοις γυμναζόμενοι. ἔπειτα ὀνήσει μέν τι τοῦτο τὸ μάθημα καὶ ἐν τῇ μάχῃ αὐτῇ, ὅταν ἐν τάξει δέῃ μάχεσθαι μετὰ πολλῶν ἄλλων: μέγιστον μέντοι αὐτοῦ ὄφελος, ὅταν λυθῶσιν αἱ τάξεις καὶ ἤδη τι δέῃ μόνον πρὸς μόνον ἢ διώκοντα ἀμυνομένῳ [182b] τινὶ ἐπιθέσθαι ἢ καὶ ἐν φυγῇ ἐπιτιθεμένου ἄλλου ἀμύνασθαι αὐτόν: οὔτ’ ἂν ὑπό γε ἑνὸς εἷς ὁ τοῦτ’ ἐπιστάμενος οὐδὲν ἂν πάθοι, ἴσως δ’ οὐδὲ ὑπὸ πλειόνων, ἀλλὰ πανταχῇ ἂν ταύτῃ πλεονεκτοῖ. ἔτι δὲ καὶ εἰς ἄλλου καλοῦ μαθήματος ἐπιθυμίαν παρακαλεῖ τὸ τοιοῦτον: πᾶς γὰρ ἂν μαθὼν ἐν ὅπλοις μάχεσθαι ἐπιθυμήσειε καὶ τοῦ ἑξῆς μαθήματος τοῦ περὶ τὰς τάξεις, καὶ ταῦτα λαβὼν καὶ φιλοτιμηθεὶς [182c] ἐν αὐτοῖς ἐπὶ πᾶν ἂν τὸ περὶ τὰς στρατηγίας ὁρμήσειε: καὶ ἤδη δῆλον ὅτι τὰ τούτων ἐχόμενα καὶ μαθήματα πάντα καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα καὶ καλὰ καὶ πολλοῦ ἄξια ἀνδρὶ μαθεῖν τε καὶ ἐπιτηδεῦσαι, ὧν καθηγήσαιτ’ ἂν τοῦτο τὸ μάθημα. προσθήσομεν δ’ αὐτῷ οὐ σμικρὰν προσθήκην, ὅτι πάντα ἄνδρα ἐν πολέμῳ καὶ θαῤῥαλεώτερον καὶ ἀνδρειότερον ἂν ποιήσειεν αὐτὸν αὑτοῦ οὐκ ὀλίγῳ αὕτη ἡ ἐπιστήμη. μὴ ἀτιμάσωμεν δὲ εἰπεῖν, εἰ καί τῳ σμικρότερον δοκεῖ εἶναι, ὅτι καὶ εὐσχημονέστερον ἐνταῦθα οὗ χρὴ τὸν ἄνδρα εὐσχημονέστερον [182d] φαίνεσθαι, οὗ ἅμα καὶ δεινότερος τοῖς ἐχθροῖς φανεῖται διὰ τὴν εὐσχημοσύνην. ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, ὥσπερ λέγω, δοκεῖ τε χρῆναι διδάσκειν τοὺς νεανίσκους ταῦτα καὶ δι’ ἃ δοκεῖ εἴρηκα: Λάχητος δ’, εἴ τι παρὰ ταῦτα λέγει, κἂν αὐτὸς ἡδέως ἀκούσαιμι.

Λάχης

ἀλλ’ ἔστι μέν, ὦ Νικία, χαλεπὸν λέγειν περὶ ὁτουοῦν μαθήματος ὡς οὐ χρὴ μανθάνειν: πάντα γὰρ ἐπίστασθαι ἀγαθὸν δοκεῖ εἶναι. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ ὁπλιτικὸν τοῦτο, [182e] εἰ μέν ἐστιν μάθημα, ὅπερ φασὶν οἱ διδάσκοντες, καὶ οἷον Νικίας λέγει, χρὴ αὐτὸ μανθάνειν: εἰ δ’ ἔστιν μὲν μὴ μάθημα, ἀλλ’ ἐξαπατῶσιν οἱ ὑπισχνούμενοι, ἢ μάθημα μὲν τυγχάνει ὄν, μὴ μέντοι πάνυ σπουδαῖον, τί καὶ δέοι ἂν αὐτὸ μανθάνειν; λέγω δὲ ταῦτα περὶ αὐτοῦ εἰς τάδε ἀποβλέψας, ὅτι οἶμαι ἐγὼ τοῦτο, εἰ τὶ ἦν, οὐκ ἂν λεληθέναι Λακεδαιμονίους, οἷς οὐδὲν ἄλλο μέλει ἐν τῷ βίῳ ἢ τοῦτο ζητεῖν καὶ ἐπιτηδεύειν, [183a] ὅτι ἂν μαθόντες καὶ ἐπιτηδεύσαντες πλεονεκτοῖεν τῶν ἄλλων περὶ τὸν πόλεμον. εἰ δ’ ἐκείνους λέληθεν, ἀλλ’ οὐ τούτους γε τοὺς διδασκάλους αὐτοῦ λέληθεν αὐτὸ τοῦτο, ὅτι ἐκεῖνοι μάλιστα τῶν Ἑλλήνων σπουδάζουσιν ἐπὶ τοῖς τοιούτοις καὶ ὅτι παρ’ ἐκείνοις ἄν τις τιμηθεὶς εἰς ταῦτα καὶ παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων πλεῖστ’ ἂν ἐργάζοιτο χρήματα, ὥσπερ γε καὶ τραγῳδίας ποιητὴς παρ’ ἡμῖν τιμηθείς. τοιγάρτοι ὃς ἂν οἴηται τραγῳδίαν καλῶς ποιεῖν, οὐκ ἔξωθεν κύκλῳ περὶ τὴν Ἀττικὴν [183b] κατὰ τὰς ἄλλας πόλεις ἐπιδεικνύμενος περιέρχεται, ἀλλ’ εὐθὺς δεῦρο φέρεται καὶ τοῖσδ’ ἐπιδείκνυσιν εἰκότως: τοὺς δὲ ἐν ὅπλοις μαχομένους ἐγὼ τούτους ὁρῶ τὴν μὲν Λακεδαίμονα ἡγουμένους εἶναι ἄβατον ἱερὸν καὶ οὐδὲ ἄκρῳ ποδὶ ἐπιβαίνοντας, κύκλῳ δὲ περιιόντας αὐτὴν καὶ πᾶσι μᾶλλον ἐπιδεικνυμένους, καὶ μάλιστα τούτοις οἳ κἂν αὐτοὶ ὁμολογήσειαν πολλοὺς σφῶν προτέρους εἶναι πρὸς τὰ τοῦ πολέμου. [183c] ἔπειτα, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, οὐ πάνυ ὀλίγοις ἐγὼ τούτων παραγέγονα ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ ἔργῳ, καὶ ὁρῶ οἷοί εἰσιν. ἔξεστι δὲ καὶ αὐτόθεν ἡμῖν σκέψασθαι. ὥσπερ γὰρ ἐπίτηδες οὐδεὶς πώποτ’ εὐδόκιμος γέγονεν ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ ἀνὴρ τῶν τὰ ὁπλιτικὰ ἐπιτηδευσάντων. καίτοι εἴς γε τἆλλα πάντα ἐκ τούτων οἱ ὀνομαστοὶ γίγνονται, ἐκ τῶν ἐπιτηδευσάντων ἕκαστα: οὗτοι δ’, ὡς ἔοικε, παρὰ τοὺς ἄλλους οὕτω σφόδρα εἰς τοῦτο δεδυστυχήκασιν. ἐπεὶ καὶ τοῦτον τὸν Στησίλεων, ὃν ὑμεῖς [183d] μετ’ ἐμοῦ ἐν τοσούτῳ ὄχλῳ ἐθεάσασθε ἐπιδεικνύμενον καὶ τὰ μεγάλα περὶ αὑτοῦ λέγοντα ἃ ἔλεγεν, ἑτέρωθι ἐγὼ κάλλιον ἐθεασάμην ἐν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἐπιδεικνύμενον οὐχ ἑκόντα. προσβαλούσης γὰρ τῆς νεὼς ἐφ’ ᾗ ἐπεβάτευεν πρὸς ὁλκάδα τινά, ἐμάχετο ἔχων δορυδρέπανον, διαφέρον δὴ ὅπλον ἅτε καὶ αὐτὸς τῶν ἄλλων διαφέρων. τὰ μὲν οὖν ἄλλα οὐκ ἄξια λέγειν περὶ τἀνδρός, τὸ δὲ σόφισμα τὸ τοῦ δρεπάνου [183e] τοῦ πρὸς τῇ λόγχῃ οἷον ἀπέβη. μαχομένου γὰρ αὐτοῦ ἐνέσχετό που ἐν τοῖς τῆς νεὼς σκεύεσιν καὶ ἀντελάβετο: εἷλκεν οὖν ὁ Στησίλεως βουλόμενος ἀπολῦσαι, καὶ οὐχ οἷός τ’ ἦν, ἡ δὲ ναῦς τὴν ναῦν παρῄει. τέως μὲν οὖν παρέθει ἐν τῇ νηὶ ἀντεχόμενος τοῦ δόρατος: ἐπεὶ δὲ δὴ παρημείβετο ἡ ναῦς τὴν ναῦν καὶ ἐπέσπα αὐτὸν τοῦ δόρατος ἐχόμενον, [184a] ἐφίει τὸ δόρυ διὰ τῆς χειρός, ἕως ἄκρου τοῦ στύρακος ἀντελάβετο. ἦν δὲ γέλως καὶ κρότος ὑπὸ τῶν ἐκ τῆς ὁλκάδος ἐπί τε τῷ σχήματι αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἐπειδὴ βαλόντος τινὸς λίθῳ παρὰ τοὺς πόδας αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τὸ κατάστρωμα ἀφίεται τοῦ δόρατος, τότ’ ἤδη καὶ οἱ ἐκ τῆς τριήρους οὐκέτι οἷοί τ’ ἦσαν τὸν γέλωτα κατέχειν, ὁρῶντες αἰωρούμενον ἐκ τῆς ὁλκάδος τὸ δορυδρέπανον ἐκεῖνο. ἴσως μὲν οὖν εἴη ἂν τὶ ταῦτα, ὥσπερ Νικίας λέγει: οἷς δ’ οὖν ἐγὼ ἐντετύχηκα, τοιαῦτ’ [184b] ἄττα ἐστίν. ὃ οὖν καὶ ἐξ ἀρχῆς εἶπον, εἴτε οὕτω σμικρὰς ὠφελίας ἔχει μάθημα ὄν, εἴτε μὴ ὂν φασὶ καὶ προσποιοῦνται αὐτὸ εἶναι μάθημα, οὐκ ἄξιον ἐπιχειρεῖν μανθάνειν. καὶ γὰρ οὖν μοι δοκεῖ, εἰ μὲν δειλός τις ὢν οἴοιτο αὐτὸ ἐπίστασθαι, θρασύτερος ἂν δι’ αὐτὸ γενόμενος ἐπιφανέστερος γένοιτο οἷος ἦν, εἰ δὲ ἀνδρεῖος, φυλαττόμενος ἂν ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, εἰ καὶ σμικρὸν ἐξαμάρτοι, μεγάλας ἂν διαβολὰς ἴσχειν: [184c] ἐπίφθονος γὰρ ἡ προσποίησις τῆς τοιαύτης ἐπιστήμης, ὥστ’ εἰ μή τι θαυμαστὸν ὅσον διαφέρει τῇ ἀρετῇ τῶν ἄλλων, οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὅπως ἄν τις φύγοι τὸ καταγέλαστος γενέσθαι φάσκων ἔχειν ταύτην τὴν ἐπιστήμην. τοιαύτη τις ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, ἡ περὶ τοῦτο τὸ μάθημα εἶναι σπουδή: χρὴ δ’ ὅπερ σοι ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἔλεγον, καὶ Σωκράτη τόνδε μὴ ἀφιέναι, ἀλλὰ δεῖσθαι συμβουλεύειν ὅπῃ δοκεῖ αὐτῷ περὶ τοῦ προκειμένου.

Λυσίμαχος

ἀλλὰ δέομαι ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες: καὶ γὰρ ὥσπερ [184d] τοῦ ἐπιδιακρινοῦντος δοκεῖ μοι δεῖν ἡμῖν ἡ βουλή. εἰ μὲν γὰρ συνεφερέσθην τώδε, ἧττον ἂν τοῦ τοιούτου ἔδει: νῦν δὲ τὴν ἐναντίαν γάρ, ὡς ὁρᾷς, Λάχης Νικίᾳ ἔθετο, εὖ δὴ ἔχει ἀκοῦσαι καὶ σοῦ ποτέρῳ τοῖν ἀνδροῖν σύμψηφος εἶ.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ, ὦ Λυσίμαχε; ὁπότερ’ ἂν οἱ πλείους ἐπαινῶσιν ἡμῶν, τούτοις μέλλεις χρῆσθαι;

Λυσίμαχος

τί γὰρ ἄν τις καὶ ποιοῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ σύ, ὦ Μελησία, οὕτως ἂν ποιοῖς; κἂν εἴ [184e] τις περὶ ἀγωνίας τοῦ ὑέος σοι βουλὴ εἴη τί χρὴ ἀσκεῖν, ἆρα τοῖς πλείοσιν ἂν ἡμῶν πείθοιο, ἢ ‘κείνῳ ὅστις τυγχάνει ὑπὸ παιδοτρίβῃ ἀγαθῷ πεπαιδευμένος καὶ ἠσκηκώς;

Μελησίας

ἐκείνῳ εἰκός γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

αὐτῷ ἄρ’ ἂν μᾶλλον πείθοιο ἢ τέτταρσιν οὖσιν ἡμῖν;

Μελησίας

ἴσως.

Σωκράτης

ἐπιστήμῃ γὰρ οἶμαι δεῖ κρίνεσθαι ἀλλ’ οὐ πλήθει τὸ μέλλον καλῶς κριθήσεσθαι.

Μελησίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ νῦν χρὴ πρῶτον αὐτὸ τοῦτο σκέψασθαι, [185a] εἰ ἔστιν τις ἡμῶν τεχνικὸς περὶ οὗ βουλευόμεθα ἢ οὔ: καὶ εἰ μὲν ἔστιν, ἐκείνῳ πείθεσθαι ἑνὶ ὄντι, τοὺς δ’ ἄλλους ἐᾶν, εἰ δὲ μή, ἄλλον τινὰ ζητεῖν. ἢ περὶ σμικροῦ οἴεσθε νυνὶ κινδυνεύειν καὶ σὺ καὶ Λυσίμαχος ἀλλ’ οὐ περὶ τούτου τοῦ κτήματος ὃ τῶν ὑμετέρων μέγιστον ὂν τυγχάνει; ὑέων γάρ που ἢ χρηστῶν ἢ τἀναντία γενομένων καὶ πᾶς ὁ οἶκος ὁ τοῦ πατρὸς οὕτως οἰκήσεται, ὁποῖοι ἄν τινες οἱ παῖδες γένωνται.

Μελησίας

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

πολλὴν ἄρα δεῖ προμηθίαν αὐτοῦ ἔχειν.

Μελησίας

πάνυ γε.

[185b] Σωκράτης

πῶς οὖν, ὃ ἐγὼ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, ἐσκοποῦμεν ἄν, εἰ ἐβουλόμεθα σκέψασθαι τίς ἡμῶν περὶ ἀγωνίαν τεχνικώτατος; ἆρ’ οὐχ ὁ μαθὼν καὶ ἐπιτηδεύσας, ᾧ καὶ διδάσκαλοι ἀγαθοὶ γεγονότες ἦσαν αὐτοῦ τούτου;

Μελησίας

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἔτι πρότερον, τίνος ὄντος τούτου [οὗ] ζητοῦμεν τοὺς διδασκάλους;

Μελησίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

ὧδε ἴσως μᾶλλον κατάδηλον ἔσται. οὔ μοι δοκεῖ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἡμῖν ὡμολογῆσθαι τί ποτ’ ἔστιν περὶ οὗ βουλευόμεθα [καὶ σκεπτόμεθα], ὅστις ἡμῶν τεχνικὸς καὶ τούτου [185c] ἕνεκα διδασκάλους ἐκτήσατο, καὶ ὅστις μή.

Νικίας

οὐ γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, περὶ τοῦ ἐν ὅπλοις μάχεσθαι σκοποῦμεν, εἴτε χρὴ αὐτὸ τοὺς νεανίσκους μανθάνειν εἴτε μή;

Σωκράτης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Νικία. ἀλλ’ ὅταν περὶ φαρμάκου τίς του πρὸς ὀφθαλμοὺς σκοπῆται, εἴτε χρὴ αὐτὸ ὑπαλείφεσθαι εἴτε μή, πότερον οἴει τότε εἶναι τὴν βουλὴν περὶ τοῦ φαρμάκου ἢ περὶ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν;

Νικίας

περὶ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν.

[185d] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅταν ἵππῳ χαλινὸν σκοπῆταί τις εἰ προσοιστέον ἢ μή, καὶ ὁπότε, τότε που περὶ τοῦ ἵππου βουλεύεται ἀλλ’ οὐ περὶ τοῦ χαλινοῦ;

Νικίας

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἑνὶ λόγῳ, ὅταν τίς τι ἕνεκά του σκοπῇ, περὶ ἐκείνου ἡ βουλὴ τυγχάνει οὖσα οὗ ἕνεκα ἐσκόπει, ἀλλ’ οὐ περὶ τοῦ ὃ ἕνεκα ἄλλου ἐζήτει.

Νικίας

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

δεῖ ἄρα καὶ τὸν σύμβουλον σκοπεῖν ἆρα τεχνικός ἐστιν εἰς ἐκείνου θεραπείαν, οὗ ἕνεκα σκοπούμενοι σκοποῦμεν.

Νικίας

πάνυ γε.

[185e] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν νῦν φαμεν περὶ μαθήματος σκοπεῖν τῆς ψυχῆς ἕνεκα τῆς τῶν νεανίσκων;

Νικίας

ναί.

Σωκράτης

εἴ τις ἄρα ἡμῶν τεχνικὸς περὶ ψυχῆς θεραπείαν καὶ οἷός τε καλῶς τοῦτο θεραπεῦσαι, καὶ ὅτῳ διδάσκαλοι ἀγαθοὶ γεγόνασιν, τοῦτο σκεπτέον.

Λάχης

τί δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες; οὔπω ἑώρακας ἄνευ διδασκάλων τεχνικωτέρους γεγονότας εἰς ἔνια ἢ μετὰ διδασκάλων;

Σωκράτης

ἔγωγε, ὦ Λάχης: οἷς γε σὺ οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοις πιστεῦσαι, εἰ φαῖεν ἀγαθοὶ εἶναι δημιουργοί, εἰ μή τί σοι τῆς αὑτῶν τέχνης ἔργον ἔχοιεν ἐπιδεῖξαι εὖ εἰργασμένον, καὶ ἓν [186a] καὶ πλείω.

Λάχης

τοῦτο μὲν ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ἡμᾶς ἄρα δεῖ, ὦ Λάχης τε καὶ Νικία — ἐπειδὴ Λυσίμαχος καὶ Μελησίας εἰς συμβουλὴν παρεκαλεσάτην ἡμᾶς περὶ τοῖν ὑέοιν, προθυμούμενοι αὐτοῖν ὅτι ἀρίστας γενέσθαι τὰς ψυχάς — εἰ μέν φαμεν ἔχειν, ἐπιδεῖξαι αὐτοῖς καὶ διδασκάλους οἵτινες [ἡμῶν γεγόνασιν] αὐτοὶ πρῶτον ἀγαθοὶ ὄντες καὶ πολλῶν νέων τεθεραπευκότες ψυχὰς ἔπειτα [186b] καὶ ἡμᾶς διδάξαντες φαίνονται: ἢ εἴ τις ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἑαυτῷ διδάσκαλον μὲν οὔ φησι γεγονέναι, ἀλλ’ οὖν ἔργα αὐτὸν αὑτοῦ ἔχειν εἰπεῖν καὶ ἐπιδεῖξαι τίνες Ἀθηναίων ἢ τῶν ξένων, ἢ δοῦλοι ἢ ἐλεύθεροι, δι’ ἐκεῖνον ὁμολογουμένως ἀγαθοὶ γεγόνασιν: εἰ δὲ μηδὲν ἡμῖν τούτων ὑπάρχει, ἄλλους κελεύειν ζητεῖν καὶ μὴ ἐν ἑταίρων ἀνδρῶν ὑέσιν κινδυνεύειν διαφθείροντας τὴν μεγίστην αἰτίαν ἔχειν ὑπὸ τῶν οἰκειοτάτων. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Λυσίμαχέ τε καὶ Μελησία, πρῶτος [186c] περὶ ἐμαυτοῦ λέγω ὅτι διδάσκαλός μοι οὐ γέγονε τούτου πέρι. καίτοι ἐπιθυμῶ γε τοῦ πράγματος ἐκ νέου ἀρξάμενος. ἀλλὰ τοῖς μὲν σοφισταῖς οὐκ ἔχω τελεῖν μισθούς, οἵπερ μόνοι ἐπηγγέλλοντό με οἷοί τ’ εἶναι ποιῆσαι καλόν τε κἀγαθόν: αὐτὸς δ’ αὖ εὑρεῖν τὴν τέχνην ἀδυνατῶ ἔτι νυνί. εἰ δὲ Νικίας ἢ Λάχης ηὕρηκεν ἢ μεμάθηκεν, οὐκ ἂν θαυμάσαιμι: καὶ γὰρ χρήμασιν ἐμοῦ δυνατώτεροι, ὥστε μαθεῖν παρ’ ἄλλων, καὶ ἅμα πρεσβύτεροι, ὥστε ἤδη ηὑρηκέναι. δοκοῦσι [186d] δή μοι δυνατοὶ εἶναι παιδεῦσαι ἄνθρωπον: οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε ἀδεῶς ἀπεφαίνοντο περὶ ἐπιτηδευμάτων νέῳ χρηστῶν τε καὶ πονηρῶν, εἰ μὴ αὑτοῖς ἐπίστευον ἱκανῶς εἰδέναι. τὰ μὲν οὖν ἄλλα ἔγωγε τούτοις πιστεύω: ὅτι δὲ διαφέρεσθον ἀλλήλοιν, ἐθαύμασα. τοῦτο οὖν σου ἐγὼ ἀντιδέομαι, ὦ Λυσίμαχε: καθάπερ ἄρτι Λάχης μὴ ἀφίεσθαί σε ἐμοῦ διεκελεύετο ἀλλὰ ἐρωτᾶν, καὶ ἐγὼ νῦν παρακελεύομαί σοι μὴ ἀφίεσθαι Λάχητος μηδὲ Νικίου, ἀλλ’ ἐρωτᾶν λέγοντα ὅτι ὁ μὲν Σωκράτης οὔ [186e] φησιν ἐπαί¨ειν περὶ τοῦ πράγματος οὐδ’ ἱκανὸς εἶναι διακρῖναι ὁπότερος ὑμῶν ἀληθῆ λέγει — οὔτε γὰρ εὑρετὴς οὔτε μαθητὴς οὐδενὸς περὶ τῶν τοιούτων γεγονέναι — σὺ δ’, ὦ Λάχης καὶ Νικία, εἴπετον ἡμῖν ἑκάτερος τίνι δὴ δεινοτάτῳ συγγεγόνατον περὶ τῆς τῶν νέων τροφῆς, καὶ πότερα μαθόντε παρά του ἐπίστασθον ἢ αὐτὼ ἐξευρόντε, καὶ εἰ μὲν μαθόντε, [187a] τίς ὁ διδάσκαλος ἑκατέρῳ καὶ τίνες ἄλλοι ὁμότεχνοι αὐτοῖς, ἵν’, ἂν μὴ ὑμῖν σχολὴ ᾖ ὑπὸ τῶν τῆς πόλεως πραγμάτων, ἐπ’ ἐκείνους ἴωμεν καὶ πείθωμεν ἢ δώροις ἢ χάρισιν ἢ ἀμφότερα ἐπιμεληθῆναι καὶ τῶν ἡμετέρων καὶ τῶν ὑμετέρων παίδων, ὅπως μὴ καταισχύνωσι τοὺς αὑτῶν προγόνους φαῦλοι γενόμενοι: εἰ δ’ αὐτοὶ εὑρεταὶ γεγονότε τοῦ τοιούτου, δότε παράδειγμα τίνων ἤδη ἄλλων ἐπιμεληθέντες ἐκ φαύλων καλούς τε κἀγαθοὺς ἐποιήσατε. εἰ γὰρ νῦν πρῶτον ἄρξεσθε [187b] παιδεύειν, σκοπεῖν χρὴ μὴ οὐκ ἐν τῷ Καρὶ ὑμῖν ὁ κίνδυνος κινδυνεύηται, ἀλλ’ ἐν τοῖς ὑέσι τε καὶ ἐν τοῖς τῶν φίλων παισί, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς τὸ λεγόμενον κατὰ τὴν παροιμίαν ὑμῖν συμβαίνῃ ἐν πίθῳ ἡ κεραμεία γιγνομένη. λέγετε οὖν τί τούτων ἢ φατὲ ὑμῖν ὑπάρχειν τε καὶ προσήκειν ἢ οὔ φατε. ταῦτ’, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, παρ’ αὐτῶν πυνθάνου τε καὶ μὴ μεθίει τοὺς ἄνδρας.

Λυσίμαχος

καλῶς μὲν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ ἄνδρες, Σωκράτης λέγειν: [187c] εἰ δὲ βουλομένοις ὑμῖν ἐστι περὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἐρωτᾶσθαί τε καὶ διδόναι λόγον, αὐτοὺς δὴ χρὴ γιγνώσκειν, ὦ Νικία τε καὶ Λάχης. ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ καὶ Μελησίᾳ τῷδε δῆλον ὅτι ἡδομένοις ἂν εἴη εἰ πάντα ἃ Σωκράτης ἐρωτᾷ ἐθέλοιτε λόγῳ διεξιέναι: καὶ γὰρ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐντεῦθεν ἠρχόμην λέγων, ὅτι εἰς συμβουλὴν διὰ ταῦτα ὑμᾶς παρακαλέσαιμεν, ὅτι μεμεληκέναι ὑμῖν ἡγούμεθα, ὡς εἰκός, περὶ τῶν τοιούτων, καὶ ἄλλως καὶ ἐπειδὴ οἱ παῖδες ὑμῖν ὀλίγου ὥσπερ οἱ ἡμέτεροι ἡλικίαν [187d] ἔχουσι παιδεύεσθαι. εἰ οὖν ὑμῖν μή τι διαφέρει, εἴπατε καὶ κοινῇ μετὰ Σωκράτους σκέψασθε, διδόντες τε καὶ δεχόμενοι λόγον παρ’ ἀλλήλων: εὖ γὰρ καὶ τοῦτο λέγει ὅδε, ὅτι περὶ τοῦ μεγίστου νῦν βουλευόμεθα τῶν ἡμετέρων. ἀλλ’ ὁρᾶτε εἰ δοκεῖ χρῆναι οὕτω ποιεῖν.

Νικίας

ὦ Λυσίμαχε, δοκεῖς μοι ὡς ἀληθῶς Σωκράτη πατρόθεν γιγνώσκειν μόνον, αὐτῷ δ’ οὐ συγγεγονέναι ἀλλ’ ἢ [187e] παιδὶ ὄντι, εἴ που ἐν τοῖς δημόταις μετὰ τοῦ πατρὸς ἀκολουθῶν ἐπλησίασέν σοι ἢ ἐν ἱερῷ ἢ ἐν ἄλλῳ τῳ συλλόγῳ τῶν δημοτῶν: ἐπειδὴ δὲ πρεσβύτερος γέγονεν, οὐκ ἐντετυχηκὼς τῷ ἀνδρὶ δῆλος ἔτι εἶ.

Λυσίμαχος

τί μάλιστα, ὦ Νικία;

Νικίας

οὔ μοι δοκεῖς εἰδέναι ὅτι ὃς ἂν ἐγγύτατα Σωκράτους ᾖ [λόγῳ ὥσπερ γένει] καὶ πλησιάζῃ διαλεγόμενος, ἀνάγκη αὐτῷ, ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ περὶ ἄλλου του πρότερον ἄρξηται διαλέγεσθαι, μὴ παύεσθαι ὑπὸ τούτου περιαγόμενον τῷ λόγῳ, πρὶν ἐμπέσῃ εἰς τὸ διδόναι περὶ αὑτοῦ λόγον, ὅντινα [188a] τρόπον νῦν τε ζῇ καὶ ὅντινα τὸν παρεληλυθότα βίον βεβίωκεν: ἐπειδὰν δ’ ἐμπέσῃ, ὅτι οὐ πρότερον αὐτὸν ἀφήσει Σωκράτης, πρὶν ἂν βασανίσῃ ταῦτα εὖ τε καὶ καλῶς ἅπαντα. ἐγὼ δὲ συνήθης τέ εἰμι τῷδε καὶ οἶδ’ ὅτι ἀνάγκη ὑπὸ τούτου πάσχειν ταῦτα, καὶ ἔτι γε αὐτὸς ὅτι πείσομαι ταῦτα εὖ οἶδα: χαίρω γάρ, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, τῷ ἀνδρὶ πλησιάζων, καὶ οὐδὲν οἶμαι κακὸν εἶναι τὸ ὑπομιμνῄσκεσθαι ὅτι μὴ καλῶς ἢ πεποιήκαμεν [188b] ἢ ποιοῦμεν, ἀλλ’ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα βίον προμηθέστερον ἀνάγκη εἶναι τὸν ταῦτα μὴ φεύγοντα ἀλλ’ ἐθέλοντα κατὰ τὸ τοῦ Σόλωνος καὶ ἀξιοῦντα μανθάνειν ἕωσπερ ἂν ζῇ, καὶ μὴ οἰόμενον αὐτῷ τὸ γῆρας νοῦν ἔχον προσιέναι. ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν οὐδὲν ἄηθες οὐδ’ αὖ ἀηδὲς ὑπὸ Σωκράτους βασανίζεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ πάλαι σχεδόν τι ἠπιστάμην ὅτι οὐ περὶ τῶν μειρακίων ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος ἔσοιτο Σωκράτους παρόντος, ἀλλὰ περὶ [188c] ἡμῶν αὐτῶν. ὅπερ οὖν λέγω, τὸ μὲν ἐμὸν οὐδὲν κωλύει Σωκράτει συνδιατρίβειν ὅπως οὗτος βούλεται: Λάχητα δὲ τόνδε ὅρα ὅπως ἔχει περὶ τοῦ τοιούτου.

Λάχης

ἁπλοῦν τό γ’ ἐμόν, ὦ Νικία, περὶ λόγων ἐστίν, εἰ δὲ βούλει, οὐχ ἁπλοῦν ἀλλὰ διπλοῦν: καὶ γὰρ ἂν δόξαιμί τῳ φιλόλογος εἶναι καὶ αὖ μισόλογος. ὅταν μὲν γὰρ ἀκούω ἀνδρὸς περὶ ἀρετῆς διαλεγομένου ἢ περί τινος σοφίας ὡς ἀληθῶς ὄντος ἀνδρὸς καὶ ἀξίου τῶν λόγων ὧν λέγει, [188d] χαίρω ὑπερφυῶς, θεώμενος ἅμα τόν τε λέγοντα καὶ τὰ λεγόμενα ὅτι πρέποντα ἀλλήλοις καὶ ἁρμόττοντά ἐστι. καὶ κομιδῇ μοι δοκεῖ μουσικὸς ὁ τοιοῦτος εἶναι, ἁρμονίαν καλλίστην ἡρμοσμένος οὐ λύραν οὐδὲ παιδιᾶς ὄργανα, ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι [ζῆν ἡρμοσμένος οὗ] αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ τὸν βίον σύμφωνον τοῖς λόγοις πρὸς τὰ ἔργα, ἀτεχνῶς δωριστὶ ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἰαστί, οἴομαι δὲ οὐδὲ φρυγιστὶ οὐδὲ λυδιστί, ἀλλ’ ἥπερ μόνη Ἑλληνική ἐστιν ἁρμονία. ὁ μὲν οὖν τοιοῦτος χαίρειν με ποιεῖ [188e] φθεγγόμενος καὶ δοκεῖν ὁτῳοῦν φιλόλογον εἶναι — οὕτω σφόδρα ἀποδέχομαι παρ’ αὐτοῦ τὰ λεγόμενα — ὁ δὲ τἀναντία τούτου πράττων λυπεῖ με, ὅσῳ ἂν δοκῇ ἄμεινον λέγειν, τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον, καὶ ποιεῖ αὖ δοκεῖν εἶναι μισόλογον. Σωκράτους δ’ ἐγὼ τῶν μὲν λόγων οὐκ ἔμπειρός εἰμι, ἀλλὰ πρότερον, ὡς ἔοικε, τῶν ἔργων ἐπειράθην, καὶ ἐκεῖ αὐτὸν [189a] ηὗρον ἄξιον ὄντα λόγων καλῶν καὶ πάσης παῤῥησίας. εἰ οὖν καὶ τοῦτο ἔχει, συμβούλομαι τἀνδρί, καὶ ἥδιστ’ ἂν ἐξεταζοίμην ὑπὸ τοῦ τοιούτου, καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἀχθοίμην μανθάνων, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐγὼ τῷ Σόλωνι, ἓν μόνον προσλαβών, συγχωρῶ: γηράσκων γὰρ πολλὰ διδάσκεσθαι ἐθέλω ὑπὸ χρηστῶν μόνον. τοῦτο γάρ μοι συγχωρείτω, ἀγαθὸν καὶ αὐτὸν εἶναι τὸν διδάσκαλον, ἵνα μὴ δυσμαθὴς φαίνωμαι ἀηδῶς μανθάνων: εἰ δὲ νεώτερος ὁ διδάσκων ἔσται ἢ μήπω ἐν δόξῃ ὢν ἤ τι [189b] ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων ἔχων, οὐδέν μοι μέλει. σοὶ οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐγὼ ἐπαγγέλλομαι καὶ διδάσκειν καὶ ἐλέγχειν ἐμὲ ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ, καὶ μανθάνειν γε ὅτι αὖ ἐγὼ οἶδα: οὕτω σὺ παρ’ ἐμοὶ διάκεισαι ἀπ’ ἐκείνης τῆς ἡμέρας ᾗ μετ’ ἐμοῦ συνδιεκινδύνευσας καὶ ἔδωκας σαυτοῦ πεῖραν ἀρετῆς ἣν χρὴ διδόναι τὸν μέλλοντα δικαίως δώσειν. λέγ’ οὖν ὅτι σοι φίλον, μηδὲν τὴν ἡμετέραν ἡλικίαν ὑπόλογον ποιούμενος.

[189c] Σωκράτης

οὐ τὰ ὑμέτερα, ὡς ἔοικεν, αἰτιασόμεθα μὴ οὐχ ἕτοιμα εἶναι καὶ συμβουλεύειν καὶ συσκοπεῖν.

Λυσίμαχος

ἀλλ’ ἡμέτερον δὴ ἔργον, ὦ Σώκρατες — ἕνα γάρ σε ἔγωγε ἡμῶν τίθημι — σκόπει οὖν ἀντ’ ἐμοῦ ὑπὲρ τῶν νεανίσκων ὅτι δεόμεθα παρὰ τῶνδε πυνθάνεσθαι, καὶ συμβούλευε διαλεγόμενος τούτοις. ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἐπιλανθάνομαι ἤδη τὰ πολλὰ διὰ τὴν ἡλικίαν ὧν ἂν διανοηθῶ ἐρέσθαι καὶ αὖ ἃ ἂν ἀκούσω: ἐὰν δὲ μεταξὺ ἄλλοι λόγοι γένωνται, οὐ πάνυ [189d] μέμνημαι. ὑμεῖς οὖν λέγετε καὶ διέξιτε πρὸς ὑμᾶς αὐτοὺς περὶ ὧν προυθέμεθα: ἐγὼ δ’ ἀκούσομαι καὶ ἀκούσας αὖ μετὰ Μελησίου τοῦδε ποιήσω τοῦτο ὅτι ἂν καὶ ὑμῖν δοκῇ.

Σωκράτης

πειστέον, ὦ Νικία τε καὶ Λάχης, Λυσιμάχῳ καὶ Μελησίᾳ. ἃ μὲν οὖν νυνδὴ ἐπεχειρήσαμεν σκοπεῖν, τίνες οἱ διδάσκαλοι ἡμῖν τῆς τοιαύτης παιδείας γεγόνασιν ἢ τίνας ἄλλους βελτίους πεποιήκαμεν, ἴσως μὲν οὐ κακῶς εἶχεν [189e] ἐξετάζειν καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἡμᾶς αὐτούς: ἀλλ’ οἶμαι καὶ ἡ τοιάδε σκέψις εἰς ταὐτὸν φέρει, σχεδὸν δέ τι καὶ μᾶλλον ἐξ ἀρχῆς εἴη ἄν. εἰ γὰρ τυγχάνομεν ἐπιστάμενοι ὁτουοῦν πέρι ὅτι παραγενόμενόν τῳ βέλτιον ποιεῖ ἐκεῖνο ᾧ παρεγένετο, καὶ προσέτι οἷοί τέ ἐσμεν αὐτὸ ποιεῖν παραγίγνεσθαι ἐκείνῳ, δῆλον ὅτι αὐτό γε ἴσμεν τοῦτο οὗ πέρι σύμβουλοι ἂν γενοίμεθα ὡς ἄν τις αὐτὸ ῥᾷστα καὶ ἄριστ’ ἂν κτήσαιτο. ἴσως οὖν οὐ μανθάνετέ μου ὅτι λέγω, ἀλλ’ ὧδε ῥᾷον μαθήσεσθε. [190a] εἰ τυγχάνομεν ἐπιστάμενοι ὅτι ὄψις παραγενομένη ὀφθαλμοῖς βελτίους ποιεῖ ἐκείνους οἷς παρεγένετο, καὶ προσέτι οἷοί τ’ ἐσμὲν ποιεῖν αὐτὴν παραγίγνεσθαι ὄμμασι, δῆλον ὅτι ὄψιν γε ἴσμεν αὐτὴν ὅτι ποτ’ ἔστιν, ἧς πέρι σύμβουλοι ἂν γενοίμεθα ὡς ἄν τις αὐτὴν ῥᾷστα καὶ ἄριστα κτήσαιτο. εἰ γὰρ μηδ’ αὐτὸ τοῦτο εἰδεῖμεν, ὅτι ποτ’ ἔστιν ὄψις ἢ ὅτι ἔστιν ἀκοή, σχολῇ ἂν σύμβουλοί γε ἄξιοι λόγου γενοίμεθα καὶ ἰατροὶ ἢ περὶ ὀφθαλμῶν ἢ περὶ ὤτων, ὅντινα τρόπον [190b] ἀκοὴν ἢ ὄψιν κάλλιστ’ ἂν κτήσαιτό τις.

Λάχης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν, ὦ Λάχης, καὶ νῦν ἡμᾶς τώδε παρακαλεῖτον εἰς συμβουλήν, τίν’ ἂν τρόπον τοῖς ὑέσιν αὐτῶν ἀρετὴ παραγενομένη ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἀμείνους ποιήσειε;

Λάχης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ἡμῖν τοῦτό γ’ ὑπάρχειν δεῖ, τὸ εἰδέναι ὅτι ποτ’ ἔστιν ἀρετή; εἰ γάρ που μηδ’ ἀρετὴν εἰδεῖμεν τὸ παράπαν ὅτι ποτε τυγχάνει ὄν, τίν’ ἂν τρόπον τούτου [190c] σύμβουλοι γενοίμεθ’ ἂν ὁτῳοῦν, ὅπως ἂν αὐτὸ κάλλιστα κτήσαιτο;

Λάχης

οὐδένα, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

φαμὲν ἄρα, ὦ Λάχης, εἰδέναι αὐτὸ ὅτι ἔστιν.

Λάχης

φαμὲν μέντοι.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὅ γε ἴσμεν, κἂν εἴποιμεν δήπου τί ἐστιν.

Λάχης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

μὴ τοίνυν, ὦ ἄριστε, περὶ ὅλης ἀρετῆς εὐθέως σκοπώμεθα — πλέον γὰρ ἴσως ἔργον — ἀλλὰ μέρους τινὸς πέρι πρῶτον ἴδωμεν εἰ ἱκανῶς ἔχομεν πρὸς τὸ εἰδέναι: καὶ [190d] ἡμῖν, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, ῥᾴων ἡ σκέψις ἔσται.

Λάχης

ἀλλ’ οὕτω ποιῶμεν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς σὺ βούλει.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν ἂν προελοίμεθα τῶν τῆς ἀρετῆς μερῶν; ἢ δῆλον δὴ ὅτι τοῦτο εἰς ὃ τείνειν δοκεῖ ἡ ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις μάθησις; δοκεῖ δέ που τοῖς πολλοῖς εἰς ἀνδρείαν. ἦ γάρ;

Λάχης

καὶ μάλα δὴ οὕτω δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο τοίνυν πρῶτον ἐπιχειρήσωμεν, ὦ Λάχης, εἰπεῖν, ἀνδρεία τί ποτ’ ἐστίν: ἔπειτα μετὰ τοῦτο σκεψόμεθα [190e] καὶ ὅτῳ ἂν τρόπῳ τοῖς νεανίσκοις παραγένοιτο, καθ’ ὅσον οἷόν τε ἐξ ἐπιτηδευμάτων τε καὶ μαθημάτων παραγενέσθαι. ἀλλὰ πειρῶ εἰπεῖν ὃ λέγω, τί ἐστιν ἀνδρεία.

Λάχης

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ χαλεπὸν εἰπεῖν: εἰ γάρ τις ἐθέλοι ἐν τῇ τάξει μένων ἀμύνεσθαι τοὺς πολεμίους καὶ μὴ φεύγοι, εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι ἀνδρεῖος ἂν εἴη.

Σωκράτης

εὖ μὲν λέγεις, ὦ Λάχης: ἀλλ’ ἴσως ἐγὼ αἴτιος, οὐ σαφῶς εἰπών, τὸ σὲ ἀποκρίνασθαι μὴ τοῦτο ὃ διανοούμενος ἠρόμην, ἀλλ’ ἕτερον.

Λάχης

πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

[191a] Σωκράτης

ἐγὼ φράσω, ἐὰν οἷός τε γένωμαι. ἀνδρεῖός που οὗτος, ὃν καὶ σὺ λέγεις, ὃς ἂν ἐν τῇ τάξει μένων μάχηται τοῖς πολεμίοις.

Λάχης

ἐγὼ γοῦν φημι.

Σωκράτης

καὶ γὰρ ἐγώ. ἀλλὰ τί αὖ ὅδε, ὃς ἂν φεύγων μάχηται τοῖς πολεμίοις ἀλλὰ μὴ μένων;

Λάχης

πῶς φεύγων;

Σωκράτης

ὥσπερ που καὶ Σκύθαι λέγονται οὐχ ἧττον φεύγοντες ἢ διώκοντες μάχεσθαι, καὶ Ὅμηρός που ἐπαινῶν τοὺς τοῦ Αἰνείου ἵππους κραιπνὰ μάλ’ ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθαηομ. ιλ. 8.107-108 [191b] ἔφη αὐτοὺς ἐπίστασθαι διώκειν ἠδὲ φέβεσθαι: καὶ αὐτὸν τὸν Αἰνείαν κατὰ τοῦτ’ ἐνεκωμίασε, κατὰ τὴν τοῦ φόβου ἐπιστήμην, καὶ εἶπεν αὐτὸν εἶναι μήστωρα φόβοιο.ηομ. ιλ. 8.107-108

Λάχης

καὶ καλῶς γε, ὦ Σώκρατες: περὶ ἁρμάτων γὰρ ἔλεγε. καὶ σὺ τὸ τῶν Σκυθῶν ἱππέων πέρι λέγεις: τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἱππικὸν [τὸ ἐκείνων] οὕτω μάχεται, τὸ δὲ ὁπλιτικὸν [τό γε τῶν Ἑλλήνων], ὡς ἐγὼ λέγω.

Σωκράτης

πλήν γ’ ἴσως, ὦ Λάχης, τὸ Λακεδαιμονίων. Λακεδαιμονίους [191c] γάρ φασιν ἐν Πλαταιαῖς, ἐπειδὴ πρὸς τοῖς γεῤῥοφόροις ἐγένοντο, οὐκ ἐθέλειν μένοντας πρὸς αὐτοὺς μάχεσθαι, ἀλλὰ φεύγειν, ἐπειδὴ δ’ ἐλύθησαν αἱ τάξεις τῶν Περσῶν, ἀναστρεφομένους ὥσπερ ἱππέας μάχεσθαι καὶ οὕτω νικῆσαι τὴν ἐκεῖ μάχην.

Λάχης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο τοίνυν ὃ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, ὅτι ἐγὼ αἴτιος μὴ καλῶς σε ἀποκρίνασθαι, ὅτι οὐ καλῶς ἠρόμην — βουλόμενος [191d] γάρ σου πυθέσθαι μὴ μόνον τοὺς ἐν τῷ ὁπλιτικῷ ἀνδρείους, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ἐν τῷ ἱππικῷ καὶ ἐν σύμπαντι τῷ πολεμικῷ εἴδει, καὶ μὴ μόνον τοὺς ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ἐν τοῖς πρὸς τὴν θάλατταν κινδύνοις ἀνδρείους ὄντας, καὶ ὅσοι γε πρὸς νόσους καὶ ὅσοι πρὸς πενίας ἢ καὶ πρὸς τὰ πολιτικὰ ἀνδρεῖοί εἰσιν, καὶ ἔτι αὖ μὴ μόνον ὅσοι πρὸς λύπας ἀνδρεῖοί εἰσιν ἢ φόβους, ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς ἐπιθυμίας ἢ ἡδονὰς δεινοὶ [191e] μάχεσθαι, καὶ μένοντες καὶ ἀναστρέφοντες — εἰσὶ γάρ πού τινες, ὦ Λάχης, καὶ ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις ἀνδρεῖοι —

Λάχης

καὶ σφόδρα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἀνδρεῖοι μὲν πάντες οὗτοί εἰσιν, ἀλλ’ οἱ μὲν ἐν ἡδοναῖς, οἱ δ’ ἐν λύπαις, οἱ δ’ ἐν ἐπιθυμίαις, οἱ δ’ ἐν φόβοις τὴν ἀνδρείαν κέκτηνται: οἱ δέ γ’ οἶμαι δειλίαν ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς τούτοις.

Λάχης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

τί ποτε ὂν ἑκάτερον τούτων; τοῦτο ἐπυνθανόμην. πάλιν οὖν πειρῶ εἰπεῖν ἀνδρείαν πρῶτον τί ὂν ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις ταὐτόν ἐστιν: ἢ οὔπω καταμανθάνεις ὃ λέγω;

Λάχης

οὐ πάνυ τι.

[192a] Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ὧδε λέγω, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ τάχος ἠρώτων τί ποτ’ ἐστίν, ὃ καὶ ἐν τῷ τρέχειν τυγχάνει ὂν ἡμῖν καὶ ἐν τῷ κιθαρίζειν καὶ ἐν τῷ λέγειν καὶ ἐν τῷ μανθάνειν καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις πολλοῖς, καὶ σχεδόν τι αὐτὸ κεκτήμεθα, οὗ καὶ πέρι ἄξιον λέγειν, ἢ ἐν ταῖς τῶν χειρῶν πράξεσιν ἢ σκελῶν ἢ στόματός τε καὶ φωνῆς ἢ διανοίας: ἢ οὐχ οὕτω καὶ σὺ λέγεις;

Λάχης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

εἰ τοίνυν τίς με ἔροιτο: “ὦ Σώκρατες, τί λέγεις τοῦτο ὃ ἐν πᾶσιν ὀνομάζεις ταχυτῆτα εἶναι;” εἴποιμ’ ἂν [192b] αὐτῷ ὅτι τὴν ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ πολλὰ διαπραττομένην δύναμιν ταχυτῆτα ἔγωγε καλῶ καὶ περὶ φωνὴν καὶ περὶ δρόμον καὶ περὶ τἆλλα πάντα.

Λάχης

ὀρθῶς γε σὺ λέγων.

Σωκράτης

πειρῶ δὴ καὶ σύ, ὦ Λάχης, τὴν ἀνδρείαν οὕτως εἰπεῖν τίς οὖσα δύναμις ἡ αὐτὴ ἐν ἡδονῇ καὶ ἐν λύπῃ καὶ ἐν ἅπασιν οἷς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν αὐτὴν εἶναι, ἔπειτα ἀνδρεία κέκληται.

Λάχης

δοκεῖ τοίνυν μοι καρτερία τις εἶναι τῆς ψυχῆς, εἰ [192c] τό γε διὰ πάντων [περὶ ἀνδρείας] πεφυκὸς δεῖ εἰπεῖν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν δεῖ, εἴ γε τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ἀποκρινούμεθα ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς. τοῦτο τοίνυν ἔμοιγε φαίνεται: οὔτι πᾶσά γε, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, καρτερία ἀνδρεία σοι φαίνεται. τεκμαίρομαι δὲ ἐνθένδε: σχεδὸν γάρ τι οἶδα, ὦ Λάχης, ὅτι τῶν πάνυ καλῶν πραγμάτων ἡγῇ σὺ ἀνδρείαν εἶναι.

Λάχης

εὖ μὲν οὖν ἴσθι ὅτι τῶν καλλίστων.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἡ μὲν μετὰ φρονήσεως καρτερία καλὴ κἀγαθή;

Λάχης

πάνυ γε.

[192d] Σωκράτης

τί δ’ ἡ μετ’ ἀφροσύνης; οὐ τοὐναντίον ταύτῃ βλαβερὰ καὶ κακοῦργος;

Λάχης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καλὸν οὖν τι φήσεις σὺ εἶναι τὸ τοιοῦτον, ὂν κακοῦργόν τε καὶ βλαβερόν;

Λάχης

οὔκουν δίκαιόν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα τήν γε τοιαύτην καρτερίαν ἀνδρείαν ὁμολογήσεις εἶναι, ἐπειδήπερ οὐ καλή ἐστιν, ἡ δὲ ἀνδρεία καλόν ἐστιν.

Λάχης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ἡ φρόνιμος ἄρα καρτερία κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον ἀνδρεία ἂν εἴη.

Λάχης

ἔοικεν.

[192e] Σωκράτης

ἴδωμεν δή, ἡ εἰς τί φρόνιμος; ἢ ἡ εἰς ἅπαντα καὶ τὰ μεγάλα καὶ τὰ σμικρά; οἷον εἴ τις καρτερεῖ ἀναλίσκων ἀργύριον φρονίμως, εἰδὼς ὅτι ἀναλώσας πλέον ἐκτήσεται, τοῦτον ἀνδρεῖον καλοῖς ἄν;

Λάχης

μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οἷον εἴ τις ἰατρὸς ὤν, περιπλευμονίᾳ τοῦ ὑέος ἐχομένου ἢ ἄλλου τινὸς καὶ δεομένου πιεῖν ἢ φαγεῖν [193a] δοῦναι, μὴ κάμπτοιτο ἀλλὰ καρτεροῖ;

Λάχης

οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν οὐδ’ αὕτη.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἐν πολέμῳ καρτεροῦντα ἄνδρα καὶ ἐθέλοντα μάχεσθαι, φρονίμως λογιζόμενον, εἰδότα μὲν ὅτι βοηθήσουσιν ἄλλοι αὐτῷ, πρὸς ἐλάττους δὲ καὶ φαυλοτέρους μαχεῖται ἢ μεθ’ ὧν αὐτός ἐστιν, ἔτι δὲ χωρία ἔχει κρείττω, τοῦτον τὸν μετὰ τῆς τοιαύτης φρονήσεως καὶ παρασκευῆς καρτεροῦντα ἀνδρειότερον ἂν φαίης ἢ τὸν ἐν τῷ ἐναντίῳ στρατοπέδῳ ἐθέλοντα ὑπομένειν τε καὶ καρτερεῖν;

[193b] Λάχης

τὸν ἐν τῷ ἐναντίῳ, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἀφρονεστέρα γε ἡ τούτου ἢ ἡ τοῦ ἑτέρου καρτερία.

Λάχης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

καὶ τὸν μετ’ ἐπιστήμης ἄρα ἱππικῆς καρτεροῦντα ἐν ἱππομαχίᾳ ἧττον φήσεις ἀνδρεῖον εἶναι ἢ τὸν ἄνευ ἐπιστήμης.

Λάχης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

καὶ τὸν μετὰ σφενδονητικῆς ἢ τοξικῆς ἢ ἄλλης τινὸς τέχνης καρτεροῦντα.

[193c] Λάχης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὅσοι ἂν ἐθέλωσιν εἰς φρέαρ καταβαίνοντες καὶ κολυμβῶντες καρτερεῖν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ ἔργῳ, μὴ ὄντες δεινοί, ἢ ἔν τινι ἄλλῳ τοιούτῳ, ἀνδρειοτέρους φήσεις τῶν ταῦτα δεινῶν.

Λάχης

τί γὰρ ἄν τις ἄλλο φαίη, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

οὐδέν, εἴπερ οἴοιτό γε οὕτως.

Λάχης

ἀλλὰ μὴν οἶμαί γε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μήν που ἀφρονεστέρως γε, ὦ Λάχης, οἱ τοιοῦτοι κινδυνεύουσίν τε καὶ καρτεροῦσιν ἢ οἱ μετὰ τέχνης αὐτὸ πράττοντες.

Λάχης

φαίνονται.

[193d] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν αἰσχρὰ ἡ ἄφρων τόλμα τε καὶ καρτέρησις ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν ἐφάνη ἡμῖν οὖσα καὶ βλαβερά;

Λάχης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἡ δέ γε ἀνδρεία ὡμολογεῖτο καλόν τι εἶναι.

Λάχης

ὡμολογεῖτο γάρ.

Σωκράτης

νῦν δ’ αὖ πάλιν φαμὲν ἐκεῖνο τὸ αἰσχρόν, τὴν ἄφρονα καρτέρησιν, ἀνδρείαν εἶναι.

Λάχης

ἐοίκαμεν.

Σωκράτης

καλῶς οὖν σοι δοκοῦμεν λέγειν;

Λάχης

μὰ τὸν Δί’, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐμοὶ μὲν οὔ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα που κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον δωριστὶ ἡρμόσμεθα [193e] ἐγώ τε καὶ σύ, ὦ Λάχης: τὰ γὰρ ἔργα οὐ συμφωνεῖ ἡμῖν τοῖς λόγοις. ἔργῳ μὲν γάρ, ὡς ἔοικε, φαίη ἄν τις ἡμᾶς ἀνδρείας μετέχειν, λόγῳ δ’, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, οὐκ ἄν, εἰ νῦν ἡμῶν ἀκούσειε διαλεγομένων.

Λάχης

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; δοκεῖ καλὸν εἶναι οὕτως ἡμᾶς διακεῖσθαι;

Λάχης

οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν.

Σωκράτης

βούλει οὖν ᾧ λέγομεν πειθώμεθα τό γε τοσοῦτον;

Λάχης

τὸ ποῖον δὴ τοῦτο, καὶ τίνι τούτῳ;

[194a] Σωκράτης

τῷ λόγῳ ὃς καρτερεῖν κελεύει. εἰ οὖν βούλει, καὶ ἡμεῖς ἐπὶ τῇ ζητήσει ἐπιμείνωμέν τε καὶ καρτερήσωμεν, ἵνα καὶ μὴ ἡμῶν αὐτὴ ἡ ἀνδρεία καταγελάσῃ, ὅτι οὐκ ἀνδρείως αὐτὴν ζητοῦμεν, εἰ ἄρα πολλάκις αὐτὴ ἡ καρτέρησίς ἐστιν ἀνδρεία.

Λάχης

ἐγὼ μὲν ἕτοιμος, ὦ Σώκρατες, μὴ προαφίστασθαι. καίτοι ἀήθης γ’ εἰμὶ τῶν τοιούτων λόγων: ἀλλά τίς με καὶ φιλονικία εἴληφεν πρὸς τὰ εἰρημένα, καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγανακτῶ [194b] εἰ οὑτωσὶ ἃ νοῶ μὴ οἷός τ’ εἰμὶ εἰπεῖν. νοεῖν μὲν γὰρ ἔμοιγε δοκῶ περὶ ἀνδρείας ὅτι ἔστιν, οὐκ οἶδα δ’ ὅπῃ με ἄρτι διέφυγεν, ὥστε μὴ συλλαβεῖν τῷ λόγῳ αὐτὴν καὶ εἰπεῖν ὅτι ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν, ὦ φίλε, τὸν ἀγαθὸν κυνηγέτην μεταθεῖν χρὴ καὶ μὴ ἀνιέναι.

Λάχης

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

βούλει οὖν καὶ Νικίαν τόνδε παρακαλῶμεν ἐπὶ τὸ κυνηγέσιον, εἴ τι ἡμῶν εὐπορώτερός ἐστιν;

[194c] Λάχης

βούλομαι: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἴθι δή, ὦ Νικία, ἀνδράσι φίλοις χειμαζομένοις ἐν λόγῳ καὶ ἀποροῦσιν βοήθησον, εἴ τινα ἔχεις δύναμιν. τὰ μὲν γὰρ δὴ ἡμέτερα ὁρᾷς ὡς ἄπορα: σὺ δ’ εἰπὼν ὅτι ἡγῇ ἀνδρείαν εἶναι, ἡμᾶς τε τῆς ἀπορίας ἔκλυσαι καὶ αὐτὸς ἃ νοεῖς τῷ λόγῳ βεβαίωσαι.

Νικίας

δοκεῖτε τοίνυν μοι πάλαι οὐ καλῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁρίζεσθαι τὴν ἀνδρείαν: ὃ γὰρ ἐγὼ σοῦ ἤδη καλῶς λέγοντος ἀκήκοα, τούτῳ οὐ χρῆσθε.

Σωκράτης

ποίῳ δή, ὦ Νικία;

[194d] Νικίας

πολλάκις ἀκήκοά σου λέγοντος ὅτι ταῦτα ἀγαθὸς ἕκαστος ἡμῶν ἅπερ σοφός, ἃ δὲ ἀμαθής, ταῦτα δὲ κακός.

Σωκράτης

ἀληθῆ μέντοι νὴ Δία λέγεις, ὦ Νικία.

Νικίας

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ὁ ἀνδρεῖος ἀγαθός, δῆλον ὅτι σοφός ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης

ἤκουσας, ὦ Λάχης;

Λάχης

ἔγωγε, καὶ οὐ σφόδρα γε μανθάνω ὃ λέγει.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ δοκῶ μανθάνειν, καί μοι δοκεῖ ἁνὴρ σοφίαν τινὰ τὴν ἀνδρείαν λέγειν.

Λάχης

ποίαν, ὦ Σώκρατες, σοφίαν;

[194e] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τόνδε τοῦτο ἐρωτᾷς;

Λάχης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἴθι δή, αὐτῷ εἰπέ, ὦ Νικία, ποία σοφία ἀνδρεία ἂν εἴη κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον. οὐ γάρ που ἥ γε αὐλητική.

Νικίας

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲ μὴν ἡ κιθαριστική.

Νικίας

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τίς δὴ αὕτη ἢ τίνος ἐπιστήμη;

Λάχης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ὀρθῶς αὐτὸν ἐρωτᾷς, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ εἰπέτω γε τίνα φησὶν αὐτὴν εἶναι.

Νικίας

ταύτην ἔγωγε, ὦ Λάχης, τὴν τῶν δεινῶν καὶ θαῤῥαλέων [195a] ἐπιστήμην καὶ ἐν πολέμῳ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἅπασιν.

Λάχης

ὡς ἄτοπα λέγει, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

πρὸς τί τοῦτ’ εἶπες βλέψας, ὦ Λάχης;

Λάχης

πρὸς ὅτι; χωρὶς δήπου σοφία ἐστὶν ἀνδρείας.

Σωκράτης

οὔκουν φησί γε Νικίας.

Λάχης

οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δία: ταῦτά τοι καὶ ληρεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν διδάσκωμεν αὐτὸν ἀλλὰ μὴ λοιδορῶμεν.

Νικίας

οὔκ, ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, Λάχης ἐπιθυμεῖν κἀμὲ φανῆναι μηδὲν λέγοντα, ὅτι καὶ αὐτὸς ἄρτι τοιοῦτός [195b] τις ἐφάνη.

Λάχης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Νικία, καὶ πειράσομαί γε ἀποφῆναι: οὐδὲν γὰρ λέγεις. ἐπεὶ αὐτίκα ἐν ταῖς νόσοις οὐχ οἱ ἰατροὶ τὰ δεινὰ ἐπίστανται; ἢ οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι δοκοῦσί σοι ἐπίστασθαι; ἢ τοὺς ἰατροὺς σὺ ἀνδρείους καλεῖς;

Νικίας

οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν.

Λάχης

οὐδέ γε τοὺς γεωργοὺς οἶμαι. καίτοι τά γε ἐν τῇ γεωργίᾳ δεινὰ οὗτοι δήπου ἐπίστανται, καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι δημιουργοὶ ἅπαντες τὰ ἐν ταῖς αὑτῶν τέχναις δεινά τε καὶ [195c] θαῤῥαλέα ἴσασιν: ἀλλ’ οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον οὗτοι ἀνδρεῖοί εἰσιν.

Σωκράτης

τί δοκεῖ Λάχης λέγειν, ὦ Νικία; ἔοικεν μέντοι λέγειν τι.

Νικίας

καὶ γὰρ λέγει γέ τι, οὐ μέντοι ἀληθές γε.

Σωκράτης

πῶς δή;

Νικίας

ὅτι οἴεται τοὺς ἰατροὺς πλέον τι εἰδέναι περὶ τοὺς κάμνοντας ἢ τὸ ὑγιεινὸν †εἰπεῖν οἷόν τε καὶ νοσῶδες. οἱ δὲ δήπου τοσοῦτον μόνον ἴσασιν: εἰ δὲ δεινόν τῳ τοῦτό ἐστιν τὸ ὑγιαίνειν μᾶλλον ἢ τὸ κάμνειν, ἡγῇ σὺ τουτί, ὦ Λάχης, τοὺς ἰατροὺς ἐπίστασθαι; ἢ οὐ πολλοῖς οἴει ἐκ τῆς νόσου ἄμεινον εἶναι μὴ ἀναστῆναι ἢ ἀναστῆναι; τοῦτο γὰρ εἰπέ: [195d] σὺ πᾶσι φῂς ἄμεινον εἶναι ζῆν καὶ οὐ πολλοῖς κρεῖττον τεθνάναι;

Λάχης

οἶμαι ἔγωγε τοῦτό γε.

Νικίας

οἷς οὖν τεθνάναι λυσιτελεῖ, ταὐτὰ οἴει δεινὰ εἶναι καὶ οἷς ζῆν;

Λάχης

οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Νικίας

ἀλλὰ τοῦτο δὴ σὺ δίδως τοῖς ἰατροῖς γιγνώσκειν ἢ ἄλλῳ τινὶ δημιουργῷ πλὴν τῷ τῶν δεινῶν καὶ μὴ δεινῶν ἐπιστήμονι, ὃν ἐγὼ ἀνδρεῖον καλῶ;

Σωκράτης

κατανοεῖς, ὦ Λάχης, ὅτι λέγει;

[195e] Λάχης

ἔγωγε, ὅτι γε τοὺς μάντεις καλεῖ τοὺς ἀνδρείους: τίς γὰρ δὴ ἄλλος εἴσεται ὅτῳ ἄμεινον ζῆν ἢ τεθνάναι; καίτοι σύ, ὦ Νικία, πότερον ὁμολογεῖς μάντις εἶναι ἢ οὔτε μάντις οὔτε ἀνδρεῖος;

Νικίας

τί δέ; μάντει αὖ οἴει προσήκει τὰ δεινὰ γιγνώσκειν καὶ τὰ θαῤῥαλέα;

Λάχης

ἔγωγε: τίνι γὰρ ἄλλῳ;

Νικίας

ὧι ἐγὼ λέγω πολὺ μᾶλλον, ὦ βέλτιστε: ἐπεὶ μάντιν γε τὰ σημεῖα μόνον δεῖ γιγνώσκειν τῶν ἐσομένων, εἴτε τῳ θάνατος εἴτε νόσος εἴτε ἀποβολὴ χρημάτων ἔσται, [196a] εἴτε νίκη εἴτε ἧττα ἢ πολέμου ἢ καὶ ἄλλης τινὸς ἀγωνίας: ὅτι δέ τῳ ἄμεινον τούτων ἢ παθεῖν ἢ μὴ παθεῖν, τί μᾶλλον μάντει προσήκει κρῖναι ἢ ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν;

Λάχης

ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ τούτου οὐ μανθάνω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι βούλεται λέγειν: οὔτε γὰρ μάντιν οὔτε ἰατρὸν οὔτε ἄλλον οὐδένα δηλοῖ ὅντινα λέγει τὸν ἀνδρεῖον, εἰ μὴ εἰ θεόν τινα λέγει αὐτὸν εἶναι. ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν φαίνεται Νικίας οὐκ ἐθέλειν [196b] γενναίως ὁμολογεῖν ὅτι οὐδὲν λέγει, ἀλλὰ στρέφεται ἄνω καὶ κάτω ἐπικρυπτόμενος τὴν αὑτοῦ ἀπορίαν: καίτοι κἂν ἡμεῖς οἷοί τε ἦμεν ἄρτι ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ τοιαῦτα στρέφεσθαι, εἰ ἐβουλόμεθα μὴ δοκεῖν ἐναντία ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς λέγειν. εἰ μὲν οὖν ἐν δικαστηρίῳ ἡμῖν οἱ λόγοι ἦσαν, εἶχεν ἄν τινα λόγον ταῦτα ποιεῖν: νῦν δὲ τί ἄν τις ἐν συνουσίᾳ τοιᾷδε μάτην κενοῖς λόγοις αὐτὸς αὑτὸν κοσμοῖ;

[196c] Σωκράτης

οὐδὲν οὐδ’ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, ὦ Λάχης: ἀλλ’ ὁρῶμεν μὴ Νικίας οἴεταί τι λέγειν καὶ οὐ λόγου ἕνεκα ταῦτα λέγει. αὐτοῦ οὖν σαφέστερον πυθώμεθα τί ποτε νοεῖ: καὶ ἐάν τι φαίνηται λέγων, συγχωρησόμεθα, εἰ δὲ μή, διδάξομεν.

Λάχης

σὺ τοίνυν, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ βούλει πυνθάνεσθαι, πυνθάνου: ἐγὼ δ’ ἴσως ἱκανῶς πέπυσμαι.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οὐδέν με κωλύει: κοινὴ γὰρ ἔσται ἡ πύστις ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ.

Λάχης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

λέγε δή μοι, ὦ Νικία — μᾶλλον δ’ ἡμῖν: κοινούμεθα [196d] γὰρ ἐγώ τε καὶ Λάχης τὸν λόγον — τὴν ἀνδρείαν ἐπιστήμην φῂς δεινῶν τε καὶ θαῤῥαλέων εἶναι;

Νικίας

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο δὲ οὐ παντὸς δὴ εἶναι ἀνδρὸς γνῶναι, ὁπότε γε μήτε ἰατρὸς μήτε μάντις αὐτὸ γνώσεται μηδὲ ἀνδρεῖος ἔσται, ἐὰν μὴ αὐτὴν ταύτην τὴν ἐπιστήμην προσλάβῃ: οὐχ οὕτως ἔλεγες;

Νικίας

οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

κατὰ τὴν παροιμίαν ἄρα τῷ ὄντι οὐκ ἂν πᾶσα ὗς γνοίη οὐδ’ ἂν ἀνδρεία γένοιτο.

Νικίας

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

[196e] Σωκράτης

δῆλον δή, ὦ Νικία, ὅτι οὐδὲ τὴν Κρομμυωνίαν ὗν πιστεύεις σύ γε ἀνδρείαν γεγονέναι. τοῦτο δὲ λέγω οὐ παίζων, ἀλλ’ ἀναγκαῖον οἶμαι τῷ ταῦτα λέγοντι μηδενὸς θηρίου ἀποδέχεσθαι ἀνδρείαν, ἢ συγχωρεῖν θηρίον τι οὕτω σοφὸν εἶναι, ὥστε ἃ ὀλίγοι ἀνθρώπων ἴσασι διὰ τὸ χαλεπὰ εἶναι γνῶναι, ταῦτα λέοντα ἢ πάρδαλιν ἤ τινα κάπρον φάναι εἰδέναι: ἀλλ’ ἀνάγκη ὁμοίως λέοντα καὶ ἔλαφον καὶ ταῦρον καὶ πίθηκον πρὸς ἀνδρείαν φάναι πεφυκέναι τὸν τιθέμενον ἀνδρείαν τοῦθ’ ὅπερ σὺ τίθεσαι.

[197a] Λάχης

νὴ τοὺς θεούς, καὶ εὖ γε λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες. καὶ ἡμῖν ὡς ἀληθῶς τοῦτο ἀπόκριναι, ὦ Νικία, πότερον σοφώτερα φῂς ἡμῶν ταῦτα εἶναι τὰ θηρία, ἃ πάντες ὁμολογοῦμεν ἀνδρεῖα εἶναι, ἢ πᾶσιν ἐναντιούμενος τολμᾷς μηδὲ ἀνδρεῖα αὐτὰ καλεῖν;

Νικίας

οὐ γάρ τι, ὦ Λάχης, ἔγωγε ἀνδρεῖα καλῶ οὔτε θηρία οὔτε ἄλλο οὐδὲν τὸ τὰ δεινὰ ὑπὸ ἀνοίας μὴ φοβούμενον, ἀλλ’ ἄφοβον καὶ μῶρον: ἢ καὶ τὰ παιδία πάντα οἴει με [197b] ἀνδρεῖα καλεῖν, ἃ δι’ ἄνοιαν οὐδὲν δέδοικεν; ἀλλ’ οἶμαι τὸ ἄφοβον καὶ τὸ ἀνδρεῖον οὐ ταὐτόν ἐστιν. ἐγὼ δὲ ἀνδρείας μὲν καὶ προμηθίας πάνυ τισὶν ὀλίγοις οἶμαι μετεῖναι, θρασύτητος δὲ καὶ τόλμης καὶ τοῦ ἀφόβου μετὰ ἀπρομηθίας πάνυ πολλοῖς καὶ ἀνδρῶν καὶ γυναικῶν καὶ παίδων καὶ θηρίων. ταῦτ’ οὖν ἃ σὺ καλεῖς ἀνδρεῖα καὶ οἱ πολλοί, ἐγὼ [197c] θρασέα καλῶ, ἀνδρεῖα δὲ τὰ φρόνιμα περὶ ὧν λέγω.

Λάχης

θέασαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς εὖ ὅδε ἑαυτὸν δή, ὡς οἴεται, κοσμεῖ τῷ λόγῳ: οὓς δὲ πάντες ὁμολογοῦσιν ἀνδρείους εἶναι, τούτους ἀποστερεῖν ἐπιχειρεῖ ταύτης τῆς τιμῆς.

Νικίας

οὔκουν σέ γε, ὦ Λάχης, ἀλλὰ θάῤῥει: φημὶ γάρ σε εἶναι σοφόν, καὶ Λάμαχόν γε, εἴπερ ἐστὲ ἀνδρεῖοι, καὶ ἄλλους γε συχνοὺς Ἀθηναίων.

Λάχης

οὐδὲν ἐρῶ πρὸς ταῦτα, ἔχων εἰπεῖν, ἵνα μή με φῇς ὡς ἀληθῶς Αἰξωνέα εἶναι.

[197d] Σωκράτης

μηδέ γε εἴπῃς, ὦ Λάχης: καὶ γάρ μοι δοκεῖς οὐδὲ ᾐσθῆσθαι ὅτι ταύτην τὴν σοφίαν παρὰ Δάμωνος τοῦ ἡμετέρου ἑταίρου παρείληφεν, ὁ δὲ Δάμων τῷ προδίκῳ πολλὰ πλησιάζει, ὃς δὴ δοκεῖ τῶν σοφιστῶν κάλλιστα τὰ τοιαῦτα ὀνόματα διαιρεῖν.

Λάχης

καὶ γὰρ πρέπει, ὦ Σώκρατες, σοφιστῇ τὰ τοιαῦτα μᾶλλον κομψεύεσθαι ἢ ἀνδρὶ ὃν ἡ πόλις ἀξιοῖ αὑτῆς προεστάναι.

[197e] Σωκράτης

πρέπει μέν που, ὦ μακάριε, τῶν μεγίστων προστατοῦντι μεγίστης φρονήσεως μετέχειν: δοκεῖ δέ μοι Νικίας ἄξιος εἶναι ἐπισκέψεως, ὅποι ποτὲ βλέπων τοὔνομα τοῦτο τίθησι τὴν ἀνδρείαν.

Λάχης

αὐτὸς τοίνυν σκόπει, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο μέλλω ποιεῖν, ὦ ἄριστε: μὴ μέντοι οἴου με ἀφήσειν σε τῆς κοινωνίας τοῦ λόγου, ἀλλὰ πρόσεχε τὸν νοῦν καὶ συσκόπει τὰ λεγόμενα.

Λάχης

ταῦτα δὴ ἔστω, εἰ δοκεῖ χρῆναι.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ δοκεῖ. σὺ δέ, Νικία, λέγε ἡμῖν πάλιν ἐξ [198a] ἀρχῆς: οἶσθ’ ὅτι τὴν ἀνδρείαν κατ’ ἀρχὰς τοῦ λόγου ἐσκοποῦμεν ὡς μέρος ἀρετῆς σκοποῦντες;

Νικίας

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ σὺ τοῦτο ἀπεκρίνω ὡς μόριον, ὄντων δὴ καὶ ἄλλων μερῶν, ἃ σύμπαντα ἀρετὴ κέκληται;

Νικίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ἅπερ ἐγὼ καὶ σὺ ταῦτα λέγεις; ἐγὼ δὲ καλῶ πρὸς ἀνδρείᾳ σωφροσύνην καὶ δικαιοσύνην καὶ ἄλλ’ ἄττα τοιαῦτα. οὐ καὶ σύ;

[198b] Νικίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἔχε δή. ταῦτα μὲν γὰρ ὁμολογοῦμεν, περὶ δὲ τῶν δεινῶν καὶ θαῤῥαλέων σκεψώμεθα, ὅπως μὴ σὺ μὲν ἄλλ’ ἄττα ἡγῇ, ἡμεῖς δὲ ἄλλα. ἃ μὲν οὖν ἡμεῖς ἡγούμεθα, φράσομέν σοι: σὺ δὲ ἂν μὴ ὁμολογῇς, διδάξεις. ἡγούμεθα δ’ ἡμεῖς δεινὰ μὲν εἶναι ἃ καὶ δέος παρέχει, θαῤῥαλέα δὲ ἃ μὴ δέος παρέχει — δέος δὲ παρέχει οὐ τὰ γεγονότα οὐδὲ τὰ παρόντα τῶν κακῶν, ἀλλὰ τὰ προσδοκώμενα: δέος γὰρ εἶναι προσδοκίαν μέλλοντος κακοῦ — ἢ οὐχ οὕτω καὶ συνδοκεῖ, ὦ Λάχης;

[198c] Λάχης

πάνυ γε σφόδρα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τὰ μὲν ἡμέτερα τοίνυν, ὦ Νικία, ἀκούεις, ὅτι δεινὰ μὲν τὰ μέλλοντα κακά φαμεν εἶναι, θαῤῥαλέα δὲ τὰ μὴ κακὰ ἢ ἀγαθὰ μέλλοντα: σὺ δὲ ταύτῃ ἢ ἄλλῃ περὶ τούτων λέγεις;

Νικίας

ταύτῃ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τούτων δέ γε τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἀνδρείαν προσαγορεύεις;

Νικίας

κομιδῇ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι δὴ τὸ τρίτον σκεψώμεθα εἰ συνδοκεῖ σοί τε καὶ ἡμῖν.

Νικίας

τὸ ποῖον δὴ τοῦτο;

[198d] Σωκράτης

ἐγὼ δὴ φράσω. δοκεῖ γὰρ δὴ ἐμοί τε καὶ τῷδε, περὶ ὅσων ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη, οὐκ ἄλλη μὲν εἶναι περὶ γεγονότος εἰδέναι ὅπῃ γέγονεν, ἄλλη δὲ περὶ γιγνομένων ὅπῃ γίγνεται, ἄλλη δὲ ὅπῃ ἂν κάλλιστα γένοιτο καὶ γενήσεται τὸ μήπω γεγονός, ἀλλ’ ἡ αὐτή. οἷον περὶ τὸ ὑγιεινὸν εἰς ἅπαντας τοὺς χρόνους οὐκ ἄλλη τις ἢ ἰατρική, μία οὖσα, ἐφορᾷ καὶ γιγνόμενα καὶ γεγονότα καὶ γενησόμενα ὅπῃ [198e] γενήσεται: καὶ περὶ τὰ ἐκ τῆς γῆς αὖ φυόμενα ἡ γεωργία ὡσαύτως ἔχει: καὶ δήπου τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον αὐτοὶ ἂν μαρτυρήσαιτε ὅτι ἡ στρατηγία κάλλιστα προμηθεῖται τά τε ἄλλα καὶ περὶ τὸ μέλλον ἔσεσθαι, οὐδὲ τῇ μαντικῇ οἴεται δεῖν ὑπηρετεῖν ἀλλὰ ἄρχειν, ὡς εἰδυῖα κάλλιον [199a] τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον καὶ γιγνόμενα καὶ γενησόμενα: καὶ ὁ νόμος οὕτω τάττει, μὴ τὸν μάντιν τοῦ στρατηγοῦ ἄρχειν, ἀλλὰ τὸν στρατηγὸν τοῦ μάντεως. φήσομεν ταῦτα, ὦ Λάχης;

Λάχης

φήσομεν.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; σὺ ἡμῖν, ὦ Νικία, σύμφῃς περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν τὴν αὐτὴν ἐπιστήμην καὶ ἐσομένων καὶ γιγνομένων καὶ γεγονότων ἐπαί¨ειν;

Νικίας

ἔγωγε: δοκεῖ γάρ μοι οὕτως, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν, ὦ ἄριστε, καὶ ἡ ἀνδρεία τῶν δεινῶν ἐπιστήμη [199b] ἐστὶν καὶ θαῤῥαλέων, ὡς φῄς: ἦ γάρ;

Νικίας

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὰ δὲ δεινὰ ὡμολόγηται καὶ τὰ θαῤῥαλέα τὰ μὲν μέλλοντα ἀγαθά, τὰ δὲ μέλλοντα κακὰ εἶναι.

Νικίας

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἡ δέ γ’ αὐτὴ ἐπιστήμη τῶν αὐτῶν καὶ μελλόντων καὶ πάντως ἐχόντων εἶναι.

Νικίας

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐ μόνον ἄρα τῶν δεινῶν καὶ θαῤῥαλέων ἡ ἀνδρεία ἐπιστήμη ἐστίν: οὐ γὰρ μελλόντων μόνον πέρι τῶν ἀγαθῶν τε καὶ κακῶν ἐπαί¨ει, ἀλλὰ καὶ γιγνομένων καὶ γεγονότων [199c] καὶ πάντως ἐχόντων, ὥσπερ αἱ ἄλλαι ἐπιστῆμαι.

Νικίας

ἔοικέν γε.

Σωκράτης

μέρος ἄρα ἀνδρείας ἡμῖν, ὦ Νικία, ἀπεκρίνω σχεδόν τι τρίτον: καίτοι ἡμεῖς ἠρωτῶμεν ὅλην ἀνδρείαν ὅτι εἴη. καὶ νῦν δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον οὐ μόνον δεινῶν τε καὶ θαῤῥαλέων ἐπιστήμη ἡ ἀνδρεία ἐστίν, ἀλλὰ σχεδόν τι ἡ περὶ πάντων ἀγαθῶν τε καὶ κακῶν καὶ πάντως ἐχόντων, ὡς [199d] νῦν αὖ ὁ σὸς λόγος, ἀνδρεία ἂν εἴη. οὕτως αὖ μετατίθεσθαι ἢ πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Νικία;

Νικίας

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

δοκεῖ οὖν σοι, ὦ δαιμόνιε, ἀπολείπειν ἄν τι ὁ τοιοῦτος ἀρετῆς, εἴπερ εἰδείη τά τε ἀγαθὰ πάντα καὶ παντάπασιν ὡς γίγνεται καὶ γενήσεται καὶ γέγονε, καὶ τὰ κακὰ ὡσαύτως; καὶ τοῦτον οἴει ἂν σὺ ἐνδεᾶ εἶναι σωφροσύνης ἢ δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ ὁσιότητος, ᾧ γε μόνῳ προσήκει καὶ περὶ θεοὺς καὶ περὶ ἀνθρώπους ἐξευλαβεῖσθαί τε τὰ δεινὰ καὶ τὰ [199e] μή, καὶ τἀγαθὰ πορίζεσθαι, ἐπισταμένῳ ὀρθῶς προσομιλεῖν;

Νικίας

λέγειν τὶ ὦ Σώκρατές μοι δοκεῖς.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα, ὦ Νικία, μόριον ἀρετῆς ἂν εἴη τὸ νῦν σοι λεγόμενον, ἀλλὰ σύμπασα ἀρετή.

Νικίας

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν ἔφαμέν γε τὴν ἀνδρείαν μόριον εἶναι ἓν τῶν τῆς ἀρετῆς.

Νικίας

ἔφαμεν γάρ.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δέ γε νῦν λεγόμενον οὐ φαίνεται.

Νικίας

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα ηὑρήκαμεν, ὦ Νικία, ἀνδρεία ὅτι ἔστιν.

Νικίας

οὐ φαινόμεθα.

Λάχης

καὶ μὴν ἔγωγε, ὦ φίλε Νικία, ᾤμην σε εὑρήσειν, [200a] ἐπειδὴ ἐμοῦ κατεφρόνησας Σωκράτει ἀποκριναμένου: πάνυ δὴ μεγάλην ἐλπίδα εἶχον, ὡς τῇ παρὰ τοῦ Δάμωνος σοφίᾳ αὐτὴν ἀνευρήσεις.

Νικίας

εὖ γε, ὦ Λάχης, ὅτι οὐδὲν οἴει σὺ ἔτι πρᾶγμα εἶναι ὅτι αὐτὸς ἄρτι ἐφάνης ἀνδρείας πέρι οὐδὲν εἰδώς, ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ ἐγὼ ἕτερος τοιοῦτος ἀναφανήσομαι, πρὸς τοῦτο βλέπεις, καὶ οὐδὲν ἔτι διοίσει, ὡς ἔοικε, σοὶ μετ’ ἐμοῦ μηδὲν εἰδέναι ὧν προσήκει ἐπιστήμην ἔχειν ἀνδρὶ οἰομένῳ τὶ εἶναι. σὺ [200b] μὲν οὖν μοι δοκεῖς ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀνθρώπειον πρᾶγμα ἐργάζεσθαι οὐδὲ πρὸς σαυτὸν βλέπειν ἀλλὰ πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους: ἐγὼ δ’ οἶμαι ἐμοὶ περὶ ὧν ἐλέγομεν νῦν τε ἐπιεικῶς εἰρῆσθαι, καὶ εἴ τι αὐτῶν μὴ ἱκανῶς εἴρηται, ὕστερον ἐπανορθώσεσθαι καὶ μετὰ Δάμωνος — οὗ σύ που οἴει καταγελᾶν, καὶ ταῦτα οὐδ’ ἰδὼν πώποτε τὸν Δάμωνα — καὶ μετ’ ἄλλων: καὶ ἐπειδὰν βεβαιώσωμαι αὐτά, διδάξω καὶ σέ, καὶ οὐ φθονήσω: δοκεῖς [200c] γάρ μοι καὶ μάλα σφόδρα δεῖσθαι μαθεῖν.

Λάχης

σοφὸς γάρ τοι σὺ εἶ, ὦ Νικία. ἀλλ’ ὅμως ἐγὼ Λυσιμάχῳ τῷδε καὶ Μελησίᾳ συμβουλεύω σὲ μὲν καὶ ἐμὲ περὶ τῆς παιδείας τῶν νεανίσκων χαίρειν ἐᾶν, Σωκράτη δὲ τουτονί, ὅπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἔλεγον, μὴ ἀφιέναι: εἰ δὲ καὶ ἐμοὶ ἐν ἡλικίᾳ ἦσαν οἱ παῖδες, ταὐτὰ ἂν ταῦτ’ ἐποίουν.

Νικίας

ταῦτα μὲν κἀγὼ συγχωρῶ: ἐάνπερ ἐθέλῃ Σωκράτης τῶν μειρακίων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, μηδένα ἄλλον ζητεῖν. ἐπεὶ κἂν [200d] ἐγὼ τὸν Νικήρατον τούτῳ ἥδιστα ἐπιτρέποιμι, εἰ ἐθέλοι οὗτος: ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἄλλους μοι ἑκάστοτε συνίστησιν, ὅταν τι αὐτῷ περὶ τούτου μνησθῶ, αὐτὸς δὲ οὐκ ἐθέλει. ἀλλ’ ὅρα, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, εἴ τι σοῦ ἂν μᾶλλον ὑπακούοι Σωκράτης.

Λυσίμαχος

δίκαιόν γέ τοι, ὦ Νικία, ἐπεὶ καὶ ἐγὼ τούτῳ πολλὰ ἂν ἐθελήσαιμι ποιεῖν, ἃ οὐκ ἂν ἄλλοις πάνυ πολλοῖς ἐθέλοιμι. πῶς οὖν φῄς, ὦ Σώκρατες; ὑπακούσῃ τι καὶ συμπροθυμήσῃ ὡς βελτίστοις γενέσθαι τοῖς μειρακίοις;

[200e] Σωκράτης

καὶ γὰρ ἂν δεινὸν εἴη, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, τοῦτό γε, μὴ ἐθέλειν τῳ συμπροθυμεῖσθαι ὡς βελτίστῳ γενέσθαι. εἰ μὲν οὖν ἐν τοῖς διαλόγοις τοῖς ἄρτι ἐγὼ μὲν ἐφάνην εἰδώς, τώδε δὲ μὴ εἰδότε, δίκαιον ἂν ἦν ἐμὲ μάλιστα ἐπὶ τοῦτο τὸ ἔργον παρακαλεῖν, νῦν δ’ ὁμοίως γὰρ πάντες ἐν ἀπορίᾳ ἐγενόμεθα: τί οὖν ἄν τις ἡμῶν τίνα προαιροῖτο; ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν δὴ αὐτῷ [201a] δοκεῖ οὐδένα: ἀλλ’ ἐπειδὴ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει, σκέψασθε ἄν τι δόξω συμβουλεύειν ὑμῖν. ἐγὼ γάρ φημι χρῆναι, ὦ ἄνδρες — οὐδεὶς γὰρ ἔκφορος λόγος — κοινῇ πάντας ἡμᾶς ζητεῖν μάλιστα μὲν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς διδάσκαλον ὡς ἄριστον — δεόμεθα γάρ — ἔπειτα καὶ τοῖς μειρακίοις, μήτε χρημάτων φειδομένους μήτε ἄλλου μηδενός: ἐᾶν δὲ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς ἔχειν ὡς νῦν ἔχομεν οὐ συμβουλεύω. εἰ δέ τις ἡμῶν καταγελάσεται, ὅτι [201b] τηλικοίδε ὄντες εἰς διδασκάλων ἀξιοῦμεν φοιτᾶν, τὸν Ὅμηρον δοκεῖ μοι χρῆναι προβάλλεσθαι, ὃς ἔφη οὐκ ἀγαθὴνηομ. οδ. 17.347 εἶναι αἰδῶ κεχρημένῳ ἀνδρὶ παρεῖναι. καὶ ἡμεῖς οὖν ἐάσαντες χαίρειν εἴ τίς τι ἐρεῖ, κοινῇ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν καὶ τῶν μειρακίων ἐπιμέλειαν ποιησώμεθα.

Λυσίμαχος

ἐμοὶ μὲν ἀρέσκει, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἃ λέγεις: καὶ ἐθέλω, ὅσῳπερ γεραίτατός εἰμι, τοσούτῳ προθυμότατα μανθάνειν μετὰ τῶν νεανίσκων. ἀλλά μοι οὑτωσὶ ποίησον: αὔριον [201c] ἕωθεν ἀφίκου οἴκαδε καὶ μὴ ἄλλως ποιήσῃς, ἵνα βουλευσώμεθα περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων, τὸ δὲ νῦν εἶναι τὴν συνουσίαν διαλύσωμεν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ ποιήσω, ὦ Λυσίμαχε, ταῦτα, καὶ ἥξω παρὰ σὲ αὔριον, ἐὰν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ.

LYSIS

Σωκράτης

[203a] Σωκράτης: ἐπορευόμην μὲν ἐξ Ἀκαδημείας εὐθὺ Λυκείου τὴν ἔξω τείχους ὑπ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ τεῖχος: ἐπειδὴ δ᾽ ἐγενόμην κατὰ τὴν πυλίδα ᾗ ἡ Πάνοπος κρήνη, ἐνταῦθα συνέτυχον Ἱπποθάλει τε τῷ Ἱερωνύμου καὶ Κτησίππῳ τῷ Παιανιεῖ καὶ ἄλλοις μετὰ τούτων νεανίσκοις ἁθρόοις συνεστῶσι. καί με προσιόντα ὁ Ἱπποθάλης ἰδών, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ποῖ δὴ πορεύῃ καὶ [203b] πόθεν;

ἐξ Ἀκαδημείας, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πορεύομαι εὐθὺ Λυκείου.

δεῦρο δή, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εὐθὺ ἡμῶν. οὐ παραβάλλεις; ἄξιον μέντοι.

ποῖ, ἔφην ἐγώ, λέγεις, καὶ παρὰ τίνας τοὺς ὑμᾶς;

δεῦρο, ἔφη, δείξας μοι ἐν τῷ καταντικρὺ τοῦ τείχους περίβολόν τέ τινα καὶ θύραν ἀνεῳγμένην. διατρίβομεν δέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, αὐτόθι ἡμεῖς τε αὐτοὶ καὶ ἄλλοι πάνυ πολλοὶ καὶ καλοί. [204a]

ἔστιν δὲ δὴ τί τοῦτο, καὶ τίς ἡ διατριβή;

παλαίστρα, ἔφη, νεωστὶ ᾠκοδομημένη: ἡ δὲ διατριβὴ τὰ πολλὰ ἐν λόγοις, ὧν ἡδέως ἄν σοι μεταδιδοῖμεν.

καλῶς γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ποιοῦντες: διδάσκει δὲ τίς αὐτόθι;

σὸς ἑταῖρός γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, καὶ ἐπαινέτης, Μίκκος.

μὰ Δία, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐ φαῦλός γε ἁνήρ, ἀλλ᾽ ἱκανὸς σοφιστής.

βούλει οὖν ἕπεσθαι, ἔφη, ἵνα καὶ ἴδῃς τοὺς ὄντας αὐτόθι [αὐτοῦ]; [204b]

πρῶτον ἡδέως ἀκούσαιμ᾽ ἂν ἐπὶ τῷ καὶ εἴσειμι καὶ τίς ὁ καλός.

ἄλλος, ἔφη, ἄλλῳ ἡμῶν δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

σοὶ δὲ δὴ τίς, ὦ Ἱππόθαλες; τοῦτό μοι εἰπέ.

καὶ ὃς ἐρωτηθεὶς ἠρυθρίασεν. καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: ὦ παῖ Ἱερωνύμου Ἱππόθαλες, τοῦτο μὲν μηκέτι εἴπῃς, εἴτε ἐρᾷς του εἴτε μή: οἶδα γὰρ ὅτι οὐ μόνον ἐρᾷς, ἀλλὰ καὶ πόρρω ἤδη εἶ πορευόμενος τοῦ ἔρωτος. εἰμὶ δ᾽ ἐγὼ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα φαῦλος [204c] καὶ ἄχρηστος, τοῦτο δέ μοί πως ἐκ θεοῦ δέδοται, ταχὺ οἵῳ τ᾽ εἶναι γνῶναι ἐρῶντά τε καὶ ἐρώμενον.

καὶ ὃς ἀκούσας πολὺ ἔτι μᾶλλον ἠρυθρίασεν. ὁ οὖν Κτήσιππος, Ἀστεῖόν γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὅτι ἐρυθριᾷς, ὦ Ἱππόθαλες, καὶ ὀκνεῖς εἰπεῖν Σωκράτει τοὔνομα: ἐὰν δ᾽ οὗτος καὶ σμικρὸν χρόνον συνδιατρίψῃ σοι, παραταθήσεται ὑπὸ σοῦ ἀκούων θαμὰ λέγοντος. ἡμῶν γοῦν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐκκεκώφωκε τὰ [204d] ὦτα καὶ ἐμπέπληκε Λύσιδος: ἂν μὲν δὴ καὶ ὑποπίῃ, εὐμαρία ἡμῖν ἐστιν καὶ ἐξ ὕπνου ἐγρομένοις Λύσιδος οἴεσθαι τοὔνομα ἀκούειν. καὶ ἃ μὲν καταλογάδην διηγεῖται, δεινὰ ὄντα, οὐ πάνυ τι δεινά ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὰν τὰ ποιήματα ἡμῶν ἐπιχειρήσῃ καταντλεῖν καὶ συγγράμματα. καὶ ὅ ἐστιν τούτων δεινότερον, ὅτι καὶ ᾁδει εἰς τὰ παιδικὰ φωνῇ θαυμασίᾳ, ἣν ἡμᾶς δεῖ ἀκούοντας ἀνέχεσθαι. νῦν δὲ ἐρωτώμενος ὑπὸ σοῦ ἐρυθριᾷ. [204e]

ἔστιν δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὁ Λύσις νέος τις, ὡς ἔοικε: τεκμαίρομαι δέ, ὅτι ἀκούσας τοὔνομα οὐκ ἔγνων.

οὐ γὰρ πάνυ, ἔφη, τὶ αὐτοῦ τοὔνομα λέγουσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι πατρόθεν ἐπονομάζεται διὰ τὸ σφόδρα τὸν πατέρα γιγνώσκεσθαι αὐτοῦ. ἐπεὶ εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι πολλοῦ δεῖς τὸ εἶδος ἀγνοεῖν τοῦ παιδός: ἱκανὸς γὰρ καὶ ἀπὸ μόνου τούτου γιγνώσκεσθαι.

λεγέσθω, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὗτινος ἔστιν.

Δημοκράτους, ἔφη, τοῦ Αἰξωνέως ὁ πρεσβύτατος ὑός.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Ἱππόθαλες, ὡς γενναῖον καὶ νεανικὸν τοῦτον τὸν ἔρωτα πανταχῇ ἀνηῦρες: καί μοι ἴθι ἐπίδειξαι ἃ [205a] καὶ τοῖσδε ἐπιδείκνυσαι, ἵνα εἰδῶ εἰ ἐπίστασαι ἃ χρὴ ἐραστὴν περὶ παιδικῶν πρὸς αὐτὸν ἢ πρὸς ἄλλους λέγειν.

τούτων δέ τι, ἔφη, σταθμᾷ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὧν ὅδε λέγει;

πότερον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ τὸ ἐρᾶν ἔξαρνος εἶ οὗ λέγει ὅδε;

οὐκ ἔγωγε, ἔφη, ἀλλὰ μὴ ποιεῖν εἰς τὰ παιδικὰ μηδὲ συγγράφειν.

οὐχ ὑγιαίνει, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος, ἀλλὰ ληρεῖ τε καὶ μαίνεται.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: ὦ Ἱππόθαλες, οὔ τι τῶν μέτρων δέομαι [205b] ἀκοῦσαι οὐδὲ μέλος εἴ τι πεποίηκας εἰς τὸν νεανίσκον, ἀλλὰ τῆς διανοίας, ἵνα εἰδῶ τίνα τρόπον προσφέρῃ πρὸς τὰ παιδικά.

ὅδε δήπου σοι, ἔφη, ἐρεῖ: ἀκριβῶς γὰρ ἐπίσταται καὶ μέμνηται, εἴπερ, ὡς λέγει, ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ ἀεὶ ἀκούων διατεθρύληται.

νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος, πάνυ γε. καὶ γάρ ἐστι καταγέλαστα, ὦ Σώκρατες. τὸ γὰρ ἐραστὴν ὄντα καὶ διαφερόντως τῶν ἄλλων τὸν νοῦν προσέχοντα τῷ παιδὶ ἴδιον [205c] μὲν μηδὲν ἔχειν λέγειν ὃ οὐχὶ κἂν παῖς εἴποι, πῶς οὐχὶ καταγέλαστον; ἃ δὲ ἡ πόλις ὅλη ᾁδει περὶ Δημοκράτους καὶ Λύσιδος τοῦ πάππου τοῦ παιδὸς καὶ πάντων πέρι τῶν προγόνων, πλούτους τε καὶ ἱπποτροφίας καὶ νίκας Πυθοῖ καὶ Ἰσθμοῖ καὶ Νεμέᾳ τεθρίπποις τε καὶ κέλησι, ταῦτα ποιεῖ τε καὶ λέγει, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἔτι τούτων κρονικώτερα. τὸν γὰρ τοῦ Ἡρακλέους ξενισμὸν πρῴην ἡμῖν ἐν ποιήματί τινι διῄει, ὡς διὰ τὴν τοῦ Ἡρακλέους συγγένειαν ὁ πρόγονος αὐτῶν [205d] ὑποδέξαιτο τὸν Ἡρακλέα, γεγονὼς αὐτὸς ἐκ Διός τε καὶ τῆς τοῦ δήμου ἀρχηγέτου θυγατρός, ἅπερ αἱ γραῖαι ᾁδουσι, καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ τοιαῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες: ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἃ οὗτος λέγων τε καὶ ᾁδων ἀναγκάζει καὶ ἡμᾶς ἀκροᾶσθαι.

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας εἶπον: ὦ καταγέλαστε Ἱππόθαλες, πρὶν νενικηκέναι ποιεῖς τε καὶ ᾁδεις εἰς σαυτὸν ἐγκώμιον;

ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ εἰς ἐμαυτόν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὔτε ποιῶ οὔτε ᾁδω.

οὐκ οἴει γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

τὸ δὲ πῶς ἔχει; ἔφη. [205e]

πάντων μάλιστα, εἶπον, εἰς σὲ τείνουσιν αὗται αἱ ᾠδαί. ἐὰν μὲν γὰρ ἕλῃς τὰ παιδικὰ τοιαῦτα ὄντα, κόσμος σοι ἔσται τὰ λεχθέντα καὶ ᾀσθέντα καὶ τῷ ὄντι ἐγκώμια ὥσπερ νενικηκότι, ὅτι τοιούτων παιδικῶν ἔτυχες: ἐὰν δέ σε διαφύγῃ, ὅσῳ ἂν μείζω σοι εἰρημένα ᾖ ἐγκώμια περὶ τῶν παιδικῶν, τοσούτῳ μειζόνων δόξεις καλῶν τε καὶ ἀγαθῶν ἐστερημένος [206a] καταγέλαστος εἶναι. ὅστις οὖν τὰ ἐρωτικά, ὦ φίλε, σοφός, οὐκ ἐπαινεῖ τὸν ἐρώμενον πρὶν ἂν ἕλῃ, δεδιὼς τὸ μέλλον ὅπῃ ἀποβήσεται. καὶ ἅμα οἱ καλοί, ἐπειδάν τις αὐτοὺς ἐπαινῇ καὶ αὔξῃ, φρονήματος ἐμπίμπλανται καὶ μεγαλαυχίας: ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

ἔγωγε, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ὅσῳ ἂν μεγαλαυχότεροι ὦσιν, δυσαλωτότεροι γίγνονται;

εἰκός γε.

ποῖός τις οὖν ἄν σοι δοκεῖ θηρευτὴς εἶναι, εἰ ἀνασοβοῖ θηρεύων καὶ δυσαλωτοτέραν τὴν ἄγραν ποιοῖ; [206b]

δῆλον ὅτι φαῦλος.

καὶ μὲν δὴ λόγοις τε καὶ ᾠδαῖς μὴ κηλεῖν ἀλλ᾽ ἐξαγριαίνειν πολλὴ ἀμουσία: ἦ γάρ;

δοκεῖ μοι.

σκόπει δή, ὦ Ἱππόθαλες, ὅπως μὴ πᾶσι τούτοις ἔνοχον σαυτὸν ποιήσεις διὰ τὴν ποίησιν: καίτοι οἶμαι ἐγὼ ἄνδρα ποιήσει βλάπτοντα ἑαυτὸν οὐκ ἄν σε ἐθέλειν ὁμολογῆσαι ὡς ἀγαθός ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν ποιητής, βλαβερὸς ὢν ἑαυτῷ.

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἔφη: πολλὴ γὰρ ἂν ἀλογία εἴη. ἀλλὰ διὰ [206c] ταῦτα δή σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀνακοινοῦμαι, καὶ εἴ τι ἄλλο ἔχεις, συμβούλευε τίνα ἄν τις λόγον διαλεγόμενος ἢ τί πράττων προσφιλὴς παιδικοῖς γένοιτο.

οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰπεῖν: ἀλλ᾽ εἴ μοι ἐθελήσαις αὐτὸν ποιῆσαι εἰς λόγους ἐλθεῖν, ἴσως ἂν δυναίμην σοι ἐπιδεῖξαι ἃ χρὴ αὐτῷ διαλέγεσθαι ἀντὶ τούτων ὧν οὗτοι λέγειν τε καὶ ᾁδειν φασί σε.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδέν, ἔφη, χαλεπόν. ἂν γὰρ εἰσέλθῃς μετὰ Κτησίππου τοῦδε καὶ καθεζόμενος διαλέγῃ, οἶμαι μὲν καὶ αὐτός σοι πρόσεισι φιλήκοος γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, διαφερόντως [206d] ἐστίν, καὶ ἅμα, ὡς Ἑρμαῖα ἄγουσιν, ἀναμεμειγμένοι ἐν ταὐτῷ εἰσιν οἵ τε νεανίσκοι καὶ οἱ παῖδες πρόσεισιν οὖν σοι. εἰ δὲ μή, Κτησίππῳ συνήθης ἐστὶν διὰ τὸν τούτου ἀνεψιὸν Μενέξενον: Μενεξένῳ μὲν γὰρ δὴ πάντων μάλιστα ἑταῖρος ὢν τυγχάνει. καλεσάτω οὖν οὗτος αὐτόν, ἐὰν ἄρα μὴ προσίῃ αὐτός.

ταῦτα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, χρὴ ποιεῖν. καὶ ἅμα λαβὼν τὸν [206e] Κτήσιππον προσῇα εἰς τὴν παλαίστραν: οἱ δ᾽ ἄλλοι ὕστεροι ἡμῶν ᾖσαν.

εἰσελθόντες δὲ κατελάβομεν αὐτόθι τεθυκότας τε τοὺς παῖδας καὶ τὰ περὶ τὰ ἱερεῖα σχεδόν τι ἤδη πεποιημένα, ἀστραγαλίζοντάς τε δὴ καὶ κεκοσμημένους ἅπαντας. οἱ μὲν οὖν πολλοὶ ἐν τῇ αὐλῇ ἔπαιζον ἔξω, οἱ δέ τινες τοῦ ἀποδυτηρίου ἐν γωνίᾳ ἠρτίαζον ἀστραγάλοις παμπόλλοις, ἐκ φορμίσκων τινῶν προαιρούμενοι: τούτους δὲ περιέστασαν ἄλλοι θεωροῦντες. ὧν δὴ καὶ ὁ Λύσις ἦν, καὶ εἱστήκει ἐν [207a] τοῖς παισί τε καὶ νεανίσκοις ἐστεφανωμένος καὶ τὴν ὄψιν διαφέρων, οὐ τὸ καλὸς εἶναι μόνον ἄξιος ἀκοῦσαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι καλός τε κἀγαθός. καὶ ἡμεῖς εἰς τὸ καταντικρὺ ἀποχωρήσαντες ἐκαθεζόμεθα ἦν γὰρ αὐτόθι ἡσυχία καί τι ἀλλήλοις διελεγόμεθα. περιστρεφόμενος οὖν ὁ Λύσις θαμὰ ἐπεσκοπεῖτο ἡμᾶς, καὶ δῆλος ἦν ἐπιθυμῶν προσελθεῖν. τέως μὲν οὖν ἠπόρει τε καὶ ὤκνει μόνος προσιέναι, ἔπειτα ὁ Μενέξενος [207b] ἐκ τῆς αὐλῆς μεταξὺ παίζων εἰσέρχεται, καὶ ὡς εἶδεν ἐμέ τε καὶ τὸν Κτήσιππον, ᾔει παρακαθιζησόμενος: ἰδὼν οὖν αὐτὸν ὁ Λύσις εἵπετο καὶ συμπαρεκαθέζετο μετὰ τοῦ Μενεξένου. προσῆλθον δὴ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι, καὶ δὴ καὶ ὁ Ἱπποθάλης, ἐπειδὴ πλείους ἑώρα ἐφισταμένους, τούτους ἐπηλυγισάμενος προσέστη ᾗ μὴ ᾤετο κατόψεσθαι τὸν λύσιν, δεδιὼς μὴ αὐτῷ ἀπεχθάνοιτο: καὶ οὕτω προσεστὼς ἠκροᾶτο.

καὶ ἐγὼ πρὸς τὸν Μενέξενον ἀποβλέψας, ὦ παῖ Δημοφῶντος, [207c] ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πότερος ὑμῶν πρεσβύτερος;

ἀμφισβητοῦμεν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὁπότερος γενναιότερος, ἐρίζοιτ᾽ ἄν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

πάνυ γε, ἔφη.

καὶ μὴν ὁπότερός γε καλλίων, ὡσαύτως.

ἐγελασάτην οὖν ἄμφω.

οὐ μὴν ὁπότερός γε, ἔφην, πλουσιώτερος ὑμῶν, οὐκ ἐρήσομαι: φίλω γάρ ἐστον. ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἐφάτην.

οὐκοῦν κοινὰ τά γε φίλων λέγεται, ὥστε τούτῳ γε οὐδὲν διοίσετον, εἴπερ ἀληθῆ περὶ τῆς φιλίας λέγετον.

συνεφάτην. [207d]

ἐπεχείρουν δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο ἐρωτᾶν ὁπότερος δικαιότερος καὶ σοφώτερος αὐτῶν εἴη. μεταξὺ οὖν τις προσελθὼν ἀνέστησε τὸν Μενέξενον, φάσκων καλεῖν τὸν παιδοτρίβην: ἐδόκει γάρ μοι ἱεροποιῶν τυγχάνειν. ἐκεῖνος μὲν οὖν ᾤχετο: ἐγὼ δὲ τὸν λύσιν ἠρόμην, ἦ που, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Λύσι, σφόδρα φιλεῖ σε ὁ πατὴρ καὶ ἡ μήτηρ;

πάνυ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν βούλοιντο ἄν σε ὡς εὐδαιμονέστατον εἶναι;

[207e] πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

δοκεῖ δέ σοι εὐδαίμων εἶναι ἄνθρωπος δουλεύων τε καὶ ᾧ μηδὲν ἐξείη ποιεῖν ὧν ἐπιθυμοῖ;

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔμοιγε, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν εἴ σε φιλεῖ ὁ πατὴρ καὶ ἡ μήτηρ καὶ εὐδαίμονά σε ἐπιθυμοῦσι γενέσθαι, τοῦτο παντὶ τρόπῳ δῆλον ὅτι προθυμοῦνται ὅπως ἂν εὐδαιμονοίης.

πῶς γὰρ οὐχί; ἔφη.

ἐῶσιν ἄρα σε ἃ βούλει ποιεῖν, καὶ οὐδὲν ἐπιπλήττουσιν οὐδὲ διακωλύουσι ποιεῖν ὧν ἂν ἐπιθυμῇς;

ναὶ μὰ Δία ἐμέ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ μάλα γε πολλὰ κωλύουσιν.

πῶς λέγεις; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. βουλόμενοί σε μακάριον [208a] εἶναι διακωλύουσι τοῦτο ποιεῖν ὃ ἂν βούλῃ; ὧδε δέ μοι λέγε. ἢν ἐπιθυμήσῃς ἐπί τινος τῶν τοῦ πατρὸς ἁρμάτων ὀχεῖσθαι λαβὼν τὰς ἡνίας, ὅταν ἁμιλλᾶται, οὐκ ἂν ἐῷέν σε ἀλλὰ διακωλύοιεν;

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐ μέντοι ἄν, ἔφη, ἐῷεν.

ἀλλὰ τίνα μήν;

ἔστιν τις ἡνίοχος παρὰ τοῦ πατρὸς μισθὸν φέρων.

πῶς λέγεις; μισθωτῷ μᾶλλον ἐπιτρέπουσιν ἢ σοὶ ποιεῖν ὅτι ἂν βούληται περὶ τοὺς ἵππους, καὶ προσέτι [208b] αὐτοῦ τούτου ἀργύριον τελοῦσιν;

ἀλλὰ τί μήν; ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ τοῦ ὀρικοῦ ζεύγους οἶμαι ἐπιτρέπουσίν σοι ἄρχειν, κἂν εἰ βούλοιο λαβὼν τὴν μάστιγα τύπτειν, ἐῷεν ἄν.

πόθεν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐῷεν;

τί δέ; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: οὐδενὶ ἔξεστιν αὐτοὺς τύπτειν;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, τῷ ὀρεοκόμῳ.

δούλῳ ὄντι ἢ ἐλευθέρῳ;

δούλῳ, ἔφη.

καὶ δοῦλον, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡγοῦνται περὶ πλείονος ἢ σὲ τὸν ὑόν, καὶ ἐπιτρέπουσι τὰ ἑαυτῶν μᾶλλον ἢ σοί, καὶ ἐῶσιν ποιεῖν ὅτι βούλεται, σὲ δὲ [208c] διακωλύουσι; καί μοι ἔτι τόδε εἰπέ. σὲ αὐτὸν ἐῶσιν ἄρχειν σεαυτοῦ, ἢ οὐδὲ τοῦτο ἐπιτρέπουσί σοι;

πῶς γάρ, ἔφη, ἐπιτρέπουσιν;

ἀλλ᾽ ἄρχει τίς σου;

ὅδε, παιδαγωγός, ἔφη.

μῶν δοῦλος ὤν;

ἀλλὰ τί μήν; ἡμέτερός γε, ἔφη.

ἦ δεινόν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐλεύθερον ὄντα ὑπὸ δούλου ἄρχεσθαι. τί δὲ ποιῶν αὖ οὗτος ὁ παιδαγωγός σου ἄρχει;

ἄγων δήπου, ἔφη, εἰς διδασκάλου.

μῶν μὴ καὶ οὗτοί σου ἄρχουσιν, οἱ [208d] διδάσκαλοι;

πάντως δήπου.

παμπόλλους ἄρα σοι δεσπότας καὶ ἄρχοντας ἑκὼν ὁ πατὴρ ἐφίστησιν. ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα ἐπειδὰν οἴκαδε ἔλθῃς παρὰ τὴν μητέρα, ἐκείνη σε ἐᾷ ποιεῖν ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ, ἵν᾽ αὐτῇ μακάριος ᾖς, ἢ περὶ τὰ ἔρια ἢ περὶ τὸν ἱστόν, ὅταν ὑφαίνῃ; οὔ τι γάρ που διακωλύει σε ἢ τῆς σπάθης ἢ τῆς κερκίδος ἢ ἄλλου του τῶν περὶ ταλασιουργίαν ὀργάνων ἅπτεσθαι.

καὶ ὃς γελάσας, μὰ Δία, ἔφη, ὦ [208e] Σώκρατες, οὐ μόνον γε διακωλύει, ἀλλὰ καὶ τυπτοίμην ἂν εἰ ἁπτοίμην.

Ἡράκλεις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μῶν μή τι ἠδίκηκας τὸν πατέρα ἢ τὴν μητέρα;

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε, ἔφη.

ἀλλ᾽ ἀντὶ τίνος μὴν οὕτω σε δεινῶς διακωλύουσιν εὐδαίμονα εἶναι καὶ ποιεῖν ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ, καὶ δι᾽ ἡμέρας ὅλης τρέφουσί σε ἀεί τῳ δουλεύοντα καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ ὀλίγου ὧν ἐπιθυμεῖς οὐδὲν ποιοῦντα; ὥστε σοι, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὔτε τῶν χρημάτων τοσούτων ὄντων οὐδὲν ὄφελος, ἀλλὰ πάντες [209a] αὐτῶν μᾶλλον ἄρχουσιν ἢ σύ, οὔτε τοῦ σώματος οὕτω γενναίου ὄντος, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτο ἄλλος ποιμαίνει καὶ θεραπεύει: σὺ δὲ ἄρχεις οὐδενός, ὦ Λύσι, οὐδὲ ποιεῖς οὐδὲν ὧν ἐπιθυμεῖς.

οὐ γάρ πω, ἔφη, ἡλικίαν ἔχω, ὦ Σώκρατες.

μὴ οὐ τοῦτό σε, ὦ παῖ Δημοκράτους, κωλύῃ, ἐπεὶ τό γε τοσόνδε, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, καὶ ὁ πατὴρ καὶ ἡ μήτηρ σοι ἐπιτρέπουσιν καὶ οὐκ ἀναμένουσιν ἕως ἂν ἡλικίαν ἔχῃς. ὅταν γὰρ βούλωνται αὑτοῖς τινα ἀναγνωσθῆναι ἢ γραφῆναι, σέ, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, [209b] πρῶτον τῶν ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ ἐπὶ τοῦτο τάττουσιν. ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἔξεστί σοι ἐνταῦθ᾽ ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ πρῶτον τῶν γραμμάτων γράφειν καὶ ὅτι ἂν δεύτερον: καὶ ἀναγιγνώσκειν ὡσαύτως ἔξεστιν. καὶ ἐπειδάν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, τὴν λύραν λάβῃς, οὐ διακωλύουσί σε οὔτε ὁ πατὴρ οὔτε ἡ μήτηρ ἐπιτεῖναί τε καὶ ἀνεῖναι ἣν ἂν βούλῃ τῶν χορδῶν, καὶ ψῆλαι καὶ κρούειν τῷ πλήκτρῳ. ἢ διακωλύουσιν;

οὐ δῆτα.

τί ποτ᾽ ἂν οὖν εἴη, ὦ Λύσι, τὸ αἴτιον ὅτι ἐνταῦθα [209c] μὲν οὐ διακωλύουσιν, ἐν οἷς δὲ ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν κωλύουσι;

ὅτι οἶμαι, ἔφη, ταῦτα μὲν ἐπίσταμαι, ἐκεῖνα δ᾽ οὔ.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ ἄριστε: οὐκ ἄρα τὴν ἡλικίαν σου περιμένει ὁ πατὴρ ἐπιτρέπειν πάντα, ἀλλ᾽ ᾗ ἂν ἡμέρᾳ ἡγήσηταί σε βέλτιον αὑτοῦ φρονεῖν, ταύτῃ ἐπιτρέψει σοι καὶ αὑτὸν καὶ τὰ αὑτοῦ.

οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ἔφη.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: τί δέ; τῷ γείτονι ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ὁ αὐτὸς ὅρος ὅσπερ τῷ πατρὶ περὶ σοῦ; [209d] πότερον οἴει αὐτὸν ἐπιτρέψειν σοι τὴν αὑτοῦ οἰκίαν οἰκονομεῖν, ὅταν σε ἡγήσηται βέλτιον περὶ οἰκονομίας ἑαυτοῦ φρονεῖν, ἢ αὐτὸν ἐπιστατήσειν;

ἐμοὶ ἐπιτρέψειν οἶμαι.

τί δ᾽; Ἀθηναίους οἴει σοι οὐκ ἐπιτρέψειν τὰ αὑτῶν, ὅταν αἰσθάνωνται ὅτι ἱκανῶς φρονεῖς;

ἔγωγε.

πρὸς Διός, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τί ἄρα ὁ μέγας βασιλεύς; πότερον τῷ πρεσβυτάτῳ ὑεῖ, οὗ ἡ τῆς Ἀσίας ἀρχὴ γίγνεται, μᾶλλον ἂν ἐπιτρέψειεν ἑψομένων κρεῶν [ἐμβάλλειν] ὅτι ἂν βούληται ἐμβαλεῖν [209e] εἰς τὸν ζωμόν, ἢ ἡμῖν, εἰ ἀφικόμενοι παρ᾽ ἐκεῖνον ἐνδειξαίμεθα αὐτῷ ὅτι ἡμεῖς κάλλιον φρονοῦμεν ἢ ὁ ὑὸς αὐτοῦ περὶ ὄψου σκευασίας; ἡμῖν δῆλον ὅτι, ἔφη.

καὶ τὸν μέν γε οὐδ᾽ ἂν σμικρὸν ἐάσειεν ἐμβαλεῖν: ἡμᾶς δέ, κἂν εἰ βουλοίμεθα δραξάμενοι τῶν ἁλῶν, ἐῴη ἂν ἐμβαλεῖν.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τί δ᾽ εἰ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ὁ ὑὸς αὐτοῦ ἀσθενοῖ, ἆρα ἐῴη ἂν αὐτὸν ἅπτεσθαι τῶν ἑαυτοῦ [210a] ὀφθαλμῶν, μὴ ἰατρὸν ἡγούμενος, ἢ κωλύοι ἄν;

κωλύοι ἄν.

ἡμᾶς δέ γε εἰ ὑπολαμβάνοι ἰατρικοὺς εἶναι, κἂν εἰ βουλοίμεθα διανοίγοντες τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ἐμπάσαι τῆς τέφρας, οἶμαι οὐκ ἂν κωλύσειεν, ἡγούμενος ὀρθῶς φρονεῖν.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ἡμῖν ἐπιτρέποι ἂν μᾶλλον ἢ ἑαυτῷ καὶ τῷ ὑεῖ, περὶ ὅσων ἂν δόξωμεν αὐτῷ σοφώτεροι ἐκείνων εἶναι;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὕτως ἄρα ἔχει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε Λύσι: εἰς μὲν ταῦτα, [210b] ἃ ἂν φρόνιμοι γενώμεθα, ἅπαντες ἡμῖν ἐπιτρέψουσιν, Ἕλληνές τε καὶ βάρβαροι καὶ ἄνδρες καὶ γυναῖκες, ποιήσομέν τε ἐν τούτοις ὅτι ἂν βουλώμεθα, καὶ οὐδεὶς ἡμᾶς ἑκὼν εἶναι ἐμποδιεῖ, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτοί τε ἐλεύθεροι ἐσόμεθα ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ ἄλλων ἄρχοντες, ἡμέτερά τε ταῦτα ἔσται ὀνησόμεθα γὰρ ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν εἰς ἃ δ᾽ ἂν νοῦν μὴ κτησώμεθα, οὔτε τις ἡμῖν ἐπιτρέψει περὶ αὐτὰ ποιεῖν τὰ ἡμῖν δοκοῦντα, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμποδιοῦσι [210c] πάντες καθ᾽ ὅτι ἂν δύνωνται, οὐ μόνον οἱ ἀλλότριοι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὁ πατὴρ καὶ ἡ μήτηρ καὶ εἴ τι τούτων οἰκειότερόν ἐστιν, αὐτοί τε ἐν αὐτοῖς ἐσόμεθα ἄλλων ὑπήκοοι, καὶ ἡμῖν ἔσται ἀλλότρια: οὐδὲν γὰρ ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν ὀνησόμεθα. συγχωρεῖς οὕτως ἔχειν;

συγχωρῶ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τῳ φίλοι ἐσόμεθα καί τις ἡμᾶς φιλήσει ἐν τούτοις, ἐν οἷς ἂν ὦμεν ἀνωφελεῖς;

οὐ δῆτα, ἔφη.

νῦν ἄρα οὐδὲ σὲ ὁ πατὴρ οὐδὲ ἄλλος ἄλλον οὐδένα φιλεῖ, καθ᾽ ὅσον ἂν ᾖ ἄχρηστος.

οὐκ ἔοικεν, [210d] ἔφη.

ἐὰν μὲν ἄρα σοφὸς γένῃ, ὦ παῖ, πάντες σοι φίλοι καὶ πάντες σοι οἰκεῖοι ἔσονται χρήσιμος γὰρ καὶ ἀγαθὸς ἔσῃ εἰ δὲ μή, σοὶ οὔτε ἄλλος οὐδεὶς οὔτε ὁ πατὴρ φίλος ἔσται οὔτε ἡ μήτηρ οὔτε οἱ οἰκεῖοι. οἷόν τε οὖν ἐπὶ τούτοις, ὦ Λύσι, μέγα φρονεῖν, ἐν οἷς τις μήπω φρονεῖ;

καὶ πῶς ἄν; ἔφη.

εἰ δ᾽ ἄρα σὺ διδασκάλου δέῃ, οὔπω φρονεῖς.

ἀληθῆ.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα μεγαλόφρων εἶ, εἴπερ ἄφρων ἔτι.

μὰ Δία, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὔ μοι δοκεῖ. [210e]

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας αὐτοῦ ἀπέβλεψα πρὸς τὸν Ἱπποθάλη, καὶ ὀλίγου ἐξήμαρτον: ἐπῆλθε γάρ μοι εἰπεῖν ὅτι οὕτω χρή, ὦ Ἱππόθαλες, τοῖς παιδικοῖς διαλέγεσθαι, ταπεινοῦντα καὶ συστέλλοντα, ἀλλὰ μὴ ὥσπερ σὺ χαυνοῦντα καὶ διαθρύπτοντα. κατιδὼν οὖν αὐτὸν ἀγωνιῶντα καὶ τεθορυβημένον ὑπὸ τῶν λεγομένων, ἀνεμνήσθην ὅτι καὶ προσεστὼς λανθάνειν τὸν λύσιν ἐβούλετο: ἀνέλαβον οὖν ἐμαυτὸν καὶ [211a] ἐπέσχον τοῦ λόγου. καὶ ἐν τούτῳ ὁ Μενέξενος πάλιν ἧκεν, καὶ ἐκαθέζετο παρὰ τὸν λύσιν, ὅθεν καὶ ἐξανέστη. ὁ οὖν Λύσις μάλα παιδικῶς καὶ φιλικῶς, λάθρᾳ τοῦ Μενεξένου, σμικρὸν πρός με λέγων ἔφη: ὦ Σώκρατες, ἅπερ καὶ ἐμοὶ λέγεις, εἰπὲ καὶ Μενεξένῳ.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον, ταῦτα μὲν σὺ αὐτῷ ἐρεῖς, ὦ Λύσι: πάντως γὰρ προσεῖχες τὸν νοῦν.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

πειρῶ τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀπομνημονεῦσαι αὐτὰ ὅτι [211b] μάλιστα, ἵνα τούτῳ σαφῶς πάντα εἴπῃς: ἐὰν δέ τι αὐτῶν ἐπιλάθῃ, αὖθίς με ἀνερέσθαι ὅταν ἐντύχῃς πρῶτον. ἀλλὰ ποιήσω, ἔφη, ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, πάνυ σφόδρα, εὖ ἴσθι. ἀλλά τι ἄλλο αὐτῷ λέγε, ἵνα καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούω, ἕως ἂν οἴκαδε ὥρα ᾖ ἀπιέναι.

ἀλλὰ χρὴ ποιεῖν ταῦτα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπειδή γε καὶ σὺ κελεύεις. ἀλλὰ ὅρα ὅπως ἐπικουρήσεις μοι, ἐάν με ἐλέγχειν ἐπιχειρῇ ὁ Μενέξενος: ἢ οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι ἐριστικός ἐστιν;

ναὶ μὰ Δία, ἔφη, σφόδρα γε: διὰ ταῦτά τοι καὶ βούλομαί [211c] σε αὐτῷ διαλέγεσθαι.

ἵνα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καταγέλαστος γένωμαι;

οὐ μὰ Δία, ἔφη, ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα αὐτὸν κολάσῃς.

πόθεν; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. οὐ ῥᾴδιον: δεινὸς γὰρ ὁ ἄνθρωπος, Κτησίππου μαθητής. πάρεστι δέ τοι αὐτός οὐχ ὁρᾷς; Κτήσιππος.

μηδενός σοι, ἔφη, μελέτω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ἴθι διαλέγου αὐτῷ.

διαλεκτέον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

ταῦτα οὖν ἡμῶν λεγόντων πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτούς, τί ὑμεῖς, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος, αὐτὼ μόνω ἑστιᾶσθον, ἡμῖν δὲ οὐ [211d] μεταδίδοτον τῶν λόγων;

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μεταδοτέον. ὅδε γάρ τι ὧν λέγω οὐ μανθάνει, ἀλλά φησιν οἴεσθαι Μενέξενον εἰδέναι, καὶ κελεύει τοῦτον ἐρωτᾶν.

τί οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐκ ἐρωτᾷς;

ἀλλ᾽ ἐρήσομαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. καί μοι εἰπέ, ὦ Μενέξενε, ὃ ἄν σε ἔρωμαι. τυγχάνω γὰρ ἐκ παιδὸς ἐπιθυμῶν κτήματός του, ὥσπερ ἄλλος ἄλλου. ὁ μὲν γάρ τις ἵππους [211e] ἐπιθυμεῖ κτᾶσθαι, ὁ δὲ κύνας, ὁ δὲ χρυσίον, ὁ δὲ τιμάς: ἐγὼ δὲ πρὸς μὲν ταῦτα πρᾴως ἔχω, πρὸς δὲ τὴν τῶν φίλων κτῆσιν πάνυ ἐρωτικῶς, καὶ βουλοίμην ἄν μοι φίλον ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ τὸν ἄριστον ἐν ἀνθρώποις ὄρτυγα ἢ ἀλεκτρυόνα, καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δία ἔγωγε μᾶλλον ἢ ἵππον τε καὶ κύνα οἶμαι δέ, νὴ τὸν κύνα, μᾶλλον ἢ τὸ Δαρείου χρυσίον κτήσασθαι δεξαίμην πολὺ πρότερον ἑταῖρον, μᾶλλον <δὲ> ἢ αὐτὸν Δαρεῖον οὕτως ἐγὼ φιλέταιρός τίς εἰμι. ὑμᾶς [212a] οὖν ὁρῶν, σέ τε καὶ λύσιν, ἐκπέπληγμαι καὶ εὐδαιμονίζω ὅτι οὕτω νέοι ὄντες οἷοι τ᾽ ἐστὸν τοῦτο τὸ κτῆμα ταχὺ καὶ ῥᾳδίως κτᾶσθαι, καὶ σύ τε τοῦτον οὕτω φίλον ἐκτήσω ταχύ τε καὶ σφόδρα, καὶ αὖ οὗτος σέ: ἐγὼ δὲ οὕτω πόρρω εἰμὶ τοῦ κτήματος, ὥστε οὐδ᾽ ὅντινα τρόπον γίγνεται φίλος ἕτερος ἑτέρου οἶδα, ἀλλὰ ταῦτα δὴ αὐτά σε βούλομαι ἐρέσθαι ἅτε ἔμπειρον. καί μοι εἰπέ: ἐπειδάν τίς τινα φιλῇ, πότερος ποτέρου [212b] φίλος γίγνεται, ὁ φιλῶν τοῦ φιλουμένου ἢ ὁ φιλούμενος τοῦ φιλοῦντος: ἢ οὐδὲν διαφέρει; οὐδέν, ἔφη, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ διαφέρειν.

πῶς λέγεις; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἀμφότεροι ἄρα ἀλλήλων φίλοι γίγνονται, ἐὰν μόνος ὁ ἕτερος τὸν ἕτερον φιλῇ;

ἔμοιγε, ἔφη, δοκεῖ.

τί δέ; οὐκ ἔστιν φιλοῦντα μὴ ἀντιφιλεῖσθαι ὑπὸ τούτου ὃν ἂν φιλῇ;

ἔστιν.

τί δέ; ἆρα ἔστιν καὶ μισεῖσθαι φιλοῦντα; οἷόν που ἐνίοτε δοκοῦσι καὶ οἱ ἐρασταὶ πάσχειν πρὸς τὰ παιδικά: φιλοῦντες γὰρ [212c] ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα οἱ μὲν οἴονται οὐκ ἀντιφιλεῖσθαι, οἱ δὲ καὶ μισεῖσθαι. ἢ οὐκ ἀληθὲς δοκεῖ σοι τοῦτο;

σφόδρα γε, ἔφη, ἀληθές.

οὐκοῦν ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὁ μὲν φιλεῖ, ὁ δὲ φιλεῖται;

ναί.

πότερος οὖν αὐτῶν ποτέρου φίλος ἐστίν; ὁ φιλῶν τοῦ φιλουμένου, ἐάντε καὶ ἀντιφιλῆται ἐάντε καὶ μισῆται, ἢ ὁ φιλούμενος τοῦ φιλοῦντος; ἢ οὐδέτερος αὖ ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ οὐδετέρου φίλος ἐστίν, ἂν μὴ ἀμφότεροι ἀλλήλους φιλῶσιν;

ἔοικε γοῦν [212d] οὕτως ἔχειν.

ἀλλοίως ἄρα νῦν ἡμῖν δοκεῖ ἢ πρότερον ἔδοξεν. τότε μὲν γάρ, εἰ ὁ ἕτερος φιλοῖ, φίλω εἶναι ἄμφω: νῦν δέ, ἂν μὴ ἀμφότεροι φιλῶσιν, οὐδέτερος φίλος.

κινδυνεύει, ἔφη.

οὐκ ἄρα ἐστὶν φίλον τῷ φιλοῦντι οὐδὲν μὴ οὐκ ἀντιφιλοῦν.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα φίλιπποί εἰσιν οὓς ἂν οἱ ἵπποι μὴ ἀντιφιλῶσιν, οὐδὲ φιλόρτυγες, οὐδ᾽ αὖ φιλόκυνές γε καὶ φίλοινοι καὶ φιλογυμνασταὶ καὶ φιλόσοφοι, ἂν μὴ ἡ σοφία αὐτοὺς ἀντιφιλῇ. ἢ φιλοῦσι μὲν ταῦτα [212e] ἕκαστοι, οὐ μέντοι φίλα ὄντα, ἀλλὰ ψεύδεθ᾽ ὁ ποιητής, ὃς ἔφη ὄλβιος, ᾧ παῖδές τε φίλοι καὶ μώνυχες ἵπποι καὶ κύνες ἀγρευταὶ καὶ ξένος ἀλλοδαπός; Solon 21.2

οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἀλλ᾽ ἀληθῆ δοκεῖ λέγειν σοι;

ναί.

τὸ φιλούμενον ἄρα τῷ φιλοῦντι φίλον ἐστίν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὦ Μενέξενε, ἐάντε φιλῇ ἐάντε καὶ μισῇ: οἷον καὶ τὰ νεωστὶ γεγονότα παιδία, τὰ μὲν οὐδέπω φιλοῦντα, τὰ [213a] δὲ καὶ μισοῦντα, ὅταν κολάζηται ὑπὸ τῆς μητρὸς ἢ ὑπὸ τοῦ πατρός, ὅμως καὶ μισοῦντα ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ χρόνῳ πάντων μάλιστά ἐστι τοῖς γονεῦσι φίλτατα.

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη, οὕτως ἔχειν.

οὐκ ἄρα ὁ φιλῶν φίλος ἐκ τούτου τοῦ λόγου, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ φιλούμενος.

ἔοικεν.

καὶ ὁ μισούμενος ἐχθρὸς ἄρα, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὁ μισῶν.

φαίνεται.

πολλοὶ ἄρα ὑπὸ τῶν ἐχθρῶν φιλοῦνται, ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν φίλων μισοῦνται, καὶ τοῖς [213b] μὲν ἐχθροῖς φίλοι εἰσίν, τοῖς δὲ φίλοις ἐχθροί, εἰ τὸ φιλούμενον φίλον ἐστὶν ἀλλὰ μὴ τὸ φιλοῦν. καίτοι πολλὴ ἀλογία, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε, μᾶλλον δὲ οἶμαι καὶ ἀδύνατον, τῷ τε φίλῳ ἐχθρὸν καὶ τῷ ἐχθρῷ φίλον εἶναι.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, ἔοικας λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐκοῦν εἰ τοῦτ᾽ ἀδύνατον, τὸ φιλοῦν ἂν εἴη φίλον τοῦ φιλουμένου.

φαίνεται.

τὸ μισοῦν ἄρα πάλιν ἐχθρὸν τοῦ μισουμένου.

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν ταὐτὰ ἡμῖν συμβήσεται ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι ὁμολογεῖν, [213c] ἅπερ ἐπὶ τῶν πρότερον, πολλάκις φίλον εἶναι μὴ φίλου, πολλάκις δὲ καὶ ἐχθροῦ, ὅταν ἢ μὴ φιλοῦν τις φιλῇ ἢ καὶ μισοῦν φιλῇ: πολλάκις δ᾽ ἐχθρὸν εἶναι μὴ ἐχθροῦ ἢ καὶ φίλου, ὅταν ἢ <μὴ> μισοῦν τις μισῇ ἢ καὶ φιλοῦν μισῇ.

κινδυνεύει, ἔφη.

τί οὖν δὴ χρησώμεθα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰ μήτε οἱ φιλοῦντες φίλοι ἔσονται μήτε οἱ φιλούμενοι μήτε οἱ φιλοῦντές τε καὶ φιλούμενοι; ἀλλὰ καὶ παρὰ ταῦτα ἄλλους τινὰς ἔτι φήσομεν εἶναι φίλους ἀλλήλοις γιγνομένους;

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ πάνυ εὐπορῶ ἔγωγε. [213d]

ἆρα μή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Μενέξενε, τὸ παράπαν οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἐζητοῦμεν;

οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ὁ Λύσις, καὶ ἅμα εἰπὼν ἠρυθρίασεν: ἐδόκει γάρ μοι ἄκοντ᾽ αὐτὸν ἐκφεύγειν τὸ λεχθὲν διὰ τὸ σφόδρα προσέχειν τὸν νοῦν τοῖς λεγομένοις, δῆλος δ᾽ ἦν καὶ ὅτε ἠκροᾶτο οὕτως ἔχων.

ἐγὼ οὖν βουλόμενος τόν τε Μενέξενον ἀναπαῦσαι καὶ ἐκείνου ἡσθεὶς τῇ φιλοσοφίᾳ, οὕτω μεταβαλὼν πρὸς τὸν [213e] λύσιν ἐποιούμην τοὺς λόγους, καὶ εἶπον: ὦ Λύσι, ἀληθῆ μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν ὅτι εἰ ὀρθῶς ἡμεῖς ἐσκοποῦμεν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε οὕτως ἐπλανώμεθα. ἀλλὰ ταύτῃ μὲν μηκέτι ἴωμεν καὶ γὰρ χαλεπή τίς μοι φαίνεται ὥσπερ ὁδὸς ἡ σκέψις ᾗ δὲ ἐτράπημεν, δοκεῖ μοι χρῆναι ἰέναι, σκοποῦντα [τὰ] κατὰ [214a] τοὺς ποιητάς: οὗτοι γὰρ ἡμῖν ὥσπερ πατέρες τῆς σοφίας εἰσὶν καὶ ἡγεμόνες. λέγουσι δὲ δήπου οὐ φαύλως ἀποφαινόμενοι περὶ τῶν φίλων, οἳ τυγχάνουσιν ὄντες: ἀλλὰ τὸν θεὸν αὐτόν φασιν ποιεῖν φίλους αὐτούς, ἄγοντα παρ᾽ ἀλλήλους. λέγουσι δέ πως ταῦτα, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ὡδί αἰεί τοι τὸν ὁμοῖον ἄγει θεὸς ὡς τὸν ὁμοῖον Hom. Od. 17.218 [214b] καὶ ποιεῖ γνώριμον: ἢ οὐκ ἐντετύχηκας τούτοις τοῖς ἔπεσιν;

ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τοῖς τῶν σοφωτάτων συγγράμμασιν ἐντετύχηκας ταῦτα αὐτὰ λέγουσιν, ὅτι τὸ ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ ἀνάγκη ἀεὶ φίλον εἶναι; εἰσὶν δέ που οὗτοι οἱ περὶ φύσεώς τε καὶ τοῦ ὅλου διαλεγόμενοι καὶ γράφοντες.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εὖ λέγουσιν;

ἴσως, ἔφη.

ἴσως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ ἥμισυ αὐτοῦ, ἴσως δὲ καὶ πᾶν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡμεῖς οὐ συνίεμεν. δοκεῖ γὰρ ἡμῖν ὅ γε πονηρὸς [214c] τῷ πονηρῷ, ὅσῳ ἂν ἐγγυτέρω προσίῃ καὶ μᾶλλον ὁμιλῇ, τοσούτῳ ἐχθίων γίγνεσθαι. ἀδικεῖ γάρ: ἀδικοῦντας δὲ καὶ ἀδικουμένους ἀδύνατόν που φίλους εἶναι. οὐχ οὕτως;

ναί, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ταύτῃ μὲν ἂν τοίνυν τοῦ λεγομένου τὸ ἥμισυ οὐκ ἀληθὲς εἴη, εἴπερ οἱ πονηροὶ ἀλλήλοις ὅμοιοι.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

ἀλλά μοι δοκοῦσιν λέγειν τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ὁμοίους εἶναι ἀλλήλοις καὶ φίλους, τοὺς δὲ κακούς, ὅπερ καὶ λέγεται περὶ αὐτῶν, μηδέποτε ὁμοίους μηδ᾽ αὐτοὺς αὑτοῖς εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ [214d] ἐμπλήκτους τε καὶ ἀσταθμήτους: ὃ δὲ αὐτὸ αὑτῷ ἀνόμοιον εἴη καὶ διάφορον, σχολῇ γέ τῳ ἄλλῳ ὅμοιον ἢ φίλον γένοιτ᾽ ἄν. ἢ οὐ καὶ σοὶ δοκεῖ οὕτως; ἔμοιγ᾽, ἔφη.

τοῦτο τοίνυν αἰνίττονται, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκοῦσιν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, οἱ τὸ ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ φίλον λέγοντες, ὡς ὁ ἀγαθὸς τῷ ἀγαθῷ μόνος μόνῳ φίλος, ὁ δὲ κακὸς οὔτε ἀγαθῷ οὔτε κακῷ οὐδέποτε εἰς ἀληθῆ φιλίαν ἔρχεται. συνδοκεῖ σοι;

κατένευσεν.

ἔχομεν ἄρα ἤδη τίνες εἰσὶν οἱ φίλοι: ὁ γὰρ λόγος ἡμῖν [214e] σημαίνει ὅτι οἳ ἂν ὦσιν ἀγαθοί.

πάνυ γε, ἔφη, δοκεῖ.

καὶ ἐμοί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. καίτοι δυσχεραίνω τί γε ἐν αὐτῷ: φέρε οὖν, ὦ πρὸς Διός, ἴδωμεν τί καὶ ὑποπτεύω. ὁ ὅμοιος τῷ ὁμοίῳ καθ᾽ ὅσον ὅμοιος φίλος, καὶ ἔστιν χρήσιμος ὁ τοιοῦτος τῷ τοιούτῳ; μᾶλλον δὲ ὧδε: ὁτιοῦν ὅμοιον ὁτῳοῦν ὁμοίῳ τίνα ὠφελίαν ἔχειν ἢ τίνα βλάβην ἂν ποιῆσαι δύναιτο, ὃ μὴ καὶ αὐτὸ αὑτῷ; ἢ τί ἂν παθεῖν, ὃ μὴ καὶ ὑφ᾽ [215a] αὑτοῦ πάθοι; τὰ δὴ τοιαῦτα πῶς ἂν ὑπ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἀγαπηθείη, μηδεμίαν ἐπικουρίαν ἀλλήλοις ἔχοντα; ἔστιν ὅπως; οὐκ ἔστιν.

ὃ δὲ μὴ ἀγαπῷτο, πῶς φίλον;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀλλὰ δὴ ὁ μὲν ὅμοιος τῷ ὁμοίῳ οὐ φίλος: ὁ δὲ ἀγαθὸς τῷ ἀγαθῷ καθ᾽ ὅσον ἀγαθός, οὐ καθ᾽ ὅσον ὅμοιος, φίλος ἂν εἴη;

ἴσως.

τί δέ; οὐχ ὁ ἀγαθός, καθ᾽ ὅσον ἀγαθός, κατὰ τοσοῦτον ἱκανὸς ἂν εἴη αὑτῷ;

ναί.

ὁ δέ γε ἱκανὸς οὐδενὸς δεόμενος κατὰ τὴν ἱκανότητα.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ὁ δὲ μή του [215b] δεόμενος οὐδέ τι ἀγαπῴη ἄν.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ὃ δὲ μὴ ἀγαπῴη, οὐδ᾽ ἂν φιλοῖ.

οὐ δῆτα.

ὁ δὲ μὴ φιλῶν γε οὐ φίλος.

οὐ φαίνεται.

πῶς οὖν οἱ ἀγαθοὶ τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς ἡμῖν φίλοι ἔσονται τὴν ἀρχήν, οἳ μήτε ἀπόντες ποθεινοὶ ἀλλήλοις ἱκανοὶ γὰρ ἑαυτοῖς καὶ χωρὶς ὄντες μήτε παρόντες χρείαν αὑτῶν ἔχουσιν; τοὺς δὴ τοιούτους τίς μηχανὴ περὶ πολλοῦ ποιεῖσθαι ἀλλήλους;

οὐδεμία, ἔφη.

φίλοι [215c] δέ γε οὐκ ἂν εἶεν μὴ περὶ πολλοῦ ποιούμενοι ἑαυτούς.

ἀληθῆ.

ἄθρει δή, ὦ Λύσι, πῇ παρακρουόμεθα. ἆρά γε ὅλῳ τινὶ ἐξαπατώμεθα;

πῶς δή; ἔφη.

ἤδη ποτέ του ἤκουσα λέγοντος, καὶ ἄρτι ἀναμιμνῄσκομαι, ὅτι τὸ μὲν ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ καὶ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς πολεμιώτατοι εἶεν: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν Ἡσίοδον ἐπήγετο μάρτυρα, λέγων ὡς ἄρα καὶ κεραμεὺς κεραμεῖ κοτέει καὶ ἀοιδὸς ἀοιδῷ [215d]

καὶ πτωχὸς πτωχῷ, . . .

Hes. WD 25

καὶ τἆλλα δὴ πάντα οὕτως ἔφη ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι μάλιστα τὰ ὁμοιότατα <πρὸς> ἄλληλα φθόνου τε καὶ φιλονικίας καὶ ἔχθρας ἐμπίμπλασθαι, τὰ δ᾽ ἀνομοιότατα φιλίας: τὸν γὰρ πένητα τῷ πλουσίῳ ἀναγκάζεσθαι φίλον εἶναι καὶ τὸν ἀσθενῆ τῷ ἰσχυρῷ τῆς ἐπικουρίας ἕνεκα, καὶ τὸν κάμνοντα τῷ ἰατρῷ, καὶ πάντα δὴ τὸν μὴ εἰδότα ἀγαπᾶν τὸν εἰδότα καὶ φιλεῖν. [215e] καὶ δὴ καὶ ἔτι ἐπεξῄει τῷ λόγῳ μεγαλοπρεπέστερον, λέγων ὡς ἄρα παντὸς δέοι τὸ ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ φίλον εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ ἐναντίον εἴη τούτου: τὸ γὰρ ἐναντιώτατον τῷ ἐναντιωτάτῳ εἶναι μάλιστα φίλον. ἐπιθυμεῖν γὰρ τοῦ τοιούτου ἕκαστον, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τοῦ ὁμοίου: τὸ μὲν γὰρ ξηρὸν ὑγροῦ, τὸ δὲ ψυχρὸν θερμοῦ, τὸ δὲ πικρὸν γλυκέος, τὸ δὲ ὀξὺ ἀμβλέος, τὸ δὲ κενὸν πληρώσεως, καὶ τὸ πλῆρες δὲ κενώσεως, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον. τροφὴν γὰρ εἶναι τὸ ἐναντίον τῷ ἐναντίῳ: τὸ γὰρ ὅμοιον τοῦ ὁμοίου [216a] οὐδὲν ἂν ἀπολαῦσαι. καὶ μέντοι, ὦ ἑταῖρε, καὶ κομψὸς ἐδόκει εἶναι ταῦτα λέγων: εὖ γὰρ ἔλεγεν. ὑμῖν δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πῶς δοκεῖ λέγειν;

εὖ γε, ἔφη ὁ Μενέξενος, ὥς γε οὑτωσὶ ἀκοῦσαι.

φῶμεν ἄρα τὸ ἐναντίον τῷ ἐναντίῳ μάλιστα φίλον εἶναι;

πάνυ γε.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: οὐκ ἀλλόκοτον, ὦ Μενέξενε; καὶ ἡμῖν εὐθὺς ἅσμενοι ἐπιπηδήσονται οὗτοι οἱ πάσσοφοι ἄνδρες, οἱ ἀντιλογικοί, καὶ ἐρήσονται εἰ [216b] οὐκ ἐναντιώτατον ἔχθρα φιλίᾳ; οἷς τί ἀποκρινούμεθα; ἢ οὐκ ἀνάγκη ὁμολογεῖν ὅτι ἀληθῆ λέγουσιν;

ἀνάγκη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, φήσουσιν, τὸ ἐχθρὸν τῷ φίλῳ φίλον ἢ τὸ φίλον τῷ ἐχθρῷ;

οὐδέτερα, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ τὸ δίκαιον τῷ ἀδίκῳ, ἢ τὸ σῶφρον τῷ ἀκολάστῳ, ἢ τὸ ἀγαθὸν τῷ κακῷ;

οὐκ ἄν μοι δοκεῖ οὕτως ἔχειν.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἴπερ γε κατὰ τὴν ἐναντιότητά τί τῳ [φίλῳ] φίλον ἐστίν, ἀνάγκη καὶ ταῦτα φίλα εἶναι.

ἀνάγκη.

οὔτε ἄρα τὸ ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ οὔτε τὸ ἐναντίον τῷ ἐναντίῳ φίλον.

οὐκ ἔοικεν. [216c]

ἔτι δὲ καὶ τόδε σκεψώμεθα, μὴ ἔτι μᾶλλον ἡμᾶς λανθάνει τὸ φίλον ὡς ἀληθῶς οὐδὲν τούτων ὄν, ἀλλὰ τὸ μήτε ἀγαθὸν μήτε κακὸν φίλον οὕτω ποτὲ γιγνόμενον τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ. πῶς, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, λέγεις;

ἀλλὰ μὰ Δία, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐκ οἶδα, ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι αὐτὸς εἰλιγγιῶ ὑπὸ τῆς τοῦ λόγου ἀπορίας, καὶ κινδυνεύει κατὰ τὴν ἀρχαίαν παροιμίαν τὸ καλὸν φίλον εἶναι. ἔοικε γοῦν μαλακῷ τινι καὶ λείῳ καὶ λιπαρῷ: [216d] διὸ καὶ ἴσως ῥᾳδίως διολισθαίνει καὶ διαδύεται ἡμᾶς, ἅτε τοιοῦτον ὄν. λέγω γὰρ τἀγαθὸν καλὸν εἶναι: σὺ δ᾽ οὐκ οἴει;

ἔγωγε.

λέγω τοίνυν ἀπομαντευόμενος, τοῦ καλοῦ τε καὶ ἀγαθοῦ φίλον εἶναι τὸ μήτε ἀγαθὸν μήτε κακόν: πρὸς ἃ δὲ λέγων μαντεύομαι, ἄκουσον. δοκεῖ μοι ὡσπερεὶ τρία ἄττα εἶναι γένη, τὸ μὲν ἀγαθόν, τὸ δὲ κακόν, τὸ δ᾽ οὔτ᾽ ἀγαθὸν οὔτε κακόν: τί δὲ σοί;

καὶ ἐμοί, ἔφη.

καὶ οὔτε τἀγαθὸν τἀγαθῷ οὔτε τὸ κακὸν τῷ κακῷ οὔτε τἀγαθὸν τῷ [216e] κακῷ φίλον εἶναι, ὥσπερ οὐδ᾽ ὁ ἔμπροσθεν λόγος ἐᾷ: λείπεται δή, εἴπερ τῴ τί ἐστιν φίλον, τὸ μήτε ἀγαθὸν μήτε κακὸν φίλον εἶναι ἢ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἢ τοῦ τοιούτου οἷον αὐτό ἐστιν. οὐ γὰρ ἄν που τῷ κακῷ φίλον ἄν τι γένοιτο. ἀληθῆ.

οὐδὲ μὴν τὸ ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ ἔφαμεν ἄρτι: ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

οὐκ ἄρα ἔσται τῷ μήτε ἀγαθῷ μήτε κακῷ τὸ τοιοῦτον φίλον οἷον αὐτό.

οὐ φαίνεται.

τῷ ἀγαθῷ ἄρα [217a] τὸ μήτε ἀγαθὸν μήτε κακὸν μόνῳ μόνον συμβαίνει γίγνεσθαι φίλον.

ἀνάγκη, ὡς ἔοικεν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ καλῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ παῖδες, ὑφηγεῖται ἡμῖν τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον; εἰ γοῦν θέλοιμεν ἐννοῆσαι τὸ ὑγιαῖνον σῶμα, οὐδὲν ἰατρικῆς δεῖται οὐδὲ ὠφελίας: ἱκανῶς γὰρ ἔχει, ὥστε ὑγιαίνων οὐδεὶς ἰατρῷ φίλος διὰ τὴν ὑγίειαν. ἦ γάρ;

οὐδείς.

ἀλλ᾽ ὁ κάμνων οἶμαι διὰ τὴν νόσον.

πῶς γὰρ [217b] οὔ;

νόσος μὲν δὴ κακόν, ἰατρικὴ δὲ ὠφέλιμον καὶ ἀγαθόν.

ναί.

σῶμα δέ γέ που κατὰ τὸ σῶμα εἶναι οὔτε ἀγαθὸν οὔτε κακόν.

οὕτως.

ἀναγκάζεται δέ γε σῶμα διὰ νόσον ἰατρικὴν ἀσπάζεσθαι καὶ φιλεῖν.

δοκεῖ μοι.

τὸ μήτε κακὸν ἄρα μήτ᾽ ἀγαθὸν φίλον γίγνεται τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ διὰ κακοῦ παρουσίαν.

ἔοικεν.

δῆλον δέ γε ὅτι πρὶν γενέσθαι αὐτὸ κακὸν ὑπὸ τοῦ κακοῦ οὗ ἔχει. οὐ γὰρ δή γε κακὸν γεγονὸς [217c] ἔτι ἄν τι τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ [οὗ] ἐπιθυμοῖ καὶ φίλον εἴη: ἀδύνατον γὰρ ἔφαμεν κακὸν ἀγαθῷ φίλον εἶναι.

ἀδύνατον γάρ.

σκέψασθε δὴ ὃ λέγω. λέγω γὰρ ὅτι ἔνια μέν, οἷον ἂν ᾖ τὸ παρόν, τοιαῦτά ἐστι καὶ αὐτά, ἔνια δὲ οὔ. ὥσπερ εἰ ἐθέλοι τις χρώματί τῳ ὁτιοῦν [τι] ἀλεῖψαι, πάρεστίν που τῷ ἀλειφθέντι τὸ ἐπαλειφθέν.

πάνυ γε.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ἔστιν τότε τοιοῦτον τὴν χρόαν τὸ ἀλειφθέν, οἷον τὸ ἐπόν; [217d]

οὐ μανθάνω, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. εἴ τίς σου ξανθὰς οὔσας τὰς τρίχας ψιμυθίῳ ἀλείψειεν, πότερον τότε λευκαὶ εἶεν ἢ φαίνοιντ᾽ ἄν;

φαίνοιντ᾽ ἄν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

καὶ μὴν παρείη γ᾽ ἂν αὐταῖς λευκότης.

ναί.

ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ἂν εἶεν λευκαί πω, ἀλλὰ παρούσης λευκότητος οὔτε τι λευκαὶ οὔτε μέλαιναί εἰσιν.

ἀληθῆ.

ἀλλ᾽ ὅταν δή, ὦ φίλε, τὸ γῆρας αὐταῖς ταὐτὸν τοῦτο χρῶμα ἐπαγάγῃ, τότε ἐγένοντο οἷόνπερ τὸ παρόν, λευκοῦ παρουσίᾳ [217e] λευκαί.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τοῦτο τοίνυν ἐρωτῶ νῦν δή, εἰ ᾧ ἄν τι παρῇ, τοιοῦτον ἔσται τὸ ἔχον οἷον τὸ παρόν: ἢ ἐὰν μὲν κατά τινα τρόπον παρῇ, ἔσται, ἐὰν δὲ μή, οὔ;

οὕτω μᾶλλον, ἔφη.

καὶ τὸ μήτε κακὸν ἄρα μήτ᾽ ἀγαθὸν ἐνίοτε κακοῦ παρόντος οὔπω κακόν ἐστιν, ἔστιν δ᾽ ὅτε ἤδη τὸ τοιοῦτον γέγονεν.

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν ὅταν μήπω κακὸν ᾖ κακοῦ παρόντος, αὕτη μὲν ἡ παρουσία ἀγαθοῦ αὐτὸ ποιεῖ ἐπιθυμεῖν: ἡ δὲ κακὸν ποιοῦσα ἀποστερεῖ αὐτὸ τῆς τε ἐπιθυμίας ἅμα καὶ τῆς φιλίας τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ. οὐ γὰρ ἔτι ἐστὶν [218a] οὔτε κακὸν οὔτε ἀγαθόν, ἀλλὰ κακόν: φίλον δὲ ἀγαθῷ κακὸν οὐκ ἦν.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

διὰ ταῦτα δὴ φαῖμεν ἂν καὶ τοὺς ἤδη σοφοὺς μηκέτι φιλοσοφεῖν, εἴτε θεοὶ εἴτε ἄνθρωποί εἰσιν οὗτοι: οὐδ᾽ αὖ ἐκείνους φιλοσοφεῖν τοὺς οὕτως ἄγνοιαν ἔχοντας ὥστε κακοὺς εἶναι: κακὸν γὰρ καὶ ἀμαθῆ οὐδένα φιλοσοφεῖν. λείπονται δὴ οἱ ἔχοντες μὲν τὸ κακὸν τοῦτο, τὴν ἄγνοιαν, μήπω δὲ ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ ὄντες ἀγνώμονες μηδὲ [218b] ἀμαθεῖς, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι ἡγούμενοι μὴ εἰδέναι ἃ μὴ ἴσασιν. διὸ δὴ καὶ φιλοσοφοῦσιν οἱ οὔτε ἀγαθοὶ οὔτε κακοί πω ὄντες, ὅσοι δὲ κακοὶ οὐ φιλοσοφοῦσιν, οὐδὲ οἱ ἀγαθοί: οὔτε γὰρ τὸ ἐναντίον τοῦ ἐναντίου οὔτε τὸ ὅμοιον τοῦ ὁμοίου φίλον ἡμῖν ἐφάνη ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν λόγοις. ἢ οὐ μέμνησθε;

πάνυ γε, ἐφάτην.

νῦν ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Λύσι τε καὶ Μενέξενε, παντὸς μᾶλλον ἐξηυρήκαμεν ὃ ἔστιν τὸ φίλον καὶ οὔ. φαμὲν γὰρ αὐτό, καὶ κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ κατὰ τὸ [218c] σῶμα καὶ πανταχοῦ, τὸ μήτε κακὸν μήτε ἀγαθὸν διὰ κακοῦ παρουσίαν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ φίλον εἶναι.

παντάπασιν ἐφάτην τε καὶ συνεχωρείτην οὕτω τοῦτ᾽ ἔχειν.

καὶ δὴ καὶ αὐτὸς ἐγὼ πάνυ ἔχαιρον, ὥσπερ θηρευτής τις, ἔχων ἀγαπητῶς ὃ ἐθηρευόμην. κἄπειτ᾽ οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὁπόθεν μοι ἀτοπωτάτη τις ὑποψία εἰσῆλθεν ὡς οὐκ ἀληθῆ εἴη τὰ ὡμολογημένα ἡμῖν, καὶ εὐθὺς ἀχθεσθεὶς εἶπον: βαβαῖ, ὦ Λύσι τε καὶ Μενέξενε, κινδυνεύομεν ὄναρ πεπλουτηκέναι. [218d]

τί μάλιστα; ἔφη ὁ Μενέξενος.

φοβοῦμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μὴ ὥσπερ ἀνθρώποις ἀλαζόσιν λόγοις τισὶν τοιούτοις [ψευδέσιν] ἐντετυχήκαμεν περὶ τοῦ φίλου.

πῶς δή; ἔφη.

ὧδε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, σκοπῶμεν: φίλος ὃς ἂν εἴη, πότερόν ἐστίν τῳ φίλος ἢ οὔ;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

πότερον οὖν οὐδενὸς ἕνεκα καὶ δι᾽ οὐδέν, ἢ ἕνεκά του καὶ διά τι;

ἕνεκά του καὶ διά τι.

πότερον φίλου ὄντος ἐκείνου τοῦ πράγματος, οὗ ἕνεκα φίλος ὁ φίλος τῷ φίλῳ, ἢ οὔτε φίλου οὔτε ἐχθροῦ; [218e]

οὐ πάνυ, ἔφη, ἕπομαι.

εἰκότως γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε ἴσως ἀκολουθήσεις, οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ἐγὼ μᾶλλον εἴσομαι ὅτι λέγω. ὁ κάμνων, νυνδὴ ἔφαμεν, τοῦ ἰατροῦ φίλος: οὐχ οὕτως;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν διὰ νόσον ἕνεκα ὑγιείας τοῦ ἰατροῦ φίλος;

ναί.

ἡ δέ γε νόσος κακόν;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τί δὲ ὑγίεια; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἀγαθὸν ἢ κακὸν ἢ οὐδέτερα;

ἀγαθόν, [219a] ἔφη.

ἐλέγομεν δ᾽ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅτι τὸ σῶμα, οὔτε ἀγαθὸν οὔτε κακὸν <ὄν>, διὰ τὴν νόσον, τοῦτο δὲ διὰ τὸ κακόν, τῆς ἰατρικῆς φίλον ἐστίν, ἀγαθὸν δὲ ἰατρική: ἕνεκα δὲ τῆς ὑγιείας τὴν φιλίαν ἡ ἰατρικὴ ἀνῄρηται, ἡ δὲ ὑγίεια ἀγαθόν. ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

φίλον δὲ ἢ οὐ φίλον ἡ ὑγίεια;

φίλον.

ἡ δὲ νόσος ἐχθρόν.

πάνυ γε.

τὸ οὔτε κακὸν οὔτε [219b] ἀγαθὸν ἄρα διὰ τὸ κακὸν καὶ τὸ ἐχθρὸν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ φίλον ἐστὶν ἕνεκα τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ καὶ φίλου.

φαίνεται.

ἕνεκα ἄρα τοῦ φίλου <τοῦ φίλου> τὸ φίλον φίλον διὰ τὸ ἐχθρόν.

ἔοικεν.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. ἐπειδὴ ἐνταῦθα ἥκομεν, ὦ παῖδες, πρόσσχωμεν τὸν νοῦν μὴ ἐξαπατηθῶμεν. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ φίλον τοῦ φίλου τὸ φίλον γέγονεν, ἐῶ χαίρειν, καὶ τοῦ ὁμοίου γε τὸ ὅμοιον φίλον γίγνεται, ὅ φαμεν ἀδύνατον εἶναι: ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως τόδε σκεψώμεθα, μὴ ἡμᾶς ἐξαπατήσῃ τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον. [219c] ἡ ἰατρική, φαμέν, ἕνεκα τῆς ὑγιείας φίλον.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡ ὑγίεια φίλον;

πάνυ γε.

εἰ ἄρα φίλον, ἕνεκά του.

ναί.

φίλου γέ τινος δή, εἴπερ ἀκολουθήσει τῇ πρόσθεν ὁμολογίᾳ.

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐκεῖνο φίλον αὖ ἔσται ἕνεκα φίλου;

ναί.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἀπειπεῖν ἡμᾶς οὕτως ἰόντας ἢ ἀφικέσθαι ἐπί τινα ἀρχήν, ἣ οὐκέτ᾽ ἐπανοίσει ἐπ᾽ ἄλλο φίλον, ἀλλ᾽ ἥξει ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνο ὅ ἐστιν [219d] πρῶτον φίλον, οὗ ἕνεκα καὶ τὰ ἄλλα φαμὲν πάντα φίλα εἶναι;

ἀνάγκη.

τοῦτο δή ἐστιν ὃ λέγω, μὴ ἡμᾶς τἆλλα πάντα ἃ εἴπομεν ἐκείνου ἕνεκα φίλα εἶναι, ὥσπερ εἴδωλα ἄττα ὄντα αὐτοῦ, ἐξαπατᾷ, ᾖ δ᾽ ἐκεῖνο τὸ πρῶτον, ὃ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἐστι φίλον. ἐννοήσωμεν γὰρ οὑτωσί: ὅταν τίς τι περὶ πολλοῦ ποιῆται, οἷόνπερ ἐνίοτε πατὴρ ὑὸν ἀντὶ πάντων τῶν ἄλλων χρημάτων προτιμᾷ, ὁ δὴ τοιοῦτος ἕνεκα τοῦ τὸν [219e] ὑὸν περὶ παντὸς ἡγεῖσθαι ἆρα καὶ ἄλλο τι ἂν περὶ πολλοῦ ποιοῖτο; οἷον εἰ αἰσθάνοιτο αὐτὸν κώνειον πεπωκότα, ἆρα περὶ πολλοῦ ποιοῖτ᾽ ἂν οἶνον, εἴπερ τοῦτο ἡγοῖτο τὸν ὑὸν σώσειν;

τί μήν; ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ἀγγεῖον, ἐν ᾧ ὁ οἶνος ἐνείη;

πάνυ γε.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τότε οὐδὲν περὶ πλείονος ποιεῖται, κύλικα κεραμέαν ἢ τὸν ὑὸν τὸν αὑτοῦ, οὐδὲ τρεῖς κοτύλας οἴνου ἢ τὸν ὑόν; ἢ ὧδέ πως ἔχει: πᾶσα ἡ τοιαύτη σπουδὴ οὐκ ἐπὶ τούτοις ἐστὶν ἐσπουδασμένη, ἐπὶ τοῖς ἕνεκά του παρασκευαζομένοις, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἐκείνῳ οὗ ἕνεκα πάντα τὰ [220a] τοιαῦτα παρασκευάζεται. οὐχ ὅτι πολλάκις λέγομεν ὡς περὶ πολλοῦ ποιούμεθα χρυσίον καὶ ἀργύριον: ἀλλὰ μὴ οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον οὕτω τό γε ἀληθὲς ἔχῃ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνό ἐστιν ὃ περὶ παντὸς ποιούμεθα, ὃ ἂν φανῇ ὄν, ὅτου ἕνεκα καὶ χρυσίον καὶ πάντα τὰ παρασκευαζόμενα παρασκευάζεται. ἆρ᾽ οὕτως φήσομεν;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ τοῦ φίλου ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος; ὅσα γάρ φαμεν φίλα εἶναι ἡμῖν ἕνεκα φίλου [220b] τινὸς ἑτέρου, ῥήματι φαινόμεθα λέγοντες αὐτό: φίλον δὲ τῷ ὄντι κινδυνεύει ἐκεῖνο αὐτὸ εἶναι, εἰς ὃ πᾶσαι αὗται αἱ λεγόμεναι φιλίαι τελευτῶσιν.

κινδυνεύει οὕτως, ἔφη, ἔχειν.

οὐκοῦν τό γε τῷ ὄντι φίλον οὐ φίλου τινὸς ἕνεκα φίλον ἐστίν;

ἀληθῆ.

τοῦτο μὲν δὴ ἀπήλλακται, μὴ φίλου τινὸς ἕνεκα τὸ φίλον φίλον εἶναι: ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα τὸ ἀγαθόν ἐστιν φίλον;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν διὰ τὸ κακὸν τὸ ἀγαθὸν φιλεῖται, [220c] καὶ ἔχει ὧδε: εἰ τριῶν ὄντων ὧν νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἀγαθοῦ καὶ κακοῦ καὶ μήτε ἀγαθοῦ μήτε κακοῦ, τὰ δύο λειφθείη, τὸ δὲ κακὸν ἐκποδὼν ἀπέλθοι καὶ μηδενὸς ἐφάπτοιτο μήτε σώματος μήτε ψυχῆς μήτε τῶν ἄλλων, ἃ δή φαμεν αὐτὰ καθ᾽ αὑτὰ οὔτε κακὰ εἶναι οὔτε ἀγαθά, ἆρα τότε οὐδὲν ἂν ἡμῖν χρήσιμον εἴη τὸ ἀγαθόν, ἀλλ᾽ ἄχρηστον ἂν γεγονὸς εἴη; εἰ γὰρ μηδὲν ἡμᾶς ἔτι βλάπτοι, οὐδὲν ἂν οὐδεμιᾶς [220d] ὠφελίας δεοίμεθα, καὶ οὕτω δὴ ἂν τότε γένοιτο κατάδηλον ὅτι διὰ τὸ κακὸν τἀγαθὸν ἠγαπῶμεν καὶ ἐφιλοῦμεν, ὡς φάρμακον ὂν τοῦ κακοῦ τὸ ἀγαθόν, τὸ δὲ κακὸν νόσημα: νοσήματος δὲ μὴ ὄντος οὐδὲν δεῖ φαρμάκου. ἆρ᾽ οὕτω πέφυκέ τε καὶ φιλεῖται τἀγαθὸν διὰ τὸ κακὸν ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν, τῶν μεταξὺ ὄντων τοῦ κακοῦ τε καὶ τἀγαθοῦ, αὐτὸ δ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ ἕνεκα οὐδεμίαν χρείαν ἔχει; ἔοικεν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὕτως ἔχειν.

τὸ ἄρα φίλον ἡμῖν ἐκεῖνο, εἰς ὃ ἐτελεύτα πάντα τὰ ἄλλα [220e] ἕνεκα ἑτέρου φίλου φίλα ἔφαμεν εἶναι ἐκεῖνα οὐδὲν [δὲ] τούτοις ἔοικεν. ταῦτα μὲν γὰρ φίλου ἕνεκα φίλα κέκληται, τὸ δὲ τῷ ὄντι φίλον πᾶν τοὐναντίον τούτου φαίνεται πεφυκός: φίλον γὰρ ἡμῖν ἀνεφάνη ὂν ἐχθροῦ ἕνεκα, εἰ δὲ τὸ ἐχθρὸν ἀπέλθοι, οὐκέτι, ὡς ἔοικ᾽, ἔσθ᾽ ἡμῖν φίλον.

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη, ὥς γε νῦν λέγεται.

πότερον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς Διός, ἐὰν τὸ κακὸν ἀπόληται, οὐδὲ πεινῆν ἔτι ἔσται οὐδὲ [221a] διψῆν οὐδὲ ἄλλο οὐδὲν τῶν τοιούτων; ἢ πείνη μὲν ἔσται, ἐάνπερ ἄνθρωποί τε καὶ τἆλλα ζῷα ᾖ, οὐ μέντοι βλαβερά γε; καὶ δίψα δὴ καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι ἐπιθυμίαι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ κακαί, ἅτε τοῦ κακοῦ ἀπολωλότος; ἢ γελοῖον τὸ ἐρώτημα, ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔσται τότε ἢ μὴ ἔσται; τίς γὰρ οἶδεν; ἀλλ᾽ οὖν τόδε γ᾽ ἴσμεν, ὅτι καὶ νῦν ἔστιν πεινῶντα βλάπτεσθαι, ἔστιν δὲ καὶ ὠφελεῖσθαι. ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ διψῶντα καὶ [221b] τῶν ἄλλων τῶν τοιούτων πάντων ἐπιθυμοῦντα ἔστιν ἐνίοτε μὲν ὠφελίμως ἐπιθυμεῖν, ἐνίοτε δὲ βλαβερῶς, ἐνίοτε δὲ μηδέτερα;

σφόδρα γε.

οὐκοῦν ἐὰν ἀπολλύηται τὰ κακά, ἅ γε μὴ τυγχάνει ὄντα κακά, τί προσήκει τοῖς κακοῖς συναπόλλυσθαι;

οὐδέν.

ἔσονται ἄρα αἱ μήτε ἀγαθαὶ μήτε κακαὶ ἐπιθυμίαι καὶ ἐὰν ἀπόληται τὰ κακά.

φαίνεται.

οἷόν τε οὖν ἐστιν ἐπιθυμοῦντα καὶ ἐρῶντα τούτου οὗ ἐπιθυμεῖ καὶ ἐρᾷ μὴ φιλεῖν;

οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

ἔσται ἄρα [221c] καὶ τῶν κακῶν ἀπολομένων, ὡς ἔοικεν, φίλ᾽ ἄττα.

ναί.

οὐκ ἄν, εἴ γε τὸ κακὸν αἴτιον ἦν τοῦ φίλον τι εἶναι, οὐκ ἂν ἦν τούτου ἀπολομένου φίλον ἕτερον ἑτέρῳ. αἰτίας γὰρ ἀπολομένης ἀδύνατόν που ἦν ἔτ᾽ ἐκεῖνο εἶναι, οὗ ἦν αὕτη ἡ αἰτία.

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν ὡμολόγηται ἡμῖν τὸ φίλον φιλεῖν τι καὶ διά τι: καὶ ᾠήθημεν τότε γε διὰ τὸ κακὸν τὸ μήτε ἀγαθὸν μήτε κακὸν τὸ ἀγαθὸν φιλεῖν;

ἀληθῆ.

[221d] νῦν δέ γε, ὡς ἔοικε, φαίνεται ἄλλη τις αἰτία τοῦ φιλεῖν τε καὶ φιλεῖσθαι.

ἔοικεν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τῷ ὄντι, ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν, ἡ ἐπιθυμία τῆς φιλίας αἰτία, καὶ τὸ ἐπιθυμοῦν φίλον ἐστὶν τούτῳ οὗ ἐπιθυμεῖ καὶ τότε ὅταν ἐπιθυμῇ, ὃ δὲ τὸ πρότερον ἐλέγομεν φίλον εἶναι, ὕθλος τις ἦν, ὥσπερ ποίημα μακρὸν συγκείμενον;

κινδυνεύει, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τό γε ἐπιθυμοῦν, οὗ ἂν ἐνδεὲς ᾖ, τούτου [221e] ἐπιθυμεῖ. ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

τὸ δ᾽ ἐνδεὲς ἄρα φίλον ἐκείνου οὗ ἂν ἐνδεὲς ᾖ;

δοκεῖ μοι.

ἐνδεὲς δὲ γίγνεται οὗ ἄν τι ἀφαιρῆται.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τοῦ οἰκείου δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅ τε ἔρως καὶ ἡ φιλία καὶ ἡ ἐπιθυμία τυγχάνει οὖσα, ὡς φαίνεται, ὦ Μενέξενέ τε καὶ Λύσι.

συνεφάτην.

ὑμεῖς ἄρα εἰ φίλοι ἐστὸν ἀλλήλοις, φύσει πῃ οἰκεῖοί ἐσθ᾽ ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς.

κομιδῇ, ἐφάτην.

καὶ εἰ ἄρα τις ἕτερος ἑτέρου ἐπιθυμεῖ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, [222a] ὦ παῖδες, ἢ ἐρᾷ, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐπεθύμει οὐδὲ ἤρα οὐδὲ ἐφίλει, εἰ μὴ οἰκεῖός πῃ τῷ ἐρωμένῳ ἐτύγχανεν ὢν ἢ κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν ἢ κατά τι τῆς ψυχῆς ἦθος ἢ τρόπους ἢ εἶδος.

πάνυ γε, ἔφη ὁ Μενέξενος: ὁ δὲ Λύσις ἐσίγησεν.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. τὸ μὲν δὴ φύσει οἰκεῖον ἀναγκαῖον ἡμῖν πέφανται φιλεῖν.

ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

ἀναγκαῖον ἄρα τῷ γνησίῳ ἐραστῇ καὶ μὴ προσποιήτῳ φιλεῖσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν παιδικῶν. [222b] ὁ μὲν οὖν Λύσις καὶ ὁ Μενέξενος μόγις πως ἐπενευσάτην, ὁ δὲ Ἱπποθάλης ὑπὸ τῆς ἡδονῆς παντοδαπὰ ἠφίει χρώματα.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον, βουλόμενος τὸν λόγον ἐπισκέψασθαι, εἰ μέν τι τὸ οἰκεῖον τοῦ ὁμοίου διαφέρει, λέγοιμεν ἄν τι, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, ὦ Λύσι τε καὶ Μενέξενε, περὶ φίλου, ὃ ἔστιν: εἰ δὲ ταὐτὸν τυγχάνει ὂν ὅμοιόν τε καὶ οἰκεῖον, οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἀποβαλεῖν τὸν πρόσθεν λόγον, ὡς οὐ τὸ ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ κατὰ τὴν ὁμοιότητα ἄχρηστον: τὸ δὲ ἄχρηστον φίλον [222c] ὁμολογεῖν πλημμελές. βούλεσθ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπειδὴ ὥσπερ μεθύομεν ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου, συγχωρήσωμεν καὶ φῶμεν ἕτερόν τι εἶναι τὸ οἰκεῖον τοῦ ὁμοίου; πάνυ γε.

πότερον οὖν καὶ τἀγαθὸν οἰκεῖον θήσομεν παντί, τὸ δὲ κακὸν ἀλλότριον εἶναι; ἢ τὸ μὲν κακὸν τῷ κακῷ οἰκεῖον, τῷ δὲ ἀγαθῷ τὸ ἀγαθόν, τῷ δὲ μήτε ἀγαθῷ μήτε κακῷ τὸ μήτε ἀγαθὸν μήτε κακόν;

οὕτως ἐφάτην δοκεῖν σφίσιν ἕκαστον ἑκάστῳ [222d] οἰκεῖον εἶναι.

πάλιν ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ παῖδες, οὓς τὸ πρῶτον λόγους ἀπεβαλόμεθα περὶ φιλίας, εἰς τούτους εἰσπεπτώκαμεν: ὁ γὰρ ἄδικος τῷ ἀδίκῳ καὶ ὁ κακὸς τῷ κακῷ οὐδὲν ἧττον φίλος ἔσται ἢ ὁ ἀγαθὸς τῷ ἀγαθῷ.

ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

τί δέ; τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ οἰκεῖον ἂν ταὐτὸν φῶμεν εἶναι, ἄλλο τι ἢ ὁ ἀγαθὸς τῷ ἀγαθῷ μόνον φίλος;

πάνυ γε.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ τοῦτό γε ᾠόμεθα ἐξελέγξαι ἡμᾶς αὐτούς: ἢ οὐ μέμνησθε;

μεμνήμεθα. [222e]

τί οὖν ἂν ἔτι χρησαίμεθα τῷ λόγῳ; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι οὐδέν; δέομαι οὖν, ὥσπερ οἱ σοφοὶ ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις, τὰ εἰρημένα ἅπαντα ἀναπεμπάσασθαι. εἰ γὰρ μήτε οἱ φιλούμενοι μήτε οἱ φιλοῦντες μήτε οἱ ὅμοιοι μήτε οἱ ἀνόμοιοι μήτε οἱ ἀγαθοὶ μήτε οἱ οἰκεῖοι μήτε τὰ ἄλλα ὅσα διεληλύθαμεν οὐ γὰρ ἔγωγε ἔτι μέμνημαι ὑπὸ τοῦ πλήθους ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μηδὲν τούτων φίλον ἐστίν, ἐγὼ μὲν οὐκέτι ἔχω τί λέγω. [223a]

ταῦτα δ᾽ εἰπὼν ἐν νῷ εἶχον ἄλλον ἤδη τινὰ τῶν πρεσβυτέρων κινεῖν: κᾆτα, ὥσπερ δαίμονές τινες, προσελθόντες οἱ παιδαγωγοί, ὅ τε τοῦ Μενεξένου καὶ ὁ τοῦ Λύσιδος, ἔχοντες αὐτῶν τοὺς ἀδελφούς, παρεκάλουν καὶ ἐκέλευον αὐτοὺς οἴκαδ᾽ ἀπιέναι: ἤδη γὰρ ἦν ὀψέ. τὸ μὲν οὖν πρῶτον καὶ ἡμεῖς καὶ οἱ περιεστῶτες αὐτοὺς ἀπηλαύνομεν: ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐδὲν ἐφρόντιζον ἡμῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ὑποβαρβαρίζοντες ἠγανάκτουν τε καὶ [223b] οὐδὲν ἧττον ἐκάλουν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐδόκουν ἡμῖν ὑποπεπωκότες ἐν τοῖς Ἑρμαίοις ἄποροι εἶναι προσφέρεσθαι, ἡττηθέντες οὖν αὐτῶν διελύσαμεν τὴν συνουσίαν. ὅμως δ᾽ ἔγωγε ἤδη ἀπιόντων αὐτῶν, νῦν μέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Λύσι τε καὶ Μενέξενε, καταγέλαστοι γεγόναμεν ἐγώ τε, γέρων ἀνήρ, καὶ ὑμεῖς. ἐροῦσι γὰρ οἵδε ἀπιόντες ὡς οἰόμεθα ἡμεῖς ἀλλήλων φίλοι εἶναι καὶ ἐμὲ γὰρ ἐν ὑμῖν τίθημι οὔπω δὲ ὅτι ἔστιν ὁ φίλος οἷοί τε ἐγενόμεθα ἐξευρεῖν.

ION

1.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
[530a] τὸν Ἴωνα χαίρειν. πόθεν τὰ νῦν ἡμῖν ἐπιδεδήμηκας; ἢ οἴκοθεν ἐξ Ἐφέσου;

Ἴ ω ν
οὐδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ Ἐπιδαύρου ἐκ τῶν Ἀσκληπιείων.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
μῶν καὶ ῥαψωιδῶν ἀγῶνα τιθέασιν τῶι θεῶι οἱ Ἐπιδαύριοι;

Ἴ ω ν
πάνυ γε, καὶ τῆς ἄλλης γε μουσικῆς.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί οὖν; ἠγωνίζου τι ἡμῖν; καὶ πῶς τι ἠγωνίσω;

Ἴ ω ν
τὰ πρῶτα τῶν ἄθλων ἠνεγκάμεθα, [530b] ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
εὖ λέγεις· ἄγε δὴ ὅπως καὶ τὰ Παναθήναια νικήσομεν.

Ἴ ω ν
ἀλλ᾽ ἔσται ταῦτα, ἐὰν θεὸς ἐθέληι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
καὶ μὴν πολλάκις γε ἐζήλωσα ὑμᾶς τοὺς ῥαψωιδούς, ὦ Ἴων, τῆς τέχνης· τὸ γὰρ ἅμα μὲν τὸ σῶμα κεκοσμῆσθαι ἀεὶ πρέπον ὑμῶν εἶναι τῆι τέχνηι καὶ ὡς καλλίστοις φαίνεσθαι, ἅμα δὲ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι ἔν τε ἄλλοις ποιηταῖς διατρίβειν πολλοῖς καὶ ἀγαθοῖς καὶ δὴ καὶ μάλιστα ἐν Ὁμήρωι, τῶι ἀρίστωι καὶ θειοτάτωι τῶν ποιητῶν, καὶ τὴν τούτου διάνοιαν ἐκμανθάνειν, [530c] μὴ μόνον τὰ ἔπη, ζηλωτόν ἐστιν. οὐ γὰρ ἂν γένοιτό ποτε ἀγαθὸς ῥαψωιδός, εἰ μὴ συνείη τὰ λεγόμενα ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ. τὸν γὰρ ῥαψωιδὸν ἑρμηνέα δεῖ τοῦ ποιητοῦ τῆς διανοίας γίγνεσθαι τοῖς ἀκούουσι· τοῦτο δὲ καλῶς ποιεῖν μὴ γιγνώσκοντα ὅτι λέγει ὁ ποιητὴς ἀδύνατον. ταῦτα οὖν πάντα ἄξια ζηλοῦσθαι.

2.
Ἴ ω ν
ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες· ἐμοὶ γοῦν τοῦτο πλεῖστον ἔργον παρέσχεν τῆς τέχνης, καὶ οἶμαι κάλλιστα ἀνθρώπων λέγειν περὶ Ὁμήρου, ὡς οὔτε Μητρόδωρος ὁ Λαμψακηνὸς οὔτε [530d] Στησίμβροτος ὁ Θάσιος οὔτε Γλαύκων οὔτε ἄλλος οὐδεὶς τῶν πώποτε γενομένων ἔσχεν εἰπεῖν οὕτω πολλὰς καὶ καλὰς διανοίας περὶ Ὁμήρου ὅσας ἐγώ.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
εὖ λέγεις, ὦ Ἴων· δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι οὐ φθονήσεις μοι ἐπιδεῖξαι.

Ἴ ω ν
καὶ μὴν ἄξιόν γε ἀκοῦσαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς εὖ κεκόσμηκα τὸν Ὅμηρον· ὥστε οἶμαι ὑπὸ Ὁμηριδῶν ἄξιος εἶναι χρυσῶι στεφάνωι στεφανωθῆναι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
καὶ μὴν ἐγὼ ἔτι ποιήσομαι σχολὴν ἀκροάσασθαί [531a] σου, νῦν δέ μοι τοσόνδε ἀπόκριναι· πότερον περὶ Ὁμήρου μόνον δεινὸς εἶ ἢ καὶ περὶ Ἡσιόδου καὶ Ἀρχιλόχου;

Ἴ ω ν
οὐδαμῶς, ἀλλὰ περὶ Ὁμήρου μόνον· ἱκανὸν γάρ μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἔστι δὲ περὶ ὅτου Ὅμηρός τε καὶ Ἡσίοδος ταὐτὰ λέγετον;

Ἴ ω ν
οἶμαι ἔγωγε καὶ πολλά.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
πότερον οὖν περὶ τούτων κάλλιον ἂν ἐξηγήσαιο ἃ Ὅμηρος λέγει ἢ ἃ Ἡσίοδος;

Ἴ ω ν
ὁμοίως ἂν περί γε τούτων, ὦ [531b] Σώκρατες, περὶ ὧν ταὐτὰ λέγουσιν.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί δὲ ὧν πέρι μὴ ταὐτὰ λέγουσιν; οἷον περὶ μαντικῆς λέγει τι Ὅμηρός τε καὶ Ἡσίοδος.

Ἴ ω ν
πάνυ γε.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί οὖν; ὅσα τε ὁμοίως καὶ ὅσα διαφόρως περὶ μαντικῆς λέγετον τὼ ποιητὰ τούτω, πότερον σὺ κάλλιον ἂν ἐξηγήσαιο ἢ τῶν μάντεών τις τῶν ἀγαθῶν;

Ἴ ω ν
τῶν μάντεων.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
εἰ δὲ σὺ ἦσθα μάντις, οὐκ, εἴπερ περὶ τῶν ὁμοίως λεγομένων οἷός τ᾽ ἦσθα ἐξηγήσασθαι, καὶ περὶ τῶν διαφόρως λεγομένων ἠπίστω ἂν ἐξηγεῖσθαι;

Ἴ ω ν
δῆλον ὅτι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί οὖν ποτε [531c] περὶ μὲν Ὁμήρου δεινὸς εἶ, περὶ δὲ Ἡσιόδου οὔ, οὐδὲ τῶν ἄλλων ποιητῶν; ἢ Ὅμηρος περὶ ἄλλων τινῶν λέγει ἢ ὧνπερ σύμπαντες οἱ ἄλλοι ποιηταί; οὐ περὶ πολέμου τε τὰ πολλὰ διελήλυθεν καὶ περὶ ὁμιλιῶν πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἀνθρώπων ἀγαθῶν τε καὶ κακῶν καὶ ἰδιωτῶν καὶ δημιουργῶν, καὶ περὶ θεῶν πρὸς ἀλλήλους καὶ πρὸς ἀνθρώπους ὁμιλούντων, ὡς ὁμιλοῦσι, καὶ περὶ τῶν οὐρανίων παθημάτων καὶ περὶ τῶν ἐν Ἄιδου, καὶ γενέσεις καὶ θεῶν καὶ ἡρώων; οὐ ταῦτά ἐστι περὶ [531d] ὧν Ὅμηρος τὴν ποίησιν πεποίηκεν;

Ἴ ω ν
ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

3.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί δὲ οἱ ἄλλοι ποιηταί; οὐ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν τούτων;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί, ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐχ ὁμοίως πεποιήκασι καὶ Ὅμηρος.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί μήν; κάκιον;

Ἴ ω ν
πολύ γε.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
Ὅμηρος δὲ ἄμεινον;

Ἴ ω ν
ἄμεινον μέντοι νὴ Δία.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν, ὦ φίλη κεφαλὴ Ἴων, ὅταν περὶ ἀριθμοῦ πολλῶν λεγόντων εἷς τις ἄριστα λέγηι, γνώσεται δήπου τις τὸν εὖ λέγοντα;

Ἴ ω ν
[531e] φημί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
πότερον οὖν ὁ αὐτὸς ὅσπερ καὶ τοὺς κακῶς λέγοντας, ἢ ἄλλος;

Ἴ ω ν
ὁ αὐτὸς δήπου.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν ὁ τὴν ἀριθμητικὴν τέχνην ἔχων οὗτός ἐστιν;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί δ᾽; ὅταν πολλῶν λεγόντων περὶ ὑγιεινῶν σιτίων ὁποῖά ἐστιν, εἷς τις ἄριστα λέγηι, πότερον ἕτερος μέν τις τὸν ἄριστα λέγοντα γνώσεται ὅτι ἄριστα λέγει, ἕτερος δὲ τὸν κάκιον ὅτι κάκιον, ἢ ὁ αὐτός;

Ἴ ω ν
δῆλον δήπου, ὁ αὐτός.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τίς οὗτος; τί ὄνομα αὐτῶι;

Ἴ ω ν
ἰατρός.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν ἐν κεφαλαίωι λέγομεν ὡς ὁ αὐτὸς γνώσεται ἀεί, περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν πολλῶν λεγόντων, ὅστις τε εὖ λέγει καὶ [532a] ὅστις κακῶς· ἢ εἰ μὴ γνώσεται τὸν κακῶς λέγοντα, δῆλον ὅτι οὐδὲ τὸν εὖ, περί γε τοῦ αὐτοῦ.

Ἴ ω ν
οὕτως.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν ὁ αὐτὸς γίγνεται δεινὸς περὶ ἀμφοτέρων;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν σὺ φὴις καὶ Ὅμηρον καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ποιητάς, ἐν οἷς καὶ Ἡσίοδος καὶ Ἀρχίλοχός ἐστιν, περί γε τῶν αὐτῶν λέγειν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὁμοίως, ἀλλὰ τὸν μὲν εὖ γε, τοὺς δὲ χεῖρον;

Ἴ ω ν
καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγω.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν, εἴπερ τὸν εὖ λέγοντα γιγνώσκεις, καὶ τοὺς χεῖρον λέγοντας [532b] γιγνώσκοις ἂν ὅτι χεῖρον λέγουσιν.

Ἴ ω ν
ἔοικέν γε.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν, ὦ βέλτιστε, ὁμοίως τὸν Ἴωνα λέγοντες περὶ Ὁμήρου τε δεινὸν εἶναι καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ποιητῶν οὐχ ἁμαρτησόμεθα, ἐπειδή γε αὐτὸς ὁμολογῆι τὸν αὐτὸν ἔσεσθαι κριτὴν ἱκανὸν πάντων ὅσοι ἂν περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν λέγωσι, τοὺς δὲ ποιητὰς σχεδὸν ἅπαντας τὰ αὐτὰ ποιεῖν.

4.
Ἴ ω ν
τί οὖν ποτε τὸ αἴτιον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι ἐγώ, ὅταν μέν τις περὶ ἄλλου του ποιητοῦ διαλέγηται, οὔτε προσέχω τὸν νοῦν [532c] ἀδυνατῶ τε καὶ ὁτιοῦν συμβαλέσθαι λόγου ἄξιον, ἀλλ᾽ ἀτεχνῶς νυστάζω, ἐπειδὰν δέ τις περὶ Ὁμήρου μνησθῆι, εὐθύς τε ἐγρήγορα καὶ προσέχω τὸν νοῦν καὶ εὐπορῶ ὅτι λέγω;

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
oὐ χαλεπὸν τοῦτό γε εἰκάσαι, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἀλλὰ παντὶ δῆλον ὅτι τέχνηι καὶ ἐπιστήμηι περὶ Ὁμήρου λέγειν ἀδύνατος εἶ· εἰ γὰρ τέχνηι οἷός τε ἦσθα, καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ποιητῶν ἁπάντων λέγειν οἷός τ᾽ ἂν ἦσθα· ποιητικὴ γάρ πού ἐστιν τὸ ὅλον. ἢ οὔ;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
[532d] οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὰν λάβηι τις καὶ ἄλλην τέχνην ἡντινοῦν ὅλην, ὁ αὐτὸς τρόπος τῆς σκέψεως ἔσται περὶ ἁπασῶν τῶν τεχνῶν; πῶς τοῦτο λέγω, δέηι τί μου ἀκοῦσαι, ὦ Ἴων;

Ἴ ω ν
ναὶ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔγωγε· χαίρω γὰρ ἀκούων ὑμῶν τῶν σοφῶν.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
βουλοίμην ἄν σε ἀληθῆ λέγειν, ὦ Ἴων· ἀλλὰ σοφοὶ μέν πού ἐστε ὑμεῖς οἱ ῥαψωιδοὶ καὶ ὑποκριταὶ καὶ ὧν ὑμεῖς ἄιδετε τὰ ποιήματα, ἐγὼ δὲ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ τἀληθῆ λέγω, οἷον εἰκὸς [532e] ἰδιώτην ἄνθρωπον. ἐπεὶ καὶ περὶ τούτου οὗ νῦν ἠρόμην σε, θέασαι ὡς φαῦλον καὶ ἰδιωτικόν ἐστι καὶ παντὸς ἀνδρὸς γνῶναι ὃ ἔλεγον, τὴν αὐτὴν εἶναι σκέψιν, ἐπειδάν τις ὅλην τέχνην λάβηι. λάβωμεν γὰρ τῶι λόγωι· γραφικὴ γάρ τίς ἐστι τέχνη τὸ ὅλον;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν καὶ γραφῆς πολλοὶ καὶ εἰσὶ καὶ γεγόνασιν ἀγαθοὶ καὶ φαῦλοι;

Ἴ ω ν
πάνυ γε.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἤδη οὖν τινα εἶδες ὅστις περὶ μὲν Πολυγνώτου τοῦ Ἀγλαοφῶντος δεινός ἐστιν ἀποφαίνειν ἃ εὖ τε γράφει καὶ ἃ μή, περὶ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων γραφέων ἀδύνατος; [533a] καὶ ἐπειδὰν μέν τις τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ζωγράφων ἔργα ἐπιδεικνύηι, νυστάζει τε καὶ ἀπορεῖ καὶ οὐκ ἔχει ὅτι συμβάληται, ἐπειδὰν δὲ περὶ Πολυγνώτου ἢ ἄλλου ὅτου βούλει τῶν γραφέων ἑνὸς μόνου δέηι ἀποφήνασθαι γνώμην, ἐγρήγορέν τε καὶ προσέχει τὸν νοῦν καὶ εὐπορεῖ ὅτι εἴπηι;

Ἴ ω ν
οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, οὐ δῆτα.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί δέ; ἐν ἀνδριαντοποιίαι ἤδη τιν᾽ εἶδες ὅστις περὶ μὲν Δαιδάλου τοῦ Μητίονος ἢ Ἐπειοῦ τοῦ Πανοπέως ἢ Θεοδώρου τοῦ Σαμίου [533b] ἢ ἄλλου τινὸς ἀνδριαντοποιοῦ ἑνὸς πέρι δεινός ἐστιν ἐξηγεῖσθαι ἃ εὖ πεποίηκεν, ἐν δὲ τοῖς τῶν ἄλλων ἀνδριαντοποιῶν ἔργοις ἀπορεῖ τε καὶ νυστάζει, οὐκ ἔχων ὅτι εἴπηι;

Ἴ ω ν
οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, οὐδὲ τοῦτον ἑώρακα.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἀλλὰ μήν, ὥς γ᾽ ἐγὼ οἶμαι, οὐδ᾽ ἐν αὐλήσει γε οὐδὲ ἐν κιθαρίσει οὐδὲ ἐν κιθαρωιδίαι οὐδὲ ἐν ῥαψωιδίαι οὐδεπώποτ᾽ εἶδες ἄνδρα ὅστις περὶ μὲν Ὀλύμπου δεινός ἐστιν ἐξηγεῖσθαι ἢ περὶ Θαμύρου ἢ περὶ [533c] Ὀρφέως ἢ περὶ Φημίου τοῦ Ἰθακησίου ῥαψωιδοῦ, περὶ δὲ Ἴωνος τοῦ Ἐφεσίου ῥαψωιδοῦ ἀπορεῖ καὶ οὐκ ἔχει συμβαλέσθαι ἅ τε εὖ ῥαψωιδεῖ καὶ ἃ μή.

Ἴ ω ν
οὐκ ἔχω σοι περὶ τούτου ἀντιλέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες· ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο ἐμαυτῶι σύνοιδα, ὅτι περὶ Ὁμήρου κάλλιστ᾽ ἀνθρώπων λέγω καὶ εὐπορῶ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες μέ φασιν εὖ λέγειν, περὶ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων οὔ. καίτοι ὅρα τοῦτο τί ἔστιν.

5.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
καὶ ὁρῶ, ὦ Ἴων, καὶ ἔρχομαί γέ σοι ἀποφανούμενος ὅ μοι δοκεῖ [533d] τοῦτο εἶναι. ἔστι γὰρ τοῦτο τέχνη μὲν οὐκ ὂν παρὰ σοὶ περὶ Ὁμήρου εὖ λέγειν, ὃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, θεία δὲ δύναμις ἥ σε κινεῖ, ὥσπερ ἐν τῆι λίθωι ἣν Εὐριπίδης μὲν Μαγνῆτιν ὠνόμασεν, οἱ δὲ πολλοὶ Ἡρακλείαν. καὶ γὰρ αὕτη ἡ λίθος οὐ μόνον αὐτοὺς τοὺς δακτυλίους ἄγει τοὺς σιδηροῦς, ἀλλὰ καὶ δύναμιν ἐντίθησι τοῖς δακτυλίοις ὥστ᾽ αὖ δύνασθαι ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ποιεῖν ὅπερ ἡ λίθος, ἄλλους ἄγειν δακτυλίους, [533e] ὥστ᾽ ἐνίοτε ὁρμαθὸς μακρὸς πάνυ σιδηρίων καὶ δακτυλίων ἐξ ἀλλήλων ἤρτηται· πᾶσι δὲ τούτοις ἐξ ἐκείνης τῆς λίθου ἡ δύναμις ἀνήρτηται. οὕτω δὲ καὶ ἡ Μοῦσα ἐνθέους μὲν ποιεῖ αὐτή, διὰ δὲ τῶν ἐνθέων τούτων ἄλλων ἐνθουσιαζόντων ὁρμαθὸς ἐξαρτᾶται. πάντες γὰρ οἵ τε τῶν ἐπῶν ποιηταὶ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ οὐκ ἐκ τέχνης ἀλλ᾽ ἔνθεοι ὄντες καὶ κατεχόμενοι πάντα ταῦτα τὰ καλὰ λέγουσι ποιήματα, καὶ οἱ μελοποιοὶ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ὡσαύτως, ὥσπερ οἱ κορυβαντιῶντες [534a] οὐκ ἔμφρονες ὄντες ὀρχοῦνται, οὕτω καὶ οἱ μελοποιοὶ οὐκ ἔμφρονες ὄντες τὰ καλὰ μέλη ταῦτα ποιοῦσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὰν ἐμβῶσιν εἰς τὴν ἁρμονίαν καὶ εἰς τὸν ῥυθμόν, βακχεύουσι καὶ κατεχόμενοι, ὥσπερ αἱ βάκχαι ἀρύονται ἐκ τῶν ποταμῶν μέλι καὶ γάλα κατεχόμεναι, ἔμφρονες δὲ οὖσαι οὔ, καὶ τῶν μελοποιῶν ἡ ψυχὴ τοῦτο ἐργάζεται, ὅπερ αὐτοὶ λέγουσι. λέγουσι γὰρ δήπουθεν πρὸς ἡμᾶς οἱ ποιηταὶ ὅτι ἀπὸ κρηνῶν μελιρρύτων ἐκ Μουσῶν κήπων [534b] τινῶν καὶ ναπῶν δρεπόμενοι τὰ μέλη ἡμῖν φέρουσιν ὥσπερ αἱ μέλιτται, καὶ αὐτοὶ οὕτω πετόμενοι· καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγουσι. κοῦφον γὰρ χρῆμα ποιητής ἐστιν καὶ πτηνὸν καὶ ἱερόν, καὶ οὐ πρότερον οἷός τε ποιεῖν πρὶν ἂν ἔνθεός τε γένηται καὶ ἔκφρων καὶ ὁ νοῦς μηκέτι ἐν αὐτῶι ἐνῆι· ἕως δ᾽ ἂν τουτὶ ἔχηι τὸ κτῆμα, ἀδύνατος πᾶς ποιεῖν ἄνθρωπός ἐστιν καὶ χρησμωιδεῖν. ἅτε οὖν οὐ τέχνηι ποιοῦντες καὶ πολλὰ λέγοντες καὶ καλὰ περὶ τῶν πραγμάτων, ὥσπερ σὺ περὶ Ὁμήρου, [534c] ἀλλὰ θείαι μοίραι, τοῦτο μόνον οἷός τε ἕκαστος ποιεῖν καλῶς ἐφ᾽ ὃ ἡ Μοῦσα αὐτὸν ὥρμησεν, ὁ μὲν διθυράμβους, ὁ δὲ ἐγκώμια, ὁ δὲ ὑπορχήματα, ὁ δ᾽ ἔπη, ὁ δ᾽ ἰάμβους· τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα φαῦλος αὐτῶν ἕκαστός ἐστιν. οὐ γὰρ τέχνηι ταῦτα λέγουσιν ἀλλὰ θείαι δυνάμει, ἐπεί, εἰ περὶ ἑνὸς τέχνηι καλῶς ἠπίσταντο λέγειν, κἂν περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων· διὰ ταῦτα δὲ ὁ θεὸς ἐξαιρούμενος τούτων τὸν νοῦν τούτοις χρῆται ὑπηρέταις καὶ τοῖς χρησμωιδοῖς καὶ τοῖς μάντεσι τοῖς [534d] θείοις, ἵνα ἡμεῖς οἱ ἀκούοντες εἰδῶμεν ὅτι οὐχ οὗτοί εἰσιν οἱ ταῦτα λέγοντες οὕτω πολλοῦ ἄξια, οἷς νοῦς μὴ πάρεστιν, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ θεὸς αὐτός ἐστιν ὁ λέγων, διὰ τούτων δὲ φθέγγεται πρὸς ἡμᾶς. μέγιστον δὲ τεκμήριον τῶι λόγωι Τύννιχος ὁ Χαλκιδεύς, ὃς ἄλλο μὲν οὐδὲν πώποτε ἐποίησε ποίημα ὅτου τις ἂν ἀξιώσειεν μνησθῆναι, τὸν δὲ παίωνα ὃν πάντες ἄιδουσι, σχεδόν τι πάντων μελῶν κάλλιστον, ἀτεχνῶς, ὅπερ αὐτὸς λέγει, ἐν τούτωι γὰρ [534e] δὴ μάλιστά μοι δοκεῖ ὁ θεὸς ἐνδείξασθαι ἡμῖν, ἵνα μὴ διστάζωμεν, ὅτι οὐκ ἀνθρώπινά ἐστιν τὰ καλὰ ταῦτα ποιήματα οὐδὲ ἀνθρώπων, ἀλλὰ θεῖα καὶ θεῶν, οἱ δὲ ποιηταὶ οὐδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἑρμηνῆς εἰσιν τῶν θεῶν, κατεχόμενοι ἐξ ὅτου ἂν ἕκαστος κατέχηται. ταῦτα ἐνδεικνύμενος ὁ θεὸς ἐξεπίτηδες διὰ τοῦ φαυλοτάτου ποιητοῦ [535a] τὸ κάλλιστον μέλος ἦισεν· ἢ οὐ δοκῶ σοι ἀληθῆ λέγειν, ὦ Ἴων;

Ἴ ω ν
ναὶ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἔμοιγε· ἅπτει γάρ πώς μου τοῖς λόγοις τῆς ψυχῆς, ὦ Σώκρατες, καί μοι δοκοῦσι θείαι μοίραι ἡμῖν παρὰ τῶν θεῶν ταῦτα οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ποιηταὶ ἑρμηνεύειν.

6.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν ὑμεῖς αὖ οἱ ῥαψωιδοὶ τὰ τῶν ποιητῶν ἑρμηνεύετε;

Ἴ ω ν
καὶ τοῦτο ἀληθὲς λέγεις.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν ἑρμηνέων ἑρμηνῆς γίγνεσθε;

Ἴ ω ν
παντάπασί γε.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
[535b] ἔχε δή μοι τόδε εἰπέ, ὦ Ἴων, καὶ μὴ ἀποκρύψηι ὅτι ἄν σε ἔρωμαι· ὅταν εὖ εἴπηις ἔπη καὶ ἐκπλήξηις μάλιστα τοὺς θεωμένους, ἢ τὸν Ὀδυσσέα ὅταν ἐπὶ τὸν οὐδὸν ἐφαλλόμενον ἄιδηις, ἐκφανῆ γιγνόμενον τοῖς μνηστῆρσι καὶ ἐκχέοντα τοὺς ὀιστοὺς πρὸ τῶν ποδῶν, ἢ Ἀχιλλέα ἐπὶ τὸν Ἕκτορα ὁρμῶντα, ἢ καὶ τῶν περὶ Ἀνδρομάχην ἐλεινῶν τι ἢ περὶ Ἑκάβην ἢ περὶ Πρίαμον, τότε πότερον ἔμφρων εἶ ἢ ἔξω σαυτοῦ γίγνηι καὶ παρὰ τοῖς πράγμασιν [535c] οἴεταί σου εἶναι ἡ ψυχὴ οἷς λέγεις ἐνθουσιάζουσα, ἢ ἐν Ἰθάκηι οὖσιν ἢ ἐν Τροίαι ἢ ὅπως ἂν καὶ τὰ ἔπη ἔχηι;

Ἴ ω ν
ὡς ἐναργές μοι τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ τεκμήριον εἶπες· οὐ γάρ σε ἀποκρυψάμενος ἐρῶ. ἐγὼ γὰρ ὅταν ἐλεινόν τι λέγω, δακρύων ἐμπίμπλανταί μου οἱ ὀφθαλμοί· ὅταν τε φοβερὸν ἢ δεινόν, ὀρθαὶ αἱ τρίχες ἵστανται ὑπὸ φόβου καὶ ἡ καρδία πηδᾶι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί οὖν; φῶμεν, ὦ Ἴων, ἔμφρονα [535d] εἶναι τότε τοῦτον τὸν ἄνθρωπον, ὃς ἂν κεκοσμημένος ἐσθῆτι ποικίληι καὶ χρυσοῖσι στεφάνοις κλάηι τ᾽ ἐν θυσίαις καὶ ἑορταῖς, μηδὲν ἀπολωλεκὼς τούτων, ἢ φοβῆται πλέον ἢ ἐν δισμυρίοις ἀνθρώποις ἑστηκὼς φιλίοις, μηδενὸς ἀποδύοντος μηδὲ ἀδικοῦντος;

Ἴ ω ν
οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, οὐ πάνυ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὥς γε τἀληθὲς εἰρῆσθαι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οἶσθα οὖν ὅτι καὶ τῶν θεατῶν τοὺς πολλοὺς ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ὑμεῖς ἐργάζεσθε;

Ἴ ω ν
καὶ μάλα καλῶς [535e] οἶδα· καθορῶ γὰρ ἑκάστοτε αὐτοὺς ἄνωθεν ἀπὸ τοῦ βήματος κλάοντάς τε καὶ δεινὸν ἐμβλέποντας καὶ συνθαμβοῦντας τοῖς λεγομένοις. δεῖ γάρ με καὶ σφόδρ᾽ αὐτοῖς τὸν νοῦν προσέχειν· ὡς ἐὰν μὲν κλάοντας αὐτοὺς καθίσω, αὐτὸς γελάσομαι ἀργύριον λαμβάνων, ἐὰν δὲ γελῶντας, αὐτὸς κλαύσομαι ἀργύριον ἀπολλύς.

7.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οἶσθα οὖν ὅτι οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ θεατὴς τῶν δακτυλίων ὁ ἔσχατος, ὧν ἐγὼ ἔλεγον ὑπὸ τῆς Ἡρακλειώτιδος λίθου ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων τὴν δύναμιν λαμβάνειν; ὁ δὲ μέσος σὺ ὁ ῥαψωιδὸς καὶ ὑποκριτής, ὁ δὲ [536a] πρῶτος αὐτὸς ὁ ποιητής· ὁ δὲ θεὸς διὰ πάντων τούτων ἕλκει τὴν ψυχὴν ὅποι ἂν βούληται τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ἀνακρεμαννὺς ἐξ ἀλλήλων τὴν δύναμιν. καὶ ὥσπερ ἐκ τῆς λίθου ἐκείνης ὁρμαθὸς πάμπολυς ἐξήρτηται χορευτῶν τε καὶ διδασκάλων καὶ ὑποδιδασκάλων, ἐκ πλαγίου ἐξηρτημένων τῶν τῆς Μούσης ἐκκρεμαμένων δακτυλίων. καὶ ὁ μὲν τῶν ποιητῶν ἐξ ἄλλης Μούσης, ὁ δὲ ἐξ ἄλλης ἐξήρτηται — ὀνομάζομεν δὲ αὐτὸ κατέχεται, τὸ δέ ἐστι [536b] παραπλήσιον· ἔχεται γάρ — ἐκ δὲ τούτων τῶν πρώτων δακτυλίων, τῶν ποιητῶν, ἄλλοι ἐξ ἄλλου αὖ ἠρτημένοι εἰσὶ καὶ ἐνθουσιάζουσιν, οἱ μὲν ἐξ Ὀρφέως, οἱ δὲ ἐκ Μουσαίου· οἱ δὲ πολλοὶ ἐξ Ὁμήρου κατέχονταί τε καὶ ἔχονται. ὧν σύ, ὦ Ἴων, εἷς εἶ καὶ κατέχηι ἐξ Ὁμήρου, καὶ ἐπειδὰν μέν τις ἄλλου του ποιητοῦ ἄιδηι, καθεύδεις τε καὶ ἀπορεῖς ὅτι λέγηις, ἐπειδὰν δὲ τούτου τοῦ ποιητοῦ φθέγξηταί τις μέλος, εὐθὺς ἐγρήγορας καὶ ὀρχεῖταί σου ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ εὐπορεῖς [536c] ὅ τι λέγηις· οὐ γὰρ τέχνηι οὐδ᾽ ἐπιστήμηι περὶ Ὁμήρου λέγεις ἃ λέγεις, ἀλλὰ θείαι μοίραι καὶ κατοκωχῆι, ὥσπερ οἱ κορυβαντιῶντες ἐκείνου μόνου αἰσθάνονται τοῦ μέλους ὀξέως ὃ ἂν ἦι τοῦ θεοῦ ἐξ ὅτου ἂν κατέχωνται, καὶ εἰς ἐκεῖνο τὸ μέλος καὶ σχημάτων καὶ ῥημάτων εὐποροῦσι, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων οὐ φροντίζουσιν· οὕτω καὶ σύ, ὦ Ἴων, περὶ μὲν Ὁμήρου ὅταν τις μνησθῆι, εὐπορεῖς, περὶ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων ἀπορεῖς· τούτου δ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ αἴτιον, ὅ μ᾽ ἐρωτᾶις, [536d] δι᾽ ὅτι σὺ περὶ μὲν Ὁμήρου εὐπορεῖς, περὶ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων οὔ, ὅτι οὐ τέχνηι ἀλλὰ θείαι μοίραι Ὁμήρου δεινὸς εἶ ἐπαινέτης.

8.
Ἴ ω ν
σὺ μὲν εὖ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες· θαυμάζοιμι μεντἂν εἰ οὕτως εὖ εἴποις, ὥστε με ἀναπεῖσαι ὡς ἐγὼ κατεχόμενος καὶ μαινόμενος Ὅμηρον ἐπαινῶ. οἶμαι δὲ οὐδ᾽ ἂν σοὶ δόξαιμι, εἴ μου ἀκούσαις λέγοντος περὶ Ὁμήρου.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
καὶ μὴν ἐθέλω γε ἀκοῦσαι, οὐ μέντοι πρότερον πρὶν ἄν μοι ἀποκρίνηι τόδε· ὧν [536e] Ὅμηρος λέγει περὶ τίνος εὖ λέγεις; οὐ γὰρ δήπου περὶ ἁπάντων γε.

Ἴ ω ν
εὖ ἴσθι, ὦ Σώκρατες, περὶ οὐδενὸς ὅτου οὔ.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐ δήπου καὶ περὶ τούτων ὧν σὺ μὲν τυγχάνεις οὐκ εἰδώς, Ὅμηρος δὲ λέγει.

Ἴ ω ν
καὶ ταῦτα ποῖά ἐστιν ἃ Ὅμηρος μὲν λέγει, ἐγὼ δὲ οὐκ οἶδα;

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐ καὶ περὶ τεχνῶν μέντοι λέγει [537a] πολλαχοῦ Ὅμηρος καὶ πολλά; οἷον καὶ περὶ ἡνιοχείας — ἐὰν μνησθῶ τὰ ἔπη, ἐγώ σοι φράσω.

Ἴ ω ν
ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ ἐρῶ· ἐγὼ γὰρ μέμνημαι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
εἰπὲ δή μοι ἃ λέγει Νέστωρ Ἀντιλόχωι τῶι ὑεῖ, παραινῶν εὐλαβηθῆναι περὶ τὴν καμπὴν ἐν τῆι ἱπποδρομίαι τῆι ἐπὶ Πατρόκλωι.

Ἴ ω ν
κλινθῆναι δέ, φησί, καὶ αὐτὸς ἐυξέστωι ἐνὶ δίφρωι
ἦκ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀριστερὰ τοῖιν· ἀτὰρ τὸν δεξιὸν [537b] ἵππον
κένσαι ὁμοκλήσας, εἶξαί τέ οἱ ἡνία χερσίν.
ἐν νύσσηι δέ τοι ἵππος ἀριστερὸς ἐγχριμφθήτω,
ὡς ἄν τοι πλήμνη γε δοάσσεται ἄκρον ἱκέσθαι
κύκλου ποιητοῖο· λίθου δ᾽ ἀλέασθαι ἐπαυρεῖν.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἀρκεῖ. ταῦτα δή, ὦ Ἴων, τὰ ἔπη εἴτε [537c] ὀρθῶς λέγει Ὅμηρος εἴτε μή, πότερος ἂν γνοίη ἄμεινον, ἰατρὸς ἢ ἡνίοχος;

Ἴ ω ν
Ἡνίοχος δήπου.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
πότερον ὅτι τέχνην ταύτην ἔχει ἢ κατ᾽ ἄλλο τι;

Ἴ ω ν
οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι τέχνην.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν ἑκάστηι τῶν τεχνῶν ἀποδέδοταί τι ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ ἔργον οἵαι τε εἶναι γιγνώσκειν; οὐ γάρ που ἃ κυβερνητικῆι γιγνώσκομεν, γνωσόμεθα καὶ ἰατρικῆι.

Ἴ ω ν
οὐ δῆτα.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐδέ γε ἃ ἰατρικῆι, ταῦτα καὶ τεκτονικῆι.

Ἴ ω ν
οὐ δῆτα.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
[537d] οὐκοῦν οὕτω καὶ κατὰ πασῶν τῶν τεχνῶν, ἃ τῆι ἑτέραι τέχνηι γιγνώσκομεν, οὐ γνωσόμεθα τῆι ἑτέραι; τόδε δέ μοι πρότερον τούτου ἀπόκριναι· τὴν μὲν ἑτέραν φὴις εἶναί τινα τέχνην, τὴν δ᾽ ἑτέραν;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἆρα ὥσπερ ἐγὼ τεκμαιρόμενος, ὅταν ἡ μὲν ἑτέρων πραγμάτων ἦι ἐπιστήμη, ἡ δ᾽ ἑτέρων, οὕτω καλῶ τὴν μὲν ἄλλην, τὴν δὲ ἄλλην τέχνην, οὕτω καὶ σύ;

Ἴ ω ν
[537e] ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
εἰ γάρ που τῶν αὐτῶν πραγμάτων ἐπιστήμη εἴη τις, τί ἂν τὴν μὲν ἑτέραν φαῖμεν εἶναι, τὴν δ᾽ ἑτέραν, ὁπότε γε ταὐτὰ εἴη εἰδέναι ἀπ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων; ὥσπερ ἐγώ τε γιγνώσκω ὅτι πέντε εἰσὶν οὗτοι οἱ δάκτυλοι, καὶ σύ, ὥσπερ ἐγώ, περὶ τούτων ταὐτὰ γιγνώσκεις· καὶ εἴ σε ἐγὼ ἐροίμην εἰ τῆι αὐτῆι τέχνηι γιγνώσκομεν τῆι ἀριθμητικῆι τὰ αὐτὰ ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ ἢ ἄλληι, φαίης ἂν δήπου τῆι αὐτῆι.

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ὃ τοίνυν ἄρτι [538a] ἔμελλον ἐρήσεσθαί σε, νυνὶ εἰπέ, εἰ κατὰ πασῶν τῶν τεχνῶν οὕτω σοι δοκεῖ, τῆι μὲν αὐτῆι τέχνηι τὰ αὐτὰ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι γιγνώσκειν, τῆι δ᾽ ἑτέραι μὴ τὰ αὐτά, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ ἄλλη ἐστίν, ἀναγκαῖον καὶ ἕτερα γιγνώσκειν.

Ἴ ω ν
οὕτω μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

9.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν ὅστις ἂν μὴ ἔχηι τινὰ τέχνην, ταύτης τῆς τέχνης τὰ λεγόμενα ἢ πραττόμενα καλῶς γιγνώσκειν οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἔσται;

Ἴ ω ν
[538b] ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
πότερον οὖν περὶ τῶν ἐπῶν ὧν εἶπες, εἴτε καλῶς λέγει Ὅμηρος εἴτε μή, σὺ κάλλιον γνώσηι ἢ ἡνίοχος;

Ἴ ω ν
ἡνίοχος.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ῥαψωιδὸς γάρ που εἶ ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἡνίοχος.

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἡ δὲ ῥαψωιδικὴ τέχνη ἑτέρα ἐστὶ τῆς ἡνιοχικῆς;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
εἰ ἄρα ἑτέρα, περὶ ἑτέρων καὶ ἐπιστήμη πραγμάτων ἐστίν.

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί δὲ δὴ ὅταν Ὅμηρος λέγηι ὡς τετρωμένωι τῶι Μαχάονι Ἑκαμήδη ἡ Νέστορος παλλακὴ κυκεῶνα πίειν [538c] δίδωσι; καὶ λέγει πως οὕτως —
οἴνωι πραμνείωι, φησίν, ἐπὶ δ᾽ αἴγειον κνῆ τυρὸν
κνήστι χαλκείηι· παρὰ δὲ κρόμυον ποτῶι ὄψον·
ταῦτα εἴτε ὀρθῶς λέγει Ὅμηρος εἴτε μή, πότερον ἰατρικῆς ἐστι διαγνῶναι καλῶς ἢ ῥαψωιδικῆς;

Ἴ ω ν
ἰατρικῆς.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί δέ, ὅταν λέγηι Ὅμηρος —
[538d] ἡ δὲ μολυβδαίνηι ἰκέλη ἐς βυσσὸν ἵκανεν,
ἥ τε κατ᾽ ἀγραύλοιο βοὸς κέρας ἐμμεμαυῖα
ἔρχεται ὠμηστῆισι μετ᾽ ἰχθύσι πῆμα φέρουσα·
ταῦτα πότερον φῶμεν ἁλιευτικῆς εἶναι τέχνης μᾶλλον κρῖναι ἢ ῥαψωιδικῆς, ἅττα λέγει καὶ εἴτε καλῶς εἴτε μή;

Ἴ ω ν
δῆλον δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι ἁλιευτικῆς.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
σκέψαι δή, σοῦ ἐρομένου, εἰ ἔροιό με· <ἐπειδὴ [538e] τοίνυν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τούτων τῶν τεχνῶν ἐν Ὁμήρωι εὑρίσκεις ἃ προσήκει ἑκάστηι διακρίνειν, ἴθι μοι ἔξευρε καὶ τὰ τοῦ μάντεώς τε καὶ μαντικῆς, ποῖά ἐστιν ἃ προσήκει αὐτῶι οἵωι τ᾽ εἶναι διαγιγνώσκειν, εἴτε εὖ εἴτε κακῶς πεποίηται> — σκέψαι ὡς ῥαιδίως τε καὶ ἀληθῆ ἐγώ σοι ἀποκρινοῦμαι. πολλαχοῦ μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἐν Ὀδυσσείαι λέγει, οἷον καὶ ἃ ὁ τῶν Μελαμποδιδῶν λέγει μάντις πρὸς τοὺς μνηστῆρας, Θεοκλύμενος —
[539a] δαιμόνιοι, τί κακὸν τόδε πάσχετε; νυκτὶ μὲν ὑμέων
εἰλύαται κεφαλαί τε πρόσωπά τε νέρθε τε γυῖα,
οἰμωγὴ δὲ δέδηε, δεδάκρυνται δὲ παρειαί·
εἰδώλων τε πλέον πρόθυρον, πλείη δὲ καὶ αὐλὴ
ἱεμένων ἔρεβόσδε ὑπὸ ζόφον· ἠέλιος δὲ
[539b] οὐρανοῦ ἐξαπόλωλε, κακὴ δ᾽ ἐπιδέδρομεν ἀχλύς·
πολλαχοῦ δὲ καὶ ἐν Ἰλιάδι, οἷον καὶ ἐπὶ τειχομαχίαι· λέγει γὰρ καὶ ἐνταῦθα —
ὄρνις γάρ σφιν ἐπῆλθε περησέμεναι μεμαῶσιν,
αἰετὸς ὑψιπέτης, ἐπ᾽ ἀριστερὰ λαὸν ἐέργων,
[539c] φοινήεντα δράκοντα φέρων ὀνύχεσσι πέλωρον,
ζῶιον, ἔτ᾽ ἀσπαίροντα· καὶ οὔπω λήθετο χάρμης.
κόψε γὰρ αὐτὸν ἔχοντα κατὰ στῆθος παρὰ δειρὴν
ἰδνωθεὶς ὀπίσω, ὁ δ᾽ ἀπὸ ἕθεν ἧκε χαμᾶζε
ἀλγήσας ὀδύνηισι, μέσωι δ᾽ ἐνὶ κάββαλ᾽ ὁμίλωι·
[539d] αὐτὸς δὲ κλάγξας πέτετο πνοιῆις ἀνέμοιο.
ταῦτα φήσω καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα τῶι μάντει προσήκειν καὶ σκοπεῖν καὶ κρίνειν.

Ἴ ω ν
ἀληθῆ γε σὺ λέγων, ὦ Σώκρατες.

10.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
καὶ σύ γε, ὦ Ἴων, ἀληθῆ ταῦτα λέγεις. ἴθι δὴ καὶ σὺ ἐμοί, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ σοὶ ἐξέλεξα καὶ ἐξ Ὀδυσσείας καὶ ἐξ Ἰλιάδος ὁποῖα τοῦ μάντεώς ἐστι καὶ ὁποῖα τοῦ ἰατροῦ καὶ ὁποῖα τοῦ [539e] ἁλιέως, οὕτω καὶ σὺ ἐμοὶ ἔκλεξον, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ἐμπειρότερος εἶ ἐμοῦ τῶν Ὁμήρου, ὁποῖα τοῦ ῥαψωιδοῦ ἐστιν, ὦ Ἴων, καὶ τῆς τέχνης τῆς ῥαψωιδικῆς, ἃ τῶι ῥαψωιδῶι προσήκει καὶ σκοπεῖσθαι καὶ διακρίνειν παρὰ τοὺς ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους.

Ἴ ω ν
ἐγὼ μέν φημι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἅπαντα.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐ σύ γε φήις, ὦ Ἴων, ἅπαντα· ἢ οὕτως ἐπιλήσμων εἶ; καίτοι οὐκ ἂν πρέποι γε ἐπιλήσμονα εἶναι ῥαψωιδὸν ἄνδρα.

Ἴ ω ν
τί δὲ δὴ [540a] ἐπιλανθάνομαι;

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐ μέμνησαι ὅτι ἔφησθα τὴν ῥαψωιδικὴν τέχνην ἑτέραν εἶναι τῆς ἡνιοχικῆς;

Ἴ ω ν
μέμνημαι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν καὶ ἑτέραν οὖσαν ἕτερα γνώσεσθαι ὡμολόγεις;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκ ἄρα πάντα γε γνώσεται ἡ ῥαψωιδικὴ κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον οὐδὲ ὁ ῥαψωιδός.

Ἴ ω ν
πλήν γε ἴσως τὰ τοιαῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τὰ τοιαῦτα [540b] δὲ λέγεις πλὴν τὰ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν σχεδόν τι· ἀλλὰ ποῖα δὴ γνώσεται, ἐπειδὴ οὐχ ἅπαντα;

Ἴ ω ν
ἃ πρέπει, οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ἀνδρὶ εἰπεῖν καὶ ὁποῖα γυναικί, καὶ ὁποῖα δούλωι καὶ ὁποῖα ἐλευθέρωι, καὶ ὁποῖα ἀρχομένωι καὶ ὁποῖα ἄρχοντι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἆρα ὁποῖα ἄρχοντι, λέγεις, ἐν θαλάττηι χειμαζομένου πλοίου πρέπει εἰπεῖν, ὁ ῥαψωιδὸς γνώσεται κάλλιον ἢ ὁ κυβερνήτης;

Ἴ ω ν
οὔκ, ἀλλὰ ὁ κυβερνήτης τοῦτό γε.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἀλλ᾽ ὁποῖα ἄρχοντι [540c] κάμνοντος πρέπει εἰπεῖν, ὁ ῥαψωιδὸς γνώσεται κάλλιον ἢ ὁ ἰατρός;

Ἴ ω ν
οὐδὲ τοῦτο.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἀλλ᾽ οἷα δούλωι πρέπει, λέγεις;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οἶον βουκόλωι λέγεις δούλωι ἃ πρέπει εἰπεῖν ἀγριαινουσῶν βοῶν παραμυθουμένωι, ὁ ῥαψωιδὸς γνώσετσι ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὁ βουκόλος;

Ἴ ω ν
οὐ δῆτα.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἀλλ᾽ οἷα γυναικὶ πρέποντά ἐστιν εἰπεῖν ταλασιουργῶι περὶ ἐρίων [540d] ἐργασίας;

Ἴ ω ν
οὔ.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἀλλ᾽ οἷα ἀνδρὶ πρέπει εἰπεῖν γνώσεται στρατηγῶι στρατιώταις παραινοῦντι;

Ἴ ω ν
ναί, τὰ τοιαῦτα γνώσεται ὁ ῥαψωιδός.

11.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί δέ; ἡ ῥαψωιδικὴ τέχνη στρατηγική ἐστιν;

Ἴ ω ν
γνοίην γοῦν ἂν ἔγωγε οἷα στρατηγὸν πρέπει εἰπεῖν.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἴσως γὰρ εἶ καὶ στρατηγικός, ὦ Ἴων. καὶ γὰρ εἰ ἐτύγχανες ἱππικὸς ὢν ἅμα καὶ κιθαριστικός, ἔγνως ἂν ἵππους εὖ καὶ κακῶς ἱππαζομένους· ἀλλ᾽ εἴ σ᾽ [540e] ἐγὼ ἠρόμην· <ποτέραι δὴ τέχνηι, ὦ Ἴων, γιγνώσκεις τοὺς εὖ ἱππαζομένους ἵππους; ἧι ἱππεὺς εἶ ἢ ἧι κιθαριστής;> τί ἄν μοι ἀπεκρίνω;

Ἴ ω ν
ἧι ἱππεύς, ἔγωγ᾽ ἄν.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν εἰ καὶ τοὺς εὖ κιθαρίζοντας διεγίγνωσκες, ὡμολόγεις ἄν, ἧι κιθαριστὴς εἶ, ταύτηι διαγιγνώσκειν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἧι ἱππεύς.

Ἴ ω ν
ναί.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἐπειδὴ δὲ τὰ στρατιωτικὰ γιγνώσκεις, πότερον ἧι στρατηγικὸς εἶ γιγνώσκεις ἢ ἧι ῥαψωιδὸς ἀγαθός;

Ἴ ω ν
οὐδὲν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ διαφέρειν.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
πῶς; οὐδὲν [541a] λέγεις διαφέρειν; μίαν λέγεις τέχνην εἶναι τὴν ῥαψωιδικὴν καὶ τὴν στρατηγικὴν ἢ δύο;

Ἴ ω ν
μία ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ὅστις ἄρα ἀγαθὸς ῥαψωιδός ἐστιν, οὗτος καὶ ἀγαθὸς στρατηγὸς τυγχάνει ὤν;

Ἴ ω ν
μάλιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅστις ἀγαθὸς στρατηγὸς τυγχάνει ὤν, ἀγαθὸς καὶ ῥαψωιδός ἐστιν.

Ἴ ω ν
οὐκ αὖ μοι δοκεῖ τοῦτο.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο μὴν δοκεῖ σοι, ὅστις γε ἀγαθὸς ῥαψωιδός, καὶ στρατηγὸς [541b] ἀγαθὸς εἶναι;

Ἴ ω ν
πάνυ γε.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
οὐκοῦν σὺ τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἄριστος ῥαψωιδὸς εἶ;

Ἴ ω ν
πολύ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ἦ καὶ στρατηγός, ὦ Ἴων, τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἄριστος εἶ;

Ἴ ω ν
εὖ ἴσθι, ὦ Σώκρατες· καὶ ταῦτά γε ἐκ τῶν Ὁμήρου μαθών.

12.
Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τί δή ποτ᾽ οὖν πρὸς τῶν θεῶν, ὦ Ἴων, ἀμφότερα ἄριστος ὢν τῶν Ἑλλήνων, καὶ στρατηγὸς καὶ ῥαψωιδός, ῥαψωιδεῖς μὲν περιιὼν τοῖς Ἕλλησι, στρατηγεῖς δ᾽ οὔ; ἢ ῥαψωιδοῦ μὲν δοκεῖ σοι χρυσῶι [541c] στεφάνωι ἐστεφανωμένου πολλὴ χρεία εἶναι τοῖς Ἕλλησι, στρατηγοῦ δὲ οὐδεμία;

Ἴ ω ν
ἡ μὲν γὰρ ἡμετέρα, ὦ Σώκρατες, πόλις ἄρχεται ὑπὸ ὑμῶν καὶ στρατηγεῖται καὶ οὐδὲν δεῖται στρατηγοῦ, ἡ δὲ ὑμετέρα καὶ ἡ Λακεδαιμονίων οὐκ ἄν με ἕλοιτο στρατηγόν· αὐτοὶ γὰρ οἴεσθε ἱκανοὶ εἶναι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ὦ βέλτιστε Ἴων, Ἀπολλόδωρον οὐ γιγνώσκεις τὸν Κυζικηνόν;

Ἴ ω ν
ποῖον τοῦτον;

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
ὃν Ἀθηναῖοι πολλάκις ἑαυτῶν στρατηγὸν [541d] ἥιρηνται ξένον ὄντα· καὶ Φανοσθένη τὸν Ἄνδριον καὶ Ἡρακλείδην τὸν Κλαζομένιον, οὓς ἥδε ἡ πόλις ξένους ὄντας, ἐνδειξαμένους ὅτι ἄξιοι λόγου εἰσί, καὶ εἰς στρατηγίας καὶ εἰς τὰς ἄλλας ἀρχὰς ἄγει· Ἴωνα δ᾽ ἄρα τὸν Ἐφέσιον οὐχ αἱρήσεται στρατηγὸν καὶ τιμήσει, ἐὰν δοκῆι ἄξιος λόγου εἶναι; τί δέ; οὐκ Ἀθηναῖοι μέν ἐστε οἱ Ἐφέσιοι τὸ ἀρχαῖον, καὶ ἡ Ἔφεσος οὐδεμιᾶς ἐλάττων πόλεως; [541e] ἀλλὰ γὰρ σύ, ὦ Ἴων, εἰ μὲν ἀληθῆ λέγεις ὡς τέχνηι καὶ ἐπιστήμηι οἷός τε εἶ Ὅμηρον ἐπαινεῖν, ἀδικεῖς, ὅστις ἐμοὶ ὑποσχόμενος ὡς πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ περὶ Ὁμήρου ἐπίστασαι καὶ φάσκων ἐπιδείξειν, ἐξαπατᾶις με καὶ πολλοῦ δεῖς ἐπιδεῖξαι, ὅς γε οὐδὲ ἅττα ἐστὶ ταῦτα περὶ ὧν δεινὸς εἶ ἐθέλεις εἰπεῖν, πάλαι ἐμοῦ λιπαροῦντος, ἀλλὰ ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ ὁ Πρωτεὺς παντοδαπὸς γίγνηι στρεφόμενος ἄνω καὶ κάτω, ἕως τελευτῶν διαφυγών με στρατηγὸς ἀνεφάνης, ἵνα μὴ ἐπιδείξηις ὡς δεινὸς εἶ [542a] τὴν περὶ Ὁμήρου σοφίαν. εἰ μὲν οὖν τεχνικὸς ὤν, ὅπερ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, περὶ Ὁμήρου ὑποσχόμενος ἐπιδείξειν ἐξαπατᾶις με, ἄδικος εἶ· εἰ δὲ μὴ τεχνικὸς εἶ, ἀλλὰ θείαι μοίραι κατεχόμενος ἐξ Ὁμήρου μηδὲν εἰδὼς πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ λέγεις περὶ τοῦ ποιητοῦ, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ εἶπον περὶ σοῦ, οὐδὲν ἀδικεῖς. ἑλοῦ οὖν πότερα βούλει νομίζεσθαι ὑπὸ ἡμῶν ἄδικος ἀνὴρ εἶναι ἢ θεῖος.

Ἴ ω ν
πολὺ διαφέρει, [542b] ὦ Σώκρατες· πολὺ γὰρ κάλλιον τὸ θεῖον νομίζεσθαι.

Σ ω κ ρ ά τ η ς
τοῦτο τοίνυν τὸ κάλλιον ὑπάρχει σοι παρ᾽ ἡμῖν, ὦ Ἴων, θεῖον εἶναι καὶ μὴ τεχνικὸν περὶ Ὁμήρου ἐπαινέτην.

PHAEDO

Ἐχεκράτης
[57a] αὐτός, ὦ Φαίδων, παρεγένου Σωκράτει ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ᾗ τὸ φάρμακον ἔπιεν ἐν τῷ δεσμωτηρίῳ, ἢ ἄλλου του ἤκουσας;

Φαίδων
αὐτός, ὦ Ἐχέκρατες.

Ἐχεκράτης
τί οὖν δή ἐστιν ἅττα εἶπεν ὁ ἀνὴρ πρὸ τοῦ θανάτου; καὶ πῶς ἐτελεύτα; ἡδέως γὰρ ἂν ἐγὼ ἀκούσαιμι. καὶ γὰρ οὔτε [τῶν πολιτῶν] Φλειασίων οὐδεὶς πάνυ τι ἐπιχωριάζει τὰ νῦν Ἀθήναζε, οὔτε τις ξένος ἀφῖκται χρόνου συχνοῦ [57b] ἐκεῖθεν ὅστις ἂν ἡμῖν σαφές τι ἀγγεῖλαι οἷός τ᾽ ἦν περὶ τούτων, πλήν γε δὴ ὅτι φάρμακον πιὼν ἀποθάνοι· τῶν δὲ ἄλλων οὐδὲν εἶχεν φράζειν.[58a]

Φαίδων
οὐδὲ τὰ περὶ τῆς δίκης ἄρα ἐπύθεσθε ὃν τρόπον ἐγένετο;

Ἐχεκράτης
ναί, ταῦτα μὲν ἡμῖν ἤγγειλέ τις, καὶ ἐθαυμάζομέν γε ὅτι πάλαι γενομένης αὐτῆς πολλῷ ὕστερον φαίνεται ἀποθανών. τί οὖν ἦν τοῦτο, ὦ Φαίδων;

Φαίδων
τύχη τις αὐτῷ, ὦ Ἐχέκρατες, συνέβη· ἔτυχεν γὰρ τῇ προτεραίᾳ τῆς δίκης ἡ πρύμνα ἐστεμμένη τοῦ πλοίου ὃ εἰς Δῆλον Ἀθηναῖοι πέμπουσιν.

Ἐχεκράτης
τοῦτο δὲ δὴ τί ἐστιν;

Φαίδων
τοῦτ᾽ ἔστι τὸ πλοῖον, ὥς φασιν Ἀθηναῖοι, ἐν ᾧ Θησεύς ποτε εἰς Κρήτην τοὺς “δὶς ἑπτὰ” ἐκείνους ᾤχετο [58b] ἄγων καὶ ἔσωσέ τε καὶ αὐτὸς ἐσώθη. τῷ οὖν Ἀπόλλωνι ηὔξαντο ὡς λέγεται τότε, εἰ σωθεῖεν, ἑκάστου ἔτους θεωρίαν ἀπάξειν εἰς Δῆλον· ἣν δὴ ἀεὶ καὶ νῦν ἔτι ἐξ ἐκείνου κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν τῷ θεῷ πέμπουσιν. ἐπειδὰν οὖν ἄρξωνται τῆς θεωρίας, νόμος ἐστὶν αὐτοῖς ἐν τῷ χρόνῳ τούτῳ καθαρεύειν τὴν πόλιν καὶ δημοσίᾳ μηδένα ἀποκτεινύναι, πρὶν ἂν εἰς Δῆλόν τε ἀφίκηται τὸ πλοῖον καὶ πάλιν δεῦρο· τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐνίοτε ἐν πολλῷ χρόνῳ γίγνεται, ὅταν τύχωσιν ἄνεμοι ἀπολαβόντες [58c] αὐτούς. ἀρχὴ δ᾽ ἐστὶ τῆς θεωρίας ἐπειδὰν ὁ ἱερεὺς τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος στέψῃ τὴν πρύμναν τοῦ πλοίου· τοῦτο δ᾽ ἔτυχεν, ὥσπερ λέγω, τῇ προτεραίᾳ τῆς δίκης γεγονός. διὰ ταῦτα καὶ πολὺς χρόνος ἐγένετο τῷ Σωκράτει ἐν τῷ δεσμωτηρίῳ ὁ μεταξὺ τῆς δίκης τε καὶ τοῦ θανάτου.

Ἐχεκράτης
τί δὲ δὴ τὰ περὶ αὐτὸν τὸν θάνατον, ὦ Φαίδων; τί ἦν τὰ λεχθέντα καὶ πραχθέντα, καὶ τίνες οἱ παραγενόμενοι τῶν ἐπιτηδείων τῷ ἀνδρί; ἢ οὐκ εἴων οἱ ἄρχοντες παρεῖναι, ἀλλ᾽ ἔρημος ἐτελεύτα φίλων; [58d]

Φαίδων
οὐδαμῶς, ἀλλὰ παρῆσάν τινες, καὶ πολλοί γε.

Ἐχεκράτης
ταῦτα δὴ πάντα προθυμήθητι ὡς σαφέστατα ἡμῖν ἀπαγγεῖλαι, εἰ μή τίς σοι ἀσχολία τυγχάνει οὖσα.

Φαίδων
ἀλλὰ σχολάζω γε καὶ πειράσομαι ὑμῖν διηγήσασθαι· καὶ γὰρ τὸ μεμνῆσθαι Σωκράτους καὶ αὐτὸν λέγοντα καὶ ἄλλου ἀκούοντα ἔμοιγε ἀεὶ πάντων ἥδιστον.

Ἐχεκράτης
ἀλλὰ μήν, ὦ Φαίδων, καὶ τοὺς ἀκουσομένους γε τοιούτους ἑτέρους ἔχεις· ἀλλὰ πειρῶ ὡς ἂν δύνῃ ἀκριβέστατα διεξελθεῖν πάντα. [58e]

Φαίδων
καὶ μὴν ἔγωγε θαυμάσια ἔπαθον παραγενόμενος. οὔτε γὰρ ὡς θανάτῳ παρόντα με ἀνδρὸς ἐπιτηδείου ἔλεος εἰσῄει· εὐδαίμων γάρ μοι ἁνὴρ ἐφαίνετο, ὦ Ἐχέκρατες, καὶ τοῦ τρόπου καὶ τῶν λόγων, ὡς ἀδεῶς καὶ γενναίως ἐτελεύτα, ὥστε μοι ἐκεῖνον παρίστασθαι μηδ᾽ εἰς Ἅιδου ἰόντα ἄνευ θείας μοίρας ἰέναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐκεῖσε ἀφικόμενον εὖ πράξειν [59a] εἴπερ τις πώποτε καὶ ἄλλος. διὰ δὴ ταῦτα οὐδὲν πάνυ μοι ἐλεινὸν εἰσῄει, ὡς εἰκὸς ἂν δόξειεν εἶναι παρόντι πένθει, οὔτε αὖ ἡδονὴ ὡς ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ ἡμῶν ὄντων ὥσπερ εἰώθεμεν — καὶ γὰρ οἱ λόγοι τοιοῦτοί τινες ἦσαν — ἀλλ᾽ ἀτεχνῶς ἄτοπόν τί μοι πάθος παρῆν καί τις ἀήθης κρᾶσις ἀπό τε τῆς ἡδονῆς συγκεκραμένη ὁμοῦ καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς λύπης, ἐνθυμουμένῳ ὅτι αὐτίκα ἐκεῖνος ἔμελλε τελευτᾶν. καὶ πάντες οἱ παρόντες σχεδόν τι οὕτω διεκείμεθα, τοτὲ μὲν γελῶντες, ἐνίοτε δὲ δακρύοντες, εἷς δὲ ἡμῶν καὶ διαφερόντως, Ἀπολλόδωρος — [59b] οἶσθα γάρ που τὸν ἄνδρα καὶ τὸν τρόπον αὐτοῦ.

Ἐχεκράτης
πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Φαίδων
ἐκεῖνός τε τοίνυν παντάπασιν οὕτως εἶχεν, καὶ αὐτὸς ἔγωγε ἐτεταράγμην καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι.

Ἐχεκράτης
ἔτυχον δέ, ὦ Φαίδων, τίνες παραγενόμενοι;

Φαίδων
οὗτός τε δὴ ὁ Ἀπολλόδωρος τῶν ἐπιχωρίων παρῆν καὶ Κριτόβουλος καὶ ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἔτι Ἑρμογένης καὶ Ἐπιγένης καὶ Αἰσχίνης καὶ Ἀντισθένης· ἦν δὲ καὶ Κτήσιππος ὁ Παιανιεὺς καὶ Μενέξενος καὶ ἄλλοι τινὲς τῶν ἐπιχωρίων. Πλάτων δὲ οἶμαι ἠσθένει.

Ἐχεκράτης
ξένοι δέ τινες παρῆσαν;

Φαίδων
[59c] ναί, Σιμμίας τέ γε ὁ Θηβαῖος καὶ Κέβης καὶ Φαιδώνδης καὶ Μεγαρόθεν Εὐκλείδης τε καὶ Τερψίων.

Ἐχεκράτης
τί δέ; Ἀρίστιππος καὶ Κλεόμβροτος παρεγένοντο;

Φαίδων
οὐ δῆτα· ἐν Αἰγίνῃ γὰρ ἐλέγοντο εἶναι.

Ἐχεκράτης
ἄλλος δέ τις παρῆν;

Φαίδων
σχεδόν τι οἶμαι τούτους παραγενέσθαι.

Ἐχεκράτης
τί οὖν δή; τίνες φῂς ἦσαν οἱ λόγοι;

Φαίδων
ἐγώ σοι ἐξ ἀρχῆς πάντα πειράσομαι διηγήσασθαι. [59d] ἀεὶ γὰρ δὴ καὶ τὰς πρόσθεν ἡμέρας εἰώθεμεν φοιτᾶν καὶ ἐγὼ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι παρὰ τὸν Σωκράτη, συλλεγόμενοι ἕωθεν εἰς τὸ δικαστήριον ἐν ᾧ καὶ ἡ δίκη ἐγένετο· πλησίον γὰρ ἦν τοῦ δεσμωτηρίου. περιεμένομεν οὖν ἑκάστοτε ἕως ἀνοιχθείη τὸ δεσμωτήριον, διατρίβοντες μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων, ἀνεῴγετο γὰρ οὐ πρῴ· ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἀνοιχθείη, εἰσῇμεν παρὰ τὸν Σωκράτη καὶ τὰ πολλὰ διημερεύομεν μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ. καὶ δὴ καὶ τότε πρῳαίτερον συνελέγημεν· τῇ γὰρ προτεραίᾳ [ἡμέρᾳ] [59e] ἐπειδὴ ἐξήλθομεν ἐκ τοῦ δεσμωτηρίου ἑσπέρας, ἐπυθόμεθα ὅτι τὸ πλοῖον ἐκ Δήλου ἀφιγμένον εἴη. παρηγγείλαμεν οὖν ἀλλήλοις ἥκειν ὡς πρῳαίτατα εἰς τὸ εἰωθός. καὶ ἥκομεν καὶ ἡμῖν ἐξελθὼν ὁ θυρωρός, ὅσπερ εἰώθει ὑπακούειν, εἶπεν περιμένειν καὶ μὴ πρότερον παριέναι ἕως ἂν αὐτὸς κελεύσῃ· “λύουσι γάρ”, ἔφη, “οἱ ἕνδεκα Σωκράτη καὶ παραγγέλλουσιν ὅπως ἂν τῇδε τῇ ἡμέρᾳ τελευτᾷ”. οὐ πολὺν δ᾽ οὖν χρόνον ἐπισχὼν ἧκεν καὶ ἐκέλευεν ἡμᾶς εἰσιέναι. εἰσιόντες οὖν [60a] κατελαμβάνομεν τὸν μὲν Σωκράτη ἄρτι λελυμένον, τὴν δὲ Ξανθίππην — γιγνώσκεις γάρ — ἔχουσάν τε τὸ παιδίον αὐτοῦ καὶ παρακαθημένην. ὡς οὖν εἶδεν ἡμᾶς ἡ Ξανθίππη, ἀνηυφήμησέ τε καὶ τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα εἶπεν, οἷα δὴ εἰώθασιν αἱ γυναῖκες, ὅτι “ὦ Σώκρατες, ὕστατον δή σε προσεροῦσι νῦν οἱ ἐπιτήδειοι καὶ σὺ τούτους”. καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης βλέψας εἰς τὸν Κρίτωνα, “ὦ Κρίτων”, ἔφη, “ἀπαγέτω τις αὐτὴν οἴκαδε”.

καὶ ἐκείνην μὲν ἀπῆγόν τινες τῶν τοῦ Κρίτωνος βοῶσάν [60b] τε καὶ κοπτομένην· ὁ δὲ Σωκράτης ἀνακαθιζόμενος εἰς τὴν κλίνην συνέκαμψέ τε τὸ σκέλος καὶ ἐξέτριψε τῇ χειρί, καὶ τρίβων ἅμα, ὡς ἄτοπον, ἔφη, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἔοικέ τι εἶναι τοῦτο ὃ καλοῦσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἡδύ· ὡς θαυμασίως πέφυκε πρὸς τὸ δοκοῦν ἐναντίον εἶναι, τὸ λυπηρόν, τὸ ἅμα μὲν αὐτὼ μὴ ᾽θέλειν παραγίγνεσθαι τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, ἐὰν δέ τις διώκῃ τὸ ἕτερον καὶ λαμβάνῃ, σχεδόν τι ἀναγκάζεσθαι ἀεὶ λαμβάνειν καὶ τὸ ἕτερον, ὥσπερ ἐκ μιᾶς κορυφῆς ἡμμένω [60c] δύ᾽ ὄντε. καί μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη, εἰ ἐνενόησεν αὐτὰ Αἴσωπος, μῦθον ἂν συνθεῖναι ὡς ὁ θεὸς βουλόμενος αὐτὰ διαλλάξαι πολεμοῦντα, ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἐδύνατο, συνῆψεν εἰς ταὐτὸν αὐτοῖς τὰς κορυφάς, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα ᾧ ἂν τὸ ἕτερον παραγένηται ἐπακολουθεῖ ὕστερον καὶ τὸ ἕτερον. ὥσπερ οὖν καὶ αὐτῷ μοι ἔοικεν· ἐπειδὴ ὑπὸ τοῦ δεσμοῦ ἦν ἐν τῷ σκέλει τὸ ἀλγεινόν, ἥκειν δὴ φαίνεται ἐπακολουθοῦν τὸ ἡδύ.

ὁ οὖν Κέβης ὑπολαβών, νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, εὖ γ᾽ ἐποίησας ἀναμνήσας με. περὶ γάρ τοι τῶν [60d] ποιημάτων ὧν πεποίηκας ἐντείνας τοὺς τοῦ Αἰσώπου λόγους καὶ τὸ εἰς τὸν Ἀπόλλω προοίμιον καὶ ἄλλοι τινές με ἤδη ἤροντο, ἀτὰρ καὶ Εὔηνος πρῴην, ὅτι ποτὲ διανοηθείς, ἐπειδὴ δεῦρο ἦλθες, ἐποίησας αὐτά, πρότερον οὐδὲν πώποτε ποιήσας. εἰ οὖν τί σοι μέλει τοῦ ἔχειν ἐμὲ Εὐήνῳ ἀποκρίνασθαι ὅταν με αὖθις ἐρωτᾷ — εὖ οἶδα γὰρ ὅτι ἐρήσεται — εἰπὲ τί χρὴ λέγειν.

λέγε τοίνυν, ἔφη, αὐτῷ, ὦ Κέβης, τἀληθῆ, ὅτι οὐκ ἐκείνῳ βουλόμενος οὐδὲ τοῖς ποιήμασιν αὐτοῦ ἀντίτεχνος [60e] εἶναι ἐποίησα ταῦτα — ᾔδη γὰρ ὡς οὐ ῥᾴδιον εἴη — ἀλλ᾽ ἐνυπνίων τινῶν ἀποπειρώμενος τί λέγοι, καὶ ἀφοσιούμενος εἰ ἄρα πολλάκις ταύτην τὴν μουσικήν μοι ἐπιτάττοι ποιεῖν. ἦν γὰρ δὴ ἄττα τοιάδε· πολλάκις μοι φοιτῶν τὸ αὐτὸ ἐνύπνιον ἐν τῷ παρελθόντι βίῳ, ἄλλοτ᾽ ἐν ἄλλῃ ὄψει φαινόμενον, τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ λέγον, “ὦ Σώκρατες”, ἔφη, “μουσικὴν ποίει καὶ ἐργάζου”. καὶ ἐγὼ ἔν γε τῷ πρόσθεν χρόνῳ ὅπερ ἔπραττον τοῦτο ὑπελάμβανον αὐτό μοι παρακελεύεσθαί τε [61a] καὶ ἐπικελεύειν, ὥσπερ οἱ τοῖς θέουσι διακελευόμενοι, καὶ ἐμοὶ οὕτω τὸ ἐνύπνιον ὅπερ ἔπραττον τοῦτο ἐπικελεύειν, μουσικὴν ποιεῖν, ὡς φιλοσοφίας μὲν οὔσης μεγίστης μουσικῆς, ἐμοῦ δὲ τοῦτο πράττοντος. νῦν δ᾽ ἐπειδὴ ἥ τε δίκη ἐγένετο καὶ ἡ τοῦ θεοῦ ἑορτὴ διεκώλυέ με ἀποθνῄσκειν, ἔδοξε χρῆναι, εἰ ἄρα πολλάκις μοι προστάττοι τὸ ἐνύπνιον ταύτην τὴν δημώδη μουσικὴν ποιεῖν, μὴ ἀπειθῆσαι αὐτῷ ἀλλὰ ποιεῖν· ἀσφαλέστερον γὰρ εἶναι μὴ ἀπιέναι πρὶν ἀφοσιώσασθαι [61b] ποιήσαντα ποιήματα [καὶ] πιθόμενον τῷ ἐνυπνίῳ. οὕτω δὴ πρῶτον μὲν εἰς τὸν θεὸν ἐποίησα οὗ ἦν ἡ παροῦσα θυσία· μετὰ δὲ τὸν θεόν, ἐννοήσας ὅτι τὸν ποιητὴν δέοι, εἴπερ μέλλοι ποιητὴς εἶναι, ποιεῖν μύθους ἀλλ᾽ οὐ λόγους, καὶ αὐτὸς οὐκ ἦ μυθολογικός, διὰ ταῦτα δὴ οὓς προχείρους εἶχον μύθους καὶ ἠπιστάμην τοὺς Αἰσώπου, τούτων ἐποίησα οἷς πρώτοις ἐνέτυχον. ταῦτα οὖν, ὦ Κέβης, Εὐήνῳ φράζε, καὶ ἐῤῥῶσθαι καί, ἂν σωφρονῇ, ἐμὲ διώκειν ὡς τάχιστα. [61c] ἄπειμι δέ, ὡς ἔοικε, τήμερον· κελεύουσι γὰρ Ἀθηναῖοι.

καὶ ὁ Σιμμίας, οἷον παρακελεύῃ, ἔφη, τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες, Εὐήνῳ. πολλὰ γὰρ ἤδη ἐντετύχηκα τῷ ἀνδρί· σχεδὸν οὖν ἐξ ὧν ἐγὼ ᾔσθημαι οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν σοι ἑκὼν εἶναι πείσεται.

τί δέ; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐ φιλόσοφος Εὔηνος;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας.

ἐθελήσει τοίνυν καὶ Εὔηνος καὶ πᾶς ὅτῳ ἀξίως τούτου τοῦ πράγματος μέτεστιν. οὐ μέντοι ἴσως βιάσεται αὑτόν· οὐ γάρ φασι θεμιτὸν εἶναι. καὶ ἅμα λέγων ταῦτα καθῆκε [61d] τὰ σκέλη ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν, καὶ καθεζόμενος οὕτως ἤδη τὰ λοιπὰ διελέγετο.

ἤρετο οὖν αὐτὸν ὁ Κέβης· πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ μὴ θεμιτὸν εἶναι ἑαυτὸν βιάζεσθαι, ἐθέλειν δ᾽ ἂν τῷ ἀποθνῄσκοντι τὸν φιλόσοφον ἕπεσθαι;

τί δέ, ὦ Κέβης; οὐκ ἀκηκόατε σύ τε καὶ Σιμμίας περὶ τῶν τοιούτων Φιλολάῳ συγγεγονότες;

οὐδέν γε σαφές, ὦ Σώκρατες.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ ἐγὼ ἐξ ἀκοῆς περὶ αὐτῶν λέγω· ἃ μὲν οὖν τυγχάνω ἀκηκοὼς φθόνος οὐδεὶς λέγειν. καὶ γὰρ ἴσως [61e] καὶ μάλιστα πρέπει μέλλοντα ἐκεῖσε ἀποδημεῖν διασκοπεῖν τε καὶ μυθολογεῖν περὶ τῆς ἀποδημίας τῆς ἐκεῖ, ποίαν τινὰ αὐτὴν οἰόμεθα εἶναι· τί γὰρ ἄν τις καὶ ποιοῖ ἄλλο ἐν τῷ μέχρι ἡλίου δυσμῶν χρόνῳ;

κατὰ τί δὴ οὖν ποτε οὔ φασι θεμιτὸν εἶναι αὐτὸν ἑαυτὸν ἀποκτεινύναι, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἤδη γὰρ ἔγωγε, ὅπερ νυνδὴ σὺ ἤρου, καὶ Φιλολάου ἤκουσα, ὅτε παρ᾽ ἡμῖν διῃτᾶτο, ἤδη δὲ καὶ ἄλλων τινῶν, ὡς οὐ δέοι τοῦτο ποιεῖν· σαφὲς δὲ περὶ αὐτῶν οὐδενὸς πώποτε οὐδὲν ἀκήκοα. [62a] ἀλλὰ προθυμεῖσθαι χρή, ἔφη· τάχα γὰρ ἂν καὶ ἀκούσαις. ἴσως μέντοι θαυμαστόν σοι φανεῖται εἰ τοῦτο μόνον τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων ἁπλοῦν ἐστιν, καὶ οὐδέποτε τυγχάνει τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, ὥσπερ καὶ τἆλλα, ἔστιν ὅτε καὶ οἷς βέλτιον <ὂν> τεθνάναι ἢ ζῆν, οἷς δὲ βέλτιον τεθνάναι, θαυμαστὸν ἴσως σοι φαίνεται εἰ τούτοις τοῖς ἀνθρώποις μὴ ὅσιον αὐτοὺς ἑαυτοὺς εὖ ποιεῖν, ἀλλὰ ἄλλον δεῖ περιμένειν εὐεργέτην.

καὶ ὁ Κέβης ἠρέμα ἐπιγελάσας, Ἴττω Ζεύς, ἔφη, τῇ αὑτοῦ φωνῇ εἰπών.

[62b] καὶ γὰρ ἂν δόξειεν, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, οὕτω γ᾽ εἶναι ἄλογον· οὐ μέντοι ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως γ᾽ ἔχει τινὰ λόγον. ὁ μὲν οὖν ἐν ἀποῤῥήτοις λεγόμενος περὶ αὐτῶν λόγος, ὡς ἔν τινι φρουρᾷ ἐσμεν οἱ ἄνθρωποι καὶ οὐ δεῖ δὴ ἑαυτὸν ἐκ ταύτης λύειν οὐδ᾽ ἀποδιδράσκειν, μέγας τέ τίς μοι φαίνεται καὶ οὐ ῥᾴδιος διιδεῖν· οὐ μέντοι ἀλλὰ τόδε γέ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Κέβης, εὖ λέγεσθαι, τὸ θεοὺς εἶναι ἡμῶν τοὺς ἐπιμελουμένους καὶ ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἓν τῶν κτημάτων τοῖς θεοῖς εἶναι. ἢ σοὶ οὐ δοκεῖ οὕτως;

ἔμοιγε, φησὶν ὁ Κέβης.

[62c] οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, καὶ σὺ ἂν τῶν σαυτοῦ κτημάτων εἴ τι αὐτὸ ἑαυτὸ ἀποκτεινύοι, μὴ σημήναντός σου ὅτι βούλει αὐτὸ τεθνάναι, χαλεπαίνοις ἂν αὐτῷ καί, εἴ τινα ἔχοις τιμωρίαν, τιμωροῖο ἄν;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἴσως τοίνυν ταύτῃ οὐκ ἄλογον μὴ πρότερον αὑτὸν ἀποκτεινύναι δεῖν, πρὶν ἀνάγκην τινὰ θεὸς ἐπιπέμψῃ, ὥσπερ καὶ τὴν νῦν ἡμῖν παροῦσαν.

ἀλλ᾽ εἰκός, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, τοῦτό γε φαίνεται. ὃ μέντοι νυνδὴ ἔλεγες, τὸ τοὺς φιλοσόφους ῥᾳδίως ἂν ἐθέλειν [62d] ἀποθνῄσκειν, ἔοικεν τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀτόπῳ, εἴπερ ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν εὐλόγως ἔχει, τὸ θεόν τε εἶναι τὸν ἐπιμελούμενον ἡμῶν καὶ ἡμᾶς ἐκείνου κτήματα εἶναι. τὸ γὰρ μὴ ἀγανακτεῖν τοὺς φρονιμωτάτους ἐκ ταύτης τῆς θεραπείας ἀπιόντας, ἐν ᾗ ἐπιστατοῦσιν αὐτῶν οἵπερ ἄριστοί εἰσιν τῶν ὄντων ἐπιστάται, θεοί, οὐκ ἔχει λόγον· οὐ γάρ που αὐτός γε αὑτοῦ οἴεται ἄμεινον ἐπιμελήσεσθαι ἐλεύθερος γενόμενος. ἀλλ᾽ ἀνόητος μὲν ἄνθρωπος τάχ᾽ ἂν οἰηθείη ταῦτα, φευκτέον [62e] εἶναι ἀπὸ τοῦ δεσπότου, καὶ οὐκ ἂν λογίζοιτο ὅτι οὐ δεῖ ἀπό γε τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ φεύγειν ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι μάλιστα παραμένειν, διὸ ἀλογίστως ἂν φεύγοι· ὁ δὲ νοῦν ἔχων ἐπιθυμοῖ που ἂν ἀεὶ εἶναι παρὰ τῷ αὑτοῦ βελτίονι. καίτοι οὕτως, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοὐναντίον εἶναι εἰκὸς ἢ ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγετο· τοὺς μὲν γὰρ φρονίμους ἀγανακτεῖν ἀποθνῄσκοντας πρέπει, τοὺς δὲ ἄφρονας χαίρειν.

ἀκούσας οὖν ὁ Σωκράτης ἡσθῆναί τέ μοι ἔδοξε τῇ τοῦ [63a] κέβητος πραγματείᾳ, καὶ ἐπιβλέψας εἰς ἡμᾶς, ἀεί τοι, ἔφη, [ὁ] Κέβης λόγους τινὰς ἀνερευνᾷ, καὶ οὐ πάνυ εὐθέως ἐθέλει πείθεσθαι ὅτι ἄν τις εἴπῃ.

καὶ ὁ Σιμμίας, ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, νῦν γέ μοι δοκεῖ τι καὶ αὐτῷ λέγειν Κέβης· τί γὰρ ἂν βουλόμενοι ἄνδρες σοφοὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς δεσπότας ἀμείνους αὑτῶν φεύγοιεν καὶ ῥᾳδίως ἀπαλλάττοιντο αὐτῶν; καί μοι δοκεῖ Κέβης εἰς σὲ τείνειν τὸν λόγον, ὅτι οὕτω ῥᾳδίως φέρεις καὶ ἡμᾶς ἀπολείπων καὶ ἄρχοντας ἀγαθούς, ὡς αὐτὸς ὁμολογεῖς, θεούς.

[63b] δίκαια, ἔφη, λέγετε· οἶμαι γὰρ ὑμᾶς λέγειν ὅτι χρή με πρὸς ταῦτα ἀπολογήσασθαι ὥσπερ ἐν δικαστηρίῳ.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας.

φέρε δή, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, πειραθῶ πιθανώτερον πρὸς ὑμᾶς ἀπολογήσασθαι ἢ πρὸς τοὺς δικαστάς. ἐγὼ γάρ, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, εἰ μὲν μὴ ᾤμην ἥξειν πρῶτον μὲν παρὰ θεοὺς ἄλλους σοφούς τε καὶ ἀγαθούς, ἔπειτα καὶ παρ᾽ ἀνθρώπους τετελευτηκότας ἀμείνους τῶν ἐνθάδε, ἠδίκουν ἂν οὐκ ἀγανακτῶν τῷ θανάτῳ· νῦν δὲ εὖ ἴστε ὅτι παρ᾽ [63c] ἄνδρας τε ἐλπίζω ἀφίξεσθαι ἀγαθούς — καὶ τοῦτο μὲν οὐκ ἂν πάνυ διισχυρισαίμην — ὅτι μέντοι παρὰ θεοὺς δεσπότας πάνυ ἀγαθοὺς ἥξειν, εὖ ἴστε ὅτι εἴπερ τι ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων διισχυρισαίμην ἂν καὶ τοῦτο. ὥστε διὰ ταῦτα οὐχ ὁμοίως ἀγανακτῶ, ἀλλ᾽ εὔελπίς εἰμι εἶναί τι τοῖς τετελευτηκόσι καί, ὥσπερ γε καὶ πάλαι λέγεται, πολὺ ἄμεινον τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς ἢ τοῖς κακοῖς.

τί οὖν, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, ὦ Σώκρατες; αὐτὸς ἔχων τὴν διάνοιαν ταύτην ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἀπιέναι, ἢ κἂν ἡμῖν μεταδοίης; [63d] κοινὸν γὰρ δὴ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ καὶ ἡμῖν εἶναι ἀγαθὸν τοῦτο, καὶ ἅμα σοι ἡ ἀπολογία ἔσται, ἐὰν ἅπερ λέγεις ἡμᾶς πείσῃς.

ἀλλὰ πειράσομαι, ἔφη. πρῶτον δὲ Κρίτωνα τόνδε σκεψώμεθα τί ἐστιν ὃ βούλεσθαί μοι δοκεῖ πάλαι εἰπεῖν.

τί δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη ὁ Κρίτων, ἄλλο γε ἢ πάλαι μοι λέγει ὁ μέλλων σοι δώσειν τὸ φάρμακον ὅτι χρή σοι φράζειν ὡς ἐλάχιστα διαλέγεσθαι; φησὶ γὰρ θερμαίνεσθαι μᾶλλον διαλεγομένους, δεῖν δὲ οὐδὲν τοιοῦτον προσφέρειν [63e] τῷ φαρμάκῳ· εἰ δὲ μή, ἐνίοτε ἀναγκάζεσθαι καὶ δὶς καὶ τρὶς πίνειν τούς τι τοιοῦτον ποιοῦντας.

καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης, ἔα, ἔφη, χαίρειν αὐτόν· ἀλλὰ μόνον τὸ ἑαυτοῦ παρασκευαζέτω ὡς καὶ δὶς δώσων, ἐὰν δὲ δέῃ, καὶ τρίς.

ἀλλὰ σχεδὸν μέν τι ᾔδη, ἔφη ὁ Κρίτων· ἀλλά μοι πάλαι πράγματα παρέχει.

ἔα αὐτόν, ἔφη. ἀλλ᾽ ὑμῖν δὴ τοῖς δικασταῖς βούλομαι ἤδη τὸν λόγον ἀποδοῦναι, ὥς μοι φαίνεται εἰκότως ἀνὴρ τῷ ὄντι ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ διατρίψας τὸν βίον θαῤῥεῖν μέλλων [64a] ἀποθανεῖσθαι καὶ εὔελπις εἶναι ἐκεῖ μέγιστα οἴσεσθαι ἀγαθὰ ἐπειδὰν τελευτήσῃ. πῶς ἂν οὖν δὴ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχοι, ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, ἐγὼ πειράσομαι φράσαι.

κινδυνεύουσι γὰρ ὅσοι τυγχάνουσιν ὀρθῶς ἁπτόμενοι φιλοσοφίας λεληθέναι τοὺς ἄλλους ὅτι οὐδὲν ἄλλο αὐτοὶ ἐπιτηδεύουσιν ἢ ἀποθνῄσκειν τε καὶ τεθνάναι. εἰ οὖν τοῦτο ἀληθές, ἄτοπον δήπου ἂν εἴη προθυμεῖσθαι μὲν ἐν παντὶ τῷ βίῳ μηδὲν ἄλλο ἢ τοῦτο, ἥκοντος δὲ δὴ αὐτοῦ ἀγανακτεῖν ὃ πάλαι προυθυμοῦντό τε καὶ ἐπετήδευον.

καὶ ὁ Σιμμίας γελάσας, νὴ τὸν Δία, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, [64b] οὐ πάνυ γέ με νυνδὴ γελασείοντα ἐποίησας γελάσαι. οἶμαι γὰρ ἂν τοὺς πολλοὺς αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἀκούσαντας δοκεῖν εὖ πάνυ εἰρῆσθαι εἰς τοὺς φιλοσοφοῦντας — καὶ συμφάναι ἂν τοὺς μὲν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἀνθρώπους καὶ πάνυ — ὅτι τῷ ὄντι οἱ φιλοσοφοῦντες θανατῶσι, καὶ σφᾶς γε οὐ λελήθασιν ὅτι ἄξιοί εἰσιν τοῦτο πάσχειν.

καὶ ἀληθῆ γ᾽ ἂν λέγοιεν, ὦ Σιμμία, πλήν γε τοῦ σφᾶς μὴ λεληθέναι. λέληθεν γὰρ αὐτοὺς ᾗ τε θανατῶσι καὶ ᾗ ἄξιοί εἰσιν θανάτου καὶ οἵου θανάτου οἱ ὡς ἀληθῶς φιλόσοφοι. [64c] εἴπωμεν γάρ, ἔφη, πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτούς, χαίρειν εἰπόντες ἐκείνοις· ἡγούμεθά τι τὸν θάνατον εἶναι;

πάνυ γε, ἔφη ὑπολαβὼν ὁ Σιμμίας.

ἆρα μὴ ἄλλο τι ἢ τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς ἀπὸ τοῦ σώματος ἀπαλλαγήν; καὶ εἶναι τοῦτο τὸ τεθνάναι, χωρὶς μὲν ἀπὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ἀπαλλαγὲν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ τὸ σῶμα γεγονέναι, χωρὶς δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν [ἀπὸ] τοῦ σώματος ἀπαλλαγεῖσαν αὐτὴν καθ᾽ αὑτὴν εἶναι; ἆρα μὴ ἄλλο τι ᾖ ὁ θάνατος ἢ τοῦτο;

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο, ἔφη.

σκέψαι δή, ὠγαθέ, ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ σοὶ συνδοκῇ ἅπερ ἐμοί· [64d] ἐκ γὰρ τούτων μᾶλλον οἶμαι ἡμᾶς εἴσεσθαι περὶ ὧν σκοποῦμεν. φαίνεταί σοι φιλοσόφου ἀνδρὸς εἶναι ἐσπουδακέναι περὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς καλουμένας τὰς τοιάσδε, οἷον σιτίων [τe}} καὶ ποτῶν;

ἥκιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας.

τί δὲ τὰς τῶν ἀφροδισίων;

οὐδαμῶς.

τί δὲ τὰς ἄλλας τὰς περὶ τὸ σῶμα θεραπείας; δοκεῖ σοι ἐντίμους ἡγεῖσθαι ὁ τοιοῦτος; οἷον ἱματίων διαφερόντων κτήσεις καὶ ὑποδημάτων καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους καλλωπισμοὺς τοὺς περὶ τὸ σῶμα πότερον τιμᾶν δοκεῖ σοι ἢ ἀτιμάζειν, [64e] καθ᾽ ὅσον μὴ πολλὴ ἀνάγκη μετέχειν αὐτῶν;

ἀτιμάζειν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη, ὅ γε ὡς ἀληθῶς φιλόσοφος.

οὐκοῦν ὅλως δοκεῖ σοι, ἔφη, ἡ τοῦ τοιούτου πραγματεία οὐ περὶ τὸ σῶμα εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καθ᾽ ὅσον δύναται ἀφεστάναι αὐτοῦ, πρὸς δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν τετράφθαι;

ἔμοιγε.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν πρῶτον μὲν ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις δῆλός ἐστιν ὁ [65a] φιλόσοφος ἀπολύων ὅτι μάλιστα τὴν ψυχὴν ἀπὸ τῆς τοῦ σώματος κοινωνίας διαφερόντως τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων;

φαίνεται.

καὶ δοκεῖ γέ που, ὦ Σιμμία, τοῖς πολλοῖς ἀνθρώποις ᾧ μηδὲν ἡδὺ τῶν τοιούτων μηδὲ μετέχει αὐτῶν οὐκ ἄξιον εἶναι ζῆν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐγγύς τι τείνειν τοῦ τεθνάναι ὁ μηδὲν φροντίζων τῶν ἡδονῶν αἳ διὰ τοῦ σώματός εἰσιν.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

τί δὲ δὴ περὶ αὐτὴν τὴν τῆς φρονήσεως κτῆσιν; πότερον ἐμπόδιον τὸ σῶμα ἢ οὔ, ἐάν τις αὐτὸ ἐν τῇ ζητήσει [65b] κοινωνὸν συμπαραλαμβάνῃ; οἷον τὸ τοιόνδε λέγω· ἆρα ἔχει ἀλήθειάν τινα ὄψις τε καὶ ἀκοὴ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἢ τά γε τοιαῦτα καὶ οἱ ποιηταὶ ἡμῖν ἀεὶ θρυλοῦσιν, ὅτι οὔτ᾽ ἀκούομεν ἀκριβὲς οὐδὲν οὔτε ὁρῶμεν; καίτοι εἰ αὗται τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα αἰσθήσεων μὴ ἀκριβεῖς εἰσιν μηδὲ σαφεῖς, σχολῇ αἵ γε ἄλλαι· πᾶσαι γάρ που τούτων φαυλότεραί εἰσιν. ἢ σοὶ οὐ δοκοῦσιν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

πότε οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἡ ψυχὴ τῆς ἀληθείας ἅπτεται; ὅταν μὲν γὰρ μετὰ τοῦ σώματος ἐπιχειρῇ τι σκοπεῖν, δῆλον ὅτι τότε ἐξαπατᾶται ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ.

[65c] ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἐν τῷ λογίζεσθαι εἴπερ που ἄλλοθι κατάδηλον αὐτῇ γίγνεταί τι τῶν ὄντων;

ναί.

λογίζεται δέ γέ που τότε κάλλιστα, ὅταν αὐτὴν τούτων μηδὲν παραλυπῇ, μήτε ἀκοὴ μήτε ὄψις μήτε ἀλγηδὼν μηδέ τις ἡδονή, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι μάλιστα αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν γίγνηται ἐῶσα χαίρειν τὸ σῶμα, καὶ καθ᾽ ὅσον δύναται μὴ κοινωνοῦσα αὐτῷ μηδ᾽ ἁπτομένη ὀρέγηται τοῦ ὄντος.

ἔστι ταῦτα.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἡ τοῦ φιλοσόφου ψυχὴ μάλιστα [65d] ἀτιμάζει τὸ σῶμα καὶ φεύγει ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ, ζητεῖ δὲ αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν γίγνεσθαι;

φαίνεται.

τί δὲ δὴ τὰ τοιάδε, ὦ Σιμμία; φαμέν τι εἶναι δίκαιον αὐτὸ ἢ οὐδέν;

φαμὲν μέντοι νὴ Δία.

καὶ αὖ καλόν γέ τι καὶ ἀγαθόν;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἤδη οὖν πώποτέ τι τῶν τοιούτων τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς εἶδες;

οὐδαμῶς, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλῃ τινὶ αἰσθήσει τῶν διὰ τοῦ σώματος ἐφήψω αὐτῶν; λέγω δὲ περὶ πάντων, οἷον μεγέθους πέρι, ὑγιείας, ἰσχύος, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἑνὶ λόγῳ ἁπάντων τῆς οὐσίας ὃ [65e] τυγχάνει ἕκαστον ὄν· ἆρα διὰ τοῦ σώματος αὐτῶν τὸ ἀληθέστατον θεωρεῖται, ἢ ὧδε ἔχει· ὃς ἂν μάλιστα ἡμῶν καὶ ἀκριβέστατα παρασκευάσηται αὐτὸ ἕκαστον διανοηθῆναι περὶ οὗ σκοπεῖ, οὗτος ἂν ἐγγύτατα ἴοι τοῦ γνῶναι ἕκαστον;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐκεῖνος ἂν τοῦτο ποιήσειεν καθαρώτατα ὅστις ὅτι μάλιστα αὐτῇ τῇ διανοίᾳ ἴοι ἐφ᾽ ἕκαστον, μήτε τιν᾽ ὄψιν παρατιθέμενος ἐν τῷ διανοεῖσθαι μήτε [τινὰ] ἄλλην [66a] αἴσθησιν ἐφέλκων μηδεμίαν μετὰ τοῦ λογισμοῦ, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτῇ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν εἰλικρινεῖ τῇ διανοίᾳ χρώμενος αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ εἰλικρινὲς ἕκαστον ἐπιχειροῖ θηρεύειν τῶν ὄντων, ἀπαλλαγεὶς ὅτι μάλιστα ὀφθαλμῶν τε καὶ ὤτων καὶ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν σύμπαντος τοῦ σώματος, ὡς ταράττοντος καὶ οὐκ ἐῶντος τὴν ψυχὴν κτήσασθαι ἀλήθειάν τε καὶ φρόνησιν ὅταν κοινωνῇ; ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὗτός ἐστιν, ὦ Σιμμία, εἴπερ τις [καὶ] ἄλλος ὁ τευξόμενος τοῦ ὄντος;

ὑπερφυῶς, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, ὡς ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

[66b] οὐκοῦν ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ἐκ πάντων τούτων παρίστασθαι δόξαν τοιάνδε τινὰ τοῖς γνησίως φιλοσόφοις, ὥστε καὶ πρὸς ἀλλήλους τοιαῦτα ἄττα λέγειν, ὅτι “κινδυνεύει τοι ὥσπερ ἀτραπός τις ἐκφέρειν ἡμᾶς [μετὰ τοῦ λόγου ἐν τῇ σκέψει], ὅτι, ἕως ἂν τὸ σῶμα ἔχωμεν καὶ συμπεφυρμένη ᾖ ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ μετὰ τοιούτου κακοῦ, οὐ μή ποτε κτησώμεθα ἱκανῶς οὗ ἐπιθυμοῦμεν· φαμὲν δὲ τοῦτο εἶναι τὸ ἀληθές. μυρίας μὲν γὰρ ἡμῖν ἀσχολίας παρέχει τὸ σῶμα διὰ τὴν ἀναγκαίαν [66c] τροφήν· ἔτι δέ, ἄν τινες νόσοι προσπέσωσιν, ἐμποδίζουσιν ἡμῶν τὴν τοῦ ὄντος θήραν. ἐρώτων δὲ καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ φόβων καὶ εἰδώλων παντοδαπῶν καὶ φλυαρίας ἐμπίμπλησιν ἡμᾶς πολλῆς, ὥστε τὸ λεγόμενον ὡς ἀληθῶς τῷ ὄντι ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ οὐδὲ φρονῆσαι ἡμῖν ἐγγίγνεται οὐδέποτε οὐδέν. καὶ γὰρ πολέμους καὶ στάσεις καὶ μάχας οὐδὲν ἄλλο παρέχει ἢ τὸ σῶμα καὶ αἱ τούτου ἐπιθυμίαι. διὰ γὰρ τὴν τῶν χρημάτων κτῆσιν πάντες οἱ πόλεμοι γίγνονται, τὰ δὲ χρήματα [66d] ἀναγκαζόμεθα κτᾶσθαι διὰ τὸ σῶμα, δουλεύοντες τῇ τούτου θεραπείᾳ· καὶ ἐκ τούτου ἀσχολίαν ἄγομεν φιλοσοφίας πέρι διὰ πάντα ταῦτα. τὸ δ᾽ ἔσχατον πάντων ὅτι, ἐάν τις ἡμῖν καὶ σχολὴ γένηται ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ τραπώμεθα πρὸς τὸ σκοπεῖν τι, ἐν ταῖς ζητήσεσιν αὖ πανταχοῦ παραπῖπτον θόρυβον παρέχει καὶ ταραχὴν καὶ ἐκπλήττει, ὥστε μὴ δύνασθαι ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ καθορᾶν τἀληθές. ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι ἡμῖν δέδεικται ὅτι, εἰ μέλλομέν ποτε καθαρῶς τι εἴσεσθαι, [66e] ἀπαλλακτέον αὐτοῦ καὶ αὐτῇ τῇ ψυχῇ θεατέον αὐτὰ τὰ πράγματα· καὶ τότε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡμῖν ἔσται οὗ ἐπιθυμοῦμέν τε καί φαμεν ἐρασταὶ εἶναι, φρονήσεως, ἐπειδὰν τελευτήσωμεν, ὡς ὁ λόγος σημαίνει, ζῶσιν δὲ οὔ. εἰ γὰρ μὴ οἷόν τε μετὰ τοῦ σώματος μηδὲν καθαρῶς γνῶναι, δυοῖν θάτερον, ἢ οὐδαμοῦ ἔστιν κτήσασθαι τὸ εἰδέναι ἢ τελευτήσασιν· τότε [67a] γὰρ αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν ἡ ψυχὴ ἔσται χωρὶς τοῦ σώματος, πρότερον δ᾽ οὔ. καὶ ἐν ᾧ ἂν ζῶμεν, οὕτως, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐγγυτάτω ἐσόμεθα τοῦ εἰδέναι, ἐὰν ὅτι μάλιστα μηδὲν ὁμιλῶμεν τῷ σώματι μηδὲ κοινωνῶμεν, ὅτι μὴ πᾶσα ἀνάγκη, μηδὲ ἀναπιμπλώμεθα τῆς τούτου φύσεως, ἀλλὰ καθαρεύωμεν ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ, ἕως ἂν ὁ θεὸς αὐτὸς ἀπολύσῃ ἡμᾶς· καὶ οὕτω μὲν καθαροὶ ἀπαλλαττόμενοι τῆς τοῦ σώματος ἀφροσύνης, ὡς τὸ εἰκὸς μετὰ τοιούτων τε ἐσόμεθα καὶ γνωσόμεθα δι᾽ ἡμῶν [67b] αὐτῶν πᾶν τὸ εἰλικρινές, τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἴσως τὸ ἀληθές· μὴ καθαρῷ γὰρ καθαροῦ ἐφάπτεσθαι μὴ οὐ θεμιτὸν ᾖ”. τοιαῦτα οἶμαι, ὦ Σιμμία, ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι πρὸς ἀλλήλους λέγειν τε καὶ δοξάζειν πάντας τοὺς ὀρθῶς φιλομαθεῖς. ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι οὕτως;

παντός γε μᾶλλον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐκοῦν, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, εἰ ταῦτα ἀληθῆ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, πολλὴ ἐλπὶς ἀφικομένῳ οἷ ἐγὼ πορεύομαι, ἐκεῖ ἱκανῶς, εἴπερ που ἄλλοθι, κτήσασθαι τοῦτο οὗ ἕνεκα ἡ πολλὴ πραγματεία ἡμῖν ἐν τῷ παρελθόντι βίῳ γέγονεν, ὥστε ἥ γε [67c] ἀποδημία ἡ νῦν μοι προστεταγμένη μετὰ ἀγαθῆς ἐλπίδος γίγνεται καὶ ἄλλῳ ἀνδρὶ ὃς ἡγεῖταί οἱ παρεσκευάσθαι τὴν διάνοιαν ὥσπερ κεκαθαρμένην.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας.

κάθαρσις δὲ εἶναι ἆρα οὐ τοῦτο συμβαίνει, ὅπερ πάλαι ἐν τῷ λόγῳ λέγεται, τὸ χωρίζειν ὅτι μάλιστα ἀπὸ τοῦ σώματος τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ ἐθίσαι αὐτὴν καθ᾽ αὑτὴν πανταχόθεν ἐκ τοῦ σώματος συναγείρεσθαί τε καὶ ἁθροίζεσθαι, καὶ οἰκεῖν κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν καὶ ἐν τῷ νῦν παρόντι καὶ ἐν τῷ [67d] ἔπειτα μόνην καθ᾽ αὑτήν, ἐκλυομένην ὥσπερ [ἐκ] δεσμῶν ἐκ τοῦ σώματος;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τοῦτό γε θάνατος ὀνομάζεται, λύσις καὶ χωρισμὸς ψυχῆς ἀπὸ σώματος;

παντάπασί γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

λύειν δέ γε αὐτήν, ὥς φαμεν, προθυμοῦνται ἀεὶ μάλιστα καὶ μόνοι οἱ φιλοσοφοῦντες ὀρθῶς, καὶ τὸ μελέτημα αὐτὸ τοῦτό ἐστιν τῶν φιλοσόφων, λύσις καὶ χωρισμὸς ψυχῆς ἀπὸ σώματος· ἢ οὔ;

φαίνεται.

οὐκοῦν, ὅπερ ἐν ἀρχῇ ἔλεγον, γελοῖον ἂν εἴη ἄνδρα [67e] παρασκευάζονθ᾽ ἑαυτὸν ἐν τῷ βίῳ ὅτι ἐγγυτάτω ὄντα τοῦ τεθνάναι οὕτω ζῆν, κἄπειθ᾽ ἥκοντος αὐτῷ τούτου ἀγανακτεῖν;

γελοῖον· πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τῷ ὄντι ἄρα, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία, οἱ ὀρθῶς φιλοσοφοῦντες ἀποθνῄσκειν μελετῶσι, καὶ τὸ τεθνάναι ἥκιστα αὐτοῖς ἀνθρώπων φοβερόν. ἐκ τῶνδε δὲ σκόπει. εἰ γὰρ διαβέβληνται μὲν πανταχῇ τῷ σώματι, αὐτὴν δὲ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν ἐπιθυμοῦσι τὴν ψυχὴν ἔχειν, τούτου δὲ γιγνομένου εἰ φοβοῖντο καὶ ἀγανακτοῖεν, οὐ πολλὴ ἂν ἀλογία εἴη, εἰ μὴ [68a] ἅσμενοι ἐκεῖσε ἴοιεν, οἷ ἀφικομένοις ἐλπίς ἐστιν οὗ διὰ βίου ἤρων τυχεῖν — ἤρων δὲ φρονήσεως — ᾧ τε διεβέβληντο, τούτου ἀπηλλάχθαι συνόντος αὐτοῖς; ἢ ἀνθρωπίνων μὲν παιδικῶν καὶ γυναικῶν καὶ ὑέων ἀποθανόντων πολλοὶ δὴ ἑκόντες ἠθέλησαν εἰς Ἅιδου μετελθεῖν, ὑπὸ ταύτης ἀγόμενοι τῆς ἐλπίδος, τῆς τοῦ ὄψεσθαί τε ἐκεῖ ὧν ἐπεθύμουν καὶ συνέσεσθαι· φρονήσεως δὲ ἄρα τις τῷ ὄντι ἐρῶν, καὶ λαβὼν σφόδρα τὴν αὐτὴν ταύτην ἐλπίδα, μηδαμοῦ ἄλλοθι ἐντεύξεσθαι αὐτῇ [68b] ἀξίως λόγου ἢ ἐν Ἅιδου, ἀγανακτήσει τε ἀποθνῄσκων καὶ οὐχ ἅσμενος εἶσιν αὐτόσε; οἴεσθαί γε χρή, ἐὰν τῷ ὄντι γε ᾖ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, φιλόσοφος· σφόδρα γὰρ αὐτῷ ταῦτα δόξει, μηδαμοῦ ἄλλοθι καθαρῶς ἐντεύξεσθαι φρονήσει ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἐκεῖ. εἰ δὲ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, ὅπερ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, οὐ πολλὴ ἂν ἀλογία εἴη εἰ φοβοῖτο τὸν θάνατον ὁ τοιοῦτος;

πολλὴ μέντοι νὴ Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν ἱκανόν σοι τεκμήριον, ἔφη, τοῦτο ἀνδρός, ὃν ἂν ἴδῃς ἀγανακτοῦντα μέλλοντα ἀποθανεῖσθαι, ὅτι οὐκ ἄρ᾽ [68c] ἦν φιλόσοφος ἀλλά τις φιλοσώματος; ὁ αὐτὸς δέ που οὗτος τυγχάνει ὢν καὶ φιλοχρήματος καὶ φιλότιμος, ἤτοι τὰ ἕτερα τούτων ἢ ἀμφότερα.

πάνυ, ἔφη, ἔχει οὕτως ὡς λέγεις.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία, οὐ καὶ ἡ ὀνομαζομένη ἀνδρεία τοῖς οὕτω διακειμένοις μάλιστα προσήκει;

πάντως δήπου, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡ σωφροσύνη, ἣν καὶ οἱ πολλοὶ ὀνομάζουσι σωφροσύνην, τὸ περὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας μὴ ἐπτοῆσθαι ἀλλ᾽ ὀλιγώρως ἔχειν καὶ κοσμίως, ἆρ᾽ οὐ τούτοις μόνοις προσήκει, τοῖς μάλιστα τοῦ σώματος ὀλιγωροῦσίν τε καὶ ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ ζῶσιν;

[68d] ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

εἰ γὰρ ἐθέλεις, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐννοῆσαι τήν γε τῶν ἄλλων ἀνδρείαν τε καὶ σωφροσύνην, δόξει σοι εἶναι ἄτοπος.

πῶς δή, ὦ Σώκρατες;

οἶσθα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὅτι τὸν θάνατον ἡγοῦνται πάντες οἱ ἄλλοι τῶν μεγάλων κακῶν;

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν φόβῳ μειζόνων κακῶν ὑπομένουσιν αὐτῶν οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι τὸν θάνατον, ὅταν ὑπομένωσιν;

ἔστι ταῦτα.

τῷ δεδιέναι ἄρα καὶ δέει ἀνδρεῖοί εἰσι πάντες πλὴν οἱ φιλόσοφοι· καίτοι ἄλογόν γε δέει τινὰ καὶ δειλίᾳ ἀνδρεῖον εἶναι.

[68e] πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

τί δὲ οἱ κόσμιοι αὐτῶν; οὐ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο πεπόνθασιν· ἀκολασίᾳ τινὶ σώφρονές εἰσιν; καίτοι φαμέν γε ἀδύνατον εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως αὐτοῖς συμβαίνει τούτῳ ὅμοιον τὸ πάθος τὸ περὶ ταύτην τὴν εὐήθη σωφροσύνην· φοβούμενοι γὰρ ἑτέρων ἡδονῶν στερηθῆναι καὶ ἐπιθυμοῦντες ἐκείνων, ἄλλων ἀπέχονται ὑπ᾽ ἄλλων κρατούμενοι. καίτοι καλοῦσί γε ἀκολασίαν [69a] τὸ ὑπὸ τῶν ἡδονῶν ἄρχεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως συμβαίνει αὐτοῖς κρατουμένοις ὑφ᾽ ἡδονῶν κρατεῖν ἄλλων ἡδονῶν. τοῦτο δ᾽ ὅμοιόν ἐστιν ᾧ νυνδὴ ἐλέγετο, τῷ τρόπον τινὰ δι᾽ ἀκολασίαν αὐτοὺς σεσωφρονίσθαι.

ἔοικε γάρ.

ὦ μακάριε Σιμμία, μὴ γὰρ οὐχ αὕτη ᾖ ἡ ὀρθὴ πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἀλλαγή, ἡδονὰς πρὸς ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας πρὸς λύπας καὶ φόβον πρὸς φόβον καταλλάττεσθαι, [καὶ] μείζω πρὸς ἐλάττω ὥσπερ νομίσματα, ἀλλ᾽ ᾖ ἐκεῖνο μόνον τὸ νόμισμα ὀρθόν, ἀντὶ οὗ δεῖ πάντα ταῦτα καταλλάττεσθαι, φρόνησις, [69b] [καὶ τούτου μὲν πάντa}} καὶ μετὰ τούτου [ὠνούμενά τε καὶ πιπρασκόμενa}} τῷ ὄντι ᾖ καὶ ἀνδρεία καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ δικαιοσύνη καὶ συλλήβδην ἀληθὴς ἀρετή, μετὰ φρονήσεως, καὶ προσγιγνομένων καὶ ἀπογιγνομένων καὶ ἡδονῶν καὶ φόβων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πάντων τῶν τοιούτων· χωριζόμενα δὲ φρονήσεως [καὶ] ἀλλαττόμενα ἀντὶ ἀλλήλων μὴ σκιαγραφία τις ᾖ ἡ τοιαύτη ἀρετὴ καὶ τῷ ὄντι ἀνδραποδώδης τε καὶ οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς οὐδ᾽ ἀληθὲς ἔχῃ, τὸ δ᾽ ἀληθὲς τῷ ὄντι ᾖ [69c] κάθαρσίς τις τῶν τοιούτων πάντων καὶ ἡ σωφροσύνη καὶ ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ ἀνδρεία, καὶ αὐτὴ ἡ φρόνησις μὴ καθαρμός τις ᾖ. καὶ κινδυνεύουσι καὶ οἱ τὰς τελετὰς ἡμῖν οὗτοι καταστήσαντες οὐ φαῦλοί τινες εἶναι, ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι πάλαι αἰνίττεσθαι ὅτι ὃς ἂν ἀμύητος καὶ ἀτέλεστος εἰς Ἅιδου ἀφίκηται ἐν βορβόρῳ κείσεται, ὁ δὲ κεκαθαρμένος τε καὶ τετελεσμένος ἐκεῖσε ἀφικόμενος μετὰ θεῶν οἰκήσει. εἰσὶν γὰρ δή, [ὥς] φασιν οἱ περὶ τὰς τελετάς, “ναρθηκοφόροι [69d] μὲν πολλοί, βάκχοι δέ τε παῦροι”· οὗτοι δ᾽ εἰσὶν κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν δόξαν οὐκ ἄλλοι ἢ οἱ πεφιλοσοφηκότες ὀρθῶς. ὧν δὴ καὶ ἐγὼ κατά γε τὸ δυνατὸν οὐδὲν ἀπέλιπον ἐν τῷ βίῳ ἀλλὰ παντὶ τρόπῳ προυθυμήθην γενέσθαι· εἰ δ᾽ ὀρθῶς προυθυμήθην καί τι ἠνύσαμεν, ἐκεῖσε ἐλθόντες τὸ σαφὲς εἰσόμεθα, ἂν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ, ὀλίγον ὕστερον, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ἐγώ, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, ἀπολογοῦμαι, ὡς εἰκότως ὑμᾶς τε ἀπολείπων καὶ τοὺς ἐνθάδε δεσπότας οὐ [69e] χαλεπῶς φέρω οὐδ᾽ ἀγανακτῶ, ἡγούμενος κἀκεῖ οὐδὲν ἧττον ἢ ἐνθάδε δεσπόταις τε ἀγαθοῖς ἐντεύξεσθαι καὶ ἑταίροις· [τοῖς δὲ πολλοῖς ἀπιστίαν παρέχει]· εἴ τι οὖν ὑμῖν πιθανώτερός εἰμι ἐν τῇ ἀπολογίᾳ ἢ τοῖς Ἀθηναίων δικασταῖς, εὖ ἂν ἔχοι.

εἰπόντος δὴ τοῦ Σωκράτους ταῦτα, ὑπολαβὼν ὁ Κέβης ἔφη· ὦ Σώκρατες, τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ καλῶς λέγεσθαι, [70a] τὰ δὲ περὶ τῆς ψυχῆς πολλὴν ἀπιστίαν παρέχει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις μή, ἐπειδὰν ἀπαλλαγῇ τοῦ σώματος, οὐδαμοῦ ἔτι ᾖ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ διαφθείρηταί τε καὶ ἀπολλύηται ᾗ ἂν ὁ ἄνθρωπος ἀποθνῄσκῃ, εὐθὺς ἀπαλλαττομένη τοῦ σώματος, καὶ ἐκβαίνουσα ὥσπερ πνεῦμα ἢ καπνὸς διασκεδασθεῖσα οἴχηται διαπτομένη καὶ οὐδὲν ἔτι οὐδαμοῦ ᾖ. ἐπεί, εἴπερ εἴη που αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν συνηθροισμένη καὶ ἀπηλλαγμένη τούτων τῶν κακῶν ὧν σὺ νυνδὴ διῆλθες, πολλὴ ἂν εἴη ἐλπὶς καὶ καλή, ὦ [70b] Σώκρατες, ὡς ἀληθῆ ἐστιν ἃ σὺ λέγεις· ἀλλὰ τοῦτο δὴ ἴσως οὐκ ὀλίγης παραμυθίας δεῖται καὶ πίστεως, ὡς ἔστι τε ψυχὴ ἀποθανόντος τοῦ ἀνθρώπου καί τινα δύναμιν ἔχει καὶ φρόνησιν.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις, ὁ Σωκράτης, ὦ Κέβης· ἀλλὰ τί δὴ ποιῶμεν; ἢ περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων βούλει διαμυθολογῶμεν, εἴτε εἰκὸς οὕτως ἔχειν εἴτε μή;

ἐγὼ γοῦν, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, ἡδέως ἂν ἀκούσαιμι ἥντινα δόξαν ἔχεις περὶ αὐτῶν.

οὔκουν γ᾽ ἂν οἶμαι, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Σωκράτης, εἰπεῖν τινα νῦν [70c] ἀκούσαντα, οὐδ᾽ εἰ κωμῳδοποιὸς εἴη, ὡς ἀδολεσχῶ καὶ οὐ περὶ προσηκόντων τοὺς λόγους ποιοῦμαι. εἰ οὖν δοκεῖ, χρὴ διασκοπεῖσθαι.

σκεψώμεθα δὲ αὐτὸ τῇδέ πῃ, εἴτ᾽ ἄρα ἐν Ἅιδου εἰσὶν αἱ ψυχαὶ τελευτησάντων τῶν ἀνθρώπων εἴτε καὶ οὔ. παλαιὸς μὲν οὖν ἔστι τις λόγος οὗ μεμνήμεθα, ὡς εἰσὶν ἐνθένδε ἀφικόμεναι ἐκεῖ, καὶ πάλιν γε δεῦρο ἀφικνοῦνται καὶ γίγνονται ἐκ τῶν τεθνεώτων· καὶ εἰ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει, πάλιν γίγνεσθαι ἐκ τῶν ἀποθανόντων τοὺς ζῶντας, ἄλλο τι ἢ εἶεν [70d] ἂν αἱ ψυχαὶ ἡμῶν ἐκεῖ; οὐ γὰρ ἄν που πάλιν ἐγίγνοντο μὴ οὖσαι, καὶ τοῦτο ἱκανὸν τεκμήριον τοῦ ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι, εἰ τῷ ὄντι φανερὸν γίγνοιτο ὅτι οὐδαμόθεν ἄλλοθεν γίγνονται οἱ ζῶντες ἢ ἐκ τῶν τεθνεώτων· εἰ δὲ μὴ ἔστι τοῦτο, ἄλλου ἄν του δέοι λόγου.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης.

μὴ τοίνυν κατ᾽ ἀνθρώπων, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, σκόπει μόνον τοῦτο, εἰ βούλει ῥᾷον μαθεῖν, ἀλλὰ καὶ κατὰ ζῴων πάντων καὶ φυτῶν, καὶ συλλήβδην ὅσαπερ ἔχει γένεσιν περὶ πάντων [70e] ἴδωμεν ἆρ᾽ οὑτωσὶ γίγνεται πάντα, οὐκ ἄλλοθεν ἢ ἐκ τῶν ἐναντίων τὰ ἐναντία, ὅσοις τυγχάνει ὂν τοιοῦτόν τι, οἷον τὸ καλὸν τῷ αἰσχρῷ ἐναντίον που καὶ δίκαιον ἀδίκῳ, καὶ ἄλλα δὴ μυρία οὕτως ἔχει. τοῦτο οὖν σκεψώμεθα, ἆρα ἀναγκαῖον ὅσοις ἔστι τι ἐναντίον, μηδαμόθεν ἄλλοθεν αὐτὸ γίγνεσθαι ἢ ἐκ τοῦ αὐτῷ ἐναντίου. οἷον ὅταν μεῖζόν τι γίγνηται, ἀνάγκη που ἐξ ἐλάττονος ὄντος πρότερον ἔπειτα μεῖζον γίγνεσθαι;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν κἂν ἔλαττον γίγνηται, ἐκ μείζονος ὄντος πρότερον [71a] ὕστερον ἔλαττον γενήσεται;

ἔστιν οὕτω, ἔφη.

καὶ μὴν ἐξ ἰσχυροτέρου γε τὸ ἀσθενέστερον καὶ ἐκ βραδυτέρου τὸ θᾶττον;

πάνυ γε.

τί δέ; ἄν τι χεῖρον γίγνηται, οὐκ ἐξ ἀμείνονος, καὶ ἂν δικαιότερον, ἐξ ἀδικωτέρου;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ἱκανῶς οὖν, ἔφη, ἔχομεν τοῦτο, ὅτι πάντα οὕτω γίγνεται, ἐξ ἐναντίων τὰ ἐναντία πράγματα;

πάνυ γε.

τί δ᾽ αὖ; ἔστι τι καὶ τοιόνδε ἐν αὐτοῖς, οἷον μεταξὺ ἀμφοτέρων πάντων τῶν ἐναντίων δυοῖν ὄντοιν δύο γενέσεις, [71b] ἀπὸ μὲν τοῦ ἑτέρου ἐπὶ τὸ ἕτερον, ἀπὸ δ᾽ αὖ τοῦ ἑτέρου πάλιν ἐπὶ τὸ ἕτερον· μείζονος μὲν πράγματος καὶ ἐλάττονος μεταξὺ αὔξησις καὶ φθίσις, καὶ καλοῦμεν οὕτω τὸ μὲν αὐξάνεσθαι, τὸ δὲ φθίνειν;

ναί, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ διακρίνεσθαι καὶ συγκρίνεσθαι, καὶ ψύχεσθαι καὶ θερμαίνεσθαι, καὶ πάντα οὕτω, κἂν εἰ μὴ χρώμεθα τοῖς ὀνόμασιν ἐνιαχοῦ, ἀλλ᾽ ἔργῳ γοῦν πανταχοῦ οὕτως ἔχειν ἀναγκαῖον, γίγνεσθαί τε αὐτὰ ἐξ ἀλλήλων γένεσίν τε εἶναι ἑκατέρου εἰς ἄλληλα;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

[71c] τί οὖν; ἔφη, τῷ ζῆν ἐστί τι ἐναντίον, ὥσπερ τῷ ἐγρηγορέναι τὸ καθεύδειν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τί;

τὸ τεθνάναι, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἐξ ἀλλήλων τε γίγνεται ταῦτα, εἴπερ ἐναντία ἐστιν, καὶ αἱ γενέσεις εἰσὶν αὐτοῖν μεταξὺ δύο δυοῖν ὄντοιν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τὴν μὲν τοίνυν ἑτέραν συζυγίαν ὧν νυνδὴ ἔλεγον ἐγώ σοι, ἔφη, ἐρῶ, ὁ Σωκράτης, καὶ αὐτὴν καὶ τὰς γενέσεις· σὺ δέ μοι τὴν ἑτέραν. λέγω δὲ τὸ μὲν καθεύδειν, τὸ δὲ ἐγρηγορέναι, καὶ ἐκ τοῦ καθεύδειν τὸ ἐγρηγορέναι γίγνεσθαι καὶ [71d] ἐκ τοῦ ἐγρηγορέναι τὸ καθεύδειν, καὶ τὰς γενέσεις αὐτοῖν τὴν μὲν καταδαρθάνειν εἶναι, τὴν δ᾽ ἀνεγείρεσθαι. ἱκανῶς σοι, ἔφη, ἢ οὔ;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

λέγε δή μοι καὶ σύ, ἔφη, οὕτω περὶ ζωῆς καὶ θανάτου. οὐκ ἐναντίον μὲν φῂς τῷ ζῆν τὸ τεθνάναι εἶναι;

ἔγωγε.

γίγνεσθαι δὲ ἐξ ἀλλήλων;

ναί.

ἐξ οὖν τοῦ ζῶντος τί τὸ γιγνόμενον;

τὸ τεθνηκός, ἔφη.

τί δέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐκ τοῦ τεθνεῶτος;

ἀναγκαῖον, ἔφη, ὁμολογεῖν ὅτι τὸ ζῶν.

ἐκ τῶν τεθνεώτων ἄρα, ὦ Κέβης, τὰ ζῶντά τε καὶ οἱ ζῶντες γίγνονται;

[71e] φαίνεται, ἔφη.

εἰσὶν ἄρα, ἔφη, αἱ ψυχαὶ ἡμῶν ἐν Ἅιδου.

ἔοικεν.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τοῖν γενεσέοιν τοῖν περὶ ταῦτα ἥ γ᾽ ἑτέρα σαφὴς οὖσα τυγχάνει; τὸ γὰρ ἀποθνῄσκειν σαφὲς δήπου, ἢ οὔ;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

πῶς οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ποιήσομεν; οὐκ ἀνταποδώσομεν τὴν ἐναντίαν γένεσιν, ἀλλὰ ταύτῃ χωλὴ ἔσται ἡ φύσις; ἢ ἀνάγκη ἀποδοῦναι τῷ ἀποθνῄσκειν ἐναντίαν τινὰ γένεσιν;

πάντως που, ἔφη.

τίνα ταύτην;

τὸ ἀναβιώσκεσθαι.

οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εἴπερ ἔστι τὸ ἀναβιώσκεσθαι, ἐκ τῶν [72a] τεθνεώτων ἂν εἴη γένεσις εἰς τοὺς ζῶντας αὕτη, τὸ ἀναβιώσκεσθαι;

πάνυ γε.

ὁμολογεῖται ἄρα ἡμῖν καὶ ταύτῃ τοὺς ζῶντας ἐκ τῶν τεθνεώτων γεγονέναι οὐδὲν ἧττον ἢ τοὺς τεθνεῶτας ἐκ τῶν ζώντων, τούτου δὲ ὄντος ἱκανόν που ἐδόκει τεκμήριον εἶναι ὅτι ἀναγκαῖον τὰς τῶν τεθνεώτων ψυχὰς εἶναί που, ὅθεν δὴ πάλιν γίγνεσθαι.

δοκεῖ μοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων ἀναγκαῖον οὕτως ἔχειν.

ἰδὲ τοίνυν οὕτως, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, ὅτι οὐδ᾽ ἀδίκως ὡμολογήκαμεν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ. εἰ γὰρ μὴ ἀεὶ ἀνταποδιδοίη τὰ [72b] ἕτερα τοῖς ἑτέροις γιγνόμενα, ὡσπερεὶ κύκλῳ περιιόντα, ἀλλ᾽ εὐθεῖά τις εἴη ἡ γένεσις ἐκ τοῦ ἑτέρου μόνον εἰς τὸ καταντικρὺ καὶ μὴ ἀνακάμπτοι πάλιν ἐπὶ τὸ ἕτερον μηδὲ καμπὴν ποιοῖτο, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι πάντα τελευτῶντα τὸ αὐτὸ σχῆμα ἂν σχοίη καὶ τὸ αὐτὸ πάθος ἂν πάθοι καὶ παύσαιτο γιγνόμενα;

πῶς λέγεις; ἔφη.

οὐδὲν χαλεπόν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐννοῆσαι ὃ λέγω· ἀλλ᾽ οἷον εἰ τὸ καταδαρθάνειν μὲν εἴη, τὸ δ᾽ ἀνεγείρεσθαι μὴ ἀνταποδιδοίη γιγνόμενον ἐκ τοῦ καθεύδοντος, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τελευτῶντα πάντ᾽ [72c] <ἂν> λῆρον τὸν Ἐνδυμίωνα ἀποδείξειεν καὶ οὐδαμοῦ ἂν φαίνοιτο διὰ τὸ καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ταὐτὸν ἐκείνῳ πεπονθέναι, καθεύδειν. κἂν εἰ συγκρίνοιτο μὲν πάντα, διακρίνοιτο δὲ μή, ταχὺ ἂν τὸ τοῦ Ἀναξαγόρου γεγονὸς εἴη, “ὁμοῦ πάντα χρήματα”. ὡσαύτως δέ, ὦ φίλε Κέβης, καὶ εἰ ἀποθνῄσκοι μὲν πάντα ὅσα τοῦ ζῆν μεταλάβοι, ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἀποθάνοι, μένοι ἐν τούτῳ τῷ σχήματι τὰ τεθνεῶτα καὶ μὴ πάλιν ἀναβιώσκοιτο, ἆρ᾽ οὐ πολλὴ ἀνάγκη τελευτῶντα πάντα [72d] τεθνάναι καὶ μηδὲν ζῆν; εἰ γὰρ ἐκ μὲν τῶν ἄλλων τὰ ζῶντα γίγνοιτο, τὰ δὲ ζῶντα θνῄσκοι, τίς μηχανὴ μὴ οὐχὶ πάντα καταναλωθῆναι εἰς τὸ τεθνάναι;

οὐδὲ μία μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖς παντάπασιν ἀληθῆ λέγειν.

ἔστιν γάρ, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, παντὸς μᾶλλον οὕτω, καὶ ἡμεῖς αὐτὰ ταῦτα οὐκ ἐξαπατώμενοι ὁμολογοῦμεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι τῷ ὄντι καὶ τὸ ἀναβιώσκεσθαι καὶ ἐκ τῶν τεθνεώτων τοὺς ζῶντας γίγνεσθαι καὶ τὰς τῶν τεθνεώτων ψυχὰς [72e] εἶναι [καὶ ταῖς μέν γε ἀγαθαῖς ἄμεινον εἶναι, ταῖς δὲ κακαῖς κάκιον].

καὶ μήν, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης ὑπολαβών, καὶ κατ᾽ ἐκεῖνόν γε τὸν λόγον, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ ἀληθής ἐστιν, ὃν σὺ εἴωθας θαμὰ λέγειν, ὅτι ἡμῖν ἡ μάθησις οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ ἀνάμνησις τυγχάνει οὖσα, καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον ἀνάγκη που ἡμᾶς ἐν προτέρῳ τινὶ χρόνῳ μεμαθηκέναι ἃ νῦν ἀναμιμνῃσκόμεθα. τοῦτο δὲ [73a] ἀδύνατον, εἰ μὴ ἦν που ἡμῖν ἡ ψυχὴ πρὶν ἐν τῷδε τῷ ἀνθρωπίνῳ εἴδει γενέσθαι· ὥστε καὶ ταύτῃ ἀθάνατον ἡ ψυχή τι ἔοικεν εἶναι.

ἀλλά, ὦ Κέβης, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας ὑπολαβών, ποῖαι τούτων αἱ ἀποδείξεις; ὑπόμνησόν με· οὐ γὰρ σφόδρα ἐν τῷ παρόντι μέμνημαι.

ἑνὶ μὲν λόγῳ, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, καλλίστῳ, ὅτι ἐρωτώμενοι οἱ ἄνθρωποι, ἐάν τις καλῶς ἐρωτᾷ, αὐτοὶ λέγουσιν πάντα ᾗ ἔχει — καίτοι εἰ μὴ ἐτύγχανεν αὐτοῖς ἐπιστήμη ἐνοῦσα καὶ ὀρθὸς λόγος, οὐκ ἂν οἷοί τ᾽ ἦσαν τοῦτο ποιῆσαι — ἔπειτα [73b] ἐάν τις ἐπὶ τὰ διαγράμματα ἄγῃ ἢ ἄλλο τι τῶν τοιούτων, ἐνταῦθα σαφέστατα κατηγορεῖ ὅτι τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει.

εἰ δὲ μὴ ταύτῃ γε, ἔφη, πείθῃ, ὦ Σιμμία, ὁ Σωκράτης, σκέψαι ἂν τῇδέ πῄ σοι σκοπουμένῳ συνδόξῃ. ἀπιστεῖς γὰρ δὴ πῶς ἡ καλουμένη μάθησις ἀνάμνησίς ἐστιν;

ἀπιστῶ μέν [σοι] ἔγωγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Σιμμίας, οὔ, αὐτὸ δὲ τοῦτο, ἔφη, δέομαι παθεῖν περὶ οὗ ὁ λόγος, ἀναμνησθῆναι. καὶ σχεδόν γε ἐξ ὧν Κέβης ἐπεχείρησε λέγειν ἤδη μέμνημαι καὶ πείθομαι· οὐδὲν μεντἂν ἧττον ἀκούοιμι νῦν πῇ σὺ ἐπεχείρησας λέγειν.

[73c] τῇδ᾽ ἔγωγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. ὁμολογοῦμεν γὰρ δήπου, εἴ τίς τι ἀναμνησθήσεται, δεῖν αὐτὸν τοῦτο πρότερόν ποτε ἐπίστασθαι.

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ τόδε ὁμολογοῦμεν, ὅταν ἐπιστήμη παραγίγνηται τρόπῳ τοιούτῳ, ἀνάμνησιν εἶναι; λέγω δὲ τίνα τρόπον; τόνδε. ἐάν τίς τι ἕτερον ἢ ἰδὼν ἢ ἀκούσας ἤ τινα ἄλλην αἴσθησιν λαβὼν μὴ μόνον ἐκεῖνο γνῷ, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἕτερον ἐννοήσῃ οὗ μὴ ἡ αὐτὴ ἐπιστήμη ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλη, ἆρα οὐχὶ τοῦτο δικαίως λέγομεν ὅτι ἀνεμνήσθη, οὗ τὴν ἔννοιαν [73d] ἔλαβεν;

πῶς λέγεις;

οἷον τὰ τοιάδε· ἄλλη που ἐπιστήμη ἀνθρώπου καὶ λύρας.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν οἶσθα ὅτι οἱ ἐρασταί, ὅταν ἴδωσιν λύραν ἢ ἱμάτιον ἢ ἄλλο τι οἷς τὰ παιδικὰ αὐτῶν εἴωθε χρῆσθαι, πάσχουσι τοῦτο· ἔγνωσάν τε τὴν λύραν καὶ ἐν τῇ διανοίᾳ ἔλαβον τὸ εἶδος τοῦ παιδὸς οὗ ἦν ἡ λύρα; τοῦτο δέ ἐστιν ἀνάμνησις· ὥσπερ γε καὶ Σιμμίαν τις ἰδὼν πολλάκις κέβητος ἀνεμνήσθη, καὶ ἄλλα που μυρία τοιαῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη.

μυρία μέντοι νὴ Δία, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας.

[73e] οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τὸ τοιοῦτον ἀνάμνησίς τίς ἐστι; μάλιστα μέντοι ὅταν τις τοῦτο πάθῃ περὶ ἐκεῖνα ἃ ὑπὸ χρόνου καὶ τοῦ μὴ ἐπισκοπεῖν ἤδη ἐπελέληστο;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τί δέ; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς· ἔστιν ἵππον γεγραμμένον ἰδόντα καὶ λύραν γεγραμμένην ἀνθρώπου ἀναμνησθῆναι, καὶ Σιμμίαν ἰδόντα γεγραμμένον κέβητος ἀναμνησθῆναι;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ Σιμμίαν ἰδόντα γεγραμμένον αὐτοῦ Σιμμίου ἀναμνησθῆναι;

[74a] ἔστι μέντοι, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ κατὰ πάντα ταῦτα συμβαίνει τὴν ἀνάμνησιν εἶναι μὲν ἀφ᾽ ὁμοίων, εἶναι δὲ καὶ ἀπὸ ἀνομοίων;

συμβαίνει.

ἀλλ᾽ ὅταν γε ἀπὸ τῶν ὁμοίων ἀναμιμνῄσκηταί τίς τι, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον τόδε προσπάσχειν, ἐννοεῖν εἴτε τι ἐλλείπει τοῦτο κατὰ τὴν ὁμοιότητα εἴτε μὴ ἐκείνου οὗ ἀνεμνήσθη;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

σκόπει δή, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εἰ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει. φαμέν πού τι εἶναι ἴσον, οὐ ξύλον λέγω ξύλῳ οὐδὲ λίθον λίθῳ οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων οὐδέν, ἀλλὰ παρὰ ταῦτα πάντα ἕτερόν τι, αὐτὸ τὸ ἴσον· φῶμέν τι εἶναι ἢ μηδέν;

[74b] φῶμεν μέντοι νὴ Δί᾽, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, θαυμαστῶς γε.

ἦ καὶ ἐπιστάμεθα αὐτὸ ὃ ἔστιν;

πάνυ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

πόθεν λαβόντες αὐτοῦ τὴν ἐπιστήμην; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐξ ὧν νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἢ ξύλα ἢ λίθους ἢ ἄλλα ἄττα ἰδόντες ἴσα, ἐκ τούτων ἐκεῖνο ἐνενοήσαμεν, ἕτερον ὂν τούτων; ἢ οὐχ ἕτερόν σοι φαίνεται; σκόπει δὲ καὶ τῇδε. ἆρ᾽ οὐ λίθοι μὲν ἴσοι καὶ ξύλα ἐνίοτε ταὐτὰ ὄντα τῷ μὲν ἴσα φαίνεται, τῷ δ᾽ οὔ;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

[74c] τί δέ; αὐτὰ τὰ ἴσα ἔστιν ὅτε ἄνισά σοι ἐφάνη, ἢ ἡ ἰσότης ἀνισότης;

οὐδεπώποτέ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐ ταὐτὸν ἄρα ἐστίν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ταῦτά τε τὰ ἴσα καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ ἴσον.

οὐδαμῶς μοι φαίνεται, ὦ Σώκρατες.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἐκ τούτων γ᾽, ἔφη, τῶν ἴσων, ἑτέρων ὄντων ἐκείνου τοῦ ἴσου, ὅμως αὐτοῦ τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἐννενόηκάς τε καὶ εἴληφας;

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν ἢ ὁμοίου ὄντος τούτοις ἢ ἀνομοίου;

πάνυ γε.

διαφέρει δέ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐδέν· ἕως ἂν ἄλλο ἰδὼν ἀπὸ [74d] ταύτης τῆς ὄψεως ἄλλο ἐννοήσῃς, εἴτε ὅμοιον εἴτε ἀνόμοιον, ἀναγκαῖον, ἔφη, αὐτὸ ἀνάμνησιν γεγονέναι.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

τί δέ; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς· ἦ πάσχομέν τι τοιοῦτον περὶ τὰ ἐν τοῖς ξύλοις τε καὶ οἷς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν τοῖς ἴσοις; ἆρα φαίνεται ἡμῖν οὕτως ἴσα εἶναι ὥσπερ αὐτὸ τὸ ὃ ἔστιν, ἢ ἐνδεῖ τι ἐκείνου τῷ τοιοῦτον εἶναι οἷον τὸ ἴσον, ἢ οὐδέν;

καὶ πολύ γε, ἔφη, ἐνδεῖ.

οὐκοῦν ὁμολογοῦμεν, ὅταν τίς τι ἰδὼν ἐννοήσῃ ὅτι βούλεται μὲν τοῦτο ὃ νῦν ἐγὼ ὁρῶ εἶναι οἷον ἄλλο τι τῶν ὄντων, [74e] ἐνδεῖ δὲ καὶ οὐ δύναται τοιοῦτον εἶναι [ἴσον] οἷον ἐκεῖνο, ἀλλ᾽ ἔστιν φαυλότερον, ἀναγκαῖόν που τὸν τοῦτο ἐννοοῦντα τυχεῖν προειδότα ἐκεῖνο ᾧ φησιν αὐτὸ προσεοικέναι μέν, ἐνδεεστέρως δὲ ἔχειν;

ἀνάγκη.

τί οὖν; τὸ τοιοῦτον πεπόνθαμεν καὶ ἡμεῖς ἢ οὒ περί τε τὰ ἴσα καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ ἴσον;

παντάπασί γε.

ἀναγκαῖον ἄρα ἡμᾶς προειδέναι τὸ ἴσον πρὸ ἐκείνου τοῦ [75a] χρόνου ὅτε τὸ πρῶτον ἰδόντες τὰ ἴσα ἐνενοήσαμεν ὅτι ὀρέγεται μὲν πάντα ταῦτα εἶναι οἷον τὸ ἴσον, ἔχει δὲ ἐνδεεστέρως.

ἔστι ταῦτα.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ τόδε ὁμολογοῦμεν, μὴ ἄλλοθεν αὐτὸ ἐννενοηκέναι μηδὲ δυνατὸν εἶναι ἐννοῆσαι ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἐκ τοῦ ἰδεῖν ἢ ἅψασθαι ἢ ἔκ τινος ἄλλης τῶν αἰσθήσεων· ταὐτὸν δὲ πάντα ταῦτα λέγω.

ταὐτὸν γὰρ ἔστιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, πρός γε ὃ βούλεται δηλῶσαι ὁ λόγος.

ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ ἔκ γε τῶν αἰσθήσεων δεῖ ἐννοῆσαι ὅτι [75b] πάντα τὰ ἐν ταῖς αἰσθήσεσιν ἐκείνου τε ὀρέγεται τοῦ ὃ ἔστιν ἴσον, καὶ αὐτοῦ ἐνδεέστερά ἐστιν· ἢ πῶς λέγομεν;

οὕτως.

πρὸ τοῦ ἄρα ἄρξασθαι ἡμᾶς ὁρᾶν καὶ ἀκούειν καὶ τἆλλα αἰσθάνεσθαι τυχεῖν ἔδει που εἰληφότας ἐπιστήμην αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἴσου ὅτι ἔστιν, εἰ ἐμέλλομεν τὰ ἐκ τῶν αἰσθήσεων ἴσα ἐκεῖσε ἀνοίσειν, ὅτι προθυμεῖται μὲν πάντα τοιαῦτ᾽ εἶναι οἷον ἐκεῖνο, ἔστιν δὲ αὐτοῦ φαυλότερα.

ἀνάγκη ἐκ τῶν προειρημένων, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐκοῦν γενόμενοι εὐθὺς ἑωρῶμέν τε καὶ ἠκούομεν καὶ τὰς ἄλλας αἰσθήσεις εἴχομεν;

πάνυ γε.

[75c] ἔδει δέ γε, φαμέν, πρὸ τούτων τὴν τοῦ ἴσου ἐπιστήμην εἰληφέναι;

ναί.

πρὶν γενέσθαι ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀνάγκη ἡμῖν αὐτὴν εἰληφέναι.

ἔοικεν.

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν λαβόντες αὐτὴν πρὸ τοῦ γενέσθαι ἔχοντες ἐγενόμεθα, ἠπιστάμεθα καὶ πρὶν γενέσθαι καὶ εὐθὺς γενόμενοι οὐ μόνον τὸ ἴσον καὶ τὸ μεῖζον καὶ τὸ ἔλαττον ἀλλὰ καὶ σύμπαντα τὰ τοιαῦτα; οὐ γὰρ περὶ τοῦ ἴσου νῦν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν μᾶλλόν τι ἢ καὶ περὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ καλοῦ καὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ [75d] ἀγαθοῦ καὶ δικαίου καὶ ὁσίου καί, ὅπερ λέγω, περὶ ἁπάντων οἷς ἐπισφραγιζόμεθα τὸ “αὐτὸ ὃ ἔστι” καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἐρωτήσεσιν ἐρωτῶντες καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἀποκρίσεσιν ἀποκρινόμενοι. ὥστε ἀναγκαῖον ἡμῖν τούτων πάντων τὰς ἐπιστήμας πρὸ τοῦ γενέσθαι εἰληφέναι.

ἔστι ταῦτα.

καὶ εἰ μέν γε λαβόντες ἑκάστοτε μὴ ἐπιλελήσμεθα, εἰδότας ἀεὶ γίγνεσθαι καὶ ἀεὶ διὰ βίου εἰδέναι· τὸ γὰρ εἰδέναι τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν, λαβόντα του ἐπιστήμην ἔχειν καὶ μὴ ἀπολωλεκέναι· ἢ οὐ τοῦτο λήθην λέγομεν, ὦ Σιμμία, ἐπιστήμης ἀποβολήν;

[75e] πάντως δήπου, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

εἰ δέ γε οἶμαι λαβόντες πρὶν γενέσθαι γιγνόμενοι ἀπωλέσαμεν, ὕστερον δὲ ταῖς αἰσθήσεσι χρώμενοι περὶ αὐτὰ ἐκείνας ἀναλαμβάνομεν τὰς ἐπιστήμας ἅς ποτε καὶ πρὶν εἴχομεν, ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ὃ καλοῦμεν μανθάνειν οἰκείαν ἂν ἐπιστήμην ἀναλαμβάνειν εἴη; τοῦτο δέ που ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι λέγοντες ὀρθῶς ἂν λέγοιμεν;

πάνυ γε.

[76a] δυνατὸν γὰρ δὴ τοῦτό γε ἐφάνη, αἰσθόμενόν τι ἢ ἰδόντα ἢ ἀκούσαντα ἤ τινα ἄλλην αἴσθησιν λαβόντα ἕτερόν τι ἀπὸ τούτου ἐννοῆσαι ὃ ἐπελέληστο, ᾧ τοῦτο ἐπλησίαζεν ἀνόμοιον ὂν ἢ ᾧ ὅμοιον· ὥστε, ὅπερ λέγω, δυοῖν θάτερα, ἤτοι ἐπιστάμενοί γε αὐτὰ γεγόναμεν καὶ ἐπιστάμεθα διὰ βίου πάντες, ἢ ὕστερον, οὕς φαμεν μανθάνειν, οὐδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἀναμιμνῄσκονται οὗτοι, καὶ ἡ μάθησις ἀνάμνησις ἂν εἴη.

καὶ μάλα δὴ οὕτως ἔχει, ὦ Σώκρατες.

πότερον οὖν αἱρῇ, ὦ Σιμμία; ἐπισταμένους ἡμᾶς γεγονέναι, [76b] ἢ ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι ὕστερον ὧν πρότερον ἐπιστήμην εἰληφότες ἦμεν;

οὐκ ἔχω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐν τῷ παρόντι ἑλέσθαι.

τί δέ; τόδε ἔχεις ἑλέσθαι, καὶ πῇ σοι δοκεῖ περὶ αὐτοῦ; ἀνὴρ ἐπιστάμενος περὶ ὧν ἐπίσταται ἔχοι ἂν δοῦναι λόγον ἢ οὔ;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

ἦ καὶ δοκοῦσί σοι πάντες ἔχειν διδόναι λόγον περὶ τούτων ὧν νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν;

βουλοίμην μεντἄν, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας· ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον φοβοῦμαι μὴ αὔριον τηνικάδε οὐκέτι ᾖ ἀνθρώπων οὐδεὶς ἀξίως οἷός τε τοῦτο ποιῆσαι.

[76c] οὐκ ἄρα δοκοῦσί σοι ἐπίστασθαί γε, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία, πάντες αὐτά;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀναμιμνῄσκονται ἄρα ἅ ποτε ἔμαθον;

ἀνάγκη.

πότε λαβοῦσαι αἱ ψυχαὶ ἡμῶν τὴν ἐπιστήμην αὐτῶν; οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἀφ᾽ οὗ γε ἄνθρωποι γεγόναμεν.

οὐ δῆτα.

πρότερον ἄρα.

ναί.

ἦσαν ἄρα, ὦ Σιμμία, αἱ ψυχαὶ καὶ πρότερον, πρὶν εἶναι ἐν ἀνθρώπου εἴδει, χωρὶς σωμάτων, καὶ φρόνησιν εἶχον.

εἰ μὴ ἄρα ἅμα γιγνόμενοι λαμβάνομεν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταύτας τὰς ἐπιστήμας· οὗτος γὰρ λείπεται ἔτι ὁ χρόνος.

[76d] εἶεν, ὦ ἑταῖρε· ἀπόλλυμεν δὲ αὐτὰς ἐν ποίῳ ἄλλῳ χρόνῳ; — οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἔχοντές γε αὐτὰς γιγνόμεθα, ὡς ἄρτι ὡμολογήσαμεν — ἢ ἐν τούτῳ ἀπόλλυμεν ἐν ᾧπερ καὶ λαμβάνομεν; ἢ ἔχεις ἄλλον τινὰ εἰπεῖν χρόνον;

οὐδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ ἔλαθον ἐμαυτὸν οὐδὲν εἰπών.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὕτως ἔχει, ἔφη, ἡμῖν, ὦ Σιμμία; εἰ μὲν ἔστιν ἃ θρυλοῦμεν ἀεί, καλόν τέ τι καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ πᾶσα ἡ τοιαύτη οὐσία, καὶ ἐπὶ ταύτην τὰ ἐκ τῶν αἰσθήσεων πάντα ἀναφέρομεν, [76e] ὑπάρχουσαν πρότερον ἀνευρίσκοντες ἡμετέραν οὖσαν, καὶ ταῦτα ἐκείνῃ ἀπεικάζομεν, ἀναγκαῖον, οὕτως ὥσπερ καὶ ταῦτα ἔστιν, οὕτως καὶ τὴν ἡμετέραν ψυχὴν εἶναι καὶ πρὶν γεγονέναι ἡμᾶς· εἰ δὲ μὴ ἔστι ταῦτα, ἄλλως ἂν ὁ λόγος οὗτος εἰρημένος εἴη; ἆρ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ ἴση ἀνάγκη ταῦτά τε εἶναι καὶ τὰς ἡμετέρας ψυχὰς πρὶν καὶ ἡμᾶς γεγονέναι, καὶ εἰ μὴ ταῦτα, οὐδὲ τάδε;

ὑπερφυῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, δοκεῖ μοι ἡ αὐτὴ ἀνάγκη εἶναι, καὶ εἰς καλόν γε καταφεύγει ὁ λόγος εἰς [77a] τὸ ὁμοίως εἶναι τήν τε ψυχὴν ἡμῶν πρὶν γενέσθαι ἡμᾶς καὶ τὴν οὐσίαν ἣν σὺ νῦν λέγεις. οὐ γὰρ ἔχω ἔγωγε οὐδὲν οὕτω μοι ἐναργὲς ὂν ὡς τοῦτο, τὸ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτ᾽ εἶναι ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα, καλόν τε καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ἃ σὺ νυνδὴ ἔλεγες· καὶ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ ἱκανῶς ἀποδέδεικται.

τί δὲ δὴ Κέβητι; ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης· δεῖ γὰρ καὶ Κέβητα πείθειν.

ἱκανῶς, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, ὡς ἔγωγε οἶμαι· καίτοι καρτερώτατος ἀνθρώπων ἐστὶν πρὸς τὸ ἀπιστεῖν τοῖς λόγοις. ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι οὐκ ἐνδεῶς τοῦτο πεπεῖσθαι αὐτόν, ὅτι πρὶν γενέσθαι [77b] ἡμᾶς ἦν ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχή· εἰ μέντοι καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνωμεν ἔτι ἔσται, οὐδὲ αὐτῷ μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀποδεδεῖχθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι ἐνέστηκεν ὃ νυνδὴ Κέβης ἔλεγε, τὸ τῶν πολλῶν, ὅπως μὴ ἅμα ἀποθνῄσκοντος τοῦ ἀνθρώπου διασκεδάννυται ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ αὐτῇ τοῦ εἶναι τοῦτο τέλος ᾖ. τί γὰρ κωλύει γίγνεσθαι μὲν αὐτὴν καὶ συνίστασθαι ἄλλοθέν ποθεν καὶ εἶναι πρὶν καὶ εἰς ἀνθρώπειον σῶμα ἀφικέσθαι, ἐπειδὰν δὲ ἀφίκηται καὶ ἀπαλλάττηται τούτου, τότε καὶ αὐτὴν τελευτᾶν καὶ διαφθείρεσθαι;

[77c] εὖ λέγεις, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία, ὁ Κέβης. φαίνεται γὰρ ὥσπερ ἥμισυ ἀποδεδεῖχθαι οὗ δεῖ, ὅτι πρὶν γενέσθαι ἡμᾶς ἦν ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχή, δεῖ δὲ προσαποδεῖξαι ὅτι καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνωμεν οὐδὲν ἧττον ἔσται ἢ πρὶν γενέσθαι, εἰ μέλλει τέλος ἡ ἀπόδειξις ἕξειν.

ἀποδέδεικται μέν, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, ὁ Σωκράτης, καὶ νῦν, εἰ ᾽θέλετε συνθεῖναι τοῦτόν τε τὸν λόγον εἰς ταὐτὸν καὶ ὃν πρὸ τούτου ὡμολογήσαμεν, τὸ γίγνεσθαι πᾶν τὸ ζῶν ἐκ τοῦ τεθνεῶτος. εἰ γὰρ ἔστιν μὲν [77d] ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ πρότερον, ἀνάγκη δὲ αὐτῇ εἰς τὸ ζῆν ἰούσῃ τε καὶ γιγνομένῃ μηδαμόθεν ἄλλοθεν ἢ ἐκ θανάτου καὶ τοῦ τεθνάναι γίγνεσθαι, πῶς οὐκ ἀνάγκη αὐτὴν καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνῃ εἶναι, ἐπειδή γε δεῖ αὖθις αὐτὴν γίγνεσθαι; ἀποδέδεικται μὲν οὖν ὅπερ λέγετε καὶ νῦν. ὅμως δέ μοι δοκεῖς σύ τε καὶ Σιμμίας ἡδέως ἂν καὶ τοῦτον διαπραγματεύσασθαι τὸν λόγον ἔτι μᾶλλον, καὶ δεδιέναι τὸ τῶν παίδων, μὴ ὡς ἀληθῶς ὁ ἄνεμος αὐτὴν ἐκβαίνουσαν ἐκ τοῦ σώματος διαφυσᾷ [77e] καὶ διασκεδάννυσιν, ἄλλως τε καὶ ὅταν τύχῃ τις μὴ ἐν νηνεμίᾳ ἀλλ᾽ ἐν μεγάλῳ τινὶ πνεύματι ἀποθνῄσκων.

καὶ ὁ Κέβης ἐπιγελάσας, ὡς δεδιότων, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, πειρῶ ἀναπείθειν· μᾶλλον δὲ μὴ ὡς ἡμῶν δεδιότων, ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως ἔνι τις καὶ ἐν ἡμῖν παῖς ὅστις τὰ τοιαῦτα φοβεῖται. τοῦτον οὖν πειρῶ μεταπείθειν μὴ δεδιέναι τὸν θάνατον ὥσπερ τὰ μορμολύκεια.

ἀλλὰ χρή, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, ἐπᾴδειν αὐτῷ ἑκάστης ἡμέρας ἕως ἂν ἐξεπᾴσητε.

[78a] πόθεν οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῶν τοιούτων ἀγαθὸν ἐπῳδὸν ληψόμεθα, ἐπειδὴ σύ, ἔφη, ἡμᾶς ἀπολείπεις;

πολλὴ μὲν ἡ Ἑλλάς, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, ἐν ᾗ ἔνεισί που ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ τὰ τῶν βαρβάρων γένη, οὓς πάντας χρὴ διερευνᾶσθαι ζητοῦντας τοιοῦτον ἐπῳδόν, μήτε χρημάτων φειδομένους μήτε πόνων, ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν εἰς ὅτι ἂν εὐκαιρότερον ἀναλίσκοιτε χρήματα. ζητεῖν δὲ χρὴ καὶ αὐτοὺς μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων· ἴσως γὰρ ἂν οὐδὲ ῥᾳδίως εὕροιτε μᾶλλον ὑμῶν δυναμένους τοῦτο ποιεῖν.

ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν δή, ἔφη, ὑπάρξει, ὁ Κέβης· ὅθεν δὲ [78b] ἀπελίπομεν ἐπανέλθωμεν, εἴ σοι ἡδομένῳ ἐστίν.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἡδομένῳ γε· πῶς γὰρ οὐ μέλλει;

καλῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν τοιόνδε τι, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Σωκράτης, δεῖ ἡμᾶς ἀνερέσθαι ἑαυτούς, τῷ ποίῳ τινὶ ἄρα προσήκει τοῦτο τὸ πάθος πάσχειν, τὸ διασκεδάννυσθαι, καὶ ὑπὲρ τοῦ ποίου τινὸς δεδιέναι μὴ πάθῃ αὐτό, καὶ τῷ ποίῳ τινὶ <οὔ>· καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο αὖ ἐπισκέψασθαι πότερον [ἡ] ψυχή ἐστιν, καὶ ἐκ τούτων θαῤῥεῖν ἢ δεδιέναι ὑπὲρ τῆς ἡμετέρας ψυχῆς;

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

[78c] ἆρ᾽ οὖν τῷ μὲν συντεθέντι τε καὶ συνθέτῳ ὄντι φύσει προσήκει τοῦτο πάσχειν, διαιρεθῆναι ταύτῃ ᾗπερ συνετέθη· εἰ δέ τι τυγχάνει ὂν ἀσύνθετον, τούτῳ μόνῳ προσήκει μὴ πάσχειν ταῦτα, εἴπερ τῳ ἄλλῳ;

δοκεῖ μοι, ἔφη, οὕτως ἔχειν, ὁ Κέβης.

οὐκοῦν ἅπερ ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως ἔχει, ταῦτα μάλιστα εἰκὸς εἶναι τὰ ἀσύνθετα, τὰ δὲ ἄλλοτ᾽ ἄλλως καὶ μηδέποτε κατὰ ταὐτά, ταῦτα δὲ σύνθετα;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ οὕτως.

ἴωμεν δή, ἔφη, ἐπὶ ταὐτὰ ἐφ᾽ ἅπερ ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν [78d] λόγῳ. αὐτὴ ἡ οὐσία ἧς λόγον δίδομεν τοῦ εἶναι καὶ ἐρωτῶντες καὶ ἀποκρινόμενοι, πότερον ὡσαύτως ἀεὶ ἔχει κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἢ ἄλλοτ᾽ ἄλλως; αὐτὸ τὸ ἴσον, αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν, αὐτὸ ἕκαστον ὃ ἔστιν, τὸ ὄν, μή ποτε μεταβολὴν καὶ ἡντινοῦν ἐνδέχεται; ἢ ἀεὶ αὐτῶν ἕκαστον ὃ ἔστι, μονοειδὲς ὂν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτό, ὡσαύτως κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχει καὶ οὐδέποτε οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς ἀλλοίωσιν οὐδεμίαν ἐνδέχεται;

ὡσαύτως, ἔφη, ἀνάγκη, ὁ Κέβης, κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχειν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

τί δὲ τῶν πολλῶν καλῶν, οἷον ἀνθρώπων ἢ ἵππων ἢ [78e] ἱματίων ἢ ἄλλων ὡντινωνοῦν τοιούτων, ἢ ἴσων [ἢ καλῶν] ἢ πάντων τῶν ἐκείνοις ὁμωνύμων; ἆρα κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχει, ἢ πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἐκείνοις οὔτε αὐτὰ αὑτοῖς οὔτε ἀλλήλοις οὐδέποτε ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδαμῶς κατὰ ταὐτά;

οὕτως αὖ, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, ταῦτα· οὐδέποτε ὡσαύτως ἔχει.

[79a] οὐκοῦν τούτων μὲν κἂν ἅψαιο κἂν ἴδοις κἂν ταῖς ἄλλαις αἰσθήσεσιν αἴσθοιο, τῶν δὲ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐχόντων οὐκ ἔστιν ὅτῳ ποτ᾽ ἂν ἄλλῳ ἐπιλάβοιο ἢ τῷ τῆς διανοίας λογισμῷ, ἀλλ᾽ ἔστιν ἀιδῆ τὰ τοιαῦτα καὶ οὐχ ὁρατά;

παντάπασιν, ἔφη, ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

θῶμεν οὖν βούλει, ἔφη, δύο εἴδη τῶν ὄντων, τὸ μὲν ὁρατόν, τὸ δὲ ἀιδές;

θῶμεν, ἔφη.

καὶ τὸ μὲν ἀιδὲς ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχον, τὸ δὲ ὁρατὸν μηδέποτε κατὰ ταὐτά;

καὶ τοῦτο, ἔφη, θῶμεν.

[79b] φέρε δή, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἄλλο τι ἡμῶν αὐτῶν τὸ μὲν σῶμά ἐστι, τὸ δὲ ψυχή;

οὐδὲν ἄλλο, ἔφη.

ποτέρῳ οὖν ὁμοιότερον τῷ εἴδει φαμὲν ἂν εἶναι καὶ συγγενέστερον τὸ σῶμα;

παντί, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε δῆλον, ὅτι τῷ ὁρατῷ.

τί δὲ ἡ ψυχή; ὁρατὸν ἢ ἀιδές;

οὐχ ὑπ᾽ ἀνθρώπων γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἡμεῖς γε τὰ ὁρατὰ καὶ τὰ μὴ τῇ τῶν ἀνθρώπων φύσει ἐλέγομεν· ἢ ἄλλῃ τινὶ οἴει;

τῇ τῶν ἀνθρώπων.

τί οὖν περὶ ψυχῆς λέγομεν; ὁρατὸν ἢ ἀόρατον εἶναι;

οὐχ ὁρατόν.

ἀιδὲς ἄρα;

ναί.

ὁμοιότερον ἄρα ψυχὴ σώματός ἐστιν τῷ ἀιδεῖ, τὸ δὲ τῷ ὁρατῷ.

[79c] πᾶσα ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τόδε πάλαι ἐλέγομεν, ὅτι ἡ ψυχή, ὅταν μὲν τῷ σώματι προσχρῆται εἰς τὸ σκοπεῖν τι ἢ διὰ τοῦ ὁρᾶν ἢ διὰ τοῦ ἀκούειν ἢ δι᾽ ἄλλης τινὸς αἰσθήσεως — τοῦτο γάρ ἐστιν τὸ διὰ τοῦ σώματος, τὸ δι᾽ αἰσθήσεως σκοπεῖν τι — τότε μὲν ἕλκεται ὑπὸ τοῦ σώματος εἰς τὰ οὐδέποτε κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχοντα, καὶ αὐτὴ πλανᾶται καὶ ταράττεται καὶ εἰλιγγιᾷ ὥσπερ μεθύουσα, ἅτε τοιούτων ἐφαπτομένη;

πάνυ γε.

[79d] ὅταν δέ γε αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν σκοπῇ, ἐκεῖσε οἴχεται εἰς τὸ καθαρόν τε καὶ ἀεὶ ὂν καὶ ἀθάνατον καὶ ὡσαύτως ἔχον, καὶ ὡς συγγενὴς οὖσα αὐτοῦ ἀεὶ μετ᾽ ἐκείνου τε γίγνεται, ὅτανπερ αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν γένηται καὶ ἐξῇ αὐτῇ, καὶ πέπαυταί τε τοῦ πλάνου καὶ περὶ ἐκεῖνα ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως ἔχει, ἅτε τοιούτων ἐφαπτομένη· καὶ τοῦτο αὐτῆς τὸ πάθημα φρόνησις κέκληται;

παντάπασιν, ἔφη, καλῶς καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

ποτέρῳ οὖν αὖ σοι δοκεῖ τῷ εἴδει καὶ ἐκ τῶν πρόσθεν καὶ ἐκ [79e] τῶν νῦν λεγομένων ψυχὴ ὁμοιότερον εἶναι καὶ συγγενέστερον;

πᾶς ἄν μοι δοκεῖ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, συγχωρῆσαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐκ ταύτης τῆς μεθόδου, καὶ ὁ δυσμαθέστατος, ὅτι ὅλῳ καὶ παντὶ ὁμοιότερόν ἐστι ψυχὴ τῷ ἀεὶ ὡσαύτως ἔχοντι μᾶλλον ἢ τῷ μή.

τί δὲ τὸ σῶμα;

τῷ ἑτέρῳ.

ὅρα δὴ καὶ τῇδε ὅτι ἐπειδὰν ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ὦσι ψυχὴ καὶ [80a] σῶμα, τῷ μὲν δουλεύειν καὶ ἄρχεσθαι ἡ φύσις προστάττει, τῇ δὲ ἄρχειν καὶ δεσπόζειν· καὶ κατὰ ταῦτα αὖ πότερόν σοι δοκεῖ ὅμοιον τῷ θείῳ εἶναι καὶ πότερον τῷ θνητῷ; ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι τὸ μὲν θεῖον οἷον ἄρχειν τε καὶ ἡγεμονεύειν πεφυκέναι, τὸ δὲ θνητὸν ἄρχεσθαί τε καὶ δουλεύειν;

ἔμοιγε.

ποτέρῳ οὖν ἡ ψυχὴ ἔοικεν;

δῆλα δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι ἡ μὲν ψυχὴ τῷ θείῳ, τὸ δὲ σῶμα τῷ θνητῷ.

σκόπει δή, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, εἰ ἐκ πάντων τῶν εἰρημένων [80b] τάδε ἡμῖν συμβαίνει, τῷ μὲν θείῳ καὶ ἀθανάτῳ καὶ νοητῷ καὶ μονοειδεῖ καὶ ἀδιαλύτῳ καὶ ἀεὶ ὡσαύτως κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχοντι ἑαυτῷ ὁμοιότατον εἶναι ψυχή, τῷ δὲ ἀνθρωπίνῳ καὶ θνητῷ καὶ πολυειδεῖ καὶ ἀνοήτῳ καὶ διαλυτῷ καὶ μηδέποτε κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχοντι ἑαυτῷ ὁμοιότατον αὖ εἶναι σῶμα. ἔχομέν τι παρὰ ταῦτα ἄλλο λέγειν, ὦ φίλε Κέβης, ᾗ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει;

οὐκ ἔχομεν.

τί οὖν; τούτων οὕτως ἐχόντων ἆρ᾽ οὐχὶ σώματι μὲν ταχὺ διαλύεσθαι προσήκει, ψυχῇ δὲ αὖ τὸ παράπαν ἀδιαλύτῳ εἶναι ἢ ἐγγύς τι τούτου;

[80c] πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ἐννοεῖς οὖν, ἔφη, ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνῃ ὁ ἄνθρωπος, τὸ μὲν ὁρατὸν αὐτοῦ, τὸ σῶμα, καὶ ἐν ὁρατῷ κείμενον, ὃ δὴ νεκρὸν καλοῦμεν, ᾧ προσήκει διαλύεσθαι καὶ διαπίπτειν καὶ διαπνεῖσθαι, οὐκ εὐθὺς τούτων οὐδὲν πέπονθεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπιεικῶς συχνὸν ἐπιμένει χρόνον, ἐὰν μέν τις καὶ χαριέντως ἔχων τὸ σῶμα τελευτήσῃ καὶ ἐν τοιαύτῃ ὥρᾳ, καὶ πάνυ μάλα· συμπεσὸν γὰρ τὸ σῶμα καὶ ταριχευθέν, ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ ταριχευθέντες, ὀλίγου ὅλον μένει ἀμήχανον ὅσον χρόνον, [80d] ἔνια δὲ μέρη τοῦ σώματος, καὶ ἂν σαπῇ, ὀστᾶ τε καὶ νεῦρα καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα, ὅμως ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἀθάνατά ἐστιν· ἢ οὔ;

ναί.

ἡ δὲ ψυχὴ ἄρα, τὸ ἀιδές, τὸ εἰς τοιοῦτον τόπον ἕτερον οἰχόμενον γενναῖον καὶ καθαρὸν καὶ ἀιδῆ, εἰς Ἅιδου ὡς ἀληθῶς, παρὰ τὸν ἀγαθὸν καὶ φρόνιμον θεόν, οἷ, ἂν θεὸς θέλῃ, αὐτίκα καὶ τῇ ἐμῇ ψυχῇ ἰτέον, αὕτη δὲ δὴ ἡμῖν ἡ τοιαύτη καὶ οὕτω πεφυκυῖα ἀπαλλαττομένη τοῦ σώματος εὐθὺς διαπεφύσηται καὶ ἀπόλωλεν, ὥς φασιν οἱ πολλοὶ [80e] ἄνθρωποι; πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ὦ φίλε Κέβης τε καὶ Σιμμία, ἀλλὰ πολλῷ μᾶλλον ὧδ᾽ ἔχει· ἐὰν μὲν καθαρὰ ἀπαλλάττηται, μηδὲν τοῦ σώματος συνεφέλκουσα, ἅτε οὐδὲν κοινωνοῦσα αὐτῷ ἐν τῷ βίῳ ἑκοῦσα εἶναι, ἀλλὰ φεύγουσα αὐτὸ καὶ συνηθροισμένη αὐτὴ εἰς ἑαυτήν, ἅτε μελετῶσα ἀεὶ τοῦτο — τὸ δὲ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἐστὶν ἢ ὀρθῶς φιλοσοφοῦσα καὶ τῷ ὄντι [81a] τεθνάναι μελετῶσα ῥᾳδίως· ἢ οὐ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη μελέτη θανάτου;

παντάπασί γε.

οὐκοῦν οὕτω μὲν ἔχουσα εἰς τὸ ὅμοιον αὐτῇ τὸ ἀιδὲς ἀπέρχεται, τὸ θεῖόν τε καὶ ἀθάνατον καὶ φρόνιμον, οἷ ἀφικομένῃ ὑπάρχει αὐτῇ εὐδαίμονι εἶναι, πλάνης καὶ ἀνοίας καὶ φόβων καὶ ἀγρίων ἐρώτων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων κακῶν τῶν ἀνθρωπείων ἀπηλλαγμένῃ, ὥσπερ δὲ λέγεται κατὰ τῶν μεμυημένων, ὡς ἀληθῶς τὸν λοιπὸν χρόνον μετὰ θεῶν διάγουσα; οὕτω φῶμεν, ὦ Κέβης, ἢ ἄλλως;

οὕτω νὴ Δία, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης.

[81b] ἐὰν δέ γε οἶμαι μεμιασμένη καὶ ἀκάθαρτος τοῦ σώματος ἀπαλλάττηται, ἅτε τῷ σώματι ἀεὶ συνοῦσα καὶ τοῦτο θεραπεύουσα καὶ ἐρῶσα καὶ γοητευομένη ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ ὑπό τε τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ ἡδονῶν, ὥστε μηδὲν ἄλλο δοκεῖν εἶναι ἀληθὲς ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τὸ σωματοειδές, οὗ τις ἂν ἅψαιτο καὶ ἴδοι καὶ πίοι καὶ φάγοι καὶ πρὸς τὰ ἀφροδίσια χρήσαιτο, τὸ δὲ τοῖς ὄμμασι σκοτῶδες καὶ ἀιδές, νοητὸν δὲ καὶ φιλοσοφίᾳ αἱρετόν, τοῦτο δὲ εἰθισμένη μισεῖν τε καὶ τρέμειν καὶ φεύγειν, οὕτω [81c] δὴ ἔχουσαν οἴει ψυχὴν αὐτὴν καθ᾽ αὑτὴν εἰλικρινῆ ἀπαλλάξεσθαι;

οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ [καὶ] διειλημμένην γε οἶμαι ὑπὸ τοῦ σωματοειδοῦς, ὃ αὐτῇ ἡ ὁμιλία τε καὶ συνουσία τοῦ σώματος διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ συνεῖναι καὶ διὰ τὴν πολλὴν μελέτην ἐνεποίησε σύμφυτον;

πάνυ γε.

ἐμβριθὲς δέ γε, ὦ φίλε, τοῦτο οἴεσθαι χρὴ εἶναι καὶ βαρὺ καὶ γεῶδες καὶ ὁρατόν· ὃ δὴ καὶ ἔχουσα ἡ τοιαύτη ψυχὴ βαρύνεταί τε καὶ ἕλκεται πάλιν εἰς τὸν ὁρατὸν τόπον φόβῳ τοῦ ἀιδοῦς τε καὶ Ἅιδου, ὥσπερ λέγεται, περὶ τὰ [81d] μνήματά τε καὶ τοὺς τάφους κυλινδουμένη, περὶ ἃ δὴ καὶ ὤφθη ἄττα ψυχῶν σκιοειδῆ φαντάσματα, οἷα παρέχονται αἱ τοιαῦται ψυχαὶ εἴδωλα, αἱ μὴ καθαρῶς ἀπολυθεῖσαι ἀλλὰ τοῦ ὁρατοῦ μετέχουσαι, διὸ καὶ ὁρῶνται.

εἰκός γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

εἰκὸς μέντοι, ὦ Κέβης· καὶ οὔ τί γε τὰς τῶν ἀγαθῶν αὐτὰς εἶναι, ἀλλὰ τὰς τῶν φαύλων, αἳ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀναγκάζονται πλανᾶσθαι δίκην τίνουσαι τῆς προτέρας τροφῆς κακῆς οὔσης. καὶ μέχρι γε τούτου πλανῶνται, ἕως ἂν τῇ [81e] τοῦ συνεπακολουθοῦντος, τοῦ σωματοειδοῦς, ἐπιθυμίᾳ πάλιν ἐνδεθῶσιν εἰς σῶμα· ἐνδοῦνται δέ, ὥσπερ εἰκός, εἰς τοιαῦτα ἤθη ὁποῖ᾽ ἄττ᾽ ἂν καὶ μεμελετηκυῖαι τύχωσιν ἐν τῷ βίῳ.

τὰ ποῖα δὴ ταῦτα λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

οἷον τοὺς μὲν γαστριμαργίας τε καὶ ὕβρεις καὶ φιλοποσίας μεμελετηκότας καὶ μὴ διηυλαβημένους εἰς τὰ τῶν ὄνων γένη [82a] καὶ τῶν τοιούτων θηρίων εἰκὸς ἐνδύεσθαι. ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν εἰκὸς λέγεις.

τοὺς δέ γε ἀδικίας τε καὶ τυραννίδας καὶ ἁρπαγὰς προτετιμηκότας εἰς τὰ τῶν λύκων τε καὶ ἱεράκων καὶ ἰκτίνων γένη· ἢ ποῖ ἂν ἄλλοσέ φαμεν τὰς τοιαύτας ἰέναι;

ἀμέλει, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, εἰς τὰ τοιαῦτα.

οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, δῆλα δὴ καὶ τἆλλα ᾗ ἂν ἕκαστα ἴοι κατὰ τὰς αὐτῶν ὁμοιότητας τῆς μελέτης;

δῆλον δή, ἔφη· πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν εὐδαιμονέστατοι, ἔφη, καὶ τούτων εἰσὶ καὶ εἰς βέλτιστον τόπον ἰόντες οἱ τὴν δημοτικὴν καὶ πολιτικὴν [82b] ἀρετὴν ἐπιτετηδευκότες, ἣν δὴ καλοῦσι σωφροσύνην τε καὶ δικαιοσύνην, ἐξ ἔθους τε καὶ μελέτης γεγονυῖαν ἄνευ φιλοσοφίας τε καὶ νοῦ;

πῇ δὴ οὗτοι εὐδαιμονέστατοι;

ὅτι τούτους εἰκός ἐστιν εἰς τοιοῦτον πάλιν ἀφικνεῖσθαι πολιτικὸν καὶ ἥμερον γένος, ἤ που μελιττῶν ἢ σφηκῶν ἢ μυρμήκων, καὶ εἰς ταὐτόν γε πάλιν τὸ ἀνθρώπινον γένος, καὶ γίγνεσθαι ἐξ αὐτῶν ἄνδρας μετρίους.

εἰκός.

εἰς δέ γε θεῶν γένος μὴ φιλοσοφήσαντι καὶ παντελῶς [82c] καθαρῷ ἀπιόντι οὐ θέμις ἀφικνεῖσθαι ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τῷ φιλομαθεῖ. ἀλλὰ τούτων ἕνεκα, ὦ ἑταῖρε Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, οἱ ὀρθῶς φιλόσοφοι ἀπέχονται τῶν κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ἐπιθυμιῶν ἁπασῶν καὶ καρτεροῦσι καὶ οὐ παραδιδόασιν αὐταῖς ἑαυτούς, οὔ τι οἰκοφθορίαν τε καὶ πενίαν φοβούμενοι, ὥσπερ οἱ πολλοὶ καὶ φιλοχρήματοι· οὐδὲ αὖ ἀτιμίαν τε καὶ ἀδοξίαν μοχθηρίας δεδιότες, ὥσπερ οἱ φίλαρχοί τε καὶ φιλότιμοι, ἔπειτα ἀπέχονται αὐτῶν.

οὐ γὰρ ἂν πρέποι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Κέβης.

[82d] οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. τοιγάρτοι τούτοις μὲν ἅπασιν, ὦ Κέβης, ἐκεῖνοι οἷς τι μέλει τῆς ἑαυτῶν ψυχῆς ἀλλὰ μὴ σώματι πλάττοντες ζῶσι, χαίρειν εἰπόντες, οὐ κατὰ ταὐτὰ πορεύονται αὐτοῖς ὡς οὐκ εἰδόσιν ὅπῃ ἔρχονται, αὐτοὶ δὲ ἡγούμενοι οὐ δεῖν ἐναντία τῇ φιλοσοφίᾳ πράττειν καὶ τῇ ἐκείνης λύσει τε καὶ καθαρμῷ ταύτῃ δὴ τρέπονται ἐκείνῃ ἑπόμενοι, ᾗ ἐκείνη ὑφηγεῖται.

πῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες;

ἐγὼ ἐρῶ, ἔφη. γιγνώσκουσι γάρ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οἱ φιλομαθεῖς [82e] ὅτι παραλαβοῦσα αὐτῶν τὴν ψυχὴν ἡ φιλοσοφία ἀτεχνῶς διαδεδεμένην ἐν τῷ σώματι καὶ προσκεκολλημένην, ἀναγκαζομένην δὲ ὥσπερ διὰ εἱργμοῦ διὰ τούτου σκοπεῖσθαι τὰ ὄντα ἀλλὰ μὴ αὐτὴν δι᾽ αὑτῆς, καὶ ἐν πάσῃ ἀμαθίᾳ κυλινδουμένην, καὶ τοῦ εἱργμοῦ τὴν δεινότητα κατιδοῦσα ὅτι δι᾽ ἐπιθυμίας ἐστίν, ὡς ἂν μάλιστα αὐτὸς ὁ δεδεμένος συλλήπτωρ [83a] εἴη τοῦ δεδέσθαι, — ὅπερ οὖν λέγω, γιγνώσκουσιν οἱ φιλομαθεῖς ὅτι οὕτω παραλαβοῦσα ἡ φιλοσοφία ἔχουσαν αὐτῶν τὴν ψυχὴν ἠρέμα παραμυθεῖται καὶ λύειν ἐπιχειρεῖ, ἐνδεικνυμένη ὅτι ἀπάτης μὲν μεστὴ ἡ διὰ τῶν ὀμμάτων σκέψις, ἀπάτης δὲ ἡ διὰ τῶν ὤτων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων αἰσθήσεων, πείθουσα δὲ ἐκ τούτων μὲν ἀναχωρεῖν, ὅσον μὴ ἀνάγκη αὐτοῖς χρῆσθαι, αὐτὴν δὲ εἰς αὑτὴν συλλέγεσθαι καὶ ἁθροίζεσθαι παρακελευομένη, πιστεύειν δὲ μηδενὶ ἄλλῳ ἀλλ᾽ [83b] ἢ αὐτὴν αὑτῇ, ὅτι ἂν νοήσῃ αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ τῶν ὄντων· ὅτι δ᾽ ἂν δι᾽ ἄλλων σκοπῇ ἐν ἄλλοις ὂν ἄλλο, μηδὲν ἡγεῖσθαι ἀληθές· εἶναι δὲ τὸ μὲν τοιοῦτον αἰσθητόν τε καὶ ὁρατόν, ὃ δὲ αὐτὴ ὁρᾷ νοητόν τε καὶ ἀιδές. ταύτῃ οὖν τῇ λύσει οὐκ οἰομένη δεῖν ἐναντιοῦσθαι ἡ τοῦ ὡς ἀληθῶς φιλοσόφου ψυχὴ οὕτως ἀπέχεται τῶν ἡδονῶν τε καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ λυπῶν [καὶ φόβων] καθ᾽ ὅσον δύναται, λογιζομένη ὅτι, ἐπειδάν τις σφόδρα ἡσθῇ ἢ φοβηθῇ [ἢ λυπηθῇ] ἢ ἐπιθυμήσῃ, οὐδὲν τοσοῦτον κακὸν ἔπαθεν ἀπ᾽ [83c] αὐτῶν ὧν ἄν τις οἰηθείη, οἷον ἢ νοσήσας ἤ τι ἀναλώσας διὰ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας, ἀλλ᾽ ὃ πάντων μέγιστόν τε κακῶν καὶ ἔσχατόν ἐστι, τοῦτο πάσχει καὶ οὐ λογίζεται αὐτό.

τί τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἔφη ὁ Κέβης.

ὅτι ψυχὴ παντὸς ἀνθρώπου ἀναγκάζεται ἅμα τε ἡσθῆναι σφόδρα ἢ λυπηθῆναι ἐπί τῳ καὶ ἡγεῖσθαι περὶ ὃ ἂν μάλιστα τοῦτο πάσχῃ, τοῦτο ἐναργέστατόν τε εἶναι καὶ ἀληθέστατον, οὐχ οὕτως ἔχον· ταῦτα δὲ μάλιστα <τὰ> ὁρατά· ἢ οὔ;

πάνυ γε.

[83d] οὐκοῦν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ πάθει μάλιστα καταδεῖται ψυχὴ ὑπὸ σώματος;

πῶς δή;

ὅτι ἑκάστη ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη ὥσπερ ἧλον ἔχουσα προσηλοῖ αὐτὴν πρὸς τὸ σῶμα καὶ προσπερονᾷ καὶ ποιεῖ σωματοειδῆ, δοξάζουσαν ταῦτα ἀληθῆ εἶναι ἅπερ ἂν καὶ τὸ σῶμα φῇ. ἐκ γὰρ τοῦ ὁμοδοξεῖν τῷ σώματι καὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς χαίρειν ἀναγκάζεται οἶμαι ὁμότροπός τε καὶ ὁμότροφος γίγνεσθαι καὶ οἵα μηδέποτε εἰς Ἅιδου καθαρῶς ἀφικέσθαι, ἀλλὰ ἀεὶ τοῦ σώματος ἀναπλέα ἐξιέναι, ὥστε ταχὺ πάλιν πίπτειν εἰς [83e] ἄλλο σῶμα καὶ ὥσπερ σπειρομένη ἐμφύεσθαι, καὶ ἐκ τούτων ἄμοιρος εἶναι τῆς τοῦ θείου τε καὶ καθαροῦ καὶ μονοειδοῦς συνουσίας.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις, ὁ Κέβης, ὦ Σώκρατες.

τούτων τοίνυν ἕνεκα, ὦ Κέβης, οἱ δικαίως φιλομαθεῖς κόσμιοί εἰσι καὶ ἀνδρεῖοι, οὐχ ὧν οἱ πολλοὶ ἕνεκά φασιν· ἢ σὺ οἴει;

[84a] οὐ δῆτα ἔγωγε.

οὐ γάρ· ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω λογίσαιτ᾽ ἂν ψυχὴ ἀνδρὸς φιλοσόφου, καὶ οὐκ ἂν οἰηθείη τὴν μὲν φιλοσοφίαν χρῆναι αὐτὴν λύειν, λυούσης δὲ ἐκείνης, αὐτὴν παραδιδόναι ταῖς ἡδοναῖς καὶ λύπαις ἑαυτὴν πάλιν αὖ ἐγκαταδεῖν καὶ ἀνήνυτον ἔργον πράττειν Πηνελόπης τινὰ ἐναντίως ἱστὸν μεταχειριζομένης, ἀλλὰ γαλήνην τούτων παρασκευάζουσα, ἑπομένη τῷ λογισμῷ καὶ ἀεὶ ἐν τούτῳ οὖσα, τὸ ἀληθὲς καὶ τὸ θεῖον καὶ τὸ ἀδόξαστον [84b] θεωμένη καὶ ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου τρεφομένη, ζῆν τε οἴεται οὕτω δεῖν ἕως ἂν ζῇ, καὶ ἐπειδὰν τελευτήσῃ, εἰς τὸ συγγενὲς καὶ εἰς τὸ τοιοῦτον ἀφικομένη ἀπηλλάχθαι τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων κακῶν. ἐκ δὴ τῆς τοιαύτης τροφῆς οὐδὲν δεινὸν μὴ φοβηθῇ, [ταῦτα δ᾽ ἐπιτηδεύσασα,] ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, ὅπως μὴ διασπασθεῖσα ἐν τῇ ἀπαλλαγῇ τοῦ σώματος ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνέμων διαφυσηθεῖσα καὶ διαπτομένη οἴχηται καὶ οὐδὲν ἔτι οὐδαμοῦ ᾖ.

[84c] σιγὴ οὖν ἐγένετο ταῦτα εἰπόντος τοῦ Σωκράτους ἐπὶ πολὺν χρόνον, καὶ αὐτός τε πρὸς τῷ εἰρημένῳ λόγῳ ἦν ὁ Σωκράτης, ὡς ἰδεῖν ἐφαίνετο, καὶ ἡμῶν οἱ πλεῖστοι· Κέβης δὲ καὶ Σιμμίας σμικρὸν πρὸς ἀλλήλω διελεγέσθην. καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης ἰδὼν αὐτὼ ἤρετο, τί; ἔφη, ὑμῖν τὰ λεχθέντα μῶν μὴ δοκεῖ ἐνδεῶς λέγεσθαι; πολλὰς γὰρ δὴ ἔτι ἔχει ὑποψίας καὶ ἀντιλαβάς, εἴ γε δή τις αὐτὰ μέλλει ἱκανῶς διεξιέναι. εἰ μὲν οὖν τι ἄλλο σκοπεῖσθον, οὐδὲν λέγω· εἰ δέ τι περὶ τούτων ἀπορεῖτον, μηδὲν ἀποκνήσητε καὶ αὐτοὶ εἰπεῖν καὶ [84d] διελθεῖν, εἴ πῃ ὑμῖν φαίνεται βέλτιον <ἂν> λεχθῆναι, καὶ αὖ καὶ ἐμὲ συμπαραλαβεῖν, εἴ τι μᾶλλον οἴεσθε μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ εὐπορήσειν.

καὶ ὁ Σιμμίας ἔφη· καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τἀληθῆ σοι ἐρῶ. πάλαι γὰρ ἡμῶν ἑκάτερος ἀπορῶν τὸν ἕτερον προωθεῖ καὶ κελεύει ἐρέσθαι διὰ τὸ ἐπιθυμεῖν μὲν ἀκοῦσαι, ὀκνεῖν δὲ ὄχλον παρέχειν, μή σοι ἀηδὲς ᾖ διὰ τὴν παροῦσαν συμφοράν.

καὶ ὃς ἀκούσας ἐγέλασέν τε ἠρέμα καί φησιν· Βαβαί, ὦ Σιμμία· ἦ που χαλεπῶς ἂν τοὺς ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους πείσαιμι [84e] ὡς οὐ συμφορὰν ἡγοῦμαι τὴν παροῦσαν τύχην, ὅτε γε μηδ᾽ ὑμᾶς δύναμαι πείθειν, ἀλλὰ φοβεῖσθε μὴ δυσκολώτερόν τι νῦν διάκειμαι ἢ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν βίῳ· καί, ὡς ἔοικε, τῶν κύκνων δοκῶ φαυλότερος ὑμῖν εἶναι τὴν μαντικήν, οἳ ἐπειδὰν αἴσθωνται ὅτι δεῖ αὐτοὺς ἀποθανεῖν, ᾄδοντες καὶ ἐν [85a] τῷ πρόσθεν χρόνῳ, τότε δὴ πλεῖστα καὶ κάλλιστα ᾄδουσι, γεγηθότες ὅτι μέλλουσι παρὰ τὸν θεὸν ἀπιέναι οὗπέρ εἰσι θεράποντες. οἱ δ᾽ ἄνθρωποι διὰ τὸ αὑτῶν δέος τοῦ θανάτου καὶ τῶν κύκνων καταψεύδονται, καί φασιν αὐτοὺς θρηνοῦντας τὸν θάνατον ὑπὸ λύπης ἐξᾴδειν, καὶ οὐ λογίζονται ὅτι οὐδὲν ὄρνεον ᾄδει ὅταν πεινῇ ἢ ῥιγῷ ἤ τινα ἄλλην λύπην λυπῆται, οὐδὲ αὐτὴ ἥ τε ἀηδὼν καὶ χελιδὼν καὶ ὁ ἔποψ, ἃ δή φασι διὰ λύπην θρηνοῦντα ᾄδειν. ἀλλ᾽ οὔτε ταῦτά μοι φαίνεται [85b] λυπούμενα ᾄδειν οὔτε οἱ κύκνοι, ἀλλ᾽ ἅτε οἶμαι τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος ὄντες, μαντικοί τέ εἰσι καὶ προειδότες τὰ ἐν Ἅιδου ἀγαθὰ ᾄδουσι καὶ τέρπονται ἐκείνην τὴν ἡμέραν διαφερόντως ἢ ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν χρόνῳ. ἐγὼ δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς ἡγοῦμαι ὁμόδουλός τε εἶναι τῶν κύκνων καὶ ἱερὸς τοῦ αὐτοῦ θεοῦ, καὶ οὐ χεῖρον ἐκείνων τὴν μαντικὴν ἔχειν παρὰ τοῦ δεσπότου, οὐδὲ δυσθυμότερον αὐτῶν τοῦ βίου ἀπαλλάττεσθαι. ἀλλὰ τούτου γ᾽ ἕνεκα λέγειν τε χρὴ καὶ ἐρωτᾶν ὅτι ἂν βούλησθε, ἕως ἂν Ἀθηναίων ἐῶσιν ἄνδρες ἕνδεκα.

καλῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις, ὁ Σιμμίας· καὶ ἐγώ τέ σοι ἐρῶ ὃ [85c] ἀπορῶ, καὶ αὖ ὅδε, ᾗ οὐκ ἀποδέχεται τὰ εἰρημένα. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, περὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἴσως ὥσπερ καὶ σοὶ τὸ μὲν σαφὲς εἰδέναι ἐν τῷ νῦν βίῳ ἢ ἀδύνατον εἶναι ἢ παγχάλεπόν τι, τὸ μέντοι αὖ τὰ λεγόμενα περὶ αὐτῶν μὴ οὐχὶ παντὶ τρόπῳ ἐλέγχειν καὶ μὴ προαφίστασθαι πρὶν ἂν πανταχῇ σκοπῶν ἀπείπῃ τις, πάνυ μαλθακοῦ εἶναι ἀνδρός· δεῖν γὰρ περὶ αὐτὰ ἕν γέ τι τούτων διαπράξασθαι, ἢ μαθεῖν ὅπῃ ἔχει ἢ εὑρεῖν ἤ, εἰ ταῦτα ἀδύνατον, τὸν γοῦν βέλτιστον τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων λόγων λαβόντα καὶ δυσεξελεγκτότατον, [85d] ἐπὶ τούτου ὀχούμενον ὥσπερ ἐπὶ σχεδίας κινδυνεύοντα διαπλεῦσαι τὸν βίον, εἰ μή τις δύναιτο ἀσφαλέστερον καὶ ἀκινδυνότερον ἐπὶ βεβαιοτέρου ὀχήματος, [ἢ] λόγου θείου τινός, διαπορευθῆναι. καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν ἔγωγε οὐκ ἐπαισχυνθήσομαι ἐρέσθαι, ἐπειδὴ καὶ σὺ ταῦτα λέγεις, οὐδ᾽ ἐμαυτὸν αἰτιάσομαι ἐν ὑστέρῳ χρόνῳ ὅτι νῦν οὐκ εἶπον ἅ μοι δοκεῖ. ἐμοὶ γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπειδὴ καὶ πρὸς ἐμαυτὸν καὶ πρὸς τόνδε σκοπῶ τὰ εἰρημένα, οὐ πάνυ φαίνεται ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαι.

[85e] καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης, ἴσως γάρ, ἔφη, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἀληθῆ σοι φαίνεται· ἀλλὰ λέγε ὅπῃ δὴ οὐχ ἱκανῶς.

ταύτῃ ἔμοιγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ᾗ δὴ καὶ περὶ ἁρμονίας ἄν τις καὶ λύρας τε καὶ χορδῶν τὸν αὐτὸν τοῦτον λόγον εἴποι, ὡς ἡ μὲν ἁρμονία ἀόρατον καὶ ἀσώματον καὶ πάγκαλόν τι καὶ [86a] θεῖόν ἐστιν ἐν τῇ ἡρμοσμένῃ λύρᾳ, αὐτὴ δ᾽ ἡ λύρα καὶ αἱ χορδαὶ σώματά τε καὶ σωματοειδῆ καὶ σύνθετα καὶ γεώδη ἐστὶ καὶ τοῦ θνητοῦ συγγενῆ. ἐπειδὰν οὖν ἢ κατάξῃ τις τὴν λύραν ἢ διατέμῃ καὶ διαῤῥήξῃ τὰς χορδάς, εἴ τις διισχυρίζοιτο τῷ αὐτῷ λόγῳ ὥσπερ σύ, ὡς ἀνάγκη ἔτι εἶναι τὴν ἁρμονίαν ἐκείνην καὶ μὴ ἀπολωλέναι — οὐδεμία γὰρ μηχανὴ ἂν εἴη τὴν μὲν λύραν ἔτι εἶναι διεῤῥωγυιῶν τῶν χορδῶν καὶ τὰς χορδὰς θνητοειδεῖς οὔσας, τὴν δὲ ἁρμονίαν [86b] ἀπολωλέναι τὴν τοῦ θείου τε καὶ ἀθανάτου ὁμοφυῆ τε καὶ συγγενῆ, προτέραν τοῦ θνητοῦ ἀπολομένην — ἀλλὰ φαίη ἀνάγκη ἔτι που εἶναι αὐτὴν τὴν ἁρμονίαν, καὶ πρότερον τὰ ξύλα καὶ τὰς χορδὰς κατασαπήσεσθαι πρίν τι ἐκείνην παθεῖν — καὶ γὰρ οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἶμαι ἔγωγε καὶ αὐτόν σε τοῦτο ἐντεθυμῆσθαι, ὅτι τοιοῦτόν τι μάλιστα ὑπολαμβάνομεν τὴν ψυχὴν εἶναι, ὥσπερ ἐντεταμένου τοῦ σώματος ἡμῶν καὶ συνεχομένου ὑπὸ θερμοῦ καὶ ψυχροῦ καὶ ξηροῦ καὶ ὑγροῦ καὶ τοιούτων τινῶν, κρᾶσιν εἶναι καὶ ἁρμονίαν [86c] αὐτῶν τούτων τὴν ψυχὴν ἡμῶν, ἐπειδὰν ταῦτα καλῶς καὶ μετρίως κραθῇ πρὸς ἄλληλα — εἰ οὖν τυγχάνει ἡ ψυχὴ οὖσα ἁρμονία τις, δῆλον ὅτι, ὅταν χαλασθῇ τὸ σῶμα ἡμῶν ἀμέτρως ἢ ἐπιταθῇ ὑπὸ νόσων καὶ ἄλλων κακῶν, τὴν μὲν ψυχὴν ἀνάγκη εὐθὺς ὑπάρχει ἀπολωλέναι, καίπερ οὖσαν θειοτάτην, ὥσπερ καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι ἁρμονίαι αἵ τ᾽ ἐν τοῖς φθόγγοις καὶ ἐν τοῖς τῶν δημιουργῶν ἔργοις πᾶσι, τὰ δὲ λείψανα τοῦ σώματος ἑκάστου πολὺν χρόνον παραμένειν, [86d] ἕως ἂν ἢ κατακαυθῇ ἢ κατασαπῇ — ὅρα οὖν πρὸς τοῦτον τὸν λόγον τί φήσομεν, ἐάν τις ἀξιοῖ κρᾶσιν οὖσαν τὴν ψυχὴν τῶν ἐν τῷ σώματι ἐν τῷ καλουμένῳ θανάτῳ πρώτην ἀπόλλυσθαι.

διαβλέψας οὖν ὁ Σωκράτης, ὥσπερ τὰ πολλὰ εἰώθει, καὶ μειδιάσας, δίκαια μέντοι, ἔφη, λέγει ὁ Σιμμίας. εἰ οὖν τις ὑμῶν εὐπορώτερος ἐμοῦ, τί οὐκ ἀπεκρίνατο; καὶ γὰρ οὐ φαύλως ἔοικεν ἁπτομένῳ τοῦ λόγου. δοκεῖ μέντοι μοι χρῆναι πρὸ τῆς ἀποκρίσεως ἔτι πρότερον κέβητος ἀκοῦσαι [86e] τί αὖ ὅδε ἐγκαλεῖ τῷ λόγῳ, ἵνα χρόνου ἐγγενομένου βουλευσώμεθα τί ἐροῦμεν, ἔπειτα [δὲ] ἀκούσαντας ἢ συγχωρεῖν αὐτοῖς ἐάν τι δοκῶσι προσᾴδειν, ἐὰν δὲ μή, οὕτως ἤδη ὑπερδικεῖν τοῦ λόγου. ἀλλ᾽ ἄγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ Κέβης, λέγε, τί ἦν τὸ σὲ αὖ θρᾶττον [ἀπιστίαν παρέχει].

λέγω δή, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Κέβης. ἐμοὶ γὰρ φαίνεται ἔτι ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ὁ λόγος εἶναι, καί, ὅπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν, [87a] ταὐτὸν ἔγκλημα ἔχειν. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ ἦν ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ πρὶν εἰς τόδε τὸ εἶδος ἐλθεῖν, οὐκ ἀνατίθεμαι μὴ οὐχὶ πάνυ χαριέντως καί, εἰ μὴ ἐπαχθές ἐστιν εἰπεῖν, πάνυ ἱκανῶς ἀποδεδεῖχθαι· ὡς δὲ καὶ ἀποθανόντων ἡμῶν ἔτι που ἔστιν, οὔ μοι δοκεῖ τῇδε. ὡς μὲν οὐκ ἰσχυρότερον καὶ πολυχρονιώτερον ψυχὴ σώματος, οὐ συγχωρῶ τῇ Σιμμίου ἀντιλήψει· δοκεῖ γάρ μοι πᾶσι τούτοις πάνυ πολὺ διαφέρειν. τί οὖν, ἂν φαίη ὁ λόγος, ἔτι ἀπιστεῖς, ἐπειδὴ ὁρᾷς ἀποθανόντος τοῦ ἀνθρώπου τό γε ἀσθενέστερον ἔτι ὄν; τὸ δὲ πολυχρονιώτερον [87b] οὐ δοκεῖ σοι ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι ἔτι σῴζεσθαι ἐν τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ; πρὸς δὴ τοῦτο τόδε ἐπίσκεψαι, εἴ τι λέγω· εἰκόνος γάρ τινος, ὡς ἔοικεν, κἀγὼ ὥσπερ Σιμμίας δέομαι. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δοκεῖ ὁμοίως λέγεσθαι ταῦτα ὥσπερ ἄν τις περὶ ἀνθρώπου ὑφάντου πρεσβύτου ἀποθανόντος λέγοι τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, ὅτι οὐκ ἀπόλωλεν ὁ ἄνθρωπος ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι που σῶς, τεκμήριον δὲ παρέχοιτο θοἰμάτιον ὃ ἠμπείχετο αὐτὸς ὑφηνάμενος ὅτι ἐστὶ σῶν καὶ οὐκ ἀπόλωλεν, καὶ εἴ τις [87c] ἀπιστοίη αὐτῷ, ἀνερωτῴη πότερον πολυχρονιώτερόν ἐστι τὸ γένος ἀνθρώπου ἢ ἱματίου ἐν χρείᾳ τε ὄντος καὶ φορουμένου, ἀποκριναμένου δή [τινος] ὅτι πολὺ τὸ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, οἴοιτο ἀποδεδεῖχθαι ὅτι παντὸς ἄρα μᾶλλον ὅ γε ἄνθρωπος σῶς ἐστιν, ἐπειδὴ τό γε ὀλιγοχρονιώτερον οὐκ ἀπόλωλεν. τὸ δ᾽ οἶμαι, ὦ Σιμμία, οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει· σκόπει γὰρ καὶ σὺ ἃ λέγω. πᾶς [γὰρ] ἂν ὑπολάβοι ὅτι εὔηθες λέγει ὁ τοῦτο λέγων· ὁ γὰρ ὑφάντης οὗτος πολλὰ κατατρίψας τοιαῦτα ἱμάτια καὶ ὑφηνάμενος ἐκείνων μὲν ὕστερος ἀπόλωλεν πολλῶν [87d] ὄντων, τοῦ δὲ τελευταίου οἶμαι πρότερος, καὶ οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον τούτου ἕνεκα ἄνθρωπός ἐστιν ἱματίου φαυλότερον οὐδ᾽ ἀσθενέστερον. τὴν αὐτὴν δὲ ταύτην οἶμαι εἰκόνα δέξαιτ᾽ ἂν ψυχὴ πρὸς σῶμα, καί τις λέγων αὐτὰ ταῦτα περὶ αὐτῶν μέτρι᾽ ἄν μοι φαίνοιτο λέγειν, ὡς ἡ μὲν ψυχὴ πολυχρόνιόν ἐστι, τὸ δὲ σῶμα ἀσθενέστερον καὶ ὀλιγοχρονιώτερον· ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἂν φαίη ἑκάστην τῶν ψυχῶν πολλὰ σώματα κατατρίβειν, ἄλλως τε κἂν πολλὰ ἔτη βιῷ — εἰ γὰρ ῥέοι τὸ σῶμα καὶ ἀπολλύοιτο ἔτι ζῶντος τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, [87e] ἀλλ᾽ ἡ ψυχὴ ἀεὶ τὸ κατατριβόμενον ἀνυφαίνοι — ἀναγκαῖον μεντἂν εἴη, ὁπότε ἀπολλύοιτο ἡ ψυχή, τὸ τελευταῖον ὕφασμα τυχεῖν αὐτὴν ἔχουσαν καὶ τούτου μόνου προτέραν ἀπόλλυσθαι, ἀπολομένης δὲ τῆς ψυχῆς τότ᾽ ἤδη τὴν φύσιν τῆς ἀσθενείας ἐπιδεικνύοι τὸ σῶμα καὶ ταχὺ σαπὲν διοίχοιτο. ὥστε τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ οὔπω ἄξιον πιστεύσαντα θαῤῥεῖν ὡς [88a] ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνωμεν ἔτι που ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ ἔστιν. εἰ γάρ τις καὶ πλέον ἔτι τῷ λέγοντι ἢ ἃ σὺ λέγεις συγχωρήσειεν, δοὺς αὐτῷ μὴ μόνον ἐν τῷ πρὶν καὶ γενέσθαι ἡμᾶς χρόνῳ εἶναι ἡμῶν τὰς ψυχάς, ἀλλὰ μηδὲν κωλύειν καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνωμεν ἐνίων ἔτι εἶναι καὶ ἔσεσθαι καὶ πολλάκις γενήσεσθαι καὶ ἀποθανεῖσθαι αὖθις — οὕτω γὰρ αὐτὸ φύσει ἰσχυρὸν εἶναι, ὥστε πολλάκις γιγνομένην ψυχὴν ἀντέχειν — δοὺς δὲ ταῦτα ἐκεῖνο μηκέτι συγχωροῖ, μὴ οὐ πονεῖν αὐτὴν ἐν ταῖς πολλαῖς γενέσεσιν καὶ τελευτῶσάν γε ἔν τινι τῶν θανάτων παντάπασιν ἀπόλλυσθαι, τοῦτον δὲ τὸν [88b] θάνατον καὶ ταύτην τὴν διάλυσιν τοῦ σώματος ἣ τῇ ψυχῇ φέρει ὄλεθρον μηδένα φαίη εἰδέναι — ἀδύνατον γὰρ εἶναι ὁτῳοῦν αἰσθέσθαι ἡμῶν — εἰ δὲ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, οὐδενὶ προσήκει θάνατον θαῤῥοῦντι μὴ οὐκ ἀνοήτως θαῤῥεῖν, ὃς ἂν μὴ ἔχῃ ἀποδεῖξαι ὅτι ἔστι ψυχὴ παντάπασιν ἀθάνατόν τε καὶ ἀνώλεθρον· εἰ δὲ μή, ἀνάγκην εἶναι ἀεὶ τὸν μέλλοντα ἀποθανεῖσθαι δεδιέναι ὑπὲρ τῆς αὑτοῦ ψυχῆς μὴ ἐν τῇ νῦν τοῦ σώματος διαζεύξει παντάπασιν ἀπόληται.

[88c] πάντες οὖν ἀκούσαντες εἰπόντων αὐτῶν ἀηδῶς διετέθημεν, ὡς ὕστερον ἐλέγομεν πρὸς ἀλλήλους, ὅτι ὑπὸ τοῦ ἔμπροσθεν λόγου σφόδρα πεπεισμένους ἡμᾶς πάλιν ἐδόκουν ἀναταράξαι καὶ εἰς ἀπιστίαν καταβαλεῖν οὐ μόνον τοῖς προειρημένοις λόγοις, ἀλλὰ καὶ εἰς τὰ ὕστερον μέλλοντα ῥηθήσεσθαι, μὴ οὐδενὸς ἄξιοι εἶμεν κριταὶ ἢ καὶ τὰ πράγματα αὐτὰ ἄπιστα ᾖ.

Ἐχεκράτης νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ὦ Φαίδων, συγγνώμην γε ἔχω ὑμῖν. καὶ γὰρ αὐτόν με νῦν ἀκούσαντά σου τοιοῦτόν τι λέγειν [88d] πρὸς ἐμαυτὸν ἐπέρχεται· “τίνι οὖν ἔτι πιστεύσομεν λόγῳ; ὡς γὰρ σφόδρα πιθανὸς ὤν, ὃν ὁ Σωκράτης ἔλεγε λόγον, νῦν εἰς ἀπιστίαν καταπέπτωκεν”. θαυμαστῶς γάρ μου ὁ λόγος οὗτος ἀντιλαμβάνεται καὶ νῦν καὶ ἀεί, τὸ ἁρμονίαν τινὰ ἡμῶν εἶναι τὴν ψυχήν, καὶ ὥσπερ ὑπέμνησέν με ῥηθεὶς ὅτι καὶ αὐτῷ μοι ταῦτα προυδέδοκτο. καὶ πάνυ δέομαι πάλιν ὥσπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἄλλου τινὸς λόγου ὅς με πείσει ὡς τοῦ ἀποθανόντος οὐ συναποθνῄσκει ἡ ψυχή. λέγε οὖν πρὸς Διὸς πῇ ὁ Σωκράτης μετῆλθε τὸν λόγον; καὶ πότερον [88e] κἀκεῖνος, ὥσπερ ὑμᾶς φῄς, ἔνδηλός τι ἐγένετο ἀχθόμενος ἢ οὔ, ἀλλὰ πρᾴως ἐβοήθει τῷ λόγῳ; [ἢ] καὶ ἱκανῶς ἐβοήθησεν ἢ ἐνδεῶς; πάντα ἡμῖν δίελθε ὡς δύνασαι ἀκριβέστατα.

Φαίδων καὶ μήν, ὦ Ἐχέκρατες, πολλάκις θαυμάσας Σωκράτη οὐ πώποτε μᾶλλον ἠγάσθην ἢ τότε παραγενόμενος. [89a] τὸ μὲν οὖν ἔχειν ὅτι λέγοι ἐκεῖνος ἴσως οὐδὲν ἄτοπον· ἀλλὰ ἔγωγε μάλιστα ἐθαύμασα αὐτοῦ πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτο, ὡς ἡδέως καὶ εὐμενῶς καὶ ἀγαμένως τῶν νεανίσκων τὸν λόγον ἀπεδέξατο, ἔπειτα ἡμῶν ὡς ὀξέως ᾔσθετο ὃ ᾽πεπόνθεμεν ὑπὸ τῶν λόγων, ἔπειτα ὡς εὖ ἡμᾶς ἰάσατο καὶ ὥσπερ πεφευγότας καὶ ἡττημένους ἀνεκαλέσατο καὶ προύτρεψεν πρὸς τὸ παρέπεσθαί τε καὶ συσκοπεῖν τὸν λόγον.

Ἐχεκράτης πῶς δή;

Φαίδων ἐγὼ ἐρῶ. ἔτυχον γὰρ ἐν δεξιᾷ αὐτοῦ καθήμενος [89b] παρὰ τὴν κλίνην ἐπὶ χαμαιζήλου τινός, ὁ δὲ ἐπὶ πολὺ ὑψηλοτέρου ἢ ἐγώ. καταψήσας οὖν μου τὴν κεφαλὴν καὶ συμπιέσας τὰς ἐπὶ τῷ αὐχένι τρίχας — εἰώθει γάρ, ὁπότε τύχοι, παίζειν μου εἰς τὰς τρίχας — Αὔριον δή, ἔφη, ἴσως, ὦ Φαίδων, τὰς καλὰς ταύτας κόμας ἀποκερῇ.

ἔοικεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὔκ, ἄν γε ἐμοὶ πείθῃ.

ἀλλὰ τί; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

τήμερον, ἔφη, κἀγὼ τὰς ἐμὰς καὶ σὺ ταύτας, ἐάνπερ γε ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος τελευτήσῃ καὶ μὴ δυνώμεθα αὐτὸν ἀναβιώσασθαι. [89c] καὶ ἔγωγ᾽ ἄν, εἰ σὺ εἴην καί με διαφεύγοι ὁ λόγος, ἔνορκον ἂν ποιησαίμην ὥσπερ Ἀργεῖοι, μὴ πρότερον κομήσειν, πρὶν ἂν νικήσω ἀναμαχόμενος τὸν Σιμμίου τε καὶ κέβητος λόγον.

ἀλλ᾽, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς δύο λέγεται οὐδ᾽ ὁ Ἡρακλῆς οἷός τε εἶναι.

ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐμέ, ἔφη, τὸν Ἰόλεων παρακάλει, ἕως ἔτι φῶς ἐστιν.

παρακαλῶ τοίνυν, ἔφην, οὐχ ὡς Ἡρακλῆς, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς Ἰόλεως τὸν Ἡρακλῆ.

οὐδὲν διοίσει, ἔφη. ἀλλὰ πρῶτον εὐλαβηθῶμέν τι πάθος μὴ πάθωμεν.

τὸ ποῖον; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

[89d] μὴ γενώμεθα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, μισόλογοι, ὥσπερ οἱ μισάνθρωποι γιγνόμενοι· ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν, ἔφη, ὅτι ἄν τις μεῖζον τούτου κακὸν πάθοι ἢ λόγους μισήσας. γίγνεται δὲ ἐκ τοῦ αὐτοῦ τρόπου μισολογία τε καὶ μισανθρωπία. ἥ τε γὰρ μισανθρωπία ἐνδύεται ἐκ τοῦ σφόδρα τινὶ πιστεῦσαι ἄνευ τέχνης, καὶ ἡγήσασθαι παντάπασί γε ἀληθῆ εἶναι καὶ ὑγιῆ καὶ πιστὸν τὸν ἄνθρωπον, ἔπειτα ὀλίγον ὕστερον εὑρεῖν τοῦτον πονηρόν τε καὶ ἄπιστον, καὶ αὖθις ἕτερον· καὶ ὅταν τοῦτο πολλάκις πάθῃ τις καὶ ὑπὸ τούτων μάλιστα οὓς ἂν ἡγήσαιτο [89e] οἰκειοτάτους τε καὶ ἑταιροτάτους, τελευτῶν δὴ θαμὰ προσκρούων μισεῖ τε πάντας καὶ ἡγεῖται οὐδενὸς οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς εἶναι τὸ παράπαν. ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι σύ πω τοῦτο γιγνόμενον;

πάνυ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, αἰσχρόν, καὶ δῆλον ὅτι ἄνευ τέχνης τῆς περὶ τἀνθρώπεια ὁ τοιοῦτος χρῆσθαι ἐπεχείρει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις; εἰ γάρ που μετὰ τέχνης ἐχρῆτο, ὥσπερ ἔχει οὕτως [90a] ἂν ἡγήσατο, τοὺς μὲν χρηστοὺς καὶ πονηροὺς σφόδρα ὀλίγους εἶναι ἑκατέρους, τοὺς δὲ μεταξὺ πλείστους.

πῶς λέγεις; ἔφην ἐγώ.

ὥσπερ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, περὶ τῶν σφόδρα σμικρῶν καὶ μεγάλων· οἴει τι σπανιώτερον εἶναι ἢ σφόδρα μέγαν ἢ σφόδρα σμικρὸν ἐξευρεῖν ἄνθρωπον ἢ κύνα ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν; ἢ αὖ ταχὺν ἢ βραδὺν ἢ αἰσχρὸν ἢ καλὸν ἢ λευκὸν ἢ μέλανα; ἢ οὐχὶ ᾔσθησαι ὅτι πάντων τῶν τοιούτων τὰ μὲν ἄκρα τῶν ἐσχάτων σπάνια καὶ ὀλίγα, τὰ δὲ μεταξὺ ἄφθονα καὶ πολλά;

πάνυ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

[90b] οὐκοῦν οἴει, ἔφη, εἰ πονηρίας ἀγὼν προτεθείη, πάνυ ἂν ὀλίγους καὶ ἐνταῦθα τοὺς πρώτους φανῆναι;

εἰκός γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

εἰκὸς γάρ, ἔφη. ἀλλὰ ταύτῃ μὲν οὐχ ὅμοιοι οἱ λόγοι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἀλλὰ σοῦ νυνδὴ προάγοντος ἐγὼ ἐφεσπόμην, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνῃ, ᾗ, ἐπειδάν τις πιστεύσῃ λόγῳ τινὶ ἀληθεῖ εἶναι ἄνευ τῆς περὶ τοὺς λόγους τέχνης, κἄπειτα ὀλίγον ὕστερον αὐτῷ δόξῃ ψευδὴς εἶναι, ἐνίοτε μὲν ὤν, ἐνίοτε δ᾽ οὐκ ὤν, καὶ αὖθις ἕτερος καὶ ἕτερος· — καὶ μάλιστα δὴ οἱ [90c] περὶ τοὺς ἀντιλογικοὺς λόγους διατρίψαντες οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τελευτῶντες οἴονται σοφώτατοι γεγονέναι καὶ κατανενοηκέναι μόνοι ὅτι οὔτε τῶν πραγμάτων οὐδενὸς οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς οὐδὲ βέβαιον οὔτε τῶν λόγων, ἀλλὰ πάντα τὰ ὄντα ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ ἐν Εὐρίπῳ ἄνω κάτω στρέφεται καὶ χρόνον οὐδένα ἐν οὐδενὶ μένει.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν, ὦ Φαίδων, ἔφη, οἰκτρὸν ἂν εἴη τὸ πάθος, εἰ ὄντος δή τινος ἀληθοῦς καὶ βεβαίου λόγου καὶ δυνατοῦ [90d] κατανοῆσαι, ἔπειτα διὰ τὸ παραγίγνεσθαι τοιούτοις τισὶ λόγοις, τοῖς αὐτοῖς τοτὲ μὲν δοκοῦσιν ἀληθέσιν εἶναι, τοτὲ δὲ μή, μὴ ἑαυτόν τις αἰτιῷτο μηδὲ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ ἀτεχνίαν, ἀλλὰ τελευτῶν διὰ τὸ ἀλγεῖν ἅσμενος ἐπὶ τοὺς λόγους ἀφ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ τὴν αἰτίαν ἀπώσαιτο καὶ ἤδη τὸν λοιπὸν βίον μισῶν τε καὶ λοιδορῶν τοὺς λόγους διατελοῖ, τῶν δὲ ὄντων τῆς ἀληθείας τε καὶ ἐπιστήμης στερηθείη.

νὴ τὸν Δία, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οἰκτρὸν δῆτα.

πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν, ἔφη, τοῦτο εὐλαβηθῶμεν, καὶ μὴ [90e] παρίωμεν εἰς τὴν ψυχὴν ὡς τῶν λόγων κινδυνεύει οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς εἶναι, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον ὅτι ἡμεῖς οὔπω ὑγιῶς ἔχομεν, ἀλλὰ ἀνδριστέον καὶ προθυμητέον ὑγιῶς ἔχειν, σοὶ μὲν οὖν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις καὶ τοῦ ἔπειτα βίου παντὸς ἕνεκα, ἐμοὶ δὲ [91a] αὐτοῦ ἕνεκα τοῦ θανάτου, ὡς κινδυνεύω ἔγωγε ἐν τῷ παρόντι περὶ αὐτοῦ τούτου οὐ φιλοσόφως ἔχειν ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ οἱ πάνυ ἀπαίδευτοι φιλονίκως. καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖνοι ὅταν περί του ἀμφισβητῶσιν, ὅπῃ μὲν ἔχει περὶ ὧν ἂν ὁ λόγος ᾖ οὐ φροντίζουσιν, ὅπως δὲ ἃ αὐτοὶ ἔθεντο ταῦτα δόξει τοῖς παροῦσιν, τοῦτο προθυμοῦνται. καὶ ἐγώ μοι δοκῶ ἐν τῷ παρόντι τοσοῦτον μόνον ἐκείνων διοίσειν· οὐ γὰρ ὅπως τοῖς παροῦσιν ἃ ἐγὼ λέγω δόξει ἀληθῆ εἶναι προθυμήσομαι, εἰ μὴ εἴη πάρεργον, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως αὐτῷ ἐμοὶ ὅτι μάλιστα δόξει οὕτως [91b] ἔχειν. λογίζομαι γάρ, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε — θέασαι ὡς πλεονεκτικῶς — εἰ μὲν τυγχάνει ἀληθῆ ὄντα ἃ λέγω, καλῶς δὴ ἔχει τὸ πεισθῆναι· εἰ δὲ μηδέν ἐστι τελευτήσαντι, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν τοῦτόν γε τὸν χρόνον αὐτὸν τὸν πρὸ τοῦ θανάτου ἧττον τοῖς παροῦσιν ἀηδὴς ἔσομαι ὀδυρόμενος, ἡ δὲ ἄνοιά μοι αὕτη οὐ συνδιατελεῖ — κακὸν γὰρ ἂν ἦν — ἀλλ᾽ ὀλίγον ὕστερον ἀπολεῖται. παρεσκευασμένος δή, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, οὑτωσὶ ἔρχομαι ἐπὶ τὸν λόγον· ὑμεῖς μέντοι, ἂν ἐμοὶ πείθησθε, [91c] σμικρὸν φροντίσαντες Σωκράτους, τῆς δὲ ἀληθείας πολὺ μᾶλλον, ἐὰν μέν τι ὑμῖν δοκῶ ἀληθὲς λέγειν, συνομολογήσατε, εἰ δὲ μή, παντὶ λόγῳ ἀντιτείνετε, εὐλαβούμενοι ὅπως μὴ ἐγὼ ὑπὸ προθυμίας ἅμα ἐμαυτόν τε καὶ ὑμᾶς ἐξαπατήσας, ὥσπερ μέλιττα τὸ κέντρον ἐγκαταλιπὼν οἰχήσομαι.

ἀλλ᾽ ἰτέον, ἔφη. πρῶτόν με ὑπομνήσατε ἃ ἐλέγετε, ἐὰν μὴ φαίνωμαι μεμνημένος. Σιμμίας μὲν γάρ, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἀπιστεῖ τε καὶ φοβεῖται μὴ ἡ ψυχὴ ὅμως καὶ θειότερον καὶ [91d] κάλλιον ὂν τοῦ σώματος προαπολλύηται ἐν ἁρμονίας εἴδει οὖσα· Κέβης δέ μοι ἔδοξε τοῦτο μὲν ἐμοὶ συγχωρεῖν, πολυχρονιώτερόν γε εἶναι ψυχὴν σώματος, ἀλλὰ τόδε ἄδηλον παντί, μὴ πολλὰ δὴ σώματα καὶ πολλάκις κατατρίψασα ἡ ψυχὴ τὸ τελευταῖον σῶμα καταλιποῦσα νῦν αὐτὴ ἀπολλύηται, καὶ ᾖ αὐτὸ τοῦτο θάνατος, ψυχῆς ὄλεθρος, ἐπεὶ σῶμά γε ἀεὶ ἀπολλύμενον οὐδὲν παύεται. ἆρα ἄλλ᾽ ἢ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστίν, ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης, ἃ δεῖ ἡμᾶς ἐπισκοπεῖσθαι;

[91e] συνωμολογείτην δὴ ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι ἄμφω.

πότερον οὖν, ἔφη, πάντας τοὺς ἔμπροσθε λόγους οὐκ ἀποδέχεσθε, ἢ τοὺς μέν, τοὺς δ᾽ οὔ;

τοὺς μέν, ἐφάτην, τοὺς δ᾽ οὔ.

τί οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, περὶ ἐκείνου τοῦ λόγου λέγετε ἐν ᾧ ἔφαμεν τὴν μάθησιν ἀνάμνησιν εἶναι, καὶ τούτου οὕτως ἔχοντος ἀναγκαίως ἔχειν ἄλλοθι πρότερον ἡμῶν εἶναι τὴν [92a] ψυχήν, πρὶν ἐν τῷ σώματι ἐνδεθῆναι;

ἐγὼ μέν, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, καὶ τότε θαυμαστῶς ὡς ἐπείσθην ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ νῦν ἐμμένω ὡς οὐδενὶ λόγῳ.

καὶ μήν, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, καὶ αὐτὸς οὕτως ἔχω, καὶ πάνυ ἂν θαυμάζοιμι εἴ μοι περί γε τούτου ἄλλο ποτέ τι δόξειεν.

καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης, ἀλλὰ ἀνάγκη σοι, ἔφη, ὦ ξένε Θηβαῖε, ἄλλα δόξαι, ἐάνπερ μείνῃ ἥδε ἡ οἴησις, τὸ ἁρμονίαν μὲν εἶναι σύνθετον πρᾶγμα, ψυχὴν δὲ ἁρμονίαν τινὰ ἐκ τῶν κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ἐντεταμένων συγκεῖσθαι· οὐ γάρ που ἀποδέξῃ γε [92b] σαυτοῦ λέγοντος ὡς πρότερον ἦν ἁρμονία συγκειμένη, πρὶν ἐκεῖνα εἶναι ἐξ ὧν ἔδει αὐτὴν συντεθῆναι. ἢ ἀποδέξῃ;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

αἰσθάνῃ οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὅτι ταῦτά σοι συμβαίνει λέγειν, ὅταν φῇς μὲν εἶναι τὴν ψυχὴν πρὶν καὶ εἰς ἀνθρώπου εἶδός τε καὶ σῶμα ἀφικέσθαι, εἶναι δὲ αὐτὴν συγκειμένην ἐκ τῶν οὐδέπω ὄντων; οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἁρμονία γέ σοι τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν ᾧ ἀπεικάζεις, ἀλλὰ πρότερον καὶ ἡ λύρα καὶ αἱ χορδαὶ καὶ [92c] οἱ φθόγγοι ἔτι ἀνάρμοστοι ὄντες γίγνονται, τελευταῖον δὲ πάντων συνίσταται ἡ ἁρμονία καὶ πρῶτον ἀπόλλυται. οὗτος οὖν σοι ὁ λόγος ἐκείνῳ πῶς συνᾴσεται;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας.

καὶ μήν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, πρέπει γε εἴπερ τῳ ἄλλῳ λόγῳ συνῳδῷ εἶναι καὶ τῷ περὶ ἁρμονίας.

πρέπει γάρ, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας.

οὗτος τοίνυν, ἔφη, σοὶ οὐ συνῳδός· ἀλλ᾽ ὅρα πότερον αἱρῇ τῶν λόγων, τὴν μάθησιν ἀνάμνησιν εἶναι ἢ ψυχὴν ἁρμονίαν;

πολὺ μᾶλλον, ἔφη, ἐκεῖνον, ὦ Σώκρατες. ὅδε μὲν γάρ [92d] μοι γέγονεν ἄνευ ἀποδείξεως μετὰ εἰκότος τινὸς καὶ εὐπρεπείας, ὅθεν καὶ τοῖς πολλοῖς δοκεῖ ἀνθρώποις· ἐγὼ δὲ τοῖς διὰ τῶν εἰκότων τὰς ἀποδείξεις ποιουμένοις λόγοις σύνοιδα οὖσιν ἀλαζόσιν, καὶ ἄν τις αὐτοὺς μὴ φυλάττηται, εὖ μάλα ἐξαπατῶσι, καὶ ἐν γεωμετρίᾳ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἅπασιν. ὁ δὲ περὶ τῆς ἀναμνήσεως καὶ μαθήσεως λόγος δι᾽ ὑποθέσεως ἀξίας ἀποδέξασθαι εἴρηται. ἐῤῥήθη γάρ που οὕτως ἡμῶν εἶναι ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ πρὶν εἰς σῶμα ἀφικέσθαι, ὥσπερ αὐτῆς ἐστιν ἡ οὐσία ἔχουσα τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν τὴν τοῦ “ὃ ἔστιν” [92e] ἐγὼ δὲ ταύτην, ὡς ἐμαυτὸν πείθω, ἱκανῶς τε καὶ ὀρθῶς ἀποδέδεγμαι. ἀνάγκη οὖν μοι, ὡς ἔοικε, διὰ ταῦτα μήτε ἐμαυτοῦ μήτε ἄλλου ἀποδέχεσθαι λέγοντος ὡς ψυχή ἐστιν ἁρμονία.

τί δέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ Σιμμία, τῇδε; δοκεῖ σοι ἁρμονίᾳ ἢ ἄλλῃ [93a] τινὶ συνθέσει προσήκειν ἄλλως πως ἔχειν ἢ ὡς ἂν ἐκεῖνα ἔχῃ ἐξ ὧν ἂν συγκέηται;

οὐδαμῶς.

οὐδὲ μὴν ποιεῖν τι, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, οὐδέ τι πάσχειν ἄλλο παρ᾽ ἃ ἂν ἐκεῖνα ἢ ποιῇ ἢ πάσχῃ; συνέφη.

οὐκ ἄρα ἡγεῖσθαί γε προσήκει ἁρμονίαν τούτων ἐξ ὧν ἂν συντεθῇ, ἀλλ᾽ ἕπεσθαι. συνεδόκει.

πολλοῦ ἄρα δεῖ ἐναντία γε ἁρμονία κινηθῆναι ἂν ἢ φθέγξασθαι ἤ τι ἄλλο ἐναντιωθῆναι τοῖς αὑτῆς μέρεσιν.

πολλοῦ μέντοι, ἔφη.

τί δέ; οὐχ οὕτως ἁρμονία πέφυκεν εἶναι ἑκάστη ἁρμονία ὡς ἂν ἁρμοσθῇ;

οὐ μανθάνω, ἔφη.

ἢ οὐχί, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἂν μὲν μᾶλλον ἁρμοσθῇ καὶ ἐπὶ πλέον, [93b] εἴπερ ἐνδέχεται τοῦτο γίγνεσθαι, μᾶλλόν τε ἂν ἁρμονία εἴη καὶ πλείων, εἰ δ᾽ ἧττόν τε καὶ ἐπ᾽ ἔλαττον, ἥττων τε καὶ ἐλάττων;

πάνυ γε.

ἦ οὖν ἔστι τοῦτο περὶ ψυχήν, ὥστε καὶ κατὰ τὸ σμικρότατον μᾶλλον ἑτέραν ἑτέρας ψυχῆς ἐπὶ πλέον καὶ μᾶλλον ἢ ἐπ᾽ ἔλαττον καὶ ἧττον αὐτὸ τοῦτο εἶναι, ψυχήν;

οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν, ἔφη.

φέρε δή, ἔφη, πρὸς Διός· λέγεται ψυχὴ ἡ μὲν νοῦν τε ἔχειν καὶ ἀρετὴν καὶ εἶναι ἀγαθή, ἡ δὲ ἄνοιάν τε καὶ μοχθηρίαν [93c] καὶ εἶναι κακή; καὶ ταῦτα ἀληθῶς λέγεται;

ἀληθῶς μέντοι.

τῶν οὖν θεμένων ψυχὴν ἁρμονίαν εἶναι τί τις φήσει ταῦτα ὄντα εἶναι ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς, τήν τε ἀρετὴν καὶ τὴν κακίαν; πότερον ἁρμονίαν αὖ τινα ἄλλην καὶ ἀναρμοστίαν; καὶ τὴν μὲν ἡρμόσθαι, τὴν ἀγαθήν, καὶ ἔχειν ἐν αὑτῇ ἁρμονίᾳ οὔσῃ ἄλλην ἁρμονίαν, τὴν δὲ ἀνάρμοστον αὐτήν τε εἶναι καὶ οὐκ ἔχειν ἐν αὑτῇ ἄλλην;

οὐκ ἔχω ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, εἰπεῖν· δῆλον δ᾽ ὅτι τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττ᾽ ἂν λέγοι ὁ ἐκεῖνο ὑποθέμενος.

[93d] ἀλλὰ προωμολόγηται, ἔφη, μηδὲν μᾶλλον μηδ᾽ ἧττον ἑτέραν ἑτέρας ψυχὴν ψυχῆς εἶναι· τοῦτο δ᾽ ἔστι τὸ ὁμολόγημα, μηδὲν μᾶλλον μηδ᾽ ἐπὶ πλέον μηδ᾽ ἧττον μηδ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἔλαττον ἑτέραν ἑτέρας ἁρμονίαν ἁρμονίας εἶναι. ἦ γάρ;

πάνυ γε.

τὴν δέ γε μηδὲν μᾶλλον μηδὲ ἧττον ἁρμονίαν οὖσαν μήτε μᾶλλον μήτε ἧττον ἡρμόσθαι· ἔστιν οὕτως;

ἔστιν.

ἡ δὲ μήτε μᾶλλον μήτε ἧττον ἡρμοσμένη ἔστιν ὅτι πλέον ἢ ἔλαττον ἁρμονίας μετέχει, ἢ τὸ ἴσον;

τὸ ἴσον.

οὐκοῦν ψυχὴ ἐπειδὴ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον οὐδ᾽ ἧττον ἄλλη [93e] ἄλλης αὐτὸ τοῦτο, ψυχή, ἐστίν, οὐδὲ δὴ μᾶλλον οὐδὲ ἧττον ἥρμοσται;

οὕτω.

τοῦτο δέ γε πεπονθυῖα οὐδὲν πλέον ἀναρμοστίας οὐδὲ ἁρμονίας μετέχοι ἄν;

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

τοῦτο δ᾽ αὖ πεπονθυῖα ἆρ᾽ ἄν τι πλέον κακίας ἢ ἀρετῆς μετέχοι ἑτέρα ἑτέρας, εἴπερ ἡ μὲν κακία ἀναρμοστία, ἡ δὲ ἀρετὴ ἁρμονία εἴη;

οὐδὲν πλέον.

[94a] μᾶλλον δέ γέ που, ὦ Σιμμία, κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον κακίας οὐδεμία ψυχὴ μεθέξει, εἴπερ ἁρμονία ἐστίν· ἁρμονία γὰρ δήπου παντελῶς αὐτὸ τοῦτο οὖσα, ἁρμονία, ἀναρμοστίας οὔποτ᾽ ἂν μετάσχοι.

οὐ μέντοι.

οὐδέ γε δήπου ψυχή, οὖσα παντελῶς ψυχή, κακίας.

πῶς γὰρ ἔκ γε τῶν προειρημένων;

ἐκ τούτου ἄρα τοῦ λόγου ἡμῖν πᾶσαι ψυχαὶ πάντων ζῴων ὁμοίως ἀγαθαὶ ἔσονται, εἴπερ ὁμοίως ψυχαὶ πεφύκασιν αὐτὸ τοῦτο, ψυχαί, εἶναι.

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

ἦ καὶ καλῶς δοκεῖ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὕτω λέγεσθαι, καὶ πάσχειν [94b] ἂν ταῦτα ὁ λόγος εἰ ὀρθὴ ἡ ὑπόθεσις ἦν, τὸ ψυχὴν ἁρμονίαν εἶναι;

οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν, ἔφη.

τί δέ; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς· τῶν ἐν ἀνθρώπῳ πάντων ἔσθ᾽ ὅτι ἄλλο λέγεις ἄρχειν ἢ ψυχὴν ἄλλως τε καὶ φρόνιμον;

οὐκ ἔγωγε.

πότερον συγχωροῦσαν τοῖς κατὰ τὸ σῶμα πάθεσιν ἢ καὶ ἐναντιουμένην; λέγω δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε, οἷον καύματος ἐνόντος καὶ δίψους ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον ἕλκειν, τὸ μὴ πίνειν, καὶ πείνης ἐνούσης ἐπὶ τὸ μὴ ἐσθίειν, καὶ ἄλλα μυρία που ὁρῶμεν [94c] ἐναντιουμένην τὴν ψυχὴν τοῖς κατὰ τὸ σῶμα· ἢ οὔ;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν αὖ ὡμολογήσαμεν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν μήποτ᾽ ἂν αὐτήν, ἁρμονίαν γε οὖσαν, ἐναντία ᾄδειν οἷς ἐπιτείνοιτο καὶ χαλῷτο καὶ ψάλλοιτο καὶ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν πάθος πάσχοι ἐκεῖνα ἐξ ὧν τυγχάνοι οὖσα, ἀλλ᾽ ἕπεσθαι ἐκείνοις καὶ οὔποτ᾽ ἂν ἡγεμονεύειν;

ὡμολογήσαμεν, ἔφη· πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τί οὖν; νῦν οὐ πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἡμῖν φαίνεται ἐργαζομένη, ἡγεμονεύουσά τε ἐκείνων πάντων ἐξ ὧν φησί τις αὐτὴν [94d] εἶναι, καὶ ἐναντιουμένη ὀλίγου πάντα διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου καὶ δεσπόζουσα πάντας τρόπους, τὰ μὲν χαλεπώτερον κολάζουσα καὶ μετ᾽ ἀλγηδόνων, τά τε κατὰ τὴν γυμναστικὴν καὶ τὴν ἰατρικήν, τὰ δὲ πρᾳότερον, καὶ τὰ μὲν ἀπειλοῦσα, τὰ δὲ νουθετοῦσα, ταῖς ἐπιθυμίαις καὶ ὀργαῖς καὶ φόβοις ὡς ἄλλη οὖσα ἄλλῳ πράγματι διαλεγομένη; οἷόν που καὶ Ὅμηρος ἐν Ὀδυσσείᾳ πεποίηκεν, οὗ λέγει τὸν Ὀδυσσέα· στῆθος δὲ πλήξας κραδίην ἠνίπαπε μύθῳ· [94e] τέτλαθι δή, κραδίη· καὶ κύντερον ἄλλο ποτ᾽ ἔτλης. [Ὁμ. Ὀδύσσεια υ 17]

ἆρ᾽ οἴει αὐτὸν ταῦτα ποιῆσαι διανοούμενον ὡς ἁρμονίας αὐτῆς οὔσης καὶ οἵας ἄγεσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν τοῦ σώματος παθημάτων, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οἵας ἄγειν τε ταῦτα καὶ δεσπόζειν, καὶ οὔσης αὐτῆς πολὺ θειοτέρου τινὸς πράγματος ἢ καθ᾽ ἁρμονίαν;

νὴ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

οὐκ ἄρα, ὦ ἄριστε, ἡμῖν οὐδαμῇ καλῶς ἔχει ψυχὴν [95a] ἁρμονίαν τινὰ φάναι εἶναι· οὔτε γὰρ ἄν, ὡς ἔοικεν, Ὁμήρῳ θείῳ ποιητῇ ὁμολογοῖμεν οὔτε αὐτοὶ ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς.

ἔχει οὕτως, ἔφη.

εἶεν δή, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Σωκράτης, τὰ μὲν Ἁρμονίας ἡμῖν τῆς Θηβαϊκῆς ἵλεά πως, ὡς ἔοικε, μετρίως γέγονεν· τί δὲ δὴ τὰ Κάδμου, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, πῶς ἱλασόμεθα καὶ τίνι λόγῳ;

σύ μοι δοκεῖς, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, ἐξευρήσειν· τουτονὶ γοῦν τὸν λόγον τὸν πρὸς τὴν ἁρμονίαν θαυμαστῶς μοι εἶπες ὡς παρὰ δόξαν. Σιμμίου γὰρ λέγοντος ὅτε ἠπόρει, πάνυ ἐθαύμαζον [95b] εἴ τι ἕξει τις χρήσασθαι τῷ λόγῳ αὐτοῦ· πάνυ οὖν μοι ἀτόπως ἔδοξεν εὐθὺς τὴν πρώτην ἔφοδον οὐ δέξασθαι τοῦ σοῦ λόγου. ταὐτὰ δὴ οὐκ ἂν θαυμάσαιμι καὶ τὸν τοῦ Κάδμου λόγον εἰ πάθοι.

ὠγαθέ, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, μὴ μέγα λέγε, μή τις ἡμῖν βασκανία περιτρέψῃ τὸν λόγον τὸν μέλλοντα ἔσεσθαι. ἀλλὰ δὴ ταῦτα μὲν τῷ θεῷ μελήσει, ἡμεῖς δὲ Ὁμηρικῶς ἐγγὺς ἰόντες πειρώμεθα εἰ ἄρα τι λέγεις. ἔστι δὲ δὴ τὸ κεφάλαιον ὧν ζητεῖς· ἀξιοῖς ἐπιδειχθῆναι ἡμῶν τὴν ψυχὴν [95c] ἀνώλεθρόν τε καὶ ἀθάνατον οὖσαν, εἰ φιλόσοφος ἀνὴρ μέλλων ἀποθανεῖσθαι, θαῤῥῶν τε καὶ ἡγούμενος ἀποθανὼν ἐκεῖ εὖ πράξειν διαφερόντως ἢ εἰ ἐν ἄλλῳ βίῳ βιοὺς ἐτελεύτα, μὴ ἀνόητόν τε καὶ ἠλίθιον θάῤῥος θαῤῥήσει. τὸ δὲ ἀποφαίνειν ὅτι ἰσχυρόν τί ἐστιν ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ θεοειδὲς καὶ ἦν ἔτι πρότερον, πρὶν ἡμᾶς ἀνθρώπους γενέσθαι, οὐδὲν κωλύειν φῂς πάντα ταῦτα μηνύειν ἀθανασίαν μὲν μή, ὅτι δὲ πολυχρόνιόν τέ ἐστιν ψυχὴ καὶ ἦν που πρότερον ἀμήχανον ὅσον χρόνον καὶ ᾔδει τε καὶ ἔπραττεν πολλὰ ἄττα· ἀλλὰ γὰρ [95d] οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ἦν ἀθάνατον, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ εἰς ἀνθρώπου σῶμα ἐλθεῖν ἀρχὴ ἦν αὐτῇ ὀλέθρου, ὥσπερ νόσος· καὶ ταλαιπωρουμένη τε δὴ τοῦτον τὸν βίον ζῴη καὶ τελευτῶσά γε ἐν τῷ καλουμένῳ θανάτῳ ἀπολλύοιτο. διαφέρειν δὲ δὴ φῂς οὐδὲν εἴτε ἅπαξ εἰς σῶμα ἔρχεται εἴτε πολλάκις, πρός γε τὸ ἕκαστον ἡμῶν φοβεῖσθαι· προσήκει γὰρ φοβεῖσθαι, εἰ μὴ ἀνόητος εἴη, τῷ μὴ εἰδότι μηδὲ ἔχοντι λόγον διδόναι [95e] ὡς ἀθάνατόν ἐστι. τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα ἐστίν, οἶμαι, ὦ Κέβης, ἃ λέγεις· καὶ ἐξεπίτηδες πολλάκις ἀναλαμβάνω, ἵνα μή τι διαφύγῃ ἡμᾶς, εἴ τέ τι βούλει, προσθῇς ἢ ἀφέλῃς.

καὶ ὁ Κέβης, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν ἔγωγε ἐν τῷ παρόντι, ἔφη, οὔτε ἀφελεῖν οὔτε προσθεῖναι δέομαι· ἔστι δὲ ταῦτα ἃ λέγω.

ὁ οὖν Σωκράτης συχνὸν χρόνον ἐπισχὼν καὶ πρὸς ἑαυτόν τι σκεψάμενος, οὐ φαῦλον πρᾶγμα, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, ζητεῖς· ὅλως γὰρ δεῖ περὶ γενέσεως καὶ φθορᾶς τὴν αἰτίαν διαπραγματεύσασθαι. [96a] ἐγὼ οὖν σοι δίειμι περὶ αὐτῶν, ἐὰν βούλῃ, τά γε ἐμὰ πάθη· ἔπειτα ἄν τί σοι χρήσιμον φαίνηται ὧν ἂν λέγω, πρὸς τὴν πειθὼ περὶ ὧν δὴ λέγεις χρήσῃ.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, βούλομαί γε.

ἄκουε τοίνυν ὡς ἐροῦντος. ἐγὼ γάρ, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, νέος ὢν θαυμαστῶς ὡς ἐπεθύμησα ταύτης τῆς σοφίας ἣν δὴ καλοῦσι περὶ φύσεως ἱστορίαν· ὑπερήφανος γάρ μοι ἐδόκει εἶναι, εἰδέναι τὰς αἰτίας ἑκάστου, διὰ τί γίγνεται ἕκαστον καὶ διὰ τί ἀπόλλυται καὶ διὰ τί ἔστι. καὶ πολλάκις [96b] ἐμαυτὸν ἄνω κάτω μετέβαλλον σκοπῶν πρῶτον τὰ τοιάδε· “ἆρ᾽ ἐπειδὰν τὸ θερμὸν καὶ τὸ ψυχρὸν σηπεδόνα τινὰ λάβῃ, ὥς τινες ἔλεγον, τότε δὴ τὰ ζῷα συντρέφεται; καὶ πότερον τὸ αἷμά ἐστιν ᾧ φρονοῦμεν, ἢ ὁ ἀὴρ ἢ τὸ πῦρ; ἢ τούτων μὲν οὐδέν, ὁ δ᾽ ἐγκέφαλός ἐστιν ὁ τὰς αἰσθήσεις παρέχων τοῦ ἀκούειν καὶ ὁρᾶν καὶ ὀσφραίνεσθαι, ἐκ τούτων δὲ γίγνοιτο μνήμη καὶ δόξα, ἐκ δὲ μνήμης καὶ δόξης λαβούσης τὸ ἠρεμεῖν, κατὰ ταῦτα γίγνεσθαι ἐπιστήμην; καὶ αὖ τούτων τὰς φθορὰς σκοπῶν, καὶ τὰ περὶ τὸν οὐρανόν [96c] τε καὶ τὴν γῆν πάθη, τελευτῶν οὕτως ἐμαυτῷ ἔδοξα πρὸς ταύτην τὴν σκέψιν ἀφυὴς εἶναι ὡς οὐδὲν χρῆμα. τεκμήριον δέ σοι ἐρῶ ἱκανόν· ἐγὼ γὰρ ἃ καὶ πρότερον σαφῶς ἠπιστάμην, ὥς γε ἐμαυτῷ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἐδόκουν, τότε ὑπὸ ταύτης τῆς σκέψεως οὕτω σφόδρα ἐτυφλώθην, ὥστε ἀπέμαθον καὶ ταῦτα ἃ πρὸ τοῦ ᾤμην εἰδέναι, περὶ ἄλλων τε πολλῶν καὶ διὰ τί ἄνθρωπος αὐξάνεται. τοῦτο γὰρ ᾤμην πρὸ τοῦ παντὶ δῆλον εἶναι, ὅτι διὰ τὸ ἐσθίειν καὶ πίνειν· [96d] ἐπειδὰν γὰρ ἐκ τῶν σιτίων ταῖς μὲν σαρξὶ σάρκες προσγένωνται, τοῖς δὲ ὀστοῖς ὀστᾶ, καὶ οὕτω κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τὰ αὐτῶν οἰκεῖα ἑκάστοις προσγένηται, τότε δὴ τὸν ὀλίγον ὄγκον ὄντα ὕστερον πολὺν γεγονέναι, καὶ οὕτω γίγνεσθαι τὸν σμικρὸν ἄνθρωπον μέγαν. οὕτως τότε ᾤμην· οὐ δοκῶ σοι μετρίως;

ἔμοιγε, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης.

σκέψαι δὴ καὶ τάδε ἔτι. ᾤμην γὰρ ἱκανῶς μοι δοκεῖν, ὁπότε τις φαίνοιτο ἄνθρωπος παραστὰς μέγας σμικρῷ μείζων [96e] εἶναι αὐτῇ τῇ κεφαλῇ, καὶ ἵππος ἵππου· καὶ ἔτι γε τούτων ἐναργέστερα, τὰ δέκα μοι ἐδόκει τῶν ὀκτὼ πλέονα εἶναι διὰ τὸ δύο αὐτοῖς προσεῖναι, καὶ τὸ δίπηχυ τοῦ πηχυαίου μεῖζον εἶναι διὰ τὸ ἡμίσει αὐτοῦ ὑπερέχειν.

νῦν δὲ δή, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, τί σοι δοκεῖ περὶ αὐτῶν;

πόῤῥω που, ἔφη, νὴ Δία ἐμὲ εἶναι τοῦ οἴεσθαι περὶ τούτων του τὴν αἰτίαν εἰδέναι, ὅς γε οὐκ ἀποδέχομαι ἐμαυτοῦ οὐδὲ ὡς ἐπειδὰν ἑνί τις προσθῇ ἕν, ἢ τὸ ἓν ᾧ προσετέθη δύο γέγονεν, <ἢ τὸ προστεθέν>, ἢ τὸ προστεθὲν καὶ ᾧ προσετέθη [97a] διὰ τὴν πρόσθεσιν τοῦ ἑτέρου τῷ ἑτέρῳ δύο ἐγένετο· θαυμάζω γὰρ εἰ ὅτε μὲν ἑκάτερον αὐτῶν χωρὶς ἀλλήλων ἦν, ἓν ἄρα ἑκάτερον ἦν καὶ οὐκ ἤστην τότε δύο, ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἐπλησίασαν ἀλλήλοις, αὕτη ἄρα αἰτία αὐτοῖς ἐγένετο τοῦ δύο γενέσθαι, ἡ σύνοδος τοῦ πλησίον ἀλλήλων τεθῆναι. οὐδέ γε ὡς ἐάν τις ἓν διασχίσῃ, δύναμαι ἔτι πείθεσθαι ὡς αὕτη αὖ αἰτία γέγονεν, ἡ σχίσις, τοῦ δύο γεγονέναι· ἐναντία γὰρ [97b] γίγνεται ἢ τότε αἰτία τοῦ δύο γίγνεσθαι. τότε μὲν γὰρ ὅτι συνήγετο πλησίον ἀλλήλων καὶ προσετίθετο ἕτερον ἑτέρῳ, νῦν δ᾽ ὅτι ἀπάγεται καὶ χωρίζεται ἕτερον ἀφ᾽ ἑτέρου. οὐδέ γε δι᾽ ὅτι ἓν γίγνεται ὡς ἐπίσταμαι, ἔτι πείθω ἐμαυτόν, οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο οὐδὲν ἑνὶ λόγῳ δι᾽ ὅτι γίγνεται ἢ ἀπόλλυται ἢ ἔστι, κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον τῆς μεθόδου, ἀλλά τιν᾽ ἄλλον τρόπον αὐτὸς εἰκῇ φύρω, τοῦτον δὲ οὐδαμῇ προσίεμαι.

ἀλλ᾽ ἀκούσας μέν ποτε ἐκ βιβλίου τινός, ὡς ἔφη, Ἀναξαγόρου [97c] ἀναγιγνώσκοντος, καὶ λέγοντος ὡς ἄρα νοῦς ἐστιν ὁ διακοσμῶν τε καὶ πάντων αἴτιος, ταύτῃ δὴ τῇ αἰτίᾳ ἥσθην τε καὶ ἔδοξέ μοι τρόπον τινὰ εὖ ἔχειν τὸ τὸν νοῦν εἶναι πάντων αἴτιον, καὶ ἡγησάμην, εἰ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει, τόν γε νοῦν κοσμοῦντα πάντα κοσμεῖν καὶ ἕκαστον τιθέναι ταύτῃ ὅπῃ ἂν βέλτιστα ἔχῃ· εἰ οὖν τις βούλοιτο τὴν αἰτίαν εὑρεῖν περὶ ἑκάστου ὅπῃ γίγνεται ἢ ἀπόλλυται ἢ ἔστι, τοῦτο δεῖν περὶ αὐτοῦ εὑρεῖν, ὅπῃ βέλτιστον αὐτῷ ἐστιν ἢ εἶναι ἢ [97d] ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν πάσχειν ἢ ποιεῖν· ἐκ δὲ δὴ τοῦ λόγου τούτου οὐδὲν ἄλλο σκοπεῖν προσήκειν ἀνθρώπῳ καὶ περὶ αὐτοῦ ἐκείνου καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τὸ ἄριστον καὶ τὸ βέλτιστον. ἀναγκαῖον δὲ εἶναι τὸν αὐτὸν τοῦτον καὶ τὸ χεῖρον εἰδέναι· τὴν αὐτὴν γὰρ εἶναι ἐπιστήμην περὶ αὐτῶν. ταῦτα δὴ λογιζόμενος ἅσμενος ηὑρηκέναι ᾤμην διδάσκαλον τῆς αἰτίας περὶ τῶν ὄντων κατὰ νοῦν ἐμαυτῷ, τὸν Ἀναξαγόραν, καί μοι φράσειν πρῶτον μὲν πότερον ἡ γῆ πλατεῖά ἐστιν ἢ [97e] στρογγύλη, ἐπειδὴ δὲ φράσειεν, ἐπεκδιηγήσεσθαι τὴν αἰτίαν καὶ τὴν ἀνάγκην, λέγοντα τὸ ἄμεινον καὶ ὅτι αὐτὴν ἄμεινον ἦν τοιαύτην εἶναι· καὶ εἰ ἐν μέσῳ φαίη εἶναι αὐτήν, ἐπεκδιηγήσεσθαι ὡς ἄμεινον ἦν αὐτὴν ἐν μέσῳ εἶναι· καὶ εἴ μοι [98a] ταῦτα ἀποφαίνοι, παρεσκευάσμην ὡς οὐκέτι ποθεσόμενος αἰτίας ἄλλο εἶδος. καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ ἡλίου οὕτω παρεσκευάσμην ὡσαύτως πευσόμενος, καὶ σελήνης καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἄστρων, τάχους τε πέρι πρὸς ἄλληλα καὶ τροπῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων παθημάτων, πῇ ποτε ταῦτ᾽ ἄμεινόν ἐστιν ἕκαστον καὶ ποιεῖν καὶ πάσχειν ἃ πάσχει. οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε αὐτὸν ᾤμην, φάσκοντά γε ὑπὸ νοῦ αὐτὰ κεκοσμῆσθαι, ἄλλην τινὰ αὐτοῖς αἰτίαν ἐπενεγκεῖν ἢ ὅτι βέλτιστον αὐτὰ οὕτως ἔχειν [98b] ἐστὶν ὥσπερ ἔχει· ἑκάστῳ οὖν αὐτῶν ἀποδιδόντα τὴν αἰτίαν καὶ κοινῇ πᾶσι τὸ ἑκάστῳ βέλτιστον ᾤμην καὶ τὸ κοινὸν πᾶσιν ἐπεκδιηγήσεσθαι ἀγαθόν· καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἀπεδόμην πολλοῦ τὰς ἐλπίδας, ἀλλὰ πάνυ σπουδῇ λαβὼν τὰς βίβλους ὡς τάχιστα οἷός τ᾽ ἦ ἀνεγίγνωσκον, ἵν᾽ ὡς τάχιστα εἰδείην τὸ βέλτιστον καὶ τὸ χεῖρον.

ἀπὸ δὴ θαυμαστῆς ἐλπίδος, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ᾠχόμην φερόμενος, ἐπειδὴ προϊὼν καὶ ἀναγιγνώσκων ὁρῶ ἄνδρα τῷ μὲν νῷ οὐδὲν χρώμενον οὐδέ τινας αἰτίας ἐπαιτιώμενον εἰς τὸ [98c] διακοσμεῖν τὰ πράγματα, ἀέρας δὲ καὶ αἰθέρας καὶ ὕδατα αἰτιώμενον καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ ἄτοπα. καί μοι ἔδοξεν ὁμοιότατον πεπονθέναι ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τις λέγων ὅτι Σωκράτης πάντα ὅσα πράττει νῷ πράττει, κἄπειτα ἐπιχειρήσας λέγειν τὰς αἰτίας ἑκάστων ὧν πράττω, λέγοι πρῶτον μὲν ὅτι διὰ ταῦτα νῦν ἐνθάδε κάθημαι, ὅτι σύγκειταί μου τὸ σῶμα ἐξ ὀστῶν καὶ νεύρων, καὶ τὰ μὲν ὀστᾶ ἐστιν στερεὰ καὶ διαφυὰς ἔχει χωρὶς ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων, τὰ δὲ νεῦρα οἷα ἐπιτείνεσθαι [98d] καὶ ἀνίεσθαι, περιαμπέχοντα τὰ ὀστᾶ μετὰ τῶν σαρκῶν καὶ δέρματος ὃ συνέχει αὐτά· αἰωρουμένων οὖν τῶν ὀστῶν ἐν ταῖς αὑτῶν συμβολαῖς χαλῶντα καὶ συντείνοντα τὰ νεῦρα κάμπτεσθαί που ποιεῖ οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι ἐμὲ νῦν τὰ μέλη, καὶ διὰ ταύτην τὴν αἰτίαν συγκαμφθεὶς ἐνθάδε κάθημαι· καὶ αὖ περὶ τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι ὑμῖν ἑτέρας τοιαύτας αἰτίας λέγοι, φωνάς τε καὶ ἀέρας καὶ ἀκοὰς καὶ ἄλλα μυρία [98e] τοιαῦτα αἰτιώμενος, ἀμελήσας τὰς ὡς ἀληθῶς αἰτίας λέγειν, ὅτι, ἐπειδὴ Ἀθηναίοις ἔδοξε βέλτιον εἶναι ἐμοῦ καταψηφίσασθαι, διὰ ταῦτα δὴ καὶ ἐμοὶ βέλτιον αὖ δέδοκται ἐνθάδε καθῆσθαι, καὶ δικαιότερον παραμένοντα ὑπέχειν τὴν δίκην ἣν ἂν κελεύσωσιν· ἐπεὶ νὴ τὸν κύνα, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, πάλαι ἂν [99a] ταῦτα τὰ νεῦρα καὶ τὰ ὀστᾶ ἢ περὶ Μέγαρα ἢ Βοιωτοὺς ἦν, ὑπὸ δόξης φερόμενα τοῦ βελτίστου, εἰ μὴ δικαιότερον ᾤμην καὶ κάλλιον εἶναι πρὸ τοῦ φεύγειν τε καὶ ἀποδιδράσκειν ὑπέχειν τῇ πόλει δίκην ἥντιν᾽ ἂν τάττῃ. ἀλλ᾽ αἴτια μὲν τὰ τοιαῦτα καλεῖν λίαν ἄτοπον· εἰ δέ τις λέγοι ὅτι ἄνευ τοῦ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἔχειν καὶ ὀστᾶ καὶ νεῦρα καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα ἔχω οὐκ ἂν οἷός τ᾽ ἦ ποιεῖν τὰ δόξαντά μοι, ἀληθῆ ἂν λέγοι· ὡς μέντοι διὰ ταῦτα ποιῶ ἃ ποιῶ, καὶ ταῦτα νῷ πράττων, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ [99b] τῇ τοῦ βελτίστου αἱρέσει, πολλὴ ἂν καὶ μακρὰ ῥᾳθυμία εἴη τοῦ λόγου. τὸ γὰρ μὴ διελέσθαι οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι ὅτι ἄλλο μέν τί ἐστι τὸ αἴτιον τῷ ὄντι, ἄλλο δὲ ἐκεῖνο ἄνευ οὗ τὸ αἴτιον οὐκ ἄν ποτ᾽ εἴη αἴτιον· ὃ δή μοι φαίνονται ψηλαφῶντες οἱ πολλοὶ ὥσπερ ἐν σκότει, ἀλλοτρίῳ ὀνόματι προσχρώμενοι, ὡς αἴτιον αὐτὸ προσαγορεύειν. διὸ δὴ καὶ ὁ μέν τις δίνην περιτιθεὶς τῇ γῇ ὑπὸ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ μένειν δὴ ποιεῖ τὴν γῆν, ὁ δὲ ὥσπερ καρδόπῳ πλατείᾳ βάθρον τὸν ἀέρα ὑπερείδει· [99c] τὴν δὲ τοῦ ὡς οἷόν τε βέλτιστα αὐτὰ τεθῆναι δύναμιν οὕτω νῦν κεῖσθαι, ταύτην οὔτε ζητοῦσιν οὔτε τινὰ οἴονται δαιμονίαν ἰσχὺν ἔχειν, ἀλλὰ ἡγοῦνται τούτου Ἄτλαντα ἄν ποτε ἰσχυρότερον καὶ ἀθανατώτερον καὶ μᾶλλον ἅπαντα συνέχοντα ἐξευρεῖν, καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ δέον συνδεῖν καὶ συνέχειν οὐδὲν οἴονται. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν τῆς τοιαύτης αἰτίας ὅπῃ ποτὲ ἔχει μαθητὴς ὁτουοῦν ἥδιστ᾽ ἂν γενοίμην· ἐπειδὴ δὲ ταύτης ἐστερήθην καὶ οὔτ᾽ αὐτὸς εὑρεῖν οὔτε παρ᾽ ἄλλου μαθεῖν οἷός τε ἐγενόμην, τὸν δεύτερον [99d] πλοῦν ἐπὶ τὴν τῆς αἰτίας ζήτησιν ᾗ πεπραγμάτευμαι βούλει σοι, ἔφη, ἐπίδειξιν ποιήσωμαι, ὦ Κέβης;

ὑπερφυῶς μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ὡς βούλομαι.

ἔδοξε τοίνυν μοι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, μετὰ ταῦτα, ἐπειδὴ ἀπειρήκη τὰ ὄντα σκοπῶν, δεῖν εὐλαβηθῆναι μὴ πάθοιμι ὅπερ οἱ τὸν ἥλιον ἐκλείποντα θεωροῦντες καὶ σκοπούμενοι πάσχουσιν· διαφθείρονται γάρ που ἔνιοι τὰ ὄμματα, ἐὰν μὴ ἐν ὕδατι ἤ [99e] τινι τοιούτῳ σκοπῶνται τὴν εἰκόνα αὐτοῦ. τοιοῦτόν τι καὶ ἐγὼ διενοήθην, καὶ ἔδεισα μὴ παντάπασι τὴν ψυχὴν τυφλωθείην βλέπων πρὸς τὰ πράγματα τοῖς ὄμμασι καὶ ἑκάστῃ τῶν αἰσθήσεων ἐπιχειρῶν ἅπτεσθαι αὐτῶν. ἔδοξε δή μοι χρῆναι εἰς τοὺς λόγους καταφυγόντα ἐν ἐκείνοις σκοπεῖν τῶν ὄντων τὴν ἀλήθειαν. ἴσως μὲν οὖν ᾧ εἰκάζω τρόπον [100a] τινὰ οὐκ ἔοικεν· οὐ γὰρ πάνυ συγχωρῶ τὸν ἐν [τοῖς] λόγοις σκοπούμενον τὰ ὄντα ἐν εἰκόσι μᾶλλον σκοπεῖν ἢ τὸν ἐν [τοῖς] ἔργοις. ἀλλ᾽ οὖν δὴ ταύτῃ γε ὥρμησα, καὶ ὑποθέμενος ἑκάστοτε λόγον ὃν ἂν κρίνω ἐῤῥωμενέστατον εἶναι, ἃ μὲν ἄν μοι δοκῇ τούτῳ συμφωνεῖν τίθημι ὡς ἀληθῆ ὄντα, καὶ περὶ αἰτίας καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων [ὄντων], ἃ δ᾽ ἂν μή, ὡς οὐκ ἀληθῆ. βούλομαι δέ σοι σαφέστερον εἰπεῖν ἃ λέγω· οἶμαι γάρ σε νῦν οὐ μανθάνειν.

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, οὐ σφόδρα.

[100b] ἀλλ᾽, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὧδε λέγω, οὐδὲν καινόν, ἀλλ᾽ ἅπερ ἀεί τε ἄλλοτε καὶ ἐν τῷ παρεληλυθότι λόγῳ οὐδὲν πέπαυμαι λέγων. ἔρχομαι [γὰρ] δὴ ἐπιχειρῶν σοι ἐπιδείξασθαι τῆς αἰτίας τὸ εἶδος ὃ πεπραγμάτευμαι, καὶ εἶμι πάλιν ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνα τὰ πολυθρύλητα καὶ ἄρχομαι ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνων, ὑποθέμενος εἶναί τι καλὸν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ μέγα καὶ τἆλλα πάντα· ἃ εἴ μοι δίδως τε καὶ συγχωρεῖς εἶναι ταῦτα, ἐλπίζω σοι ἐκ τούτων τὴν αἰτίαν ἐπιδείξειν καὶ ἀνευρήσειν ὡς ἀθάνατον [ἡ] ψυχή.

[100c] ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, ὡς διδόντος σοι οὐκ ἂν φθάνοις περαίνων.

σκόπει δή, ἔφη, τὰ ἑξῆς ἐκείνοις ἐάν σοι συνδοκῇ ὥσπερ ἐμοί. φαίνεται γάρ μοι, εἴ τί ἐστιν ἄλλο καλὸν πλὴν αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν, οὐδὲ δι᾽ ἓν ἄλλο καλὸν εἶναι ἢ διότι μετέχει ἐκείνου τοῦ καλοῦ· καὶ πάντα δὴ οὕτως λέγω. τῇ τοιᾷδε αἰτίᾳ συγχωρεῖς;

συγχωρῶ, ἔφη.

οὐ τοίνυν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἔτι μανθάνω οὐδὲ δύναμαι τὰς ἄλλας αἰτίας τὰς σοφὰς ταύτας γιγνώσκειν· ἀλλ᾽ ἐάν τίς μοι λέγῃ [100d] δι᾽ ὅτι καλόν ἐστιν ὁτιοῦν, ἢ χρῶμα εὐανθὲς ἔχον ἢ σχῆμα ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν τῶν τοιούτων, τὰ μὲν ἄλλα χαίρειν ἐῶ, — ταράττομαι γὰρ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσι — τοῦτο δὲ ἁπλῶς καὶ ἀτέχνως καὶ ἴσως εὐήθως ἔχω παρ᾽ ἐμαυτῷ, ὅτι οὐκ ἄλλο τι ποιεῖ αὐτὸ καλὸν ἢ ἡ ἐκείνου τοῦ καλοῦ εἴτε παρουσία εἴτε κοινωνία εἴτε ὅπῃ δὴ καὶ ὅπως †προσγενομένη· οὐ γὰρ ἔτι τοῦτο διισχυρίζομαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι τῷ καλῷ πάντα τὰ καλὰ [γίγνεται] καλά. τοῦτο γάρ μοι δοκεῖ ἀσφαλέστατον εἶναι καὶ ἐμαυτῷ ἀποκρίνασθαι καὶ ἄλλῳ, καὶ τούτου ἐχόμενος [100e] ἡγοῦμαι οὐκ ἄν ποτε πεσεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀσφαλὲς εἶναι καὶ ἐμοὶ καὶ ὁτῳοῦν ἄλλῳ ἀποκρίνασθαι ὅτι τῷ καλῷ τὰ καλὰ [γίγνεται] καλά· ἢ οὐ καὶ σοὶ δοκεῖ;

δοκεῖ.

καὶ μεγέθει ἄρα τὰ μεγάλα μεγάλα καὶ τὰ μείζω μείζω, καὶ σμικρότητι τὰ ἐλάττω ἐλάττω;

ναί.

οὐδὲ σὺ ἄρ᾽ ἂν ἀποδέχοιο εἴ τίς τινα φαίη ἕτερον ἑτέρου τῇ κεφαλῇ μείζω εἶναι, καὶ τὸν ἐλάττω τῷ αὐτῷ τούτῳ [101a] ἐλάττω, ἀλλὰ διαμαρτύροιο ἂν ὅτι σὺ μὲν οὐδὲν ἄλλο λέγεις ἢ ὅτι τὸ μεῖζον πᾶν ἕτερον ἑτέρου οὐδενὶ ἄλλῳ μεῖζόν ἐστιν ἢ μεγέθει, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο μεῖζον, διὰ τὸ μέγεθος, τὸ δὲ ἔλαττον οὐδενὶ ἄλλῳ ἔλαττον ἢ σμικρότητι, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ἔλαττον, διὰ τὴν σμικρότητα, φοβούμενος οἶμαι μή τίς σοι ἐναντίος λόγος ἀπαντήσῃ, ἐὰν τῇ κεφαλῇ μείζονά τινα φῇς εἶναι καὶ ἐλάττω, πρῶτον μὲν τῷ αὐτῷ τὸ μεῖζον μεῖζον εἶναι καὶ τὸ ἔλαττον ἔλαττον, ἔπειτα τῇ κεφαλῇ σμικρᾷ οὔσῃ τὸν [101b] μείζω μείζω εἶναι, καὶ τοῦτο δὴ τέρας εἶναι, τὸ σμικρῷ τινι μέγαν τινὰ εἶναι· ἢ οὐκ ἂν φοβοῖο ταῦτα;

καὶ ὁ Κέβης γελάσας, ἔγωγε, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τὰ δέκα τῶν ὀκτὼ δυοῖν πλείω εἶναι, καὶ διὰ ταύτην τὴν αἰτίαν ὑπερβάλλειν, φοβοῖο ἂν λέγειν, ἀλλὰ μὴ πλήθει καὶ διὰ τὸ πλῆθος; καὶ τὸ δίπηχυ τοῦ πηχυαίου ἡμίσει μεῖζον εἶναι ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μεγέθει; ὁ αὐτὸς γάρ που φόβος.

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

τί δέ; ἑνὶ ἑνὸς προστεθέντος τὴν πρόσθεσιν αἰτίαν εἶναι [101c] τοῦ δύο γενέσθαι ἢ διασχισθέντος τὴν σχίσιν οὐκ εὐλαβοῖο ἂν λέγειν; καὶ μέγα ἂν βοῴης ὅτι οὐκ οἶσθα ἄλλως πως ἕκαστον γιγνόμενον ἢ μετασχὸν τῆς ἰδίας οὐσίας ἑκάστου οὗ ἂν μετάσχῃ, καὶ ἐν τούτοις οὐκ ἔχεις ἄλλην τινὰ αἰτίαν τοῦ δύο γενέσθαι ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τὴν τῆς δυάδος μετάσχεσιν, καὶ δεῖν τούτου μετασχεῖν τὰ μέλλοντα δύο ἔσεσθαι, καὶ μονάδος ὃ ἂν μέλλῃ ἓν ἔσεσθαι, τὰς δὲ σχίσεις ταύτας καὶ προσθέσεις καὶ τὰς ἄλλας τὰς τοιαύτας κομψείας ἐῴης ἂν χαίρειν, παρεὶς ἀποκρίνασθαι τοῖς σεαυτοῦ σοφωτέροις· σὺ δὲ δεδιὼς ἄν, τὸ [101d] λεγόμενον, τὴν σαυτοῦ σκιὰν καὶ τὴν ἀπειρίαν, ἐχόμενος ἐκείνου τοῦ ἀσφαλοῦς τῆς ὑποθέσεως, οὕτως ἀποκρίναιο ἄν. εἰ δέ τις αὐτῆς τῆς ὑποθέσεως ἔχοιτο, χαίρειν ἐῴης ἂν καὶ οὐκ ἀποκρίναιο ἕως ἂν τὰ ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνης ὁρμηθέντα σκέψαιο εἴ σοι ἀλλήλοις συμφωνεῖ ἢ διαφωνεῖ· ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐκείνης αὐτῆς δέοι σε διδόναι λόγον, ὡσαύτως ἂν διδοίης, ἄλλην αὖ ὑπόθεσιν ὑποθέμενος ἥτις τῶν ἄνωθεν βελτίστη φαίνοιτο, [101e] ἕως ἐπί τι ἱκανὸν ἔλθοις, ἅμα δὲ οὐκ ἂν φύροιο ὥσπερ οἱ ἀντιλογικοὶ περί τε τῆς ἀρχῆς διαλεγόμενος καὶ τῶν ἐξ ἐκείνης ὡρμημένων, εἴπερ βούλοιό τι τῶν ὄντων εὑρεῖν; ἐκείνοις μὲν γὰρ ἴσως οὐδὲ εἷς περὶ τούτου λόγος οὐδὲ φροντίς· ἱκανοὶ γὰρ ὑπὸ σοφίας ὁμοῦ πάντα κυκῶντες ὅμως δύνασθαι αὐτοὶ αὑτοῖς ἀρέσκειν· σὺ δ᾽, εἴπερ εἶ τῶν φιλοσόφων, [102a] οἶμαι ἂν ὡς ἐγὼ λέγω ποιοῖς.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις, ὅ τε Σιμμίας ἅμα καὶ ὁ Κέβης.

Ἐχεκράτης
νὴ Δία, ὦ Φαίδων, εἰκότως γε· θαυμαστῶς γάρ μοι δοκεῖ ὡς ἐναργῶς τῷ καὶ σμικρὸν νοῦν ἔχοντι εἰπεῖν ἐκεῖνος ταῦτα.

Φαίδων
πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Ἐχέκρατες, καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς παροῦσιν ἔδοξεν.

Ἐχεκράτης
καὶ γὰρ ἡμῖν τοῖς ἀποῦσι, νῦν δὲ ἀκούουσιν. ἀλλὰ τίνα δὴ ἦν τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα λεχθέντα;

Φαίδων
ὡς μὲν ἐγὼ οἶμαι, ἐπεὶ αὐτῷ ταῦτα συνεχωρήθη, [102b] καὶ ὡμολογεῖτο εἶναί τι ἕκαστον τῶν εἰδῶν καὶ τούτων τἆλλα μεταλαμβάνοντα αὐτῶν τούτων τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν ἴσχειν, τὸ δὴ μετὰ ταῦτα ἠρώτα, εἰ δή, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ταῦτα οὕτως λέγεις, ἆρ᾽ οὐχ, ὅταν Σιμμίαν Σωκράτους φῇς μείζω εἶναι, Φαίδωνος δὲ ἐλάττω, λέγεις τότ᾽ εἶναι ἐν τῷ Σιμμίᾳ ἀμφότερα, καὶ μέγεθος καὶ σμικρότητα;

ἔγωγε.

ἀλλὰ γάρ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὁμολογεῖς τὸ τὸν Σιμμίαν ὑπερέχειν Σωκράτους οὐχ ὡς τοῖς ῥήμασι λέγεται οὕτω καὶ τὸ ἀληθὲς [102c] ἔχειν; οὐ γάρ που πεφυκέναι Σιμμίαν ὑπερέχειν τούτῳ, τῷ Σιμμίαν εἶναι, ἀλλὰ τῷ μεγέθει ὃ τυγχάνει ἔχων· οὐδ᾽ αὖ Σωκράτους ὑπερέχειν ὅτι Σωκράτης ὁ Σωκράτης ἐστίν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι σμικρότητα ἔχει ὁ Σωκράτης πρὸς τὸ ἐκείνου μέγεθος;

ἀληθῆ.

οὐδέ γε αὖ ὑπὸ Φαίδωνος ὑπερέχεσθαι τῷ ὅτι Φαίδων ὁ Φαίδων ἐστίν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι μέγεθος ἔχει ὁ Φαίδων πρὸς τὴν Σιμμίου σμικρότητα;

ἔστι ταῦτα.

οὕτως ἄρα ὁ Σιμμίας ἐπωνυμίαν ἔχει σμικρός τε καὶ μέγας εἶναι, ἐν μέσῳ ὢν ἀμφοτέρων, τοῦ μὲν τῷ μεγέθει [102d] ὑπερέχειν τὴν σμικρότητα ὑπέχων, τῷ δὲ τὸ μέγεθος τῆς σμικρότητος παρέχων ὑπερέχον. καὶ ἅμα μειδιάσας, ἔοικα, ἔφη, καὶ συγγραφικῶς ἐρεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν ἔχει γέ που ὡς λέγω. συνέφη.

λέγω δὴ τοῦδ᾽ ἕνεκα, βουλόμενος δόξαι σοὶ ὅπερ ἐμοί. ἐμοὶ γὰρ φαίνεται οὐ μόνον αὐτὸ τὸ μέγεθος οὐδέποτ᾽ ἐθέλειν ἅμα μέγα καὶ σμικρὸν εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ ἐν ἡμῖν μέγεθος οὐδέποτε προσδέχεσθαι τὸ σμικρὸν οὐδ᾽ ἐθέλειν ὑπερέχεσθαι, ἀλλὰ δυοῖν τὸ ἕτερον, ἢ φεύγειν καὶ ὑπεκχωρεῖν ὅταν αὐτῷ [102e] προσίῃ τὸ ἐναντίον, τὸ σμικρόν, ἢ προσελθόντος ἐκείνου ἀπολωλέναι· ὑπομένον δὲ καὶ δεξάμενον τὴν σμικρότητα οὐκ ἐθέλειν εἶναι ἕτερον ἢ ὅπερ ἦν. ὥσπερ ἐγὼ δεξάμενος καὶ ὑπομείνας τὴν σμικρότητα, καὶ ἔτι ὢν ὅσπερ εἰμί, οὗτος ὁ αὐτὸς σμικρός εἰμι· ἐκεῖνο δὲ οὐ τετόλμηκεν μέγα ὂν σμικρὸν εἶναι· ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως καὶ τὸ σμικρὸν τὸ ἐν ἡμῖν οὐκ ἐθέλει ποτὲ μέγα γίγνεσθαι οὐδὲ εἶναι, οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο οὐδὲν τῶν ἐναντίων, ἔτι ὂν ὅπερ ἦν, ἅμα τοὐναντίον γίγνεσθαί τε [103a] καὶ εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ ἤτοι ἀπέρχεται ἢ ἀπόλλυται ἐν τούτῳ τῷ παθήματι.

παντάπασιν, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, οὕτω φαίνεταί μοι.

καί τις εἶπε τῶν παρόντων ἀκούσας — ὅστις δ᾽ ἦν, οὐ σαφῶς μέμνημαι — πρὸς θεῶν, οὐκ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἡμῖν λόγοις αὐτὸ τὸ ἐναντίον τῶν νυνὶ λεγομένων ὡμολογεῖτο, ἐκ τοῦ ἐλάττονος τὸ μεῖζον γίγνεσθαι καὶ ἐκ τοῦ μείζονος τὸ ἔλαττον, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς αὕτη εἶναι ἡ γένεσις τοῖς ἐναντίοις, ἐκ τῶν ἐναντίων; νῦν δέ μοι δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι ὅτι τοῦτο οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο.

καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης παραβαλὼν τὴν κεφαλὴν καὶ ἀκούσας, [103b] ἀνδρικῶς, ἔφη, ἀπεμνημόνευκας, οὐ μέντοι ἐννοεῖς τὸ διαφέρον τοῦ τε νῦν λεγομένου καὶ τοῦ τότε. τότε μὲν γὰρ ἐλέγετο ἐκ τοῦ ἐναντίου πράγματος τὸ ἐναντίον πρᾶγμα γίγνεσθαι, νῦν δέ, ὅτι αὐτὸ τὸ ἐναντίον ἑαυτῷ ἐναντίον οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο, οὔτε τὸ ἐν ἡμῖν οὔτε τὸ ἐν τῇ φύσει. τότε μὲν γάρ, ὦ φίλε, περὶ τῶν ἐχόντων τὰ ἐναντία ἐλέγομεν, ἐπονομάζοντες αὐτὰ τῇ ἐκείνων ἐπωνυμίᾳ, νῦν δὲ περὶ ἐκείνων αὐτῶν ὧν ἐνόντων ἔχει τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν τὰ ὀνομαζόμενα· [103c] αὐτὰ δ᾽ ἐκεῖνα οὐκ ἄν ποτέ φαμεν ἐθελῆσαι γένεσιν ἀλλήλων δέξασθαι. καὶ ἅμα βλέψας πρὸς τὸν Κέβητα εἶπεν, ἆρα μή που, ὦ Κέβης, ἔφη, καὶ σέ τι τούτων ἐτάραξεν ὧν ὅδε εἶπεν;

οὐδ᾽ αὖ, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, οὕτως ἔχω· καίτοι οὔτι λέγω ὡς οὐ πολλά με ταράττει.

συνωμολογήκαμεν ἄρα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἁπλῶς τοῦτο, μηδέποτε ἐναντίον ἑαυτῷ τὸ ἐναντίον ἔσεσθαι.

παντάπασιν, ἔφη.

ἔτι δή μοι καὶ τόδε σκέψαι, ἔφη, εἰ ἄρα συνομολογήσεις. θερμόν τι καλεῖς καὶ ψυχρόν;

ἔγωγε.

ἆρ᾽ ὅπερ χιόνα καὶ πῦρ;

[103d] μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

ἀλλ᾽ ἕτερόν τι πυρὸς τὸ θερμὸν καὶ ἕτερόν τι χιόνος τὸ ψυχρόν;

ναί.

ἀλλὰ τόδε γ᾽ οἶμαι δοκεῖ σοι, οὐδέποτε χιόνα γ᾽ οὖσαν δεξαμένην τὸ θερμόν, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν, ἔτι ἔσεσθαι ὅπερ ἦν, χιόνα καὶ θερμόν, ἀλλὰ προσιόντος τοῦ θερμοῦ ἢ ὑπεκχωρήσειν αὐτῷ ἢ ἀπολεῖσθαι.

πάνυ γε.

καὶ τὸ πῦρ γε αὖ προσιόντος τοῦ ψυχροῦ αὐτῷ ἢ ὑπεξιέναι ἢ ἀπολεῖσθαι, οὐ μέντοι ποτὲ τολμήσειν δεξάμενον τὴν ψυχρότητα ἔτι εἶναι ὅπερ ἦν, πῦρ καὶ ψυχρόν.

[103e] ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ἔστιν ἄρα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, περὶ ἔνια τῶν τοιούτων, ὥστε μὴ μόνον αὐτὸ τὸ εἶδος ἀξιοῦσθαι τοῦ αὑτοῦ ὀνόματος εἰς τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλο τι ὃ ἔστι μὲν οὐκ ἐκεῖνο, ἔχει δὲ τὴν ἐκείνου μορφὴν ἀεί, ὅτανπερ ᾖ. ἔτι δὲ ἐν τῷδε ἴσως ἔσται σαφέστερον ὃ λέγω· τὸ γὰρ περιττὸν ἀεί που δεῖ τούτου τοῦ ὀνόματος τυγχάνειν ὅπερ νῦν λέγομεν· ἢ οὔ;

πάνυ γε.

ἆρα μόνον τῶν ὄντων — τοῦτο γὰρ ἐρωτῶ — ἢ καὶ ἄλλο [104a] τι ὃ ἔστι μὲν οὐχ ὅπερ τὸ περιττόν, ὅμως δὲ δεῖ αὐτὸ μετὰ τοῦ ἑαυτοῦ ὀνόματος καὶ τοῦτο καλεῖν ἀεὶ διὰ τὸ οὕτω πεφυκέναι ὥστε τοῦ περιττοῦ μηδέποτε ἀπολείπεσθαι; λέγω δὲ αὐτὸ εἶναι οἷον καὶ ἡ τριὰς πέπονθε καὶ ἄλλα πολλά. σκόπει δὲ περὶ τῆς τριάδος. ἆρα οὐ δοκεῖ σοι τῷ τε αὑτῆς ὀνόματι ἀεὶ προσαγορευτέα εἶναι καὶ τῷ τοῦ περιττοῦ, ὄντος οὐχ ὅπερ τῆς τριάδος; ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως οὕτως πέφυκε καὶ ἡ τριὰς καὶ ἡ πεμπτὰς καὶ ὁ ἥμισυς τοῦ ἀριθμοῦ ἅπας, ὥστε [104b] οὐκ ὢν ὅπερ τὸ περιττὸν ἀεὶ ἕκαστος αὐτῶν ἐστι περιττός· καὶ αὖ τὰ δύο καὶ [τὰ] τέτταρα καὶ ἅπας ὁ ἕτερος αὖ στίχος τοῦ ἀριθμοῦ οὐκ ὢν ὅπερ τὸ ἄρτιον ὅμως ἕκαστος αὐτῶν ἄρτιός ἐστιν ἀεί· συγχωρεῖς ἢ οὔ;

πῶς γὰρ οὔκ; ἔφη.

ὃ τοίνυν, ἔφη, βούλομαι δηλῶσαι, ἄθρει. ἔστιν δὲ τόδε, ὅτι φαίνεται οὐ μόνον ἐκεῖνα τὰ ἐναντία ἄλληλα οὐ δεχόμενα, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὅσα οὐκ ὄντ᾽ ἀλλήλοις ἐναντία ἔχει ἀεὶ τἀναντία, οὐδὲ ταῦτα ἔοικε δεχομένοις ἐκείνην τὴν ἰδέαν ἣ ἂν τῇ ἐν αὐτοῖς οὔσῃ ἐναντία ᾖ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπιούσης αὐτῆς ἤτοι [104c] ἀπολλύμενα ἢ ὑπεκχωροῦντα. ἢ οὐ φήσομεν τὰ τρία καὶ ἀπολεῖσθαι πρότερον καὶ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν πείσεσθαι, πρὶν ὑπομεῖναι ἔτι τρία ὄντα ἄρτια γενέσθαι;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης.

οὐδὲ μήν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐναντίον γέ ἐστι δυὰς τριάδι.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὐκ ἄρα μόνον τὰ εἴδη τὰ ἐναντία οὐχ ὑπομένει ἐπιόντα ἄλληλα, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα τὰ ἐναντία οὐχ ὑπομένει ἐπιόντα.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

βούλει οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐὰν οἷοί τ᾽ ὦμεν, ὁρισώμεθα ὁποῖα ταῦτά ἐστιν;

πάνυ γε.

[104d] ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, τάδε εἴη ἄν, ἃ ὅτι ἂν κατάσχῃ μὴ μόνον ἀναγκάζει τὴν αὑτοῦ ἰδέαν αὐτὸ ἴσχειν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐναντίου αὐτῷ ἀεί τινος;

πῶς λέγεις;

ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν. οἶσθα γὰρ δήπου ὅτι ἃ ἂν ἡ τῶν τριῶν ἰδέα κατάσχῃ, ἀνάγκη αὐτοῖς οὐ μόνον τρισὶν εἶναι ἀλλὰ καὶ περιττοῖς.

πάνυ γε.

ἐπὶ τὸ τοιοῦτον δή, φαμέν, ἡ ἐναντία ἰδέα ἐκείνῃ τῇ μορφῇ ἣ ἂν τοῦτο ἀπεργάζηται οὐδέποτ᾽ ἂν ἔλθοι.

οὐ γάρ.

εἰργάζετο δέ γε ἡ περιττή;

ναί.

ἐναντία δὲ ταύτῃ ἡ τοῦ ἀρτίου;

ναί.

[104e] ἐπὶ τὰ τρία ἄρα ἡ τοῦ ἀρτίου ἰδέα οὐδέποτε ἥξει.

οὐ δῆτα.

ἄμοιρα δὴ τοῦ ἀρτίου τὰ τρία.

ἄμοιρα.

ἀνάρτιος ἄρα ἡ τριάς.

ναί.

ὃ τοίνυν ἔλεγον ὁρίσασθαι, ποῖα οὐκ ἐναντία τινὶ ὄντα ὅμως οὐ δέχεται αὐτό, τὸ ἐναντίον — οἷον νῦν ἡ τριὰς τῷ ἀρτίῳ οὐκ οὖσα ἐναντία οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον αὐτὸ δέχεται, τὸ γὰρ ἐναντίον ἀεὶ αὐτῷ ἐπιφέρει, καὶ ἡ δυὰς τῷ περιττῷ καὶ [105a] τὸ πῦρ τῷ ψυχρῷ καὶ ἄλλα πάμπολλα — ἀλλ᾽ ὅρα δὴ εἰ οὕτως ὁρίζῃ, μὴ μόνον τὸ ἐναντίον τὸ ἐναντίον μὴ δέχεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐκεῖνο, ὃ ἂν ἐπιφέρῃ τι ἐναντίον ἐκείνῳ, ἐφ᾽ ὅτι ἂν αὐτὸ ἴῃ, αὐτὸ τὸ ἐπιφέρον τὴν τοῦ ἐπιφερομένου ἐναντιότητα μηδέποτε δέξασθαι. πάλιν δὲ ἀναμιμνῄσκου· οὐ γὰρ χεῖρον πολλάκις ἀκούειν. τὰ πέντε τὴν τοῦ ἀρτίου οὐ δέξεται, οὐδὲ τὰ δέκα τὴν τοῦ περιττοῦ, τὸ διπλάσιον. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν καὶ αὐτὸ ἄλλῳ ἐναντίον, ὅμως δὲ τὴν [105b] τοῦ περιττοῦ οὐ δέξεται· οὐδὲ δὴ τὸ ἡμιόλιον οὐδὲ τἆλλα τὰ τοιαῦτα, τὸ ἥμισυ, τὴν τοῦ ὅλου, καὶ τριτημόριον αὖ καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα, εἴπερ ἕπῃ τε καὶ συνδοκεῖ σοι οὕτως.

πάνυ σφόδρα καὶ συνδοκεῖ, ἔφη, καὶ ἕπομαι.

πάλιν δή μοι, ἔφη, ἐξ ἀρχῆς λέγε. καὶ μή μοι ὃ ἂν ἐρωτῶ ἀποκρίνου, ἀλλὰ μιμούμενος ἐμέ. λέγω δὴ παρ᾽ ἣν τὸ πρῶτον ἔλεγον ἀπόκρισιν, τὴν ἀσφαλῆ ἐκείνην, ἐκ τῶν νῦν λεγομένων ἄλλην ὁρῶν ἀσφάλειαν. εἰ γὰρ ἔροιό με ᾧ ἂν τί ἐν τῷ σώματι ἐγγένηται θερμὸν ἔσται, οὐ τὴν [105c] ἀσφαλῆ σοι ἐρῶ ἀπόκρισιν ἐκείνην τὴν ἀμαθῆ, ὅτι ᾧ ἂν θερμότης, ἀλλὰ κομψοτέραν ἐκ τῶν νῦν, ὅτι ᾧ ἂν πῦρ· οὐδὲ ἂν ἔρῃ ᾧ ἂν σώματι τί ἐγγένηται νοσήσει, οὐκ ἐρῶ ὅτι ᾧ ἂν νόσος, ἀλλ᾽ ᾧ ἂν πυρετός· οὐδ᾽ ᾧ ἂν ἀριθμῷ τί ἐγγένηται περιττὸς ἔσται, οὐκ ἐρῶ ᾧ ἂν περιττότης, ἀλλ᾽ ᾧ ἂν μονάς, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως. ἀλλ᾽ ὅρα εἰ ἤδη ἱκανῶς οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι βούλομαι.

ἀλλὰ πάνυ ἱκανῶς, ἔφη.

ἀποκρίνου δή, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ᾧ ἂν τί ἐγγένηται σώματι ζῶν ἔσται;

ὧι ἂν ψυχή, ἔφη.

[105d] οὐκοῦν ἀεὶ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει;

πῶς γὰρ οὐχί; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ψυχὴ ἄρα ὅτι ἂν αὐτὴ κατάσχῃ, ἀεὶ ἥκει ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνο φέρουσα ζωήν;

ἥκει μέντοι, ἔφη.

πότερον δ᾽ ἔστι τι ζωῇ ἐναντίον ἢ οὐδέν;

ἔστιν, ἔφη.

τί;

θάνατος.

οὐκοῦν ψυχὴ τὸ ἐναντίον ᾧ αὐτὴ ἐπιφέρει ἀεὶ οὐ μή ποτε δέξηται, ὡς ἐκ τῶν πρόσθεν ὡμολόγηται;

καὶ μάλα σφόδρα, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης.

τί οὖν; τὸ μὴ δεχόμενον τὴν τοῦ ἀρτίου ἰδέαν τί νυνδὴ ὠνομάζομεν;

ἀνάρτιον, ἔφη.

τὸ δὲ δίκαιον μὴ δεχόμενον καὶ ὃ ἂν μουσικὸν μὴ δέχηται;

[105e] ἄμουσον, ἔφη, τὸ δὲ ἄδικον.

εἶεν· ὃ δ᾽ ἂν θάνατον μὴ δέχηται τί καλοῦμεν;

ἀθάνατον, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ψυχὴ οὐ δέχεται θάνατον;

οὔ.

ἀθάνατον ἄρα ψυχή.

ἀθάνατον.

εἶεν, ἔφη· τοῦτο μὲν δὴ ἀποδεδεῖχθαι φῶμεν; ἢ πῶς δοκεῖ;

καὶ μάλα γε ἱκανῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες.

τί οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ Κέβης; εἰ τῷ ἀναρτίῳ ἀναγκαῖον ἦν [106a] ἀνωλέθρῳ εἶναι, ἄλλο τι τὰ τρία ἢ ἀνώλεθρα ἂν ἦν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν εἰ καὶ τὸ ἄθερμον ἀναγκαῖον ἦν ἀνώλεθρον εἶναι, ὁπότε τις ἐπὶ χιόνα θερμὸν ἐπάγοι, ὑπεξῄει ἂν ἡ χιὼν οὖσα σῶς καὶ ἄτηκτος; οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἀπώλετό γε, οὐδ᾽ αὖ ὑπομένουσα ἐδέξατο ἂν τὴν θερμότητα.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ὣς δ᾽ αὔτως οἶμαι κἂν εἰ τὸ ἄψυκτον ἀνώλεθρον ἦν, ὁπότε ἐπὶ τὸ πῦρ ψυχρόν τι ἐπῄει, οὔποτ᾽ ἂν ἀπεσβέννυτο οὐδ᾽ ἀπώλλυτο, ἀλλὰ σῶν ἂν ἀπελθὸν ᾤχετο.

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

[106b] οὐκοῦν καὶ ὧδε, ἔφη, ἀνάγκη περὶ τοῦ ἀθανάτου εἰπεῖν; εἰ μὲν τὸ ἀθάνατον καὶ ἀνώλεθρόν ἐστιν, ἀδύνατον ψυχῇ, ὅταν θάνατος ἐπ᾽ αὐτὴν ἴῃ, ἀπόλλυσθαι· θάνατον μὲν γὰρ δὴ ἐκ τῶν προειρημένων οὐ δέξεται οὐδ᾽ ἔσται τεθνηκυῖα, ὥσπερ τὰ τρία οὐκ ἔσται, ἔφαμεν, ἄρτιον, οὐδέ γ᾽ αὖ τὸ περιττόν, οὐδὲ δὴ πῦρ ψυχρόν, οὐδέ γε ἡ ἐν τῷ πυρὶ θερμότης. “ἀλλὰ τί κωλύει”, φαίη ἄν τις, “ἄρτιον μὲν τὸ περιττὸν μὴ γίγνεσθαι ἐπιόντος τοῦ ἀρτίου, ὥσπερ ὡμολόγηται, [106c] ἀπολομένου δὲ αὐτοῦ ἀντ᾽ ἐκείνου ἄρτιον γεγονέναι;” τῷ ταῦτα λέγοντι οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιμεν διαμαχέσασθαι ὅτι οὐκ ἀπόλλυται· τὸ γὰρ ἀνάρτιον οὐκ ἀνώλεθρόν ἐστιν· ἐπεὶ εἰ τοῦτο ὡμολόγητο ἡμῖν, ῥᾳδίως ἂν διεμαχόμεθα ὅτι ἐπελθόντος τοῦ ἀρτίου τὸ περιττὸν καὶ τὰ τρία οἴχεται ἀπιόντα· καὶ περὶ πυρὸς καὶ θερμοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων οὕτως ἂν διεμαχόμεθα. ἢ οὔ;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν καὶ νῦν περὶ τοῦ ἀθανάτου, εἰ μὲν ἡμῖν ὁμολογεῖται καὶ ἀνώλεθρον εἶναι, ψυχὴ ἂν εἴη πρὸς τῷ ἀθάνατος εἶναι [106d] καὶ ἀνώλεθρος· εἰ δὲ μή, ἄλλου ἂν δέοι λόγου.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν δεῖ, ἔφη, τούτου γε ἕνεκα· σχολῇ γὰρ ἄν τι ἄλλο φθορὰν μὴ δέχοιτο, εἰ τό γε ἀθάνατον ἀίδιον ὂν φθορὰν δέξεται.

ὁ δέ γε θεὸς οἶμαι, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ τῆς ζωῆς εἶδος καὶ εἴ τι ἄλλο ἀθάνατόν ἐστιν, παρὰ πάντων ἂν ὁμολογηθείη μηδέποτε ἀπόλλυσθαι.

παρὰ πάντων μέντοι νὴ Δί᾽, ἔφη, ἀνθρώπων τέ γε καὶ ἔτι μᾶλλον, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, παρὰ θεῶν.

[106e] ὁπότε δὴ τὸ ἀθάνατον καὶ ἀδιάφθορόν ἐστιν, ἄλλο τι ψυχὴ ἤ, εἰ ἀθάνατος τυγχάνει οὖσα, καὶ ἀνώλεθρος ἂν εἴη;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη.

ἐπιόντος ἄρα θανάτου ἐπὶ τὸν ἄνθρωπον τὸ μὲν θνητόν, ὡς ἔοικεν, αὐτοῦ ἀποθνῄσκει, τὸ δ᾽ ἀθάνατον σῶν καὶ ἀδιάφθορον οἴχεται ἀπιόν, ὑπεκχωρῆσαν τῷ θανάτῳ.

φαίνεται.

παντὸς μᾶλλον ἄρα, ἔφη, ὦ Κέβης, ψυχὴ ἀθάνατον καὶ [107a] ἀνώλεθρον, καὶ τῷ ὄντι ἔσονται ἡμῶν αἱ ψυχαὶ ἐν Ἅιδου.

οὔκουν ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ἔχω παρὰ ταῦτα ἄλλο τι λέγειν οὐδέ πῃ ἀπιστεῖν τοῖς λόγοις. ἀλλ᾽ εἰ δή τι Σιμμίας ὅδε ἤ τις ἄλλος ἔχει λέγειν, εὖ ἔχει μὴ κατασιγῆσαι· ὡς οὐκ οἶδα εἰς ὅντινά τις ἄλλον καιρὸν ἀναβάλλοιτο ἢ τὸν νῦν παρόντα, περὶ τῶν τοιούτων βουλόμενος ἤ τι εἰπεῖν ἢ ἀκοῦσαι.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Σιμμίας, οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸς ἔχω ἔτι ὅπῃ ἀπιστῶ ἔκ γε τῶν λεγομένων· ὑπὸ μέντοι τοῦ μεγέθους περὶ [107b] ὧν οἱ λόγοι εἰσίν, καὶ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην ἀσθένειαν ἀτιμάζων, ἀναγκάζομαι ἀπιστίαν ἔτι ἔχειν παρ᾽ ἐμαυτῷ περὶ τῶν εἰρημένων.

οὐ μόνον γ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία, ὁ Σωκράτης, ἀλλὰ ταῦτά τε εὖ λέγεις καὶ τάς γε ὑποθέσεις τὰς πρώτας, καὶ εἰ πισταὶ ὑμῖν εἰσιν, ὅμως ἐπισκεπτέαι σαφέστερον· καὶ ἐὰν αὐτὰς ἱκανῶς διέλητε, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἀκολουθήσετε τῷ λόγῳ, καθ᾽ ὅσον δυνατὸν μάλιστ᾽ ἀνθρώπῳ ἐπακολουθῆσαι· κἂν τοῦτο αὐτὸ σαφὲς γένηται, οὐδὲν ζητήσετε περαιτέρω.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

[107c] ἀλλὰ τόδε γ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ ἄνδρες, δίκαιον διανοηθῆναι, ὅτι, εἴπερ ἡ ψυχὴ ἀθάνατος, ἐπιμελείας δὴ δεῖται οὐχ ὑπὲρ τοῦ χρόνου τούτου μόνον ἐν ᾧ καλοῦμεν τὸ ζῆν, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὲρ τοῦ παντός, καὶ ὁ κίνδυνος νῦν δὴ καὶ δόξειεν ἂν δεινὸς εἶναι, εἴ τις αὐτῆς ἀμελήσει. εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἦν ὁ θάνατος τοῦ παντὸς ἀπαλλαγή, ἕρμαιον ἂν ἦν τοῖς κακοῖς ἀποθανοῦσι τοῦ τε σώματος ἅμ᾽ ἀπηλλάχθαι καὶ τῆς αὑτῶν κακίας μετὰ τῆς ψυχῆς· νῦν δ᾽ ἐπειδὴ ἀθάνατος φαίνεται οὖσα, οὐδεμία ἂν [107d] εἴη αὐτῇ ἄλλη ἀποφυγὴ κακῶν οὐδὲ σωτηρία πλὴν τοῦ ὡς βελτίστην τε καὶ φρονιμωτάτην γενέσθαι. οὐδὲν γὰρ ἄλλο ἔχουσα εἰς Ἅιδου ἡ ψυχὴ ἔρχεται πλὴν τῆς παιδείας τε καὶ τροφῆς, ἃ δὴ καὶ μέγιστα λέγεται ὠφελεῖν ἢ βλάπτειν τὸν τελευτήσαντα εὐθὺς ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆς ἐκεῖσε πορείας. λέγεται δὲ οὕτως, ὡς ἄρα τελευτήσαντα ἕκαστον ὁ ἑκάστου δαίμων, ὅσπερ ζῶντα εἰλήχει, οὗτος ἄγειν ἐπιχειρεῖ εἰς δή τινα τόπον, οἷ δεῖ τοὺς συλλεγέντας διαδικασαμένους εἰς Ἅιδου [107e] πορεύεσθαι μετὰ ἡγεμόνος ἐκείνου ᾧ δὴ προστέτακται τοὺς ἐνθένδε ἐκεῖσε πορεῦσαι· τυχόντας δὲ ἐκεῖ ὧν δὴ τυχεῖν καὶ μείναντας ὃν χρὴ χρόνον ἄλλος δεῦρο πάλιν ἡγεμὼν κομίζει ἐν πολλαῖς χρόνου καὶ μακραῖς περιόδοις. ἔστι δὲ ἄρα ἡ πορεία οὐχ ὡς ὁ Αἰσχύλου Τήλεφος λέγει· ἐκεῖνος [108a] μὲν γὰρ ἁπλῆν οἶμόν φησιν εἰς Ἅιδου φέρειν, ἡ δ᾽ οὔτε ἁπλῆ οὔτε μία φαίνεταί μοι εἶναι. οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν ἡγεμόνων ἔδει· οὐ γάρ πού τις ἂν διαμάρτοι οὐδαμόσε μιᾶς ὁδοῦ οὔσης. νῦν δὲ ἔοικε σχίσεις τε καὶ τριόδους πολλὰς ἔχειν· ἀπὸ τῶν θυσιῶν τε καὶ νομίμων τῶν ἐνθάδε τεκμαιρόμενος λέγω. ἡ μὲν οὖν κοσμία τε καὶ φρόνιμος ψυχὴ ἕπεταί τε καὶ οὐκ ἀγνοεῖ τὰ παρόντα· ἡ δ᾽ ἐπιθυμητικῶς τοῦ σώματος ἔχουσα, ὅπερ ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν εἶπον, περὶ ἐκεῖνο πολὺν [108b] χρόνον ἐπτοημένη καὶ περὶ τὸν ὁρατὸν τόπον, πολλὰ ἀντιτείνασα καὶ πολλὰ παθοῦσα, βίᾳ καὶ μόγις ὑπὸ τοῦ προστεταγμένου δαίμονος οἴχεται ἀγομένη. ἀφικομένην δὲ ὅθιπερ αἱ ἄλλαι, τὴν μὲν ἀκάθαρτον καί τι πεποιηκυῖαν τοιοῦτον, ἢ φόνων ἀδίκων ἡμμένην ἢ ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα τοιαῦτα εἰργασμένην, ἃ τούτων ἀδελφά τε καὶ ἀδελφῶν ψυχῶν ἔργα τυγχάνει ὄντα, ταύτην μὲν ἅπας φεύγει τε καὶ ὑπεκτρέπεται καὶ οὔτε συνέμπορος οὔτε ἡγεμὼν ἐθέλει γίγνεσθαι, αὐτὴ [108c] δὲ πλανᾶται ἐν πάσῃ ἐχομένη ἀπορίᾳ ἕως ἂν δή τινες χρόνοι γένωνται, ὧν ἐλθόντων ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης φέρεται εἰς τὴν αὐτῇ πρέπουσαν οἴκησιν· ἡ δὲ καθαρῶς τε καὶ μετρίως τὸν βίον διεξελθοῦσα, καὶ συνεμπόρων καὶ ἡγεμόνων θεῶν τυχοῦσα, ᾤκησεν τὸν αὐτῇ ἑκάστη τόπον προσήκοντα. εἰσὶν δὲ πολλοὶ καὶ θαυμαστοὶ τῆς γῆς τόποι, καὶ αὐτὴ οὔτε οἵα οὔτε ὅση δοξάζεται ὑπὸ τῶν περὶ γῆς εἰωθότων λέγειν, ὡς ἐγὼ ὑπό τινος πέπεισμαι.

[108d] καὶ ὁ Σιμμίας, πῶς ταῦτα, ἔφη, λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες; περὶ γάρ τοι γῆς καὶ αὐτὸς πολλὰ δὴ ἀκήκοα, οὐ μέντοι ταῦτα ἃ σὲ πείθει· ἡδέως οὖν ἂν ἀκούσαιμι.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ὦ Σιμμία, οὐχ ἡ Γλαύκου τέχνη γέ μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι διηγήσασθαι ἅ γ᾽ ἐστίν· ὡς μέντοι ἀληθῆ, χαλεπώτερόν μοι φαίνεται ἢ κατὰ τὴν Γλαύκου τέχνην, καὶ ἅμα μὲν ἐγὼ ἴσως οὐδ᾽ ἂν οἷός τε εἴην, ἅμα δέ, εἰ καὶ ἠπιστάμην, ὁ βίος μοι δοκεῖ ὁ ἐμός, ὦ Σιμμία, τῷ μήκει τοῦ λόγου οὐκ ἐξαρκεῖν. τὴν μέντοι ἰδέαν τῆς γῆς οἵαν [108e] πέπεισμαι εἶναι, καὶ τοὺς τόπους αὐτῆς οὐδέν με κωλύει λέγειν.

ἀλλ᾽, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, καὶ ταῦτα ἀρκεῖ.

πέπεισμαι τοίνυν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐγὼ ὡς πρῶτον μέν, εἰ ἔστιν ἐν μέσῳ τῷ οὐρανῷ περιφερὴς οὖσα, μηδὲν αὐτῇ δεῖν μήτε [109a] ἀέρος πρὸς τὸ μὴ πεσεῖν μήτε ἄλλης ἀνάγκης μηδεμιᾶς τοιαύτης, ἀλλὰ ἱκανὴν εἶναι αὐτὴν ἴσχειν τὴν ὁμοιότητα τοῦ οὐρανοῦ αὐτοῦ ἑαυτῷ πάντῃ καὶ τῆς γῆς αὐτῆς τὴν ἰσοῤῥοπίαν· ἰσόῤῥοπον γὰρ πρᾶγμα ὁμοίου τινὸς ἐν μέσῳ τεθὲν οὐχ ἕξει μᾶλλον οὐδ᾽ ἧττον οὐδαμόσε κλιθῆναι, ὁμοίως δ᾽ ἔχον ἀκλινὲς μενεῖ. πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τοῦτο πέπεισμαι.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γε, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας.

ἔτι τοίνυν, ἔφη, πάμμεγά τι εἶναι αὐτό, καὶ ἡμᾶς οἰκεῖν [109b] τοὺς μέχρι Ἡρακλείων στηλῶν ἀπὸ Φάσιδος ἐν σμικρῷ τινι μορίῳ, ὥσπερ περὶ τέλμα μύρμηκας ἢ βατράχους περὶ τὴν θάλατταν οἰκοῦντας, καὶ ἄλλους ἄλλοθι πολλοὺς ἐν πολλοῖσι τοιούτοις τόποις οἰκεῖν. εἶναι γὰρ πανταχῇ περὶ τὴν γῆν πολλὰ κοῖλα καὶ παντοδαπὰ καὶ τὰς ἰδέας καὶ τὰ μεγέθη, εἰς ἃ συνεῤῥυηκέναι τό τε ὕδωρ καὶ τὴν ὁμίχλην καὶ τὸν ἀέρα· αὐτὴν δὲ τὴν γῆν καθαρὰν ἐν καθαρῷ κεῖσθαι τῷ οὐρανῷ ἐν ᾧπέρ ἐστι τὰ ἄστρα, ὃν δὴ αἰθέρα ὀνομάζειν [109c] τοὺς πολλοὺς τῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα εἰωθότων λέγειν· οὗ δὴ ὑποστάθμην ταῦτα εἶναι καὶ συῤῥεῖν ἀεὶ εἰς τὰ κοῖλα τῆς γῆς. ἡμᾶς οὖν οἰκοῦντας ἐν τοῖς κοίλοις αὐτῆς λεληθέναι καὶ οἴεσθαι ἄνω ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς οἰκεῖν, ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τις ἐν μέσῳ τῷ πυθμένι τοῦ πελάγους οἰκῶν οἴοιτό τε ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάττης οἰκεῖν καὶ διὰ τοῦ ὕδατος ὁρῶν τὸν ἥλιον καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ἄστρα τὴν θάλατταν ἡγοῖτο οὐρανὸν εἶναι, διὰ δὲ [109d] βραδυτῆτά τε καὶ ἀσθένειαν μηδεπώποτε ἐπὶ τὰ ἄκρα τῆς θαλάττης ἀφιγμένος μηδὲ ἑωρακὼς εἴη, ἐκδὺς καὶ ἀνακύψας ἐκ τῆς θαλάττης εἰς τὸν ἐνθάδε τόπον, ὅσῳ καθαρώτερος καὶ καλλίων τυγχάνει ὢν τοῦ παρὰ σφίσι, μηδὲ ἄλλου ἀκηκοὼς εἴη τοῦ ἑωρακότος. ταὐτὸν δὴ τοῦτο καὶ ἡμᾶς πεπονθέναι· οἰκοῦντας γὰρ ἔν τινι κοίλῳ τῆς γῆς οἴεσθαι ἐπάνω αὐτῆς οἰκεῖν, καὶ τὸν ἀέρα οὐρανὸν καλεῖν, ὡς διὰ τούτου οὐρανοῦ ὄντος τὰ ἄστρα χωροῦντα· τὸ δὲ εἶναι ταὐτόν, [109e] ὑπ᾽ ἀσθενείας καὶ βραδυτῆτος οὐχ οἵους τε εἶναι ἡμᾶς διεξελθεῖν ἐπ᾽ ἔσχατον τὸν ἀέρα· ἐπεί, εἴ τις αὐτοῦ ἐπ᾽ ἄκρα ἔλθοι ἢ πτηνὸς γενόμενος ἀνάπτοιτο, κατιδεῖν <ἂν> ἀνακύψαντα, ὥσπερ ἐνθάδε οἱ ἐκ τῆς θαλάττης ἰχθύες ἀνακύπτοντες ὁρῶσι τὰ ἐνθάδε, οὕτως ἄν τινα καὶ τὰ ἐκεῖ κατιδεῖν, καὶ εἰ ἡ φύσις ἱκανὴ εἴη ἀνασχέσθαι θεωροῦσα, γνῶναι ἂν ὅτι ἐκεῖνός ἐστιν ὁ ἀληθῶς οὐρανὸς καὶ τὸ ἀληθινὸν φῶς [110a] καὶ ἡ ὡς ἀληθῶς γῆ. ἥδε μὲν γὰρ ἡ γῆ καὶ οἱ λίθοι καὶ ἅπας ὁ τόπος ὁ ἐνθάδε διεφθαρμένα ἐστὶν καὶ καταβεβρωμένα, ὥσπερ τὰ ἐν τῇ θαλάττῃ ὑπὸ τῆς ἅλμης, καὶ οὔτε φύεται ἄξιον λόγου οὐδὲν ἐν τῇ θαλάττῃ, οὔτε τέλειον ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδέν ἐστι, σήραγγες δὲ καὶ ἄμμος καὶ πηλὸς ἀμήχανος καὶ βόρβοροί εἰσιν, ὅπου ἂν καὶ [ἡ] γῆ ᾖ, καὶ πρὸς τὰ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν κάλλη κρίνεσθαι οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν ἄξια. ἐκεῖνα δὲ αὖ τῶν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν πολὺ ἂν ἔτι πλέον φανείη διαφέρειν· [110b] εἰ γὰρ δὴ καὶ μῦθον λέγειν καλόν, ἄξιον ἀκοῦσαι, ὦ Σιμμία, οἷα τυγχάνει τὰ ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ὑπὸ τῷ οὐρανῷ ὄντα.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἡμεῖς γε τούτου τοῦ μύθου ἡδέως ἂν ἀκούσαιμεν.

λέγεται τοίνυν, ἔφη, ὦ ἑταῖρε, πρῶτον μὲν εἶναι τοιαύτη ἡ γῆ αὐτὴ ἰδεῖν, εἴ τις ἄνωθεν θεῷτο, ὥσπερ αἱ δωδεκάσκυτοι σφαῖραι, ποικίλη, χρώμασιν διειλημμένη, ὧν καὶ τὰ ἐνθάδε εἶναι χρώματα ὥσπερ δείγματα, οἷς δὴ οἱ γραφῆς [110c] καταχρῶνται. ἐκεῖ δὲ πᾶσαν τὴν γῆν ἐκ τοιούτων εἶναι, καὶ πολὺ ἔτι ἐκ λαμπροτέρων καὶ καθαρωτέρων ἢ τούτων· τὴν μὲν γὰρ ἁλουργῆ εἶναι [καὶ] θαυμαστὴν τὸ κάλλος, τὴν δὲ χρυσοειδῆ, τὴν δὲ ὅση λευκὴ γύψου ἢ χιόνος λευκοτέραν, καὶ ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων χρωμάτων συγκειμένην ὡσαύτως, καὶ ἔτι πλειόνων καὶ καλλιόνων ἢ ὅσα ἡμεῖς ἑωράκαμεν. καὶ γὰρ αὐτὰ ταῦτα τὰ κοῖλα αὐτῆς, ὕδατός τε καὶ ἀέρος ἔκπλεα [110d] ὄντα, χρώματός τι εἶδος παρέχεσθαι στίλβοντα ἐν τῇ τῶν ἄλλων χρωμάτων ποικιλίᾳ, ὥστε ἕν τι αὐτῆς εἶδος συνεχὲς ποικίλον φαντάζεσθαι. ἐν δὲ ταύτῃ οὔσῃ τοιαύτῃ ἀνὰ λόγον τὰ φυόμενα φύεσθαι, δένδρα τε καὶ ἄνθη καὶ τοὺς καρπούς· καὶ αὖ τὰ ὄρη ὡσαύτως καὶ τοὺς λίθους ἔχειν ἀνὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον τήν τε λειότητα καὶ τὴν διαφάνειαν καὶ τὰ χρώματα καλλίω· ὧν καὶ τὰ ἐνθάδε λιθίδια εἶναι ταῦτα τὰ ἀγαπώμενα μόρια, σάρδιά τε καὶ ἰάσπιδας καὶ σμαράγδους [110e] καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα· ἐκεῖ δὲ οὐδὲν ὅτι οὐ τοιοῦτον εἶναι καὶ ἔτι τούτων καλλίω. τὸ δ᾽ αἴτιον τούτου εἶναι ὅτι ἐκεῖνοι οἱ λίθοι εἰσὶ καθαροὶ καὶ οὐ κατεδηδεσμένοι οὐδὲ διεφθαρμένοι ὥσπερ οἱ ἐνθάδε ὑπὸ σηπεδόνος καὶ ἅλμης ὑπὸ τῶν δεῦρο συνεῤῥυηκότων, ἃ καὶ λίθοις καὶ γῇ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις τε καὶ φυτοῖς αἴσχη τε καὶ νόσους παρέχει. τὴν δὲ γῆν αὐτὴν κεκοσμῆσθαι τούτοις τε ἅπασι καὶ ἔτι χρυσῷ τε καὶ ἀργύρῳ καὶ [111a] τοῖς ἄλλοις αὖ τοῖς τοιούτοις. ἐκφανῆ γὰρ αὐτὰ πεφυκέναι, ὄντα πολλὰ πλήθει καὶ μεγάλα καὶ πανταχοῦ τῆς γῆς, ὥστε αὐτὴν ἰδεῖν εἶναι θέαμα εὐδαιμόνων θεατῶν. ζῷα δ᾽ ἐπ᾽ αὐτῇ εἶναι ἄλλα τε πολλὰ καὶ ἀνθρώπους, τοὺς μὲν ἐν μεσογαίᾳ οἰκοῦντας, τοὺς δὲ περὶ τὸν ἀέρα ὥσπερ ἡμεῖς περὶ τὴν θάλατταν, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐν νήσοις ἃς περιῤῥεῖν τὸν ἀέρα πρὸς τῇ ἠπείρῳ οὔσας· καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ, ὅπερ ἡμῖν τὸ ὕδωρ τε καὶ ἡ θάλαττά ἐστι πρὸς τὴν ἡμετέραν χρείαν, τοῦτο ἐκεῖ [111b] τὸν ἀέρα, ὃ δὲ ἡμῖν ἀήρ, ἐκείνοις τὸν αἰθέρα. τὰς δὲ ὥρας αὐτοῖς κρᾶσιν ἔχειν τοιαύτην ὥστε ἐκείνους ἀνόσους εἶναι καὶ χρόνον τε ζῆν πολὺ πλείω τῶν ἐνθάδε, καὶ ὄψει καὶ ἀκοῇ καὶ φρονήσει καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις ἡμῶν ἀφεστάναι τῇ αὐτῇ ἀποστάσει ᾗπερ ἀήρ τε ὕδατος ἀφέστηκεν καὶ αἰθὴρ ἀέρος πρὸς καθαρότητα. καὶ δὴ καὶ θεῶν ἄλση τε καὶ ἱερὰ αὐτοῖς εἶναι, ἐν οἷς τῷ ὄντι οἰκητὰς θεοὺς εἶναι, καὶ φήμας τε καὶ μαντείας καὶ αἰσθήσεις τῶν θεῶν καὶ τοιαύτας συνουσίας [111c] γίγνεσθαι αὐτοῖς πρὸς αὐτούς· καὶ τόν γε ἥλιον καὶ σελήνην καὶ ἄστρα ὁρᾶσθαι ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν οἷα τυγχάνει ὄντα, καὶ τὴν ἄλλην εὐδαιμονίαν τούτων ἀκόλουθον εἶναι.

καὶ ὅλην μὲν δὴ τὴν γῆν οὕτω πεφυκέναι καὶ τὰ περὶ τὴν γῆν· τόπους δ᾽ ἐν αὐτῇ εἶναι κατὰ τὰ ἔγκοιλα αὐτῆς κύκλῳ περὶ ὅλην πολλούς, τοὺς μὲν βαθυτέρους καὶ ἀναπεπταμένους μᾶλλον ἢ ἐν ᾧ ἡμεῖς οἰκοῦμεν, τοὺς δὲ βαθυτέρους ὄντας τὸ χάσμα αὐτοὺς ἔλαττον ἔχειν τοῦ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν [111d] τόπου, ἔστι δ᾽ οὓς καὶ βραχυτέρους τῷ βάθει τοῦ ἐνθάδε εἶναι καὶ πλατυτέρους. τούτους δὲ πάντας ὑπὸ γῆν εἰς ἀλλήλους συντετρῆσθαί τε πολλαχῇ καὶ κατὰ στενότερα καὶ εὐρύτερα καὶ διεξόδους ἔχειν, ᾗ πολὺ μὲν ὕδωρ ῥεῖν ἐξ ἀλλήλων εἰς ἀλλήλους ὥσπερ εἰς κρατῆρας, καὶ ἀενάων ποταμῶν ἀμήχανα μεγέθη ὑπὸ τὴν γῆν καὶ θερμῶν ὑδάτων καὶ ψυχρῶν, πολὺ δὲ πῦρ καὶ πυρὸς μεγάλους ποταμούς, πολλοὺς δὲ ὑγροῦ πηλοῦ καὶ καθαρωτέρου καὶ βορβορωδεστέρου, [111e] ὥσπερ ἐν Σικελίᾳ οἱ πρὸ τοῦ ῥύακος πηλοῦ ῥέοντες ποταμοὶ καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ ῥύαξ· ὧν δὴ καὶ ἑκάστους τοὺς τόπους πληροῦσθαι, ὡς ἂν ἑκάστοις τύχῃ ἑκάστοτε ἡ περιῤῥοὴ γιγνομένη. ταῦτα δὲ πάντα κινεῖν ἄνω καὶ κάτω ὥσπερ αἰώραν τινὰ ἐνοῦσαν ἐν τῇ γῇ· ἔστι δὲ ἄρα αὕτη ἡ αἰώρα διὰ φύσιν τοιάνδε τινά. ἕν τι τῶν χασμάτων τῆς γῆς ἄλλως τε [112a] μέγιστον τυγχάνει ὂν καὶ διαμπερὲς τετρημένον δι᾽ ὅλης τῆς γῆς, τοῦτο ὅπερ Ὅμηρος εἶπε, λέγων αὐτό τῆλε μάλ᾽, ᾗχι βάθιστον ὑπὸ χθονός ἐστι βέρεθρον· [Ὁμ. Ἰλιάς Θ, 14]

ὃ καὶ ἄλλοθι καὶ ἐκεῖνος καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ τῶν ποιητῶν Τάρταρον κεκλήκασιν. εἰς γὰρ τοῦτο τὸ χάσμα συῤῥέουσί τε πάντες οἱ ποταμοὶ καὶ ἐκ τούτου πάλιν ἐκρέουσιν· γίγνονται δὲ ἕκαστοι τοιοῦτοι δι᾽ οἵας ἂν καὶ τῆς γῆς ῥέωσιν. ἡ δὲ [112b] αἰτία ἐστὶν τοῦ ἐκρεῖν τε ἐντεῦθεν καὶ εἰσρεῖν πάντα τὰ ῥεύματα, ὅτι πυθμένα οὐκ ἔχει οὐδὲ βάσιν τὸ ὑγρὸν τοῦτο. αἰωρεῖται δὴ καὶ κυμαίνει ἄνω καὶ κάτω, καὶ ὁ ἀὴρ καὶ τὸ πνεῦμα τὸ περὶ αὐτὸ ταὐτὸν ποιεῖ· συνέπεται γὰρ αὐτῷ καὶ ὅταν εἰς τὸ ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνα τῆς γῆς ὁρμήσῃ καὶ ὅταν εἰς τὸ ἐπὶ τάδε, καὶ ὥσπερ τῶν ἀναπνεόντων ἀεὶ ἐκπνεῖ τε καὶ ἀναπνεῖ ῥέον τὸ πνεῦμα, οὕτω καὶ ἐκεῖ συναιωρούμενον τῷ ὑγρῷ τὸ πνεῦμα δεινούς τινας ἀνέμους καὶ ἀμηχάνους παρέχεται καὶ [112c] εἰσιὸν καὶ ἐξιόν. ὅταν τε οὖν ὑποχωρήσῃ τὸ ὕδωρ εἰς τὸν τόπον τὸν δὴ κάτω καλούμενον, τοῖς κατ᾽ ἐκεῖνα τὰ ῥεύματα [διὰ] τῆς γῆς εἰσρεῖ τε καὶ πληροῖ αὐτὰ ὥσπερ οἱ ἐπαντλοῦντες· ὅταν τε αὖ ἐκεῖθεν μὲν ἀπολίπῃ, δεῦρο δὲ ὁρμήσῃ, τὰ ἐνθάδε πληροῖ αὖθις, τὰ δὲ πληρωθέντα ῥεῖ διὰ τῶν ὀχετῶν καὶ διὰ τῆς γῆς, καὶ εἰς τοὺς τόπους ἕκαστα ἀφικνούμενα, εἰς οὓς ἑκάστοις ὡδοποίηται, θαλάττας τε καὶ λίμνας καὶ ποταμοὺς καὶ κρήνας ποιεῖ· ἐντεῦθεν δὲ πάλιν δυόμενα [112d] κατὰ τῆς γῆς, τὰ μὲν μακροτέρους τόπους περιελθόντα καὶ πλείους, τὰ δὲ ἐλάττους καὶ βραχυτέρους, πάλιν εἰς τὸν Τάρταρον ἐμβάλλει, τὰ μὲν πολὺ κατωτέρω <ἢ> ᾗ ἐπηντλεῖτο, τὰ δὲ ὀλίγον· πάντα δὲ ὑποκάτω εἰσρεῖ τῆς ἐκροῆς, καὶ ἔνια μὲν καταντικρὺ <ἢ> ᾗ [εἰσρεῖ] ἐξέπεσεν, ἔνια δὲ κατὰ τὸ αὐτὸ μέρος· ἔστι δὲ ἃ παντάπασιν κύκλῳ περιελθόντα, ἢ ἅπαξ ἢ καὶ πλεονάκις περιελιχθέντα περὶ τὴν γῆν ὥσπερ οἱ ὄφεις, εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν κάτω καθέντα πάλιν ἐμβάλλει. [112e] δυνατὸν δέ ἐστιν ἑκατέρωσε μέχρι τοῦ μέσου καθιέναι, πέρα δ᾽ οὔ· ἄναντες γὰρ ἀμφοτέροις τοῖς ῥεύμασι τὸ ἑκατέρωθεν γίγνεται μέρος.

τὰ μὲν οὖν δὴ ἄλλα πολλά τε καὶ μεγάλα καὶ παντοδαπὰ ῥεύματά ἐστι· τυγχάνει δ᾽ ἄρα ὄντα ἐν τούτοις τοῖς πολλοῖς τέτταρ᾽ ἄττα ῥεύματα, ὧν τὸ μὲν μέγιστον καὶ ἐξωτάτω ῥέον περὶ κύκλῳ ὁ καλούμενος Ὠκεανός ἐστιν, τούτου δὲ καταντικρὺ καὶ ἐναντίως ῥέων Ἀχέρων, ὃς δι᾽ ἐρήμων τε τόπων [113a] ῥεῖ ἄλλων καὶ δὴ καὶ ὑπὸ γῆν ῥέων εἰς τὴν λίμνην ἀφικνεῖται τὴν Ἀχερουσιάδα, οὗ αἱ τῶν τετελευτηκότων ψυχαὶ τῶν πολλῶν ἀφικνοῦνται καί τινας εἱμαρμένους χρόνους μείνασαι, αἱ μὲν μακροτέρους, αἱ δὲ βραχυτέρους, πάλιν ἐκπέμπονται εἰς τὰς τῶν ζῴων γενέσεις. τρίτος δὲ ποταμὸς τούτων κατὰ μέσον ἐκβάλλει, καὶ ἐγγὺς τῆς ἐκβολῆς ἐκπίπτει εἰς τόπον μέγαν πυρὶ πολλῷ καόμενον, καὶ λίμνην ποιεῖ μείζω τῆς παρ᾽ ἡμῖν θαλάττης, ζέουσαν ὕδατος καὶ πηλοῦ· ἐντεῦθεν δὲ [113b] χωρεῖ κύκλῳ θολερὸς καὶ πηλώδης, περιελιττόμενος δὲ τῇ γῇ ἄλλοσέ τε ἀφικνεῖται καὶ παρ᾽ ἔσχατα τῆς Ἀχερουσιάδος λίμνης, οὐ συμμειγνύμενος τῷ ὕδατι· περιελιχθεὶς δὲ πολλάκις ὑπὸ γῆς ἐμβάλλει κατωτέρω τοῦ Ταρτάρου· οὗτος δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὃν ἐπονομάζουσιν Πυριφλεγέθοντα, οὗ καὶ οἱ ῥύακες ἀποσπάσματα ἀναφυσῶσιν ὅπῃ ἂν τύχωσι τῆς γῆς. τούτου δὲ αὖ καταντικρὺ ὁ τέταρτος ἐκπίπτει εἰς τόπον πρῶτον δεινόν τε καὶ ἄγριον, ὡς λέγεται, χρῶμα δ᾽ ἔχοντα ὅλον οἷον ὁ [113c] κυανός, ὃν δὴ ἐπονομάζουσι Στύγιον, καὶ τὴν λίμνην ἣν ποιεῖ ὁ ποταμὸς ἐμβάλλων, Στύγα· ὁ δ᾽ ἐμπεσὼν ἐνταῦθα καὶ δεινὰς δυνάμεις λαβὼν ἐν τῷ ὕδατι, δὺς κατὰ τῆς γῆς, περιελιττόμενος χωρεῖ ἐναντίος τῷ Πυριφλεγέθοντι καὶ ἀπαντᾷ ἐν τῇ Ἀχερουσιάδι λίμνῃ ἐξ ἐναντίας· καὶ οὐδὲ τὸ τούτου ὕδωρ οὐδενὶ μείγνυται, ἀλλὰ καὶ οὗτος κύκλῳ περιελθὼν ἐμβάλλει εἰς τὸν Τάρταρον ἐναντίος τῷ Πυριφλεγέθοντι· ὄνομα δὲ τούτῳ ἐστίν, ὡς οἱ ποιηταὶ λέγουσιν, κωκυτός.

[113d] τούτων δὲ οὕτως πεφυκότων, ἐπειδὰν ἀφίκωνται οἱ τετελευτηκότες εἰς τὸν τόπον οἷ ὁ δαίμων ἕκαστον κομίζει, πρῶτον μὲν διεδικάσαντο οἵ τε καλῶς καὶ ὁσίως βιώσαντες καὶ οἱ μή. καὶ οἳ μὲν ἂν δόξωσι μέσως βεβιωκέναι, πορευθέντες ἐπὶ τὸν Ἀχέροντα, ἀναβάντες ἃ δὴ αὐτοῖς ὀχήματά ἐστιν, ἐπὶ τούτων ἀφικνοῦνται εἰς τὴν λίμνην, καὶ ἐκεῖ οἰκοῦσί τε καὶ καθαιρόμενοι τῶν τε ἀδικημάτων διδόντες δίκας ἀπολύονται, εἴ τίς τι ἠδίκηκεν, τῶν τε εὐεργεσιῶν [113e] τιμὰς φέρονται κατὰ τὴν ἀξίαν ἕκαστος· οἳ δ᾽ ἂν δόξωσιν ἀνιάτως ἔχειν διὰ τὰ μεγέθη τῶν ἁμαρτημάτων, ἢ ἱεροσυλίας πολλὰς καὶ μεγάλας ἢ φόνους ἀδίκους καὶ παρανόμους πολλοὺς ἐξειργασμένοι ἢ ἄλλα ὅσα τοιαῦτα τυγχάνει ὄντα, τούτους δὲ ἡ προσήκουσα μοῖρα ῥίπτει εἰς τὸν Τάρταρον, ὅθεν οὔποτε ἐκβαίνουσιν. οἳ δ᾽ ἂν ἰάσιμα μὲν μεγάλα δὲ δόξωσιν ἡμαρτηκέναι ἁμαρτήματα, οἷον πρὸς πατέρα ἢ μητέρα [114a] ὑπ᾽ ὀργῆς βίαιόν τι πράξαντες, καὶ μεταμέλον αὐτοῖς τὸν ἄλλον βίον βιῶσιν, ἢ ἀνδροφόνοι τοιούτῳ τινὶ ἄλλῳ τρόπῳ γένωνται, τούτους δὲ ἐμπεσεῖν μὲν εἰς τὸν Τάρταρον ἀνάγκη, ἐμπεσόντας δὲ αὐτοὺς καὶ ἐνιαυτὸν ἐκεῖ γενομένους ἐκβάλλει τὸ κῦμα, τοὺς μὲν ἀνδροφόνους κατὰ τὸν Κωκυτόν, τοὺς δὲ πατραλοίας καὶ μητραλοίας κατὰ τὸν Πυριφλεγέθοντα· ἐπειδὰν δὲ φερόμενοι γένωνται κατὰ τὴν λίμνην τὴν Ἀχερουσιάδα, ἐνταῦθα βοῶσί τε καὶ καλοῦσιν, οἱ μὲν οὓς ἀπέκτειναν, οἱ δὲ οὓς ὕβρισαν, καλέσαντες δ᾽ ἱκετεύουσι [114b] καὶ δέονται ἐᾶσαι σφᾶς ἐκβῆναι εἰς τὴν λίμνην καὶ δέξασθαι, καὶ ἐὰν μὲν πείσωσιν, ἐκβαίνουσί τε καὶ λήγουσι τῶν κακῶν, εἰ δὲ μή, φέρονται αὖθις εἰς τὸν Τάρταρον καὶ ἐκεῖθεν πάλιν εἰς τοὺς ποταμούς, καὶ ταῦτα πάσχοντες οὐ πρότερον παύονται πρὶν ἂν πείσωσιν οὓς ἠδίκησαν· αὕτη γὰρ ἡ δίκη ὑπὸ τῶν δικαστῶν αὐτοῖς ἐτάχθη. οἳ δὲ δὴ ἂν δόξωσι διαφερόντως πρὸς τὸ ὁσίως βιῶναι, οὗτοί εἰσιν οἱ τῶνδε μὲν τῶν τόπων τῶν ἐν τῇ γῇ ἐλευθερούμενοί τε καὶ ἀπαλλαττόμενοι [114c] ὥσπερ δεσμωτηρίων, ἄνω δὲ εἰς τὴν καθαρὰν οἴκησιν ἀφικνούμενοι καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς οἰκιζόμενοι. τούτων δὲ αὐτῶν οἱ φιλοσοφίᾳ ἱκανῶς καθηράμενοι ἄνευ τε σωμάτων ζῶσι τὸ παράπαν εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον, καὶ εἰς οἰκήσεις ἔτι τούτων καλλίους ἀφικνοῦνται, ἃς οὔτε ῥᾴδιον δηλῶσαι οὔτε ὁ χρόνος ἱκανὸς ἐν τῷ παρόντι. ἀλλὰ τούτων δὴ ἕνεκα χρὴ ὧν διεληλύθαμεν, ὦ Σιμμία, πᾶν ποιεῖν ὥστε ἀρετῆς καὶ φρονήσεως ἐν τῷ βίῳ μετασχεῖν· καλὸν γὰρ τὸ ἆθλον καὶ ἡ ἐλπὶς μεγάλη.

[114d] τὸ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα διισχυρίσασθαι οὕτως ἔχειν ὡς ἐγὼ διελήλυθα, οὐ πρέπει νοῦν ἔχοντι ἀνδρί· ὅτι μέντοι ἢ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἢ τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα περὶ τὰς ψυχὰς ἡμῶν καὶ τὰς οἰκήσεις, ἐπείπερ ἀθάνατόν γε ἡ ψυχὴ φαίνεται οὖσα, τοῦτο καὶ πρέπειν μοι δοκεῖ καὶ ἄξιον κινδυνεῦσαι οἰομένῳ οὕτως ἔχειν — καλὸς γὰρ ὁ κίνδυνος — καὶ χρὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα ὥσπερ ἐπᾴδειν ἑαυτῷ, διὸ δὴ ἔγωγε καὶ πάλαι μηκύνω τὸν μῦθον. ἀλλὰ τούτων δὴ ἕνεκα θαῤῥεῖν χρὴ περὶ τῇ ἑαυτοῦ ψυχῇ [114e] ἄνδρα ὅστις ἐν τῷ βίῳ τὰς μὲν ἄλλας ἡδονὰς τὰς περὶ τὸ σῶμα καὶ τοὺς κόσμους εἴασε χαίρειν, ὡς ἀλλοτρίους τε ὄντας, καὶ πλέον θάτερον ἡγησάμενος ἀπεργάζεσθαι, τὰς δὲ περὶ τὸ μανθάνειν ἐσπούδασέ τε καὶ κοσμήσας τὴν ψυχὴν οὐκ ἀλλοτρίῳ ἀλλὰ τῷ αὐτῆς κόσμῳ, σωφροσύνῃ τε καὶ [115a] δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ ἀνδρείᾳ καὶ ἐλευθερίᾳ καὶ ἀληθείᾳ, οὕτω περιμένει τὴν εἰς Ἅιδου πορείαν [ὡς πορευσόμενος ὅταν ἡ εἱμαρμένη καλῇ]. ὑμεῖς μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σιμμία τε καὶ Κέβης καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι, εἰς αὖθις ἔν τινι χρόνῳ ἕκαστοι πορεύσεσθε· ἐμὲ δὲ νῦν ἤδη καλεῖ, φαίη ἂν ἀνὴρ τραγικός, ἡ εἱμαρμένη, καὶ σχεδόν τί μοι ὥρα τραπέσθαι πρὸς τὸ λουτρόν· δοκεῖ γὰρ δὴ βέλτιον εἶναι λουσάμενον πιεῖν τὸ φάρμακον καὶ μὴ πράγματα ταῖς γυναιξὶ παρέχειν νεκρὸν λούειν.

[115b] ταῦτα δὴ εἰπόντος αὐτοῦ ὁ Κρίτων, εἶεν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες· τί δὲ τούτοις ἢ ἐμοὶ ἐπιστέλλεις ἢ περὶ τῶν παίδων ἢ περὶ ἄλλου του, ὅτι ἄν σοι ποιοῦντες ἡμεῖς ἐν χάριτι μάλιστα ποιοῖμεν;

ἅπερ ἀεὶ λέγω, ἔφη, ὦ Κρίτων, οὐδὲν καινότερον· ὅτι ὑμῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιμελούμενοι ὑμεῖς καὶ ἐμοὶ καὶ τοῖς ἐμοῖς καὶ ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς ἐν χάριτι ποιήσετε ἅττ᾽ ἂν ποιῆτε, κἂν μὴ νῦν ὁμολογήσητε· ἐὰν δὲ ὑμῶν [μὲν] αὐτῶν ἀμελῆτε καὶ μὴ ᾽θέλητε ὥσπερ κατ᾽ ἴχνη κατὰ τὰ νῦν τε εἰρημένα καὶ τὰ ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν χρόνῳ ζῆν, οὐδὲ ἐὰν πολλὰ ὁμολογήσητε [115c] ἐν τῷ παρόντι καὶ σφόδρα, οὐδὲν πλέον ποιήσετε.

ταῦτα μὲν τοίνυν προθυμησόμεθα, ἔφη, οὕτω ποιεῖν· θάπτωμεν δέ σε τίνα τρόπον;

ὅπως ἄν, ἔφη, βούλησθε, ἐάνπερ γε λάβητέ με καὶ μὴ ἐκφύγω ὑμᾶς. γελάσας δὲ ἅμα ἡσυχῇ καὶ πρὸς ἡμᾶς ἀποβλέψας εἶπεν· οὐ πείθω, ὦ ἄνδρες, Κρίτωνα, ὡς ἐγώ εἰμι οὗτος Σωκράτης, ὁ νυνὶ διαλεγόμενος καὶ διατάττων ἕκαστον τῶν λεγομένων, ἀλλ᾽ οἴεταί με ἐκεῖνον εἶναι [115d] ὃν ὄψεται ὀλίγον ὕστερον νεκρόν, καὶ ἐρωτᾷ δὴ πῶς με θάπτῃ. ὅτι δὲ ἐγὼ πάλαι πολὺν λόγον πεποίημαι, ὡς, ἐπειδὰν πίω τὸ φάρμακον, οὐκέτι ὑμῖν παραμενῶ, ἀλλ᾽ οἰχήσομαι ἀπιὼν εἰς μακάρων δή τινας εὐδαιμονίας, ταῦτά μοι δοκῶ αὐτῷ ἄλλως λέγειν, παραμυθούμενος ἅμα μὲν ὑμᾶς, ἅμα δ᾽ ἐμαυτόν. ἐγγυήσασθε οὖν με πρὸς Κρίτωνα, ἔφη, τὴν ἐναντίαν ἐγγύην ἢ ἣν οὗτος πρὸς τοὺς δικαστὰς ἠγγυᾶτο. οὗτος μὲν γὰρ ἦ μὴν παραμενεῖν· ὑμεῖς δὲ ἦ μὴν μὴ παραμενεῖν ἐγγυήσασθε ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνω, ἀλλὰ οἰχήσεσθαι [115e] ἀπιόντα, ἵνα Κρίτων ῥᾷον φέρῃ, καὶ μὴ ὁρῶν μου τὸ σῶμα ἢ καόμενον ἢ κατορυττόμενον ἀγανακτῇ ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ ὡς δεινὰ πάσχοντος, μηδὲ λέγῃ ἐν τῇ ταφῇ ὡς ἢ προτίθεται Σωκράτη ἢ ἐκφέρει ἢ κατορύττει. εὖ γὰρ ἴσθι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ ἄριστε Κρίτων, τὸ μὴ καλῶς λέγειν οὐ μόνον εἰς αὐτὸ τοῦτο πλημμελές, ἀλλὰ καὶ κακόν τι ἐμποιεῖ ταῖς ψυχαῖς. ἀλλὰ θαῤῥεῖν τε χρὴ καὶ φάναι τοὐμὸν σῶμα θάπτειν, καὶ θάπτειν [116a] οὕτως ὅπως ἄν σοι φίλον ᾖ καὶ μάλιστα ἡγῇ νόμιμον εἶναι.

ταῦτ᾽ εἰπὼν ἐκεῖνος μὲν ἀνίστατο εἰς οἴκημά τι ὡς λουσόμενος, καὶ ὁ Κρίτων εἵπετο αὐτῷ, ἡμᾶς δ᾽ ἐκέλευε περιμένειν. περιεμένομεν οὖν πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς διαλεγόμενοι περὶ τῶν εἰρημένων καὶ ἀνασκοποῦντες, τοτὲ δ᾽ αὖ περὶ τῆς συμφορᾶς διεξιόντες ὅση ἡμῖν γεγονυῖα εἴη, ἀτεχνῶς ἡγούμενοι ὥσπερ πατρὸς στερηθέντες διάξειν ὀρφανοὶ τὸν ἔπειτα βίον. ἐπειδὴ [116b] δὲ ἐλούσατο καὶ ἠνέχθη παρ᾽ αὐτὸν τὰ παιδία — δύο γὰρ αὐτῷ ὑεῖς σμικροὶ ἦσαν, εἷς δὲ μέγας — καὶ αἱ οἰκεῖαι γυναῖκες ἀφίκοντο ἐκεῖναι, ἐναντίον τοῦ Κρίτωνος διαλεχθείς τε καὶ ἐπιστείλας ἅττα ἐβούλετο, τὰς μὲν γυναῖκας καὶ τὰ παιδία ἀπιέναι ἐκέλευσεν, αὐτὸς δὲ ἧκε παρ᾽ ἡμᾶς. καὶ ἦν ἤδη ἐγγὺς ἡλίου δυσμῶν· χρόνον γὰρ πολὺν διέτριψεν ἔνδον. ἐλθὼν δ᾽ ἐκαθέζετο λελουμένος καὶ οὐ πολλὰ ἄττα μετὰ ταῦτα διελέχθη, καὶ ἧκεν ὁ τῶν ἕνδεκα ὑπηρέτης καὶ στὰς [116c] παρ᾽ αὐτόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, οὐ καταγνώσομαί γε σοῦ ὅπερ ἄλλων καταγιγνώσκω, ὅτι μοι χαλεπαίνουσι καὶ καταρῶνται ἐπειδὰν αὐτοῖς παραγγείλω πίνειν τὸ φάρμακον ἀναγκαζόντων τῶν ἀρχόντων. σὲ δὲ ἐγὼ καὶ ἄλλως ἔγνωκα ἐν τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ γενναιότατον καὶ πρᾳότατον καὶ ἄριστον ἄνδρα ὄντα τῶν πώποτε δεῦρο ἀφικομένων, καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι οὐκ ἐμοὶ χαλεπαίνεις, γιγνώσκεις γὰρ τοὺς αἰτίους, ἀλλὰ ἐκείνοις. νῦν οὖν, οἶσθα γὰρ ἃ ἦλθον [116d] ἀγγέλλων, χαῖρέ τε καὶ πειρῶ ὡς ῥᾷστα φέρειν τὰ ἀναγκαῖα. καὶ ἅμα δακρύσας μεταστρεφόμενος ἀπῄει.

καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης ἀναβλέψας πρὸς αὐτόν, καὶ σύ, ἔφη, χαῖρε, καὶ ἡμεῖς ταῦτα ποιήσομεν. καὶ ἅμα πρὸς ἡμᾶς, ὡς ἀστεῖος, ἔφη, ὁ ἄνθρωπος· καὶ παρὰ πάντα μοι τὸν χρόνον προσῄει καὶ διελέγετο ἐνίοτε καὶ ἦν ἀνδρῶν λῷστος, καὶ νῦν ὡς γενναίως με ἀποδακρύει. ἀλλ᾽ ἄγε δή, ὦ Κρίτων, πειθώμεθα αὐτῷ, καὶ ἐνεγκάτω τις τὸ φάρμακον, εἰ τέτριπται· εἰ δὲ μή, τριψάτω ὁ ἄνθρωπος.

[116e] καὶ ὁ Κρίτων, ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι, ἔφη, ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔτι ἥλιον εἶναι ἐπὶ τοῖς ὄρεσιν καὶ οὔπω δεδυκέναι. καὶ ἅμα ἐγὼ οἶδα καὶ ἄλλους πάνυ ὀψὲ πίνοντας, ἐπειδὰν παραγγελθῇ αὐτοῖς, δειπνήσαντάς τε καὶ πιόντας εὖ μάλα, καὶ συγγενομένους γ᾽ ἐνίους ὧν ἂν τύχωσιν ἐπιθυμοῦντες. ἀλλὰ μηδὲν ἐπείγου· ἔτι γὰρ ἐγχωρεῖ.

καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης, εἰκότως γε, ἔφη, ὦ Κρίτων, ἐκεῖνοί τε ταῦτα ποιοῦσιν, οὓς σὺ λέγεις — οἴονται γὰρ κερδαίνειν ταῦτα ποιήσαντες — καὶ ἔγωγε ταῦτα εἰκότως οὐ ποιήσω· οὐδὲν γὰρ [117a] οἶμαι κερδανεῖν ὀλίγον ὕστερον πιὼν ἄλλο γε ἢ γέλωτα ὀφλήσειν παρ᾽ ἐμαυτῷ, γλιχόμενος τοῦ ζῆν καὶ φειδόμενος οὐδενὸς ἔτι ἐνόντος. ἀλλ᾽ ἴθι, ἔφη, πείθου καὶ μὴ ἄλλως ποίει.

καὶ ὁ Κρίτων ἀκούσας ἔνευσε τῷ παιδὶ πλησίον ἑστῶτι. καὶ ὁ παῖς ἐξελθὼν καὶ συχνὸν χρόνον διατρίψας ἧκεν ἄγων τὸν μέλλοντα δώσειν τὸ φάρμακον, ἐν κύλικι φέροντα τετριμμένον. ἰδὼν δὲ ὁ Σωκράτης τὸν ἄνθρωπον, εἶεν, ἔφη, ὦ βέλτιστε, σὺ γὰρ τούτων ἐπιστήμων, τί χρὴ ποιεῖν;

οὐδὲν ἄλλο, ἔφη, ἢ πιόντα περιιέναι, ἕως ἄν σου βάρος [117b] ἐν τοῖς σκέλεσι γένηται, ἔπειτα κατακεῖσθαι· καὶ οὕτως αὐτὸ ποιήσει. καὶ ἅμα ὤρεξε τὴν κύλικα τῷ Σωκράτει.

καὶ ὃς λαβὼν καὶ μάλα ἵλεως, ὦ Ἐχέκρατες, οὐδὲν τρέσας οὐδὲ διαφθείρας οὔτε τοῦ χρώματος οὔτε τοῦ προσώπου, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ εἰώθει ταυρηδὸν ὑποβλέψας πρὸς τὸν ἄνθρωπον, τί λέγεις, ἔφη, περὶ τοῦδε τοῦ πώματος πρὸς τὸ ἀποσπεῖσαί τινι; ἔξεστιν ἢ οὔ;

τοσοῦτον, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, τρίβομεν ὅσον οἰόμεθα μέτριον εἶναι πιεῖν.

[117c] μανθάνω, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς· ἀλλ᾽ εὔχεσθαί γέ που τοῖς θεοῖς ἔξεστί τε καὶ χρή, τὴν μετοίκησιν τὴν ἐνθένδε ἐκεῖσε εὐτυχῆ γενέσθαι· ἃ δὴ καὶ ἐγὼ εὔχομαί τε καὶ γένοιτο ταύτῃ. καὶ ἅμ᾽ εἰπὼν ταῦτα ἐπισχόμενος καὶ μάλα εὐχερῶς καὶ εὐκόλως ἐξέπιεν. καὶ ἡμῶν οἱ πολλοὶ τέως μὲν ἐπιεικῶς οἷοί τε ἦσαν κατέχειν τὸ μὴ δακρύειν, ὡς δὲ εἴδομεν πίνοντά τε καὶ πεπωκότα, οὐκέτι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοῦ γε βίᾳ καὶ αὐτοῦ ἀστακτὶ ἐχώρει τὰ δάκρυα, ὥστε ἐγκαλυψάμενος ἀπέκλαον ἐμαυτόν — οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἐκεῖνόν γε, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἐμαυτοῦ τύχην, οἵου ἀνδρὸς [117d] ἑταίρου ἐστερημένος εἴην. ὁ δὲ Κρίτων ἔτι πρότερος ἐμοῦ, ἐπειδὴ οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἦν κατέχειν τὰ δάκρυα, ἐξανέστη. Ἀπολλόδωρος δὲ καὶ ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν χρόνῳ οὐδὲν ἐπαύετο δακρύων, καὶ δὴ καὶ τότε ἀναβρυχησάμενος κλάων καὶ ἀγανακτῶν οὐδένα ὅντινα οὐ κατέκλασε τῶν παρόντων πλήν γε αὐτοῦ Σωκράτους.

ἐκεῖνος δέ,

— οἷα, ἔφη, ποιεῖτε, ὦ θαυμάσιοι. ἐγὼ μέντοι οὐχ ἥκιστα τούτου ἕνεκα τὰς γυναῖκας ἀπέπεμψα, ἵνα μὴ [117e] τοιαῦτα πλημμελοῖεν· καὶ γὰρ ἀκήκοα ὅτι ἐν εὐφημίᾳ χρὴ τελευτᾶν. ἀλλ᾽ ἡσυχίαν τε ἄγετε καὶ καρτερεῖτε.

καὶ ἡμεῖς ἀκούσαντες ᾐσχύνθημέν τε καὶ ἐπέσχομεν τοῦ δακρύειν. ὁ δὲ περιελθών, ἐπειδή οἱ βαρύνεσθαι ἔφη τὰ σκέλη, κατεκλίνη ὕπτιος — οὕτω γὰρ ἐκέλευεν ὁ ἄνθρωπος — καὶ ἅμα ἐφαπτόμενος αὐτοῦ οὗτος ὁ δοὺς τὸ φάρμακον, διαλιπὼν χρόνον ἐπεσκόπει τοὺς πόδας καὶ τὰ σκέλη, κἄπειτα σφόδρα πιέσας αὐτοῦ τὸν πόδα ἤρετο εἰ αἰσθάνοιτο, [118a] ὁ δ᾽ οὐκ ἔφη. καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο αὖθις τὰς κνήμας· καὶ ἐπανιὼν οὕτως ἡμῖν ἐπεδείκνυτο ὅτι ψύχοιτό τε καὶ πήγνυτο. καὶ αὐτὸς ἥπτετο καὶ εἶπεν ὅτι, ἐπειδὰν πρὸς τῇ καρδίᾳ γένηται αὐτῷ, τότε οἰχήσεται.

ἤδη οὖν σχεδόν τι αὐτοῦ ἦν τὰ περὶ τὸ ἦτρον ψυχόμενα, καὶ ἐκκαλυψάμενος — ἐνεκεκάλυπτο γάρ — εἶπεν — ὃ δὴ τελευταῖον ἐφθέγξατο —

— ὦ Κρίτων, ἔφη, τῷ Ἀσκληπιῷ ὀφείλομεν ἀλεκτρυόνα· ἀλλὰ ἀπόδοτε καὶ μὴ ἀμελήσητε.

ἀλλὰ ταῦτα, ἔφη, ἔσται, ὁ Κρίτων· ἀλλ᾽ ὅρα εἴ τι ἄλλο λέγεις.

ταῦτα ἐρομένου αὐτοῦ οὐδὲν ἔτι ἀπεκρίνατο, ἀλλ᾽ ὀλίγον χρόνον διαλιπὼν ἐκινήθη τε καὶ ὁ ἄνθρωπος ἐξεκάλυψεν αὐτόν, καὶ ὃς τὰ ὄμματα ἔστησεν· ἰδὼν δὲ ὁ Κρίτων συνέλαβε τὸ στόμα καὶ τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς.

ἥδε ἡ τελευτή, ὦ Ἐχέκρατες, τοῦ ἑταίρου ἡμῖν ἐγένετο, ἀνδρός, ὡς ἡμεῖς φαῖμεν ἄν, τῶν τότε ὧν ἐπειράθημεν ἀρίστου καὶ ἄλλως φρονιμωτάτου καὶ δικαιοτάτου.

CRATYLUS

Ἑρμογένης, Κρατύλος, Σωκράτης

[383a] Ἑρμογένης: βούλει οὖν καὶ Σωκράτει τῷδε ἀνακοινωσώμεθα τὸν λόγον;

Κρατύλος: εἴ σοι δοκεῖ.

Ἑρμογένης: Κρατύλος φησὶν ὅδε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀνόματος ὀρθότητα εἶναι ἑκάστῳ τῶν ὄντων φύσει πεφυκυῖαν, καὶ οὐ τοῦτο εἶναι ὄνομα ὃ ἄν τινες συνθέμενοι καλεῖν καλῶσι, τῆς αὑτῶν φωνῆς μόριον ἐπιφθεγγόμενοι, ἀλλὰ ὀρθότητά τινα τῶν [383b]ὀνομάτων πεφυκέναι καὶ Ἕλλησι καὶ βαρβάροις τὴν αὐτὴν ἅπασιν. ἐρωτῶ οὖν αὐτὸν ἐγὼ εἰ αὐτῷ Κρατύλος τῇ ἀληθείᾳ ὄνομα [ἐστὶν ἢ οὔ]: ὁ δὲ ὁμολογεῖ. τί δὲ Σωκράτει; ἔφην. Σωκράτης, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. οὐκοῦν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις πᾶσιν, ὅπερ καλοῦμεν ὄνομα ἕκαστον, τοῦτό ἐστιν ἑκάστῳ ὄνομα; ὁ δέ, οὔκουν σοί γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὄνομα Ἑρμογένης, οὐδὲ ἂν πάντες καλῶσιν ἄνθρωποι. καὶ ἐμοῦ ἐρωτῶντος καὶ προθυμουμένου εἰδέναι ὅτι ποτὲ [384a]λέγει, οὔτε ἀποσαφεῖ οὐδὲν εἰρωνεύεταί τε πρός με, προσποιούμενός τι αὐτὸς ἐν ἑαυτῷ διανοεῖσθαι ὡς εἰδὼς περὶ αὐτοῦ, ὃ εἰ βούλοιτο σαφῶς εἰπεῖν, ποιήσειεν ἂν καὶ ἐμὲ ὁμολογεῖν καὶ λέγειν ἅπερ αὐτὸς λέγει. εἰ οὖν πῃ ἔχεις συμβαλεῖν τὴν Κρατύλου μαντείαν, ἡδέως ἂν ἀκούσαιμι: μᾶλλον δὲ αὐτῷ σοι ὅπῃ δοκεῖ [ἔχειν] περὶ ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος ἔτι ἂν ἥδιον πυθοίμην, εἴ σοι βουλομένῳ [ἐστίν].

Σωκράτης: ὦ παῖ Ἱππονίκου Ἑρμόγενες, παλαιὰ παροιμία ὅτι [384b]χαλεπὰ τὰ καλά ἐστιν ὅπῃ ἔχει μαθεῖν: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ περὶ τῶν ὀνομάτων οὐ σμικρὸν τυγχάνει ὂν μάθημα. εἰ μὲν οὖν ἐγὼ ἤδη ἠκηκόη παρὰ Προδίκου τὴν πεντηκοντάδραχμον ἐπίδειξιν, ἣν ἀκούσαντι ὑπάρχει περὶ τοῦτο πεπαιδεῦσθαι, ὥς φησιν ἐκεῖνος, οὐδὲν ἂν ἐκώλυέν σε αὐτίκα μάλα εἰδέναι τὴν ἀλήθειαν περὶ ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος: νῦν δὲ οὐκ ἀκήκοα, [384c]ἀλλὰ τὴν δραχμιαίαν. οὔκουν οἶδα πῇ ποτε τὸ ἀληθὲς ἔχει περὶ τῶν τοιούτων: συζητεῖν μέντοι ἕτοιμός εἰμι καὶ σοὶ καὶ Κρατύλῳ κοινῇ. ὅτι δὲ οὔ φησί σοι Ἑρμογένη ὄνομα εἶναι τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, ὥσπερ ὑποπτεύω αὐτὸν σκώπτειν: οἴεται γὰρ ἴσως σε χρημάτων ἐφιέμενον κτήσεως ἀποτυγχάνειν ἑκάστοτε. ἀλλ᾽, ὃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, εἰδέναι μὲν τὰ τοιαῦτα χαλεπόν, εἰς τὸ κοινὸν δὲ καταθέντας χρὴ σκοπεῖν εἴτε ὡς σὺ λέγεις ἔχει εἴτε ὡς Κρατύλος.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ μὴν ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, πολλάκις δὴ καὶ τούτῳ διαλεχθεὶς καὶ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς, οὐ δύναμαι πεισθῆναι [384d]ὡς ἄλλη τις ὀρθότης ὀνόματος ἢ συνθήκη καὶ ὁμολογία. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δοκεῖ ὅτι ἄν τίς τῳ θῆται ὄνομα, τοῦτο εἶναι τὸ ὀρθόν: καὶ ἂν αὖθίς γε ἕτερον μεταθῆται, ἐκεῖνο δὲ μηκέτι καλῇ, οὐδὲν ἧττον τὸ ὕστερον ὀρθῶς ἔχειν τοῦ προτέρου, ὥσπερ τοῖς οἰκέταις ἡμεῖς μετατιθέμεθα [οὐδὲν ἧττον τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι ὀρθὸν τὸ μετατεθὲν τοῦ πρότερον κειμένου]: οὐ γὰρ φύσει ἑκάστῳ πεφυκέναι ὄνομα οὐδὲν οὐδενί, ἀλλὰ νόμῳ καὶ ἔθει τῶν ἐθισάντων τε καὶ καλούντων. εἰ δέ πῃ ἄλλῃ [384e]ἔχει, ἕτοιμος ἔγωγε καὶ μανθάνειν καὶ ἀκούειν οὐ μόνον παρὰ Κρατύλου, ἀλλὰ καὶ παρ᾽ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν. [385a]

Σωκράτης: ἴσως μέντοι τὶ λέγεις, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες: σκεψώμεθα δέ. ὃ ἂν φῂς καλῇ τις ἕκαστον, τοῦθ᾽ ἑκάστῳ ὄνομα;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐὰν ἰδιώτης καλῇ καὶ ἐὰν πόλις;

Ἑρμογένης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἐὰν ἐγὼ καλῶ ὁτιοῦν τῶν ὄντων, οἷον ὃ νῦν καλοῦμεν ἄνθρωπον, ἐὰν ἐγὼ τοῦτο ἵππον προσαγορεύω, ὃ δὲ νῦν ἵππον, ἄνθρωπον, ἔσται δημοσίᾳ μὲν ὄνομα ἄνθρωπος τῷ αὐτῷ, ἰδίᾳ δὲ ἵππος; καὶ ἰδίᾳ μὲν αὖ ἄνθρωπος, δημοσίᾳ δὲ ἵππος; οὕτω λέγεις; [385b]

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή μοι τόδε εἰπέ: καλεῖς τι ἀληθῆ λέγειν καὶ ψευδῆ;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴη ἂν λόγος ἀληθής, ὁ δὲ ψευδής;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὗτος ὃς ἂν τὰ ὄντα λέγῃ ὡς ἔστιν, ἀληθής: ὃς δ᾽ ἂν ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν, ψευδής;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν ἄρα τοῦτο, λόγῳ λέγειν τὰ ὄντα τε καὶ μή;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε. [385c]

Σωκράτης: ὁ λόγος δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὁ ἀληθὴς πότερον μὲν ὅλος ἀληθής, τὰ μόρια δ᾽ αὐτοῦ οὐκ ἀληθῆ;

Ἑρμογένης: οὔκ, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ μόρια.

Σωκράτης: πότερον δὲ τὰ μὲν μεγάλα μόρια ἀληθῆ, τὰ δὲ σμικρὰ οὔ: ἢ πάντα;

Ἑρμογένης: πάντα, οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν οὖν ὅτι λέγεις λόγου σμικρότερον μόριον ἄλλο ἢ ὄνομα;

Ἑρμογένης: οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο σμικρότατον.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τοῦτο [ὄνομa}}ἄρα τὸ τοῦ ἀληθοῦς λόγου λέγεται;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἀληθές γε, ὡς φῄς.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὲ τοῦ ψεύδους μόριον οὐ ψεῦδος;

Ἑρμογένης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν ἄρα ὄνομα ψεῦδος καὶ ἀληθὲς λέγειν, εἴπερ καὶ λόγον; [385d]

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: ὃ ἂν ἄρα ἕκαστος φῇ τῳ ὄνομα εἶναι, τοῦτό ἐστιν ἑκάστῳ ὄνομα;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ ὁπόσα ἂν φῇ τις ἑκάστῳ ὀνόματα εἶναι, τοσαῦτα ἔσται καὶ τότε ὁπόταν φῇ;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐ γὰρ ἔχω ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀνόματος ἄλλην ὀρθότητα ἢ ταύτην, ἐμοὶ μὲν ἕτερον εἶναι καλεῖν ἑκάστῳ ὄνομα, ὃ ἐγὼ ἐθέμην, σοὶ δὲ ἕτερον, ὃ αὖ σύ. οὕτω δὲ καὶ [385e]ταῖς πόλεσιν ὁρῶ ἰδίᾳ [ἑκάσταις] ἐνίοις ἐπὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς κείμενα ὀνόματα, καὶ Ἕλλησι παρὰ τοὺς ἄλλους Ἕλληνας, καὶ Ἕλλησι παρὰ βαρβάρους.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δὴ ἴδωμεν, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, πότερον καὶ τὰ ὄντα οὕτως ἔχειν σοι φαίνεται, ἰδίᾳ αὐτῶν ἡ οὐσία εἶναι ἑκάστῳ, ὥσπερ Πρωταγόρας ἔλεγεν λέγων πάντων χρημάτων [386a]μέτρον εἶναι ἄνθρωπον ὡς ἄρα οἷα μὲν ἂν ἐμοὶ φαίνηται τὰ πράγματα [εἶναι], τοιαῦτα μὲν ἔστιν ἐμοί: οἷα δ᾽ ἂν σοί, τοιαῦτα δὲ σοί ἢ ἔχειν δοκεῖ σοι αὐτὰ αὑτῶν τινα βεβαιότητα τῆς οὐσίας;

Ἑρμογένης: ἤδη ποτὲ ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀπορῶν καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἐξηνέχθην εἰς ἅπερ Πρωταγόρας λέγει: οὐ πάνυ τι μέντοι μοι δοκεῖ οὕτως ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἐς τόδε ἤδη ἐξηνέχθης, ὥστε μὴ πάνυ σοι [386b]δοκεῖν εἶναί τινα ἄνθρωπον πονηρόν;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἀλλὰ πολλάκις δὴ αὐτὸ πέπονθα, ὥστε μοι δοκεῖν πάνυ πονηροὺς εἶναί τινας ἀνθρώπους, καὶ μάλα συχνούς.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; πάνυ χρηστοὶ οὔπω σοι ἔδοξαν εἶναι [ἄνθρωποι];

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ μάλα ὀλίγοι.

Σωκράτης: ἔδοξαν δ᾽ οὖν;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: πῶς οὖν τοῦτο τίθεσαι; ἆρ᾽ ὧδε: τοὺς μὲν πάνυ χρηστοὺς πάνυ φρονίμους, τοὺς δὲ πάνυ πονηροὺς πάνυ ἄφρονας; [386c]

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: οἷόν τε οὖν [ἐστιν], εἰ Πρωταγόρας ἀληθῆ ἔλεγεν καὶ ἔστιν αὕτη ἡ ἀλήθεια, τὸ οἷα ἂν δοκῇ ἑκάστῳ τοιαῦτα καὶ εἶναι, τοὺς μὲν ἡμῶν φρονίμους εἶναι, τοὺς δὲ ἄφρονας;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ταῦτά γε, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, σοὶ πάνυ δοκεῖ, φρονήσεως οὔσης καὶ ἀφροσύνης μὴ πάνυ δυνατὸν εἶναι Πρωταγόραν ἀληθῆ λέγειν: οὐδὲν γὰρ ἄν που τῇ ἀληθείᾳ ὁ ἕτερος τοῦ ἑτέρου φρονιμώτερος εἴη, εἴπερ ἃ ἂν ἑκάστῳ [386d]δοκῇ ἑκάστῳ ἀληθῆ ἔσται.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδὲ κατ᾽ Εὐθύδημόν γε οἶμαι σοὶ δοκεῖ πᾶσι πάντα ὁμοίως εἶναι ἅμα καὶ ἀεί: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν οὕτως εἶεν οἱ μὲν χρηστοί, οἱ δὲ πονηροί, εἰ ὁμοίως ἅπασι καὶ ἀεὶ ἀρετή τε καὶ κακία εἴη.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μήτε πᾶσι πάντα ἐστὶν ὁμοίως ἅμα καὶ ἀεί, μήτε ἑκάστῳ ἰδίᾳ ἕκαστον [τῶν ὄντων ἐστίν], δῆλον δὴ [386e]ὅτι αὐτὰ αὑτῶν οὐσίαν ἔχοντά τινα βέβαιόν ἐστι τὰ πράγματα, οὐ πρὸς ἡμᾶς οὐδὲ ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν ἑλκόμενα ἄνω καὶ κάτω τῷ ἡμετέρῳ φαντάσματι, ἀλλὰ καθ᾽ αὑτὰ πρὸς τὴν αὑτῶν οὐσίαν ἔχοντα ᾗπερ πέφυκεν.

Ἑρμογένης: δοκεῖ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτω.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν αὐτὰ μὲν ἂν εἴη οὕτω πεφυκότα, αἱ δὲ πράξεις αὐτῶν οὐ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον; ἢ οὐ καὶ αὗται ἕν τι εἶδος τῶν ὄντων εἰσίν, αἱ πράξεις;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε καὶ αὗται. [387a]

Σωκράτης: κατὰ τὴν αὑτῶν ἄρα φύσιν καὶ αἱ πράξεις πράττονται, οὐ κατὰ τὴν ἡμετέραν δόξαν. οἷον ἐάν τι ἐπιχειρήσωμεν ἡμεῖς τῶν ὄντων τέμνειν, πότερον ἡμῖν τμητέον [ἐστὶν] ἕκαστον ὡς ἂν ἡμεῖς βουλώμεθα καὶ ᾧ ἂν βουληθῶμεν, ἢ ἐὰν μὲν κατὰ τὴν φύσιν βουληθῶμεν ἕκαστον τέμνειν τοῦ τέμνειν τε καὶ τέμνεσθαι καὶ ᾧ πέφυκε, τεμοῦμέν τε καὶ πλέον τι ἡμῖν ἔσται καὶ ὀρθῶς πράξομεν τοῦτο, ἐὰν δὲ παρὰ φύσιν, ἐξαμαρτησόμεθά τε καὶ οὐδὲν πράξομεν; [387b]

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ οὕτω.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐὰν κάειν τι ἐπιχειρήσωμεν, οὐ κατὰ πᾶσαν δόξαν δεῖ κάειν, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὴν ὀρθήν; αὕτη δ᾽ ἐστὶν ᾗ ἐπεφύκει ἕκαστον κάεσθαί τε καὶ κάειν καὶ ᾧ ἐπεφύκει;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ καὶ τὸ λέγειν μία τις τῶν πράξεών ἐστιν;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν ᾗ ἄν τῳ δοκῇ λεκτέον εἶναι, ταύτῃ [387c]λέγων ὀρθῶς λέξει, ἢ ἐὰν μὲν ᾗ πέφυκε τὰ πράγματα λέγειν τε καὶ λέγεσθαι καὶ ᾧ, ταύτῃ καὶ τούτῳ λέγῃ, πλέον τέ τι ποιήσει καὶ ἐρεῖ: ἂν δὲ μή, ἐξαμαρτήσεταί τε καὶ οὐδὲν ποιήσει;

Ἑρμογένης: οὕτω μοι δοκεῖ ὡς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τοῦ λέγειν μόριον τὸ ὀνομάζειν; διονομάζοντες γάρ που λέγουσι τοὺς λόγους.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ὀνομάζειν πρᾶξίς [τίς] ἐστιν, εἴπερ καὶ τὸ λέγειν πρᾶξίς τις ἦν περὶ τὰ πράγματα;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί. [387d]

Σωκράτης: αἱ δὲ πράξεις ἐφάνησαν ἡμῖν οὐ πρὸς ἡμᾶς οὖσαι, ἀλλ᾽ αὑτῶν τινα ἰδίαν φύσιν ἔχουσαι;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ὀνομαστέον [ἐστὶν] ᾗ πέφυκε τὰ πράγματα ὀνομάζειν τε καὶ ὀνομάζεσθαι καὶ ᾧ, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ᾗ ἂν ἡμεῖς βουληθῶμεν, εἴπερ τι τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν μέλλει ὁμολογούμενον εἶναι; καὶ οὕτω μὲν ἂν πλέον τι ποιοῖμεν καὶ ὀνομάζοιμεν, ἄλλως δὲ οὔ;

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεταί μοι.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, ὃ ἔδει τέμνειν, ἔδει τῳ, φαμέν, τέμνειν;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί. [387e]

Σωκράτης: καὶ ὃ ἔδει κερκίζειν, ἔδει τῳ κερκίζειν; καὶ ὃ ἔδει τρυπᾶν, ἔδει τῳ τρυπᾶν;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ὃ ἔδει δὴ ὀνομάζειν, ἔδει τῳ ὀνομάζειν; [388a]

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ἦν ἐκεῖνο ᾧ ἔδει τρυπᾶν;

Ἑρμογένης: τρύπανον.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ᾧ κερκίζειν;

Ἑρμογένης: κερκίς.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ᾧ ὀνομάζειν;

Ἑρμογένης: ὄνομα.

Σωκράτης: εὖ λέγεις. ὄργανον ἄρα τί ἐστι καὶ τὸ ὄνομα.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: εἰ οὖν ἐγὼ ἐροίμην τί ἦν ὄργανον ἡ κερκίς; οὐχ ᾧ κερκίζομεν;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί. [388b]

Σωκράτης: κερκίζοντες δὲ τί δρῶμεν; οὐ τὴν κρόκην καὶ τοὺς στήμονας συγκεχυμένους διακρίνομεν;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ τρυπάνου ἕξεις οὕτως εἰπεῖν καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἔχεις δὴ καὶ περὶ ὀνόματος οὕτως εἰπεῖν; ὀργάνῳ ὄντι τῷ ὀνόματι ὀνομάζοντες τί ποιοῦμεν;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὐ διδάσκομέν τι ἀλλήλους καὶ τὰ πράγματα διακρίνομεν ᾗ ἔχει;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὄνομα ἄρα διδασκαλικόν τί ἐστιν ὄργανον καὶ [388c]διακριτικὸν τῆς οὐσίας ὥσπερ κερκὶς ὑφάσματος.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ὑφαντικὸν δέ γε ἡ κερκίς;

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: ὑφαντικὸς μὲν ἄρα κερκίδι καλῶς χρήσεται, καλῶς δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὑφαντικῶς: διδασκαλικὸς δὲ ὀνόματι, καλῶς δ᾽ ἐστὶ διδασκαλικῶς.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τῷ τίνος οὖν ἔργῳ ὁ ὑφάντης καλῶς χρήσεται ὅταν τῇ κερκίδι χρῆται;

Ἑρμογένης: τῷ τοῦ τέκτονος.

Σωκράτης: πᾶς δὲ τέκτων ἢ ὁ τὴν τέχνην ἔχων;

Ἑρμογένης: ὁ τὴν τέχνην. [388d]

Σωκράτης: τῷ τίνος δὲ ἔργῳ ὁ τρυπητὴς καλῶς χρήσεται ὅταν τῷ τρυπάνῳ χρῆται;

Ἑρμογένης: τῷ τοῦ χαλκέως.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν πᾶς χαλκεὺς ἢ ὁ τὴν τέχνην ἔχων;

Ἑρμογένης: ὁ τὴν τέχνην.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν. τῷ δὲ τίνος ἔργῳ ὁ διδασκαλικὸς χρήσεται ὅταν τῷ ὀνόματι χρῆται;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐδὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἔχω.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ τοῦτό γ᾽ ἔχεις εἰπεῖν, τίς παραδίδωσιν ἡμῖν τὰ ὀνόματα οἷς χρώμεθα;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὐχὶ ὁ νόμος δοκεῖ σοι [εἶναι] ὁ παραδιδοὺς αὐτά;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔοικεν. [388e]

Σωκράτης: νομοθέτου ἄρα ἔργῳ χρήσεται ὁ διδασκαλικὸς ὅταν ὀνόματι χρῆται;

Ἑρμογένης: δοκεῖ μοι.

Σωκράτης: νομοθέτης δέ σοι δοκεῖ πᾶς εἶναι ἀνὴρ ἢ ὁ τὴν τέχνην ἔχων;

Ἑρμογένης: ὁ τὴν τέχνην.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα παντὸς ἀνδρός, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, ὄνομα θέσθαι [389a][ἐστὶν] ἀλλά τινος ὀνοματουργοῦ: οὗτος δ᾽ ἐστίν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὁ νομοθέτης, ὃς δὴ τῶν δημιουργῶν σπανιώτατος ἐν ἀνθρώποις γίγνεται.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή, ἐπίσκεψαι ποῖ βλέπων ὁ νομοθέτης τὰ ὀνόματα τίθεται: ἐκ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν δὲ ἀνάσκεψαι. ποῖ βλέπων ὁ τέκτων τὴν κερκίδα ποιεῖ; ἆρ᾽ οὐ πρὸς τοιοῦτόν τι ὃ ἐπεφύκει κερκίζειν;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε. [389b]

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἂν καταγῇ αὐτῷ ἡ κερκὶς ποιοῦντι, πότερον πάλιν ποιήσει ἄλλην πρὸς τὴν κατεαγυῖαν βλέπων, ἢ πρὸς ἐκεῖνο τὸ εἶδος πρὸς ὅπερ καὶ ἣν κατέαξεν ἐποίει;

Ἑρμογένης: πρὸς ἐκεῖνο, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐκεῖνο δικαιότατ᾽ ἂν αὐτὸ ὃ ἔστιν κερκὶς καλέσαιμεν;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὰν δέῃ λεπτῷ ἱματίῳ ἢ παχεῖ ἢ λινῷ ἢ ἐρεῷ ἢ ὁποιῳοῦν τινι κερκίδα ποιεῖν, πάσας μὲν δεῖ τὸ τῆς κερκίδος ἔχειν εἶδος, οἵα δ᾽ ἑκάστῳ καλλίστη ἐπεφύκει, [389c]ταύτην ἀποδιδόναι τὴν φύσιν εἰς τὸ ἔργον ἕκαστον;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων δὴ ὀργάνων ὁ αὐτὸς τρόπος: τὸ φύσει ἑκάστῳ πεφυκὸς ὄργανον ἐξευρόντα δεῖ ἀποδοῦναι εἰς ἐκεῖνο ἐξ οὗ ἂν ποιῇ [τὸ ἔργον], οὐχ οἷον ἂν αὐτὸς βουληθῇ, ἀλλ᾽ οἷον ἐπεφύκει. τὸ φύσει γὰρ ἑκάστῳ, ὡς ἔοικε, τρύπανον πεφυκὸς εἰς τὸν σίδηρον δεῖ ἐπίστασθαι τιθέναι.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τὴν φύσει κερκίδα ἑκάστῳ πεφυκυῖαν εἰς ξύλον.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα. [389d]

Σωκράτης: φύσει γὰρ ἦν ἑκάστῳ εἴδει ὑφάσματος, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἑκάστη κερκίς, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὦ βέλτιστε, καὶ τὸ ἑκάστῳ φύσει πεφυκὸς ὄνομα τὸν νομοθέτην ἐκεῖνον εἰς τοὺς φθόγγους καὶ τὰς συλλαβὰς δεῖ ἐπίστασθαι τιθέναι, καὶ βλέποντα πρὸς αὐτὸ ἐκεῖνο ὃ ἔστιν ὄνομα, πάντα τὰ ὀνόματα ποιεῖν τε καὶ τίθεσθαι, εἰ μέλλει κύριος εἶναι ὀνομάτων θέτης; εἰ δὲ μὴ εἰς τὰς αὐτὰς συλλαβὰς ἕκαστος ὁ νομοθέτης τίθησιν, οὐδὲν [389e]δεῖ τοῦτο ἀ<μφι>γνοεῖν: οὐδὲ γὰρ εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν σίδηρον ἅπας χαλκεὺς τίθησιν, τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἕνεκα ποιῶν τὸ αὐτὸ ὄργανον: ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως, ἕως ἂν τὴν αὐτὴν ἰδέαν ἀποδιδῷ, ἐάντε [390a]ἐν ἄλλῳ σιδήρῳ, ὅμως ὀρθῶς ἔχει τὸ ὄργανον, ἐάντε ἐνθάδε ἐάντε ἐν βαρβάροις τις ποιῇ. ἦ γάρ;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὕτως ἀξιώσεις καὶ τὸν νομοθέτην τόν τε ἐνθάδε καὶ τὸν ἐν τοῖς βαρβάροις, ἕως ἂν τὸ τοῦ ὀνόματος εἶδος ἀποδιδῷ τὸ προσῆκον ἑκάστῳ ἐν ὁποιαισοῦν συλλαβαῖς, οὐδὲν χείρω νομοθέτην εἶναι τὸν ἐνθάδε ἢ τὸν ὁπουοῦν ἄλλοθι;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε. [390b]

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν ὁ γνωσόμενος εἰ τὸ προσῆκον εἶδος κερκίδος ἐν ὁποιῳοῦν ξύλῳ κεῖται; ὁ ποιήσας, ὁ τέκτων, ἢ ὁ χρησόμενος [ὁ] ὑφάντης;

Ἑρμογένης: εἰκὸς μὲν μᾶλλον, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸν χρησόμενον.

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν ὁ τῷ τοῦ λυροποιοῦ ἔργῳ χρησόμενος; ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὗτος ὃς ἐπίσταιτο ἂν ἐργαζομένῳ κάλλιστα ἐπιστατεῖν καὶ εἰργασμένον γνοίη εἴτ᾽ εὖ εἴργασται εἴτε μή;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τίς;

Ἑρμογένης: ὁ κιθαριστής.

Σωκράτης: τίς δὲ ὁ τῷ τοῦ ναυπηγοῦ; [390c]

Ἑρμογένης: κυβερνήτης.

Σωκράτης: τίς δὲ τῷ τοῦ νομοθέτου ἔργῳ ἐπιστατήσειέ τ᾽ ἂν κάλλιστα καὶ εἰργασμένον κρίνειε καὶ ἐνθάδε καὶ ἐν τοῖς βαρβάροις; ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ὅσπερ χρήσεται;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ὁ ἐρωτᾶν ἐπιστάμενος οὗτός ἐστιν;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὁ δὲ αὐτὸς καὶ ἀποκρίνεσθαι;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τὸν δὲ ἐρωτᾶν καὶ ἀποκρίνεσθαι ἐπιστάμενον ἄλλο τι σὺ καλεῖς ἢ διαλεκτικόν;

Ἑρμογένης: οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο. [390d]

Σωκράτης: τέκτονος μὲν ἄρα ἔργον ἐστὶν ποιῆσαι πηδάλιον ἐπιστατοῦντος κυβερνήτου, εἰ μέλλει καλὸν εἶναι τὸ πηδάλιον.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: νομοθέτου δέ γε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὄνομα, ἐπιστάτην ἔχοντος διαλεκτικὸν ἄνδρα, εἰ μέλλει καλῶς ὀνόματα θήσεσθαι.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύει ἄρα, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, εἶναι οὐ φαῦλον, ὡς σὺ οἴει, ἡ τοῦ ὀνόματος θέσις, οὐδὲ φαύλων ἀνδρῶν οὐδὲ τῶν ἐπιτυχόντων. καὶ Κρατύλος ἀληθῆ λέγει λέγων φύσει [390e]τὰ ὀνόματα εἶναι τοῖς πράγμασι, καὶ οὐ πάντα δημιουργὸν ὀνομάτων εἶναι, ἀλλὰ μόνον ἐκεῖνον τὸν ἀποβλέποντα εἰς τὸ τῇ φύσει ὄνομα ὂν ἑκάστῳ καὶ δυνάμενον αὐτοῦ τὸ εἶδος τιθέναι εἴς τε τὰ γράμματα καὶ τὰς συλλαβάς.

Ἑρμογένης: οὐκ ἔχω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅπως χρὴ πρὸς ἃ λέγεις [391a]ἐναντιοῦσθαι. ἴσως μέντοι οὐ ῥᾴδιόν ἐστιν οὕτως ἐξαίφνης πεισθῆναι, ἀλλὰ δοκῶ μοι ὧδε ἂν μᾶλλον πιθέσθαι σοι, εἴ μοι δείξειας ἥντινα φῂς εἶναι τὴν φύσει ὀρθότητα ὀνόματος.

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ μέν, ὦ μακάριε Ἑρμόγενες, οὐδεμίαν λέγω, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπελάθου γε ὧν ὀλίγον πρότερον ἔλεγον, ὅτι οὐκ εἰδείην ἀλλὰ σκεψοίμην μετὰ σοῦ. νῦν δὲ σκοπουμένοις ἡμῖν, ἐμοί τε καὶ σοί, τοσοῦτον μὲν ἤδη φαίνεται παρὰ τὰ πρότερα, φύσει τέ τινα ὀρθότητα ἔχον εἶναι τὸ ὄνομα καὶ οὐ [391b]παντὸς ἀνδρὸς ἐπίστασθαι [καλῶς] αὐτὸ πράγματι ὁτῳοῦν θέσθαι: ἢ οὔ;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο χρὴ ζητεῖν, εἴπερ ἐπιθυμεῖς εἰδέναι, ἥτις ποτ᾽ αὖ ἐστιν αὐτοῦ ἡ ὀρθότης.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ἐπιθυμῶ γε εἰδέναι.

Σωκράτης: σκόπει τοίνυν.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς οὖν χρὴ σκοπεῖν;

Σωκράτης: ὀρθοτάτη μὲν τῆς σκέψεως, ὦ ἑταῖρε, μετὰ τῶν ἐπισταμένων, χρήματα ἐκείνοις τελοῦντα καὶ χάριτας κατατιθέμενον. εἰσὶ δὲ οὗτοι οἱ σοφισταί, οἷσπερ καὶ ὁ ἀδελφός [391c]σου Καλλίας πολλὰ τελέσας χρήματα σοφὸς δοκεῖ εἶναι. ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐκ ἐγκρατὴς εἶ τῶν πατρῴων, λιπαρεῖν χρὴ τὸν ἀδελφὸν καὶ δεῖσθαι αὐτοῦ διδάξαι σε τὴν ὀρθότητα περὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἣν ἔμαθεν παρὰ Πρωταγόρου.

Ἑρμογένης: ἄτοπος μεντἂν εἴη μου, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἡ δέησις, εἰ τὴν μὲν ἀλήθειαν τὴν Πρωταγόρου ὅλως οὐκ ἀποδέχομαι, τὰ δὲ τῇ τοιαύτῃ ἀληθείᾳ ῥηθέντα ἀγαπῴην ὥς του ἄξια.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὴ αὖ σε ταῦτα ἀρέσκει, παρ᾽ Ὁμήρου χρὴ [391d]μανθάνειν καὶ παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων ποιητῶν.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ τί λέγει, ὦ Σώκρατες, Ὅμηρος περὶ ὀνομάτων, καὶ ποῦ;

Σωκράτης: πολλαχοῦ: μέγιστα δὲ καὶ κάλλιστα ἐν οἷς διορίζει ἐπὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἅ τε οἱ ἄνθρωποι ὀνόματα καλοῦσι καὶ οἱ θεοί. ἢ οὐκ οἴει αὐτὸν μέγα τι καὶ θαυμάσιον λέγειν ἐν τούτοις περὶ ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος; δῆλον γὰρ δὴ ὅτι οἵ γε θεοὶ αὐτὰ καλοῦσιν πρὸς ὀρθότητα ἅπερ ἔστι φύσει ὀνόματα: [391e]ἢ σὺ οὐκ οἴει;

Ἑρμογένης: εὖ οἶδα μὲν οὖν ἔγωγε, εἴπερ καλοῦσιν, ὅτι ὀρθῶς καλοῦσιν. ἀλλὰ ποῖα ταῦτα λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι περὶ τοῦ ποταμοῦ τοῦ ἐν τῇ Τροίᾳ, ὃς ἐμονομάχει τῷ Ἡφαίστῳ, ὃν Ξάνθον, φησί, καλέουσι θεοί, ἄνδρες δὲ Σκάμανδρον;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔγωγε. [392a]

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν δή; οὐκ οἴει τοῦτο σεμνόν τι εἶναι γνῶναι, ὅπῃ ποτὲ ὀρθῶς ἔχει ἐκεῖνον τὸν ποταμὸν Ξάνθον καλεῖν μᾶλλον ἢ Σκάμανδρον; εἰ δὲ βούλει, περὶ τῆς ὄρνιθος ἣν λέγει ὅτι χαλκίδα κικλῄσκουσι θεοί, ἄνδρες δὲ κύμινδιν,

(Hom. Il. 14.291) φαῦλον ἡγῇ τὸ μάθημα ὅσῳ ὀρθότερόν ἐστι καλεῖσθαι χαλκὶς κυμίνδιδος τῷ αὐτῷ ὀρνέῳ; ἢ τὴν Βατίειάν τε καὶ Μυρίνην, [392b]καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ τούτου τοῦ ποιητοῦ καὶ ἄλλων; ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν ἴσως μείζω ἐστὶν ἢ κατ᾽ ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ ἐξευρεῖν: ὁ δὲ Σκαμάνδριός τε καὶ ὁ Ἀστυάναξ ἀνθρωπινώτερον διασκέψασθαι, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, καὶ ῥᾷον, ἅ φησιν ὀνόματα εἶναι τῷ τοῦ Ἕκτορος ὑεῖ, τίνα ποτὲ λέγει τὴν ὀρθότητα αὐτῶν. οἶσθα γὰρ δήπου ταῦτα τὰ ἔπη ἐν οἷς ἔνεστιν ἃ ἐγὼ λέγω.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν οἴει Ὅμηρον ὀρθότερον ἡγεῖσθαι τῶν ὀνομάτων κεῖσθαι τῷ παιδί, τὸν Ἀστυάνακτα ἢ τὸν Σκαμάνδριον ; [392c]

Ἑρμογένης: οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: ὧδε δὴ σκόπει. εἴ τις ἔροιτό σε πότερον οἴει ὀρθότερον καλεῖν τὰ ὀνόματα τοὺς φρονιμωτέρους ἢ τοὺς ἀφρονεστέρους;

Ἑρμογένης: δῆλον δὴ ὅτι τοὺς φρονιμωτέρους, φαίην ἄν.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν αἱ γυναῖκες ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν φρονιμώτεραί σοι δοκοῦσιν εἶναι ἢ οἱ ἄνδρες, ὡς τὸ ὅλον εἰπεῖν γένος;

Ἑρμογένης: οἱ ἄνδρες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οἶσθα ὅτι Ὅμηρος τὸ παιδίον τὸ τοῦ Ἕκτορος [392d]ὑπὸ τῶν Τρώων φησὶν καλεῖσθαι Ἀστυάνακτα, Σκαμάνδριον δὲ δῆλον ὅτι ὑπὸ τῶν γυναικῶν, ἐπειδὴ οἵ γε ἄνδρες αὐτὸν Ἀστυάνακτα ἐκάλουν;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔοικέ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ Ὅμηρος τοὺς Τρῶας σοφωτέρους ἡγεῖτο ἢ τὰς γυναῖκας αὐτῶν;

Ἑρμογένης: οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τὸν Ἀστυάνακτα ἄρα ὀρθότερον ᾤετο κεῖσθαι τῷ παιδὶ ἢ τὸν Σκαμάνδριον ;

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: σκοπῶμεν δὴ διὰ τί ποτε. ἢ αὐτὸς ἡμῖν κάλλιστα ὑφηγεῖται τὸ διότι; φησὶν γάρ [392e] οἶος γάρ σφιν ἔρυτο πόλιν καὶ τείχεα μακρά. (Hom. Il. 22.507) διὰ ταῦτα δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὀρθῶς ἔχει καλεῖν τὸν τοῦ σωτῆρος ὑὸν Ἀστυάνακτα τούτου ὃ ἔσῳζεν ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ, ὥς φησιν Ὅμηρος.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεταί μοι.

Σωκράτης: τί δή ποτε; οὐ γάρ πω οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸς ἔγωγε μανθάνω: ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, σὺ δὲ μανθάνεις;

Ἑρμογένης: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε. [393a]

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα, ὠγαθέ, καὶ τῷ Ἕκτορι αὐτὸς ἔθετο τὸ ὄνομα Ὅμηρος;

Ἑρμογένης: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι μοι δοκεῖ καὶ τοῦτο παραπλήσιόν τι εἶναι τῷ Ἀστυάνακτι, καὶ ἔοικεν Ἑλληνικοῖς ταῦτα [τὰ ὀνόματα]. ὁ γὰρ ἄναξ καὶ ὁ Ἕκτωρ σχεδόν τι ταὐτὸν σημαίνει, βασιλικὰ ἀμφότερα εἶναι τὰ ὀνόματα: οὗ γὰρ ἄν τις ἄναξ ᾖ, καὶ Ἕκτωρ δήπου ἐστὶν τούτου: δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι κρατεῖ [393b]τε αὐτοῦ καὶ κέκτηται καὶ ἔχει αὐτό. ἢ οὐδέν σοι δοκῶ λέγειν, ἀλλὰ λανθάνω καὶ ἐμαυτὸν οἰόμενός τινος ὥσπερ ἴχνους ἐφάπτεσθαι τῆς Ὁμήρου δόξης περὶ ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος;

Ἑρμογένης: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐ σύ γε, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖς, ἀλλὰ ἴσως τοῦ ἐφάπτῃ.

Σωκράτης: δίκαιόν γέ τοί ἐστιν, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, τὸν λέοντος ἔκγονον λέοντα καλεῖν καὶ τὸν ἵππου ἔκγονον ἵππον. οὔ τι λέγω ἐὰν ὥσπερ τέρας γένηται ἐξ ἵππου ἄλλο τι ἢ ἵππος, [393c]ἀλλ᾽ οὗ ἂν ᾖ τοῦ γένους ἔκγονον τὴν φύσιν, τοῦτο λέγω: ἐὰν βοὸς ἔκγονον φύσει ἵππος παρὰ φύσιν τέκῃ μόσχον, οὐ πῶλον κλητέον ἀλλὰ μόσχον: οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἐξ ἀνθρώπου οἶμαι μὴ τὸ ἀνθρώπου ἔκγονον γένηται, [ἀλλ᾽ ὃ ἂν] τὸ ἔκγονον ἄνθρωπος κλητέος: καὶ τὰ δένδρα ὡσαύτως καὶ τἆλλα ἅπαντα: ἢ οὐ συνδοκεῖ;

Ἑρμογένης: συνδοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς λέγεις: φύλαττε γάρ με μή πῃ παρακρούσωμαί σε. κατὰ γὰρ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον κἂν ἐκ βασιλέως γίγνηταί τι [393d]ἔκγονον, βασιλεὺς κλητέος: εἰ δὲ ἐν ἑτέραις συλλαβαῖς ἢ ἐν ἑτέραις τὸ αὐτὸ σημαίνει, οὐδὲν πρᾶγμα: οὐδ᾽ εἰ πρόσκειταί τι γράμμα ἢ ἀφῄρηται, οὐδὲν οὐδὲ τοῦτο, ἕως ἂν ἐγκρατὴς ᾖ ἡ οὐσία τοῦ πράγματος δηλουμένη ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν ποικίλον, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ τῶν στοιχείων οἶσθα ὅτι ὀνόματα λέγομεν ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ αὐτὰ τὰ στοιχεῖα, πλὴν τεττάρων, τοῦ Ε καὶ τοῦ Υ καὶ τοῦ Ο καὶ τοῦ Ω: τοῖς δ᾽ [393e]ἄλλοις φωνήεσί τε καὶ ἀφώνοις οἶσθα ὅτι περιτιθέντες ἄλλα γράμματα λέγομεν, ὀνόματα ποιοῦντες: ἀλλ᾽ ἕως ἂν αὐτοῦ δηλουμένην τὴν δύναμιν ἐντιθῶμεν, ὀρθῶς ἔχει ἐκεῖνο τὸ ὄνομα καλεῖν ὃ αὐτὸ ἡμῖν δηλώσει. οἷον τὸ βῆτα : ὁρᾷς ὅτι τοῦ ἦτα καὶ τοῦ ταῦ καὶ τοῦ ἄλφα προστεθέντων οὐδὲν ἐλύπησεν, ὥστε μὴ οὐχὶ τὴν ἐκείνου τοῦ στοιχείου φύσιν δηλῶσαι ὅλῳ τῷ ὀνόματι οὗ ἐβούλετο ὁ νομοθέτης: οὕτως ἠπιστήθη καλῶς θέσθαι τοῖς γράμμασι τὰ ὀνόματα.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν. [394a]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ βασιλέως ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος; ἔσται γάρ ποτε ἐκ βασιλέως βασιλεύς, καὶ ἐξ ἀγαθοῦ ἀγαθός, καὶ ἐκ καλοῦ καλός, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οὕτως, ἐξ ἑκάστου γένους ἕτερον τοιοῦτον ἔκγονον, ἐὰν μὴ τέρας γίγνηται: κλητέον δὴ ταὐτὰ ὀνόματα. ποικίλλειν δὲ ἔξεστι ταῖς συλλαβαῖς, ὥστε δόξαι ἂν τῷ ἰδιωτικῶς ἔχοντι ἕτερα εἶναι ἀλλήλων τὰ αὐτὰ ὄντα: ὥσπερ ἡμῖν τὰ τῶν ἰατρῶν φάρμακα χρώμασιν καὶ ὀσμαῖς πεποικιλμένα ἄλλα φαίνεται τὰ αὐτὰ ὄντα, τῷ δέ γε [394b]ἰατρῷ, ἅτε τὴν δύναμιν τῶν φαρμάκων σκοπουμένῳ, τὰ αὐτὰ φαίνεται, καὶ οὐκ ἐκπλήττεται ὑπὸ τῶν προσόντων. οὕτω δὲ ἴσως καὶ ὁ ἐπιστάμενος περὶ ὀνομάτων τὴν δύναμιν αὐτῶν σκοπεῖ, καὶ οὐκ ἐκπλήττεται εἴ τι πρόσκειται γράμμα ἢ μετάκειται ἢ ἀφῄρηται, ἢ καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις παντάπασιν γράμμασίν ἐστιν ἡ τοῦ ὀνόματος δύναμις. ὥσπερ ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, Ἀστυάναξ τε καὶ Ἕκτωρ οὐδὲν τῶν αὐτῶν [394c]γραμμάτων ἔχει πλὴν τοῦ ταῦ, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως ταὐτὸν σημαίνει. καὶ Ἀρχέπολίς γε τῶν μὲν γραμμάτων τί ἐπικοινωνεῖ; δηλοῖ δὲ ὅμως τὸ αὐτό: καὶ ἄλλα πολλά ἐστιν ἃ οὐδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ βασιλέα σημαίνει: καὶ ἄλλα γε αὖ στρατηγόν, οἷον Ἆγις καὶ Πολέμαρχος καὶ Εὐπόλεμος . καὶ ἰατρικά γε ἕτερα, Ἰατροκλῆς καὶ Ἀκεσίμβροτος : καὶ ἕτερα ἂν ἴσως συχνὰ εὕροιμεν ταῖς μὲν συλλαβαῖς καὶ τοῖς γράμμασι διαφωνοῦντα, τῇ δὲ δυνάμει ταὐτὸν φθεγγόμενα. φαίνεται οὕτως ἢ οὔ; [394d]

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τοῖς μὲν δὴ κατὰ φύσιν γιγνομένοις τὰ αὐτὰ ἀποδοτέον ὀνόματα.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ τοῖς παρὰ φύσιν, οἳ ἂν ἐν τέρατος εἴδει γένωνται; οἷον ὅταν ἐξ ἀνδρὸς ἀγαθοῦ καὶ θεοσεβοῦς ἀσεβὴς γένηται, ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν, κἂν ἵππος βοὸς ἔκγονον τέκῃ, οὐ τοῦ τεκόντος δήπου ἔδει τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν ἔχειν, ἀλλὰ τοῦ γένους οὗ εἴη;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε. [394e]

Σωκράτης: καὶ τῷ ἐκ τοῦ εὐσεβοῦς ἄρα γενομένῳ ἀσεβεῖ τὸ τοῦ γένους ὄνομα ἀποδοτέον.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐ Θεόφιλον, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐδὲ Μνησίθεον οὐδὲ τῶν τοιούτων οὐδέν: ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι τἀναντία τούτοις σημαίνει, ἐάνπερ τῆς ὀρθότητος τυγχάνῃ τὰ ὀνόματα.

Ἑρμογένης: παντός γε μᾶλλον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ὥσπερ γε καὶ ὁ Ὀρέστης, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, κινδυνεύει ὀρθῶς ἔχειν, εἴτε τις τύχη ἔθετο αὐτῷ τὸ ὄνομα εἴτε καὶ ποιητής τις, τὸ θηριῶδες τῆς φύσεως καὶ τὸ ἄγριον αὐτοῦ καὶ τὸ ὀρεινὸν ἐνδεικνύμενος τῷ ὀνόματι. [395a]

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται οὕτως, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἔοικεν δέ γε καὶ τῷ πατρὶ αὐτοῦ κατὰ φύσιν τὸ ὄνομα εἶναι.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύει γὰρ τοιοῦτός τις εἶναι ὁ Ἀγαμέμνων, οἷος ἃ δόξειεν αὐτῷ διαπονεῖσθαι καὶ καρτερεῖν τέλος ἐπιτιθεὶς τοῖς δόξασι δι᾽ ἀρετήν. σημεῖον δὲ αὐτοῦ ἡ ἐν Τροίᾳ μονὴ τοῦ πάθους τε καὶ καρτερίας. ὅτι οὖν ἀγαστὸς κατὰ [395b]τὴν ἐπιμονὴν οὗτος ὁ ἀνὴρ ἐνσημαίνει τὸ ὄνομα ὁ Ἀγαμέμνων. ἴσως δὲ καὶ ὁ Ἀτρεὺς ὀρθῶς ἔχει. ὅ τε γὰρ τοῦ Χρυσίππου αὐτῷ φόνος καὶ ἃ πρὸς τὸν Θυέστην ὡς ὠμὰ διεπράττετο, πάντα ταῦτα ζημιώδη καὶ ἀτηρὰ πρὸς ἀρετήν. ἡ οὖν τοῦ ὀνόματος ἐπωνυμία σμικρὸν παρακλίνει καὶ ἐπικεκάλυπται, ὥστε μὴ πᾶσι δηλοῦν τὴν φύσιν τοῦ ἀνδρός: τοῖς δ᾽ ἐπαΐουσι περὶ ὀνομάτων ἱκανῶς δηλοῖ ὃ βούλεται ὁ Ἀτρεύς. καὶ γὰρ κατὰ τὸ ἀτειρὲς καὶ [395c]κατὰ τὸ ἄτρεστον καὶ κατὰ τὸ ἀτηρὸν πανταχῇ ὀρθῶς αὐτῷ τὸ ὄνομα κεῖται. δοκεῖ δέ μοι καὶ τῷ Πέλοπι τὸ ὄνομα ἐμμέτρως κεῖσθαι: σημαίνει γὰρ τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα τὸν τὰ ἐγγὺς ὁρῶντα [ἄξιον εἶναι ταύτης τῆς ἐπωνυμίας].

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης: οἷόν που καὶ κατ᾽ ἐκείνου λέγεται τοῦ ἀνδρὸς ἐν τῷ τοῦ Μυρτίλου φόνῳ οὐδὲν οἵου τε γενέσθαι προνοηθῆναι οὐδὲ προϊδεῖν τῶν πόρρω τῶν εἰς τὸ πᾶν γένος, ὅσης αὐτὸ [395d]δυστυχίας ἐνεπίμπλη, τὸ ἐγγὺς μόνον ὁρῶν καὶ τὸ παραχρῆμα τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ πέλας ἡνίκα προεθυμεῖτο λαβεῖν παντὶ τρόπῳ τὸν τῆς Ἱπποδαμείας γάμον. τῷ δὲ Ταντάλῳ καὶ πᾶς ἂν ἡγήσαιτο τοὔνομα ὀρθῶς καὶ κατὰ φύσιν τεθῆναι εἰ ἀληθῆ τὰ περὶ αὐτὸν λεγόμενα.

Ἑρμογένης: τὰ ποῖα ταῦτα;

Σωκράτης: ἅ τέ που ἔτι ζῶντι δυστυχήματα ἐγένετο πολλὰ καὶ δεινά, ὧν καὶ τέλος ἡ πατρὶς αὐτοῦ ὅλη ἀνετράπετο, καὶ τελευτήσαντι ἐν Ἅιδου ἡ ὑπὲρ τῆς κεφαλῆς τοῦ λίθου [395e]ταλαντεία θαυμαστὴ ὡς σύμφωνος τῷ ὀνόματι: καὶ ἀτεχνῶς ἔοικεν, ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τις βουλόμενος ταλάντατον ὀνομάσαι ἀποκρυπτόμενος ὀνομάσειε καὶ εἴποι ἀντ᾽ ἐκείνου Τάνταλον, τοιοῦτόν τι καὶ τούτῳ τὸ ὄνομα ἔοικεν ἐκπορίσαι ἡ τύχη τῆς φήμης. φαίνεται δὲ καὶ τῷ πατρὶ αὐτοῦ λεγομένῳ τῷ Διὶ [396a]παγκάλως τὸ ὄνομα κεῖσθαι: ἔστι δὲ οὐ ῥᾴδιον κατανοῆσαι. ἀτεχνῶς γάρ ἐστιν οἷον λόγος τὸ τοῦ Διὸς ὄνομα, διελόντες δὲ αὐτὸ διχῇ οἱ μὲν τῷ ἑτέρῳ μέρει, οἱ δὲ τῷ ἑτέρῳ χρώμεθα οἱ μὲν γὰρ Ζῆνα, οἱ δὲ Δία καλοῦσιν συντιθέμενα δ᾽ εἰς ἓν δηλοῖ τὴν φύσιν τοῦ θεοῦ, ὃ δὴ προσήκειν φαμὲν ὀνόματι οἵῳ τε εἶναι ἀπεργάζεσθαι. οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ἡμῖν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσιν ὅστις ἐστὶν αἴτιος μᾶλλον τοῦ ζῆν ἢ ὁ ἄρχων τε καὶ βασιλεὺς τῶν πάντων. συμβαίνει οὖν ὀρθῶς [396b]ὀνομάζεσθαι οὗτος ὁ θεὸς εἶναι, δι᾽ ὃν ζῆν ἀεὶ πᾶσι τοῖς ζῶσιν ὑπάρχει: διείληπται δὲ δίχα, ὥσπερ λέγω, ἓν ὂν τὸ ὄνομα, τῷ Διὶ καὶ τῷ Ζηνί. τοῦτον δὲ Κρόνου ὑὸν ὑβριστικὸν μὲν ἄν τις δόξειεν εἶναι ἀκούσαντι ἐξαίφνης, εὔλογον δὲ μεγάλης τινὸς διανοίας ἔκγονον εἶναι τὸν Δία: κόρον γὰρ σημαίνει οὐ παῖδα, ἀλλὰ τὸ καθαρὸν αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀκήρατον τοῦ νοῦ. ἔστι δὲ οὗτος Οὐρανοῦ ὑός, ὡς λόγος: ἡ δὲ αὖ ἐς τὸ ἄνω ὄψις καλῶς ἔχει τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα καλεῖσθαι, [396c] οὐρανία, ὁρῶσα τὰ ἄνω, ὅθεν δὴ καί φασιν, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, τὸν καθαρὸν νοῦν παραγίγνεσθαι οἱ μετεωρολόγοι, καὶ τῷ οὐρανῷ ὀρθῶς τὸ ὄνομα κεῖσθαι: εἰ δ᾽ ἐμεμνήμην τὴν Ἡσιόδου γενεαλογίαν, τίνας ἔτι τοὺς ἀνωτέρω προγόνους λέγει τούτων, οὐκ ἂν ἐπαυόμην διεξιὼν ὡς ὀρθῶς αὐτοῖς τὰ ὀνόματα κεῖται, ἕως ἀπεπειράθην τῆς σοφίας ταυτησὶ τί ποιήσει, εἰ ἄρα ἀπερεῖ ἢ οὔ, ἣ ἐμοὶ ἐξαίφνης νῦν οὑτωσὶ [396d]προσπέπτωκεν ἄρτι οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὁπόθεν.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ μὲν δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀτεχνῶς γέ μοι δοκεῖς ὥσπερ οἱ ἐνθουσιῶντες ἐξαίφνης χρησμῳδεῖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ αἰτιῶμαί γε, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, μάλιστα αὐτὴν ἀπὸ Εὐθύφρονος τοῦ Προσπαλτίου προσπεπτωκέναι μοι: ἕωθεν γὰρ πολλὰ αὐτῷ συνῆ καὶ παρεῖχον τὰ ὦτα. κινδυνεύει οὖν ἐνθουσιῶν οὐ μόνον τὰ ὦτά μου ἐμπλῆσαι τῆς δαιμονίας σοφίας, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐπειλῆφθαι. δοκεῖ οὖν μοι [396e]χρῆναι οὑτωσὶ ἡμᾶς ποιῆσαι: τὸ μὲν τήμερον εἶναι χρήσασθαι αὐτῇ καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ περὶ τῶν ὀνομάτων ἐπισκέψασθαι, αὔριον δέ, ἂν καὶ ὑμῖν συνδοκῇ, ἀποδιοπομπησόμεθά τε αὐτὴν καὶ καθαρούμεθα ἐξευρόντες ὅστις τὰ τοιαῦτα δεινὸς [397a]καθαίρειν, εἴτε τῶν ἱερέων τις εἴτε τῶν σοφιστῶν.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ μὲν συγχωρῶ: πάνυ γὰρ ἂν ἡδέως τὰ ἐπίλοιπα περὶ τῶν ὀνομάτων ἀκούσαιμι.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ χρὴ οὕτω ποιεῖν. πόθεν οὖν βούλει ἀρξώμεθα διασκοποῦντες, ἐπειδήπερ εἰς τύπον τινὰ ἐμβεβήκαμεν, ἵνα εἰδῶμεν εἰ ἄρα ἡμῖν ἐπιμαρτυρήσει αὐτὰ τὰ ὀνόματα μὴ πάνυ ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου οὕτως ἕκαστα κεῖσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἔχειν [397b]τινὰ ὀρθότητα; τὰ μὲν οὖν τῶν ἡρώων καὶ ἀνθρώπων λεγόμενα ὀνόματα ἴσως ἂν ἡμᾶς ἐξαπατήσειεν: πολλὰ μὲν γὰρ αὐτῶν κεῖται κατὰ προγόνων ἐπωνυμίας, οὐδὲν προσῆκον ἐνίοις, ὥσπερ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἐλέγομεν, πολλὰ δὲ ὥσπερ εὐχόμενοι τίθενται, οἷον Εὐτυχίδην καὶ Σωσίαν καὶ Θεόφιλον καὶ ἄλλα πολλά. τὰ μὲν οὖν τοιαῦτα δοκεῖ μοι χρῆναι ἐᾶν: εἰκὸς δὲ μάλιστα ἡμᾶς εὑρεῖν τὰ ὀρθῶς κείμενα περὶ τὰ ἀεὶ ὄντα καὶ πεφυκότα. ἐσπουδάσθαι γὰρ ἐνταῦθα [397c]μάλιστα πρέπει τὴν θέσιν τῶν ὀνομάτων: ἴσως δ᾽ ἔνια αὐτῶν καὶ ὑπὸ θειοτέρας δυνάμεως ἢ τῆς τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐτέθη.

Ἑρμογένης: δοκεῖς μοι καλῶς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ δίκαιον ἀπὸ τῶν θεῶν ἄρχεσθαι, σκοπουμένους πῇ ποτε αὐτὸ τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα οἱ θεοὶ ὀρθῶς ἐκλήθησαν;

Ἑρμογένης: εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης: τοιόνδε τοίνυν ἔγωγε ὑποπτεύω: φαίνονταί μοι οἱ πρῶτοι τῶν ἀνθρώπων τῶν περὶ τὴν Ἑλλάδα τούτους μόνους [397d][τοὺς θεοὺς] ἡγεῖσθαι οὕσπερ νῦν πολλοὶ τῶν βαρβάρων, ἥλιον καὶ σελήνην καὶ γῆν καὶ ἄστρα καὶ οὐρανόν: ἅτε οὖν αὐτὰ ὁρῶντες πάντα ἀεὶ ἰόντα δρόμῳ καὶ θέοντα, ἀπὸ ταύτης τῆς φύσεως τῆς τοῦ δαήμονες θεοὺς αὐτοὺς ἐπονομάσαι: ὕστερον δὲ κατανοοῦντες τοὺς ἄλλους πάντας ἤδη τούτῳ τῷ ὀνόματι προσαγορεύειν. ἔοικέ τι ὃ λέγω τῷ ἀληθεῖ ἢ οὐδέν;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν ἂν μετὰ τοῦτο σκοποῖμεν;

Ἑρμογένης: δῆλον δὴ ὅτι [δαίμονάς τε καὶ ἥρωας καὶ ἀνθρώπους] δαίμονας. [397e]

Σωκράτης: καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, τί ἄν ποτε νοοῖ τὸ ὄνομα οἱ δαίμονες ; σκέψαι ἄν τί σοι δόξω εἰπεῖν.

Ἑρμογένης: λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης: οἶσθα οὖν τίνας φησὶν Ἡσίοδος εἶναι τοὺς δαίμονας;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐκ ἐννοῶ.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ ὅτι χρυσοῦν γένος τὸ πρῶτόν φησιν γενέσθαι τῶν ἀνθρώπων;

Ἑρμογένης: οἶδα τοῦτό γε.

Σωκράτης: λέγει τοίνυν περὶ αὐτοῦ αὐτὰρ ἐπειδὴ τοῦτο γένος κατὰ μοῖρ᾽ ἐκάλυψεν, [398a]

οἱ μὲν δαίμονες ἁγνοὶ ὑποχθόνιοι καλέονται,

ἐσθλοί, ἀλεξίκακοι, φύλακες θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων. (Hes. WD 122 ff.)

Ἑρμογένης: τί οὖν δή;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι οἶμαι ἐγὼ λέγειν αὐτὸν τὸ χρυσοῦν γένος οὐκ ἐκ χρυσοῦ πεφυκὸς ἀλλ᾽ ἀγαθόν τε καὶ καλόν. τεκμήριον δέ μοί ἐστιν ὅτι καὶ ἡμᾶς φησιν σιδηροῦν εἶναι γένος.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τῶν νῦν οἴει ἂν φάναι αὐτὸν εἴ τις [398b]ἀγαθός ἐστιν ἐκείνου τοῦ χρυσοῦ γένους εἶναι;

Ἑρμογένης: εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης: οἱ δ᾽ ἀγαθοὶ ἄλλο τι ἢ φρόνιμοι;

Ἑρμογένης: φρόνιμοι.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο τοίνυν παντὸς μᾶλλον λέγει, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, τοὺς δαίμονας: ὅτι φρόνιμοι καὶ δαήμονες ἦσαν, δαίμονας αὐτοὺς ὠνόμασεν: καὶ ἔν γε τῇ ἀρχαίᾳ τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ φωνῇ αὐτὸ συμβαίνει τὸ ὄνομα. λέγει οὖν καλῶς καὶ οὗτος καὶ ἄλλοι ποιηταὶ πολλοὶ ὅσοι λέγουσιν ὡς, ἐπειδάν τις ἀγαθὸς ὢν τελευτήσῃ, μεγάλην μοῖραν καὶ τιμὴν ἔχει καὶ γίγνεται [398c]δαίμων κατὰ τὴν τῆς φρονήσεως ἐπωνυμίαν. ταύτῃ οὖν τίθεμαι καὶ ἐγὼ [τὸν δαήμονa}}πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα ὃς ἂν ἀγαθὸς ᾖ, δαιμόνιον εἶναι καὶ ζῶντα καὶ τελευτήσαντα, καὶ ὀρθῶς δαίμονα καλεῖσθαι.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ ἐγώ μοι δοκῶ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τούτου πάνυ σοι σύμψηφος εἶναι. ὁ δὲ δὴ ἥρως τί ἂν εἴη;

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο δὲ οὐ πάνυ χαλεπὸν ἐννοῆσαι. σμικρὸν γὰρ παρῆκται αὐτῶν τὸ ὄνομα, δηλοῦν τὴν ἐκ τοῦ ἔρωτος γένεσιν.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι ἡμίθεοι οἱ ἥρωες;

Ἑρμογένης: τί οὖν; [398d]

Σωκράτης: πάντες δήπου γεγόνασιν ἐρασθέντος ἢ θεοῦ θνητῆς ἢ θνητοῦ θεᾶς. ἐὰν οὖν σκοπῇς καὶ τοῦτο κατὰ τὴν Ἀττικὴν τὴν παλαιὰν φωνήν, μᾶλλον εἴσῃ: δηλώσει γάρ σοι ὅτι παρὰ τὸ τοῦ ἔρωτος ὄνομα, ὅθεν γεγόνασιν οἱ ἥρωες, σμικρὸν παρηγμένον ἐστὶν ὀνόματος χάριν. καὶ ἤτοι τοῦτο λέγει τοὺς ἥρωας, ἢ ὅτι σοφοὶ ἦσαν καὶ ῥήτορες [καὶ] δεινοὶ καὶ διαλεκτικοί, ἐρωτᾶν ἱκανοὶ ὄντες: τὸ γὰρ εἴρειν λέγειν ἐστίν. ὅπερ οὖν ἄρτι λέγομεν, ἐν τῇ Ἀττικῇ φωνῇ λεγόμενοι [398e]οἱ ἥρωες ῥήτορές τινες καὶ ἐρωτητικοὶ συμβαίνουσιν, ὥστε ῥητόρων καὶ σοφιστῶν γένος γίγνεται τὸ ἡρωικὸν φῦλον. ἀλλὰ οὐ τοῦτο χαλεπόν ἐστιν ἐννοῆσαι, ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, διὰ τί ποτε ἄνθρωποι καλοῦνται: <ἢ> σὺ ἔχεις εἰπεῖν;

Ἑρμογένης: πόθεν, ὠγαθέ, ἔχω; οὐδ᾽ εἴ τι οἷός τ᾽ ἂν εἴην εὑρεῖν, οὐ συντείνω διὰ τὸ ἡγεῖσθαι σὲ μᾶλλον εὑρήσειν ἢ ἐμαυτόν. [399a]

Σωκράτης: τῇ τοῦ Εὐθύφρονος ἐπιπνοίᾳ πιστεύεις, ὡς ἔοικας.

Ἑρμογένης: δῆλα δή.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς γε σὺ πιστεύων: ὡς καὶ νῦν γέ μοι φαίνομαι κομψῶς ἐννενοηκέναι, καὶ κινδυνεύσω, ἐὰν μὴ εὐλαβῶμαι, ἔτι τήμερον σοφώτερος τοῦ δέοντος γενέσθαι. σκόπει δὴ ὃ λέγω. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ τὸ τοιόνδε δεῖ ἐννοῆσαι περὶ ὀνομάτων, ὅτι πολλάκις ἐπεμβάλλομεν γράμματα, τὰ δ᾽ ἐξαιροῦμεν, παρ᾽ ὃ βουλόμεθα ὀνομάζοντες, καὶ τὰς ὀξύτητας μεταβάλλομεν. οἷον Διὶ φίλος τοῦτο ἵνα [399b]ἀντὶ ῥήματος ὄνομα ἡμῖν γένηται, τό τε ἕτερον αὐτόθεν ἰῶτα ἐξείλομεν καὶ ἀντὶ ὀξείας τῆς μέσης συλλαβῆς βαρεῖαν ἐφθεγξάμεθα. ἄλλων δὲ τοὐναντίον ἐμβάλλομεν γράμματα, τὰ δὲ βαρύτερα <ὀξύτερα> φθεγγόμεθα.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τούτων τοίνυν ἓν καὶ τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ὄνομα πέπονθεν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ. ἐκ γὰρ ῥήματος ὄνομα γέγονεν, ἑνὸς γράμματος τοῦ ἄλφα ἐξαιρεθέντος καὶ βαρυτέρας τῆς τελευτῆς γενομένης.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς λέγεις; [399c]

Σωκράτης: ὧδε. σημαίνει τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα ὁ ἄνθρωπος ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἄλλα θηρία ὧν ὁρᾷ οὐδὲν ἐπισκοπεῖ οὐδὲ ἀναλογίζεται οὐδὲ ἀναθρεῖ, ὁ δὲ ἄνθρωπος ἅμα ἑώρακεν τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ [τὸ] ὄπωπε καὶ ἀναθρεῖ καὶ λογίζεται τοῦτο ὃ ὄπωπεν. ἐντεῦθεν δὴ μόνον τῶν θηρίων ὀρθῶς ὁ ἄνθρωπος ἄνθρωπος ὠνομάσθη, ἀναθρῶν ἃ ὄπωπε.

Ἑρμογένης: τί οὖν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο; ἔρωμαί σε ὃ ἡδέως ἂν πυθοίμην;

Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε. [399d]

Ἑρμογένης: ὥσπερ τοίνυν μοι δοκεῖ τούτοις ἑξῆς εἶναί τι χρῆμα. ψυχὴν γάρ που καὶ σῶμα καλοῦμεν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου.

Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἑρμογένης: πειρώμεθα δὴ καὶ ταῦτα διελεῖν ὥσπερ τὰ ἔμπροσθεν.

Σωκράτης: ψυχὴν λέγεις ἐπισκέψασθαι ὡς εἰκότως τούτου τοῦ ὀνόματος τυγχάνει, ἔπειτ᾽ αὖ τὸ σῶμα;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ὡς μὲν τοίνυν ἐκ τοῦ παραχρῆμα λέγειν, οἶμαί τι τοιοῦτον νοεῖν τοὺς τὴν ψυχὴν ὀνομάσαντας, ὡς τοῦτο ἄρα, ὅταν παρῇ τῷ σώματι, αἴτιόν ἐστι τοῦ ζῆν αὐτῷ, τὴν τοῦ [399e]ἀναπνεῖν δύναμιν παρέχον καὶ ἀναψῦχον, ἅμα δὲ ἐκλείποντος τοῦ ἀναψύχοντος τὸ σῶμα ἀπόλλυταί τε καὶ τελευτᾷ: ὅθεν δή μοι δοκοῦσιν αὐτὸ ψυχὴν καλέσαι. εἰ δὲ βούλει ἔχε ἠρέμα: δοκῶ γάρ μοί τι καθορᾶν πιθανώτερον τούτου [400a]τοῖς ἀμφὶ Εὐθύφρονα. τούτου μὲν γάρ, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, καταφρονήσαιεν ἂν καὶ ἡγήσαιντο φορτικὸν εἶναι: τόδε δὲ σκόπει ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ σοὶ ἀρέσῃ.

Ἑρμογένης: λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης: τὴν φύσιν παντὸς τοῦ σώματος, ὥστε καὶ ζῆν καὶ περιιέναι, τί σοι δοκεῖ ἔχειν τε καὶ ὀχεῖν ἄλλο ἢ ψυχή;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐδὲν ἄλλο.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; καὶ τὴν τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων φύσιν οὐ πιστεύεις Ἀναξαγόρᾳ νοῦν καὶ ψυχὴν εἶναι τὴν διακοσμοῦσαν καὶ ἔχουσαν;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔγωγε. [400b]

Σωκράτης: καλῶς ἄρα ἂν τὸ ὄνομα τοῦτο ἔχοι τῇ δυνάμει ταύτῃ ἣ φύσιν ὀχεῖ καὶ ἔχει φυσέχην ἐπονομάζειν. ἔξεστι δὲ καὶ ψυχὴν κομψευόμενον λέγειν.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν, καὶ δοκεῖ γέ μοι τοῦτο ἐκείνου τεχνικώτερον εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: καὶ γὰρ ἔστιν: γελοῖον μέντοι φαίνεται ὡς ἀληθῶς ὀνομαζόμενον ὡς ἐτέθη.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀλλὰ δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο πῶς φῶμεν ἔχειν;

Σωκράτης: τὸ σῶμα λέγεις;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πολλαχῇ μοι δοκεῖ τοῦτό γε: ἂν μὲν καὶ σμικρόν [400c]τις παρακλίνῃ, καὶ πάνυ. καὶ γὰρ σῆμά τινές φασιν αὐτὸ εἶναι τῆς ψυχῆς, ὡς τεθαμμένης ἐν τῷ νῦν παρόντι: καὶ διότι αὖ τούτῳ σημαίνει ἃ ἂν σημαίνῃ ἡ ψυχή, καὶ ταύτῃ σῆμα ὀρθῶς καλεῖσθαι. δοκοῦσι μέντοι μοι μάλιστα θέσθαι οἱ ἀμφὶ Ὀρφέα τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα, ὡς δίκην διδούσης τῆς ψυχῆς ὧν δὴ ἕνεκα δίδωσιν, τοῦτον δὲ περίβολον ἔχειν, ἵνα σῴζηται, δεσμωτηρίου εἰκόνα: εἶναι οὖν τῆς ψυχῆς τοῦτο, ὥσπερ αὐτὸ ὀνομάζεται, ἕως ἂν ἐκτείσῃ τὰ ὀφειλόμενα, [τὸ] σῶμα, καὶ οὐδὲν δεῖν παράγειν οὐδ᾽ ἓν γράμμα. [400d]

Ἑρμογένης: ταῦτα μέν μοι δοκεῖ ἱκανῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰρῆσθαι: περὶ δὲ τῶν θεῶν τῶν ὀνομάτων, οἷον καὶ περὶ τοῦ Διὸς νυνδὴ ἔλεγες, ἔχοιμεν ἄν που κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ἐπισκέψασθαι κατὰ τίνα ποτὲ ὀρθότητα αὐτῶν τὰ ὀνόματα κεῖται;

Σωκράτης: ναὶ μὰ Δία ἡμεῖς γε, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, εἴπερ γε νοῦν ἔχοιμεν, ἕνα μὲν τὸν κάλλιστον τρόπον, ὅτι περὶ θεῶν οὐδὲν ἴσμεν, οὔτε περὶ αὐτῶν οὔτε περὶ τῶν ὀνομάτων, ἅττα ποτὲ ἑαυτοὺς καλοῦσιν: δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι ἐκεῖνοί γε τἀληθῆ καλοῦσι. [400e]δεύτερος δ᾽ αὖ τρόπος ὀρθότητος, ὥσπερ ἐν ταῖς εὐχαῖς νόμος ἐστὶν ἡμῖν εὔχεσθαι, οἵτινές τε καὶ ὁπόθεν χαίρουσιν ὀνομαζόμενοι, ταῦτα καὶ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς καλεῖν, ὡς ἄλλο μηδὲν [401a]εἰδότας: καλῶς γὰρ δὴ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ νενομίσθαι. εἰ οὖν βούλει, σκοπῶμεν ὥσπερ προειπόντες τοῖς θεοῖς ὅτι περὶ αὐτῶν οὐδὲν ἡμεῖς σκεψόμεθα οὐ γὰρ ἀξιοῦμεν οἷοί τ᾽ ἂν εἶναι σκοπεῖν ἀλλὰ περὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ἥν ποτέ τινα δόξαν ἔχοντες ἐτίθεντο αὐτοῖς τὰ ὀνόματα: τοῦτο γὰρ ἀνεμέσητον.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες, μετρίως λέγειν, καὶ οὕτω ποιῶμεν. [401b]

Σωκράτης: ἄλλο τι οὖν ἀφ᾽ Ἑστίας ἀρχώμεθα κατὰ τὸν νόμον;

Ἑρμογένης: δίκαιον γοῦν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν ἄν τις φαίη διανοούμενον τὸν ὀνομάσαντα Ἑστίαν ὀνομάσαι;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία οὐδὲ τοῦτο οἶμαι ῥᾴδιον εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύουσι γοῦν, ὠγαθὲ Ἑρμόγενες, οἱ πρῶτοι τὰ ὀνόματα τιθέμενοι οὐ φαῦλοι εἶναι ἀλλὰ μετεωρολόγοι καὶ ἀδολέσχαι τινές.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: καταφαίνεταί μοι ἡ θέσις τῶν ὀνομάτων τοιούτων [401c]τινῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ ἐάν τις τὰ ξενικὰ ὀνόματα ἀνασκοπῇ, οὐχ ἧττον ἀνευρίσκεται ὃ ἕκαστον βούλεται. οἷον καὶ ἐν τούτῳ ὃ ἡμεῖς οὐσίαν καλοῦμεν, εἰσὶν οἳ ἐσσίαν καλοῦσιν, οἳ δ᾽ αὖ ὠσίαν. πρῶτον μὲν οὖν κατὰ τὸ ἕτερον ὄνομα τούτων ἡ τῶν πραγμάτων οὐσία Ἑστία καλεῖσθαι ἔχει λόγον, καὶ ὅτι γε αὖ ἡμεῖς τὸ τῆς οὐσίας μετέχον ἔστιν φαμέν, καὶ κατὰ τοῦτο ὀρθῶς ἂν καλοῖτο Ἑστία : ἐοίκαμεν γὰρ καὶ ἡμεῖς τὸ παλαιὸν ἐσσίαν καλεῖν τὴν οὐσίαν. ἔτι δὲ καὶ κατὰ τὰς θυσίας ἄν τις [401d]ἐννοήσας ἡγήσαιτο οὕτω νοεῖν ταῦτα τοὺς τιθεμένους: τὸ γὰρ πρὸ πάντων θεῶν τῇ Ἑστίᾳ πρώτῃ προθύειν εἰκὸς ἐκείνους οἵτινες τὴν πάντων οὐσίαν ἐσσίαν ἐπωνόμασαν. ὅσοι δ᾽ αὖ ὠσίαν, σχεδόν τι αὖ οὗτοι καθ᾽ Ἡράκλειτον ἂν ἡγοῖντο τὰ ὄντα ἰέναι τε πάντα καὶ μένειν οὐδέν: τὸ οὖν αἴτιον καὶ τὸ ἀρχηγὸν αὐτῶν εἶναι τὸ ὠθοῦν, ὅθεν δὴ καλῶς ἔχειν αὐτὸ ὠσίαν ὠνομάσθαι. καὶ ταῦτα [401e]μὲν δὴ ταύτῃ ὡς παρὰ μηδὲν εἰδότων εἰρήσθω: μετὰ δ᾽ Ἑστίαν δίκαιον Ῥέαν καὶ Κρόνον ἐπισκέψασθαι. καίτοι τό γε τοῦ Κρόνου ὄνομα ἤδη διήλθομεν. ἴσως μέντοι οὐδὲν λέγω.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δή, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ὠγαθέ, ἐννενόηκά τι σμῆνος σοφίας.

Ἑρμογένης: ποῖον δὴ τοῦτο; [402a]

Σωκράτης: γελοῖον μὲν πάνυ εἰπεῖν, οἶμαι μέντοι τινὰ πιθανότητα ἔχον.

Ἑρμογένης: τίνα ταύτην;

Σωκράτης: τὸν Ἡράκλειτόν μοι δοκῶ καθορᾶν παλαί᾽ ἄττα σοφὰ λέγοντα, ἀτεχνῶς τὰ ἐπὶ Κρόνου καὶ Ῥέας, ἃ καὶ Ὅμηρος ἔλεγεν.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: λέγει που Ἡράκλειτος ὅτι πάντα χωρεῖ καὶ οὐδὲν μένει, καὶ ποταμοῦ ῥοῇ ἀπεικάζων τὰ ὄντα λέγει ὡς δὶς ἐς τὸν αὐτὸν ποταμὸν οὐκ ἂν ἐμβαίης.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα. [402b]

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; δοκεῖ σοι ἀλλοιότερον Ἡρακλείτου νοεῖν ὁ τιθέμενος τοῖς τῶν ἄλλων θεῶν προγόνοις Ῥέαν τε καὶ Κρόνον ; ἆρα οἴει ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου αὐτὸν ἀμφοτέροις ῥευμάτων ὀνόματα θέσθαι; ὥσπερ αὖ Ὅμηρος Ὠκεανόν τε θεῶν γένεσίν φησιν καὶ μητέρα Τηθύν: οἶμαι δὲ καὶ Ἡσίοδος. λέγει δέ που καὶ Ὀρφεὺς ὅτι Ὠκεανὸς πρῶτος καλλίρροος ἦρξε γάμοιο, [402c]

ὅς ῥα κασιγνήτην ὁμομήτορα Τηθὺν ὄπυιεν.

(Orpheus Fr.) ταῦτ᾽ οὖν σκόπει ὅτι καὶ ἀλλήλοις συμφωνεῖ καὶ πρὸς τὰ τοῦ Ἡρακλείτου πάντα τείνει.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνῃ τί μοι λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες: τὸ μέντοι τῆς Τηθύος οὐκ ἐννοῶ ὄνομα τί βούλεται.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε ὀλίγου αὐτὸ λέγει ὅτι πηγῆς ὄνομα ἐπικεκρυμμένον ἐστίν. τὸ γὰρ διαττώμενον καὶ [402d]τὸ ἠθούμενον πηγῆς ἀπείκασμά ἐστιν: ἐκ δὲ τούτων ἀμφοτέρων τῶν ὀνομάτων ἡ Τηθὺς τὸ ὄνομα σύγκειται.

Ἑρμογένης: τοῦτο μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, κομψόν.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ οὐ μέλλει; ἀλλὰ τί τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο; τὸν μὲν Δία εἴπομεν.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς δὴ αὐτοῦ λέγωμεν, τόν τε Ποσειδῶ καὶ τὸν Πλούτωνα καὶ τὸ ἕτερον ὄνομα ὃ ὀνομάζουσιν αὐτόν.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τὸ μὲν τοίνυν τοῦ Ποσειδῶνός μοι φαίνεται ὠνομάσθαι [402e][τοῦ πρώτου ὀνομάσαντος], ὅτι αὐτὸν βαδίζοντα ἐπέσχεν ἡ τῆς θαλάττης φύσις καὶ οὐκέτι εἴασεν προελθεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ δεσμὸς τῶν ποδῶν αὐτῷ ἐγένετο. τὸν οὖν ἄρχοντα τῆς δυνάμεως ταύτης θεὸν ὠνόμασεν Ποσειδῶνα, ὡς ποσίδεσμον ὄντα: τὸ δὲ Ε ἔγκειται ἴσως εὐπρεπείας ἕνεκα. τάχα δὲ οὐκ ἂν τοῦτο λέγοι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀντὶ τοῦ σῖγμα [403a]δύο λάβδα τὸ πρῶτον ἐλέγετο, ὡς πολλὰ εἰδότος τοῦ θεοῦ. ἴσως δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ σείειν ὁ σείων ὠνόμασται: πρόσκειται δὲ τὸ πεῖ καὶ τὸ δέλτα. τὸ δὲ Πλούτωνος, τοῦτο μὲν κατὰ τὴν τοῦ πλούτου δόσιν, ὅτι ἐκ τῆς γῆς κάτωθεν ἀνίεται ὁ πλοῦτος, ἐπωνομάσθη: ὁ δὲ Ἅιδης, οἱ πολλοὶ μέν μοι δοκοῦσιν ὑπολαμβάνειν τὸ ἀιδὲς προσειρῆσθαι τῷ ὀνόματι τούτῳ, καὶ φοβούμενοι τὸ ὄνομα Πλούτωνα καλοῦσιν αὐτόν. [403b]

Ἑρμογένης: σοὶ δὲ πῶς φαίνεται, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: πολλαχῇ ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσιν ἅνθρωποι διημαρτηκέναι περὶ τούτου τοῦ θεοῦ τῆς δυνάμεως καὶ φοβεῖσθαι αὐτὸν οὐκ ἄξιον <ὄν>. ὅτι τε γάρ, ἐπειδὰν ἅπαξ τις ἡμῶν ἀποθάνῃ, ἀεὶ ἐκεῖ ἐστιν, φοβοῦνται, καὶ ὅτι ἡ ψυχὴ γυμνὴ τοῦ σώματος παρ᾽ ἐκεῖνον ἀπέρχεται, καὶ τοῦτο πεφόβηνται: τὰ δ᾽ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ πάντα ἐς ταὐτόν τι συντείνειν, καὶ ἡ ἀρχὴ τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ τὸ ὄνομα.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δή; [403c]

Σωκράτης: ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ ἅ γέ μοι φαίνεται. εἰπὲ γάρ μοι, δεσμὸς ζῴῳ ὁτῳοῦν ὥστε μένειν ὁπουοῦν, πότερος ἰσχυρότερός ἐστιν, ἀνάγκη ἢ ἐπιθυμία;

Ἑρμογένης: πολὺ διαφέρει, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἡ ἐπιθυμία.

Σωκράτης: οἴει οὖν τὸν Ἅιδην οὐκ ἂν πολλοὺς ἐκφεύγειν, εἰ μὴ τῷ ἰσχυροτάτῳ δεσμῷ ἔδει τοὺς ἐκεῖσε ἰόντας;

Ἑρμογένης: δῆλα δή.

Σωκράτης: ἐπιθυμίᾳ ἄρα τινὶ αὐτούς, ὡς ἔοικε, δεῖ, εἴπερ τῷ μεγίστῳ δεσμῷ δεῖ, καὶ οὐκ ἀνάγκῃ.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐπιθυμίαι αὖ πολλαί εἰσιν;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί. [403d]

Σωκράτης: τῇ μεγίστῃ ἄρα ἐπιθυμίᾳ τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν δεῖ αὐτούς, εἴπερ μέλλει τῷ μεγίστῳ δεσμῷ κατέχειν.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν οὖν τις μείζων ἐπιθυμία ἢ ὅταν τίς τῳ συνὼν οἴηται δι᾽ ἐκεῖνον ἔσεσθαι ἀμείνων ἀνήρ;

Ἑρμογένης: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: διὰ ταῦτα ἄρα φῶμεν, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, οὐδένα δεῦρο ἐθελῆσαι ἀπελθεῖν τῶν ἐκεῖθεν, οὐδὲ αὐτὰς τὰς Σειρῆνας, [403e]ἀλλὰ κατακεκηλῆσθαι ἐκείνας τε καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πάντας: οὕτω καλούς τινας, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπίσταται λόγους λέγειν ὁ Ἅιδης, καὶ ἔστιν, ὥς γ᾽ ἐκ τοῦ λόγου τούτου, ὁ θεὸς [οὗτος] τέλεος σοφιστής τε καὶ μέγας εὐεργέτης τῶν παρ᾽ αὐτῷ, ὅς γε καὶ τοῖς ἐνθάδε τοσαῦτα ἀγαθὰ ἀνίησιν: οὕτω πολλὰ αὐτῷ τὰ περιόντα ἐκεῖ ἐστιν, καὶ τὸν Πλούτωνα ἀπὸ τούτου ἔσχε τὸ ὄνομα. καὶ τὸ αὖ μὴ ἐθέλειν συνεῖναι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἔχουσι τὰ σώματα, ἀλλὰ τότε συγγίγνεσθαι, [404a]ἐπειδὰν ἡ ψυχὴ καθαρὰ ᾖ πάντων τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα κακῶν καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν, οὐ φιλοσόφου δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι καὶ εὖ ἐντεθυμημένου ὅτι οὕτω μὲν ἂν κατέχοι αὐτοὺς δήσας τῇ περὶ ἀρετὴν ἐπιθυμίᾳ, ἔχοντας δὲ τὴν τοῦ σώματος πτοίησιν καὶ μανίαν οὐδ᾽ ἂν ὁ Κρόνος δύναιτο ὁ πατὴρ συγκατέχειν αὑτῷ ἐν τοῖς δεσμοῖς δήσας τοῖς αὐτοῦ λεγομένοις;

Ἑρμογένης: κινδυνεύεις τὶ λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες. [404b]

Σωκράτης: καὶ τό γε ὄνομα ὁ Ἅιδης, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, πολλοῦ δεῖ ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀιδοῦς ἐπωνομάσθαι, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον ἀπὸ τοῦ πάντα τὰ καλὰ εἰδέναι, ἀπὸ τούτου ὑπὸ τοῦ νομοθέτου Ἅιδης ἐκλήθη.

Ἑρμογένης: εἶεν: τί δὲ Δήμητρά τε καὶ Ἥραν καὶ Ἀπόλλω καὶ Ἀθηνᾶν καὶ Ἥφαιστον καὶ Ἄρη καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους θεούς, πῶς λέγομεν;

Σωκράτης: Δημήτηρ μὲν φαίνεται κατὰ τὴν δόσιν τῆς ἐδωδῆς διδοῦσα ὡς μήτηρ Δημήτηρ κεκλῆσθαι, Ἥρα δὲ ἐρατή [404c]τις, ὥσπερ οὖν καὶ λέγεται ὁ Ζεὺς αὐτῆς ἐρασθεὶς ἔχειν. ἴσως δὲ μετεωρολογῶν ὁ νομοθέτης τὸν ἀέρα Ἥραν ὠνόμασεν ἐπικρυπτόμενος, θεὶς τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐπὶ τελευτήν: γνοίης δ᾽ ἄν, εἰ πολλάκις λέγοις τὸ τῆς Ἥρας ὄνομα. Φερρέφαττα δέ: πολλοὶ μὲν καὶ τοῦτο φοβοῦνται τὸ ὄνομα καὶ τὸν Ἀπόλλω, ὑπὸ ἀπειρίας, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος. καὶ γὰρ μεταβάλλοντες σκοποῦνται τὴν Φερσεφόνην, καὶ δεινὸν αὐτοῖς φαίνεται: τὸ δὲ μηνύει [404d]σοφὴν εἶναι τὴν θεόν. ἅτε γὰρ φερομένων τῶν πραγμάτων τὸ ἐφαπτόμενον καὶ ἐπαφῶν καὶ δυνάμενον ἐπακολουθεῖν σοφία ἂν εἴη. Φερέπαφα οὖν διὰ τὴν σοφίαν καὶ τὴν ἐπαφὴν τοῦ φερομένου ἡ θεὸς ἂν ὀρθῶς καλοῖτο, ἢ τοιοῦτόν τι δι᾽ ὅπερ καὶ σύνεστιν αὐτῇ ὁ Ἅιδης σοφὸς ὤν, διότι τοιαύτη ἐστίν νῦν δὲ αὐτῆς ἐκκλίνουσι τὸ ὄνομα εὐστομίαν περὶ πλείονος ποιούμενοι τῆς ἀληθείας, ὥστε Φερρέφατταν αὐτὴν καλεῖν. ταὐτὸν δὲ καὶ περὶ τὸν [404e]Ἀπόλλω, ὅπερ λέγω, πολλοὶ πεφόβηνται περὶ τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ θεοῦ, ὥς τι δεινὸν μηνύοντος: ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν, καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δέ γ᾽ ἐστίν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, κάλλιστα κείμενον πρὸς τὴν δύναμιν τοῦ θεοῦ.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ πειράσομαι φράσαι ὅ γέ μοι φαίνεται: οὐ γὰρ [405a]ἔστιν ὅτι ἂν μᾶλλον ὄνομα ἥρμοσεν ἓν ὂν τέτταρσι δυνάμεσι ταῖς τοῦ θεοῦ, ὥστε πασῶν ἐφάπτεσθαι καὶ δηλοῦν τρόπον τινὰ μουσικήν τε καὶ μαντικὴν καὶ ἰατρικὴν καὶ τοξικήν.

Ἑρμογένης: λέγε δή: ἄτοπον γάρ τί μοι λέγεις τὸ ὄνομα εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: εὐάρμοστον μὲν οὖν, ἅτε μουσικοῦ ὄντος τοῦ θεοῦ. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ ἡ κάθαρσις καὶ οἱ καθαρμοὶ καὶ κατὰ τὴν ἰατρικὴν καὶ κατὰ τὴν μαντικὴν καὶ αἱ τοῖς ἰατρικοῖς [405b]φαρμάκοις καὶ αἱ τοῖς μαντικοῖς περιθειώσεις τε καὶ τὰ λουτρὰ τὰ ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις καὶ αἱ περιρράνσεις, πάντα ἕν τι ταῦτα δύναιτ᾽ ἄν, καθαρὸν παρέχειν τὸν ἄνθρωπον καὶ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα καὶ κατὰ τὴν ψυχήν: ἢ οὔ;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁ καθαίρων θεὸς καὶ ὁ ἀπολούων τε καὶ ἀπολύων τῶν τοιούτων κακῶν οὗτος ἂν εἴη;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: κατὰ μὲν τοίνυν τὰς ἀπολύσεις τε καὶ ἀπολούσεις, [405c]ὡς ἰατρὸς ὢν τῶν τοιούτων, Ἀπολούων ἂν ὀρθῶς καλοῖτο: κατὰ δὲ τὴν μαντικὴν καὶ τὸ ἀληθές τε καὶ τὸ ἁπλοῦν ταὐτὸν γάρ ἐστιν ὥσπερ οὖν οἱ Θετταλοὶ καλοῦσιν αὐτόν, ὀρθότατ᾽ ἂν καλοῖτο: Ἄπλουν γάρ φασι πάντες Θετταλοὶ τοῦτον τὸν θεόν. διὰ δὲ τὸ ἀεὶ βολῶν ἐγκρατὴς εἶναι τοξικῇ Ἀειβάλλων ἐστίν. κατὰ δὲ τὴν μουσικὴν δεῖ ὑπολαβεῖν [ὥσπερ τὸν ἀκόλουθόν τε καὶ τὴν ἄκοιτιν] ὅτι τὸ ἄλφα σημαίνει πολλαχοῦ τὸ ὁμοῦ, καὶ ἐνταῦθα τὴν ὁμοῦ πόλησιν καὶ περὶ τὸν οὐρανόν, οὓς δὴ πόλους καλοῦσιν, καὶ [τὴν] περὶ [405d]τὴν ἐν τῇ ᾠδῇ ἁρμονίαν, ἣ δὴ συμφωνία καλεῖται, ὅτι ταῦτα πάντα, ὥς φασιν οἱ κομψοὶ περὶ μουσικὴν καὶ ἀστρονομίαν, ἁρμονίᾳ τινὶ πολεῖ ἅμα πάντα: ἐπιστατεῖ δὲ οὗτος ὁ θεὸς τῇ ἁρμονίᾳ ὁμοπολῶν αὐτὰ πάντα καὶ κατὰ θεοὺς καὶ κατ᾽ ἀνθρώπους: ὥσπερ οὖν τὸν ὁμοκέλευθον καὶ ὁμόκοιτιν ἀκόλουθον καὶ ἄκοιτιν ἐκαλέσαμεν, μεταβαλόντες ἀντὶ τοῦ ὁμο‐ ἀ‐, οὕτω καὶ Ἀπόλλωνα ἐκαλέσαμεν [405e]ὃς ἦν ὁμοπολῶν, ἕτερον λάβδα ἐμβαλόντες, ὅτι ὁμώνυμον ἐγίγνετο τῷ χαλεπῷ ὀνόματι. ὅπερ καὶ νῦν ὑποπτεύοντές τινες διὰ τὸ μὴ ὀρθῶς σκοπεῖσθαι τὴν δύναμιν τοῦ ὀνόματος φοβοῦνται αὐτὸ ὡς σημαῖνον φθοράν τινα: τὸ [406a]δὲ [πολύ], ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἐλέγετο, πασῶν ἐφαπτόμενον κεῖται τῶν τοῦ θεοῦ δυνάμεων, ἁπλοῦ, ἀεὶ βάλλοντος, ἀπολούοντος, ὁμοπολοῦντος. τὰς δὲ Μούσας τε καὶ ὅλως τὴν μουσικὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ μῶσθαι, ὡς ἔοικεν, καὶ τῆς ζητήσεώς τε καὶ φιλοσοφίας τὸ ὄνομα τοῦτο ἐπωνόμασεν. Λητὼ δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς πρᾳότητος τῆς θεοῦ, κατὰ τὸ ἐθελήμονα εἶναι ὧν ἄν τις δέηται. ἴσως δὲ ὡς οἱ ξένοι καλοῦσιν πολλοὶ γὰρ Ληθὼ καλοῦσιν ἔοικεν οὖν πρὸς τὸ μὴ τραχὺ τοῦ ἤθους ἀλλ᾽ ἥμερόν τε καὶ λεῖον Ληθὼ [406b]κεκλῆσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν τοῦτο καλούντων. Ἄρτεμις δὲ <διὰ> τὸ ἀρτεμὲς φαίνεται καὶ τὸ κόσμιον, διὰ τὴν τῆς παρθενίας ἐπιθυμίαν: ἴσως δὲ ἀρετῆς ἵστορα τὴν θεὸν ἐκάλεσεν ὁ καλέσας, τάχα δ᾽ ἂν καὶ ὡς τὸν ἄροτον μισησάσης τὸν ἀνδρὸς ἐν γυναικί: ἢ διὰ τούτων τι ἢ διὰ πάντα ταῦτα τὸ ὄνομα τοῦτο ὁ τιθέμενος ἔθετο τῇ θεῷ.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δὲ ὁ Διόνυσός τε καὶ ἡ ἀφροδίτη ;

Σωκράτης: μεγάλα, ὦ παῖ Ἱππονίκου, ἐρωτᾷς. ἀλλὰ ἔστι γὰρ καὶ σπουδαίως εἰρημένος ὁ τρόπος τῶν ὀνομάτων τούτοις [406c]τοῖς θεοῖς καὶ παιδικῶς. τὸν μὲν οὖν σπουδαῖον ἄλλους τινὰς ἐρώτα, τὸν δὲ παιδικὸν οὐδὲν κωλύει διελθεῖν: φιλοπαίσμονες γὰρ καὶ οἱ θεοί. ὅ τε γὰρ Διόνυσος εἴη ἂν ὁ διδοὺς τὸν οἶνον Διδοίνυσος ἐν παιδιᾷ καλούμενος, οἶνος δ᾽, ὅτι οἴεσθαι νοῦν ἔχειν ποιεῖ τῶν πινόντων τοὺς πολλοὺς οὐκ ἔχοντας, οἰόνους δικαιότατ᾽ ἂν καλούμενος. περὶ δὲ ἀφροδίτης οὐκ ἄξιον Ἡσιόδῳ ἀντιλέγειν, ἀλλὰ [406d]συγχωρεῖν ὅτι διὰ τὴν <ἐκ> τοῦ ἀφροῦ γένεσιν ἀφροδίτη ἐκλήθη.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδ᾽ Ἀθηνᾶς Ἀθηναῖός γ᾽ ὤν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπιλήσῃ, οὐδ᾽ Ἡφαίστου τε καὶ Ἄρεως.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ εἰκός γε.

Ἑρμογένης: οὐ γάρ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μὲν ἕτερον ὄνομα αὐτῆς οὐ χαλεπὸν εἰπεῖν δι᾽ ὃ κεῖται.

Ἑρμογένης: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: Παλλάδα που αὐτὴν καλοῦμεν.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν ἀπὸ τῆς ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις ὀρχήσεως [406e]ἡγούμενοι τεθῆναι ὀρθῶς ἄν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἡγοίμεθα: τὸ γάρ που ἢ αὑτὸν ἤ τι ἄλλο μετεωρίζειν ἢ ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς ἢ ἐν ταῖς [407a]χερσὶν πάλλειν τε καὶ πάλλεσθαι καὶ ὀρχεῖν καὶ ὀρχεῖσθαι καλοῦμεν.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: Παλλάδα μὲν τοίνυν ταύτῃ.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ ὀρθῶς γε. ἀλλὰ δὴ τὸ ἕτερον πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: τὸ τῆς Ἀθηνᾶς;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο ἐμβριθέστερον, ὦ φίλε. ἐοίκασι δὴ καὶ οἱ παλαιοὶ τὴν Ἀθηνᾶν νομίζειν ὥσπερ οἱ νῦν περὶ Ὅμηρον [407b]δεινοί. καὶ γὰρ τούτων οἱ πολλοὶ ἐξηγούμενοι τὸν ποιητήν φασι τὴν Ἀθηνᾶν αὐτὸν νοῦν τε καὶ διάνοιαν πεποιηκέναι, καὶ ὁ τὰ ὀνόματα ποιῶν ἔοικε τοιοῦτόν τι περὶ αὐτῆς διανοεῖσθαι, ἔτι δὲ μειζόνως λέγων θεοῦ νόησιν ὡσπερεὶ λέγει ὅτι ἁ θεονόα ἐστὶν αὕτη, τῷ ἄλφα ξενικῶς ἀντὶ τοῦ ἦτα χρησάμενος καὶ τὸ ἰῶτα καὶ τὸ σῖγμα ἀφελών. ἴσως δὲ οὐδὲ ταύτῃ, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς τὰ θεῖα νοούσης αὐτῆς διαφερόντως τῶν ἄλλων Θεονόην ἐκάλεσεν. οὐδὲν δὲ ἀπέχει καὶ τὴν ἐν τῷ ἤθει νόησιν ὡς οὖσαν τὴν θεὸν ταύτην Ἠθονόην μὲν [407c]βούλεσθαι προσειπεῖν: παραγαγὼν δὲ ἢ αὐτὸς ἤ τινες ὕστερον ἐπὶ τὸ κάλλιον ὡς ᾤοντο, Ἀθηνάαν ἐκάλεσαν.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δὲ δὴ τὸν Ἥφαιστον, πῇ λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ἦ τὸν γενναῖον τὸν φάεος ἵστορα ἐρωτᾷς;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔοικα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὗτος μὲν παντὶ δῆλος Φαῖστος ὤν, τὸ ἦτα προσελκυσάμενος;

Ἑρμογένης: κινδυνεύει, ἐὰν μή πῄ σοι, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἔτι ἄλλῃ δόξῃ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα μὴ δόξῃ, τὸν Ἄρη ἐρώτα.

Ἑρμογένης: ἐρωτῶ. [407d]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν, εἰ μὲν βούλει, κατὰ τὸ ἄρρεν τε καὶ κατὰ τὸ ἀνδρεῖον Ἄρης ἂν εἴη: εἰ δ᾽ αὖ κατὰ τὸ σκληρόν τε καὶ ἀμετάστροφον, ὃ δὴ ἄρρατον καλεῖται, καὶ ταύτῃ ἂν πανταχῇ πολεμικῷ θεῷ πρέποι Ἄρη καλεῖσθαι.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἐκ μὲν οὖν τῶν θεῶν πρὸς θεῶν ἀπαλλαγῶμεν, ὡς ἐγὼ δέδοικα περὶ αὐτῶν διαλέγεσθαι: περὶ δὲ ἄλλων <ὧν> τινων βούλει προβαλλέ μοι, ὄφρα ἴδηαι οἷοι Εὐθύφρονος ἵπποι. [407e]

Ἑρμογένης: ἀλλὰ ποιήσω ταῦτα, ἔτι γε ἓν ἐρόμενός σε περὶ Ἑρμοῦ, ἐπειδή με καὶ οὔ φησιν Κρατύλος Ἑρμογένη εἶναι. πειρώμεθα οὖν τὸν Ἑρμῆν σκέψασθαι τί καὶ νοεῖ τὸ ὄνομα, ἵνα καὶ εἰδῶμεν εἰ τὶ ὅδε λέγει.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε ἔοικε περὶ λόγον τι εἶναι ὁ Ἑρμῆς, καὶ τὸ ἑρμηνέα εἶναι καὶ τὸ ἄγγελον καὶ τὸ [408a]κλοπικόν τε καὶ τὸ ἀπατηλὸν ἐν λόγοις καὶ τὸ ἀγοραστικόν, περὶ λόγου δύναμίν ἐστιν πᾶσα αὕτη ἡ πραγματεία: ὅπερ οὖν καὶ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν, τὸ εἴρειν λόγου χρεία ἐστί, τὸ δέ, οἷον καὶ Ὅμηρος πολλαχοῦ λέγει, ἐμήσατό φησιν, τοῦτο δὲ μηχανήσασθαί ἐστιν. ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων οὖν τούτων τὸν τὸ λέγειν τε καὶ τὸν λόγον μησάμενον τὸ δὲ λέγειν δή ἐστιν εἴρειν τοῦτον τὸν θεὸν ὡσπερεὶ ἐπιτάττει [408b]ἡμῖν ὁ νομοθέτης: ὦ ἄνθρωποι, ὃς τὸ εἴρειν ἐμήσατο, δικαίως ἂν καλοῖτο ὑπὸ ὑμῶν εἰρέμης: νῦν δὲ ἡμεῖς, ὡς οἰόμεθα, καλλωπίζοντες τὸ ὄνομα Ἑρμῆν καλοῦμεν. [καὶ ἥ γε Ἶρις ἀπὸ τοῦ εἴρειν ἔοικεν κεκλημένη, ὅτι ἄγγελος ἦν.]

Ἑρμογένης: νὴ τὸν Δία, εὖ ἄρα μοι δοκεῖ Κρατύλος λέγειν τὸ ἐμὲ μὴ εἶναι Ἑρμογένη: οὔκουν εὐμήχανός γέ εἰμι λόγου.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τό γε τὸν Πᾶνα τοῦ Ἑρμοῦ εἶναι ὑὸν διφυῆ ἔχει τὸ εἰκός, ὦ ἑταῖρε. [408c]

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης: οἶσθα ὅτι ὁ λόγος τὸ πᾶν σημαίνει καὶ κυκλεῖ καὶ πολεῖ ἀεί, καὶ ἔστι διπλοῦς, ἀληθής τε καὶ ψευδής.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μὲν ἀληθὲς αὐτοῦ λεῖον καὶ θεῖον καὶ ἄνω οἰκοῦν ἐν τοῖς θεοῖς, τὸ δὲ ψεῦδος κάτω ἐν τοῖς πολλοῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τραχὺ καὶ τραγικόν: ἐνταῦθα γὰρ πλεῖστοι οἱ μῦθοί τε καὶ τὰ ψεύδη ἐστίν, περὶ τὸν τραγικὸν βίον.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς ἄρ᾽ <ἂν> ὁ πᾶν μηνύων καὶ ἀεὶ πολῶν [408d] Πὰν αἰπόλος εἴη, διφυὴς Ἑρμοῦ ὑός, τὰ μὲν ἄνωθεν λεῖος, τὰ δὲ κάτωθεν τραχὺς καὶ τραγοειδής. καὶ ἔστιν ἤτοι λόγος ἢ λόγου ἀδελφὸς ὁ Πάν, εἴπερ Ἑρμοῦ ὑός ἐστιν: ἀδελφῷ δὲ ἐοικέναι ἀδελφὸν οὐδὲν θαυμαστόν. ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, ὦ μακάριε, ἀπαλλαγῶμεν ἐκ τῶν θεῶν.

Ἑρμογένης: τῶν γε τοιούτων, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ βούλει. περὶ τῶν τοιῶνδε δὲ τί σε κωλύει διελθεῖν, οἷον ἡλίου τε καὶ σελήνης καὶ ἄστρων καὶ γῆς καὶ αἰθέρος καὶ ἀέρος καὶ πυρὸς [408e]καὶ ὕδατος καὶ ὡρῶν καὶ ἐνιαυτοῦ;

Σωκράτης: συχνὰ μέν μοι προστάττεις, ὅμως δέ, εἴπερ σοι κεχαρισμένον ἔσται, ἐθέλω.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ μὴν χαριῇ.

Σωκράτης: τί δὴ οὖν πρῶτον βούλει; ἢ ὥσπερ εἶπες τὸν ἥλιον διέλθωμεν;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἔοικε τοίνυν κατάδηλον γενόμενον ἂν μᾶλλον εἰ [409a]τῷ Δωρικῷ τις ὀνόματι χρῷτο ἅλιον γὰρ καλοῦσιν οἱ Δωριῆς ἅλιος οὖν εἴη μὲν ἂν κατὰ τὸ ἁλίζειν εἰς ταὐτὸν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἐπειδὰν ἀνατείλῃ, εἴη δ᾽ ἂν καὶ τῷ περὶ τὴν γῆν ἀεὶ εἱλεῖν ἰών, ἐοίκοι δ᾽ ἂν καὶ ὅτι ποικίλλει ἰὼν τὰ γιγνόμενα ἐκ τῆς γῆς: τὸ δὲ ποικίλλειν καὶ αἰολεῖν ταὐτόν.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δὲ ἡ σελήνη ;

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο δὲ τὸ ὄνομα φαίνεται τὸν Ἀναξαγόραν πιέζειν.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: ἔοικε δηλοῦντι παλαιότερον ὃ ἐκεῖνος νεωστὶ ἔλεγεν, [409b]ὅτι ἡ σελήνη ἀπὸ τοῦ ἡλίου ἔχει τὸ φῶς.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης: τὸ μέν που σέλας καὶ τὸ φῶς ταὐτόν.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: νέον δέ που καὶ ἕνον ἀεί ἐστι περὶ τὴν σελήνην τοῦτο τὸ φῶς, εἴπερ ἀληθῆ οἱ Ἀναξαγόρειοι λέγουσιν: κύκλῳ γάρ που ἀεὶ αὐτὴν περιιὼν νέον ἀεὶ ἐπιβάλλει, ἕνον δὲ ὑπάρχει τὸ τοῦ προτέρου μηνός.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: Σελαναίαν δέ γε καλοῦσιν αὐτὴν πολλοί.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὅτι δὲ σέλας νέον καὶ ἕνον ἔχει ἀεί, Σελαενονεοάεια [409c]μὲν δικαιότατ᾽ ἂν [τῶν] ὀνομάτων καλοῖτο, συγκεκροτημένον δὲ Σελαναία κέκληται.

Ἑρμογένης: διθυραμβῶδές γε τοῦτο τοὔνομα, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἀλλὰ τὸν μῆνα καὶ τὰ ἄστρα πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ὁ μὲν μεὶς ἀπὸ τοῦ μειοῦσθαι εἴη ἂν μείης ὀρθῶς κεκλημένος, τὰ δ᾽ ἄστρα ἔοικε τῆς ἀστραπῆς ἐπωνυμίαν ἔχειν. ἡ δὲ ἀστραπή, ὅτι τὰ ὦπα ἀναστρέφει, ἀναστρωπὴ ἂν εἴη, νῦν δὲ ἀστραπὴ καλλωπισθεῖσα κέκληται.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δὲ τὸ πῦρ καὶ τὸ ὕδωρ; [409d]

Σωκράτης: τὸ πῦρ ἀπορῶ: καὶ κινδυνεύει ἤτοι ἡ τοῦ Εὐθύφρονός με μοῦσα ἐπιλελοιπέναι, ἢ τοῦτό τι παγχάλεπον εἶναι. σκέψαι οὖν ἣν εἰσάγω μηχανὴν ἐπὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἃ ἂν ἀπορῶ.

Ἑρμογένης: τίνα δή;

Σωκράτης: ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ. ἀπόκριναι γάρ μοι: ἔχοις ἂν εἰπεῖν πῦρ κατὰ τίνα τρόπον καλεῖται;

Ἑρμογένης: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: σκέψαι δὴ ὃ ἐγὼ ὑποπτεύω περὶ αὐτοῦ. ἐννοῶ γὰρ [409e]ὅτι πολλὰ οἱ Ἕλληνες ὀνόματα ἄλλως τε καὶ οἱ ὑπὸ τοῖς βαρβάροις οἰκοῦντες παρὰ τῶν βαρβάρων εἰλήφασιν.

Ἑρμογένης: τί οὖν δή;

Σωκράτης: εἴ τις ζητοῖ ταῦτα κατὰ τὴν Ἑλληνικὴν φωνὴν ὡς εἰκότως κεῖται, ἀλλὰ μὴ κατ᾽ ἐκείνην ἐξ ἧς τὸ ὄνομα τυγχάνει ὄν, οἶσθα ὅτι ἀποροῖ ἄν.

Ἑρμογένης: εἰκότως γε. [410a]

Σωκράτης: ὅρα τοίνυν καὶ τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα τὸ πῦρ μή τι βαρβαρικὸν ᾖ. τοῦτο γὰρ οὔτε ῥᾴδιον προσάψαι ἐστὶν Ἑλληνικῇ φωνῇ, φανεροί τ᾽ εἰσὶν οὕτως αὐτὸ καλοῦντες Φρύγες σμικρόν τι παρακλίνοντες: καὶ τό γε ὕδωρ καὶ τὰς κύνας καὶ ἄλλα πολλά.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐ τοίνυν δεῖ ταῦτα προσβιάζεσθαι, ἐπεὶ ἔχοι γ᾽ ἄν τις εἰπεῖν περὶ αὐτῶν. τὸ μὲν οὖν πῦρ καὶ τὸ ὕδωρ ταύτῃ [410b]ἀπωθοῦμαι: ὁ δὲ δὴ ἀὴρ ἆρά γε, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, ὅτι αἴρει τὰ ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς, ἀὴρ κέκληται; ἢ ὅτι ἀεὶ ῥεῖ; ἢ ὅτι πνεῦμα ἐξ αὐτοῦ γίγνεται ῥέοντος; οἱ γὰρ ποιηταί που τὰ πνεύματα ἀήτας καλοῦσιν: ἴσως οὖν λέγει, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ εἴποι πνευματόρρουν, ἀητόρρουν [ὅθεν δὴ βούλεται αὐτὸν οὕτως εἰπεῖν, ὅτι ἐστὶν ἀήρ]. τὸν δὲ αἰθέρα τῇδέ πῃ ὑπολαμβάνω, ὅτι ἀεὶ θεῖ περὶ τὸν ἀέρα ῥέων ἀειθεὴρ δικαίως ἂν καλοῖτο. γῆ δὲ μᾶλλον σημαίνει ὃ βούλεται ἐάν τις [410c] γαῖαν ὀνομάσῃ: γαῖα γὰρ γεννήτειρα ἂν εἴη ὀρθῶς κεκλημένη, ὥς φησιν Ὅμηρος: τὸ γὰρ γεγάασιν γεγεννῆσθαι λέγει. εἶεν: τί οὖν ἡμῖν ἦν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο;

Ἑρμογένης: ὧραι, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἐνιαυτὸς καὶ ἔτος.

Σωκράτης: αἱ μὲν δὴ ὧραι Ἀττικιστὶ ὡς τὸ παλαιὸν ῥητέον, εἴπερ βούλει τὸ εἰκὸς εἰδέναι: ΗΟΡΑΙ γάρ εἰσι διὰ τὸ ὁρίζειν χειμῶνάς τε καὶ θέρη καὶ πνεύματα καὶ τοὺς καρποὺς τοὺς ἐκ τῆς γῆς: ὁρίζουσαι δὲ δικαίως ἂν ὅραι καλοῖντο. [410d]ἐνιαυτὸς δὲ καὶ ἔτος κινδυνεύει ἕν τι εἶναι. τὸ γὰρ τὰ φυόμενα καὶ τὰ γιγνόμενα ἐν μέρει ἕκαστον προάγον εἰς φῶς καὶ αὐτὸ ἐν αὑτῷ ἐξετάζον, τοῦτο, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν τὸ τοῦ Διὸς ὄνομα δίχα διῃρημένον οἱ μὲν Ζῆνα, οἱ δὲ Δία ἐκάλουν, οὕτω καὶ ἐνταῦθα οἱ μὲν ἐνιαυτόν, ὅτι ἐν ἑαυτῷ, οἱ δὲ ἔτος, ὅτι ἐτάζει: ὁ δὲ ὅλος λόγος ἐστὶν τὸ ἐν ἑαυτῷ ἐτάζον τοῦτο προσαγορεύεσθαι ἓν ὂν δίχα, ὥστε δύο ὀνόματα γεγονέναι, ἐνιαυτόν τε καὶ [410e] ἔτος, ἐξ ἑνὸς λόγου.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀλλὰ δῆτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, πολὺ ἐπιδίδως.

Σωκράτης: πόρρω ἤδη οἶμαι φαίνομαι σοφίας ἐλαύνειν.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τάχα μᾶλλον φήσεις. [411a]

Ἑρμογένης: ἀλλὰ μετὰ τοῦτο τὸ εἶδος ἔγωγε ἡδέως ἂν θεασαίμην ταῦτα τὰ καλὰ ὀνόματα τίνι ποτὲ ὀρθότητι κεῖται, τὰ περὶ τὴν ἀρετήν, οἷον φρόνησίς τε καὶ σύνεσις καὶ δικαιοσύνη καὶ τἆλλα τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα.

Σωκράτης: ἐγείρεις μέν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, οὐ φαῦλον γένος ὀνομάτων: ὅμως δὲ ἐπειδήπερ τὴν λεοντῆν ἐνδέδυκα, οὐκ ἀποδειλιατέον ἀλλ᾽ ἐπισκεπτέον, ὡς ἔοικε, φρόνησιν καὶ σύνεσιν καὶ γνώμην καὶ ἐπιστήμην καὶ τἆλλα δὴ ἃ φῂς πάντα ταῦτα τὰ [411b]καλὰ ὀνόματα.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν οὐ δεῖ ἡμᾶς προαποστῆναι.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μήν, νὴ τὸν κύνα, δοκῶ γέ μοι οὐ κακῶς μαντεύεσθαι, ὃ καὶ νυνδὴ ἐνενόησα, ὅτι οἱ πάνυ παλαιοὶ ἄνθρωποι οἱ τιθέμενοι τὰ ὀνόματα παντὸς μᾶλλον, ὥσπερ καὶ τῶν νῦν οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν σοφῶν ὑπὸ τοῦ πυκνὰ περιστρέφεσθαι ζητοῦντες ὅπῃ ἔχει τὰ ὄντα εἰλιγγιῶσιν, κἄπειτα αὐτοῖς φαίνεται περιφέρεσθαι τὰ πράγματα καὶ πάντως [411c]φέρεσθαι. αἰτιῶνται δὴ οὐ τὸ ἔνδον τὸ παρὰ σφίσιν πάθος αἴτιον εἶναι ταύτης τῆς δόξης, ἀλλὰ αὐτὰ τὰ πράγματα οὕτω πεφυκέναι, οὐδὲν αὐτῶν μόνιμον εἶναι οὐδὲ βέβαιον, ἀλλὰ ῥεῖν καὶ φέρεσθαι καὶ μεστὰ εἶναι πάσης φορᾶς καὶ γενέσεως ἀεί. λέγω δὴ ἐννοήσας πρὸς πάντα τὰ νυνδὴ ὀνόματα.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δὴ τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οὐ κατενόησας ἴσως τὰ ἄρτι λεγόμενα ὅτι παντάπασιν ὡς φερομένοις τε καὶ ῥέουσι καὶ γιγνομένοις τοῖς πράγμασι τὰ ὀνόματα ἐπίκειται.

Ἑρμογένης: οὐ πάνυ ἐνεθυμήθην. [411d]

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτο ὃ πρῶτον εἴπομεν παντάπασιν ὡς ἐπὶ τοιούτων ἐστίν.

Ἑρμογένης: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ἡ φρόνησις : φορᾶς γάρ ἐστι καὶ ῥοῦ νόησις. εἴη δ᾽ ἂν καὶ ὄνησιν ὑπολαβεῖν φορᾶς: ἀλλ᾽ οὖν περί γε τὸ φέρεσθαί ἐστιν. εἰ δὲ βούλει, ἡ γνώμη παντάπασιν δηλοῖ γονῆς σκέψιν καὶ νώμησιν: τὸ γὰρ νωμᾶν καὶ τὸ σκοπεῖν ταὐτόν. εἰ δὲ βούλει, αὐτὸ ἡ νόησις τοῦ νέου ἐστὶν ἕσις, τὸ δὲ νέα εἶναι τὰ ὄντα σημαίνει [411e]γιγνόμενα ἀεὶ εἶναι: τούτου οὖν ἐφίεσθαι τὴν ψυχὴν μηνύει τὸ ὄνομα ὁ θέμενος τὴν νεόεσιν. οὐ γὰρ νόησις τὸ ἀρχαῖον ἐκαλεῖτο, ἀλλ᾽ ἀντὶ τοῦ ἦτα εἶ ἔδει λέγειν δύο, νοέεσιν. σωφροσύνη δὲ σωτηρία οὗ νυνδὴ ἐσκέμμεθα, [412a]φρονήσεως. καὶ μὴν ἥ γε ἐπιστήμη μηνύει ὡς φερομένοις τοῖς πράγμασιν ἑπομένης τῆς ψυχῆς τῆς ἀξίας λόγου, καὶ οὔτε ἀπολειπομένης οὔτε προθεούσης: διὸ δὴ ἐμβάλλοντας δεῖ τὸ εἶ ἑπεϊστήμην αὐτὴν ὀνομάζειν. σύνεσις δ᾽ αὖ οὕτω μὲν δόξειεν ἂν ὥσπερ συλλογισμὸς εἶναι, ὅταν δὲ συνιέναι λέγῃ, ταὐτὸν παντάπασιν τῷ ἐπίστασθαι συμβαίνει λεγόμενον: συμπορεύεσθαι γὰρ λέγει [412b]τὴν ψυχὴν τοῖς πράγμασι τὸ συνιέναι. ἀλλὰ μὴν ἥ γε σοφία φορᾶς ἐφάπτεσθαι σημαίνει. σκοτωδέστερον δὲ τοῦτο καὶ ξενικώτερον: ἀλλὰ δεῖ ἐκ τῶν ποιητῶν ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι ὅτι πολλαχοῦ λέγουσιν περὶ ὅτου ἂν τύχωσιν τῶν ἀρχομένων ταχὺ προϊέναι ἐσύθη φασίν. Λακωνικῷ δὲ ἀνδρὶ τῶν εὐδοκίμων καὶ ὄνομα ἦν Σοῦς : τὴν γὰρ ταχεῖαν ὁρμὴν οἱ Λακεδαιμόνιοι τοῦτο καλοῦσιν. ταύτης οὖν τῆς φορᾶς ἐπαφὴν σημαίνει ἡ σοφία, ὡς φερομένων τῶν ὄντων. [412c]καὶ μὴν τό γε ἀγαθόν, τοῦτο τῆς φύσεως πάσης τῷ ἀγαστῷ βούλεται τὸ ὄνομα ἐπικεῖσθαι. ἐπειδὴ γὰρ πορεύεται τὰ ὄντα, ἔνι μὲν ἄρ᾽ αὐτοῖς τάχος, ἔνι δὲ βραδυτής. ἔστιν οὖν οὐ πᾶν τὸ ταχὺ ἀλλὰ τὶ αὐτοῦ ἀγαστόν. τοῦ θοοῦ δὴ τῷ ἀγαστῷ αὕτη ἡ ἐπωνυμία ἐστίν, τἀγαθόν.

δικαιοσύνη δέ, ὅτι μὲν ἐπὶ τῇ τοῦ δικαίου συνέσει τοῦτο κεῖται τὸ ὄνομα, ῥᾴδιον συμβαλεῖν: αὐτὸ δὲ τὸ δίκαιον χαλεπόν. καὶ γὰρ δὴ καὶ ἔοικε μέχρι μέν του ὁμολογεῖσθαι [412d]παρὰ πολλῶν, ἔπειτα δὲ ἀμφισβητεῖσθαι. ὅσοι γὰρ ἡγοῦνται τὸ πᾶν εἶναι ἐν πορείᾳ, τὸ μὲν πολὺ αὐτοῦ ὑπολαμβάνουσιν τοιοῦτόν τι εἶναι οἷον οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ χωρεῖν, διὰ δὲ τούτου παντὸς εἶναί τι διεξιόν, δι᾽ οὗ πάντα τὰ γιγνόμενα γίγνεσθαι: εἶναι δὲ τάχιστον τοῦτο καὶ λεπτότατον. οὐ γὰρ ἂν δύνασθαι ἄλλως διὰ τοῦ ὄντος ἰέναι παντός, εἰ μὴ λεπτότατόν τε ἦν ὥστε αὐτὸ μηδὲν στέγειν, καὶ τάχιστον ὥστε χρῆσθαι ὥσπερ ἑστῶσι τοῖς ἄλλοις. ἐπεὶ δ᾽ οὖν ἐπιτροπεύει τὰ [412e]ἄλλα πάντα διαϊόν, τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα ἐκλήθη ὀρθῶς δίκαιον, εὐστομίας ἕνεκα τὴν τοῦ κάππα δύναμιν προσλαβόν. μέχρι μὲν οὖν ἐνταῦθα, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, παρὰ πολλῶν ὁμολογεῖται [413a]τοῦτο εἶναι τὸ δίκαιον: ἐγὼ δέ, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, ἅτε λιπαρὴς ὢν περὶ αὐτοῦ, ταῦτα μὲν πάντα διαπέπυσμαι ἐν ἀπορρήτοις, ὅτι τοῦτό ἐστι τὸ δίκαιον καὶ τὸ αἴτιον δι᾽ ὃ γὰρ γίγνεται, τοῦτ᾽ ἔστι τὸ αἴτιον καὶ Δία καλεῖν ἔφη τις τοῦτο ὀρθῶς ἔχειν διὰ ταῦτα. ἐπειδὰν δ᾽ ἠρέμα αὐτοὺς ἐπανερωτῶ ἀκούσας ταῦτα μηδὲν ἧττον: τί οὖν ποτ᾽ ἔστιν, ὦ ἄριστε, δίκαιον, εἰ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει; δοκῶ τε ἤδη μακρότερα τοῦ προσήκοντος ἐρωτᾶν καὶ ὑπὲρ τὰ ἐσκαμμένα [413b]ἅλλεσθαι. ἱκανῶς γάρ μέ φασι πεπύσθαι [ἀκηκοέναι] καὶ ἐπιχειροῦσιν, βουλόμενοι ἀποπιμπλάναι με, ἄλλος ἄλλα ἤδη λέγειν, καὶ οὐκέτι συμφωνοῦσιν. ὁ μὲν γὰρ τίς φησιν τοῦτο εἶναι δίκαιον, τὸν ἥλιον: τοῦτον γὰρ μόνον διαϊόντα καὶ κάοντα ἐπιτροπεύειν τὰ ὄντα. ἐπειδὰν οὖν τῳ λέγω αὐτὸ ἅσμενος ὡς καλόν τι ἀκηκοώς, καταγελᾷ μου οὗτος ἀκούσας καὶ ἐρωτᾷ εἰ οὐδὲν δίκαιον οἶμαι εἶναι ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐπειδὰν [413c]ὁ ἥλιος δύῃ. λιπαροῦντος οὖν ἐμοῦ ὅτι αὖ ἐκεῖνος λέγει αὐτό, τὸ πῦρ φησιν: τοῦτο δὲ οὐ ῥᾴδιόν ἐστιν εἰδέναι. ὁ δὲ οὐκ αὐτὸ τὸ πῦρ φησιν, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ θερμὸν τὸ ἐν τῷ πυρὶ ἐνόν. ὁ δὲ τούτων μὲν πάντων καταγελᾶν φησιν, εἶναι δὲ τὸ δίκαιον ὃ λέγει Ἀναξαγόρας, νοῦν εἶναι τοῦτο: αὐτοκράτορα γὰρ αὐτὸν ὄντα καὶ οὐδενὶ μεμειγμένον πάντα φησὶν αὐτὸν κοσμεῖν τὰ πράγματα διὰ πάντων ἰόντα. ἐνταῦθα δὴ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε, πολὺ ἐν πλείονι ἀπορίᾳ εἰμὶ ἢ πρὶν ἐπιχειρῆσαι μανθάνειν [413d]περὶ τοῦ δικαίου ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔστιν. ἀλλ᾽ οὖν οὗπερ ἕνεκα ἐσκοποῦμεν, τό γε ὄνομα τοῦτο φαίνεται αὐτῷ διὰ ταῦτα κεῖσθαι.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνῃ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταῦτα μὲν ἀκηκοέναι του καὶ οὐκ αὐτοσχεδιάζειν.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ τἆλλα;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐ πάνυ.

Σωκράτης: ἄκουε δή: ἴσως γὰρ ἄν σε καὶ τὰ ἐπίλοιπα ἐξαπατήσαιμι ὡς οὐκ ἀκηκοὼς λέγω. μετὰ γὰρ δικαιοσύνην τί ἡμῖν λείπεται; ἀνδρείαν οἶμαι οὔπω διήλθομεν. ἀδικία μὲν γὰρ [413e]δῆλον ὅτι ἐστὶν ὄντος ἐμπόδισμα τοῦ διαϊόντος, ἀνδρεία δὲ σημαίνει ὡς ἐν μάχῃ ἐπονομαζομένης τῆς ἀνδρείας μάχην δ᾽ εἶναι ἐν τῷ ὄντι, εἴπερ ῥεῖ, οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ τὴν ἐναντίαν ῥοήν ἐὰν οὖν τις ἐξέλῃ τὸ δέλτα τοῦ ὀνόματος τῆς ἀνδρείας, αὐτὸ μηνύει τὸ ἔργον τὸ ὄνομα ἡ ἀνρεία. δῆλον οὖν ὅτι οὐ πάσῃ ῥοῇ ἡ ἐναντία ῥοὴ ἀνδρεία ἐστίν, ἀλλὰ τῇ παρὰ [414a]τὸ δίκαιον ῥεούσῃ: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐπῃνεῖτο ἡ ἀνδρεία. καὶ τὸ ἄρρεν καὶ ὁ ἀνὴρ ἐπὶ παραπλησίῳ τινὶ τούτῳ ἐστί, τῇ ἄνῳ ῥοῇ. γυνὴ δὲ γονή μοι φαίνεται βούλεσθαι εἶναι. τὸ δὲ θῆλυ ἀπὸ τῆς θηλῆς τι φαίνεται ἐπωνομάσθαι: ἡ δὲ θηλὴ ἆρά γε, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, ὅτι τεθηλέναι ποιεῖ ὥσπερ τὰ ἀρδόμενα;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔοικέν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν αὐτό γε τὸ θάλλειν τὴν αὔξην μοι δοκεῖ ἀπεικάζειν τὴν τῶν νέων, ὅτι ταχεῖα καὶ ἐξαιφνιδία γίγνεται. [414b]οἷόνπερ οὖν μεμίμηται τῷ ὀνόματι, συναρμόσας ἀπὸ τοῦ θεῖν καὶ ἅλλεσθαι τὸ ὄνομα. ἀλλ᾽ οὐ γὰρ ἐπισκοπεῖς με ὥσπερ ἐκτὸς δρόμου φερόμενον ἐπειδὰν λείου ἐπιλάβωμαι: ἐπίλοιπα δὲ ἡμῖν ἔτι συχνὰ τῶν δοκούντων σπουδαίων εἶναι.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ὧν γ᾽ ἔστιν ἓν καὶ τέχνην ἰδεῖν ὅτι ποτὲ βούλεται εἶναι.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τοῦτό γε ἕξιν νοῦ σημαίνει, τὸ μὲν ταῦ [414c]ἀφελόντι, ἐμβαλόντι δὲ οὖ μεταξὺ τοῦ χεῖ καὶ τοῦ νῦ καὶ <τοῦ νῦ καὶ> τοῦ ἦτα;

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ μάλα γε γλίσχρως, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ὦ μακάριε, οὐκ οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τὰ πρῶτα ὀνόματα τεθέντα κατακέχωσται ἤδη ὑπὸ τῶν βουλομένων τραγῳδεῖν αὐτά, περιτιθέντων γράμματα καὶ ἐξαιρούντων εὐστομίας ἕνεκα καὶ πανταχῇ στρεφόντων, καὶ ὑπὸ καλλωπισμοῦ καὶ ὑπὸ χρόνου. ἐπεὶ ἐν τῷ κατόπτρῳ οὐ δοκεῖ [σοι] ἄτοπον εἶναι τὸ ἐμβεβλῆσθαι τὸ ῥῶ; ἀλλὰ τοιαῦτα οἶμαι ποιοῦσιν οἱ τῆς μὲν [414d]ἀληθείας οὐδὲν φροντίζοντες, τὸ δὲ στόμα πλάττοντες, ὥστ᾽ ἐπεμβάλλοντες πολλὰ ἐπὶ τὰ πρῶτα ὀνόματα τελευτῶντες ποιοῦσιν μηδ᾽ ἂν ἕνα ἀνθρώπων συνεῖναι ὅτι ποτὲ βούλεται τὸ ὄνομα: ὥσπερ καὶ τὴν Σφίγγα ἀντὶ φικὸς σφίγγα καλοῦσιν, καὶ ἄλλα πολλά.

Ἑρμογένης: ταῦτα μὲν ἔστιν οὕτως, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δ᾽ αὖ τις ἐάσει καὶ ἐντιθέναι καὶ ἐξαιρεῖν ἅττ᾽ ἂν βούληταί τις εἰς τὰ ὀνόματα, πολλὴ εὐπορία ἔσται καὶ πᾶν ἂν παντί τις ὄνομα πράγματι προσαρμόσειεν. [414e]

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ μέντοι. ἀλλὰ τὸ μέτριον οἶμαι δεῖ φυλάττειν καὶ τὸ εἰκὸς σὲ τὸν σοφὸν ἐπιστάτην.

Ἑρμογένης: βουλοίμην ἄν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐγώ σοι συμβούλομαι, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες. ἀλλὰ μὴ [415a]λίαν, ὦ δαιμόνιε, ἀκριβολογοῦ, μή μ᾽ ἀπογυιώσῃς μένεος. Hom. Il. 6.265ἔρχομαι γὰρ ἐπὶ τὴν κορυφὴν ὧν εἴρηκα, ἐπειδὰν μετὰ τέχνην μηχανὴν ἐπισκεψώμεθα. μηχανὴ γάρ μοι δοκεῖ τοῦ ἄνειν ἐπὶ πολὺ σημεῖον εἶναι: τὸ γὰρ μῆκός πως τὸ πολὺ σημαίνει: ἐξ ἀμφοῖν οὖν τούτοιν σύγκειται, μήκους τε καὶ τοῦ ἄνειν, τὸ ὄνομα ἡ μηχανή. ἀλλ᾽, ὅπερ νυνδὴ εἶπον, ἐπὶ τὴν κορυφὴν δεῖ τῶν εἰρημένων ἐλθεῖν: ἀρετὴ γὰρ καὶ κακία ὅτι βούλεται τὰ ὀνόματα [415b]ζητητέα. τὸ μὲν οὖν ἕτερον οὔπω καθορῶ, τὸ δ᾽ ἕτερον δοκεῖ μοι κατάδηλον εἶναι. συμφωνεῖ γὰρ τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν πᾶσιν. ἅτε γὰρ ἰόντων τῶν πραγμάτων, πᾶν τὸ κακῶς ἰὸν κακία ἂν εἴη: τοῦτο δὲ ὅταν ἐν ψυχῇ ᾖ, τὸ κακῶς ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὰ πράγματα, μάλιστα τὴν τοῦ ὅλου ἐπωνυμίαν ἔχει τῆς κακίας. τὸ δὲ κακῶς ἰέναι ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔστιν, δοκεῖ μοι δηλοῦν καὶ ἐν τῇ δειλίᾳ, ὃ οὔπω διήλθομεν ἀλλ᾽ [415c]ὑπερέβημεν, δέον αὐτὸ μετὰ τὴν ἀνδρείαν σκέψασθαι: δοκοῦμεν δέ μοι καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ ὑπερβεβηκέναι. ἡ δ᾽ οὖν δειλία τῆς ψυχῆς σημαίνει δεσμὸν εἶναι ἰσχυρόν: τὸ γὰρ λίαν ἰσχύς τίς ἐστιν. δεσμὸς οὖν ὁ λίαν καὶ ὁ μέγιστος τῆς ψυχῆς ἡ δειλία ἂν εἴη: ὥσπερ γε καὶ ἡ ἀπορία κακόν, καὶ πᾶν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅτι ἂν ἐμποδὼν ᾖ τῷ ἰέναι καὶ πορεύεσθαι. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν φαίνεται τὸ κακῶς ἰέναι δηλοῦν, τὸ ἰσχομένως τε καὶ ἐμποδιζομένως πορεύεσθαι, ὃ δὴ ψυχὴ ὅταν ἔχῃ, κακίᾳ μεστὴ γίγνεται. εἰ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τοιούτοις ἡ κακία ἐστὶν τοὔνομα, τοὐναντίον τούτου ἡ ἀρετὴ ἂν εἴη, σημαῖνον πρῶτον [415d]μὲν εὐπορίαν, ἔπειτα δὲ λελυμένην τὴν ῥοὴν τῆς ἀγαθῆς ψυχῆς εἶναι ἀεί, ὥστε τὸ ἀσχέτως καὶ τὸ ἀκωλύτως ἀεὶ ῥέον ἐπωνυμίαν εἴληφεν, ὡς ἔοικε, τοῦτο τοὔνομα, <ὃ> ὀρθῶς μὲν ἔχει ἀειρείτην καλεῖν, [ἴσως δὲ αἱρετὴν λέγει, ὡς οὔσης ταύτης τῆς ἕξεως αἱρετωτάτης,] συγκεκρότηται δὲ καὶ καλεῖται ἀρετή. καὶ ἴσως με αὖ φήσεις πλάττειν: ἐγὼ δέ φημι, εἴπερ ὃ ἔμπροσθεν εἶπον ὀρθῶς ἔχει, ἡ κακία, [415e]καὶ τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα τὴν ἀρετὴν ὀρθῶς ἔχειν. [416a]

Ἑρμογένης: τὸ δὲ δὴ κακόν, δι᾽ οὗ πολλὰ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν εἴρηκας, τί ἂν νοοῖ τοὔνομα;

Σωκράτης: ἄτοπόν τι νὴ Δία ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ καὶ χαλεπὸν συμβαλεῖν. ἐπάγω οὖν καὶ τούτῳ ἐκείνην τὴν μηχανήν.

Ἑρμογένης: ποίαν ταύτην;

Σωκράτης: τὴν τοῦ βαρβαρικόν τι καὶ τοῦτο φάναι εἶναι.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ ἔοικάς γε ὀρθῶς λέγοντι. ἀλλ᾽ εἰ δοκεῖ, ταῦτα μὲν ἐῶμεν, τὸ δὲ καλὸν καὶ [τὸ] αἰσχρὸν πειρώμεθα ἰδεῖν πῇ εὐλόγως ἔχει.

Σωκράτης: τὸ μὲν τοίνυν αἰσχρὸν καὶ δὴ κατάδηλόν μοι [416b]φαίνεται ὃ νοεῖ: καὶ τοῦτο γὰρ τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ὁμολογεῖται. τὸ γὰρ ἐμποδίζον καὶ ἴσχον τῆς ῥοῆς τὰ ὄντα λοιδορεῖν μοι φαίνεται διὰ παντὸς ὁ τὰ ὀνόματα τιθείς, καὶ νῦν τῷ ἀεὶ ἴσχοντι τὸν ῥοῦν τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα ἔθετο <τὸ> ἀεισχοροῦν : νῦν δὲ συγκροτήσαντες αἰσχρὸν καλοῦσιν.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δὲ τὸ καλόν ;

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο χαλεπώτερον κατανοῆσαι. καίτοι λέγει γε αὐτό: ἁρμονίᾳ μόνον καὶ μήκει τοῦ οὖ παρῆκται.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης: τῆς διανοίας τις ἔοικεν ἐπωνυμία εἶναι τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς λέγεις; [416c]

Σωκράτης: φέρε, τί οἴει σὺ εἶναι τὸ αἴτιον κληθῆναι ἑκάστῳ τῶν ὄντων; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐκεῖνο τὸ τὰ ὀνόματα θέμενον;

Ἑρμογένης: πάντως που.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν διάνοια ἂν εἴη τοῦτο ἤτοι θεῶν ἢ ἀνθρώπων ἢ ἀμφότερα;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ καλέσαν τὰ πράγματα καὶ τὸ καλοῦν ταὐτόν ἐστιν τοῦτο, διάνοια;

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅσα μὲν ἂν νοῦς τε καὶ διάνοια ἐργάσηται, ταῦτά ἐστι τὰ ἐπαινετά, ἃ δὲ μή, ψεκτά;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε. [416d]

Σωκράτης: τὸ οὖν ἰατρικὸν ἰατρικὰ ἐργάζεται καὶ τὸ τεκτονικὸν τεκτονικά; ἢ πῶς λέγεις;

Ἑρμογένης: οὕτως ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τὸ καλοῦν ἄρα καλά;

Ἑρμογένης: δεῖ γέ τοι.

Σωκράτης: ἔστι δέ γε τοῦτο, ὥς φαμεν, διάνοια;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς ἄρα φρονήσεως αὕτη ἡ ἐπωνυμία ἐστὶν τὸ καλὸν τῆς τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀπεργαζομένης, ἃ δὴ καλὰ φάσκοντες εἶναι ἀσπαζόμεθα.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται. [416e]

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν ἔτι ἡμῖν λοιπὸν τῶν τοιούτων;

Ἑρμογένης: ταῦτα τὰ περὶ τὸ ἀγαθόν τε καὶ καλόν, συμφέροντά [417a]τε καὶ λυσιτελοῦντα καὶ ὠφέλιμα καὶ κερδαλέα καὶ τἀναντία τούτων.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μὲν συμφέρον ἤδη που κἂν σὺ εὕροις ἐκ τῶν πρότερον ἐπισκοπῶν: τῆς γὰρ ἐπιστήμης ἀδελφόν τι φαίνεται. οὐδὲν γὰρ ἄλλο δηλοῖ ἢ τὴν ἅμα φορὰν τῆς ψυχῆς μετὰ τῶν πραγμάτων, καὶ τὰ ὑπὸ τοῦ τοιούτου πραττόμενα συμφέροντά τε καὶ σύμφορα κεκλῆσθαι ἀπὸ τοῦ συμπεριφέρεσθαι ἔοικε, τὸ δέ γε κερδαλέον ἀπὸ τοῦ [417b]κέρδους. κέρδος δὲ νῦ ἀντὶ τοῦ δέλτα ἀποδιδόντι ἐς τὸ ὄνομα δηλοῖ ὃ βούλεται: τὸ γὰρ ἀγαθὸν κατ᾽ ἄλλον τρόπον ὀνομάζει. ὅτι γὰρ κεράννυται ἐς πάντα διεξιόν, ταύτην αὐτοῦ τὴν δύναμιν ἐπονομάζων ἔθετο τοὔνομα: δέλτα <δ᾽> ἐνθεὶς ἀντὶ τοῦ νῦ κέρδος ἐφθέγξατο.

Ἑρμογένης: Λυσιτελοῦν δὲ τί δή;

Σωκράτης: ἔοικεν, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, οὐχὶ καθάπερ οἱ κάπηλοι αὐτῷ χρῶνται, ἐὰν τὸ ἀνάλωμα ἀπολύῃ, οὐ ταύτῃ λέγειν [417c]μοι δοκεῖ τὸ λυσιτελοῦν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι τάχιστον ὂν τοῦ ὄντος ἵστασθαι οὐκ ἐᾷ τὰ πράγματα, οὐδὲ τέλος λαβοῦσαν τὴν φορὰν τοῦ φέρεσθαι στῆναί τε καὶ παύσασθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ λύει αὐτῆς ἄν τι ἐπιχειρῇ τέλος ἐγγίγνεσθαι, καὶ παρέχει ἄπαυστον καὶ ἀθάνατον αὐτήν, ταύτῃ μοι δοκεῖ ἐπιφημίσαι τὸ ἀγαθὸν λυσιτελοῦν: τὸ γὰρ τῆς φορᾶς λύον τὸ τέλος λυσιτελοῦν καλέσαι. ὠφέλιμον δὲ ξενικὸν τοὔνομα, ᾧ καὶ Ὅμηρος πολλαχοῦ κέχρηται, τῷ ὀφέλλειν : ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο τοῦ αὔξειν καὶ ποιεῖν ἐπωνυμία. [417d]

Ἑρμογένης: τὰ δὲ δὴ τούτων ἐναντία πῶς ἔχει ἡμῖν;

Σωκράτης: ὅσα μὲν ἀπόφησιν αὐτῶν, ὥς γέ μοι δοκεῖ, οὐδὲν δεῖ ταῦτα διεξιέναι.

Ἑρμογένης: ποῖα ταῦτα;

Σωκράτης: ἀσύμφορον καὶ ἀνωφελὲς καὶ ἀλυσιτελὲς καὶ ἀκερδές.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ βλαβερόν γε καὶ ζημιῶδες.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τὸ μέν γε βλαβερὸν τὸ [417e]βλάπτον τὸν ῥοῦν εἶναι λέγει: τὸ δὲ βλάπτον αὖ σημαίνει βουλόμενον ἅπτειν: τὸ δὲ ἅπτειν καὶ δεῖν ταὐτόν ἐστι, τοῦτο δὲ πανταχοῦ ψέγει. τὸ βουλόμενον οὖν ἅπτειν ῥοῦν ὀρθότατα μὲν ἂν εἴη βουλαπτεροῦν, καλλωπισθὲν δὲ καλεῖσθαί μοι φαίνεται βλαβερόν.

Ἑρμογένης: ποικίλα γέ σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐκβαίνει τὰ ὀνόματα. καὶ γὰρ νῦν μοι ἔδοξας ὥσπερ τοῦ τῆς Ἀθηνάας νόμου προαύλιον στομαυλῆσαι, τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα προειπὼν τὸ [418a] βουλαπτεροῦν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἐγώ, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, αἴτιος, ἀλλ᾽ οἱ θέμενοι τὸ ὄνομα.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις: ἀλλὰ δὴ τὸ ζημιῶδες τί ἂν εἴη;

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ἂν εἴη ποτὲ ζημιῶδες ; θέασαι, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, ὡς ἐγὼ ἀληθῆ λέγω λέγων ὅτι προστιθέντες γράμματα καὶ ἐξαιροῦντες σφόδρα ἀλλοιοῦσι τὰς τῶν ὀνομάτων διανοίας, οὕτως ὥστε σμικρὰ πάνυ παραστρέφοντες ἐνίοτε τἀναντία [418b]ποιεῖν σημαίνειν. οἷον καὶ ἐν τῷ δέοντι : ἐνενόησα γὰρ αὐτὸ καὶ ἀνεμνήσθην ἄρτι ἀπὸ τοῦδε ὃ ἔμελλόν σοι ἐρεῖν ὅτι ἡ μὲν νέα φωνὴ ἡμῖν ἡ καλὴ αὑτηὶ καὶ τοὐναντίον περιέτρεψε μηνύειν τὸ δέον καὶ τὸ ζημιῶδες, ἀφανίζουσα ὅτι νοεῖ, ἡ δὲ παλαιὰ ἀμφότερον δηλοῖ ὃ βούλεται τοὔνομα.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ. οἶσθα ὅτι οἱ παλαιοὶ οἱ ἡμέτεροι τῷ ἰῶτα καὶ τῷ δέλτα εὖ μάλα ἐχρῶντο, καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα [418c]αἱ γυναῖκες, αἵπερ μάλιστα τὴν ἀρχαίαν φωνὴν σῴζουσι. νῦν δὲ ἀντὶ μὲν τοῦ ἰῶτα ἢ εἶ ἢ ἦτα μεταστρέφουσιν, ἀντὶ δὲ τοῦ δέλτα ζῆτα, ὡς δὴ μεγαλοπρεπέστερα ὄντα.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης: οἷον οἱ μὲν ἀρχαιότατοι ἱμέραν τὴν ἡμέραν ἐκάλουν, οἱ δὲ ἑμέραν, οἱ δὲ νῦν ἡμέραν.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οἶσθα οὖν ὅτι μόνον τούτων δηλοῖ τὸ ἀρχαῖον ὄνομα τὴν διάνοιαν τοῦ θεμένου; ὅτι γὰρ ἁσμένοις τοῖς [418d]ἀνθρώποις καὶ ἱμείρουσιν ἐκ τοῦ σκότους τὸ φῶς ἐγίγνετο, ταύτῃ ὠνόμασαν ἱμέραν.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: νῦν δέ γε τετραγῳδημένον οὐδ᾽ ἂν κατανοήσαις ὅτι βούλεται ἡ ἡμέρα. καίτοι τινὲς οἴονται, ὡς δὴ ἡ ἡμέρα ἥμερα ποιεῖ, διὰ ταῦτα ὠνομάσθαι αὐτὴν οὕτως.

Ἑρμογένης: δοκεῖ μοι.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τό γε ζυγὸν οἶσθα ὅτι δυογὸν οἱ παλαιοὶ ἐκάλουν.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τὸ μέν γε ζυγὸν οὐδὲν δηλοῖ, τὸ δὲ τοῖν [418e]δυοῖν ἕνεκα τῆς δέσεως ἐς τὴν ἀγωγὴν ἐπωνόμασται δυογὸν δικαίως: νῦν δὲ ζυγόν. καὶ ἄλλα πάμπολλα οὕτως ἔχει.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: κατὰ ταὐτὰ τοίνυν πρῶτον μὲν τὸ δέον οὕτω λεγόμενον τοὐναντίον σημαίνει πᾶσι τοῖς περὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν ὀνόμασιν: ἀγαθοῦ γὰρ ἰδέα οὖσα τὸ δέον φαίνεται δεσμὸς εἶναι καὶ κώλυμα φορᾶς, ὥσπερ ἀδελφὸν ὂν τοῦ βλαβεροῦ.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ μάλα, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτω φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐὰν τῷ ἀρχαίῳ ὀνόματι χρῇ, ὃ πολὺ [419a]μᾶλλον εἰκός ἐστιν ὀρθῶς κεῖσθαι ἢ τὸ νῦν, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμολογήσει τοῖς πρόσθεν ἀγαθοῖς, ἐὰν ἀντὶ τοῦ εἶ τὸ ἰῶτα ἀποδιδῷς, ὥσπερ τὸ παλαιόν: διϊὸν γὰρ αὖ σημαίνει, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δέον, τἀγαθόν, ὅπερ δὴ ἐπαινεῖ. καὶ οὕτω οὐκ ἐναντιοῦται αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ὁ τὰ ὀνόματα τιθέμενος, ἀλλὰ δέον καὶ ὠφέλιμον καὶ λυσιτελοῦν καὶ κερδαλέον καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ συμφέρον καὶ εὔπορον τὸ αὐτὸ φαίνεται, ἑτέροις ὀνόμασι σημαῖνον τὸ διακοσμοῦν καὶ ἰὸν πανταχοῦ ἐγκεκωμιασμένον, [419b]τὸ δὲ ἴσχον καὶ δοῦν ψεγόμενον. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ ζημιῶδες, ἐὰν κατὰ τὴν ἀρχαίαν φωνὴν ἀποδῷς ἀντὶ τοῦ ζῆτα δέλτα, φανεῖταί σοι κεῖσθαι τὸ ὄνομα ἐπὶ τῷ δοῦντι τὸ ἰόν, ἐπονομασθὲν δημιῶδες.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δὲ δὴ ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη καὶ ἐπιθυμία καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οὐ πάνυ χαλεπά μοι φαίνεται, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες. ἥ τε γὰρ ἡδονή, ἡ πρὸς τὴν ὄνησιν ἔοικε τείνουσα πρᾶξις τοῦτο ἔχειν τὸ ὄνομα τὸ δέλτα δὲ ἔγκειται, ὥστε ἡδονὴ [419c]ἀντὶ ἡονῆς καλεῖται ἥ τε λύπη ἀπὸ τῆς διαλύσεως τοῦ σώματος ἔοικεν ἐπωνομάσθαι ἣν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ πάθει ἴσχει τὸ σῶμα. καὶ ἥ γε ἀνία τὸ ἐμποδίζον τοῦ ἰέναι. ἡ δὲ ἀλγηδὼν ξενικόν τι φαίνεταί μοι ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀλγεινοῦ ὠνομασμένον. ὀδύνη δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς ἐνδύσεως τῆς λύπης κεκλημένῃ ἔοικεν. ἀχθηδὼν δὲ καὶ παντὶ δῆλον ἀπεικασμένον τὸ ὄνομα τῷ τῆς φορᾶς βάρει. χαρὰ δὲ τῇ διαχύσει καὶ εὐπορίᾳ τῆς ῥοῆς τῆς ψυχῆς ἔοικε κεκλημένῃ. [419d] τέρψις δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ τερπνοῦ: τὸ δὲ τερπνὸν ἀπὸ τῆς διὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἕρψεως πνοῇ ἀπεικασθὲν κέκληται, ἐν δίκῃ μὲν ἂν ἕρπνουν καλούμενον, ὑπὸ χρόνου δὲ τερπνὸν παρηγμένον. εὐφροσύνη δὲ οὐδὲν προσδεῖται τοῦ διότι ῥηθῆναι: παντὶ γὰρ δῆλον ὅτι ἀπὸ τοῦ εὖ τοῖς πράγμασι τὴν ψυχὴν συμφέρεσθαι τοῦτο ἔλαβε τὸ ὄνομα, εὐφεροσύνην τό γε δίκαιον: ὅμως δὲ αὐτὸ καλοῦμεν εὐφροσύνην. οὐδ᾽ ἐπιθυμία χαλεπόν: τῇ γὰρ ἐπὶ τὸν θυμὸν ἰούσῃ [419e]δυνάμει δῆλον ὅτι τοῦτο ἐκλήθη τὸ ὄνομα. θυμὸς δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς θύσεως καὶ ζέσεως τῆς ψυχῆς ἔχοι ἂν τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα. ἀλλὰ μὴν ἵμερός γε τῷ μάλιστα ἕλκοντι τὴν ψυχὴν ῥῷ [420a]ἐπωνομάσθη: ὅτι γὰρ ἱέμενος ῥεῖ καὶ ἐφιέμενος τῶν πραγμάτων, καὶ οὕτω δὴ ἐπισπᾷ σφόδρα τὴν ψυχὴν διὰ τὴν ἕσιν τῆς ῥοῆς, ἀπὸ ταύτης οὖν πάσης τῆς δυνάμεως ἵμερος ἐκλήθη. καὶ μὴν πόθος αὖ καλεῖται σημαίνων οὐ τοῦ παρόντος εἶναι [ἱμέρου τε καὶ ῥεύματος] ἀλλὰ τοῦ ἄλλοθί που ὄντος καὶ ἀπόντος, ὅθεν πόθος ἐπωνόμασται ὃς τότε, ὅταν παρῇ οὗ τις ἐφίετο, ἵμερος ἐκαλεῖτο: ἀπογενομένου δὲ ὁ αὐτὸς οὗτος πόθος ἐκλήθη. ἔρως δέ, ὅτι εἰσρεῖ ἔξωθεν καὶ οὐκ οἰκεία ἐστὶν ἡ ῥοὴ [420b]αὕτη τῷ ἔχοντι ἀλλ᾽ ἐπείσακτος διὰ τῶν ὀμμάτων, διὰ ταῦτα ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐσρεῖν ἔσρος τό γε παλαιὸν ἐκαλεῖτο τῷ γὰρ οὖ ἀντὶ τοῦ ὦ ἐχρώμεθα νῦν δ᾽ ἔρως κέκληται διὰ τὴν τοῦ ὦ ἀντὶ τοῦ οὖ μεταλλαγήν. ἀλλὰ τί ἔτι σὺ λέγεις ὅτι σκοπῶμεν;

Ἑρμογένης: δόξα καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πῇ σοι φαίνεται;

Σωκράτης: δόξα δὴ ἤτοι τῇ διώξει ἐπωνόμασται, ἣν ἡ ψυχὴ διώκουσα τὸ εἰδέναι ὅπῃ ἔχει τὰ πράγματα πορεύεται, ἢ τῇ ἀπὸ τοῦ τόξου βολῇ. ἔοικε δὲ τούτῳ μᾶλλον. ἡ [420c]γοῦν οἴησις τούτῳ συμφωνεῖ. οἶσιν γὰρ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐπὶ πᾶν πρᾶγμα, οἷόν ἐστιν ἕκαστον τῶν ὄντων, δηλούσῃ προσέοικεν, ὥσπερ γε καὶ ἡ βουλή πως τὴν βολήν, καὶ τὸ βούλεσθαι τὸ ἐφίεσθαι σημαίνει καὶ <τὸ> βουλεύεσθαι : πάντα ταῦτα δόξῃ ἑπόμεν᾽ ἄττα φαίνεται τῆς βολῆς ἀπεικάσματα, ὥσπερ αὖ καὶ τοὐναντίον ἡ ἀβουλία ἀτυχία δοκεῖ εἶναι, ὡς οὐ βαλόντος οὐδὲ τυχόντος οὗ τ᾽ ἔβαλλε καὶ ὃ ἐβούλετο καὶ περὶ οὗ ἐβουλεύετο καὶ οὗ ἐφίετο. [420d]

Ἑρμογένης: ταῦτα ἤδη μοι δοκεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες, πυκνότερα ἐπάγειν.

Σωκράτης: τέλος γὰρ ἤδη θέω. ἀνάγκην δ᾽ οὖν ἔτι βούλομαι διαπερᾶναι, ὅτι τούτοις ἑξῆς ἐστι, καὶ τὸ ἑκούσιον. τὸ μὲν οὖν ἑκούσιον, τὸ εἶκον καὶ μὴ ἀντιτυποῦν ἀλλ᾽, ὥσπερ λέγω, εἶκον τῷ ἰόντι δεδηλωμένον ἂν εἴη τούτῳ τῷ ὀνόματι, τῷ κατὰ τὴν βούλησιν γιγνομένῳ: τὸ δὲ ἀναγκαῖον καὶ ἀντίτυπον, παρὰ τὴν βούλησιν ὄν, τὸ περὶ τὴν ἁμαρτίαν ἂν εἴη καὶ ἀμαθίαν, ἀπείκασται δὲ τῇ κατὰ τὰ [420e]ἄγκη πορείᾳ, ὅτι δύσπορα καὶ τραχέα καὶ λάσια ὄντα ἴσχει τοῦ ἰέναι. ἐντεῦθεν οὖν ἴσως ἐκλήθη ἀναγκαῖον, τῇ διὰ τοῦ ἄγκους ἀπεικασθὲν πορείᾳ. ἕως δὲ πάρεστιν ἡ ῥώμη, μὴ ἀνιῶμεν αὐτήν: ἀλλὰ καὶ σὺ μὴ ἀνίει, ἀλλὰ ἐρώτα. [421a]

Ἑρμογένης: ἐρωτῶ δὴ τὰ μέγιστα καὶ τὰ κάλλιστα, τήν τε ἀλήθειαν καὶ τὸ ψεῦδος καὶ τὸ ὂν καὶ αὐτὸ τοῦτο περὶ ὧν νῦν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν ἐστιν, ὄνομα, δι᾽ ὅτι τὸ ὄνομα ἔχει.

Σωκράτης: μαίεσθαι οὖν καλεῖς τι;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔγωγε, τό γε ζητεῖν . Σωκράτης: ἔοικε τοίνυν ἐκ λόγου ὀνόματι συγκεκροτημένῳ, λέγοντος ὅτι τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὄν, οὗ τυγχάνει ζήτημα <ὄν>, [τὸ] ὄνομα. μᾶλλον δὲ ἂν αὐτὸ γνοίης ἐν ᾧ λέγομεν τὸ ὀνομαστόν : ἐνταῦθα γὰρ σαφῶς λέγει τοῦτο εἶναι ὂν οὗ μάσμα ἐστίν. [421b]ἡ δ᾽ ἀλήθεια, καὶ τοῦτο τοῖς ἄλλοις ἔοικε [συγκεκροτῆσθαι]: ἡ γὰρ θεία τοῦ ὄντος φορὰ ἔοικε προσειρῆσθαι τούτῳ τῷ ῥήματι, τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, ὡς θεία οὖσα ἄλη. τὸ <δὲ> ψεῦδος τοὐναντίον τῇ φορᾷ: πάλιν γὰρ αὖ λοιδορούμενον ἥκει τὸ ἰσχόμενον καὶ τὸ ἀναγκαζόμενον ἡσυχάζειν, ἀπείκασται δὲ τοῖς καθεύδουσι: τὸ ψεῖ δὲ προσγενόμενον ἐπικρύπτει τὴν βούλησιν τοῦ ὀνόματος. τὸ δὲ ὂν καὶ ἡ οὐσία ὁμολογεῖ τῷ ἀληθεῖ, τὸ ἰῶτα ἀπολαβόν: ἰὸν γὰρ [421c]σημαίνει, καὶ τὸ οὐκ ὂν αὖ, ὥς τινες καὶ ὀνομάζουσιν αὐτό, οὐκ ἰόν.

Ἑρμογένης: ταῦτα μέν μοι δοκεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀνδρείως πάνυ διακεκροτηκέναι: εἰ δέ τίς σε ἔροιτο τοῦτο τὸ ἰὸν καὶ τὸ ῥέον καὶ τὸ δοῦν, τίνα ἔχει ὀρθότητα ταῦτα τὰ ὀνόματα

Σωκράτης: τί ἂν αὐτῷ ἀποκριναίμεθα; λέγεις; ἦ γάρ;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἓν μὲν τοίνυν ἄρτι που ἐπορισάμεθα ὥστε δοκεῖν τὶ λέγειν ἀποκρινόμενοι.

Ἑρμογένης: τὸ ποῖον τοῦτο;

Σωκράτης: φάναι, ὃ ἂν μὴ γιγνώσκωμεν, βαρβαρικόν τι τοῦτ᾽ [421d]εἶναι. εἴη μὲν οὖν ἴσως ἄν τι τῇ ἀληθείᾳ καὶ τοιοῦτον αὐτῶν, εἴη δὲ κἂν ὑπὸ παλαιότητος τὰ πρῶτα τῶν ὀνομάτων ἀνεύρετα εἶναι: διὰ γὰρ τὸ πανταχῇ στρέφεσθαι τὰ ὀνόματα, οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν [ἂν] εἰ ἡ παλαιὰ φωνὴ πρὸς τὴν νυνὶ βαρβαρικῆς μηδὲν διαφέρει.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ οὐδέν γε ἀπὸ τρόπου λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: λέγω γὰρ οὖν εἰκότα. οὐ μέντοι μοι δοκεῖ προφάσεις ἀγὼν δέχεσθαι, ἀλλὰ προθυμητέον ταῦτα διασκέψασθαι. ἐνθυμηθῶμεν δέ, εἴ τις ἀεί, δι᾽ ὧν ἂν λέγηται τὸ [421e]ὄνομα, ἐκεῖνα ἀνερήσεται τὰ ῥήματα, καὶ αὖθις αὖ δι᾽ ὧν ἂν τὰ ῥήματα λεχθῇ, ἐκεῖνα πεύσεται, καὶ τοῦτο μὴ παύσεται ποιῶν, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη τελευτῶντα ἀπειπεῖν τὸν ἀποκρινόμενον;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ. [422a]

Σωκράτης: πότε οὖν ἀπειπὼν ὁ ἀπαγορεύων δικαίως παύοιτο ἄν; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐπειδὰν ἐπ᾽ ἐκείνοις γένηται τοῖς ὀνόμασιν, ἃ ὡσπερεὶ στοιχεῖα τῶν ἄλλων ἐστὶ καὶ λόγων καὶ ὀνομάτων; ταῦτα γάρ που οὐκέτι δίκαιον φανῆναι ἐξ ἄλλων ὀνομάτων συγκείμενα, ἃν οὕτως ἔχῃ. οἷον νυνδὴ τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἔφαμεν ἐκ τοῦ ἀγαστοῦ καὶ ἐκ τοῦ θοοῦ συγκεῖσθαι, τὸ δὲ θοὸν ἴσως φαῖμεν ἂν ἐξ ἑτέρων, ἐκεῖνα δὲ ἐξ ἄλλων: [422b]ἀλλ᾽ ἐάν ποτέ γε λάβωμεν ὃ οὐκέτι ἔκ τινων ἑτέρων σύγκειται ὀνομάτων, δικαίως ἂν φαῖμεν ἐπὶ στοιχείῳ τε ἤδη εἶναι καὶ οὐκέτι τοῦτο ἡμᾶς δεῖν εἰς ἄλλα ὀνόματα ἀναφέρειν.

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖς ὀρθῶς λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ νῦν ἅ γ᾽ ἐρωτᾷς τὰ ὀνόματα στοιχεῖα ὄντα τυγχάνει, καὶ δεῖ αὐτῶν ἄλλῳ τινὶ τρόπῳ ἤδη τὴν ὀρθότητα ἐπισκέψασθαι ἥτις ἐστίν;

Ἑρμογένης: εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης: εἰκὸς δῆτα, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες: πάντα γοῦν φαίνεται τὰ [422c]ἔμπροσθεν εἰς ταῦτα ἀνεληλυθέναι. εἰ δὲ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, ὥς μοι δοκεῖ ἔχειν, δεῦρο αὖ συνεπίσκεψαι μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ μή τι παραληρήσω λέγων οἵαν δεῖ τὴν τῶν πρώτων ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητα εἶναι.

Ἑρμογένης: λέγε μόνον, ὡς ὅσον γε δυνάμεως παρ᾽ ἐμοί ἐστιν συνεπισκέψομαι.

Σωκράτης: ὅτι μὲν τοίνυν μία γέ τις ἡ ὀρθότης παντὸς ὀνόματος καὶ πρώτου καὶ ὑστάτου, καὶ οὐδὲν διαφέρει τῷ ὄνομα εἶναι οὐδὲν αὐτῶν, οἶμαι καὶ σοὶ συνδοκεῖ.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε. [422d]

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ὧν γε νυν<δὴ> διεληλύθαμεν τῶν ὀνομάτων ἡ ὀρθότης τοιαύτη τις ἐβούλετο εἶναι, οἵα δηλοῦν οἷον ἕκαστόν ἐστι τῶν ὄντων.

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα οὐδὲν ἧττον καὶ τὰ πρῶτα δεῖ ἔχειν καὶ τὰ ὕστερα, εἴπερ ὀνόματα ἔσται.

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν ὕστερα, ὡς ἔοικε, διὰ τῶν προτέρων οἷά τε ἦν τοῦτο ἀπεργάζεσθαι.

Ἑρμογένης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: τὰ δὲ δὴ πρῶτα, οἷς οὔπω ἕτερα ὑπόκειται, τίνι τρόπῳ κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν ὅτι μάλιστα φανερὰ ἡμῖν [422e]ποιήσει τὰ ὄντα, εἴπερ μέλλει ὀνόματα εἶναι; ἀπόκριναι δέ μοι τόδε: εἰ φωνὴν μὴ εἴχομεν μηδὲ γλῶτταν, ἐβουλόμεθα δὲ δηλοῦν ἀλλήλοις τὰ πράγματα, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἄν, ὥσπερ νῦν οἱ ἐνεοί, ἐπεχειροῦμεν ἂν σημαίνειν ταῖς χερσὶ καὶ κεφαλῇ καὶ τῷ ἄλλῳ σώματι;

Ἑρμογένης: πῶς γὰρ ἂν ἄλλως, ὦ Σώκρατες; [423a]

Σωκράτης: εἰ μέν γ᾽ οἶμαι τὸ ἄνω καὶ τὸ κοῦφον ἐβουλόμεθα δηλοῦν, ᾔρομεν ἂν πρὸς τὸν οὐρανὸν τὴν χεῖρα, μιμούμενοι αὐτὴν τὴν φύσιν τοῦ πράγματος: εἰ δὲ τὰ κάτω καὶ τὰ βαρέα, πρὸς τὴν γῆν. καὶ εἰ ἵππον θέοντα ἤ τι ἄλλο τῶν ζῴων ἐβουλόμεθα δηλοῦν, οἶσθα ὅτι ὡς ὁμοιότατ᾽ ἂν τὰ ἡμέτερα αὐτῶν σώματα καὶ σχήματα ἐποιοῦμεν ἐκείνοις.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀνάγκη μοι δοκεῖ ὡς λέγεις ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης: οὕτω γὰρ ἂν οἶμαι δήλωμά του [σώματος] ἐγίγνετο, [423b]μιμησαμένου, ὡς ἔοικε, τοῦ σώματος ἐκεῖνο ὃ ἐβούλετο δηλῶσαι.

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἐπειδὴ δὲ φωνῇ τε καὶ γλώττῃ καὶ στόματι βουλόμεθα δηλοῦν, ἆρ᾽ οὐ τότε ἑκάστου δήλωμα ἡμῖν ἔσται τὸ ἀπὸ τούτων γιγνόμενον, ὅταν μίμημα γένηται διὰ τούτων περὶ ὁτιοῦν;

Ἑρμογένης: ἀνάγκη μοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: ὄνομ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἐστίν, ὡς ἔοικε, μίμημα φωνῇ ἐκείνου ὃ μιμεῖται, καὶ ὀνομάζει ὁ μιμούμενος τῇ φωνῇ ὃ ἂν μιμῆται

Ἑρμογένης: δοκεῖ μοι. [423c]

Σωκράτης: μὰ Δί᾽ ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐμοί πω δοκεῖ καλῶς λέγεσθαι, ὦ ἑταῖρε.

Ἑρμογένης: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: τοὺς τὰ πρόβατα μιμουμένους τούτους καὶ τοὺς ἀλεκτρυόνας καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ζῷα ἀναγκαζοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ὁμολογεῖν ὀνομάζειν ταῦτα ἅπερ μιμοῦνται.

Ἑρμογένης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς οὖν ἔχειν δοκεῖ σοι;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐκ ἔμοιγε. ἀλλὰ τίς ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, μίμησις εἴη τὸ ὄνομα;

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον μέν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐκ ἐὰν καθάπερ τῇ [423d]μουσικῇ μιμούμεθα τὰ πράγματα οὕτω μιμώμεθα, καίτοι φωνῇ γε καὶ τότε μιμούμεθα: ἔπειτα οὐκ ἐὰν ἅπερ ἡ μουσικὴ μιμεῖται καὶ ἡμεῖς μιμώμεθα, οὔ μοι δοκοῦμεν ὀνομάσειν. λέγω δέ τοι τοῦτο: ἔστι τοῖς πράγμασι φωνὴ καὶ σχῆμα ἑκάστῳ, καὶ χρῶμά γε πολλοῖς;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἔοικε τοίνυν οὐκ ἐάν τις ταῦτα μιμῆται, οὐδὲ περὶ ταύτας τὰς μιμήσεις ἡ τέχνη ἡ ὀνομαστικὴ εἶναι. αὗται μὲν γάρ εἰσιν ἡ μὲν μουσική, ἡ δὲ γραφική: ἦ γάρ;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί. [423e]

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ δὴ τόδε; οὐ καὶ οὐσία δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι ἑκάστῳ, ὥσπερ καὶ χρῶμα καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν; πρῶτον αὐτῷ τῷ χρώματι καὶ τῇ φωνῇ οὐκ ἔστιν οὐσία τις ἑκατέρῳ αὐτῶν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσιν ὅσα ἠξίωται ταύτης τῆς προσρήσεως, τοῦ εἶναι;

Ἑρμογένης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; εἴ τις αὐτὸ τοῦτο μιμεῖσθαι δύναιτο ἑκάστου, τὴν οὐσίαν, γράμμασί τε καὶ συλλαβαῖς, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν δηλοῖ ἕκαστον ὃ ἔστιν; ἢ οὔ; [424a]

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τί ἂν φαίης τὸν τοῦτο δυνάμενον, ὥσπερ τοὺς προτέρους τὸν μὲν μουσικὸν ἔφησθα, τὸν δέ [τινa}}γραφικόν. τοῦτον δὲ τίνα;

Ἑρμογένης: τοῦτο ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅπερ πάλαι ζητοῦμεν, οὗτος ἂν εἶναι ὁ ὀνομαστικός.

Σωκράτης: εἰ ἄρα τοῦτο ἀληθές, ἤδη ἔοικεν ἐπισκεπτέον περὶ ἐκείνων τῶν ὀνομάτων ὧν σὺ ἤρου, περὶ ῥοῆς τε καὶ τοῦ ἰέναι καὶ σχέσεως, εἰ τοῖς γράμμασι καὶ ταῖς συλλαβαῖς [424b]τοῦ ὄντος ἐπιλαμβάνεται αὐτῶν ὥστε ἀπομιμεῖσθαι τὴν οὐσίαν, εἴτε καὶ οὔ;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δὴ ἴδωμεν πότερον ἄρα ταῦτα μόνα ἐστὶ τῶν πρώτων ὀνομάτων ἢ καὶ ἄλλα πολλά.

Ἑρμογένης: οἶμαι ἔγωγε καὶ ἄλλα.

Σωκράτης: εἰκὸς γάρ. ἀλλὰ τίς ἂν εἴη ὁ τρόπος τῆς διαιρέσεως ὅθεν ἄρχεται μιμεῖσθαι ὁ μιμούμενος; ἆρα οὐκ ἐπείπερ συλλαβαῖς τε καὶ γράμμασιν ἡ μίμησις τυγχάνει οὖσα τῆς οὐσίας, ὀρθότατόν ἐστι διελέσθαι τὰ στοιχεῖα πρῶτον, ὥσπερ [424c]οἱ ἐπιχειροῦντες τοῖς ῥυθμοῖς τῶν στοιχείων πρῶτον τὰς δυνάμεις διείλοντο, ἔπειτα τῶν συλλαβῶν, καὶ οὕτως ἤδη ἔρχονται ἐπὶ τοὺς ῥυθμοὺς σκεψόμενοι, πρότερον δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἑρμογένης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ἡμᾶς οὕτω δεῖ πρῶτον μὲν τὰ φωνήεντα διελέσθαι, ἔπειτα τῶν ἑτέρων κατὰ εἴδη τά τε ἄφωνα καὶ ἄφθογγα οὑτωσὶ γάρ που λέγουσιν οἱ δεινοὶ περὶ τούτων καὶ τὰ αὖ φωνήεντα μὲν οὔ, οὐ μέντοι γε ἄφθογγα; καὶ αὐτῶν τῶν φωνηέντων ὅσα διάφορα εἴδη ἔχει ἀλλήλων; καὶ [424d]ἐπειδὰν ταῦτα διελώμεθα [τὰ ὄντa}}εὖ πάντα αὖ οἷς δεῖ ὀνόματα ἐπιθεῖναι, εἰ ἔστιν εἰς ἃ ἀναφέρεται πάντα ὥσπερ τὰ στοιχεῖα, ἐξ ὧν ἔστιν ἰδεῖν αὐτά τε καὶ εἰ ἐν αὐτοῖς ἔνεστιν εἴδη κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς στοιχείοις: ταῦτα πάντα καλῶς διαθεασαμένους ἐπίστασθαι ἐπιφέρειν ἕκαστον κατὰ τὴν ὁμοιότητα, ἐάντε ἓν ἑνὶ δέῃ ἐπιφέρειν, ἐάντε συγκεραννύντα πολλὰ [ἑνί], ὥσπερ οἱ ζωγράφοι βουλόμενοι ἀφομοιοῦν ἐνίοτε μὲν ὄστρεον μόνον ἐπήνεγκαν, ἐνίοτε δὲ [424e]ὁτιοῦν ἄλλο τῶν φαρμάκων, ἔστι δὲ ὅτε πολλὰ συγκεράσαντες, οἷον ὅταν ἀνδρείκελον σκευάζωσιν ἢ ἄλλο τι τῶν τοιούτων ὡς ἂν οἶμαι δοκῇ ἑκάστη ἡ εἰκὼν δεῖσθαι ἑκάστου φαρμάκου οὕτω δὴ καὶ ἡμεῖς τὰ στοιχεῖα ἐπὶ τὰ πράγματα ἐποίσομεν, καὶ ἓν ἐπὶ ἕν, οὗ ἂν δοκῇ δεῖν, καὶ σύμπολλα, ποιοῦντες ὃ δὴ συλλαβὰς καλοῦσιν, καὶ συλλαβὰς αὖ συντιθέντες, [425a]ἐξ ὧν τά τε ὀνόματα καὶ τὰ ῥήματα συντίθενται: καὶ πάλιν ἐκ τῶν ὀνομάτων καὶ ῥημάτων μέγα ἤδη τι καὶ καλὸν καὶ ὅλον συστήσομεν, ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ τὸ ζῷον τῇ γραφικῇ, ἐνταῦθα τὸν λόγον τῇ ὀνομαστικῇ ἢ ῥητορικῇ ἢ ἥτις ἐστὶν ἡ τέχνη. μᾶλλον δὲ οὐχ ἡμεῖς, ἀλλὰ λέγων ἐξηνέχθην. συνέθεσαν μὲν γὰρ οὕτως ᾗπερ σύγκειται οἱ παλαιοί: ἡμᾶς δὲ δεῖ, εἴπερ τεχνικῶς ἐπιστησόμεθα σκοπεῖσθαι αὐτὰ πάντα, [425b]οὕτω διελομένους, εἴτε κατὰ τρόπον τά τε πρῶτα ὀνόματα κεῖται καὶ τὰ ὕστερα εἴτε μή, οὕτω θεᾶσθαι: ἄλλως δὲ συνείρειν μὴ φαῦλον ᾖ καὶ οὐ καθ᾽ ὁδόν, ὦ φίλε Ἑρμόγενες.

Ἑρμογένης: ἴσως νὴ Δί᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; σὺ πιστεύεις σαυτῷ οἷός τ᾽ ἂν εἶναι ταῦτα οὕτω διελέσθαι; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ οὔ.

Ἑρμογένης: πολλοῦ ἄρα δέω ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἐάσομεν οὖν, ἢ βούλει οὕτως ὅπως ἂν δυνώμεθα, καὶ ἂν σμικρόν τι αὐτῶν οἷοί τ᾽ ὦμεν κατιδεῖν, ἐπιχειρῶμεν, [425c]προειπόντες, ὥσπερ ὀλίγον πρότερον τοῖς θεοῖς, ὅτι οὐδὲν εἰδότες τῆς ἀληθείας τὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων δόγματα περὶ αὐτῶν εἰκάζομεν, οὕτω δὲ καὶ νῦν αὖ εἰπόντες [ἡμῖν] αὐτοῖς ἴωμεν, ὅτι εἰ μέν τι χρῆν [ἔδει] αὐτὰ διελέσθαι εἴτε ἄλλον ὁντινοῦν εἴτε ἡμᾶς, οὕτως ἔδει αὐτὰ διαιρεῖσθαι, νῦν δὲ τὸ λεγόμενον κατὰ δύναμιν δεήσει ἡμᾶς περὶ αὐτῶν πραγματεύεσθαι; δοκεῖ ταῦτα, ἢ πῶς λέγεις;

Ἑρμογένης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν σφόδρα ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ. [425d]

Σωκράτης: γελοῖα μὲν οἶμαι φανεῖσθαι, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, γράμμασι καὶ συλλαβαῖς τὰ πράγματα μεμιμημένα κατάδηλα γιγνόμενα: ὅμως δὲ ἀνάγκη. οὐ γὰρ ἔχομεν τούτου βέλτιον εἰς ὅτι ἐπανενέγκωμεν περὶ ἀληθείας τῶν πρώτων ὀνομάτων, εἰ μὴ ἄρα <βού>λει, ὥσπερ οἱ τραγῳδοποιοὶ ἐπειδάν τι ἀπορῶσιν ἐπὶ τὰς μηχανὰς καταφεύγουσι θεοὺς αἴροντες, καὶ ἡμεῖς οὕτως εἰπόντες ἀπαλλαγῶμεν, ὅτι τὰ πρῶτα ὀνόματα οἱ θεοὶ ἔθεσαν καὶ διὰ ταῦτα ὀρθῶς ἔχει. ἆρα [425e]καὶ ἡμῖν κράτιστος οὗτος τῶν λόγων; ἢ ἐκεῖνος, ὅτι παρὰ βαρβάρων τινῶν αὐτὰ παρειλήφαμεν, εἰσὶ δὲ ἡμῶν ἀρχαιότεροι βάρβαροι; ἢ ὅτι ὑπὸ παλαιότητος ἀδύνατον αὐτὰ [426a]ἐπισκέψασθαι, ὥσπερ καὶ τὰ βαρβαρικά; αὗται γὰρ ἂν πᾶσαι ἐκδύσεις εἶεν καὶ μάλα κομψαὶ τῷ μὴ ἐθέλοντι λόγον διδόναι περὶ τῶν πρώτων ὀνομάτων ὡς ὀρθῶς κεῖται. καίτοι ὅτῳ τις τρόπῳ τῶν πρώτων ὀνομάτων τὴν ὀρθότητα μὴ οἶδεν, ἀδύνατόν που τῶν γε ὑστέρων εἰδέναι, ἃ ἐξ ἐκείνων ἀνάγκη δηλοῦσθαι ὧν τις πέρι μηδὲν οἶδεν: ἀλλὰ δῆλον ὅτι τὸν φάσκοντα περὶ αὐτῶν τεχνικὸν εἶναι περὶ τῶν πρώτων [426b]ὀνομάτων μάλιστά τε καὶ καθαρώτατα δεῖ ἔχειν ἀποδεῖξαι, ἢ εὖ εἰδέναι ὅτι τά γε ὕστερα ἤδη φλυαρήσει. ἢ σοὶ ἄλλως δοκεῖ;

Ἑρμογένης: οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄλλως.

Σωκράτης: ἃ μὲν τοίνυν ἐγὼ ᾔσθημαι περὶ τῶν πρώτων ὀνομάτων πάνυ μοι δοκεῖ ὑβριστικὰ εἶναι καὶ γελοῖα. τούτων οὖν σοι μεταδώσω, ἂν βούλῃ: σὺ δ᾽ ἄν τι ἔχῃς βέλτιόν ποθεν λαβεῖν, πειρᾶσθαι καὶ ἐμοὶ μεταδιδόναι.

Ἑρμογένης: ποιήσω ταῦτα. ἀλλὰ θαρρῶν λέγε. [426c]

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν τὸ ῥῶ ἔμοιγε φαίνεται ὥσπερ ὄργανον εἶναι πάσης τῆς κινήσεως, ἣν οὐδ᾽ εἴπομεν δι᾽ ὅτι ἔχει τοῦτο τοὔνομα: ἀλλὰ γὰρ δῆλον ὅτι ἕσις βούλεται εἶναι: οὐ γὰρ ἦτα ἐχρώμεθα ἀλλὰ εἶ τὸ παλαιόν. ἡ δὲ ἀρχὴ ἀπὸ τοῦ κίειν ξενικὸν δὲ τοὔνομα τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἰέναι. εἰ οὖν τις τὸ παλαιὸν αὐτῆς εὕροι ὄνομα εἰς τὴν ἡμετέραν φωνὴν συμβαῖνον, ἕσις ἂν ὀρθῶς καλοῖτο: νῦν δὲ ἀπό τε τοῦ ξενικοῦ τοῦ κίειν καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς τοῦ ἦτα μεταβολῆς καὶ τῆς τοῦ νῦ ἐνθέσεως κίνησις κέκληται, ἔδει [426d]δὲ κιείνησιν καλεῖσθαι [ἢ εἶσιν]. ἡ δὲ στάσις ἀπόφασις τοῦ ἰέναι βούλεται εἶναι, διὰ δὲ τὸν καλλωπισμὸν στάσις ὠνόμασται. τὸ δὲ οὖν ῥῶ τὸ στοιχεῖον, ὥσπερ λέγω, καλὸν ἔδοξεν ὄργανον εἶναι τῆς κινήσεως τῷ τὰ ὀνόματα τιθεμένῳ πρὸς τὸ ἀφομοιοῦν τῇ φορᾷ, πολλαχοῦ γοῦν χρῆται αὐτῷ εἰς αὐτήν: πρῶτον μὲν ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ ῥεῖν καὶ ῥοῇ διὰ τούτου τοῦ γράμματος τὴν φορὰν μιμεῖται, εἶτα ἐν τῷ [426e] τρόμῳ, εἶτα ἐν τῷ τρέχειν, ἔτι δὲ ἐν τοῖς τοιοῖσδε ῥήμασιν οἷον κρούειν, θραύειν, ἐρείκειν, θρύπτειν, κερματίζειν, ῥυμβεῖν, πάντα ταῦτα τὸ πολὺ ἀπεικάζει διὰ τοῦ ῥῶ. ἑώ<ρα> γὰρ οἶμαι τὴν γλῶτταν ἐν τούτῳ ἥκιστα μένουσαν, μάλιστα δὲ σειομένην: διὸ φαίνεταί μοι τούτῳ πρὸς ταῦτα κατακεχρῆσθαι. τῷ δὲ αὖ ἰῶτα πρὸς τὰ λεπτὰ πάντα, ἃ δὴ μάλιστα διὰ πάντων ἴοι ἄν. διὰ ταῦτα τὸ [427a] ἰέναι καὶ τὸ ἵεσθαι διὰ τοῦ ἰῶτα ἀπομιμεῖται, ὥσπερ γε διὰ τοῦ φεῖ καὶ τοῦ ψεῖ καὶ τοῦ σῖγμα καὶ τοῦ ζῆτα, ὅτι πνευματώδη τὰ γράμματα, πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα μεμίμηται αὐτοῖς ὀνομάζων, οἷον τὸ ψυχρὸν καὶ τὸ ζέον καὶ τὸ σείεσθαι καὶ ὅλως σεισμόν. καὶ ὅταν που τὸ φυσῶδες μιμῆται, πανταχοῦ ἐνταῦθα ὡς τὸ πολὺ τὰ τοιαῦτα γράμματα ἐπιφέρειν φαίνεται ὁ τὰ ὀνόματα τιθέμενος. τῆς δ᾽ αὖ τοῦ δέλτα συμπιέσεως καὶ τοῦ ταῦ καὶ ἀπερείσεως τῆς γλώττης [427b]τὴν δύναμιν χρήσιμον φαίνεται ἡγήσασθαι πρὸς τὴν μίμησιν τοῦ δεσμοῦ καὶ τῆς στάσεως. ὅτι δὲ ὀλισθάνει μάλιστα ἐν τῷ λάβδα ἡ γλῶττα κατιδών, ἀφομοιῶν ὠνόμασε τά τε λεῖα καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ ὀλισθάνειν καὶ τὸ λιπαρὸν καὶ τὸ κολλῶδες καὶ τἆλλα πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα. ᾗ δὲ ὀλισθανούσης τῆς γλώττης ἀντιλαμβάνεται ἡ τοῦ γάμμα δύναμις, τὸ γλίσχρον ἀπεμιμήσατο καὶ γλυκὺ καὶ γλοιῶδες. [427c]τοῦ δ᾽ αὖ νῦ τὸ εἴσω αἰσθόμενος τῆς φωνῆς, τὸ ἔνδον καὶ τὰ ἐντὸς ὠνόμασεν, ὡς ἀφομοιῶν τοῖς γράμμασι τὰ ἔργα. τὸ δ᾽ αὖ ἄλφα τῷ μεγάλῳ ἀπέδωκε, καὶ τῷ μήκει τὸ ἦτα, ὅτι μεγάλα τὰ γράμματα. εἰς δὲ τὸ γογγύλον τοῦ οὖ δεόμενος σημείου, τοῦτο πλεῖστον αὐτῷ εἰς τὸ ὄνομα ἐνεκέρασεν. καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω φαίνεται προσβιβάζειν καὶ κατὰ γράμματα καὶ κατὰ συλλαβὰς ἑκάστῳ τῶν ὄντων σημεῖόν τε καὶ ὄνομα ποιῶν ὁ νομοθέτης, ἐκ δὲ τούτων τὰ λοιπὰ ἤδη αὐτοῖς τούτοις συντιθέναι ἀπομιμούμενος. αὕτη [427d]μοι φαίνεται, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες, βούλεσθαι εἶναι ἡ τῶν ὀνομάτων ὀρθότης, εἰ μή τι ἄλλο Κρατύλος ὅδε λέγει.

Ἑρμογένης: καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, πολλά γέ μοι πολλάκις πράγματα παρέχει Κρατύλος, ὥσπερ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἔλεγον, φάσκων μὲν εἶναι ὀρθότητα ὀνομάτων, ἥτις δ᾽ ἐστὶν οὐδὲν σαφὲς λέγων, ὥστε με μὴ δύνασθαι εἰδέναι πότερον ἑκὼν ἢ ἄκων οὕτως ἀσαφῶς ἑκάστοτε περὶ αὐτῶν λέγει. νῦν οὖν [427e]μοι, ὦ Κρατύλε, ἐναντίον Σωκράτους εἰπὲ πότερον ἀρέσκει σοι ᾗ λέγει Σωκράτης περὶ ὀνομάτων, ἢ ἔχεις πῃ ἄλλῃ κάλλιον λέγειν; καὶ εἰ ἔχεις, λέγε, ἵνα ἤτοι μάθῃς παρὰ Σωκράτους ἢ διδάξῃς ἡμᾶς ἀμφοτέρους.

Κρατύλος: τί δέ, ὦ Ἑρμόγενες; δοκεῖ σοι ῥᾴδιον εἶναι οὕτω ταχὺ μαθεῖν τε καὶ διδάξαι ὁτιοῦν πρᾶγμα, μὴ ὅτι τοσοῦτον, ὃ δὴ δοκεῖ ἐν τοῖς [μεγίστοις] μέγιστον εἶναι; [428a]

Ἑρμογένης: μὰ Δί᾽, οὐκ ἔμοιγε. ἀλλὰ τὸ τοῦ Ἡσιόδου καλῶς μοι φαίνεται ἔχειν, τὸ εἰ καί τις σμικρὸν ἐπὶ σμικρῷ καταθείη, προὔργου εἶναι. εἰ οὖν καὶ σμικρόν τι οἷός τ᾽ εἶ πλέον ποιῆσαι, μὴ ἀπόκαμνε ἀλλ᾽ εὐεργέτει καὶ Σωκράτη τόνδε δίκαιος δ᾽ εἶ καὶ ἐμέ.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὲν δὴ ἔγωγε καὶ αὐτός, ὦ Κρατύλε, οὐδὲν ἂν ἰσχυρισαίμην ὧν εἴρηκα, ᾗ δέ μοι ἐφαίνετο μεθ᾽ Ἑρμογένους ἐπεσκεψάμην, ὥστε τούτου γε ἕνεκα θαρρῶν λέγε, εἴ τι [428b]ἔχεις βέλτιον, ὡς ἐμοῦ ἐνδεξομένου. εἰ μέντοι ἔχεις τι σὺ κάλλιον τούτων λέγειν, οὐκ ἂν θαυμάζοιμι: δοκεῖς γάρ μοι αὐτός τε ἐσκέφθαι τὰ τοιαῦτα καὶ παρ᾽ ἄλλων μεμαθηκέναι. ἐὰν οὖν λέγῃς τι κάλλιον, ἕνα τῶν μαθητῶν περὶ ὀρθότητος ὀνομάτων καὶ ἐμὲ γράφου.

Κρατύλος: ἀλλὰ μὲν δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὥσπερ σὺ λέγεις, μεμέληκέν τέ μοι περὶ αὐτῶν καὶ ἴσως ἄν σε ποιησαίμην [428c]μαθητήν. φοβοῦμαι μέντοι μὴ τούτου πᾶν τοὐναντίον ᾖ, ὅτι μοί πως ἐπέρχεται λέγειν πρὸς σὲ τὸ τοῦ Ἀχιλλέως, ὃ ἐκεῖνος ἐν Λιταῖς πρὸς τὸν Αἴαντα λέγει. φησὶ δὲ Αἶαν διογενὲς Τελαμώνιε, κοίρανε λαῶν, πάντα τί μοι κατὰ θυμὸν ἐείσω μυθήσασθαι. (Hom. Il. 9.644) καὶ ἐμοὶ σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπιεικῶς φαίνῃ κατὰ νοῦν χρησμῳδεῖν, εἴτε παρ᾽ Εὐθύφρονος ἐπίπνους γενόμενος, εἴτε καὶ ἄλλη τις Μοῦσα πάλαι σε ἐνοῦσα ἐλελήθει. [428d]

Σωκράτης: ὠγαθὲ Κρατύλε, θαυμάζω καὶ αὐτὸς πάλαι τὴν ἐμαυτοῦ σοφίαν καὶ ἀπιστῶ. δοκεῖ οὖν μοι χρῆναι ἐπανασκέψασθαι τί καὶ λέγω. τὸ γὰρ ἐξαπατᾶσθαι αὐτὸν ὑφ᾽ αὑτοῦ πάντων χαλεπώτατον: ὅταν γὰρ μηδὲ σμικρὸν ἀποστατῇ ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ παρῇ ὁ ἐξαπατήσων, πῶς οὐ δεινόν; δεῖ δή, ὡς ἔοικε, θαμὰ μεταστρέφεσθαι ἐπὶ τὰ προειρημένα, καὶ πειρᾶσθαι, τὸ ἐκείνου τοῦ ποιητοῦ, βλέπειν ἅμα πρόσσω καὶ ὀπίσσω. καὶ δὴ καὶ νυνὶ ἡμεῖς ἴδωμεν τί ἡμῖν εἴρηται. [428e]ὀνόματος, φαμέν, ὀρθότης ἐστὶν αὕτη, ἥτις ἐνδείξεται οἷόν ἐστι τὸ πρᾶγμα: τοῦτο φῶμεν ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαι;

Κρατύλος: ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ πάνυ σφόδρα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: διδασκαλίας ἄρα ἕνεκα τὰ ὀνόματα λέγεται;

Κρατύλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν φῶμεν καὶ ταύτην τέχνην εἶναι καὶ δημιουργοὺς αὐτῆς;

Κρατύλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τίνας; [429a]

Κρατύλος: οὕσπερ σὺ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἔλεγες, τοὺς νομοθέτας.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν καὶ ταύτην φῶμεν τὴν τέχνην ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐγγίγνεσθαι ὥσπερ καὶ τὰς ἄλλας ἢ μή; βούλομαι δὲ λέγειν τὸ τοιόνδε. ζωγράφοι εἰσίν που οἱ μὲν χείρους, οἱ δὲ ἀμείνους;

Κρατύλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οἱ μὲν ἀμείνους τὰ αὑτῶν ἔργα καλλίω παρέχονται, τὰ ζῷα, οἱ δὲ φαυλότερα; καὶ οἰκοδόμοι ὡσαύτως οἱ μὲν καλλίους τὰς οἰκίας ἐργάζονται, οἱ δὲ αἰσχίους;

Κρατύλος: ναί. [429b]

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ νομοθέται οἱ μὲν καλλίω τὰ [ἔργa}}αὑτῶν παρέχονται, οἱ δὲ αἰσχίω;

Κρατύλος: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ τοῦτο ἔτι.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα δοκοῦσί σοι νόμοι οἱ μὲν βελτίους, οἱ δὲ φαυλότεροι εἶναι;

Κρατύλος: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ δὴ ὄνομα, ὡς ἔοικε, δοκεῖ σοι κεῖσθαι τὸ μὲν χεῖρον, τὸ δὲ ἄμεινον;

Κρατύλος: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: πάντα ἄρα τὰ ὀνόματα ὀρθῶς κεῖται;

Κρατύλος: ὅσα γε ὀνόματά ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ὃ καὶ ἄρτι ἐλέγετο, Ἑρμογένει τῷδε πότερον [429c]μηδὲ ὄνομα τοῦτο κεῖσθαι φῶμεν, εἰ μή τι αὐτῷ Ἑρμοῦ γενέσεως προσήκει, ἢ κεῖσθαι μέν, οὐ μέντοι ὀρθῶς γε;

Κρατύλος: οὐδὲ κεῖσθαι ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ δοκεῖν κεῖσθαι, εἶναι δὲ ἑτέρου τοῦτο τοὔνομα, οὗπερ καὶ ἡ φύσις [ἡ τὸ ὄνομα δηλοῦσα].

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὐδὲ ψεύδεται ὅταν τις φῇ Ἑρμογένη αὐτὸν εἶναι; μὴ γὰρ οὐδὲ τοῦτο αὖ ᾖ, τὸ τοῦτον φάναι Ἑρμογένη εἶναι, εἰ μὴ ἔστιν;

Κρατύλος: πῶς λέγεις; [429d]

Σωκράτης: ἆρα ὅτι ψευδῆ λέγειν τὸ παράπαν οὐκ ἔστιν, ἆρα τοῦτό σοι δύναται ὁ λόγος; συχνοὶ γάρ τινες οἱ λέγοντες, ὦ φίλε Κρατύλε, καὶ νῦν καὶ πάλαι.

Κρατύλος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, λέγων γέ τις τοῦτο ὃ λέγει, μὴ τὸ ὂν λέγοι; ἢ οὐ τοῦτό ἐστιν τὸ ψευδῆ λέγειν, τὸ μὴ τὰ ὄντα λέγειν;

Σωκράτης: κομψότερος μὲν ὁ λόγος ἢ κατ᾽ ἐμὲ καὶ κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν ἡλικίαν, ὦ ἑταῖρε. ὅμως μέντοι εἰπέ μοι τοσόνδε: [429e]πότερον λέγειν μὲν οὐ δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι ψευδῆ, φάναι δέ;

Κρατύλος: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ οὐδὲ φάναι.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ εἰπεῖν οὐδὲ προσειπεῖν; οἷον εἴ τις ἀπαντήσας σοι ἐπὶ ξενίας, λαβόμενος τῆς χειρὸς εἴποι: χαῖρε, ὦ ξένε Ἀθηναῖε, ὑὲ Σμικρίωνος Ἑρμόγενες, οὗτος λέξειεν ἂν ταῦτα ἢ φαίη ἂν ταῦτα ἢ εἴποι ἂν ταῦτα ἢ προσείποι ἂν οὕτω σὲ μὲν οὔ, Ἑρμογένη δὲ τόνδε; ἢ οὐδένα;

Κρατύλος: ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄλλως ἂν οὗτος ταῦτα φθέγξασθαι. [430a]

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἀγαπητὸν καὶ τοῦτο. πότερον γὰρ ἀληθῆ ἂν φθέγξαιτο ταῦτα ὁ φθεγξάμενος ἢ ψευδῆ; ἢ τὸ μέν τι αὐτῶν ἀληθές, τὸ δὲ ψεῦδος; καὶ γὰρ ἂν καὶ τοῦτο ἐξαρκοῖ.

Κρατύλος: ψοφεῖν ἔγωγ᾽ ἂν φαίην τὸν τοιοῦτον, μάτην αὐτὸν ἑαυτὸν κινοῦντα, ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τις χαλκίον κινήσειε κρούσας.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, ἐάν πῃ διαλλαχθῶμεν, ὦ Κρατύλε: ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἄλλο μὲν ἂν φαίης τὸ ὄνομα εἶναι, ἄλλο δὲ ἐκεῖνο οὗ τὸ ὄνομά ἐστιν;

Κρατύλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ὄνομα ὁμολογεῖς μίμημά τι εἶναι τοῦ [430b]πράγματος;

Κρατύλος: πάντων μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὰ ζωγραφήματα τρόπον τινὰ ἄλλον λέγεις μιμήματα εἶναι πραγμάτων τινῶν;

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή ἴσως γὰρ ἐγὼ οὐ μανθάνω ἅττα ποτ᾽ ἔστιν ἃ λέγεις, σὺ δὲ τάχ᾽ ἂν ὀρθῶς λέγοις ἔστι διανεῖμαι καὶ προσενεγκεῖν ταῦτα ἀμφότερα τὰ μιμήματα, τά τε ζωγραφήματα κἀκεῖνα τὰ ὀνόματα, τοῖς πράγμασιν ὧν μιμήματά ἐστιν, ἢ οὔ; [430c]

Κρατύλος: ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον μὲν δὴ σκόπει τόδε. ἆρ᾽ ἄν τις τὴν μὲν τοῦ ἀνδρὸς εἰκόνα τῷ ἀνδρὶ ἀποδοίη, τὴν δὲ τῆς γυναικὸς τῇ γυναικί, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως;

Κρατύλος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τοὐναντίον τὴν μὲν τοῦ ἀνδρὸς τῇ γυναικί, τὴν δὲ τῆς γυναικὸς τῷ ἀνδρί;

Κρατύλος: ἔστι καὶ ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν αὗται αἱ διανομαὶ ἀμφότεραι ὀρθαί, ἢ ἡ ἑτέρα;

Κρατύλος: ἡ ἑτέρα.

Σωκράτης: ἣ ἂν ἑκάστῳ οἶμαι τὸ προσῆκόν τε καὶ τὸ ὅμοιον ἀποδιδῷ.

Κρατύλος: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ. [430d]

Σωκράτης: ἵνα τοίνυν μὴ μαχώμεθα ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ φίλοι ὄντες, ἀπόδεξαί μου ὃ λέγω. τὴν τοιαύτην γάρ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, καλῶ ἔγωγε διανομὴν ἐπ᾽ ἀμφοτέροις μὲν τοῖς μιμήμασιν, τοῖς τε ζῴοις καὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν, ὀρθήν, ἐπὶ δὲ τοῖς ὀνόμασι πρὸς τῷ ὀρθὴν καὶ ἀληθῆ: τὴν δ᾽ ἑτέραν, τὴν τοῦ ἀνομοίου δόσιν τε καὶ ἐπιφοράν, οὐκ ὀρθήν, καὶ ψευδῆ ὅταν ἐπ᾽ ὀνόμασιν ᾖ.

Κρατύλος: ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως μή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐν μὲν τοῖς ζωγραφήμασιν [430e]ᾖ τοῦτο, τὸ μὴ ὀρθῶς διανέμειν, ἐπὶ δὲ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν οὔ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀναγκαῖον ᾖ ἀεὶ ὀρθῶς.

Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις; τί τοῦτο ἐκείνου διαφέρει; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἔστι προσελθόντα ἀνδρί τῳ εἰπεῖν ὅτι τουτί ἐστι σὸν γράμμα, καὶ δεῖξαι αὐτῷ, ἂν μὲν τύχῃ, ἐκείνου εἰκόνα, ἂν δὲ τύχῃ, γυναικός; τὸ δὲ δεῖξαι λέγω εἰς τὴν τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν αἴσθησιν καταστῆσαι.

Κρατύλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; πάλιν αὐτῷ τούτῳ προσελθόντα εἰπεῖν ὅτι τουτί ἐστιν σὸν ὄνομα ; ἔστι δέ που καὶ τὸ ὄνομα μίμημα ὥσπερ τὸ ζωγράφημα. τοῦτο δὴ λέγω: ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν εἴη αὐτῷ [431a]εἰπεῖν ὅτι τουτί ἐστι σὸν ὄνομα, καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο εἰς τὴν τῆς ἀκοῆς αὖ αἴσθησιν καταστῆσαι, ἂν μὲν τύχῃ, τὸ ἐκείνου μίμημα, εἰπόντα ὅτι ἀνήρ, ἂν δὲ τύχῃ, τὸ τοῦ θήλεος τοῦ ἀνθρωπίνου γένους, εἰπόντα ὅτι γυνή; οὐ δοκεῖ σοι τοῦτο οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι καὶ γίγνεσθαι ἐνίοτε;

Κρατύλος: ἐθέλω σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, συγχωρῆσαι καὶ ἔστω οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς γε σὺ ποιῶν, ὦ φίλε, εἰ ἔστι τοῦτο οὕτως: οὐδὲν γὰρ δεῖ νῦν πάνυ διαμάχεσθαι περὶ αὐτοῦ. εἰ δ᾽ οὖν [431b]ἔστι τοιαύτη τις διανομὴ καὶ ἐνταῦθα, τὸ μὲν ἕτερον τούτων ἀληθεύειν βουλόμεθα καλεῖν, τὸ δ᾽ ἕτερον ψεύδεσθαι. εἰ δὲ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ ἔστι μὴ ὀρθῶς διανέμειν τὰ ὀνόματα μηδὲ ἀποδιδόναι τὰ προσήκοντα ἑκάστῳ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐνίοτε τὰ μὴ προσήκοντα, εἴη ἂν καὶ ῥήματα ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ποιεῖν. εἰ δὲ ῥήματα καὶ ὀνόματα ἔστιν οὕτω τιθέναι, ἀνάγκη καὶ λόγους: [431c]λόγοι γάρ που, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἡ τούτων σύνθεσίς ἐστιν: ἢ πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Κρατύλε;

Κρατύλος: οὕτω: καλῶς γάρ μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ γράμμασιν αὖ τὰ πρῶτα ὀνόματα ἀπεικάζομεν, ἔστιν ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς ζωγραφήμασιν καὶ πάντα τὰ προσήκοντα χρώματά τε καὶ σχήματα ἀποδοῦναι, καὶ μὴ πάντα αὖ, ἀλλ᾽ ἔνια ἐλλείπειν, ἔνια δὲ καὶ προστιθέναι, καὶ πλείω καὶ μείζω: ἢ οὐκ ἔστιν;

Κρατύλος: ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁ μὲν ἀποδιδοὺς πάντα καλὰ τὰ γράμματά τε καὶ τὰς εἰκόνας ἀποδίδωσιν, ὁ δὲ ἢ προστιθεὶς ἢ ἀφαιρῶν γράμματα μὲν καὶ εἰκόνας ἐργάζεται καὶ οὗτος, ἀλλὰ πονηράς; [431d]

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ὁ διὰ τῶν συλλαβῶν τε καὶ γραμμάτων τὴν οὐσίαν τῶν πραγμάτων ἀπομιμούμενος; ἆρα οὐ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, ἂν μὲν πάντα ἀποδῷ τὰ προσήκοντα, καλὴ ἡ εἰκὼν ἔσται τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὄνομα ἐὰν δὲ σμικρὰ ἐλλείπῃ ἢ προστιθῇ ἐνίοτε, εἰκὼν μὲν γενήσεται, καλὴ δὲ οὔ; ὥστε τὰ μὲν καλῶς εἰργασμένα ἔσται τῶν ὀνομάτων, τὰ δὲ κακῶς;

Κρατύλος: ἴσως. [431e]

Σωκράτης: ἴσως ἄρα ἔσται ὁ μὲν ἀγαθὸς δημιουργὸς ὀνομάτων, ὁ δὲ κακός;

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τούτῳ ὁ νομοθέτης ἦν ὄνομα.

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἴσως ἄρα νὴ Δί᾽ ἔσται, ὥσπερ ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις τέχναις, καὶ νομοθέτης ὁ μὲν ἀγαθός, ὁ δὲ κακός, ἐάνπερ τὰ ἔμπροσθεν ἐκεῖνα ὁμολογηθῇ ἡμῖν.

Κρατύλος: ἔστι ταῦτα. ἀλλ᾽ ὁρᾷς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅταν ταῦτα τὰ γράμματα, τό τε ἄλφα καὶ τὸ βῆτα καὶ ἕκαστον τῶν στοιχείων, τοῖς ὀνόμασιν ἀποδιδῶμεν τῇ γραμματικῇ τέχνῃ, [432a]ἐάν τι ἀφέλωμεν ἢ προσθῶμεν ἢ μεταθῶμέν τι, <οὐ> γέγραπται μὲν ἡμῖν τὸ ὄνομα, οὐ μέντοι ὀρθῶς, ἀλλὰ τὸ παράπαν οὐδὲ γέγραπται, ἀλλ᾽ εὐθὺς ἕτερόν ἐστιν ἐάν τι τούτων πάθῃ.

Σωκράτης: μὴ γὰρ οὐ καλῶς σκοπῶμεν οὕτω σκοποῦντες, ὦ Κρατύλε.

Κρατύλος: πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης: ἴσως ὅσα ἔκ τινος ἀριθμοῦ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι ἢ μὴ εἶναι πάσχοι ἂν τοῦτο ὃ σὺ λέγεις, ὥσπερ καὶ αὐτὰ τὰ δέκα ἢ ὅστις βούλει ἄλλος ἀριθμός, ἐὰν ἀφέλῃς τι ἢ [432b]προσθῇς, ἕτερος εὐθὺς γέγονε: τοῦ δὲ ποιοῦ τινος καὶ συμπάσης εἰκόνος μὴ οὐχ αὕτη <ᾖ> ἡ ὀρθότης, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐναντίον οὐδὲ τὸ παράπαν δέῃ πάντα ἀποδοῦναι οἷόν ἐστιν ᾧ εἰκάζει, εἰ μέλλει εἰκὼν εἶναι. σκόπει δὲ εἰ τὶ λέγω. ἆρ᾽ ἂν δύο πράγματα εἴη τοιάδε, οἷον Κρατύλος καὶ Κρατύλου εἰκών, εἴ τις θεῶν μὴ μόνον τὸ σὸν χρῶμα καὶ σχῆμα ἀπεικάσειεν ὥσπερ οἱ ζωγράφοι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ ἐντὸς πάντα τοιαῦτα ποιήσειεν οἷάπερ τὰ σά, καὶ μαλακότητας [432c]καὶ θερμότητας τὰς αὐτὰς ἀποδοίη, καὶ κίνησιν καὶ ψυχὴν καὶ φρόνησιν οἵαπερ ἡ παρὰ σοὶ ἐνθείη αὐτοῖς, καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ πάντα ἅπερ σὺ ἔχεις, τοιαῦτα ἕτερα καταστήσειεν πλησίον σου; πότερον Κρατύλος ἂν καὶ εἰκὼν Κρατύλου τότ᾽ εἴη τὸ τοιοῦτον, ἢ δύο Κρατύλοι;

Κρατύλος: δύο ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, Κρατύλοι.

Σωκράτης: ὁρᾷς οὖν, ὦ φίλε, ὅτι ἄλλην χρὴ εἰκόνος ὀρθότητα ζητεῖν καὶ ὧν νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, καὶ οὐκ ἀναγκάζειν, ἐάν τι [432d]ἀπῇ ἢ προσῇ, μηκέτι αὐτὴν εἰκόνα εἶναι; ἢ οὐκ αἰσθάνῃ ὅσου ἐνδέουσιν αἱ εἰκόνες τὰ αὐτὰ ἔχειν ἐκείνοις ὧν εἰκόνες εἰσίν;

Κρατύλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: γελοῖα γοῦν, ὦ Κρατύλε, ὑπὸ τῶν ὀνομάτων πάθοι ἂν ἐκεῖνα ὧν ὀνόματά ἐστιν τὰ ὀνόματα, εἰ πάντα πανταχῇ αὐτοῖς ὁμοιωθείη. διττὰ γὰρ ἄν που πάντα γένοιτο, καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἔχοι αὐτῶν εἰπεῖν <οὐδεὶς> οὐδέτερον ὁπότερόν ἐστι τὸ μὲν αὐτό, τὸ δὲ ὄνομα.

Κρατύλος: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: θαρρῶν τοίνυν, ὦ γενναῖε, ἔα καὶ ὄνομα τὸ μὲν εὖ [432e]κεῖσθαι, τὸ δὲ μή, καὶ μὴ ἀνάγκαζε πάντ᾽ ἔχειν τὰ γράμματα, ἵνα κομιδῇ ᾖ τοιοῦτον οἷόνπερ οὗ ὄνομά ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔα καὶ τὸ μὴ προσῆκον γράμμα ἐπιφέρειν. εἰ δὲ γράμμα, καὶ ὄνομα ἐν λόγῳ: εἰ δὲ ὄνομα, καὶ λόγον ἐν λόγῳ μὴ προσήκοντα τοῖς πράγμασιν ἐπιφέρεσθαι, καὶ μηδὲν ἧττον ὀνομάζεσθαι τὸ πρᾶγμα καὶ λέγεσθαι, ἕως ἂν ὁ τύπος ἐνῇ τοῦ πράγματος περὶ οὗ ἂν ὁ λόγος ᾖ, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς [433a]τῶν στοιχείων ὀνόμασιν, εἰ μέμνησαι ἃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ καὶ Ἑρμογένης ἐλέγομεν.

Κρατύλος: ἀλλὰ μέμνημαι.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς τοίνυν. ὅταν γὰρ τοῦτο ἐνῇ, κἂν μὴ πάντα τὰ προσήκοντα ἔχῃ, λέξεταί γε τὸ πρᾶγμα, καλῶς ὅταν πάντα, κακῶς δὲ ὅταν ὀλίγα: λέγεσθαι δ᾽ οὖν, ὦ μακάριε, ἐῶμεν, ἵνα μὴ ὄφλωμεν ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν Αἰγίνῃ νύκτωρ περιιόντες ὀψὲ ὁδοῦ, καὶ ἡμεῖς ἐπὶ τὰ πράγματα δόξωμεν αὖ [433b]τῇ ἀληθείᾳ οὕτω πως ἐληλυθέναι ὀψιαίτερον τοῦ δέοντος, ἢ ζήτει τινὰ ἄλλην ὀνόματος ὀρθότητα, καὶ μὴ ὁμολόγει δήλωμα συλλαβαῖς καὶ γράμμασι πράγματος ὄνομα εἶναι. εἰ γὰρ ταῦτα ἀμφότερα ἐρεῖς, οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἔσῃ συμφωνεῖν σαυτῷ.

Κρατύλος: ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖς γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, μετρίως λέγειν, καὶ οὕτω τίθεμαι.

Σωκράτης: ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν ταῦτα ἡμῖν συνδοκεῖ, μετὰ ταῦτα τάδε σκοπῶμεν: εἰ μέλλει φαμὲν καλῶς κεῖσθαι τὸ ὄνομα, τὰ προσήκοντα δεῖ αὐτὸ γράμματα ἔχειν;

Κρατύλος: ναί. [433c]

Σωκράτης: προσήκει δὲ τὰ ὅμοια τοῖς πράγμασιν;

Κρατύλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τὰ μὲν ἄρα καλῶς κείμενα οὕτω κεῖται: εἰ δὲ μή τι καλῶς ἐτέθη, τὸ μὲν ἂν πολὺ ἴσως ἐκ προσηκόντων εἴη γραμμάτων καὶ ὁμοίων, εἴπερ ἔσται εἰκών, ἔχοι δ᾽ ἄν τι καὶ οὐ προσῆκον, δι᾽ ὃ οὐκ ἂν καλὸν εἴη οὐδὲ καλῶς εἰργασμένον τὸ ὄνομα. οὕτω φαμὲν ἢ ἄλλως;

Κρατύλος: οὐδὲν δεῖ οἶμαι διαμάχεσθαι, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἐπεὶ οὐκ ἀρέσκει γέ με τὸ φάναι ὄνομα μὲν εἶναι, μὴ μέντοι καλῶς γε κεῖσθαι. [433d]

Σωκράτης: πότερον τοῦτο οὐκ ἀρέσκει σε, τὸ εἶναι τὸ ὄνομα δήλωμα τοῦ πράγματος;

Κρατύλος: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τὸ εἶναι τῶν ὀνομάτων τὰ μὲν ἐκ προτέρων συγκείμενα, τὰ δὲ πρῶτα, οὐ καλῶς σοι δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι;

Κρατύλος: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τὰ πρῶτα εἰ μέλλει δηλώματά τινων γίγνεσθαι, ἔχεις τινὰ καλλίω τρόπον τοῦ δηλώματα αὐτὰ γενέσθαι [433e]ἄλλον ἢ αὐτὰ ποιῆσαι ὅτι μάλιστα τοιαῦτα οἷα ἐκεῖνα ἃ δεῖ δηλοῦν αὐτά; ἢ ὅδε μᾶλλόν σε ἀρέσκει ὁ τρόπος ὃν Ἑρμογένης λέγει καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοί, τὸ συνθήματα εἶναι τὰ ὀνόματα καὶ δηλοῦν τοῖς συνθεμένοις προειδόσι δὲ τὰ πράγματα, καὶ εἶναι ταύτην ὀρθότητα ὀνόματος, συνθήκην, διαφέρειν δὲ οὐδὲν ἐάντε τις συνθῆται ὥσπερ νῦν σύγκειται, ἐάντε καὶ τοὐναντίον ἐπὶ μὲν ᾧ νῦν σμικρόν, μέγα καλεῖν, ἐπὶ δὲ ᾧ μέγα, σμικρόν; πότερός σε ὁ τρόπος ἀρέσκει; [434a]

Κρατύλος: ὅλῳ καὶ παντὶ διαφέρει, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ ὁμοιώματι δηλοῦν ὅτι ἄν τις δηλοῖ ἀλλὰ μὴ τῷ ἐπιτυχόντι.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς λέγεις. οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ἔσται τὸ ὄνομα ὅμοιον τῷ πράγματι, ἀναγκαῖον πεφυκέναι τὰ στοιχεῖα ὅμοια τοῖς πράγμασιν, ἐξ ὧν τὰ πρῶτα ὀνόματά τις συνθήσει; ὧδε δὲ λέγω: ἆρά ποτ᾽ ἄν τις συνέθηκεν ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν ζωγράφημα ὅμοιόν τῳ τῶν ὄντων, εἰ μὴ φύσει ὑπῆρχε [434b]φαρμακεῖα ὅμοια ὄντα, ἐξ ὧν συντίθεται τὰ ζωγραφούμενα, ἐκείνοις ἃ μιμεῖται ἡ γραφική: ἢ ἀδύνατον;

Κρατύλος: ἀδύνατον.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὡσαύτως καὶ ὀνόματα οὐκ ἄν ποτε ὅμοια γένοιτο οὐδενί, εἰ μὴ ὑπάρξει ἐκεῖνα πρῶτον ὁμοιότητά τινα ἔχοντα, ἐξ ὧν συντίθεται τὰ ὀνόματα, ἐκείνοις ὧν ἐστι τὰ ὀνόματα μιμήματα; ἔστι δέ, ἐξ ὧν συνθετέον, στοιχεῖα;

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἤδη τοίνυν καὶ σὺ κοινώνῃ τοῦ λόγου οὗπερ ἄρτι [434c] Ἑρμογένης. φέρε, καλῶς σοι δοκοῦμεν λέγειν ὅτι τὸ ῥῶ τῇ φορᾷ καὶ κινήσει καὶ σκληρότητι προσέοικεν, ἢ οὐ καλῶς;

Κρατύλος: καλῶς ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὲ λάβδα τῷ λείῳ καὶ μαλακῷ καὶ οἷς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν;

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οἶσθα οὖν ὅτι ἐπὶ τῷ αὐτῷ ἡμεῖς μέν φαμεν σκληρότης, Ἐρετριῆς δὲ σκληροτήρ ;

Κρατύλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν τό τε ῥῶ καὶ τὸ σῖγμα ἔοικεν ἀμφότερα τῷ αὐτῷ, καὶ δηλοῖ ἐκείνοις τε τὸ αὐτὸ τελευτῶντος τοῦ ῥῶ καὶ ἡμῖν τοῦ σῖγμα, ἢ τοῖς ἑτέροις ἡμῶν οὐ δηλοῖ; [434d]

Κρατύλος: δηλοῖ μὲν οὖν ἀμφοτέροις.

Σωκράτης: πότερον ᾗ ὅμοια τυγχάνει ὄντα τὸ ῥῶ καὶ τὸ σῖγμα, ἢ ᾗ μή;

Κρατύλος: ἧι ὅμοια.

Σωκράτης: ἦ οὖν ὅμοιά ἐστι πανταχῇ;

Κρατύλος: πρός γε τὸ ἴσως φορὰν δηλοῦν.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ τὸ λάβδα ἐγκείμενον; οὐ τὸ ἐναντίον δηλοῖ σκληρότητος;

Κρατύλος: ἴσως γὰρ οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἔγκειται, ὦ Σώκρατες: ὥσπερ καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ σὺ πρὸς Ἑρμογένη ἔλεγες ἐξαιρῶν τε καὶ ἐντιθεὶς γράμματα οὗ δέοι, καὶ ὀρθῶς ἐδόκεις ἔμοιγε. καὶ νῦν ἴσως ἀντὶ τοῦ λάβδα ῥῶ δεῖ λέγειν. [434e]

Σωκράτης: εὖ λέγεις. τί οὖν; νῦν ὡς λέγομεν, οὐδὲν μανθάνομεν ἀλλήλων, ἐπειδάν τις φῇ σκληρόν, οὐδὲ οἶσθα σὺ νῦν ὅτι ἐγὼ λέγω;

Κρατύλος: ἔγωγε, διά γε τὸ ἔθος, ὦ φίλτατε.

Σωκράτης: ἔθος δὲ λέγων οἴει τι διάφορον λέγειν συνθήκης; ἢ ἄλλο τι λέγεις τὸ ἔθος ἢ ὅτι ἐγώ, ὅταν τοῦτο φθέγγωμαι, διανοοῦμαι ἐκεῖνο, σὺ δὲ γιγνώσκεις ὅτι ἐκεῖνο διανοοῦμαι; οὐ τοῦτο λέγεις; [435a]

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ γιγνώσκεις ἐμοῦ φθεγγομένου, δήλωμα σοι γίγνεται παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ;

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀνομοίου γε ἢ ὃ διανοούμενος φθέγγομαι, εἴπερ τὸ λάβδα ἀνόμοιόν ἐστι τῇ ᾗ φῂς σὺ σκληρότητι: εἰ δὲ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, τί ἄλλο ἢ αὐτὸς σαυτῷ συνέθου καί σοι γίγνεται ἡ ὀρθότης τοῦ ὀνόματος συνθήκη, ἐπειδή γε δηλοῖ καὶ τὰ ὅμοια καὶ τὰ ἀνόμοια γράμματα, ἔθους τε καὶ συνθήκης τυχόντα; εἰ δ᾽ ὅτι μάλιστα μή ἐστι τὸ ἔθος [435b]συνθήκη, οὐκ ἂν καλῶς ἔτι ἔχοι λέγειν τὴν ὁμοιότητα δήλωμα εἶναι, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἔθος: ἐκεῖνο γάρ, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ ὁμοίῳ καὶ ἀνομοίῳ δηλοῖ. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ταῦτα συγχωροῦμεν, ὦ Κρατύλε τὴν γὰρ σιγήν σου συγχώρησιν θήσω ἀναγκαῖόν που καὶ συνθήκην τι καὶ ἔθος συμβάλλεσθαι πρὸς δήλωσιν ὧν διανοούμενοι λέγομεν: ἐπεί, ὦ βέλτιστε, εἰ ‘θέλεις ἐπὶ τὸν ἀριθμὸν ἐλθεῖν, πόθεν οἴει ἕξειν ὀνόματα ὅμοια ἑνὶ ἑκάστῳ τῶν ἀριθμῶν ἐπενεγκεῖν, ἐὰν μὴ ἐᾷς τι [435c]τὴν σὴν ὁμολογίαν καὶ συνθήκην κῦρος ἔχειν τῶν ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος πέρι; ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν καὶ αὐτῷ ἀρέσκει μὲν κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν ὅμοια εἶναι τὰ ὀνόματα τοῖς πράγμασιν: ἀλλὰ μὴ ὡς ἀληθῶς, τὸ τοῦ Ἑρμογένους, γλίσχρα ᾖ ἡ ὁλκὴ αὕτη τῆς ὁμοιότητος, ἀναγκαῖον δὲ ᾖ καὶ τῷ φορτικῷ τούτῳ προσχρῆσθαι, τῇ συνθήκῃ, εἰς ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητα. ἐπεὶ ἴσως κατά γε τὸ δυνατὸν κάλλιστ᾽ ἂν λέγοιτο ὅταν ἢ πᾶσιν ἢ ὡς πλείστοις ὁμοίοις λέγηται, τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ προσήκουσιν, [435d]αἴσχιστα δὲ τοὐναντίον. τόδε δέ μοι ἔτι εἰπὲ μετὰ ταῦτα, τίνα ἡμῖν δύναμιν ἔχει τὰ ὀνόματα καὶ τί φῶμεν αὐτὰ καλὸν ἀπεργάζεσθαι;

Κρατύλος: διδάσκειν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ τοῦτο πάνυ ἁπλοῦν εἶναι, ὃς ἂν τὰ ὀνόματα ἐπίστηται, ἐπίστασθαι καὶ τὰ πράγματα.

Σωκράτης: ἴσως γάρ, ὦ Κρατύλε, τὸ τοιόνδε λέγεις, ὡς ἐπειδάν τις εἰδῇ τὸ ὄνομα οἷόν ἐστιν ἔστι δὲ οἷόνπερ τὸ πρᾶγμα [435e]εἴσεται δὴ καὶ τὸ πρᾶγμα, ἐπείπερ ὅμοιον τυγχάνει ὂν τῷ ὀνόματι, τέχνη δὲ μία ἄρ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ αὐτὴ πάντων τῶν ἀλλήλοις ὁμοίων. κατὰ τοῦτο δή μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν ὡς ὃς ἂν τὰ ὀνόματα εἰδῇ εἴσεται καὶ τὰ πράγματα.

Κρατύλος: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἔχε δή, ἴδωμεν τίς ποτ᾽ ἂν εἴη ὁ τρόπος οὗτος τῆς διδασκαλίας τῶν ὄντων ὃν σὺ λέγεις νῦν, καὶ πότερον ἔστι μὲν καὶ ἄλλος, οὗτος μέντοι βελτίων, ἢ οὐδ᾽ ἔστιν ἄλλος ἢ οὗτος. ποτέρως οἴει; [436a]

Κρατύλος: οὕτως ἔγωγε, οὐ πάνυ τι εἶναι ἄλλον, τοῦτον δὲ καὶ μόνον καὶ βέλτιστον.

Σωκράτης: πότερον δὲ καὶ εὕρεσιν τῶν ὄντων τὴν αὐτὴν ταύτην εἶναι, τὸν τὰ ὀνόματα εὑρόντα καὶ ἐκεῖνα ηὑρηκέναι ὧν ἐστι τὰ ὀνόματα: ἢ ζητεῖν μὲν καὶ εὑρίσκειν ἕτερον δεῖν τρόπον, μανθάνειν δὲ τοῦτον;

Κρατύλος: πάντων μάλιστα καὶ ζητεῖν καὶ εὑρίσκειν τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον τοῦτον κατὰ ταὐτά.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δὴ ἐννοήσωμεν, ὦ Κρατύλε, εἴ τις ζητῶν τὰ [436b]πράγματα ἀκολουθοῖ τοῖς ὀνόμασι, σκοπῶν οἷον ἕκαστον βούλεται εἶναι, ἆρ᾽ ἐννοεῖς ὅτι οὐ σμικρὸς κίνδυνός ἐστιν ἐξαπατηθῆναι;

Κρατύλος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: δῆλον ὅτι ὁ θέμενος πρῶτος τὰ ὀνόματα, οἷα ἡγεῖτο εἶναι τὰ πράγματα, τοιαῦτα ἐτίθετο καὶ τὰ ὀνόματα, ὥς φαμεν. ἦ γάρ;

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἰ οὖν ἐκεῖνος μὴ ὀρθῶς ἡγεῖτο, ἔθετο δὲ οἷα ἡγεῖτο, τί οἴει ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἀκολουθοῦντας αὐτῷ πείσεσθαι; ἄλλο τι ἢ ἐξαπατηθήσεσθαι;

Κρατύλος: ἀλλὰ μὴ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ἀναγκαῖον [436c]ᾖ εἰδότα τίθεσθαι τὸν τιθέμενον τὰ ὀνόματα: εἰ δὲ μή, ὅπερ πάλαι ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, οὐδ᾽ ἂν ὀνόματα εἴη. μέγιστον δέ σοι ἔστω τεκμήριον ὅτι οὐκ ἔσφαλται τῆς ἀληθείας ὁ τιθέμενος: οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε οὕτω σύμφωνα ἦν αὐτῷ ἅπαντα. ἢ οὐκ ἐνενόεις αὐτὸς λέγων ὡς πάντα κατὰ ταὐτὸν καὶ ἐπὶ ταὐτὸν ἐγίγνετο τὰ ὀνόματα;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τοῦτο μέν, ὠγαθὲ Κρατύλε, οὐδέν ἐστιν ἀπολόγημα. εἰ γὰρ τὸ πρῶτον σφαλεὶς ὁ τιθέμενος τἆλλα ἤδη [436d]πρὸς τοῦτ᾽ ἐβιάζετο καὶ αὑτῷ συμφωνεῖν ἠνάγκαζεν, οὐδὲν ἄτοπον, ὥσπερ τῶν διαγραμμάτων ἐνίοτε τοῦ πρώτου σμικροῦ καὶ ἀδήλου ψεύδους γενομένου, τὰ λοιπὰ πάμπολλα ἤδη ὄντα ἑπόμενα ὁμολογεῖν ἀλλήλοις. δεῖ δὴ περὶ τῆς ἀρχῆς παντὸς πράγματος παντὶ ἀνδρὶ τὸν πολὺν λόγον εἶναι καὶ τὴν πολλὴν σκέψιν εἴτε ὀρθῶς εἴτε μὴ ὑπόκειται: ἐκείνης δὲ ἐξετασθείσης ἱκανῶς, τὰ λοιπὰ φαίνεσθαι ἐκείνῃ ἑπόμενα. οὐ μέντοι ἀλλὰ [436e]θαυμάζοιμ᾽ ἂν εἰ καὶ τὰ ὀνόματα συμφωνεῖ αὐτὰ αὑτοῖς. πάλιν γὰρ ἐπισκεψώμεθα ἃ τὸ πρότερον διήλθομεν. ὡς τοῦ παντὸς ἰόντος τε καὶ φερομένου καὶ ῥέοντός φαμεν σημαίνειν ἡμῖν τὴν οὐσίαν τὰ ὀνόματα. ἄλλο τι οὕτω σοι δοκεῖ δηλοῦν; [437a]

Κρατύλος: πάνυ σφόδρα, καὶ ὀρθῶς γε σημαίνει.

Σωκράτης: σκοπῶμεν δὴ ἐξ αὐτῶν ἀναλαβόντες πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα, τὴν ἐπιστήμην, ὡς ἀμφίβολόν [ἐστι], καὶ μᾶλλον ἔοικε σημαίνοντι ὅτι ἵστησιν ἡμῶν ἐπὶ τοῖς πράγμασι τὴν ψυχὴν ἢ ὅτι συμπεριφέρεται, καὶ ὀρθότερόν ἐστιν ὥσπερ νῦν αὐτοῦ τὴν ἀρχὴν λέγειν μᾶλλον ἢ ἐμβάλλοντας τὸ εἶ ἑπεϊστήμην, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἐμβολὴν ποιήσασθαι ἀντὶ τῆς ἐν τῷ εἶ ἐν τῷ ἰῶτα. ἔπειτα τὸ βέβαιον, ὅτι βάσεώς τινός ἐστιν καὶ στάσεως μίμημα ἀλλ᾽ οὐ φορᾶς. [437b]ἔπειτα ἡ ἱστορία αὐτό που σημαίνει ὅτι ἵστησι τὸν ῥοῦν. καὶ τὸ πιστὸν ἱστὰν παντάπασι σημαίνει. ἔπειτα δὲ ἡ μνήμη παντί που μηνύει ὅτι μονή ἐστιν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἀλλ᾽ οὐ φορά. εἰ δὲ βούλει, ἡ ἁμαρτία καὶ ἡ συμφορά, εἰ κατὰ τὸ ὄνομά τις ἀκολουθήσει, φανεῖται ταὐτὸν τῇ συνέσει ταύτῃ καὶ ἐπιστήμῃ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσι τοῖς περὶ τὰ σπουδαῖα ὀνόμασιν. ἔτι τοίνυν ἡ ἀμαθία καὶ ἡ ἀκολασία παραπλησία τούτοις φαίνεται: ἡ μὲν [437c]γὰρ τοῦ ἅμα θεῷ ἰόντος πορεία φαίνεται, ἡ ἀμαθία, ἡ δ᾽ ἀκολασία παντάπασιν ἀκολουθία τοῖς πράγμασι φαίνεται. καὶ οὕτως, ἃ νομίζομεν ἐπὶ τοῖς κακίστοις ὀνόματα εἶναι, ὁμοιότατ᾽ ἂν φαίνοιτο τοῖς ἐπὶ τοῖς καλλίστοις. οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ἄλλα πόλλ᾽ ἄν τις εὕροι εἰ πραγματεύοιτο, ἐξ ὧν οἰηθείη ἂν αὖ πάλιν τὸν τὰ ὀνόματα τιθέμενον οὐχὶ ἰόντα οὐδὲ φερόμενα ἀλλὰ μένοντα τὰ πράγματα σημαίνειν. [437d]

Κρατύλος: ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁρᾷς ὅτι τὰ πολλὰ ἐκείνως ἐσήμαινεν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν τοῦτο, ὦ Κρατύλε; ὥσπερ ψήφους διαριθμησόμεθα τὰ ὀνόματα, καὶ ἐν τούτῳ ἔσται ἡ ὀρθότης; ὁπότερα ἂν πλείω φαίνηται τὰ ὀνόματα σημαίνοντα, ταῦτα δὴ ἔσται τἀληθῆ;

Κρατύλος: οὔκουν εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν, ὦ φίλε. καὶ ταῦτα μέν γε αὐτοῦ [438a]ἐάσωμεν, ἐπανέλθωμεν δὲ πάλιν ὅθεν δεῦρο μετέβημεν. ἄρτι γὰρ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν, εἰ μέμνησαι, τὸν τιθέμενον τὰ ὀνόματα ἀναγκαῖον ἔφησθα εἶναι εἰδότα τίθεσθαι οἷς ἐτίθετο. πότερον οὖν ἔτι σοι δοκεῖ οὕτως ἢ οὔ;

Κρατύλος: ἔτι.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ τὸν τὰ πρῶτα τιθέμενον εἰδότα φῂς τίθεσθαι;

Κρατύλος: εἰδότα.

Σωκράτης: ἐκ ποίων οὖν ὀνομάτων ἢ μεμαθηκὼς ἢ ηὑρηκὼς ἦν [438b]τὰ πράγματα, εἴπερ τά γε πρῶτα μήπω ἔκειτο, μαθεῖν δ᾽ αὖ φαμεν τὰ πράγματα καὶ εὑρεῖν ἀδύνατον εἶναι ἄλλως ἢ τὰ ὀνόματα μαθόντας ἢ αὐτοὺς ἐξευρόντας οἷά ἐστι;

Κρατύλος: δοκεῖς τί μοι λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: τίνα οὖν τρόπον φῶμεν αὐτοὺς εἰδότας θέσθαι ἢ νομοθέτας εἶναι, πρὶν καὶ ὁτιοῦν ὄνομα κεῖσθαί τε καὶ ἐκείνους εἰδέναι, εἴπερ μὴ ἔστι τὰ πράγματα μαθεῖν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἐκ τῶν ὀνομάτων; [438c]

Κρατύλος: οἶμαι μὲν ἐγὼ τὸν ἀληθέστατον λόγον περὶ τούτων εἶναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, μείζω τινὰ δύναμιν εἶναι ἢ ἀνθρωπείαν τὴν θεμένην τὰ πρῶτα ὀνόματα τοῖς πράγμασιν, ὥστε ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι αὐτὰ ὀρθῶς ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης: εἶτα οἴει ἐναντία ἂν ἐτίθετο αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ὁ θείς, ὢν δαίμων τις ἢ θεός; ἢ οὐδέν σοι ἐδοκοῦμεν ἄρτι λέγειν;

Κρατύλος: ἀλλὰ μὴ οὐκ ἦν τούτων τὰ ἕτερα ὀνόματα.

Σωκράτης: πότερα, ὦ ἄριστε, τὰ ἐπὶ τὴν στάσιν ἄγοντα ἢ τὰ ἐπὶ τὴν φοράν; οὐ γάρ που κατὰ τὸ ἄρτι λεχθὲν πλήθει κριθήσεται. [438d]

Κρατύλος: οὔτοι δὴ δίκαιόν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ὀνομάτων οὖν στασιασάντων, καὶ τῶν μὲν φασκόντων ἑαυτὰ εἶναι τὰ ὅμοια τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, τῶν δ᾽ ἑαυτά, τίνι ἔτι διακρινοῦμεν, ἢ ἐπὶ τί ἐλθόντες; οὐ γάρ που ἐπὶ ὀνόματά γε ἕτερα ἄλλα τούτων: οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν, ἀλλὰ δῆλον ὅτι ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα ζητητέα πλὴν ὀνομάτων, ἃ ἡμῖν ἐμφανιεῖ ἄνευ ὀνομάτων ὁπότερα τούτων ἐστὶ τἀληθῆ, δείξαντα δῆλον ὅτι τὴν ἀλήθειαν τῶν ὄντων. [438e]

Κρατύλος: δοκεῖ μοι οὕτω.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὦ Κρατύλε, δυνατὸν μαθεῖν ἄνευ ὀνομάτων τὰ ὄντα, εἴπερ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει.

Κρατύλος: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: διὰ τίνος ἄλλου οὖν ἔτι προσδοκᾷς ἂν ταῦτα μαθεῖν; ἆρα δι᾽ ἄλλου του ἢ οὗπερ εἰκός τε καὶ δικαιότατον, δι᾽ ἀλλήλων γε, εἴ πῃ συγγενῆ ἐστιν, καὶ αὐτὰ δι᾽ αὑτῶν; τὸ γάρ που ἕτερον ἐκείνων καὶ ἀλλοῖον ἕτερον ἄν τι καὶ ἀλλοῖον σημαίνοι ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκεῖνα.

Κρατύλος: ἀληθῆ μοι φαίνῃ λέγειν. [439a]

Σωκράτης: ἔχε δὴ πρὸς Διός: τὰ δὲ ὀνόματα οὐ πολλάκις μέντοι ὡμολογήσαμεν τὰ καλῶς κείμενα ἐοικότα εἶναι ἐκείνοις ὧν ὀνόματα κεῖται, καὶ εἶναι εἰκόνας τῶν πραγμάτων;

Κρατύλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἰ οὖν ἔστι μὲν ὅτι μάλιστα δι᾽ ὀνομάτων τὰ πράγματα μανθάνειν, ἔστι δὲ καὶ δι᾽ αὐτῶν, ποτέρα ἂν εἴη καλλίων καὶ σαφεστέρα ἡ μάθησις; ἐκ τῆς εἰκόνος μανθάνειν αὐτήν τε αὐτὴν εἰ καλῶς εἴκασται, καὶ τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἧς ἦν εἰκών, [439b]ἢ ἐκ τῆς ἀληθείας αὐτήν τε αὐτὴν καὶ τὴν εἰκόνα αὐτῆς εἰ πρεπόντως εἴργασται;

Κρατύλος: ἐκ τῆς ἀληθείας μοι δοκεῖ ἀνάγκη εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: ὅντινα μὲν τοίνυν τρόπον δεῖ μανθάνειν ἢ εὑρίσκειν τὰ ὄντα, μεῖζον ἴσως ἐστὶν ἐγνωκέναι ἢ κατ᾽ ἐμὲ καὶ σέ: ἀγαπητὸν δὲ καὶ τοῦτο ὁμολογήσασθαι, ὅτι οὐκ ἐξ ὀνομάτων ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον αὐτὰ ἐξ αὑτῶν καὶ μαθητέον καὶ ζητητέον ἢ ἐκ τῶν ὀνομάτων.

Κρατύλος: φαίνεται, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι τοίνυν τόδε σκεψώμεθα, ὅπως μὴ ἡμᾶς τὰ [439c]πολλὰ ταῦτα ὀνόματα ἐς ταὐτὸν τείνοντα ἐξαπατᾷ, εἰ τῷ ὄντι μὲν οἱ θέμενοι αὐτὰ διανοηθέντες γε ἔθεντο ὡς ἰόντων ἁπάντων ἀεὶ καὶ ῥεόντων φαίνονται γὰρ ἔμοιγε καὶ αὐτῷ οὕτω διανοηθῆναι τὸ δ᾽, εἰ ἔτυχεν, οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει, ἀλλ᾽ οὗτοι αὐτοί τε ὥσπερ εἴς τινα δίνην ἐμπεσόντες κυκῶνται καὶ ἡμᾶς ἐφελκόμενοι προσεμβάλλουσιν. σκέψαι γάρ, ὦ θαυμάσιε Κρατύλε, ὃ ἔγωγε πολλάκις ὀνειρώττω. πότερον φῶμέν τι εἶναι αὐτὸ καλὸν καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἓν ἕκαστον τῶν [439d]ὄντων οὕτω, ἢ μή;

Κρατύλος: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, [εἶναι].

Σωκράτης: αὐτὸ τοίνυν ἐκεῖνο σκεψώμεθα, μὴ εἰ πρόσωπόν τί ἐστιν καλὸν ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων, καὶ δοκεῖ ταῦτα πάντα ῥεῖν: ἀλλ᾽ αὐτό, φῶμεν, τὸ καλὸν οὐ τοιοῦτον ἀεί ἐστιν οἷόν ἐστιν;

Κρατύλος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οἷόν τε προσειπεῖν αὐτὸ ὀρθῶς, εἰ ἀεὶ ὑπεξέρχεται, πρῶτον μὲν ὅτι ἐκεῖνό ἐστιν, ἔπειτα ὅτι τοιοῦτον, ἢ ἀνάγκη ἅμα ἡμῶν λεγόντων ἄλλο αὐτὸ εὐθὺς γίγνεσθαι καὶ ὑπεξιέναι καὶ μηκέτι οὕτως ἔχειν;

Κρατύλος: ἀνάγκη. [439e]

Σωκράτης: πῶς οὖν ἂν εἴη τὶ ἐκεῖνο ὃ μηδέποτε ὡσαύτως ἔχει; εἰ γάρ ποτε ὡσαύτως ἴσχει, ἔν γ᾽ ἐκείνῳ τῷ χρόνῳ δῆλον ὅτι οὐδὲν μεταβαίνει: εἰ δὲ ἀεὶ ὡσαύτως ἔχει καὶ τὸ αὐτό ἐστι, πῶς ἂν τοῦτό γε μεταβάλλοι ἢ κινοῖτο, μηδὲν ἐξιστάμενον τῆς αὑτοῦ ἰδέας;

Κρατύλος: οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἂν γνωσθείη γε ὑπ᾽ οὐδενός. ἅμα [440a]γὰρ ἂν ἐπιόντος τοῦ γνωσομένου ἄλλο καὶ ἀλλοῖον γίγνοιτο, ὥστε οὐκ ἂν γνωσθείη ἔτι ὁποῖόν γέ τί ἐστιν ἢ πῶς ἔχον: γνῶσις δὲ δήπου οὐδεμία γιγνώσκει ὃ γιγνώσκει μηδαμῶς ἔχον.

Κρατύλος: ἔστιν ὡς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ γνῶσιν εἶναι φάναι εἰκός, ὦ Κρατύλε, εἰ μεταπίπτει πάντα χρήματα καὶ μηδὲν μένει. εἰ μὲν γὰρ αὐτὸ τοῦτο, ἡ γνῶσις, τοῦ γνῶσις εἶναι μὴ μεταπίπτει, μένοι τε ἂν ἀεὶ ἡ γνῶσις καὶ εἴη γνῶσις. εἰ δὲ καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ εἶδος [440b]μεταπίπτει τῆς γνώσεως, ἅμα τ᾽ ἂν μεταπίπτοι εἰς ἄλλο εἶδος γνώσεως καὶ οὐκ ἂν εἴη γνῶσις: εἰ δὲ ἀεὶ μεταπίπτει, ἀεὶ οὐκ ἂν εἴη γνῶσις, καὶ ἐκ τούτου τοῦ λόγου οὔτε τὸ γνωσόμενον οὔτε τὸ γνωσθησόμενον ἂν εἴη. εἰ δὲ ἔστι μὲν ἀεὶ τὸ γιγνῶσκον, ἔστι δὲ τὸ γιγνωσκόμενον, ἔστι δὲ τὸ καλόν, ἔστι δὲ τὸ ἀγαθόν, ἔστι δὲ ἓν ἕκαστον τῶν ὄντων, οὔ μοι φαίνεται ταῦτα ὅμοια ὄντα, ἃ νῦν ἡμεῖς λέγομεν, ῥοῇ [440c]οὐδὲν οὐδὲ φορᾷ. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν πότερόν ποτε οὕτως ἔχει ἢ ἐκείνως ὡς οἱ περὶ Ἡράκλειτόν τε λέγουσιν καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοί, μὴ οὐ ῥᾴδιον ᾖ ἐπισκέψασθαι, οὐδὲ πάνυ νοῦν ἔχοντος ἀνθρώπου ἐπιτρέψαντα ὀνόμασιν αὑτὸν καὶ τὴν αὑτοῦ ψυχὴν θεραπεύειν, πεπιστευκότα ἐκείνοις καὶ τοῖς θεμένοις αὐτά, διισχυρίζεσθαι ὥς τι εἰδότα, καὶ αὑτοῦ τε καὶ τῶν ὄντων καταγιγνώσκειν ὡς οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς οὐδενός, ἀλλὰ πάντα ὥσπερ κεράμια ῥεῖ, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ οἱ κατάρρῳ νοσοῦντες [440d]ἄνθρωποι οὕτως οἴεσθαι καὶ τὰ πράγματα διακεῖσθαι, ὑπὸ ῥεύματός τε καὶ κατάρρου πάντα [τὰ] χρήματα ἔχεσθαι. ἴσως μὲν οὖν δή, ὦ Κρατύλε, οὕτως ἔχει, ἴσως δὲ καὶ οὔ. σκοπεῖσθαι οὖν χρὴ ἀνδρείως τε καὶ εὖ, καὶ μὴ ῥᾳδίως ἀποδέχεσθαι ἔτι γὰρ νέος εἶ καὶ ἡλικίαν ἔχεις σκεψάμενον δέ, ἐὰν εὕρῃς, μεταδιδόναι καὶ ἐμοί.

Κρατύλος: ἀλλὰ ποιήσω ταῦτα. εὖ μέντοι ἴσθι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι οὐδὲ νυνὶ ἀσκέπτως ἔχω, ἀλλά μοι σκοπουμένῳ καὶ [440e]πράγματα ἔχοντι πολὺ μᾶλλον ἐκείνως φαίνεται ἔχειν ὡς Ἡράκλειτος λέγει.

Σωκράτης: εἰς αὖθις τοίνυν με, ὦ ἑταῖρε, διδάξεις, ἐπειδὰν ἥκῃς: νῦν δέ, ὥσπερ παρεσκεύασαι, πορεύου εἰς ἀγρόν: προπέμψει δέ σε καὶ Ἑρμογένης ὅδε.

Κρατύλος: ταῦτ᾽ ἔσται, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ καὶ σὺ πειρῶ ἔτι ἐννοεῖν ταῦτα ἤδη.

EUTHYDEMUS

Κρίτων, Σωκράτης.

[271a] Κρίτων: τίς ἦν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ᾧ χθὲς ἐν Λυκείῳ διελέγου; ἦ πολὺς ὑμᾶς ὄχλος περιειστήκει, ὥστ᾽ ἔγωγε βουλόμενος ἀκούειν προσελθὼν οὐδὲν οἷός τ᾽ ἦ ἀκοῦσαι σαφές: ὑπερκύψας μέντοι κατεῖδον, καί μοι ἔδοξεν εἶναι ξένος τις ᾧ διελέγου. τίς ἦν;

Σωκράτης: πότερον καὶ ἐρωτᾷς, ὦ Κρίτων; οὐ γὰρ εἷς ἀλλὰ δύ᾽ ἤστην.

Κρίτων: ὃν μὲν ἐγὼ λέγω, ἐκ δεξιᾶς τρίτος ἀπὸ σοῦ καθῆστο: [271b] ἐν μέσῳ δ᾽ ὑμῶν τὸ Ἀξιόχου μειράκιον ἦν. καὶ μάλα πολύ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπιδεδωκέναι μοι ἔδοξεν, καὶ τοῦ ἡμετέρου οὐ πολύ τι τὴν ἡλικίαν διαφέρειν Κριτοβούλου. ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνος μὲν σκληφρός, οὗτος δὲ προφερὴς καὶ καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθὸς τὴν ὄψιν.

Σωκράτης: Εὐθύδημος οὗτός ἐστιν, ὦ Κρίτων, ὃν ἐρωτᾷς, ὁ δὲ παρ᾽ ἐμὲ καθήμενος ἐξ ἀριστερᾶς ἀδελφὸς τούτου, Διονυσόδωρος: μετέχει δὲ καὶ οὗτος τῶν λόγων.

Κρίτων: οὐδέτερον γιγνώσκω, ὦ Σώκρατες. καινοί τινες αὖ [271c] οὗτοι, ὡς ἔοικε, σοφισταί: ποδαποί; καὶ τίς ἡ σοφία;

Σωκράτης: οὗτοι τὸ μὲν γένος, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἐντεῦθέν ποθέν εἰσιν ἐκ Χίου, ἀπῴκησαν δὲ ἐς Θουρίους, φεύγοντες δὲ ἐκεῖθεν πόλλ᾽ ἤδη ἔτη περὶ τούσδε τοὺς τόπους διατρίβουσιν. ὃ δὲ σὺ ἐρωτᾷς τὴν σοφίαν αὐτοῖν, θαυμασία, ὦ Κρίτων: πάσσοφοι ἀτεχνῶς τώ γε, οὐδ᾽ ᾔδη πρὸ τοῦ ὅτι εἶεν οἱ παγκρατιασταί. τούτω γάρ ἐστον κομιδῇ παμμάχω. οὐ κατὰ τὼ Ἀκαρνᾶνε ἐγενέσθην τὼ παγκρατιαστὰ ἀδελφώ: ἐκείνω [271d] μὲν γὰρ τῷ σώματι μόνον οἵω τε μάχεσθαι, τούτω δὲ πρῶτον μὲν τῷ σώματι δεινοτάτω ἐστὸν [καὶ μάχῃ, ᾗ πάντων ἔστι κρατεῖν] ἐν ὅπλοις γὰρ αὐτώ τε σοφὼ πάνυ μάχεσθαι καὶ [272a] ἄλλον, ὃς ἂν διδῷ μισθόν, οἵω τε ποιῆσαι ἔπειτα τὴν ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις μάχην κρατίστω καὶ ἀγωνίσασθαι καὶ ἄλλον διδάξαι λέγειν τε καὶ συγγράφεσθαι λόγους οἵους εἰς τὰ δικαστήρια. πρὸ τοῦ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα δεινὼ ἤστην μόνον, νῦν δὲ τέλος ἐπιτεθήκατον παγκρατιαστικῇ τέχνῃ. ἣ γὰρ ἦν λοιπὴ αὐτοῖν μάχη ἀργός, ταύτην νῦν ἐξείργασθον, ὥστε μηδ᾽ ἂν ἕνα αὐτοῖς οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι μηδ᾽ ἀντᾶραι: οὕτω δεινὼ γεγόνατον ἐν τοῖς λόγοις μάχεσθαί τε καὶ ἐξελέγχειν [272b] τὸ ἀεὶ λεγόμενον, ὁμοίως ἐάντε ψεῦδος ἐάντε ἀληθὲς ᾖ. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Κρίτων, ἐν νῷ ἔχω τοῖν ἀνδροῖν παραδοῦναι ἐμαυτόν: καὶ γάρ φατον ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ ποιῆσαι ἂν καὶ ἄλλον ὁντινοῦν τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα δεινόν.

Κρίτων: τί δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες; οὐ φοβῇ τὴν ἡλικίαν, μὴ ἤδη πρεσβύτερος ᾖς;

Σωκράτης: ἥκιστά γε, ὦ Κρίτων: ἱκανὸν τεκμήριον ἔχω καὶ παραμύθιον τοῦ μὴ φοβεῖσθαι. αὐτὼ γὰρ τούτω, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν, γέροντε ὄντε ἠρξάσθην ταύτης τῆς σοφίας ἧς ἔγωγε ἐπιθυμῶ, τῆς ἐριστικῆς: πέρυσιν ἢ προπέρυσιν οὐδέπω ἤστην [272c] σοφώ. ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ ἓν μόνον φοβοῦμαι, μὴ αὖ ὄνειδος τοῖν ξένοιν περιάψω, ὥσπερ Κόννῳ τῷ Μητροβίου, τῷ κιθαριστῇ, ὃς ἐμὲ διδάσκει ἔτι καὶ νῦν κιθαρίζειν: ὁρῶντες οὖν οἱ παῖδες οἱ συμφοιτηταί μοι ἐμοῦ τε καταγελῶσι καὶ τὸν Κόννον καλοῦσι γεροντοδιδάσκαλον. μὴ οὖν καὶ τοῖν ξένοιν τις ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ὀνειδίσῃ: οἱ δ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἴσως φοβούμενοι τάχα με οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοιεν προσδέξασθαι. ἐγὼ δ᾽, ὦ Κρίτων, ἐκεῖσε μὲν ἄλλους πέπεικα συμμαθητάς μοι φοιτᾶν πρεσβύτας, [272d] ἐνταῦθα δέ γε ἑτέρους πειράσομαι πείθειν. καὶ σὺ τί οὐ συμφοιτᾷς; ὡς δὲ δέλεαρ αὐτοῖς ἄξομεν τοὺς σοὺς ὑεῖς: ἐφιέμενοι γὰρ ἐκείνων οἶδ᾽ ὅτι καὶ ἡμᾶς παιδεύσουσιν.

Κρίτων: ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν κωλύει, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐάν γε σοὶ δοκῇ. πρῶτον δέ μοι διήγησαι τὴν σοφίαν τοῖν ἀνδροῖν τίς ἐστιν, ἵνα εἰδῶ ὅτι καὶ μαθησόμεθα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἂν φθάνοις ἀκούων: ὡς οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιμί γε εἰπεῖν ὅτι οὐ προσεῖχον τὸν νοῦν αὐτοῖν, ἀλλὰ πάνυ καὶ προσεῖχον καὶ μέμνημαι, καί σοι πειράσομαι ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἅπαντα διηγήσασθαι. [272e] κατὰ θεὸν γάρ τινα ἔτυχον καθήμενος ἐνταῦθα, οὗπερ σύ με εἶδες, ἐν τῷ ἀποδυτηρίῳ μόνος, καὶ ἤδη ἐν νῷ εἶχον ἀναστῆναι: ἀνισταμένου δέ μου ἐγένετο τὸ εἰωθὸς σημεῖον τὸ δαιμόνιον. πάλιν οὖν ἐκαθεζόμην, καὶ ὀλίγῳ [273a] ὕστερον εἰσέρχεσθον τούτω ὅ τ᾽ Εὐθύδημος καὶ ὁ Διονυσόδωρος καὶ ἄλλοι μαθηταὶ ἅμα αὖ πολλοὶ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖν: εἰσελθόντε δὲ περιπατείτην ἐν τῷ καταστέγῳ δρόμῳ. καὶ οὔπω τούτω δύ᾽ ἢ τρεῖς δρόμους περιεληλυθότε ἤστην, καὶ εἰσέρχεται Κλεινίας, ὃν σὺ φῂς πολὺ ἐπιδεδωκέναι, ἀληθῆ λέγων: ὄπισθεν δὲ αὐτοῦ ἐρασταὶ πάνυ πολλοί τε καὶ ἄλλοι καὶ Κτήσιππος, νεανίσκος τις Παιανιεύς, μάλα καλός τε κἀγαθὸς τὴν φύσιν, ὅσον μὴ ὑβριστὴς [δὲ] διὰ τὸ [273b] νέος εἶναι. ἰδὼν οὖν με ὁ Κλεινίας ἀπὸ τῆς εἰσόδου μόνον καθήμενον, ἄντικρυς ἰὼν παρεκαθέζετο ἐκ δεξιᾶς, ὥσπερ καὶ σὺ φῄς. ἰδόντε δὲ αὐτὸν ὅ τε Διονυσόδωρος καὶ ὁ Εὐθύδημος πρῶτον μὲν ἐπιστάντε διελεγέσθην ἀλλήλοιν, ἄλλην καὶ ἄλλην ἀποβλέποντε εἰς ἡμᾶς καὶ γὰρ πάνυ αὐτοῖν προσεῖχον τὸν νοῦν ἔπειτα ἰόντε ὁ μὲν παρὰ τὸ μειράκιον ἐκαθέζετο, ὁ Εὐθύδημος, ὁ δὲ παρ᾽ αὐτὸν ἐμὲ ἐξ ἀριστερᾶς, οἱ δ᾽ ἄλλοι ὡς ἕκαστος ἐτύγχανεν. [273c] ἠσπαζόμην οὖν αὐτὼ ἅτε διὰ χρόνου ἑωρακώς: μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο εἶπον πρὸς τὸν Κλεινίαν: ὦ Κλεινία, τώδε μέντοι τὼ ἄνδρε σοφώ, Εὐθύδημός τε καὶ Διονυσόδωρος, οὐ τὰ σμικρὰ ἀλλὰ τὰ μεγάλα: τὰ γὰρ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον πάντα ἐπίστασθον, ὅσα δεῖ τὸν μέλλοντα ἀγαθὸν στρατηγὸν ἔσεσθαι, τάς τε τάξεις καὶ τὰς ἡγεμονίας τῶν στρατοπέδων καὶ [ὅσa}} ἐν ὅπλοις μάχεσθαι [διδακτέον]: οἵω τε δὲ καὶ ποιῆσαι δυνατὸν εἶναι αὐτὸν αὑτῷ βοηθεῖν ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις, ἄν τις αὐτὸν ἀδικῇ. [273d] εἰπὼν οὖν ταῦτα κατεφρονήθην ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῖν: ἐγελασάτην οὖν ἄμφω βλέψαντε εἰς ἀλλήλω, καὶ ὁ Εὐθύδημος εἶπεν: οὔτοι ἔτι ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, σπουδάζομεν, ἀλλὰ παρέργοις αὐτοῖς χρώμεθα.

κἀγὼ θαυμάσας εἶπον: καλὸν ἄν που τὸ ἔργον ὑμῶν εἴη, εἰ τηλικαῦτα πράγματα πάρεργα ὑμῖν τυγχάνει ὄντα, καὶ πρὸς θεῶν εἴπετόν μοι τί ἐστι τοῦτο τὸ καλόν. ἀρετήν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἰόμεθα οἵω τ᾽ εἶναι παραδοῦναι κάλλιστ᾽ ἀνθρώπων καὶ τάχιστα. [273e]

ὦ Ζεῦ, οἷον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγετον πρᾶγμα: πόθεν τοῦτο τὸ ἕρμαιον ηὑρέτην; ἐγὼ δὲ περὶ ὑμῶν διενοούμην ἔτι, ὥσπερ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, ὡς τὸ πολὺ τοῦτο δεινοῖν ὄντοιν, ἐν ὅπλοις μάχεσθαι, καὶ ταῦτα ἔλεγον περὶ σφῷν: ὅτε γὰρ τὸ πρότερον ἐπεδημησάτην, τοῦτο μέμνημαι σφὼ ἐπαγγελλομένω. εἰ δὲ νῦν ἀληθῶς ταύτην τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἔχετον, ἵλεω εἶτον ἀτεχνῶς γὰρ ἔγωγε σφὼ ὥσπερ θεὼ προσαγορεύω, συγγνώμην [274a] δεόμενος ἔχειν μοι τῶν ἔμπροσθεν εἰρημένων. ἀλλ᾽ ὁρᾶτον, ὦ Εὐθύδημέ τε καὶ Διονυσόδωρε, εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγετον: ὑπὸ γὰρ τοῦ μεγέθους τοῦ ἐπαγγέλματος οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν ἀπιστεῖν.

ἀλλ᾽ εὖ ἴσθι, ὦ Σώκρατες, [ἔφατον,] τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχον.

μακαρίζω ἄρ᾽ ὑμᾶς ἔγωγε τοῦ κτήματος πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ μέγαν βασιλέα τῆς ἀρχῆς: τοσόνδε δέ μοι εἴπετον, εἰ ἐν νῷ ἔχετον ἐπιδεικνύναι ταύτην τὴν σοφίαν, ἢ πῶς σφῷν βεβούλευται.

ἐπ᾽ αὐτό γε τοῦτο πάρεσμεν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς ἐπιδείξοντε [274b] καὶ διδάξοντε, ἐάν τις ἐθέλῃ μανθάνειν.

ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι μὲν ἐθελήσουσιν ἅπαντες οἱ μὴ ἔχοντες, ἐγὼ ὑμῖν ἐγγυῶμαι, πρῶτος μὲν ἐγώ, ἔπειτα δὲ Κλεινίας οὑτοσί, πρὸς δ᾽ ἡμῖν Κτήσιππός τε ὅδε καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι οὗτοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγὼ δεικνὺς αὐτῷ τοὺς ἐραστὰς τοὺς Κλεινίου: οἱ δὲ ἐτύγχανον ἡμᾶς ἤδη περιιστάμενοι. ὁ γὰρ Κτήσιππος ἔτυχε πόρρω καθεζόμενος τοῦ Κλεινίου κἀμοὶ δοκεῖν ὡς ἐτύγχανεν ὁ Εὐθύδημος ἐμοὶ διαλεγόμενος προνενευκὼς εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν, [274c] ἐν μέσῳ ὄντος ἡμῶν τοῦ Κλεινίου ἐπεσκότει τῷ Κτησίππῳ τῆς θέας βουλόμενός τε οὖν θεάσασθαι ὁ Κτήσιππος τὰ παιδικὰ καὶ ἅμα φιλήκοος ὢν ἀναπηδήσας πρῶτος προσέστη ἡμῖν ἐν τῷ καταντικρύ: οὕτως οὖν καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἐκεῖνον ἰδόντες περιέστησαν ἡμᾶς, οἵ τε τοῦ Κλεινίου ἐρασταὶ καὶ οἱ τοῦ Εὐθυδήμου τε καὶ Διονυσοδώρου ἑταῖροι. τούτους δὴ ἐγὼ δεικνὺς ἔλεγον τῷ Εὐθυδήμῳ ὅτι πάντες ἕτοιμοι εἶεν [274d] μανθάνειν: ὅ τε οὖν Κτήσιππος συνέφη μάλα προθύμως καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι, καὶ ἐκέλευον αὐτὼ κοινῇ πάντες ἐπιδείξασθαι τὴν δύναμιν τῆς σοφίας.

εἶπον οὖν ἐγώ: ὦ Εὐθύδημε καὶ Διονυσόδωρε, πάνυ μὲν οὖν παντὶ τρόπῳ καὶ τούτοις χαρίσασθον καὶ ἐμοῦ ἕνεκα ἐπιδείξασθον. τὰ μὲν οὖν πλεῖστα δῆλον ὅτι οὐκ ὀλίγον ἔργον ἐπιδεῖξαι: τόδε δέ μοι εἴπετον, πότερον πεπεισμένον ἤδη ὡς χρὴ παρ᾽ ὑμῶν μανθάνειν δύναισθ᾽ ἂν ἀγαθὸν ποιῆσαι [274e] ἄνδρα μόνον, ἢ καὶ ἐκεῖνον τὸν μήπω πεπεισμένον διὰ τὸ μὴ οἴεσθαι ὅλως τὸ πρᾶγμα τὴν ἀρετὴν μαθητὸν εἶναι ἢ μὴ σφὼ εἶναι αὐτῆς διδασκάλω; φέρε, καὶ τὸν οὕτως ἔχοντα τῆς αὐτῆς τέχνης ἔργον πεῖσαι ὡς καὶ διδακτὸν ἡ ἀρετὴ καὶ οὗτοι ὑμεῖς ἐστὲ παρ᾽ ὧν ἂν κάλλιστά τις αὐτὸ μάθοι, ἢ ἄλλης;

ταύτης μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, τῆς αὐτῆς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Διονυσόδωρος.

ὑμεῖς ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε, τῶν νῦν ἀνθρώπων [275a] κάλλιστ᾽ ἂν προτρέψαιτε εἰς φιλοσοφίαν καὶ ἀρετῆς ἐπιμέλειαν;

οἰόμεθά γε δή, ὦ Σώκρατες.

τῶν μὲν τοίνυν ἄλλων τὴν ἐπίδειξιν ἡμῖν, ἔφην, εἰς αὖθις ἀπόθεσθον, τοῦτο δ᾽ αὐτὸ ἐπιδείξασθον: τουτονὶ τὸν νεανίσκον πείσατον ὡς χρὴ φιλοσοφεῖν καὶ ἀρετῆς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, καὶ χαριεῖσθον ἐμοί τε καὶ τουτοισὶ πᾶσιν. συμβέβηκεν γάρ τι τοιοῦτον τῷ μειρακίῳ τούτῳ: ἐγώ τε καὶ οἵδε πάντες τυγχάνομεν ἐπιθυμοῦντες ὡς βέλτιστον αὐτὸν γενέσθαι. ἔστι δὲ οὗτος Ἀξιόχου μὲν ὑὸς τοῦ Ἀλκιβιάδου τοῦ παλαιοῦ, αὐτανεψιὸς [275b] δὲ τοῦ νῦν ὄντος Ἀλκιβιάδου: ὄνομα δ᾽ αὐτῷ Κλεινίας. ἔστι δὲ νέος: φοβούμεθα δὴ περὶ αὐτῷ, οἷον εἰκὸς περὶ νέῳ, μή τις φθῇ ἡμᾶς ἐπ᾽ ἄλλο τι ἐπιτήδευμα τρέψας αὐτοῦ τὴν διάνοιαν καὶ διαφθείρῃ. σφὼ οὖν ἥκετον εἰς κάλλιστον: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μή τι διαφέρει ὑμῖν, λάβετον πεῖραν τοῦ μειρακίου καὶ διαλέχθητον ἐναντίον ἡμῶν.

εἰπόντος οὖν ἐμοῦ σχεδόν τι αὐτὰ ταῦτα ὁ Εὐθύδημος ἅμα ἀνδρείως τε καὶ θαρραλέως, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν διαφέρει, ὦ [275c] Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ἐὰν μόνον ἐθέλῃ ἀποκρίνεσθαι ὁ νεανίσκος.

ἀλλὰ μὲν δή, ἔφην ἐγώ, τοῦτό γε καὶ εἴθισται: θαμὰ γὰρ αὐτῷ οἵδε προσιόντες πολλὰ ἐρωτῶσίν τε καὶ διαλέγονται, ὥστε ἐπιεικῶς θαρρεῖ τὸ ἀποκρίνασθαι.

τὰ δὴ μετὰ ταῦτα, ὦ Κρίτων, πῶς ἂν καλῶς σοι διηγησαίμην; οὐ γὰρ σμικρὸν τὸ ἔργον δύνασθαι ἀναλαβεῖν διεξιόντα σοφίαν ἀμήχανον ὅσην: ὥστ᾽ ἔγωγε, καθάπερ οἱ [275d] ποιηταί, δέομαι ἀρχόμενος τῆς διηγήσεως μούσας τε καὶ Μνημοσύνην ἐπικαλεῖσθαι. ἤρξατο δ᾽ οὖν ἐνθένδε ποθὲν ὁ Εὐθύδημος, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι: ὦ Κλεινία, πότεροί εἰσι τῶν ἀνθρώπων οἱ μανθάνοντες, οἱ σοφοὶ ἢ οἱ ἀμαθεῖς;

καὶ τὸ μειράκιον, ἅτε μεγάλου ὄντος τοῦ ἐρωτήματος, ἠρυθρίασέν τε καὶ ἀπορήσας ἐνέβλεψεν εἰς ἐμέ: καὶ ἐγὼ γνοὺς αὐτὸν τεθορυβημένον, θάρρει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Κλεινία, [275e] καὶ ἀπόκριναι ἀνδρείως, ὁπότερά σοι φαίνεται: ἴσως γάρ τοι ὠφελεῖ τὴν μεγίστην ὠφελίαν.

καὶ ἐν τούτῳ ὁ Διονυσόδωρος προσκύψας μοι μικρὸν πρὸς τὸ οὖς, πάνυ μειδιάσας τῷ προσώπῳ, καὶ μήν, ἔφη, σοί, ὦ Σώκρατες, προλέγω ὅτι ὁπότερ᾽ ἂν ἀποκρίνηται τὸ μειράκιον, ἐξελεγχθήσεται.

καὶ αὐτοῦ μεταξὺ ταῦτα λέγοντος ὁ Κλεινίας ἔτυχεν ἀποκρινάμενος, ὥστε οὐδὲ παρακελεύσασθαί μοι ἐξεγένετο [276a] εὐλαβηθῆναι τῷ μειρακίῳ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπεκρίνατο ὅτι οἱ σοφοὶ εἶεν οἱ μανθάνοντες.

καὶ ὁ Εὐθύδημος, καλεῖς δέ τινας, ἔφη, διδασκάλους, ἢ οὔ;

ὡμολόγει.

οὐκοῦν τῶν μανθανόντων οἱ διδάσκαλοι διδάσκαλοί εἰσιν, ὥσπερ ὁ κιθαριστὴς καὶ ὁ γραμματιστὴς διδάσκαλοι δήπου ἦσαν σοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων παίδων, ὑμεῖς δὲ μαθηταί;

συνέφη.

ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἡνίκα ἐμανθάνετε, οὔπω ἠπίστασθε ταῦτα ἃ ἐμανθάνετε;

οὐκ ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν [276b] σοφοὶ ἦτε, ὅτε ταῦτα οὐκ ἠπίστασθε;

οὐ δῆτα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὴ σοφοί, ἀμαθεῖς;

πάνυ γε.

ὑμεῖς ἄρα μανθάνοντες ἃ οὐκ ἠπίστασθε, ἀμαθεῖς ὄντες ἐμανθάνετε.

ἐπένευσε τὸ μειράκιον.

οἱ ἀμαθεῖς ἄρα μανθάνουσιν, ὦ Κλεινία, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οἱ σοφοί, ὡς σὺ οἴει.

ταῦτ᾽ οὖν εἰπόντος αὐτοῦ, ὥσπερ ὑπὸ διδασκάλου χορὸς ἀποσημήναντος, ἅμα ἀνεθορύβησάν τε καὶ ἐγέλασαν οἱ ἑπόμενοι [276c] ἐκεῖνοι μετὰ τοῦ Διονυσοδώρου τε καὶ Εὐθυδήμου: καὶ πρὶν ἀναπνεῦσαι καλῶς τε καὶ εὖ τὸ μειράκιον, ἐκδεξάμενος ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, τί δέ, ὦ Κλεινία, ἔφη, ὁπότε ἀποστοματίζοι ὑμῖν ὁ γραμματιστής, πότεροι ἐμάνθανον τῶν παίδων τὰ ἀποστοματιζόμενα, οἱ σοφοὶ ἢ οἱ ἀμαθεῖς;

οἱ σοφοί, ἔφη ὁ Κλεινίας.

οἱ σοφοὶ ἄρα μανθάνουσιν ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οἱ ἀμαθεῖς, καὶ οὐκ εὖ σὺ ἄρτι Εὐθυδήμῳ ἀπεκρίνω. [276d]

ἐνταῦθα δὴ καὶ πάνυ μέγα ἐγέλασάν τε καὶ ἐθορύβησαν οἱ ἐρασταὶ τοῖν ἀνδροῖν, ἀγασθέντες τῆς σοφίας αὐτοῖν: οἱ δ᾽ ἄλλοι ἡμεῖς ἐκπεπληγμένοι ἐσιωπῶμεν. γνοὺς δὲ ἡμᾶς ὁ Εὐθύδημος ἐκπεπληγμένους, ἵν᾽ ἔτι μᾶλλον θαυμάζοιμεν αὐτόν, οὐκ ἀνίει τὸ μειράκιον, ἀλλ᾽ ἠρώτα, καὶ ὥσπερ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ὀρχησταί, διπλᾶ ἔστρεφε τὰ ἐρωτήματα περὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἔφη: πότερον γὰρ οἱ μανθάνοντες μανθάνουσιν ἃ ἐπίστανται ἢ ἃ μὴ ἐπίστανται;

καὶ ὁ Διονυσόδωρος πάλιν μικρὸν πρός με ψιθυρίσας, [276e] καὶ τοῦτ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἕτερον τοιοῦτον οἷον τὸ πρότερον.

ὦ Ζεῦ, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἦ μὴν καὶ τὸ πρότερόν γε καλὸν ἡμῖν ἐφάνη τὸ ἐρώτημα.

πάντ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοιαῦτα ἡμεῖς ἐρωτῶμεν ἄφυκτα.

τοιγάρτοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δοκεῖτέ μοι εὐδοκιμεῖν παρὰ τοῖς μαθηταῖς.

ἐν δὲ τούτῳ ὁ μὲν Κλεινίας τῷ Εὐθυδήμῳ ἀπεκρίνατο ὅτι μανθάνοιεν οἱ μανθάνοντες ἃ οὐκ ἐπίσταιντο: ὁ δὲ ἤρετο [277a] αὐτὸν διὰ τῶν αὐτῶν ὧνπερ τὸ πρότερον: τί δέ; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐκ ἐπίστασαι σὺ γράμματα;

ναί, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἅπαντα;

ὡμολόγει.

ὅταν οὖν τις ἀποστοματίζῃ ὁτιοῦν, οὐ γράμματα ἀποστοματίζει;

ὡμολόγει.

οὐκοῦν ὧν τι σὺ ἐπίστασαι, ἔφη, ἀποστοματίζει, εἴπερ πάντα ἐπίστασαι;

καὶ τοῦτο ὡμολόγει.

τί οὖν; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἆρα σὺ <οὐ> μανθάνεις ἅττ᾽ ἂν ἀποστοματίζῃ τις, ὁ δὲ μὴ ἐπιστάμενος γράμματα μανθάνει;

οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, μανθάνω.

οὐκοῦν ἃ ἐπίστασαι, ἦ δ᾽ [277b] ὅς, μανθάνεις, εἴπερ γε ἅπαντα τὰ γράμματα ἐπίστασαι.

ὡμολόγησεν.

οὐκ ἄρα ὀρθῶς ἀπεκρίνω, ἔφη.

καὶ οὔπω σφόδρα τι ταῦτα εἴρητο τῷ Εὐθυδήμῳ, καὶ ὁ Διονυσόδωρος ὥσπερ σφαῖραν ἐκδεξάμενος τὸν λόγον πάλιν ἐστοχάζετο τοῦ μειρακίου, καὶ εἶπεν: Ἐξαπατᾷ σε Εὐθύδημος, ὦ Κλεινία. εἰπὲ γάρ μοι, τὸ μανθάνειν οὐκ ἐπιστήμην ἐστὶ λαμβάνειν τούτου οὗ ἄν τις μανθάνῃ;

ὡμολόγει ὁ Κλεινίας.

τὸ δ᾽ ἐπίστασθαι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἄλλο τι ἢ ἔχειν ἐπιστήμην ἤδη ἐστίν;

συνέφη.

τὸ ἄρα μὴ ἐπίστασθαι [277c] μήπω ἔχειν ἐπιστήμην ἐστίν;

ὡμολόγει αὐτῷ.

πότερον οὖν εἰσιν οἱ λαμβάνοντες ὁτιοῦν οἱ ἔχοντες ἤδη ἢ οἳ ἂν μὴ ἔχωσιν;

οἳ ἂν μή.

οὐκοῦν ὡμολόγηκας εἶναι τούτων καὶ τοὺς μὴ ἐπισταμένους, τῶν μὴ ἐχόντων;

κατένευσε.

τῶν λαμβανόντων ἄρ᾽ εἰσὶν οἱ μανθάνοντες, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τῶν ἐχόντων;

συνέφη.

οἱ μὴ ἐπιστάμενοι ἄρα, ἔφη, μανθάνουσιν, ὦ Κλεινία, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οἱ ἐπιστάμενοι. [277d]

ἔτι δὴ ἐπὶ τὸ τρίτον καταβαλῶν ὥσπερ πάλαισμα ὥρμα ὁ Εὐθύδημος τὸν νεανίσκον: καὶ ἐγὼ γνοὺς βαπτιζόμενον τὸ μειράκιον, βουλόμενος ἀναπαῦσαι αὐτό, μὴ ἡμῖν ἀποδειλιάσειε, παραμυθούμενος εἶπον: ὦ Κλεινία, μὴ θαύμαζε εἴ σοι φαίνονται ἀήθεις οἱ λόγοι. ἴσως γὰρ οὐκ αἰσθάνῃ οἷον ποιεῖτον τὼ ξένω περὶ σέ: ποιεῖτον δὲ ταὐτὸν ὅπερ οἱ ἐν τῇ τελετῇ τῶν Κορυβάντων, ὅταν τὴν θρόνωσιν ποιῶσιν περὶ τοῦτον ὃν ἂν μέλλωσι τελεῖν. καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖ χορεία τίς ἐστι καὶ παιδιά, εἰ ἄρα καὶ τετέλεσαι: καὶ νῦν [277e] τούτω οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ χορεύετον περὶ σὲ καὶ οἷον ὀρχεῖσθον παίζοντε, ὡς μετὰ τοῦτο τελοῦντε. νῦν οὖν νόμισον τὰ πρῶτα τῶν ἱερῶν ἀκούειν τῶν σοφιστικῶν. πρῶτον γάρ, ὥς φησι Πρόδικος, περὶ ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος μαθεῖν δεῖ: ὃ δὴ καὶ ἐνδείκνυσθόν σοι τὼ ξένω, ὅτι οὐκ ᾔδησθα τὸ μανθάνειν ὅτι οἱ ἄνθρωποι καλοῦσι μὲν ἐπὶ τῷ τοιῷδε, ὅταν τις ἐξ ἀρχῆς μηδεμίαν ἔχων ἐπιστήμην περὶ πράγματός [278a] τινος ἔπειτα ὕστερον αὐτοῦ λαμβάνῃ τὴν ἐπιστήμην, καλοῦσι δὲ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἔχων ἤδη τὴν ἐπιστήμην ταύτῃ τῇ ἐπιστήμῃ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο πρᾶγμα ἐπισκοπῇ ἢ πραττόμενον ἢ λεγόμενον μᾶλλον μὲν αὐτὸ συνιέναι καλοῦσιν ἢ μανθάνειν, ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε καὶ μανθάνειν σὲ δὲ τοῦτο, ὡς οὗτοι ἐνδείκνυνται, διαλέληθεν, ταὐτὸν ὄνομα ἐπ᾽ ἀνθρώποις ἐναντίως ἔχουσιν κείμενον, τῷ τε εἰδότι καὶ ἐπὶ τῷ μή: παραπλήσιον δὲ τούτῳ καὶ τὸ ἐν τῷ δευτέρῳ ἐρωτήματι, ἐν ᾧ [278b] ἠρώτων σε πότερα μανθάνουσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἃ ἐπίστανται ἢ ἃ μή. ταῦτα δὴ τῶν μαθημάτων παιδιά ἐστιν διὸ καί φημι ἐγώ σοι τούτους προσπαίζειν παιδιὰν δὲ λέγω διὰ ταῦτα, ὅτι, εἰ καὶ πολλά τις ἢ καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα μάθοι, τὰ μὲν πράγματα οὐδὲν ἂν μᾶλλον εἰδείη πῇ ἔχει, προσπαίζειν δὲ οἷός τ᾽ ἂν εἴη τοῖς ἀνθρώποις διὰ τὴν τῶν ὀνομάτων διαφορὰν ὑποσκελίζων καὶ ἀνατρέπων, ὥσπερ οἱ τὰ σκολύθρια τῶν μελλόντων καθιζήσεσθαι ὑποσπῶντες χαίρουσι [278c] καὶ γελῶσιν, ἐπειδὰν ἴδωσιν ὕπτιον ἀνατετραμμένον. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν σοι παρὰ τούτων νόμιζε παιδιὰν γεγονέναι: τὸ δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα δῆλον ὅτι τούτω γέ σοι αὐτὼ τὰ σπουδαῖα ἐνδείξεσθον, καὶ ἐγὼ ὑφηγήσομαι αὐτοῖν ἵνα μοι ὃ ὑπέσχοντο ἀποδῶσιν. ἐφάτην γὰρ ἐπιδείξασθαι τὴν προτρεπτικὴν σοφίαν: νῦν δέ, μοι δοκεῖ, δεῖν ᾠηθήτην πρότερον παῖσαι πρὸς σέ. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν, ὦ Εὐθύδημέ τε καὶ Διονυσόδωρε, [278d] πεπαίσθω τε ὑμῖν, καὶ ἴσως ἱκανῶς ἔχει: τὸ δὲ δὴ μετὰ ταῦτα ἐπιδείξατον προτρέποντε τὸ μειράκιον ὅπως χρὴ σοφίας τε καὶ ἀρετῆς ἐπιμεληθῆναι. πρότερον δ᾽ ἐγὼ σφῷν ἐνδείξομαι οἷον αὐτὸ ὑπολαμβάνω καὶ οἵου αὐτοῦ ἐπιθυμῶ ἀκοῦσαι. ἐὰν οὖν δόξω ὑμῖν ἰδιωτικῶς τε καὶ γελοίως αὐτὸ ποιεῖν, μή μου καταγελᾶτε: ὑπὸ προθυμίας γὰρ τοῦ ἀκοῦσαι τῆς ὑμετέρας σοφίας τολμήσω ἀπαυτοσχεδιάσαι ἐναντίον [278e] ὑμῶν. ἀνάσχεσθον οὖν ἀγελαστὶ ἀκούοντες αὐτοί τε καὶ οἱ μαθηταὶ ὑμῶν: σὺ δέ μοι, ὦ παῖ Ἀξιόχου, ἀπόκριναι.

ἆρά γε πάντες ἄνθρωποι βουλόμεθα εὖ πράττειν; ἢ τοῦτο μὲν ἐρώτημα ὧν νυνδὴ ἐφοβούμην ἓν τῶν καταγελάστων; ἀνόητον γὰρ δήπου καὶ τὸ ἐρωτᾶν τὰ τοιαῦτα: τίς γὰρ οὐ βούλεται ἀνθρώπων εὖ πράττειν;

οὐδεὶς ὅστις οὔκ, ἔφη [279a] ὁ Κλεινίας.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο, ἐπειδὴ βουλόμεθα εὖ πράττειν, πῶς ἂν εὖ πράττοιμεν; ἆρ᾽ ἂν εἰ ἡμῖν πολλὰ κἀγαθὰ εἴη; ἢ τοῦτο ἐκείνου ἔτι εὐηθέστερον; δῆλον γάρ που καὶ τοῦτο ὅτι οὕτως ἔχει.

συνέφη.

φέρε δή, ἀγαθὰ δὲ ποῖα ἄρα τῶν ὄντων τυγχάνει ἡμῖν ὄντα; ἢ οὐ χαλεπὸν οὐδὲ σεμνοῦ ἀνδρὸς πάνυ τι οὐδὲ τοῦτο ἔοικεν εἶναι εὐπορεῖν; πᾶς γὰρ ἂν ἡμῖν εἴποι ὅτι τὸ πλουτεῖν ἀγαθόν: ἦ γάρ:

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ὑγιαίνειν καὶ τὸ [279b] καλὸν εἶναι καὶ τἆλλα κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ἱκανῶς παρεσκευάσθαι;

συνεδόκει.

ἀλλὰ μὴν εὐγένειαί γε καὶ δυνάμεις καὶ τιμαὶ ἐν τῇ ἑαυτοῦ δῆλά ἐστιν ἀγαθὰ ὄντα.

ὡμολόγει.

τί οὖν, ἔφην, ἔτι ἡμῖν λείπεται τῶν ἀγαθῶν; τί ἄρα ἐστὶν τὸ σώφρονά τε εἶναι καὶ δίκαιον καὶ ἀνδρεῖον; πότερον πρὸς Διός, ὦ Κλεινία, ἡγῇ σύ, ἐὰν ταῦτα τιθῶμεν ὡς ἀγαθά, ὀρθῶς ἡμᾶς θήσειν, ἢ ἐὰν μή; ἴσως γὰρ ἄν τις ἡμῖν ἀμφισβητήσειεν: σοὶ δὲ πῶς δοκεῖ;

ἀγαθά, ἔφη ὁ Κλεινίας. [279c]

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: τὴν δὲ σοφίαν ποῦ χοροῦ τάξομεν; ἐν τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς, ἢ πῶς λέγεις;

ἐν τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς.

ἐνθυμοῦ δὴ μή τι παραλείπωμεν τῶν ἀγαθῶν, ὅτι καὶ ἄξιον λόγου.

ἀλλά μοι δοκοῦμεν, ἔφη, οὐδέν, ὁ Κλεινίας.

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀναμνησθεὶς εἶπον ὅτι ναὶ μὰ Δία κινδυνεύομέν γε τὸ μέγιστον τῶν ἀγαθῶν παραλιπεῖν.

τί τοῦτο; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

τὴν εὐτυχίαν, ὦ Κλεινία: ὃ πάντες φασί, καὶ οἱ πάνυ φαῦλοι, μέγιστον τῶν ἀγαθῶν εἶναι.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ἔφη.

καὶ ἐγὼ αὖ πάλιν μετανοήσας εἶπον ὅτι ὀλίγου καταγέλαστοι [279d] ἐγενόμεθα ὑπὸ τῶν ξένων ἐγώ τε καὶ σύ, ὦ παῖ Ἀξιόχου.

τί δή, ἔφη, τοῦτο;

ὅτι εὐτυχίαν ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν θέμενοι νυνδὴ αὖθις περὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἐλέγομεν.

τί οὖν δὴ τοῦτο;

καταγέλαστον δήπου, ὃ πάλαι πρόκειται, τοῦτο πάλιν προτιθέναι καὶ δὶς ταὐτὰ λέγειν.

πῶς, ἔφη, τοῦτο λέγεις;

ἡ σοφία δήπου, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εὐτυχία ἐστίν: τοῦτο δὲ κἂν παῖς γνοίη.

καὶ ὃς ἐθαύμασεν: οὕτως ἔτι νέος τε καὶ εὐήθης ἐστί.

κἀγὼ γνοὺς αὐτὸν θαυμάζοντα, ἆρα [279e] οὐκ οἶσθα, ἔφην, ὦ Κλεινία, ὅτι περὶ αὐλημάτων εὐπραγίαν οἱ αὐληταὶ εὐτυχέστατοί εἰσιν;

συνέφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ περὶ γραμμάτων γραφῆς τε καὶ ἀναγνώσεως οἱ γραμματισταί;

πάνυ γε.

τί δέ; πρὸς τοὺς τῆς θαλάττης κινδύνους μῶν οἴει εὐτυχεστέρους τινὰς εἶναι τῶν σοφῶν κυβερνητῶν, ὡς ἐπὶ πᾶν εἰπεῖν;

οὐ δῆτα.

τί δέ; στρατευόμενος μετὰ ποτέρου ἂν ἥδιον τοῦ κινδύνου τε καὶ τῆς [280a] τύχης μετέχοις, μετὰ σοφοῦ στρατηγοῦ ἢ μετὰ ἀμαθοῦς;

μετὰ σοφοῦ.

τί δέ; ἀσθενῶν μετὰ ποτέρου ἂν ἡδέως κινδυνεύοις, μετὰ σοφοῦ ἰατροῦ ἢ μετὰ ἀμαθοῦς;

μετὰ σοφοῦ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι εὐτυχέστερον ἂν οἴει πράττειν μετὰ σοφοῦ πράττων ἢ μετὰ ἀμαθοῦς;

συνεχώρει. ἡ σοφία ἄρα πανταχοῦ εὐτυχεῖν ποιεῖ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους. οὐ γὰρ δήπου ἁμαρτάνοι γ᾽ ἄν ποτέ τι σοφία, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάγκη ὀρθῶς πράττειν καὶ τυγχάνειν: ἦ γὰρ ἂν οὐκέτι σοφία εἴη. [280b]

συνωμολογησάμεθα τελευτῶντες οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅπως ἐν κεφαλαίῳ οὕτω τοῦτο ἔχειν, σοφίας παρούσης, ᾧ ἂν παρῇ, μηδὲν προσδεῖσθαι εὐτυχίας: ἐπειδὴ δὲ τοῦτο συνωμολογησάμεθα, πάλιν ἐπυνθανόμην αὐτοῦ τὰ πρότερον ὡμολογημένα πῶς ἂν ἡμῖν ἔχοι. ὡμολογήσαμεν γάρ, ἔφην, εἰ ἡμῖν ἀγαθὰ πολλὰ παρείη, εὐδαιμονεῖν ἂν καὶ εὖ πράττειν.

συνέφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν εὐδαιμονοῖμεν ἂν διὰ τὰ παρόντα ἀγαθά, εἰ μηδὲν ἡμᾶς ὠφελοῖ ἢ εἰ ὠφελοῖ;

εἰ ὠφελοῖ, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἄν [280c] τι ὠφελοῖ, εἰ εἴη μόνον ἡμῖν, χρῴμεθα δ᾽ αὐτοῖς μή; οἷον σιτία εἰ ἡμῖν εἴη πολλά, ἐσθίοιμεν δὲ μή, ἢ ποτόν, πίνοιμεν δὲ μή, ἔσθ᾽ ὅτι ὠφελοίμεθ᾽ ἄν;

οὐ δῆτα, ἔφη.

τί δέ; οἱ δημιουργοὶ πάντες, εἰ αὐτοῖς εἴη πάντα τὰ ἐπιτήδεια παρεσκευασμένα ἑκάστῳ εἰς τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἔργον, χρῷντο δὲ αὐτοῖς μή, ἆρ᾽ ἂν οὗτοι εὖ πράττοιεν διὰ τὴν κτῆσιν, ὅτι κεκτημένοι εἶεν πάντα ἃ δεῖ κεκτῆσθαι τὸν δημιουργόν; οἷον τέκτων, εἰ παρεσκευασμένος εἴη τά τε ὄργανα ἅπαντα καὶ ξύλα ἱκανά, τεκταίνοιτο δὲ μή, ἔσθ᾽ ὅτι ὠφελοῖτ᾽ ἂν [280d] ἀπὸ τῆς κτήσεως;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη.

τί δέ, εἴ τις κεκτημένος εἴη πλοῦτόν τε καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν πάντα τὰ ἀγαθά, χρῷτο δὲ αὐτοῖς μή, ἆρ᾽ ἂν εὐδαιμονοῖ διὰ τὴν τούτων κτῆσιν τῶν ἀγαθῶν;

οὐ δῆτα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

δεῖ ἄρα, ἔφην, ὡς ἔοικεν, μὴ μόνον κεκτῆσθαι τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀγαθὰ τὸν μέλλοντα εὐδαίμονα ἔσεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ χρῆσθαι αὐτοῖς: ἢ οὐδὲν ὄφελος τῆς κτήσεως γίγνεται.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

ἆρ᾽ [280e] οὖν, ὦ Κλεινία, ἤδη τοῦτο ἱκανὸν πρὸς τὸ εὐδαίμονα ποιῆσαί τινα, τό τε κεκτῆσθαι τἀγαθὰ καὶ τὸ χρῆσθαι αὐτοῖς;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

πότερον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐὰν ὀρθῶς χρῆταί τις ἢ καὶ ἐὰν μή;

ἐὰν ὀρθῶς.

καλῶς γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις. πλέον γάρ που οἶμαι θάτερόν ἐστιν, ἐάν τις χρῆται ὁτῳοῦν μὴ ὀρθῶς πράγματι ἢ ἐὰν ἐᾷ: τὸ μὲν γὰρ κακόν, τὸ δὲ οὔτε [281a] κακὸν οὔτε ἀγαθόν. ἢ οὐχ οὕτω φαμέν;

συνεχώρει.

τί οὖν; ἐν τῇ ἐργασίᾳ τε καὶ χρήσει τῇ περὶ τὰ ξύλα μῶν ἄλλο τί ἐστιν τὸ ἀπεργαζόμενον ὀρθῶς χρῆσθαι ἢ ἐπιστήμη ἡ τεκτονική;

οὐ δῆτα, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ μήν που καὶ ἐν τῇ περὶ τὰ σκεύη ἐργασίᾳ τὸ ὀρθῶς ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν ἡ ἀπεργαζομένη.

συνέφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ περὶ τὴν χρείαν ὧν ἐλέγομεν τὸ πρῶτον τῶν ἀγαθῶν, πλούτου τε καὶ ὑγιείας καὶ κάλλους, τὸ ὀρθῶς πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις χρῆσθαι ἐπιστήμη [281b] ἦν ἡγουμένη καὶ κατορθοῦσα τὴν πρᾶξιν, ἢ ἄλλο τι;

ἐπιστήμη, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐ μόνον ἄρα εὐτυχίαν ἀλλὰ καὶ εὐπραγίαν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡ ἐπιστήμη παρέχει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐν πάσῃ κτήσει τε καὶ πράξει.

ὡμολόγει.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὦ πρὸς Διός, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὄφελός τι τῶν ἄλλων κτημάτων ἄνευ φρονήσεως καὶ σοφίας; ἆρά γε ἂν ὄναιτο ἄνθρωπος πολλὰ κεκτημένος καὶ πολλὰ πράττων νοῦν μὴ ἔχων, ἢ μᾶλλον ὀλίγα νοῦν ἔχων; ὧδε δὲ σκόπει: οὐκ ἐλάττω πράττων [281c] ἐλάττω ἂν ἐξαμαρτάνοι, ἐλάττω δὲ ἁμαρτάνων ἧττον ἂν κακῶς πράττοι, ἧττον δὲ κακῶς πράττων ἄθλιος ἧττον ἂν εἴη;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

πότερον οὖν ἂν μᾶλλον ἐλάττω τις πράττοι πένης ὢν ἢ πλούσιος;

πένης, ἔφη.

πότερον δὲ ἀσθενὴς ἢ ἰσχυρός;

ἀσθενής.

πότερον δὲ ἔντιμος ἢ ἄτιμος;

ἄτιμος.

πότερον δὲ ἀνδρεῖος ὢν καὶ σώφρων ἐλάττω ἂν πράττοι ἢ δειλός;

δειλός.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀργὸς μᾶλλον ἢ ἐργάτης;

συνεχώρει.

καὶ βραδὺς μᾶλλον ἢ [281d] ταχύς, καὶ ἀμβλὺ ὁρῶν καὶ ἀκούων μᾶλλον ἢ ὀξύ;

πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα συνεχωροῦμεν ἀλλήλοις.

ἐν κεφαλαίῳ δ᾽, ἔφην, ὦ Κλεινία, κινδυνεύει σύμπαντα ἃ τὸ πρῶτον ἔφαμεν ἀγαθὰ εἶναι, οὐ περὶ τούτου ὁ λόγος αὐτοῖς εἶναι, ὅπως αὐτά γε καθ᾽ αὑτὰ πέφυκεν ἀγαθὰ [εἶναι], ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἔοικεν ὧδ᾽ ἔχει: ἐὰν μὲν αὐτῶν ἡγῆται ἀμαθία, μείζω κακὰ εἶναι τῶν ἐναντίων, ὅσῳ δυνατώτερα ὑπηρετεῖν τῷ ἡγουμένῳ κακῷ ὄντι, ἐὰν δὲ φρόνησίς τε καὶ σοφία, μείζω ἀγαθά, αὐτὰ δὲ καθ᾽ [281e] αὑτὰ οὐδέτερα αὐτῶν οὐδενὸς ἄξια εἶναι.

φαίνεται, ἔφη, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὕτως, ὡς σὺ λέγεις.

τί οὖν ἡμῖν συμβαίνει ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων; ἄλλο τι ἢ τῶν μὲν ἄλλων οὐδὲν ὂν οὔτε ἀγαθὸν οὔτε κακόν, τούτοιν δὲ δυοῖν ὄντοιν ἡ μὲν σοφία ἀγαθόν, ἡ δὲ ἀμαθία κακόν; ὡμολόγει. [282a]

ἔτι τοίνυν, ἔφην, τὸ λοιπὸν ἐπισκεψώμεθα. ἐπειδὴ εὐδαίμονες μὲν εἶναι προθυμούμεθα πάντες, ἐφάνημεν δὲ τοιοῦτοι γιγνόμενοι ἐκ τοῦ χρῆσθαί τε τοῖς πράγμασιν καὶ ὀρθῶς χρῆσθαι, τὴν δὲ ὀρθότητα καὶ εὐτυχίαν ἐπιστήμη <ἦν> ἡ παρέχουσα, δεῖ δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου ἅπαντα ἄνδρα τοῦτο παρασκευάζεσθαι, ὅπως ὡς σοφώτατος ἔσται: ἢ οὔ;

ναί, ἔφη.

καὶ παρὰ πατρός γε δήπου τοῦτο οἰόμενον δεῖν παραλαμβάνειν πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ χρήματα, καὶ [282b] παρ᾽ ἐπιτρόπων καὶ φίλων τῶν τε ἄλλων καὶ τῶν φασκόντων ἐραστῶν εἶναι, καὶ ξένων καὶ πολιτῶν, δεόμενον καὶ ἱκετεύοντα σοφίας μεταδιδόναι, οὐδὲν αἰσχρόν, ὦ Κλεινία, οὐδὲ νεμεσητὸν ἕνεκα τούτου ὑπηρετεῖν καὶ δουλεύειν καὶ ἐραστῇ καὶ παντὶ ἀνθρώπῳ, ὁτιοῦν ἐθέλοντα ὑπηρετεῖν τῶν καλῶν ὑπηρετημάτων, προθυμούμενον σοφὸν γενέσθαι: ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι, ἔφην ἐγώ, οὕτως;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν εὖ μοι δοκεῖς [282c] λέγειν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

εἰ ἔστι γε, ὦ Κλεινία, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἡ σοφία διδακτόν, ἀλλὰ μὴ ἀπὸ ταὐτομάτου παραγίγνεται τοῖς ἀνθρώποις: τοῦτο γὰρ ἡμῖν ἔτι ἄσκεπτον καὶ οὔπω διωμολογημένον ἐμοί τε καὶ σοί.

ἀλλ᾽ ἔμοιγε, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, διδακτὸν εἶναι δοκεῖ.

καὶ ἐγὼ ἡσθεὶς εἶπον: ἦ καλῶς λέγεις, ὦ ἄριστε ἀνδρῶν, καὶ εὖ ἐποίησας ἀπαλλάξας με σκέψεως πολλῆς περὶ τούτου αὐτοῦ, πότερον διδακτὸν ἢ οὐ διδακτὸν ἡ σοφία. νῦν οὖν ἐπειδή σοι καὶ διδακτὸν δοκεῖ καὶ μόνον τῶν ὄντων εὐδαίμονα καὶ εὐτυχῆ ποιεῖν τὸν [282d] ἄνθρωπον, ἄλλο τι ἢ φαίης ἂν ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι φιλοσοφεῖν καὶ αὐτὸς ἐν νῷ ἔχεις αὐτὸ ποιεῖν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα.

κἀγὼ ταῦτα ἅσμενος ἀκούσας, τὸ μὲν ἐμόν, ἔφην, παράδειγμα, ὦ Διονυσόδωρέ τε καὶ Εὐθύδημε, οἵων ἐπιθυμῶ τῶν προτρεπτικῶν λόγων εἶναι, τοιοῦτον, ἰδιωτικὸν ἴσως καὶ μόλις διὰ μακρῶν λεγόμενον: σφῷν δὲ ὁπότερος βούλεται, ταὐτὸν τοῦτο τέχνῃ πράττων ἐπιδειξάτω ἡμῖν. εἰ δὲ μὴ [282e] τοῦτο βούλεσθον, ὅθεν ἐγὼ ἀπέλιπον, τὸ ἑξῆς ἐπιδείξατον τῷ μειρακίῳ, πότερον πᾶσαν ἐπιστήμην δεῖ αὐτὸν κτᾶσθαι, ἢ ἔστι τις μία ἣν δεῖ λαβόντα εὐδαιμονεῖν τε καὶ ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα εἶναι, καὶ τίς αὕτη. ὡς γὰρ ἔλεγον ἀρχόμενος, περὶ πολλοῦ ἡμῖν τυγχάνει ὂν τόνδε τὸν νεανίσκον σοφόν τε καὶ ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι. [283a]

ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα εἶπον, ὦ Κρίτων: τῷ δὲ μετὰ τοῦτο ἐσομένῳ πάνυ σφόδρα προσεῖχον τὸν νοῦν, καὶ ἐπεσκόπουν τίνα ποτὲ τρόπον ἅψοιντο τοῦ λόγου καὶ ὁπόθεν ἄρξοιντο παρακελευόμενοι τῷ νεανίσκῳ σοφίαν τε καὶ ἀρετὴν ἀσκεῖν. ὁ οὖν πρεσβύτερος αὐτῶν, ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, πρότερος ἤρχετο τοῦ λόγου, καὶ ἡμεῖς πάντες ἐβλέπομεν πρὸς αὐτὸν ὡς αὐτίκα μάλα ἀκουσόμενοι θαυμασίους τινὰς λόγους. ὅπερ [283b] οὖν καὶ συνέβη ἡμῖν: θαυμαστὸν γάρ τινα, ὦ Κρίτων, ἁνὴρ κατῆρχεν λόγον, οὗ σοὶ ἄξιον ἀκοῦσαι, ὡς παρακελευστικὸς ὁ λόγος ἦν ἐπ᾽ ἀρετήν.

εἰπέ μοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατές τε καὶ ὑμεῖς οἱ ἄλλοι, ὅσοι φατὲ ἐπιθυμεῖν τόνδε τὸν νεανίσκον σοφὸν γενέσθαι, πότερον παίζετε ταῦτα λέγοντες ἢ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἐπιθυμεῖτε καὶ σπουδάζετε;

κἀγὼ διενοήθην ὅτι ᾠηθήτην ἄρα ἡμᾶς τὸ πρότερον παίζειν, ἡνίκα ἐκελεύομεν διαλεχθῆναι τῷ νεανίσκῳ αὐτώ, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα προσεπαισάτην τε καὶ οὐκ ἐσπουδασάτην:

[283c] ταῦτα οὖν διανοηθεὶς ἔτι μᾶλλον εἶπον ὅτι θαυμαστῶς σπουδάζοιμεν.

καὶ ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, σκόπει μήν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅπως μὴ ἔξαρνος ἔσῃ ἃ νῦν λέγεις.

ἔσκεμμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: οὐ γὰρ μή ποτ᾽ ἔξαρνος γένωμαι.

τί οὖν; ἔφη: φατὲ βούλεσθαι αὐτὸν σοφὸν γενέσθαι;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

νῦν δέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, Κλεινίας πότερον σοφός ἐστιν ἢ οὔ;

οὔκουν φησί γέ πω: ἔστιν δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐκ ἀλαζών.

ὑμεῖς δέ, [283d] ἔφη, βούλεσθε γενέσθαι αὐτὸν σοφόν, ἀμαθῆ δὲ μὴ εἶναι;

ὡμολογοῦμεν.

οὐκοῦν ὃς μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν, βούλεσθε αὐτὸν γενέσθαι, ὃς δ᾽ ἔστι νῦν, μηκέτι εἶναι.

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας ἐθορυβήθην: ὁ δέ μου θορυβουμένου ὑπολαβών, ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἔφη, ἐπεὶ βούλεσθε αὐτὸν ὃς νῦν ἐστὶν μηκέτι εἶναι, βούλεσθε αὐτόν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀπολωλέναι; καίτοι πολλοῦ ἂν ἄξιοι οἱ τοιοῦτοι εἶεν φίλοι τε καὶ ἐρασταί, οἵτινες τὰ παιδικὰ περὶ παντὸς ἂν ποιήσαιντο ἐξολωλέναι. [283e]

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος ἀκούσας ἠγανάκτησέν τε ὑπὲρ τῶν παιδικῶν καὶ εἶπεν: ὦ ξένε Θούριε, εἰ μὴ ἀγροικότερον, ἔφη, ἦν εἰπεῖν, εἶπον ἄν: σοὶ εἰς κεφαλήν, ὅτι μαθών μου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων καταψεύδῃ τοιοῦτον πρᾶγμα, ὃ ἐγὼ οἶμαι οὐδ᾽ ὅσιον εἶναι λέγειν, ὡς ἐγὼ τόνδε βουλοίμην ἂν ἐξολωλέναι.

τί δέ, ἔφη, ὦ Κτήσιππε, ὁ Εὐθύδημος, ἦ δοκεῖ σοι οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι ψεύδεσθαι;

νὴ Δία, ἔφη, εἰ μὴ μαίνομαί γε.

πότερον λέγοντα τὸ πρᾶγμα περὶ οὗ ἂν ὁ λόγος ᾖ, ἢ μὴ [284a] λέγοντα;

λέγοντα, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ λέγει αὐτό, οὐκ ἄλλο λέγει τῶν ὄντων ἢ ἐκεῖνο ὅπερ λέγει;

πῶς γὰρ ἄν; ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος.

ἓν μὴν κἀκεῖνό γ᾽ ἐστὶν τῶν ὄντων, ὃ λέγει, χωρὶς τῶν ἄλλων.

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν ὁ ἐκεῖνο λέγων τὸ ὄν, ἔφη, λέγει;

ναί.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ὅ γε τὸ ὂν λέγων καὶ τὰ ὄντα τἀληθῆ λέγει: ὥστε ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, εἴπερ λέγει τὰ ὄντα, λέγει τἀληθῆ καὶ οὐδὲν κατὰ σοῦ ψεύδεται. [284b]

ναί, ἔφη: ἀλλ᾽ ὁ ταῦτα λέγων, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, οὐ τὰ ὄντα λέγει.

καὶ ὁ Εὐθύδημος, τὰ δὲ μὴ ὄντα, ἔφη, ἄλλο τι ἢ οὐκ ἔστιν;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

ἄλλο τι οὖν οὐδαμοῦ τά γε μὴ ὄντα ὄντα ἐστίν;

οὐδαμοῦ.

ἔστιν οὖν ὅπως περὶ ταῦτα, τὰ μὴ ὄντα, πράξειεν ἄν τίς τι, ὥστ᾽ ἐκεῖνα ποιήσειεν ἂν καὶ ὁστισοῦν τὰ μηδαμοῦ ὄντα;

οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος.

τί οὖν; οἱ ῥήτορες ὅταν λέγωσιν ἐν τῷ δήμῳ, οὐδὲν πράττουσι;

πράττουσι μὲν οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν [284c] εἴπερ πράττουσι, καὶ ποιοῦσι;

ναί.

τὸ λέγειν ἄρα πράττειν τε καὶ ποιεῖν ἐστιν;

ὡμολόγησεν.

οὐκ ἄρα τά γε μὴ ὄντ᾽, ἔφη, λέγει οὐδείς ποιοῖ γὰρ ἂν ἤδη τί: σὺ δὲ ὡμολόγηκας τὸ μὴ ὂν μὴ οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι μηδένα ποιεῖν ὥστε κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον οὐδεὶς ψευδῆ λέγει, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ λέγει Διονυσόδωρος, τἀληθῆ τε καὶ τὰ ὄντα λέγει.

νὴ Δία, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος, ὦ Εὐθύδημε: ἀλλὰ τὰ ὄντα μὲν τρόπον τινὰ λέγει, οὐ μέντοι ὥς γε ἔχει.

πῶς λέγεις, ἔφη ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, ὦ Κτήσιππε; εἰσὶν [284d] γάρ τινες οἳ λέγουσι τὰ πράγματα ὡς ἔχει;

εἰσὶν μέντοι, ἔφη, οἱ καλοί τε κἀγαθοὶ καὶ οἱ τἀληθῆ λέγοντες.

τί οὖν; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς: τἀγαθὰ οὐκ εὖ, ἔφη, ἔχει, τὰ δὲ κακὰ κακῶς;

συνεχώρει.

τοὺς δὲ καλούς τε καὶ ἀγαθοὺς ὁμολογεῖς λέγειν ὡς ἔχει τὰ πράγματα;

ὁμολογῶ.

κακῶς ἄρα, ἔφη, λέγουσιν, ὦ Κτήσιππε, οἱ ἀγαθοὶ τὰ κακά, εἴπερ ὡς ἔχει λέγουσιν.

ναὶ μὰ Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, σφόδρα γε, τοὺς γοῦν κακοὺς ἀνθρώπους: ὧν σύ, ἐάν μοι πείθῃ, εὐλαβήσῃ εἶναι, [284e] ἵνα μή σε οἱ ἀγαθοὶ κακῶς λέγωσιν. ὡς εὖ ἴσθ᾽ ὅτι κακῶς λέγουσιν οἱ ἀγαθοὶ τοὺς κακούς.

καὶ τοὺς μεγάλους, ἔφη ὁ Εὐθύδημος, μεγάλως λέγουσι καὶ τοὺς θερμοὺς θερμῶς;

μάλιστα δήπου, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος: τοὺς γοῦν ψυχροὺς ψυχρῶς λέγουσί τε καὶ φασὶν διαλέγεσθαι.

σὺ μέν, ἔφη ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, λοιδορῇ, ὦ Κτήσιππε, λοιδορῇ.

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε, ἐπεὶ φιλῶ σε, ἀλλὰ νουθετῶ σε ὡς ἑταῖρον, καὶ πειρῶμαι πείθειν μηδέποτε ἐναντίον ἐμοῦ οὕτως ἀγροίκως λέγειν ὅτι ἐγὼ τούτους βούλομαι [285a] ἐξολωλέναι, οὓς περὶ πλείστου ποιοῦμαι.

ἐγὼ οὖν, ἐπειδή μοι ἐδόκουν ἀγριωτέρως πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἔχειν, προσέπαιζόν τε τὸν Κτήσιππον καὶ εἶπον ὅτι ὦ Κτήσιππε, ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ χρῆναι ἡμᾶς παρὰ τῶν ξένων δέχεσθαι ἃ λέγουσιν, ἐὰν ἐθέλωσι διδόναι, καὶ μὴ ὀνόματι διαφέρεσθαι. εἰ γὰρ ἐπίστανται οὕτως ἐξολλύναι ἀνθρώπους, ὥστ᾽ ἐκ πονηρῶν τε καὶ ἀφρόνων χρηστούς τε καὶ ἔμφρονας ποιεῖν, καὶ τοῦτο εἴτε αὐτὼ ηὑρήκατον εἴτε καὶ [285b] παρ᾽ ἄλλου του ἐμαθέτην φθόρον τινὰ καὶ ὄλεθρον τοιοῦτον, ὥστε ἀπολέσαντες πονηρὸν ὄντα χρηστὸν πάλιν ἀποφῆναι: εἰ τοῦτο ἐπίστασθον δῆλον δὲ ὅτι ἐπίστασθον: ἐφάτην γοῦν τὴν τέχνην σφῶν εἶναι τὴν νεωστὶ ηὑρημένην ἀγαθοὺς ποιεῖν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἐκ πονηρῶν συγχωρήσωμεν οὖν αὐτοῖν αὐτό: ἀπολεσάντων ἡμῖν τὸ μειράκιον καὶ φρόνιμον ποιησάντων, καὶ ἅπαντάς γε ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἄλλους. εἰ δὲ ὑμεῖς [285c] οἱ νέοι φοβεῖσθε, ὥσπερ ἐν Καρὶ ἐν ἐμοὶ ἔστω ὁ κίνδυνος: ὡς ἐγώ, ἐπειδὴ καὶ πρεσβύτης εἰμί, παρακινδυνεύειν ἕτοιμος καὶ παραδίδωμι ἐμαυτὸν Διονυσοδώρῳ τούτῳ ὥσπερ τῇ Μηδείᾳ τῇ Κόλχῳ. ἀπολλύτω με, καὶ εἰ μὲν βούλεται, ἑψέτω, εἰ δ᾽, ὅτι βούλεται, τοῦτο ποιείτω: μόνον χρηστὸν ἀποφηνάτω.

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος, ἐγὼ μέν, ἔφη, καὶ αὐτός, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἕτοιμός εἰμι παρέχειν ἐμαυτὸν τοῖς ξένοις, καὶ ἐὰν βούλωνται δέρειν ἔτι μᾶλλον ἢ νῦν δέρουσιν, εἴ μοι ἡ δορὰ μὴ εἰς [285d] ἀσκὸν τελευτήσει, ὥσπερ ἡ τοῦ Μαρσύου, ἀλλ᾽ εἰς ἀρετήν. καίτοι με οἴεται Διονυσόδωρος οὑτοσὶ χαλεπαίνειν αὐτῷ: ἐγὼ δὲ οὐ χαλεπαίνω, ἀλλ᾽ ἀντιλέγω πρὸς ταῦτα ἅ μοι δοκεῖ πρός με μὴ καλῶς λέγειν. ἀλλὰ σὺ τὸ ἀντιλέγειν, ἔφη, ὦ γενναῖε Διονυσόδωρε, μὴ κάλει λοιδορεῖσθαι: ἕτερον γάρ τί ἐστι τὸ λοιδορεῖσθαι.

καὶ Διονυσόδωρος, ὡς ὄντος, ἔφη, τοῦ ἀντιλέγειν, ὦ Κτήσιππε, ποιῇ τοὺς λόγους; [285e]

πάντως δήπου, ἔφη, καὶ σφόδρα γε: ἢ σύ, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε, οὐκ οἴει εἶναι ἀντιλέγειν;

οὔκουν σύ γ᾽ ἄν, ἔφη, ἀποδείξαις πώποτε ἀκούσας οὐδενὸς ἀντιλέγοντος ἑτέρου ἑτέρῳ.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις; ἔφη: ἀλλὰ ἀκούων μὲν νυνί σοι ἀποδείκνυμι ἀντιλέγοντος Κτησίππου Διονυσοδώρῳ.

ἦ καὶ ὑπόσχοις ἂν τούτου λόγον;

πάνυ, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς: εἰσὶν ἑκάστῳ τῶν ὄντων λόγοι;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν ὡς ἔστιν ἕκαστον ἢ ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν; [286a]

ὡς ἔστιν.

εἰ γὰρ μέμνησαι, ἔφη, ὦ Κτήσιππε, καὶ ἄρτι ἐπεδείξαμεν μηδένα λέγοντα ὡς οὐκ ἔστι: τὸ γὰρ μὴ ὂν οὐδεὶς ἐφάνη λέγων.

τί οὖν δὴ τοῦτο; ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Κτήσιππος: ἧττόν τι ἀντιλέγομεν ἐγώ τε καὶ σύ;

πότερον οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἀντιλέγοιμεν ἂν τοῦ αὐτοῦ πράγματος λόγον ἀμφότεροι λέγοντες, ἢ οὕτω μὲν ἂν δήπου ταὐτὰ λέγοιμεν;

συνεχώρει.

ἀλλ᾽ ὅταν μηδέτερος, ἔφη, τὸν τοῦ πράγματος [286b] λόγον λέγῃ, τότε ἀντιλέγοιμεν ἄν; ἢ οὕτω γε τὸ παράπαν οὐδ᾽ ἂν μεμνημένος εἴη τοῦ πράγματος οὐδέτερος ἡμῶν; καὶ τοῦτο συνωμολόγει.

ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα, ὅταν ἐγὼ μὲν τὸν τοῦ πράγματος λόγον λέγω, σὺ δὲ ἄλλου τινὸς ἄλλον, τότε ἀντιλέγομεν; ἢ ἐγὼ λέγω μὲν τὸ πρᾶγμα, σὺ δὲ οὐδὲ λέγεις τὸ παράπαν; ὁ δὲ μὴ λέγων τῷ λέγοντι πῶς <ἂν> ἀντιλέγοι;

καὶ ὁ μὲν Κτήσιππος ἐσίγησεν: ἐγὼ δὲ θαυμάσας τὸν λόγον, πῶς, ἔφην, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε, λέγεις; οὐ γάρ τοι [286c] ἀλλὰ τοῦτόν γε τὸν λόγον πολλῶν δὴ καὶ πολλάκις ἀκηκοὼς ἀεὶ θαυμάζω καὶ γὰρ οἱ ἀμφὶ Πρωταγόραν σφόδρα ἐχρῶντο αὐτῷ καὶ οἱ ἔτι παλαιότεροι: ἐμοὶ δὲ ἀεὶ θαυμαστός τις δοκεῖ εἶναι καὶ τούς τε ἄλλους ἀνατρέπων καὶ αὐτὸς αὑτόν οἶμαι δὲ αὐτοῦ τὴν ἀλήθειαν παρὰ σοῦ κάλλιστα πεύσεσθαι. ἄλλο τι ψευδῆ λέγειν οὐκ ἔστιν; τοῦτο γὰρ δύναται ὁ λόγος: ἦ γάρ; ἀλλ᾽ ἢ λέγοντ᾽ ἀληθῆ λέγειν ἢ μὴ λέγειν;

συνεχώρει. [286d]

πότερον οὖν ψευδῆ μὲν λέγειν οὐκ ἔστι, δοξάζειν μέντοι ἔστιν;

οὐδὲ δοξάζειν, ἔφη.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ψευδής, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δόξα ἔστι τὸ παράπαν.

οὐκ ἔφη.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ἀμαθία οὐδ᾽ ἀμαθεῖς ἄνθρωποι: ἢ οὐ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη ἀμαθία, εἴπερ εἴη, τὸ ψεύδεσθαι τῶν πραγμάτων;

πάνυ γε, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ τοῦτο οὐκ ἔστιν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

οὐκ ἔφη.

λόγου ἕνεκα, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε, λέγεις τὸν λόγον, ἵνα δὴ ἄτοπον λέγῃς, ἢ ὡς ἀληθῶς δοκεῖ σοι οὐδεὶς εἶναι ἀμαθὴς ἀνθρώπων; [286e]

ἀλλὰ σύ, ἔφη, ἔλεγξον.

ἦ καὶ ἔστι τοῦτο κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον, ἐξελέγξαι, μηδενὸς ψευδομένου;

οὐκ ἔστιν, ἔφη ὁ Εὐθύδημος.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ἐκέλευεν, ἔφην ἐγώ, νυνδὴ Διονυσόδωρος ἐξελέγξαι;

τὸ γὰρ μὴ ὂν πῶς ἄν τις κελεύσαι; σὺ δὲ κελεύεις;

ὅτι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, τὰ σοφὰ ταῦτα καὶ τὰ εὖ ἔχοντα οὐ πάνυ τι μανθάνω, ἀλλὰ παχέως πως ἐννοῶ. ἴσως μὲν οὖν φορτικώτερόν τι ἐρήσομαι, ἀλλὰ συγγίγνωσκε. [287a] ὅρα δέ: εἰ γὰρ μήτε ψεύδεσθαι ἔστιν μήτε ψευδῆ δοξάζειν μήτε ἀμαθῆ εἶναι, ἄλλο τι οὐδ᾽ ἐξαμαρτάνειν ἔστιν, ὅταν τίς τι πράττη; πράττοντα γὰρ οὐκ ἔστιν ἁμαρτάνειν τούτου ὃ πράττει: οὐχ οὕτω λέγετε;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

τοῦτό ἐστιν ἤδη, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ φορτικὸν ἐρώτημα. εἰ γὰρ μὴ ἁμαρτάνομεν μήτε πράττοντες μήτε λέγοντες μήτε διανοούμενοι, ὑμεῖς, ὦ πρὸς Διός, εἰ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει, τίνος διδάσκαλοι ἥκετε; ἢ οὐκ ἄρτι ἔφατε ἀρετὴν κάλλιστ᾽ ἂν [287b] παραδοῦναι ἀνθρώπων τῷ ἐθέλοντι μανθάνειν;

εἶτ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Διονυσόδωρος ὑπολαβών, οὕτως εἶ Κρόνος, ὥστε ἃ τὸ πρῶτον εἴπομεν νῦν ἀναμιμνῄσκῃ, καὶ εἴ τι πέρυσιν εἶπον, νῦν ἀναμνησθήσῃ, τοῖς δ᾽ ἐν τῷ παρόντι λεγομένοις οὐχ ἕξεις ὅτι χρῇ;

καὶ γάρ, ἔφην ἐγώ, χαλεποί εἰσιν πάνυ εἰκότως: παρὰ σοφῶν γὰρ λέγονται ἐπεὶ καὶ τούτῳ τῷ τελευταίῳ παγχάλεπον χρήσασθαί ἐστιν, ᾧ λέγεις. τὸ γὰρ οὐκ ἔχω ὅτι χρῶμαι τί ποτε λέγεις, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι ὡς [287c] οὐκ ἔχω ἐξελέγξαι αὐτόν; ἐπεὶ εἰπέ, τί σοι ἄλλο νοεῖ τοῦτο τὸ ῥῆμα, τὸ οὐκ ἔχω ὅτι χρήσωμαι τοῖς λόγοις ;

ἀλλ᾽ ὃ σὺ λέγεις, ἔφη, [τούτῳ τῷ πάνυ χαλεπὸν χρῆσθαι:] ἐπεὶ ἀπόκριναι.

πρὶν σὲ ἀποκρίνασθαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε;

οὐκ ἀποκρίνῃ; ἔφη.

ἦ καὶ δίκαιον;

δίκαιον μέντοι, ἔφη.

κατὰ τίνα λόγον; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἢ δῆλον ὅτι κατὰ τόνδε, ὅτι σὺ νῦν πάσσοφός τις ἡμῖν ἀφῖξαι περὶ λόγους, καὶ οἶσθα [287d] ὅτε δεῖ ἀποκρίνασθαι καὶ ὅτε μή; καὶ νῦν οὐδ᾽ ἂν ὁτιοῦν ἀποκρίνῃ, ἅτε γιγνώσκων ὅτι οὐ δεῖ;

λαλεῖς, ἔφη, ἀμελήσας ἀποκρίνασθαι: ἀλλ᾽, ὠγαθέ, πείθου καὶ ἀποκρίνου, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ὁμολογεῖς με σοφὸν εἶναι.

πειστέον τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἀνάγκη, ὡς ἔοικεν: σὺ γὰρ ἄρχεις. ἀλλ᾽ ἐρώτα.

πότερον οὖν ψυχὴν ἔχοντα νοεῖ τὰ νοοῦντα, ἢ καὶ τὰ ἄψυχα;

τὰ ψυχὴν ἔχοντα.

οἶσθα οὖν τι, ἔφη, ῥῆμα ψυχὴν ἔχον;

μὰ Δία οὐκ ἔγωγε. [287e]

τί οὖν ἄρτι ἤρου ὅτι μοι νοοῖ τὸ ῥῆμα;

τί ἄλλο γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἢ ἐξήμαρτον διὰ τὴν βλακείαν; ἢ οὐκ ἐξήμαρτον ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτο ὀρθῶς εἶπον, εἰπὼν ὅτι νοεῖ τὰ ῥήματα; πότερα φῂς ἐξαμαρτάνειν με ἢ οὔ; εἰ γὰρ μὴ ἐξήμαρτον, οὐδὲ σὺ ἐξελέγξεις, καίπερ σοφὸς ὤν, οὐδ᾽ ἔχεις ὅτι χρῇ τῷ λόγῳ: εἰ δ᾽ ἐξήμαρτον, οὐδ᾽ οὕτως ὀρθῶς [288a] λέγεις, φάσκων οὐκ εἶναι ἐξαμαρτάνειν. καὶ ταῦτα οὐ πρὸς ἃ πέρυσιν ἔλεγες λέγω. ἀλλὰ ἔοικεν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὦ Διονυσόδωρέ τε καὶ Εὐθύδημε, οὗτος μὲν ὁ λόγος ἐν ταὐτῷ μένειν καὶ ἔτι ὥσπερ τὸ παλαιὸν καταβαλὼν πίπτειν, καὶ ὥστε τοῦτο μὴ πάσχειν οὐδ᾽ ὑπὸ τῆς ὑμετέρας πω τέχνης ἐξηυρῆσθαι, καὶ ταῦτα οὑτωσὶ θαυμαστῆς οὔσης εἰς ἀκρίβειαν λόγων.

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος, Θαυμάσιά γε λέγετ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ ἄνδρες [288b] θούριοι εἴτε Χῖοι εἴθ᾽ ὁπόθεν καὶ ὅπῃ χαίρετον ὀνομαζόμενοι: ὡς οὐδὲν ὑμῖν μέλει τοῦ παραληρεῖν. καὶ ἐγὼ φοβηθεὶς μὴ λοιδορία γένηται, πάλιν κατεπράυνον τὸν Κτήσιππον καὶ εἶπον: ὦ Κτήσιππε, καὶ νυνδὴ ἃ πρὸς Κλεινίαν ἔλεγον, καὶ πρὸς σὲ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα λέγω, ὅτι οὐ γιγνώσκεις τῶν ξένων τὴν σοφίαν ὅτι θαυμασία ἐστίν. ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐθέλετον ἡμῖν ἐπιδείξασθαι σπουδάζοντε, ἀλλὰ τὸν Πρωτέα μιμεῖσθον τὸν Αἰγύπτιον σοφιστὴν γοητεύοντε ἡμᾶς. [288c] ἡμεῖς οὖν τὸν Μενέλαον μιμώμεθα, καὶ μὴ ἀφιώμεθα τοῖν ἀνδροῖν ἕως ἂν ἡμῖν ἐκφανῆτον ἐφ᾽ ᾧ αὐτὼ σπουδάζετον: οἶμαι γάρ τι αὐτοῖν πάγκαλον φανεῖσθαι, ἐπειδὰν ἄρξωνται σπουδάζειν. ἀλλὰ δεώμεθα καὶ παραμυθώμεθα καὶ προσευχώμεθα αὐτοῖν ἐκφανῆναι. ἐγὼ οὖν μοι δοκῶ καὶ αὐτὸς πάλιν ὑφηγήσασθαι οἵω προσεύχομαι αὐτὼ φανῆναί μοι: ὅθεν γὰρ [288d] τὸ πρότερον ἀπέλιπον, τὸ ἑξῆς τούτοις πειράσομαι, ὅπως ἂν δύνωμαι, διελθεῖν, ἐάν πως ἐκκαλέσωμαι καὶ ἐλεήσαντέ με καὶ οἰκτίραντε συντεταμένον καὶ σπουδάζοντα καὶ αὐτὼ σπουδάσητον.

σὺ δέ, ὦ Κλεινία, ἔφην, ἀνάμνησόν με πόθεν τότ᾽ ἀπελίπομεν. ὡς μὲν οὖν ἐγᾦμαι, ἐνθένδε ποθέν. φιλοσοφητέον ὡμολογήσαμεν τελευτῶντες: ἦ γάρ;

ναί, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἡ δέ γε φιλοσοφία κτῆσις ἐπιστήμης: οὐχ οὕτως; ἔφην.

ναί, ἔφη.

τίνα ποτ᾽ οὖν ἂν κτησάμενοι ἐπιστήμην ὀρθῶς [288e] κτησαίμεθα; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τοῦτο μὲν ἁπλοῦν, ὅτι ταύτην ἥτις ἡμᾶς ὀνήσει;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἄν τι ἡμᾶς ὀνήσειεν, εἰ ἐπισταίμεθα γιγνώσκειν περιιόντες ὅπου τῆς γῆς χρυσίον πλεῖστον κατορώρυκται;

ἴσως, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ τὸ πρότερον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοῦτό γε ἐξηλέγξαμεν, ὅτι οὐδὲν πλέον, οὐδ᾽ εἰ ἄνευ πραγμάτων καὶ τοῦ ὀρύττειν τὴν γῆν τὸ πᾶν ἡμῖν χρυσίον γένοιτο: ὥστε οὐδ᾽ εἰ τὰς πέτρας χρυσᾶς ἐπισταίμεθα [289a] ποιεῖν, οὐδενὸς ἂν ἀξία ἡ ἐπιστήμη εἴη. εἰ γὰρ μὴ καὶ χρῆσθαι ἐπιστησόμεθα τῷ χρυσίῳ, οὐδὲν ὄφελος αὐτοῦ ἐφάνη ὄν: ἢ οὐ μέμνησαι; ἔφην ἐγώ.

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη, μέμνημαι.

οὐδέ γε, ὡς ἔοικε, τῆς ἄλλης ἐπιστήμης ὄφελος γίγνεται οὐδέν, οὔτε χρηματιστικῆς οὔτε ἰατρικῆς οὔτε ἄλλης οὐδεμιᾶς, ἥτις ποιεῖν τι ἐπίσταται, χρῆσθαι δὲ μὴ ᾧ ἂν ποιήσῃ: οὐχ οὕτως;

συνέφη.

οὐδέ γε εἴ τις ἔστιν ἐπιστήμη [289b] ὥστε ἀθανάτους ποιεῖν, ἄνευ τοῦ ἐπίστασθαι τῇ ἀθανασίᾳ χρῆσθαι οὐδὲ ταύτης ἔοικεν ὄφελος οὐδέν, εἴ τι δεῖ τοῖς πρόσθεν ὡμολογημένοις τεκμαίρεσθαι.

συνεδόκει ἡμῖν πάντα ταῦτα.

τοιαύτης τινὸς ἄρα ἡμῖν ἐπιστήμης δεῖ, ὦ καλὲ παῖ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐν ᾗ συμπέπτωκεν ἅμα τό τε ποιεῖν καὶ τὸ ἐπίστασθαι χρῆσθαι τούτῳ ὃ ἂν ποιῇ.

φαίνεται, ἔφη.

πολλοῦ ἄρα δεῖ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡμᾶς λυροποιοὺς δεῖν [289c] εἶναι καὶ τοιαύτης τινὸς ἐπιστήμης ἐπηβόλους. ἐνταῦθα γὰρ δὴ χωρὶς μὲν ἡ ποιοῦσα τέχνη, χωρὶς δὲ ἡ χρωμένη διῄρηται τοῦ αὐτοῦ πέρι: ἡ γὰρ λυροποιικὴ καὶ ἡ κιθαριστικὴ πολὺ διαφέρετον ἀλλήλοιν. οὐχ οὕτως;

συνέφη.

οὐδὲ μὴν αὐλοποιικῆς γε δῆλον ὅτι δεόμεθα: καὶ γὰρ αὕτη ἑτέρα τοιαύτη.

συνεδόκει.

ἀλλὰ πρὸς θεῶν, ἔφην ἐγώ, εἰ τὴν λογοποιικὴν τέχνην μάθοιμεν, ἆρά ἐστιν αὕτη ἣν ἔδει κεκτημένους ἡμᾶς εὐδαίμονας εἶναι;

οὐκ οἶμαι, ἔφη, ἐγώ, ὁ Κλεινίας ὑπολαβών. [289d]

τίνι τεκμηρίῳ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, χρῇ;

ὁρῶ, ἔφη, τινὰς λογοποιούς, οἳ τοῖς ἰδίοις λόγοις, οἷς αὐτοὶ ποιοῦσιν, οὐκ ἐπίστανται χρῆσθαι, ὥσπερ οἱ λυροποιοὶ ταῖς λύραις, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἄλλοι δυνατοὶ χρῆσθαι οἷς ἐκεῖνοι ἠργάσαντο, οἱ λογοποιεῖν αὐτοὶ ἀδύνατοι: δῆλον οὖν ὅτι καὶ περὶ λόγους χωρὶς ἡ τοῦ ποιεῖν τέχνη καὶ ἡ τοῦ χρῆσθαι. ἱκανόν μοι δοκεῖς, ἔφην ἐγώ, τεκμήριον λέγειν, ὅτι οὐχ αὕτη ἐστὶν ἡ τῶν λογοποιῶν τέχνη, ἣν ἂν κτησάμενός τις εὐδαίμων εἴη. καίτοι ἐγὼ ᾤμην ἐνταῦθά που φανήσεσθαι [289e] τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἣν δὴ πάλαι ζητοῦμεν. καὶ γάρ μοι οἵ τε ἄνδρες αὐτοὶ οἱ λογοποιοί, ὅταν συγγένωμαι αὐτοῖς, ὑπέρσοφοι, ὦ Κλεινία, δοκοῦσιν εἶναι, καὶ αὐτὴ ἡ τέχνη αὐτῶν θεσπεσία τις καὶ ὑψηλή. καὶ μέντοι οὐδὲν θαυμαστόν: ἔστι γὰρ τῆς τῶν ἐπῳδῶν τέχνης μόριον μικρῷ τε ἐκείνης ὑποδεεστέρα. [290a] ἡ μὲν γὰρ τῶν ἐπῳδῶν ἔχεών τε καὶ φαλαγγίων καὶ σκορπίων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων θηρίων τε καὶ νόσων κήλησίς ἐστιν, ἡ δὲ δικαστῶν τε καὶ ἐκκλησιαστῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὄχλων κήλησίς τε καὶ παραμυθία τυγχάνει οὖσα: ἢ σοί, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἄλλως πως δοκεῖ;

οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω μοι φαίνεται, ἔφη, ὡς σὺ λέγεις.

ποῖ οὖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, τραποίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἔτι; ἐπὶ ποίαν τέχνην;

ἐγὼ μὲν οὐκ εὐπορῶ, ἔφη.

ἀλλ᾽, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐμὲ οἶμαι ηὑρηκέναι.

τίνα; ἔφη ὁ Κλεινίας. [290b]

ἡ στρατηγική μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφην ἐγώ, τέχνη παντὸς μᾶλλον εἶναι ἣν ἄν τις κτησάμενος εὐδαίμων εἴη.

οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

πῶς; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

θηρευτική τις ἥδε γέ ἐστιν τέχνη ἀνθρώπων.

τί δὴ οὖν; ἔφην ἐγώ.

οὐδεμία, ἔφη, τῆς θηρευτικῆς αὐτῆς ἐπὶ πλέον ἐστὶν ἢ ὅσον θηρεῦσαι καὶ χειρώσασθαι: ἐπειδὰν δὲ χειρώσωνται τοῦτο ὃ ἂν θηρεύωνται, οὐ δύνανται τούτῳ χρῆσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ οἱ μὲν κυνηγέται καὶ οἱ ἁλιῆς τοῖς ὀψοποιοῖς παραδιδόασιν, οἱ [290c] δ᾽ αὖ γεωμέτραι καὶ οἱ ἀστρονόμοι καὶ οἱ λογιστικοί θηρευτικοὶ γάρ εἰσι καὶ οὗτοι: οὐ γὰρ ποιοῦσι τὰ διαγράμματα ἕκαστοι τούτων, ἀλλὰ τὰ ὄντα ἀνευρίσκουσιν ἅτε οὖν χρῆσθαι αὐτοὶ αὐτοῖς οὐκ ἐπιστάμενοι, ἀλλὰ θηρεῦσαι μόνον, παραδιδόασι δήπου τοῖς διαλεκτικοῖς καταχρῆσθαι αὐτῶν τοῖς εὑρήμασιν, ὅσοι γε αὐτῶν μὴ παντάπασιν ἀνόητοί εἰσιν.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ κάλλιστε καὶ σοφώτατε Κλεινία: τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. καὶ οἵ γε στρατηγοί, ἔφη, οὕτω τὸν αὐτὸν [290d] τρόπον: ἐπειδὰν ἢ πόλιν τινὰ θηρεύσωνται ἢ στρατόπεδον, παραδιδόασι τοῖς πολιτικοῖς ἀνδράσιν αὐτοὶ γὰρ οὐκ ἐπίστανται χρῆσθαι τούτοις ἃ ἐθήρευσαν ὥσπερ οἶμαι οἱ ὀρτυγοθῆραι τοῖς ὀρτυγοτρόφοις παραδιδόασιν. εἰ οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, δεόμεθα ἐκείνης τῆς τέχνης, ἥτις ᾧ ἂν κτήσηται ἢ ποιήσασα ἢ θηρευσαμένη αὐτὴ καὶ ἐπιστήσεται χρῆσθαι, καὶ ἡ τοιαύτη ποιήσει ἡμᾶς μακαρίους, ἄλλην δή τινα, ἔφη, ζητητέον ἀντὶ τῆς στρατηγικῆς. [290e]

Κρίτων: τί λέγεις σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἐκεῖνο τὸ μειράκιον τοιαῦτ᾽ ἐφθέγξατο;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ οἴει, ὦ Κρίτων;

Κρίτων: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐ μέντοι. οἶμαι γὰρ αὐτὸν ἐγώ, εἰ ταῦτ᾽ εἶπεν, οὔτ᾽ Εὐθυδήμου οὔτε ἄλλου οὐδενὸς ἔτ᾽ ἀνθρώπου δεῖσθαι εἰς παιδείαν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα, ὦ πρὸς Διός, μὴ ὁ Κτήσιππος ἦν ὁ ταῦτ᾽ εἰπών, ἐγὼ δὲ οὐ μέμνημαι; [291a]

Κρίτων: ποῖος Κτήσιππος;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τόδε γε εὖ οἶδα, ὅτι οὔτε Εὐθύδημος οὔτε Διονυσόδωρος ἦν ὁ εἰπὼν ταῦτα: ἀλλ᾽, ὦ δαιμόνιε Κρίτων:, μή τις τῶν κρειττόνων παρὼν αὐτὰ ἐφθέγξατο; ὅτι γὰρ ἤκουσά γε ταῦτα, εὖ οἶδα.

Κρίτων: ναὶ μὰ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες: τῶν κρειττόνων μέντοι τις ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, καὶ πολύ γε. ἀλλὰ μετὰ τοῦτο ἔτι τινὰ ἐζητήσατε τέχνην; καὶ ηὕρετε ἐκείνην ἢ οὐχ ηὕρετε, ἧς ἕνεκα ἐζητεῖτε; [291b]

Σωκράτης: πόθεν, ὦ μακάριε, ηὕρομεν; ἀλλ᾽ ἦμεν πάνυ γελοῖοι: ὥσπερ τὰ παιδία τὰ τοὺς κορύδους διώκοντα, ἀεὶ ᾠόμεθα ἑκάστην τῶν ἐπιστημῶν αὐτίκα λήψεσθαι, αἱ δ᾽ ἀεὶ ὑπεξέφευγον. τὰ μὲν οὖν πολλὰ τί ἄν σοι λέγοιμι; ἐπὶ δὲ δὴ τὴν βασιλικὴν ἐλθόντες τέχνην καὶ διασκοπούμενοι αὐτὴν εἰ αὕτη εἴη ἡ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν παρέχουσά τε καὶ ἀπεργαζομένη, ἐνταῦθα ὥσπερ εἰς λαβύρινθον ἐμπεσόντες, οἰόμενοι ἤδη ἐπὶ τέλει εἶναι, περικάμψαντες πάλιν ὥσπερ ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆς [291c] ζητήσεως ἀνεφάνημεν ὄντες καὶ τοῦ ἴσου δεόμενοι ὅσουπερ ὅτε τὸ πρῶτον ἐζητοῦμεν.

Κρίτων: πῶς δὴ τοῦτο ὑμῖν συνέβη, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ φράσω. ἔδοξε γὰρ δὴ ἡμῖν ἡ πολιτικὴ καὶ ἡ βασιλικὴ τέχνη ἡ αὐτὴ εἶναι.

Κρίτων: τί οὖν δή;

Σωκράτης: ταύτῃ τῇ τέχνῃ ἥ τε στρατηγικὴ καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι παραδιδόναι ἄρχειν τῶν ἔργων ὧν αὐταὶ δημιουργοί εἰσιν, ὡς μόνῃ ἐπισταμένῃ χρῆσθαι. σαφῶς οὖν ἐδόκει ἡμῖν αὕτη εἶναι ἣν ἐζητοῦμεν, καὶ ἡ αἰτία τοῦ ὀρθῶς πράττειν ἐν τῇ [291d] πόλει, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς κατὰ τὸ Αἰσχύλου ἰαμβεῖον μόνη ἐν τῇ πρύμνῃ καθῆσθαι τῆς πόλεως, πάντα κυβερνῶσα καὶ πάντων ἄρχουσα πάντα χρήσιμα ποιεῖν.

Κρίτων: οὐκοῦν καλῶς ὑμῖν ἐδόκει, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: σὺ κρινεῖς, ὦ Κρίτων, ἐὰν βούλῃ ἀκούειν καὶ τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα συμβάντα ἡμῖν. αὖθις γὰρ δὴ πάλιν ἐσκοποῦμεν ὧδέ πως: φέρε, πάντων ἄρχουσα ἡ βασιλικὴ τέχνη τὶ ἡμῖν [291e] ἀπεργάζεται ἔργον ἢ οὐδέν; πάντως δήπου, ἡμεῖς ἔφαμεν πρὸς ἀλλήλους. οὐ καὶ σὺ ἂν ταῦτα φαίης, ὦ Κρίτων;

Κρίτων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν ἂν φαίης αὐτῆς ἔργον εἶναι; ὥσπερ εἰ σὲ ἐγὼ ἐρωτῴην, πάντων ἄρχουσα ἡ ἰατρικὴ ὧν ἄρχει, τί ἔργον παρέχεται; οὐ τὴν ὑγίειαν <ἂν> φαίης;

Κρίτων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ἡ ὑμετέρα τέχνη ἡ γεωργία; πάντων ἄρχουσα [292a] ὧν ἄρχει, τί [ἔργον] ἀπεργάζεται; οὐ τὴν τροφὴν ἂν φαίης τὴν ἐκ τῆς γῆς παρέχειν ἡμῖν;

Κρίτων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ἡ βασιλικὴ πάντων ἄρχουσα ὧν ἄρχει; τί ἀπεργάζεται; ἴσως οὐ πάνυ γ᾽ εὐπορεῖς.

Κρίτων: μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἡμεῖς, ὦ Κρίτων: ἀλλὰ τοσόνδε γε οἶσθα, ὅτι εἴπερ ἐστὶν αὕτη ἣν ἡμεῖς ζητοῦμεν, ὠφέλιμον αὐτὴν δεῖ εἶναι.

Κρίτων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀγαθόν γέ τι δεῖ ἡμῖν αὐτὴν παραδιδόναι;

Κρίτων: ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες. [292b]

Σωκράτης: ἀγαθὸν δέ γέ που ὡμολογήσαμεν ἀλλήλοις ἐγώ τε καὶ Κλεινίας οὐδὲν εἶναι ἄλλο ἢ ἐπιστήμην τινά.

Κρίτων: ναί, οὕτως ἔλεγες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ἔργα, ἃ φαίη ἄν τις πολιτικῆς εἶναι πολλὰ δέ που ταῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη, οἷον πλουσίους τοὺς πολίτας παρέχειν καὶ ἐλευθέρους καὶ ἀστασιάστους πάντα ταῦτα οὔτε κακὰ οὔτε ἀγαθὰ ἐφάνη, ἔδει δὲ σοφοὺς ποιεῖν καὶ ἐπιστήμης μεταδιδόναι, εἴπερ ἔμελλεν αὕτη εἶναι ἡ [292c] ὠφελοῦσά τε καὶ εὐδαίμονας ποιοῦσα.

Κρίτων: ἔστι ταῦτα: τότε γοῦν οὕτως ὑμῖν ὡμολογήθη, ὡς σὺ τοὺς λόγους ἀπήγγειλας.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἡ βασιλικὴ σοφοὺς ποιεῖ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους καὶ ἀγαθούς;

Κρίτων: τί γὰρ κωλύει, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα πάντας καὶ πάντα ἀγαθούς; καὶ πᾶσαν ἐπιστήμην, σκυτοτομικήν τε καὶ τεκτονικὴν καὶ τὰς ἄλλας ἁπάσας, αὕτη ἡ παραδιδοῦσά ἐστιν;

Κρίτων: οὐκ οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες. [292d]

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τίνα δὴ ἐπιστήμην; ᾗ τί χρησόμεθα; τῶν μὲν γὰρ ἔργων οὐδενὸς δεῖ αὐτὴν δημιουργὸν εἶναι τῶν μήτε κακῶν μήτε ἀγαθῶν, ἐπιστήμην δὲ παραδιδόναι μηδεμίαν ἄλλην ἢ αὐτὴν ἑαυτήν. λέγωμεν δὴ οὖν τίς ποτέ ἐστιν αὕτη, ᾗ τί χρησόμεθα; βούλει φῶμεν, ὦ Κρίτων, ᾗ ἄλλους ἀγαθοὺς ποιήσομεν;

Κρίτων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οἳ τί ἔσονται ἡμῖν ἀγαθοὶ καὶ τί χρήσιμοι; ἢ ἔτι λέγωμεν ὅτι ἄλλους ποιήσουσιν, οἱ δὲ ἄλλοι ἐκεῖνοι ἄλλους; [292e] ὅτι δέ ποτε ἀγαθοί εἰσιν, οὐδαμοῦ ἡμῖν φαίνονται, ἐπειδήπερ τὰ ἔργα τὰ λεγόμενα εἶναι τῆς πολιτικῆς ἠτιμάσαμεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀτεχνῶς τὸ λεγόμενον ὁ Διὸς Κόρινθος γίγνεται, καὶ ὅπερ ἔλεγον, τοῦ ἴσου ἡμῖν ἐνδεῖ ἢ ἔτι πλέονος πρὸς τὸ εἰδέναι τίς ποτέ ἐστιν ἡ ἐπιστήμη ἐκείνη ἣ ἡμᾶς εὐδαίμονας ποιήσει;

Κρίτων: νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰς πολλήν γε ἀπορίαν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀφίκεσθε.

Σωκράτης: ἔγωγε οὖν καὶ αὐτός, ὦ Κρίτων, ἐπειδὴ ἐν ταύτῃ [293a] τῇ ἀπορίᾳ ἐνεπεπτώκη, πᾶσαν ἤδη φωνὴν ἠφίειν, δεόμενος τοῖν ξένοιν ὥσπερ Διοσκούρων ἐπικαλούμενος σῶσαι ἡμᾶς, ἐμέ τε καὶ τὸ μειράκιον, ἐκ τῆς τρικυμίας τοῦ λόγου, καὶ παντὶ τρόπῳ σπουδάσαι, καὶ σπουδάσαντας ἐπιδεῖξαι τίς ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ ἐπιστήμη ἧς τυχόντες ἂν καλῶς τὸν ἐπίλοιπον βίον διέλθοιμεν.

Κρίτων: τί οὖν; ἠθέλησέν τι ὑμῖν ἐπιδεῖξαι ὁ Εὐθύδημος;

Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; καὶ ἤρξατό γε, ὦ ἑταῖρε, πάνυ μεγαλοφρόνως τοῦ λόγου ὧδε [293b]

πότερον δή σε, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταύτην τὴν ἐπιστήμην, περὶ ἣν πάλαι ἀπορεῖτε, διδάξω, ἢ ἐπιδείξω ἔχοντα;

ὦ μακάριε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔστι δὲ ἐπὶ σοὶ τοῦτο;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἐπίδειξον τοίνυν με νὴ Δί᾽, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἔχοντα: πολὺ γὰρ ῥᾷον ἢ μανθάνειν τηλικόνδε ἄνδρα.

φέρε δή μοι ἀπόκριναι, ἔφη: ἔστιν ὅτι ἐπίστασαι;

πάνυ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ πολλά, σμικρά γε.

ἀρκεῖ, ἔφη. ἆρ᾽ οὖν δοκεῖς οἷόν τέ τι τῶν ὄντων τοῦτο ὃ τυγχάνει ὄν, αὐτὸ τοῦτο [293c] μὴ εἶναι;

ἀλλὰ μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

οὐκοῦν σύ, ἔφη, ἐπίστασαί τι;

ἔγωγε.

οὐκοῦν ἐπιστήμων εἶ, εἴπερ ἐπίστασαι;

πάνυ γε, τούτου γε αὐτοῦ.

οὐδὲν διαφέρει: ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη σε ἔχει πάντα ἐπίστασθαι ἐπιστήμονά γε ὄντα;

μὰ Δί᾽, ἔφην ἐγώ: ἐπεὶ πολλὰ ἄλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐπίσταμαι.

οὐκοῦν εἴ τι μὴ ἐπίστασαι, οὐκ ἐπιστήμων εἶ.

ἐκείνου γε, ὦ φίλε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

ἧττον οὖν τι, ἔφη, οὐκ ἐπιστήμων εἶ; ἄρτι δὲ ἐπιστήμων ἔφησθα εἶναι: καὶ οὕτως τυγχάνεις ὢν [293d] αὐτὸς οὗτος ὃς εἶ, καὶ αὖ πάλιν οὐκ εἶ, κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἅμα. εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, Εὐθύδημε: τὸ γὰρ λεγόμενον, καλὰ δὴ παταγεῖς: πῶς οὖν ἐπίσταμαι ἐκείνην τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἣν ἐζητοῦμεν; ὡς δὴ τοῦτο ἀδύνατόν ἐστιν τὸ αὐτὸ εἶναί τε καὶ μή, εἴπερ ἓν ἐπίσταμαι, ἅπαντα ἐπίσταμαι οὐ γὰρ ἂν εἴην ἐπιστήμων τε καὶ ἀνεπιστήμων ἅμα ἐπεὶ δὲ πάντα ἐπίσταμαι, κἀκείνην δὴ τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἔχω: ἆρα οὕτως λέγεις, καὶ τοῦτό ἐστιν τὸ σοφόν; [293e]

αὐτὸς σαυτόν γε δὴ ἐξελέγχεις, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

τί δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, σὺ οὐ πέπονθας τοῦτο τὸ αὐτὸ πάθος; ἐγὼ γάρ τοι μετὰ σοῦ ὁτιοῦν ἂν πάσχων καὶ μετὰ Διονυσοδώρου τοῦδε, φίλης κεφαλῆς, οὐκ ἂν πάνυ ἀγανακτοίην. εἰπέ μοι, σφὼ οὐχὶ τὰ μὲν ἐπίστασθον τῶν ὄντων, τὰ δὲ οὐκ ἐπίστασθον;

ἥκιστά γε, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Διονυσόδωρος.

πῶς λέγετον; ἔφην ἐγώ: ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν ἄρα ἐπίστασθον;

καὶ μάλα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [294a]

πάντ᾽ ἄρα, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐπίστασθον, ἐπειδήπερ καὶ ὁτιοῦν;

πάντ᾽, ἔφη: καὶ σύ γε πρός, εἴπερ καὶ ἓν ἐπίστασαι, πάντα ἐπίστασαι.

ὦ Ζεῦ, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὡς θαυμαστὸν λέγεις καὶ ἀγαθὸν μέγα πεφάνθαι. μῶν καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες ἄνθρωποι πάντ᾽ ἐπίστανται, ἢ οὐδέν;

οὐ γὰρ δήπου, ἔφη, τὰ μὲν ἐπίστανται, τὰ δ᾽ οὐκ ἐπίστανται, καὶ εἰσὶν ἅμα ἐπιστήμονές τε καὶ ἀνεπιστήμονες.

ἀλλὰ τί; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

πάντες, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, πάντα ἐπίστανται, εἴπερ καὶ ἕν. [294b]

ὦ πρὸς τῶν θεῶν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε δῆλοι γάρ μοί ἐστον ἤδη ὅτι σπουδάζετον, καὶ μόλις ὑμᾶς προυκαλεσάμην σπουδάζειν αὐτὼ τῷ ὄντι πάντα ἐπίστασθον; οἷον τεκτονικὴν καὶ σκυτικήν;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἦ καὶ νευρορραφεῖν δυνατώ ἐστον;

καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δία καττύειν, ἔφη.

ἦ καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, τοὺς ἀστέρας ὁπόσοι εἰσί, καὶ τὴν ἄμμον;

πάνυ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς: εἶτ᾽ οὐκ ἂν οἴει ὁμολογῆσαι ἡμᾶς;

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος ὑπολαβών: πρὸς Διός, ἔφη, Διονυσόδωρε, [294c] τεκμήριόν τί μοι τούτων ἐπιδείξατον τοιόνδε, ᾧ εἴσομαι ὅτι ἀληθῆ λέγετον.

τί ἐπιδείξω; ἔφη.

οἶσθα Εὐθύδημον ὁπόσους ὀδόντας ἔχει, καὶ ὁ Εὐθύδημος ὁπόσους σύ;

οὐκ ἐξαρκεῖ σοι, ἔφη, ἀκοῦσαι ὅτι πάντα ἐπιστάμεθα;

μηδαμῶς, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο ἔτι ἡμῖν μόνον εἴπατον καὶ ἐπιδείξατον ὅτι ἀληθῆ λέγετον: καὶ ἐὰν εἴπητον ὁπόσους ἑκάτερος ἔχει ὑμῶν, καὶ φαίνησθε γνόντες ἡμῶν ἀριθμησάντων, ἤδη πεισόμεθα ὑμῖν καὶ τἆλλα. [294d]

ἡγουμένω οὖν σκώπτεσθαι οὐκ ἠθελέτην, ἀλλ᾽ ὡμολογησάτην πάντα χρήματα ἐπίστασθαι, καθ᾽ ἓν ἕκαστον ἐρωτώμενοι ὑπὸ Κτησίππου. ὁ γὰρ Κτήσιππος πάνυ ἀπαρακαλύπτως οὐδὲν ὅτι οὐκ ἠρώτα τελευτῶν, καὶ τὰ αἴσχιστα, εἰ ἐπισταίσθην: τὼ δὲ ἀνδρειότατα ὁμόσε ᾔτην τοῖς ἐρωτήμασιν, ὁμολογοῦντες εἰδέναι, ὥσπερ οἱ κάπροι οἱ πρὸς τὴν πληγὴν ὁμόσε ὠθούμενοι, ὥστ᾽ ἔγωγε καὶ αὐτός, ὦ Κρίτων, ὑπ᾽ ἀπιστίας ἠναγκάσθην τελευτῶν ἐρέσθαι [τὸν Εὐθύδημον] εἰ [294e] καὶ ὀρχεῖσθαι ἐπίσταιτο ὁ Διονυσόδωρος: ὁ δέ, πάνυ, ἔφη.

οὐ δήπου, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἐς μαχαίρας γε κυβιστᾶν καὶ ἐπὶ τροχοῦ δινεῖσθαι τηλικοῦτος ὤν, οὕτω πόρρω σοφίας ἥκεις;

οὐδέν, ἔφη, ὅτι οὔ.

πότερον δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πάντα νῦν μόνον ἐπίστασθον ἢ καὶ ἀεί;

καὶ ἀεί, ἔφη.

καὶ ὅτε παιδία ἤστην καὶ εὐθὺς γενόμενοι ἠπίστασθε πάντα;

ἐφάτην ἅμα ἀμφοτέρω. [295a]

καὶ ἡμῖν μὲν ἄπιστον ἐδόκει τὸ πρᾶγμα εἶναι: ὁ δ᾽ Εὐθύδημος, ἀπιστεῖς, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες;

πλήν γ᾽ ὅτι, <ἦν δ᾽> ἐγώ, εἰκὸς ὑμᾶς ἐστι σοφοὺς εἶναι.

ἀλλ᾽ ἤν, ἔφη, ἐθελήσῃς μοι ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἐγὼ ἐπιδείξω καὶ σὲ ταῦτα τὰ θαυμαστὰ ὁμολογοῦντα.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἥδιστα ταῦτα ἐξελέγχομαι. εἰ γάρ τοι λέληθα ἐμαυτὸν σοφὸς ὤν, σὺ δὲ τοῦτο ἐπιδείξεις ὡς πάντα ἐπίσταμαι καὶ ἀεί, τί μεῖζον ἕρμαιον αὐτοῦ ἂν εὕροιμι ἐν παντὶ τῷ βίῳ;

ἀποκρίνου δή, ἔφη. [295b]

ὡς ἀποκρινουμένου ἐρώτα.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπιστήμων του εἶ ἢ οὔ;

ἔγωγε.

πότερον οὖν ᾧ ἐπιστήμων εἶ, τούτῳ καὶ ἐπίστασαι, ἢ ἄλλῳ τῳ;

ὧι ἐπιστήμων. οἶμαι γάρ σε τὴν ψυχὴν λέγειν: ἢ οὐ τοῦτο λέγεις;

οὐκ αἰσχύνῃ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἐρωτώμενος ἀντερωτᾷς;

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἀλλὰ πῶς ποιῶ; οὕτω γὰρ ποιήσω ὅπως ἂν σὺ κελεύῃς. ὅταν μὴ εἰδῶ ὅτι ἐρωτᾷς, κελεύεις με ὅμως ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἀλλὰ μὴ ἐπανερέσθαι; [295c]

ὑπολαμβάνεις γὰρ δήπου τι, ἔφη, ὃ λέγω;

ἔγωγε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

πρὸς τοῦτο τοίνυν ἀποκρίνου ὃ ὑπολαμβάνεις.

τί οὖν, ἔφην, ἂν σὺ μὲν ἄλλῃ ἐρωτᾷς διανοούμενος, ἐγὼ δὲ ἄλλῃ ὑπολάβω, ἔπειτα πρὸς τοῦτο ἀποκρίνωμαι, ἐξαρκεῖ σοι ἐὰν μηδὲν πρὸς ἔπος ἀποκρίνωμαι;

ἔμοιγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς: οὐ μέντοι σοί γε, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι.

οὐ τοίνυν μὰ Δία ἀποκρινοῦμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρότερον πρὶν ἂν πύθωμαι.

οὐκ ἀποκρινῇ, ἔφη, πρὸς ἃ ἂν ἀεὶ ὑπολαμβάνῃς, ὅτι ἔχων φλυαρεῖς καὶ ἀρχαιότερος εἶ τοῦ δέοντος. [295d]

κἀγὼ ἔγνων αὐτὸν ὅτι μοι χαλεπαίνοι διαστέλλοντι τὰ λεγόμενα, βουλόμενός με θηρεῦσαι τὰ ὀνόματα περιστήσας. ἀνεμνήσθην οὖν τοῦ Κόννου, ὅτι μοι κἀκεῖνος χαλεπαίνει ἑκάστοτε ὅταν αὐτῷ μὴ ὑπείκω, ἔπειτά μου ἧττον ἐπιμελεῖται ὡς ἀμαθοῦς ὄντος: ἐπεὶ δὲ οὖν διενενοήμην καὶ παρὰ τοῦτον φοιτᾶν, ᾠήθην δεῖν ὑπείκειν, μή με σκαιὸν ἡγησάμενος φοιτητὴν μὴ προσδέχοιτο. εἶπον οὖν: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ δοκεῖ σοι, [295e] Εὐθύδημε, οὕτω ποιεῖν, ποιητέον: σὺ γὰρ πάντως που κάλλιον ἐπίστασαι διαλέγεσθαι ἢ ἐγώ, τέχνην ἔχων ἰδιώτου ἀνθρώπου. ἐρώτα οὖν πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς.

ἀποκρίνου δή, ἔφη, πάλιν, πότερον ἐπίστασαί τῳ ἃ ἐπίστασαι, ἢ οὔ;

ἔγωγε, ἔφην, τῇ γε ψυχῇ. [296a]

οὗτος αὖ, ἔφη, προσαποκρίνεται τοῖς ἐρωτωμένοις. οὐ γὰρ ἔγωγε ἐρωτῶ ὅτῳ, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ ἐπίστασαί τῳ.

πλέον αὖ, ἔφην ἐγώ, τοῦ δέοντος ἀπεκρινάμην ὑπὸ ἀπαιδευσίας. ἀλλὰ συγγίγνωσκέ μοι: ἀποκρινοῦμαι γὰρ ἤδη ἁπλῶς ὅτι ἐπίσταμαί τῳ ἃ ἐπίσταμαι.

πότερον, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τῷ αὐτῷ τούτῳ γ᾽ ἀεί, ἢ ἔστι μὲν ὅτε τούτῳ, ἔστιν δὲ ὅτε ἑτέρῳ;

ἀεί, ὅταν ἐπίστωμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τούτῳ.

οὐκ αὖ, ἔφη, παύσῃ παραφθεγγόμενος;

ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως μή τι ἡμᾶς σφήλῃ τὸ ἀεὶ τοῦτο. [296b]

οὔκουν ἡμᾶς γ᾽, ἔφη, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ, σέ. ἀλλ᾽ ἀποκρίνου: ἦ ἀεὶ τούτῳ ἐπίστασαι;

ἀεί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπειδὴ δεῖ ἀφελεῖν τὸ ὅταν.

οὐκοῦν ἀεὶ μὲν τούτῳ ἐπίστασαι: ἀεὶ δ᾽ ἐπιστάμενος πότερον τὰ μὲν τούτῳ ἐπίστασαι ᾧ ἐπίστασαι, τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλῳ, ἢ τούτῳ πάντα;

τούτῳ, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἅπαντα, ἅ γ᾽ ἐπίσταμαι.

τοῦτ᾽ ἐκεῖνο, ἔφη: ἥκει τὸ αὐτὸ παράφθεγμα.

ἀλλ᾽ ἀφαιρῶ, ἔφην ἐγώ, τὸ ἅ γ᾽ ἐπίσταμαι.

ἀλλὰ μηδὲ ἕν, ἔφη, ἀφέλῃς: οὐδὲν γάρ σου δέομαι. [296c] ἀλλά μοι ἀπόκριναι: δύναιο ἂν ἅπαντα ἐπίστασθαι, εἰ μὴ πάντα ἐπίσταιο;

τέρας γὰρ ἂν εἴη, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

καὶ ὃς εἶπε: Προστίθει τοίνυν ἤδη ὅτι βούλει: ἅπαντα γὰρ ὁμολογεῖς ἐπίστασθαι.

ἔοικα, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐπειδήπερ γε οὐδεμίαν ἔχει δύναμιν τὸ ἃ ἐπίσταμαι, πάντα δὲ ἐπίσταμαι.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀεὶ ὡμολόγηκας ἐπίστασθαι τούτῳ ᾧ ἐπίστασαι, εἴτε ὅταν ἐπίστῃ εἴτε ὅπως βούλει: ἀεὶ γὰρ ὡμολόγηκας ἐπίστασθαι καὶ ἅμα πάντα. δῆλον οὖν ὅτι καὶ παῖς ὢν [296d] ἠπίστω, καὶ ὅτ᾽ ἐγίγνου, καὶ ὅτ᾽ ἐφύου: καὶ πρὶν αὐτὸς γενέσθαι, καὶ πρὶν οὐρανὸν καὶ γῆν γενέσθαι, ἠπίστω ἅπαντα, εἴπερ ἀεὶ ἐπίστασαι. καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δία, ἔφη, αὐτὸς ἀεὶ ἐπιστήσῃ καὶ ἅπαντα, ἂν ἐγὼ βούλωμαι.

ἀλλὰ βουληθείης, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ πολυτίμητε Εὐθύδημε, εἰ δὴ τῷ ὄντι ἀληθῆ λέγεις. ἀλλ᾽ οὔ σοι πάνυ πιστεύω ἱκανῷ εἶναι, εἰ μή σοι συμβουληθείη ὁ ἀδελφός σου οὑτοσὶ Διονυσόδωρος: οὕτω δὲ τάχα ἄν. εἴπετον δέ μοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ [296e] τὰ μὲν γὰρ ἄλλα οὐκ ἔχω ὑμῖν πῶς ἀμφισβητοίην, οὕτως εἰς σοφίαν τερατώδεσιν ἀνθρώποις, ὅπως ἐγὼ οὐ πάντα ἐπίσταμαι, ἐπειδή γε ὑμεῖς φατε τὰ δὲ τοιάδε πῶς φῶ ἐπίστασθαι, Εὐθύδημε, ὡς οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες ἄδικοί εἰσιν; φέρε εἰπέ, τοῦτο ἐπίσταμαι ἢ οὐκ ἐπίσταμαι;

ἐπίστασαι μέντοι, ἔφη.

τί; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

ὅτι οὐκ ἄδικοί εἰσιν οἱ ἀγαθοί. [297a]

πάνυ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πάλαι. ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τοῦτο ἐρωτῶ: ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἄδικοί εἰσιν οἱ ἀγαθοί, ποῦ ἐγὼ τοῦτο ἔμαθον;

οὐδαμοῦ, ἔφη ὁ Διονυσόδωρος.

οὐκ ἄρα ἐπίσταμαι, ἔφην, τοῦτο ἐγώ.

διαφθείρεις, ἔφη, τὸν λόγον, ὁ Εὐθύδημος πρὸς τὸν Διονυσόδωρον, καὶ φανήσεται οὑτοσὶ οὐκ ἐπιστάμενος, καὶ ἐπιστήμων ἅμα ὢν καὶ ἀνεπιστήμων. καὶ ὁ Διονυσόδωρος ἠρυθρίασεν.

ἀλλὰ σύ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Εὐθύδημε; οὐ δοκεῖ [297b] σοι ὀρθῶς ἁδελφὸς λέγειν ὁ πάντ᾽ εἰδώς;

ἀδελφὸς γάρ, ἔφη, ἐγώ εἰμι Εὐθυδήμου, ταχὺ ὑπολαβὼν ὁ Διονυσόδωρος;

κἀγὼ εἶπον: ἔασον, ὠγαθέ, ἕως ἂν Εὐθύδημός με διδάξῃ ὡς ἐπίσταμαι τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας ὅτι ἄδικοί εἰσι, καὶ μή μοι φθονήσῃς τοῦ μαθήματος.

φεύγεις, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλεις ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

εἰκότως γ᾽, εἶπον ἐγώ: ἥττων γάρ εἰμι καὶ τοῦ ἑτέρου ὑμῶν, ὥστε πολλοῦ δέω μὴ οὐ δύο γε φεύγειν. πολὺ γάρ [297c] πού εἰμι φαυλότερος τοῦ Ἡρακλέους, ὃς οὐχ οἷός τε ἦν τῇ τε ὕδρᾳ διαμάχεσθαι, σοφιστρίᾳ οὔσῃ καὶ διὰ τὴν σοφίαν ἀνιείσῃ, εἰ μίαν κεφαλὴν τοῦ λόγου τις ἀποτέμοι, πολλὰς ἀντὶ τῆς μιᾶς, καὶ καρκίνῳ τινὶ ἑτέρῳ σοφιστῇ ἐκ θαλάττης ἀφιγμένῳ, νεωστί, μοι δοκεῖν, καταπεπλευκότι: ὃς ἐπειδὴ αὐτὸν ἐλύπει οὕτως ἐκ τοῦ ἐπ᾽ ἀριστερὰ λέγων καὶ δάκνων, τὸν Ἰόλεων τὸν ἀδελφιδοῦν βοηθὸν ἐπεκαλέσατο, ὁ δὲ αὐτῷ [297d] ἱκανῶς ἐβοήθησεν. ὁ δ᾽ ἐμὸς Ἰόλεως [Πατροκλῆς] εἰ ἔλθοι, πλέον ἂν θάτερον ποιήσειεν.

ἀπόκριναι δή, ἔφη ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, ὁπότε σοι ταῦτα ὕμνηται: πότερον ὁ Ἰόλεως τοῦ Ἡρακλέους μᾶλλον ἦν ἀδελφιδοῦς ἢ σός;

κράτιστον τοίνυν μοι, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀποκρίνασθαί σοι. οὐ γὰρ μὴ ἀνῇς ἐρωτῶν, σχεδόν τι ἐγὼ τοῦτ᾽ εὖ οἶδα, φθονῶν καὶ διακωλύων, ἵνα μὴ διδάξῃ με Εὐθύδημος ἐκεῖνο τὸ σοφόν.

ἀποκρίνου δή, ἔφη.

ἀποκρίνομαι δή, εἶπον, ὅτι τοῦ Ἡρακλέους ἦν ὁ Ἰόλεως ἀδελφιδοῦς, [297e] ἐμὸς δ᾽, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν. οὐ γὰρ Πατροκλῆς ἦν αὐτῷ πατήρ, ὁ ἐμὸς ἀδελφός, ἀλλὰ παραπλήσιον μὲν τοὔνομα Ἰφικλῆς, ὁ Ἡρακλέους ἀδελφός.

Πατροκλῆς δέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, σός;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὁμομήτριός γε, οὐ μέντοι ὁμοπάτριος.

ἀδελφὸς ἄρα ἐστί σοι καὶ οὐκ ἀδελφός.

οὐχ ὁμοπάτριός γε, ὦ βέλτιστε, ἔφην: ἐκείνου μὲν γὰρ Χαιρέδημος ἦν πατήρ, ἐμὸς δὲ Σωφρονίσκος.

πατὴρ δὲ ἦν, ἔφη, Σωφρονίσκος καὶ Χαιρέδημος;

πάνυ [298a] γ᾽, ἔφην: ὁ μέν γε ἐμός, ὁ δὲ ἐκείνου.

οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἕτερος ἦν Χαιρέδημος τοῦ πατρός;

τοὐμοῦ γ᾽, ἔφην ἐγώ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν πατὴρ ἦν ἕτερος ὢν πατρός; ἢ σὺ εἶ ὁ αὐτὸς τῷ λίθῳ;

δέδοικα μὲν ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφην, μὴ φανῶ ὑπὸ σοῦ ὁ αὐτός: οὐ μέντοι μοι δοκῶ.

οὐκοῦν ἕτερος εἶ, ἔφη, τοῦ λίθου;

ἕτερος μέντοι.

ἄλλο τι οὖν ἕτερος, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὢν λίθου οὐ λίθος εἶ; καὶ ἕτερος ὢν χρυσοῦ οὐ χρυσὸς εἶ;

ἔστι ταῦτα.

οὔκουν καὶ ὁ Χαιρέδημος, ἔφη, ἕτερος ὢν πατρὸς [οὐκ ἂν] πατήρ ἐστιν.

ἔοικεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐ πατὴρ εἶναι. [298b]

εἰ γὰρ δήπου, ἔφη, πατήρ ἐστιν ὁ Χαιρέδημος, ὑπολαβὼν ὁ Εὐθύδημος, πάλιν αὖ ὁ Σωφρονίσκος ἕτερος ὢν πατρὸς οὐ πατήρ ἐστιν, ὥστε σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀπάτωρ εἶ.

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος ἐκδεξάμενος, ὁ δὲ ὑμέτερος, ἔφη, αὖ πατὴρ οὐ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα πέπονθεν; ἕτερός ἐστιν τοὐμοῦ πατρός;

πολλοῦ γ᾽, ἔφη, δεῖ, ὁ Εὐθύδημος.

ἀλλά, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὁ αὐτός;

ὁ αὐτὸς μέντοι.

οὐκ ἂν συμβουλοίμην. ἀλλὰ [298c] πότερον, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, ἐμὸς μόνον ἐστὶ πατὴρ ἢ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων;

καὶ τῶν ἄλλων, ἔφη: ἢ οἴει τὸν αὐτὸν πατέρα ὄντα οὐ πατέρα εἶναι;

ὤιμην δῆτα, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος.

τί δέ; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς: χρυσὸν ὄντα μὴ χρυσὸν εἶναι; ἢ ἄνθρωπον ὄντα μὴ ἄνθρωπον;

μὴ γάρ, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, τὸ λεγόμενον, οὐ λίνον λίνῳ συνάπτεις: δεινὸν γὰρ λέγεις πρᾶγμα εἰ ὁ σὸς πατὴρ πάντων ἐστὶν πατήρ.

ἀλλ᾽ ἔστιν, ἔφη.

πότερον ἀνθρώπων; ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Κτήσιππος, ἢ καὶ ἵππων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πάντων ζῴων; [298d]

πάντων, ἔφη.

ἦ καὶ μήτηρ ἡ μήτηρ;

καὶ ἡ μήτηρ γε.

καὶ τῶν ἐχίνων ἄρα, ἔφη, ἡ σὴ μήτηρ μήτηρ ἐστὶ τῶν θαλαττίων.

καὶ ἡ σή γ᾽, ἔφη.

καὶ σὺ ἄρα ἀδελφὸς εἶ τῶν κωβιῶν καὶ κυναρίων καὶ χοιριδίων.

καὶ γὰρ σύ, ἔφη.

κάπρος ἄρα σοι πατήρ ἐστι καὶ κύων.

καὶ γὰρ σοί, ἔφη.

αὐτίκα δέ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, ἄν μοι ἀποκρίνῃ, ὦ Κτήσιππε, ὁμολογήσεις ταῦτα. εἰπὲ γάρ μοι, ἔστι σοι κύων;

καὶ μάλα πονηρός, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος.

ἔστιν οὖν [298e] αὐτῷ κυνίδια;

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη, ἕτερα τοιαῦτα.

οὐκοῦν πατήρ ἐστιν αὐτῶν ὁ κύων;

ἔγωγέ τοι εἶδον, ἔφη, αὐτὸν ὀχεύοντα τὴν κύνα.

τί οὖν; οὐ σός ἐστιν ὁ κύων;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν πατὴρ ὢν σός ἐστιν, ὥστε σὸς πατὴρ γίγνεται ὁ κύων καὶ σὺ κυναρίων ἀδελφός;

καὶ αὖθις ταχὺ ὑπολαβὼν ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, ἵνα μὴ πρότερόν τι εἴποι ὁ Κτήσιππος, καὶ ἔτι γέ μοι μικρόν, ἔφη, ἀπόκριναι: τύπτεις τὸν κύνα τοῦτον;

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος γελάσας, νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ἔφη: οὐ γὰρ δύναμαι σέ.

οὐκοῦν τὸν σαυτοῦ πατέρα, ἔφη, τύπτεις; [299a]

πολὺ μέντοι, ἔφη, δικαιότερον τὸν ὑμέτερον πατέρ᾽ ἂ<ν> τύπτοιμι, ὅτι μαθὼν σοφοὺς ὑεῖς οὕτως ἔφυσεν. ἀλλ᾽ ἦ που, ὦ Εὐθύδημε [ὁ Κτήσιππος], πόλλ᾽ ἀγαθὰ ἀπὸ τῆς ὑμετέρας σοφίας ταύτης ἀπολέλαυκεν ὁ πατὴρ ὁ ὑμέτερός τε καὶ τῶν κυνιδίων.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν δεῖται πολλῶν ἀγαθῶν, ὦ Κτήσιππε, οὔτ᾽ ἐκεῖνος οὔτε σύ.

οὐδὲ σύ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, αὐτός;

οὐδὲ ἄλλος γε οὐδεὶς ἀνθρώπων. εἰπὲ γάρ μοι, ὦ [299b] Κτήσιππε, εἰ ἀγαθὸν νομίζεις εἶναι ἀσθενοῦντι φάρμακον πιεῖν ἢ οὐκ ἀγαθὸν εἶναι δοκεῖ σοι, ὅταν δέηται: ἢ εἰς πόλεμον ὅταν ἴῃ, ὅπλα ἔχοντα μᾶλλον ἰέναι ἢ ἄνοπλον.

ἔμοιγε, ἔφη. καίτοι οἶμαί τί σε τῶν καλῶν ἐρεῖν.

σὺ ἄριστα εἴσῃ, ἔφη: ἀλλ᾽ ἀποκρίνου. ἐπειδὴ γὰρ ὡμολόγεις ἀγαθὸν εἶναι φάρμακον, ὅταν δέῃ, πίνειν ἀνθρώπῳ, ἄλλο τι τοῦτο τὸ ἀγαθὸν ὡς πλεῖστον δεῖ πίνειν, καὶ καλῶς ἐκεῖ ἕξει, ἐάν τις αὐτῷ τρίψας ἐγκεράσῃ ἐλλεβόρου ἅμαξαν;

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος εἶπεν: πάνυ γε σφόδρα, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, ἐὰν ᾖ γε [299c] ὁ πίνων ὅσος ὁ ἀνδριὰς ὁ ἐν Δελφοῖς.

οὐκοῦν, ἔφη, καὶ ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ ἐπειδὴ ἀγαθόν ἐστιν ὅπλα ἔχειν, ὡς πλεῖστα δεῖ ἔχειν δόρατά τε καὶ ἀσπίδας, ἐπειδήπερ ἀγαθόν ἐστιν;

μάλα δήπου, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος: σὺ δ᾽ οὐκ οἴει, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, ἀλλὰ μίαν καὶ ἓν δόρυ;

ἔγωγε.

ἦ καὶ τὸν Γηρυόνην ἄν, ἔφη, καὶ τὸν Βριάρεων οὕτως σὺ ὁπλίσαις; ἐγὼ δὲ ᾤμην σὲ δεινότερον εἶναι, ἅτε ὁπλομάχην ὄντα, καὶ τόνδε τὸν ἑταῖρον.

καὶ ὁ μὲν Εὐθύδημος ἐσίγησεν: ὁ δὲ Διονυσόδωρος πρὸς [299d] τὰ πρότερον ἀποκεκριμένα τῷ Κτησίππῳ ἤρετο, οὐκοῦν καὶ χρυσίον, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἀγαθὸν δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι ἔχειν;

πάνυ, καὶ ταῦτά γε πολύ, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος.

τί οὖν; ἀγαθὰ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι χρῆναι ἀεί τ᾽ ἔχειν καὶ πανταχοῦ;

σφόδρα γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ χρυσίον ἀγαθὸν ὁμολογεῖς εἶναι;

ὡμολόγηκα μὲν οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν ἀεὶ δεῖ αὐτὸ ἔχειν καὶ πανταχοῦ καὶ ὡς μάλιστα ἐν ἑαυτῷ; καὶ εἴη ἂν εὐδαιμονέστατος [299e] εἰ ἔχοι χρυσίου μὲν τρία τάλαντα ἐν τῇ γαστρί, τάλαντον δ᾽ ἐν τῷ κρανίῳ, στατῆρα δὲ χρυσοῦ ἐν ἑκατέρῳ τὠφθαλμῷ;

φασί γε οὖν, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος, τούτους εὐδαιμονεστάτους εἶναι Σκυθῶν καὶ ἀρίστους ἄνδρας, οἳ χρυσίον τε ἐν τοῖς κρανίοις ἔχουσιν πολὺ τοῖς ἑαυτῶν, ὥσπερ σὺ νυνδὴ ἔλεγες τὸν κύνα τὸν πατέρα, καὶ ὃ θαυμασιώτερόν γε ἔτι, ὅτι καὶ πίνουσιν ἐκ τῶν ἑαυτῶν κρανίων κεχρυσωμένων, καὶ ταῦτα ἐντὸς καθορῶσιν, τὴν ἑαυτῶν κορυφὴν ἐν ταῖς χερσὶν ἔχοντες. [300a]

πότερον δὲ ὁρῶσιν, ἔφη ὁ Εὐθύδημος, καὶ Σκύθαι τε καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι τὰ δυνατὰ ὁρᾶν ἢ τὰ ἀδύνατα;

τὰ δυνατὰ δήπου.

οὐκοῦν καὶ σύ, ἔφη;

κἀγώ.

ὁρᾷς οὖν τὰ ἡμέτερα ἱμάτια;

ναί.

δυνατὰ οὖν ὁρᾶν ἐστὶν ταῦτα.

ὑπερφυῶς, ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος.

τί δέ; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

μηδέν. σὺ δὲ ἴσως οὐκ οἴει αὐτὰ ὁρᾶν: οὕτως ἡδὺς εἶ. ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖς, Εὐθύδημε, οὐ καθεύδων ἐπικεκοιμῆσθαι καί, <εἰ> οἷόν τε λέγοντα μηδὲν λέγειν, καὶ σὺ τοῦτο ποιεῖν. [300b]

ἦ γὰρ οὐχ οἷόν τ᾽, ἔφη ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, σιγῶντα λέγειν;

οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Κτήσιππος.

ἆρ᾽ οὐδὲ λέγοντα σιγᾶν;

ἔτι ἧττον, ἔφη.

ὅταν οὖν λίθους λέγῃς καὶ ξύλα καὶ σιδήρια, οὐ σιγῶντα λέγεις;

οὔκουν εἴ γε ἐγώ, ἔφη, παρέρχομαι ἐν τοῖς χαλκείοις, ἀλλὰ φθεγγόμενα καὶ βοῶντα μέγιστον τὰ σιδήρια λέγεται, ἐάν τις ἅψηται: ὥστε τοῦτο μὲν ὑπὸ σοφίας ἔλαθες οὐδὲν εἰπών. ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι μοι τὸ ἕτερον ἐπιδείξατον, ὅπως αὖ ἔστιν λέγοντα σιγᾶν. [300c]

καί μοι ἐδόκει ὑπεραγωνιᾶν ὁ Κτήσιππος διὰ τὰ παιδικά.

ὅταν σιγᾷς, ἔφη ὁ Εὐθύδημος, οὐ πάντα σιγᾷς;

ἔγωγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὰ λέγοντα σιγᾷς, εἴπερ τῶν ἁπάντων ἐστὶν [τὰ λεγόμενα].

τί δέ; ἔφη ὁ Κτήσιππος, οὐ σιγᾷ πάντα;

οὐ δήπου, ἔφη ὁ Εὐθύδημος.

ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα, ὦ βέλτιστε, λέγει τὰ πάντα;

τά γε δήπου λέγοντα.

ἀλλά, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐ τοῦτο ἐρωτῶ, ἀλλὰ τὰ πάντα σιγᾷ ἢ λέγει; [300d]

οὐδέτερα καὶ ἀμφότερα, ἔφη ὑφαρπάσας ὁ Διονυσόδωρος: εὖ γὰρ οἶδα ὅτι τῇ ἀποκρίσει οὐχ ἕξεις ὅτι χρῇ.

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος, ὥσπερ εἰώθει, μέγα πάνυ ἀνακαγχάσας, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, ἔφη, ὁ ἀδελφός σου ἐξημφοτέρικεν τὸν λόγον, καὶ ἀπόλωλέ τε καὶ ἥττηται. καὶ ὁ Κλεινίας πάνυ ἥσθη καὶ ἐγέλασεν, ὥστε ὁ Κτήσιππος ἐγένετο πλεῖον ἢ δεκαπλάσιος. ὁ δέ μοι δοκεῖ ἅτε πανοῦργος ὤν, ὁ Κτήσιππος, παρ᾽ αὐτῶν τούτων αὐτὰ ταῦτα παρηκηκόει: οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἄλλων τοιαύτη σοφία τῶν νῦν ἀνθρώπων. [300e]

κἀγὼ εἶπον: τί γελᾷς, ὦ Κλεινία, ἐπὶ σπουδαίοις οὕτω πράγμασιν καὶ καλοῖς;

σὺ γὰρ ἤδη τι πώποτ᾽ εἶδες, ὦ Σώκρατες, καλὸν πρᾶγμα; ἔφη ὁ Διονυσόδωρος.

ἔγωγε, ἔφην, καὶ πολλά γε, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε. [301a]

ἆρα ἕτερα ὄντα τοῦ καλοῦ, ἔφη, ἢ ταὐτὰ τῷ καλῷ;

κἀγὼ ἐν παντὶ ἐγενόμην ὑπὸ ἀπορίας, καὶ ἡγούμην δίκαια πεπονθέναι ὅτι ἔγρυξα, ὅμως δὲ ἕτερα ἔφην αὐτοῦ γε τοῦ καλοῦ: πάρεστιν μέντοι ἑκάστῳ αὐτῶν κάλλος τι. ἐὰν οὖν, ἔφη, παραγένηταί σοι βοῦς, βοῦς εἶ, καὶ ὅτι νῦν ἐγώ σοι πάρειμι, Διονυσόδωρος εἶ;

εὐφήμει τοῦτό γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

ἀλλὰ τίνα τρόπον, ἔφη, ἑτέρου ἑτέρῳ παραγενομένου τὸ ἕτερον ἕτερον ἂν εἴη; [301b]

ἆρα τοῦτο, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἀπορεῖς; ἤδη δὲ τοῖν ἀνδροῖν τὴν σοφίαν ἐπεχείρουν μιμεῖσθαι, ἅτε ἐπιθυμῶν αὐτῆς.

πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἀπορῶ, ἔφη, καὶ ἐγὼ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἅπαντες ἄνθρωποι ὃ μὴ ἔστι;

τί λέγεις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε; οὐ τὸ καλὸν καλόν ἐστιν καὶ τὸ αἰσχρὸν αἰσχρόν;

ἐὰν ἔμοιγε, ἔφη, δοκῇ.

οὐκοῦν δοκεῖ;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ταὐτὸν ταὐτὸν καὶ τὸ ἕτερον ἕτερον; οὐ γὰρ δήπου τό γε ἕτερον ταὐτόν, ἀλλ᾽ [301c] ἔγωγε οὐδ᾽ ἂν παῖδα ᾤμην τοῦτο ἀπορῆσαι, ὡς οὐ τὸ ἕτερον ἕτερόν ἐστιν. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε, τοῦτο μὲν ἑκὼν παρῆκας, ἐπεὶ τὰ ἄλλα μοι δοκεῖτε ὥσπερ οἱ δημιουργοὶ οἷς ἕκαστα προσήκει ἀπεργάζεσθαι, καὶ ὑμεῖς τὸ διαλέγεσθαι παγκάλως ἀπεργάζεσθαι.

οἶσθα οὖν, ἔφη, ὅτι προσήκει ἑκάστοις τῶν δημιουργῶν; πρῶτον τίνα χαλκεύειν προσήκει, οἶσθα;

ἔγωγε: ὅτι χαλκέα.

τί δέ, κεραμεύειν;

κεραμέα.

τί δέ, σφάττειν τε καὶ ἐκδέρειν καὶ τὰ μικρὰ κρέα κατακόψαντα ἕψειν καὶ ὀπτᾶν; [301d]

μάγειρον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

οὐκοῦν ἐάν τις, ἔφη, τὰ προσήκοντα πράττῃ, ὀρθῶς πράξει;

μάλιστα.

προσήκει δέ γε, ὡς φῄς, τὸν μάγειρον κατακόπτειν καὶ ἐκδέρειν; ὡμολόγησας ταῦτα ἢ οὔ;

ὡμολόγησα, ἔφην, ἀλλὰ συγγνώμην μοι ἔχε.

δῆλον τοίνυν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὅτι ἄν τις σφάξας τὸν μάγειρον καὶ κατακόψας ἑψήσῃ καὶ ὀπτήσῃ, τὰ προσήκοντα ποιήσει: καὶ ἐὰν τὸν χαλκέα τις αὐτὸν χαλκεύῃ καὶ τὸν κεραμέα κεραμεύῃ, καὶ οὗτος τὰ προσήκοντα πράξει. [301e]

ὦ Πόσειδον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἤδη κολοφῶνα ἐπιτιθεῖς τῇ σοφίᾳ. ἆρά μοί ποτε αὕτη παραγενήσεται ὥστε μοι οἰκεία γενέσθαι;

ἐπιγνοίης ἂν αὐτήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, οἰκείαν γενομένην;

ἐὰν σύ γε βούλῃ, ἔφην ἐγώ, δῆλον ὅτι.

τί δέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τὰ σαυτοῦ οἴει γιγνώσκειν;

εἰ μή τι σὺ ἄλλο λέγεις: ἀπὸ σοῦ γὰρ δεῖ ἄρχεσθαι, τελευτᾶν δ᾽ εἰς Εὐθύδημον τόνδε.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἔφη, ταῦτα ἡγῇ σὰ εἶναι, ὧν ἂν ἄρξῃς καὶ ἐξῇ [302a] σοι αὐτοῖς χρῆσθαι ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ; οἷον βοῦς καὶ πρόβατον, ἆρ᾽ ἂν ἡγοῖο ταῦτα σὰ εἶναι, ἅ σοι ἐξείη καὶ ἀποδόσθαι καὶ δοῦναι καὶ θῦσαι ὅτῳ βούλοιο θεῶν; ἃ δ᾽ ἂν μὴ οὕτως ἔχῃ, οὐ σά;

κἀγώ （ᾔδη γὰρ ὅτι ἐξ αὐτῶν καλόν τι ἀνακύψοιτο τῶν ἐρωτημάτων, καὶ ἅμα βουλόμενος ὅτι τάχιστ᾽ ἀκοῦσαι） πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφην, οὕτως ἔχει: τὰ τοιαῦτά ἐστιν μόνα ἐμά. τί δέ; ζῷα, ἔφη, οὐ ταῦτα καλεῖς ἃ ἂν ψυχὴν ἔχῃ; [302b]

ναί, ἔφην.

ὁμολογεῖς οὖν τῶν ζῴων ταῦτα μόνα εἶναι σά, περὶ ἃ ἄν σοι ἐξουσία ᾖ πάντα ταῦτα ποιεῖν ἃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον;

ὁμολογῶ.

καὶ ὅς, εἰρωνικῶς πάνυ ἐπισχὼν ὥς τι μέγα σκοπούμενος, εἰπέ μοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔστιν σοι Ζεὺς πατρῷος;

καὶ ἐγὼ ὑποπτεύσας ἥξειν τὸν λόγον οἷπερ ἐτελεύτησεν, ἄπορόν τινα στροφὴν ἔφευγόν τε καὶ ἐστρεφόμην ἤδη ὥσπερ ἐν δικτύῳ εἰλημμένος: οὐκ ἔστιν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε.

ταλαίπωρος ἄρα τις σύ γε ἄνθρωπος [302c] εἶ καὶ οὐδὲ Ἀθηναῖος, ᾧ μήτε θεοὶ πατρῷοί εἰσιν μήτε ἱερὰ μήτε ἄλλο μηδὲν καλὸν καὶ ἀγαθόν.

ἔα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Διονυσόδωρε, εὐφήμει τε καὶ μὴ χαλεπῶς με προδίδασκε. ἔστι γὰρ ἔμοιγε καὶ βωμοὶ καὶ ἱερὰ οἰκεῖα καὶ πατρῷα καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ὅσαπερ τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἀθηναίοις τῶν τοιούτων.

εἶτα τοῖς ἄλλοις, ἔφη, Ἀθηναίοις οὐκ ἔστιν Ζεὺς ὁ πατρῷος;

οὐκ ἔστιν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, αὕτη ἡ ἐπωνυμία Ἰώνων οὐδενί, οὔθ᾽ ὅσοι ἐκ τῆσδε τῆς πόλεως ἀπῳκισμένοι εἰσὶν οὔθ᾽ ἡμῖν, [302d] ἀλλὰ Ἀπόλλων πατρῷος διὰ τὴν τοῦ Ἴωνος γένεσιν: Ζεὺς δ᾽ ἡμῖν πατρῷος μὲν οὐ καλεῖται, ἕρκειος δὲ καὶ φράτριος, καὶ Ἀθηναία φρατρία.

ἀλλ᾽ ἀρκεῖ γ᾽, ἔφη ὁ Διονυσόδωρος: ἔστιν γάρ σοι, ὡς ἔοικεν, Ἀπόλλων τε καὶ Ζεὺς καὶ Ἀθηνᾶ.

πάνυ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

οὐκοῦν καὶ οὗτοι σοὶ θεοὶ ἂν εἶεν; ἔφη.

πρόγονοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ δεσπόται.

ἀλλ᾽ οὖν σοί γε, ἔφη: ἢ οὐ σοὺς ὡμολόγηκας αὐτοὺς εἶναι;

ὡμολόγηκα, ἔφην: τί γὰρ πάθω;

οὐκοῦν, ἔφη, καὶ ζῷά εἰσιν οὗτοι οἱ [302e] θεοί; ὡμολόγηκας γὰρ ὅσα ψυχὴν ἔχει ζῷα εἶναι. ἢ οὗτοι οἱ θεοὶ οὐκ ἔχουσιν ψυχήν;

ἔχουσιν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ζῷά εἰσιν;

ζῷα, ἔφην.

τῶν δέ γε ζῴων, ἔφη, ὡμολόγηκας ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι σά, ὅσα ἄν σοι ἐξῇ καὶ δοῦναι καὶ ἀποδόσθαι καὶ θῦσαι δὴ θεῷ ὅτῳ ἂν βούλῃ.

ὡμολόγηκα, ἔφην: οὐκ ἔστιν γάρ μοι ἀνάδυσις, ὦ Εὐθύδημε.

ἴθι δή μοι εὐθύς, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εἰπέ: ἐπειδὴ σὸν ὁμολογεῖς εἶναι τὸν Δία [303a] καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους θεούς, ἆρα ἔξεστί σοι αὐτοὺς ἀποδόσθαι ἢ δοῦναι ἢ ἄλλ᾽ ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ χρῆσθαι ὥσπερ τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις;

ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Κρίτων, ὥσπερ πληγεὶς ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου, ἐκείμην ἄφωνος: ὁ δὲ Κτήσιππός μοι ἰὼν ὡς βοηθήσων, Πυππὰξ ὦ Ἡράκλεις, ἔφη, καλοῦ λόγου.

καὶ ὁ Διονυσόδωρος, πότερον οὖν, ἔφη, ὁ Ἡρακλῆς πυππάξ ἐστιν ἢ ὁ πυππὰξ Ἡρακλῆς;

καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος, ὦ Πόσειδον, ἔφη, δεινῶν λόγων. ἀφίσταμαι: ἀμάχω τὼ ἄνδρε. [303b]

ἐνταῦθα μέντοι, ὦ φίλε Κρίτων, οὐδεὶς ὅστις οὐ τῶν παρόντων ὑπερεπῄνεσε τὸν λόγον καὶ τὼ ἄνδρε, καὶ γελῶντες καὶ κροτοῦντες καὶ χαίροντες ὀλίγου παρετάθησαν. ἐπὶ μὲν γὰρ τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστοις πᾶσι παγκάλως ἐθορύβουν μόνοι οἱ τοῦ Εὐθυδήμου ἐρασταί, ἐνταῦθα δὲ ὀλίγου καὶ οἱ κίονες οἱ ἐν τῷ Λυκείῳ ἐθορύβησάν τ᾽ ἐπὶ τοῖν ἀνδροῖν καὶ ἥσθησαν. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν καὶ αὐτὸς οὕτω διετέθην, ὥστε [303c] ὁμολογεῖν μηδένας πώποτε ἀνθρώπους ἰδεῖν οὕτω σοφούς, καὶ παντάπασι καταδουλωθεὶς ὑπὸ τῆς σοφίας αὐτοῖν ἐπὶ τὸ ἐπαινεῖν τε καὶ ἐγκωμιάζειν αὐτὼ ἐτραπόμην, καὶ εἶπον: ὦ μακάριοι σφὼ τῆς θαυμαστῆς φύσεως, οἳ τοσοῦτον πρᾶγμα οὕτω ταχὺ καὶ ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ ἐξείργασθον. πολλὰ μὲν οὖν καὶ ἄλλα οἱ λόγοι ὑμῶν καλὰ ἔχουσιν, ὦ Εὐθύδημέ τε καὶ Διονυσόδωρε: ἐν δὲ τοῖς καὶ τοῦτο μεγαλοπρεπέστατον, ὅτι τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τῶν σεμνῶν δὴ καὶ δοκούντων [303d] τὶ εἶναι οὐδὲν ὑμῖν μέλει, ἀλλὰ τῶν ὁμοίων ὑμῖν μόνον. ἐγὼ γὰρ εὖ οἶδα ὅτι τούτους τοὺς λόγους πάνυ μὲν ἂν ὀλίγοι ἀγαπῷεν ἄνθρωποι ὅμοιοι ὑμῖν, οἱ δ᾽ ἄλλοι οὕτως ἀγνοοῦσιν αὐτούς, ὥστ᾽ εὖ οἶδα ὅτι αἰσχυνθεῖεν ἂν μᾶλλον ἐξελέγχοντες τοιούτοις λόγοις τοὺς ἄλλους ἢ αὐτοὶ ἐξελεγχόμενοι. καὶ τόδε αὖ ἕτερον δημοτικόν τι καὶ πρᾷον ἐν τοῖς λόγοις: ὁπόταν φῆτε μήτε καλὸν εἶναι μηδὲν μήτε ἀγαθὸν πρᾶγμα μήτε λευκὸν μηδ᾽ ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων μηδέν, μηδὲ τὸ παράπαν [303e] ἑτέρων ἕτερον, ἀτεχνῶς μὲν τῷ ὄντι συρράπτετε τὰ στόματα τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ὥσπερ καὶ φατέ: ὅτι δ᾽ οὐ μόνον τὰ τῶν ἄλλων, ἀλλὰ δόξαιτε ἂν καὶ τὰ ὑμέτερα αὐτῶν, τοῦτο πάνυ χαρίεν τέ ἐστιν καὶ τὸ ἐπαχθὲς τῶν λόγων ἀφαιρεῖται. τὸ δὲ δὴ μέγιστον, ὅτι ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει ὑμῖν καὶ τεχνικῶς ἐξηύρηται, ὥστ᾽ ἐ<ν> πάνυ ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ ὁντινοῦν ἂν μαθεῖν ἀνθρώπων: ἔγνων ἔγωγε καὶ τῷ Κτησίππῳ τὸν νοῦν προσέχων ὡς ταχὺ ὑμᾶς ἐκ τοῦ παραχρῆμα μιμεῖσθαι οἷός τε ἦν. [304a] τοῦτο μὲν οὖν τοῦ πράγματος σφῶν τὸ σοφὸν πρὸς μὲν τὸ ταχὺ παραδιδόναι καλόν, ἐναντίον δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων διαλέγεσθαι οὐκ ἐπιτήδειον, ἀλλ᾽ ἄν γέ μοι πείθησθε, εὐλαβήσεσθε μὴ πολλῶν ἐναντίον λέγειν, ἵνα μὴ ταχὺ ἐκμαθόντες ὑμῖν μὴ εἰδῶσιν χάριν. ἀλλὰ μάλιστα μὲν αὐτὼ πρὸς ἀλλήλω μόνω διαλέγεσθον: εἰ δὲ μή, εἴπερ ἄλλου του ἐναντίον, ἐκείνου μόνου ὃς ἂν ὑμῖν διδῷ ἀργύριον. τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτα, ἐὰν [304b] σωφρονῆτε, καὶ τοῖς μαθηταῖς συμβουλεύσετε, μηδέποτε μηδενὶ ἀνθρώπων διαλέγεσθαι ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ὑμῖν τε καὶ αὑτοῖς: τὸ γὰρ σπάνιον, ὦ Εὐθύδημε, τίμιον, τὸ δὲ ὕδωρ εὐωνότατον, ἄριστον ὄν, ὡς ἔφη Πίνδαρος. ἀλλ᾽ ἄγετε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅπως κἀμὲ καὶ Κλεινίαν τόνδε παραδέξεσθον.

ταῦτα, ὦ Κρίτων, καὶ ἄλλα ἄττα ἔτι βραχέα διαλεχθέντες ἀπῇμεν. σκόπει οὖν ὅπως συμφοιτήσεις παρὰ τὼ [304c] ἄνδρε, ὡς ἐκείνω φατὸν οἵω τε εἶναι διδάξαι τὸν ἐθέλοντ᾽ ἀργύριον διδόναι, καὶ οὔτε φύσιν οὔθ᾽ ἡλικίαν ἐξείργειν οὐδεμίαν ὃ δὲ καὶ σοὶ μάλιστα προσήκει ἀκοῦσαι, ὅτι οὐδὲ τοῦ χρηματίζεσθαί φατον διακωλύειν οὐδέν μὴ οὐ παραλαβεῖν ὁντινοῦν εὐπετῶς τὴν σφετέραν σοφίαν.

Κρίτων: καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, φιλήκοος μὲν ἔγωγε καὶ ἡδέως ἄν τι μανθάνοιμι, κινδυνεύω μέντοι κἀγὼ εἷς εἶναι τῶν οὐχ ὁμοίων Εὐθυδήμῳ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνων ὧν δὴ καὶ σὺ [304d] ἔλεγες, τῶν ἥδιον ἂν ἐξελεγχομένων ὑπὸ τῶν τοιούτων λόγων ἢ ἐξελεγχόντων. ἀτὰρ γελοῖον μέν μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι τὸ νουθετεῖν σε, ὅμως δέ, ἅ γ᾽ ἤκουον, ἐθέλω σοι ἀπαγγεῖλαι. τῶν ἀφ᾽ ὑμῶν ἀπιόντων ἴσθ᾽ ὅτι προσελθών τίς μοι περιπατοῦντι, ἀνὴρ οἰόμενος πάνυ εἶναι σοφός, τούτων τις τῶν περὶ τοὺς λόγους τοὺς εἰς τὰ δικαστήρια δεινῶν, ὦ Κρίτων, ἔφη, οὐδὲν ἀκροᾷ τῶνδε τῶν σοφῶν;

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: οὐ γὰρ οἷός τ᾽ ἦ προσστὰς κατακούειν ὑπὸ τοῦ ὄχλου.

καὶ μήν, ἔφη, ἄξιόν γ᾽ ἦν ἀκοῦσαι.

τί [304e] δέ; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

ἵνα ἤκουσας ἀνδρῶν διαλεγομένων οἳ νῦν σοφώτατοί εἰσι τῶν περὶ τοὺς τοιούτους λόγους.

κἀγὼ εἶπον: τί οὖν ἐφαίνοντό σοι;

τί δὲ ἄλλο, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἢ οἷάπερ ἀεὶ ἄν τις τῶν τοιούτων ἀκούσαι ληρούντων καὶ περὶ οὐδενὸς ἀξίων ἀναξίαν σπουδὴν ποιουμένων; （οὑτωσὶ γάρ πως καὶ εἶπεν τοῖς ὀνόμασιν）.

καὶ ἐγώ, ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἔφην, χαρίεν γέ τι πρᾶγμά ἐστιν ἡ φιλοσοφία.

ποῖον, ἔφη, χαρίεν, ὦ [305a] μακάριε; οὐδενὸς μὲν οὖν ἄξιον. ἀλλὰ καὶ εἰ νῦν παρεγένου, πάνυ ἄν σε οἶμαι αἰσχυνθῆναι ὑπὲρ τοῦ σεαυτοῦ ἑταίρου: οὕτως ἦν ἄτοπος, ἐθέλων ἑαυτὸν παρέχειν ἀνθρώποις οἷς οὐδὲν μέλει ὅτι ἂν λέγωσιν, παντὸς δὲ ῥήματος ἀντέχονται. καὶ οὗτοι, ὅπερ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, ἐν τοῖς κράτιστοί εἰσι τῶν νῦν. ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ Κρίτων, ἔφη, τὸ πρᾶγμα αὐτὸ καὶ οἱ ἄνθρωποι οἱ ἐπὶ τῷ πράγματι διατρίβοντες φαῦλοί εἰσιν καὶ καταγέλαστοι. ἐμοὶ δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ πρᾶγμα ἐδόκει [305b] οὐκ ὀρθῶς ψέγειν οὔθ᾽ οὗτος οὔτ᾽ εἴ τις ἄλλος ψέγει: τὸ μέντοι ἐθέλειν διαλέγεσθαι τοιούτοις ἐναντίον πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων ὀρθῶς μοι ἐδόκει μέμφεσθαι.

Σωκράτης: ὦ Κρίτων, θαυμάσιοί εἰσιν οἱ τοιοῦτοι ἄνδρες. ἀτὰρ οὔπω οἶδα ὅτι μέλλω ἐρεῖν. ποτέρων ἦν ὁ προσελθών σοι καὶ μεμφόμενος τὴν φιλοσοφίαν; πότερον τῶν ἀγωνίσασθαι δεινῶν ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις, ῥήτωρ τις, ἢ τῶν τοὺς τοιούτους εἰσπεμπόντων, ποιητὴς τῶν λόγων οἷς οἱ ῥήτορες ἀγωνίζονται; [305c]

Κρίτων: ἥκιστα νὴ τὸν Δία ῥήτωρ, οὐδὲ οἶμαι πώποτ᾽ αὐτὸν ἐπὶ δικαστήριον ἀναβεβηκέναι: ἀλλ᾽ ἐπαΐειν αὐτόν φασι περὶ τοῦ πράγματος νὴ τὸν Δία καὶ δεινὸν εἶναι καὶ δεινοὺς λόγους συντιθέναι.

Σωκράτης: ἤδη μανθάνω: περὶ τούτων καὶ αὐτὸς νυνδὴ ἔμελλον λέγειν. οὗτοι γάρ εἰσιν μέν, ὦ Κρίτων, οὓς ἔφη Πρόδικος μεθόρια φιλοσόφου τε ἀνδρὸς καὶ πολιτικοῦ, οἴονται δ᾽ εἶναι πάντων σοφώτατοι ἀνθρώπων, πρὸς δὲ τῷ εἶναι καὶ δοκεῖν πάνυ παρὰ πολλοῖς, ὥστε παρὰ πᾶσιν εὐδοκιμεῖν [305d] ἐμποδὼν σφίσιν εἶναι οὐδένας ἄλλους ἢ τοὺς περὶ φιλοσοφίαν ἀνθρώπους. ἡγοῦνται οὖν, ἐὰν τούτους εἰς δόξαν καταστήσωσιν μηδενὸς δοκεῖν ἀξίους εἶναι, ἀναμφισβητήτως ἤδη παρὰ πᾶσιν τὰ νικητήρια εἰς δόξαν οἴσεσθαι σοφίας πέρι. εἶναι μὲν γὰρ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ σφᾶς σοφωτάτους, ἐν δὲ τοῖς ἰδίοις λόγοις ὅταν ἀποληφθῶσιν, ὑπὸ τῶν ἀμφὶ Εὐθύδημον κολούεσθαι. σοφοὶ δὲ ἡγοῦνται εἶναι πάνυ εἰκότως: μετρίως μὲν γὰρ φιλοσοφίας ἔχειν, μετρίως δὲ πολιτικῶν, [305e] πάνυ ἐξ εἰκότος λόγου μετέχειν γὰρ ἀμφοτέρων ὅσον ἔδει, ἐκτὸς δὲ ὄντες κινδύνων καὶ ἀγώνων καρποῦσθαι τὴν σοφίαν.

Κρίτων: τί οὖν; δοκοῦσί σοί τι, ὦ Σώκρατες, λέγειν; οὐ γάρ τοι ἀλλὰ ὅ γε λόγος ἔχει τινὰ εὐπρέπειαν τῶν ἀνδρῶν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ γὰρ ἔχει ὄντως, ὦ Κρίτων, εὐπρέπειαν μᾶλλον [306a] ἢ ἀλήθειαν. οὐ γὰρ ῥᾴδιον αὐτοὺς πεῖσαι ὅτι καὶ ἄνθρωποι καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ὅσα μεταξύ τινοιν δυοῖν ἐστιν καὶ ἀμφοτέροιν τυγχάνει μετέχοντα, ὅσα μὲν ἐκ κακοῦ καὶ ἀγαθοῦ, τοῦ μὲν βελτίω, τοῦ δὲ χείρω γίγνεται: ὅσα δὲ ἐκ δυοῖν ἀγαθοῖν μὴ πρὸς ταὐτόν, ἀμφοῖν χείρω πρὸς ὃ ἂν ἑκάτερον ᾖ χρηστὸν ἐκείνων ἐξ ὧν συνετέθη: ὅσα δ᾽ ἐκ δυοῖν κακοῖν συντεθέντα μὴ πρὸς τὸ αὐτὸ ὄντοιν ἐν τῷ μέσῳ ἐστίν, ταῦτα [306b] μόνα βελτίω ἑκατέρου ἐκείνων ἐστίν, ὧν ἀμφοτέρων μέρος μετέχουσιν. εἰ μὲν οὖν ἡ φιλοσοφία ἀγαθόν ἐστιν καὶ ἡ πολιτικὴ πρᾶξις, πρὸς ἄλλο δὲ ἑκατέρα, οὗτοι δ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων μετέχοντες τούτων ἐν μέσῳ εἰσίν, οὐδὲν λέγουσιν ἀμφοτέρων γάρ εἰσι φαυλότεροι εἰ δὲ ἀγαθὸν καὶ κακόν, τῶν μὲν βελτίους, τῶν δὲ χείρους: εἰ δὲ κακὰ ἀμφότερα, οὕτως ἄν τι λέγοιεν ἀληθές, ἄλλως δ᾽ οὐδαμῶς. οὐκ ἂν οὖν οἶμαι [306c] αὐτοὺς ὁμολογῆσαι οὔτε κακὼ αὐτὼ ἀμφοτέρω εἶναι οὔτε τὸ μὲν κακόν, τὸ δὲ ἀγαθόν: ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι οὗτοι ἀμφοτέρων μετέχοντες ἀμφοτέρων ἥττους εἰσὶν πρὸς ἑκάτερον πρὸς ὃ ἥ τε πολιτικὴ καὶ ἡ φιλοσοφία ἀξίω λόγου ἐστόν, καὶ τρίτοι ὄντες τῇ ἀληθείᾳ ζητοῦσι πρῶτοι δοκεῖν εἶναι. συγγιγνώσκειν μὲν οὖν αὐτοῖς χρὴ τῆς ἐπιθυμίας καὶ μὴ χαλεπαίνειν, ἡγεῖσθαι μέντοι τοιούτους εἶναι οἷοί εἰσιν: πάντα γὰρ ἄνδρα χρὴ ἀγαπᾶν ὅστις καὶ ὁτιοῦν λέγει ἐχόμενον [306d] φρονήσεως πρᾶγμα καὶ ἀνδρείως ἐπεξιὼν διαπονεῖται.

Κρίτων: καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ αὐτὸς περὶ τῶν ὑέων, ὥσπερ ἀεὶ πρός σε λέγω, ἐν ἀπορίᾳ εἰμὶ τί δεῖ αὐτοῖς χρήσασθαι. ὁ μὲν οὖν νεώτερος ἔτι καὶ σμικρός ἐστιν, Κριτόβουλος δ᾽ ἤδη ἡλικίαν ἔχει καὶ δεῖταί τινος ὅστις αὐτὸν ὀνήσει. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ὅταν σοὶ συγγένωμαι, οὕτω διατίθεμαι ὥστ᾽ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ μανίαν εἶναι τὸ ἕνεκα τῶν παίδων ἄλλων μὲν πολλῶν σπουδὴν τοιαύτην ἐσχηκέναι, καὶ περὶ [306e] τοῦ γάμου ὅπως ἐκ γενναιοτάτης ἔσονται μητρός, καὶ περὶ τῶν χρημάτων ὅπως ὡς πλουσιώτατοι, αὐτῶν δὲ περὶ παιδείας ἀμελῆσαι: ὅταν δὲ εἴς τινα ἀποβλέψω τῶν φασκόντων ἂν παιδεῦσαι ἀνθρώπους, ἐκπέπληγμαι καί μοι δοκεῖ εἷς ἕκαστος αὐτῶν σκοποῦντι πάνυ ἀλλόκοτος εἶναι, [307a] ὥς γε πρὸς σὲ τἀληθῆ εἰρῆσθαι: ὥστε οὐκ ἔχω ὅπως προτρέπω τὸ μειράκιον ἐπὶ φιλοσοφίαν.

Σωκράτης: ὦ φίλε Κρίτων, οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι ἐν παντὶ ἐπιτηδεύματι οἱ μὲν φαῦλοι πολλοὶ καὶ οὐδενὸς ἄξιοι, οἱ δὲ σπουδαῖοι ὀλίγοι καὶ παντὸς ἄξιοι; ἐπεὶ γυμναστικὴ οὐ καλὸν δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι, καὶ χρηματιστικὴ καὶ ῥητορικὴ καὶ στρατηγία;

Κρίτων: ἔμοιγε πάντως δήπου.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἐν ἑκάστῃ τούτων τοὺς πολλοὺς πρὸς [307b] ἕκαστον τὸ ἔργον οὐ καταγελάστους ὁρᾷς;

Κρίτων: ναὶ μὰ τὸν Δία, καὶ μάλα ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἦ οὖν τούτου ἕνεκα αὐτός τε φεύξῃ πάντα τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα καὶ τῷ ὑεῖ οὐκ ἐπιτρέψεις;

Κρίτων: οὔκουν δίκαιόν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: μὴ τοίνυν ὅ γε οὐ χρὴ ποίει, ὦ Κρίτων, ἀλλ᾽ ἐάσας χαίρειν τοὺς ἐπιτηδεύοντας φιλοσοφίαν, εἴτε χρηστοί εἰσιν εἴτε πονηροί, αὐτὸ τὸ πρᾶγμα βασανίσας καλῶς τε καὶ εὖ, [307c] ἐὰν μέν σοι φαίνηται φαῦλον ὄν, πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα ἀπότρεπε, μὴ μόνον τοὺς ὑεῖς: ἐὰν δὲ φαίνηται οἷον οἶμαι αὐτὸ ἐγὼ εἶναι, θαρρῶν δίωκε καὶ ἄσκει, τὸ λεγόμενον δὴ τοῦτο, αὐτός τε καὶ τὰ παιδία.

PROTAGORAS

Ἑταῖρος, Σωκράτης.

[309a] Ἑταῖρος: πόθεν, ὦ Σώκρατες, φαίνῃ; ἢ δῆλα δὴ ὅτι ἀπὸ κυνηγεσίου τοῦ περὶ τὴν Ἀλκιβιάδου ὥραν; καὶ μήν μοι καὶ πρῴην ἰδόντι καλὸς μὲν ἐφαίνετο ἀνὴρ ἔτι, ἀνὴρ μέντοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὥς γ᾽ ἐν αὐτοῖς ἡμῖν εἰρῆσθαι, καὶ πώγωνος ἤδη ὑποπιμπλάμενος.

Σωκράτης: εἶτα τί τοῦτο; οὐ σὺ μέντοι Ὁμήρου ἐπαινέτης εἶ, [309b] ὃς ἔφη χαριεστάτην ἥβην εἶναι τοῦ <πρῶτον> ὑπηνήτου, ἣν νῦν Ἀλκιβιάδης ἔχει;

Ἑταῖρος: τί οὖν τὰ νῦν; ἦ παρ᾽ ἐκείνου φαίνῃ; καὶ πῶς πρός σε ὁ νεανίας διάκειται;

Σωκράτης: εὖ, ἔμοιγε ἔδοξεν, οὐχ ἥκιστα δὲ καὶ τῇ νῦν ἡμέρᾳ: καὶ γὰρ πολλὰ ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ εἶπε βοηθῶν ἐμοί, καὶ οὖν καὶ ἄρτι ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνου ἔρχομαι. ἄτοπον μέντοι τί σοι ἐθέλω εἰπεῖν: παρόντος γὰρ ἐκείνου, οὔτε προσεῖχον τὸν νοῦν, ἐπελανθανόμην τε αὐτοῦ θαμά. [309c]

Ἑταῖρος: καὶ τί ἂν γεγονὸς εἴη περὶ σὲ κἀκεῖνον τοσοῦτον πρᾶγμα; οὐ γὰρ δήπου τινὶ καλλίονι ἐνέτυχες ἄλλῳ ἔν γε τῇδε τῇ πόλει.

Σωκράτης: καὶ πολύ γε.

Ἑταῖρος: τί φῄς; ἀστῷ ἢ ξένῳ;

Σωκράτης: ξένῳ.

Ἑταῖρος: ποδαπῷ;

Σωκράτης: Ἀβδηρίτῃ.

Ἑταῖρος: καὶ οὕτω καλός τις ὁ ξένος ἔδοξέν σοι εἶναι, ὥστε τοῦ Κλεινίου ὑέος καλλίων σοι φανῆναι;

Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὐ μέλλει, ὦ μακάριε, τὸ σοφώτατον κάλλιον φαίνεσθαι;

Ἑταῖρος: ἀλλ᾽ ἦ σοφῷ τινι ἡμῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐντυχὼν πάρει; [309d]

Σωκράτης: σοφωτάτῳ μὲν οὖν δήπου τῶν γε νῦν, εἴ σοι δοκεῖ σοφώτατος εἶναι Πρωταγόρας.

Ἑταῖρος: ὢ τί λέγεις; Πρωταγόρας ἐπιδεδήμηκεν;

Σωκράτης: τρίτην γε ἤδη ἡμέραν.

Ἑταῖρος: καὶ ἄρτι ἄρα ἐκείνῳ συγγεγονὼς ἥκεις; [310a]

Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε, πολλὰ καὶ εἰπὼν καὶ ἀκούσας.

Ἑταῖρος: τί οὖν οὐ διηγήσω ἡμῖν τὴν συνουσίαν, εἰ μή σέ τι κωλύει, καθεζόμενος ἐνταυθί, ἐξαναστήσας τὸν παῖδα τουτονί;

Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν: καὶ χάριν γε εἴσομαι, ἐὰν ἀκούητε.

Ἑταῖρος: καὶ μὴν καὶ ἡμεῖς σοί, ἐὰν λέγῃς.

Σωκράτης: διπλῆ ἂν εἴη ἡ χάρις. ἀλλ᾽ οὖν ἀκούετε.

τῆς γὰρ παρελθούσης νυκτὸς ταυτησί, ἔτι βαθέος ὄρθρου, Ἱπποκράτης, ὁ Ἀπολλοδώρου ὑὸς Φάσωνος δὲ ἀδελφός, τὴν [310b] θύραν τῇ βακτηρίᾳ πάνυ σφόδρα ἔκρουε, καὶ ἐπειδὴ αὐτῷ ἀνέῳξέ τις, εὐθὺς εἴσω ᾔει ἐπειγόμενος, καὶ τῇ φωνῇ μέγα λέγων, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ἐγρήγορας ἢ καθεύδεις; καὶ ἐγὼ τὴν φωνὴν γνοὺς αὐτοῦ, Ἱπποκράτης, ἔφην, οὗτος: μή τι νεώτερον ἀγγέλλεις; οὐδέν γ᾽, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εἰ μὴ ἀγαθά γε. εὖ ἂν λέγοις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἔστι δὲ τί, καὶ τοῦ ἕνεκα τηνικάδε ἀφίκου;

Πρωταγόρας, ἔφη, ἥκει, στὰς παρ᾽ ἐμοί. πρῴην, ἔφην ἐγώ: σὺ δὲ ἄρτι πέπυσαι; νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ἔφη, ἑσπέρας γε. [310c] καὶ ἅμα ἐπιψηλαφήσας τοῦ σκίμποδος ἐκαθέζετο παρὰ τοὺς πόδας μου, καὶ εἶπεν: ἑσπέρας δῆτα, μάλα γε ὀψὲ ἀφικόμενος ἐξ Οἰνόης. ὁ γάρ τοι παῖς με ὁ Σάτυρος ἀπέδρα: καὶ δῆτα μέλλων σοι φράζειν ὅτι διωξοίμην αὐτόν, ὑπό τινος ἄλλου ἐπελαθόμην. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἦλθον καὶ δεδειπνηκότες ἦμεν καὶ ἐμέλλομεν ἀναπαύεσθαι, τότε μοι ἁδελφὸς λέγει ὅτι ἥκει Πρωταγόρας. καὶ ἔτι μὲν ἐνεχείρησα εὐθὺς παρὰ σὲ ἰέναι, ἔπειτά μοι λίαν πόρρω ἔδοξε τῶν νυκτῶν εἶναι: ἐπειδὴ [310d] δὲ τάχιστά με ἐκ τοῦ κόπου ὁ ὕπνος ἀνῆκεν, εὐθὺς ἀναστὰς οὕτω δεῦρο ἐπορευόμην. καὶ ἐγὼ γιγνώσκων αὐτοῦ τὴν ἀνδρείαν καὶ τὴν πτοίησιν, τί οὖν σοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοῦτο; μῶν τί σε ἀδικεῖ Πρωταγόρας; καὶ ὃς γελάσας, νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι γε μόνος ἐστὶ σοφός, ἐμὲ δὲ οὐ ποιεῖ. ἀλλὰ ναὶ μὰ Δία, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἂν αὐτῷ διδῷς ἀργύριον καὶ πείθῃς ἐκεῖνον, ποιήσει καὶ σὲ σοφόν. εἰ γάρ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ Ζεῦ καὶ θεοί, ἐν [310e] τούτῳ εἴη: ὡς οὔτ᾽ ἂν τῶν ἐμῶν ἐπιλίποιμι οὐδὲν οὔτε τῶν φίλων: ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὰ ταῦτα καὶ νῦν ἥκω παρὰ σέ, ἵνα ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ διαλεχθῇς αὐτῷ. ἐγὼ γὰρ ἅμα μὲν καὶ νεώτερός εἰμι, ἅμα δὲ οὐδὲ ἑώρακα Πρωταγόραν πώποτε οὐδ᾽ ἀκήκοα οὐδέν: ἔτι γὰρ παῖς ἦ ὅτε τὸ πρότερον ἐπεδήμησε.

ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, πάντες τὸν ἄνδρα ἐπαινοῦσιν καί φασιν σοφώτατον εἶναι λέγειν: ἀλλὰ τί οὐ βαδίζομεν παρ᾽ αὐτόν, ἵνα [311a] ἔνδον καταλάβωμεν; καταλύει δ᾽, ὡς ἐγὼ ἤκουσα, παρὰ Καλλίᾳ τῷ Ἱππονίκου: ἀλλ᾽ ἴωμεν. καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: μήπω, ἀγαθέ, ἐκεῖσε ἴωμενπρῲ γάρ ἐστινἀλλὰ δεῦρο ἐξαναστῶμεν εἰς τὴν αὐλήν, καὶ περιιόντες αὐτοῦ διατρίψωμεν ἕως ἂν φῶς γένηται: εἶτα ἴωμεν. καὶ γὰρ τὰ πολλὰ Πρωταγόρας ἔνδον διατρίβει, ὥστε, θάρρει, καταληψόμεθα αὐτόν, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, ἔνδον. μετὰ ταῦτα ἀναστάντες εἰς τὴν αὐλὴν περιῇμεν: καὶ ἐγὼ [311b] ἀποπειρώμενος τοῦ Ἱπποκράτους τῆς ῥώμης διεσκόπουν αὐτὸν καὶ ἠρώτων, εἰπέ μοι, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὦ Ἱππόκρατες, παρὰ Πρωταγόραν νῦν ἐπιχειρεῖς ἰέναι, ἀργύριον τελῶν ἐκείνῳ μισθὸν ὑπὲρ σεαυτοῦ, ὡς παρὰ τίνα ἀφιξόμενος καὶ τίς γενησόμενος; ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἐπενόεις παρὰ τὸν σαυτοῦ ὁμώνυμον ἐλθὼν Ἱπποκράτη τὸν Κῷον, τὸν τῶν Ἀσκληπιαδῶν, ἀργύριον τελεῖν ὑπὲρ σαυτοῦ μισθὸν ἐκείνῳ, εἴ τίς σε ἤρετο: εἰπέ μοι, μέλλεις τελεῖν, ὦ Ἱππόκρατες, Ἱπποκράτει [311c] μισθὸν ὡς τίνι ὄντι; τί ἂν ἀπεκρίνω;

εἶπον ἄν, ἔφη, ὅτι ὡς ἰατρῷ.

ὡς τίς γενησόμενος;

ὡς ἰατρός, ἔφη.

εἰ δὲ παρὰ Πολύκλειτον τὸν Ἀργεῖον ἢ Φειδίαν τὸν Ἀθηναῖον ἐπενόεις ἀφικόμενος μισθὸν ὑπὲρ σαυτοῦ τελεῖν ἐκείνοις, εἴ τίς σε ἤρετο: τελεῖν τοῦτο τὸ ἀργύριον ὡς τίνι ὄντι ἐν νῷ ἔχεις Πολυκλείτῳ τε καὶ Φειδίᾳ; τί ἂν ἀπεκρίνω;

εἶπον ἂν ὡς ἀγαλματοποιοῖς.

ὡς τίς δὲ γενησόμενος αὐτός;

δῆλον ὅτι ἀγαλματοποιός.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: [311d] παρὰ δὲ δὴ Πρωταγόραν νῦν ἀφικόμενοι ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ ἀργύριον ἐκείνῳ μισθὸν ἕτοιμοι ἐσόμεθα τελεῖν ὑπὲρ σοῦ, ἂν μὲν ἐξικνῆται τὰ ἡμέτερα χρήματα καὶ τούτοις πείθωμεν αὐτόν, εἰ δὲ μή, καὶ τὰ τῶν φίλων προσαναλίσκοντες. εἰ οὖν τις ἡμᾶς περὶ ταῦτα οὕτω σφόδρα σπουδάζοντας ἔροιτο: εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατές τε καὶ Ἱππόκρατες, ὡς τίνι ὄντι τῷ Πρωταγόρᾳ ἐν νῷ ἔχετε χρήματα τελεῖν; τί ἂν αὐτῷ [311e] ἀποκριναίμεθα; τί ὄνομα ἄλλο γε λεγόμενον περὶ Πρωταγόρου ἀκούομεν; ὥσπερ περὶ Φειδίου ἀγαλματοποιὸν καὶ περὶ Ὁμήρου ποιητήν, τί τοιοῦτον περὶ Πρωταγόρου ἀκούομεν;

σοφιστὴν δή τοι ὀνομάζουσί γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸν ἄνδρα εἶναι, ἔφη.

ὡς σοφιστῇ ἄρα ἐρχόμεθα τελοῦντες τὰ χρήματα;

μάλιστα.

εἰ οὖν καὶ τοῦτό τίς σε προσέροιτο: [312a] αὐτὸς δὲ δὴ ὡς τίς γενησόμενος ἔρχῃ παρὰ τὸν Πρωταγόραν;

καὶ ὃς εἶπεν ἐρυθριάσας ἤδη γὰρ ὑπέφαινέν τι ἡμέρας, ὥστε καταφανῆ αὐτὸν γενέσθαι εἰ μέν τι τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἔοικεν, δῆλον ὅτι σοφιστὴς γενησόμενος.

σὺ δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς θεῶν, οὐκ ἂν αἰσχύνοιο εἰς τοὺς Ἕλληνας σαυτὸν σοφιστὴν παρέχων;

νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἴπερ γε ἃ διανοοῦμαι χρὴ λέγειν.

ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα, ὦ Ἱππόκρατες, μὴ οὐ τοιαύτην ὑπολαμβάνεις σου τὴν παρὰ Πρωταγόρου μάθησιν [312b] ἔσεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ οἵαπερ ἡ παρὰ τοῦ γραμματιστοῦ ἐγένετο καὶ κιθαριστοῦ καὶ παιδοτρίβου; τούτων γὰρ σὺ ἑκάστην οὐκ ἐπὶ τέχνῃ ἔμαθες, ὡς δημιουργὸς ἐσόμενος, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ παιδείᾳ, ὡς τὸν ἰδιώτην καὶ τὸν ἐλεύθερον πρέπει. πάνυ μὲν οὖν μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη, τοιαύτη μᾶλλον εἶναι ἡ παρὰ Πρωταγόρου μάθησις.

οἶσθα οὖν ὃ μέλλεις νῦν πράττειν, ἤ σε λανθάνει; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

τοῦ πέρι;

ὅτι μέλλεις τὴν ψυχὴν τὴν σαυτοῦ παρασχεῖν [312c] θεραπεῦσαι ἀνδρί, ὡς φῄς, σοφιστῇ: ὅτι δέ ποτε ὁ σοφιστής ἐστιν, θαυμάζοιμ᾽ ἂν εἰ οἶσθα. καίτοι εἰ τοῦτ᾽ ἀγνοεῖς, οὐδὲ ὅτῳ παραδίδως τὴν ψυχὴν οἶσθα, οὔτ᾽ εἰ ἀγαθῷ οὔτ᾽ εἰ κακῷ πράγματι.

οἶμαί γ᾽, ἔφη, εἰδέναι.

λέγε δή, τί ἡγῇ εἶναι τὸν σοφιστήν;

ἐγὼ μέν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὥσπερ τοὔνομα λέγει, τοῦτον εἶναι τὸν τῶν σοφῶν ἐπιστήμονα.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοῦτο μὲν ἔξεστι λέγειν καὶ περὶ ζωγράφων καὶ περὶ τεκτόνων, ὅτι οὗτοί εἰσιν οἱ τῶν σοφῶν ἐπιστήμονες: ἀλλ᾽ [312d] εἴ τις ἔροιτο ἡμᾶς, τῶν τί σοφῶν εἰσιν οἱ ζωγράφοι ἐπιστήμονες, εἴποιμεν ἄν που αὐτῷ ὅτι τῶν πρὸς τὴν ἀπεργασίαν τὴν τῶν εἰκόνων, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως. εἰ δέ τις ἐκεῖνο ἔροιτο, ὁ δὲ σοφιστὴς τῶν τί σοφῶν ἐστιν; τί ἂν ἀποκρινοίμεθα αὐτῷ; ποίας ἐργασίας ἐπιστάτης;

τί ἂν εἴποιμεν αὐτὸν εἶναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἢ ἐπιστάτην τοῦ ποιῆσαι δεινὸν λέγειν;

ἴσως ἄν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀληθῆ λέγοιμεν, οὐ μέντοι ἱκανῶς γε: ἐρωτήσεως γὰρ ἔτι ἡ ἀπόκρισις ἡμῖν δεῖται, περὶ ὅτου ὁ σοφιστὴς δεινὸν ποιεῖ λέγειν: ὥσπερ ὁ κιθαριστὴς [312e] δεινὸν δήπου ποιεῖ λέγειν περὶ οὗπερ καὶ ἐπιστήμονα, περὶ κιθαρίσεως: ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

εἶεν: ὁ δὲ δὴ σοφιστὴς περὶ τίνος δεινὸν ποιεῖ λέγειν;

δῆλον ὅτι περὶ οὗπερ καὶ ἐπίστασθαι;

εἰκός γε. τί δή ἐστιν τοῦτο περὶ οὗ αὐτός τε ἐπιστήμων ἐστὶν ὁ σοφιστὴς καὶ τὸν μαθητὴν ποιεῖ;

μὰ Δί᾽, ἔφη, οὐκέτι ἔχω σοι λέγειν. [313a]

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον μετὰ τοῦτο: τί οὖν; οἶσθα εἰς οἷόν τινα κίνδυνον ἔρχῃ ὑποθήσων τὴν ψυχήν; ἢ εἰ μὲν τὸ σῶμα ἐπιτρέπειν σε ἔδει τῳ διακινδυνεύοντα ἢ χρηστὸν αὐτὸ γενέσθαι ἢ πονηρόν, πολλὰ ἂν περιεσκέψω εἴτ᾽ ἐπιτρεπτέον εἴτε οὔ, καὶ εἰς συμβουλὴν τούς τε φίλους ἂν παρεκάλεις καὶ τοὺς οἰκείους σκοπούμενος ἡμέρας συχνάς: ὃ δὲ περὶ πλείονος τοῦ σώματος ἡγῇ, τὴν ψυχήν, καὶ ἐν ᾧ πάντ᾽ ἐστὶν τὰ σὰ ἢ εὖ ἢ κακῶς πράττειν, χρηστοῦ ἢ πονηροῦ αὐτοῦ γενομένου, περὶ δὲ τούτου οὔτε τῷ πατρὶ οὔτε τῷ ἀδελφῷ [313b] ἐπεκοινώσω οὔτε ἡμῶν τῶν ἑταίρων οὐδενί, εἴτ᾽ ἐπιτρεπτέον εἴτε καὶ οὐ τῷ ἀφικομένῳ τούτῳ ξένῳ τὴν σὴν ψυχήν, ἀλλ᾽ ἑσπέρας ἀκούσας, ὡς φῄς, ὄρθριος ἥκων περὶ μὲν τούτου οὐδένα λόγον οὐδὲ συμβουλὴν ποιῇ, εἴτε χρὴ ἐπιτρέπειν σαυτὸν αὐτῷ εἴτε μή, ἕτοιμος δ᾽ εἶ ἀναλίσκειν τά τε σαυτοῦ καὶ τὰ τῶν φίλων χρήματα, ὡς ἤδη διεγνωκὼς ὅτι πάντως συνεστέον Πρωταγόρᾳ, ὃν οὔτε γιγνώσκεις, ὡς φῄς, οὔτε [313c] διείλεξαι οὐδεπώποτε, σοφιστὴν δ᾽ ὀνομάζεις, τὸν δὲ σοφιστὴν ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔστιν φαίνῃ ἀγνοῶν, ᾧ μέλλεις σαυτὸν ἐπιτρέπειν;

καὶ ὃς ἀκούσας, ἔοικεν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐξ ὧν σὺ λέγεις.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὦ Ἱππόκρατες, ὁ σοφιστὴς τυγχάνει ὢν ἔμπορός τις ἢ κάπηλος τῶν ἀγωγίμων, ἀφ᾽ ὧν ψυχὴ τρέφεται; φαίνεται γὰρ ἔμοιγε τοιοῦτός τις.

τρέφεται δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ψυχὴ τίνι;

μαθήμασιν δήπου, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. καὶ ὅπως γε μή, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ὁ σοφιστὴς ἐπαινῶν ἃ πωλεῖ ἐξαπατήσῃ ἡμᾶς, ὥσπερ οἱ περὶ τὴν τοῦ σώματος τροφήν, ὁ [313d] ἔμπορός τε καὶ κάπηλος. καὶ γὰρ οὗτοί που ὧν ἄγουσιν ἀγωγίμων οὔτε αὐτοὶ ἴσασιν ὅτι χρηστὸν ἢ πονηρὸν περὶ τὸ σῶμα, ἐπαινοῦσιν δὲ πάντα πωλοῦντες, οὔτε οἱ ὠνούμενοι παρ᾽ αὐτῶν, ἐὰν μή τις τύχῃ γυμναστικὸς ἢ ἰατρὸς ὤν. οὕτω δὲ καὶ οἱ τὰ μαθήματα περιάγοντες κατὰ τὰς πόλεις καὶ πωλοῦντες καὶ καπηλεύοντες τῷ ἀεὶ ἐπιθυμοῦντι ἐπαινοῦσιν μὲν πάντα ἃ πωλοῦσιν, τάχα δ᾽ ἄν τινες, ὦ ἄριστε, καὶ τούτων ἀγνοοῖεν ὧν πωλοῦσιν ὅτι χρηστὸν ἢ πονηρὸν [313e] πρὸς τὴν ψυχήν: ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως καὶ οἱ ὠνούμενοι παρ᾽ αὐτῶν, ἐὰν μή τις τύχῃ περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν αὖ ἰατρικὸς ὤν. εἰ μὲν οὖν σὺ τυγχάνεις ἐπιστήμων τούτων τί χρηστὸν καὶ πονηρόν, ἀσφαλές σοι ὠνεῖσθαι μαθήματα καὶ παρὰ Πρωταγόρου καὶ παρ᾽ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν: εἰ δὲ μή, ὅρα, ὦ μακάριε, [314a] μὴ περὶ τοῖς φιλτάτοις κυβεύῃς τε καὶ κινδυνεύῃς. καὶ γὰρ δὴ καὶ πολὺ μείζων κίνδυνος ἐν τῇ τῶν μαθημάτων ὠνῇ ἢ ἐν τῇ τῶν σιτίων. σιτία μὲν γὰρ καὶ ποτὰ πριάμενον παρὰ τοῦ καπήλου καὶ ἐμπόρου ἔξεστιν ἐν ἄλλοις ἀγγείοις ἀποφέρειν, καὶ πρὶν δέξασθαι αὐτὰ εἰς τὸ σῶμα πιόντα ἢ φαγόντα, καταθέμενον οἴκαδε ἔξεστιν συμβουλεύσασθαι, παρακαλέσαντα τὸν ἐπαΐοντα, ὅτι τε ἐδεστέον ἢ ποτέον καὶ ὅτι μή, καὶ ὁπόσον καὶ ὁπότε: ὥστε ἐν τῇ ὠνῇ οὐ μέγας ὁ [314b] κίνδυνος. μαθήματα δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν ἐν ἄλλῳ ἀγγείῳ ἀπενεγκεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάγκη καταθέντα τὴν τιμὴν τὸ μάθημα ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ ψυχῇ λαβόντα καὶ μαθόντα ἀπιέναι ἢ βεβλαμμένον ἢ ὠφελημένον. ταῦτα οὖν σκοπώμεθα καὶ μετὰ τῶν πρεσβυτέρων ἡμῶν: ἡμεῖς γὰρ ἔτι νέοι ὥστε τοσοῦτον πρᾶγμα διελέσθαι. νῦν μέντοι, ὥσπερ ὡρμήσαμεν, ἴωμεν καὶ ἀκούσωμεν τοῦ ἀνδρός, ἔπειτα ἀκούσαντες καὶ ἄλλοις ἀνακοινωσώμεθα: καὶ γὰρ οὐ μόνος Πρωταγόρας αὐτόθι ἐστίν, [314c] ἀλλὰ καὶ Ἱππίας ὁ Ἠλεῖος οἶμαι δὲ καὶ πρόδικον τὸν Κεῖονκαὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ καὶ σοφοί.

δόξαν ἡμῖν ταῦτα ἐπορευόμεθα: ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐν τῷ προθύρῳ ἐγενόμεθα, ἐπιστάντες περί τινος λόγου διελεγόμεθα, ὃς ἡμῖν κατὰ τὴν ὁδὸν ἐνέπεσεν: ἵν᾽ οὖν μὴ ἀτελὴς γένοιτο, ἀλλὰ διαπερανάμενοι οὕτως ἐσίοιμεν, στάντες ἐν τῷ προθύρῳ διελεγόμεθα ἕως συνωμολογήσαμεν ἀλλήλοις. δοκεῖ οὖν μοι, ὁ θυρωρός, εὐνοῦχός τις, κατήκουεν ἡμῶν, κινδυνεύει δὲ [314d] διὰ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν σοφιστῶν ἄχθεσθαι τοῖς φοιτῶσιν εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν: ἐπειδὴ γοῦν ἐκρούσαμεν τὴν θύραν, ἀνοίξας καὶ ἰδὼν ἡμᾶς, ἔα, ἔφη, σοφισταί τινες: οὐ σχολὴ αὐτῷ: καὶ ἅμα ἀμφοῖν τοῖν χεροῖν τὴν θύραν πάνυ προθύμως ὡς οἷός τ᾽ ἦν ἐπήραξεν. καὶ ἡμεῖς πάλιν ἐκρούομεν, καὶ ὃς ἐγκεκλῃμένης τῆς θύρας ἀποκρινόμενος εἶπεν, ὦ ἄνθρωποι, ἔφη, οὐκ ἀκηκόατε ὅτι οὐ σχολὴ αὐτῷ; ἀλλ᾽ ὠγαθέ, ἔφην ἐγώ, οὔτε παρὰ Καλλίαν ἥκομεν οὔτε σοφισταί ἐσμεν. ἀλλὰ θάρρει: [314e] Πρωταγόραν γάρ τοι δεόμενοι ἰδεῖν ἤλθομεν: εἰσάγγειλον οὖν. μόγις οὖν ποτε ἡμῖν ἅνθρωπος ἀνέῳξεν τὴν θύραν.

ἐπειδὴ δὲ εἰσήλθομεν, κατελάβομεν Πρωταγόραν ἐν τῷ προστῴῳ περιπατοῦντα, ἑξῆς δ᾽ αὐτῷ συμπεριεπάτουν ἐκ μὲν τοῦ ἐπὶ θάτερα Καλλίας ὁ Ἱππονίκου καὶ ὁ ἀδελφὸς αὐτοῦ [315a] ὁ ὁμομήτριος, Πάραλος ὁ Περικλέους, καὶ Χαρμίδης ὁ Γλαύκωνος, ἐκ δὲ τοῦ ἐπὶ θάτερα ὁ ἕτερος τῶν Περικλέους Ξάνθιππος, καὶ Φιλιππίδης ὁ Φιλομήλου καὶ Ἀντίμοιρος ὁ Μενδαῖος, ὅσπερ εὐδοκιμεῖ μάλιστα τῶν Πρωταγόρου μαθητῶν καὶ ἐπὶ τέχνῃ μανθάνει, ὡς σοφιστὴς ἐσόμενος. τούτων δὲ οἳ ὄπισθεν ἠκολούθουν ἐπακούοντες τῶν λεγομένων τὸ μὲν πολὺ ξένοι ἐφαίνοντο οὓς ἄγει ἐξ ἑκάστων τῶν πόλεων ὁ Πρωταγόρας, δι᾽ ὧν διεξέρχεται, κηλῶν τῇ φωνῇ ὥσπερ [315b] Ὀρφεύς, οἱ δὲ κατὰ τὴν φωνὴν ἕπονται κεκηλημένοι ἦσαν δέ τινες καὶ τῶν ἐπιχωρίων ἐν τῷ χορῷ. τοῦτον τὸν χορὸν μάλιστα ἔγωγε ἰδὼν ἥσθην, ὡς καλῶς ηὐλαβοῦντο μηδέποτε ἐμποδὼν ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν εἶναι Πρωταγόρου, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ αὐτὸς ἀναστρέφοι καὶ οἱ μετ᾽ ἐκείνου, εὖ πως καὶ ἐν κόσμῳ περιεσχίζοντο οὗτοι οἱ ἐπήκοοι ἔνθεν καὶ ἔνθεν, καὶ ἐν κύκλῳ περιιόντες ἀεὶ εἰς τὸ ὄπισθεν καθίσταντο κάλλιστα.

τὸν δὲ μετ᾽ εἰσενόησα, Hom. Od. 11.601 ἔφη Ὅμηρος, Ἱππίαν τὸν [315c] Ἠλεῖον, καθήμενον ἐν τῷ κατ᾽ ἀντικρὺ προστῴῳ ἐν θρόνῳ: περὶ αὐτὸν δ᾽ ἐκάθηντο ἐπὶ βάθρων Ἐρυξίμαχός τε ὁ Ἀκουμενοῦ καὶ Φαῖδρος ὁ Μυρρινούσιος καὶ Ἄνδρων ὁ Ἀνδροτίωνος καὶ τῶν ξένων πολῖταί τε αὐτοῦ καὶ ἄλλοι τινές. ἐφαίνοντο δὲ περὶ φύσεώς τε καὶ τῶν μετεώρων ἀστρονομικὰ ἄττα διερωτᾶν τὸν Ἱππίαν, ὁ δ᾽ ἐν θρόνῳ καθήμενος ἑκάστοις αὐτῶν διέκρινεν καὶ διεξῄει τὰ ἐρωτώμενα.

καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ Τάνταλόν Hom. Od. 11.582 γε εἰσεῖδον Hom. Od. 11.582 ἐπεδήμει [315d] γὰρ ἄρα καὶ Πρόδικος ὁ Κεῖος ἦν δὲ ἐν οἰκήματί τινι, ᾧ πρὸ τοῦ μὲν ὡς ταμιείῳ ἐχρῆτο Ἱππόνικος, νῦν δὲ ὑπὸ τοῦ πλήθους τῶν καταλυόντων ὁ Καλλίας καὶ τοῦτο ἐκκενώσας ξένοις κατάλυσιν πεποίηκεν. ὁ μὲν οὖν Πρόδικος ἔτι κατέκειτο, ἐγκεκαλυμμένος ἐν κῳδίοις τισὶν καὶ στρώμασιν καὶ μάλα πολλοῖς, ὡς ἐφαίνετο: παρεκάθηντο δὲ αὐτῷ ἐπὶ ταῖς πλησίον κλίναις Παυσανίας τε ὁ ἐκ Κεραμέων καὶ μετὰ Παυσανίου νέον τι ἔτι μειράκιον, ὡς μὲν ἐγᾦμαι καλόν τε [315e] κἀγαθὸν τὴν φύσιν, τὴν δ᾽ οὖν ἰδέαν πάνυ καλός. ἔδοξα ἀκοῦσαι ὄνομα αὐτῷ εἶναι Ἀγάθωνα, καὶ οὐκ ἂν θαυμάζοιμι εἰ παιδικὰ Παυσανίου τυγχάνει ὤν. τοῦτό τ᾽ ἦν τὸ μειράκιον, καὶ τὼ Ἀδειμάντω ἀμφοτέρω, ὅ τε Κήπιδος καὶ ὁ Λευκολοφίδου, καὶ ἄλλοι τινὲς ἐφαίνοντο: περὶ δὲ ὧν διελέγοντο οὐκ ἐδυνάμην ἔγωγε μαθεῖν ἔξωθεν, καίπερ λιπαρῶς ἔχων ἀκούειν τοῦ Προδίκου πάσσοφος γάρ μοι δοκεῖ ἁνὴρ [316a] εἶναι καὶ θεῖος ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν βαρύτητα τῆς φωνῆς βόμβος τις ἐν τῷ οἰκήματι γιγνόμενος ἀσαφῆ ἐποίει τὰ λεγόμενα.

καὶ ἡμεῖς μὲν ἄρτι εἰσεληλύθεμεν, κατόπιν δὲ ἡμῶν ἐπεισῆλθον Ἀλκιβιάδης τε ὁ καλός, ὡς φῂς σὺ καὶ ἐγὼ πείθομαι, καὶ Κριτίας ὁ Καλλαίσχρου.

ἡμεῖς οὖν ὡς εἰσήλθομεν, ἔτι σμίκρ᾽ ἄττα διατρίψαντες καὶ ταῦτα διαθεασάμενοι προσῇμεν πρὸς τὸν Πρωταγόραν, [316b] καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: ὦ Πρωταγόρα, πρὸς σέ τοι ἤλθομεν ἐγώ τε καὶ Ἱπποκράτης οὗτος.

πότερον, ἔφη, μόνῳ βουλόμενοι διαλεχθῆναι ἢ καὶ μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων;

ἡμῖν μέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐδὲν διαφέρει: ἀκούσας δὲ οὗ ἕνεκα ἤλθομεν, αὐτὸς σκέψαι.

τί οὖν δή ἐστιν, ἔφη, οὗ ἕνεκα ἥκετε;

Ἱπποκράτης ὅδε ἐστὶν μὲν τῶν ἐπιχωρίων, Ἀπολλοδώρου ὑός, οἰκίας μεγάλης τε καὶ εὐδαίμονος, αὐτὸς δὲ τὴν φύσιν δοκεῖ ἐνάμιλλος εἶναι τοῖς ἡλικιώταις. ἐπιθυμεῖν δέ μοι [316c] δοκεῖ ἐλλόγιμος γενέσθαι ἐν τῇ πόλει, τοῦτο δὲ οἴεταί οἱ μάλιστ᾽ ἂ<ν> γενέσθαι, εἰ σοὶ συγγένοιτο: ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ἤδη σὺ σκόπει, πότερον περὶ αὐτῶν μόνος οἴει δεῖν διαλέγεσθαι πρὸς μόνους, ἢ μετ᾽ ἄλλων.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, προμηθῇ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ. ξένον γὰρ ἄνδρα καὶ ἰόντα εἰς πόλεις μεγάλας, καὶ ἐν ταύταις πείθοντα τῶν νέων τοὺς βελτίστους ἀπολείποντας τὰς τῶν ἄλλων συνουσίας, καὶ οἰκείων καὶ ὀθνείων, καὶ πρεσβυτέρων καὶ νεωτέρων, ἑαυτῷ συνεῖναι ὡς βελτίους ἐσομένους διὰ [316d] τὴν ἑαυτοῦ συνουσίαν, χρὴ εὐλαβεῖσθαι τὸν ταῦτα πράττοντα: οὐ γὰρ σμικροὶ περὶ αὐτὰ φθόνοι τε γίγνονται καὶ ἄλλαι δυσμένειαί τε καὶ ἐπιβουλαί. ἐγὼ δὲ τὴν σοφιστικὴν τέχνην φημὶ μὲν εἶναι παλαιάν, τοὺς δὲ μεταχειριζομένους αὐτὴν τῶν παλαιῶν ἀνδρῶν, φοβουμένους τὸ ἐπαχθὲς αὐτῆς, πρόσχημα ποιεῖσθαι καὶ προκαλύπτεσθαι, τοὺς μὲν ποίησιν, οἷον Ὅμηρόν τε καὶ Ἡσίοδον καὶ Σιμωνίδην, τοὺς δὲ αὖ τελετάς τε καὶ χρησμῳδίας, τοὺς ἀμφί τε Ὀρφέα καὶ Μουσαῖον: ἐνίους δέ τινας ᾔσθημαι καὶ γυμναστικήν, οἷον Ἴκκος τε ὁ Ταραντῖνος καὶ ὁ νῦν ἔτι ὢν οὐδενὸς ἥττων σοφιστὴς [316e] Ἡρόδικος ὁ Σηλυμβριανός, τὸ δὲ ἀρχαῖον Μεγαρεύς: μουσικὴν δὲ Ἀγαθοκλῆς τε ὁ ὑμέτερος πρόσχημα ἐποιήσατο, μέγας ὢν σοφιστής, καὶ Πυθοκλείδης ὁ Κεῖος καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοί. οὗτοι πάντες, ὥσπερ λέγω, φοβηθέντες τὸν φθόνον ταῖς τέχναις ταύταις παραπετάσμασιν ἐχρήσαντο. ἐγὼ δὲ τούτοις [317a] ἅπασιν κατὰ τοῦτο εἶναι οὐ συμφέρομαι: ἡγοῦμαι γὰρ αὐτοὺς οὔ τι διαπράξασθαι ὃ ἐβουλήθησαν οὐ γὰρ λαθεῖν τῶν ἀνθρώπων τοὺς δυναμένους ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι πράττειν, ὧνπερ ἕνεκα ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν τὰ προσχήματα: ἐπεὶ οἵ γε πολλοὶ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδὲν αἰσθάνονται, ἀλλ᾽ ἅττ᾽ ἂν οὗτοι διαγγέλλωσι, ταῦτα ὑμνοῦσιν τὸ οὖν ἀποδιδράσκοντα μὴ δύνασθαι ἀποδρᾶναι, ἀλλὰ καταφανῆ εἶναι, πολλὴ μωρία καὶ τοῦ ἐπιχειρήματος, [317b] καὶ πολὺ δυσμενεστέρους παρέχεσθαι ἀνάγκη τοὺς ἀνθρώπους: ἡγοῦνται γὰρ τὸν τοιοῦτον πρὸς τοῖς ἄλλοις καὶ πανοῦργον εἶναι. ἐγὼ οὖν τούτων τὴν ἐναντίαν ἅπασαν ὁδὸν ἐλήλυθα, καὶ ὁμολογῶ τε σοφιστὴς εἶναι καὶ παιδεύειν ἀνθρώπους, καὶ εὐλάβειαν ταύτην οἶμαι βελτίω ἐκείνης εἶναι, τὸ ὁμολογεῖν μᾶλλον ἢ ἔξαρνον εἶναι: καὶ ἄλλας πρὸς ταύτῃ ἔσκεμμαι, ὥστε, σὺν θεῷ εἰπεῖν, μηδὲν δεινὸν πάσχειν διὰ [317c] τὸ ὁμολογεῖν σοφιστὴς εἶναι. καίτοι πολλά γε ἔτη ἤδη εἰμὶ ἐν τῇ τέχνῃ: καὶ γὰρ καὶ τὰ σύμπαντα πολλά μοί ἐστιν οὐδενὸς ὅτου οὐ πάντων ἂν ὑμῶν καθ᾽ ἡλικίαν πατὴρ εἴην ὥστε πολύ μοι ἥδιστόν ἐστιν, εἴ τι βούλεσθε, περὶ τούτων ἁπάντων ἐναντίον τῶν ἔνδον ὄντων τὸν λόγον ποιεῖσθαι.

καὶ ἐγώ ὑπώπτευσα γὰρ βούλεσθαι αὐτὸν τῷ τε προδίκῳ καὶ τῷ Ἱππίᾳ ἐνδείξασθαι καὶ καλλωπίσασθαι ὅτι ἐρασταὶ [317d] αὐτοῦ ἀφιγμένοι εἶμεν τί οὖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, οὐ καὶ πρόδικον καὶ Ἱππίαν ἐκαλέσαμεν καὶ τοὺς μετ᾽ αὐτῶν, ἵνα ἐπακούσωσιν ἡμῶν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη ὁ Πρωταγόρας.

βούλεσθε οὖν, ὁ Καλλίας ἔφη, συνέδριον κατασκευάσωμεν, ἵνα καθεζόμενοι διαλέγησθε;

ἐδόκει χρῆναι: ἅσμενοι δὲ πάντες ἡμεῖς, ὡς ἀκουσόμενοι ἀνδρῶν σοφῶν, καὶ αὐτοί τε ἀντιλαβόμενοι τῶν βάθρων καὶ τῶν κλινῶν κατεσκευάζομεν παρὰ τῷ Ἱππίᾳ ἐκεῖ γὰρ προϋπῆρχε τὰ βάθρα ἐν δὲ τούτῳ Καλλίας τε καὶ Ἀλκιβιάδης [317e] ἡκέτην ἄγοντε τὸν πρόδικον, ἀναστήσαντες ἐκ τῆς κλίνης, καὶ τοὺς μετὰ τοῦ Προδίκου.

ἐπεὶ δὲ πάντες συνεκαθεζόμεθα, ὁ Πρωταγόρας, νῦν δὴ ἄν, ἔφη, λέγοις, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπειδὴ καὶ οἵδε πάρεισιν, περὶ ὧν ὀλίγον πρότερον μνείαν ἐποιοῦ πρὸς ἐμὲ ὑπὲρ τοῦ νεανίσκου. [318a]

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ὅτι ἡ αὐτή μοι ἀρχή ἐστιν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, ἥπερ ἄρτι, περὶ ὧν ἀφικόμην. Ἱπποκράτης γὰρ ὅδε τυγχάνει ἐν ἐπιθυμίᾳ ὢν τῆς σῆς συνουσίας: ὅτι οὖν αὐτῷ ἀποβήσεται, ἐάν σοι συνῇ, ἡδέως ἄν φησι πυθέσθαι. τοσοῦτος ὅ γε ἡμέτερος λόγος.

ὑπολαβὼν οὖν ὁ Πρωταγόρας εἶπεν: ὦ νεανίσκε, ἔσται τοίνυν σοι, ἐὰν ἐμοὶ συνῇς, ᾗ ἂν ἡμέρᾳ ἐμοὶ συγγένῃ, ἀπιέναι οἴκαδε βελτίονι γεγονότι, καὶ ἐν τῇ ὑστεραίᾳ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα: καὶ ἑκάστης ἡμέρας ἀεὶ ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιον ἐπιδιδόναι. [318b]

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας εἶπον: ὦ Πρωταγόρα, τοῦτο μὲν οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν λέγεις, ἀλλὰ εἰκός, ἐπεὶ κἂν σύ, καίπερ τηλικοῦτος ὢν καὶ οὕτως σοφός, εἴ τίς σε διδάξειεν ὃ μὴ τυγχάνοις ἐπιστάμενος, βελτίων ἂν γένοιο. ἀλλὰ μὴ οὕτως, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ αὐτίκα μάλα μεταβαλὼν τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν Ἱπποκράτης ὅδε ἐπιθυμήσειεν τῆς συνουσίας τούτου τοῦ νεανίσκου τοῦ νῦν νεωστὶ ἐπιδημοῦντος, Ζευξίππου τοῦ Ἡρακλεώτου, καὶ ἀφικόμενος παρ᾽ αὐτόν, ὥσπερ παρὰ σὲ [318c] νῦν, ἀκούσειεν αὐτοῦ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ἅπερ σοῦ, ὅτι ἑκάστης ἡμέρας συνὼν αὐτῷ βελτίων ἔσται καὶ ἐπιδώσει, εἰ αὐτὸν ἐπανέροιτο: τί δὴ φῂς βελτίω ἔσεσθαι καὶ εἰς τί ἐπιδώσειν; εἴποι ἂν αὐτῷ ὁ Ζεύξιππος ὅτι πρὸς γραφικήν: κἂν εἰ Ὀρθαγόρᾳ τῷ Θηβαίῳ συγγενόμενος, ἀκούσας ἐκείνου ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ἅπερ σοῦ, ἐπανέροιτο αὐτὸν εἰς ὅτι βελτίων καθ᾽ ἡμέραν ἔσται συγγιγνόμενος ἐκείνῳ, εἴποι ἂν ὅτι εἰς αὔλησιν: οὕτω δὴ καὶ σὺ εἰπὲ τῷ νεανίσκῳ καὶ ἐμοὶ ὑπὲρ [318d] τούτου ἐρωτῶντι, Ἱπποκράτης ὅδε Πρωταγόρᾳ συγγενόμενος, ᾗ ἂν αὐτῷ ἡμέρᾳ συγγένηται, βελτίων ἄπεισι γενόμενος καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἡμερῶν ἑκάστης οὕτως ἐπιδώσει εἰς τί, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, καὶ περὶ τοῦ;

καὶ ὁ Πρωταγόρας ἐμοῦ ταῦτα ἀκούσας, σύ τε καλῶς ἐρωτᾷς, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἐγὼ τοῖς καλῶς ἐρωτῶσι χαίρω ἀποκρινόμενος. Ἱπποκράτης γὰρ παρ᾽ ἐμὲ ἀφικόμενος οὐ πείσεται ἅπερ ἂν ἔπαθεν ἄλλῳ τῳ συγγενόμενος τῶν σοφιστῶν. οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἄλλοι λωβῶνται τοὺς νέους: [318e] τὰς γὰρ τέχνας αὐτοὺς πεφευγότας ἄκοντας πάλιν αὖ ἄγοντες ἐμβάλλουσιν εἰς τέχνας, λογισμούς τε καὶ ἀστρονομίαν καὶ γεωμετρίαν καὶ μουσικὴν διδάσκοντες καὶ ἅμα εἰς τὸν Ἱππίαν ἀπέβλεψεν παρὰ δ᾽ ἐμὲ ἀφικόμενος μαθήσεται οὐ περὶ ἄλλου του ἢ περὶ οὗ ἥκει. τὸ δὲ μάθημά ἐστιν εὐβουλία περὶ τῶν οἰκείων, ὅπως ἂν ἄριστα τὴν αὑτοῦ οἰκίαν διοικοῖ, [319a] καὶ περὶ τῶν τῆς πόλεως, ὅπως τὰ τῆς πόλεως δυνατώτατος ἂν εἴη καὶ πράττειν καὶ λέγειν.

ἆρα, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἕπομαί σου τῷ λόγῳ; δοκεῖς γάρ μοι λέγειν τὴν πολιτικὴν τέχνην καὶ ὑπισχνεῖσθαι ποιεῖν ἄνδρας ἀγαθοὺς πολίτας.

αὐτὸ μὲν οὖν τοῦτό ἐστιν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ ἐπάγγελμα ὃ ἐπαγγέλλομαι.

ἦ καλόν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τέχνημα ἄρα κέκτησαι, εἴπερ κέκτησαι: οὐ γάρ τι ἄλλο πρός γε σὲ εἰρήσεται ἢ ἅπερ νοῶ. ἐγὼ γὰρ τοῦτο, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, οὐκ ᾤμην διδακτὸν [319b] εἶναι, σοὶ δὲ λέγοντι οὐκ ἔχω ὅπως [ἂν] ἀπιστῶ. ὅθεν δὲ αὐτὸ ἡγοῦμαι οὐ διδακτὸν εἶναι μηδ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ἀνθρώπων παρασκευαστὸν ἀνθρώποις, δίκαιός εἰμι εἰπεῖν. ἐγὼ γὰρ Ἀθηναίους, ὥσπερ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι Ἕλληνες, φημὶ σοφοὺς εἶναι. ὁρῶ οὖν, ὅταν συλλεγῶμεν εἰς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν, ἐπειδὰν μὲν περὶ οἰκοδομίας τι δέῃ πρᾶξαι τὴν πόλιν, τοὺς οἰκοδόμους μεταπεμπομένους συμβούλους περὶ τῶν οἰκοδομημάτων, ὅταν δὲ περὶ ναυπηγίας, τοὺς ναυπηγούς, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οὕτως, [319c] ὅσα ἡγοῦνται μαθητά τε καὶ διδακτὰ εἶναι: ἐὰν δέ τις ἄλλος ἐπιχειρῇ αὐτοῖς συμβουλεύειν ὃν ἐκεῖνοι μὴ οἴονται δημιουργὸν εἶναι, κἂν πάνυ καλὸς ᾖ καὶ πλούσιος καὶ τῶν γενναίων, οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ἀποδέχονται, ἀλλὰ καταγελῶσι καὶ θορυβοῦσιν, ἕως ἂν ἢ αὐτὸς ἀποστῇ ὁ ἐπιχειρῶν λέγειν καταθορυβηθείς, ἢ οἱ τοξόται αὐτὸν ἀφελκύσωσιν ἢ ἐξάρωνται κελευόντων τῶν πρυτάνεων. περὶ μὲν οὖν ὧν οἴονται ἐν τέχνῃ εἶναι, οὕτω διαπράττονται: ἐπειδὰν δέ τι περὶ τῶν τῆς [319d] πόλεως διοικήσεως δέῃ βουλεύσασθαι, συμβουλεύει αὐτοῖς ἀνιστάμενος περὶ τούτων ὁμοίως μὲν τέκτων, ὁμοίως δὲ χαλκεὺς σκυτοτόμος, ἔμπορος ναύκληρος, πλούσιος πένης, γενναῖος ἀγεννής, καὶ τούτοις οὐδεὶς τοῦτο ἐπιπλήττει ὥσπερ τοῖς πρότερον, ὅτι οὐδαμόθεν μαθών, οὐδὲ ὄντος διδασκάλου οὐδενὸς αὐτῷ, ἔπειτα συμβουλεύειν ἐπιχειρεῖ: δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι οὐχ ἡγοῦνται διδακτὸν εἶναι. μὴ τοίνυν ὅτι τὸ κοινὸν τῆς [319e] πόλεως οὕτως ἔχει, ἀλλὰ ἰδίᾳ ἡμῖν οἱ σοφώτατοι καὶ ἄριστοι τῶν πολιτῶν ταύτην τὴν ἀρετὴν ἣν ἔχουσιν οὐχ οἷοί τε ἄλλοις παραδιδόναι: ἐπεὶ Περικλῆς, ὁ τουτωνὶ τῶν νεανίσκων πατήρ, τούτους ἃ μὲν διδασκάλων εἴχετο καλῶς καὶ εὖ ἐπαίδευσεν, [320a] ἃ δὲ αὐτὸς σοφός ἐστιν οὔτε αὐτὸς παιδεύει οὔτε τῳ ἄλλῳ παραδίδωσιν, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτοὶ περιιόντες νέμονται ὥσπερ ἄφετοι, ἐάν που αὐτόματοι περιτύχωσιν τῇ ἀρετῇ. εἰ δὲ βούλει, Κλεινίαν, τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδου τουτουῒ νεώτερον ἀδελφόν, ἐπιτροπεύων ὁ αὐτὸς οὗτος ἀνὴρ Περικλῆς, δεδιὼς περὶ αὐτοῦ μὴ διαφθαρῇ δὴ ὑπὸ Ἀλκιβιάδου, ἀποσπάσας ἀπὸ τούτου, καταθέμενος ἐν Ἀρίφρονος ἐπαίδευε: καὶ πρὶν ἓξ μῆνας γεγονέναι, [320b] ἀπέδωκε τούτῳ οὐκ ἔχων ὅτι χρήσαιτο αὐτῷ. καὶ ἄλλους σοι παμπόλλους ἔχω λέγειν, οἳ αὐτοὶ ἀγαθοὶ ὄντες οὐδένα πώποτε βελτίω ἐποίησαν οὔτε τῶν οἰκείων οὔτε τῶν ἀλλοτρίων. ἐγὼ οὖν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, εἰς ταῦτα ἀποβλέπων οὐχ ἡγοῦμαι διδακτὸν εἶναι ἀρετήν: ἐπειδὴ δέ σου ἀκούω ταῦτα λέγοντος, κάμπτομαι καὶ οἶμαί τί σε λέγειν διὰ τὸ ἡγεῖσθαί σε πολλῶν μὲν ἔμπειρον γεγονέναι, πολλὰ δὲ μεμαθηκέναι, τὰ δὲ αὐτὸν ἐξηυρηκέναι. εἰ οὖν ἔχεις ἐναργέστερον ἡμῖν ἐπιδεῖξαι ὡς [320c] διδακτόν ἐστιν ἡ ἀρετή, μὴ φθονήσῃς ἀλλ᾽ ἐπίδειξον.

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, οὐ φθονήσω: ἀλλὰ πότερον ὑμῖν, ὡς πρεσβύτερος νεωτέροις, μῦθον λέγων ἐπιδείξω ἢ λόγῳ διεξελθών;

πολλοὶ οὖν αὐτῷ ὑπέλαβον τῶν παρακαθημένων ὁποτέρως βούλοιτο οὕτως διεξιέναι. δοκεῖ τοίνυν μοι, ἔφη, χαριέστερον εἶναι μῦθον ὑμῖν λέγειν.

ἦν γάρ ποτε χρόνος ὅτε θεοὶ μὲν ἦσαν, θνητὰ δὲ γένη [320d] οὐκ ἦν. ἐπειδὴ δὲ καὶ τούτοις χρόνος ἦλθεν εἱμαρμένος γενέσεως, τυποῦσιν αὐτὰ θεοὶ γῆς ἔνδον ἐκ γῆς καὶ πυρὸς μείξαντες καὶ τῶν ὅσα πυρὶ καὶ γῇ κεράννυται. ἐπειδὴ δ᾽ ἄγειν αὐτὰ πρὸς φῶς ἔμελλον, προσέταξαν Προμηθεῖ καὶ Ἐπιμηθεῖ κοσμῆσαί τε καὶ νεῖμαι δυνάμεις ἑκάστοις ὡς πρέπει. Προμηθέα δὲ παραιτεῖται Ἐπιμηθεὺς αὐτὸς νεῖμαι, νείμαντος δέ μου, ἔφη, ἐπίσκεψαι: καὶ οὕτω πείσας νέμει. νέμων δὲ τοῖς μὲν ἰσχὺν ἄνευ τάχους προσῆπτεν, [320e] τοὺς δ᾽ ἀσθενεστέρους τάχει ἐκόσμει: τοὺς δὲ ὥπλιζε, τοῖς δ᾽ ἄοπλον διδοὺς φύσιν ἄλλην τιν᾽ αὐτοῖς ἐμηχανᾶτο δύναμιν εἰς σωτηρίαν. ἃ μὲν γὰρ αὐτῶν σμικρότητι ἤμπισχεν, πτηνὸν φυγὴν ἢ κατάγειον οἴκησιν ἔνεμεν: ἃ δὲ ηὖξε μεγέθει, τῷδε [321a] αὐτῷ αὐτὰ ἔσῳζεν: καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως ἐπανισῶν ἔνεμεν. ταῦτα δὲ ἐμηχανᾶτο εὐλάβειαν ἔχων μή τι γένος ἀϊστωθείη: ἐπειδὴ δὲ αὐτοῖς ἀλληλοφθοριῶν διαφυγὰς ἐπήρκεσε, πρὸς τὰς ἐκ Διὸς ὥρας εὐμάρειαν ἐμηχανᾶτο ἀμφιεννὺς αὐτὰ πυκναῖς τε θριξὶν καὶ στερεοῖς δέρμασιν, ἱκανοῖς μὲν ἀμῦναι χειμῶνα, δυνατοῖς δὲ καὶ καύματα, καὶ εἰς εὐνὰς ἰοῦσιν ὅπως ὑπάρχοι τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα στρωμνὴ οἰκεία τε καὶ αὐτοφυὴς ἑκάστῳ: καὶ [321b] ὑποδῶν τὰ μὲν ὁπλαῖς, τὰ δὲ [θριξὶν καὶ] δέρμασιν στερεοῖς καὶ ἀναίμοις. τοὐντεῦθεν τροφὰς ἄλλοις ἄλλας ἐξεπόριζεν, τοῖς μὲν ἐκ γῆς βοτάνην, ἄλλοις δὲ δένδρων καρπούς, τοῖς δὲ ῥίζας: ἔστι δ᾽ οἷς ἔδωκεν εἶναι τροφὴν ζῴων ἄλλων βοράν: καὶ τοῖς μὲν ὀλιγογονίαν προσῆψε, τοῖς δ᾽ ἀναλισκομένοις ὑπὸ τούτων πολυγονίαν, σωτηρίαν τῷ γένει πορίζων. ἅτε δὴ οὖν οὐ πάνυ τι σοφὸς ὢν ὁ Ἐπιμηθεὺς ἔλαθεν αὑτὸν [321c] καταναλώσας τὰς δυνάμεις εἰς τὰ ἄλογα: λοιπὸν δὴ ἀκόσμητον ἔτι αὐτῷ ἦν τὸ ἀνθρώπων γένος, καὶ ἠπόρει ὅτι χρήσαιτο. ἀποροῦντι δὲ αὐτῷ ἔρχεται Προμηθεὺς ἐπισκεψόμενος τὴν νομήν, καὶ ὁρᾷ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ζῷα ἐμμελῶς πάντων ἔχοντα, τὸν δὲ ἄνθρωπον γυμνόν τε καὶ ἀνυπόδητον καὶ ἄστρωτον καὶ ἄοπλον: ἤδη δὲ καὶ ἡ εἱμαρμένη ἡμέρα παρῆν, ἐν ᾗ ἔδει καὶ ἄνθρωπον ἐξιέναι ἐκ γῆς εἰς φῶς. ἀπορίᾳ οὖν σχόμενος ὁ Προμηθεὺς ἥντινα σωτηρίαν τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ εὕροι, [321d] κλέπτει Ἡφαίστου καὶ Ἀθηνᾶς τὴν ἔντεχνον σοφίαν σὺν πυρίἀμήχανον γὰρ ἦν ἄνευ πυρὸς αὐτὴν κτητήν τῳ ἢ χρησίμην γενέσθαι καὶ οὕτω δὴ δωρεῖται ἀνθρώπῳ. τὴν μὲν οὖν περὶ τὸν βίον σοφίαν ἄνθρωπος ταύτῃ ἔσχεν, τὴν δὲ πολιτικὴν οὐκ εἶχεν: ἦν γὰρ παρὰ τῷ Διί. τῷ δὲ Προμηθεῖ εἰς μὲν τὴν ἀκρόπολιν τὴν τοῦ Διὸς οἴκησιν οὐκέτι ἐνεχώρει εἰσελθεῖν πρὸς δὲ καὶ αἱ Διὸς φυλακαὶ φοβεραὶ ἦσαν εἰς δὲ τὸ τῆς Ἀθηνᾶς καὶ Ἡφαίστου οἴκημα τὸ κοινόν, ἐν ᾧ [321e] ἐφιλοτεχνείτην, λαθὼν εἰσέρχεται, καὶ κλέψας τήν τε ἔμπυρον τέχνην τὴν τοῦ Ἡφαίστου καὶ τὴν ἄλλην τὴν τῆς Ἀθηνᾶς δίδωσιν ἀνθρώπῳ, καὶ ἐκ τούτου εὐπορία μὲν ἀνθρώπῳ τοῦ [322a] βίου γίγνεται, Προμηθέα δὲ δι᾽ Ἐπιμηθέα ὕστερον, ᾗπερ λέγεται, κλοπῆς δίκη μετῆλθεν.

ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὁ ἄνθρωπος θείας μετέσχε μοίρας, πρῶτον μὲν διὰ τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ συγγένειαν ζῴων μόνον θεοὺς ἐνόμισεν, καὶ ἐπεχείρει βωμούς τε ἱδρύεσθαι καὶ ἀγάλματα θεῶν: ἔπειτα φωνὴν καὶ ὀνόματα ταχὺ διηρθρώσατο τῇ τέχνῃ, καὶ οἰκήσεις καὶ ἐσθῆτας καὶ ὑποδέσεις καὶ στρωμνὰς καὶ τὰς ἐκ γῆς τροφὰς ηὕρετο. οὕτω δὴ παρεσκευασμένοι κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς [322b] ἄνθρωποι ᾤκουν σποράδην, πόλεις δὲ οὐκ ἦσαν: ἀπώλλυντο οὖν ὑπὸ τῶν θηρίων διὰ τὸ πανταχῇ αὐτῶν ἀσθενέστεροι εἶναι, καὶ ἡ δημιουργικὴ τέχνη αὐτοῖς πρὸς μὲν τροφὴν ἱκανὴ βοηθὸς ἦν, πρὸς δὲ τὸν τῶν θηρίων πόλεμον ἐνδεής πολιτικὴν γὰρ τέχνην οὔπω εἶχον, ἧς μέρος πολεμική ἐζήτουν δὴ ἁθροίζεσθαι καὶ σῴζεσθαι κτίζοντες πόλεις: ὅτ᾽ οὖν ἁθροισθεῖεν, ἠδίκουν ἀλλήλους ἅτε οὐκ ἔχοντες τὴν πολιτικὴν τέχνην, ὥστε πάλιν σκεδαννύμενοι διεφθείροντο. [322c] Ζεὺς οὖν δείσας περὶ τῷ γένει ἡμῶν μὴ ἀπόλοιτο πᾶν, Ἑρμῆν πέμπει ἄγοντα εἰς ἀνθρώπους αἰδῶ τε καὶ δίκην, ἵν᾽ εἶεν πόλεων κόσμοι τε καὶ δεσμοὶ φιλίας συναγωγοί. ἐρωτᾷ οὖν Ἑρμῆς Δία τίνα οὖν τρόπον δοίη δίκην καὶ αἰδῶ ἀνθρώποις: πότερον ὡς αἱ τέχναι νενέμηνται, οὕτω καὶ ταύτας νείμω; νενέμηνται δὲ ὧδε: εἷς ἔχων ἰατρικὴν πολλοῖς ἱκανὸς ἰδιώταις, καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι δημιουργοί: καὶ δίκην δὴ καὶ αἰδῶ [322d] οὕτω θῶ ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἢ ἐπὶ πάντας νείμω; ἐπὶ πάντας, ἔφη ὁ Ζεύς, καὶ πάντες μετεχόντων: οὐ γὰρ ἂν γένοιντο πόλεις, εἰ ὀλίγοι αὐτῶν μετέχοιεν ὥσπερ ἄλλων τεχνῶν: καὶ νόμον γε θὲς παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ τὸν μὴ δυνάμενον αἰδοῦς καὶ δίκης μετέχειν κτείνειν ὡς νόσον πόλεως. οὕτω δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα οἵ τε ἄλλοι καὶ Ἀθηναῖοι, ὅταν μὲν περὶ ἀρετῆς τεκτονικῆς ᾖ λόγος ἢ ἄλλης τινὸς δημιουργικῆς, ὀλίγοις οἴονται μετεῖναι συμβουλῆς, καὶ ἐάν [322e] τις ἐκτὸς ὢν τῶν ὀλίγων συμβουλεύῃ, οὐκ ἀνέχονται, ὡς σὺ φῄς εἰκότως, ὡς ἐγώ φημι ὅταν δὲ εἰς συμβουλὴν πολιτικῆς [323a] ἀρετῆς ἴωσιν, ἣν δεῖ διὰ δικαιοσύνης πᾶσαν ἰέναι καὶ σωφροσύνης, εἰκότως ἅπαντος ἀνδρὸς ἀνέχονται, ὡς παντὶ προσῆκον ταύτης γε μετέχειν τῆς ἀρετῆς ἢ μὴ εἶναι πόλεις. αὕτη, ὦ Σώκρατες, τούτου αἰτία.

ἵνα δὲ μὴ οἴῃ ἀπατᾶσθαι ὡς τῷ ὄντι ἡγοῦνται πάντες ἄνθρωποι πάντα ἄνδρα μετέχειν δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ τῆς ἄλλης πολιτικῆς ἀρετῆς, τόδε αὖ λαβὲ τεκμήριον. ἐν γὰρ ταῖς ἄλλαις ἀρεταῖς, ὥσπερ σὺ λέγεις, ἐάν τις φῇ ἀγαθὸς αὐλητὴς εἶναι, ἢ ἄλλην ἡντινοῦν τέχνην ἣν μή ἐστιν, ἢ καταγελῶσιν [323b] ἢ χαλεπαίνουσιν, καὶ οἱ οἰκεῖοι προσιόντες νουθετοῦσιν ὡς μαινόμενον: ἐν δὲ δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ ἐν τῇ ἄλλῃ πολιτικῇ ἀρετῇ, ἐάν τινα καὶ εἰδῶσιν ὅτι ἄδικός ἐστιν, ἐὰν οὗτος αὐτὸς καθ᾽ αὑτοῦ τἀληθῆ λέγῃ ἐναντίον πολλῶν, ὃ ἐκεῖ σωφροσύνην ἡγοῦντο εἶναι, τἀληθῆ λέγειν, ἐνταῦθα μανίαν, καί φασιν πάντας δεῖν φάναι εἶναι δικαίους, ἐάντε ὦσιν ἐάντε μή, ἢ μαίνεσθαι τὸν μὴ προσποιούμενον [δικαιοσύνην]: ὡς ἀναγκαῖον [323c] οὐδένα ὅντιν᾽ οὐχὶ ἁμῶς γέ πως μετέχειν αὐτῆς, ἢ μὴ εἶναι ἐν ἀνθρώποις.

ὅτι μὲν οὖν πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα εἰκότως ἀποδέχονται περὶ ταύτης τῆς ἀρετῆς σύμβουλον διὰ τὸ ἡγεῖσθαι παντὶ μετεῖναι αὐτῆς, ταῦτα λέγω: ὅτι δὲ αὐτὴν οὐ φύσει ἡγοῦνται εἶναι οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου, ἀλλὰ διδακτόν τε καὶ ἐξ ἐπιμελείας παραγίγνεσθαι ᾧ ἂν παραγίγνηται, τοῦτό σοι μετὰ τοῦτο πειράσομαι ἀποδεῖξαι. ὅσα γὰρ ἡγοῦνται ἀλλήλους κακὰ ἔχειν ἄνθρωποι [323d] φύσει ἢ τύχῃ, οὐδεὶς θυμοῦται οὐδὲ νουθετεῖ οὐδὲ διδάσκει οὐδὲ κολάζει τοὺς ταῦτα ἔχοντας, ἵνα μὴ τοιοῦτοι ὦσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐλεοῦσιν: οἷον τοὺς αἰσχροὺς ἢ σμικροὺς ἢ ἀσθενεῖς τίς οὕτως ἀνόητος ὥστε τι τούτων ἐπιχειρεῖν ποιεῖν; ταῦτα μὲν γὰρ οἶμαι ἴσασιν ὅτι φύσει τε καὶ τύχῃ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις γίγνεται, τὰ καλὰ καὶ τἀναντία τούτοις: ὅσα δὲ ἐξ ἐπιμελείας καὶ ἀσκήσεως καὶ διδαχῆς οἴονται γίγνεσθαι ἀγαθὰ ἀνθρώποις, [323e] ἐάν τις ταῦτα μὴ ἔχῃ, ἀλλὰ τἀναντία τούτων κακά, ἐπὶ τούτοις που οἵ τε θυμοὶ γίγνονται καὶ αἱ κολάσεις καὶ αἱ νουθετήσεις. ὧν ἐστιν ἓν καὶ ἡ ἀδικία καὶ ἡ ἀσέβεια καὶ [324a] συλλήβδην πᾶν τὸ ἐναντίον τῆς πολιτικῆς ἀρετῆς: ἔνθα δὴ πᾶς παντὶ θυμοῦται καὶ νουθετεῖ, δῆλον ὅτι ὡς ἐξ ἐπιμελείας καὶ μαθήσεως κτητῆς οὔσης. εἰ γὰρ ἐθέλεις ἐννοῆσαι τὸ κολάζειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας τί ποτε δύναται, αὐτό σε διδάξει ὅτι οἵ γε ἄνθρωποι ἡγοῦνται παρασκευαστὸν εἶναι ἀρετήν. οὐδεὶς γὰρ κολάζει τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας πρὸς τούτῳ τὸν νοῦν ἔχων καὶ τούτου ἕνεκα, ὅτι ἠδίκησεν, ὅστις [324b] μὴ ὥσπερ θηρίον ἀλογίστως τιμωρεῖται: ὁ δὲ μετὰ λόγου ἐπιχειρῶν κολάζειν οὐ τοῦ παρεληλυθότος ἕνεκα ἀδικήματος τιμωρεῖται οὐ γὰρ ἂν τό γε πραχθὲν ἀγένητον θείη ἀλλὰ τοῦ μέλλοντος χάριν, ἵνα μὴ αὖθις ἀδικήσῃ μήτε αὐτὸς οὗτος μήτε ἄλλος ὁ τοῦτον ἰδὼν κολασθέντα. καὶ τοιαύτην διάνοιαν ἔχων διανοεῖται παιδευτὴν εἶναι ἀρετήν: ἀποτροπῆς γοῦν ἕνεκα κολάζει. ταύτην οὖν τὴν δόξαν πάντες ἔχουσιν ὅσοιπερ [324c] τιμωροῦνται καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ. τιμωροῦνται δὲ καὶ κολάζονται οἵ τε ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι οὓς ἂν οἴωνται ἀδικεῖν, καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα Ἀθηναῖοι οἱ σοὶ πολῖται: ὥστε κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον καὶ Ἀθηναῖοί εἰσι τῶν ἡγουμένων παρασκευαστὸν εἶναι καὶ διδακτὸν ἀρετήν. ὡς μὲν οὖν εἰκότως ἀποδέχονται οἱ σοὶ πολῖται καὶ χαλκέως καὶ σκυτοτόμου συμβουλεύοντος τὰ πολιτικά, καὶ ὅτι διδακτὸν καὶ παρασκευαστὸν ἡγοῦνται ἀρετήν, ἀποδέδεικταί σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἱκανῶς, ὥς γέ μοι [324d] φαίνεται.

ἔτι δὴ λοιπὴ ἀπορία ἐστίν, ἣν ἀπορεῖς περὶ τῶν ἀνδρῶν τῶν ἀγαθῶν, τί δήποτε οἱ ἄνδρες οἱ ἀγαθοὶ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα τοὺς αὑτῶν ὑεῖς διδάσκουσιν ἃ διδασκάλων ἔχεται καὶ σοφοὺς ποιοῦσιν, ἣν δὲ αὐτοὶ ἀρετὴν ἀγαθοὶ οὐδενὸς βελτίους ποιοῦσιν. τούτου δὴ πέρι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκέτι μῦθόν σοι ἐρῶ ἀλλὰ λόγον. ὧδε γὰρ ἐννόησον: πότερον ἔστιν τι ἓν ἢ οὐκ ἔστιν οὗ ἀναγκαῖον πάντας τοὺς πολίτας μετέχειν, [324e] εἴπερ μέλλει πόλις εἶναι; ἐν τούτῳ γὰρ αὕτη λύεται ἡ ἀπορία ἣν σὺ ἀπορεῖς ἢ ἄλλοθι οὐδαμοῦ. εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἔστιν, καὶ τοῦτό ἐστιν τὸ ἓν οὐ τεκτονικὴ οὐδὲ χαλκεία οὐδὲ κεραμεία [325a] ἀλλὰ δικαιοσύνη καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ τὸ ὅσιον εἶναι, καὶ συλλήβδην ἓν αὐτὸ προσαγορεύω εἶναι ἀνδρὸς ἀρετήν εἰ τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν οὗ δεῖ πάντας μετέχειν καὶ μετὰ τούτου πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα, ἐάν τι καὶ ἄλλο βούληται μανθάνειν ἢ πράττειν, οὕτω πράττειν, ἄνευ δὲ τούτου μή, ἢ τὸν μὴ μετέχοντα καὶ διδάσκειν καὶ κολάζειν καὶ παῖδα καὶ ἄνδρα καὶ γυναῖκα, ἕωσπερ ἂν κολαζόμενος βελτίων γένηται, ὃς δ᾽ ἂν μὴ ὑπακούῃ κολαζόμενος καὶ διδασκόμενος, ὡς ἀνίατον ὄντα τοῦτον [325b] ἐκβάλλειν ἐκ τῶν πόλεων ἢ ἀποκτείνειν εἰ οὕτω μὲν ἔχει, οὕτω δ᾽ αὐτοῦ πεφυκότος οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες εἰ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα διδάσκονται τοὺς ὑεῖς, τοῦτο δὲ μή, σκέψαι ὡς θαυμασίως γίγνονται οἱ ἀγαθοί. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ διδακτὸν αὐτὸ ἡγοῦνται καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, ἀπεδείξαμεν: διδακτοῦ δὲ ὄντος καὶ θεραπευτοῦ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ἄρα τοὺς ὑεῖς διδάσκονται, ἐφ᾽ οἷς οὐκ ἔστι θάνατος ἡ ζημία ἐὰν μὴ ἐπίστωνται, ἐφ᾽ ᾧ δὲ ἥ τε ζημία θάνατος αὐτῶν τοῖς παισὶ καὶ φυγαὶ μὴ μαθοῦσι [325c] μηδὲ θεραπευθεῖσιν εἰς ἀρετήν, καὶ πρὸς τῷ θανάτῳ χρημάτων τε δημεύσεις καὶ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν συλλήβδην τῶν οἴκων ἀνατροπαί, ταῦτα δ᾽ ἄρα οὐ διδάσκονται οὐδ᾽ ἐπιμελοῦνται πᾶσαν ἐπιμέλειαν; οἴεσθαί γε χρή, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἐκ παίδων σμικρῶν ἀρξάμενοι, μέχρι οὗπερ ἂν ζῶσι, καὶ διδάσκουσι καὶ νουθετοῦσιν. ἐπειδὰν θᾶττον συνιῇ τις τὰ λεγόμενα, καὶ τροφὸς καὶ μήτηρ καὶ παιδαγωγὸς καὶ αὐτὸς [325d] ὁ πατὴρ περὶ τούτου διαμάχονται, ὅπως <ὡς> βέλτιστος ἔσται ὁ παῖς, παρ᾽ ἕκαστον καὶ ἔργον καὶ λόγον διδάσκοντες καὶ ἐνδεικνύμενοι ὅτι τὸ μὲν δίκαιον, τὸ δὲ ἄδικον, καὶ τόδε μὲν καλόν, τόδε δὲ αἰσχρόν, καὶ τόδε μὲν ὅσιον, τόδε δὲ ἀνόσιον, καὶ τὰ μὲν ποίει, τὰ δὲ μὴ ποίει. καὶ ἐὰν μὲν ἑκὼν πείθηται: εἰ δὲ μή, ὥσπερ ξύλον διαστρεφόμενον καὶ καμπτόμενον εὐθύνουσιν ἀπειλαῖς καὶ πληγαῖς. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα εἰς διδασκάλων πέμποντες πολὺ μᾶλλον ἐντέλλονται ἐπιμελεῖσθαι [325e] εὐκοσμίας τῶν παίδων ἢ γραμμάτων τε καὶ κιθαρίσεως: οἱ δὲ διδάσκαλοι τούτων τε ἐπιμελοῦνται, καὶ ἐπειδὰν αὖ γράμματα μάθωσιν καὶ μέλλωσιν συνήσειν τὰ γεγραμμένα ὥσπερ τότε τὴν φωνήν, παρατιθέασιν αὐτοῖς ἐπὶ τῶν βάθρων ἀναγιγνώσκειν ποιητῶν ἀγαθῶν ποιήματα καὶ ἐκμανθάνειν [326a] ἀναγκάζουσιν, ἐν οἷς πολλαὶ μὲν νουθετήσεις ἔνεισιν πολλαὶ δὲ διέξοδοι καὶ ἔπαινοι καὶ ἐγκώμια παλαιῶν ἀνδρῶν ἀγαθῶν, ἵνα ὁ παῖς ζηλῶν μιμῆται καὶ ὀρέγηται τοιοῦτος γενέσθαι. οἵ τ᾽ αὖ κιθαρισταί, ἕτερα τοιαῦτα, σωφροσύνης τε ἐπιμελοῦνται καὶ ὅπως ἂν οἱ νέοι μηδὲν κακουργῶσιν: πρὸς δὲ τούτοις, ἐπειδὰν κιθαρίζειν μάθωσιν, ἄλλων αὖ ποιητῶν ἀγαθῶν ποιήματα διδάσκουσι μελοποιῶν, εἰς τὰ [326b] κιθαρίσματα ἐντείνοντες, καὶ τοὺς ῥυθμούς τε καὶ τὰς ἁρμονίας ἀναγκάζουσιν οἰκειοῦσθαι ταῖς ψυχαῖς τῶν παίδων, ἵνα ἡμερώτεροί τε ὦσιν, καὶ εὐρυθμότεροι καὶ εὐαρμοστότεροι γιγνόμενοι χρήσιμοι ὦσιν εἰς τὸ λέγειν τε καὶ πράττειν: πᾶς γὰρ ὁ βίος τοῦ ἀνθρώπου εὐρυθμίας τε καὶ εὐαρμοστίας δεῖται. ἔτι τοίνυν πρὸς τούτοις εἰς παιδοτρίβου πέμπουσιν, ἵνα τὰ σώματα βελτίω ἔχοντες ὑπηρετῶσι τῇ διανοίᾳ χρηστῇ [326c] οὔσῃ, καὶ μὴ ἀναγκάζωνται ἀποδειλιᾶν διὰ τὴν πονηρίαν τῶν σωμάτων καὶ ἐν τοῖς πολέμοις καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις πράξεσιν. καὶ ταῦτα ποιοῦσιν οἱ μάλιστα δυνάμενοι <μάλιστα> μάλιστα δὲ δύνανται οἱ πλουσιώτατοι καὶ οἱ τούτων ὑεῖς, πρῳαίτατα εἰς διδασκάλων τῆς ἡλικίας ἀρξάμενοι φοιτᾶν, ὀψιαίτατα ἀπαλλάττονται. ἐπειδὰν δὲ ἐκ διδασκάλων ἀπαλλαγῶσιν, ἡ πόλις αὖ τούς τε νόμους ἀναγκάζει μανθάνειν καὶ κατὰ τούτους ζῆν κατὰ παράδειγμα, [326d] ἵνα μὴ αὐτοὶ ἐφ᾽ αὑτῶν εἰκῇ πράττωσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ οἱ γραμματισταὶ τοῖς μήπω δεινοῖς γράφειν τῶν παίδων ὑπογράψαντες γραμμὰς τῇ γραφίδι οὕτω τὸ γραμματεῖον διδόασιν καὶ ἀναγκάζουσι γράφειν κατὰ τὴν ὑφήγησιν τῶν γραμμῶν, ὣς δὲ καὶ ἡ πόλις νόμους ὑπογράψασα, ἀγαθῶν καὶ παλαιῶν νομοθετῶν εὑρήματα, κατὰ τούτους ἀναγκάζει καὶ ἄρχειν καὶ ἄρχεσθαι, ὃς δ᾽ ἂν ἐκτὸς βαίνῃ τούτων, κολάζει: καὶ ὄνομα τῇ κολάσει ταύτῃ καὶ παρ᾽ ὑμῖν [326e] καὶ ἄλλοθι πολλαχοῦ, ὡς εὐθυνούσης τῆς δίκης, εὐθῦναι. τοσαύτης οὖν τῆς ἐπιμελείας οὔσης περὶ ἀρετῆς ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, θαυμάζεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἀπορεῖς εἰ διδακτόν ἐστιν ἀρετή; ἀλλ᾽ οὐ χρὴ θαυμάζειν, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον εἰ μὴ διδακτόν.

διὰ τί οὖν τῶν ἀγαθῶν πατέρων πολλοὶ ὑεῖς φαῦλοι γίγνονται; τοῦτο αὖ μάθε: οὐδὲν γὰρ θαυμαστόν, εἴπερ ἀληθῆ ἐγὼ ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἔλεγον, ὅτι τούτου τοῦ πράγματος, [327a] τῆς ἀρετῆς, εἰ μέλλει πόλις εἶναι, οὐδένα δεῖ ἰδιωτεύειν. εἰ γὰρ δὴ ὃ λέγω οὕτως ἔχει ἔχει δὲ μάλιστα πάντων οὕτως ἐνθυμήθητι ἄλλο τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων ὁτιοῦν καὶ μαθημάτων προελόμενος. εἰ μὴ οἷόν τ᾽ ἦν πόλιν εἶναι εἰ μὴ πάντες αὐληταὶ ἦμεν ὁποῖός τις ἐδύνατο ἕκαστος, καὶ τοῦτο καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ πᾶς πάντα καὶ ἐδίδασκε καὶ ἐπέπληττε τὸν μὴ καλῶς αὐλοῦντα, καὶ μὴ ἐφθόνει τούτου, ὥσπερ νῦν τῶν δικαίων καὶ τῶν νομίμων οὐδεὶς φθονεῖ οὐδ᾽ [327b] ἀποκρύπτεται ὥσπερ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνημάτων λυσιτελεῖ γὰρ οἶμαι ἡμῖν ἡ ἀλλήλων δικαιοσύνη καὶ ἀρετή: διὰ ταῦτα πᾶς παντὶ προθύμως λέγει καὶ διδάσκει καὶ τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ νόμιμα εἰ οὖν οὕτω καὶ ἐν αὐλήσει πᾶσαν προθυμίαν καὶ ἀφθονίαν εἴχομεν ἀλλήλους διδάσκειν, οἴει ἄν τι, ἔφη, μᾶλλον, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῶν ἀγαθῶν αὐλητῶν ἀγαθοὺς αὐλητὰς τοὺς ὑεῖς γίγνεσθαι ἢ τῶν φαύλων; οἶμαι μὲν οὔ, ἀλλὰ ὅτου ἔτυχεν ὁ ὑὸς εὐφυέστατος γενόμενος εἰς αὔλησιν, οὗτος [327c] ἂν ἐλλόγιμος ηὐξήθη, ὅτου δὲ ἀφυής, ἀκλεής: καὶ πολλάκις μὲν ἀγαθοῦ αὐλητοῦ φαῦλος ἂν ἀπέβη, πολλάκις δ᾽ ἂν φαύλου ἀγαθός: ἀλλ᾽ οὖν αὐληταί γ᾽ ἂν πάντες ἦσαν ἱκανοὶ ὡς πρὸς τοὺς ἰδιώτας καὶ μηδὲν αὐλήσεως ἐπαΐοντας. οὕτως οἴου καὶ νῦν, ὅστις σοι ἀδικώτατος φαίνεται ἄνθρωπος τῶν ἐν νόμοις καὶ ἀνθρώποις τεθραμμένων, δίκαιον αὐτὸν εἶναι καὶ δημιουργὸν τούτου τοῦ πράγματος, εἰ δέοι αὐτὸν κρίνεσθαι [327d] πρὸς ἀνθρώπους οἷς μήτε παιδεία ἐστὶν μήτε δικαστήρια μήτε νόμοι μηδὲ ἀνάγκη μηδεμία διὰ παντὸς ἀναγκάζουσα ἀρετῆς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ εἶεν ἄγριοί τινες οἷοίπερ οὓς πέρυσιν Φερεκράτης ὁ ποιητὴς ἐδίδαξεν ἐπὶ Ληναίῳ. ἦ σφόδρα ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις ἀνθρώποις γενόμενος, ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ χορῷ μισάνθρωποι, ἀγαπήσαις ἂν εἰ ἐντύχοις Εὐρυβάτῳ καὶ Φρυνώνδᾳ, καὶ ἀνολοφύραι᾽ ἂν ποθῶν τὴν τῶν ἐνθάδε ἀνθρώπων [327e] πονηρίαν. νῦν δὲ τρυφᾷς, ὦ Σώκρατες, διότι πάντες διδάσκαλοί εἰσιν ἀρετῆς καθ᾽ ὅσον δύνανται ἕκαστος, καὶ οὐδείς σοι φαίνεται: εἶθ᾽, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ζητοῖς τίς διδάσκαλος [328a] τοῦ ἑλληνίζειν, οὐδ᾽ ἂν εἷς φανείη, οὐδέ γ᾽ ἂν οἶμαι εἰ ζητοῖς τίς ἂν ἡμῖν διδάξειεν τοὺς τῶν χειροτεχνῶν ὑεῖς αὐτὴν ταύτην τὴν τέχνην ἣν δὴ παρὰ τοῦ πατρὸς μεμαθήκασιν, καθ᾽ ὅσον οἷός τ᾽ ἦν ὁ πατὴρ καὶ οἱ τοῦ πατρὸς φίλοι ὄντες ὁμότεχνοι, τούτους ἔτι τίς ἂν διδάξειεν, οὐ ῥᾴδιον οἶμαι εἶναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τούτων διδάσκαλον φανῆναι, τῶν δὲ ἀπείρων παντάπασι ῥᾴδιον, οὕτω δὲ ἀρετῆς καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πάντων: ἀλλὰ κἂν εἰ ὀλίγον ἔστιν τις ὅστις διαφέρει [328b] ἡμῶν προβιβάσαι εἰς ἀρετήν, ἀγαπητόν. ὧν δὴ ἐγὼ οἶμαι εἷς εἶναι, καὶ διαφερόντως ἂν τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων ὀνῆσαί τινα πρὸς τὸ καλὸν καὶ ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι, καὶ ἀξίως τοῦ μισθοῦ ὃν πράττομαι καὶ ἔτι πλείονος, ὥστε καὶ αὐτῷ δοκεῖν τῷ μαθόντι. διὰ ταῦτα καὶ τὸν τρόπον τῆς πράξεως τοῦ μισθοῦ τοιοῦτον πεποίημαι: ἐπειδὰν γάρ τις παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ μάθῃ, ἐὰν μὲν βούληται, ἀποδέδωκεν ὃ ἐγὼ πράττομαι ἀργύριον: [328c] ἐὰν δὲ μή, ἐλθὼν εἰς ἱερόν, ὀμόσας ὅσου ἂν φῇ ἄξια εἶναι τὰ μαθήματα, τοσοῦτον κατέθηκε.

τοιοῦτόν σοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐγὼ καὶ μῦθον καὶ λόγον εἴρηκα, ὡς διδακτὸν ἀρετὴ καὶ Ἀθηναῖοι οὕτως ἡγοῦνται, καὶ ὅτι οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν τῶν ἀγαθῶν πατέρων φαύλους ὑεῖς γίγνεσθαι καὶ τῶν φαύλων ἀγαθούς, ἐπεὶ καὶ οἱ Πολυκλείτου ὑεῖς, Παράλου καὶ Ξανθίππου τοῦδε ἡλικιῶται, οὐδὲν πρὸς τὸν πατέρα εἰσίν, καὶ ἄλλοι ἄλλων δημιουργῶν. τῶνδε δὲ [328d] οὔπω ἄξιον τοῦτο κατηγορεῖν: ἔτι γὰρ ἐν αὐτοῖς εἰσιν ἐλπίδες: νέοι γάρ.

Πρωταγόρας μὲν τοσαῦτα καὶ τοιαῦτα ἐπιδειξάμενος ἀπεπαύσατο τοῦ λόγου. καὶ ἐγὼ ἐπὶ μὲν πολὺν χρόνον κεκηλημένος ἔτι πρὸς αὐτὸν ἔβλεπον ὡς ἐροῦντά τι, ἐπιθυμῶν ἀκούειν: ἐπεὶ δὲ δὴ ᾐσθόμην ὅτι τῷ ὄντι πεπαυμένος εἴη, μόγις πως ἐμαυτὸν ὡσπερεὶ συναγείρας εἶπον, βλέψας πρὸς τὸν Ἱπποκράτη: ὦ παῖ Ἀπολλοδώρου, ὡς χάριν σοι ἔχω ὅτι προύτρεψάς με ὧδε ἀφικέσθαι: πολλοῦ γὰρ ποιοῦμαι [328e] ἀκηκοέναι ἃ ἀκήκοα Πρωταγόρου. ἐγὼ γὰρ ἐν μὲν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν χρόνῳ ἡγούμην οὐκ εἶναι ἀνθρωπίνην ἐπιμέλειαν ᾗ ἀγαθοὶ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ γίγνονται: νῦν δὲ πέπεισμαι. πλὴν σμικρόν τί μοι ἐμποδών, ὃ δῆλον ὅτι Πρωταγόρας ῥᾳδίως ἐπεκδιδάξει, ἐπειδὴ καὶ τὰ πολλὰ ταῦτα ἐξεδίδαξεν. καὶ γὰρ εἰ μέν τις περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων συγγένοιτο ὁτῳοῦν τῶν [329a] δημηγόρων, τάχ᾽ ἂν καὶ τοιούτους λόγους ἀκούσειεν ἢ Περικλέους ἢ ἄλλου τινὸς τῶν ἱκανῶν εἰπεῖν: εἰ δὲ ἐπανέροιτό τινά τι, ὥσπερ βιβλία οὐδὲν ἔχουσιν οὔτε ἀποκρίνασθαι οὔτε αὐτοὶ ἐρέσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐάν τις καὶ σμικρὸν ἐπερωτήσῃ τι τῶν ῥηθέντων, ὥσπερ τὰ χαλκία πληγέντα μακρὸν ἠχεῖ καὶ ἀποτείνει ἐὰν μὴ ἐπιλάβηταί τις, καὶ οἱ ῥήτορες οὕτω, σμικρὰ [329b] ἐρωτηθέντες δόλιχον κατατείνουσι τοῦ λόγου. Πρωταγόρας δὲ ὅδε ἱκανὸς μὲν μακροὺς λόγους καὶ καλοὺς εἰπεῖν, ὡς αὐτὰ δηλοῖ, ἱκανὸς δὲ καὶ ἐρωτηθεὶς ἀποκρίνασθαι κατὰ βραχὺ καὶ ἐρόμενος περιμεῖναί τε καὶ ἀποδέξασθαι τὴν ἀπόκρισιν, ἃ ὀλίγοις ἐστὶ παρεσκευασμένα. νῦν οὖν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, σμικροῦ τινος ἐνδεής εἰμι πάντ᾽ ἔχειν, εἴ μοι ἀποκρίναιο τόδε. τὴν ἀρετὴν φῂς διδακτὸν εἶναι, καὶ ἐγὼ εἴπερ ἄλλῳ τῳ ἀνθρώπων πειθοίμην ἄν, καὶ σοὶ πείθομαι: [329c] ὃ δ᾽ ἐθαύμασά σου λέγοντος, τοῦτό μοι ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἀποπλήρωσον. ἔλεγες γὰρ ὅτι ὁ Ζεὺς τὴν δικαιοσύνην καὶ τὴν αἰδῶ πέμψειε τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, καὶ αὖ πολλαχοῦ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἐλέγετο ὑπὸ σοῦ ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ ὁσιότης καὶ πάντα ταῦτα ὡς ἕν τι εἴη συλλήβδην, ἀρετή: ταῦτ᾽ οὖν αὐτὰ δίελθέ μοι ἀκριβῶς τῷ λόγῳ, πότερον ἓν μέν τί ἐστιν ἡ ἀρετή, μόρια δὲ αὐτῆς ἐστιν ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ ὁσιότης, ἢ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ [329d] ἔλεγον πάντα ὀνόματα τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἑνὸς ὄντος. τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ὃ ἔτι ἐπιποθῶ.

ἀλλὰ ῥᾴδιον τοῦτό γ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀποκρίνασθαι, ὅτι ἑνὸς ὄντος τῆς ἀρετῆς μόριά ἐστιν ἃ ἐρωτᾷς.

πότερον, ἔφην, ὥσπερ προσώπου τὰ μόρια μόριά ἐστιν, στόμα τε καὶ ῥὶς καὶ ὀφθαλμοὶ καὶ ὦτα, ἢ ὥσπερ τὰ τοῦ χρυσοῦ μόρια οὐδὲν διαφέρει τὰ ἕτερα τῶν ἑτέρων, ἀλλήλων καὶ τοῦ ὅλου, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ μεγέθει καὶ σμικρότητι;

ἐκείνως μοι φαίνεται, ὦ [329e] Σώκρατες, ὥσπερ τὰ τοῦ προσώπου μόρια ἔχει πρὸς τὸ ὅλον πρόσωπον.

πότερον οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ μεταλαμβάνουσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι τούτων τῶν τῆς ἀρετῆς μορίων οἱ μὲν ἄλλο, οἱ δὲ ἄλλο, ἢ ἀνάγκη, ἐάνπερ τις ἓν λάβῃ, ἅπαντα ἔχειν; οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη, ἐπεὶ πολλοὶ ἀνδρεῖοί εἰσιν, ἄδικοι δέ, καὶ δίκαιοι αὖ, σοφοὶ δὲ οὔ.

ἔστιν γὰρ οὖν καὶ ταῦτα μόρια [330a] τῆς ἀρετῆς, ἔφην ἐγώ, σοφία τε καὶ ἀνδρεία;

πάντων μάλιστα δήπου, ἔφη: καὶ μέγιστόν γε ἡ σοφία τῶν μορίων.

ἕκαστον δὲ αὐτῶν ἐστιν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἄλλο, τὸ δὲ ἄλλο;

ναί.

ἦ καὶ δύναμιν αὐτῶν ἕκαστον ἰδίαν ἔχει; ὥσπερ τὰ τοῦ προσώπου, οὐκ ἔστιν ὀφθαλμὸς οἷον τὰ ὦτα, οὐδ᾽ ἡ δύναμις αὐτοῦ ἡ αὐτή: οὐδὲ τῶν ἄλλων οὐδέν ἐστιν οἷον τὸ ἕτερον οὔτε κατὰ τὴν δύναμιν οὔτε κατὰ τὰ ἄλλα: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὕτω καὶ τὰ τῆς ἀρετῆς μόρια οὐκ ἔστιν τὸ ἕτερον οἷον τὸ [330b] ἕτερον, οὔτε αὐτὸ οὔτε ἡ δύναμις αὐτοῦ; ἢ δῆλα δὴ ὅτι οὕτως ἔχει, εἴπερ τῷ παραδείγματί γε ἔοικε;

ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως, ἔφη, ἔχει, ὦ Σώκρατες.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: οὐδὲν ἄρα ἐστὶν τῶν τῆς ἀρετῆς μορίων ἄλλο οἷον ἐπιστήμη, οὐδ᾽ οἷον δικαιοσύνη, οὐδ᾽ οἷον ἀνδρεία, οὐδ᾽ οἷον σωφροσύνη, οὐδ᾽ οἷον ὁσιότης. οὐκ ἔφη.

φέρε δή, ἔφην ἐγώ, κοινῇ σκεψώμεθα ποῖόν τι αὐτῶν ἐστιν ἕκαστον. πρῶτον μὲν τὸ τοιόνδε: [330c] ἡ δικαιοσύνη πρᾶγμά τί ἐστιν ἢ οὐδὲν πρᾶγμα; ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ δοκεῖ: τί δὲ σοί;

κἀμοί, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; εἴ τις ἔροιτο ἐμέ τε καὶ σέ: ὦ Πρωταγόρα τε καὶ Σώκρατες, εἴπετον δή μοι, τοῦτο τὸ πρᾶγμα ὃ ὠνομάσατε ἄρτι, ἡ δικαιοσύνη, αὐτὸ τοῦτο δίκαιόν ἐστιν ἢ ἄδικον; ἐγὼ μὲν ἂν αὐτῷ ἀποκριναίμην ὅτι δίκαιον: σὺ δὲ τίν᾽ ἂν ψῆφον θεῖο; τὴν αὐτὴν ἐμοὶ ἢ ἄλλην;

τὴν αὐτήν, ἔφη.

ἔστιν ἄρα τοιοῦτον ἡ δικαιοσύνη οἷον δίκαιον εἶναι, φαίην ἂν ἔγωγε ἀποκρινόμενος τῷ [330d] ἐρωτῶντι: οὐκοῦν καὶ σύ;

ναί, ἔφη.

εἰ οὖν μετὰ τοῦτο ἡμᾶς ἔροιτο: οὐκοῦν καὶ ὁσιότητά τινά φατε εἶναι; φαῖμεν ἄν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι.

ναί, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν φατε καὶ τοῦτο πρᾶγμά τι εἶναι; φαῖμεν ἄν: ἢ οὔ;

καὶ τοῦτο συνέφη.

πότερον δὲ τοῦτο αὐτὸ τὸ πρᾶγμά φατε τοιοῦτον πεφυκέναι οἷον ἀνόσιον εἶναι ἢ οἷον ὅσιον; ἀγανακτήσαιμ᾽ ἂν ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφην, τῷ ἐρωτήματι, καὶ εἴποιμ᾽ ἄν: εὐφήμει, ὦ ἄνθρωπε: σχολῇ μεντἄν τι ἄλλο ὅσιον εἴη, εἰ μὴ αὐτή [330e] γε ἡ ὁσιότης ὅσιον ἔσται. τί δὲ σύ; οὐχ οὕτως ἂν ἀποκρίναιο;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

εἰ οὖν μετὰ τοῦτο εἴποι ἐρωτῶν ἡμᾶς: πῶς οὖν ὀλίγον πρότερον ἐλέγετε; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ὀρθῶς ὑμῶν κατήκουσα; ἐδόξατέ μοι φάναι <τὰ> τῆς ἀρετῆς μόρια εἶναι οὕτως ἔχοντα πρὸς ἄλληλα, ὡς οὐκ εἶναι τὸ ἕτερον αὐτῶν οἷον τὸ ἕτερον: εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν ἔγωγε ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ὀρθῶς ἤκουσας, ὅτι δὲ καὶ ἐμὲ οἴει εἰπεῖν τοῦτο, παρήκουσας: Πρωταγόρας γὰρ [331a] ὅδε ταῦτα ἀπεκρίνατο, ἐγὼ δὲ ἠρώτων. εἰ οὖν εἴποι: ἀληθῆ ὅδε λέγει, ὦ Πρωταγόρα; σὺ φῂς οὐκ εἶναι τὸ ἕτερον μόριον οἷον τὸ ἕτερον τῶν τῆς ἀρετῆς; σὸς οὗτος ὁ λόγος ἐστίν; τί ἂν αὐτῷ ἀποκρίναιο;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁμολογεῖν.

τί οὖν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, ἀποκρινούμεθα αὐτῷ, ταῦτα ὁμολογήσαντες, ἐὰν ἡμᾶς ἐπανέρηται: οὐκ ἄρα ἐστὶν ὁσιότης οἷον δίκαιον εἶναι πρᾶγμα, οὐδὲ δικαιοσύνη οἷον ὅσιον ἀλλ᾽ οἷον μὴ ὅσιον: ἡ δ᾽ ὁσιότης οἷον μὴ δίκαιον, ἀλλ᾽ ἄδικον [331b] ἄρα, τὸ δὲ ἀνόσιον; τί αὐτῷ ἀποκρινούμεθα; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ αὐτὸς ὑπέρ γε ἐμαυτοῦ φαίην ἂν καὶ τὴν δικαιοσύνην ὅσιον εἶναι καὶ τὴν ὁσιότητα δίκαιον: καὶ ὑπὲρ σοῦ δέ, εἴ με ἐῴης, ταὐτὰ ἂν ταῦτα ἀποκρινοίμην, ὅτι ἤτοι ταὐτόν γ᾽ ἐστιν δικαιότης ὁσιότητι ἢ ὅτι ὁμοιότατον, καὶ μάλιστα πάντων ἥ τε δικαιοσύνη οἷον ὁσιότης καὶ ἡ ὁσιότης οἷον δικαιοσύνη. ἀλλ᾽ ὅρα εἰ διακωλύεις ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἢ καὶ σοὶ συνδοκεῖ οὕτως.

οὐ πάνυ μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτως ἁπλοῦν [331c] εἶναι, ὥστε συγχωρῆσαι τήν τε δικαιοσύνην ὅσιον εἶναι καὶ τὴν ὁσιότητα δίκαιον, ἀλλά τί μοι δοκεῖ ἐν αὐτῷ διάφορον εἶναι. ἀλλὰ τί τοῦτο διαφέρει; ἔφη: εἰ γὰρ βούλει, ἔστω ἡμῖν καὶ δικαιοσύνη ὅσιον καὶ ὁσιότης δίκαιον.

μή μοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: οὐδὲν γὰρ δέομαι τὸ εἰ βούλει τοῦτο καὶ εἴ σοι δοκεῖ ἐλέγχεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμέ τε καὶ σέ: τὸ δ᾽ ἐμέ τε καὶ σέ τοῦτο λέγω, οἰόμενος οὕτω τὸν λόγον βέλτιστ᾽ [331d] ἂν ἐλέγχεσθαι, εἴ τις τὸ εἴ ἀφέλοι αὐτοῦ.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, προσέοικέν τι δικαιοσύνη ὁσιότητι: καὶ γὰρ ὁτιοῦν ὁτῳοῦν ἁμῇ γέ πῃ προσέοικεν. τὸ γὰρ λευκὸν τῷ μέλανι ἔστιν ὅπῃ προσέοικεν, καὶ τὸ σκληρὸν τῷ μαλακῷ, καὶ τἆλλα ἃ δοκεῖ ἐναντιώτατα εἶναι ἀλλήλοις: καὶ ἃ τότε ἔφαμεν ἄλλην δύναμιν ἔχειν καὶ οὐκ εἶναι τὸ ἕτερον οἷον τὸ ἕτερον, τὰ τοῦ προσώπου μόρια, ἁμῇ γέ πῃ προσέοικεν καὶ ἔστιν τὸ ἕτερον οἷον τὸ ἕτερον. ὥστε τούτῳ γε τῷ τρόπῳ [331e] κἂν ταῦτα ἐλέγχοις, εἰ βούλοιο, ὡς ἅπαντά ἐστιν ὅμοια ἀλλήλοις. ἀλλ᾽ οὐχὶ τὰ ὅμοιόν τι ἔχοντα ὅμοια δίκαιον καλεῖν, οὐδὲ τὰ ἀνόμοιόν τι ἔχοντα ἀνόμοια, κἂν πάνυ σμικρὸν ἔχῃ τὸ ὅμοιον.

καὶ ἐγὼ θαυμάσας εἶπον πρὸς αὐτόν: ἦ γὰρ οὕτω σοι τὸ δίκαιον καὶ τὸ ὅσιον πρὸς ἄλληλα ἔχει, ὥστε ὅμοιόν τι σμικρὸν ἔχειν ἀλλήλοις;

οὐ πάνυ, [332a] ἔφη, οὕτως, οὐ μέντοι οὐδὲ αὖ ὡς σύ μοι δοκεῖς οἴεσθαι.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐπειδὴ δυσχερῶς δοκεῖς μοι ἔχειν πρὸς τοῦτο, τοῦτο μὲν ἐάσωμεν, τόδε δὲ ἄλλο ὧν ἔλεγες ἐπισκεψώμεθα. ἀφροσύνην τι καλεῖς;

ἔφη.

τούτῳ τῷ πράγματι οὐ πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἐστὶν ἡ σοφία;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη.

πότερον δὲ ὅταν πράττωσιν ἅνθρωποι ὀρθῶς τε καὶ ὠφελίμως, τότε σωφρονεῖν σοι δοκοῦσιν οὕτω πράττοντες, ἢ [εἰ] τοὐναντίον [ἔπραττον];

σωφρονεῖν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν [332b] σωφροσύνῃ σωφρονοῦσιν;

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν οἱ μὴ ὀρθῶς πράττοντες ἀφρόνως πράττουσιν καὶ οὐ σωφρονοῦσιν οὕτω πράττοντες;

συνδοκεῖ μοι, ἔφη.

τοὐναντίον ἄρα ἐστὶν τὸ ἀφρόνως πράττειν τῷ σωφρόνως;

ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τὰ μὲν ἀφρόνως πραττόμενα ἀφροσύνῃ πράττεται, τὰ δὲ σωφρόνως σωφροσύνῃ;

ὡμολόγει.

οὐκοῦν εἴ τι ἰσχύϊ πράττεται, ἰσχυρῶς πράττεται, καὶ εἴ τι ἀσθενείᾳ, ἀσθενῶς;

ἐδόκει.

καὶ εἴ τι μετὰ τάχους, ταχέως, καὶ εἴ τι μετὰ βραδυτῆτος, [332c] βραδέως;

ἔφη.

καὶ εἴ τι δὴ ὡσαύτως πράττεται, ὑπὸ τοῦ αὐτοῦ πράττεται, καὶ εἴ τι ἐναντίως, ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐναντίου;

συνέφη.

φέρε δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔστιν τι καλόν;

συνεχώρει.

τούτῳ ἔστιν τι ἐναντίον πλὴν τὸ αἰσχρόν;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

τί δέ; ἔστιν τι ἀγαθόν;

ἔστιν.

τούτῳ ἔστιν τι ἐναντίον πλὴν τὸ κακόν;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

τί δέ; ἔστιν τι ὀξὺ ἐν φωνῇ;

ἔφη.

τούτῳ μὴ ἔστιν τι ἐναντίον ἄλλο πλὴν τὸ βαρύ;

οὐκ ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἑνὶ ἑκάστῳ τῶν ἐναντίων ἓν μόνον ἐστὶν ἐναντίον καὶ οὐ πολλά;

συνωμολόγει. [332d]

ἴθι δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀναλογισώμεθα τὰ ὡμολογημένα ἡμῖν. ὡμολογήκαμεν ἓν ἑνὶ μόνον ἐναντίον εἶναι, πλείω δὲ μή;

ὡμολογήκαμεν.

τὸ δὲ ἐναντίως πραττόμενον ὑπὸ ἐναντίων πράττεσθαι;

ἔφη.

ὡμολογήκαμεν δὲ ἐναντίως πράττεσθαι ὃ ἂν ἀφρόνως πράττηται τῷ σωφρόνως πραττομένῳ;

ἔφη.

τὸ δὲ σωφρόνως πραττόμενον ὑπὸ σωφροσύνης πράττεσθαι, τὸ δὲ ἀφρόνως ὑπὸ ἀφροσύνης; [332e]

συνεχώρει.

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ἐναντίως πράττεται, ὑπὸ ἐναντίου πράττοιτ᾽ ἄν;

ναί.

πράττεται δὲ τὸ μὲν ὑπὸ σωφροσύνης, τὸ δὲ ὑπὸ ἀφροσύνης;

ναί.

ἐναντίως;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν ὑπὸ ἐναντίων ὄντων;

ναί.

ἐναντίον ἄρ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀφροσύνη σωφροσύνης;

φαίνεται.

μέμνησαι οὖν ὅτι ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ὡμολόγηται ἡμῖν ἀφροσύνη σοφίᾳ ἐναντίον εἶναι;

συνωμολόγει.

ἓν δὲ ἑνὶ μόνον ἐναντίον [333a] εἶναι;

φημί.

πότερον οὖν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, λύσωμεν τῶν λόγων; τὸ ἓν ἑνὶ μόνον ἐναντίον εἶναι, ἢ ἐκεῖνον ἐν ᾧ ἐλέγετο ἕτερον εἶναι σωφροσύνης σοφία, μόριον δὲ ἑκάτερον ἀρετῆς, καὶ πρὸς τῷ ἕτερον εἶναι καὶ ἀνόμοια καὶ αὐτὰ καὶ αἱ δυνάμεις αὐτῶν, ὥσπερ τὰ τοῦ προσώπου μόρια; πότερον οὖν δὴ λύσωμεν; οὗτοι γὰρ οἱ λόγοι ἀμφότεροι οὐ πάνυ μουσικῶς λέγονται: οὐ γὰρ συνᾴδουσιν οὐδὲ συναρμόττουσιν ἀλλήλοις. πῶς γὰρ ἂν συνᾴδοιεν, εἴπερ γε ἀνάγκη ἑνὶ [333b] μὲν ἓν μόνον ἐναντίον εἶναι, πλείοσιν δὲ μή, τῇ δὲ ἀφροσύνῃ ἑνὶ ὄντι σοφία ἐναντία καὶ σωφροσύνη αὖ φαίνεται: ἦ γάρ, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἢ ἄλλως πως;

ὡμολόγησεν καὶ μάλ᾽ ἀκόντως.

οὐκοῦν ἓν ἂν εἴη ἡ σωφροσύνη καὶ ἡ σοφία; τὸ δὲ πρότερον αὖ ἐφάνη ἡμῖν ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ ἡ ὁσιότης σχεδόν τι ταὐτὸν ὄν.

ἴθι δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, μὴ ἀποκάμωμεν ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ διασκεψώμεθα. ἆρά τίς σοι δοκεῖ ἀδικῶν [333c] ἄνθρωπος σωφρονεῖν, ὅτι ἀδικεῖ;

αἰσχυνοίμην ἂν ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτο ὁμολογεῖν, ἐπεὶ πολλοί γέ φασιν τῶν ἀνθρώπων.

πότερον οὖν πρὸς ἐκείνους τὸν λόγον ποιήσομαι, ἔφην, ἢ πρὸς σέ;

εἰ βούλει, ἔφη, πρὸς τοῦτον πρῶτον τὸν λόγον διαλέχθητι τὸν τῶν πολλῶν.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδέν μοι διαφέρει, ἐὰν μόνον σύ γε ἀποκρίνῃ, εἴτ᾽ οὖν δοκεῖ σοι ταῦτα εἴτε μή: τὸν γὰρ λόγον ἔγωγε μάλιστα ἐξετάζω, συμβαίνει μέντοι ἴσως καὶ ἐμὲ τὸν ἐρωτῶντα καὶ τὸν ἀποκρινόμενον ἐξετάζεσθαι. [333d]

τὸ μὲν οὖν πρῶτον ἐκαλλωπίζετο ἡμῖν ὁ Πρωταγόρας τὸν γὰρ λόγον ᾐτιᾶτο δυσχερῆ εἶναι ἔπειτα μέντοι συνεχώρησεν ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

ἴθι δή, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐξ ἀρχῆς μοι ἀπόκριναι. δοκοῦσί τινές σοι σωφρονεῖν ἀδικοῦντες;

ἔστω, ἔφη.

τὸ δὲ σωφρονεῖν λέγεις εὖ φρονεῖν;

ἔφη.

τὸ δ᾽ εὖ φρονεῖν εὖ βουλεύεσθαι, ὅτι ἀδικοῦσιν;

ἔστω, ἔφη.

πότερον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰ εὖ πράττουσιν ἀδικοῦντες ἢ εἰ κακῶς;

εἰ εὖ.

λέγεις οὖν ἀγαθὰ ἄττα εἶναι;

λέγω.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀγαθὰ ἅ ἐστιν ὠφέλιμα τοῖς ἀνθρώποις; [333e]

καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δί᾽, ἔφη, κἂν μὴ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ὠφέλιμα ᾖ, ἔγωγε καλῶ ἀγαθά.

καί μοι ἐδόκει ὁ Πρωταγόρας ἤδη τετραχύνθαι τε καὶ ἀγωνιᾶν καὶ παρατετάχθαι πρὸς τὸ ἀποκρίνεσθαι: ἐπειδὴ οὖν ἑώρων αὐτὸν οὕτως ἔχοντα, εὐλαβούμενος ἠρέμα ἠρόμην. πότερον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις, ὦ [334a] Πρωταγόρα, ἃ μηδενὶ ἀνθρώπων ὠφέλιμά ἐστιν, ἢ ἃ μηδὲ τὸ παράπαν ὠφέλιμα; καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα σὺ ἀγαθὰ καλεῖς;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη: ἀλλ᾽ ἔγωγε πολλὰ οἶδ᾽ ἃ ἀνθρώποις μὲν ἀνωφελῆ ἐστι, καὶ σιτία καὶ ποτὰ καὶ φάρμακα καὶ ἄλλα μυρία, τὰ δέ γε ὠφέλιμα: τὰ δὲ ἀνθρώποις μὲν οὐδέτερα, ἵπποις δέ: τὰ δὲ βουσὶν μόνον, τὰ δὲ κυσίν: τὰ δέ γε τούτων μὲν οὐδενί, δένδροις δέ: τὰ δὲ τοῦ δένδρου ταῖς μὲν ῥίζαις ἀγαθά, ταῖς δὲ βλάσταις πονηρά, οἷον καὶ ἡ κόπρος πάντων [334b] τῶν φυτῶν ταῖς μὲν ῥίζαις ἀγαθὸν παραβαλλομένη, εἰ δ᾽ ἐθέλοις ἐπὶ τοὺς πτόρθους καὶ τοὺς νέους κλῶνας ἐπιβάλλειν, πάντα ἀπόλλυσιν: ἐπεὶ καὶ τὸ ἔλαιον τοῖς μὲν φυτοῖς ἅπασίν ἐστιν πάγκακον καὶ ταῖς θριξὶν πολεμιώτατον ταῖς τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων πλὴν ταῖς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, ταῖς δὲ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἀρωγὸν καὶ τῷ ἄλλῳ σώματι. οὕτω δὲ ποικίλον τί ἐστιν τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ παντοδαπόν, ὥστε καὶ ἐνταῦθα τοῖς μὲν ἔξωθεν τοῦ [334c] σώματος ἀγαθόν ἐστιν τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, τοῖς δ᾽ ἐντὸς ταὐτὸν τοῦτο κάκιστον: καὶ διὰ τοῦτο οἱ ἰατροὶ πάντες ἀπαγορεύουσιν τοῖς ἀσθενοῦσιν μὴ χρῆσθαι ἐλαίῳ ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ὅτι σμικροτάτῳ ἐν τούτοις οἷς μέλλει ἔδεσθαι, ὅσον μόνον τὴν δυσχέρειαν κατασβέσαι τὴν ἐπὶ ταῖς αἰσθήσεσι ταῖς διὰ τῶν ῥινῶν γιγνομένην ἐν τοῖς σιτίοις τε καὶ ὄψοις.

εἰπόντος οὖν ταῦτα αὐτοῦ οἱ παρόντες ἀνεθορύβησαν ὡς εὖ λέγοι, καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: ὦ Πρωταγόρα, ἐγὼ τυγχάνω ἐπιλήσμων τις ὢν ἄνθρωπος, καὶ ἐάν τίς μοι μακρὰ λέγῃ, [334d] ἐπιλανθάνομαι περὶ οὗ ἂν ᾖ ὁ λόγος. ὥσπερ οὖν εἰ ἐτύγχανον ὑπόκωφος ὤν, ᾤου ἂν χρῆναι, εἴπερ ἔμελλές μοι διαλέξεσθαι, μεῖζον φθέγγεσθαι ἢ πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους, οὕτω καὶ νῦν, ἐπειδὴ ἐπιλήσμονι ἐνέτυχες, σύντεμνέ μοι τὰς ἀποκρίσεις καὶ βραχυτέρας ποίει, εἰ μέλλω σοι ἕπεσθαι.

πῶς οὖν κελεύεις με βραχέα ἀποκρίνεσθαι; ἢ βραχύτερά σοι, ἔφη, ἀποκρίνωμαι ἢ δεῖ;

μηδαμῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

ἀλλ᾽ ὅσα δεῖ; ἔφη. [334e]

ναί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

πότερα οὖν ὅσα ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ δεῖν ἀποκρίνεσθαι, τοσαῦτά σοι ἀποκρίνωμαι, ἢ ὅσα σοί;

ἀκήκοα γοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι σὺ οἷός τ᾽ εἶ καὶ αὐτὸς καὶ ἄλλον διδάξαι περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν καὶ μακρὰ λέγειν, ἐὰν βούλῃ, οὕτως ὥστε τὸν λόγον μηδέποτε ἐπιλιπεῖν, καὶ αὖ βραχέα [335a] οὕτως ὥστε μηδένα σοῦ ἐν βραχυτέροις εἰπεῖν: εἰ οὖν μέλλεις ἐμοὶ διαλέξεσθαι, τῷ ἑτέρῳ χρῶ τρόπῳ πρός με, τῇ βραχυλογίᾳ.

ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ἐγὼ πολλοῖς ἤδη εἰς ἀγῶνα λόγων ἀφικόμην ἀνθρώποις, καὶ εἰ τοῦτο ἐποίουν ὃ σὺ κελεύεις, ὡς ὁ ἀντιλέγων ἐκέλευέν με διαλέγεσθαι, οὕτω διελεγόμην, οὐδενὸς ἂν βελτίων ἐφαινόμην οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἐγένετο Πρωταγόρου ὄνομα ἐν τοῖς Ἕλλησιν.

καὶ ἐγώ ἔγνων γὰρ ὅτι οὐκ ἤρεσεν αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ταῖς [335b] ἀποκρίσεσιν ταῖς ἔμπροσθεν, καὶ ὅτι οὐκ ἐθελήσοι ἑκὼν εἶναι ἀποκρινόμενος διαλέγεσθαι ἡγησάμενος οὐκέτι ἐμὸν ἔργον εἶναι παρεῖναι ἐν ταῖς συνουσίαις, ἀλλά τοι, ἔφην, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, οὐδ᾽ ἐγὼ λιπαρῶς ἔχω παρὰ τὰ σοὶ δοκοῦντα τὴν συνουσίαν ἡμῖν γίγνεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὰν σὺ βούλῃ διαλέγεσθαι ὡς ἐγὼ δύναμαι ἕπεσθαι, τότε σοι διαλέξομαι. σὺ μὲν γάρ, ὡς λέγεται περὶ σοῦ, φῂς δὲ καὶ αὐτός, καὶ ἐν μακρολογίᾳ καὶ ἐν βραχυλογίᾳ οἷός τ᾽ εἶ συνουσίας ποιεῖσθαι [335c] σοφὸς γὰρ εἶ ἐγὼ δὲ τὰ μακρὰ ταῦτα ἀδύνατος, ἐπεὶ ἐβουλόμην ἂν οἷός τ᾽ εἶναι. ἀλλὰ σὲ ἐχρῆν ἡμῖν συγχωρεῖν τὸν ἀμφότερα δυνάμενον, ἵνα ἡ συνουσία ἐγίγνετο: νῦν δὲ ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἐθέλεις καὶ ἐμοί τις ἀσχολία ἐστὶν καὶ οὐκ ἂν οἷός τ᾽ εἴην σοι παραμεῖναι ἀποτείνοντι μακροὺς λόγους ἐλθεῖν γάρ ποί με δεῖ εἶμι: ἐπεὶ καὶ ταῦτ᾽ ἂν ἴσως οὐκ ἀηδῶς σου ἤκουον.

καὶ ἅμα ταῦτ᾽ εἰπὼν ἀνιστάμην ὡς ἀπιών: καί μου ἀνισταμένου ἐπιλαμβάνεται ὁ Καλλίας τῆς χειρὸς τῇ δεξιᾷ, [335d] τῇ δ᾽ ἀριστερᾷ ἀντελάβετο τοῦ τρίβωνος τουτουΐ, καὶ εἶπεν: οὐκ ἀφήσομέν σε, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἐὰν γὰρ σὺ ἐξέλθῃς, οὐχ ὁμοίως ἡμῖν ἔσονται οἱ διάλογοι. δέομαι οὖν σου παραμεῖναι ἡμῖν: ὡς ἐγὼ οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἑνὸς ἥδιον ἀκούσαιμι ἢ σοῦ τε καὶ Πρωταγόρου διαλεγομένων. ἀλλὰ χάρισαι ἡμῖν πᾶσιν.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ἤδη δὲ ἀνειστήκη ὡς ἐξιών ὦ παῖ Ἱππονίκου, ἀεὶ μὲν ἔγωγέ σου τὴν φιλοσοφίαν ἄγαμαι, ἀτὰρ [335e] καὶ νῦν ἐπαινῶ καὶ φιλῶ, ὥστε βουλοίμην ἂν χαρίζεσθαί σοι, εἴ μου δυνατὰ δέοιο: νῦν δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ δέοιό μου Κρίσωνι τῷ Ἱμεραίῳ δρομεῖ ἀκμάζοντι ἕπεσθαι, ἢ τῶν δολιχοδρόμων τῳ ἢ τῶν ἡμεροδρόμων διαθεῖν τε καὶ ἕπεσθαι, [336a] εἴποιμι ἄν σοι ὅτι πολὺ σοῦ μᾶλλον ἐγὼ ἐμαυτοῦ δέομαι θέουσιν τούτοις ἀκολουθεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ γὰρ δύναμαι, ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τι δέῃ θεάσασθαι ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ἐμέ τε καὶ Κρίσωνα θέοντας, τούτου δέου συγκαθεῖναι: ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ οὐ δύναμαι ταχὺ θεῖν, οὗτος δὲ δύναται βραδέως. εἰ οὖν ἐπιθυμεῖς ἐμοῦ καὶ Πρωταγόρου ἀκούειν, τούτου δέου, ὥσπερ τὸ πρῶτόν μοι ἀπεκρίνατο διὰ βραχέων τε καὶ αὐτὰ τὰ ἐρωτώμενα, οὕτω καὶ νῦν ἀποκρίνεσθαι: [336b] εἰ δὲ μή, τίς ὁ τρόπος ἔσται τῶν διαλόγων; χωρὶς γὰρ ἔγωγ᾽ ᾤμην εἶναι τὸ συνεῖναί τε ἀλλήλοις διαλεγομένους καὶ τὸ δημηγορεῖν.

ἀλλ᾽ὁρᾷς; ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, δίκαια δοκεῖ λέγειν Πρωταγόρας ἀξιῶν αὑτῷ τε ἐξεῖναι διαλέγεσθαι ὅπως βούλεται, καὶ σὺ ὅπως ἂν αὖ σὺ βούλῃ.

ὑπολαβὼν οὖν ὁ Ἀλκιβιάδης, οὐ καλῶς λέγεις, ἔφη, ὦ Καλλία: Σωκράτης μὲν γὰρ ὅδε ὁμολογεῖ μὴ μετεῖναί οἱ μακρολογίας καὶ παραχωρεῖ Πρωταγόρᾳ, τοῦ δὲ διαλέγεσθαι [336c] οἷός τ᾽ εἶναι καὶ ἐπίστασθαι λόγον τε δοῦναι καὶ δέξασθαι θαυμάζοιμ᾽ ἂν εἴ τῳ ἀνθρώπων παραχωρεῖ. εἰ μὲν οὖν καὶ Πρωταγόρας ὁμολογεῖ φαυλότερος εἶναι Σωκράτους διαλεχθῆναι, ἐξαρκεῖ Σωκράτει: εἰ δὲ ἀντιποιεῖται, διαλεγέσθω ἐρωτῶν τε καὶ ἀποκρινόμενος, μὴ ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστῃ ἐρωτήσει μακρὸν λόγον ἀποτείνων, ἐκκρούων τοὺς λόγους καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλων [336d] διδόναι λόγον, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπομηκύνων ἕως ἂν ἐπιλάθωνται περὶ ὅτου τὸ ἐρώτημα ἦν οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν ἀκουόντων: ἐπεὶ Σωκράτη γε ἐγὼ ἐγγυῶμαι μὴ ἐπιλήσεσθαι, οὐχ ὅτι παίζει καί φησιν ἐπιλήσμων εἶναι. ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν δοκεῖ ἐπιεικέστερα Σωκράτης λέγειν: χρὴ γὰρ ἕκαστον τὴν ἑαυτοῦ γνώμην ἀποφαίνεσθαι.

μετὰ δὲ τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, Κριτίας ἦν ὁ εἰπών: ὦ Πρόδικε καὶ Ἱππία, Καλλίας μὲν δοκεῖ μοι μάλα πρὸς [336e] Πρωταγόρου εἶναι, Ἀλκιβιάδης δὲ ἀεὶ φιλόνικός ἐστι πρὸς ὃ ἂν ὁρμήσῃ: ἡμᾶς δὲ οὐδὲν δεῖ συμφιλονικεῖν οὔτε Σωκράτει οὔτε Πρωταγόρᾳ, ἀλλὰ κοινῇ ἀμφοτέρων δεῖσθαι μὴ μεταξὺ διαλῦσαι τὴν συνουσίαν. [337a]

εἰπόντος δὲ αὐτοῦ ταῦτα, ὁ Πρόδικος, καλῶς μοι, ἔφη, δοκεῖς λέγειν, ὦ Κριτία: χρὴ γὰρ τοὺς ἐν τοιοῖσδε λόγοις παραγιγνομένους κοινοὺς μὲν εἶναι ἀμφοῖν τοῖν διαλεγομένοιν ἀκροατάς, ἴσους δὲ μή ἔστιν γὰρ οὐ ταὐτόν: κοινῇ μὲν γὰρ ἀκοῦσαι δεῖ ἀμφοτέρων, μὴ ἴσον δὲ νεῖμαι ἑκατέρῳ, ἀλλὰ τῷ μὲν σοφωτέρῳ πλέον, τῷ δὲ ἀμαθεστέρῳ ἔλαττον. ἐγὼ μὲν καὶ αὐτός, ὦ Πρωταγόρα τε καὶ Σώκρατες, ἀξιῶ ὑμᾶς συγχωρεῖν καὶ ἀλλήλοις περὶ τῶν λόγων ἀμφισβητεῖν μέν, [337b] ἐρίζειν δὲ μή ἀμφισβητοῦσι μὲν γὰρ καὶ δι᾽ εὔνοιαν οἱ φίλοι τοῖς φίλοις, ἐρίζουσιν δὲ οἱ διάφοροί τε καὶ ἐχθροὶ ἀλλήλοις καὶ οὕτως ἂν καλλίστη ἡμῖν ἡ συνουσία γίγνοιτο: ὑμεῖς τε γὰρ οἱ λέγοντες μάλιστ᾽ ἂν οὕτως ἐν ἡμῖν τοῖς ἀκούουσιν εὐδοκιμοῖτε καὶ οὐκ ἐπαινοῖσθε εὐδοκιμεῖν μὲν γὰρ ἔστιν παρὰ ταῖς ψυχαῖς τῶν ἀκουόντων ἄνευ ἀπάτης, ἐπαινεῖσθαι δὲ ἐν λόγῳ πολλάκις παρὰ δόξαν ψευδομένων [337c] ἡμεῖς τ᾽ αὖ οἱ ἀκούοντες μάλιστ᾽ ἂν οὕτως εὐφραινοίμεθα, οὐχ ἡδοίμεσθα εὐφραίνεσθαι μὲν γὰρ ἔστιν μανθάνοντά τι καὶ φρονήσεως μεταλαμβάνοντα αὐτῇ τῇ διανοίᾳ, ἥδεσθαι δὲ ἐσθίοντά τι ἢ ἄλλο ἡδὺ πάσχοντα αὐτῷ τῷ σώματι.

ταῦτα οὖν εἰπόντος τοῦ Προδίκου πολλοὶ πάνυ τῶν παρόντων ἀπεδέξαντο: μετὰ δὲ τὸν πρόδικον Ἱππίας ὁ σοφὸς εἶπεν, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἔφη, οἱ παρόντες, ἡγοῦμαι ἐγὼ ὑμᾶς συγγενεῖς τε καὶ οἰκείους καὶ πολίτας ἅπαντας εἶναι [337d] φύσει, οὐ νόμῳ: τὸ γὰρ ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ φύσει συγγενές ἐστιν, ὁ δὲ νόμος, τύραννος ὢν τῶν ἀνθρώπων, πολλὰ παρὰ τὴν φύσιν βιάζεταιἡμᾶς οὖν αἰσχρὸν τὴν μὲν φύσιν τῶν πραγμάτων εἰδέναι, σοφωτάτους δὲ ὄντας τῶν Ἑλλήνων, καὶ κατ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο νῦν συνεληλυθότας τῆς τε Ἑλλάδος εἰς αὐτὸ τὸ πρυτανεῖον τῆς σοφίας καὶ αὐτῆς τῆς πόλεως εἰς τὸν μέγιστον καὶ ὀλβιώτατον οἶκον τόνδε, μηδὲν τούτου τοῦ [337e] ἀξιώματος ἄξιον ἀποφήνασθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ τοὺς φαυλοτάτους τῶν ἀνθρώπων διαφέρεσθαι ἀλλήλοις. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν καὶ δέομαι καὶ συμβουλεύω, ὦ Πρωταγόρα τε καὶ Σώκρατες, συμβῆναι ὑμᾶς ὥσπερ ὑπὸ διαιτητῶν ἡμῶν συμβιβαζόντων [338a] εἰς τὸ μέσον, καὶ μήτε σὲ τὸ ἀκριβὲς τοῦτο εἶδος τῶν διαλόγων ζητεῖν τὸ κατὰ βραχὺ λίαν, εἰ μὴ ἡδὺ Πρωταγόρᾳ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐφεῖναι καὶ χαλάσαι τὰς ἡνίας τοῖς λόγοις, ἵνα μεγαλοπρεπέστεροι καὶ εὐσχημονέστεροι ἡμῖν φαίνωνται, μήτ᾽ αὖ Πρωταγόραν πάντα κάλων ἐκτείναντα, οὐρίᾳ ἐφέντα, φεύγειν εἰς τὸ πέλαγος τῶν λόγων ἀποκρύψαντα γῆν, ἀλλὰ μέσον τι ἀμφοτέρους τεμεῖν. ὣς οὖν ποιήσετε, καὶ πείθεσθέ μοι ῥαβδοῦχον καὶ ἐπιστάτην καὶ πρύτανιν ἑλέσθαι ὃς ὑμῖν [338b] φυλάξει τὸ μέτριον μῆκος τῶν λόγων ἑκατέρου.

ταῦτα ἤρεσε τοῖς παροῦσι, καὶ πάντες ἐπῄνεσαν, καὶ ἐμέ τε ὁ Καλλίας οὐκ ἔφη ἀφήσειν καὶ ἑλέσθαι ἐδέοντο ἐπιστάτην. εἶπον οὖν ἐγὼ ὅτι αἰσχρὸν εἴη βραβευτὴν ἑλέσθαι τῶν λόγων. εἴτε γὰρ χείρων ἔσται ἡμῶν ὁ αἱρεθείς, οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἂν ἔχοι τὸν χείρω τῶν βελτιόνων ἐπιστατεῖν, εἴτε ὅμοιος, οὐδ᾽ οὕτως ὀρθῶς: ὁ γὰρ ὅμοιος ἡμῖν ὅμοια καὶ ποιήσει, ὥστε ἐκ [338c] περιττοῦ ᾑρήσεται. ἀλλὰ δὴ βελτίονα ἡμῶν αἱρήσεσθε. τῇ μὲν ἀληθείᾳ, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἀδύνατον ὑμῖν ὥστε Πρωταγόρου τοῦδε σοφώτερόν τινα ἑλέσθαι: εἰ δὲ αἱρήσεσθε μὲν μηδὲν βελτίω, φήσετε δέ, αἰσχρὸν καὶ τοῦτο τῷδε γίγνεται, ὥσπερ φαύλῳ ἀνθρώπῳ ἐπιστάτην αἱρεῖσθαι, ἐπεὶ τό γ᾽ ἐμὸν οὐδέν μοι διαφέρει. ἀλλ᾽ οὑτωσὶ ἐθέλω ποιῆσαι, ἵν᾽ ὃ προθυμεῖσθε συνουσία τε καὶ διάλογοι ἡμῖν γίγνωνται: εἰ μὴ βούλεται [338d] Πρωταγόρας ἀποκρίνεσθαι, οὗτος μὲν ἐρωτάτω, ἐγὼ δὲ ἀποκρινοῦμαι, καὶ ἅμα πειράσομαι αὐτῷ δεῖξαι ὡς ἐγώ φημι χρῆναι τὸν ἀποκρινόμενον ἀποκρίνεσθαι: ἐπειδὰν δὲ ἐγὼ ἀποκρίνωμαι ὁπός᾽ ἂν οὗτος βούληται ἐρωτᾶν, πάλιν οὗτος ἐμοὶ λόγον ὑποσχέτω ὁμοίως. ἐὰν οὖν μὴ δοκῇ πρόθυμος εἶναι πρὸς αὐτὸ τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ἀποκρίνεσθαι, καὶ ἐγὼ καὶ ὑμεῖς κοινῇ δεησόμεθα αὐτοῦ ἅπερ ὑμεῖς ἐμοῦ, μὴ διαφθείρειν τὴν συνουσίαν: [338e] καὶ οὐδὲν δεῖ τούτου ἕνεκα ἕνα ἐπιστάτην γενέσθαι, ἀλλὰ πάντες κοινῇ ἐπιστατήσετε. ἐδόκει πᾶσιν οὕτω ποιητέον εἶναι: καὶ ὁ Πρωταγόρας πάνυ μὲν οὐκ ἤθελεν, ὅμως δὲ ἠναγκάσθη ὁμολογῆσαι ἐρωτήσειν, καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἱκανῶς ἐρωτήσῃ, πάλιν δώσειν λόγον κατὰ σμικρὸν ἀποκρινόμενος. ἤρξατο οὖν ἐρωτᾶν οὑτωσί πως:

ἡγοῦμαι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐγὼ ἀνδρὶ παιδείας μέγιστον μέρος εἶναι περὶ ἐπῶν [339a] δεινὸν εἶναι: ἔστιν δὲ τοῦτο τὰ ὑπὸ τῶν ποιητῶν λεγόμενα οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι συνιέναι ἅ τε ὀρθῶς πεποίηται καὶ ἃ μή, καὶ ἐπίστασθαι διελεῖν τε καὶ ἐρωτώμενον λόγον δοῦναι. καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν ἔσται τὸ ἐρώτημα περὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ μὲν περὶ οὗπερ ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ νῦν διαλεγόμεθα, περὶ ἀρετῆς, μετενηνεγμένον δ᾽ εἰς ποίησιν: τοσοῦτον μόνον διοίσει. λέγει γάρ που Σιμωνίδης πρὸς Σκόπαν τὸν Κρέοντος ὑὸν τοῦ Θετταλοῦ ὅτι [339b]

ἄνδρ᾽ ἀγαθὸν μὲν ἀλαθέως γενέσθαι χαλεπόν,

χερσίν τε καὶ ποσὶ καὶ νόῳ τετράγωνον, ἄνευ ψόγου

τετυγμένον.

Simonides Fr. 37.1.1

τοῦτο ἐπίστασαι τὸ ᾆσμα, ἢ πᾶν σοι διεξέλθω;

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ὅτι οὐδὲν δεῖ: ἐπίσταμαί τε γάρ, καὶ πάνυ μοι τυγχάνει μεμεληκὸς τοῦ ᾁσματος.

εὖ, ἔφη, λέγεις. πότερον οὖν καλῶς σοι δοκεῖ πεποιῆσθαι καὶ ὀρθῶς, ἢ οὔ;

πάνυ, ἔφην ἐγώ, <καλῶς> τε καὶ ὀρθῶς.

δοκεῖ δέ σοι καλῶς πεποιῆσθαι, εἰ ἐναντία λέγει αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ὁ ποιητής;

οὐ καλῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

ὅρα δή, ἔφη, [339c] βέλτιον.

ἀλλ᾽, ὠγαθέ, ἔσκεμμαι ἱκανῶς.

οἶσθα οὖν, ἔφη, ὅτι προιόντος τοῦ ᾁσματος λέγει που

οὐδέ μοι ἐμμελέως τὸ Πιττάκειον νέμεται,

καίτοι σοφοῦ παρὰ φωτὸς εἰρημένον: χαλεπὸν φάτ᾽ ἐσθλὸν

ἔμμεναι.

Simonides Fr. 37.1.11

ἐννοεῖς ὅτι ὁ αὐτὸς οὗτος καὶ τάδε λέγει κἀκεῖνα τὰ ἔμπροσθεν;

οἶδα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

δοκεῖ οὖν σοι, ἔφη, ταῦτα ἐκείνοις ὁμολογεῖσθαι;

φαίνεται ἔμοιγε （καὶ ἅμα μέντοι ἐφοβούμην μὴ τὶ λέγοι） ἀτάρ, ἔφην ἐγώ, σοὶ οὐ φαίνεται;

πῶς γὰρ ἂν [339d] φαίνοιτο ὁμολογεῖν αὐτὸς ἑαυτῷ ὁ ταῦτα ἀμφότερα λέγων, ὅς γε τὸ μὲν πρῶτον αὐτὸς ὑπέθετο χαλεπὸν εἶναι ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι ἀλαθείᾳ, ὀλίγον δὲ τοῦ ποιήματος εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν προελθὼν ἐπελάθετο, καὶ Πιττακὸν τὸν ταὐτὰ λέγοντα ἑαυτῷ, ὅτι χαλεπὸν ἐσθλὸν ἔμμεναι, τοῦτον μέμφεταί τε καὶ οὔ φησιν ἀποδέχεσθαι αὐτοῦ τὰ αὐτὰ ἑαυτῷ λέγοντος; καίτοι ὁπότε τὸν ταὐτὰ λέγοντα αὑτῷ μέμφεται, δῆλον ὅτι καὶ ἑαυτὸν μέμφεται, ὥστε ἤτοι τὸ πρότερον ἢ ὕστερον οὐκ ὀρθῶς λέγει.

εἰπὼν οὖν ταῦτα πολλοῖς θόρυβον παρέσχεν καὶ ἔπαινον [339e] τῶν ἀκουόντων: καὶ ἐγὼ τὸ μὲν πρῶτον, ὡσπερεὶ ὑπὸ ἀγαθοῦ πύκτου πληγείς, ἐσκοτώθην τε καὶ ἰλιγγίασα εἰπόντος αὐτοῦ ταῦτα καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιθορυβησάντων: ἔπειτα ὥς γε πρὸς σὲ εἰρῆσθαι τἀληθῆ, ἵνα μοι χρόνος ἐγγένηται τῇ σκέψει τί λέγοι ὁ ποιητής τρέπομαι πρὸς τὸν πρόδικον, καὶ καλέσας αὐτόν, ὦ Πρόδικε, ἔφην ἐγώ, σὸς μέντοι Σιμωνίδης πολίτης: [340a] δίκαιος εἶ βοηθεῖν τῷ ἀνδρί. δοκῶ οὖν μοι ἐγὼ παρακαλεῖν σέ: ὥσπερ ἔφη Ὅμηρος τὸν Σκάμανδρον πολιορκούμενον ὑπὸ τοῦ Ἀχιλλέως τὸν Σιμόεντα παρακαλεῖν, εἰπόντα φίλε κασίγνητε, σθένος ἀνέρος ἀμφότεροί περ σχῶμεν, . . .

Hom. Il. 21.308 ἀτὰρ καὶ ἐγὼ σὲ παρακαλῶ, μὴ ἡμῖν ὁ Πρωταγόρας τὸν Σιμωνίδην ἐκπέρσῃ. καὶ γὰρ οὖν καὶ δεῖται τὸ ὑπὲρ Σιμωνίδου ἐπανόρθωμα τῆς σῆς μουσικῆς, ᾗ τό τε βούλεσθαι καὶ [340b] ἐπιθυμεῖν διαιρεῖς ὡς οὐ ταὐτὸν ὄν, καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ εἶπες πολλά τε καὶ καλά. καὶ νῦν σκόπει εἴ σοι συνδοκεῖ ὅπερ ἐμοί. οὐ γὰρ φαίνεται ἐναντία λέγειν αὐτὸς αὑτῷ Σιμωνίδης. σὺ γάρ, ὦ Πρόδικε, προαπόφηναι τὴν σὴν γνώμην: ταὐτόν σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι τὸ γενέσθαι καὶ τὸ εἶναι, ἢ ἄλλο;

ἄλλο νὴ Δί᾽, ἔφη ὁ Πρόδικος.

οὐκοῦν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐν μὲν τοῖς πρώτοις αὐτὸς ὁ Σιμωνίδης τὴν ἑαυτοῦ γνώμην ἀπεφήνατο, ὅτι ἄνδρα [340c] ἀγαθὸν ἀληθείᾳ γενέσθαι χαλεπὸν εἴη;

ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ἔφη ὁ Πρόδικος.

τὸν δέ γε Πιττακόν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μέμφεται, οὐχ ὡς οἴεται Πρωταγόρας, ταὐτὸν ἑαυτῷ λέγοντα, ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλο. οὐ γὰρ τοῦτο ὁ Πιττακὸς ἔλεγεν τὸ χαλεπόν, γενέσθαι ἐσθλόν, ὥσπερ ὁ Σιμωνίδης, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἔμμεναι: ἔστιν δὲ οὐ ταὐτόν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, ὥς φησιν Πρόδικος ὅδε, τὸ εἶναι καὶ τὸ γενέσθαι. εἰ δὲ μὴ τὸ αὐτό ἐστιν τὸ εἶναι τῷ γενέσθαι, οὐκ ἐναντία λέγει ὁ Σιμωνίδης αὐτὸς αὑτῷ. καὶ ἴσως ἂν [340d] φαίη Πρόδικος ὅδε καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ καθ᾽ Ἡσίοδον γενέσθαι μὲν ἀγαθὸν χαλεπὸν εἶναι τῆς γὰρ ἀρετῆς ἔμπροσθεν Hes. WD 289 τοὺς θεοὺς ἱδρῶτα Hes. WD 289 θεῖναι ὅταν δέ τις αὐτῆς εἰς ἄκρον ἵκηται, ῥηϊδίην δἤπειτα πέλειν, χαλεπήν περ ἐοῦσαν Hes. WD 289, ἐκτῆσθαι.

ὁ μὲν οὖν Πρόδικος ἀκούσας ταῦτα ἐπῄνεσέν με: ὁ δὲ Πρωταγόρας, τὸ ἐπανόρθωμά σοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, μεῖζον ἁμάρτημα ἔχει ἢ ὃ ἐπανορθοῖς.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: κακὸν ἄρα μοι εἴργασται, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὦ [340e] Πρωταγόρα, καὶ εἰμί τις γελοῖος ἰατρός: ἰώμενος μεῖζον τὸ νόσημα ποιῶ.

ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει, ἔφη.

πῶς δή; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

πολλὴ ἄν, ἔφη, ἀμαθία εἴη τοῦ ποιητοῦ, εἰ οὕτω φαῦλόν τί φησιν εἶναι τὴν ἀρετὴν ἐκτῆσθαι, ὅ ἐστιν πάντων χαλεπώτατον, ὡς ἅπασιν δοκεῖ ἀνθρώποις.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: νὴ τὸν Δία, εἰς καιρόν γε παρατετύχηκεν ἡμῖν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις Πρόδικος ὅδε. κινδυνεύει γάρ τοι, ὦ [341a] Πρωταγόρα, ἡ Προδίκου σοφία θεία τις εἶναι πάλαι, ἤτοι ἀπὸ Σιμωνίδου ἀρξαμένη, ἢ καὶ ἔτι παλαιοτέρα. σὺ δὲ ἄλλων πολλῶν ἔμπειρος ὢν ταύτης ἄπειρος εἶναι φαίνῃ, οὐχ ὥσπερ ἐγὼ ἔμπειρος διὰ τὸ μαθητὴς εἶναι Προδίκου τουτουΐ: καὶ νῦν μοι δοκεῖς οὐ μανθάνειν ὅτι καὶ τὸ χαλεπὸν τοῦτο ἴσως οὐχ οὕτως Σιμωνίδης ὑπελάμβανεν ὥσπερ σὺ ὑπολαμβάνεις, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ περὶ τοῦ δεινοῦ Πρόδικός με οὑτοσὶ νουθετεῖ ἑκάστοτε, ὅταν ἐπαινῶν ἐγὼ ἢ σὲ ἢ ἄλλον τινὰ λέγω ὅτι Πρωταγόρας σοφὸς καὶ δεινός ἐστιν ἀνήρ, ἐρωτᾷ [341b] εἰ οὐκ αἰσχύνομαι τἀγαθὰ δεινὰ καλῶν. τὸ γὰρ δεινόν, φησίν, κακόν ἐστιν: οὐδεὶς γοῦν λέγει ἑκάστοτε δεινοῦ πλούτου οὐδὲ δεινῆς εἰρήνης οὐδὲ δεινῆς ὑγιείας, ἀλλὰ δεινῆς νόσου καὶ δεινοῦ πολέμου καὶ δεινῆς πενίας, ὡς τοῦ δεινοῦ κακοῦ ὄντος. ἴσως οὖν καὶ τὸ χαλεπὸν αὖ οἱ Κεῖοι καὶ ὁ Σιμωνίδης ἢ κακὸν ὑπολαμβάνουσι ἢ ἄλλο τι ὃ σὺ οὐ μανθάνεις: ἐρώμεθα οὖν πρόδικονδίκαιον γὰρ τὴν Σιμωνίδου φωνὴν τοῦτον ἐρωτᾶν τί ἔλεγεν, ὦ Πρόδικε, τὸ [341c] χαλεπὸν Σιμωνίδης;

κακόν, ἔφη.

διὰ ταῦτ᾽ ἄρα καὶ μέμφεται, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Πρόδικε, τὸν Πιττακὸν λέγοντα χαλεπὸν ἐσθλὸν ἔμμεναι, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἤκουεν αὐτοῦ λέγοντος ὅτι ἐστὶν κακὸν ἐσθλὸν ἔμμεναι. ἀλλὰ τί οἴει, ἔφη, λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, Σιμωνίδην ἄλλο ἢ τοῦτο, καὶ ὀνειδίζειν τῷ Πιττακῷ ὅτι τὰ ὀνόματα οὐκ ἠπίστατο ὀρθῶς διαιρεῖν ἅτε Λέσβιος ὢν καὶ ἐν φωνῇ βαρβάρῳ τεθραμμένος;

ἀκούεις δή, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, Προδίκου τοῦδε. [341d] ἔχεις τι πρὸς ταῦτα λέγειν;

καὶ ὁ Πρωταγόρας, πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ἔφη, οὕτως ἔχειν, ὦ Πρόδικε: ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι καὶ Σιμωνίδης τὸ χαλεπὸν ἔλεγεν ὅπερ ἡμεῖς οἱ ἄλλοι, οὐ τὸ κακόν, ἀλλ᾽ ὃ ἂν μὴ ῥᾴδιον ᾖ ἀλλὰ διὰ πολλῶν πραγμάτων γίγνηται.

ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐγὼ οἶμαι, ἔφην, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, τοῦτο λέγειν Σιμωνίδην, καὶ Πρόδικόν γε τόνδε εἰδέναι, ἀλλὰ παίζειν καὶ σοῦ δοκεῖν ἀποπειρᾶσθαι εἰ οἷός τ᾽ ἔσῃ τῷ σαυτοῦ λόγῳ βοηθεῖν. ἐπεὶ ὅτι γε Σιμωνίδης οὐ λέγει τὸ χαλεπὸν [341e] κακόν, μέγα τεκμήριόν ἐστιν εὐθὺς τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ῥῆμα: λέγει γὰρ ὅτι θεὸς ἂν μόνος τοῦτ᾽ ἔχοι γέρας,

Simonides Fr. 37.1.14 οὐ δήπου τοῦτό γε λέγων, κακὸν ἐσθλὸν ἔμμεναι, εἶτα τὸν θεόν φησιν μόνον τοῦτο ἂν ἔχειν καὶ τῷ θεῷ τοῦτο γέρας ἀπένειμε μόνῳ: ἀκόλαστον γὰρ ἄν τινα λέγοι Σιμωνίδην ὁ Πρόδικος καὶ οὐδαμῶς Κεῖον. ἀλλ᾽ ἅ μοι δοκεῖ διανοεῖσθαι Σιμωνίδης ἐν τούτῳ τῷ ᾁσματι, ἐθέλω σοι εἰπεῖν, [342a] εἰ βούλει λαβεῖν μου πεῖραν ὅπως ἔχω, ὃ σὺ λέγεις τοῦτο, περὶ ἐπῶν: ἐὰν δὲ βούλῃ, σοῦ ἀκούσομαι.

ὁ μὲν οὖν Πρωταγόρας ἀκούσας μου ταῦτα λέγοντος, εἰ σὺ βούλει, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες: ὁ δὲ Πρόδικός τε καὶ ὁ Ἱππίας ἐκελευέτην πάνυ, καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι.

ἐγὼ τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἅ γέ μοι δοκεῖ περὶ τοῦ ᾁσματος τούτου, πειράσομαι ὑμῖν διεξελθεῖν. φιλοσοφία γάρ ἐστιν παλαιοτάτη τε καὶ πλείστη τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐν Κρήτῃ τε καὶ [342b] ἐν Λακεδαίμονι, καὶ σοφισταὶ πλεῖστοι γῆς ἐκεῖ εἰσιν: ἀλλ᾽ ἐξαρνοῦνται καὶ σχηματίζονται ἀμαθεῖς εἶναι, ἵνα μὴ κατάδηλοι ὦσιν ὅτι σοφίᾳ τῶν Ἑλλήνων περίεισιν, ὥσπερ οὓς Πρωταγόρας ἔλεγε τοὺς σοφιστάς, ἀλλὰ δοκῶσιν τῷ μάχεσθαι καὶ ἀνδρείᾳ περιεῖναι, ἡγούμενοι, εἰ γνωσθεῖεν ᾧ περίεισιν, πάντας τοῦτο ἀσκήσειν, τὴν σοφίαν. νῦν δὲ ἀποκρυψάμενοι ἐκεῖνο ἐξηπατήκασιν τοὺς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι λακωνίζοντας, καὶ οἱ μὲν ὦτά τε κατάγνυνται μιμούμενοι [342c] αὐτούς, καὶ ἱμάντας περιειλίττονται καὶ φιλογυμναστοῦσιν καὶ βραχείας ἀναβολὰς φοροῦσιν, ὡς δὴ τούτοις κρατοῦντας τῶν Ἑλλήνων τοὺς Λακεδαιμονίους: οἱ δὲ Λακεδαιμόνιοι, ἐπειδὰν βούλωνται ἀνέδην τοῖς παρ᾽ αὑτοῖς συγγενέσθαι σοφισταῖς καὶ ἤδη ἄχθωνται λάθρᾳ συγγιγνόμενοι, ξενηλασίας ποιούμενοι τῶν τε λακωνιζόντων τούτων καὶ ἐάν τις ἄλλος ξένος ὢν ἐπιδημήσῃ, συγγίγνονται τοῖς σοφισταῖς λανθάνοντες τοὺς ξένους, καὶ αὐτοὶ οὐδένα ἐῶσιν τῶν νέων [342d] εἰς τὰς ἄλλας πόλεις ἐξιέναι, ὥσπερ οὐδὲ Κρῆτες, ἵνα μὴ ἀπομανθάνωσιν ἃ αὐτοὶ διδάσκουσιν. εἰσὶν δὲ ἐν ταύταις ταῖς πόλεσιν οὐ μόνον ἄνδρες ἐπὶ παιδεύσει μέγα φρονοῦντες, ἀλλὰ καὶ γυναῖκες. γνοῖτε δ᾽ ἂν ὅτι ἐγὼ ταῦτα ἀληθῆ λέγω καὶ Λακεδαιμόνιοι πρὸς φιλοσοφίαν καὶ λόγους ἄριστα πεπαίδευνται, ὧδε: εἰ γὰρ ἐθέλει τις Λακεδαιμονίων τῷ φαυλοτάτῳ συγγενέσθαι, τὰ μὲν πολλὰ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις εὑρήσει [342e] αὐτὸν φαῦλόν τινα φαινόμενον, ἔπειτα, ὅπου ἂν τύχῃ τῶν λεγομένων, ἐνέβαλεν ῥῆμα ἄξιον λόγου βραχὺ καὶ συνεστραμμένον ὥσπερ δεινὸς ἀκοντιστής, ὥστε φαίνεσθαι τὸν προσδιαλεγόμενον παιδὸς μηδὲν βελτίω. τοῦτο οὖν αὐτὸ καὶ τῶν νῦν εἰσὶν οἳ κατανενοήκασι καὶ τῶν πάλαι, ὅτι τὸ λακωνίζειν πολὺ μᾶλλόν ἐστιν φιλοσοφεῖν ἢ φιλογυμναστεῖν, εἰδότες ὅτι τοιαῦτα οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι ῥήματα φθέγγεσθαι [343a] τελέως πεπαιδευμένου ἐστὶν ἀνθρώπου. τούτων ἦν καὶ Θαλῆς ὁ Μιλήσιος καὶ Πιττακὸς ὁ Μυτιληναῖος καὶ Βίας ὁ Πριηνεὺς καὶ Σόλων ὁ ἡμέτερος καὶ Κλεόβουλος ὁ Λίνδιος καὶ Μύσων ὁ Χηνεύς, καὶ ἕβδομος ἐν τούτοις ἐλέγετο Λακεδαιμόνιος Χίλων. οὗτοι πάντες ζηλωταὶ καὶ ἐρασταὶ καὶ μαθηταὶ ἦσαν τῆς Λακεδαιμονίων παιδείας, καὶ καταμάθοι ἄν τις αὐτῶν τὴν σοφίαν τοιαύτην οὖσαν, ῥήματα βραχέα ἀξιομνημόνευτα ἑκάστῳ εἰρημένα: οὗτοι καὶ κοινῇ συνελθόντες [343b] ἀπαρχὴν τῆς σοφίας ἀνέθεσαν τῷ Ἀπόλλωνι εἰς τὸν νεὼν τὸν ἐν Δελφοῖς, γράψαντες ταῦτα ἃ δὴ πάντες ὑμνοῦσιν, γνῶθι σαυτόν καὶ μηδὲν ἄγαν. τοῦ δὴ ἕνεκα ταῦτα λέγω; ὅτι οὗτος ὁ τρόπος ἦν τῶν παλαιῶν τῆς φιλοσοφίας, βραχυλογία τις Λακωνική: καὶ δὴ καὶ τοῦ Πιττακοῦ ἰδίᾳ περιεφέρετο τοῦτο τὸ ῥῆμα ἐγκωμιαζόμενον ὑπὸ τῶν σοφῶν, τὸ χαλεπὸν ἐσθλὸν ἔμμεναι. ὁ οὖν Σιμωνίδης, [343c] ἅτε φιλότιμος ὢν ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ, ἔγνω ὅτι εἰ καθέλοι τοῦτο τὸ ῥῆμα ὥσπερ εὐδοκιμοῦντα ἀθλητὴν καὶ περιγένοιτο αὐτοῦ, αὐτὸς εὐδοκιμήσει ἐν τοῖς τότε ἀνθρώποις. εἰς τοῦτο οὖν τὸ ῥῆμα καὶ τούτου ἕνεκα τούτῳ ἐπιβουλεύων κολοῦσαι αὐτὸ ἅπαν τὸ ᾆσμα πεποίηκεν, ὥς μοι φαίνεται.

ἐπισκεψώμεθα δὴ αὐτὸ κοινῇ ἅπαντες, εἰ ἄρα ἐγὼ ἀληθῆ λέγω. εὐθὺς γὰρ τὸ πρῶτον τοῦ ᾁσματος μανικὸν ἂν φανείη, εἰ βουλόμενος λέγειν ὅτι ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι χαλεπόν, [343d] ἔπειτα ἐνέβαλε τὸ μέν. τοῦτο γὰρ οὐδὲ πρὸς ἕνα λόγον φαίνεται ἐμβεβλῆσθαι, ἐὰν μή τις ὑπολάβῃ πρὸς τὸ τοῦ Πιττακοῦ ῥῆμα ὥσπερ ἐρίζοντα λέγειν τὸν Σιμωνίδην: λέγοντος τοῦ Πιττακοῦ ὅτι χαλεπὸν ἐσθλὸν ἔμμεναι, ἀμφισβητοῦντα εἰπεῖν ὅτι οὔκ, ἀλλὰ γενέσθαι μὲν χαλεπὸν ἄνδρα ἀγαθόν ἐστιν, ὦ Πιττακέ, ὡς ἀληθῶς οὐκ ἀληθείᾳ ἀγαθόν, οὐκ ἐπὶ τούτῳ λέγει τὴν ἀλήθειαν, ὡς ἄρα ὄντων τινῶν [343e] τῶν μὲν ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθῶν, τῶν δὲ ἀγαθῶν μέν, οὐ μέντοι ἀληθῶς εὔηθες γὰρ τοῦτό γε φανείη ἂν καὶ οὐ Σιμωνίδου ἀλλ᾽ ὑπερβατὸν δεῖ θεῖναι ἐν τῷ ᾁσματι τὸ ἀλαθέως, οὑτωσί πως ὑπειπόντα τὸ τοῦ Πιττακοῦ, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ θεῖμεν αὐτὸν λέγοντα τὸν Πιττακὸν καὶ Σιμωνίδην ἀποκρινόμενον εἰπόντα: ὦ ἄνθρωποι, χαλεπὸν ἐσθλὸν ἔμμεναι, τὸν δὲ [344a] ἀποκρινόμενον ὅτι ὦ Πιττακέ, οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγεις: οὐ γὰρ εἶναι ἀλλὰ γενέσθαι μέν ἐστιν ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν χερσί τε καὶ ποσὶ καὶ νόῳ τετράγωνον, ἄνευ ψόγου τετυγμένον, χαλεπὸν ἀλαθέως. οὕτω φαίνεται [τὸ] πρὸς λόγον τὸ μέν ἐμβεβλημένον καὶ τὸ ἀλαθέως ὀρθῶς ἐπ᾽ ἐσχάτῳ κείμενον: καὶ τὰ ἐπιόντα πάντα τούτῳ μαρτυρεῖ, ὅτι οὕτως εἴρηται. πολλὰ μὲν γὰρ ἔστι καὶ περὶ ἑκάστου τῶν [344b] ἐν τῷ ᾁσματι εἰρημένων ἀποδεῖξαι ὡς εὖ πεποίηται πάνυ γὰρ χαριέντως καὶ μεμελημένως ἔχει ἀλλὰ μακρὸν ἂν εἴη αὐτὸ οὕτω διελθεῖν: ἀλλὰ τὸν τύπον αὐτοῦ τὸν ὅλον διεξέλθωμεν καὶ τὴν βούλησιν, ὅτι παντὸς μᾶλλον ἔλεγχός ἐστιν τοῦ Πιττακείου ῥήματος διὰ παντὸς τοῦ ᾁσματος.

λέγει γὰρ μετὰ τοῦτο ὀλίγα διελθών, ὡς ἂν εἰ λέγοι λόγον, ὅτι γενέσθαι μὲν ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν χαλεπὸν ἀλαθέως, οἷόν τε μέντοι ἐπί γε χρόνον τινά: γενόμενον δὲ διαμένειν [344c] ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ ἕξει καὶ εἶναι ἄνδρα ἀγαθόν, ὡς σὺ λέγεις, ὦ Πιττακέ, ἀδύνατον καὶ οὐκ ἀνθρώπειον, ἀλλὰ θεὸς ἂν μόνος τοῦτο ἔχοι τὸ γέρας,

ἄνδρα δ᾽ οὐκ

ἔστι μὴ οὐ κακὸν ἔμμεναι,

ὃν [ἂν] ἀμήχανος συμφορὰ καθέλῃ.

Simonides 37.1.14-16

τίνα οὖν ἀμήχανος συμφορὰ καθαιρεῖ ἐν πλοίου ἀρχῇ; δῆλον ὅτι οὐ τὸν ἰδιώτην: ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἰδιώτης ἀεὶ καθῄρηται. ὥσπερ οὖν οὐ τὸν κείμενόν τις ἂν καταβάλοι, ἀλλὰ τὸν μὲν ἑστῶτά ποτε καταβάλοι ἄν τις ὥστε κείμενον ποιῆσαι, τὸν δὲ κείμενον [344d] οὔ, οὕτω καὶ τὸν εὐμήχανον ὄντα ποτὲ ἀμήχανος ἂν συμφορὰ καθέλοι, τὸν δὲ ἀεὶ ἀμήχανον ὄντα οὔ, καὶ τὸν κυβερνήτην μέγας χειμὼν ἐπιπεσὼν ἀμήχανον ἂν ποιήσειεν, καὶ γεωργὸν χαλεπὴ ὥρα ἐπελθοῦσα ἀμήχανον ἂν θείη, καὶ ἰατρὸν ταὐτὰ ταῦτα. τῷ μὲν γὰρ ἐσθλῷ ἐγχωρεῖ κακῷ γενέσθαι, ὥσπερ καὶ παρ᾽ ἄλλου ποιητοῦ μαρτυρεῖται τοῦ εἰπόντος αὐτὰρ ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς τοτὲ μὲν κακός, ἄλλοτε δ᾽ ἐσθλός:

unknown [344e] τῷ δὲ κακῷ οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖ γενέσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ εἶναι ἀνάγκη. ὥστε τὸν μὲν εὐμήχανον καὶ σοφὸν καὶ ἀγαθὸν ἐπειδὰν ἀμήχανος συμφορὰ καθέλῃ, οὐκ ἔστι μὴ οὐ κακὸν ἔμμεναι: σὺ δὲ φῄς, ὦ Πιττακέ, χαλεπὸν ἐσθλὸν ἔμμεναι: τὸ δ᾽ ἐστὶ γενέσθαι μὲν χαλεπόν, δυνατὸν δέ, ἐσθλόν, ἔμμεναι δὲ ἀδύνατον:

πράξας μὲν γὰρ εὖ πᾶς ἀνὴρ ἀγαθός,

κακὸς δ᾽ εἰ κακῶς.

Simonides Fr. 37.1.17

[345a] τίς οὖν εἰς γράμματα ἀγαθὴ πρᾶξίς ἐστιν, καὶ τίς ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν ποιεῖ εἰς γράμματα; δῆλον ὅτι ἡ τούτων μάθησις. τίς δὲ εὐπραγία ἀγαθὸν ἰατρὸν ποιεῖ; δῆλον ὅτι ἡ τῶν καμνόντων τῆς θεραπείας μάθησις. κακὸς δὲ κακῶς: τίς οὖν ἂν κακὸς ἰατρὸς γένοιτο; δῆλον ὅτι ᾧ πρῶτον μὲν ὑπάρχει ἰατρῷ εἶναι, ἔπειτα ἀγαθῷ ἰατρῷ οὗτος γὰρ ἂν καὶ κακὸς γένοιτο ἡμεῖς δὲ οἱ ἰατρικῆς ἰδιῶται οὐκ ἄν ποτε γενοίμεθα κακῶς πράξαντες οὔτε ἰατροὶ οὔτε τέκτονες οὔτε [345b] ἄλλο οὐδὲν τῶν τοιούτων: ὅστις δὲ μὴ ἰατρὸς ἂν γένοιτο κακῶς πράξας, δῆλον ὅτι οὐδὲ κακὸς ἰατρός. οὕτω καὶ ὁ μὲν ἀγαθὸς ἀνὴρ γένοιτ᾽ ἄν ποτε καὶ κακὸς ἢ ὑπὸ χρόνου ἢ ὑπὸ πόνου ἢ ὑπὸ νόσου ἢ ὑπὸ ἄλλου τινὸς περιπτώματος αὕτη γὰρ μόνη ἐστὶ κακὴ πρᾶξις, ἐπιστήμης στερηθῆναι ὁ δὲ κακὸς ἀνὴρ οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο κακός ἔστιν γὰρ ἀεί ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μέλλει κακὸς γενέσθαι, δεῖ αὐτὸν πρότερον ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι. ὥστε καὶ τοῦτο τοῦ ᾁσματος πρὸς τοῦτο τείνει, [345c] ὅτι εἶναι μὲν ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν οὐχ οἷόν τε, διατελοῦντα ἀγαθόν, γενέσθαι δὲ ἀγαθὸν οἷόν τε, καὶ κακόν γε τὸν αὐτὸν τοῦτον: ἐπὶ πλεῖστον δὲ καὶ ἄριστοί εἰσιν οὓς ἂν οἱ θεοὶ φιλῶσιν. Simonides Fr. 37.1.19 ταῦτά τε οὖν πάντα πρὸς τὸν Πιττακὸν εἴρηται, καὶ τὰ ἐπιόντα γε τοῦ ᾁσματος ἔτι μᾶλλον δηλοῖ. φησὶ γάρ

τοὔνεκεν οὔ ποτ᾽ ἐγὼ τὸ μὴ γενέσθαι

δυνατὸν διζήμενος κενεὰν ἐς ἄ-

πρακτον ἐλπίδα μοῖραν αἰῶνος βαλέω,

πανάμωμον ἄνθρωπον, εὐρυεδοῦς ὅσοι

καρπὸν αἰνύμεθα χθονός:

ἐπί θ᾽ ὑμῖν εὑρὼν ἀπαγγελέω,

Simonides Fr. 37.1.22ff.

[345d] φησίν οὕτω σφόδρα καὶ δι᾽ ὅλου τοῦ ᾁσματος ἐπεξέρχεται τῷ τοῦ Πιττακοῦ ῥήματι

πάντας δ᾽ ἐπαίνημι καὶ φιλέω

ἑκὼν ὅστις ἕρδῃ

μηδὲν αἰσχρόν: ἀνάγκῃ δ᾽ οὐδὲ θεοὶ μάχονται:

Simonides Fr. 37.1.27ff.

καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ πρὸς τὸ αὐτὸ τοῦτο εἰρημένον. οὐ γὰρ οὕτως ἀπαίδευτος ἦν Σιμωνίδης, ὥστε τούτους φάναι ἐπαινεῖν, ὃς ἂν ἑκὼν μηδὲν κακὸν ποιῇ, ὡς ὄντων τινῶν οἳ ἑκόντες κακὰ ποιοῦσιν. ἐγὼ γὰρ σχεδόν τι οἶμαι τοῦτο, ὅτι οὐδεὶς τῶν [345e] σοφῶν ἀνδρῶν ἡγεῖται οὐδένα ἀνθρώπων ἑκόντα ἐξαμαρτάνειν οὐδὲ αἰσχρά τε καὶ κακὰ ἑκόντα ἐργάζεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ εὖ ἴσασιν ὅτι πάντες οἱ τὰ αἰσχρὰ καὶ τὰ κακὰ ποιοῦντες ἄκοντες ποιοῦσιν: καὶ δὴ καὶ ὁ Σιμωνίδης οὐχ ὃς ἂν μὴ κακὰ ποιῇ ἑκών, τούτων φησὶν ἐπαινέτης εἶναι, ἀλλὰ περὶ ἑαυτοῦ λέγει τοῦτο τὸ ἑκών. ἡγεῖτο γὰρ ἄνδρα καλὸν κἀγαθὸν πολλάκις αὑτὸν ἐπαναγκάζειν φίλον τινὶ γίγνεσθαι καὶ ἐπαινέτην [346a] [φιλεῖν καὶ ἐπαινεῖν], οἷον ἀνδρὶ πολλάκις συμβῆναι μητέρα ἢ πατέρα ἀλλόκοτον ἢ πατρίδα ἢ ἄλλο τι τῶν τοιούτων. τοὺς μὲν οὖν πονηρούς, ὅταν τοιοῦτόν τι αὐτοῖς συμβῇ, ὥσπερ ἁσμένους ὁρᾶν καὶ ψέγοντας ἐπιδεικνύναι καὶ κατηγορεῖν τὴν πονηρίαν τῶν γονέων ἢ πατρίδος, ἵνα αὐτοῖς ἀμελοῦσιν αὐτῶν μὴ ἐγκαλῶσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι μηδ᾽ ὀνειδίζωσιν ὅτι ἀμελοῦσιν, ὥστε ἔτι μᾶλλον ψέγειν τε αὐτοὺς καὶ ἔχθρας [346b] ἑκουσίους πρὸς ταῖς ἀναγκαίαις προστίθεσθαι: τοὺς δ᾽ ἀγαθοὺς ἐπικρύπτεσθαί τε καὶ ἐπαινεῖν ἀναγκάζεσθαι, καὶ ἄν τι ὀργισθῶσιν τοῖς γονεῦσιν ἢ πατρίδι ἀδικηθέντες, αὐτοὺς ἑαυτοὺς παραμυθεῖσθαι καὶ διαλλάττεσθαι προσαναγκάζοντας ἑαυτοὺς φιλεῖν τοὺς ἑαυτῶν καὶ ἐπαινεῖν. πολλάκις δὲ οἶμαι καὶ Σιμωνίδης ἡγήσατο καὶ αὐτὸς ἢ τύραννον ἢ ἄλλον τινὰ τῶν τοιούτων ἐπαινέσαι καὶ ἐγκωμιάσαι οὐχ ἑκών, ἀλλ᾽ ἀναγκαζόμενος. ταῦτα δὴ καὶ τῷ Πιττακῷ λέγει ὅτι ἐγώ, [346c] ὦ Πιττακέ, οὐ διὰ ταῦτά σε ψέγω, ὅτι εἰμὶ φιλόψογος, ἐπεὶ

ἔμοιγ᾽ ἐξαρκεῖ

ὃς ἂν μὴ κακὸς ᾖ μηδ᾽ ἄγαν ἀπάλαμνος, εἰ-

δώς τ᾽ ὀνησίπολιν δίκαν

ὑγιὴς ἀνήρ: οὔ μιν ἐγὼ

μωμήσομαι

Simonides Fr. 37.1.33ff.

οὐ γάρ εἰμι φιλόμωμος

τῶν γὰρ ἠλιθίων ἀπείρων γενέθλα,

πάντα τοι καλά, τοῖσί τ᾽ αἰσχρὰ μὴ μέμεικται.

[346d] οὐ τοῦτο λέγει, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἔλεγε πάντα τοι λευκά, οἷς μέλανα μὴ μέμεικται γελοῖον γὰρ ἂν εἴη πολλαχῇ ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι αὐτὸς καὶ τὰ μέσα ἀποδέχεται ὥστε μὴ ψέγειν. καὶ οὐ ζητῶ, ἔφη, πανάμωμον ἄνθρωπον, εὐρυεδοῦς ὅσοι καρπὸν αἰνύμεθα χθονός, ἐπί θ᾽ ὑμῖν εὑρὼν ἀπαγγελέω: ὥστε τούτου γ᾽ ἕνεκα οὐδένα ἐπαινέσομαι, ἀλλά μοι ἐξαρκεῖ ἂν ᾖ μέσος καὶ μηδὲν κακὸν ποιῇ, ὡς ἐγὼ πάντας φιλέω καὶ ἐπαίνημι καὶ τῇ φωνῇ ἐνταῦθα κέχρηται τῇ [346e] τῶν Μυτιληναίων, ὡς πρὸς Πιττακὸν λέγων τὸ πάντας δὲ ἐπαίνημι καὶ φιλέω ἑκών ἐνταῦθα δεῖ ἐν τῷ ἑκών διαλαβεῖν λέγοντα ὅστις ἕρδῃ μηδὲν αἰσχρόν, ἄκων δ᾽ ἔστιν οὓς ἐγὼ ἐπαινῶ καὶ φιλῶ. σὲ οὖν, καὶ εἰ μέσως [347a] ἔλεγες ἐπιεικῆ καὶ ἀληθῆ, ὦ Πιττακέ, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἔψεγον: νῦν δὲ σφόδρα γὰρ καὶ περὶ τῶν μεγίστων ψευδόμενος δοκεῖς ἀληθῆ λέγειν, διὰ ταῦτά σε ἐγὼ ψέγω. ταῦτά μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Πρόδικε καὶ Πρωταγόρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, Σιμωνίδης διανοούμενος πεποιηκέναι τοῦτο τὸ ᾆσμα.

καὶ ὁ Ἱππίας, εὖ μέν μοι δοκεῖς, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ σὺ περὶ τοῦ ᾁσματος διεληλυθέναι: ἔστιν μέντοι, ἔφη, καὶ [347b] ἐμοὶ λόγος περὶ αὐτοῦ εὖ ἔχων, ὃν ὑμῖν ἐπιδείξω, ἂν βούλησθε.

καὶ ὁ Ἀλκιβιάδης, ναί, ἔφη, ὦ Ἱππία, εἰς αὖθίς γε: νῦν δὲ δίκαιόν ἐστιν ἃ ὡμολογησάτην πρὸς ἀλλήλω Πρωταγόρας καὶ Σωκράτης, Πρωταγόρας μὲν εἰ ἔτι βούλεται ἐρωτᾶν, ἀποκρίνεσθαι Σωκράτη, εἰ δὲ δὴ βούλεται Σωκράτει ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἐρωτᾶν τὸν ἕτερον.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: Ἐπιτρέπω μὲν ἔγωγε Πρωταγόρᾳ ὁπότερον αὐτῷ ἥδιον: εἰ δὲ βούλεται, περὶ μὲν ᾀσμάτων τε καὶ ἐπῶν [347c] ἐάσωμεν, περὶ δὲ ὧν τὸ πρῶτον ἐγώ σε ἠρώτησα, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, ἡδέως ἂν ἐπὶ τέλος ἔλθοιμι μετὰ σοῦ σκοπούμενος. καὶ γὰρ δοκεῖ μοι τὸ περὶ ποιήσεως διαλέγεσθαι ὁμοιότατον εἶναι τοῖς συμποσίοις τοῖς τῶν φαύλων καὶ ἀγοραίων ἀνθρώπων. καὶ γὰρ οὗτοι, διὰ τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι ἀλλήλοις δι᾽ ἑαυτῶν συνεῖναι ἐν τῷ πότῳ μηδὲ διὰ τῆς ἑαυτῶν φωνῆς καὶ τῶν λόγων τῶν ἑαυτῶν ὑπὸ ἀπαιδευσίας, τιμίας ποιοῦσι [347d] τὰς αὐλητρίδας, πολλοῦ μισθούμενοι ἀλλοτρίαν φωνὴν τὴν τῶν αὐλῶν, καὶ διὰ τῆς ἐκείνων φωνῆς ἀλλήλοις σύνεισιν: ὅπου δὲ καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ συμπόται καὶ πεπαιδευμένοι εἰσίν, οὐκ ἂν ἴδοις οὔτ᾽ αὐλητρίδας οὔτε ὀρχηστρίδας οὔτε ψαλτρίας, ἀλλὰ αὐτοὺς αὑτοῖς ἱκανοὺς ὄντας συνεῖναι ἄνευ τῶν λήρων τε καὶ παιδιῶν τούτων διὰ τῆς αὑτῶν φωνῆς, λέγοντάς τε καὶ ἀκούοντας ἐν μέρει ἑαυτῶν κοσμίως, κἂν πάνυ [347e] πολὺν οἶνον πίωσιν. οὕτω δὲ καὶ αἱ τοιαίδε συνουσίαι, ἐὰν μὲν λάβωνται ἀνδρῶν οἷοίπερ ἡμῶν οἱ πολλοί φασιν εἶναι, οὐδὲν δέονται ἀλλοτρίας φωνῆς οὐδὲ ποιητῶν, οὓς οὔτε ἀνερέσθαι οἷόν τ᾽ ἐστὶν περὶ ὧν λέγουσιν, ἐπαγόμενοί τε αὐτοὺς οἱ πολλοὶ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις οἱ μὲν ταῦτά φασιν τὸν ποιητὴν νοεῖν, οἱ δ᾽ ἕτερα, περὶ πράγματος διαλεγόμενοι ὃ ἀδυνατοῦσι ἐξελέγξαι: ἀλλὰ τὰς μὲν τοιαύτας συνουσίας [348a] ἐῶσιν χαίρειν, αὐτοὶ δ᾽ ἑαυτοῖς σύνεισιν δι᾽ ἑαυτῶν, ἐν τοῖς ἑαυτῶν λόγοις πεῖραν ἀλλήλων λαμβάνοντες καὶ διδόντες. τοὺς τοιούτους μοι δοκεῖ χρῆναι μᾶλλον μιμεῖσθαι ἐμέ τε καὶ σέ, καταθεμένους τοὺς ποιητὰς αὐτοὺς δι᾽ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν πρὸς ἀλλήλους τοὺς λόγους ποιεῖσθαι, τῆς ἀληθείας καὶ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν πεῖραν λαμβάνοντας: κἂν μὲν βούλῃ ἔτι ἐρωτᾶν, ἕτοιμός εἰμί σοι παρέχειν ἀποκρινόμενος: ἐὰν δὲ βούλῃ, σὺ ἐμοὶ παράσχες, περὶ ὧν μεταξὺ ἐπαυσάμεθα διεξιόντες, τούτοις τέλος ἐπιθεῖναι. [348b]

λέγοντος οὖν ἐμοῦ ταῦτα καὶ τοιαῦτα ἄλλα οὐδὲν ἀπεσάφει ὁ Πρωταγόρας ὁπότερα ποιήσοι. εἶπεν οὖν ὁ Ἀλκιβιάδης πρὸς τὸν Καλλίαν βλέψας, ὦ Καλλία, δοκεῖ σοι, ἔφη, καὶ νῦν καλῶς Πρωταγόρας ποιεῖν, οὐκ ἐθέλων εἴτε δώσει λόγον εἴτε μὴ διασαφεῖν; ἐμοὶ γὰρ οὐ δοκεῖ: ἀλλ᾽ ἤτοι διαλεγέσθω ἢ εἰπέτω ὅτι οὐκ ἐθέλει διαλέγεσθαι, ἵνα τούτῳ μὲν ταῦτα συνειδῶμεν, Σωκράτης δὲ ἄλλῳ τῳ διαλέγηται ἢ ἄλλος ὅστις ἂν βούληται ἄλλῳ. [348c]

καὶ ὁ Πρωταγόρας αἰσχυνθείς, ὥς γέ μοι ἔδοξεν, τοῦ τε Ἀλκιβιάδου ταῦτα λέγοντος καὶ τοῦ Καλλίου δεομένου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων σχεδόν τι τῶν παρόντων, μόγις προυτράπετο εἰς τὸ διαλέγεσθαι καὶ ἐκέλευεν ἐρωτᾶν αὑτὸν ὡς ἀποκρινούμενος.

εἶπον δὴ ἐγώ: ὦ Πρωταγόρα, μὴ οἴου διαλέγεσθαί μέ σοι ἄλλο τι βουλόμενον ἢ ἃ αὐτὸς ἀπορῶ ἑκάστοτε, ταῦτα διασκέψασθαι. ἡγοῦμαι γὰρ πάνυ λέγειν τι τὸν Ὅμηρον τὸ [348d] σύν τε δύ᾽ ἐρχομένω, καί τε πρὸ ὃ τοῦ ἐνόησεν.

Hom. Il. 10.224εὐπορώτεροι γάρ πως ἅπαντές ἐσμεν οἱ ἄνθρωποι πρὸς ἅπαν ἔργον καὶ λόγον καὶ διανόημα: μοῦνος δ᾽ εἴπερ τε νοήσῃ, αὐτίκα περιιὼν ζητεῖ ὅτῳ ἐπιδείξηται καὶ μεθ᾽ ὅτου βεβαιώσηται, ἕως ἂν ἐντύχῃ. ὥσπερ καὶ ἐγὼ ἕνεκα τούτου σοὶ ἡδέως διαλέγομαι μᾶλλον ἢ ἄλλῳ τινί, ἡγούμενός σε βέλτιστ᾽ ἂν ἐπισκέψασθαι καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων [348e] περὶ ὧν εἰκὸς σκοπεῖσθαι τὸν ἐπιεικῆ, καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ ἀρετῆς. τίνα γὰρ ἄλλον ἢ σέ; ὅς γε οὐ μόνον αὐτὸς οἴει καλὸς κἀγαθὸς εἶναι, ὥσπερ τινὲς ἄλλοι αὐτοὶ μὲν ἐπιεικεῖς εἰσιν, ἄλλους δὲ οὐ δύνανται ποιεῖν: σὺ δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς ἀγαθὸς εἶ καὶ ἄλλους οἷός τ᾽ εἶ ποιεῖν ἀγαθούς, καὶ οὕτω πεπίστευκας σαυτῷ, ὥστε καὶ ἄλλων ταύτην τὴν τέχνην ἀποκρυπτομένων [349a] σύ γ᾽ ἀναφανδὸν σεαυτὸν ὑποκηρυξάμενος εἰς πάντας τοὺς Ἕλληνας, σοφιστὴν ἐπονομάσας σεαυτόν, ἀπέφηνας παιδεύσεως καὶ ἀρετῆς διδάσκαλον, πρῶτος τούτου μισθὸν ἀξιώσας ἄρνυσθαι. πῶς οὖν οὐ σὲ χρῆν παρακαλεῖν ἐπὶ τὴν τούτων σκέψιν καὶ ἐρωτᾶν καὶ ἀνακοινοῦσθαι; οὐκ ἔσθ᾽ ὅπως οὔ. καὶ νῦν δὴ ἐγὼ ἐκεῖνα, ἅπερ τὸ πρῶτον ἠρώτων περὶ τούτων, πάλιν ἐπιθυμῶ ἐξ ἀρχῆς τὰ μὲν ἀναμνησθῆναι παρὰ σοῦ, τὰ δὲ συνδιασκέψασθαι. ἦν δέ, [349b] ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, τὸ ἐρώτημα τόδε: σοφία καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ ἀνδρεία καὶ δικαιοσύνη καὶ ὁσιότης, πότερον ταῦτα, πέντε ὄντα ὀνόματα, ἐπὶ ἑνὶ πράγματί ἐστιν, ἢ ἑκάστῳ τῶν ὀνομάτων τούτων ὑπόκειταί τις ἴδιος οὐσία καὶ πρᾶγμα ἔχον ἑαυτοῦ δύναμιν ἕκαστον, οὐκ ὂν οἷον τὸ ἕτερον αὐτῶν τὸ ἕτερον; ἔφησθα οὖν σὺ οὐκ ὀνόματα ἐπὶ ἑνὶ εἶναι, ἀλλὰ [349c] ἕκαστον ἰδίῳ πράγματι τῶν ὀνομάτων τούτων ἐπικεῖσθαι, πάντα δὲ ταῦτα μόρια εἶναι ἀρετῆς, οὐχ ὡς τὰ τοῦ χρυσοῦ μόρια ὅμοιά ἐστιν ἀλλήλοις καὶ τῷ ὅλῳ οὗ μόριά ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς τὰ τοῦ προσώπου μόρια καὶ τῷ ὅλῳ οὗ μόριά ἐστιν καὶ ἀλλήλοις ἀνόμοια, ἰδίαν ἕκαστα δύναμιν ἔχοντα. ταῦτα εἰ μέν σοι δοκεῖ ἔτι ὥσπερ τότε, φάθι: εἰ δὲ ἄλλως πως, τοῦτο διόρισαι, ὡς ἔγωγε οὐδέν σοι ὑπόλογον τίθεμαι, ἐάν πῃ ἄλλῃ νῦν φήσῃς: οὐ γὰρ ἂν θαυμάζοιμι εἰ τότε ἀποπειρώμενός [349d] μου ταῦτα ἔλεγες.

ἀλλ᾽ ἐγώ σοι, ἔφη, λέγω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι ταῦτα πάντα μόρια μέν ἐστιν ἀρετῆς, καὶ τὰ μὲν τέτταρα αὐτῶν ἐπιεικῶς παραπλήσια ἀλλήλοις ἐστίν, ἡ δὲ ἀνδρεία πάνυ πολὺ διαφέρον πάντων τούτων. ὧδε δὲ γνώσῃ ὅτι ἐγὼ ἀληθῆ λέγω: εὑρήσεις γὰρ πολλοὺς τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀδικωτάτους μὲν ὄντας καὶ ἀνοσιωτάτους καὶ ἀκολαστοτάτους καὶ ἀμαθεστάτους, ἀνδρειοτάτους δὲ διαφερόντως. [349e]

ἔχε δή, ἔφην ἐγώ: ἄξιον γάρ τοι ἐπισκέψασθαι ὃ λέγεις. πότερον τοὺς ἀνδρείους θαρραλέους λέγεις ἢ ἄλλο τι;

καὶ ἴτας γε, ἔφη, ἐφ᾽ ἃ οἱ πολλοὶ φοβοῦνται ἰέναι.

φέρε δή, τὴν ἀρετὴν καλόν τι φῂς εἶναι, καὶ ὡς καλοῦ ὄντος αὐτοῦ σὺ διδάσκαλον σαυτὸν παρέχεις;

κάλλιστον μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, εἰ μὴ μαίνομαί γε.

πότερον οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ μέν τι αὐτοῦ αἰσχρόν, τὸ δέ τι καλόν, ἢ ὅλον καλόν;

ὅλον που καλὸν ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα.

οἶσθα οὖν τίνες εἰς τὰ [350a] φρέατα κολυμβῶσιν θαρραλέως;

ἔγωγε, ὅτι οἱ κολυμβηταί.

πότερον διότι ἐπίστανται ἢ δι᾽ ἄλλο τι;

ὅτι ἐπίστανται.

τίνες δὲ ἀπὸ τῶν ἵππων πολεμεῖν θαρραλέοι εἰσίν; πότερον οἱ ἱππικοὶ ἢ οἱ ἄφιπποι;

οἱ ἱππικοί.

τίνες δὲ πέλτας ἔχοντες; οἱ πελταστικοὶ ἢ οἱ μή;

οἱ πελταστικοί. καὶ τὰ ἄλλα γε πάντα, εἰ τοῦτο ζητεῖς, ἔφη, οἱ ἐπιστήμονες τῶν μὴ ἐπισταμένων θαρραλεώτεροί εἰσιν, καὶ αὐτοὶ ἑαυτῶν [350b] ἐπειδὰν μάθωσιν ἢ πρὶν μαθεῖν.

ἤδη δέ τινας ἑώρακας, ἔφην, πάντων τούτων ἀνεπιστήμονας ὄντας, θαρροῦντας δὲ πρὸς ἕκαστα τούτων;

ἔγωγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, καὶ λίαν γε θαρροῦντας.

οὐκοῦν οἱ θαρραλέοι οὗτοι καὶ ἀνδρεῖοί εἰσιν;

αἰσχρὸν μεντἄν, ἔφη, εἴη ἡ ἀνδρεία: ἐπεὶ οὗτοί γε μαινόμενοί εἰσιν.

πῶς οὖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, λέγεις τοὺς ἀνδρείους; οὐχὶ τοὺς θαρραλέους εἶναι;

καὶ νῦν γ᾽, ἔφη.

[350c] οὐκοῦν οὗτοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οἱ οὕτω θαρραλέοι ὄντες οὐκ ἀνδρεῖοι ἀλλὰ μαινόμενοι φαίνονται; καὶ ἐκεῖ αὖ οἱ σοφώτατοι οὗτοι καὶ θαρραλεώτατοί εἰσιν, θαρραλεώτατοι δὲ ὄντες ἀνδρειότατοι; καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἡ σοφία ἂν ἀνδρεία εἴη;

οὐ καλῶς, ἔφη, μνημονεύεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἃ ἔλεγόν τε καὶ ἀπεκρινόμην σοι. ἔγωγε ἐρωτηθεὶς ὑπὸ σοῦ εἰ οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι θαρραλέοι εἰσίν, ὡμολόγησα: εἰ δὲ καὶ οἱ θαρραλέοι ἀνδρεῖοι, οὐκ ἠρωτήθην εἰ γάρ με τότε ἤρου, εἶπον ἂν ὅτι [350d] οὐ πάντες τοὺς δὲ ἀνδρείους ὡς οὐ θαρραλέοι εἰσίν, τὸ ἐμὸν ὁμολόγημα οὐδαμοῦ ἐπέδειξας ὡς οὐκ ὀρθῶς ὡμολόγησα. ἔπειτα τοὺς ἐπισταμένους αὐτοὺς ἑαυτῶν θαρραλεωτέρους ὄντας ἀποφαίνεις καὶ μὴ ἐπισταμένων ἄλλων, καὶ ἐν τούτῳ οἴει τὴν ἀνδρείαν καὶ τὴν σοφίαν ταὐτὸν εἶναι: τούτῳ δὲ τῷ τρόπῳ μετιὼν καὶ τὴν ἰσχὺν οἰηθείης ἂν εἶναι σοφίαν. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ εἰ οὕτω μετιὼν ἔροιό με εἰ οἱ ἰσχυροὶ [350e] δυνατοί εἰσιν, φαίην ἄν: ἔπειτα, εἰ οἱ ἐπιστάμενοι παλαίειν δυνατώτεροί εἰσιν τῶν μὴ ἐπισταμένων παλαίειν καὶ αὐτοὶ αὑτῶν ἐπειδὰν μάθωσιν ἢ πρὶν μαθεῖν, φαίην ἄν: ταῦτα δὲ ἐμοῦ ὁμολογήσαντος ἐξείη ἄν σοι, χρωμένῳ τοῖς αὐτοῖς τεκμηρίοις τούτοις, λέγειν ὡς κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν ὁμολογίαν ἡ σοφία ἐστὶν ἰσχύς. ἐγὼ δὲ οὐδαμοῦ οὐδ᾽ ἐνταῦθα ὁμολογῶ τοὺς δυνατοὺς ἰσχυροὺς εἶναι, τοὺς μέντοι ἰσχυροὺς δυνατούς: [351a] οὐ γὰρ ταὐτὸν εἶναι δύναμίν τε καὶ ἰσχύν, ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν καὶ ἀπὸ ἐπιστήμης γίγνεσθαι, τὴν δύναμιν, καὶ ἀπὸ μανίας γε καὶ θυμοῦ, ἰσχὺν δὲ ἀπὸ φύσεως καὶ εὐτροφίας τῶν σωμάτων. οὕτω δὲ κἀκεῖ οὐ ταὐτὸν εἶναι θάρσος τε καὶ ἀνδρείαν: ὥστε συμβαίνει τοὺς μὲν ἀνδρείους θαρραλέους εἶναι, μὴ μέντοι τούς γε θαρραλέους ἀνδρείους πάντας: θάρσος μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἀπὸ τέχνης γίγνεται ἀνθρώποις καὶ [351b] ἀπὸ θυμοῦ γε καὶ ἀπὸ μανίας, ὥσπερ ἡ δύναμις, ἀνδρεία δὲ ἀπὸ φύσεως καὶ εὐτροφίας τῶν ψυχῶν γίγνεται.

λέγεις δέ τινας, ἔφην, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, τῶν ἀνθρώπων εὖ ζῆν, τοὺς δὲ κακῶς;

ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν δοκεῖ σοι ἄνθρωπος ἂν εὖ ζῆν, εἰ ἀνιώμενός τε καὶ ὀδυνώμενος ζῴη;

οὐκ ἔφη.

τί δ᾽ εἰ ἡδέως βιοὺς τὸν βίον τελευτήσειεν; οὐκ εὖ ἄν σοι δοκεῖ οὕτως βεβιωκέναι;

ἔμοιγ᾽, ἔφη.

τὸ μὲν ἄρα [351c] ἡδέως ζῆν ἀγαθόν, τὸ δ᾽ ἀηδῶς κακόν.

εἴπερ τοῖς καλοῖς γ᾽, ἔφη, ζῴη ἡδόμενος.

τί δή, ὦ Πρωταγόρα; μὴ καὶ σύ, ὥσπερ οἱ πολλοί, ἡδέ᾽ ἄττα καλεῖς κακὰ καὶ ἀνιαρὰ ἀγαθά; ἐγὼ γὰρ λέγω, καθ᾽ ὃ ἡδέα ἐστίν, ἆρα κατὰ τοῦτο οὐκ ἀγαθά, μὴ εἴ τι ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν ἀποβήσεται ἄλλο; καὶ αὖθις αὖ τὰ ἀνιαρὰ ὡσαύτως οὕτως οὐ καθ᾽ ὅσον ἀνιαρά, κακά;

οὐκ οἶδα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ἁπλῶς οὕτως, ὡς σὺ ἐρωτᾷς, [351d] εἰ ἐμοὶ ἀποκριτέον ἐστὶν ὡς τὰ ἡδέα τε ἀγαθά ἐστιν ἅπαντα καὶ τὰ ἀνιαρὰ κακά: ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖ οὐ μόνον πρὸς τὴν νῦν ἀπόκρισιν ἐμοὶ ἀσφαλέστερον εἶναι ἀποκρίνασθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς πάντα τὸν ἄλλον βίον τὸν ἐμόν, ὅτι ἔστι μὲν ἃ τῶν ἡδέων οὐκ ἔστιν ἀγαθά, ἔστι δ᾽ αὖ καὶ ἃ τῶν ἀνιαρῶν οὐκ ἔστι κακά, ἔστι δ᾽ ἃ ἔστι, καὶ τρίτον ἃ οὐδέτερα, οὔτε κακὰ οὔτ᾽ ἀγαθά.

ἡδέα δὲ καλεῖς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐ τὰ ἡδονῆς [351e] μετέχοντα ἢ ποιοῦντα ἡδονήν;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

τοῦτο τοίνυν λέγω, καθ᾽ ὅσον ἡδέα ἐστίν, εἰ οὐκ ἀγαθά, τὴν ἡδονὴν αὐτὴν ἐρωτῶν εἰ οὐκ ἀγαθόν ἐστιν.

ὥσπερ σὺ λέγεις, ἔφη, ἑκάστοτε, ὦ Σώκρατες, σκοπώμεθα αὐτό, καὶ ἐὰν μὲν πρὸς λόγον δοκῇ εἶναι τὸ σκέμμα καὶ τὸ αὐτὸ φαίνηται ἡδύ τε καὶ ἀγαθόν, συγχωρησόμεθα: εἰ δὲ μή, τότε ἤδη ἀμφισβητήσομεν.

πότερον οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, σὺ βούλει ἡγεμονεύειν τῆς σκέψεως, ἢ ἐγὼ ἡγῶμαι;

δίκαιος, ἔφη, σὺ ἡγεῖσθαι: σὺ γὰρ καὶ κατάρχεις τοῦ λόγου. [352a]

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τῇδέ πῃ καταφανὲς ἂν ἡμῖν γένοιτο; ὥσπερ εἴ τις ἄνθρωπον σκοπῶν ἐκ τοῦ εἴδους ἢ πρὸς ὑγίειαν ἢ πρὸς ἄλλο τι τῶν τοῦ σώματος ἔργων, ἰδὼν τὸ πρόσωπον καὶ τὰς χεῖρας ἄκρας εἴποι: ἴθι δή μοι ἀποκαλύψας καὶ τὰ στήθη καὶ τὸ μετάφρενον ἐπίδειξον, ἵνα ἐπισκέψωμαι σαφέστερον, καὶ ἐγὼ τοιοῦτόν τι ποθῶ πρὸς τὴν σκέψιν: θεασάμενος ὅτι οὕτως ἔχεις πρὸς τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ ἡδὺ ὡς φῄς, δέομαι τοιοῦτόν τι εἰπεῖν: ἴθι δή μοι, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, [352b] καὶ τόδε τῆς διανοίας ἀποκάλυψον: πῶς ἔχεις πρὸς ἐπιστήμην; πότερον καὶ τοῦτό σοι δοκεῖ ὥσπερ τοῖς πολλοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἢ ἄλλως; δοκεῖ δὲ τοῖς πολλοῖς περὶ ἐπιστήμης τοιοῦτόν τι, οὐκ ἰσχυρὸν οὐδ᾽ ἡγεμονικὸν οὐδ᾽ ἀρχικὸν εἶναι: οὐδὲ ὡς περὶ τοιούτου αὐτοῦ ὄντος διανοοῦνται, ἀλλ᾽ ἐνούσης πολλάκις ἀνθρώπῳ ἐπιστήμης οὐ τὴν ἐπιστήμην αὐτοῦ ἄρχειν ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλο τι, τοτὲ μὲν θυμόν, τοτὲ δὲ ἡδονήν, τοτὲ δὲ λύπην, ἐνίοτε δὲ ἔρωτα, πολλάκις δὲ φόβον, ἀτεχνῶς [352c] διανοούμενοι περὶ τῆς ἐπιστήμης ὥσπερ περὶ ἀνδραπόδου, περιελκομένης ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων. ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ σοὶ τοιοῦτόν τι περὶ αὐτῆς δοκεῖ, ἢ καλόν τε εἶναι ἡ ἐπιστήμη καὶ οἷον ἄρχειν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, καὶ ἐάνπερ γιγνώσκῃ τις τἀγαθὰ καὶ τὰ κακά, μὴ ἂν κρατηθῆναι ὑπὸ μηδενὸς ὥστε ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα πράττειν ἢ ἃν ἐπιστήμη κελεύῃ, ἀλλ᾽ ἱκανὴν εἶναι τὴν φρόνησιν βοηθεῖν τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ;

καὶ δοκεῖ, ἔφη, ὥσπερ σὺ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἅμα, [352d] εἴπερ τῳ ἄλλῳ, αἰσχρόν ἐστι καὶ ἐμοὶ σοφίαν καὶ ἐπιστήμην μὴ οὐχὶ πάντων κράτιστον φάναι εἶναι τῶν ἀνθρωπείων πραγμάτων.

καλῶς γε, ἔφην ἐγώ, σὺ λέγων καὶ ἀληθῆ. οἶσθα οὖν ὅτι οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐμοί τε καὶ σοὶ οὐ πείθονται, ἀλλὰ πολλούς φασι γιγνώσκοντας τὰ βέλτιστα οὐκ ἐθέλειν πράττειν, ἐξὸν αὐτοῖς, ἀλλὰ ἄλλα πράττειν: καὶ ὅσους δὴ ἐγὼ ἠρόμην ὅτι ποτε αἴτιόν ἐστι τούτου, ὑπὸ ἡδονῆς φασιν [352e] ἡττωμένους ἢ λύπης ἢ ὧν νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον ὑπό τινος τούτων κρατουμένους ταῦτα ποιεῖν τοὺς ποιοῦντας.

πολλὰ γὰρ οἶμαι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἄλλα οὐκ ὀρθῶς λέγουσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι.

ἴθι δὴ μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ ἐπιχείρησον πείθειν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους καὶ διδάσκειν ὅ ἐστιν αὐτοῖς τοῦτο τὸ πάθος, ὅ φασιν ὑπὸ [353a] τῶν ἡδονῶν ἡττᾶσθαι καὶ οὐ πράττειν διὰ ταῦτα τὰ βέλτιστα, ἐπεὶ γιγνώσκειν γε αὐτά. ἴσως γὰρ ἂν λεγόντων ἡμῶν ὅτι οὐκ ὀρθῶς λέγετε, ὦ ἄνθρωποι, ἀλλὰ ψεύδεσθε, ἔροιντ᾽ ἂν ἡμᾶς: ὦ Πρωταγόρα τε καὶ Σώκρατες, εἰ μὴ ἔστιν τοῦτο τὸ πάθημα ἡδονῆς ἡττᾶσθαι, ἀλλὰ τί ποτ᾽ ἐστίν, καὶ τί ὑμεῖς αὐτό φατε εἶναι; εἴπατον ἡμῖν.

τί δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, δεῖ ἡμᾶς σκοπεῖσθαι τὴν τῶν πολλῶν δόξαν ἀνθρώπων, οἳ ὅτι ἂν τύχωσι τοῦτο λέγουσιν; [353b]

οἶμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἶναί τι ἡμῖν τοῦτο πρὸς τὸ ἐξευρεῖν περὶ ἀνδρείας, πρὸς τἆλλα μόρια τὰ τῆς ἀρετῆς πῶς ποτ᾽ ἔχει. εἰ οὖν σοι δοκεῖ ἐμμένειν οἷς ἄρτι ἔδοξεν ἡμῖν, ἐμὲ ἡγήσασθαι ᾗ οἶμαι ἂν ἔγωγε κάλλιστα φανερὸν γενέσθαι, ἕπου: εἰ δὲ μὴ βούλει, εἴ σοι φίλον, ἐῶ χαίρειν.

ἀλλ᾽, ἔφη, ὀρθῶς λέγεις: καὶ πέραινε ὥσπερ ἤρξω. [353c]

πάλιν τοίνυν, ἔφην ἐγώ, εἰ ἔροιντο ἡμᾶς: τί οὖν φατε τοῦτο εἶναι, ὃ ἡμεῖς ἥττω εἶναι τῶν ἡδονῶν ἐλέγομεν; εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν ἔγωγε πρὸς αὐτοὺς ὡδί: Ἀκούετε δή: πειρασόμεθα γὰρ ὑμῖν ἐγώ τε καὶ Πρωταγόρας φράσαι. ἄλλο τι γάρ, ὦ ἄνθρωποι, φατὲ ὑμῖν τοῦτο γίγνεσθαι ἐν τοῖσδε, οἷον πολλάκις ὑπὸ σίτων καὶ ποτῶν καὶ ἀφροδισίων κρατούμενοι ἡδέων ὄντων, γιγνώσκοντες ὅτι πονηρά ἐστιν, ὅμως αὐτὰ πράττειν;

φαῖεν ἄν.

οὐκοῦν ἐροίμεθ᾽ ἂν αὐτοὺς ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ πάλιν: Πονηρὰ δὲ αὐτὰ πῇ φατε εἶναι; [353d] πότερον ὅτι τὴν ἡδονὴν ταύτην ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμα παρέχει καὶ ἡδύ ἐστιν ἕκαστον αὐτῶν, ἢ ὅτι εἰς τὸν ὕστερον χρόνον νόσους τε ποιεῖ καὶ πενίας καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα πολλὰ παρασκευάζει; ἢ κἂν εἴ τι τούτων εἰς τὸ ὕστερον μηδὲν παρασκευάζει, χαίρειν δὲ μόνον ποιεῖ, ὅμως δ᾽ ἂν κακὰ ἦν, ὅτι μαθόντα χαίρειν ποιεῖ καὶ ὁπῃοῦν; ἆρ᾽ οἰόμεθ᾽ ἂν αὐτούς, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, ἄλλο τι ἀποκρίνασθαι ἢ ὅτι οὐ κατὰ τὴν αὐτῆς τῆς ἡδονῆς τῆς παραχρῆμα ἐργασίαν κακά ἐστιν, [353e] ἀλλὰ διὰ τὰ ὕστερον γιγνόμενα, νόσους τε καὶ τἆλλα.

ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι, ἔφη ὁ Πρωταγόρας, τοὺς πολλοὺς ἂν ταῦτα ἀποκρίνασθαι.

οὐκοῦν νόσους ποιοῦντα ἀνίας ποιεῖ, καὶ πενίας ποιοῦντα ἀνίας ποιεῖ; Ὁμολογοῖεν ἄν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι.

συνέφη ὁ Πρωταγόρας.

οὐκοῦν φαίνεται, ὦ ἄνθρωποι, ὑμῖν, ὥς φαμεν ἐγώ τε καὶ Πρωταγόρας, δι᾽ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ταῦτα κακὰ ὄντα ἢ διότι εἰς ἀνίας τε ἀποτελευτᾷ καὶ ἄλλων [354a] ἡδονῶν ἀποστερεῖ; Ὁμολογοῖεν ἄν;

συνεδόκει ἡμῖν ἀμφοῖν.

οὐκοῦν πάλιν ἂν αὐτοὺς τὸ ἐναντίον εἰ ἐροίμεθα: ὦ ἄνθρωποι οἱ λέγοντες αὖ ἀγαθὰ ἀνιαρὰ εἶναι, ἆρα οὐ τὰ τοιάδε λέγετε, οἷον τά τε γυμνάσια καὶ τὰς στρατείας καὶ τὰς ὑπὸ τῶν ἰατρῶν θεραπείας τὰς διὰ καύσεών τε καὶ τομῶν καὶ φαρμακειῶν καὶ λιμοκτονιῶν γιγνομένας, ὅτι ταῦτα ἀγαθὰ μέν ἐστιν, ἀνιαρὰ δέ; φαῖεν ἄν; συνεδόκει.

πότερον [354b] οὖν κατὰ τόδε ἀγαθὰ αὐτὰ καλεῖτε, ὅτι ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμα ὀδύνας τὰς ἐσχάτας παρέχει καὶ ἀλγηδόνας, ἢ ὅτι εἰς τὸν ὕστερον χρόνον ὑγίειαί τε ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν γίγνονται καὶ εὐεξίαι τῶν σωμάτων καὶ τῶν πόλεων σωτηρίαι καὶ ἄλλων ἀρχαὶ καὶ πλοῦτοι; φαῖεν ἄν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι.

συνεδόκει.

ταῦτα δὲ ἀγαθά ἐστι δι᾽ ἄλλο τι ἢ ὅτι εἰς ἡδονὰς ἀποτελευτᾷ καὶ λυπῶν ἀπαλλαγάς τε καὶ ἀποτροπάς; ἢ ἔχετέ τι ἄλλο τέλος [354c] λέγειν, εἰς ὃ ἀποβλέψαντες αὐτὰ ἀγαθὰ καλεῖτε, ἀλλ᾽ <ἢ> ἡδονάς τε καὶ λύπας; οὐκ ἂν φαῖεν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι.

οὐδ᾽ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, ἔφη ὁ Πρωταγόρας.

οὐκοῦν τὴν μὲν ἡδονὴν διώκετε ὡς ἀγαθὸν ὄν, τὴν δὲ λύπην φεύγετε ὡς κακόν;

συνεδόκει.

τοῦτ᾽ ἄρα ἡγεῖσθ᾽ εἶναι κακόν, τὴν λύπην, καὶ ἀγαθὸν τὴν ἡδονήν, ἐπεὶ καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ χαίρειν τότε λέγετε κακὸν εἶναι, ὅταν μειζόνων ἡδονῶν ἀποστερῇ ἢ ὅσας αὐτὸ ἔχει, ἢ λύπας μείζους παρασκευάζῃ τῶν ἐν [354d] αὐτῷ ἡδονῶν: ἐπεὶ εἰ κατ᾽ ἄλλο τι αὐτὸ τὸ χαίρειν κακὸν καλεῖτε καὶ εἰς ἄλλο τι τέλος ἀποβλέψαντες, ἔχοιτε ἂν καὶ ἡμῖν εἰπεῖν: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἕξετε.

οὐδ᾽ ἐμοὶ δοκοῦσιν, ἔφη ὁ Πρωταγόρας.

ἄλλο τι οὖν πάλιν καὶ περὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ λυπεῖσθαι ὁ αὐτὸς τρόπος; τότε καλεῖτε αὐτὸ τὸ λυπεῖσθαι ἀγαθόν, ὅταν ἢ μείζους λύπας τῶν ἐν αὐτῷ οὐσῶν ἀπαλλάττῃ ἢ μείζους ἡδονὰς τῶν λυπῶν παρασκευάζῃ; ἐπεὶ εἰ πρὸς ἄλλο τι τέλος ἀποβλέπετε, ὅταν καλῆτε αὐτὸ τὸ λυπεῖσθαι [354e] ἀγαθόν, ἢ πρὸς ὃ ἐγὼ λέγω, ἔχετε ἡμῖν εἰπεῖν: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἕξετε.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις, ὁ Πρωταγόρας.

πάλιν τοίνυν, ἔφην ἐγώ, εἴ με ἀνέροισθε, ὦ ἄνθρωποι, τίνος οὖν δήποτε ἕνεκα πολλὰ περὶ τούτου λέγεις καὶ πολλαχῇ; Συγγιγνώσκετέ μοι, φαίην ἂν ἔγωγε. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἀποδεῖξαι τί ἐστίν ποτε τοῦτο ὃ ὑμεῖς καλεῖτε τῶν ἡδονῶν ἥττω εἶναι: ἔπειτα ἐν τούτῳ εἰσὶν πᾶσαι αἱ ἀποδείξεις. ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι καὶ νῦν ἀναθέσθαι ἔξεστιν, [355a] εἴ πῃ ἔχετε ἄλλο τι φάναι εἶναι τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἢ τὴν ἡδονήν, ἢ τὸ κακὸν ἄλλο τι ἢ τὴν ἀνίαν: ἢ ἀρκεῖ ὑμῖν τὸ ἡδέως καταβιῶναι τὸν βίον ἄνευ λυπῶν; εἰ δὲ ἀρκεῖ καὶ μὴ ἔχετε μηδὲν ἄλλο φάναι εἶναι ἀγαθὸν ἢ κακὸν ὃ μὴ εἰς ταῦτα τελευτᾷ, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἀκούετε. φημὶ γὰρ ὑμῖν τούτου οὕτως ἔχοντος γελοῖον τὸν λόγον γίγνεσθαι, ὅταν λέγητε ὅτι πολλάκις γιγνώσκων τὰ κακὰ ἄνθρωπος ὅτι κακά ἐστιν, ὅμως πράττει αὐτά, ἐξὸν μὴ πράττειν, ὑπὸ τῶν ἡδονῶν [355b] ἀγόμενος καὶ ἐκπληττόμενος: καὶ αὖθις αὖ λέγετε ὅτι γιγνώσκων ὁ ἄνθρωπος τἀγαθὰ πράττειν οὐκ ἐθέλει διὰ τὰς παραχρῆμα ἡδονάς, ὑπὸ τούτων ἡττώμενος. ὡς δὲ ταῦτα γελοῖά ἐστιν, κατάδηλον ἔσται, ἐὰν μὴ πολλοῖς ὀνόμασι χρώμεθα ἅμα, ἡδεῖ τε καὶ ἀνιαρῷ καὶ ἀγαθῷ καὶ κακῷ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ δύο ἐφάνη ταῦτα, δυοῖν καὶ ὀνόμασιν προσαγορεύωμεν αὐτά, πρῶτον μὲν ἀγαθῷ καὶ κακῷ, ἔπειτα αὖθις ἡδεῖ τε [355c] καὶ ἀνιαρῷ. θέμενοι δὴ οὕτω λέγωμεν ὅτι Γιγνώσκων ὁ ἄνθρωπος τὰ κακὰ ὅτι κακά ἐστιν, ὅμως αὐτὰ ποιεῖ. ἐὰν οὖν τις ἡμᾶς ἔρηται, διὰ τί; Ἡττώμενος, φήσομεν: ὑπὸ τοῦ; ἐκεῖνος ἐρήσεται ἡμᾶς: ἡμῖν δὲ ὑπὸ μὲν ἡδονῆς οὐκέτι ἔξεστιν εἰπεῖν ἄλλο γὰρ ὄνομα μετείληφεν ἀντὶ τῆς ἡδονῆς τὸ ἀγαθόν ἐκείνῳ δὴ ἀποκρινώμεθα καὶ λέγωμεν ὅτι Ἡττώμενος

ὑπὸ τίνος; φήσει. τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ, φήσομεν νὴ Δία. ἂν οὖν τύχῃ ὁ ἐρόμενος ἡμᾶς ὑβριστὴς ὤν, γελάσεται [355d] καὶ ἐρεῖ: ἦ γελοῖον λέγετε πρᾶγμα, εἰ πράττει τις κακά, γιγνώσκων ὅτι κακά ἐστιν, οὐ δέον αὐτὸν πράττειν, ἡττώμενος ὑπὸ τῶν ἀγαθῶν. ἆρα, φήσει, οὐκ ἀξίων ὄντων νικᾶν ἐν ὑμῖν τῶν ἀγαθῶν τὰ κακά, ἢ ἀξίων; φήσομεν δῆλον ὅτι ἀποκρινόμενοι, ὅτι οὐκ ἀξίων ὄντων: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐξημάρτανεν ὅν φαμεν ἥττω εἶναι τῶν ἡδονῶν. κατὰ τί δέ, φήσει ἴσως, ἀνάξιά ἐστιν τἀγαθὰ τῶν κακῶν ἢ τὰ κακὰ τῶν ἀγαθῶν; ἢ κατ᾽ ἄλλο τι ἢ ὅταν τὰ μὲν μείζω, τὰ δὲ [355e] σμικρότερα ᾖ; ἢ πλείω, τὰ δὲ ἐλάττω ᾖ; οὐχ ἕξομεν εἰπεῖν ἄλλο ἢ τοῦτο. δῆλον ἄρα, φήσει, ὅτι τὸ ἡττᾶσθαι τοῦτο λέγετε, ἀντὶ ἐλαττόνων ἀγαθῶν μείζω κακὰ λαμβάνειν. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν οὕτω. μεταλάβωμεν δὴ τὰ ὀνόματα πάλιν τὸ ἡδύ τε καὶ ἀνιαρὸν ἐπὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς τούτοις, καὶ λέγωμεν ὅτι Ἄνθρωπος πράττει τότε μὲν ἐλέγομεν τὰ κακά, νῦν δὲ λέγωμεν τὰ ἀνιαρά, γιγνώσκων ὅτι ἀνιαρά ἐστιν, ἡττώμενος [356a] ὑπὸ τῶν ἡδέων, δῆλον ὅτι ἀναξίων ὄντων νικᾶν. καὶ τίς ἄλλη ἀναξία ἡδονῇ πρὸς λύπην ἐστίν, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ὑπερβολὴ ἀλλήλων καὶ ἔλλειψις; ταῦτα δ᾽ ἐστὶ μείζω τε καὶ σμικρότερα γιγνόμενα ἀλλήλων καὶ πλείω καὶ ἐλάττω καὶ μᾶλλον καὶ ἧττον. εἰ γάρ τις λέγοι ὅτι ἀλλὰ πολὺ διαφέρει, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ παραχρῆμα ἡδὺ τοῦ εἰς τὸν ὕστερον χρόνον καὶ ἡδέος καὶ λυπηροῦ, μῶν ἄλλῳ τῳ, φαίην ἂν ἔγωγε, ἢ ἡδονῇ καὶ λύπῃ; οὐ γὰρ ἔσθ᾽ ὅτῳ ἄλλῳ. ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ [356b] ἀγαθὸς ἱστάναι ἄνθρωπος, συνθεὶς τὰ ἡδέα καὶ συνθεὶς τὰ λυπηρά, καὶ τὸ ἐγγὺς καὶ τὸ πόρρω στήσας ἐν τῷ ζυγῷ, εἰπὲ πότερα πλείω ἐστίν. ἐὰν μὲν γὰρ ἡδέα πρὸς ἡδέα ἱστῇς, τὰ μείζω ἀεὶ καὶ πλείω ληπτέα: ἐὰν δὲ λυπηρὰ πρὸς λυπηρά, τὰ ἐλάττω καὶ σμικρότερα: ἐὰν δὲ ἡδέα πρὸς λυπηρά, ἐὰν μὲν τὰ ἀνιαρὰ ὑπερβάλληται ὑπὸ τῶν ἡδέων, ἐάντε τὰ ἐγγὺς ὑπὸ τῶν πόρρω ἐάντε τὰ πόρρω ὑπὸ τῶν ἐγγύς, ταύτην τὴν πρᾶξιν πρακτέον ἐν ᾗ ἂν ταῦτ᾽ ἐνῇ: ἐὰν [356c] δὲ τὰ ἡδέα ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνιαρῶν, οὐ πρακτέα. μή πῃ ἄλλῃ ἔχει, φαίην ἄν, ταῦτα, ὦ ἄνθρωποι; οἶδ᾽ ὅτι οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιεν ἄλλως λέγειν.

συνεδόκει καὶ ἐκείνῳ.

ὅτε δὴ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, τόδε μοι ἀποκρίνασθε, φήσω. φαίνεται ὑμῖν τῇ ὄψει τὰ αὐτὰ μεγέθη ἐγγύθεν μὲν μείζω, πόρρωθεν δὲ ἐλάττω: ἢ οὔ;

φήσουσιν.

καὶ τὰ παχέα καὶ τὰ πολλὰ ὡσαύτως; καὶ αἱ φωναὶ <αἱ> ἴσαι ἐγγύθεν μὲν μείζους, πόρρωθεν δὲ σμικρότεραι;

φαῖεν ἄν.

εἰ οὖν [356d] ἐν τούτῳ ἡμῖν ἦν τὸ εὖ πράττειν, ἐν τῷ τὰ μὲν μεγάλα μήκη καὶ πράττειν καὶ λαμβάνειν, τὰ δὲ σμικρὰ καὶ φεύγειν καὶ μὴ πράττειν, τίς ἂν ἡμῖν σωτηρία ἐφάνη τοῦ βίου; ἆρα ἡ μετρητικὴ τέχνη ἢ ἡ τοῦ φαινομένου δύναμις; ἢ αὕτη μὲν ἡμᾶς ἐπλάνα καὶ ἐποίει ἄνω τε καὶ κάτω πολλάκις μεταλαμβάνειν ταὐτὰ καὶ μεταμέλειν καὶ ἐν ταῖς πράξεσιν καὶ ἐν ταῖς αἱρέσεσιν τῶν μεγάλων τε καὶ σμικρῶν, ἡ δὲ μετρητικὴ ἄκυρον μὲν ἂν ἐποίησε τοῦτο τὸ φάντασμα, δηλώσασα [356e] δὲ τὸ ἀληθὲς ἡσυχίαν ἂν ἐποίησεν ἔχειν τὴν ψυχὴν μένουσαν ἐπὶ τῷ ἀληθεῖ καὶ ἔσωσεν ἂν τὸν βίον; ἆρ᾽ ἂν ὁμολογοῖεν οἱ ἄνθρωποι πρὸς ταῦτα ἡμᾶς τὴν μετρητικὴν σῴζειν ἂν τέχνην ἢ ἄλλην;

τὴν μετρητικήν, ὡμολόγει.

τί δ᾽ εἰ ἐν τῇ τοῦ περιττοῦ καὶ ἀρτίου αἱρέσει ἡμῖν ἦν ἡ σωτηρία τοῦ βίου, ὁπότε τὸ πλέον ὀρθῶς ἔδει ἑλέσθαι καὶ ὁπότε τὸ ἔλαττον, ἢ αὐτὸ πρὸς ἑαυτὸ ἢ τὸ ἕτερον πρὸς τὸ ἕτερον, εἴτ᾽ ἐγγὺς εἴτε πόρρω εἴη; τί ἂν ἔσῳζεν ἡμῖν τὸν [357a] βίον; ἆρ᾽ ἂν οὐκ ἐπιστήμη; καὶ ἆρ᾽ ἂν οὐ μετρητική τις, ἐπειδήπερ ὑπερβολῆς τε καὶ ἐνδείας ἐστὶν ἡ τέχνη; ἐπειδὴ δὲ περιττοῦ τε καὶ ἀρτίου, ἆρα ἄλλη τις ἢ ἀριθμητική; Ὁμολογοῖεν ἂν ἡμῖν οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἢ οὔ;

ἐδόκουν ἂν καὶ τῷ Πρωταγόρᾳ ὁμολογεῖν.

εἶεν, ὦ ἄνθρωποι: ἐπεὶ δὲ δὴ ἡδονῆς τε καὶ λύπης ἐν ὀρθῇ τῇ αἱρέσει ἐφάνη ἡμῖν ἡ σωτηρία τοῦ βίου οὖσα, τοῦ τε πλέονος καὶ ἐλάττονος καὶ [357b] μείζονος καὶ σμικροτέρου καὶ πορρωτέρω καὶ ἐγγυτέρω, ἆρα πρῶτον μὲν οὐ μετρητικὴ φαίνεται, ὑπερβολῆς τε καὶ ἐνδείας οὖσα καὶ ἰσότητος πρὸς ἀλλήλας σκέψις; ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάγκη.

ἐπεὶ δὲ μετρητική, ἀνάγκῃ δήπου τέχνη καὶ ἐπιστήμη.

συμφήσουσιν.

ἥτις μὲν τοίνυν τέχνη καὶ ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν αὕτη, εἰς αὖθις σκεψόμεθα: ὅτι δὲ ἐπιστήμη ἐστίν, τοσοῦτον ἐξαρκεῖ πρὸς τὴν ἀπόδειξιν ἣν ἐμὲ δεῖ καὶ Πρωταγόραν [357c] ἀποδεῖξαι περὶ ὧν ἤρεσθ᾽ ἡμᾶς. ἤρεσθε δέ, εἰ μέμνησθε, ἡνίκα ἡμεῖς ἀλλήλοις ὡμολογοῦμεν ἐπιστήμης μηδὲν εἶναι κρεῖττον, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο ἀεὶ κρατεῖν, ὅπου ἂν ἐνῇ, καὶ ἡδονῆς καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων: ὑμεῖς δὲ δὴ ἔφατε τὴν ἡδονὴν πολλάκις κρατεῖν καὶ τοῦ εἰδότος ἀνθρώπου, ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὑμῖν οὐχ ὡμολογοῦμεν, μετὰ τοῦτο ἤρεσθε ἡμᾶς: ὦ Πρωταγόρα τε καὶ Σώκρατες, εἰ μὴ ἔστι τοῦτο τὸ πάθημα ἡδονῆς ἡττᾶσθαι, ἀλλὰ τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ τί ὑμεῖς αὐτό φατε εἶναι; εἴπατε [357d] ἡμῖν. εἰ μὲν οὖν τότε εὐθὺς ὑμῖν εἴπομεν ὅτι ἀμαθία, κατεγελᾶτε ἂν ἡμῶν: νῦν δὲ ἂν ἡμῶν καταγελᾶτε, καὶ ὑμῶν αὐτῶν καταγελάσεσθε. καὶ γὰρ ὑμεῖς ὡμολογήκατε ἐπιστήμης ἐνδείᾳ ἐξαμαρτάνειν περὶ τὴν τῶν ἡδονῶν αἵρεσιν καὶ λυπῶν τοὺς ἐξαμαρτάνοντας ταῦτα δέ ἐστιν ἀγαθά τε καὶ κακά καὶ οὐ μόνον ἐπιστήμης, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἧς τὸ πρόσθεν ἔτι ὡμολογήκατε ὅτι μετρητικῆς: ἡ δὲ ἐξαμαρτανομένη πρᾶξις [357e] ἄνευ ἐπιστήμης ἴστε που καὶ αὐτοὶ ὅτι ἀμαθίᾳ πράττεται. ὥστε τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν τὸ ἡδονῆς ἥττω εἶναι, ἀμαθία ἡ μεγίστη, ἧς Πρωταγόρας ὅδε φησὶν ἰατρὸς εἶναι καὶ Πρόδικος καὶ Ἱππίας: ὑμεῖς δὲ διὰ τὸ οἴεσθαι ἄλλο τι ἢ ἀμαθίαν εἶναι οὔτε αὐτοὶ οὔτε τοὺς ὑμετέρους παῖδας παρὰ τοὺς τούτων διδασκάλους τούσδε τοὺς σοφιστὰς πέμπετε, ὡς οὐ διδακτοῦ ὄντος, ἀλλὰ κηδόμενοι τοῦ ἀργυρίου καὶ οὐ διδόντες τούτοις κακῶς πράττετε καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ. [358a]

ταῦτα μὲν τοῖς πολλοῖς ἀποκεκριμένοι ἂν ἦμεν: ὑμᾶς δὲ δὴ μετὰ Πρωταγόρου ἐρωτῶ, <ὦ> Ἱππία τε καὶ Πρόδικε （κοινὸς γὰρ δὴ ἔστω ὑμῖν ὁ λόγος） πότερον δοκῶ ὑμῖν ἀληθῆ λέγειν ἢ ψεύδεσθαι.

ὑπερφυῶς ἐδόκει ἅπασιν ἀληθῆ εἶναι τὰ εἰρημένα.

ὁμολογεῖτε ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ μὲν ἡδὺ ἀγαθὸν εἶναι, τὸ δὲ ἀνιαρὸν κακόν. τὴν δὲ Προδίκου τοῦδε διαίρεσιν τῶν ὀνομάτων παραιτοῦμαι: εἴτε γὰρ ἡδὺ εἴτε τερπνὸν λέγεις εἴτε χαρτόν, εἴτε ὁπόθεν καὶ ὅπως χαίρεις τὰ τοιαῦτα [358b] ὀνομάζων, ὦ βέλτιστε Πρόδικε, τοῦτό μοι πρὸς ὃ βούλομαι ἀπόκριναι. γελάσας οὖν ὁ Πρόδικος συνωμολόγησε, καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι.

τί δὲ δή, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἔφην ἐγώ, τὸ τοιόνδε; αἱ ἐπὶ τούτου πράξεις ἅπασαι, ἐπὶ τοῦ ἀλύπως ζῆν καὶ ἡδέως, ἆρ᾽ οὐ καλαί [καὶ ὠφέλιμοι]; καὶ τὸ καλὸν ἔργον ἀγαθόν τε καὶ ὠφέλιμον;

συνεδόκει.

εἰ ἄρα, ἔφην ἐγώ, τὸ ἡδὺ ἀγαθόν ἐστιν, οὐδεὶς οὔτε εἰδὼς οὔτε οἰόμενος ἄλλα βελτίω εἶναι ἢ [358c] ἃ ποιεῖ, καὶ δυνατά, ἔπειτα ποιεῖ ταῦτα, ἐξὸν τὰ βελτίω: οὐδὲ τὸ ἥττω εἶναι αὑτοῦ ἄλλο τι τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἢ ἀμαθία, οὐδὲ κρείττω ἑαυτοῦ ἄλλο τι ἢ σοφία.

συνεδόκει πᾶσιν.

τί δὲ δή; ἀμαθίαν ἆρα τὸ τοιόνδε λέγετε, τὸ ψευδῆ ἔχειν δόξαν καὶ ἐψεῦσθαι περὶ τῶν πραγμάτων τῶν πολλοῦ ἀξίων;

καὶ τοῦτο πᾶσι συνεδόκει.

ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐπί γε τὰ κακὰ οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν ἔρχεται οὐδὲ ἐπὶ ἃ οἴεται κακὰ εἶναι, οὐδ᾽ [358d] ἔστι τοῦτο, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐν ἀνθρώπου φύσει, ἐπὶ ἃ οἴεται κακὰ εἶναι ἐθέλειν ἰέναι ἀντὶ τῶν ἀγαθῶν: ὅταν τε ἀναγκασθῇ δυοῖν κακοῖν τὸ ἕτερον αἱρεῖσθαι, οὐδεὶς τὸ μεῖζον αἱρήσεται ἐξὸν τὸ ἔλαττον;

ἅπαντα ταῦτα συνεδόκει ἅπασιν ἡμῖν.

τί οὖν; ἔφην ἐγώ, καλεῖτέ <τι> δέος καὶ φόβον; καὶ ἆρα ὅπερ ἐγώ; （πρὸς σὲ λέγω, ὦ Πρόδικε）. προσδοκίαν τινὰ λέγω κακοῦ τοῦτο, εἴτε φόβον εἴτε δέος καλεῖτε. ἐδόκει Πρωταγόρᾳ μὲν καὶ Ἱππίᾳ δέος τε καὶ φόβος εἶναι τοῦτο, [358e] προδίκῳ δὲ δέος, φόβος δ᾽ οὔ.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδέν, ἔφην ἐγώ, Πρόδικε, διαφέρει: ἀλλὰ τόδε. εἰ ἀληθῆ τὰ ἔμπροσθέν ἐστιν, ἆρά τις ἀνθρώπων ἐθελήσει ἐπὶ ταῦτα ἰέναι ἃ δέδοικεν, ἐξὸν ἐπὶ ἃ μή; ἢ ἀδύνατον ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων; ἃ γὰρ δέδοικεν, ὡμολόγηται ἡγεῖσθαι κακὰ εἶναι: ἃ δὲ ἡγεῖται κακά, οὐδένα οὔτε ἰέναι ἐπὶ ταῦτα οὔτε λαμβάνειν ἑκόντα.

ἐδόκει [359a] καὶ ταῦτα πᾶσιν.

οὕτω δὴ τούτων ὑποκειμένων, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, Πρόδικέ τε καὶ Ἱππία, ἀπολογείσθω ἡμῖν Πρωταγόρας ὅδε ἃ τὸ πρῶτον ἀπεκρίνατο πῶς ὀρθῶς ἔχει μὴ ἃ τὸ πρῶτον παντάπασι: τότε μὲν γὰρ δὴ πέντε ὄντων μορίων τῆς ἀρετῆς οὐδὲν ἔφη εἶναι τὸ ἕτερον οἷον τὸ ἕτερον, ἰδίαν δὲ αὑτοῦ ἕκαστον ἔχειν δύναμιν: ἀλλ᾽ οὐ ταῦτα λέγω, ἀλλ᾽ ἃ τὸ ὕστερον εἶπεν. τὸ γὰρ ὕστερον ἔφη τὰ μὲν τέτταρα ἐπιεικῶς παραπλήσια ἀλλήλοις [359b] εἶναι, τὸ δὲ ἓν πάνυ πολὺ διαφέρειν τῶν ἄλλων, τὴν ἀνδρείαν, γνώσεσθαι δέ μ᾽ ἔφη τεκμηρίῳ τῷδε: εὑρήσεις γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀνθρώπους ἀνοσιωτάτους μὲν ὄντας καὶ ἀδικωτάτους καὶ ἀκολαστοτάτους καὶ ἀμαθεστάτους, ἀνδρειοτάτους δέ: ᾧ γνώσῃ ὅτι πολὺ διαφέρει ἡ ἀνδρεία τῶν ἄλλων μορίων τῆς ἀρετῆς. καὶ ἐγὼ εὐθὺς τότε πάνυ ἐθαύμασα τὴν ἀπόκρισιν, καὶ ἔτι μᾶλλον ἐπειδὴ ταῦτα μεθ᾽ ὑμῶν διεξῆλθον. ἠρόμην δ᾽ οὖν τοῦτον εἰ τοὺς ἀνδρείους λέγοι θαρραλέους: ὁ δέ, καὶ [359c] ἴτας γ᾽, ἔφη. μέμνησαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, ταῦτα ἀποκρινόμενος;

ὡμολόγει.

ἴθι δή, ἔφην ἐγώ, εἰπὲ ἡμῖν, ἐπὶ τί λέγεις ἴτας εἶναι τοὺς ἀνδρείους; ἦ ἐφ᾽ ἅπερ οἱ δειλοί;

οὐκ ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἐφ᾽ ἕτερα.

ναί, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

πότερον οἱ μὲν δειλοὶ ἐπὶ τὰ θαρραλέα ἔρχονται, οἱ δὲ ἀνδρεῖοι ἐπὶ τὰ δεινά;

λέγεται δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτως ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφην ἐγώ, λέγεις: ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τοῦτο [359d] ἐρωτῶ, ἀλλὰ σὺ ἐπὶ τί φῂς ἴτας εἶναι τοὺς ἀνδρείους; ἆρ᾽ ἐπὶ τὰ δεινά, ἡγουμένους δεινὰ εἶναι, ἢ ἐπὶ τὰ μή; ἀλλὰ τοῦτό γ᾽, ἔφη, ἐν οἷς σὺ ἔλεγες τοῖς λόγοις ἀπεδείχθη ἄρτι ὅτι ἀδύνατον.

καὶ τοῦτο, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἀληθὲς λέγεις: ὥστ᾽ εἰ τοῦτο ὀρθῶς ἀπεδείχθη, ἐπὶ μὲν ἃ δεινὰ ἡγεῖται εἶναι οὐδεὶς ἔρχεται, ἐπειδὴ τὸ ἥττω εἶναι ἑαυτοῦ ηὑρέθη ἀμαθία οὖσα. ὡμολόγει.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἐπὶ ἅ γε θαρροῦσι πάντες αὖ ἔρχονται, καὶ δειλοὶ καὶ ἀνδρεῖοι, καὶ ταύτῃ γε ἐπὶ τὰ αὐτὰ [359e] ἔρχονται οἱ δειλοί τε καὶ οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, πᾶν γε τοὐναντίον ἐστὶν ἐπὶ ἃ οἵ τε δειλοὶ ἔρχονται καὶ οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι. αὐτίκα εἰς τὸν πόλεμον οἱ μὲν ἐθέλουσιν ἰέναι, οἱ δὲ οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν.

πότερον, ἔφην ἐγώ, καλὸν ὂν ἰέναι ἢ αἰσχρόν;

καλόν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ καλόν, καὶ ἀγαθὸν ὡμολογήσαμεν ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν: τὰς γὰρ καλὰς πράξεις ἁπάσας ἀγαθὰς ὡμολογήσαμεν.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις, καὶ ἀεὶ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ οὕτως.

ὀρθῶς γε, ἔφην ἐγώ. [360a] ἀλλὰ ποτέρους φῂς εἰς τὸν πόλεμον οὐκ ἐθέλειν ἰέναι, καλὸν ὂν καὶ ἀγαθόν;

τοὺς δειλούς, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἴπερ καλὸν καὶ ἀγαθόν, καὶ ἡδύ;

ὡμολόγηται γοῦν, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν γιγνώσκοντες οἱ δειλοὶ οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὸ κάλλιόν τε καὶ ἄμεινον καὶ ἥδιον;

ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτο ἐὰν ὁμολογῶμεν, ἔφη, διαφθεροῦμεν τὰς ἔμπροσθεν ὁμολογίας.

τί δ᾽ ὁ ἀνδρεῖος; οὐκ ἐπὶ τὸ κάλλιόν τε καὶ ἄμεινον καὶ ἥδιον ἔρχεται;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ὁμολογεῖν.

οὐκοῦν ὅλως οἱ [360b] ἀνδρεῖοι οὐκ αἰσχροὺς φόβους φοβοῦνται, ὅταν φοβῶνται, οὐδὲ αἰσχρὰ θάρρη θαρροῦσιν;

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη.

εἰ δὲ μὴ αἰσχρά, ἆρ᾽ οὐ καλά;

ὡμολόγει.

εἰ δὲ καλά, καὶ ἀγαθά;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν καὶ οἱ δειλοὶ καὶ οἱ θρασεῖς καὶ οἱ μαινόμενοι τοὐναντίον αἰσχρούς τε φόβους φοβοῦνται καὶ αἰσχρὰ θάρρη θαρροῦσιν;

ὡμολόγει.

θαρροῦσιν δὲ τὰ αἰσχρὰ καὶ κακὰ δι᾽ ἄλλο τι ἢ δι᾽ ἄγνοιαν καὶ ἀμαθίαν;

οὕτως [360c] ἔχει, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; τοῦτο δι᾽ ὃ δειλοί εἰσιν οἱ δειλοί, δειλίαν ἢ ἀνδρείαν καλεῖς;

δειλίαν ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

δειλοὶ δὲ οὐ διὰ τὴν τῶν δεινῶν ἀμαθίαν ἐφάνησαν ὄντες;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

διὰ ταύτην ἄρα τὴν ἀμαθίαν δειλοί εἰσιν;

ὡμολόγει.

δι᾽ ὃ δὲ δειλοί εἰσιν, δειλία ὁμολογεῖται παρὰ σοῦ;

συνέφη.

οὐκοῦν ἡ τῶν δεινῶν καὶ μὴ δεινῶν ἀμαθία δειλία ἂν εἴη;

ἐπένευσε.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐναντίον [360d] ἀνδρεία δειλίᾳ.

ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἡ τῶν δεινῶν καὶ μὴ δεινῶν σοφία ἐναντία τῇ τούτων ἀμαθίᾳ ἐστίν;

καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἔτι ἐπένευσεν.

ἡ δὲ τούτων ἀμαθία δειλία;

πάνυ μόγις ἐνταῦθα ἐπένευσεν.

ἡ σοφία ἄρα τῶν δεινῶν καὶ μὴ δεινῶν ἀνδρεία ἐστίν, ἐναντία οὖσα τῇ τούτων ἀμαθίᾳ;

οὐκέτι ἐνταῦθα οὔτ᾽ ἐπινεῦσαι ἠθέλησεν ἐσίγα τε.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: τί δή, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, οὔτε σὺ φῂς ἃ ἐρωτῶ οὔτε ἀπόφῃς;

αὐτός, ἔφη, πέρανον.

ἕν γ᾽, ἔφην ἐγώ, μόνον [360e] ἐρόμενος ἔτι σέ, εἴ σοι ὥσπερ τὸ πρῶτον ἔτι δοκοῦσιν εἶναί τινες ἄνθρωποι ἀμαθέστατοι μέν, ἀνδρειότατοι δέ. φιλονικεῖν μοι, ἔφη, δοκεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ ἐμὲ εἶναι τὸν ἀποκρινόμενον: χαριοῦμαι οὖν σοι, καὶ λέγω ὅτι ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων ἀδύνατόν μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι. οὔτοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἄλλου ἕνεκα ἐρωτῶ πάντα ταῦτα ἢ σκέψασθαι βουλόμενος πῶς ποτ᾽ ἔχει τὰ περὶ τῆς ἀρετῆς καὶ τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν αὐτό, ἡ ἀρετή. οἶδα γὰρ ὅτι τούτου φανεροῦ [361a] γενομένου μάλιστ᾽ ἂν κατάδηλον γένοιτο ἐκεῖνο περὶ οὗ ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ μακρὸν λόγον ἑκάτερος ἀπετείναμεν, ἐγὼ μὲν λέγων ὡς οὐ διδακτὸν ἀρετή, σὺ δ᾽ ὡς διδακτόν. καί μοι δοκεῖ ἡμῶν ἡ ἄρτι ἔξοδος τῶν λόγων ὥσπερ ἄνθρωπος κατηγορεῖν τε καὶ καταγελᾶν, καὶ εἰ φωνὴν λάβοι, εἰπεῖν ἂν ὅτι ἄτοποί γ᾽ ἐστέ, ὦ Σώκρατές τε καὶ Πρωταγόρα: σὺ μὲν λέγων ὅτι οὐ διδακτόν ἐστιν ἀρετὴ ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν, νῦν σεαυτῷ τἀναντία [361b] σπεύδεις, ἐπιχειρῶν ἀποδεῖξαι ὡς πάντα χρήματά ἐστιν ἐπιστήμη, καὶ ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ ἡ ἀνδρεία, ᾧ τρόπῳ μάλιστ᾽ ἂν διδακτὸν φανείη ἡ ἀρετή. εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἄλλο τι ἦν ἢ ἐπιστήμη ἡ ἀρετή, ὥσπερ Πρωταγόρας ἐπεχείρει λέγειν, σαφῶς οὐκ ἂν ἦν διδακτόν: νῦν δὲ εἰ φανήσεται ἐπιστήμη ὅλον, ὡς σὺ σπεύδεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, θαυμάσιον ἔσται μὴ διδακτὸν ὄν. Πρωταγόρας δ᾽ αὖ διδακτὸν τότε ὑποθέμενος, νῦν τοὐναντίον ἔοικεν σπεύδοντι ὀλίγου πάντα [361c] μᾶλλον φανῆναι αὐτὸ ἢ ἐπιστήμην: καὶ οὕτως ἂν ἥκιστα εἴη διδακτόν. ἐγὼ οὖν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, πάντα ταῦτα καθορῶν ἄνω κάτω ταραττόμενα δεινῶς, πᾶσαν προθυμίαν ἔχω καταφανῆ αὐτὰ γενέσθαι, καὶ βουλοίμην ἂν ταῦτα διεξελθόντας ἡμᾶς ἐξελθεῖν καὶ ἐπὶ τὴν ἀρετὴν ὅτι ἔστιν, καὶ πάλιν ἐπισκέψασθαι περὶ αὐτοῦ εἴτε διδακτὸν εἴτε μὴ διδακτόν, μὴ πολλάκις ἡμᾶς ὁ Ἐπιμηθεὺς ἐκεῖνος καὶ ἐν τῇ σκέψει [361d] σφήλῃ ἐξαπατήσας, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐν τῇ διανομῇ ἠμέλησεν ἡμῶν, ὡς φῂς σύ. ἤρεσεν οὖν μοι καὶ ἐν τῷ μύθῳ ὁ Προμηθεὺς μᾶλλον τοῦ Ἐπιμηθέως: ᾧ χρώμενος ἐγὼ καὶ προμηθούμενος ὑπὲρ τοῦ βίου τοῦ ἐμαυτοῦ παντὸς πάντα ταῦτα πραγματεύομαι, καὶ εἰ σὺ ἐθέλοις, ὅπερ καὶ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἔλεγον, μετὰ σοῦ ἂν ἥδιστα ταῦτα συνδιασκοποίην.

καὶ ὁ Πρωταγόρας, ἐγὼ μέν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπαινῶ σου τὴν προθυμίαν καὶ τὴν διέξοδον τῶν λόγων. καὶ γὰρ οὔτε [361e] τἆλλα οἶμαι κακὸς εἶναι ἄνθρωπος, φθονερός τε ἥκιστ᾽ ἀνθρώπων, ἐπεὶ καὶ περὶ σοῦ πρὸς πολλοὺς δὴ εἴρηκα ὅτι ὧν ἐντυγχάνω πολὺ μάλιστα ἄγαμαι σέ, τῶν μὲν τηλικούτων καὶ πάνυ: καὶ λέγω γε ὅτι οὐκ ἂν θαυμάζοιμι εἰ τῶν ἐλλογίμων γένοιο ἀνδρῶν ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ. καὶ περὶ τούτων δὲ εἰς αὖθις, ὅταν βούλῃ, διέξιμεν: νῦν δ᾽ ὥρα ἤδη καὶ ἐπ᾽ ἄλλο τι τρέπεσθαι. [362a] ἀλλ᾽, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὕτω χρὴ ποιεῖν, εἴ σοι δοκεῖ. καὶ γὰρ ἐμοὶ οἷπερ ἔφην ἰέναι πάλαι ὥρα, ἀλλὰ Καλλίᾳ τῷ καλῷ χαριζόμενος παρέμεινα.

ταῦτ᾽ εἰπόντες καὶ ἀκούσαντες ἀπῇμεν.

GORGIAS

Καλλίκλης, Σωκράτης, Χαιρεφῶν, Γοργίας, Πῶλος.

[447a] Καλλίκλης: πολέμου καὶ μάχης φασὶ χρῆναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτω μεταλαγχάνειν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ ἦ, τὸ λεγόμενον, κατόπιν ἑορτῆς ἥκομεν καὶ ὑστεροῦμεν;

Καλλίκλης: καὶ μάλα γε ἀστείας ἑορτῆς: πολλὰ γὰρ καὶ καλὰ Γοργίας ἡμῖν ὀλίγον πρότερον ἐπεδείξατο.

Σωκράτης: τούτων μέντοι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, αἴτιος Χαιρεφῶν ὅδε, ἐν ἀγορᾷ ἀναγκάσας ἡμᾶς διατρῖψαι. [447b]

Χαιρεφῶν: οὐδὲν πρᾶγμα, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἐγὼ γὰρ καὶ ἰάσομαι. φίλος γάρ μοι Γοργίας, ὥστ’ ἐπιδείξεται ἡμῖν, εἰ μὲν δοκεῖ, νῦν, ἐὰν δὲ βούλῃ, εἰς αὖθις.

Καλλίκλης: τί δέ, ὦ Χαιρεφῶν; ἐπιθυμεῖ Σωκράτης ἀκοῦσαι Γοργίου;

Χαιρεφῶν: ἐπ’ αὐτό γέ τοι τοῦτο πάρεσμεν.

Καλλίκλης: οὐκοῦν ὅταν βούλησθε παρ’ ἐμὲ ἥκειν οἴκαδε: παρ’ ἐμοὶ γὰρ Γοργίας καταλύει καὶ ἐπιδείξεται ὑμῖν.

Σωκράτης: εὖ λέγεις, ὦ Καλλίκλεις. ἀλλ’ ἆρα ἐθελήσειεν ἂν [447c] ἡμῖν διαλεχθῆναι; βούλομαι γὰρ πυθέσθαι παρ’ αὐτοῦ τίς ἡ δύναμις τῆς τέχνης τοῦ ἀνδρός, καὶ τί ἐστιν ὃ ἐπαγγέλλεταί τε καὶ διδάσκει: τὴν δὲ ἄλλην ἐπίδειξιν εἰς αὖθις, ὥσπερ σὺ λέγεις, ποιησάσθω.

Καλλίκλης: οὐδὲν οἷον τὸ αὐτὸν ἐρωτᾶν, ὦ Σώκρατες. καὶ γὰρ αὐτῷ ἓν τοῦτ’ ἦν τῆς ἐπιδείξεως: ἐκέλευε γοῦν νυνδὴ ἐρωτᾶν ὅτι τις βούλοιτο τῶν ἔνδον ὄντων, καὶ πρὸς ἅπαντα ἔφη ἀποκρινεῖσθαι.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καλῶς λέγεις. ὦ Χαιρεφῶν, ἐροῦ αὐτόν.

Χαιρεφῶν: τί ἔρωμαι; [447d]

Σωκράτης: ὅστις ἐστίν.

Χαιρεφῶν: πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἐτύγχανεν ὢν ὑποδημάτων δημιουργός, ἀπεκρίνατο ἂν δήπου σοι ὅτι σκυτοτόμος: ἢ οὐ μανθάνεις ὡς λέγω;

Χαιρεφῶν: μανθάνω καὶ ἐρήσομαι. εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Γοργία, ἀληθῆ λέγει Καλλικλῆς ὅδε ὅτι ἐπαγγέλλῃ ἀποκρίνεσθαι ὅτι ἄν τίς σε ἐρωτᾷ; [448a]

Γοργίας: ἀληθῆ, ὦ Χαιρεφῶν: καὶ γὰρ νυνδὴ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἐπηγγελλόμην, καὶ λέγω ὅτι οὐδείς μέ πω ἠρώτηκε καινὸν οὐδὲν πολλῶν ἐτῶν.

Χαιρεφῶν: ἦ που ἄρα ῥᾳδίως ἀποκρινῇ, ὦ Γοργία.

Γοργίας: πάρεστι τούτου πεῖραν, ὦ Χαιρεφῶν, λαμβάνειν.

Πῶλος: νὴ Δία: ἂν δέ γε βούλῃ, ὦ Χαιρεφῶν, ἐμοῦ. Γοργίας μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἀπειρηκέναι μοι δοκεῖ: πολλὰ γὰρ ἄρτι διελήλυθεν.

Χαιρεφῶν: τί δέ, ὦ Πῶλε; οἴει σὺ κάλλιον ἂν Γοργίου ἀποκρίνασθαι; [448b]

Πῶλος: τί δὲ τοῦτο, ἐὰν σοί γε ἱκανῶς;

Χαιρεφῶν: οὐδέν: ἀλλ’ ἐπειδὴ σὺ βούλει, ἀποκρίνου.

Πῶλος: Ἐρώτα.

Χαιρεφῶν: ἐρωτῶ δή. εἰ ἐτύγχανε Γοργίας ἐπιστήμων ὢν τῆς τέχνης ἧσπερ ὁ ἀδελφὸς αὐτοῦ Ἡρόδικος, τί ἂν αὐτὸν ὠνομάζομεν δικαίως; οὐχ ὅπερ ἐκεῖνον;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Χαιρεφῶν: ἰατρὸν ἄρα φάσκοντες αὐτὸν εἶναι καλῶς ἂν ἐλέγομεν.

Πῶλος: ναί.

Χαιρεφῶν: εἰ δέ γε ἧσπερ Ἀριστοφῶν ὁ Ἀγλαοφῶντος ἢ ὁ ἀδελφὸς αὐτοῦ ἔμπειρος ἦν τέχνης, τίνα ἂν αὐτὸν ὀρθῶς ἐκαλοῦμεν; [448c]

Πῶλος: δῆλον ὅτι ζωγράφον.

Χαιρεφῶν: νῦν δ’ ἐπειδὴ τίνος τέχνης ἐπιστήμων ἐστίν, τίνα ἂν καλοῦντες αὐτὸν ὀρθῶς καλοῖμεν;

Πῶλος: ὦ Χαιρεφῶν, πολλαὶ τέχναι ἐν ἀνθρώποις εἰσὶν ἐκ τῶν ἐμπειριῶν ἐμπείρως ηὑρημέναι: ἐμπειρία μὲν γὰρ ποιεῖ τὸν αἰῶνα ἡμῶν πορεύεσθαι κατὰ τέχνην, ἀπειρία δὲ κατὰ τύχην. ἑκάστων δὲ τούτων μεταλαμβάνουσιν ἄλλοι ἄλλων ἄλλως, τῶν δὲ ἀρίστων οἱ ἄριστοι: ὧν καὶ Γοργίας ἐστὶν ὅδε, καὶ μετέχει τῆς καλλίστης τῶν τεχνῶν. [448d]

Σωκράτης: καλῶς γε, ὦ Γοργία, φαίνεται Πῶλος παρεσκευάσθαι εἰς λόγους: ἀλλὰ γὰρ ὃ ὑπέσχετο Χαιρεφῶντι οὐ ποιεῖ.

Γοργίας: τί μάλιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: τὸ ἐρωτώμενον οὐ πάνυ μοι φαίνεται ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

Γοργίας: ἀλλὰ σύ, εἰ βούλει, ἐροῦ αὐτόν.

Σωκράτης: οὔκ, εἰ αὐτῷ γε σοὶ βουλομένῳ ἐστὶν ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἀλλὰ πολὺ ἂν ἥδιον σέ. δῆλος γάρ μοι Πῶλοςκαὶ ἐξ ὧν εἴρηκεν ὅτι τὴν καλουμένην ῥητορικὴν μᾶλλον μεμελέτηκεν ἢ διαλέγεσθαι. [448e]

Πῶλος: τί δή, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι, ὦ Πῶλε, ἐρομένου Χαιρεφῶντος τίνος Γοργίας ἐπιστήμων τέχνης, ἐγκωμιάζεις μὲν αὐτοῦ τὴν τέχνην ὥσπερ τινὸς ψέγοντος, ἥτις δέ ἐστιν οὐκ ἀπεκρίνω.

Πῶλος: οὐ γὰρ ἀπεκρινάμην ὅτι εἴη ἡ καλλίστη;

Σωκράτης: καὶ μάλα. ἀλλ’ οὐδεὶς ἐρωτᾷ ποία τις ἡ Γοργίου τέχνη, ἀλλὰ τίς, καὶ ὅντινα δέοι καλεῖν τὸν Γοργίαν: ὥσπερ τὰ ἔμπροσθέν σοι ὑπετείνατο Χαιρεφῶν: καὶ αὐτῷ καλῶς [449a] καὶ διὰ βραχέων ἀπεκρίνω, καὶ νῦν οὕτως εἰπὲ τίς ἡ τέχνη καὶ τίνα Γοργίαν καλεῖν χρὴ ἡμᾶς. μᾶλλον δέ, ὦ Γοργία, αὐτὸς ἡμῖν εἰπὲ τίνα σε χρὴ καλεῖν ὡς τίνος ἐπιστήμονα τέχνης.

Γοργίας: τῆς ῥητορικῆς, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ῥήτορα ἄρα χρή σε καλεῖν;

Γοργίας: ἀγαθόν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ δὴ ὅ γε εὔχομαι εἶναι, ὡς ἔφη Ὅμηρος, βούλει με καλεῖν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ βούλομαι.

Γοργίας: κάλει δή. [449b]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἄλλους σε φῶμεν δυνατὸν εἶναι ποιεῖν;

Γοργίας: ἐπαγγέλλομαί γε δὴ ταῦτα οὐ μόνον ἐνθάδε ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλοθι.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν ἐθελήσαις ἄν, ὦ Γοργία, ὥσπερ νῦν διαλεγόμεθα, διατελέσαι τὸ μὲν ἐρωτῶν, τὸ δ’ ἀποκρινόμενος, τὸ δὲ μῆκος τῶν λόγων τοῦτο, οἷον καὶ Πῶλος ἤρξατο, εἰς αὖθις ἀποθέσθαι; ἀλλ’ ὅπερ ὑπισχνῇ, μὴ ψεύσῃ, ἀλλὰ ἐθέλησον κατὰ βραχὺ τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

Γοργίας: εἰσὶ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔνιαι τῶν ἀποκρίσεων ἀναγκαῖαι διὰ μακρῶν τοὺς λόγους ποιεῖσθαι: οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ [449c] πειράσομαί γε ὡς διὰ βραχυτάτων. καὶ γὰρ αὖ καὶ τοῦτο ἕν ἐστιν ὧν φημι, μηδένα ἂν ἐν βραχυτέροις ἐμοῦ τὰ αὐτὰ εἰπεῖν.

Σωκράτης: τούτου μὴν δεῖ, ὦ Γοργία: καί μοι ἐπίδειξιν αὐτοῦ τούτου ποίησαι, τῆς βραχυλογίας, μακρολογίας δὲ εἰς αὖθις.

Γοργίας: ἀλλὰ ποιήσω, καὶ οὐδενὸς φήσεις βραχυλογωτέρου ἀκοῦσαι.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή: ῥητορικῆς γὰρ φῂς ἐπιστήμων τέχνης [449d] εἶναι καὶ ποιῆσαι ἂν καὶ ἄλλον ῥήτορα: ἡ ῥητορικὴ περὶ τί τῶν ὄντων τυγχάνει οὖσα; ὥσπερ ἡ ὑφαντικὴ περὶ τὴν τῶν ἱματίων ἐργασίαν: ἦ γάρ;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡ μουσικὴ περὶ τὴν τῶν μελῶν ποίησιν;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: νὴ τὴν Ἥραν, ὦ Γοργία, ἄγαμαί γε τὰς ἀποκρίσεις, ὅτι ἀποκρίνῃ ὡς οἷόν τε διὰ βραχυτάτων.

Γοργίας: πάνυ γὰρ οἶμαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπιεικῶς τοῦτο ποιεῖν.

Σωκράτης: εὖ λέγεις. ἴθι δή μοι ἀπόκριναι οὕτως καὶ περὶ τῆς ῥητορικῆς, περὶ τί τῶν ὄντων ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη; [449e]

Γοργίας: περὶ λόγους.

Σωκράτης: ποίους τούτους, ὦ Γοργία; ἆρα οἳ δηλοῦσι τοὺς κάμνοντας, ὡς ἂν διαιτώμενοι ὑγιαίνοιεν;

Γοργίας: οὔ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα περὶ πάντας γε τοὺς λόγους ἡ ῥητορική ἐστιν.

Γοργίας: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν λέγειν γε ποιεῖ δυνατούς.

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν περὶ ὧνπερ λέγειν, καὶ φρονεῖν;

Γοργίας: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν, [450a] ἣν νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἡ ἰατρικὴ περὶ τῶν καμνόντων ποιεῖ δυνατοὺς εἶναι φρονεῖν καὶ λέγειν;

Γοργίας: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἡ ἰατρικὴ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, περὶ λόγους ἐστίν.

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τούς γε περὶ τὰ νοσήματα;

Γοργίας: μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡ γυμναστικὴ περὶ λόγους ἐστὶν τοὺς περὶ εὐεξίαν τε τῶν σωμάτων καὶ καχεξίαν;

Γοργίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι τέχναι, ὦ Γοργία, οὕτως [450b] ἔχουσιν: ἑκάστη αὐτῶν περὶ λόγους ἐστὶν τούτους, οἳ τυγχάνουσιν ὄντες περὶ τὸ πρᾶγμα οὗ ἑκάστη ἐστὶν ἡ τέχνη.

Γοργίας: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν δή ποτε τὰς ἄλλας τέχνας οὐ ῥητορικὰς καλεῖς, οὔσας περὶ λόγους, εἴπερ ταύτην ῥητορικὴν καλεῖς, ἣ ἂν ᾖ περὶ λόγους;

Γοργίας: ὅτι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῶν μὲν ἄλλων τεχνῶν περὶ χειρουργίας τε καὶ τοιαύτας πράξεις ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν πᾶσά ἐστιν ἡ ἐπιστήμη, τῆς δὲ ῥητορικῆς οὐδέν ἐστιν τοιοῦτον χειρούργημα, ἀλλὰ πᾶσα ἡ πρᾶξις καὶ ἡ κύρωσις διὰ λόγων [450c] ἐστίν. διὰ ταῦτ’ ἐγὼ τὴν ῥητορικὴν τέχνην ἀξιῶ εἶναι περὶ λόγους, ὀρθῶς λέγων, ὡς ἐγώ φημι.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν μανθάνω οἵαν αὐτὴν βούλει καλεῖν; τάχα δὲ εἴσομαι σαφέστερον. ἀλλ’ ἀπόκριναι: εἰσὶν ἡμῖν τέχναι. ἦ γάρ;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πασῶν δὴ οἶμαι τῶν τεχνῶν τῶν μὲν ἐργασία τὸ πολύ ἐστιν καὶ λόγου βραχέος δέονται, ἔνιαι δὲ οὐδενὸς ἀλλὰ τὸ τῆς τέχνης περαίνοιτο ἂν καὶ διὰ σιγῆς, οἷον γραφικὴ καὶ ἀνδριαντοποιία καὶ ἄλλαι πολλαί. τὰς τοιαύτας [450d] μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν, περὶ ἃς οὐ φῂς τὴν ῥητορικὴν εἶναι: ἢ οὔ;

Γοργίας: πάνυ μὲν οὖν καλῶς ὑπολαμβάνεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἕτεραι δέ γέ εἰσι τῶν τεχνῶν αἳ διὰ λόγου πᾶν περαίνουσι, καὶ ἔργου ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἢ οὐδενὸς προσδέονται ἢ βραχέος πάνυ, οἷον ἡ ἀριθμητικὴ καὶ λογιστικὴ καὶ γεωμετρικὴ καὶ πεττευτική γε καὶ ἄλλαι πολλαὶ τέχναι, ὧν ἔνιαι σχεδόν τι ἴσους τοὺς λόγους ἔχουσι ταῖς πράξεσιν, αἱ δὲ πολλαὶ πλείους, καὶ τὸ παράπαν πᾶσα ἡ πρᾶξις καὶ τὸ [450e] κῦρος αὐταῖς διὰ λόγων ἐστίν. τῶν τοιούτων τινά μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν τὴν ῥητορικήν.

Γοργίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ οὔτοι τούτων γε οὐδεμίαν οἶμαί σε βούλεσθαι ῥητορικὴν καλεῖν, οὐχ ὅτι τῷ ῥήματι οὕτως εἶπες, ὅτι ἡ διὰ λόγου τὸ κῦρος ἔχουσα ῥητορική ἐστιν, καὶ ὑπολάβοι ἄν τις, εἰ βούλοιτο δυσχεραίνειν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις, “τὴν ἀριθμητικὴν ἄρα ῥητορικήν, ὦ Γοργία, λέγεις;” ἀλλ’ οὐκ οἶμαί σε οὔτε τὴν ἀριθμητικὴν οὔτε τὴν γεωμετρίαν ῥητορικὴν λέγειν. [451a]

Γοργίας: ὀρθῶς γὰρ οἴει, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ δικαίως ὑπολαμβάνεις.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι νυν καὶ σὺ τὴν ἀπόκρισιν ἣν ἠρόμην διαπέρανον. ἐπεὶ γὰρ ῥητορικὴ τυγχάνει μὲν οὖσα τούτων τις τῶν τεχνῶν τῶν τὸ πολὺ λόγῳ χρωμένων, τυγχάνουσιν δὲ καὶ ἄλλαι τοιαῦται οὖσαι, πειρῶ εἰπεῖν ἡ περὶ τί ἐν λόγοις τὸ κῦρος ἔχουσα ῥητορική ἐστιν. ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τίς με ἔροιτο ὧν νυνδὴ ἔλεγον περὶ ἡστινοσοῦν τῶν τεχνῶν: “ὦ Σώκρατες, τίς [451b] ἐστιν ἡ ἀριθμητικὴ τέχνη;” εἴποιμ’ ἂν αὐτῷ, ὥσπερ σὺ ἄρτι, ὅτι τῶν διὰ λόγου τις τὸ κῦρος ἐχουσῶν. καὶ εἴ με ἐπανέροιτο: “τῶν περὶ τί;” εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι τῶν περὶ τὸ ἄρτιόν τε καὶ περιττὸν [γνῶσις], ὅσα ἂν ἑκάτερα τυγχάνῃ ὄντα. εἰ δ’ αὖ ἔροιτο: “τὴν δὲ λογιστικὴν τίνα καλεῖς τέχνην;” εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι καὶ αὕτη ἐστὶν τῶν λόγῳ τὸ πᾶν κυρουμένων: καὶ εἰ ἐπανέροιτο: “ἡ περὶ τί;” εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν τῷ δήμῳ [451c] συγγραφόμενοι, ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἄλλα καθάπερ ἡ ἀριθμητικὴ ἡ λογιστικὴ ἔχει — περὶ τὸ αὐτὸ γάρ ἐστιν, τό τε ἄρτιον καὶ τὸ περιττόν — διαφέρει δὲ τοσοῦτον, ὅτι καὶ πρὸς αὑτὰ καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα πῶς ἔχει πλήθους ἐπισκοπεῖ τὸ περιττὸν καὶ τὸ ἄρτιον ἡ λογιστική. καὶ εἴ τις τὴν ἀστρονομίαν ἀνέροιτο, ἐμοῦ λέγοντος ὅτι καὶ αὕτη λόγῳ κυροῦται τὰ πάντα, “οἱ δὲ λόγοι οἱ τῆς ἀστρονομίας,” εἰ φαίη, “περὶ τί εἰσιν, ὦ Σώκρατες;” εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι περὶ τὴν τῶν ἄστρων φορὰν καὶ ἡλίου καὶ σελήνης, πῶς πρὸς ἄλληλα τάχους ἔχει.

Γοργίας: ὀρθῶς γε λέγων σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες. [451d]

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δὴ καὶ σύ, ὦ Γοργία. τυγχάνει μὲν γὰρ δὴ ἡ ῥητορικὴ οὖσα τῶν λόγῳ τὰ πάντα διαπραττομένων τε καὶ κυρουμένων: ἦ γάρ;

Γοργίας: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: λέγε δὴ τῶν περὶ τί; <τί> ἐστι τοῦτο τῶν ὄντων, περὶ οὗ οὗτοι οἱ λόγοι εἰσὶν οἷς ἡ ῥητορικὴ χρῆται;

Γοργίας: τὰ μέγιστα τῶν ἀνθρωπείων πραγμάτων, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἄριστα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’, ὦ Γοργία, ἀμφισβητήσιμον καὶ τοῦτο λέγεις [451e] καὶ οὐδέν πω σαφές. οἴομαι γάρ σε ἀκηκοέναι ἐν τοῖς συμποσίοις ᾀδόντων ἀνθρώπων τοῦτο τὸ σκολιόν, ἐν ᾧ καταριθμοῦνται ᾄδοντες ὅτι ὑγιαίνειν μὲν ἄριστόν ἐστιν, τὸ δὲ δεύτερον καλὸν γενέσθαι, τρίτον δέ, ὥς φησιν ὁ ποιητὴς τοῦ σκολιοῦ, τὸ πλουτεῖν ἀδόλως.

Γοργίας: ἀκήκοα γάρ: ἀλλὰ πρὸς τί τοῦτο λέγεις; [452a]

Σωκράτης: ὅτι εἴ σοι αὐτίκα παρασταῖεν οἱ δημιουργοὶ τούτων ὧν ἐπῄνεσεν ὁ τὸ σκολιὸν ποιήσας, ἰατρός τε καὶ παιδοτρίβης καὶ χρηματιστής, καὶ εἴποι πρῶτον μὲν ὁ ἰατρὸς ὅτι “ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐξαπατᾷ σε Γοργίας οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἡ τούτου τέχνη περὶ τὸ μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἀλλ’ ἡ ἐμή” — εἰ οὖν αὐτὸν ἐγὼ ἐροίμην: σὺ δὲ τίς ὢν ταῦτα λέγεις; εἴποι ἂν ἴσως ὅτι ἰατρός. τί οὖν λέγεις; ἦ τὸ τῆς σῆς τέχνης ἔργον μέγιστόν ἐστιν ἀγαθόν; “πῶς γὰρ οὔ,” φαίη ἂν ἴσως, “ὦ Σώκρατες, ὑγίεια; τί δ’ ἐστὶν μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν [452b] ἀνθρώποις ὑγιείας;” εἰ δ’ αὖ μετὰ τοῦτον ὁ παιδοτρίβης εἴποι ὅτι “θαυμάζοιμί τἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ αὐτὸς εἴ σοι ἔχοι Γοργίας μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν ἐπιδεῖξαι τῆς αὑτοῦ τέχνης ἢ ἐγὼ τῆς ἐμῆς:” εἴποιμ’ ἂν αὖ καὶ πρὸς τοῦτον: σὺ δὲ δὴ τίς εἶ, ὦ ἄνθρωπε, καὶ τί τὸ σὸν ἔργον; “παιδοτρίβης,” φαίη ἄν, “τὸ δὲ ἔργον μού ἐστιν καλούς τε καὶ ἰσχυροὺς ποιεῖν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους τὰ σώματα.” μετὰ δὲ τὸν παιδοτρίβην εἴποι ἂν ὁ χρηματιστής, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι πάνυ καταφρονῶν ἁπάντων: [452c] “σκόπει δῆτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐάν σοι πλούτου φανῇ τι μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν ὂν ἢ παρὰ Γοργίᾳ ἢ παρ’ ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν.” φαῖμεν ἂν οὖν πρὸς αὐτόν: τί δὲ δή; ἦ σὺ τούτου δημιουργός; φαίη ἄν. τίς ὤν; “χρηματιστής.” τί οὖν; κρίνεις σὺ μέγιστον ἀνθρώποις ἀγαθὸν εἶναι πλοῦτον; φήσομεν. “πῶς γὰρ οὔκ;” ἐρεῖ. καὶ μὴν ἀμφισβητεῖ γε Γοργίας ὅδε τὴν παρ’ αὑτῷ τέχνην μείζονος ἀγαθοῦ αἰτίαν εἶναι ἢ τὴν σήν, φαῖμεν ἂν ἡμεῖς. δῆλον οὖν ὅτι τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἔροιτ’ ἄν: “καὶ τί ἐστιν [452d] τοῦτο τὸ ἀγαθόν; ἀποκρινάσθω Γοργίας.” ἴθι οὖν νομίσας, ὦ Γοργία, ἐρωτᾶσθαι καὶ ὑπ’ ἐκείνων καὶ ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ, ἀπόκριναι τί ἐστιν τοῦτο ὃ φῂς σὺ μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν εἶναι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις καὶ σὲ δημιουργὸν εἶναι αὐτοῦ.

Γοργίας: ὅπερ ἐστίν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῇ ἀληθείᾳ μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν καὶ αἴτιον ἅμα μὲν ἐλευθερίας αὐτοῖς τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἅμα δὲ τοῦ ἄλλων ἄρχειν ἐν τῇ αὑτοῦ πόλει ἑκάστῳ.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν δὴ τοῦτο λέγεις; [452e]

Γοργίας: τὸ πείθειν ἔγωγ’ οἷόν τ’ εἶναι τοῖς λόγοις καὶ ἐν δικαστηρίῳ δικαστὰς καὶ ἐν βουλευτηρίῳ βουλευτὰς καὶ ἐν ἐκκλησίᾳ ἐκκλησιαστὰς καὶ ἐν ἄλλῳ συλλόγῳ παντί, ὅστις ἂν πολιτικὸς σύλλογος γίγνηται. καίτοι ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ δυνάμει δοῦλον μὲν ἕξεις τὸν ἰατρόν, δοῦλον δὲ τὸν παιδοτρίβην: ὁ δὲ χρηματιστὴς οὗτος ἄλλῳ ἀναφανήσεται χρηματιζόμενος καὶ οὐχ αὑτῷ, ἀλλὰ σοὶ τῷ δυναμένῳ λέγειν καὶ πείθειν τὰ πλήθη.

Σωκράτης: νῦν μοι δοκεῖς δηλῶσαι, ὦ Γοργία, ἐγγύτατα τὴν [453a] ῥητορικὴν ἥντινα τέχνην ἡγῇ εἶναι, καὶ εἴ τι ἐγὼ συνίημι, λέγεις ὅτι πειθοῦς δημιουργός ἐστιν ἡ ῥητορική, καὶ ἡ πραγματεία αὐτῆς ἅπασα καὶ τὸ κεφάλαιον εἰς τοῦτο τελευτᾷ: ἢ ἔχεις τι λέγειν ἐπὶ πλέον τὴν ῥητορικὴν δύνασθαι ἢ πειθὼ τοῖς ἀκούουσιν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ποιεῖν;

Γοργίας: οὐδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖς ἱκανῶς ὁρίζεσθαι: ἔστιν γὰρ τοῦτο τὸ κεφάλαιον αὐτῆς.

Σωκράτης: ἄκουσον δή, ὦ Γοργία. ἐγὼ γὰρ εὖ ἴσθ’ ὅτι, ὡς [453b] ἐμαυτὸν πείθω, εἴπερ τις ἄλλος ἄλλῳ διαλέγεται βουλόμενος εἰδέναι αὐτὸ τοῦτο περὶ ὅτου ὁ λόγος ἐστίν, καὶ ἐμὲ εἶναι τούτων ἕνα: ἀξιῶ δὲ καὶ σέ.

Γοργίας: τί οὖν δή, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ ἐρῶ νῦν. ἐγὼ τὴν ἀπὸ τῆς ῥητορικῆς πειθώ, ἥτις ποτ’ ἐστὶν ἣν σὺ λέγεις καὶ περὶ ὧντινων πραγμάτων ἐστὶν πειθώ, σαφῶς μὲν εὖ ἴσθ’ ὅτι οὐκ οἶδα, οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’ ὑποπτεύω γε ἣν οἶμαί σε λέγειν καὶ περὶ ὧν: οὐδὲν μέντοι ἧττον ἐρήσομαί σε τίνα ποτὲ λέγεις τὴν πειθὼ τὴν ἀπὸ τῆς [453c] ῥητορικῆς καὶ περὶ τίνων αὐτὴν εἶναι. τοῦ ἕνεκα δὴ αὐτὸς ὑποπτεύων σὲ ἐρήσομαι, ἀλλ’ οὐκ αὐτὸς λέγω; οὐ σοῦ ἕνεκα ἀλλὰ τοῦ λόγου, ἵνα οὕτω προί¨ῃ ὡς μάλιστ’ ἂν ἡμῖν καταφανὲς ποιοῖ περὶ ὅτου λέγεται. σκόπει γὰρ εἴ σοι δοκῶ δικαίως ἀνερωτᾶν σε: ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἐτύγχανόν σε ἐρωτῶν τίς ἐστιν τῶν ζωγράφων Ζεῦξις, εἴ μοι εἶπες ὅτι ὁ τὰ ζῷα γράφων, ἆρ’ οὐκ ἂν δικαίως σε ἠρόμην ὁ τὰ ποῖα τῶν ζῴων γράφων καὶ ποῦ;

Γοργίας: πάνυ γε. [453d]

Σωκράτης: ἆρα διὰ τοῦτο, ὅτι καὶ ἄλλοι εἰσὶ ζωγράφοι γράφοντες ἄλλα πολλὰ ζῷα;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δέ γε μηδεὶς ἄλλος ἢ Ζεῦξις ἔγραφε, καλῶς ἄν σοι ἀπεκέκριτο;

Γοργίας: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δὴ καὶ περὶ τῆς ῥητορικῆς εἰπέ: πότερόν σοι δοκεῖ πειθὼ ποιεῖν ἡ ῥητορικὴ μόνη ἢ καὶ ἄλλαι τέχναι; λέγω δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε: ὅστις διδάσκει ὁτιοῦν πρᾶγμα, πότερον ὃ διδάσκει πείθει ἢ οὔ;

Γοργίας: οὐ δῆτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ πάντων μάλιστα πείθει. [453e]

Σωκράτης: πάλιν δὴ ἐπὶ τῶν αὐτῶν τεχνῶν λέγωμεν ὧνπερ νυνδή: ἡ ἀριθμητικὴ οὐ διδάσκει ἡμᾶς ὅσα ἐστὶν τὰ τοῦ ἀριθμοῦ, καὶ ὁ ἀριθμητικὸς ἄνθρωπος;

Γοργίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ πείθει;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πειθοῦς ἄρα δημιουργός ἐστιν καὶ ἡ ἀριθμητική;

Γοργίας: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐάν τις ἐρωτᾷ ἡμᾶς ποίας πειθοῦς καὶ περὶ τί, ἀποκρινούμεθά που αὐτῷ ὅτι τῆς διδασκαλικῆς τῆς περὶ τὸ [454a] ἄρτιόν τε καὶ τὸ περιττὸν ὅσον ἐστίν: καὶ τὰς ἄλλας ἃς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν τέχνας ἁπάσας ἕξομεν ἀποδεῖξαι πειθοῦς δημιουργοὺς οὔσας καὶ ἧστινος καὶ περὶ ὅτι: ἢ οὔ;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα ῥητορικὴ μόνη πειθοῦς ἐστιν δημιουργός.

Γοργίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν οὐ μόνη ἀπεργάζεται τοῦτο τὸ ἔργον, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλαι, δικαίως ὥσπερ περὶ τοῦ ζωγράφου μετὰ τοῦτο ἐπανεροίμεθ’ ἂν τὸν λέγοντα: ποίας δὴ πειθοῦς καὶ τῆς περὶ τί πειθοῦς ἡ ῥητορική ἐστιν τέχνη; ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι [454b] δίκαιον εἶναι ἐπανερέσθαι;

Γοργίας: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀπόκριναι δή, ὦ Γοργία, ἐπειδή γε καὶ σοὶ δοκεῖ οὕτως.

Γοργίας: ταύτης τοίνυν τῆς πειθοῦς λέγω, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῆς ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ὄχλοις, ὥσπερ καὶ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, καὶ περὶ τούτων ἅ ἐστι δίκαιά τε καὶ ἄδικα.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐγώ τοι ὑπώπτευον ταύτην σε λέγειν τὴν πειθὼ καὶ περὶ τούτων, ὦ Γοργία: ἀλλ’ ἵνα μὴ θαυμάζῃς ἐὰν καὶ ὀλίγον ὕστερον τοιοῦτόν τί σε ἀνέρωμαι, ὃ δοκεῖ μὲν δῆλον [454c] εἶναι, ἐγὼ δ’ ἐπανερωτῶ — ὅπερ γὰρ λέγω, τοῦ ἑξῆς ἕνεκα περαίνεσθαι τὸν λόγον ἐρωτῶ, οὐ σοῦ ἕνεκα ἀλλ’ ἵνα μὴ ἐθιζώμεθα ὑπονοοῦντες προαρπάζειν ἀλλήλων τὰ λεγόμενα, ἀλλὰ σὺ τὰ σαυτοῦ κατὰ τὴν ὑπόθεσιν ὅπως ἂν βούλῃ περαίνῃς.

Γοργίας: καὶ ὀρθῶς γέ μοι δοκεῖς ποιεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δὴ καὶ τόδε ἐπισκεψώμεθα. καλεῖς τι μεμαθηκέναι;

Γοργίας: καλῶ.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; πεπιστευκέναι;

Γοργίας: [454d] ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν ταὐτὸν δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι μεμαθηκέναι καὶ πεπιστευκέναι, καὶ μάθησις καὶ πίστις, ἢ ἄλλο τι;

Γοργίας: οἴομαι μὲν ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄλλο.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς γὰρ οἴει: γνώσῃ δὲ ἐνθένδε. εἰ γάρ τίς σε ἔροιτο: “ἆρ’ ἔστιν τις, ὦ Γοργία, πίστις ψευδὴς καὶ ἀληθής;” φαίης ἄν, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι.

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν ψευδὴς καὶ ἀληθής;

Γοργίας: οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης: δῆλον ἄρ’ αὖ ὅτι οὐ ταὐτόν ἐστιν.

Γοργίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: [454e] ἀλλὰ μὴν οἵ τέ γε μεμαθηκότες πεπεισμένοι εἰσὶν καὶ οἱ πεπιστευκότες.

Γοργίας: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: βούλει οὖν δύο εἴδη θῶμεν πειθοῦς, τὸ μὲν πίστιν παρεχόμενον ἄνευ τοῦ εἰδέναι, τὸ δ’ ἐπιστήμην;

Γοργίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ποτέραν οὖν ἡ ῥητορικὴ πειθὼ ποιεῖ ἐν δικαστηρίοις τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὄχλοις περὶ τῶν δικαίων τε καὶ ἀδίκων; ἐξ ἧς πιστεύειν γίγνεται ἄνευ τοῦ εἰδέναι ἢ ἐξ ἧς τὸ εἰδέναι;

Γοργίας: δῆλον δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι ἐξ ἧς τὸ πιστεύειν.

Σωκράτης: ἡ ῥητορικὴ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, πειθοῦς [455a] δημιουργός ἐστιν πιστευτικῆς ἀλλ’ οὐ διδασκαλικῆς περὶ τὸ δίκαιόν τε καὶ ἄδικον.

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐδ’ ἄρα διδασκαλικὸς ὁ ῥήτωρ ἐστὶν δικαστηρίων τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὄχλων δικαίων τε πέρι καὶ ἀδίκων, ἀλλὰ πιστικὸς μόνον: οὐ γὰρ δήπου ὄχλον γ’ ἂν δύναιτο τοσοῦτον ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ διδάξαι οὕτω μεγάλα πράγματα.

Γοργίας: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, ἴδωμεν τί ποτε καὶ λέγομεν περὶ τῆς [455b] ῥητορικῆς: ἐγὼ μὲν γάρ τοι οὐδ’ αὐτός πω δύναμαι κατανοῆσαι ὅτι λέγω. ὅταν περὶ ἰατρῶν αἱρέσεως ᾖ τῇ πόλει σύλλογος ἢ περὶ ναυπηγῶν ἢ περὶ ἄλλου τινὸς δημιουργικοῦ ἔθνους, ἄλλο τι ἢ τότε ὁ ῥητορικὸς οὐ συμβουλεύσει; δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι ἐν ἑκάστῃ αἱρέσει τὸν τεχνικώτατον δεῖ αἱρεῖσθαι. οὐδ’ ὅταν τειχῶν περὶ οἰκοδομήσεως ἢ λιμένων κατασκευῆς ἢ νεωρίων, ἀλλ’ οἱ ἀρχιτέκτονες: οὐδ’ αὖ ὅταν στρατηγῶν αἱρέσεως πέρι ἢ τάξεώς τινος πρὸς πολεμίους ἢ χωρίων [455c] καταλήψεως συμβουλὴ ᾖ, ἀλλ’ οἱ στρατηγικοὶ τότε συμβουλεύσουσιν, οἱ ῥητορικοὶ δὲ οὔ: ἢ πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Γοργία, τὰ τοιαῦτα; ἐπειδὴ γὰρ αὐτός τε φῂς ῥήτωρ εἶναι καὶ ἄλλους ποιεῖν ῥητορικούς, εὖ ἔχει τὰ τῆς σῆς τέχνης παρὰ σοῦ πυνθάνεσθαι. καὶ ἐμὲ νῦν νόμισον καὶ τὸ σὸν σπεύδειν: ἴσως γὰρ καὶ τυγχάνει τις τῶν ἔνδον ὄντων μαθητής σου βουλόμενος γενέσθαι, ὡς ἐγώ τινας σχεδὸν καὶ συχνοὺς αἰσθάνομαι, οἳ ἴσως αἰσχύνοιντ’ ἄν σε ἀνερέσθαι. ὑπ’ [455d] ἐμοῦ οὖν ἀνερωτώμενος νόμισον καὶ ὑπ’ ἐκείνων ἀνερωτᾶσθαι: “τί ἡμῖν, ὦ Γοργία, ἔσται, ἐάν σοι συνῶμεν; περὶ τίνων τῇ πόλει συμβουλεύειν οἷοί τε ἐσόμεθα; πότερον περὶ δικαίου μόνον καὶ ἀδίκου ἢ καὶ περὶ ὧν νυνδὴ Σωκράτης ἔλεγεν;” πειρῶ οὖν αὐτοῖς ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

Γοργίας: ἀλλ’ ἐγώ σοι πειράσομαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, σαφῶς ἀποκαλύψαι τὴν τῆς ῥητορικῆς δύναμιν ἅπασαν: αὐτὸς γὰρ καλῶς ὑφηγήσω. οἶσθα γὰρ δήπου ὅτι τὰ νεώρια ταῦτα [455e] καὶ τὰ τείχη τὰ Ἀθηναίων καὶ ἡ τῶν λιμένων κατασκευὴ ἐκ τῆς Θεμιστοκλέους συμβουλῆς γέγονεν, τὰ δ’ ἐκ τῆς Περικλέους ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐκ τῶν δημιουργῶν.

Σωκράτης: λέγεται ταῦτα, ὦ Γοργία, περὶ Θεμιστοκλέους: Περικλέους δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς ἤκουον ὅτε συνεβούλευεν ἡμῖν περὶ τοῦ διὰ μέσου τείχους. [456a]

Γοργίας: καὶ ὅταν γέ τις αἵρεσις ᾖ ὧν νυνδὴ σὺ ἔλεγες, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁρᾷς ὅτι οἱ ῥήτορές εἰσιν οἱ συμβουλεύοντες καὶ οἱ νικῶντες τὰς γνώμας περὶ τούτων.

Σωκράτης: ταῦτα καὶ θαυμάζων, ὦ Γοργία, πάλαι ἐρωτῶ τίς ποτε ἡ δύναμίς ἐστιν τῆς ῥητορικῆς. δαιμονία γάρ τις ἔμοιγε καταφαίνεται τὸ μέγεθος οὕτω σκοποῦντι.

Γοργίας: εἰ πάντα γε εἰδείης, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἁπάσας τὰς δυνάμεις συλλαβοῦσα ὑφ’ αὑτῇ ἔχει. [456b] μέγα δέ σοι τεκμήριον ἐρῶ: πολλάκις γὰρ ἤδη ἔγωγε μετὰ τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ καὶ μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἰατρῶν εἰσελθὼν παρά τινα τῶν καμνόντων οὐχὶ ἐθέλοντα ἢ φάρμακον πιεῖν ἢ τεμεῖν ἢ καῦσαι παρασχεῖν τῷ ἰατρῷ, οὐ δυναμένου τοῦ ἰατροῦ πεῖσαι, ἐγὼ ἔπεισα, οὐκ ἄλλῃ τέχνῃ ἢ τῇ ῥητορικῇ. φημὶ δὲ καὶ εἰς πόλιν ὅπῃ βούλει ἐλθόντα ῥητορικὸν ἄνδρα καὶ ἰατρόν, εἰ δέοι λόγῳ διαγωνίζεσθαι ἐν ἐκκλησίᾳ ἢ ἐν ἄλλῳ τινὶ συλλόγῳ ὁπότερον δεῖ αἱρεθῆναι ἰατρόν, οὐδαμοῦ [456c] ἂν φανῆναι τὸν ἰατρόν, ἀλλ’ αἱρεθῆναι ἂν τὸν εἰπεῖν δυνατόν, εἰ βούλοιτο. καὶ εἰ πρὸς ἄλλον γε δημιουργὸν ὁντιναοῦν ἀγωνίζοιτο, πείσειεν ἂν αὑτὸν ἑλέσθαι ὁ ῥητορικὸς μᾶλλον ἢ ἄλλος ὁστισοῦν: οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν περὶ ὅτου οὐκ ἂν πιθανώτερον εἴποι ὁ ῥητορικὸς ἢ ἄλλος ὁστισοῦν τῶν δημιουργῶν ἐν πλήθει. ἡ μὲν οὖν δύναμις τοσαύτη ἐστὶν καὶ τοιαύτη τῆς τέχνης: δεῖ μέντοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῇ ῥητορικῇ χρῆσθαι ὥσπερ τῇ ἄλλῃ πάσῃ ἀγωνίᾳ. καὶ γὰρ [456d] τῇ ἄλλῃ ἀγωνίᾳ οὐ τούτου ἕνεκα δεῖ πρὸς ἅπαντας χρῆσθαι ἀνθρώπους, ὅτι ἔμαθεν πυκτεύειν τε καὶ παγκρατιάζειν καὶ ἐν ὅπλοις μάχεσθαι, ὥστε κρείττων εἶναι καὶ φίλων καὶ ἐχθρῶν, οὐ τούτου ἕνεκα τοὺς φίλους δεῖ τύπτειν οὐδὲ κεντεῖν τε καὶ ἀποκτεινύναι. οὐδέ γε μὰ Δία ἐάν τις εἰς παλαίστραν φοιτήσας εὖ ἔχων τὸ σῶμα καὶ πυκτικὸς γενόμενος, ἔπειτα τὸν πατέρα τύπτῃ καὶ τὴν μητέρα ἢ ἄλλον τινὰ τῶν οἰκείων ἢ τῶν φίλων, οὐ τούτου ἕνεκα δεῖ τοὺς [456e] παιδοτρίβας καὶ τοὺς ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις διδάσκοντας μάχεσθαι μισεῖν τε καὶ ἐκβάλλειν ἐκ τῶν πόλεων. ἐκεῖνοι μὲν γὰρ παρέδοσαν ἐπὶ τῷ δικαίως χρῆσθαι τούτοις πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους καὶ τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας, ἀμυνομένους, μὴ ὑπάρχοντας: [457a] οἱ δὲ μεταστρέψαντες χρῶνται τῇ ἰσχύϊ καὶ τῇ τέχνῃ οὐκ ὀρθῶς. οὔκουν οἱ διδάξαντες πονηροί, οὐδὲ ἡ τέχνη οὔτε αἰτία οὔτε πονηρὰ τούτου ἕνεκά ἐστιν, ἀλλ’ οἱ μὴ χρώμενοι οἶμαι ὀρθῶς. ὁ αὐτὸς δὴ λόγος καὶ περὶ τῆς ῥητορικῆς. δυνατὸς μὲν γὰρ πρὸς ἅπαντάς ἐστιν ὁ ῥήτωρ καὶ περὶ παντὸς λέγειν, ὥστε πιθανώτερος εἶναι ἐν τοῖς πλήθεσιν [457b] ἔμβραχυ περὶ ὅτου ἂν βούληται: ἀλλ’ οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον τούτου ἕνεκα δεῖ οὔτε τοὺς ἰατροὺς τὴν δόξαν ἀφαιρεῖσθαι — ὅτι δύναιτο ἂν τοῦτο ποιῆσαι — οὔτε τοὺς ἄλλους δημιουργούς, ἀλλὰ δικαίως καὶ τῇ ῥητορικῇ χρῆσθαι, ὥσπερ καὶ τῇ ἀγωνίᾳ. ἐὰν δὲ οἶμαι ῥητορικὸς γενόμενός τις κᾆτα ταύτῃ τῇ δυνάμει καὶ τῇ τέχνῃ ἀδικῇ, οὐ τὸν διδάξαντα δεῖ μισεῖν τε καὶ ἐκβάλλειν ἐκ τῶν πόλεων. ἐκεῖνος μὲν γὰρ ἐπὶ [457c] δικαίου χρείᾳ παρέδωκεν, ὁ δ’ ἐναντίως χρῆται. τὸν οὖν οὐκ ὀρθῶς χρώμενον μισεῖν δίκαιον καὶ ἐκβάλλειν καὶ ἀποκτεινύναι ἀλλ’ οὐ τὸν διδάξαντα.

Σωκράτης: οἶμαι, ὦ Γοργία, καὶ σὲ ἔμπειρον εἶναι πολλῶν λόγων καὶ καθεωρακέναι ἐν αὐτοῖς τὸ τοιόνδε, ὅτι οὐ ῥᾳδίως δύνανται περὶ ὧν ἂν ἐπιχειρήσωσιν διαλέγεσθαι διορισάμενοι πρὸς ἀλλήλους καὶ μαθόντες καὶ διδάξαντες ἑαυτούς, [457d] οὕτω διαλύεσθαι τὰς συνουσίας, ἀλλ’ ἐὰν περί του ἀμφισβητήσωσιν καὶ μὴ φῇ ὁ ἕτερος τὸν ἕτερον ὀρθῶς λέγειν ἢ μὴ σαφῶς, χαλεπαίνουσί τε καὶ κατὰ φθόνον οἴονται τὸν ἑαυτῶν λέγειν, φιλονικοῦντας ἀλλ’ οὐ ζητοῦντας τὸ προκείμενον ἐν τῷ λόγῳ: καὶ ἔνιοί γε τελευτῶντες αἴσχιστα ἀπαλλάττονται, λοιδορηθέντες τε καὶ εἰπόντες καὶ ἀκούσαντες περὶ σφῶν αὐτῶν τοιαῦτα οἷα καὶ τοὺς παρόντας ἄχθεσθαι ὑπὲρ σφῶν αὐτῶν, ὅτι τοιούτων ἀνθρώπων ἠξίωσαν [457e] ἀκροαταὶ γενέσθαι. τοῦ δὴ ἕνεκα λέγω ταῦτα; ὅτι νῦν ἐμοὶ δοκεῖς σὺ οὐ πάνυ ἀκόλουθα λέγειν οὐδὲ σύμφωνα οἷς τὸ πρῶτον ἔλεγες περὶ τῆς ῥητορικῆς: φοβοῦμαι οὖν διελέγχειν σε, μή με ὑπολάβῃς οὐ πρὸς τὸ πρᾶγμα φιλονικοῦντα λέγειν τοῦ καταφανὲς γενέσθαι, ἀλλὰ πρὸς σέ. [458a] ἐγὼ οὖν, εἰ μὲν καὶ σὺ εἶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ὧνπερ καὶ ἐγώ, ἡδέως ἄν σε διερωτῴην: εἰ δὲ μή, ἐῴην ἄν. ἐγὼ δὲ τίνων εἰμί; τῶν ἡδέως μὲν ἂν ἐλεγχθέντων εἴ τι μὴ ἀληθὲς λέγω, ἡδέως δ’ ἂν ἐλεγξάντων εἴ τίς τι μὴ ἀληθὲς λέγοι, οὐκ ἀηδέστερον μεντἂν ἐλεγχθέντων ἢ ἐλεγξάντων: μεῖζον γὰρ αὐτὸ ἀγαθὸν ἡγοῦμαι, ὅσῳπερ μεῖζον ἀγαθόν ἐστιν αὐτὸν ἀπαλλαγῆναι κακοῦ τοῦ μεγίστου ἢ ἄλλον ἀπαλλάξαι. οὐδὲν γὰρ οἶμαι τοσοῦτον κακὸν εἶναι ἀνθρώπῳ, ὅσον δόξα [458b] ψευδὴς περὶ ὧν τυγχάνει νῦν ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος ὤν. εἰ μὲν οὖν καὶ σὺ φῂς τοιοῦτος εἶναι, διαλεγώμεθα: εἰ δὲ καὶ δοκεῖ χρῆναι ἐᾶν, ἐῶμεν ἤδη χαίρειν καὶ διαλύωμεν τὸν λόγον.

Γοργίας: ἀλλὰ φημὶ μὲν ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ αὐτὸς τοιοῦτος εἶναι οἷον σὺ ὑφηγῇ: ἴσως μέντοι χρῆν ἐννοεῖν καὶ τὸ τῶν παρόντων. πάλαι γάρ τοι, πρὶν καὶ ὑμᾶς ἐλθεῖν, ἐγὼ τοῖς παροῦσι πολλὰ ἐπεδειξάμην, καὶ νῦν ἴσως πόρρω ἀποτενοῦμεν, [458c] ἢν διαλεγώμεθα. σκοπεῖν οὖν χρὴ καὶ τὸ τούτων, μή τινας αὐτῶν κατέχομεν βουλομένους τι καὶ ἄλλο πράττειν.

Χαιρεφῶν: τοῦ μὲν θορύβου, ὦ Γοργία τε καὶ Σώκρατες, αὐτοὶ ἀκούετε τούτων τῶν ἀνδρῶν βουλομένων ἀκούειν ἐάν τι λέγητε: ἐμοὶ δ’ οὖν καὶ αὐτῷ μὴ γένοιτο τοσαύτη ἀσχολία, ὥστε τοιούτων λόγων καὶ οὕτω λεγομένων ἀφεμένῳ προὐργιαίτερόν τι γενέσθαι ἄλλο πράττειν. [458d]

Καλλίκλης: νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ὦ Χαιρεφῶν, καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ αὐτὸς πολλοῖς ἤδη λόγοις παραγενόμενος οὐκ οἶδ’ εἰ πώποτε ἥσθην οὕτως ὥσπερ νυνί: ὥστ’ ἔμοιγε, κἂν τὴν ἡμέραν ὅλην ἐθέλητε διαλέγεσθαι, χαριεῖσθε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μήν, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τό γ’ ἐμὸν οὐδὲν κωλύει, εἴπερ ἐθέλει Γοργίας.

Γοργίας: αἰσχρὸν δὴ τὸ λοιπόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, γίγνεται ἐμέ γε μὴ ἐθέλειν, αὐτὸν ἐπαγγειλάμενον ἐρωτᾶν ὅτι τις βούλεται. [458e] ἀλλ’ εἰ δοκεῖ τουτοισί, διαλέγου τε καὶ ἐρώτα ὅτι βούλει.

Σωκράτης: ἄκουε δή, ὦ Γοργία, ἃ θαυμάζω ἐν τοῖς λεγομένοις ὑπὸ σοῦ: ἴσως γάρ τοι σοῦ ὀρθῶς λέγοντος ἐγὼ οὐκ ὀρθῶς ὑπολαμβάνω. ῥητορικὸν φῂς ποιεῖν οἷός τ’ εἶναι, ἐάν τις βούληται παρὰ σοῦ μανθάνειν;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν περὶ πάντων ὥστ’ ἐν ὄχλῳ πιθανὸν εἶναι, οὐ διδάσκοντα ἀλλὰ [459a] πείθοντα;

Γοργίας: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἔλεγές τοι νυνδὴ ὅτι καὶ περὶ τοῦ ὑγιεινοῦ τοῦ ἰατροῦ πιθανώτερος ἔσται ὁ ῥήτωρ.

Γοργίας: καὶ γὰρ ἔλεγον, ἔν γε ὄχλῳ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ ἐν ὄχλῳ τοῦτό ἐστιν, ἐν τοῖς μὴ εἰδόσιν; οὐ γὰρ δήπου ἔν γε τοῖς εἰδόσι τοῦ ἰατροῦ πιθανώτερος ἔσται.

Γοργίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ τοῦ ἰατροῦ πιθανώτερος ἔσται, τοῦ εἰδότος πιθανώτερος γίγνεται;

Γοργίας: πάνυ [459b] γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἰατρός γε ὤν: ἦ γάρ;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ὁ δὲ μὴ ἰατρός γε δήπου ἀνεπιστήμων ὧν ὁ ἰατρὸς ἐπιστήμων.

Γοργίας: δῆλον ὅτι.

Σωκράτης: ὁ οὐκ εἰδὼς ἄρα τοῦ εἰδότος ἐν οὐκ εἰδόσι πιθανώτερος ἔσται, ὅταν ὁ ῥήτωρ τοῦ ἰατροῦ πιθανώτερος ᾖ. τοῦτο συμβαίνει ἢ ἄλλο τι;

Γοργίας: τοῦτο ἐνταῦθά γε συμβαίνει.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ τὰς ἄλλας ἁπάσας τέχνας ὡσαύτως ἔχει ὁ ῥήτωρ καὶ ἡ ῥητορική: αὐτὰ μὲν τὰ πράγματα οὐδὲν δεῖ αὐτὴν εἰδέναι ὅπως ἔχει, μηχανὴν [459c] δέ τινα πειθοῦς ηὑρηκέναι ὥστε φαίνεσθαι τοῖς οὐκ εἰδόσι μᾶλλον εἰδέναι τῶν εἰδότων.

Γοργίας: οὐκοῦν πολλὴ ῥᾳστώνη, ὦ Σώκρατες, γίγνεται, μὴ μαθόντα τὰς ἄλλας τέχνας ἀλλὰ μίαν ταύτην, μηδὲν ἐλαττοῦσθαι τῶν δημιουργῶν;

Σωκράτης: εἰ μὲν ἐλαττοῦται ἢ μὴ ἐλαττοῦται ὁ ῥήτωρ τῶν ἄλλων διὰ τὸ οὕτως ἔχειν, αὐτίκα ἐπισκεψόμεθα, ἐάν τι ἡμῖν πρὸς λόγου ᾖ: νῦν δὲ τόδε πρότερον σκεψώμεθα, ἆρα [459d] τυγχάνει περὶ τὸ δίκαιον καὶ τὸ ἄδικον καὶ τὸ αἰσχρὸν καὶ τὸ καλὸν καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ κακὸν οὕτως ἔχων ὁ ῥητορικὸς ὡς περὶ τὸ ὑγιεινὸν καὶ περὶ τὰ ἄλλα ὧν αἱ ἄλλαι τέχναι, αὐτὰ μὲν οὐκ εἰδώς, τί ἀγαθὸν ἢ τί κακόν ἐστιν ἢ τί καλὸν ἢ τί αἰσχρὸν ἢ δίκαιον ἢ ἄδικον, πειθὼ δὲ περὶ αὐτῶν μεμηχανημένος ὥστε δοκεῖν εἰδέναι οὐκ εἰδὼς ἐν οὐκ εἰδόσιν [459e] μᾶλλον τοῦ εἰδότος; ἢ ἀνάγκη εἰδέναι, καὶ δεῖ προεπιστάμενον ταῦτα ἀφικέσθαι παρὰ σὲ τὸν μέλλοντα μαθήσεσθαι τὴν ῥητορικήν; εἰ δὲ μή, σὺ ὁ τῆς ῥητορικῆς διδάσκαλος τούτων μὲν οὐδὲν διδάξεις τὸν ἀφικνούμενον — οὐ γὰρ σὸν ἔργον — ποιήσεις δ’ ἐν τοῖς πολλοῖς δοκεῖν εἰδέναι αὐτὸν τὰ τοιαῦτα οὐκ εἰδότα καὶ δοκεῖν ἀγαθὸν εἶναι οὐκ ὄντα; ἢ τὸ παράπαν οὐχ οἷός τε ἔσῃ αὐτὸν διδάξαι τὴν ῥητορικήν, ἐὰν μὴ προειδῇ περὶ τούτων τὴν ἀλήθειαν; ἢ πῶς τὰ τοιαῦτα ἔχει, ὦ Γοργία; [460a] καὶ πρὸς Διός, ὥσπερ ἄρτι εἶπες, ἀποκαλύψας τῆς ῥητορικῆς εἰπὲ τίς ποθ’ ἡ δύναμίς ἐστιν.

Γοργίας: ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐὰν τύχῃ μὴ εἰδώς, καὶ ταῦτα παρ’ ἐμοῦ μαθήσεται.

Σωκράτης: ἔχε δή: καλῶς γὰρ λέγεις. ἐάνπερ ῥητορικὸν σύ τινα ποιήσῃς, ἀνάγκη αὐτὸν εἰδέναι τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα ἤτοι πρότερόν γε ἢ ὕστερον μαθόντα παρὰ σοῦ. [460b]

Γοργίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ὁ τὰ τεκτονικὰ μεμαθηκὼς τεκτονικός, ἢ οὔ;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ὁ τὰ μουσικὰ μουσικός;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ὁ τὰ ἰατρικὰ ἰατρικός; καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, ὁ μεμαθηκὼς ἕκαστα τοιοῦτός ἐστιν οἷον ἡ ἐπιστήμη ἕκαστον ἀπεργάζεται;

Γοργίας: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον καὶ ὁ τὰ δίκαια μεμαθηκὼς δίκαιος;

Γοργίας: πάντως δήπου.

Σωκράτης: ὁ δὲ δίκαιος δίκαιά που πράττει.

Γοργίας: ναί. [460c]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀνάγκη τὸν ῥητορικὸν δίκαιον εἶναι, τὸν δὲ δίκαιον βούλεσθαι δίκαια πράττειν;

Γοργίας: φαίνεταί γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐδέποτε ἄρα βουλήσεται ὅ γε δίκαιος ἀδικεῖν.

Γοργίας: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: τὸν δὲ ῥητορικὸν ἀνάγκη ἐκ τοῦ λόγου δίκαιον εἶναι.

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐδέποτε ἄρα βουλήσεται ὁ ῥητορικὸς ἀδικεῖν.

Γοργίας: οὐ φαίνεταί γε.

Σωκράτης: μέμνησαι οὖν λέγων ὀλίγῳ πρότερον ὅτι οὐ δεῖ τοῖς [460d] παιδοτρίβαις ἐγκαλεῖν οὐδ’ ἐκβάλλειν ἐκ τῶν πόλεων, ἐὰν ὁ πύκτης τῇ πυκτικῇ χρῆταί τε καὶ ἀδίκως χρῆται καὶ ἀδικῇ, ὡσαύτως δὲ οὕτως καὶ ἐὰν ὁ ῥήτωρ τῇ ῥητορικῇ ἀδίκως χρῆται, μὴ τῷ διδάξαντι ἐγκαλεῖν μηδ’ ἐξελαύνειν ἐκ τῆς πόλεως, ἀλλὰ τῷ ἀδικοῦντι καὶ οὐκ ὀρθῶς χρωμένῳ τῇ ῥητορικῇ; ἐρρήθη ταῦτα ἢ οὔ;

Γοργίας: ἐρρήθη.

Σωκράτης: νῦν [460e] δέ γε ὁ αὐτὸς οὗτος φαίνεται, ὁ ῥητορικός, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἀδικήσας. ἢ οὔ;

Γοργίας: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις γε, ὦ Γοργία, λόγοις ἐλέγετο ὅτι ἡ ῥητορικὴ περὶ λόγους εἴη οὐ τοὺς τοῦ ἀρτίου καὶ περιττοῦ, ἀλλὰ τοὺς τοῦ δικαίου καὶ ἀδίκου: ἦ γάρ;

Γοργίας: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ τοίνυν σου τότε ταῦτα λέγοντος ὑπέλαβον ὡς οὐδέποτ’ ἂν εἴη ἡ ῥητορικὴ ἄδικον πρᾶγμα, ὅ γ’ ἀεὶ περὶ δικαιοσύνης τοὺς λόγους ποιεῖται: ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὀλίγον ὕστερον ἔλεγες ὅτι ὁ ῥήτωρ [461a] τῇ ῥητορικῇ κἂν ἀδίκως χρῷτο, οὕτω θαυμάσας καὶ ἡγησάμενος οὐ συνᾴδειν τὰ λεγόμενα ἐκείνους εἶπον τοὺς λόγους, ὅτι εἰ μὲν κέρδος ἡγοῖο εἶναι τὸ ἐλέγχεσθαι ὥσπερ ἐγώ, ἄξιον εἴη διαλέγεσθαι, εἰ δὲ μή, ἐᾶν χαίρειν. ὕστερον δὲ ἡμῶν ἐπισκοπουμένων ὁρᾷς δὴ καὶ αὐτὸς ὅτι αὖ ὁμολογεῖται τὸν ῥητορικὸν ἀδύνατον εἶναι ἀδίκως χρῆσθαι τῇ ῥητορικῇ καὶ ἐθέλειν ἀδικεῖν. ταῦτα οὖν ὅπῃ ποτὲ ἔχει, μὰ τὸν [461b] κύνα, ὦ Γοργία, οὐκ ὀλίγης συνουσίας ἐστὶν ὥστε ἱκανῶς διασκέψασθαι.

Πῶλος: τί δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες; οὕτω καὶ σὺ περὶ τῆς ῥητορικῆς δοξάζεις ὥσπερ νῦν λέγεις; ἢ οἴει — ὅτι Γοργίας ᾐσχύνθη σοι μὴ προσομολογῆσαι τὸν ῥητορικὸν ἄνδρα μὴ οὐχὶ καὶ τὰ δίκαια εἰδέναι καὶ τὰ καλὰ καὶ τὰ ἀγαθά, καὶ ἐὰν μὴ ἔλθῃ ταῦτα εἰδὼς παρ’ αὐτόν, αὐτὸς διδάξειν, ἔπειτα ἐκ ταύτης ἴσως τῆς ὁμολογίας ἐναντίον τι συνέβη ἐν τοῖς [461c] λόγοις — τοῦτο <ὃ> δὴ ἀγαπᾷς, αὐτὸς ἀγαγὼν ἐπὶ τοιαῦτα ἐρωτήματα — ἐπεὶ τίνα οἴει ἀπαρνήσεσθαι μὴ οὐχὶ καὶ αὐτὸν ἐπίστασθαι τὰ δίκαια καὶ ἄλλους διδάξειν; — ἀλλ’ εἰς τὰ τοιαῦτα ἄγειν πολλὴ ἀγροικία ἐστὶν τοὺς λόγους.

Σωκράτης: ὦ κάλλιστε Πῶλε, ἀλλά τοι ἐξεπίτηδες κτώμεθα ἑταίρους καὶ ὑεῖς, ἵνα ἐπειδὰν αὐτοὶ πρεσβύτεροι γενόμενοι σφαλλώμεθα, παρόντες ὑμεῖς οἱ νεώτεροι ἐπανορθῶτε ἡμῶν τὸν βίον καὶ ἐν ἔργοις καὶ ἐν λόγοις. καὶ νῦν εἴ τι ἐγὼ καὶ [461d] Γοργίας ἐν τοῖς λόγοις σφαλλόμεθα, σὺ παρὼν ἐπανόρθου — δίκαιος δ’ εἶ — καὶ ἐγὼ ἐθέλω τῶν ὡμολογημένων εἴ τί σοι δοκεῖ μὴ καλῶς ὡμολογῆσθαι, ἀναθέσθαι ὅτι ἂν σὺ βούλῃ, ἐάν μοι ἓν μόνον φυλάττῃς.

Πῶλος: τί τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: τὴν μακρολογίαν, ὦ Πῶλε, ἢν καθέρξῃς, ᾗ τὸ πρῶτον ἐπεχείρησας χρῆσθαι.

Πῶλος: τί δέ; οὐκ ἐξέσται μοι λέγειν ὁπόσα ἂν βούλωμαι; [461e]

Σωκράτης: δεινὰ μεντἂν πάθοις, ὦ βέλτιστε, εἰ Ἀθήναζε ἀφικόμενος, οὗ τῆς Ἑλλάδος πλείστη ἐστὶν ἐξουσία τοῦ λέγειν, ἔπειτα σὺ ἐνταῦθα τούτου μόνος ἀτυχήσαις. ἀλλὰ ἀντίθες τοι: σοῦ μακρὰ λέγοντος καὶ μὴ ἐθέλοντος τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ἀποκρίνεσθαι, οὐ δεινὰ ἂν αὖ ἐγὼ πάθοιμι, εἰ μὴ ἐξέσται [462a] μοι ἀπιέναι καὶ μὴ ἀκούειν σου; ἀλλ’ εἴ τι κήδῃ τοῦ λόγου τοῦ εἰρημένου καὶ ἐπανορθώσασθαι αὐτὸν βούλει, ὥσπερ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, ἀναθέμενος ὅτι σοι δοκεῖ, ἐν τῷ μέρει ἐρωτῶν τε καὶ ἐρωτώμενος, ὥσπερ ἐγώ τε καὶ Γοργίας, ἔλεγχέ τε καὶ ἐλέγχου. φῂς γὰρ δήπου καὶ σὺ ἐπίστασθαι ἅπερ Γοργίας ἢ οὔ;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ σὺ κελεύεις σαυτὸν ἐρωτᾶν ἑκάστοτε ὅτι ἄν τις βούληται, ὡς ἐπιστάμενος ἀποκρίνεσθαι;

Πῶλος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [462b]

Σωκράτης: καὶ νῦν δὴ τούτων ὁπότερον βούλει ποίει, ἐρώτα ἢ ἀποκρίνου.

Πῶλος: ἀλλὰ ποιήσω ταῦτα. καί μοι ἀπόκριναι, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἐπειδὴ Γοργίας ἀπορεῖν σοι δοκεῖ περὶ τῆς ῥητορικῆς, σὺ αὐτὴν τίνα φῂς εἶναι;

Σωκράτης: ἆρα ἐρωτᾷς ἥντινα τέχνην φημὶ εἶναι;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐδεμία ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Πῶλε, ὥς γε πρὸς σὲ τἀληθῆ εἰρῆσθαι.

Πῶλος: ἀλλὰ τί σοι δοκεῖ ἡ ῥητορικὴ εἶναι;

Σωκράτης: πρᾶγμα ὃ φῂς σὺ ποιῆσαι τέχνην ἐν τῷ συγγράμματι [462c] ὃ ἐγὼ ἔναγχος ἀνέγνων.

Πῶλος: τί τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ἐμπειρίαν ἔγωγέ τινα.

Πῶλος: ἐμπειρία ἄρα σοι δοκεῖ ἡ ῥητορικὴ εἶναι;

Σωκράτης: ἔμοιγε, εἰ μή τι σὺ ἄλλο λέγεις.

Πῶλος: τίνος ἐμπειρία;

Σωκράτης: χάριτός τινος καὶ ἡδονῆς ἀπεργασίας.

Πῶλος: οὐκοῦν καλόν σοι δοκεῖ ἡ ῥητορικὴ εἶναι, χαρίζεσθαι οἷόν τε εἶναι ἀνθρώποις;

Σωκράτης: τί δέ, ὦ Πῶλε; ἤδη πέπυσαι παρ’ ἐμοῦ ὅτι φημὶ [462d] αὐτὴν εἶναι, ὥστε τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἐρωτᾷς εἰ οὐ καλή μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι;

Πῶλος: οὐ γὰρ πέπυσμαι ὅτι ἐμπειρίαν τινὰ αὐτὴν φῂς εἶναι;

Σωκράτης: βούλει οὖν, ἐπειδὴ τιμᾷς τὸ χαρίζεσθαι, σμικρόν τί μοι χαρίσασθαι;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἐροῦ νῦν με, ὀψοποιία ἥτις μοι δοκεῖ τέχνη εἶναι.

Πῶλος: ἐρωτῶ δή, τίς τέχνη ὀψοποιία;

Σωκράτης: οὐδεμία, ὦ Πῶλε.

Πῶλος: ἀλλὰ τί; φάθι.

Σωκράτης: φημὶ δή, ἐμπειρία τις.

Πῶλος: τίς; φάθι.

Σωκράτης: φημὶ δή, χάριτος καὶ ἡδονῆς [462e] ἀπεργασίας, ὦ Πῶλε.

Πῶλος: ταὐτὸν ἄρ’ ἐστὶν ὀψοποιία καὶ ῥητορική;

Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς γε, ἀλλὰ τῆς αὐτῆς μὲν ἐπιτηδεύσεως μόριον.

Πῶλος: τίνος λέγεις ταύτης;

Σωκράτης: μὴ ἀγροικότερον ᾖ τὸ ἀληθὲς εἰπεῖν: ὀκνῶ γὰρ Γοργίου ἕνεκα λέγειν, μὴ οἴηταί με διακωμῳδεῖν τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιτήδευμα. ἐγὼ δέ, εἰ μὲν τοῦτό ἐστιν ἡ ῥητορικὴ ἣν Γοργίας: [463a] ἐπιτηδεύει, οὐκ οἶδα — καὶ γὰρ ἄρτι ἐκ τοῦ λόγου οὐδὲν ἡμῖν καταφανὲς ἐγένετο τί ποτε οὗτος ἡγεῖται — ὃ δ’ ἐγὼ καλῶ τὴν ῥητορικήν, πράγματός τινός ἐστι μόριον οὐδενὸς τῶν καλῶν.

Γοργίας: τίνος, ὦ Σώκρατες; εἰπέ: μηδὲν ἐμὲ αἰσχυνθῇς.

Σωκράτης: δοκεῖ τοίνυν μοι, ὦ Γοργία, εἶναί τι ἐπιτήδευμα τεχνικὸν μὲν οὔ, ψυχῆς δὲ στοχαστικῆς καὶ ἀνδρείας καὶ φύσει δεινῆς προσομιλεῖν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις: καλῶ δὲ αὐτοῦ [463b] ἐγὼ τὸ κεφάλαιον κολακείαν. ταύτης μοι δοκεῖ τῆς ἐπιτηδεύσεως πολλὰ μὲν καὶ ἄλλα μόρια εἶναι, ἓν δὲ καὶ ἡ ὀψοποιική: ὃ δοκεῖ μὲν εἶναι τέχνη, ὡς δὲ ὁ ἐμὸς λόγος, οὐκ ἔστιν τέχνη ἀλλ’ ἐμπειρία καὶ τριβή. ταύτης μόριον καὶ τὴν ῥητορικὴν ἐγὼ καλῶ καὶ τήν γε κομμωτικὴν καὶ τὴν σοφιστικήν, τέτταρα ταῦτα μόρια ἐπὶ τέτταρσιν πράγμασιν. εἰ οὖν βούλεται Πῶλος πυνθάνεσθαι, πυνθανέσθω: οὐ γάρ [463c] πω πέπυσται ὁποῖόν φημι ἐγὼ τῆς κολακείας μόριον εἶναι τὴν ῥητορικήν, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸν λέληθα οὔπω ἀποκεκριμένος, ὁ δὲ ἐπανερωτᾷ εἰ οὐ καλὸν ἡγοῦμαι εἶναι. ἐγὼ δὲ αὐτῷ οὐκ ἀποκρινοῦμαι πρότερον εἴτε καλὸν εἴτε αἰσχρὸν ἡγοῦμαι εἶναι τὴν ῥητορικὴν πρὶν ἂν πρῶτον ἀποκρίνωμαι ὅτι ἐστίν. οὐ γὰρ δίκαιον, ὦ Πῶλε: ἀλλ’ εἴπερ βούλει πυθέσθαι, ἐρώτα ὁποῖον μόριον τῆς κολακείας φημὶ εἶναι τὴν ῥητορικήν.

Πῶλος: ἐρωτῶ δή, καὶ ἀπόκριναι ὁποῖον μόριον. [463d]

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν ἂν μάθοις ἀποκριναμένου; ἔστιν γὰρ ἡ ῥητορικὴ κατὰ τὸν ἐμὸν λόγον πολιτικῆς μορίου εἴδωλον.

Πῶλος: τί οὖν; καλὸν ἢ αἰσχρὸν λέγεις αὐτὴν εἶναι;

Σωκράτης: αἰσχρὸν ἔγωγε — τὰ γὰρ κακὰ αἰσχρὰ καλῶ — ἐπειδὴ δεῖ σοι ἀποκρίνασθαι ὡς ἤδη εἰδότι ἃ ἐγὼ λέγω.

Γοργίας: μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ οὐδὲ αὐτὸς συνίημι ὅτι λέγεις.

[463e]

Σωκράτης: εἰκότως γε, ὦ Γοργία: οὐδὲν γάρ πω σαφὲς λέγω, Πῶλος δὲ ὅδε νέος ἐστὶ καὶ ὀξύς.

Γοργίας: ἀλλὰ τοῦτον μὲν ἔα, ἐμοὶ δ’ εἰπὲ πῶς λέγεις πολιτικῆς μορίου εἴδωλον εἶναι τὴν ῥητορικήν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ πειράσομαι φράσαι ὅ γέ μοι φαίνεται εἶναι ἡ ῥητορική: εἰ δὲ μὴ τυγχάνει ὂν τοῦτο, Πῶλος ὅδε [464a] ἐλέγξει. σῶμά που καλεῖς τι καὶ ψυχήν;

Γοργίας: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τούτων οἴει τινὰ εἶναι ἑκατέρου εὐεξίαν;

Γοργίας: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; δοκοῦσαν μὲν εὐεξίαν, οὖσαν δ’ οὔ; οἷον τοιόνδε λέγω: πολλοὶ δοκοῦσιν εὖ ἔχειν τὰ σώματα, οὓς οὐκ ἂν ῥᾳδίως αἴσθοιτό τις ὅτι οὐκ εὖ ἔχουσιν, ἀλλ’ ἢ ἰατρός τε καὶ τῶν γυμναστικῶν τις.

Γοργίας: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τὸ τοιοῦτον λέγω καὶ ἐν σώματι εἶναι καὶ ἐν ψυχῇ, ὃ ποιεῖ μὲν δοκεῖν εὖ ἔχειν τὸ σῶμα καὶ τὴν ψυχήν, [464b] ἔχει δὲ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον.

Γοργίας: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή σοι, ἐὰν δύνωμαι, σαφέστερον ἐπιδείξω ὃ λέγω. δυοῖν ὄντοιν τοῖν πραγμάτοιν δύο λέγω τέχνας: τὴν μὲν ἐπὶ τῇ ψυχῇ πολιτικὴν καλῶ, τὴν δὲ ἐπὶ σώματι μίαν μὲν οὕτως ὀνομάσαι οὐκ ἔχω σοι, μιᾶς δὲ οὔσης τῆς τοῦ σώματος θεραπείας δύο μόρια λέγω, τὴν μὲν γυμναστικήν, τὴν δὲ ἰατρικήν: τῆς δὲ πολιτικῆς ἀντὶ μὲν τῆς γυμναστικῆς τὴν νομοθετικήν, ἀντίστροφον δὲ τῇ ἰατρικῇ τὴν δικαιοσύνην. [464c] ἐπικοινωνοῦσι μὲν δὴ ἀλλήλαις, ἅτε περὶ τὸ αὐτὸ οὖσαι, ἑκάτεραι τούτων, ἥ τε ἰατρικὴ τῇ γυμναστικῇ καὶ ἡ δικαιοσύνη τῇ νομοθετικῇ: ὅμως δὲ διαφέρουσίν τι ἀλλήλων. τεττάρων δὴ τούτων οὐσῶν, καὶ ἀεὶ πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον θεραπευουσῶν τῶν μὲν τὸ σῶμα, τῶν δὲ τὴν ψυχήν, ἡ κολακευτικὴ αἰσθομένη — οὐ γνοῦσα λέγω ἀλλὰ στοχασαμένη — τέτραχα ἑαυτὴν διανείμασα, ὑποδῦσα ὑπὸ ἕκαστον τῶν μορίων, προσποιεῖται [464d] εἶναι τοῦτο ὅπερ ὑπέδυ, καὶ τοῦ μὲν βελτίστου οὐδὲν φροντίζει, τῷ δὲ ἀεὶ ἡδίστῳ θηρεύεται τὴν ἄνοιαν καὶ ἐξαπατᾷ, ὥστε δοκεῖ πλείστου ἀξία εἶναι. ὑπὸ μὲν οὖν τὴν ἰατρικὴν ἡ ὀψοποιικὴ ὑποδέδυκεν, καὶ προσποιεῖται τὰ βέλτιστα σιτία τῷ σώματι εἰδέναι, ὥστ’ εἰ δέοι ἐν παισὶ διαγωνίζεσθαι ὀψοποιόν τε καὶ ἰατρόν, ἢ ἐν ἀνδράσιν οὕτως ἀνοήτοις ὥσπερ οἱ παῖδες, πότερος ἐπαί¨ει περὶ τῶν χρηστῶν σιτίων καὶ [464e] πονηρῶν, ὁ ἰατρὸς ἢ ὁ ὀψοποιός, λιμῷ ἂν ἀποθανεῖν τὸν ἰατρόν. κολακείαν μὲν οὖν αὐτὸ καλῶ, καὶ αἰσχρόν φημι [465a] εἶναι τὸ τοιοῦτον, ὦ Πῶλε — τοῦτο γὰρ πρὸς σὲ λέγω — ὅτι τοῦ ἡδέος στοχάζεται ἄνευ τοῦ βελτίστου: τέχνην δὲ αὐτὴν οὔ φημι εἶναι ἀλλ’ ἐμπειρίαν, ὅτι οὐκ ἔχει λόγον οὐδένα ᾧ προσφέρει ἃ προσφέρει ὁποῖ’ ἄττα τὴν φύσιν ἐστίν, ὥστε τὴν αἰτίαν ἑκάστου μὴ ἔχειν εἰπεῖν. ἐγὼ δὲ τέχνην οὐ καλῶ ὃ ἂν ᾖ ἄλογον πρᾶγμα: τούτων δὲ πέρι εἰ ἀμφισβητεῖς, ἐθέλω ὑποσχεῖν λόγον.

[465b] τῇ μὲν οὖν ἰατρικῇ, ὥσπερ λέγω, ἡ ὀψοποιικὴ κολακεία ὑπόκειται: τῇ δὲ γυμναστικῇ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον τοῦτον ἡ κομμωτική, κακοῦργός τε καὶ ἀπατηλὴ καὶ ἀγεννὴς καὶ ἀνελεύθερος, σχήμασιν καὶ χρώμασιν καὶ λειότητι καὶ ἐσθῆσιν ἀπατῶσα, ὥστε ποιεῖν ἀλλότριον κάλλος ἐφελκομένους τοῦ οἰκείου τοῦ διὰ τῆς γυμναστικῆς ἀμελεῖν. ἵν’ οὖν μὴ μακρολογῶ, ἐθέλω σοι εἰπεῖν ὥσπερ οἱ γεωμέτραι — ἤδη γὰρ [465c] ἂν ἴσως ἀκολουθήσαις — ὅτι ὃ κομμωτικὴ πρὸς γυμναστικήν, τοῦτο σοφιστικὴ πρὸς νομοθετικήν, καὶ ὅτι ὃ ὀψοποιικὴ πρὸς ἰατρικήν, τοῦτο ῥητορικὴ πρὸς δικαιοσύνην. ὅπερ μέντοι λέγω, διέστηκε μὲν οὕτω φύσει, ἅτε δ’ ἐγγὺς ὄντων φύρονται ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ καὶ περὶ ταὐτὰ σοφισταὶ καὶ ῥήτορες, καὶ οὐκ ἔχουσιν ὅτι χρήσονται οὔτε αὐτοὶ ἑαυτοῖς οὔτε οἱ ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι τούτοις. καὶ γὰρ ἄν, εἰ μὴ ἡ ψυχὴ τῷ σώματι [465d] ἐπεστάτει, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ αὑτῷ, καὶ μὴ ὑπὸ ταύτης κατεθεωρεῖτο καὶ διεκρίνετο ἥ τε ὀψοποιικὴ καὶ ἡ ἰατρική, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ τὸ σῶμα ἔκρινε σταθμώμενον ταῖς χάρισι ταῖς πρὸς αὑτό, τὸ τοῦ Ἀναξαγόρου ἂν πολὺ ἦν, ὦ φίλε Πῶλε — σὺ γὰρ τούτων ἔμπειρος — ὁμοῦ ἂν πάντα χρήματα ἐφύρετο ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ, ἀκρίτων ὄντων τῶν τε ἰατρικῶν καὶ ὑγιεινῶν καὶ ὀψοποιικῶν. ὃ μὲν οὖν ἐγώ φημι τὴν ῥητορικὴν εἶναι, ἀκήκοας: ἀντίστροφον [465e] ὀψοποιίας ἐν ψυχῇ, ὡς ἐκεῖνο ἐν σώμα τι. ἴσως μὲν οὖν ἄτοπον πεποίηκα, ὅτι σε οὐκ ἐῶν μακροὺς λόγους λέγειν αὐτὸς συχνὸν λόγον ἀποτέτακα. ἄξιον μὲν οὖν ἐμοὶ συγγνώμην ἔχειν ἐστίν: λέγοντος γάρ μου βραχέα οὐκ ἐμάνθανες, οὐδὲ χρῆσθαι τῇ ἀποκρίσει ἥν σοι ἀπεκρινάμην οὐδὲν οἷός τ’ ἦσθα, ἀλλ’ ἐδέου διηγήσεως. ἐὰν μὲν οὖν καὶ [466a] ἐγὼ σοῦ ἀποκρινομένου μὴ ἔχω ὅτι χρήσωμαι, ἀπότεινε καὶ σὺ λόγον, ἐὰν δὲ ἔχω, ἔα με χρῆσθαι: δίκαιον γάρ. καὶ νῦν ταύτῃ τῇ ἀποκρίσει εἴ τι ἔχεις χρῆσθαι, χρῶ.

Πῶλος: τί οὖν φῄς; κολακεία δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι ἡ ῥητορική;

Σωκράτης: κολακείας μὲν οὖν ἔγωγε εἶπον μόριον. ἀλλ’ οὐ μνημονεύεις τηλικοῦτος ὤν, ὦ Πῶλε; τί τάχα δράσεις;

Πῶλος: ἆρ’ οὖν δοκοῦσί σοι ὡς κόλακες ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι φαῦλοι νομίζεσθαι οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ῥήτορες; [466b]

Σωκράτης: ἐρώτημα τοῦτ’ ἐρωτᾷς ἢ λόγου τινὸς ἀρχὴν λέγεις;

Πῶλος: ἐρωτῶ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲ νομίζεσθαι ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσιν.

Πῶλος: πῶς οὐ νομίζεσθαι; οὐ μέγιστον δύνανται ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν;

Σωκράτης: οὔκ, εἰ τὸ δύνασθαί γε λέγεις ἀγαθόν τι εἶναι τῷ δυναμένῳ.

Πῶλος: ἀλλὰ μὴν λέγω γε.

Σωκράτης: ἐλάχιστον τοίνυν μοι δοκοῦσι τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει δύνασθαι οἱ ῥήτορες.

Πῶλος: τί δέ; οὐχ, ὥσπερ οἱ τύραννοι, ἀποκτεινύασίν τε [466c] ὃν ἂν βούλωνται, καὶ ἀφαιροῦνται χρήματα καὶ ἐκβάλλουσιν ἐκ τῶν πόλεων ὃν ἂν δοκῇ αὐτοῖς;

Σωκράτης: νὴ τὸν κύνα, ἀμφιγνοῶ μέντοι, ὦ Πῶλε, ἐφ’ ἑκάστου ὧν λέγεις πότερον αὐτὸς ταῦτα λέγεις καὶ γνώμην σαυτοῦ ἀποφαίνῃ, ἢ ἐμὲ ἐρωτᾷς.

Πῶλος: ἀλλ’ ἔγωγε σὲ ἐρωτῶ.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν, ὦ φίλε: ἔπειτα δύο ἅμα με ἐρωτᾷς;

Πῶλος: πῶς δύο;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρτι οὕτω πως ἔλεγες: “ἦ οὐχὶ ἀποκτεινύασιν [466d] οἱ ῥήτορες οὓς ἂν βούλωνται, ὥσπερ οἱ τύραννοι, καὶ χρήματα ἀφαιροῦνται καὶ ἐξελαύνουσιν ἐκ τῶν πόλεων ὃν ἂν δοκῇ αὐτοῖς;”

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: λέγω τοίνυν σοι ὅτι δύο ταῦτ’ ἐστιν τὰ ἐρωτήματα, καὶ ἀποκρινοῦμαί γέ σοι πρὸς ἀμφότερα. φημὶ γάρ, ὦ Πῶλε, ἐγὼ καὶ τοὺς ῥήτορας καὶ τοὺς τυράννους δύνασθαι μὲν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν σμικρότατον, ὥσπερ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον: οὐδὲν [466e] γὰρ ποιεῖν ὧν βούλονται ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν, ποιεῖν μέντοι ὅτι ἂν αὐτοῖς δόξῃ βέλτιστον εἶναι.

Πῶλος: οὐκοῦν τοῦτο ἔστιν τὸ μέγα δύνασθαι;

Σωκράτης: οὔχ, ὥς γέ φησιν Πῶλος.

Πῶλος: ἐγὼ οὔ φημι; φημὶ μὲν οὖν ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: μὰ τὸν — οὐ σύ γε, ἐπεὶ τὸ μέγα δύνασθαι ἔφης ἀγαθὸν εἶναι τῷ δυναμένῳ.

Πῶλος: φημὶ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἀγαθὸν οὖν οἴει εἶναι, ἐάν τις ποιῇ ταῦτα ἃ ἂν δοκῇ αὐτῷ βέλτιστα εἶναι, νοῦν μὴ ἔχων; καὶ τοῦτο καλεῖς σὺ μέγα δύνασθαι;

Πῶλος: οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀποδείξεις τοὺς ῥήτορας νοῦν ἔχοντας καὶ [467a] τέχνην τὴν ῥητορικὴν ἀλλὰ μὴ κολακείαν, ἐμὲ ἐξελέγξας; εἰ δέ με ἐάσεις ἀνέλεγκτον, οἱ ῥήτορες οἱ ποιοῦντες ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἃ δοκεῖ αὐτοῖς καὶ οἱ τύραννοι οὐδὲν ἀγαθὸν τοῦτο κεκτήσονται, ἡ δὲ δύναμίς ἐστιν, ὡς σὺ φῄς, ἀγαθόν, τὸ δὲ ποιεῖν ἄνευ νοῦ ἃ δοκεῖ καὶ σὺ ὁμολογεῖς κακὸν εἶναι: ἢ οὔ;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: πῶς ἂν οὖν οἱ ῥήτορες μέγα δύναιντο ἢ οἱ τύραννοι ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν, ἐὰν μὴ Σωκράτης ἐξελεγχθῇ ὑπὸ Πώλου ὅτι ποιοῦσιν ἃ βούλονται; [467b]

Πῶλος: οὗτος ἀνήρ —

Σωκράτης: οὔ φημι ποιεῖν αὐτοὺς ἃ βούλονται: ἀλλά μ’ ἔλεγχε.

Πῶλος: οὐκ ἄρτι ὡμολόγεις ποιεῖν ἃ δοκεῖ αὐτοῖς βέλτιστα εἶναι, [τούτου πρόσθεν];

Σωκράτης: καὶ γὰρ νῦν ὁμολογῶ.

Πῶλος: οὐκ οὖν ποιοῦσιν ἃ βούλονται;

Σωκράτης: οὔ φημι.

Πῶλος: ποιοῦντες ἃ δοκεῖ αὐτοῖς;

Σωκράτης: φημί.

Πῶλος: σχέτλιά γε λέγεις καὶ ὑπερφυῆ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: μὴ κακηγόρει, ὦ λῷστε Πῶλε, ἵνα προσείπω σε [467c] κατὰ σέ: ἀλλ’ εἰ μὲν ἔχεις ἐμὲ ἐρωτᾶν, ἐπίδειξον ὅτι ψεύδομαι, εἰ δὲ μή, αὐτὸς ἀποκρίνου.

Πῶλος: ἀλλ’ ἐθέλω ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἵνα καὶ εἰδῶ ὅτι λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν σοι δοκοῦσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι τοῦτο βούλεσθαι ὃ ἂν πράττωσιν ἑκάστοτε, ἢ ἐκεῖνο οὗ ἕνεκα πράττουσιν τοῦθ’ ὃ πράττουσιν; οἷον οἱ τὰ φάρμακα πίνοντες παρὰ τῶν ἰατρῶν πότερόν σοι δοκοῦσιν τοῦτο βούλεσθαι ὅπερ ποιοῦσιν, πίνειν τὸ φάρμακον καὶ ἀλγεῖν, ἢ ἐκεῖνο, τὸ ὑγιαίνειν, οὗ ἕνεκα πίνουσιν;

Πῶλος: δῆλον ὅτι τὸ [467d] ὑγιαίνειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ οἱ πλέοντές τε καὶ τὸν ἄλλον χρηματισμὸν χρηματιζόμενοι οὐ τοῦτό ἐστιν ὃ βούλονται, ὃ ποιοῦσιν ἑκάστοτε ̔τίς γὰρ βούλεται πλεῖν τε καὶ κινδυνεύειν καὶ πράγματ’ ἔχειν;̓ ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνο οἶμαι οὗ ἕνεκα πλέουσιν, πλουτεῖν: πλούτου γὰρ ἕνεκα πλέουσιν.

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἄλλο τι οὖν οὕτω καὶ περὶ πάντων; ἐάν τίς τι πράττῃ ἕνεκά του, οὐ τοῦτο βούλεται ὃ πράττει, ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνο [467e] οὗ ἕνεκα πράττει;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν ἔστιν τι τῶν ὄντων ὃ οὐχὶ ἤτοι ἀγαθόν γ’ ἐστὶν ἢ κακὸν ἢ μεταξὺ τούτων, οὔτε ἀγαθὸν οὔτε κακόν;

Πῶλος: πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν λέγεις εἶναι ἀγαθὸν μὲν σοφίαν τε καὶ ὑγίειαν καὶ πλοῦτον καὶ τἆλλα τὰ τοιαῦτα, κακὰ δὲ τἀναντία τούτων;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τὰ δὲ μήτε ἀγαθὰ μήτε κακὰ ἆρα τοιάδε λέγεις, ἃ ἐνίοτε μὲν μετέχει τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ, [468a] ἐνίοτε δὲ τοῦ κακοῦ, ἐνίοτε δὲ οὐδετέρου, οἷον καθῆσθαι καὶ βαδίζειν καὶ τρέχειν καὶ πλεῖν, καὶ οἷον αὖ λίθους καὶ ξύλα καὶ τἆλλα τὰ τοιαῦτα; οὐ ταῦτα λέγεις; ἢ ἄλλ’ ἄττα καλεῖς τὰ μήτε ἀγαθὰ μήτε κακά;

Πῶλος: οὔκ, ἀλλὰ ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν τὰ μεταξὺ ταῦτα ἕνεκα τῶν ἀγαθῶν πράττουσιν ὅταν πράττωσιν, ἢ τἀγαθὰ τῶν μεταξύ;

Πῶλος: τὰ [468b] μεταξὺ δήπου τῶν ἀγαθῶν.

Σωκράτης: τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἄρα διώκοντες καὶ βαδίζομεν ὅταν βαδίζωμεν, οἰόμενοι βέλτιον εἶναι, καὶ τὸ ἐναντίον ἕσταμεν ὅταν ἑστῶμεν, τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἕνεκα, τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ: ἢ οὔ;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀποκτείνυμεν, εἴ τιν’ ἀποκτείνυμεν, καὶ ἐκβάλλομεν καὶ ἀφαιρούμεθα χρήματα, οἰόμενοι ἄμεινον εἶναι ἡμῖν ταῦτα ποιεῖν ἢ μή;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἕνεκ’ ἄρα τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἅπαντα ταῦτα ποιοῦσιν οἱ ποιοῦντες.

Πῶλος: φημί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὡμολογήσαμεν, ἃ ἕνεκά του ποιοῦμεν, μὴ ἐκεῖνα βούλεσθαι, [468c] ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνο οὗ ἕνεκα ταῦτα ποιοῦμεν;

Πῶλος: μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα σφάττειν βουλόμεθα οὐδ’ ἐκβάλλειν ἐκ τῶν πόλεων οὐδὲ χρήματα ἀφαιρεῖσθαι ἁπλῶς οὕτως, ἀλλ’ ἐὰν μὲν ὠφέλιμα ᾖ ταῦτα, βουλόμεθα πράττειν αὐτά, βλαβερὰ δὲ ὄντα οὐ βουλόμεθα. τὰ γὰρ ἀγαθὰ βουλόμεθα, ὡς φῂς σύ, τὰ δὲ μήτε ἀγαθὰ μήτε κακὰ οὐ βουλόμεθα, οὐδὲ τὰ κακά. ἦ γάρ; ἀληθῆ σοι δοκῶ λέγειν, ὦ Πῶλε, ἢ οὔ; τί οὐκ ἀποκρίνῃ;

Πῶλος: ἀληθῆ. [468d]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ταῦτα ὁμολογοῦμεν, εἴ τις ἀποκτείνει τινὰ ἢ ἐκβάλλει ἐκ πόλεως ἢ ἀφαιρεῖται χρήματα, εἴτε τύραννος ὢν εἴτε ῥήτωρ, οἰόμενος ἄμεινον εἶναι αὐτῷ, τυγχάνει δὲ ὂν κάκιον, οὗτος δήπου ποιεῖ ἃ δοκεῖ αὐτῷ: ἦ γάρ;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν καὶ ἃ βούλεται, εἴπερ τυγχάνει ταῦτα κακὰ ὄντα; τί οὐκ ἀποκρίνῃ;

Πῶλος: ἀλλ’ οὔ μοι δοκεῖ ποιεῖν ἃ βούλεται.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν οὖν ὅπως ὁ τοιοῦτος [468e] μέγα δύναται ἐν τῇ πόλει ταύτῃ, εἴπερ ἐστὶ τὸ μέγα δύνασθαι ἀγαθόν τι κατὰ τὴν σὴν ὁμολογίαν;

Πῶλος: οὐκ ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ ἄρα ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, λέγων ὅτι ἔστιν ἄνθρωπον ποιοῦντα ἐν πόλει ἃ δοκεῖ αὐτῷ μὴ μέγα δύνασθαι μηδὲ ποιεῖν ἃ βούλεται.

Πῶλος: ὡς δὴ σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἂν δέξαιο ἐξεῖναί σοι ποιεῖν ὅτι δοκεῖ σοι ἐν τῇ πόλει μᾶλλον ἢ μή, οὐδὲ ζηλοῖς ὅταν ἴδῃς τινὰ ἢ ἀποκτείναντα ὃν ἔδοξεν αὐτῷ ἢ ἀφελόμενον χρήματα ἢ δήσαντα.

Σωκράτης: δικαίως λέγεις ἢ ἀδίκως; [469a]

Πῶλος: ὁπότερ’ ἂν ποιῇ, οὐκ ἀμφοτέρως ζηλωτόν ἐστιν;

Σωκράτης: εὐφήμει, ὦ Πῶλε.

Πῶλος: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι οὐ χρὴ οὔτε τοὺς ἀζηλώτους ζηλοῦν οὔτε τοὺς ἀθλίους, ἀλλ’ ἐλεεῖν.

Πῶλος: τί δέ; οὕτω σοι δοκεῖ ἔχειν περὶ ὧν ἐγὼ λέγω τῶν ἀνθρώπων;

Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Πῶλος: ὅστις οὖν ἀποκτείνυσιν ὃν ἂν δόξῃ αὐτῷ, δικαίως ἀποκτεινύς, ἄθλιος δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι καὶ ἐλεινός;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἔμοιγε, οὐδὲ μέντοι ζηλωτός.

Πῶλος: οὐκ ἄρτι ἄθλιον ἔφησθα εἶναι; [469b]

Σωκράτης: τὸν ἀδίκως γε, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἀποκτείναντα, καὶ ἐλεινόν γε πρός: τὸν δὲ δικαίως ἀζήλωτον.

Πῶλος: ἦ που ὅ γε ἀποθνῄσκων ἀδίκως ἐλεινός τε καὶ ἄθλιός ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης: ἧττον ἢ ὁ ἀποκτεινύς, ὦ Πῶλε, καὶ ἧττον ἢ ὁ δικαίως ἀποθνῄσκων.

Πῶλος: πῶς δῆτα, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οὕτως, ὡς μέγιστον τῶν κακῶν τυγχάνει ὂν τὸ ἀδικεῖν.

Πῶλος: ἦ γὰρ τοῦτο μέγιστον; οὐ τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι μεῖζον;

Σωκράτης: ἥκιστά γε.

Πῶλος: σὺ ἄρα βούλοιο ἂν ἀδικεῖσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ ἀδικεῖν; [469c]

Σωκράτης: βουλοίμην μὲν ἂν ἔγωγε οὐδέτερα: εἰ δ’ ἀναγκαῖον εἴη ἀδικεῖν ἢ ἀδικεῖσθαι, ἑλοίμην ἂν μᾶλλον ἀδικεῖσθαι ἢ ἀδικεῖν.

Πῶλος: σὺ ἄρα τυραννεῖν οὐκ ἂν δέξαιο;

Σωκράτης: οὔκ, εἰ τὸ τυραννεῖν γε λέγεις ὅπερ ἐγώ.

Πῶλος: ἀλλ’ ἔγωγε τοῦτο λέγω ὅπερ ἄρτι, ἐξεῖναι ἐν τῇ πόλει, ὃ ἂν δοκῇ αὐτῷ, ποιεῖν τοῦτο, καὶ ἀποκτεινύντι καὶ ἐκβάλλοντι καὶ πάντα πράττοντι κατὰ τὴν αὐτοῦ δόξαν.

Σωκράτης: ὦ μακάριε, ἐμοῦ δὴ λέγοντος τῷ λόγῳ ἐπιλαβοῦ. [469d] εἰ γὰρ ἐγὼ ἐν ἀγορᾷ πληθούσῃ λαβὼν ὑπὸ μάλης ἐγχειρίδιον λέγοιμι πρὸς σὲ ὅτι “ὦ Πῶλε, ἐμοὶ δύναμίς τις καὶ τυραννὶς θαυμασία ἄρτι προσγέγονεν: ἐὰν γὰρ ἄρα ἐμοὶ δόξῃ τινὰ τουτωνὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ὧν σὺ ὁρᾷς αὐτίκα μάλα δεῖν τεθνάναι, τεθνήξει οὗτος ὃν ἂν δόξῃ: κἄν τινα δόξῃ μοι τῆς κεφαλῆς αὐτῶν καταγῆναι δεῖν, κατεαγὼς ἔσται αὐτίκα μάλα, κἂν θοἰμάτιον διεσχίσθαι, διεσχισμένον ἔσται — οὕτω [469e] μέγα ἐγὼ δύναμαι ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει,” εἰ οὖν ἀπιστοῦντί σοι δείξαιμι τὸ ἐγχειρίδιον, ἴσως ἂν εἴποις ἰδὼν ὅτι “ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτω μὲν πάντες ἂν μέγα δύναιντο, ἐπεὶ κἂν ἐμπρησθείη οἰκία τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ ἥντινά σοι δοκοῖ, καὶ τά γε Ἀθηναίων νεώρια καὶ αἱ τριήρεις καὶ τὰ πλοῖα πάντα καὶ τὰ δημόσια καὶ τὰ ἴδια:” ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἄρα τοῦτ’ ἔστιν τὸ μέγα δύνασθαι, τὸ ποιεῖν ἃ δοκεῖ αὐτῷ: ἢ δοκεῖ σοι;

Πῶλος: οὐ δῆτα οὕτω γε.

[470a]

Σωκράτης: ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν δι’ ὅτι μέμφῃ τὴν τοιαύτην δύναμιν;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τί δή; λέγε.

Πῶλος: ὅτι ἀναγκαῖον τὸν οὕτω πράττοντα ζημιοῦσθαί ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὲ ζημιοῦσθαι οὐ κακόν;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν, ὦ θαυμάσιε, [τὸ μέγα δύνασθαι] πάλιν αὖ σοι φαίνεται, ἐὰν μὲν πράττοντι ἃ δοκεῖ ἕπηται τὸ ὠφελίμως πράττειν, ἀγαθόν τε εἶναι, καὶ τοῦτο, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐστὶν τὸ μέγα δύνασθαι: εἰ δὲ μή, κακὸν καὶ σμικρὸν δύνασθαι. [470b] σκεψώμεθα δὲ καὶ τόδε: ἄλλο τι ὁμολογοῦμεν ἐνίοτε μὲν ἄμεινον εἶναι ταῦτα ποιεῖν ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἀποκτεινύναι τε καὶ ἐξελαύνειν ἀνθρώπους καὶ ἀφαιρεῖσθαι χρήματα, ἐνίοτε δὲ οὔ;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο μὲν δή, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ παρὰ σοῦ καὶ παρ’ ἐμοῦ ὁμολογεῖται.

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πότε οὖν σὺ φῂς ἄμεινον εἶναι ταῦτα ποιεῖν; εἰπὲ τίνα ὅρον ὁρίζῃ.

Πῶλος: σὺ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀπόκριναι [ταὐτὸ] τοῦτο. [470c]

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ μὲν τοίνυν φημί, ὦ Πῶλε, εἴ σοι παρ’ ἐμοῦ ἥδιόν ἐστιν ἀκούειν, ὅταν μὲν δικαίως τις ταῦτα ποιῇ, ἄμεινον εἶναι, ὅταν δὲ ἀδίκως, κάκιον.

Πῶλος: χαλεπόν γέ σε ἐλέγξαι, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ κἂν παῖς σε ἐλέγξειεν ὅτι οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: πολλὴν ἄρα ἐγὼ τῷ παιδὶ χάριν ἕξω, ἴσην δὲ καὶ σοί, ἐάν με ἐλέγξῃς καὶ ἀπαλλάξῃς φλυαρίας. ἀλλὰ μὴ κάμῃς φίλον ἄνδρα εὐεργετῶν, ἀλλ’ ἔλεγχε.

Πῶλος: ἀλλὰ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδέν γέ σε δεῖ παλαιοῖς [470d] πράγμασιν ἐλέγχειν: τὰ γὰρ ἐχθὲς καὶ πρώην γεγονότα ταῦτα ἱκανά σε ἐξελέγξαι ἐστὶν καὶ ἀποδεῖξαι ὡς πολλοὶ ἀδικοῦντες ἄνθρωποι εὐδαίμονές εἰσιν.

Σωκράτης: τὰ ποῖα ταῦτα;

Πῶλος: Ἀρχέλαον δήπου τοῦτον τὸν Περδίκκου ὁρᾷς ἄρχοντα Μακεδονίας;

Σωκράτης: εἰ δὲ μή, ἀλλ’ ἀκούω γε.

Πῶλος: εὐδαίμων οὖν σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι ἢ ἄθλιος;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ οἶδα, ὦ Πῶλε: οὐ γάρ πω συγγέγονα τῷ ἀνδρί. [470e]

Πῶλος: τί δέ; συγγενόμενος ἂν γνοίης, ἄλλως δὲ αὐτόθεν οὐ γιγνώσκεις ὅτι εὐδαιμονεῖ;

Σωκράτης: μὰ Δί’ οὐ δῆτα.

Πῶλος: δῆλον δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι οὐδὲ τὸν μέγαν βασιλέα γιγνώσκειν φήσεις εὐδαίμονα ὄντα.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἀληθῆ γε ἐρῶ: οὐ γὰρ οἶδα παιδείας ὅπως ἔχει καὶ δικαιοσύνης.

Πῶλος: τί δέ; ἐν τούτῳ ἡ πᾶσα εὐδαιμονία ἐστίν;

Σωκράτης: ὥς γε ἐγὼ λέγω, ὦ Πῶλε: τὸν μὲν γὰρ καλὸν καὶ ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα καὶ γυναῖκα εὐδαίμονα εἶναί φημι, τὸν δὲ ἄδικον καὶ πονηρὸν ἄθλιον. [471a]

Πῶλος: ἄθλιος ἄρα οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ Ἀρχέλαος κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον;

Σωκράτης: εἴπερ γε, ὦ φίλε, ἄδικος.

Πῶλος: ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ πῶς οὐκ ἄδικος; ᾧ γε προσῆκε μὲν τῆς ἀρχῆς οὐδὲν ἣν νῦν ἔχει, ὄντι ἐκ γυναικὸς ἣ ἦν δούλη Ἀλκέτου τοῦ Περδίκκου ἀδελφοῦ, καὶ κατὰ μὲν τὸ δίκαιον δοῦλος ἦν Ἀλκέτου, καὶ εἰ ἐβούλετο τὰ δίκαια ποιεῖν, ἐδούλευεν ἂν Ἀλκέτῃ καὶ ἦν εὐδαίμων κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον. νῦν δὲ θαυμασίως ὡς ἄθλιος γέγονεν, ἐπεὶ τὰ μέγιστα ἠδίκηκεν: [471b] ὅς γε πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτον αὐτὸν τὸν δεσπότην καὶ θεῖον μεταπεμψάμενος ὡς ἀποδώσων τὴν ἀρχὴν ἣν Περδίκκας αὐτὸν ἀφείλετο, ξενίσας καὶ καταμεθύσας αὐτόν τε καὶ τὸν ὑὸν αὐτοῦ Ἀλέξανδρον, ἀνεψιὸν αὑτοῦ, σχεδὸν ἡλικιώτην, ἐμβαλὼν εἰς ἅμαξαν, νύκτωρ ἐξαγαγὼν ἀπέσφαξέν τε καὶ ἠφάνισεν ἀμφοτέρους. καὶ ταῦτα ἀδικήσας ἔλαθεν ἑαυτὸν ἀθλιώτατος γενόμενος καὶ οὐ μετεμέλησεν αὐτῷ, ἀλλ’ ὀλίγον [471c] ὕστερον τὸν ἀδελφόν, τὸν γνήσιον τοῦ Περδίκκου ὑόν, παῖδα ὡς ἑπτέτη, οὗ ἡ ἀρχὴ ἐγίγνετο κατὰ τὸ δίκαιον, οὐκ ἐβουλήθη εὐδαίμων γενέσθαι δικαίως ἐκθρέψας καὶ ἀποδοὺς τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐκείνῳ, ἀλλ’ εἰς φρέαρ ἐμβαλὼν καὶ ἀποπνίξας πρὸς τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ Κλεοπάτραν χῆνα ἔφη διώκοντα ἐμπεσεῖν καὶ ἀποθανεῖν. τοιγάρτοι νῦν, ἅτε μέγιστα ἠδικηκὼς τῶν ἐν Μακεδονίᾳ, ἀθλιώτατός ἐστιν πάντων Μακεδόνων, ἀλλ’ οὐκ εὐδαιμονέστατος, καὶ ἴσως ἔστιν ὅστις Ἀθηναίων ἀπὸ σοῦ [471d] ἀρξάμενος δέξαιτ’ ἂν ἄλλος ὁστισοῦν Μακεδόνων γενέσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ Ἀρχέλαος.

Σωκράτης: καὶ κατ’ ἀρχὰς τῶν λόγων, ὦ Πῶλε, ἔγωγέ σε ἐπῄνεσα ὅτι μοι δοκεῖς εὖ πρὸς τὴν ῥητορικὴν πεπαιδεῦσθαι, τοῦ δὲ διαλέγεσθαι ἠμεληκέναι: καὶ νῦν ἄλλο τι οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ λόγος, ᾧ με καὶ ἂν παῖς ἐξελέγξειε, καὶ ἐγὼ ὑπὸ σοῦ νῦν, ὡς σὺ οἴει, ἐξελήλεγμαι τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ, φάσκων τὸν ἀδικοῦντα οὐκ εὐδαίμονα εἶναι; πόθεν, ὠγαθέ; καὶ μὴν οὐδέν γέ σοι τούτων ὁμολογῶ ὧν σὺ φῄς. [471e]

Πῶλος: οὐ γὰρ ἐθέλεις, ἐπεὶ δοκεῖ γέ σοι ὡς ἐγὼ λέγω.

Σωκράτης: ὦ μακάριε, ῥητορικῶς γάρ με ἐπιχειρεῖς ἐλέγχειν, ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις ἡγούμενοι ἐλέγχειν. καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖ οἱ ἕτεροι τοὺς ἑτέρους δοκοῦσιν ἐλέγχειν, ἐπειδὰν τῶν λόγων ὧν ἂν λέγωσι μάρτυρας πολλοὺς παρέχωνται καὶ εὐδοκίμους, ὁ δὲ τἀναντία λέγων ἕνα τινὰ παρέχηται ἢ μηδένα. οὗτος δὲ ὁ ἔλεγχος οὐδενὸς ἄξιός ἐστιν πρὸς τὴν [472a] ἀλήθειαν: ἐνίοτε γὰρ ἂν καὶ καταψευδομαρτυρηθείη τις ὑπὸ πολλῶν καὶ δοκούντων εἶναί τι. καὶ νῦν περὶ ὧν σὺ λέγεις ὀλίγου σοι πάντες συμφήσουσιν ταὐτὰ Ἀθηναῖοι καὶ οἱ ξένοι, ἐὰν βούλῃ κατ’ ἐμοῦ μάρτυρας παρασχέσθαι ὡς οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγω: μαρτυρήσουσί σοι, ἐὰν μὲν βούλῃ, Νικίας ὁ Νικηράτου καὶ οἱ ἀδελφοὶ μετ’ αὐτοῦ, ὧν οἱ τρίποδες οἱ ἐφεξῆς ἑστῶτές εἰσιν ἐν τῷ Διονυσίῳ, ἐὰν δὲ βούλῃ, Ἀριστοκράτης [472b] ὁ Σκελλίου, οὗ αὖ ἐστιν ἐν Πυθίου τοῦτο τὸ καλὸν ἀνάθημα, ἐὰν δὲ βούλῃ, ἡ Περικλέους ὅλη οἰκία ἢ ἄλλη συγγένεια ἥντινα ἂν βούλῃ τῶν ἐνθάδε ἐκλέξασθαι. ἀλλ’ ἐγώ σοι εἷς ὢν οὐχ ὁμολογῶ: οὐ γάρ με σὺ ἀναγκάζεις, ἀλλὰ ψευδομάρτυρας πολλοὺς κατ’ ἐμοῦ παρασχόμενος ἐπιχειρεῖς ἐκβάλλειν με ἐκ τῆς οὐσίας καὶ τοῦ ἀληθοῦς. ἐγὼ δὲ ἂν μὴ σὲ αὐτὸν ἕνα ὄντα μάρτυρα παράσχωμαι ὁμολογοῦντα περὶ ὧν λέγω, οὐδὲν οἶμαι ἄξιον λόγου μοι πεπεράνθαι περὶ ὧν ἂν [472c] ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος ᾖ: οἶμαι δὲ οὐδὲ σοί, ἐὰν μὴ ἐγώ σοι μαρτυρῶ εἷς ὢν μόνος, τοὺς δ’ ἄλλους πάντας τούτους χαίρειν ἐᾷς. ἔστιν μὲν οὖν οὗτός τις τρόπος ἐλέγχου, ὡς σύ τε οἴει καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοί: ἔστιν δὲ καὶ ἄλλος, ὃν ἐγὼ αὖ οἶμαι. παραβαλόντες οὖν παρ’ ἀλλήλους σκεψώμεθα εἴ τι διοίσουσιν ἀλλήλων. καὶ γὰρ καὶ τυγχάνει περὶ ὧν ἀμφισβητοῦμεν οὐ πάνυ σμικρὰ ὄντα, ἀλλὰ σχεδόν τι ταῦτα περὶ ὧν εἰδέναι τε κάλλιστον μὴ εἰδέναι τε αἴσχιστον: τὸ γὰρ κεφάλαιον αὐτῶν ἐστιν ἢ γιγνώσκειν ἢ ἀγνοεῖν ὅστις τε εὐδαίμων ἐστὶν καὶ [472d] ὅστις μή. αὐτίκα πρῶτον, περὶ οὗ νῦν ὁ λόγος ἐστίν, σὺ ἡγῇ οἷόν τε εἶναι μακάριον ἄνδρα ἀδικοῦντά τε καὶ ἄδικον ὄντα, εἴπερ Ἀρχέλαον ἄδικον μὲν ἡγῇ εἶναι, εὐδαίμονα δέ. ἄλλο τι ὡς οὕτω σου νομίζοντος διανοώμεθα;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ δέ φημι ἀδύνατον. ἓν μὲν τουτὶ ἀμφισβητοῦμεν. εἶεν: ἀδικῶν δὲ δὴ εὐδαίμων ἔσται ἆρ’, ἂν τυγχάνῃ δίκης τε καὶ τιμωρίας;

Πῶλος: ἥκιστά γε, ἐπεὶ οὕτω γ’ ἂν ἀθλιώτατος εἴη. [472e]

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ ἐὰν ἄρα μὴ τυγχάνῃ δίκης ὁ ἀδικῶν, κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον εὐδαίμων ἔσται;

Πῶλος: φημί.

Σωκράτης: κατὰ δέ γε τὴν ἐμὴν δόξαν, ὦ Πῶλε, ὁ ἀδικῶν τε καὶ ὁ ἄδικος πάντως μὲν ἄθλιος, ἀθλιώτερος μέντοι ἐὰν μὴ διδῷ δίκην μηδὲ τυγχάνῃ τιμωρίας ἀδικῶν, ἧττον δὲ ἄθλιος ἐὰν διδῷ δίκην καὶ τυγχάνῃ δίκης ὑπὸ θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων. [473a]

Πῶλος: ἄτοπά γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπιχειρεῖς λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: πειράσομαι δέ γε καὶ σὲ ποιῆσαι, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ταὐτὰ ἐμοὶ λέγειν: φίλον γάρ σε ἡγοῦμαι. νῦν μὲν οὖν ἃ διαφερόμεθα ταῦτ’ ἐστιν: σκόπει δὲ καὶ σύ. εἶπον ἐγώ που ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι κάκιον εἶναι.

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: σὺ δὲ τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι.

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας ἀθλίους ἔφην εἶναι ἐγώ, καὶ ἐξηλέγχθην ὑπὸ σοῦ.

Πῶλος: ναὶ μὰ Δία. [473b]

Σωκράτης: ὡς σύ γε οἴει, ὦ Πῶλε.

Πῶλος: ἀληθῆ γε οἰόμενος.

Σωκράτης: ἴσως. σὺ δέ γε εὐδαίμονας αὖ τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας, ἐὰν μὴ διδῶσι δίκην.

Πῶλος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ δέ γε αὐτοὺς ἀθλιωτάτους φημί, τοὺς δὲ διδόντας δίκην ἧττον. βούλει καὶ τοῦτο ἐλέγχειν;

Πῶλος: ἀλλ’ ἔτι τοῦτ’ ἐκείνου χαλεπώτερόν ἐστιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐξελέγξαι.

Σωκράτης: οὐ δῆτα, ὦ Πῶλε, ἀλλ’ ἀδύνατον: τὸ γὰρ ἀληθὲς οὐδέποτε ἐλέγχεται.

Πῶλος: πῶς λέγεις; ἐὰν ἀδικῶν ἄνθρωπος ληφθῇ τυραννίδι [473c] ἐπιβουλεύων, καὶ ληφθεὶς στρεβλῶται καὶ ἐκτέμνηται καὶ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ἐκκάηται, καὶ ἄλλας πολλὰς καὶ μεγάλας καὶ παντοδαπὰς λώβας αὐτός τε λωβηθεὶς καὶ τοὺς αὑτοῦ ἐπιδὼν παῖδάς τε καὶ γυναῖκα τὸ ἔσχατον ἀνασταυρωθῇ ἢ καταπιττωθῇ, οὗτος εὐδαιμονέστερος ἔσται ἢ ἐὰν διαφυγὼν τύραννος καταστῇ καὶ ἄρχων ἐν τῇ πόλει διαβιῷ ποιῶν ὅτι ἂν βούληται, ζηλωτὸς ὢν καὶ εὐδαιμονιζόμενος ὑπὸ τῶν [473d] πολιτῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ξένων; ταῦτα λέγεις ἀδύνατον εἶναι ἐξελέγχειν;

Σωκράτης: μορμολύττῃ αὖ, ὦ γενναῖε Πῶλε, καὶ οὐκ ἐλέγχεις: ἄρτι δὲ ἐμαρτύρου. ὅμως δὲ ὑπόμνησόν με σμικρόν. ἐὰν ἀδίκως ἐπιβουλεύων τυραννίδι, εἶπες;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: εὐδαιμονέστερος μὲν τοίνυν οὐδέποτε ἔσται οὐδέτερος αὐτῶν, οὔτε ὁ κατειργασμένος τὴν τυραννίδα ἀδίκως οὔτε ὁ διδοὺς δίκην — δυοῖν γὰρ ἀθλίοιν εὐδαιμονέστερος μὲν [473e] οὐκ ἂν εἴη — ἀθλιώτερος μέντοι ὁ διαφεύγων καὶ τυραννεύσας. τί τοῦτο, ὦ Πῶλε; γελᾷς; ἄλλο αὖ τοῦτο εἶδος ἐλέγχου ἐστίν, ἐπειδάν τίς τι εἴπῃ, καταγελᾶν, ἐλέγχειν δὲ μή;

Πῶλος: οὐκ οἴει ἐξεληλέγχθαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅταν τοιαῦτα λέγῃς ἃ οὐδεὶς ἂν φήσειεν ἀνθρώπων; ἐπεὶ ἐροῦ τινα τουτωνί.

Σωκράτης: ὦ Πῶλε, οὐκ εἰμὶ τῶν πολιτικῶν, καὶ πέρυσι βουλεύειν λαχών, ἐπειδὴ ἡ φυλὴ ἐπρυτάνευε καὶ ἔδει με ἐπιψηφίζειν, [474a] γέλωτα παρεῖχον καὶ οὐκ ἠπιστάμην ἐπιψηφίζειν. μὴ οὖν μηδὲ νῦν με κέλευε ἐπιψηφίζειν τοὺς παρόντας, ἀλλ’ εἰ μὴ ἔχεις τούτων βελτίω ἔλεγχον, ὅπερ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, ἐμοὶ ἐν τῷ μέρει παράδος, καὶ πείρασαι τοῦ ἐλέγχου οἷον ἐγὼ οἶμαι δεῖν εἶναι. ἐγὼ γὰρ ὧν ἂν λέγω ἕνα μὲν παρασχέσθαι μάρτυρα ἐπίσταμαι, αὐτὸν πρὸς ὃν ἄν μοι ὁ λόγος ᾖ, τοὺς δὲ πολλοὺς ἐῶ χαίρειν, καὶ ἕνα ἐπιψηφίζειν ἐπίσταμαι, τοῖς δὲ [474b] πολλοῖς οὐδὲ διαλέγομαι. ὅρα οὖν εἰ ἐθελήσεις ἐν τῷ μέρει διδόναι ἔλεγχον ἀποκρινόμενος τὰ ἐρωτώμενα. ἐγὼ γὰρ δὴ οἶμαι καὶ ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι κάκιον ἡγεῖσθαι καὶ τὸ μὴ διδόναι δίκην τοῦ διδόναι.

Πῶλος: ἐγὼ δέ γε οὔτ’ ἐμὲ οὔτ’ ἄλλον ἀνθρώπων οὐδένα. ἐπεὶ σὺ δέξαι’ ἂν μᾶλλον ἀδικεῖσθαι ἢ ἀδικεῖν;

Σωκράτης: καὶ σύ γ’ ἂν καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες.

Πῶλος: πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ἀλλ’ οὔτ’ ἐγὼ οὔτε σὺ οὔτ’ ἄλλος οὐδείς. [474c]

Σωκράτης: οὔκουν ἀποκρινῇ;

Πῶλος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν: καὶ γὰρ ἐπιθυμῶ εἰδέναι ὅτι ποτ’ ἐρεῖς.

Σωκράτης: λέγε δή μοι, ἵν’ εἰδῇς, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἐξ ἀρχῆς σε ἠρώτων: πότερον δοκεῖ σοι, ὦ Πῶλε, κάκιον εἶναι, τὸ ἀδικεῖν ἢ τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι;

Πῶλος: τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ δή; αἴσχιον πότερον τὸ ἀδικεῖν ἢ τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι; ἀποκρίνου.

Πῶλος: τὸ ἀδικεῖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ κάκιον, εἴπερ αἴσχιον.

Πῶλος: ἥκιστά γε.

Σωκράτης: μανθάνω: οὐ [474d] ταὐτὸν ἡγῇ σύ, ὡς ἔοικας, καλόν τε καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ κακὸν καὶ αἰσχρόν.

Πῶλος: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ τόδε; τὰ καλὰ πάντα, οἷον καὶ σώματα καὶ χρώματα καὶ σχήματα καὶ φωνὰς καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα, εἰς οὐδὲν ἀποβλέπων καλεῖς ἑκάστοτε καλά; οἷον πρῶτον τὰ σώματα τὰ καλὰ οὐχὶ ἤτοι κατὰ τὴν χρείαν λέγεις καλὰ εἶναι, πρὸς ὃ ἂν ἕκαστον χρήσιμον ᾖ, πρὸς τοῦτο, ἢ κατὰ ἡδονήν τινα, ἐὰν ἐν τῷ θεωρεῖσθαι χαίρειν ποιῇ τοὺς θεωροῦντας; ἔχεις τι ἐκτὸς τούτων λέγειν περὶ σώματος κάλλους; [474e]

Πῶλος: οὐκ ἔχω.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οὕτω καὶ σχήματα καὶ χρώματα ἢ διὰ ἡδονήν τινα ἢ διὰ ὠφελίαν ἢ δι’ ἀμφότερα καλὰ προσαγορεύεις;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐ καὶ τὰς φωνὰς καὶ τὰ κατὰ τὴν μουσικὴν πάντα ὡσαύτως;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν τά γε κατὰ τοὺς νόμους καὶ τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα οὐ δήπου ἐκτὸς τούτων ἐστίν, τὰ καλά, τοῦ ἢ ὠφέλιμα εἶναι ἢ ἡδέα ἢ ἀμφότερα. [475a]

Πῶλος: οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ τῶν μαθημάτων κάλλος ὡσαύτως;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε: καὶ καλῶς γε νῦν ὁρίζῃ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἡδονῇ τε καὶ ἀγαθῷ ὁριζόμενος τὸ καλόν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ αἰσχρὸν τῷ ἐναντίῳ, λύπῃ τε καὶ κακῷ;

Πῶλος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: ὅταν ἄρα δυοῖν καλοῖν θάτερον κάλλιον ᾖ, ἢ τῷ ἑτέρῳ τούτοιν ἢ ἀμφοτέροις ὑπερβάλλον κάλλιόν ἐστιν, ἤτοι ἡδονῇ ἢ ὠφελίᾳ ἢ ἀμφοτέροις.

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ὅταν δὲ δὴ δυοῖν αἰσχροῖν τὸ [475b] ἕτερον αἴσχιον ᾖ, ἤτοι λύπῃ ἢ κακῷ ὑπερβάλλον αἴσχιον ἔσται: ἢ οὐκ ἀνάγκη;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, πῶς ἐλέγετο νυνδὴ περὶ τοῦ ἀδικεῖν καὶ ἀδικεῖσθαι; οὐκ ἔλεγες τὸ μὲν ἀδικεῖσθαι κάκιον εἶναι, τὸ δὲ ἀδικεῖν αἴσχιον;

Πῶλος: ἔλεγον.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ αἴσχιον τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι, ἤτοι λυπηρότερόν ἐστιν καὶ λύπῃ ὑπερβάλλον αἴσχιον ἂν εἴη ἢ κακῷ ἢ ἀμφοτέροις; οὐ καὶ τοῦτο ἀνάγκη;

Πῶλος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον [475c] μὲν δὴ σκεψώμεθα, ἆρα λύπῃ ὑπερβάλλει τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι, καὶ ἀλγοῦσι μᾶλλον οἱ ἀδικοῦντες ἢ οἱ ἀδικούμενοι;

Πῶλος: οὐδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτό γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα λύπῃ γε ὑπερέχει.

Πῶλος: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μὴ λύπῃ, ἀμφοτέροις μὲν οὐκ ἂν ἔτι ὑπερβάλλοι.

Πῶλος: οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τῷ ἑτέρῳ λείπεται.

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τῷ κακῷ.

Πῶλος: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν κακῷ ὑπερβάλλον τὸ ἀδικεῖν κάκιον ἂν εἴη τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι.

Πῶλος: δῆλον δὴ ὅτι. [475d]

Σωκράτης: ἄλλο τι οὖν ὑπὸ μὲν τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ ὑπὸ σοῦ ὡμολογεῖτο ἡμῖν ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν χρόνῳ αἴσχιον εἶναι τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: νῦν δέ γε κάκιον ἐφάνη.

Πῶλος: ἔοικε.

Σωκράτης: δέξαιο ἂν οὖν σὺ μᾶλλον τὸ κάκιον καὶ τὸ αἴσχιον ἀντὶ τοῦ ἧττον; μὴ ὄκνει ἀποκρίνασθαι, ὦ Πῶλε: οὐδὲν γὰρ βλαβήσῃ: ἀλλὰ γενναίως τῷ λόγῳ ὥσπερ ἰατρῷ παρέχων ἀποκρίνου, καὶ ἢ [475e] φάθι ἢ μὴ ἃ ἐρωτῶ.

Πῶλος: ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἂν δεξαίμην, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἄλλος δέ τις ἀνθρώπων;

Πῶλος: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ κατά γε τοῦτον τὸν λόγον.

Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ ἄρα ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, ὅτι οὔτ’ ἂν ἐγὼ οὔτ’ ἂν σὺ οὔτ’ ἄλλος οὐδεὶς ἀνθρώπων δέξαιτ’ ἂν μᾶλλον ἀδικεῖν ἢ ἀδικεῖσθαι: κάκιον γὰρ τυγχάνει ὄν.

Πῶλος: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: ὁρᾷς οὖν, ὦ Πῶλε, ὁ ἔλεγχος παρὰ τὸν ἔλεγχον παραβαλλόμενος ὅτι οὐδὲν ἔοικεν, ἀλλὰ σοὶ μὲν οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες ὁμολογοῦσιν πλὴν ἐμοῦ, ἐμοὶ δὲ σὺ ἐξαρκεῖς εἷς ὢν [476a] μόνος καὶ ὁμολογῶν καὶ μαρτυρῶν, καὶ ἐγὼ σὲ μόνον ἐπιψηφίζων τοὺς ἄλλους ἐῶ χαίρειν. καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ἡμῖν οὕτως ἐχέτω: μετὰ τοῦτο δὲ περὶ οὗ τὸ δεύτερον ἠμφεσβητήσαμεν σκεψώμεθα, τὸ ἀδικοῦντα διδόναι δίκην ἆρα μέγιστον τῶν κακῶν ἐστιν, ὡς σὺ ᾤου, ἢ μεῖζον τὸ μὴ διδόναι, ὡς αὖ ἐγὼ ᾤμην.

σκοπώμεθα δὲ τῇδε: τὸ διδόναι δίκην καὶ τὸ κολάζεσθαι δικαίως ἀδικοῦντα ἆρα τὸ αὐτὸ καλεῖς;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε. [476b]

Σωκράτης: ἔχεις οὖν λέγειν ὡς οὐχὶ τά γε δίκαια πάντα καλά ἐστιν, καθ’ ὅσον δίκαια; καὶ διασκεψάμενος εἰπέ.

Πῶλος: ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: σκόπει δὴ καὶ τόδε: ἆρα εἴ τίς τι ποιεῖ, ἀνάγκη τι εἶναι καὶ πάσχον ὑπὸ τούτου τοῦ ποιοῦντος;

Πῶλος: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα τοῦτο πάσχον ὃ τὸ ποιοῦν ποιεῖ, καὶ τοιοῦτον οἷον ποιεῖ τὸ ποιοῦν; λέγω δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε: εἴ τις τύπτει, ἀνάγκη τι τύπτεσθαι;

Πῶλος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: καὶ εἰ σφόδρα τύπτει ἢ ταχὺ ὁ [476c] τύπτων, οὕτω καὶ τὸ τυπτόμενον τύπτεσθαι;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τοιοῦτον ἄρα πάθος τῷ τυπτομένῳ ἐστὶν οἷον ἂν τὸ τύπτον ποιῇ;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ εἰ κάει τις, ἀνάγκη τι κάεσθαι;

Πῶλος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ εἰ σφόδρα γε κάει ἢ ἀλγεινῶς, οὕτω κάεσθαι τὸ καόμενον ὡς ἂν τὸ κᾶον κάῃ;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ εἰ τέμνει τι, ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος; τέμνεται γάρ τι.

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ εἰ μέγα γε ἢ βαθὺ τὸ τμῆμα ἢ ἀλγεινόν, τοιοῦτον [476d] τμῆμα τέμνεται τὸ τεμνόμενον οἷον τὸ τέμνον τέμνει;

Πῶλος: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: συλλήβδην δὴ ὅρα εἰ ὁμολογεῖς, ὃ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, περὶ πάντων, οἷον ἂν ποιῇ τὸ ποιοῦν, τοιοῦτον τὸ πάσχον πάσχειν.

Πῶλος: ἀλλ’ ὁμολογῶ.

Σωκράτης: τούτων δὴ ὁμολογουμένων, τὸ δίκην διδόναι πότερον πάσχειν τί ἐστιν ἢ ποιεῖν;

Πῶλος: ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες, πάσχειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὑπό τινος ποιοῦντος;

Πῶλος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; ὑπό γε τοῦ κολάζοντος.

Σωκράτης: ὁ δὲ ὀρθῶς κολάζων [476e] δικαίως κολάζει;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: δίκαια ποιῶν ἢ οὔ;

Πῶλος: δίκαια.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁ κολαζόμενος δίκην διδοὺς δίκαια πάσχει;

Πῶλος: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τὰ δὲ δίκαιά που καλὰ ὡμολόγηται;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τούτων ἄρα ὁ μὲν ποιεῖ καλά, ὁ δὲ πάσχει, ὁ κολαζόμενος.

Πῶλος: ναί. [477a]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ καλά, ἀγαθά; ἢ γὰρ ἡδέα ἢ ὠφέλιμα.

Πῶλος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: ἀγαθὰ ἄρα πάσχει ὁ δίκην διδούς;

Πῶλος: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: ὠφελεῖται ἄρα;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα ἥνπερ ἐγὼ ὑπολαμβάνω τὴν ὠφελίαν; βελτίων τὴν ψυχὴν γίγνεται, εἴπερ δικαίως κολάζεται;

Πῶλος: εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης: κακίας ἄρα ψυχῆς ἀπαλλάττεται ὁ δίκην διδούς;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα οὖν τοῦ μεγίστου ἀπαλλάττεται [477b] κακοῦ; ὧδε δὲ σκόπει: ἐν χρημάτων κατασκευῇ ἀνθρώπου κακίαν ἄλλην τινὰ ἐνορᾷς ἢ πενίαν;

Πῶλος: οὔκ, ἀλλὰ πενίαν.

Σωκράτης: τί δ’ ἐν σώματος κατασκευῇ; κακίαν ἂν φήσαις ἀσθένειαν εἶναι καὶ νόσον καὶ αἶσχος καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα;

Πῶλος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐν ψυχῇ πονηρίαν ἡγῇ τινα εἶναι;

Πῶλος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: ταύτην οὖν οὐκ ἀδικίαν καλεῖς καὶ ἀμαθίαν καὶ δειλίαν καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα;

Πῶλος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν χρημάτων [477c] καὶ σώματος καὶ ψυχῆς, τριῶν ὄντων, τριττὰς εἴρηκας πονηρίας, πενίαν, νόσον, ἀδικίαν;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν τούτων τῶν πονηριῶν αἰσχίστη; οὐχ ἡ ἀδικία καὶ συλλήβδην ἡ τῆς ψυχῆς πονηρία;

Πῶλος: πολύ γε.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δὴ αἰσχίστη, καὶ κακίστη;

Πῶλος: πῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ὡδί: ἀεὶ τὸ αἴσχιστον ἤτοι λύπην μεγίστην παρέχον ἢ βλάβην ἢ ἀμφότερα αἴσχιστόν ἐστιν ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων ἐν τῷ ἔμπροσθεν.

Πῶλος: μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης: αἴσχιστον δὲ ἀδικία καὶ σύμπασα ψυχῆς πονηρία νυνδὴ [477d] ὡμολόγηται ἡμῖν;

Πῶλος: ὡμολόγηται γάρ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἢ ἀνιαρότατόν ἐστι καὶ ἀνίᾳ ὑπερβάλλον αἴσχιστον τούτων ἐστὶν ἢ βλάβῃ ἢ ἀμφότερα;

Πῶλος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν ἀλγεινότερόν ἐστιν τοῦ πένεσθαι καὶ κάμνειν τὸ ἄδικον εἶναι καὶ ἀκόλαστον καὶ δειλὸν καὶ ἀμαθῆ;

Πῶλος: οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀπὸ τούτων γε.

Σωκράτης: ὑπερφυεῖ τινι ἄρα ὡς μεγάλῃ βλάβῃ καὶ κακῷ θαυμασίῳ ὑπερβάλλουσα [477e] τἆλλα ἡ τῆς ψυχῆς πονηρία αἴσχιστόν ἐστι πάντων, ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἀλγηδόνι γε, ὡς ὁ σὸς λόγος.

Πῶλος: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μήν που τό γε μεγίστῃ βλάβῃ ὑπερβάλλον μέγιστον ἂν κακὸν εἴη τῶν ὄντων.

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἡ ἀδικία ἄρα καὶ ἡ ἀκολασία καὶ ἡ ἄλλη ψυχῆς πονηρία μέγιστον τῶν ὄντων κακόν ἐστιν;

Πῶλος: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν τέχνη πενίας ἀπαλλάττει; οὐ χρηματιστική;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τίς δὲ νόσου; οὐκ ἰατρική; [478a]

Πῶλος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: τίς δὲ πονηρίας καὶ ἀδικίας; εἰ μὴ οὕτως εὐπορεῖς, ὧδε σκόπει: ποῖ ἄγομεν καὶ παρὰ τίνας τοὺς κάμνοντας τὰ σώματα;

Πῶλος: παρὰ τοὺς ἰατρούς, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ποῖ δὲ τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας καὶ τοὺς ἀκολασταίνοντας;

Πῶλος: παρὰ τοὺς δικαστὰς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν δίκην δώσοντας;

Πῶλος: φημί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ δικαιοσύνῃ τινὶ χρώμενοι κολάζουσιν οἱ ὀρθῶς κολάζοντες;

Πῶλος: δῆλον δή.

Σωκράτης: χρηματιστικὴ μὲν ἄρα πενίας ἀπαλλάττει, [478b] ἰατρικὴ δὲ νόσου, δίκη δὲ ἀκολασίας καὶ ἀδικίας.

Πῶλος: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν τούτων κάλλιστόν ἐστιν [ὧν λέγεις];

Πῶλος: τίνων λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: χρηματιστικῆς, ἰατρικῆς, δίκης.

Πῶλος: πολὺ διαφέρει, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἡ δίκη.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν αὖ ἤτοι ἡδονὴν πλείστην ποιεῖ ἢ ὠφελίαν ἢ ἀμφότερα, εἴπερ κάλλιστόν ἐστιν;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν τὸ ἰατρεύεσθαι ἡδύ ἐστιν, καὶ χαίρουσιν οἱ ἰατρευόμενοι;

Πῶλος: οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ ὠφέλιμόν γε. ἦ γάρ;

Πῶλος: [478c] ναί.

Σωκράτης: μεγάλου γὰρ κακοῦ ἀπαλλάττεται, ὥστε λυσιτελεῖ ὑπομεῖναι τὴν ἀλγηδόνα καὶ ὑγιῆ εἶναι.

Πῶλος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν οὕτως ἂν περὶ σῶμα εὐδαιμονέστατος ἄνθρωπος εἴη, ἰατρευόμενος, ἢ μηδὲ κάμνων ἀρχήν;

Πῶλος: δῆλον ὅτι μηδὲ κάμνων.

Σωκράτης: οὐ γὰρ τοῦτ’ ἦν εὐδαιμονία, ὡς ἔοικε, κακοῦ ἀπαλλαγή, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν μηδὲ κτῆσις.

Πῶλος: ἔστι ταῦτα. [478d]

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἀθλιώτερος πότερος δυοῖν ἐχόντοιν κακὸν εἴτ’ ἐν σώματι εἴτ’ ἐν ψυχῇ, ὁ ἰατρευόμενος καὶ ἀπαλλαττόμενος τοῦ κακοῦ, ἢ ὁ μὴ ἰατρευόμενος, ἔχων δέ;

Πῶλος: φαίνεταί μοι ὁ μὴ ἰατρευόμενος.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ δίκην διδόναι μεγίστου κακοῦ ἀπαλλαγὴ ἦν, πονηρίας;

Πῶλος: ἦν γάρ.

Σωκράτης: σωφρονίζει γάρ που καὶ δικαιοτέρους ποιεῖ καὶ ἰατρικὴ γίγνεται πονηρίας ἡ δίκη.

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εὐδαιμονέστατος μὲν ἄρα ὁ μὴ ἔχων κακίαν ἐν ψυχῇ, ἐπειδὴ τοῦτο [478e] μέγιστον τῶν κακῶν ἐφάνη.

Πῶλος: δῆλον δή.

Σωκράτης: δεύτερος δέ που ὁ ἀπαλλαττόμενος.

Πῶλος: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: οὗτος δ’ ἦν ὁ νουθετούμενός τε καὶ ἐπιπληττόμενος καὶ δίκην διδούς.

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: κάκιστα ἄρα ζῇ ὁ ἔχων [ἀδικίαν] καὶ μὴ ἀπαλλαττόμενος.

Πῶλος: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὗτος τυγχάνει ὢν ὃς ἂν τὰ μέγιστα ἀδικῶν καὶ χρώμενος μεγίστῃ ἀδικίᾳ διαπράξηται ὥστε μήτε νουθετεῖσθαι [479a] μήτε κολάζεσθαι μήτε δίκην διδόναι, ὥσπερ σὺ φῂς Ἀρχέλαον παρεσκευάσθαι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους τυράννους καὶ ῥήτορας καὶ δυνάστας;

Πῶλος: ἔοικε.

Σωκράτης: σχεδὸν γάρ που οὗτοι, ὦ ἄριστε, τὸ αὐτὸ διαπεπραγμένοι εἰσὶν ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τις τοῖς μεγίστοις νοσήμασιν συνισχόμενος διαπράξαιτο μὴ διδόναι δίκην τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα ἁμαρτημάτων τοῖς ἰατροῖς μηδὲ ἰατρεύεσθαι, φοβούμενος ὡσπερανεὶ παῖς τὸ κάεσθαι καὶ τὸ τέμνεσθαι, ὅτι [479b] ἀλγεινόν. ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ καὶ σοὶ οὕτω;

Πῶλος: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀγνοῶν γε, ὡς ἔοικεν, οἷόν ἐστιν ἡ ὑγίεια καὶ ἀρετὴ σώματος. κινδυνεύουσι γὰρ ἐκ τῶν νῦν ἡμῖν ὡμολογημένων τοιοῦτόν τι ποιεῖν καὶ οἱ τὴν δίκην φεύγοντες, ὦ Πῶλε, τὸ ἀλγεινὸν αὐτοῦ καθορᾶν, πρὸς δὲ τὸ ὠφέλιμον τυφλῶς ἔχειν καὶ ἀγνοεῖν ὅσῳ ἀθλιώτερόν ἐστι μὴ ὑγιοῦς σώματος μὴ ὑγιεῖ ψυχῇ συνοικεῖν, ἀλλὰ σαθρᾷ καὶ ἀδίκῳ [479c] καὶ ἀνοσίῳ, ὅθεν καὶ πᾶν ποιοῦσιν ὥστε δίκην μὴ διδόναι μηδ’ ἀπαλλάττεσθαι τοῦ μεγίστου κακοῦ, καὶ χρήματα παρασκευαζόμενοι καὶ φίλους καὶ ὅπως ἂν ὦσιν ὡς πιθανώτατοι λέγειν: εἰ δὲ ἡμεῖς ἀληθῆ ὡμολογήκαμεν, ὦ Πῶλε, ἆρ’ αἰσθάνῃ τὰ συμβαίνοντα ἐκ τοῦ λόγου; ἢ βούλει συλλογισώμεθα αὐτά;

Πῶλος: εἰ σοί γε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν συμβαίνει μέγιστον κακὸν ἡ ἀδικία καὶ τὸ [479d] ἀδικεῖν;

Πῶλος: φαίνεταί γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἀπαλλαγή γε ἐφάνη τούτου τοῦ κακοῦ τὸ δίκην διδόναι;

Πῶλος: κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δέ γε μὴ διδόναι ἐμμονὴ τοῦ κακοῦ;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: δεύτερον ἄρα ἐστὶν τῶν κακῶν μεγέθει τὸ ἀδικεῖν: τὸ δὲ ἀδικοῦντα μὴ διδόναι δίκην πάντων μέγιστόν τε καὶ πρῶτον κακῶν πέφυκεν.

Πῶλος: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ περὶ τούτου, ὦ φίλε, ἠμφεσβητήσαμεν, σὺ μὲν τὸν Ἀρχέλαον εὐδαιμονίζων τὸν τὰ μέγιστα ἀδικοῦντα [479e] δίκην οὐδεμίαν διδόντα, ἐγὼ δὲ τοὐναντίον οἰόμενος, εἴτε Ἀρχέλαος εἴτ’ ἄλλος ἀνθρώπων ὁστισοῦν μὴ δίδωσι δίκην ἀδικῶν, τούτῳ προσήκειν ἀθλίῳ εἶναι διαφερόντως τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων, καὶ ἀεὶ τὸν ἀδικοῦντα τοῦ ἀδικουμένου ἀθλιώτερον εἶναι καὶ τὸν μὴ διδόντα δίκην τοῦ διδόντος; οὐ ταῦτ’ ἦν τὰ ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ λεγόμενα;

Πῶλος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀποδέδεικται ὅτι ἀληθῆ ἐλέγετο;

Πῶλος: φαίνεται. [480a]

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: εἰ οὖν δὴ ταῦτα ἀληθῆ, ὦ Πῶλε, τίς ἡ μεγάλη χρεία ἐστὶν τῆς ῥητορικῆς; δεῖ μὲν γὰρ δὴ ἐκ τῶν νῦν ὡμολογημένων αὐτὸν ἑαυτὸν μάλιστα φυλάττειν ὅπως μὴ ἀδικήσει, ὡς ἱκανὸν κακὸν ἕξοντα. οὐ γάρ;

Πῶλος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἐὰν δέ γε ἀδικήσῃ ἢ αὐτὸς ἢ ἄλλος τις ὧν ἂν κήδηται, αὐτὸν ἑκόντα ἰέναι ἐκεῖσε ὅπου ὡς τάχιστα δώσει δίκην, παρὰ τὸν δικαστὴν ὥσπερ παρὰ τὸν ἰατρόν, [480b] σπεύδοντα ὅπως μὴ ἐγχρονισθὲν τὸ νόσημα τῆς ἀδικίας ὕπουλον τὴν ψυχὴν ποιήσει καὶ ἀνίατον: ἢ πῶς λέγομεν, ὦ Πῶλε, εἴπερ τὰ πρότερον μένει ἡμῖν ὁμολογήματα; οὐκ ἀνάγκη ταῦτα ἐκείνοις οὕτω μὲν συμφωνεῖν, ἄλλως δὲ μή;

Πῶλος: τί γὰρ δὴ φῶμεν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἐπὶ μὲν ἄρα τὸ ἀπολογεῖσθαι ὑπὲρ τῆς ἀδικίας τῆς αὑτοῦ ἢ γονέων ἢ ἑταίρων ἢ παίδων ἢ πατρίδος ἀδικούσης οὐ χρήσιμος οὐδὲν ἡ ῥητορικὴ ἡμῖν, ὦ Πῶλε, εἰ μὴ εἴ τις [480c] ὑπολάβοι ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον — κατηγορεῖν δεῖν μάλιστα μὲν ἑαυτοῦ, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ τῶν οἰκείων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὃς ἂν ἀεὶ τῶν φίλων τυγχάνῃ ἀδικῶν, καὶ μὴ ἀποκρύπτεσθαι ἀλλ’ εἰς τὸ φανερὸν ἄγειν τὸ ἀδίκημα, ἵνα δῷ δίκην καὶ ὑγιὴς γένηται, ἀναγκάζειν τε αὑτὸν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους μὴ ἀποδειλιᾶν ἀλλὰ παρέχειν μύσαντα εὖ καὶ ἀνδρείως ὥσπερ τέμνειν καὶ κάειν ἰατρῷ, τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ καλὸν διώκοντα, μὴ ὑπολογιζόμενον τὸ ἀλγεινόν, ἐὰν μέν γε πληγῶν ἄξια ἠδικηκὼς [480d] ᾖ, τύπτειν παρέχοντα, ἐὰν δὲ δεσμοῦ, δεῖν, ἐὰν δὲ ζημίας, ἀποτίνοντα, ἐὰν δὲ φυγῆς, φεύγοντα, ἐὰν δὲ θανάτου, ἀποθνῄσκοντα, αὐτὸν πρῶτον ὄντα κατήγορον καὶ αὑτοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων οἰκείων καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦτο χρώμενον τῇ ῥητορικῇ, ὅπως ἂν καταδήλων τῶν ἀδικημάτων γιγνομένων ἀπαλλάττωνται τοῦ μεγίστου κακοῦ, ἀδικίας. φῶμεν οὕτως ἢ μὴ φῶμεν, ὦ Πῶλε; [480e]

Πῶλος: ἄτοπα μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, τοῖς μέντοι ἔμπροσθεν ἴσως σοι ὁμολογεῖται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἢ κἀκεῖνα λυτέον ἢ τάδε ἀνάγκη συμβαίνειν;

Πῶλος: ναί, τοῦτό γε οὕτως ἔχει.

Σωκράτης: τοὐναντίον δέ γε αὖ μεταβαλόντα, εἰ ἄρα δεῖ τινα κακῶς ποιεῖν, εἴτ’ ἐχθρὸν εἴτε ὁντινοῦν, ἐὰν μόνον μὴ αὐτὸς ἀδικῆται ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐχθροῦ — τοῦτο μὲν γὰρ εὐλαβητέον — ἐὰν δὲ ἄλλον ἀδικῇ ὁ ἐχθρός, παντὶ τρόπῳ παρασκευαστέον, καὶ [481a] πράττοντα καὶ λέγοντα, ὅπως μὴ δῷ δίκην μηδὲ ἔλθῃ παρὰ τὸν δικαστήν: ἐὰν δὲ ἔλθῃ, μηχανητέον ὅπως ἂν διαφύγῃ καὶ μὴ δῷ δίκην ὁ ἐχθρός, ἀλλ’ ἐάντε χρυσίον <ᾖ> ἡρπακὼς πολύ, μὴ ἀποδιδῷ τοῦτο ἀλλ’ ἔχων ἀναλίσκῃ καὶ εἰς ἑαυτὸν καὶ εἰς τοὺς ἑαυτοῦ ἀδίκως καὶ ἀθέως, ἐάντε αὖ θανάτου ἄξια ἠδικηκὼς ᾖ, ὅπως μὴ ἀποθανεῖται, μάλιστα μὲν μηδέποτε, ἀλλ’ ἀθάνατος ἔσται πονηρὸς ὤν, εἰ δὲ μή, ὅπως ὡς [481b] πλεῖστον χρόνον βιώσεται τοιοῦτος ὤν. ἐπὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Πῶλε, ἡ ῥητορικὴ χρήσιμος εἶναι, ἐπεὶ τῷ γε μὴ μέλλοντι ἀδικεῖν οὐ μεγάλη τίς μοι δοκεῖ ἡ χρεία αὐτῆς εἶναι, εἰ δὴ καὶ ἔστιν τις χρεία, ὡς ἔν γε τοῖς πρόσθεν οὐδαμῇ ἐφάνη οὖσα.

Καλλίκλης: εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Χαιρεφῶν, σπουδάζει ταῦτα Σωκράτης ἢ παίζει;

Χαιρεφῶν: ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ὑπερφυῶς σπουδάζειν: οὐδὲν μέντοι οἷον τὸ αὐτὸν ἐρωτᾶν.

Καλλίκλης: νὴ τοὺς θεοὺς ἀλλ’ ἐπιθυμῶ. εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, [481c] πότερόν σε θῶμεν νυνὶ σπουδάζοντα ἢ παίζοντα; εἰ μὲν γὰρ σπουδάζεις τε καὶ τυγχάνει ταῦτα ἀληθῆ ὄντα ἃ λέγεις, ἄλλο τι ἢ ἡμῶν ὁ βίος ἀνατετραμμένος ἂν εἴη τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ πάντα τὰ ἐναντία πράττομεν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἢ ἃ δεῖ;

Σωκράτης: ὦ Καλλίκλεις, εἰ μή τι ἦν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις πάθος, τοῖς μὲν ἄλλο τι, τοῖς δὲ ἄλλο τι [ἢ] τὸ αὐτό, ἀλλά τις ἡμῶν ἴδιόν τι ἔπασχεν πάθος ἢ οἱ ἄλλοι, οὐκ ἂν ἦν ῥᾴδιον [481d] ἐνδείξασθαι τῷ ἑτέρῳ τὸ ἑαυτοῦ πάθημα. λέγω δ’ ἐννοήσας ὅτι ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ νῦν τυγχάνομεν ταὐτόν τι πεπονθότες, ἐρῶντε δύο ὄντε δυοῖν ἑκάτερος, ἐγὼ μὲν Ἀλκιβιάδου τε τοῦ Κλεινίου καὶ φιλοσοφίας, σὺ δὲ δυοῖν, τοῦ τε Ἀθηναίων δήμου καὶ τοῦ Πυριλάμπους. αἰσθάνομαι οὖν σου ἑκάστοτε, καίπερ ὄντος δεινοῦ, ὅτι ἂν φῇ σου τὰ παιδικὰ καὶ ὅπως ἂν φῇ ἔχειν, οὐ δυναμένου ἀντιλέγειν, ἀλλ’ ἄνω [481e] καὶ κάτω μεταβαλλομένου: ἔν τε τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ, ἐάν τι σοῦ λέγοντος ὁ δῆμος ὁ Ἀθηναίων μὴ φῇ οὕτως ἔχειν, μεταβαλλόμενος λέγεις ἃ ἐκεῖνος βούλεται, καὶ πρὸς τὸν Πυριλάμπους νεανίαν τὸν καλὸν τοῦτον τοιαῦτα ἕτερα πέπονθας. τοῖς γὰρ τῶν παιδικῶν βουλεύμασίν τε καὶ λόγοις οὐχ οἷός τ’ εἶ ἐναντιοῦσθαι, ὥστε, εἴ τίς σου λέγοντος ἑκάστοτε ἃ διὰ τούτους λέγεις θαυμάζοι ὡς ἄτοπά ἐστιν, ἴσως εἴποις ἂν αὐτῷ, εἰ βούλοιο τἀληθῆ λέγειν, ὅτι εἰ μή τις παύσει τὰ [482a] σὰ παιδικὰ τούτων τῶν λόγων, οὐδὲ σὺ παύσῃ ποτὲ ταῦτα λέγων. νόμιζε τοίνυν καὶ παρ’ ἐμοῦ χρῆναι ἕτερα τοιαῦτα ἀκούειν, καὶ μὴ θαύμαζε ὅτι ἐγὼ ταῦτα λέγω, ἀλλὰ τὴν φιλοσοφίαν, τὰ ἐμὰ παιδικά, παῦσον ταῦτα λέγουσαν. λέγει γάρ, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε, ἃ νῦν ἐμοῦ ἀκούεις, καί μοί ἐστιν τῶν ἑτέρων παιδικῶν πολὺ ἧττον ἔμπληκτος: ὁ μὲν γὰρ Κλεινίειος οὗτος ἄλλοτε ἄλλων ἐστὶ λόγων, ἡ δὲ φιλοσοφία ἀεὶ [482b] τῶν αὐτῶν, λέγει δὲ ἃ σὺ νῦν θαυμάζεις, παρῆσθα δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς λεγομένοις. ἢ οὖν ἐκείνην ἐξέλεγξον, ὅπερ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, ὡς οὐ τὸ ἀδικεῖν ἐστιν καὶ ἀδικοῦντα δίκην μὴ διδόναι ἁπάντων ἔσχατον κακῶν: ἢ εἰ τοῦτο ἐάσεις ἀνέλεγκτον, μὰ τὸν κύνα τὸν Αἰγυπτίων θεόν, οὔ σοι ὁμολογήσει Καλλικλῆς, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἀλλὰ διαφωνήσει ἐν ἅπαντι τῷ βίῳ. καίτοι ἔγωγε οἶμαι, ὦ βέλτιστε, καὶ τὴν λύραν μοι κρεῖττον εἶναι ἀνάρμοστόν τε καὶ διαφωνεῖν, καὶ χορὸν ᾧ χορηγοίην, [482c] καὶ πλείστους ἀνθρώπους μὴ ὁμολογεῖν μοι ἀλλ’ ἐναντία λέγειν μᾶλλον ἢ ἕνα ὄντα ἐμὲ ἐμαυτῷ ἀσύμφωνον εἶναι καὶ ἐναντία λέγειν.

Καλλίκλης: ὦ Σώκρατες, δοκεῖς νεανιεύεσθαι ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ὡς ἀληθῶς δημηγόρος ὤν: καὶ νῦν ταῦτα δημηγορεῖς ταὐτὸν παθόντος Πώλου πάθος ὅπερ Γοργίου κατηγόρει πρὸς σὲ παθεῖν. ἔφη γάρ που Γοργίαν ἐρωτώμενον ὑπὸ σοῦ, ἐὰν ἀφίκηται παρ’ αὐτὸν μὴ ἐπιστάμενος τὰ δίκαια ὁ τὴν ῥητορικὴν [482d] βουλόμενος μαθεῖν, εἰ διδάξοι αὐτὸν ὁ Γοργίας, αἰσχυνθῆναι αὐτὸν καὶ φάναι διδάξειν διὰ τὸ ἔθος τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ὅτι ἀγανακτοῖεν ἂν εἴ τις μὴ φαίη — διὰ δὴ ταύτην τὴν ὁμολογίαν ἀναγκασθῆναι ἐναντία αὐτὸν αὑτῷ εἰπεῖν, σὲ δὲ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἀγαπᾶν — καί σου καταγελᾶν, ὥς γέ μοι δοκεῖν ὀρθῶς, τότε: νῦν δὲ πάλιν αὐτὸς ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἔπαθεν. καὶ ἔγωγε κατ’ αὐτὸ τοῦτο οὐκ ἄγαμαι Πῶλον, ὅτι σοι συνεχώρησεν τὸ ἀδικεῖν αἴσχιον εἶναι τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι: ἐκ [482e] ταύτης γὰρ αὖ τῆς ὁμολογίας αὐτὸς ὑπὸ σοῦ συμποδισθεὶς ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἐπεστομίσθη, αἰσχυνθεὶς ἃ ἐνόει εἰπεῖν. σὺ γὰρ τῷ ὄντι, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰς τοιαῦτα ἄγεις φορτικὰ καὶ δημηγορικά, φάσκων τὴν ἀλήθειαν διώκειν, ἃ φύσει μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν καλά, νόμῳ δέ. ὡς τὰ πολλὰ δὲ ταῦτα ἐναντί’ ἀλλήλοις ἐστίν, ἥ τε φύσις καὶ ὁ νόμος: ἐὰν οὖν τις αἰσχύνηται [483a] καὶ μὴ τολμᾷ λέγειν ἅπερ νοεῖ, ἀναγκάζεται ἐναντία λέγειν. ὃ δὴ καὶ σὺ τοῦτο τὸ σοφὸν κατανενοηκὼς κακουργεῖς ἐν τοῖς λόγοις, ἐὰν μέν τις κατὰ νόμον λέγῃ, κατὰ φύσιν ὑπερωτῶν, ἐὰν δὲ τὰ τῆς φύσεως, τὰ τοῦ νόμου. ὥσπερ αὐτίκα ἐν τούτοις, τῷ ἀδικεῖν τε καὶ τῷ ἀδικεῖσθαι, Πώλου τὸ κατὰ νόμον αἴσχιον λέγοντος, σὺ τὸν λόγον ἐδιώκαθες κατὰ φύσιν. φύσει μὲν γὰρ πᾶν αἴσχιόν ἐστιν ὅπερ καὶ κάκιον, τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι, νόμῳ δὲ τὸ ἀδικεῖν. οὐδὲ [483b] γὰρ ἀνδρὸς τοῦτό γ’ ἐστὶν τὸ πάθημα, τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι, ἀλλ’ ἀνδραπόδου τινὸς ᾧ κρεῖττόν ἐστιν τεθνάναι ἢ ζῆν, ὅστις ἀδικούμενος καὶ προπηλακιζόμενος μὴ οἷός τέ ἐστιν αὐτὸς αὑτῷ βοηθεῖν μηδὲ ἄλλῳ οὗ ἂν κήδηται. ἀλλ’ οἶμαι οἱ τιθέμενοι τοὺς νόμους οἱ ἀσθενεῖς ἄνθρωποί εἰσιν καὶ οἱ πολλοί. πρὸς αὑτοὺς οὖν καὶ τὸ αὑτοῖς συμφέρον τούς τε νόμους τίθενται καὶ τοὺς ἐπαίνους ἐπαινοῦσιν καὶ τοὺς [483c] ψόγους ψέγουσιν: ἐκφοβοῦντες τοὺς ἐρρωμενεστέρους τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ δυνατοὺς ὄντας πλέον ἔχειν, ἵνα μὴ αὐτῶν πλέον ἔχωσιν, λέγουσιν ὡς αἰσχρὸν καὶ ἄδικον τὸ πλεονεκτεῖν, καὶ τοῦτό ἐστιν τὸ ἀδικεῖν, τὸ πλέον τῶν ἄλλων ζητεῖν ἔχειν: ἀγαπῶσι γὰρ οἶμαι αὐτοὶ ἂν τὸ ἴσον ἔχωσιν φαυλότεροι ὄντες. διὰ ταῦτα δὴ νόμῳ μὲν τοῦτο ἄδικον καὶ αἰσχρὸν λέγεται, τὸ πλέον ζητεῖν ἔχειν τῶν πολλῶν, καὶ ἀδικεῖν αὐτὸ καλοῦσιν: ἡ δέ γε οἶμαι φύσις αὐτὴ ἀποφαίνει [483d] αὐτό, ὅτι δίκαιόν ἐστιν τὸν ἀμείνω τοῦ χείρονος πλέον ἔχειν καὶ τὸν δυνατώτερον τοῦ ἀδυνατωτέρου. δηλοῖ δὲ ταῦτα πολλαχοῦ ὅτι οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐν ὅλαις ταῖς πόλεσι καὶ τοῖς γένεσιν, ὅτι οὕτω τὸ δίκαιον κέκριται, τὸν κρείττω τοῦ ἥττονος ἄρχειν καὶ πλέον ἔχειν. ἐπεὶ ποίῳ δικαίῳ χρώμενος Ξέρξης ἐπὶ τὴν Ἑλλάδα ἐστράτευσεν ἢ ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ Σκύθας; ἢ [483e] ἄλλα μυρία ἄν τις ἔχοι τοιαῦτα λέγειν. ἀλλ’ οἶμαι οὗτοι κατὰ φύσιν τὴν τοῦ δικαίου ταῦτα πράττουσιν, καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δία κατὰ νόμον γε τὸν τῆς φύσεως, οὐ μέντοι ἴσως κατὰ τοῦτον ὃν ἡμεῖς τιθέμεθα: πλάττοντες τοὺς βελτίστους καὶ ἐρρωμενεστάτους ἡμῶν αὐτῶν, ἐκ νέων λαμβάνοντες, ὥσπερ λέοντας, κατεπᾴδοντές τε καὶ γοητεύοντες καταδουλούμεθα [484a] λέγοντες ὡς τὸ ἴσον χρὴ ἔχειν καὶ τοῦτό ἐστιν τὸ καλὸν καὶ τὸ δίκαιον. ἐὰν δέ γε οἶμαι φύσιν ἱκανὴν γένηται ἔχων ἀνήρ, πάντα ταῦτα ἀποσεισάμενος καὶ διαρρήξας καὶ διαφυγών, καταπατήσας τὰ ἡμέτερα γράμματα καὶ μαγγανεύματα καὶ ἐπῳδὰς καὶ νόμους τοὺς παρὰ φύσιν ἅπαντας, ἐπαναστὰς ἀνεφάνη δεσπότης ἡμέτερος ὁ δοῦλος, καὶ ἐνταῦθα [484b] ἐξέλαμψεν τὸ τῆς φύσεως δίκαιον. δοκεῖ δέ μοι καὶ Πίνδαρος ἅπερ ἐγὼ λέγω ἐνδείκνυσθαι ἐν τῷ ᾄσματι ἐν ᾧ λέγει ὅτι —

νόμος ὁ πάντων βασιλεὺς

θνατῶν τε καὶ ἀθανάτων: Pind. Fr. 169

οὗτος δὲ δή, φησίν, —

ἄγει δικαιῶν τὸ βιαιότατον

ὑπερτάτᾳ χειρί: τεκμαίρομαι

ἔργοισιν Ἡρακλέος, ἐπεὶ — ἀπριάτας — Pind. fr. 169

λέγει οὕτω πως — τὸ γὰρ ᾆσμα οὐκ ἐπίσταμαι — λέγει δ’ ὅτι οὔτε πριάμενος οὔτε δόντος τοῦ Γηρυόνου ἠλάσατο τὰς βοῦς, [484c] ὡς τούτου ὄντος τοῦ δικαίου φύσει, καὶ βοῦς καὶ τἆλλα κτήματα εἶναι πάντα τοῦ βελτίονός τε καὶ κρείττονος τὰ τῶν χειρόνων τε καὶ ἡττόνων.

τὸ μὲν οὖν ἀληθὲς οὕτως ἔχει, γνώσῃ δέ, ἂν ἐπὶ τὰ μείζω ἔλθῃς ἐάσας ἤδη φιλοσοφίαν. φιλοσοφία γάρ τοί ἐστιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, χαρίεν, ἄν τις αὐτοῦ μετρίως ἅψηται ἐν τῇ ἡλικίᾳ: ἐὰν δὲ περαιτέρω τοῦ δέοντος ἐνδιατρίψῃ, διαφθορὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων. ἐὰν γὰρ καὶ πάνυ εὐφυὴς ᾖ καὶ πόρρω τῆς ἡλικίας φιλοσοφῇ, ἀνάγκη πάντων ἄπειρον γεγονέναι [484d] ἐστὶν ὧν χρὴ ἔμπειρον εἶναι τὸν μέλλοντα καλὸν κἀγαθὸν καὶ εὐδόκιμον ἔσεσθαι ἄνδρα. καὶ γὰρ τῶν νόμων ἄπειροι γίγνονται τῶν κατὰ τὴν πόλιν, καὶ τῶν λόγων οἷς δεῖ χρώμενον ὁμιλεῖν ἐν τοῖς συμβολαίοις τοῖς ἀνθρώποις καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, καὶ τῶν ἡδονῶν τε καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν τῶν ἀνθρωπείων, καὶ συλλήβδην τῶν ἠθῶν παντάπασιν ἄπειροι γίγνονται. ἐπειδὰν οὖν ἔλθωσιν εἴς τινα ἰδίαν ἢ πολιτικὴν [484e] πρᾶξιν, καταγέλαστοι γίγνονται, ὥσπερ γε οἶμαι οἱ πολιτικοί, ἐπειδὰν αὖ εἰς τὰς ὑμετέρας διατριβὰς ἔλθωσιν καὶ τοὺς λόγους, καταγέλαστοί εἰσιν. συμβαίνει γὰρ τὸ τοῦ Εὐριπίδου: λαμπρόσευρ. φρ. αντιοπε τέ ἐστιν ἕκαστος ἐν τούτῳ, καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦτ’ ἐπείγεται,

νέμων τὸ πλεῖστον ἡμέρας τούτῳ μέρος,

ἵν’ αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ τυγχάνει βέλτιστος ὤν: ευρ. φρ. αντιοπε [485a]

ὅπου δ’ ἂν φαῦλος ᾖ, ἐντεῦθεν φεύγει καὶ λοιδορεῖ τοῦτο, τὸ δ’ ἕτερον ἐπαινεῖ, εὐνοίᾳ τῇ ἑαυτοῦ, ἡγούμενος οὕτως αὐτὸς ἑαυτὸν ἐπαινεῖν. ἀλλ’ οἶμαι τὸ ὀρθότατόν ἐστιν ἀμφοτέρων μετασχεῖν. φιλοσοφίας μὲν ὅσον παιδείας χάριν καλὸν μετέχειν, καὶ οὐκ αἰσχρὸν μειρακίῳ ὄντι φιλοσοφεῖν: ἐπειδὰν δὲ ἤδη πρεσβύτερος ὢν ἄνθρωπος ἔτι φιλοσοφῇ, καταγέλαστον, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ χρῆμα γίγνεται, καὶ ἔγωγε [485b] ὁμοιότατον πάσχω πρὸς τοὺς φιλοσοφοῦντας ὥσπερ πρὸς τοὺς ψελλιζομένους καὶ παίζοντας. ὅταν μὲν γὰρ παιδίον ἴδω, ᾧ ἔτι προσήκει διαλέγεσθαι οὕτω, ψελλιζόμενον καὶ παῖζον, χαίρω τε καὶ χαρίεν μοι φαίνεται καὶ ἐλευθέριον καὶ πρέπον τῇ τοῦ παιδίου ἡλικίᾳ, ὅταν δὲ σαφῶς διαλεγομένου παιδαρίου ἀκούσω, πικρόν τί μοι δοκεῖ χρῆμα εἶναι καὶ ἀνιᾷ μου τὰ ὦτα καί μοι δοκεῖ δουλοπρεπές τι εἶναι: ὅταν δὲ [485c] ἀνδρὸς ἀκούσῃ τις ψελλιζομένου ἢ παίζοντα ὁρᾷ, καταγέλαστον φαίνεται καὶ ἄνανδρον καὶ πληγῶν ἄξιον. ταὐτὸν οὖν ἔγωγε τοῦτο πάσχω καὶ πρὸς τοὺς φιλοσοφοῦντας. παρὰ νέῳ μὲν γὰρ μειρακίῳ ὁρῶν φιλοσοφίαν ἄγαμαι, καὶ πρέπειν μοι δοκεῖ, καὶ ἡγοῦμαι ἐλεύθερόν τινα εἶναι τοῦτον τὸν ἄνθρωπον, τὸν δὲ μὴ φιλοσοφοῦντα ἀνελεύθερον καὶ οὐδέποτε οὐδενὸς ἀξιώσοντα ἑαυτὸν οὔτε καλοῦ οὔτε γενναίου [485d] πράγματος: ὅταν δὲ δὴ πρεσβύτερον ἴδω ἔτι φιλοσοφοῦντα καὶ μὴ ἀπαλλαττόμενον, πληγῶν μοι δοκεῖ ἤδη δεῖσθαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὗτος ὁ ἀνήρ. ὃ γὰρ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, ὑπάρχει τούτῳ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, κἂν πάνυ εὐφυὴς ᾖ, ἀνάνδρῳ γενέσθαι φεύγοντι τὰ μέσα τῆς πόλεως καὶ τὰς ἀγοράς, ἐν αἷς ἔφη ὁ ποιητὴς τοὺς ἄνδρας ἀριπρεπεῖς γίγνεσθαι, καταδεδυκότι δὲ τὸν λοιπὸν βίον βιῶναι μετὰ μειρακίων ἐν γωνίᾳ τριῶν ἢ [485e] τεττάρων ψιθυρίζοντα, ἐλεύθερον δὲ καὶ μέγα καὶ ἱκανὸν μηδέποτε φθέγξασθαι. ἐγὼ δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, πρὸς σὲ ἐπιεικῶς ἔχω φιλικῶς: κινδυνεύω οὖν πεπονθέναι νῦν ὅπερ ὁ Ζῆθος πρὸς τὸν Ἀμφίονα ὁ Εὐριπίδου, οὗπερ ἐμνήσθην. καὶ γὰρ ἐμοὶ τοιαῦτ’ ἄττα ἐπέρχεται πρὸς σὲ λέγειν, οἷάπερ ἐκεῖνος πρὸς τὸν ἀδελφόν, ὅτι “ἀμελεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὧν δεῖ σε ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, καὶ φύσιν ψυχῆς ὧδε γενναίαν μειρακιώδει [486a] τινὶ διατρέπεις μορφώματι, καὶ οὔτ’ ἂν δίκης βουλαῖσι προσθεῖ’ ἂν ὀρθῶς λόγον, οὔτ’ εἰκὸς ἂν καὶ πιθανὸν ἂν λάβοις, οὔθ’ ὑπὲρ ἄλλου νεανικὸν βούλευμα βουλεύσαιο.” καίτοι, ὦ φίλε Σώκρατες — καί μοι μηδὲν ἀχθεσθῇς: εὐνοίᾳ γὰρ ἐρῶ τῇ σῇ — οὐκ αἰσχρὸν δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι οὕτως ἔχειν ὡς ἐγὼ σὲ οἶμαι ἔχειν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους τοὺς πόρρω ἀεὶ φιλοσοφίας ἐλαύνοντας; νῦν γὰρ εἴ τις σοῦ λαβόμενος ἢ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν τῶν τοιούτων εἰς τὸ δεσμωτήριον ἀπάγοι, φάσκων ἀδικεῖν μηδὲν ἀδικοῦντα, οἶσθ’ ὅτι οὐκ ἂν ἔχοις ὅτι [486b] χρήσαιο σαυτῷ, ἀλλ’ ἰλιγγιῴης ἂν καὶ χασμῷο οὐκ ἔχων ὅτι εἴποις, καὶ εἰς τὸ δικαστήριον ἀναβάς, κατηγόρου τυχὼν πάνυ φαύλου καὶ μοχθηροῦ, ἀποθάνοις ἄν, εἰ βούλοιτο θανάτου σοι τιμᾶσθαι. καίτοι πῶς σοφὸν τοῦτό ἐστιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἥτις εὐφυῆ λαβοῦσα τέχνη φῶτα ἔθηκε χείρονα, μήτε αὐτὸν αὑτῷ δυνάμενον βοηθεῖν μηδ’ ἐκσῶσαι ἐκ τῶν μεγίστων κινδύνων μήτε ἑαυτὸν μήτε ἄλλον μηδένα, ὑπὸ δὲ [486c] τῶν ἐχθρῶν περισυλᾶσθαι πᾶσαν τὴν οὐσίαν, ἀτεχνῶς δὲ ἄτιμον ζῆν ἐν τῇ πόλει; τὸν δὲ τοιοῦτον, εἴ τι καὶ ἀγροικότερον εἰρῆσθαι, ἔξεστιν ἐπὶ κόρρης τύπτοντα μὴ διδόναι δίκην. ἀλλ’ ὠγαθέ, ἐμοὶ πείθου, παῦσαι δὲ ἐλέγχων, πραγμάτων δ’ εὐμουσίαν ἄσκει, καὶ ἄσκει ὁπόθεν δόξεις φρονεῖν, ἄλλοις τὰ κομψὰ ταῦτα ἀφείς, εἴτε ληρήματα χρὴ φάναι εἶναι εἴτε φλυαρίας, ἐξ ὧν κενοῖσιν ἐγκατοικήσεις δόμοις: ζηλῶν οὐκ ἐλέγχοντας ἄνδρας τὰ μικρὰ [486d] ταῦτα, ἀλλ’ οἷς ἔστιν καὶ βίος καὶ δόξα καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ ἀγαθά.

Σωκράτης: εἰ χρυσῆν ἔχων ἐτύγχανον τὴν ψυχήν, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, οὐκ ἂν οἴει με ἅσμενον εὑρεῖν τούτων τινὰ τῶν λίθων ᾗ βασανίζουσιν τὸν χρυσόν, τὴν ἀρίστην, πρὸς ἥντινα ἔμελλον προσαγαγὼν αὐτήν, εἴ μοι ὁμολογήσειεν ἐκείνη καλῶς τεθεραπεῦσθαι τὴν ψυχήν, εὖ εἴσεσθαι ὅτι ἱκανῶς ἔχω καὶ οὐδέν με δεῖ ἄλλης βασάνου; [486e]

Καλλίκλης: πρὸς τί δὴ τοῦτο ἐρωτᾷς, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ: νῦν οἶμαι ἐγὼ σοὶ ἐντετυχηκὼς τοιούτῳ ἑρμαίῳ ἐντετυχηκέναι.

Καλλίκλης: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: εὖ οἶδ’ ὅτι, ἅν μοι σὺ ὁμολογήσῃς περὶ ὧν ἡ ἐμὴ ψυχὴ δοξάζει, ταῦτ’ ἤδη ἐστὶν αὐτὰ τἀληθῆ. ἐννοῶ γὰρ [487a] ὅτι τὸν μέλλοντα βασανιεῖν ἱκανῶς ψυχῆς πέρι ὀρθῶς τε ζώσης καὶ μὴ τρία ἄρα δεῖ ἔχειν ἃ σὺ πάντα ἔχεις, ἐπιστήμην τε καὶ εὔνοιαν καὶ παρρησίαν. ἐγὼ γὰρ πολλοῖς ἐντυγχάνω οἳ ἐμὲ οὐχ οἷοί τέ εἰσιν βασανίζειν διὰ τὸ μὴ σοφοὶ εἶναι ὥσπερ σύ: ἕτεροι δὲ σοφοὶ μέν εἰσιν, οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν δέ μοι λέγειν τὴν ἀλήθειαν διὰ τὸ μὴ κήδεσθαί μου ὥσπερ σύ: τὼ δὲ ξένω τώδε, Γοργίας τε καὶ Πῶλος, σοφὼ μὲν καὶ [487b] φίλω ἐστὸν ἐμώ, ἐνδεεστέρω δὲ παρρησίας καὶ αἰσχυντηροτέρω μᾶλλον τοῦ δέοντος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; ὥ γε εἰς τοσοῦτον αἰσχύνης ἐληλύθατον, ὥστε διὰ τὸ αἰσχύνεσθαι τολμᾷ ἑκάτερος αὐτῶν αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ἐναντία λέγειν ἐναντίον πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ ταῦτα περὶ τῶν μεγίστων. σὺ δὲ ταῦτα πάντα ἔχεις ἃ οἱ ἄλλοι οὐκ ἔχουσιν: πεπαίδευσαί τε γὰρ ἱκανῶς, ὡς πολλοὶ ἂν φήσαιεν Ἀθηναίων, καὶ ἐμοὶ εἶ εὔνους. [487c] τίνι τεκμηρίῳ χρῶμαι; ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ. οἶδα ὑμᾶς ἐγώ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τέτταρας ὄντας κοινωνοὺς γεγονότας σοφίας, σέ τε καὶ Τείσανδρον τὸν Ἀφιδναῖον καὶ Ἄνδρωνα τὸν Ἀνδροτίωνος καὶ Ναυσικύδην τὸν Χολαργέα: καί ποτε ὑμῶν ἐγὼ ἐπήκουσα βουλευομένων μέχρι ὅποι τὴν σοφίαν ἀσκητέον εἴη, καὶ οἶδα ὅτι ἐνίκα ἐν ὑμῖν τοιάδε τις δόξα, μὴ προθυμεῖσθαι εἰς τὴν ἀκρίβειαν φιλοσοφεῖν, ἀλλὰ εὐλαβεῖσθαι [487d] παρεκελεύεσθε ἀλλήλοις ὅπως μὴ πέρα τοῦ δέοντος σοφώτεροι γενόμενοι λήσετε διαφθαρέντες. ἐπειδὴ οὖν σου ἀκούω ταὐτὰ ἐμοὶ συμβουλεύοντος ἅπερ τοῖς σεαυτοῦ ἑταιροτάτοις, ἱκανόν μοι τεκμήριόν ἐστιν ὅτι ὡς ἀληθῶς μοι εὔνους εἶ. καὶ μὴν ὅτι γε οἷος παρρησιάζεσθαι καὶ μὴ αἰσχύνεσθαι, αὐτός τε φῂς καὶ ὁ λόγος ὃν ὀλίγον πρότερον ἔλεγες ὁμολογεῖ σοι. ἔχει δὴ οὑτωσὶ δῆλον ὅτι τούτων πέρι νυνί: [487e] ἐάν τι σὺ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ὁμολογήσῃς μοι, βεβασανισμένον τοῦτ’ ἤδη ἔσται ἱκανῶς ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ, καὶ οὐκέτι αὐτὸ δεήσει ἐπ’ ἄλλην βάσανον ἀναφέρειν. οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε αὐτὸ συνεχώρησας σὺ οὔτε σοφίας ἐνδείᾳ οὔτ’ αἰσχύνης περιουσίᾳ, οὐδ’ αὖ ἀπατῶν ἐμὲ συγχωρήσαις ἄν: φίλος γάρ μοι εἶ, ὡς καὶ αὐτὸς φῄς. τῷ ὄντι οὖν ἡ ἐμὴ καὶ ἡ σὴ ὁμολογία τέλος ἤδη ἕξει τῆς ἀληθείας. πάντων δὲ καλλίστη ἐστὶν ἡ σκέψις, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, περὶ τούτων ὧν σὺ δή μοι ἐπετίμησας, ποῖόν τινα χρὴ εἶναι τὸν ἄνδρα καὶ τί [488a] ἐπιτηδεύειν καὶ μέχρι τοῦ, καὶ πρεσβύτερον καὶ νεώτερον ὄντα. ἐγὼ γὰρ εἴ τι μὴ ὀρθῶς πράττω κατὰ τὸν βίον τὸν ἐμαυτοῦ, εὖ ἴσθι τοῦτο ὅτι οὐχ ἑκὼν ἐξαμαρτάνω ἀλλ’ ἀμαθίᾳ τῇ ἐμῇ: σὺ οὖν, ὥσπερ ἤρξω νουθετεῖν με, μὴ ἀποστῇς, ἀλλ’ ἱκανῶς μοι ἔνδειξαι τί ἔστιν τοῦτο ὃ ἐπιτηδευτέον μοι, καὶ τίνα τρόπον κτησαίμην ἂν αὐτό, καὶ ἐάν με λάβῃς νῦν μέν σοι ὁμολογήσαντα, ἐν δὲ τῷ ὑστέρῳ χρόνῳ μὴ ταὐτὰ πράττοντα ἅπερ ὡμολόγησα, πάνυ με ἡγοῦ βλᾶκα εἶναι καὶ [488b] μηκέτι ποτέ με νουθετήσῃς ὕστερον, ὡς μηδενὸς ἄξιον ὄντα. ἐξ ἀρχῆς δέ μοι ἐπανάλαβε πῶς φῂς τὸ δίκαιον ἔχειν καὶ σὺ καὶ Πίνδαρος τὸ κατὰ φύσιν; ἄγειν βίᾳ τὸν κρείττω τὰ τῶν ἡττόνων καὶ ἄρχειν τὸν βελτίω τῶν χειρόνων καὶ πλέον ἔχειν τὸν ἀμείνω τοῦ φαυλοτέρου; μή τι ἄλλο λέγεις τὸ δίκαιον εἶναι, ἢ ὀρθῶς μέμνημαι;

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλὰ ταῦτα ἔλεγον καὶ τότε καὶ νῦν λέγω.

Σωκράτης: πότερον δὲ τὸν αὐτὸν βελτίω καλεῖς σὺ καὶ κρείττω; [488c] οὐδὲ γάρ τοι τότε οἷός τ’ ἦ μαθεῖν σου τί ποτε λέγοις. πότερον τοὺς ἰσχυροτέρους κρείττους καλεῖς καὶ δεῖ ἀκροᾶσθαι τοῦ ἰσχυροτέρου τοὺς ἀσθενεστέρους, οἷόν μοι δοκεῖς καὶ τότε ἐνδείκνυσθαι, ὡς αἱ μεγάλαι πόλεις ἐπὶ τὰς σμικρὰς κατὰ τὸ φύσει δίκαιον ἔρχονται, ὅτι κρείττους εἰσὶν καὶ ἰσχυρότεραι, ὡς τὸ κρεῖττον καὶ τὸ ἰσχυρότερον καὶ βέλτιον ταὐτὸν ὄν, ἢ ἔστι βελτίω μὲν εἶναι, ἥττω δὲ καὶ ἀσθενέστερον, καὶ κρείττω μὲν εἶναι, μοχθηρότερον δέ: ἢ ὁ αὐτὸς [488d] ὅρος ἐστὶν τοῦ βελτίονος καὶ τοῦ κρείττονος; τοῦτό μοι αὐτὸ σαφῶς διόρισον, ταὐτὸν ἢ ἕτερόν ἐστιν τὸ κρεῖττον καὶ τὸ βέλτιον καὶ τὸ ἰσχυρότερον;

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλ’ ἐγώ σοι σαφῶς λέγω, ὅτι ταὐτόν ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οἱ πολλοὶ τοῦ ἑνὸς κρείττους εἰσὶν κατὰ φύσιν; οἳ δὴ καὶ τοὺς νόμους τίθενται ἐπὶ τῷ ἑνί, ὥσπερ καὶ σὺ ἄρτι ἔλεγες.

Καλλίκλης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τὰ τῶν πολλῶν ἄρα νόμιμα τὰ τῶν κρειττόνων ἐστίν.

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε. [488e]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὰ τῶν βελτιόνων; οἱ γὰρ κρείττους βελτίους πολὺ κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον.

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὰ τούτων νόμιμα κατὰ φύσιν καλά, κρειττόνων γε ὄντων;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν οἱ πολλοὶ νομίζουσιν οὕτως, ὡς ἄρτι αὖ σὺ ἔλεγες, δίκαιον εἶναι τὸ ἴσον ἔχειν καὶ αἴσχιον τὸ ἀδικεῖν [489a] τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι; ἔστιν ταῦτα ἢ οὔ; καὶ ὅπως μὴ ἁλώσῃ ἐνταῦθα σὺ αὖ αἰσχυνόμενος. νομίζουσιν, ἢ οὔ, οἱ πολλοὶ τὸ ἴσον ἔχειν ἀλλ’ οὐ τὸ πλέον δίκαιον εἶναι, καὶ αἴσχιον τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι; μὴ φθόνει μοι ἀποκρίνασθαι τοῦτο, Καλλίκλεις, ἵν’, ἐάν μοι ὁμολογήσῃς, βεβαιώσωμαι ἤδη παρὰ σοῦ, ἅτε ἱκανοῦ ἀνδρὸς διαγνῶναι ὡμολογηκότος.

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλ’ οἵ γε πολλοὶ νομίζουσιν οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: οὐ νόμῳ ἄρα μόνον ἐστὶν αἴσχιον τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ [489b] ἀδικεῖσθαι, οὐδὲ δίκαιον τὸ ἴσον ἔχειν, ἀλλὰ καὶ φύσει: ὥστε κινδυνεύεις οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγειν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν οὐδὲ ὀρθῶς ἐμοῦ κατηγορεῖν λέγων ὅτι ἐναντίον ἐστὶν ὁ νόμος καὶ ἡ φύσις, ἃ δὴ καὶ ἐγὼ γνοὺς κακουργῶ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις, ἐὰν μέν τις κατὰ φύσιν λέγῃ, ἐπὶ τὸν νόμον ἄγων, ἐὰν δέ τις κατὰ νόμον, ἐπὶ τὴν φύσιν.

Καλλίκλης: οὑτοσὶ ἀνὴρ οὐ παύσεται φλυαρῶν. εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ αἰσχύνῃ τηλικοῦτος ὢν ὀνόματα θηρεύων, καὶ [489c] ἐάν τις ῥήματι ἁμάρτῃ, ἕρμαιον τοῦτο ποιούμενος; ἐμὲ γὰρ οἴει ἄλλο τι λέγειν τὸ κρείττους εἶναι ἢ τὸ βελτίους; οὐ πάλαι σοι λέγω ὅτι ταὐτόν φημι εἶναι τὸ βέλτιον καὶ τὸ κρεῖττον; ἢ οἴει με λέγειν, ἐὰν συρφετὸς συλλεγῇ δούλων καὶ παντοδαπῶν ἀνθρώπων μηδενὸς ἀξίων πλὴν ἴσως τῷ σώματι ἰσχυρίσασθαι, καὶ οὗτοι φῶσιν, αὐτὰ ταῦτα εἶναι νόμιμα;

Σωκράτης: εἶεν, ὦ σοφώτατε Καλλίκλεις: οὕτω λέγεις;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [489d]

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ μέν, ὦ δαιμόνιε, καὶ αὐτὸς πάλαι τοπάζω τοιοῦτόν τί σε λέγειν τὸ κρεῖττον, καὶ ἀνερωτῶ γλιχόμενος σαφῶς εἰδέναι ὅτι λέγεις. οὐ γὰρ δήπου σύ γε τοὺς δύο βελτίους ἡγῇ τοῦ ἑνός, οὐδὲ τοὺς σοὺς δούλους βελτίους σου, ὅτι ἰσχυρότεροί εἰσιν ἢ σύ. ἀλλὰ πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς εἰπὲ τί ποτε λέγεις τοὺς βελτίους, ἐπειδὴ οὐ τοὺς ἰσχυροτέρους; καὶ ὦ θαυμάσιε πρᾳότερόν με προδίδασκε, ἵνα μὴ ἀποφοιτήσω παρὰ σοῦ. [489e]

Καλλίκλης: εἰρωνεύῃ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: μὰ τὸν Ζῆθον, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ᾧ σὺ χρώμενος πολλὰ νυνδὴ εἰρωνεύου πρός με: ἀλλ’ ἴθι εἰπέ, τίνας λέγεις τοὺς βελτίους εἶναι;

Καλλίκλης: τοὺς ἀμείνους ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ὁρᾷς ἄρα ὅτι σὺ αὐτὸς ὀνόματα λέγεις, δηλοῖς δὲ οὐδέν; οὐκ ἐρεῖς, τοὺς βελτίους καὶ κρείττους πότερον τοὺς φρονιμωτέρους λέγεις ἢ ἄλλους τινάς;

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλὰ ναὶ μὰ Δία τούτους λέγω, καὶ σφόδρα γε. [490a]

Σωκράτης: πολλάκις ἄρα εἷς φρονῶν μυρίων μὴ φρονούντων κρείττων ἐστὶν κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον, καὶ τοῦτον ἄρχειν δεῖ, τοὺς δ’ ἄρχεσθαι, καὶ πλέον ἔχειν τὸν ἄρχοντα τῶν ἀρχομένων: τοῦτο γάρ μοι δοκεῖς βούλεσθαι λέγειν — καὶ οὐ ῥήματι θηρεύω — εἰ ὁ εἷς τῶν μυρίων κρείττων.

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλὰ ταῦτ’ ἔστιν ἃ λέγω. τοῦτο γὰρ οἶμαι ἐγὼ τὸ δίκαιον εἶναι φύσει, τὸ βελτίω ὄντα καὶ φρονιμώτερον καὶ ἄρχειν καὶ πλέον ἔχειν τῶν φαυλοτέρων. [490b]

Σωκράτης: ἔχε δὴ αὐτοῦ. τί ποτε αὖ νῦν λέγεις; ἐὰν ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ὦμεν, ὥσπερ νῦν, πολλοὶ ἁθρόοι, καὶ ἡμῖν ᾖ ἐν κοινῷ πολλὰ σιτία καὶ ποτά, ὦμεν δὲ παντοδαποί, οἱ μὲν ἰσχυροί, οἱ δ’ ἀσθενεῖς, εἷς δὲ ἡμῶν ᾖ φρονιμώτερος περὶ ταῦτα, ἰατρὸς ὤν, ᾖ δέ, οἷον εἰκός, τῶν μὲν ἰσχυρότερος, τῶν δὲ ἀσθενέστερος, ἄλλο τι ἢ οὗτος, φρονιμώτερος ἡμῶν ὤν, βελτίων καὶ κρείττων ἔσται εἰς ταῦτα;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε. [490c]

Σωκράτης: ἦ οὖν τούτων τῶν σιτίων πλέον ἡμῶν ἑκτέον αὐτῷ, ὅτι βελτίων ἐστίν, ἢ τῷ μὲν ἄρχειν πάντα ἐκεῖνον δεῖ νέμειν, ἐν τῷ δὲ ἀναλίσκειν τε αὐτὰ καὶ καταχρῆσθαι εἰς τὸ ἑαυτοῦ σῶμα οὐ πλεονεκτητέον, εἰ μὴ μέλλει ζημιοῦσθαι, ἀλλὰ τῶν μὲν πλέον, τῶν δ’ ἔλαττον ἑκτέον: ἐὰν δὲ τύχῃ πάντων ἀσθενέστατος ὤν, πάντων ἐλάχιστον τῷ βελτίστῳ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις; οὐχ οὕτως, ὠγαθέ;

Καλλίκλης: περὶ σιτία, λέγεις, καὶ ποτὰ καὶ ἰατροὺς καὶ φλυαρίας: [490d] ἐγὼ δὲ οὐ ταῦτα λέγω.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὐ τὸν φρονιμώτερον βελτίω λέγεις; φάθι ἢ μή.

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ οὐ τὸν βελτίω πλέον δεῖν ἔχειν;

Καλλίκλης: οὐ σιτίων γε οὐδὲ ποτῶν.

Σωκράτης: μανθάνω, ἀλλ’ ἴσως ἱματίων, καὶ δεῖ τὸν ὑφαντικώτατον μέγιστον ἱμάτιον ἔχειν καὶ πλεῖστα καὶ κάλλιστα ἀμπεχόμενον περιιέναι;

Καλλίκλης: ποίων ἱματίων;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ εἰς ὑποδήματα δῆλον ὅτι δεῖ πλεονεκτεῖν τὸν [490e] φρονιμώτατον εἰς ταῦτα καὶ βέλτιστον. τὸν σκυτοτόμον ἴσως μέγιστα δεῖ ὑποδήματα καὶ πλεῖστα ὑποδεδεμένον περιπατεῖν.

Καλλίκλης: ποῖα ὑποδήματα; φλυαρεῖς ἔχων.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ εἰ μὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα λέγεις, ἴσως τὰ τοιάδε: οἷον γεωργικὸν ἄνδρα περὶ γῆν φρόνιμόν τε καὶ καλὸν καὶ ἀγαθόν, τοῦτον δὴ ἴσως δεῖ πλεονεκτεῖν τῶν σπερμάτων καὶ ὡς πλείστῳ σπέρματι χρῆσθαι εἰς τὴν αὑτοῦ γῆν.

Καλλίκλης: ὡς ἀεὶ ταὐτὰ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐ μόνον γε, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν. [491a]

Καλλίκλης: νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ἀτεχνῶς γε ἀεὶ σκυτέας τε καὶ κναφέας καὶ μαγείρους λέγων καὶ ἰατροὺς οὐδὲν παύῃ, ὡς περὶ τούτων ἡμῖν ὄντα τὸν λόγον.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν σὺ ἐρεῖς περὶ τίνων ὁ κρείττων τε καὶ φρονιμώτερος πλέον ἔχων δικαίως πλεονεκτεῖ; ἢ οὔτε ἐμοῦ ὑποβάλλοντος ἀνέξῃ οὔτ’ αὐτὸς ἐρεῖς;

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλ’ ἔγωγε καὶ πάλαι λέγω. πρῶτον μὲν τοὺς κρείττους οἵ εἰσιν οὐ σκυτοτόμους λέγω οὐδὲ μαγείρους, ἀλλ’ [491b] οἳ ἂν εἰς τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράγματα φρόνιμοι ὦσιν, ὅντινα ἂν τρόπον εὖ οἰκοῖτο, καὶ μὴ μόνον φρόνιμοι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀνδρεῖοι, ἱκανοὶ ὄντες ἃ ἂν νοήσωσιν ἐπιτελεῖν, καὶ μὴ ἀποκάμνωσι διὰ μαλακίαν τῆς ψυχῆς.

Σωκράτης: ὁρᾷς, ὦ βέλτιστε Καλλίκλεις, ὡς οὐ ταὐτὰ σύ τ’ ἐμοῦ κατηγορεῖς καὶ ἐγὼ σοῦ; σὺ μὲν γὰρ ἐμὲ φῂς ἀεὶ ταὐτὰ λέγειν, καὶ μέμφῃ μοι: ἐγὼ δὲ σοῦ τοὐναντίον, ὅτι οὐδέποτε ταὐτὰ λέγεις περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν, ἀλλὰ τοτὲ μὲν τοὺς [491c] βελτίους τε καὶ κρείττους τοὺς ἰσχυροτέρους ὡρίζου, αὖθις δὲ τοὺς φρονιμωτέρους, νῦν δ’ αὖ ἕτερόν τι ἥκεις ἔχων: ἀνδρειότεροί τινες ὑπὸ σοῦ λέγονται οἱ κρείττους καὶ οἱ βελτίους. ἀλλ’, ὠγαθέ, εἰπὼν ἀπαλλάγηθι τίνας ποτὲ λέγεις τοὺς βελτίους τε καὶ κρείττους καὶ εἰς ὅτι.

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλ’ εἴρηκά γε ἔγωγε τοὺς φρονίμους εἰς τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράγματα καὶ ἀνδρείους. τούτους γὰρ [491d] προσήκει τῶν πόλεων ἄρχειν, καὶ τὸ δίκαιον τοῦτ’ ἐστίν, πλέον ἔχειν τούτους τῶν ἄλλων, τοὺς ἄρχοντας τῶν ἀρχομένων.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; αὑτῶν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, τί; ἦ τι ἄρχοντας ἢ ἀρχομένους;

Καλλίκλης: πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ἕνα ἕκαστον λέγω αὐτὸν ἑαυτοῦ ἄρχοντα: ἢ τοῦτο μὲν οὐδὲν δεῖ, αὐτὸν ἑαυτοῦ ἄρχειν, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων;

Καλλίκλης: πῶς ἑαυτοῦ ἄρχοντα λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν ποικίλον ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ οἱ πολλοί, σώφρονα ὄντα καὶ ἐγκρατῆ αὐτὸν ἑαυτοῦ, τῶν ἡδονῶν καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν [491e] ἄρχοντα τῶν ἐν ἑαυτῷ.

Καλλίκλης: ὡς ἡδὺς εἶ: τοὺς ἠλιθίους λέγεις τοὺς σώφρονας.

Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ [οὔ]; οὐδεὶς ὅστις οὐκ ἂν γνοίη ὅτι οὐ τοῦτο λέγω.

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε σφόδρα, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἐπεὶ πῶς ἂν εὐδαίμων γένοιτο ἄνθρωπος δουλεύων ὁτῳοῦν; ἀλλὰ τοῦτ’ ἐστὶν τὸ κατὰ φύσιν καλὸν καὶ δίκαιον, ὃ ἐγώ σοι νῦν παρρησιαζόμενος λέγω, ὅτι δεῖ τὸν ὀρθῶς βιωσόμενον τὰς μὲν ἐπιθυμίας τὰς ἑαυτοῦ ἐᾶν ὡς μεγίστας εἶναι καὶ μὴ κολάζειν, [492a] ταύταις δὲ ὡς μεγίσταις οὔσαις ἱκανὸν εἶναι ὑπηρετεῖν δι’ ἀνδρείαν καὶ φρόνησιν, καὶ ἀποπιμπλάναι ὧν ἂν ἀεὶ ἡ ἐπιθυμία γίγνηται. ἀλλὰ τοῦτ’ οἶμαι τοῖς πολλοῖς οὐ δυνατόν: ὅθεν ψέγουσιν τοὺς τοιούτους δι’ αἰσχύνην, ἀποκρυπτόμενοι τὴν αὑτῶν ἀδυναμίαν, καὶ αἰσχρὸν δή φασιν εἶναι τὴν ἀκολασίαν, ὅπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, δουλούμενοι τοὺς βελτίους τὴν φύσιν ἀνθρώπους, καὶ αὐτοὶ οὐ δυνάμενοι ἐκπορίζεσθαι ταῖς ἡδοναῖς πλήρωσιν ἐπαινοῦσιν τὴν σωφροσύνην [492b] καὶ τὴν δικαιοσύνην διὰ τὴν αὑτῶν ἀνανδρίαν. ἐπεὶ ὅσοις ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑπῆρξεν ἢ βασιλέων ὑέσιν εἶναι ἢ αὐτοὺς τῇ φύσει ἱκανοὺς ἐκπορίσασθαι ἀρχήν τινα ἢ τυραννίδα ἢ δυναστείαν, <τί ἂν> τῇ ἀληθείᾳ αἴσχιον καὶ κάκιον εἴη σωφροσύνης καὶ δικαιοσύνης τούτοις τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, οἷς ἐξὸν ἀπολαύειν τῶν ἀγαθῶν καὶ μηδενὸς ἐμποδὼν ὄντος, αὐτοὶ ἑαυτοῖς δεσπότην ἐπαγάγοιντο τὸν τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων νόμον τε καὶ λόγον καὶ ψόγον; ἢ πῶς οὐκ ἂν ἄθλιοι γεγονότες [492c] εἶεν ὑπὸ τοῦ καλοῦ τοῦ τῆς δικαιοσύνης καὶ τῆς σωφροσύνης, μηδὲν πλέον νέμοντες τοῖς φίλοις τοῖς αὑτῶν ἢ τοῖς ἐχθροῖς, καὶ ταῦτα ἄρχοντες ἐν τῇ ἑαυτῶν πόλει; ἀλλὰ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἣν φῂς σὺ διώκειν, ὧδ’ ἔχει: τρυφὴ καὶ ἀκολασία καὶ ἐλευθερία, ἐὰν ἐπικουρίαν ἔχῃ, τοῦτ’ ἐστὶν ἀρετή τε καὶ εὐδαιμονία, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ταῦτ’ ἐστὶν τὰ καλλωπίσματα, τὰ παρὰ φύσιν συνθήματα ἀνθρώπων, φλυαρία καὶ οὐδενὸς ἄξια. [492d]

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἀγεννῶς γε, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἐπεξέρχῃ τῷ λόγῳ παρρησιαζόμενος: σαφῶς γὰρ σὺ νῦν λέγεις ἃ οἱ ἄλλοι διανοοῦνται μέν, λέγειν δὲ οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν. δέομαι οὖν ἐγώ σου μηδενὶ τρόπῳ ἀνεῖναι, ἵνα τῷ ὄντι κατάδηλον γένηται πῶς βιωτέον. καί μοι λέγε: τὰς μὲν ἐπιθυμίας φῂς οὐ κολαστέον, εἰ μέλλει τις οἷον δεῖ εἶναι, ἐῶντα δὲ αὐτὰς ὡς μεγίστας πλήρωσιν αὐταῖς ἁμόθεν γέ ποθεν ἑτοιμάζειν, καὶ [492e] τοῦτο εἶναι τὴν ἀρετήν;

Καλλίκλης: φημὶ ταῦτα ἐγώ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα ὀρθῶς λέγονται οἱ μηδενὸς δεόμενοι εὐδαίμονες εἶναι.

Καλλίκλης: οἱ λίθοι γὰρ ἂν οὕτω γε καὶ οἱ νεκροὶ εὐδαιμονέστατοι εἶεν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ καὶ ὥς γε σὺ λέγεις δεινὸς ὁ βίος. οὐ γάρ τοι θαυμάζοιμ’ ἂν εἰ Εὐριπίδης ἀληθῆ ἐν τοῖσδε λέγει, λέγων —

τίς δ’ οἶδεν, εἰ τὸ ζῆν μέν ἐστι κατθανεῖν,

τὸ κατθανεῖν δὲ ζῆν; . . . ευρ. φρ. 638

[493a] καὶ ἡμεῖς τῷ ὄντι ἴσως τέθναμεν: ἤδη γάρ του ἔγωγε καὶ ἤκουσα τῶν σοφῶν ὡς νῦν ἡμεῖς τέθναμεν καὶ τὸ μὲν σῶμά ἐστιν ἡμῖν σῆμα, τῆς δὲ ψυχῆς τοῦτο ἐν ᾧ ἐπιθυμίαι εἰσὶ τυγχάνει ὂν οἷον ἀναπείθεσθαι καὶ μεταπίπτειν ἄνω κάτω, καὶ τοῦτο ἄρα τις μυθολογῶν κομψὸς ἀνήρ, ἴσως Σικελός τις ἢ Ἰταλικός, παράγων τῷ ὀνόματι διὰ τὸ πιθανόν τε καὶ πειστικὸν ὠνόμασε πίθον, τοὺς δὲ ἀνοήτους ἀμυήτους, [493b] τῶν δ’ ἀνοήτων τοῦτο τῆς ψυχῆς οὗ αἱ ἐπιθυμίαι εἰσί, τὸ ἀκόλαστον αὐτοῦ καὶ οὐ στεγανόν, ὡς τετρημένος εἴη πίθος, διὰ τὴν ἀπληστίαν ἀπεικάσας. τοὐναντίον δὴ οὗτος σοί, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἐνδείκνυται ὡς τῶν ἐν Ἅιδου — τὸ ἀιδὲς δὴ λέγων — οὗτοι ἀθλιώτατοι ἂν εἶεν, οἱ ἀμύητοι, καὶ φοροῖεν εἰς τὸν τετρημένον πίθον ὕδωρ ἑτέρῳ τοιούτῳ τετρημένῳ κοσκίνῳ. τὸ δὲ κόσκινον ἄρα λέγει, ὡς ἔφη ὁ πρὸς ἐμὲ [493c] λέγων, τὴν ψυχὴν εἶναι: τὴν δὲ ψυχὴν κοσκίνῳ ἀπῄκασεν τὴν τῶν ἀνοήτων ὡς τετρημένην, ἅτε οὐ δυναμένην στέγειν δι’ ἀπιστίαν τε καὶ λήθην. ταῦτ’ ἐπιεικῶς μέν ἐστιν ὑπό τι ἄτοπα, δηλοῖ μὴν ὃ ἐγὼ βούλομαί σοι ἐνδειξάμενος, ἐάν πως οἷός τε ὦ, πεῖσαι μεταθέσθαι, ἀντὶ τοῦ ἀπλήστως καὶ ἀκολάστως ἔχοντος βίου τὸν κοσμίως καὶ τοῖς ἀεὶ παροῦσιν ἱκανῶς καὶ ἐξαρκούντως ἔχοντα βίον ἑλέσθαι. ἀλλὰ πότερον [493d] πείθω τί σε καὶ μετατίθεσθαι εὐδαιμονεστέρους εἶναι τοὺς κοσμίους τῶν ἀκολάστων, ἢ οὐδ’ ἂν ἄλλα πολλὰ τοιαῦτα μυθολογῶ, οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον μεταθήσῃ;

Καλλίκλης: τοῦτ’ ἀληθέστερον εἴρηκας, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, ἄλλην σοι εἰκόνα λέγω ἐκ τοῦ αὐτοῦ γυμνασίου τῇ νῦν. σκόπει γὰρ εἰ τοιόνδε λέγεις περὶ τοῦ βίου ἑκατέρου, τοῦ τε σώφρονος καὶ τοῦ ἀκολάστου, οἷον εἰ δυοῖν ἀνδροῖν ἑκατέρῳ πίθοι πολλοὶ εἶεν καὶ τῷ μὲν [493e] ἑτέρῳ ὑγιεῖς καὶ πλήρεις, ὁ μὲν οἴνου, ὁ δὲ μέλιτος, ὁ δὲ γάλακτος, καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ πολλῶν, νάματα δὲ σπάνια καὶ χαλεπὰ ἑκάστου τούτων εἴη καὶ μετὰ πολλῶν πόνων καὶ χαλεπῶν ἐκποριζόμενα: ὁ μὲν οὖν ἕτερος πληρωσάμενος μήτ’ ἐποχετεύοι μήτε τι φροντίζοι, ἀλλ’ ἕνεκα τούτων ἡσυχίαν ἔχοι: τῷ δ’ ἑτέρῳ τὰ μὲν νάματα, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐκείνῳ, δυνατὰ μὲν πορίζεσθαι, χαλεπὰ δέ, τὰ δ’ ἀγγεῖα τετρημένα καὶ σαθρά, ἀναγκάζοιτο δ’ ἀεὶ καὶ νύκτα καὶ [494a] ἡμέραν πιμπλάναι αὐτά, ἢ τὰς ἐσχάτας λυποῖτο λύπας: ἆρα τοιούτου ἑκατέρου ὄντος τοῦ βίου, λέγεις τὸν τοῦ ἀκολάστου εὐδαιμονέστερον εἶναι ἢ τὸν τοῦ κοσμίου; πείθω τί σε ταῦτα λέγων συγχωρῆσαι τὸν κόσμιον βίον τοῦ ἀκολάστου ἀμείνω εἶναι, ἢ οὐ πείθω;

Καλλίκλης: οὐ πείθεις, ὦ Σώκρατες. τῷ μὲν γὰρ πληρωσαμένῳ ἐκείνῳ οὐκέτ’ ἔστιν ἡδονὴ οὐδεμία, ἀλλὰ τοῦτ’ ἔστιν, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, τὸ ὥσπερ λίθον ζῆν, ἐπειδὰν [494b] πληρώσῃ, μήτε χαίροντα ἔτι μήτε λυπούμενον. ἀλλ’ ἐν τούτῳ ἐστὶν τὸ ἡδέως ζῆν, ἐν τῷ ὡς πλεῖστον ἐπιρρεῖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀνάγκη γ’, ἂν πολὺ ἐπιρρέῃ, πολὺ καὶ τὸ ἀπιὸν εἶναι, καὶ μεγάλ’ ἄττα τὰ τρήματα εἶναι ταῖς ἐκροαῖς;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: χαραδριοῦ τινα αὖ σὺ βίον λέγεις, ἀλλ’ οὐ νεκροῦ οὐδὲ λίθου. καί μοι λέγε: τὸ τοιόνδε λέγεις οἷον πεινῆν καὶ πεινῶντα ἐσθίειν;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε. [494c]

Σωκράτης: καὶ διψῆν γε καὶ διψῶντα πίνειν;

Καλλίκλης: λέγω, καὶ τὰς ἄλλας ἐπιθυμίας ἁπάσας ἔχοντα καὶ δυνάμενον πληροῦντα χαίροντα εὐδαιμόνως ζῆν.

Σωκράτης: εὖγε, ὦ βέλτιστε: διατέλει γὰρ ὥσπερ ἤρξω, καὶ ὅπως μὴ ἀπαισχυνῇ. δεῖ δέ, ὡς ἔοικε, μηδ’ ἐμὲ ἀπαισχυνθῆναι. καὶ πρῶτον μὲν εἰπὲ εἰ καὶ ψωρῶντα καὶ κνησιῶντα, ἀφθόνως ἔχοντα τοῦ κνῆσθαι, κνώμενον διατελοῦντα τὸν βίον εὐδαιμόνως ἔστι ζῆν. [494d]

Καλλίκλης: ὡς ἄτοπος εἶ, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς δημηγόρος.

Σωκράτης: τοιγάρτοι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, Πῶλον μὲν καὶ Γοργίαν καὶ ἐξέπληξα καὶ αἰσχύνεσθαι ἐποίησα, σὺ δὲ οὐ μὴ ἐκπλαγῇς οὐδὲ μὴ αἰσχυνθῇς: ἀνδρεῖος γὰρ εἶ. ἀλλ’ ἀποκρίνου μόνον.

Καλλίκλης: φημὶ τοίνυν καὶ τὸν κνώμενον ἡδέως ἂν βιῶναι.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ἡδέως, καὶ εὐδαιμόνως;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε. [494e]

Σωκράτης: πότερον εἰ τὴν κεφαλὴν μόνον κνησιῷ — ἢ ἔτι τί σε ἐρωτῶ; ὅρα, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τί ἀποκρινῇ, ἐάν τίς σε τὰ ἐχόμενα τούτοις ἐφεξῆς ἅπαντα ἐρωτᾷ. καὶ τούτων τοιούτων ὄντων κεφάλαιον, ὁ τῶν κιναίδων βίος, οὗτος οὐ δεινὸς καὶ αἰσχρὸς καὶ ἄθλιος; ἢ τούτους τολμήσεις λέγειν εὐδαίμονας εἶναι, ἐὰν ἀφθόνως ἔχωσιν ὧν δέονται;

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ αἰσχύνῃ εἰς τοιαῦτα ἄγων, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοὺς λόγους;

Σωκράτης: ἦ γὰρ ἐγὼ ἄγω ἐνταῦθα, ὦ γενναῖε, ἢ ἐκεῖνος ὃς ἂν φῇ ἀνέδην οὕτω τοὺς χαίροντας, ὅπως ἂν χαίρωσιν, [495a] εὐδαίμονας εἶναι, καὶ μὴ διορίζηται τῶν ἡδονῶν ὁποῖαι ἀγαθαὶ καὶ κακαί; ἀλλ’ ἔτι καὶ νῦν λέγε πότερον φῂς εἶναι τὸ αὐτὸ ἡδὺ καὶ ἀγαθόν, ἢ εἶναί τι τῶν ἡδέων ὃ οὐκ ἔστιν ἀγαθόν;

Καλλίκλης: ἵνα δή μοι μὴ ἀνομολογούμενος ᾖ ὁ λόγος, ἐὰν ἕτερον φήσω εἶναι, τὸ αὐτό φημι εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: διαφθείρεις, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τοὺς πρώτους λόγους, καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἔτι μετ’ ἐμοῦ ἱκανῶς τὰ ὄντα ἐξετάζοις, εἴπερ παρὰ τὰ δοκοῦντα σαυτῷ ἐρεῖς. [495b]

Καλλίκλης: καὶ γὰρ σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐ τοίνυν ὀρθῶς ποιῶ οὔτ’ ἐγώ, εἴπερ ποιῶ τοῦτο, οὔτε σύ. ἀλλ’, ὦ μακάριε, ἄθρει μὴ οὐ τοῦτο ᾖ τὸ ἀγαθόν, τὸ πάντως χαίρειν: ταῦτά τε γὰρ τὰ νυνδὴ αἰνιχθέντα πολλὰ καὶ αἰσχρὰ φαίνεται συμβαίνοντα, εἰ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ ἄλλα πολλά.

Καλλίκλης: ὡς σύ γε οἴει, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: σὺ δὲ τῷ ὄντι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ταῦτα ἰσχυρίζῃ;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε. [495c]

Σωκράτης: ἐπιχειρῶμεν ἄρα τῷ λόγῳ ὡς σοῦ σπουδάζοντος;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε σφόδρα.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή μοι, ἐπειδὴ οὕτω δοκεῖ, διελοῦ τάδε: ἐπιστήμην που καλεῖς τι;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐ καὶ ἀνδρείαν νυνδὴ ἔλεγές τινα εἶναι μετὰ ἐπιστήμης;

Καλλίκλης: ἔλεγον γάρ.

Σωκράτης: ἄλλο τι οὖν ὡς ἕτερον τὴν ἀνδρείαν τῆς ἐπιστήμης δύο ταῦτα ἔλεγες;

Καλλίκλης: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἡδονὴν καὶ ἐπιστήμην ταὐτὸν ἢ ἕτερον; [495d]

Καλλίκλης: ἕτερον δήπου, ὦ σοφώτατε σύ.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ ἀνδρείαν ἑτέραν ἡδονῆς;

Καλλίκλης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: φέρε δὴ ὅπως μεμνησόμεθα ταῦτα, ὅτι Καλλικλῆς ἔφη Ἀχαρνεὺς ἡδὺ μὲν καὶ ἀγαθὸν ταὐτὸν εἶναι, ἐπιστήμην δὲ καὶ ἀνδρείαν καὶ ἀλλήλων καὶ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἕτερον.

Καλλίκλης: Σωκράτης δέ γε ἡμῖν ὁ Ἀλωπεκῆθεν οὐχ ὁμολογεῖ ταῦτα. ἢ ὁμολογεῖ; [495e]

Σωκράτης: οὐχ ὁμολογεῖ: οἶμαι δέ γε οὐδὲ Καλλικλῆς, ὅταν αὐτὸς αὑτὸν θεάσηται ὀρθῶς. εἰπὲ γάρ μοι, τοὺς εὖ πράττοντας τοῖς κακῶς πράττουσιν οὐ τοὐναντίον ἡγῇ πάθος πεπονθέναι;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν, εἴπερ ἐναντία ἐστὶν ταῦτα ἀλλήλοις, ἀνάγκη περὶ αὐτῶν ἔχειν ὥσπερ περὶ ὑγιείας ἔχει καὶ νόσου; οὐ γὰρ ἅμα δήπου ὑγιαίνει τε καὶ νοσεῖ ὁ ἄνθρωπος, οὐδὲ ἅμα ἀπαλλάττεται ὑγιείας τε καὶ νόσου.

Καλλίκλης: πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: οἷον περὶ ὅτου βούλει τοῦ σώματος ἀπολαβὼν [496a] σκόπει. νοσεῖ που ἄνθρωπος ὀφθαλμούς, ᾧ ὄνομα ὀφθαλμία;

Καλλίκλης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐ δήπου καὶ ὑγιαίνει γε ἅμα τοὺς αὐτούς;

Καλλίκλης: οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ὅταν τῆς ὀφθαλμίας ἀπαλλάττηται; ἆρα τότε καὶ τῆς ὑγιείας ἀπαλλάττεται τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν καὶ τελευτῶν ἅμα ἀμφοτέρων ἀπήλλακται;

Καλλίκλης: ἥκιστά γε.

Σωκράτης: θαυμάσιον γὰρ [496b] οἶμαι καὶ ἄλογον γίγνεται: ἦ γάρ;

Καλλίκλης: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ ἐν μέρει οἶμαι ἑκάτερον καὶ λαμβάνει καὶ ἀπολλύει;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἰσχὺν καὶ ἀσθένειαν ὡσαύτως;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τάχος καὶ βραδυτῆτα;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ τἀγαθὰ καὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν καὶ τἀναντία τούτων, κακά τε καὶ ἀθλιότητα, ἐν μέρει λαμβάνει καὶ ἐν μέρει ἀπαλλάττεται ἑκατέρου;

Καλλίκλης: πάντως δήπου. [496c]

Σωκράτης: ἐὰν εὕρωμεν ἄρα ἄττα ὧν ἅμα τε ἀπαλλάττεται ἄνθρωπος καὶ ἅμα ἔχει, δῆλον ὅτι ταῦτά γε οὐκ ἂν εἴη τό τε ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ κακόν. ὁμολογοῦμεν ταῦτα; καὶ εὖ μάλα σκεψάμενος ἀποκρίνου.

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλ’ ὑπερφυῶς ὡς ὁμολογῶ.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δὴ ἐπὶ τὰ ἔμπροσθεν ὡμολογημένα. τὸ πεινῆν ἔλεγες πότερον ἡδὺ ἢ ἀνιαρὸν εἶναι; αὐτὸ λέγω τὸ πεινῆν.

Καλλίκλης: ἀνιαρὸν ἔγωγε: τὸ μέντοι πεινῶντα ἐσθίειν ἡδὺ [496d] λέγω.

Σωκράτης: μανθάνω: ἀλλ’ οὖν τό γε πεινῆν αὐτὸ ἀνιαρόν. ἢ οὐχί;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ διψῆν;

Καλλίκλης: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν ἔτι πλείω ἐρωτῶ, ἢ ὁμολογεῖς ἅπασαν ἔνδειαν καὶ ἐπιθυμίαν ἀνιαρὸν εἶναι;

Καλλίκλης: ὁμολογῶ, ἀλλὰ μὴ ἐρώτα.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: διψῶντα δὲ δὴ πίνειν ἄλλο τι ἢ ἡδὺ φῂς εἶναι;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τούτου οὗ λέγεις τὸ μὲν διψῶντα λυπούμενον δήπου ἐστίν; [496e]

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὲ πίνειν πλήρωσίς τε τῆς ἐνδείας καὶ ἡδονή;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν κατὰ τὸ πίνειν χαίρειν λέγεις;

Καλλίκλης: μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης: διψῶντά γε.

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: λυπούμενον;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: αἰσθάνῃ οὖν τὸ συμβαῖνον, ὅτι λυπούμενον χαίρειν λέγεις ἅμα, ὅταν διψῶντα πίνειν λέγῃς; ἢ οὐχ ἅμα τοῦτο γίγνεται κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τόπον καὶ χρόνον εἴτε ψυχῆς εἴτε σώματος βούλει; οὐδὲν γὰρ οἶμαι διαφέρει. ἔστι ταῦτα ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν εὖ γε πράττοντα κακῶς [497a] πράττειν ἅμα ἀδύνατον φῂς εἶναι.

Καλλίκλης: φημὶ γάρ.

Σωκράτης: ἀνιώμενον δέ γε χαίρειν δυνατὸν ὡμολόγηκας.

Καλλίκλης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα τὸ χαίρειν ἐστὶν εὖ πράττειν οὐδὲ τὸ ἀνιᾶσθαι κακῶς, ὥστε ἕτερον γίγνεται τὸ ἡδὺ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ.

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ οἶδ’ ἅττα σοφίζῃ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οἶσθα, ἀλλὰ ἀκκίζῃ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις: καὶ πρόιθί γε ἔτι εἰς τὸ ἔμπροσθεν, [ὅτι ἔχων ληρεῖς] ἵνα εἰδῇς ὡς σοφὸς [497b] ὤν με νουθετεῖς. οὐχ ἅμα διψῶν τε ἕκαστος ἡμῶν πέπαυται καὶ ἅμα ἡδόμενος διὰ τοῦ πίνειν;

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ οἶδα ὅτι λέγεις.

Γοργίας: μηδαμῶς, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἀλλ’ ἀποκρίνου καὶ ἡμῶν ἕνεκα, ἵνα περανθῶσιν οἱ λόγοι.

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλ’ ἀεὶ τοιοῦτός ἐστιν Σωκράτης, ὦ Γοργία: σμικρὰ καὶ ὀλίγου ἄξια ἀνερωτᾷ καὶ ἐξελέγχει.

Γοργίας: ἀλλὰ τί σοὶ διαφέρει; πάντως οὐ σὴ αὕτη ἡ τιμή, ὦ Καλλίκλεις: ἀλλ’ ὑπόσχες Σωκράτει ἐξελέγξαι ὅπως ἂν βούληται. [497c]

Καλλίκλης: Ἐρώτα δὴ σὺ τὰ σμικρά τε καὶ στενὰ ταῦτα, ἐπείπερ Γοργίᾳ δοκεῖ οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: εὐδαίμων εἶ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ὅτι τὰ μεγάλα μεμύησαι πρὶν τὰ σμικρά: ἐγὼ δ’ οὐκ ᾤμην θεμιτὸν εἶναι. ὅθεν οὖν ἀπέλιπες ἀποκρίνου, εἰ οὐχ ἅμα παύεται διψῶν ἕκαστος ἡμῶν καὶ ἡδόμενος.

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ πεινῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ ἡδονῶν ἅμα παύεται;

Καλλίκλης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τῶν λυπῶν [497d] καὶ τῶν ἡδονῶν ἅμα παύεται;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τῶν ἀγαθῶν γε καὶ κακῶν οὐχ ἅμα παύεται, ὡς σὺ ὡμολόγεις: νῦν δὲ οὐχ ὁμολογεῖς;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε: τί οὖν δή;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι οὐ τὰ αὐτὰ γίγνεται, ὦ φίλε, τἀγαθὰ τοῖς ἡδέσιν οὐδὲ τὰ κακὰ τοῖς ἀνιαροῖς. τῶν μὲν γὰρ ἅμα παύεται, τῶν δὲ οὔ, ὡς ἑτέρων ὄντων: πῶς οὖν ταὐτὰ ἂν εἴη τὰ ἡδέα τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς ἢ τὰ ἀνιαρὰ τοῖς κακοῖς; ἐὰν δὲ βούλῃ, καὶ τῇδε ἐπίσκεψαι ̔οἶμαι γάρ σοι οὐδὲ ταύτῃ [497e] ὁμολογεῖσθαι: ἄθρει δέ̓ τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς οὐχὶ ἀγαθῶν παρουσίᾳ ἀγαθοὺς καλεῖς, ὥσπερ τοὺς καλοὺς οἷς ἂν κάλλος παρῇ;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας καλεῖς ἄφρονας καὶ δειλούς; οὐ γὰρ ἄρτι γε, ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἀνδρείους καὶ φρονίμους ἔλεγες: ἢ οὐ τούτους ἀγαθοὺς καλεῖς;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; παῖδα ἀνόητον χαίροντα ἤδη εἶδες;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἄνδρα δὲ οὔπω εἶδες ἀνόητον χαίροντα;

Καλλίκλης: οἶμαι ἔγωγε: ἀλλὰ τί τοῦτο; [498a]

Σωκράτης: οὐδέν: ἀλλ’ ἀποκρίνου.

Καλλίκλης: εἶδον.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; νοῦν ἔχοντα λυπούμενον καὶ χαίροντα;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: πότεροι δὲ μᾶλλον χαίρουσι καὶ λυποῦνται, οἱ φρόνιμοι ἢ οἱ ἄφρονες;

Καλλίκλης: οἶμαι ἔγωγε οὐ πολύ τι διαφέρειν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ ἀρκεῖ καὶ τοῦτο. ἐν πολέμῳ δὲ ἤδη εἶδες ἄνδρα δειλόν;

Καλλίκλης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἀπιόντων τῶν πολεμίων πότεροί σοι ἐδόκουν μᾶλλον χαίρειν, οἱ δειλοὶ ἢ οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι;

Καλλίκλης: ἀμφότεροι ἔμοιγε [498b] [μᾶλλον]: εἰ δὲ μή, παραπλησίως γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν διαφέρει. χαίρουσιν δ’ οὖν καὶ οἱ δειλοί;

Καλλίκλης: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ οἱ ἄφρονες, ὡς ἔοικεν.

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: προσιόντων δὲ οἱ δειλοὶ μόνον λυποῦνται ἢ καὶ οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι;

Καλλίκλης: ἀμφότεροι.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα ὁμοίως;

Καλλίκλης: μᾶλλον ἴσως οἱ δειλοί.

Σωκράτης: ἀπιόντων δ’ οὐ μᾶλλον χαίρουσιν;

Καλλίκλης: ἴσως.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν λυποῦνται μὲν καὶ χαίρουσιν καὶ οἱ ἄφρονες καὶ οἱ φρόνιμοι καὶ οἱ δειλοὶ καὶ οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι παραπλησίως, [498c] ὡς σὺ φῄς, μᾶλλον δὲ οἱ δειλοὶ τῶν ἀνδρείων;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν οἵ γε φρόνιμοι καὶ οἱ ἀνδρεῖοι ἀγαθοί, οἱ δὲ δειλοὶ καὶ ἄφρονες κακοί;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: παραπλησίως ἄρα χαίρουσιν καὶ λυποῦνται οἱ ἀγαθοὶ καὶ οἱ κακοί;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν παραπλησίως εἰσὶν ἀγαθοὶ καὶ κακοὶ οἱ ἀγαθοί τε καὶ οἱ κακοί; ἢ καὶ ἔτι μᾶλλον ἀγαθοὶ [οἱ ἀγαθοὶ καὶ οἱ κακοί] εἰσιν οἱ κακοί; [498d]

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλὰ μὰ Δί’ οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅτι λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ οἶσθ’ ὅτι τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἀγαθῶν φῂς παρουσίᾳ εἶναι ἀγαθούς, καὶ κακοὺς δὲ κακῶν; τὰ δὲ ἀγαθὰ εἶναι τὰς ἡδονάς, κακὰ δὲ τὰς ἀνίας;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τοῖς χαίρουσιν πάρεστιν τἀγαθά, αἱ ἡδοναί, εἴπερ χαίρουσιν;

Καλλίκλης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀγαθῶν παρόντων ἀγαθοί εἰσιν οἱ χαίροντες;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; τοῖς ἀνιωμένοις οὐ πάρεστιν τὰ κακά, αἱ λῦπαι;

Καλλίκλης: πάρεστιν. [498e]

Σωκράτης: κακῶν δέ γε παρουσίᾳ φῂς σὺ εἶναι κακοὺς τοὺς κακούς: ἢ οὐκέτι φῄς;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀγαθοὶ ἄρα οἳ ἂν χαίρωσι, κακοὶ δὲ οἳ ἂν ἀνιῶνται;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οἳ μέν γε μᾶλλον μᾶλλον, οἳ δ’ ἧττον ἧττον, οἳ δὲ παραπλησίως παραπλησίως;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν φῂς παραπλησίως χαίρειν καὶ λυπεῖσθαι τοὺς φρονίμους καὶ τοὺς ἄφρονας καὶ τοὺς δειλοὺς καὶ τοὺς ἀνδρείους, ἢ καὶ μᾶλλον ἔτι τοὺς δειλούς;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: συλλόγισαι δὴ κοινῇ μετ’ ἐμοῦ τί ἡμῖν συμβαίνει ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων: καὶ δὶς γάρ τοι καὶ τρίς φασιν καλὸν [499a] εἶναι τὰ καλὰ λέγειν τε καὶ ἐπισκοπεῖσθαι. ἀγαθὸν μὲν εἶναι τὸν φρόνιμον καὶ ἀνδρεῖόν φαμεν. ἦ γάρ;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: κακὸν δὲ τὸν ἄφρονα καὶ δειλόν;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἀγαθὸν δὲ αὖ τὸν χαίροντα;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: κακὸν δὲ τὸν ἀνιώμενον;

Καλλίκλης: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: ἀνιᾶσθαι δὲ καὶ χαίρειν τὸν ἀγαθὸν καὶ κακὸν ὁμοίως, ἴσως δὲ καὶ μᾶλλον τὸν κακόν;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁμοίως γίγνεται κακὸς καὶ ἀγαθὸς τῷ ἀγαθῷ ἢ καὶ μᾶλλον [499b] ἀγαθὸς ὁ κακός; οὐ ταῦτα συμβαίνει καὶ τὰ πρότερα ἐκεῖνα, ἐάν τις ταὐτὰ φῇ ἡδέα τε καὶ ἀγαθὰ εἶναι; οὐ ταῦτα ἀνάγκη, ὦ Καλλίκλεις;

Καλλίκλης: πάλαι τοί σου ἀκροῶμαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, καθομολογῶν, ἐνθυμούμενος ὅτι, κἂν παίζων τίς σοι ἐνδῷ ὁτιοῦν, τούτου ἅσμενος ἔχῃ ὥσπερ τὰ μειράκια. ὡς δὴ σὺ οἴει ἐμὲ ἢ καὶ ἄλλον ὁντινοῦν ἀνθρώπων οὐχ ἡγεῖσθαι τὰς μὲν βελτίους ἡδονάς, τὰς δὲ χείρους.

Σωκράτης: ἰοῦ ἰοῦ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ὡς πανοῦργος εἶ καί μοι [499c] ὥσπερ παιδὶ χρῇ, τοτὲ μὲν τὰ αὐτὰ φάσκων οὕτως ἔχειν, τοτὲ δὲ ἑτέρως, ἐξαπατῶν με. καίτοι οὐκ ᾤμην γε κατ’ ἀρχὰς ὑπὸ σοῦ ἑκόντος εἶναι ἐξαπατηθήσεσθαι, ὡς ὄντος φίλου: νῦν δὲ ἐψεύσθην, καὶ ὡς ἔοικεν ἀνάγκη μοι κατὰ τὸν παλαιὸν λόγον τὸ παρὸν εὖ ποιεῖν καὶ τοῦτο δέχεσθαι τὸ διδόμενον παρὰ σοῦ. ἔστιν δὲ δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὃ νῦν λέγεις, ὅτι ἡδοναί τινές εἰσιν αἱ μὲν ἀγαθαί, αἱ δὲ κακαί: ἦ γάρ; [499d]

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν ἀγαθαὶ μὲν αἱ ὠφέλιμοι, κακαὶ δὲ αἱ βλαβεραί;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὠφέλιμοι δέ γε αἱ ἀγαθόν τι ποιοῦσαι, κακαὶ δὲ αἱ κακόν τι;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν τὰς τοιάσδε λέγεις, οἷον κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ἃς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν ἐν τῷ ἐσθίειν καὶ πίνειν ἡδονάς, ἦ ἄρα τούτων αἱ μὲν ὑγίειαν ποιοῦσαι ἐν τῷ σώματι, ἢ ἰσχὺν ἢ ἄλλην τινὰ ἀρετὴν τοῦ σώματος, αὗται μὲν ἀγαθαί, αἱ δὲ [499e] τἀναντία τούτων κακαί;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ λῦπαι ὡσαύτως αἱ μὲν χρησταί εἰσιν, αἱ δὲ πονηραί;

Καλλίκλης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὰς μὲν χρηστὰς καὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας καὶ αἱρετέον ἐστὶν καὶ πρακτέον;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τὰς δὲ πονηρὰς οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: δῆλον δή.

Σωκράτης: ἕνεκα γάρ που τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἅπαντα ἡμῖν ἔδοξεν πρακτέον εἶναι, εἰ μνημονεύεις, ἐμοί τε καὶ Πώλῳ. ἆρα καὶ σοὶ συνδοκεῖ οὕτω, τέλος εἶναι ἁπασῶν τῶν πράξεων τὸ ἀγαθόν, καὶ ἐκείνου ἕνεκα δεῖν πάντα τἆλλα πράττεσθαι [500a] ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐκεῖνο τῶν ἄλλων; σύμψηφος ἡμῖν εἶ καὶ σὺ ἐκ τρίτων;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἄρα ἕνεκα δεῖ καὶ τἆλλα καὶ τὰ ἡδέα πράττειν, ἀλλ’ οὐ τἀγαθὰ τῶν ἡδέων.

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν παντὸς ἀνδρός ἐστιν ἐκλέξασθαι ποῖα ἀγαθὰ τῶν ἡδέων ἐστὶν καὶ ὁποῖα κακά, ἢ τεχνικοῦ δεῖ εἰς ἕκαστον;

Καλλίκλης: τεχνικοῦ.

Σωκράτης: ἀναμνησθῶμεν δὴ ὧν αὖ ἐγὼ πρὸς Πῶλον καὶ Γοργίαν ἐτύγχανον λέγων. ἔλεγον γὰρ αὖ, εἰ μνημονεύεις, [500b] ὅτι εἶεν παρασκευαὶ αἱ μὲν μέχρι ἡδονῆς, αὐτὸ τοῦτο μόνον παρασκευάζουσαι, ἀγνοοῦσαι δὲ τὸ βέλτιον καὶ τὸ χεῖρον, αἱ δὲ γιγνώσκουσαι ὅτι τε ἀγαθὸν καὶ ὅτι κακόν: καὶ ἐτίθην τῶν μὲν περὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς τὴν μαγειρικὴν ἐμπειρίαν ἀλλὰ οὐ τέχνην, τῶν δὲ περὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν τὴν ἰατρικὴν τέχνην. καὶ πρὸς Φιλίου, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, μήτε αὐτὸς οἴου δεῖν πρὸς ἐμὲ παίζειν μηδ’ ὅτι ἂν τύχῃς παρὰ τὰ δοκοῦντα ἀποκρίνου, μήτ’ [500c] αὖ τὰ παρ’ ἐμοῦ οὕτως ἀποδέχου ὡς παίζοντος: ὁρᾷς γὰρ ὅτι περὶ τούτου ἡμῖν εἰσιν οἱ λόγοι, οὗ τί ἂν μᾶλλον σπουδάσειέ τις καὶ σμικρὸν νοῦν ἔχων ἄνθρωπος, ἢ τοῦτο, ὅντινα χρὴ τρόπον ζῆν, πότερον ἐπὶ ὃν σὺ παρακαλεῖς ἐμέ, τὰ τοῦ ἀνδρὸς δὴ ταῦτα πράττοντα, λέγοντά τε ἐν τῷ δήμῳ καὶ ῥητορικὴν ἀσκοῦντα καὶ πολιτευόμενον τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον ὃν ὑμεῖς νῦν πολιτεύεσθε, ἢ [ἐπὶ] τόνδε τὸν βίον τὸν ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ, καὶ τί ποτ’ ἐστὶν οὗτος ἐκείνου διαφέρων. ἴσως [500d] οὖν βέλτιστόν ἐστιν, ὡς ἄρτι ἐγὼ ἐπεχείρησα, διαιρεῖσθαι, διελομένους δὲ καὶ ὁμολογήσαντας ἀλλήλοις, εἰ ἔστιν τούτω διττὼ τὼ βίω, σκέψασθαι τί τε διαφέρετον ἀλλήλοιν καὶ ὁπότερον βιωτέον αὐτοῖν. ἴσως οὖν οὔπω οἶσθα τί λέγω.

Καλλίκλης: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ ἐγώ σοι σαφέστερον ἐρῶ. ἐπειδὴ ὡμολογήκαμεν ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ εἶναι μέν τι ἀγαθόν, εἶναι δέ τι ἡδύ, ἕτερον δὲ τὸ ἡδὺ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ, ἑκατέρου δὲ αὐτοῖν μελέτην τινὰ εἶναι καὶ παρασκευὴν τῆς κτήσεως, τὴν μὲν τοῦ ἡδέος θήραν, τὴν δὲ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ — αὐτὸ δέ μοι τοῦτο πρῶτον ἢ [500e] σύμφαθι ἢ μή. σύμφῃς;

Καλλίκλης: οὕτως φημί.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή, ἃ καὶ πρὸς τούσδε ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, διομολόγησαί μοι, εἰ ἄρα σοι ἔδοξα τότε ἀληθῆ λέγειν. ἔλεγον δέ που ὅτι ἡ μὲν ὀψοποιικὴ οὔ μοι δοκεῖ τέχνη εἶναι ἀλλ’ ἐμπειρία, [501a] ἡ δ’ ἰατρική, λέγων ὅτι ἡ μὲν τούτου οὗ θεραπεύει καὶ τὴν φύσιν ἔσκεπται καὶ τὴν αἰτίαν ὧν πράττει, καὶ λόγον ἔχει τούτων ἑκάστου δοῦναι, ἡ ἰατρική: ἡ δ’ ἑτέρα τῆς ἡδονῆς, πρὸς ἣν ἡ θεραπεία αὐτῇ ἐστιν ἅπασα, κομιδῇ ἀτέχνως ἐπ’ αὐτὴν ἔρχεται, οὔτε τι τὴν φύσιν σκεψαμένη τῆς ἡδονῆς οὔτε τὴν αἰτίαν, ἀλόγως τε παντάπασιν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδὲν διαριθμησαμένη, τριβῇ καὶ ἐμπειρίᾳ μνήμην μόνον σῳζομένη [501b] τοῦ εἰωθότος γίγνεσθαι, ᾧ δὴ καὶ πορίζεται τὰς ἡδονάς. ταῦτ’ οὖν πρῶτον σκόπει εἰ δοκεῖ σοι ἱκανῶς λέγεσθαι, καὶ εἶναί τινες καὶ περὶ ψυχὴν τοιαῦται ἄλλαι πραγματεῖαι, αἱ μὲν τεχνικαί, προμήθειάν τινα ἔχουσαι τοῦ βελτίστου περὶ τὴν ψυχήν, αἱ δὲ τούτου μὲν ὀλιγωροῦσαι, ἐσκεμμέναι δ’ αὖ, ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ, τὴν ἡδονὴν μόνον τῆς ψυχῆς, τίνα ἂν αὐτῇ τρόπον γίγνοιτο, ἥτις δὲ ἢ βελτίων ἢ χείρων τῶν ἡδονῶν, οὔτε σκοπούμεναι οὔτε μέλον αὐταῖς ἄλλο ἢ χαρίζεσθαι [501c] μόνον, εἴτε βέλτιον εἴτε χεῖρον. ἐμοὶ μὲν γάρ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, δοκοῦσίν τε εἶναι, καὶ ἔγωγέ φημι τὸ τοιοῦτον κολακείαν εἶναι καὶ περὶ σῶμα καὶ περὶ ψυχὴν καὶ περὶ ἄλλο ὅτου ἄν τις τὴν ἡδονὴν θεραπεύῃ, ἀσκέπτως ἔχων τοῦ ἀμείνονός τε καὶ τοῦ χείρονος: σὺ δὲ δὴ πότερον συγκατατίθεσαι ἡμῖν περὶ τούτων τὴν αὐτὴν δόξαν ἢ ἀντίφῃς;

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ ἔγωγε, ἀλλὰ συγχωρῶ, ἵνα σοι καὶ περανθῇ ὁ λόγος καὶ Γοργίᾳ τῷδε χαρίσωμαι. [501d]

Σωκράτης: πότερον δὲ περὶ μὲν μίαν ψυχὴν ἔστιν τοῦτο, περὶ δὲ δύο καὶ πολλὰς οὐκ ἔστιν;

Καλλίκλης: οὔκ, ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ δύο καὶ περὶ πολλάς.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἁθρόαις ἅμα χαρίζεσθαι ἔστι, μηδὲν σκοπούμενον τὸ βέλτιστον;

Καλλίκλης: οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν αἵτινές εἰσιν αἱ ἐπιτηδεύσεις αἱ τοῦτο ποιοῦσαι; μᾶλλον δέ, εἰ βούλει, ἐμοῦ ἐρωτῶντος, ἣ μὲν ἄν σοι δοκῇ τούτων εἶναι, φάθι, ἣ δ’ ἂν μή, μὴ φάθι. [501e] πρῶτον δὲ σκεψώμεθα τὴν αὐλητικήν. οὐ δοκεῖ σοι τοιαύτη τις εἶναι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τὴν ἡδονὴν ἡμῶν μόνον διώκειν, ἄλλο δ’ οὐδὲν φροντίζειν;

Καλλίκλης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ αἱ τοιαίδε ἅπασαι, οἷον ἡ κιθαριστικὴ ἡ ἐν τοῖς ἀγῶσιν;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ἡ τῶν χορῶν διδασκαλία καὶ ἡ τῶν διθυράμβων ποίησις; οὐ τοιαύτη τίς σοι καταφαίνεται; ἢ ἡγῇ τι φροντίζειν Κινησίαν τὸν Μέλητος, ὅπως ἐρεῖ τι τοιοῦτον ὅθεν ἂν οἱ ἀκούοντες βελτίους γίγνοιντο, ἢ ὅτι μέλλει [502a] χαριεῖσθαι τῷ ὄχλῳ τῶν θεατῶν;

Καλλίκλης: δῆλον δὴ τοῦτό γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, Κινησίου γε πέρι.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ Μέλης; ἦ πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον βλέπων ἐδόκει σοι κιθαρῳδεῖν; ἢ ἐκεῖνος μὲν οὐδὲ πρὸς τὸ ἥδιστον; ἠνία γὰρ ᾄδων τοὺς θεατάς. ἀλλὰ δὴ σκόπει: οὐχὶ ἥ τε κιθαρῳδικὴ δοκεῖ σοι πᾶσα καὶ ἡ τῶν διθυράμβων ποίησις ἡδονῆς χάριν ηὑρῆσθαι;

Καλλίκλης: ἔμοιγε. [502b]

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ δὴ ἡ σεμνὴ αὕτη καὶ θαυμαστή, ἡ τῆς τραγῳδίας ποίησις, ἐφ’ ᾧ ἐσπούδακεν; πότερόν ἐστιν αὐτῆς τὸ ἐπιχείρημα καὶ ἡ σπουδή, ὡς σοὶ δοκεῖ, χαρίζεσθαι τοῖς θεαταῖς μόνον, ἢ καὶ διαμάχεσθαι, ἐάν τι αὐτοῖς ἡδὺ μὲν ᾖ καὶ κεχαρισμένον, πονηρὸν δέ, ὅπως τοῦτο μὲν μὴ ἐρεῖ, εἰ δέ τι τυγχάνει ἀηδὲς καὶ ὠφέλιμον, τοῦτο δὲ καὶ λέξει καὶ ᾄσεται, ἐάντε χαίρωσιν ἐάντε μή; ποτέρως σοι δοκεῖ παρεσκευάσθαι ἡ τῶν τραγῳδιῶν ποίησις;

Καλλίκλης: δῆλον δὴ τοῦτό γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι πρὸς τὴν [502c] ἡδονὴν μᾶλλον ὥρμηται καὶ τὸ χαρίζεσθαι τοῖς θεαταῖς.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ τοιοῦτον, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἔφαμεν νυνδὴ κολακείαν εἶναι;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, εἴ τις περιέλοι τῆς ποιήσεως πάσης τό τε μέλος καὶ τὸν ῥυθμὸν καὶ τὸ μέτρον, ἄλλο τι ἢ λόγοι γίγνονται τὸ λειπόμενον;

Καλλίκλης: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν πρὸς πολὺν ὄχλον καὶ δῆμον οὗτοι λέγονται οἱ λόγοι;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: δημηγορία ἄρα τίς ἐστιν ἡ ποιητική. [502d]

Καλλίκλης: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ῥητορικὴ δημηγορία ἂν εἴη: ἢ οὐ ῥητορεύειν δοκοῦσί σοι οἱ ποιηταὶ ἐν τοῖς θεάτροις;

Καλλίκλης: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: νῦν ἄρα ἡμεῖς ηὑρήκαμεν ῥητορικήν τινα πρὸς δῆμον τοιοῦτον οἷον παίδων τε ὁμοῦ καὶ γυναικῶν καὶ ἀνδρῶν, καὶ δούλων καὶ ἐλευθέρων, ἣν οὐ πάνυ ἀγάμεθα: κολακικὴν γὰρ αὐτήν φαμεν εἶναι.

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: τί δὲ ἡ πρὸς τὸν Ἀθηναίων δῆμον ῥητορικὴ [502e] καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους τοὺς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν δήμους τοὺς τῶν ἐλευθέρων ἀνδρῶν, τί ποτε ἡμῖν αὕτη ἐστίν; πότερόν σοι δοκοῦσιν πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον ἀεὶ λέγειν οἱ ῥήτορες, τούτου στοχαζόμενοι, ὅπως οἱ πολῖται ὡς βέλτιστοι ἔσονται διὰ τοὺς αὑτῶν λόγους, ἢ καὶ οὗτοι πρὸς τὸ χαρίζεσθαι τοῖς πολίταις ὡρμημένοι, καὶ ἕνεκα τοῦ ἰδίου τοῦ αὑτῶν ὀλιγωροῦντες τοῦ κοινοῦ, ὥσπερ παισὶ προσομιλοῦσι τοῖς δήμοις, χαρίζεσθαι αὐτοῖς πειρώμενοι μόνον, εἰ δέ γε βελτίους ἔσονται ἢ χείρους [503a] διὰ ταῦτα, οὐδὲν φροντίζουσιν;

Καλλίκλης: οὐχ ἁπλοῦν ἔτι τοῦτο ἐρωτᾷς: εἰσὶ μὲν γὰρ οἳ κηδόμενοι τῶν πολιτῶν λέγουσιν ἃ λέγουσιν, εἰσὶν δὲ καὶ οἵους σὺ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἐξαρκεῖ. εἰ γὰρ καὶ τοῦτό ἐστι διπλοῦν, τὸ μὲν ἕτερόν που τούτου κολακεία ἂν εἴη καὶ αἰσχρὰ δημηγορία, τὸ δ’ ἕτερον καλόν, τὸ παρασκευάζειν ὅπως ὡς βέλτισται ἔσονται τῶν πολιτῶν αἱ ψυχαί, καὶ διαμάχεσθαι λέγοντα τὰ βέλτιστα, εἴτε ἡδίω εἴτε ἀηδέστερα ἔσται τοῖς ἀκούουσιν. [503b] ἀλλ’ οὐ πώποτε σὺ ταύτην εἶδες τὴν ῥητορικήν: ἢ εἴ τινα ἔχεις τῶν ῥητόρων τοιοῦτον εἰπεῖν, τί οὐχὶ καὶ ἐμοὶ αὐτὸν ἔφρασας τίς ἐστιν;

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλὰ μὰ Δία οὐκ ἔχω ἔγωγέ σοι εἰπεῖν τῶν γε νῦν ῥητόρων οὐδένα.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; τῶν παλαιῶν ἔχεις τινὰ εἰπεῖν δι’ ὅντινα αἰτίαν ἔχουσιν Ἀθηναῖοι βελτίους γεγονέναι, ἐπειδὴ ἐκεῖνος ἤρξατο δημηγορεῖν, ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν χρόνῳ χείρους ὄντες; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ οὐκ οἶδα τίς ἐστιν οὗτος. [503c]

Καλλίκλης: τί δέ; Θεμιστοκλέα οὐκ ἀκούεις ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν γεγονότα καὶ Κίμωνα καὶ Μιλτιάδην καὶ Περικλέα τουτονὶ τὸν νεωστὶ τετελευτηκότα, οὗ καὶ σὺ ἀκήκοας;

Σωκράτης: εἰ ἔστιν γε, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἣν πρότερον σὺ ἔλεγες ἀρετήν, ἀληθής, τὸ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας ἀποπιμπλάναι καὶ τὰς αὑτοῦ καὶ τὰς τῶν ἄλλων: εἰ δὲ μὴ τοῦτο, ἀλλ’ ὅπερ ἐν τῷ ὑστέρῳ λόγῳ ἠναγκάσθημεν ἡμεῖς ὁμολογεῖν — ὅτι αἳ μὲν τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν πληρούμεναι βελτίω ποιοῦσι τὸν ἄνθρωπον, [503d] ταύτας μὲν ἀποτελεῖν, αἳ δὲ χείρω, μή, τοῦτο δὲ τέχνη τις εἴη — τοιοῦτον ἄνδρα τούτων τινὰ [γεγονέναι] οὐκ ἔχω ἔγωγε πῶς εἴπω.

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλ’ ἐὰν ζητῇς καλῶς, εὑρήσεις.

Σωκράτης: ἴδωμεν δὴ οὑτωσὶ ἀτρέμα σκοπούμενοι εἴ τις τούτων τοιοῦτος γέγονεν: φέρε γάρ, ὁ ἀγαθὸς ἀνὴρ καὶ ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιστον λέγων, ἃ ἂν λέγῃ ἄλλο τι οὐκ εἰκῇ ἐρεῖ, ἀλλ’ [503e] ἀποβλέπων πρός τι; ὥσπερ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες δημιουργοὶ [βλέποντες] πρὸς τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον ἕκαστος οὐκ εἰκῇ ἐκλεγόμενος προσφέρει [πρὸς τὸ ἔργον τὸ αὑτῶν,] ἀλλ’ ὅπως ἂν εἶδός τι αὐτῷ σχῇ τοῦτο ὃ ἐργάζεται. οἷον εἰ βούλει ἰδεῖν τοὺς ζωγράφους, τοὺς οἰκοδόμους, τοὺς ναυπηγούς, τοὺς ἄλλους πάντας δημιουργούς, ὅντινα βούλει αὐτῶν, ὡς εἰς τάξιν τινὰ ἕκαστος ἕκαστον τίθησιν ὃ ἂν τιθῇ, καὶ προσαναγκάζει τὸ ἕτερον τῷ ἑτέρῳ πρέπον τε εἶναι καὶ ἁρμόττειν, ἕως ἂν τὸ [504a] ἅπαν συστήσηται τεταγμένον τε καὶ κεκοσμημένον πρᾶγμα: καὶ οἵ τε δὴ ἄλλοι δημιουργοὶ καὶ οὓς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, οἱ περὶ τὸ σῶμα, παιδοτρίβαι τε καὶ ἰατροί, κοσμοῦσί που τὸ σῶμα καὶ συντάττουσιν. ὁμολογοῦμεν οὕτω τοῦτ’ ἔχειν ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: ἔστω τοῦτο οὕτω.

Σωκράτης: τάξεως ἄρα καὶ κόσμου τυχοῦσα οἰκία χρηστὴ ἂν εἴη, ἀταξίας δὲ μοχθηρά;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ πλοῖον ὡσαύτως; [504b]

Καλλίκλης:’ ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ τὰ σώματά φαμεν τὰ ἡμέτερα;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δ’ ἡ ψυχή; ἀταξίας τυχοῦσα ἔσται χρηστή, ἢ τάξεώς τε καὶ κόσμου τινός;

Καλλίκλης: ἀνάγκη ἐκ τῶν πρόσθεν καὶ τοῦτο συνομολογεῖν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν ὄνομά ἐστιν ἐν τῷ σώματι τῷ ἐκ τῆς τάξεώς τε καὶ τοῦ κόσμου γιγνομένῳ;

Καλλίκλης: Ὑγίειαν καὶ ἰσχὺν ἴσως λέγεις. [504c]

Σωκράτης: ἔγωγε. τί δὲ αὖ τῷ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἐγγιγνομένῳ ἐκ τῆς τάξεως καὶ τοῦ κόσμου; πειρῶ εὑρεῖν καὶ εἰπεῖν ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ τὸ ὄνομα.

Καλλίκλης: τί δὲ οὐκ αὐτὸς λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ εἴ σοι ἥδιόν ἐστιν, ἐγὼ ἐρῶ: σὺ δέ, ἂν μέν σοι δοκῶ ἐγὼ καλῶς λέγειν, φάθι, εἰ δὲ μή, ἔλεγχε καὶ μὴ ἐπίτρεπε. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δοκεῖ ταῖς μὲν τοῦ σώματος τάξεσιν ὄνομα εἶναι ὑγιεινόν, ἐξ οὗ ἐν αὐτῷ ἡ ὑγίεια γίγνεται καὶ ἡ ἄλλη ἀρετὴ τοῦ σώματος. ἔστιν ταῦτα ἢ οὐκ ἔστιν;

Καλλίκλης: ἔστιν. [504d]

Σωκράτης: ταῖς δέ γε τῆς ψυχῆς τάξεσι καὶ κοσμήσεσιν νόμιμόν τε καὶ νόμος, ὅθεν καὶ νόμιμοι γίγνονται καὶ κόσμιοι: ταῦτα δ’ ἔστιν δικαιοσύνη τε καὶ σωφροσύνη. φῂς ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: ἔστω.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν πρὸς ταῦτα βλέπων ὁ ῥήτωρ ἐκεῖνος, ὁ τεχνικός τε καὶ ἀγαθός, καὶ τοὺς λόγους προσοίσει ταῖς ψυχαῖς οὓς ἂν λέγῃ, καὶ τὰς πράξεις ἁπάσας, καὶ δῶρον ἐάν τι διδῷ, δώσει, καὶ ἐάν τι ἀφαιρῆται, ἀφαιρήσεται, πρὸς τοῦτο ἀεὶ τὸν νοῦν ἔχων, ὅπως ἂν αὐτοῦ τοῖς πολίταις [504e] δικαιοσύνη μὲν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς γίγνηται, ἀδικία δὲ ἀπαλλάττηται, καὶ σωφροσύνη μὲν ἐγγίγνηται, ἀκολασία δὲ ἀπαλλάττηται, καὶ ἡ ἄλλη ἀρετὴ ἐγγίγνηται, κακία δὲ ἀπίῃ. συγχωρεῖς ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: συγχωρῶ.

Σωκράτης: τί γὰρ ὄφελος, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, σώματί γε κάμνοντι καὶ μοχθηρῶς διακειμένῳ σιτία πολλὰ διδόναι καὶ τὰ ἥδιστα ἢ ποτὰ ἢ ἄλλ’ ὁτιοῦν, ὃ μὴ ὀνήσει αὐτὸ ἔσθ’ ὅτι πλέον ἢ τοὐναντίον κατά γε τὸν δίκαιον λόγον καὶ ἔλαττον; ἔστι ταῦτα; [505a]

Καλλίκλης: ἔστω.

Σωκράτης: οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι λυσιτελεῖ μετὰ μοχθηρίας σώματος ζῆν ἀνθρώπῳ: ἀνάγκη γὰρ οὕτω καὶ ζῆν μοχθηρῶς. ἢ οὐχ οὕτως;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας ἀποπιμπλάναι, οἷον πεινῶντα φαγεῖν ὅσον βούλεται ἢ διψῶντα πιεῖν, ὑγιαίνοντα μὲν ἐῶσιν οἱ ἰατροὶ ὡς τὰ πολλά, κάμνοντα δὲ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδέποτ’ ἐῶσιν ἐμπίμπλασθαι ὧν ἐπιθυμεῖ; συγχωρεῖς τοῦτό γε καὶ σύ;

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε. [505b]

Σωκράτης: περὶ δὲ ψυχήν, ὦ ἄριστε, οὐχ ὁ αὐτὸς τρόπος; ἕως μὲν ἂν πονηρὰ ᾖ, ἀνόητός τε οὖσα καὶ ἀκόλαστος καὶ ἄδικος καὶ ἀνόσιος, εἴργειν αὐτὴν δεῖ τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ μὴ ἐπιτρέπειν ἄλλ’ ἄττα ποιεῖν ἢ ἀφ’ ὧν βελτίων ἔσται: φῂς ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: οὕτω γάρ που αὐτῇ ἄμεινον τῇ ψυχῇ;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ εἴργειν ἐστὶν ἀφ’ ὧν ἐπιθυμεῖ κολάζειν;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τὸ κολάζεσθαι ἄρα τῇ ψυχῇ ἄμεινόν ἐστιν ἢ ἡ ἀκολασία, ὥσπερ σὺ νυνδὴ ᾤου. [505c]

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ οἶδ’ ἅττα λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ’ ἄλλον τινὰ ἐρώτα.

Σωκράτης: οὗτος ἀνὴρ οὐχ ὑπομένει ὠφελούμενος καὶ αὐτὸς τοῦτο πάσχων περὶ οὗ ὁ λόγος ἐστί, κολαζόμενος.

Καλλίκλης: οὐδέ γέ μοι μέλει οὐδὲν ὧν σὺ λέγεις, καὶ ταῦτά σοι Γοργίου χάριν ἀπεκρινάμην.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: τί οὖν δὴ ποιήσομεν; μεταξὺ τὸν λόγον καταλύομεν;

Καλλίκλης: αὐτὸς γνώσῃ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ τοὺς μύθους φασὶ μεταξὺ θέμις εἶναι [505d] καταλείπειν, ἀλλ’ ἐπιθέντας κεφαλήν, ἵνα μὴ ἄνευ κεφαλῆς περιίῃ. ἀπόκριναι οὖν καὶ τὰ λοιπά, ἵνα ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος κεφαλὴν λάβῃ.

Καλλίκλης: ὡς βίαιος εἶ, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἐὰν δὲ ἐμοὶ πείθῃ, ἐάσεις χαίρειν τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, ἢ καὶ ἄλλῳ τῳ διαλέξῃ.

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν ἄλλος ἐθέλει; μὴ γάρ τοι ἀτελῆ γε τὸν λόγον καταλίπωμεν.

Καλλίκλης: αὐτὸς δὲ οὐκ ἂν δύναιο διελθεῖν τὸν λόγον, ἢ λέγων κατὰ σαυτὸν ἢ ἀποκρινόμενος σαυτῷ; [505e]

Σωκράτης: ἵνα μοι τὸ τοῦ Ἐπιχάρμου γένηται, ἃ “πρὸ τοῦ δύο ἄνδρες ἔλεγον,” εἷς ὢν ἱκανὸς γένωμαι. ἀτὰρ κινδυνεύει ἀναγκαιότατον εἶναι οὕτως. εἰ μέντοι ποιήσομεν, οἶμαι ἔγωγε χρῆναι πάντας ἡμᾶς φιλονίκως ἔχειν πρὸς τὸ εἰδέναι τὸ ἀληθὲς τί ἐστιν περὶ ὧν λέγομεν καὶ τί ψεῦδος: κοινὸν γὰρ ἀγαθὸν ἅπασι φανερὸν γενέσθαι αὐτό. δίειμι [506a] μὲν οὖν τῷ λόγῳ ἐγὼ ὡς ἄν μοι δοκῇ ἔχειν: ἐὰν δέ τῳ ὑμῶν μὴ τὰ ὄντα δοκῶ ὁμολογεῖν ἐμαυτῷ, χρὴ ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι καὶ ἐλέγχειν. οὐδὲ γάρ τοι ἔγωγε εἰδὼς λέγω ἃ λέγω, ἀλλὰ ζητῶ κοινῇ μεθ’ ὑμῶν, ὥστε, ἂν τὶ φαίνηται λέγων ὁ ἀμφισβητῶν ἐμοί, ἐγὼ πρῶτος συγχωρήσομαι. λέγω μέντοι ταῦτα, εἰ δοκεῖ χρῆναι διαπερανθῆναι τὸν λόγον: εἰ δὲ μὴ βούλεσθε, ἐῶμεν ἤδη χαίρειν καὶ ἀπίωμεν.

Γοργίας: ἀλλ’ ἐμοὶ μὲν οὐ δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, χρῆναί πω [506b] ἀπιέναι, ἀλλὰ διεξελθεῖν σε τὸν λόγον: φαίνεται δέ μοι καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις δοκεῖν. βούλομαι γὰρ ἔγωγε καὶ αὐτὸς ἀκοῦσαί σου αὐτοῦ διιόντος τὰ ἐπίλοιπα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὲν δή, ὦ Γοργία, καὶ αὐτὸς ἡδέως μὲν ἂν Καλλικλεῖ τούτῳ ἔτι διελεγόμην, ἕως αὐτῷ τὴν τοῦ Ἀμφίονος ἀπέδωκα ῥῆσιν ἀντὶ τῆς τοῦ Ζήθου: ἐπειδὴ δὲ σύ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, οὐκ ἐθέλεις συνδιαπερᾶναι τὸν λόγον, ἀλλ’ οὖν ἐμοῦ γε ἀκούων ἐπιλαμβάνου, ἐάν τί σοι δοκῶ μὴ [506c] καλῶς λέγειν. καί με ἐὰν ἐξελέγχῃς, οὐκ ἀχθεσθήσομαί σοι ὥσπερ σὺ ἐμοί, ἀλλὰ μέγιστος εὐεργέτης παρ’ ἐμοὶ ἀναγεγράψῃ.

Καλλίκλης: λέγε, ὠγαθέ, αὐτὸς καὶ πέραινε.

Σωκράτης: ἄκουε δὴ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐμοῦ ἀναλαβόντος τὸν λόγον. ἆρα τὸ ἡδὺ καὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν τὸ αὐτό ἐστιν;

οὐ ταὐτόν, ὡς ἐγὼ καὶ Καλλικλῆς ὡμολογήσαμεν.

πότερον δὲ τὸ ἡδὺ ἕνεκα τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ πρακτέον, ἢ τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἕνεκα τοῦ ἡδέος;

τὸ ἡδὺ ἕνεκα τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ.

ἡδὺ δέ ἐστιν τοῦτο οὗ [506d] παραγενομένου ἡδόμεθα, ἀγαθὸν δὲ οὗ παρόντος ἀγαθοί ἐσμεν;

πάνυ γε.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἀγαθοί γέ ἐσμεν καὶ ἡμεῖς καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ὅσ’ ἀγαθά ἐστιν, ἀρετῆς τινος παραγενομένης;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις.

ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ ἥ γε ἀρετὴ ἑκάστου, καὶ σκεύους καὶ σώματος καὶ ψυχῆς αὖ καὶ ζῴου παντός, οὐ τῷ εἰκῇ κάλλιστα παραγίγνεται, ἀλλὰ τάξει καὶ ὀρθότητι καὶ τέχνῃ, ἥτις ἑκάστῳ ἀποδέδοται αὐτῶν: ἆρα ἔστιν ταῦτα;

ἐγὼ μὲν γάρ φημι.

[506e] τάξει ἆρα τεταγμένον καὶ κεκοσμημένον ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετὴ ἑκάστου;

φαίην ἂν ἔγωγε.

κόσμος τις ἄρα ἐγγενόμενος ἐν ἑκάστῳ ὁ ἑκάστου οἰκεῖος ἀγαθὸν παρέχει ἕκαστον τῶν ὄντων;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

καὶ ψυχὴ ἄρα κόσμον ἔχουσα τὸν ἑαυτῆς ἀμείνων τῆς ἀκοσμήτου;

ἀνάγκη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἥ γε κόσμον ἔχουσα κοσμία;

πῶς γὰρ οὐ μέλλει;

ἡ δέ [507a] γε κοσμία σώφρων;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη.

ἡ ἄρα σώφρων ψυχὴ ἀγαθή. ἐγὼ μὲν οὐκ ἔχω παρὰ ταῦτα ἄλλα φάναι, ὦ φίλε Καλλίκλεις: σὺ δ’ εἰ ἔχεις, δίδασκε.

Καλλίκλης: λέγ’, ὠγαθέ.

Σωκράτης: λέγω δὴ ὅτι, εἰ ἡ σώφρων ἀγαθή ἐστιν, ἡ τοὐναντίον τῇ σώφρονι πεπονθυῖα κακή ἐστιν: ἦν δὲ αὕτη ἡ ἄφρων τε καὶ ἀκόλαστος. πάνυ γε.

καὶ μὴν ὅ γε σώφρων τὰ προσήκοντα πράττοι ἂν καὶ περὶ θεοὺς καὶ περὶ ἀνθρώπους: οὐ γὰρ ἂν σωφρονοῖ τὰ μὴ προσήκοντα πράττων;

[507b] ἀνάγκη ταῦτ’ εἶναι οὕτω.

καὶ μὴν περὶ μὲν ἀνθρώπους τὰ προσήκοντα πράττων δίκαι’ ἂν πράττοι, περὶ δὲ θεοὺς ὅσια: τὸν δὲ τὰ δίκαια καὶ ὅσια πράττοντα ἀνάγκη δίκαιον καὶ ὅσιον εἶναι. ἔστι ταῦτα.

καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ ἀνδρεῖόν γε ἀνάγκη: οὐ γὰρ δὴ σώφρονος ἀνδρός ἐστιν οὔτε διώκειν οὔτε φεύγειν ἃ μὴ προσήκει, ἀλλ’ ἃ δεῖ καὶ πράγματα καὶ ἀνθρώπους καὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας φεύγειν καὶ διώκειν, καὶ ὑπομένοντα καρτερεῖν ὅπου δεῖ: ὥστε πολλὴ [507c] ἀνάγκη, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τὸν σώφρονα, ὥσπερ διήλθομεν, δίκαιον ὄντα καὶ ἀνδρεῖον καὶ ὅσιον ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα εἶναι τελέως, τὸν δὲ ἀγαθὸν εὖ τε καὶ καλῶς πράττειν ἃ ἂν πράττῃ, τὸν δ’ εὖ πράττοντα μακάριόν τε καὶ εὐδαίμονα εἶναι, τὸν δὲ πονηρὸν καὶ κακῶς πράττοντα ἄθλιον: οὗτος δ’ ἂν εἴη ὁ ἐναντίως ἔχων τῷ σώφρονι, ὁ ἀκόλαστος, ὃν σὺ ἐπῄνεις.

ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα οὕτω τίθεμαι καί φημι ταῦτα ἀληθῆ εἶναι: εἰ δὲ ἔστιν ἀληθῆ, τὸν βουλόμενον, ὡς ἔοικεν, εὐδαίμονα [507d] εἶναι σωφροσύνην μὲν διωκτέον καὶ ἀσκητέον, ἀκολασίαν δὲ φευκτέον ὡς ἔχει ποδῶν ἕκαστος ἡμῶν, καὶ παρασκευαστέον μάλιστα μὲν μηδὲν δεῖσθαι τοῦ κολάζεσθαι, ἐὰν δὲ δεηθῇ ἢ αὐτὸς ἢ ἄλλος τις τῶν οἰκείων, ἢ ἰδιώτης ἢ πόλις, ἐπιθετέον δίκην καὶ κολαστέον, εἰ μέλλει εὐδαίμων εἶναι. οὗτος ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ ὁ σκοπὸς εἶναι πρὸς ὃν βλέποντα δεῖ ζῆν, καὶ πάντα εἰς τοῦτο τὰ αὑτοῦ συντείνοντα καὶ τὰ τῆς πόλεως, ὅπως δικαιοσύνη παρέσται καὶ σωφροσύνη [507e] τῷ μακαρίῳ μέλλοντι ἔσεσθαι, οὕτω πράττειν, οὐκ ἐπιθυμίας ἐῶντα ἀκολάστους εἶναι καὶ ταύτας ἐπιχειροῦντα πληροῦν, ἀνήνυτον κακόν, λῃστοῦ βίον ζῶντα. οὔτε γὰρ ἂν ἄλλῳ ἀνθρώπῳ προσφιλὴς ἂν εἴη ὁ τοιοῦτος οὔτε θεῷ: κοινωνεῖν γὰρ ἀδύνατος, ὅτῳ δὲ μὴ ἔνι κοινωνία, φιλία οὐκ ἂν εἴη. φασὶ δ’ οἱ σοφοί, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, καὶ οὐρανὸν καὶ [508a] γῆν καὶ θεοὺς καὶ ἀνθρώπους τὴν κοινωνίαν συνέχειν καὶ φιλίαν καὶ κοσμιότητα καὶ σωφροσύνην καὶ δικαιότητα, καὶ τὸ ὅλον τοῦτο διὰ ταῦτα κόσμον καλοῦσιν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, οὐκ ἀκοσμίαν οὐδὲ ἀκολασίαν. σὺ δέ μοι δοκεῖς οὐ προσέχειν τὸν νοῦν τούτοις, καὶ ταῦτα σοφὸς ὤν, ἀλλὰ λέληθέν σε ὅτι ἡ ἰσότης ἡ γεωμετρικὴ καὶ ἐν θεοῖς καὶ ἐν ἀνθρώποις μέγα δύναται, σὺ δὲ πλεονεξίαν οἴει δεῖν ἀσκεῖν: γεωμετρίας γὰρ ἀμελεῖς. εἶεν: ἢ ἐξελεγκτέος δὴ οὗτος ὁ λόγος [508b] ἡμῖν ἐστιν, ὡς οὐ δικαιοσύνης καὶ σωφροσύνης κτήσει εὐδαίμονες οἱ εὐδαίμονες, κακίας δὲ οἱ ἄθλιοι, ἢ εἰ οὗτος ἀληθής ἐστιν, σκεπτέον τί τὰ συμβαίνοντα. τὰ πρόσθεν ἐκεῖνα, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, συμβαίνει πάντα, ἐφ’ οἷς σύ με ἤρου εἰ σπουδάζων λέγοιμι, λέγοντα ὅτι κατηγορητέον εἴη καὶ αὑτοῦ καὶ ὑέος καὶ ἑταίρου, ἐάν τι ἀδικῇ, καὶ τῇ ῥητορικῇ ἐπὶ τοῦτο χρηστέον: καὶ ἃ Πῶλον αἰσχύνῃ ᾤου συγχωρεῖν, ἀληθῆ ἄρα ἦν, τὸ εἶναι τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι ὅσῳπερ [508c] αἴσχιον τοσούτῳ κάκιον: καὶ τὸν μέλλοντα ὀρθῶς ῥητορικὸν ἔσεσθαι δίκαιον ἄρα δεῖ εἶναι καὶ ἐπιστήμονα τῶν δικαίων, ὃ αὖ Γοργίαν ἔφη Πῶλος δι’ αἰσχύνην ὁμολογῆσαι.

τούτων δὲ οὕτως ἐχόντων σκεψώμεθα τί ποτ’ ἐστὶν ἃ σὺ ἐμοὶ ὀνειδίζεις, ἆρα καλῶς λέγεται ἢ οὔ, ὡς ἄρα ἐγὼ οὐχ οἷός τ’ εἰμὶ βοηθῆσαι οὔτε ἐμαυτῷ οὔτε τῶν φίλων οὐδενὶ οὐδὲ τῶν οἰκείων, οὐδ’ ἐκσῶσαι ἐκ τῶν μεγίστων κινδύνων, εἰμὶ δὲ ἐπὶ τῷ βουλομένῳ ὥσπερ οἱ ἄτιμοι τοῦ ἐθέλοντος, [508d] ἄντε τύπτειν βούληται, τὸ νεανικὸν δὴ τοῦτο τὸ τοῦ σοῦ λόγου, ἐπὶ κόρρης, ἐάντε χρήματα ἀφαιρεῖσθαι, ἐάντε ἐκβάλλειν ἐκ τῆς πόλεως, ἐάντε, τὸ ἔσχατον, ἀποκτεῖναι: καὶ οὕτω διακεῖσθαι πάντων δὴ αἴσχιστόν ἐστιν, ὡς ὁ σὸς λόγος. ὁ δὲ δὴ ἐμὸς ὅστις, πολλάκις μὲν ἤδη εἴρηται, οὐδὲν δὲ κωλύει καὶ ἔτι λέγεσθαι: οὔ φημι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τὸ τύπτεσθαι ἐπὶ κόρρης ἀδίκως αἴσχιστον εἶναι, οὐδέ γε τὸ τέμνεσθαι [508e] οὔτε τὸ σῶμα τὸ ἐμὸν οὔτε τὸ βαλλάντιον, ἀλλὰ τὸ τύπτειν καὶ ἐμὲ καὶ τὰ ἐμὰ ἀδίκως καὶ τέμνειν καὶ αἴσχιον καὶ κάκιον, καὶ κλέπτειν γε ἅμα καὶ ἀνδραποδίζεσθαι καὶ τοιχωρυχεῖν καὶ συλλήβδην ὁτιοῦν ἀδικεῖν καὶ ἐμὲ καὶ τὰ ἐμὰ τῷ ἀδικοῦντι καὶ κάκιον καὶ αἴσχιον εἶναι ἢ ἐμοὶ τῷ ἀδικουμένῳ. ταῦτα ἡμῖν ἄνω ἐκεῖ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν λόγοις οὕτω φανέντα, ὡς ἐγὼ λέγω, κατέχεται καὶ δέδεται, καὶ [509a] εἰ ἀγροικότερόν τι εἰπεῖν ἔστιν, σιδηροῖς καὶ ἀδαμαντίνοις λόγοις, ὡς γοῦν ἂν δόξειεν οὑτωσί, οὓς σὺ εἰ μὴ λύσεις ἢ σοῦ τις νεανικώτερος, οὐχ οἷόν τε ἄλλως λέγοντα ἢ ὡς ἐγὼ νῦν λέγω καλῶς λέγειν: ἐπεὶ ἔμοιγε ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος ἐστιν ἀεί, ὅτι ἐγὼ ταῦτα οὐκ οἶδα ὅπως ἔχει, ὅτι μέντοι ὧν ἐγὼ ἐντετύχηκα, ὥσπερ νῦν, οὐδεὶς οἷός τ’ ἐστὶν ἄλλως λέγων μὴ οὐ καταγέλαστος εἶναι. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν αὖ τίθημι [509b] ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν: εἰ δὲ οὕτως ἔχει καὶ μέγιστον τῶν κακῶν ἐστιν ἡ ἀδικία τῷ ἀδικοῦντι καὶ ἔτι τούτου μεῖζον μεγίστου ὄντος, εἰ οἷόν τε, τὸ ἀδικοῦντα μὴ διδόναι δίκην, τίνα ἂν βοήθειαν μὴ δυνάμενος ἄνθρωπος βοηθεῖν ἑαυτῷ καταγέλαστος ἂν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ εἴη; ἆρα οὐ ταύτην, ἥτις ἀποτρέψει τὴν μεγίστην ἡμῶν βλάβην; ἀλλὰ πολλὴ ἀνάγκη ταύτην εἶναι τὴν αἰσχίστην βοήθειαν μὴ δύνασθαι βοηθεῖν μήτε αὑτῷ μήτε τοῖς αὑτοῦ φίλοις τε καὶ οἰκείοις, δευτέραν δὲ [509c] τὴν τοῦ δευτέρου κακοῦ καὶ τρίτην τὴν τοῦ τρίτου καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως: ὡς ἑκάστου κακοῦ μέγεθος πέφυκεν, οὕτω καὶ κάλλος τοῦ δυνατὸν εἶναι ἐφ’ ἕκαστα βοηθεῖν καὶ αἰσχύνη τοῦ μή. ἆρα ἄλλως ἢ οὕτως ἔχει, ὦ Καλλίκλεις;

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ ἄλλως.

Σωκράτης: δυοῖν οὖν ὄντοιν, τοῦ ἀδικεῖν τε καὶ ἀδικεῖσθαι, μεῖζον μέν φαμεν κακὸν τὸ ἀδικεῖν, ἔλαττον δὲ τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι. τί οὖν ἂν παρασκευασάμενος ἄνθρωπος βοηθήσειεν αὑτῷ, [509d] ὥστε ἀμφοτέρας τὰς ὠφελίας ταύτας ἔχειν, τήν τε ἀπὸ τοῦ μὴ ἀδικεῖν καὶ τὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ μὴ ἀδικεῖσθαι; πότερα δύναμιν ἢ βούλησιν; ὧδε δὲ λέγω: πότερον ἐὰν μὴ βούληται ἀδικεῖσθαι, οὐκ ἀδικήσεται, ἢ ἐὰν δύναμιν παρασκευάσηται τοῦ μὴ ἀδικεῖσθαι, οὐκ ἀδικήσεται;

Καλλίκλης: δῆλον δὴ τοῦτό γε, ὅτι ἐὰν δύναμιν.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ δὴ τοῦ ἀδικεῖν; πότερον ἐὰν μὴ βούληται ἀδικεῖν, ἱκανὸν τοῦτ’ ἐστίν — οὐ γὰρ ἀδικήσει — ἢ καὶ ἐπὶ [509e] τοῦτο δεῖ δύναμίν τινα καὶ τέχνην παρασκευάσασθαι, ὡς, ἐὰν μὴ μάθῃ αὐτὰ καὶ ἀσκήσῃ, ἀδικήσει; τί οὐκ αὐτό γέ μοι τοῦτο ἀπεκρίνω, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, πότερόν σοι δοκοῦμεν ὀρθῶς ἀναγκασθῆναι ὁμολογεῖν ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν λόγοις ἐγώ τε καὶ Πῶλος ἢ οὔ, ἡνίκα ὡμολογήσαμεν μηδένα βουλόμενον ἀδικεῖν, ἀλλ’ ἄκοντας τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας πάντας ἀδικεῖν; [510a]

Καλλίκλης: ἔστω σοι τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτως, ἵνα διαπεράνῃς τὸν λόγον.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦτο ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, παρασκευαστέον ἐστὶ δύναμίν τινα καὶ τέχνην, ὅπως μὴ ἀδικήσωμεν.

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν ποτ’ ἐστὶν τέχνη τῆς παρασκευῆς τοῦ μηδὲν ἀδικεῖσθαι ἢ ὡς ὀλίγιστα; σκέψαι εἰ σοὶ δοκεῖ ἥπερ ἐμοί. ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ δοκεῖ ἥδε: ἢ αὐτὸν ἄρχειν δεῖν ἐν τῇ πόλει ἢ καὶ τυραννεῖν, ἢ τῆς ὑπαρχούσης πολιτείας ἑταῖρον εἶναι.

Καλλίκλης: ὁρᾷς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς ἐγὼ ἕτοιμός εἰμι ἐπαινεῖν, [510b] ἄν τι καλῶς λέγῃς; τοῦτό μοι δοκεῖς πάνυ καλῶς εἰρηκέναι.

Σωκράτης: σκόπει δὴ καὶ τόδε ἐάν σοι δοκῶ εὖ λέγειν. φίλος μοι δοκεῖ ἕκαστος ἑκάστῳ εἶναι ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα, ὅνπερ οἱ παλαιοί τε καὶ σοφοὶ λέγουσιν, ὁ ὅμοιος τῷ ὁμοίῳ. οὐ καὶ σοί;

Καλλίκλης: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὅπου τύραννός ἐστιν ἄρχων ἄγριος καὶ ἀπαίδευτος, εἴ τις τούτου ἐν τῇ πόλει πολὺ βελτίων εἴη, φοβοῖτο δήπου ἂν αὐτὸν ὁ τύραννος καὶ τούτῳ ἐξ ἅπαντος [510c] τοῦ νοῦ οὐκ ἄν ποτε δύναιτο φίλος γενέσθαι;

Καλλίκλης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐδέ γε εἴ τις πολὺ φαυλότερος εἴη, οὐδ’ ἂν οὗτος: καταφρονοῖ γὰρ ἂν αὐτοῦ ὁ τύραννος καὶ οὐκ ἄν ποτε ὡς πρὸς φίλον σπουδάσειεν.

Καλλίκλης: καὶ ταῦτ’ ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης: λείπεται δὴ ἐκεῖνος μόνος ἄξιος λόγου φίλος τῷ τοιούτῳ, ὃς ἂν ὁμοήθης ὤν, ταὐτὰ ψέγων καὶ ἐπαινῶν, ἐθέλῃ ἄρχεσθαι καὶ ὑποκεῖσθαι τῷ ἄρχοντι. οὗτος μέγα [510d] ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ πόλει δυνήσεται, τοῦτον οὐδεὶς χαίρων ἀδικήσει. οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἰ ἄρα τις ἐννοήσειεν ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ πόλει τῶν νέων, “τίνα ἂν τρόπον ἐγὼ μέγα δυναίμην καὶ μηδείς με ἀδικοῖ;” αὕτη, ὡς ἔοικεν, αὐτῷ ὁδός ἐστιν, εὐθὺς ἐκ νέου ἐθίζειν αὑτὸν τοῖς αὐτοῖς χαίρειν καὶ ἄχθεσθαι τῷ δεσπότῃ, καὶ παρασκευάζειν ὅπως ὅτι μάλιστα ὅμοιος ἔσται ἐκείνῳ. οὐχ οὕτως;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τούτῳ τὸ μὲν μὴ ἀδικεῖσθαι καὶ μέγα [510e] δύνασθαι, ὡς ὁ ὑμέτερος λόγος, ἐν τῇ πόλει διαπεπράξεται.

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν καὶ τὸ μὴ ἀδικεῖν; ἢ πολλοῦ δεῖ, εἴπερ ὅμοιος ἔσται τῷ ἄρχοντι ὄντι ἀδίκῳ καὶ παρὰ τούτῳ μέγα δυνήσεται; ἀλλ’ οἶμαι ἔγωγε, πᾶν τοὐναντίον οὑτωσὶ ἡ παρασκευὴ ἔσται αὐτῷ ἐπὶ τὸ οἵῳ τε εἶναι ὡς πλεῖστα ἀδικεῖν καὶ ἀδικοῦντα μὴ διδόναι δίκην. ἦ γάρ;

Καλλίκλης: φαίνεται. [511a]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μέγιστον αὐτῷ κακὸν ὑπάρξει μοχθηρῷ ὄντι τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ λελωβημένῳ διὰ τὴν μίμησιν τοῦ δεσπότου καὶ δύναμιν.

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅπῃ στρέφεις ἑκάστοτε τοὺς λόγους ἄνω καὶ κάτω, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἢ οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι οὗτος ὁ μιμούμενος τὸν μὴ μιμούμενον ἐκεῖνον ἀποκτενεῖ, ἐὰν βούληται, καὶ ἀφαιρήσεται τὰ ὄντα. [511b]

Σωκράτης: οἶδα, ὠγαθὲ Καλλίκλεις, εἰ μὴ κωφός γ’ εἰμί, καὶ σοῦ ἀκούων καὶ Πώλου ἄρτι πολλάκις καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὀλίγου πάντων τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει: ἀλλὰ καὶ σὺ ἐμοῦ ἄκουε, ὅτι ἀποκτενεῖ μέν, ἂν βούληται, ἀλλὰ πονηρὸς ὢν καλὸν κἀγαθὸν ὄντα.

Καλλίκλης: οὐκοῦν τοῦτο δὴ καὶ τὸ ἀγανακτητόν;

Σωκράτης: οὐ νοῦν γε ἔχοντι, ὡς ὁ λόγος σημαίνει. ἢ οἴει δεῖν τοῦτο παρασκευάζεσθαι ἄνθρωπον, ὡς πλεῖστον χρόνον ζῆν, καὶ μελετᾶν τὰς τέχνας ταύτας αἳ ἡμᾶς ἀεὶ ἐκ τῶν [511c] κινδύνων σῴζουσιν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἣν σὺ κελεύεις ἐμὲ μελετᾶν τὴν ῥητορικὴν τὴν ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις διασῴζουσαν;

Καλλίκλης: ναὶ μὰ Δία ὀρθῶς γέ σοι συμβουλεύων.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ, ὦ βέλτιστε; ἦ καὶ ἡ τοῦ νεῖν ἐπιστήμη σεμνή τίς σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι;

Καλλίκλης: μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν σῴζει γε καὶ αὕτη ἐκ θανάτου τοὺς ἀνθρώπους, ὅταν εἴς τι τοιοῦτον ἐμπέσωσιν οὗ δεῖ ταύτης τῆς ἐπιστήμης. εἰ δ’ αὕτη σοι δοκεῖ σμικρὰ εἶναι, ἐγώ σοι [511d] μείζω ταύτης ἐρῶ, τὴν κυβερνητικήν, ἣ οὐ μόνον τὰς ψυχὰς σῴζει ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ σώματα καὶ τὰ χρήματα ἐκ τῶν ἐσχάτων κινδύνων, ὥσπερ ἡ ῥητορική. καὶ αὕτη μὲν προσεσταλμένη ἐστὶν καὶ κοσμία, καὶ οὐ σεμνύνεται ἐσχηματισμένη ὡς ὑπερήφανόν τι διαπραττομένη, ἀλλὰ ταὐτὰ διαπραξαμένη τῇ δικανικῇ, ἐὰν μὲν ἐξ Αἰγίνης δεῦρο σώσῃ, οἶμαι δύ’ ὀβολοὺς ἐπράξατο, ἐὰν δὲ ἐξ Αἰγύπτου ἢ ἐκ τοῦ Πόντου, [511e] ἐὰν πάμπολυ, ταύτης τῆς μεγάλης εὐεργεσίας, σώσασα ἃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, καὶ αὐτὸν καὶ παῖδας καὶ χρήματα καὶ γυναῖκας, ἀποβιβάσασ’ εἰς τὸν λιμένα δύο δραχμὰς ἐπράξατο, καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ ἔχων τὴν τέχνην καὶ ταῦτα διαπραξάμενος ἐκβὰς παρὰ τὴν θάλατταν καὶ τὴν ναῦν περιπατεῖ ἐν μετρίῳ σχήματι: λογίζεσθαι γὰρ οἶμαι ἐπίσταται ὅτι ἄδηλόν ἐστιν οὕστινάς τε ὠφέληκεν τῶν συμπλεόντων οὐκ ἐάσας καταποντωθῆναι καὶ οὕστινας ἔβλαψεν, εἰδὼς ὅτι οὐδὲν [512a] αὐτοὺς βελτίους ἐξεβίβασεν ἢ οἷοι ἐνέβησαν, οὔτε τὰ σώματα οὔτε τὰς ψυχάς. λογίζεται οὖν ὅτι οὐκ, εἰ μέν τις μεγάλοις καὶ ἀνιάτοις νοσήμασιν κατὰ τὸ σῶμα συνεχόμενος μὴ ἀπεπνίγη, οὗτος μὲν ἄθλιός ἐστιν ὅτι οὐκ ἀπέθανεν, καὶ οὐδὲν ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ ὠφέληται: εἰ δέ τις ἄρα ἐν τῷ τοῦ σώματος τιμιωτέρῳ, τῇ ψυχῇ, πολλὰ νοσήματα ἔχει καὶ ἀνίατα, τούτῳ δὲ βιωτέον ἐστὶν καὶ τοῦτον ὀνήσει, ἄντε ἐκ θαλάττης ἄντε ἐκ δικαστηρίου ἐάντε ἄλλοθεν ὁποθενοῦν [512b] σώσῃ, ἀλλ’ οἶδεν ὅτι οὐκ ἄμεινόν ἐστιν ζῆν τῷ μοχθηρῷ ἀνθρώπῳ: κακῶς γὰρ ἀνάγκη ἐστὶν ζῆν.

διὰ ταῦτα οὐ νόμος ἐστὶ σεμνύνεσθαι τὸν κυβερνήτην, καίπερ σῴζοντα ἡμᾶς, οὐδέ γε, ὦ θαυμάσιε, τὸν μηχανοποιόν, ὃς οὔτε στρατηγοῦ, μὴ ὅτι κυβερνήτου, οὔτε ἄλλου οὐδενὸς ἐλάττω ἐνίοτε δύναται σῴζειν: πόλεις γὰρ ἔστιν ὅτε ὅλας σῴζει. μή σοι δοκεῖ κατὰ τὸν δικανικὸν εἶναι; καίτοι εἰ βούλοιτο λέγειν, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἅπερ ὑμεῖς, σεμνύνων [512c] τὸ πρᾶγμα, καταχώσειεν ἂν ὑμᾶς τοῖς λόγοις, λέγων καὶ παρακαλῶν ἐπὶ τὸ δεῖν γίγνεσθαι μηχανοποιούς, ὡς οὐδὲν τἆλλά ἐστιν: ἱκανὸς γὰρ αὐτῷ ὁ λόγος. ἀλλὰ σὺ οὐδὲν ἧττον αὐτοῦ καταφρονεῖς καὶ τῆς τέχνης τῆς ἐκείνου, καὶ ὡς ἐν ὀνείδει ἀποκαλέσαις ἂν μηχανοποιόν, καὶ τῷ ὑεῖ αὐτοῦ οὔτ’ ἂν δοῦναι θυγατέρα ἐθέλοις, οὔτ’ ἂν αὐτὸς λαβεῖν τὴν ἐκείνου. καίτοι ἐξ ὧν τὰ σαυτοῦ ἐπαινεῖς, τίνι δικαίῳ λόγῳ τοῦ μηχανοποιοῦ καταφρονεῖς καὶ [512d] τῶν ἄλλων ὧν νυνδὴ ἔλεγον; οἶδ’ ὅτι φαίης ἂν βελτίων εἶναι καὶ ἐκ βελτιόνων. τὸ δὲ βέλτιον εἰ μὴ ἔστιν ὃ ἐγὼ λέγω, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ τοῦτ’ ἐστὶν ἀρετή, τὸ σῴζειν αὑτὸν καὶ τὰ ἑαυτοῦ ὄντα ὁποῖός τις ἔτυχεν, καταγέλαστός σοι ὁ ψόγος γίγνεται καὶ μηχανοποιοῦ καὶ ἰατροῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν ὅσαι τοῦ σῴζειν ἕνεκα πεποίηνται. ἀλλ’, ὦ μακάριε, ὅρα μὴ ἄλλο τι τὸ γενναῖον καὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν ᾖ ἢ τὸ σῴζειν τε καὶ σῴζεσθαι. μὴ γὰρ τοῦτο μέν, τὸ ζῆν ὁποσονδὴ [512e] χρόνον, τόν γε ὡς ἀληθῶς ἄνδρα ἐατέον ἐστὶν καὶ οὐ φιλοψυχητέον, ἀλλὰ ἐπιτρέψαντα περὶ τούτων τῷ θεῷ καὶ πιστεύσαντα ταῖς γυναιξὶν ὅτι τὴν εἱμαρμένην οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς ἐκφύγοι, τὸ ἐπὶ τούτῳ σκεπτέον τίν’ ἂν τρόπον τοῦτον ὃν μέλλοι χρόνον βιῶναι ὡς ἄριστα βιοίη, ἆρα ἐξομοιῶν [513a] αὑτὸν τῇ πολιτείᾳ ταύτῃ ἐν ᾗ ἂν οἰκῇ, καὶ νῦν δὲ ἄρα δεῖ σὲ ὡς ὁμοιότατον γίγνεσθαι τῷ δήμῳ τῷ Ἀθηναίων, εἰ μέλλεις τούτῳ προσφιλὴς εἶναι καὶ μέγα δύνασθαι ἐν τῇ πόλει: τοῦθ’ ὅρα εἰ σοὶ λυσιτελεῖ καὶ ἐμοί, ὅπως μή, ὦ δαιμόνιε, πεισόμεθα ὅπερ φασὶ τὰς τὴν σελήνην καθαιρούσας, τὰς Θετταλίδας: σὺν τοῖς φιλτάτοις ἡ αἵρεσις ἡμῖν ἔσται ταύτης τῆς δυνάμεως τῆς ἐν τῇ πόλει. εἰ δέ σοι οἴει ὁντινοῦν ἀνθρώπων παραδώσειν τέχνην τινὰ τοιαύτην, ἥτις [513b] σε ποιήσει μέγα δύνασθαι ἐν τῇ πόλει τῇδε ἀνόμοιον ὄντα τῇ πολιτείᾳ εἴτ’ ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιον εἴτ’ ἐπὶ τὸ χεῖρον, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐκ ὀρθῶς βουλεύῃ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις: οὐ γὰρ μιμητὴν δεῖ εἶναι ἀλλ’ αὐτοφυῶς ὅμοιον τούτοις, εἰ μέλλεις τι γνήσιον ἀπεργάζεσθαι εἰς φιλίαν τῷ Ἀθηναίων δήμῳ καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δία τῷ Πυριλάμπους γε πρός. ὅστις οὖν σε τούτοις ὁμοιότατον ἀπεργάσεται, οὗτός σε ποιήσει, ὡς ἐπιθυμεῖς πολιτικὸς εἶναι, πολιτικὸν καὶ ῥητορικόν: τῷ αὑτῶν γὰρ [513c] ἤθει λεγομένων τῶν λόγων ἕκαστοι χαίρουσι, τῷ δὲ ἀλλοτρίῳ ἄχθονται, εἰ μή τι σὺ ἄλλο λέγεις, ὦ φίλη κεφαλή. λέγομέν τι πρὸς ταῦτα, ὦ Καλλίκλεις;

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅντινά μοι τρόπον δοκεῖς εὖ λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, πέπονθα δὲ τὸ τῶν πολλῶν πάθος: οὐ πάνυ σοι πείθομαι.

Σωκράτης: ὁ δήμου γὰρ ἔρως, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἐνὼν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ τῇ σῇ ἀντιστατεῖ μοι: ἀλλ’ ἐὰν πολλάκις [ἴσως καὶ] βέλτιον [513d] ταὐτὰ ταῦτα διασκοπώμεθα, πεισθήσῃ. ἀναμνήσθητι δ’ οὖν ὅτι δύ’ ἔφαμεν εἶναι τὰς παρασκευὰς ἐπὶ τὸ ἕκαστον θεραπεύειν, καὶ σῶμα καὶ ψυχήν, μίαν μὲν πρὸς ἡδονὴν ὁμιλεῖν, τὴν ἑτέραν δὲ πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον, μὴ καταχαριζόμενον ἀλλὰ διαμαχόμενον. οὐ ταῦτα ἦν ἃ τότε ὡριζόμεθα;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἡ μὲν ἑτέρα, ἡ πρὸς ἡδονήν, ἀγεννὴς καὶ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ κολακεία τυγχάνει οὖσα: ἦ γάρ; [513e]

Καλλίκλης: ἔστω, εἰ βούλει, σοὶ οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ἡ δέ γε ἑτέρα, ὅπως ὡς βέλτιστον ἔσται τοῦτο, εἴτε σῶμα τυγχάνει ὂν εἴτε ψυχή, ὃ θεραπεύομεν;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ’ οὖν οὕτως ἐπιχειρητέον ἡμῖν ἐστιν τῇ πόλει καὶ τοῖς πολίταις θεραπεύειν, ὡς βελτίστους αὐτοὺς τοὺς πολίτας ποιοῦντας; ἄνευ γὰρ δὴ τούτου, ὡς ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ηὑρίσκομεν, οὐδὲν ὄφελος ἄλλην εὐεργεσίαν οὐδεμίαν [514a] προσφέρειν, ἐὰν μὴ καλὴ κἀγαθὴ ἡ διάνοια ᾖ τῶν μελλόντων ἢ χρήματα πολλὰ λαμβάνειν ἢ ἀρχήν τινων ἢ ἄλλην δύναμιν ἡντινοῦν. φῶμεν οὕτως ἔχειν;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε, εἴ σοι ἥδιον.

Σωκράτης: εἰ οὖν παρεκαλοῦμεν ἀλλήλους, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, δημοσίᾳ πράξοντες τῶν πολιτικῶν πραγμάτων ἐπὶ τὰ οἰκοδομικά, ἢ τειχῶν ἢ νεωρίων ἢ ἱερῶν ἐπὶ τὰ μέγιστα οἰκοδομήματα, πότερον ἔδει ἂν ἡμᾶς σκέψασθαι ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς καὶ [514b] ἐξετάσαι πρῶτον μὲν εἰ ἐπιστάμεθα τὴν τέχνην ἢ οὐκ ἐπιστάμεθα, τὴν οἰκοδομικήν, καὶ παρὰ τοῦ ἐμάθομεν; ἔδει ἂν ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν δεύτερον αὖ τόδε, εἴ τι πώποτε οἰκοδόμημα ᾠκοδομήκαμεν ἰδίᾳ ἢ τῶν φίλων τινὶ ἢ ἡμέτερον αὐτῶν, καὶ τοῦτο τὸ οἰκοδόμημα καλὸν ἢ αἰσχρόν ἐστιν: καὶ εἰ μὲν ηὑρίσκομεν σκοπούμενοι διδασκάλους τε ἡμῶν ἀγαθοὺς καὶ [514c] ἐλλογίμους γεγονότας καὶ οἰκοδομήματα πολλὰ μὲν καὶ καλὰ μετὰ τῶν διδασκάλων ᾠκοδομημένα ἡμῖν, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ ἴδια ἡμῶν ἐπειδὴ τῶν διδασκάλων ἀπηλλάγημεν, οὕτω μὲν διακειμένων, νοῦν ἐχόντων ἦν ἂν ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὰ δημόσια ἔργα: εἰ δὲ μήτε διδάσκαλον εἴχομεν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιδεῖξαι οἰκοδομήματά τε ἢ μηδὲν ἢ πολλὰ καὶ μηδενὸς ἄξια, οὕτω δὴ ἀνόητον ἦν δήπου ἐπιχειρεῖν τοῖς δημοσίοις ἔργοις καὶ παρακαλεῖν ἀλλήλους ἐπ’ αὐτά. φῶμεν ταῦτα ὀρθῶς λέγεσθαι [514d] ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὕτω πάντα, τά τε ἄλλα κἂν εἰ ἐπιχειρήσαντες δημοσιεύειν παρεκαλοῦμεν ἀλλήλους ὡς ἱκανοὶ ἰατροὶ ὄντες, ἐπεσκεψάμεθα δήπου ἂν ἐγώ τε σὲ καὶ σὺ ἐμέ, φέρε πρὸς θεῶν, αὐτὸς δὲ ὁ Σωκράτης πῶς ἔχει τὸ σῶμα πρὸς ὑγίειαν; ἢ ἤδη τις ἄλλος διὰ Σωκράτην ἀπηλλάγη νόσου, ἢ δοῦλος ἢ ἐλεύθερος; κἂν ἐγὼ οἶμαι περὶ σοῦ ἕτερα τοιαῦτα ἐσκόπουν: καὶ εἰ μὴ ηὑρίσκομεν δι’ ἡμᾶς μηδένα [514e] βελτίω γεγονότα τὸ σῶμα, μήτε τῶν ξένων μήτε τῶν ἀστῶν, μήτε ἄνδρα μήτε γυναῖκα, πρὸς Διός, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, οὐ καταγέλαστον ἂν ἦν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, εἰς τοσοῦτον ἀνοίας ἐλθεῖν ἀνθρώπους, ὥστε, πρὶν ἰδιωτεύοντας πολλὰ μὲν ὅπως ἐτύχομεν ποιῆσαι, πολλὰ δὲ κατορθῶσαι καὶ γυμνάσασθαι ἱκανῶς τὴν τέχνην, τὸ λεγόμενον δὴ τοῦτο ἐν τῷ πίθῳ τὴν κεραμείαν ἐπιχειρεῖν μανθάνειν, καὶ αὐτούς τε δημοσιεύειν ἐπιχειρεῖν καὶ ἄλλους τοιούτους παρακαλεῖν; οὐκ ἀνόητόν σοι δοκεῖ ἂν εἶναι οὕτω πράττειν;

Καλλίκλης: ἔμοιγε. [515a]

Σωκράτης: νῦν δέ, ὦ βέλτιστε ἀνδρῶν, ἐπειδὴ σὺ μὲν αὐτὸς ἄρτι ἄρχῃ πράττειν τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράγματα, ἐμὲ δὲ παρακαλεῖς καὶ ὀνειδίζεις ὅτι οὐ πράττω, οὐκ ἐπισκεψόμεθα ἀλλήλους, φέρε, Καλλικλῆς ἤδη τινὰ βελτίω πεποίηκεν τῶν πολιτῶν; ἔστιν ὅστις πρότερον πονηρὸς ὤν, ἄδικός τε καὶ ἀκόλαστος καὶ ἄφρων, διὰ Καλλικλέα καλός τε κἀγαθὸς γέγονεν, ἢ ξένος ἢ ἀστός, ἢ δοῦλος ἢ ἐλεύθερος; λέγε μοι, [515b] ἐάν τίς σε ταῦτα ἐξετάζῃ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τί ἐρεῖς; τίνα φήσεις βελτίω πεποιηκέναι ἄνθρωπον τῇ συνουσίᾳ τῇ σῇ; ὀκνεῖς ἀποκρίνασθαι, εἴπερ ἔστιν τι ἔργον σὸν ἔτι ἰδιωτεύοντος, πρὶν δημοσιεύειν ἐπιχειρεῖν;

Καλλίκλης: φιλόνικος εἶ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ’ οὐ φιλονικίᾳ γε ἐρωτῶ, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἀληθῶς βουλόμενος εἰδέναι ὅντινά ποτε τρόπον οἴει δεῖν πολιτεύεσθαι ἐν ἡμῖν. ἢ ἄλλου του ἄρα ἐπιμελήσῃ ἡμῖν ἐλθὼν ἐπὶ τὰ [515c] τῆς πόλεως πράγματα ἢ ὅπως ὅτι βέλτιστοι οἱ πολῖται ὦμεν; ἢ οὐ πολλάκις ἤδη ὡμολογήκαμεν τοῦτο δεῖν πράττειν τὸν πολιτικὸν ἄνδρα; ὡμολογήκαμεν ἢ οὔ; ἀποκρίνου. ὡμολογήκαμεν: ἐγὼ ὑπὲρ σοῦ ἀποκρινοῦμαι. εἰ τοίνυν τοῦτο δεῖ τὸν ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα παρασκευάζειν τῇ ἑαυτοῦ πόλει, νῦν μοι ἀναμνησθεὶς εἰπὲ περὶ ἐκείνων τῶν ἀνδρῶν ὧν ὀλίγῳ πρότερον ἔλεγες, εἰ ἔτι σοι δοκοῦσιν ἀγαθοὶ πολῖται γεγονέναι, [515d] Περικλῆς καὶ Κίμων καὶ Μιλτιάδης καὶ Θεμιστοκλῆς.

Καλλίκλης: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ἀγαθοί, δῆλον ὅτι ἕκαστος αὐτῶν βελτίους ἐποίει τοὺς πολίτας ἀντὶ χειρόνων. ἐποίει ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὅτε Περικλῆς ἤρχετο λέγειν ἐν τῷ δήμῳ, χείρους ἦσαν οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι ἢ ὅτε τὰ τελευταῖα ἔλεγεν;

Καλλίκλης: ἴσως.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἴσως δή, ὦ βέλτιστε, ἀλλ’ ἀνάγκη ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων, εἴπερ ἀγαθός γ’ ἦν ἐκεῖνος πολίτης. [515e]

Καλλίκλης: τί οὖν δή;

Σωκράτης: οὐδέν: ἀλλὰ τόδε μοι εἰπὲ ἐπὶ τούτῳ, εἰ λέγονται Ἀθηναῖοι διὰ Περικλέα βελτίους γεγονέναι, ἢ πᾶν τοὐναντίον διαφθαρῆναι ὑπ’ ἐκείνου. ταυτὶ γὰρ ἔγωγε ἀκούω, Περικλέα πεποιηκέναι Ἀθηναίους ἀργοὺς καὶ δειλοὺς καὶ λάλους καὶ φιλαργύρους, εἰς μισθοφορίαν πρῶτον καταστήσαντα.

Καλλίκλης: τῶν τὰ ὦτα κατεαγότων ἀκούεις ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τάδε οὐκέτι ἀκούω, ἀλλ’ οἶδα σαφῶς καὶ ἐγὼ καὶ σύ, ὅτι τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ηὐδοκίμει Περικλῆς καὶ οὐδεμίαν αἰσχρὰν δίκην κατεψηφίσαντο αὐτοῦ Ἀθηναῖοι, ἡνίκα χείρους ἦσαν: ἐπειδὴ δὲ καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ ἐγεγόνεσαν [516a] ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ, ἐπὶ τελευτῇ τοῦ βίου τοῦ Περικλέους, κλοπὴν αὐτοῦ κατεψηφίσαντο, ὀλίγου δὲ καὶ θανάτου ἐτίμησαν, δῆλον ὅτι ὡς πονηροῦ ὄντος.

Καλλίκλης: τί οὖν; τούτου ἕνεκα κακὸς ἦν Περικλῆς;

Σωκράτης: ὄνων γοῦν ἂν ἐπιμελητὴς καὶ ἵππων καὶ βοῶν τοιοῦτος ὢν κακὸς ἂν ἐδόκει εἶναι, εἰ παραλαβὼν μὴ λακτίζοντας ἑαυτὸν μηδὲ κυρίττοντας μηδὲ δάκνοντας ἀπέδειξε ταῦτα ἅπαντα ποιοῦντας δι’ ἀγριότητα. ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι [516b] κακὸς εἶναι ἐπιμελητὴς ὁστισοῦν ὁτουοῦν ζῴου, ὃς ἂν παραλαβὼν ἡμερώτερα ἀποδείξῃ ἀγριώτερα ἢ παρέλαβε; δοκεῖ ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε, ἵνα σοι χαρίσωμαι.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τόδε τοίνυν μοι χάρισαι ἀποκρινάμενος: πότερον καὶ ὁ ἄνθρωπος ἓν τῶν ζῴων ἐστὶν ἢ οὔ;

Καλλίκλης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀνθρώπων Περικλῆς ἐπεμέλετο;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; οὐκ ἔδει αὐτούς, ὡς ἄρτι ὡμολογοῦμεν, δικαιοτέρους γεγονέναι ἀντὶ ἀδικωτέρων ὑπ’ ἐκείνου, εἴπερ [516c] ἐκεῖνος ἐπεμελεῖτο αὐτῶν ἀγαθὸς ὢν τὰ πολιτικά;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οἵ γε δίκαιοι ἥμεροι, ὡς ἔφη Ὅμηρος: σὺ δὲ τί φῄς; οὐχ οὕτως;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ἀγριωτέρους γε αὐτοὺς ἀπέφηνεν ἢ οἵους παρέλαβεν, καὶ ταῦτ’ εἰς αὑτόν, ὃν ἥκιστ’ ἂν ἐβούλετο.

Καλλίκλης: βούλει σοι ὁμολογήσω;

Σωκράτης: εἰ δοκῶ γε σοι ἀληθῆ λέγειν.

Καλλίκλης: ἔστω δὴ ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴπερ ἀγριωτέρους, ἀδικωτέρους τε καὶ χείρους; [516d]

Καλλίκλης: ἔστω.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρ’ ἀγαθὸς τὰ πολιτικὰ Περικλῆς ἦν ἐκ τούτου τοῦ λόγου.

Καλλίκλης: οὐ σύ γε φῄς.

Σωκράτης: μὰ Δί’ οὐδέ γε σὺ ἐξ ὧν ὡμολόγεις. πάλιν δὲ λέγε μοι περὶ Κίμωνος: οὐκ ἐξωστράκισαν αὐτὸν οὗτοι οὓς ἐθεράπευεν, ἵνα αὐτοῦ δέκα ἐτῶν μὴ ἀκούσειαν τῆς φωνῆς; καὶ Θεμιστοκλέα ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ἐποίησαν καὶ φυγῇ προσεζημίωσαν; Μιλτιάδην δὲ τὸν Μαραθῶνι εἰς τὸ βάραθρον [516e] ἐμβαλεῖν ἐψηφίσαντο, καὶ εἰ μὴ διὰ τὸν πρύτανιν, ἐνέπεσεν ἄν; καίτοι οὗτοι, εἰ ἦσαν ἄνδρες ἀγαθοί, ὡς σὺ φῄς, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ταῦτα ἔπασχον. οὔκουν οἵ γε ἀγαθοὶ ἡνίοχοι κατ’ ἀρχὰς μὲν οὐκ ἐκπίπτουσιν ἐκ τῶν ζευγῶν, ἐπειδὰν δὲ θεραπεύσωσιν τοὺς ἵππους καὶ αὐτοὶ ἀμείνους γένωνται ἡνίοχοι, τότ’ ἐκπίπτουσιν: οὐκ ἔστι ταῦτ’ οὔτ’ ἐν ἡνιοχείᾳ οὔτ’ ἐν ἄλλῳ ἔργῳ οὐδενί: ἢ δοκεῖ σοι;

Καλλίκλης: οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀληθεῖς ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, οἱ ἔμπροσθεν λόγοι ἦσαν, [517a] ὅτι οὐδένα ἡμεῖς ἴσμεν ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν γεγονότα τὰ πολιτικὰ ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει. σὺ δὲ ὡμολόγεις τῶν γε νῦν οὐδένα, τῶν μέντοι ἔμπροσθεν, καὶ προείλου τούτους τοὺς ἄνδρας: οὗτοι δὲ ἀνεφάνησαν ἐξ ἴσου τοῖς νῦν ὄντες, ὥστε, εἰ οὗτοι ῥήτορες ἦσαν, οὔτε τῇ ἀληθινῇ ῥητορικῇ ἐχρῶντο — οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐξέπεσον — οὔτε τῇ κολακικῇ.

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλὰ μέντοι πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, μή ποτέ τις τῶν νῦν ἔργα τοιαῦτα ἐργάσηται οἷα τούτων ὅστις [517b] βούλει εἴργασται.

Σωκράτης: ὦ δαιμόνιε, οὐδ’ ἐγὼ ψέγω τούτους ὥς γε διακόνους εἶναι πόλεως, ἀλλά μοι δοκοῦσι τῶν γε νῦν διακονικώτεροι γεγονέναι καὶ μᾶλλον οἷοί τε ἐκπορίζειν τῇ πόλει ὧν ἐπεθύμει. ἀλλὰ γὰρ μεταβιβάζειν τὰς ἐπιθυμίας καὶ μὴ ἐπιτρέπειν, πείθοντες καὶ βιαζόμενοι ἐπὶ τοῦτο ὅθεν ἔμελλον ἀμείνους ἔσεσθαι οἱ πολῖται, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδὲν [517c] τούτων διέφερον ἐκεῖνοι: ὅπερ μόνον ἔργον ἐστὶν ἀγαθοῦ πολίτου. ναῦς δὲ καὶ τείχη καὶ νεώρια καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ τοιαῦτα καὶ ἐγώ σοι ὁμολογῶ δεινοτέρους εἶναι ἐκείνους τούτων ἐκπορίζειν. πρᾶγμα οὖν γελοῖον ποιοῦμεν ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις: ἐν παντὶ γὰρ τῷ χρόνῳ ὃν διαλεγόμεθα οὐδὲν παυόμεθα εἰς τὸ αὐτὸ ἀεὶ περιφερόμενοι καὶ ἀγνοοῦντες ἀλλήλων ὅτι λέγομεν. ἐγὼ γοῦν σε πολλάκις οἶμαι ὡμολογηκέναι καὶ ἐγνωκέναι ὡς ἄρα διττὴ αὕτη τις [517d] ἡ πραγματεία ἔστιν καὶ περὶ τὸ σῶμα καὶ περὶ τὴν ψυχήν, καὶ ἡ μὲν ἑτέρα διακονική ἐστιν, ᾗ δυνατὸν εἶναι ἐκπορίζειν, ἐὰν μὲν πεινῇ τὰ σώματα ἡμῶν, σιτία, ἐὰν δὲ διψῇ, ποτά, ἐὰν δὲ ῥιγῷ, ἱμάτια, στρώματα, ὑποδήματα, ἄλλ’ ὧν ἔρχεται σώματα εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν: καὶ ἐξεπίτηδές σοι διὰ τῶν αὐτῶν εἰκόνων λέγω, ἵνα ῥᾷον καταμάθῃς. τούτων γὰρ ποριστικὸν εἶναι ἢ κάπηλον ὄντα ἢ ἔμπορον ἢ δημιουργόν του αὐτῶν [517e] τούτων, σιτοποιὸν ἢ ὀψοποιὸν ἢ ὑφάντην ἢ σκυτοτόμον ἢ σκυτοδεψόν, οὐδὲν θαυμαστόν ἐστιν ὄντα τοιοῦτον δόξαι καὶ αὑτῷ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις θεραπευτὴν εἶναι σώματος, παντὶ τῷ μὴ εἰδότι ὅτι ἔστιν τις παρὰ ταύτας ἁπάσας τέχνη γυμναστική τε καὶ ἰατρική, ἣ δὴ τῷ ὄντι γε ἐστὶν σώματος θεραπεία, ἥνπερ καὶ προσήκει τούτων ἄρχειν πασῶν τῶν τεχνῶν καὶ χρῆσθαι τοῖς τούτων ἔργοις διὰ τὸ εἰδέναι ὅτι χρηστὸν καὶ πονηρὸν τῶν σιτίων ἢ ποτῶν ἐστιν εἰς ἀρετὴν [518a] σώματος, τὰς δ’ ἄλλας πάσας ταύτας ἀγνοεῖν: διὸ δὴ καὶ ταύτας μὲν δουλοπρεπεῖς τε καὶ διακονικὰς καὶ ἀνελευθέρους εἶναι περὶ σώματος πραγματείαν, τὰς ἄλλας τέχνας, τὴν δὲ γυμναστικὴν καὶ ἰατρικὴν κατὰ τὸ δίκαιον δεσποίνας εἶναι τούτων. ταὐτὰ οὖν ταῦτα ὅτι ἔστιν καὶ περὶ ψυχήν, τοτὲ μέν μοι δοκεῖς μανθάνειν ὅτι λέγω, καὶ ὁμολογεῖς ὡς εἰδὼς ὅτι ἐγὼ λέγω: ἥκεις δὲ ὀλίγον ὕστερον λέγων ὅτι ἄνθρωποι [518b] καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ γεγόνασιν πολῖται ἐν τῇ πόλει, καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἐγὼ ἐρωτῶ οἵτινες, δοκεῖς μοι ὁμοιοτάτους προτείνεσθαι ἀνθρώπους περὶ τὰ πολιτικά, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ περὶ τὰ γυμναστικὰ ἐμοῦ ἐρωτῶντος οἵτινες ἀγαθοὶ γεγόνασιν ἢ εἰσὶν σωμάτων θεραπευταί, ἔλεγές μοι πάνυ σπουδάζων, Θεαρίων ὁ ἀρτοκόπος καὶ Μίθαικος ὁ τὴν ὀψοποιίαν συγγεγραφὼς τὴν Σικελικὴν καὶ Σάραμβος ὁ κάπηλος, ὅτι οὗτοι θαυμάσιοι γεγόνασιν σωμάτων θεραπευταί, ὁ μὲν ἄρτους θαυμαστοὺς [518c] παρασκευάζων, ὁ δὲ ὄψον, ὁ δὲ οἶνον. ἴσως ἂν οὖν ἠγανάκτεις, εἴ σοι ἔλεγον ἐγὼ ὅτι Ἄνθρωπε, ἐπαί¨εις οὐδὲν περὶ γυμναστικῆς: διακόνους μοι λέγεις καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν παρασκευαστὰς ἀνθρώπους, οὐκ ἐπαί¨οντας καλὸν κἀγαθὸν οὐδὲν περὶ αὐτῶν, οἵ, ἂν οὕτω τύχωσιν, ἐμπλήσαντες καὶ παχύναντες τὰ σώματα τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ἐπαινούμενοι ὑπ’ αὐτῶν, προσαπολοῦσιν αὐτῶν καὶ τὰς ἀρχαίας σάρκας: οἱ [518d] δ’ αὖ δι’ ἀπειρίαν οὐ τοὺς ἑστιῶντας αἰτιάσονται τῶν νόσων αἰτίους εἶναι καὶ τῆς ἀποβολῆς τῶν ἀρχαίων σαρκῶν, ἀλλ’ οἳ ἂν αὐτοῖς τύχωσι τότε παρόντες καὶ συμβουλεύοντές τι, ὅταν δὴ αὐτοῖς ἥκῃ ἡ τότε πλησμονὴ νόσον φέρουσα συχνῷ ὕστερον χρόνῳ, ἅτε ἄνευ τοῦ ὑγιεινοῦ γεγονυῖα, τούτους αἰτιάσονται καὶ ψέξουσιν καὶ κακόν τι ποιήσουσιν, ἂν οἷοί τ’ ὦσι, τοὺς δὲ προτέρους ἐκείνους καὶ αἰτίους τῶν κακῶν [518e] ἐγκωμιάσουσιν. καὶ σὺ νῦν, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ὁμοιότατον τούτῳ ἐργάζῃ: ἐγκωμιάζεις ἀνθρώπους, οἳ τούτους εἱστιάκασιν εὐωχοῦντες ὧν ἐπεθύμουν. καί φασι μεγάλην τὴν πόλιν πεποιηκέναι αὐτούς: ὅτι δὲ οἰδεῖ καὶ ὕπουλός ἐστιν [519a] δι’ ἐκείνους τοὺς παλαιούς, οὐκ αἰσθάνονται. ἄνευ γὰρ σωφροσύνης καὶ δικαιοσύνης λιμένων καὶ νεωρίων καὶ τειχῶν καὶ φόρων καὶ τοιούτων φλυαριῶν ἐμπεπλήκασι τὴν πόλιν: ὅταν οὖν ἔλθῃ ἡ καταβολὴ αὕτη τῆς ἀσθενείας, τοὺς τότε παρόντας αἰτιάσονται συμβούλους, Θεμιστοκλέα δὲ καὶ Κίμωνα καὶ Περικλέα ἐγκωμιάσουσιν, τοὺς αἰτίους τῶν κακῶν: σοῦ δὲ ἴσως ἐπιλήψονται, ἐὰν μὴ εὐλαβῇ, καὶ τοῦ ἐμοῦ ἑταίρου Ἀλκιβιάδου, ὅταν καὶ τὰ ἀρχαῖα προσαπολλύωσι [519b] πρὸς οἷς ἐκτήσαντο, οὐκ αἰτίων ὄντων τῶν κακῶν ἀλλ’ ἴσως συναιτίων. καίτοι ἔγωγε ἀνόητον πρᾶγμα καὶ νῦν ὁρῶ γιγνόμενον καὶ ἀκούω τῶν παλαιῶν ἀνδρῶν πέρι. αἰσθάνομαι γάρ, ὅταν ἡ πόλις τινὰ τῶν πολιτικῶν ἀνδρῶν μεταχειρίζηται ὡς ἀδικοῦντα, ἀγανακτούντων καὶ σχετλιαζόντων ὡς δεινὰ πάσχουσι: πολλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ τὴν πόλιν πεποιηκότες ἄρα ἀδίκως ὑπ’ αὐτῆς ἀπόλλυνται, ὡς ὁ τούτων λόγος. τὸ δὲ ὅλον ψεῦδός ἐστιν: προστάτης γὰρ πόλεως [519c] οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς ποτε ἀδίκως ἀπόλοιτο ὑπ’ αὐτῆς τῆς πόλεως ἧς προστατεῖ. κινδυνεύει γὰρ ταὐτὸν εἶναι, ὅσοι τε πολιτικοὶ προσποιοῦνται εἶναι καὶ ὅσοι σοφισταί. καὶ γὰρ οἱ σοφισταί, τἆλλα σοφοὶ ὄντες, τοῦτο ἄτοπον ἐργάζονται πρᾶγμα: φάσκοντες γὰρ ἀρετῆς διδάσκαλοι εἶναι πολλάκις κατηγοροῦσιν τῶν μαθητῶν ὡς ἀδικοῦσι σφᾶς [αὑτούς], τούς τε μισθοὺς ἀποστεροῦντες καὶ ἄλλην χάριν οὐκ ἀποδιδόντες, [519d] εὖ παθόντες ὑπ’ αὐτῶν. καὶ τούτου τοῦ λόγου τί ἂν ἀλογώτερον εἴη πρᾶγμα, ἀνθρώπους ἀγαθοὺς καὶ δικαίους γενομένους, ἐξαιρεθέντας μὲν ἀδικίαν ὑπὸ τοῦ διδασκάλου, σχόντας δὲ δικαιοσύνην, ἀδικεῖν τούτῳ ᾧ οὐκ ἔχουσιν; οὐ δοκεῖ σοι τοῦτο ἄτοπον εἶναι, ὦ ἑταῖρε; ὡς ἀληθῶς δημηγορεῖν με ἠνάγκασας, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, οὐκ ἐθέλων ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

Καλλίκλης: σὺ δ’ οὐκ ἂν οἷός τ’ εἴης λέγειν, εἰ μή τίς σοι ἀποκρίνοιτο; [519e]

Σωκράτης: ἔοικά γε: νῦν γοῦν συχνοὺς τείνω τῶν λόγων, ἐπειδή μοι οὐκ ἐθέλεις ἀποκρίνεσθαι. ἀλλ’, ὠγαθέ, εἰπὲ πρὸς Φιλίου, οὐ δοκεῖ σοι ἄλογον εἶναι ἀγαθὸν φάσκοντα πεποιηκέναι τινὰ μέμφεσθαι τούτῳ ὅτι ὑφ’ ἑαυτοῦ ἀγαθὸς γεγονώς τε καὶ ὢν ἔπειτα πονηρός ἐστιν;

Καλλίκλης: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀκούεις τοιαῦτα λεγόντων τῶν φασκόντων παιδεύειν ἀνθρώπους εἰς ἀρετήν; [520a]

Καλλίκλης: ἔγωγε: ἀλλὰ τί ἂν λέγοις ἀνθρώπων πέρι οὐδενὸς ἀξίων;

Σωκράτης: τί δ’ ἂν περὶ ἐκείνων λέγοις, οἳ φάσκοντες προεστάναι τῆς πόλεως καὶ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι ὅπως ὡς βελτίστη ἔσται, πάλιν αὐτῆς κατηγοροῦσιν, ὅταν τύχωσιν, ὡς πονηροτάτης; οἴει τι διαφέρειν τούτους ἐκείνων; ταὐτόν, ὦ μακάρι’, ἐστὶν σοφιστὴς καὶ ῥήτωρ, ἢ ἐγγύς τι καὶ παραπλήσιον, ὥσπερ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον πρὸς Πῶλον: σὺ δὲ δι’ ἄγνοιαν [520b] τὸ μὲν πάγκαλόν τι οἴει εἶναι, τὴν ῥητορικήν, τοῦ δὲ καταφρονεῖς. τῇ δὲ ἀληθείᾳ κάλλιόν ἐστιν σοφιστικὴ ῥητορικῆς ὅσῳπερ νομοθετικὴ δικαστικῆς καὶ γυμναστικὴ ἰατρικῆς: μόνοις δ’ ἔγωγε καὶ ᾤμην τοῖς δημηγόροις τε καὶ σοφισταῖς οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖν μέμφεσθαι τούτῳ τῷ πράγματι ὃ αὐτοὶ παιδεύουσιν, ὡς πονηρόν ἐστιν εἰς σφᾶς, ἢ τῷ αὐτῷ λόγῳ τούτῳ ἅμα καὶ ἑαυτῶν κατηγορεῖν ὅτι οὐδὲν ὠφελήκασιν οὕς φασιν ὠφελεῖν. οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει; [520c]

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ προέσθαι γε δήπου τὴν εὐεργεσίαν ἄνευ μισθοῦ, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, μόνοις τούτοις ἐνεχώρει, εἴπερ ἀληθῆ ἔλεγον. ἄλλην μὲν γὰρ εὐεργεσίαν τις εὐεργετηθείς, οἷον ταχὺς γενόμενος διὰ παιδοτρίβην, ἴσως ἂν ἀποστερήσειε τὴν χάριν, εἰ προοῖτο αὐτῷ ὁ παιδοτρίβης καὶ μὴ συνθέμενος αὐτῷ μισθὸν ὅτι μάλιστα ἅμα μεταδιδοὺς τοῦ τάχους λαμβάνοι [520d] τὸ ἀργύριον: οὐ γὰρ δὴ τῇ βραδυτῆτι οἶμαι ἀδικοῦσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι, ἀλλ’ ἀδικίᾳ: ἦ γάρ;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴ τις αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἀφαιρεῖ, τὴν ἀδικίαν, οὐδὲν δεινὸν αὐτῷ μήποτε ἀδικηθῇ, ἀλλὰ μόνῳ ἀσφαλὲς ταύτην τὴν εὐεργεσίαν προέσθαι, εἴπερ τῷ ὄντι δύναιτό τις ἀγαθοὺς ποιεῖν. οὐχ οὕτω;

Καλλίκλης: φημί.

Σωκράτης: διὰ ταῦτ’ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, τὰς μὲν ἄλλας συμβουλὰς συμβουλεύειν λαμβάνοντα ἀργύριον, οἷον οἰκοδομίας πέρι ἢ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν, οὐδὲν αἰσχρόν. [520e]

Καλλίκλης: ἔοικέ γε.

Σωκράτης: περὶ δέ γε ταύτης τῆς πράξεως, ὅντιν’ ἄν τις τρόπον ὡς βέλτιστος εἴη καὶ ἄριστα τὴν αὑτοῦ οἰκίαν διοικοῖ ἢ πόλιν, αἰσχρὸν νενόμισται μὴ φάναι συμβουλεύειν, ἐὰν μή τις αὐτῷ ἀργύριον διδῷ. ἦ γάρ;

Καλλίκλης: ναί.

Σωκράτης: δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι τοῦτο αἴτιόν ἐστιν, ὅτι μόνη αὕτη τῶν εὐεργεσιῶν τὸν εὖ παθόντα ἐπιθυμεῖν ποιεῖ ἀντ’ εὖ ποιεῖν, ὥστε καλὸν δοκεῖ τὸ σημεῖον εἶναι, εἰ εὖ ποιήσας ταύτην τὴν εὐεργεσίαν ἀντ’ εὖ πείσεται: εἰ δὲ μή, οὔ. ἔστι ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχοντα; [521a]

Καλλίκλης: ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: ἐπὶ ποτέραν οὖν με παρακαλεῖς τὴν θεραπείαν τῆς πόλεως, διόρισόν μοι: τὴν τοῦ διαμάχεσθαι Ἀθηναίοις ὅπως ὡς βέλτιστοι ἔσονται, ὡς ἰατρόν, ἢ ὡς διακονήσοντα καὶ πρὸς χάριν ὁμιλήσοντα; τἀληθῆ μοι εἰπέ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις: δίκαιος γὰρ εἶ, ὥσπερ ἤρξω παρρησιάζεσθαι πρὸς ἐμέ, διατελεῖν ἃ νοεῖς λέγων. καὶ νῦν εὖ καὶ γενναίως εἰπέ.

Καλλίκλης: λέγω τοίνυν ὅτι ὡς διακονήσοντα. [521b]

Σωκράτης: κολακεύσοντα ἄρα με, ὦ γενναιότατε, παρακαλεῖς.

Καλλίκλης: εἴ σοι Μυσόν γε ἥδιον καλεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες: ὡς εἰ μὴ ταῦτά γε ποιήσεις —

Σωκράτης: μὴ εἴπῃς ὃ πολλάκις εἴρηκας, ὅτι ἀποκτενεῖ με ὁ βουλόμενος, ἵνα μὴ αὖ καὶ ἐγὼ εἴπω, ὅτι Πονηρός γε ὢν ἀγαθὸν ὄντα: μηδ’ ὅτι ἀφαιρήσεται ἐάν τι ἔχω, ἵνα μὴ αὖ ἐγὼ εἴπω ὅτι ἀλλ’ ἀφελόμενος οὐχ ἕξει ὅτι χρήσεται αὐτοῖς, ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ με ἀδίκως ἀφείλετο, οὕτως καὶ [521c] λαβὼν ἀδίκως χρήσεται, εἰ δὲ ἀδίκως, αἰσχρῶς, εἰ δὲ αἰσχρῶς, κακῶς.

Καλλίκλης: ὥς μοι δοκεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες, πιστεύειν μηδ’ ἂν ἓν τούτων παθεῖν, ὡς οἰκῶν ἐκποδὼν καὶ οὐκ ἂν εἰσαχθεὶς εἰς δικαστήριον ὑπὸ πάνυ ἴσως μοχθηροῦ ἀνθρώπου καὶ φαύλου.

Σωκράτης: ἀνόητος ἄρα εἰμί, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ὡς ἀληθῶς, εἰ μὴ οἴομαι ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει ὁντινοῦν ἂν ὅτι τύχοι, τοῦτο παθεῖν. τόδε μέντοι εὖ οἶδ’ ὅτι, ἐάνπερ εἰσίω εἰς δικαστήριον περὶ [521d] τούτων τινὸς κινδυνεύων, ὃ σὺ λέγεις, πονηρός τίς μ’ ἔσται ὁ εἰσάγων — οὐδεὶς γὰρ ἂν χρηστὸς μὴ ἀδικοῦντ’ ἄνθρωπον εἰσαγάγοι — καὶ οὐδέν γε ἄτοπον εἰ ἀποθάνοιμι. βούλει σοι εἴπω δι’ ὅτι ταῦτα προσδοκῶ;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οἶμαι μετ’ ὀλίγων Ἀθηναίων, ἵνα μὴ εἴπω μόνος, ἐπιχειρεῖν τῇ ὡς ἀληθῶς πολιτικῇ τέχνῃ καὶ πράττειν τὰ πολιτικὰ μόνος τῶν νῦν: ἅτε οὖν οὐ πρὸς χάριν λέγων τοὺς λόγους οὓς λέγω ἑκάστοτε, ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον, οὐ πρὸς [521e] τὸ ἥδιστον, καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλων ποιεῖν ἃ σὺ παραινεῖς, τὰ κομψὰ ταῦτα, οὐχ ἕξω ὅτι λέγω ἐν τῷ δικαστηρίῳ. ὁ αὐτὸς δέ μοι ἥκει λόγος ὅνπερ πρὸς Πῶλον ἔλεγον: κρινοῦμαι γὰρ ὡς ἐν παιδίοις ἰατρὸς ἂν κρίνοιτο κατηγοροῦντος ὀψοποιοῦ. σκόπει γάρ, τί ἂν ἀπολογοῖτο ὁ τοιοῦτος ἄνθρωπος ἐν τούτοις ληφθείς, εἰ αὐτοῦ κατηγοροῖ τις λέγων ὅτι “ὦ παῖδες, πολλὰ ὑμᾶς καὶ κακὰ ὅδε εἴργασται ἀνὴρ καὶ αὐτούς, καὶ τοὺς νεωτάτους ὑμῶν διαφθείρει τέμνων τε καὶ κάων, καὶ [522a] ἰσχναίνων καὶ πνίγων ἀπορεῖν ποιεῖ, πικρότατα πώματα διδοὺς καὶ πεινῆν καὶ διψῆν ἀναγκάζων, οὐχ ὥσπερ ἐγὼ πολλὰ καὶ ἡδέα καὶ παντοδαπὰ ηὐώχουν ὑμᾶς:” τί ἂν οἴει ἐν τούτῳ τῷ κακῷ ἀποληφθέντα ἰατρὸν ἔχειν εἰπεῖν; ἢ εἰ εἴποι τὴν ἀλήθειαν, ὅτι “ταῦτα πάντα ἐγὼ ἐποίουν, ὦ παῖδες, ὑγιεινῶς,” πόσον τι οἴει ἂν ἀναβοῆσαι τοὺς τοιούτους δικαστάς; οὐ μέγα;

Καλλίκλης: ἴσως: οἴεσθαί γε χρή.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οἴει ἐν πάσῃ ἀπορίᾳ ἂν αὐτὸν ἔχεσθαι ὅτι [522b] χρὴ εἰπεῖν;

Καλλίκλης: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τοιοῦτον μέντοι καὶ ἐγὼ οἶδα ὅτι πάθος πάθοιμι ἂν εἰσελθὼν εἰς δικαστήριον. οὔτε γὰρ ἡδονὰς ἃς ἐκπεπόρικα ἕξω αὐτοῖς λέγειν, ἃς οὗτοι εὐεργεσίας καὶ ὠφελίας νομίζουσιν, ἐγὼ δὲ οὔτε τοὺς πορίζοντας ζηλῶ οὔτε οἷς πορίζεται: ἐάν τέ τίς με ἢ νεωτέρους φῇ διαφθείρειν ἀπορεῖν ποιοῦντα, ἢ τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους κακηγορεῖν λέγοντα πικροὺς λόγους ἢ ἰδίᾳ ἢ δημοσίᾳ, οὔτε τὸ ἀληθὲς ἕξω εἰπεῖν, ὅτι δικαίως [522c] πάντα ταῦτα ἐγὼ λέγω, καὶ πράττω τὸ ὑμέτερον δὴ τοῦτο, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί, οὔτε ἄλλο οὐδέν: ὥστε ἴσως, ὅτι ἂν τύχω, τοῦτο πείσομαι.

Καλλίκλης: δοκεῖ οὖν σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, καλῶς ἔχειν ἄνθρωπος ἐν πόλει οὕτως διακείμενος καὶ ἀδύνατος ὢν ἑαυτῷ βοηθεῖν;

Σωκράτης: εἰ ἐκεῖνό γε ἓν αὐτῷ ὑπάρχοι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ὃ σὺ πολλάκις ὡμολόγησας: εἰ βεβοηθηκὼς εἴη αὑτῷ, μήτε περὶ [522d] ἀνθρώπους μήτε περὶ θεοὺς ἄδικον μηδὲν μήτε εἰρηκὼς μήτε εἰργασμένος. αὕτη γὰρ τῆς βοηθείας ἑαυτῷ πολλάκις ἡμῖν ὡμολόγηται κρατίστη εἶναι. εἰ μὲν οὖν ἐμέ τις ἐξελέγχοι ταύτην τὴν βοήθειαν ἀδύνατον ὄντα ἐμαυτῷ καὶ ἄλλῳ βοηθεῖν, αἰσχυνοίμην ἂν καὶ ἐν πολλοῖς καὶ ἐν ὀλίγοις ἐξελεγχόμενος καὶ μόνος ὑπὸ μόνου, καὶ εἰ διὰ ταύτην τὴν ἀδυναμίαν ἀποθνῄσκοιμι, ἀγανακτοίην ἄν: εἰ δὲ κολακικῆς ῥητορικῆς ἐνδείᾳ τελευτῴην ἔγωγε, εὖ οἶδα ὅτι ῥᾳδίως ἴδοις ἄν με φέροντα [522e] τὸν θάνατον. αὐτὸ μὲν γὰρ τὸ ἀποθνῄσκειν οὐδεὶς φοβεῖται, ὅστις μὴ παντάπασιν ἀλόγιστός τε καὶ ἄνανδρός ἐστιν, τὸ δὲ ἀδικεῖν φοβεῖται: πολλῶν γὰρ ἀδικημάτων γέμοντα τὴν ψυχὴν εἰς Ἅιδου ἀφικέσθαι πάντων ἔσχατον κακῶν ἐστιν. εἰ δὲ βούλει, σοὶ ἐγώ, ὡς τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, ἐθέλω λόγον λέξαι.

Καλλίκλης: ἀλλ’ ἐπείπερ γε καὶ τἆλλα ἐπέρανας, καὶ τοῦτο πέρανον. [523a]

Σωκράτης: ἄκουε δή, φασί, μάλα καλοῦ λόγου, ὃν σὺ μὲν ἡγήσῃ μῦθον, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, ἐγὼ δὲ λόγον: ὡς ἀληθῆ γὰρ ὄντα σοι λέξω ἃ μέλλω λέγειν. ὥσπερ γὰρ Ὅμηρος λέγει, διενείμαντο τὴν ἀρχὴν ὁ Ζεὺς καὶ ὁ Ποσειδῶν καὶ ὁ Πλούτων, ἐπειδὴ παρὰ τοῦ πατρὸς παρέλαβον. ἦν οὖν νόμος ὅδε περὶ ἀνθρώπων ἐπὶ Κρόνου, καὶ ἀεὶ καὶ νῦν ἔτι ἔστιν ἐν θεοῖς, τῶν ἀνθρώπων τὸν μὲν δικαίως τὸν βίον διελθόντα καὶ [523b] ὁσίως, ἐπειδὰν τελευτήσῃ, εἰς μακάρων νήσους ἀπιόντα οἰκεῖν ἐν πάσῃ εὐδαιμονίᾳ ἐκτὸς κακῶν, τὸν δὲ ἀδίκως καὶ ἀθέως εἰς τὸ τῆς τίσεώς τε καὶ δίκης δεσμωτήριον, ὃ δὴ Τάρταρον καλοῦσιν, ἰέναι. τούτων δὲ δικασταὶ ἐπὶ Κρόνου καὶ ἔτι νεωστὶ τοῦ Διὸς τὴν ἀρχὴν ἔχοντος ζῶντες ἦσαν ζώντων, ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ δικάζοντες ᾗ μέλλοιεν τελευτᾶν: κακῶς οὖν αἱ δίκαι ἐκρίνοντο. ὅ τε οὖν Πλούτων καὶ οἱ ἐπιμεληταὶ οἱ ἐκ μακάρων νήσων ἰόντες ἔλεγον πρὸς τὸν Δία ὅτι φοιτῷέν [523c] σφιν ἄνθρωποι ἑκατέρωσε ἀνάξιοι. εἶπεν οὖν ὁ Ζεύς: “ἀλλ’ ἐγώ,” ἔφη, “παύσω τοῦτο γιγνόμενον. νῦν μὲν γὰρ κακῶς αἱ δίκαι δικάζονται. ἀμπεχόμενοι γάρ,” ἔφη, “οἱ κρινόμενοι κρίνονται: ζῶντες γὰρ κρίνονται. πολλοὶ οὖν,” ἦ δ’ ὅς, “ψυχὰς πονηρὰς ἔχοντες ἠμφιεσμένοι εἰσὶ σώματά τε καλὰ καὶ γένη καὶ πλούτους, καί, ἐπειδὰν ἡ κρίσις ᾖ, ἔρχονται αὐτοῖς πολλοὶ μάρτυρες, μαρτυρήσοντες ὡς δικαίως βεβιώκασιν: [523d] οἱ οὖν δικασταὶ ὑπό τε τούτων ἐκπλήττονται, καὶ ἅμα καὶ αὐτοὶ ἀμπεχόμενοι δικάζουσι, πρὸ τῆς ψυχῆς τῆς αὑτῶν ὀφθαλμοὺς καὶ ὦτα καὶ ὅλον τὸ σῶμα προκεκαλυμμένοι. ταῦτα δὴ αὐτοῖς πάντα ἐπίπροσθεν γίγνεται, καὶ τὰ αὑτῶν ἀμφιέσματα καὶ τὰ τῶν κρινομένων. πρῶτον μὲν οὖν,” ἔφη, “παυστέον ἐστὶν προειδότας αὐτοὺς τὸν θάνατον: νῦν γὰρ προί¨σασι. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν καὶ δὴ εἴρηται τῷ Προμηθεῖ [523e] ὅπως ἂν παύσῃ αὐτῶν. ἔπειτα γυμνοὺς κριτέον ἁπάντων τούτων: τεθνεῶτας γὰρ δεῖ κρίνεσθαι. καὶ τὸν κριτὴν δεῖ γυμνὸν εἶναι, τεθνεῶτα, αὐτῇ τῇ ψυχῇ αὐτὴν τὴν ψυχὴν θεωροῦντα ἐξαίφνης ἀποθανόντος ἑκάστου, ἔρημον πάντων τῶν συγγενῶν καὶ καταλιπόντα ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς πάντα ἐκεῖνον τὸν κόσμον, ἵνα δικαία ἡ κρίσις ᾖ. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα ἐγνωκὼς πρότερος ἢ ὑμεῖς ἐποιησάμην δικαστὰς ὑεῖς ἐμαυτοῦ, δύο μὲν ἐκ τῆς Ἀσίας, Μίνω τε καὶ Ῥαδάμανθυν, [524a] ἕνα δὲ ἐκ τῆς Εὐρώπης, Αἰακόν: οὗτοι οὖν ἐπειδὰν τελευτήσωσι, δικάσουσιν ἐν τῷ λειμῶνι, ἐν τῇ τριόδῳ ἐξ ἧς φέρετον τὼ ὁδώ, ἡ μὲν εἰς μακάρων νήσους, ἡ δ’ εἰς Τάρταρον. καὶ τοὺς μὲν ἐκ τῆς Ἀσίας Ῥαδάμανθυς κρινεῖ, τοὺς δὲ ἐκ τῆς Εὐρώπης Αἰακός: Μίνῳ δὲ πρεσβεῖα δώσω ἐπιδιακρίνειν, ἐὰν ἀπορῆτόν τι τὼ ἑτέρω, ἵνα ὡς δικαιοτάτη ἡ κρίσις ᾖ περὶ τῆς πορείας τοῖς ἀνθρώποις.”

ταῦτ’ ἔστιν, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἃ ἐγὼ ἀκηκοὼς πιστεύω [524b] ἀληθῆ εἶναι: καὶ ἐκ τούτων τῶν λόγων τοιόνδε τι λογίζομαι συμβαίνειν. ὁ θάνατος τυγχάνει ὤν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ δυοῖν πραγμάτοιν διάλυσις, τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ τοῦ σώματος, ἀπ’ ἀλλήλοιν: ἐπειδὰν δὲ διαλυθῆτον ἄρα ἀπ’ ἀλλήλοιν, οὐ πολὺ ἧττον ἑκάτερον αὐτοῖν ἔχει τὴν ἕξιν τὴν αὑτοῦ ἥνπερ καὶ ὅτε ἔζη ὁ ἄνθρωπος, τό τε σῶμα τὴν φύσιν τὴν αὑτοῦ καὶ τὰ θεραπεύματα καὶ τὰ παθήματα ἔνδηλα [524c] πάντα. οἷον εἴ τινος μέγα ἦν τὸ σῶμα φύσει ἢ τροφῇ ἢ ἀμφότερα ζῶντος, τούτου καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνῃ ὁ νεκρὸς μέγας, καὶ εἰ παχύς, παχὺς καὶ ἀποθανόντος, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως: καὶ εἰ αὖ ἐπετήδευε κομᾶν, κομήτης τούτου καὶ ὁ νεκρός. μαστιγίας αὖ εἴ τις ἦν καὶ ἴχνη εἶχε τῶν πληγῶν οὐλὰς ἐν τῷ σώματι ἢ ὑπὸ μαστίγων ἢ ἄλλων τραυμάτων ζῶν, καὶ τεθνεῶτος τὸ σῶμα ἔστιν ἰδεῖν ταῦτα ἔχον: ἢ κατεαγότα εἴ του ἦν μέλη ἢ διεστραμμένα ζῶντος, καὶ [524d] τεθνεῶτος ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ἔνδηλα. ἑνὶ δὲ λόγῳ, οἷος εἶναι παρεσκεύαστο τὸ σῶμα ζῶν, ἔνδηλα ταῦτα καὶ τελευτήσαντος ἢ πάντα ἢ τὰ πολλὰ ἐπί τινα χρόνον. ταὐτὸν δή μοι δοκεῖ τοῦτ’ ἄρα καὶ περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν εἶναι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις: ἔνδηλα πάντα ἐστὶν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ, ἐπειδὰν γυμνωθῇ τοῦ σώματος, τά τε τῆς φύσεως καὶ τὰ παθήματα ἃ διὰ τὴν ἐπιτήδευσιν ἑκάστου πράγματος ἔσχεν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ὁ ἄνθρωπος. ἐπειδὰν οὖν ἀφίκωνται παρὰ τὸν δικαστήν, οἱ μὲν ἐκ τῆς Ἀσίας [524e] παρὰ τὸν Ῥαδάμανθυν, ὁ Ῥαδάμανθυς ἐκείνους ἐπιστήσας θεᾶται ἑκάστου τὴν ψυχήν, οὐκ εἰδὼς ὅτου ἐστίν, ἀλλὰ πολλάκις τοῦ μεγάλου βασιλέως ἐπιλαβόμενος ἢ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν βασιλέως ἢ δυνάστου κατεῖδεν οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς ὂν τῆς ψυχῆς, ἀλλὰ διαμεμαστιγωμένην καὶ οὐλῶν μεστὴν ὑπὸ [525a] ἐπιορκιῶν καὶ ἀδικίας, ἃ ἑκάστη ἡ πρᾶξις αὐτοῦ ἐξωμόρξατο εἰς τὴν ψυχήν, καὶ πάντα σκολιὰ ὑπὸ ψεύδους καὶ ἀλαζονείας καὶ οὐδὲν εὐθὺ διὰ τὸ ἄνευ ἀληθείας τεθράφθαι: καὶ ὑπὸ ἐξουσίας καὶ τρυφῆς καὶ ὕβρεως καὶ ἀκρατίας τῶν πράξεων ἀσυμμετρίας τε καὶ αἰσχρότητος γέμουσαν τὴν ψυχὴν εἶδεν: ἰδὼν δὲ ἀτίμως ταύτην ἀπέπεμψεν εὐθὺ τῆς φρουρᾶς, οἷ μέλλει ἐλθοῦσα ἀνατλῆναι τὰ προσήκοντα πάθη. [525b] προσήκει δὲ παντὶ τῷ ἐν τιμωρίᾳ ὄντι, ὑπ’ ἄλλου ὀρθῶς τιμωρουμένῳ, ἢ βελτίονι γίγνεσθαι καὶ ὀνίνασθαι ἢ παραδείγματι τοῖς ἄλλοις γίγνεσθαι, ἵνα ἄλλοι ὁρῶντες πάσχοντα ἃ ἂν πάσχῃ φοβούμενοι βελτίους γίγνωνται. εἰσὶν δὲ οἱ μὲν ὠφελούμενοί τε καὶ δίκην διδόντες ὑπὸ θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων οὗτοι οἳ ἂν ἰάσιμα ἁμαρτήματα ἁμάρτωσιν: ὅμως δὲ δι’ ἀλγηδόνων καὶ ὀδυνῶν γίγνεται αὐτοῖς ἡ ὠφελία καὶ ἐνθάδε καὶ ἐν Ἅιδου: οὐ γὰρ οἷόν τε ἄλλως ἀδικίας ἀπαλλάττεσθαι. [525c] οἳ δ’ ἂν τὰ ἔσχατα ἀδικήσωσι καὶ διὰ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀδικήματα ἀνίατοι γένωνται, ἐκ τούτων τὰ παραδείγματα γίγνεται, καὶ οὗτοι αὐτοὶ μὲν οὐκέτι ὀνίνανται οὐδέν, ἅτε ἀνίατοι ὄντες, ἄλλοι δὲ ὀνίνανται οἱ τούτους ὁρῶντες διὰ τὰς ἁμαρτίας τὰ μέγιστα καὶ ὀδυνηρότατα καὶ φοβερώτατα πάθη πάσχοντας τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον, ἀτεχνῶς παραδείγματα ἀνηρτημένους ἐκεῖ ἐν Ἅιδου ἐν τῷ δεσμωτηρίῳ, τοῖς ἀεὶ τῶν ἀδίκων ἀφικνουμένοις θεάματα καὶ νουθετήματα. [525d] ὧν ἐγώ φημι ἕνα καὶ Ἀρχέλαον ἔσεσθαι, εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγει Πῶλος, καὶ ἄλλον ὅστις ἂν τοιοῦτος τύραννος ᾖ: οἶμαι δὲ καὶ τοὺς πολλοὺς εἶναι τούτων τῶν παραδειγμάτων ἐκ τυράννων καὶ βασιλέων καὶ δυναστῶν καὶ τὰ τῶν πόλεων πραξάντων γεγονότας: οὗτοι γὰρ διὰ τὴν ἐξουσίαν μέγιστα καὶ ἀνοσιώτατα ἁμαρτήματα ἁμαρτάνουσι. μαρτυρεῖ δὲ τούτοις καὶ Ὅμηρος: βασιλέας γὰρ καὶ δυνάστας ἐκεῖνος πεποίηκεν [525e] τοὺς ἐν Ἅιδου τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον τιμωρουμένους, Τάνταλον καὶ Σίσυφον καὶ Τιτυόν: Θερσίτην δέ, καὶ εἴ τις ἄλλος πονηρὸς ἦν ἰδιώτης, οὐδεὶς πεποίηκεν μεγάλαις τιμωρίαις συνεχόμενον ὡς ἀνίατον — οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι ἐξῆν αὐτῷ: διὸ καὶ εὐδαιμονέστερος ἦν ἢ οἷς ἐξῆν — ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ἐκ τῶν [526a] δυναμένων εἰσὶ καὶ οἱ σφόδρα πονηροὶ γιγνόμενοι ἄνθρωποι: οὐδὲν μὴν κωλύει καὶ ἐν τούτοις ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας ἐγγίγνεσθαι, καὶ σφόδρα γε ἄξιον ἄγασθαι τῶν γιγνομένων: χαλεπὸν γάρ, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, καὶ πολλοῦ ἐπαίνου ἄξιον ἐν μεγάλῃ ἐξουσίᾳ τοῦ ἀδικεῖν γενόμενον δικαίως διαβιῶναι. ὀλίγοι δὲ γίγνονται οἱ τοιοῦτοι: ἐπεὶ καὶ ἐνθάδε καὶ ἄλλοθι γεγόνασιν, οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ἔσονται καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ ταύτην τὴν ἀρετὴν τὴν τοῦ δικαίως [526b] διαχειρίζειν ἃ ἄν τις ἐπιτρέπῃ: εἷς δὲ καὶ πάνυ ἐλλόγιμος γέγονεν καὶ εἰς τοὺς ἄλλους Ἕλληνας, Ἀριστείδης ὁ Λυσιμάχου: οἱ δὲ πολλοί, ὦ ἄριστε, κακοὶ γίγνονται τῶν δυναστῶν. ὅπερ οὖν ἔλεγον, ἐπειδὰν ὁ Ῥαδάμανθυς ἐκεῖνος τοιοῦτόν τινα λάβῃ, ἄλλο μὲν περὶ αὐτοῦ οὐκ οἶδεν οὐδέν, οὔθ’ ὅστις οὔθ’ ὧντινων, ὅτι δὲ πονηρός τις: καὶ τοῦτο κατιδὼν ἀπέπεμψεν εἰς Τάρταρον, ἐπισημηνάμενος, ἐάντε ἰάσιμος ἐάντε ἀνίατος δοκῇ εἶναι: ὁ δὲ ἐκεῖσε ἀφικόμενος [526c] τὰ προσήκοντα πάσχει. ἐνίοτε δ’ ἄλλην εἰσιδὼν ὁσίως βεβιωκυῖαν καὶ μετ’ ἀληθείας, ἀνδρὸς ἰδιώτου ἢ ἄλλου τινός, μάλιστα μέν, ἔγωγέ φημι, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, φιλοσόφου τὰ αὑτοῦ πράξαντος καὶ οὐ πολυπραγμονήσαντος ἐν τῷ βίῳ, ἠγάσθη τε καὶ ἐς μακάρων νήσους ἀπέπεμψε. ταὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτα καὶ ὁ Αἰακός — ἑκάτερος τούτων ῥάβδον ἔχων δικάζει — ὁ δὲ Μίνως ἐπισκοπῶν κάθηται, μόνος ἔχων χρυσοῦν [526d] σκῆπτρον, ὥς φησιν Ὀδυσσεὺς ὁ Ὁμήρου ἰδεῖν αὐτὸν — χρύσεον σκῆπτρον ἔχοντα, θεμιστεύοντα νέκυσσιν.

ηομ. οδ. 11.569ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, ὑπό τε τούτων τῶν λόγων πέπεισμαι, καὶ σκοπῶ ὅπως ἀποφανοῦμαι τῷ κριτῇ ὡς ὑγιεστάτην τὴν ψυχήν: χαίρειν οὖν ἐάσας τὰς τιμὰς τὰς τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων, τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἀσκῶν πειράσομαι τῷ ὄντι ὡς ἂν δύνωμαι βέλτιστος ὢν καὶ ζῆν καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἀποθνῄσκω [526e] ἀποθνῄσκειν. παρακαλῶ δὲ καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πάντας ἀνθρώπους, καθ’ ὅσον δύναμαι, καὶ δὴ καὶ σὲ ἀντιπαρακαλῶ ἐπὶ τοῦτον τὸν βίον καὶ τὸν ἀγῶνα τοῦτον, ὃν ἐγώ φημι ἀντὶ πάντων τῶν ἐνθάδε ἀγώνων εἶναι, καὶ ὀνειδίζω σοι ὅτι οὐχ οἷός τ’ ἔσῃ σαυτῷ βοηθῆσαι, ὅταν ἡ δίκη σοι ᾖ καὶ ἡ κρίσις ἣν νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, ἀλλὰ ἐλθὼν παρὰ τὸν δικαστήν, [527a] τὸν τῆς Αἰγίνης ὑόν, ἐπειδάν σου ἐπιλαβόμενος ἄγῃ, χασμήσῃ καὶ ἰλιγγιάσεις οὐδὲν ἧττον ἢ ἐγὼ ἐνθάδε σὺ ἐκεῖ, καί σε ἴσως τυπτήσει τις καὶ ἐπὶ κόρρης ἀτίμως καὶ πάντως προπηλακιεῖ.

τάχα δ’ οὖν ταῦτα μῦθός σοι δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι ὥσπερ γραὸς καὶ καταφρονεῖς αὐτῶν, καὶ οὐδέν γ’ ἂν ἦν θαυμαστὸν καταφρονεῖν τούτων, εἴ πῃ ζητοῦντες εἴχομεν αὐτῶν βελτίω καὶ ἀληθέστερα εὑρεῖν: νῦν δὲ ὁρᾷς ὅτι τρεῖς ὄντες ὑμεῖς, οἵπερ σοφώτατοί ἐστε τῶν νῦν Ἑλλήνων, σύ τε καὶ Πῶλος καὶ [527b] Γοργίας, οὐκ ἔχετε ἀποδεῖξαι ὡς δεῖ ἄλλον τινὰ βίον ζῆν ἢ τοῦτον, ὅσπερ καὶ ἐκεῖσε φαίνεται συμφέρων. ἀλλ’ ἐν τοσούτοις λόγοις τῶν ἄλλων ἐλεγχομένων μόνος οὗτος ἠρεμεῖ ὁ λόγος, ὡς εὐλαβητέον ἐστὶν τὸ ἀδικεῖν μᾶλλον ἢ τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι, καὶ παντὸς μᾶλλον ἀνδρὶ μελετητέον οὐ τὸ δοκεῖν εἶναι ἀγαθὸν ἀλλὰ τὸ εἶναι, καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ: ἐὰν δέ τις κατά τι κακὸς γίγνηται, κολαστέος ἐστί, καὶ τοῦτο δεύτερον ἀγαθὸν μετὰ τὸ εἶναι δίκαιον, τὸ γίγνεσθαι καὶ [527c] κολαζόμενον διδόναι δίκην: καὶ πᾶσαν κολακείαν καὶ τὴν περὶ ἑαυτὸν καὶ τὴν περὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, καὶ περὶ ὀλίγους καὶ περὶ πολλούς, φευκτέον: καὶ τῇ ῥητορικῇ οὕτω χρηστέον ἐπὶ τὸ δίκαιον ἀεί, καὶ τῇ ἄλλῃ πάσῃ πράξει. ἐμοὶ οὖν πειθόμενος ἀκολούθησον ἐνταῦθα, οἷ ἀφικόμενος εὐδαιμονήσεις καὶ ζῶν καὶ τελευτήσας, ὡς ὁ λόγος σημαίνει. καὶ ἔασόν τινά σου καταφρονῆσαι ὡς ἀνοήτου καὶ προπηλακίσαι, ἐὰν βούληται, καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δία σύ γε θαρρῶν πατάξαι τὴν [527d] ἄτιμον ταύτην πληγήν: οὐδὲν γὰρ δεινὸν πείσῃ, ἐὰν τῷ ὄντι ᾖς καλὸς κἀγαθός, ἀσκῶν ἀρετήν. κἄπειτα οὕτω κοινῇ ἀσκήσαντες, τότε ἤδη, ἐὰν δοκῇ χρῆναι, ἐπιθησόμεθα τοῖς πολιτικοῖς, ἢ ὁποῖον ἄν τι ἡμῖν δοκῇ, τότε βουλευσόμεθα, βελτίους ὄντες βουλεύεσθαι ἢ νῦν. αἰσχρὸν γὰρ ἔχοντάς γε ὡς νῦν φαινόμεθα ἔχειν, ἔπειτα νεανιεύεσθαι ὡς τὶ ὄντας, οἷς οὐδέποτε ταὐτὰ δοκεῖ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν, καὶ ταῦτα περὶ [527e] τῶν μεγίστων — εἰς τοσοῦτον ἥκομεν ἀπαιδευσίας — ὥσπερ οὖν ἡγεμόνι τῷ λόγῳ χρησώμεθα τῷ νῦν παραφανέντι, ὃς ἡμῖν σημαίνει ὅτι οὗτος ὁ τρόπος ἄριστος τοῦ βίου, καὶ τὴν δικαιοσύνην καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ἀρετὴν ἀσκοῦντας καὶ ζῆν καὶ τεθνάναι. τούτῳ οὖν ἑπώμεθα, καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους παρακαλῶμεν, μὴ ἐκείνῳ, ᾧ σὺ πιστεύων ἐμὲ παρακαλεῖς: ἔστι γὰρ οὐδενὸς ἄξιος ὦ Καλλίκλεις.

MENO

Μένων, Σωκράτης, Παῖς Μένωνος, Ἄνυτος.

[70a] Μένων: ἔχεις μοι εἰπεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἆρα διδακτὸν ἡ ἀρετή; ἢ οὐ διδακτὸν ἀλλ᾽ ἀσκητόν; ἢ οὔτε ἀσκητὸν οὔτε μαθητόν, ἀλλὰ φύσει παραγίγνεται τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἢ ἄλλῳ τινὶ τρόπῳ;

Σωκράτης: ὦ Μένων, πρὸ τοῦ μὲν Θετταλοὶ εὐδόκιμοι ἦσαν ἐν τοῖς Ἕλλησιν καὶ ἐθαυμάζοντο ἐφ᾽ ἱππικῇ τε καὶ πλούτῳ, [70b]νῦν δέ, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, καὶ ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ, καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα οἱ τοῦ σοῦ ἑταίρου Ἀριστίππου πολῖται Λαρισαῖοι. τούτου δὲ ὑμῖν αἴτιός ἐστι Γοργίας: ἀφικόμενος γὰρ εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἐραστὰς ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ εἴληφεν Ἀλευαδῶν τε τοὺς πρώτους, ὧν ὁ σὸς ἐραστής ἐστιν Ἀρίστιππος, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων Θετταλῶν. καὶ δὴ καὶ τοῦτο τὸ ἔθος ὑμᾶς εἴθικεν, ἀφόβως τε καὶ μεγαλοπρεπῶς ἀποκρίνεσθαι ἐάν τίς τι ἔρηται, ὥσπερ εἰκὸς τοὺς [70c]εἰδότας, ἅτε καὶ αὐτὸς παρέχων αὑτὸν ἐρωτᾶν τῶν Ἑλλήνων τῷ βουλομένῳ ὅτι ἄν τις βούληται, καὶ οὐδενὶ ὅτῳ οὐκ ἀποκρινόμενος. ἐνθάδε δέ, ὦ φίλε Μένων, τὸ ἐναντίον περιέστηκεν: ὥσπερ αὐχμός τις τῆς σοφίας γέγονεν, καὶ κινδυνεύει [71a]ἐκ τῶνδε τῶν τόπων παρ᾽ ὑμᾶς οἴχεσθαι ἡ σοφία. εἰ γοῦν τινα ἐθέλεις οὕτως ἐρέσθαι τῶν ἐνθάδε, οὐδεὶς ὅστις οὐ γελάσεται καὶ ἐρεῖ: ὦ ξένε, κινδυνεύω σοι δοκεῖν μακάριός τις εἶναι ἀρετὴν γοῦν εἴτε διδακτὸν εἴθ᾽ ὅτῳ τρόπῳ παραγίγνεται εἰδέναι ἐγὼ δὲ τοσοῦτον δέω εἴτε διδακτὸν εἴτε μὴ διδακτὸν εἰδέναι, ὥστ᾽ οὐδὲ αὐτὸ ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ παράπαν ἀρετὴ τυγχάνω εἰδώς. [71b]

ἐγὼ οὖν καὶ αὐτός, ὦ Μένων, οὕτως ἔχω: συμπένομαι τοῖς πολίταις τούτου τοῦ πράγματος, καὶ ἐμαυτὸν καταμέμφομαι ὡς οὐκ εἰδὼς περὶ ἀρετῆς τὸ παράπαν: ὃ δὲ μὴ οἶδα τί ἐστιν, πῶς ἂν ὁποῖόν γέ τι εἰδείην; ἢ δοκεῖ σοι οἷόν τε εἶναι, ὅστις Μένωνα μὴ γιγνώσκει τὸ παράπαν ὅστις ἐστίν, τοῦτον εἰδέναι εἴτε καλὸς εἴτε πλούσιος εἴτε καὶ γενναῖός ἐστιν, εἴτε καὶ τἀναντία τούτων; δοκεῖ σοι οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι;

Μένων: οὐκ ἔμοιγε. ἀλλὰ σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀληθῶς [71c]οὐδ᾽ ὅτι ἀρετή ἐστιν οἶσθα, ἀλλὰ ταῦτα περὶ σοῦ καὶ οἴκαδε ἀπαγγέλλωμεν;

Σωκράτης: μὴ μόνον γε, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὅτι οὐδ᾽ ἄλλῳ πω ἐνέτυχον εἰδότι, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκῶ.

Μένων: τί δέ; Γοργίᾳ οὐκ ἐνέτυχες ὅτε ἐνθάδε ἦν;

Σωκράτης: ἔγωγε.

Μένων: εἶτα οὐκ ἐδόκει σοι εἰδέναι;

Σωκράτης: οὐ πάνυ εἰμὶ μνήμων, ὦ Μένων, ὥστε οὐκ ἔχω εἰπεῖν ἐν τῷ παρόντι πῶς μοι τότε ἔδοξεν. ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως ἐκεῖνός τε οἶδε, καὶ σὺ ἃ ἐκεῖνος ἔλεγε: ἀνάμνησον οὖν [71d]με πῶς ἔλεγεν. εἰ δὲ βούλει, αὐτὸς εἰπέ: δοκεῖ γὰρ δήπου σοὶ ἅπερ ἐκείνῳ.

Μένων: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἐκεῖνον μὲν τοίνυν ἐῶμεν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ἄπεστιν: σὺ δὲ αὐτός, ὦ πρὸς θεῶν, Μένων, τί φῂς ἀρετὴν εἶναι; εἶπον καὶ μὴ φθονήσῃς, ἵνα εὐτυχέστατον ψεῦσμα ἐψευσμένος ὦ, ἂν φανῇς σὺ μὲν εἰδὼς καὶ Γοργίας, ἐγὼ δὲ εἰρηκὼς μηδενὶ πώποτε εἰδότι ἐντετυχηκέναι. [71e]

Μένων: ἀλλ᾽ οὐ χαλεπόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰπεῖν. πρῶτον μέν, εἰ βούλει ἀνδρὸς ἀρετήν, ῥᾴδιον, ὅτι αὕτη ἐστὶν ἀνδρὸς ἀρετή, ἱκανὸν εἶναι τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράττειν, καὶ πράττοντα τοὺς μὲν φίλους εὖ ποιεῖν, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐχθροὺς κακῶς, καὶ αὐτὸν εὐλαβεῖσθαι μηδὲν τοιοῦτον παθεῖν. εἰ δὲ βούλει γυναικὸς ἀρετήν, οὐ χαλεπὸν διελθεῖν, ὅτι δεῖ αὐτὴν τὴν οἰκίαν εὖ οἰκεῖν, σῴζουσάν τε τὰ ἔνδον καὶ κατήκοον οὖσαν τοῦ ἀνδρός. καὶ ἄλλη ἐστὶν παιδὸς ἀρετή, καὶ θηλείας καὶ ἄρρενος, καὶ πρεσβυτέρου ἀνδρός, εἰ μὲν βούλει, ἐλευθέρου, εἰ δὲ βούλει, [72a]δούλου. καὶ ἄλλαι πάμπολλαι ἀρεταί εἰσιν, ὥστε οὐκ ἀπορία εἰπεῖν ἀρετῆς πέρι ὅτι ἐστίν: καθ᾽ ἑκάστην γὰρ τῶν πράξεων καὶ τῶν ἡλικιῶν πρὸς ἕκαστον ἔργον ἑκάστῳ ἡμῶν ἡ ἀρετή ἐστιν, ὡσαύτως δὲ οἶμαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἡ κακία.

Σωκράτης: πολλῇ γέ τινι εὐτυχίᾳ ἔοικα κεχρῆσθαι, ὦ Μένων, εἰ μίαν ζητῶν ἀρετὴν σμῆνός τι ἀνηύρηκα ἀρετῶν παρὰ σοὶ κείμενον. ἀτάρ, ὦ Μένων, κατὰ ταύτην τὴν εἰκόνα τὴν [72b]περὶ τὰ σμήνη, εἴ μου ἐρομένου μελίττης περὶ οὐσίας ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστίν, πολλὰς καὶ παντοδαπὰς ἔλεγες αὐτὰς εἶναι, τί ἂν ἀπεκρίνω μοι, εἴ σε ἠρόμην: ἆρα τούτῳ φῂς πολλὰς καὶ παντοδαπὰς εἶναι καὶ διαφερούσας ἀλλήλων, τῷ μελίττας εἶναι; ἢ τούτῳ μὲν οὐδὲν διαφέρουσιν, ἄλλῳ δέ τῳ, οἷον ἢ κάλλει ἢ μεγέθει ἢ ἄλλῳ τῳ τῶν τοιούτων; εἰπέ, τί ἂν ἀπεκρίνω οὕτως ἐρωτηθείς;

Μένων: τοῦτ᾽ ἔγωγε, ὅτι οὐδὲν διαφέρουσιν, ᾗ μέλιτται εἰσίν, ἡ ἑτέρα τῆς ἑτέρας. [72c]

Σωκράτης: εἰ οὖν εἶπον μετὰ ταῦτα: τοῦτο τοίνυν μοι αὐτὸ εἰπέ, ὦ Μένων: ᾧ οὐδὲν διαφέρουσιν ἀλλὰ ταὐτόν εἰσιν ἅπασαι, τί τοῦτο φῂς εἶναι; εἶχες δήπου ἄν τί μοι εἰπεῖν;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὕτω δὴ καὶ περὶ τῶν ἀρετῶν: κἂν εἰ πολλαὶ καὶ παντοδαπαί εἰσιν, ἕν γέ τι εἶδος ταὐτὸν ἅπασαι ἔχουσιν δι᾽ ὃ εἰσὶν ἀρεταί, εἰς ὃ καλῶς που ἔχει ἀποβλέψαντα τὸν ἀποκρινόμενον τῷ ἐρωτήσαντι ἐκεῖνο δηλῶσαι, ὃ τυγχάνει [72d]οὖσα ἀρετή: ἢ οὐ μανθάνεις ὅτι λέγω;

Μένων: δοκῶ γέ μοι μανθάνειν: οὐ μέντοι ὡς βούλομαί γέ πω κατέχω τὸ ἐρωτώμενον.

Σωκράτης: πότερον δὲ περὶ ἀρετῆς μόνον σοι οὕτω δοκεῖ, ὦ Μένων, ἄλλη μὲν ἀνδρὸς εἶναι, ἄλλη δὲ γυναικὸς καὶ τῶν ἄλλων, ἢ καὶ περὶ ὑγιείας καὶ περὶ μεγέθους καὶ περὶ ἰσχύος ὡσαύτως; ἄλλη μὲν ἀνδρὸς δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι ὑγίεια, ἄλλη δὲ γυναικός; ἢ ταὐτὸν πανταχοῦ εἶδός ἐστιν, ἐάνπερ ὑγίεια [72e]ᾖ, ἐάντε ἐν ἀνδρὶ ἐάντε ἐν ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν ᾖ;

Μένων: ἡ αὐτή μοι δοκεῖ ὑγίειά γε εἶναι καὶ ἀνδρὸς καὶ γυναικός.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ μέγεθος καὶ ἰσχύς; ἐάνπερ ἰσχυρὰ γυνὴ ᾖ, τῷ αὐτῷ εἴδει καὶ τῇ αὐτῇ ἰσχύϊ ἰσχυρὰ ἔσται; τὸ γὰρ τῇ αὐτῇ τοῦτο λέγω: οὐδὲν διαφέρει πρὸς τὸ ἰσχὺς εἶναι ἡ ἰσχύς, ἐάντε ἐν ἀνδρὶ ᾖ ἐάντε ἐν γυναικί. ἢ δοκεῖ τί σοι διαφέρειν;

Μένων: οὐκ ἔμοιγε. [73a]

Σωκράτης: ἡ δὲ ἀρετὴ πρὸς τὸ ἀρετὴ εἶναι διοίσει τι, ἐάντε ἐν παιδὶ ᾖ ἐάντε ἐν πρεσβύτῃ, ἐάντε ἐν γυναικὶ ἐάντε ἐν ἀνδρί;

Μένων: ἔμοιγέ πως δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτο οὐκέτι ὅμοιον εἶναι τοῖς ἄλλοις τούτοις.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; οὐκ ἀνδρὸς μὲν ἀρετὴν ἔλεγες πόλιν εὖ διοικεῖν, γυναικὸς δὲ οἰκίαν;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οἷόν τε εὖ διοικεῖν ἢ πόλιν ἢ οἰκίαν ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν, μὴ σωφρόνως καὶ δικαίως διοικοῦντα;

Μένων: οὐ δῆτα. [73b]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἄνπερ δικαίως καὶ σωφρόνως διοικῶσιν, δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ σωφροσύνῃ διοικήσουσιν;

Μένων: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: τῶν αὐτῶν ἄρα ἀμφότεροι δέονται, εἴπερ μέλλουσιν ἀγαθοὶ εἶναι, καὶ ἡ γυνὴ καὶ ὁ ἀνήρ, δικαιοσύνης καὶ σωφροσύνης.

Μένων: φαίνονται.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ παῖς καὶ πρεσβύτης; μῶν ἀκόλαστοι ὄντες καὶ ἄδικοι ἀγαθοὶ ἄν ποτε γένοιντο;

Μένων: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ σώφρονες καὶ [73c]δίκαιοι;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πάντες ἄρ᾽ ἄνθρωποι τῷ αὐτῷ τρόπῳ ἀγαθοί εἰσιν: τῶν αὐτῶν γὰρ τυχόντες ἀγαθοὶ γίγνονται.

Μένων: ἔοικε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἂν δήπου, εἴ γε μὴ ἡ αὐτὴ ἀρετὴ ἦν αὐτῶν, τῷ αὐτῷ ἂν τρόπῳ ἀγαθοὶ ἦσαν.

Μένων: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν ἡ αὐτὴ ἀρετὴ πάντων ἐστίν, πειρῶ εἰπεῖν καὶ ἀναμνησθῆναι τί αὐτό φησι Γοργίας εἶναι καὶ σὺ μετ᾽ ἐκείνου.

Μένων: τί ἄλλο γ᾽ ἢ ἄρχειν οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι τῶν ἀνθρώπων; [73d]εἴπερ ἕν γέ τι ζητεῖς κατὰ πάντων.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ζητῶ γε. ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα καὶ παιδὸς ἡ αὐτὴ ἀρετή, ὦ Μένων, καὶ δούλου, ἄρχειν οἵω τε εἶναι τοῦ δεσπότου, καὶ δοκεῖ σοι ἔτι ἂν δοῦλος εἶναι ὁ ἄρχων;

Μένων: οὐ πάνυ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐ γὰρ εἰκός, ὦ ἄριστε: ἔτι γὰρ καὶ τόδε σκόπει. ἄρχειν φῂς οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι. οὐ προσθήσομεν αὐτόσε τὸ δικαίως, ἀδίκως δὲ μή;

Μένων: οἶμαι ἔγωγε: ἡ γὰρ δικαιοσύνη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀρετή ἐστιν. [73e]

Σωκράτης: πότερον ἀρετή, ὦ Μένων, ἢ ἀρετή τις;

Μένων: πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ὡς περὶ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν. οἷον, εἰ βούλει, στρογγυλότητος πέρι εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν ἔγωγε ὅτι σχῆμά τί ἐστιν, οὐχ οὕτως ἁπλῶς ὅτι σχῆμα. διὰ ταῦτα δὲ οὕτως ἂν εἴποιμι, ὅτι καὶ ἄλλα ἔστι σχήματα.

Μένων: ὀρθῶς γε λέγων σύ, ἐπεὶ καὶ ἐγὼ λέγω οὐ μόνον δικαιοσύνην ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλας εἶναι ἀρετάς. [74a]

Σωκράτης: τίνας ταύτας; εἰπέ. οἷον καὶ ἐγώ σοι εἴποιμι ἂν καὶ ἄλλα σχήματα, εἴ με κελεύοις: καὶ σὺ οὖν ἐμοὶ εἰπὲ ἄλλας ἀρετάς.

Μένων: ἡ ἀνδρεία τοίνυν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ ἀρετὴ εἶναι καὶ σωφροσύνη καὶ σοφία καὶ μεγαλοπρέπεια καὶ ἄλλαι πάμπολλαι.

Σωκράτης: πάλιν, ὦ Μένων, ταὐτὸν πεπόνθαμεν: πολλὰς αὖ ηὑρήκαμεν ἀρετὰς μίαν ζητοῦντες, ἄλλον τρόπον ἢ νυνδή: τὴν δὲ μίαν, ἣ διὰ πάντων τούτων ἐστίν, οὐ δυνάμεθα ἀνευρεῖν.

Μένων: οὐ γὰρ δύναμαί πω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς σὺ ζητεῖς, [74b]μίαν ἀρετὴν λαβεῖν κατὰ πάντων, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις.

Σωκράτης: εἰκότως γε: ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ προθυμήσομαι, ἐὰν οἷός τ᾽ ὦ, ἡμᾶς προβιβάσαι. μανθάνεις γάρ που ὅτι οὑτωσὶ ἔχει περὶ παντός: εἴ τίς σε ἀνέροιτο τοῦτο ὃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, τί ἐστιν σχῆμα, ὦ Μένων; εἰ αὐτῷ εἶπες ὅτι στρογγυλότης, εἴ σοι εἶπεν ἅπερ ἐγώ, πότερον σχῆμα ἡ στρογγυλότης ἐστὶν ἢ σχῆμά τι; εἶπες δήπου ἂν ὅτι σχῆμά τι.

Μένων: πάνυ γε. [74c]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν διὰ ταῦτα, ὅτι καὶ ἄλλα ἔστιν σχήματα;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ εἴ γε προσανηρώτα σε ὁποῖα, ἔλεγες ἄν;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ αὖ εἰ περὶ χρώματος ὡσαύτως ἀνήρετο ὅτι ἐστίν, καὶ εἰπόντος σου ὅτι τὸ λευκόν, μετὰ ταῦτα ὑπέλαβεν ὁ ἐρωτῶν: πότερον τὸ λευκὸν χρῶμά ἐστιν ἢ χρῶμά τι; εἶπες ἂν ὅτι χρῶμά τι, διότι καὶ ἄλλα τυγχάνει ὄντα;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ εἴ γέ σε ἐκέλευε λέγειν ἄλλα χρώματα, ἔλεγες [74d]ἂν ἄλλα, ἃ οὐδὲν ἧττον τυγχάνει ὄντα χρώματα τοῦ λευκοῦ;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἰ οὖν ὥσπερ ἐγὼ μετῄει τὸν λόγον, καὶ ἔλεγεν ὅτι ἀεὶ εἰς πολλὰ ἀφικνούμεθα, ἀλλὰ μή μοι οὕτως, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ τὰ πολλὰ ταῦτα ἑνί τινι προσαγορεύεις ὀνόματι, καὶ φῂς οὐδὲν αὐτῶν ὅτι οὐ σχῆμα εἶναι, καὶ ταῦτα καὶ ἐναντία ὄντα ἀλλήλοις, ὅτι ἐστὶν τοῦτο ὃ οὐδὲν ἧττον κατέχει τὸ στρογγύλον ἢ τὸ εὐθύ, ὃ δὴ ὀνομάζεις σχῆμα [74e]καὶ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον φῂς τὸ στρογγύλον σχῆμα εἶναι ἢ τὸ εὐθύ; ἢ οὐχ οὕτω λέγεις;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὅταν οὕτω λέγῃς, τότε οὐδὲν μᾶλλον φῂς τὸ στρογγύλον εἶναι στρογγύλον ἢ εὐθύ, οὐδὲ τὸ εὐθὺ εὐθὺ ἢ στρογγύλον;

Μένων: οὐ δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν σχῆμά γε οὐδὲν μᾶλλον φῂς εἶναι τὸ στρογγύλον τοῦ εὐθέος, οὐδὲ τὸ ἕτερον τοῦ ἑτέρου.

Μένων: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τί ποτε οὖν τοῦτο οὗ τοῦτο ὄνομά ἐστιν, τὸ σχῆμα; [75a]πειρῶ λέγειν. εἰ οὖν τῷ ἐρωτῶντι οὕτως ἢ περὶ σχήματος ἢ χρώματος εἶπες ὅτι ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ μανθάνω ἔγωγε ὅτι βούλει, ὦ ἄνθρωπε, οὐδὲ οἶδα ὅτι λέγεις, ἴσως ἂν ἐθαύμασε καὶ εἶπεν: οὐ μανθάνεις ὅτι ζητῶ τὸ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν τούτοις ταὐτόν; ἢ οὐδὲ ἐπὶ τούτοις, ὦ Μένων, ἔχοις ἂν εἰπεῖν, εἴ τίς σε ἐρωτῴη: τί ἐστιν ἐπὶ τῷ στρογγύλῳ καὶ εὐθεῖ καὶ ἐπὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις, ἃ δὴ σχήματα καλεῖς, ταὐτὸν ἐπὶ πᾶσιν; πειρῶ εἰπεῖν, ἵνα καὶ γένηταί σοι μελέτη πρὸς τὴν περὶ τῆς ἀρετῆς ἀπόκρισιν. [75b]

Μένων: μή, ἀλλὰ σύ, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰπέ.

Σωκράτης: βούλει σοι χαρίσωμαι;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἐθελήσεις οὖν καὶ σὺ ἐμοὶ εἰπεῖν περὶ τῆς ἀρετῆς;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: προθυμητέον τοίνυν: ἄξιον γάρ.

Μένων: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, πειρώμεθά σοι εἰπεῖν τί ἐστιν σχῆμα. σκόπει οὖν εἰ τόδε ἀποδέχῃ αὐτὸ εἶναι: ἔστω γὰρ δὴ ἡμῖν τοῦτο σχῆμα, ὃ μόνον τῶν ὄντων τυγχάνει χρώματι ἀεὶ ἑπόμενον. ἱκανῶς σοι, ἢ ἄλλως πως ζητεῖς; ἐγὼ γὰρ κἂν [75c]οὕτως ἀγαπῴην εἴ μοι ἀρετὴν εἴποις.

Μένων: ἀλλὰ τοῦτό γε εὔηθες, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις;

Μένων: ὅτι σχῆμά πού ἐστιν κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον ὃ ἀεὶ χρόᾳ ἕπεται. εἶεν: εἰ δὲ δὴ τὴν χρόαν τις μὴ φαίη εἰδέναι, ἀλλὰ ὡσαύτως ἀποροῖ ὥσπερ περὶ τοῦ σχήματος, τί ἂν οἴει σοι ἀποκεκρίσθαι;

Σωκράτης: τἀληθῆ ἔγωγε: καὶ εἰ μέν γε τῶν σοφῶν τις εἴη καὶ ἐριστικῶν τε καὶ ἀγωνιστικῶν ὁ ἐρόμενος, εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν [75d]αὐτῷ ὅτι ἐμοὶ μὲν εἴρηται: εἰ δὲ μὴ ὀρθῶς λέγω, σὸν ἔργον λαμβάνειν λόγον καὶ ἐλέγχειν. εἰ δὲ ὥσπερ ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ νυνὶ φίλοι ὄντες βούλοιντο ἀλλήλοις διαλέγεσθαι, δεῖ δὴ πρᾳότερόν πως καὶ διαλεκτικώτερον ἀποκρίνεσθαι. ἔστι δὲ ἴσως τὸ διαλεκτικώτερον μὴ μόνον τἀληθῆ ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ δι᾽ ἐκείνων ὧν ἂν προσομολογῇ εἰδέναι ὁ ἐρωτώμενος. πειράσομαι δὴ καὶ ἐγώ σοι οὕτως εἰπεῖν. [75e]λέγε γάρ μοι: τελευτὴν καλεῖς τι; τοιόνδε λέγω οἷον πέρας καὶ ἔσχατον πάντα ταῦτα ταὐτόν τι λέγω: ἴσως δ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν Πρόδικος διαφέροιτο, ἀλλὰ σύ γέ που καλεῖς πεπεράνθαι τι καὶ τετελευτηκέναι τὸ τοιοῦτον βούλομαι λέγειν, οὐδὲν ποικίλον.

Μένων: ἀλλὰ καλῶ, καὶ οἶμαι μανθάνειν ὃ λέγεις. [76a]

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽; ἐπίπεδον καλεῖς τι, καὶ ἕτερον αὖ στερεόν, οἷον ταῦτα τὰ ἐν ταῖς γεωμετρίαις;

Μένων: ἔγωγε καλῶ.

Σωκράτης: ἤδη τοίνυν ἂν μάθοις μου ἐκ τούτων σχῆμα ὃ λέγω. κατὰ γὰρ παντὸς σχήματος τοῦτο λέγω, εἰς ὃ τὸ στερεὸν περαίνει, τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι σχῆμα: ὅπερ ἂν συλλαβὼν εἴποιμι στερεοῦ πέρας σχῆμα εἶναι.

Μένων: τὸ δὲ χρῶμα τί λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ὑβριστής γ᾽ εἶ, ὦ Μένων: ἀνδρὶ πρεσβύτῃ πράγματα προστάττεις ἀποκρίνεσθαι, αὐτὸς δὲ οὐκ ἐθέλεις [76b]ἀναμνησθεὶς εἰπεῖν ὅτι ποτε λέγει Γοργίας ἀρετὴν εἶναι.

Μένων: ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδάν μοι σὺ τοῦτ᾽ εἴπῃς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐρῶ σοι.

Σωκράτης: κἂν κατακεκαλυμμένος τις γνοίη, ὦ Μένων, διαλεγομένου σου, ὅτι καλὸς εἶ καὶ ἐρασταί σοι ἔτι εἰσίν.

Μένων: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι οὐδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἐπιτάττεις ἐν τοῖς λόγοις, ὅπερ ποιοῦσιν οἱ τρυφῶντες, ἅτε τυραννεύοντες ἕως ἂν ἐν ὥρᾳ [76c]ὦσιν, καὶ ἅμα ἐμοῦ ἴσως κατέγνωκας ὅτι εἰμὶ ἥττων τῶν καλῶν: χαριοῦμαι οὖν σοι καὶ ἀποκρινοῦμαι.

Μένων: πάνυ μὲν οὖν χάρισαι.

Σωκράτης: βούλει οὖν σοι κατὰ Γοργίαν ἀποκρίνωμαι, ᾗ ἂν σὺ μάλιστα ἀκολουθήσαις;

Μένων: βούλομαι: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν λέγετε ἀπορροάς τινας τῶν ὄντων κατὰ Ἐμπεδοκλέα;

Μένων: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ πόρους εἰς οὓς καὶ δι᾽ ὧν αἱ ἀπορροαὶ πορεύονται;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τῶν ἀπορροῶν τὰς μὲν ἁρμόττειν ἐνίοις τῶν [76d]πόρων, τὰς δὲ ἐλάττους ἢ μείζους εἶναι;

Μένων: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ὄψιν καλεῖς τι;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἐκ τούτων δὴ σύνες ὅ τοι λέγω, ἔφη Πίνδαρος. ἔστιν γὰρ χρόα ἀπορροὴ σχημάτων ὄψει σύμμετρος καὶ αἰσθητός.

Μένων: ἄριστά μοι δοκεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταύτην τὴν ἀπόκρισιν εἰρηκέναι.

Σωκράτης: ἴσως γάρ σοι κατὰ συνήθειαν εἴρηται: καὶ ἅμα οἶμαι ἐννοεῖς ὅτι ἔχοις ἂν ἐξ αὐτῆς εἰπεῖν καὶ φωνὴν ὃ ἔστι, [76e]καὶ ὀσμὴν καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ τῶν τοιούτων.

Μένων: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τραγικὴ γάρ ἐστιν, ὦ Μένων, ἡ ἀπόκρισις, ὥστε ἀρέσκει σοι μᾶλλον ἢ ἡ περὶ τοῦ σχήματος.

Μένων: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἔστιν, ὦ παῖ Ἀλεξιδήμου, ὡς ἐγὼ ἐμαυτὸν πείθω, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνη βελτίων: οἶμαι δὲ οὐδ᾽ ἂν σοὶ δόξαι, εἰ μή, ὥσπερ χθὲς ἔλεγες, ἀναγκαῖόν σοι ἀπιέναι πρὸ τῶν μυστηρίων, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ περιμείναις τε καὶ μυηθείης. [77a]

Μένων: ἀλλὰ περιμένοιμ᾽ ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἴ μοι πολλὰ τοιαῦτα λέγοις.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν προθυμίας γε οὐδὲν ἀπολείψω, καὶ σοῦ ἕνεκα καὶ ἐμαυτοῦ, λέγων τοιαῦτα: ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως μὴ οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἔσομαι πολλὰ τοιαῦτα λέγειν. ἀλλ᾽ ἴθι δὴ πειρῶ καὶ σὺ ἐμοὶ τὴν ὑπόσχεσιν ἀποδοῦναι, κατὰ ὅλου εἰπὼν ἀρετῆς πέρι ὅτι ἐστίν, καὶ παῦσαι πολλὰ ποιῶν ἐκ τοῦ ἑνός, ὅπερ φασὶ τοὺς συντρίβοντάς τι ἑκάστοτε οἱ σκώπτοντες, ἀλλὰ ἐάσας ὅλην καὶ ὑγιῆ εἰπὲ τί ἐστιν ἀρετή. τὰ δέ γε παραδείγματα [77b]παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ εἴληφας.

Μένων: δοκεῖ τοίνυν μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀρετὴ εἶναι, καθάπερ ὁ ποιητὴς λέγει, χαίρειν τε καλοῖσι καὶ δύνασθαι: καὶ ἐγὼ τοῦτο λέγω ἀρετήν, ἐπιθυμοῦντα τῶν καλῶν δυνατὸν εἶναι πορίζεσθαι.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα λέγεις τὸν τῶν καλῶν ἐπιθυμοῦντα ἀγαθῶν ἐπιθυμητὴν εἶναι;

Μένων: μάλιστά γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα ὡς ὄντων τινῶν οἳ τῶν κακῶν ἐπιθυμοῦσιν, ἑτέρων δὲ οἳ τῶν [77c]ἀγαθῶν; οὐ πάντες, ὤριστε, δοκοῦσί σοι τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐπιθυμεῖν;

Μένων: οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλά τινες τῶν κακῶν;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οἰόμενοι τὰ κακὰ ἀγαθὰ εἶναι, λέγεις, ἢ καὶ γιγνώσκοντες ὅτι κακά ἐστιν ὅμως ἐπιθυμοῦσιν αὐτῶν;

Μένων: ἀμφότερα ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσιν.

Σωκράτης: ἦ γὰρ δοκεῖ τίς σοι, ὦ Μένων, γιγνώσκων τὰ κακὰ ὅτι κακά ἐστιν ὅμως ἐπιθυμεῖν αὐτῶν;

Μένων: μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης: τί ἐπιθυμεῖν λέγεις; ἦ γενέσθαι αὐτῷ;

Μένων: γενέσθαι: τί γὰρ [77d]ἄλλο;

Σωκράτης: πότερον ἡγούμενος τὰ κακὰ ὠφελεῖν ἐκεῖνον ᾧ ἂν γένηται, ἢ γιγνώσκων τὰ κακὰ ὅτι βλάπτει ᾧ ἂν παρῇ;

Μένων: εἰσὶ μὲν οἳ ἡγούμενοι τὰ κακὰ ὠφελεῖν, εἰσὶν δὲ καὶ οἳ γιγνώσκοντες ὅτι βλάπτει.

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ δοκοῦσί σοι γιγνώσκειν τὰ κακὰ ὅτι κακά ἐστιν οἱ ἡγούμενοι τὰ κακὰ ὠφελεῖν;

Μένων: οὐ πάνυ μοι δοκεῖ τοῦτό γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν δῆλον ὅτι οὗτοι μὲν οὐ τῶν κακῶν ἐπιθυμοῦσιν, [77e]οἱ ἀγνοοῦντες αὐτά, ἀλλὰ ἐκείνων ἃ ᾤοντο ἀγαθὰ εἶναι, ἔστιν δὲ ταῦτά γε κακά: ὥστε οἱ ἀγνοοῦντες αὐτὰ καὶ οἰόμενοι ἀγαθὰ εἶναι δῆλον ὅτι τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐπιθυμοῦσιν. ἢ οὔ;

Μένων: κινδυνεύουσιν οὗτοί γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; οἱ τῶν κακῶν μὲν ἐπιθυμοῦντες, ὡς φῂς σύ, ἡγούμενοι δὲ τὰ κακὰ βλάπτειν ἐκεῖνον ᾧ ἂν γίγνηται, γιγνώσκουσιν δήπου ὅτι βλαβήσονται ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν;

Μένων: [78a]ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ τοὺς βλαπτομένους οὗτοι οὐκ οἴονται ἀθλίους εἶναι καθ᾽ ὅσον βλάπτονται;

Μένων: καὶ τοῦτο ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: τοὺς δὲ ἀθλίους οὐ κακοδαίμονας;

Μένων: οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν οὖν ὅστις βούλεται ἄθλιος καὶ κακοδαίμων εἶναι;

Μένων: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα βούλεται, ὦ Μένων, τὰ κακὰ οὐδείς, εἴπερ μὴ βούλεται τοιοῦτος εἶναι. τί γὰρ ἄλλο ἐστὶν ἄθλιον εἶναι ἢ ἐπιθυμεῖν τε τῶν κακῶν καὶ κτᾶσθαι;

Μένων: κινδυνεύεις [78b]ἀληθῆ λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες: καὶ οὐδεὶς βούλεσθαι τὰ κακά.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν νυνδὴ ἔλεγες ὅτι ἔστιν ἡ ἀρετὴ βούλεσθαί τε τἀγαθὰ καὶ δύνασθαι;

Μένων: εἶπον γάρ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τοῦ λεχθέντος τὸ μὲν βούλεσθαι πᾶσιν ὑπάρχει, καὶ ταύτῃ γε οὐδὲν ὁ ἕτερος τοῦ ἑτέρου βελτίων;

Μένων: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ δῆλον ὅτι εἴπερ ἐστὶ βελτίων ἄλλος ἄλλου, κατὰ τὸ δύνασθαι ἂν εἴη ἀμείνων.

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον ἀρετή, [78c]δύναμις τοῦ πορίζεσθαι τἀγαθά.

Μένων: παντάπασί μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτως ἔχειν ὡς σὺ νῦν ὑπολαμβάνεις.

Σωκράτης: ἴδωμεν δὴ καὶ τοῦτο εἰ ἀληθὲς λέγεις: ἴσως γὰρ ἂν εὖ λέγοις. τἀγαθὰ φῂς οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι πορίζεσθαι ἀρετὴν εἶναι;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἀγαθὰ δὲ καλεῖς οὐχὶ οἷον ὑγίειάν τε καὶ πλοῦτον;

Μένων: καὶ χρυσίον λέγω καὶ ἀργύριον κτᾶσθαι καὶ τιμὰς ἐν πόλει καὶ ἀρχάς.

Σωκράτης: μὴ ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα λέγεις τἀγαθὰ ἢ τὰ τοιαῦτα;

Μένων: οὔκ, ἀλλὰ [78d]πάντα λέγω τὰ τοιαῦτα.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: χρυσίον δὲ δὴ καὶ ἀργύριον πορίζεσθαι ἀρετή ἐστιν, ὥς φησι Μένων ὁ τοῦ μεγάλου βασιλέως πατρικὸς ξένος. πότερον προστιθεῖς τούτῳ τῷ πόρῳ, ὦ Μένων, τὸ δικαίως καὶ ὁσίως, ἢ οὐδέν σοι διαφέρει, ἀλλὰ κἂν ἀδίκως τις αὐτὰ πορίζηται, ὁμοίως σὺ αὐτὰ ἀρετὴν καλεῖς;

Μένων: οὐ δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ κακίαν.

Μένων: πάντως δήπου.

Σωκράτης: δεῖ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, τούτῳ τῷ πόρῳ δικαιοσύνην ἢ σωφροσύνην ἢ [78e]ὁσιότητα προσεῖναι, ἢ ἄλλο τι μόριον ἀρετῆς: εἰ δὲ μή, οὐκ ἔσται ἀρετή, καίπερ ἐκπορίζουσα τἀγαθά.

Μένων: πῶς γὰρ ἄνευ τούτων ἀρετὴ γένοιτ᾽ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὲ μὴ ἐκπορίζειν χρυσίον καὶ ἀργύριον, ὅταν μὴ δίκαιον ᾖ, μήτε αὑτῷ μήτε ἄλλῳ, οὐκ ἀρετὴ καὶ αὕτη ἐστὶν ἡ ἀπορία;

Μένων: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν ἄρα μᾶλλον ὁ πόρος τῶν τοιούτων ἀγαθῶν ἢ ἡ ἀπορία ἀρετὴ ἂν εἴη, ἀλλά, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὃ μὲν ἂν μετὰ δικαιοσύνης γίγνηται, ἀρετὴ ἔσται, ὃ δ᾽ [79a]ἂν ἄνευ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων, κακία.

Μένων: δοκεῖ μοι ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι ὡς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τούτων ἕκαστον ὀλίγον πρότερον μόριον ἀρετῆς ἔφαμεν εἶναι, τὴν δικαιοσύνην καὶ σωφροσύνην καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἶτα, ὦ Μένων, παίζεις πρός με;

Μένων: τί δή, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι ἄρτι ἐμοῦ δεηθέντος σου μὴ καταγνύναι μηδὲ κερματίζειν τὴν ἀρετήν, καὶ δόντος παραδείγματα καθ᾽ ἃ δέοι ἀποκρίνεσθαι, τούτου μὲν ἠμέλησας, λέγεις δέ μοι ὅτι ἀρετή [79b]ἐστιν οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι τἀγαθὰ πορίζεσθαι μετὰ δικαιοσύνης: τοῦτο δὲ φῂς μόριον ἀρετῆς εἶναι;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν συμβαίνει ἐξ ὧν σὺ ὁμολογεῖς, τὸ μετὰ μορίου ἀρετῆς πράττειν ὅτι ἂν πράττῃ, τοῦτο ἀρετὴν εἶναι: τὴν γὰρ δικαιοσύνην μόριον φῂς ἀρετῆς εἶναι, καὶ ἕκαστα τούτων. τί οὖν δὴ τοῦτο λέγω; ὅτι ἐμοῦ δεηθέντος ὅλον εἰπεῖν τὴν ἀρετήν, αὐτὴν μὲν πολλοῦ δεῖς εἰπεῖν ὅτι ἐστίν, πᾶσαν δὲ φῂς πρᾶξιν ἀρετὴν εἶναι, ἐάνπερ μετὰ μορίου [79c]ἀρετῆς πράττηται, ὥσπερ εἰρηκὼς ὅτι ἀρετή ἐστιν τὸ ὅλον καὶ ἤδη γνωσομένου ἐμοῦ, καὶ ἐὰν σὺ κατακερματίζῃς αὐτὴν κατὰ μόρια. δεῖται οὖν σοι πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, τῆς αὐτῆς ἐρωτήσεως, ὦ φίλε Μένων, τί ἐστιν ἀρετή, εἰ μετὰ μορίου ἀρετῆς πᾶσα πρᾶξις ἀρετὴ ἂν εἴη; τοῦτο γάρ ἐστιν λέγειν, ὅταν λέγῃ τις, ὅτι πᾶσα ἡ μετὰ δικαιοσύνης πρᾶξις ἀρετή ἐστιν. ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι πάλιν δεῖσθαι τῆς αὐτῆς ἐρωτήσεως, ἀλλ᾽ οἴει τινὰ εἰδέναι μόριον ἀρετῆς ὅτι ἐστίν, αὐτὴν μὴ εἰδότα;

Μένων: οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ. [79d]

Σωκράτης: εἰ γὰρ καὶ μέμνησαι, ὅτ᾽ ἐγώ σοι ἄρτι ἀπεκρινάμην περὶ τοῦ σχήματος, ἀπεβάλλομέν που τὴν τοιαύτην ἀπόκρισιν τὴν διὰ τῶν ἔτι ζητουμένων καὶ μήπω ὡμολογημένων ἐπιχειροῦσαν ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

Μένων: καὶ ὀρθῶς γε ἀπεβάλλομεν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: μὴ τοίνυν, ὦ ἄριστε, μηδὲ σὺ ἔτι ζητουμένης ἀρετῆς ὅλης ὅτι ἐστὶν οἴου διὰ τῶν ταύτης μορίων ἀποκρινόμενος δηλώσειν αὐτὴν ὁτῳοῦν, ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν τούτῳ τῷ αὐτῷ [79e]τρόπῳ λέγων, ἀλλὰ πάλιν τῆς αὐτῆς δεήσεσθαι ἐρωτήσεως, τίνος ὄντος ἀρετῆς λέγεις ἃ λέγεις: ἢ οὐδέν σοι δοκῶ λέγειν;

Μένων: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖς ὀρθῶς λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: ἀπόκριναι τοίνυν πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς: τί φῂς ἀρετὴν εἶναι καὶ σὺ καὶ ὁ ἑταῖρός σου;

Μένων: ὦ Σώκρατες, ἤκουον μὲν ἔγωγε πρὶν καὶ συγγενέσθαι [80a]σοι ὅτι σὺ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ αὐτός τε ἀπορεῖς καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ποιεῖς ἀπορεῖν: καὶ νῦν, ὥς γέ μοι δοκεῖς, γοητεύεις με καὶ φαρμάττεις καὶ ἀτεχνῶς κατεπᾴδεις, ὥστε μεστὸν ἀπορίας γεγονέναι. καὶ δοκεῖς μοι παντελῶς, εἰ δεῖ τι καὶ σκῶψαι, ὁμοιότατος εἶναι τό τε εἶδος καὶ τἆλλα ταύτῃ τῇ πλατείᾳ νάρκῃ τῇ θαλαττίᾳ: καὶ γὰρ αὕτη τὸν ἀεὶ πλησιάζοντα καὶ ἁπτόμενον ναρκᾶν ποιεῖ, καὶ σὺ δοκεῖς μοι νῦν ἐμὲ τοιοῦτόν τι πεποιηκέναι, {{χ|ναρκᾶν]: ἀληθῶς γὰρ ἔγωγε καὶ [80b]τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ τὸ στόμα ναρκῶ, καὶ οὐκ ἔχω ὅτι ἀποκρίνωμαί σοι. καίτοι μυριάκις γε περὶ ἀρετῆς παμπόλλους λόγους εἴρηκα καὶ πρὸς πολλούς, καὶ πάνυ εὖ, ὥς γε ἐμαυτῷ ἐδόκουν: νῦν δὲ οὐδ᾽ ὅτι ἐστὶν τὸ παράπαν ἔχω εἰπεῖν. καί μοι δοκεῖς εὖ βουλεύεσθαι οὐκ ἐκπλέων ἐνθένδε οὐδ᾽ ἀποδημῶν: εἰ γὰρ ξένος ἐν ἄλλῃ πόλει τοιαῦτα ποιοῖς, τάχ᾽ ἂν ὡς γόης ἀπαχθείης.

Σωκράτης: πανοῦργος εἶ, ὦ Μένων, καὶ ὀλίγου ἐξηπάτησάς με.

Μένων: τί μάλιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες; [80c]

Σωκράτης: γιγνώσκω οὗ ἕνεκά με ᾔκασας.

Μένων: τίνος δὴ οἴει;

Σωκράτης: ἵνα σε ἀντεικάσω. ἐγὼ δὲ τοῦτο οἶδα περὶ πάντων τῶν καλῶν, ὅτι χαίρουσιν εἰκαζόμενοι λυσιτελεῖ γὰρ αὐτοῖς: καλαὶ γὰρ οἶμαι τῶν καλῶν καὶ αἱ εἰκόνες ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἀντεικάσομαί σε. ἐγὼ δέ, εἰ μὲν ἡ νάρκη αὐτὴ ναρκῶσα οὕτω καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ποιεῖ ναρκᾶν, ἔοικα αὐτῇ: εἰ δὲ μή, οὔ. οὐ γὰρ εὐπορῶν αὐτὸς τοὺς ἄλλους ποιῶ ἀπορεῖν, ἀλλὰ παντὸς μᾶλλον αὐτὸς ἀπορῶν οὕτως καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ποιῶ [80d]ἀπορεῖν. καὶ νῦν περὶ ἀρετῆς ὃ ἔστιν ἐγὼ μὲν οὐκ οἶδα, σὺ μέντοι ἴσως πρότερον μὲν ᾔδησθα πρὶν ἐμοῦ ἅψασθαι, νῦν μέντοι ὅμοιος εἶ οὐκ εἰδότι. ὅμως δὲ ἐθέλω μετὰ σοῦ σκέψασθαι καὶ συζητῆσαι ὅτι ποτέ ἐστιν.

Μένων: καὶ τίνα τρόπον ζητήσεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτο ὃ μὴ οἶσθα τὸ παράπαν ὅτι ἐστίν; ποῖον γὰρ ὧν οὐκ οἶσθα προθέμενος ζητήσεις; ἢ εἰ καὶ ὅτι μάλιστα ἐντύχοις αὐτῷ, πῶς εἴσῃ ὅτι τοῦτό ἐστιν ὃ σὺ οὐκ ᾔδησθα; [80e]

Σωκράτης: μανθάνω οἷον βούλει λέγειν, ὦ Μένων. ὁρᾷς τοῦτον ὡς ἐριστικὸν λόγον κατάγεις, ὡς οὐκ ἄρα ἔστιν ζητεῖν ἀνθρώπῳ οὔτε ὃ οἶδε οὔτε ὃ μὴ οἶδε; οὔτε γὰρ ἂν ὅ γε οἶδεν ζητοῖ οἶδεν γάρ, καὶ οὐδὲν δεῖ τῷ γε τοιούτῳ ζητήσεως οὔτε ὃ μὴ οἶδεν οὐδὲ γὰρ οἶδεν ὅτι ζητήσει. [81a]

Μένων: οὐκοῦν καλῶς σοι δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι ὁ λόγος οὗτος, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

Μένων: ἔχεις λέγειν ὅπῃ;

Σωκράτης: ἔγωγε: ἀκήκοα γὰρ ἀνδρῶν τε καὶ γυναικῶν σοφῶν περὶ τὰ θεῖα πράγματα.

Μένων: τίνα λόγον λεγόντων;

Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖν, καὶ καλόν.

Μένων: τίνα τοῦτον, καὶ τίνες οἱ λέγοντες;

Σωκράτης: οἱ μὲν λέγοντές εἰσι τῶν ἱερέων τε καὶ τῶν ἱερειῶν ὅσοις μεμέληκε περὶ ὧν μεταχειρίζονται λόγον οἵοις τ᾽ εἶναι [81b]διδόναι: λέγει δὲ καὶ Πίνδαρος καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ τῶν ποιητῶν ὅσοι θεῖοί εἰσιν. ἃ δὲ λέγουσιν, ταυτί ἐστιν: ἀλλὰ σκόπει εἴ σοι δοκοῦσιν ἀληθῆ λέγειν. φασὶ γὰρ τὴν ψυχὴν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου εἶναι ἀθάνατον, καὶ τοτὲ μὲν τελευτᾶν ὃ δὴ ἀποθνῄσκειν καλοῦσι τοτὲ δὲ πάλιν γίγνεσθαι, ἀπόλλυσθαι δ᾽ οὐδέποτε: δεῖν δὴ διὰ ταῦτα ὡς ὁσιώτατα διαβιῶναι τὸν βίον: οἷσιν γὰρ ἂν

Φερσεφόνα ποινὰν παλαιοῦ πένθεος

δέξεται, εἰς τὸν ὕπερθεν ἅλιον κείνων ἐνάτῳ ἔτεϊ

ἀνδιδοῖ ψυχὰς πάλιν,

Pind. Fr. 133 Bergk

[81c] ἐκ τᾶν βασιλῆες ἀγαυοὶ

καὶ σθένει κραιπνοὶ σοφίᾳ τε μέγιστοι

ἄνδρες αὔξοντ᾽: ἐς δὲ τὸν λοιπὸν χρόνον ἥρωες ἁγνοὶ

πρὸς ἀνθρώπων καλεῦνται.

ἅτε οὖν ἡ ψυχὴ ἀθάνατός τε οὖσα καὶ πολλάκις γεγονυῖα, καὶ ἑωρακυῖα καὶ τὰ ἐνθάδε καὶ τὰ ἐν Ἅιδου καὶ πάντα χρήματα, οὐκ ἔστιν ὅτι οὐ μεμάθηκεν· ὥστε οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν καὶ περὶ ἀρετῆς καὶ περὶ ἄλλων οἷόν τ’ εἶναι αὐτὴν ἀναμνησθῆναι, ἅ γε καὶ πρότερον ἠπίστατο. ἅτε γὰρ τῆς φύσεως

[81d]ἁπάσης συγγενοῦς οὔσης, καὶ μεμαθηκυίας τῆς ψυχῆς ἅπαντα, οὐδὲν κωλύει ἓν μόνον ἀναμνησθέντα ὃ δὴ μάθησιν καλοῦσιν ἄνθρωποι τἆλλα πάντα αὐτὸν ἀνευρεῖν, ἐάν τις ἀνδρεῖος ᾖ καὶ μὴ ἀποκάμνῃ ζητῶν: τὸ γὰρ ζητεῖν ἄρα καὶ τὸ μανθάνειν ἀνάμνησις ὅλον ἐστίν. οὔκουν δεῖ πείθεσθαι τούτῳ τῷ ἐριστικῷ λόγῳ: οὗτος μὲν γὰρ ἂν ἡμᾶς ἀργοὺς ποιήσειεν καὶ ἔστιν τοῖς μαλακοῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἡδὺς ἀκοῦσαι, ὅδε [81e]δὲ ἐργατικούς τε καὶ ζητητικοὺς ποιεῖ: ᾧ ἐγὼ πιστεύων ἀληθεῖ εἶναι ἐθέλω μετὰ σοῦ ζητεῖν ἀρετὴ ὅτι ἐστίν.

Μένων: ναί, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἀλλὰ πῶς λέγεις τοῦτο, ὅτι οὐ μανθάνομεν, ἀλλὰ ἣν καλοῦμεν μάθησιν ἀνάμνησίς ἐστιν; ἔχεις με τοῦτο διδάξαι ὡς οὕτως ἔχει;

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἄρτι εἶπον, ὦ Μένων, ὅτι πανοῦργος εἶ, καὶ [82a]νῦν ἐρωτᾷς εἰ ἔχω σε διδάξαι, ὃς οὔ φημι διδαχὴν εἶναι ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάμνησιν, ἵνα δὴ εὐθὺς φαίνωμαι αὐτὸς ἐμαυτῷ τἀναντία λέγων.

Μένων: οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ πρὸς τοῦτο βλέψας εἶπον, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ τοῦ ἔθους: ἀλλ᾽ εἴ πώς μοι ἔχεις ἐνδείξασθαι ὅτι ἔχει ὥσπερ λέγεις, ἔνδειξαι.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι μὲν οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ὅμως δὲ ἐθέλω προθυμηθῆναι σοῦ ἕνεκα. ἀλλά μοι προσκάλεσον τῶν πολλῶν [82b]ἀκολούθων τουτωνὶ τῶν σαυτοῦ ἕνα, ὅντινα βούλει, ἵνα ἐν τούτῳ σοι ἐπιδείξωμαι.

Μένων: πάνυ γε. δεῦρο πρόσελθε.

Σωκράτης: Ἕλλην μέν ἐστι καὶ ἑλληνίζει;

Μένων: πάνυ γε σφόδρα, οἰκογενής γε.

Σωκράτης: πρόσεχε δὴ τὸν νοῦν ὁπότερ᾽ ἄν σοι φαίνηται, ἢ ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενος ἢ μανθάνων παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ.

Μένων: ἀλλὰ προσέξω.

Σωκράτης: εἰπὲ δή μοι, ὦ παῖ, γιγνώσκεις τετράγωνον χωρίον ὅτι τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν;

Παῖς: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν οὖν [82c]τετράγωνον χωρίον ἴσας ἔχον τὰς γραμμὰς ταύτας πάσας, τέτταρας οὔσας;

Παῖς: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐ καὶ ταυτασὶ τὰς διὰ μέσου ἐστὶν ἴσας ἔχον;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἴη ἂν τοιοῦτον χωρίον καὶ μεῖζον καὶ ἔλαττον;

Παῖς: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: εἰ οὖν εἴη αὕτη ἡ πλευρὰ δυοῖν ποδοῖν καὶ αὕτη δυοῖν, πόσων ἂν εἴη ποδῶν τὸ ὅλον; ὧδε δὲ σκόπει: εἰ ἦν ταύτῃ δυοῖν ποδοῖν, ταύτῃ δὲ ἑνὸς ποδὸς μόνον, ἄλλο τι ἅπαξ ἂν ἦν δυοῖν ποδοῖν τὸ χωρίον;

Παῖς: [82d]ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἐπειδὴ δὲ δυοῖν ποδοῖν καὶ ταύτῃ, ἄλλο τι ἢ δὶς δυοῖν γίγνεται;

Παῖς: γίγνεται.

Σωκράτης: δυοῖν ἄρα δὶς γίγνεται ποδῶν;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πόσοι οὖν εἰσιν οἱ δύο δὶς πόδες; λογισάμενος εἰπέ.

Παῖς: τέτταρες, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν γένοιτ᾽ ἂν τούτου τοῦ χωρίου ἕτερον διπλάσιον, τοιοῦτον δέ, ἴσας ἔχον πάσας τὰς γραμμὰς ὥσπερ τοῦτο;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πόσων οὖν ἔσται ποδῶν;

Παῖς: ὀκτώ.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, πειρῶ μοι εἰπεῖν πηλίκη τις ἔσται [82e]ἐκείνου ἡ γραμμὴ ἑκάστη. ἡ μὲν γὰρ τοῦδε δυοῖν ποδοῖν: τί δὲ ἡ ἐκείνου τοῦ διπλασίου;

Παῖς: δῆλον δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι διπλασία.

Σωκράτης: ὁρᾷς, ὦ Μένων, ὡς ἐγὼ τοῦτον οὐδὲν διδάσκω, ἀλλ᾽ ἐρωτῶ πάντα; καὶ νῦν οὗτος οἴεται εἰδέναι ὁποία ἐστὶν ἀφ᾽ ἧς τὸ ὀκτώπουν χωρίον γενήσεται: ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι;

Μένων: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: οἶδεν οὖν;

Μένων: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: οἴεται δέ γε ἀπὸ τῆς διπλασίας;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: θεῶ δὴ αὐτὸν ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενον ἐφεξῆς, ὡς δεῖ ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι.

σὺ δέ μοι λέγε: ἀπὸ τῆς διπλασίας γραμμῆς φῂς τὸ [83a]διπλάσιον χωρίον γίγνεσθαι; τοιόνδε λέγω, μὴ ταύτῃ μὲν μακρόν, τῇ δὲ βραχύ, ἀλλὰ ἴσον πανταχῇ ἔστω ὥσπερ τουτί, διπλάσιον δὲ τούτου, ὀκτώπουν: ἀλλ᾽ ὅρα εἰ ἔτι σοι ἀπὸ τῆς διπλασίας δοκεῖ ἔσεσθαι.

Παῖς: ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν διπλασία αὕτη ταύτης γίγνεται, ἂν ἑτέραν τοσαύτην προσθῶμεν ἐνθένδε;

Παῖς: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἀπὸ ταύτης δή, φῄς, ἔσται τὸ ὀκτώπουν χωρίον, ἂν τέτταρες τοσαῦται [83b]γένωνται;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἀναγραψώμεθα δὴ ἀπ᾽ αὐτῆς ἴσας τέτταρας. ἄλλο τι ἢ τουτὶ ἂν εἴη ὃ φῂς τὸ ὀκτώπουν εἶναι;

Παῖς: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐν αὐτῷ ἐστιν ταυτὶ τέτταρα, ὧν ἕκαστον ἴσον τούτῳ ἐστὶν τῷ τετράποδι;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πόσον οὖν γίγνεται; οὐ τετράκις τοσοῦτον;

Παῖς: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: διπλάσιον οὖν ἐστιν τὸ τετράκις τοσοῦτον;

Παῖς: οὐ μὰ Δία.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ ποσαπλάσιον;

Παῖς: τετραπλάσιον.

Σωκράτης: ἀπὸ τῆς διπλασίας [83c]ἄρα, ὦ παῖ, οὐ διπλάσιον ἀλλὰ τετραπλάσιον γίγνεται χωρίον.

Παῖς: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τεττάρων γὰρ τετράκις ἐστὶν ἑκκαίδεκα. οὐχί;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ὀκτώπουν δ᾽ ἀπὸ ποίας γραμμῆς; οὐχὶ ἀπὸ μὲν ταύτης τετραπλάσιον;

Παῖς: φημί.

Σωκράτης: τετράπουν δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς ἡμισέας ταυτησὶ τουτί;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: τὸ δὲ ὀκτώπουν οὐ τοῦδε μὲν διπλάσιόν ἐστιν, τούτου δὲ ἥμισυ;<

Παῖς: ναί.>

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἀπὸ μὲν μείζονος ἔσται ἢ τοσαύτης γραμμῆς, ἀπὸ ἐλάττονος δὲ ἢ [83d]τοσησδί; ἢ οὔ;

Παῖς: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ οὕτω.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς: τὸ γάρ σοι δοκοῦν τοῦτο ἀποκρίνου. καί μοι λέγε: οὐχ ἥδε μὲν δυοῖν ποδοῖν ἦν, ἡ δὲ τεττάρων;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: δεῖ ἄρα τὴν τοῦ ὀκτώποδος χωρίου γραμμὴν μείζω μὲν εἶναι τῆσδε τῆς δίποδος, ἐλάττω δὲ τῆς τετράποδος.

Παῖς: δεῖ. [83e]

Σωκράτης: πειρῶ δὴ λέγειν πηλίκην τινὰ φῂς αὐτὴν εἶναι.

Παῖς: τρίποδα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἄνπερ τρίπους ᾖ, τὸ ἥμισυ ταύτης προσληψόμεθα καὶ ἔσται τρίπους; δύο μὲν γὰρ οἵδε, ὁ δὲ εἷς: καὶ ἐνθένδε ὡσαύτως δύο μὲν οἵδε, ὁ δὲ εἷς: καὶ γίγνεται τοῦτο τὸ χωρίον ὃ φῄς.

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἂν ᾖ τῇδε τριῶν καὶ τῇδε τριῶν, τὸ ὅλον χωρίον τριῶν τρὶς ποδῶν γίγνεται;

Παῖς: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τρεῖς δὲ τρὶς πόσοι εἰσὶ πόδες;

Παῖς: ἐννέα.

Σωκράτης: ἔδει δὲ τὸ διπλάσιον πόσων εἶναι ποδῶν;

Παῖς: ὀκτώ.

Σωκράτης: οὐδ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἀπὸ τῆς τρίποδός πω τὸ ὀκτώπουν χωρίον γίγνεται.

Παῖς: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἀπὸ ποίας; πειρῶ ἡμῖν εἰπεῖν ἀκριβῶς: καὶ [84a]εἰ μὴ βούλει ἀριθμεῖν, ἀλλὰ δεῖξον ἀπὸ ποίας.

Παῖς: ἀλλὰ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔγωγε οὐκ οἶδα.

Σωκράτης: ἐννοεῖς αὖ, ὦ Μένων, οὗ ἐστιν ἤδη βαδίζων ὅδε τοῦ ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι; ὅτι τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ᾔδει μὲν οὔ, ἥτις ἐστὶν ἡ τοῦ ὀκτώποδος χωρίου γραμμή, ὥσπερ οὐδὲ νῦν πω οἶδεν, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν ᾤετό γ᾽ αὐτὴν τότε εἰδέναι, καὶ θαρραλέως ἀπεκρίνετο ὡς εἰδώς, καὶ οὐχ ἡγεῖτο ἀπορεῖν: νῦν δὲ ἡγεῖται [84b]ἀπορεῖν ἤδη, καὶ ὥσπερ οὐκ οἶδεν, οὐδ᾽ οἴεται εἰδέναι.

Μένων: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν νῦν βέλτιον ἔχει περὶ τὸ πρᾶγμα ὃ οὐκ ᾔδει;

Μένων: καὶ τοῦτό μοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: ἀπορεῖν οὖν αὐτὸν ποιήσαντες καὶ ναρκᾶν ὥσπερ ἡ νάρκη, μῶν τι ἐβλάψαμεν;

Μένων: οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: προὔργου γοῦν τι πεποιήκαμεν, ὡς ἔοικε, πρὸς τὸ ἐξευρεῖν ὅπῃ ἔχει: νῦν μὲν γὰρ καὶ ζητήσειεν ἂν ἡδέως οὐκ εἰδώς, τότε δὲ ῥᾳδίως ἂν καὶ πρὸς πολλοὺς καὶ πολλάκις [84c]ᾤετ᾽ ἂν εὖ λέγειν περὶ τοῦ διπλασίου χωρίου, ὡς δεῖ διπλασίαν τὴν γραμμὴν ἔχειν μήκει.

Μένων: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: οἴει οὖν ἂν αὐτὸν πρότερον ἐπιχειρῆσαι ζητεῖν ἢ μανθάνειν τοῦτο ὃ ᾤετο εἰδέναι οὐκ εἰδώς, πρὶν εἰς ἀπορίαν κατέπεσεν ἡγησάμενος μὴ εἰδέναι, καὶ ἐπόθησεν τὸ εἰδέναι;

Μένων: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ὤνητο ἄρα ναρκήσας;

Μένων: δοκεῖ μοι.

Σωκράτης: σκέψαι δὴ ἐκ ταύτης τῆς ἀπορίας ὅτι καὶ ἀνευρήσει ζητῶν μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ, οὐδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἐρωτῶντος ἐμοῦ καὶ οὐ διδάσκοντος: [84d]φύλαττε δὲ ἄν που εὕρῃς με διδάσκοντα καὶ διεξιόντα αὐτῷ, ἀλλὰ μὴ τὰς τούτου δόξας ἀνερωτῶντα.

λέγε γάρ μοι σύ: οὐ τὸ μὲν τετράπουν τοῦτο ἡμῖν ἐστι χωρίον; μανθάνεις;

Παῖς: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: ἕτερον δὲ αὐτῷ προσθεῖμεν ἂν τουτὶ ἴσον;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τρίτον τόδε ἴσον ἑκατέρῳ τούτων;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν προσαναπληρωσαίμεθ᾽ ἂν τὸ ἐν τῇ γωνίᾳ τόδε;

Παῖς: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἄλλο τι οὖν γένοιτ᾽ ἂν τέτταρα ἴσα χωρία [84e]τάδε;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; τὸ ὅλον τόδε ποσαπλάσιον τοῦδε γίγνεται;

Παῖς: τετραπλάσιον.

Σωκράτης: ἔδει δέ γε διπλάσιον ἡμῖν γενέσθαι: ἢ οὐ μέμνησαι;

Παῖς: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐστιν αὕτη γραμμὴ ἐκ γωνίας εἰς γωνίαν [85a]{{χ|τινὰ] τέμνουσα δίχα ἕκαστον τούτων τῶν χωρίων;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τέτταρες αὗται γίγνονται γραμμαὶ ἴσαι, περιέχουσαι τουτὶ τὸ χωρίον;

Παῖς: γίγνονται γάρ.

Σωκράτης: σκόπει δή: πηλίκον τί ἐστιν τοῦτο τὸ χωρίον;

Παῖς: οὐ μανθάνω.

Σωκράτης: οὐχὶ τεττάρων ὄντων τούτων ἥμισυ ἑκάστου ἑκάστη ἡ γραμμὴ ἀποτέτμηκεν ἐντός; ἢ οὔ;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πόσα οὖν τηλικαῦτα ἐν τούτῳ ἔνεστιν;

Παῖς: τέτταρα.

Σωκράτης: πόσα δὲ ἐν τῷδε;

Παῖς: δύο.

Σωκράτης: τὰ δὲ τέτταρα τοῖν δυοῖν τί ἐστιν;

Παῖς: διπλάσια.

Σωκράτης: τόδε οὖν [85b]ποσάπουν γίγνεται;

Παῖς: ὀκτώπουν.

Σωκράτης: ἀπὸ ποίας γραμμῆς;

Παῖς: ἀπὸ ταύτης.

Σωκράτης: ἀπὸ τῆς ἐκ γωνίας εἰς γωνίαν τεινούσης τοῦ τετράποδος;

Παῖς: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καλοῦσιν δέ γε ταύτην διάμετρον οἱ σοφισταί: ὥστ᾽ εἰ ταύτῃ διάμετρος ὄνομα, ἀπὸ τῆς διαμέτρου ἄν, ὡς σὺ φῄς, ὦ παῖ Μένων:ος, γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τὸ διπλάσιον χωρίον.

Παῖς: πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: τί σοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Μένων; ἔστιν ἥντινα δόξαν οὐχ αὑτοῦ οὗτος ἀπεκρίνατο; [85c]

Μένων: οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν οὐκ ᾔδει γε, ὡς ἔφαμεν ὀλίγον πρότερον.

Μένων: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἐνῆσαν δέ γε αὐτῷ αὗται αἱ δόξαι: ἢ οὔ;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τῷ οὐκ εἰδότι ἄρα περὶ ὧν ἂν μὴ εἰδῇ ἔνεισιν ἀληθεῖς δόξαι περὶ τούτων ὧν οὐκ οἶδε;

Μένων: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: καὶ νῦν μέν γε αὐτῷ ὥσπερ ὄναρ ἄρτι ἀνακεκίνηνται αἱ δόξαι αὗται: εἰ δὲ αὐτόν τις ἀνερήσεται πολλάκις τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα καὶ πολλαχῇ, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τελευτῶν οὐδενὸς ἧττον ἀκριβῶς [85d]ἐπιστήσεται περὶ τούτων.

Μένων: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὐδενὸς διδάξαντος ἀλλ᾽ ἐρωτήσαντος ἐπιστήσεται, ἀναλαβὼν αὐτὸς ἐξ αὑτοῦ τὴν ἐπιστήμην;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὲ ἀναλαμβάνειν αὐτὸν ἐν αὑτῷ ἐπιστήμην οὐκ ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαί ἐστιν;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τὴν ἐπιστήμην, ἣν νῦν οὗτος ἔχει, ἤτοι ἔλαβέν ποτε ἢ ἀεὶ εἶχεν;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν ἀεὶ εἶχεν, ἀεὶ καὶ ἦν ἐπιστήμων: εἰ δὲ ἔλαβέν ποτε, οὐκ ἂν ἔν γε τῷ νῦν βίῳ εἰληφὼς εἴη. ἢ [85e]δεδίδαχέν τις τοῦτον γεωμετρεῖν; οὗτος γὰρ ποιήσει περὶ πάσης γεωμετρίας ταὐτὰ ταῦτα, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων μαθημάτων ἁπάντων. ἔστιν οὖν ὅστις τοῦτον πάντα δεδίδαχεν; δίκαιος γάρ που εἶ εἰδέναι, ἄλλως τε ἐπειδὴ ἐν τῇ σῇ οἰκίᾳ γέγονεν καὶ τέθραπται.

Μένων: ἀλλ᾽ οἶδα ἔγωγε ὅτι οὐδεὶς πώποτε ἐδίδαξεν.

Σωκράτης: ἔχει δὲ ταύτας τὰς δόξας, ἢ οὐχί;

Μένων: ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες, φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δὲ μὴ ἐν τῷ νῦν βίῳ λαβών, οὐκ ἤδη τοῦτο [86a]δῆλον, ὅτι ἐν ἄλλῳ τινὶ χρόνῳ εἶχε καὶ ἐμεμαθήκει;

Μένων: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὗτός γέ ἐστιν ὁ χρόνος ὅτ᾽ οὐκ ἦν ἄνθρωπος;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἰ οὖν ὅν τ᾽ ἂν ᾖ χρόνον καὶ ὃν ἂν μὴ ᾖ ἄνθρωπος, ἐνέσονται αὐτῷ ἀληθεῖς δόξαι, αἳ ἐρωτήσει ἐπεγερθεῖσαι ἐπιστῆμαι γίγνονται, ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον μεμαθηκυῖα ἔσται ἡ ψυχὴ αὐτοῦ; δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι τὸν πάντα χρόνον ἔστιν ἢ οὐκ ἔστιν ἄνθρωπος.

Μένων: φαίνεται. [86b]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ ἀεὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια ἡμῖν τῶν ὄντων ἐστὶν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ, ἀθάνατος ἂν ἡ ψυχὴ εἴη, ὥστε θαρροῦντα χρὴ ὃ μὴ τυγχάνεις ἐπιστάμενος νῦν τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὃ μὴ μεμνημένος ἐπιχειρεῖν ζητεῖν καὶ ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι;

Μένων: εὖ μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅπως.

Σωκράτης: καὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ ἐμοί, ὦ Μένων. καὶ τὰ μέν γε ἄλλα οὐκ ἂν πάνυ ὑπὲρ τοῦ λόγου διισχυρισαίμην: ὅτι δ᾽ οἰόμενοι δεῖν ζητεῖν ἃ μή τις οἶδεν βελτίους ἂν εἶμεν καὶ ἀνδρικώτεροι καὶ ἧττον ἀργοὶ ἢ εἰ οἰοίμεθα ἃ μὴ ἐπιστάμεθα μηδὲ [86c]δυνατὸν εἶναι εὑρεῖν μηδὲ δεῖν ζητεῖν, περὶ τούτου πάνυ ἂν διαμαχοίμην, εἰ οἷός τε εἴην, καὶ λόγῳ καὶ ἔργῳ.

Μένων: καὶ τοῦτο μέν γε δοκεῖς μοι εὖ λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: βούλει οὖν, ἐπειδὴ ὁμονοοῦμεν ὅτι ζητητέον περὶ οὗ μή τις οἶδεν, ἐπιχειρήσωμεν κοινῇ ζητεῖν τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀρετή;

Μένων: πάνυ μὲν οὖν. οὐ μέντοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ἔγωγε ἐκεῖνο ἂν ἥδιστα, ὅπερ ἠρόμην τὸ πρῶτον, καὶ σκεψαίμην καὶ ἀκούσαιμι, πότερον ὡς διδακτῷ ὄντι αὐτῷ δεῖ ἐπιχειρεῖν, [86d]ἢ ὡς φύσει ἢ ὡς τίνι ποτὲ τρόπῳ παραγιγνομένης τοῖς ἀνθρώποις τῆς ἀρετῆς.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὲν ἐγὼ ἦρχον, ὦ Μένων, μὴ μόνον ἐμαυτοῦ ἀλλὰ καὶ σοῦ, οὐκ ἂν ἐσκεψάμεθα πρότερον εἴτε διδακτὸν εἴτε οὐ διδακτὸν ἡ ἀρετή, πρὶν ὅτι ἐστὶν πρῶτον ἐζητήσαμεν αὐτό: ἐπειδὴ δὲ σὺ σαυτοῦ μὲν οὐδ᾽ ἐπιχειρεῖς ἄρχειν, ἵνα δὴ ἐλεύθερος ᾖς, ἐμοῦ δὲ ἐπιχειρεῖς τε ἄρχειν καὶ ἄρχεις, συγχωρήσομαί σοι τί γὰρ χρὴ ποιεῖν; ἔοικεν οὖν σκεπτέον [86e]εἶναι ποῖόν τί ἐστιν ὃ μήπω ἴσμεν ὅτι ἐστίν. εἰ μή τι οὖν ἀλλὰ σμικρόν γέ μοι τῆς ἀρχῆς χάλασον, καὶ συγχώρησον ἐξ ὑποθέσεως αὐτὸ σκοπεῖσθαι, εἴτε διδακτόν ἐστιν εἴτε ὁπωσοῦν. λέγω δὲ τὸ ἐξ ὑποθέσεως ὧδε, ὥσπερ οἱ γεωμέτραι πολλάκις σκοποῦνται, ἐπειδάν τις ἔρηται αὐτούς, οἷον περὶ χωρίου, εἰ οἷόν τε ἐς τόνδε τὸν κύκλον τόδε τὸ χωρίον [87a]τρίγωνον ἐνταθῆναι, εἴποι ἄν τις ὅτι οὔπω οἶδα εἰ ἔστιν τοῦτο τοιοῦτον, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ μέν τινα ὑπόθεσιν προὔργου οἶμαι ἔχειν πρὸς τὸ πρᾶγμα τοιάνδε: εἰ μέν ἐστιν τοῦτο τὸ χωρίον τοιοῦτον οἷον παρὰ τὴν δοθεῖσαν αὐτοῦ γραμμὴν παρατείναντα ἐλλείπειν τοιούτῳ χωρίῳ οἷον ἂν αὐτὸ τὸ παρατεταμένον ᾖ, ἄλλο τι συμβαίνειν μοι δοκεῖ, καὶ ἄλλο αὖ, εἰ ἀδύνατόν ἐστιν ταῦτα παθεῖν. ὑποθέμενος οὖν ἐθέλω [87b]εἰπεῖν σοι τὸ συμβαῖνον περὶ τῆς ἐντάσεως αὐτοῦ εἰς τὸν κύκλον, εἴτε ἀδύνατον εἴτε μή. οὕτω δὴ καὶ περὶ ἀρετῆς ἡμεῖς, ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἴσμεν οὔθ᾽ ὅτι ἐστὶν οὔθ᾽ ὁποῖόν τι, ὑποθέμενοι αὐτὸ σκοπῶμεν εἴτε διδακτὸν εἴτε οὐ διδακτόν ἐστιν, ὧδε λέγοντες: εἰ ποῖόν τί ἐστιν τῶν περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ὄντων ἀρετή, διδακτὸν ἂν εἴη ἢ οὐ διδακτόν; πρῶτον μὲν δὴ εἰ ἔστιν ἀλλοῖον ἢ οἷον ἐπιστήμη, ἆρα διδακτὸν ἢ οὔ, ἢ ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἀναμνηστόν διαφερέτω δὲ μηδὲν ἡμῖν [87c]ὁποτέρῳ ἂν τῷ ὀνόματι χρώμεθα ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα διδακτόν; ἢ τοῦτό γε παντὶ δῆλον, ὅτι οὐδὲν ἄλλο διδάσκεται ἄνθρωπος ἢ ἐπιστήμην;

Μένων: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δέ γ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη τις ἡ ἀρετή, δῆλον ὅτι διδακτὸν ἂν εἴη.

Μένων: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τούτου μὲν ἄρα ταχὺ ἀπηλλάγμεθα, ὅτι τοιοῦδε μὲν ὄντος διδακτόν, τοιοῦδε δ᾽ οὔ.

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο, ὡς ἔοικε, δεῖ σκέψασθαι πότερόν ἐστιν ἐπιστήμη ἡ ἀρετὴ ἢ ἀλλοῖον ἐπιστήμης. [87d]

Μένων: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ τοῦτο μετὰ τοῦτο σκεπτέον εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ δή; ἄλλο τι ἢ ἀγαθὸν αὐτό φαμεν εἶναι τὴν ἀρετήν, καὶ αὕτη ἡ ὑπόθεσις μένει ἡμῖν, ἀγαθὸν αὐτὸ εἶναι;

Μένων: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μέν τί ἐστιν ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἄλλο χωριζόμενον ἐπιστήμης, τάχ᾽ ἂν εἴη ἡ ἀρετὴ οὐκ ἐπιστήμη τις: εἰ δὲ μηδέν ἐστιν ἀγαθὸν ὃ οὐκ ἐπιστήμη περιέχει, ἐπιστήμην ἄν τιν᾽ αὐτὸ ὑποπτεύοντες εἶναι ὀρθῶς ὑποπτεύοιμεν.

Μένων: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν [87e]ἀρετῇ γ᾽ ἐσμὲν ἀγαθοί;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δὲ ἀγαθοί, ὠφέλιμοι: πάντα γὰρ τἀγαθὰ ὠφέλιμα. οὐχί;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἡ ἀρετὴ δὴ ὠφέλιμόν ἐστιν;

Μένων: ἀνάγκη ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων.

Σωκράτης: σκεψώμεθα δὴ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἀναλαμβάνοντες ποῖά ἐστιν ἃ ἡμᾶς ὠφελεῖ. ὑγίεια, φαμέν, καὶ ἰσχὺς καὶ κάλλος καὶ πλοῦτος δή: ταῦτα λέγομεν καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ὠφέλιμα. [88a]οὐχί;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ταὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτά φαμεν ἐνίοτε καὶ βλάπτειν: ἢ σὺ ἄλλως φῂς ἢ οὕτως;

Μένων: οὐκ, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: σκόπει δή, ὅταν τί ἑκάστου τούτων ἡγῆται, ὠφελεῖ ἡμᾶς, καὶ ὅταν τί, βλάπτει; ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ὅταν μὲν ὀρθὴ χρῆσις, ὠφελεῖ, ὅταν δὲ μή, βλάπτει;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ τὰ κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν σκεψώμεθα. σωφροσύνην τι καλεῖς καὶ δικαιοσύνην καὶ ἀνδρείαν καὶ εὐμαθίαν καὶ μνήμην καὶ μεγαλοπρέπειαν καὶ πάντα τὰ [88b]τοιαῦτα;

Μένων: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: σκόπει δή, τούτων ἅττα σοι δοκεῖ μὴ ἐπιστήμη εἶναι ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλο ἐπιστήμης, εἰ οὐχὶ τοτὲ μὲν βλάπτει, τοτὲ δὲ ὠφελεῖ; οἷον ἀνδρεία, εἰ μὴ ἔστι φρόνησις ἡ ἀνδρεία ἀλλ᾽ οἷον θάρρος τι: οὐχ ὅταν μὲν ἄνευ νοῦ θαρρῇ ἄνθρωπος, βλάπτεται, ὅταν δὲ σὺν νῷ, ὠφελεῖται;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ σωφροσύνη ὡσαύτως καὶ εὐμαθία: μετὰ μὲν νοῦ καὶ μανθανόμενα καὶ καταρτυόμενα ὠφέλιμα, ἄνευ δὲ νοῦ βλαβερά;

Μένων: πάνυ [88c]σφόδρα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν συλλήβδην πάντα τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐπιχειρήματα καὶ καρτερήματα ἡγουμένης μὲν φρονήσεως εἰς εὐδαιμονίαν τελευτᾷ, ἀφροσύνης δ᾽ εἰς τοὐναντίον;

Μένων: ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης: εἰ ἄρα ἀρετὴ τῶν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ τί ἐστιν καὶ ἀναγκαῖον αὐτῷ ὠφελίμῳ εἶναι, φρόνησιν αὐτὸ δεῖ εἶναι, ἐπειδήπερ πάντα τὰ κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτὰ μὲν καθ᾽ αὑτὰ οὔτε ὠφέλιμα οὔτε βλαβερά ἐστιν, προσγενομένης δὲ φρονήσεως [88d]ἢ ἀφροσύνης βλαβερά τε καὶ ὠφέλιμα γίγνεται. κατὰ δὴ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ὠφέλιμόν γε οὖσαν τὴν ἀρετὴν φρόνησιν δεῖ τιν᾽ εἶναι.

Μένων: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ τἆλλα ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, πλοῦτόν τε καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, τοτὲ μὲν ἀγαθὰ τοτὲ δὲ βλαβερὰ εἶναι, ἆρα οὐχ ὥσπερ τῇ ἄλλῃ ψυχῇ ἡ φρόνησις ἡγουμένη ὠφέλιμα τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐποίει, ἡ δὲ ἀφροσύνη βλαβερά, οὕτως αὖ [88e]καὶ τούτοις ἡ ψυχὴ ὀρθῶς μὲν χρωμένη καὶ ἡγουμένη ὠφέλιμα αὐτὰ ποιεῖ, μὴ ὀρθῶς δὲ βλαβερά;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς δέ γε ἡ ἔμφρων ἡγεῖται, ἡμαρτημένως δ᾽ ἡ ἄφρων;

Μένων: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὕτω δὴ κατὰ πάντων εἰπεῖν ἔστιν, τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα πάντα εἰς τὴν ψυχὴν ἀνηρτῆσθαι, τὰ δὲ τῆς ψυχῆς αὐτῆς εἰς φρόνησιν, εἰ [89a]μέλλει ἀγαθὰ εἶναι: καὶ τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ φρόνησις ἂν εἴη τὸ ὠφέλιμον: φαμὲν δὲ τὴν ἀρετὴν ὠφέλιμον εἶναι;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: φρόνησιν ἄρα φαμὲν ἀρετὴν εἶναι, ἤτοι σύμπασαν ἢ μέρος τι;

Μένων: δοκεῖ μοι καλῶς λέγεσθαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὰ λεγόμενα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει, οὐκ ἂν εἶεν φύσει οἱ ἀγαθοί.

Μένων: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ. [89b]

Σωκράτης: καὶ γὰρ ἄν που καὶ τόδ᾽ ἦν: εἰ φύσει οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ἐγίγνοντο, ἦσάν που ἂν ἡμῖν οἳ ἐγίγνωσκον τῶν νέων τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς τὰς φύσεις, οὓς ἡμεῖς ἂν παραλαβόντες ἐκείνων ἀποφηνάντων ἐφυλάττομεν ἂν ἐν ἀκροπόλει, κατασημηνάμενοι πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ τὸ χρυσίον, ἵνα μηδεὶς αὐτοὺς διέφθειρεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ ἀφίκοιντο εἰς τὴν ἡλικίαν, χρήσιμοι γίγνοιντο ταῖς πόλεσι.

Μένων: εἰκός γέ τοι, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐπειδὴ οὐ φύσει οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ἀγαθοὶ γίγνονται, [89c]ἆρα μαθήσει;

Μένων: δοκεῖ μοι ἤδη ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι: καὶ δῆλον, ὦ Σώκρατες, κατὰ τὴν ὑπόθεσιν, εἴπερ ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν ἀρετή, ὅτι διδακτόν ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης: ἴσως νὴ Δία: ἀλλὰ μὴ τοῦτο οὐ καλῶς ὡμολογήσαμεν;

Μένων: καὶ μὴν ἐδόκει γε ἄρτι καλῶς λέγεσθαι.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴ οὐκ ἐν τῷ ἄρτι μόνον δέῃ αὐτὸ δοκεῖν καλῶς λέγεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τῷ νῦν καὶ ἐν τῷ ἔπειτα, εἰ μέλλει τι αὐτοῦ ὑγιὲς εἶναι. [89d]

Μένων: τί οὖν δή; πρὸς τί βλέπων δυσχεραίνεις αὐτὸ καὶ ἀπιστεῖς μὴ οὐκ ἐπιστήμη ᾖ ἡ ἀρετή;

Σωκράτης: ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ, ὦ Μένων. τὸ μὲν γὰρ διδακτὸν αὐτὸ εἶναι, εἴπερ ἐπιστήμη ἐστίν, οὐκ ἀνατίθεμαι μὴ οὐ καλῶς λέγεσθαι: ὅτι δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν ἐπιστήμη, σκέψαι ἐάν σοι δοκῶ εἰκότως ἀπιστεῖν. τόδε γάρ μοι εἰπέ: εἰ ἔστιν διδακτὸν ὁτιοῦν πρᾶγμα, μὴ μόνον ἀρετή, οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον αὐτοῦ καὶ διδασκάλους καὶ μαθητὰς εἶναι;

Μένων: ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ. [89e]

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τοὐναντίον αὖ, οὗ μήτε διδάσκαλοι μήτε μαθηταὶ εἶεν, καλῶς ἂν αὐτὸ εἰκάζοντες εἰκάζοιμεν μὴ διδακτὸν εἶναι;

Μένων: ἔστι ταῦτα: ἀλλ᾽ ἀρετῆς διδάσκαλοι οὐ δοκοῦσί σοι εἶναι;

Σωκράτης: πολλάκις γοῦν ζητῶν εἴ τινες εἶεν αὐτῆς διδάσκαλοι, πάντα ποιῶν οὐ δύναμαι εὑρεῖν. καίτοι μετὰ πολλῶν γε ζητῶ, καὶ τούτων μάλιστα οὓς ἂν οἴωμαι ἐμπειροτάτους εἶναι τοῦ πράγματος. καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν, ὦ Μένων, εἰς καλὸν ἡμῖν Ἄνυτος ὅδε παρεκαθέζετο, ᾧ μεταδῶμεν τῆς ζητήσεως. [90a]εἰκότως δ᾽ ἂν μεταδοῖμεν: Ἄνυτος γὰρ ὅδε πρῶτον μέν ἐστι πατρὸς πλουσίου τε καὶ σοφοῦ Ἀνθεμίωνος, ὃς ἐγένετο πλούσιος οὐκ ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου οὐδὲ δόντος τινός, ὥσπερ ὁ νῦν νεωστὶ εἰληφὼς τὰ Πολυκράτους χρήματα Ἰσμηνίας ὁ Θηβαῖος, ἀλλὰ τῇ αὑτοῦ σοφίᾳ κτησάμενος καὶ ἐπιμελείᾳ, ἔπειτα καὶ τὰ ἄλλα οὐχ ὑπερήφανος δοκῶν εἶναι πολίτης οὐδὲ ὀγκώδης τε καὶ ἐπαχθής, ἀλλὰ κόσμιος καὶ εὐσταλὴς [90b]ἀνήρ: ἔπειτα τοῦτον εὖ ἔθρεψεν καὶ ἐπαίδευσεν, ὡς δοκεῖ Ἀθηναίων τῷ πλήθει: αἱροῦνται γοῦν αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τὰς μεγίστας ἀρχάς. δίκαιον δὴ μετὰ τοιούτων ζητεῖν ἀρετῆς πέρι διδασκάλους, εἴτ᾽ εἰσὶν εἴτε μή, καὶ οἵτινες. σὺ οὖν ἡμῖν, ὦ Ἄνυτε, συζήτησον, ἐμοί τε καὶ τῷ σαυτοῦ ξένῳ Μένωνι τῷδε, περὶ τούτου τοῦ πράγματος τίνες ἂν εἶεν διδάσκαλοι. ὧδε δὲ σκέψαι: εἰ βουλοίμεθα Μένωνα τόνδε ἀγαθὸν ἰατρὸν [90c]γενέσθαι, παρὰ τίνας ἂν αὐτὸν πέμποιμεν διδασκάλους; ἆρ᾽ οὐ παρὰ τοὺς ἰατρούς;

Ἄνυτος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ εἰ σκυτοτόμον ἀγαθὸν βουλοίμεθα γενέσθαι, ἆρ᾽ οὐ παρὰ τοὺς σκυτοτόμους;

Ἄνυτος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως;

Ἄνυτος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὧδε δή μοι πάλιν περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν εἰπέ. παρὰ τοὺς ἰατρούς, φαμέν, πέμποντες τόνδε καλῶς ἂν ἐπέμπομεν, βουλόμενοι ἰατρὸν γενέσθαι: ἆρ᾽ ὅταν τοῦτο λέγωμεν, τόδε [90d]λέγομεν, ὅτι παρὰ τούτους πέμποντες αὐτὸν σωφρονοῖμεν ἄν, τοὺς ἀντιποιουμένους τε τῆς τέχνης μᾶλλον ἢ τοὺς μή, καὶ τοὺς μισθὸν πραττομένους ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ τούτῳ, ἀποφήναντας αὑτοὺς διδασκάλους τοῦ βουλομένου ἰέναι τε καὶ μανθάνειν; ἆρ᾽ οὐ πρὸς ταῦτα βλέψαντες καλῶς ἂν πέμποιμεν;

Ἄνυτος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ αὐλήσεως καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τὰ αὐτὰ [90e]ταῦτα; πολλὴ ἄνοιά ἐστι βουλομένους αὐλητήν τινα ποιῆσαι παρὰ μὲν τοὺς ὑπισχνουμένους διδάξειν τὴν τέχνην καὶ μισθὸν πραττομένους μὴ ἐθέλειν πέμπειν, ἄλλοις δέ τισιν πράγματα παρέχειν, ζητοῦντα μανθάνειν παρὰ τούτων, οἳ μήτε προσποιοῦνται διδάσκαλοι εἶναι μήτ᾽ ἔστιν αὐτῶν μαθητὴς μηδεὶς τούτου τοῦ μαθήματος ὃ ἡμεῖς ἀξιοῦμεν μανθάνειν παρ᾽ αὐτῶν ὃν ἂν πέμπωμεν. οὐ πολλή σοι δοκεῖ ἀλογία εἶναι;

Ἄνυτος: ναὶ μὰ Δία ἔμοιγε, καὶ ἀμαθία γε πρός.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς λέγεις. νῦν τοίνυν ἔξεστί σε μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ [91a]κοινῇ βουλεύεσθαι περὶ τοῦ ξένου τουτουῒ Μένωνος. οὗτος γάρ, ὦ Ἄνυτε, πάλαι λέγει πρός με ὅτι ἐπιθυμεῖ ταύτης τῆς σοφίας καὶ ἀρετῆς ᾗ οἱ ἄνθρωποι τάς τε οἰκίας καὶ τὰς πόλεις καλῶς διοικοῦσι, καὶ τοὺς γονέας τοὺς αὑτῶν θεραπεύουσι, καὶ πολίτας καὶ ξένους ὑποδέξασθαί τε καὶ ἀποπέμψαι ἐπίστανται ἀξίως ἀνδρὸς ἀγαθοῦ. ταύτην οὖν τὴν [91b]ἀρετὴν σκόπει παρὰ τίνας ἂν πέμποντες αὐτὸν ὀρθῶς πέμποιμεν. ἢ δῆλον δὴ κατὰ τὸν ἄρτι λόγον ὅτι παρὰ τούτους τοὺς ὑπισχνουμένους ἀρετῆς διδασκάλους εἶναι καὶ ἀποφήναντας αὑτοὺς κοινοὺς τῶν Ἑλλήνων τῷ βουλομένῳ μανθάνειν, μισθὸν τούτου ταξαμένους τε καὶ πραττομένους;

Ἄνυτος: καὶ τίνας λέγεις τούτους, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οἶσθα δήπου καὶ σὺ ὅτι οὗτοί εἰσιν οὓς οἱ ἄνθρωποι καλοῦσι σοφιστάς. [91c]

Ἄνυτος: Ἡράκλεις, εὐφήμει, ὦ Σώκρατες. μηδένα τῶν γ᾽ ἐμῶν μήτε οἰκείων μήτε φίλων, μήτε ἀστὸν μήτε ξένον, τοιαύτη μανία λάβοι, ὥστε παρὰ τούτους ἐλθόντα λωβηθῆναι, ἐπεὶ οὗτοί γε φανερά ἐστι λώβη τε καὶ διαφθορὰ τῶν συγγιγνομένων.

Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Ἄνυτε; οὗτοι ἄρα μόνοι τῶν ἀντιποιουμένων τι ἐπίστασθαι εὐεργετεῖν τοσοῦτον τῶν ἄλλων διαφέρουσιν, ὅσον οὐ μόνον οὐκ ὠφελοῦσιν, ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι, ὅτι ἄν τις αὐτοῖς παραδῷ, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ ἐναντίον διαφθείρουσιν; [91d]καὶ τούτων φανερῶς χρήματα ἀξιοῦσι πράττεσθαι; ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν οὐκ ἔχω ὅπως σοι πιστεύσω: οἶδα γὰρ ἄνδρα ἕνα Πρωταγόραν πλείω χρήματα κτησάμενον ἀπὸ ταύτης τῆς σοφίας ἢ Φειδίαν τε, ὃς οὕτω περιφανῶς καλὰ ἔργα ἠργάζετο, καὶ ἄλλους δέκα τῶν ἀνδριαντοποιῶν. καίτοι τέρας λέγεις εἰ οἱ μὲν τὰ ὑποδήματα ἐργαζόμενοι τὰ παλαιὰ καὶ τὰ ἱμάτια ἐξακούμενοι οὐκ ἂν δύναιντο λαθεῖν τριάκονθ᾽ [91e]ἡμέρας μοχθηρότερα ἀποδιδόντες ἢ παρέλαβον τὰ ἱμάτιά τε καὶ ὑποδήματα, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ τοιαῦτα ποιοῖεν, ταχὺ ἂν τῷ λιμῷ ἀποθάνοιεν, Πρωταγόρας δὲ ἄρα ὅλην τὴν Ἑλλάδα ἐλάνθανεν διαφθείρων τοὺς συγγιγνομένους καὶ μοχθηροτέρους ἀποπέμπων ἢ παρελάμβανεν πλέον ἢ τετταράκοντα ἔτη οἶμαι γὰρ αὐτὸν ἀποθανεῖν ἐγγὺς καὶ ἑβδομήκοντα ἔτη γεγονότα, τετταράκοντα δὲ ἐν τῇ τέχνῃ ὄντα καὶ ἐν ἅπαντι τῷ χρόνῳ τούτῳ ἔτι εἰς τὴν ἡμέραν ταυτηνὶ εὐδοκιμῶν οὐδὲν πέπαυται, καὶ οὐ μόνον Πρωταγόρας, ἀλλὰ καὶ [92a]ἄλλοι πάμπολλοι, οἱ μὲν πρότερον γεγονότες ἐκείνου, οἱ δὲ καὶ νῦν ἔτι ὄντες. πότερον δὴ οὖν φῶμεν κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον εἰδότας αὐτοὺς ἐξαπατᾶν καὶ λωβᾶσθαι τοὺς νέους, ἢ λεληθέναι καὶ ἑαυτούς; καὶ οὕτω μαίνεσθαι ἀξιώσομεν τούτους, οὓς ἔνιοί φασι σοφωτάτους ἀνθρώπων εἶναι;

Ἄνυτος: πολλοῦ γε δέουσι μαίνεσθαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον οἱ τούτοις διδόντες ἀργύριον τῶν νέων, τούτων [92b]δ᾽ ἔτι μᾶλλον οἱ τούτοις ἐπιτρέποντες, οἱ προσήκοντες, πολὺ δὲ μάλιστα πάντων αἱ πόλεις, ἐῶσαι αὐτοὺς εἰσαφικνεῖσθαι καὶ οὐκ ἐξελαύνουσαι, εἴτε τις ξένος ἐπιχειρεῖ τοιοῦτόν τι ποιεῖν εἴτε ἀστός.

Σωκράτης: πότερον δέ, ὦ Ἄνυτε, ἠδίκηκέ τίς σε τῶν σοφιστῶν, ἢ τί οὕτως αὐτοῖς χαλεπὸς εἶ;

Ἄνυτος: οὐδὲ μὰ Δία ἔγωγε συγγέγονα πώποτε αὐτῶν οὐδενί, οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἄλλον ἐάσαιμι τῶν ἐμῶν οὐδένα.

Σωκράτης: ἄπειρος ἄρ᾽ εἶ παντάπασι τῶν ἀνδρῶν;

Ἄνυτος: καὶ εἴην γε. [92c]

Σωκράτης: πῶς οὖν ἄν, ὦ δαιμόνιε, εἰδείης περὶ τούτου τοῦ πράγματος, εἴτε τι ἀγαθὸν ἔχει ἐν αὑτῷ εἴτε φλαῦρον, οὗ παντάπασιν ἄπειρος εἴης;

Ἄνυτος: ῥᾳδίως: τούτους γοῦν οἶδα οἵ εἰσιν, εἴτ᾽ οὖν ἄπειρος αὐτῶν εἰμι εἴτε μή.

Σωκράτης: μάντις εἶ ἴσως, ὦ Ἄνυτε: ἐπεὶ ὅπως γε ἄλλως οἶσθα τούτων πέρι, ἐξ ὧν αὐτὸς λέγεις θαυμάζοιμ᾽ ἄν. ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὐ τούτους ἐπιζητοῦμεν τίνες εἰσίν, παρ᾽ οὓς ἂν [92d]Μένων: ἀφικόμενος μοχθηρὸς γένοιτο οὗτοι μὲν γάρ, εἰ σὺ βούλει, ἔστων οἱ σοφισταί ἀλλὰ δὴ ἐκείνους εἰπὲ ἡμῖν, καὶ τὸν πατρικὸν τόνδε ἑταῖρον εὐεργέτησον φράσας αὐτῷ παρὰ τίνας ἀφικόμενος ἐν τοσαύτῃ πόλει τὴν ἀρετὴν ἣν νυνδὴ ἐγὼ διῆλθον γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ἄξιος λόγου.

Ἄνυτος: τί δὲ αὐτῷ οὐ σὺ ἔφρασας;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὓς μὲν ἐγὼ ᾤμην διδασκάλους τούτων εἶναι, εἶπον, ἀλλὰ τυγχάνω οὐδὲν λέγων, ὡς σὺ φῄς: καὶ ἴσως τὶ [92e]λέγεις. ἀλλὰ σὺ δὴ ἐν τῷ μέρει αὐτῷ εἰπὲ παρὰ τίνας ἔλθῃ Ἀθηναίων: εἰπὲ ὄνομα ὅτου βούλει.

Ἄνυτος: τί δὲ ἑνὸς ἀνθρώπου ὄνομα δεῖ ἀκοῦσαι; ὅτῳ γὰρ ἂν ἐντύχῃ Ἀθηναίων τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν, οὐδεὶς ἔστιν ὃς οὐ βελτίω αὐτὸν ποιήσει ἢ οἱ σοφισταί, ἐάνπερ ἐθέλῃ πείθεσθαι.

Σωκράτης: πότερον δὲ οὗτοι οἱ καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου ἐγένοντο τοιοῦτοι, παρ᾽ οὐδενὸς μαθόντες ὅμως μέντοι ἄλλους διδάσκειν οἷοί τε ὄντες ταῦτα ἃ αὐτοὶ οὐκ [93a]ἔμαθον;

Ἄνυτος: καὶ τούτους ἔγωγε ἀξιῶ παρὰ τῶν προτέρων μαθεῖν, ὄντων καλῶν κἀγαθῶν: ἢ οὐ δοκοῦσί σοι πολλοὶ καὶ ἀγαθοὶ γεγονέναι ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει ἄνδρες;

Σωκράτης: ἔμοιγε, ὦ Ἄνυτε, καὶ εἶναι δοκοῦσιν ἐνθάδε ἀγαθοὶ τὰ πολιτικά, καὶ γεγονέναι ἔτι οὐχ ἧττον ἢ εἶναι: ἀλλὰ μῶν καὶ διδάσκαλοι ἀγαθοὶ γεγόνασιν τῆς αὑτῶν ἀρετῆς; τοῦτο γάρ ἐστιν περὶ οὗ ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν τυγχάνει ὤν: οὐκ εἰ εἰσὶν ἀγαθοὶ ἢ μὴ ἄνδρες ἐνθάδε, οὐδ᾽ εἰ γεγόνασιν ἐν τῷ [93b]πρόσθεν, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ διδακτόν ἐστιν ἀρετὴ πάλαι σκοποῦμεν. τοῦτο δὲ σκοποῦντες τόδε σκοποῦμεν, ἆρα οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες καὶ τῶν νῦν καὶ τῶν προτέρων ταύτην τὴν ἀρετὴν ἣν αὐτοὶ ἀγαθοὶ ἦσαν ἠπίσταντο καὶ ἄλλῳ παραδοῦναι, ἢ οὐ παραδοτὸν τοῦτο ἀνθρώπῳ οὐδὲ παραληπτὸν ἄλλῳ παρ᾽ ἄλλου: τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὃ πάλαι ζητοῦμεν ἐγώ τε καὶ Μένων. ὧδε οὖν σκόπει ἐκ τοῦ σαυτοῦ λόγου: Θεμιστοκλέα οὐκ ἀγαθὸν ἂν [93c]φαίης ἄνδρα γεγονέναι;

Ἄνυτος: ἔγωγε, πάντων γε μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ διδάσκαλον ἀγαθόν, εἴπερ τις ἄλλος τῆς αὑτοῦ ἀρετῆς διδάσκαλος ἦν, κἀκεῖνον εἶναι;

Ἄνυτος: οἶμαι ἔγωγε, εἴπερ ἐβούλετό γε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽, οἴει, οὐκ ἂν ἐβουλήθη ἄλλους τέ τινας καλοὺς κἀγαθοὺς γενέσθαι, μάλιστα δέ που τὸν ὑὸν τὸν αὑτοῦ; ἢ οἴει αὐτὸν φθονεῖν αὐτῷ καὶ ἐξεπίτηδες οὐ παραδιδόναι [93d]τὴν ἀρετὴν ἣν αὐτὸς ἀγαθὸς ἦν; ἢ οὐκ ἀκήκοας ὅτι Θεμιστοκλῆς Κλεόφαντον τὸν ὑὸν ἱππέα μὲν ἐδιδάξατο ἀγαθόν; ἐπέμενεν γοῦν ἐπὶ τῶν ἵππων ὀρθὸς ἑστηκώς, καὶ ἠκόντιζεν ἀπὸ τῶν ἵππων ὀρθός, καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ θαυμαστὰ ἠργάζετο ἃ ἐκεῖνος αὐτὸν ἐπαιδεύσατο καὶ ἐποίησε σοφόν, ὅσα διδασκάλων ἀγαθῶν εἴχετο: ἢ ταῦτα οὐκ ἀκήκοας τῶν πρεσβυτέρων;

Ἄνυτος: ἀκήκοα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἂν ἄρα τήν γε φύσιν τοῦ ὑέος αὐτοῦ ᾐτιάσατ᾽ ἄν τις εἶναι κακήν. [93e]

Ἄνυτος: ἴσως οὐκ ἄν.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ τόδε; ὡς Κλεόφαντος ὁ Θεμιστοκλέους ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς καὶ σοφὸς ἐγένετο ἅπερ ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ, ἤδη του ἀκήκοας ἢ νεωτέρου ἢ πρεσβυτέρου;

Ἄνυτος: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ταῦτα μὲν οἰόμεθα βούλεσθαι αὐτὸν τὸν αὑτοῦ ὑὸν παιδεῦσαι, ἣν δὲ αὐτὸς σοφίαν ἦν σοφός, οὐδὲν τῶν γειτόνων βελτίω ποιῆσαι, εἴπερ ἦν γε διδακτὸν ἡ ἀρετή;

Ἄνυτος: ἴσως μὰ Δί᾽ οὔ.

Σωκράτης: οὗτος μὲν δή σοι τοιοῦτος διδάσκαλος ἀρετῆς, ὃν καὶ σὺ ὁμολογεῖς ἐν τοῖς ἄριστον τῶν προτέρων εἶναι: ἄλλον [94a]δὲ δὴ σκεψώμεθα, Ἀριστείδην τὸν Λυσιμάχου: ἢ τοῦτον οὐχ ὁμολογεῖς ἀγαθὸν γεγονέναι;

Ἄνυτος: ἔγωγε, πάντως δήπου.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ οὗτος τὸν ὑὸν τὸν αὑτοῦ Λυσίμαχον, ὅσα μὲν διδασκάλων εἴχετο, κάλλιστα Ἀθηναίων ἐπαίδευσε, ἄνδρα δὲ βελτίω δοκεῖ σοι ὁτουοῦν πεποιηκέναι; τούτῳ γάρ που καὶ συγγέγονας καὶ ὁρᾷς οἷός ἐστιν. εἰ δὲ βούλει, [94b]Περικλέα, οὕτως μεγαλοπρεπῶς σοφὸν ἄνδρα, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι δύο ὑεῖς ἔθρεψε, Πάραλον καὶ Ξάνθιππον;

Ἄνυτος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: τούτους μέντοι, ὡς οἶσθα καὶ σύ, ἱππέας μὲν ἐδίδαξεν οὐδενὸς χείρους Ἀθηναίων, καὶ μουσικὴν καὶ ἀγωνίαν καὶ τἆλλα ἐπαίδευσεν ὅσα τέχνης ἔχεται οὐδενὸς χείρους: ἀγαθοὺς δὲ ἄρα ἄνδρας οὐκ ἐβούλετο ποιῆσαι; δοκῶ μέν, ἐβούλετο, ἀλλὰ μὴ οὐκ ᾖ διδακτόν. ἵνα δὲ μὴ ὀλίγους οἴῃ καὶ τοὺς φαυλοτάτους Ἀθηναίων ἀδυνάτους γεγονέναι τοῦτο [94c]τὸ πρᾶγμα, ἐνθυμήθητι ὅτι Θουκυδίδης αὖ δύο ὑεῖς ἔθρεψεν, Μελησίαν καὶ Στέφανον, καὶ τούτους ἐπαίδευσεν τά τε ἄλλα εὖ καὶ ἐπάλαισαν κάλλιστα Ἀθηναίων τὸν μὲν γὰρ Ξανθίᾳ ἔδωκε, τὸν δὲ Εὐδώρῳ: οὗτοι δέ που ἐδόκουν τῶν τότε κάλλιστα παλαίειν ἢ οὐ μέμνησαι;

Ἄνυτος: ἔγωγε, ἀκοῇ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν δῆλον ὅτι οὗτος οὐκ ἄν ποτε, οὗ μὲν ἔδει [94d]δαπανώμενον διδάσκειν, ταῦτα μὲν ἐδίδαξε τοὺς παῖδας τοὺς αὑτοῦ, οὗ δὲ οὐδὲν ἔδει ἀναλώσαντα ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας ποιῆσαι, ταῦτα δὲ οὐκ ἐδίδαξεν, εἰ διδακτὸν ἦν; ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἴσως ὁ Θουκυδίδης φαῦλος ἦν, καὶ οὐκ ἦσαν αὐτῷ πλεῖστοι φίλοι Ἀθηναίων καὶ τῶν συμμάχων; καὶ οἰκίας μεγάλης ἦν καὶ ἐδύνατο μέγα ἐν τῇ πόλει καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν, ὥστε εἴπερ ἦν τοῦτο διδακτόν, ἐξευρεῖν ἂν ὅστις ἔμελλεν αὐτοῦ τοὺς ὑεῖς ἀγαθοὺς ποιήσειν, ἢ τῶν ἐπιχωρίων τις ἢ τῶν [94e]ξένων, εἰ αὐτὸς μὴ ἐσχόλαζεν διὰ τὴν τῆς πόλεως ἐπιμέλειαν. ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ ἑταῖρε Ἄνυτε, μὴ οὐκ ᾖ διδακτὸν ἀρετή.

Ἄνυτος: ὦ Σώκρατες, ῥᾳδίως μοι δοκεῖς κακῶς λέγειν ἀνθρώπους. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ἄν σοι συμβουλεύσαιμι, εἰ ἐθέλεις ἐμοὶ πείθεσθαι, εὐλαβεῖσθαι: ὡς ἴσως μὲν καὶ ἐν ἄλλῃ πόλει ῥᾷόν ἐστιν κακῶς ποιεῖν ἀνθρώπους ἢ εὖ, ἐν τῇδε δὲ καὶ [95a]πάνυ: οἶμαι δὲ σὲ καὶ αὐτὸν εἰδέναι.

Σωκράτης: ὦ Μένων, Ἄνυτος μέν μοι δοκεῖ χαλεπαίνειν, καὶ οὐδὲν θαυμάζω: οἴεται γάρ με πρῶτον μὲν κακηγορεῖν τούτους τοὺς ἄνδρας, ἔπειτα ἡγεῖται καὶ αὐτὸς εἶναι εἷς τούτων. ἀλλ᾽ οὗτος μὲν ἐάν ποτε γνῷ οἷόν ἐστιν τὸ κακῶς λέγειν, παύσεται χαλεπαίνων, νῦν δὲ ἀγνοεῖ: σὺ δέ μοι εἰπέ, οὐ καὶ παρ᾽ ὑμῖν εἰσιν καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες;

Μένων: πάνυ γε. [95b]

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἐθέλουσιν οὗτοι παρέχειν αὑτοὺς διδασκάλους τοῖς νέοις, καὶ ὁμολογεῖν διδάσκαλοί τε εἶναι καὶ διδακτὸν ἀρετήν;

Μένων: οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ τοτὲ μὲν ἂν αὐτῶν ἀκούσαις ὡς διδακτόν, τοτὲ δὲ ὡς οὔ.

Σωκράτης: φῶμεν οὖν τούτους διδασκάλους εἶναι τούτου τοῦ πράγματος, οἷς μηδὲ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ὁμολογεῖται;

Μένων: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ δή; οἱ σοφισταί σοι οὗτοι, οἵπερ μόνοι ἐπαγγέλλονται, δοκοῦσι διδάσκαλοι εἶναι ἀρετῆς; [95c]

Μένων: καὶ Γοργίου μάλιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταῦτα ἄγαμαι, ὅτι οὐκ ἄν ποτε αὐτοῦ τοῦτο ἀκούσαις ὑπισχνουμένου, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων καταγελᾷ, ὅταν ἀκούσῃ ὑπισχνουΜένων:: ἀλλὰ λέγειν οἴεται δεῖν ποιεῖν δεινούς.

Σωκράτης: οὐδ᾽ ἄρα σοὶ δοκοῦσιν οἱ σοφισταὶ διδάσκαλοι εἶναι;

Μένων: οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες. καὶ γὰρ αὐτὸς ὅπερ οἱ πολλοὶ πέπονθα: τοτὲ μέν μοι δοκοῦσιν, τοτὲ δὲ οὔ.

Σωκράτης: οἶσθα δὲ ὅτι οὐ μόνον σοί τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τοῖς πολιτικοῖς τοῦτο δοκεῖ τοτὲ μὲν εἶναι διδακτόν, τοτὲ δ᾽ οὔ, [95d]ἀλλὰ καὶ Θέογνιν τὸν ποιητὴν οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι ταὐτὰ ταῦτα λέγει;

Μένων: ἐν ποίοις ἔπεσιν;

Σωκράτης: ἐν τοῖς ἐλεγείοις, οὗ λέγει καὶ παρὰ τοῖσιν πῖνε καὶ ἔσθιε, καὶ μετὰ τοῖσιν

ἵζε, καὶ ἅνδανε τοῖς, ὧν μεγάλη δύναμις.

ἐσθλῶν μὲν γὰρ ἄπ᾽ ἐσθλὰ διδάξεαι: ἢν δὲ κακοῖσιν (Ελεγείαι 33-36) [95e] συμμίσγῃς, ἀπολεῖς καὶ τὸν ἐόντα νόον.

Μένων: φαίνεταί γε.

Σωκράτης: ἐν ἄλλοις δέ γε ὀλίγον μεταβάς, εἰ δ᾽ ἦν ποιητόν, φησί, καὶ ἔνθετον ἀνδρὶ νόημα, (Ελεγείαι 434-438)λέγει πως ὅτι

πολλοὺς ἂν μισθοὺς καὶ μεγάλους ἔφερον

οὔ ποτ᾽ ἂν ἐξ ἀγαθοῦ πατρὸς ἔγεντο κακός,

[96a] πειθόμενος μύθοισι σαόφροσιν. ἀλλὰ διδάσκων

οὔ ποτε ποιήσεις τὸν κακὸν ἄνδρ᾽ ἀγαθόν.

Μένων: φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν πράγματος, οὗ οἱ μὲν φάσκοντες διδάσκαλοι εἶναι οὐχ ὅπως ἄλλων διδάσκαλοι ὁμολογοῦνται, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ αὐτοὶ ἐπίστασθαι, ἀλλὰ πονηροὶ [96b]εἶναι περὶ αὐτὸ τοῦτο τὸ πρᾶγμα οὗ φασι διδάσκαλοι εἶναι, οἱ δὲ ὁμολογούμενοι αὐτοὶ καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ τοτὲ μέν φασιν αὐτὸ διδακτὸν εἶναι, τοτὲ δὲ οὔ; τοὺς οὖν οὕτω τεταραγμένους περὶ ὁτουοῦν φαίης ἂν σὺ κυρίως διδασκάλους εἶναι;

Μένων: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μήτε οἱ σοφισταὶ μήτε οἱ αὐτοὶ καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ ὄντες διδάσκαλοί εἰσι τοῦ πράγματος, δῆλον ὅτι οὐκ ἂν ἄλλοι γε;

Μένων: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ. [96c]

Σωκράτης: εἰ δέ γε μὴ διδάσκαλοι, οὐδὲ μαθηταί;

Μένων: δοκεῖ μοι ἔχειν ὡς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ὡμολογήκαμεν δέ γε, πράγματος οὗ μήτε διδάσκαλοι μήτε μαθηταὶ εἶεν, τοῦτο μηδὲ διδακτὸν εἶναι;

Μένων: ὡμολογήκαμεν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀρετῆς οὐδαμοῦ φαίνονται διδάσκαλοι;

Μένων: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δέ γε μὴ διδάσκαλοι, οὐδὲ μαθηταί;

Μένων: φαίνεται οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ἀρετὴ ἄρα οὐκ ἂν εἴη διδακτόν; [96d]

Μένων: οὐκ ἔοικεν, εἴπερ ὀρθῶς ἡμεῖς ἐσκέμμεθα. ὥστε καὶ θαυμάζω δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, πότερόν ποτε οὐδ᾽ εἰσὶν ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες, ἢ τίς ἂν εἴη τρόπος τῆς γενέσεως τῶν ἀγαθῶν γιγνομένων.

Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύομεν, ὦ Μένων, ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ φαῦλοί τινες εἶναι ἄνδρες, καὶ σέ τε Γοργίας οὐχ ἱκανῶς πεπαιδευκέναι καὶ ἐμὲ Πρόδικος. παντὸς μᾶλλον οὖν προσεκτέον τὸν νοῦν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς, καὶ ζητητέον ὅστις ἡμᾶς ἑνί γέ τῳ τρόπῳ βελτίους [96e]ποιήσει: λέγω δὲ ταῦτα ἀποβλέψας πρὸς τὴν ἄρτι ζήτησιν, ὡς ἡμᾶς ἔλαθεν καταγελάστως ὅτι οὐ μόνον ἐπιστήμης ἡγουμένης ὀρθῶς τε καὶ εὖ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις πράττεται τὰ πράγματα, ᾗ ἴσως καὶ διαφεύγει ἡμᾶς τὸ γνῶναι τίνα ποτὲ τρόπον γίγνονται οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες.

Μένων: πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: ὧδε: ὅτι μὲν τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας δεῖ ὠφελίμους εἶναι, [97a]ὀρθῶς ὡμολογήκαμεν τοῦτό γε ὅτι οὐκ ἂν ἄλλως ἔχοι: ἦ γάρ;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ὅτι γε ὠφέλιμοι ἔσονται, ἂν ὀρθῶς ἡμῖν ἡγῶνται τῶν πραγμάτων, καὶ τοῦτό που καλῶς ὡμολογοῦμεν;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ὅτι δ᾽ οὐκ ἔστιν ὀρθῶς ἡγεῖσθαι, ἐὰν μὴ φρόνιμος ᾖ, τοῦτο ὅμοιοί ἐσμεν οὐκ ὀρθῶς ὡμολογηκόσιν.

Μένων: πῶς δὴ {{χ|ὀρθῶς] λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ ἐρῶ. <εἰ> εἰδὼς τὴν ὁδὸν τὴν εἰς Λάρισαν ἢ ὅποι βούλει ἄλλοσε βαδίζοι καὶ ἄλλοις ἡγοῖτο, ἄλλο τι ὀρθῶς ἂν καὶ εὖ ἡγοῖτο;

Μένων: πάνυ γε. [97b]

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ εἴ τις ὀρθῶς μὲν δοξάζων ἥτις ἐστὶν ἡ ὁδός, ἐληλυθὼς δὲ μὴ μηδ᾽ ἐπιστάμενος, οὐ καὶ οὗτος ἂν ὀρθῶς ἡγοῖτο;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἕως γ᾽ ἄν που ὀρθὴν δόξαν ἔχῃ περὶ ὧν ὁ ἕτερος ἐπιστήμην, οὐδὲν χείρων ἡγεμὼν ἔσται, οἰόμενος μὲν ἀληθῆ, φρονῶν δὲ μή, τοῦ τοῦτο φρονοῦντος.

Μένων: οὐδὲν γάρ.

Σωκράτης: δόξα ἄρα ἀληθὴς πρὸς ὀρθότητα πράξεως οὐδὲν χείρων ἡγεμὼν φρονήσεως: καὶ τοῦτό ἐστιν ὃ νυνδὴ παρελείπομεν ἐν τῇ περὶ τῆς ἀρετῆς σκέψει ὁποῖόν τι εἴη, λέγοντες [97c]ὅτι φρόνησις μόνον ἡγεῖται τοῦ ὀρθῶς πράττειν: τὸ δὲ ἄρα καὶ δόξα ἦν ἀληθής.

Μένων: ἔοικέ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν ἄρα ἧττον ὠφέλιμόν ἐστιν ὀρθὴ δόξα ἐπιστήμης.

Μένων: τοσούτῳ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι ὁ μὲν τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἔχων ἀεὶ ἂν ἐπιτυγχάνοι, ὁ δὲ τὴν ὀρθὴν δόξαν τοτὲ μὲν ἂν τυγχάνοι, τοτὲ δ᾽ οὔ.

Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις; ὁ ἀεὶ ἔχων ὀρθὴν δόξαν οὐκ ἀεὶ ἂν τυγχάνοι, ἕωσπερ ὀρθὰ δοξάζοι;

Μένων: ἀνάγκη μοι φαίνεται: ὥστε θαυμάζω, ὦ Σώκρατες, [97d]τούτου οὕτως ἔχοντος, ὅτι δή ποτε πολὺ τιμιωτέρα ἡ ἐπιστήμη τῆς ὀρθῆς δόξης, καὶ δι᾽ ὅτι τὸ μὲν ἕτερον, τὸ δὲ ἕτερόν ἐστιν αὐτῶν.

Σωκράτης: οἶσθα οὖν δι᾽ ὅτι θαυμάζεις, ἢ ἐγώ σοι εἴπω;

Μένων: πάνυ γ᾽ εἰπέ.

Σωκράτης: ὅτι τοῖς Δαιδάλου ἀγάλμασιν οὐ προσέσχηκας τὸν νοῦν: ἴσως δὲ οὐδ᾽ ἔστιν παρ᾽ ὑμῖν.

Μένων: πρὸς τί δὲ δὴ τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι καὶ ταῦτα, ἐὰν μὲν μὴ δεδεμένα ᾖ, ἀποδιδράσκει καὶ δραπετεύει, ἐὰν δὲ δεδεμένα, παραμένει. [97e]

Μένων: τί οὖν δή;

Σωκράτης: τῶν ἐκείνου ποιημάτων λελυμένον μὲν ἐκτῆσθαι οὐ πολλῆς τινος ἄξιόν ἐστι τιμῆς, ὥσπερ δραπέτην ἄνθρωπον οὐ γὰρ παραμένει δεδεμένον δὲ πολλοῦ ἄξιον: πάνυ γὰρ καλὰ τὰ ἔργα ἐστίν. πρὸς τί οὖν δὴ λέγω ταῦτα; πρὸς τὰς δόξας τὰς ἀληθεῖς. καὶ γὰρ αἱ δόξαι αἱ ἀληθεῖς, ὅσον μὲν ἂν χρόνον παραμένωσιν, καλὸν τὸ χρῆμα καὶ πάντ᾽ [98a]ἀγαθὰ ἐργάζονται: πολὺν δὲ χρόνον οὐκ ἐθέλουσι παραμένειν, ἀλλὰ δραπετεύουσιν ἐκ τῆς ψυχῆς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, ὥστε οὐ πολλοῦ ἄξιαί εἰσιν, ἕως ἄν τις αὐτὰς δήσῃ αἰτίας λογισμῷ. τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστίν, ὦ Μένων ἑταῖρε, ἀνάμνησις, ὡς ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἡμῖν ὡμολόγηται. ἐπειδὰν δὲ δεθῶσιν, πρῶτον μὲν ἐπιστῆμαι γίγνονται, ἔπειτα μόνιμοι: καὶ διὰ ταῦτα δὴ τιμιώτερον ἐπιστήμη ὀρθῆς δόξης ἐστίν, καὶ διαφέρει δεσμῷ ἐπιστήμη ὀρθῆς δόξης.

Μένων: νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔοικεν τοιούτῳ τινί. [98b]

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ ἐγὼ ὡς οὐκ εἰδὼς λέγω, ἀλλὰ εἰκάζων: ὅτι δέ ἐστίν τι ἀλλοῖον ὀρθὴ δόξα καὶ ἐπιστήμη, οὐ πάνυ μοι δοκῶ τοῦτο εἰκάζειν, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ τι ἄλλο φαίην ἂν εἰδέναι ὀλίγα δ᾽ ἂν φαίην ἓν δ᾽ οὖν καὶ τοῦτο ἐκείνων θείην ἂν ὧν οἶδα.

Μένων: καὶ ὀρθῶς γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; τόδε οὐκ ὀρθῶς, ὅτι ἀληθὴς δόξα ἡγουμένη τὸ ἔργον ἑκάστης τῆς πράξεως οὐδὲν χεῖρον ἀπεργάζεται ἢ ἐπιστήμη;

Μένων: καὶ τοῦτο δοκεῖς μοι ἀληθῆ λέγειν. [98c]

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν ἄρα ὀρθὴ δόξα ἐπιστήμης χεῖρον οὐδὲ ἧττον ὠφελίμη ἔσται εἰς τὰς πράξεις, οὐδὲ ἁνὴρ ὁ ἔχων ὀρθὴν δόξαν ἢ ὁ ἐπιστήμην.

Μένων: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ὅ γε ἀγαθὸς ἀνὴρ ὠφέλιμος ἡμῖν ὡμολόγηται εἶναι.

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν οὐ μόνον δι᾽ ἐπιστήμην ἀγαθοὶ ἄνδρες ἂν εἶεν καὶ ὠφέλιμοι ταῖς πόλεσιν, εἴπερ εἶεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ δι᾽ ὀρθὴν δόξαν, τούτοιν δὲ οὐδέτερον φύσει ἐστὶν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, [98d]οὔτε ἐπιστήμη οὔτε δόξα ἀληθής, οὔτ᾽ ἐπίκτητα ἢ δοκεῖ σοι φύσει ὁποτερονοῦν αὐτοῖν εἶναι;

Μένων: οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ οὐ φύσει, οὐδὲ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ φύσει εἶεν ἄν.

Μένων: οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: ἐπειδὴ δέ γε οὐ φύσει, ἐσκοποῦμεν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο εἰ διδακτόν ἐστιν.

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν διδακτὸν ἔδοξεν εἶναι, εἰ φρόνησις ἡ ἀρετή;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: κἂν εἴ γε διδακτὸν εἴη, φρόνησις ἂν εἶναι;

Μένων: πάνυ γε. [98e]

Σωκράτης: καὶ εἰ μέν γε διδάσκαλοι εἶεν, διδακτὸν ἂν εἶναι, μὴ ὄντων δὲ οὐ διδακτόν;

Μένων: οὕτω.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ὡμολογήκαμεν μὴ εἶναι αὐτοῦ διδασκάλους;

Μένων: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: ὡμολογήκαμεν ἄρα μήτε διδακτὸν αὐτὸ μήτε φρόνησιν εἶναι;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ἀγαθόν γε αὐτὸ ὁμολογοῦμεν εἶναι;

Μένων: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ὠφέλιμον δὲ καὶ ἀγαθὸν εἶναι τὸ ὀρθῶς ἡγούμενον;

Μένων: πάνυ γε. [99a]

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς δέ γε ἡγεῖσθαι δύο ὄντα ταῦτα μόνα, δόξαν τε ἀληθῆ καὶ ἐπιστήμην, ἃ ἔχων ἄνθρωπος ὀρθῶς ἡγεῖται τὰ γὰρ ἀπὸ τύχης τινὸς ὀρθῶς γιγνόμενα οὐκ ἀνθρωπίνῃ ἡγεμονίᾳ γίγνεται ὧν δὲ ἄνθρωπος ἡγεμών ἐστιν ἐπὶ τὸ ὀρθόν, δύο ταῦτα, δόξα ἀληθὴς καὶ ἐπιστήμη.

Μένων: δοκεῖ μοι οὕτω.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ οὐ διδακτόν ἐστιν, οὐδ᾽ ἐπιστήμη δὴ ἔτι γίγνεται ἡ ἀρετή;

Μένων: οὐ φαίνεται. [99b]

Σωκράτης: δυοῖν ἄρα ὄντοιν ἀγαθοῖν καὶ ὠφελίμοιν τὸ μὲν ἕτερον ἀπολέλυται, καὶ οὐκ ἂν εἴη ἐν πολιτικῇ πράξει ἐπιστήμη ἡγεμών.

Μένων: οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα σοφίᾳ τινὶ οὐδὲ σοφοὶ ὄντες οἱ τοιοῦτοι ἄνδρες ἡγοῦντο ταῖς πόλεσιν, οἱ ἀμφὶ Θεμιστοκλέα τε καὶ οὓς ἄρτι Ἄνυτος ὅδε ἔλεγεν: διὸ δὴ καὶ οὐχ οἷοί τε ἄλλους ποιεῖν τοιούτους οἷοι αὐτοί εἰσι, ἅτε οὐ δι᾽ ἐπιστήμην ὄντες τοιοῦτοι.

Μένων: ἔοικεν οὕτως ἔχειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μὴ ἐπιστήμῃ, εὐδοξίᾳ δὴ τὸ λοιπὸν [99c]γίγνεται: ᾗ οἱ πολιτικοὶ ἄνδρες χρώμενοι τὰς πόλεις ὀρθοῦσιν, οὐδὲν διαφερόντως ἔχοντες πρὸς τὸ φρονεῖν ἢ οἱ χρησμῳδοί τε καὶ οἱ θεομάντεις: καὶ γὰρ οὗτοι ἐνθουσιῶντες λέγουσιν μὲν ἀληθῆ καὶ πολλά, ἴσασι δὲ οὐδὲν ὧν λέγουσιν.

Μένων: κινδυνεύει οὕτως ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν, ὦ Μένων, ἄξιον τούτους θείους καλεῖν τοὺς ἄνδρας, οἵτινες νοῦν μὴ ἔχοντες πολλὰ καὶ μεγάλα κατορθοῦσιν ὧν πράττουσι καὶ λέγουσι;

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς ἄρ᾽ ἂν καλοῖμεν θείους τε οὓς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν [99d]χρησμῳδοὺς καὶ μάντεις καὶ τοὺς ποιητικοὺς ἅπαντας: καὶ τοὺς πολιτικοὺς οὐχ ἥκιστα τούτων φαῖμεν ἂν θείους τε εἶναι καὶ ἐνθουσιάζειν, ἐπίπνους ὄντας καὶ κατεχομένους ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ, ὅταν κατορθῶσι λέγοντες πολλὰ καὶ μεγάλα πράγματα, μηδὲν εἰδότες ὧν λέγουσιν.

Μένων: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ αἵ γε γυναῖκες δήπου, ὦ Μένων, τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας θείους καλοῦσι: καὶ οἱ Λάκωνες ὅταν τινὰ ἐγκωμιάζωσιν ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα, θεῖος ἀνήρ, φασίν, οὗτος. [99e]

Μένων: καὶ φαίνονταί γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀρθῶς λέγειν. καίτοι ἴσως Ἄνυτος ὅδε σοι ἄχθεται λέγοντι.

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν μέλει ἔμοιγε. τούτῳ μέν, ὦ Μένων, καὶ αὖθις διαλεξόμεθα: εἰ δὲ νῦν ἡμεῖς ἐν παντὶ τῷ λόγῳ τούτῳ καλῶς ἐζητήσαμέν τε καὶ ἐλέγομεν, ἀρετὴ ἂν εἴη οὔτε φύσει οὔτε διδακτόν, ἀλλὰ θείᾳ μοίρᾳ παραγιγνομένη ἄνευ νοῦ οἷς ἂν [100a]παραγίγνηται, εἰ μή τις εἴη τοιοῦτος τῶν πολιτικῶν ἀνδρῶν οἷος καὶ ἄλλον ποιῆσαι πολιτικόν. εἰ δὲ εἴη, σχεδὸν ἄν τι οὗτος λέγοιτο τοιοῦτος ἐν τοῖς ζῶσιν οἷον ἔφη Ὅμηρος ἐν τοῖς τεθνεῶσιν τὸν Τειρεσίαν εἶναι, λέγων περὶ αὐτοῦ, ὅτι οἶος πέπνυται τῶν ἐν Ἅιδου, τοὶ δὲ σκιαὶ ἀίσσουσι. ταὐτὸν ἂν καὶ ἐνθάδε ὁ τοιοῦτος ὥσπερ παρὰ σκιὰς ἀληθὲς ἂν πρᾶγμα εἴη πρὸς ἀρετήν. [100b]

Μένων: κάλλιστα δοκεῖς μοι λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἐκ μὲν τοίνυν τούτου τοῦ λογισμοῦ, ὦ Μένων, θείᾳ μοίρᾳ ἡμῖν φαίνεται παραγιγνομένη ἡ ἀρετὴ οἷς ἂν παραγίγνηται: τὸ δὲ σαφὲς περὶ αὐτοῦ εἰσόμεθα τότε, ὅταν πρὶν ᾧτινι τρόπῳ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις παραγίγνεται ἀρετή, πρότερον ἐπιχειρήσωμεν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ ζητεῖν τί ποτ᾽ ἔστιν ἀρετή. νῦν δ᾽ ἐμοὶ μὲν ὥρα ποι ἰέναι, σὺ δὲ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ἅπερ αὐτὸς πέπεισαι πεῖθε καὶ τὸν ξένον τόνδε Ἄνυτον, ἵνα [100c]πρᾳότερος ᾖ: ὡς ἐὰν πείσῃς τοῦτον, ἔστιν ὅτι καὶ Ἀθηναίους ὀνήσεις.

MENEXENUS

Σωκράτης, Μενέξενος.

[234a] Σωκράτης: ἐξ ἀγορᾶς ἢ πόθεν Μενέξενος;

Μενέξενος: ἐξ ἀγορᾶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ βουλευτηρίου.

Σωκράτης: τί μάλιστα σοὶ πρὸς βουλευτήριον; ἢ δῆλα δὴ ὅτι παιδεύσεως καὶ φιλοσοφίας ἐπὶ τέλει ἡγῇ εἶναι, καὶ ὡς ἱκανῶς ἤδη ἔχων ἐπὶ τὰ μείζω ἐπινοεῖς τρέπεσθαι, καὶ ἄρχειν ἡμῶν, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ἐπιχειρεῖς τῶν πρεσβυτέρων [234b] τηλικοῦτος ὤν, ἵνα μὴ ἐκλίπῃ ὑμῶν ἡ οἰκία ἀεί τινα ἡμῶν ἐπιμελητὴν παρεχομένη;

Μενέξενος: ἐὰν σύ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐᾷς καὶ συμβουλεύῃς ἄρχειν, προθυμήσομαι: εἰ δὲ μή, οὔ. νῦν μέντοι ἀφικόμην πρὸς τὸ βουλευτήριον πυθόμενος ὅτι ἡ βουλὴ μέλλει αἱρεῖσθαι ὅστις ἐρεῖ ἐπὶ τοῖς ἀποθανοῦσιν: ταφὰς γὰρ οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι μέλλουσι ποιεῖν.

Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε: ἀλλὰ τίνα εἵλοντο;

Μενέξενος: οὐδένα, ἀλλὰ ἀνεβάλοντο εἰς τὴν αὔριον. οἶμαι μέντοι Ἀρχῖνον ἢ Δίωνα αἱρεθήσεσθαι. [234c]

Σωκράτης: καὶ μήν, ὦ Μενέξενε, πολλαχῇ κινδυνεύει καλὸν εἶναι τὸ ἐν πολέμῳ ἀποθνῄσκειν. καὶ γὰρ ταφῆς καλῆς τε καὶ μεγαλοπρεποῦς τυγχάνει, καὶ ἐὰν πένης τις ὢν τελευτήσῃ, καὶ ἐπαίνου αὖ ἔτυχεν, καὶ ἐὰν φαῦλος ᾖ, ὑπ᾽ ἀνδρῶν σοφῶν τε καὶ οὐκ εἰκῇ ἐπαινούντων, ἀλλὰ ἐκ πολλοῦ χρόνου λόγους παρεσκευασμένων, οἳ οὕτως καλῶς ἐπαινοῦσιν, ὥστε καὶ τὰ [235a] προσόντα καὶ τὰ μὴ περὶ ἑκάστου λέγοντες, κάλλιστά πως τοῖς ὀνόμασι ποικίλλοντες, γοητεύουσιν ἡμῶν τὰς ψυχάς, καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἐγκωμιάζοντες κατὰ πάντας τρόπους καὶ τοὺς τετελευτηκότας ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ καὶ τοὺς προγόνους ἡμῶν ἅπαντας τοὺς ἔμπροσθεν καὶ αὐτοὺς ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἔτι ζῶντας ἐπαινοῦντες, ὥστ᾽ ἔγωγε, ὦ Μενέξενε, γενναίως πάνυ διατίθεμαι ἐπαινούμενος ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν, καὶ ἑκάστοτε ἐξέστηκα [235b] ἀκροώμενος καὶ κηλούμενος, ἡγούμενος ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμα μείζων καὶ γενναιότερος καὶ καλλίων γεγονέναι. καὶ οἷα δὴ τὰ πολλὰ ἀεὶ μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ ξένοι τινὲς ἕπονται καὶ συνακροῶνται πρὸς οὓς ἐγὼ σεμνότερος ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμα γίγνομαι: καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖνοι ταὐτὰ ταῦτα δοκοῦσί μοι πάσχειν καὶ πρὸς ἐμὲ καὶ πρὸς τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν, θαυμασιωτέραν αὐτὴν ἡγεῖσθαι εἶναι ἢ πρότερον, ὑπὸ τοῦ λέγοντος ἀναπειθόμενοι. καί μοι αὕτη ἡ σεμνότης παραμένει ἡμέρας πλείω [235c] ἢ τρεῖς: οὕτως ἔναυλος ὁ λόγος τε καὶ ὁ φθόγγος παρὰ τοῦ λέγοντος ἐνδύεται εἰς τὰ ὦτα, ὥστε μόγις τετάρτῃ ἢ πέμπτῃ ἡμέρᾳ ἀναμιμνῄσκομαι ἐμαυτοῦ καὶ αἰσθάνομαι οὗ γῆς εἰμι, τέως δὲ οἶμαι μόνον οὐκ ἐν μακάρων νήσοις οἰκεῖν: οὕτως ἡμῖν οἱ ῥήτορες δεξιοί εἰσιν.

Μενέξενος: ἀεὶ σὺ προσπαίζεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοὺς ῥήτορας. νῦν μέντοι οἶμαι ἐγὼ τὸν αἱρεθέντα οὐ πάνυ εὐπορήσειν: ἐξ ὑπογύου γὰρ παντάπασιν ἡ αἵρεσις γέγονεν, ὥστε ἴσως ἀναγκασθήσεται ὁ λέγων ὥσπερ αὐτοσχεδιάζειν. [235d]

Σωκράτης: πόθεν, ὠγαθέ; εἰσὶν ἑκάστοις τούτων λόγοι παρεσκευασμένοι, καὶ ἅμα οὐδὲ αὐτοσχεδιάζειν τά γε τοιαῦτα χαλεπόν. εἰ μὲν γὰρ δέοι Ἀθηναίους ἐν Πελοποννησίοις εὖ λέγειν ἢ Πελοποννησίους ἐν Ἀθηναίοις, ἀγαθοῦ ἂν ῥήτορος δέοι τοῦ πείσοντος καὶ εὐδοκιμήσοντος: ὅταν δέ τις ἐν τούτοις ἀγωνίζηται οὕσπερ καὶ ἐπαινεῖ, οὐδὲν μέγα δοκεῖν εὖ λέγειν.

Μενέξενος: οὐκ οἴει, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δία. [235e]

Μενέξενος: ἦ οἴει οἷός τ᾽ ἂν εἶναι αὐτὸς εἰπεῖν, εἰ δέοι καὶ ἕλοιτό σε ἡ βουλή;

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐμοὶ μέν γε, ὦ Μενέξενε, οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν οἵῳ τ᾽ εἶναι εἰπεῖν, ᾧ τυγχάνει διδάσκαλος οὖσα οὐ πάνυ φαύλη περὶ ῥητορικῆς, ἀλλ᾽ ἥπερ καὶ ἄλλους πολλοὺς καὶ ἀγαθοὺς πεποίηκε ῥήτορας, ἕνα δὲ καὶ διαφέροντα τῶν Ἑλλήνων, Περικλέα τὸν Ξανθίππου.

Μενέξενος: τίς αὕτη; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι Ἀσπασίαν λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: λέγω γάρ, καὶ Κόννον γε τὸν Μητροβίου: οὗτοι γάρ [236a] μοι δύο εἰσὶν διδάσκαλοι, ὁ μὲν μουσικῆς, ἡ δὲ ῥητορικῆς. οὕτω μὲν οὖν τρεφόμενον ἄνδρα οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν δεινὸν εἶναι λέγειν: ἀλλὰ καὶ ὅστις ἐμοῦ κάκιον ἐπαιδεύθη, μουσικὴν μὲν ὑπὸ Λάμπρου παιδευθείς, ῥητορικὴν δὲ ὑπ᾽ Ἀντιφῶντος τοῦ Ῥαμνουσίου, ὅμως κἂν οὗτος οἷός τ᾽ εἴη Ἀθηναίους γε ἐν Ἀθηναίοις ἐπαινῶν εὐδοκιμεῖν.

Μενέξενος: καὶ τί ἂν ἔχοις εἰπεῖν, εἰ δέοι σε λέγειν;

Σωκράτης: αὐτὸς μὲν παρ᾽ ἐμαυτοῦ ἴσως οὐδέν, Ἀσπασίας δὲ [236b] καὶ χθὲς ἠκροώμην περαινούσης ἐπιτάφιον λόγον περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων. ἤκουσε γὰρ ἅπερ σὺ λέγεις, ὅτι μέλλοιεν Ἀθηναῖοι αἱρεῖσθαι τὸν ἐροῦντα: ἔπειτα τὰ μὲν ἐκ τοῦ παραχρῆμά μοι διῄει, οἷα δέοι λέγειν, τὰ δὲ πρότερον ἐσκεμμένη, ὅτε μοι δοκεῖ συνετίθει τὸν ἐπιτάφιον λόγον ὃν Περικλῆς εἶπεν, περιλείμματ᾽ ἄττα ἐξ ἐκείνου συγκολλῶσα.

Μενέξενος: ἦ καὶ μνημονεύσαις ἂν ἃ ἔλεγεν ἡ Ἀσπασία;

Σωκράτης: εἰ μὴ ἀδικῶ γε: ἐμάνθανόν γέ τοι παρ᾽ αὐτῆς, καὶ [236c] ὀλίγου πληγὰς ἔλαβον ὅτ᾽ ἐπελανθανόμην.

Μενέξενος: τί οὖν οὐ διῆλθες;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως μή μοι χαλεπανεῖ ἡ διδάσκαλος, ἂν ἐξενέγκω αὐτῆς τὸν λόγον.

Μενέξενος: μηδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ εἰπέ, καὶ πάνυ μοι χαριῇ, εἴτε Ἀσπασίας βούλει λέγειν εἴτε ὁτουοῦν: ἀλλὰ μόνον εἰπέ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως μου καταγελάσῃ, ἄν σοι δόξω πρεσβύτης ὢν ἔτι παίζειν.

Μενέξενος: οὐδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ εἰπὲ παντὶ τρόπῳ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μέντοι σοί γε δεῖ χαρίζεσθαι, ὥστε κἂν ὀλίγου, [236d] εἴ με κελεύοις ἀποδύντα ὀρχήσασθαι, χαρισαίμην ἄν, ἐπειδή γε μόνω ἐσμέν. ἀλλ᾽ ἄκουε. ἔλεγε γάρ, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἀρξαμένη λέγειν ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν τῶν τεθνεώτων οὑτωσί.

ἔργῳ μὲν ἡμῖν οἵδε ἔχουσιν τὰ προσήκοντα σφίσιν αὐτοῖς, ὧν τυχόντες πορεύονται τὴν εἱμαρμένην πορείαν, προπεμφθέντες κοινῇ μὲν ὑπὸ τῆς πόλεως, ἰδίᾳ δὲ ὑπὸ τῶν οἰκείων: λόγῳ δὲ δὴ τὸν λειπόμενον κόσμον ὅ τε νόμος προστάττει [236e] ἀποδοῦναι τοῖς ἀνδράσιν καὶ χρή. ἔργων γὰρ εὖ πραχθέντων λόγῳ καλῶς ῥηθέντι μνήμη καὶ κόσμος τοῖς πράξασι γίγνεται παρὰ τῶν ἀκουσάντων: δεῖ δὴ τοιούτου τινὸς λόγου ὅστις τοὺς μὲν τετελευτηκότας ἱκανῶς ἐπαινέσεται, τοῖς δὲ ζῶσιν εὐμενῶς παραινέσεται, ἐκγόνοις μὲν καὶ ἀδελφοῖς μιμεῖσθαι τὴν τῶνδε ἀρετὴν παρακελευόμενος, πατέρας δὲ καὶ μητέρας καὶ εἴ τινες τῶν ἄνωθεν ἔτι προγόνων λείπονται, τούτους δὲ [237a] παραμυθούμενος. τίς οὖν ἂν ἡμῖν τοιοῦτος λόγος φανείη; ἢ πόθεν ἂν ὀρθῶς ἀρξαίμεθα ἄνδρας ἀγαθοὺς ἐπαινοῦντες, οἳ ζῶντές τε τοὺς ἑαυτῶν ηὔφραινον δι᾽ ἀρετήν, καὶ τὴν τελευτὴν ἀντὶ τῆς τῶν ζώντων σωτηρίας ἠλλάξαντο; δοκεῖ μοι χρῆναι κατὰ φύσιν, ὥσπερ ἀγαθοὶ ἐγένοντο, οὕτω καὶ ἐπαινεῖν αὐτούς. ἀγαθοὶ δὲ ἐγένοντο διὰ τὸ φῦναι ἐξ ἀγαθῶν. τὴν εὐγένειαν οὖν πρῶτον αὐτῶν ἐγκωμιάζωμεν, δεύτερον δὲ τροφήν [237b] τε καὶ παιδείαν: ἐπὶ δὲ τούτοις τὴν τῶν ἔργων πρᾶξιν ἐπιδείξωμεν, ὡς καλὴν καὶ ἀξίαν τούτων ἀπεφήναντο. τῆς δ᾽ εὐγενείας πρῶτον ὑπῆρξε τοῖσδε ἡ τῶν προγόνων γένεσις οὐκ ἔπηλυς οὖσα, οὐδὲ τοὺς ἐκγόνους τούτους ἀποφηναμένη μετοικοῦντας ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ ἄλλοθεν σφῶν ἡκόντων, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτόχθονας καὶ τῷ ὄντι ἐν πατρίδι οἰκοῦντας καὶ ζῶντας, καὶ τρεφομένους οὐχ ὑπὸ μητρυιᾶς ὡς οἱ ἄλλοι, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ [237c] μητρὸς τῆς χώρας ἐν ᾗ ᾤκουν, καὶ νῦν κεῖσθαι τελευτήσαντας ἐν οἰκείοις τόποις τῆς τεκούσης καὶ θρεψάσης καὶ ὑποδεξαμένης. δικαιότατον δὴ κοσμῆσαι πρῶτον τὴν μητέρα αὐτήν: οὕτω γὰρ συμβαίνει ἅμα καὶ ἡ τῶνδε εὐγένεια κοσμουμένη.

ἔστι δὲ ἀξία ἡ χώρα καὶ ὑπὸ πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἐπαινεῖσθαι, οὐ μόνον ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν, πολλαχῇ μὲν καὶ ἄλλῃ, πρῶτον δὲ καὶ μέγιστον ὅτι τυγχάνει οὖσα θεοφιλής. μαρτυρεῖ δὲ ἡμῶν τῷ λόγῳ ἡ τῶν ἀμφισβητησάντων περὶ αὐτῆς θεῶν [237d] ἔρις τε καὶ κρίσις: ἣν δὴ θεοὶ ἐπῄνεσαν, πῶς οὐχ ὑπ᾽ ἀνθρώπων γε συμπάντων δικαία ἐπαινεῖσθαι; δεύτερος δὲ ἔπαινος δικαίως ἂν αὐτῆς εἴη, ὅτι ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ χρόνῳ, ἐν ᾧ ἡ πᾶσα γῆ ἀνεδίδου καὶ ἔφυε ζῷα παντοδαπά, θηρία τε καὶ βοτά, ἐν τούτῳ ἡ ἡμετέρα θηρίων μὲν ἀγρίων ἄγονος καὶ καθαρὰ ἐφάνη, ἐξελέξατο δὲ τῶν ζῴων καὶ ἐγέννησεν ἄνθρωπον, ὃ συνέσει τε ὑπερέχει τῶν ἄλλων καὶ δίκην καὶ θεοὺς μόνον [237e] νομίζει. μέγα δὲ τεκμήριον τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ, ὅτι ἥδε ἔτεκεν ἡ γῆ τοὺς τῶνδέ τε καὶ ἡμετέρους προγόνους. πᾶν γὰρ τὸ τεκὸν τροφὴν ἔχει ἐπιτηδείαν ᾧ ἂν τέκῃ, ᾧ καὶ γυνὴ δήλη τεκοῦσά τε ἀληθῶς καὶ μή, ἀλλ᾽ ὑποβαλλομένη, ἐὰν μὴ ἔχῃ πηγὰς τροφῆς τῷ γεννωμένῳ. ὃ δὴ καὶ ἡ ἡμετέρα γῆ τε καὶ μήτηρ ἱκανὸν τεκμήριον παρέχεται ὡς ἀνθρώπους γεννησαμένη: μόνη γὰρ ἐν τῷ τότε καὶ πρώτη τροφὴν ἀνθρωπείαν [238a] ἤνεγκεν τὸν τῶν πυρῶν καὶ κριθῶν καρπόν, ᾧ κάλλιστα καὶ ἄριστα τρέφεται τὸ ἀνθρώπειον γένος, ὡς τῷ ὄντι τοῦτο τὸ ζῷον αὐτὴ γεννησαμένη. μᾶλλον δὲ ὑπὲρ γῆς ἢ γυναικὸς προσήκει δέχεσθαι τοιαῦτα τεκμήρια: οὐ γὰρ γῆ γυναῖκα μεμίμηται κυήσει καὶ γεννήσει, ἀλλὰ γυνὴ γῆν. τούτου δὲ τοῦ καρποῦ οὐκ ἐφθόνησεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔνειμεν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις. μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο ἐλαίου γένεσιν, πόνων ἀρωγήν, ἀνῆκεν τοῖς [238b] ἐκγόνοις: θρεψαμένη δὲ καὶ αὐξήσασα πρὸς ἥβην ἄρχοντας καὶ διδασκάλους αὐτῶν θεοὺς ἐπηγάγετο: ὧν τὰ μὲν ὀνόματα πρέπει ἐν τῷ τοιῷδε ἐᾶν ἴσμεν γάρ οἳ τὸν βίον ἡμῶν κατεσκεύασαν πρός τε τὴν καθ᾽ ἡμέραν δίαιταν, τέχνας πρώτους παιδευσάμενοι, καὶ πρὸς τὴν ὑπὲρ τῆς χώρας φυλακὴν ὅπλων κτῆσίν τε καὶ χρῆσιν διδαξάμενοι.

γεννηθέντες δὲ καὶ παιδευθέντες οὕτως οἱ τῶνδε πρόγονοι ᾤκουν πολιτείαν κατασκευασάμενοι, ἧς ὀρθῶς ἔχει διὰ βραχέων [238c] ἐπιμνησθῆναι. πολιτεία γὰρ τροφὴ ἀνθρώπων ἐστίν, καλὴ μὲν ἀγαθῶν, ἡ δὲ ἐναντία κακῶν. ὡς οὖν ἐν καλῇ πολιτείᾳ ἐτράφησαν οἱ πρόσθεν ἡμῶν, ἀναγκαῖον δηλῶσαι, δι᾽ ἣν δὴ κἀκεῖνοι ἀγαθοὶ καὶ οἱ νῦν εἰσιν, ὧν οἵδε τυγχάνουσιν ὄντες οἱ τετελευτηκότες. ἡ γὰρ αὐτὴ πολιτεία καὶ τότε ἦν καὶ νῦν, ἀριστοκρατία, ἐν ᾗ νῦν τε πολιτευόμεθα καὶ τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον ἐξ ἐκείνου ὡς τὰ πολλά. καλεῖ δὲ ὁ μὲν αὐτὴν [238d] δημοκρατίαν, ὁ δὲ ἄλλο, ᾧ ἂν χαίρῃ, ἔστι δὲ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ μετ᾽ εὐδοξίας πλήθους ἀριστοκρατία. βασιλῆς μὲν γὰρ ἀεὶ ἡμῖν εἰσιν: οὗτοι δὲ τοτὲ μὲν ἐκ γένους, τοτὲ δὲ αἱρετοί: ἐγκρατὲς δὲ τῆς πόλεως τὰ πολλὰ τὸ πλῆθος, τὰς δὲ ἀρχὰς δίδωσι καὶ κράτος τοῖς ἀεὶ δόξασιν ἀρίστοις εἶναι, καὶ οὔτε ἀσθενείᾳ οὔτε πενίᾳ οὔτ᾽ ἀγνωσίᾳ πατέρων ἀπελήλαται οὐδεὶς οὐδὲ τοῖς ἐναντίοις τετίμηται, ὥσπερ ἐν ἄλλαις πόλεσιν, ἀλλὰ εἷς ὅρος, ὁ δόξας σοφὸς ἢ ἀγαθὸς εἶναι κρατεῖ καὶ ἄρχει. [238e] αἰτία δὲ ἡμῖν τῆς πολιτείας ταύτης ἡ ἐξ ἴσου γένεσις. αἱ μὲν γὰρ ἄλλαι πόλεις ἐκ παντοδαπῶν κατεσκευασμέναι ἀνθρώπων εἰσὶ καὶ ἀνωμάλων, ὥστε αὐτῶν ἀνώμαλοι καὶ αἱ πολιτεῖαι, τυραννίδες τε καὶ ὀλιγαρχίαι: οἰκοῦσιν οὖν ἔνιοι μὲν δούλους, οἱ δὲ δεσπότας ἀλλήλους νομίζοντες: ἡμεῖς δὲ καὶ οἱ ἡμέτεροι, [239a] μιᾶς μητρὸς πάντες ἀδελφοὶ φύντες, οὐκ ἀξιοῦμεν δοῦλοι οὐδὲ δεσπόται ἀλλήλων εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ ἡ ἰσογονία ἡμᾶς ἡ κατὰ φύσιν ἰσονομίαν ἀναγκάζει ζητεῖν κατὰ νόμον, καὶ μηδενὶ ἄλλῳ ὑπείκειν ἀλλήλοις ἢ ἀρετῆς δόξῃ καὶ φρονήσεως.

ὅθεν δὴ ἐν πάσῃ ἐλευθερίᾳ τεθραμμένοι οἱ τῶνδέ γε πατέρες καὶ οἱ ἡμέτεροι καὶ αὐτοὶ οὗτοι, καὶ καλῶς φύντες, πολλὰ δὴ καὶ καλὰ ἔργα ἀπεφήναντο εἰς πάντας ἀνθρώπους [239b] καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, οἰόμενοι δεῖν ὑπὲρ τῆς ἐλευθερίας καὶ Ἕλλησιν ὑπὲρ Ἑλλήνων μάχεσθαι καὶ βαρβάροις ὑπὲρ ἁπάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων. Εὐμόλπου μὲν οὖν καὶ Ἀμαζόνων ἐπιστρατευσάντων ἐπὶ τὴν χώραν καὶ τῶν ἔτι προτέρων ὡς ἠμύναντο, καὶ ὡς ἤμυναν Ἀργείοις πρὸς Καδμείους καὶ Ἡρακλείδαις πρὸς Ἀργείους, ὅ τε χρόνος βραχὺς ἀξίως διηγήσασθαι, ποιηταί τε αὐτῶν ἤδη καλῶς τὴν ἀρετὴν ἐν μουσικῇ ὑμνήσαντες εἰς πάντας μεμηνύκασιν: ἐὰν οὖν ἡμεῖς [239c] ἐπιχειρῶμεν τὰ αὐτὰ λόγῳ ψιλῷ κοσμεῖν, τάχ᾽ ἂν δεύτεροι φαινοίμεθα. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν διὰ ταῦτα δοκεῖ μοι ἐᾶν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ἔχει τὴν ἀξίαν: ὧν δὲ οὔτε ποιητής πω δόξαν ἀξίαν ἐπ᾽ ἀξίοις λαβὼν ἔχει ἔτι τέ ἐστιν ἐν ἀμνηστίᾳ, τούτων πέρι μοι δοκεῖ χρῆναι ἐπιμνησθῆναι ἐπαινοῦντά τε καὶ προμνώμενον ἄλλοις ἐς ᾠδάς τε καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ποίησιν αὐτὰ θεῖναι πρεπόντως τῶν πραξάντων. ἔστιν δὲ τούτων ὧν λέγω [239d] πρῶτα: Πέρσας ἡγουμένους τῆς Ἀσίας καὶ δουλουμένους τὴν Εὐρώπην ἔσχον οἱ τῆσδε τῆς χώρας ἔκγονοι, γονῆς δὲ ἡμέτεροι, ὧν καὶ δίκαιον καὶ χρὴ πρῶτον μεμνημένους ἐπαινέσαι αὐτῶν τὴν ἀρετήν. δεῖ δὴ αὐτὴν ἰδεῖν, εἰ μέλλει τις καλῶς ἐπαινεῖν, ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ χρόνῳ γενόμενον λόγῳ, ὅτε πᾶσα μὲν ἡ Ἀσία ἐδούλευε τρίτῳ ἤδη βασιλεῖ, ὧν ὁ μὲν πρῶτος Κῦρος ἐλευθερώσας Πέρσας τοὺς αὑτοῦ πολίτας τῷ αὑτοῦ φρονήματι [239e] ἅμα καὶ τοὺς δεσπότας Μήδους ἐδουλώσατο καὶ τῆς ἄλλης Ἀσίας μέχρι Αἰγύπτου ἦρξεν, ὁ δὲ ὑὸς Αἰγύπτου τε καὶ Λιβύης ὅσον οἷόν τ᾽ ἦν ἐπιβαίνειν, τρίτος δὲ Δαρεῖος πεζῇ μὲν μέχρι Σκυθῶν τὴν ἀρχὴν ὡρίσατο, ναυσὶ δὲ τῆς τε [240a] θαλάττης ἐκράτει καὶ τῶν νήσων, ὥστε μηδὲ ἀξιοῦν ἀντίπαλον αὐτῷ μηδένα εἶναι: αἱ δὲ γνῶμαι δεδουλωμέναι ἁπάντων ἀνθρώπων ἦσαν: οὕτω πολλὰ καὶ μεγάλα καὶ μάχιμα γένη καταδεδουλωμένη ἦν ἡ Περσῶν ἀρχή. αἰτιασάμενος δὲ Δαρεῖος ἡμᾶς τε καὶ Ἐρετριᾶς, Σάρδεσιν ἐπιβουλεῦσαι προφασιζόμενος, πέμψας μυριάδας μὲν πεντήκοντα ἔν τε πλοίοις καὶ ναυσίν, ναῦς δὲ τριακοσίας, Δᾶτιν δὲ ἄρχοντα, εἶπεν ἥκειν ἄγοντα Ἐρετριᾶς καὶ Ἀθηναίους, εἰ βούλοιτο τὴν [240b] ἑαυτοῦ κεφαλὴν ἔχειν: ὁ δὲ πλεύσας εἰς Ἐρέτριαν ἐπ᾽ ἄνδρας οἳ τῶν τότε Ἑλλήνων ἐν τοῖς εὐδοκιμώτατοι ἦσαν τὰ πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον καὶ οὐκ ὀλίγοι, τούτους ἐχειρώσατο μὲν ἐν τρισὶν ἡμέραις, διηρευνήσατο δὲ αὐτῶν πᾶσαν τὴν χώραν, ἵνα μηδεὶς ἀποφύγοι, τοιούτῳ τρόπῳ: ἐπὶ τὰ ὅρια ἐλθόντες τῆς Ἐρετρικῆς οἱ στρατιῶται αὐτοῦ, ἐκ θαλάττης εἰς θάλατταν διαστάντες, συνάψαντες τὰς χεῖρας διῆλθον ἅπασαν τὴν [240c] χώραν, ἵν᾽ ἔχοιεν τῷ βασιλεῖ εἰπεῖν ὅτι οὐδεὶς σφᾶς ἀποπεφευγὼς εἴη. τῇ δ᾽ αὐτῇ διανοίᾳ κατηγάγοντο ἐξ Ἐρετρίας εἰς Μαραθῶνα, ὡς ἕτοιμόν σφισιν ὂν καὶ Ἀθηναίους ἐν τῇ αὐτῇ ταύτῃ ἀνάγκῃ ζεύξαντας Ἐρετριεῦσιν ἄγειν. τούτων δὲ τῶν μὲν πραχθέντων, τῶν δ᾽ ἐπιχειρουμένων οὔτ᾽ Ἐρετριεῦσιν ἐβοήθησεν Ἑλλήνων οὐδεὶς οὔτε Ἀθηναίοις πλὴν Λακεδαιμονίων οὗτοι δὲ τῇ ὑστεραίᾳ τῆς μάχης ἀφίκοντο οἱ δ᾽ ἄλλοι πάντες ἐκπεπληγμένοι, ἀγαπῶντες τὴν [240d] ἐν τῷ παρόντι σωτηρίαν, ἡσυχίαν ἦγον. ἐν τούτῳ δὴ ἄν τις γενόμενος γνοίη οἷοι ἄρα ἐτύγχανον ὄντες τὴν ἀρετὴν οἱ Μαραθῶνι δεξάμενοι τὴν τῶν βαρβάρων δύναμιν καὶ κολασάμενοι τὴν ὑπερηφανίαν ὅλης τῆς Ἀσίας καὶ πρῶτοι στήσαντες τρόπαια τῶν βαρβάρων, ἡγεμόνες καὶ διδάσκαλοι τοῖς ἄλλοις γενόμενοι ὅτι οὐκ ἄμαχος εἴη ἡ Περσῶν δύναμις, ἀλλὰ πᾶν πλῆθος καὶ πᾶς πλοῦτος ἀρετῇ ὑπείκει. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ἐκείνους [240e] τοὺς ἄνδρας φημὶ οὐ μόνον τῶν σωμάτων τῶν ἡμετέρων πατέρας εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῆς ἐλευθερίας τῆς τε ἡμετέρας καὶ συμπάντων τῶν ἐν τῇδε τῇ ἠπείρῳ: εἰς ἐκεῖνο γὰρ τὸ ἔργον ἀποβλέψαντες καὶ τὰς ὑστέρας μάχας ἐτόλμησαν διακινδυνεύειν οἱ Ἕλληνες ὑπὲρ τῆς σωτηρίας, μαθηταὶ τῶν Μαραθῶνι γενόμενοι. τὰ μὲν οὖν ἀριστεῖα τῷ λόγῳ ἐκείνοις ἀναθετέον, [241a] τὰ δὲ δευτερεῖα τοῖς περὶ Σαλαμῖνα καὶ ἐπ᾽ Ἀρτεμισίῳ ναυμαχήσασι καὶ νικήσασι. καὶ γὰρ τούτων τῶν ἀνδρῶν πολλὰ μὲν ἄν τις ἔχοι διελθεῖν, καὶ οἷα ἐπιόντα ὑπέμειναν κατά τε γῆν καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν, καὶ ὡς ἠμύναντο ταῦτα: ὃ δέ μοι δοκεῖ καὶ ἐκείνων κάλλιστον εἶναι, τούτου μνησθήσομαι, ὅτι τὸ ἑξῆς ἔργον τοῖς Μαραθῶνι διεπράξαντο. οἱ μὲν γὰρ Μαραθῶνι τοσοῦτον μόνον ἐπέδειξαν τοῖς Ἕλλησιν, ὅτι [241b] κατὰ γῆν οἷόν τε ἀμύνασθαι τοὺς βαρβάρους ὀλίγοις πολλούς, ναυσὶ δὲ ἔτι ἦν ἄδηλον καὶ δόξαν εἶχον Πέρσαι ἄμαχοι εἶναι κατὰ θάλατταν καὶ πλήθει καὶ πλούτῳ καὶ τέχνῃ καὶ ῥώμῃ: τοῦτο δὴ ἄξιον ἐπαινεῖν τῶν ἀνδρῶν τῶν τότε ναυμαχησάντων, ὅτι τὸν ἐχόμενον φόβον διέλυσαν τῶν Ἑλλήνων καὶ ἔπαυσαν φοβουμένους πλῆθος νεῶν τε καὶ ἀνδρῶν. ὑπ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων δὴ συμβαίνει, τῶν τε Μαραθῶνι μαχεσαμένων καὶ τῶν ἐν [241c] Σαλαμῖνι ναυμαχησάντων, παιδευθῆναι τοὺς ἄλλους Ἕλληνας, ὑπὸ μὲν τῶν κατὰ γῆν, ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν κατὰ θάλατταν μαθόντας καὶ ἐθισθέντας μὴ φοβεῖσθαι τοὺς βαρβάρους. τρίτον δὲ λέγω τὸ ἐν Πλαταιαῖς ἔργον καὶ ἀριθμῷ καὶ ἀρετῇ γενέσθαι τῆς Ἑλληνικῆς σωτηρίας, κοινὸν ἤδη τοῦτο Λακεδαιμονίων τε καὶ Ἀθηναίων. τὸ μὲν οὖν μέγιστον καὶ χαλεπώτατον οὗτοι πάντες ἠμύναντο, καὶ διὰ ταύτην τὴν ἀρετὴν νῦν τε ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν ἐγκωμιάζονται καὶ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα [241d] χρόνον ὑπὸ τῶν ὕστερον: μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο πολλαὶ μὲν πόλεις τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἔτι ἦσαν μετὰ τοῦ βαρβάρου, αὐτὸς δὲ ἠγγέλλετο βασιλεὺς διανοεῖσθαι ὡς ἐπιχειρήσων πάλιν ἐπὶ τοὺς Ἕλληνας. δίκαιον δὴ καὶ τούτων ἡμᾶς ἐπιμνησθῆναι, οἳ τοῖς τῶν προτέρων ἔργοις τέλος τῆς σωτηρίας ἐπέθεσαν ἀνακαθηράμενοι καὶ ἐξελάσαντες πᾶν τὸ βάρβαρον ἐκ τῆς θαλάττης. ἦσαν δὲ οὗτοι οἵ τε ἐπ᾽ Εὐρυμέδοντι ναυμαχήσαντες [241e] καὶ οἱ εἰς Κύπρον στρατεύσαντες καὶ οἱ εἰς Αἴγυπτον πλεύσαντες καὶ ἄλλοσε πολλαχόσε, ὧν χρὴ μεμνῆσθαι καὶ χάριν αὐτοῖς εἰδέναι, ὅτι βασιλέα ἐποίησαν δείσαντα τῇ ἑαυτοῦ σωτηρίᾳ τὸν νοῦν προσέχειν, ἀλλὰ μὴ τῇ τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐπιβουλεύειν φθορᾷ.
καὶ οὗτος μὲν δὴ πάσῃ τῇ πόλει διηντλήθη ὁ πόλεμος ὑπὲρ [242a] ἑαυτῶν τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὁμοφώνων πρὸς τοὺς βαρβάρους: εἰρήνης δὲ γενομένης καὶ τῆς πόλεως τιμωμένης ἦλθεν ἐπ᾽ αὐτήν, ὃ δὴ φιλεῖ ἐκ τῶν ἀνθρώπων τοῖς εὖ πράττουσι προσπίπτειν, πρῶτον μὲν ζῆλος, ἀπὸ ζήλου δὲ φθόνος: ὃ καὶ τήνδε τὴν πόλιν ἄκουσαν ἐν πολέμῳ τοῖς Ἕλλησι κατέστησεν. μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο γενομένου πολέμου, συνέβαλον μὲν ἐν Τανάγρᾳ ὑπὲρ τῆς Βοιωτῶν ἐλευθερίας Λακεδαιμονίοις [242b] μαχόμενοι, ἀμφισβητησίμου δὲ τῆς μάχης γενομένης, διέκρινε τὸ ὕστερον ἔργον: οἱ μὲν γὰρ ᾤχοντο ἀπιόντες, καταλιπόντες [Βοιωτοὺς] οἷς ἐβοήθουν, οἱ δ᾽ ἡμέτεροι τρίτῃ ἡμέρᾳ ἐν Οἰνοφύτοις νικήσαντες τοὺς ἀδίκως φεύγοντας δικαίως κατήγαγον. οὗτοι δὴ πρῶτοι μετὰ τὸν Περσικὸν πόλεμον, Ἕλλησιν ἤδη ὑπὲρ τῆς ἐλευθερίας βοηθοῦντες πρὸς Ἕλληνας, ἄνδρες ἀγαθοὶ [242c] γενόμενοι καὶ ἐλευθερώσαντες οἷς ἐβοήθουν, ἐν τῷδε τῷ μνήματι τιμηθέντες ὑπὸ τῆς πόλεως πρῶτοι ἐτέθησαν. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα πολλοῦ πολέμου γενομένου, καὶ πάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐπιστρατευσάντων καὶ τεμόντων τὴν χώραν καὶ ἀναξίαν χάριν ἐκτινόντων τῇ πόλει, νικήσαντες αὐτοὺς ναυμαχίᾳ οἱ ἡμέτεροι καὶ λαβόντες αὐτῶν τοὺς ἡγεμόνας Λακεδαιμονίους ἐν τῇ Σφαγίᾳ, ἐξὸν αὐτοῖς διαφθεῖραι ἐφείσαντο [242d] καὶ ἀπέδοσαν καὶ εἰρήνην ἐποιήσαντο, ἡγούμενοι πρὸς μὲν τὸ ὁμόφυλον μέχρι νίκης δεῖν πολεμεῖν, καὶ μὴ δι᾽ ὀργὴν ἰδίαν πόλεως τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Ἑλλήνων διολλύναι, πρὸς δὲ τοὺς βαρβάρους μέχρι διαφθορᾶς. τούτους δὴ ἄξιον ἐπαινέσαι τοὺς ἄνδρας, οἳ τοῦτον τὸν πόλεμον πολεμήσαντες ἐνθάδε κεῖνται, ὅτι ἐπέδειξαν, εἴ τις ἄρα ἠμφεσβήτει ὡς ἐν τῷ προτέρῳ πολέμῳ τῷ πρὸς τοὺς βαρβάρους ἄλλοι τινὲς εἶεν ἀμείνους Ἀθηναίων, ὅτι οὐκ ἀληθῆ ἀμφισβητοῖεν: οὗτοι [242e] γὰρ ἐνταῦθα ἔδειξαν, στασιασάσης τῆς Ἑλλάδος περιγενόμενοι τῷ πολέμῳ, τοὺς προεστῶτας τῶν ἄλλων Ἑλλήνων χειρωσάμενοι, μεθ᾽ ὧν τότε τοὺς βαρβάρους ἐνίκων κοινῇ, τούτους νικῶντες ἰδίᾳ. τρίτος δὲ πόλεμος μετὰ ταύτην τὴν εἰρήνην ἀνέλπιστός τε καὶ δεινὸς ἐγένετο, ἐν ᾧ πολλοὶ καὶ ἀγαθοὶ τελευτήσαντες ἐνθάδε κεῖνται, πολλοὶ μὲν ἀμφὶ Σικελίαν [243a] πλεῖστα τρόπαια στήσαντες ὑπὲρ τῆς Λεοντίνων ἐλευθερίας, οἷς βοηθοῦντες διὰ τοὺς ὅρκους ἔπλευσαν εἰς ἐκείνους τοὺς τόπους, διὰ δὲ μῆκος τοῦ πλοῦ εἰς ἀπορίαν τῆς πόλεως καταστάσης καὶ οὐ δυναμένης αὐτοῖς ὑπηρετεῖν, τούτῳ ἀπειπόντες ἐδυστύχησαν: ὧν οἱ ἐχθροὶ καὶ προσπολεμήσαντες πλείω ἔπαινον ἔχουσι σωφροσύνης καὶ ἀρετῆς ἢ τῶν ἄλλων οἱ φίλοι: πολλοὶ δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς ναυμαχίαις ταῖς καθ᾽ Ἑλλήσποντον, μιᾷ μὲν ἡμέρᾳ πάσας τὰς τῶν πολεμίων [243b] ἑλόντες ναῦς, πολλὰς δὲ καὶ ἄλλας νικήσαντες: ὃ δ᾽ εἶπον δεινὸν καὶ ἀνέλπιστον τοῦ πολέμου γενέσθαι, τόδε λέγω τὸ εἰς τοσοῦτον φιλονικίας ἐλθεῖν πρὸς τὴν πόλιν τοὺς ἄλλους Ἕλληνας, ὥστε τολμῆσαι τῷ ἐχθίστῳ ἐπικηρυκεύσασθαι βασιλεῖ, ὃν κοινῇ ἐξέβαλον μεθ᾽ ἡμῶν, ἰδίᾳ τοῦτον πάλιν ἐπάγεσθαι, βάρβαρον ἐφ᾽ Ἕλληνας, καὶ συναθροῖσαι ἐπὶ τὴν πόλιν πάντας Ἕλληνάς τε καὶ βαρβάρους. οὗ δὴ καὶ [243c] ἐκφανὴς ἐγένετο ἡ τῆς πόλεως ῥώμη τε καὶ ἀρετή. οἰομένων γὰρ ἤδη αὐτὴν καταπεπολεμῆσθαι καὶ ἀπειλημμένων ἐν Μυτιλήνῃ τῶν νεῶν, βοηθήσαντες ἑξήκοντα ναυσίν, αὐτοὶ ἐμβάντες εἰς τὰς ναῦς, καὶ ἄνδρες γενόμενοι ὁμολογουμένως ἄριστοι, νικήσαντες μὲν τοὺς πολεμίους, λυσάμενοι δὲ τοὺς φιλίους, ἀναξίου τύχης τυχόντες, οὐκ ἀναιρεθέντες ἐκ τῆς θαλάττης κεῖνται ἐνθάδε. ὧν χρὴ ἀεὶ μεμνῆσθαί τε καὶ [243d] ἐπαινεῖν: τῇ μὲν γὰρ ἐκείνων ἀρετῇ ἐνικήσαμεν οὐ μόνον τὴν τότε ναυμαχίαν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸν ἄλλον πόλεμον: δόξαν γὰρ δι᾽ αὐτοὺς ἡ πόλις ἔσχεν μή ποτ᾽ ἂν καταπολεμηθῆναι μηδ᾽ ὑπὸ πάντων ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἀληθῆ ἔδοξεν τῇ δὲ ἡμετέρᾳ αὐτῶν διαφορᾷ ἐκρατήθημεν, οὐχ ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων: ἀήττητοι γὰρ ἔτι καὶ νῦν ὑπό γε ἐκείνων ἐσμέν, ἡμεῖς δὲ αὐτοὶ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς καὶ ἐνικήσαμεν καὶ ἡττήθημεν. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα [243e] ἡσυχίας γενομένης καὶ εἰρήνης πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους, ὁ οἰκεῖος ἡμῖν πόλεμος οὕτως ἐπολεμήθη, ὥστε εἴπερ εἱμαρμένον εἴη ἀνθρώποις στασιάσαι, μὴ ἂν ἄλλως εὔξασθαι μηδένα πόλιν ἑαυτοῦ νοσῆσαι. ἔκ τε γὰρ τοῦ Πειραιῶς καὶ τοῦ ἄστεως ὡς ἁσμένως καὶ οἰκείως ἀλλήλοις συνέμειξαν οἱ πολῖται καὶ παρ᾽ ἐλπίδα τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησι, τόν τε πρὸς τοὺς Ἐλευσῖνι [244a] πόλεμον ὡς μετρίως ἔθεντο: καὶ τούτων ἁπάντων οὐδὲν ἄλλ᾽ αἴτιον ἢ ἡ τῷ ὄντι συγγένεια, φιλίαν βέβαιον καὶ ὁμόφυλον οὐ λόγῳ ἀλλ᾽ ἔργῳ παρεχομένη. χρὴ δὲ καὶ τῶν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ πολέμῳ τελευτησάντων ὑπ᾽ ἀλλήλων μνείαν ἔχειν καὶ διαλλάττειν αὐτοὺς ᾧ δυνάμεθα, εὐχαῖς καὶ θυσίαις, ἐν τοῖς τοιοῖσδε, τοῖς κρατοῦσιν αὐτῶν εὐχομένους, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ἡμεῖς διηλλάγμεθα. οὐ γὰρ κακίᾳ ἀλλήλων ἥψαντο οὐδ᾽ ἔχθρᾳ [244b] ἀλλὰ δυστυχίᾳ. μάρτυρες δὲ ἡμεῖς αὐτοί ἐσμεν τούτων οἱ ζῶντες: οἱ αὐτοὶ γὰρ ὄντες ἐκείνοις γένει συγγνώμην ἀλλήλοις ἔχομεν ὧν τ᾽ ἐποιήσαμεν ὧν τ᾽ ἐπάθομεν. μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο παντελῶς εἰρήνης ἡμῖν γενομένης, ἡσυχίαν ἦγεν ἡ πόλις, τοῖς μὲν βαρβάροις συγγιγνώσκουσα, ὅτι παθόντες ὑπ᾽ αὐτῆς κακῶς [ἱκανῶς] οὐκ ἐνδεῶς ἠμύναντο, τοῖς δὲ Ἕλλησιν ἀγανακτοῦσα, μεμνημένη ὡς εὖ παθόντες ὑπ᾽ αὐτῆς οἵαν [244c] χάριν ἀπέδοσαν, κοινωσάμενοι τοῖς βαρβάροις, τάς τε ναῦς περιελόμενοι αἵ ποτ᾽ ἐκείνους ἔσωσαν, καὶ τείχη καθελόντες ἀνθ᾽ ὧν ἡμεῖς τἀκείνων ἐκωλύσαμεν πεσεῖν: διανοουμένη δὲ ἡ πόλις μὴ ἂν ἔτι ἀμῦναι μήτε Ἕλλησι πρὸς ἀλλήλων δουλουμένοις μήτε ὑπὸ βαρβάρων, οὕτως ᾤκει. ἡμῶν οὖν ἐν τοιαύτῃ διανοίᾳ ὄντων ἡγησάμενοι Λακεδαιμόνιοι τοὺς μὲν τῆς ἐλευθερίας ἐπικούρους πεπτωκέναι ἡμᾶς, σφέτερον δὲ ἤδη [244d] ἔργον εἶναι καταδουλοῦσθαι τοὺς ἄλλους, ταῦτ᾽ ἔπραττον. καὶ μηκύνειν μὲν τί δεῖ; οὐ γὰρ πάλαι οὐδὲ παλαιῶν ἀνθρώπων γεγονότα λέγοιμ᾽ ἂν τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα: αὐτοὶ γὰρ ἴσμεν ὡς ἐκπεπληγμένοι ἀφίκοντο εἰς χρείαν τῆς πόλεως τῶν τε Ἑλλήνων οἱ πρῶτοι, Ἀργεῖοι καὶ Βοιωτοὶ καὶ Κορίνθιοι, καὶ τό γε θειότατον πάντων, τὸ καὶ βασιλέα εἰς τοῦτο ἀπορίας ἀφικέσθαι, ὥστε περιστῆναι αὐτῷ μηδαμόθεν ἄλλοθεν τὴν σωτηρίαν γενέσθαι ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἐκ ταύτης τῆς πόλεως, ἣν προθύμως [244e] ἀπώλλυ. καὶ δὴ καὶ εἴ τις βούλοιτο τῆς πόλεως κατηγορῆσαι δικαίως, τοῦτ᾽ ἂν μόνον λέγων ὀρθῶς ἂν κατηγοροῖ, ὡς ἀεὶ λίαν φιλοικτίρμων ἐστὶ καὶ τοῦ ἥττονος θεραπίς. καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ οὐχ οἵα τε ἐγένετο καρτερῆσαι οὐδὲ διαφυλάξαι ἃ ἐδέδοκτο αὐτῇ, τὸ μηδενὶ δουλουμένῳ βοηθεῖν [245a] τῶν σφᾶς ἀδικησάντων, ἀλλὰ ἐκάμφθη καὶ ἐβοήθησεν, καὶ τοὺς μὲν Ἕλληνας αὐτὴ βοηθήσασα ἀπελύσατο δουλείας, ὥστ᾽ ἐλευθέρους εἶναι μέχρι οὗ πάλιν αὐτοὶ αὑτοὺς κατεδουλώσαντο, βασιλεῖ δὲ αὐτὴ μὲν οὐκ ἐτόλμησεν βοηθῆσαι, αἰσχυνομένη τὰ τρόπαια τά τε Μαραθῶνι καὶ Σαλαμῖνι καὶ Πλαταιαῖς, φυγάδας δὲ καὶ ἐθελοντὰς ἐάσασα μόνον βοηθῆσαι ὁμολογουμένως ἔσωσεν. τειχισαμένη δὲ καὶ ναυπηγησαμένη, [245b] ἐκδεξαμένη τὸν πόλεμον, ἐπειδὴ ἠναγκάσθη πολεμεῖν, ὑπὲρ Παρίων ἐπολέμει Λακεδαιμονίοις. φοβηθεὶς δὲ βασιλεὺς τὴν πόλιν, ἐπειδὴ ἑώρα Λακεδαιμονίους τῷ κατὰ θάλατταν πολέμῳ ἀπαγορεύοντας, ἀποστῆναι βουλόμενος ἐξῄτει τοὺς Ἕλληνας τοὺς ἐν τῇ ἠπείρῳ, οὕσπερ πρότερον Λακεδαιμόνιοι αὐτῷ ἐξέδοσαν, εἰ μέλλοι συμμαχήσειν ἡμῖν τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις συμμάχοις, ἡγούμενος οὐκ ἐθελήσειν, ἵν᾽ αὐτῷ πρόφασις εἴη [245c] τῆς ἀποστάσεως. καὶ τῶν μὲν ἄλλων συμμάχων ἐψεύσθη: ἠθέλησαν γὰρ αὐτῷ ἐκδιδόναι καὶ συνέθεντο καὶ ὤμοσαν Κορίνθιοι καὶ Ἀργεῖοι καὶ Βοιωτοὶ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι σύμμαχοι, εἰ μέλλοι χρήματα παρέξειν, ἐκδώσειν τοὺς ἐν τῇ ἠπείρῳ Ἕλληνας: μόνοι δὲ ἡμεῖς οὐκ ἐτολμήσαμεν οὔτε ἐκδοῦναι οὔτε ὀμόσαι. οὕτω δή τοι τό γε τῆς πόλεως γενναῖον καὶ ἐλεύθερον βέβαιόν τε καὶ ὑγιές ἐστιν καὶ φύσει μισοβάρβαρον, [245d] διὰ τὸ εἰλικρινῶς εἶναι Ἕλληνας καὶ ἀμιγεῖς βαρβάρων. οὐ γὰρ Πέλοπες οὐδὲ Κάδμοι οὐδὲ Αἴγυπτοί τε καὶ Δαναοὶ οὐδὲ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ φύσει μὲν βάρβαροι ὄντες, νόμῳ δὲ Ἕλληνες, συνοικοῦσιν ἡμῖν, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτοὶ Ἕλληνες, οὐ μειξοβάρβαροι οἰκοῦμεν, ὅθεν καθαρὸν τὸ μῖσος ἐντέτηκε τῇ πόλει τῆς ἀλλοτρίας φύσεως. ὅμως δ᾽ οὖν ἐμονώθημεν πάλιν [245e] διὰ τὸ μὴ ἐθέλειν αἰσχρὸν καὶ ἀνόσιον ἔργον ἐργάσασθαι Ἕλληνας βαρβάροις ἐκδόντες. ἐλθόντες οὖν εἰς ταὐτὰ ἐξ ὧν καὶ τὸ πρότερον κατεπολεμήθημεν, σὺν θεῷ ἄμεινον ἢ τότε ἐθέμεθα τὸν πόλεμον: καὶ γὰρ ναῦς καὶ τείχη ἔχοντες καὶ τὰς ἡμετέρας αὐτῶν ἀποικίας ἀπηλλάγημεν τοῦ πολέμου οὕτως, <ὥστ᾽> ἀγαπητῶς ἀπηλλάττοντο καὶ οἱ πολέμιοι.

ἀνδρῶν μέντοι ἀγαθῶν καὶ ἐν τούτῳ τῷ πολέμῳ ἐστερήθημεν, τῶν τε ἐν Κορίνθῳ χρησαμένων δυσχωρίᾳ καὶ ἐν Λεχαίῳ [246a] προδοσίᾳ: ἀγαθοὶ δὲ καὶ οἱ βασιλέα ἐλευθερώσαντες καὶ ἐκβαλόντες ἐκ τῆς θαλάττης Λακεδαιμονίους: ὧν ἐγὼ μὲν ὑμᾶς ἀναμιμνῄσκω, ὑμᾶς δὲ πρέπει συνεπαινεῖν τε καὶ κοσμεῖν τοιούτους ἄνδρας.

καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ ἔργα ταῦτα τῶν ἀνδρῶν τῶν ἐνθάδε κειμένων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσοι ὑπὲρ τῆς πόλεως τετελευτήκασι, πολλὰ μὲν τὰ εἰρημένα καὶ καλά, πολὺ δ᾽ ἔτι πλείω καὶ καλλίω τὰ [246b] ὑπολειπόμενα: πολλαὶ γὰρ ἂν ἡμέραι καὶ νύκτες οὐχ ἱκαναὶ γένοιντο τῷ τὰ πάντα μέλλοντι περαίνειν. τούτων οὖν χρὴ μεμνημένους τοῖς τούτων ἐκγόνοις πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα παρακελεύεσθαι, ὥσπερ ἐν πολέμῳ, μὴ λείπειν τὴν τάξιν τὴν τῶν προγόνων μηδ᾽ εἰς τοὐπίσω ἀναχωρεῖν εἴκοντας κάκῃ. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν καὶ αὐτός, ὦ παῖδες ἀνδρῶν ἀγαθῶν, νῦν τε παρακελεύομαι καὶ ἐν τῷ λοιπῷ χρόνῳ, ὅπου ἄν τῳ ἐντυγχάνω [246c] ὑμῶν, καὶ ἀναμνήσω καὶ διακελεύσομαι προθυμεῖσθαι εἶναι ὡς ἀρίστους: ἐν δὲ τῷ παρόντι δίκαιός εἰμι εἰπεῖν ἃ οἱ πατέρες ἡμῖν ἐπέσκηπτον ἀπαγγέλλειν τοῖς ἀεὶ λειπομένοις, εἴ τι πάσχοιεν, ἡνίκα κινδυνεύσειν ἔμελλον. φράσω δὲ ὑμῖν ἅ τε αὐτῶν ἤκουσα ἐκείνων καὶ οἷα νῦν ἡδέως ἂν εἴποιεν ὑμῖν λαβόντες δύναμιν, τεκμαιρόμενος ἐξ ὧν τότε ἔλεγον. ἀλλὰ νομίζειν χρὴ αὐτῶν ἀκούειν ἐκείνων ἃ ἂν ἀπαγγέλλω: ἔλεγον δὲ τάδε [246d]

ὦ παῖδες, ὅτι μέν ἐστε πατέρων ἀγαθῶν, αὐτὸ μηνύει τὸ νῦν παρόν: ἡμῖν δὲ ἐξὸν ζῆν μὴ καλῶς, καλῶς αἱρούμεθα μᾶλλον τελευτᾶν, πρὶν ὑμᾶς τε καὶ τοὺς ἔπειτα εἰς ὀνείδη καταστῆσαι καὶ πρὶν τοὺς ἡμετέρους πατέρας καὶ πᾶν τὸ πρόσθεν γένος αἰσχῦναι, ἡγούμενοι τῷ τοὺς αὑτοῦ αἰσχύναντι ἀβίωτον εἶναι, καὶ τῷ τοιούτῳ οὔτε τινὰ ἀνθρώπων οὔτε θεῶν φίλον εἶναι οὔτ᾽ ἐπὶ γῆς οὔθ᾽ ὑπὸ γῆς τελευτήσαντι. χρὴ οὖν μεμνημένους τῶν ἡμετέρων λόγων, ἐάν τι καὶ ἄλλο [246e] ἀσκῆτε, ἀσκεῖν μετ᾽ ἀρετῆς, εἰδότας ὅτι τούτου λειπόμενα πάντα καὶ κτήματα καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα αἰσχρὰ καὶ κακά. οὔτε γὰρ πλοῦτος κάλλος φέρει τῷ κεκτημένῳ μετ᾽ ἀνανδρίας ἄλλῳ γὰρ ὁ τοιοῦτος πλουτεῖ καὶ οὐχ ἑαυτῷοὔτε σώματος κάλλος καὶ ἰσχὺς δειλῷ καὶ κακῷ συνοικοῦντα πρέποντα φαίνεται ἀλλ᾽ ἀπρεπῆ, καὶ ἐπιφανέστερον ποιεῖ τὸν ἔχοντα καὶ ἐκφαίνει τὴν δειλίαν: πᾶσά τε ἐπιστήμη χωριζομένη [247a] δικαιοσύνης καὶ τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς πανουργία, οὐ σοφία φαίνεται. ὧν ἕνεκα καὶ πρῶτον καὶ ὕστατον καὶ διὰ παντὸς πᾶσαν πάντως προθυμίαν πειρᾶσθε ἔχειν ὅπως μάλιστα μὲν ὑπερβαλεῖσθε καὶ ἡμᾶς καὶ τοὺς πρόσθεν εὐκλείᾳ: εἰ δὲ μή, ἴστε ὡς ἡμῖν, ἂν μὲν νικῶμεν ὑμᾶς ἀρετῇ, ἡ νίκη αἰσχύνην φέρει, ἡ δὲ ἧττα, ἐὰν ἡττώμεθα, εὐδαιμονίαν. μάλιστα δ᾽ ἂν νικῴμεθα καὶ ὑμεῖς νικῴητε, εἰ παρασκευάσαισθε τῇ τῶν [247b] προγόνων δόξῃ μὴ καταχρησόμενοι μηδ᾽ ἀναλώσοντες αὐτήν, γνόντες ὅτι ἀνδρὶ οἰομένῳ τὶ εἶναι οὐκ ἔστιν αἴσχιον οὐδὲν ἢ παρέχειν ἑαυτὸν τιμώμενον μὴ δι᾽ ἑαυτὸν ἀλλὰ διὰ δόξαν προγόνων. εἶναι μὲν γὰρ τιμὰς γονέων ἐκγόνοις καλὸς θησαυρὸς καὶ μεγαλοπρεπής: χρῆσθαι δὲ καὶ χρημάτων καὶ τιμῶν θησαυρῷ, καὶ μὴ τοῖς ἐκγόνοις παραδιδόναι, αἰσχρὸν καὶ ἄνανδρον, ἀπορίᾳ ἰδίων αὑτοῦ κτημάτων τε καὶ εὐδοξιῶν. [247c] καὶ ἐὰν μὲν ταῦτα ἐπιτηδεύσητε, φίλοι παρὰ φίλους ἡμᾶς ἀφίξεσθε, ὅταν ὑμᾶς ἡ προσήκουσα μοῖρα κομίσῃ: ἀμελήσαντας δὲ ὑμᾶς καὶ κακισθέντας οὐδεὶς εὐμενῶς ὑποδέξεται. τοῖς μὲν οὖν παισὶ ταῦτ᾽ εἰρήσθω.

πατέρας δὲ ἡμῶν, οἷς εἰσί, καὶ μητέρας ἀεὶ χρὴ παραμυθεῖσθαι ὡς ῥᾷστα φέρειν τὴν συμφοράν, ἐὰν ἄρα συμβῇ γενέσθαι, καὶ μὴ συνοδύρεσθαι οὐ γὰρ τοῦ λυπήσοντος [247d] προσδεήσονται: ἱκανὴ γὰρ ἔσται καὶ ἡ γενομένη τύχη τοῦτο πορίζειν ἀλλ᾽ ἰωμένους καὶ πραΰνοντας ἀναμιμνῄσκειν αὐτοὺς ὅτι ὧν ηὔχοντο τὰ μέγιστα αὐτοῖς οἱ θεοὶ ἐπήκοοι γεγόνασιν. οὐ γὰρ ἀθανάτους σφίσι παῖδας ηὔχοντο γενέσθαι ἀλλ᾽ ἀγαθοὺς καὶ εὐκλεεῖς, ὧν ἔτυχον, μεγίστων ἀγαθῶν ὄντων: πάντα δὲ οὐ ῥᾴδιον θνητῷ ἀνδρὶ κατὰ νοῦν ἐν τῷ ἑαυτοῦ βίῳ ἐκβαίνειν. καὶ φέροντες μὲν ἀνδρείως τὰς συμφορὰς δόξουσι τῷ ὄντι ἀνδρείων παίδων πατέρες εἶναι [247e] καὶ αὐτοὶ τοιοῦτοι, ὑπείκοντες δὲ ὑποψίαν παρέξουσιν ἢ μὴ ἡμέτεροι εἶναι ἢ ἡμῶν τοὺς ἐπαινοῦντας καταψεύδεσθαι: χρὴ δὲ οὐδέτερα τούτων, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνους μάλιστα ἡμῶν ἐπαινέτας εἶναι ἔργῳ, παρέχοντας αὑτοὺς φαινομένους τῷ ὄντι πατέρας ὄντας ἄνδρας ἀνδρῶν. πάλαι γὰρ δὴ τὸ μηδὲν ἄγαν λεγόμενον καλῶς δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι: τῷ γὰρ ὄντι εὖ λέγεται. ὅτῳ γὰρ ἀνδρὶ εἰς ἑαυτὸν ἀνήρτηται πάντα τὰ πρὸς εὐδαιμονίαν [248a] φέροντα ἢ ἐγγὺς τούτου, καὶ μὴ ἐν ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις αἰωρεῖται ἐξ ὧν ἢ εὖ ἢ κακῶς πραξάντων πλανᾶσθαι ἠνάγκασται καὶ τὰ ἐκείνου, τούτῳ ἄριστα παρεσκεύασται ζῆν, οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ σώφρων καὶ οὗτος ὁ ἀνδρεῖος καὶ φρόνιμος: οὗτος γιγνομένων χρημάτων καὶ παίδων καὶ διαφθειρομένων μάλιστα πείσεται τῇ παροιμίᾳ: οὔτε γὰρ χαίρων οὔτε λυπούμενος ἄγαν φανήσεται διὰ τὸ αὑτῷ πεποιθέναι. τοιούτους [248b] δὲ ἡμεῖς γε ἀξιοῦμεν καὶ τοὺς ἡμετέρους εἶναι καὶ βουλόμεθα καὶ φαμέν, καὶ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς νῦν παρέχομεν τοιούτους, οὐκ ἀγανακτοῦντας οὐδὲ φοβουμένους ἄγαν εἰ δεῖ τελευτᾶν ἐν τῷ παρόντι.

δεόμεθα δὴ καὶ πατέρων καὶ μητέρων τῇ αὐτῇ ταύτῃ διανοίᾳ χρωμένους τὸν ἐπίλοιπον βίον διάγειν, καὶ εἰδέναι ὅτι οὐ θρηνοῦντες οὐδὲ ὀλοφυρόμενοι ἡμᾶς ἡμῖν μάλιστα χαριοῦνται, ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τις ἔστι τοῖς τετελευτηκόσιν αἴσθησις [248c] τῶν ζώντων, οὕτως ἀχάριστοι εἶεν ἂν μάλιστα, ἑαυτούς τε κακοῦντες καὶ βαρέως φέροντες τὰς συμφοράς: κούφως δὲ καὶ μετρίως μάλιστ᾽ ἂν χαρίζοιντο. τὰ μὲν γὰρ ἡμέτερα τελευτὴν ἤδη ἕξει ἥπερ καλλίστη γίγνεται ἀνθρώποις, ὥστε πρέπει αὐτὰ μᾶλλον κοσμεῖν ἢ θρηνεῖν: γυναικῶν δὲ τῶν ἡμετέρων καὶ παίδων ἐπιμελούμενοι καὶ τρέφοντες καὶ ἐνταῦθα τὸν νοῦν τρέποντες τῆς τε τύχης μάλιστ᾽ ἂν εἶεν ἐν λήθῃ καὶ [248d] ζῷεν κάλλιον καὶ ὀρθότερον καὶ ἡμῖν προσφιλέστερον. ταῦτα δὴ ἱκανὰ τοῖς ἡμετέροις παρ᾽ ἡμῶν ἀγγέλλειν: τῇ δὲ πόλει παρακελευοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ὅπως ἡμῖν καὶ πατέρων καὶ ὑέων ἐπιμελήσονται, τοὺς μὲν παιδεύοντες κοσμίως, τοὺς δὲ γηροτροφοῦντες ἀξίως: νῦν δὲ ἴσμεν ὅτι καὶ ἐὰν μὴ ἡμεῖς παρακελευώμεθα, ἱκανῶς ἐπιμελήσεται.

ταῦτα οὖν, ὦ παῖδες καὶ γονῆς τῶν τελευτησάντων, ἐκεῖνοί [248e] τε ἐπέσκηπτον ἡμῖν ἀπαγγέλλειν, καὶ ἐγὼ ὡς δύναμαι προθυμότατα ἀπαγγέλλω: καὶ αὐτὸς δέομαι ὑπὲρ ἐκείνων, τῶν μὲν μιμεῖσθαι τοὺς αὑτῶν, τῶν δὲ θαρρεῖν ὑπὲρ αὑτῶν, ὡς ἡμῶν καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ γηροτροφησόντων ὑμᾶς καὶ ἐπιμελησομένων, ὅπου ἂν ἕκαστος ἑκάστῳ ἐντυγχάνῃ ὁτῳοῦν τῶν ἐκείνων. τῆς δὲ πόλεως ἴστε που καὶ αὐτοὶ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν, ὅτι νόμους θεμένη περὶ τοὺς τῶν ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ τελευτησάντων παῖδάς τε καὶ γεννήτορας ἐπιμελεῖται, καὶ διαφερόντως [249a] τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν προστέτακται φυλάττειν ἀρχῇ ἥπερ μεγίστη ἐστίν, ὅπως ἂν οἱ τούτων μὴ ἀδικῶνται πατέρες τε καὶ μητέρες: τοὺς δὲ παῖδας συνεκτρέφει αὐτή, προθυμουμένη ὅτι μάλιστ᾽ ἄδηλον αὐτοῖς τὴν ὀρφανίαν γενέσθαι, ἐν πατρὸς σχήματι καταστᾶσα αὐτοῖς αὐτὴ ἔτι τε παισὶν οὖσιν, καὶ ἐπειδὰν εἰς ἀνδρὸς τέλος ἴωσιν, ἀποπέμπει ἐπὶ τὰ σφέτερ᾽ αὐτῶν πανοπλίᾳ κοσμήσασα, ἐνδεικνυμένη καὶ ἀναμιμνῄσκουσα τὰ τοῦ πατρὸς ἐπιτηδεύματα ὄργανα τῆς πατρῴας [249b] ἀρετῆς διδοῦσα, καὶ ἅμα οἰωνοῦ χάριν ἄρχεσθαι ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὴν πατρῴαν ἑστίαν ἄρξοντα μετ᾽ ἰσχύος ὅπλοις κεκοσμημένον. αὐτοὺς δὲ τοὺς τελευτήσαντας τιμῶσα οὐδέποτε ἐκλείπει, καθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἐνιαυτὸν αὐτὴ τὰ νομιζόμενα ποιοῦσα κοινῇ πᾶσιν ἅπερ ἑκάστῳ ἰδίᾳ γίγνεται, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἀγῶνας γυμνικοὺς καὶ ἱππικοὺς τιθεῖσα καὶ μουσικῆς πάσης, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς τῶν μὲν τελευτησάντων ἐν κληρονόμου καὶ ὑέος [249c] μοίρᾳ καθεστηκυῖα, τῶν δὲ ὑέων ἐν πατρός, γονέων δὲ τῶν τούτων ἐν ἐπιτρόπου, πᾶσαν πάντων παρὰ πάντα τὸν χρόνον ἐπιμέλειαν ποιουμένη. ὧν χρὴ ἐνθυμουμένους πρᾳότερον φέρειν τὴν συμφοράν: τοῖς τε γὰρ τελευτήσασι καὶ τοῖς ζῶσιν οὕτως ἂν προσφιλέστατοι εἶτε καὶ ῥᾷστοι θεραπεύειν τε καὶ θεραπεύεσθαι. νῦν δὲ ἤδη ὑμεῖς τε καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες κοινῇ κατὰ τὸν νόμον τοὺς τετελευτηκότας ἀπολοφυράμενοι ἄπιτε. [249d]

οὗτός σοι ὁ λόγος, ὦ Μενέξενε, Ἀσπασίας τῆς Μιλησίας ἐστίν.

Μενέξενος: νὴ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, μακαρίαν γε λέγεις τὴν Ἀσπασίαν, εἰ γυνὴ οὖσα τοιούτους λόγους οἵα τ᾽ ἐστὶ συντιθέναι.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὴ πιστεύεις, ἀκολούθει μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ, καὶ ἀκούσῃ αὐτῆς λεγούσης.

Μενέξενος: πολλάκις, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐγὼ ἐντετύχηκα Ἀσπασίᾳ, καὶ οἶδα οἵα ἐστίν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; οὐκ ἄγασαι αὐτὴν καὶ νῦν χάριν ἔχεις τοῦ λόγου αὐτῇ;

Μενέξενος: καὶ πολλήν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐγὼ χάριν ἔχω τούτου [249e] τοῦ λόγου ἐκείνῃ ἢ ἐκείνῳ ὅστις σοι ὁ εἰπών ἐστιν αὐτόν: καὶ πρός γε ἄλλων πολλῶν χάριν ἔχω τῷ εἰπόντι.

Σωκράτης: εὖ ἂν ἔχοι: ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως μου μὴ κατερεῖς, ἵνα καὶ αὖθίς σοι πολλοὺς καὶ καλοὺς λόγους παρ᾽ αὐτῆς πολιτικοὺς ἀπαγγέλλω.

Μενέξενος: θάρρει, οὐ κατερῶ: μόνον ἀπάγγελλε.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ ταῦτ᾽ ἔσται.

SYMPOSIUM

Ἀπολλόδωρος

I. [172 a] Δοκῶ μοι περὶ ὧν πυνθάνεσθε οὐκ ἀμελέτητος εἶναι· καὶ γὰρ ἐτύγχανον πρώην εἰς ἄστυ οἴκοθεν ἀνιὼν Φαληρόθεν· τῶν οὖν γνωρίμων τις ὄπισθεν κατιδών με πόῤῥωθεν ἐκάλεσε, καὶ παίζων ἅμα τῇ κλήσει· Ὦ Φαληρεύς, ἔφη, οὗτος Ἀπολλόδωρος, οὐ περιμένεις; κἀγὼ ἐπιστὰς περιέμεινα· καὶ ὅς· Ἀπολλόδωρε, ἔφη, καὶ μὴν καὶ ἔναγχός σε ἐζήτουν βουλόμενος διαπυθέσθαι τὴν Ἀγάθωνος συνουσίαν [172b] καὶ Σωκράτους καὶ Ἀλκιβιάδου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν τότε ἐν τῷ συνδείπνῳ παραγενομένων, περὶ τῶν ἐρωτικῶν λόγων τίνες ἦσαν· ἄλλος γάρ τίς μοι διηγεῖτο ἀκηκοὼς Φοίνικος τοῦ Φιλίππου· ἔφη δὲ καὶ σὲ εἰδέναι. ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὐδὲν εἶχε σαφὲς λέγειν· σὺ οὖν μοι διήγησαι· δικαιότατος γὰρ εἶ τοὺς τοῦ ἑταίρου λόγους ἀπαγγέλλειν· πρότερον δέ μοι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εἰπέ· σὺ αὐτὸς παρεγένου τῇ συνουσίᾳ ταύτῃ ἢ οὔ; κἀγὼ εἶπον ὅτι· Παντάπασιν ἔοικέ σοι οὐδὲν διηγεῖσθαι [172c] σαφὲς ὁ διηγούμενος, εἰ νεωστὶ ἡγεῖ τὴν συνουσίαν γεγονέναι ταύτην ἣν ἐρωτᾷς, ὥστε καὶ ἐμὲ παραγενέσθαι. Ἔ γωγε δή . Πόθεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων; οὐκ οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι πολλῶν ἐτῶν Ἀγάθων ἐνθάδε οὐκ ἐπιδεδήμηκεν; ἀφ᾽ οὗ δ᾽ ἐγὼ Σωκράτει συνδιατρίβω καὶ ἐπιμελὲς πεποίημαι ἑκάστης ἡμέρας εἰδέναι ὅτι ἂν λέγῃ ἢ πράττῃ οὐδέπω τρία ἔτη ἐστίν; [173a] πρὸ τοῦ δὲ περιτρέχων ὅπῃ τύχοιμι καὶ οἰόμενος τὶ ποιεῖν ἀθλιώτερος ἦ ὁτουοῦν, οὐχ ἧττον ἢ σὺ νυνί, οἰόμενος δεῖν πάντα μᾶλλον πράττειν ἢ φιλοσοφεῖν. καὶ ὅς· Μὴ σκῶπτ᾽, ἔφη, ἀλλ᾽ εἰπέ μοι πότε ἐγένετο ἡ συνουσία αὕτη. κἀγὼ εἶπον ὅτι· Παίδων ὄντων ἡμῶν ἔτι, ὅτε τῇ πρώτῃ τραγῳδίᾳ ἐνίκησεν Ἀγάθων, τῇ ὑστεραίᾳ ἢ ᾗ τὰ ἐπινίκια ἔθυεν αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ χορευταί. Πάνυ, ἔφη, ἄρα πάλαι, ὡς ἔοικεν. ἀλλὰ τίς σοι διηγεῖτο; ἢ αὐτὸς Σωκράτης; [173b] Οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀλλ᾽ ὅσπερ Φοίνικι· Ἀριστόδημος ἦν τις, Κυδαθηναιεύς, σμικρός, ἀνυπόδητος ἀεί· παρεγεγόνει δ᾽ ἐν τῇ συνουσίᾳ, Σωκράτους ἐραστὴς ὢν ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα τῶν τότε, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ. οὐ μέντοι ἀλλὰ καὶ Σωκράτη γε ἔνια ἤδη ἀνηρόμην ὧν ἐκείνου ἤκουσα, καί μοι ὡμολόγει καθάπερ ἐκεῖνος διηγεῖτο. Τί οὖν, ἔφη, οὐ διηγήσω μοι; πάντως δὲ ἡ ὁδὸς ἡ εἰς ἄστυ ἐπιτηδεία πορευομένοις καὶ λέγειν καὶ ἀκούειν. οὕτω δὴ ἰόντες ἅμα τοὺς λόγους περὶ αὐτῶν ἐποιούμεθα, [173c] ὥστε, ὅπερ ἀρχόμενος εἶπον, οὐκ ἀμελετήτως ἔχω. εἰ οὖν δεῖ καὶ ὑμῖν διηγήσασθαι, ταῦτα χρὴ ποιεῖν. καὶ γὰρ ἔγωγε καὶ ἄλλως, ὅταν μέν τινας περὶ φιλοσοφίας λόγους ἢ αὐτὸς ποιῶμαι ἢ ἄλλων ἀκούω, χωρὶς τοῦ οἴεσθαι ὠφελεῖσθαι ὑπερφυῶς ὡς χαίρω· ὅταν δὲ ἄλλους τινάς, ἄλλως τε καὶ τοὺς ὑμετέρους τοὺς τῶν πλουσίων καὶ χρηματιστικῶν, αὐτός τε ἄχθομαι ὑμᾶς τε τοὺς ἑταίρους ἐλεῶ, ὅτι οἴεσθε τὶ ποιεῖν [173d] οὐδὲν ποιοῦντες. καὶ ἴσως αὖ ὑμεῖς ἐμὲ ἡγεῖσθε κακοδαίμονα εἶναι, καὶ οἴομαι ὑμᾶς ἀληθῆ οἴεσθαι· ἐγὼ μέντοι ὑμᾶς οὐκ οἴομαι ἀλλ᾽ εὖ οἶδα.

Ἑταῖρος

Ἀ εὶ ὅμοιος εἶ, ὦ Ἀπολλόδωρε· ἀεὶ γὰρ σαυτόν τε κακηγορεῖς καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, καὶ δοκεῖς μοι ἀτεχνῶς πάντας ἀθλίους ἡγεῖσθαι πλὴν Σωκράτους, ἀπὸ σαυτοῦ ἀρξάμενος. καὶ ὁπόθεν ποτὲ ταύτην τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν ἔλαβες τὸ μαλακὸς καλεῖσθαι, οὐκ οἶδα ἔγωγε· ἐν μὲν γὰρ τοῖς λόγοις ἀεὶ τοιοῦτος εἶ· σαυτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀγριαίνεις πλὴν Σωκράτους.

Ἀπολλόδωρος

[173 e] Ὦ φίλτατε, καὶ δῆλόν γε δὴ ὅτι οὕτω διανοούμενος καὶ περὶ ἐμαυτοῦ καὶ περὶ ὑμῶν μαίνομαι καὶ παραπαίω.

Ἑταῖρος

Οὐκ ἄξιον περὶ τούτων, Ἀπολλόδωρε, νῦν ἐρίζειν· ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ ἐδεόμεθά σου, μὴ ἄλλως ποιήσῃς, ἀλλὰ διήγησαι τίνες ἦσαν οἱ λόγοι.

Ἀπολλόδωρος

Ἦ σαν τοίνυν ἐκεῖνοι τοιοίδε τινές· μᾶλλον δ᾽ [174a] ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑμῖν ὡς ἐκεῖνος διηγεῖτο καὶ ἐγὼ πειράσομαι διηγήσασθαι.

II. Ἔφη γάρ οἱ Σωκράτη ἐντυχεῖν λελουμένον τε καὶ τὰς βλαύτας ὑποδεδεμένον, ἃ ἐκεῖνος ὀλιγάκις ἐποίει· καὶ ἐρέσθαι αὐτὸν ὅποι ἴοι οὕτω καλὸς γεγενημένος. καὶ τὸν εἰπεῖν ὅτι· Ἐ πὶ δεῖπνον εἰς Ἀγάθωνος. χθὲς γὰρ αὐτὸν διέφυγον τοῖς ἐπινικίοις, φοβηθεὶς τὸν ὄχλον· ὡμολόγησα δ᾽ εἰς τήμερον παρέσεσθαι. ταῦτα δὴ ἐκαλλωπισάμην, ἵνα καλὸς παρὰ καλὸν ἴω. ἀλλὰ σύ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, πῶς [174b] ἔχεις πρὸς τὸ ἐθέλειν ἂν ἰέναι ἄκλητος ἐπὶ δεῖπνον; κἀγώ, ἔφη, εἶπον ὅτι Οὕτως ὅπως ἂν σὺ κελεύῃς. Ἕπου τοίνυν, ἔφη, ἵνα καὶ τὴν παροιμίαν διαφθείρωμεν μεταβάλλοντες, ὡς ἄρα καὶ ἀγαθῶν ἐπὶ δαῖτας ἴασιν αὐτόματοι ἀγαθοί. Ὅμηρος μὲν γὰρ κινδυνεύει οὐ μόνον διαφθεῖραι ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑβρίσαι εἰς ταύτην τὴν παροιμίαν· ποιήσας γὰρ τὸν Ἀγαμέμνονα διαφερόντως ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα [174c] τὰ πολεμικά, τὸν δὲ Μενέλεων μαλθακὸν αἰχμητήν, θυσίαν ποιουμένου καὶ ἑστιῶντος τοῦ Ἀγαμέμνονος ἄκλητον ἐποίησεν ἐλθόντα τὸν Μενέλεων ἐπὶ τὴν θοίνην, χείρω ὄντα ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ ἀμείνονος. ταῦτ᾽ ἀκούσας εἰπεῖν ἔφη· Ἴ σως μέντοι κινδυνεύσω καὶ ἐγὼ οὐχ ὡς σὺ λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ καθ᾽ Ὅμηρον φαῦλος ὢν ἐπὶ σοφοῦ ἀνδρὸς ἰέναι θοίνην ἄκλητος. ἆρ ᾽ οὖν ἄγων μέ τι ἀπολογήσει; ὡς ἐγὼ μὲν οὐχ ὁμολογήσω ἄκλητος [174d] ἥκειν, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ σοῦ κεκλημένος. Σύν τε δύ᾽, ἔφη, ἐρχομένω πρὸ ὁ τ οῦ βουλευσόμεθα ὅ τι ἐροῦμεν. ἀλλ᾽ ἴωμεν. — Τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα σφᾶς ἔφη διαλεχθέντας ἰέναι. τὸν οὖν Σωκράτη ἑαυτῷ πως προσέχοντα τὸν νοῦν κατὰ τὴν ὁδὸν πορεύεσθαι ὑπολειπόμενον, καὶ περιμένοντος οὗ κελεύειν προϊέναι εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν. ἐπειδὴ δὲ γενέσθαι ἐπὶ τῇ οἰκίᾳ [174e] τῇ Ἀγάθωνος, ἀνεῳγμένην καταλαμβάνειν τὴν θύραν, καί τι ἔφη αὐτόθι γελοῖον παθεῖν. οἷ μὲν γὰρ εὐθὺς παῖδά τινα τῶν ἔνδοθεν ἀπαντήσαντα ἄγειν οὗ κατέκειντο οἱ ἄλλοι, καὶ καταλαμβάνειν ἤδη μέλλοντας δειπνεῖν· εὐθὺς δ᾽ οὖν ὡς ἰδεῖν τὸν Ἀγάθωνα· Ὦ φάναι, Ἀριστόδημε, εἰς καλὸν ἥκεις ὅπως συνδειπνήσῃς· εἰ δ᾽ ἄλλου τινὸς ἕνεκα ἦλθες, εἰς αὖθις ἀναβαλοῦ, ὡς καὶ χθὲς ζητῶν σε , ἵνα καλέσαιμι, οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἦ ἰδεῖν. ἀλλὰ Σωκράτη ἡμῖν πῶς οὐκ ἄγεις; καὶ ἐγώ, ἔφη, μεταστρεφόμενος οὐδαμοῦ ὁρῶ Σωκράτη ἑπόμενον· εἶπον οὖν ὅτι καὶ αὐτὸς μετὰ Σωκράτους ἥκοιμι, κληθεὶς ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου δεῦρ᾽ ἐπὶ δεῖπνον. Καλῶς γ᾽, ἔφη, ποιῶν σύ· ἀλλὰ ποῦ ἔστιν οὗτος; [175a] Ὅπισθεν ἐμοῦ ἄρτι εἰσῄει· ἀλλὰ θαυμάζω καὶ αὐτὸς ποῦ ἂν εἴη. Οὐ σκέψῃ, ἔφη, παῖ, φάναι τὸν Ἀγάθωνα, καὶ εἰσάξεις Σωκράτη; σὺ δ᾽, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, Ἀριστόδημε, παρ᾽ Ἐρυξίμαχον κατακλίνου.

III. Καὶ ἓ μὲν ἔφη ἀπονίζειν τὸν παῖδα ἵνα κατακέοιτο· ἄλλον δέ τινα τῶν παίδων ἥκειν ἀγγέλλοντα ὅτι· Σωκράτης οὗτος ἀναχωρήσας ἐν τῷ τῶν γειτόνων προθύρῳ ἕστηκεν, κἀμοῦ καλοῦντος οὐκ ἐθέλει εἰσιέναι. Ἄ τοπόν γ᾽, ἔφη, λέγεις· οὔκουν καλεῖς αὐτὸν καὶ μὴ ἀφήσεις; [175b] καὶ ὃς ἔφη εἰπεῖν Μηδαμῶς, ἀλλ᾽ ἐᾶτε αὐτόν. ἔθος γάρ τι τοῦτ᾽ ἔχει· ἐνίοτε ἀποστὰς ὅποι ἂν τύχῃ ἕστηκεν. ἥξει δ᾽ αὐτίκα, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι. μὴ οὖν κινεῖτε, ἀλλ᾽ ἐᾶτε. Ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω χρὴ ποιεῖν, εἰ σοὶ δοκεῖ, ἔφη φάναι τὸν Ἀγάθωνα. ἀλλ᾽ ἡμᾶς, ὦ παῖδες, τοὺς ἄλλους ἑστιᾶτε. πάντως παρατίθετε ὅτι ἂν βούλησθε, ἐπειδάν τις ὑμῖν μὴ ἐφεστήκῃ· ὃ ἐγὼ οὐδεπώποτε ἐποίησα· νῦν οὖν, νομίζοντες καὶ ἐμὲ ὑφ᾽ ὑμῶν κεκλῆσθαι ἐπὶ δεῖπνον καὶ τούσδε τοὺς [175c] ἄλλους, θεραπεύετε, ἵν᾽ ὑμᾶς ἐπαινῶμεν. — Μετὰ ταῦτα ἔφη σφᾶς μὲν δειπνεῖν, τὸν δὲ Σωκράτη οὐκ εἰσιέναι. τὸν οὖν Ἀγάθωνα πολλάκις κελεύειν μεταπέμψασθαι τὸν Σωκράτη, ἓ δὲ οὐκ ἐᾶν. ἥκειν οὖν αὐτὸν οὐ πολὺν χρόνον ὡς εἰώθει διατρίψαντα, ἀλλὰ μάλιστα σφᾶς μεσοῦν δειπνοῦντας. τὸν οὖν Ἀγάθωνα , τυγχάνειν γὰρ ἔσχατον κατακείμενον μόνον· Δεῦρ᾽, ἔφη φάναι, Σώκρατες, παρ᾽ ἐμὲ κατάκεισο, ἵνα καὶ τοῦ σοφοῦ ἁπτόμενός σου [175d] ἀπολαύσω, ὅ σοι προσέστη ἐν τοῖς προθύροις. δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι εὗρες αὐτὸ καὶ ἔχεις· οὐ γὰρ ἂν προαπέστης. καὶ τὸν Σωκράτη καθίζεσθαι καὶ εἰπεῖν ὅτι· Εὖ ἂν ἔχοι, φάναι, ὦ Ἀγάθων, εἰ τοιοῦτον εἴη ἡ σοφία ὥστ᾽ ἐκ τοῦ πληρεστέρου εἰς τὸ κενώτερον ῥεῖν ἡμῶν, ἐὰν ἁπτώμεθα ἀλλήλων, ὥσπερ τὸ ἐν ταῖς κύλιξιν ὕδωρ τὸ διὰ τοῦ ἐρίου ῥέον ἐκ τῆς πληρεστέρας εἰς τὴν κενωτέραν. εἰ γὰρ οὕτως ἔχει καὶ ἡ [175e] σοφία, πολλοῦ τιμῶμαι τὴν παρὰ σοὶ κατάκλισιν· οἶμαι γάρ με παρὰ σοῦ πολλῆς καὶ καλῆς σοφίας πληρωθήσεσθαι. ἡ μὲν γὰρ ἐμὴ φαύλη τις ἂν εἴη, ἢ καὶ ἀμφισβητήσιμος , ὥσπερ ὄναρ οὖσα, ἡ δὲ σὴ λαμπρά τε καὶ πολλὴν ἐπίδοσιν ἔχουσα, ἥ γε παρὰ σοῦ νέου ὄντος οὕτω σφόδρα ἐξέλαμψεν καὶ ἐκφανὴς ἐγένετο πρῴην ἐν μάρτυσι τῶν Ἑλλήνων πλέον ἢ τρισμυρίοις. Ὑβριστὴς εἶ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Ἀγάθων. καὶ ταῦτα μὲν καὶ ὀλίγον ὕστερον διαδικασόμεθα ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ περὶ τῆς σοφίας, δικαστῇ χρώμενοι τῷ Διονύσῳ· νῦν δὲ πρὸς τὸ δεῖπνον πρῶτα τρέπου.

IV. [176a] Μετὰ ταῦτα, ἔφη, κατακλινέντος τοῦ Σωκράτους καὶ δειπνήσαντος καὶ τῶν ἄλλων, σπονδάς τε σφᾶς ποιήσασθαι, καὶ ᾄσαντας τὸν θεὸν καὶ τἆλλα τὰ νομιζόμενα, τρέπεσθαι πρὸς τὸν πότον· τὸν οὖν Παυσανίαν ἔφη λόγου τοιούτου τινὸς κατάρχειν. Εἶεν, ἄνδρες, φάναι, τίνα τρόπον ῥᾷστα πιόμεθα; ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν λέγω ὑμῖν ὅτι τῷ ὄντι πάνυ χαλεπῶς ἔχω ὑπὸ τοῦ χθὲς πότου καὶ δέομαι ἀναψυχῆς τιν ό ς , οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ὑμῶν τοὺς πολλούς· παρῆστε γὰρ χθές — σκοπεῖσθε [176b] οὖν τίνι τρόπῳ ἂν ὡς ῤᾷστα πίνοιμεν· τὸν οὖν Ἀριστοφάνη εἰπεῖν . Τ οῦτο μέντοι εὖ λέγεις, ὦ Παυσανία, τὸ παντὶ τρόπῳ παρασκευάσασθαι ῥᾳστώνην τινὰ τῆς πόσεως· καὶ γὰρ αὐτός εἰμι τῶν χθὲς βεβαπτισμένων. ἀκούσαντα οὖν αὐτῶν ἔφη Ἐρυξίμαχον τὸν Ἀκουμενοῦ· Ἦ καλῶς, φάναι, λέγετε. καὶ ἔτι ἑνὸς δέομαι ὑμῶν ἀκοῦσαι· πῶς ἔχει πρὸς τὸ ἐῤῥῶσθαι πίνειν, Ἀγάθων; Οὐδαμῶς, φάναι, οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸς ἔῤῥωμαι. [176c] Ἕρμαιον ἂν εἴη ἡμῖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐμοί τε καὶ Ἀριστοδήμῳ καὶ Φαίδρῳ καὶ τοῖσδε, εἰ ὑμεῖς οἱ δυνατώτατοι πίνειν νῦν ἀπειρήκατε· ἡμεῖς μὲν γὰρ ἀεὶ ἀδύνατοι. Σωκράτη δ᾽ ἐξαιρῶ λόγου· ἱκανὸς γὰρ καὶ ἀμφότερα, ὥστ᾽ ἐξαρκέσει αὐτῷ ὁπότερ᾽ ἂν ποιῶμεν. ἐπειδὴ οὖν μοι δοκεῖ οὐδεὶς τῶν παρόντων προθύμως ἔχειν πρὸς τὸ πολὺν πίνειν οἶνον, ἴσως ἂν ἐγὼ περὶ τοῦ μεθύσκεσθαι , οἷόν ἐστι , τἀληθῆ λέγων ἧττον ἂν εἴην ἀηδής. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δὴ τοῦτό γε οἶμαι [176d] κατάδηλον γεγονέναι ἐκ τῆς ἰατρικῆς, ὅτι χαλεπὸν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἡ μέθη ἐστί· καὶ οὔτε αὐτὸς ἑκὼν εἶναι πόῤῥω ἐθελήσαιμι ἂν πιεῖν οὔτε ἄλλῳ συμβουλεύσαιμι, ἄλλως τε καὶ κραιπαλῶντα ἔτι ἐκ τῆς προτεραίας. Ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη φάναι ὑπολαβόντα Φαῖδρον τὸν Μυῤῥινούσιον, ἔγωγέ σοι εἴωθα πείθεσθαι ἄλλως τε καὶ ἅττ᾽ ἂν περὶ ἰατρικῆς λέγῃς· νῦν δ᾽, ἂν εὖ βουλεύωνται, καὶ οἱ λοιποί. [176e] ταῦτα δὴ ἀκούσαντας συγχωρεῖν πάντας μὴ διὰ μέθης ποιήσασθαι τὴν ἐν τῷ παρόντι συνουσίαν, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω πίνοντας πρὸς ἡδονήν.

V. Ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν, φάναι τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον, τοῦτο μὲν δέδοκται, πίνειν ὅσον ἂν ἕκαστος βούληται, ἐπάναγκες δὲ μηδὲν εἶναι, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο εἰσηγοῦμαι τὴν μὲν ἄρτι εἰσελθοῦσαν αὐλητρίδα χαίρειν ἐᾷν, αὐλοῦσαν ἑαυτῇ ἢ ἂν βούληται ταῖς γυναιξὶ ταῖς ἔνδον, ἡμᾶς δὲ διὰ λόγων ἀλλήλοις συνεῖναι τὸ τήμερον· καὶ δι᾽ οἵων λόγων, εἰ βούλεσθε, ἐθέλω ὑμῖν εἰσηγήσασθαι. [177a] Φάναι δὴ πάντας καὶ βούλεσθαι καὶ κελεύειν αὐτὸν εἰσηγεῖσθαι. εἰπεῖν οὖν τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον ὅτι· Ἡ μέν μοι ἀρχὴ τοῦ λόγου ἐστὶ κατὰ τὴν Εὐριπίδου Μελανίππην· οὐ γὰρ ἐμὸς ὁ μῦθος, ἀλλὰ Φαίδρου τοῦδε, ὃν μέλλω λέγειν. Φαῖδρος γὰρ ἑκάστοτε πρός με ἀγανακτῶν λέγει· Οὐ δεινόν, φησίν, ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε, ἄλλοις μέν τισι θεῶν ὕμνους καὶ παίωνας εἶναι ὑπὸ τῶν ποιητῶν πεποιημένους, τῷ δὲ Ἔρωτι, τηλικούτῳ ὄντι καὶ τοσούτῳ θεῷ, μηδὲ ἕνα πώποτε τοσούτων [177b] γεγονότων ποιητῶν πεποιηκέναι μηδὲν ἐγκώμιον· εἰ δὲ βούλει αὖ σκέψασθαι τοὺς χρηστοὺς σοφιστάς, Ἡρακλέους μὲν καὶ ἄλλων ἐπαίνους καταλογάδην ξυγγράφειν, ὥσπερ ὁ βέλτιστος Πρόδικος· καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ἧττον καὶ θαυμαστόν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔγωγε ἤδη τινὶ ἐνέτυχον βιβλίῳ ἀνδρὸς σοφοῦ, ἐν ᾧ ἐνῆσαν ἅλες ἔπαινον θαυμάσιον ἔχοντες πρὸς ὠφέλειαν · καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα [177c] συχνὰ ἴδοις ἂν ἐγκεκωμιασμένα . τὸ οὖν τοιούτων μὲν πέρι πολλὴν σπουδὴν ποιήσασθαι, Ἔρωτα δὲ μηδένα πω ἀνθρώπων τετολμηκέναι εἰς ταυτηνὶ τὴν ἡμέραν ἀξίως ὑμνῇσαι , ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως ἠμέληται τοσοῦτος θεός; ταῦτα δή μοι δοκεῖ εὖ λέγειν Φαῖδρος. ἐγὼ οὖν ἐπιθυμῶ ἅμα μὲν τούτῳ ἔρανον εἰσενεγκεῖν καὶ χαρίσασθαι, ἅμα δ᾽ ἐν τῷ παρόντι πρέπον μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι ἡμῖν τοῖς παροῦσι κοσμῆσαι τὸν θεόν. Εἰ οὖν [177d] ξυνδοκεῖ καὶ ὑμῖν, γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν ἐν λόγοις ἱκανὴ διατριβή· δοκεῖ γάρ μοι χρῆναι ἕκαστον ἡμῶν λόγον εἰπεῖν ἔπαινον Ἔρωτος ἐπὶ δεξιὰ ὡς ἂν δύνηται κάλλιστον, ἄρχειν δὲ Φαῖδρον πρῶτον, ἐπειδὴ καὶ πρῶτος κατάκειται καὶ ἔστιν ἅμα πατὴρ τοῦ λόγου. Οὐδείς σοι, ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, ἐναντία ψηφιεῖται. οὔτε γὰρ ἄν που ἐγὼ ἀποφήσαιμι, ὃς οὐδέν φημι ἄλλο ἐπίστασθαι ἢ τὰ ἐρωτικά, οὔτε που Ἀγάθων καὶ [177e] Παυσανίας, οὐδὲ μὴν Ἀριστοφάνης, ᾧ περὶ Διόνυσον καὶ Ἀφροδίτην πᾶσα ἡ διατριβή, οὐδὲ ἄλλος οὐδεὶς τουτωνὶ ὧν ἐγὼ ὁρῶ. καίτοι οὐκ ἐξ ἴσου γίγνεται ἡμῖν τοῖς ὑστάτοις κατακειμένοις· ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν οἱ πρόσθεν ἱκανῶς καὶ καλῶς εἴπωσιν, ἐξαρκέσει ἡμῖν. ἀλλὰ τύχῃ ἀγαθῇ καταρχέτω Φαῖδρος καὶ ἐγκωμιαζέτω τὸν Ἔρωτα. ταῦτα δὴ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες ἄρα ξυνέφασάν τε καὶ [178a] ἐκέλευον ἅπερ ὁ Σωκράτης. πάντων μὲν οὖν ἃ ἕκαστος εἶπεν, οὔτε πάνυ ὁ Ἀριστόδημος ἐμέμνητο οὔτ᾽ αὖ ἐγὼ ἃ ἐκεῖνος ἔλεγε πάντα· ἃ δὲ μάλιστα καὶ ὧν ἔδοξέ μοι ἀξιομνημόνευτον, τούτων ὑμῖν ἐρῶ ἑκάστου τὸν λόγον.

VI. πρῶτον μὲν γάρ, ὥσπερ λέγω, ἔφη Φαῖδρον ἀρξάμενον ἐνθένδε ποθὲν λέγειν, ὅτι μέγας θεὸς εἴη ὁ Ἔρως καὶ θαυμαστὸς ἐν ἀνθρώποις τε καὶ θεοῖς, πολλαχῇ μὲν καὶ ἄλλῃ, οὐχ ἥκιστα δὲ κατὰ τὴν γένεσιν. τὸ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς πρεσβύτατον [178b] εἶναι τῶν θεῶν, τίμιον, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς· τεκμήριον δὲ τούτου· γονῆς γὰρ Ἔρωτος οὔτ᾽ εἰσὶν οὔτε λέγονται ὑπ᾽ οὐδενὸς οὔτε ἰδιώτου οὔτε ποιητοῦ, ἀλλ᾽ Ἡσίοδος πρῶτον μὲν Χάος φησὶ γενέσθαι,

. . . αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα
Γαῖ᾽ εὐρύστερνος, πάντων ἕδος ἀσφαλὲς αἰεί, ἠδ᾽ Ἔρος . . .

φησὶ μετὰ τὸ Χάος δύο τούτω γενέσθαι, Γῆν τε καὶ Ἔρωτα. Παρμενίδης δὲ τὴν γένεσιν λέγει

πρώτιστον μὲν Ἔρωτα θεῶν μητίσατο πάντων.

[178c] Ἡσιόδῳ δὲ καὶ Ἀκουσίλεως ὁμολογεῖ. οὕτω πολλαχόθεν ὁμολογεῖται ὁ Ἔρως ἐν τοῖς πρεσβύτατος εἶναι. πρεσβύτατος δὲ ὢν μεγίστων ἀγαθῶν ἡμῖν αἴτιός ἐστιν. οὐ γὰρ ἔγωγ᾽ ἔχω εἰπεῖν ὅτι μεῖζόν ἐστιν ἀγαθὸν εὐθὺς νέῳ ὄντι ἢ ἐραστὴς χρηστὸς καὶ ἐραστῇ παιδικά. ὃ γὰρ χρὴ ἀνθρώποις ἡγεῖσθαι παντὸς τοῦ βίου τοῖς μέλλουσι καλῶς βιώσεσθαι, τοῦτο οὔτε συγγένεια οἵα τε ἐμποιεῖν οὕτω καλῶς οὔτε τιμαὶ οὔτε πλοῦτος οὔτ᾽ ἄλλο [178d] οὐδὲν ὡς ἔρως. λέγω δὲ δὴ τί τοῦτο; τὴν ἐπὶ μὲν τοῖς αἰσχροῖς αἰσχύνην, ἐπὶ δὲ τοῖς καλοῖς φιλοτιμίαν· οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ἄνευ τούτων οὔτε πόλιν οὔτε ἰδιώτην μεγάλα καὶ καλὰ ἔργα ἐξεργάζεσθαι. φημὶ τοίνυν ἐγὼ ἄνδρα ὅστις ἐρᾷ, εἴ τι αἰσχρὸν ποιῶν κατάδηλος γίγνοιτο ἢ πάσχων ὑπό του δι᾽ ἀνανδρίαν μὴ ἀμυνόμενος, οὔτ᾽ ἂν ὑπὸ πατρὸς ὀφθέντα οὕτως ἀλγῆσαι οὔτε ὑπὸ ἑταίρων οὔτε ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου [178e] οὐδενὸς ὡς ὑπὸ παιδικῶν. ταὐτὸν δὲ τοῦτο καὶ τὸν ἐρώμενον ὁρῶμεν, ὅτι διαφερόντως τοὺς ἐραστὰς αἰσχύνεται, ὅταν ὀφθῇ ἐν αἰσχρῷ τινι ὤν. εἰ οὖν μηχανή τις γένοιτο ὥστε πόλιν γενέσθαι ἢ στρατόπεδον ἐραστῶν τε καὶ παιδικῶν, οὐκ ἔστιν ὅπως ἂν ἄμεινον οἰκήσειαν τὴν ἑαυτῶν ἢ ἀπεχόμενοι πάντων τῶν αἰσχρῶν καὶ φιλοτιμούμενοι πρὸς [179a] ἀλλήλους· καὶ μαχόμενοί γ᾽ ἂν μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων οἱ τοιοῦτοι νικῷεν ἂν ὀλίγοι ὄντες ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν πάντας ἀνθρώπους. ἐρῶν γὰρ ἀνὴρ ὑπὸ παιδικῶν ὀφθῆναι ἢ λιπὼν τάξιν ἢ ὅπλα ἀποβαλὼν ἧττον ἂν δή που δέξαιτο ἢ ὑπὸ πάντων τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ πρὸ τούτου τεθνάναι ἂν πολλάκις ἕλοιτο. καὶ μὴν ἐγκαταλιπεῖν γε τὰ παιδικὰ ἢ μὴ βοηθῆσαι κινδυνεύοντι — οὐδεὶς οὕτω κακὸς, ὅντινα οὐκ ἂν αὐτὸς ὁ Ἔρως ἔνθεον ποιήσειε πρὸς ἀρετήν, ὥστε ὅμοιον εἶναι τῷ ἀρίστῳ φύσει. [179b] καὶ ἀτεχνῶς, ὃ ἔφη Ὅμηρος, μένος ἐμπνεῦσαι ἐνίοις τῶν ἡρώων τὸν θεόν, τοῦτο ὁ Ἔρως τοῖς ἐρῶσι παρέχει γιγνόμενον παρ᾽ αὑτοῦ.

VII. Καὶ μὴν ὑπεραποθνήσκειν γε μόνοι ἐθέλουσιν οἱ ἐρῶντες, οὐ μόνον ὅτι ἄνδρες, ἀλλὰ καὶ αἱ γυναῖκες. τούτου δὲ καὶ ἡ Πελίου θυγάτηρ Ἄλκηστις ἱκανὴν μαρτυρίαν παρέχεται ὑπὲρ τοῦδε τοῦ λόγου εἰς τοὺς Ἕλληνας, ἐθελήσασα μόνη ὑπὲρ τοῦ αὑτῆς ἀνδρὸς ἀποθανεῖν, ὄντων αὐτῷ πατρός τε [179c] καὶ μητρός· οὓς ἐκείνη τοσοῦτον ὑπερεβάλετο τῇ φιλίᾳ διὰ τὸν ἔρωτα, ὥστε ἀποδεῖξαι αὐτοὺς ἀλλοτρίους ὄντας τῷ ὑεῖ καὶ ὀνόματι μόνον προσήκοντας, καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἐργασαμένη τὸ ἔργον οὕτω καλὸν ἔδοξεν ἐργάσασθαι οὐ μόνον ἀνθρώποις ἀλλὰ καὶ θεοῖς, ὥστε πολλῶν πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ ἐργασαμένων εὐαριθμήτοις δή τισιν ἔδοσαν τοῦτο γέρας οἱ θεοί, ἐξ Ἅιδου ἀνεῖναι πάλιν τὴν ψυχήν, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἐκείνης ἀνεῖσαν ἀγασθέντες [179d] τῷ ἔργῳ· οὕτω καὶ θεοὶ τὴν περὶ τὸν ἔρωτα σπουδήν τε καὶ ἀρετὴν μάλιστα τιμῶσιν. Ὀρφέα δὲ τὸν Οἰάγρου ἀτελῆ ἀπέπεμψαν ἐξ Ἅιδου . φάσμα δείξαντες τῆς γυναικὸς ἐφ᾽ ἣν ἧκεν, αὐτὴν δὲ οὐ δόντες, ὅτι μαλθακίζεσθαι ἐδόκει, ἅτε ὢν κιθαρῳδός, καὶ οὐ τολμᾶν ἕνεκα τοῦ ἔρωτος ἀποθνήσκειν ὥσπερ Ἄλκηστις, ἀλλὰ διαμηχανᾶσθαι ζῶν εἰσιέναι εἰς Ἅιδου , τοιγάρτοι διὰ ταῦτα δίκην αὐτῷ ἐπέθεσαν, καὶ ἐποίησαν τὸν θάνατον αὐτοῦ ὑπὸ γυναικῶν [179e] γενέσθαι, οὐχ ὥσπερ Ἀχιλλέα τὸν τῆς Θέτιδος υἱὸν ἐτίμησαν καὶ εἰς μακάρων νήσους ἀπέπεμψαν, ὅτι πεπυσμένος παρὰ τῆς μητρὸς ὡς ἀποθανοῖτο ἀποκτείνας Ἕκτορα, μὴ ἀποκτείνας δὲ τοῦτον οἴκαδ ᾽ ἐλθὼν γηραιὸς τελευτήσοι, ἐτόλμησεν ἑλέσθαι βοηθήσας τῷ ἐραστῇ Πατρόκλῳ καὶ [180a] τιμωρήσας οὐ μόνον ὑπεραποθανεῖν ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐπαποθανεῖν τετελευτηκότι· ὅθεν δὴ καὶ ὑπεραγασθέντες οἱ θεοὶ διαφερόντως αὐτὸν ἐτίμησαν, ὅτι τὸν ἐραστὴν οὕτω περὶ πολλοῦ ἐποιεῖτο. Αἰσχύλος δὲ φλυαρεῖ φάσκων Ἀχιλλέα Πατρόκλου ἐρᾶν, ὃς ἦν καλλίων οὐ μόνον Πατρόκλου ἀλλ᾽ καὶ τῶν ἡρώων ἁπάντων, καὶ ἔτι ἀγένειος, ἔπειτα νεώτερος πολύ, ὥς φησιν Ὅμηρος. ἀλλὰ γὰρ τῷ ὄντι μάλιστα μὲν ταύτην τὴν ἀρετὴν οἱ θεοὶ τιμῶσιν τὴν περὶ [180b] τὸν ἔρωτα, μᾶλλον μέντοι θαυμάζουσιν καὶ ἄγανται καὶ εὖ ποιοῦσιν ὅταν ὁ ἐρώμενος τὸν ἐραστὴν ἀγαπᾷ, ἢ ὅταν ὁ ἐραστὴς τὰ παιδικά. θειότερον γὰρ ἐραστὴς παιδικῶν· ἔνθεος γάρ ἐστι. διὰ ταῦτα καὶ τὸν Ἀχιλλέα τῆς Ἀλκήστιδος μᾶλλον ἐτίμησαν, εἰς μακάρων νήσους ἀποπέμψαντες. οὕτω δὴ ἔγωγέ φημι Ἔρωτα θεῶν καὶ πρεσβύτατον καὶ τιμιώτατον καὶ κυριώτατον εἶναι εἰς ἀρετῆς καὶ εὐδαιμονίας κτῆσιν ἀνθρώποις καὶ ζῶσι καὶ τελευτήσασιν.

VIII. [180c] Φαῖδρον μὲν τοιοῦτόν τινα λόγον ἔφη εἰπεῖν, μετὰ δὲ Φαῖδρον ἄλλους τινὰς εἶναι , ὧν οὐ πάνυ διεμνημόνευε ν · οὓς παρεὶς τὸν Παυσανίου λόγον διηγεῖτο. εἰπεῖν δ᾽ αὐτὸν ὅτι· οὐ καλῶς μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Φαῖδρε, προβεβλῆσθαι ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος, τὸ ἁπλῶς οὕτως παρηγγέλθαι ἐγκωμιάζειν Ἔρωτα. εἰ μὲν γὰρ εἷς ἦν ὁ Ἔρως, καλῶς ἂν εἶχε· νῦν δὲ οὐ γάρ ἐστιν εἷς· μὴ ὄντος δὲ ἑνὸς ὀρθότερόν ἐστι πρότερον προῤῥηθῆναι [180d] ὁπότερον δεῖ ἐπαινεῖν. ἐγὼ οὖν πειράσομαι τοῦτο ἐπανορθώσασθαι, πρῶτον μὲν Ἔρωτα φράσαι ὃν δεῖ ἐπαινεῖν, ἔπειτα ἐπαινέσαι ἀξίως τοῦ θεοῦ. πάντες γὰρ ἴσμεν ὅτι οὐκ ἔστιν ἄνευ Ἔρωτος Ἀφροδίτη. μιᾶς μὲν οὖν οὔσης εἷς ἂν ἦν Ἔρως· ἐπεὶ δὲ δὴ δύο ἐστόν, δύο ἀνάγκη καὶ Ἔρωτε εἶναι. πῶς δ᾽ οὐ δύο τὼ θεά; ἡ μέν γέ που πρεσβυτέρα καὶ ἀμήτωρ Οὐρανοῦ θυγάτηρ, ἣν δὴ καὶ Οὐρανίαν ἐπονομάζομεν· ἡ δὲ νεωτέρα Διὸς καὶ Διώνης, [180e] ἣν δὴ Πάνδημον καλοῦμεν. ἀναγκαῖον δὴ καὶ ἔρωτα τὸν μὲν τῇ ἑτέρᾳ συνεργὸν Πάνδημον ὀρθῶς καλεῖσθαι, τὸν δὲ Οὐράνιον. ἐπαινεῖν μὲν οὖν δεῖ πάντας θεούς, ἃ δ᾽ οὖν ἑκάτερος εἴληχε πειρατέον εἰπεῖν. πᾶσα γὰρ πρᾶξις ὧδ᾽ ἔχει· αὐτὴ ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτῆς πραττομένη οὔτε καλὴ οὔτε αἰσχρά. [181a] οἷον ὃ νῦν ἡμεῖς ποιοῦμεν, ἢ πίνειν ἢ ᾄδειν ἢ διαλέγεσθαι, οὐκ ἔστι τούτων αὐτὸ καλὸν οὐδέν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν τῇ πράξει, ὡς ἂν πραχθῇ, τοιοῦτον ἀπέβη· καλῶς μὲν γὰρ πραττόμενον καὶ ὀρθῶς καλὸν γίγνεται, μὴ ὀρθῶς δὲ αἰσχρόν. Οὕτω δὴ καὶ τὸ ἐρᾷν καὶ ὁ Ἔρως οὐ πᾶς ἐστὶ καλὸς οὐδὲ ἄξιος ἐγκωμιάζεσθαι, ἀλλὰ ὁ καλῶς προτρέπων ἐρᾷν.

IX. Ὁ μὲν οὖν τῆς Πανδήμου Ἀφροδίτης ὡς ἀληθῶς πάνδημός [181b] ἐστι καὶ ἐξεργάζεται ὅ τι ἂν τύχῃ· καὶ οὗτός ἐστιν ὃν οἱ φαῦλοι τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐρῶσιν. ἐρῶσι δὲ οἱ τοιοῦτοι πρῶτον μὲν οὐχ ἧττον γυναικῶν ἢ παίδων, ἔπειτα ὧν καὶ ἐρῶσι τῶν σωμάτων μᾶλλον ἢ τῶν ψυχῶν, ἔπειτα ὡς ἂν δύνωνται ἀνοητοτάτων, πρὸς τὸ διαπράξασθαι μόνον βλέποντες, ἀμελοῦντες δὲ τοῦ καλῶς ἢ μή· ὅθεν δὴ ξυμβαίνει αὐτοῖς ὅ τι ἂν τύχωσι τοῦτο πράττειν, ὁμοίως μὲν ἀγαθόν, ὁμοίως δὲ τοὐναντίον. ἔστι γὰρ καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς θεοῦ νεωτέρας [181c] τε οὔσης πολὺ ἢ τῆς ἑτέρας, καὶ μετεχούσης ἐν τῇ γενέσει καὶ θήλεος καὶ ἄῤῥενος. ὁ δὲ τῆς Οὐρανίας πρῶτον μὲν οὐ μετεχούσης θήλεος ἀλλ᾽ ἄῤῥενος μόνον [ καὶ ἔστιν οὗτος ὁ τῶν παίδων ἔρως ] ἔπειτα πρεσβυτέρας, ὕβρεως ἀμοίρου· ὅθεν δὴ ἐπὶ τὸ ἄῤῥεν τρέπονται οἱ ἐκ τούτου τοῦ ἔρωτος ἔπιπνοι, τὸ φύσει ἐῤῥωμενέστερον καὶ νοῦν μᾶλλον ἔχον ἀγαπῶντες. καί τις ἂν γνοίη καὶ ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ παιδεραστίᾳ τοὺς εἰλικρινῶς [181d] ὑπὸ τούτου τοῦ ἔρωτος ὡρμημένους· οὐ γὰρ ἐρῶσι παίδων, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὰν ἤδη ἄρχωνται νοῦν ἴσχειν, τοῦτο δὲ πλησιάζει τῷ γενειάσκειν. παρεσκευασμένοι γὰρ , οἶμαί εἰσιν οἱ ἐντεῦθεν ἀρχόμενοι ἐρᾷν ὡς τὸν βίον ἅπαντα ξυνεσόμενοι καὶ κοινῇ συμβιωσόμενοι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐξαπατήσαντες, ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ λαβόντες ὡς νέον, καταγελάσαντες οἰχήσεσθαι ἐπ᾽ ἄλλον ἀποτρέχοντες. χρῆν δὲ καὶ νόμον εἶναι μὴ ἐρᾷν [181e] παίδων, ἵνα μὴ εἰς ἄδηλον πολλὴ σπουδὴ ἀνηλίσκετο· τὸ γὰρ τῶν παίδων τέλος ἄδηλον οἷ τελευτᾷ κακίας καὶ ἀρετῆς ψυχῆς τε πέρι καὶ σώματος. οἱ μὲν οὖν ἀγαθοὶ τὸν νόμον τοῦτον αὐτοὶ αὑτοῖς ἑκόντες τίθενται, χρῆν δὲ καὶ τούτους τοὺς πανδήμους ἐραστὰς προσαναγκάζειν τὸ τοιοῦτον, ὥσπερ καὶ τῶν ἐλευθέρων γυναικῶν προσαναγκάζομεν αὐτοὺς καθ᾽ [182a] ὅσον δυνάμεθα μὴ ἐρᾶν. οὗτοι γάρ εἰσιν οἱ καὶ τὸ ὄνειδος πεποιηκότες, ὥστε τινὰς τολμᾷν λέγειν ὡς αἰσχρὸν χαρίζεσθαι ἐρασταῖς· λέγουσι δὲ εἰς τούτους ἀποβλέποντες, ὁρῶντες αὐτῶν τὴν ἀκαιρίαν καὶ ἀδικίαν, ἐπεὶ οὐ δή που κοσμίως γε καὶ νομίμως ὁτιοῦν <πρᾶγμα> πραττόμενον ψόγον ἂν δικαίως φέροι. καὶ δὴ καὶ ὁ περὶ τὸν ἔρωτα νόμος ἐν μὲν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσι νοῆσαι ῥᾴδιος, ἁπλῶς γὰρ ὥρισται· ὁ δ᾽ ἐνθάδε [182b] καὶ ἐν Λακεδαίμονι ποικίλος. ἐν Ἤλιδι μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἐν Βοιωτοῖς, καὶ οὗ μὴ σοφοὶ λέγειν, ἁπλῶς νενομοθέτηται καλὸν τὸ χαρίζεσθαι ἐρασταῖς, καὶ οὐκ ἄν τις εἴποι οὔτε νέος οὔτε παλαιὸς ὡς αἰσχρόν, ἵνα , οἶμαι , μὴ πράγματ᾽ ἔχωσιν λόγῳ πειρώμενοι πείθειν τοὺς νέους, ἅτε ἀδύνατοι λέγειν· τῆς δὲ Ἰωνίας καὶ ἄλλοθι πολλαχοῦ αἰσχρὸν νενόμισται, ὅποι ὑπὸ βαρβάροις οἰκοῦσιν. τοῖς γὰρ βαρβάροις διὰ τὰς τυραννίδας αἰσχρὸν τοῦτό γε καὶ ἥ γε [182c] φιλοσοφία καὶ ἡ φιλογυμναστία· οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι συμφέρει τοῖς ἄρχουσι φρονήματα μεγάλα ἐγγίγνεσθαι τῶν ἀρχομένων, οὐδὲ φιλίας ἰσχυρὰς καὶ κοινωνίας, ὃ δὴ μάλιστα φιλεῖ τά τε ἄλλα πάντα καὶ ὁ ἔρως ἐμποιεῖν. ἔργῳ δὲ τοῦτῳ ἔμαθον καὶ οἱ ἐνθάδε τύραννοι· ὁ γὰρ Ἀριστογείτονος ἔρως καὶ ἡ Ἁρμοδίου φιλία βέβαιος γενομένη κατέλυσεν αὐτῶν τὴν ἀρχήν. οὕτως οὗ μὲν αἰσχρὸν ἐτέθη [182d] χαρίζεσθαι ἐρασταῖς, κακίᾳ τῶν θεμένων κεῖται, τῶν μὲν ἀρχόντων πλεονεξίᾳ, τῶν δὲ ἀρχομένων ἀνανδρίᾳ· οὗ δὲ καλὸν ἁπλῶς ἐνομίσθη, διὰ τὴν τῶν θεμένων τῆς ψυχῆς ἀργίαν. ἐνθάδε δὲ πολὺ τούτων κάλλιον νενομοθέτηται, καὶ ὅπερ εἶπον, οὐ ῥᾴδιον κατανοῆσαι.

X. Ἐνθυμηθέντι γὰρ ὅτι λέγεται κάλλιον τὸ φανερῶς ἐρᾷν τοῦ λάθρᾳ, καὶ μάλιστα τῶν γενναιοτάτων καὶ ἀρίστων, κἂν αἰσχίους ἄλλων ὦσι, καὶ ὅτι αὖ ἡ παρακέλευσις τῷ ἐρῶντι παρὰ πάντων θαυμαστή, οὐχ ὥς τι αἰσχρὸν ποιοῦντι, καὶ ἑλόντι τε καλὸν δοκεῖ εἶναι [182e] καὶ μὴ ἑλόντι αἰσχρόν, καὶ πρὸς τὸ ἐπιχειρεῖν ἑλεῖν ἐξουσίαν ὁ νόμος δέδωκε τῷ ἐραστῇ θαυμαστὰ ἔργα ἐργαζομένῳ ἐπαινεῖσθαι, ἃ εἴ τις τολμῴη ποιεῖν ἄλλ᾽ ὁτιοῦν διώκων καὶ [183a] βουλόμενος διαπράξασθαι πλὴν τοῦτο, πλὴν φιλοσοφίας , τὰ μέγιστα καρποῖτ᾽ ἂν ὀνείδη· εἰ γὰρ ἢ χρήματα βουλόμενος παρά του λαβεῖν ἢ ἀρχὴν ἄρξαι ἤ τινα ἄλλην δύναμιν ἐθέλοι ποιεῖν οἷάπερ οἱ ἐρασταὶ πρὸς τὰ παιδικά, ἱκετείας τε καὶ ἀντιβολήσεις ἐν ταῖς δεήσεσιν ποιούμενοι, καὶ ὅρκους ὀμνύντες, καὶ κοιμήσεις ἐπὶ θύραις, καὶ ἐθέλοντες δουλείας δουλεύειν οἵας οὐδ᾽ ἂν δοῦλος οὐδείς, ἐμποδίζοιτο ἂν μὴ πράττειν οὕτω τὴν πρᾶξιν καὶ ὑπὸ φίλων καὶ ὑπὸ ἐχθρῶν, [183b] τῶν μὲν ὀνειδιζόντων κολακείας καὶ ἀνελευθερίας, τῶν δὲ νουθετούντων καὶ αἰσχυνομένων ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ· τῷ δ᾽ ἐρῶντι πάντα ταῦτα ποιοῦντι χάρις ἕπεται, καὶ δέδοται ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου ἄνευ ὀνείδους πράττειν, ὡς πάγκαλόν τι πρᾶγμα διαπραττομένου· ὃ δὲ δεινότατον, ὥς γε λέγουσιν οἱ πολλοί, ὅτι καὶ ὀμνύντι μόνῳ συγγνώμη παρὰ θεῶν ἐκβάντι τῶν ὅρκων· ἀφροδίσιον γὰρ ὅρκον οὔ φασιν εἶναι· οὕτω [183c] καὶ οἱ θεοὶ καὶ οἱ ἄνθρωποι πᾶσαν ἐξουσίαν πεποιήκασι τῷ ἐρῶντι, ὡς ὁ νόμος φησὶν ὁ ἐνθάδε· ταύτῃ μὲν οὖν οἰηθείη ἄν τις πάγκαλον νομίζεσθαι ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει καὶ τὸ ἐρᾶν καὶ τὸ φίλους γίγνεσθαι τοῖς ἐρασταῖς. ἐπειδὰν δὲ παιδαγωγοὺς ἐπιστήσαντες οἱ πατέρες τοῖς ἐρωμένοις μὴ ἐῶσι διαλέγεσθαι τοῖς ἐρασταῖς, καὶ τῷ παιδαγωγῷ ταῦτα προστεταγμένα ᾖ, ἡλικιῶται δὲ καὶ ἑταῖροι ὀνειδίζωσιν ἐάν τι ὁρῶσιν τοιοῦτον γιγνόμενον, καὶ τοὺς ὀνειδίζοντας αὖ οἱ [183d] πρεσβύτεροι μὴ διακωλύωσι μηδὲ λοιδορῶσιν ὡς οὐκ ὀρθῶς λέγοντας, εἰς δὲ ταῦτά τις αὖ βλέψας ἡγήσαιτ᾽ ἂν πάλιν αἴσχιστον τὸ τοιοῦτον ἐνθάδε νομίζεσθαι. τὸ δὲ , οἶμαι , ὧδ᾽ ἔχει· οὐχ ἁπλοῦν ἐστιν, ὅπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐλέχθη , οὔτε καλὸν εἶναι αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ οὔτε αἰσχρόν, ἀλλὰ καλῶς μὲν πραττόμενον καλόν, αἰσχρῶς δὲ αἰσχρόν. αἰσχρῶς μὲν οὖν ἐστὶ πονηρῷ τε καὶ πονηρῶς χαρίζεσθαι, καλῶς δὲ χρηστῷ τε καὶ καλῶς. πονηρὸς δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐκεῖνος ὁ ἐραστὴς ὁ πάνδημος, [183e] ὁ τοῦ σώματος μᾶλλον ἢ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐρῶν· καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲ μόνιμός ἐστιν, ἅτε οὐ μονίμου ἐρῶν πράγματος. ἅμα γὰρ τῷ τοῦ σώματος ἄνθει λήγοντι, οὗπερ ἤρα, οἴχεται ἀποπτάμενος, πολλοὺς λόγους καὶ ὑποσχέσεις καταισχύνας· ὁ δὲ τοῦ ἤθους χρηστοῦ ὄντος ἐραστὴς διὰ βίου μένει, ἅ τε μονίμῳ συντακείς. τούτους δὴ βούλεται ὁ [184a] ἡμέτερος νόμος εὖ καὶ καλῶς βασανίζειν, καὶ τοῖς μὲν χαρίσασθαι, τοὺς δὲ διαφεύγειν. διὰ ταῦτα οὖν τοῖς μὲν διώκειν παρακελεύεται, τοῖς δὲ φεύγειν, ἀγωνοθετῶν καὶ βασανίζων , ποτέρων ποτέ ἐστιν ὁ ἐρῶν καὶ ποτέρων ὁ ἐρώμενος. Οὕτω δὴ ὑπὸ ταύτης τῆς αἰτίας πρῶτον μὲν τὸ ἁλίσκεσθαι ταχὺ αἰσχρὸν νενόμισται, ἵνα χρόνος ἐγγένηται, ὃς δὴ δοκεῖ τὰ πολλὰ καλῶς βασανίζειν· ἔπειτα τὸ ὑπὸ χρημάτων καὶ ὑπὸ πολιτικῶν δυνάμεων ἁλῶναι αἰσχρόν, [184b] ἐάν τε κακῶς πάσχων πτήξῃ καὶ μὴ καρτερήσῃ, ἄν τ᾽ εὐεργετούμενος εἰς χρήματα ἢ εἰς διαπράξεις πολιτικὰς μὴ καταφρονήσῃ· οὐδὲν γὰρ δοκεῖ τούτων οὔτε βέβαιον οὔτε μόνιμον εἶναι, χωρὶς τοῦ μηδὲ πεφυκέναι ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν γενναίαν φιλίαν. μία δὴ λείπεται τῷ ἡμετέρῳ νόμῳ ὁδός, εἰ μέλλει καλῶς χαριεῖσθαι ἐραστῇ παιδικά. Ἔστι γὰρ ἡμῖν νόμος, ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τοῖς ἐρασταῖς ἦν δουλεύειν ἐθέλοντας [184c] ἡντινοῦν δουλείαν παιδικοῖς μὴ κολακείαν εἶναι μηδὲ ἐπονείδιστον, οὕτω δὴ καὶ ἄλλη μία μόνη δουλεία ἑκούσιος λείπεται οὐκ ἐπονείδιστος· αὕτη δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ περὶ τὴν ἀρετήν.

XI. Νενόμισται γὰρ δὴ ἡμῖν, ἐάν τις ἐθέλῃ τινὰ θεραπεύειν ἡγούμενος δι᾽ ἐκεῖνον ἀμείνων ἔσεσθαι ἢ κατὰ σοφίαν τινὰ ἢ κατὰ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν μέρος ἀρετῆς, αὕτη αὖ ἡ ἐθελοδουλεία οὐκ αἰσχρὰ εἶναι οὐδὲ κολακεία. δεῖ δὴ τὼ νόμω τούτω ξ υμβαλεῖν εἰς ταὐτό, τόν τε περὶ τὴν παιδεραστίαν καὶ [184d] τὸν περὶ τὴν φιλοσοφίαν τε καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ἀρετήν, εἰ μέλλει ξυμβῆναι καλὸν γενέσθαι τὸ ἐραστῇ παιδικὰ χαρίσασθαι. ὅταν γὰρ εἰς τὸ αὐτὸ ἔλθωσιν ἐραστής τε καὶ παιδικά, νόμον ἔχων ἑκάτερος, ὁ μὲν χαρισαμένοις παιδικοῖς ὑπηρετῶν ὁτιοῦν δικαίως ἂν ὑπηρετεῖν, ὁ δὲ τῷ ποιοῦντι αὐτὸν σοφόν τε καὶ ἀγαθὸν δικαίως αὖ ὁτιοῦν ἂν ὑπουργεῖν < ὑπουργῶν > , καὶ ὁ μὲν δυνάμενος εἰς φρόνησιν καὶ τὴν [184e] ἄλλην ἀρετὴν ξυμβάλλεσθαι, ὁ δὲ δεόμενος εἰς παίδευσιν καὶ τὴν ἄλλην σοφίαν κτᾶσθαι, τότε δὴ τούτων ξυνιόντων εἰς ταὐτὸν τῶν νόμων μοναχοῦ ἐνταῦθα ξυμπίπτει τὸ καλὸν εἶναι παιδικὰ ἐραστῇ χαρίσασθαι, ἄλλοθι δὲ οὐδαμοῦ. ἐπὶ τούτῳ καὶ ἐξαπατηθῆναι οὐδὲν αἰσχρόν· ἐπὶ δὲ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσι καὶ ἐξαπατωμένῳ αἰσχύνην φέρει καὶ μή. εἰ γάρ τις [185a] ἐραστῇ ὡς πλουσίῳ πλούτου ἕνεκα χαρισάμενος ἐξαπατηθείη καὶ μὴ λάβοι χρήματα, ἀναφανέντος τοῦ ἐραστοῦ πένητος, οὐδὲν ἧττον αἰσχρόν· δοκεῖ γὰρ ὁ τοιοῦτος τό γε αὑτοῦ ἐπιδεῖξαι, ὅτι ἕνεκα χρημάτων ὁτιοῦν ἂν ὁτῳοῦν ὑπηρετοῖ, τοῦτο δὲ οὐ καλόν. κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν δὴ λόγον κἂν εἴ τις ὡς ἀγαθῷ χαρισάμενος καὶ αὐτὸς ὡς ἀμείνων ἐσόμενος διὰ τὴν φιλίαν ἐραστοῦ ἐξαπατηθείη, ἀναφανέντος ἐκείνου κακοῦ [185b] καὶ οὐ κεκτημένου ἀρετήν, ὅμως καλὴ ἡ ἀπάτη· δοκεῖ γὰρ αὖ καὶ οὗτος τὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸν δεδηλωκέναι, ὅτι ἀρετῆς γ᾽ ἕνεκα καὶ τοῦ βελτίων γενέσθαι πᾶν ἂν παντὶ προθυμηθείη, τοῦτο δὲ αὖ πάντων κάλλιστον· οὕτω < πᾶν > πάντως γε καλὸν ἀρετῆς < γ᾽ > ἕνεκα χαρίζεσθαι. οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ τῆς Οὐρανίας θεοῦ Ἔρως καὶ Οὐράνιος καὶ πολλοῦ ἄξιος καὶ πόλει καὶ ἰδιώταις, πολλὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ἀναγκάζων ποιεῖσθαι πρὸς ἀρετὴν τόν [185c] τε ἐρῶντα αὐτὸν αὑτοῦ καὶ τὸν ἐρώμενον· οἱ δ᾽ ἕτεροι πάντες τῆς ἑτέρας, τῆς πανδήμου. ταῦτά σοι, ἔφη, ὡς ἐκ τοῦ παραχρῆμα, ὦ Φαῖδρε, περὶ Ἔρωτος ξυμβάλλομαι. — Παυσανίου δὲ παυσαμένου , διδάσκουσι γάρ με ἴσα λέγειν οὑτωσὶ οἱ σοφοί , ἔφη ὁ Ἀριστόδημος δεῖν μὲν Ἀριστοφάνη λέγειν, τυχεῖν δὲ αὐτῷ τινὰ ἢ ὑπὸ πλησμονῆς ἢ ὑπό τινος ἄλλου λύγγα ἐπιπεπτωκυῖαν καὶ οὐχ οἷόν τε εἶναι λέγειν, [185d] ἀλλ᾽ εἰπεῖν αὐτόν , ἐν τῇ κάτω γὰρ αὐτοῦ τὸν ἰατρὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον κατακεῖσθαι , Ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε, δίκαιος εἶ ἢ παῦσαί με τῆς λυγγὸς ἢ λέγειν ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ, ἕως ἂν ἐγὼ παύσωμαι. καὶ τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον εἰπεῖν· Ἀλλὰ ποιήσω ἀμφότερα ταῦτα· ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ ἐρῶ ἐν τῷ σῷ μέρει, σὺ δ᾽ ἐπειδὰν παύσῃ, ἐν τῷ ἐμῷ. ἐν ᾧ δ᾽ ἂν ἐγὼ λέγω, ἐὰν μέν σοι ἐθέλῃ ἀπνευστὶ ἔχοντι πολὺν χρόνον παύεσθαι ἡ λύγξ· εἰ δὲ μή, ὕδατι [185e] ἀνακογχυλίασον. εἰ δ᾽ ἄρα πάνυ ἰσχυρά ἐστιν, ἀναλαβών τι τοιοῦτον οἵῳ κινήσαις ἂν τὴν ῥῖνα, πτάρε· καὶ ἐὰν τοῦτο ποιήσῃς ἅπαξ ἢ δίς, καὶ εἰ πάνυ ἰσχυρά ἐστι, παύσεται. Οὐκ ἂν φθάνοις λέγων, φάναι τὸν Ἀριστοφάνη· ἐγὼ δὲ ταῦτα ποιήσω.

XII. Εἰπεῖν δὴ τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον· Δ οκεῖ τοίνυν μοι ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι, ἐπειδὴ Παυσανίας ὁρμήσας ἐπὶ τὸν λόγον καλῶς οὐχ [186a] ἱκανῶς ἀπετέλεσε, δεῖν ἐμὲ πειρᾶσθαι τέλος ἐπιθεῖναι τῷ λόγῳ. Τὸ μὲν γὰρ διπλοῦν εἶναι τὸν Ἔρωτα δοκεῖ μοι καλῶς διελέσθαι . ὅτι δὲ οὐ μόνον ἐστὶν ἐπὶ ταῖς ψυχαῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων πρὸς τοὺς καλοὺς ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις, τοῖς τε σώμασι τῶν πάντων ζῴων καὶ τοῖς ἐν τῇ γῇ φυομένοις καὶ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἐν πᾶσι τοῖς οὖσι, καθεωρακέναι μοι δοκῶ ἐκ τῆς ἰατρικῆς, τῆς ἡμετέρας [186b] τέχνης, ὡς μέγας καὶ θαυμαστὸς καὶ ἐπὶ πᾶν ὁ θεὸς τείνει καὶ κατ᾽ ἀνθρώπινα καὶ κατὰ θεῖα πράγματα. ἄρξομαι δὲ ἀπὸ τῆς ἰατρικῆς λέγων, ἵνα καὶ πρεσβεύωμεν τὴν τέχνην. ἡ γὰρ φύσις τῶν σωμάτων τὸν διπλοῦν Ἔρωτα τοῦτον ἔχει· τὸ γὰρ ὑγιὲς τοῦ σώματος καὶ τὸ νοσοῦν ὁμολογουμένως ἕτερόν τε καὶ ἀνόμοιόν ἐστι· τὸ δὲ ἀνόμοιον ἀνομοίων ἐπιθυμεῖ καὶ ἐρᾷ. ἄλλος μὲν οὖν ὁ ἐπὶ τῷ ὑγιεινῷ ἔρως, ἄλλος δὲ ὁ ἐπὶ τῷ νοσώδει. ἔστι δή, ὥσπερ ἄρτι Παυσανίας ἔλεγεν τοῖς μὲν ἀγαθοῖς καλὸν χαρίζεσθαι τῶν ἀνθρώπων, [186c] τοῖς δ᾽ ἀκολάστοις αἰσχρόν, οὕτω καὶ ἐν αὐτοῖς τοῖς σώμασιν τοῖς μὲν ἀγαθοῖς ἑκάστου τοῦ σώματος καὶ ὑγιεινοῖς καλὸν χαρίζεσθαι καὶ δεῖ, καὶ τοῦτό ἐστιν ᾧ ὄνομα τὸ ἰατρικόν, τοῖς δὲ κακοῖς καὶ νοσώδεσιν αἰσχρόν τε καὶ δεῖ ἀχαριστεῖν, εἰ μέλλει τις τεχνικὸς εἶναι. ἔστι γὰρ ἰατρική, ὡς ἐν κεφαλαίῳ εἰπεῖν, ἐπιστήμη τῶν τοῦ σώματος ἐρωτικῶν πρὸς πλησμονὴν καὶ κένωσιν, καὶ ὁ διαγιγνώσκων ἐν τούτοις τὸν [186d] καλόν τε καὶ αἰσχρὸν ἔρωτα, οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ ἰατρικώτατος, καὶ ὁ μεταβάλλειν ποιῶν, ὥστε ἀντὶ τοῦ ἑτέρου ἔρωτος τὸν ἕτερον κτᾶσθαι, καὶ οἷς μὴ ἔνεστιν ἔρως, δεῖ δ᾽ ἐγγενέσθαι, ἐπιστάμενος ἐμποιῆσαι καὶ ἐνόντα ἐξελεῖν, ἀγαθὸς ἂν εἴη δημιουργός. δεῖ γὰρ δὴ τὰ ἔχθιστα ὄντα ἐν τῷ σώματι φίλα οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι ποιεῖν καὶ ἐρᾷν ἀλλήλων. ἔστι δὲ ἔχθιστα τὰ ἐναντιώτατα, ψυχρὸν θερμῷ, πικρὸν γλυκεῖ, ξηρὸν ὑγρῷ, [186e] πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα· τούτοις ἐπιστηθεὶς ἔρωτα ἐμποιῆσαι καὶ ὁμόνοιαν ὁ ἡμέτερος πρόγονος Ἀσκληπιός, ὥς φασιν οἵδε οἱ ποιηταὶ καὶ ἐγὼ πείθομαι, συνέστησεν τὴν ἡμετέραν τέχνην. ἥ τε οὖν ἰατρική, ὥσπερ λέγω, πᾶσα διὰ τοῦ θεοῦ τούτου [187a] κυβερνᾶται, ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ γυμναστικὴ καὶ γεωργία· μουσικὴ δὲ καὶ παντὶ κατάδηλος τῷ καὶ σμικρὸν προσέχοντι τὸν νοῦν ὅτι κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχει τούτοις, ὥσπερ ἴσως καὶ Ἡράκλειτος βούλεται λέγειν, ἐπεὶ τοῖς γε ῥήμασιν οὐ καλῶς λέγει. τὸ ἓν γάρ φησι διαφερόμενον αὐτὸ αὑτῷ ξυμφέρεσθαι, ὥσπερ ἁρμονίαν τόξου τε καὶ λύρας. ἔστι δὲ πολλὴ ἀλογία ἁρμονίαν φάναι διαφέρεσθαι ἢ ἐκ διαφερομένων ἔτι εἶναι. ἀλλὰ ἴσως τόδε ἐβούλετο λέγειν, ὅτι ἐκ διαφερομένων [187b] πρότερον τοῦ ὀξέος καὶ βαρέος, ἔπειτα ὕστερον ὁμολογησάντων γέγονεν ὑπὸ τῆς μουσικῆς τέχνης. οὐ γὰρ δή που ἐκ διαφερομένων γε ἔτι τοῦ ὀξέος καὶ βαρέος ἁρμονία ἂν εἴη . ἡ γὰρ ἁρμονία συμφωνία ἐστί, συμφωνία δὲ ὁμολογία τις· ὁμολογίαν δὲ ἐκ διαφερομένων, ἕως ἂν διαφέρωνται, ἀδύνατον εἶναι· διαφερόμενον δὲ αὖ καὶ μὴ ὁμολογοῦν ἀδύνατον ἁρμόσαι· ὥσπερ γε καὶ ὁ ῥυθμὸς ἐκ τοῦ ταχέος καὶ [187c] βραδέος, ἐκ διενηνεγμένων πρότερον, ὕστερον δὲ ὁμολογησάντων γέγονε. τὴν δὲ ὁμολογίαν πᾶσι τούτοις, ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ ἡ ἰατρική, ἐνταῦθα ἡ μουσικὴ ἐντίθησιν, ἔρωτα καὶ ὁμόνοιαν ἀλλήλων ἐμποιήσασα· καὶ ἔστιν αὖ μουσικὴ περὶ ἁρμονίαν καὶ ῥυθμὸν ἐρωτικῶν ἐπιστήμη. καὶ ἐν μέν γε αὐτῇ τῇ συστάσει ἁρμονίας τε καὶ ῥυθμοῦ οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν τὰ ἐρωτικὰ διαγιγνώσκειν, οὐδὲ ὁ διπλοῦς ἔρως ἐνταῦθά πως ἔστιν· ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὰν δέῃ πρὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους καταχρῆσθαι [187d] ῥυθμῷ τε καὶ ἁρμονίᾳ ἢ ποιοῦντα, ( ὃ δὴ μελοποιίαν καλοῦσιν ) , ἢ χρώμενον ὀρθῶς τοῖς πεποιημένοις μέλεσί τε καὶ μέτροις, ( ὃ δὴ παιδεία ἐκλήθη ) , ἐνταῦθα δὴ καὶ χαλεπὸν καὶ ἀγαθοῦ δημιουργοῦ δεῖ. πάλιν γὰρ ἥκει ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, ὅτι τοῖς μὲν κοσμίοις τῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ ὡς ἂν κοσμιώτεροι γίγνοιντο οἱ μήπω ὄντες, δεῖ χαρίζεσθαι καὶ φυλάττειν τὸν τούτων ἔρωτα, καὶ οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ καλός, ὁ οὐράνιος, ὁ τῆς Οὐρανίας [187e] μούσης Ἔρως· ὁ δὲ Πολυμνίας ὁ πάνδημος, ὃν δεῖ εὐλαβούμενον προσφέρειν οἷς ἂν προσφέρῃ, ὅπως ἂν τὴν μὲν ἡδονὴν αὐτοῦ καρπώσηται, ἀκολασίαν δὲ μηδεμίαν ἐμποιήσῃ· ὥσπερ ἐν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ τέχνῃ μέγα ἔργον ταῖς περὶ τὴν ὀψοποιικὴν τέχνην ἐπιθυμίαις καλῶς χρῆσθαι, ὥστ᾽ ἄνευ νόσου τὴν ἡδονὴν καρπώσασθαι. καὶ ἐν μουσικῇ δὴ καὶ ἐν ἰατρικῇ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσι καὶ τοῖς ἀνθρωπείοις καὶ τοῖς θείοις, καθ᾽ ὅσον παρείκει, φυλακτέον ἑκάτερον τὸν ἔρωτα· ἔνεστον [188a] γάρ.

XIII. Ἐπεὶ καὶ ἡ τῶν ὡρῶν τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ σύστασις μεστή ἐστιν ἀμφοτέρων τούτων, καὶ ἐπειδὰν μὲν πρὸς ἄλληλα τοῦ κοσμίου τύχῃ ἔρωτος ἃ νῦν δὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, τά τε θερμὰ καὶ τὰ ψυχρὰ καὶ ξηρὰ καὶ ὑγρά, καὶ ἁρμονίαν καὶ κρᾶσιν λάβῃ σώφρονα, ἥκει φέροντα εὐετηρίαν τε καὶ ὑγίειαν ἀνθρώποις καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις τε καὶ φυτοῖς, καὶ οὐδὲν ἠδίκησεν· ὅταν δὲ ὁ μετὰ τῆς ὕβρεως Ἔρως ἐγκρατέστερος περὶ τὰς τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ ὥρας γένηται, διαφθείρει τε πολλὰ καὶ ἠδίκησεν. [188b] οἵ τε γὰρ λοιμοὶ φιλοῦσι γίγνεσθαι ἐκ τῶν τοιούτων καὶ ἄλλ᾽ αὖ ὅμοια πολλὰ νοσήματα καὶ τοῖς θηρίοις καὶ τοῖς φυτοῖς· καὶ γὰρ πάχναι καὶ χάλαζαι καὶ ἐρυσῖβαι ἐκ πλεονεξίας καὶ ἀκοσμίας περὶ ἄλληλα τῶν τοιούτων γίγνεται ἐρωτικῶν· ὧν ἐπιστήμη περὶ ἄστρων τε φορὰς καὶ ἐνιαυτῶν ὥρας ἀστρονομία καλεῖται. ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ θυσίαι πᾶσαι καὶ οἷς μαντικὴ ἐπιστατεῖ (ταῦτα δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ περὶ θεούς τε [188c] καὶ ἀνθρώπους πρὸς ἀλλήλους κοινωνία) οὐ περὶ ἄλλο τί ἐστιν ἢ περὶ Ἔρωτος φυλακήν τε καὶ ἴασιν· πᾶσα γὰρ ἡ ἀσέβεια φιλεῖ γίγνεσθαι ἐὰν μή τις τῷ κοσμίῳ Ἔρωτι χαρίζηται μηδὲ τιμᾷ τε αὐτὸν καὶ πρεσβεύῃ ἐν παντὶ ἔργῳ, ἀλλὰ τὸν ἕτερον, καὶ περὶ γονέας καὶ ζῶντας καὶ τετελευτηκότας καὶ περὶ θεούς· ἃ δὴ προστέτακται τῇ μαντικῇ ἐπισκοπεῖν τοὺς Ἔρωτας καὶ ἰατρεύειν· καὶ ἔστιν αὖ ἡ [188d] μαντικὴ φιλίας θεῶν καὶ ἀνθρώπων δημιουργὸς τῷ ἐπίστασθαι τὰ κατὰ ἀνθρώπους ἐρωτικά, ὅσα τείνει πρὸς θέμιν καὶ ἀσέβειαν. οὕτω πολλὴν καὶ μεγάλην, μᾶλλον δὲ πᾶσαν δύναμιν ἔχει ξυλλήβδην μὲν ὁ πᾶς Ἔρως, ὁ δὲ περὶ τἀγαθὰ μετὰ σωφροσύνης καὶ δικαιοσύνης ἀποτελούμενος καὶ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν καὶ παρὰ θεοῖς, οὗτος τὴν μεγίστην δύναμιν ἔχει καὶ πᾶσαν ἡμῖν εὐδαιμονίαν παρασκευάζει καὶ ἀλλήλοις δυναμένους ὁμιλεῖν καὶ φίλους εἶναι καὶ τοῖς κρείττοσιν ἡμῶν θεοῖς. ἴσως μὲν [188e] οὖν καὶ ἐγὼ τὸν Ἔρωτα ἐπαινῶν πολλὰ παραλείπω, οὐ μέντοι ἑκών γε. ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τι ἐξέλιπον, σὸν ἔργον, ὦ Ἀριστόφανες, ἀναπληρῶσαι· ἢ εἴ πως ἄλλως ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἐγκωμιάζειν τὸν θεόν, ἐγκωμίαζε, ἐπειδὴ καὶ τῆς λυγγὸς πέπαυσαι. — [189a] Ἐκδεξάμενον οὖν ἔφη εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἀριστοφάνη ὅτι· Καὶ μάλ᾽ ἐπαύσατο, οὐ μέντοι πρίν γε τὸν πταρμὸν προσενεχθῆναι αὐτῇ, ὥστε με θαυμάζειν εἰ τὸ κόσμιον τοῦ σώματος ἐπιθυμεῖ τοιούτων ψόφων καὶ γαργαλισμῶν, οἷον καὶ ὁ πταρμός ἐστι· πάνυ γὰρ εὐθὺς ἐπαύσατο, ἐπειδὴ αὐτῷ τὸν πταρμὸν προσήνεγκα. καὶ τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον· ὠγαθέ, φάναι, Ἀριστόφανες, ὅρα τί ποιεῖς. γελωτοποιεῖς μέλλων λέγειν, καὶ φύλακά με τοῦ [189b] λόγου ἀναγκάζεις γίγνεσθαι τοῦ σεαυτοῦ, ἐάν τοι γελοῖον εἴπῃς, ἐξόν σοι ἐν εἰρήνῃ λέγειν. καὶ τὸν Ἀριστοφάνη γελάσαντα εἰπεῖν· Εὖ λέγεις, ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε, καί μοι ἔστω ἄῤῥητα τὰ εἰρημένα. ἀλλὰ μή με φύλαττε, ὡς ἐγὼ φοβοῦμαι περὶ τῶν μελλόντων ῥηθήσεσθαι, οὔ τι μὴ γελοῖα εἴπω (τοῦτο μὲν γὰρ ἂν κέρδος εἴη καὶ τῆς ἡμετέρας μούσης ἐπιχώριον) ἀλλὰ μὴ καταγέλαστα. Βαλών γε, φάναι, ὦ Ἀριστόφανες, οἴει ἐκφεύξεσθαι· ἀλλὰ πρόσεχε τὸν νοῦν καὶ οὕτως λέγε ὡς δώσων λόγον· [189c] ἴσως μέντοι, ἂν δόξῃ μοι, ἀφήσω σε.

XIV. Καὶ μήν, ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε, εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἀριστοφάνη, ἄλλῃ γέ πῃ ἐν νῷ ἔχω λέγειν ἢ ᾗ σύ τε καὶ Παυσανίας εἰπέτην. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δοκοῦσιν ἅνθρωποι παντάπασι τὴν τοῦ ἔρωτος δύναμιν οὐκ ᾐσθῆσθαι, ἐπεὶ αἰσθανόμενοί γε μέγιστ᾽ ἂν αὐτοῦ ἱερὰ κατασκευάσαι καὶ βωμούς, καὶ θυσίας ἂν ποιεῖν μεγίστας, οὐχ ὥσπερ νῦν τούτων οὐδὲν γίγνεται περὶ αὐτόν, δέον πάντων μάλιστα γίγνεσθαι. ἔστι γὰρ θεῶν φιλανθρωπότατος, [189d] ἐπίκουρός τε ὢν τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἰατρὸς τούτων ὧν ἰαθέντων μεγίστη εὐδαιμονία ἂν τῷ ἀνθρωπείῳ γένει εἴη. ἐγὼ οὖν πειράσομαι ὑμῖν εἰσηγήσασθαι τὴν δύναμιν αὐτοῦ, ὑμεῖς δὲ τῶν ἄλλων διδάσκαλοι ἔσεσθε. δεῖ δὲ πρῶτον ὑμᾶς μαθεῖν τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην φύσιν καὶ τὰ παθήματα αὐτῆς. ἡ γὰρ πάλαι ἡμῶν φύσις οὐχ αὑτὴ ἦν ἥπερ νῦν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀλλοία. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ τρία ἦν τὰ γένη τὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, οὐχ ὥσπερ νῦν δύο, ἄῤῥεν καὶ θῆλυ, [189e] ἀλλὰ καὶ τρίτον προσῆν κοινὸν ὂν ἀμφοτέρων τούτων, οὗ νῦν ὄνομα λοιπόν, αὐτὸ δὲ ἠφάνισται· ἀνδρόγυνον γὰρ ἓν τότε μὲν ἦν καὶ εἶδος καὶ ὄνομα ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων κοινὸν τοῦ τε ἄῤῥενος καὶ θήλεος, νῦν δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ἐν ὀνείδει ὄνομα κείμενον. ἔπειτα ὅλον ἦν ἑκάστου τοῦ ἀνθρώπου τὸ εἶδος στρογγύλον, νῶτον καὶ πλευρὰς κύκλῳ ἔχον· χεῖρας δὲ τέτταρας εἶχε, καὶ σκέλη τὰ ἴσα ταῖς χερσίν, καὶ πρόσωπα [190a] δύ᾽ ἐπ᾽ αὐχένι κυκλοτερεῖ, ὅμοια πάντῃ· κεφαλὴν δ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀμφοτέροις τοῖς προσώποις ἐναντίοις κειμένοις μίαν, καὶ ὦτα τέτταρα, καὶ αἰδοῖα δύο, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ὡς ἀπὸ τούτων ἄν τις εἰκάσειεν. ἐπορεύετο δὲ καὶ ὀρθὸν ὥσπερ νῦν, ὁποτέρωσε βουληθείη· καὶ ὁπότε ταχὺ ὁρμήσειεν θεῖν, ὥσπερ οἱ κυβιστῶντες καὶ εἰς ὀρθὸν τὰ σκέλη περιφερόμενοι κυβιστῶσι κύκλῳ, ὀκτὼ τότε οὖσι τοῖς μέλεσιν ἀπερειδόμενοι ταχὺ ἐφέροντο κύκλῳ. ἦν δὲ διὰ ταῦτα τρία [190b] τὰ γένη καὶ τοιαῦτα, ὅτι τὸ μὲν ἄῤῥεν ἦν τοῦ ἡλίου τὴν ἀρχὴν ἔκγονον, τὸ δὲ θῆλυ τῆς γῆς, τὸ δὲ ἀμφοτέρων μετέχον τῆς σελήνης, ὅτι καὶ ἡ σελήνη ἀμφοτέρων μετέχει· περιφερῆ δὲ δὴ ἦν καὶ αὐτὰ καὶ ἡ πορεία αὐτῶν διὰ τὸ τοῖς γονεῦσιν ὅμοια εἶναι. ἦν οὖν τὴν ἰσχὺν δεινὰ καὶ τὴν ῥώμην, καὶ τὰ φρονήματα μεγάλα εἶχον, ἐπεχείρησαν δὲ τοῖς θεοῖς, καὶ ὃ λέγει Ὅμηρος περὶ Ἐφιάλτου τε καὶ Ὤτου, περὶ ἐκείνων λέγεται, τὸ εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀνάβασιν ἐπιχειρεῖν [190c] ποιεῖν, ὡς ἐπιθησομένων τοῖς θεοῖς.

XV. Ὁ οὖν Ζεὺς καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι θεοὶ ἐβουλεύοντο , ὅ τι χρὴ αὐτοὺς ποιῆσαι, καὶ ἠπόρουν· οὔτε γὰρ ὅπως ἀποκτείναιεν εἶχον καὶ ὥσπερ τοὺς γίγαντας κεραυνώσαντες τὸ γένος ἀφανίσαιεν — αἱ τιμαὶ γὰρ αὐτοῖς καὶ ἱερὰ τὰ παρὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἠφανίζετο — οὔθ᾽ ὅπως ἐῷεν ἀσελγαίνειν. μόγις δὴ ὁ Ζεὺς ἐννοήσας λέγει ὅτι· Δοκῶ μοι, ἔφη, ἔχειν μηχανήν, ὡς ἂν εἶέν τε ἄνθρωποι καὶ παύσαιντο τῆς ἀκολασίας ἀσθενέστεροι [190d] γενόμενοι. νῦν μὲν γὰρ αὐτούς, ἔφη, διατεμῶ δίχα ἕκαστον, καὶ ἅμα μὲν ἀσθενέστεροι ἔσονται, ἅμα δὲ χρησιμώτεροι ἡμῖν διὰ τὸ πλείους τὸν ἀριθμὸν γεγονέναι· καὶ βαδιοῦνται ὀρθοὶ ἐπὶ δυοῖν σκελοῖν· ἐὰν δ᾽ ἔτι δοκῶσιν ἀσελγαίνειν καὶ μὴ ἐθέλωσιν ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν, πάλιν αὖ, ἔφη, τεμῶ δίχα, ὥστ᾽ ἐφ᾽ ἑνὸς πορεύσονται σκέλους ἀσκωλιάζοντες. ταῦτα εἰπὼν ἔτεμνε τοὺς ἀνθρώπους δίχα, ὥσπερ οἱ τὰ ὠὰ τέμνοντες [190e] καὶ μέλλοντες ταριχεύειν, ἢ ὥσπερ οἱ τὰ ὠὰ ταῖς θριξίν· ὄντινα δὲ τέμοι, τὸν Ἀπόλλω ἐκέλευε τό τε πρόσωπον μεταστρέφειν καὶ τὸ τοῦ αὐχένος ἥμισυ πρὸς τὴν τομήν, ἵνα θεώμενος τὴν αὑτοῦ τμῆσιν κοσμιώτερος εἴη ὁ ἄνθρωπος· καὶ τἆλλα ἰᾶσθαι ἐκέλευεν. ὁ δὲ τό τε πρόσωπον μετέστρεφε, καὶ συνέλκων πανταχόθεν τὸ δέρμα ἐπὶ τὴν γαστέρα νῦν καλουμένην, ὥσπερ τὰ σύσπαστα βαλάντια, ἓν στόμα ποιῶν ἀπέδει κατὰ μέσην τὴν γαστέρα, ὃ δὴ τὸν ὀμφαλὸν καλοῦσι. καὶ τὰς μὲν ἄλλας ῥυτίδας [191a] τὰς πολλὰς ἐξελέαινε καὶ τὰ στήθη διήρθρου, ἔχων τι τοιοῦτον ὄργανον οἷον οἱ σκυτοτόμοι περὶ τὸν καλάποδα λεαίνοντες τὰς τῶν σκυτῶν ῥυτίδας· ὀλίγας δὲ κατέλιπε, τὰς περὶ αὐτὴν τὴν γαστέρα καὶ τὸν ὀμφαλόν, μνημεῖον εἶναι τοῦ παλαιοῦ πάθους. ἐπειδὴ οὖν ἡ φύσις δίχα ἐτμήθη, ποθοῦν ἕκαστον τὸ ἥμισυ τὸ αὑτοῦ ξυνῄει, καὶ περιβάλλοντες τὰς χεῖρας καὶ συμπλεκόμενοι ἀλλήλοις, ἐπιθυμοῦντες συμφῦναι, ἀπέθνῃσκον ὑπὸ λιμοῦ καὶ τῆς [191b] ἄλλης ἀργίας διὰ τὸ μηδὲν ἐθέλειν χωρὶς ἀλλήλων ποιεῖν. καὶ ὁπότε τι ἀποθάνοι τῶν ἡμίσεων, τὸ δὲ λειφθείη, τὸ λειφθὲν ἄλλο ἐζήτει καὶ συνεπλέκετο, εἴτε γυναικὸς τῆς ὅλης ἐντύχοι ἡμίσει , ὃ δὴ νῦν γυναῖκα καλοῦμεν , εἴτ᾽ ἀνδρός· καὶ οὕτως ἀπώλλυντο. ἐλεήσας δὲ ὁ Ζεὺς ἄλλην μηχανὴν πορίζεται, καὶ μετατίθησιν αὐτῶν τὰ αἰδοῖα εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν· τέως γὰρ καὶ ταῦτα ἐκτὸς εἶχον, καὶ ἐγέννων [191c] καὶ ἔτικτον οὐκ εἰς ἀλλήλους ἀλλ᾽ εἰς γῆν, ὥσπερ οἱ τέττιγες. μετέθηκέ τε οὖν οὕτω αὐτῶν εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν καὶ διὰ τούτων τὴν γένεσιν ἐν ἀλλήλοις ἐποίησε, διὰ τοῦ ἄῤῥενος ἐν τῷ θήλει, τῶνδε ἕνεκα, ἵνα ἐν τῇ συμπλοκῇ ἅμα μὲν εἰ ἀνὴρ γυναικὶ ἐντύχοι, γεννῷεν καὶ γίγνοιτο τὸ γένος, ἅμα δ᾽ εἰ καὶ ἄῤῥην ἄῤῥενι, πλησμονὴν γοῦν γίγνοιτο τῆς συνουσίας καὶ διαπαύοιντο καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ ἔργα τρέποιντο καὶ τοῦ ἄλλου βίου ἐπιμελοῖντο. ἔστι δὴ οὖν ἐκ τόσου [191d] ὁ ἔρως ἔμφυτος ἀλλήλων τοῖς ἀνθρώποις καὶ τῆς ἀρχαίας φύσεως συναγωγεὺς καὶ ἐπιχειρῶν ποιῆσαι ἓν ἐκ δυοῖν καὶ ἰάσασθαι τὴν φύσιν τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην.

XVI. Ἕ καστος οὖν ἡμῶν ἐστὶν ἀνθρώπου ξύμβολον, ἅτε τετμημένος ὥσπερ αἱ ψῆτται, ἐξ ἑνὸς δύο . ζητεῖ δὴ ἀεὶ τὸ αὑτοῦ ἕκαστος ξύμβολον. ὅσοι μὲν οὖν τῶν ἀνδρῶν τοῦ κοινοῦ τμῆμά εἰσιν, ὃ δὴ τότε ἀνδρόγυνον ἐκαλεῖτο, φιλογύναικές τέ εἰσὶ καὶ οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν μοιχῶν ἐκ τούτου τοῦ γένους γεγόνασιν, καὶ [191e] ὅσαι αὖ γυναῖκες φίλανδροί τε καὶ μοιχεύτριαι , ἐκ τούτου τοῦ γένους γίγνονται. ὅσαι δὲ τῶν γυναικῶν γυναικὸς τμῆμά εἰσιν, οὐ πάνυ αὗται τοῖς ἀνδράσι τὸν νοῦν προσέχουσιν, ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον πρὸς τὰς γυναῖκας τετραμμέναι εἰσί, καὶ αἱ ἑταιρίστριαι ἐκ τούτου τοῦ γένους γίγνονται. ὅσοι δὲ ἄῤῥενος τμῆμά εἰσι, τὰ ἄῤῥενα διώκουσι, καὶ τέως μὲν ἂν παῖδες ὦσιν, ἅτε τεμάχια ὄντα τοῦ ἄῤῥενος, φιλοῦσι τοὺς ἄνδρας καὶ χαίρουσι συγκατακείμενοι καὶ συμπεπλεγμένοι [192a] τοῖς ἀνδράσι, καί εἰσιν οὗτοι βέλτιστοι τῶν παίδων καὶ μειρακίων, ἅτε ἀνδρειότατοι ὄντες φύσει. φασὶ δὲ δή τινες αὐτοὺς ἀναισχύντους εἶναι, ψευδόμενοι· οὐ γὰρ ὑπ᾽ ἀναισχυντίας τοῦτο δρῶσιν ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ θάῤῥους καὶ ἀνδρείας καὶ ἀῤῥενωπίας, τὸ ὅμοιον αὐτοῖς ἀσπαζόμενοι. μέγα δὲ τεκμήριον· καὶ γὰρ τελεωθέντες μόνοι ἀποβαίνουσιν εἰς τὰ πολιτικὰ ἄνδρες οἱ τοιοῦτοι. ἐπειδὰν δὲ ἀνδρωθῶσι, [192b] παιδεραστοῦσι καὶ πρὸς γάμους καὶ παιδοποιίας οὐ προσέχουσι τὸν νοῦν φύσει, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου ἀναγκάζονται· ἀλλ᾽ ἐξαρκεῖ αὐτοῖς μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων καταζῇν ἀγάμοις. πάντως μὲν οὖν ὁ τοιοῦτος παιδεραστής τε καὶ φιλεραστὴς γίγνεται, ἀεὶ τὸ συγγενὲς ἀσπαζόμενος. ὅταν μὲν οὖν καὶ αὐτῷ ἐκείνῳ ἐντύχῃ τῷ αὑτοῦ ἡμίσει καὶ ὁ παιδεραστὴς καὶ ἄλλος πᾶς, τότε καὶ θαυμαστὰ ἐκπλήττονται φιλίᾳ τε καὶ [192c] οἰκειότητι καὶ ἔρωτι, οὐκ ἐθέλοντες , ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν χωρίζεσθαι ἀλλήλων οὐδὲ σμικρὸν χρόνον. καὶ οἱ διατελοῦντες μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων διὰ βίου οὗτοί εἰσιν, οἳ οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἔχοιεν εἰπεῖν ὅ τι βούλονται σφίσι παρ᾽ ἀλλήλων γίγνεσθαι. οὐδενὶ γὰρ ἂν δόξειεν τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι ἡ τῶν ἀφροδισίων συνουσία, ὡς ἄρα τούτου ἕνεκα ἕτερος ἑτέρῳ χαίρει ξυνὼν οὕτως ἐπὶ μεγάλης σπουδῆς· ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλο τι βουλομένη ἑκατέρου ἡ ψυχὴ [192d] δήλη ἐστίν, ὃ οὐ δύναται εἰπεῖν, ἀλλὰ μαντεύεται ὃ βούλεται, καὶ αἰνίττεται. καὶ εἰ αὐτοῖς ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ κατακειμένοις ἐπιστὰς ὁ Ἥφαιστος, ἔχων τὰ ὄργανα, ἔροιτο· τί ἔσθ᾽ ὃ βούλεσθε, ὦ ἄνθρωποι, ὑμῖν παρ᾽ ἀλλήλων γενέσθαι; καὶ εἰ ἀποροῦντας αὐτοὺς πάλιν ἔροιτο· ἆρά γε τοῦδε ἐπιθυμεῖτε, ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ γενέσθαι ὅτι μάλιστα ἀλλήλοις, ὥστε καὶ νύκτα καὶ ἡμέραν μὴ ἀπολείπεσθαι ἀλλήλων ; εἰ γὰρ τούτου ἐπιθυμεῖτε, ἐθέλω ὑμᾶς συντῆξαι καὶ [192e] συμφυσῆσαι εἰς τὸ αὐτό, ὥστε δύ᾽ ὄντας ἕνα γεγονέναι καὶ ἕως τ᾽ ἂν ζῆτε, ὡς ἕνα ὄντα, κοινῇ ἀμφοτέρους ζῇν, καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνητε, ἐκεῖ αὖ ἐν Ἅιδου ἀντὶ δυοῖν ἕνα εἶναι κοινῇ τεθνεῶτε· ἀλλ᾽ ὁρᾶτε εἰ τούτου ἐρᾶτε καὶ ἐξαρκεῖ ὑμῖν ἂν τούτου τύχητε· ταῦτ᾽ ἀκούσας ἴσμεν ὅτι οὐδ᾽ ἂν εἷς ἐξαρνηθείη οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο τι ἂν φανείη βουλόμενος, ἀλλ᾽ ἀτεχνῶς οἴοιτ᾽ ἂν ἀκηκοέναι τοῦτο ὃ πάλαι ἄρα ἐπεθύμει, συνελθὼν καὶ συντακεὶς τῷ ἐρωμένῳ ἐκ δυοῖν εἷς γενέσθαι. τοῦτο γάρ ἐστι τὸ αἴτιον, ὅτι ἡ ἀρχαία φύσις ἡμῶν ἦν αὕτη καὶ ἦμεν ὅλοι· τοῦ ὅλου οὖν τῇ ἐπιθυμίᾳ [193a] καὶ διώξει ἔρως ὄνομα. καὶ πρὸ τοῦ, ὥσπερ λέγω, ἓν ἦμεν, νυνὶ δὲ διὰ τὴν ἀδικίαν διῳκίσθημεν ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ, καθάπερ Ἀρκάδες ὑπὸ Λακεδαιμονίων· φόβος οὖν ἔστιν, ἐὰν μὴ κόσμιοι ὦμεν πρὸς τοὺς θεούς, ὅπως μὴ καὶ αὖθις διασχισθησόμεθα, καὶ περίιμεν ἔχοντες ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν ταῖς στήλαις καταγραφὴν ἐκτετυπωμένοι, διαπεπρισμένοι κατὰ τὰς ῥῖνας, γεγονότες ὥσπερ λίσπαι. ἀλλὰ τούτων ἕνεκα πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα χρὴ ἅπαντα παρακελεύεσθαι εὐσεβεῖν περὶ [193b] θεούς, ἵνα τὰ μὲν ἐκφύγωμεν, τῶν δὲ τύχωμεν, ὧν ὁ Ἔρως ἡμῖν ἡγεμὼν καὶ στρατηγός. ᾧ μηδεὶς ἐναντία πραττέτω ( πράττει δ᾽ ἐναντία ὅστις θεοῖς ἀπεχθάνεται)· φίλοι γὰρ γενόμενοι καὶ διαλλαγέντες τῷ θεῷ ἐξευρήσομέν τε καὶ ἐντευξόμεθα τοῖς παιδικοῖς τοῖς ἡμετέροις αὐτῶν, ὃ τῶν νῦν ὀλίγοι ποιοῦσι. καὶ μή μοι ὑπολάβῃ Ἐρυξίμαχος, κωμῳδῶν τὸν λόγον, ὡς Παυσανίαν καὶ Ἀγάθωνα λέγω· ἴσως μὲν [193c] γὰρ καὶ οὗτοι τούτων τυγχάνουσιν ὄντες καί εἰσιν ἀμφότεροι τὴν φύσιν ἄῤῥενες· λέγω δὲ οὖν ἔγωγε καθ᾽ ἁπάντων καὶ ἀνδρῶν καὶ γυναικῶν, ὅτι οὕτως ἂν ἡμῶν τὸ γένος εὔδαιμον γένοιτο, εἰ ἐκτελέσαιμεν τὸν ἔρωτα καὶ τῶν παιδικῶν τῶν αὑτοῦ ἕκαστος τύχοι εἰς τὴν ἀρχαίαν ἀπελθὼν φύσιν· εἰ δὲ τοῦτο ἄριστον, ἀναγκαῖον καὶ τῶν νῦν παρόντων τὸ τούτου ἐγγυτάτω ἄριστον εἶναι· τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ παιδικῶν τυχεῖν κατὰ νοῦν αὐτῷ πεφυκότων· οὗ δὴ τὸν αἴτιον θεὸν ὑμνοῦντες [193d] δικαίως ἂν ὑμνοῖμεν Ἔρωτα, ὃς ἔν τε τῷ παρόντι ἡμᾶς πλεῖστα ὀνίνησιν εἰς τὸ οἰκεῖον ἄγων, καὶ εἰς τὸ ἔπειτα ἐλπίδας μεγίστας παρέχεται, ἡμῶν παρεχομένων πρὸς θεοὺς εὐσέβειαν, καταστήσας ἡμᾶς εἰς τὴν ἀρχαίαν φύσιν καὶ ἰασάμενος μακαρίους καὶ εὐδαίμονας ποιῆσαι. οὗτος, ἔφη, ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε, ὁ ἐμὸς λόγος ἐστὶ περὶ Ἔρωτος, ἀλλοῖος ἢ ὁ σός. ὥσπερ οὖν ἐδεήθην σου, μὴ κωμῳδήσῃς αὐτόν, ἵνα καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν ἀκούσωμεν τί ἕκαστος [193e] ἐρεῖ, μᾶλλον δὲ τί ἑκάτερος· Ἀγάθων γὰρ καὶ Σωκράτης λοιποί.

XVII. Ἀ λλὰ πείσομαί σοι, ἔφη φάναι τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον· καὶ γάρ μοι ὁ λόγος ἡδέως ἐῤῥήθη. καὶ εἰ μὴ ξυνῄδειν Σωκράτει τε καὶ Ἀγάθωνι δεινοῖς οὖσι περὶ τὰ ἐρωτικά, πάνυ ἂν ἐφοβούμην μὴ ἀπορήσωσι λόγων διὰ τὸ πολλὰ καὶ παντοδαπὰ εἰρῆσθαι· νῦν δὲ ὅμως θαῤῥῶ , [194a] τὸν οὖν Σωκράτη εἰπεῖν Καλῶς γὰρ αὐτὸς ἠγώνισαι, ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε· εἰ δὲ γένοιο οὗ νῦν ἐγώ εἰμι, μᾶλλον δὲ ἴσως οὗ ἔσομαι ἐπειδὰν καὶ Ἀγάθων εἴπῃ εὖ, καὶ μάλ᾽ ἂν φοβοῖο καὶ ἐν παντὶ εἴης ὥσπερ ἐγὼ νῦν. Φαρμάττειν βούλει με, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἀγάθωνα, ἵνα θορυβηθῶ διὰ τὸ οἴεσθαι τὸ θέατρον προσδοκίαν μεγάλην ἔχειν ὡς εὖ ἐροῦντος ἐμοῦ. Ἐπιλήσμων μέντ᾽ ἂν εἴην, ὦ Ἀγάθων, εἰπεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, [194b] εἰ ἰδὼν τὴν σὴν ἀνδρείαν καὶ μεγαλοφροσύνην ἀναβαίνοντος ἐπὶ τὸν ὀκρίβαντα μετὰ τῶν ὑποκριτῶν, καὶ βλέψαντος ἐναντία τοσούτῳ θεάτρῳ, μέλλοντος ἐπιδείξεσθαι σαυτοῦ λόγους, καὶ οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν ἐκπλαγέντος, νῦν οἰηθείην σε θορυβήσεσθαι ἕνεκα ἡμῶν ὀλίγων ἀνθρώπων. Τί δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες; τὸν Ἀγάθωνα φάναι, οὐ δή πού με οὕτω θεάτρου μεστὸν ἡγεῖ, ὥστε καὶ ἀγνοεῖν ὅτι νοῦν ἔχοντι ὀλίγοι ἔμφρονες πολλῶν ἀφρόνων φοβερώτεροι; [194c] Οὐ μέντ᾽ ἂν καλῶς ποιοίην, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, ὦ Ἀγάθων, περὶ σοῦ τι ἐγὼ ἄγροικον δοξάζων· ἀλλ᾽ εὖ οἶδα ὅτι εἴ τισιν ἐντύχοις οὓς ἡγεῖο σοφούς, μᾶλλον ἂν αὐτῶν φροντίζοις ἢ τῶν πολλῶν· ἀλλὰ μὴ οὐχ οὗτοι ἡμεῖς ὦμεν· ἡμεῖς μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἐκεῖ παρῆμεν καὶ ἦμεν τῶν πολλῶν· εἰ δὲ ἄλλοις ἐντύχοις σοφοῖς, τάχ᾽ ἂν αἰσχύνοιο αὐτούς, εἴ τι ἴσως οἴοιο αἰσχρὸν ὂν ποιεῖν· ἢ πῶς λέγεις; Ἀληθῆ λέγεις, φάναι. Τοὺς δὲ πολλοὺς οὐκ ἂν αἰσχύνοιο εἴ τι οἴοιο αἰσχρὸν ποιεῖν; [194d] καὶ τὸν Φαῖδρον ἔφη ὑπολαβόντα εἰπεῖν Ὦ φίλε Ἀγάθων, ἐὰν ἀποκρίνῃ Σωκράτει, οὐδὲν ἔτι διοίσει αὐτῷ ὁπῃοῦν τῶν ἐνθάδε ὁτιοῦν γίγνεσθαι, ἐὰν μόνον ἔχῃ ὅτῳ διαλέγηται, ἄλλως τε καὶ καλῷ. ἐγὼ δὲ ἡδέως μὲν ἀκούω Σωκράτους διαλεγομένου, ἀναγκαῖον δέ μοι ἐπιμεληθῆναι τοῦ ἐγκωμίου τῷ Ἔρωτι καὶ ἀποδέξασθαι παρ᾽ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου ὑμῶν τὸν λόγον· ἀποδοὺς οὖν ἑκάτερος τῷ θεῷ οὕτως ἤδη διαλεγέσθω. [194e] Ἀλλὰ καλῶς λέγεις, ὦ Φαῖδρε, φάναι τὸν Ἀγάθωνα, καὶ οὐδέν με κωλύει λέγειν· Σωκράτει γὰρ καὶ αὖθις ἔσται πολλάκις διαλέγεσθαι.

XIII. Ἐ γὼ δὲ δὴ βούλομαι πρῶτον μὲν εἰπεῖν ὡς χρή με εἰπεῖν, ἔπειτα εἰπεῖν. δοκοῦσι γάρ μοι πάντες οἱ πρόσθεν εἰρηκότες οὐ τὸν θεὸν ἐγκωμιάζειν ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους εὐδαιμονίζειν τῶν ἀγαθῶν ὧν ὁ θεὸς αὐτοῖς αἴτιος· ὁποῖος δέ τις αὐτὸς ὢν [195a] ταῦτα ἐδωρήσατο, οὐδεὶς εἴρηκεν. εἷς δὲ τρόπος ὀρθὸς παντὸς ἐπαίνου περὶ παντός, λόγῳ διελθεῖν οἷος οἵων αἴτιος ὢν τυγχάνει περὶ οὗ ἂν ὁ λόγος ᾖ. οὕτω δὴ τὸν Ἔρωτα καὶ ἡμᾶς δίκαιον ἐπαινέσαι πρῶτον αὐτὸν οἷός ἐστιν, ἔπειτα τὰς δόσεις. φημὶ οὖν ἐγὼ πάντων θεῶν εὐδαιμόνων ὄντων Ἔρωτα, εἰ θέμις καὶ ἀνεμέσητον εἰπεῖν, εὐδαιμονέστατον εἶναι αὐτῶν, κάλλιστον ὄντα καὶ ἄριστον. ἔστι δὲ κάλλιστος ὢν τοιόσδε. πρῶτον μὲν νεώτατος θεῶν, ὦ Φαῖδρε. μέγα [195b] δὲ τεκμήριον τῷ λόγῳ αὐτὸς παρέχεται, φεύγων φυγῇ τὸ γῆρας, ταχὺ ὂν δῆλον ὅτι· θᾶττον γοῦν τοῦ δέοντος ἡμῖν προσέρχεται. ὃ δὴ πέφυκεν Ἔρως μισεῖν καὶ οὐδ᾽ ἐντὸς πολλοῦ πλησιάζειν. μετὰ δὲ νέων ἀεὶ σύνεστί τε καὶ ἔστιν· ὁ γὰρ παλαιὸς λόγος εὖ ἔχει, ὡς ὅμοιον ὁμοίῳ ἀεὶ πελάζει. ἐγὼ δὲ Φαίδρῳ πολλὰ ἄλλα ὁμολογῶν τοῦτο οὐχ ὁμολογῶ, ὡς Ἔρως Κρόνου καὶ Ἰαπετοῦ ἀρχαιότερός ἐστιν . ἀλλά [195c] φημὶ νεώτατον αὐτὸν εἶναι θεῶν καὶ ἀεὶ νέον, τὰ δὲ παλαιὰ πράγματα περὶ θεούς, ἃ Ἡσίοδος καὶ Παρμενίδης λέγουσιν, Ἀνάγκῃ καὶ οὐκ Ἔρωτι γεγονέναι, εἰ ἐκεῖνοι ἀληθῆ ἔλεγον· οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐκτομαὶ οὐδὲ δεσμοὶ ἀλλήλων ἐγίγνοντο καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ βίαια, εἰ Ἔρως ἐν αὐτοῖς ἦν, ἀλλὰ φιλία καὶ εἰρήνη, ὥσπερ νῦν, ἐξ οὗ Ἔρως τῶν θεῶν βασιλεύει. νέος μὲν οὖν ἐστί, πρὸς δὲ τῷ νέῳ ἁπαλός· ποιητοῦ δ᾽ ἔστιν [195d] ἐνδεὴς οἷος ἦν Ὅμηρος , πρὸς τὸ ἐπιδεῖξαι θεοῦ ἁπαλότητα. Ὅμηρος γὰρ Ἄτην θεόν τέ φησιν εἶναι καὶ ἁπαλήν ( τοὺς γοῦν πόδας αὐτῆς ἁπαλοὺς εἶναι ) λέγων

. . . τῆς μένθ᾽ ἁπαλοὶ πόδες· οὐ γὰρ ἐπ᾽ οὔδεος

πίλναται, ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα ἥ γε κατ᾽ ἀνδρῶν κράατα βαίνει.

καλῷ οὖν δοκεῖ μοι τεκμηρίῳ τὴν ἁπλότητα ἀποφαίνειν, ὅτι οὐκ ἐπὶ σκληροῦ βαίνει, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ μαλθακοῦ. τῷ αὐτῷ [195e] δὴ καὶ ἡμεῖς χρησόμεθα τεκμηρίῳ περὶ Ἔρωτα ὅτι ἁπαλός. οὐ γὰρ ἐπὶ γῆς βαίνει οὐδ᾽ ἐπὶ κρανίων, ἅ ἐστιν οὐ πάνυ μαλακά, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν τοῖς μαλακωτάτοις τῶν ὄντων καὶ βαίνει καὶ οἰκεῖ. ἐν γὰρ ἤθεσι καὶ ψυχαῖς θεῶν καὶ ἀνθρώπων τὴν οἴκησιν ἵδρυται· καὶ οὐκ αὖ ἑξῆς ἐν πάσαις ταῖς ψυχαῖς, ἀλλ᾽ ᾗτινι ἂν σκληρὸν ἦθος ἐχούσῃ ἐντύχῃ, ἀπέρχεται, ᾗ δ᾽ ἂν μαλακόν, οἰκίζεται. ἁπτόμενον οὖν ἀεὶ καὶ ποσὶν καὶ πάντῃ ἐν μαλακωτάτοις τῶν μαλακωτάτων, ἁπαλώτατον ἀνάγκη [196a] εἶναι. νεώτατος μὲν δή ἐστι καὶ ἁπαλώτατος, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ὑγρὸς τὸ εἶδος , οὐ γὰρ ἂν οἷός τ᾽ ἦν πάντῃ περιπτύσσεσθαι οὐδὲ διὰ πάσης ψυχῆς καὶ εἰσιὼν τὸ πρῶτον λανθάνειν καὶ ἐξιών, εἰ σκληρὸς ἦν. συμμέτρου δὲ καὶ ὑγρᾶς ἰδέας μέγα τεκμήριον ἡ εὐσχημοσύνη, ὃ δὴ διαφερόντως ἐκ πάντων ὁμολογουμένως Ἔρως ἔχει· ἀσχημοσύνῃ γὰρ καὶ Ἔρωτι πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἀεὶ πόλεμος. χρόας δὲ κάλλος ἡ κατ᾽ ἄνθη δίαιτα τοῦ θεοῦ σημαίνει· ἀνανθεῖ γὰρ [196b] καὶ ἀπηνθηκότι καὶ σώματι καὶ ψυχῇ καὶ ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν οὐκ ἐνίζει Ἔρως· οὗ δ᾽ ἂν εὐανθής τε καὶ εὐώδης τόπος ᾖ, ἐνταῦθα δὲ καὶ ἵζει καὶ μένει.

XIX. Περὶ μὲν οὖν κάλλους τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ ταῦθ ᾽ ἱκανὰ καὶ ἔτι πολλὰ λείπεται, περὶ δὲ ἀρετῆς Ἔρωτος μετὰ ταῦτα λεκτέον· τὸ μὲν μέγιστον ὅτι Ἔρως οὔτ᾽ ἀδικεῖ οὔτ᾽ ἀδικεῖται οὔθ ᾽ ὑπὸ θεοῦ οὔτε θεόν, οὔθ ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ἀνθρώπου οὔτε ἄνθρωπον. οὔτε γὰρ αὐτὸς βίᾳ πάσχει, εἴ τι πάσχει — βία γὰρ Ἔρωτος οὐχ [196c] ἅπτεται — οὔτε ποιῶν ποιεῖ — πᾶς γὰρ ἑκὼν Ἔρωτι πᾶν ὑπηρετεῖ — ἃ δ᾽ ἂν ἑκὼν ἑκόντι ὁμολογήσῃ, φασὶν “ οἱ πόλεως βασιλῆς νόμοι „ δίκαια εἶναι. πρὸς δὲ τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ σωφροσύνης πλείστης μετέχει. εἶναι γὰρ ὁμολογεῖται σωφροσύνη τὸ κρατεῖν ἡδονῶν καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν, Ἔρωτος δὲ μηδεμίαν ἡδονὴν κρείττω εἶναι· εἰ δὲ ἥττους, κρατοῖντ᾽ ἂν ὑπὸ Ἔρωτος, ὁ δὲ κρατοῖ, κρατῶν δὲ ἡδονῶν καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν ὁ Ἔρως διαφερόντως ἂν σωφρονοῖ. καὶ μὴν εἴς γε ἀνδρείαν Ἔρωτι [196d] “ οὐδ᾽ Ἄρης ἀνθίσταται „. οὐ γὰρ ἔχει Ἔρωτα Ἄρης, ἀλλ᾽ Ἔρως Ἄρη , Ἀφροδίτης, ὡς λόγος· κρείττων δὲ ὁ ἔχων τοῦ ἐχομένου· τοῦ δ᾽ ἀνδρειοτάτου τῶν ἄλλων κρατῶν πάντων ἂν ἀνδρειότατος εἴη· περὶ μὲν οὖν δικαιοσύνης καὶ σωφροσύνης καὶ ἀνδρείας τοῦ θεοῦ εἴρηται, περὶ δὲ σοφίας λείπεται· ὅσον οὖν δυνατόν, πειρατέον μὴ ἐλλείπειν. καὶ πρῶτον μέν, ἵν᾽ αὖ καὶ ἐγὼ τὴν ἡμετέραν τέχνην τιμήσω ὥσπερ Ἐρυξίμαχος [196e] τὴν αὑτοῦ, ποιητὴς ὁ θεὸς σοφὸς οὕτως ὥστε καὶ ἄλλον ποιῆσαι· πᾶς γοῦν ποιητὴς γίγνεται, “ κἂν ἄμουσος ᾖ τὸ πρίν „ , οὗ ἂν Ἔρως ἅψηται. ᾧ δὴ πρέπει ἡμᾶς μαρτυρίῳ χρῆσθαι, ὅτι ποιητὴς ὁ Ἔρως ἀγαθὸς ἐν κεφαλαίῳ πᾶσαν ποίησιν τὴν κατὰ μουσικήν· ἃ γάρ τις ἢ μὴ ἔχει ἢ μὴ οἶδεν, οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἑτέρῳ δοίη οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἄλλον διδάξειεν. καὶ [197a] μὲν δὴ τήν γε τῶν ζῴων ποίησιν πάντων τίς ἐναντιώσεται μὴ οὐχὶ Ἔρωτος εἶναι σοφίαν, ᾗ γίγνεταί τε καὶ φύεται πάντα τὰ ζῷα; ἀλλὰ τὴν τῶν τεχνῶν δημιουργίαν οὐκ ἴσμεν, ὅτι οὗ μὲν ἂν ὁ θεὸς οὗτος διδάσκαλος γένηται, ἐλλόγιμος καὶ φανὸς ἀπέβη, οὗ δ᾽ ἂν Ἔρως μὴ ἐφάψηται, σκοτεινός; τοξικήν γε μὴν καὶ ἰατρικὴν καὶ μαντικὴν Ἀπόλλων ἀν ε ῦρεν ἐπιθυμίας καὶ ἔρωτος ἡγεμονεύσαντος, [197b] ὥστε καὶ οὗτος Ἔρωτος ἂν εἴη μαθητής, καὶ Μοῦσαι μουσικῆς καὶ Ἥφαιστος χαλκείας καὶ Ἀθηνᾶ ἱστουργίας καὶ “ Ζεὺς κυβερνᾶν θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων „ . ὅθεν δὴ καὶ κατεσκευάσθη τῶν θεῶν τὰ πράγματα Ἔρωτος ἐγγενομένου, δῆλον ὅτι κάλλους ( αἴσχει γὰρ οὐκ ἔνι Ἔρως )· πρὸ τοῦ δέ, ὥσπερ ἐν ἀρχῇ εἶπον, πολλὰ καὶ δεινὰ θεοῖς ἐγίγνετο . ὡς λέγεται, διὰ τὴν τῆς Ἀνάγκης βασιλείαν· ἐπειδὴ δ᾽ ὁ θεὸς οὗτος ἔφυ, ἐκ τοῦ ἐρᾷν τῶν καλῶν πάντ᾽ ἀγαθὰ γέγονεν καὶ θεοῖς καὶ ἀνθρώποις. [197c] οὕτως ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, ὦ Φαῖδρε, Ἔρως πρῶτος αὐτὸς ὢν κάλλιστος καὶ ἄριστος μετὰ τοῦτο τοῖς ἄλλοις ἄλλων τοιούτων αἴτιος εἶναι. ἐπέρχεται δέ μοί τι καὶ ἔμμετρον εἰπεῖν, ὅτι οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ ποιῶν

εἰρήνην μὲν ἐν ἀνθρώποις, πελάγει δὲ γαλήνην
νηνεμίαν, ἀνέμων κοίτην ὕπνον τ᾽ ἐνὶ κήδει.

[197d] οὗτος δὲ ἡμᾶς ἀλλοτριότητος μὲν κενοῖ, οἰκειότητος δὲ πληροῖ, τὰς τοιάσδε ξυνόδους μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων πάσας τιθεὶς ξυνιέναι, ἐν ἑορταῖς, ἐν χοροῖς, ἐν θυσίαις γιγνόμενος ἡγεμών· πρᾳότητα μὲν πορίζων, ἀγριότητα δ᾽ ἐξορίζων· φιλόδωρος εὐμενείας, ἄδωρος δυσμενείας· ἵλεως ἀγαθοῖς· θεατὸς σοφοῖς, ἀγαστὸς θεοῖς· ζηλωτὸς ἀμοίροις, κτητὸς εὐμοίροις· Τρυφῆς, Ἁβρότητος, Χλιδῆς, Χαρίτων, Ἱμέρου, Πόθου πατήρ· ἐπιμελὴς ἀγαθῶν, ἀμελὴς κακῶν· ἐν πόνῳ, ἐν φόβῳ, ἐν πόθῳ, ἐν [197e] λόγῳ κυβερνήτης, ἐπιβάτης, παραστάτης τε καὶ σωτὴρ ἄριστος, ξυμπάντων τε θεῶν καὶ ἀνθρώπων κόσμος, ἡγεμὼν κάλλιστος καὶ ἄριστος, ᾧ χρὴ ἕπεσθαι πάντα ἄνδρα ἐφυμνοῦντα καλῆς ᾠδῆς μετέχοντα ἣν ᾄδει θέλγων πάντων θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων νόημα· οὗτος, ἔφη, ὁ παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ λόγος, ὦ Φαῖδρε, τῷ θεῷ ἀνακείσθω, τὰ μὲν παιδιᾶς, τὰ δὲ σπουδῆς μετρίας, καθ᾽ ὅσον ἐγὼ δύναμαι, μετέχων.

XX. [198a] Εἰπόντος δὲ τοῦ Ἀγάθωνος πάντας ἔφη ὁ Ἀριστόδημος ἀναθορυβῆσαι τοὺς παρόντας, ὡς πρεπόντως τοῦ νεανίσκου εἰρηκότος καὶ αὑτῷ καὶ τῷ θεῷ· τὸν οὖν Σωκράτη εἰπεῖν βλέψαντα εἰς τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον· Ἆρά σοι δοκῶ, φάναι, ὦ παῖ Ἀκουμενοῦ, ἀδεὲς πάλαι δέος δεδιέναι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μαντικῶς , ἃ νῦν δὴ ἔλεγον εἰπεῖν, ὅτι Ἀγάθων θαυμαστῶς ἐροῖ, ἐγὼ δ᾽ ἀπορήσοιμι; Τὸ μὲν ἕτερον, φάναι τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον, μαντικῶς μοι δοκεῖς εἰρηκέναι, ὅτι Ἀγάθων εὖ ἐρεῖ· τὸ δὲ σὲ ἀπορήσειν, οὐκ οἶμαι. [198b] Καὶ πῶς, ὦ μακάριε, εἰπεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, οὐ μέλλω ἀπορεῖν καὶ ἐγὼ καὶ ἄλλος ὁστισοῦν, μέλλων λέξειν μετὰ καλὸν οὕτω καὶ παντοδαπὸν λόγον ῥηθέντα; καὶ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα οὐχ ὁμοίως μὲν θαυμαστά· τὸ δὲ ἐπὶ τελευτῆς τοῦ κάλλους τῶν ὀνομάτων καὶ ῥημάτων τίς οὐκ ἂν ἐξεπλάγη ἀκούων; ἐπεὶ ἔγωγε ἐνθυμούμενος ὅτι αὐτὸς οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἔσομαι οὐδ᾽ ἐγγὺς τούτων οὐδὲν καλὸν εἰπεῖν, ὑπ᾽ αἰσχύνης ὀλίγου [198c] ἀποδρὰς ᾠχόμην, εἴ πῃ εἶχον. καὶ γάρ με Γοργίου ὁ λόγος ἀνεμίμνῃσκεν, ὥστε ἀτεχνῶς τὸ τοῦ Ὁμήρου ἐπεπόνθη· ἐφοβούμην μή μοι τελευτῶν ὁ Ἀγάθων Γοργίου κεφαλὴν δεινοῦ λέγειν ἐν τῷ λόγῳ ἐπὶ τὸν ἐμὸν λόγον πέμψας αὐτόν με λίθον τῇ ἀφωνίᾳ ποιήσειε. καὶ ἐνενόησα τότε ἄρα καταγέλαστος ὤν, ἡνίκα ὑμῖν ὡμολόγουν ἐν τῷ μέρει μεθ᾽ [198d] ὑμῶν ἐγκωμιάσεσθαι τὸν Ἔρωτα καὶ ἔφην εἶναι δεινὸς τὰ ἐρωτικά, οὐδὲν εἰδὼς ἄρα τοῦ πράγματος, ὡς ἔδει ἐγκωμιάζειν ὁτιοῦν. ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ ὑπ᾽ ἀβελτερίας ᾤμην δεῖν τἀληθῆ λέγειν περὶ ἑκάστου τοῦ ἐγκωμιαζομένου, καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ὑπάρχειν, ἐξ αὐτῶν δὲ τούτων τὰ κάλλιστα ἐκλεγομένους ὡς εὐπρεπέστατα τιθέναι· καὶ πάνυ δὴ μέγα ἐφρόνουν ὡς εὖ ἐρῶν, ὡς εἰδὼς τὴν ἀλήθειαν τοῦ ἐπαινεῖν ὁτιοῦν. τὸ δὲ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐ τοῦτο ἦν τὸ καλῶς ἐπαινεῖν ὁτιοῦν, ἀλλὰ τὸ ὡς [198e] μέγιστα ἀνατιθέναι τῷ πράγματι καὶ ὡς κάλλιστα, ἐάν τε ᾖ οὕτως ἔχοντα ἐάν τε μή· εἰ δὲ ψευδῆ, οὐδὲν ἄρ᾽ ἦν πρᾶγμα. προυῤῥήθη γάρ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅπως ἕκαστος ἡμῶν τὸν ἔρωτα ἐγκωμιάζειν δόξει, οὐχ ὅπως ἐγκωμιάσεται. διὰ ταῦτα δὴ , οἶμαι , πάντα λόγον κινοῦντες ἀνατίθετε τῷ Ἔρωτι, καί φατε αὐτὸν τοιοῦτόν τε εἶναι καὶ τοσούτων αἴτιον, ὅπως ἂν [199a] φαίνηται ὡς κάλλιστος καὶ ἄριστος, δῆλον ὅτι τοῖς μὴ γιγνώσκουσιν· οὐ γὰρ που τοῖς γε εἰδόσιν· καὶ καλῶς γ᾽ ἔχει καὶ σεμνῶς ὁ ἔπαινος. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐγὼ οὐκ ᾔδη τὸν τρόπον τοῦ ἐπαίνου, οὐδ᾽ εἰδὼς ὑμῖν ὡμολόγησα καὶ αὐτὸς ἐν τῷ μέρει ἐπαινέσεσθαι. “ ἡ γλῶσσα οὖν ὑπέσχετο, ἡ δὲ φρὴν οὔ „ · χαιρέτω δή. οὐ γὰρ ἔτι ἐγκωμιάζω τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον· οὐ γὰρ ἂν δυναίμην· οὐ μέντοι ἀλλὰ τά γε ἀληθῆ, [199b] εἰ βούλεσθε, ἐθέλω εἰπεῖν κατ᾽ ἐμαυτόν, οὐ πρὸς τοὺς ὑμετέρους λόγους, ἵνα μὴ γέλωτα ὄφλω. ὅρα οὖν, ὦ Φαῖδρε, εἴ τι καὶ τοιούτου λόγου δέῃ, περὶ Ἔρωτος τἀληθῆ λεγόμενα ἀκούειν, ὀνομάσει δὲ καὶ θέσει ῥημάτων τοιαύτῃ ὁποία δὴ ἄν τις τύχῃ ἐπελθοῦσα. τὸν οὖν Φαῖδρον ἔφη καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους κελεύειν λέγειν, ὅπῃ αὐτὸς οἴοιτο δεῖν εἰπεῖν, ταύτῃ. Ἔτι τοίνυν, φάναι, ὦ Φαῖδρε, πάρες μοι Ἀγάθωνα σμίκρ᾽ ἄττα ἐρέσθαι, ἵνα ἀνομολογησάμενος παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ οὕτως ἤδη λέγω. [199c] Ἀλλὰ παρίημι, φάναι τὸν Φαῖδρον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐρώτα. μετὰ ταῦτα δὴ τὸν Σωκράτη ἔφη ἐνθένδε ποθὲν ἄρξασθαι.

XXI. Καὶ μήν, ὦ φίλε Ἀγάθων, καλῶς μοι ἔδοξας καθηγήσασθαι τοῦ λόγου, λέγων ὅτι πρῶτον μὲν δέοι αὐτὸν ἐπιδεῖξαι ὁποῖός τίς ἐστιν ὁ Ἔρως, ὕστερον δὲ τὰ ἔργα αὐτοῦ , ταύτην τὴν ἀρχὴν πάνυ ἄγαμαι. ἴθι οὖν μοι περὶ Ἔρωτος, ἐπειδὴ καὶ τἆλλα καλῶς καὶ μεγαλοπρεπῶς διῆλθες οἷός ἐστι, καὶ [199d] τόδε εἰπέ· πότερόν ἐστι τοιοῦτος οἷος εἶναι τινὸς ὁ Ἔρως ἔρως, ἢ οὐδενός; ἐρωτῶ δ᾽ οὐκ εἰ μητρός τινος ἢ πατρός ἐστιν — γελοῖον γὰρ ἂν εἴη τὸ ἐρώτημα , εἰ Ἔρως ἐστὶν ἔρως μητρὸς ἢ πατρός — ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ αὐτὸ τοῦτο πατέρα ἠρώτων, ἆρα ὁ πατήρ ἐστι πατήρ τινος ἢ οὔ; εἶπες ἂν δή πού μοι, εἰ ἐβούλου καλῶς ἀποκρίνασθαι, ὅτι ἔστιν ὑέος γε ἢ θυγατρὸς ὁ πατὴρ πατήρ· ἢ οὔ; Πάνυ γε, φάναι τὸν Ἀγάθωνα. Οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡ μήτηρ ὡσαύτως; Ὁμολογεῖσθαι καὶ τοῦτο. [199e] Ἔτι τοίνυν, εἰπεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, ἀπόκριναι ὀλίγῳ πλείω, ἵνα μᾶλλον καταμάθῃς ὃ βούλομαι. εἰ γὰρ ἐροίμην, τί δέ; ἀδελφός, αὐτὸ τοῦθ᾽ ὅπερ ἔστιν, ἔστι τινὸς ἀδελφὸς ἢ οὔ; Φάναι εἶναι. Οὐκοῦν ἀδελφοῦ ἢ ἀδελφῆς; Ὁμολογεῖν. Πειρῶ δή, φάναι, καὶ τὸν ἔρωτα εἰπεῖν. ὁ Ἔρως ἔρως ἐστὶν οὐδενὸς ἢ τινός; Πάνυ μὲν οὖν ἔστιν. [200a] Τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν, εἰπεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, φύλαξον παρὰ σαυτῷ μεμνημένος ὅτου· τοσόνδε δὲ εἰπέ, πότερον ὁ Ἔρως ἐκείνου οὗ ἔστιν ἔρως, ἐπιθυμεῖ αὐτοῦ ἢ οὔ; Πάνυ γε, φάναι. Πότερον ἔχων αὐτὸ οὗ ἐπιθυμεῖ τε καὶ ἐρᾷ, εἶτα ἐπιθυμεῖ τε καὶ ἐρᾷ, ἢ οὐκ ἔχων; Οὐκ ἔχων, ὡς τὸ εἰκός γε, φάναι. Σκόπει δή, εἰπεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, ἀντὶ τοῦ εἰκότος εἰ ἀνάγκη οὕτως, τὸ ἐπιθυμοῦν ἐπιθυμεῖν οὗ ἐνδεές ἐστιν, ἢ μὴ [200b] ἐπιθυμεῖν, ἐὰν μὴ ἐνδεὲς ᾖ . ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ θαυμαστῶς δοκεῖ, ὦ Ἀγάθων, ὡς ἀνάγκη εἶναι· σοὶ δὲ πῶς; Κἀμοί, φάναι, δοκεῖ. Καλῶς λέγεις. ἆρ᾽ οὖν βούλοιτ᾽ ἄν τις μέγας ὢν μέγας εἶναι, ἢ ἰσχυρὸς ὢν ἰσχυρός; Ἀδύνατον ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων. Οὐ γάρ που ἐνδεὴς ἂν εἴη τούτων ὅ γε ὤν. Ἀληθῆ λέγεις. Εἰ γὰρ καὶ ἰσχυρὸς ὢν βούλοιτο ἰσχυρὸς εἶναι, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, καὶ ταχὺς ὢν ταχύς, καὶ ὑγιὴς ὢν ὑγιής — ἴσως γὰρ ἄν τις ταῦτα οἰηθείη καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα , τοὺς ὄντας [200c] τε τοιούτους καὶ ἔχοντας ταῦτα τούτων ἅπερ ἔχουσι καὶ ἐπιθυμεῖν, ἵν᾽ οὖν μὴ ἐξαπατηθῶμεν, τούτου ἕνεκα λέγω· τούτοις γάρ, ὦ Ἀγάθων, εἰ ἐννοεῖς, ἔχειν μὲν ἕκαστα τούτων ἐν τῷ παρόντι ἀνάγκη ἃ ἔχουσιν, ἐάν τε βούλωνται ἐάν τε μή, καὶ τούτου γε δή που τίς ἂν ἐπιθυμήσειεν; ἀλλ᾽ ὅταν τις λέγῃ ὅτι ἐγὼ ὑγιαίνων βούλομαι καὶ ὑγιαίνειν, καὶ πλουτῶν βούλομαι καὶ πλουτεῖν, καὶ ἐπιθυμῶ αὐτῶν τούτων ἃ ἔχω, εἴποιμεν ἂν αὐτῷ ὅτι σύ, ὦ ἄνθρωπε, [200d] πλοῦτον κεκτημένος καὶ ὑγίειαν καὶ ἰσχὺν βούλει καὶ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον ταῦτα κεκτῆσθαι, ἐπεὶ ἐν τῷ γε νῦν παρόντι, εἴτε βούλει εἴτε μή, ἔχεις· σκόπει οὖν, ὅταν τοῦτο λέγῃς, ὅτι ἐπιθυμῶ τῶν παρόντων, εἰ ἄλλο τι λέγεις ἢ τόδε, ὅτι βούλομαι τὰ νῦν παρόντα καὶ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον παρεῖναι· ἄλλο τι ὁμολογοῖ ἄν; Συμφάναι ἔφη τὸν Ἀγάθωνα. εἰπεῖν δὴ τὸν Σωκράτη, Οὐκοῦν τοῦτό γ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐκείνου ἐρᾶν, ὃ οὔπω ἕτοιμον αὐτῷ ἐστιν οὐδὲ ἔχει, τὸ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον ταῦτα εἶναι αὐτῷ σῳζόμενα καὶ παρόντα; [200e] Πάνυ γε, φάναι. Καὶ οὗτος ἄρα καὶ ἄλλος πᾶς ὁ ἐπιθυμῶν τοῦ μὴ ἑτοίμου ἐπιθυμεῖ καὶ τοῦ μὴ παρόντος, καὶ ὃ μὴ ἔχει καὶ ὃ μὴ ἔστιν αὐτὸς καὶ οὗ ἐνδεής ἐστι, τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα ἐστὶν ὧν ἡ ἐπιθυμία τε καὶ ὁ ἔρως ἐστίν; Πάνυ γ᾽, εἰπεῖν. Ἴθι δή, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, ἀνομολογησώμεθα τὰ εἰρημένα. ἄλλο τι ἔστιν ὁ Ἔρως ἢ πρῶτον μὲν τινῶν, ἔπειτα τούτων ὧν ἂν ἔνδεια παρῇ αὐτῷ; [201a] Ναί, φάναι. Ἐπὶ δὴ τούτοις ἀναμνήσθητι τίνων ἔφησθα ἐν τῷ λόγῳ εἶναι τὸν Ἔρωτα· εἰ δὲ βούλει, ἐγώ σε ἀναμνήσω. οἶμαι γάρ σε οὑτωσί πως εἰπεῖν, ὅτι τοῖς θεοῖς κατεσκευάσθη τὰ πράγματα δι᾽ ἔρωτα καλῶν· αἰσχρῶν γὰρ οὐκ εἴη ἔρως. οὐχ οὑτωσί πως ἔλεγες; Εἶπον γάρ, φάναι τὸν Ἀγάθωνα. Καὶ ἐπιεικῶς γε λέγεις, ὦ ἑταῖρε, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη· καὶ εἰ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχει, ἄλλο τι ὁ Ἔρως κάλλους ἂν εἴη ἔρως, αἴσχους δὲ οὔ; Ὡμολόγει. [201b] Οὐκοῦν ὡμολόγηται, οὗ ἐνδεής ἐστι καὶ μὴ ἔχει, τούτου ἐρᾷν; Ναί, εἰπεῖν. Ἐνδεὴς ἄρ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ οὐκ ἔχει ὁ Ἔρως κάλλος. Ἀνάγκη, φάναι. Τί δέ; τὸ ἐνδεὲς κάλλους καὶ μηδαμῇ κεκτημένον κάλλος ἆρα λέγεις σὺ καλὸν εἶναι; Οὐ δῆτα. Ἔτι οὖν ὁμολογεῖς Ἔρωτα καλὸν εἶναι, εἰ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει; καὶ τὸν Ἀγάθωνα εἰπεῖν . Κινδυνεύω, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδὲν εἰδέναι ὧν τότε εἶπον. [201c] Καὶ μὴν καλῶς γε εἶπες, φάναι, ὦ Ἀγάθων. ἀλλὰ σμικρὸν ἔτι εἰπέ· τἀγαθὰ οὐ καὶ καλὰ δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι; Ἔμοιγε. Εἰ ἄρα ὁ Ἔρως τῶν καλῶν ἐνδεής ἐστι, τὰ δὲ ἀγαθὰ καλά, κἂν τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐνδεὴς εἴη. Ἐγώ, φάναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, σοὶ οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην ἀντιλέγειν, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως ἐχέτω ὡς σὺ λέγεις. Οὐ μὲν οὖν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, φάναι, ὦ φιλούμενε Ἀγάθων, δύνασαι ἀντιλέγειν, ἐπεὶ Σωκράτει γε οὐδὲν χαλεπόν.

XXII. [201d] Καὶ σὲ μέν γε ἤδη ἐάσω· τὸν δὲ λόγον τὸν περὶ τοῦ Ἔρωτος, ὅν ποτ᾽ ἤκουσα γυναικὸς Μαντινικῆς Διοτίμας, ἣ ταῦτά τε σοφὴ ἦν καὶ ἄλλα πολλά , καὶ Ἀθηναίοις ποτὲ θυσαμένοις πρὸ τοῦ λοιμοῦ δέκα ἔτη ἀναβολὴν ἐποίησε τῆς νόσου, ἣ δὴ καὶ ἐμὲ τὰ ἐρωτικὰ ἐδίδαξεν , — ὃν οὖν ἐκείνη ἔλεγε λόγον, πειράσομαι ὑμῖν διελθεῖν ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων ἐμοὶ καὶ Ἀγάθωνι, αὐτὸς ἀπ᾽ ἐμαυτοῦ, ὅπως ἂν δύνωμαι. δεῖ δή, ὦ Ἀγάθων, ὥσπερ σὺ διηγήσω, διελθεῖν [201e] αὐτὸν πρῶτον, τίς ἐστιν ὁ Ἔρως καὶ ποῖός τις, ἔπειτα τὰ ἔργα αὐτοῦ. δοκεῖ οὖν μοι ῥᾷστον εἶναι οὕτω διελθεῖν, ὥς ποτέ με ἡ ξένη ἀνακρίνουσα διῄει. σχεδὸν γάρ τι καὶ ἐγὼ πρὸς αὐτὴν ἕτερα τοιαῦτα ἔλεγον οἷάπερ νῦν πρὸς ἐμὲ Ἀγάθων, ὡς εἴη ὁ Ἔρως μέγας θεός, εἴη δὲ τῶν καλῶν· ἤλεγχε δή με τούτοις τοῖς λόγοις οἷσπερ ἐγὼ τοῦτον, ὡς οὔτε καλὸς εἴη κατὰ τὸν ἐμὸν λόγον οὔτε ἀγαθός. καὶ ἐγώ, Πῶς λέγεις, ἔφην, ὦ Διοτίμα; αἰσχρὸς ἄρα ὁ Ἔρως ἐστὶ καὶ κακός; καὶ ἥ, Οὐκ εὐφημήσεις; ἔφη· ἢ οἴει, ὅτι ἂν μὴ καλὸν ᾖ, ἀναγκαῖον αὐτὸ εἶναι αἰσχρόν; [202a] Μάλιστά γε. Ἦ καὶ ἂν μὴ σοφόν, ἀμαθές; ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι ὅτι ἔστιν τι μεταξὺ σοφίας καὶ ἀμαθίας; Τί τοῦτο; Τὸ ὀρθὰ δοξάζειν καὶ ἄνευ τοῦ ἔχειν λόγον δοῦναι οὐκ οἶσθ᾽, ἔφη, ὅτι οὔτε ἐπίστασθαί ἐστιν ( ἄλογον γὰρ πρᾶγμα πῶς ἂν εἴη ἐπιστήμη; ) οὔτε ἀμαθία ( τὸ γὰρ τοῦ ὄντος τυγχάνον πῶς ἂν εἴη ἀμαθία;) ἔστι δὲ δή που τοιοῦτον ἡ ὀρθὴ δόξα, μεταξὺ φρονήσεως καὶ ἀμαθίας. Ἀληθῆ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις. [202b] Μὴ τοίνυν ἀνάγκαζε ὃ μὴ καλόν ἐστιν αἰσχρὸν εἶναι, μηδὲ ὃ μὴ ἀγαθόν, κακόν. οὕτω δὲ καὶ τὸν Ἔρωτα ἐπειδὴ αὐτὸς ὁμολογεῖς μὴ εἶναι ἀγαθὸν μηδὲ καλόν, μηδέν τι μᾶλλον οἴου δεῖν αὐτὸν αἰσχρὸν καὶ κακὸν εἶναι, ἀλλά τι μεταξύ, ἔφη, τούτοιν. Καὶ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὁμολογεῖταί γε παρὰ πάντων μέγας θεὸς εἶναι; Τῶν μὴ εἰδότων, ἔφη, πάντων λέγεις, ἢ καὶ τῶν εἰδότων; Ξυμπάντων μὲν οὖν. καὶ ἣ γελάσασα· Καὶ πῶς ἄν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, [202c] ὁμολογοῖτο μέγας θεὸς εἶναι παρὰ τούτων, οἵ φασιν αὐτὸν οὐδὲ θεὸν εἶναι; Τίνες οὗτοι; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. Εἷς μέν, ἔφη, σύ, μία δ᾽ ἐγώ. κἀγὼ εἶπον· Πῶς τοῦτο, ἔφην, λέγεις; καὶ ἥ, Ῥᾳδίως, ἔφη. λέγε γάρ μοι, οὐ πάντας θεοὺς φῂς εὐδαίμονας εἶναι καὶ καλούς; ἢ τολμήσαις ἄν τινα μὴ φάναι καλόν τε καὶ εὐδαίμονα θεῶν εἶναι; Μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφην. Εὐδαίμονας δὲ δὴ λέγεις οὐ τοὺς τἀγαθὰ καὶ τὰ καλὰ κεκτημένους; Πάνυ γε. [202d] Ἀλλὰ μὴν Ἔρωτά γε ὡμολόγηκας δι᾽ ἔνδειαν τῶν ἀγαθῶν καὶ καλῶν ἐπιθυμεῖν αὐτῶν τούτων ὧν ἐνδεής ἐστιν. Ὡμολόγηκα γάρ. Πῶς ἂν οὖν θεὸς εἴη ὅ γε τῶν καλῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν ἄμοιρος; Οὐδαμῶς, ὥς γ᾽ ἔοικεν. Ὁρᾷς οὖν, ἔφη, ὅτι καὶ σὺ ἔρωτα οὐ θεὸν νομίζεις;

XXIII. Τί οὖν ἄν, ἔφην, εἴη ὁ Ἔρως; θνητός; Ἥκιστά γε. Ἀλλὰ τί μήν; Ὥσπερ τὰ πρότερα, ἔφη, μεταξὺ θνητοῦ καὶ ἀθανάτου. Τί οὖν, ὦ Διοτίμα; Δαίμων μέγας, ὦ Σώκρατες· καὶ γὰρ πᾶν τὸ δαιμόνιον [202e] μεταξύ ἐστι θεοῦ τε καὶ θνητοῦ. Τίνα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δύναμιν ἔχον; Ἑρμηνεῦον καὶ διαπορθμεῦον θεοῖς τὰ παρ᾽ ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἀνθρώποις τὰ παρὰ θεῶν, τῶν μὲν τὰς δεήσεις καὶ θυσίας, τῶν δὲ τὰς ἐπιτάξεις τε καὶ ἀμοιβὰς τῶν θυσιῶν, ἐν μέσῳ δὲ ὂν ἀμφοτέρων συμπληροῖ, ὥστε τὸ πᾶν αὐτὸ αὑτῷ ξυνδεδέσθαι. διὰ τούτου καὶ ἡ μαντικὴ πᾶσα χωρεῖ καὶ ἡ τῶν ἱερέων τέχνη τῶν τε περὶ τὰς θυσίας καὶ τελετὰς [203a] καὶ τὰς ἐπῳδὰς καὶ τὴν μαντείαν πᾶσαν καὶ γοητείαν. θεὸς δὲ ἀνθρώπῳ οὐ μίγνυται, ἀλλὰ διὰ τούτου πᾶσά ἐστιν ἡ ὁμιλία καὶ ἡ διάλεκτος θεοῖς πρὸς ἀνθρώπους, καὶ ἐγρηγορόσι καὶ καθεύδουσι· καὶ ὁ μὲν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα σοφὸς δαιμόνιος ἀνήρ, ὁ δὲ ἄλλο τι σοφὸς ὢν ἢ περὶ τέχνας ἢ χειρουργίας τινὰς βάναυσος. οὗτοι δὴ οἱ δαίμονες πολλοὶ καὶ παντοδαποί εἰσιν, εἷς δὲ τούτων ἐστὶ καὶ ὁ Ἔρως. Πατρὸς δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τίνος ἐστὶ καὶ μητρός; [203b] Μακρότερον μέν, ἔφη, διηγήσασθαι· ὅμως δέ σοι ἐρῶ. ὅτε γὰρ ἐγένετο ἡ Ἀφροδίτη, εἱστιῶντο οἱ θεοὶ οἵ τε ἄλλοι καὶ ὁ τῆς Μήτιδος ὑὸς Πόρος. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐδείπνησαν, προσαιτήσουσα οἷον δὴ εὐωχίας οὔσης ἀφίκετο ἡ Πενία, καὶ ἦν περὶ τὰς θύρας. ὁ οὖν Πόρος μεθυσθεὶς τοῦ νέκταρος , οἶνος γὰρ οὔπω ἦν , εἰς τὸν τοῦ Διὸς κῆπον εἰσελθὼν βεβαρημένος ηὗδεν. ἡ οὖν Πενία ἐπιβουλεύουσα διὰ τὴν αὑτῆς ἀπορίαν παιδίον ποιήσασθαι ἐκ τοῦ Πόρου, κατακλίνεταί [203c] τε παρ᾽ αὐτῷ καὶ ἐκύησε τὸν ἔρωτα. διὸ δὴ καὶ τῆς Ἀφροδίτης ἀκόλουθος καὶ θεράπων γέγονεν ὁ Ἔρως, γεννηθεὶς ἐν τοῖς ἐκείνης γενεθλίοις, καὶ ἅμα φύσει ἐραστὴς ὢν περὶ τὸ καλὸν καὶ τῆς Ἀφροδίτης καλῆς οὔσης. ἅτε οὖν Πόρου καὶ Πενίας ὑὸς ὢν ὁ Ἔρως ἐν τοιαύτῃ τύχῃ καθέστηκεν. πρῶτον μὲν πένης ἀεί ἐστι, καὶ πολλοῦ δεῖ ἁπαλός τε καὶ καλός, οἷον οἱ πολλοὶ οἴονται, ἀλλὰ σκληρὸς [203d] καὶ αὐχμηρὸς καὶ ἀνυπόδητος καὶ ἄοικος, χαμαιπετὴς ἀεὶ ὢν καὶ ἄστρωτος, ἐπὶ θύραις καὶ ἐν ὁδοῖς ὑπαίθριος κοιμώμενος, τὴν τῆς μητρὸς φύσιν ἔχων, ἀεὶ ἐνδείᾳ ξύνοικος. κατὰ δὲ αὖ τὸν πατέρα ἐπίβουλός ἐστι τοῖς καλοῖς καὶ τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς, ἀνδρεῖος ὢν καὶ ἴτης καὶ σύντονος, θηρευτὴς δεινός, ἀεί τινας πλέκων μηχανάς, καὶ φρονήσεως ἐπιθυμητὴς καὶ πόριμος, φιλοσοφῶν διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου, δεινὸς γόης καὶ φαρμακεὺς καὶ σοφιστής· καὶ οὔτε ὡς [203e] ἀθάνατος πέφυκεν οὔτε ὡς θνητός, ἀλλὰ τοτὲ μὲν τῆς αὐτῆς ἡμέρας θάλλει τε καὶ ζῇ, ὅταν εὐπορήσῃ, τοτὲ δὲ ἀποθνῄσκει, πάλιν δὲ ἀναβιώσκεται διὰ τὴν τοῦ πατρὸς φύσιν, τὸ δὲ ποριζόμενον ἀεὶ ὑπεκρεῖ· ὥστε οὔτε ἀπορεῖ Ἔρως ποτὲ οὔτε πλουτεῖ, σοφίας τε αὖ καὶ ἀμαθίας ἐν μέσῳ ἐστίν. [204a] ἔχει γὰρ ὧδε. θεῶν οὐδεὶς φιλοσοφεῖ οὐδ᾽ ἐπιθυμεῖ σοφὸς γενέσθαι· ἔστι γάρ· οὐδ᾽ εἴ τις ἄλλος σοφός, οὐ φιλοσοφεῖ· οὐδ᾽ αὖ οἱ ἀμαθεῖς φιλοσοφοῦσιν οὐδ᾽ ἐπιθυμοῦσι σοφοὶ γενέσθαι· αὐτὸ γὰρ τοῦτό ἐστι χαλεπὸν ἀμαθία, τὸ μὴ ὄντα καλὸν κἀγαθὸν μηδὲ φρόνιμον δοκεῖν αὑτῷ εἶναι ἱκανόν· οὔκουν ἐπιθυμεῖ ὁ μὴ οἰόμενος ἐνδεὴς εἶναι οὗ ἂν μὴ οἴηται ἐπιδεῖσθαι. Τίνες οὖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὦ Διοτίμα, οἱ φιλοσοφοῦντες, εἰ μήτε οἱ σοφοὶ μήτε οἱ ἀμαθεῖς; [204b] Δῆλον δή, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε ἤδη καὶ παιδί, ὅτι οἱ μεταξὺ τούτων ἀμφοτέρων, ὧν αὖ καὶ ὁ Ἔρως. ἔστι γὰρ δὴ τῶν καλλίστων ἡ σοφία, Ἔρως δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἔρως περὶ τὸ καλόν, ὥστε ἀναγκαῖον Ἔρωτα φιλόσοφον εἶναι, φιλόσοφον δὲ ὄντα μεταξὺ εἶναι σοφοῦ καὶ ἀμαθοῦς. αἰτία δὲ αὐτῷ καὶ τούτων ἡ γένεσις· πατρὸς μὲν γὰρ σοφοῦ ἐστί καὶ εὐπόρου, μητρὸς δὲ οὐ σοφῆς καὶ ἀπόρου· ἡ μὲν οὖν φύσις τοῦ δαίμονος, ὦ φίλε Σώκρατες, αὕτη· ὃν δὲ σὺ ᾠήθης Ἔρωτα [204c] εἶναι, θαυμαστὸν οὐδὲν ἔπαθες. ᾠήθης δέ, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ τεκμαιρομένῃ ἐξ ὧν σὺ λέγεις, τὸ ἐρώμενον Ἔρωτα εἶναι, οὐ τὸ ἐρῶν· διὰ ταῦτά σοι οἶμαι πάγκαλος ἐφαίνετο ὁ Ἔρως. καὶ γὰρ ἔστι τὸ ἐραστὸν τὸ τῷ ὄντι καλὸν καὶ ἁβρὸν καὶ τέλεον καὶ μακαριστόν· τὸ δέ γε ἐρῶν ἄλλην ἰδέαν τοιαύτην ἔχον, οἵαν ἐγὼ διῆλθον.

XXIV. Καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον· Εἶεν δή, ὦ ξένη· καλῶς γὰρ λέγεις· τοιοῦτος ὢν ὁ Ἔρως τίνα χρείαν ἔχει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις; [204d] Τοῦτο δὴ μετὰ ταῦτ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, πειράσομαί σε διδάξαι. ἔστι μὲν γὰρ δὴ τοιοῦτος καὶ οὕτω γεγονὼς ὁ Ἔρως, ἔστι δὲ τῶν καλῶν, ὡς σὺ φῄς. εἰ δέ τις ἡμᾶς ἔροιτο· τί τῶν καλῶν ἐστιν ὁ Ἔρως, ὦ Σώκρατές τε καὶ Διοτίμα; ὧδε δὲ σαφέστερον ἐρῶ· ὁ ἐρῶν τῶν καλῶν τί ἐρᾷ; καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ὅτι· Γενέσθαι αὑτῷ. Ἀλλ᾽ ἐπιποθεῖ, ἔφη, ἡ ἀπόκρισις ἐρώτησιν τοιάνδε· τί ἔσται ἐκείνῳ ᾧ ἂν γένηται τὰ καλά; Οὐ πάνυ ἔφην ἔτι ἔχειν ἐγὼ πρὸς ταύτην τὴν ἐρώτησιν προχείρως ἀποκρίνασθαι. [204e] Ἀλλ᾽, ἔφη, ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τις μεταβαλὼν ἀντὶ τοῦ καλοῦ τῷ ἀγαθῷ χρώμενος πυνθάνοιτο· φέρε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐροιτο· ὁ ἐρῶν τῶν ἀγαθῶν· τί ἐρᾷ; Γενέσθαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, αὑτῷ. Καὶ τί ἔσται ἐκείνῳ ᾧ ἂν γένηται τἀγαθά; Τοῦτ᾽ εὐπορώτερον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔχω ἀποκρίνασθαι, ὅτι εὐδαίμων ἔσται. [205a] Κτήσει γάρ, ἔφη, ἀγαθῶν οἱ εὐδαίμονες εὐδαίμονες, καὶ οὐκέτι προσδεῖ ἐρέσθαι ἵνα τί δὲ βούλεται εὐδαίμων εἶναι ὁ βουλόμενος , ἀλλὰ τέλος δοκεῖ ἔχειν ἡ ἀπόκρισις. Ἀληθῆ λέγεις, εἶπον ἐγώ. Ταύτην δὴ τὴν βούλησιν καὶ τὸν ἔρωτα τοῦτον πότερα κοινὸν οἴει εἶναι πάντων ἀνθρώπων, καὶ πάντας τἀγαθὰ βούλεσθαι αὑτοῖς εἶναι ἀεί, ἢ πῶς λέγεις; Οὕτως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ· κοινὸν εἶναι πάντων. Τί δὴ οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ πάντας ἐρᾶν φαμέν, [205b] εἴπερ γε πάντες τῶν αὐτῶν ἐρῶσι καὶ ἀεί, ἀλλά τινάς φαμεν ἐρᾶν, τοὺς δ᾽ οὔ; Θαυμάζω, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ αὐτός. Ἀλλὰ μὴ θαύμαζ᾽, ἔφη· ἀφελόντες γὰρ ἄρα τοῦ ἔρωτός τι εἶδος ὀνομάζομεν, τὸ τοῦ ὅλου ἐπιτιθέντες ὄνομα, ἔρωτα, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ἄλλοις καταχρώμεθα ὀνόμασιν. Ὥσπερ τί; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. Ὥσπερ τόδε , οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι ποίησίς ἐστί τι πολύ· ἡ γάρ τοι ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος εἰς τὸ ὂν ἰόντι ὁτῳοῦν αἰτία πᾶσά ἐστι [205c] ποίησις, ὥστε καὶ αἱ ὑπὸ πάσαις ταῖς τέχναις ἐργασίαι ποιήσεις εἰσὶ καὶ οἱ τούτων δημιουργοὶ πάντες ποιηταί. Ἀληθῆ λέγεις. Ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως, ἦ δ᾽ ἥ, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι οὐ καλοῦνται ποιηταὶ ἀλλὰ ἄλλα ἔχουσιν ὀνόματα, ἀπὸ δὲ πάσης τῆς ποιήσεως ἓν μόριον ἀφορισθὲν τὸ περὶ τὴν μουσικὴν καὶ τὰ μέτρα τῷ τοῦ ὅλου ὀνόματι προσαγορεύεται. ποίησις γὰρ τοῦτο μόνον καλεῖται, καὶ οἱ ἔχοντες τοῦτο τὸ μόριον τῆς ποιήσεως ποιηταί. Ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ἔφην. [205d] Οὕτω τοίνυν καὶ περὶ τὸν ἔρωτα· τὸ μὲν κεφάλαιόν ἐστι πᾶσα ἡ τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐπιθυμία καὶ τοῦ εὐδαιμονεῖν , ὁ μέγιστός τε καὶ δολερὸς ἔρως παντί· ἀλλ᾽ οἱ μὲν ἄλλῃ τρεπόμενοι πολλαχῇ ἐπ᾽ αὐτόν, ἢ κατὰ χρηματισμὸν ἢ κατὰ φιλογυμναστίαν ἢ κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν, οὔτε ἐρᾶν καλοῦνται οὔτ ᾽ ἐρασταί, οἱ δὲ κατὰ ἕν τι εἶδος ἰόντες τε καὶ ἐσπουδακότες τὸ τοῦ ὅλου ὄνομα ἴσχουσιν, ἔρωτά τε καὶ ἐρᾶν καὶ ἐρασταί. Κινδυνεύεις ἀληθῆ, ἔφην ἐγώ, λέγειν. Καὶ λέγεται μέν γέ τις, ἔφη, λόγος, ὡς οἳ ἂν τὸ ἥμισυ [205e] ἑαυτῶν ζητῶσιν, οὗτοι ἐρῶσιν· ὁ δ᾽ ἐμὸς λόγος οὔτε ἡμίσεός φησιν εἶναι τὸν ἔρωτα οὔτε ὅλου, ἐὰν μὴ τυγχάνῃ γέ που, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἀγαθὸν ὄν· ἐπεὶ αὑτῶν γε καὶ πόδας καὶ χεῖρας ἐθέλουσιν ἀποτέμνεσθαι οἱ ἄνθρωποι, ἐὰν αὐτοῖς δοκῇ τὰ ἑαυτῶν πονηρὰ εἶναι. οὐ γὰρ τὸ ἑαυτῶν οἶμαι ἕκαστοι ἀσπάζονται, εἰ μὴ εἴ τις τὸ μὲν ἀγαθὸν οἰκεῖον καλεῖ καὶ ἑαυτοῦ, τὸ δὲ κακὸν ἀλλότριον· ὡς οὐδέν γε ἄλλο ἐστὶν οὗ [206a] ἐρῶσιν ἅνθρωποι ἢ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ. ἢ σοὶ δοκοῦσιν; Μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔμοιγε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. Ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ἥ, οὕτως ἁπλοῦν ἐστι λέγειν ὅτι οἱ ἄνθρωποι τἀγαθοῦ ἐρῶσιν; Ναί, ἔφην. Τί δέ; οὐ προσθετέον, ἔφη, ὅτι καὶ εἶναι τὸ ἀγαθὸν αὑτοῖς ἐρῶσιν; Προσθετέον. Ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἔφη, καὶ οὐ μόνον εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀεὶ εἶναι; Καὶ τοῦτο προσθετέον. Ἔστιν ἄρα συλλήβδην, ἔφη, ὁ ἔρως τοῦ τὸ ἀγαθὸν αὑτῷ εἶναι ἀεί. Ἀληθέστατα, ἔφην ἐγώ, λέγεις.

XXV. [206b] Ὅτε δὴ τούτου ὁ ἔρως ἐστὶν ἀεί, ἦ δ᾽ ἥ, τῶν τίνα τρόπον διωκόντων αὐτὸ καὶ ἐν τίνι πράξει ἡ σπουδὴ καὶ ἡ ξύντασις ἔρως ἂν καλοῖτο; τί τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὂν τὸ ἔργον; ἔχεις εἰπεῖν; Οὐ μεντ ᾽ ἂν σέ, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὦ Διοτίμα, ἐθαύμαζον ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ καὶ ἐφοίτων παρὰ σὲ αὐτὰ ταῦτα μαθησόμενος. Ἀλλ ᾽ ἐγώ σοι, ἔφη, ἐρῶ. ἔστι γὰρ τοῦτο τόκος ἐν καλῷ καὶ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα καὶ κατὰ τὴν ψυχήν. Μαντείας, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δεῖται ὅτι ποτε λέγεις, καὶ οὐ μανθάνω. [206c] Ἀλλ᾽ ἐγώ, ἦ δ᾽ ἥ, σαφέστερον ἐρῶ. κυοῦσιν γάρ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, πάντες ἄνθρωποι καὶ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα καὶ κατὰ τὴν ψυχήν, καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἔν τινι ἡλικίᾳ γένωνται, τίκτειν ἐπιθυμεῖ ἡμῶν ἡ φύσις. τίκτειν δὲ ἐν μὲν αἰσχρῷ οὐ δύναται, ἐν δὲ τῷ καλῷ. ἡ γὰρ ἀνδρὸς καὶ γυναικὸς συνουσία τόκος ἐστίν. ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο θεῖον τὸ πρᾶγμα, καὶ τοῦτο ἐν θνητῷ ὄντι τῷ ζῴῳ ἀθάνατον ἔνεστιν, ἡ κύησις καὶ ἡ γέννησις. τὰ δὲ ἐν τῷ ἀναρμόστῳ ἀδύνατον γενέσθαι. [206d] ἀνάρμοστον δ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ αἰσχρὸν παντὶ τῷ θείῳ, τὸ δὲ καλὸν ἁρμόττον. Μοῖρα οὖν καὶ Εἰλείθυια ἡ Καλλονή ἐστι τῇ γενέσει. διὰ ταῦτα ὅταν μὲν καλῷ προσπελάζῃ τὸ κυοῦν, ἵλεών τε γίγνεται καὶ εὐφραινόμενον διαχεῖται καὶ τίκτει τε καὶ γεννᾷ· ὅταν δὲ αἰσχρῷ, σκυθρωπόν τε καὶ λυπούμενον συσπειρᾶται καὶ ἀποτρέπεται καὶ ἀνείλλεται καὶ οὐ γεννᾷ, ἀλλὰ ἴσχον τὸ κύημα χαλεπῶς φέρει. ὅθεν δὴ τῷ κυοῦντί τε καὶ ἤδη σπαργῶντι πολλὴ ἡ πτοίησις γέγονε [206e] περὶ τὸ καλὸν διὰ τὸ μεγάλης ὠδῖνος ἀπολύειν τὸν ἔχοντα. ἔστιν γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, οὐ τοῦ καλοῦ ὁ ἔρως, ὡς σὺ οἴει. Ἀλλὰ τί μήν; Τῆς γεννήσεως καὶ τοῦ τόκου ἐν τῷ καλῷ. Εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. Πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη. τί δὴ οὖν τῆς γεννήσεως; ὅτι ἀειγενές ἐστι καὶ ἀθάνατον ὡς θνητῷ ἡ γέννησις. ἀθανασίας [207a] δὲ ἀναγκαῖον ἐπιθυμεῖν μετὰ ἀγαθοῦ ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων, εἴπερ τοῦ τἀγαθὸν ἑαυτῷ εἶναι ἀεὶ ἔρως ἐστίν. ἀναγκαῖον δὴ ἐκ τούτου τοῦ λόγου καὶ τῆς ἀθανασίας τὸν ἔρωτα εἶναι.

XXVI. Ταῦτά τε οὖν πάντα ἐδίδασκέ με, ὁπότε περὶ τῶν ἐρωτικῶν λόγους ποιοῖτο, καί ποτε ἤρετο Τί οἴει, ὦ Σώκρατες, αἴτιον εἶναι τούτου τοῦ ἔρωτος καὶ τῆς ἐπιθυμίας; ἢ οὐκ αἰσθάν ει ὡς δεινῶς διατίθεται πάντα τὰ θηρία ἐπειδὰν γεννᾶν ἐπιθυμήσῃ, καὶ τὰ πεζὰ καὶ τὰ πτηνά, νοσοῦντά τε [207b] πάντα καὶ ἐρωτικῶς διατιθέμενα, πρῶτον μὲν περὶ τὸ ξυμμιγῆναι ἀλλήλοις, ἔπειτα περὶ τὴν τροφὴν τοῦ γενομένου, καὶ ἕτοιμά ἐστιν ὑπὲρ τούτων καὶ διαμάχεσθαι τὰ ἀσθενέστατα τοῖς ἰσχυροτάτοις καὶ ὑπεραποθνῄσκειν, καὶ αὐτὰ τῷ λιμῷ παρατεινόμενα ὥστ᾽ ἐκεῖνα ἐκτρέφειν, καὶ ἄλλο πᾶν ποιοῦντα; τοὺς μὲν γὰρ ἀνθρώπους, ἔφη, οἴοιτ᾽ ἄν τις ἐκ λογισμοῦ ταῦτα ποιεῖν· τὰ δὲ θηρία τίς αἰτία οὕτως ἐρωτικῶς διατίθεσθαι; ἔχεις λέγειν; καὶ ἐγὼ αὖ ἔλεγον ὅτι οὐκ εἰδείην· ἣ δ᾽ εἶπεν, Διανοεῖ οὖν δεινός ποτε γενήσεσθαι τὰ ἐρωτικά, ἐὰν ταῦτα μὴ ἐννοῇς; Ἀλλὰ διὰ ταῦτά τοι, ὦ Διοτίμα, ὅπερ νῦν δὴ εἶπον, παρὰ σὲ ἥκω, γνοὺς ὅτι διδασκάλων δέομαι. ἀλλά μοι λέγε καὶ τούτων τὴν αἰτίαν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν περὶ τὰ ἐρωτικά. Εἰ τοίνυν, ἔφη, πιστεύεις ἐκείνου εἶναι φύσει τὸν ἔρωτα, οὗ πολλάκις ὡμολογήκαμεν, μὴ θαύμαζε. ἐνταῦθα γὰρ [207d] τὸν αὐτὸν ἐκείνῳ λόγον ἡ θνητὴ φύσις ζητεῖ κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν ἀεί τε εἶναι καὶ ἀθάνατος. δύναται δὲ ταύτῃ μόνον τῇ γενέσει, ὅτι ἀεὶ καταλείπει ἕτερον νέον ἀντὶ τοῦ παλαιοῦ, ἐπεὶ καὶ ἐν ᾧ ἓν ἕκαστον τῶν ζῴων ζῇν καλεῖται καὶ εἶναι τὸ αὐτό· οἷον ἐκ παιδαρίου ὁ αὐτὸς λέγεται ἕως ἂν πρεσβύτης γένηται· οὗτος μέντοι οὐδέποτε τὰ αὐτὰ ἔχων ἐν αὑτῷ ὅμως ὁ αὐτὸς καλεῖται, ἀλλὰ νέος ἀεὶ γιγνόμενος, τὰ δὲ ἀπολλύς, καὶ κατὰ τὰς τρίχας καὶ σάρκα καὶ ὀστᾶ καὶ [207e] αἷμα καὶ ξύμπαν τὸ σῶμα. καὶ μὴ ὅτι κατὰ τὸ σῶμα, ἀλλὰ καὶ κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν οἱ τρόποι, τὰ ἤθη, δόξαι, ἐπιθυμίαι, ἡδοναί, λῦπαι, φόβοι τούτων ἕκαστα οὐδέποτε τὰ αὐτὰ πάρεστιν ἑκάστῳ, ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν γίγνεται, τὰ δὲ ἀπόλλυται. πολὺ δὲ τούτων ἀτοπώτερον ἔτι, ὅτι καὶ αἱ ἐπιστῆμαι [208a] μὴ ὅτι αἱ μὲν γίγνονται, αἱ δὲ ἀπόλλυνται ἡμῖν, καὶ οὐδέποτε οἱ αὐτοί ἐσμεν οὐδὲ κατὰ τὰς ἐπιστήμας, ἀλλὰ καὶ μία ἑκάστη τῶν ἐπιστημῶν ταὐτὸν πάσχει. ὃ γὰρ καλεῖται μελετᾷν, ὡς ἐξιούσης ἐστὶ τῆς ἐπιστήμης· λήθη γὰρ ἐπιστήμης ἔξοδος, μελέτη δὲ πάλιν καινὴν ἐμποιοῦσα ἀντὶ τῆς ἀπιούσης μνήμην σῴζει τὴν ἐπιστήμην, ὥστε τὴν αὐτὴν δοκεῖν εἶναι. τούτῳ γὰρ τῷ τρόπῳ πᾶν τὸ θνητὸν σῴζεται, οὐ τὸ παντάπασιν τὸ αὐτὸ ἀεὶ εἶναι ὥσπερ τὸ [208b] θεῖον, ἀλλὰ τῷ τὸ ἀπιὸν καὶ παλαιούμενον ἕτερον νέον ἐγκαταλείπειν οἷον αὐτὸ ἦν. ταύτῃ τῇ μηχανῇ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, θνητὸν ἀθανασίας μετέχει, καὶ σῶμα καὶ τἆλλα πάντα· ἀθάνατον δὲ ἄλλῃ. μὴ οὖν θαύμαζε εἰ τὸ αὑτοῦ ἀποβλάστημα φύσει πᾶν τιμᾷ· ἀθανασίας γὰρ χάριν παντὶ αὕτη ἡ σπουδὴ καὶ ὁ ἔρως ἕπεται.

XXVII. Καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας τὸν λόγον ἐθαύμασά τε καὶ εἶπον Εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ σοφωτάτη Διοτίμα, ταῦτα ὡς ἀληθῶς οὕτως ἔχει; [208c] καὶ ἥ, ὥσπερ οἱ τέλεοι σοφισταί, Εὖ ἴσθι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες· ἐπεί γε καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων εἰ ἐθέλεις εἰς τὴν φιλοτιμίαν βλέψαι, θαυμάζοις ἂν τῆς ἀλογίας π έ ρι , ἃ ἐγὼ εἴρηκα εἰ μὴ ἐννοεῖς, ἐνθυμηθεὶς ὡς δεινῶς διάκεινται ἔρωτι τοῦ ὀνομαστοὶ γενέσθαι καὶ “ κλέος ἐς τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον ἀθάνατον καταθέσθαι „ , καὶ ὑπὲρ τούτου κινδύνους τε κινδυνεύειν ἕτοιμοί εἰσι πάντας ἔτι μᾶλλον ἢ ὑπὲρ τῶν [208d] παίδων, καὶ χρήματα ἀναλίσκειν καὶ πόνους πονεῖν οὑστινασοῦν καὶ ὑπεραποθν ή σκειν. ἐπεὶ οἴει σύ, ἔφη, Ἄλκηστιν ὑπὲρ Ἀδμήτου ἀποθανεῖν ἄν, ἢ Ἀχιλλέα Πατρόκλῳ ἐπαποθανεῖν, ἢ προαποθανεῖν τὸν ὑμέτερον Κόδρον ὑπὲρ τῆς βασιλείας τῶν παίδων, μὴ οἰομένους ἀθάνατον μνήμην ἀρετῆς πέρι ἑαυτῶν ἔσεσθαι, ἣν νῦν ἡμεῖς ἔχομεν; πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ἔφη, ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι ὑπὲρ ἀρετῆς ἀθανάτου καὶ τοιαύτης δόξης εὐκλεοῦς πάντες πάντα ποιοῦσιν, ὅσῳ ἂν ἀμείνους [208e] ὦσι, τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον· τοῦ γὰρ ἀθανάτου ἐρῶσιν. οἱ μὲν οὖν ἐγκύμονες, ἔφη, κατὰ τὰ σώματα ὄντες πρὸς τὰς γυναῖκας μᾶλλον τρέπονται καὶ ταύτῃ ἐρωτικοί εἰσιν, διὰ παιδογονίας ἀθανασίαν καὶ μνήμην καὶ εὐδαιμονίαν, ὡς οἴονται, αὑτοῖς εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον πάντα ποριζόμενοι· οἱ δὲ κατὰ τὴν [209a] ψυχήν — εἰσὶ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη, οἳ ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς κυοῦσιν ἔτι μᾶλλον ἢ ἐν τοῖς σώμασιν, ἃ ψυχῇ προσήκει καὶ κυῆσαι καὶ τεκεῖν· τί οὖν προσήκει; φρόνησίν τε καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ἀρετήν· ὧν δή εἰσι καὶ οἱ ποιηταὶ πάντες γεννήτορες καὶ τῶν δημιουργῶν ὅσοι λέγονται εὑρετικοὶ εἶναι· πολὺ δὲ μεγίστη, ἔφη, καὶ καλλίστη τῆς φρονήσεως ἡ περὶ τὰ τῶν πόλεών τε καὶ οἰκήσεων διακόσμησις, ᾗ δὴ ὄνομά ἐστι σωφροσύνη τε καὶ δικαιοσύνη· τούτων δ᾽ αὖ ὅταν τις ἐκ [209b] νέου ἐγκύμων ᾖ τὴν ψυχήν θεῖος ὢν , καὶ ἡκούσης τῆς ἡλικίας, τίκτειν τε καὶ γεννᾶν ἤδη ἐπιθυμῇ, ζητεῖ δὴ οἶμαι καὶ οὗτος περιιὼν τὸ καλὸν ἐν ᾧ ἂν γεννήσειεν· ἐν τῷ γὰρ αἰσχρῷ οὐδέποτε γεννήσει. τά τε οὖν σώματα τὰ καλὰ μᾶλλον ἢ τὰ αἰσχρὰ ἀσπάζεται ἅτε κυῶν, καὶ ἂν ἐντύχῃ ψυχῇ καλῇ καὶ γενναίᾳ καὶ εὐφυεῖ, πάνυ δὴ ἀσπάζεται τὸ ξυναμφότερον, καὶ πρὸς τοῦτον τὸν ἄνθρωπον εὐθὺς εὐπορεῖ λόγων περὶ ἀρετῆς καὶ περὶ οἷον χρὴ εἶναι [209c] τὸν ἄνδρα τὸν ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἃ ἐπιτηδεύειν, καὶ ἐπιχειρεῖ παιδεύειν. ἁπτόμενος γὰρ οἶμαι τοῦ καλοῦ καὶ ὁμιλῶν αὐτῷ, ἃ πάλαι ἐκύει , τίκτει καὶ γεννᾷ, καὶ παρὼν καὶ ἀπὼν μεμνημένος, καὶ τὸ γεννηθὲν συνεκτρέφει κοινῇ μετ᾽ ἐκείνου, ὥστε πολὺ μείζω κοινωνίαν τῆς τῶν παίδων πρὸς ἀλλήλους οἱ τοιοῦτοι ἴσχουσι καὶ φιλίαν βεβαιοτέραν, ἅτε καλλιόνων καὶ ἀθανατωτέρων παίδων κεκοινωνηκότες. καὶ πᾶς ἂν δέξαιτο ἑαυτῷ τοιούτους παῖδας μᾶλλον γεγονέναι ἢ τοὺς [209d] ἀνθρωπίνους, καὶ εἰς Ὅμηρον ἀποβλέψας καὶ Ἡσίοδον καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ποιητὰς τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ζηλῶν, οἷα ἔκγονα ἑαυτῶν καταλείπουσιν, ἃ ἐκείνοις ἀθάνατον κλέος καὶ μνήμην παρέχεται αὐτὰ τοιαῦτα ὄντα· εἰ δὲ βούλει, ἔφη, οἵους Λυκοῦργος παῖδας κατελίπετο ἐν Λακεδαίμονι σωτῆρας τῆς Λακεδαίμονος καὶ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν τῆς Ἑλλάδος. τίμιος δὲ παρ᾽ ὑμῖν καὶ Σόλων διὰ τὴν τῶν νόμων γέννησιν, καὶ ἄλλοι [209e] ἄλλοθι πολλαχοῦ ἄνδρες, καὶ ἐν Ἕλλησι καὶ ἐν βαρβάροις, πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ ἀποφηνάμενοι ἔργα, γεννήσαντες παντοίαν ἀρετήν· ὧν καὶ ἱερὰ πολλὰ ἤδη γέγονε διὰ τοὺς τοιούτους παῖδας, διὰ δὲ τοὺς ἀνθρωπίνους οὐδενός πω.

XXVIII. Ταῦτα μὲν οὖν τὰ ἐρωτικὰ ἴσως, ὦ Σώκρατες, κἂν σὺ [210a] μυηθείης· τὰ δὲ τέλεα καὶ ἐποπτικά, ὧν ἕνεκα καὶ ταῦτα ἔστιν, ἐάν τις ὀρθῶς μετίῃ, οὐκ οἶδ᾽ εἰ οἷός τ᾽ ἂν εἴης. ἐρῶ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ἐγὼ καὶ προθυμίας οὐδὲν ἀπολείψω· πειρῶ δὲ ἕπεσθαι, ἂν οἷός τε ᾖς. δεῖ γάρ, ἔφη, τὸν ὀρθῶς ἰόντα ἐπὶ τοῦτο τὸ πρᾶγμα ἄρχεσθαι μὲν νέον ὄντα ἰέναι ἐπὶ τὰ καλὰ σώματα, καὶ πρῶτον μέν, ἐὰν ὀρθῶς ἡγῆται ὁ ἡγούμενος, ἑνὸς αὐτὸν σώματος ἐρᾷν καὶ ἐνταῦθα γεννᾷν λόγους καλούς, ἔπειτα δὲ αὐτὸν κατανοῆσαι ὅτι τὸ κάλλος [210b] τὸ ἐπὶ ὁτῳοῦν σώματι τῷ ἐπὶ ἑτέρῳ σώματι ἀδελφόν ἐστι, καὶ εἰ δεῖ διώκειν τὸ ἐπ᾽ εἴδει καλόν, πολλὴ ἄνοια μὴ οὐχ ἕν τε καὶ ταὐτὸν ἡγεῖσθαι τὸ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν τοῖς σώμασι κάλλος· τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐννοήσαντα καταστῆναι πάντων τῶν καλῶν σωμάτων ἐραστήν, ἑνὸς δὲ τὸ σφόδρα τοῦτο χαλάσαι καταφρονήσαντα καὶ σμικρὸν ἡγησάμενον· μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τὸ ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς κάλλος τιμιώτερον ἡγήσασθαι τοῦ ἐν τῷ σώματι, ὥστε καὶ ἐὰν ἐπιεικὴς ὢν τὴν ψυχήν τις κἂν σμικρὸν ἄνθος [210c] ἔχῃ, ἐξαρκεῖν αὐτῷ καὶ ἐρᾷν καὶ κήδεσθαι καὶ τίκτειν λόγους τοιούτους καὶ ζητεῖν, οἵτινες ποιήσουσι βελτίους τοὺς νέους, ἵνα ἀναγκασθῇ αὖ θεάσασθαι τὸ ἐν τοῖς ἐπιτηδεύμασι καὶ τοῖς νόμοις καλὸν καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἰδεῖν ὅτι πᾶν αὐτὸ αὑτῷ ξυγγενές ἐστιν, ἵνα τὸ περὶ τὸ σῶμα καλὸν σμικρόν τι ἡγήσηται εἶναι . μετὰ δὲ τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα ἐπὶ τὰς ἐπιστήμας ἀγαγεῖν, ἵνα ἴδῃ αὖ ἐπιστημῶν κάλλος, καὶ βλέπων πρὸς [210d] πολὺ ἤδη τὸ καλὸν μηκέτι τῷ παρ᾽ ἑνί, ὥσπερ οἰκέτης, ἀγαπῶν παιδαρίου κάλλος ἢ ἀνθρώπου τινός ἢ ἐπιτηδεύματος ἑνός, δουλεύων φαῦλος ᾖ καὶ σμικρολόγος, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ πέλαγος τετραμμένος τοῦ καλοῦ καὶ θεωρῶν πολλοὺς καὶ καλοὺς λόγους καὶ μεγαλοπρεπεῖς τίκτῃ καὶ διανοήματα ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ ἀφθόνῳ, ἕως ἂν ἐνταῦθα ῥωσθεὶς καὶ αὐξηθεὶς κατίδῃ τινὰ ἐπιστήμην μίαν τοιαύτην, ἥ ἐστι καλοῦ [210e] τοιοῦδε. πειρῶ δέ μοι, ἔφη, τὸν νοῦν προσέχειν ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα.

XXIX. Ὃ ς γὰρ ἂν μέχρι ἐνταῦθα πρὸς τὰ ἐρωτικὰ παιδαγωγηθῇ, θεώμενος ἐφεξῆς τε καὶ ὀρθῶς τὰ καλά, πρὸς τέλος ἤδη ἰὼν τῶν ἐρωτικῶν ἐξαίφνης κατόψεταί τι θαυμαστὸν τὴν φύσιν καλόν, τοῦτο ἐκεῖνο, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὗ δὴ ἕνεκεν καὶ οἱ ἔμπροσθεν πάντες πόνοι ἦσαν, πρῶτον μὲν [211a] ἀεὶ ὂν καὶ οὔτε γιγνόμενον οὔτε ἀπολλύμενον, οὔτε αὐξανόμενον οὔτε φθίνον, ἔπειτα οὐ τῇ μὲν καλόν, τῇ δ᾽ αἰσχρόν, οὐδὲ τοτὲ μέν, τοτὲ δὲ οὔ, οὐδὲ πρὸς μὲν τὸ καλόν, πρὸς δὲ τὸ αἰσχρόν . οὐδ᾽ ἔνθα μὲν καλόν, ἔνθα δὲ αἰσχρόν, ὡς τισὶ μὲν ὂν καλόν, τισὶ δὲ αἰσχρόν· οὐδ᾽ αὖ φαντασθήσεται αὐτῷ τὸ καλὸν οἷον πρόσωπόν τι οὐδὲ χεῖρες οὐδὲ ἄλλο οὐδὲν ὧν σῶμα μετέχει, οὐδέ τις λόγος οὐδέ τις ἐπιστήμη, οὐδέ που ὂν ἐν ἑτέρῳ τινι, οἷον ἐν ζῴῳ ἢ ἐν γῇ ἢ ἐν οὐρανῷ [211b] ἢ ἔν τῳ ἄλλῳ, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ μεθ᾽ αὑτοῦ μονοειδὲς ἀεὶ ὄν, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα πάντα καλὰ ἐκείνου μετέχοντα τρόπον τινὰ τοιοῦτον, οἷον γιγνομένων τε τῶν ἄλλων καὶ ἀπολλυμένων μηδὲν ἐκεῖνο μήτε τι πλέον μήτε ἔλαττον γίγνεσθαι μηδὲ πάσχειν μηδέν , ὅταν δή τις ἀπὸ τῶνδε διὰ τὸ ὀρθῶς παιδεραστεῖν ἐπανιὼν ἐκεῖνο τὸ καλὸν ἄρχηται καθορᾶν, σχεδὸν ἄν τι ἅπτοιτο τοῦ τέλους. τοῦτο γὰρ δή ἐστι τὸ ὀρθῶς ἐπὶ [211c] τὰ ἐρωτικὰ ἰέναι ἢ ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου ἄγεσθαι, ἀρχόμενον ἀπὸ τῶνδε τῶν καλῶν ἐκείνου ἕνεκα τοῦ καλοῦ ἀεὶ ἐπανιέναι, ὥσπερ ἐπαναβαθμοῖς χρώμενον, ἀπὸ ἑνὸς ἐπὶ δύο καὶ ἀπὸ δυοῖν ἐπὶ πάντα τὰ καλὰ σώματα, καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν καλῶν σωμάτων ἐπὶ τὰ καλὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα, καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν καλῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων ἐπὶ τὰ καλὰ μαθήματα, καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν μαθημάτων ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνο τὸ μάθημα τελευτῆσῃ, ὅ ἐστιν οὐκ ἄλλου ἢ αὐτοῦ ἐκείνου τοῦ καλοῦ μάθημα, καὶ γνῷ αὐτὸ τελευτῶν ὃ ἔστι [211d] καλόν. ἐνταῦθα τοῦ βίου, ὦ φίλε Σώκρατες, ἔφη ἡ Μαντινικὴ ξένη, εἴπερ που ἄλλοθι, βιωτὸν ἀνθρώπῳ, θεωμένῳ αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν. ὃ ἐάν ποτε ἴδῃς, οὐ κατὰ χρυσίον τε καὶ ἐσθῆτα καὶ τοὺς καλοὺς παῖδάς τε καὶ νεανίσκους δόξει σοι εἶναι, οὓς νῦν ὁρῶν ἐκπέπληξαι καὶ ἕτοιμος εἶ καὶ σὺ καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοί, ὁρῶντες τὰ παιδικὰ καὶ ξυνόντες ἀεὶ αὐτοῖς, εἴ πως οἷόν τ᾽ ἦν, μήτ᾽ ἐσθίειν μήτε πίνειν, ἀλλὰ θεᾶσθαι μόνον καὶ συνεῖναι. τί δῆτα, ἔφη, οἰόμεθα, εἴ τῳ γένοιτο [211e] αὐτὸ τὸ καλὸν ἰδεῖν εἰλικρινές, καθαρόν, ἄμικτον, ἀλλὰ μὴ ἀνάπλεων σαρκῶν τε ἀνθρωπίνων καὶ χρωμάτων καὶ ἄλλης πολλῆς φλυαρίας θνητῆς, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ θεῖον καλὸν δύναιτο μονοειδὲς κατιδεῖν; ἆρ᾽ οἴει, ἔφη, φαῦλον βίον [212a] γίγνεσθαι ἐκεῖσε βλέποντος ἀνθρώπου καὶ ἐκεῖνο ᾧ δεῖ θεωμένου καὶ ξυνόντος αὐτῷ; ἢ οὐκ ἐνθυμῇ, ἔφη, ὅτι ἐνταῦθα αὐτῷ μοναχοῦ γενήσεται, ὁρῶντι ᾧ ὁρατὸν τὸ καλόν, τίκτειν οὐκ εἴδωλα ἀρετῆς, ἅτε οὐκ εἰδώλου ἐφαπτομένῳ, ἀλλὰ ἀληθῆ, ἅτε τοῦ ἀληθοῦς ἐφαπτομένῳ· τεκόντι δὲ ἀρετὴν ἀληθῆ καὶ θρεψαμένῳ ὑπάρχει θεοφιλῆ γενέσθαι, καὶ εἴπέρ τῳ ἄλλῳ ἀνθρώπων ἀθανάτῳ καὶ ἐκείνῳ; [212b] — Ταῦτα δή, ὦ Φαῖδρέ τε καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι, ἔφη μὲν Διοτίμα, πέπεισμαι δ᾽ ἐγώ· πεπεισμένος δὲ πειρῶμαι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πείθειν ὅτι τούτου τοῦ κτήματος τῇ ἀνθρωπείᾳ φύσει συνεργὸν ἀμείνω Ἔρωτος οὐκ ἄν τις ῥᾳδίως λάβοι. διὸ δὴ ἔγωγέ φημι χρῆναι πάντα ἄνδρα τὸν Ἔρωτα τιμᾷν, καὶ αὐτὸς τιμῶ τὰ ἐρωτικὰ καὶ διαφερόντως ἀσκῶ, καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις παρακελεύομαι, καὶ νῦν τε καὶ ἀεὶ ἐγκωμιάζω τὴν δύναμιν καὶ ἀνδρείαν τοῦ Ἔρωτος καθ᾽ ὅσον οἷός τ᾽ εἰμί. τοῦτον [212c] οὖν τὸν λόγον, ὦ Φαῖδρε, εἰ μὲν βούλει, ὡς ἐγκώμιον εἰς Ἔρωτα νόμισον εἰρῆσθαι, εἰ δέ, ὅτι καὶ ὅπῃ χαίρεις ὀνομάζων, τοῦτο ὀνόμαζε.

XXX. Εἰπόντος δὲ ταῦτα τοῦ Σωκράτους τοὺς μὲν ἐπαινεῖν, τὸν δὲ Ἀριστοφάνη λέγειν τι ἐπιχειρεῖν, ὅτι ἐμνήσθη αὐτοῦ λέγων ὁ Σωκράτης περὶ τοῦ λόγου· καὶ ἐξαίφνης τὴν αὔλειον θύραν κρουομένην πολὺν ψόφον παρασχεῖν ὡς κωμαστῶν, καὶ αὐλητρίδος φωνὴν ἀκούειν. τὸν οὖν Ἀγάθωνα, Παῖδες, φάναι, [212d] οὐ σκέψεσθε; καὶ ἐὰν μέν τις τῶν ἐπιτηδείων ᾖ, καλεῖτε· εἰ δὲ μή, λέγετε ὅτι οὐ πίνομεν ἀλλ᾽ ἀναπαυόμεθα ἤδη. καὶ οὐ πολὺ ὕστερον Ἀλκιβιάδου τὴν φωνὴν ἀκούειν ἐν τῇ αὐλῇ σφόδρα μεθύοντος καὶ μέγα βοῶντος, ἐρωτῶντος ὅπου Ἀγάθων καὶ κελεύοντος ἄγειν παρ᾽ Ἀγάθωνα. ἄγειν οὖν αὐτὸν παρὰ σφᾶς τήν τε αὐλητρίδα ὑπολαβοῦσαν καὶ ἄλλους τινὰς τῶν ἀκολούθων, καὶ ἐπιστῆναι ἐπὶ τὰς θύρας [212e] ἐστεφανωμένον αὐτὸν κιττοῦ τέ τινι στεφάνῳ δασεῖ καὶ ἴων, καὶ ταινίας ἔχοντα ἐπὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς πάνυ πολλάς, καὶ εἰπεῖν· Ἄνδρες, χαίρετε· μεθύοντα ἄνδρα πάνυ σφόδρα δέξεσθε συμπότην, ἢ ἀπίωμεν ἀναδήσαντες μόνον Ἀγάθωνα, ἐφ᾽ ᾧσπερ ἤλθομεν; ἐγὼ γάρ τοι, φάναι, χθὲς μὲν οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἐγενόμην ἀφικέσθαι, νῦν δὲ ἥκω ἐπὶ τῇ κεφαλῇ ἔχων τὰς ταινίας, ἵνα ἀπὸ τῆς ἐμῆς κεφαλῆς τὴν τοῦ σοφωτάτου καὶ καλλίστου κεφαλὴν ἀνειπὼν οὑτωσὶ ἀναδήσω· ἆρα καταγελάσεσθέ μου ὡς μεθύοντος; ἐγὼ δέ, κἂν ὑμεῖς [213a] γελᾶτε, ὅμως εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι ἀληθῆ λέγω. ἀλλά μοι λέγετε αὐτόθεν, ἐπὶ ῥητοῖς εἰσίω ἢ μή; συμπίεσθε ἢ οὔ; πάντας οὖν ἀναθορυβῆσαι καὶ κελεύειν εἰσιέναι καὶ κατακλίνεσθαι, καὶ τὸν Ἀγάθωνα καλεῖν αὐτόν. καὶ τὸν ἰέναι ἀγόμενον ὑπὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ περιαιρούμενον ἅμα τὰς ταινίας ὡς ἀναδήσοντα, ἐπίπροσθε τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν ἔχοντα οὐ κατιδεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, ἀλλὰ καθίζεσθαι παρὰ τὸν Ἀγάθωνα [213b] ἐν μέσῳ Σωκράτους τε καὶ ἐκείνου· παραχωρῆσαι γὰρ τὸν Σωκράτη ὡς ἐκεῖνον καθίζειν. παρακαθεζόμενον δὲ αὐτὸν ἀσπάζεσθαί τε τὸν Ἀγάθωνα καὶ ἀναδεῖν. εἰπεῖν οὖν τὸν Ἀγάθωνα· Ὑπολύετε, παῖδες, Ἀλκιβιάδην, ἵνα ἐκ τρίτων κατακέηται. Πάνυ γε, εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην· ἀλλὰ τίς ἡμῖν ὅδε τρίτος συμπότης; καὶ ἅμα μεταστρεφόμενον αὐτὸν ὁρᾶν τὸν Σωκράτη, ἰδόντα δὲ ἀναπηδῆσαι καὶ εἰπεῖν· Ὦ Ἡράκλεις, τουτὶ τί ἦν; Σωκράτης οὗτος; ἐλλοχῶν αὖ με ἐνταῦθα κατέκεισο, [213c] ὥσπερ εἰώθεις ἐξαίφνης ἀναφαίνεσθαι ὅπου ἐγὼ ᾤμην ἥκιστά σε ἔσεσθαι. καὶ νῦν τί ἥκεις; καὶ τί αὖ ἐνταῦθα κατεκλίνης; ὡς οὐ παρὰ Ἀριστοφάνει οὐδὲ εἴ τις ἄλλος γελοῖος ἔστι τε καὶ βούλεται, ἀλλὰ διεμηχανήσω ὅπως παρὰ τῷ καλλίστῳ τῶν ἔνδον κατακείσει; καὶ τὸν Σωκράτη· Ἀγάθων, φάναι, ὅρα εἴ μοι ἐπαμύνεις· ὡς ἐμοὶ ὁ τούτου ἔρως τοῦ ἀνθρώπου οὐ φαῦλον πρᾶγμα γέγονεν. ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνου γὰρ τοῦ χρόνου, ἀφ᾽ οὗ τούτου [213d] ἠράσθην, οὐκέτι ἔξεστίν μοι οὔτε προσβλέψαι οὔτε διαλεχθῆναι καλῷ οὐδ᾽ ἑνί, ἢ οὑτοσὶ ζηλοτυπῶν με καὶ φθονῶν θαυμαστὰ ἐργάζεται καὶ λοιδορεῖταί τε καὶ τὼ χεῖρε μόγις ἀπέχεται. ὅρα οὖν μή τι καὶ νῦν ἐργάσηται, ἀλλὰ διάλλαξον ἡμᾶς, ἢ ἐὰν ἐπιχειρῇ βιάζεσθαι, ἐπάμυνε, ὡς ἐγὼ τὴν τούτου μανίαν τε καὶ φιλεραστίαν πάνυ ὀῤῥωδῶ. Ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἔστι, φάναι τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην, ἐμοὶ καὶ σοὶ διαλλαγή. ἀλλὰ τούτων μὲν εἰσαῦθις σε τιμωρήσομαι· νῦν [213e] δέ μοι, Ἀγάθων, φάναι, μετάδος τῶν ταινιῶν, ἵνα ἀναδήσωμεν καὶ τὴν τούτου ταυτηνὶ τὴν θαυμαστὴν κεφαλήν, καὶ μή μοι μέμφηται ὅτι σὲ μὲν ἀνέδησα, αὐτὸν δὲ νικῶντα ἐν λόγοις πάντας ἀνθρώπους, οὐ μόνον πρῴην ὥσπερ σύ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεί, ἔπειτα οὐκ ἀνέδησα. καὶ ἅμ᾽ αὐτὸν λαβόντα τῶν ταινιῶν ἀναδεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη καὶ κατακλίνεσθαι.

XXXI. Ἐπειδὴ δὲ κατεκλίνη, εἰπεῖν· Εἶεν δή, ἄνδρες· δοκεῖτε γάρ μοι νήφειν. οὐκ ἐπιτρεπτέον ὑμῖν, ἀλλὰ ποτέον· ὡμολόγηται γὰρ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν. ἄρχοντα οὖν αἱροῦμαι τῆς πόσεως, ἕως ἂν ὑμεῖς ἱκανῶς πίητε, ἐμαυτόν. ἀλλὰ φερέτω, Ἀγάθων, εἴ τι ἔστιν ἔκπωμα μέγα. μᾶλλον δὲ οὐδὲν δεῖ, ἀλλὰ φέρε, παῖ, φάναι, τὸν ψυκτῆρα ἐκεῖνον, ἰδόντα αὐτὸν [214a] πλέον ἢ ὀκτὼ κοτύλας χωροῦντα. τοῦτον ἐμπλησάμενον πρῶτον μὲν αὐτὸν ἐκπιεῖν, ἔπειτα τῷ Σωκράτει κελεύειν ἐγχεῖν καὶ ἅμα εἰπεῖν· Πρὸς μὲν Σωκράτη, ὦ ἄνδρες, τὸ σόφισμά μοι οὐδέν· ὁπόσον γὰρ ἂν κελεύῃ τις, τοσοῦτον ἐκπιὼν οὐδὲν μᾶλλον μή ποτε μεθυσθῇ. τὸν μὲν οὖν Σωκράτη ἐγχέαντος τοῦ παιδὸς πίνειν· τὸν δ᾽ Ἐρυξίμαχον· Πῶς οὖν, φάναι, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, ποιοῦμεν; [214b] οὕτως οὔτε τι λέγομεν ἐπὶ τῇ κύλικι οὔτε τι ᾄδομεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ οἱ διψῶντες πιόμεθα; τὸν οὖν Ἀλκιβιάδην εἰπεῖν· Ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε, βέλτιστε βελτίστου πατρὸς καὶ σωφρονεστάτου, χαῖρε. Καὶ γὰρ σύ, φάναι τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον· ἀλλὰ τί ποιῶμεν; Ὅ τι ἂν σὺ κελεύῃς. δεῖ γάρ σοι πείθεσθαι·

ἰητρὸς γὰρ ἀνὴρ πολλῶν ἀντάξιος ἄλλων·

ἐπίταττε οὖν ὅτι βούλει. Ἄκουσον δή, εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον. ἡμῖν πρὶν σὲ εἰσελθεῖν ἔδοξε χρῆναι ἐπὶ δεξιὰ ἕκαστον ἐν μέρει λόγον [214c] περὶ Ἔρωτος εἰπεῖν ὡς δύναιτο κάλλιστον, καὶ ἐγκωμιάσαι. οἱ μὲν οὖν ἄλλοι πάντες ἡμεῖς εἰρήκαμεν· σὺ δ᾽ ἐπειδὴ οὐκ εἴρηκας καὶ ἐκπέπωκας, δίκαιος εἰ εἰπεῖν, εἰπὼν δὲ ἐπιτάξαι Σωκράτει ὅ τι ἂν βούλῃ, καὶ τοῦτον τῷ ἐπὶ δεξιὰ καὶ οὕτω τοὺς ἄλλους. Ἀλλά, φάναι, ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε, τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην, καλῶς μὲν λέγεις, μεθύοντα δὲ ἄνδρα παρὰ νηφόντων λόγους παραβάλλειν μὴ οὐκ ἐξ ἴσου ᾖ. καὶ ἅμα, ὦ μακάριε, πείθει τί [214d] σε Σωκράτης ὧν ἄρτι εἶπεν; ἢ οἶσθα ὅτι τοὐναντίον ἐστὶ πᾶν ἢ ὃ ἔλεγεν; οὗτος γάρ, ἐάν τινα ἐγὼ ἐπαινέσω τούτου παρόντος ἢ θεὸν ἢ ἄνθρωπον ἄλλον ἢ τοῦτον, οὐκ ἀφέξεταί μου τὼ χεῖρε. Οὐκ εὐφημήσεις; φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη. Μὰ τὸν Ποσειδῶ, εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην, μηδὲν λέγε πρὸς ταῦτα, ὡς ἐγὼ οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἕνα ἄλλον ἐπαινέσαιμι σοῦ παρόντος. Ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω ποίει, φάναι τὸν Ἐρυξίμαχον, εἰ βούλει· Σωκράτη ἐπαίνεσον. [214e] Πῶς λέγεις; εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην· δοκεῖ χρῆναι, ὦ Ἐρυξίμαχε; ἐπιθῶμαι τῷ ἀνδρὶ καὶ τιμωρήσωμαι ὑμῶν ἐναντίον; Οὗτος, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, τί ἐν νῷ ἔχεις; ἐπὶ τὰ γελοιότερά με ἐπαινέσαι; ἢ τί ποιήσεις; Τἀληθῆ ἐρῶ. ἀλλ᾽ ὅρα εἰ παρίης. Ἀλλὰ μέντοι, φάναι, τά γε ἀληθῆ παρίημι καὶ κελεύω λέγειν. Οὐκ ἂν φθάνοιμι, εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην. καὶ μέντοι οὑτωσὶ ποίησον. ἐάν τι μὴ ἀληθὲς λέγω, μεταξὺ ἐπιλαβοῦ, ἂν βούλῃ, καὶ εἰπὲ ὅτι τοῦτο ψεύδομαι· ἑκὼν γὰρ εἶναι οὐδὲν [215a] ψεύσομαι. ἐὰν μέντοι ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενος ἄλλο ἄλλοθεν λέγω, μηδὲν θαυμάσῃς· οὐ γάρ τι ῥᾴδιον τὴν σὴν ἀτοπίαν ὧδ᾽ ἔχοντι εὐπόρως καὶ ἐφεξῆς καταριθμῆσαι.

XXXII. Σωκράτη δ᾽ ἐγὼ ἐπαινεῖν, ὦ ἄνδρες, οὕτως ἐπιχειρήσω, δι᾽ εἰκόνων. οὗτος μὲν οὖν ἴσως οἰήσεται ἐπὶ τὰ γελοιότερα, ἔσται δ᾽ ἡ εἰκὼν τοῦ ἀληθοῦς ἕνεκα, οὐ τοῦ γελοίου. φημὶ γὰρ δὴ ὁμοιότατον αὐτὸν εἶναι τοῖς σειληνοῖς τούτοις τοῖς [215b] ἐν τοῖς ἑρμογλυφείοις καθημένοις, οὕστινας ἐργάζονται οἱ δημιουργοὶ σύριγγας ἢ αὐλοὺς ἔχοντας, οἳ διχάδε διοιχθέντες φαίνονται ἔνδοθεν ἀγάλματα ἔχοντες θεῶν. καὶ φημὶ αὖ ἐοικέναι αὐτὸν τῷ σατύρῳ τῷ Μαρσύᾳ. ὅτι μὲν οὖν τό γε εἶδος ὅμοιος εἶ τούτοις, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδ᾽ ἄν αὐτὸς δή που ἀμφισβητήσαις· ὡς δὲ καὶ τἆλλα ἔοικας, μετὰ τοῦτο ἄκουε. ὑβριστὴς εἶ· ἢ οὔ; ἐὰν γὰρ μὴ ὁμολογῇς, μάρτυρας παρέξομαι. ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ αὐλητής; πολύ γε θαυμασιώτερος ἐκείνου· [215c] ὁ μέν γε δι᾽ ὀργάνων ἐκήλει τοὺς ἀνθρώπους τῇ ἀπὸ τοῦ στόματος δυνάμει, καὶ ἔτι νυνὶ ὃς ἂν τὰ ἐκείνου αὐλῇ· ἃ γὰρ Ὄλυμπος ηὔλει, Μαρσύου λέγω, τούτου διδάξαντος· τὰ οὖν ἐκείνου ἐάν τε ἀγαθὸς αὐλητὴς αὐλῇ ἐάν τε φαύλη αὐλητρίς, μόνα κατέχεσθαι ποιεῖ καὶ δηλοῖ τοὺς τῶν θεῶν τε καὶ τελετῶν δεομένους διὰ τὸ θεῖα εἶναι. σὺ δ᾽ ἐκείνου τοσοῦτον μόνον διαφέρεις, ὅτι ἄνευ ὀργάνων ψιλοῖς λόγοις ταὐτὸν [215d] τοῦτο ποιεῖς. ἡμεῖς γοῦν ὅταν μέν του ἄλλου ἀκούωμεν λέγοντος καὶ πάνυ ἀγαθοῦ ῥήτορος ἄλλους λόγους, οὐδὲν μέλει ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδενί· ἐπειδὰν δὲ σοῦ τις ἀκούῃ ἢ τῶν σῶν λόγων ἄλλου λέγοντος, κἂν πάνυ φαῦλος ᾖ ὁ λέγων, ἐάν τε γυνὴ ἀκούῃ ἐάν τε ἀνὴρ ἐάν τε μειράκιον, ἐκπεπληγμένοι ἐσμὲν καὶ κατεχόμεθα. ἐγὼ γοῦν, ὦ ἄνδρες, εἰ μὴ ἔμελλον κομιδῇ δόξειν μεθύειν, εἶπον ὀμόσας ἂν ὑμῖν οἷα δὴ πέπονθα αὐτὸς ὑπὸ τῶν τούτου λόγων καὶ πάσχω ἔτι καὶ [215e] νυνί. ὅταν γὰρ ἀκούω, πολύ μοι μᾶλλον ἢ τῶν κορυβαντιώντων ἥ τε καρδία πηδᾷ καὶ δάκρυα ἐκχεῖται ὑπὸ τῶν λόγων τῶν τούτου, ὁρῶ δὲ καὶ ἄλλους παμπόλλους τὰ αὐτὰ πάσχοντας . Περικλέους δὲ ἀκούων καὶ ἄλλων ἀγαθῶν ῥητόρων εὖ μὲν ἡγούμην λέγειν, τοιοῦτον δ᾽ οὐδὲν ἔπασχον, οὐδ᾽ ἐτεθορύβητό μου ἡ ψυχὴ οὐδ᾽ ἠγανάκτει ὡς ἀνδραποδωδῶς διακειμένου· ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ τουτουῒ τοῦ Μαρσύου πολλάκις δὴ [216a] οὕτω διετέθην ὥστε μοι δόξαι μὴ βιωτὸν εἶναι ἔχοντι ὡς ἔχω. καὶ ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἐρεῖς ὡς οὐκ ἀληθῆ. καὶ ἔτι γε νῦν ξύνοιδ᾽ ἐμαυτῷ ὅτι εἰ ἐθέλοιμι παρέχειν τὰ ὦτα, οὐκ ἂν καρτερήσαιμι ἀλλὰ ταὐτὰ ἂν πάσχοιμι· ἀναγκάζει γάρ με ὁμολογεῖν ὅτι πολλοῦ ἐνδεὴς ὢν αὐτὸς ἔτι ἐμαυτοῦ μὲν ἀμελῶ, τὰ δ᾽ Ἀθηναίων πράττω. βίᾳ οὖν ὥσπερ ἀπὸ τῶν Σειρήνων ἐπισχόμενος τὰ ὦτα οἴχομαι φεύγων, ἵνα μὴ αὐτοῦ καθήμενος παρὰ τούτῳ καταγηράσω. πέπονθα δὲ [216b] πρὸς τοῦτον μόνον ἀνθρώπων, ὃ οὐκ ἄν τις οἴοιτο ἐν ἐμοὶ ἐνεῖναι, τὸ αἰσχύνεσθαι ὁντινοῦν· ἐγὼ δὲ τοῦτον μόνον αἰσχύνομαι. ξύνοιδα γὰρ ἐμαυτῷ ἀντιλέγειν μὲν οὐ δυναμένῳ ὡς οὐ δεῖ ποιεῖν ἃ οὗτος κελεύει, ἐπειδὰν δὲ ἀπέλθω, ἡττημένῳ τῆς τιμῆς τῆς ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν. δραπετεύω οὖν αὐτὸν καὶ φεύγω, καὶ ὅταν ἴδω, αἰσχύνομαι τὰ ὡμολογημένα. [216c] καὶ πολλάκις μὲν ἡδέως ἂν ἴδοιμι αὐτὸν μὴ ὄντα ἐν ἀνθρώποις· εἰ δ᾽ αὖ τοῦτο γένοιτο, εὖ οἶδα ὅτι πολὺ μεῖζον ἂν ἀχθοίμην, ὥστε οὐκ ἔχω ὅ τι χρήσωμαι τούτῳ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ.

XXXIII. Καὶ ὑπὸ μὲν δὴ τῶν αὐλημάτων καὶ ἐγὼ καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ τοιαῦτα πεπόνθασιν ὑπὸ τοῦδε τοῦ σατύρου· ἄλλα δὲ ἐμοῦ ἀκούσατε ὡς ὅμοιός τ᾽ ἐστὶν οἷς ἐγὼ εἴκασα αὐτὸν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν ὡς θαυμασίαν ἔχει. εὖ γὰρ ἴστε ὅτι οὐδεὶς ὑμῶν [216d] τοῦτον γιγνώσκει· ἀλλὰ ἐγὼ δηλώσω, ἐπείπερ ἠρξάμην. ὁρᾶτε γὰρ ὅτι Σωκράτης ἐρωτικῶς διάκειται τῶν καλῶν καὶ ἀεὶ περὶ τούτους ἐστὶ καὶ ἐκπέπληκται, καὶ αὖ ἀγνοεῖ πάντα καὶ οὐδὲν οἶδεν. ὡς τὸ σχῆμα αὐτοῦ . τοῦτο οὐ σειληνῶδες; σφόδρα γε. τοῦτο γὰρ οὗτος ἔξωθεν περιβέβληται, ὥσπερ ὁ γεγλυμμένος σειληνός· ἔνδοθεν δὲ ἀνοιχθεὶς πόσης οἴεσθε γέμει, ὦ ἄνδρες συμπόται, σωφροσύνης; ἴστε ὅτι οὔτε εἴ τις καλός ἐστι μέλει αὐτῷ οὐδέν, ἀλλὰ καταφρονεῖ τοσοῦτον [216e] ὅσον οὐδ᾽ ἂν εἷς οἰηθείη, οὔτ᾽ εἴ τις πλούσιος, οὔτ᾽ εἰ ἄλλην τινὰ τιμὴν ἔχων τῶν ὑπὸ πλήθους μακαριζομένων· ἡγεῖται δὲ πάντα ταῦτα τὰ κτήματα οὐδενὸς ἄξια καὶ ἡμᾶς οὐδὲν εἶναι , λέγω ὑμῖν , εἰρωνευόμενος δὲ καὶ παίζων πάντα τὸν βίον πρὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους διατελεῖ. σπουδάσαντος δὲ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀνοιχθέντος οὐκ οἶδα εἴ τις ἑώρακε τὰ ἐντὸς ἀγάλματα· ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ ἤδη ποτ᾽ εἶδον, καί μοι ἔδοξεν οὕτω θεῖα καὶ [217a] χρυσᾶ εἶναι καὶ πάγκαλα καὶ θαυμαστά, ὥστε ποιητέον εἶναι ἔμβραχυ ὅ τι κελεύοι Σωκράτης. ἡγούμενος δὲ αὐτὸν ἐσπουδακέναι ἐπὶ τῇ ἐμῇ ὥρᾳ ἕρμαιον ἡγησάμην εἶναι καὶ εὐτύχημα ἐμὸν θαυμαστόν, ὡς ὑπάρχον μοι χαρισαμένῳ Σωκράτει πάντ᾽ ἀκοῦσαι ὅσα περ οὗτος ᾔδει· ἐφρόνουν γὰρ δὴ ἐπὶ τῇ ὥρᾳ θαυμάσιον ὅσον. ταῦτα οὖν διανοηθείς, πρὸ τοῦ οὐκ εἰωθὼς ἄνευ ἀκολούθου μόνος μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ γίγνεσθαι, τότε ἀποπέμπων [217b] τὸν ἀκόλουθον μόνος συνεγιγνόμην . δεῖ γὰρ πρὸς ὑμᾶς πάντα τἀληθῆ εἰπεῖν· ἀλλὰ προσέχετε τὸν νοῦν, καὶ εἰ ψεύδομαι, Σώκρατες, ἐξέλεγχε . συνεγιγνόμην γάρ, ὦ ἄνδρες, μόνος μόνῳ, καὶ ᾤμην αὐτίκα διαλέξεσθαι αὐτόν μοι ἅπερ ἂν ἐραστὴς παιδικοῖς ἐν ἐρημίᾳ διαλεχθείη, καὶ ἔχαιρον. τούτων δ᾽ οὐ μάλα ἐγίγνετο οὐδέν, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ εἰώθει διαλεχθεὶς ἄν μοι καὶ συνημερεύσας ᾤχετο ἀπιών. μετὰ ταῦτα ξυγγυμνάζεσθαι [217c] προὐκαλούμην αὐτὸν καὶ συνεγυμναζόμην, ὥς τι ἐνταῦθα περανῶν. συνεγυμνάζετο οὖν μοι καὶ προσεπάλαιεν πολλάκις οὐδενὸς παρόντος· καὶ τί δεῖ λέγειν; οὐδὲν γάρ μοι πλέον ἦν. ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐδαμῇ ταύτῃ ἤνυτον, ἔδοξέ μοι ἐπιθετέον εἶναι τῷ ἀνδρὶ κατὰ τὸ καρτερὸν καὶ οὐκ ἀνετέον, ἐπειδήπερ ἐγκεχειρήκη, ἀλλὰ ἰστέον ἤδη τί ἐστι τὸ πρᾶγμα. προκαλοῦμαι δὴ αὐτὸν πρὸς τὸ συνδειπνεῖν, ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ ἐραστὴς παιδικοῖς ἐπιβουλεύων. καί μοι οὐδὲ τοῦτο ταχὺ [217d] ὑπήκουσεν, ὅμως δ᾽ οὖν χρόνῳ ἐπείσθη. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἀφίκετο τὸ πρῶτον, δειπνήσας ἀπιέναι ἐβούλετο. καὶ τότε μὲν αἰσχυνόμενος ἀφῆκα αὐτόν· αὖθις δ᾽ ἐπιβουλεύσας, ἐπειδὴ ἐδεδειπνήκει , διελεγόμην πόῤῥω τῶν νυκτῶν, καὶ ἐπειδὴ ἐβούλετο ἀπιέναι, σκηπτόμενος ὅτι ὀψὲ εἴη, προσηνάγκασα αὐτὸν μένειν. ἀνεπαύετο οὖν ἐν τῇ ἐχομένῃ ἐμοῦ κλίνῃ, ἐν ᾗπερ ἐδείπνει, καὶ οὐδεὶς ἐν τῷ οἰκήματι ἄλλος καθηῦδεν ἢ [217e] ἡμεῖς. μέχρι μὲν οὖν δὴ δεῦρο τοῦ λόγου καλῶς ἂν ἔχοι καὶ πρὸς ὁντινοῦν λέγειν· τὸ δ᾽ ἐντεῦθεν οὐκ ἄν μου ἠκούσατε λέγοντος, εἰ μὴ πρῶτον μέν, τὸ λεγόμενον, οἶνος ( ἄνευ τε παίδων καὶ μετὰ παίδων ) ἦν ἀληθής, ἔπειτα ἀφανίσαι Σωκράτους ἔργον ὑπερήφανον εἰς ἔπαινον ἐλθόντα ἄδικόν μοι φαίνεται. ἔτι δὲ τὸ τοῦ δηχθέντος ὑπὸ τοῦ ἔχεως πάθος κἀμὲ ἔχει. φασὶ γάρ πού τινα τοῦτο παθόντα οὐκ ἐθέλειν λέγειν οἷον ἦν πλὴν τοῖς δεδηγμένοις, ὡς μόνοις γνωσομένοις [218a] τε καὶ συγγνωσομένοις εἰ πᾶν ἐτόλμα δρᾷν τε καὶ λέγειν ὑπὸ τῆς ὀδύνης. ἐγὼ οὖν δεδηγμένος τε ὑπὸ ἀλγεινοτέρου καὶ τὸ ἀλγεινότατον ὧν ἄν τις δηχθείη — τὴν καρδίαν ἢ ψυχὴν γὰρ ἢ ὅ τι δεῖ αὐτὸ ὀνομάσαι πληγείς τε καὶ δηχθεὶς ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ λόγων, οἳ ἔχονται ἐχίδνης ἀγριώτερον, νέου ψυχῆς μὴ ἀφυοῦς ὅταν λάβωνται, καὶ ποιοῦσι δρᾷν τε καὶ λέγειν ὁτιοῦν — καὶ ὁρῶν αὖ Φαίδρους, Ἀγάθωνας, [218b] Ἐρυξιμάχους, Παυσανίας, Ἀριστοδήμους τε καὶ Ἀριστοφάνας — Σωκράτη δὲ αὐτὸν τί δεῖ λέγειν, καὶ ὅσοι ἄλλοι; πάντες γὰρ κεκοινωνήκατε τῆς φιλοσόφου μανίας τε καὶ βακχείας· διὸ πάντες ἀκούσεσθε· συγγνώσεσθε γὰρ τοῖς τε τότε πραχθεῖσι καὶ τοῖς νῦν λεγομένοις· οἱ δὲ οἰκέται, καὶ εἴ τις ἄλλος ἐστὶν βέβηλός τε καὶ ἄγροικος, πύλας πάνυ μεγάλας τοῖς ὠσὶν ἐπίθεσθε.

XXXIV. Ἐπειδὴ γὰρ οὖν, ὦ ἄνδρες, ὅ τε λύχνος ἀπεσβήκει καὶ [218c] οἱ παῖδες ἔξω ἦσαν, ἔδοξέ μοι χρῆναι μηδὲν ποικίλλειν πρὸς αὐτόν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐλευθέρως εἰπεῖν ἅ μοι ἐδόκει· καὶ εἶπον κινήσας αὐτόν, Σώκρατες, καθεύδεις; Οὐ δῆτα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. Οἶσθα οὖν ἅ μοι δέδοκται; Τί μάλιστα, ἔφη. Σὺ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐμοῦ ἐραστὴς ἄξιος γεγονέναι μόνος, καί μοι φαίνει ὀκνεῖν μνησθῆναι πρός με· ἐγὼ δὲ οὑτωσὶ ἔχω· πάνυ ἀνόητον ἡγοῦμαι εἶναι σοὶ μὴ οὐ καὶ τοῦτο χαρίζεσθαι καὶ εἴ τι ἄλλο ἢ τῆς οὐσίας τῆς ἐμῆς [218d] δέοιο ἢ τῶν φίλων τῶν ἐμῶν. ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ οὐδέν ἐστι πρεσβύτερον τοῦ ὡς ὅ τι βέλτιστον ἐμὲ γενέσθαι, τούτου δὲ οἶμαί μοι συλλήπτορα οὐδένα κυριώτερον εἶναι σοῦ. ἐγὼ δὴ τοιούτῳ ἀνδρὶ πολὺ μᾶλλον ἂν μὴ χαριζόμενος αἰσχυνοίμην τοὺς φρονίμους, ἢ χαριζόμενος τούς τε πολλοὺς καὶ ἄφρονας. καὶ οὗτος ἀκούσας μάλα εἰρωνικῶς καὶ σφόδρα ἑαυτοῦ τε καὶ εἰωθότως ἔλεξεν· Ὦ φίλε Ἀλκιβιάδη, κινδυνεύεις τῷ ὄντι οὐ φαῦλος εἶναι, εἴπερ ἀληθῆ τυγχάνει ὄντα ἃ λέγεις [218e] περὶ ἐμοῦ, καί τις ἔστ᾽ ἐν ἐμοὶ δύναμις δι᾽ ἧς ἂν σὺ γένοιο ἀμείνων· ἀμήχανόν τοι κάλλος ὁρῴης ἂν ἐν ἐμοὶ καὶ τῆς παρὰ σοὶ εὐμορφίας πάμπολυ διαφέρον. εἰ δὴ καθορῶν αὐτὸ κοινώσασθαί τέ μοι ἐπιχειρεῖς καὶ ἀλλάξασθαι κάλλος ἀντὶ κάλλους, οὐκ ὀλίγῳ μου πλεονεκτεῖν διανοεῖ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀντὶ δόξης ἀλήθειαν καλῶν κτᾶσθαι ἐπιχειρεῖς καὶ τῷ [219a] ὄντι “ χρύσεα χαλκείων „ διαμείβεσθαι νοεῖς. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ μακάριε, ἄμεινον σκόπει, μή σε λανθάνω οὐδὲν ὤν. ἥ τοι τῆς διανοίας ὄψις ἄρχεται ὀξὺ βλέπειν ὅταν ἡ τῶν ὀμμάτων τῆς ἀκμῆς λήγειν ἐπιχειρῇ· σὺ δὲ τούτων ἔτι πόῤῥω. κἀγὼ ἀκούσας· Τὰ μὲν παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ, ἔφην, ταῦτά ἐστιν, ὧν οὐδὲν ἄλλως εἴρηται ἢ ὡς διανοοῦμαι· σὺ δὲ αὐτὸς οὕτω βουλεύου ὅτι σοί τε ἄριστον καὶ ἐμοὶ ἡγεῖ. Ἀλλ᾽, ἔφη, τοῦτό γ᾽ εὖ λέγεις· ἐν γὰρ τῷ ἐπιόντι χρόνῳ [219b] βουλευόμενοι πράξομεν ὃ ἂν φαίνηται νῷν περί τε τούτων καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἄριστον. ἐγὼ μὲν δὴ ταῦτα ἀκούσας τε καὶ εἰπών, καὶ ἀφεὶς ὥσπερ βέλη, τετρῶσθαι αὐτὸν ᾤμην· καὶ ἀναστάς γε, οὐδ᾽ ἐπιτρέψας τούτῳ εἰπεῖν οὐδὲν ἔτι, ἀμφιέσας τὸ ἱμάτιον τὸ ἐμαυτοῦ τοῦτον — καὶ γὰρ ἦν χειμών — ὑπὸ τὸν τρίβωνα κατακλινεὶς τὸν τούτου, περιβαλὼν τὼ χεῖρε τούτῳ τῷ [219c] δαιμονίῳ ὡς ἀληθῶς καὶ θαυμαστῷ, κατεκείμην τὴν νύκτα ὅλην. καὶ οὐδὲ ταῦτα αὖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐρεῖς ὅτι ψεύδομαι. ποιήσαντος δὲ δὴ ταῦτα ἐμοῦ οὗτος τοσοῦτον περιεγένετό τε καὶ κατεφρόνησεν καὶ κατεγέλασεν τῆς ἐμῆς ὥρας καὶ ὕβρισεν· καὶ περὶ ἐκεῖνό γε ᾤμην τὶ εἶναι, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί· δικασταὶ γάρ ἐστε τῆς Σωκράτους ὑπερηφανίας . εὖ γὰρ ἴστε μὰ θεούς, μὰ θεάς, οὐδὲν περιττότερον καταδεδαρθηκὼς [219d] ἀνέστην μετὰ Σωκράτους, ἢ εἰ μετὰ πατρὸς καθηῦδον ἢ ἀδελφοῦ πρεσβυτέρου.

XXXV. Τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο τίνα οἴεσθέ με διάνοιαν ἔχειν, ἡγούμενον μὲν ἠτιμάσθαι, ἀγάμενον δὲ τὴν τούτου φύσιν τε καὶ σωφροσύνην καὶ ἀνδρείαν, ἐντετυχηκότα ἀνθρώπῳ τοιούτῳ οἵῳ ἐγὼ οὐκ ἂν ᾤμην ποτ᾽ ἐντυχεῖν εἰς φρόνησιν καὶ εἰς καρτερίαν; ὥστε οὔθ᾽ ὅπως οὖν ὀργιζοίμην εἶχον καὶ ἀποστερηθείην τῆς τούτου συνουσίας, οὔθ ᾽ ὅπῃ προσαγαγοίμην [219e] αὐτὸν εὐπόρουν. εὖ γὰρ ᾔδη ὅτι χρήμασί γε πολὺ μᾶλλον ἄτρωτος ἦν πανταχῇ ἢ σιδήρῳ ὁ Αἴας, ᾧ τε ᾤμην αὐτὸν μόνῳ ἁλώσεσθαι, διεπεφεύγει με. ἠπόρουν δή, καταδεδουλωμένος τε ὑπὸ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ὡς οὐδεὶς ὑπ᾽ οὐδενὸς ἄλλου περιῇα. ταῦτά τε γάρ μοι ἅπαντα προὐγεγόνει, καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα στρατεία ἡμῖν εἰς Ποτείδαιαν ἐγένετο κοινὴ καὶ συνεσιτοῦμεν ἐκεῖ. πρῶτον μὲν οὖν τοῖς πόνοις οὐ μόνον ἐμοῦ περιῆν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων . ὁπότ᾽ ἀναγκασθεῖμεν ἀποληφθέντες που, οἷα δὴ ἐπὶ στρατείας, [220a] ἀσιτεῖν, οὐδὲν ἦσαν οἱ ἄλλοι πρὸς τὸ καρτερεῖν· ἔν τ᾽ αὖ ταῖς εὐωχίαις μόνος ἀπολαύειν οἷός τ᾽ ἦν τά τ᾽ ἄλλα καὶ πίνειν οὐκ ἐθέλων, ὁπότε ἀναγκασθείη, πάντας ἐκράτει, καὶ ὃ πάντων θαυμαστότατον, Σωκράτη μεθύοντα οὐδεὶςπώποτε ἑώρακεν ἀνθρώπων. τούτου μὲν οὖν μοι δοκεῖ καὶ αὐτίκα ὁ ἔλεγχος ἔσεσθαι. πρὸς δὲ αὖ τὰς τοῦ χειμῶνος καρτερήσεις — δεινοὶ γὰρ αὐτόθι χειμῶνες — θαυμάσια εἰργάζετο τά τε [220b] ἄλλα, καί ποτε ὄντος πάγου οἵου δεινοτάτου, καὶ πάντων ἢ οὐκ ἐξιόντων ἔνδοθεν, ἢ εἴ τις ἐξίοι, ἠμφιεσμένων τε θαυμαστὰ δὴ ὅσα καὶ ὑποδεδεμένων καὶ ἐνειλιγμένων τοὺς πόδας εἰς πίλους καὶ ἀρνακίδας, οὗτος δ᾽ ἐν τούτοις ἐξῄει ἔχων ἱμάτιον μὲν τοιοῦτον οἷόνπερ καὶ πρότερον εἰώθει φορεῖν, ἀνυπόδητος δὲ διὰ τοῦ κρυστάλλου ῥᾷον ἐπορεύετο ἢ οἱ ἄλλοι ὑποδεδεμένοι, οἱ δὲ στρατιῶται ὑπέβλεπον [220c] αὐτὸν ὡς καταφρονοῦντα σφῶν.

XXXVI. Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν δὴ ταῦτα·

οἷον δ᾽ αὖ τόδ᾽ ἔρεξε καὶ ἔτλη καρτερὸς ἀνὴρ

ἐκεῖ ποτε ἐπὶ στρατ εία ς, ἄξιον ἀκοῦσαι. ξυννοήσας γὰρ αὐτόθι ἕωθέν τι εἱστήκει σκοπῶν, καὶ ἐπειδὴ οὐ προυχώρει αὐτῷ, οὐκ ἀνίει ἀλλὰ εἱστήκει ζητῶν. καὶ ἤδη ἦν μεσημβρία, καὶ ἅνθρωποι ᾐσθάνοντο, καὶ θαυμάζοντες ἄλλος ἄλλῳ ἔλεγεν , ὅτι Σωκράτης ἐξ ἑωθινοῦ φροντίζων τι ἕστηκε. τελευτῶντες δέ τινες τῶν Ἰώνων, ἐπειδὴ ἑσπέρα ἦν, δειπνήσαντες , καὶ [220d] γὰρ θέρος τότε γ᾽ ἦν , χαμεύνια ἐξενεγκάμενοι ἅμα μὲν ἐν τῷ ψύχει καθηῦδον, ἅμα δ᾽ ἐφύλαττον αὐτὸν εἰ καὶ τὴν νύκτα ἑστήξοι. ὁ δὲ εἱστήκει μέχρι ἕως ἐγένετο καὶ ἥλιος ἀνέσχεν· ἔπειτα ᾤχετ᾽ ἀπιὼν προσευξάμενος τῷ ἡλίῳ. εἰ δὲ βούλεσθε ἐν ταῖς μάχαις· τοῦτο γὰρ δὴ δίκαιόν γε αὐτῷ ἀποδοῦναι· ὅτε γὰρ ἡ μάχη ἦν ἐξ ἧς ἐμοὶ καὶ τἀριστεῖα ἔδοσαν οἱ στρατηγοί, οὐδεὶς ἄλλος ἐμὲ ἔσωσεν [220e] ἀνθρώπων ἢ οὗτος, τετρωμένον οὐκ ἐθέλων ἀπολιπεῖν, ἀλλὰ συνδιέσωσε καὶ τὰ ὅπλα καὶ αὐτὸν ἐμέ. καὶ ἐγὼ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ τότε ἐκέλευον σοὶ διδόναι τἀριστεῖα τοὺς στρατηγούς, καὶ τοῦτό γέ μοι οὔτε μέμψῃ οὔτε ἐρεῖς ὅτι ψεύδομαι· ἀλλὰ γὰρ τῶν στρατηγῶν πρὸς τὸ ἐμὸν ἀξίωμα ἀποβλεπόντων καὶ βουλομένων ἐμοὶ διδόναι τἀριστεῖα, αὐτὸς προθυμότερος ἐγένου τῶν στρατηγῶν ἐμὲ λαβεῖν ἢ σαυτόν. ἔτι τοίνυν, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἄξιον ἦν θεάσασθαι Σωκράτη, ὅτε ἀπὸ Δηλίου [221a] φυγῇ ἀνεχώρει τὸ στρατόπεδον· ἔτυχον γὰρ παραγενόμενος ἵππον ἔχων, οὗτος δὲ ὅπλα. ἀνεχώρει οὖν ἐσκεδασμένων ἤδη τῶν ἀνθρώπων οὗτός τε ἅμα καὶ Λάχης· καὶ ἐγὼ περιτυγχάνω, καὶ ἰδὼν εὐθὺς παρακελεύομαί τε αὐτοῖς θαῤῥεῖν, καὶ ἔλεγον ὅτι οὐκ ἀπολείψω αὐτώ. ἐνταῦθα δὴ καὶ κάλλιον ἐθεασάμην Σωκράτη ἢ ἐν Ποτειδαίᾳ . αὐτὸς γὰρ ἧττον ἐν φόβῳ ἦ διὰ τὸ ἐφ᾽ ἵππου εἶναι· πρῶτον μὲν ὅσον περιῆν [221b] Λάχητος τῷ ἔμφρων εἶναι· ἔπειτα ἔμοιγ᾽ ἐδόκει, ὦ Ἀριστόφανες, τὸ σὸν δὴ τοῦτο, καὶ ἐκεῖ διαπορεύεσθαι ὥσπερ καὶ ἐνθάδε, “ βρενθυόμενος καὶ τὠφθαλμὼ παραβάλλων „ , ἠρέμα παρασκοπῶν καὶ τοὺς φιλίους καὶ τοὺς πολεμίους, δῆλος ὢν παντὶ καὶ πάνυ πόῤῥωθεν ὅτι εἴ τις ἅψεται τούτου τοῦ ἀνδρός, μάλα ἐῤῥωμένως ἀμυνεῖται. διὸ καὶ ἀσφαλῶς ἀπῄει καὶ οὗτος καὶ ὁ ἑταῖρος· σχεδὸν γάρ τι τῶν οὕτω διακειμένων ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ οὐδὲ ἅπτονται, ἀλλὰ τοὺς προτροπάδην [221c] φεύγοντας διώκουσιν. πολλὰ μὲν οὖν ἄν τις καὶ ἄλλα ἔχοι Σωκράτη ἐπαινέσαι καὶ θαυμάσια· ἀλλὰ τῶν μὲν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδευμάτων τάχ᾽ ἄν τις καὶ περὶ ἄλλου τοιαῦτα εἴποι, τὸ δὲ μηδενὶ ἀνθρώπων ὅμοιον εἶναι, μήτε τῶν παλαιῶν μήτε τῶν νῦν ὄντων, τοῦτο ἄξιον παντὸς θαύματος. οἷος γὰρ Ἀχιλλεὺς ἐγένετο, ἀπεικάσειεν ἄν τις καὶ Βρασίδαν καὶ ἄλλους, καὶ οἷος αὖ Περικλῆς, καὶ Νέστορα καὶ Ἀντήνορα , εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ ἕτεροι· [221d] καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους κατὰ ταὔτ᾽ ἄν τις ἀπεικάζοι· οἷος δὲ οὑτοσὶ γέγονε τὴν ἀτοπίαν ἅνθρωπος, καὶ αὐτὸς καὶ οἱ λόγοι αὐτοῦ, οὐδ᾽ ἐγγὺς ἂν εὕροι τις ζητῶν, οὔτε τῶν νῦν οὔτε τῶν παλαιῶν, εἰ μὴ ἄρα εἰ οἷς ἐγὼ λέγω ἀπεικάζοι τις αὐτόν, ἀνθρώπων μὲν μηδενί, τοῖς δὲ σειληνοῖς καὶ σατύροις, αὐτὸν καὶ τοὺς λόγους.

XXXVII. Καὶ γὰρ οὖν καὶ τοῦτο ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις παρέλιπον, ὅτι καὶ οἱ λόγοι αὐτοῦ ὁμοιότατοί εἰσι τοῖς σειληνοῖς τοῖς διοιγομένοις. [221e] εἰ γὰρ ἐθέλοι τις τῶν Σωκράτους ἀκούειν λόγων, φανεῖεν ἂν πάνυ γελοῖοι τὸ πρῶτον· τοιαῦτα καὶ ὀνόματα καὶ ῥήματα ἔξωθεν περιαμπέχονται, σατύρου δή τινα ὑβριστοῦ δοράν. ὄνους γὰρ κανθηλίους λέγει καὶ χαλκέας τινὰς καὶ σκυτοτόμους καὶ βυρσοδέψας, καὶ ἀεὶ διὰ τῶν αὐτῶν τὰ αὐτὰ φαίνεται λέγειν, ὥστε ἄπειρος καὶ ἀνόητος ἄνθρωπος [222a] πᾶς ἂν τῶν λόγων καταγελάσειεν. διοιγομένους δὲ ἰδὼν ἄν τις καὶ ἐντὸς αὐτῶν γιγνόμενος πρῶτον μὲν νοῦν ἔχοντας ἔνδον μόνους εὑρήσει τῶν λόγων, ἔπειτα θειοτάτους καὶ πλεῖστα ἀγάλματ᾽ ἀρετῆς ἐν αὑτοῖς ἔχοντας καὶ ἐπὶ πλεῖστον τείνοντας, μᾶλλον δὲ ἐπὶ πᾶν ὅσον προσήκει σκοπεῖν τῷ μέλλοντι καλῷ κἀγαθῷ ἔσεσθαι. ταῦτ᾽ ἐστίν, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἃ ἐγὼ Σωκράτη ἐπαινῶ· καὶ αὖ ἃ μέμφομαι συμμείξας ὑμῖν εἶπον ἅ με ὕβρισε. καὶ μέντοι [222b] οὐκ ἐμὲ μόνον ταῦτα πεποίηκεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ Χαρμίδην τὸν Γλαύκωνος καὶ Εὐθύδημον τὸν Διοκλέους καὶ ἄλλους πάνυ πολλούς, οὓς οὗτος ἐξαπατῶν ὡς ἐραστὴς παιδικὰ μᾶλλον αὐτὸς καθίσταται ἀντ᾽ ἐραστοῦ. ἃ δὴ καὶ σοὶ λέγω, ὦ Ἀγάθων, μὴ ἐξαπατᾶσθαι ὑπὸ τούτου, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπὸ τῶν ἡμετέρων παθημάτων γνόντα εὐλαβηθῆναι, καὶ μὴ κατὰ τὴν παροιμίαν ὥσπερ νήπιον παθόντα γνῶναι.

XXXVIII. [222c] Εἰπόντος δὴ ταῦτα τοῦ Ἀλκιβιάδου γέλωτα γενέσθαι ἐπὶ τῇ παῤῥησίᾳ αὐτοῦ, ὅτι ἐδόκει ἔτι ἐρωτικῶς ἔχειν τοῦ Σωκράτους. τὸν οὖν Σωκράτη· Νήφειν μοι δοκεῖς, φάναι, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη. οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε οὕτω κομψῶς κύκλῳ περιβαλλόμενος ἀφανίσαι ἐνεχείρεις οὗ ἕνεκα ταῦτα πάντα εἴρηκας, καὶ ὡς ἐν παρέργῳ δὴ λέγων ἐπὶ τελευτῆς αὐτὸ ἔθηκας, ὡς οὐ πάντα τούτου ἕνεκα εἰρηκώς, τοῦ ἐμὲ καὶ [222d] Ἀγάθωνα διαβάλλειν, οἰόμενος δεῖν ἐμὲ μὲν σοῦ ἐρᾷν καὶ μηδενὸς ἄλλου, Ἀγάθωνα δὲ ὑπὸ σοῦ ἐρᾶσθαι καὶ μηδ᾽ ὑφ᾽ ἑνὸς ἄλλου. ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἔλαθες, ἀλλὰ τὸ σατυρικόν σου δρᾶμα τοῦτο καὶ σειληνικὸν κατάδηλον ἐγένετο. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ φίλε Ἀγάθων, μηδὲν πλέον αὐτῷ γένηται, ἀλλὰ παρασκευάζου ὅπως ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ μηδεὶς διαβάλῃ. τὸν οὖν Ἀγάθωνα εἰπεῖν· Καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, κινδυνεύεις [222e] ἀληθῆ λέγειν. τεκμαίρομαι δὲ καὶ ὡς κατεκλίνη ἐν μέσῳ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ, ἵνα χωρὶς ἡμᾶς διαλάβῃ· οὐδὲν οὖν πλέον αὐτῷ ἔσται, ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ παρὰ σὲ ἐλθὼν κατακλινήσομαι. Πάνυ γε, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, δεῦρο ὑποκάτω ἐμοῦ κατακλίνου. Ὦ Ζεῦ, εἰπεῖν τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην, οἷα αὖ πάσχω ὑπὸ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου. οἴεταί μου δεῖν πανταχῇ περιεῖναι. ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μή τι ἄλλο, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ἐν μέσῳ ἡμῶν ἔα Ἀγάθωνα κατακεῖσθαι. Ἀλλ᾽ ἀδύνατον, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη. σὺ μὲν γὰρ ἐμὲ ἐπῄνεσας, δεῖ δὲ ἐμὲ αὖ τὸν ἐπὶ δεξιὰ ἐπαινεῖν. ἐὰν οὖν ὑπὸ σοὶ κατακλινῇ Ἀγάθων, οὐ δή που ἐμὲ πάλιν ἐπαινέσεται, πρὶν ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ μᾶλλον ἐπαινεθῆναι . ἀλλ᾽ ἔασον, [223a] ὦ δαιμόνιε, καὶ μὴ φθονήσῃς τῷ μειρακίῳ ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ ἐπαινεθῆναι· καὶ γὰρ πάνυ ἐπιθυμῶ αὐτὸν ἐγκωμιάσαι. Ἰοὺ ἰοὺ, φάναι τὸν Ἀγάθωνα, Ἀλκιβιάδη, οὐκ ἔσθ᾽ ὅπως ἂν ἐνθάδε μείναιμι, ἀλλὰ παντὸς μᾶλλον μεταναστήσομαι, ἵνα ὑπὸ Σωκράτους ἐπαινεθῶ. Ταῦτα ἐκεῖνα, φάναι τὸν Ἀλκιβιάδην, τὰ εἰωθότα· Σωκράτους παρόντος τῶν καλῶν μεταλαβεῖν ἀδύνατον ἄλλῳ. καὶ νῦν ὡς εὐπόρως καὶ πιθανὸν λόγον ηὗρεν, ὥστε παρ᾽ ἑαυτῷ τουτονὶ κατακεῖσθαι.

XXXIX. [223b] Τὸν μὲν οὖν Ἀγάθωνα ὡς κατακεισόμενον παρὰ τῷ Σωκράτει ἀνίστασθαι· ἐξαίφνης δὲ κωμαστὰς ἥκειν παμπόλλους ἐπὶ τὰς θύρας, καὶ ἐπιτυχόντας ἀνεῳγμέναις ἐξιόντος τινὸς εἰς τὸ ἄντικρυς πορεύεσθαι παρὰ σφᾶς καὶ κατακλίνεσθαι, καὶ θορύβου μεστὰ πάντα εἶναι, καὶ οὐκέτι ἐν κόσμῳ οὐδενὶ ἀναγκάζεσθαι πίνειν πάμπολυν οἶνον. τὸν μὲν οὖν Ἐρυξίμαχον καὶ τὸν Φαῖδρον καὶ ἄλλους τινὰς ἔφη ὁ Ἀριστόδημος οἴχεσθαι ἀπιόντας, ἓ δὲ ὕπνον λαβεῖν, [223c] καὶ καταδαρθεῖν πάνυ πολύ, ἅτε μακρῶν τῶν νυκτῶν οὐσῶν, ἐξεγρέσθαι δὲ πρὸς ἡμέραν ἤδη ἀλεκτρυόνων ᾀδόντων, ἐξεγρόμενος δὲ ἰδεῖν τοὺς μὲν ἄλλους καθεύδοντας καὶ οἰχομένους, Ἀγάθωνα δὲ καὶ Ἀριστοφάνη καὶ Σωκράτη ἔτι μόνους ἐγρηγορέναι καὶ πίνειν ἐκ φιάλης μεγάλης ἐπὶ δεξιά. τὸν οὖν Σωκράτη αὐτοῖς διαλέγεσθαι· καὶ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ὁ [223d] Ἀριστόδημος οὐκ ἔφη μεμνῆσθαι τῶν λόγων . οὔτε γὰρ ἐξ ἀρχῆς παραγενέσθαι ὑπονυστάζειν τε· τὸ μέντοι κεφάλαιον, ἔφη, προσαναγκάζειν τὸν Σωκράτη ὁμολογεῖν αὐτοὺς τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἀνδρὸς εἶναι κωμῳδίαν καὶ τραγῳδίαν ἐπίστασθαι ποιεῖν, καὶ τὸν τέχνῃ τραγῳδοποιὸν ὄντα κωμῳδοποιὸν εἶναι. ταῦτα δὴ ἀναγκαζομένους αὐτοὺς καὶ οὐ σφόδρα ἑπομένους νυστάζειν· καὶ πρότερον μὲν καταδαρθεῖν τὸν Ἀριστοφάνη, ἤδη δὲ ἡμέρας γιγνομένης τὸν Ἀγάθωνα. τὸν οὖν Σωκράτη, κατακοιμίσαντ᾽ ἐκείνους, ἀναστάντα ἀπιέναι, καὶ ἓ ὥσπερ εἰώθει ἕπεσθαι, καὶ ἐλθόντα εἰς Λύκειον, ἀπονιψάμενον, ὥσπερ ἄλλοτε τὴν ἄλλην ἡμέραν διατρίβειν, καὶ οὕτω διατρίψαντα εἰς ἑσπέραν οἴκοι ἀναπαύεσθαι.

THE REPUBLIC

CONTENTS

The Translations

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

Πολιτεία Α

Πολιτεία Β

Πολιτεία Γ

Πολιτεία Δ

Πολιτεία Ε

Πολιτεία ΣΤ

Πολιτεία Ζ

Πολιτεία Η

Πολιτεία Θ

Πολιτεία Ι

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

Πολιτεία Α

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

[327a] Σωκράτης κατέβην χθὲς εἰς Πειραιᾶ μετὰ Γλαύκωνος τοῦ Ἀρίστωνος προσευξόμενός τε τῇ θεῷ καὶ ἅμα τὴν ἑορτὴν βουλόμενος θεάσασθαι τίνα τρόπον ποιήσουσιν ἅτε νῦν πρῶτον ἄγοντες. καλὴ μὲν οὖν μοι καὶ ἡ τῶν ἐπιχωρίων πομπὴ ἔδοξεν εἶναι, οὐ μέντοι ἧττον ἐφαίνετο πρέπειν ἣν οἱ Θρᾷκες ἔπεμπον. [327b] προσευξάμενοι δὲ καὶ θεωρήσαντες ἀπῇμεν πρὸς τὸ ἄστυ. κατιδὼν οὖν πόρρωθεν ἡμᾶς οἴκαδε ὡρμημένους Πολέμαρχος ὁ Κεφάλου ἐκέλευσε δραμόντα τὸν παῖδα περιμεῖναί ἑ κελεῦσαι. καί μου ὄπισθεν ὁ παῖς λαβόμενος τοῦ ἱματίου, κελεύει ὑμᾶς, ἔφη, Πολέμαρχος περιμεῖναι. καὶ ἐγὼ μετεστράφην τε καὶ ἠρόμην ὅπου αὐτὸς εἴη. οὗτος, ἔφη, ὄπισθεν προσέρχεται· ἀλλὰ περιμένετε. ἀλλὰ περιμενοῦμεν, ἦ δ’ ὃς ὁ Γλαύκων.

[327c] καὶ ὀλίγῳ ὕστερον ὅ τε Πολέμαρχος ἧκε καὶ Ἀδείμαντος ὁ τοῦ Γλαύκωνος ἀδελφὸς καὶ Νικήρατος ὁ Νικίου καὶ ἄλλοι τινὲς ὡς ἀπὸ τῆς πομπῆς.

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων, Πολέμαρχος, Αδείμαντος

ὁ οὖν Πολέμαρχος ἔφη· ὦ Σώκρατες, δοκεῖτέ μοι πρὸς ἄστυ ὡρμῆσθαι ὡς ἀπιόντες.

οὐ γὰρ κακῶς δοξάζεις, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ.

ὁρᾷς οὖν ἡμᾶς, ἔφη, ὅσοι ἐσμέν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ἢ τοίνυν τούτων, ἔφη, κρείττους γένεσθε ἢ μένετ’ αὐτοῦ.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔτι ἓν λείπεται, τὸ ἢν πείσωμεν ὑμᾶς ὡς χρὴ ἡμᾶς ἀφεῖναι;

ἦ καὶ δύναισθ’ ἄν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, πεῖσαι μὴ ἀκούοντας;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη ὁ Γλαύκων.

ὡς τοίνυν μὴ ἀκουσομένων, οὕτω διανοεῖσθε.

[328a] καὶ ὁ Ἀδείμαντος, ἆρά γε, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐδ’ ἴστε ὅτι λαμπὰς ἔσται πρὸς ἑσπέραν ἀφ’ ἵππων τῇ θεῷ;

ἀφ’ ἵππων; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· καινόν γε τοῦτο. λαμπάδια ἔχοντες διαδώσουσιν ἀλλήλοις ἁμιλλώμενοι τοῖς ἵπποις; ἢ πῶς λέγεις;

οὕτως, ἔφη ὁ Πολέμαρχος. καὶ πρός γε παννυχίδα ποιήσουσιν, ἣν ἄξιον θεάσασθαι· ἐξαναστησόμεθα γὰρ μετὰ τὸ δεῖπνον καὶ τὴν παννυχίδα θεασόμεθα. καὶ συνεσόμεθά τε πολλοῖς τῶν νέων αὐτόθι καὶ διαλεξόμεθα. ἀλλὰ μένετε [328b] καὶ μὴ ἄλλως ποιεῖτε.

καὶ ὁ Γλαύκων, ἔοικεν, ἔφη, μενετέον εἶναι.

ἀλλ’ εἰ δοκεῖ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὕτω χρὴ ποιεῖν.

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων, Κέφαλος

ἦιμεν οὖν οἴκαδε εἰς τοῦ Πολεμάρχου, καὶ Λυσίαν τε αὐτόθι κατελάβομεν καὶ Εὐθύδημον, τοὺς τοῦ Πολεμάρχου ἀδελφούς, καὶ δὴ καὶ Θρασύμαχον τὸν Καλχηδόνιον καὶ Χαρμαντίδην τὸν Παιανιᾶ καὶ Κλειτοφῶντα τὸν Ἀριστωνύμου· ἦν δ’ ἔνδον καὶ ὁ πατὴρ ὁ τοῦ Πολεμάρχου Κέφαλος. καὶ μάλα πρεσβύτης μοι ἔδοξεν εἶναι· διὰ χρόνου γὰρ καὶ [328c] ἑωράκη αὐτόν. καθῆστο δὲ ἐστεφανωμένος ἐπί τινος προσκεφαλαίου τε καὶ δίφρου· τεθυκὼς γὰρ ἐτύγχανεν ἐν τῇ αὐλῇ. ἐκαθεζόμεθα οὖν παρ’ αὐτόν· ἔκειντο γὰρ δίφροι τινὲς αὐτόθι κύκλῳ.

εὐθὺς οὖν με ἰδὼν ὁ Κέφαλος ἠσπάζετό τε καὶ εἶπεν· ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ δὲ θαμίζεις ἡμῖν καταβαίνων εἰς τὸν Πειραιᾶ. χρῆν μέντοι. εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἐγὼ ἔτι ἐν δυνάμει ἦ τοῦ ῥᾳδίως πορεύεσθαι πρὸς τὸ ἄστυ, οὐδὲν ἂν σὲ ἔδει δεῦρο [328d] ἰέναι, ἀλλ’ ἡμεῖς ἂν παρὰ σὲ ᾖμεν· νῦν δέ σε χρὴ πυκνότερον δεῦρο ἰέναι. ὡς εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι ἔμοιγε ὅσον αἱ ἄλλαι αἱ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ἡδοναὶ ἀπομαραίνονται, τοσοῦτον αὔξονται αἱ περὶ τοὺς λόγους ἐπιθυμίαι τε καὶ ἡδοναί. μὴ οὖν ἄλλως ποίει, ἀλλὰ τοῖσδέ τε τοῖς νεανίσκοις σύνισθι καὶ δεῦρο παρ’ ἡμᾶς φοίτα ὡς παρὰ φίλους τε καὶ πάνυ οἰκείους.

καὶ μήν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Κέφαλε, χαίρω γε διαλεγόμενος [328e] τοῖς σφόδρα πρεσβύταις· δοκεῖ γάρ μοι χρῆναι παρ’ αὐτῶν πυνθάνεσθαι, ὥσπερ τινὰ ὁδὸν προεληλυθότων ἣν καὶ ἡμᾶς ἴσως δεήσει πορεύεσθαι, ποία τίς ἐστιν, τραχεῖα καὶ χαλεπή, ἢ ῥᾳδία καὶ εὔπορος. καὶ δὴ καὶ σοῦ ἡδέως ἂν πυθοίμην ὅτι σοι φαίνεται τοῦτο, ἐπειδὴ ἐνταῦθα ἤδη εἶ τῆς ἡλικίας ὃ δὴ “ἐπὶ γήραος οὐδῷ” φασιν εἶναι οἱ ποιηταί, πότερον χαλεπὸν τοῦ βίου, ἢ πῶς σὺ αὐτὸ ἐξαγγέλλεις.

[329a] ἐγώ σοι, ἔφη, νὴ τὸν Δία ἐρῶ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἷόν γέ μοι φαίνεται. πολλάκις γὰρ συνερχόμεθά τινες εἰς ταὐτὸν παραπλησίαν ἡλικίαν ἔχοντες, διασῴζοντες τὴν παλαιὰν παροιμίαν· οἱ οὖν πλεῖστοι ἡμῶν ὀλοφύρονται συνιόντες, τὰς ἐν τῇ νεότητι ἡδονὰς ποθοῦντες καὶ ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενοι περί τε τἀφροδίσια καὶ περὶ πότους τε καὶ εὐωχίας καὶ ἄλλ’ ἄττα ἃ τῶν τοιούτων ἔχεται, καὶ ἀγανακτοῦσιν ὡς μεγάλων τινῶν ἀπεστερημένοι καὶ τότε μὲν εὖ ζῶντες, νῦν δὲ οὐδὲ ζῶντες. [329b] ἔνιοι δὲ καὶ τὰς τῶν οἰκείων προπηλακίσεις τοῦ γήρως ὀδύρονται, καὶ ἐπὶ τούτῳ δὴ τὸ γῆρας ὑμνοῦσιν ὅσων κακῶν σφίσιν αἴτιον. ἐμοὶ δὲ δοκοῦσιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὗτοι οὐ τὸ αἴτιον αἰτιᾶσθαι. εἰ γὰρ ἦν τοῦτ’ αἴτιον, κἂν ἐγὼ τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἐπεπόνθη, ἕνεκά γε γήρως, καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες ὅσοι ἐνταῦθα ἦλθον ἡλικίας. νῦν δ’ ἔγωγε ἤδη ἐντετύχηκα οὐχ οὕτως ἔχουσιν καὶ ἄλλοις, καὶ δὴ καὶ Σοφοκλεῖ ποτε τῷ ποιητῇ παρεγενόμην ἐρωτωμένῳ ὑπό τινος· “πῶς,” ἔφη, [329c] “ὦ Σοφόκλεις, ἔχεις πρὸς τἀφροδίσια; ἔτι οἷός τε εἶ γυναικὶ συγγίγνεσθαι”; καὶ ὅς, “εὐφήμει,” ἔφη, “ὦ ἄνθρωπε· ἁσμενέστατα μέντοι αὐτὸ ἀπέφυγον, ὥσπερ λυττῶντά τινα καὶ ἄγριον δεσπότην ἀποδράς.” εὖ οὖν μοι καὶ τότε ἔδοξεν ἐκεῖνος εἰπεῖν, καὶ νῦν οὐχ ἧττον. παντάπασι γὰρ τῶν γε τοιούτων ἐν τῷ γήρᾳ πολλὴ εἰρήνη γίγνεται καὶ ἐλευθερία· ἐπειδὰν αἱ ἐπιθυμίαι παύσωνται κατατείνουσαι καὶ χαλάσωσιν, παντάπασιν τὸ τοῦ Σοφοκλέους γίγνεται, [329d] δεσποτῶν πάνυ πολλῶν ἐστι καὶ μαινομένων ἀπηλλάχθαι. ἀλλὰ καὶ τούτων πέρι καὶ τῶν γε πρὸς τοὺς οἰκείους μία τις αἰτία ἐστίν, οὐ τὸ γῆρας, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ’ ὁ τρόπος τῶν ἀνθρώπων. ἂν μὲν γὰρ κόσμιοι καὶ εὔκολοι ὦσιν, καὶ τὸ γῆρας μετρίως ἐστὶν ἐπίπονον· εἰ δὲ μή, καὶ γῆρας, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ νεότης χαλεπὴ τῷ τοιούτῳ συμβαίνει.

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀγασθεὶς αὐτοῦ εἰπόντος ταῦτα, βουλόμενος ἔτι [329e] λέγειν αὐτὸν ἐκίνουν καὶ εἶπον· ὦ Κέφαλε, οἶμαί σου τοὺς πολλούς, ὅταν ταῦτα λέγῃς, οὐκ ἀποδέχεσθαι ἀλλ’ ἡγεῖσθαί σε ῥᾳδίως τὸ γῆρας φέρειν οὐ διὰ τὸν τρόπον ἀλλὰ διὰ τὸ πολλὴν οὐσίαν κεκτῆσθαι· τοῖς γὰρ πλουσίοις πολλὰ παραμύθιά φασιν εἶναι.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις· οὐ γὰρ ἀποδέχονται. καὶ λέγουσι μέν τι, οὐ μέντοι γε ὅσον οἴονται· ἀλλὰ τὸ τοῦ Θεμιστοκλέους εὖ ἔχει, ὃς τῷ Σεριφίῳ λοιδορουμένῳ καὶ λέγοντι [330a] ὅτι οὐ δι’ αὑτὸν ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν πόλιν εὐδοκιμοῖ, ἀπεκρίνατο ὅτι οὔτ’ ἂν αὐτὸς Σερίφιος ὢν ὀνομαστὸς ἐγένετο οὔτ’ ἐκεῖνος Ἀθηναῖος. καὶ τοῖς δὴ μὴ πλουσίοις, χαλεπῶς δὲ τὸ γῆρας φέρουσιν, εὖ ἔχει ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, ὅτι οὔτ’ ἂν ὁ ἐπιεικὴς πάνυ τι ῥᾳδίως γῆρας μετὰ πενίας ἐνέγκοι οὔθ’ ὁ μὴ ἐπιεικὴς πλουτήσας εὔκολός ποτ’ ἂν ἑαυτῷ γένοιτο.

πότερον δέ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Κέφαλε, ὧν κέκτησαι τὰ πλείω παρέλαβες ἢ ἐπεκτήσω;

[330b] ποῖ’ ἐπεκτησάμην, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες; μέσος τις γέγονα χρηματιστὴς τοῦ τε πάππου καὶ τοῦ πατρός. ὁ μὲν γὰρ πάππος τε καὶ ὁμώνυμος ἐμοὶ σχεδόν τι ὅσην ἐγὼ νῦν οὐσίαν κέκτημαι παραλαβὼν πολλάκις τοσαύτην ἐποίησεν, Λυσανίας δὲ ὁ πατὴρ ἔτι ἐλάττω αὐτὴν ἐποίησε τῆς νῦν οὔσης· ἐγὼ δὲ ἀγαπῶ ἐὰν μὴ ἐλάττω καταλίπω τούτοισιν, ἀλλὰ βραχεῖ γέ τινι πλείω ἢ παρέλαβον.

οὗ τοι ἕνεκα ἠρόμην, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι μοι ἔδοξας οὐ σφόδρα [330c] ἀγαπᾶν τὰ χρήματα, τοῦτο δὲ ποιοῦσιν ὡς τὸ πολὺ οἳ ἂν μὴ αὐτοὶ κτήσωνται· οἱ δὲ κτησάμενοι διπλῇ ἢ οἱ ἄλλοι ἀσπάζονται αὐτά. ὥσπερ γὰρ οἱ ποιηταὶ τὰ αὑτῶν ποιήματα καὶ οἱ πατέρες τοὺς παῖδας ἀγαπῶσιν, ταύτῃ τε δὴ καὶ οἱ χρηματισάμενοι περὶ τὰ χρήματα σπουδάζουσιν ὡς ἔργον ἑαυτῶν, καὶ κατὰ τὴν χρείαν ᾗπερ οἱ ἄλλοι. χαλεποὶ οὖν καὶ συγγενέσθαι εἰσίν, οὐδὲν ἐθέλοντες ἐπαινεῖν ἀλλ’ ἢ τὸν πλοῦτον. ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

[330d] πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. ἀλλά μοι ἔτι τοσόνδε εἰπέ· τί μέγιστον οἴει ἀγαθὸν ἀπολελαυκέναι τοῦ πολλὴν οὐσίαν κεκτῆσθαι;

ὅ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἴσως οὐκ ἂν πολλοὺς πείσαιμι λέγων. εὖ γὰρ ἴσθι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι, ἐπειδάν τις ἐγγὺς ᾖ τοῦ οἴεσθαι τελευτήσειν, εἰσέρχεται αὐτῷ δέος καὶ φροντὶς περὶ ὧν ἔμπροσθεν οὐκ εἰσῄει. οἵ τε γὰρ λεγόμενοι μῦθοι περὶ τῶν ἐν Ἅιδου, ὡς τὸν ἐνθάδε ἀδικήσαντα δεῖ ἐκεῖ διδόναι [330e] δίκην, καταγελώμενοι τέως, τότε δὴ στρέφουσιν αὐτοῦ τὴν ψυχὴν μὴ ἀληθεῖς ὦσιν· καὶ αὐτός — ἤτοι ὑπὸ τῆς τοῦ γήρως ἀσθενείας ἢ καὶ ὥσπερ ἤδη ἐγγυτέρω ὢν τῶν ἐκεῖ μᾶλλόν τι καθορᾷ αὐτά — ὑποψίας δ’ οὖν καὶ δείματος μεστὸς γίγνεται καὶ ἀναλογίζεται ἤδη καὶ σκοπεῖ εἴ τινά τι ἠδίκησεν. ὁ μὲν οὖν εὑρίσκων ἑαυτοῦ ἐν τῷ βίῳ πολλὰ ἀδικήματα καὶ ἐκ τῶν ὕπνων, ὥσπερ οἱ παῖδες, θαμὰ ἐγειρόμενος δειμαίνει [331a] καὶ ζῇ μετὰ κακῆς ἐλπίδος· τῷ δὲ μηδὲν ἑαυτῷ ἄδικον συνειδότι ἡδεῖα ἐλπὶς ἀεὶ πάρεστι καὶ ἀγαθὴ γηροτρόφος, ὡς καὶ Πίνδαρος λέγει. χαριέντως γάρ τοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτ’ ἐκεῖνος εἶπεν, ὅτι ὃς ἂν δικαίως καὶ ὁσίως τὸν βίον διαγάγῃ,

γλυκεῖά οἱ καρδίαν

ἀτάλλοισα γηροτρόφος συναορεῖ

ἐλπὶς ἃ μάλιστα θνατῶν πολύστροφον

γνώμαν κυβερνᾷ.

εὖ οὖν λέγει θαυμαστῶς ὡς σφόδρα. πρὸς δὴ τοῦτ’ ἔγωγε τίθημι τὴν τῶν χρημάτων κτῆσιν πλείστου ἀξίαν εἶναι, οὔ [331b] τι παντὶ ἀνδρὶ ἀλλὰ τῷ ἐπιεικεῖ καὶ κοσμίῳ. τὸ γὰρ μηδὲ ἄκοντά τινα ἐξαπατῆσαι ἢ ψεύσασθαι, μηδ’ αὖ ὀφείλοντα ἢ θεῷ θυσίας τινὰς ἢ ἀνθρώπῳ χρήματα ἔπειτα ἐκεῖσε ἀπιέναι δεδιότα, μέγα μέρος εἰς τοῦτο ἡ τῶν χρημάτων κτῆσις συμβάλλεται. ἔχει δὲ καὶ ἄλλας χρείας πολλάς· ἀλλὰ ἕν γε ἀνθ’ ἑνὸς οὐκ ἐλάχιστον ἔγωγε θείην ἂν εἰς τοῦτο ἀνδρὶ νοῦν ἔχοντι, ὦ Σώκρατες, πλοῦτον χρησιμώτατον εἶναι.

[331c] παγκάλως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, λέγεις, ὦ Κέφαλε. τοῦτο δ’ αὐτό, τὴν δικαιοσύνην, πότερα τὴν ἀλήθειαν αὐτὸ φήσομεν εἶναι ἁπλῶς οὕτως καὶ τὸ ἀποδιδόναι ἄν τίς τι παρά του λάβῃ, ἢ καὶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἔστιν ἐνίοτε μὲν δικαίως, ἐνίοτε δὲ ἀδίκως ποιεῖν; οἷον τοιόνδε λέγω· πᾶς ἄν που εἴποι, εἴ τις λάβοι παρὰ φίλου ἀνδρὸς σωφρονοῦντος ὅπλα, εἰ μανεὶς ἀπαιτοῖ, ὅτι οὔτε χρὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀποδιδόναι, οὔτε δίκαιος ἂν εἴη ὁ ἀποδιδούς, οὐδ’ αὖ πρὸς τὸν οὕτως ἔχοντα πάντα ἐθέλων τἀληθῆ λέγειν.

[331d] ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

οὐκ ἄρα οὗτος ὅρος ἐστὶν δικαιοσύνης, ἀληθῆ τε λέγειν καὶ ἃ ἂν λάβῃ τις ἀποδιδόναι.

Σωκράτης, Κέφαλος, Πολέμαρχος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὑπολαβὼν ὁ Πολέμαρχος, εἴπερ γέ τι χρὴ Σιμωνίδῃ πείθεσθαι.

καὶ μέντοι, ἔφη ὁ Κέφαλος, καὶ παραδίδωμι ὑμῖν τὸν λόγον· δεῖ γάρ με ἤδη τῶν ἱερῶν ἐπιμεληθῆναι.

οὐκοῦν, ἔφη, ἐγώ, ὁ Πολέμαρχος, τῶν γε σῶν κληρονόμος;

πάνυ γε, ἦ δ’ ὃς γελάσας, καὶ ἅμα ᾔει πρὸς τὰ ἱερά.

Σωκράτης, Πολέμαρχος

[331e] λέγε δή, εἶπον ἐγώ, σὺ ὁ τοῦ λόγου κληρονόμος, τί φῂς τὸν Σιμωνίδην λέγοντα ὀρθῶς λέγειν περὶ δικαιοσύνης;

ὅτι, ἦ δ’ ὅς, τὸ τὰ ὀφειλόμενα ἑκάστῳ ἀποδιδόναι δίκαιόν ἐστι· τοῦτο λέγων δοκεῖ ἔμοιγε καλῶς λέγειν.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, Σιμωνίδῃ γε οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἀπιστεῖν — σοφὸς γὰρ καὶ θεῖος ἀνήρ — τοῦτο μέντοι ὅτι ποτὲ λέγει, σὺ μέν, ὦ Πολέμαρχε, ἴσως γιγνώσκεις, ἐγὼ δὲ ἀγνοῶ· δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι οὐ τοῦτο λέγει, ὅπερ ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν, τό τινος παρακαταθεμένου τι ὁτῳοῦν μὴ σωφρόνως ἀπαιτοῦντι [332a] ἀποδιδόναι. καίτοι γε ὀφειλόμενόν πού ἐστιν τοῦτο ὃ παρακατέθετο· ἦ γάρ;

ναί. ἀποδοτέον δέ γε οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν τότε ὁπότε τις μὴ σωφρόνως ἀπαιτοῖ;

ἀληθῆ, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

ἄλλο δή τι ἢ τὸ τοιοῦτον, ὡς ἔοικεν, λέγει Σιμωνίδης τὸ τὰ ὀφειλόμενα δίκαιον εἶναι ἀποδιδόναι.

ἄλλο μέντοι νὴ Δί’, ἔφη· τοῖς γὰρ φίλοις οἴεται ὀφείλειν τοὺς φίλους ἀγαθὸν μέν τι δρᾶν, κακὸν δὲ μηδέν.

μανθάνω, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ — ὅτι οὐ τὰ ὀφειλόμενα ἀποδίδωσιν ὃς ἄν τῳ χρυσίον ἀποδῷ παρακαταθεμένῳ, ἐάνπερ ἡ ἀπόδοσις [332b] καὶ ἡ λῆψις βλαβερὰ γίγνηται, φίλοι δὲ ὦσιν ὅ τε ἀπολαμβάνων καὶ ὁ ἀποδιδούς — οὐχ οὕτω λέγειν φῂς τὸν Σιμωνίδην;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

τί δέ; τοῖς ἐχθροῖς ἀποδοτέον ὅτι ἂν τύχῃ ὀφειλόμενον;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ὅ γε ὀφείλεται αὐτοῖς, ὀφείλεται δέ γε οἶμαι παρά γε τοῦ ἐχθροῦ τῷ ἐχθρῷ ὅπερ καὶ προσήκει, κακόν τι.

ἠινίξατο ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὁ Σιμωνίδης ποιητικῶς [332c] τὸ δίκαιον ὃ εἴη. διενοεῖτο μὲν γάρ, ὡς φαίνεται, ὅτι τοῦτ’ εἴη δίκαιον, τὸ προσῆκον ἑκάστῳ ἀποδιδόναι, τοῦτο δὲ ὠνόμασεν ὀφειλόμενον.

ἀλλὰ τί οἴει; ἔφη.

ὦ πρὸς Διός, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εἰ οὖν τις αὐτὸν ἤρετο· “ὦ Σιμωνίδη, ἡ τίσιν οὖν τί ἀποδιδοῦσα ὀφειλόμενον καὶ προσῆκον τέχνη ἰατρικὴ καλεῖται;” τί ἂν οἴει ἡμῖν αὐτὸν ἀποκρίνασθαι;

δῆλον ὅτι, ἔφη, ἡ σώμασιν φάρμακά τε καὶ σιτία καὶ ποτά.

ἡ δὲ τίσιν τί ἀποδιδοῦσα ὀφειλόμενον καὶ προσῆκον τέχνη μαγειρικὴ καλεῖται;

[332d] ἡ τοῖς ὄψοις τὰ ἡδύσματα.

εἶεν· ἡ οὖν δὴ τίσιν τί ἀποδιδοῦσα τέχνη δικαιοσύνη ἂν καλοῖτο;

εἰ μέν τι, ἔφη, δεῖ ἀκολουθεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν εἰρημένοις, ἡ τοῖς φίλοις τε καὶ ἐχθροῖς ὠφελίας τε καὶ βλάβας ἀποδιδοῦσα.

τὸ τοὺς φίλους ἄρα εὖ ποιεῖν καὶ τοὺς ἐχθροὺς κακῶς δικαιοσύνην λέγει;

δοκεῖ μοι.

τίς οὖν δυνατώτατος κάμνοντας φίλους εὖ ποιεῖν καὶ ἐχθροὺς κακῶς πρὸς νόσον καὶ ὑγίειαν;

ἰατρός.

[332e] τίς δὲ πλέοντας πρὸς τὸν τῆς θαλάττης κίνδυνον;

κυβερνήτης.

τί δὲ ὁ δίκαιος; ἐν τίνι πράξει καὶ πρὸς τί ἔργον δυνατώτατος φίλους ὠφελεῖν καὶ ἐχθροὺς βλάπτειν;

ἐν τῷ προσπολεμεῖν καὶ ἐν τῷ συμμαχεῖν, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

εἶεν· μὴ κάμνουσί γε μήν, ὦ φίλε Πολέμαρχε, ἰατρὸς ἄχρηστος.

ἀληθῆ.

καὶ μὴ πλέουσι δὴ κυβερνήτης.

ναί.

ἆρα καὶ τοῖς μὴ πολεμοῦσιν ὁ δίκαιος ἄχρηστος;

οὐ πάνυ μοι δοκεῖ τοῦτο.

χρήσιμον ἄρα καὶ ἐν εἰρήνῃ δικαιοσύνη;

[333a] χρήσιμον.

καὶ γὰρ γεωργία· ἢ οὔ;

ναί.

πρός γε καρποῦ κτῆσιν;

ναί.

καὶ μὴν καὶ σκυτοτομική;

ναί.

πρός γε ὑποδημάτων ἂν οἶμαι φαίης κτῆσιν;

πάνυ γε.

τί δὲ δή; τὴν δικαιοσύνην πρὸς τίνος χρείαν ἢ κτῆσιν ἐν εἰρήνῃ φαίης ἂν χρήσιμον εἶναι;

πρὸς τὰ συμβόλαια, ὦ Σώκρατες.

συμβόλαια δὲ λέγεις κοινωνήματα ἤ τι ἄλλο;

κοινωνήματα δῆτα.

[333b] ἆρ’ οὖν ὁ δίκαιος ἀγαθὸς καὶ χρήσιμος κοινωνὸς εἰς πεττῶν θέσιν, ἢ ὁ πεττευτικός;

ὁ πεττευτικός.

ἀλλ’ εἰς πλίνθων καὶ λίθων θέσιν ὁ δίκαιος χρησιμώτερός τε καὶ ἀμείνων κοινωνὸς τοῦ οἰκοδομικοῦ;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀλλ’ εἰς τίνα δὴ κοινωνίαν ὁ δίκαιος ἀμείνων κοινωνὸς τοῦ οἰκοδομικοῦ τε καὶ κιθαριστικοῦ, ὥσπερ ὁ κιθαριστικὸς τοῦ δικαίου εἰς κρουμάτων;

εἰς ἀργυρίου, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

πλήν γ’ ἴσως, ὦ Πολέμαρχε, πρὸς τὸ χρῆσθαι ἀργυρίῳ, ὅταν δέῃ ἀργυρίου κοινῇ πρίασθαι ἢ ἀποδόσθαι ἵππον· τότε [333c] δέ, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, ὁ ἱππικός. ἦ γάρ;

φαίνεται.

καὶ μὴν ὅταν γε πλοῖον, ὁ ναυπηγὸς ἢ ὁ κυβερνήτης;

ἔοικεν.

ὅταν οὖν τί δέῃ ἀργυρίῳ ἢ χρυσίῳ κοινῇ χρῆσθαι, ὁ δίκαιος χρησιμώτερος τῶν ἄλλων;

ὅταν παρακαταθέσθαι καὶ σῶν εἶναι, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐκοῦν λέγεις ὅταν μηδὲν δέῃ αὐτῷ χρῆσθαι ἀλλὰ κεῖσθαι;

πάνυ γε.

ὅταν ἄρα ἄχρηστον ᾖ ἀργύριον, τότε χρήσιμος ἐπ’ αὐτῷ [333d] ἡ δικαιοσύνη;

κινδυνεύει.

καὶ ὅταν δὴ δρέπανον δέῃ φυλάττειν, ἡ δικαιοσύνη χρήσιμος καὶ κοινῇ καὶ ἰδίᾳ· ὅταν δὲ χρῆσθαι, ἡ ἀμπελουργική;

φαίνεται.

φήσεις δὲ καὶ ἀσπίδα καὶ λύραν ὅταν δέῃ φυλάττειν καὶ μηδὲν χρῆσθαι, χρήσιμον εἶναι τὴν δικαιοσύνην, ὅταν δὲ χρῆσθαι, τὴν ὁπλιτικὴν καὶ τὴν μουσικήν;

ἀνάγκη.

καὶ περὶ τἆλλα δὴ πάντα ἡ δικαιοσύνη ἑκάστου ἐν μὲν χρήσει ἄχρηστος, ἐν δὲ ἀχρηστίᾳ χρήσιμος;

κινδυνεύει.

[333e] οὐκ ἂν οὖν, ὦ φίλε, πάνυ γέ τι σπουδαῖον εἴη ἡ δικαιοσύνη, εἰ πρὸς τὰ ἄχρηστα χρήσιμον ὂν τυγχάνει. τόδε δὲ σκεψώμεθα. ἆρ’ οὐχ ὁ πατάξαι δεινότατος ἐν μάχῃ εἴτε πυκτικῇ εἴτε τινὶ καὶ ἄλλῃ, οὗτος καὶ φυλάξασθαι;

πάνυ γε.

ἆρ’ οὖν καὶ νόσον ὅστις δεινὸς φυλάξασθαι, καὶ λαθεῖν οὗτος δεινότατος ἐμποιήσας;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

[334a] ἀλλὰ μὴν στρατοπέδου γε ὁ αὐτὸς φύλαξ ἀγαθός, ὅσπερ καὶ τὰ τῶν πολεμίων κλέψαι καὶ βουλεύματα καὶ τὰς ἄλλας πράξεις;

πάνυ γε.

ὅτου τις ἄρα δεινὸς φύλαξ, τούτου καὶ φὼρ δεινός.

ἔοικεν.

εἰ ἄρα ὁ δίκαιος ἀργύριον δεινὸς φυλάττειν, καὶ κλέπτειν δεινός.

ὡς γοῦν ὁ λόγος, ἔφη, σημαίνει.

κλέπτης ἄρα τις ὁ δίκαιος, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀναπέφανται, καὶ κινδυνεύεις παρ’ Ὁμήρου μεμαθηκέναι αὐτό· καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖνος [334b] τὸν τοῦ Ὀδυσσέως πρὸς μητρὸς πάππον Αὐτόλυκον ἀγαπᾷ τε καί φησιν αὐτὸν πάντας ἀνθρώπους κεκάσθαι κλεπτοσύνῃ θ’ ὅρκῳ τε. ἔοικεν οὖν ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ κατὰ σὲ καὶ καθ’ Ὅμηρον καὶ κατὰ Σιμωνίδην κλεπτική τις εἶναι, ἐπ’ ὠφελίᾳ μέντοι τῶν φίλων καὶ ἐπὶ βλάβῃ τῶν ἐχθρῶν. οὐχ οὕτως ἔλεγες;

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δί’, ἔφη, ἀλλ’ οὐκέτι οἶδα ἔγωγε ὅτι ἔλεγον· τοῦτο μέντοι ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ ἔτι, ὠφελεῖν μὲν τοὺς φίλους ἡ δικαιοσύνη, βλάπτειν δὲ τοὺς ἐχθρούς.

[334c] φίλους δὲ λέγεις εἶναι πότερον τοὺς δοκοῦντας ἑκάστῳ χρηστοὺς εἶναι, ἢ τοὺς ὄντας, κἂν μὴ δοκῶσι, καὶ ἐχθροὺς ὡσαύτως;

εἰκὸς μέν, ἔφη, οὓς ἄν τις ἡγῆται χρηστοὺς φιλεῖν, οὓς δ’ ἂν πονηροὺς μισεῖν.

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐχ ἁμαρτάνουσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι περὶ τοῦτο, ὥστε δοκεῖν αὐτοῖς πολλοὺς μὲν χρηστοὺς εἶναι μὴ ὄντας, πολλοὺς δὲ τοὐναντίον;

ἁμαρτάνουσιν.

τούτοις ἄρα οἱ μὲν ἀγαθοὶ ἐχθροί, οἱ δὲ κακοὶ φίλοι;

πάνυ γε.

ἀλλ’ ὅμως δίκαιον τότε τούτοις τοὺς μὲν πονηροὺς [334d] ὠφελεῖν, τοὺς δὲ ἀγαθοὺς βλάπτειν;

φαίνεται.

ἀλλὰ μὴν οἵ γε ἀγαθοὶ δίκαιοί τε καὶ οἷοι μὴ ἀδικεῖν;

ἀληθῆ.

κατὰ δὴ τὸν σὸν λόγον τοὺς μηδὲν ἀδικοῦντας δίκαιον κακῶς ποιεῖν.

μηδαμῶς, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες· πονηρὸς γὰρ ἔοικεν εἶναι ὁ λόγος.

τοὺς ἀδίκους ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δίκαιον βλάπτειν, τοὺς δὲ δικαίους ὠφελεῖν;

οὗτος ἐκείνου καλλίων φαίνεται.

πολλοῖς ἄρα, ὦ Πολέμαρχε, συμβήσεται, ὅσοι διημαρτήκασιν [334e] τῶν ἀνθρώπων, δίκαιον εἶναι τοὺς μὲν φίλους βλάπτειν — πονηροὶ γὰρ αὐτοῖς εἰσιν — τοὺς δ’ ἐχθροὺς ὠφελεῖν — ἀγαθοὶ γάρ· καὶ οὕτως ἐροῦμεν αὐτὸ τοὐναντίον ἢ τὸν Σιμωνίδην ἔφαμεν λέγειν.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, οὕτω συμβαίνει. ἀλλὰ μεταθώμεθα· κινδυνεύομεν γὰρ οὐκ ὀρθῶς τὸν φίλον καὶ ἐχθρὸν θέσθαι.

πῶς θέμενοι, ὦ Πολέμαρχε;

τὸν δοκοῦντα χρηστόν, τοῦτον φίλον εἶναι.

νῦν δὲ πῶς, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μεταθώμεθα;

τὸν δοκοῦντά τε, ἦ δ’ ὅς, καὶ τὸν ὄντα χρηστὸν φίλον· [335a] τὸν δὲ δοκοῦντα μέν, ὄντα δὲ μή, δοκεῖν ἀλλὰ μὴ εἶναι φίλον. καὶ περὶ τοῦ ἐχθροῦ δὲ ἡ αὐτὴ θέσις.

φίλος μὲν δή, ὡς ἔοικε, τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ ὁ ἀγαθὸς ἔσται, ἐχθρὸς δὲ ὁ πονηρός.

ναί.

κελεύεις δὴ ἡμᾶς προσθεῖναι τῷ δικαίῳ ἢ ὡς τὸ πρῶτον ἐλέγομεν, λέγοντες δίκαιον εἶναι τὸν μὲν φίλον εὖ ποιεῖν, τὸν δ’ ἐχθρὸν κακῶς· νῦν πρὸς τούτῳ ὧδε λέγειν, ὅτι ἔστιν δίκαιον τὸν μὲν φίλον ἀγαθὸν ὄντα εὖ ποιεῖν, τὸν δ’ ἐχθρὸν κακὸν ὄντα βλάπτειν;

[335b] πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, οὕτως ἄν μοι δοκεῖ καλῶς λέγεσθαι.

ἔστιν ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δικαίου ἀνδρὸς βλάπτειν καὶ ὁντινοῦν ἀνθρώπων;

καὶ πάνυ γε, ἔφη· τούς γε πονηρούς τε καὶ ἐχθροὺς δεῖ βλάπτειν.

βλαπτόμενοι δ’ ἵπποι βελτίους ἢ χείρους γίγνονται;

χείρους.

ἆρα εἰς τὴν τῶν κυνῶν ἀρετήν, ἢ εἰς τὴν τῶν ἵππων;

εἰς τὴν τῶν ἵππων.

ἆρ’ οὖν καὶ κύνες βλαπτόμενοι χείρους γίγνονται εἰς τὴν τῶν κυνῶν ἀλλ’ οὐκ εἰς τὴν τῶν ἵππων ἀρετήν;

ἀνάγκη.

[335c] ἀνθρώπους δέ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, μὴ οὕτω φῶμεν, βλαπτομένους εἰς τὴν ἀνθρωπείαν ἀρετὴν χείρους γίγνεσθαι;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἀλλ’ ἡ δικαιοσύνη οὐκ ἀνθρωπεία ἀρετή;

καὶ τοῦτ’ ἀνάγκη.

καὶ τοὺς βλαπτομένους ἄρα, ὦ φίλε, τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀνάγκη ἀδικωτέρους γίγνεσθαι.

ἔοικεν.

ἆρ’ οὖν τῇ μουσικῇ οἱ μουσικοὶ ἀμούσους δύνανται ποιεῖν;

ἀδύνατον.

ἀλλὰ τῇ ἱππικῇ οἱ ἱππικοὶ ἀφίππους;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

ἀλλὰ τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ δὴ οἱ δίκαιοι ἀδίκους; ἢ καὶ [335d] συλλήβδην ἀρετῇ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ κακούς;

ἀλλὰ ἀδύνατον.

οὐ γὰρ θερμότητος οἶμαι ἔργον ψύχειν ἀλλὰ τοῦ ἐναντίου.

ναί.

οὐδὲ ξηρότητος ὑγραίνειν ἀλλὰ τοῦ ἐναντίου.

πάνυ γε.

οὐδὲ δὴ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ βλάπτειν ἀλλὰ τοῦ ἐναντίου.

φαίνεται.

ὁ δέ γε δίκαιος ἀγαθός;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκ ἄρα τοῦ δικαίου βλάπτειν ἔργον, ὦ Πολέμαρχε, οὔτε φίλον οὔτ’ ἄλλον οὐδένα, ἀλλὰ τοῦ ἐναντίου, τοῦ ἀδίκου.

παντάπασί μοι δοκεῖς ἀληθῆ λέγειν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

[335e] εἰ ἄρα τὰ ὀφειλόμενα ἑκάστῳ ἀποδιδόναι φησίν τις δίκαιον εἶναι, τοῦτο δὲ δὴ νοεῖ αὐτῷ τοῖς μὲν ἐχθροῖς βλάβην ὀφείλεσθαι παρὰ τοῦ δικαίου ἀνδρός, τοῖς δὲ φίλοις ὠφελίαν, οὐκ ἦν σοφὸς ὁ ταῦτα εἰπών. οὐ γὰρ ἀληθῆ ἔλεγεν· οὐδαμοῦ γὰρ δίκαιον οὐδένα ἡμῖν ἐφάνη ὂν βλάπτειν.

συγχωρῶ, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

μαχούμεθα ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, κοινῇ ἐγώ τε καὶ σύ, ἐάν τις αὐτὸ φῇ ἢ Σιμωνίδην ἢ Βίαντα ἢ Πιττακὸν εἰρηκέναι ἤ τιν’ ἄλλον τῶν σοφῶν τε καὶ μακαρίων ἀνδρῶν.

ἐγὼ γοῦν, ἔφη, ἕτοιμός εἰμι κοινωνεῖν τῆς μάχης.

[336a] ἀλλ’ οἶσθα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὗ μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι τὸ ῥῆμα, τὸ φάναι δίκαιον εἶναι τοὺς μὲν φίλους ὠφελεῖν, τοὺς δ’ ἐχθροὺς βλάπτειν;

τίνος; ἔφη.

οἶμαι αὐτὸ Περιάνδρου εἶναι ἢ Περδίκκου ἢ Ξέρξου ἢ Ἰσμηνίου τοῦ Θηβαίου ἤ τινος ἄλλου μέγα οἰομένου δύνασθαι πλουσίου ἀνδρός.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐδὲ τοῦτο ἐφάνη ἡ δικαιοσύνη ὂν οὐδὲ τὸ δίκαιον, τί ἂν ἄλλο τις αὐτὸ φαίη εἶναι;

[336b] καὶ ὁ Θρασύμαχος πολλάκις μὲν καὶ διαλεγομένων ἡμῶν μεταξὺ ὥρμα ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι τοῦ λόγου, ἔπειτα ὑπὸ τῶν παρακαθημένων διεκωλύετο βουλομένων διακοῦσαι τὸν λόγον· ὡς δὲ διεπαυσάμεθα καὶ ἐγὼ ταῦτ’ εἶπον, οὐκέτι ἡσυχίαν ἦγεν, ἀλλὰ συστρέψας ἑαυτὸν ὥσπερ θηρίον ἧκεν ἐφ’ ἡμᾶς ὡς διαρπασόμενος.

Σωκράτης, Πολέμαρχος, Θρασύμαχος

καὶ ἐγώ τε καὶ ὁ Πολέμαρχος δείσαντες διεπτοήθημεν· ὁ δ’ εἰς τὸ μέσον φθεγξάμενος, τίς, ἔφη, ὑμᾶς πάλαι φλυαρία [336c] ἔχει, ὦ Σώκρατες; καὶ τί εὐηθίζεσθε πρὸς ἀλλήλους ὑποκατακλινόμενοι ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς; ἀλλ’ εἴπερ ὡς ἀληθῶς βούλει εἰδέναι τὸ δίκαιον ὅτι ἔστι, μὴ μόνον ἐρώτα μηδὲ φιλοτιμοῦ ἐλέγχων ἐπειδάν τίς τι ἀποκρίνηται, ἐγνωκὼς τοῦτο, ὅτι ῥᾷον ἐρωτᾶν ἢ ἀποκρίνεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτὸς ἀπόκριναι καὶ εἰπὲ τί φῂς εἶναι τὸ δίκαιον. καὶ ὅπως μοι μὴ ἐρεῖς ὅτι τὸ [336d] δέον ἐστὶν μηδ’ ὅτι τὸ ὠφέλιμον μηδ’ ὅτι τὸ λυσιτελοῦν μηδ’ ὅτι τὸ κερδαλέον μηδ’ ὅτι τὸ συμφέρον, ἀλλὰ σαφῶς μοι καὶ ἀκριβῶς λέγε ὅτι ἂν λέγῃς· ὡς ἐγὼ οὐκ ἀποδέξομαι ἐὰν ὕθλους τοιούτους λέγῃς.

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας ἐξεπλάγην καὶ προσβλέπων αὐτὸν ἐφοβούμην, καί μοι δοκῶ, εἰ μὴ πρότερος ἑωράκη αὐτὸν ἢ ἐκεῖνος ἐμέ, ἄφωνος ἂν γενέσθαι. νῦν δὲ ἡνίκα ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου ἤρχετο ἐξαγριαίνεσθαι, προσέβλεψα αὐτὸν πρότερος, [336e] ὥστε αὐτῷ οἷός τ’ ἐγενόμην ἀποκρίνασθαι, καὶ εἶπον ὑποτρέμων· ὦ Θρασύμαχε, μὴ χαλεπὸς ἡμῖν ἴσθι· εἰ γάρ τι ἐξαμαρτάνομεν ἐν τῇ τῶν λόγων σκέψει ἐγώ τε καὶ ὅδε, εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι ἄκοντες ἁμαρτάνομεν. μὴ γὰρ δὴ οἴου, εἰ μὲν χρυσίον ἐζητοῦμεν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἡμᾶς ἑκόντας εἶναι ὑποκατακλίνεσθαι ἀλλήλοις ἐν τῇ ζητήσει καὶ διαφθείρειν τὴν εὕρεσιν αὐτοῦ, δικαιοσύνην δὲ ζητοῦντας, πρᾶγμα πολλῶν χρυσίων τιμιώτερον, ἔπειθ’ οὕτως ἀνοήτως ὑπείκειν ἀλλήλοις καὶ οὐ σπουδάζειν ὅτι μάλιστα φανῆναι αὐτό. οἴου γε σύ, ὦ φίλε. ἀλλ’ οἶμαι οὐ δυνάμεθα· ἐλεεῖσθαι οὖν ἡμᾶς πολὺ [337a] μᾶλλον εἰκός ἐστίν που ὑπὸ ὑμῶν τῶν δεινῶν ἢ χαλεπαίνεσθαι.

καὶ ὃς ἀκούσας ἀνεκάγχασέ τε μάλα σαρδάνιον καὶ εἶπεν· ὦ Ἡράκλεις, ἔφη, αὕτη ‘κείνη ἡ εἰωθυῖα εἰρωνεία Σωκράτους, καὶ ταῦτ’ ἐγὼ ᾔδη τε καὶ τούτοις προύλεγον, ὅτι σὺ ἀποκρίνασθαι μὲν οὐκ ἐθελήσοις, εἰρωνεύσοιο δὲ καὶ πάντα μᾶλλον ποιήσοις ἢ ἀποκρινοῖο, εἴ τίς τί σε ἐρωτᾷ.

σοφὸς γὰρ εἶ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε· εὖ οὖν ᾔδησθα ὅτι εἴ τινα ἔροιο ὁπόσα ἐστὶν τὰ δώδεκα, καὶ ἐρόμενος προείποις [337b] αὐτῷ—”ὅπως μοι, ὦ ἄνθρωπε, μὴ ἐρεῖς ὅτι ἔστιν τὰ δώδεκα δὶς ἓξ μηδ’ ὅτι τρὶς τέτταρα μηδ’ ὅτι ἑξάκις δύο μηδ’ ὅτι τετράκις τρία· ὡς οὐκ ἀποδέξομαί σου ἐὰν τοιαῦτα φλυαρῇς” — δῆλον οἶμαί σοι ἦν ὅτι οὐδεὶς ἀποκρινοῖτο τῷ οὕτως πυνθανομένῳ. ἀλλ’ εἴ σοι εἶπεν· “ὦ Θρασύμαχε, πῶς λέγεις; μὴ ἀποκρίνωμαι ὧν προεῖπες μηδέν; πότερον, ὦ θαυμάσιε, μηδ’ εἰ τούτων τι τυγχάνει ὄν, ἀλλ’ ἕτερον εἴπω τι [337c] τοῦ ἀληθοῦς; ἢ πῶς λέγεις;” τί ἂν αὐτῷ εἶπες πρὸς ταῦτα;

εἶεν, ἔφη· ὡς δὴ ὅμοιον τοῦτο ἐκείνῳ.

οὐδέν γε κωλύει, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· εἰ δ’ οὖν καὶ μὴ ἔστιν ὅμοιον, φαίνεται δὲ τῷ ἐρωτηθέντι τοιοῦτον, ἧττόν τι αὐτὸν οἴει ἀποκρινεῖσθαι τὸ φαινόμενον ἑαυτῷ, ἐάντε ἡμεῖς ἀπαγορεύωμεν ἐάντε μή;

ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἔφη, καὶ σὺ οὕτω ποιήσεις· ὧν ἐγὼ ἀπεῖπον, τούτων τι ἀποκρινῇ;

οὐκ ἂν θαυμάσαιμι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· εἴ μοι σκεψαμένῳ οὕτω δόξειεν.

[337d] τί οὖν, ἔφη, ἂν ἐγὼ δείξω ἑτέραν ἀπόκρισιν παρὰ πάσας ταύτας περὶ δικαιοσύνης, βελτίω τούτων; τί ἀξιοῖς παθεῖν;

τί ἄλλο, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἢ ὅπερ προσήκει πάσχειν τῷ μὴ εἰδότι; προσήκει δέ που μαθεῖν παρὰ τοῦ εἰδότος· καὶ ἐγὼ οὖν τοῦτο ἀξιῶ παθεῖν.

ἡδὺς γὰρ εἶ, ἔφη· ἀλλὰ πρὸς τῷ μαθεῖν καὶ ἀπότεισον ἀργύριον.

οὐκοῦν ἐπειδάν μοι γένηται, εἶπον.

Σωκράτης, Θρασύμαχος, Γλαύκων

ἀλλ’ ἔστιν, ἔφη ὁ Γλαύκων. ἀλλ’ ἕνεκα ἀργυρίου, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, λέγε· πάντες γὰρ ἡμεῖς Σωκράτει εἰσοίσομεν.

[337e] πάνυ γε οἶμαι, ἦ δ’ ὅς· ἵνα Σωκράτης τὸ εἰωθὸς διαπράξηται· αὐτὸς μὲν μὴ ἀποκρίνηται, ἄλλου δ’ ἀποκρινομένου λαμβάνῃ λόγον καὶ ἐλέγχῃ. πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὦ βέλτιστε, τὶς ἀποκρίναιτο πρῶτον μὲν μὴ εἰδὼς μηδὲ φάσκων εἰδέναι, ἔπειτα, εἴ τι καὶ οἴεται, περὶ τούτων ἀπειρημένον αὐτῷ εἴη ὅπως μηδὲν ἐρεῖ ὧν ἡγεῖται ὑπ’ ἀνδρὸς οὐ φαύλου; ἀλλὰ σὲ δὴ μᾶλλον [338a] εἰκὸς λέγειν· σὺ γὰρ δὴ φῂς εἰδέναι καὶ ἔχειν εἰπεῖν. μὴ οὖν ἄλλως ποίει, ἀλλὰ ἐμοί τε χαρίζου ἀποκρινόμενος καὶ μὴ φθονήσῃς καὶ Γλαύκωνα τόνδε διδάξαι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους.

εἰπόντος δέ μου ταῦτα, ὅ τε Γλαύκων καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἐδέοντο αὐτοῦ μὴ ἄλλως ποιεῖν. καὶ ὁ Θρασύμαχος φανερὸς μὲν ἦν ἐπιθυμῶν εἰπεῖν ἵν’ εὐδοκιμήσειεν, ἡγούμενος ἔχειν ἀπόκρισιν παγκάλην· προσεποιεῖτο δὲ φιλονικεῖν πρὸς τὸ ἐμὲ εἶναι τὸν ἀποκρινόμενον. τελευτῶν δὲ συνεχώρησεν, [338b] κἄπειτα, αὕτη δή, ἔφη, ἡ Σωκράτους σοφία· αὐτὸν μὲν μὴ ἐθέλειν διδάσκειν, παρὰ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων περιιόντα μανθάνειν καὶ τούτων μηδὲ χάριν ἀποδιδόναι.

ὅτι μέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μανθάνω παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων, ἀληθῆ εἶπες, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ὅτι δὲ οὔ με φῂς χάριν ἐκτίνειν, ψεύδῃ· ἐκτίνω γὰρ ὅσην δύναμαι. δύναμαι δὲ ἐπαινεῖν μόνον· χρήματα γὰρ οὐκ ἔχω. ὡς δὲ προθύμως τοῦτο δρῶ, ἐάν τίς μοι δοκῇ εὖ λέγειν, εὖ εἴσῃ αὐτίκα δὴ μάλα, ἐπειδὰν ἀποκρίνῃ· οἶμαι γάρ σε εὖ ἐρεῖν.

[338c] ἄκουε δή, ἦ δ’ ὅς. φημὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ εἶναι τὸ δίκαιον οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον. ἀλλὰ τί οὐκ ἐπαινεῖς; ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐθελήσεις.

ἐὰν μάθω γε πρῶτον, ἔφην, τί λέγεις· νῦν γὰρ οὔπω οἶδα. τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος φῂς συμφέρον δίκαιον εἶναι. καὶ τοῦτο, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, τί ποτε λέγεις; οὐ γάρ που τό γε τοιόνδε φῄς· εἰ Πουλυδάμας ἡμῶν κρείττων ὁ παγκρατιαστὴς καὶ αὐτῷ συμφέρει τὰ βόεια κρέα πρὸς τὸ σῶμα, τοῦτο τὸ [338d] σιτίον εἶναι καὶ ἡμῖν τοῖς ἥττοσιν ἐκείνου συμφέρον ἅμα καὶ δίκαιον.

βδελυρὸς γὰρ εἶ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ταύτῃ ὑπολαμβάνεις ᾗ ἂν κακουργήσαις μάλιστα τὸν λόγον.

οὐδαμῶς, ὦ ἄριστε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· ἀλλὰ σαφέστερον εἰπὲ τί λέγεις.

εἶτ’ οὐκ οἶσθ’, ἔφη, ὅτι τῶν πόλεων αἱ μὲν τυραννοῦνται, αἱ δὲ δημοκρατοῦνται, αἱ δὲ ἀριστοκρατοῦνται;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν τοῦτο κρατεῖ ἐν ἑκάστῃ πόλει, τὸ ἄρχον;

πάνυ γε.

[338e] τίθεται δέ γε τοὺς νόμους ἑκάστη ἡ ἀρχὴ πρὸς τὸ αὑτῇ συμφέρον, δημοκρατία μὲν δημοκρατικούς, τυραννὶς δὲ τυραννικούς, καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι οὕτως· θέμεναι δὲ ἀπέφηναν τοῦτο δίκαιον τοῖς ἀρχομένοις εἶναι, τὸ σφίσι συμφέρον, καὶ τὸν τούτου ἐκβαίνοντα κολάζουσιν ὡς παρανομοῦντά τε καὶ ἀδικοῦντα. τοῦτ’ οὖν ἐστιν, ὦ βέλτιστε, ὃ λέγω ἐν ἁπάσαις [339a] ταῖς πόλεσιν ταὐτὸν εἶναι δίκαιον, τὸ τῆς καθεστηκυίας ἀρχῆς συμφέρον· αὕτη δέ που κρατεῖ, ὥστε συμβαίνει τῷ ὀρθῶς λογιζομένῳ πανταχοῦ εἶναι τὸ αὐτὸ δίκαιον, τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον.

νῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔμαθον ὃ λέγεις· εἰ δὲ ἀληθὲς ἢ μή, πειράσομαι μαθεῖν. τὸ συμφέρον μὲν οὖν, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, καὶ σὺ ἀπεκρίνω δίκαιον εἶναι — καίτοι ἔμοιγε ἀπηγόρευες ὅπως μὴ τοῦτο ἀποκρινοίμην — πρόσεστιν δὲ δὴ αὐτόθι τὸ “τοῦ κρείττονος.”

[339b] σμικρά γε ἴσως, ἔφη, προσθήκη.

οὔπω δῆλον οὐδ’ εἰ μεγάλη· ἀλλ’ ὅτι μὲν τοῦτο σκεπτέον εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγεις, δῆλον. ἐπειδὴ γὰρ συμφέρον γέ τι εἶναι καὶ ἐγὼ ὁμολογῶ τὸ δίκαιον, σὺ δὲ προστιθεῖς καὶ αὐτὸ φῂς εἶναι τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος, ἐγὼ δὲ ἀγνοῶ, σκεπτέον δή.

σκόπει, ἔφη.

ταῦτ’ ἔσται, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. καί μοι εἰπέ· οὐ καὶ πείθεσθαι μέντοι τοῖς ἄρχουσιν δίκαιον φῂς εἶναι;

ἔγωγε.

[339c] πότερον δὲ ἀναμάρτητοί εἰσιν οἱ ἄρχοντες ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἑκάσταις ἢ οἷοί τι καὶ ἁμαρτεῖν;

πάντως που, ἔφη, οἷοί τι καὶ ἁμαρτεῖν.

οὐκοῦν ἐπιχειροῦντες νόμους τιθέναι τοὺς μὲν ὀρθῶς τιθέασιν, τοὺς δέ τινας οὐκ ὀρθῶς;

οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

τὸ δὲ ὀρθῶς ἆρα τὸ τὰ συμφέροντά ἐστι τίθεσθαι ἑαυτοῖς, τὸ δὲ μὴ ὀρθῶς ἀσύμφορα; ἢ πῶς λέγεις;

οὕτως.

ἃ δ’ ἂν θῶνται ποιητέον τοῖς ἀρχομένοις, καὶ τοῦτό ἐστι τὸ δίκαιον;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

[339d] οὐ μόνον ἄρα δίκαιόν ἐστιν κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον ποιεῖν ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὐναντίον, τὸ μὴ συμφέρον.

τί λέγεις σύ; ἔφη.

ἃ σὺ λέγεις, ἔμοιγε δοκῶ· σκοπῶμεν δὲ βέλτιον. οὐχ ὡμολόγηται τοὺς ἄρχοντας τοῖς ἀρχομένοις προστάττοντας ποιεῖν ἄττα ἐνίοτε διαμαρτάνειν τοῦ ἑαυτοῖς βελτίστου, ἃ δ’ ἂν προστάττωσιν οἱ ἄρχοντες δίκαιον εἶναι τοῖς ἀρχομένοις ποιεῖν; ταῦτ’ οὐχ ὡμολόγηται;

οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ἔφη.

[339e] οἴου τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ τὸ ἀσύμφορα ποιεῖν τοῖς ἄρχουσί τε καὶ κρείττοσι δίκαιον εἶναι ὡμολογῆσθαί σοι, ὅταν οἱ μὲν ἄρχοντες ἄκοντες κακὰ αὑτοῖς προστάττωσιν, τοῖς δὲ δίκαιον εἶναι φῇς ταῦτα ποιεῖν ἃ ἐκεῖνοι προσέταξαν — ἆρα τότε, ὦ σοφώτατε Θρασύμαχε, οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον συμβαίνειν αὐτὸ οὑτωσί, δίκαιον εἶναι ποιεῖν τοὐναντίον ἢ ὃ σὺ λέγεις; τὸ γὰρ τοῦ κρείττονος ἀσύμφορον δήπου προστάττεται τοῖς ἥττοσιν ποιεῖν.

[340a] ναὶ μὰ Δί’, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Πολέμαρχος, σαφέστατά γε.

Σωκράτης, Κλειτοφών, Πολέμαρχος, Θρασύμαχος

ἐὰν σύ γ’, ἔφη, αὐτῷ μαρτυρήσῃς, ὁ Κλειτοφῶν ὑπολαβών.

καὶ τί, ἔφη, δεῖται μάρτυρος; αὐτὸς γὰρ Θρασύμαχος ὁμολογεῖ τοὺς μὲν ἄρχοντας ἐνίοτε ἑαυτοῖς κακὰ προστάττειν, τοῖς δὲ δίκαιον εἶναι ταῦτα ποιεῖν. τὸ γὰρ τὰ κελευόμενα ποιεῖν, ὦ Πολέμαρχε, ὑπὸ τῶν ἀρχόντων δίκαιον εἶναι ἔθετο Θρασύμαχος.

καὶ γὰρ τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος, ὦ Κλειτοφῶν, συμφέρον [340b] δίκαιον εἶναι ἔθετο. ταῦτα δὲ ἀμφότερα θέμενος ὡμολόγησεν αὖ ἐνίοτε τοὺς κρείττους τὰ αὑτοῖς ἀσύμφορα κελεύειν τοὺς ἥττους τε καὶ ἀρχομένους ποιεῖν. ἐκ δὲ τούτων τῶν ὁμολογιῶν οὐδὲν μᾶλλον τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον δίκαιον ἂν εἴη ἢ τὸ μὴ συμφέρον.

ἀλλ’, ἔφη ὁ Κλειτοφῶν, τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον ἔλεγεν ὃ ἡγοῖτο ὁ κρείττων αὑτῷ συμφέρειν· τοῦτο ποιητέον εἶναι τῷ ἥττονι, καὶ τὸ δίκαιον τοῦτο ἐτίθετο.

ἀλλ’ οὐχ οὕτως, ἦ δ’ ὃς ὁ Πολέμαρχος, ἐλέγετο.

Σωκράτης, Θρασύμαχος

[340c] οὐδέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Πολέμαρχε, διαφέρει, ἀλλ’ εἰ νῦν οὕτω λέγει Θρασύμαχος, οὕτως αὐτοῦ ἀποδεχώμεθα. καί μοι εἰπέ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε· τοῦτο ἦν ὃ ἐβούλου λέγειν τὸ δίκαιον, τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον δοκοῦν εἶναι τῷ κρείττονι, ἐάντε συμφέρῃ ἐάντε μή; οὕτω σε φῶμεν λέγειν;

ἥκιστά γε, ἔφη· ἀλλὰ κρείττω με οἴει καλεῖν τὸν ἐξαμαρτάνοντα ὅταν ἐξαμαρτάνῃ;

ἔγωγε, εἶπον, ᾤμην σε τοῦτο λέγειν ὅτε τοὺς ἄρχοντας ὡμολόγεις οὐκ ἀναμαρτήτους εἶναι ἀλλά τι καὶ ἐξαμαρτάνειν.

[340d] συκοφάντης γὰρ εἶ, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐν τοῖς λόγοις· ἐπεὶ αὐτίκα ἰατρὸν καλεῖς σὺ τὸν ἐξαμαρτάνοντα περὶ τοὺς κάμνοντας κατ’ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ὃ ἐξαμαρτάνει; ἢ λογιστικόν, ὃς ἂν ἐν λογισμῷ ἁμαρτάνῃ, τότε ὅταν ἁμαρτάνῃ, κατὰ ταύτην τὴν ἁμαρτίαν; ἀλλ’ οἶμαι λέγομεν τῷ ῥήματι οὕτως, ὅτι ὁ ἰατρὸς ἐξήμαρτεν καὶ ὁ λογιστὴς ἐξήμαρτεν καὶ ὁ γραμματιστής· τὸ δ’ οἶμαι ἕκαστος τούτων, καθ’ ὅσον τοῦτ’ ἔστιν [340e] ὃ προσαγορεύομεν αὐτόν, οὐδέποτε ἁμαρτάνει· ὥστε κατὰ τὸν ἀκριβῆ λόγον, ἐπειδὴ καὶ σὺ ἀκριβολογῇ, οὐδεὶς τῶν δημιουργῶν ἁμαρτάνει. ἐπιλειπούσης γὰρ ἐπιστήμης ὁ ἁμαρτάνων ἁμαρτάνει, ἐν ᾧ οὐκ ἔστι δημιουργός· ὥστε δημιουργὸς ἢ σοφὸς ἢ ἄρχων οὐδεὶς ἁμαρτάνει τότε ὅταν ἄρχων ᾖ, ἀλλὰ πᾶς γ’ ἂν εἴποι ὅτι ὁ ἰατρὸς ἥμαρτεν καὶ ὁ ἄρχων ἥμαρτεν. τοιοῦτον οὖν δή σοι καὶ ἐμὲ ὑπόλαβε νυνδὴ ἀποκρίνεσθαι· τὸ δὲ ἀκριβέστατον ἐκεῖνο τυγχάνει ὄν, τὸν ἄρχοντα, καθ’ [341a] ὅσον ἄρχων ἐστίν, μὴ ἁμαρτάνειν, μὴ ἁμαρτάνοντα δὲ τὸ αὑτῷ βέλτιστον τίθεσθαι, τοῦτο δὲ τῷ ἀρχομένῳ ποιητέον. ὥστε ὅπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἔλεγον δίκαιον λέγω, τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος ποιεῖν συμφέρον.

εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε· δοκῶ σοι συκοφαντεῖν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

οἴει γάρ με ἐξ ἐπιβουλῆς ἐν τοῖς λόγοις κακουργοῦντά σε ἐρέσθαι ὡς ἠρόμην;

εὖ μὲν οὖν οἶδα, ἔφη. καὶ οὐδέν γέ σοι πλέον ἔσται· [341b] οὔτε γὰρ ἄν με λάθοις κακουργῶν, οὔτε μὴ λαθὼν βιάσασθαι τῷ λόγῳ δύναιο.

οὐδέ γ’ ἂν ἐπιχειρήσαιμι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ μακάριε. ἀλλ’ ἵνα μὴ αὖθις ἡμῖν τοιοῦτον ἐγγένηται, διόρισαι ποτέρως λέγεις τὸν ἄρχοντά τε καὶ τὸν κρείττονα, τὸν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἢ τὸν ἀκριβεῖ λόγῳ, ὃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγες, οὗ τὸ συμφέρον κρείττονος ὄντος δίκαιον ἔσται τῷ ἥττονι ποιεῖν.

τὸν τῷ ἀκριβεστάτῳ, ἔφη, λόγῳ ἄρχοντα ὄντα. πρὸς ταῦτα κακούργει καὶ συκοφάντει, εἴ τι δύνασαι — οὐδέν σου παρίεμαι — ἀλλ’ οὐ μὴ οἷός τ’ ᾖς.

[341c] οἴει γὰρ ἄν με, εἶπον, οὕτω μανῆναι ὥστε ξυρεῖν ἐπιχειρεῖν λέοντα καὶ συκοφαντεῖν Θρασύμαχον;

νῦν γοῦν, ἔφη, ἐπεχείρησας, οὐδὲν ὢν καὶ ταῦτα.

ἅδην, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τῶν τοιούτων. ἀλλ’ εἰπέ μοι· ὁ τῷ ἀκριβεῖ λόγῳ ἰατρός, ὃν ἄρτι ἔλεγες, πότερον χρηματιστής ἐστιν ἢ τῶν καμνόντων θεραπευτής; καὶ λέγε τὸν τῷ ὄντι ἰατρὸν ὄντα.

τῶν καμνόντων, ἔφη, θεραπευτής.

τί δὲ κυβερνήτης; ὁ ὀρθῶς κυβερνήτης ναυτῶν ἄρχων ἐστὶν ἢ ναύτης;

ναυτῶν ἄρχων.

[341d] οὐδὲν οἶμαι τοῦτο ὑπολογιστέον, ὅτι πλεῖ ἐν τῇ νηί, οὐδ’ ἐστὶν κλητέος ναύτης· οὐ γὰρ κατὰ τὸ πλεῖν κυβερνήτης καλεῖται, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὴν τέχνην καὶ τὴν τῶν ναυτῶν ἀρχήν.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἑκάστῳ τούτων ἔστιν τι συμφέρον;

πάνυ γε.

οὐ καὶ ἡ τέχνη, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἐπὶ τούτῳ πέφυκεν, ἐπὶ τῷ τὸ συμφέρον ἑκάστῳ ζητεῖν τε καὶ ἐκπορίζειν;

ἐπὶ τούτῳ, ἔφη.

ἆρ’ οὖν καὶ ἑκάστῃ τῶν τεχνῶν ἔστιν τι συμφέρον ἄλλο ἢ ὅτι μάλιστα τελέαν εἶναι;

[341e] πῶς τοῦτο ἐρωτᾷς;

ὥσπερ, ἔφην ἐγώ, εἴ με ἔροιο εἰ ἐξαρκεῖ σώματι εἶναι σώματι ἢ προσδεῖταί τινος, εἴποιμ’ ἂν ὅτι “παντάπασι μὲν οὖν προσδεῖται. διὰ ταῦτα καὶ ἡ τέχνη ἐστὶν ἡ ἰατρικὴ νῦν ηὑρημένη, ὅτι σῶμά ἐστιν πονηρὸν καὶ οὐκ ἐξαρκεῖ αὐτῷ τοιούτῳ εἶναι. τούτῳ οὖν ὅπως ἐκπορίζῃ τὰ συμφέροντα, ἐπὶ τούτῳ παρεσκευάσθη ἡ τέχνη.” ἦ ὀρθῶς σοι δοκῶ, ἔφην, ἂν εἰπεῖν οὕτω λέγων, ἢ οὔ;

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

[342a] τί δὲ δή; αὐτὴ ἡ ἰατρική ἐστιν πονηρά, ἢ ἄλλη τις τέχνη ἔσθ’ ὅτι προσδεῖταί τινος ἀρετῆς — ὥσπερ ὀφθαλμοὶ ὄψεως καὶ ὦτα ἀκοῆς καὶ διὰ ταῦτα ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς δεῖ τινος τέχνης τῆς τὸ συμφέρον εἰς αὐτὰ ταῦτα σκεψομένης τε καὶ ἐκποριούσης — ἆρα καὶ ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ τέχνῃ ἔνι τις πονηρία, καὶ δεῖ ἑκάστῃ τέχνῃ ἄλλης τέχνης ἥτις αὐτῇ τὸ συμφέρον σκέψεται, καὶ τῇ σκοπουμένῃ ἑτέρας αὖ τοιαύτης, καὶ τοῦτ’ ἔστιν ἀπέραντον; [342b] ἢ αὐτὴ αὑτῇ τὸ συμφέρον σκέψεται; ἢ οὔτε αὑτῆς οὔτε ἄλλης προσδεῖται ἐπὶ τὴν αὑτῆς πονηρίαν τὸ συμφέρον σκοπεῖν· οὔτε γὰρ πονηρία οὔτε ἁμαρτία οὐδεμία οὐδεμιᾷ τέχνῃ πάρεστιν, οὐδὲ προσήκει τέχνῃ ἄλλῳ τὸ συμφέρον ζητεῖν ἢ ἐκείνῳ οὗ τέχνη ἐστίν, αὐτὴ δὲ ἀβλαβὴς καὶ ἀκέραιός ἐστιν ὀρθὴ οὖσα, ἕωσπερ ἂν ᾖ ἑκάστη ἀκριβὴς ὅλη ἥπερ ἐστίν; καὶ σκόπει ἐκείνῳ τῷ ἀκριβεῖ λόγῳ· οὕτως ἢ ἄλλως ἔχει;

οὕτως, ἔφη, φαίνεται.

[342c] οὐκ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἰατρικὴ ἰατρικῇ τὸ συμφέρον σκοπεῖ ἀλλὰ σώματι.

ναί, ἔφη.

οὐδὲ ἱππικὴ ἱππικῇ ἀλλ’ ἵπποις· οὐδὲ ἄλλη τέχνη οὐδεμία ἑαυτῇ — οὐδὲ γὰρ προσδεῖται — ἀλλ’ ἐκείνῳ οὗ τέχνη ἐστίν.

φαίνεται, ἔφη, οὕτως.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ἄρχουσί γε αἱ τέχναι καὶ κρατοῦσιν ἐκείνου οὗπέρ εἰσιν τέχναι.

συνεχώρησεν ἐνταῦθα καὶ μάλα μόγις.

οὐκ ἄρα ἐπιστήμη γε οὐδεμία τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον σκοπεῖ οὐδ’ ἐπιτάττει, ἀλλὰ τὸ τοῦ ἥττονός τε καὶ ἀρχομένου [342d] ὑπὸ ἑαυτῆς.

συνωμολόγησε μὲν καὶ ταῦτα τελευτῶν, ἐπεχείρει δὲ περὶ αὐτὰ μάχεσθαι· ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὡμολόγησεν, ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὐδὲ ἰατρὸς οὐδείς, καθ’ ὅσον ἰατρός, τὸ τῷ ἰατρῷ συμφέρον σκοπεῖ οὐδ’ ἐπιτάττει, ἀλλὰ τὸ τῷ κάμνοντι; ὡμολόγηται γὰρ ὁ ἀκριβὴς ἰατρὸς σωμάτων εἶναι ἄρχων ἀλλ’ οὐ χρηματιστής. ἢ οὐχ ὡμολόγηται;

συνέφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὁ κυβερνήτης ὁ ἀκριβὴς ναυτῶν εἶναι ἄρχων ἀλλ’ οὐ ναύτης;

[342e] ὡμολόγηται.

οὐκ ἄρα ὅ γε τοιοῦτος κυβερνήτης τε καὶ ἄρχων τὸ τῷ κυβερνήτῃ συμφέρον σκέψεταί τε καὶ προστάξει, ἀλλὰ τὸ τῷ ναύτῃ τε καὶ ἀρχομένῳ.

συνέφησε μόγις.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, οὐδὲ ἄλλος οὐδεὶς ἐν οὐδεμιᾷ ἀρχῇ, καθ’ ὅσον ἄρχων ἐστίν, τὸ αὑτῷ συμφέρον σκοπεῖ οὐδ’ ἐπιτάττει, ἀλλὰ τὸ τῷ ἀρχομένῳ καὶ ᾧ ἂν αὐτὸς δημιουργῇ, καὶ πρὸς ἐκεῖνο βλέπων καὶ τὸ ἐκείνῳ συμφέρον καὶ πρέπον, καὶ λέγει ἃ λέγει καὶ ποιεῖ ἃ ποιεῖ ἅπαντα.

[343a] ἐπειδὴ οὖν ἐνταῦθα ἦμεν τοῦ λόγου καὶ πᾶσι καταφανὲς ἦν ὅτι ὁ τοῦ δικαίου λόγος εἰς τοὐναντίον περιειστήκει, ὁ Θρασύμαχος ἀντὶ τοῦ ἀποκρίνεσθαι, εἰπέ μοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, τίτθη σοι ἔστιν;

τί δέ; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· οὐκ ἀποκρίνεσθαι χρῆν μᾶλλον ἢ τοιαῦτα ἐρωτᾶν;

ὅτι τοί σε, ἔφη, κορυζῶντα περιορᾷ καὶ οὐκ ἀπομύττει δεόμενον, ὅς γε αὐτῇ οὐδὲ πρόβατα οὐδὲ ποιμένα γιγνώσκεις.

ὅτι δὴ τί μάλιστα; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ.

[343b] ὅτι οἴει τοὺς ποιμένας ἢ τοὺς βουκόλους τὸ τῶν προβάτων ἢ τὸ τῶν βοῶν ἀγαθὸν σκοπεῖν καὶ παχύνειν αὐτοὺς καὶ θεραπεύειν πρὸς ἄλλο τι βλέποντας ἢ τὸ τῶν δεσποτῶν ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ αὑτῶν, καὶ δὴ καὶ τοὺς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἄρχοντας, οἳ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἄρχουσιν, ἄλλως πως ἡγῇ διανοεῖσθαι πρὸς τοὺς ἀρχομένους ἢ ὥσπερ ἄν τις πρὸς πρόβατα διατεθείη, καὶ ἄλλο τι σκοπεῖν αὐτοὺς διὰ νυκτὸς καὶ ἡμέρας ἢ τοῦτο, [343c] ὅθεν αὐτοὶ ὠφελήσονται. καὶ οὕτω πόρρω εἶ περί τε τοῦ δικαίου καὶ δικαιοσύνης καὶ ἀδίκου τε καὶ ἀδικίας, ὥστε ἀγνοεῖς ὅτι ἡ μὲν δικαιοσύνη καὶ τὸ δίκαιον ἀλλότριον ἀγαθὸν τῷ ὄντι, τοῦ κρείττονός τε καὶ ἄρχοντος συμφέρον, οἰκεία δὲ τοῦ πειθομένου τε καὶ ὑπηρετοῦντος βλάβη, ἡ δὲ ἀδικία τοὐναντίον, καὶ ἄρχει τῶν ὡς ἀληθῶς εὐηθικῶν τε καὶ δικαίων, οἱ δ’ ἀρχόμενοι ποιοῦσιν τὸ ἐκείνου συμφέρον κρείττονος ὄντος, καὶ εὐδαίμονα ἐκεῖνον ποιοῦσιν ὑπηρετοῦντες [343d] αὐτῷ, ἑαυτοὺς δὲ οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν. σκοπεῖσθαι δέ, ὦ εὐηθέστατε Σώκρατες, οὑτωσὶ χρή, ὅτι δίκαιος ἀνὴρ ἀδίκου πανταχοῦ ἔλαττον ἔχει. πρῶτον μὲν ἐν τοῖς πρὸς ἀλλήλους συμβολαίοις, ὅπου ἂν ὁ τοιοῦτος τῷ τοιούτῳ κοινωνήσῃ, οὐδαμοῦ ἂν εὕροις ἐν τῇ διαλύσει τῆς κοινωνίας πλέον ἔχοντα τὸν δίκαιον τοῦ ἀδίκου ἀλλ’ ἔλαττον· ἔπειτα ἐν τοῖς πρὸς τὴν πόλιν, ὅταν τέ τινες εἰσφοραὶ ὦσιν, ὁ μὲν δίκαιος ἀπὸ τῶν ἴσων πλέον εἰσφέρει, ὁ δ’ ἔλαττον, ὅταν τε λήψεις, [343e] ὁ μὲν οὐδέν, ὁ δὲ πολλὰ κερδαίνει. καὶ γὰρ ὅταν ἀρχήν τινα ἄρχῃ ἑκάτερος, τῷ μὲν δικαίῳ ὑπάρχει, καὶ εἰ μηδεμία ἄλλη ζημία, τά γε οἰκεῖα δι’ ἀμέλειαν μοχθηροτέρως ἔχειν, ἐκ δὲ τοῦ δημοσίου μηδὲν ὠφελεῖσθαι διὰ τὸ δίκαιον εἶναι, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἀπεχθέσθαι τοῖς τε οἰκείοις καὶ τοῖς γνωρίμοις, ὅταν μηδὲν ἐθέλῃ αὐτοῖς ὑπηρετεῖν παρὰ τὸ δίκαιον· τῷ δὲ ἀδίκῳ πάντα τούτων τἀναντία ὑπάρχει. λέγω γὰρ [344a] ὅνπερ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, τὸν μεγάλα δυνάμενον πλεονεκτεῖν· τοῦτον οὖν σκόπει, εἴπερ βούλει κρίνειν ὅσῳ μᾶλλον συμφέρει ἰδίᾳ αὑτῷ ἄδικον εἶναι ἢ τὸ δίκαιον. πάντων δὲ ῥᾷστα μαθήσῃ, ἐὰν ἐπὶ τὴν τελεωτάτην ἀδικίαν ἔλθῃς, ἣ τὸν μὲν ἀδικήσαντα εὐδαιμονέστατον ποιεῖ, τοὺς δὲ ἀδικηθέντας καὶ ἀδικῆσαι οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοντας ἀθλιωτάτους. ἔστιν δὲ τοῦτο τυραννίς, ἣ οὐ κατὰ σμικρὸν τἀλλότρια καὶ λάθρᾳ καὶ βίᾳ ἀφαιρεῖται, καὶ ἱερὰ καὶ ὅσια καὶ ἴδια καὶ δημόσια, ἀλλὰ [344b] συλλήβδην· ὧν ἐφ’ ἑκάστῳ μέρει ὅταν τις ἀδικήσας μὴ λάθῃ, ζημιοῦταί τε καὶ ὀνείδη ἔχει τὰ μέγιστα — καὶ γὰρ ἱερόσυλοι καὶ ἀνδραποδισταὶ καὶ τοιχωρύχοι καὶ ἀποστερηταὶ καὶ κλέπται οἱ κατὰ μέρη ἀδικοῦντες τῶν τοιούτων κακουργημάτων καλοῦνται — ἐπειδὰν δέ τις πρὸς τοῖς τῶν πολιτῶν χρήμασιν καὶ αὐτοὺς ἀνδραποδισάμενος δουλώσηται, ἀντὶ τούτων τῶν αἰσχρῶν ὀνομάτων εὐδαίμονες καὶ μακάριοι [344c] κέκληνται, οὐ μόνον ὑπὸ τῶν πολιτῶν ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσοι ἂν πύθωνται αὐτὸν τὴν ὅλην ἀδικίαν ἠδικηκότα· οὐ γὰρ τὸ ποιεῖν τὰ ἄδικα ἀλλὰ τὸ πάσχειν φοβούμενοι ὀνειδίζουσιν οἱ ὀνειδίζοντες τὴν ἀδικίαν. οὕτως, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ἰσχυρότερον καὶ ἐλευθεριώτερον καὶ δεσποτικώτερον ἀδικία δικαιοσύνης ἐστὶν ἱκανῶς γιγνομένη, καὶ ὅπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἔλεγον, τὸ μὲν τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον τὸ δίκαιον τυγχάνει ὄν, τὸ δ’ ἄδικον ἑαυτῷ λυσιτελοῦν τε καὶ συμφέρον.

[344d] ταῦτα εἰπὼν ὁ Θρασύμαχος ἐν νῷ εἶχεν ἀπιέναι, ὥσπερ βαλανεὺς ἡμῶν καταντλήσας κατὰ τῶν ὤτων ἁθρόον καὶ πολὺν τὸν λόγον· οὐ μὴν εἴασάν γε αὐτὸν οἱ παρόντες, ἀλλ’ ἠνάγκασαν ὑπομεῖναί τε καὶ παρασχεῖν τῶν εἰρημένων λόγον. καὶ δὴ ἔγωγε καὶ αὐτὸς πάνυ ἐδεόμην τε καὶ εἶπον· ὦ δαιμόνιε Θρασύμαχε, οἷον ἐμβαλὼν λόγον ἐν νῷ ἔχεις ἀπιέναι πρὶν διδάξαι ἱκανῶς ἢ μαθεῖν εἴτε οὕτως εἴτε ἄλλως [344e] ἔχει; ἢ σμικρὸν οἴει ἐπιχειρεῖν πρᾶγμα διορίζεσθαι ὅλου βίου διαγωγήν, ᾗ ἂν διαγόμενος ἕκαστος ἡμῶν λυσιτελεστάτην ζωὴν ζῴη;

ἐγὼ γὰρ οἶμαι, ἔφη ὁ Θρασύμαχος, τουτὶ ἄλλως ἔχειν;

ἔοικας, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ — ἤτοι ἡμῶν γε οὐδὲν κήδεσθαι, οὐδέ τι φροντίζειν εἴτε χεῖρον εἴτε βέλτιον βιωσόμεθα ἀγνοοῦντες ὃ σὺ φῂς εἰδέναι. ἀλλ’, ὠγαθέ, προθυμοῦ καὶ ἡμῖν ἐνδείξασθαι — οὔτοι [345a] κακῶς σοι κείσεται ὅτι ἂν ἡμᾶς τοσούσδε ὄντας εὐεργετήσῃς — ἐγὼ γὰρ δή σοι λέγω τό γ’ ἐμόν, ὅτι οὐ πείθομαι οὐδ’ οἶμαι ἀδικίαν δικαιοσύνης κερδαλεώτερον εἶναι, οὐδ’ ἐὰν ἐᾷ τις αὐτὴν καὶ μὴ διακωλύῃ πράττειν ἃ βούλεται. ἀλλ’, ὠγαθέ, ἔστω μὲν ἄδικος, δυνάσθω δὲ ἀδικεῖν ἢ τῷ λανθάνειν ἢ τῷ διαμάχεσθαι, ὅμως ἐμέ γε οὐ πείθει ὡς ἔστι τῆς δικαιοσύνης κερδαλεώτερον. ταῦτ’ οὖν [345b] καὶ ἕτερος ἴσως τις ἡμῶν πέπονθεν, οὐ μόνος ἐγώ· πεῖσον οὖν, ὦ μακάριε, ἱκανῶς ἡμᾶς ὅτι οὐκ ὀρθῶς βουλευόμεθα δικαιοσύνην ἀδικίας περὶ πλείονος ποιούμενοι.

καὶ πῶς, ἔφη, σὲ πείσω; εἰ γὰρ οἷς νυνδὴ ἔλεγον μὴ πέπεισαι, τί σοι ἔτι ποιήσω; ἢ εἰς τὴν ψυχὴν φέρων ἐνθῶ τὸν λόγον;

μὰ Δί’, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μὴ σύ γε· ἀλλὰ πρῶτον μέν, ἃ ἂν εἴπῃς, ἔμμενε τούτοις, ἢ ἐὰν μετατιθῇ, φανερῶς μετατίθεσο καὶ ἡμᾶς μὴ ἐξαπάτα. νῦν δὲ ὁρᾷς, ὦ Θρασύμαχε — ἔτι [345c] γὰρ τὰ ἔμπροσθεν ἐπισκεψώμεθα — ὅτι τὸν ὡς ἀληθῶς ἰατρὸν τὸ πρῶτον ὁριζόμενος τὸν ὡς ἀληθῶς ποιμένα οὐκέτι ᾤου δεῖν ὕστερον ἀκριβῶς φυλάξαι, ἀλλὰ πιαίνειν οἴει αὐτὸν τὰ πρόβατα, καθ’ ὅσον ποιμήν ἐστιν, οὐ πρὸς τὸ τῶν προβάτων βέλτιστον βλέποντα ἀλλ’, ὥσπερ δαιτυμόνα τινὰ καὶ μέλλοντα ἑστιάσεσθαι, πρὸς τὴν εὐωχίαν, ἢ αὖ πρὸς τὸ [345d] ἀποδόσθαι, ὥσπερ χρηματιστὴν ἀλλ’ οὐ ποιμένα. τῇ δὲ ποιμενικῇ οὐ δήπου ἄλλου του μέλει ἢ ἐφ’ ᾧ τέτακται, ὅπως τούτῳ τὸ βέλτιστον ἐκποριεῖ — ἐπεὶ τά γε αὑτῆς ὥστ’ εἶναι βελτίστη ἱκανῶς δήπου ἐκπεπόρισται, ἕως γ’ ἂν μηδὲν ἐνδέῃ τοῦ ποιμενικὴ εἶναι — οὕτω δὲ ᾤμην ἔγωγε νυνδὴ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι ἡμῖν ὁμολογεῖν πᾶσαν ἀρχήν, καθ’ ὅσον ἀρχή, μηδενὶ ἄλλῳ τὸ βέλτιστον σκοπεῖσθαι ἢ ἐκείνῳ, τῷ [345e] ἀρχομένῳ τε καὶ θεραπευομένῳ, ἔν τε πολιτικῇ καὶ ἰδιωτικῇ ἀρχῇ. σὺ δὲ τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν, τοὺς ὡς ἀληθῶς ἄρχοντας, ἑκόντας οἴει ἄρχειν;

μὰ Δί’ οὔκ, ἔφη, ἀλλ’ εὖ οἶδα. τί δέ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε; τὰς ἄλλας ἀρχὰς οὐκ ἐννοεῖς ὅτι οὐδεὶς ἐθέλει ἄρχειν ἑκών, ἀλλὰ μισθὸν αἰτοῦσιν, ὡς οὐχὶ αὐτοῖσιν ὠφελίαν ἐσομένην ἐκ τοῦ ἄρχειν ἀλλὰ [346a] τοῖς ἀρχομένοις; ἐπεὶ τοσόνδε εἰπέ· οὐχὶ ἑκάστην μέντοι φαμὲν ἑκάστοτε τῶν τεχνῶν τούτῳ ἑτέραν εἶναι, τῷ ἑτέραν τὴν δύναμιν ἔχειν; καί, ὦ μακάριε, μὴ παρὰ δόξαν ἀποκρίνου, ἵνα τι καὶ περαίνωμεν.

ἀλλὰ τούτῳ, ἔφη, ἑτέρα.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὠφελίαν ἑκάστη τούτων ἰδίαν τινὰ ἡμῖν παρέχεται ἀλλ’ οὐ κοινήν, οἷον ἰατρικὴ μὲν ὑγίειαν, κυβερνητικὴ δὲ σωτηρίαν ἐν τῷ πλεῖν, καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι οὕτω;

πάνυ γε.

[346b] οὐκοῦν καὶ μισθωτικὴ μισθόν; αὕτη γὰρ αὐτῆς ἡ δύναμις· ἢ τὴν ἰατρικὴν σὺ καὶ τὴν κυβερνητικὴν τὴν αὐτὴν καλεῖς; ἢ ἐάνπερ βούλῃ ἀκριβῶς διορίζειν, ὥσπερ ὑπέθου, οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον, ἐάν τις κυβερνῶν ὑγιὴς γίγνηται διὰ τὸ συμφέρον αὐτῷ πλεῖν ἐν τῇ θαλάττῃ, ἕνεκα τούτου καλεῖς μᾶλλον αὐτὴν ἰατρικήν;

οὐ δῆτα, ἔφη.

οὐδέ γ’, οἶμαι, τὴν μισθωτικήν, ἐὰν ὑγιαίνῃ τις μισθαρνῶν.

οὐ δῆτα.

τί δέ; τὴν ἰατρικὴν μισθαρνητικήν, ἐὰν ἰώμενός τις μισθαρνῇ;

[346c] οὐκ ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τήν γε ὠφελίαν ἑκάστης τῆς τέχνης ἰδίαν ὡμολογήσαμεν εἶναι;

ἔστω, ἔφη.

ἥντινα ἄρα ὠφελίαν κοινῇ ὠφελοῦνται πάντες οἱ δημιουργοί, δῆλον ὅτι κοινῇ τινι τῷ αὐτῷ προσχρώμενοι ἀπ’ ἐκείνου ὠφελοῦνται.

ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

φαμὲν δέ γε τὸ μισθὸν ἀρνυμένους ὠφελεῖσθαι τοὺς δημιουργοὺς ἀπὸ τοῦ προσχρῆσθαι τῇ μισθωτικῇ τέχνῃ γίγνεσθαι αὐτοῖς.

συνέφη μόγις.

[346d] οὐκ ἄρα ἀπὸ τῆς αὑτοῦ τέχνης ἑκάστῳ αὕτη ἡ ὠφελία ἐστίν, ἡ τοῦ μισθοῦ λῆψις, ἀλλ’, εἰ δεῖ ἀκριβῶς σκοπεῖσθαι, ἡ μὲν ἰατρικὴ ὑγίειαν ποιεῖ, ἡ δὲ μισθαρνητικὴ μισθόν, καὶ ἡ μὲν οἰκοδομικὴ οἰκίαν, ἡ δὲ μισθαρνητικὴ αὐτῇ ἑπομένη μισθόν, καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι πᾶσαι οὕτως τὸ αὑτῆς ἑκάστη ἔργον ἐργάζεται καὶ ὠφελεῖ ἐκεῖνο ἐφ’ ᾧ τέτακται. ἐὰν δὲ μὴ μισθὸς αὐτῇ προσγίγνηται, ἔσθ’ ὅτι ὠφελεῖται ὁ δημιουργὸς ἀπὸ τῆς τέχνης;

οὐ φαίνεται, ἔφη.

[346e] ἆρ’ οὖν οὐδ’ ὠφελεῖ τότε, ὅταν προῖκα ἐργάζηται;

οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

οὐκοῦν, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, τοῦτο ἤδη δῆλον, ὅτι οὐδεμία τέχνη οὐδὲ ἀρχὴ τὸ αὑτῇ ὠφέλιμον παρασκευάζει, ἀλλ’, ὅπερ πάλαι ἐλέγομεν, τὸ τῷ ἀρχομένῳ καὶ παρασκευάζει καὶ ἐπιτάττει, τὸ ἐκείνου συμφέρον ἥττονος ὄντος σκοποῦσα, ἀλλ’ οὐ τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος. διὰ δὴ ταῦτα ἔγωγε, ὦ φίλε Θρασύμαχε, καὶ ἄρτι ἔλεγον μηδένα ἐθέλειν ἑκόντα ἄρχειν καὶ τὰ ἀλλότρια κακὰ μεταχειρίζεσθαι ἀνορθοῦντα, [347a] ἀλλὰ μισθὸν αἰτεῖν, ὅτι ὁ μέλλων καλῶς τῇ τέχνῃ πράξειν οὐδέποτε αὑτῷ τὸ βέλτιστον πράττει οὐδ’ ἐπιτάττει κατὰ τὴν τέχνην ἐπιτάττων, ἀλλὰ τῷ ἀρχομένῳ· ὧν δὴ ἕνεκα, ὡς ἔοικε, μισθὸν δεῖν ὑπάρχειν τοῖς μέλλουσιν ἐθελήσειν ἄρχειν, ἢ ἀργύριον ἢ τιμήν, ἢ ζημίαν ἐὰν μὴ ἄρχῃ.

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἔφη ὁ Γλαύκων· τοὺς μὲν γὰρ δύο μισθοὺς γιγνώσκω, τὴν δὲ ζημίαν ἥντινα λέγεις καὶ ὡς ἐν μισθοῦ μέρει εἴρηκας, οὐ συνῆκα.

τὸν τῶν βελτίστων ἄρα μισθόν, ἔφην, οὐ συνιεῖς, δι’ ὃν [347b] ἄρχουσιν οἱ ἐπιεικέστατοι, ὅταν ἐθέλωσιν ἄρχειν. ἢ οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι τὸ φιλότιμόν τε καὶ φιλάργυρον εἶναι ὄνειδος λέγεταί τε καὶ ἔστιν;

ἔγωγε, ἔφη.

διὰ ταῦτα τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὔτε χρημάτων ἕνεκα ἐθέλουσιν ἄρχειν οἱ ἀγαθοὶ οὔτε τιμῆς· οὔτε γὰρ φανερῶς πραττόμενοι τῆς ἀρχῆς ἕνεκα μισθὸν μισθωτοὶ βούλονται κεκλῆσθαι, οὔτε λάθρᾳ αὐτοὶ ἐκ τῆς ἀρχῆς λαμβάνοντες κλέπται. οὐδ’ αὖ τιμῆς ἕνεκα· οὐ γάρ εἰσι φιλότιμοι. δεῖ δὴ [347c] αὐτοῖς ἀνάγκην προσεῖναι καὶ ζημίαν, εἰ μέλλουσιν ἐθέλειν ἄρχειν — ὅθεν κινδυνεύει τὸ ἑκόντα ἐπὶ τὸ ἄρχειν ἰέναι ἀλλὰ μὴ ἀνάγκην περιμένειν αἰσχρὸν νενομίσθαι — τῆς δὲ ζημίας μεγίστη τὸ ὑπὸ πονηροτέρου ἄρχεσθαι, ἐὰν μὴ αὐτὸς ἐθέλῃ ἄρχειν· ἣν δείσαντές μοι φαίνονται ἄρχειν, ὅταν ἄρχωσιν, οἱ ἐπιεικεῖς, καὶ τότε ἔρχονται ἐπὶ τὸ ἄρχειν οὐχ ὡς ἐπ’ ἀγαθόν τι ἰόντες οὐδ’ ὡς εὐπαθήσοντες ἐν αὐτῷ, ἀλλ’ [347d] ὡς ἐπ’ ἀναγκαῖον καὶ οὐκ ἔχοντες ἑαυτῶν βελτίοσιν ἐπιτρέψαι οὐδὲ ὁμοίοις. ἐπεὶ κινδυνεύει πόλις ἀνδρῶν ἀγαθῶν εἰ γένοιτο, περιμάχητον ἂν εἶναι τὸ μὴ ἄρχειν ὥσπερ νυνὶ τὸ ἄρχειν, καὶ ἐνταῦθ’ ἂν καταφανὲς γενέσθαι ὅτι τῷ ὄντι ἀληθινὸς ἄρχων οὐ πέφυκε τὸ αὑτῷ συμφέρον σκοπεῖσθαι ἀλλὰ τὸ τῷ ἀρχομένῳ· ὥστε πᾶς ἂν ὁ γιγνώσκων τὸ ὠφελεῖσθαι μᾶλλον ἕλοιτο ὑπ’ ἄλλου ἢ ἄλλον ὠφελῶν πράγματα ἔχειν. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν ἔγωγε οὐδαμῇ συγχωρῶ [347e] Θρασυμάχῳ, ὡς τὸ δίκαιόν ἐστιν τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον. ἀλλὰ τοῦτο μὲν δὴ καὶ εἰς αὖθις σκεψόμεθα· πολὺ δέ μοι δοκεῖ μεῖζον εἶναι ὃ νῦν λέγει Θρασύμαχος, τὸν τοῦ ἀδίκου βίον φάσκων εἶναι κρείττω ἢ τὸν τοῦ δικαίου. σὺ οὖν ποτέρως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, αἱρῇ; καὶ πότερον ἀληθεστέρως δοκεῖ σοι λέγεσθαι;

τὸν τοῦ δικαίου ἔγωγε λυσιτελέστερον βίον εἶναι.

[348a] ἤκουσας, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅσα ἄρτι Θρασύμαχος ἀγαθὰ διῆλθεν τῷ τοῦ ἀδίκου;

ἤκουσα, ἔφη, ἀλλ’ οὐ πείθομαι.

βούλει οὖν αὐτὸν πείθωμεν, ἂν δυνώμεθά πῃ ἐξευρεῖν, ὡς οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγει;

πῶς γὰρ οὐ βούλομαι; ἦ δ’ ὅς.

ἂν μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀντικατατείναντες λέγωμεν αὐτῷ λόγον παρὰ λόγον, ὅσα αὖ ἀγαθὰ ἔχει τὸ δίκαιον εἶναι, καὶ αὖθις οὗτος, καὶ ἄλλον ἡμεῖς, ἀριθμεῖν δεήσει [348b] τἀγαθὰ καὶ μετρεῖν ὅσα ἑκάτεροι ἐν ἑκατέρῳ λέγομεν, καὶ ἤδη δικαστῶν τινων τῶν διακρινούντων δεησόμεθα· ἂν δὲ ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἀνομολογούμενοι πρὸς ἀλλήλους σκοπῶμεν, ἅμα αὐτοί τε δικασταὶ καὶ ῥήτορες ἐσόμεθα.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ὁποτέρως οὖν σοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀρέσκει.

οὕτως, ἔφη.

ἴθι δή, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ἀπόκριναι ἡμῖν ἐξ ἀρχῆς. τὴν τελέαν ἀδικίαν τελέας οὔσης δικαιοσύνης λυσιτελεστέραν φῂς εἶναι;

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων, Θρασύμαχος

[348c] πάνυ μὲν οὖν καὶ φημί, ἔφη, καὶ δι’ ἅ, εἴρηκα.

φέρε δή, τὸ τοιόνδε περὶ αὐτῶν πῶς λέγεις; τὸ μέν που ἀρετὴν αὐτοῖν καλεῖς, τὸ δὲ κακίαν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν τὴν μὲν δικαιοσύνην ἀρετήν, τὴν δὲ ἀδικίαν κακίαν;

εἰκός γ’, ἔφη, ὦ ἥδιστε, ἐπειδή γε καὶ λέγω ἀδικίαν μὲν λυσιτελεῖν, δικαιοσύνην δ’ οὔ.

ἀλλὰ τί μήν;

τοὐναντίον, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

ἦ τὴν δικαιοσύνην κακίαν;

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ πάνυ γενναίαν εὐήθειαν.

[348d] τὴν ἀδικίαν ἄρα κακοήθειαν καλεῖς;

οὔκ, ἀλλ’ εὐβουλίαν, ἔφη.

ἦ καὶ φρόνιμοί σοι, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, δοκοῦσιν εἶναι καὶ ἀγαθοὶ οἱ ἄδικοι;

οἵ γε τελέως, ἔφη, οἷοί τε ἀδικεῖν, πόλεις τε καὶ ἔθνη δυνάμενοι ἀνθρώπων ὑφ’ ἑαυτοὺς ποιεῖσθαι· σὺ δὲ οἴει με ἴσως τοὺς τὰ βαλλάντια ἀποτέμνοντας λέγειν. λυσιτελεῖ μὲν οὖν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἐάνπερ λανθάνῃ· ἔστι δὲ οὐκ ἄξια λόγου, ἀλλ’ ἃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον.

[348e] τοῦτο μέν, ἔφην, οὐκ ἀγνοῶ ὃ βούλει λέγειν, ἀλλὰ τόδε ἐθαύμασα, εἰ ἐν ἀρετῆς καὶ σοφίας τιθεῖς μέρει τὴν ἀδικίαν, τὴν δὲ δικαιοσύνην ἐν τοῖς ἐναντίοις.

ἀλλὰ πάνυ οὕτω τίθημι.

τοῦτο, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἤδη στερεώτερον, ὦ ἑταῖρε, καὶ οὐκέτι ῥᾴδιον ἔχειν ὅτι τις εἴπῃ. εἰ γὰρ λυσιτελεῖν μὲν τὴν ἀδικίαν ἐτίθεσο, κακίαν μέντοι ἢ αἰσχρὸν αὐτὸ ὡμολόγεις εἶναι ὥσπερ ἄλλοι τινές, εἴχομεν ἄν τι λέγειν κατὰ τὰ νομιζόμενα λέγοντες· νῦν δὲ δῆλος εἶ ὅτι φήσεις αὐτὸ καὶ καλὸν καὶ ἰσχυρὸν εἶναι καὶ τἆλλα αὐτῷ πάντα προσθήσεις [349a] ἃ ἡμεῖς τῷ δικαίῳ προσετίθεμεν, ἐπειδή γε καὶ ἐν ἀρετῇ αὐτὸ καὶ σοφίᾳ ἐτόλμησας θεῖναι.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, μαντεύῃ.

ἀλλ’ οὐ μέντοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀποκνητέον γε τῷ λόγῳ ἐπεξελθεῖν σκοπούμενον, ἕως ἄν σε ὑπολαμβάνω λέγειν ἅπερ διανοῇ. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δοκεῖς σύ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ἀτεχνῶς νῦν οὐ σκώπτειν, ἀλλὰ τὰ δοκοῦντα περὶ τῆς ἀληθείας λέγειν.

τί δέ σοι, ἔφη, τοῦτο διαφέρει, εἴτε μοι δοκεῖ εἴτε μή, ἀλλ’ οὐ τὸν λόγον ἐλέγχεις;

[349b] οὐδέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. ἀλλὰ τόδε μοι πειρῶ ἔτι πρὸς τούτοις ἀποκρίνασθαι· ὁ δίκαιος τοῦ δικαίου δοκεῖ τί σοι ἂν ἐθέλειν πλέον ἔχειν;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη· οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἦν ἀστεῖος, ὥσπερ νῦν, καὶ εὐήθης.

τί δέ; τῆς δικαίας πράξεως;

οὐδὲ τῆς δικαίας, ἔφη.

τοῦ δὲ ἀδίκου πότερον ἀξιοῖ ἂν πλεονεκτεῖν καὶ ἡγοῖτο δίκαιον εἶναι, ἢ οὐκ ἂν ἡγοῖτο;

ἡγοῖτ’ ἄν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, καὶ ἀξιοῖ, ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἂν δύναιτο.

ἀλλ’ οὐ τοῦτο, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἐρωτῶ, ἀλλ’ εἰ τοῦ μὲν [349c] δικαίου μὴ ἀξιοῖ πλέον ἔχειν μηδὲ βούλεται ὁ δίκαιος, τοῦ δὲ ἀδίκου;

ἀλλ’ οὕτως, ἔφη, ἔχει.

τί δὲ δὴ ὁ ἄδικος; ἆρα ἀξιοῖ τοῦ δικαίου πλεονεκτεῖν καὶ τῆς δικαίας πράξεως;

πῶς γὰρ οὔκ; ἔφη, ὅς γε πάντων πλέον ἔχειν ἀξιοῖ;

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀδίκου γε ἀνθρώπου τε καὶ πράξεως ὁ ἄδικος πλεονεκτήσει καὶ ἁμιλλήσεται ὡς ἁπάντων πλεῖστον αὐτὸς λάβῃ;

ἔστι ταῦτα.

ὧδε δὴ λέγωμεν, ἔφην· ὁ δίκαιος τοῦ μὲν ὁμοίου οὐ πλεονεκτεῖ, τοῦ δὲ ἀνομοίου, ὁ δὲ ἄδικος τοῦ τε ὁμοίου καὶ [349d] τοῦ ἀνομοίου;

ἄριστα, ἔφη, εἴρηκας.

ἔστιν δέ γε, ἔφην, φρόνιμός τε καὶ ἀγαθὸς ὁ ἄδικος, ὁ δὲ δίκαιος οὐδέτερα;

καὶ τοῦτ’, ἔφη, εὖ.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ ἔοικε τῷ φρονίμῳ καὶ τῷ ἀγαθῷ ὁ ἄδικος, ὁ δὲ δίκαιος οὐκ ἔοικεν;

πῶς γὰρ οὐ μέλλει, ἔφη, ὁ τοιοῦτος ὢν καὶ ἐοικέναι τοῖς τοιούτοις, ὁ δὲ μὴ ἐοικέναι;

καλῶς. τοιοῦτος ἄρα ἐστὶν ἑκάτερος αὐτῶν οἷσπερ ἔοικεν;

ἀλλὰ τί μέλλει; ἔφη.

εἶεν, ὦ Θρασύμαχε· μουσικὸν δέ τινα λέγεις, ἕτερον δὲ [349e] ἄμουσον;

ἔγωγε.

πότερον φρόνιμον καὶ πότερον ἄφρονα;

τὸν μὲν μουσικὸν δήπου φρόνιμον, τὸν δὲ ἄμουσον ἄφρονα.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἅπερ φρόνιμον, ἀγαθόν, ἃ δὲ ἄφρονα, κακόν;

ναί.

τί δὲ ἰατρικόν; οὐχ οὕτως;

οὕτως.

δοκεῖ ἂν οὖν τίς σοι, ὦ ἄριστε, μουσικὸς ἀνὴρ ἁρμοττόμενος λύραν ἐθέλειν μουσικοῦ ἀνδρὸς ἐν τῇ ἐπιτάσει καὶ ἀνέσει τῶν χορδῶν πλεονεκτεῖν ἢ ἀξιοῦν πλέον ἔχειν;

οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

τί δέ; ἀμούσου;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

[350a] τί δὲ ἰατρικός; ἐν τῇ ἐδωδῇ ἢ πόσει ἐθέλειν ἄν τι ἰατρικοῦ πλεονεκτεῖν ἢ ἀνδρὸς ἢ πράγματος;

οὐ δῆτα.

μὴ ἰατρικοῦ δέ;

ναί.

περὶ πάσης δὴ ὅρα ἐπιστήμης τε καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνης εἴ τίς σοι δοκεῖ ἐπιστήμων ὁστισοῦν πλείω ἂν ἐθέλειν αἱρεῖσθαι ἢ ὅσα ἄλλος ἐπιστήμων ἢ πράττειν ἢ λέγειν, καὶ οὐ ταὐτὰ τῷ ὁμοίῳ ἑαυτῷ εἰς τὴν αὐτὴν πρᾶξιν.

ἀλλ’ ἴσως, ἔφη, ἀνάγκη τοῦτό γε οὕτως ἔχειν.

τί δὲ ὁ ἀνεπιστήμων; οὐχὶ ὁμοίως μὲν ἐπιστήμονος [350b] πλεονεκτήσειεν ἄν, ὁμοίως δὲ ἀνεπιστήμονος;

ἴσως.

ὁ δὲ ἐπιστήμων σοφός;

φημί.

ὁ δὲ σοφὸς ἀγαθός;

φημί.

ὁ ἄρα ἀγαθός τε καὶ σοφὸς τοῦ μὲν ὁμοίου οὐκ ἐθελήσει πλεονεκτεῖν, τοῦ δὲ ἀνομοίου τε καὶ ἐναντίου.

ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

ὁ δὲ κακός τε καὶ ἀμαθὴς τοῦ τε ὁμοίου καὶ τοῦ ἐναντίου.

φαίνεται.

οὐκοῦν, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὁ ἄδικος ἡμῖν τοῦ ἀνομοίου τε καὶ ὁμοίου πλεονεκτεῖ; ἢ οὐχ οὕτως ἔλεγες;

ἔγωγε, ἔφη.

[350c] ὁ δέ γε δίκαιος τοῦ μὲν ὁμοίου οὐ πλεονεκτήσει, τοῦ δὲ ἀνομοίου;

ναί.

ἔοικεν ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὁ μὲν δίκαιος τῷ σοφῷ καὶ ἀγαθῷ, ὁ δὲ ἄδικος τῷ κακῷ καὶ ἀμαθεῖ.

κινδυνεύει.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ὡμολογοῦμεν, ᾧ γε ὅμοιος ἑκάτερος εἴη, τοιοῦτον καὶ ἑκάτερον εἶναι.

ὡμολογοῦμεν γάρ.

ὁ μὲν ἄρα δίκαιος ἡμῖν ἀναπέφανται ὢν ἀγαθός τε καὶ σοφός, ὁ δὲ ἄδικος ἀμαθής τε καὶ κακός.

ὁ δὴ Θρασύμαχος ὡμολόγησε μὲν πάντα ταῦτα, οὐχ [350d] ὡς ἐγὼ νῦν ῥᾳδίως λέγω, ἀλλ’ ἑλκόμενος καὶ μόγις, μετὰ ἱδρῶτος θαυμαστοῦ ὅσου, ἅτε καὶ θέρους ὄντος — τότε καὶ εἶδον ἐγώ, πρότερον δὲ οὔπω, Θρασύμαχον ἐρυθριῶντα — ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὖν διωμολογησάμεθα τὴν δικαιοσύνην ἀρετὴν εἶναι καὶ σοφίαν, τὴν δὲ ἀδικίαν κακίαν τε καὶ ἀμαθίαν, εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τοῦτο μὲν ἡμῖν οὕτω κείσθω, ἔφαμεν δὲ δὴ καὶ ἰσχυρὸν εἶναι τὴν ἀδικίαν. ἢ οὐ μέμνησαι, ὦ Θρασύμαχε;

μέμνημαι, ἔφη· ἀλλ’ ἔμοιγε οὐδὲ ἃ νῦν λέγεις ἀρέσκει, καὶ ἔχω περὶ αὐτῶν λέγειν. εἰ οὖν λέγοιμι, εὖ οἶδ’ ὅτι [350e] δημηγορεῖν ἄν με φαίης. ἢ οὖν ἔα με εἰπεῖν ὅσα βούλομαι, ἤ, εἰ βούλει ἐρωτᾶν, ἐρώτα· ἐγὼ δέ σοι, ὥσπερ ταῖς γραυσὶν ταῖς τοὺς μύθους λεγούσαις, “εἶεν” ἐρῶ καὶ κατανεύσομαι καὶ ἀνανεύσομαι.

μηδαμῶς, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, παρά γε τὴν σαυτοῦ δόξαν.

ὥστε σοί, ἔφη, ἀρέσκειν, ἐπειδήπερ οὐκ ἐᾷς λέγειν. καίτοι τί ἄλλο βούλει;

οὐδὲν μὰ Δία, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀλλ’ εἴπερ τοῦτο ποιήσεις, ποίει· ἐγὼ δὲ ἐρωτήσω.

ἐρώτα δή.

τοῦτο τοίνυν ἐρωτῶ, ὅπερ ἄρτι, ἵνα καὶ ἑξῆς διασκεψώμεθα [351a] τὸν λόγον, ὁποῖόν τι τυγχάνει ὂν δικαιοσύνη πρὸς ἀδικίαν. ἐλέχθη γάρ που ὅτι καὶ δυνατώτερον καὶ ἰσχυρότερον εἴη ἀδικία δικαιοσύνης· νῦν δέ γ’, ἔφην, εἴπερ σοφία τε καὶ ἀρετή ἐστιν δικαιοσύνη, ῥᾳδίως οἶμαι φανήσεται καὶ ἰσχυρότερον ἀδικίας, ἐπειδήπερ ἐστὶν ἀμαθία ἡ ἀδικία — οὐδεὶς ἂν ἔτι τοῦτο ἀγνοήσειεν — ἀλλ’ οὔ τι οὕτως ἁπλῶς, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ἔγωγε ἐπιθυμῶ, ἀλλὰ τῇδέ πῃ σκέψασθαι· [351b] πόλιν φαίης ἂν ἄδικον εἶναι καὶ ἄλλας πόλεις ἐπιχειρεῖν δουλοῦσθαι ἀδίκως καὶ καταδεδουλῶσθαι, πολλὰς δὲ καὶ ὑφ’ ἑαυτῇ ἔχειν δουλωσαμένην;

πῶς γὰρ οὔκ; ἔφη. καὶ τοῦτό γε ἡ ἀρίστη μάλιστα ποιήσει καὶ τελεώτατα οὖσα ἄδικος.

μανθάνω, ἔφην, ὅτι σὸς οὗτος ἦν ὁ λόγος. ἀλλὰ τόδε περὶ αὐτοῦ σκοπῶ· πότερον ἡ κρείττων γιγνομένη πόλις πόλεως ἄνευ δικαιοσύνης τὴν δύναμιν ταύτην ἕξει, ἢ ἀνάγκη αὐτῇ μετὰ δικαιοσύνης;

[351c] εἰ μέν, ἔφη, ὡς σὺ ἄρτι ἔλεγες ἔχει — ἡ δικαιοσύνη σοφία — μετὰ δικαιοσύνης· εἰ δ’ ὡς ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, μετὰ ἀδικίας.

πάνυ ἄγαμαι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ὅτι οὐκ ἐπινεύεις μόνον καὶ ἀνανεύεις, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀποκρίνῃ πάνυ καλῶς.

σοὶ γάρ, ἔφη, χαρίζομαι.

εὖ γε σὺ ποιῶν· ἀλλὰ δὴ καὶ τόδε μοι χάρισαι καὶ λέγε· δοκεῖς ἂν ἢ πόλιν ἢ στρατόπεδον ἢ λῃστὰς ἢ κλέπτας ἢ ἄλλο τι ἔθνος, ὅσα κοινῇ ἐπί τι ἔρχεται ἀδίκως, πρᾶξαι ἄν τι δύνασθαι, εἰ ἀδικοῖεν ἀλλήλους;

[351d] οὐ δῆτα, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

τί δ’ εἰ μὴ ἀδικοῖεν; οὐ μᾶλλον;

πάνυ γε.

στάσεις γάρ που, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ἥ γε ἀδικία καὶ μίση καὶ μάχας ἐν ἀλλήλοις παρέχει, ἡ δὲ δικαιοσύνη ὁμόνοιαν καὶ φιλίαν· ἦ γάρ;

ἔστω, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἵνα σοι μὴ διαφέρωμαι.

ἀλλ’ εὖ γε σὺ ποιῶν, ὦ ἄριστε. τόδε δέ μοι λέγε· ἆρα εἰ τοῦτο ἔργον ἀδικίας, μῖσος ἐμποιεῖν ὅπου ἂν ἐνῇ, οὐ καὶ ἐν ἐλευθέροις τε καὶ δούλοις ἐγγιγνομένη μισεῖν ποιήσει ἀλλήλους καὶ στασιάζειν καὶ ἀδυνάτους εἶναι κοινῇ μετ’ [351e] ἀλλήλων πράττειν;

πάνυ γε.

τί δὲ ἂν ἐν δυοῖν ἐγγένηται; οὐ διοίσονται καὶ μισήσουσιν καὶ ἐχθροὶ ἔσονται ἀλλήλοις τε καὶ τοῖς δικαίοις;

ἔσονται, ἔφη.

ἐὰν δὲ δή, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ἐν ἑνὶ ἐγγένηται ἀδικία, μῶν μὴ ἀπολεῖ τὴν αὑτῆς δύναμιν, ἢ οὐδὲν ἧττον ἕξει;

μηδὲν ἧττον ἐχέτω, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τοιάνδε τινὰ φαίνεται ἔχουσα τὴν δύναμιν, οἵαν, ᾧ ἂν ἐγγένηται, εἴτε πόλει τινὶ εἴτε γένει εἴτε στρατοπέδῳ εἴτε [352a] ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν, πρῶτον μὲν ἀδύνατον αὐτὸ ποιεῖν πράττειν μεθ’ αὑτοῦ διὰ τὸ στασιάζειν καὶ διαφέρεσθαι, ἔτι δ’ ἐχθρὸν εἶναι ἑαυτῷ τε καὶ τῷ ἐναντίῳ παντὶ καὶ τῷ δικαίῳ; οὐχ οὕτως;

πάνυ γε.

καὶ ἐν ἑνὶ δὴ οἶμαι ἐνοῦσα ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ποιήσει ἅπερ πέφυκεν ἐργάζεσθαι· πρῶτον μὲν ἀδύνατον αὐτὸν πράττειν ποιήσει στασιάζοντα καὶ οὐχ ὁμονοοῦντα αὐτὸν ἑαυτῷ, ἔπειτα ἐχθρὸν καὶ ἑαυτῷ καὶ τοῖς δικαίοις· ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

δίκαιοι δέ γ’ εἰσίν, ὦ φίλε, καὶ οἱ θεοί;

ἔστω, ἔφη.

[352b] καὶ θεοῖς ἄρα ἐχθρὸς ἔσται ὁ ἄδικος, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ὁ δὲ δίκαιος φίλος.

εὐωχοῦ τοῦ λόγου, ἔφη, θαρρῶν· οὐ γὰρ ἔγωγέ σοι ἐναντιώσομαι, ἵνα μὴ τοῖσδε ἀπέχθωμαι.

ἴθι δή, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ τὰ λοιπά μοι τῆς ἑστιάσεως ἀποπλήρωσον ἀποκρινόμενος ὥσπερ καὶ νῦν. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ καὶ σοφώτεροι καὶ ἀμείνους καὶ δυνατώτεροι πράττειν οἱ δίκαιοι φαίνονται, οἱ δὲ ἄδικοι οὐδὲ πράττειν μετ’ ἀλλήλων οἷοί [352c] τε — ἀλλὰ δὴ καὶ οὕς φαμεν ἐρρωμένως πώποτέ τι μετ’ ἀλλήλων κοινῇ πρᾶξαι ἀδίκους ὄντας, τοῦτο οὐ παντάπασιν ἀληθὲς λέγομεν· οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἀπείχοντο ἀλλήλων κομιδῇ ὄντες ἄδικοι, ἀλλὰ δῆλον ὅτι ἐνῆν τις αὐτοῖς δικαιοσύνη, ἣ αὐτοὺς ἐποίει μήτοι καὶ ἀλλήλους γε καὶ ἐφ’ οὓς ᾖσαν ἅμα ἀδικεῖν, δι’ ἣν ἔπραξαν ἃ ἔπραξαν, ὥρμησαν δὲ ἐπὶ τὰ ἄδικα ἀδικίᾳ ἡμιμόχθηροι ὄντες, ἐπεὶ οἵ γε παμπόνηροι καὶ τελέως ἄδικοι τελέως εἰσὶ καὶ πράττειν ἀδύνατοι — ταῦτα [352d] μὲν οὖν ὅτι οὕτως ἔχει μανθάνω, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὡς σὺ τὸ πρῶτον ἐτίθεσο· εἰ δὲ καὶ ἄμεινον ζῶσιν οἱ δίκαιοι τῶν ἀδίκων καὶ εὐδαιμονέστεροί εἰσιν, ὅπερ τὸ ὕστερον προυθέμεθα σκέψασθαι, σκεπτέον. φαίνονται μὲν οὖν καὶ νῦν, ὥς γέ μοι δοκεῖ, ἐξ ὧν εἰρήκαμεν· ὅμως δ’ ἔτι βέλτιον σκεπτέον. οὐ γὰρ περὶ τοῦ ἐπιτυχόντος ὁ λόγος, ἀλλὰ περὶ τοῦ ὅντινα τρόπον χρὴ ζῆν.

σκόπει δή, ἔφη.

σκοπῶ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. καί μοι λέγε· δοκεῖ τί σοι εἶναι ἵππου ἔργον;

[352e] ἔμοιγε.

ἆρ’ οὖν τοῦτο ἂν θείης καὶ ἵππου καὶ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν ἔργον, ὃ ἂν ἢ μόνῳ ἐκείνῳ ποιῇ τις ἢ ἄριστα;

οὐ μανθάνω, ἔφη.

ἀλλ’ ὧδε· ἔσθ’ ὅτῳ ἂν ἄλλῳ ἴδοις ἢ ὀφθαλμοῖς;

οὐ δῆτα.

τί δέ; ἀκούσαις ἄλλῳ ἢ ὠσίν;

οὐδαμῶς.

οὐκοῦν δικαίως [ἂν] ταῦτα τούτων φαμὲν ἔργα εἶναι;

πάνυ γε.

[353a] τί δέ; μαχαίρᾳ ἂν ἀμπέλου κλῆμα ἀποτέμοις καὶ σμίλῃ καὶ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ἀλλ’ οὐδενί γ’ ἂν οἶμαι οὕτω καλῶς ὡς δρεπάνῳ τῷ ἐπὶ τούτῳ ἐργασθέντι.

ἀληθῆ.

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ τοῦτο τούτου ἔργον θήσομεν;

θήσομεν μὲν οὖν.

νῦν δὴ οἶμαι ἄμεινον ἂν μάθοις ὃ ἄρτι ἠρώτων, πυνθανόμενος εἰ οὐ τοῦτο ἑκάστου εἴη ἔργον ὃ ἂν ἢ μόνον τι ἢ κάλλιστα τῶν ἄλλων ἀπεργάζηται.

ἀλλά, ἔφη, μανθάνω τε καί μοι δοκεῖ τοῦτο ἑκάστου [353b] πράγματος ἔργον εἶναι.

εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀρετὴ δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι ἑκάστῳ ᾧπερ καὶ ἔργον τι προστέτακται; ἴωμεν δὲ ἐπὶ τὰ αὐτὰ πάλιν· ὀφθαλμῶν, φαμέν, ἔστι τι ἔργον;

ἔστιν.

ἆρ’ οὖν καὶ ἀρετὴ ὀφθαλμῶν ἔστιν;

καὶ ἀρετή.

τί δέ; ὤτων ἦν τι ἔργον;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀρετή;

καὶ ἀρετή.

τί δὲ πάντων πέρι τῶν ἄλλων; οὐχ οὕτω;

οὕτω.

῎Εχε δή· ἆρ’ ἄν ποτε ὄμματα τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον καλῶς [353c] ἀπεργάσαιντο μὴ ἔχοντα τὴν αὑτῶν οἰκείαν ἀρετήν, ἀλλ’ ἀντὶ τῆς ἀρετῆς κακίαν;

καὶ πῶς ἄν; ἔφη· τυφλότητα γὰρ ἴσως λέγεις ἀντὶ τῆς ὄψεως.

ἥτις, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, αὐτῶν ἡ ἀρετή· οὐ γάρ πω τοῦτο ἐρωτῶ, ἀλλ’ εἰ τῇ οἰκείᾳ μὲν ἀρετῇ τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον εὖ ἐργάσεται τὰ ἐργαζόμενα, κακίᾳ δὲ κακῶς.

ἀληθές, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὦτα στερόμενα τῆς αὑτῶν ἀρετῆς κακῶς τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον ἀπεργάσεται;

πάνυ γε.

[353d] τίθεμεν οὖν καὶ τἆλλα πάντα εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

ἴθι δή, μετὰ ταῦτα τόδε σκέψαι. ψυχῆς ἔστιν τι ἔργον ὃ ἄλλῳ τῶν ὄντων οὐδ’ ἂν ἑνὶ πράξαις, οἷον τὸ τοιόνδε· τὸ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καὶ ἄρχειν καὶ βουλεύεσθαι καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα, ἔσθ’ ὅτῳ ἄλλῳ ἢ ψυχῇ δικαίως ἂν αὐτὰ ἀποδοῖμεν καὶ φαῖμεν ἴδια ἐκείνης εἶναι;

οὐδενὶ ἄλλῳ.

τί δ’ αὖ τὸ ζῆν; οὐ ψυχῆς φήσομεν ἔργον εἶναι;

μάλιστά γ’, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀρετήν φαμέν τινα ψυχῆς εἶναι;

φαμέν.

[353e] ἆρ’ οὖν ποτε, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ψυχὴ τὰ αὑτῆς ἔργα εὖ ἀπεργάσεται στερομένη τῆς οἰκείας ἀρετῆς, ἢ ἀδύνατον;

ἀδύνατον.

ἀνάγκη ἄρα κακῇ ψυχῇ κακῶς ἄρχειν καὶ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, τῇ δὲ ἀγαθῇ πάντα ταῦτα εὖ πράττειν.

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν ἀρετήν γε συνεχωρήσαμεν ψυχῆς εἶναι δικαιοσύνην, κακίαν δὲ ἀδικίαν;

συνεχωρήσαμεν γάρ.

ἡ μὲν ἄρα δικαία ψυχὴ καὶ ὁ δίκαιος ἀνὴρ εὖ βιώσεται, κακῶς δὲ ὁ ἄδικος.

φαίνεται, ἔφη, κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον.

[354a] ἀλλὰ μὴν ὅ γε εὖ ζῶν μακάριός τε καὶ εὐδαίμων, ὁ δὲ μὴ τἀναντία.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ὁ μὲν δίκαιος ἄρα εὐδαίμων, ὁ δ’ ἄδικος ἄθλιος.

ἔστω, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἄθλιόν γε εἶναι οὐ λυσιτελεῖ, εὐδαίμονα δέ.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐδέποτ’ ἄρα, ὦ μακάριε Θρασύμαχε, λυσιτελέστερον ἀδικία δικαιοσύνης.

ταῦτα δή σοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἱστιάσθω ἐν τοῖς Βενδιδίοις.

ὑπὸ σοῦ γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, ἐπειδή μοι πρᾷος ἐγένου καὶ χαλεπαίνων ἐπαύσω. οὐ μέντοι καλῶς γε [354b] εἱστίαμαι, δι’ ἐμαυτὸν ἀλλ’ οὐ διὰ σέ· ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ οἱ λίχνοι τοῦ ἀεὶ παραφερομένου ἀπογεύονται ἁρπάζοντες, πρὶν τοῦ προτέρου μετρίως ἀπολαῦσαι, καὶ ἐγώ μοι δοκῶ οὕτω, πρὶν ὃ τὸ πρῶτον ἐσκοποῦμεν εὑρεῖν, τὸ δίκαιον ὅτι ποτ’ ἐστίν, ἀφέμενος ἐκείνου ὁρμῆσαι ἐπὶ τὸ σκέψασθαι περὶ αὐτοῦ εἴτε κακία ἐστὶν καὶ ἀμαθία, εἴτε σοφία καὶ ἀρετή, καὶ ἐμπεσόντος αὖ ὕστερον λόγου, ὅτι λυσιτελέστερον ἡ ἀδικία τῆς δικαιοσύνης, οὐκ ἀπεσχόμην τὸ μὴ οὐκ ἐπὶ τοῦτο ἐλθεῖν ἀπ’ ἐκείνου, ὥστε μοι νυνὶ γέγονεν ἐκ τοῦ διαλόγου μηδὲν [354c] εἰδέναι· ὁπότε γὰρ τὸ δίκαιον μὴ οἶδα ὅ ἐστιν, σχολῇ εἴσομαι εἴτε ἀρετή τις οὖσα τυγχάνει εἴτε καὶ οὔ, καὶ πότερον ὁ ἔχων αὐτὸ οὐκ εὐδαίμων ἐστὶν ἢ εὐδαίμων.

Πολιτεία Β

Πίνακας περιεχομένων

- 1 Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

- 2 Γλαύκων

- 3 Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

- 4 Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

- 5 Αδείμαντος

- 6 Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

- 7 Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

- 8 Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

[357a]᾿Εγὼ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα εἰπὼν ᾤμην λόγου ἀπηλλάχθαι· τὸ δ’ ἦν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, προοίμιον. ὁ γὰρ Γλαύκων ἀεί τε δὴ ἀνδρειότατος ὢν τυγχάνει πρὸς ἅπαντα, καὶ δὴ καὶ τότε τοῦ Θρασυμάχου τὴν ἀπόρρησιν οὐκ ἀπεδέξατο, ἀλλ’ ἔφη· ῏Ω Σώκρατες, πότερον ἡμᾶς βούλει δοκεῖν πεπεικέναι ἢ ὡς [357b] ἀληθῶς πεῖσαι ὅτι παντὶ τρόπῳ ἄμεινόν ἐστιν δίκαιον εἶναι ἢ ἄδικον;

῾Ως ἀληθῶς, εἶπον, ἔγωγ’ ἂν ἑλοίμην, εἰ ἐπ’ ἐμοὶ εἴη.

Οὐ τοίνυν, ἔφη, ποιεῖς ὃ βούλει. λέγε γάρ μοι· ἆρά σοι δοκεῖ τοιόνδε τι εἶναι ἀγαθόν, ὃ δεξαίμεθ’ ἂν ἔχειν οὐ τῶν ἀποβαινόντων ἐφιέμενοι, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ ἕνεκα ἀσπαζόμενοι, οἷον τὸ χαίρειν καὶ αἱ ἡδοναὶ ὅσαι ἀβλαβεῖς καὶ μηδὲν εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον διὰ ταύτας γίγνεται ἄλλο ἢ χαίρειν ἔχοντα;

῎Εμοιγε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δοκεῖ τι εἶναι τοιοῦτον.

[357c] Τί δέ; ὃ αὐτό τε αὑτοῦ χάριν ἀγαπῶμεν καὶ τῶν ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ γιγνομένων, οἷον αὖ τὸ φρονεῖν καὶ τὸ ὁρᾶν καὶ τὸ ὑγιαίνειν; τὰ γὰρ τοιαῦτά που δι’ ἀμφότερα ἀσπαζόμεθα.

Ναί, εἶπον.

Τρίτον δὲ ὁρᾷς τι, ἔφη, εἶδος ἀγαθοῦ, ἐν ᾧ τὸ γυμνάζεσθαι καὶ τὸ κάμνοντα ἰατρεύεσθαι καὶ ἰάτρευσίς τε καὶ ὁ ἄλλος χρηματισμός; ταῦτα γὰρ ἐπίπονα φαῖμεν ἄν, ὠφελεῖν δὲ ἡμᾶς, καὶ αὐτὰ μὲν ἑαυτῶν ἕνεκα οὐκ ἂν δεξαίμεθα ἔχειν, [357d] τῶν δὲ μισθῶν τε χάριν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσα γίγνεται ἀπ’ αὐτῶν.

῎Εστιν γὰρ οὖν, ἔφην, καὶ τοῦτο τρίτον. ἀλλὰ τί δή;

᾿Εν ποίῳ, ἔφη, τούτων τὴν δικαιοσύνην τιθεῖς;

[358a]᾿Εγὼ μὲν οἶμαι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἐν τῷ καλλίστῳ, ὃ καὶ δι’ αὑτὸ καὶ διὰ τὰ γιγνόμενα ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ ἀγαπητέον τῷ μέλλοντι μακαρίῳ ἔσεσθαι.

Οὐ τοίνυν δοκεῖ, ἔφη, τοῖς πολλοῖς, ἀλλὰ τοῦ ἐπιπόνου εἴδους, ὃ μισθῶν θ’ ἕνεκα καὶ εὐδοκιμήσεων διὰ δόξαν ἐπιτηδευτέον, αὐτὸ δὲ δι’ αὑτὸ φευκτέον ὡς ὂν χαλεπόν. Οἶδα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι δοκεῖ οὕτω καὶ πάλαι ὑπὸ Θρασυμάχου ὡς τοιοῦτον ὂν ψέγεται, ἀδικία δ’ ἐπαινεῖται· ἀλλ’ ἐγώ τις, ὡς ἔοικε, δυσμαθής.

[358b] ῎Ιθι δή, ἔφη, ἄκουσον καὶ ἐμοῦ, ἐάν σοι ἔτι ταὐτὰ δοκῇ. Θρασύμαχος γάρ μοι φαίνεται πρῳαίτερον τοῦ δέοντος ὑπὸ σοῦ ὥσπερ ὄφις κηληθῆναι, ἐμοὶ δὲ οὔπω κατὰ νοῦν ἡ ἀπόδειξις γέγονεν περὶ ἑκατέρου· ἐπιθυμῶ γὰρ ἀκοῦσαι τί τ’ ἔστιν ἑκάτερον καὶ τίνα ἔχει δύναμιν αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ ἐνὸν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ, τοὺς δὲ μισθοὺς καὶ τὰ γιγνόμενα ἀπ’ αὐτῶν ἐᾶσαι χαίρειν. οὑτωσὶ οὖν ποιήσω, ἐὰν καὶ σοὶ δοκῇ· ἐπανανεώ[358c]σομαι τὸν Θρασυμάχου λόγον, καὶ πρῶτον μὲν ἐρῶ δικαιοσύνην οἷον εἶναί φασιν καὶ ὅθεν γεγονέναι, δεύτερον δὲ ὅτι πάντες αὐτὸ οἱ ἐπιτηδεύοντες ἄκοντες ἐπιτηδεύουσιν ὡς ἀναγκαῖον ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὡς ἀγαθόν, τρίτον δὲ ὅτι εἰκότως αὐτὸ δρῶσι· πολὺ γὰρ ἀμείνων ἄρα ὁ τοῦ ἀδίκου ἢ ὁ τοῦ δικαίου βίος, ὡς λέγουσιν. ἐπεὶ ἔμοιγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὔ τι δοκεῖ οὕτως· ἀπορῶ μέντοι διατεθρυλημένος τὰ ὦτα ἀκούων Θρασυμάχου καὶ μυρίων ἄλλων, τὸν δὲ ὑπὲρ τῆς δικαιοσύνης λόγον, ὡς [358d] ἄμεινον ἀδικίας, οὐδενός πω ἀκήκοα ὡς βούλομαι — βούλομαι δὲ αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ ἐγκωμιαζόμενον ἀκοῦσαι — μάλιστα δ’ οἶμαι ἂν σοῦ πυθέσθαι. διὸ κατατείνας ἐρῶ τὸν ἄδικον βίον ἐπαινῶν, εἰπὼν δὲ ἐνδείξομαί σοι ὃν τρόπον αὖ βούλομαι καὶ σοῦ ἀκούειν ἀδικίαν μὲν ψέγοντος, δικαιοσύνην δὲ ἐπαινοῦντος. ἀλλ’ ὅρα εἴ σοι βουλομένῳ ἃ λέγω.

Πάντων μάλιστα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· περὶ γὰρ τίνος ἂν μᾶλλον πολλάκις τις νοῦν ἔχων χαίροι λέγων καὶ ἀκούων;

[358e] Κάλλιστα, ἔφη, λέγεις· καὶ ὃ πρῶτον ἔφην ἐρεῖν, περὶ τούτου ἄκουε, τί ὄν τε καὶ ὅθεν γέγονε δικαιοσύνη.

Γλαύκων

Πεφυκέναι γὰρ δή φασιν τὸ μὲν ἀδικεῖν ἀγαθόν, τὸ δὲ ἀδικεῖσθαι κακόν, πλέονι δὲ κακῷ ὑπερβάλλειν τὸ ἀδικεῖσθαι ἢ ἀγαθῷ τὸ ἀδικεῖν, ὥστ’ ἐπειδὰν ἀλλήλους ἀδικῶσί τε καὶ ἀδικῶνται καὶ ἀμφοτέρων γεύωνται, τοῖς μὴ δυναμένοις τὸ [359a] μὲν ἐκφεύγειν τὸ δὲ αἱρεῖν δοκεῖ λυσιτελεῖν συνθέσθαι ἀλλήλοις μήτ’ ἀδικεῖν μήτ’ ἀδικεῖσθαι· καὶ ἐντεῦθεν δὴ ἄρξασθαι νόμους τίθεσθαι καὶ συνθήκας αὑτῶν, καὶ ὀνομάσαι τὸ ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου ἐπίταγμα νόμιμόν τε καὶ δίκαιον· καὶ εἶναι δὴ ταύτην γένεσίν τε καὶ οὐσίαν δικαιοσύνης, μεταξὺ οὖσαν τοῦ μὲν ἀρίστου ὄντος, ἐὰν ἀδικῶν μὴ διδῷ δίκην, τοῦ δὲ κακίστου, ἐὰν ἀδικούμενος τιμωρεῖσθαι ἀδύνατος ᾖ· τὸ δὲ δίκαιον ἐν μέσῳ ὂν τούτων ἀμφοτέρων ἀγαπᾶσθαι οὐχ ὡς [359b] ἀγαθόν, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἀρρωστίᾳ τοῦ ἀδικεῖν τιμώμενον· ἐπεὶ τὸν δυνάμενον αὐτὸ ποιεῖν καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἄνδρα οὐδ’ ἂν ἑνί ποτε συνθέσθαι τὸ μήτε ἀδικεῖν μήτε ἀδικεῖσθαι· μαίνεσθαι γὰρ ἄν. ἡ μὲν οὖν δὴ φύσις δικαιοσύνης, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὕτη τε καὶ τοιαύτη, καὶ ἐξ ὧν πέφυκε τοιαῦτα, ὡς ὁ λόγος.

῾Ως δὲ καὶ οἱ ἐπιτηδεύοντες ἀδυναμίᾳ τοῦ ἀδικεῖν ἄκοντες αὐτὸ ἐπιτηδεύουσι, μάλιστ’ ἂν αἰσθοίμεθα, εἰ τοιόνδε ποιή[359c]σαιμεν τῇ διανοίᾳ· δόντες ἐξουσίαν ἑκατέρῳ ποιεῖν ὅτι ἂν βούληται, τῷ τε δικαίῳ καὶ τῷ ἀδίκῳ, εἶτ’ ἐπακολουθήσαιμεν θεώμενοι ποῖ ἡ ἐπιθυμία ἑκάτερον ἄξει. ἐπ’ αὐτοφώρῳ οὖν λάβοιμεν ἂν τὸν δίκαιον τῷ ἀδίκῳ εἰς ταὐτὸν ἰόντα διὰ τὴν πλεονεξίαν, ὃ πᾶσα φύσις διώκειν πέφυκεν ὡς ἀγαθόν, νόμῳ δὲ βίᾳ παράγεται ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ ἴσου τιμήν. εἴη δ’ ἂν ἡ ἐξουσία ἣν λέγω τοιάδε μάλιστα, εἰ αὐτοῖς γένοιτο οἵαν [359d] ποτέ φασιν δύναμιν τῷ [Γύγου] τοῦ Λυδοῦ προγόνῳ γενέσθαι. εἶναι μὲν γὰρ αὐτὸν ποιμένα θητεύοντα παρὰ τῷ τότε Λυδίας ἄρχοντι, ὄμβρου δὲ πολλοῦ γενομένου καὶ σεισμοῦ ῥαγῆναί τι τῆς γῆς καὶ γενέσθαι χάσμα κατὰ τὸν τόπον ᾗ ἔνεμεν. ἰδόντα δὲ καὶ θαυμάσαντα καταβῆναι καὶ ἰδεῖν ἄλλα τε δὴ ἃ μυθολογοῦσιν θαυμαστὰ καὶ ἵππον χαλκοῦν, κοῖλον, θυρίδας ἔχοντα, καθ’ ἃς ἐγκύψαντα ἰδεῖν ἐνόντα νεκρόν, ὡς φαίνεσθαι μείζω ἢ κατ’ ἄνθρωπον, τοῦτον δὲ ἄλλο μὲν οὐδέν, περὶ δὲ [359e] τῇ χειρὶ χρυσοῦν δακτύλιον ὄν<τα> περιελόμενον ἐκβῆναι. συλλόγου δὲ γενομένου τοῖς ποιμέσιν εἰωθότος, ἵν’ ἐξαγγέλλοιεν κατὰ μῆνα τῷ βασιλεῖ τὰ περὶ τὰ ποίμνια, ἀφικέσθαι καὶ ἐκεῖνον ἔχοντα τὸν δακτύλιον· καθήμενον οὖν μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων τυχεῖν τὴν σφενδόνην τοῦ δακτυλίου περιαγαγόντα πρὸς ἑαυτὸν εἰς τὸ εἴσω τῆς χειρός, τούτου δὲ γενομένου [360a] ἀφανῆ αὐτὸν γενέσθαι τοῖς παρακαθημένοις, καὶ διαλέγεσθαι ὡς περὶ οἰχομένου. καὶ τὸν θαυμάζειν τε καὶ πάλιν ἐπιψηλαφῶντα τὸν δακτύλιον στρέψαι ἔξω τὴν σφενδόνην, καὶ στρέψαντα φανερὸν γενέσθαι. καὶ τοῦτο ἐννοήσαντα ἀποπειρᾶσθαι τοῦ δακτυλίου εἰ ταύτην ἔχοι τὴν δύναμιν, καὶ αὐτῷ οὕτω συμβαίνειν, στρέφοντι μὲν εἴσω τὴν σφενδόνην ἀδήλῳ γίγνεσθαι, ἔξω δὲ δήλῳ· αἰσθόμενον δὲ εὐθὺς διαπράξασθαι τῶν ἀγγέλων γενέσθαι τῶν παρὰ τὸν βασιλέα, ἐλθόντα [360b] δὲ καὶ τὴν γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ μοιχεύσαντα, μετ’ ἐκείνης ἐπιθέμενον τῷ βασιλεῖ ἀποκτεῖναι καὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν οὕτω κατασχεῖν. εἰ οὖν δύο τοιούτω δακτυλίω γενοίσθην, καὶ τὸν μὲν ὁ δίκαιος περιθεῖτο, τὸν δὲ ὁ ἄδικος, οὐδεὶς ἂν γένοιτο, ὡς δόξειεν, οὕτως ἀδαμάντινος, ὃς ἂν μείνειεν ἐν τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ τολμήσειεν ἀπέχεσθαι τῶν ἀλλοτρίων καὶ μὴ ἅπτεσθαι, ἐξὸν αὐτῷ καὶ ἐκ τῆς ἀγορᾶς ἀδεῶς ὅτι βούλοιτο λαμβάνειν, [360c] καὶ εἰσιόντι εἰς τὰς οἰκίας συγγίγνεσθαι ὅτῳ βούλοιτο, καὶ ἀποκτεινύναι καὶ ἐκ δεσμῶν λύειν οὕστινας βούλοιτο, καὶ τἆλλα πράττειν ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἰσόθεον ὄντα. οὕτω δὲ δρῶν οὐδὲν ἂν διάφορον τοῦ ἑτέρου ποιοῖ, ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ ταὔτ’ ἂν ἴοιεν ἀμφότεροι. καίτοι μέγα τοῦτο τεκμήριον ἂν φαίη τις ὅτι οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν δίκαιος ἀλλ’ ἀναγκαζόμενος, ὡς οὐκ ἀγαθοῦ ἰδίᾳ ὄντος, ἐπεὶ ὅπου γ’ ἂν οἴηται ἕκαστος οἷός τε ἔσεσθαι ἀδικεῖν, ἀδικεῖν. λυσιτελεῖν γὰρ δὴ οἴεται πᾶς ἀνὴρ πολὺ [360d] μᾶλλον ἰδίᾳ τὴν ἀδικίαν τῆς δικαιοσύνης, ἀληθῆ οἰόμενος, ὡς φήσει ὁ περὶ τοῦ τοιούτου λόγου λέγων· ἐπεὶ εἴ τις τοιαύτης ἐξουσίας ἐπιλαβόμενος μηδέν ποτε ἐθέλοι ἀδικῆσαι μηδὲ ἅψαιτο τῶν ἀλλοτρίων, ἀθλιώτατος μὲν ἂν δόξειεν εἶναι τοῖς αἰσθανομένοις καὶ ἀνοητότατος, ἐπαινοῖεν δ’ ἂν αὐτὸν ἀλλήλων ἐναντίον ἐξαπατῶντες ἀλλήλους διὰ τὸν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι φόβον. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν δὴ οὕτω.

[360e] Τὴν δὲ κρίσιν αὐτὴν τοῦ βίου πέρι ὧν λέγομεν, ἐὰν διαστησώμεθα τόν τε δικαιότατον καὶ τὸν ἀδικώτατον, οἷοί τ’ ἐσόμεθα κρῖναι ὀρθῶς· εἰ δὲ μή, οὔ. τίς οὖν δὴ ἡ διάστασις; ἥδε· μηδὲν ἀφαιρῶμεν μήτε τοῦ ἀδίκου ἀπὸ τῆς ἀδικίας, μήτε τοῦ δικαίου ἀπὸ τῆς δικαιοσύνης, ἀλλὰ τέλεον ἑκάτερον εἰς τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιτήδευμα τιθῶμεν. πρῶτον μὲν οὖν ὁ ἄδικος ὥσπερ οἱ δεινοὶ δημιουργοὶ ποιείτω — οἷον κυβερνήτης ἄκρος ἢ ἰατρὸς τά τε ἀδύνατα ἐν τῇ τέχνῃ καὶ τὰ δυνατὰ διαισθά[361a]νεται, καὶ τοῖς μὲν ἐπιχειρεῖ, τὰ δὲ ἐᾷ· ἔτι δὲ ἐὰν ἄρα πῃ σφαλῇ, ἱκανὸς ἐπανορθοῦσθαι — οὕτω καὶ ὁ ἄδικος ἐπιχειρῶν ὀρθῶς τοῖς ἀδικήμασιν λανθανέτω, εἰ μέλλει σφόδρα ἄδικος εἶναι. τὸν ἁλισκόμενον δὲ φαῦλον ἡγητέον· ἐσχάτη γὰρ ἀδικία δοκεῖν δίκαιον εἶναι μὴ ὄντα. δοτέον οὖν τῷ τελέως ἀδίκῳ τὴν τελεωτάτην ἀδικίαν, καὶ οὐκ ἀφαιρετέον ἀλλ’ ἐατέον τὰ μέγιστα ἀδικοῦντα τὴν μεγίστην δόξαν αὑτῷ [361b] παρεσκευακέναι εἰς δικαιοσύνην, καὶ ἐὰν ἄρα σφάλληταί τι, ἐπανορθοῦσθαι δυνατῷ εἶναι, λέγειν τε ἱκανῷ ὄντι πρὸς τὸ πείθειν, ἐάν τι μηνύηται τῶν ἀδικημάτων, καὶ βιάσασθαι ὅσα ἂν βίας δέηται, διά τε ἀνδρείαν καὶ ῥώμην καὶ διὰ παρασκευὴν φίλων καὶ οὐσίας. τοῦτον δὲ τοιοῦτον θέντες τὸν δίκαιον αὖ παρ’ αὐτὸν ἱστῶμεν τῷ λόγῳ, ἄνδρα ἁπλοῦν καὶ γενναῖον, κατ’ Αἰσχύλον οὐ δοκεῖν ἀλλ’ εἶναι ἀγαθὸν ἐθέλοντα. ἀφαιρετέον δὴ τὸ δοκεῖν. εἰ γὰρ δόξει δίκαιος [361c] εἶναι, ἔσονται αὐτῷ τιμαὶ καὶ δωρεαὶ δοκοῦντι τοιούτῳ εἶναι· ἄδηλον οὖν εἴτε τοῦ δικαίου εἴτε τῶν δωρεῶν τε καὶ τιμῶν ἕνεκα τοιοῦτος εἴη. γυμνωτέος δὴ πάντων πλὴν δικαιοσύνης καὶ ποιητέος ἐναντίως διακείμενος τῷ προτέρῳ· μηδὲν γὰρ ἀδικῶν δόξαν ἐχέτω τὴν μεγίστην ἀδικίας, ἵνα ᾖ βεβασανισμένος εἰς δικαιοσύνην τῷ μὴ τέγγεσθαι ὑπὸ κακοδοξίας καὶ τῶν ὑπ’ αὐτῆς γιγνομένων, ἀλλὰ ἴτω ἀμετάστατος μέχρι [361d] θανάτου, δοκῶν μὲν εἶναι ἄδικος διὰ βίου, ὢν δὲ δίκαιος, ἵνα ἀμφότεροι εἰς τὸ ἔσχατον ἐληλυθότες, ὁ μὲν δικαιοσύνης, ὁ δὲ ἀδικίας, κρίνωνται ὁπότερος αὐτοῖν εὐδαιμονέστερος.

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

Βαβαῖ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων, ὡς ἐρρωμένως ἑκάτερον ὥσπερ ἀνδριάντα εἰς τὴν κρίσιν ἐκκαθαίρεις τοῖν ἀνδροῖν.

῾Ως μάλιστ’, ἔφη, δύναμαι. ὄντοιν δὲ τοιούτοιν, οὐδὲν ἔτι, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, χαλεπὸν ἐπεξελθεῖν τῷ λόγῳ οἷος ἑκάτερον [361e] βίος ἐπιμένει. λεκτέον οὖν· καὶ δὴ κἂν ἀγροικοτέρως λέγηται, μὴ ἐμὲ οἴου λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἐπαινοῦντας πρὸ δικαιοσύνης ἀδικίαν. ἐροῦσι δὲ τάδε, ὅτι οὕτω διακείμενος ὁ δίκαιος μαστιγώσεται, στρεβλώσεται, δεδή[362a]σεται, ἐκκαυθήσεται τὠφθαλμώ, τελευτῶν πάντα κακὰ παθὼν ἀνασχινδυλευθήσεται καὶ γνώσεται ὅτι οὐκ εἶναι δίκαιον ἀλλὰ δοκεῖν δεῖ ἐθέλειν. τὸ δὲ τοῦ Αἰσχύλου πολὺ ἦν ἄρα ὀρθότερον λέγειν κατὰ τοῦ ἀδίκου. τῷ ὄντι γὰρ φήσουσι τὸν ἄδικον, ἅτε ἐπιτηδεύοντα πρᾶγμα ἀληθείας ἐχόμενον καὶ οὐ πρὸς δόξαν ζῶντα, οὐ δοκεῖν ἄδικον ἀλλ’ εἶναι ἐθέλειν,

βαθεῖαν ἄλοκα διὰ φρενὸς καρπούμενον,

[362b] ἐξ ἧς τὰ κεδνὰ βλαστάνει βουλεύματα,

πρῶτον μὲν ἄρχειν ἐν τῇ πόλει δοκοῦντι δικαίῳ εἶναι, ἔπειτα γαμεῖν ὁπόθεν ἂν βούληται, ἐκδιδόναι εἰς οὓς ἂν βούληται, συμβάλλειν, κοινωνεῖν οἷς ἂν ἐθέλῃ, καὶ παρὰ ταῦτα πάντα ὠφελεῖσθαι κερδαίνοντα τῷ μὴ δυσχεραίνειν τὸ ἀδικεῖν· εἰς ἀγῶνας τοίνυν ἰόντα καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ περιγίγνεσθαι καὶ πλεονεκτεῖν τῶν ἐχθρῶν, πλεονεκτοῦντα δὲ πλουτεῖν καὶ [362c]τούς τε φίλους εὖ ποιεῖν καὶ τοὺς ἐχθροὺς βλάπτειν, καὶ θεοῖς θυσίας καὶ ἀναθήματα ἱκανῶς καὶ μεγαλοπρεπῶς θύειν τε καὶ ἀνατιθέναι, καὶ θεραπεύειν τοῦ δικαίου πολὺ ἄμεινον τοὺς θεοὺς καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων οὓς ἂν βούληται, ὥστε καὶ θεοφιλέστερον αὐτὸν εἶναι μᾶλλον προσήκειν ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων ἢ τὸν δίκαιον. οὕτω φασίν, ὦ Σώκρατες, παρὰ θεῶν καὶ παρ’ ἀνθρώπων τῷ ἀδίκῳ παρεσκευάσθαι τὸν βίον ἄμεινον ἢ τῷ δικαίῳ.

Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

[362d] Ταῦτ’ εἰπόντος τοῦ Γλαύκωνος ἐγὼ μὲν αὖ ἐν νῷ εἶχόν τι λέγειν πρὸς ταῦτα, ὁ δὲ ἀδελφὸς αὐτοῦ ᾿Αδείμαντος, Οὔ τί που οἴει, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαι περὶ τοῦ λόγου;

᾿Αλλὰ τί μήν; εἶπον.

Αὐτό, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐκ εἴρηται ὃ μάλιστα ἔδει ῥηθῆναι.

Οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ λεγόμενον, ἀδελφὸς ἀνδρὶ παρείη· ὥστε καὶ σύ, εἴ τι ὅδε ἐλλείπει, ἐπάμυνε. καίτοι ἐμέ γε ἱκανὰ καὶ τὰ ὑπὸ τούτου ῥηθέντα καταπαλαῖσαι καὶ ἀδύνατον ποιῆσαι βοηθεῖν δικαιοσύνῃ.

Αδείμαντος

[362e] Καὶ ὅς, Οὐδέν, ἔφη, λέγεις· ἀλλ’ ἔτι καὶ τάδε ἄκουε. δεῖ γὰρ διελθεῖν ἡμᾶς καὶ τοὺς ἐναντίους λόγους ὧν ὅδε εἶπεν, οἳ δικαιοσύνην μὲν ἐπαινοῦσιν, ἀδικίαν δὲ ψέγουσιν, ἵν’ ᾖ σαφέστερον ὅ μοι δοκεῖ βούλεσθαι Γλαύκων. λέγουσι δέ που καὶ παρακελεύονται πατέρες τε ὑέσιν, καὶ πάντες οἱ [363a] τινῶν κηδόμενοι, ὡς χρὴ δίκαιον εἶναι, οὐκ αὐτὸ δικαιοσύνην ἐπαινοῦντες ἀλλὰ τὰς ἀπ’ αὐτῆς εὐδοκιμήσεις, ἵνα δοκοῦντι δικαίῳ εἶναι γίγνηται ἀπὸ τῆς δόξης ἀρχαί τε καὶ γάμοι καὶ ὅσαπερ Γλαύκων διῆλθεν ἄρτι, ἀπὸ τοῦ εὐδοκιμεῖν ὄντα τῷ δικαίῳ. ἐπὶ πλέον δὲ οὗτοι τὰ τῶν δοξῶν λέγουσιν. τὰς γὰρ παρὰ θεῶν εὐδοκιμήσεις ἐμβάλλοντες ἄφθονα ἔχουσι λέγειν ἀγαθά, τοῖς ὁσίοις ἅ φασι θεοὺς διδόναι· ὥσπερ ὁ γενναῖος ῾Ησίοδός τε καὶ ῞Ομηρός φασιν, ὁ μὲν τὰς δρῦς [363b] τοῖς δικαίοις τοὺς θεοὺς ποιεῖν ἄκρας μέν τε φέρειν βαλάνους, μέσσας δὲ μελίσσας· εἰροπόκοι δ’ ὄιες, φησίν, μαλλοῖς καταβεβρίθασι, καὶ ἄλλα δὴ πολλὰ ἀγαθὰ τούτων ἐχόμενα. παραπλήσια δὲ καὶ ὁ ἕτερος· ὥς τέ τευ γάρ φησιν

ἢ βασιλῆος ἀμύμονος ὅς τε θεουδὴς

εὐδικίας ἀνέχῃσι, φέρῃσι δὲ γαῖα μέλαινα

[363c] πυροὺς καὶ κριθάς, βρίθῃσι δὲ δένδρεα καρπῷ,

τίκτῃ δ’ ἔμπεδα μῆλα, θάλασσα δὲ παρέχῃ ἰχθῦς.

Μουσαῖος δὲ τούτων νεανικώτερα τἀγαθὰ καὶ ὁ ὑὸς αὐτοῦ παρὰ θεῶν διδόασιν τοῖς δικαίοις· εἰς ῞Αιδου γὰρ ἀγαγόντες τῷ λόγῳ καὶ κατακλίναντες καὶ συμπόσιον τῶν ὁσίων κατασκευάσαντες ἐστεφανωμένους ποιοῦσιν τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον [363d] ἤδη διάγειν μεθύοντας, ἡγησάμενοι κάλλιστον ἀρετῆς μισθὸν μέθην αἰώνιον. οἱ δ’ ἔτι τούτων μακροτέρους ἀποτείνουσιν μισθοὺς παρὰ θεῶν· παῖδας γὰρ παίδων φασὶ καὶ γένος κατόπισθεν λείπεσθαι τοῦ ὁσίου καὶ εὐόρκου. ταῦτα δὴ καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα ἐγκωμιάζουσιν δικαιοσύνην· τοὺς δὲ ἀνοσίους αὖ καὶ ἀδίκους εἰς πηλόν τινα κατορύττουσιν ἐν ῞Αιδου καὶ κοσκίνῳ ὕδωρ ἀναγκάζουσι φέρειν, ἔτι τε ζῶντας [363e] εἰς κακὰς δόξας ἄγοντες, ἅπερ Γλαύκων περὶ τῶν δικαίων δοξαζομένων δὲ ἀδίκων διῆλθε τιμωρήματα, ταῦτα περὶ τῶν ἀδίκων λέγουσιν, ἄλλα δὲ οὐκ ἔχουσιν. ὁ μὲν οὖν ἔπαινος καὶ ὁ ψόγος οὗτος ἑκατέρων.

Πρὸς δὲ τούτοις σκέψαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄλλο αὖ εἶδος λόγων περὶ δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ ἀδικίας ἰδίᾳ τε λεγόμενον [364a] καὶ ὑπὸ ποιητῶν. πάντες γὰρ ἐξ ἑνὸς στόματος ὑμνοῦσιν ὡς καλὸν μὲν ἡ σωφροσύνη τε καὶ δικαιοσύνη, χαλεπὸν μέντοι καὶ ἐπίπονον, ἀκολασία δὲ καὶ ἀδικία ἡδὺ μὲν καὶ εὐπετὲς κτήσασθαι, δόξῃ δὲ μόνον καὶ νόμῳ αἰσχρόν· λυσιτελέστερα δὲ τῶν δικαίων τὰ ἄδικα ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλῆθος λέγουσι, καὶ πονηροὺς πλουσίους καὶ ἄλλας δυνάμεις ἔχοντας εὐδαιμονίζειν καὶ τιμᾶν εὐχερῶς ἐθέλουσιν δημοσίᾳ τε καὶ ἰδίᾳ, τοὺς δὲ ἀτιμάζειν καὶ ὑπερορᾶν, οἳ ἄν πῃ ἀσθενεῖς τε [364b] καὶ πένητες ὦσιν, ὁμολογοῦντες αὐτοὺς ἀμείνους εἶναι τῶν ἑτέρων. τούτων δὲ πάντων οἱ περὶ θεῶν τε λόγοι καὶ ἀρετῆς θαυμασιώτατοι λέγονται, ὡς ἄρα καὶ θεοὶ πολλοῖς μὲν ἀγαθοῖς δυστυχίας τε καὶ βίον κακὸν ἔνειμαν, τοῖς δ’ ἐναντίοις ἐναντίαν μοῖραν. ἀγύρται δὲ καὶ μάντεις ἐπὶ πλουσίων θύρας ἰόντες πείθουσιν ὡς ἔστι παρὰ σφίσι δύναμις ἐκ θεῶν ποριζομένη θυσίαις τε καὶ ἐπῳδαῖς, εἴτε τι [364c] ἀδίκημά του γέγονεν αὐτοῦ ἢ προγόνων, ἀκεῖσθαι μεθ’ ἡδονῶν τε καὶ ἑορτῶν, ἐάν τέ τινα ἐχθρὸν πημῆναι ἐθέλῃ, μετὰ σμικρῶν δαπανῶν ὁμοίως δίκαιον ἀδίκῳ βλάψει ἐπαγωγαῖς τισιν καὶ καταδέσμοις, τοὺς θεούς, ὥς φασιν, πείθοντές σφισιν ὑπηρετεῖν. τούτοις δὲ πᾶσιν τοῖς λόγοις μάρτυρας ποιητὰς ἐπάγονται οἱ μὲν κακίας πέρι, εὐπετείας διδόντες, ὡς

τὴν μὲν κακότητα καὶ ἰλαδὸν ἔστιν ἑλέσθαι

[364d] ῥηϊδίως· λείη μὲν ὁδός, μάλα δ’ ἐγγύθι ναίει·

τῆς δ’ ἀρετῆς ἱδρῶτα θεοὶ προπάροιθεν ἔθηκαν

καί τινα ὁδὸν μακράν τε καὶ τραχεῖαν καὶ ἀνάντη· οἱ δὲ τῆς τῶν θεῶν ὑπ’ ἀνθρώπων παραγωγῆς τὸν ῞Ομηρον μαρτύρονται, ὅτι καὶ ἐκεῖνος εἶπεν —

λιστοὶ δέ τε καὶ θεοὶ αὐτοί,

καὶ τοὺς μὲν θυσίαισι καὶ εὐχωλαῖς ἀγαναῖσιν

[364e] λοιβῇ τε κνίσῃ τε παρατρωπῶσ’ ἄνθρωποι

λισσόμενοι, ὅτε κέν τις ὑπερβήῃ καὶ ἁμάρτῃ.

βίβλων δὲ ὅμαδον παρέχονται Μουσαίου καὶ ᾿Ορφέως, Σελήνης τε καὶ Μουσῶν ἐκγόνων, ὥς φασι, καθ’ ἃς θυηπολοῦσιν, πείθοντες οὐ μόνον ἰδιώτας ἀλλὰ καὶ πόλεις, ὡς ἄρα λύσεις τε καὶ καθαρμοὶ ἀδικημάτων διὰ θυσιῶν καὶ [365a] παιδιᾶς ἡδονῶν εἰσι μὲν ἔτι ζῶσιν, εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ τελευτήσασιν, ἃς δὴ τελετὰς καλοῦσιν, αἳ τῶν ἐκεῖ κακῶν ἀπολύουσιν ἡμᾶς, μὴ θύσαντας δὲ δεινὰ περιμένει.

Ταῦτα πάντα, ἔφη, ὦ φίλε Σώκρατες, τοιαῦτα καὶ τοσαῦτα λεγόμενα ἀρετῆς πέρι καὶ κακίας, ὡς ἄνθρωποι καὶ θεοὶ περὶ αὐτὰ ἔχουσι τιμῆς, τί οἰόμεθα ἀκουούσας νέων ψυχὰς ποιεῖν, ὅσοι εὐφυεῖς καὶ ἱκανοὶ ἐπὶ πάντα τὰ λεγόμενα ὥσπερ ἐπιπτόμενοι συλλογίσασθαι ἐξ αὐτῶν ποῖός τις ἂν [365b] ὢν καὶ πῇ πορευθεὶς τὸν βίον ὡς ἄριστα διέλθοι; λέγοι γὰρ ἂν ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων πρὸς αὑτὸν κατὰ Πίνδαρον ἐκεῖνο τὸ Πότερον δίκᾳ τεῖχος ὕψιον ἢ σκολιαῖς ἀπάταις ἀναβὰς καὶ ἐμαυτὸν οὕτω περιφράξας διαβιῶ; τὰ μὲν γὰρ λεγόμενα δικαίῳ μὲν ὄντι μοι, ἐὰν μὴ καὶ δοκῶ ὄφελος οὐδέν φασιν εἶναι, πόνους δὲ καὶ ζημίας φανεράς· ἀδίκῳ δὲ δόξαν δικαιοσύνης παρεσκευασμένῳ θεσπέσιος βίος λέγεται. [365c] οὐκοῦν, ἐπειδὴ τὸ δοκεῖν, ὡς δηλοῦσί μοι οἱ σοφοί, καὶ τὰν ἀλάθειαν βιᾶται καὶ κύριον εὐδαιμονίας, ἐπὶ τοῦτο δὴ τρεπτέον ὅλως· πρόθυρα μὲν καὶ σχῆμα κύκλῳ περὶ ἐμαυτὸν σκιαγραφίαν ἀρετῆς περιγραπτέον, τὴν δὲ τοῦ σοφωτάτου ᾿Αρχιλόχου ἀλώπεκα ἑλκτέον ἐξόπισθεν κερδαλέαν καὶ ποικίλην. “᾿Αλλὰ γάρ, φησί τις, οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἀεὶ λανθάνειν κακὸν ὄντα.” Οὐδὲ γὰρ ἄλλο οὐδὲν εὐπετές, [365d] φήσομεν, τῶν μεγάλων· ἀλλ’ ὅμως, εἰ μέλλομεν εὐδαιμονήσειν, ταύτῃ ἰτέον, ὡς τὰ ἴχνη τῶν λόγων φέρει. ἐπὶ γὰρ τὸ λανθάνειν συνωμοσίας τε καὶ ἑταιρίας συνάξομεν, εἰσίν τε πειθοῦς διδάσκαλοι σοφίαν δημηγορικήν τε καὶ δικανικὴν διδόντες, ἐξ ὧν τὰ μὲν πείσομεν, τὰ δὲ βιασόμεθα, ὡς πλεονεκτοῦντες δίκην μὴ διδόναι. “᾿Αλλὰ δὴ θεοὺς οὔτε λανθάνειν οὔτε βιάσασθαι δυνατόν.” Οὐκοῦν, εἰ μὲν μὴ εἰσὶν ἢ μηδὲν αὐτοῖς τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων μέλει, τί καὶ ἡμῖν [365e] μελητέον τοῦ λανθάνειν; εἰ δὲ εἰσί τε καὶ ἐπιμελοῦνται, οὐκ ἄλλοθέν τοι αὐτοὺς ἴσμεν ἢ ἀκηκόαμεν ἢ ἔκ τε τῶν νόμων καὶ τῶν γενεαλογησάντων ποιητῶν, οἱ δὲ αὐτοὶ οὗτοι λέγουσιν ὡς εἰσὶν οἷοι θυσίαις τε καὶ εὐχωλαῖς ἀγανῇσιν καὶ ἀναθήμασιν παράγεσθαι ἀναπειθόμενοι, οἷς ἢ ἀμφότερα ἢ οὐδέτερα πειστέον. εἰ δ’ οὖν πειστέον, ἀδικητέον καὶ θυτέον [366a] ἀπὸ τῶν ἀδικημάτων. δίκαιοι μὲν γὰρ ὄντες ἀζήμιοι μόνον ὑπὸ θεῶν ἐσόμεθα, τὰ δ’ ἐξ ἀδικίας κέρδη ἀπωσόμεθα· ἄδικοι δὲ κερδανοῦμέν τε καὶ λισσόμενοι ὑπερβαίνοντες καὶ ἁμαρτάνοντες, πείθοντες αὐτοὺς ἀζήμιοι ἀπαλλάξομεν. “᾿Αλλὰ γὰρ ἐν ῞Αιδου δίκην δώσομεν ὧν ἂν ἐνθάδε ἀδικήσωμεν, ἢ αὐτοὶ ἢ παῖδες παίδων.” ᾿Αλλ’, ὦ φίλε, φήσει λογιζόμενος, αἱ τελεταὶ αὖ μέγα δύνανται καὶ οἱ λύσιοι θεοί, ὡς αἱ [366b] μέγισται πόλεις λέγουσι καὶ οἱ θεῶν παῖδες ποιηταὶ καὶ προφῆται τῶν θεῶν γενόμενοι, οἳ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν μηνύουσιν.

Κατὰ τίνα οὖν ἔτι λόγον δικαιοσύνην ἂν πρὸ μεγίστης ἀδικίας αἱροίμεθ’ ἄν, ἣν ἐὰν μετ’ εὐσχημοσύνης κιβδήλου κτησώμεθα, καὶ παρὰ θεοῖς καὶ παρ’ ἀνθρώποις πράξομεν κατὰ νοῦν ζῶντές τε καὶ τελευτήσαντες, ὡς ὁ τῶν πολλῶν τε καὶ ἄκρων λεγόμενος λόγος; ἐκ δὴ πάντων τῶν εἰρη[366c]μένων τίς μηχανή, ὦ Σώκρατες, δικαιοσύνην τιμᾶν ἐθέλειν ᾧ τις δύναμις ὑπάρχει ψυχῆς ἢ χρημάτων ἢ σώματος ἢ γένους, ἀλλὰ μὴ γελᾶν ἐπαινουμένης ἀκούοντα; ὡς δή τοι εἴ τις ἔχει ψευδῆ μὲν ἀποφῆναι ἃ εἰρήκαμεν, ἱκανῶς δὲ ἔγνωκεν ὅτι ἄριστον δικαιοσύνη, πολλήν που συγγνώμην ἔχει καὶ οὐκ ὀργίζεται τοῖς ἀδίκοις, ἀλλ’ οἶδεν ὅτι πλὴν εἴ τις θείᾳ φύσει δυσχεραίνων τὸ ἀδικεῖν ἢ ἐπιστήμην λαβὼν [366d] ἀπέχεται αὐτοῦ, τῶν γε ἄλλων οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν δίκαιος, ἀλλ’ ὑπὸ ἀνανδρίας ἢ γήρως ἤ τινος ἄλλης ἀσθενείας ψέγει τὸ ἀδικεῖν, ἀδυνατῶν αὐτὸ δρᾶν. ὡς δέ, δῆλον· ὁ γὰρ πρῶτος τῶν τοιούτων εἰς δύναμιν ἐλθὼν πρῶτος ἀδικεῖ, καθ’ ὅσον ἂν οἷός τ’ ᾖ. καὶ τούτων ἁπάντων οὐδὲν ἄλλο αἴτιον ἢ ἐκεῖνο, ὅθενπερ ἅπας ὁ λόγος οὗτος ὥρμησεν καὶ τῷδε καὶ ἐμοὶ πρὸς σέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰπεῖν, ὅτι “῏Ω θαυμάσιε, πάντων [366e] ὑμῶν, ὅσοι ἐπαινέται φατὲ δικαιοσύνης εἶναι, ἀπὸ τῶν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἡρώων ἀρξάμενοι, ὅσων λόγοι λελειμμένοι, μέχρι τῶν νῦν ἀνθρώπων οὐδεὶς πώποτε ἔψεξεν ἀδικίαν οὐδ’ ἐπῄνεσεν δικαιοσύνην ἄλλως ἢ δόξας τε καὶ τιμὰς καὶ δωρεὰς τὰς ἀπ’ αὐτῶν γιγνομένας· αὐτὸ δ’ ἑκάτερον τῇ αὑτοῦ δυνάμει τί δρᾷ, τῇ τοῦ ἔχοντος ψυχῇ ἐνόν, καὶ λανθάνον θεούς τε καὶ ἀνθρώπους, οὐδεὶς πώποτε οὔτ’ ἐν ποιήσει οὔτ’ ἐν ἰδίοις λόγοις ἐπεξῆλθεν ἱκανῶς τῷ λόγῳ ὡς τὸ μὲν μέγιστον κακῶν ὅσα ἴσχει ψυχὴ ἐν αὑτῇ, δικαιοσύνη δὲ μέγιστον ἀγαθόν. [367a] εἰ γὰρ οὕτως ἐλέγετο ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὑπὸ πάντων ὑμῶν καὶ ἐκ νέων ἡμᾶς ἐπείθετε, οὐκ ἂν ἀλλήλους ἐφυλάττομεν μὴ ἀδικεῖν, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ ἦν ἕκαστος ἄριστος φύλαξ, δεδιὼς μὴ ἀδικῶν τῷ μεγίστῳ κακῷ σύνοικος ᾖ.”

Ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἴσως δὲ καὶ ἔτι τούτων πλείω Θρασύμαχός τε καὶ ἄλλος πού τις ὑπὲρ δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ ἀδικίας λέγοιεν ἄν, μεταστρέφοντες αὐτοῖν τὴν δύναμιν φορτικῶς, ὥς γέ μοι δοκεῖ. ἀλλ’ ἐγώ, οὐδὲν γάρ σε [367b] δέομαι ἀποκρύπτεσθαι, σοῦ ἐπιθυμῶν ἀκοῦσαι τἀναντία, ὡς δύναμαι μάλιστα κατατείνας λέγω. μὴ οὖν ἡμῖν μόνον ἐνδείξῃ τῷ λόγῳ ὅτι δικαιοσύνη ἀδικίας κρεῖττον, ἀλλὰ τί ποιοῦσα ἑκατέρα τὸν ἔχοντα αὐτὴ δι’ αὑτὴν ἡ μὲν κακόν, ἡ δὲ ἀγαθόν ἐστιν· τὰς δὲ δόξας ἀφαίρει, ὥσπερ Γλαύκων διεκελεύσατο. εἰ γὰρ μὴ ἀφαιρήσεις ἑκατέρωθεν τὰς ἀληθεῖς, τὰς δὲ ψευδεῖς προσθήσεις, οὐ τὸ δίκαιον φήσομεν ἐπαινεῖν σε ἀλλὰ τὸ δοκεῖν, οὐδὲ τὸ ἄδικον εἶναι [367c] ψέγειν ἀλλὰ τὸ δοκεῖν, καὶ παρακελεύεσθαι ἄδικον ὄντα λανθάνειν, καὶ ὁμολογεῖν Θρασυμάχῳ ὅτι τὸ μὲν δίκαιον ἀλλότριον ἀγαθόν, συμφέρον τοῦ κρείττονος, τὸ δὲ ἄδικον αὑτῷ μὲν συμφέρον καὶ λυσιτελοῦν, τῷ δὲ ἥττονι ἀσύμφορον. ἐπειδὴ οὖν ὡμολόγησας τῶν μεγίστων ἀγαθῶν εἶναι δικαιοσύνην, ἃ τῶν τε ἀποβαινόντων ἀπ’ αὐτῶν ἕνεκα ἄξια κεκτῆσθαι, πολὺ δὲ μᾶλλον αὐτὰ αὑτῶν, οἷον ὁρᾶν, [367d] ἀκούειν, φρονεῖν, καὶ ὑγιαίνειν δή, καὶ ὅσ’ ἄλλα ἀγαθὰ γόνιμα τῇ αὑτῶν φύσει ἀλλ’ οὐ δόξῃ ἐστίν, τοῦτ’ οὖν αὐτὸ ἐπαίνεσον δικαιοσύνης, ὃ αὐτὴ δι’ αὑτὴν τὸν ἔχοντα ὀνίνησιν καὶ ἀδικία βλάπτει, μισθοὺς δὲ καὶ δόξας πάρες ἄλλοις ἐπαινεῖν· ὡς ἐγὼ τῶν μὲν ἄλλων ἀποδεχοίμην ἂν οὕτως ἐπαινούντων δικαιοσύνην καὶ ψεγόντων ἀδικίαν, δόξας τε περὶ αὐτῶν καὶ μισθοὺς ἐγκωμιαζόντων καὶ λοιδορούντων, σοῦ δὲ οὐκ ἄν, εἰ μὴ σὺ κελεύοις, διότι πάντα τὸν βίον [367e] οὐδὲν ἄλλο σκοπῶν διελήλυθας ἢ τοῦτο. μὴ οὖν ἡμῖν ἐνδείξῃ μόνον τῷ λόγῳ ὅτι δικαιοσύνη ἀδικίας κρεῖττον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τί ποιοῦσα ἑκατέρα τὸν ἔχοντα αὐτὴ δι’ αὑτήν, ἐάντε λανθάνῃ ἐάντε μὴ θεούς τε καὶ ἀνθρώπους, ἡ μὲν ἀγαθόν, ἡ δὲ κακόν ἐστι.

Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

Καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας, ἀεὶ μὲν δὴ τὴν φύσιν τοῦ τε Γλαύκωνος καὶ τοῦ ᾿Αδειμάντου ἠγάμην, ἀτὰρ οὖν καὶ τότε πάνυ γε [368a] ἥσθην καὶ εἶπον· Οὐ κακῶς εἰς ὑμᾶς, ὦ παῖδες ἐκείνου τοῦ ἀνδρός, τὴν ἀρχὴν τῶν ἐλεγείων ἐποίησεν ὁ Γλαύκωνος ἐραστής, εὐδοκιμήσαντας περὶ τὴν Μεγαροῖ μάχην, εἰπών —

παῖδες ᾿Αρίστωνος, κλεινοῦ θεῖον γένος ἀνδρός·

τοῦτό μοι, ὦ φίλοι, εὖ δοκεῖ ἔχειν· πάνυ γὰρ θεῖον πεπόντοῦτό μοι, ὦ φίλοι, εὖ δοκεῖ ἔχειν· πάνυ γὰρ θεῖον πεπόνθατε, εἰ μὴ πέπεισθε ἀδικίαν δικαιοσύνης ἄμεινον εἶναι, οὕτω δυνάμενοι εἰπεῖν ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ. δοκεῖτε δή μοι ὡς [368b] ἀληθῶς οὐ πεπεῖσθαι — τεκμαίρομαι δὲ ἐκ τοῦ ἄλλου τοῦ ὑμετέρου τρόπου, ἐπεὶ κατά γε αὐτοὺς τοὺς λόγους ἠπίστουν ἂν ὑμῖν — ὅσῳ δὲ μᾶλλον πιστεύω, τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον ἀπορῶ ὅτι χρήσωμαι. οὔτε γὰρ ὅπως βοηθῶ ἔχω· δοκῶ γάρ μοι ἀδύνατος εἶναι — σημεῖον δέ μοι, ὅτι ἃ πρὸς Θρασύμαχον λέγων ᾤμην ἀποφαίνειν ὡς ἄμεινον δικαιοσύνη ἀδικίας, οὐκ ἀπεδέξασθέ μου — οὔτ’ αὖ ὅπως μὴ βοηθήσω ἔχω· δέδοικα γὰρ μὴ οὐδ’ ὅσιον ᾖ παραγενόμενον δικαιοσύνῃ κακηγορου[368c]μένῃ ἀπαγορεύειν καὶ μὴ βοηθεῖν ἔτι ἐμπνέοντα καὶ δυνάμενον φθέγγεσθαι. κράτιστον οὖν οὕτως ὅπως δύναμαι ἐπικουρεῖν αὐτῇ.

῞Ο τε οὖν Γλαύκων καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἐδέοντο παντὶ τρόπῳ βοηθῆσαι καὶ μὴ ἀνεῖναι τὸν λόγον, ἀλλὰ διερευνήσασθαι τί τέ ἐστιν ἑκάτερον καὶ περὶ τῆς ὠφελίας αὐτοῖν τἀληθὲς ποτέρως ἔχει. εἶπον οὖν ὅπερ ἐμοὶ ἔδοξεν, ὅτι Τὸ ζήτημα ᾧ ἐπιχειροῦμεν οὐ φαῦλον ἀλλ’ ὀξὺ βλέποντος, ὡς ἐμοὶ [368d] φαίνεται. ἐπειδὴ οὖν ἡμεῖς οὐ δεινοί, δοκῶ μοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τοιαύτην ποιήσασθαι ζήτησιν αὐτοῦ, οἵανπερ ἂν εἰ προσέταξέ τις γράμματα σμικρὰ πόρρωθεν ἀναγνῶναι μὴ πάνυ ὀξὺ βλέπουσιν, ἔπειτά τις ἐνενόησεν, ὅτι τὰ αὐτὰ γράμματα ἔστι που καὶ ἄλλοθι μείζω τε καὶ ἐν μείζονι, ἕρμαιον ἂν ἐφάνη οἶμαι ἐκεῖνα πρῶτον ἀναγνόντας οὕτως ἐπισκοπεῖν τὰ ἐλάττω, εἰ τὰ αὐτὰ ὄντα τυγχάνει.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη ὁ ᾿Αδείμαντος· ἀλλὰ τί τοιοῦτον, ὦ [368e] Σώκρατες, ἐν τῇ περὶ τὸ δίκαιον ζητήσει καθορᾷς;

᾿Εγώ σοι, ἔφην, ἐρῶ. δικαιοσύνη, φαμέν, ἔστι μὲν ἀνδρὸς ἑνός, ἔστι δέ που καὶ ὅλης πόλεως;

Πάνυ γε, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Οὐκοῦν μεῖζον πόλις ἑνὸς ἀνδρός;

Μεῖζον, ἔφη.

῎Ισως τοίνυν πλείων ἂν δικαιοσύνη ἐν τῷ μείζονι ἐνείη καὶ ῥᾴων καταμαθεῖν. εἰ οὖν βούλεσθε, πρῶτον ἐν ταῖς [369a] πόλεσι ζητήσωμεν ποῖόν τί ἐστιν· ἔπειτα οὕτως ἐπισκεψώμεθα καὶ ἐν ἑνὶ ἑκάστῳ, τὴν τοῦ μείζονος ὁμοιότητα ἐν τῇ τοῦ ἐλάττονος ἰδέᾳ ἐπισκοποῦντες.

᾿Αλλά μοι δοκεῖς, ἔφη, καλῶς λέγειν.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εἰ γιγνομένην πόλιν θεασαίμεθα λόγῳ, καὶ τὴν δικαιοσύνην αὐτῆς ἴδοιμεν ἂν γιγνομένην καὶ τὴν ἀδικίαν;

Τάχ’ ἄν, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Οὐκοῦν γενομένου αὐτοῦ ἐλπὶς εὐπετέστερον ἰδεῖν ὃ ζητοῦμεν;

[369b] Πολύ γε.

Δοκεῖ οὖν χρῆναι ἐπιχειρῆσαι περαίνειν; οἶμαι μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ὀλίγον ἔργον αὐτὸ εἶναι· σκοπεῖτε οὖν.

῎Εσκεπται, ἔφη ὁ ᾿Αδείμαντος· ἀλλὰ μὴ ἄλλως ποίει.

Γίγνεται τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πόλις, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἐπειδὴ τυγχάνει ἡμῶν ἕκαστος οὐκ αὐτάρκης, ἀλλὰ πολλῶν <ὢν> ἐνδεής· ἢ τίν’ οἴει ἀρχὴν ἄλλην πόλιν οἰκίζειν;

Οὐδεμίαν, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

[369c] Οὕτω δὴ ἄρα παραλαμβάνων ἄλλος ἄλλον, ἐπ’ ἄλλου, τὸν δ’ ἐπ’ ἄλλου χρείᾳ, πολλῶν δεόμενοι, πολλοὺς εἰς μίαν οἴκησιν ἀγείραντες κοινωνούς τε καὶ βοηθούς, ταύτῃ τῇ συνοικίᾳ ἐθέμεθα πόλιν ὄνομα· ἦ γάρ;

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Μεταδίδωσι δὴ ἄλλος ἄλλῳ, εἴ τι μεταδίδωσιν, ἢ μεταλαμβάνει, οἰόμενος αὑτῷ ἄμεινον εἶναι;

Πάνυ γε.

῎Ιθι δή, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τῷ λόγῳ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ποιῶμεν πόλιν· ποιήσει δὲ αὐτήν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡ ἡμετέρα χρεία.

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

[369d] ᾿Αλλὰ μὴν πρώτη γε καὶ μεγίστη τῶν χρειῶν ἡ τῆς τροφῆς παρασκευὴ τοῦ εἶναί τε καὶ ζῆν ἕνεκα.

Παντάπασί γε.

Δευτέρα δὴ οἰκήσεως, τρίτη δὲ ἐσθῆτος καὶ τῶν τοιούτων.

῎Εστι ταῦτα.

Φέρε δή, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πῶς ἡ πόλις ἀρκέσει ἐπὶ τοσαύτην παρασκευήν; ἄλλο τι γεωργὸς μὲν εἷς, ὁ δὲ οἰκοδόμος, ἄλλος δέ τις ὑφάντης; ἢ καὶ σκυτοτόμον αὐτόσε προσθήσομεν ἤ τιν’ ἄλλον τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα θεραπευτήν;

Πάνυ γε.

Εἴη δ’ ἂν ἥ γε ἀναγκαιοτάτη πόλις ἐκ τεττάρων ἢ πέντε ἀνδρῶν.

[369e] Φαίνεται.

Τί δὴ οὖν; ἕνα ἕκαστον τούτων δεῖ τὸ αὑτοῦ ἔργον ἅπασι κοινὸν κατατιθέναι, οἷον τὸν γεωργὸν ἕνα ὄντα παρασκευάζειν σιτία τέτταρσιν καὶ τετραπλάσιον χρόνον τε καὶ πόνον ἀναλίσκειν ἐπὶ σίτου παρασκευῇ καὶ ἄλλοις κοινωνεῖν, ἢ ἀμελήσαντα ἑαυτῷ μόνον τέταρτον μέρος ποιεῖν τούτου τοῦ [370a] σίτου ἐν τετάρτῳ μέρει τοῦ χρόνου, τὰ δὲ τρία, τὸ μὲν ἐπὶ τῇ τῆς οἰκίας παρασκευῇ διατρίβειν, τὸ δὲ ἱματίου, τὸ δὲ ὑποδημάτων, καὶ μὴ ἄλλοις κοινωνοῦντα πράγματα ἔχειν, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸν δι’ αὑτὸν τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν;

Καὶ ὁ ᾿Αδείμαντος ἔφη· ᾿Αλλ’ ἴσως, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτω ῥᾷον ἢ ‘κείνως.

Οὐδέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μὰ Δία ἄτοπον. ἐννοῶ γὰρ καὶ αὐτὸς εἰπόντος σοῦ, ὅτι πρῶτον μὲν ἡμῶν φύεται ἕκαστος οὐ πάνυ [370b] ὅμοιος ἑκάστῳ, ἀλλὰ διαφέρων τὴν φύσιν, ἄλλος ἐπ’ ἄλλου ἔργου πράξει. ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι;

῎Εμοιγε.

Τί δέ; πότερον κάλλιον πράττοι ἄν τις εἷς ὢν πολλὰς τέχνας ἐργαζόμενος, ἢ ὅταν μίαν εἷς;

῞Οταν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, εἷς μίαν.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν οἶμαι καὶ τόδε δῆλον, ὡς, ἐάν τίς τινος παρῇ ἔργου καιρόν, διόλλυται.

Δῆλον γάρ.

Οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι ἐθέλει τὸ πραττόμενον τὴν τοῦ πράττοντος σχολὴν περιμένειν, ἀλλ’ ἀνάγκη τὸν πράττοντα τῷ πρατ[370c]τομένῳ ἐπακολουθεῖν μὴ ἐν παρέργου μέρει.

᾿Ανάγκη.

᾿Εκ δὴ τούτων πλείω τε ἕκαστα γίγνεται καὶ κάλλιον καὶ ῥᾷον, ὅταν εἷς ἓν κατὰ φύσιν καὶ ἐν καιρῷ, σχολὴν τῶν ἄλλων ἄγων, πράττῃ.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Πλειόνων δή, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε, δεῖ πολιτῶν ἢ τεττάρων ἐπὶ τὰς παρασκευὰς ὧν ἐλέγομεν. ὁ γὰρ γεωργός, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐκ αὐτὸς ποιήσεται ἑαυτῷ τὸ ἄροτρον, εἰ μέλλει καλὸν εἶναι, [370d] οὐδὲ σμινύην, οὐδὲ τἆλλα ὄργανα ὅσα περὶ γεωργίαν. οὐδ’ αὖ ὁ οἰκοδόμος· πολλῶν δὲ καὶ τούτῳ δεῖ. ὡσαύτως δ’ ὁ ὑφάντης τε καὶ ὁ σκυτοτόμος· ἢ οὔ;

᾿Αληθῆ.

Τέκτονες δὴ καὶ χαλκῆς καὶ τοιοῦτοί τινες πολλοὶ δημιουργοί, κοινωνοὶ ἡμῖν τοῦ πολιχνίου γιγνόμενοι, συχνὸν αὐτὸ ποιοῦσιν.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

᾿Αλλ’ οὐκ ἄν πω πάνυ γε μέγα τι εἴη, εἰ αὐτοῖς βουκόλους τε καὶ ποιμένας τούς τε ἄλλους νομέας προσθεῖμεν, ἵνα οἵ τε [370e] γεωργοὶ ἐπὶ τὸ ἀροῦν ἔχοιεν βοῦς, οἵ τε οἰκοδόμοι πρὸς τὰς ἀγωγὰς μετὰ τῶν γεωργῶν χρῆσθαι ὑποζυγίοις, ὑφάνται δὲ καὶ σκυτοτόμοι δέρμασίν τε καὶ ἐρίοις.

Οὐδέ γε, ἦ δ’ ὅς, σμικρὰ πόλις ἂν εἴη ἔχουσα πάντα ταῦτα.

᾿Αλλὰ μήν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, κατοικίσαι γε αὐτὴν τὴν πόλιν εἰς τοιοῦτον τόπον οὗ ἐπεισαγωγίμων μὴ δεήσεται, σχεδόν τι ἀδύνατον.

᾿Αδύνατον γάρ.

Προσδεήσει ἄρα ἔτι καὶ ἄλλων, οἳ ἐξ ἄλλης πόλεως αὐτῇ κομιοῦσιν ὧν δεῖται.

Δεήσει.

Καὶ μὴν κενὸς ἂν ἴῃ ὁ διάκονος, μηδὲν ἄγων ὧν ἐκεῖνοι [371a] δέονται παρ’ ὧν ἂν κομίζωνται ὧν ἂν αὐτοῖς χρεία, κενὸς ἄπεισιν. ἦ γάρ;

Δοκεῖ μοι.

Δεῖ δὴ τὰ οἴκοι μὴ μόνον ἑαυτοῖς ποιεῖν ἱκανά, ἀλλὰ καὶ οἷα καὶ ὅσα ἐκείνοις ὧν ἂν δέωνται.

Δεῖ γάρ.

Πλειόνων δὴ γεωργῶν τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων δημιουργῶν δεῖ ἡμῖν τῇ πόλει.

Πλειόνων γάρ.

Καὶ δὴ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων διακόνων που τῶν τε εἰσαξόντων καὶ ἐξαξόντων ἕκαστα. οὗτοι δέ εἰσιν ἔμποροι· ἦ γάρ;

Ναί.

Καὶ ἐμπόρων δὴ δεησόμεθα.

Πάνυ γε

Καὶ ἐὰν μέν γε κατὰ θάλατταν ἡ ἐμπορία γίγνηται, συχνῶν [371b] καὶ ἄλλων προσδεήσεται τῶν ἐπιστημόνων τῆς περὶ τὴν θάλατταν ἐργασίας.

Συχνῶν μέντοι.

Τί δὲ δή; ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ πόλει πῶς ἀλλήλοις μεταδώσουσιν ὧν ἂν ἕκαστοι ἐργάζωνται; ὧν δὴ ἕνεκα καὶ κοινωνίαν ποιησάμενοι πόλιν ᾠκίσαμεν.

Δῆλον δή, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ὅτι πωλοῦντες καὶ ὠνούμενοι.

᾿Αγορὰ δὴ ἡμῖν καὶ νόμισμα σύμβολον τῆς ἀλλαγῆς ἕνεκα γενήσεται ἐκ τούτου.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

[371c] ῍Αν οὖν κομίσας ὁ γεωργὸς εἰς τὴν ἀγοράν τι ὧν ποιεῖ, ἤ τις ἄλλος τῶν δημιουργῶν, μὴ εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν χρόνον ἥκῃ τοῖς δεομένοις τὰ παρ’ αὐτοῦ ἀλλάξασθαι, ἀργήσει τῆς αὑτοῦ δημιουργίας καθήμενος ἐν ἀγορᾷ;

Οὐδαμῶς, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἀλλὰ εἰσὶν οἳ τοῦτο ὁρῶντες ἑαυτοὺς ἐπὶ τὴν διακονίαν τάττουσιν ταύτην, ἐν μὲν ταῖς ὀρθῶς οἰκουμέναις πόλεσι σχεδόν τι οἱ ἀσθενέστατοι τὰ σώματα καὶ ἀχρεῖοί τι ἄλλο ἔργον πράττειν. αὐτοῦ γὰρ δεῖ μένοντας [371d] αὐτοὺς περὶ τὴν ἀγορὰν τὰ μὲν ἀντ’ ἀργυρίου ἀλλάξασθαι τοῖς τι δεομένοις ἀποδόσθαι, τοῖς δὲ ἀντὶ αὖ ἀργυρίου διαλλάττειν ὅσοι τι δέονται πρίασθαι.

Αὕτη ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἡ χρεία καπήλων ἡμῖν γένεσιν ἐμποιεῖ τῇ πόλει. ἢ οὐ καπήλους καλοῦμεν τοὺς πρὸς ὠνήν τε καὶ πρᾶσιν διακονοῦντας ἱδρυμένους ἐν ἀγορᾷ, τοὺς δὲ πλανήτας ἐπὶ τὰς πόλεις ἐμπόρους;

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

[371e] ῎Ετι δή τινες, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, εἰσὶ καὶ ἄλλοι διάκονοι, οἳ ἂν τὰ μὲν τῆς διανοίας μὴ πάνυ ἀξιοκοινώνητοι ὦσιν, τὴν δὲ τοῦ σώματος ἰσχὺν ἱκανὴν ἐπὶ τοὺς πόνους ἔχωσιν· οἳ δὴ πωλοῦντες τὴν τῆς ἰσχύος χρείαν, τὴν τιμὴν ταύτην μισθὸν καλοῦντες, κέκληνται, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, μισθωτοί· ἦ γάρ;

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Πλήρωμα δὴ πόλεώς εἰσιν, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ μισθωτοί.

Δοκεῖ μοι.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε, ἤδη ἡμῖν ηὔξηται ἡ πόλις, ὥστ’ εἶναι τελέα;

῎Ισως.

Ποῦ οὖν ἄν ποτε ἐν αὐτῇ εἴη ἥ τε δικαιοσύνη καὶ ἡ ἀδικία; καὶ τίνι ἅμα ἐγγενομένη ὧν ἐσκέμμεθα;

[372a] ᾿Εγὼ μέν, ἔφη, οὐκ ἐννοῶ, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ μή που ἐν αὐτῶν τούτων χρείᾳ τινὶ τῇ πρὸς ἀλλήλους.

᾿Αλλ’ ἴσως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καλῶς λέγεις· καὶ σκεπτέον γε καὶ οὐκ ἀποκνητέον.

Πρῶτον οὖν σκεψώμεθα τίνα τρόπον διαιτήσονται οἱ οὕτω παρεσκευασμένοι. ἄλλο τι ἢ σῖτόν τε ποιοῦντες καὶ οἶνον καὶ ἱμάτια καὶ ὑποδήματα; καὶ οἰκοδομησάμενοι οἰκίας, θέρους μὲν τὰ πολλὰ γυμνοί τε καὶ ἀνυπόδητοι ἐργάσονται, τοῦ δὲ [372b] χειμῶνος ἠμφιεσμένοι τε καὶ ὑποδεδεμένοι ἱκανῶς· θρέψονται δὲ ἐκ μὲν τῶν κριθῶν ἄλφιτα σκευαζόμενοι, ἐκ δὲ τῶν πυρῶν ἄλευρα, τὰ μὲν πέψαντες, τὰ δὲ μάξαντες, μάζας γενναίας καὶ ἄρτους ἐπὶ κάλαμόν τινα παραβαλλόμενοι ἢ φύλλα καθαρά, κατακλινέντες ἐπὶ στιβάδων ἐστρωμένων μίλακί τε καὶ μυρρίναις, εὐωχήσονται αὐτοί τε καὶ τὰ παιδία, ἐπιπίνοντες τοῦ οἴνου, ἐστεφανωμένοι καὶ ὑμνοῦντες τοὺς θεούς, ἡδέως συνόντες ἀλλήλοις, οὐχ ὑπὲρ τὴν οὐσίαν ποιού[372c]μενοι τοὺς παῖδας, εὐλαβούμενοι πενίαν ἢ πόλεμον.

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

Καὶ ὁ Γλαύκων ὑπολαβών, ῎Ανευ ὄψου, ἔφη, ὡς ἔοικας, ποιεῖς τοὺς ἄνδρας ἑστιωμένους.

᾿Αληθῆ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, λέγεις. ἐπελαθόμην ὅτι καὶ ὄψον ἕξουσιν, ἅλας τε δῆλον ὅτι καὶ ἐλάας καὶ τυρόν, καὶ βολβοὺς καὶ λάχανά γε, οἷα δὴ ἐν ἀγροῖς ἑψήματα, ἑψήσονται. καὶ τραγήματά που παραθήσομεν αὐτοῖς τῶν τε σύκων καὶ ἐρεβίνθων καὶ κυάμων, καὶ μύρτα καὶ φηγοὺς σποδιοῦσιν [372d] πρὸς τὸ πῦρ, μετρίως ὑποπίνοντες· καὶ οὕτω διάγοντες τὸν βίον ἐν εἰρήνῃ μετὰ ὑγιείας, ὡς εἰκός, γηραιοὶ τελευτῶντες ἄλλον τοιοῦτον βίον τοῖς ἐκγόνοις παραδώσουσιν.

Καὶ ὅς, Εἰ δὲ ὑῶν πόλιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, κατεσκεύαζες, τί ἂν αὐτὰς ἄλλο ἢ ταῦτα ἐχόρταζες;

᾿Αλλὰ πῶς χρή, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων;

῞Απερ νομίζεται, ἔφη· ἐπί τε κλινῶν κατακεῖσθαι οἶμαι τοὺς μέλλοντας μὴ ταλαιπωρεῖσθαι, καὶ ἀπὸ τραπεζῶν [372e] δειπνεῖν, καὶ ὄψα ἅπερ καὶ οἱ νῦν ἔχουσι καὶ τραγήματα.

Εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· μανθάνω. οὐ πόλιν, ὡς ἔοικε, σκοποῦμεν μόνον ὅπως γίγνεται, ἀλλὰ καὶ τρυφῶσαν πόλιν. ἴσως οὖν οὐδὲ κακῶς ἔχει· σκοποῦντες γὰρ καὶ τοιαύτην τάχ’ ἂν κατίδοιμεν τήν τε δικαιοσύνην καὶ ἀδικίαν ὅπῃ ποτὲ ταῖς πόλεσιν ἐμφύονται. ἡ μὲν οὖν ἀληθινὴ πόλις δοκεῖ μοι εἶναι ἣν διεληλύθαμεν, ὥσπερ ὑγιής τις· εἰ δ’ αὖ βούλεσθε, καὶ φλεγμαίνουσαν πόλιν θεωρήσωμεν· οὐδὲν ἀποκωλύει. [373a] ταῦτα γὰρ δή τισιν, ὡς δοκεῖ, οὐκ ἐξαρκέσει, οὐδὲ αὕτη ἡ δίαιτα, ἀλλὰ κλῖναί τε προσέσονται καὶ τράπεζαι καὶ τἆλλα σκεύη, καὶ ὄψα δὴ καὶ μύρα καὶ θυμιάματα καὶ ἑταῖραι καὶ πέμματα, καὶ ἕκαστα τούτων παντοδαπά. καὶ δὴ καὶ ἃ τὸ πρῶτον ἐλέγομεν οὐκέτι τἀναγκαῖα θετέον, οἰκίας τε καὶ ἱμάτια καὶ ὑποδήματα, ἀλλὰ τήν τε ζωγραφίαν κινητέον καὶ τὴν ποικιλίαν, καὶ χρυσὸν καὶ ἐλέφαντα καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα κτητέον. ἦ γάρ;

[373b] Ναί, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν μείζονά τε αὖ τὴν πόλιν δεῖ ποιεῖν· ἐκείνη γὰρ ἡ ὑγιεινὴ οὐκέτι ἱκανή, ἀλλ’ ἤδη ὄγκου ἐμπληστέα καὶ πλήθους, ἃ οὐκέτι τοῦ ἀναγκαίου ἕνεκά ἐστιν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν, οἷον οἵ τε θηρευταὶ πάντες οἵ τε μιμηταί, πολλοὶ μὲν οἱ περὶ τὰ σχήματά τε καὶ χρώματα, πολλοὶ δὲ οἱ περὶ μουσικήν, ποιηταί τε καὶ τούτων ὑπηρέται, ῥαψῳδοί, ὑποκριταί, χορευταί, ἐργολάβοι, σκευῶν τε παντοδαπῶν δημιουργοί, τῶν τε ἄλλων [373c] καὶ τῶν περὶ τὸν γυναικεῖον κόσμον. καὶ δὴ καὶ διακόνων πλειόνων δεησόμεθα· ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ δεήσειν παιδαγωγῶν, τιτθῶν, τροφῶν, κομμωτριῶν, κουρέων, καὶ αὖ ὀψοποιῶν τε καὶ μαγείρων; ἔτι δὲ καὶ συβωτῶν προσδεησόμεθα· τοῦτο γὰρ ἡμῖν ἐν τῇ προτέρᾳ πόλει οὐκ ἐνῆν — ἔδει γὰρ οὐδέν — ἐν δὲ ταύτῃ καὶ τούτου προσδεήσει. δεήσει δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων βοσκημάτων παμπόλλων, εἴ τις αὐτὰ ἔδεται· ἦ γάρ;

Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

[373d] Οὐκοῦν καὶ ἰατρῶν ἐν χρείαις ἐσόμεθα πολὺ μᾶλλον οὕτω διαιτώμενοι ἢ ὡς τὸ πρότερον;

Πολύ γε.

Καὶ ἡ χώρα γέ που, ἡ τότε ἱκανὴ τρέφειν τοὺς τότε, σμικρὰ δὴ ἐξ ἱκανῆς ἔσται. ἢ πῶς λέγομεν;

Οὕτως, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν τῆς τῶν πλησίον χώρας ἡμῖν ἀποτμητέον, εἰ μέλλομεν ἱκανὴν ἕξειν νέμειν τε καὶ ἀροῦν, καὶ ἐκείνοις αὖ τῆς ἡμετέρας, ἐὰν καὶ ἐκεῖνοι ἀφῶσιν αὑτοὺς ἐπὶ χρημάτων κτῆσιν ἄπειρον, ὑπερβάντες τὸν τῶν ἀναγκαίων ὅρον;

[373e] Πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Πολεμήσομεν δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, ὦ Γλαύκων; ἢ πῶς ἔσται;

Οὕτως, ἔφη.

Καὶ μηδέν γέ πω λέγωμεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μήτ’ εἴ τι κακὸν μήτ’ εἰ ἀγαθὸν ὁ πόλεμος ἐργάζεται, ἀλλὰ τοσοῦτον μόνον, ὅτι πολέμου αὖ γένεσιν ηὑρήκαμεν, ἐξ ὧν μάλιστα ταῖς πόλεσιν καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ κακὰ γίγνεται, ὅταν γίγνηται.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

῎Ετι δή, ὦ φίλε, μείζονος τῆς πόλεως δεῖ οὔ τι σμικρῷ, [374a] ἀλλ’ ὅλῳ στρατοπέδῳ, ὃ ἐξελθὸν ὑπὲρ τῆς οὐσίας ἁπάσης καὶ ὑπὲρ ὧν νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν διαμαχεῖται τοῖς ἐπιοῦσιν.

Τί δέ; ἦ δ’ ὅς· αὐτοὶ οὐχ ἱκανοί;

Οὔκ, εἰ σύ γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ ἡμεῖς ἅπαντες ὡμολογήσαμεν καλῶς, ἡνίκα ἐπλάττομεν τὴν πόλιν· ὡμολογοῦμεν δέ που, εἰ μέμνησαι, ἀδύνατον ἕνα πολλὰς καλῶς ἐργάζεσθαι τέχνας.

᾿Αληθῆ λέγεις, ἔφη.

[374b] Τί οὖν; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· ἡ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἀγωνία οὐ τεχνικὴ δοκεῖ εἶναι;

Καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

῏Η οὖν τι σκυτικῆς δεῖ μᾶλλον κήδεσθαι ἢ πολεμικῆς;

Οὐδαμῶς.

᾿Αλλ’ ἄρα τὸν μὲν σκυτοτόμον διεκωλύομεν μήτε γεωργὸν ἐπιχειρεῖν εἶναι ἅμα μήτε ὑφάντην μήτε οἰκοδόμον ἀλλὰ σκυτοτόμον, ἵνα δὴ ἡμῖν τὸ τῆς σκυτικῆς ἔργον καλῶς γίγνοιτο, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἑνὶ ἑκάστῳ ὡσαύτως ἓν ἀπεδίδομεν, πρὸς ὃ ἐπεφύκει ἕκαστος καὶ ἐφ’ ᾧ ἔμελλε τῶν ἄλλων [374c] σχολὴν ἄγων διὰ βίου αὐτὸ ἐργαζόμενος οὐ παριεὶς τοὺς καιροὺς καλῶς ἀπεργάσεσθαι· τὰ δὲ δὴ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον πότερον οὐ περὶ πλείστου ἐστὶν εὖ ἀπεργασθέντα; ἢ οὕτω ῥᾴδιον, ὥστε καὶ γεωργῶν τις ἅμα πολεμικὸς ἔσται καὶ σκυτοτομῶν καὶ ἄλλην τέχνην ἡντινοῦν ἐργαζόμενος, πεττευτικὸς δὲ ἢ κυβευτικὸς ἱκανῶς οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς γένοιτο μὴ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἐκ παιδὸς ἐπιτηδεύων, ἀλλὰ παρέργῳ χρώμενος; [374d] καὶ ἀσπίδα μὲν λαβὼν ἤ τι ἄλλο τῶν πολεμικῶν ὅπλων τε καὶ ὀργάνων αὐθημερὸν ὁπλιτικῆς ἤ τινος ἄλλης μάχης τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον ἱκανὸς ἔσται ἀγωνιστής, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων ὀργάνων οὐδὲν οὐδένα δημιουργὸν οὐδὲ ἀθλητὴν ληφθὲν ποιήσει, οὐδ’ ἔσται χρήσιμον τῷ μήτε τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἑκάστου λαβόντι μήτε τὴν μελέτην ἱκανὴν παρασχομένῳ;

Πολλοῦ γὰρ ἄν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, τὰ ὄργανα ἦν ἄξια.

Οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅσῳ μέγιστον τὸ τῶν φυλάκων ἔργον, [374e] τοσούτῳ σχολῆς τε τῶν ἄλλων πλείστης ἂν εἴη καὶ αὖ τέχνης τε καὶ ἐπιμελείας μεγίστης δεόμενον. Οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ καὶ φύσεως ἐπιτηδείας εἰς αὐτὸ τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα;

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

῾Ημέτερον δὴ ἔργον ἂν εἴη, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἴπερ οἷοί τ’ ἐσμέν, ἐκλέξασθαι τίνες τε καὶ ποῖαι φύσεις ἐπιτήδειαι εἰς πόλεως φυλακήν.

῾Ημέτερον μέντοι.

Μὰ Δία, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὐκ ἄρα φαῦλον πρᾶγμα ἠράμεθα· ὅμως δὲ οὐκ ἀποδειλιατέον, ὅσον γ’ ἂν δύναμις παρείκῃ.

[375a] Οὐ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη.

Οἴει οὖν τι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, διαφέρειν φύσιν γενναίου σκύλακος εἰς φυλακὴν νεανίσκου εὐγενοῦς;

Τὸ ποῖον λέγεις;

Οἷον ὀξύν τέ που δεῖ αὐτοῖν ἑκάτερον εἶναι πρὸς αἴσθησιν καὶ ἐλαφρὸν πρὸς τὸ αἰσθανόμενον διωκάθειν, καὶ ἰσχυρὸν αὖ, ἐὰν δέῃ ἑλόντα διαμάχεσθαι.

Δεῖ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη, πάντων τούτων.

Καὶ μὴν ἀνδρεῖόν γε, εἴπερ εὖ μαχεῖται.

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

᾿Ανδρεῖος δὲ εἶναι ἆρα ἐθελήσει ὁ μὴ θυμοειδὴς εἴτε ἵππος εἴτε κύων ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν ζῷον; ἢ οὐκ ἐννενόηκας ὡς [375b] ἄμαχόν τε καὶ ἀνίκητον θυμός, οὗ παρόντος ψυχὴ πᾶσα πρὸς πάντα ἄφοβός τέ ἐστι καὶ ἀήττητος;

᾿Εννενόηκα.

Τὰ μὲν τοίνυν τοῦ σώματος οἷον δεῖ τὸν φύλακα εἶναι, δῆλα.

Ναί.

Καὶ μὴν καὶ τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς, ὅτι γε θυμοειδῆ.

Καὶ τοῦτο.

Πῶς οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, οὐκ ἄγριοι ἀλλήλοις τε ἔσονται καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πολίταις, ὄντες τοιοῦτοι τὰς φύσεις;

Μὰ Δία, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐ ῥᾳδίως.

[375c] ᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι δεῖ γε πρὸς μὲν τοὺς οἰκείους πρᾴους αὐτοὺς εἶναι, πρὸς δὲ τοὺς πολεμίους χαλεπούς· εἰ δὲ μή, οὐ περιμενοῦσιν ἄλλους σφᾶς διολέσαι, ἀλλ’ αὐτοὶ φθήσονται

αὐτὸ δράσαντες.

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφη.

Τί οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ποιήσομεν; πόθεν ἅμα πρᾷον καὶ μεγαλόθυμον ἦθος εὑρήσομεν; ἐναντία γάρ που θυμοειδεῖ πρᾳεῖα φύσις.

Φαίνεται.

᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι τούτων γε ὁποτέρου ἂν στέρηται, φύλαξ ἀγαθὸς οὐ μὴ γένηται· ταῦτα δὲ ἀδυνάτοις ἔοικεν, καὶ οὕτω [375d] δὴ συμβαίνει ἀγαθὸν φύλακα ἀδύνατον γενέσθαι.

Κινδυνεύει, ἔφη.

Καὶ ἐγὼ ἀπορήσας τε καὶ ἐπισκεψάμενος τὰ ἔμπροσθεν, Δικαίως γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε, ἀποροῦμεν· ἧς γὰρ προυθέμεθα εἰκόνος ἀπελείφθημεν.

Πῶς λέγεις;

Οὐκ ἐννενοήκαμεν ὅτι εἰσὶν ἄρα φύσεις οἵας ἡμεῖς οὐκ ᾠήθημεν, ἔχουσαι τἀναντία ταῦτα.

Ποῦ δή;

῎Ιδοι μὲν ἄν τις καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις ζῴοις, οὐ μεντἂν ἥκιστα [375e] ἐν ᾧ ἡμεῖς παρεβάλλομεν τῷ φύλακι. οἶσθα γάρ που τῶν γενναίων κυνῶν, ὅτι τοῦτο φύσει αὐτῶν τὸ ἦθος, πρὸς μὲν τοὺς συνήθεις τε καὶ γνωρίμους ὡς οἷόν τε πρᾳοτάτους εἶναι, πρὸς δὲ τοὺς ἀγνῶτας τοὐναντίον.

Οἶδα μέντοι.

Τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δυνατόν, καὶ οὐ παρὰ φύσιν ζητοῦμεν τοιοῦτον εἶναι τὸν φύλακα.

Οὐκ ἔοικεν.

῏Αρ’ οὖν σοι δοκεῖ ἔτι τοῦδε προσδεῖσθαι ὁ φυλακικὸς ἐσόμενος, πρὸς τῷ θυμοειδεῖ ἔτι προσγενέσθαι φιλόσοφος τὴν φύσιν;

[376a] Πῶς δή; ἔφη· οὐ γὰρ ἐννοῶ.

Καὶ τοῦτο, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἐν τοῖς κυσὶν κατόψει, ὃ καὶ ἄξιον θαυμάσαι τοῦ θηρίου.

Τὸ ποῖον;

῞Οτι ὃν μὲν ἂν ἴδῃ ἀγνῶτα, χαλεπαίνει, οὐδὲ ἓν κακὸν προπεπονθώς· ὃν δ’ ἂν γνώριμον, ἀσπάζεται, κἂν μηδὲν πώποτε ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ ἀγαθὸν πεπόνθῃ. ἢ οὔπω τοῦτο ἐθαύμασας; Οὐ πάνυ, ἔφη, μέχρι τούτου προσέσχον τὸν νοῦν· ὅτι δέ που δρᾷ ταῦτα, δῆλον.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν κομψόν γε φαίνεται τὸ πάθος αὐτοῦ τῆς [376b] φύσεως καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς φιλόσοφον.

Πῇ δή;

῟Ηι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὄψιν οὐδενὶ ἄλλῳ φίλην καὶ ἐχθρὰν διακρίνει ἢ τῷ τὴν μὲν καταμαθεῖν, τὴν δὲ ἀγνοῆσαι. καίτοι πῶς οὐκ ἂν φιλομαθὲς εἴη συνέσει τε καὶ ἀγνοίᾳ ὁριζόμενον τό τε οἰκεῖον καὶ τὸ ἀλλότριον;

Οὐδαμῶς, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ὅπως οὔ.

᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι, εἶπον ἐγώ, τό γε φιλομαθὲς καὶ φιλόσοφον ταὐτόν;

Ταὐτὸν γάρ, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν θαρροῦντες τιθῶμεν καὶ ἐν ἀνθρώπῳ, εἰ μέλλει [376c] πρὸς τοὺς οἰκείους καὶ γνωρίμους πρᾷός τις ἔσεσθαι, φύσει φιλόσοφον καὶ φιλομαθῆ αὐτὸν δεῖν εἶναι; Τιθῶμεν, ἔφη.

Φιλόσοφος δὴ καὶ θυμοειδὴς καὶ ταχὺς καὶ ἰσχυρὸς ἡμῖν τὴν φύσιν ἔσται ὁ μέλλων καλὸς κἀγαθὸς ἔσεσθαι φύλαξ πόλεως.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

Οὗτος μὲν δὴ ἂν οὕτως ὑπάρχοι. θρέψονται δὲ δὴ ἡμῖν οὗτοι καὶ παιδευθήσονται τίνα τρόπον; καὶ ἆρά τι προὔργου ἡμῖν ἐστιν αὐτὸ σκοποῦσι πρὸς τὸ κατιδεῖν οὗπερ ἕνεκα [376d] πάντα σκοποῦμεν, δικαιοσύνην τε καὶ ἀδικίαν τίνα τρόπον ἐν πόλει γίγνεται; ἵνα μὴ ἐῶμεν ἱκανὸν λόγον ἢ συχνὸν διεξίωμεν.

Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

Καὶ ὁ τοῦ Γλαύκωνος ἀδελφός, Πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ἔγωγε προσδοκῶ προὔργου εἶναι εἰς τοῦτο ταύτην τὴν σκέψιν.

Μὰ Δία, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε ᾿Αδείμαντε, οὐκ ἄρα ἀφετέον, οὐδ’ εἰ μακροτέρα τυγχάνει οὖσα.

Οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

῎Ιθι οὖν, ὥσπερ ἐν μύθῳ μυθολογοῦντές τε καὶ σχολὴν ἄγοντες λόγῳ παιδεύωμεν τοὺς ἄνδρας.

[376e] ᾿Αλλὰ χρή.

Τίς οὖν ἡ παιδεία; ἢ χαλεπὸν εὑρεῖν βελτίω τῆς ὑπὸ τοῦ πολλοῦ χρόνου ηὑρημένης; ἔστιν δέ που ἡ μὲν ἐπὶ σώμασι γυμναστική, ἡ δ’ ἐπὶ ψυχῇ μουσική.

῎Εστιν γάρ.

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ μουσικῇ πρότερον ἀρξόμεθα παιδεύοντες ἢ γυμναστικῇ;

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Μουσικῆς δ’, εἶπον, τιθεῖς λόγους, ἢ οὔ;

῎Εγωγε.

Λόγων δὲ διττὸν εἶδος, τὸ μὲν ἀληθές, ψεῦδος δ’ ἕτερον;

Ναί.

[377a] Παιδευτέον δ’ ἐν ἀμφοτέροις, πρότερον δ’ ἐν τοῖς ψευδέσιν;

Οὐ μανθάνω, ἔφη, πῶς λέγεις.

Οὐ μανθάνεις, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι πρῶτον τοῖς παιδίοις μύθους λέγομεν; τοῦτο δέ που ὡς τὸ ὅλον εἰπεῖν ψεῦδος, ἔνι δὲ καὶ ἀληθῆ. πρότερον δὲ μύθοις πρὸς τὰ παιδία ἢ γυμνασίοις χρώμεθα.

῎Εστι ταῦτα.

Τοῦτο δὴ ἔλεγον, ὅτι μουσικῆς πρότερον ἁπτέον ἢ γυμναστικῆς.

᾿Ορθῶς, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν οἶσθ’ ὅτι ἀρχὴ παντὸς ἔργου μέγιστον, ἄλλως [377b] τε δὴ καὶ νέῳ καὶ ἁπαλῷ ὁτῳοῦν; μάλιστα γὰρ δὴ τότε πλάττεται, καὶ ἐνδύεται τύπος ὃν ἄν τις βούληται ἐνσημήνασθαι ἑκάστῳ.

Κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

῏Αρ’ οὖν ῥᾳδίως οὕτω παρήσομεν τοὺς ἐπιτυχόντας ὑπὸ τῶν ἐπιτυχόντων μύθους πλασθέντας ἀκούειν τοὺς παῖδας καὶ λαμβάνειν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ ἐναντίας δόξας ἐκείναις ἅς, ἐπειδὰν τελεωθῶσιν, ἔχειν οἰησόμεθα δεῖν αὐτούς;

Οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν παρήσομεν.

Πρῶτον δὴ ἡμῖν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπιστατητέον τοῖς μυθοποιοῖς, [377c] καὶ ὃν μὲν ἂν καλὸν [μῦθον] ποιήσωσιν, ἐγκριτέον, ὃν δ’ ἂν μή, ἀποκριτέον. τοὺς δ’ ἐγκριθέντας πείσομεν τὰς τροφούς τε καὶ μητέρας λέγειν τοῖς παισίν, καὶ πλάττειν τὰς ψυχὰς αὐτῶν τοῖς μύθοις πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ τὰ σώματα ταῖς χερσίν· ὧν δὲ νῦν λέγουσι τοὺς πολλοὺς ἐκβλητέον.

Ποίους δή; ἔφη.

᾿Εν τοῖς μείζοσιν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μύθοις ὀψόμεθα καὶ τοὺς ἐλάττους. δεῖ γὰρ δὴ τὸν αὐτὸν τύπον εἶναι καὶ ταὐτὸν [377d] δύνασθαι τούς τε μείζους καὶ τοὺς ἐλάττους. ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

῎Εγωγ’, ἔφη· ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐννοῶ οὐδὲ τοὺς μείζους τίνας λέγεις.

Οὓς ῾Ησίοδός τε, εἶπον, καὶ ῞Ομηρος ἡμῖν ἐλεγέτην καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ποιηταί. οὗτοι γάρ που μύθους τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ψευδεῖς συντιθέντες ἔλεγόν τε καὶ λέγουσι.

Ποίους δή, ἦ δ’ ὅς, καὶ τί αὐτῶν μεμφόμενος λέγεις;

῞Οπερ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, χρὴ καὶ πρῶτον καὶ μάλιστα μέμφεσθαι, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐάν τις μὴ καλῶς ψεύδηται.

Τί τοῦτο;

[377e] ῞Οταν εἰκάζῃ τις κακῶς [οὐσίαν] τῷ λόγῳ, περὶ θεῶν τε καὶ ἡρώων οἷοί εἰσιν, ὥσπερ γραφεὺς μηδὲν ἐοικότα γράφων οἷς ἂν ὅμοια βουληθῇ γράψαι. Καὶ γάρ, ἔφη, ὀρθῶς ἔχει τά γε τοιαῦτα μέμφεσθαι. ἀλλὰ πῶς δὴ λέγομεν καὶ ποῖα;

Πρῶτον μέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ μέγιστον καὶ περὶ τῶν μεγίστων ψεῦδος ὁ εἰπὼν οὐ καλῶς ἐψεύσατο ὡς Οὐρανός τε ἠργάσατο ἅ φησι δρᾶσαι αὐτὸν ῾Ησίοδος, ὅ τε αὖ Κρόνος [378a] ὡς ἐτιμωρήσατο αὐτόν. τὰ δὲ δὴ τοῦ Κρόνου ἔργα καὶ πάθη ὑπὸ τοῦ ὑέος, οὐδ’ ἂν εἰ ἦν ἀληθῆ ᾤμην δεῖν ῥᾳδίως οὕτως λέγεσθαι πρὸς ἄφρονάς τε καὶ νέους, ἀλλὰ μάλιστα μὲν σιγᾶσθαι, εἰ δὲ ἀνάγκη τις ἦν λέγειν, δι’ ἀπορρήτων ἀκούειν ὡς ὀλιγίστους, θυσαμένους οὐ χοῖρον ἀλλά τι μέγα καὶ ἄπορον θῦμα, ὅπως ὅτι ἐλαχίστοις συνέβη ἀκοῦσαι.

Καὶ γάρ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὗτοί γε οἱ λόγοι χαλεποί.

[378b] Καὶ οὐ λεκτέοι γ’, ἔφην, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε, ἐν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ πόλει. οὐδὲ λεκτέον νέῳ ἀκούοντι ὡς ἀδικῶν τὰ ἔσχατα οὐδὲν ἂν θαυμαστὸν ποιοῖ, οὐδ’ αὖ ἀδικοῦντα πατέρα κολάζων παντὶ τρόπῳ, ἀλλὰ δρῴη ἂν ὅπερ θεῶν οἱ πρῶτοί τε καὶ μέγιστοι.

Οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐδὲ αὐτῷ μοι δοκεῖ ἐπιτήδεια εἶναι λέγειν.

Οὐδέ γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ παράπαν ὡς θεοὶ θεοῖς πολεμοῦσί [378c] τε καὶ ἐπιβουλεύουσι καὶ μάχονται — οὐδὲ γὰρ ἀληθῆ — εἴ γε δεῖ ἡμῖν τοὺς μέλλοντας τὴν πόλιν φυλάξειν αἴσχιστον νομίζειν τὸ ῥᾳδίως ἀλλήλοις ἀπεχθάνεσθαι — πολλοῦ δεῖ γιγαντομαχίας τε μυθολογητέον αὐτοῖς καὶ ποικιλτέον, καὶ ἄλλας ἔχθρας πολλὰς καὶ παντοδαπὰς θεῶν τε καὶ ἡρώων πρὸς συγγενεῖς τε καὶ οἰκείους αὐτῶν — ἀλλ’ εἴ πως μέλλομεν πείσειν ὡς οὐδεὶς πώποτε πολίτης ἕτερος ἑτέρῳ ἀπήχθετο οὐδ’ ἔστιν τοῦτο ὅσιον, τοιαῦτα λεκτέα μᾶλλον πρὸς [378d] τὰ παιδία εὐθὺς καὶ γέρουσι καὶ γραυσί, καὶ πρεσβυτέροις γιγνομένοις καὶ τοὺς ποιητὰς ἐγγὺς τούτων ἀναγκαστέον λογοποιεῖν. ῞Ηρας δὲ δεσμοὺς ὑπὸ ὑέος καὶ ῾Ηφαίστου ῥίψεις ὑπὸ πατρός, μέλλοντος τῇ μητρὶ τυπτομένῃ ἀμυνεῖν, καὶ θεομαχίας ὅσας ῞Ομηρος πεποίηκεν οὐ παραδεκτέον εἰς τὴν πόλιν, οὔτ’ ἐν ὑπονοίαις πεποιημένας οὔτε ἄνευ ὑπονοιῶν. ὁ γὰρ νέος οὐχ οἷός τε κρίνειν ὅτι τε ὑπόνοια καὶ ὃ μή, ἀλλ’ ἃ ἂν τηλικοῦτος ὢν λάβῃ ἐν ταῖς δόξαις δυσέκ[378e]νιπτά τε καὶ ἀμετάστατα φιλεῖ γίγνεσθαι· ὧν δὴ ἴσως ἕνεκα περὶ παντὸς ποιητέον ἃ πρῶτα ἀκούουσιν ὅτι κάλλιστα μεμυθολογημένα πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἀκούειν. ῎Εχει γάρ, ἔφη, λόγον. ἀλλ’ εἴ τις αὖ καὶ ταῦτα ἐρωτῴη ἡμᾶς, ταῦτα ἅττα τ’ ἐστὶν καὶ τίνες οἱ μῦθοι, τίνας ἂν φαῖμεν;

Καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον· ῏Ω ᾿Αδείμαντε, οὐκ ἐσμὲν ποιηταὶ ἐγώ τε [379a] καὶ σὺ ἐν τῷ παρόντι, ἀλλ’ οἰκισταὶ πόλεως· οἰκισταῖς δὲ τοὺς μὲν τύπους προσήκει εἰδέναι ἐν οἷς δεῖ μυθολογεῖν τοὺς ποιητάς, παρ’ οὓς ἐὰν ποιῶσιν οὐκ ἐπιτρεπτέον, οὐ μὴν αὐτοῖς γε ποιητέον μύθους.

᾿Ορθῶς, ἔφη· ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ δὴ τοῦτο, οἱ τύποι περὶ θεολογίας τίνες ἂν εἶεν;

Τοιοίδε πού τινες, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· οἷος τυγχάνει ὁ θεὸς ὤν, ἀεὶ δήπου ἀποδοτέον, ἐάντέ τις αὐτὸν ἐν ἔπεσιν ποιῇ ἐάντε ἐν μέλεσιν ἐάντε ἐν τραγῳδίᾳ.

Δεῖ γάρ.

[379b] Οὐκοῦν ἀγαθὸς ὅ γε θεὸς τῷ ὄντι τε καὶ λεκτέον οὕτω;

Τί μήν;

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν οὐδέν γε τῶν ἀγαθῶν βλαβερόν· ἦ γάρ;

Οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

῏Αρ’ οὖν ὃ μὴ βλαβερὸν βλάπτει;

Οὐδαμῶς.

῝Ο δὲ μὴ βλάπτει κακόν τι ποιεῖ;

Οὐδὲ τοῦτο.

῝Ο δέ γε μηδὲν κακὸν ποιεῖ οὐδ’ ἄν τινος εἴη κακοῦ αἴτιον;

Πῶς γάρ;

Τί δέ; ὠφέλιμον τὸ ἀγαθόν;

Ναί.

Αἴτιον ἄρα εὐπραγίας;

Ναί.

Οὐκ ἄρα πάντων γε αἴτιον τὸ ἀγαθόν, ἀλλὰ τῶν μὲν εὖ ἐχόντων αἴτιον, τῶν δὲ κακῶν ἀναίτιον.

[379c] Παντελῶς γ’, ἔφη.

Οὐδ’ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὁ θεός, ἐπειδὴ ἀγαθός, πάντων ἂν εἴη αἴτιος, ὡς οἱ πολλοὶ λέγουσιν, ἀλλὰ ὀλίγων μὲν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις αἴτιος, πολλῶν δὲ ἀναίτιος· πολὺ γὰρ ἐλάττω τἀγαθὰ τῶν κακῶν ἡμῖν, καὶ τῶν μὲν ἀγαθῶν οὐδένα ἄλλον αἰτιατέον, τῶν δὲ κακῶν ἄλλ’ ἄττα δεῖ ζητεῖν τὰ αἴτια, ἀλλ’ οὐ τὸν θεόν.

᾿Αληθέστατα, ἔφη, δοκεῖς μοι λέγειν.

Οὐκ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀποδεκτέον οὔτε ῾Ομήρου οὔτ’ ἄλλου [379d] ποιητοῦ ταύτην τὴν ἁμαρτίαν περὶ τοὺς θεοὺς ἀνοήτως ἁμαρτάνοντος καὶ λέγοντος —

ὡς δοιοί τε πίθοι κατακείαται ἐν Διὸς οὔδει

κηρῶν ἔμπλειοι, ὁ μὲν ἐσθλῶν, αὐτὰρ ὃ δειλῶν·

καὶ ᾧ μὲν ἂν μείξας ὁ Ζεὺς δῷ ἀμφοτέρων,

ἄλλοτε μέν τε κακῷ ὅ γε κύρεται, ἄλλοτε δ’ ἐσθλῷ·

ᾧ δ’ ἂν μή, ἀλλ’ ἄκρατα τὰ ἕτερα,

τὸν δὲ κακὴ βούβρωστις ἐπὶ χθόνα δῖαν ἐλαύνει·

[379e] οὐδ’ ὡς ταμίας ἡμῖν Ζεὺς —

ἀγαθῶν τε κακῶν τε τέτυκται.

τὴν δὲ τῶν ὅρκων καὶ σπονδῶν σύγχυσιν, ἣν ὁ Πάνδαρος συνέχεεν, ἐάν τις φῇ δι’ ᾿Αθηνᾶς τε καὶ Διὸς γεγονέναι, οὐκ ἐπαινεσόμεθα, οὐδὲ θεῶν ἔριν τε καὶ κρίσιν [380a] διὰ Θέμιτός τε καὶ Διός, οὐδ’ αὖ, ὡς Αἰσχύλος λέγει, ἐατέον ἀκούειν τοὺς νέους, ὅτι —

θεὸς μὲν αἰτίαν φύει βροτοῖς,

ὅταν κακῶσαι δῶμα παμπήδην θέλῃ.

ἀλλ’ ἐάν τις ποιῇ ἐν οἷς ταῦτα τὰ ἰαμβεῖα ἔνεστιν, τὰ τῆς Νιόβης πάθη, ἢ τὰ Πελοπιδῶν ἢ τὰ Τρωικὰ ἤ τι ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων, ἢ οὐ θεοῦ ἔργα ἐατέον αὐτὰ λέγειν, ἢ εἰ θεοῦ, ἐξευρετέον αὐτοῖς σχεδὸν ὃν νῦν ἡμεῖς λόγον ζητοῦμεν, καὶ [380b] λεκτέον ὡς ὁ μὲν θεὸς δίκαιά τε καὶ ἀγαθὰ ἠργάζετο, οἱ δὲ ὠνίναντο κολαζόμενοι· ὡς δὲ ἄθλιοι μὲν οἱ δίκην διδόντες, ἦν δὲ δὴ ὁ δρῶν ταῦτα θεός, οὐκ ἐατέον λέγειν τὸν ποιητήν. ἀλλ’ εἰ μὲν ὅτι ἐδεήθησαν κολάσεως λέγοιεν ὡς ἄθλιοι οἱ κακοί, διδόντες δὲ δίκην ὠφελοῦντο ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ, ἐατέον· κακῶν δὲ αἴτιον φάναι θεόν τινι γίγνεσθαι ἀγαθὸν ὄντα, διαμαχετέον παντὶ τρόπῳ μήτε τινὰ λέγειν ταῦτα ἐν τῇ αὑτοῦ πόλει, εἰ μέλλει εὐνομήσεσθαι, μήτε τινὰ ἀκούειν, [380c] μήτε νεώτερον μήτε πρεσβύτερον, μήτ’ ἐν μέτρῳ μήτε ἄνευ μέτρου μυθολογοῦντα, ὡς οὔτε ὅσια ἂν λεγόμενα εἰ λέγοιτο, οὔτε σύμφορα ἡμῖν οὔτε σύμφωνα αὐτὰ αὑτοῖς.

Σύμψηφός σοί εἰμι, ἔφη, τούτου τοῦ νόμου, καί μοι ἀρέσκει.

Οὗτος μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εἷς ἂν εἴη τῶν περὶ θεοὺς νόμων τε καὶ τύπων, ἐν ᾧ δεήσει τούς τε λέγοντας λέγειν καὶ τοὺς ποιοῦντας ποιεῖν, μὴ πάντων αἴτιον τὸν θεὸν ἀλλὰ τῶν ἀγαθῶν.

Καὶ μάλ’, ἔφη, ἀπόχρη.

[380d] Τί δὲ δὴ ὁ δεύτερος ὅδε; ἆρα γόητα τὸν θεὸν οἴει εἶναι καὶ οἷον ἐξ ἐπιβουλῆς φαντάζεσθαι ἄλλοτε ἐν ἄλλαις ἰδέαις τοτὲ μὲν αὐτὸν γιγνόμενον, [καὶ] ἀλλάττοντα τὸ αὑτοῦ εἶδος εἰς πολλὰς μορφάς, τοτὲ δὲ ἡμᾶς ἀπατῶντα καὶ ποιοῦντα περὶ αὑτοῦ τοιαῦτα δοκεῖν, ἢ ἁπλοῦν τε εἶναι καὶ πάντων ἥκιστα τῆς ἑαυτοῦ ἰδέας ἐκβαίνειν;

Οὐκ ἔχω, ἔφη, νῦν γε οὕτως εἰπεῖν.

Τί δὲ τόδε; οὐκ ἀνάγκη, εἴπερ τι ἐξίσταιτο τῆς αὑτοῦ [380e] ἰδέας, ἢ αὐτὸ ὑφ’ ἑαυτοῦ μεθίστασθαι ἢ ὑπ’ ἄλλου;

᾿Ανάγκη.

Οὐκοῦν ὑπὸ μὲν ἄλλου τὰ ἄριστα ἔχοντα ἥκιστα ἀλλοιοῦταί τε καὶ κινεῖται; οἷον σῶμα ὑπὸ σιτίων τε καὶ ποτῶν καὶ πόνων, καὶ πᾶν φυτὸν ὑπὸ εἱλήσεών τε καὶ ἀνέμων καὶ τῶν τοιούτων παθημάτων, οὐ τὸ ὑγιέστατον καὶ ἰσχυρότατον [381a] ἥκιστα ἀλλοιοῦται;

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ψυχὴν δὲ οὐ τὴν ἀνδρειοτάτην καὶ φρονιμωτάτην ἥκιστ’ ἄν τι ἔξωθεν πάθος ταράξειέν τε καὶ ἀλλοιώσειεν;

Ναί.

Καὶ μήν που καὶ τά γε σύνθετα πάντα σκεύη τε καὶ οἰκοδομήματα καὶ ἀμφιέσματα κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον τὰ εὖ εἰργασμένα καὶ εὖ ἔχοντα ὑπὸ χρόνου τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων παθημάτων ἥκιστα ἀλλοιοῦται.

῎Εστι δὴ ταῦτα.

[381b] Πᾶν δὴ τὸ καλῶς ἔχον ἢ φύσει ἢ τέχνῃ ἢ ἀμφοτέροις ἐλαχίστην μεταβολὴν ὑπ’ ἄλλου ἐνδέχεται.

῎Εοικεν.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν ὁ θεός γε καὶ τὰ τοῦ θεοῦ πάντῃ ἄριστα ἔχει.

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ταύτῃ μὲν δὴ ἥκιστα ἂν πολλὰς μορφὰς ἴσχοι ὁ θεός.

῞Ηκιστα δῆτα.

᾿Αλλ’ ἆρα αὐτὸς αὑτὸν μεταβάλλοι ἂν καὶ ἀλλοιοῖ;

Δῆλον, ἔφη, ὅτι, εἴπερ ἀλλοιοῦται.

Πότερον οὖν ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιόν τε καὶ κάλλιον μεταβάλλει ἑαυτὸν ἢ ἐπὶ τὸ χεῖρον καὶ τὸ αἴσχιον ἑαυτοῦ;

[381c] ᾿Ανάγκη, ἔφη, ἐπὶ τὸ χεῖρον, εἴπερ ἀλλοιοῦται· οὐ γάρ που ἐνδεᾶ γε φήσομεν τὸν θεὸν κάλλους ἢ ἀρετῆς εἶναι.

᾿Ορθότατα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, λέγεις. καὶ οὕτως ἔχοντος δοκεῖ ἄν τίς σοι, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε, ἑκὼν αὑτὸν χείρω ποιεῖν ὁπῃοῦν ἢ θεῶν ἢ ἀνθρώπων;

᾿Αδύνατον, ἔφη.

᾿Αδύνατον ἄρα, ἔφην, καὶ θεῷ ἐθέλειν αὑτὸν ἀλλοιοῦν, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἔοικε, κάλλιστος καὶ ἄριστος ὢν εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ἕκαστος αὐτῶν μένει ἀεὶ ἁπλῶς ἐν τῇ αὑτοῦ μορφῇ.

῞Απασα, ἔφη, ἀνάγκη ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

[381d] Μηδεὶς ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ ἄριστε, λεγέτω ἡμῖν τῶν ποιητῶν, ὡς —

θεοὶ ξείνοισιν ἐοικότες ἀλλοδαποῖσι,

παντοῖοι τελέθοντες, ἐπιστρωφῶσι πόληας·

μηδὲ Πρωτέως καὶ Θέτιδος καταψευδέσθω μηδείς, μηδ’ ἐν τραγῳδίαις μηδ’ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ποιήμασιν εἰσαγέτω ῞Ηραν ἠλλοιωμένην, ὡς ἱέρειαν ἀγείρουσαν —

᾿Ινάχου ᾿Αργείου ποταμοῦ παισὶν βιοδώροις·

[381e] καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα πολλὰ μὴ ἡμῖν ψευδέσθων. μηδ’ αὖ ὑπὸ τούτων ἀναπειθόμεναι αἱ μητέρες τὰ παιδία ἐκδειματούντων, λέγουσαι τοὺς μύθους κακῶς, ὡς ἄρα θεοί τινες περιέρχονται νύκτωρ πολλοῖς ξένοις καὶ παντοδαποῖς ἰνδαλλόμενοι, ἵνα μὴ ἅμα μὲν εἰς θεοὺς βλασφημῶσιν, ἅμα δὲ τοὺς παῖδας ἀπεργάζωνται δειλοτέρους. Μὴ γάρ, ἔφη.

᾿Αλλ’ ἆρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, αὐτοὶ μὲν οἱ θεοί εἰσιν οἷοι μὴ μεταβάλλειν, ἡμῖν δὲ ποιοῦσιν δοκεῖν σφᾶς παντοδαποὺς φαίνεσθαι, ἐξαπατῶντες καὶ γοητεύοντες;

῎Ισως, ἔφη.

[382a] Τί δέ; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· ψεύδεσθαι θεὸς ἐθέλοι ἂν ἢ λόγῳ ἢ ἔργῳ φάντασμα προτείνων;

Οὐκ οἶδα, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Οὐκ οἶσθα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι τό γε ὡς ἀληθῶς ψεῦδος, εἰ οἷόν τε τοῦτο εἰπεῖν, πάντες θεοί τε καὶ ἄνθρωποι μισοῦσιν;

Πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις;

Οὕτως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι τῷ κυριωτάτῳ που ἑαυτῶν ψεύδεσθαι καὶ περὶ τὰ κυριώτατα οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν ἐθέλει, ἀλλὰ πάντων μάλιστα φοβεῖται ἐκεῖ αὐτὸ κεκτῆσθαι.

Οὐδὲ νῦν πω, ἦ δ’ ὅς, μανθάνω.

[382b] Οἴει γάρ τί με, ἔφην, σεμνὸν λέγειν· ἐγὼ δὲ λέγω ὅτι τῇ ψυχῇ περὶ τὰ ὄντα ψεύδεσθαί τε καὶ ἐψεῦσθαι καὶ ἀμαθῆ εἶναι καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἔχειν τε καὶ κεκτῆσθαι τὸ ψεῦδος πάντες ἥκιστα ἂν δέξαιντο, καὶ μισοῦσι μάλιστα αὐτὸ ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ.

Πολύ γε, ἔφη.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν ὀρθότατά γ’ ἄν, ὃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, τοῦτο ὡς ἀληθῶς ψεῦδος καλοῖτο, ἡ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἄγνοια ἡ τοῦ ἐψευσμένου· ἐπεὶ τό γε ἐν τοῖς λόγοις μίμημά τι τοῦ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἐστὶν παθήματος καὶ ὕστερον γεγονὸς εἴδωλον, οὐ πάνυ [382c] ἄκρατον ψεῦδος. ἢ οὐχ οὕτω;

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Τὸ μὲν δὴ τῷ ὄντι ψεῦδος οὐ μόνον ὑπὸ θεῶν ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑπ’ ἀνθρώπων μισεῖται.

Δοκεῖ μοι.

Τί δὲ δὴ τὸ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις [ψεῦδος]; πότε καὶ τῷ χρήσιμον, ὥστε μὴ ἄξιον εἶναι μίσους; ἆρ’ οὐ πρός τε τοὺς πολεμίους καὶ τῶν καλουμένων φίλων, ὅταν διὰ μανίαν ἤ τινα ἄνοιαν κακόν τι ἐπιχειρῶσιν πράττειν, τότε ἀποτροπῆς ἕνεκα ὡς φάρμακον χρήσιμον γίγνεται; καὶ ἐν αἷς νυνδὴ [382d] ἐλέγομεν ταῖς μυθολογίαις, διὰ τὸ μὴ εἰδέναι ὅπῃ τἀληθὲς ἔχει περὶ τῶν παλαιῶν, ἀφομοιοῦντες τῷ ἀληθεῖ τὸ ψεῦδος ὅτι μάλιστα, οὕτω χρήσιμον ποιοῦμεν;

Καὶ μάλα, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὕτως ἔχει.

Κατὰ τί δὴ οὖν τούτων τῷ θεῷ τὸ ψεῦδος χρήσιμον; πότερον διὰ τὸ μὴ εἰδέναι τὰ παλαιὰ ἀφομοιῶν ἂν ψεύδοιτο;

Γελοῖον μεντἂν εἴη, ἔφη.

Ποιητὴς μὲν ἄρα ψευδὴς ἐν θεῷ οὐκ ἔνι.

Οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

᾿Αλλὰ δεδιὼς τοὺς ἐχθροὺς ψεύδοιτο;

[382e] Πολλοῦ γε δεῖ.

᾿Αλλὰ δι’ οἰκείων ἄνοιαν ἢ μανίαν;

᾿Αλλ’ οὐδείς, ἔφη, τῶν ἀνοήτων καὶ μαινομένων θεοφιλής.

Οὐκ ἄρα ἔστιν οὗ ἕνεκα ἂν θεὸς ψεύδοιτο.

Οὐκ ἔστιν.

Πάντῃ ἄρα ἀψευδὲς τὸ δαιμόνιόν τε καὶ τὸ θεῖον.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

Κομιδῇ ἄρα ὁ θεὸς ἁπλοῦν καὶ ἀληθὲς ἔν τε ἔργῳ καὶ λόγῳ, καὶ οὔτε αὐτὸς μεθίσταται οὔτε ἄλλους ἐξαπατᾷ, οὔτε κατὰ φαντασίας οὔτε κατὰ λόγους οὔτε κατὰ σημείων πομπάς, οὔθ’ ὕπαρ οὐδ’ ὄναρ.

[383a] Οὕτως, ἔφη, ἔμοιγε καὶ αὐτῷ φαίνεται σοῦ λέγοντος.

Συγχωρεῖς ἄρα, ἔφην, τοῦτον δεύτερον τύπον εἶναι ἐν ᾧ δεῖ περὶ θεῶν καὶ λέγειν καὶ ποιεῖν, ὡς μήτε αὐτοὺς γόητας ὄντας τῷ μεταβάλλειν ἑαυτοὺς μήτε ἡμᾶς ψεύδεσι παράγειν ἐν λόγῳ ἢ ἐν ἔργῳ;

Συγχωρῶ.

Πολλὰ ἄρα ῾Ομήρου ἐπαινοῦντες, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο οὐκ ἐπαινεσόμεθα, τὴν τοῦ ἐνυπνίου πομπὴν ὑπὸ Διὸς τῷ ᾿Αγαμέμνονι· οὐδὲ Αἰσχύλου, ὅταν φῇ ἡ Θέτις τὸν ᾿Απόλλω ἐν τοῖς αὑτῆς [383b] γάμοις ᾄδοντα ἐνδατεῖσθαι τὰς ἑὰς εὐπαιδίας —

νόσων τ’ ἀπείρους καὶ μακραίωνας βίους,

ξύμπαντά τ’ εἰπὼν θεοφιλεῖς ἐμὰς τύχας

παιᾶν’ ἐπηυφήμησεν, εὐθυμῶν ἐμέ.

κἀγὼ τὸ Φοίβου θεῖον ἀψευδὲς στόμα

ἤλπιζον εἶναι, μαντικῇ βρύον τέχνῃ·

ὁ δ’, αὐτὸς ὑμνῶν, αὐτὸς ἐν θοίνῃ παρών,

αὐτὸς τάδ’ εἰπών, αὐτός ἐστιν ὁ κτανὼν

τὸν παῖδα τὸν ἐμόν —

[383c] ὅταν τις τοιαῦτα λέγῃ περὶ θεῶν, χαλεπανοῦμέν τε καὶ χορὸν οὐ δώσομεν, οὐδὲ τοὺς διδασκάλους ἐάσομεν ἐπὶ παιδείᾳ χρῆσθαι τῶν νέων, εἰ μέλλουσιν ἡμῖν οἱ φύλακες θεοσεβεῖς τε καὶ θεῖοι γίγνεσθαι, καθ’ ὅσον ἀνθρώπῳ ἐπὶ πλεῖστον οἷόν τε.

Παντάπασιν, ἔφη, ἔγωγε τοὺς τύπους τούτους συγχωρῶ, καὶ ὡς νόμοις ἂν χρῴμην.

Πολιτεία Γ

Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

[386a] Τὰ μὲν δὴ περὶ θεούς, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τοιαῦτ’ ἄττα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀκουστέον τε καὶ οὐκ ἀκουστέον εὐθὺς ἐκ παίδων τοῖς θεούς τε τιμήσουσιν καὶ γονέας τήν τε ἀλλήλων φιλίαν μὴ περὶ σμικροῦ ποιησομένοις.

Καὶ οἶμαί γ’, ἔφη, ὀρθῶς ἡμῖν φαίνεσθαι.

Τί δὲ δὴ εἰ μέλλουσιν εἶναι ἀνδρεῖοι; ἆρα οὐ ταῦτά τε λεκτέον καὶ οἷα αὐτοὺς ποιῆσαι ἥκιστα τὸν θάνατον δεδιέναι; [386b] ἢ ἡγῇ τινά ποτ’ ἂν γενέσθαι ἀνδρεῖον ἔχοντα ἐν αὑτῷ τοῦτο τὸ δεῖμα;

Μὰ Δία, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Τί δέ; τἀν ῞Αιδου ἡγούμενον εἶναί τε καὶ δεινὰ εἶναι οἴει τινὰ θανάτου ἀδεῆ ἔσεσθαι καὶ ἐν ταῖς μάχαις αἱρήσεσθαι πρὸ ἥττης τε καὶ δουλείας θάνατον;

Οὐδαμῶς.

Δεῖ δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡμᾶς ἐπιστατεῖν καὶ περὶ τούτων τῶν μύθων τοῖς ἐπιχειροῦσιν λέγειν, καὶ δεῖσθαι μὴ λοιδορεῖν ἁπλῶς οὕτως τὰ ἐν ῞Αιδου ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον ἐπαινεῖν, ὡς οὔτε ἀληθῆ [386c] ἂν λέγοντας οὔτε ὠφέλιμα τοῖς μέλλουσιν μαχίμοις ἔσεσθαι.

Δεῖ μέντοι, ἔφη.

᾿Εξαλείψομεν ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀπὸ τοῦδε τοῦ ἔπους ἀρξάμενοι πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα —

βουλοίμην κ’ ἐπάρουρος ἐὼν θητευέμεν ἄλλῳ

ἀνδρὶ παρ’ ἀκλήρῳ, ᾧ μὴ βίοτος πολὺς εἴη

ἢ πᾶσιν νεκύεσσι καταφθιμένοισιν ἀνάσσειν

καὶ τὸ —

[386d] οἰκία δὲ θνητοῖσι καὶ ἀθανάτοισι φανείη

σμερδαλέ’, εὐρώεντα, τά τε στυγέουσι θεοί περ

καὶ —

ὢ πόποι, ἦ ῥά τις ἔστι καὶ εἰν ᾿Αΐδαο δόμοισιν

ψυχὴ καὶ εἴδωλον, ἀτὰρ φρένες οὐκ ἔνι πάμπαν

καὶ τὸ —

οἴῳ πεπνῦσθαι, ταὶ δὲ σκιαὶ ἀΐσσουσι

καὶ —

ψυχὴ δ’ ἐκ ῥεθέων πταμένη ῎Αϊδόσδε βεβήκει,

ὃν πότμον γοόωσα, λιποῦσ’ ἀνδροτῆτα καὶ ἥβην

[387a] καὶ τὸ ψυχὴ δὲ κατὰ χθονός, ἠΰτε καπνός,

ᾤχετο τετριγυῖα

καὶ —

ὡς δ’ ὅτε νυκτερίδες μυχῷ ἄντρου θεσπεσίοιο

τρίζουσαι ποτέονται, ἐπεί κέ τις ἀποπέσῃσιν

ὁρμαθοῦ ἐκ πέτρης, ἀνά τ’ ἀλλήλῃσιν ἔχονται,

ὣς αἳ τετριγυῖαι ἅμ’ ᾔεσαν.

[387b] ταῦτα καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα παραιτησόμεθα ῞Ομηρόν τε καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ποιητὰς μὴ χαλεπαίνειν ἂν διαγράφωμεν, οὐχ ὡς οὐ ποιητικὰ καὶ ἡδέα τοῖς πολλοῖς ἀκούειν, ἀλλ’ ὅσῳ ποιητικώτερα, τοσούτῳ ἧττον ἀκουστέον παισὶ καὶ ἀνδράσιν οὓς δεῖ ἐλευθέρους εἶναι, δουλείαν θανάτου μᾶλλον πεφοβημένους.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Οὐκοῦν ἔτι καὶ τὰ περὶ ταῦτα ὀνόματα πάντα τὰ δεινά τε καὶ φοβερὰ ἀποβλητέα, Κωκυτούς τε καὶ Στύγας καὶ [387c] ἐνέρους καὶ ἀλίβαντας, καὶ ἄλλα ὅσα τούτου τοῦ τύπου ὀνομαζόμενα φρίττειν δὴ ποιεῖ ὡς οἴεται† πάντας τοὺς ἀκούοντας. καὶ ἴσως εὖ ἔχει πρὸς ἄλλο τι· ἡμεῖς δὲ ὑπὲρ τῶν φυλάκων φοβούμεθα μὴ ἐκ τῆς τοιαύτης φρίκης θερμότεροι καὶ μαλακώτεροι τοῦ δέοντος γένωνται ἡμῖν.

Καὶ ὀρθῶς γ’, ἔφη, φοβούμεθα.

᾿Αφαιρετέα ἄρα;

Ναί.

Τὸν δὲ ἐναντίον τύπον τούτοις λεκτέον τε καὶ ποιητέον;

Δῆλα δή.

[387d] Καὶ τοὺς ὀδυρμοὺς ἄρα ἐξαιρήσομεν καὶ τοὺς οἴκτους τοὺς τῶν ἐλλογίμων ἀνδρῶν;

᾿Ανάγκη, ἔφη, εἴπερ καὶ τὰ πρότερα.

Σκόπει δή, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εἰ ὀρθῶς ἐξαιρήσομεν ἢ οὔ. φαμὲν δὲ δὴ ὅτι ὁ ἐπιεικὴς ἀνὴρ τῷ ἐπιεικεῖ, οὗπερ καὶ ἑταῖρός ἐστιν, τὸ τεθνάναι οὐ δεινὸν ἡγήσεται. Φαμὲν γάρ.

Οὐκ ἄρα ὑπέρ γ’ ἐκείνου ὡς δεινόν τι πεπονθότος ὀδύροιτ’ ἄν.

Οὐ δῆτα.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν καὶ τόδε λέγομεν, ὡς ὁ τοιοῦτος μάλιστα αὐτὸς αὑτῷ αὐτάρκης πρὸς τὸ εὖ ζῆν καὶ διαφερόντως τῶν [387e] ἄλλων ἥκιστα ἑτέρου προσδεῖται.

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφη.

῞Ηκιστα ἄρ’ αὐτῷ δεινὸν στερηθῆναι ὑέος ἢ ἀδελφοῦ ἢ χρημάτων ἢ ἄλλου του τῶν τοιούτων.

῞Ηκιστα μέντοι.

῞Ηκιστ’ ἄρα καὶ ὀδύρεσθαι, φέρειν δὲ ὡς πρᾳότατα, ὅταν τις αὐτὸν τοιαύτη συμφορὰ καταλάβῃ.

Πολύ γε.

᾿Ορθῶς ἄρ’ ἂν ἐξαιροῖμεν τοὺς θρήνους τῶν ὀνομαστῶν ἀνδρῶν, γυναιξὶ δὲ ἀποδιδοῖμεν, καὶ οὐδὲ ταύταις σπου[388a]δαίαις, καὶ ὅσοι κακοὶ τῶν ἀνδρῶν, ἵνα ἡμῖν δυσχεραίνωσιν ὅμοια τούτοις ποιεῖν οὓς δή φαμεν ἐπὶ φυλακῇ τῆς χώρας τρέφειν.

᾿Ορθῶς, ἔφη.

Πάλιν δὴ ῾Ομήρου τε δεησόμεθα καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ποιητῶν μὴ ποιεῖν ᾿Αχιλλέα θεᾶς παῖδα —

ἄλλοτ’ ἐπὶ πλευρᾶς κατακείμενον, ἄλλοτε δ’ αὖτε

ὕπτιον, ἄλλοτε δὲ πρηνῆ,

τοτὲ δ’ ὀρθὸν ἀναστάντα πλωΐζοντ’ ἀλύοντ’ ἐπὶ [388b] θῖν’ ἁλὸς ἀτρυγέτοιο, μηδὲ ἀμφοτέραισιν χερσὶν ἑλόντα κόνιν αἰθαλόεσσαν χευάμενον κὰκ κεφαλῆς, μηδὲ ἄλλα κλαίοντά τε καὶ ὀδυρόμενον ὅσα καὶ οἷα ἐκεῖνος ἐποίησε, μηδὲ Πρίαμον ἐγγὺς θεῶν γεγονότα λιτανεύοντά τε καὶ κυλινδόμενον κατὰ κόπρον, ἐξονομακλήδην ὀνομάζοντ’ ἄνδρα ἕκαστον.

πολὺ δ’ ἔτι τούτων μᾶλλον δεησόμεθα μήτοι θεούς γε ποιεῖν ὀδυρομένους καὶ λέγοντας —

[388c] ὤμοι ἐγὼ δειλή, ὤμοι δυσαριστοτόκεια·

εἰ δ’ οὖν θεούς, μήτοι τόν γε μέγιστον τῶν θεῶν τολμῆσαι οὕτως ἀνομοίως μιμήσασθαι, ὥστε

ὢ πόποι, φάναι, ἦ φίλον ἄνδρα διωκόμενον περὶ ἄστυ

ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ὁρῶμαι, ἐμὸν δ’ ὀλοφύρεται ἦτορ·

καὶ —

αἲ αἲ ἐγών, ὅ τέ μοι Σαρπηδόνα φίλτατον ἀνδρῶν

[388d] μοῖρ’ ὑπὸ Πατρόκλοιο Μενοιτιάδαο δαμῆναι.

εἰ γάρ, ὦ φίλε ᾿Αδείμαντε, τὰ τοιαῦτα ἡμῖν οἱ νέοι σπουδῇ ἀκούοιεν καὶ μὴ καταγελῷεν ὡς ἀναξίως λεγομένων, σχολῇ ἂν ἑαυτόν γέ τις ἄνθρωπον ὄντα ἀνάξιον ἡγήσαιτο τούτων καὶ ἐπιπλήξειεν, εἰ καὶ ἐπίοι αὐτῷ τι τοιοῦτον ἢ λέγειν ἢ ποιεῖν, ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν αἰσχυνόμενος οὐδὲ καρτερῶν πολλοὺς ἐπὶ σμικροῖσιν παθήμασιν θρήνους ἂν ᾄδοι καὶ ὀδυρμούς.

[388e] ᾿Αληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

Δεῖ δέ γε οὔχ, ὡς ἄρτι ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος ἐσήμαινεν· ᾧ πειστέον, ἕως ἄν τις ἡμᾶς ἄλλῳ καλλίονι πείσῃ.

Οὐ γὰρ οὖν δεῖ.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν οὐδὲ φιλογέλωτάς γε δεῖ εἶναι. σχεδὸν γὰρ ὅταν τις ἐφιῇ ἰσχυρῷ γέλωτι, ἰσχυρὰν καὶ μεταβολὴν ζητεῖ τὸ τοιοῦτον.

Δοκεῖ μοι, ἔφη.

Οὔτε ἄρα ἀνθρώπους ἀξίους λόγου κρατουμένους ὑπὸ [389a] γέλωτος ἄν τις ποιῇ, ἀποδεκτέον, πολὺ δὲ ἧττον, ἐὰν θεούς.

Πολὺ μέντοι, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Οὐκοῦν ῾Ομήρου οὐδὲ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀποδεξόμεθα περὶ θεῶν —

ἄσβεστος δ’ ἄρ’ ἐνῶρτο γέλως μακάρεσσι θεοῖσιν,

ὡς ἴδον ῞Ηφαιστον διὰ δώματα ποιπνύοντα·

οὐκ ἀποδεκτέον κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον.

Εἰ σύ, ἔφη, βούλει ἐμὸν τιθέναι· οὐ γὰρ οὖν δὴ [389b] ἀποδεκτέον.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν καὶ ἀλήθειάν γε περὶ πολλοῦ ποιητέον. εἰ γὰρ ὀρθῶς ἐλέγομεν ἄρτι, καὶ τῷ ὄντι θεοῖσι μὲν ἄχρηστον ψεῦδος, ἀνθρώποις δὲ χρήσιμον ὡς ἐν φαρμάκου εἴδει, δῆλον ὅτι τό γε τοιοῦτον ἰατροῖς δοτέον, ἰδιώταις δὲ οὐχ ἁπτέον.

Δῆλον, ἔφη.

Τοῖς ἄρχουσιν δὴ τῆς πόλεως, εἴπερ τισὶν ἄλλοις, προσήκει ψεύδεσθαι ἢ πολεμίων ἢ πολιτῶν ἕνεκα ἐπ’ ὠφελίᾳ τῆς πόλεως, τοῖς δὲ ἄλλοις πᾶσιν οὐχ ἁπτέον τοῦ τοιούτου· [389c] ἀλλὰ πρός γε δὴ τοὺς τοιούτους ἄρχοντας ἰδιώτῃ ψεύσασθαι ταὐτὸν καὶ μεῖζον ἁμάρτημα φήσομεν ἢ κάμνοντι πρὸς ἰατρὸν ἢ ἀσκοῦντι πρὸς παιδοτρίβην περὶ τῶν τοῦ αὑτοῦ σώματος παθημάτων μὴ τἀληθῆ λέγειν, ἢ πρὸς κυβερνήτην περὶ τῆς νεώς τε καὶ τῶν ναυτῶν μὴ τὰ ὄντα λέγοντι ὅπως ἢ αὐτὸς ἤ τις τῶν συνναυτῶν πράξεως ἔχει.

᾿Αληθέστατα, ἔφη.

[389d] ῍Αν ἄρ’ ἄλλον τινὰ λαμβάνῃ ψευδόμενον ἐν τῇ πόλει τῶν οἳ δημιοεργοὶ ἔασι, μάντιν ἢ ἰητῆρα κακῶν ἢ τέκτονα δούρων,

κολάσει ὡς ἐπιτήδευμα εἰσάγοντα πόλεως ὥσπερ νεὼς ἀνατρεπτικόν τε καὶ ὀλέθριον.

᾿Εάνπερ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἐπί γε λόγῳ ἔργα τελῆται.

Τί δέ; σωφροσύνης ἆρα οὐ δεήσει ἡμῖν τοῖς νεανίαις;

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωφροσύνης δὲ ὡς πλήθει οὐ τὰ τοιάδε μέγιστα, ἀρχόν[389e]των μὲν ὑπηκόους εἶναι, αὐτοὺς δὲ ἄρχοντας τῶν περὶ πότους καὶ ἀφροδίσια καὶ περὶ ἐδωδὰς ἡδονῶν; ῎Εμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Τὰ δὴ τοιάδε φήσομεν οἶμαι καλῶς λέγεσθαι, οἷα καὶ ῾Ομήρῳ Διομήδης λέγει —

τέττα, σιωπῇ ἧσο, ἐμῷ δ’ ἐπιπείθεο μύθῳ,

καὶ τὰ τούτων ἐχόμενα, τὰ ἴσαν μένεα πνείοντες ᾿Αχαιοί,

σιγῇ δειδιότες σημάντορας,

καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα τοιαῦτα.

Καλῶς.

Τί δέ; τὰ τοιάδε —

οἰνοβαρές, κυνὸς ὄμματ’ ἔχων, κραδίην δ’ ἐλάφοιο

[390a] καὶ τὰ τούτων ἑξῆς ἆρα καλῶς, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα τις ἐν λόγῳ ἢ ἐν ποιήσει εἴρηκε νεανιεύματα ἰδιωτῶν εἰς ἄρχοντας;

Οὐ καλῶς.

Οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι εἴς γε σωφροσύνην νέοις ἐπιτήδεια ἀκούειν· εἰ δέ τινα ἄλλην ἡδονὴν παρέχεται, θαυμαστὸν οὐδέν. ἢ πῶς σοι φαίνεται;

Οὕτως, ἔφη.

Τί δέ; ποιεῖν ἄνδρα τὸν σοφώτατον λέγοντα ὡς δοκεῖ αὐτῷ κάλλιστον εἶναι πάντων, ὅταν παρὰ πλεῖαι ὦσι τράπεζαι

[390b] σίτου καὶ κρειῶν, μέθυ δ’ ἐκ κρητῆρος ἀφύσσων

οἰνοχόος φορέῃσι καὶ ἐγχείῃ δεπάεσσι,

δοκεῖ σοι ἐπιτήδειον εἶναι πρὸς ἐγκράτειαν ἑαυτοῦ ἀκούειν νέῳ; ἢ τὸ λιμῷ δ’ οἴκτιστον θανέειν καὶ πότμον ἐπισπεῖν;

ἢ Δία, καθευδόντων τῶν ἄλλων θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων ὡς, μόνος ἐγρηγορὼς ἃ ἐβουλεύσατο, τούτων πάντων ῥᾳδίως [390c] ἐπιλανθανόμενον διὰ τὴν τῶν ἀφροδισίων ἐπιθυμίαν, καὶ οὕτως ἐκπλαγέντα ἰδόντα τὴν ῞Ηραν, ὥστε μηδ’ εἰς τὸ δωμάτιον ἐθέλειν ἐλθεῖν, ἀλλ’ αὐτοῦ βουλόμενον χαμαὶ συγγίγνεσθαι, λέγοντα ὡς οὕτως ὑπὸ ἐπιθυμίας ἔχεται, ὡς οὐδ’ ὅτε τὸ πρῶτον ἐφοίτων πρὸς ἀλλήλους φίλους λήθοντε τοκῆας· οὐδὲ ῎Αρεώς τε καὶ ᾿Αφροδίτης ὑπὸ ῾Ηφαίστου δεσμὸν δι’ ἕτερα τοιαῦτα. Οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὔ μοι φαίνεται ἐπιτήδειον.

[390d] ᾿Αλλ’ εἴ πού τινες, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καρτερίαι πρὸς ἅπαντα καὶ λέγονται καὶ πράττονται ὑπὸ ἐλλογίμων ἀνδρῶν, θεατέον τε καὶ ἀκουστέον, οἷον καὶ τὸ —

στῆθος δὲ πλήξας κραδίην ἠνίπαπε μύθῳ·

τέτλαθι δή, κραδίη· καὶ κύντερον ἄλλο ποτ’ ἔτλης.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

Οὐ μὲν δὴ δωροδόκους γε ἐατέον εἶναι τοὺς ἄνδρας οὐδὲ

φιλοχρημάτους.

[390e] Οὐδαμῶς.

Οὐδ’ ᾀστέον αὐτοῖς ὅτι δῶρα θεοὺς πείθει, δῶρ’ αἰδοίους βασιλῆας·

οὐδὲ τὸν τοῦ ᾿Αχιλλέως παιδαγωγὸν Φοίνικα ἐπαινετέον ὡς μετρίως ἔλεγε συμβουλεύων αὐτῷ δῶρα μὲν λαβόντι ἐπαμύνειν τοῖς ᾿Αχαιοῖς, ἄνευ δὲ δώρων μὴ ἀπαλλάττεσθαι τῆς μήνιος. οὐδ’ αὐτὸν τὸν ᾿Αχιλλέα ἀξιώσομεν οὐδ’ ὁμολογήσομεν οὕτω φιλοχρήματον εἶναι, ὥστε παρὰ τοῦ ᾿Αγαμέμνονος δῶρα λαβεῖν, καὶ τιμὴν αὖ λαβόντα νεκροῦ [391a] ἀπολύειν, ἄλλως δὲ μὴ ‘θέλειν.

Οὔκουν δίκαιόν γε, ἔφη, ἐπαινεῖν τὰ τοιαῦτα.

᾿Οκνῶ δέ γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δι’ ῞Ομηρον λέγειν ὅτι οὐδ’ ὅσιον ταῦτά γε κατὰ ᾿Αχιλλέως φάναι καὶ ἄλλων λεγόντων πείθεσθαι, καὶ αὖ ὡς πρὸς τὸν ᾿Απόλλω εἶπεν —

ἔβλαψάς μ’ ἑκάεργε, θεῶν ὀλοώτατε πάντων·

ἦ σ’ ἂν τισαίμην, εἴ μοι δύναμίς γε παρείη·

[391b] καὶ ὡς πρὸς τὸν ποταμόν, θεὸν ὄντα, ἀπειθῶς εἶχεν καὶ μάχεσθαι ἕτοιμος ἦν, καὶ αὖ τὰς τοῦ ἑτέρου ποταμοῦ Σπερχειοῦ ἱερὰς τρίχας Πατρόκλῳ ἥρωϊ, ἔφη, κόμην ὀπάσαιμι φέρεσθαι, νεκρῷ ὄντι, καὶ ὡς ἔδρασεν τοῦτο, οὐ πειστέον· τάς τε αὖ ῞Εκτορος ἕλξεις περὶ τὸ σῆμα τὸ Πατρόκλου καὶ τὰς τῶν ζωγρηθέντων σφαγὰς εἰς τὴν πυράν, σύμπαντα ταῦτα οὐ φήσομεν ἀληθῆ εἰρῆσθαι, οὐδ’ ἐάσομεν [391c] πείθεσθαι τοὺς ἡμετέρους ὡς ᾿Αχιλλεύς, θεᾶς ὢν παῖς καὶ Πηλέως, σωφρονεστάτου τε καὶ τρίτου ἀπὸ Διός, καὶ ὑπὸ τῷ σοφωτάτῳ Χείρωνι τεθραμμένος, τοσαύτης ἦν ταραχῆς πλέως, ὥστ’ ἔχειν ἐν αὑτῷ νοσήματε δύο ἐναντίω ἀλλήλοιν, ἀνελευθερίαν μετὰ φιλοχρηματίας καὶ αὖ ὑπερηφανίαν θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων.

᾿Ορθῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

Μὴ τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μηδὲ τάδε πειθώμεθα μηδ’ ἐῶμεν λέγειν, ὡς Θησεὺς Ποσειδῶνος ὑὸς Πειρίθους τε Διὸς [391d] ὥρμησαν οὕτως ἐπὶ δεινὰς ἁρπαγάς, μηδέ τιν’ ἄλλον θεοῦ παῖδά τε καὶ ἥρω τολμῆσαι ἂν δεινὰ καὶ ἀσεβῆ ἐργάσασθαι, παῖδά τε καὶ ἥρω τολμῆσαι ἂν δεινὰ καὶ ἀσεβῆ ἐργάσασθαι, οἷα νῦν καταψεύδονται αὐτῶν· ἀλλὰ προσαναγκάζωμεν τοὺς ποιητὰς ἢ μὴ τούτων αὐτὰ ἔργα φάναι ἢ τούτους μὴ εἶναι θεῶν παῖδας, ἀμφότερα δὲ μὴ λέγειν, μηδὲ ἡμῖν ἐπιχειρεῖν πείθειν τοὺς νέους ὡς οἱ θεοὶ κακὰ γεννῶσιν, καὶ ἥρωες ἀνθρώπων οὐδὲν βελτίους· ὅπερ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέ[391e]γομεν, οὔθ’ ὅσια ταῦτα οὔτε ἀληθῆ· ἐπεδείξαμεν γάρ που ὅτι ἐκ θεῶν κακὰ γίγνεσθαι ἀδύνατον.

Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Καὶ μὴν τοῖς γε ἀκούουσιν βλαβερά· πᾶς γὰρ ἑαυτῷ συγγνώμην ἕξει κακῷ ὄντι, πεισθεὶς ὡς ἄρα τοιαῦτα πράττουσίν τε καὶ ἔπραττον καὶ οἱ θεῶν ἀγχίσποροι,

<οἱ> Ζηνὸς ἐγγύς, ὧν κατ’ ᾿Ιδαῖον πάγον

Διὸς πατρῴου βωμός ἐστ’ ἐν αἰθέρι,

καὶ —

οὔ πώ σφιν ἐξίτηλον αἷμα δαιμόνων.

ὧν ἕνεκα παυστέον τοὺς τοιούτους μύθους, μὴ ἡμῖν πολλὴν [392a] εὐχέρειαν ἐντίκτωσι τοῖς νέοις πονηρίας.

Κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

Τί οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἡμῖν ἔτι λοιπὸν εἶδος λόγων πέρι ὁριζομένοις οἵους τε λεκτέον καὶ μή; περὶ γὰρ θεῶν ὡς δεῖ λέγεσθαι εἴρηται, καὶ περὶ δαιμόνων τε καὶ ἡρώων καὶ τῶν ἐν ῞Αιδου.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ ἀνθρώπων τὸ λοιπὸν εἴη ἄν;

Δῆλα δή.

᾿Αδύνατον δή, ὦ φίλε, ἡμῖν τοῦτό γε ἐν τῷ παρόντι τάξαι.

Πῶς;

῞Οτι οἶμαι ἡμᾶς ἐρεῖν ὡς ἄρα καὶ ποιηταὶ καὶ λογοποιοὶ [392b] κακῶς λέγουσιν περὶ ἀνθρώπων τὰ μέγιστα, ὅτι εἰσὶν ἄδικοι μὲν εὐδαίμονες πολλοί, δίκαιοι δὲ ἄθλιοι, καὶ ὡς λυσιτελεῖ τὸ ἀδικεῖν, ἐὰν λανθάνῃ, ἡ δὲ δικαιοσύνη ἀλλότριον μὲν ἀγαθόν, οἰκεία δὲ ζημία· καὶ τὰ μὲν τοιαῦτα ἀπερεῖν λέγειν, τὰ δ’ ἐναντία τούτων προστάξειν ᾄδειν τε καὶ μυθολογεῖν. ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

Εὖ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, οἶδα.

Οὐκοῦν ἐὰν ὁμολογῇς ὀρθῶς με λέγειν, φήσω σε ὡμολογηκέναι ἃ πάλαι ζητοῦμεν;

᾿Ορθῶς, ἔφη, ὑπέλαβες.

[392c] Οὐκοῦν περί γε ἀνθρώπων ὅτι τοιούτους δεῖ λόγους λέγεσθαι, τότε διομολογησόμεθα, ὅταν εὕρωμεν οἷόν ἐστιν δικαιοσύνη καὶ ὡς φύσει λυσιτελοῦν τῷ ἔχοντι, ἐάντε δοκῇ ἐάντε μὴ τοιοῦτος εἶναι;

᾿Αληθέστατα, ἔφη.

Τὰ μὲν δὴ λόγων πέρι ἐχέτω τέλος· τὸ δὲ λέξεως, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, μετὰ τοῦτο σκεπτέον, καὶ ἡμῖν ἅ τε λεκτέον καὶ ὡς λεκτέον παντελῶς ἐσκέψεται.

Καὶ ὁ ᾿Αδείμαντος, Τοῦτο, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐ μανθάνω ὅτι λέγεις.

[392d] ᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δεῖ γε· ἴσως οὖν τῇδε μᾶλλον εἴσῃ. ἆρ’ οὐ πάντα ὅσα ὑπὸ μυθολόγων ἢ ποιητῶν λέγεται διήγησις οὖσα τυγχάνει ἢ γεγονότων ἢ ὄντων ἢ μελλόντων;

Τί γάρ, ἔφη, ἄλλο;

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐχὶ ἤτοι ἁπλῇ διηγήσει ἢ διὰ μιμήσεως γιγνομένῃ ἢ δι’ ἀμφοτέρων περαίνουσιν;

Καὶ τοῦτο, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἔτι δέομαι σαφέστερον μαθεῖν.

Γελοῖος, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔοικα διδάσκαλος εἶναι καὶ ἀσαφής· ὥσπερ οὖν οἱ ἀδύνατοι λέγειν, οὐ κατὰ ὅλον ἀλλ’ ἀπολαβὼν [392e] μέρος τι πειράσομαί σοι ἐν τούτῳ δηλῶσαι ὃ βούλομαι. καί μοι εἰπέ· ἐπίστασαι τῆς ᾿Ιλιάδος τὰ πρῶτα, ἐν οἷς ὁ ποιητής φησι τὸν μὲν Χρύσην δεῖσθαι τοῦ ᾿Αγαμέμνονος ἀπολῦσαι τὴν θυγατέρα, τὸν δὲ χαλεπαίνειν, τὸν δέ, ἐπειδὴ [393a] οὐκ ἐτύγχανεν, κατεύχεσθαι τῶν ᾿Αχαιῶν πρὸς τὸν θεόν;

῎Εγωγε.

Οἶσθ’ οὖν ὅτι μέχρι μὲν τούτων τῶν ἐπῶν καὶ ἐλίσσετο πάντας ᾿Αχαιούς,

᾿Ατρείδα δὲ μάλιστα δύω, κοσμήτορε λαῶν

λέγει τε αὐτὸς ὁ ποιητὴς καὶ οὐδὲ ἐπιχειρεῖ ἡμῶν τὴν διάνοιαν ἄλλοσε τρέπειν ὡς ἄλλος τις ὁ λέγων ἢ αὐτός· τὰ δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα ὥσπερ αὐτὸς ὢν ὁ Χρύσης λέγει καὶ πειρᾶται [393b] ἡμᾶς ὅτι μάλιστα ποιῆσαι μὴ ῞Ομηρον δοκεῖν εἶναι τὸν λέγοντα ἀλλὰ τὸν ἱερέα, πρεσβύτην ὄντα. καὶ τὴν ἄλλην δὴ πᾶσαν σχεδόν τι οὕτω πεποίηται διήγησιν περί τε τῶν ἐν ᾿Ιλίῳ καὶ περὶ τῶν ἐν ᾿Ιθάκῃ καὶ ὅλῃ ᾿Οδυσσείᾳ παθημάτων.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν διήγησις μέν ἐστιν καὶ ὅταν τὰς ῥήσεις ἑκάστοτε λέγῃ καὶ ὅταν τὰ μεταξὺ τῶν ῥήσεων;

Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

[393c] ᾿Αλλ’ ὅταν γέ τινα λέγῃ ῥῆσιν ὥς τις ἄλλος ὤν, ἆρ’ οὐ τότε ὁμοιοῦν αὐτὸν φήσομεν ὅτι μάλιστα τὴν αὑτοῦ λέξιν ἑκάστῳ ὃν ἂν προείπῃ ὡς ἐροῦντα;

Φήσομεν· τί γάρ;

Οὐκοῦν τό γε ὁμοιοῦν ἑαυτὸν ἄλλῳ ἢ κατὰ φωνὴν ἢ κατὰ σχῆμα μιμεῖσθαί ἐστιν ἐκεῖνον ᾧ ἄν τις ὁμοιοῖ;

Τί μήν;

᾿Εν δὴ τῷ τοιούτῳ, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὗτός τε καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ποιηταὶ διὰ μιμήσεως τὴν διήγησιν ποιοῦνται.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Εἰ δέ γε μηδαμοῦ ἑαυτὸν ἀποκρύπτοιτο ὁ ποιητής, πᾶσα [393d] ἂν αὐτῷ ἄνευ μιμήσεως ἡ ποίησίς τε καὶ διήγησις γεγονυῖα εἴη. ἵνα δὲ μὴ εἴπῃς ὅτι οὐκ αὖ μανθάνεις, ὅπως ἂν τοῦτο γένοιτο ἐγὼ φράσω. εἰ γὰρ ῞Ομηρος εἰπὼν ὅτι ἦλθεν ὁ Χρύσης τῆς τε θυγατρὸς λύτρα φέρων καὶ ἱκέτης τῶν ᾿Αχαιῶν, μάλιστα δὲ τῶν βασιλέων, μετὰ τοῦτο μὴ ὡς Χρύσης γενόμενος ἔλεγεν ἀλλ’ ἔτι ὡς ῞Ομηρος, οἶσθ’ ὅτι οὐκ ἂν μίμησις ἦν ἀλλὰ ἁπλῆ διήγησις. εἶχε δ’ ἂν ὧδε πως — φράσω δὲ ἄνευ μέτρου· οὐ γάρ εἰμι ποιητικός — ᾿Ελθὼν [393e] ὁ ἱερεὺς ηὔχετο ἐκείνοις μὲν τοὺς θεοὺς δοῦναι ἑλόντας τὴν Τροίαν αὐτοὺς σωθῆναι, τὴν δὲ θυγατέρα οἱ λῦσαι δεξαμένους ἄποινα καὶ τὸν θεὸν αἰδεσθέντας. ταῦτα δὲ εἰπόντος αὐτοῦ οἱ μὲν ἄλλοι ἐσέβοντο καὶ συνῄνουν, ὁ δὲ ᾿Αγαμέμνων ἠγρίαινεν ἐντελλόμενος νῦν τε ἀπιέναι καὶ αὖθις μὴ ἐλθεῖν, μὴ αὐτῷ τό τε σκῆπτρον καὶ τὰ τοῦ θεοῦ στέμματα οὐκ ἐπαρκέσοι· πρὶν δὲ λυθῆναι αὐτοῦ τὴν θυγατέρα, ἐν ῎Αργει ἔφη γηράσειν μετὰ οὗ· ἀπιέναι δ’ ἐκέλευεν καὶ μὴ ἐρεθίζειν, [394a] ἵνα σῶς οἴκαδε ἔλθοι. ὁ δὲ πρεσβύτης ἀκούσας ἔδεισέν τε καὶ ἀπῄει σιγῇ, ἀποχωρήσας δὲ ἐκ τοῦ στρατοπέδου πολλὰ τῷ ᾿Απόλλωνι ηὔχετο, τάς τε ἐπωνυμίας τοῦ θεοῦ ἀνακαλῶν καὶ ὑπομιμνῄσκων καὶ ἀπαιτῶν, εἴ τι πώποτε ἢ ἐν ναῶν οἰκοδομήσεσιν ἢ ἐν ἱερῶν θυσίαις κεχαρισμένον δωρήσαιτο· ὧν δὴ χάριν κατηύχετο τεῖσαι τοὺς ᾿Αχαιοὺς τὰ ἃ δάκρυα τοῖς ἐκείνου βέλεσιν. οὕτως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἄνευ [394b] μιμήσεως ἁπλῆ διήγησις γίγνεται.

Μανθάνω, ἔφη.

Μάνθανε τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι ταύτης αὖ ἐναντία γίγνεται, ὅταν τις τὰ τοῦ ποιητοῦ τὰ μεταξὺ τῶν ῥήσεων ἐξαιρῶν τὰ ἀμοιβαῖα καταλείπῃ.

Καὶ τοῦτο, ἔφη, μανθάνω, ὅτι ἔστιν τὸ περὶ τὰς τραγῳδίας τοιοῦτον.

᾿Ορθότατα, ἔφην, ὑπέλαβες, καὶ οἶμαί σοι ἤδη δηλοῦν ὃ ἔμπροσθεν οὐχ οἷός τ’ ἦ, ὅτι τῆς ποιήσεώς τε καὶ μυθο[394c]λογίας ἡ μὲν διὰ μιμήσεως ὅλη ἐστίν, ὥσπερ σὺ λέγεις, τραγῳδία τε καὶ κωμῳδία, ἡ δὲ δι’ ἀπαγγελίας αὐτοῦ τοῦ ποιητοῦ — εὕροις δ’ ἂν αὐτὴν μάλιστά που ἐν διθυράμβοις — ἡ δ’ αὖ δι’ ἀμφοτέρων ἔν τε τῇ τῶν ἐπῶν ποιήσει, πολλαχοῦ δὲ καὶ ἄλλοθι, εἴ μοι μανθάνεις.

᾿Αλλὰ συνίημι, ἔφη, ὃ τότε ἐβούλου λέγειν.

Καὶ τὸ πρὸ τούτου δὴ ἀναμνήσθητι, ὅτι ἔφαμεν ἃ μὲν λεκτέον ἤδη εἰρῆσθαι, ὡς δὲ λεκτέον ἔτι σκεπτέον εἶναι.

᾿Αλλὰ μέμνημαι.

[394d] Τοῦτο τοίνυν αὐτὸ ἦν ὃ ἔλεγον, ὅτι χρείη διομολογήσασθαι πότερον ἐάσομεν τοὺς ποιητὰς μιμουμένους ἡμῖν τὰς διηγήσεις ποιεῖσθαι ἢ τὰ μὲν μιμουμένους, τὰ δὲ μή, καὶ ὁποῖα ἑκάτερα, ἢ οὐδὲ μιμεῖσθαι.

Μαντεύομαι, ἔφη, σκοπεῖσθαί σε εἴτε παραδεξόμεθα τραγῳδίαν τε καὶ κωμῳδίαν εἰς τὴν πόλιν, εἴτε καὶ οὔ.

῎Ισως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἴσως δὲ καὶ πλείω ἔτι τούτων· οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἔγωγέ πω οἶδα, ἀλλ’ ὅπῃ ἂν ὁ λόγος ὥσπερ πνεῦμα φέρῃ, ταύτῃ ἰτέον.

Καὶ καλῶς γ’, ἔφη, λέγεις.

[394e]Τόδε τοίνυν, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε, ἄθρει, πότερον μιμητικοὺς ἡμῖν δεῖ εἶναι τοὺς φύλακας ἢ οὔ· ἢ καὶ τοῦτο τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἕπεται, ὅτι εἷς ἕκαστος ἓν μὲν ἂν ἐπιτήδευμα καλῶς ἐπιτηδεύοι, πολλὰ δ’ οὔ, ἀλλ’ εἰ τοῦτο ἐπιχειροῖ, πολλῶν ἐφαπτόμενος πάντων ἀποτυγχάνοι ἄν, ὥστ’ εἶναί που ἐλλόγιμος;

Τί δ’ οὐ μέλλει;

Οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ μιμήσεως ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, ὅτι πολλὰ ὁ αὐτὸς μιμεῖσθαι εὖ ὥσπερ ἓν οὐ δυνατός;

Οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

[395a] Σχολῇ ἄρα ἐπιτηδεύσει γέ τι ἅμα τῶν ἀξίων λόγου ἐπιτηδευμάτων καὶ πολλὰ μιμήσεται καὶ ἔσται μιμητικός, ἐπεί που οὐδὲ τὰ δοκοῦντα ἐγγὺς ἀλλήλων εἶναι δύο μιμήματα δύνανται οἱ αὐτοὶ ἅμα εὖ μιμεῖσθαι, οἷον κωμῳδίαν καὶ τραγῳδίαν ποιοῦντες. ἢ οὐ μιμήματε ἄρτι τούτω ἐκάλεις;

῎Εγωγε· καὶ ἀληθῆ γε λέγεις, ὅτι οὐ δύνανται οἱ αὐτοί.

Οὐδὲ μὴν ῥαψῳδοί γε καὶ ὑποκριταὶ ἅμα.

᾿Αληθῆ.

᾿Αλλ’ οὐδέ τοι ὑποκριταὶ κωμῳδοῖς τε καὶ τραγῳδοῖς οἱ [395b] αὐτοί· πάντα δὲ ταῦτα μιμήματα. ἢ οὔ;

Μιμήματα.

Καὶ ἔτι γε τούτων, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε, φαίνεταί μοι εἰς σμικρότερα κατακεκερματίσθαι ἡ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου φύσις, ὥστε ἀδύνατος εἶναι πολλὰ καλῶς μιμεῖσθαι ἢ αὐτὰ ἐκεῖνα πράττειν ὧν δὴ καὶ τὰ μιμήματά ἐστιν ἀφομοιώματα.

᾿Αληθέστατα, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Εἰ ἄρα τὸν πρῶτον λόγον διασώσομεν, τοὺς φύλακας ἡμῖν τῶν ἄλλων πασῶν δημιουργιῶν ἀφειμένους δεῖν εἶναι [395c] δημιουργοὺς ἐλευθερίας τῆς πόλεως πάνυ ἀκριβεῖς καὶ μηδὲν ἄλλο ἐπιτηδεύειν ὅτι μὴ εἰς τοῦτο φέρει, οὐδὲν δὴ δέοι ἂν αὐτοὺς ἄλλο πράττειν οὐδὲ μιμεῖσθαι· ἐὰν δὲ μιμῶνται, μιμεῖσθαι τὰ τούτοις προσήκοντα εὐθὺς ἐκ παίδων, ἀνδρείους, σώφρονας, ὁσίους, ἐλευθέρους, καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα, τὰ δὲ ἀνελεύθερα μήτε ποιεῖν μήτε δεινοὺς εἶναι μιμήσασθαι, μηδὲ ἄλλο μηδὲν τῶν αἰσχρῶν, ἵνα μὴ ἐκ τῆς μιμήσεως τοῦ εἶναι [395d] ἀπολαύσωσιν. ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι ὅτι αἱ μιμήσεις, ἐὰν ἐκ νέων πόρρω διατελέσωσιν, εἰς ἔθη τε καὶ φύσιν καθίστανται καὶ κατὰ σῶμα καὶ φωνὰς καὶ κατὰ τὴν διάνοιαν;

Καὶ μάλα, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Οὐ δὴ ἐπιτρέψομεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὧν φαμὲν κήδεσθαι καὶ δεῖν αὐτοὺς ἄνδρας ἀγαθοὺς γενέσθαι, γυναῖκα μιμεῖσθαι ἄνδρας ὄντας, ἢ νέαν ἢ πρεσβυτέραν, ἢ ἀνδρὶ λοιδορουμένην ἢ πρὸς θεοὺς ἐρίζουσάν τε καὶ μεγαλαυχουμένην, οἰομένην [395e] εὐδαίμονα εἶναι, ἢ ἐν συμφοραῖς τε καὶ πένθεσιν καὶ θρήνοις ἐχομένην· κάμνουσαν δὲ ἢ ἐρῶσαν ἢ ὠδίνουσαν, πολλοῦ καὶ δεήσομεν.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Οὐδέ γε δούλας τε καὶ δούλους πράττοντας ὅσα δούλων.

Οὐδὲ τοῦτο.

Οὐδέ γε ἄνδρας κακούς, ὡς ἔοικεν, δειλούς τε καὶ τὰ ἐναντία πράττοντας ὧν νυνδὴ εἴπομεν, κακηγοροῦντάς τε καὶ κωμῳδοῦντας ἀλλήλους καὶ αἰσχρολογοῦντας, μεθύοντας ἢ [396a] καὶ νήφοντας, ἢ καὶ ἄλλα ὅσα οἱ τοιοῦτοι καὶ ἐν λόγοις καὶ ἐν ἔργοις ἁμαρτάνουσιν εἰς αὑτούς τε καὶ εἰς ἄλλους, οἶμαι δὲ οὐδὲ μαινομένοις ἐθιστέον ἀφομοιοῦν αὑτοὺς ἐν λόγοις οὐδὲ ἐν ἔργοις· γνωστέον μὲν γὰρ καὶ μαινομένους καὶ πονηροὺς ἄνδρας τε καὶ γυναῖκας, ποιητέον δὲ οὐδὲν τούτων οὐδὲ μιμητέον.

᾿Αληθέστατα, ἔφη.

Τί δέ; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· χαλκεύοντας ἤ τι ἄλλο δημιουργοῦντας, [396b] ἢ ἐλαύνοντας τριήρεις ἢ κελεύοντας τούτοις, ἤ τι ἄλλο τῶν περὶ ταῦτα μιμητέον;

Καὶ πῶς; ἔφη, οἷς γε οὐδὲ προσέχειν τὸν νοῦν τούτων οὐδενὶ ἐξέσται;

Τί δέ; ἵππους χρεμετίζοντας καὶ ταύρους μυκωμένους καὶ ποταμοὺς ψοφοῦντας καὶ θάλατταν κτυποῦσαν καὶ βροντὰς καὶ πάντα αὖ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἦ μιμήσονται;

᾿Αλλ’ ἀπείρηται αὐτοῖς, ἔφη, μήτε μαίνεσθαι μήτε μαινομένοις ἀφομοιοῦσθαι.

Εἰ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μανθάνω ἃ σὺ λέγεις, ἔστιν τι εἶδος λέξεώς τε καὶ διηγήσεως ἐν ᾧ ἂν διηγοῖτο ὁ τῷ ὄντι καλὸς [396c] κἀγαθός, ὁπότε τι δέοι αὐτὸν λέγειν, καὶ ἕτερον αὖ ἀνόμοιον τούτῳ εἶδος, οὗ ἂν ἔχοιτο ἀεὶ καὶ ἐν ᾧ διηγοῖτο ὁ ἐναντίως ἐκείνῳ φύς τε καὶ τραφείς.

Ποῖα δή, ἔφη, ταῦτα;

῾Ο μέν μοι δοκεῖ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μέτριος ἀνήρ, ἐπειδὰν ἀφίκηται ἐν τῇ διηγήσει ἐπὶ λέξιν τινὰ ἢ πρᾶξιν ἀνδρὸς ἀγαθοῦ, ἐθελήσειν ὡς αὐτὸς ὢν ἐκεῖνος ἀπαγγέλλειν καὶ οὐκ αἰσχυνεῖσθαι ἐπὶ τῇ τοιαύτῃ μιμήσει, μάλιστα μὲν μιμούμενος [396d] τὸν ἀγαθὸν ἀσφαλῶς τε καὶ ἐμφρόνως πράττοντα, ἐλάττω δὲ καὶ ἧττον ἢ ὑπὸ νόσων ἢ ὑπὸ ἐρώτων ἐσφαλμένον ἢ καὶ ὑπὸ μέθης ἤ τινος ἄλλης συμφορᾶς· ὅταν δὲ γίγνηται κατά τινα ἑαυτοῦ ἀνάξιον, οὐκ ἐθελήσειν σπουδῇ ἀπεικάζειν ἑαυτὸν τῷ χείρονι, εἰ μὴ ἄρα κατὰ βραχύ, ὅταν τι χρηστὸν ποιῇ, ἀλλ’ αἰσχυνεῖσθαι, ἅμα μὲν ἀγύμναστος ὢν τοῦ μιμεῖσθαι τοὺς τοιούτους, ἅμα δὲ καὶ δυσχεραίνων αὑτὸν ἐκμάττειν τε καὶ [396e] ἐνιστάναι εἰς τοὺς τῶν κακιόνων τύπους, ἀτιμάζων τῇ διανοίᾳ, ὅτι μὴ παιδιᾶς χάριν.

Εἰκός, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν διηγήσει χρήσεται οἵᾳ ἡμεῖς ὀλίγον πρότερον διήλθομεν περὶ τὰ τοῦ ῾Ομήρου ἔπη, καὶ ἔσται αὐτοῦ ἡ λέξις μετέχουσα μὲν ἀμφοτέρων, μιμήσεώς τε καὶ τῆς ἄλλης διηγήσεως, σμικρὸν δέ τι μέρος ἐν πολλῷ λόγῳ τῆς μιμήσεως; ἢ οὐδὲν λέγω;

Καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, οἷόν γε ἀνάγκη τὸν τύπον εἶναι τοῦ τοιούτου ῥήτορος.

[397a] Οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὁ μὴ τοιοῦτος αὖ, ὅσῳ ἂν φαυλότερος ᾖ, πάντα τε μᾶλλον διηγήσεται καὶ οὐδὲν ἑαυτοῦ ἀνάξιον οἰήσεται εἶναι, ὥστε πάντα ἐπιχειρήσει μιμεῖσθαι σπουδῇ τε καὶ ἐναντίον πολλῶν, καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, βροντάς τε καὶ ψόφους ἀνέμων τε καὶ χαλαζῶν καὶ ἀξόνων τε καὶ τροχιλιῶν, καὶ σαλπίγγων καὶ αὐλῶν καὶ συρίγγων καὶ πάντων ὀργάνων φωνάς, καὶ ἔτι κυνῶν καὶ προβάτων καὶ ὀρνέων φθόγγους· [397b] καὶ ἔσται δὴ ἡ τούτου λέξις ἅπασα διὰ μιμήσεως φωναῖς τε καὶ σχήμασιν, ἢ σμικρόν τι διηγήσεως ἔχουσα;

᾿Ανάγκη, ἔφη, καὶ τοῦτο.

Ταῦτα τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔλεγον τὰ δύο εἴδη τῆς λέξεως.

Καὶ γὰρ ἔστιν, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν αὐτοῖν τὸ μὲν σμικρὰς τὰς μεταβολὰς ἔχει, καὶ ἐάν τις ἀποδιδῷ πρέπουσαν ἁρμονίαν καὶ ῥυθμὸν τῇ λέξει, ὀλίγου πρὸς τὴν αὐτὴν γίγνεται λέγειν τῷ ὀρθῶς λέγοντι καὶ ἐν μιᾷ ἁρμονίᾳ — σμικραὶ γὰρ αἱ μεταβολαί — καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐν [397c] ῥυθμῷ ὡσαύτως παραπλησίῳ τινί;

Κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, οὕτως ἔχει.

Τί δὲ τὸ τοῦ ἑτέρου εἶδος; οὐ τῶν ἐναντίων δεῖται, πασῶν μὲν ἁρμονιῶν, πάντων δὲ ῥυθμῶν, εἰ μέλλει αὖ οἰκείως λέγεσθαι, διὰ τὸ παντοδαπὰς μορφὰς τῶν μεταβολῶν ἔχειν;

Καὶ σφόδρα γε οὕτως ἔχει.

῏Αρ’ οὖν πάντες οἱ ποιηταὶ καὶ οἵ τι λέγοντες ἢ τῷ ἑτέρῳ τούτων ἐπιτυγχάνουσιν τύπῳ τῆς λέξεως ἢ τῷ ἑτέρῳ ἢ ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων τινὶ συγκεραννύντες;

᾿Ανάγκη, ἔφη.

[397d] Τί οὖν ποιήσομεν; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· πότερον εἰς τὴν πόλιν πάντας τούτους παραδεξόμεθα ἢ τῶν ἀκράτων τὸν ἕτερον ἢ τὸν κεκραμένον;

᾿Εὰν ἡ ἐμή, ἔφη, νικᾷ, τὸν τοῦ ἐπιεικοῦς μιμητὴν ἄκρατον.

᾿Αλλὰ μήν, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε, ἡδύς γε καὶ ὁ κεκραμένος, πολὺ δὲ ἥδιστος παισί τε καὶ παιδαγωγοῖς ὁ ἐναντίος οὗ σὺ αἱρῇ καὶ τῷ πλείστῳ ὄχλῳ.

῞Ηδιστος γάρ.

᾿Αλλ’ ἴσως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὐκ ἂν αὐτὸν ἁρμόττειν φαίης τῇ [397e] ἡμετέρᾳ πολιτείᾳ, ὅτι οὐκ ἔστιν διπλοῦς ἀνὴρ παρ’ ἡμῖν οὐδὲ πολλαπλοῦς, ἐπειδὴ ἕκαστος ἓν πράττει.

Οὐ γὰρ οὖν ἁρμόττει.

Οὐκοῦν διὰ ταῦτα ἐν μόνῃ τῇ τοιαύτῃ πόλει τόν τε σκυτοτόμον σκυτοτόμον εὑρήσομεν καὶ οὐ κυβερνήτην πρὸς τῇ σκυτοτομίᾳ, καὶ τὸν γεωργὸν γεωργὸν καὶ οὐ δικαστὴν πρὸς τῇ γεωργίᾳ, καὶ τὸν πολεμικὸν πολεμικὸν καὶ οὐ χρηματιστὴν πρὸς τῇ πολεμικῇ, καὶ πάντας οὕτω;

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφη.

[398a] ῎Ανδρα δή, ὡς ἔοικε, δυνάμενον ὑπὸ σοφίας παντοδαπὸν γίγνεσθαι καὶ μιμεῖσθαι πάντα χρήματα, εἰ ἡμῖν ἀφίκοιτο εἰς τὴν πόλιν αὐτός τε καὶ τὰ ποιήματα βουλόμενος ἐπιδείξασθαι, προσκυνοῖμεν ἂν αὐτὸν ὡς ἱερὸν καὶ θαυμαστὸν καὶ ἡδύν, εἴποιμεν δ’ ἂν ὅτι οὐκ ἔστιν τοιοῦτος ἀνὴρ ἐν τῇ πόλει παρ’ ἡμῖν οὔτε θέμις ἐγγενέσθαι, ἀποπέμποιμέν τε εἰς ἄλλην πόλιν μύρον κατὰ τῆς κεφαλῆς καταχέαντες καὶ ἐρίῳ στέψαντες, αὐτοὶ δ’ ἂν τῷ αὐστηροτέρῳ καὶ ἀηδεστέρῳ ποιητῇ [398b] χρῴμεθα καὶ μυθολόγῳ ὠφελίας ἕνεκα, ὃς ἡμῖν τὴν τοῦ ἐπιεικοῦς λέξιν μιμοῖτο καὶ τὰ λεγόμενα λέγοι ἐν ἐκείνοις τοῖς τύποις οἷς κατ’ ἀρχὰς ἐνομοθετησάμεθα, ὅτε τοὺς στρατιώτας ἐπεχειροῦμεν παιδεύειν.

Καὶ μάλ’, ἔφη, οὕτως ἂν ποιοῖμεν, εἰ ἐφ’ ἡμῖν εἴη.

Νῦν δή, εἶπον ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε, κινδυνεύει ἡμῖν τῆς μουσικῆς

τὸ περὶ λόγους τε καὶ μύθους παντελῶς διαπεπεράνθαι· ἅ τε γὰρ λεκτέον καὶ ὡς λεκτέον εἴρηται.

Καὶ αὐτῷ μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη.

[398c] Οὐκοῦν μετὰ τοῦτο, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ περὶ ᾠδῆς τρόπου καὶ μελῶν λοιπόν;

Δῆλα δή.

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ πᾶς ἤδη ἂν εὕροι ἃ ἡμῖν λεκτέον περὶ αὐτῶν οἷα δεῖ εἶναι, εἴπερ μέλλομεν τοῖς προειρημένοις συμφωνήσειν;

Καὶ ὁ Γλαύκων ἐπιγελάσας, ᾿Εγὼ τοίνυν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, κινδυνεύω ἐκτὸς τῶν πάντων εἶναι· οὔκουν ἱκανῶς γε ἔχω ἐν τῷ παρόντι συμβαλέσθαι ποῖα ἄττα δεῖ ἡμᾶς λέγειν· ὑποπτεύω μέντοι.

Πάντως δήπου, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πρῶτον μὲν τόδε ἱκανῶς ἔχεις [398d] λέγειν, ὅτι τὸ μέλος ἐκ τριῶν ἐστιν συγκείμενον, λόγου τε καὶ ἁρμονίας καὶ ῥυθμοῦ.

Ναί, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε.

Οὐκοῦν ὅσον γε αὐτοῦ λόγος ἐστίν, οὐδὲν δήπου διαφέρει τοῦ μὴ ᾀδομένου λόγου πρὸς τὸ ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς δεῖν τύποις λέγεσθαι οἷς ἄρτι προείπομεν καὶ ὡσαύτως;

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφη.

Καὶ μὴν τήν γε ἁρμονίαν καὶ ῥυθμὸν ἀκολουθεῖν δεῖ τῷ λόγῳ.

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι θρήνων γε καὶ ὀδυρμῶν ἔφαμεν ἐν λόγοις οὐδὲν προσδεῖσθαι.

Οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

[398e] Τίνες οὖν θρηνώδεις ἁρμονίαι; λέγε μοι· σὺ γὰρ μουσικός.

Μειξολυδιστί, ἔφη, καὶ συντονολυδιστὶ καὶ τοιαῦταί τινες.

Οὐκοῦν αὗται, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀφαιρετέαι; ἄχρηστοι γὰρ καὶ γυναιξὶν ἃς δεῖ ἐπιεικεῖς εἶναι, μὴ ὅτι ἀνδράσι.

Πάνυ γε.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν μέθη γε φύλαξιν ἀπρεπέστατον καὶ μαλακία καὶ ἀργία.

Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Τίνες οὖν μαλακαί τε καὶ συμποτικαὶ τῶν ἁρμονιῶν;

᾿Ιαστί, ἦ δ’ ὅς, καὶ λυδιστὶ αὖ τινες χαλαραὶ καλοῦνται.

[399a] Ταύταις οὖν, ὦ φίλε, ἐπὶ πολεμικῶν ἀνδρῶν ἔσθ’ ὅτι χρήσῃ;

Οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη· ἀλλὰ κινδυνεύει σοι δωριστὶ λείπεσθαι καὶ φρυγιστί.

Οὐκ οἶδα, ἔφην ἐγώ, τὰς ἁρμονίας, ἀλλὰ κατάλειπε ἐκείνην τὴν ἁρμονίαν, ἣ ἔν τε πολεμικῇ πράξει ὄντος ἀνδρείου καὶ ἐν πάσῃ βιαίῳ ἐργασίᾳ πρεπόντως ἂν μιμήσαιτο φθόγγους τε καὶ προσῳδίας, καὶ ἀποτυχόντος ἢ εἰς τραύματα ἢ εἰς [399b] θανάτους ἰόντος ἢ εἴς τινα ἄλλην συμφορὰν πεσόντος, ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις παρατεταγμένως καὶ καρτερούντως ἀμυνομένου τὴν τύχην· καὶ ἄλλην αὖ ἐν εἰρηνικῇ τε καὶ μὴ βιαίῳ ἀλλ’ ἐν ἑκουσίᾳ πράξει ὄντος, ἢ τινά τι πείθοντός τε καὶ δεομένου, ἢ εὐχῇ θεὸν ἢ διδαχῇ καὶ νουθετήσει ἄνθρωπον, ἢ τοὐναντίον ἄλλῳ δεομένῳ ἢ διδάσκοντι ἢ μεταπείθοντι ἑαυτὸν ἐπέχοντα, καὶ ἐκ τούτων πράξαντα κατὰ νοῦν, καὶ μὴ ὑπερηφάνως ἔχοντα, ἀλλὰ σωφρόνως τε καὶ μετρίως ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις [399c] πράττοντά τε καὶ τὰ ἀποβαίνοντα ἀγαπῶντα. ταύτας δύο ἁρμονίας, βίαιον, ἑκούσιον, δυστυχούντων, εὐτυχούντων, σωφρόνων, ἀνδρείων [ἁρμονίας] αἵτινες φθόγγους μιμήσονται κάλλιστα, ταύτας λεῖπε.

᾿Αλλ’, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐκ ἄλλας αἰτεῖς λείπειν ἢ ἃς νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον.

Οὐκ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πολυχορδίας γε οὐδὲ παναρμονίου ἡμῖν δεήσει ἐν ταῖς ᾠδαῖς τε καὶ μέλεσιν.

Οὔ μοι, ἔφη, φαίνεται.

Τριγώνων ἄρα καὶ πηκτίδων καὶ πάντων ὀργάνων ὅσα [399d] πολύχορδα καὶ πολυαρμόνια, δημιουργοὺς οὐ θρέψομεν.

Οὐ φαινόμεθα.

Τί δέ; αὐλοποιοὺς ἢ αὐλητὰς παραδέξῃ εἰς τὴν πόλιν; ἢ οὐ τοῦτο πολυχορδότατον, καὶ αὐτὰ τὰ παναρμόνια αὐλοῦ τυγχάνει ὄντα μίμημα;

Δῆλα δή, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Λύρα δή σοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ κιθάρα λείπεται [καὶ] κατὰ πόλιν χρήσιμα· καὶ αὖ κατ’ ἀγροὺς τοῖς νομεῦσι σύριγξ ἄν τις εἴη.

῾Ως γοῦν, ἔφη, ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν σημαίνει.

[399e] Οὐδέν γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καινὸν ποιοῦμεν, ὦ φίλε, κρίνοντες τὸν ᾿Απόλλω καὶ τὰ τοῦ ᾿Απόλλωνος ὄργανα πρὸ Μαρσύου τε καὶ τῶν ἐκείνου ὀργάνων. Μὰ Δία, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὔ μοι φαινόμεθα.

Καὶ νὴ τὸν κύνα, εἶπον, λελήθαμέν γε διακαθαίροντες πάλιν ἣν ἄρτι τρυφᾶν ἔφαμεν πόλιν.

Σωφρονοῦντές γε ἡμεῖς, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

῎Ιθι δή, ἔφην, καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ καθαίρωμεν. ἑπόμενον γὰρ δὴ ταῖς ἁρμονίαις ἂν ἡμῖν εἴη τὸ περὶ ῥυθμούς, μὴ ποικίλους αὐτοὺς διώκειν μηδὲ παντοδαπὰς βάσεις, ἀλλὰ βίου ῥυθμοὺς ἰδεῖν κοσμίου τε καὶ ἀνδρείου τίνες εἰσίν· οὓς ἰδόντα τὸν [400a] πόδα τῷ τοῦ τοιούτου λόγῳ ἀναγκάζειν ἕπεσθαι καὶ τὸ μέλος, ἀλλὰ μὴ λόγον ποδί τε καὶ μέλει. οἵτινες δ’ ἂν εἶεν οὗτοι οἱ ῥυθμοί, σὸν ἔργον, ὥσπερ τὰς ἁρμονίας, φράσαι.

᾿Αλλὰ μὰ Δί’, ἔφη, οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ τρί’ ἄττα ἐστὶν εἴδη ἐξ ὧν αἱ βάσεις πλέκονται, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς φθόγγοις τέτταρα, ὅθεν αἱ πᾶσαι ἁρμονίαι, τεθεαμένος ἂν εἴποιμι· ποῖα δὲ ὁποίου βίου μιμήματα, λέγειν οὐκ ἔχω.

[400b] ᾿Αλλὰ ταῦτα μέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ μετὰ Δάμωνος βουλευσόμεθα, τίνες τε ἀνελευθερίας καὶ ὕβρεως ἢ μανίας καὶ ἄλλης κακίας πρέπουσαι βάσεις, καὶ τίνας τοῖς ἐναντίοις λειπτέον ῥυθμούς· οἶμαι δέ με ἀκηκοέναι οὐ σαφῶς ἐνόπλιόν τέ τινα ὀνομάζοντος αὐτοῦ σύνθετον καὶ δάκτυλον καὶ ἡρῷόν γε, οὐκ οἶδα ὅπως διακοσμοῦντος καὶ ἴσον ἄνω καὶ κάτω τιθέντος, εἰς βραχύ τε καὶ μακρὸν γιγνόμενον, καί, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, ἴαμβον καί τιν’ ἄλλον τροχαῖον ὠνόμαζε, μήκη δὲ καὶ [400c] βραχύτητας προσῆπτε. καὶ τούτων τισὶν οἶμαι τὰς ἀγωγὰς τοῦ ποδὸς αὐτὸν οὐχ ἧττον ψέγειν τε καὶ ἐπαινεῖν ἢ τοὺς ῥυθμοὺς αὐτούς — ἤτοι συναμφότερόν τι· οὐ γὰρ ἔχω λέγειν — ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μέν, ὥσπερ εἶπον, εἰς Δάμωνα ἀναβεβλήσθω· διελέσθαι γὰρ οὐ σμικροῦ λόγου. ἢ σὺ οἴει;

Μὰ Δί’, οὐκ ἔγωγε.

᾿Αλλὰ τόδε γε, ὅτι τὸ τῆς εὐσχημοσύνης τε καὶ ἀσχημοσύνης τῷ εὐρύθμῳ τε καὶ ἀρρύθμῳ ἀκολουθεῖ, δύνασαι διελέσθαι;

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

[400d] ᾿Αλλὰ μὴν τὸ εὔρυθμόν γε καὶ τὸ ἄρρυθμον τὸ μὲν τῇ καλῇ λέξει ἕπεται ὁμοιούμενον, τὸ δὲ τῇ ἐναντίᾳ, καὶ τὸ εὐάρμοστον καὶ ἀνάρμοστον ὡσαύτως, εἴπερ ῥυθμός γε καὶ ἁρμονία λόγῳ, ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἐλέγετο, ἀλλὰ μὴ λόγος τούτοις.

᾿Αλλὰ μήν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ταῦτά γε λόγῳ ἀκολουθητέον.

Τί δ’ ὁ τρόπος τῆς λέξεως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ ὁ λόγος; οὐ

τῷ τῆς ψυχῆς ἤθει ἕπεται;

Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Τῇ δὲ λέξει τὰ ἄλλα;

Ναί.

Εὐλογία ἄρα καὶ εὐαρμοστία καὶ εὐσχημοσύνη καὶ εὐρυθ[400e]μία εὐηθείᾳ ἀκολουθεῖ, οὐχ ἣν ἄνοιαν οὖσαν ὑποκοριζόμενοι καλοῦμεν [ὡς εὐήθειαν], ἀλλὰ τὴν ὡς ἀληθῶς εὖ τε καὶ καλῶς τὸ ἦθος κατεσκευασμένην διάνοιαν.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ πανταχοῦ ταῦτα διωκτέα τοῖς νέοις, εἰ μέλλουσι τὸ αὑτῶν πράττειν;

Διωκτέα μὲν οὖν.

[401a] ῎Εστιν δέ γέ που πλήρης μὲν γραφικὴ αὐτῶν καὶ πᾶσα ἡ τοιαύτη δημιουργία, πλήρης δὲ ὑφαντικὴ καὶ ποικιλία καὶ οἰκοδομία καὶ πᾶσα αὖ ἡ τῶν ἄλλων σκευῶν ἐργασία, ἔτι δὲ ἡ τῶν σωμάτων φύσις καὶ ἡ τῶν ἄλλων φυτῶν· ἐν πᾶσι γὰρ τούτοις ἔνεστιν εὐσχημοσύνη ἢ ἀσχημοσύνη. καὶ ἡ μὲν ἀσχημοσύνη καὶ ἀρρυθμία καὶ ἀναρμοστία κακολογίας καὶ κακοηθείας ἀδελφά, τὰ δ’ ἐναντία τοῦ ἐναντίου, σώφρονός τε καὶ ἀγαθοῦ ἤθους, ἀδελφά τε καὶ μιμήματα.

Παντελῶς μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

[401b] ῏Αρ’ οὖν τοῖς ποιηταῖς ἡμῖν μόνον ἐπιστατητέον καὶ προσαναγκαστέον τὴν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ εἰκόνα ἤθους ἐμποιεῖν τοῖς ποιήμασιν ἢ μὴ παρ’ ἡμῖν ποιεῖν, ἢ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις δημιουργοῖς ἐπιστατητέον καὶ διακωλυτέον τὸ κακόηθες τοῦτο καὶ ἀκόλαστον καὶ ἀνελεύθερον καὶ ἄσχημον μήτε ἐν εἰκόσι ζῴων μήτε ἐν οἰκοδομήμασι μήτε ἐν ἄλλῳ μηδενὶ δημιουργουμένῳ ἐμποιεῖν, ἢ ὁ μὴ οἷός τε ὢν οὐκ ἐατέος παρ’ ἡμῖν δημιουργεῖν, ἵνα μὴ ἐν κακίας εἰκόσι τρεφόμενοι ἡμῖν οἱ [401c] φύλακες ὥσπερ ἐν κακῇ βοτάνῃ, πολλὰ ἑκάστης ἡμέρας κατὰ σμικρὸν ἀπὸ πολλῶν δρεπόμενοί τε καὶ νεμόμενοι, ἕν τι συνιστάντες λανθάνωσιν κακὸν μέγα ἐν τῇ αὑτῶν ψυχῇ, ἀλλ’ ἐκείνους ζητητέον τοὺς δημιουργοὺς τοὺς εὐφυῶς δυναμένους ἰχνεύειν τὴν τοῦ καλοῦ τε καὶ εὐσχήμονος φύσιν, ἵνα ὥσπερ ἐν ὑγιεινῷ τόπῳ οἰκοῦντες οἱ νέοι ἀπὸ παντὸς ὠφελῶνται, ὁπόθεν ἂν αὐτοῖς ἀπὸ τῶν καλῶν ἔργων ἢ πρὸς ὄψιν ἢ πρὸς ἀκοήν τι προσβάλῃ, ὥσπερ αὔρα φέρουσα ἀπὸ [401d] χρηστῶν τόπων ὑγίειαν, καὶ εὐθὺς ἐκ παίδων λανθάνῃ εἰς ὁμοιότητά τε καὶ φιλίαν καὶ συμφωνίαν τῷ καλῷ λόγῳ ἄγουσα;

Πολὺ γὰρ ἄν, ἔφη, κάλλιστα οὕτω τραφεῖεν.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, τούτων ἕνεκα κυριωτάτη ἐν μουσικῇ τροφή, ὅτι μάλιστα καταδύεται εἰς τὸ ἐντὸς τῆς ψυχῆς ὅ τε ῥυθμὸς καὶ ἁρμονία, καὶ ἐρρωμενέστατα ἅπτεται αὐτῆς φέροντα τὴν εὐσχημοσύνην, καὶ ποιεῖ εὐσχήμονα, [401e] ἐάν τις ὀρθῶς τραφῇ, εἰ δὲ μή, τοὐναντίον; καὶ ὅτι αὖ τῶν παραλειπομένων καὶ μὴ καλῶς δημιουργηθέντων ἢ μὴ καλῶς φύντων ὀξύτατ’ ἂν αἰσθάνοιτο ὁ ἐκεῖ τραφεὶς ὡς ἔδει, καὶ ὀρθῶς δὴ δυσχεραίνων τὰ μὲν καλὰ ἐπαινοῖ καὶ χαίρων καὶ καταδεχόμενος εἰς τὴν ψυχὴν τρέφοιτ’ ἂν ἀπ’ αὐτῶν καὶ [402a] γίγνοιτο καλός τε κἀγαθός, τὰ δ’ αἰσχρὰ ψέγοι τ’ ἂν ὀρθῶς καὶ μισοῖ ἔτι νέος ὤν, πρὶν λόγον δυνατὸς εἶναι λαβεῖν, ἐλθόντος δὲ τοῦ λόγου ἀσπάζοιτ’ ἂν αὐτὸν γνωρίζων δι’ οἰκειότητα μάλιστα ὁ οὕτω τραφείς; ᾿Εμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ, ἔφη, τῶν τοιούτων ἕνεκα ἐν μουσικῇ εἶναι ἡ τροφή. ῞Ωσπερ ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, γραμμάτων πέρι τότε ἱκανῶς εἴχομεν, ὅτε τὰ στοιχεῖα μὴ λανθάνοι ἡμᾶς ὀλίγα ὄντα ἐν ἅπασιν οἷς ἔστιν περιφερόμενα, καὶ οὔτ’ ἐν σμικρῷ οὔτ’ ἐν [402b] μεγάλῳ ἠτιμάζομεν αὐτά, ὡς οὐ δέοι αἰσθάνεσθαι, ἀλλὰ πανταχοῦ προυθυμούμεθα διαγιγνώσκειν, ὡς οὐ πρότερον ἐσόμενοι γραμματικοὶ πρὶν οὕτως ἔχοιμεν — ᾿Αληθῆ.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ εἰκόνας γραμμάτων, εἴ που ἢ ἐν ὕδασιν ἢ ἐν κατόπτροις ἐμφαίνοιντο, οὐ πρότερον γνωσόμεθα, πρὶν ἂν αὐτὰ γνῶμεν, ἀλλ’ ἔστιν τῆς αὐτῆς τέχνης τε καὶ μελέτης;

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ὃ λέγω, πρὸς θεῶν, οὕτως οὐδὲ μουσικοὶ πρό[402c]τερον ἐσόμεθα, οὔτε αὐτοὶ οὔτε οὕς φαμεν ἡμῖν παιδευτέον εἶναι τοὺς φύλακας, πρὶν ἂν τὰ τῆς σωφροσύνης εἴδη καὶ ἀνδρείας καὶ ἐλευθεριότητος καὶ μεγαλοπρεπείας καὶ ὅσα τούτων ἀδελφὰ καὶ τὰ τούτων αὖ ἐναντία πανταχοῦ περιφερόμενα γνωρίζωμεν καὶ ἐνόντα ἐν οἷς ἔνεστιν αἰσθανώμεθα καὶ αὐτὰ καὶ εἰκόνας αὐτῶν, καὶ μήτε ἐν σμικροῖς μήτε ἐν μεγάλοις ἀτιμάζωμεν, ἀλλὰ τῆς αὐτῆς οἰώμεθα τέχνης εἶναι καὶ μελέτης;

Πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

[402d] Οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτου ἂν συμπίπτῃ ἔν τε τῇ ψυχῇ καλὰ ἤθη ἐνόντα καὶ ἐν τῷ εἴδει ὁμολογοῦντα ἐκείνοις καὶ συμφωνοῦντα, τοῦ αὐτοῦ μετέχοντα τύπου, τοῦτ’ ἂν εἴη κάλλιστον θέαμα τῷ δυναμένῳ θεᾶσθαι;

Πολύ γε.

Καὶ μὴν τό γε κάλλιστον ἐρασμιώτατον;

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Τῶν δὴ ὅτι μάλιστα τοιούτων ἀνθρώπων ὅ γε μουσικὸς ἐρῴη ἄν· εἰ δὲ ἀσύμφωνος εἴη, οὐκ ἂν ἐρῴη.

Οὐκ ἄν, εἴ γέ τι, ἔφη, κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν ἐλλείποι· εἰ μέντοι τι κατὰ τὸ σῶμα, ὑπομείνειεν ἂν ὥστε ἐθέλειν [402e] ἀσπάζεσθαι.

Μανθάνω, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· ὅτι ἔστιν σοι ἢ γέγονεν παιδικὰ τοιαῦτα, καὶ συγχωρῶ. ἀλλὰ τόδε μοι εἰπέ· σωφροσύνῃ καὶ ἡδονῇ ὑπερβαλλούσῃ ἔστι τις κοινωνία;

Καὶ πῶς; ἔφη, ἥ γε ἔκφρονα ποιεῖ οὐχ ἧττον ἢ λύπη;

᾿Αλλὰ τῇ ἄλλῃ ἀρετῇ;

[403a] Οὐδαμῶς.

Τί δέ; ὕβρει τε καὶ ἀκολασίᾳ;

Πάντων μάλιστα.

Μείζω δέ τινα καὶ ὀξυτέραν ἔχεις εἰπεῖν ἡδονὴν τῆς περὶ τὰ ἀφροδίσια;

Οὐκ ἔχω, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐδέ γε μανικωτέραν.

῾Ο δὲ ὀρθὸς ἔρως πέφυκε κοσμίου τε καὶ καλοῦ σωφρόνως τε καὶ μουσικῶς ἐρᾶν;

Καὶ μάλα, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Οὐδὲν ἄρα προσοιστέον μανικὸν οὐδὲ συγγενὲς ἀκολασίας τῷ ὀρθῷ ἔρωτι;

Οὐ προσοιστέον.

[403b] Οὐ προσοιστέον ἄρα αὕτη ἡ ἡδονή, οὐδὲ κοινωνητέον αὐτῆς ἐραστῇ τε καὶ παιδικοῖς ὀρθῶς ἐρῶσί τε καὶ ἐρωμένοις;

Οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δί’, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, προσοιστέον.

Οὕτω δή, ὡς ἔοικε, νομοθετήσεις ἐν τῇ οἰκιζομένῃ πόλει φιλεῖν μὲν καὶ συνεῖναι καὶ ἅπτεσθαι ὥσπερ ὑέος παιδικῶν ἐραστήν, τῶν καλῶν χάριν, ἐὰν πείθῃ, τὰ δ’ ἄλλα οὕτως ὁμιλεῖν πρὸς ὅν τις σπουδάζοι, ὅπως μηδέποτε δόξει μα[403c]κρότερα τούτων συγγίγνεσθαι· εἰ δὲ μή, ψόγον ἀμουσίας καὶ ἀπειροκαλίας ὑφέξοντα.

Οὕτως, ἔφη.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ σοὶ φαίνεται τέλος ἡμῖν ἔχειν ὁ περὶ μουσικῆς λόγος; οἷ γοῦν δεῖ τελευτᾶν, τετελεύτηκεν· δεῖ δέ που τελευτᾶν τὰ μουσικὰ εἰς τὰ τοῦ καλοῦ ἐρωτικά.

Σύμφημι, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Μετὰ δὴ μουσικὴν γυμναστικῇ θρεπτέοι οἱ νεανίαι.

Τί μήν;

Δεῖ μὲν δὴ καὶ ταύτῃ ἀκριβῶς τρέφεσθαι ἐκ παίδων διὰ [403d] βίου. ἔχει δέ πως, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ὧδε· σκόπει δὲ καὶ σύ. ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ οὐ φαίνεται, ὃ ἂν χρηστὸν ᾖ σῶμα, τοῦτο τῇ αὑτοῦ ἀρετῇ ψυχὴν ἀγαθὴν ποιεῖν, ἀλλὰ τοὐναντίον ψυχὴ ἀγαθὴ τῇ αὑτῆς ἀρετῇ σῶμα παρέχειν ὡς οἷόν τε βέλτιστον· σοὶ δὲ πῶς φαίνεται;

Καὶ ἐμοί, ἔφη, οὕτως.

Οὐκοῦν εἰ τὴν διάνοιαν ἱκανῶς θεραπεύσαντες παραδοῖμεν αὐτῇ τὰ περὶ τὸ σῶμα ἀκριβολογεῖσθαι, ἡμεῖς δὲ ὅσον τοὺς [403e] τύπους ὑφηγησαίμεθα, ἵνα μὴ μακρολογῶμεν, ὀρθῶς ἂν ποιοῖμεν;

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Μέθης μὲν δὴ εἴπομεν ὅτι ἀφεκτέον αὐτοῖς· παντὶ γάρ που μᾶλλον ἐγχωρεῖ ἢ φύλακι μεθυσθέντι μὴ εἰδέναι ὅπου γῆς ἐστιν.

Γελοῖον γάρ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, τόν γε φύλακα φύλακος δεῖσθαι.

Τί δὲ δὴ σίτων πέρι; ἀθληταὶ μὲν γὰρ οἱ ἄνδρες τοῦ μεγίστου ἀγῶνος. ἢ οὐχί;

Ναί. [404a] ῏Αρ’ οὖν ἡ τῶνδε τῶν ἀσκητῶν ἕξις προσήκουσ’ ἂν εἴη τούτοις;

῎Ισως.

᾿Αλλ’, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὑπνώδης αὕτη γέ τις καὶ σφαλερὰ πρὸς ὑγίειαν. ἢ οὐχ ὁρᾷς ὅτι καθεύδουσί τε τὸν βίον καί, ἐὰν σμικρὰ ἐκβῶσιν τῆς τεταγμένης διαίτης, μεγάλα καὶ σφόδρα νοσοῦσιν οὗτοι οἱ ἀσκηταί;

῾Ορῶ.

Κομψοτέρας δή τινος, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀσκήσεως δεῖ τοῖς πολεμικοῖς ἀθληταῖς, οὕς γε ὥσπερ κύνας ἀγρύπνους τε ἀνάγκη εἶναι καὶ ὅτι μάλιστα ὀξὺ ὁρᾶν καὶ ἀκούειν καὶ πολλὰς μεταβολὰς ἐν ταῖς στρατείαις μεταβάλλοντας ὑδάτων τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων σίτων καὶ εἱλήσεων καὶ χειμώνων μὴ ἀκροσφαλεῖς εἶναι πρὸς ὑγίειαν.

Φαίνεταί μοι.

῏Αρ’ οὖν ἡ βελτίστη γυμναστικὴ ἀδελφή τις ἂν εἴη τῆς ἁπλῆς μουσικῆς ἣν ὀλίγον πρότερον διῇμεν;

Πῶς λέγεις;

῾Απλῆ που καὶ ἐπιεικὴς γυμναστική, καὶ μάλιστα ἡ τῶν περὶ τὸν πόλεμον.

Πῇ δή;

Καὶ παρ’ ῾Ομήρου, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τά γε τοιαῦτα μάθοι ἄν τις. οἶσθα γὰρ ὅτι ἐπὶ στρατιᾶς ἐν ταῖς τῶν ἡρώων ἑστιάσεσιν οὔτε ἰχθύσιν αὐτοὺς ἑστιᾷ, καὶ ταῦτα ἐπὶ [404c] θαλάττῃ ἐν ῾Ελλησπόντῳ ὄντας, οὔτε ἑφθοῖς κρέασιν ἀλλὰ μόνον ὀπτοῖς, ἃ δὴ μάλιστ’ ἂν εἴη στρατιώταις εὔπορα· πανταχοῦ γὰρ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν αὐτῷ τῷ πυρὶ χρῆσθαι εὐπορώτερον ἢ ἀγγεῖα συμπεριφέρειν.

Καὶ μάλα.

Οὐδὲ μὴν ἡδυσμάτων, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ῞Ομηρος πώποτε ἐμνήσθη. ἢ τοῦτο μὲν καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἀσκηταὶ ἴσασιν, ὅτι τῷ μέλλοντι σώματι εὖ ἕξειν ἀφεκτέον τῶν τοιούτων ἁπάντων;

Καὶ ὀρθῶς γε, ἔφη, ἴσασί τε καὶ ἀπέχονται.

[404d] Συρακοσίαν δέ, ὦ φίλε, τράπεζαν καὶ Σικελικὴν ποικιλίαν ὄψου, ὡς ἔοικας, οὐκ αἰνεῖς, εἴπερ σοι ταῦτα δοκεῖ ὀρθῶς ἔχειν.

Οὔ μοι δοκῶ.

Ψέγεις ἄρα καὶ Κορινθίαν κόρην φίλην εἶναι ἀνδράσιν μέλλουσιν εὖ σώματος ἕξειν.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ ᾿Αττικῶν πεμμάτων τὰς δοκούσας εἶναι εὐπαθείας;

᾿Ανάγκη.

῞Ολην γὰρ οἶμαι τὴν τοιαύτην σίτησιν καὶ δίαιταν τῇ μελοποιίᾳ τε καὶ ᾠδῇ τῇ ἐν τῷ παναρμονίῳ καὶ ἐν πᾶσι [404e] ῥυθμοῖς πεποιημένῃ ἀπεικάζοντες ὀρθῶς ἂν ἀπεικάζοιμεν.

Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Οὐκοῦν ἐκεῖ μὲν ἀκολασίαν ἡ ποικιλία ἐνέτικτεν, ἐνταῦθα δὲ νόσον, ἡ δὲ ἁπλότης κατὰ μὲν μουσικὴν ἐν ψυχαῖς

σωφροσύνην, κατὰ δὲ γυμναστικὴν ἐν σώμασιν ὑγίειαν;

᾿Αληθέστατα, ἔφη.

[405a] ᾿Ακολασίας δὲ καὶ νόσων πληθυουσῶν ἐν πόλει ἆρ’ οὐ δικαστήριά τε καὶ ἰατρεῖα πολλὰ ἀνοίγεται, καὶ δικανική τε καὶ ἰατρικὴ σεμνύνονται, ὅταν δὴ καὶ ἐλεύθεροι πολλοὶ καὶ σφόδρα περὶ αὐτὰ σπουδάζωσιν;

Τί γὰρ οὐ μέλλει;

Τῆς δὲ κακῆς τε καὶ αἰσχρᾶς παιδείας ἐν πόλει ἆρα μή τι μεῖζον ἕξεις λαβεῖν τεκμήριον ἢ τὸ δεῖσθαι ἰατρῶν καὶ δικαστῶν ἄκρων μὴ μόνον τοὺς φαύλους τε καὶ χειροτέχνας, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ἐν ἐλευθέρῳ σχήματι προσποιουμένους τε[405b]θράφθαι; ἢ οὐκ αἰσχρὸν δοκεῖ καὶ ἀπαιδευσίας μέγα τεκμήριον τὸ ἐπακτῷ παρ’ ἄλλων, ὡς δεσποτῶν τε καὶ κριτῶν, τῷ δικαίῳ ἀναγκάζεσθαι χρῆσθαι, καὶ ἀπορίᾳ οἰκείων;

Πάντων μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, αἴσχιστον.

῏Η δοκεῖ σοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τούτου αἴσχιον εἶναι τοῦτο, ὅταν δή τις μὴ μόνον τὸ πολὺ τοῦ βίου ἐν δικαστηρίοις φεύγων τε καὶ διώκων κατατρίβηται, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑπὸ ἀπειροκαλίας ἐπ’ αὐτῷ δὴ τούτῳ πεισθῇ καλλωπίζεσθαι, ὡς δεινὸς [405c] ὢν περὶ τὸ ἀδικεῖν καὶ ἱκανὸς πάσας μὲν στροφὰς στρέφεσθαι, πάσας δὲ διεξόδους διεξελθὼν ἀποστραφῆναι λυγιζόμενος, ὥστε μὴ παρασχεῖν δίκην, καὶ ταῦτα σμικρῶν τε καὶ οὐδενὸς ἀξίων ἕνεκα, ἀγνοῶν ὅσῳ κάλλιον καὶ ἄμεινον τὸ παρασκευάζειν τὸν βίον αὑτῷ μηδὲν δεῖσθαι νυστάζοντος δικαστοῦ;

Οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοῦτ’, ἔφη, ἐκείνου ἔτι αἴσχιον.

Τὸ δὲ ἰατρικῆς, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δεῖσθαι ὅτι μὴ τραυμάτων ἕνεκα ἤ τινων ἐπετείων νοσημάτων ἐπιπεσόντων, ἀλλὰ δι’ [405d] ἀργίαν τε καὶ δίαιταν οἵαν διήλθομεν, ῥευμάτων τε καὶ πνευμάτων ὥσπερ λίμνας ἐμπιμπλαμένους φύσας τε καὶ κατάρρους νοσήμασιν ὀνόματα τίθεσθαι ἀναγκάζειν τοὺς κομψοὺς ᾿Ασκληπιάδας, οὐκ αἰσχρὸν δοκεῖ; Καὶ μάλ’, ἔφη· ὡς ἀληθῶς καινὰ ταῦτα καὶ ἄτοπα νοσημάτων ὀνόματα.

Οἷα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὡς οἶμαι, οὐκ ἦν ἐπ’ ᾿Ασκληπιοῦ. [405e] τεκμαίρομαι δέ, ὅτι αὐτοῦ οἱ ὑεῖς ἐν Τροίᾳ Εὐρυπύλῳ τετρωμένῳ ἐπ’ οἶνον Πράμνειον ἄλφιτα πολλὰ ἐπιπασθέντα [406a] καὶ τυρὸν ἐπιξυσθέντα, ἃ δὴ δοκεῖ φλεγματώδη εἶναι, οὐκ ἐμέμψαντο τῇ δούσῃ πιεῖν, οὐδὲ Πατρόκλῳ τῷ ἰωμένῳ ἐπετίμησαν.

Καὶ μὲν δή, ἔφη, ἄτοπόν γε τὸ πῶμα οὕτως ἔχοντι.

Οὔκ, εἴ γ’ ἐννοεῖς, εἶπον, ὅτι τῇ παιδαγωγικῇ τῶν νοσημάτων ταύτῃ τῇ νῦν ἰατρικῇ πρὸ τοῦ ᾿Ασκληπιάδαι οὐκ ἐχρῶντο, ὥς φασι, πρὶν ῾Ηρόδικον γενέσθαι· ῾Ηρόδικος δὲ παιδοτρίβης ὢν καὶ νοσώδης γενόμενος, μείξας γυμναστικὴν [406b] ἰατρικῇ, ἀπέκναισε πρῶτον μὲν καὶ μάλιστα ἑαυτόν, ἔπειτ’ ἄλλους ὕστερον πολλούς.

Πῇ δή; ἔφη.

Μακρόν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸν θάνατον αὑτῷ ποιήσας. παρακολουθῶν γὰρ τῷ νοσήματι θανασίμῳ ὄντι οὔτε ἰάσασθαι οἶμαι οἷός τ’ ἦν ἑαυτόν, ἐν ἀσχολίᾳ τε πάντων ἰατρευόμενος διὰ βίου ἔζη, ἀποκναιόμενος εἴ τι τῆς εἰωθυίας διαίτης ἐκβαίη, δυσθανατῶν δὲ ὑπὸ σοφίας εἰς γῆρας ἀφίκετο.

Καλὸν ἄρα τὸ γέρας, ἔφη, τῆς τέχνης ἠνέγκατο.

[406c] Οἷον εἰκός, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸν μὴ εἰδότα ὅτι ᾿Ασκληπιὸς οὐκ ἀγνοίᾳ οὐδὲ ἀπειρίᾳ τούτου τοῦ εἴδους τῆς ἰατρικῆς τοῖς ἐκγόνοις οὐ κατέδειξεν αὐτό, ἀλλ’ εἰδὼς ὅτι πᾶσι τοῖς εὐνομουμένοις ἔργον τι ἑκάστῳ ἐν τῇ πόλει προστέτακται, ὃ ἀναγκαῖον ἐργάζεσθαι, καὶ οὐδενὶ σχολὴ διὰ βίου κάμνειν ἰατρευομένῳ. ὃ ἡμεῖς γελοίως ἐπὶ μὲν τῶν δημιουργῶν αἰσθανόμεθα, ἐπὶ δὲ τῶν πλουσίων τε καὶ εὐδαιμόνων δοκούντων εἶναι οὐκ αἰσθανόμεθα.

Πῶς; ἔφη.

[406d] Τέκτων μέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, κάμνων ἀξιοῖ παρὰ τοῦ ἰατροῦ φάρμακον πιὼν ἐξεμέσαι τὸ νόσημα, ἢ κάτω καθαρθεὶς ἢ καύσει ἢ τομῇ χρησάμενος ἀπηλλάχθαι· ἐὰν δέ τις αὐτῷ μακρὰν δίαιταν προστάττῃ, πιλίδιά τε περὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν περιτιθεὶς καὶ τὰ τούτοις ἑπόμενα, ταχὺ εἶπεν ὅτι οὐ σχολὴ κάμνειν οὐδὲ λυσιτελεῖ οὕτω ζῆν, νοσήματι τὸν νοῦν προσέχοντα, τῆς δὲ προκειμένης ἐργασίας ἀμελοῦντα. καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα χαίρειν [406e] εἰπὼν τῷ τοιούτῳ ἰατρῷ, εἰς τὴν εἰωθυῖαν δίαιταν ἐμβάς, ὑγιὴς γενόμενος ζῇ τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττων· ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ἱκανὸν ᾖ τὸ σῶμα ὑπενεγκεῖν, τελευτήσας πραγμάτων ἀπηλλάγη.

Καὶ τῷ τοιούτῳ μέν γ’, ἔφη, δοκεῖ πρέπειν οὕτω ἰατρικῇ χρῆσθαι.

[407a] ῏Αρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἦν τι αὐτῷ ἔργον, ὃ εἰ μὴ πράττοι, οὐκ ἐλυσιτέλει ζῆν;

Δῆλον, ἔφη.

῾Ο δὲ δὴ πλούσιος, ὥς φαμεν, οὐδὲν ἔχει τοιοῦτον ἔργον προκείμενον, οὗ ἀναγκαζομένῳ ἀπέχεσθαι ἀβίωτον.

Οὔκουν δὴ λέγεταί γε.

Φωκυλίδου γάρ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὐκ ἀκούεις πῶς φησι δεῖν, ὅταν τῳ ἤδη βίος ᾖ, ἀρετὴν ἀσκεῖν.

Οἶμαι δέ γε, ἔφη, καὶ πρότερον.

Μηδέν, εἶπον, περὶ τούτου αὐτῷ μαχώμεθα, ἀλλ’ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς διδάξωμεν πότερον μελετητέον τοῦτο τῷ πλουσίῳ [407b] καὶ ἀβίωτον τῷ μὴ μελετῶντι, ἢ νοσοτροφία τεκτονικῇ μὲν καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις τέχναις ἐμπόδιον τῇ προσέξει τοῦ νοῦ, τὸ δὲ Φωκυλίδου παρακέλευμα οὐδὲν ἐμποδίζει.

Ναὶ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἦ δ’ ὅς. σχεδόν γέ τι πάντων μάλιστα ἥ γε περαιτέρω γυμναστικῆς ἡ περιττὴ αὕτη ἐπιμέλεια τοῦ σώματος· καὶ γὰρ πρὸς οἰκονομίας καὶ πρὸς στρατείας καὶ πρὸς ἑδραίους ἐν πόλει ἀρχὰς δύσκολος.

Τὸ δὲ δὴ μέγιστον, ὅτι καὶ πρὸς μαθήσεις ἁστινασοῦν καὶ [407c] ἐννοήσεις τε καὶ μελέτας πρὸς ἑαυτὸν χαλεπή, κεφαλῆς τινας ἀεὶ διατάσεις καὶ ἰλίγγους ὑποπτεύουσα καὶ αἰτιωμένη ἐκ φιλοσοφίας ἐγγίγνεσθαι, ὥστε, ὅπῃ ταύτῃ ἀρετὴ ἀσκεῖται καὶ δοκιμάζεται, πάντῃ ἐμπόδιος· κάμνειν γὰρ οἴεσθαι ποιεῖ ἀεὶ καὶ ὠδίνοντα μήποτε λήγειν περὶ τοῦ σώματος.

Εἰκός γε, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν ταῦτα γιγνώσκοντα φῶμεν καὶ ᾿Ασκληπιὸν τοὺς μὲν φύσει τε καὶ διαίτῃ ὑγιεινῶς ἔχοντας τὰ σώματα, [407d] νόσημα δέ τι ἀποκεκριμένον ἴσχοντας ἐν αὑτοῖς, τούτοις μὲν καὶ ταύτῃ τῇ ἕξει καταδεῖξαι ἰατρικήν, φαρμάκοις τε καὶ τομαῖς τὰ νοσήματα ἐκβάλλοντα αὐτῶν τὴν εἰωθυῖαν προστάττειν δίαιταν, ἵνα μὴ τὰ πολιτικὰ βλάπτοι, τὰ δ’ εἴσω διὰ παντὸς νενοσηκότα σώματα οὐκ ἐπιχειρεῖν διαίταις κατὰ σμικρὸν ἀπαντλοῦντα καὶ ἐπιχέοντα μακρὸν καὶ κακὸν βίον ἀνθρώπῳ ποιεῖν, καὶ ἔκγονα αὐτῶν, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, ἕτερα τοιαῦτα φυτεύειν, ἀλλὰ τὸν μὴ δυνάμενον ἐν τῇ καθεστηκυίᾳ [407e] περιόδῳ ζῆν μὴ οἴεσθαι δεῖν θεραπεύειν, ὡς οὔτε αὑτῷ οὔτε πόλει λυσιτελῆ;

Πολιτικόν, ἔφη, λέγεις ᾿Ασκληπιόν.

Δῆλον, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· καὶ οἱ παῖδες αὐτοῦ, ὅτι τοιοῦτος ἦν, [408a] οὐχ ὁρᾷς ὡς καὶ ἐν Τροίᾳ ἀγαθοὶ πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον ἐφάνησαν, καὶ τῇ ἰατρικῇ, ὡς ἐγὼ λέγω, ἐχρῶντο; ἢ οὐ μέμνησαι ὅτι καὶ τῷ Μενέλεῳ ἐκ τοῦ τραύματος οὗ ὁ Πάνδαρος ἔβαλεν —

αἷμ’ ἐκμυζήσαντες ἐπ’ ἤπια φάρμακ’ ἔπασσον,

ὅτι δ’ ἐχρῆν μετὰ τοῦτο ἢ πιεῖν ἢ φαγεῖν οὐδὲν μᾶλλον ἢ τῷ Εὐρυπύλῳ προσέταττον, ὡς ἱκανῶν ὄντων τῶν φαρμάκων ἰάσασθαι ἄνδρας πρὸ τῶν τραυμάτων ὑγιεινούς τε καὶ [408b] κοσμίους ἐν διαίτῃ, κἂν εἰ τύχοιεν ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμα κυκεῶνα πιόντες, νοσώδη δὲ φύσει τε καὶ ἀκόλαστον οὔτε αὐτοῖς οὔτε τοῖς ἄλλοις ᾤοντο λυσιτελεῖν ζῆν, οὐδ’ ἐπὶ τούτοις τὴν τέχνην δεῖν εἶναι, οὐδὲ θεραπευτέον αὐτούς, οὐδ’ εἰ Μίδου πλουσιώτεροι εἶεν.

Πάνυ κομψούς, ἔφη, λέγεις ᾿Ασκληπιοῦ παῖδας.

Πρέπει, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καίτοι ἀπειθοῦντές γε ἡμῖν οἱ τραγῳδοποιοί τε καὶ Πίνδαρος ᾿Απόλλωνος μέν φασιν ᾿Ασκληπιὸν εἶναι, ὑπὸ δὲ χρυσοῦ πεισθῆναι πλούσιον ἄνδρα θανάσιμον [408c] ἤδη ὄντα ἰάσασθαι, ὅθεν δὴ καὶ κεραυνωθῆναι αὐτόν. ἡμεῖς δὲ κατὰ τὰ προειρημένα οὐ πεισόμεθα αὐτοῖς ἀμφότερα, ἀλλ’ εἰ μὲν θεοῦ ἦν, οὐκ ἦν, φήσομεν, αἰσχροκερδής· εἰ δ’ αἰσχροκερδής, οὐκ ἦν θεοῦ.

᾿Ορθότατα, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ταῦτά γε. ἀλλὰ περὶ τοῦδε τί λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἆρ’ οὐκ ἀγαθοὺς δεῖ ἐν τῇ πόλει κεκτῆσθαι ἰατρούς; εἶεν δ’ ἄν που μάλιστα τοιοῦτοι ὅσοι [408d] πλείστους μὲν ὑγιεινούς, πλείστους δὲ νοσώδεις μετεχειρίσαντο, καὶ δικασταὶ αὖ ὡσαύτως οἱ παντοδαπαῖς φύσεσιν ὡμιληκότες.

Καὶ μάλα, εἶπον, ἀγαθοὺς λέγω. ἀλλ’ οἶσθα οὓς ἡγοῦμαι τοιούτους;

῍Αν εἴπῃς, ἔφη.

᾿Αλλὰ πειράσομαι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· σὺ μέντοι οὐχ ὅμοιον πρᾶγμα τῷ αὐτῷ λόγῳ ἤρου.

Πῶς; ἔφη.

᾿Ιατροὶ μέν, εἶπον, δεινότατοι ἂν γένοιντο, εἰ ἐκ παίδων ἀρξάμενοι πρὸς τῷ μανθάνειν τὴν τέχνην ὡς πλείστοις τε καὶ πονηροτάτοις σώμασιν ὁμιλήσειαν καὶ αὐτοὶ πάσας [408e] νόσους κάμοιεν καὶ εἶεν μὴ πάνυ ὑγιεινοὶ φύσει. οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι σώματι σῶμα θεραπεύουσιν — οὐ γὰρ ἂν αὐτὰ ἐνεχώρει κακὰ εἶναί ποτε καὶ γενέσθαι — ἀλλὰ ψυχῇ σῶμα, ᾗ οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖ κακὴν γενομένην τε καὶ οὖσαν εὖ τι θεραπεύειν.

᾿Ορθῶς, ἔφη.

[409a] Δικαστὴς δέ γε, ὦ φίλε, ψυχῇ ψυχῆς ἄρχει, ᾗ οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖ ἐκ νέας ἐν πονηραῖς ψυχαῖς τεθράφθαι τε καὶ ὡμιληκέναι καὶ πάντα ἀδικήματα αὐτὴν ἠδικηκυῖαν διεξεληλυθέναι, ὥστε ὀξέως ἀφ’ αὑτῆς τεκμαίρεσθαι τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἀδικήματα οἷον κατὰ σῶμα νόσους· ἀλλ’ ἄπειρον αὐτὴν καὶ ἀκέραιον δεῖ κακῶν ἠθῶν νέαν οὖσαν γεγονέναι, εἰ μέλλει καλὴ κἀγαθὴ οὖσα κρινεῖν ὑγιῶς τὰ δίκαια. διὸ δὴ καὶ εὐήθεις νέοι ὄντες οἱ ἐπιεικεῖς φαίνονται καὶ εὐεξαπάτητοι [409b] ὑπὸ τῶν ἀδίκων, ἅτε οὐκ ἔχοντες ἐν ἑαυτοῖς παραδείγματα ὁμοιοπαθῆ τοῖς πονηροῖς.

Καὶ μὲν δή, ἔφη, σφόδρα γε αὐτὸ πάσχουσι.

Τῷ τοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὐ νέον ἀλλὰ γέροντα δεῖ τὸν ἀγαθὸν δικαστὴν εἶναι, ὀψιμαθῆ γεγονότα τῆς ἀδικίας οἷόν ἐστιν, οὐκ οἰκείαν ἐν τῇ αὑτοῦ ψυχῇ ἐνοῦσαν ᾐσθημένον, ἀλλ’ ἀλλοτρίαν ἐν ἀλλοτρίαις μεμελετηκότα ἐν πολλῷ χρόνῳ διαισθάνεσθαι οἷον πέφυκε κακόν, ἐπιστήμῃ, οὐκ [409c] ἐμπειρίᾳ οἰκείᾳ κεχρημένον.

Γενναιότατος γοῦν, ἔφη, ἔοικεν εἶναι ὁ τοιοῦτος δικαστής.

Καὶ ἀγαθός γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὃ σὺ ἠρώτας· ὁ γὰρ ἔχων ψυχὴν ἀγαθὴν ἀγαθός. ὁ δὲ δεινὸς ἐκεῖνος καὶ καχύποπτος, ὁ πολλὰ αὐτὸς ἠδικηκὼς καὶ πανοῦργός τε καὶ σοφὸς οἰόμενος εἶναι, ὅταν μὲν ὁμοίοις ὁμιλῇ, δεινὸς φαίνεται ἐξευλαβούμενος, πρὸς τὰ ἐν αὑτῷ παραδείγματα ἀποσκοπῶν· ὅταν δὲ ἀγαθοῖς καὶ πρεσβυτέροις ἤδη πλησιάσῃ, ἀβέλτερος [409d] αὖ φαίνεται, ἀπιστῶν παρὰ καιρὸν καὶ ἀγνοῶν ὑγιὲς ἦθος, ἅτε οὐκ ἔχων παράδειγμα τοῦ τοιούτου. πλεονάκις δὲ πονηροῖς ἢ χρηστοῖς ἐντυγχάνων σοφώτερος ἢ ἀμαθέστερος δοκεῖ εἶναι αὑτῷ τε καὶ ἄλλοις.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ἀληθῆ.

Οὐ τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τοιοῦτον χρὴ τὸν δικαστὴν ζητεῖν τὸν ἀγαθόν τε καὶ σοφόν, ἀλλὰ τὸν πρότερον· πονηρία μὲν γὰρ ἀρετήν τε καὶ αὑτὴν οὔποτ’ ἂν γνοίη, ἀρετὴ δὲ φύσεως παιδευομένης χρόνῳ ἅμα αὑτῆς τε καὶ πονηρίας ἐπιστήμην [409e] λήψεται. σοφὸς οὖν οὗτος, ὥς μοι δοκεῖ, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὁ κακὸς γίγνεται.

Καὶ ἐμοί, ἔφη, συνδοκεῖ.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ ἰατρικήν, οἵαν εἴπομεν, μετὰ τῆς τοιαύτης δικαστικῆς κατὰ πόλιν νομοθετήσεις, αἳ τῶν πολιτῶν σοι [410a] τοὺς μὲν εὐφυεῖς τὰ σώματα καὶ τὰς ψυχὰς θεραπεύσουσι, τοὺς δὲ μή, ὅσοι μὲν κατὰ σῶμα τοιοῦτοι, ἀποθνῄσκειν ἐάσουσιν, τοὺς δὲ κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν κακοφυεῖς καὶ ἀνιάτους αὐτοὶ ἀποκτενοῦσιν;

Τὸ γοῦν ἄριστον, ἔφη, αὐτοῖς τε τοῖς πάσχουσιν καὶ τῇ πόλει οὕτω πέφανται.

Οἱ δὲ δὴ νέοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δῆλον ὅτι εὐλαβήσονταί σοι δικαστικῆς εἰς χρείαν ἰέναι, τῇ ἁπλῇ ἐκείνῃ μουσικῇ χρώμενοι ἣν δὴ ἔφαμεν σωφροσύνην ἐντίκτειν.

Τί μήν; ἔφη.

[410b] ῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἴχνη ταῦτα ὁ μουσικὸς γυμναστικὴν διώκων, ἐὰν ἐθέλῃ, αἱρήσει, ὥστε μηδὲν ἰατρικῆς δεῖσθαι ὅτι μὴ ἀνάγκη;

῎Εμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Αὐτά γε μὴν τὰ γυμνάσια καὶ τοὺς πόνους πρὸς τὸ θυμοειδὲς τῆς φύσεως βλέπων κἀκεῖνο ἐγείρων πονήσει μᾶλλον ἢ πρὸς ἰσχύν, οὐχ ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι ἀθληταὶ ῥώμης ἕνεκα σιτία καὶ πόνους μεταχειριεῖται.

᾿Ορθότατα, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, καὶ οἱ καθιστάντες [410c] μουσικῇ καὶ γυμναστικῇ παιδεύειν οὐχ οὗ ἕνεκά τινες οἴονται καθιστᾶσιν, ἵνα τῇ μὲν τὸ σῶμα θεραπεύοιντο, τῇ δὲ τὴν ψυχήν;

᾿Αλλὰ τί μήν; ἔφη.

Κινδυνεύουσιν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀμφότερα τῆς ψυχῆς ἕνεκα τὸ μέγιστον καθιστάναι.

Πῶς δή;

Οὐκ ἐννοεῖς, εἶπον, ὡς διατίθενται αὐτὴν τὴν διάνοιαν οἳ ἂν γυμναστικῇ μὲν διὰ βίου ὁμιλήσωσιν, μουσικῆς δὲ μὴ ἅψωνται; ἢ αὖ ὅσοι ἂν τοὐναντίον διατεθῶσιν;

Τίνος δέ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, πέρι λέγεις;

[410d] ᾿Αγριότητός τε καὶ σκληρότητος, καὶ αὖ μαλακίας τε καὶ ἡμερότητος, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ —

῎Εγωγε, ἔφη· ὅτι οἱ μὲν γυμναστικῇ ἀκράτῳ χρησάμενοι ἀγριώτεροι τοῦ δέοντος ἀποβαίνουσιν, οἱ δὲ μουσικῇ μαλακώτεροι αὖ γίγνονται ἢ ὡς κάλλιον αὐτοῖς.

Καὶ μήν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τό γε ἄγριον τὸ θυμοειδὲς ἂν τῆς φύσεως παρέχοιτο, καὶ ὀρθῶς μὲν τραφὲν ἀνδρεῖον ἂν εἴη, μᾶλλον δ’ ἐπιταθὲν τοῦ δέοντος σκληρόν τε καὶ χαλεπὸν γίγνοιτ’ ἄν, ὡς τὸ εἰκός.

Δοκεῖ μοι, ἔφη.

[410e] Τί δέ; τὸ ἥμερον οὐχ ἡ φιλόσοφος ἂν ἔχοι φύσις, καὶ μᾶλλον μὲν ἀνεθέντος αὐτοῦ μαλακώτερον εἴη τοῦ δέοντος, καλῶς δὲ τραφέντος ἥμερόν τε καὶ κόσμιον;

῎Εστι ταῦτα.

Δεῖν δέ γέ φαμεν τοὺς φύλακας ἀμφοτέρα ἔχειν τούτω τὼ φύσει.

Δεῖ γάρ.

Οὐκοῦν ἡρμόσθαι δεῖ αὐτὰς πρὸς ἀλλήλας;

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Καὶ τοῦ μὲν ἡρμοσμένου σώφρων τε καὶ ἀνδρεία ἡ [411a] ψυχή;

Πάνυ γε.

Τοῦ δὲ ἀναρμόστου δειλὴ καὶ ἄγροικος;

Καὶ μάλα.

Οὐκοῦν ὅταν μέν τις μουσικῇ παρέχῃ καταυλεῖν καὶ καταχεῖν τῆς ψυχῆς διὰ τῶν ὤτων ὥσπερ διὰ χώνης ἃς νυνδὴ ἡμεῖς ἐλέγομεν τὰς γλυκείας τε καὶ μαλακὰς καὶ θρηνώδεις ἁρμονίας, καὶ μινυρίζων τε καὶ γεγανωμένος ὑπὸ τῆς ᾠδῆς διατελῇ τὸν βίον ὅλον, οὗτος τὸ μὲν πρῶτον, εἴ τι θυμοειδὲς εἶχεν, ὥσπερ σίδηρον ἐμάλαξεν καὶ χρήσιμον [411b] ἐξ ἀχρήστου καὶ σκληροῦ ἐποίησεν· ὅταν δ’ ἐπέχων μὴ ἀνιῇ ἀλλὰ κηλῇ, τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο ἤδη τήκει καὶ λείβει, ἕως ἂν ἐκτήξῃ τὸν θυμὸν καὶ ἐκτέμῃ ὥσπερ νεῦρα ἐκ τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ ποιήσῃ “μαλθακὸν αἰχμητήν.”

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

Καὶ ἐὰν μέν γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἐξ ἀρχῆς φύσει ἄθυμον λάβῃ, ταχὺ τοῦτο διεπράξατο· ἐὰν δὲ θυμοειδῆ, ἀσθενῆ ποιήσας τὸν θυμὸν ὀξύρροπον ἀπηργάσατο, ἀπὸ σμικρῶν ταχὺ ἐρεθι[411c]ζόμενόν τε καὶ κατασβεννύμενον. ἀκράχολοι οὖν καὶ ὀργίλοι ἀντὶ θυμοειδοῦς γεγένηνται, δυσκολίας ἔμπλεῳ.

Κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Τί δὲ ἂν αὖ γυμναστικῇ πολλὰ πονῇ καὶ εὐωχῆται εὖ μάλα, μουσικῆς δὲ καὶ φιλοσοφίας μὴ ἅπτηται; οὐ πρῶτον μὲν εὖ ἴσχων τὸ σῶμα φρονήματός τε καὶ θυμοῦ ἐμπίμπλαται καὶ ἀνδρειότερος γίγνεται αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ;

Καὶ μάλα γε.

Τί δὲ ἐπειδὰν ἄλλο μηδὲν πράττῃ μηδὲ κοινωνῇ Μούσης

[411d] μηδαμῇ; οὐκ εἴ τι καὶ ἐνῆν αὐτοῦ φιλομαθὲς ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ, ἅτε οὔτε μαθήματος γευόμενον οὐδενὸς οὔτε ζητήματος, οὔτε λόγου μετίσχον οὔτε τῆς ἄλλης μουσικῆς, ἀσθενές τε καὶ κωφὸν καὶ τυφλὸν γίγνεται, ἅτε οὐκ ἐγειρόμενον οὐδὲ τρεφόμενον οὐδὲ διακαθαιρομένων τῶν αἰσθήσεων αὐτοῦ;

Οὕτως, ἔφη.

Μισόλογος δὴ οἶμαι ὁ τοιοῦτος γίγνεται καὶ ἄμουσος, καὶ πειθοῖ μὲν διὰ λόγων οὐδὲν ἔτι χρῆται, βίᾳ δὲ καὶ [411e] ἀγριότητι ὥσπερ θηρίον πρὸς πάντα διαπράττεται, καὶ ἐν ἀμαθίᾳ καὶ σκαιότητι μετὰ ἀρρυθμίας τε καὶ ἀχαριστίας ζῇ.

Παντάπασιν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὕτως ἔχει.

᾿Επὶ δὴ δύ’ ὄντε τούτω, ὡς ἔοικε, δύο τέχνα θεὸν ἔγωγ’ ἄν τινα φαίην δεδωκέναι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, μουσικήν τε καὶ γυμναστικὴν ἐπὶ τὸ θυμοειδὲς καὶ τὸ φιλόσοφον, οὐκ ἐπὶ ψυχὴν καὶ σῶμα, εἰ μὴ εἰ πάρεργον, ἀλλ’ ἐπ’ ἐκείνω, ὅπως [412a] ἂν ἀλλήλοιν συναρμοσθῆτον ἐπιτεινομένω καὶ ἀνιεμένω μέχρι τοῦ προσήκοντος.

Καὶ γὰρ ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

Τὸν κάλλιστ’ ἄρα μουσικῇ γυμναστικὴν κεραννύντα καὶ μετριώτατα τῇ ψυχῇ προσφέροντα, τοῦτον ὀρθότατ’ ἂν φαῖμεν εἶναι τελέως μουσικώτατον καὶ εὐαρμοστότατον, πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ τὸν τὰς χορδὰς ἀλλήλαις συνιστάντα.

Εἰκότως γ’, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐν τῇ πόλει ἡμῖν, ὦ Γλαύκων, δεήσει τοῦ τοιούτου τινὸς ἀεὶ ἐπιστάτου, εἰ μέλλει ἡ πολιτεία σῴζεσθαι;

[412b] Δεήσει μέντοι ὡς οἷόν τέ γε μάλιστα.

Οἱ μὲν δὴ τύποι τῆς παιδείας τε καὶ τροφῆς οὗτοι ἂν εἶεν. χορείας γὰρ τί ἄν τις διεξίοι τῶν τοιούτων καὶ θήρας τε καὶ κυνηγέσια καὶ γυμνικοὺς ἀγῶνας καὶ ἱππικούς; σχεδὸν γάρ τι δῆλα δὴ ὅτι τούτοις ἑπόμενα δεῖ αὐτὰ εἶναι, καὶ οὐκέτι χαλεπὰ εὑρεῖν.

῎Ισως, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐ χαλεπά.

Εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο τί ἂν ἡμῖν διαιρετέον εἴη; ἆρ’ οὐκ αὐτῶν τούτων οἵτινες ἄρξουσί τε καὶ ἄρξονται;

[412c] Τί μήν;

Οὐκοῦν ὅτι μὲν πρεσβυτέρους τοὺς ἄρχοντας δεῖ εἶναι, νεωτέρους δὲ τοὺς ἀρχομένους, δῆλον;

Δῆλον.

Καὶ ὅτι γε τοὺς ἀρίστους αὐτῶν;

Καὶ τοῦτο.

Οἱ δὲ γεωργῶν ἄριστοι ἆρ’ οὐ γεωργικώτατοι γίγνονται;

Ναί.

Νῦν δ’, ἐπειδὴ φυλάκων αὐτοὺς ἀρίστους δεῖ εἶναι, ἆρ’ οὐ φυλακικωτάτους πόλεως;

Ναί.

Οὐκοῦν φρονίμους τε εἰς τοῦτο δεῖ ὑπάρχειν καὶ δυνατοὺς καὶ ἔτι κηδεμόνας τῆς πόλεως;

[412d] ῎Εστι ταῦτα.

Κήδοιτο δέ γ’ ἄν τις μάλιστα τούτου ὃ τυγχάνοι φιλῶν.

᾿Ανάγκη.

Καὶ μὴν τοῦτό γ’ ἂν μάλιστα φιλοῖ, ᾧ συμφέρειν ἡγοῖτο τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ ἑαυτῷ καὶ [ὅταν μάλιστα] ἐκείνου μὲν εὖ πράττοντος οἴοιτο συμβαίνειν καὶ ἑαυτῷ εὖ πράττειν, μὴ δέ, τοὐναντίον.

Οὕτως, ἔφη.

᾿Εκλεκτέον ἄρ’ ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων φυλάκων τοιούτους ἄνδρας, οἳ ἂν σκοποῦσιν ἡμῖν μάλιστα φαίνωνται παρὰ πάντα τὸν [412e] βίον, ὃ μὲν ἂν τῇ πόλει ἡγήσωνται συμφέρειν, πάσῃ προθυμίᾳ ποιεῖν, ὃ δ’ ἂν μή, μηδενὶ τρόπῳ πρᾶξαι ἂν ἐθέλειν.

᾿Επιτήδειοι γάρ, ἔφη.

Δοκεῖ δή μοι τηρητέον αὐτοὺς εἶναι ἐν ἁπάσαις ταῖς ἡλικίαις, εἰ φυλακικοί εἰσι τούτου τοῦ δόγματος καὶ μήτε γοητευόμενοι μήτε βιαζόμενοι ἐκβάλλουσιν ἐπιλανθανόμενοι δόξαν τὴν τοῦ ποιεῖν δεῖν ἃ τῇ πόλει βέλτιστα.

Τίνα, ἔφη, λέγεις τὴν ἐκβολήν;

᾿Εγώ σοι, ἔφην, ἐρῶ. φαίνεταί μοι δόξα ἐξιέναι ἐκ διανοίας ἢ ἑκουσίως ἢ ἀκουσίως, ἑκουσίως μὲν ἡ ψευδὴς [413a] τοῦ μεταμανθάνοντος, ἀκουσίως δὲ πᾶσα ἡ ἀληθής.

Τὸ μὲν τῆς ἑκουσίου, ἔφη, μανθάνω, τὸ δὲ τῆς ἀκουσίου δέομαι μαθεῖν.

Τί δέ; οὐ καὶ σὺ ἡγῇ, ἔφην ἐγώ, τῶν μὲν ἀγαθῶν ἀκουσίως στέρεσθαι τοὺς ἀνθρώπους, τῶν δὲ κακῶν ἑκουσίως; ἢ οὐ τὸ μὲν ἐψεῦσθαι τῆς ἀληθείας κακόν, τὸ δὲ ἀληθεύειν ἀγαθόν; ἢ οὐ τὸ τὰ ὄντα δοξάζειν ἀληθεύειν δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι;

᾿Αλλ’, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ὀρθῶς λέγεις, καί μοι δοκοῦσιν ἄκοντες ἀληθοῦς δόξης στερίσκεσθαι.

[413b] Οὐκοῦν κλαπέντες ἢ γοητευθέντες ἢ βιασθέντες τοῦτο πάσχουσιν;

Οὐδὲ νῦν, ἔφη, μανθάνω.

Τραγικῶς, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, κινδυνεύω λέγειν. κλαπέντας μὲν γὰρ τοὺς μεταπεισθέντας λέγω καὶ τοὺς ἐπιλανθανομένους, ὅτι τῶν μὲν χρόνος, τῶν δὲ λόγος ἐξαιρούμενος λανθάνει· νῦν γάρ που μανθάνεις;

Ναί.

Τοὺς τοίνυν βιασθέντας λέγω οὓς ἂν ὀδύνη τις ἢ ἀλγηδὼν μεταδοξάσαι ποιήσῃ.

Καὶ τοῦτ’, ἔφη, ἔμαθον, καὶ ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

[413c] Τοὺς μὴν γοητευθέντας, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, κἂν σὺ φαίης εἶναι οἳ ἂν μεταδοξάσωσιν ἢ ὑφ’ ἡδονῆς κηληθέντες ἢ ὑπὸ φόβου τι δείσαντες.

῎Εοικε γάρ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, γοητεύειν πάντα ὅσα ἀπατᾷ.

῝Ο τοίνυν ἄρτι ἔλεγον, ζητητέον τίνες ἄριστοι φύλακες τοῦ παρ’ αὑτοῖς δόγματος, τοῦτο ὡς ποιητέον ὃ ἂν τῇ πόλει ἀεὶ δοκῶσι βέλτιστον εἶναι [αὑτοῖς ποιεῖν]. τηρητέον δὴ εὐθὺς ἐκ παίδων προθεμένοις ἔργα ἐν οἷς ἄν τις τὸ τοιοῦτον μάλιστα ἐπιλανθάνοιτο καὶ ἐξαπατῷτο, καὶ τὸν μὲν μνή[413d]μονα καὶ δυσεξαπάτητον ἐγκριτέον, τὸν δὲ μὴ ἀποκριτέον. ἦ γάρ;

Ναί.

Καὶ πόνους γε αὖ καὶ ἀλγηδόνας καὶ ἀγῶνας αὐτοῖς θετέον, ἐν οἷς ταὐτὰ ταῦτα τηρητέον.

᾿Ορθῶς, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ τρίτου εἴδους τούτοις γοητείας ἅμιλλαν ποιητέον, καὶ θεατέον — ὥσπερ τοὺς πώλους ἐπὶ τοὺς ψόφους τε καὶ θορύβους ἄγοντες σκοποῦσιν εἰ φοβεροί, οὕτω νέους ὄντας εἰς δείματ’ ἄττα κομιστέον καὶ εἰς ἡδονὰς [413e] αὖ μεταβλητέον, βασανίζοντας πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ χρυσὸν ἐν πυρί — εἰ δυσγοήτευτος καὶ εὐσχήμων ἐν πᾶσι φαίνεται, φύλαξ αὑτοῦ ὢν ἀγαθὸς καὶ μουσικῆς ἧς ἐμάνθανεν, εὔρυθμόν τε καὶ εὐάρμοστον ἑαυτὸν ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις παρέχων, οἷος δὴ ἂν ὢν καὶ ἑαυτῷ καὶ πόλει χρησιμώτατος εἴη. καὶ τὸν ἀεὶ ἔν τε παισὶ καὶ νεανίσκοις καὶ ἐν ἀνδράσι βασανι[414a]ζόμενον καὶ ἀκήρατον ἐκβαίνοντα καταστατέον ἄρχοντα τῆς πόλεως καὶ φύλακα, καὶ τιμὰς δοτέον καὶ ζῶντι καὶ τελευτήσαντι, τάφων τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων μνημείων μέγιστα γέρα λαγχάνοντα· τὸν δὲ μὴ τοιοῦτον ἀποκριτέον. τοιαύτη τις, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δοκεῖ μοι, ὦ Γλαύκων, ἡ ἐκλογὴ εἶναι καὶ κατάστασις τῶν ἀρχόντων τε καὶ φυλάκων, ὡς ἐν τύπῳ, μὴ δι’ ἀκριβείας, εἰρῆσθαι.

Καὶ ἐμοί, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὕτως πῃ φαίνεται.

[414b] ῏Αρ’ οὖν ὡς ἀληθῶς ὀρθότατον καλεῖν τούτους μὲν φύλακας παντελεῖς τῶν τε ἔξωθεν πολεμίων τῶν τε ἐντὸς φιλίων, ὅπως οἱ μὲν μὴ βουλήσονται, οἱ δὲ μὴ δυνήσονται κακουργεῖν, τοὺς δὲ νέους, οὓς δὴ νῦν φύλακας ἐκαλοῦμεν, ἐπικούρους τε καὶ βοηθοὺς τοῖς τῶν ἀρχόντων δόγμασιν;

῎Εμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη.

Τίς ἂν οὖν ἡμῖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μηχανὴ γένοιτο τῶν ψευδῶν τῶν ἐν δέοντι γιγνομένων, ὧν δὴ νῦν ἐλέγομεν, γενναῖόν [414c] τι ἓν ψευδομένους πεῖσαι μάλιστα μὲν καὶ αὐτοὺς τοὺς ἄρχοντας, εἰ δὲ μή, τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν;

Ποῖόν τι; ἔφη.

Μηδὲν καινόν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀλλὰ Φοινικικόν τι, πρότερον μὲν ἤδη πολλαχοῦ γεγονός, ὥς φασιν οἱ ποιηταὶ καὶ πεπείκασιν, ἐφ’ ἡμῶν δὲ οὐ γεγονὸς οὐδ’ οἶδα εἰ γενόμενον ἄν, πεῖσαι δὲ συχνῆς πειθοῦς.

῾Ως ἔοικας, ἔφη, ὀκνοῦντι λέγειν.

Δόξω δέ σοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ μάλ’ εἰκότως ὀκνεῖν, ἐπειδὰν εἴπω.

Λέγ’, ἔφη, καὶ μὴ φοβοῦ.

[414d] Λέγω δή — καίτοι οὐκ οἶδα ὁποίᾳ τόλμῃ ἢ ποίοις λόγοις χρώμενος ἐρῶ — καὶ ἐπιχειρήσω πρῶτον μὲν αὐτοὺς τοὺς ἄρχοντας πείθειν καὶ τοὺς στρατιώτας, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν, ὡς ἄρ’ ἃ ἡμεῖς αὐτοὺς ἐτρέφομέν τε καὶ ἐπαιδεύομεν, ὥσπερ ὀνείρατα ἐδόκουν ταῦτα πάντα πάσχειν τε καὶ γίγνεσθαι περὶ αὐτούς, ἦσαν δὲ τότε τῇ ἀληθείᾳ ὑπὸ γῆς ἐντὸς πλαττόμενοι καὶ τρεφόμενοι καὶ αὐτοὶ καὶ τὰ [414e] ὅπλα αὐτῶν καὶ ἡ ἄλλη σκευὴ δημιουργουμένη, ἐπειδὴ δὲ παντελῶς ἐξειργασμένοι ἦσαν, καὶ ἡ γῆ αὐτοὺς μήτηρ οὖσα ἀνῆκεν, καὶ νῦν δεῖ ὡς περὶ μητρὸς καὶ τροφοῦ τῆς χώρας ἐν ᾗ εἰσι βουλεύεσθαί τε καὶ ἀμύνειν αὐτούς, ἐάν τις ἐπ’ αὐτὴν ἴῃ, καὶ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν ὡς ἀδελφῶν ὄντων καὶ γηγενῶν διανοεῖσθαι.

Οὐκ ἐτός, ἔφη, πάλαι ᾐσχύνου τὸ ψεῦδος λέγειν.

[415a] Πάνυ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εἰκότως· ἀλλ’ ὅμως ἄκουε καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν τοῦ μύθου. ἐστὲ μὲν γὰρ δὴ πάντες οἱ ἐν τῇ πόλει ἀδελφοί, ὡς φήσομεν πρὸς αὐτοὺς μυθολογοῦντες, ἀλλ’ ὁ θεὸς πλάττων, ὅσοι μὲν ὑμῶν ἱκανοὶ ἄρχειν, χρυσὸν ἐν τῇ γενέσει συνέμειξεν αὐτοῖς, διὸ τιμιώτατοί εἰσιν· ὅσοι δ’ ἐπίκουροι, ἄργυρον· σίδηρον δὲ καὶ χαλκὸν τοῖς τε γεωργοῖς καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις δημιουργοῖς. ἅτε οὖν συγγενεῖς ὄντες πάντες τὸ μὲν πολὺ ὁμοίους ἂν ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς γεννῷτε, [415b] ἔστι δ’ ὅτε ἐκ χρυσοῦ γεννηθείη ἂν ἀργυροῦν καὶ ἐξ ἀργύρου χρυσοῦν ἔκγονον καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οὕτως ἐξ ἀλλήλων. τοῖς οὖν ἄρχουσι καὶ πρῶτον καὶ μάλιστα παραγγέλλει ὁ θεός, ὅπως μηδενὸς οὕτω φύλακες ἀγαθοὶ ἔσονται μηδ’ οὕτω σφόδρα φυλάξουσι μηδὲν ὡς τοὺς ἐκγόνους, ὅτι αὐτοῖς τούτων ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς παραμέμεικται, καὶ ἐάν τε σφέτερος ἔκγονος ὑπόχαλκος ἢ ὑποσίδηρος γένηται, μηδενὶ [415c] τρόπῳ κατελεήσουσιν, ἀλλὰ τὴν τῇ φύσει προσήκουσαν τιμὴν ἀποδόντες ὤσουσιν εἰς δημιουργοὺς ἢ εἰς γεωργούς, καὶ ἂν αὖ ἐκ τούτων τις ὑπόχρυσος ἢ ὑπάργυρος φυῇ, τιμήσαντες ἀνάξουσι τοὺς μὲν εἰς φυλακήν, τοὺς δὲ εἰς ἐπικουρίαν, ὡς χρησμοῦ ὄντος τότε τὴν πόλιν διαφθαρῆναι, ὅταν αὐτὴν ὁ σιδηροῦς φύλαξ ἢ ὁ χαλκοῦς φυλάξῃ. τοῦτον οὖν τὸν μῦθον ὅπως ἂν πεισθεῖεν, ἔχεις τινὰ μηχανήν;

[415d] Οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη, ὅπως γ’ ἂν αὐτοὶ οὗτοι· ὅπως μεντἂν οἱ τούτων ὑεῖς καὶ οἱ ἔπειτα οἵ τ’ ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι οἱ ὕστερον.

᾿Αλλὰ καὶ τοῦτο, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εὖ ἂν ἔχοι πρὸς τὸ μᾶλλον αὐτοὺς τῆς πόλεώς τε καὶ ἀλλήλων κήδεσθαι· σχεδὸν γάρ τι μανθάνω ὃ λέγεις.

Καὶ τοῦτο μὲν δὴ ἕξει ὅπῃ ἂν αὐτὸ ἡ φήμη ἀγάγῃ· ἡμεῖς δὲ τούτους τοὺς γηγενεῖς ὁπλίσαντες προάγωμεν ἡγουμένων τῶν ἀρχόντων. ἐλθόντες δὲ θεασάσθων τῆς πόλεως ὅπου κάλλιστον στρατοπεδεύσασθαι, ὅθεν τούς τε [415e] ἔνδον μάλιστ’ ἂν κατέχοιεν, εἴ τις μὴ ἐθέλοι τοῖς νόμοις πείθεσθαι, τούς τε ἔξωθεν ἀπαμύνοιεν, εἰ πολέμιος ὥσπερ λύκος ἐπὶ ποίμνην τις ἴοι· στρατοπεδευσάμενοι δέ, θύσαντες οἷς χρή, εὐνὰς ποιησάσθων. ἢ πῶς;

Οὕτως, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν τοιαύτας, οἵας χειμῶνός τε στέγειν καὶ θέρους ἱκανὰς εἶναι;

Πῶς γὰρ οὐχί; οἰκήσεις γάρ, ἔφη, δοκεῖς μοι λέγειν.

Ναί, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, στρατιωτικάς γε, ἀλλ’ οὐ χρηματιστικάς.

[416a] Πῶς, ἔφη, αὖ τοῦτο λέγεις διαφέρειν ἐκείνου;

᾿Εγώ σοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πειράσομαι εἰπεῖν. δεινότατον γάρ που πάντων καὶ αἴσχιστον ποιμέσι τοιούτους γε καὶ οὕτω τρέφειν κύνας ἐπικούρους ποιμνίων, ὥστε ὑπὸ ἀκολασίας ἢ λιμοῦ ἤ τινος ἄλλου κακοῦ ἔθους αὐτοὺς τοὺς κύνας ἐπιχειρῆσαι τοῖς προβάτοις κακουργεῖν καὶ ἀντὶ κυνῶν λύκοις ὁμοιωθῆναι.

Δεινόν, ἦ δ’ ὅς· πῶς δ’ οὔ;

[416b] Οὐκοῦν φυλακτέον παντὶ τρόπῳ μὴ τοιοῦτον ἡμῖν οἱ ἐπίκουροι ποιήσωσι πρὸς τοὺς πολίτας, ἐπειδὴ αὐτῶν κρείττους εἰσίν, ἀντὶ συμμάχων εὐμενῶν δεσπόταις ἀγρίοις ἀφομοιωθῶσιν;

Φυλακτέον, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν τὴν μεγίστην τῆς εὐλαβείας παρεσκευασμένοι ἂν εἶεν, εἰ τῷ ὄντι καλῶς πεπαιδευμένοι εἰσίν;

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν εἰσίν γ’, ἔφη.

Καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον· Τοῦτο μὲν οὐκ ἄξιον διισχυρίζεσθαι, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων· ὃ μέντοι ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν, ἄξιον, ὅτι δεῖ [416c] αὐτοὺς τῆς ὀρθῆς τυχεῖν παιδείας, ἥτις ποτέ ἐστιν, εἰ μέλλουσι τὸ μέγιστον ἔχειν πρὸς τὸ ἥμεροι εἶναι αὑτοῖς τε καὶ τοῖς φυλαττομένοις ὑπ’ αὐτῶν.

Καὶ ὀρθῶς γε, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Πρὸς τοίνυν τῇ παιδείᾳ ταύτῃ φαίη ἄν τις νοῦν ἔχων δεῖν καὶ τὰς οἰκήσεις καὶ τὴν ἄλλην οὐσίαν τοιαύτην αὐτοῖς παρεσκευάσθαι, ἥτις μήτε τοῦ φύλακας ὡς ἀρίστους εἶναι παύσει [416d] αὐτούς, κακουργεῖν τε μὴ ἐπαρεῖ περὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πολίτας.

Καὶ ἀληθῶς γε φήσει.

῞Ορα δή, εἶπον ἐγώ, εἰ τοιόνδε τινὰ τρόπον δεῖ αὐτοὺς ζῆν τε καὶ οἰκεῖν, εἰ μέλλουσι τοιοῦτοι ἔσεσθαι· πρῶτον μὲν οὐσίαν κεκτημένον μηδεμίαν μηδένα ἰδίαν, ἂν μὴ πᾶσα ἀνάγκη· ἔπειτα οἴκησιν καὶ ταμιεῖον μηδενὶ εἶναι μηδὲν τοιοῦτον, εἰς ὃ οὐ πᾶς ὁ βουλόμενος εἴσεισι· τὰ δ’ ἐπιτήδεια, ὅσων δέονται ἄνδρες ἀθληταὶ πολέμου σώφρονές τε καὶ [416e] ἀνδρεῖοι, ταξαμένους παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν δέχεσθαι μισθὸν τῆς φυλακῆς τοσοῦτον ὅσον μήτε περιεῖναι αὐτοῖς εἰς τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν μήτε ἐνδεῖν· φοιτῶντας δὲ εἰς συσσίτια ὥσπερ ἐστρατοπεδευμένους κοινῇ ζῆν· χρυσίον δὲ καὶ ἀργύριον εἰπεῖν αὐτοῖς ὅτι θεῖον παρὰ θεῶν ἀεὶ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἔχουσι καὶ οὐδὲν προσδέονται τοῦ ἀνθρωπείου, οὐδὲ ὅσια τὴν ἐκείνου κτῆσιν τῇ τοῦ θνητοῦ χρυσοῦ κτήσει συμμειγνύντας μιαίνειν, διότι πολλὰ καὶ ἀνόσια περὶ τὸ τῶν [417a] πολλῶν νόμισμα γέγονεν, τὸ παρ’ ἐκείνοις δὲ ἀκήρατον· ἀλλὰ μόνοις αὐτοῖς τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει μεταχειρίζεσθαι καὶ ἅπτεσθαι χρυσοῦ καὶ ἀργύρου οὐ θέμις, οὐδ’ ὑπὸ τὸν αὐτὸν ὄροφον ἰέναι οὐδὲ περιάψασθαι οὐδὲ πίνειν ἐξ ἀργύρου ἢ χρυσοῦ. καὶ οὕτω μὲν σῴζοιντό τ’ ἂν καὶ σῴζοιεν τὴν πόλιν· ὁπότε δ’ αὐτοὶ γῆν τε ἰδίαν καὶ οἰκίας καὶ νομίσματα κτήσονται, οἰκονόμοι μὲν καὶ γεωργοὶ ἀντὶ φυλάκων ἔσονται, [417b] δεσπόται δ’ ἐχθροὶ ἀντὶ συμμάχων τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν γενήσονται, μισοῦντες δὲ δὴ καὶ μισούμενοι καὶ ἐπιβουλεύοντες καὶ ἐπιβουλευόμενοι διάξουσι πάντα τὸν βίον, πολὺ πλείω καὶ μᾶλλον δεδιότες τοὺς ἔνδον ἢ τοὺς ἔξωθεν πολεμίους, θέοντες ἤδη τότε ἐγγύτατα ὀλέθρου αὐτοί τε καὶ ἡ ἄλλη πόλις. τούτων οὖν πάντων ἕνεκα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, φῶμεν οὕτω δεῖν κατεσκευάσθαι τοὺς φύλακας οἰκήσεώς τε πέρι καὶ τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ ταῦτα νομοθετήσωμεν, ἢ μή;

Πάνυ γε, ἦ δ’ ὃς ὁ Γλαύκων.

Πολιτεία Δ

Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

[419a] Καὶ ὁ Ἀδείμαντος ὑπολαβών, τί οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀπολογήσῃ, ἐάν τίς σε φῇ μὴ πάνυ τι εὐδαίμονας ποιεῖν τούτους τοὺς ἄνδρας, καὶ ταῦτα δι’ ἑαυτούς, ὧν ἔστι μὲν ἡ πόλις τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, οἱ δὲ μηδὲν ἀπολαύουσιν ἀγαθὸν τῆς πόλεως, οἷον ἄλλοι ἀγρούς τε κεκτημένοι καὶ οἰκίας οἰκοδομούμενοι καλὰς καὶ μεγάλας, καὶ ταύταις πρέπουσαν κατασκευὴν κτώμενοι, καὶ θυσίας θεοῖς ἰδίας θύοντες, καὶ ξενοδοκοῦντες, καὶ δὴ καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ σὺ ἔλεγες, χρυσόν τε καὶ ἄργυρον κεκτημένοι καὶ πάντα ὅσα νομίζεται τοῖς μέλλουσιν μακαρίοις εἶναι; ἀλλ’ ἀτεχνῶς, φαίη ἄν, ὥσπερ ἐπίκουροι μισθωτοὶ ἐν [420a] τῇ πόλει φαίνονται καθῆσθαι οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ φρουροῦντες. Ναί, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ ταῦτά γε ἐπισίτιοι καὶ οὐδὲ μισθὸν πρὸς τοῖς σιτίοις λαμβάνοντες ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι, ὥστε οὐδ’ ἂν ἀποδημῆσαι βούλωνται ἰδίᾳ, ἐξέσται αὐτοῖς, οὐδ’ ἑταίραις διδόναι, οὐδ’ ἀναλίσκειν ἄν ποι βούλωνται ἄλλοσε, οἷα δὴ οἱ εὐδαίμονες δοκοῦντες εἶναι ἀναλίσκουσι. ταῦτα καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα συχνὰ τῆς κατηγορίας ἀπολείπεις.

Ἀλλ’, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἔστω καὶ ταῦτα κατηγορημένα.

[420b] Τί οὖν δὴ ἀπολογησόμεθα, φῄς;

Ναί.

Τὸν αὐτὸν οἶμον, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πορευόμενοι εὑρήσομεν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἃ λεκτέα. ἐροῦμεν γὰρ ὅτι θαυμαστὸν μὲν ἂν οὐδὲν εἴη εἰ καὶ οὗτοι οὕτως εὐδαιμονέστατοί εἰσιν, οὐ μὴν πρὸς τοῦτο βλέποντες τὴν πόλιν οἰκίζομεν, ὅπως ἕν τι ἡμῖν ἔθνος ἔσται διαφερόντως εὔδαιμον, ἀλλ’ ὅπως ὅτι μάλιστα ὅλη ἡ πόλις. ᾠήθημεν γὰρ ἐν τῇ τοιαύτῃ μάλιστα ἂν εὑρεῖν δικαιοσύνην καὶ αὖ ἐν τῇ κάκιστα οἰκουμένῃ [420c] ἀδικίαν, κατιδόντες δὲ κρῖναι ἂν ὃ πάλαι ζητοῦμεν. νῦν μὲν οὖν, ὡς οἰόμεθα, τὴν εὐδαίμονα πλάττομεν οὐκ ἀπολαβόντες ὀλίγους ἐν αὐτῇ τοιούτους τινὰς τιθέντες, ἀλλ’ ὅλην· αὐτίκα δὲ τὴν ἐναντίαν σκεψόμεθα. ὥσπερ οὖν ἂν εἰ ἡμᾶς ἀνδριάντα γράφοντας προσελθών τις ἔψεγε λέγων ὅτι οὐ τοῖς καλλίστοις τοῦ ζῴου τὰ κάλλιστα φάρμακα προστίθεμεν — οἱ γὰρ ὀφθαλμοὶ κάλλιστον ὂν οὐκ ὀστρείῳ ἐναληλιμμένοι εἶεν ἀλλὰ μέλανι — μετρίως ἂν ἐδο[420d]κοῦμεν πρὸς αὐτὸν ἀπολογεῖσθαι λέγοντες· “῏Ω θαυμάσιε, μὴ οἴου δεῖν ἡμᾶς οὕτω καλοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς γράφειν, ὥστε μηδὲ ὀφθαλμοὺς φαίνεσθαι, μηδ’ αὖ τἆλλα μέρη, ἀλλ’ ἄθρει εἰ τὰ προσήκοντα ἑκάστοις ἀποδιδόντες τὸ ὅλον καλὸν ποιοῦμεν· καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν μὴ ἀνάγκαζε ἡμᾶς τοιαύτην εὐδαιμονίαν τοῖς φύλαξι προσάπτειν, ἣ ἐκείνους πᾶν μᾶλλον [420e] ἀπεργάσεται ἢ φύλακας. ἐπιστάμεθα γὰρ καὶ τοὺς γεωργοὺς ξυστίδας ἀμφιέσαντες καὶ χρυσὸν περιθέντες πρὸς ἡδονὴν ἐργάζεσθαι κελεύειν τὴν γῆν, καὶ τοὺς κεραμέας κατακλίναντες ἐπὶ δεξιὰ πρὸς τὸ πῦρ διαπίνοντάς τε καὶ εὐωχουμένους, τὸν τροχὸν παραθεμένους, ὅσον ἂν ἐπιθυμῶσι κεραμεύειν, καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πάντας τοιούτῳ τρόπῳ μακαρίους ποιεῖν, ἵνα δὴ ὅλη ἡ πόλις εὐδαιμονῇ. ἀλλ’ ἡμᾶς μὴ οὕτω νουθέτει· ὡς, ἄν σοι πειθώμεθα, οὔτε ὁ γεωργὸς γεωργὸς [421a] ἔσται οὔτε ὁ κεραμεὺς κεραμεὺς οὔτε ἄλλος οὐδεὶς οὐδὲν ἔχων σχῆμα ἐξ ὧν πόλις γίγνεται. ἀλλὰ τῶν μὲν ἄλλων ἐλάττων λόγος· νευρορράφοι γὰρ φαῦλοι γενόμενοι καὶ διαφθαρέντες καὶ προσποιησάμενοι εἶναι μὴ ὄντες πόλει οὐδὲν δεινόν, φύλακες δὲ νόμων τε καὶ πόλεως μὴ ὄντες ἀλλὰ δοκοῦντες ὁρᾷς δὴ ὅτι πᾶσαν ἄρδην πόλιν ἀπολλύασιν, καὶ αὖ τοῦ εὖ οἰκεῖν καὶ εὐδαιμονεῖν μόνοι τὸν καιρὸν ἔχουσιν.” εἰ μὲν οὖν ἡμεῖς μὲν φύλακας ὡς ἀληθῶς [421b] ποιοῦμεν ἥκιστα κακούργους τῆς πόλεως, ὁ δ’ ἐκεῖνο λέγων γεωργούς τινας καὶ ὥσπερ ἐν πανηγύρει ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐν πόλει ἑστιάτορας εὐδαίμονας, ἄλλο ἄν τι ἢ πόλιν λέγοι. σκεπτέον οὖν πότερον πρὸς τοῦτο βλέποντες τοὺς φύλακας καθιστῶμεν, ὅπως ὅτι πλείστη αὐτοῖς εὐδαιμονία ἐγγενήσεται, ἢ τοῦτο μὲν εἰς τὴν πόλιν ὅλην βλέποντας θεατέον εἰ ἐκείνῃ ἐγγίγνεται, τοὺς δ’ ἐπικούρους τούτους καὶ τοὺς [421c] φύλακας ἐκεῖνο ἀναγκαστέον ποιεῖν καὶ πειστέον, ὅπως ὅτι ἄριστοι δημιουργοὶ τοῦ ἑαυτῶν ἔργου ἔσονται, καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἅπαντας ὡσαύτως, καὶ οὕτω συμπάσης τῆς πόλεως αὐξανομένης καὶ καλῶς οἰκιζομένης ἐατέον ὅπως ἑκάστοις τοῖς ἔθνεσιν ἡ φύσις ἀποδίδωσι τοῦ μεταλαμβάνειν εὐδαιμονίας.

᾿Αλλ’, ἦ δ’ ὅς, καλῶς μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ τὸ τούτου ἀδελφὸν δόξω σοι μετρίως λέγειν;

Τί μάλιστα;

[421d] Τοὺς ἄλλους αὖ δημιουργοὺς σκόπει εἰ τάδε διαφθείρει, ὥστε καὶ κακοὺς γίγνεσθαι.

Τὰ ποῖα δὴ ταῦτα;

Πλοῦτος, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ πενία.

Πῶς δή;

῟Ωδε. πλουτήσας χυτρεὺς δοκεῖ σοι ἔτ’ ἐθελήσειν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τῆς τέχνης;

Οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη.

᾿Αργὸς δὲ καὶ ἀμελὴς γενήσεται μᾶλλον αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ;

Πολύ γε.

Οὐκοῦν κακίων χυτρεὺς γίγνεται;

Καὶ τοῦτο, ἔφη, πολύ.

Καὶ μὴν καὶ ὄργανά γε μὴ ἔχων παρέχεσθαι ὑπὸ πενίας ἤ τι ἄλλο τῶν εἰς τὴν τέχνην τά τε ἔργα πονηρότερα [421e] ἐργάσεται καὶ τοὺς ὑεῖς ἢ ἄλλους οὓς ἂν διδάσκῃ χείρους δημιουργοὺς διδάξεται.

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

῾Υπ’ ἀμφοτέρων δή, πενίας τε καὶ πλούτου, χείρω μὲν τὰ τῶν τεχνῶν ἔργα, χείρους δὲ αὐτοί.

Φαίνεται.

῞Ετερα δή, ὡς ἔοικε, τοῖς φύλαξιν ηὑρήκαμεν, ἃ παντὶ τρόπῳ φυλακτέον ὅπως μήποτε αὐτοὺς λήσει εἰς τὴν πόλιν παραδύντα.

Τὰ ποῖα ταῦτα;

[422a] Πλοῦτός τε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ πενία· ὡς τοῦ μὲν τρυφὴν καὶ ἀργίαν καὶ νεωτερισμὸν ἐμποιοῦντος, τῆς δὲ ἀνελευθερίαν καὶ κακοεργίαν πρὸς τῷ νεωτερισμῷ. Πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη. τόδε μέντοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, σκόπει, πῶς ἡμῖν ἡ πόλις οἵα τ’ ἔσται πολεμεῖν, ἐπειδὰν χρήματα μὴ κεκτημένη ᾖ, ἄλλως τε κἂν πρὸς μεγάλην τε καὶ πλουσίαν ἀναγκασθῇ πολεμεῖν.

Δῆλον, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι πρὸς μὲν μίαν χαλεπώτερον, [422b] πρὸς δὲ δύο τοιαύτας ῥᾷον.

Πῶς εἶπες; ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Πρῶτον μέν που, εἶπον, ἐὰν δέῃ μάχεσθαι, ἆρα οὐ πλουσίοις ἀνδράσι μαχοῦνται αὐτοὶ ὄντες πολέμου ἀθληταί;

Ναὶ τοῦτό γε, ἔφη.

Τί οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε; εἷς πύκτης ὡς οἷόν τε κάλλιστα ἐπὶ τοῦτο παρεσκευασμένος δυοῖν μὴ πύκταιν, πλουσίοιν δὲ καὶ πιόνοιν, οὐκ ἂν δοκεῖ σοι ῥᾳδίως μάχεσθαι;

Οὐκ ἂν ἴσως, ἔφη, ἅμα γε.

Οὐδ’ εἰ ἐξείη, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὑποφεύγοντι τὸν πρότερον ἀεὶ [422c] προσφερόμενον ἀναστρέφοντα κρούειν, καὶ τοῦτο ποιοῖ πολλάκις ἐν ἡλίῳ τε καὶ πνίγει; ἆρά γε οὐ καὶ πλείους χειρώσαιτ’ ἂν τοιούτους ὁ τοιοῦτος;

᾿Αμέλει, ἔφη, οὐδὲν ἂν γένοιτο θαυμαστόν.

᾿Αλλ’ οὐκ οἴει πυκτικῆς πλέον μετέχειν τοὺς πλουσίους ἐπιστήμῃ τε καὶ ἐμπειρίᾳ ἢ πολεμικῆς;

῎Εγωγ’, ἔφη.

῾Ρᾳδίως ἄρα ἡμῖν οἱ ἀθληταὶ ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων διπλασίοις τε καὶ τριπλασίοις αὑτῶν μαχοῦνται.

Συγχωρήσομαί σοι, ἔφη· δοκεῖς γάρ μοι ὀρθῶς λέγειν.

[422d] Τί δ’ ἂν πρεσβείαν πέμψαντες εἰς τὴν ἑτέραν πόλιν τἀληθῆ εἴπωσιν, ὅτι “῾Ημεῖς μὲν οὐδὲν χρυσίῳ οὐδ’ ἀργυρίῳ χρώμεθα, οὐδ’ ἡμῖν θέμις, ὑμῖν δέ· συμπολεμήσαντες οὖν μεθ’ ἡμῶν ἔχετε τὰ τῶν ἑτέρων;” οἴει τινὰς ἀκούσαντας ταῦτα αἱρήσεσθαι κυσὶ πολεμεῖν στερεοῖς τε καὶ ἰσχνοῖς μᾶλλον ἢ μετὰ κυνῶν προβάτοις πίοσί τε καὶ ἁπαλοῖς;

Οὔ μοι δοκεῖ. ἀλλ’ ἐὰν εἰς μίαν, ἔφη, πόλιν συν[422e]αθροισθῇ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων χρήματα, ὅρα μὴ κίνδυνον φέρῃ τῇ μὴ πλουτούσῃ.

Εὐδαίμων εἶ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι οἴει ἄξιον εἶναι ἄλλην τινὰ προσειπεῖν πόλιν ἢ τὴν τοιαύτην οἵαν ἡμεῖς κατεσκευάζομεν.

᾿Αλλὰ τί μήν; ἔφη.

Μειζόνως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, χρὴ προσαγορεύειν τὰς ἄλλας· ἑκάστη γὰρ αὐτῶν πόλεις εἰσὶ πάμπολλαι ἀλλ’ οὐ πόλις, τὸ τῶν παιζόντων. δύο μέν, κἂν ὁτιοῦν ᾖ, πολεμία ἀλλή[423a]λαις, ἡ μὲν πενήτων, ἡ δὲ πλουσίων· τούτων δ’ ἐν ἑκατέρᾳ πάνυ πολλαί, αἷς ἐὰν μὲν ὡς μιᾷ προσφέρῃ, παντὸς ἂν ἁμάρτοις, ἐὰν δὲ ὡς πολλαῖς, διδοὺς τὰ τῶν ἑτέρων τοῖς ἑτέροις χρήματά τε καὶ δυνάμεις ἢ καὶ αὐτούς, συμμάχοις μὲν ἀεὶ πολλοῖς χρήσῃ, πολεμίοις δ’ ὀλίγοις. καὶ ἕως ἂν ἡ πόλις σοι οἰκῇ σωφρόνως ὡς ἄρτι ἐτάχθη, μεγίστη ἔσται, οὐ τῷ εὐδοκιμεῖν λέγω, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἀληθῶς μεγίστη, καὶ ἐὰν μόνον ᾖ χιλίων τῶν προπολεμούντων· οὕτω γὰρ μεγάλην πόλιν μίαν οὐ ῥᾳδίως οὔτε ἐν ῞Ελλησιν οὔτε ἐν βαρβάροις [423b] εὑρήσεις, δοκούσας δὲ πολλὰς καὶ πολλαπλασίας τῆς τηλικαύτης. ἢ ἄλλως οἴει;

Οὐ μὰ τὸν Δί’, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὗτος ἂν εἴη καὶ κάλλιστος ὅρος τοῖς ἡμετέροις ἄρχουσιν, ὅσην δεῖ τὸ μέγεθος τὴν πόλιν ποιεῖσθαι καὶ ἡλίκῃ οὔσῃ ὅσην χώραν ἀφορισαμένους τὴν ἄλλην χαίρειν ἐᾶν.

Τίς, ἔφη, ὅρος;

Οἶμαι μέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τόνδε· μέχρι οὗ ἂν ἐθέλῃ αὐξομένη εἶναι μία, μέχρι τούτου αὔξειν, πέρα δὲ μή.

[423c] Καὶ καλῶς γ’, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ τοῦτο αὖ ἄλλο πρόσταγμα τοῖς φύλαξι προστάξομεν, φυλάττειν παντὶ τρόπῳ ὅπως μήτε σμικρὰ ἡ πόλις ἔσται μήτε μεγάλη δοκοῦσα, ἀλλά τις ἱκανὴ καὶ μία. Καὶ φαῦλόν γ’, ἔφη, ἴσως αὐτοῖς προστάξομεν.

Καὶ τούτου γε, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔτι φαυλότερον τόδε, οὗ καὶ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν ἐπεμνήσθημεν λέγοντες ὡς δέοι, ἐάντε τῶν φυλάκων τις φαῦλος ἔκγονος γένηται, εἰς τοὺς ἄλλους [423d] αὐτὸν ἀποπέμπεσθαι, ἐάντ’ ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων σπουδαῖος, εἰς τοὺς φύλακας. τοῦτο δ’ ἐβούλετο δηλοῦν ὅτι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πολίτας, πρὸς ὅ τις πέφυκεν, πρὸς τοῦτο ἕνα πρὸς ἓν ἕκαστον ἔργον δεῖ κομίζειν, ὅπως ἂν ἓν τὸ αὑτοῦ ἐπιτηδεύων ἕκαστος μὴ πολλοὶ ἀλλ’ εἷς γίγνηται, καὶ οὕτω δὴ σύμπασα ἡ πόλις μία φύηται ἀλλὰ μὴ πολλαί.

῎Εστι γάρ, ἔφη, τοῦτο ἐκείνου σμικρότερον.

Οὔτοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ ἀγαθὲ ᾿Αδείμαντε, ὡς δόξειεν ἄν τις, ταῦτα πολλὰ καὶ μεγάλα αὐτοῖς προστάττομεν ἀλλὰ [423e] πάντα φαῦλα, ἐὰν τὸ λεγόμενον ἓν μέγα φυλάττωσι, μᾶλλον δ’ ἀντὶ μεγάλου ἱκανόν.

Τί τοῦτο; ἔφη.

Τὴν παιδείαν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ τροφήν· ἐὰν γὰρ εὖ παιδευόμενοι μέτριοι ἄνδρες γίγνωνται, πάντα ταῦτα ῥᾳδίως διόψονται, καὶ ἄλλα γε ὅσα νῦν ἡμεῖς παραλείπομεν, τήν τε τῶν γυναικῶν κτῆσιν καὶ γάμων καὶ παιδοποιίας, ὅτι [424a] δεῖ ταῦτα κατὰ τὴν παροιμίαν πάντα ὅτι μάλιστα κοινὰ τὰ φίλων ποιεῖσθαι.

᾿Ορθότατα γάρ, ἔφη, γίγνοιτ’ ἄν.

Καὶ μήν, εἶπον, πολιτεία ἐάνπερ ἅπαξ ὁρμήσῃ εὖ, ἔρχεται ὥσπερ κύκλος αὐξανομένη· τροφὴ γὰρ καὶ παί δευσις χρηστὴ σῳζομένη φύσεις ἀγαθὰς ἐμποιεῖ, καὶ αὖ φύσεις χρησταὶ τοιαύτης παιδείας ἀντιλαμβανόμεναι ἔτι βελτίους τῶν προτέρων φύονται, εἴς τε τἆλλα καὶ εἰς τὸ [424b] γεννᾶν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις.

Εἰκός γ’, ἔφη.

῾Ως τοίνυν διὰ βραχέων εἰπεῖν, τούτου ἀνθεκτέον τοῖς ἐπιμεληταῖς τῆς πόλεως, ὅπως ἂν αὐτοὺς μὴ λάθῃ διαφθαρὲν ἀλλὰ παρὰ πάντα αὐτὸ φυλάττωσι, τὸ μὴ νεωτερίζειν περὶ γυμναστικήν τε καὶ μουσικὴν παρὰ τὴν τάξιν, ἀλλ’ ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα φυλάττειν, φοβουμένους ὅταν τις λέγῃ ὡς τὴν

ἀοιδὴν μᾶλλον ἐπιφρονέουσ’ ἄνθρωποι,

ἥτις ἀειδόντεσσι νεωτάτη ἀμφιπέληται,

[424c] μὴ πολλάκις τὸν ποιητήν τις οἴηται λέγειν οὐκ ᾄσματα νέα ἀλλὰ τρόπον ᾠδῆς νέον, καὶ τοῦτο ἐπαινῇ. δεῖ δ’ οὔτ’ ἐπαινεῖν τὸ τοιοῦτον οὔτε ὑπολαμβάνειν. εἶδος γὰρ καινὸν μουσικῆς μεταβάλλειν εὐλαβητέον ὡς ἐν ὅλῳ κινδυνεύοντα· οὐδαμοῦ γὰρ κινοῦνται μουσικῆς τρόποι ἄνευ πολιτικῶν νόμων τῶν μεγίστων, ὥς φησί τε Δάμων καὶ ἐγὼ πείθομαι.

Καὶ ἐμὲ τοίνυν, ἔφη ὁ ᾿Αδείμαντος, θὲς τῶν πεπεισμένων.

[424d] Τὸ δὴ φυλακτήριον, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐνταῦθά που οἰκοδομητέον τοῖς φύλαξιν, ἐν μουσικῇ.

῾Η γοῦν παρανομία, ἔφη, ῥᾳδίως αὕτη λανθάνει παραδυομένη.

Ναί, ἔφην, ὡς ἐν παιδιᾶς γε μέρει καὶ ὡς κακὸν οὐδὲν ἐργαζομένη.

Οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐργάζεται, ἔφη, ἄλλο γε ἢ κατὰ σμικρὸν εἰσοικισαμένη ἠρέμα ὑπορρεῖ πρὸς τὰ ἤθη τε καὶ τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα· ἐκ δὲ τούτων εἰς τὰ πρὸς ἀλλήλους συμβόλαια μείζων ἐκβαίνει, ἐκ δὲ δὴ τῶν συμβολαίων ἔρχεται ἐπὶ [424e] τοὺς νόμους καὶ πολιτείας σὺν πολλῇ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀσελγείᾳ, ἕως ἂν τελευτῶσα πάντα ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ ἀνατρέψῃ.

Εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· οὕτω τοῦτ’ ἔχει;

Δοκεῖ μοι, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν, ὃ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐλέγομεν, τοῖς ἡμετέροις παισὶν ἐννομωτέρου εὐθὺς παιδιᾶς μεθεκτέον, ὡς παρανόμου γιγνομένης αὐτῆς καὶ παίδων τοιούτων ἐννόμους τε καὶ σπουδαίους [425a] ἐξ αὐτῶν ἄνδρας αὐξάνεσθαι ἀδύνατον ὄν;

Πῶς δ’ οὐχί; ἔφη.

῞Οταν δὴ ἄρα καλῶς ἀρξάμενοι παῖδες παίζειν εὐνομίαν διὰ τῆς μουσικῆς εἰσδέξωνται, πάλιν τοὐναντίον ἢ ‘κείνοις εἰς πάντα συνέπεταί τε καὶ αὔξει, ἐπανορθοῦσα εἴ τι καὶ πρότερον τῆς πόλεως ἔκειτο.

᾿Αληθῆ μέντοι, ἔφη.

Καὶ τὰ σμικρὰ ἄρα, εἶπον, δοκοῦντα εἶναι νόμιμα ἐξευρίσκουσιν οὗτοι, ἃ οἱ πρότερον ἀπώλλυσαν πάντα.

<Τὰ> ποῖα;

[425b] Τὰ τοιάδε· σιγάς τε τῶν νεωτέρων παρὰ πρεσβυτέροις ἃς πρέπει, καὶ κατακλίσεις καὶ ὑπαναστάσεις καὶ γονέων θεραπείας, καὶ κουράς γε καὶ ἀμπεχόνας καὶ ὑποδέσεις καὶ ὅλον τὸν τοῦ σώματος σχηματισμὸν καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα τοιαῦτα. ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

῎Εγωγε.

Νομοθετεῖν δ’ αὐτὰ οἶμαι εὔηθες· οὔτε γάρ που γίγνεται οὔτ’ ἂν μείνειεν λόγῳ τε καὶ γράμμασιν νομοθετηθέντα.

Πῶς γάρ;

Κινδυνεύει γοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ ᾿Αδείμαντε, ἐκ τῆς παι[425c]δείας ὅποι ἄν τις ὁρμήσῃ, τοιαῦτα καὶ τὰ ἑπόμενα εἶναι. ἢ οὐκ ἀεὶ τὸ ὅμοιον ὂν ὅμοιον παρακαλεῖ;

Τί μήν;

Καὶ τελευτῶν δὴ οἶμαι φαῖμεν ἂν εἰς ἕν τι τέλεον καὶ νεανικὸν ἀποβαίνειν αὐτὸ ἢ ἀγαθὸν ἢ καὶ τοὐναντίον.

Τί γὰρ οὔκ; ἦ δ’ ὅς.

᾿Εγὼ μὲν τοίνυν, εἶπον, διὰ ταῦτα οὐκ ἂν ἔτι τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐπιχειρήσαιμι νομοθετεῖν.

Εἰκότως γ’, ἔφη.

Τί δέ, ὦ πρὸς θεῶν, ἔφην, τάδε τὰ ἀγοραῖα, συμβολαίων τε πέρι κατ’ ἀγορὰν ἕκαστοι ἃ πρὸς ἀλλήλους συμβάλ[425d]λουσιν, εἰ δὲ βούλει, καὶ χειροτεχνικῶν περὶ συμβολαίων καὶ λοιδοριῶν καὶ αἰκίας καὶ δικῶν λήξεως καὶ δικαστῶν καταστάσεως, καὶ εἴ που τελῶν τινες ἢ πράξεις ἢ θέσεις ἀναγκαῖοί εἰσιν ἢ κατ’ ἀγορὰς ἢ λιμένας, ἢ καὶ τὸ παράπαν ἀγορανομικὰ ἄττα ἢ ἀστυνομικὰ ἢ ἐλλιμενικὰ ἢ ὅσα ἄλλα τοιαῦτα, τούτων τολμήσομέν τι νομοθετεῖν;

᾿Αλλ’ οὐκ ἄξιον, ἔφη, ἀνδράσι καλοῖς κἀγαθοῖς ἐπιτάττειν· [425e] τὰ πολλὰ γὰρ αὐτῶν, ὅσα δεῖ νομοθετήσασθαι, ῥᾳδίως που εὑρήσουσιν.

Ναί, ὦ φίλε, εἶπον, ἐάν γε θεὸς αὐτοῖς διδῷ σωτηρίαν τῶν νόμων ὧν ἔμπροσθεν διήλθομεν.

Εἰ δὲ μή γε, ἦ δ’ ὅς, πολλὰ τοιαῦτα τιθέμενοι ἀεὶ καὶ ἐπανορθούμενοι τὸν βίον διατελοῦσιν, οἰόμενοι ἐπιλήψεσθαι τοῦ βελτίστου.

Λέγεις, ἔφην ἐγώ, βιώσεσθαι τοὺς τοιούτους ὥσπερ τοὺς κάμνοντάς τε καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλοντας ὑπὸ ἀκολασίας ἐκβῆναι πονηρᾶς διαίτης.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

[426a] Καὶ μὴν οὗτοί γε χαριέντως διατελοῦσιν· ἰατρευόμενοι γὰρ οὐδὲν περαίνουσιν, πλήν γε ποικιλώτερα καὶ μείζω ποιοῦσι τὰ νοσήματα, καὶ ἀεὶ ἐλπίζοντες, ἐάν τις φάρμακον συμβουλεύσῃ, ὑπὸ τούτου ἔσεσθαι ὑγιεῖς.

Πάνυ γάρ, ἔφη, τῶν οὕτω καμνόντων τὰ τοιαῦτα πάθη.

Τί δέ; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· τόδε αὐτῶν οὐ χαρίεν, τὸ πάντων ἔχθιστον ἡγεῖσθαι τὸν τἀληθῆ λέγοντα, ὅτι πρὶν ἂν μεθύων καὶ ἐμπιμπλάμενος καὶ ἀφροδισιάζων καὶ ἀργῶν παύσηται, [426b] οὔτε φάρμακα οὔτε καύσεις οὔτε τομαὶ οὐδ’ αὖ ἐπῳδαὶ αὐτὸν οὐδὲ περίαπτα οὐδὲ ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων οὐδὲν ὀνήσει;

Οὐ πάνυ χαρίεν, ἔφη· τὸ γὰρ τῷ εὖ λέγοντι χαλεπαίνειν οὐκ ἔχει χάριν.

Οὐκ ἐπαινέτης εἶ, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὡς ἔοικας, τῶν τοιούτων ἀνδρῶν.

Οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δία.

Οὐδ’ ἂν ἡ πόλις ἄρα, ὅπερ ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν, ὅλη τοιοῦτον ποιῇ, οὐκ ἐπαινέσῃ. ἢ οὐ φαίνονταί σοι ταὐτὸν ἐργάζεσθαι τούτοις τῶν πόλεων ὅσαι κακῶς πολιτευόμεναι προαγορεύ[426c]ουσι τοῖς πολίταις τὴν μὲν κατάστασιν τῆς πόλεως ὅλην μὴ κινεῖν, ὡς ἀποθανουμένους, ὃς ἂν τοῦτο δρᾷ· ὃς δ’ ἂν σφᾶς οὕτω πολιτευομένους ἥδιστα θεραπεύῃ καὶ χαρίζηται ὑποτρέχων καὶ προγιγνώσκων τὰς σφετέρας βουλήσεις καὶ ταύτας δεινὸς ᾖ ἀποπληροῦν, οὗτος ἄρα ἀγαθός τε ἔσται ἀνὴρ καὶ σοφὸς τὰ μεγάλα καὶ τιμήσεται ὑπὸ σφῶν;

Ταὐτὸν μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσι δρᾶν, καὶ οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν ἐπαινῶ.

[426d] Τί δ’ αὖ τοὺς ἐθέλοντας θεραπεύειν τὰς τοιαύτας πόλεις καὶ προθυμουμένους; οὐκ ἄγασαι τῆς ἀνδρείας τε καὶ εὐχερείας;

῎Εγωγ’, ἔφη, πλήν γ’ ὅσοι ἐξηπάτηνται ὑπ’ αὐτῶν καὶ οἴονται τῇ ἀληθείᾳ πολιτικοὶ εἶναι, ὅτι ἐπαινοῦνται ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν.

Πῶς λέγεις; οὐ συγγιγνώσκεις, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τοῖς ἀνδράσιν; ἢ οἴει οἷόν τ’ εἶναι ἀνδρὶ μὴ ἐπισταμένῳ μετρεῖν, ἑτέρων [426e] τοιούτων πολλῶν λεγόντων ὅτι τετράπηχύς ἐστιν, αὐτὸν ταῦτα μὴ ἡγεῖσθαι περὶ αὑτοῦ;

Οὐκ αὖ, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε.

Μὴ τοίνυν χαλέπαινε· καὶ γάρ πού εἰσι πάντων χαριέστατοι οἱ τοιοῦτοι, νομοθετοῦντές τε οἷα ἄρτι διήλθομεν καὶ ἐπανορθοῦντες, ἀεὶ οἰόμενοί τι πέρας εὑρήσειν περὶ τὰ ἐν τοῖς συμβολαίοις κακουργήματα καὶ περὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, ἀγνοοῦντες ὅτι τῷ ὄντι ὥσπερ ῞Υδραν τέμνουσιν.

[427a] Καὶ μήν, ἔφη, οὐκ ἄλλο γέ τι ποιοῦσιν.

᾿Εγὼ μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ τοιοῦτον εἶδος νόμων πέρι καὶ πολιτείας οὔτ’ ἐν κακῶς οὔτ’ ἐν εὖ πολιτευομένῃ πόλει ᾤμην ἂν δεῖν τὸν ἀληθινὸν νομοθέτην πραγματεύεσθαι, ἐν τῇ μὲν ὅτι ἀνωφελῆ καὶ πλέον οὐδέν, ἐν δὲ τῇ ὅτι τὰ μὲν αὐτῶν κἂν ὁστισοῦν εὕροι, τὰ δὲ ὅτι αὐτόματα ἔπεισιν ἐκ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ἐπιτηδευμάτων.

[427b] Τί οὖν, ἔφη, ἔτι ἂν ἡμῖν λοιπὸν τῆς νομοθεσίας εἴη;

Καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ὅτι ῾Ημῖν μὲν οὐδέν, τῷ μέντοι ᾿Απόλλωνι τῷ ἐν Δελφοῖς τά γε μέγιστα καὶ κάλλιστα καὶ πρῶτα τῶν νομοθετημάτων.

Τὰ ποῖα; ἦ δ’ ὅς.

῾Ιερῶν τε ἱδρύσεις καὶ θυσίαι καὶ ἄλλαι θεῶν τε καὶ δαιμόνων καὶ ἡρώων θεραπεῖαι· τελευτησάντων <τε> αὖ θῆκαι καὶ ὅσα τοῖς ἐκεῖ δεῖ ὑπηρετοῦντας ἵλεως αὐτοὺς ἔχειν. τὰ γὰρ δὴ τοιαῦτα οὔτ’ ἐπιστάμεθα ἡμεῖς οἰκίζοντές τε πόλιν [427c] οὐδενὶ ἄλλῳ πεισόμεθα, ἐὰν νοῦν ἔχωμεν, οὐδὲ χρησόμεθα ἐξηγητῇ ἀλλ’ ἢ τῷ πατρίῳ· οὗτος γὰρ δήπου ὁ θεὸς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις πάτριος ἐξηγητὴς [ἐν μέσῳ] τῆς γῆς ἐπὶ τοῦ ὀμφαλοῦ καθήμενος ἐξηγεῖται.

Καὶ καλῶς γ’, ἔφη, λέγεις· καὶ ποιητέον οὕτω.

᾿Ωικισμένη μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἤδη ἄν σοι εἴη, ὦ παῖ [427d] ᾿Αρίστωνος, ἡ πόλις· τὸ δὲ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο σκόπει ἐν αὐτῇ, φῶς ποθὲν πορισάμενος ἱκανόν, αὐτός τε καὶ τὸν ἀδελφὸν παρακάλει καὶ Πολέμαρχον καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, ἐάν πως ἴδωμεν ποῦ ποτ’ ἂν εἴη ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ ποῦ ἡ ἀδικία, καὶ τί ἀλλήλοιν διαφέρετον, καὶ πότερον δεῖ κεκτῆσθαι τὸν μέλλοντα εὐδαίμονα εἶναι, ἐάντε λανθάνῃ ἐάντε μὴ πάντας θεούς τε καὶ ἀνθρώπους.

Οὐδὲν λέγεις, ἔφη ὁ Γλαύκων· σὺ γὰρ ὑπέσχου ζητήσειν, [427e] ὡς οὐχ ὅσιόν σοι ὂν μὴ οὐ βοηθεῖν δικαιοσύνῃ εἰς δύναμιν παντὶ τρόπῳ.

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὑπομιμνῄσκεις, καὶ ποιητέον μέν γε οὕτως, χρὴ δὲ καὶ ὑμᾶς συλλαμβάνειν.

᾿Αλλ’, ἔφη, ποιήσομεν οὕτω.

᾿Ελπίζω τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εὑρήσειν αὐτὸ ὧδε. οἶμαι ἡμῖν τὴν πόλιν, εἴπερ ὀρθῶς γε ᾤκισται, τελέως ἀγαθὴν εἶναι.

᾿Ανάγκη γ’, ἔφη.

Δῆλον δὴ ὅτι σοφή τ’ ἐστὶ καὶ ἀνδρεία καὶ σώφρων καὶ δικαία.

Δῆλον.

Οὐκοῦν ὅτι ἂν αὐτῶν εὕρωμεν ἐν αὐτῇ, τὸ ὑπόλοιπον ἔσται τὸ οὐχ ηὑρημένον;

[428a] Τί μήν;

῞Ωσπερ τοίνυν ἄλλων τινῶν τεττάρων, εἰ ἕν τι ἐζητοῦμεν αὐτῶν ἐν ὁτῳοῦν, ὁπότε πρῶτον ἐκεῖνο ἔγνωμεν, ἱκανῶς ἂν εἶχεν ἡμῖν, εἰ δὲ τὰ τρία πρότερον ἐγνωρίσαμεν, αὐτῷ ἂν τούτῳ ἐγνώριστο τὸ ζητούμενον· δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι οὐκ ἄλλο ἔτι ἦν ἢ τὸ ὑπολειφθέν.

᾿Ορθῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ τούτων, ἐπειδὴ τέτταρα ὄντα τυγχάνει, ὡσαύτως ζητητέον;

Δῆλα δή.

Καὶ μὲν δὴ πρῶτόν γέ μοι δοκεῖ ἐν αὐτῷ κατάδηλον εἶναι [428b] ἡ σοφία· καί τι ἄτοπον περὶ αὐτὴν φαίνεται.

Τί; ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Σοφὴ μὲν τῷ ὄντι δοκεῖ μοι ἡ πόλις εἶναι ἣν διήλθομεν· εὔβουλος γάρ, οὐχί;

Ναί.

Καὶ μὴν τοῦτό γε αὐτό, ἡ εὐβουλία, δῆλον ὅτι ἐπιστήμη τίς ἐστιν· οὐ γάρ που ἀμαθίᾳ γε ἀλλ’ ἐπιστήμῃ εὖ βουλεύονται.

Δῆλον.

Πολλαὶ δέ γε καὶ παντοδαπαὶ ἐπιστῆμαι ἐν τῇ πόλει εἰσίν.

Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

῏Αρ’ οὖν διὰ τὴν τῶν τεκτόνων ἐπιστήμην σοφὴ καὶ εὔβουλος ἡ πόλις προσρητέα;

[428c] Οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη, διά γε ταύτην, ἀλλὰ τεκτονική.

Οὐκ ἄρα διὰ τὴν ὑπὲρ τῶν ξυλίνων σκευῶν ἐπιστήμην, βουλευομένη ὡς ἂν ἔχοι βέλτιστα, σοφὴ κλητέα πόλις.

Οὐ μέντοι.

Τί δέ; τὴν ὑπὲρ τῶν ἐκ τοῦ χαλκοῦ ἤ τινα ἄλλην τῶν τοιούτων;

Οὐδ’ ἡντινοῦν, ἔφη.

Οὐδὲ τὴν ὑπὲρ τοῦ καρποῦ τῆς γενέσεως ἐκ τῆς γῆς, ἀλλὰ γεωργική.

Δοκεῖ μοι.

Τί δ’; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· ἔστι τις ἐπιστήμη ἐν τῇ ἄρτι ὑφ’ ἡμῶν οἰκισθείσῃ παρά τισι τῶν πολιτῶν, ᾗ οὐχ ὑπὲρ τῶν [428d] ἐν τῇ πόλει τινὸς βουλεύεται, ἀλλ’ ὑπὲρ αὑτῆς ὅλης, ὅντινα τρόπον αὐτή τε πρὸς αὑτὴν καὶ πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας πόλεις ἄριστα ὁμιλοῖ;

῎Εστι μέντοι.

Τίς, ἔφην ἐγώ, καὶ ἐν τίσιν;

Αὕτη, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἡ φυλακική, καὶ ἐν τούτοις τοῖς ἄρχουσιν οὓς νυνδὴ τελέους φύλακας ὠνομάζομεν.

Διὰ ταύτην οὖν τὴν ἐπιστήμην τί τὴν πόλιν προσαγορεύεις;

Εὔβουλον, ἔφη, καὶ τῷ ὄντι σοφήν.

Πότερον οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἐν τῇ πόλει οἴει ἡμῖν χαλκέας [428e] πλείους ἐνέσεσθαι ἢ τοὺς ἀληθινοὺς φύλακας τούτους;

Πολύ, ἔφη, χαλκέας.

Οὐκοῦν, ἔφην, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσοι ἐπιστήμας ἔχοντες ὀνομάζονταί τινες εἶναι, πάντων τούτων οὗτοι ἂν εἶεν ὀλίγιστοι;

Πολύ γε.

Τῷ σμικροτάτῳ ἄρα ἔθνει καὶ μέρει ἑαυτῆς καὶ τῇ ἐν τούτῳ ἐπιστήμῃ, τῷ προεστῶτι καὶ ἄρχοντι, ὅλη σοφὴ ἂν εἴη κατὰ φύσιν οἰκισθεῖσα πόλις· καὶ τοῦτο, ὡς ἔοικε, φύσει [429a] ὀλίγιστον γίγνεται γένος, ᾧ προσήκει ταύτης τῆς ἐπιστήμης μεταλαγχάνειν ἣν μόνην δεῖ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν σοφίαν καλεῖσθαι.

᾿Αληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

Τοῦτο μὲν δὴ ἓν τῶν τεττάρων οὐκ οἶδα ὅντινα τρόπον ηὑρήκαμεν, αὐτό τε καὶ ὅπου τῆς πόλεως ἵδρυται.

᾿Εμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ, ἔφη, ἀποχρώντως ηὑρῆσθαι.

᾿Αλλὰ μὴν ἀνδρεία γε αὐτή τε καὶ ἐν ᾧ κεῖται τῆς πόλεως, δι’ ὃ τοιαύτη κλητέα ἡ πόλις, οὐ πάνυ χαλεπὸν ἰδεῖν.

Πῶς δή;

[429b] Τίς ἄν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εἰς ἄλλο τι ἀποβλέψας ἢ δειλὴν ἢ ἀνδρείαν πόλιν εἴποι ἀλλ’ ἢ εἰς τοῦτο τὸ μέρος ὃ προπολεμεῖ τε καὶ στρατεύεται ὑπὲρ αὐτῆς;

Οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς, ἔφη, εἰς ἄλλο τι.

Οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι, εἶπον, οἵ γε ἄλλοι ἐν αὐτῇ ἢ δειλοὶ ἢ ἀνδρεῖοι ὄντες κύριοι ἂν εἶεν ἢ τοίαν αὐτὴν εἶναι ἢ τοίαν.

Οὐ γάρ.

Καὶ ἀνδρεία ἄρα πόλις μέρει τινὶ ἑαυτῆς ἐστι, διὰ τὸ ἐν ἐκείνῳ ἔχειν δύναμιν τοιαύτην ἣ διὰ παντὸς σώσει τὴν περὶ [429c] τῶν δεινῶν δόξαν, ταῦτά τε αὐτὰ εἶναι καὶ τοιαῦτα, ἅ τε καὶ οἷα ὁ νομοθέτης παρήγγελλεν ἐν τῇ παιδείᾳ. ἢ οὐ τοῦτο ἀνδρείαν καλεῖς;

Οὐ πάνυ, ἔφη, ἔμαθον ὃ εἶπες, ἀλλ’ αὖθις εἰπέ.

Σωτηρίαν ἔγωγ’, εἶπον, λέγω τινὰ εἶναι τὴν ἀνδρείαν.

Ποίαν δὴ σωτηρίαν;

Τὴν τῆς δόξης τῆς ὑπὸ νόμου διὰ τῆς παιδείας γεγονυίας περὶ τῶν δεινῶν ἅ τέ ἐστι καὶ οἷα· διὰ παντὸς δὲ ἔλεγον αὐτῆς σωτηρίαν τὸ ἔν τε λύπαις ὄντα διασῴζεσθαι αὐτὴν καὶ ἐν [429d] ἡδοναῖς καὶ ἐν ἐπιθυμίαις καὶ ἐν φόβοις καὶ μὴ ἐκβάλλειν. ᾧ δέ μοι δοκεῖ ὅμοιον εἶναι ἐθέλω ἀπεικάσαι, εἰ βούλει.

᾿Αλλὰ βούλομαι.

Οὐκοῦν οἶσθα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι οἱ βαφῆς, ἐπειδὰν βουληθῶσι βάψαι ἔρια ὥστ’ εἶναι ἁλουργά, πρῶτον μὲν ἐκλέγονται ἐκ τοσούτων χρωμάτων μίαν φύσιν τὴν τῶν λευκῶν, ἔπειτα προπαρασκευάζουσιν, οὐκ ὀλίγῃ παρασκευῇ θεραπεύσαντες ὅπως δέξεται ὅτι μάλιστα τὸ ἄνθος, καὶ οὕτω δὴ βάπτουσι. [429e] καὶ ὃ μὲν ἂν τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ βαφῇ, δευσοποιὸν γίγνεται τὸ βαφέν, καὶ ἡ πλύσις οὔτ’ ἄνευ ῥυμμάτων οὔτε μετὰ ῥυμμάτων δύναται αὐτῶν τὸ ἄνθος ἀφαιρεῖσθαι· ἃ δ’ ἂν μή, οἶσθα οἷα δὴ γίγνεται, ἐάντέ τις ἄλλα χρώματα βάπτῃ ἐάντε καὶ ταῦτα μὴ προθεραπεύσας.

Οἶδα, ἔφη, ὅτι καὶ ἔκπλυτα καὶ γελοῖα.

Τοιοῦτον τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὑπόλαβε κατὰ δύναμιν ἐργάζεσθαι καὶ ἡμᾶς, ὅτε ἐξελεγόμεθα τοὺς στρατιώτας καὶ [430a] ἐπαιδεύομεν μουσικῇ καὶ γυμναστικῇ· μηδὲν οἴου ἄλλο μηχανᾶσθαι ἢ ὅπως ἡμῖν ὅτι κάλλιστα τοὺς νόμους πεισθέντες δέξοιντο ὥσπερ βαφήν, ἵνα δευσοποιὸς αὐτῶν ἡ δόξα γίγνοιτο καὶ περὶ δεινῶν καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων διὰ τὸ τήν τε φύσιν καὶ τὴν τροφὴν ἐπιτηδείαν ἐσχηκέναι, καὶ μὴ αὐτῶν ἐκπλύναι τὴν βαφὴν τὰ ῥύμματα ταῦτα, δεινὰ ὄντα ἐκκλύζειν, ἥ τε ἡδονή, παντὸς χαλεστραίου δεινοτέρα οὖσα τοῦτο δρᾶν [430b] καὶ κονίας, λύπη τε καὶ φόβος καὶ ἐπιθυμία, παντὸς ἄλλου ῥύμματος. τὴν δὴ τοιαύτην δύναμιν καὶ σωτηρίαν διὰ παντὸς δόξης ὀρθῆς τε καὶ νομίμου δεινῶν τε πέρι καὶ μὴ ἀνδρείαν ἔγωγε καλῶ καὶ τίθεμαι, εἰ μή τι σὺ ἄλλο λέγεις.

᾿Αλλ’ οὐδέν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, λέγω· δοκεῖς γάρ μοι τὴν ὀρθὴν δόξαν περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν τούτων ἄνευ παιδείας γεγονυῖαν, τήν τε θηριώδη καὶ ἀνδραποδώδη, οὔτε πάνυ νόμιμον ἡγεῖσθαι, ἄλλο τέ τι ἢ ἀνδρείαν καλεῖν.

[430c] ᾿Αληθέστατα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, λέγεις.

᾿Αποδέχομαι τοίνυν τοῦτο ἀνδρείαν εἶναι.

Καὶ γὰρ ἀποδέχου, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πολιτικήν γε, καὶ ὀρθῶς ἀποδέξῃ· αὖθις δὲ περὶ αὐτοῦ, ἐὰν βούλῃ, ἔτι κάλλιον δίιμεν. νῦν γὰρ οὐ τοῦτο ἐζητοῦμεν, ἀλλὰ δικαιοσύνην· πρὸς οὖν τὴν ἐκείνου ζήτησιν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἱκανῶς ἔχει.

᾿Αλλὰ καλῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

Δύο μήν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἔτι λοιπὰ ἃ δεῖ κατιδεῖν ἐν τῇ [430d] πόλει, ἥ τε σωφροσύνη καὶ οὗ δὴ ἕνεκα πάντα ζητοῦμεν, δικαιοσύνη.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Πῶς οὖν ἂν τὴν δικαιοσύνην εὕροιμεν, ἵνα μηκέτι πραγματευώμεθα περὶ σωφροσύνης;

᾿Εγὼ μὲν τοίνυν, ἔφη, οὔτε οἶδα οὔτ’ ἂν βουλοίμην αὐτὸ πρότερον φανῆναι, εἴπερ μηκέτι ἐπισκεψόμεθα σωφροσύνην· ἀλλ’ εἰ ἔμοιγε βούλει χαρίζεσθαι, σκόπει πρότερον τοῦτο ἐκείνου.

[430e] ᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, βούλομαί γε, εἰ μὴ ἀδικῶ.

Σκόπει δή, ἔφη.

Σκεπτέον, εἶπον· καὶ ὥς γε ἐντεῦθεν ἰδεῖν, συμφωνίᾳ τινὶ καὶ ἁρμονίᾳ προσέοικεν μᾶλλον ἢ τὰ πρότερον.

Πῶς;

Κόσμος πού τις, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἡ σωφροσύνη ἐστὶν καὶ ἡδονῶν τινων καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν ἐγκράτεια, ὥς φασι κρείττω δὴ αὑτοῦ ἀποφαίνοντες οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅντινα τρόπον, καὶ ἄλλα ἄττα τοιαῦτα ὥσπερ ἴχνη αὐτῆς λέγεται. ἦ γάρ;

Πάντων μάλιστα, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν τὸ μὲν κρείττω αὑτοῦ γελοῖον; ὁ γὰρ ἑαυτοῦ κρείττων καὶ ἥττων δήπου ἂν αὑτοῦ εἴη καὶ ὁ ἥττων κρείττων· [431a] ὁ αὐτὸς γὰρ ἐν ἅπασιν τούτοις προσαγορεύεται.

Τί δ’ οὔ;

᾿Αλλ’, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, φαίνεταί μοι βούλεσθαι λέγειν οὗτος ὁ λόγος ὥς τι ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν τὸ μὲν βέλτιον ἔνι, τὸ δὲ χεῖρον, καὶ ὅταν μὲν τὸ βέλτιον φύσει τοῦ χείρονος ἐγκρατὲς ᾖ, τοῦτο λέγειν τὸ κρείττω αὑτοῦ — ἐπαινεῖ γοῦν — ὅταν δὲ ὑπὸ τροφῆς κακῆς ἤ τινος ὁμιλίας κρατηθῇ ὑπὸ πλήθους τοῦ χείρονος σμικρότερον τὸ βέλτιον [431b] ὄν, τοῦτο δὲ ὡς ἐν ὀνείδει ψέγειν τε καὶ καλεῖν ἥττω ἑαυτοῦ καὶ ἀκόλαστον τὸν οὕτω διακείμενον.

Καὶ γὰρ ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

᾿Απόβλεπε τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πρὸς τὴν νέαν ἡμῖν πόλιν, καὶ εὑρήσεις ἐν αὐτῇ τὸ ἕτερον τούτων ἐνόν· κρείττω γὰρ αὐτὴν αὑτῆς δικαίως φήσεις προσαγορεύεσθαι, εἴπερ οὗ τὸ ἄμεινον τοῦ χείρονος ἄρχει σῶφρον κλητέον καὶ κρεῖττον αὑτοῦ.

᾿Αλλ’ ἀποβλέπω, ἔφη, καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Καὶ μὴν καὶ τάς γε πολλὰς καὶ παντοδαπὰς ἐπιθυμίας καὶ [431c] ἡδονάς τε καὶ λύπας ἐν παισὶ μάλιστα ἄν τις εὕροι καὶ γυναιξὶ καὶ οἰκέταις καὶ τῶν ἐλευθέρων λεγομένων ἐν τοῖς πολλοῖς τε καὶ φαύλοις.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Τὰς δέ γε ἁπλᾶς τε καὶ μετρίας, αἳ δὴ μετὰ νοῦ τε καὶ δόξης ὀρθῆς λογισμῷ ἄγονται, ἐν ὀλίγοις τε ἐπιτεύξῃ καὶ τοῖς βέλτιστα μὲν φῦσιν, βέλτιστα δὲ παιδευθεῖσιν.

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ ταῦτα ὁρᾷς ἐνόντα σοι ἐν τῇ πόλει καὶ κρατουμένας αὐτόθι τὰς ἐπιθυμίας τὰς ἐν τοῖς πολλοῖς τε [431d] καὶ φαύλοις ὑπό τε τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ τῆς φρονήσεως τῆς ἐν τοῖς ἐλάττοσί τε καὶ ἐπιεικεστέροις;

῎Εγωγ’, ἔφη.

Εἰ ἄρα δεῖ τινα πόλιν προσαγορεύειν κρείττω ἡδονῶν τε καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ αὐτὴν αὑτῆς, καὶ ταύτην προσρητέον.

Παντάπασιν μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ καὶ σώφρονα κατὰ πάντα ταῦτα;

Καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

Καὶ μὴν εἴπερ αὖ ἐν ἄλλῃ πόλει ἡ αὐτὴ δόξα ἔνεστι τοῖς [431e] τε ἄρχουσι καὶ ἀρχομένοις περὶ τοῦ οὕστινας δεῖ ἄρχειν, καὶ ἐν ταύτῃ ἂν εἴη τοῦτο ἐνόν. ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ;

Καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, σφόδρα.

᾿Εν ποτέροις οὖν φήσεις τῶν πολιτῶν τὸ σωφρονεῖν ἐνεῖναι ὅταν οὕτως ἔχωσιν; ἐν τοῖς ἄρχουσιν ἢ ἐν τοῖς ἀρχομένοις;

᾿Εν ἀμφοτέροις που, ἔφη.

῾Ορᾷς οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἐπιεικῶς ἐμαντευόμεθα ἄρτι ὡς ἁρμονίᾳ τινὶ ἡ σωφροσύνη ὡμοίωται;

Τί δή;

῞Οτι οὐχ ὥσπερ ἡ ἀνδρεία καὶ ἡ σοφία ἐν μέρει τινὶ [432a] ἑκατέρα ἐνοῦσα ἡ μὲν σοφήν, ἡ δὲ ἀνδρείαν τὴν πόλιν παρείχετο, οὐχ οὕτω ποιεῖ αὕτη, ἀλλὰ δι’ ὅλης ἀτεχνῶς τέταται διὰ πασῶν παρεχομένη συνᾴδοντας τούς τε ἀσθενεστάτους ταὐτὸν καὶ τοὺς ἰσχυροτάτους καὶ τοὺς μέσους, εἰ μὲν βούλει, φρονήσει, εἰ δὲ βούλει, ἰσχύι, εἰ δέ, καὶ πλήθει ἢ χρήμασιν ἢ ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν τῶν τοιούτων· ὥστε ὀρθότατ’ ἂν φαῖμεν ταύτην τὴν ὁμόνοιαν σωφροσύνην εἶναι, χείρονός τε καὶ ἀμείνονος κατὰ φύσιν συμφωνίαν ὁπότερον δεῖ ἄρχειν καὶ ἐν πόλει καὶ ἐν ἑνὶ ἑκάστῳ.

[432b] Πάνυ μοι, ἔφη, συνδοκεῖ.

Εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· τὰ μὲν τρία ἡμῖν ἐν τῇ πόλει κατῶπται, ὥς γε οὑτωσὶ δόξαι· τὸ δὲ δὴ λοιπὸν εἶδος, δι’ ὃ ἂν ἔτι ἀρετῆς μετέχοι πόλις, τί ποτ’ ἂν εἴη; δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι τοῦτ’ ἐστὶν ἡ δικαιοσύνη.

Δῆλον.

Οὐκοῦν, ὦ Γλαύκων, νῦν δὴ ἡμᾶς δεῖ ὥσπερ κυνηγέτας τινὰς θάμνον κύκλῳ περιίστασθαι προσέχοντας τὸν νοῦν, μή πῃ διαφύγῃ ἡ δικαιοσύνη καὶ ἀφανισθεῖσα ἄδηλος γένηται. [432c] φανερὸν γὰρ δὴ ὅτι ταύτῃ πῃ ἔστιν· ὅρα οὖν καὶ προθυμοῦ κατιδεῖν, ἐάν πως πρότερος ἐμοῦ ἴδῃς καὶ ἐμοὶ φράσῃς.

Εἰ γὰρ ὤφελον, ἔφη. ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον, ἐάν μοι ἑπομένῳ χρῇ καὶ τὰ δεικνύμενα δυναμένῳ καθορᾶν, πάνυ μοι μετρίως χρήσῃ.

῞Επου, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εὐξάμενος μετ’ ἐμοῦ.

Ποιήσω ταῦτα, ἀλλὰ μόνον, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἡγοῦ.

Καὶ μήν, εἶπον ἐγώ, δύσβατός γέ τις ὁ τόπος φαίνεται καὶ ἐπίσκιος· ἔστι γοῦν σκοτεινὸς καὶ δυσδιερεύνητος. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ὅμως ἰτέον.

[432d] ᾿Ιτέον γάρ, ἔφη.

Καὶ ἐγὼ κατιδών, ᾿Ιοὺ ἰού, εἶπον, ὦ Γλαύκων· κινδυνεύομέν τι ἔχειν ἴχνος, καί μοι δοκεῖ οὐ πάνυ τι ἐκφευξεῖσθαι ἡμᾶς.

Εὖ ἀγγέλλεις, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

῏Η μήν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, βλακικόν γε ἡμῶν τὸ πάθος.

Τὸ ποῖον;

Πάλαι, ὦ μακάριε, φαίνεται πρὸ ποδῶν ἡμῖν ἐξ ἀρχῆς κυλινδεῖσθαι, καὶ οὐχ ἑωρῶμεν ἄρ’ αὐτό, ἀλλ’ ἦμεν καταγελαστότατοι· ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν ταῖς χερσὶν ἔχοντες ζητοῦσιν [432e] ἐνίοτε ὃ ἔχουσιν, καὶ ἡμεῖς εἰς αὐτὸ μὲν οὐκ ἀπεβλέπομεν, πόρρω δέ ποι ἀπεσκοποῦμεν, ᾗ δὴ καὶ ἐλάνθανεν ἴσως ἡμᾶς.

Πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις;

Οὕτως, εἶπον, ὡς δοκοῦμέν μοι καὶ λέγοντες αὐτὸ καὶ ἀκούοντες πάλαι οὐ μανθάνειν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν, ὅτι ἐλέγομεν τρόπον τινὰ αὐτό.

Μακρόν, ἔφη, τὸ προοίμιον τῷ ἐπιθυμοῦντι ἀκοῦσαι.

[433a] ᾿Αλλ’, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἄκουε εἴ τι ἄρα λέγω. ὃ γὰρ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐθέμεθα δεῖν ποιεῖν διὰ παντός, ὅτε τὴν πόλιν κατῳκίζομεν, τοῦτό ἐστιν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, ἤτοι τούτου τι εἶδος ἡ δικαιοσύνη. ἐθέμεθα δὲ δήπου καὶ πολλάκις ἐλέγομεν, εἰ μέμνησαι, ὅτι ἕνα ἕκαστον ἓν δέοι ἐπιτηδεύειν τῶν περὶ τὴν πόλιν, εἰς ὃ αὐτοῦ ἡ φύσις ἐπιτηδειοτάτη πεφυκυῖα εἴη.

᾿Ελέγομεν γάρ.

Καὶ μὴν ὅτι γε τὸ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν καὶ μὴ πολυπραγμονεῖν δικαιοσύνη ἐστί, καὶ τοῦτο ἄλλων τε πολλῶν [433b] ἀκηκόαμεν καὶ αὐτοὶ πολλάκις εἰρήκαμεν.

Εἰρήκαμεν γάρ.

Τοῦτο τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε, κινδυνεύει τρόπον τινὰ γιγνόμενον ἡ δικαιοσύνη εἶναι, τὸ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν. οἶσθα ὅθεν τεκμαίρομαι;

Οὐκ, ἀλλὰ λέγ’, ἔφη.

Δοκεῖ μοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ ὑπόλοιπον ἐν τῇ πόλει ὧν ἐσκέμμεθα, σωφροσύνης καὶ ἀνδρείας καὶ φρονήσεως, τοῦτο εἶναι, ὃ πᾶσιν ἐκείνοις τὴν δύναμιν παρέσχεν ὥστε ἐγγενέσθαι, καὶ ἐγγενομένοις γε σωτηρίαν παρέχειν, ἕωσπερ ἂν [433c] ἐνῇ. καίτοι ἔφαμεν δικαιοσύνην ἔσεσθαι τὸ ὑπολειφθὲν ἐκείνων, εἰ τὰ τρία εὕροιμεν.

Καὶ γὰρ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, εἰ δέοι γε κρῖναι τί τὴν πόλιν ἡμῖν τούτων μάλιστα ἀγαθὴν ἀπεργάσεται ἐγγενόμενον, δύσκριτον ἂν εἴη πότερον ἡ ὁμοδοξία τῶν ἀρχόντων τε καὶ ἀρχομένων, ἢ ἡ περὶ δεινῶν τε καὶ μή, ἅττα ἐστί, δόξης ἐννόμου σωτηρία ἐν τοῖς στρατιώταις ἐγγενομένη, ἢ ἡ ἐν [433d] τοῖς ἄρχουσι φρόνησίς τε καὶ φυλακὴ ἐνοῦσα, ἢ τοῦτο μάλιστα ἀγαθὴν αὐτὴν ποιεῖ ἐνὸν καὶ ἐν παιδὶ καὶ ἐν γυναικὶ καὶ δούλῳ καὶ ἐλευθέρῳ καὶ δημιουργῷ καὶ ἄρχοντι καὶ ἀρχομένῳ, ὅτι τὸ αὑτοῦ ἕκαστος εἷς ὢν ἔπραττε καὶ οὐκ ἐπολυπραγμόνει.

Δύσκριτον, ἔφη· πῶς δ’ οὔ;

᾿Ενάμιλλον ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, πρὸς ἀρετὴν πόλεως τῇ τε σοφίᾳ αὐτῆς καὶ τῇ σωφροσύνῃ καὶ τῇ ἀνδρείᾳ ἡ τοῦ ἕκαστον ἐν αὐτῇ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν δύναμις.

Καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν δικαιοσύνην τό γε τούτοις ἐνάμιλλον ἂν εἰς ἀρετὴν [433e] πόλεως θείης;

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σκόπει δὴ καὶ τῇδε εἰ οὕτω δόξει· ἆρα τοῖς ἄρχουσιν ἐν τῇ πόλει τὰς δίκας προστάξεις δικάζειν;

Τί μήν;

῏Η ἄλλου οὑτινοσοῦν μᾶλλον ἐφιέμενοι δικάσουσιν ἢ τούτου, ὅπως ἂν ἕκαστοι μήτ’ ἔχωσι τἀλλότρια μήτε τῶν αὑτῶν στέρωνται;

Οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τούτου.

῾Ως δικαίου ὄντος;

Ναί.

Καὶ ταύτῃ ἄρα πῃ ἡ τοῦ οἰκείου τε καὶ ἑαυτοῦ ἕξις τε καὶ [434a] πρᾶξις δικαιοσύνη ἂν ὁμολογοῖτο.

῎Εστι ταῦτα.

᾿Ιδὲ δὴ ἐὰν σοὶ ὅπερ ἐμοὶ συνδοκῇ. τέκτων σκυτοτόμου ἐπιχειρῶν ἔργα ἐργάζεσθαι ἢ σκυτοτόμος τέκτονος, ἢ τὰ ὄργανα μεταλαμβάνοντες τἀλλήλων ἢ τιμάς, ἢ καὶ ὁ αὐτὸς ἐπιχειρῶν ἀμφότερα πράττειν, πάντα τἆλλα μεταλλαττόμενα, ἆρά σοι ἄν τι δοκεῖ μέγα βλάψαι πόλιν;

Οὐ πάνυ, ἔφη.

᾿Αλλ’ ὅταν γε οἶμαι δημιουργὸς ὢν ἤ τις ἄλλος χρηματιστὴς [434b] φύσει, ἔπειτα ἐπαιρόμενος ἢ πλούτῳ ἢ πλήθει ἢ ἰσχύι ἢ ἄλλῳ τῳ τοιούτῳ εἰς τὸ τοῦ πολεμικοῦ εἶδος ἐπιχειρῇ ἰέναι, ἢ τῶν πολεμικῶν τις εἰς τὸ τοῦ βουλευτικοῦ καὶ φύλακος ἀνάξιος ὤν, καὶ τὰ ἀλλήλων οὗτοι ὄργανα μεταλαμβάνωσι καὶ τὰς τιμάς, ἢ ὅταν ὁ αὐτὸς πάντα ταῦτα ἅμα ἐπιχειρῇ πράττειν, τότε οἶμαι καὶ σοὶ δοκεῖν ταύτην τὴν τούτων μεταβολὴν καὶ πολυπραγμοσύνην ὄλεθρον εἶναι τῇ πόλει.

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

῾Η τριῶν ἄρα ὄντων γενῶν πολυπραγμοσύνη καὶ μεταβολὴ [434c] εἰς ἄλληλα μεγίστη τε βλάβη τῇ πόλει καὶ ὀρθότατ’ ἂν προσαγορεύοιτο μάλιστα κακουργία.

Κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Κακουργίαν δὲ τὴν μεγίστην τῆς ἑαυτοῦ πόλεως οὐκ ἀδικίαν φήσεις εἶναι;

Πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα ἀδικία. πάλιν δὲ ὧδε λέγωμεν· χρηματιστικοῦ, ἐπικουρικοῦ, φυλακικοῦ γένους οἰκειοπραγία, ἑκάστου τούτων τὸ αὑτοῦ πράττοντος ἐν πόλει, τοὐναντίον ἐκείνου δικαιοσύνη τ’ ἂν εἴη καὶ τὴν πόλιν δικαίαν παρέχοι;

[434d] Οὐκ ἄλλῃ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ἔχειν ἢ ταύτῃ.

Μηδέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πω πάνυ παγίως αὐτὸ λέγωμεν, ἀλλ’ ἐὰν μὲν ἡμῖν καὶ εἰς ἕνα ἕκαστον τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἰὸν τὸ εἶδος τοῦτο ὁμολογῆται καὶ ἐκεῖ δικαιοσύνη εἶναι, συγχωρησόμεθα ἤδη — τί γὰρ καὶ ἐροῦμεν; — εἰ δὲ μή, τότε ἄλλο τι σκεψόμεθα. νῦν δ’ ἐκτελέσωμεν τὴν σκέψιν ἣν ᾠήθημεν, εἰ ἐν μείζονί τινι τῶν ἐχόντων δικαιοσύνην πρότερον <ἢ> ἐκεῖ ἐπιχειρήσαιμεν θεάσασθαι, ῥᾷον ἂν ἐν ἑνὶ ἀνθρώπῳ κατιδεῖν οἷόν ἐστιν. καὶ [434e] ἔδοξε δὴ ἡμῖν τοῦτο εἶναι πόλις, καὶ οὕτω ᾠκίζομεν ὡς ἐδυνάμεθα ἀρίστην, εὖ εἰδότες ὅτι ἔν γε τῇ ἀγαθῇ ἂν εἴη. ὃ οὖν ἡμῖν ἐκεῖ ἐφάνη, ἐπαναφέρωμεν εἰς τὸν ἕνα, κἂν μὲν ὁμολογῆται, καλῶς ἕξει· ἐὰν δέ τι ἄλλο ἐν τῷ ἑνὶ ἐμφαίνηται, πάλιν ἐπανιόντες ἐπὶ τὴν πόλιν βασανιοῦμεν, καὶ [435a] τάχ’ ἂν παρ’ ἄλληλα σκοποῦντες καὶ τρίβοντες, ὥσπερ ἐκ πυρείων ἐκλάμψαι ποιήσαιμεν τὴν δικαιοσύνην· καὶ φανερὰν γενομένην βεβαιωσόμεθα αὐτὴν παρ’ ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς.

᾿Αλλ’, ἔφη, καθ’ ὁδόν τε λέγεις καὶ ποιεῖν χρὴ οὕτως.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅ γε ταὐτὸν ἄν τις προσείποι μεῖζόν τε καὶ ἔλαττον, ἀνόμοιον τυγχάνει ὂν ταύτῃ ᾗ ταὐτὸν προσαγορεύεται, ἢ ὅμοιον;

῞Ομοιον, ἔφη.

[435b] Καὶ δίκαιος ἄρα ἀνὴρ δικαίας πόλεως κατ’ αὐτὸ τὸ τῆς δικαιοσύνης εἶδος οὐδὲν διοίσει, ἀλλ’ ὅμοιος ἔσται.

῞Ομοιος, ἔφη.

᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι πόλις γε ἔδοξεν εἶναι δικαία ὅτε ἐν αὐτῇ τριττὰ γένη φύσεων ἐνόντα τὸ αὑτῶν ἕκαστον ἔπραττεν, σώφρων δὲ αὖ καὶ ἀνδρεία καὶ σοφὴ διὰ τῶν αὐτῶν τούτων γενῶν ἄλλ’ ἄττα πάθη τε καὶ ἕξεις.

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφη.

Καὶ τὸν ἕνα ἄρα, ὦ φίλε, οὕτως ἀξιώσομεν, τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα [435c] εἴδη ἐν τῇ αὑτοῦ ψυχῇ ἔχοντα, διὰ τὰ αὐτὰ πάθη ἐκείνοις τῶν αὐτῶν ὀνομάτων ὀρθῶς ἀξιοῦσθαι τῇ πόλει.

Πᾶσα ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

Εἰς φαῦλόν γε αὖ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὦ θαυμάσιε, σκέμμα ἐμπεπτώκαμεν περὶ ψυχῆς, εἴτε ἔχει τὰ τρία εἴδη ταῦτα ἐν αὑτῇ εἴτε μή.

Οὐ πάνυ μοι δοκοῦμεν, ἔφη, εἰς φαῦλον· ἴσως γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ λεγόμενον ἀληθές, ὅτι χαλεπὰ τὰ καλά.

Φαίνεται, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ. καὶ εὖ γ’ ἴσθι, ὦ Γλαύκων, ὡς ἡ [435d] ἐμὴ δόξα, ἀκριβῶς μὲν τοῦτο ἐκ τοιούτων μεθόδων, οἵαις νῦν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις χρώμεθα, οὐ μή ποτε λάβωμεν — ἄλλη γὰρ μακροτέρα καὶ πλείων ὁδὸς ἡ ἐπὶ τοῦτο ἄγουσα — ἴσως μέντοι τῶν γε προειρημένων τε καὶ προεσκεμμένων ἀξίως.

Οὐκοῦν ἀγαπητόν; ἔφη· ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ ἔν γε τῷ παρόντι ἱκανῶς ἂν ἔχοι.

᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι, εἶπον, ἔμοιγε καὶ πάνυ ἐξαρκέσει.

Μὴ τοίνυν ἀποκάμῃς, ἔφη, ἀλλὰ σκόπει.

[435e] ῏Αρ’ οὖν ἡμῖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πολλὴ ἀνάγκη ὁμολογεῖν ὅτι γε τὰ αὐτὰ ἐν ἑκάστῳ ἔνεστιν ἡμῶν εἴδη τε καὶ ἤθη ἅπερ ἐν τῇ πόλει; οὐ γάρ που ἄλλοθεν ἐκεῖσε ἀφῖκται. γελοῖον γὰρ ἂν εἴη εἴ τις οἰηθείη τὸ θυμοειδὲς μὴ ἐκ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἐγγεγονέναι, οἳ δὴ καὶ ἔχουσι ταύτην τὴν αἰτίαν, οἷον οἱ κατὰ τὴν Θρᾴκην τε καὶ Σκυθικὴν καὶ σχεδόν τι κατὰ τὸν ἄνω τόπον, ἢ τὸ φιλομαθές, ὃ δὴ τὸν παρ’ ἡμῖν [436a] μάλιστ’ ἄν τις αἰτιάσαιτο τόπον, ἢ τὸ φιλοχρήματον τὸ περὶ τούς τε Φοίνικας εἶναι καὶ τοὺς κατὰ Αἴγυπτον φαίη τις ἂν οὐχ ἥκιστα.

Καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

Τοῦτο μὲν δὴ οὕτως ἔχει, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν γνῶναι.

Οὐ δῆτα.

Τόδε δὲ ἤδη χαλεπόν, εἰ τῷ αὐτῷ τούτῳ ἕκαστα πράττομεν ἢ τρισὶν οὖσιν ἄλλο ἄλλῳ· μανθάνομεν μὲν ἑτέρῳ, θυμούμεθα δὲ ἄλλῳ τῶν ἐν ἡμῖν, ἐπιθυμοῦμεν δ’ αὖ τρίτῳ τινὶ τῶν περὶ τὴν τροφήν τε καὶ γέννησιν ἡδονῶν καὶ ὅσα τούτων [436b] ἀδελφά, ἢ ὅλῃ τῇ ψυχῇ καθ’ ἕκαστον αὐτῶν πράττομεν, ὅταν ὁρμήσωμεν. ταῦτ’ ἔσται τὰ χαλεπὰ διορίσασθαι ἀξίως λόγου.

Καὶ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, ἔφη.

῟Ωδε τοίνυν ἐπιχειρῶμεν αὐτὰ ὁρίζεσθαι, εἴτε τὰ αὐτὰ ἀλλήλοις εἴτε ἕτερά ἐστι.

Πῶς;

Δῆλον ὅτι ταὐτὸν τἀναντία ποιεῖν ἢ πάσχειν κατὰ ταὐτόν γε καὶ πρὸς ταὐτὸν οὐκ ἐθελήσει ἅμα, ὥστε ἄν που εὑρίσκωμεν ἐν αὐτοῖς ταῦτα γιγνόμενα, εἰσόμεθα ὅτι οὐ ταὐτὸν [436c] ἦν ἀλλὰ πλείω.

Εἶεν.

Σκόπει δὴ ὃ λέγω.

Λέγε, ἔφη.

῾Εστάναι, εἶπον, καὶ κινεῖσθαι τὸ αὐτὸ ἅμα κατὰ τὸ αὐτὸ ἆρα δυνατόν;

Οὐδαμῶς.

῎Ετι τοίνυν ἀκριβέστερον ὁμολογησώμεθα, μή πῃ προϊόντες ἀμφισβητήσωμεν. εἰ γάρ τις λέγοι ἄνθρωπον ἑστηκότα, κινοῦντα δὲ τὰς χεῖράς τε καὶ τὴν κεφαλήν, ὅτι ὁ αὐτὸς ἕστηκέ τε καὶ κινεῖται ἅμα, οὐκ ἂν οἶμαι ἀξιοῖμεν οὕτω [436d] λέγειν δεῖν, ἀλλ’ ὅτι τὸ μέν τι αὐτοῦ ἕστηκε, τὸ δὲ κινεῖται. οὐχ οὕτω;

Οὕτω.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ εἰ ἔτι μᾶλλον χαριεντίζοιτο ὁ ταῦτα λέγων, κομψευόμενος ὡς οἵ γε στρόβιλοι ὅλοι ἑστᾶσί τε ἅμα καὶ κινοῦνται, ὅταν ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ πήξαντες τὸ κέντρον περιφέρωνται, ἢ καὶ ἄλλο τι κύκλῳ περιιὸν ἐν τῇ αὐτῇ ἕδρᾳ τοῦτο δρᾷ, οὐκ ἂν ἀποδεχοίμεθα, ὡς οὐ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἑαυτῶν [436e] τὰ τοιαῦτα τότε μενόντων τε καὶ φερομένων, ἀλλὰ φαῖμεν ἂν ἔχειν αὐτὰ εὐθύ τε καὶ περιφερὲς ἐν αὑτοῖς, καὶ κατὰ μὲν τὸ εὐθὺ ἑστάναι — οὐδαμῇ γὰρ ἀποκλίνειν — κατὰ δὲ τὸ περιφερὲς κύκλῳ κινεῖσθαι, καὶ ὅταν δὲ τὴν εὐθυωρίαν ἢ εἰς δεξιὰν ἢ εἰς ἀριστερὰν ἢ εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν ἢ εἰς τὸ ὄπισθεν ἐγκλίνῃ ἅμα περιφερόμενον, τότε οὐδαμῇ [ἔστιν] ἑστάναι.

Καὶ ὀρθῶς γε, ἔφη.

Οὐδὲν ἄρα ἡμᾶς τῶν τοιούτων λεγόμενον ἐκπλήξει, οὐδὲ μᾶλλόν τι πείσει ὥς ποτέ τι ἂν τὸ αὐτὸ ὂν ἅμα κατὰ [437a] τὸ αὐτὸ πρὸς τὸ αὐτὸ τἀναντία πάθοι ἢ καὶ εἴη ἢ καὶ ποιήσειεν.

Οὔκουν ἐμέ γε, ἔφη.

᾿Αλλ’ ὅμως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἵνα μὴ ἀναγκαζώμεθα πάσας τὰς τοιαύτας ἀμφισβητήσεις ἐπεξιόντες καὶ βεβαιούμενοι ὡς οὐκ ἀληθεῖς οὔσας μηκύνειν, ὑποθέμενοι ὡς τούτου οὕτως ἔχοντος εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν προΐωμεν, ὁμολογήσαντες, ἐάν ποτε ἄλλῃ φανῇ ταῦτα ἢ ταύτῃ, πάντα ἡμῖν τὰ ἀπὸ τούτου συμβαίνοντα λελυμένα ἔσεσθαι.

᾿Αλλὰ χρή, ἔφη, ταῦτα ποιεῖν.

[437b] ῏Αρ’ <ἂν> οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τὸ ἐπινεύειν τῷ ἀνανεύειν καὶ τὸ ἐφίεσθαί τινος λαβεῖν τῷ ἀπαρνεῖσθαι καὶ τὸ προσάγεσθαι τῷ ἀπωθεῖσθαι, πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα τῶν ἐναντίων ἀλλήλοις θείης εἴτε ποιημάτων εἴτε παθημάτων; οὐδὲν γὰρ ταύτῃ διοίσει.

᾿Αλλ’, ἦ δ’ ὅς, τῶν ἐναντίων.

Τί οὖν; ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· διψῆν καὶ πεινῆν καὶ ὅλως τὰς ἐπιθυμίας, καὶ αὖ τὸ ἐθέλειν καὶ τὸ βούλεσθαι, οὐ πάντα ταῦτα [437c] εἰς ἐκεῖνά ποι ἂν θείης τὰ εἴδη τὰ νυνδὴ λεχθέντα; οἷον ἀεὶ τὴν τοῦ ἐπιθυμοῦντος ψυχὴν οὐχὶ ἤτοι ἐφίεσθαι φήσεις ἐκείνου οὗ ἂν ἐπιθυμῇ, ἢ προσάγεσθαι τοῦτο ὃ ἂν βούληταί οἱ γενέσθαι, ἢ αὖ, καθ’ ὅσον ἐθέλει τί οἱ πορισθῆναι, ἐπινεύειν τοῦτο πρὸς αὑτὴν ὥσπερ τινὸς ἐρωτῶντος, ἐπορεγομένην αὐτοῦ τῆς γενέσεως;

῎Εγωγε.

Τί δέ; τὸ ἀβουλεῖν καὶ μὴ ἐθέλειν μηδ’ ἐπιθυμεῖν οὐκ εἰς τὸ ἀπωθεῖν καὶ ἀπελαύνειν ἀπ’ αὐτῆς καὶ εἰς ἅπαντα τἀναντία ἐκείνοις θήσομεν;

[437d] Πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Τούτων δὴ οὕτως ἐχόντων ἐπιθυμιῶν τι φήσομεν εἶναι εἶδος, καὶ ἐναργεστάτας αὐτῶν τούτων ἥν τε δίψαν καλοῦμεν καὶ ἣν πεῖναν;

Φήσομεν, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Οὐκοῦν τὴν μὲν ποτοῦ, τὴν δ’ ἐδωδῆς;

Ναί.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, καθ’ ὅσον δίψα ἐστί, πλέονος ἄν τινος ἢ οὗ λέγομεν ἐπιθυμία ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ εἴη, οἷον δίψα ἐστὶ δίψα ἆρά γε θερμοῦ ποτοῦ ἢ ψυχροῦ, ἢ πολλοῦ ἢ ὀλίγου, ἢ καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ ποιοῦ τινος πώματος; ἢ ἐὰν μέν τις θερμότης τῷ [437e] δίψει προσῇ, τὴν τοῦ ψυχροῦ ἐπιθυμίαν προσπαρέχοιτ’ ἄν, ἐὰν δὲ ψυχρότης, τὴν τοῦ θερμοῦ; ἐὰν δὲ διὰ πλήθους παρουσίαν πολλὴ ἡ δίψα ᾖ, τὴν τοῦ πολλοῦ παρέξεται, ἐὰν δὲ ὀλίγη, τὴν τοῦ ὀλίγου; αὐτὸ δὲ τὸ διψῆν οὐ μή ποτε ἄλλου γένηται ἐπιθυμία ἢ οὗπερ πέφυκεν, αὐτοῦ πώματος, καὶ αὖ τὸ πεινῆν βρώματος;

Οὕτως, ἔφη, αὐτή γε ἡ ἐπιθυμία ἑκάστη αὐτοῦ μόνον ἑκάστου οὗ πέφυκεν, τοῦ δὲ τοίου ἢ τοίου τὰ προσγιγνόμενα.

[438a] Μήτοι τις, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀσκέπτους ἡμᾶς ὄντας θορυβήσῃ, ὡς οὐδεὶς ποτοῦ ἐπιθυμεῖ ἀλλὰ χρηστοῦ ποτοῦ, καὶ οὐ σίτου ἀλλὰ χρηστοῦ σίτου. πάντες γὰρ ἄρα τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐπιθυμοῦσιν· εἰ οὖν ἡ δίψα ἐπιθυμία ἐστί, χρηστοῦ ἂν εἴη εἴτε πώματος εἴτε ἄλλου ὅτου ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία, καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι οὕτω.

῎Ισως γὰρ ἄν, ἔφη, δοκοῖ τι λέγειν ὁ ταῦτα λέγων.

᾿Αλλὰ μέντοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅσα γ’ ἐστὶ τοιαῦτα οἷα εἶναί [438b] του, τὰ μὲν ποιὰ ἄττα ποιοῦ τινός ἐστιν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, τὰ δ’ αὐτὰ ἕκαστα αὐτοῦ ἑκάστου μόνον. Οὐκ ἔμαθον, ἔφη.

Οὐκ ἔμαθες, ἔφην, ὅτι τὸ μεῖζον τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν οἷον τινὸς εἶναι μεῖζον;

Πάνυ γε.

Οὐκοῦν τοῦ ἐλάττονος;

Ναί.

Τὸ δέ γε πολὺ μεῖζον πολὺ ἐλάττονος. ἦ γάρ;

Ναί.

῏Αρ’ οὖν καὶ τὸ ποτὲ μεῖζον ποτὲ ἐλάττονος, καὶ τὸ ἐσόμενον μεῖζον ἐσομένου ἐλάττονος;

᾿Αλλὰ τί μήν; ἦ δ’ ὅς.

[438c] Καὶ τὰ πλείω δὴ πρὸς τὰ ἐλάττω καὶ τὰ διπλάσια πρὸς τὰ ἡμίσεα καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα, καὶ αὖ βαρύτερα πρὸς κουφότερα καὶ θάττω πρὸς τὰ βραδύτερα, καὶ ἔτι γε τὰ θερμὰ πρὸς τὰ ψυχρὰ καὶ πάντα τὰ τούτοις ὅμοια ἆρ’ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει;

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Τί δὲ τὰ περὶ τὰς ἐπιστήμας; οὐχ ὁ αὐτὸς τρόπος; ἐπιστήμη μὲν αὐτὴ μαθήματος αὐτοῦ ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν ἢ ὅτου δὴ δεῖ θεῖναι τὴν ἐπιστήμην, ἐπιστήμη δέ τις καὶ ποιά τις [438d] ποιοῦ τινος καὶ τινός. λέγω δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε· οὐκ ἐπειδὴ οἰκίας ἐργασίας ἐπιστήμη ἐγένετο, διήνεγκε τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν, ὥστε οἰκοδομικὴ κληθῆναι;

Τί μήν;

῏Αρ’ οὐ τῷ ποιά τις εἶναι, οἵα ἑτέρα οὐδεμία τῶν ἄλλων;

Ναί.

Οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ ποιοῦ τινος, καὶ αὐτὴ ποιά τις ἐγένετο; καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι οὕτω τέχναι τε καὶ ἐπιστῆμαι;

῎Εστιν οὕτω.

Τοῦτο τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, φάθι με τότε βούλεσθαι λέγειν, εἰ ἄρα νῦν ἔμαθες, ὅτι ὅσα ἐστὶν οἷα εἶναί του, αὐτὰ μὲν μόνα αὐτῶν μόνων ἐστίν, τῶν δὲ ποιῶν τινων ποιὰ ἄττα. [438e] καὶ οὔ τι λέγω, ὡς, οἵων ἂν ᾖ, τοιαῦτα καὶ ἔστιν, ὡς ἄρα καὶ τῶν ὑγιεινῶν καὶ νοσωδῶν ἡ ἐπιστήμη ὑγιεινὴ καὶ νοσώδης καὶ τῶν κακῶν καὶ τῶν ἀγαθῶν κακὴ καὶ ἀγαθή· ἀλλ’ ἐπειδὴ οὐκ αὐτοῦ οὗπερ ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν ἐγένετο ἐπιστήμη, ἀλλὰ ποιοῦ τινος, τοῦτο δ’ ἦν ὑγιεινὸν καὶ νοσῶδες, ποιὰ δή τις συνέβη καὶ αὐτὴ γενέσθαι, καὶ τοῦτο αὐτὴν ἐποίησεν μηκέτι ἐπιστήμην ἁπλῶς καλεῖσθαι, ἀλλὰ τοῦ ποιοῦ τινος προσγενομένου ἰατρικήν.

῎Εμαθον, ἔφη, καί μοι δοκεῖ οὕτως ἔχειν.

[439a] Τὸ δὲ δὴ δίψος, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, οὐ τούτων θήσεις τῶν τινὸς εἶναι τοῦτο ὅπερ ἐστίν; ἔστι δὲ δήπου δίψος —

῎Εγωγε, ἦ δ’ ὅς· πώματός γε.

Οὐκοῦν ποιοῦ μέν τινος πώματος ποιόν τι καὶ δίψος, δίψος δ’ οὖν αὐτὸ οὔτε πολλοῦ οὔτε ὀλίγου, οὔτε ἀγαθοῦ οὔτε κακοῦ, οὐδ’ ἑνὶ λόγῳ ποιοῦ τινος, ἀλλ’ αὐτοῦ πώματος μόνον αὐτὸ δίψος πέφυκεν;

Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Τοῦ διψῶντος ἄρα ἡ ψυχή, καθ’ ὅσον διψῇ, οὐκ ἄλλο [439b] τι βούλεται ἢ πιεῖν, καὶ τούτου ὀρέγεται καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦτο ὁρμᾷ.

Δῆλον δή.

Οὐκοῦν εἴ ποτέ τι αὐτὴν ἀνθέλκει διψῶσαν, ἕτερον ἄν τι ἐν αὐτῇ εἴη αὐτοῦ τοῦ διψῶντος καὶ ἄγοντος ὥσπερ θηρίον ἐπὶ τὸ πιεῖν; οὐ γὰρ δή, φαμέν, τό γε αὐτὸ τῷ αὐτῷ ἑαυτοῦ περὶ τὸ αὐτὸ ἅμ’ ἂ<ν> τἀναντία πράττοι.

Οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

῞Ωσπερ γε οἶμαι τοῦ τοξότου οὐ καλῶς ἔχει λέγειν ὅτι αὐτοῦ ἅμα αἱ χεῖρες τὸ τόξον ἀπωθοῦνταί τε καὶ προσέλκονται, ἀλλ’ ὅτι ἄλλη μὲν ἡ ἀπωθοῦσα χείρ, ἑτέρα δὲ ἡ προσαγομένη.

[439c] Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

Πότερον δὴ φῶμέν τινας ἔστιν ὅτε διψῶντας οὐκ ἐθέλειν πιεῖν;

Καὶ μάλα γ’, ἔφη, πολλοὺς καὶ πολλάκις.

Τί οὖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, φαίη τις ἂν τούτων πέρι; οὐκ ἐνεῖναι μὲν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ αὐτῶν τὸ κελεῦον, ἐνεῖναι δὲ τὸ κωλῦον πιεῖν, ἄλλο ὂν καὶ κρατοῦν τοῦ κελεύοντος;

῎Εμοιγε, ἔφη, δοκεῖ.

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ τὸ μὲν κωλῦον τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐγγίγνεται, ὅταν [439d] ἐγγένηται, ἐκ λογισμοῦ, τὰ δὲ ἄγοντα καὶ ἕλκοντα διὰ παθημάτων τε καὶ νοσημάτων παραγίγνεται;

Φαίνεται.

Οὐ δὴ ἀλόγως, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἀξιώσομεν αὐτὰ διττά τε καὶ ἕτερα ἀλλήλων εἶναι, τὸ μὲν ᾧ λογίζεται λογιστικὸν προσαγορεύοντες τῆς ψυχῆς, τὸ δὲ ᾧ ἐρᾷ τε καὶ πεινῇ καὶ διψῇ καὶ περὶ τὰς ἄλλας ἐπιθυμίας ἐπτόηται ἀλόγιστόν τε καὶ ἐπιθυμητικόν, πληρώσεών τινων καὶ ἡδονῶν ἑταῖρον.

[439e] Οὔκ, ἀλλ’ εἰκότως, ἔφη, ἡγοίμεθ’ ἂν οὕτως.

Ταῦτα μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, δύο ἡμῖν ὡρίσθω εἴδη ἐν ψυχῇ ἐνόντα· τὸ δὲ δὴ τοῦ θυμοῦ καὶ ᾧ θυμούμεθα πότερον τρίτον, ἢ τούτων ποτέρῳ ἂν εἴη ὁμοφυές;

῎Ισως, ἔφη, τῷ ἑτέρῳ, τῷ ἐπιθυμητικῷ.

᾿Αλλ’, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ποτὲ ἀκούσας τι† πιστεύω τούτῳ· ὡς ἄρα Λεόντιος ὁ ᾿Αγλαΐωνος ἀνιὼν ἐκ Πειραιῶς ὑπὸ τὸ βόρειον τεῖχος ἐκτός, αἰσθόμενος νεκροὺς παρὰ τῷ δημίῳ κειμένους, ἅμα μὲν ἰδεῖν ἐπιθυμοῖ, ἅμα δὲ αὖ δυσχεραίνοι καὶ ἀποτρέποι ἑαυτόν, καὶ τέως μὲν μάχοιτό τε καὶ παρα[440a]καλύπτοιτο, κρατούμενος δ’ οὖν ὑπὸ τῆς ἐπιθυμίας, διελκύσας τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς, προσδραμὼν πρὸς τοὺς νεκρούς, “᾿Ιδοὺ ὑμῖν,” ἔφη, “ὦ κακοδαίμονες, ἐμπλήσθητε τοῦ καλοῦ θεάματος.”

῎Ηκουσα, ἔφη, καὶ αὐτός.

Οὗτος μέντοι, ἔφην, ὁ λόγος σημαίνει τὴν ὀργὴν πολεμεῖν ἐνίοτε ταῖς ἐπιθυμίαις ὡς ἄλλο ὂν ἄλλῳ.

Σημαίνει γάρ, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ ἄλλοθι, ἔφην, πολλαχοῦ αἰσθανόμεθα, ὅταν [440b] βιάζωνταί τινα παρὰ τὸν λογισμὸν ἐπιθυμίαι, λοιδοροῦντά τε αὑτὸν καὶ θυμούμενον τῷ βιαζομένῳ ἐν αὑτῷ, καὶ ὥσπερ δυοῖν στασιαζόντοιν σύμμαχον τῷ λόγῳ γιγνόμενον τὸν θυμὸν τοῦ τοιούτου; ταῖς δ’ ἐπιθυμίαις αὐτὸν κοινωνήσαντα, αἱροῦντος λόγου μὴ δεῖν ἀντιπράττειν, οἶμαί σε οὐκ ἂν φάναι γενομένου ποτὲ ἐν σαυτῷ τοῦ τοιούτου αἰσθέσθαι, οἶμαι δ’ οὐδ’ ἐν ἄλλῳ.

Οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἔφη.

[440c] Τί δέ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὅταν τις οἴηται ἀδικεῖν; οὐχ ὅσῳ ἂν γενναιότερος ᾖ, τοσούτῳ ἧττον δύναται ὀργίζεσθαι καὶ πεινῶν καὶ ῥιγῶν καὶ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν τῶν τοιούτων πάσχων ὑπ’ ἐκείνου ὃν ἂν οἴηται δικαίως ταῦτα δρᾶν, καί, ὃ λέγω, οὐκ ἐθέλει πρὸς τοῦτον αὐτοῦ ἐγείρεσθαι ὁ θυμός;

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφη.

Τί δὲ ὅταν ἀδικεῖσθαί τις ἡγῆται; οὐκ ἐν τούτῳ ζεῖ τε καὶ χαλεπαίνει καὶ συμμαχεῖ τῷ δοκοῦντι δικαίῳ καί, διὰ τὸ πεινῆν καὶ διὰ τὸ ῥιγοῦν καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα πάσχειν, [440d] ὑπομένων καὶ νικᾷ καὶ οὐ λήγει τῶν γενναίων, πρὶν ἂν ἢ διαπράξηται ἢ τελευτήσῃ ἢ ὥσπερ κύων ὑπὸ νομέως ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου τοῦ παρ’ αὑτῷ ἀνακληθεὶς πραϋνθῇ;

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ἔοικε τούτῳ ᾧ λέγεις· καίτοι γ’ ἐν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ πόλει τοὺς ἐπικούρους ὥσπερ κύνας ἐθέμεθα ὑπηκόους τῶν ἀρχόντων ὥσπερ ποιμένων πόλεως.

Καλῶς γάρ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, νοεῖς ὃ βούλομαι λέγειν. ἀλλ’ ἦ πρὸς τούτῳ καὶ τόδε ἐνθυμῇ;

[440e] Τὸ ποῖον;

῞Οτι τοὐναντίον ἢ ἀρτίως ἡμῖν φαίνεται περὶ τοῦ θυμοειδοῦς. τότε μὲν γὰρ ἐπιθυμητικόν τι αὐτὸ ᾠόμεθα εἶναι, νῦν δὲ πολλοῦ δεῖν φαμεν, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον αὐτὸ ἐν τῇ τῆς ψυχῆς στάσει τίθεσθαι τὰ ὅπλα πρὸς τὸ λογιστικόν.

Παντάπασιν, ἔφη.

῏Αρ’ οὖν ἕτερον ὂν καὶ τούτου, ἢ λογιστικοῦ τι εἶδος, ὥστε μὴ τρία ἀλλὰ δύο εἴδη εἶναι ἐν ψυχῇ, λογιστικὸν καὶ ἐπιθυμητικόν; ἢ καθάπερ ἐν τῇ πόλει συνεῖχεν αὐτὴν τρία [441a] ὄντα γένη, χρηματιστικόν, ἐπικουρητικόν, βουλευτικόν, οὕτως καὶ ἐν ψυχῇ τρίτον τοῦτό ἐστι τὸ θυμοειδές, ἐπίκουρον ὂν τῷ λογιστικῷ φύσει, ἐὰν μὴ ὑπὸ κακῆς τροφῆς διαφθαρῇ;

᾿Ανάγκη, ἔφη, τρίτον.

Ναί, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἄν γε τοῦ λογιστικοῦ ἄλλο τι φανῇ, ὥσπερ τοῦ ἐπιθυμητικοῦ ἐφάνη ἕτερον ὄν.

᾿Αλλ’ οὐ χαλεπόν, ἔφη, φανῆναι· καὶ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς παιδίοις τοῦτό γ’ ἄν τις ἴδοι, ὅτι θυμοῦ μὲν εὐθὺς γενόμενα μεστά ἐστι, λογισμοῦ δ’ ἔνιοι μὲν ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσιν οὐδέποτε μετα[441b]λαμβάνειν, οἱ δὲ πολλοὶ ὀψέ ποτε.

Ναὶ μὰ Δί’, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καλῶς γε εἶπες. ἔτι δὲ ἐν τοῖς θηρίοις ἄν τις ἴδοι ὃ λέγεις, ὅτι οὕτως ἔχει. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις καὶ ὃ ἄνω που [ἐκεῖ] εἴπομεν, τὸ τοῦ ῾Ομήρου μαρτυρήσει, τὸ —

στῆθος δὲ πλήξας κραδίην ἠνίπαπε μύθῳ·

ἐνταῦθα γὰρ δὴ σαφῶς ὡς ἕτερον ἑτέρῳ ἐπιπλῆττον πε[441c]ποίηκεν ῞Ομηρος τὸ ἀναλογισάμενον περὶ τοῦ βελτίονός τε καὶ χείρονος τῷ ἀλογίστως θυμουμένῳ. Κομιδῇ, ἔφη, ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Ταῦτα μὲν ἄρα, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, μόγις διανενεύκαμεν, καὶ ἡμῖν ἐπιεικῶς ὡμολόγηται τὰ αὐτὰ μὲν ἐν πόλει, τὰ αὐτὰ δ’ ἐν ἑνὸς ἑκάστου τῇ ψυχῇ γένη ἐνεῖναι καὶ ἴσα τὸν ἀριθμόν.

῎Εστι ταῦτα.

Οὐκοῦν ἐκεῖνό γε ἤδη ἀναγκαῖον, ὡς πόλις ἦν σοφὴ καὶ ᾧ, οὕτω καὶ τὸν ἰδιώτην καὶ τούτῳ σοφὸν εἶναι;

Τί μήν;

[441d] Καὶ ᾧ δὴ ἀνδρεῖος ἰδιώτης καὶ ὥς, τούτῳ καὶ πόλιν ἀνδρείαν καὶ οὕτως, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα πρὸς ἀρετὴν ὡσαύτως ἀμφότερα ἔχειν;

᾿Ανάγκη.

Καὶ δίκαιον δή, ὦ Γλαύκων, οἶμαι φήσομεν ἄνδρα εἶναι τῷ αὐτῷ τρόπῳ ᾧπερ καὶ πόλις ἦν δικαία.

Καὶ τοῦτο πᾶσα ἀνάγκη.

᾿Αλλ’ οὔ πῃ μὴν τοῦτό γε ἐπιλελήσμεθα, ὅτι ἐκείνη γε τῷ τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἕκαστον ἐν αὐτῇ πράττειν τριῶν ὄντων γενῶν δικαία ἦν.

Οὔ μοι δοκοῦμεν, ἔφη, ἐπιλελῆσθαι.

Μνημονευτέον ἄρα ἡμῖν ὅτι καὶ ἡμῶν ἕκαστος, ὅτου ἂν [441e] τὰ αὑτοῦ ἕκαστον τῶν ἐν αὐτῷ πράττῃ, οὗτος δίκαιός τε ἔσται καὶ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττων.

Καὶ μάλα, ἦ δ’ ὅς, μνημονευτέον.

Οὐκοῦν τῷ μὲν λογιστικῷ ἄρχειν προσήκει, σοφῷ ὄντι καὶ ἔχοντι τὴν ὑπὲρ ἁπάσης τῆς ψυχῆς προμήθειαν, τῷ δὲ θυμοειδεῖ ὑπηκόῳ εἶναι καὶ συμμάχῳ τούτου;

Πάνυ γε.

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐχ, ὥσπερ ἐλέγομεν, μουσικῆς καὶ γυμναστικῆς κρᾶσις σύμφωνα αὐτὰ ποιήσει, τὸ μὲν ἐπιτείνουσα καὶ [442a] τρέφουσα λόγοις τε καλοῖς καὶ μαθήμασιν, τὸ δὲ ἀνιεῖσα παραμυθουμένη, ἡμεροῦσα ἁρμονίᾳ τε καὶ ῥυθμῷ;

Κομιδῇ γε, ἦ δ’ ὅς.

Καὶ τούτω δὴ οὕτω τραφέντε καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς τὰ αὑτῶν μαθόντε καὶ παιδευθέντε προστήσεσθον τοῦ ἐπιθυμητικοῦ — ὃ δὴ πλεῖστον τῆς ψυχῆς ἐν ἑκάστῳ ἐστὶ καὶ χρημάτων φύσει ἀπληστότατον — ὃ τηρήσετον μὴ τῷ πίμπλασθαι τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα καλουμένων ἡδονῶν πολὺ καὶ ἰσχυρὸν γενόμενον [442b]v οὐκ αὖ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττῃ, ἀλλὰ καταδουλώσασθαι καὶ ἄρχειν ἐπιχειρήσῃ ὧν οὐ προσῆκον αὐτῷ γένει, καὶ σύμπαντα τὸν βίον πάντων ἀνατρέψῃ.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

῏Αρ’ οὖν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ τοὺς ἔξωθεν πολεμίους τούτω ἂν κάλλιστα φυλαττοίτην ὑπὲρ ἁπάσης τῆς ψυχῆς τε καὶ τοῦ σώματος, τὸ μὲν βουλευόμενον, τὸ δὲ προπολεμοῦν, ἑπόμενον [δὲ] τῷ ἄρχοντι καὶ τῇ ἀνδρείᾳ ἐπιτελοῦν τὰ βουλευθέντα;

῎Εστι ταῦτα.

Καὶ ἀνδρεῖον δὴ οἶμαι τούτῳ τῷ μέρει καλοῦμεν ἕνα [442c] ἕκαστον, ὅταν αὐτοῦ τὸ θυμοειδὲς διασῴζῃ διά τε λυπῶν καὶ ἡδονῶν τὸ ὑπὸ τῶν λόγων παραγγελθὲν δεινόν τε καὶ μή.

᾿Ορθῶς γ’, ἔφη.

Σοφὸν δέ γε ἐκείνῳ τῷ σμικρῷ μέρει, τῷ ὃ ἦρχέν τ’ ἐν αὐτῷ καὶ ταῦτα παρήγγελλεν, ἔχον αὖ κἀκεῖνο ἐπιστήμην ἐν αὑτῷ τὴν τοῦ συμφέροντος ἑκάστῳ τε καὶ ὅλῳ τῷ κοινῷ σφῶν αὐτῶν τριῶν ὄντων.

Πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Τί δέ; σώφρονα οὐ τῇ φιλίᾳ καὶ συμφωνίᾳ τῇ αὐτῶν τούτων, ὅταν τό τε ἄρχον καὶ τὼ ἀρχομένω τὸ λογιστικὸν [442d] ὁμοδοξῶσι δεῖν ἄρχειν καὶ μὴ στασιάζωσιν αὐτῷ;

Σωφροσύνη γοῦν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐκ ἄλλο τί ἐστιν ἢ τοῦτο, πόλεώς τε καὶ ἰδιώτου.

᾿Αλλὰ μὲν δὴ δίκαιός γε, ᾧ πολλάκις λέγομεν, τούτῳ καὶ οὕτως ἔσται.

Πολλὴ ἀνάγκη.

Τί οὖν; εἶπον ἐγώ· μή πῃ ἡμῖν ἀπαμβλύνεται ἄλλο τι δικαιοσύνη δοκεῖν εἶναι ἢ ὅπερ ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐφάνη;

Οὐκ ἔμοιγε, ἔφη, δοκεῖ.

῟Ωδε γάρ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, παντάπασιν ἂν βεβαιωσαίμεθα [442e] εἴ τι ἡμῶν ἔτι ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἀμφισβητεῖ, τὰ φορτικὰ αὐτῷ προσφέροντες.

Ποῖα δή;

Οἷον εἰ δέοι ἡμᾶς ἀνομολογεῖσθαι περί τε ἐκείνης τῆς πόλεως καὶ τοῦ ἐκείνῃ ὁμοίως πεφυκότος τε καὶ τεθραμμένου ἀνδρός, εἰ δοκεῖ ἂν παρακαταθήκην χρυσίου ἢ ἀργυρίου δεξάμενος ὁ τοιοῦτος ἀποστερῆσαι, τίν’ ἂν οἴει οἰηθῆναι [443a] τοῦτον αὐτὸ δρᾶσαι μᾶλλον ἢ ὅσοι μὴ τοιοῦτοι;

Οὐδέν’ ἄν, ἔφη.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ ἱεροσυλιῶν καὶ κλοπῶν καὶ προδοσιῶν, ἢ ἰδίᾳ ἑταίρων ἢ δημοσίᾳ πόλεων, ἐκτὸς ἂν οὗτος εἴη;

ἐκτός.

Καὶ μὴν οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν γ’ ἂν ἄπιστος ἢ κατὰ ὅρκους ἢ κατὰ τὰς ἄλλας ὁμολογίας.

Πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Μοιχεῖαί γε μὴν καὶ γονέων ἀμέλειαι καὶ θεῶν ἀθεραπευσίαι παντὶ ἄλλῳ μᾶλλον ἢ τῷ τοιούτῳ προσήκουσι.

Παντὶ μέντοι, ἔφη.

[443b] Οὐκοῦν τούτων πάντων αἴτιον ὅτι αὐτοῦ τῶν ἐν αὐτῷ ἕκαστον τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττει ἀρχῆς τε πέρι καὶ τοῦ ἄρχεσθαι;

Τοῦτο μὲν οὖν, καὶ οὐδὲν ἄλλο.

῎Ετι τι οὖν ἕτερον ζητεῖς δικαιοσύνην εἶναι ἢ ταύτην τὴν δύναμιν ἣ τοὺς τοιούτους ἄνδρας τε παρέχεται καὶ πόλεις;

Μὰ Δία, ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Τέλεον ἄρα ἡμῖν τὸ ἐνύπνιον ἀποτετέλεσται, ὃ ἔφαμεν ὑποπτεῦσαι ὡς εὐθὺς ἀρχόμενοι τῆς πόλεως οἰκίζειν κατὰ [443c] θεόν τινα εἰς ἀρχήν τε καὶ τύπον τινὰ τῆς δικαιοσύνης κινδυνεύομεν ἐμβεβηκέναι.

Παντάπασιν μὲν οὖν.

Τὸ δέ γε ἦν ἄρα, ὦ Γλαύκων — δι’ ὃ καὶ ὠφελεῖ — εἴδωλόν τι τῆς δικαιοσύνης, τὸ τὸν μὲν σκυτοτομικὸν φύσει ὀρθῶς ἔχειν σκυτοτομεῖν καὶ ἄλλο μηδὲν πράττειν, τὸν δὲ τεκτονικὸν τεκταίνεσθαι, καὶ τἆλλα δὴ οὕτως.

Φαίνεται.

Τὸ δέ γε ἀληθές, τοιοῦτόν τι ἦν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡ δικαιοσύνη ἀλλ’ οὐ περὶ τὴν ἔξω πρᾶξιν τῶν αὑτοῦ, ἀλλὰ περὶ τὴν [443d] ἐντός, ὡς ἀληθῶς περὶ ἑαυτὸν καὶ τὰ ἑαυτοῦ, μὴ ἐάσαντα τἀλλότρια πράττειν ἕκαστον ἐν αὑτῷ μηδὲ πολυπραγμονεῖν πρὸς ἄλληλα τὰ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ γένη, ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι τὰ οἰκεῖα εὖ θέμενον καὶ ἄρξαντα αὐτὸν αὑτοῦ καὶ κοσμήσαντα καὶ φίλον γενόμενον ἑαυτῷ καὶ συναρμόσαντα τρία ὄντα, ὥσπερ ὅρους τρεῖς ἁρμονίας ἀτεχνῶς, νεάτης τε καὶ ὑπάτης καὶ μέσης, καὶ εἰ ἄλλα ἄττα μεταξὺ τυγχάνει ὄντα, πάντα ταῦτα [e.] συνδήσαντα καὶ παντάπασιν ἕνα γενόμενον ἐκ πολλῶν, σώφρονα καὶ ἡρμοσμένον, οὕτω δὴ πράττειν ἤδη, ἐάν τι πράττῃ ἢ περὶ χρημάτων κτῆσιν ἢ περὶ σώματος θεραπείαν ἢ καὶ πολιτικόν τι ἢ περὶ τὰ ἴδια συμβόλαια, ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις ἡγούμενον καὶ ὀνομάζοντα δικαίαν μὲν καὶ καλὴν πρᾶξιν ἣ ἂν ταύτην τὴν ἕξιν σῴζῃ τε καὶ συναπεργάζηται, σοφίαν δὲ τὴν ἐπιστατοῦσαν ταύτῃ τῇ πράξει ἐπιστήμην, ἄδικον δὲ [444a] πρᾶξιν ἣ ἂν ἀεὶ ταύτην λύῃ, ἀμαθίαν δὲ τὴν ταύτῃ αὖ ἐπιστατοῦσαν δόξαν.

Παντάπασιν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Εἶεν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· τὸν μὲν δίκαιον καὶ ἄνδρα καὶ πόλιν καὶ δικαιοσύνην, ὃ τυγχάνει ἐν αὐτοῖς ὄν, εἰ φαῖμεν ηὑρηκέναι, οὐκ ἂν πάνυ τι οἶμαι δόξαιμεν ψεύδεσθαι. Μὰ Δία οὐ μέντοι, ἔφη.

Φῶμεν ἄρα;

Φῶμεν.

῎Εστω δή, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· μετὰ γὰρ τοῦτο σκεπτέον οἶμαι ἀδικίαν.

Δῆλον.

[444b] Οὐκοῦν στάσιν τινὰ αὖ τριῶν ὄντων τούτων δεῖ αὐτὴν εἶναι καὶ πολυπραγμοσύνην καὶ ἀλλοτριοπραγμοσύνην καὶ ἐπανάστασιν μέρους τινὸς τῷ ὅλῳ τῆς ψυχῆς, ἵν’ ἄρχῃ ἐν αὐτῇ οὐ προσῆκον, ἀλλὰ τοιούτου ὄντος φύσει οἵου πρέπειν αὐτῷ δουλεύειν, τῷ δ’ οὐ δουλεύειν ἀρχικοῦ γένους ὄντι; τοιαῦτ’ ἄττα οἶμαι φήσομεν καὶ τὴν τούτων ταραχὴν καὶ πλάνην εἶναι τήν τε ἀδικίαν καὶ ἀκολασίαν καὶ δειλίαν καὶ ἀμαθίαν καὶ συλλήβδην πᾶσαν κακίαν.

Αὐτὰ μὲν οὖν ταῦτα, ἔφη.

[444c] Οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, καὶ τὸ ἄδικα πράττειν καὶ τὸ ἀδικεῖν καὶ αὖ τὸ δίκαια ποιεῖν, ταῦτα πάντα τυγχάνει ὄντα κατάδηλα ἤδη σαφῶς, εἴπερ καὶ ἡ ἀδικία τε καὶ δικαιοσύνη;

Πῶς δή;

῞Οτι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, τυγχάνει οὐδὲν διαφέροντα τῶν ὑγιεινῶν τε καὶ νοσωδῶν, ὡς ἐκεῖνα ἐν σώματι, ταῦτα ἐν ψυχῇ.

Πῇ; ἔφη.

Τὰ μέν που ὑγιεινὰ ὑγίειαν ἐμποιεῖ, τὰ δὲ νοσώδη νόσον.

Ναί.

Οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ μὲν δίκαια πράττειν δικαιοσύνην ἐμποιεῖ, [444d] τὸ δ’ ἄδικα ἀδικίαν;

᾿Ανάγκη.

῎Εστι δὲ τὸ μὲν ὑγίειαν ποιεῖν τὰ ἐν τῷ σώματι κατὰ φύσιν καθιστάναι κρατεῖν τε καὶ κρατεῖσθαι ὑπ’ ἀλλήλων,

τὸ δὲ νόσον παρὰ φύσιν ἄρχειν τε καὶ ἄρχεσθαι ἄλλο ὑπ’ ἄλλου.

῎Εστι γάρ.

Οὐκοῦν αὖ, ἔφην, τὸ δικαιοσύνην ἐμποιεῖν τὰ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ κατὰ φύσιν καθιστάναι κρατεῖν τε καὶ κρατεῖσθαι ὑπ’ ἀλλήλων, τὸ δὲ ἀδικίαν παρὰ φύσιν ἄρχειν τε καὶ ἄρχεσθαι ἄλλο ὑπ’ ἄλλου;

Κομιδῇ, ἔφη.

᾿Αρετὴ μὲν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὑγίειά τέ τις ἂν εἴη καὶ [444e] κάλλος καὶ εὐεξία ψυχῆς, κακία δὲ νόσος τε καὶ αἶσχος καὶ ἀσθένεια.

῎Εστιν οὕτω.

῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ καὶ τὰ μὲν καλὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα εἰς ἀρετῆς κτῆσιν φέρει, τὰ δ’ αἰσχρὰ εἰς κακίας;

᾿Ανάγκη.

Τὸ δὴ λοιπὸν ἤδη, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡμῖν ἐστι σκέψασθαι [445a] πότερον αὖ λυσιτελεῖ δίκαιά τε πράττειν καὶ καλὰ ἐπιτηδεύειν καὶ εἶναι δίκαιον, ἐάντε λανθάνῃ ἐάντε μὴ τοιοῦτος ὤν, ἢ ἀδικεῖν τε καὶ ἄδικον εἶναι, ἐάνπερ μὴ διδῷ δίκην μηδὲ βελτίων γίγνηται κολαζόμενος.

᾿Αλλ’, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, γελοῖον ἔμοιγε φαίνεται τὸ σκέμμα γίγνεσθαι ἤδη, εἰ τοῦ μὲν σώματος τῆς φύσεως διαφθειρομένης δοκεῖ οὐ βιωτὸν εἶναι οὐδὲ μετὰ πάντων σιτίων τε καὶ ποτῶν καὶ παντὸς πλούτου καὶ πάσης ἀρχῆς, τῆς δὲ αὐτοῦ τούτου ᾧ ζῶμεν φύσεως ταραττομένης καὶ [445b] διαφθειρομένης βιωτὸν ἄρα ἔσται, ἐάνπερ τις ποιῇ ὃ ἂν βουληθῇ ἄλλο πλὴν τοῦτο ὁπόθεν κακίας μὲν καὶ ἀδικίας ἀπαλλαγήσεται, δικαιοσύνην δὲ καὶ ἀρετὴν κτήσεται, ἐπειδήπερ ἐφάνη γε ὄντα ἑκάτερα οἷα ἡμεῖς διεληλύθαμεν.

Γελοῖον γάρ, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ· ἀλλ’ ὅμως ἐπείπερ ἐνταῦθα ἐληλύθαμεν, ὅσον οἷόν τε σαφέστατα κατιδεῖν ὅτι ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει οὐ χρὴ ἀποκάμνειν.

῞Ηκιστα, νὴ τὸν Δία, ἔφη, πάντων ἀποκμητέον.

[445c] Δεῦρό νυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἵνα καὶ ἴδῃς ὅσα καὶ εἴδη ἔχει ἡ κακία, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, ἅ γε δὴ καὶ ἄξια θέας.

῞Επομαι, ἔφη· μόνον λέγε.

Καὶ μήν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ὥσπερ ἀπὸ σκοπιᾶς μοι φαίνεται, ἐπειδὴ ἐνταῦθα ἀναβεβήκαμεν τοῦ λόγου, ἓν μὲν εἶναι εἶδος τῆς ἀρετῆς, ἄπειρα δὲ τῆς κακίας, τέτταρα δ’ ἐν αὐτοῖς ἄττα ὧν καὶ ἄξιον ἐπιμνησθῆναι.

Πῶς λέγεις; ἔφη.

῞Οσοι, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πολιτειῶν τρόποι εἰσὶν εἴδη ἔχοντες, τοσοῦτοι κινδυνεύουσι καὶ ψυχῆς τρόποι εἶναι.

Πόσοι δή;

[445d] Πέντε μέν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πολιτειῶν, πέντε δὲ ψυχῆς.

Λέγε, ἔφη, τίνες.

Λέγω, εἶπον, ὅτι εἷς μὲν οὗτος ὃν ἡμεῖς διεληλύθαμεν πολιτείας εἴη ἂν τρόπος, ἐπονομασθείη δ’ ἂν καὶ διχῇ· ἐγγενομένου μὲν γὰρ ἀνδρὸς ἑνὸς ἐν τοῖς ἄρχουσι διαφέροντος βασιλεία ἂν κληθείη, πλειόνων δὲ ἀριστοκρατία.

᾿Αληθῆ, ἔφη.

Τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἓν εἶδος λέγω· οὔτε γὰρ ἂν [445e] πλείους οὔτε εἷς ἐγγενόμενοι κινήσειεν ἂν τῶν ἀξίων λόγου νόμων τῆς πόλεως, τροφῇ τε καὶ παιδείᾳ χρησάμενος ᾗ διήλθομεν.

οὐ γὰρ εἰκός, ἔφη.

Πολιτεία Ε

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων, Αδείμαντος

[449a] ἀγαθὴν μὲν τοίνυν τὴν τοιαύτην πόλιν τε καὶ πολιτείαν καὶ ὀρθὴν καλῶ, καὶ ἄνδρα τὸν τοιοῦτον: κακὰς δὲ τὰς ἄλλας καὶ ἡμαρτημένας, εἴπερ αὕτη ὀρθή, περί τε πόλεων διοικήσεις καὶ περὶ ἰδιωτῶν ψυχῆς τρόπου κατασκευήν, ἐν τέτταρσι πονηρίας εἴδεσιν οὔσας.

ποίας δὴ ταύτας; ἔφη.

καὶ ἐγὼ μὲν ᾖα τὰς ἐφεξῆς ἐρῶν, ὥς μοι ἐφαίνοντο [449b] ἕκασται ἐξ ἀλλήλων μεταβαίνειν: ὁ δὲ Πολέμαρχος- σμικρὸν γὰρ ἀπωτέρω τοῦ Ἀδειμάντου καθῆστο-ἐκτείνας τὴν χεῖρα καὶ λαβόμενος τοῦ ἱματίου ἄνωθεν αὐτοῦ παρὰ τὸν ὦμον, ἐκεῖνόν τε προσηγάγετο καὶ προτείνας ἑαυτὸν ἔλεγεν ἄττα προσκεκυφώς, ὧν ἄλλο μὲν οὐδὲν κατηκούσαμεν, τόδε δέ: Ἀφήσομεν οὖν, ἔφη, ἢ τί δράσομεν;

ἥκιστά γε, ἔφη ὁ Ἀδείμαντος μέγα ἤδη λέγων.

καὶ ἐγώ, τί μάλιστα, ἔφην, ὑμεῖς οὐκ ἀφίετε;

σέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [449c]

ὅτι, ἐγὼ εἶπον, τί μάλιστα;

ἀπορρᾳθυμεῖν ἡμῖν δοκεῖς, ἔφη, καὶ εἶδος ὅλον οὐ τὸ ἐλάχιστον ἐκκλέπτειν τοῦ λόγου ἵνα μὴ διέλθῃς, καὶ λήσειν οἰηθῆναι εἰπὼν αὐτὸ φαύλως, ὡς ἄρα περὶ γυναικῶν τε καὶ παίδων παντὶ δῆλον ὅτι κοινὰ τὰ φίλων ἔσται.

οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς, ἔφην, ὦ Ἀδείμαντε;

ναί, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. ἀλλὰ τὸ ὀρθῶς τοῦτο, ὥσπερ τἆλλα, λόγου δεῖται τίς ὁ τρόπος τῆς κοινωνίας: πολλοὶ γὰρ ἂν γένοιντο. [449d] μὴ οὖν παρῇς ὅντινα σὺ λέγεις: ὡς ἡμεῖς πάλαι περιμένομεν οἰόμενοί σέ που μνησθήσεσθαι παιδοποιίας τε πέρι, πῶς παιδοποιήσονται, καὶ γενομένους πῶς θρέψουσιν, καὶ ὅλην ταύτην ἣν λέγεις κοινωνίαν γυναικῶν τε καὶ παίδων: μέγα γάρ τι οἰόμεθα φέρειν καὶ ὅλον εἰς πολιτείαν ὀρθῶς ἢ μὴ ὀρθῶς γιγνόμενον. νῦν οὖν, ἐπειδὴ ἄλλης ἐπιλαμβάνῃ πολιτείας πρὶν ταῦτα ἱκανῶς διελέσθαι, δέδοκται ἡμῖν τοῦτο [450a] ὃ σὺ ἤκουσας, τὸ σὲ μὴ μεθιέναι πρὶν ἂν ταῦτα πάντα ὥσπερ τἆλλα διέλθῃς.

καὶ ἐμὲ τοίνυν, ὁ Γλαύκων ἔφη, κοινωνὸν τῆς ψήφου ταύτης τίθετε.

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων, Αδείμαντος, Θρασύμαχος

ἀμέλει, ἔφη ὁ Θρασύμαχος, πᾶσι ταῦτα δεδογμένα ἡμῖν νόμιζε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οἷον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰργάσασθε ἐπιλαβόμενοί μου. ὅσον λόγον πάλιν, ὥσπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς, κινεῖτε περὶ τῆς πολιτείας: ἣν ὡς ἤδη διεληλυθὼς ἔγωγε ἔχαιρον, ἀγαπῶν εἴ τις ἐάσοι ταῦτα ἀποδεξάμενος ὡς τότε ἐρρήθη. ἃ νῦν ὑμεῖς παρακαλοῦντες [450b] οὐκ ἴστε ὅσον ἑσμὸν λόγων ἐπεγείρετε: ὃν ὁρῶν ἐγὼ παρῆκα τότε, μὴ παράσχοι πολὺν ὄχλον.

τί δέ; ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Θρασύμαχος: χρυσοχοήσοντας οἴει τούσδε νῦν ἐνθάδε ἀφῖχθαι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ λόγων ἀκουσομένους;

ναί, εἶπον, μετρίων γε.

μέτρον δέ γ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Γλαύκων, τοιούτων λόγων ἀκούειν ὅλος ὁ βίος νοῦν ἔχουσιν. ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν ἡμέτερον ἔα: σὺ δὲ περὶ ὧν ἐρωτῶμεν μηδαμῶς ἀποκάμῃς ᾗ [450c] σοι δοκεῖ διεξιών, τίς ἡ κοινωνία τοῖς φύλαξιν ἡμῖν παίδων τε πέρι καὶ γυναικῶν ἔσται καὶ τροφῆς νέων ἔτι ὄντων, τῆς ἐν τῷ μεταξὺ χρόνῳ γιγνομένης γενέσεώς τε καὶ παιδείας, ἣ δὴ ἐπιπονωτάτη δοκεῖ εἶναι. πειρῶ οὖν εἰπεῖν τίνα τρόπον δεῖ γίγνεσθαι αὐτήν.

οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ὦ εὔδαιμον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, διελθεῖν: πολλὰς γὰρ ἀπιστίας ἔχει ἔτι μᾶλλον τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ὧν διήλθομεν. καὶ γὰρ ὡς δυνατὰ λέγεται, ἀπιστοῖτ᾽ ἄν, καὶ εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα γένοιτο, ὡς ἄριστ᾽ ἂν εἴη ταῦτα, καὶ ταύτῃ ἀπιστήσεται. [450d] διὸ δὴ καὶ ὄκνος τις αὐτῶν ἅπτεσθαι, μὴ εὐχὴ δοκῇ εἶναι ὁ λόγος, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε. μηδέν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὄκνει: οὔτε γὰρ ἀγνώμονες οὔτε ἄπιστοι οὔτε δύσνοι οἱ ἀκουσόμενοι.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: ὦ ἄριστε, ἦ που βουλόμενός με παραθαρρύνειν λέγεις;

ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

πᾶν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοὐναντίον ποιεῖς. πιστεύοντος μὲν γὰρ ἐμοῦ ἐμοὶ εἰδέναι ἃ λέγω, καλῶς εἶχεν ἡ παραμυθία: ἐν γὰρ φρονίμοις τε καὶ φίλοις περὶ τῶν μεγίστων τε καὶ [450e] φίλων τἀληθῆ εἰδότα λέγειν ἀσφαλὲς καὶ θαρραλέον, ἀπιστοῦντα δὲ καὶ ζητοῦντα ἅμα τοὺς λόγους ποιεῖσθαι, ὃ δὴ [451a] ἐγὼ δρῶ, φοβερόν τε καὶ σφαλερόν, οὔ τι γέλωτα ὀφλεῖν- παιδικὸν γὰρ τοῦτό γε-ἀλλὰ μὴ σφαλεὶς τῆς ἀληθείας οὐ μόνον αὐτὸς ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς φίλους συνεπισπασάμενος κείσομαι περὶ ἃ ἥκιστα δεῖ σφάλλεσθαι. προσκυνῶ δὲ Ἀδράστειαν, ὦ Γλαύκων, χάριν οὗ μέλλω λέγειν: ἐλπίζω γὰρ οὖν ἔλαττον ἁμάρτημα ἀκουσίως τινὸς φονέα γενέσθαι ἢ ἀπατεῶνα καλῶν τε καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ δικαίων νομίμων πέρι. τοῦτο οὖν τὸ κινδύνευμα κινδυνεύειν ἐν ἐχθροῖς κρεῖττον ἢ [451b] φίλοις, ὥστε εὖ με παραμυθῇ.

καὶ ὁ Γλαύκων γελάσας, ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ἐάν τι πάθωμεν πλημμελὲς ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου, ἀφίεμέν σε ὥσπερ φόνου καὶ καθαρὸν εἶναι καὶ μὴ ἀπατεῶνα ἡμῶν. ἀλλὰ θαρρήσας λέγε.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, εἶπον, καθαρός γε καὶ ἐκεῖ ὁ ἀφεθείς, ὡς ὁ νόμος λέγει: εἰκὸς δέ γε, εἴπερ ἐκεῖ, κἀνθάδε.

λέγε τοίνυν, ἔφη, τούτου γ᾽ ἕνεκα.

λέγειν δή, ἔφην ἐγώ, χρὴ ἀνάπαλιν αὖ νῦν, ἃ τότε ἴσως [451c] ἔδει ἐφεξῆς λέγειν: τάχα δὲ οὕτως ἂν ὀρθῶς ἔχοι, μετὰ ἀνδρεῖον δρᾶμα παντελῶς διαπερανθὲν τὸ γυναικεῖον αὖ περαίνειν, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐπειδὴ σὺ οὕτω προκαλῇ.

ἀνθρώποις γὰρ φῦσι καὶ παιδευθεῖσιν ὡς ἡμεῖς διήλθομεν, κατ᾽ ἐμὴν δόξαν οὐκ ἔστ᾽ ἄλλη ὀρθὴ παίδων τε καὶ γυναικῶν κτῆσίς τε καὶ χρεία ἢ κατ᾽ ἐκείνην τὴν ὁρμὴν ἰοῦσιν, ἥνπερ τὸ πρῶτον ὡρμήσαμεν: ἐπεχειρήσαμεν δέ που ὡς ἀγέλης φύλακας τοὺς ἄνδρας καθιστάναι τῷ λόγῳ.

ναί. [451d]

ἀκολουθῶμεν τοίνυν καὶ τὴν γένεσιν καὶ τροφὴν παραπλησίαν ἀποδιδόντες, καὶ σκοπῶμεν εἰ ἡμῖν πρέπει ἢ οὔ.

πῶς; ἔφη.

ὧδε. τὰς θηλείας τῶν φυλάκων κυνῶν πότερα συμφυλάττειν οἰόμεθα δεῖν ἅπερ ἂν οἱ ἄρρενες φυλάττωσι καὶ συνθηρεύειν καὶ τἆλλα κοινῇ πράττειν, ἢ τὰς μὲν οἰκουρεῖν ἔνδον ὡς ἀδυνάτους διὰ τὸν τῶν σκυλάκων τόκον τε καὶ τροφήν, τοὺς δὲ πονεῖν τε καὶ πᾶσαν ἐπιμέλειαν ἔχειν περὶ τὰ ποίμνια; [451e]

κοινῇ, ἔφη, πάντα: πλὴν ὡς ἀσθενεστέραις χρώμεθα, τοῖς δὲ ὡς ἰσχυροτέροις.

οἷόν τ᾽ οὖν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐπὶ τὰ αὐτὰ χρῆσθαί τινι ζῴῳ, ἂν μὴ τὴν αὐτὴν τροφήν τε καὶ παιδείαν ἀποδιδῷς;

οὐχ οἷόν τε.

εἰ ἄρα ταῖς γυναιξὶν ἐπὶ ταὐτὰ χρησόμεθα καὶ τοῖς ἀνδράσι, ταὐτὰ καὶ διδακτέον αὐτάς. [452a]

ναί.

μουσικὴ μὴν ἐκείνοις γε καὶ γυμναστικὴ ἐδόθη.

ναί.

καὶ ταῖς γυναιξὶν ἄρα τούτω τὼ τέχνα καὶ τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἀποδοτέον καὶ χρηστέον κατὰ ταὐτά.

εἰκὸς ἐξ ὧν λέγεις, ἔφη.

ἴσως δή, εἶπον, παρὰ τὸ ἔθος γελοῖα ἂν φαίνοιτο πολλὰ περὶ τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα, εἰ πράξεται ᾗ λέγεται.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

τί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, γελοιότατον αὐτῶν ὁρᾷς; ἢ δῆλα δὴ ὅτι γυμνὰς τὰς γυναῖκας ἐν ταῖς παλαίστραις γυμναζομένας μετὰ [452b] τῶν ἀνδρῶν, οὐ μόνον τὰς νέας, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἤδη τὰς πρεσβυτέρας, ὥσπερ τοὺς γέροντας ἐν τοῖς γυμνασίοις, ὅταν ῥυσοὶ καὶ μὴ ἡδεῖς τὴν ὄψιν ὅμως φιλογυμναστῶσιν;

νὴ τὸν Δία, ἔφη: γελοῖον γὰρ ἄν, ὥς γε ἐν τῷ παρεστῶτι, φανείη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπείπερ ὡρμήσαμεν λέγειν, οὐ φοβητέον τὰ τῶν χαριέντων σκώμματα, ὅσα καὶ οἷα ἂν εἴποιεν εἰς τὴν τοιαύτην μεταβολὴν γενομένην καὶ περὶ τὰ γυμνάσια [452c] καὶ περὶ μουσικὴν καὶ οὐκ ἐλάχιστα περὶ τὴν τῶν ὅπλων σχέσιν καὶ ἵππων ὀχήσεις.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ἀλλ᾽ ἐπείπερ λέγειν ἠρξάμεθα, πορευτέον πρὸς τὸ τραχὺ τοῦ νόμου, δεηθεῖσίν τε τούτων μὴ τὰ αὑτῶν πράττειν ἀλλὰ σπουδάζειν, καὶ ὑπομνήσασιν ὅτι οὐ πολὺς χρόνος ἐξ οὗ τοῖς Ἕλλησιν ἐδόκει αἰσχρὰ εἶναι καὶ γελοῖα ἅπερ νῦν τοῖς πολλοῖς τῶν βαρβάρων, γυμνοὺς ἄνδρας ὁρᾶσθαι, καὶ ὅτε ἤρχοντο τῶν γυμνασίων πρῶτοι μὲν Κρῆτες, ἔπειτα Λακεδαιμόνιοι, [452d] ἐξῆν τοῖς τότε ἀστείοις πάντα ταῦτα κωμῳδεῖν. ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

ἔγωγε.

ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ οἶμαι χρωμένοις ἄμεινον τὸ ἀποδύεσθαι τοῦ συγκαλύπτειν πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐφάνη, καὶ τὸ ἐν τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς δὴ γελοῖον ἐξερρύη ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις μηνυθέντος ἀρίστου: καὶ τοῦτο ἐνεδείξατο, ὅτι μάταιος ὃς γελοῖον ἄλλο τι ἡγεῖται ἢ τὸ κακόν, καὶ ὁ γελωτοποιεῖν ἐπιχειρῶν πρὸς ἄλλην τινὰ ὄψιν ἀποβλέπων ὡς γελοίου ἢ τὴν τοῦ ἄφρονός [452e] τε καὶ κακοῦ, καὶ καλοῦ αὖ σπουδάζει πρὸς ἄλλον τινὰ σκοπὸν στησάμενος ἢ τὸν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτο περὶ αὐτῶν ἀνομολογητέον, εἰ δυνατὰ ἢ οὔ, καὶ δοτέον ἀμφισβήτησιν εἴτε τις φιλοπαίσμων εἴτε σπουδαστικὸς ἐθέλει ἀμφισβητῆσαι, πότερον [453a] δυνατὴ φύσις ἡ ἀνθρωπίνη ἡ θήλεια τῇ τοῦ ἄρρενος γένους κοινωνῆσαι εἰς ἅπαντα τὰ ἔργα ἢ οὐδ᾽ εἰς ἕν, ἢ εἰς τὰ μὲν οἵα τε, εἰς δὲ τὰ οὔ, καὶ τοῦτο δὴ τὸ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ποτέρων ἐστίν; ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως ἂν κάλλιστά τις ἀρχόμενος ὡς τὸ εἰκὸς καὶ κάλλιστα τελευτήσειεν;

πολύ γε, ἔφη.

βούλει οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἡμεῖς πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς ὑπὲρ τῶν ἄλλων ἀμφισβητήσωμεν, ἵνα μὴ ἔρημα τὰ τοῦ ἑτέρου λόγου πολιορκῆται; [453b]

οὐδέν, ἔφη, κωλύει.

λέγωμεν δὴ ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν ὅτι “ὦ Σώκρατές τε καὶ Γλαύκων, οὐδὲν δεῖ ὑμῖν ἄλλους ἀμφισβητεῖν: αὐτοὶ γὰρ ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆς κατοικίσεως, ἣν ᾠκίζετε πόλιν, ὡμολογεῖτε δεῖν κατὰ φύσιν ἕκαστον ἕνα ἓν τὸ αὑτοῦ πράττειν.”

ὡμολογήσαμεν οἶμαι: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

“ἔστιν οὖν ὅπως οὐ πάμπολυ διαφέρει γυνὴ ἀνδρὸς τὴν φύσιν;”

πῶς δ᾽ οὐ διαφέρει;

“οὐκοῦν ἄλλο καὶ ἔργον ἑκατέρῳ προσήκει προστάττειν [453c] τὸ κατὰ τὴν αὑτοῦ φύσιν;”

τί μήν;

“πῶς οὖν οὐχ ἁμαρτάνετε νυνὶ καὶ τἀναντία ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς λέγετε φάσκοντες αὖ τοὺς ἄνδρας καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας δεῖν τὰ αὐτὰ πράττειν, πλεῖστον κεχωρισμένην φύσιν ἔχοντας;” ἕξεις τι, ὦ θαυμάσιε, πρὸς ταῦτ᾽ ἀπολογεῖσθαι;

ὡς μὲν ἐξαίφνης, ἔφη, οὐ πάνυ ῥᾴδιον: ἀλλὰ σοῦ δεήσομαί τε καὶ δέομαι καὶ τὸν ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν λόγον, ὅστις ποτ᾽ ἐστίν, ἑρμηνεῦσαι.

ταῦτ᾽ ἐστίν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ [453d] τοιαῦτα, ἃ ἐγὼ πάλαι προορῶν ἐφοβούμην τε καὶ ὤκνουν ἅπτεσθαι τοῦ νόμου τοῦ περὶ τὴν τῶν γυναικῶν καὶ παίδων κτῆσιν καὶ τροφήν.

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἔφη: οὐ γὰρ εὐκόλῳ ἔοικεν.

οὐ γάρ, εἶπον. ἀλλὰ δὴ ὧδ᾽ ἔχει: ἄντε τις εἰς κολυμβήθραν μικρὰν ἐμπέσῃ ἄντε εἰς τὸ μέγιστον πέλαγος μέσον, ὅμως γε νεῖ οὐδὲν ἧττον.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡμῖν νευστέον καὶ πειρατέον σῴζεσθαι ἐκ τοῦ λόγου, ἤτοι δελφῖνά τινα ἐλπίζοντας ἡμᾶς ὑπολαβεῖν ἂν ἤ τινα ἄλλην ἄπορον σωτηρίαν. [453e]

ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

φέρε δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐάν πῃ εὕρωμεν τὴν ἔξοδον. ὁμολογοῦμεν γὰρ δὴ ἄλλην φύσιν ἄλλο δεῖν ἐπιτηδεύειν, γυναικὸς δὲ καὶ ἀνδρὸς ἄλλην εἶναι: τὰς δὲ ἄλλας φύσεις τὰ αὐτά φαμεν νῦν δεῖν ἐπιτηδεῦσαι. ταῦτα ἡμῶν κατηγορεῖται;

κομιδῇ γε. [454a]

ἦ γενναία, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, ἡ δύναμις τῆς ἀντιλογικῆς τέχνης.

τί δή;

ὅτι, εἶπον, δοκοῦσί μοι εἰς αὐτὴν καὶ ἄκοντες πολλοὶ ἐμπίπτειν καὶ οἴεσθαι οὐκ ἐρίζειν ἀλλὰ διαλέγεσθαι, διὰ τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι κατ᾽ εἴδη διαιρούμενοι τὸ λεγόμενον ἐπισκοπεῖν, ἀλλὰ κατ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ ὄνομα διώκειν τοῦ λεχθέντος τὴν ἐναντίωσιν, ἔριδι, οὐ διαλέκτῳ πρὸς ἀλλήλους χρώμενοι.

ἔστι γὰρ δή, ἔφη, περὶ πολλοὺς τοῦτο τὸ πάθος: ἀλλὰ μῶν καὶ πρὸς ἡμᾶς τοῦτο τείνει ἐν τῷ παρόντι; [454b]

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: κινδυνεύομεν γοῦν ἄκοντες ἀντιλογίας ἅπτεσθαι.

πῶς;

τὸ <μὴ> τὴν αὐτὴν φύσιν ὅτι οὐ τῶν αὐτῶν δεῖ ἐπιτηδευμάτων τυγχάνειν πάνυ ἀνδρείως τε καὶ ἐριστικῶς κατὰ τὸ ὄνομα διώκομεν, ἐπεσκεψάμεθα δὲ οὐδ᾽ ὁπῃοῦν τί εἶδος τὸ τῆς ἑτέρας τε καὶ τῆς αὐτῆς φύσεως καὶ πρὸς τί τεῖνον ὡριζόμεθα τότε, ὅτε τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα ἄλλῃ φύσει ἄλλα, τῇ δὲ αὐτῇ τὰ αὐτὰ ἀπεδίδομεν.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη, ἐπεσκεψάμεθα. [454c]

τοιγάρτοι, εἶπον, ἔξεστιν ἡμῖν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀνερωτᾶν ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς εἰ ἡ αὐτὴ φύσις φαλακρῶν καὶ κομητῶν καὶ οὐχ ἡ ἐναντία, καὶ ἐπειδὰν ὁμολογῶμεν ἐναντίαν εἶναι, ἐὰν φαλακροὶ σκυτοτομῶσιν, μὴ ἐᾶν κομήτας, ἐὰν δ᾽ αὖ κομῆται, μὴ τοὺς ἑτέρους.

γελοῖον μεντἂν εἴη, ἔφη.

ἆρα κατ᾽ ἄλλο τι, εἶπον ἐγώ, γελοῖον, ἢ ὅτι τότε οὐ πάντως τὴν αὐτὴν καὶ τὴν ἑτέραν φύσιν ἐτιθέμεθα, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο τὸ εἶδος τῆς ἀλλοιώσεώς τε καὶ ὁμοιώσεως μόνον [454d] ἐφυλάττομεν τὸ πρὸς αὐτὰ τεῖνον τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα; οἷον ἰατρικὸν μὲν καὶ ἰατρικὴν τὴν ψυχὴν [ὄντa}}] τὴν αὐτὴν φύσιν ἔχειν ἐλέγομεν: ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

ἔγωγε.

ἰατρικὸν δέ γε καὶ τεκτονικὸν ἄλλην;

πάντως που.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ τὸ τῶν ἀνδρῶν καὶ τὸ τῶν γυναικῶν γένος, ἐὰν μὲν πρὸς τέχνην τινὰ ἢ ἄλλο ἐπιτήδευμα διαφέρον φαίνηται, τοῦτο δὴ φήσομεν ἑκατέρῳ δεῖν ἀποδιδόναι: ἐὰν δ᾽ αὐτῷ τούτῳ φαίνηται διαφέρειν, τῷ τὸ μὲν θῆλυ τίκτειν, [454e] τὸ δὲ ἄρρεν ὀχεύειν, οὐδέν τί πω φήσομεν μᾶλλον ἀποδεδεῖχθαι ὡς πρὸς ὃ ἡμεῖς λέγομεν διαφέρει γυνὴ ἀνδρός, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι οἰησόμεθα δεῖν τὰ αὐτὰ ἐπιτηδεύειν τούς τε φύλακας ἡμῖν καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας αὐτῶν.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν μετὰ τοῦτο κελεύομεν τὸν τὰ ἐναντία λέγοντα [455a] τοῦτο αὐτὸ διδάσκειν ἡμᾶς, πρὸς τίνα τέχνην ἢ τί ἐπιτήδευμα τῶν περὶ πόλεως κατασκευὴν οὐχ ἡ αὐτὴ ἀλλὰ ἑτέρα φύσις γυναικός τε καὶ ἀνδρός;

δίκαιον γοῦν.

τάχα τοίνυν ἄν, ὅπερ σὺ ὀλίγον πρότερον ἔλεγες, εἴποι ἂν καὶ ἄλλος, ὅτι ἐν μὲν τῷ παραχρῆμα ἱκανῶς εἰπεῖν οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ἐπισκεψαμένῳ δὲ οὐδὲν χαλεπόν.

εἴποι γὰρ ἄν.

βούλει οὖν δεώμεθα τοῦ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀντιλέγοντος ἀκολουθῆσαι [455b] ἡμῖν, ἐάν πως ἡμεῖς ἐκείνῳ ἐνδειξώμεθα ὅτι οὐδέν ἐστιν ἐπιτήδευμα ἴδιον γυναικὶ πρὸς διοίκησιν πόλεως;

πάνυ γε.

ἴθι δή, φήσομεν πρὸς αὐτόν, ἀποκρίνου: ἆρα οὕτως ἔλεγες τὸν μὲν εὐφυῆ πρός τι εἶναι, τὸν δὲ ἀφυῆ, ἐν ᾧ ὁ μὲν ῥᾳδίως τι μανθάνοι, ὁ δὲ λαλεπῶς; καὶ ὁ μὲν ἀπὸ βραχείας μαθήσεως ἐπὶ πολὺ εὑρετικὸς εἴη οὗ ἔμαθεν, ὁ δὲ πολλῆς μαθήσεως τυχὼν καὶ μελέτης μηδ᾽ ἃ ἔμαθε σῴζοιτο; καὶ τῷ μὲν τὰ τοῦ σώματος ἱκανῶς ὑπηρετοῖ τῇ διανοίᾳ, τῷ [455c] δὲ ἐναντιοῖτο; ἆρ᾽ ἄλλα ἄττα ἐστὶν ἢ ταῦτα, οἷς τὸν εὐφυῆ πρὸς ἕκαστα καὶ τὸν μὴ ὡρίζου;

οὐδείς, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἄλλα φήσει.

οἶσθά τι οὖν ὑπὸ ἀνθρώπων μελετώμενον, ἐν ᾧ οὐ πάντα ταῦτα τὸ τῶν ἀνδρῶν γένος διαφερόντως ἔχει ἢ τὸ τῶν γυναικῶν; ἢ μακρολογῶμεν τήν τε ὑφαντικὴν λέγοντες καὶ τὴν τῶν ποπάνων τε καὶ ἑψημάτων θεραπείαν, ἐν οἷς δή τι δοκεῖ τὸ γυναικεῖον γένος εἶναι, οὗ καὶ καταγελαστότατόν [455d] ἐστι πάντων ἡττώμενον;

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις, ὅτι πολὺ κρατεῖται ἐν ἅπασιν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν τὸ γένος τοῦ γένους. γυναῖκες μέντοι πολλαὶ πολλῶν ἀνδρῶν βελτίους εἰς πολλά: τὸ δὲ ὅλον ἔχει ὡς σὺ λέγεις.

οὐδὲν ἄρα ἐστίν, ὦ φίλε, ἐπιτήδευμα τῶν πόλιν διοικούντων γυναικὸς διότι γυνή, οὐδ᾽ ἀνδρὸς διότι ἀνήρ, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμοίως διεσπαρμέναι αἱ φύσεις ἐν ἀμφοῖν τοῖν ζῴοιν, καὶ πάντων μὲν μετέχει γυνὴ ἐπιτηδευμάτων κατὰ [455e] φύσιν, πάντων δὲ ἀνήρ, ἐπὶ πᾶσι δὲ ἀσθενέστερον γυνὴ ἀνδρός.

πάνυ γε.

ἦ οὖν ἀνδράσι πάντα προστάξομεν, γυναικὶ δ᾽ οὐδέν;

καὶ πῶς;

ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι γὰρ οἶμαι, ὡς φήσομεν, καὶ γυνὴ ἰατρική, ἡ δ᾽ οὔ, καὶ μουσική, ἡ δ᾽ ἄμουσος φύσει.

τί μήν; [456a]

[καὶ] γυμναστικὴ δ᾽ ἄρα οὔ, οὐδὲ πολεμική, ἡ δὲ ἀπόλεμος καὶ οὐ φιλογυμναστική;

οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

τί δέ; φιλόσοφός τε καὶ μισόσοφος; καὶ θυμοειδής, ἡ δ᾽ ἄθυμός ἐστι;

καὶ ταῦτα.

ἔστιν ἄρα καὶ φυλακικὴ γυνή, ἡ δ᾽ οὔ. ἢ οὐ τοιαύτην καὶ τῶν ἀνδρῶν τῶν φυλακικῶν φύσιν ἐξελεξάμεθα;

τοιαύτην μὲν οὖν.

καὶ γυναικὸς ἄρα καὶ ἀνδρὸς ἡ αὐτὴ φύσις εἰς φυλακὴν πόλεως, πλὴν ὅσα ἀσθενεστέρα, ἡ δὲ ἰσχυροτέρα ἐστίν.

φαίνεται. [456b]

καὶ γυναῖκες ἄρα αἱ τοιαῦται τοῖς τοιούτοις ἀνδράσιν ἐκλεκτέαι συνοικεῖν τε καὶ συμφυλάττειν, ἐπείπερ εἰσὶν ἱκαναὶ καὶ συγγενεῖς αὐτοῖς τὴν φύσιν.

πάνυ γε.

τὰ δ᾽ ἐπιτηδεύματα οὐ τὰ αὐτὰ ἀποδοτέα ταῖς αὐταῖς φύσεσιν;

τὰ αὐτά.

ἥκομεν ἄρα εἰς τὰ πρότερα περιφερόμενοι, καὶ ὁμολογοῦμεν μὴ παρὰ φύσιν εἶναι ταῖς τῶν φυλάκων γυναιξὶ μουσικήν τε καὶ γυμναστικὴν ἀποδιδόναι.

παντάπασιν μὲν οὖν.

οὐκ ἄρα ἀδύνατά γε οὐδὲ εὐχαῖς ὅμοια ἐνομοθετοῦμεν, [456c] ἐπείπερ κατὰ φύσιν ἐτίθεμεν τὸν νόμον: ἀλλὰ τὰ νῦν παρὰ ταῦτα γιγνόμενα παρὰ φύσιν μᾶλλον, ὡς ἔοικε, γίγνεται.

ἔοικεν.

οὐκοῦν ἡ ἐπίσκεψις ἡμῖν ἦν εἰ δυνατά γε καὶ βέλτιστα λέγοιμεν;

ἦν γάρ.

καὶ ὅτι μὲν δὴ δυνατά, διωμολόγηται;

ναί.

ὅτι δὲ δὴ βέλτιστα, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο δεῖ διομολογηθῆναι;

δῆλον.

οὐκοῦν πρός γε τὸ φυλακικὴν γυναῖκα γενέσθαι, οὐκ ἄλλη μὲν ἡμῖν ἄνδρας ποιήσει παιδεία, ἄλλη δὲ γυναῖκας, ἄλλως [456d] τε καὶ τὴν αὐτὴν φύσιν παραλαβοῦσα;

οὐκ ἄλλη.

πῶς οὖν ἔχεις δόξης τοῦ τοιοῦδε πέρι;

τίνος δή;

τοῦ ὑπολαμβάνειν παρὰ σεαυτῷ τὸν μὲν ἀμείνω ἄνδρα, τὸν δὲ χείρω: ἢ πάντας ὁμοίους ἡγῇ;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἐν οὖν τῇ πόλει ἣν ᾠκίζομεν, πότερον οἴει ἡμῖν ἀμείνους ἄνδρας ἐξειργάσθαι τοὺς φύλακας, τυχόντας ἧς διήλθομεν παιδείας, ἢ τοὺς σκυτοτόμους, τῇ σκυτικῇ παιδευθέντας;

γελοῖον, ἔφη, ἐρωτᾷς.

μανθάνω, ἔφην. τί δέ; τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν οὐχ οὗτοι [456e] ἄριστοι;

πολύ γε.

τί δέ; αἱ γυναῖκες τῶν γυναικῶν οὐχ αὗται ἔσονται βέλτισται;

καὶ τοῦτο, ἔφη, πολύ.

ἔστι δέ τι πόλει ἄμεινον ἢ γυναῖκάς τε καὶ ἄνδρας ὡς ἀρίστους ἐγγίγνεσθαι;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

τοῦτο δὲ μουσική τε καὶ γυμναστικὴ παραγιγνόμεναι, ὡς [457a] ἡμεῖς διήλθομεν, ἀπεργάσονται;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οὐ μόνον ἄρα δυνατὸν ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄριστον πόλει νόμιμον ἐτίθεμεν.

οὕτως.

ἀποδυτέον δὴ ταῖς τῶν φυλάκων γυναιξίν, ἐπείπερ ἀρετὴν ἀντὶ ἱματίων ἀμφιέσονται, καὶ κοινωνητέον πολέμου τε καὶ τῆς ἄλλης φυλακῆς τῆς περὶ τὴν πόλιν, καὶ οὐκ ἄλλα πρακτέον: τούτων δ᾽ αὐτῶν τὰ ἐλαφρότερα ταῖς γυναιξὶν ἢ τοῖς ἀνδράσι δοτέον διὰ τὴν τοῦ γένους ἀσθένειαν. ὁ [457b] δὲ γελῶν ἀνὴρ ἐπὶ γυμναῖς γυναιξί, τοῦ βελτίστου ἕνεκα γυμναζομέναις, “ἀτελῆ” τοῦ γελοίου “σοφίας δρέπων καρπόν”, οὐδὲν οἶδεν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐφ᾽ ᾧ γελᾷ οὐδ᾽ ὅτι πράττει: κάλλιστα γὰρ δὴ τοῦτο καὶ λέγεται καὶ λελέξεται, ὅτι τὸ μὲν ὠφέλιμον καλόν, τὸ δὲ βλαβερὸν αἰσχρόν.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν ἓν ὥσπερ κῦμα φῶμεν διαφεύγειν τοῦ γυναικείου πέρι νόμου λέγοντες, ὥστε μὴ παντάπασι κατακλυσθῆναι τιθέντας ὡς δεῖ κοινῇ πάντα ἐπιτηδεύειν τούς τε [457c] φύλακας ἡμῖν καὶ τὰς φυλακίδας, ἀλλά πῃ τὸν λόγον αὐτὸν αὑτῷ ὁμολογεῖσθαι ὡς δυνατά τε καὶ ὠφέλιμα λέγει;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, οὐ σμικρὸν κῦμα διαφεύγεις.

φήσεις γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐ μέγα αὐτὸ εἶναι, ὅταν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἴδῃς.

λέγε δή, ἴδω, ἔφη.

τούτῳ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἕπεται νόμος καὶ τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν τοῖς ἄλλοις, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ὅδε.

τίς;

τὰς γυναῖκας ταύτας τῶν ἀνδρῶν τούτων πάντων πάσας [457d] εἶναι κοινάς, ἰδίᾳ δὲ μηδενὶ μηδεμίαν συνοικεῖν: καὶ τοὺς παῖδας αὖ κοινούς, καὶ μήτε γονέα ἔκγονον εἰδέναι τὸν αὑτοῦ μήτε παῖδα γονέα.

πολύ, ἔφη, τοῦτο ἐκείνου μεῖζον πρὸς ἀπιστίαν καὶ τοῦ δυνατοῦ πέρι καὶ τοῦ ὠφελίμου.

οὐκ οἶμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, περί γε τοῦ ὠφελίμου ἀμφισβητεῖσθαι ἄν, ὡς οὐ μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν κοινὰς μὲν τὰς γυναῖκας εἶναι, κοινοὺς δὲ τοὺς παῖδας, εἴπερ οἷόν τε: ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι περὶ τοῦ εἰ δυνατὸν ἢ μὴ πλείστην ἂν ἀμφισβήτησιν γενέσθαι. [457e]

περὶ ἀμφοτέρων, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εὖ μάλ᾽ ἂν ἀμφισβητηθείη.

λέγεις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λόγων σύστασιν: ἐγὼ δ᾽ ᾤμην ἔκ γε τοῦ ἑτέρου ἀποδράσεσθαι, εἴ σοι δόξειεν ὠφέλιμον εἶναι, λοιπὸν δὲ δή μοι ἔσεσθαι περὶ τοῦ δυνατοῦ καὶ μή. ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἔλαθες, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἀποδιδράσκων, ἀλλ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων πέρι δίδου λόγον.

ὑφεκτέον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δίκην. τοσόνδε μέντοι χάρισαί [458a] μοι: ἔασόν με ἑορτάσαι, ὥσπερ οἱ ἀργοὶ τὴν διάνοιαν εἰώθασιν ἑστιᾶσθαι ὑφ᾽ ἑαυτῶν, ὅταν μόνοι πορεύωνται. καὶ γὰρ οἱ τοιοῦτοί που, πρὶν ἐξευρεῖν τίνα τρόπον ἔσται τι ὧν ἐπιθυμοῦσι, τοῦτο παρέντες, ἵνα μὴ κάμνωσι βουλευόμενοι περὶ τοῦ δυνατοῦ καὶ μή, θέντες ὡς ὑπάρχον εἶναι ὃ βούλονται, ἤδη τὰ λοιπὰ διατάττουσιν καὶ χαίρουσιν διεξιόντες οἷα δράσουσι γενομένου, ἀργὸν καὶ ἄλλως ψυχὴν ἔτι [458b] ἀργοτέραν ποιοῦντες. ἤδη οὖν καὶ αὐτὸς μαλθακίζομαι, καὶ ἐκεῖνα μὲν ἐπιθυμῶ ἀναβαλέσθαι καὶ ὕστερον ἐπισκέψασθαι, ᾗ δυνατά, νῦν δὲ ὡς δυνατῶν ὄντων θεὶς σκέψομαι, ἄν μοι παριῇς, πῶς διατάξουσιν αὐτὰ οἱ ἄρχοντες γιγνόμενα, καὶ ὅτι πάντων συμφορώτατ᾽ ἂν εἴη πραχθέντα τῇ τε πόλει καὶ τοῖς φύλαξιν. ταῦτα πειράσομαί σοι πρότερα συνδιασκοπεῖσθαι, ὕστερα δ᾽ ἐκεῖνα, εἴπερ παριεῖς.

ἀλλὰ παρίημι, ἔφη, καὶ σκόπει.

οἶμαι τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἴπερ ἔσονται οἱ ἄρχοντες ἄξιοι [458c] τούτου τοῦ ὀνόματος, οἵ τε τούτοις ἐπίκουροι κατὰ ταὐτά, τοὺς μὲν ἐθελήσειν ποιεῖν τὰ ἐπιταττόμενα, τοὺς δὲ ἐπιτάξειν, τὰ μὲν αὐτοὺς πειθομένους τοῖς νόμοις, τὰ δὲ καὶ μιμουμένους, ὅσα ἂν ἐκείνοις ἐπιτρέψωμεν.

εἰκός, ἔφη.

σὺ μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὁ νομοθέτης αὐτοῖς, ὥσπερ τοὺς ἄνδρας ἐξέλεξας, οὕτω καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας ἐκλέξας παραδώσεις καθ᾽ ὅσον οἷόν τε ὁμοφυεῖς: οἱ δέ, ἅτε οἰκίας τε καὶ συσσίτια κοινὰ ἔχοντες, ἰδίᾳ δὲ οὐδενὸς οὐδὲν τοιοῦτον κεκτημένου, [458d] ὁμοῦ δὴ ἔσονται, ὁμοῦ δὲ ἀναμεμειγμένων καὶ ἐν γυμνασίοις καὶ ἐν τῇ ἄλλῃ τροφῇ ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης οἶμαι τῆς ἐμφύτου ἄξονται πρὸς τὴν ἀλλήλων μεῖξιν. ἢ οὐκ ἀναγκαῖά σοι δοκῶ λέγειν;

οὐ γεωμετρικαῖς γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἀλλ᾽ ἐρωτικαῖς ἀνάγκαις, αἳ κινδυνεύουσιν ἐκείνων δριμύτεραι εἶναι πρὸς τὸ πείθειν τε καὶ ἕλκειν τὸν πολὺν λεών.

καὶ μάλα, εἶπον. ἀλλὰ μετὰ δὴ ταῦτα, ὦ Γλαύκων, ἀτάκτως μὲν μείγνυσθαι ἀλλήλοις ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν ποιεῖν οὔτε [458e] ὅσιον ἐν εὐδαιμόνων πόλει οὔτ᾽ ἐάσουσιν οἱ ἄρχοντες.

οὐ γὰρ δίκαιον, ἔφη.

δῆλον δὴ ὅτι γάμους τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ποιήσομεν ἱεροὺς εἰς δύναμιν ὅτι μάλιστα: εἶεν δ᾽ ἂν ἱεροὶ οἱ ὠφελιμώτατοι.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν. [459a]

πῶς οὖν δὴ ὠφελιμώτατοι ἔσονται; τόδε μοι λέγε, ὦ Γλαύκων: ὁρῶ γάρ σου ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ καὶ κύνας θηρευτικοὺς καὶ τῶν γενναίων ὀρνίθων μάλα συχνούς: ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὦ πρὸς Διός, προσέσχηκάς τι τοῖς τούτων γάμοις τε καὶ παιδοποιίᾳ;

τὸ ποῖον; ἔφη.

πρῶτον μὲν αὐτῶν τούτων, καίπερ ὄντων γενναίων, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ εἰσί τινες καὶ γίγνονται ἄριστοι;

εἰσίν.

πότερον οὖν ἐξ ἁπάντων ὁμοίως γεννᾷς, ἢ προθυμῇ ὅτι μάλιστα ἐκ τῶν ἀρίστων;

ἐκ τῶν ἀρίστων. [459b]

τί δ᾽; ἐκ τῶν νεωτάτων ἢ ἐκ τῶν γεραιτάτων ἢ ἐξ ἀκμαζόντων ὅτι μάλιστα;

ἐξ ἀκμαζόντων.

καὶ ἂν μὴ οὕτω γεννᾶται, πολύ σοι ἡγῇ χεῖρον ἔσεσθαι τό τε τῶν ὀρνίθων καὶ τὸ τῶν κυνῶν γένος;

ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

τί δὲ ἵππων οἴει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων; ἦ ἄλλῃ πῃ ἔχειν;

ἄτοπον μεντἄν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εἴη.

βαβαῖ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε, ὡς ἄρα σφόδρα ἡμῖν δεῖ ἄκρων εἶναι τῶν ἀρχόντων, εἴπερ καὶ περὶ τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος ὡσαύτως ἔχει. [459c]

ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ ἔχει, ἔφη: ἀλλὰ τί δή;

ὅτι ἀνάγκη αὐτοῖς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, φαρμάκοις πολλοῖς χρῆσθαι. ἰατρὸν δέ που μὴ δεομένοις μὲν σώμασι φαρμάκων, ἀλλὰ διαίτῃ ἐθελόντων ὑπακούειν, καὶ φαυλότερον ἐξαρκεῖν ἡγούμεθα εἶναι: ὅταν δὲ δὴ καὶ φαρμακεύειν δέῃ, ἴσμεν ὅτι ἀνδρειοτέρου δεῖ τοῦ ἰατροῦ.

ἀληθῆ: ἀλλὰ πρὸς τί λέγεις;

πρὸς τόδε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: συχνῷ τῷ ψεύδει καὶ τῇ ἀπάτῃ κινδυνεύει ἡμῖν δεήσειν χρῆσθαι τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἐπ᾽ ὠφελίᾳ [459d] τῶν ἀρχομένων. ἔφαμεν δέ που ἐν φαρμάκου εἴδει πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα χρήσιμα εἶναι.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γε, ἔφη.

ἐν τοῖς γάμοις τοίνυν καὶ παιδοποιίαις ἔοικε τὸ ὀρθὸν τοῦτο γίγνεσθαι οὐκ ἐλάχιστον.

πῶς δή;

δεῖ μέν, εἶπον, ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων τοὺς ἀρίστους ταῖς ἀρίσταις συγγίγνεσθαι ὡς πλειστάκις, τοὺς δὲ φαυλοτάτους ταῖς φαυλοτάταις τοὐναντίον, καὶ τῶν μὲν τὰ ἔκγονα τρέφειν, [459e] τῶν δὲ μή, εἰ μέλλει τὸ ποίμνιον ὅτι ἀκρότατον εἶναι, καὶ ταῦτα πάντα γιγνόμενα λανθάνειν πλὴν αὐτοὺς τοὺς ἄρχοντας, εἰ αὖ ἡ ἀγέλη τῶν φυλάκων ὅτι μάλιστα ἀστασίαστος ἔσται.

ὀρθότατα, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν δὴ ἑορταί τινες νομοθετητέαι ἐν αἷς συνάξομεν τάς τε νύμφας καὶ τοὺς νυμφίους καὶ θυσίαι, καὶ ὕμνοι [460a] ποιητέοι τοῖς ἡμετέροις ποιηταῖς πρέποντες τοῖς γιγνομένοις γάμοις: τὸ δὲ πλῆθος τῶν γάμων ἐπὶ τοῖς ἄρχουσι ποιήσομεν, ἵν᾽ ὡς μάλιστα διασῴζωσι τὸν αὐτὸν ἀριθμὸν τῶν ἀνδρῶν, πρὸς πολέμους τε καὶ νόσους καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀποσκοποῦντες, καὶ μήτε μεγάλη ἡμῖν ἡ πόλις κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν μήτε σμικρὰ γίγνηται.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

κλῆροι δή τινες οἶμαι ποιητέοι κομψοί, ὥστε τὸν φαῦλον ἐκεῖνον αἰτιᾶσθαι ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστης συνέρξεως τύχην ἀλλὰ μὴ τοὺς ἄρχοντας.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη. [460b]

καὶ τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς γέ που τῶν νέων ἐν πολέμῳ ἢ ἄλλοθί που γέρα δοτέον καὶ ἆθλα ἄλλα τε καὶ ἀφθονεστέρα ἡ ἐξουσία τῆς τῶν γυναικῶν συγκοιμήσεως, ἵνα καὶ ἅμα μετὰ προφάσεως ὡς πλεῖστοι τῶν παίδων ἐκ τῶν τοιούτων σπείρωνται.

ὀρθῶς.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὰ ἀεὶ γιγνόμενα ἔκγονα παραλαμβάνουσαι αἱ ἐπὶ τούτων ἐφεστηκυῖαι ἀρχαὶ εἴτε ἀνδρῶν εἴτε γυναικῶν εἴτε ἀμφότερα-κοιναὶ μὲν γάρ που καὶ ἀρχαὶ γυναιξί τε καὶ ἀνδράσιν-

ναί. [460c]

τὰ μὲν δὴ τῶν ἀγαθῶν, δοκῶ, λαβοῦσαι εἰς τὸν σηκὸν οἴσουσιν παρά τινας τροφοὺς χωρὶς οἰκούσας ἔν τινι μέρει τῆς πόλεως: τὰ δὲ τῶν χειρόνων, καὶ ἐάν τι τῶν ἑτέρων ἀνάπηρον γίγνηται, ἐν ἀπορρήτῳ τε καὶ ἀδήλῳ κατακρύψουσιν ὡς πρέπει.

εἴπερ μέλλει, ἔφη, καθαρὸν τὸ γένος τῶν φυλάκων ἔσεσθαι.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τροφῆς οὗτοι ἐπιμελήσονται τάς τε μητέρας ἐπὶ τὸν σηκὸν ἄγοντες ὅταν σπαργῶσι, πᾶσαν μηχανὴν [460d] μηχανώμενοι ὅπως μηδεμία τὸ αὑτῆς αἰσθήσεται, καὶ ἄλλας γάλα ἐχούσας ἐκπορίζοντες, ἐὰν μὴ αὐταὶ ἱκαναὶ ὦσι, καὶ αὐτῶν τούτων ἐπιμελήσονται ὅπως μέτριον χρόνον θηλάσονται, ἀγρυπνίας δὲ καὶ τὸν ἄλλον πόνον τίτθαις τε καὶ τροφοῖς παραδώσουσιν;

πολλὴν ῥᾳστώνην, ἔφη, λέγεις τῆς παιδοποιίας ταῖς τῶν φυλάκων γυναιξίν.

πρέπει γάρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. τὸ δ᾽ ἐφεξῆς διέλθωμεν ὃ προυθέμεθα. ἔφαμεν γὰρ δὴ ἐξ ἀκμαζόντων δεῖν τὰ ἔκγονα γίγνεσθαι.

ἀληθῆ. [460e]

ἆρ᾽ οὖν σοι συνδοκεῖ μέτριος χρόνος ἀκμῆς τὰ εἴκοσι ἔτη γυναικί, ἀνδρὶ δὲ τὰ τριάκοντα;

τὰ ποῖα αὐτῶν; ἔφη.

γυναικὶ μέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀρξαμένῃ ἀπὸ εἰκοσιέτιδος μέχρι τετταρακονταέτιδος τίκτειν τῇ πόλει: ἀνδρὶ δέ, ἐπειδὰν τὴν ὀξυτάτην δρόμου ἀκμὴν παρῇ, τὸ ἀπὸ τούτου γεννᾶν τῇ πόλει μέχρι πεντεκαιπεντηκονταέτους. [461a]

ἀμφοτέρων γοῦν, ἔφη, αὕτη ἀκμὴ σώματός τε καὶ φρονήσεως.

οὐκοῦν ἐάντε πρεσβύτερος τούτων ἐάντε νεώτερος τῶν εἰς τὸ κοινὸν γεννήσεων ἅψηται, οὔτε ὅσιον οὔτε δίκαιον φήσομεν τὸ ἁμάρτημα, ὡς παῖδα φιτύοντος τῇ πόλει, ὅς, ἂν λάθῃ, γεννήσεται οὐχ ὑπὸ θυσιῶν οὐδ᾽ ὑπὸ εὐχῶν φύς, ἃς ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστοις τοῖς γάμοις εὔξονται καὶ ἱέρειαι καὶ ἱερεῖς καὶ σύμπασα ἡ πόλις ἐξ ἀγαθῶν ἀμείνους καὶ ἐξ ὠφελίμων [461b] ὠφελιμωτέρους ἀεὶ τοὺς ἐκγόνους γίγνεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ σκότου μετὰ δεινῆς ἀκρατείας γεγονώς.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

ὁ αὐτὸς δέ γ᾽, εἶπον, νόμος, ἐάν τις τῶν ἔτι γεννώντων μὴ συνέρξαντος ἄρχοντος ἅπτηται τῶν ἐν ἡλικίᾳ γυναικῶν: νόθον γὰρ καὶ ἀνέγγυον καὶ ἀνίερον φήσομεν αὐτὸν παῖδα τῇ πόλει καθιστάναι.

ὀρθότατα, ἔφη.

ὅταν δὲ δὴ οἶμαι αἵ τε γυναῖκες καὶ οἱ ἄνδρες τοῦ γεννᾶν ἐκβῶσι τὴν ἡλικίαν, ἀφήσομέν που ἐλευθέρους αὐτοὺς συγγίγνεσθαι [461c] ᾧ ἂν ἐθέλωσι, πλὴν θυγατρὶ καὶ μητρὶ καὶ ταῖς τῶν θυγατέρων παισὶ καὶ ταῖς ἄνω μητρός, καὶ γυναῖκας αὖ πλὴν ὑεῖ καὶ πατρὶ καὶ τοῖς τούτων εἰς τὸ κάτω καὶ ἐπὶ τὸ ἄνω, καὶ ταῦτά γ᾽ ἤδη πάντα διακελευσάμενοι προθυμεῖσθαι μάλιστα μὲν μηδ᾽ εἰς φῶς ἐκφέρειν κύημα μηδέ γ᾽ ἕν, ἐὰν γένηται, ἐὰν δέ τι βιάσηται, οὕτω τιθέναι, ὡς οὐκ οὔσης τροφῆς τῷ τοιούτῳ. καὶ ταῦτα μέν γ᾽, ἔφη, μετρίως λέγεται: πατέρας δὲ καὶ [461d] θυγατέρας καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγες πῶς διαγνώσονται ἀλλήλων;

οὐδαμῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἀλλ᾽ ἀφ᾽ ἧς ἂν ἡμέρας τις αὐτῶν νυμφίος γένηται, μετ᾽ ἐκείνην δεκάτῳ μηνὶ καὶ ἑβδόμῳ δὴ ἃ ἂν γένηται ἔκγονα, ταῦτα πάντα προσερεῖ τὰ μὲν ἄρρενα ὑεῖς, τὰ δὲ θήλεα θυγατέρας, καὶ ἐκεῖνα ἐκεῖνον πατέρα, καὶ οὕτω δὴ τὰ τούτων ἔκγονα παίδων παῖδας, καὶ ἐκεῖν᾽ αὖ ἐκείνους πάππους τε καὶ τηθάς, τὰ δ᾽ ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ χρόνῳ γεγονότα, ἐν ᾧ αἱ μητέρες καὶ οἱ πατέρες αὐτῶν ἐγέννων, [461e] ἀδελφάς τε καὶ ἀδελφούς, ὥστε, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἀλλήλων μὴ ἅπτεσθαι. ἀδελφοὺς δὲ καὶ ἀδελφὰς δώσει ὁ νόμος συνοικεῖν, ἐὰν ὁ κλῆρος ταύτῃ συμπίπτῃ καὶ ἡ Πυθία προσαναιρῇ.

ὀρθότατα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἡ μὲν δὴ κοινωνία, ὦ Γλαύκων, αὕτη τε καὶ τοιαύτη γυναικῶν τε καὶ παίδων τοῖς φύλαξί σοι τῆς πόλεως: ὡς δὲ ἑπομένη τε τῇ ἄλλῃ πολιτείᾳ καὶ μακρῷ βελτίστη, δεῖ δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο βεβαιώσασθαι παρὰ τοῦ λόγου. ἢ πῶς ποιῶμεν; [462a]

οὕτω νὴ Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ἥδε ἀρχὴ τῆς ὁμολογίας, ἐρέσθαι ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς τί ποτε τὸ μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν ἔχομεν εἰπεῖν εἰς πόλεως κατασκευήν, οὗ δεῖ στοχαζόμενον τὸν νομοθέτην τιθέναι τοὺς νόμους, καὶ τί μέγιστον κακόν, εἶτα ἐπισκέψασθαι ἆρα ἃ νυνδὴ διήλθομεν εἰς μὲν τὸ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἴχνος ἡμῖν ἁρμόττει, τῷ δὲ τοῦ κακοῦ ἀναρμοστεῖ;

πάντων μάλιστα, ἔφη.

ἔχομεν οὖν τι μεῖζον κακὸν πόλει ἢ ἐκεῖνο ὃ ἂν αὐτὴν [462b] διασπᾷ καὶ ποιῇ πολλὰς ἀντὶ μιᾶς; ἢ μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν τοῦ ὃ ἂν συνδῇ τε καὶ ποιῇ μίαν;

οὐκ ἔχομεν.

οὐκοῦν ἡ μὲν ἡδονῆς τε καὶ λύπης κοινωνία συνδεῖ, ὅταν ὅτι μάλιστα πάντες οἱ πολῖται τῶν αὐτῶν γιγνομένων τε καὶ ἀπολλυμένων παραπλησίως χαίρωσι καὶ λυπῶνται;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἡ δέ γε τῶν τοιούτων ἰδίωσις διαλύει, ὅταν οἱ μὲν περιαλγεῖς, οἱ δὲ περιχαρεῖς γίγνωνται ἐπὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς [462c] παθήμασι τῆς πόλεώς τε καὶ τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει;

τί δ᾽ οὔ;

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐκ τοῦδε τὸ τοιόνδε γίγνεται, ὅταν μὴ ἅμα φθέγγωνται ἐν τῇ πόλει τὰ τοιάδε ῥήματα, τό τε ἐμὸν καὶ τὸ οὐκ ἐμόν; καὶ περὶ τοῦ ἀλλοτρίου κατὰ ταὐτά;

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

ἐν ᾗτινι δὴ πόλει πλεῖστοι ἐπὶ τὸ αὐτὸ κατὰ ταὐτὰ τοῦτο λέγουσι τὸ ἐμὸν καὶ τὸ οὐκ ἐμόν, αὕτη ἄριστα διοικεῖται;

πολύ γε.

καὶ ἥτις δὴ ἐγγύτατα ἑνὸς ἀνθρώπου ἔχει; οἷον ὅταν που ἡμῶν δάκτυλός του πληγῇ, πᾶσα ἡ κοινωνία ἡ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα πρὸς τὴν ψυχὴν τεταμένη εἰς μίαν σύνταξιν τὴν τοῦ ἄρχοντος [462d] ἐν αὐτῇ ᾔσθετό τε καὶ πᾶσα ἅμα συνήλγησεν μέρους πονήσαντος ὅλη, καὶ οὕτω δὴ λέγομεν ὅτι ὁ ἄνθρωπος τὸν δάκτυλον ἀλγεῖ: καὶ περὶ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν τῶν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, περί τε λύπης πονοῦντος μέρους καὶ περὶ ἡδονῆς ῥαΐζοντος;

ὁ αὐτὸς γάρ, ἔφη: καὶ τοῦτο ὃ ἐρωτᾷς, τοῦ τοιούτου ἐγγύτατα ἡ ἄριστα πολιτευομένη πόλις οἰκεῖ.

ἑνὸς δὴ οἶμαι πάσχοντος τῶν πολιτῶν ὁτιοῦν ἢ ἀγαθὸν [462e] ἢ κακὸν ἡ τοιαύτη πόλις μάλιστά τε φήσει ἑαυτῆς εἶναι τὸ πάσχον, καὶ ἢ συνησθήσεται ἅπασα ἢ συλλυπήσεται.

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, τήν γε εὔνομον.

ὥρα ἂν εἴη, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπανιέναι ἡμῖν ἐπὶ τὴν ἡμετέραν πόλιν, καὶ τὰ τοῦ λόγου ὁμολογήματα σκοπεῖν ἐν αὐτῇ, εἰ αὐτὴ μάλιστ᾽ ἔχει εἴτε καὶ ἄλλη τις μᾶλλον.

οὐκοῦν χρή, ἔφη. [463a]

τί οὖν; ἔστι μέν που καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσιν ἄρχοντές τε καὶ δῆμος, ἔστι δὲ καὶ ἐν ταύτῃ;

ἔστι.

πολίτας μὲν δὴ πάντες οὗτοι ἀλλήλους προσεροῦσι;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἀλλὰ πρὸς τῷ πολίτας τί ὁ ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις δῆμος τοὺς ἄρχοντας προσαγορεύει;

ἐν μὲν ταῖς πολλαῖς δεσπότας, ἐν δὲ ταῖς δημοκρατουμέναις αὐτὸ τοὔνομα τοῦτο, ἄρχοντας.

τί δ᾽ ὁ ἐν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ δῆμος; πρὸς τῷ πολίτας τί τοὺς ἄρχοντάς φησιν εἶναι; [463b]

σωτῆράς τε καὶ ἐπικούρους, ἔφη.

τί δ᾽ οὗτοι τὸν δῆμον;

μισθοδότας τε καὶ τροφέας.

οἱ δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις ἄρχοντες τοὺς δήμους;

δούλους, ἔφη.

τί δ᾽ οἱ ἄρχοντες ἀλλήλους;

συνάρχοντας, ἔφη.

τί δ᾽ οἱ ἡμέτεροι;

συμφύλακας.

ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν τῶν ἀρχόντων τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσιν, εἴ τίς τινα ἔχει προσειπεῖν τῶν συναρχόντων τὸν μὲν ὡς οἰκεῖον, τὸν δ᾽ ὡς ἀλλότριον;

καὶ πολλούς γε.

οὐκοῦν τὸν μὲν οἰκεῖον ὡς ἑαυτοῦ νομίζει τε καὶ λέγει, [463c] τὸν δ᾽ ἀλλότριον ὡς οὐχ ἑαυτοῦ;

οὕτω.

τί δὲ οἱ παρὰ σοὶ φύλακες; ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις αὐτῶν ἔχοι ἂν τῶν συμφυλάκων νομίσαι τινὰ ἢ προσειπεῖν ὡς ἀλλότριον;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη: παντὶ γὰρ ᾧ ἂν ἐντυγχάνῃ, ἢ ὡς ἀδελφῷ ἢ ὡς ἀδελφῇ ἢ ὡς πατρὶ ἢ ὡς μητρὶ ἢ ὑεῖ ἢ θυγατρὶ ἢ τούτων ἐκγόνοις ἢ προγόνοις νομιεῖ ἐντυγχάνειν.

κάλλιστα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι καὶ τόδε εἰπέ: πότερον αὐτοῖς τὰ ὀνόματα μόνον οἰκεῖα νομοθετήσεις, ἢ [463d] καὶ τὰς πράξεις πάσας κατὰ τὰ ὀνόματα πράττειν, περί τε τοὺς πατέρας, ὅσα νόμος περὶ πατέρας αἰδοῦς τε πέρι καὶ κηδεμονίας καὶ τοῦ ὑπήκοον δεῖν εἶναι τῶν γονέων, ἢ μήτε πρὸς θεῶν μήτε πρὸς ἀνθρώπων αὐτῷ ἄμεινον ἔσεσθαι, ὡς οὔτε ὅσια οὔτε δίκαια πράττοντος ἄν, εἰ ἄλλα πράττοι ἢ ταῦτα; αὗταί σοι ἢ ἄλλαι φῆμαι ἐξ ἁπάντων τῶν πολιτῶν ὑμνήσουσιν εὐθὺς περὶ τὰ τῶν παίδων ὦτα καὶ περὶ πατέρων, οὓς ἂν αὐτοῖς τις ἀποφήνῃ, καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων συγγενῶν; [463e]

αὗται, ἔφη: γελοῖον γὰρ ἂν εἴη εἰ ἄνευ ἔργων οἰκεῖα ὀνόματα διὰ τῶν στομάτων μόνον φθέγγοιντο.

πασῶν ἄρα πόλεων μάλιστα ἐν αὐτῇ συμφωνήσουσιν ἑνός τινος ἢ εὖ ἢ κακῶς πράττοντος ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν τὸ ῥῆμα, τὸ ὅτι τὸ ἐμὸν εὖ πράττει ἢ ὅτι τὸ ἐμὸν κακῶς.

ἀληθέστατα αὖ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [464a]

οὐκοῦν μετὰ τούτου τοῦ δόγματός τε καὶ ῥήματος ἔφαμεν συνακολουθεῖν τάς τε ἡδονὰς καὶ τὰς λύπας κοινῇ;

καὶ ὀρθῶς γε ἔφαμεν.

οὐκοῦν μάλιστα τοῦ αὐτοῦ κοινωνήσουσιν ἡμῖν οἱ πολῖται, ὃ δὴ ἐμὸν ὀνομάσουσιν; τούτου δὲ κοινωνοῦντες οὕτω δὴ λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς μάλιστα κοινωνίαν ἕξουσιν;

πολύ γε.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τούτων αἰτία πρὸς τῇ ἄλλῃ καταστάσει ἡ τῶν γυναικῶν τε καὶ παίδων κοινωνία τοῖς φύλαξιν;

πολὺ μὲν οὖν μάλιστα, ἔφη. [464b]

ἀλλὰ μὴν μέγιστόν γε πόλει αὐτὸ ὡμολογήσαμεν ἀγαθόν, ἀπεικάζοντες εὖ οἰκουμένην πόλιν σώματι πρὸς μέρος αὑτοῦ λύπης τε πέρι καὶ ἡδονῆς ὡς ἔχει.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽, ἔφη, ὡμολογήσαμεν.

τοῦ μεγίστου ἄρα ἀγαθοῦ τῇ πόλει αἰτία ἡμῖν πέφανται ἡ κοινωνία τοῖς ἐπικούροις τῶν τε παίδων καὶ τῶν γυναικῶν.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη.

καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ τοῖς πρόσθεν γε ὁμολογοῦμεν: ἔφαμεν γάρ που οὔτε οἰκίας τούτοις ἰδίας δεῖν εἶναι οὔτε γῆν οὔτε [464c] τι κτῆμα, ἀλλὰ παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων τροφὴν λαμβάνοντας, μισθὸν τῆς φυλακῆς, κοινῇ πάντας ἀναλίσκειν, εἰ μέλλοιεν ὄντως φύλακες εἶναι.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ, ὅπερ λέγω, τά τε πρόσθεν εἰρημένα καὶ τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα ἔτι μᾶλλον ἀπεργάζεται αὐτοὺς ἀληθινοὺς φύλακας, καὶ ποιεῖ μὴ διασπᾶν τὴν πόλιν τὸ ἐμὸν ὀνομάζοντας μὴ τὸ αὐτὸ ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλον ἄλλο, τὸν μὲν εἰς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ οἰκίαν ἕλκοντα ὅτι ἂν δύνηται χωρὶς τῶν ἄλλων κτήσασθαι, [464d] τὸν δὲ εἰς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ ἑτέραν οὖσαν, καὶ γυναῖκά τε καὶ παῖδας ἑτέρους, ἡδονάς τε καὶ ἀλγηδόνας ἐμποιοῦντας ἰδίων ὄντων ἰδίας, ἀλλ᾽ ἑνὶ δόγματι τοῦ οἰκείου πέρι ἐπὶ τὸ αὐτὸ τείνοντας πάντας εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ὁμοπαθεῖς λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς εἶναι;

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τί δέ; δίκαι τε καὶ ἐγκλήματα πρὸς ἀλλήλους οὐκ οἰχήσεται ἐξ αὐτῶν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν διὰ τὸ μηδὲν ἴδιον ἐκτῆσθαι πλὴν τὸ σῶμα, τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα κοινά; ὅθεν δὴ ὑπάρχει [464e] τούτοις ἀστασιάστοις εἶναι, ὅσα γε διὰ χρημάτων ἢ παίδων καὶ συγγενῶν κτῆσιν ἄνθρωποι στασιάζουσιν;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ἀπηλλάχθαι.

καὶ μὴν οὐδὲ βιαίων γε οὐδ᾽ αἰκίας δίκαι δικαίως ἂν εἶεν ἐν αὐτοῖς: ἥλιξι μὲν γὰρ ἥλικας ἀμύνεσθαι καλὸν καὶ δίκαιόν που φήσομεν, ἀνάγκην σωμάτων ἐπιμελείᾳ τιθέντες.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη. [465a]

καὶ γὰρ τόδε ὀρθὸν ἔχει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὗτος ὁ νόμος: εἴ πού τίς τῳ θυμοῖτο, ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ πληρῶν τὸν θυμὸν ἧττον ἐπὶ μείζους ἂν ἴοι στάσεις.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

πρεσβυτέρῳ μὴν νεωτέρων πάντων ἄρχειν τε καὶ κολάζειν προστετάξεται.

δῆλον.

καὶ μὴν ὅτι γε νεώτερος πρεσβύτερον, ἂν μὴ ἄρχοντες προστάττωσιν, οὔτε ἄλλο βιάζεσθαι ἐπιχειρήσει ποτὲ οὔτε τύπτειν, ὡς τὸ εἰκός. οἶμαι δ᾽ οὐδὲ ἄλλως ἀτιμάσει: ἱκανὼ γὰρ τὼ φύλακε κωλύοντε, δέος τε καὶ αἰδώς, αἰδὼς μὲν ὡς [465b] γονέων μὴ ἅπτεσθαι εἴργουσα, δέος δὲ τὸ τῷ πάσχοντι τοὺς ἄλλους βοηθεῖν, τοὺς μὲν ὡς ὑεῖς, τοὺς δὲ ὡς ἀδελφούς, τοὺς δὲ ὡς πατέρας.

συμβαίνει γὰρ οὕτως, ἔφη.

πανταχῇ δὴ ἐκ τῶν νόμων εἰρήνην πρὸς ἀλλήλους οἱ ἄνδρες ἄξουσι;

πολλήν γε.

τούτων μὴν ἐν ἑαυτοῖς μὴ στασιαζόντων οὐδὲν δεινὸν μή ποτε ἡ ἄλλη πόλις πρὸς τούτους ἢ πρὸς ἀλλήλους διχοστατήσῃ.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

τά γε μὴν σμικρότατα τῶν κακῶν δι᾽ ἀπρέπειαν ὀκνῶ [465c] καὶ λέγειν, ὧν ἀπηλλαγμένοι ἂν εἶεν, κολακείας τε πλουσίων πένητες ἀπορίας τε καὶ ἀλγηδόνας ὅσας ἐν παιδοτροφίᾳ καὶ χρηματισμοῖς διὰ τροφὴν οἰκετῶν ἀναγκαίαν ἴσχουσι, τὰ μὲν δανειζόμενοι, τὰ δ᾽ ἐξαρνούμενοι, τὰ δὲ πάντως πορισάμενοι θέμενοι παρὰ γυναῖκάς τε καὶ οἰκέτας, ταμιεύειν παραδόντες, ὅσα τε, ὦ φίλε, περὶ αὐτὰ καὶ οἷα πάσχουσι, δῆλά τε δὴ καὶ ἀγεννῆ καὶ οὐκ ἄξια λέγειν. [465d]

δῆλα γάρ, ἔφη, καὶ τυφλῷ.

πάντων τε δὴ τούτων ἀπαλλάξονται, ζήσουσί τε τοῦ μακαριστοῦ βίου ὃν οἱ Ὀλυμπιονῖκαι ζῶσι μακαριώτερον.

πῇ;

διὰ σμικρόν που μέρος εὐδαιμονίζονται ἐκεῖνοι ὧν τούτοις ὑπάρχει. ἥ τε γὰρ τῶνδε νίκη καλλίων, ἥ τ᾽ ἐκ τοῦ δημοσίου τροφὴ τελεωτέρα. νίκην τε γὰρ νικῶσι συμπάσης τῆς πόλεως σωτηρίαν, τροφῇ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσιν ὅσων βίος δεῖται αὐτοί τε καὶ παῖδες ἀναδοῦνται, καὶ γέρα δέχονται [465e] παρὰ τῆς αὑτῶν πόλεως ζῶντές τε καὶ τελευτήσαντες ταφῆς ἀξίας μετέχουσιν.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, καλά.

μέμνησαι οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν οὐκ οἶδα ὅτου λόγος ἡμῖν ἐπέπληξεν ὅτι τοὺς φύλακας οὐκ εὐδαίμονας [466a] ποιοῖμεν, οἷς ἐξὸν πάντα ἔχειν τὰ τῶν πολιτῶν οὐδὲν ἔχοιεν; ἡμεῖς δέ που εἴπομεν ὅτι τοῦτο μέν, εἴ που παραπίπτοι, εἰς αὖθις σκεψοίμεθα, νῦν δὲ τοὺς μὲν φύλακας φύλακας ποιοῖμεν, τὴν δὲ πόλιν ὡς οἷοί τ᾽ εἶμεν εὐδαιμονεστάτην, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ εἰς ἓν ἔθνος ἀποβλέποντες ἐν αὐτῇ τοῦτο εὔδαιμον πλάττοιμεν;

μέμνημαι, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; νῦν ἡμῖν ὁ τῶν ἐπικούρων βίος, εἴπερ τοῦ γε τῶν Ὀλυμπιονικῶν πολύ τε καλλίων καὶ ἀμείνων φαίνεται, [466b] μή πῃ κατὰ τὸν τῶν σκυτοτόμων φαίνεται βίον ἤ τινων ἄλλων δημιουργῶν ἢ τὸν τῶν γεωργῶν;

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ὅ γε καὶ ἐκεῖ ἔλεγον, δίκαιον καὶ ἐνταῦθα εἰπεῖν, ὅτι εἰ οὕτως ὁ φύλαξ ἐπιχειρήσει εὐδαίμων γίγνεσθαι, ὥστε μηδὲ φύλαξ εἶναι, μηδ᾽ ἀρκέσει αὐτῷ βίος οὕτω μέτριος καὶ βέβαιος καὶ ὡς ἡμεῖς φαμεν ἄριστος, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνόητός τε καὶ μειρακιώδης δόξα ἐμπεσοῦσα εὐδαιμονίας πέρι ὁρμήσει [466c] αὐτὸν διὰ δύναμιν ἐπὶ τὸ ἅπαντα τὰ ἐν τῇ πόλει οἰκειοῦσθαι, γνώσεται τὸν Ἡσίοδον ὅτι τῷ ὄντι ἦν σοφὸς λέγων “πλέον” εἶναί πως “ἥμισυ παντός.” (Hes. WD 40)

ἐμοὶ μέν, ἔφη, συμβούλῳ χρώμενος μενεῖ ἐπὶ τούτῳ τῷ βίῳ.

συγχωρεῖς ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὴν τῶν γυναικῶν κοινωνίαν τοῖς ἀνδράσιν, ἣν διεληλύθαμεν, παιδείας τε πέρι καὶ παίδων καὶ φυλακῆς τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν, κατά τε πόλιν μενούσας εἰς πόλεμόν τε ἰούσας καὶ συμφυλάττειν δεῖν καὶ [466d] συνθηρεύειν ὥσπερ κύνας, καὶ πάντα πάντῃ κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν κοινωνεῖν, καὶ ταῦτα πραττούσας τά τε βέλτιστα πράξειν καὶ οὐ παρὰ φύσιν τὴν τοῦ θήλεος πρὸς τὸ ἄρρεν, ᾗ πεφύκατον πρὸς ἀλλήλω κοινωνεῖν;

συγχωρῶ, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐκεῖνο λοιπὸν διελέσθαι, εἰ ἄρα καὶ ἐν ἀνθρώποις δυνατόν, ὥσπερ ἐν ἄλλοις ζῴοις, ταύτην τὴν κοινωνίαν ἐγγενέσθαι, καὶ ὅπῃ δυνατόν;

ἔφθης, ἔφη, εἰπὼν ᾗ ἔμελλον ὑπολήψεσθαι. [466e]

περὶ μὲν γὰρ τῶν ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ οἶμαι, ἔφην, δῆλον ὃν τρόπον πολεμήσουσιν.

πῶς; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ὅτι κοινῇ στρατεύσονται, καὶ πρός γε ἄξουσι τῶν παίδων εἰς τὸν πόλεμον ὅσοι ἁδροί, ἵν᾽ ὥσπερ οἱ τῶν ἄλλων δημιουργῶν θεῶνται ταῦτα ἃ τελεωθέντας δεήσει δημιουργεῖν: [467a] πρὸς δὲ τῇ θέᾳ διακονεῖν καὶ ὑπηρετεῖν πάντα τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον, καὶ θεραπεύειν πατέρας τε καὶ μητέρας. ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι τὰ περὶ τὰς τέχνας, οἷον τοὺς τῶν κεραμέων παῖδας, ὡς πολὺν χρόνον διακονοῦντες θεωροῦσι πρὶν ἅπτεσθαι τοῦ κεραμεύειν;

καὶ μάλα.

ἦ οὖν ἐκείνοις ἐπιμελέστερον παιδευτέον ἢ τοῖς φύλαξι τοὺς αὑτῶν ἐμπειρίᾳ τε καὶ θέᾳ τῶν προσηκόντων;

καταγέλαστον μεντἄν, ἔφη, εἴη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ μαχεῖταί γε πᾶν ζῷον διαφερόντως [467b] παρόντων ὧν ἂν τέκῃ.

ἔστιν οὕτω. κίνδυνος δέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ σμικρὸς σφαλεῖσιν, οἷα δὴ ἐν πολέμῳ φιλεῖ, πρὸς ἑαυτοῖς παῖδας ἀπολέσαντας ποιῆσαι καὶ τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν ἀδύνατον ἀναλαβεῖν. ἀληθῆ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις. ἀλλὰ σὺ πρῶτον μὲν ἡγῇ παρασκευαστέον τὸ μή ποτε κινδυνεῦσαι;

οὐδαμῶς.

τί δ᾽; εἴ που κινδυνευτέον, οὐκ ἐν ᾧ βελτίους ἔσονται κατορθοῦντες;

δῆλον δή. [467c]

ἀλλὰ σμικρὸν οἴει διαφέρειν καὶ οὐκ ἄξιον κινδύνου θεωρεῖν ἢ μὴ τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον παῖδας τοὺς ἄνδρας πολεμικοὺς ἐσομένους;

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ διαφέρει πρὸς ὃ λέγεις.

τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα ὑπαρκτέον, θεωροὺς πολέμου τοὺς παῖδας ποιεῖν, προσμηχανᾶσθαι δ᾽ αὐτοῖς ἀσφάλειαν, καὶ καλῶς ἕξει: ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρῶτον μὲν αὐτῶν οἱ πατέρες, ὅσα ἄνθρωποι, οὐκ ἀμαθεῖς ἔσονται ἀλλὰ γνωμονικοὶ τῶν [467d] στρατειῶν ὅσαι τε καὶ μὴ ἐπικίνδυνοι;

εἰκός, ἔφη.

εἰς μὲν ἄρα τὰς ἄξουσιν, εἰς δὲ τὰς εὐλαβήσονται.

ὀρθῶς.

καὶ ἄρχοντάς γέ που, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐ τοὺς φαυλοτάτους αὐτοῖς ἐπιστήσουσιν ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἐμπειρίᾳ τε καὶ ἡλικίᾳ ἱκανοὺς ἡγεμόνας τε καὶ παιδαγωγοὺς εἶναι.

πρέπει γάρ.

ἀλλὰ γάρ, φήσομεν, καὶ παρὰ δόξαν πολλὰ πολλοῖς δὴ ἐγένετο.

καὶ μάλα.

πρὸς τοίνυν τὰ τοιαῦτα, ὦ φίλε, πτεροῦν χρὴ παιδία ὄντα εὐθύς, ἵν᾽, ἄν τι δέῃ, πετόμενοι ἀποφεύγωσιν. [467e]

πῶς λέγεις; ἔφη.

ἐπὶ τοὺς ἵππους, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀναβιβαστέον ὡς νεωτάτους, καὶ διδαξαμένους ἱππεύειν ἐφ᾽ ἵππων ἀκτέον ἐπὶ τὴν θέαν, μὴ θυμοειδῶν μηδὲ μαχητικῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι ποδωκεστάτων καὶ εὐηνιωτάτων. οὕτω γὰρ κάλλιστά τε θεάσονται τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον, καὶ ἀσφαλέστατα, ἄν τι δέῃ, σωθήσονται μετὰ πρεσβυτέρων ἡγεμόνων ἑπόμενοι.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, μοι δοκεῖς λέγειν. [468a]

τί δὲ δή, εἶπον, τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον; πῶς ἑκτέον σοι τοὺς στρατιώτας πρὸς αὑτούς τε καὶ τοὺς πολεμίους; ἆρ᾽ ὀρθῶς μοι καταφαίνεται ἢ οὔ;

λέγ᾽, ἔφη, ποῖ᾽ αὖ.

αὐτῶν μέν, εἶπον, τὸν λιπόντα τάξιν ἢ ὅπλα ἀποβαλόντα ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων ποιήσαντα διὰ κάκην ἆρα οὐ δημιουργόν τινα δεῖ καθιστάναι ἢ γεωργόν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

τὸν δὲ ζῶντα εἰς τοὺς πολεμίους ἁλόντα ἆρ᾽ οὐ δωρεὰν διδόναι τοῖς ἑλοῦσι χρῆσθαι τῇ ἄγρᾳ ὅτι ἂν βούλωνται; [468b]

κομιδῇ γε.

τὸν δὲ ἀριστεύσαντά τε καὶ εὐδοκιμήσαντα οὐ πρῶτον μὲν ἐπὶ στρατιᾶς ὑπὸ τῶν συστρατευομένων μειρακίων τε καὶ παίδων ἐν μέρει ὑπὸ ἑκάστου δοκεῖ σοι χρῆναι στεφανωθῆναι; ἢ οὔ;

ἔμοιγε.

τί δέ; δεξιωθῆναι;

καὶ τοῦτο.

ἀλλὰ τόδ᾽ οἶμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐκέτι σοι δοκεῖ.

τὸ ποῖον;

τὸ φιλῆσαί τε καὶ φιληθῆναι ὑπὸ ἑκάστου.

πάντων, ἔφη, μάλιστα: καὶ προστίθημί γε τῷ νόμῳ, [468c] ἕως ἂν ἐπὶ ταύτης ὦσι τῆς στρατιᾶς, καὶ μηδενὶ ἐξεῖναι ἀπαρνηθῆναι ὃν ἂν βούληται φιλεῖν, ἵνα καί, ἐάν τίς του τύχῃ ἐρῶν ἢ ἄρρενος ἢ θηλείας, προθυμότερος ᾖ πρὸς τὸ τἀριστεῖα φέρειν.

καλῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ ἀγαθῷ ὄντι γάμοι τε ἕτοιμοι πλείους ἢ τοῖς ἄλλοις καὶ αἱρέσεις τῶν τοιούτων πολλάκις παρὰ τοὺς ἄλλους ἔσονται, ἵν᾽ ὅτι πλεῖστοι ἐκ τοῦ τοιούτου γίγνωνται, εἴρηται ἤδη.

εἴπομεν γάρ, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ καθ᾽ Ὅμηρον τοῖς τοιοῖσδε δίκαιον τιμᾶν [468d] τῶν νέων ὅσοι ἀγαθοί. καὶ γὰρ Ὅμηρος τὸν εὐδοκιμήσαντα ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ “νώτοισιν” Αἴαντα ἔφη “διηνεκέεσσι γεραίρεσθαι,” (Hom. Il. 7.321-322) ὡς ταύτην οἰκείαν οὖσαν τιμὴν τῷ ἡβῶντί τε καὶ ἀνδρείῳ, ἐξ ἧς ἅμα τῷ τιμᾶσθαι καὶ τὴν ἰσχὺν αὐξήσει.

ὀρθότατα, ἔφη.

πεισόμεθα ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ταῦτά γε Ὁμήρῳ. καὶ γὰρ ἡμεῖς ἔν τε θυσίαις καὶ τοῖς τοιούτοις πᾶσι τοὺς ἀγαθούς, καθ᾽ ὅσον ἂν ἀγαθοὶ φαίνωνται, καὶ ὕμνοις καὶ οἷς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν τιμήσομεν, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις “ἕδραις τε καὶ κρέασιν” [468e] “ἰδὲ πλείοις δεπάεσσιν,”Hom. Il. 8.162 ἵνα ἅμα τῷ τιμᾶν ἀσκῶμεν τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας τε καὶ γυναῖκας.

κάλλιστα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

εἶεν: τῶν δὲ δὴ ἀποθανόντων ἐπὶ στρατιᾶς ὃς ἂν εὐδοκιμήσας τελευτήσῃ ἆρ᾽ οὐ πρῶτον μὲν φήσομεν τοῦ χρυσοῦ γένους εἶναι;

πάντων γε μάλιστα.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πεισόμεθα Ἡσιόδῳ, ἐπειδάν τινες τοῦ τοιούτου γένους τελευτήσωσιν, ὡς ἄρα- [469a]

οἱ μὲν δαίμονες ἁγνοὶ ἐπιχθόνιοι τελέθουσιν,

ἐσθλοί, ἀλεξίκακοι, φύλακες μερόπων ἀνθρώπων; (Hes. WD 121)

πεισόμεθα μὲν οὖν.

διαπυθόμενοι ἄρα τοῦ θεοῦ πῶς χρὴ τοὺς δαιμονίους τε καὶ θείους τιθέναι καὶ τίνι διαφόρῳ, οὕτω καὶ ταύτῃ θήσομεν ᾗ ἂν ἐξηγῆται;

τί δ᾽ οὐ μέλλομεν;

καὶ τὸν λοιπὸν δὴ χρόνον ὡς δαιμόνων, οὕτω θεραπεύσομέν [469b] τε καὶ προσκυνήσομεν αὐτῶν τὰς θήκας; ταὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτα νομιοῦμεν ὅταν τις γήρᾳ ἤ τινι ἄλλῳ τρόπῳ τελευτήσῃ τῶν ὅσοι ἂν διαφερόντως ἐν τῷ βίῳ ἀγαθοὶ κριθῶσιν;

δίκαιον γοῦν, ἔφη.

τί δέ; πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους πῶς ποιήσουσιν ἡμῖν οἱ στρατιῶται;

τὸ ποῖον δή;

πρῶτον μὲν ἀνδραποδισμοῦ πέρι, δοκεῖ δίκαιον Ἕλληνας Ἑλληνίδας πόλεις ἀνδραποδίζεσθαι, ἢ μηδ᾽ ἄλλῃ ἐπιτρέπειν κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν καὶ τοῦτο ἐθίζειν, τοῦ Ἑλληνικοῦ [469c] γένους φείδεσθαι, εὐλαβουμένους τὴν ὑπὸ τῶν βαρβάρων δουλείαν;

ὅλῳ καὶ παντί, ἔφη, διαφέρει τὸ φείδεσθαι.

μηδὲ Ἕλληνα ἄρα δοῦλον ἐκτῆσθαι μήτε αὐτούς, τοῖς τε ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν οὕτω συμβουλεύειν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη: μᾶλλόν γ᾽ ἂν οὖν οὕτω πρὸς τοὺς βαρβάρους τρέποιντο, ἑαυτῶν δ᾽ ἀπέχοιντο.

τί δέ; σκυλεύειν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοὺς τελευτήσαντας πλὴν ὅπλων, ἐπειδὰν νικήσωσιν, ἦ καλῶς ἔχει; ἢ οὐ πρόφασιν [469d] μὲν τοῖς δειλοῖς ἔχει μὴ πρὸς τὸν μαχόμενον ἰέναι, ὥς τι τῶν δεόντων δρῶντας ὅταν περὶ τὸν τεθνεῶτα κυπτάζωσι, πολλὰ δὲ ἤδη στρατόπεδα διὰ τὴν τοιαύτην ἁρπαγὴν ἀπώλετο;

καὶ μάλα.

ἀνελεύθερον δὲ οὐ δοκεῖ καὶ φιλοχρήματον νεκρὸν συλᾶν, καὶ γυναικείας τε καὶ σμικρᾶς διανοίας τὸ πολέμιον νομίζειν τὸ σῶμα τοῦ τεθνεῶτος ἀποπταμένου τοῦ ἐχθροῦ, λελοιπότος δὲ ᾧ ἐπολέμει; ἢ οἴει τι διάφορον δρᾶν τοὺς τοῦτο [469e] ποιοῦντας τῶν κυνῶν, αἳ τοῖς λίθοις οἷς ἂν βληθῶσι χαλεπαίνουσι, τοῦ βάλλοντος οὐχ ἁπτόμεναι;

οὐδὲ σμικρόν, ἔφη.

ἐατέον ἄρα τὰς νεκροσυλίας καὶ τὰς τῶν ἀναιρέσεων διακωλύσεις;

ἐατέον μέντοι, ἔφη, νὴ Δία.

οὐδὲ μήν που πρὸς τὰ ἱερὰ τὰ ὅπλα οἴσομεν ὡς ἀναθήσοντες, ἄλλως τε καὶ τὰ τῶν Ἑλλήνων, ἐάν τι ἡμῖν μέλῃ [470a] τῆς πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους Ἕλληνας εὐνοίας: μᾶλλον δὲ καὶ φοβησόμεθα μή τι μίασμα ᾖ πρὸς ἱερὸν τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀπὸ τῶν οἰκείων φέρειν, ἐὰν μή τι δὴ ὁ θεὸς ἄλλο λέγῃ.

ὀρθότατα, ἔφη.

τί δὲ γῆς τε τμήσεως τῆς Ἑλληνικῆς καὶ οἰκιῶν ἐμπρήσεως; ποῖόν τί σοι δράσουσιν οἱ στρατιῶται πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους;

σοῦ, ἔφη, δόξαν ἀποφαινομένου ἡδέως ἂν ἀκούσαιμι.

ἐμοὶ μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δοκεῖ τούτων μηδέτερα ποιεῖν, [470b] ἀλλὰ τὸν ἐπέτειον καρπὸν ἀφαιρεῖσθαι. καὶ ὧν ἕνεκα, βούλει σοι λέγω;

πάνυ γε.

φαίνεταί μοι, ὥσπερ καὶ ὀνομάζεται δύο ταῦτα ὀνόματα, πόλεμός τε καὶ στάσις, οὕτω καὶ εἶναι δύο, ὄντα ἐπὶ δυοῖν τινοιν διαφοραῖν. λέγω δὲ τὰ δύο τὸ μὲν οἰκεῖον καὶ συγγενές, τὸ δὲ ἀλλότριον καὶ ὀθνεῖον. ἐπὶ μὲν οὖν τῇ τοῦ οἰκείου ἔχθρᾳ στάσις κέκληται, ἐπὶ δὲ τῇ τοῦ ἀλλοτρίου πόλεμος.

καὶ οὐδέν γε, ἔφη, ἀπὸ τρόπου λέγεις. [470c]

ὅρα δὴ καὶ εἰ τόδε πρὸς τρόπου λέγω. φημὶ γὰρ τὸ μὲν Ἑλληνικὸν γένος αὐτὸ αὑτῷ οἰκεῖον εἶναι καὶ συγγενές, τῷ δὲ βαρβαρικῷ ὀθνεῖόν τε καὶ ἀλλότριον.

καλῶς γε, ἔφη.

Ἕλληνας μὲν ἄρα βαρβάροις καὶ βαρβάρους Ἕλλησι πολεμεῖν μαχομένους τε φήσομεν καὶ πολεμίους φύσει εἶναι, καὶ πόλεμον τὴν ἔχθραν ταύτην κλητέον: Ἕλληνας δὲ Ἕλλησιν, ὅταν τι τοιοῦτον δρῶσιν, φύσει μὲν φίλους εἶναι, νοσεῖν δ᾽ ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ τὴν Ἑλλάδα καὶ στασιάζειν, [470d] καὶ στάσιν τὴν τοιαύτην ἔχθραν κλητέον.

ἐγὼ μέν, ἔφη, συγχωρῶ οὕτω νομίζειν.

σκόπει δή, εἶπον, ὅτι ἐν τῇ νῦν ὁμολογουμένῃ στάσει, ὅπου ἄν τι τοιοῦτον γένηται καὶ διαστῇ πόλις, ἐὰν ἑκάτεροι ἑκατέρων τέμνωσιν ἀγροὺς καὶ οἰκίας ἐμπιμπρῶσιν, ὡς ἀλιτηριώδης τε δοκεῖ ἡ στάσις εἶναι καὶ οὐδέτεροι αὐτῶν φιλοπόλιδες-οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε ἐτόλμων τὴν τροφόν τε καὶ μητέρα κείρειν-ἀλλὰ μέτριον εἶναι τοὺς καρποὺς ἀφαιρεῖσθαι [470e] τοῖς κρατοῦσι τῶν κρατουμένων, καὶ διανοεῖσθαι ὡς διαλλαγησομένων καὶ οὐκ ἀεὶ πολεμησόντων.

πολὺ γάρ, ἔφη, ἡμερωτέρων αὕτη ἡ διάνοια ἐκείνης.

τί δὲ δή; ἔφην: ἣν σὺ πόλιν οἰκίζεις, οὐχ Ἑλληνὶς ἔσται;

δεῖ γ᾽ αὐτήν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀγαθοί τε καὶ ἥμεροι ἔσονται;

σφόδρα γε.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐ φιλέλληνες; οὐδὲ οἰκείαν τὴν Ἑλλάδα ἡγήσονται, οὐδὲ κοινωνήσουσιν ὧνπερ οἱ ἄλλοι ἱερῶν;

καὶ σφόδρα γε. [471a]

οὐκοῦν τὴν πρὸς τοὺς Ἕλληνας διαφοράν, ὡς οἰκείους, στάσιν ἡγήσονται καὶ οὐδὲ ὀνομάσουσιν πόλεμον;

οὐ γάρ.

καὶ ὡς διαλλαγησόμενοι ἄρα διοίσονται;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

εὐμενῶς δὴ σωφρονιοῦσιν, οὐκ ἐπὶ δουλείᾳ κολάζοντες οὐδ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ὀλέθρῳ, σωφρονισταὶ ὄντες, οὐ πολέμιοι.

οὕτως, ἔφη.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα τὴν Ἑλλάδα Ἕλληνες ὄντες κεροῦσιν, οὐδὲ οἰκήσεις ἐμπρήσουσιν, οὐδὲ ὁμολογήσουσιν ἐν ἑκάστῃ πόλει πάντας ἐχθροὺς αὑτοῖς εἶναι, καὶ ἄνδρας καὶ γυναῖκας καὶ παῖδας, ἀλλ᾽ ὀλίγους ἀεὶ ἐχθροὺς τοὺς αἰτίους τῆς διαφορᾶς. [471b] καὶ διὰ ταῦτα πάντα οὔτε τὴν γῆν ἐθελήσουσιν κείρειν αὐτῶν, ὡς φίλων τῶν πολλῶν, οὔτε οἰκίας ἀνατρέπειν, ἀλλὰ μέχρι τούτου ποιήσονται τὴν διαφοράν, μέχρι οὗ ἂν οἱ αἴτιοι ἀναγκασθῶσιν ὑπὸ τῶν ἀναιτίων ἀλγούντων δοῦναι δίκην.

ἐγὼ μέν, ἔφη, ὁμολογῶ οὕτω δεῖν πρὸς τοὺς ἐναντίους τοὺς ἡμετέρους πολίτας προσφέρεσθαι: πρὸς δὲ τοὺς βαρβάρους, ὡς νῦν οἱ Ἕλληνες πρὸς ἀλλήλους.

τιθῶμεν δὴ καὶ τοῦτον τὸν νόμον τοῖς φύλαξι, μήτε γῆν [471c] τέμνειν μήτε οἰκίας ἐμπιμπράναι;

θῶμεν, ἔφη, καὶ ἔχειν γε καλῶς ταῦτά τε καὶ τὰ πρόσθεν.

ἀλλὰ γάρ μοι δοκεῖς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐάν τίς σοι τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐπιτρέπῃ λέγειν, οὐδέποτε μνησθήσεσθαι ὃ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν παρωσάμενος πάντα ταῦτα εἴρηκας, τὸ ὡς δυνατὴ αὕτη ἡ πολιτεία γενέσθαι καὶ τίνα τρόπον ποτὲ δυνατή: ἐπεὶ ὅτι γε, εἰ γένοιτο, πάντ᾽ ἂν εἴη ἀγαθὰ πόλει ᾗ γένοιτο, καὶ ἃ σὺ παραλείπεις ἐγὼ λέγω, ὅτι καὶ τοῖς πολεμίοις [471d] ἄριστ᾽ ἂν μάχοιντο τῷ ἥκιστα ἀπολείπειν ἀλλήλους, γιγνώσκοντές τε καὶ ἀνακαλοῦντες ταῦτα τὰ ὀνόματα ἑαυτούς, ἀδελφούς, πατέρας, ὑεῖς: εἰ δὲ καὶ τὸ θῆλυ συστρατεύοιτο, εἴτε καὶ ἐν τῇ αὐτῇ τάξει εἴτε καὶ ὄπισθεν ἐπιτεταγμένον, φόβων τε ἕνεκα τοῖς ἐχθροῖς καὶ εἴ ποτέ τις ἀνάγκη βοηθείας γένοιτο, οἶδ᾽ ὅτι ταύτῃ πάντῃ ἄμαχοι ἂν εἶεν: καὶ οἴκοι γε ἃ παραλείπεται ἀγαθά, ὅσα ἂν εἴη αὐτοῖς, ὁρῶ. [471e] ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἐμοῦ ὁμολογοῦντος πάντα ταῦτα ὅτι εἴη ἂν καὶ ἄλλα γε μυρία, εἰ γένοιτο ἡ πολιτεία αὕτη, μηκέτι πλείω περὶ αὐτῆς λέγε, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἤδη πειρώμεθα ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς πείθειν, ὡς δυνατὸν καὶ ᾗ δυνατόν, τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα χαίρειν ἐῶμεν. [472a]

ἐξαίφνης γε σύ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὥσπερ καταδρομὴν ἐποιήσω ἐπὶ τὸν λόγον μου, καὶ οὐ συγγιγνώσκεις στραγγευομένῳ. ἴσως γὰρ οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι μόγις μοι τὼ δύο κύματε ἐκφυγόντι νῦν τὸ μέγιστον καὶ χαλεπώτατον τῆς τρικυμίας ἐπάγεις, ὃ ἐπειδὰν ἴδῃς τε καὶ ἀκούσῃς, πάνυ συγγνώμην ἕξεις, ὅτι εἰκότως ἄρα ὤκνουν τε καὶ ἐδεδοίκη οὕτω παράδοξον λόγον λέγειν τε καὶ ἐπιχειρεῖν διασκοπεῖν.

ὅσῳ ἄν, ἔφη, τοιαῦτα πλείω λέγῃς, ἧττον ἀφεθήσῃ [472b] ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν πρὸς τὸ μὴ εἰπεῖν πῇ δυνατὴ γίγνεσθαι αὕτη ἡ πολιτεία. ἀλλὰ λέγε καὶ μὴ διάτριβε.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρῶτον μὲν τόδε χρὴ ἀναμνησθῆναι, ὅτι ἡμεῖς ζητοῦντες δικαιοσύνην οἷόν ἐστι καὶ ἀδικίαν δεῦρο ἥκομεν.

χρή: ἀλλὰ τί τοῦτο; ἔφη.

οὐδέν: ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν εὕρωμεν οἷόν ἐστι δικαιοσύνη, ἆρα καὶ ἄνδρα τὸν δίκαιον ἀξιώσομεν μηδὲν δεῖν αὐτῆς ἐκείνης διαφέρειν, ἀλλὰ πανταχῇ τοιοῦτον εἶναι οἷον δικαιοσύνη [472c] ἐστίν; ἢ ἀγαπήσομεν ἐὰν ὅτι ἐγγύτατα αὐτῆς ᾖ καὶ πλεῖστα τῶν ἄλλων ἐκείνης μετέχῃ;

οὕτως, ἔφη: ἀγαπήσομεν.

παραδείγματος ἄρα ἕνεκα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐζητοῦμεν αὐτό τε δικαιοσύνην οἷόν ἐστι, καὶ ἄνδρα τὸν τελέως δίκαιον εἰ γένοιτο, καὶ οἷος ἂν εἴη γενόμενος, καὶ ἀδικίαν αὖ καὶ τὸν ἀδικώτατον, ἵνα εἰς ἐκείνους ἀποβλέποντες, οἷοι ἂν ἡμῖν φαίνωνται εὐδαιμονίας τε πέρι καὶ τοῦ ἐναντίου, ἀναγκαζώμεθα καὶ περὶ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ὁμολογεῖν, ὃς ἂν ἐκείνοις ὅτι [472d] ὁμοιότατος ᾖ, τὴν ἐκείνης μοῖραν ὁμοιοτάτην ἕξειν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τούτου ἕνεκα, ἵν᾽ ἀποδείξωμεν ὡς δυνατὰ ταῦτα γίγνεσθαι.

τοῦτο μέν, ἔφη, ἀληθὲς λέγεις.

οἴει ἂν οὖν ἧττόν τι ἀγαθὸν ζωγράφον εἶναι ὃς ἂν γράψας παράδειγμα οἷον ἂν εἴη ὁ κάλλιστος ἄνθρωπος καὶ πάντα εἰς τὸ γράμμα ἱκανῶς ἀποδοὺς μὴ ἔχῃ ἀποδεῖξαι ὡς καὶ δυνατὸν γενέσθαι τοιοῦτον ἄνδρα;

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; οὐ καὶ ἡμεῖς, φαμέν, παράδειγμα ἐποιοῦμεν [472e] λόγῳ ἀγαθῆς πόλεως;

πάνυ γε.

ἧττόν τι οὖν οἴει ἡμᾶς εὖ λέγειν τούτου ἕνεκα, ἐὰν μὴ ἔχωμεν ἀποδεῖξαι ὡς δυνατὸν οὕτω πόλιν οἰκῆσαι ὡς ἐλέγετο;

οὐ δῆτα, ἔφη.

τὸ μὲν τοίνυν ἀληθές, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὕτω: εἰ δὲ δὴ καὶ τοῦτο προθυμηθῆναι δεῖ σὴν χάριν, ἀποδεῖξαι πῇ μάλιστα καὶ κατὰ τί δυνατώτατ᾽ ἂν εἴη, πάλιν μοι πρὸς τὴν τοιαύτην ἀπόδειξιν τὰ αὐτὰ διομολόγησαι.

τὰ ποῖα; [473a]

ἆρ᾽ οἷόν τέ τι πραχθῆναι ὡς λέγεται, ἢ φύσιν ἔχει πρᾶξιν λέξεως ἧττον ἀληθείας ἐφάπτεσθαι, κἂν εἰ μή τῳ δοκεῖ; ἀλλὰ σὺ πότερον ὁμολογεῖς οὕτως ἢ οὔ;

ὁμολογῶ, ἔφη.

τοῦτο μὲν δὴ μὴ ἀνάγκαζέ με, οἷα τῷ λόγῳ διήλθομεν, τοιαῦτα παντάπασι καὶ τῷ ἔργῳ δεῖν γιγνόμενα <ἂν> ἀποφαίνειν: ἀλλ᾽, ἐὰν οἷοί τε γενώμεθα εὑρεῖν ὡς ἂν ἐγγύτατα τῶν εἰρημένων πόλις οἰκήσειεν, φάναι ἡμᾶς [473b] ἐξηυρηκέναι ὡς δυνατὰ ταῦτα γίγνεσθαι ἃ σὺ ἐπιτάττεις. ἢ οὐκ ἀγαπήσεις τούτων τυγχάνων; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ ἂν ἀγαπῴην.

καὶ γὰρ ἐγώ, ἔφη.

τὸ δὲ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο, ὡς ἔοικε, πειρώμεθα ζητεῖν τε καὶ ἀποδεικνύναι τί ποτε νῦν κακῶς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι πράττεται δι᾽ ὃ οὐχ οὕτως οἰκοῦνται, καὶ τίνος ἂν σμικροτάτου μεταβαλόντος ἔλθοι εἰς τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον τῆς πολιτείας πόλις, μάλιστα μὲν ἑνός, εἰ δὲ μή, δυοῖν, εἰ δὲ μή, ὅτι ὀλιγίστων τὸν ἀριθμὸν καὶ σμικροτάτων τὴν δύναμιν. [473c] παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἑνὸς μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μεταβαλόντος δοκοῦμέν μοι ἔχειν δεῖξαι ὅτι μεταπέσοι ἄν, οὐ μέντοι σμικροῦ γε οὐδὲ ῥᾳδίου, δυνατοῦ δέ.

τίνος; ἔφη.

ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰμὶ ὃ τῷ μεγίστῳ προσῃκάζομεν κύματι. εἰρήσεται δ᾽ οὖν, εἰ καὶ μέλλει γέλωτί τε ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ κῦμα ἐκγελῶν καὶ ἀδοξίᾳ κατακλύσειν. σκόπει δὲ ὃ μέλλω λέγειν.

λέγε, ἔφη.

ἐὰν μή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἢ οἱ φιλόσοφοι βασιλεύσωσιν ἐν [473d] ταῖς πόλεσιν ἢ οἱ βασιλῆς τε νῦν λεγόμενοι καὶ δυνάσται φιλοσοφήσωσι γνησίως τε καὶ ἱκανῶς, καὶ τοῦτο εἰς ταὐτὸν συμπέσῃ, δύναμίς τε πολιτικὴ καὶ φιλοσοφία, τῶν δὲ νῦν πορευομένων χωρὶς ἐφ᾽ ἑκάτερον αἱ πολλαὶ φύσεις ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἀποκλεισθῶσιν, οὐκ ἔστι κακῶν παῦλα, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων, ταῖς πόλεσι, δοκῶ δ᾽ οὐδὲ τῷ ἀνθρωπίνῳ γένει, [473e] οὐδὲ αὕτη ἡ πολιτεία μή ποτε πρότερον φυῇ τε εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν καὶ φῶς ἡλίου ἴδῃ, ἣν νῦν λόγῳ διεληλύθαμεν. ἀλλὰ τοῦτό ἐστιν ὃ ἐμοὶ πάλαι ὄκνον ἐντίθησι λέγειν, ὁρῶντι ὡς πολὺ παρὰ δόξαν ῥηθήσεται: χαλεπὸν γὰρ ἰδεῖν ὅτι οὐκ ἂν ἄλλη τις εὐδαιμονήσειεν οὔτε ἰδίᾳ οὔτε δημοσίᾳ.

καὶ ὅς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, τοιοῦτον ἐκβέβληκας ῥῆμά τε καὶ λόγον, ὃν εἰπὼν ἡγοῦ ἐπὶ σὲ πάνυ πολλούς τε καὶ [474a] οὐ φαύλους νῦν οὕτως, οἷον ῥίψαντας τὰ ἱμάτια, γυμνοὺς λαβόντας ὅτι ἑκάστῳ παρέτυχεν ὅπλον, θεῖν διατεταμένους ὡς θαυμάσια ἐργασομένους: οὓς εἰ μὴ ἀμυνῇ τῷ λόγῳ καὶ ἐκφεύξῃ, τῷ ὄντι τωθαζόμενος δώσεις δίκην.

οὐκοῦν σύ μοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τούτων αἴτιος;

καλῶς γ᾽, ἔφη, ἐγὼ ποιῶν. ἀλλά τοί σε οὐ προδώσω, ἀλλ᾽ ἀμυνῶ οἷς δύναμαι: δύναμαι δὲ εὐνοίᾳ τε καὶ τῷ παρακελεύεσθαι, καὶ ἴσως ἂν ἄλλου του ἐμμελέστερόν σοι [474b] ἀποκρινοίμην. ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἔχων τοιοῦτον βοηθὸν πειρῶ τοῖς ἀπιστοῦσιν ἐνδείξασθαι ὅτι ἔχει ᾗ σὺ λέγεις.

πειρατέον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπειδὴ καὶ σὺ οὕτω μεγάλην συμμαχίαν παρέχῃ. ἀναγκαῖον οὖν μοι δοκεῖ, εἰ μέλλομέν πῃ ἐκφεύξεσθαι οὓς λέγεις, διορίσασθαι πρὸς αὐτοὺς τοὺς φιλοσόφους τίνας λέγοντες τολμῶμεν φάναι δεῖν ἄρχειν, ἵνα διαδήλων γενομένων δύνηταί τις ἀμύνεσθαι, ἐνδεικνύμενος [474c] ὅτι τοῖς μὲν προσήκει φύσει ἅπτεσθαί τε φιλοσοφίας ἡγεμονεύειν τ᾽ ἐν πόλει, τοῖς δ᾽ ἄλλοις μήτε ἅπτεσθαι ἀκολουθεῖν τε τῷ ἡγουμένῳ.

ὥρα ἂν εἴη, ἔφη, ὁρίζεσθαι.

ἴθι δή, ἀκολούθησόν μοι τῇδε, ἐὰν αὐτὸ ἁμῇ γέ πῃ ἱκανῶς ἐξηγησώμεθα.

ἄγε, ἔφη.

ἀναμιμνῄσκειν οὖν σε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δεήσει, ἢ μέμνησαι ὅτι ὃν ἂν φῶμεν φιλεῖν τι, δεῖ φανῆναι αὐτόν, ἐὰν ὀρθῶς λέγηται, οὐ τὸ μὲν φιλοῦντα ἐκείνου, τὸ δὲ μή, ἀλλὰ πᾶν στέργοντα; [474d]

ἀναμιμνῄσκειν, ἔφη, ὡς ἔοικεν, δεῖ: οὐ γὰρ πάνυ γε ἐννοῶ.

ἄλλῳ, εἶπον, ἔπρεπεν, ὦ Γλαύκων, λέγειν ἃ λέγεις: ἀνδρὶ δ᾽ ἐρωτικῷ οὐ πρέπει ἀμνημονεῖν ὅτι πάντες οἱ ἐν ὥρᾳ τὸν φιλόπαιδα καὶ ἐρωτικὸν ἁμῇ γέ πῃ δάκνουσί τε καὶ κινοῦσι, δοκοῦντες ἄξιοι εἶναι ἐπιμελείας τε καὶ τοῦ ἀσπάζεσθαι. ἢ οὐχ οὕτω ποιεῖτε πρὸς τοὺς καλούς; ὁ μέν, ὅτι σιμός, ἐπίχαρις κληθεὶς ἐπαινεθήσεται ὑφ᾽ ὑμῶν, τοῦ δὲ τὸ γρυπὸν βασιλικόν φατε εἶναι, τὸν δὲ δὴ διὰ [474e] μέσου τούτων ἐμμετρώτατα ἔχειν, μέλανας δὲ ἀνδρικοὺς ἰδεῖν, λευκοὺς δὲ θεῶν παῖδας εἶναι: μελιχλώρους δὲ καὶ τοὔνομα οἴει τινὸς ἄλλου ποίημα εἶναι ἢ ἐραστοῦ ὑποκοριζομένου τε καὶ εὐχερῶς φέροντος τὴν ὠχρότητα, ἐὰν ἐπὶ ὥρᾳ ᾖ; καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ πάσας προφάσεις προφασίζεσθέ τε [475a] καὶ πάσας φωνὰς ἀφίετε, ὥστε μηδένα ἀποβάλλειν τῶν ἀνθούντων ἐν ὥρᾳ.

εἰ βούλει, ἔφη, ἐπ᾽ ἐμοῦ λέγειν περὶ τῶν ἐρωτικῶν ὅτι οὕτω ποιοῦσι, συγχωρῶ τοῦ λόγου χάριν.

τί δέ; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: τοὺς φιλοίνους οὐ τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ποιοῦντας ὁρᾷς; πάντα οἶνον ἐπὶ πάσης προφάσεως ἀσπαζομένους;

καὶ μάλα.

καὶ μὴν φιλοτίμους γε, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, καθορᾷς ὅτι, ἂν μὴ στρατηγῆσαι δύνωνται, τριττυαρχοῦσιν, κἂν μὴ ὑπὸ μειζόνων [475b] καὶ σεμνοτέρων τιμᾶσθαι, ὑπὸ σμικροτέρων καὶ φαυλοτέρων τιμώμενοι ἀγαπῶσιν, ὡς ὅλως τιμῆς ἐπιθυμηταὶ ὄντες.

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

τοῦτο δὴ φάθι ἢ μή: ἆρα ὃν ἄν τινος ἐπιθυμητικὸν λέγωμεν, παντὸς τοῦ εἴδους τούτου φήσομεν ἐπιθυμεῖν, ἢ τοῦ μέν, τοῦ δὲ οὔ;

παντός, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸν φιλόσοφον σοφίας φήσομεν ἐπιθυμητὴν εἶναι, οὐ τῆς μέν, τῆς δ᾽ οὔ, ἀλλὰ πάσης;

ἀληθῆ.

τὸν ἄρα περὶ τὰ μαθήματα δυσχεραίνοντα, ἄλλως τε [475c] καὶ νέον ὄντα καὶ μήπω λόγον ἔχοντα τί τε χρηστὸν καὶ μή, οὐ φήσομεν φιλομαθῆ οὐδὲ φιλόσοφον εἶναι, ὥσπερ τὸν περὶ τὰ σιτία δυσχερῆ οὔτε πεινῆν φαμεν οὔτ᾽ ἐπιθυμεῖν σιτίων, οὐδὲ φιλόσιτον ἀλλὰ κακόσιτον εἶναι.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γε φήσομεν.

τὸν δὲ δὴ εὐχερῶς ἐθέλοντα παντὸς μαθήματος γεύεσθαι καὶ ἁσμένως ἐπὶ τὸ μανθάνειν ἰόντα καὶ ἀπλήστως ἔχοντα, τοῦτον δ᾽ ἐν δίκῃ φήσομεν φιλόσοφον: ἦ γάρ; [475d]

καὶ ὁ Γλαύκων ἔφη: πολλοὶ ἄρα καὶ ἄτοποι ἔσονταί σοι τοιοῦτοι. οἵ τε γὰρ φιλοθεάμονες πάντες ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσι τῷ καταμανθάνειν χαίροντες τοιοῦτοι εἶναι, οἵ τε φιλήκοοι ἀτοπώτατοί τινές εἰσιν ὥς γ᾽ ἐν φιλοσόφοις τιθέναι, οἳ πρὸς μὲν λόγους καὶ τοιαύτην διατριβὴν ἑκόντες οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοιεν ἐλθεῖν, ὥσπερ δὲ ἀπομεμισθωκότες τὰ ὦτα ἐπακοῦσαι πάντων χορῶν περιθέουσι τοῖς Διονυσίοις οὔτε τῶν κατὰ πόλεις οὔτε τῶν κατὰ κώμας ἀπολειπόμενοι. τούτους οὖν πάντας καὶ ἄλλους τοιούτων τινῶν [475e] μαθητικοὺς καὶ τοὺς τῶν τεχνυδρίων φιλοσόφους φήσομεν;

οὐδαμῶς, εἶπον, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμοίους μὲν φιλοσόφοις.

τοὺς δὲ ἀληθινούς, ἔφη, τίνας λέγεις;

τοὺς τῆς ἀληθείας, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, φιλοθεάμονας.

καὶ τοῦτο μέν γ᾽, ἔφη, ὀρθῶς: ἀλλὰ πῶς αὐτὸ λέγεις;

οὐδαμῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ῥᾳδίως πρός γε ἄλλον: σὲ δὲ οἶμαι ὁμολογήσειν μοι τὸ τοιόνδε.

τὸ ποῖον;

ἐπειδή ἐστιν ἐναντίον καλὸν αἰσχρῷ, δύο αὐτὼ εἶναι. [476a]

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ δύο, καὶ ἓν ἑκάτερον;

καὶ τοῦτο.

καὶ περὶ δὴ δικαίου καὶ ἀδίκου καὶ ἀγαθοῦ καὶ κακοῦ καὶ πάντων τῶν εἰδῶν πέρι ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, αὐτὸ μὲν ἓν ἕκαστον εἶναι, τῇ δὲ τῶν πράξεων καὶ σωμάτων καὶ ἀλλήλων κοινωνίᾳ πανταχοῦ φανταζόμενα πολλὰ φαίνεσθαι ἕκαστον.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ταύτῃ τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, διαιρῶ, χωρὶς μὲν οὓς νυνδὴ ἔλεγες φιλοθεάμονάς τε καὶ φιλοτέχνους καὶ πρακτικούς, [476b] καὶ χωρὶς αὖ περὶ ὧν ὁ λόγος, οὓς μόνους ἄν τις ὀρθῶς προσείποι φιλοσόφους.

πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις;

οἱ μέν που, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, φιλήκοοι καὶ φιλοθεάμονες τάς τε καλὰς φωνὰς ἀσπάζονται καὶ χρόας καὶ σχήματα καὶ πάντα τὰ ἐκ τῶν τοιούτων δημιουργούμενα, αὐτοῦ δὲ τοῦ καλοῦ ἀδύνατος αὐτῶν ἡ διάνοια τὴν φύσιν ἰδεῖν τε καὶ ἀσπάσασθαι.

ἔχει γὰρ οὖν δή, ἔφη, οὕτως.

οἱ δὲ δὴ ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ καλὸν δυνατοὶ ἰέναι τε καὶ ὁρᾶν καθ᾽ αὑτὸ ἆρα οὐ σπάνιοι ἂν εἶεν; [476c]

καὶ μάλα.

ὁ οὖν καλὰ μὲν πράγματα νομίζων, αὐτὸ δὲ κάλλος μήτε νομίζων μήτε, ἄν τις ἡγῆται ἐπὶ τὴν γνῶσιν αὐτοῦ, δυνάμενος ἕπεσθαι, ὄναρ ἢ ὕπαρ δοκεῖ σοι ζῆν; σκόπει δέ. τὸ ὀνειρώττειν ἆρα οὐ τόδε ἐστίν, ἐάντε ἐν ὕπνῳ τις ἐάντ᾽ ἐγρηγορὼς τὸ ὅμοιόν τῳ μὴ ὅμοιον ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ ἡγῆται εἶναι ᾧ ἔοικεν;

ἐγὼ γοῦν ἄν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, φαίην ὀνειρώττειν τὸν τοιοῦτον.

τί δέ; ὁ τἀναντία τούτων ἡγούμενός τέ τι αὐτὸ καλὸν [476d] καὶ δυνάμενος καθορᾶν καὶ αὐτὸ καὶ τὰ ἐκείνου μετέχοντα, καὶ οὔτε τὰ μετέχοντα αὐτὸ οὔτε αὐτὸ τὰ μετέχοντα ἡγούμενος, ὕπαρ ἢ ὄναρ αὖ καὶ οὗτος δοκεῖ σοι ζῆν;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, ὕπαρ.

οὐκοῦν τούτου μὲν τὴν διάνοιαν ὡς γιγνώσκοντος γνώμην ἂν ὀρθῶς φαῖμεν εἶναι, τοῦ δὲ δόξαν ὡς δοξάζοντος;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

τί οὖν ἐὰν ἡμῖν χαλεπαίνῃ οὗτος, ὅν φαμεν δοξάζειν ἀλλ᾽ οὐ γιγνώσκειν, καὶ ἀμφισβητῇ ὡς οὐκ ἀληθῆ λέγομεν; [476e] ἕξομέν τι παραμυθεῖσθαι αὐτὸν καὶ πείθειν ἠρέμα, ἐπικρυπτόμενοι ὅτι οὐχ ὑγιαίνει;

δεῖ γέ τοι δή, ἔφη.

ἴθι δή, σκόπει τί ἐροῦμεν πρὸς αὐτόν. ἢ βούλει ὧδε πυνθανώμεθα παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ, λέγοντες ὡς εἴ τι οἶδεν οὐδεὶς αὐτῷ φθόνος, ἀλλ᾽ ἅσμενοι ἂν ἴδοιμεν εἰδότα τι. ἀλλ᾽ ἡμῖν εἰπὲ τόδε: ὁ γιγνώσκων γιγνώσκει τὶ ἢ οὐδέν; σὺ οὖν μοι ὑπὲρ ἐκείνου ἀποκρίνου.

ἀποκρινοῦμαι, ἔφη, ὅτι γιγνώσκει τί.

πότερον ὂν ἢ οὐκ ὄν; [477a]

ὄν: πῶς γὰρ ἂν μὴ ὄν γέ τι γνωσθείη;

ἱκανῶς οὖν τοῦτο ἔχομεν, κἂν εἰ πλεοναχῇ σκοποῖμεν, ὅτι τὸ μὲν παντελῶς ὂν παντελῶς γνωστόν, μὴ ὂν δὲ μηδαμῇ πάντῃ ἄγνωστον;

ἱκανώτατα.

εἶεν: εἰ δὲ δή τι οὕτως ἔχει ὡς εἶναί τε καὶ μὴ εἶναι, οὐ μεταξὺ ἂν κέοιτο τοῦ εἰλικρινῶς ὄντος καὶ τοῦ αὖ μηδαμῇ ὄντος;

μεταξύ.

οὐκοῦν ἐπὶ μὲν τῷ ὄντι γνῶσις ἦν, ἀγνωσία δ᾽ ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἐπὶ μὴ ὄντι, ἐπὶ δὲ τῷ μεταξὺ τούτῳ μεταξύ τι καὶ ζητητέον [477b] ἀγνοίας τε καὶ ἐπιστήμης, εἴ τι τυγχάνει ὂν τοιοῦτον;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν λέγομέν τι δόξαν εἶναι;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

πότερον ἄλλην δύναμιν ἐπιστήμης ἢ τὴν αὐτήν;

ἄλλην.

ἐπ᾽ ἄλλῳ ἄρα τέτακται δόξα καὶ ἐπ᾽ ἄλλῳ ἐπιστήμη, κατὰ τὴν δύναμιν ἑκατέρα τὴν αὑτῆς.

οὕτω.

οὐκοῦν ἐπιστήμη μὲν ἐπὶ τῷ ὄντι πέφυκε, γνῶναι ὡς ἔστι τὸ ὄν; -μᾶλλον δὲ ὧδέ μοι δοκεῖ πρότερον ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι διελέσθαι.

πῶς; [477c]

φήσομεν δυνάμεις εἶναι γένος τι τῶν ὄντων, αἷς δὴ καὶ ἡμεῖς δυνάμεθα ἃ δυνάμεθα καὶ ἄλλο πᾶν ὅτι περ ἂν δύνηται, οἷον λέγω ὄψιν καὶ ἀκοὴν τῶν δυνάμεων εἶναι, εἰ ἄρα μανθάνεις ὃ βούλομαι λέγειν τὸ εἶδος.

ἀλλὰ μανθάνω, ἔφη.

ἄκουσον δὴ ὅ μοι φαίνεται περὶ αὐτῶν. δυνάμεως γὰρ ἐγὼ οὔτε τινὰ χρόαν ὁρῶ οὔτε σχῆμα οὔτε τι τῶν τοιούτων οἷον καὶ ἄλλων πολλῶν, πρὸς ἃ ἀποβλέπων ἔνια διορίζομαι παρ᾽ ἐμαυτῷ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα εἶναι, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα: δυνάμεως [477d] δ᾽ εἰς ἐκεῖνο μόνον βλέπω ἐφ᾽ ᾧ τε ἔστι καὶ ὃ ἀπεργάζεται, καὶ ταύτῃ ἑκάστην αὐτῶν δύναμιν ἐκάλεσα, καὶ τὴν μὲν ἐπὶ τῷ αὐτῷ τεταγμένην καὶ τὸ αὐτὸ ἀπεργαζομένην τὴν αὐτὴν καλῶ, τὴν δὲ ἐπὶ ἑτέρῳ καὶ ἕτερον ἀπεργαζομένην ἄλλην. τί δὲ σύ; πῶς ποιεῖς;

οὕτως, ἔφη.

δεῦρο δὴ πάλιν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ ἄριστε. ἐπιστήμην πότερον δύναμίν τινα φῂς εἶναι αὐτήν, ἢ εἰς τί γένος τιθεῖς;

εἰς τοῦτο, ἔφη, πασῶν γε δυνάμεων ἐρρωμενεστάτην. [477e]

τί δέ, δόξαν εἰς δύναμιν ἢ εἰς ἄλλο εἶδος οἴσομεν;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη: ᾧ γὰρ δοξάζειν δυνάμεθα, οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ δόξα ἐστίν.

ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ ὀλίγον γε πρότερον ὡμολόγεις μὴ τὸ αὐτὸ εἶναι ἐπιστήμην τε καὶ δόξαν.

πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ἔφη, τό γε ἀναμάρτητον τῷ μὴ ἀναμαρτήτῳ ταὐτόν τις νοῦν ἔχων τιθείη;

καλῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ δῆλον ὅτι ἕτερον ἐπιστήμης δόξα [478a] ὁμολογεῖται ἡμῖν.

ἕτερον.

ἐφ᾽ ἑτέρῳ ἄρα ἕτερόν τι δυναμένη ἑκατέρα αὐτῶν πέφυκεν;

ἀνάγκη.

ἐπιστήμη μέν γέ που ἐπὶ τῷ ὄντι, τὸ ὂν γνῶναι ὡς ἔχει;

ναί.

δόξα δέ, φαμέν, δοξάζειν;

ναί.

ἦ ταὐτὸν ὅπερ ἐπιστήμη γιγνώσκει; καὶ ἔσται γνωστόν τε καὶ δοξαστὸν τὸ αὐτό; ἢ ἀδύνατον;

ἀδύνατον, ἔφη, ἐκ τῶν ὡμολογημένων: εἴπερ ἐπ᾽ ἄλλῳ ἄλλη δύναμις πέφυκεν, δυνάμεις δὲ ἀμφότεραί ἐστον, δόξα τε [478b] καὶ ἐπιστήμη, ἄλλη δὲ ἑκατέρα, ὥς φαμεν, ἐκ τούτων δὴ οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖ γνωστὸν καὶ δοξαστὸν ταὐτὸν εἶναι.

οὐκοῦν εἰ τὸ ὂν γνωστόν, ἄλλο τι ἂν δοξαστὸν ἢ τὸ ὂν εἴη;

ἄλλο.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸ μὴ ὂν δοξάζει; ἢ ἀδύνατον καὶ δοξάσαι τό γε μὴ ὄν; ἐννόει δέ. οὐχ ὁ δοξάζων ἐπὶ τὶ φέρει τὴν δόξαν; ἢ οἷόν τε αὖ δοξάζειν μέν, δοξάζειν δὲ μηδέν;

ἀδύνατον.

ἀλλ᾽ ἕν γέ τι δοξάζει ὁ δοξάζων;

ναί.

ἀλλὰ μὴν μὴ ὄν γε οὐχ ἕν τι ἀλλὰ μηδὲν ὀρθότατ᾽ ἂν [478c] προσαγορεύοιτο;

πάνυ γε.

μὴ ὄντι μὴν ἄγνοιαν ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἀπέδομεν, ὄντι δὲ γνῶσιν;

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

οὐκ ἄρα ὂν οὐδὲ μὴ ὂν δοξάζει;

οὐ γάρ.

οὔτε ἄρα ἄγνοια οὔτε γνῶσις δόξα ἂν εἴη;

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

ἄρ᾽ οὖν ἐκτὸς τούτων ἐστίν, ὑπερβαίνουσα ἢ γνῶσιν σαφηνείᾳ ἢ ἄγνοιαν ἀσαφείᾳ;

οὐδέτερα.

ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, γνώσεως μέν σοι φαίνεται δόξα σκοτωδέστερον, ἀγνοίας δὲ φανότερον;

καὶ πολύ γε, ἔφη. [478d]

ἐντὸς δ᾽ ἀμφοῖν κεῖται;

ναί.

μεταξὺ ἄρα ἂν εἴη τούτοιν δόξα.

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν ἔφαμεν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν, εἴ τι φανείη οἷον ἅμα ὄν τε καὶ μὴ ὄν, τὸ τοιοῦτον μεταξὺ κεῖσθαι τοῦ εἰλικρινῶς ὄντος τε καὶ τοῦ πάντως μὴ ὄντος, καὶ οὔτε ἐπιστήμην οὔτε ἄγνοιαν ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ ἔσεσθαι, ἀλλὰ τὸ μεταξὺ αὖ φανὲν ἀγνοίας καὶ ἐπιστήμης;

ὀρθῶς.

νῦν δέ γε πέφανται μεταξὺ τούτοιν ὃ δὴ καλοῦμεν δόξαν;

πέφανται. [478e]

ἐκεῖνο δὴ λείποιτ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν εὑρεῖν, ὡς ἔοικε, τὸ ἀμφοτέρων μετέχον, τοῦ εἶναί τε καὶ μὴ εἶναι, καὶ οὐδέτερον εἰλικρινὲς ὀρθῶς ἂν προσαγορευόμενον, ἵνα, ἐὰν φανῇ, δοξαστὸν αὐτὸ εἶναι ἐν δίκῃ προσαγορεύωμεν, τοῖς μὲν ἄκροις τὰ ἄκρα, τοῖς δὲ μεταξὺ τὰ μεταξὺ ἀποδιδόντες. ἢ οὐχ οὕτως;

οὕτω.

τούτων δὴ ὑποκειμένων λεγέτω μοι, φήσω, καὶ ἀποκρινέσθω [479a] ὁ χρηστὸς ὃς αὐτὸ μὲν καλὸν καὶ ἰδέαν τινὰ αὐτοῦ κάλλους μηδεμίαν ἡγεῖται ἀεὶ μὲν κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως ἔχουσαν, πολλὰ δὲ τὰ καλὰ νομίζει, ἐκεῖνος ὁ φιλοθεάμων καὶ οὐδαμῇ ἀνεχόμενος ἄν τις ἓν τὸ καλὸν φῇ εἶναι καὶ δίκαιον καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω. “τούτων γὰρ δή, ὦ ἄριστε, φήσομεν, τῶν πολλῶν καλῶν μῶν τι ἔστιν ὃ οὐκ αἰσχρὸν φανήσεται; καὶ τῶν δικαίων, ὃ οὐκ ἄδικον; καὶ τῶν ὁσίων, ὃ οὐκ ἀνόσιον;” [479b]

οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, καὶ καλά πως αὐτὰ καὶ αἰσχρὰ φανῆναι, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα ἐρωτᾷς.

τί δὲ τὰ πολλὰ διπλάσια; ἧττόν τι ἡμίσεα ἢ διπλάσια φαίνεται;

οὐδέν.

καὶ μεγάλα δὴ καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ κοῦφα καὶ βαρέα μή τι μᾶλλον ἃ ἂν φήσωμεν, ταῦτα προσρηθήσεται ἢ τἀναντία;

οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεί, ἔφη, ἕκαστον ἀμφοτέρων ἕξεται.

πότερον οὖν ἔστι μᾶλλον ἢ οὐκ ἔστιν ἕκαστον τῶν πολλῶν τοῦτο ὃ ἄν τις φῇ αὐτὸ εἶναι;

τοῖς ἐν ταῖς ἑστιάσεσιν, ἔφη, ἐπαμφοτερίζουσιν ἔοικεν, [479c] καὶ τῷ τῶν παίδων αἰνίγματι τῷ περὶ τοῦ εὐνούχου, τῆς βολῆς πέρι τῆς νυκτερίδος, ᾧ καὶ ἐφ᾽ οὗ αὐτὸν αὐτὴν αἰνίττονται βαλεῖν: καὶ γὰρ ταῦτα ἐπαμφοτερίζειν, καὶ οὔτ᾽ εἶναι οὔτε μὴ εἶναι οὐδὲν αὐτῶν δυνατὸν παγίως νοῆσαι, οὔτε ἀμφότερα οὔτε οὐδέτερον.

ἔχεις οὖν αὐτοῖς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι χρήσῃ, ἢ ὅποι θήσεις καλλίω θέσιν τῆς μεταξὺ οὐσίας τε καὶ τοῦ μὴ εἶναι; οὔτε γάρ που σκοτωδέστερα μὴ ὄντος πρὸς τὸ μᾶλλον μὴ εἶναι [479d] φανήσεται, οὔτε φανότερα ὄντος πρὸς τὸ μᾶλλον εἶναι.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη.

ηὑρήκαμεν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅτι τὰ τῶν πολλῶν πολλὰ νόμιμα καλοῦ τε πέρι καὶ τῶν ἄλλων μεταξύ που κυλινδεῖται τοῦ τε μὴ ὄντος καὶ τοῦ ὄντος εἰλικρινῶς.

ηὑρήκαμεν.

προωμολογήσαμεν δέ γε, εἴ τι τοιοῦτον φανείη, δοξαστὸν αὐτὸ ἀλλ᾽ οὐ γνωστὸν δεῖν λέγεσθαι, τῇ μεταξὺ δυνάμει τὸ μεταξὺ πλανητὸν ἁλισκόμενον.

ὡμολογήκαμεν. [479e]

τοὺς ἄρα πολλὰ καλὰ θεωμένους, αὐτὸ δὲ τὸ καλὸν μὴ ὁρῶντας μηδ᾽ ἄλλῳ ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ ἄγοντι δυναμένους ἕπεσθαι, καὶ πολλὰ δίκαια, αὐτὸ δὲ τὸ δίκαιον μή, καὶ πάντα οὕτω, δοξάζειν φήσομεν ἅπαντα, γιγνώσκειν δὲ ὧν δοξάζουσιν οὐδέν.

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

τί δὲ αὖ τοὺς αὐτὰ ἕκαστα θεωμένους καὶ ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως ὄντα; ἆρ᾽ οὐ γιγνώσκειν ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δοξάζειν;

ἀνάγκη καὶ ταῦτα.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀσπάζεσθαί τε καὶ φιλεῖν τούτους μὲν ταῦτα [480a] φήσομεν ἐφ᾽ οἷς γνῶσίς ἐστιν, ἐκείνους δὲ ἐφ᾽ οἷς δόξα; ἢ οὐ μνημονεύομεν ὅτι φωνάς τε καὶ χρόας καλὰς καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτ᾽ ἔφαμεν τούτους φιλεῖν τε καὶ θεᾶσθαι, αὐτὸ δὲ τὸ καλὸν οὐδ᾽ ἀνέχεσθαι ὥς τι ὄν;

μεμνήμεθα.

μὴ οὖν τι πλημμελήσομεν φιλοδόξους καλοῦντες αὐτοὺς μᾶλλον ἢ φιλοσόφους; καὶ ἆρα ἡμῖν σφόδρα χαλεπανοῦσιν ἂν οὕτω λέγωμεν;

οὔκ, ἄν γέ μοι πείθωνται, ἔφη: τῷ γὰρ ἀληθεῖ χαλεπαίνειν οὐ θέμις.

τοὺς αὐτὸ ἄρα ἕκαστον τὸ ὂν ἀσπαζομένους φιλοσόφους ἀλλ᾽ οὐ φιλοδόξους κλητέον;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Πολιτεία ΣΤ

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

[484a] οἱ μὲν δὴ φιλόσοφοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, καὶ οἱ μὴ διὰ μακροῦ τινος διεξελθόντες λόγου μόγις πως ἀνεφάνησαν οἵ εἰσιν ἑκάτεροι.

ἴσως γάρ, ἔφη, διὰ βραχέος οὐ ῥᾴδιον.

οὐ φαίνεται, εἶπον: ἐμοὶ γοῦν ἔτι δοκεῖ ἂν βελτιόνως φανῆναι εἰ περὶ τούτου μόνου ἔδει ῥηθῆναι, καὶ μὴ πολλὰ τὰ λοιπὰ διελθεῖν μέλλοντι κατόψεσθαι τί διαφέρει βίος [484b] δίκαιος ἀδίκου.

τί οὖν, ἔφη, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἡμῖν;

τί δ᾽ ἄλλο, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἢ τὸ ἑξῆς; ἐπειδὴ φιλόσοφοι μὲν οἱ τοῦ ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως ἔχοντος δυνάμενοι ἐφάπτεσθαι, οἱ δὲ μὴ ἀλλ᾽ ἐν πολλοῖς καὶ παντοίως ἴσχουσιν πλανώμενοι οὐ φιλόσοφοι, ποτέρους δὴ δεῖ πόλεως ἡγεμόνας εἶναι;

πῶς οὖν λέγοντες ἂν αὐτό, ἔφη, μετρίως λέγοιμεν;

ὁπότεροι ἄν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δυνατοὶ φαίνωνται φυλάξαι νόμους τε καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα πόλεων, τούτους καθιστάναι [484c] φύλακας.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

τόδε δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἆρα δῆλον, εἴτε τυφλὸν εἴτε ὀξὺ ὁρῶντα χρὴ φύλακα τηρεῖν ὁτιοῦν;

καὶ πῶς, ἔφη, οὐ δῆλον;

ἦ οὖν δοκοῦσί τι τυφλῶν διαφέρειν οἱ τῷ ὄντι τοῦ ὄντος ἑκάστου ἐστερημένοι τῆς γνώσεως, καὶ μηδὲν ἐναργὲς ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἔχοντες παράδειγμα, μηδὲ δυνάμενοι ὥσπερ γραφῆς εἰς τὸ ἀληθέστατον ἀποβλέποντες κἀκεῖσε ἀεὶ ἀναφέροντές τε [484d] καὶ θεώμενοι ὡς οἷόν τε ἀκριβέστατα, οὕτω δὴ καὶ τὰ ἐνθάδε νόμιμα καλῶν τε πέρι καὶ δικαίων καὶ ἀγαθῶν τίθεσθαί τε, ἐὰν δέῃ τίθεσθαι, καὶ τὰ κείμενα φυλάττοντες σῴζειν;

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐ πολύ τι διαφέρει.

τούτους οὖν μᾶλλον φύλακας στησόμεθα ἢ τοὺς ἐγνωκότας μὲν ἕκαστον τὸ ὄν, ἐμπειρίᾳ δὲ μηδὲν ἐκείνων ἐλλείποντας μηδ᾽ ἐν ἄλλῳ μηδενὶ μέρει ἀρετῆς ὑστεροῦντας;

ἄτοπον μεντἄν, ἔφη, εἴη ἄλλους αἱρεῖσθαι, εἴ γε τἆλλα μὴ ἐλλείποιντο: τούτῳ γὰρ αὐτῷ σχεδόν τι τῷ μεγίστῳ ἂν προέχοιεν. [485a]

οὐκοῦν τοῦτο δὴ λέγωμεν, τίνα τρόπον οἷοί τ᾽ ἔσονται οἱ αὐτοὶ κἀκεῖνα καὶ ταῦτα ἔχειν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ὃ τοίνυν ἀρχόμενοι τούτου τοῦ λόγου ἐλέγομεν, τὴν φύσιν αὐτῶν πρῶτον δεῖ καταμαθεῖν: καὶ οἶμαι, ἐὰν ἐκείνην ἱκανῶς ὁμολογήσωμεν, ὁμολογήσειν καὶ ὅτι οἷοί τε ταῦτα ἔχειν οἱ αὐτοί, ὅτι τε οὐκ ἄλλους πόλεων ἡγεμόνας δεῖ εἶναι ἢ τούτους.

πῶς;

τοῦτο μὲν δὴ τῶν φιλοσόφων φύσεων πέρι ὡμολογήσθω [485b] ἡμῖν ὅτι μαθήματός γε ἀεὶ ἐρῶσιν ὃ ἂν αὐτοῖς δηλοῖ ἐκείνης τῆς οὐσίας τῆς ἀεὶ οὔσης καὶ μὴ πλανωμένης ὑπὸ γενέσεως καὶ φθορᾶς.

ὡμολογήσθω.

καὶ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ὅτι πάσης αὐτῆς, καὶ οὔτε σμικροῦ οὔτε μείζονος οὔτε τιμιωτέρου οὔτε ἀτιμοτέρου μέρους ἑκόντες ἀφίενται, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν περί τε τῶν φιλοτίμων καὶ ἐρωτικῶν διήλθομεν.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

τόδε τοίνυν μετὰ τοῦτο σκόπει εἰ ἀνάγκη ἔχειν πρὸς [485c] τούτῳ ἐν τῇ φύσει οἳ ἂν μέλλωσιν ἔσεσθαι οἵους ἐλέγομεν.

τὸ ποῖον;

τὴν ἀψεύδειαν καὶ τὸ ἑκόντας εἶναι μηδαμῇ προσδέχεσθαι τὸ ψεῦδος ἀλλὰ μισεῖν, τὴν δ᾽ ἀλήθειαν στέργειν.

εἰκός γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐ μόνον γε, ὦ φίλε, εἰκός, ἀλλὰ καὶ πᾶσα ἀνάγκη τὸν ἐρωτικῶς του φύσει ἔχοντα πᾶν τὸ συγγενές τε καὶ οἰκεῖον τῶν παιδικῶν ἀγαπᾶν.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

ἦ οὖν οἰκειότερον σοφίᾳ τι ἀληθείας ἂν εὕροις;

καὶ πῶς; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἦ οὖν δυνατὸν εἶναι τὴν αὐτὴν φύσιν φιλόσοφόν τε καὶ [485d] φιλοψευδῆ;

οὐδαμῶς γε.

τὸν ἄρα τῷ ὄντι φιλομαθῆ πάσης ἀληθείας δεῖ εὐθὺς ἐκ νέου ὅτι μάλιστα ὀρέγεσθαι.

παντελῶς γε.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ὅτῳ γε εἰς ἕν τι αἱ ἐπιθυμίαι σφόδρα ῥέπουσιν, ἴσμεν που ὅτι εἰς τἆλλα τούτῳ ἀσθενέστεραι, ὥσπερ ῥεῦμα ἐκεῖσε ἀπωχετευμένον.

τί μήν;

ὧι δὴ πρὸς τὰ μαθήματα καὶ πᾶν τὸ τοιοῦτον ἐρρυήκασιν, περὶ τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς οἶμαι ἡδονὴν αὐτῆς καθ᾽ αὑτὴν εἶεν ἄν, τὰς δὲ διὰ τοῦ σώματος ἐκλείποιεν, εἰ μὴ πεπλασμένως ἀλλ᾽ [485e] ἀληθῶς φιλόσοφός τις εἴη.

μεγάλη ἀνάγκη.

σώφρων μὴν ὅ γε τοιοῦτος καὶ οὐδαμῇ φιλοχρήματος: ὧν γὰρ ἕνεκα χρήματα μετὰ πολλῆς δαπάνης σπουδάζεται, ἄλλῳ τινὶ μᾶλλον ἢ τούτῳ προσήκει σπουδάζειν.

οὕτω. [486a]

καὶ μήν που καὶ τόδε δεῖ σκοπεῖν, ὅταν κρίνειν μέλλῃς φύσιν φιλόσοφόν τε καὶ μή.

τὸ ποῖον;

μή σε λάθῃ μετέχουσα ἀνελευθερίας: ἐναντιώτατον γάρ που σμικρολογία ψυχῇ μελλούσῃ τοῦ ὅλου καὶ παντὸς ἀεὶ ἐπορέξεσθαι θείου τε καὶ ἀνθρωπίνου.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη.

ἧι οὖν ὑπάρχει διανοίᾳ μεγαλοπρέπεια καὶ θεωρία παντὸς μὲν χρόνου, πάσης δὲ οὐσίας, οἷόν τε οἴει τούτῳ μέγα τι δοκεῖν εἶναι τὸν ἀνθρώπινον βίον;

ἀδύνατον, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [486b]

οὐκοῦν καὶ θάνατον οὐ δεινόν τι ἡγήσεται ὁ τοιοῦτος;

ἥκιστά γε.

δειλῇ δὴ καὶ ἀνελευθέρῳ φύσει φιλοσοφίας ἀληθινῆς, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐκ ἂν μετείη.

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

τί οὖν; ὁ κόσμιος καὶ μὴ φιλοχρήματος μηδ᾽ ἀνελεύθερος μηδ᾽ ἀλαζὼν μηδὲ δειλὸς ἔσθ᾽ ὅπῃ ἂν δυσσύμβολος ἢ ἄδικος γένοιτο;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

καὶ τοῦτο δὴ ψυχὴν σκοπῶν φιλόσοφον καὶ μὴ εὐθὺς νέου ὄντος ἐπισκέψῃ, εἰ ἄρα δικαία τε καὶ ἥμερος ἢ δυσκοινώνητος καὶ ἀγρία.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [486c]

οὐ μὴν οὐδὲ τόδε παραλείψεις, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι.

τὸ ποῖον;

εὐμαθὴς ἢ δυσμαθής. ἢ προσδοκᾷς ποτέ τινά τι ἱκανῶς ἂν στέρξαι, ὃ πράττων ἂν ἀλγῶν τε πράττοι καὶ μόγις σμικρὸν ἀνύτων;

οὐκ ἂν γένοιτο.

τί δ᾽ εἰ μηδὲν ὧν μάθοι σῴζειν δύναιτο, λήθης ὢν πλέως; ἆρ᾽ ἂν οἷός τ᾽ εἴη ἐπιστήμης μὴ κενὸς εἶναι;

καὶ πῶς;

ἀνόνητα δὴ πονῶν οὐκ οἴει ἀναγκασθήσεται τελευτῶν αὑτόν τε μισεῖν καὶ τὴν τοιαύτην πρᾶξιν;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [486d]

ἐπιλήσμονα ἄρα ψυχὴν ἐν ταῖς ἱκανῶς φιλοσόφοις μή ποτε ἐγκρίνωμεν, ἀλλὰ μνημονικὴν αὐτὴν ζητῶμεν δεῖν εἶναι.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μὴν τό γε τῆς ἀμούσου τε καὶ ἀσχήμονος φύσεως ἄλλοσέ ποι ἂν φαῖμεν ἕλκειν ἢ εἰς ἀμετρίαν.

τί μήν;

ἀλήθειαν δ᾽ ἀμετρίᾳ ἡγῇ συγγενῆ εἶναι ἢ ἐμμετρίᾳ;

ἐμμετρίᾳ.

ἔμμετρον ἄρα καὶ εὔχαριν ζητῶμεν πρὸς τοῖς ἄλλοις διάνοιαν φύσει, ἣν ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ ὄντος ἰδέαν ἑκάστου τὸ αὐτοφυὲς εὐάγωγον παρέξει.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [486e]

τί οὖν; μή πῃ δοκοῦμέν σοι οὐκ ἀναγκαῖα ἕκαστα διεληλυθέναι καὶ ἑπόμενα ἀλλήλοις τῇ μελλούσῃ τοῦ ὄντος ἱκανῶς τε καὶ τελέως ψυχῇ μεταλήψεσθαι; [487a]

ἀναγκαιότατα μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἔστιν οὖν ὅπῃ μέμψῃ τοιοῦτον ἐπιτήδευμα, ὃ μή ποτ᾽ ἄν τις οἷός τε γένοιτο ἱκανῶς ἐπιτηδεῦσαι, εἰ μὴ φύσει εἴη μνήμων, εὐμαθής, μεγαλοπρεπής, εὔχαρις, φίλος τε καὶ συγγενὴς ἀληθείας, δικαιοσύνης, ἀνδρείας, σωφροσύνης;

οὐδ᾽ ἂν ὁ Μῶμος, ἔφη, τό γε τοιοῦτον μέμψαιτο.

ἀλλ᾽, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τελειωθεῖσι τοῖς τοιούτοις παιδείᾳ τε καὶ ἡλικίᾳ ἆρα οὐ μόνοις ἂν τὴν πόλιν ἐπιτρέποις; [487b]

Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

καὶ ὁ Ἀδείμαντος, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, πρὸς μὲν ταῦτά σοι οὐδεὶς ἂν οἷός τ᾽ εἴη ἀντειπεῖν. ἀλλὰ γὰρ τοιόνδε τι πάσχουσιν οἱ ἀκούοντες ἑκάστοτε ἃ νῦν λέγεις: ἡγοῦνται δι᾽ ἀπειρίαν τοῦ ἐρωτᾶν καὶ ἀποκρίνεσθαι ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου παρ᾽ ἕκαστον τὸ ἐρώτημα σμικρὸν παραγόμενοι, ἁθροισθέντων τῶν σμικρῶν ἐπὶ τελευτῆς τῶν λόγων μέγα τὸ σφάλμα καὶ ἐναντίον τοῖς πρώτοις ἀναφαίνεσθαι, καὶ ὥσπερ ὑπὸ τῶν πεττεύειν δεινῶν οἱ μὴ τελευτῶντες ἀποκλείονται καὶ οὐκ ἔχουσιν ὅτι [487c] φέρωσιν, οὕτω καὶ σφεῖς τελευτῶντες ἀποκλείεσθαι καὶ οὐκ ἔχειν ὅτι λέγωσιν ὑπὸ πεττείας αὖ ταύτης τινὸς ἑτέρας, οὐκ ἐν ψήφοις ἀλλ᾽ ἐν λόγοις: ἐπεὶ τό γε ἀληθὲς οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ταύτῃ ἔχειν. λέγω δ᾽ εἰς τὸ παρὸν ἀποβλέψας. νῦν γὰρ φαίη ἄν τίς σοι λόγῳ μὲν οὐκ ἔχειν καθ᾽ ἕκαστον τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ἐναντιοῦσθαι, ἔργῳ δὲ ὁρᾶν, ὅσοι ἂν ἐπὶ φιλοσοφίαν ὁρμήσαντες μὴ τοῦ πεπαιδεῦσθαι ἕνεκα ἁψάμενοι νέοι ὄντες [487d] ἀπαλλάττωνται, ἀλλὰ μακρότερον ἐνδιατρίψωσιν, τοὺς μὲν πλείστους καὶ πάνυ ἀλλοκότους γιγνομένους, ἵνα μὴ παμπονήρους εἴπωμεν, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐπιεικεστάτους δοκοῦντας ὅμως τοῦτό γε ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος οὗ σὺ ἐπαινεῖς πάσχοντας, ἀχρήστους ταῖς πόλεσι γιγνομένους.

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀκούσας, οἴει οὖν, εἶπον, τοὺς ταῦτα λέγοντας ψεύδεσθαι;

οὐκ οἶδα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἀλλὰ τὸ σοὶ δοκοῦν ἡδέως ἂν ἀκούοιμι.

ἀκούοις ἂν ὅτι ἔμοιγε φαίνονται τἀληθῆ λέγειν. [487e]

πῶς οὖν, ἔφη, εὖ ἔχει λέγειν ὅτι οὐ πρότερον κακῶν παύσονται αἱ πόλεις, πρὶν ἂν ἐν αὐταῖς οἱ φιλόσοφοι ἄρξωσιν, οὓς ἀχρήστους ὁμολογοῦμεν αὐταῖς εἶναι;

ἐρωτᾷς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐρώτημα δεόμενον ἀποκρίσεως δι᾽ εἰκόνος λεγομένης.

σὺ δέ γε, ἔφη, οἶμαι οὐκ εἴωθας δι᾽ εἰκόνων λέγειν.

εἶεν, εἶπον: σκώπτεις ἐμβεβληκώς με εἰς λόγον οὕτω [488a] δυσαπόδεικτον; ἄκουε δ᾽ οὖν τῆς εἰκόνος, ἵν᾽ ἔτι μᾶλλον ἴδῃς ὡς γλίσχρως εἰκάζω. οὕτω γὰρ χαλεπὸν τὸ πάθος τῶν ἐπιεικεστάτων, ὃ πρὸς τὰς πόλεις πεπόνθασιν, ὥστε οὐδ᾽ ἔστιν ἓν οὐδὲν ἄλλο τοιοῦτον πεπονθός, ἀλλὰ δεῖ ἐκ πολλῶν αὐτὸ συναγαγεῖν εἰκάζοντα καὶ ἀπολογούμενον ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν, οἷον οἱ γραφῆς τραγελάφους καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα μειγνύντες γράφουσιν. νόησον γὰρ τοιουτονὶ γενόμενον εἴτε πολλῶν νεῶν πέρι εἴτε μιᾶς: ναύκληρον μεγέθει μὲν καὶ [488b] ῥώμῃ ὑπὲρ τοὺς ἐν τῇ νηὶ πάντας, ὑπόκωφον δὲ καὶ ὁρῶντα ὡσαύτως βραχύ τι καὶ γιγνώσκοντα περὶ ναυτικῶν ἕτερα τοιαῦτα, τοὺς δὲ ναύτας στασιάζοντας πρὸς ἀλλήλους περὶ τῆς κυβερνήσεως, ἕκαστον οἰόμενον δεῖν κυβερνᾶν, μήτε μαθόντα πώποτε τὴν τέχνην μέτε ἔχοντα ἀποδεῖξαι διδάσκαλον ἑαυτοῦ μηδὲ χρόνον ἐν ᾧ ἐμάνθανεν, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις φάσκοντας μηδὲ διδακτὸν εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸν λέγοντα ὡς διδακτὸν ἑτοίμους κατατέμνειν, αὐτοὺς δὲ αὐτῷ ἀεὶ τῷ [488c] ναυκλήρῳ περικεχύσθαι δεομένους καὶ πάντα ποιοῦντας ὅπως ἂν σφίσι τὸ πηδάλιον ἐπιτρέψῃ, ἐνίοτε δ᾽ ἂν μὴ πείθωσιν ἀλλὰ ἄλλοι μᾶλλον, τοὺς μὲν ἄλλους ἢ ἀποκτεινύντας ἢ ἐκβάλλοντας ἐκ τῆς νεώς, τὸν δὲ γενναῖον ναύκληρον μανδραγόρᾳ ἢ μέθῃ ἤ τινι ἄλλῳ συμποδίσαντας τῆς νεὼς ἄρχειν χρωμένους τοῖς ἐνοῦσι, καὶ πίνοντάς τε καὶ εὐωχουμένους πλεῖν ὡς τὸ εἰκὸς τοὺς τοιούτους, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἐπαινοῦντας [488d] ναυτικὸν μὲν καλοῦντας καὶ κυβερνητικὸν καὶ ἐπιστάμενον τὰ κατὰ ναῦν, ὃς ἂν συλλαμβάνειν δεινὸς ᾖ ὅπως ἄρξουσιν ἢ πείθοντες ἢ βιαζόμενοι τὸν ναύκληρον, τὸν δὲ μὴ τοιοῦτον ψέγοντας ὡς ἄχρηστον, τοῦ δὲ ἀληθινοῦ κυβερνήτου πέρι μηδ᾽ ἐπαΐοντες, ὅτι ἀνάγκη αὐτῷ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ποιεῖσθαι ἐνιαυτοῦ καὶ ὡρῶν καὶ οὐρανοῦ καὶ ἄστρων καὶ πνευμάτων καὶ πάντων τῶν τῇ τέχνῃ προσηκόντων, εἰ μέλλει τῷ ὄντι νεὼς ἀρχικὸς ἔσεσθαι, ὅπως δὲ κυβερνήσει [488e] ἐάντε τινες βούλωνται ἐάντε μή, μήτε τέχνην τούτου μήτε μελέτην οἰόμενοι δυνατὸν εἶναι λαβεῖν ἅμα καὶ τὴν κυβερνητικήν. τοιούτων δὴ περὶ τὰς ναῦς γιγνομένων τὸν ὡς ἀληθῶς κυβερνητικὸν οὐχ ἡγῇ ἂν τῷ ὄντι μετεωροσκόπον [489a] τε καὶ ἀδολέσχην καὶ ἄχρηστόν σφισι καλεῖσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν ταῖς οὕτω κατεσκευασμέναις ναυσὶ πλωτήρων;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη ὁ Ἀδείμαντος.

οὐ δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οἶμαι δεῖσθαί σε ἐξεταζομένην τὴν εἰκόνα ἰδεῖν, ὅτι ταῖς πόλεσι πρὸς τοὺς ἀληθινοὺς φιλοσόφους τὴν διάθεσιν ἔοικεν, ἀλλὰ μανθάνειν ὃ λέγω.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη.

πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν ἐκεῖνον τὸν θαυμάζοντα ὅτι οἱ φιλόσοφοι οὐ τιμῶνται ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι δίδασκέ τε τὴν εἰκόνα καὶ πειρῶ πείθειν ὅτι πολὺ ἂν θαυμαστότερον ἦν [489b] εἰ ἐτιμῶντο.

ἀλλὰ διδάξω, ἔφη.

καὶ ὅτι τοίνυν τἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὡς ἄχρηστοι τοῖς πολλοῖς οἱ ἐπιεικέστατοι τῶν ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ: τῆς μέντοι ἀχρηστίας τοὺς μὴ χρωμένους κέλευε αἰτιᾶσθαι, ἀλλὰ μὴ τοὺς ἐπιεικεῖς. οὐ γὰρ ἔχει φύσιν κυβερνήτην ναυτῶν δεῖσθαι ἄρχεσθαι ὑφ᾽ αὑτοῦ οὐδὲ τοὺς σοφοὺς ἐπὶ τὰς τῶν πλουσίων θύρας ἰέναι, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ τοῦτο κομψευσάμενος ἐψεύσατο, τὸ δὲ ἀληθὲς πέφυκεν, ἐάντε πλούσιος ἐάντε πένης κάμνῃ, ἀναγκαῖον [489c] εἶναι ἐπὶ ἰατρῶν θύρας ἰέναι καὶ πάντα τὸν ἄρχεσθαι δεόμενον ἐπὶ τὰς τοῦ ἄρχειν δυναμένου, οὐ τὸν ἄρχοντα δεῖσθαι τῶν ἀρχομένων ἄρχεσθαι, οὗ ἂν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ τι ὄφελος ᾖ. ἀλλὰ τοὺς νῦν πολιτικοὺς ἄρχοντας ἀπεικάζων οἷς ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν ναύταις οὐχ ἁμαρτήσῃ, καὶ τοὺς ὑπὸ τούτων ἀχρήστους λεγομένους καὶ μετεωρολέσχας τοῖς ὡς ἀληθῶς κυβερνήταις.

ὀρθότατα, ἔφη.

ἔκ τε τοίνυν τούτων καὶ ἐν τούτοις οὐ ῥᾴδιον εὐδοκιμεῖν τὸ βέλτιστον ἐπιτήδευμα ὑπὸ τῶν τἀναντία ἐπιτηδευόντων: [489d] πολὺ δὲ μεγίστη καὶ ἰσχυροτάτη διαβολὴ γίγνεται φιλοσοφίᾳ διὰ τοὺς τὰ τοιαῦτα φάσκοντας ἐπιτηδεύειν, οὓς δὴ σὺ φῂς τὸν ἐγκαλοῦντα τῇ φιλοσοφίᾳ λέγειν ὡς παμπόνηροι οἱ πλεῖστοι τῶν ἰόντων ἐπ᾽ αὐτήν, οἱ δὲ ἐπιεικέστατοι ἄχρηστοι, καὶ ἐγὼ συνεχώρησα ἀληθῆ σε λέγειν. ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν τῆς μὲν τῶν ἐπιεικῶν ἀχρηστίας τὴν αἰτίαν διεληλύθαμεν;

καὶ μάλα.

τῆς δὲ τῶν πολλῶν πονηρίας τὴν ἀνάγκην βούλει τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο διέλθωμεν, καὶ ὅτι οὐδὲ τούτου φιλοσοφία αἰτία, [489e] ἂν δυνώμεθα, πειραθῶμεν δεῖξαι;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἀκούωμεν δὴ καὶ λέγωμεν ἐκεῖθεν ἀναμνησθέντες, ὅθεν διῇμεν τὴν φύσιν οἷον ἀνάγκη φῦναι τὸν καλόν τε κἀγαθὸν [490a] ἐσόμενον. ἡγεῖτο δ᾽ αὐτῷ, εἰ νῷ ἔχεις, πρῶτον μὲν ἀλήθεια, ἣν διώκειν αὐτὸν πάντως καὶ πάντῃ ἔδει ἢ ἀλαζόνι ὄντι μηδαμῇ μετεῖναι φιλοσοφίας ἀληθινῆς.

ἦν γὰρ οὕτω λεγόμενον.

οὐκοῦν ἓν μὲν τοῦτο σφόδρα οὕτω παρὰ δόξαν τοῖς νῦν δοκουμένοις περὶ αὐτοῦ;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν δὴ οὐ μετρίως ἀπολογησόμεθα ὅτι πρὸς τὸ ὂν πεφυκὼς εἴη ἁμιλλᾶσθαι ὅ γε ὄντως φιλομαθής, καὶ οὐκ [490b] ἐπιμένοι ἐπὶ τοῖς δοξαζομένοις εἶναι πολλοῖς ἑκάστοις, ἀλλ᾽ ἴοι καὶ οὐκ ἀμβλύνοιτο οὐδ᾽ ἀπολήγοι τοῦ ἔρωτος, πρὶν αὐτοῦ ὃ ἔστιν ἑκάστου τῆς φύσεως ἅψασθαι ᾧ προσήκει ψυχῆς ἐφάπτεσθαι τοῦ τοιούτου-προσήκει δὲ συγγενεῖ- ᾧ πλησιάσας καὶ μιγεὶς τῷ ὄντι ὄντως, γεννήσας νοῦν καὶ ἀλήθειαν, γνοίη τε καὶ ἀληθῶς ζῴη καὶ τρέφοιτο καὶ οὕτω λήγοι ὠδῖνος, πρὶν δ᾽ οὔ;

ὡς οἷόν τ᾽, ἔφη, μετριώτατα.

τί οὖν; τούτῳ τι μετέσται ψεῦδος ἀγαπᾶν ἢ πᾶν τοὐναντίον μισεῖν; [490c]

μισεῖν, ἔφη.

ἡγουμένης δὴ ἀληθείας οὐκ ἄν ποτε οἶμαι φαμὲν αὐτῇ χορὸν κακῶν ἀκολουθῆσαι.

πῶς γάρ;

ἀλλ᾽ ὑγιές τε καὶ δίκαιον ἦθος, ᾧ καὶ σωφροσύνην ἕπεσθαι.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

καὶ δὴ τὸν ἄλλον τῆς φιλοσόφου φύσεως χορὸν τί δεῖ πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἀναγκάζοντα τάττειν; μέμνησαι γάρ που ὅτι συνέβη προσῆκον τούτοις ἀνδρεία, μεγαλοπρέπεια, εὐμάθεια, μνήμη: καὶ σοῦ ἐπιλαβομένου ὅτι πᾶς μὲν ἀναγκασθήσεται [490d] ὁμολογεῖν οἷς λέγομεν, ἐάσας δὲ τοὺς λόγους, εἰς αὐτοὺς ἀποβλέψας περὶ ὧν ὁ λόγος, φαίη ὁρᾶν αὐτῶν τοὺς μὲν ἀχρήστους, τοὺς δὲ πολλοὺς κακοὺς πᾶσαν κακίαν, τῆς διαβολῆς τὴν αἰτίαν ἐπισκοποῦντες ἐπὶ τούτῳ νῦν γεγόναμεν, τί ποθ᾽ οἱ πολλοὶ κακοί, καὶ τούτου δὴ ἕνεκα πάλιν ἀνειλήφαμεν τὴν τῶν ἀληθῶς φιλοσόφων φύσιν καὶ ἐξ ἀνάγκης ὡρισάμεθα. [490e]

ἔστιν, ἔφη, ταῦτα.

ταύτης δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τῆς φύσεως δεῖ θεάσασθαι τὰς φθοράς, ὡς διόλλυται ἐν πολλοῖς, σμικρὸν δέ τι ἐκφεύγει, οὓς δὴ καὶ οὐ πονηρούς, ἀχρήστους δὲ καλοῦσι: καὶ μετὰ [491a] τοῦτο αὖ τὰς μιμουμένας ταύτην καὶ εἰς τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα καθισταμένας αὐτῆς, οἷαι οὖσαι φύσεις ψυχῶν εἰς ἀνάξιον καὶ μεῖζον ἑαυτῶν ἀφικνούμεναι ἐπιτήδευμα, πολλαχῇ πλημμελοῦσαι, πανταχῇ καὶ ἐπὶ πάντας δόξαν οἵαν λέγεις φιλοσοφίᾳ προσῆψαν.

τίνας δέ, ἔφη, τὰς διαφθορὰς λέγεις;

ἐγώ σοι, εἶπον, ἂν οἷός τε γένωμαι, πειράσομαι διελθεῖν. τόδε μὲν οὖν οἶμαι πᾶς ἡμῖν ὁμολογήσει, τοιαύτην φύσιν καὶ πάντα ἔχουσαν ὅσα προσετάξαμεν νυνδή, εἰ τελέως [491b] μέλλοι φιλόσοφος γενέσθαι, ὀλιγάκις ἐν ἀνθρώποις φύεσθαι καὶ ὀλίγας. ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

σφόδρα γε.

τούτων δὴ τῶν ὀλίγων σκόπει ὡς πολλοὶ ὄλεθροι καὶ μεγάλοι.

τίνες δή;

ὃ μὲν πάντων θαυμαστότατον ἀκοῦσαι, ὅτι ἓν ἕκαστον ὧν ἐπῃνέσαμεν τῆς φύσεως ἀπόλλυσι τὴν ἔχουσαν ψυχὴν καὶ ἀποσπᾷ φιλοσοφίας. λέγω δὲ ἀνδρείαν, σωφροσύνην καὶ πάντα ἃ διήλθομεν.

ἄτοπον, ἔφη, ἀκοῦσαι. [491c]

ἔτι τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς τούτοις τὰ λεγόμενα ἀγαθὰ πάντα φθείρει καὶ ἀποσπᾷ, κάλλος καὶ πλοῦτος καὶ ἰσχὺς σώματος καὶ συγγένεια ἐρρωμένη ἐν πόλει καὶ πάντα τὰ τούτων οἰκεῖα: ἔχεις γὰρ τὸν τύπον ὧν λέγω.

ἔχω, ἔφη: καὶ ἡδέως γ᾽ ἂν ἀκριβέστερον ἃ λέγεις πυθοίμην.

λαβοῦ τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅλου αὐτοῦ ὀρθῶς, καί σοι εὔδηλόν τε φανεῖται καὶ οὐκ ἄτοπα δόξει τὰ προειρημένα περὶ αὐτῶν.

πῶς οὖν, ἔφη, κελεύεις; [491d]

παντός, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, σπέρματος πέρι ἢ φυτοῦ, εἴτε ἐγγείων εἴτε τῶν ζῴων, ἴσμεν ὅτι τὸ μὴ τυχὸν τροφῆς ἧς προσήκει ἑκάστῳ μηδ᾽ ὥρας μηδὲ τόπου, ὅσῳ ἂν ἐρρωμενέστερον ᾖ, τοσούτῳ πλειόνων ἐνδεῖ τῶν πρεπόντων: ἀγαθῷ γάρ που κακὸν ἐναντιώτερον ἢ τῷ μὴ ἀγαθῷ.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἔχει δὴ οἶμαι λόγον τὴν ἀρίστην φύσιν ἐν ἀλλοτριωτέρᾳ οὖσαν τροφῇ κάκιον ἀπαλλάττειν τῆς φαύλης.

ἔχει. [491e]

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Ἀδείμαντε, καὶ τὰς ψυχὰς οὕτω φῶμεν τὰς εὐφυεστάτας κακῆς παιδαγωγίας τυχούσας διαφερόντως κακὰς γίγνεσθαι; ἢ οἴει τὰ μεγάλα ἀδικήματα καὶ τὴν ἄκρατον πονηρίαν ἐκ φαύλης ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκ νεανικῆς φύσεως τροφῇ διολομένης γίγνεσθαι, ἀσθενῆ δὲ φύσιν μεγάλων οὔτε ἀγαθῶν οὔτε κακῶν αἰτίαν ποτὲ ἔσεσθαι;

οὔκ, ἀλλά, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὕτως. [492a]

ἣν τοίνυν ἔθεμεν τοῦ φιλοσόφου φύσιν, ἂν μὲν οἶμαι μαθήσεως προσηκούσης τύχῃ, εἰς πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν ἀνάγκη αὐξανομένην ἀφικνεῖσθαι, ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ἐν προσηκούσῃ σπαρεῖσά τε καὶ φυτευθεῖσα τρέφηται, εἰς πάντα τἀναντία αὖ, ἐὰν μή τις αὐτῇ βοηθήσας θεῶν τύχῃ. ἢ καὶ σὺ ἡγῇ, ὥσπερ οἱ πολλοί, διαφθειρομένους τινὰς εἶναι ὑπὸ σοφιστῶν νέους, διαφθείροντας δέ τινας σοφιστὰς ἰδιωτικούς, ὅτι καὶ ἄξιον λόγου, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ αὐτοὺς τοὺς ταῦτα λέγοντας μεγίστους [492b] μὲν εἶναι σοφιστάς, παιδεύειν δὲ τελεώτατα καὶ ἀπεργάζεσθαι οἵους βούλονται εἶναι καὶ νέους καὶ πρεσβυτέρους καὶ ἄνδρας καὶ γυναῖκας;

πότε δή; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ὅταν, εἶπον, συγκαθεζόμενοι ἁθρόοι πολλοὶ εἰς ἐκκλησίας ἢ εἰς δικαστήρια ἢ θέατρα ἢ στρατόπεδα ἤ τινα ἄλλον κοινὸν πλήθους σύλλογον σὺν πολλῷ θορύβῳ τὰ μὲν ψέγωσι τῶν λεγομένων ἢ πραττομένων, τὰ δὲ ἐπαινῶσιν, ὑπερβαλλόντως ἑκάτερα, καὶ ἐκβοῶντες καὶ κροτοῦντες, πρὸς δ᾽ [492c] αὐτοῖς αἵ τε πέτραι καὶ ὁ τόπος ἐν ᾧ ἂν ὦσιν ἐπηχοῦντες διπλάσιον θόρυβον παρέχωσι τοῦ ψόγου καὶ ἐπαίνου. ἐν δὴ τῷ τοιούτῳ τὸν νέον, τὸ λεγόμενον, τίνα οἴει καρδίαν ἴσχειν; ἢ ποίαν [ἂν] αὐτῷ παιδείαν ἰδιωτικὴν ἀνθέξειν, ἣν οὐ κατακλυσθεῖσαν ὑπὸ τοῦ τοιούτου ψόγου ἢ ἐπαίνου οἰχήσεσθαι φερομένην κατὰ ῥοῦν ᾗ ἂν οὗτος φέρῃ, καὶ φήσειν τε τὰ αὐτὰ τούτοις καλὰ καὶ αἰσχρὰ εἶναι, καὶ ἐπιτηδεύσειν ἅπερ ἂν οὗτοι, καὶ ἔσεσθαι τοιοῦτον; [492d]

πολλή, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀνάγκη.

καὶ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὔπω τὴν μεγίστην ἀνάγκην εἰρήκαμεν.

ποίαν; ἔφη.

ἣν ἔργῳ προστιθέασι λόγῳ μὴ πείθοντες οὗτοι οἱ παιδευταί τε καὶ σοφισταί. ἢ οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι τὸν μὴ πειθόμενον ἀτιμίαις τε καὶ χρήμασι καὶ θανάτοις κολάζουσι;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, σφόδρα.

τίνα οὖν ἄλλον σοφιστὴν οἴει ἢ ποίους ἰδιωτικοὺς λόγους ἐναντία τούτοις τείνοντας κρατήσειν; [492e]

οἶμαι μὲν οὐδένα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐ γάρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ ἐπιχειρεῖν πολλὴ ἄνοια. οὔτε γὰρ γίγνεται οὔτε γέγονεν οὐδὲ οὖν μὴ γένηται ἀλλοῖον ἦθος πρὸς ἀρετὴν παρὰ τὴν τούτων παιδείαν πεπαιδευμένον, ἀνθρώπειον, ὦ ἑταῖρε-θεῖον μέντοι κατὰ τὴν παροιμίαν ἐξαιρῶμεν λόγου: εὖ γὰρ χρὴ εἰδέναι, ὅτιπερ ἂν σωθῇ τε [493a] καὶ γένηται οἷον δεῖ ἐν τοιαύτῃ καταστάσει πολιτειῶν, θεοῦ μοῖραν αὐτὸ σῶσαι λέγων οὐ κακῶς ἐρεῖς.

οὐδ᾽ ἐμοὶ ἄλλως, ἔφη, δοκεῖ.

ἔτι τοίνυν σοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς τούτοις καὶ τόδε δοξάτω.

τὸ ποῖον;

ἕκαστος τῶν μισθαρνούντων ἰδιωτῶν, οὓς δὴ οὗτοι σοφιστὰς καλοῦσι καὶ ἀντιτέχνους ἡγοῦνται, μὴ ἄλλα παιδεύειν ἢ ταῦτα τὰ τῶν πολλῶν δόγματα, ἃ δοξάζουσιν ὅταν ἁθροισθῶσιν, καὶ σοφίαν ταύτην καλεῖν: οἷόνπερ ἂν εἰ θρέμματος μεγάλου καὶ ἰσχυροῦ τρεφομένου τὰς ὀργάς τις καὶ [493b] ἐπιθυμίας κατεμάνθανεν, ὅπῃ τε προσελθεῖν χρὴ καὶ ὅπῃ ἅψασθαι αὐτοῦ, καὶ ὁπότε χαλεπώτατον ἢ πρᾳότατον καὶ ἐκ τίνων γίγνεται, καὶ φωνὰς δὴ ἐφ᾽ οἷς ἑκάστας εἴωθεν φθέγγεσθαι, καὶ οἵας αὖ ἄλλου φθεγγομένου ἡμεροῦταί τε καὶ ἀγριαίνει, καταμαθὼν δὲ ταῦτα πάντα συνουσίᾳ τε καὶ χρόνου τριβῇ σοφίαν τε καλέσειεν καὶ ὡς τέχνην συστησάμενος ἐπὶ διδασκαλίαν τρέποιτο, μηδὲν εἰδὼς τῇ ἀληθείᾳ τούτων τῶν δογμάτων τε καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν ὅτι καλὸν ἢ αἰσχρὸν [493c] ἢ ἀγαθὸν ἢ κακὸν ἢ δίκαιον ἢ ἄδικον, ὀνομάζοι δὲ πάντα ταῦτα ἐπὶ ταῖς τοῦ μεγάλου ζῴου δόξαις, οἷς μὲν χαίροι ἐκεῖνο ἀγαθὰ καλῶν, οἷς δὲ ἄχθοιτο κακά, ἄλλον δὲ μηδένα ἔχοι λόγον περὶ αὐτῶν, ἀλλὰ τἀναγκαῖα δίκαια καλοῖ καὶ καλά, τὴν δὲ τοῦ ἀναγκαίου καὶ ἀγαθοῦ φύσιν, ὅσον διαφέρει τῷ ὄντι, μήτε ἑωρακὼς εἴη μήτε ἄλλῳ δυνατὸς δεῖξαι. τοιοῦτος δὴ ὢν πρὸς Διὸς οὐκ ἄτοπος ἄν σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι παιδευτής;

ἔμοιγ᾽, ἔφη.

ἦ οὖν τι τούτου δοκεῖ διαφέρειν ὁ τὴν τῶν πολλῶν καὶ [493d] παντοδαπῶν συνιόντων ὀργὴν καὶ ἡδονὰς κατανενοηκέναι σοφίαν ἡγούμενος, εἴτ᾽ ἐν γραφικῇ εἴτ᾽ ἐν μουσικῇ εἴτε δὴ ἐν πολιτικῇ; ὅτι μὲν γὰρ ἄν τις τούτοις ὁμιλῇ ἐπιδεικνύμενος, ἢ ποίησιν ἤ τινα ἄλλην δημιουργίαν ἢ πόλει διακονίαν, κυρίους αὑτοῦ ποιῶν τοὺς πολλούς, πέρα τῶν ἀναγκαίων, ἡ Διομηδεία λεγομένη ἀνάγκη ποιεῖν αὐτῷ ταῦτα ἃ ἂν οὗτοι ἐπαινῶσιν: ὡς δὲ καὶ ἀγαθὰ καὶ καλὰ ταῦτα τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, ἤδη πώποτέ του ἤδουσας αὐτῶν λόγον διδόντος οὐ καταγέλαστον; [493e]

οἶμαι δέ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐδ᾽ ἀκούσομαι.

ταῦτα τοίνυν πάντα ἐννοήσας ἐκεῖνο ἀναμνήσθητι: αὐτὸ τὸ καλὸν ἀλλὰ μὴ τὰ πολλὰ καλά, ἢ αὐτό τι ἕκαστον καὶ [494a] μὴ τὰ πολλὰ ἕκαστα, ἔσθ᾽ ὅπως πλῆθος ἀνέξεται ἢ ἡγήσεαι εἶναι;

ἥκιστά γ᾽, ἔφη.

φιλόσοφον μὲν ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πλῆθος ἀδύνατον εἶναι.

ἀδύνατον.

καὶ τοὺς φιλοσοφοῦντας ἄρα ἀνάγκη ψέγεσθαι ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν.

ἀνάγκη.

καὶ ὑπὸ τούτων δὴ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν, ὅσοι προσομιλοῦντες ὄχλῳ ἀρέσκειν αὐτῷ ἐπιθυμοῦσι.

δῆλον.

ἐκ δὴ τούτων τίνα ὁρᾷς σωτηρίαν φιλοσόφῳ φύσει, ὥστ᾽ ἐν τῷ ἐπιτηδεύματι μείνασαν πρὸς τέλος ἐλθεῖν; ἐννόει δ᾽ [494b] ἐκ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν. ὡμολόγηται γὰρ δὴ ἡμῖν εὐμάθεια καὶ μνήμη καὶ ἀνδρεία καὶ μεγαλοπρέπεια ταύτης εἶναι τῆς φύσεως.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν εὐθὺς ἐν παισὶν ὁ τοιοῦτος πρῶτος ἔσται ἐν ἅπασιν, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐὰν τὸ σῶμα φυῇ προσφερὴς τῇ ψυχῇ;

τί δ᾽ οὐ μέλλει; ἔφη.

βουλήσονται δὴ οἶμαι αὐτῷ χρῆσθαι, ἐπειδὰν πρεσβύτερος γίγνηται, ἐπὶ τὰ αὑτῶν πράγματα οἵ τε οἰκεῖοι καὶ οἱ πολῖται.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [494c]

ὑποκείσονται ἄρα δεόμενοι καὶ τιμῶντες, προκαταλαμβάνοντες καὶ προκολακεύοντες τὴν μέλλουσαν αὐτοῦ δύναμιν.

φιλεῖ γοῦν, ἔφη, οὕτω γίγνεσθαι.

τί οὖν οἴει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸν τοιοῦτον ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις ποιήσειν, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐὰν τύχῃ μεγάλης πόλεως ὢν καὶ ἐν ταύτῃ πλούσιός τε καὶ γενναῖος, καὶ ἔτι εὐειδὴς καὶ μέγας; ἆρ᾽ οὐ πληρωθήσεσθαι ἀμηχάνου ἐλπίδος, ἡγούμενον καὶ τὰ τῶν Ἑλλήνων καὶ τὰ τῶν βαρβάρων ἱκανὸν ἔσεσθαι [494d] πράττειν, καὶ ἐπὶ τούτοις ὑψηλὸν ἐξαρεῖν αὑτόν, σχηματισμοῦ καὶ φρονήματος κενοῦ ἄνευ νοῦ ἐμπιμπλάμενον;

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη.

τῷ δὴ οὕτω διατιθεμένῳ ἐάν τις ἠρέμα προσελθὼν τἀληθῆ λέγῃ, ὅτι νοῦς οὐκ ἔνεστιν αὐτῷ, δεῖται δέ, τὸ δὲ οὐ κτητὸν μὴ δουλεύσαντι τῇ κτήσει αὐτοῦ, ἆρ᾽ εὐπετὲς οἴει εἶναι εἰσακοῦσαι διὰ τοσούτων κακῶν;

πολλοῦ γε δεῖ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἐὰν δ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, διὰ τὸ εὖ πεφυκέναι καὶ τὸ συγγενὲς [494e] τῶν λόγων εἰσαισθάνηταί τέ πῃ καὶ κάμπτηται καὶ ἕλκηται πρὸς φιλοσοφίαν, τί οἰόμεθα δράσειν ἐκείνους τοὺς ἡγουμένους ἀπολλύναι αὐτοῦ τὴν χρείαν τε καὶ ἑταιρίαν; οὐ πᾶν μὲν ἔργον, πᾶν δ᾽ ἔπος λέγοντάς τε καὶ πράττοντας καὶ περὶ αὐτόν, ὅπως ἂν μὴ πεισθῇ, καὶ περὶ τὸν πείθοντα, ὅπως ἂν μὴ οἷός τ᾽ ᾖ, καὶ ἰδίᾳ ἐπιβουλεύοντας καὶ δημοσίᾳ εἰς ἀγῶνας καθιστάντας; [495a]

πολλή, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἀνάγκη.

ἔστιν οὖν ὅπως ὁ τοιοῦτος φιλοσοφήσει;

οὐ πάνυ.

ὁρᾷς οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι οὐ κακῶς ἐλέγομεν ὡς ἄρα καὶ αὐτὰ τὰ τῆς φιλοσόφου φύσεως μέρη, ὅταν ἐν κακῇ τροφῇ γένηται, αἴτια τρόπον τινὰ τοῦ ἐκπεσεῖν ἐκ τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος, καὶ τὰ λεγόμενα ἀγαθά, πλοῦτοί τε καὶ πᾶσα ἡ τοιαύτη παρασκευή;

οὐ γάρ, ἀλλ᾽ ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, ἐλέχθη.

οὗτος δή, εἶπον, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ὄλεθρός τε καὶ διαφθορὰ [495b] τοσαύτη τε καὶ τοιαύτη τῆς βελτίστης φύσεως εἰς τὸ ἄριστον ἐπιτήδευμα, ὀλίγης καὶ ἄλλως γιγνομένης, ὡς ἡμεῖς φαμεν. καὶ ἐκ τούτων δὴ τῶν ἀνδρῶν καὶ οἱ τὰ μέγιστα κακὰ ἐργαζόμενοι τὰς πόλεις γίγνονται καὶ τοὺς ἰδιώτας, καὶ οἱ τἀγαθά, οἳ ἂν ταύτῃ τύχωσι ῥυέντες: σμικρὰ δὲ φύσις οὐδὲν μέγα οὐδέποτε οὐδένα οὔτε ἰδιώτην οὔτε πόλιν δρᾷ.

ἀληθέστατα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὗτοι μὲν δὴ οὕτως ἐκπίπτοντες, οἷς μάλιστα προσήκει, [495c] ἔρημον καὶ ἀτελῆ φιλοσοφίαν λείποντες αὐτοί τε βίον οὐ προσήκοντα οὐδ᾽ ἀληθῆ ζῶσιν, τὴν δέ, ὥσπερ ὀρφανὴν συγγενῶν, ἄλλοι ἐπεισελθόντες ἀνάξιοι ᾔσχυνάν τε καὶ ὀνείδη περιῆψαν, οἷα καὶ σὺ φῂς ὀνειδίζειν τοὺς ὀνειδίζοντας, ὡς οἱ συνόντες αὐτῇ οἱ μὲν οὐδενός, οἱ δὲ πολλοὶ πολλῶν κακῶν ἄξιοί εἰσιν.

καὶ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη, τά γε λεγόμενα ταῦτα.

εἰκότως γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λεγόμενα. καθορῶντες γὰρ ἄλλοι ἀνθρωπίσκοι κενὴν τὴν χώραν ταύτην γιγνομένην, καλῶν [495d] δὲ ὀνομάτων καὶ προσχημάτων μεστήν, ὥσπερ οἱ ἐκ τῶν εἱργμῶν εἰς τὰ ἱερὰ ἀποδιδράσκοντες, ἅσμενοι καὶ οὗτοι ἐκ τῶν τεχνῶν ἐκπηδῶσιν εἰς τὴν φιλοσοφίαν, οἳ ἂν κομψότατοι ὄντες τυγχάνωσι περὶ τὸ αὑτῶν τεχνίον. ὅμως γὰρ δὴ πρός γε τὰς ἄλλας τέχνας καίπερ οὕτω πραττούσης φιλοσοφίας τὸ ἀξίωμα μεγαλοπρεπέστερον λείπεται, οὗ δὴ ἐφιέμενοι πολλοὶ ἀτελεῖς μὲν τὰς φύσεις, ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν τεχνῶν τε καὶ δημιουργιῶν ὥσπερ τὰ σώματα λελώβηνται, οὕτω [495e] καὶ τὰς ψυχὰς συγκεκλασμένοι τε καὶ ἀποτεθρυμμένοι διὰ τὰς βαναυσίας τυγχάνουσιν-ἢ οὐκ ἀνάγκη;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

δοκεῖς οὖν τι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, διαφέρειν αὐτοὺς ἰδεῖν ἀργύριον κτησαμένου χαλκέως φαλακροῦ καὶ σμικροῦ, νεωστὶ μὲν ἐκ δεσμῶν λελυμένου, ἐν βαλανείῳ δὲ λελουμένου, νεουογὸν ἱμάτιον ἔχοντος, ὡς νυμφίου παρεσκευασμένου, διὰ πενίαν καὶ ἐρημίαν τοῦ δεσπότου τὴν θυγατέρα μέλλοντος γαμεῖν; [496a]

οὐ πάνυ, ἔφη, διαφέρει.

ποῖ᾽ ἄττα οὖν εἰκὸς γεννᾶν τοὺς τοιούτους; οὐ νόθα καὶ φαῦλα;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη.

τί δέ; τοὺς ἀναξίους παιδεύσεως, ὅταν αὐτῇ πλησιάζοντες ὁμιλῶσι μὴ κατ᾽ ἀξίαν, ποῖ᾽ ἄττα φῶμεν γεννᾶν διανοήματά τε καὶ δόξας; ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ὡς ἀληθῶς προσήκοντα ἀκοῦσαι σοφίσματα, καὶ οὐδὲν γνήσιον οὐδὲ φρονήσεως [ἄξιον] ἀληθινῆς ἐχόμενον;

παντελῶς μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

πάνσμικρον δή τι, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὦ Ἀδείμαντε, λείπεται τῶν [496b] κατ᾽ ἀξίαν ὁμιλούντων φιλοσοφίᾳ, ἤ που ὑπὸ φυγῆς καταληφθὲν γενναῖον καὶ εὖ τεθραμμένον ἦθος, ἀπορίᾳ τῶν διαφθερούντων κατὰ φύσιν μεῖναν ἐπ᾽ αὐτῇ, ἢ ἐν σμικρᾷ πόλει ὅταν μεγάλη ψυχὴ φυῇ καὶ ἀτιμάσασα τὰ τῆς πόλεως ὑπερίδῃ: βραχὺ δέ πού τι καὶ ἀπ᾽ ἄλλης τέχνης δικαίως ἀτιμάσαν εὐφυὲς ἐπ᾽ αὐτὴν ἂν ἔλθοι. εἴη δ᾽ ἂν καὶ ὁ τοῦ ἡμετέρου ἑταίρου Θεάγους χαλινὸς οἷος κατασχεῖν: καὶ γὰρ [496c] Θεάγει τὰ μὲν ἄλλα πάντα παρεσκεύασται πρὸς τὸ ἐκπεσεῖν φιλοσοφίας, ἡ δὲ τοῦ σώματος νοσοτροφία ἀπείργουσα αὐτὸν τῶν πολιτικῶν κατέχει. τὸ δ᾽ ἡμέτερον οὐκ ἄξιον λέγειν, τὸ δαιμόνιον σημεῖον: ἢ γάρ πού τινι ἄλλῳ ἢ οὐδενὶ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν γέγονεν. καὶ τούτων δὴ τῶν ὀλίγων οἱ γενόμενοι καὶ γευσάμενοι ὡς ἡδὺ καὶ μακάριον τὸ κτῆμα, καὶ τῶν πολλῶν αὖ ἱκανῶς ἰδόντες τὴν μανίαν, καὶ ὅτι οὐδεὶς οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν περὶ τὰ τῶν πόλεων πράττει οὐδ᾽ ἔστι [496d] σύμμαχος μεθ᾽ ὅτου τις ἰὼν ἐπὶ τὴν τῷ δικαίῳ βοήθειαν σῴζοιτ᾽ ἄν, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ εἰς θηρία ἄνθρωπος ἐμπεσών, οὔτε συναδικεῖν ἐθέλων οὔτε ἱκανὸς ὢν εἷς πᾶσιν ἀγρίοις ἀντέχειν, πρίν τι τὴν πόλιν ἢ φίλους ὀνῆσαι προαπολόμενος ἀνωφελὴς αὑτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἂν γένοιτο-ταῦτα πάντα λογισμῷ λαβών, ἡσυχίαν ἔχων καὶ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττων, οἷον ἐν χειμῶνι κονιορτοῦ καὶ ζάλης ὑπὸ πνεύματος φερομένου ὑπὸ τειχίον ἀποστάς, ὁρῶν τοὺς ἄλλους καταπιμπλαμένους ἀνομίας, ἀγαπᾷ εἴ πῃ αὐτὸς καθαρὸς ἀδικίας τε καὶ ἀνοσίων [496e] ἔργων τόν τε ἐνθάδε βίον βιώσεται καὶ τὴν ἀπαλλαγὴν αὐτοῦ μετὰ καλῆς ἐλπίδος ἵλεώς τε καὶ εὐμενὴς ἀπαλλάξεται. [497a]

ἀλλά τοι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐ τὰ ἐλάχιστα ἂν διαπραξάμενος ἀπαλλάττοιτο.

οὐδέ γε, εἶπον, τὰ μέγιστα, μὴ τυχὼν πολιτείας προσηκούσης: ἐν γὰρ προσηκούσῃ αὐτός τε μᾶλλον αὐξήσεται καὶ μετὰ τῶν ἰδίων τὰ κοινὰ σώσει.

τὸ μὲν οὖν τῆς φιλοσοφίας ὧν ἕνεκα διαβολὴν εἴληφεν καὶ ὅτι οὐ δικαίως, ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ μετρίως εἰρῆσθαι, εἰ μὴ ἔτ᾽ ἄλλο λέγεις τι σύ.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδέν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἔτι λέγω περὶ τούτου: ἀλλὰ τὴν προσήκουσαν αὐτῇ τίνα τῶν νῦν λέγεις πολιτειῶν; [497b]

οὐδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν, εἶπον, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο καὶ ἐπαιτιῶμαι, μηδεμίαν ἀξίαν εἶναι τῶν νῦν κατάστασιν πόλεως φιλοσόφου φύσεως: διὸ καὶ στρέφεσθαί τε καὶ ἀλλοιοῦσθαι αὐτήν, ὥσπερ ξενικὸν σπέρμα ἐν γῇ ἄλλῃ σπειρόμενον ἐξίτηλον εἰς τὸ ἐπιχώριον φιλεῖ κρατούμενον ἰέναι, οὕτω καὶ τοῦτο τὸ γένος νῦν μὲν οὐκ ἴσχειν τὴν αὑτοῦ δύναμιν, ἀλλ᾽ εἰς ἀλλότριον ἦθος ἐκπίπτειν: εἰ δὲ λήψεται τὴν ἀρίστην πολιτείαν, ὥσπερ [497c] καὶ αὐτὸ ἄριστόν ἐστιν, τότε δηλώσει ὅτι τοῦτο μὲν τῷ ὄντι θεῖον ἦν, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ἀνθρώπινα, τά τε τῶν φύσεων καὶ τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων. δῆλος δὴ οὖν εἶ ὅτι μετὰ τοῦτο ἐρήσῃ τίς αὕτη ἡ πολιτεία.

οὐκ ἔγνως, ἔφη: οὐ γὰρ τοῦτο ἔμελλον, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ αὑτὴ ἣν ἡμεῖς διεληλύθαμεν οἰκίζοντες τὴν πόλιν ἢ ἄλλη.

τὰ μὲν ἄλλα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, αὕτη: τοῦτο δὲ αὐτὸ ἐρρήθη μὲν καὶ τότε, ὅτι δεήσοι τι ἀεὶ ἐνεῖναι ἐν τῇ πόλει λόγον [497d] ἔχον τῆς πολιτείας τὸν αὐτὸν ὅνπερ καὶ σὺ ὁ νομοθέτης ἔχων τοὺς νόμους ἐτίθεις.

ἐρρήθη γάρ, ἔφη.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἱκανῶς, εἶπον, ἐδηλώθη, φόβῳ ὧν ὑμεῖς ἀντιλαμβανόμενοι δεδηλώκατε μακρὰν καὶ χαλεπὴν αὐτοῦ τὴν ἀπόδειξιν: ἐπεὶ καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν οὐ πάντων ῥᾷστον διελθεῖν.

τὸ ποῖον;

τίνα τρόπον μεταχειριζομένη πόλις φιλοσοφίαν οὐ διολεῖται. τὰ γὰρ δὴ μεγάλα πάντα ἐπισφαλῆ, καὶ τὸ λεγόμενον τὰ καλὰ τῷ ὄντι χαλεπά. [497e]

ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως, ἔφη, λαβέτω τέλος ἡ ἀπόδειξις τούτου φανεροῦ γενομένου.

οὐ τὸ μὴ βούλεσθαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ, τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι διακωλύσει: παρὼν δὲ τήν γ᾽ ἐμὴν προθυμίαν εἴσῃ. σκόπει δὲ καὶ νῦν ὡς προθύμως καὶ παρακινδυνευτικῶς μέλλω λέγειν, ὅτι τοὐναντίον ἢ νῦν δεῖ τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος τούτου πόλιν ἅπτεσθαι.

πῶς;

νῦν μέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οἱ καὶ ἁπτόμενοι μειράκια ὄντα ἄρτι [498a] ἐκ παίδων τὸ μεταξὺ οἰκονομίας καὶ χρηματισμοῦ πλησιάσαντες αὐτοῦ τῷ χαλεπωτάτῳ ἀπαλλάττονται, οἱ φιλοσοφώτατοι ποιούμενοι-λέγω δὲ χαλεπώτατον τὸ περὶ τοὺς λόγους -ἐν δὲ τῷ ἔπειτα, ἐὰν καὶ ἄλλων τοῦτο πραττόντων παρακαλούμενοι ἐθέλωσιν ἀκροαταὶ γίγνεσθαι, μεγάλα ἡγοῦνται, πάρεργον οἰόμενοι αὐτὸ δεῖν πράττειν: πρὸς δὲ τὸ γῆρας ἐκτὸς δή τινων ὀλίγων ἀποσβέννυνται πολὺ μᾶλλον τοῦ [498b] Ἡρακλειτείου ἡλίου, ὅσον αὖθις οὐκ ἐξάπτονται.

δεῖ δὲ πῶς; ἔφη.

πᾶν τοὐναντίον: μειράκια μὲν ὄντα καὶ παῖδας μειρακιώδη παιδείαν καὶ φιλοσοφίαν μεταχειρίζεσθαι, τῶν τε σωμάτων, ἐν ᾧ βλαστάνει τε καὶ ἀνδροῦται, εὖ μάλα ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, ὑπηρεσίαν φιλοσοφίᾳ κτωμένους: προϊούσης δὲ τῆς ἡλικίας, ἐν ᾗ ἡ ψυχὴ τελεοῦσθαι ἄρχεται, ἐπιτείνειν τὰ ἐκείνης γυμνάσια: ὅταν δὲ λήγῃ μὲν ἡ ῥώμη, πολιτικῶν δὲ καὶ [498c] στρατειῶν ἐκτὸς γίγνηται, τότε ἤδη ἀφέτους νέμεσθαι καὶ μηδὲν ἄλλο πράττειν, ὅτι μὴ πάρεργον, τοὺς μέλλοντας εὐδαιμόνως βιώσεσθαι καὶ τελευτήσαντας τῷ βίῳ τῷ βεβιωμένῳ τὴν ἐκεῖ μοῖραν ἐπιστήσειν πρέπουσαν.

ὡς ἀληθῶς μοι δοκεῖς, ἔφη, λέγειν γε προθύμως, ὦ Σώκρατες: οἶμαι μέντοι τοὺς πολλοὺς τῶν ἀκουόντων προθυμότερον ἔτι ἀντιτείνειν οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν πεισομένους, ἀπὸ Θρασυμάχου ἀρξαμένους.

μὴ διάβαλλε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐμὲ καὶ Θρασύμαχον ἄρτι [498d] φίλους γεγονότας, οὐδὲ πρὸ τοῦ ἐχθροὺς ὄντας. πείρας γὰρ οὐδὲν ἀνήσομεν, ἕως ἂν ἢ πείσωμεν καὶ τοῦτον καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, ἢ προὔργου τι ποιήσωμεν εἰς ἐκεῖνον τὸν βίον, ὅταν αὖθις γενόμενοι τοῖς τοιούτοις ἐντύχωσι λόγοις.

εἰς μικρόν γ᾽, ἔφη, χρόνον εἴρηκας.

εἰς οὐδὲν μὲν οὖν, ἔφην, ὥς γε πρὸς τὸν ἅπαντα. τὸ μέντοι μὴ πείθεσθαι τοῖς λεγομένοις τοὺς πολλοὺς θαῦμα οὐδέν: οὐ γὰρ πώποτε εἶδον γενόμενον τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον, [498e] ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα ῥήματα ἐξεπίτηδες ἀλλήλοις ὡμοιωμένα, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου ὥσπερ νῦν συμπεσόντα. ἄνδρα δὲ ἀρετῇ παρισωμένον καὶ ὡμοιωμένον μέχρι τοῦ δυνατοῦ τελέως ἔργῳ τε καὶ λόγῳ, δυναστεύοντα [499a] ἐν πόλει ἑτέρᾳ τοιαύτῃ, οὐ πώποτε ἑωράκασιν, οὔτε ἕνα οὔτε πλείους. ἢ οἴει;

οὐδαμῶς γε.

οὐδέ γε αὖ λόγων, ὦ μακάριε, καλῶν τε καὶ ἐλευθέρων ἱκανῶς ἐπήκοοι γεγόνασιν, οἵων ζητεῖν μὲν τὸ ἀληθὲς συντεταμένως ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου τοῦ γνῶναι χάριν, τὰ δὲ κομψά τε καὶ ἐριστικὰ καὶ μηδαμόσε ἄλλοσε τείνοντα ἢ πρὸς δόξαν καὶ ἔριν καὶ ἐν δίκαις καὶ ἐν ἰδίαις συνουσίαις πόρρωθεν ἀσπαζομένων.

οὐδὲ τούτων, ἔφη.

τούτων τοι χάριν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ταῦτα προορώμενοι [499b] ἡμεῖς τότε καὶ δεδιότες ὅμως ἐλέγομεν, ὑπὸ τἀληθοῦς ἠναγκασμένοι, ὅτι οὔτε πόλις οὔτε πολιτεία οὐδέ γ᾽ ἀνὴρ ὁμοίως μή ποτε γένηται τέλεος, πρὶν ἂν τοῖς φιλοσόφοις τούτοις τοῖς ὀλίγοις καὶ οὐ πονηροῖς, ἀχρήστοις δὲ νῦν κεκλημένοις, ἀνάγκη τις ἐκ τύχης περιβάλῃ, εἴτε βούλονται εἴτε μή, πόλεως ἐπιμεληθῆναι, καὶ τῇ πόλει κατηκόῳ γενέσθαι, ἢ τῶν νῦν ἐν δυναστείαις ἢ βασιλείαις ὄντων ὑέσιν ἢ αὐτοῖς [499c] ἔκ τινος θείας ἐπιπνοίας ἀληθινῆς φιλοσοφίας ἀληθινὸς ἔρως ἐμπέσῃ. τούτων δὲ πότερα γενέσθαι ἢ ἀμφότερα ὡς ἄρα ἐστὶν ἀδύνατον, ἐγὼ μὲν οὐδένα φημὶ ἔχειν λόγον. οὕτω γὰρ ἂν ἡμεῖς δικαίως καταγελῴμεθα, ὡς ἄλλως εὐχαῖς ὅμοια λέγοντες. ἢ οὐχ οὕτως;

οὕτως.

εἰ τοίνυν ἄκροις εἰς φιλοσοφίαν πόλεώς τις ἀνάγκη ἐπιμεληθῆναι ἢ γέγονεν ἐν τῷ ἀπείρῳ τῷ παρεληλυθότι χρόνῳ ἢ καὶ νῦν ἔστιν ἔν τινι βαρβαρικῷ τόπῳ, πόρρω που [499d] ἐκτὸς ὄντι τῆς ἡμετέρας ἐπόψεως, ἢ καὶ ἔπειτα γενήσεται, περὶ τούτου ἕτοιμοι τῷ λόγῳ διαμάχεσθαι, ὡς γέγονεν ἡ εἰρημένη πολιτεία καὶ ἔστιν καὶ γενήσεταί γε, ὅταν αὕτη ἡ Μοῦσα πόλεως ἐγκρατὴς γένηται. οὐ γὰρ ἀδύνατος γενέσθαι, οὐδ᾽ ἡμεῖς ἀδύνατα λέγομεν: χαλεπὰ δὲ καὶ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν ὁμολογεῖται.

καὶ ἐμοί, ἔφη, οὕτω δοκεῖ.

τοῖς δὲ πολλοῖς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι οὐκ αὖ δοκεῖ, ἐρεῖς;

ἴσως, ἔφη.

ὦ μακάριε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μὴ πάνυ οὕτω τῶν πολλῶν κατηγόρει. [499e] ἀλλοίαν τοι δόξαν ἕξουσιν, ἐὰν αὐτοῖς μὴ φιλονικῶν ἀλλὰ παραμυθούμενος καὶ ἀπολυόμενος τὴν τῆς φιλομαθείας διαβολὴν ἐνδεικνύῃ οὓς λέγεις τοὺς φιλοσόφους, καὶ διορίζῃ [500a] ὥσπερ ἄρτι τήν τε φύσιν αὐτῶν καὶ τὴν ἐπιτήδευσιν, ἵνα μὴ ἡγῶνταί σε λέγειν οὓς αὐτοὶ οἴονται. [ἢ καὶ ἐὰν οὕτω θεῶνται, ἀλλοίαν τοι φήσεις αὐτοὺς δόξαν λήψεσθαι καὶ ἄλλα ἀποκρινεῖσθαι.] ἢ οἴει τινὰ χαλεπαίνειν τῷ μὴ χαλεπῷ ἢ φθονεῖν τῷ μὴ φθονερῷ ἄφθονόν τε καὶ πρᾷον ὄντα; ἐγὼ μὲν γάρ σε προφθάσας λέγω ὅτι ἐν ὀλίγοις τισὶν ἡγοῦμαι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐν τῷ πλήθει, χαλεπὴν οὕτω φύσιν γίγνεσθαι.

καὶ ἐγὼ ἀμέλει, ἔφη, συνοίομαι. [500b]

οὐκοῦν καὶ αὐτὸ τοῦτο συνοίει, τοῦ χαλεπῶς πρὸς φιλοσοφίαν τοὺς πολλοὺς διακεῖσθαι ἐκείνους αἰτίους εἶναι τοὺς ἔξωθεν οὐ προσῆκον ἐπεισκεκωμακότας, λοιδορουμένους τε αὑτοῖς καὶ φιλαπεχθημόνως ἔχοντας καὶ ἀεὶ περὶ ἀνθρώπων τοὺς λόγους ποιουμένους, ἥκιστα φιλοσοφίᾳ πρέπον ποιοῦντας;

πολύ γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐδὲ γάρ που, ὦ Ἀδείμαντε, σχολὴ τῷ γε ὡς ἀληθῶς πρὸς τοῖς οὖσι τὴν διάνοιαν ἔχοντι κάτω βλέπειν εἰς ἀνθρώπων [500c] πραγματείας, καὶ μαχόμενον αὐτοῖς φθόνου τε καὶ δυσμενείας ἐμπίμπλασθαι, ἀλλ᾽ εἰς τεταγμένα ἄττα καὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἀεὶ ἔχοντα ὁρῶντας καὶ θεωμένους οὔτ᾽ ἀδικοῦντα οὔτ᾽ ἀδικούμενα ὑπ᾽ ἀλλήλων, κόσμῳ δὲ πάντα καὶ κατὰ λόγον ἔχοντα, ταῦτα μιμεῖσθαί τε καὶ ὅτι μάλιστα ἀφομοιοῦσθαι. ἢ οἴει τινὰ μηχανὴν εἶναι, ὅτῳ τις ὁμιλεῖ ἀγάμενος, μὴ μιμεῖσθαι ἐκεῖνο;

ἀδύνατον, ἔφη.

θείῳ δὴ καὶ κοσμίῳ ὅ γε φιλόσοφος ὁμιλῶν κόσμιός τε [500d] καὶ θεῖος εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ἀνθρώπῳ γίγνεται: διαβολὴ δ᾽ ἐν πᾶσι πολλή.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

ἂν οὖν τις, εἶπον, αὐτῷ ἀνάγκη γένηται ἃ ἐκεῖ ὁρᾷ μελετῆσαι εἰς ἀνθρώπων ἤθη καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ τιθέναι καὶ μὴ μόνον ἑαυτὸν πλάττειν, ἆρα κακὸν δημιουργὸν αὐτὸν οἴει γενήσεσθαι σωφροσύνης τε καὶ δικαιοσύνης καὶ συμπάσης τῆς δημοτικῆς ἀρετῆς;

ἥκιστά γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν δὴ αἴσθωνται οἱ πολλοὶ ὅτι ἀληθῆ περὶ αὐτοῦ [500e] λέγομεν, χαλεπανοῦσι δὴ τοῖς φιλοσόφοις καὶ ἀπιστήσουσιν ἡμῖν λέγουσιν ὡς οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἄλλως εὐδαιμονήσειε πόλις, εἰ μὴ αὐτὴν διαγράψειαν οἱ τῷ θείῳ παραδείγματι χρώμενοι ζωγράφοι;

οὐ χαλεπανοῦσιν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐάνπερ αἴσθωνται. ἀλλὰ δὴ [501a] τίνα λέγεις τρόπον τῆς διαγραφῆς;

λαβόντες, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὥσπερ πίνακα πόλιν τε καὶ ἤθη ἀνθρώπων, πρῶτον μὲν καθαρὰν ποιήσειαν ἄν, ὃ οὐ πάνυ ῥᾴδιον: ἀλλ᾽ οὖν οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τούτῳ ἂν εὐθὺς τῶν ἄλλων διενέγκοιεν, τῷ μήτε ἰδιώτου μήτε πόλεως ἐθελῆσαι ἂν ἅψασθαι μηδὲ γράφειν νόμους, πρὶν ἢ παραλαβεῖν καθαρὰν ἢ αὐτοὶ ποιῆσαι.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν μετὰ ταῦτα οἴει ὑπογράψασθαι ἂν τὸ σχῆμα τῆς πολιτείας;

τί μήν; [501b]

ἔπειτα οἶμαι ἀπεργαζόμενοι πυκνὰ ἂν ἑκατέρως᾽ ἀποβλέποιεν, πρός τε τὸ φύσει δίκαιον καὶ καλὸν καὶ σῶφρον καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα, καὶ πρὸς ἐκεῖν᾽ αὖ τὸ ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐμποιοῖεν, συμμειγνύντες τε καὶ κεραννύντες ἐκ τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων τὸ ἀνδρείκελον, ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνου τεκμαιρόμενοι, ὃ δὴ καὶ Ὅμηρος ἐκάλεσεν ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐγγιγνόμενον θεοειδές τε καὶ θεοείκελον.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

καὶ τὸ μὲν ἂν οἶμαι ἐξαλείφοιεν, τὸ δὲ πάλιν ἐγγράφοιεν, [501c] ἕως ὅτι μάλιστα ἀνθρώπεια ἤθη εἰς ὅσον ἐνδέχεται θεοφιλῆ ποιήσειαν.

καλλίστη γοῦν ἄν, ἔφη, ἡ γραφὴ γένοιτο.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πείθομέν πῃ ἐκείνους, οὓς διατεταμένους ἐφ᾽ ἡμᾶς ἔφησθα ἰέναι, ὡς τοιοῦτός ἐστι πολιτειῶν ζωγράφος ὃν τότ᾽ ἐπῃνοῦμεν πρὸς αὐτούς, δι᾽ ὃν ἐκεῖνοι ἐχαλέπαινον ὅτι τὰς πόλεις αὐτῷ παρεδίδομεν, καί τι μᾶλλον αὐτὸ νῦν ἀκούοντες πραΰνονται;

καὶ πολύ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, εἰ σωφρονοῦσιν. [501d]

πῇ γὰρ δὴ ἕξουσιν ἀμφισβητῆσαι; πότερον μὴ τοῦ ὄντος τε καὶ ἀληθείας ἐραστὰς εἶναι τοὺς φιλοσόφους;

ἄτοπον μεντἄν, ἔφη, εἴη.

ἀλλὰ μὴ τὴν φύσιν αὐτῶν οἰκείαν εἶναι τοῦ ἀρίστου, ἣν ἡμεῖς διήλθομεν;

οὐδὲ τοῦτο.

τί δέ; τὴν τοιαύτην τυχοῦσαν τῶν προσηκόντων ἐπιτηδευμάτων οὐκ ἀγαθὴν τελέως ἔσεσθαι καὶ φιλόσοφον, εἴπερ τινὰ ἄλλην; ἢ ἐκείνους φήσει μᾶλλον, οὓς ἡμεῖς ἀφωρίσαμεν; [501e]

οὐ δήπου.

ἔτι οὖν ἀγριανοῦσι λεγόντων ἡμῶν ὅτι πρὶν ἂν πόλεως τὸ φιλόσοφον γένος ἐγκρατὲς γένηται, οὔτε πόλει οὔτε πολίταις κακῶν παῦλα ἔσται, οὐδὲ ἡ πολιτεία ἣν μυθολογοῦμεν λόγῳ ἔργῳ τέλος λήψεται;

ἴσως, ἔφη, ἧττον.

βούλει οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μὴ ἧττον φῶμεν αὐτοὺς ἀλλὰ [502a] παντάπασι πρᾴους γεγονέναι καὶ πεπεῖσθαι, ἵνα, εἰ μή τι, ἀλλὰ αἰσχυνθέντες ὁμολογήσωσιν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

οὗτοι μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοῦτο πεπεισμένοι ἔστων: τοῦδε δὲ πέρι τις ἀμφισβητήσει, ὡς οὐκ ἂν τύχοιεν γενόμενοι βασιλέων ἔκγονοι ἢ δυναστῶν τὰς φύσεις φιλόσοφοι;

οὐδ᾽ ἂν εἷς, ἔφη.

τοιούτους δὲ γενομένους ὡς πολλὴ ἀνάγκη διαφθαρῆναι, ἔχει τις λέγειν; ὡς μὲν γὰρ χαλεπὸν σωθῆναι, καὶ ἡμεῖς [502b] συγχωροῦμεν: ὡς δὲ ἐν παντὶ τῷ χρόνῳ τῶν πάντων οὐδέποτε οὐδ᾽ ἂν εἷς σωθείη, ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις ἀμφισβητήσειε;

καὶ πῶς;

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἷς ἱκανὸς γενόμενος, πόλιν ἔχων πειθομένην, πάντ᾽ ἐπιτελέσαι τὰ νῦν ἀπιστούμενα.

ἱκανὸς γάρ, ἔφη.

ἄρχοντος γάρ που, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τιθέντος τοὺς νόμους καὶ τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα ἃ διεληλύθαμεν, οὐ δήπου ἀδύνατον ἐθέλειν ποιεῖν τοὺς πολίτας.

οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν.

ἀλλὰ δή, ἅπερ ἡμῖν δοκεῖ, δόξαι καὶ ἄλλοις θαυμαστόν τι καὶ ἀδύνατον; [502c]

οὐκ οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

καὶ μὴν ὅτι γε βέλτιστα, εἴπερ δυνατά, ἱκανῶς ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, διήλθομεν.

ἱκανῶς γάρ.

νῦν δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, συμβαίνει ἡμῖν περὶ τῆς νομοθεσίας ἄριστα μὲν εἶναι ἃ λέγομεν, εἰ γένοιτο, χαλεπὰ δὲ γενέσθαι, οὐ μέντοι ἀδύνατά γε.

συμβαίνει γάρ, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ τοῦτο μόγις τέλος ἔσχεν, τὰ ἐπίλοιπα δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο λεκτέον, τίνα τρόπον ἡμῖν καὶ ἐκ τίνων μαθημάτων [502d] τε καὶ ἐπιτηδευμάτων οἱ σωτῆρες ἐνέσονται τῆς πολιτείας, καὶ κατὰ ποίας ἡλικίας ἕκαστοι ἑκάστων ἁπτόμενοι;

λεκτέον μέντοι, ἔφη.

οὐδέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ σοφόν μοι ἐγένετο τήν τε τῶν γυναικῶν τῆς κτήσεως δυσχέρειαν ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν παραλιπόντι καὶ παιδογονίαν καὶ τὴν τῶν ἀρχόντων κατάστασιν, εἰδότι ὡς ἐπίφθονός τε καὶ χαλεπὴ γίγνεσθαι ἡ παντελῶς ἀληθής: νῦν γὰρ οὐδὲν ἧττον ἦλθεν τὸ δεῖν αὐτὰ διελθεῖν. [502e] καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ τῶν γυναικῶν τε καὶ παίδων πεπέρανται, τὸ δὲ τῶν ἀρχόντων ὥσπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς μετελθεῖν δεῖ. ἐλέγομεν [503a] δ᾽, εἰ μνημονεύεις, δεῖν αὐτοὺς φιλοπόλιδάς τε φαίνεσθαι, βασανιζομένους ἐν ἡδοναῖς τε καὶ λύπαις, καὶ τὸ δόγμα τοῦτο μήτ᾽ ἐν πόνοις μήτ᾽ ἐν φόβοις μήτ᾽ ἐν ἄλλῃ μηδεμιᾷ μεταβολῇ φαίνεσθαι ἐκβάλλοντας, ἢ τὸν ἀδυνατοῦντα ἀποκριτέον, τὸν δὲ πανταχοῦ ἀκήρατον ἐκβαίνοντα ὥσπερ χρυσὸν ἐν πυρὶ βασανιζόμενον, στατέον ἄρχοντα καὶ γέρα δοτέον καὶ ζῶντι καὶ τελευτήσαντι καὶ ἆθλα. τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα ἦν τὰ λεγόμενα παρεξιόντος καὶ παρακαλυπτομένου τοῦ [503b] λόγου, πεφοβημένου κινεῖν τὸ νῦν παρόν.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις: μέμνημαι γάρ.

ὄκνος γάρ, ἔφην, ὦ φίλε, ἐγώ, εἰπεῖν τὰ νῦν ἀποτετολμημένα: νῦν δὲ τοῦτο μὲν τετολμήσθω εἰπεῖν, ὅτι τοὺς ἀκριβεστάτους φύλακας φιλοσόφους δεῖ καθιστάναι.

εἰρήσθω γάρ, ἔφη.

νόησον δὴ ὡς εἰκότως ὀλίγοι ἔσονταί σοι: ἣν γὰρ διήλθομεν φύσιν δεῖν ὑπάρχειν αὐτοῖς, εἰς ταὐτὸν συμφύεσθαι αὐτῆς τὰ μέρη ὀλιγάκις ἐθέλει, τὰ πολλὰ δὲ διεσπασμένη φύεται. [503c]

πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις;

εὐμαθεῖς καὶ μνήμονες καὶ ἀγχίνοι καὶ ὀξεῖς καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα τούτοις ἕπεται οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν ἅμα φύεσθαι καὶ νεανικοί τε καὶ μεγαλοπρεπεῖς τὰς διανοίας οἷοι κοσμίως μετὰ ἡσυχίας καὶ βεβαιότητος ἐθέλειν ζῆν, ἀλλ᾽ οἱ τοιοῦτοι ὑπὸ ὀξύτητος φέρονται ὅπῃ ἂν τύχωσιν, καὶ τὸ βέβαιον ἅπαν αὐτῶν ἐξοίχεται.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν τὰ βέβαια αὖ ταῦτα ἤθη καὶ οὐκ εὐμετάβολα, οἷς [503d] ἄν τις μᾶλλον ὡς πιστοῖς χρήσαιτο, καὶ ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ πρὸς τοὺς φόβους δυσκίνητα ὄντα, πρὸς τὰς μαθήσεις αὖ ποιεῖ ταὐτόν: δυσκινήτως ἔχει καὶ δυσμαθῶς ὥσπερ ἀπονεναρκωμένα, καὶ ὕπνου τε καὶ χάσμης ἐμπίμπλανται, ὅταν τι δέῃ τοιοῦτον διαπονεῖν.

ἔστι ταῦτα, ἔφη.

ἡμεῖς δέ γέ φαμεν ἀμφοτέρων δεῖν εὖ τε καὶ καλῶς μετέχειν, ἢ μήτε παιδείας τῆς ἀκριβεστάτης δεῖν αὐτῷ μεταδιδόναι μήτε τιμῆς μήτε ἀρχῆς.

ὀρθῶς, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν σπάνιον αὐτὸ οἴει ἔσεσθαι;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [503e]

βασανιστέον δὴ ἔν τε οἷς τότε ἐλέγομεν πόνοις τε καὶ φόβοις καὶ ἡδοναῖς, καὶ ἔτι δὴ ὃ τότε παρεῖμεν νῦν λέγομεν, ὅτι καὶ ἐν μαθήμασι πολλοῖς γυμνάζειν δεῖ, σκοποῦντας εἰ καὶ τὰ μέγιστα μαθήματα δυνατὴ ἔσται ἐνεγκεῖν εἴτε καὶ [504a] ἀποδειλιάσει, ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀποδειλιῶντες.

πρέπει γέ τοι δή, ἔφη, οὕτω σκοπεῖν. ἀλλὰ ποῖα δὴ λέγεις μαθήματα μέγιστα;

μνημονεύεις μέν που, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι τριττὰ εἴδη ψυχῆς διαστησάμενοι συνεβιβάζομεν δικαιοσύνης τε πέρι καὶ σωφροσύνης καὶ ἀνδρείας καὶ σοφίας ὃ ἕκαστον εἴη.

μὴ γὰρ μνημονεύων, ἔφη, τὰ λοιπὰ ἂν εἴην δίκαιος μὴ ἀκούειν.

ἦ καὶ τὸ προρρηθὲν αὐτῶν;

τὸ ποῖον δή; [504b]

ἐλέγομέν που ὅτι ὡς μὲν δυνατὸν ἦν κάλλιστα αὐτὰ κατιδεῖν ἄλλη μακροτέρα εἴη περίοδος, ἣν περιελθόντι καταφανῆ γίγνοιτο, τῶν μέντοι ἔμπροσθεν προειρημένων ἑπομένας ἀποδείξεις οἷόν τ᾽ εἴη προσάψαι. καὶ ὑμεῖς ἐξαρκεῖν ἔφατε, καὶ οὕτω δὴ ἐρρήθη τὰ τότε τῆς μὲν ἀκριβείας, ὡς ἐμοὶ ἐφαίνετο, ἐλλιπῆ, εἰ δὲ ὑμῖν ἀρεσκόντως, ὑμεῖς ἂν τοῦτο εἴποιτε.

ἀλλ᾽ ἔμοιγε, ἔφη, μετρίως: ἐφαίνετο μὴν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις. [504c]

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ φίλε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μέτρον τῶν τοιούτων ἀπολεῖπον καὶ ὁτιοῦν τοῦ ὄντος οὐ πάνυ μετρίως γίγνεται: ἀτελὲς γὰρ οὐδὲν οὐδενὸς μέτρον. δοκεῖ δ᾽ ἐνίοτέ τισιν ἱκανῶς ἤδη ἔχειν καὶ οὐδὲν δεῖν περαιτέρω ζητεῖν.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη, συχνοὶ πάσχουσιν αὐτὸ διὰ ῥᾳθυμίαν.

τούτου δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοῦ παθήματος ἥκιστα προσδεῖ φύλακι πόλεώς τε καὶ νόμων.

εἰκός, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

τὴν μακροτέραν τοίνυν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἔφην, περιιτέον τῷ [504d] τοιούτῳ, καὶ οὐχ ἧττον μανθάνοντι πονητέον ἢ γυμναζομένῳ: ἤ, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, τοῦ μεγίστου τε καὶ μάλιστα προσήκοντος μαθήματος ἐπὶ τέλος οὔποτε ἥξει.

οὐ γὰρ ταῦτα, ἔφη, μέγιστα, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι τι μεῖζον δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ ὧν διήλθομεν;

καὶ μεῖζον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ αὐτῶν τούτων οὐχ ὑπογραφὴν δεῖ ὥσπερ νῦν θεάσασθαι, ἀλλὰ τὴν τελεωτάτην ἀπεργασίαν μὴ παριέναι. ἢ οὐ γελοῖον ἐπὶ μὲν ἄλλοις σμικροῦ ἀξίοις [504e] πᾶν ποιεῖν συντεινομένους ὅπως ὅτι ἀκριβέστατα καὶ καθαρώτατα ἕξει, τῶν δὲ μεγίστων μὴ μεγίστας ἀξιοῦν εἶναι καὶ τὰς ἀκριβείας;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, [ἄξιον τὸ διανόημa}}]: ὃ μέντοι μέγιστον μάθημα καὶ περὶ ὅτι αὐτὸ λέγεις, οἴει τιν᾽ ἄν σε, ἔφη, ἀφεῖναι μὴ ἐρωτήσαντα τί ἐστιν;

οὐ πάνυ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀλλὰ καὶ σὺ ἐρώτα. πάντως αὐτὸ οὐκ ὀλιγάκις ἀκήκοας, νῦν δὲ ἢ οὐκ ἐννοεῖς ἢ αὖ διανοῇ [505a] ἐμοὶ πράγματα παρέχειν ἀντιλαμβανόμενος. οἶμαι δὲ τοῦτο μᾶλλον: ἐπεὶ ὅτι γε ἡ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἰδέα μέγιστον μάθημα, πολλάκις ἀκήκοας, ᾗ δὴ καὶ δίκαια καὶ τἆλλα προσχρησάμενα χρήσιμα καὶ ὠφέλιμα γίγνεται. καὶ νῦν σχεδὸν οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι μέλλω τοῦτο λέγειν, καὶ πρὸς τούτῳ ὅτι αὐτὴν οὐχ ἱκανῶς ἴσμεν: εἰ δὲ μὴ ἴσμεν, ἄνευ δὲ ταύτης εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα τἆλλα ἐπισταίμεθα, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι οὐδὲν ἡμῖν ὄφελος, ὥσπερ οὐδ᾽ εἰ [505b] κεκτῄμεθά τι ἄνευ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ. ἢ οἴει τι πλέον εἶναι πᾶσαν κτῆσιν ἐκτῆσθαι, μὴ μέντοι ἀγαθήν; ἢ πάντα τἆλλα φρονεῖν ἄνευ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ, καλὸν δὲ καὶ ἀγαθὸν μηδὲν φρονεῖν;

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ τόδε γε οἶσθα, ὅτι τοῖς μὲν πολλοῖς ἡδονὴ δοκεῖ εἶναι τὸ ἀγαθόν, τοῖς δὲ κομψοτέροις φρόνησις.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

καὶ ὅτι γε, ὦ φίλε, οἱ τοῦτο ἡγούμενοι οὐκ ἔχουσι δεῖξαι ἥτις φρόνησις, ἀλλ᾽ ἀναγκάζονται τελευτῶντες τὴν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ φάναι.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, γελοίως. [505c]

πῶς γὰρ οὐχί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰ ὀνειδίζοντές γε ὅτι οὐκ ἴσμεν τὸ ἀγαθὸν λέγουσι πάλιν ὡς εἰδόσιν; φρόνησιν γὰρ αὐτό φασιν εἶναι ἀγαθοῦ, ὡς αὖ συνιέντων ἡμῶν ὅτι λέγουσιν, ἐπειδὰν τὸ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ φθέγξωνται ὄνομα.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη.

τί δὲ οἱ τὴν ἡδονὴν ἀγαθὸν ὁριζόμενοι; μῶν μή τι ἐλάττονος πλάνης ἔμπλεῳ τῶν ἑτέρων; ἢ οὐ καὶ οὗτοι ἀναγκάζονται ὁμολογεῖν ἡδονὰς εἶναι κακάς;

σφόδρα γε.

συμβαίνει δὴ αὐτοῖς οἶμαι ὁμολογεῖν ἀγαθὰ εἶναι καὶ κακὰ ταὐτά. ἦ γάρ; [505d]

τί μήν;

οὐκοῦν ὅτι μὲν μεγάλαι καὶ πολλαὶ ἀμφισβητήσεις περὶ αὐτοῦ, φανερόν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τί δέ; τόδε οὐ φανερόν, ὡς δίκαια μὲν καὶ καλὰ πολλοὶ ἂν ἕλοιντο τὰ δοκοῦντα, κἂν <εἰ> μὴ εἴη, ὅμως ταῦτα πράττειν καὶ κεκτῆσθαι καὶ δοκεῖν, ἀγαθὰ δὲ οὐδενὶ ἔτι ἀρκεῖ τὰ δοκοῦντα κτᾶσθαι, ἀλλὰ τὰ ὄντα ζητοῦσιν, τὴν δὲ δόξαν ἐνταῦθα ἤδη πᾶς ἀτιμάζει;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

ὃ δὴ διώκει μὲν ἅπασα ψυχὴ καὶ τούτου ἕνεκα πάντα [505e] πράττει, ἀπομαντευομένη τι εἶναι, ἀποροῦσα δὲ καὶ οὐκ ἔχουσα λαβεῖν ἱκανῶς τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν οὐδὲ πίστει χρήσασθαι μονίμῳ οἵᾳ καὶ περὶ τἆλλα, διὰ τοῦτο δὲ ἀποτυγχάνει καὶ τῶν ἄλλων εἴ τι ὄφελος ἦν, περὶ δὴ τὸ τοιοῦτον καὶ τοσοῦτον [506a] οὕτω φῶμεν δεῖν ἐσκοτῶσθαι καὶ ἐκείνους τοὺς βελτίστους ἐν τῇ πόλει, οἷς πάντα ἐγχειριοῦμεν;

ἥκιστά γ᾽, ἔφη.

οἶμαι γοῦν, εἶπον, δίκαιά τε καὶ καλὰ ἀγνοούμενα ὅπῃ ποτὲ ἀγαθά ἐστιν, οὐ πολλοῦ τινος ἄξιον φύλακα κεκτῆσθαι ἂν ἑαυτῶν τὸν τοῦτο ἀγνοοῦντα: μαντεύομαι δὲ μηδένα αὐτὰ πρότερον γνώσεσθαι ἱκανῶς.

καλῶς γάρ, ἔφη, μαντεύῃ.

οὐκοῦν ἡμῖν ἡ πολιτεία τελέως κεκοσμήσεται, ἐὰν ὁ [506b] τοιοῦτος αὐτὴν ἐπισκοπῇ φύλαξ, ὁ τούτων ἐπιστήμων;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη. ἀλλὰ σὺ δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, πότερον ἐπιστήμην τὸ ἀγαθὸν φῂς εἶναι ἢ ἡδονήν, ἢ ἄλλο τι παρὰ ταῦτα;

οὗτος, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀνήρ, καλῶς ἦσθα καὶ πάλαι καταφανὴς ὅτι σοι οὐκ ἀποχρήσοι τὸ τοῖς ἄλλοις δοκοῦν περὶ αὐτῶν.

οὐδὲ γὰρ δίκαιόν μοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, φαίνεται τὰ τῶν ἄλλων μὲν ἔχειν εἰπεῖν δόγματα, τὸ δ᾽ αὑτοῦ μή, τοσοῦτον [506c] χρόνον περὶ ταῦτα πραγματευόμενον.

τί δέ; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: δοκεῖ σοι δίκαιον εἶναι περὶ ὧν τις μὴ οἶδεν λέγειν ὡς εἰδότα;

οὐδαμῶς γ᾽, ἔφη, ὡς εἰδότα, ὡς μέντοι οἰόμενον ταῦθ᾽ ἃ οἴεται ἐθέλειν λέγειν.

τί δέ; εἶπον: οὐκ ᾔσθησαι τὰς ἄνευ ἐπιστήμης δόξας, ὡς πᾶσαι αἰσχραί; ὧν αἱ βέλτισται τυφλαί-ἢ δοκοῦσί τί σοι τυφλῶν διαφέρειν ὁδὸν ὀρθῶς πορευομένων οἱ ἄνευ νοῦ ἀληθές τι δοξάζοντες;

οὐδέν, ἔφη.

βούλει οὖν αἰσχρὰ θεάσασθαι, τυφλά τε καὶ σκολιά, ἐξὸν [506d] παρ᾽ ἄλλων ἀκούειν φανά τε καὶ καλά;

μὴ πρὸς Διός, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ Γλαύκων, ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τέλει ὢν ἀποστῇς. ἀρκέσει γὰρ ἡμῖν, κἂν ὥσπερ δικαιοσύνης πέρι καὶ σωφροσύνης καὶ τῶν ἄλλων διῆλθες, οὕτω καὶ περὶ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ διέλθῃς.

καὶ γὰρ ἐμοί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, καὶ μάλα ἀρκέσει: ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως μὴ οὐχ οἷός τ᾽ ἔσομαι, προθυμούμενος δὲ ἀσχημονῶν γέλωτα ὀφλήσω. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ μακάριοι, αὐτὸ μὲν τί ποτ᾽ [506e] ἐστὶ τἀγαθὸν ἐάσωμεν τὸ νῦν εἶναι-πλέον γάρ μοι φαίνεται ἢ κατὰ τὴν παροῦσαν ὁρμὴν ἐφικέσθαι τοῦ γε δοκοῦντος ἐμοὶ τὰ νῦν-ὃς δὲ ἔκγονός τε τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ φαίνεται καὶ ὁμοιότατος ἐκείνῳ, λέγειν ἐθέλω, εἰ καὶ ὑμῖν φίλον, εἰ δὲ μή, ἐᾶν.

ἀλλ᾽, ἔφη, λέγε: εἰς αὖθις γὰρ τοῦ πατρὸς ἀποτείσεις τὴν διήγησιν. [507a]

βουλοίμην ἄν, εἶπον, ἐμέ τε δύνασθαι αὐτὴν ἀποδοῦναι καὶ ὑμᾶς κομίσασθαι, ἀλλὰ μὴ ὥσπερ νῦν τοὺς τόκους μόνον. τοῦτον δὲ δὴ οὖν τὸν τόκον τε καὶ ἔκγονον αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ κομίσασθε. εὐλαβεῖσθε μέντοι μή πῃ ἐξαπατήσω ὑμᾶς ἄκων, κίβδηλον ἀποδιδοὺς τὸν λόγον τοῦ τόκου.

εὐλαβησόμεθα, ἔφη, κατὰ δύναμιν: ἀλλὰ μόνον λέγε.

διομολογησάμενός γ᾽ ἔφην ἐγώ, καὶ ἀναμνήσας ὑμᾶς τά τ᾽ ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ῥηθέντα καὶ ἄλλοτε ἤδη πολλάκις εἰρημένα. [507b]

τὰ ποῖα; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

πολλὰ καλά, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ πολλὰ ἀγαθὰ καὶ ἕκαστα οὕτως εἶναί φαμέν τε καὶ διορίζομεν τῷ λόγῳ.

φαμὲν γάρ.

καὶ αὐτὸ δὴ καλὸν καὶ αὐτὸ ἀγαθόν, καὶ οὕτω περὶ πάντων ἃ τότε ὡς πολλὰ ἐτίθεμεν, πάλιν αὖ κατ᾽ ἰδέαν μίαν ἑκάστου ὡς μιᾶς οὔσης τιθέντες, “ὃ ἔστιν” ἕκαστον προσαγορεύομεν.

ἔστι ταῦτα.

καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ ὁρᾶσθαί φαμεν, νοεῖσθαι δ᾽ οὔ, τὰς δ᾽ αὖ ἰδέας νοεῖσθαι μέν, ὁρᾶσθαι δ᾽ οὔ.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν. [507c]

τῷ οὖν ὁρῶμεν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν τὰ ὁρώμενα;

τῇ ὄψει, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἀκοῇ τὰ ἀκουόμενα, καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις αἰσθήσεσι πάντα τὰ αἰσθητά;

τί μήν;

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐννενόηκας τὸν τῶν αἰσθήσεων δημιουργὸν ὅσῳ πολυτελεστάτην τὴν τοῦ ὁρᾶν τε καὶ ὁρᾶσθαι δύναμιν ἐδημιούργησεν;

οὐ πάνυ, ἔφη.

ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε σκόπει. ἔστιν ὅτι προσδεῖ ἀκοῇ καὶ φωνῇ γένους ἄλλου εἰς τὸ τὴν μὲν ἀκούειν, τὴν δὲ ἀκούεσθαι, ὃ [507d] ἐὰν μὴ παραγένηται τρίτον, ἡ μὲν οὐκ ἀκούσεται, ἡ δὲ οὐκ ἀκουσθήσεται;

οὐδενός, ἔφη.

οἶμαι δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐδ᾽ ἄλλαις πολλαῖς, ἵνα μὴ εἴπω ὅτι οὐδεμιᾷ, τοιούτου προσδεῖ οὐδενός. ἢ σύ τινα ἔχεις εἰπεῖν;

οὐκ ἔγωγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

τὴν δὲ τῆς ὄψεως καὶ τοῦ ὁρατοῦ οὐκ ἐννοεῖς ὅτι προσδεῖται;

πῶς;

ἐνούσης που ἐν ὄμμασιν ὄψεως καὶ ἐπιχειροῦντος τοῦ ἔχοντος χρῆσθαι αὐτῇ, παρούσης δὲ χρόας ἐν αὐτοῖς, ἐὰν μὴ [507e] παραγένηται γένος τρίτον ἰδίᾳ ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο πεφυκός, οἶσθα ὅτι ἥ τε ὄψις οὐδὲν ὄψεται, τά τε χρώματα ἔσται ἀόρατα.

τίνος δὴ λέγεις, ἔφη, τούτου;

ὃ δὴ σὺ καλεῖς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, φῶς.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

οὐ σμικρᾷ ἄρα ἰδέᾳ ἡ τοῦ ὁρᾶν αἴσθησις καὶ ἡ τοῦ ὁρᾶσθαι [508a] δύναμις τῶν ἄλλων συζεύξεων τιμιωτέρῳ ζυγῷ ἐζύγησαν, εἴπερ μὴ ἄτιμον τὸ φῶς.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη, πολλοῦ γε δεῖ ἄτιμον εἶναι.

τίνα οὖν ἔχεις αἰτιάσασθαι τῶν ἐν οὐρανῷ θεῶν τούτου κύριον, οὗ ἡμῖν τὸ φῶς ὄψιν τε ποιεῖ ὁρᾶν ὅτι κάλλιστα καὶ τὰ ὁρώμενα ὁρᾶσθαι;

ὅνπερ καὶ σύ, ἔφη, καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι: τὸν ἥλιον γὰρ δῆλον ὅτι ἐρωτᾷς.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὧδε πέφυκεν ὄψις πρὸς τοῦτον τὸν θεόν;

πῶς;

οὐκ ἔστιν ἥλιος ἡ ὄψις οὔτε αὐτὴ οὔτ᾽ ἐν ᾧ ἐγγίγνεται, ὃ [508b] δὴ καλοῦμεν ὄμμα.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ἀλλ᾽ ἡλιοειδέστατόν γε οἶμαι τῶν περὶ τὰς αἰσθήσεις ὀργάνων.

πολύ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν ἣν ἔχει ἐκ τούτου ταμιευομένην ὥσπερ ἐπίρρυτον κέκτηται;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ καὶ ὁ ἥλιος ὄψις μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν, αἴτιος δ᾽ ὢν αὐτῆς ὁρᾶται ὑπ᾽ αὐτῆς ταύτης;

οὕτως, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

τοῦτον τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, φάναι με λέγειν τὸν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἔκγονον, ὃν τἀγαθὸν ἐγέννησεν ἀνάλογον ἑαυτῷ, ὅτιπερ αὐτὸ [508c] ἐν τῷ νοητῷ τόπῳ πρός τε νοῦν καὶ τὰ νοούμενα, τοῦτο τοῦτον ἐν τῷ ὁρατῷ πρός τε ὄψιν καὶ τὰ ὁρώμενα.

πῶς; ἔφη: ἔτι δίελθέ μοι.

ὀφθαλμοί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι, ὅταν μηκέτι ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνά τις αὐτοὺς τρέπῃ ὧν ἂν τὰς χρόας τὸ ἡμερινὸν φῶς ἐπέχῃ, ἀλλὰ ὧν νυκτερινὰ φέγγη, ἀμβλυώττουσί τε καὶ ἐγγὺς φαίνονται τυφλῶν, ὥσπερ οὐκ ἐνούσης καθαρᾶς ὄψεως;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη. [508d]

ὅταν δέ γ᾽ οἶμαι ὧν ὁ ἥλιος καταλάμπει, σαφῶς ὁρῶσι, καὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς τούτοις ὄμμασιν ἐνοῦσα φαίνεται.

τί μήν;

οὕτω τοίνυν καὶ τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ὧδε νόει: ὅταν μὲν οὗ καταλάμπει ἀλήθειά τε καὶ τὸ ὄν, εἰς τοῦτο ἀπερείσηται, ἐνόησέν τε καὶ ἔγνω αὐτὸ καὶ νοῦν ἔχειν φαίνεται: ὅταν δὲ εἰς τὸ τῷ σκότῳ κεκραμένον, τὸ γιγνόμενόν τε καὶ ἀπολλύμενον, δοξάζει τε καὶ ἀμβλυώττει ἄνω καὶ κάτω τὰς δόξας μεταβάλλον, καὶ ἔοικεν αὖ νοῦν οὐκ ἔχοντι.

ἔοικε γάρ. [508e]

τοῦτο τοίνυν τὸ τὴν ἀλήθειαν παρέχον τοῖς γιγνωσκομένοις καὶ τῷ γιγνώσκοντι τὴν δύναμιν ἀποδιδὸν τὴν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἰδέαν φάθι εἶναι: αἰτίαν δ᾽ ἐπιστήμης οὖσαν καὶ ἀληθείας, ὡς γιγνωσκομένης μὲν διανοοῦ, οὕτω δὲ καλῶν ἀμφοτέρων ὄντων, γνώσεώς τε καὶ ἀληθείας, ἄλλο καὶ κάλλιον ἔτι τούτων ἡγούμενος αὐτὸ ὀρθῶς ἡγήσῃ: ἐπιστήμην [509a] δὲ καὶ ἀλήθειαν, ὥσπερ ἐκεῖ φῶς τε καὶ ὄψιν ἡλιοειδῆ μὲν νομίζειν ὀρθόν, ἥλιον δ᾽ ἡγεῖσθαι οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἔχει, οὕτω καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἀγαθοειδῆ μὲν νομίζειν ταῦτ᾽ ἀμφότερα ὀρθόν, ἀγαθὸν δὲ ἡγεῖσθαι ὁπότερον αὐτῶν οὐκ ὀρθόν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι μειζόνως τιμητέον τὴν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἕξιν.

ἀμήχανον κάλλος, ἔφη, λέγεις, εἰ ἐπιστήμην μὲν καὶ ἀλήθειαν παρέχει, αὐτὸ δ᾽ ὑπὲρ ταῦτα κάλλει ἐστίν: οὐ γὰρ δήπου σύ γε ἡδονὴν αὐτὸ λέγεις.

εὐφήμει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε μᾶλλον τὴν εἰκόνα αὐτοῦ ἔτι ἐπισκόπει. [509b]

πῶς;

τὸν ἥλιον τοῖς ὁρωμένοις οὐ μόνον οἶμαι τὴν τοῦ ὁρᾶσθαι δύναμιν παρέχειν φήσεις, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν γένεσιν καὶ αὔξην καὶ τροφήν, οὐ γένεσιν αὐτὸν ὄντα.

πῶς γάρ;

καὶ τοῖς γιγνωσκομένοις τοίνυν μὴ μόνον τὸ γιγνώσκεσθαι φάναι ὑπὸ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ παρεῖναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ εἶναί τε καὶ τὴν οὐσίαν ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου αὐτοῖς προσεῖναι, οὐκ οὐσίας ὄντος τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι ἐπέκεινα τῆς οὐσίας πρεσβείᾳ καὶ δυνάμει ὑπερέχοντος. [509c]

καὶ ὁ Γλαύκων μάλα γελοίως, Ἄπολλον, ἔφη, δαιμονίας ὑπερβολῆς.

σὺ γάρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, αἴτιος, ἀναγκάζων τὰ ἐμοὶ δοκοῦντα περὶ αὐτοῦ λέγειν.

καὶ μηδαμῶς γ᾽, ἔφη, παύσῃ, εἰ μή τι, ἀλλὰ τὴν περὶ τὸν ἥλιον ὁμοιότητα αὖ διεξιών, εἴ πῃ ἀπολείπεις.

ἀλλὰ μήν, εἶπον, συχνά γε ἀπολείπω.

μηδὲ σμικρὸν τοίνυν, ἔφη, παραλίπῃς.

οἶμαι μέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ πολύ: ὅμως δέ, ὅσα γ᾽ ἐν τῷ παρόντι δυνατόν, ἑκὼν οὐκ ἀπολείψω.

μὴ γάρ, ἔφη. [509d]

νόησον τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὥσπερ λέγομεν, δύο αὐτὼ εἶναι, καὶ βασιλεύειν τὸ μὲν νοητοῦ γένους τε καὶ τόπου, τὸ δ᾽ αὖ ὁρατοῦ, ἵνα μὴ οὐρανοῦ εἰπὼν δόξω σοι σοφίζεσθαι περὶ τὸ ὄνομα. ἀλλ᾽ οὖν ἔχεις ταῦτα διττὰ εἴδη, ὁρατόν, νοητόν;

ἔχω.

ὥσπερ τοίνυν γραμμὴν δίχα τετμημένην λαβὼν ἄνισα τμήματα, πάλιν τέμνε ἑκάτερον τὸ τμῆμα ἀνὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, τό τε τοῦ ὁρωμένου γένους καὶ τὸ τοῦ νοουμένου, καί σοι ἔσται σαφηνείᾳ καὶ ἀσαφείᾳ πρὸς ἄλληλα ἐν μὲν τῷ ὁρωμένῳ [509e] τὸ μὲν ἕτερον τμῆμα εἰκόνες-λέγω δὲ τὰς εἰκόνας πρῶτον [510a] μὲν τὰς σκιάς, ἔπειτα τὰ ἐν τοῖς ὕδασι φαντάσματα καὶ ἐν τοῖς ὅσα πυκνά τε καὶ λεῖα καὶ φανὰ συνέστηκεν, καὶ πᾶν τὸ τοιοῦτον, εἰ κατανοεῖς.

ἀλλὰ κατανοῶ.

τὸ τοίνυν ἕτερον τίθει ᾧ τοῦτο ἔοικεν, τά τε περὶ ἡμᾶς ζῷς καὶ πᾶν τὸ φυτευτὸν καὶ τὸ σκευαστὸν ὅλον γένος.

τίθημι, ἔφη.

ἦ καὶ ἐθέλοις ἂν αὐτὸ φάναι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, διῃρῆσθαι ἀληθείᾳ τε καὶ μή, ὡς τὸ δοξαστὸν πρὸς τὸ γνωστόν, οὕτω τὸ ὁμοιωθὲν πρὸς τὸ ᾧ ὡμοιώθη; [510b]

ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη, καὶ μάλα.

σκόπει δὴ αὖ καὶ τὴν τοῦ νοητοῦ τομὴν ᾗ τμητέον.

πῇ;

ἧι τὸ μὲν αὐτοῦ τοῖς τότε μιμηθεῖσιν ὡς εἰκόσιν χρωμένη ψυχὴ ζητεῖν ἀναγκάζεται ἐξ ὑποθέσεων, οὐκ ἐπ᾽ ἀρχὴν πορευομένη ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τελευτήν, τὸ δ᾽ αὖ ἕτερον-τὸ ἐπ᾽ ἀρχὴν ἀνυπόθετον-ἐξ ὑποθέσεως ἰοῦσα καὶ ἄνευ τῶν περὶ ἐκεῖνο εἰκόνων, αὐτοῖς εἴδεσι δι᾽ αὐτῶν τὴν μέθοδον ποιουμένη.

ταῦτ᾽, ἔφη, ἃ λέγεις, οὐχ ἱκανῶς ἔμαθον. [510c]

ἀλλ᾽ αὖθις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ῥᾷον γὰρ τούτων προειρημένων μαθήσῃ. οἶμαι γάρ σε εἰδέναι ὅτι οἱ περὶ τὰς γεωμετρίας τε καὶ λογισμοὺς καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πραγματευόμενοι, ὑποθέμενοι τό τε περιττὸν καὶ τὸ ἄρτιον καὶ τὰ σχήματα καὶ γωνιῶν τριττὰ εἴδη καὶ ἄλλα τούτων ἀδελφὰ καθ᾽ ἑκάστην μέθοδον, ταῦτα μὲν ὡς εἰδότες, ποιησάμενοι ὑποθέσεις αὐτά, οὐδένα λόγον οὔτε αὑτοῖς οὔτε ἄλλοις ἔτι ἀξιοῦσι περὶ αὐτῶν διδόναι [510d] ὡς παντὶ φανερῶν, ἐκ τούτων δ᾽ ἀρχόμενοι τὰ λοιπὰ ἤδη διεξιόντες τελευτῶσιν ὁμολογουμένως ἐπὶ τοῦτο οὗ ἂν ἐπὶ σκέψιν ὁρμήσωσι.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε οἶδα.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅτι τοῖς ὁρωμένοις εἴδεσι προσχρῶνται καὶ τοὺς λόγους περὶ αὐτῶν ποιοῦνται, οὐ περὶ τούτων διανοούμενοι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνων πέρι οἷς ταῦτα ἔοικε, τοῦ τετραγώνου αὐτοῦ ἕνεκα τοὺς λόγους ποιούμενοι καὶ διαμέτρου αὐτῆς, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ [510e] ταύτης ἣν γράφουσιν, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως, αὐτὰ μὲν ταῦτα ἃ πλάττουσίν τε καὶ γράφουσιν, ὧν καὶ σκιαὶ καὶ ἐν ὕδασιν εἰκόνες εἰσίν, τούτοις μὲν ὡς εἰκόσιν αὖ χρώμενοι, ζητοῦντες [511a] δὲ αὐτὰ ἐκεῖνα ἰδεῖν ἃ οὐκ ἂν ἄλλως ἴδοι τις ἢ τῇ διανοίᾳ.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

τοῦτο τοίνυν νοητὸν μὲν τὸ εἶδος ἔλεγον, ὑποθέσεσι δ᾽ ἀναγκαζομένην ψυχὴν χρῆσθαι περὶ τὴν ζήτησιν αὐτοῦ, οὐκ ἐπ᾽ ἀρχὴν ἰοῦσαν, ὡς οὐ δυναμένην τῶν ὑποθέσεων ἀνωτέρω ἐκβαίνειν, εἰκόσι δὲ χρωμένην αὐτοῖς τοῖς ὑπὸ τῶν κάτω ἀπεικασθεῖσιν καὶ ἐκείνοις πρὸς ἐκεῖνα ὡς ἐναργέσι δεδοξασμένοις τε καὶ τετιμημένοις. [511b]

μανθάνω, ἔφη, ὅτι τὸ ὑπὸ ταῖς γεωμετρίαις τε καὶ ταῖς ταύτης ἀδελφαῖς τέχναις λέγεις.

τὸ τοίνυν ἕτερον μάνθανε τμῆμα τοῦ νοητοῦ λέγοντά με τοῦτο οὗ αὐτὸς ὁ λόγος ἅπτεται τῇ τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι δυνάμει, τὰς ὑποθέσεις ποιούμενος οὐκ ἀρχὰς ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι ὑποθέσεις, οἷον ἐπιβάσεις τε καὶ ὁρμάς, ἵνα μέχρι τοῦ ἀνυποθέτου ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ παντὸς ἀρχὴν ἰών, ἁψάμενος αὐτῆς, πάλιν αὖ ἐχόμενος τῶν ἐκείνης ἐχομένων, οὕτως ἐπὶ τελευτὴν καταβαίνῃ, [511c] αἰσθητῷ παντάπασιν οὐδενὶ προσχρώμενος, ἀλλ᾽ εἴδεσιν αὐτοῖς δι᾽ αὐτῶν εἰς αὐτά, καὶ τελευτᾷ εἰς εἴδη.

μανθάνω, ἔφη, ἱκανῶς μὲν οὔ-δοκεῖς γάρ μοι συχνὸν ἔργον λέγειν-ὅτι μέντοι βούλει διορίζειν σαφέστερον εἶναι τὸ ὑπὸ τῆς τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι ἐπιστήμης τοῦ ὄντος τε καὶ νοητοῦ θεωρούμενον ἢ τὸ ὑπὸ τῶν τεχνῶν καλουμένων, αἷς αἱ ὑποθέσεις ἀρχαὶ καὶ διανοίᾳ μὲν ἀναγκάζονται ἀλλὰ μὴ αἰσθήσεσιν αὐτὰ θεᾶσθαι οἱ θεώμενοι, διὰ δὲ τὸ μὴ ἐπ᾽ ἀρχὴν [511d] ἀνελθόντες σκοπεῖν ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ὑποθέσεων, νοῦν οὐκ ἴσχειν περὶ αὐτὰ δοκοῦσί σοι, καίτοι νοητῶν ὄντων μετὰ ἀρχῆς. διάνοιαν δὲ καλεῖν μοι δοκεῖς τὴν τῶν γεωμετρικῶν τε καὶ τὴν τῶν τοιούτων ἕξιν ἀλλ᾽ οὐ νοῦν, ὡς μεταξύ τι δόξης τε καὶ νοῦ τὴν διάνοιαν οὖσαν.

ἱκανώτατα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀπεδέξω. καί μοι ἐπὶ τοῖς τέτταρσι τμήμασι τέτταρα ταῦτα παθήματα ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ γιγνόμενα λαβέ, νόησιν μὲν ἐπὶ τῷ ἀνωτάτω, διάνοιαν [511e] δὲ ἐπὶ τῷ δευτέρῳ, τῷ τρίτῳ δὲ πίστιν ἀπόδος καὶ τῷ τελευταίῳ εἰκασίαν, καὶ τάξον αὐτὰ ἀνὰ λόγον, ὥσπερ ἐφ᾽ οἷς ἐστιν ἀληθείας μετέχει, οὕτω ταῦτα σαφηνείας ἡγησάμενος μετέχειν.

μανθάνω, ἔφη, καὶ συγχωρῶ καὶ τάττω ὡς λέγεις.

Πολιτεία Ζ

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

[514a] μετὰ ταῦτα δή, εἶπον, ἀπείκασον τοιούτῳ πάθει τὴν ἡμετέραν φύσιν παιδείας τε πέρι καὶ ἀπαιδευσίας. ἰδὲ γὰρ ἀνθρώπους οἷον ἐν καταγείῳ οἰκήσει σπηλαιώδει, ἀναπεπταμένην πρὸς τὸ φῶς τὴν εἴσοδον ἐχούσῃ μακρὰν παρὰ πᾶν τὸ σπήλαιον, ἐν ταύτῃ ἐκ παίδων ὄντας ἐν δεσμοῖς καὶ τὰ σκέλη καὶ τοὺς αὐχένας, ὥστε μένειν τε αὐτοὺς εἴς τε τὸ [514b] πρόσθεν μόνον ὁρᾶν, κύκλῳ δὲ τὰς κεφαλὰς ὑπὸ τοῦ δεσμοῦ ἀδυνάτους περιάγειν, φῶς δὲ αὐτοῖς πυρὸς ἄνωθεν καὶ πόρρωθεν καόμενον ὄπισθεν αὐτῶν, μεταξὺ δὲ τοῦ πυρὸς καὶ τῶν δεσμωτῶν ἐπάνω ὁδόν, παρ᾽ ἣν ἰδὲ τειχίον παρῳκοδομημένον, ὥσπερ τοῖς θαυματοποιοῖς πρὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πρόκειται τὰ παραφράγματα, ὑπὲρ ὧν τὰ θαύματα δεικνύασιν.

ὁρῶ, ἔφη.

ὅρα τοίνυν παρὰ τοῦτο τὸ τειχίον φέροντας ἀνθρώπους [514c] σκεύη τε παντοδαπὰ ὑπερέχοντα τοῦ τειχίου καὶ ἀνδριάντας [515a] καὶ ἄλλα ζῷα λίθινά τε καὶ ξύλινα καὶ παντοῖα εἰργασμένα, οἷον εἰκὸς τοὺς μὲν φθεγγομένους, τοὺς δὲ σιγῶντας τῶν παραφερόντων.

ἄτοπον, ἔφη, λέγεις εἰκόνα καὶ δεσμώτας ἀτόπους.

ὁμοίους ἡμῖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: τοὺς γὰρ τοιούτους πρῶτον μὲν ἑαυτῶν τε καὶ ἀλλήλων οἴει ἄν τι ἑωρακέναι ἄλλο πλὴν τὰς σκιὰς τὰς ὑπὸ τοῦ πυρὸς εἰς τὸ καταντικρὺ αὐτῶν τοῦ σπηλαίου προσπιπτούσας;

πῶς γάρ, ἔφη, εἰ ἀκινήτους γε τὰς κεφαλὰς ἔχειν ἠναγκασμένοι [515b] εἶεν διὰ βίου;

τί δὲ τῶν παραφερομένων; οὐ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο;

τί μήν;

εἰ οὖν διαλέγεσθαι οἷοί τ᾽ εἶεν πρὸς ἀλλήλους, οὐ ταῦτα ἡγῇ ἂν τὰ ὄντα αὐτοὺς νομίζειν ἅπερ ὁρῷεν;

ἀνάγκη.

τί δ᾽ εἰ καὶ ἠχὼ τὸ δεσμωτήριον ἐκ τοῦ καταντικρὺ ἔχοι; ὁπότε τις τῶν παριόντων φθέγξαιτο, οἴει ἂν ἄλλο τι αὐτοὺς ἡγεῖσθαι τὸ φθεγγόμενον ἢ τὴν παριοῦσαν σκιάν;

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη. [515c]

παντάπασι δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οἱ τοιοῦτοι οὐκ ἂν ἄλλο τι νομίζοιεν τὸ ἀληθὲς ἢ τὰς τῶν σκευαστῶν σκιάς.

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

σκόπει δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, αὐτῶν λύσιν τε καὶ ἴασιν τῶν τε δεσμῶν καὶ τῆς ἀφροσύνης, οἵα τις ἂν εἴη, εἰ φύσει τοιάδε συμβαίνοι αὐτοῖς: ὁπότε τις λυθείη καὶ ἀναγκάζοιτο ἐξαίφνης ἀνίστασθαί τε καὶ περιάγειν τὸν αὐχένα καὶ βαδίζειν καὶ πρὸς τὸ φῶς ἀναβλέπειν, πάντα δὲ ταῦτα ποιῶν ἀλγοῖ τε καὶ διὰ τὰς μαρμαρυγὰς ἀδυνατοῖ καθορᾶν ἐκεῖνα ὧν [515d] τότε τὰς σκιὰς ἑώρα, τί ἂν οἴει αὐτὸν εἰπεῖν, εἴ τις αὐτῷ λέγοι ὅτι τότε μὲν ἑώρα φλυαρίας, νῦν δὲ μᾶλλόν τι ἐγγυτέρω τοῦ ὄντος καὶ πρὸς μᾶλλον ὄντα τετραμμένος ὀρθότερον βλέποι, καὶ δὴ καὶ ἕκαστον τῶν παριόντων δεικνὺς αὐτῷ ἀναγκάζοι ἐρωτῶν ἀποκρίνεσθαι ὅτι ἔστιν; οὐκ οἴει αὐτὸν ἀπορεῖν τε ἂν καὶ ἡγεῖσθαι τὰ τότε ὁρώμενα ἀληθέστερα ἢ τὰ νῦν δεικνύμενα;

πολύ γ᾽, ἔφη. [515e]

οὐκοῦν κἂν εἰ πρὸς αὐτὸ τὸ φῶς ἀναγκάζοι αὐτὸν βλέπειν, ἀλγεῖν τε ἂν τὰ ὄμματα καὶ φεύγειν ἀποστρεφόμενον πρὸς ἐκεῖνα ἃ δύναται καθορᾶν, καὶ νομίζειν ταῦτα τῷ ὄντι σαφέστερα τῶν δεικνυμένων;

οὕτως, ἔφη.

εἰ δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐντεῦθεν ἕλκοι τις αὐτὸν βίᾳ διὰ τραχείας τῆς ἀναβάσεως καὶ ἀνάντους, καὶ μὴ ἀνείη πρὶν ἐξελκύσειεν εἰς τὸ τοῦ ἡλίου φῶς, ἆρα οὐχὶ ὀδυνᾶσθαί τε [516a] ἂν καὶ ἀγανακτεῖν ἑλκόμενον, καὶ ἐπειδὴ πρὸς τὸ φῶς ἔλθοι, αὐγῆς ἂν ἔχοντα τὰ ὄμματα μεστὰ ὁρᾶν οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἓν δύνασθαι τῶν νῦν λεγομένων ἀληθῶν;

οὐ γὰρ ἄν, ἔφη, ἐξαίφνης γε.

συνηθείας δὴ οἶμαι δέοιτ᾽ ἄν, εἰ μέλλοι τὰ ἄνω ὄψεσθαι. καὶ πρῶτον μὲν τὰς σκιὰς ἂν ῥᾷστα καθορῷ, καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο ἐν τοῖς ὕδασι τά τε τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων εἴδωλα, ὕστερον δὲ αὐτά: ἐκ δὲ τούτων τὰ ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ καὶ αὐτὸν τὸν οὐρανὸν νύκτωρ ἂν ῥᾷον θεάσαιτο, προσβλέπων τὸ τῶν [516b] ἄστρων τε καὶ σελήνης φῶς, ἢ μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν τὸν ἥλιόν τε καὶ τὸ τοῦ ἡλίου.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τελευταῖον δὴ οἶμαι τὸν ἥλιον, οὐκ ἐν ὕδασιν οὐδ᾽ ἐν ἀλλοτρίᾳ ἕδρᾳ φαντάσματα αὐτοῦ, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸν καθ᾽ αὑτὸν ἐν τῇ αὑτοῦ χώρᾳ δύναιτ᾽ ἂν κατιδεῖν καὶ θεάσασθαι οἷός ἐστιν.

ἀναγκαῖον, ἔφη.

καὶ μετὰ ταῦτ᾽ ἂν ἤδη συλλογίζοιτο περὶ αὐτοῦ ὅτι οὗτος ὁ τάς τε ὥρας παρέχων καὶ ἐνιαυτοὺς καὶ πάντα ἐπιτροπεύων [516c] τὰ ἐν τῷ ὁρωμένῳ τόπῳ, καὶ ἐκείνων ὧν σφεῖς ἑώρων τρόπον τινὰ πάντων αἴτιος.

δῆλον, ἔφη, ὅτι ἐπὶ ταῦτα ἂν μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνα ἔλθοι.

τί οὖν; ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενον αὐτὸν τῆς πρώτης οἰκήσεως καὶ τῆς ἐκεῖ σοφίας καὶ τῶν τότε συνδεσμωτῶν οὐκ ἂν οἴει αὑτὸν μὲν εὐδαιμονίζειν τῆς μεταβολῆς, τοὺς δὲ ἐλεεῖν;

καὶ μάλα.

τιμαὶ δὲ καὶ ἔπαινοι εἴ τινες αὐτοῖς ἦσαν τότε παρ᾽ ἀλλήλων καὶ γέρα τῷ ὀξύτατα καθορῶντι τὰ παριόντα, καὶ μνημονεύοντι μάλιστα ὅσα τε πρότερα αὐτῶν καὶ ὕστερα [516d] εἰώθει καὶ ἅμα πορεύεσθαι, καὶ ἐκ τούτων δὴ δυνατώτατα ἀπομαντευομένῳ τὸ μέλλον ἥξειν, δοκεῖς ἂν αὐτὸν ἐπιθυμητικῶς αὐτῶν ἔχειν καὶ ζηλοῦν τοὺς παρ᾽ ἐκείνοις τιμωμένους τε καὶ ἐνδυναστεύοντας, ἢ τὸ τοῦ Ὁμήρου ἂν πεπονθέναι καὶ σφόδρα βούλεσθαι ““ἐπάρουρον ἐόντα θητευέμεν ἄλλῳ ἀνδρὶ παρ᾽ ἀκλήρῳ”Hom. Od. 11.489” καὶ ὁτιοῦν ἂν πεπονθέναι μᾶλλον ἢ ‘κεῖνά τε δοξάζειν καὶ ἐκείνως ζῆν; [516e]

οὕτως, ἔφη, ἔγωγε οἶμαι, πᾶν μᾶλλον πεπονθέναι ἂν δέξασθαι ἢ ζῆν ἐκείνως.

καὶ τόδε δὴ ἐννόησον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. εἰ πάλιν ὁ τοιοῦτος καταβὰς εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν θᾶκον καθίζοιτο, ἆρ᾽ οὐ σκότους <ἂν> ἀνάπλεως σχοίη τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς, ἐξαίφνης ἥκων ἐκ τοῦ ἡλίου;

καὶ μάλα γ᾽, ἔφη.

τὰς δὲ δὴ σκιὰς ἐκείνας πάλιν εἰ δέοι αὐτὸν γνωματεύοντα διαμιλλᾶσθαι τοῖς ἀεὶ δεσμώταις ἐκείνοις, ἐν ᾧ ἀμβλυώττει, [517a] πρὶν καταστῆναι τὰ ὄμματα, οὗτος δ᾽ ὁ χρόνος μὴ πάνυ ὀλίγος εἴη τῆς συνηθείας, ἆρ᾽ οὐ γέλωτ᾽ ἂν παράσχοι, καὶ λέγοιτο ἂν περὶ αὐτοῦ ὡς ἀναβὰς ἄνω διεφθαρμένος ἥκει τὰ ὄμματα, καὶ ὅτι οὐκ ἄξιον οὐδὲ πειρᾶσθαι ἄνω ἰέναι; καὶ τὸν ἐπιχειροῦντα λύειν τε καὶ ἀνάγειν, εἴ πως ἐν ταῖς χερσὶ δύναιντο λαβεῖν καὶ ἀποκτείνειν, ἀποκτεινύναι ἄν;

σφόδρα γ᾽, ἔφη.

ταύτην τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὴν εἰκόνα, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων, [517b] προσαπτέον ἅπασαν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν λεγομένοις, τὴν μὲν δι᾽ ὄψεως φαινομένην ἕδραν τῇ τοῦ δεσμωτηρίου οἰκήσει ἀφομοιοῦντα, τὸ δὲ τοῦ πυρὸς ἐν αὐτῇ φῶς τῇ τοῦ ἡλίου δυνάμει: τὴν δὲ ἄνω ἀνάβασιν καὶ θέαν τῶν ἄνω τὴν εἰς τὸν νοητὸν τόπον τῆς ψυχῆς ἄνοδον τιθεὶς οὐχ ἁμαρτήσῃ τῆς γ᾽ ἐμῆς ἐλπίδος, ἐπειδὴ ταύτης ἐπιθυμεῖς ἀκούειν. θεὸς δέ που οἶδεν εἰ ἀληθὴς οὖσα τυγχάνει. τὰ δ᾽ οὖν ἐμοὶ φαινόμενα οὕτω φαίνεται, ἐν τῷ γνωστῷ τελευταία ἡ τοῦ [517c] ἀγαθοῦ ἰδέα καὶ μόγις ὁρᾶσθαι, ὀφθεῖσα δὲ συλλογιστέα εἶναι ὡς ἄρα πᾶσι πάντων αὕτη ὀρθῶν τε καὶ καλῶν αἰτία, ἔν τε ὁρατῷ φῶς καὶ τὸν τούτου κύριον τεκοῦσα, ἔν τε νοητῷ αὐτὴ κυρία ἀλήθειαν καὶ νοῦν παρασχομένη, καὶ ὅτι δεῖ ταύτην ἰδεῖν τὸν μέλλοντα ἐμφρόνως πράξειν ἢ ἰδίᾳ ἢ δημοσίᾳ.

συνοίομαι, ἔφη, καὶ ἐγώ, ὅν γε δὴ τρόπον δύναμαι.

ἴθι τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ τόδε συνοιήθητι καὶ μὴ θαυμάσῃς ὅτι οἱ ἐνταῦθα ἐλθόντες οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν τὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πράττειν, ἀλλ᾽ ἄνω ἀεὶ ἐπείγονται αὐτῶν αἱ ψυχαὶ διατρίβειν: [517d] εἰκὸς γάρ που οὕτως, εἴπερ αὖ κατὰ τὴν προειρημένην εἰκόνα τοῦτ᾽ ἔχει.

εἰκὸς μέντοι, ἔφη.

τί δέ; τόδε οἴει τι θαυμαστόν, εἰ ἀπὸ θείων, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, θεωριῶν ἐπὶ τὰ ἀνθρώπειά τις ἐλθὼν κακὰ ἀσχημονεῖ τε καὶ φαίνεται σφόδρα γελοῖος ἔτι ἀμβλυώττων καὶ πρὶν ἱκανῶς συνήθης γενέσθαι τῷ παρόντι σκότῳ ἀναγκαζόμενος ἐν δικαστηρίοις ἢ ἄλλοθί που ἀγωνίζεσθαι περὶ τῶν τοῦ δικαίου σκιῶν ἢ ἀγαλμάτων ὧν αἱ σκιαί, καὶ διαμιλλᾶσθαι [517e] περὶ τούτου, ὅπῃ ποτὲ ὑπολαμβάνεται ταῦτα ὑπὸ τῶν αὐτὴν δικαιοσύνην μὴ πώποτε ἰδόντων;

οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν θαυμαστόν, ἔφη. [518a]

ἀλλ᾽ εἰ νοῦν γε ἔχοι τις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μεμνῇτ᾽ ἂν ὅτι διτταὶ καὶ ἀπὸ διττῶν γίγνονται ἐπιταράξεις ὄμμασιν, ἔκ τε φωτὸς εἰς σκότος μεθισταμένων καὶ ἐκ σκότους εἰς φῶς. ταὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτα νομίσας γίγνεσθαι καὶ περὶ ψυχήν, ὁπότε ἴδοι θορυβουμένην τινὰ καὶ ἀδυνατοῦσάν τι καθορᾶν, οὐκ ἂν ἀλογίστως γελῷ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπισκοποῖ ἂν πότερον ἐκ φανοτέρου βίου ἥκουσα ὑπὸ ἀηθείας ἐσκότωται, ἢ ἐξ ἀμαθίας πλείονος εἰς φανότερον ἰοῦσα ὑπὸ λαμπροτέρου μαρμαρυγῆς [518b] ἐμπέπλησται, καὶ οὕτω δὴ τὴν μὲν εὐδαιμονίσειεν ἂν τοῦ πάθους τε καὶ βίου, τὴν δὲ ἐλεήσειεν, καὶ εἰ γελᾶν ἐπ᾽ αὐτῇ βούλοιτο, ἧττον ἂν καταγέλαστος ὁ γέλως αὐτῷ εἴη ἢ ὁ ἐπὶ τῇ ἄνωθεν ἐκ φωτὸς ἡκούσῃ.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, μετρίως λέγεις.

δεῖ δή, εἶπον, ἡμᾶς τοιόνδε νομίσαι περὶ αὐτῶν, εἰ ταῦτ᾽ ἀληθῆ: τὴν παιδείαν οὐχ οἵαν τινὲς ἐπαγγελλόμενοί φασιν εἶναι τοιαύτην καὶ εἶναι. φασὶ δέ που οὐκ ἐνούσης ἐν τῇ [518c] ψυχῇ ἐπιστήμης σφεῖς ἐντιθέναι, οἷον τυφλοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς ὄψιν ἐντιθέντες.

φασὶ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη.

ὁ δέ γε νῦν λόγος, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, σημαίνει ταύτην τὴν ἐνοῦσαν ἑκάστου δύναμιν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ καὶ τὸ ὄργανον ᾧ καταμανθάνει ἕκαστος, οἷον εἰ ὄμμα μὴ δυνατὸν ἦν ἄλλως ἢ σὺν ὅλῳ τῷ σώματι στρέφειν πρὸς τὸ φανὸν ἐκ τοῦ σκοτώδους, οὕτω σὺν ὅλῃ τῇ ψυχῇ ἐκ τοῦ γιγνομένου περιακτέον εἶναι, ἕως ἂν εἰς τὸ ὂν καὶ τοῦ ὄντος τὸ φανότατον δυνατὴ γένηται ἀνασχέσθαι θεωμένη: τοῦτο δ᾽ εἶναί φαμεν [518d] τἀγαθόν. ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

τούτου τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, αὐτοῦ τέχνη ἂν εἴη, τῆς περιαγωγῆς, τίνα τρόπον ὡς ῥᾷστά τε καὶ ἀνυσιμώτατα μεταστραφήσεται, οὐ τοῦ ἐμποιῆσαι αὐτῷ τὸ ὁρᾶν, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἔχοντι μὲν αὐτό, οὐκ ὀρθῶς δὲ τετραμμένῳ οὐδὲ βλέποντι οἷ ἔδει, τοῦτο διαμηχανήσασθαι.

ἔοικεν γάρ, ἔφη.

αἱ μὲν τοίνυν ἄλλαι ἀρεταὶ καλούμεναι ψυχῆς κινδυνεύουσιν ἐγγύς τι εἶναι τῶν τοῦ σώματος-τῷ ὄντι γὰρ [518e] οὐκ ἐνοῦσαι πρότερον ὕστερον ἐμποιεῖσθαι ἔθεσι καὶ ἀσκήσεσιν-ἡ δὲ τοῦ φρονῆσαι παντὸς μᾶλλον θειοτέρου τινὸς τυγχάνει, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὖσα, ὃ τὴν μὲν δύναμιν οὐδέποτε ἀπόλλυσιν, ὑπὸ δὲ τῆς περιαγωγῆς χρήσιμόν τε καὶ ὠφέλιμον [519a] καὶ ἄχρηστον αὖ καὶ βλαβερὸν γίγνεται. ἢ οὔπω ἐννενόηκας, τῶν λεγομένων πονηρῶν μέν, σοφῶν δέ, ὡς δριμὺ μὲν βλέπει τὸ ψυχάριον καὶ ὀξέως διορᾷ ταῦτα ἐφ᾽ ἃ τέτραπται, ὡς οὐ φαύλην ἔχον τὴν ὄψιν, κακίᾳ δ᾽ ἠναγκασμένον ὑπηρετεῖν, ὥστε ὅσῳ ἂν ὀξύτερον βλέπῃ, τοσούτῳ πλείω κακὰ ἐργαζόμενον;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τοῦτο μέντοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ τῆς τοιαύτης φύσεως εἰ ἐκ παιδὸς εὐθὺς κοπτόμενον περιεκόπη τὰς τῆς γενέσεως [519b] συγγενεῖς ὥσπερ μολυβδίδας, αἳ δὴ ἐδωδαῖς τε καὶ τοιούτων ἡδοναῖς τε καὶ λιχνείαις προσφυεῖς γιγνόμεναι [περὶ] κάτω στρέφουσι τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς ὄψιν: ὧν εἰ ἀπαλλαγὲν περιεστρέφετο εἰς τὰ ἀληθῆ, καὶ ἐκεῖνα ἂν τὸ αὐτὸ τοῦτο τῶν αὐτῶν ἀνθρώπων ὀξύτατα ἑώρα, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐφ᾽ ἃ νῦν τέτραπται.

εἰκός γε, ἔφη.

τί δέ; τόδε οὐκ εἰκός, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἀνάγκη ἐκ τῶν προειρημένων, μήτε τοὺς ἀπαιδεύτους καὶ ἀληθείας ἀπείρους [519c] ἱκανῶς ἄν ποτε πόλιν ἐπιτροπεῦσαι, μήτε τοὺς ἐν παιδείᾳ ἐωμένους διατρίβειν διὰ τέλους, τοὺς μὲν ὅτι σκοπὸν ἐν τῷ βίῳ οὐκ ἔχουσιν ἕνα, οὗ στοχαζομένους δεῖ ἅπαντα πράττειν ἃ ἂν πράττωσιν ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ, τοὺς δὲ ὅτι ἑκόντες εἶναι οὐ πράξουσιν, ἡγούμενοι ἐν μακάρων νήσοις ζῶντες ἔτι ἀπῳκίσθαι;

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη.

ἡμέτερον δὴ ἔργον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τῶν οἰκιστῶν τάς τε βελτίστας φύσεις ἀναγκάσαι ἀφικέσθαι πρὸς τὸ μάθημα ὃ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν ἔφαμεν εἶναι μέγιστον, ἰδεῖν τε τὸ ἀγαθὸν [519d] καὶ ἀναβῆναι ἐκείνην τὴν ἀνάβασιν, καὶ ἐπειδὰν ἀναβάντες ἱκανῶς ἴδωσι, μὴ ἐπιτρέπειν αὐτοῖς ὃ νῦν ἐπιτρέπεται.

τὸ ποῖον δή;

τὸ αὐτοῦ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καταμένειν καὶ μὴ ἐθέλειν πάλιν καταβαίνειν παρ᾽ ἐκείνους τοὺς δεσμώτας μηδὲ μετέχειν τῶν παρ᾽ ἐκείνοις πόνων τε καὶ τιμῶν, εἴτε φαυλότεραι εἴτε σπουδαιότεραι.

ἔπειτ᾽, ἔφη, ἀδικήσομεν αὐτούς, καὶ ποιήσομεν χεῖρον ζῆν, δυνατὸν αὐτοῖς ὂν ἄμεινον; [519e]

ἐπελάθου, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πάλιν, ὦ φίλε, ὅτι νόμῳ οὐ τοῦτο μέλει, ὅπως ἕν τι γένος ἐν πόλει διαφερόντως εὖ πράξει, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ πόλει τοῦτο μηχανᾶται ἐγγενέσθαι, συναρμόττων τοὺς πολίτας πειθοῖ τε καὶ ἀνάγκῃ, ποιῶν μεταδιδόναι [520a] ἀλλήλοις τῆς ὠφελίας ἣν ἂν ἕκαστοι τὸ κοινὸν δυνατοὶ ὦσιν ὠφελεῖν καὶ αὐτὸς ἐμποιῶν τοιούτους ἄνδρας ἐν τῇ πόλει, οὐχ ἵνα ἀφιῇ τρέπεσθαι ὅπῃ ἕκαστος βούλεται, ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα καταχρῆται αὐτὸς αὐτοῖς ἐπὶ τὸν σύνδεσμον τῆς πόλεως.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη: ἐπελαθόμην γάρ.

σκέψαι τοίνυν, εἶπον, ὦ Γλαύκων, ὅτι οὐδ᾽ ἀδικήσομεν τοὺς παρ᾽ ἡμῖν φιλοσόφους γιγνομένους, ἀλλὰ δίκαια πρὸς αὐτοὺς ἐροῦμεν, προσαναγκάζοντες τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιμελεῖσθαί τε καὶ φυλάττειν. ἐροῦμεν γὰρ ὅτι οἱ μὲν ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις [520b] πόλεσι τοιοῦτοι γιγνόμενοι εἰκότως οὐ μετέχουσι τῶν ἐν αὐταῖς πόνων: αὐτόματοι γὰρ ἐμφύονται ἀκούσης τῆς ἐν ἑκάστῃ πολιτείας, δίκην δ᾽ ἔχει τό γε αὐτοφυὲς μηδενὶ τροφὴν ὀφεῖλον μηδ᾽ ἐκτίνειν τῳ προθυμεῖσθαι τὰ τροφεῖα: ὑμᾶς δ᾽ ἡμεῖς ὑμῖν τε αὐτοῖς τῇ τε ἄλλῃ πόλει ὥσπερ ἐν σμήνεσιν ἡγεμόνας τε καὶ βασιλέας ἐγεννήσαμεν, ἄμεινόν τε καὶ τελεώτερον ἐκείνων πεπαιδευμένους καὶ μᾶλλον δυνατοὺς [520c] ἀμφοτέρων μετέχειν. καταβατέον οὖν ἐν μέρει ἑκάστῳ εἰς τὴν τῶν ἄλλων συνοίκησιν καὶ συνεθιστέον τὰ σκοτεινὰ θεάσασθαι: συνεθιζόμενοι γὰρ μυρίῳ βέλτιον ὄψεσθε τῶν ἐκεῖ καὶ γνώσεσθε ἕκαστα τὰ εἴδωλα ἅττα ἐστὶ καὶ ὧν, διὰ τὸ τἀληθῆ ἑωρακέναι καλῶν τε καὶ δικαίων καὶ ἀγαθῶν πέρι. καὶ οὕτω ὕπαρ ἡμῖν καὶ ὑμῖν ἡ πόλις οἰκήσεται ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ὄναρ, ὡς νῦν αἱ πολλαὶ ὑπὸ σκιαμαχούντων τε πρὸς ἀλλήλους καὶ στασιαζόντων περὶ τοῦ ἄρχειν [520d] οἰκοῦνται, ὡς μεγάλου τινὸς ἀγαθοῦ ὄντος. τὸ δέ που ἀληθὲς ὧδ᾽ ἔχει: ἐν πόλει ᾗ ἥκιστα πρόθυμοι ἄρχειν οἱ μέλλοντες ἄρξειν, ταύτην ἄριστα καὶ ἀστασιαστότατα ἀνάγκη οἰκεῖσθαι, τὴν δ᾽ ἐναντίους ἄρχοντας σχοῦσαν ἐναντίως.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἀπειθήσουσιν οὖν ἡμῖν οἴει οἱ τρόφιμοι ταῦτ᾽ ἀκούοντες, καὶ οὐκ ἐθελήσουσιν συμπονεῖν ἐν τῇ πόλει ἕκαστοι ἐν μέρει, τὸν δὲ πολὺν χρόνον μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων οἰκεῖν ἐν τῷ καθαρῷ; [520e]

ἀδύνατον, ἔφη: δίκαια γὰρ δὴ δικαίοις ἐπιτάξομεν. παντὸς μὴν μᾶλλον ὡς ἐπ᾽ ἀναγκαῖον αὐτῶν ἕκαστος εἶσι τὸ ἄρχειν, τοὐναντίον τῶν νῦν ἐν ἑκάστῃ πόλει ἀρχόντων.

οὕτω γὰρ ἔχει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ ἑταῖρε: εἰ μὲν βίον ἐξευρήσεις [521a] ἀμείνω τοῦ ἄρχειν τοῖς μέλλουσιν ἄρξειν, ἔστι σοι δυνατὴ γενέσθαι πόλις εὖ οἰκουμένη: ἐν μόνῃ γὰρ αὐτῇ ἄρξουσιν οἱ τῷ ὄντι πλούσιοι, οὐ χρυσίου ἀλλ᾽ οὗ δεῖ τὸν εὐδαίμονα πλουτεῖν, ζωῆς ἀγαθῆς τε καὶ ἔμφρονος. εἰ δὲ πτωχοὶ καὶ πεινῶντες ἀγαθῶν ἰδίων ἐπὶ τὰ δημόσια ἴασιν, ἐντεῦθεν οἰόμενοι τἀγαθὸν δεῖν ἁρπάζειν, οὐκ ἔστι: περιμάχητον γὰρ τὸ ἄρχειν γιγνόμενον, οἰκεῖος ὢν καὶ ἔνδον ὁ τοιοῦτος πόλεμος αὐτούς τε ἀπόλλυσι καὶ τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη. [521b]

ἔχεις οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, βίον ἄλλον τινὰ πολιτικῶν ἀρχῶν καταφρονοῦντα ἢ τὸν τῆς ἀληθινῆς φιλοσοφίας;

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι δεῖ γε μὴ ἐραστὰς τοῦ ἄρχειν ἰέναι ἐπ᾽ αὐτό: εἰ δὲ μή, οἵ γε ἀντερασταὶ μαχοῦνται.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τίνας οὖν ἄλλους ἀναγκάσεις ἰέναι ἐπὶ φυλακὴν τῆς πόλεως ἢ οἳ περὶ τούτων τε φρονιμώτατοι δι᾽ ὧν ἄριστα πόλις οἰκεῖται, ἔχουσί τε τιμὰς ἄλλας καὶ βίον ἀμείνω τοῦ πολιτικοῦ;

οὐδένας ἄλλους, ἔφη. [521c]

βούλει οὖν τοῦτ᾽ ἤδη σκοπῶμεν, τίνα τρόπον οἱ τοιοῦτοι ἐγγενήσονται, καὶ πῶς τις ἀνάξει αὐτοὺς εἰς φῶς, ὥσπερ ἐξ Ἅιδου λέγονται δή τινες εἰς θεοὺς ἀνελθεῖν;

πῶς γὰρ οὐ βούλομαι; ἔφη.

τοῦτο δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐκ ὀστράκου ἂν εἴη περιστροφή, ἀλλὰ ψυχῆς περιαγωγὴ ἐκ νυκτερινῆς τινος ἡμέρας εἰς ἀληθινήν, τοῦ ὄντος οὖσαν ἐπάνοδον, ἣν δὴ φιλοσοφίαν ἀληθῆ φήσομεν εἶναι.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν δεῖ σκοπεῖσθαι τί τῶν μαθημάτων ἔχει τοιαύτην [521d] δύναμιν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τί ἂν οὖν εἴη, ὦ Γλαύκων, μάθημα ψυχῆς ὁλκὸν ἀπὸ τοῦ γιγνομένου ἐπὶ τὸ ὄν; τόδε δ᾽ ἐννοῶ λέγων ἅμα: οὐκ ἀθλητὰς μέντοι πολέμου ἔφαμεν τούτους ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι νέους ὄντας;

ἔφαμεν γάρ.

δεῖ ἄρα καὶ τοῦτο προσέχειν τὸ μάθημα ὃ ζητοῦμεν πρὸς ἐκείνῳ.

τὸ ποῖον;

μὴ ἄχρηστον πολεμικοῖς ἀνδράσιν εἶναι.

δεῖ μέντοι, ἔφη, εἴπερ οἷόν τε.

γυμναστικῇ μὴν καὶ μουσικῇ ἔν γε τῷ πρόσθεν ἐπαιδεύοντο [521e] ἡμῖν.

ἦν ταῦτα, ἔφη.

καὶ γυμναστικὴ μέν που περὶ γιγνόμενον καὶ ἀπολλύμενον τετεύτακεν: σώματος γὰρ αὔξης καὶ φθίσεως. ἐπιστατεῖ.

φαίνεται.

τοῦτο μὲν δὴ οὐκ ἂν εἴη ὃ ζητοῦμεν μάθημα. [522a]

οὐ γάρ.

ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα μουσικὴ ὅσην τὸ πρότερον διήλθομεν;

ἀλλ᾽ ἦν ἐκείνη γ᾽, ἔφη, ἀντίστροφος τῆς γυμναστικῆς, εἰ μέμνησαι, ἔθεσι παιδεύουσα τοὺς φύλακας, κατά τε ἁρμονίαν εὐαρμοστίαν τινά, οὐκ ἐπιστήμην, παραδιδοῦσα, καὶ κατὰ ῥυθμὸν εὐρυθμίαν, ἔν τε τοῖς λόγοις ἕτερα τούτων ἀδελφὰ ἔθη ἄττα ἔχουσα, καὶ ὅσοι μυθώδεις τῶν λόγων καὶ ὅσοι ἀληθινώτεροι ἦσαν: μάθημα δὲ πρὸς τοιοῦτόν τι [522b] ἄγον, οἷον σὺ νῦν ζητεῖς, οὐδὲν ἦν ἐν αὐτῇ.

ἀκριβέστατα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀναμιμνῄσκεις με: τῷ γὰρ ὄντι τοιοῦτον οὐδὲν εἶχεν. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ δαιμόνιε Γλαύκων, τί ἂν εἴη τοιοῦτον; αἵ τε γὰρ τέχναι βάναυσοί που ἅπασαι ἔδοξαν εἶναι-

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; καὶ μὴν τί ἔτ᾽ ἄλλο λείπεται μάθημα, μουσικῆς καὶ γυμναστικῆς καὶ τῶν τεχνῶν κεχωρισμένον;

φέρε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰ μηδὲν ἔτι ἐκτὸς τούτων ἔχομεν λαβεῖν, τῶν ἐπὶ πάντα τεινόντων τι λάβωμεν.

τὸ ποῖον; [522c]

οἷον τοῦτο τὸ κοινόν, ᾧ πᾶσαι προσχρῶνται τέχναι τε καὶ διάνοιαι καὶ ἐπιστῆμαι-ὃ καὶ παντὶ ἐν πρώτοις ἀνάγκη μανθάνειν.

τὸ ποῖον; ἔφη.

τὸ φαῦλον τοῦτο, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ ἕν τε καὶ τὰ δύο καὶ τὰ τρία διαγιγνώσκειν: λέγω δὲ αὐτὸ ἐν κεφαλαίῳ ἀριθμόν τε καὶ λογισμόν. ἢ οὐχ οὕτω περὶ τούτων ἔχει, ὡς πᾶσα τέχνη τε καὶ ἐπιστήμη ἀναγκάζεται αὐτῶν μέτοχος γίγνεσθαι;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἡ πολεμική;

πολλή, ἔφη, ἀνάγκη. [522d]

παγγέλοιον γοῦν, ἔφην, στρατηγὸν Ἀγαμέμνονα ἐν ταῖς τραγῳδίαις Παλαμήδης ἑκάστοτε ἀποφαίνει. ἢ οὐκ ἐννενόηκας ὅτι φησὶν ἀριθμὸν εὑρὼν τάς τε τάξεις τῷ στρατοπέδῳ καταστῆσαι ἐν Ἰλίῳ καὶ ἐξαριθμῆσαι ναῦς τε καὶ τἆλλα πάντα, ὡς πρὸ τοῦ ἀναριθμήτων ὄντων καὶ τοῦ Ἀγαμέμνονος, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐδ᾽ ὅσους πόδας εἶχεν εἰδότος, εἴπερ ἀριθμεῖν μὴ ἠπίστατο; καίτοι ποῖόν τιν᾽ αὐτὸν οἴει στρατηγὸν εἶναι;

ἄτοπόν τιν᾽, ἔφη, ἔγωγε, εἰ ἦν τοῦτ᾽ ἀληθές. [522e]

ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μάθημα ἀναγκαῖον πολεμικῷ ἀνδρὶ θήσομεν λογίζεσθαί τε καὶ ἀριθμεῖν δύνασθαι;

πάντων γ᾽, ἔφη, μάλιστα, εἰ καὶ ὁτιοῦν μέλλει τάξεων ἐπαΐειν, μᾶλλον δ᾽ εἰ καὶ ἄνθρωπος ἔσεσθαι.

ἐννοεῖς οὖν, εἶπον, περὶ τοῦτο τὸ μάθημα ὅπερ ἐγώ;

τὸ ποῖον; [523a]

κινδυνεύει τῶν πρὸς τὴν νόησιν ἀγόντων φύσει εἶναι ὧν ζητοῦμεν, χρῆσθαι δ᾽ οὐδεὶς αὐτῷ ὀρθῶς, ἑλκτικῷ ὄντι παντάπασι πρὸς οὐσίαν.

πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις;

ἐγὼ πειράσομαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τό γ᾽ ἐμοὶ δοκοῦν δηλῶσαι. ἃ γὰρ διαιροῦμαι παρ᾽ ἐμαυτῷ ἀγωγά τε εἶναι οἷ λέγομεν καὶ μή, συνθεατὴς γενόμενος σύμφαθι ἢ ἄπειπε, ἵνα καὶ τοῦτο σαφέστερον ἴδωμεν εἰ ἔστιν οἷον μαντεύομαι.

δείκνυ᾽, ἔφη.

δείκνυμι δή, εἶπον, εἰ καθορᾷς, τὰ μὲν ἐν ταῖς αἰσθήσεσιν [523b] οὐ παρακαλοῦντα τὴν νόησιν εἰς ἐπίσκεψιν, ὡς ἱκανῶς ὑπὸ τῆς αἰσθήσεως κρινόμενα, τὰ δὲ παντάπασι διακελευόμενα ἐκείνην ἐπισκέψασθαι, ὡς τῆς αἰσθήσεως οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς ποιούσης.

τὰ πόρρωθεν, ἔφη, φαινόμενα δῆλον ὅτι λέγεις καὶ τὰ ἐσκιαγραφημένα.

οὐ πάνυ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔτυχες οὗ λέγω.

ποῖα μήν, ἔφη, λέγεις;

τὰ μὲν οὐ παρακαλοῦντα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅσα μὴ ἐκβαίνει [523c] εἰς ἐναντίαν αἴσθησιν ἅμα: τὰ δ᾽ ἐκβαίνοντα ὡς παρακαλοῦντα τίθημι, ἐπειδὰν ἡ αἴσθησις μηδὲν μᾶλλον τοῦτο ἢ τὸ ἐναντίον δηλοῖ, εἴτ᾽ ἐγγύθεν προσπίπτουσα εἴτε πόρρωθεν. ὧδε δὲ ἃ λέγω σαφέστερον εἴσῃ. οὗτοί φαμεν τρεῖς ἂν εἶεν δάκτυλοι, ὅ τε σμικρότατος καὶ ὁ δεύτερος καὶ ὁ μέσος.

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

ὡς ἐγγύθεν τοίνυν ὁρωμένους λέγοντός μου διανοοῦ. ἀλλά μοι περὶ αὐτῶν τόδε σκόπει.

τὸ ποῖον;

δάκτυλος μέν που αὐτῶν φαίνεται ὁμοίως ἕκαστος, καὶ [523d] ταύτῃ γε οὐδὲν διαφέρει, ἐάντε ἐν μέσῳ ὁρᾶται ἐάντ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἐσχάτῳ, ἐάντε λευκὸς ἐάντε μέλας, ἐάντε παχὺς ἐάντε λεπτός, καὶ πᾶν ὅτι τοιοῦτον. ἐν πᾶσι γὰρ τούτοις οὐκ ἀναγκάζεται τῶν πολλῶν ἡ ψυχὴ τὴν νόησιν ἐπερέσθαι τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶ δάκτυλος: οὐδαμοῦ γὰρ ἡ ὄψις αὐτῇ ἅμα ἐσήμηνεν τὸ δάκτυλον τοὐναντίον ἢ δάκτυλον εἶναι.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰκότως τό γε τοιοῦτον νοήσεως οὐκ [523e] ἂν παρακλητικὸν οὐδ᾽ ἐγερτικὸν εἴη.

εἰκότως.

τί δὲ δή; τὸ μέγεθος αὐτῶν καὶ τὴν σμικρότητα ἡ ὄψις ἆρα ἱκανῶς ὁρᾷ, καὶ οὐδὲν αὐτῇ διαφέρει ἐν μέσῳ τινὰ αὐτῶν κεῖσθαι ἢ ἐπ᾽ ἐσχάτῳ; καὶ ὡσαύτως πάχος καὶ λεπτότητα ἢ μαλακότητα καὶ σκληρότητα ἡ ἁφή; καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι αἰσθήσεις ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐνδεῶς τὰ τοιαῦτα δηλοῦσιν; ἢ [524a] ὧδε ποιεῖ ἑκάστη αὐτῶν: πρῶτον μὲν ἡ ἐπὶ τῷ σκληρῷ τεταγμένη αἴσθησις ἠνάγκασται καὶ ἐπὶ τῷ μαλακῷ τετάχθαι, καὶ παραγγέλλει τῇ ψυχῇ ὡς ταὐτὸν σκληρόν τε καὶ μαλακὸν αἰσθανομένη;

οὕτως, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀναγκαῖον ἔν γε τοῖς τοιούτοις αὖ τὴν ψυχὴν ἀπορεῖν τί ποτε σημαίνει αὕτη ἡ αἴσθησις τὸ σκληρόν, εἴπερ τὸ αὐτὸ καὶ μαλακὸν λέγει, καὶ ἡ τοῦ κούφου καὶ ἡ τοῦ βαρέος, τί τὸ κοῦφον καὶ βαρύ, εἰ τό τε βαρὺ κοῦφον καὶ τὸ κοῦφον βαρὺ σημαίνει; [524b]

καὶ γάρ, ἔφη, αὗταί γε ἄτοποι τῇ ψυχῇ αἱ ἑρμηνεῖαι καὶ ἐπισκέψεως δεόμεναι.

εἰκότως ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις πρῶτον μὲν πειρᾶται λογισμόν τε καὶ νόησιν ψυχὴ παρακαλοῦσα ἐπισκοπεῖν εἴτε ἓν εἴτε δύο ἐστὶν ἕκαστα τῶν εἰσαγγελλομένων.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν ἐὰν δύο φαίνηται, ἕτερόν τε καὶ ἓν ἑκάτερον φαίνεται;

ναί.

εἰ ἄρα ἓν ἑκάτερον, ἀμφότερα δὲ δύο, τά γε δύο κεχωρισμένα [524c] νοήσει: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἀχώριστά γε δύο ἐνόει, ἀλλ᾽ ἕν.

ὀρθῶς.

μέγα μὴν καὶ ὄψις καὶ σμικρὸν ἑώρα, φαμέν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ κεχωρισμένον ἀλλὰ συγκεχυμένον τι. ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

διὰ δὲ τὴν τούτου σαφήνειαν μέγα αὖ καὶ σμικρὸν ἡ νόησις ἠναγκάσθη ἰδεῖν, οὐ συγκεχυμένα ἀλλὰ διωρισμένα, τοὐναντίον ἢ ‘κείνη.

ἀληθῆ.

οὐκοῦν ἐντεῦθέν ποθεν πρῶτον ἐπέρχεται ἐρέσθαι ἡμῖν τί οὖν ποτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ μέγα αὖ καὶ τὸ σμικρόν;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

καὶ οὕτω δὴ τὸ μὲν νοητόν, τὸ δ᾽ ὁρατὸν ἐκαλέσαμεν. [524d]

ὀρθότατ᾽, ἔφη.

ταῦτα τοίνυν καὶ ἄρτι ἐπεχείρουν λέγειν, ὡς τὰ μὲν παρακλητικὰ τῆς διανοίας ἐστί, τὰ δ᾽ οὔ, ἃ μὲν εἰς τὴν αἴσθησιν ἅμα τοῖς ἐναντίοις ἑαυτοῖς ἐμπίπτει, παρακλητικὰ ὁριζόμενος, ὅσα δὲ μή, οὐκ ἐγερτικὰ τῆς νοήσεως.

μανθάνω τοίνυν ἤδη, ἔφη, καὶ δοκεῖ μοι οὕτω.

τί οὖν; ἀριθμός τε καὶ τὸ ἓν ποτέρων δοκεῖ εἶναι;

οὐ συννοῶ, ἔφη.

ἀλλ᾽ ἐκ τῶν προειρημένων, ἔφην, ἀναλογίζου. εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἱκανῶς αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ ὁρᾶται ἢ ἄλλῃ τινὶ αἰσθήσει [524e] λαμβάνεται τὸ ἕν, οὐκ ἂν ὁλκὸν εἴη ἐπὶ τὴν οὐσίαν, ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τοῦ δακτύλου ἐλέγομεν: εἰ δ᾽ ἀεί τι αὐτῷ ἅμα ὁρᾶται ἐναντίωμα, ὥστε μηδὲν μᾶλλον ἓν ἢ καὶ τοὐναντίον φαίνεσθαι, τοῦ ἐπικρινοῦντος δὴ δέοι ἂν ἤδη καὶ ἀναγκάζοιτ᾽ ἂν ἐν αὐτῷ ψυχὴ ἀπορεῖν καὶ ζητεῖν, κινοῦσα ἐν ἑαυτῇ τὴν ἔννοιαν, καὶ ἀνερωτᾶν τί ποτέ ἐστιν αὐτὸ τὸ ἕν, καὶ οὕτω τῶν [525a] ἀγωγῶν ἂν εἴη καὶ μεταστρεπτικῶν ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ ὄντος θέαν ἡ περὶ τὸ ἓν μάθησις.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἔφη, τοῦτό γ᾽ ἔχει οὐχ ἥκιστα ἡ περὶ αὐτὸ ὄψις: ἅμα γὰρ ταὐτὸν ὡς ἕν τε ὁρῶμεν καὶ ὡς ἄπειρα τὸ πλῆθος.

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ τὸ ἕν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ σύμπας ἀριθμὸς ταὐτὸν πέπονθε τοῦτο;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἀλλὰ μὴν λογιστική τε καὶ ἀριθμητικὴ περὶ ἀριθμὸν πᾶσα.

καὶ μάλα. [525b]

ταῦτα δέ γε φαίνεται ἀγωγὰ πρὸς ἀλήθειαν.

ὑπερφυῶς μὲν οὖν.

ὧν ζητοῦμεν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, μαθημάτων ἂν εἴη: πολεμικῷ μὲν γὰρ διὰ τὰς τάξεις ἀναγκαῖον μαθεῖν ταῦτα, φιλοσόφῳ δὲ διὰ τὸ τῆς οὐσίας ἁπτέον εἶναι γενέσεως ἐξαναδύντι, ἢ μηδέποτε λογιστικῷ γενέσθαι.

ἔστι ταῦτ᾽, ἔφη.

ὁ δέ γε ἡμέτερος φύλαξ πολεμικός τε καὶ φιλόσοφος τυγχάνει ὤν.

τί μήν;

προσῆκον δὴ τὸ μάθημα ἂν εἴη, ὦ Γλαύκων, νομοθετῆσαι καὶ πείθειν τοὺς μέλλοντας ἐν τῇ πόλει τῶν μεγίστων [525c] μεθέξειν ἐπὶ λογιστικὴν ἰέναι καὶ ἀνθάπτεσθαι αὐτῆς μὴ ἰδιωτικῶς, ἀλλ᾽ ἕως ἂν ἐπὶ θέαν τῆς τῶν ἀριθμῶν φύσεως ἀφίκωνται τῇ νοήσει αὐτῇ, οὐκ ὠνῆς οὐδὲ πράσεως χάριν ὡς ἐμπόρους ἢ καπήλους μελετῶντας, ἀλλ᾽ ἕνεκα πολέμου τε καὶ αὐτῆς τῆς ψυχῆς ῥᾳστώνης μεταστροφῆς ἀπὸ γενέσεως ἐπ᾽ ἀλήθειάν τε καὶ οὐσίαν.

κάλλιστ᾽, ἔφη, λέγεις.

καὶ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, νῦν καὶ ἐννοῶ, ῥηθέντος τοῦ περὶ [525d] τοὺς λογισμοὺς μαθήματος, ὡς κομψόν ἐστι καὶ πολλαχῇ χρήσιμον ἡμῖν πρὸς ὃ βουλόμεθα, ἐὰν τοῦ γνωρίζειν ἕνεκά τις αὐτὸ ἐπιτηδεύῃ ἀλλὰ μὴ τοῦ καπηλεύειν.

πῇ δή; ἔφη.

τοῦτό γε, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ὡς σφόδρα ἄνω ποι ἄγει τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ περὶ αὐτῶν τῶν ἀριθμῶν ἀναγκάζει διαλέγεσθαι, οὐδαμῇ ἀποδεχόμενον ἐάν τις αὐτῇ ὁρατὰ ἢ ἁπτὰ σώματα ἔχοντας ἀριθμοὺς προτεινόμενος διαλέγηται. οἶσθα γάρ που τοὺς περὶ ταῦτα δεινοὺς αὖ ὡς, ἐάν τις αὐτὸ τὸ [525e] ἓν ἐπιχειρῇ τῷ λόγῳ τέμνειν, καταγελῶσί τε καὶ οὐκ ἀποδέχονται, ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν σὺ κερματίζῃς αὐτό, ἐκεῖνοι πολλαπλασιοῦσιν, εὐλαβούμενοι μή ποτε φανῇ τὸ ἓν μὴ ἓν ἀλλὰ πολλὰ μόρια.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις. [526a]

τί οὖν οἴει, ὦ Γλαύκων, εἴ τις ἔροιτο αὐτούς: “ὦ θαυμάσιοι, περὶ ποίων ἀριθμῶν διαλέγεσθε, ἐν οἷς τὸ ἓν οἷον ὑμεῖς ἀξιοῦτέ ἐστιν, ἴσον τε ἕκαστον πᾶν παντὶ καὶ οὐδὲ σμικρὸν διαφέρον, μόριόν τε ἔχον ἐν ἑαυτῷ οὐδέν;” τί ἂν οἴει αὐτοὺς ἀποκρίνασθαι;

τοῦτο ἔγωγε, ὅτι περὶ τούτων λέγουσιν ὧν διανοηθῆναι μόνον ἐγχωρεῖ, ἄλλως δ᾽ οὐδαμῶς μεταχειρίζεσθαι δυνατόν.

ὁρᾷς οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε, ὅτι τῷ ὄντι ἀναγκαῖον [526b] ἡμῖν κινδυνεύει εἶναι τὸ μάθημα, ἐπειδὴ φαίνεταί γε προσαναγκάζον αὐτῇ τῇ νοήσει χρῆσθαι τὴν ψυχὴν ἐπ᾽ αὐτὴν τὴν ἀλήθειαν;

καὶ μὲν δή, ἔφη, σφόδρα γε ποιεῖ αὐτό.

τί δέ; τόδε ἤδη ἐπεσκέψω, ὡς οἵ τε φύσει λογιστικοὶ εἰς πάντα τὰ μαθήματα ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ὀξεῖς φύονται, οἵ τε βραδεῖς, ἂν ἐν τούτῳ παιδευθῶσιν καὶ γυμνάσωνται, κἂν μηδὲν ἄλλο ὠφεληθῶσιν, ὅμως εἴς γε τὸ ὀξύτεροι αὐτοὶ αὑτῶν γίγνεσθαι πάντες ἐπιδιδόασιν;

ἔστιν, ἔφη, οὕτω. [526c]

καὶ μήν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἅ γε μείζω πόνον παρέχει μανθάνοντι καὶ μελετῶντι, οὐκ ἂν ῥᾳδίως οὐδὲ πολλὰ ἂν εὕροις ὡς τοῦτο.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

πάντων δὴ ἕνεκα τούτων οὐκ ἀφετέον τὸ μάθημα, ἀλλ᾽ οἱ ἄριστοι τὰς φύσεις παιδευτέοι ἐν αὐτῷ.

σύμφημι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν, εἶπον, ἓν ἡμῖν κείσθω: δεύτερον δὲ τὸ ἐχόμενον τούτου σκεψώμεθα ἆρά τι προσήκει ἡμῖν.

τὸ ποῖον; ἢ γεωμετρίαν, ἔφη, λέγεις;

αὐτὸ τοῦτο, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. [526d]

ὅσον μέν, ἔφη, πρὸς τὰ πολεμικὰ αὐτοῦ τείνει, δῆλον ὅτι προσήκει: πρὸς γὰρ τὰς στρατοπεδεύσεις καὶ καταλήψεις χωρίων καὶ συναγωγὰς καὶ ἐκτάσεις στρατιᾶς καὶ ὅσα δὴ ἄλλα σχηματίζουσι τὰ στρατόπεδα ἐν αὐταῖς τε ταῖς μάχαις καὶ πορείαις διαφέροι ἂν αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ γεωμετρικός τε καὶ μὴ ὤν.

ἀλλ᾽ οὖν δή, εἶπον, πρὸς μὲν τὰ τοιαῦτα καὶ βραχύ τι ἂν ἐξαρκοῖ γεωμετρίας τε καὶ λογισμῶν μόριον: τὸ δὲ πολὺ αὐτῆς καὶ πορρωτέρω προϊὸν σκοπεῖσθαι δεῖ εἴ τι πρὸς ἐκεῖνο [526e] τείνει, πρὸς τὸ ποιεῖν κατιδεῖν ῥᾷον τὴν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἰδέαν. τείνει δέ, φαμέν, πάντα αὐτόσε, ὅσα ἀναγκάζει ψυχὴν εἰς ἐκεῖνον τὸν τόπον μεταστρέφεσθαι ἐν ᾧ ἐστι τὸ εὐδαιμονέστατον τοῦ ὄντος, ὃ δεῖ αὐτὴν παντὶ τρόπῳ ἰδεῖν.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν οὐσίαν ἀναγκάζει θεάσασθαι, προσήκει, εἰ δὲ γένεσιν, οὐ προσήκει.

φαμέν γε δή. [527a]

οὐ τοίνυν τοῦτό γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀμφισβητήσουσιν ἡμῖν ὅσοι καὶ σμικρὰ γεωμετρίας ἔμπειροι, ὅτι αὕτη ἡ ἐπιστήμη πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἔχει τοῖς ἐν αὐτῇ λόγοις λεγομένοις ὑπὸ τῶν μεταχειριζομένων.

πῶς; ἔφη.

λέγουσι μέν που μάλα γελοίως τε καὶ ἀναγκαίως: ὡς γὰρ πράττοντές τε καὶ πράξεως ἕνεκα πάντας τοὺς λόγους ποιούμενοι λέγουσιν τετραγωνίζειν τε καὶ παρατείνειν καὶ προστιθέναι καὶ πάντα οὕτω φθεγγόμενοι, τὸ δ᾽ ἔστι που [527b] πᾶν τὸ μάθημα γνώσεως ἕνεκα ἐπιτηδευόμενον.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τοῦτο ἔτι διομολογητέον;

τὸ ποῖον;

ὡς τοῦ ἀεὶ ὄντος γνώσεως, ἀλλὰ οὐ τοῦ ποτέ τι γιγνομένου καὶ ἀπολλυμένου.

εὐομολόγητον, ἔφη: τοῦ γὰρ ἀεὶ ὄντος ἡ γεωμετρικὴ γνῶσίς ἐστιν.

ὁλκὸν ἄρα, ὦ γενναῖε, ψυχῆς πρὸς ἀλήθειαν εἴη ἂν καὶ ἀπεργαστικὸν φιλοσόφου διανοίας πρὸς τὸ ἄνω σχεῖν ἃ νῦν κάτω οὐ δέον ἔχομεν.

ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα, ἔφη. [527c]

ὡς οἷόν τ᾽ ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μάλιστα προστακτέον ὅπως οἱ ἐν τῇ καλλιπόλει σοι μηδενὶ τρόπῳ γεωμετρίας ἀφέξονται. καὶ γὰρ τὰ πάρεργα αὐτοῦ οὐ σμικρά.

ποῖα; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἅ τε δὴ σὺ εἶπες, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον, καὶ δὴ καὶ πρὸς πάσας μαθήσεις, ὥστε κάλλιον ἀποδέχεσθαι, ἴσμεν που ὅτι τῷ ὅλῳ καὶ παντὶ διοίσει ἡμμένος τε γεωμετρίας καὶ μή.

τῷ παντὶ μέντοι νὴ Δί᾽, ἔφη.

δεύτερον δὴ τοῦτο τιθῶμεν μάθημα τοῖς νέοις;

τιθῶμεν, ἔφη. [527d]

τί δέ; τρίτον θῶμεν ἀστρονομίαν; ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ;

ἐμοὶ γοῦν, ἔφη: τὸ γὰρ περὶ ὥρας εὐαισθητοτέρως ἔχειν καὶ μηνῶν καὶ ἐνιαυτῶν οὐ μόνον γεωργίᾳ οὐδὲ ναυτιλίᾳ προσήκει, ἀλλὰ καὶ στρατηγίᾳ οὐχ ἧττον.

ἡδὺς εἶ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἔοικας δεδιότι τοὺς πολλούς, μὴ δοκῇς ἄχρηστα μαθήματα προστάττειν. τὸ δ᾽ ἔστιν οὐ πάνυ φαῦλον ἀλλὰ χαλεπὸν πιστεῦσαι ὅτι ἐν τούτοις τοῖς μαθήμασιν ἑκάστου ὄργανόν τι ψυχῆς ἐκκαθαίρεταί τε καὶ [527e] ἀναζωπυρεῖται ἀπολλύμενον καὶ τυφλούμενον ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδευμάτων, κρεῖττον ὂν σωθῆναι μυρίων ὀμμάτων: μόνῳ γὰρ αὐτῷ ἀλήθεια ὁρᾶται. οἷς μὲν οὖν ταῦτα συνδοκεῖ ἀμηχάνως ὡς εὖ δόξεις λέγειν, ὅσοι δὲ τούτου μηδαμῇ ᾐσθημένοι εἰσὶν εἰκότως ἡγήσονταί σε λέγειν οὐδέν: ἄλλην γὰρ ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν οὐχ ὁρῶσιν ἀξίαν λόγου ὠφελίαν. σκόπει [528a] οὖν αὐτόθεν πρὸς ποτέρους διαλέγῃ: ἢ οὐδὲ πρὸς ἑτέρους, ἀλλὰ σαυτοῦ ἕνεκα τὸ μέγιστον ποιῇ τοὺς λόγους, φθονοῖς μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἄλλῳ, εἴ τίς τι δύναιτο ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν ὄνασθαι.

οὕτως, ἔφη, αἱροῦμαι, ἐμαυτοῦ ἕνεκα τὸ πλεῖστον λέγειν τε καὶ ἐρωτᾶν καὶ ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

ἄναγε τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰς τοὐπίσω: νυνδὴ γὰρ οὐκ ὀρθῶς τὸ ἑξῆς ἐλάβομεν τῇ γεωμετρίᾳ.

πῶς λαβόντες; ἔφη.

μετὰ ἐπίπεδον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐν περιφορᾷ ὂν ἤδη στερεὸν [528b] λαβόντες, πρὶν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ λαβεῖν: ὀρθῶς δὲ ἔχει ἑξῆς μετὰ δευτέραν αὔξην τρίτην λαμβάνειν. ἔστι δέ που τοῦτο περὶ τὴν τῶν κύβων αὔξην καὶ τὸ βάθους μετέχον.

ἔστι γάρ, ἔφη: ἀλλὰ ταῦτά γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, δοκεῖ οὔπω ηὑρῆσθαι.

διττὰ γάρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὰ αἴτια: ὅτι τε οὐδεμία πόλις ἐντίμως αὐτὰ ἔχει, ἀσθενῶς ζητεῖται χαλεπὰ ὄντα, ἐπιστάτου τε δέονται οἱ ζητοῦντες, ἄνευ οὗ οὐκ ἂν εὕροιεν, ὃν πρῶτον μὲν γενέσθαι χαλεπόν, ἔπειτα καὶ γενομένου, ὡς νῦν ἔχει, [528c] οὐκ ἂν πείθοιντο οἱ περὶ ταῦτα ζητητικοὶ μεγαλοφρονούμενοι. εἰ δὲ πόλις ὅλη συνεπιστατοῖ ἐντίμως ἄγουσα αὐτά, οὗτοί τε ἂν πείθοιντο καὶ συνεχῶς τε ἂν καὶ ἐντόνως ζητούμενα ἐκφανῆ γένοιτο ὅπῃ ἔχει: ἐπεὶ καὶ νῦν ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ἀτιμαζόμενα καὶ κολουόμενα, ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν ζητούντων λόγον οὐκ ἐχόντων καθ᾽ ὅτι χρήσιμα, ὅμως πρὸς ἅπαντα ταῦτα βίᾳ ὑπὸ χάριτος αὐξάνεται, καὶ οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν αὐτὰ φανῆναι. [528d]

καὶ μὲν δή, ἔφη, τό γε ἐπίχαρι καὶ διαφερόντως ἔχει. ἀλλά μοι σαφέστερον εἰπὲ ἃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγες. τὴν μὲν γάρ που τοῦ ἐπιπέδου πραγματείαν γεωμετρίαν ἐτίθεις.

ναί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

εἶτά γ᾽, ἔφη, τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ἀστρονομίαν μετὰ ταύτην, ὕστερον δ᾽ ἀνεχώρησας.

σπεύδων γάρ, ἔφην, ταχὺ πάντα διεξελθεῖν μᾶλλον βραδύνω: ἑξῆς γὰρ οὖσαν τὴν βάθους αὔξης μέθοδον, ὅτι τῇ ζητήσει γελοίως ἔχει, ὑπερβὰς αὐτὴν μετὰ γεωμετρίαν [528e] ἀστρονομίαν ἔλεγον, φορὰν οὖσαν βάθους.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

τέταρτον τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τιθῶμεν μάθημα ἀστρονομίαν, ὡς ὑπαρχούσης τῆς νῦν παραλειπομένης, ἐὰν αὐτὴν πόλις μετίῃ.

εἰκός, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. καὶ ὅ γε νυνδή μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπέπληξας περὶ ἀστρονομίας ὡς φορτικῶς ἐπαινοῦντι, νῦν ᾗ σὺ μετέρχῃ [529a] ἐπαινῶ: παντὶ γάρ μοι δοκεῖ δῆλον ὅτι αὕτη γε ἀναγκάζει ψυχὴν εἰς τὸ ἄνω ὁρᾶν καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν ἐνθένδε ἐκεῖσε ἄγει.

ἴσως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, παντὶ δῆλον πλὴν ἐμοί: ἐμοὶ γὰρ οὐ δοκεῖ οὕτως.

ἀλλὰ πῶς; ἔφη.

ὡς μὲν νῦν αὐτὴν μεταχειρίζονται οἱ εἰς φιλοσοφίαν ἀνάγοντες, πάνυ ποιεῖν κάτω βλέπειν.

πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις;

οὐκ ἀγεννῶς μοι δοκεῖς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὴν περὶ τὰ ἄνω μάθησιν λαμβάνειν παρὰ σαυτῷ ἥ ἐστι: κινδυνεύεις γὰρ [529b] καὶ εἴ τις ἐν ὀροφῇ ποικίλματα θεώμενος ἀνακύπτων καταμανθάνοι τι, ἡγεῖσθαι ἂν αὐτὸν νοήσει ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ὄμμασι θεωρεῖν. ἴσως οὖν καλῶς ἡγῇ, ἐγὼ δ᾽ εὐηθικῶς. ἐγὼ γὰρ αὖ οὐ δύναμαι ἄλλο τι νομίσαι ἄνω ποιοῦν ψυχὴν βλέπειν μάθημα ἢ ἐκεῖνο ὃ ἂν περὶ τὸ ὄν τε ᾖ καὶ τὸ ἀόρατον, ἐάν τέ τις ἄνω κεχηνὼς ἢ κάτω συμμεμυκὼς τῶν αἰσθητῶν τι ἐπιχειρῇ μανθάνειν, οὔτε μαθεῖν ἄν ποτέ φημι αὐτόν-ἐπιστήμην [529c] γὰρ οὐδὲν ἔχειν τῶν τοιούτων-οὔτε ἄνω ἀλλὰ κάτω αὐτοῦ βλέπειν τὴν ψυχήν, κἂν ἐξ ὑπτίας νέων ἐν γῇ ἢ ἐν θαλάττῃ μανθάνῃ.

δίκην, ἔφη, ἔχω: ὀρθῶς γάρ μοι ἐπέπληξας. ἀλλὰ πῶς δὴ ἔλεγες δεῖν ἀστρονομίαν μανθάνειν παρὰ ἃ νῦν μανθάνουσιν, εἰ μέλλοιεν ὠφελίμως πρὸς ἃ λέγομεν μαθήσεσθαι;

ὧδε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. ταῦτα μὲν τὰ ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ ποικίλματα, ἐπείπερ ἐν ὁρατῷ πεποίκιλται, κάλλιστα μὲν ἡγεῖσθαι καὶ [529d] ἀκριβέστατα τῶν τοιούτων ἔχειν, τῶν δὲ ἀληθινῶν πολὺ ἐνδεῖν, ἃς τὸ ὂν τάχος καὶ ἡ οὖσα βραδυτὴς ἐν τῷ ἀληθινῷ ἀριθμῷ καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς ἀληθέσι σχήμασι φοράς τε πρὸς ἄλληλα φέρεται καὶ τὰ ἐνόντα φέρει, ἃ δὴ λόγῳ μὲν καὶ διανοίᾳ ληπτά, ὄψει δ᾽ οὔ: ἢ σὺ οἴει;

οὐδαμῶς γε, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, εἶπον, τῇ περὶ τὸν οὐρανὸν ποικιλίᾳ παραδείγμασι χρηστέον τῆς πρὸς ἐκεῖνα μαθήσεως ἕνεκα, ὁμοίως ὥσπερ ἂν [529e] εἴ τις ἐντύχοι ὑπὸ Δαιδάλου ἤ τινος ἄλλου δημιουργοῦ ἢ γραφέως διαφερόντως γεγραμμένοις καὶ ἐκπεπονημένοις διαγράμμασιν. ἡγήσαιτο γὰρ ἄν πού τις ἔμπειρος γεωμετρίας, ἰδὼν τὰ τοιαῦτα, κάλλιστα μὲν ἔχειν ἀπεργασίᾳ, γελοῖον μὴν ἐπισκοπεῖν αὐτὰ σπουδῇ ὡς τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἐν αὐτοῖς ληψόμενον [530a] ἴσων ἢ διπλασίων ἢ ἄλλης τινὸς συμμετρίας.

τί δ᾽ οὐ μέλλει γελοῖον εἶναι; ἔφη.

τῷ ὄντι δὴ ἀστρονομικόν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὄντα οὐκ οἴει ταὐτὸν πείσεσθαι εἰς τὰς τῶν ἄστρων φορὰς ἀποβλέποντα; νομιεῖν μὲν ὡς οἷόν τε κάλλιστα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἔργα συστήσασθαι, οὕτω συνεστάναι τῷ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ δημιουργῷ αὐτόν τε καὶ τὰ ἐν αὐτῷ: τὴν δὲ νυκτὸς πρὸς ἡμέραν συμμετρίαν καὶ τούτων πρὸς μῆνα καὶ μηνὸς πρὸς ἐνιαυτὸν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἄστρων [530b] πρός τε ταῦτα καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα, οὐκ ἄτοπον, οἴει, ἡγήσεται τὸν νομίζοντα γίγνεσθαί τε ταῦτα ἀεὶ ὡσαύτως καὶ οὐδαμῇ οὐδὲν παραλλάττειν, σῶμά τε ἔχοντα καὶ ὁρώμενα, καὶ ζητεῖν παντὶ τρόπῳ τὴν ἀλήθειαν αὐτῶν λαβεῖν;

ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ, ἔφη, σοῦ νῦν ἀκούοντι.

προβλήμασιν ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, χρώμενοι ὥσπερ γεωμετρίαν οὕτω καὶ ἀστρονομίαν μέτιμεν, τὰ δ᾽ ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ ἐάσομεν, εἰ μέλλομεν ὄντως ἀστρονομίας μεταλαμβάνοντες χρήσιμον [530c] τὸ φύσει φρόνιμον ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἐξ ἀχρήστου ποιήσειν.

ἦ πολλαπλάσιον, ἔφη, τὸ ἔργον ἢ ὡς νῦν ἀστρονομεῖται προστάττεις.

οἶμαι δέ γε, εἶπον, καὶ τἆλλα κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον προστάξειν ἡμᾶς, ἐάν τι ἡμῶν ὡς νομοθετῶν ὄφελος ᾖ. ἀλλὰ γάρ τι ἔχεις ὑπομνῆσαι τῶν προσηκόντων μαθημάτων;

οὐκ ἔχω, ἔφη, νῦν γ᾽ οὑτωσί.

οὐ μὴν ἕν, ἀλλὰ πλείω, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἴδη παρέχεται ἡ φορά, [530d] ὡς ἐγᾦμαι. τὰ μὲν οὖν πάντα ἴσως ὅστις σοφὸς ἕξει εἰπεῖν: ἃ δὲ καὶ ἡμῖν προφανῆ, δύο.

ποῖα δή;

πρὸς τούτῳ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀντίστροφον αὐτοῦ.

τὸ ποῖον;

κινδυνεύει, ἔφην, ὡς πρὸς ἀστρονομίαν ὄμματα πέπηγεν, ὣς πρὸς ἐναρμόνιον φορὰν ὦτα παγῆναι, καὶ αὗται ἀλλήλων ἀδελφαί τινες αἱ ἐπιστῆμαι εἶναι, ὡς οἵ τε Πυθαγόρειοί φασι καὶ ἡμεῖς, ὦ Γλαύκων, συγχωροῦμεν. ἢ πῶς ποιοῦμεν;

οὕτως, ἔφη. [530e]

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπειδὴ πολὺ τὸ ἔργον, ἐκείνων πευσόμεθα πῶς λέγουσι περὶ αὐτῶν καὶ εἴ τι ἄλλο πρὸς τούτοις: ἡμεῖς δὲ παρὰ πάντα ταῦτα φυλάξομεν τὸ ἡμέτερον.

ποῖον;

μή ποτ᾽ αὐτῶν τι ἀτελὲς ἐπιχειρῶσιν ἡμῖν μανθάνειν οὓς θρέψομεν, καὶ οὐκ ἐξῆκον ἐκεῖσε ἀεί, οἷ πάντα δεῖ ἀφήκειν, οἷον ἄρτι περὶ τῆς ἀστρονομίας ἐλέγομεν. ἢ οὐκ οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι [531a] καὶ περὶ ἁρμονίας ἕτερον τοιοῦτον ποιοῦσι; τὰς γὰρ ἀκουομένας αὖ συμφωνίας καὶ φθόγγους ἀλλήλοις ἀναμετροῦντες ἀνήνυτα, ὥσπερ οἱ ἀστρονόμοι, πονοῦσιν.

νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ἔφη, καὶ γελοίως γε, πυκνώματ᾽ ἄττα ὀνομάζοντες καὶ παραβάλλοντες τὰ ὦτα, οἷον ἐκ γειτόνων φωνὴν θηρευόμενοι, οἱ μέν φασιν ἔτι κατακούειν ἐν μέσῳ τινὰ ἠχὴν καὶ σμικρότατον εἶναι τοῦτο διάστημα, ᾧ μετρητέον, οἱ δὲ ἀμφισβητοῦντες ὡς ὅμοιον ἤδη φθεγγομένων, ἀμφότεροι [531b] ὦτα τοῦ νοῦ προστησάμενοι.

σὺ μέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοὺς χρηστοὺς λέγεις τοὺς ταῖς χορδαῖς πράγματα παρέχοντας καὶ βασανίζοντας, ἐπὶ τῶν κολλόπων στρεβλοῦντας: ἵνα δὲ μὴ μακροτέρα ἡ εἰκὼν γίγνηται πλήκτρῳ τε πληγῶν γιγνομένων καὶ κατηγορίας πέρι καὶ ἐξαρνήσεως καὶ ἀλαζονείας χορδῶν, παύομαι τῆς εἰκόνος καὶ οὔ φημι τούτους λέγειν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνους οὓς ἔφαμεν νυνδὴ περὶ ἁρμονίας ἐρήσεσθαι. ταὐτὸν γὰρ ποιοῦσι τοῖς ἐν τῇ [531c] ἀστρονομίᾳ: τοὺς γὰρ ἐν ταύταις ταῖς συμφωνίαις ταῖς ἀκουομέναις ἀριθμοὺς ζητοῦσιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ εἰς προβλήματα ἀνίασιν, ἐπισκοπεῖν τίνες σύμφωνοι ἀριθμοὶ καὶ τίνες οὔ, καὶ διὰ τί ἑκάτεροι.

δαιμόνιον γάρ, ἔφη, πρᾶγμα λέγεις.

χρήσιμον μὲν οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς τὴν τοῦ καλοῦ τε καὶ ἀγαθοῦ ζήτησιν, ἄλλως δὲ μεταδιωκόμενον ἄχρηστον.

εἰκός γ᾽, ἔφη.

οἶμαι δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἡ τούτων πάντων ὧν διεληλύθαμεν [531d] μέθοδος ἐὰν μὲν ἐπὶ τὴν ἀλλήλων κοινωνίαν ἀφίκηται καὶ συγγένειαν, καὶ συλλογισθῇ ταῦτα ᾗ ἐστὶν ἀλλήλοις οἰκεῖα, φέρειν τι αὐτῶν εἰς ἃ βουλόμεθα τὴν πραγματείαν καὶ οὐκ ἀνόνητα πονεῖσθαι, εἰ δὲ μή, ἀνόνητα.

καὶ ἐγώ, ἔφη, οὕτω μαντεύομαι. ἀλλὰ πάμπολυ ἔργον λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

τοῦ προοιμίου, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἢ τίνος λέγεις; ἢ οὐκ ἴσμεν ὅτι πάντα ταῦτα προοίμιά ἐστιν αὐτοῦ τοῦ νόμου ὃν δεῖ μαθεῖν; οὐ γάρ που δοκοῦσί γέ σοι οἱ ταῦτα δεινοὶ διαλεκτικοὶ [531e] εἶναι.

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δί᾽, ἔφη, εἰ μὴ μάλα γέ τινες ὀλίγοι ὧν ἐγὼ ἐντετύχηκα.

ἀλλὰ δή, εἶπον, μὴ δυνατοὶ οἵτινες δοῦναί τε καὶ ἀποδέξασθαι λόγον εἴσεσθαί ποτέ τι ὧν φαμεν δεῖν εἰδέναι;

οὐδ᾽ αὖ, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε. [532a]

οὐκοῦν, εἶπον, ὦ Γλαύκων, οὗτος ἤδη αὐτός ἐστιν ὁ νόμος ὃν τὸ διαλέγεσθαι περαίνει; ὃν καὶ ὄντα νοητὸν μιμοῖτ᾽ ἂν ἡ τῆς ὄψεως δύναμις, ἣν ἐλέγομεν πρὸς αὐτὰ ἤδη τὰ ζῷα ἐπιχειρεῖν ἀποβλέπειν καὶ πρὸς αὐτὰ <τὰ> ἄστρα τε καὶ τελευταῖον δὴ πρὸς αὐτὸν τὸν ἥλιον. οὕτω καὶ ὅταν τις τῷ διαλέγεσθαι ἐπιχειρῇ ἄνευ πασῶν τῶν αἰσθήσεων διὰ τοῦ λόγου ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ ὃ ἔστιν ἕκαστον ὁρμᾶν, καὶ μὴ ἀποστῇ πρὶν [532b] ἂν αὐτὸ ὃ ἔστιν ἀγαθὸν αὐτῇ νοήσει λάβῃ, ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ γίγνεται τῷ τοῦ νοητοῦ τέλει, ὥσπερ ἐκεῖνος τότε ἐπὶ τῷ τοῦ ὁρατοῦ.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; οὐ διαλεκτικὴν ταύτην τὴν πορείαν καλεῖς;

τί μήν;

ἡ δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λύσις τε ἀπὸ τῶν δεσμῶν καὶ μεταστροφὴ ἀπὸ τῶν σκιῶν ἐπὶ τὰ εἴδωλα καὶ τὸ φῶς καὶ ἐκ τοῦ καταγείου εἰς τὸν ἥλιον ἐπάνοδος, καὶ ἐκεῖ πρὸς μὲν τὰ ζῷά τε καὶ φυτὰ καὶ τὸ τοῦ ἡλίου φῶς ἔτι ἀδυναμία [532c] βλέπειν, πρὸς δὲ τὰ ἐν ὕδασι φαντάσματα θεῖα καὶ σκιὰς τῶν ὄντων, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ εἰδώλων σκιὰς δι᾽ ἑτέρου τοιούτου φωτὸς ὡς πρὸς ἥλιον κρίνειν ἀποσκιαζομένας-πᾶσα αὕτη ἡ πραγματεία τῶν τεχνῶν ἃς διήλθομεν ταύτην ἔχει τὴν δύναμιν καὶ ἐπαναγωγὴν τοῦ βελτίστου ἐν ψυχῇ πρὸς τὴν τοῦ ἀρίστου ἐν τοῖς οὖσι θέαν, ὥσπερ τότε τοῦ σαφεστάτου ἐν σώματι πρὸς τὴν τοῦ φανοτάτου ἐν τῷ σωματοειδεῖ τε καὶ [532d] ὁρατῷ τόπῳ.

ἐγὼ μέν, ἔφη, ἀποδέχομαι οὕτω. καίτοι παντάπασί γέ μοι δοκεῖ χαλεπὰ μὲν ἀποδέχεσθαι εἶναι, ἄλλον δ᾽ αὖ τρόπον χαλεπὰ μὴ ἀποδέχεσθαι. ὅμως δέ-οὐ γὰρ ἐν τῷ νῦν παρόντι μόνον ἀκουστέα, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὖθις πολλάκις ἐπανιτέον -ταῦτα θέντες ἔχειν ὡς νῦν λέγεται, ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸν δὴ τὸν νόμον ἴωμεν, καὶ διέλθωμεν οὕτως ὥσπερ τὸ προοίμιον διήλθομεν. λέγε οὖν τίς ὁ τρόπος τῆς τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι δυνάμεως, καὶ [532e] κατὰ ποῖα δὴ εἴδη διέστηκεν, καὶ τίνες αὖ ὁδοί: αὗται γὰρ ἂν ἤδη, ὡς ἔοικεν, αἱ πρὸς αὐτὸ ἄγουσαι εἶεν, οἷ ἀφικομένῳ ὥσπερ ὁδοῦ ἀνάπαυλα ἂν εἴη καὶ τέλος τῆς πορείας. [533a]

οὐκέτ᾽, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων, οἷός τ᾽ ἔσῃ ἀκολουθεῖν-ἐπεὶ τό γ᾽ ἐμὸν οὐδὲν ἂν προθυμίας ἀπολίποι-οὐδ᾽ εἰκόνα ἂν ἔτι οὗ λέγομεν ἴδοις, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ ἀληθές, ὅ γε δή μοι φαίνεται-εἰ δ᾽ ὄντως ἢ μή, οὐκέτ᾽ ἄξιον τοῦτο διισχυρίζεσθαι: ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι μὲν δὴ τοιοῦτόν τι ἰδεῖν, ἰσχυριστέον. ἦ γάρ;

τί μήν;

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅτι ἡ τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι δύναμις μόνη ἂν φήνειεν ἐμπείρῳ ὄντι ὧν νυνδὴ διήλθομεν, ἄλλῃ δὲ οὐδαμῇ δυνατόν;

καὶ τοῦτ᾽, ἔφη, ἄξιον διισχυρίζεσθαι. [533b]

τόδε γοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐδεὶς ἡμῖν ἀμφισβητήσει λέγουσιν, ὡς αὐτοῦ γε ἑκάστου πέρι ὃ ἔστιν ἕκαστον ἄλλη τις ἐπιχειρεῖ μέθοδος ὁδῷ περὶ παντὸς λαμβάνειν. ἀλλ᾽ αἱ μὲν ἄλλαι πᾶσαι τέχναι ἢ πρὸς δόξας ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἐπιθυμίας εἰσὶν ἢ πρὸς γενέσεις τε καὶ συνθέσεις, ἢ πρὸς θεραπείαν τῶν φυομένων τε καὶ συντιθεμένων ἅπασαι τετράφαται: αἱ δὲ λοιπαί, ἃς τοῦ ὄντος τι ἔφαμεν ἐπιλαμβάνεσθαι, γεωμετρίας τε καὶ τὰς ταύτῃ ἑπομένας, ὁρῶμεν ὡς ὀνειρώττουσι μὲν [533c] περὶ τὸ ὄν, ὕπαρ δὲ ἀδύνατον αὐταῖς ἰδεῖν, ἕως ἂν ὑποθέσεσι χρώμεναι ταύτας ἀκινήτους ἐῶσι, μὴ δυνάμεναι λόγον διδόναι αὐτῶν. ᾧ γὰρ ἀρχὴ μὲν ὃ μὴ οἶδε, τελευτὴ δὲ καὶ τὰ μεταξὺ ἐξ οὗ μὴ οἶδεν συμπέπλεκται, τίς μηχανὴ τὴν τοιαύτην ὁμολογίαν ποτὲ ἐπιστήμην γενέσθαι;

οὐδεμία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἡ διαλεκτικὴ μέθοδος μόνη ταύτῃ πορεύεται, τὰς ὑποθέσεις ἀναιροῦσα, ἐπ᾽ αὐτὴν τὴν ἀρχὴν [533d] ἵνα βεβαιώσηται, καὶ τῷ ὄντι ἐν βορβόρῳ βαρβαρικῷ τινι τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ὄμμα κατορωρυγμένον ἠρέμα ἕλκει καὶ ἀνάγει ἄνω, συνερίθοις καὶ συμπεριαγωγοῖς χρωμένη αἷς διήλθομεν τέχναις: ἃς ἐπιστήμας μὲν πολλάκις προσείπομεν διὰ τὸ ἔθος, δέονται δὲ ὀνόματος ἄλλου, ἐναργεστέρου μὲν ἢ δόξης, ἀμυδροτέρου δὲ ἢ ἐπιστήμης-διάνοιαν δὲ αὐτὴν ἔν γε τῷ πρόσθεν που ὡρισάμεθα-ἔστι δ᾽, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐ περὶ [533e] ὀνόματος ἀμφισβήτησις, οἷς τοσούτων πέρι σκέψις ὅσων ἡμῖν πρόκειται.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη.

ἀλλ᾽ ὃ ἂν μόνον δηλοῖ πως τὴν ἕξιν σαφηνείᾳ λέγειν ἐν ψυχῇ <ἀρκέσει;

ναί.>

ἀρκέσει οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὥσπερ τὸ πρότερον, τὴν μὲν πρώτην μοῖραν ἐπιστήμην καλεῖν, δευτέραν δὲ διάνοιαν, τρίτην [534a] δὲ πίστιν καὶ εἰκασίαν τετάρτην: καὶ συναμφότερα μὲν ταῦτα δόξαν, συναμφότερα δ᾽ ἐκεῖνα νόησιν: καὶ δόξαν μὲν περὶ γένεσιν, νόησιν δὲ περὶ οὐσίαν: καὶ ὅτι οὐσία πρὸς γένεσιν, νόησιν πρὸς δόξαν, καὶ ὅτι νόησις πρὸς δόξαν, ἐπιστήμην πρὸς πίστιν καὶ διάνοιαν πρὸς εἰκασίαν: τὴν δ᾽ ἐφ᾽ οἷς ταῦτα ἀναλογίαν καὶ διαίρεσιν διχῇ ἑκατέρου, δοξαστοῦ τε καὶ νοητοῦ, ἐῶμεν, ὦ Γλαύκων, ἵνα μὴ ἡμᾶς πολλαπλασίων λόγων ἐμπλήσῃ ἢ ὅσων οἱ παρεληλυθότες. [534b]

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἔμοιγ᾽, ἔφη, τά γε ἄλλα, καθ᾽ ὅσον δύναμαι ἕπεσθαι, συνδοκεῖ.

ἦ καὶ διαλεκτικὸν καλεῖς τὸν λόγον ἑκάστου λαμβάνοντα τῆς οὐσίας; καὶ τὸν μὴ ἔχοντα, καθ᾽ ὅσον ἂν μὴ ἔχῃ λόγον αὑτῷ τε καὶ ἄλλῳ διδόναι, κατὰ τοσοῦτον νοῦν περὶ τούτου οὐ φήσεις ἔχειν;

πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, φαίην;

οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ὡσαύτως: ὃς ἂν μὴ ἔχῃ διορίσασθαι τῷ λόγῳ ἀπὸ τῶν ἄλλων πάντων ἀφελὼν τὴν [534c] τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἰδέαν, καὶ ὥσπερ ἐν μάχῃ διὰ πάντων ἐλέγχων διεξιών, μὴ κατὰ δόξαν ἀλλὰ κατ᾽ οὐσίαν προθυμούμενος ἐλέγχειν, ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις ἀπτῶτι τῷ λόγῳ διαπορεύηται, οὔτε αὐτὸ τὸ ἀγαθὸν φήσεις εἰδέναι τὸν οὕτως ἔχοντα οὔτε ἄλλο ἀγαθὸν οὐδέν, ἀλλ᾽ εἴ πῃ εἰδώλου τινὸς ἐφάπτεται, δόξῃ, οὐκ ἐπιστήμῃ ἐφάπτεσθαι, καὶ τὸν νῦν βίον ὀνειροπολοῦντα καὶ ὑπνώττοντα, πρὶν ἐνθάδ᾽ ἐξεγρέσθαι, εἰς Ἅιδου [534d] πρότερον ἀφικόμενον τελέως ἐπικαταδαρθεῖν;

νὴ τὸν Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, σφόδρα γε πάντα ταῦτα φήσω.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τούς γε σαυτοῦ παῖδας, οὓς τῷ λόγῳ τρέφεις τε καὶ παιδεύεις, εἴ ποτε ἔργῳ τρέφοις, οὐκ ἂν ἐάσαις, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἀλόγους ὄντας ὥσπερ γραμμάς, ἄρχοντας ἐν τῇ πόλει κυρίους τῶν μεγίστων εἶναι.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν, ἔφη.

νομοθετήσεις δὴ αὐτοῖς ταύτης μάλιστα τῆς παιδείας ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι, ἐξ ἧς ἐρωτᾶν τε καὶ ἀποκρίνεσθαι ἐπιστημονέστατα οἷοί τ᾽ ἔσονται; [534e]

νομοθετήσω, ἔφη, μετά γε σοῦ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν δοκεῖ σοι, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὥσπερ θριγκὸς τοῖς μαθήμασιν ἡ διαλεκτικὴ ἡμῖν ἐπάνω κεῖσθαι, καὶ οὐκέτ᾽ ἄλλο τούτου μάθημα ἀνωτέρω ὀρθῶς ἂν ἐπιτίθεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἔχειν [535a] ἤδη τέλος τὰ τῶν μαθημάτων;

ἔμοιγ᾽, ἔφη.

διανομὴ τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ λοιπόν σοι, τίσιν ταῦτα τὰ μαθήματα δώσομεν καὶ τίνα τρόπον.

δῆλον, ἔφη.

μέμνησαι οὖν τὴν προτέραν ἐκλογὴν τῶν ἀρχόντων, οἵους ἐξελέξαμεν;

πῶς γάρ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὔ;

τὰ μὲν ἄλλα τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐκείνας τὰς φύσεις οἴου δεῖν ἐκλεκτέας εἶναι: τούς τε γὰρ βεβαιοτάτους καὶ τοὺς ἀνδρειοτάτους προαιρετέον, καὶ κατὰ δύναμιν τοὺς εὐειδεστάτους: [535b] πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ζητητέον μὴ μόνον γενναίους τε καὶ βλοσυροὺς τὰ ἤθη, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἃ τῇδε τῇ παιδείᾳ τῆς φύσεως πρόσφορα ἑκτέον αὐτοῖς.

ποῖα δὴ διαστέλλῃ;

δριμύτητα, ὦ μακάριε, ἔφην, δεῖ αὐτοῖς πρὸς τὰ μαθήματα ὑπάρχειν, καὶ μὴ χαλεπῶς μανθάνειν. πολὺ γάρ τοι μᾶλλον ἀποδειλιῶσι ψυχαὶ ἐν ἰσχυροῖς μαθήμασιν ἢ ἐν γυμνασίοις: οἰκειότερος γὰρ αὐταῖς ὁ πόνος, ἴδιος ἀλλ᾽ οὐ κοινὸς ὢν μετὰ τοῦ σώματος.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη. [535c]

καὶ μνήμονα δὴ καὶ ἄρρατον καὶ πάντῃ φιλόπονον ζητητέον. ἢ τίνι τρόπῳ οἴει τά τε τοῦ σώματος ἐθελήσειν τινὰ διαπονεῖν καὶ τοσαύτην μάθησίν τε καὶ μελέτην ἐπιτελεῖν;

οὐδένα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐὰν μὴ παντάπασί γ᾽ ᾖ εὐφυής.

τὸ γοῦν νῦν ἁμάρτημα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἡ ἀτιμία φιλοσοφίᾳ διὰ ταῦτα προσπέπτωκεν, ὃ καὶ πρότερον εἴπομεν, ὅτι οὐ κατ᾽ ἀξίαν αὐτῆς ἅπτονται: οὐ γὰρ νόθους ἔδει ἅπτεσθαι, ἀλλὰ γνησίους.

πῶς; ἔφη. [535d]

πρῶτον μέν, εἶπον, φιλοπονίᾳ οὐ χωλὸν δεῖ εἶναι τὸν ἁψόμενον, τὰ μὲν ἡμίσεα φιλόπονον ὄντα, τὰ δ᾽ ἡμίσεα ἄπονον. ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο, ὅταν τις φιλογυμναστὴς μὲν καὶ φιλόθηρος ᾖ καὶ πάντα τὰ διὰ τοῦ σώματος φιλοπονῇ, φιλομαθὴς δὲ μή, μηδὲ φιλήκοος μηδὲ ζητητικός, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις μισοπονῇ: χωλὸς δὲ καὶ ὁ τἀναντία τούτου μεταβεβληκὼς τὴν φιλοπονίαν.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν καὶ πρὸς ἀλήθειαν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἀνάπηρον [535e] ψυχὴν θήσομεν, ἣ ἂν τὸ μὲν ἑκούσιον ψεῦδος μισῇ καὶ χαλεπῶς φέρῃ αὐτή τε καὶ ἑτέρων ψευδομένων ὑπεραγανακτῇ, τὸ δ᾽ ἀκούσιον εὐκόλως προσδέχηται καὶ ἀμαθαίνουσά που ἁλισκομένη μὴ ἀγανακτῇ, ἀλλ᾽ εὐχερῶς ὥσπερ θηρίον ὕειον ἐν ἀμαθίᾳ μολύνηται; [536a]

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

καὶ πρὸς σωφροσύνην, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἀνδρείαν καὶ μεγαλοπρέπειαν καὶ πάντα τὰ τῆς ἀρετῆς μέρη οὐχ ἥκιστα δεῖ φυλάττειν τὸν νόθον τε καὶ τὸν γνήσιον. ὅταν γάρ τις μὴ ἐπίστηται πάντῃ τὰ τοιαῦτα σκοπεῖν καὶ ἰδιώτης καὶ πόλις, λανθάνουσι χωλοῖς τε καὶ νόθοις χρώμενοι πρὸς ὅτι ἂν τύχωσι τούτων, οἱ μὲν φίλοις, οἱ δὲ ἄρχουσι.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, οὕτως ἔχει.

ἡμῖν δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα διευλαβητέον: [536b] ὡς ἐὰν μὲν ἀρτιμελεῖς τε καὶ ἀρτίφρονας ἐπὶ τοσαύτην μάθησιν καὶ τοσαύτην ἄσκησιν κομίσαντες παιδεύωμεν, ἥ τε δίκη ἡμῖν οὐ μέμψεται αὐτή, τήν τε πόλιν καὶ πολιτείαν σώσομεν, ἀλλοίους δὲ ἄγοντες ἐπὶ ταῦτα τἀναντία πάντα καὶ πράξομεν καὶ φιλοσοφίας ἔτι πλείω γέλωτα καταντλήσομεν.

αἰσχρὸν μεντἂν εἴη, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, εἶπον: γελοῖον δ᾽ ἔγωγε καὶ ἐν τῷ παρόντι <τι> ἔοικα παθεῖν.

τὸ ποῖον; ἔφη. [536c]

ἐπελαθόμην, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἐπαίζομεν, καὶ μᾶλλον ἐντεινάμενος εἶπον. λέγων γὰρ ἅμα ἔβλεψα πρὸς φιλοσοφίαν, καὶ ἰδὼν προπεπηλακισμένην ἀναξίως ἀγανακτήσας μοι δοκῶ καὶ ὥσπερ θυμωθεὶς τοῖς αἰτίοις σπουδαιότερον εἰπεῖν ἃ εἶπον.

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δί᾽, ἔφη, οὔκουν ὥς γ᾽ ἐμοὶ ἀκροατῇ.

ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἐμοί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ῥήτορι. τόδε δὲ μὴ ἐπιλανθανώμεθα, ὅτι ἐν μὲν τῇ προτέρᾳ ἐκλογῇ πρεσβύτας ἐξελέγομεν, [536d] ἐν δὲ ταύτῃ οὐκ ἐγχωρήσει: Σόλωνι γὰρ οὐ πειστέον ὡς γηράσκων τις πολλὰ δυνατὸς μανθάνειν, ἀλλ᾽ ἧττον ἢ τρέχειν, νέων δὲ πάντες οἱ μεγάλοι καὶ οἱ πολλοὶ πόνοι.

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

τὰ μὲν τοίνυν λογισμῶν τε καὶ γεωμετριῶν καὶ πάσης τῆς προπαιδείας, ἣν τῆς διαλεκτικῆς δεῖ προπαιδευθῆναι, παισὶν οὖσι χρὴ προβάλλειν, οὐχ ὡς ἐπάναγκες μαθεῖν τὸ σχῆμα τῆς διδαχῆς ποιουμένους.

τί δή; [536e]

ὅτι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐδὲν μάθημα μετὰ δουλείας τὸν ἐλεύθερον χρὴ μανθάνειν. οἱ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ σώματος πόνοι βίᾳ πονούμενοι χεῖρον οὐδὲν τὸ σῶμα ἀπεργάζονται, ψυχῇ δὲ βίαιον οὐδὲν ἔμμονον μάθημα.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη.

μὴ τοίνυν βίᾳ, εἶπον, ὦ ἄριστε, τοὺς παῖδας ἐν τοῖς [537a] μαθήμασιν ἀλλὰ παίζοντας τρέφε, ἵνα καὶ μᾶλλον οἷός τ᾽ ᾖς καθορᾶν ἐφ᾽ ὃ ἕκαστος πέφυκεν.

ἔχει ὃ λέγεις, ἔφη, λόγον.

οὐκοῦν μνημονεύεις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι καὶ εἰς τὸν πόλεμον ἔφαμεν τοὺς παῖδας εἶναι ἀκτέον ἐπὶ τῶν ἵππων θεωρούς, καὶ ἐάν που ἀσφαλὲς ᾖ, προσακτέον ἐγγὺς καὶ γευστέον αἵματος, ὥσπερ τοὺς σκύλακας;

μέμνημαι, ἔφη.

ἐν πᾶσι δὴ τούτοις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοῖς τε πόνοις καὶ μαθήμασι καὶ φόβοις ὃς ἂν ἐντρεχέστατος ἀεὶ φαίνηται, εἰς ἀριθμόν τινα ἐγκριτέον. [537b]

ἐν τίνι, ἔφη, ἡλικίᾳ;

ἡνίκα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τῶν ἀναγκαίων γυμνασίων μεθίενται: οὗτος γὰρ ὁ χρόνος, ἐάντε δύο ἐάντε τρία ἔτη γίγνηται, ἀδύνατός τι ἄλλο πρᾶξαι: κόποι γὰρ καὶ ὕπνοι μαθήμασι πολέμιοι. καὶ ἅμα μία καὶ αὕτη τῶν βασάνων οὐκ ἐλαχίστη, τίς ἕκαστος ἐν τοῖς γυμνασίοις φανεῖται.

πῶς γὰρ οὔκ; ἔφη.

μετὰ δὴ τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐκ τῶν εἰκοσιετῶν οἱ προκριθέντες τιμάς τε μείζους τῶν ἄλλων οἴσονται, [537c] τά τε χύδην μαθήματα παισὶν ἐν τῇ παιδείᾳ γενόμενα τούτοις συνακτέον εἰς σύνοψιν οἰκειότητός τε ἀλλήλων τῶν μαθημάτων καὶ τῆς τοῦ ὄντος φύσεως.

μόνη γοῦν, εἶπεν, ἡ τοιαύτη μάθησις βέβαιος, ἐν οἷς ἂν ἐγγένηται.

καὶ μεγίστη γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πεῖρα διαλεκτικῆς φύσεως καὶ μή: ὁ μὲν γὰρ συνοπτικὸς διαλεκτικός, ὁ δὲ μὴ οὔ.

συνοίομαι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ταῦτα τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δεήσει σε ἐπισκοποῦντα οἳ ἂν [537d] μάλιστα τοιοῦτοι ἐν αὐτοῖς ὦσι καὶ μόνιμοι μὲν ἐν μαθήμασι, μόνιμοι δ᾽ ἐν πολέμῳ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις νομίμοις, τούτους αὖ, ἐπειδὰν τὰ τριάκοντα ἔτη ἐκβαίνωσιν, ἐκ τῶν προκρίτων προκρινάμενον εἰς μείζους τε τιμὰς καθιστάναι καὶ σκοπεῖν, τῇ τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι δυνάμει βασανίζοντα τίς ὀμμάτων καὶ τῆς ἄλλης αἰσθήσεως δυνατὸς μεθιέμενος ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ ὂν μετ᾽ ἀληθείας ἰέναι. καὶ ἐνταῦθα δὴ πολλῆς φυλακῆς ἔργον, ὦ ἑταῖρε.

τί μάλιστα; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [537e]

οὐκ ἐννοεῖς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ νῦν περὶ τὸ διαλέγεσθαι κακὸν γιγνόμενον ὅσον γίγνεται;

τὸ ποῖον; ἔφη.

παρανομίας που, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἐμπίμπλανται.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

θαυμαστὸν οὖν τι οἴει, εἶπον, πάσχειν αὐτούς, καὶ οὐ συγγιγνώσκεις;

πῇ μάλιστα; ἔφη.

οἷον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἴ τις ὑποβολιμαῖος τραφείη ἐν πολλοῖς [538a] μὲν χρήμασι, πολλῷ δὲ καὶ μεγάλῳ γένει καὶ κόλαξι πολλοῖς, ἀνὴρ δὲ γενόμενος αἴσθοιτο ὅτι οὐ τούτων ἐστὶ τῶν φασκόντων γονέων, τοὺς δὲ τῷ ὄντι γεννήσαντας μὴ εὕροι, τοῦτον ἔχεις μαντεύσασθαι πῶς ἂν διατεθείη πρός τε τοὺς κόλακας καὶ πρὸς τοὺς ὑποβαλομένους ἐν ἐκείνῳ τε τῷ χρόνῳ ᾧ οὐκ ᾔδει τὰ περὶ τῆς ὑποβολῆς, καὶ ἐν ᾧ αὖ ᾔδει; ἢ βούλει ἐμοῦ μαντευομένου ἀκοῦσαι;

βούλομαι, ἔφη.

μαντεύομαι τοίνυν, εἶπον, μᾶλλον αὐτὸν τιμᾶν ἂν τὸν [538b] πατέρα καὶ τὴν μητέρα καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους οἰκείους δοκοῦντας ἢ τοὺς κολακεύοντας, καὶ ἧττον μὲν ἂν περιιδεῖν ἐνδεεῖς τινος, ἧττον δὲ παράνομόν τι δρᾶσαι ἢ εἰπεῖν εἰς αὐτούς, ἧττον δὲ ἀπειθεῖν τὰ μεγάλα ἐκείνοις ἢ τοῖς κόλαξιν, ἐν ᾧ χρόνῳ τὸ ἀληθὲς μὴ εἰδείη.

εἰκός, ἔφη.

αἰσθόμενον τοίνυν τὸ ὂν μαντεύομαι αὖ περὶ μὲν τούτους ἀνεῖναι ἂν τὸ τιμᾶν τε καὶ σπουδάζειν, περὶ δὲ τοὺς κόλακας ἐπιτεῖναι, καὶ πείθεσθαί τε αὐτοῖς διαφερόντως ἢ πρότερον [538c] καὶ ζῆν ἂν ἤδη κατ᾽ ἐκείνους, συνόντα αὐτοῖς ἀπαρακαλύπτως, πατρὸς δὲ ἐκείνου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ποιουμένων οἰκείων, εἰ μὴ πάνυ εἴη φύσει ἐπιεικής, μέλειν τὸ μηδέν.

πάντ᾽, ἔφη, λέγεις οἷά περ ἂν γένοιτο. ἀλλὰ πῇ πρὸς τοὺς ἁπτομένους τῶν λόγων αὕτη φέρει ἡ εἰκών;

τῇδε. ἔστι που ἡμῖν δόγματα ἐκ παίδων περὶ δικαίων καὶ καλῶν, ἐν οἷς ἐκτεθράμμεθα ὥσπερ ὑπὸ γονεῦσι, πειθαρχοῦντές τε καὶ τιμῶντες αὐτά.

ἔστι γάρ. [538d]

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἄλλα ἐναντία τούτων ἐπιτηδεύματα ἡδονὰς ἔχοντα, ἃ κολακεύει μὲν ἡμῶν τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ ἕλκει ἐφ᾽ αὑτά, πείθει δ᾽ οὒ τοὺς καὶ ὁπῃοῦν μετρίους: ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνα τιμῶσι τὰ πάτρια καὶ ἐκείνοις πειθαρχοῦσιν.

ἔστι ταῦτα.

τί οὖν; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ὅταν τὸν οὕτως ἔχοντα ἐλθὸν ἐρώτημα ἔρηται: τί ἐστι τὸ καλόν, καὶ ἀποκριναμένου ὃ τοῦ νομοθέτου ἤκουεν ἐξελέγχῃ ὁ λόγος, καὶ πολλάκις καὶ πολλαχῇ ἐλέγχων εἰς δόξαν καταβάλῃ ὡς τοῦτο οὐδὲν μᾶλλον [538e] καλὸν ἢ αἰσχρόν, καὶ περὶ δικαίου ὡσαύτως καὶ ἀγαθοῦ καὶ ἃ μάλιστα ἦγεν ἐν τιμῇ, μετὰ τοῦτο τί οἴει ποιήσειν αὐτὸν πρὸς αὐτὰ τιμῆς τε πέρι καὶ πειθαρχίας;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, μήτε τιμᾶν ἔτι ὁμοίως μήτε πείθεσθαι.

ὅταν οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μήτε ταῦτα ἡγῆται τίμια καὶ οἰκεῖα ὥσπερ πρὸ τοῦ, τά τε ἀληθῆ μὴ εὑρίσκῃ, ἔστι πρὸς ὁποῖον [539a] βίον ἄλλον ἢ τὸν κολακεύοντα εἰκότως προσχωρήσεται;

οὐκ ἔστιν, ἔφη.

παράνομος δὴ οἶμαι δόξει γεγονέναι ἐκ νομίμου.

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν, ἔφην, εἰκὸς τὸ πάθος τῶν οὕτω λόγων ἁπτομένων καί, ὃ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, πολλῆς συγγνώμης ἄξιον;

καὶ ἐλέου γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἵνα μὴ γίγνηται ὁ ἔλεος οὗτος περὶ τοὺς τριακοντούτας σοι, εὐλαβουμένῳ παντὶ τρόπῳ τῶν λόγων ἁπτέον;

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [539b]

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ μία μὲν εὐλάβεια αὕτη συχνή, τὸ μὴ νέους ὄντας αὐτῶν γεύεσθαι; οἶμαι γάρ σε οὐ λεληθέναι ὅτι οἱ μειρακίσκοι, ὅταν τὸ πρῶτον λόγων γεύωνται, ὡς παιδιᾷ αὐτοῖς καταχρῶνται, ἀεὶ εἰς ἀντιλογίαν χρώμενοι, καὶ μιμούμενοι τοὺς ἐξελέγχοντας αὐτοὶ ἄλλους ἐλέγχουσι, χαίροντες ὥσπερ σκυλάκια τῷ ἕλκειν τε καὶ σπαράττειν τῷ λόγῳ τοὺς πλησίον ἀεί.

ὑπερφυῶς μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ὅταν δὴ πολλοὺς μὲν αὐτοὶ ἐλέγξωσιν, ὑπὸ πολλῶν [539c] δὲ ἐλεγχθῶσι, σφόδρα καὶ ταχὺ ἐμπίπτουσιν εἰς τὸ μηδὲν ἡγεῖσθαι ὧνπερ πρότερον: καὶ ἐκ τούτων δὴ αὐτοί τε καὶ τὸ ὅλον φιλοσοφίας πέρι εἰς τοὺς ἄλλους διαβέβληνται.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη.

ὁ δὲ δὴ πρεσβύτερος, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τῆς μὲν τοιαύτης μανίας οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοι μετέχειν, τὸν δὲ διαλέγεσθαι ἐθέλοντα καὶ σκοπεῖν τἀληθὲς μᾶλλον μιμήσεται ἢ τὸν παιδιᾶς χάριν παίζοντα καὶ ἀντιλέγοντα, καὶ αὐτός τε μετριώτερος ἔσται [539d] καὶ τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα τιμιώτερον ἀντὶ ἀτιμοτέρου ποιήσει.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὰ προειρημένα τούτου ἐπ᾽ εὐλαβείᾳ πάντα προείρηται, τὸ τὰς φύσεις κοσμίους εἶναι καὶ στασίμους οἷς τις μεταδώσει τῶν λόγων, καὶ μὴ ὡς νῦν ὁ τυχὼν καὶ οὐδὲν προσήκων ἔρχεται ἐπ᾽ αὐτό;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἀρκεῖ δὴ ἐπὶ λόγων μεταλήψει μεῖναι ἐνδελεχῶς καὶ συντόνως μηδὲν ἄλλο πράττοντι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀντιστρόφως γυμναζομένῳ τοῖς περὶ τὸ σῶμα γυμνασίοις, ἔτη διπλάσια ἢ τότε; [539e]

ἕξ, ἔφη, ἢ τέτταρα λέγεις;

ἀμέλει, εἶπον, πέντε θές. μετὰ γὰρ τοῦτο καταβιβαστέοι ἔσονταί σοι εἰς τὸ σπήλαιον πάλιν ἐκεῖνο, καὶ ἀναγκαστέοι ἄρχειν τά τε περὶ τὸν πόλεμον καὶ ὅσαι νέων ἀρχαί, ἵνα μηδ᾽ ἐμπειρίᾳ ὑστερῶσι τῶν ἄλλων: καὶ ἔτι καὶ ἐν τούτοις [540a] βασανιστέοι εἰ ἐμμενοῦσιν ἑλκόμενοι πανταχόσε ἤ τι καὶ παρακινήσουσι.

χρόνον δέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, πόσον τοῦτον τιθεῖς;

πεντεκαίδεκα ἔτη, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. γενομένων δὲ πεντηκοντουτῶν τοὺς διασωθέντας καὶ ἀριστεύσαντας πάντα πάντῃ ἐν ἔργοις τε καὶ ἐπιστήμαις πρὸς τέλος ἤδη ἀκτέον, καὶ ἀναγκαστέον ἀνακλίναντας τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς αὐγὴν εἰς αὐτὸ ἀποβλέψαι τὸ πᾶσι φῶς παρέχον, καὶ ἰδόντας τὸ ἀγαθὸν αὐτό, παραδείγματι χρωμένους ἐκείνῳ, καὶ πόλιν καὶ ἰδιώτας [540b] καὶ ἑαυτοὺς κοσμεῖν τὸν ἐπίλοιπον βίον ἐν μέρει ἑκάστους, τὸ μὲν πολὺ πρὸς φιλοσοφίᾳ διατρίβοντας, ὅταν δὲ τὸ μέρος ἥκῃ, πρὸς πολιτικοῖς ἐπιταλαιπωροῦντας καὶ ἄρχοντας ἑκάστους τῆς πόλεως ἕνεκα, οὐχ ὡς καλόν τι ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἀναγκαῖον πράττοντας, καὶ οὕτως ἄλλους ἀεὶ παιδεύσαντας τοιούτους, ἀντικαταλιπόντας τῆς πόλεως φύλακας, εἰς μακάρων νήσους ἀπιόντας οἰκεῖν: μνημεῖα δ᾽ αὐτοῖς καὶ θυσίας [540c] τὴν πόλιν δημοσίᾳ ποιεῖν, ἐὰν καὶ ἡ Πυθία συναναιρῇ, ὡς δαίμοσιν, εἰ δὲ μή, ὡς εὐδαίμοσί τε καὶ θείοις.

παγκάλους, ἔφη, τοὺς ἄρχοντας, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὥσπερ ἀνδριαντοποιὸς ἀπείργασαι.

καὶ τὰς ἀρχούσας γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων: μηδὲν γάρ τι οἴου με περὶ ἀνδρῶν εἰρηκέναι μᾶλλον ἃ εἴρηκα ἢ περὶ γυναικῶν, ὅσαι ἂν αὐτῶν ἱκαναὶ τὰς φύσεις ἐγγίγνωνται.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, εἴπερ ἴσα γε πάντα τοῖς ἀνδράσι κοινωνήσουσιν, ὡς διήλθομεν. [540d]

τί οὖν; ἔφην: συγχωρεῖτε περὶ τῆς πόλεώς τε καὶ πολιτείας μὴ παντάπασιν ἡμᾶς εὐχὰς εἰρηκέναι, ἀλλὰ χαλεπὰ μέν, δυνατὰ δέ πῃ, καὶ οὐκ ἄλλῃ ἢ εἴρηται, ὅταν οἱ ὡς ἀληθῶς φιλόσοφοι δυνάσται, ἢ πλείους ἢ εἷς, ἐν πόλει γενόμενοι τῶν μὲν νῦν τιμῶν καταφρονήσωσιν, ἡγησάμενοι ἀνελευθέρους εἶναι καὶ οὐδενὸς ἀξίας, τὸ δὲ ὀρθὸν περὶ [540e] πλείστου ποιησάμενοι καὶ τὰς ἀπὸ τούτου τιμάς, μέγιστον δὲ καὶ ἀναγκαιότατον τὸ δίκαιον, καὶ τούτῳ δὴ ὑπηρετοῦντές τε καὶ αὔξοντες αὐτὸ διασκευωρήσωνται τὴν ἑαυτῶν πόλιν;

πῶς; ἔφη.

ὅσοι μὲν ἄν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρεσβύτεροι τυγχάνωσι δεκετῶν [541a] ἐν τῇ πόλει, πάντας ἐκπέμψωσιν εἰς τοὺς ἀγρούς, τοὺς δὲ παῖδας αὐτῶν παραλαβόντες ἐκτὸς τῶν νῦν ἠθῶν, ἃ καὶ οἱ γονῆς ἔχουσι, θρέψωνται ἐν τοῖς σφετέροις τρόποισι καὶ νόμοις, οὖσιν οἵοις διεληλύθαμεν τότε: καὶ οὕτω τάχιστά τε καὶ ῥᾷστα πόλιν τε καὶ πολιτείαν, ἣν ἐλέγομεν, καταστᾶσαν αὐτήν τε εὐδαιμονήσειν καὶ τὸ ἔθνος ἐν ᾧ ἂν ἐγγένηται πλεῖστα ὀνήσειν;

πολύ γ᾽, ἔφη: καὶ ὡς ἂν γένοιτο, εἴπερ ποτὲ γίγνοιτο, [541b] δοκεῖς μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, εὖ εἰρηκέναι.

οὐκοῦν ἅδην ἤδη, εἶπον ἐγώ, ἔχουσιν ἡμῖν οἱ λόγοι περί τε τῆς πόλεως ταύτης καὶ τοῦ ὁμοίου ταύτῃ ἀνδρός; δῆλος γάρ που καὶ οὗτος οἷον φήσομεν δεῖν αὐτὸν εἶναι.

δῆλος, ἔφη: καὶ ὅπερ ἐρωτᾷς, δοκεῖ μοι τέλος ἔχειν.

Πολιτεία Η

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

[543a] εἶεν: ταῦτα μὲν δὴ ὡμολόγηται, ὦ Γλαύκων, τῇ μελλούσῃ ἄκρως οἰκεῖν πόλει κοινὰς μὲν γυναῖκας, κοινοὺς δὲ παῖδας εἶναι καὶ πᾶσαν παιδείαν, ὡσαύτως δὲ τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα κοινὰ ἐν πολέμῳ τε καὶ εἰρήνῃ, βασιλέας δὲ αὐτῶν εἶναι τοὺς ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ τε καὶ πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον γεγονότας ἀρίστους.

ὡμολόγηται, ἔφη. [543b]

καὶ μὴν καὶ τάδε συνεχωρήσαμεν, ὡς, ὅταν δὴ καταστῶσιν οἱ ἄρχοντες, ἄγοντες τοὺς στρατιώτας κατοικιοῦσιν εἰς οἰκήσεις οἵας προείπομεν, ἴδιον μὲν οὐδὲν οὐδενὶ ἐχούσας, κοινὰς δὲ πᾶσι: πρὸς δὲ ταῖς τοιαύταις οἰκήσεσι, καὶ τὰς κτήσεις, εἰ μνημονεύεις, διωμολογησάμεθά που οἷαι ἔσονται αὐτοῖς.

ἀλλὰ μνημονεύω, ἔφη, ὅτι γε οὐδὲν οὐδένα ᾠόμεθα δεῖν κεκτῆσθαι ὧν νῦν οἱ ἄλλοι, ὥσπερ δὲ ἀθλητάς τε πολέμου [543c] καὶ φύλακας, μισθὸν τῆς φυλακῆς δεχομένους εἰς ἐνιαυτὸν τὴν εἰς ταῦτα τροφὴν παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων, αὑτῶν τε δεῖν καὶ τῆς ἄλλης πόλεως ἐπιμελεῖσθαι. ὀρθῶς, ἔφην, λέγεις. ἀλλ᾽ ἄγ᾽, ἐπειδὴ τοῦτ᾽ ἀπετελέσαμεν, ἀναμνησθῶμεν πόθεν δεῦρο ἐξετραπόμεθα, ἵνα πάλιν τὴν αὐτὴν ἴωμεν. οὐ χαλεπόν, ἔφη. σχεδὸν γάρ, καθάπερ νῦν, ὡς διεληλυθὼς περὶ τῆς πόλεως τοὺς λόγους ἐποιοῦ, λέγων ὡς ἀγαθὴν μὲν τὴν τοιαύτην, οἵαν τότε διῆλθες, τιθείης πόλιν, [543d] καὶ ἄνδρα τὸν ἐκείνῃ ὅμοιον, καὶ ταῦτα, ὡς ἔοικας, καλλίω [544a] ἔτι ἔχων εἰπεῖν πόλιν τε καὶ ἄνδρα. ἀλλ᾽ οὖν δὴ τὰς ἄλλας ἡμαρτημένας ἔλεγες, εἰ αὕτη ὀρθή. τῶν δὲ λοιπῶν πολιτειῶν ἔφησθα, ὡς μνημονεύω, τέτταρα εἴδη εἶναι, ὧν καὶ πέρι λόγον ἄξιον εἴη ἔχειν καὶ ἰδεῖν αὐτῶν τὰ ἁμαρτήματα καὶ τοὺς ἐκείναις αὖ ὁμοίους, ἵνα πάντας αὐτοὺς ἰδόντες, καὶ ὁμολογησάμενοι τὸν ἄριστον καὶ τὸν κάκιστον ἄνδρα, ἐπισκεψαίμεθα εἰ ὁ ἄριστος εὐδαιμονέστατος καὶ ὁ κάκιστος ἀθλιώτατος, ἢ ἄλλως ἔχοι: καὶ ἐμοῦ ἐρομένου τίνας λέγοις [544b] τὰς τέτταρας πολιτείας, ἐν τούτῳ ὑπέλαβε Πολέμαρχός τε καὶ Ἀδείμαντος, καὶ οὕτω δὴ σὺ ἀναλαβὼν τὸν λόγον δεῦρ᾽ ἀφῖξαι.

ὀρθότατα, εἶπον, ἐμνημόνευσας.

πάλιν τοίνυν, ὥσπερ παλαιστής, τὴν αὐτὴν λαβὴν πάρεχε, καὶ τὸ αὐτὸ ἐμοῦ ἐρομένου πειρῶ εἰπεῖν ἅπερ τότε ἔμελλες λέγειν.

ἐάνπερ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δύνωμαι.

καὶ μήν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐπιθυμῶ γε καὶ αὐτὸς ἀκοῦσαι τίνας ἔλεγες τὰς τέτταρας πολιτείας. [544c] οὐ χαλεπῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀκούσῃ. εἰσὶ γὰρ ἃς λέγω, αἵπερ καὶ ὀνόματα ἔχουσιν, ἥ τε ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ἐπαινουμένη, ἡ Κρητική τε καὶ Λακωνικὴ αὕτη: καὶ δευτέρα καὶ δευτέρως ἐπαινουμένη, καλουμένη δ᾽ ὀλιγαρχία, συχνῶν γέμουσα κακῶν πολιτεία: ἥ τε ταύτῃ διάφορος καὶ ἐφεξῆς γιγνομένη δημοκρατία, καὶ ἡ γενναία δὴ τυραννὶς καὶ πασῶν τούτων διαφέρουσα, τέταρτόν τε καὶ ἔσχατον πόλεως νόσημα. ἤ τινα ἄλλην ἔχεις ἰδέαν πολιτείας, ἥτις καὶ ἐν εἴδει διαφανεῖ [544d] τινι κεῖται; δυναστεῖαι γὰρ καὶ ὠνηταὶ βασιλεῖαι καὶ τοιαῦταί τινες πολιτεῖαι μεταξύ τι τούτων πού εἰσιν, εὕροι δ᾽ ἄν τις αὐτὰς οὐκ ἐλάττους περὶ τοὺς βαρβάρους ἢ τοὺς Ἕλληνας.

πολλαὶ γοῦν καὶ ἄτοποι, ἔφη, λέγονται.

οἶσθ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι καὶ ἀνθρώπων εἴδη τοσαῦτα ἀνάγκη τρόπων εἶναι, ὅσαπερ καὶ πολιτειῶν; ἢ οἴει ἐκ δρυός ποθεν ἢ ἐκ πέτρας τὰς πολιτείας γίγνεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ [544e] οὐχὶ ἐκ τῶν ἠθῶν τῶν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν, ἃ ἂν ὥσπερ ῥέψαντα τἆλλα ἐφελκύσηται;

οὐδαμῶς ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη, ἄλλοθεν ἢ ἐντεῦθεν.

οὐκοῦν εἰ τὰ τῶν πόλεων πέντε, καὶ αἱ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν κατασκευαὶ τῆς ψυχῆς πέντε ἂν εἶεν.

τί μήν;

τὸν μὲν δὴ τῇ ἀριστοκρατίᾳ ὅμοιον διεληλύθαμεν ἤδη, ὃν ἀγαθόν τε καὶ δίκαιον ὀρθῶς φαμεν εἶναι. [545a] διεληλύθαμεν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο διιτέον τοὺς χείρους, τὸν φιλόνικόν τε καὶ φιλότιμον, κατὰ τὴν Λακωνικὴν ἑστῶτα πολιτείαν, καὶ ὀλιγαρχικὸν αὖ καὶ δημοκρατικὸν καὶ τὸν τυραννικόν, ἵνα τὸν ἀδικώτατον ἰδόντες ἀντιθῶμεν τῷ δικαιοτάτῳ καὶ ἡμῖν τελέα ἡ σκέψις ᾖ, πῶς ποτε ἡ ἄκρατος δικαιοσύνη πρὸς ἀδικίαν τὴν ἄκρατον ἔχει εὐδαιμονίας τε πέρι τοῦ ἔχοντος καὶ ἀθλιότητος, ἵνα ἢ Θρασυμάχῳ πειθόμενοι [545b] διώκωμεν ἀδικίαν ἢ τῷ νῦν προφαινομένῳ λόγῳ δικαιοσύνην;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, οὕτω ποιητέον.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὥσπερ ἠρξάμεθα ἐν ταῖς πολιτείαις πρότερον σκοπεῖν τὰ ἤθη ἢ ἐν τοῖς ἰδιώταις, ὡς ἐναργέστερον ὄν, καὶ νῦν οὕτω πρῶτον μὲν τὴν φιλότιμον σκεπτέον πολιτείαν -ὄνομα γὰρ οὐκ ἔχω λεγόμενον ἄλλο: ἢ τιμοκρατίαν ἢ τιμαρχίαν αὐτὴν κλητέον-πρὸς δὲ ταύτην τὸν τοιοῦτον [545c] ἄνδρα σκεψόμεθα, ἔπειτα ὀλιγαρχίαν καὶ ἄνδρα ὀλιγαρχικόν, αὖθις δὲ εἰς δημοκρατίαν ἀποβλέψαντες θεασόμεθα ἄνδρα δημοκρατικόν, τὸ δὲ τέταρτον εἰς τυραννουμένην πόλιν ἐλθόντες καὶ ἰδόντες, πάλιν εἰς τυραννικὴν ψυχὴν βλέποντες, πειρασόμεθα περὶ ὧν προυθέμεθα ἱκανοὶ κριταὶ γενέσθαι;

κατὰ λόγον γέ τοι ἄν, ἔφη, οὕτω γίγνοιτο ἥ τε θέα καὶ ἡ κρίσις.

φέρε τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πειρώμεθα λέγειν τίνα τρόπον τιμοκρατία γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ἐξ ἀριστοκρατίας. ἢ τόδε μὲν ἁπλοῦν, [545d] ὅτι πᾶσα πολιτεία μεταβάλλει ἐξ αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἔχοντος τὰς ἀρχάς, ὅταν ἐν αὐτῷ τούτῳ στάσις ἐγγένηται: ὁμονοοῦντος δέ, κἂν πάνυ ὀλίγον ᾖ, ἀδύνατον κινηθῆναι;

ἔστι γὰρ οὕτω.

πῶς οὖν δή, εἶπον, ὦ Γλαύκων, ἡ πόλις ἡμῖν κινηθήσεται, καὶ πῇ στασιάσουσιν οἱ ἐπίκουροι καὶ οἱ ἄρχοντες πρὸς ἀλλήλους τε καὶ πρὸς ἑαυτούς; ἢ βούλει, ὥσπερ Ὅμηρος, εὐχώμεθα ταῖς Μούσαις εἰπεῖν ἡμῖν “ὅπως δὴ” [545e] “πρῶτον” στάσις “ἔμπεσε”Hom. Il. 1.6, καὶ φῶμεν αὐτὰς τραγικῶς ὡς πρὸς παῖδας ἡμᾶς παιζούσας καὶ ἐρεσχηλούσας, ὡς δὴ σπουδῇ λεγούσας, ὑψηλολογουμένας λέγειν;

πῶς; [546a]

ὧδέ πως. χαλεπὸν μὲν κινηθῆναι πόλιν οὕτω συστᾶσαν: ἀλλ᾽ ἐπεὶ γενομένῳ παντὶ φθορά ἐστιν, οὐδ᾽ ἡ τοιαύτη σύστασις τὸν ἅπαντα μενεῖ χρόνον, ἀλλὰ λυθήσεται. λύσις δὲ ἥδε: οὐ μόνον φυτοῖς ἐγγείοις, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν ἐπιγείοις ζῴοις φορὰ καὶ ἀφορία ψυχῆς τε καὶ σωμάτων γίγνονται, ὅταν περιτροπαὶ ἑκάστοις κύκλων περιφορὰς συνάπτωσι, βραχυβίοις μὲν βραχυπόρους, ἐναντίοις δὲ ἐναντίας. γένους δὲ ὑμετέρου εὐγονίας τε καὶ ἀφορίας, καίπερ ὄντες σοφοί, [546b] οὓς ἡγεμόνας πόλεως ἐπαιδεύσασθε, οὐδὲν μᾶλλον λογισμῷ μετ᾽ αἰσθήσεως τεύξονται, ἀλλὰ πάρεισιν αὐτοὺς καὶ γεννήσουσι παῖδάς ποτε οὐ δέον. ἔστι δὲ θείῳ μὲν γεννητῷ περίοδος ἣν ἀριθμὸς περιλαμβάνει τέλειος, ἀνθρωπείῳ δὲ ἐν ᾧ πρώτῳ αὐξήσεις δυνάμεναί τε καὶ δυναστευόμεναι, τρεῖς ἀποστάσεις, τέτταρας δὲ ὅρους λαβοῦσαι ὁμοιούντων τε καὶ ἀνομοιούντων καὶ αὐξόντων καὶ φθινόντων, πάντα προσήγορα [546c] καὶ ῥητὰ πρὸς ἄλληλα ἀπέφηναν: ὧν ἐπίτριτος πυθμὴν πεμπάδι συζυγεὶς δύο ἁρμονίας παρέχεται τρὶς αὐξηθείς, τὴν μὲν ἴσην ἰσάκις, ἑκατὸν τοσαυτάκις, τὴν δὲ ἰσομήκη μὲν τῇ, προμήκη δέ, ἑκατὸν μὲν ἀριθμῶν ἀπὸ διαμέτρων ῥητῶν πεμπάδος, δεομένων ἑνὸς ἑκάστων, ἀρρήτων δὲ δυοῖν, ἑκατὸν δὲ κύβων τριάδος. σύμπας δὲ οὗτος ἀριθμὸς γεωμετρικός, τοιούτου κύριος, ἀμεινόνων τε καὶ χειρόνων γενέσεων, [546d] ἃς ὅταν ἀγνοήσαντες ὑμῖν οἱ φύλακες συνοικίζωσιν νύμφας νυμφίοις παρὰ καιρόν, οὐκ εὐφυεῖς οὐδ᾽ εὐτυχεῖς παῖδες ἔσονται: ὧν καταστήσουσι μὲν τοὺς ἀρίστους οἱ πρότεροι, ὅμως δὲ ὄντες ἀνάξιοι, εἰς τὰς τῶν πατέρων αὖ δυνάμεις ἐλθόντες, ἡμῶν πρῶτον ἄρξονται ἀμελεῖν φύλακες ὄντες, παρ᾽ ἔλαττον τοῦ δέοντος ἡγησάμενοι τὰ μουσικῆς, δεύτερον δὲ τὰ γυμναστικῆς, ὅθεν ἀμουσότεροι γενήσονται ὑμῖν οἱ νέοι. ἐκ δὲ τούτων ἄρχοντες οὐ πάνυ φυλακικοὶ [546e] καταστήσονται πρὸς τὸ δοκιμάζειν τὰ Ἡσιόδου τε καὶ τὰ παρ᾽ [547a] ὑμῖν γένη, χρυσοῦν τε καὶ ἀργυροῦν καὶ χαλκοῦν καὶ σιδηροῦν: ὁμοῦ δὲ μιγέντος σιδηροῦ ἀργυρῷ καὶ χαλκοῦ χρυσῷ ἀνομοιότης ἐγγενήσεται καὶ ἀνωμαλία ἀνάρμοστος, ἃ γενόμενα, οὗ ἂν ἐγγένηται, ἀεὶ τίκτει πόλεμον καὶ ἔχθραν.

ταύτης τοι γενεῆς Hom. Il. 6.211

χρὴ φάναι εἶναι στάσιν, ὅπου ἂν γίγνηται ἀεί.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽, ἔφη, αὐτὰς ἀποκρίνεσθαι φήσομεν.

καὶ γάρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀνάγκη μούσας γε οὔσας. [547b]

τί οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο λέγουσιν αἱ Μοῦσαι;

στάσεως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, γενομένης εἱλκέτην ἄρα ἑκατέρω τὼ γένει, τὸ μὲν σιδηροῦν καὶ χαλκοῦν ἐπὶ χρηματισμὸν καὶ γῆς κτῆσιν καὶ οἰκίας χρυσίου τε καὶ ἀργύρου, τὼ δ᾽ αὖ, τὸ χρυσοῦν τε καὶ ἀργυροῦν, ἅτε οὐ πενομένω ἀλλὰ φύσει ὄντε πλουσίω, τὰς ψυχὰς ἐπὶ τὴν ἀρετὴν καὶ τὴν ἀρχαίαν κατάστασιν ἠγέτην: βιαζομένων δὲ καὶ ἀντιτεινόντων ἀλλήλοις, εἰς μέσον ὡμολόγησαν γῆν μὲν καὶ οἰκίας κατανειμαμένους [547c] ἰδιώσασθαι, τοὺς δὲ πρὶν φυλαττομένους ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν ὡς ἐλευθέρους φίλους τε καὶ τροφέας, δουλωσάμενοι τότε περιοίκους τε καὶ οἰκέτας ἔχοντες, αὐτοὶ πολέμου τε καὶ φυλακῆς αὐτῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι.

δοκεῖ μοι, ἔφη, αὕτη ἡ μετάβασις ἐντεῦθεν γίγνεσθαι.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐν μέσῳ τις ἂν εἴη ἀριστοκρατίας τε καὶ ὀλιγαρχίας αὕτη ἡ πολιτεία;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

μεταβήσεται μὲν δὴ οὕτω: μεταβᾶσα δὲ πῶς οἰκήσει; ἢ [547d] φανερὸν ὅτι τὰ μὲν μιμήσεται τὴν προτέραν πολιτείαν, τὰ δὲ τὴν ὀλιγαρχίαν, ἅτ᾽ ἐν μέσῳ οὖσα, τὸ δέ τι καὶ αὑτῆς ἕξει ἴδιον;

οὕτως, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τῷ μὲν τιμᾶν τοὺς ἄρχοντας καὶ γεωργιῶν ἀπέχεσθαι τὸ προπολεμοῦν αὐτῆς καὶ χειροτεχνιῶν καὶ τοῦ ἄλλου χρηματισμοῦ, συσσίτια δὲ κατεσκευάσθαι καὶ γυμναστικῆς τε καὶ τῆς τοῦ πολέμου ἀγωνίας ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις τὴν προτέραν μιμήσεται;

ναί. [547e]

τῷ δέ γε φοβεῖσθαι τοὺς σοφοὺς ἐπὶ τὰς ἀρχὰς ἄγειν, ἅτε οὐκέτι κεκτημένην ἁπλοῦς τε καὶ ἀτενεῖς τοὺς τοιούτους ἄνδρας ἀλλὰ μεικτούς, ἐπὶ δὲ θυμοειδεῖς τε καὶ ἁπλουστέρους ἀποκλίνειν, τοὺς πρὸς πόλεμον μᾶλλον πεφυκότας ἢ πρὸς [548a] εἰρήνην, καὶ τοὺς περὶ ταῦτα δόλους τε καὶ μηχανὰς ἐντίμως ἔχειν, καὶ πολεμοῦσα τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον διάγειν, αὐτὴ ἑαυτῆς αὖ τὰ πολλὰ τῶν τοιούτων ἴδια ἕξει;

ναί.

ἐπιθυμηταὶ δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, χρημάτων οἱ τοιοῦτοι ἔσονται, ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν ταῖς ὀλιγαρχίαις, καὶ τιμῶντες ἀγρίως ὑπὸ σκότου χρυσόν τε καὶ ἄργυρον, ἅτε κεκτημένοι ταμιεῖα καὶ οἰκείους θησαυρούς, οἷ θέμενοι ἂν αὐτὰ κρύψειαν, καὶ αὖ περιβόλους οἰκήσεων, ἀτεχνῶς νεοττιὰς ἰδίας, ἐν αἷς [548b] ἀναλίσκοντες γυναιξί τε καὶ οἷς ἐθέλοιεν ἄλλοις πολλὰ ἂν δαπανῷντο.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ φειδωλοὶ χρημάτων, ἅτε τιμῶντες καὶ οὐ φανερῶς κτώμενοι, φιλαναλωταὶ δὲ ἀλλοτρίων δι᾽ ἐπιθυμίαν, καὶ λάθρᾳ τὰς ἡδονὰς καρπούμενοι, ὥσπερ παῖδες πατέρα τὸν νόμον ἀποδιδράσκοντες, οὐχ ὑπὸ πειθοῦς ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ βίας πεπαιδευμένοι διὰ τὸ τῆς ἀληθινῆς Μούσης τῆς μετὰ λόγων [548c] τε καὶ φιλοσοφίας ἠμεληκέναι καὶ πρεσβυτέρως γυμναστικὴν μουσικῆς τετιμηκέναι.

παντάπασιν, ἔφη, λέγεις μεμειγμένην πολιτείαν ἐκ κακοῦ τε καὶ ἀγαθοῦ.

μέμεικται γάρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: διαφανέστατον δ᾽ ἐν αὐτῇ ἐστὶν ἕν τι μόνον ὑπὸ τοῦ θυμοειδοῦς κρατοῦντος, φιλονικίαι καὶ φιλοτιμίαι.

σφόδρα γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, αὕτη μὲν ἡ πολιτεία οὕτω γεγονυῖα καὶ τοιαύτη ἄν τις εἴη, ὡς λόγῳ σχῆμα πολιτείας ὑπογράψαντα [548d] μὴ ἀκριβῶς ἀπεργάσασθαι διὰ τὸ ἐξαρκεῖν μὲν ἰδεῖν καὶ ἐκ τῆς ὑπογραφῆς τόν τε δικαιότατον καὶ τὸν ἀδικώτατον, ἀμήχανον δὲ μήκει ἔργον εἶναι πάσας μὲν πολιτείας, πάντα δὲ ἤθη μηδὲν παραλιπόντα διελθεῖν.

καὶ ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

τίς οὖν ὁ κατὰ ταύτην τὴν πολιτείαν ἀνήρ; πῶς τε γενόμενος ποῖός τέ τις ὤν;

οἶμαι μέν, ἔφη ὁ Ἀδείμαντος, ἐγγύς τι αὐτὸν Γλαύκωνος τουτουὶ τείνειν ἕνεκά γε φιλονικίας. [548e]

ἴσως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοῦτό γε: ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖ τάδε οὐ κατὰ τοῦτον πεφυκέναι.

τὰ ποῖα;

αὐθαδέστερόν τε δεῖ αὐτόν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἶναι καὶ ὑποαμουσότερον, φιλόμουσον δέ, καὶ φιλήκοον μέν, ῥητορικὸν δ᾽ [549a] οὐδαμῶς. καὶ δούλοις μέν τις ἂν ἄγριος εἴη ὁ τοιοῦτος, οὐ καταφρονῶν δούλων, ὥσπερ ὁ ἱκανῶς πεπαιδευμένος, ἐλευθέροις δὲ ἥμερος, ἀρχόντων δὲ σφόδρα ὑπήκοος, φίλαρχος δὲ καὶ φιλότιμος, οὐκ ἀπὸ τοῦ λέγειν ἀξιῶν ἄρχειν οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ τοιούτου οὐδενός, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπὸ ἔργων τῶν τε πολεμικῶν καὶ τῶν περὶ τὰ πολεμικά, φιλογυμναστής τέ τις ὢν καὶ φιλόθηρος.

ἔστι γάρ, ἔφη, τοῦτο τὸ ἦθος ἐκείνης τῆς πολιτείας.

οὐκοῦν καὶ χρημάτων, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὁ τοιοῦτος νέος μὲν ὢν [549b] καταφρονοῖ ἄν, ὅσῳ δὲ πρεσβύτερος γίγνοιτο, μᾶλλον ἀεὶ ἀσπάζοιτο ἂν τῷ τε μετέχειν τῆς τοῦ φιλοχρημάτου φύσεως καὶ μὴ εἶναι εἰλικρινὴς πρὸς ἀρετὴν διὰ τὸ ἀπολειφθῆναι τοῦ ἀρίστου φύλακος;

τίνος; ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Ἀδείμαντος.

λόγου, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μουσικῇ κεκραμένου: ὃς μόνος ἐγγενόμενος σωτὴρ ἀρετῆς διὰ βίου ἐνοικεῖ τῷ ἔχοντι.

καλῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις.

καὶ ἔστι μέν γ᾽, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοιοῦτος ὁ τιμοκρατικὸς νεανίας, τῇ τοιαύτῃ πόλει ἐοικώς. [549c]

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

γίγνεται δέ γ᾽, εἶπον, οὗτος ὧδέ πως: ἐνίοτε πατρὸς ἀγαθοῦ ὢν νέος ὑὸς ἐν πόλει οἰκοῦντος οὐκ εὖ πολιτευομένῃ, φεύγοντος τάς τε τιμὰς καὶ ἀρχὰς καὶ δίκας καὶ τὴν τοιαύτην πᾶσαν φιλοπραγμοσύνην καὶ ἐθέλοντος ἐλαττοῦσθαι ὥστε πράγματα μὴ ἔχειν- πῇ δή, ἔφη, γίγνεται;

ὅταν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρῶτον μὲν τῆς μητρὸς ἀκούῃ ἀχθομένης ὅτι οὐ τῶν ἀρχόντων αὐτῇ ὁ ἀνήρ ἐστιν, καὶ ἐλαττουμένης διὰ [549d] ταῦτα ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις γυναιξίν, ἔπειτα ὁρώσης μὴ σφόδρα περὶ χρήματα σπουδάζοντα μηδὲ μαχόμενον καὶ λοιδορούμενον ἰδίᾳ τε ἐν δικαστηρίοις καὶ δημοσίᾳ, ἀλλὰ ῥᾳθύμως πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα φέροντα, καὶ ἑαυτῷ μὲν τὸν νοῦν προσέχοντα ἀεὶ αἰσθάνηται, ἑαυτὴν δὲ μήτε πάνυ τιμῶντα μήτε ἀτιμάζοντα, ἐξ ἁπάντων τούτων ἀχθομένης τε καὶ λεγούσης ὡς ἄνανδρός τε αὐτῷ ὁ πατὴρ καὶ λίαν ἀνειμένος, καὶ ἄλλα δὴ ὅσα καὶ [549e] οἷα φιλοῦσιν αἱ γυναῖκες περὶ τῶν τοιούτων ὑμνεῖν.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη ὁ Ἀδείμαντος, πολλά τε καὶ ὅμοια ἑαυταῖς.

οἶσθα οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι καὶ οἱ οἰκέται τῶν τοιούτων ἐνίοτε λάθρᾳ πρὸς τοὺς ὑεῖς τοιαῦτα λέγουσιν, οἱ δοκοῦντες εὖνοι εἶναι, καὶ ἐάν τινα ἴδωσιν ἢ ὀφείλοντα χρήματα, ᾧ μὴ ἐπεξέρχεται ὁ πατήρ, ἤ τι ἄλλο ἀδικοῦντα, διακελεύονται ὅπως, ἐπειδὰν ἀνὴρ γένηται, τιμωρήσεται πάντας τοὺς τοιούτους [550a] καὶ ἀνὴρ μᾶλλον ἔσται τοῦ πατρός. καὶ ἐξιὼν ἕτερα τοιαῦτα ἀκούει καὶ ὁρᾷ, τοὺς μὲν τὰ αὑτῶν πράττοντας ἐν τῇ πόλει ἠλιθίους τε καλουμένους καὶ ἐν σμικρῷ λόγῳ ὄντας, τοὺς δὲ μὴ τὰ αὑτῶν τιμωμένους τε καὶ ἐπαινουμένους. τότε δὴ ὁ νέος πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀκούων τε καὶ ὁρῶν, καὶ αὖ τοὺς τοῦ πατρὸς λόγους ἀκούων τε καὶ ὁρῶν τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα αὐτοῦ ἐγγύθεν παρὰ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων, ἑλκόμενος ὑπ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων [550b] τούτων, τοῦ μὲν πατρὸς αὐτοῦ τὸ λογιστικὸν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἄρδοντός τε καὶ αὔξοντος, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων τό τε ἐπιθυμητικὸν καὶ τὸ θυμοειδές, διὰ τὸ μὴ κακοῦ ἀνδρὸς εἶναι τὴν φύσιν, ὁμιλίαις δὲ ταῖς τῶν ἄλλων κακαῖς κεχρῆσθαι, εἰς τὸ μέσον ἑλκόμενος ὑπ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων τούτων ἦλθε, καὶ τὴν ἐν ἑαυτῷ ἀρχὴν παρέδωκε τῷ μέσῳ τε καὶ φιλονίκῳ καὶ θυμοειδεῖ, καὶ ἐγένετο ὑψηλόφρων τε καὶ φιλότιμος ἀνήρ.

κομιδῇ μοι, ἔφη, δοκεῖς τὴν τούτου γένεσιν διεληλυθέναι. [550c]

ἔχομεν ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τήν τε δευτέραν πολιτείαν καὶ τὸν δεύτερον ἄνδρα.

ἔχομεν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν μετὰ τοῦτο, τὸ τοῦ Αἰσχύλου, λέγωμεν, ““ἄλλον ἄλλῃ πρὸς πόλει τεταγμένον”Aesch. Seven 451,” μᾶλλον δὲ κατὰ τὴν ὑπόθεσιν προτέραν τὴν πόλιν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

εἴη δέ γ᾽ ἄν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ὀλιγαρχία ἡ μετὰ τὴν τοιαύτην πολιτείαν.

λέγεις δέ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τὴν ποίαν κατάστασιν ὀλιγαρχίαν;

τὴν ἀπὸ τιμημάτων, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πολιτείαν, ἐν ᾗ οἱ μὲν [550d] πλούσιοι ἄρχουσιν, πένητι δὲ οὐ μέτεστιν ἀρχῆς.

μανθάνω, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν ὡς μεταβαίνει πρῶτον ἐκ τῆς τιμαρχίας εἰς τὴν ὀλιγαρχίαν, ῥητέον;

ναί.

καὶ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ τυφλῷ γε δῆλον ὡς μεταβαίνει.

πῶς;

τὸ ταμιεῖον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐκεῖνο ἑκάστῳ χρυσίου πληρούμενον ἀπόλλυσι τὴν τοιαύτην πολιτείαν. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ δαπάνας αὑτοῖς ἐξευρίσκουσιν, καὶ τοὺς νόμους ἐπὶ τοῦτο παράγουσιν, ἀπειθοῦντες αὐτοί τε καὶ γυναῖκες αὐτῶν.

εἰκός, ἔφη. [550e]

ἔπειτά γε οἶμαι ἄλλος ἄλλον ὁρῶν καὶ εἰς ζῆλον ἰὼν τὸ πλῆθος τοιοῦτον αὑτῶν ἀπηργάσαντο.

εἰκός.

τοὐντεῦθεν τοίνυν, εἶπον, προϊόντες εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν τοῦ χρηματίζεσθαι, ὅσῳ ἂν τοῦτο τιμιώτερον ἡγῶνται, τοσούτῳ ἀρετὴν ἀτιμοτέραν. ἢ οὐχ οὕτω πλούτου ἀρετὴ διέστηκεν, ὥσπερ ἐν πλάστιγγι ζυγοῦ κειμένου ἑκατέρου, ἀεὶ τοὐναντίον ῥέποντε;

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη. [551a]

τιμωμένου δὴ πλούτου ἐν πόλει καὶ τῶν πλουσίων ἀτιμοτέρα ἀρετή τε καὶ οἱ ἀγαθοί.

δῆλον.

ἀσκεῖται δὴ τὸ ἀεὶ τιμώμενον, ἀμελεῖται δὲ τὸ ἀτιμαζόμενον.

οὕτω.

ἀντὶ δὴ φιλονίκων καὶ φιλοτίμων ἀνδρῶν φιλοχρηματισταὶ καὶ φιλοχρήματοι τελευτῶντες ἐγένοντο, καὶ τὸν μὲν πλούσιον ἐπαινοῦσίν τε καὶ θαυμάζουσι καὶ εἰς τὰς ἀρχὰς ἄγουσι, τὸν δὲ πένητα ἀτιμάζουσι.

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν τότε δὴ νόμον τίθενται ὅρον πολιτείας ὀλιγαρχικῆς [551b] ταξάμενοι πλῆθος χρημάτων, οὗ μὲν μᾶλλον ὀλιγαρχία, πλέον, οὗ δ᾽ ἧττον, ἔλαττον, προειπόντες ἀρχῶν μὴ μετέχειν ᾧ ἂν μὴ ᾖ οὐσία εἰς τὸ ταχθὲν τίμημα, ταῦτα δὲ ἢ βίᾳ μεθ᾽ ὅπλων διαπράττονται, ἢ καὶ πρὸ τούτου φοβήσαντες κατεστήσαντο τὴν τοιαύτην πολιτείαν. ἢ οὐχ οὕτως;

οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

ἡ μὲν δὴ κατάστασις ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν αὕτη.

ναί, ἔφη: ἀλλὰ τίς δὴ ὁ τρόπος τῆς πολιτείας; καὶ ποῖά [551c] ἐστιν ἃ ἔφαμεν αὐτὴν ἁμαρτήματα ἔχειν;

πρῶτον μέν, ἔφην, τοῦτο αὐτό, ὅρος αὐτῆς οἷός ἐστιν. ἄθρει γάρ, εἰ νεῶν οὕτω τις ποιοῖτο κυβερνήτας, ἀπὸ τιμημάτων, τῷ δὲ πένητι, εἰ καὶ κυβερνητικώτερος εἴη, μὴ ἐπιτρέποι-

πονηράν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τὴν ναυτιλίαν αὐτοὺς ναυτίλλεσθαι.

οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ ἄλλου οὕτως ὁτουοῦν [ἤ τινος] ἀρχῆς;

οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

πλὴν πόλεως; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἢ καὶ πόλεως πέρι;

πολύ γ᾽, ἔφη, μάλιστα, ὅσῳ χαλεπωτάτη καὶ μεγίστη ἡ ἀρχή. [551d]

ἓν μὲν δὴ τοῦτο τοσοῦτον ὀλιγαρχία ἂν ἔχοι ἁμάρτημα.

φαίνεται.

τί δέ; τόδε ἆρά τι τούτου ἔλαττον;

τὸ ποῖον;

τὸ μὴ μίαν ἀλλὰ δύο ἀνάγκῃ εἶναι τὴν τοιαύτην πόλιν, τὴν μὲν πενήτων, τὴν δὲ πλουσίων, οἰκοῦντας ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ, ἀεὶ ἐπιβουλεύοντας ἀλλήλοις.

οὐδὲν μὰ Δί᾽, ἔφη, ἔλαττον.

ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδὲ τόδε καλόν, τὸ ἀδυνάτους εἶναι ἴσως πόλεμόν τινα πολεμεῖν διὰ τὸ ἀναγκάζεσθαι ἢ χρωμένους [551e] τῷ πλήθει ὡπλισμένῳ δεδιέναι μᾶλλον ἢ τοὺς πολεμίους, ἢ μὴ χρωμένους ὡς ἀληθῶς ὀλιγαρχικοὺς φανῆναι ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ μάχεσθαι, καὶ ἅμα χρήματα μὴ ἐθέλειν εἰσφέρειν, ἅτε φιλοχρημάτους.

οὐ καλόν.

τί δέ; ὃ πάλαι ἐλοιδοροῦμεν, τὸ πολυπραγμονεῖν γεωργοῦντας [552a] καὶ χρηματιζομένους καὶ πολεμοῦντας ἅμα τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἐν τῇ τοιαύτῃ πολιτείᾳ, ἦ δοκεῖ ὀρθῶς ἔχειν;

οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν.

ὅρα δή, τούτων πάντων τῶν κακῶν εἰ τόδε μέγιστον αὕτη πρώτη παραδέχεται.

τὸ ποῖον;

τὸ ἐξεῖναι πάντα τὰ αὑτοῦ ἀποδόσθαι, καὶ ἄλλῳ κτήσασθαι τὰ τούτου, καὶ ἀποδόμενον οἰκεῖν ἐν τῇ πόλει μηδὲν ὄντα τῶν τῆς πόλεως μερῶν, μήτε χρηματιστὴν μήτε δημιουργὸν μήτε ἱππέα μήτε ὁπλίτην, ἀλλὰ πένητα καὶ ἄπορον κεκλημένον. [552b]

πρώτη, ἔφη.

οὔκουν διακωλύεταί γε ἐν ταῖς ὀλιγαρχουμέναις τὸ τοιοῦτον: οὐ γὰρ ἂν οἱ μὲν ὑπέρπλουτοι ἦσαν, οἱ δὲ παντάπασι πένητες.

ὀρθῶς.

τόδε δὲ ἄθρει: ἆρα ὅτε πλούσιος ὢν ἀνήλισκεν ὁ τοιοῦτος, μᾶλλόν τι τότ᾽ ἦν ὄφελος τῇ πόλει εἰς ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν; ἢ ἐδόκει μὲν τῶν ἀρχόντων εἶναι, τῇ δὲ ἀληθείᾳ οὔτε ἄρχων οὔτε ὑπηρέτης ἦν αὐτῆς, ἀλλὰ τῶν ἑτοίμων ἀναλωτής; [552c]

οὕτως, ἔφη: ἐδόκει, ἦν δὲ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ ἀναλωτής.

βούλει οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, φῶμεν αὐτόν, ὡς ἐν κηρίῳ κηφὴν ἐγγίγνεται, σμήνους νόσημα, οὕτω καὶ τὸν τοιοῦτον ἐν οἰκίᾳ κηφῆνα ἐγγίγνεσθαι, νόσημα πόλεως;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐκοῦν, ὦ Ἀδείμαντε, τοὺς μὲν πτηνοὺς κηφῆνας πάντας ἀκέντρους ὁ θεὸς πεποίηκεν, τοὺς δὲ πεζοὺς τούτους ἐνίους μὲν αὐτῶν ἀκέντρους, ἐνίους δὲ δεινὰ κέντρα ἔχοντας; καὶ ἐκ μὲν τῶν ἀκέντρων πτωχοὶ πρὸς τὸ γῆρας τελευτῶσιν, ἐκ δὲ [552d] τῶν κεκεντρωμένων πάντες ὅσοι κέκληνται κακοῦργοι;

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη.

δῆλον ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐν πόλει οὗ ἂν ἴδῃς πτωχούς, ὅτι εἰσί που ἐν τούτῳ τῷ τόπῳ ἀποκεκρυμμένοι κλέπται τε καὶ βαλλαντιατόμοι καὶ ἱερόσυλοι καὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων κακῶν δημιουργοί.

δῆλον, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; ἐν ταῖς ὀλιγαρχουμέναις πόλεσι πτωχοὺς οὐχ ὁρᾷς ἐνόντας;

ὀλίγου γ᾽, ἔφη, πάντας τοὺς ἐκτὸς τῶν ἀρχόντων. [552e]

μὴ οὖν οἰόμεθα, ἔφην ἐγώ, καὶ κακούργους πολλοὺς ἐν αὐταῖς εἶναι κέντρα ἔχοντας, οὓς ἐπιμελείᾳ βίᾳ κατέχουσιν αἱ ἀρχαί;

οἰόμεθα μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ δι᾽ ἀπαιδευσίαν καὶ κακὴν τροφὴν καὶ κατάστασιν τῆς πολιτείας φήσομεν τοὺς τοιούτους αὐτόθι ἐγγίγνεσθαι;

φήσομεν.

ἀλλ᾽ οὖν δὴ τοιαύτη γέ τις ἂν εἴη ἡ ὀλιγαρχουμένη πόλις καὶ τοσαῦτα κακὰ ἔχουσα, ἴσως δὲ καὶ πλείω.

σχεδόν τι, ἔφη. [553a]

ἀπειργάσθω δὴ ἡμῖν καὶ αὕτη, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἡ πολιτεία, ἣν ὀλιγαρχίαν καλοῦσιν, ἐκ τιμημάτων ἔχουσα τοὺς ἄρχοντας: τὸν δὲ ταύτῃ ὅμοιον μετὰ ταῦτα σκοπῶμεν, ὥς τε γίγνεται οἷός τε γενόμενός ἐστιν.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὧδε μάλιστα εἰς ὀλιγαρχικὸν ἐκ τοῦ τιμοκρατικοῦ ἐκείνου μεταβάλλει;

πῶς;

ὅταν αὐτοῦ παῖς γενόμενος τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ζηλοῖ τε τὸν πατέρα καὶ τὰ ἐκείνου ἴχνη διώκῃ, ἔπειτα αὐτὸν ἴδῃ ἐξαίφνης [553b] πταίσαντα ὥσπερ πρὸς ἕρματι πρὸς τῇ πόλει, καὶ ἐκχέαντα τά τε αὑτοῦ καὶ ἑαυτόν, ἢ στρατηγήσαντα ἤ τιν᾽ ἄλλην μεγάλην ἀρχὴν ἄρξαντα, εἶτα εἰς δικαστήριον ἐμπεσόντα [βλαπτόμενον] ὑπὸ συκοφαντῶν ἢ ἀποθανόντα ἢ ἐκπεσόντα ἢ ἀτιμωθέντα καὶ τὴν οὐσίαν ἅπασαν ἀποβαλόντα.

εἰκός γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἰδὼν δέ γε, ὦ φίλε, ταῦτα καὶ παθὼν καὶ ἀπολέσας τὰ ὄντα, δείσας οἶμαι εὐθὺς ἐπὶ κεφαλὴν ὠθεῖ ἐκ τοῦ θρόνου [553c] τοῦ ἐν τῇ ἑαυτοῦ ψυχῇ φιλοτιμίαν τε καὶ τὸ θυμοειδὲς ἐκεῖνο, καὶ ταπεινωθεὶς ὑπὸ πενίας πρὸς χρηματισμὸν τραπόμενος γλίσχρως καὶ κατὰ σμικρὸν φειδόμενος καὶ ἐργαζόμενος χρήματα συλλέγεται. ἆρ᾽ οὐκ οἴει τὸν τοιοῦτον τότε εἰς μὲν τὸν θρόνον ἐκεῖνον τὸ ἐπιθυμητικόν τε καὶ φιλοχρήματον ἐγκαθίζειν καὶ μέγαν βασιλέα ποιεῖν ἐν ἑαυτῷ, τιάρας τε καὶ στρεπτοὺς καὶ ἀκινάκας παραζωννύντα;

ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη. [553d]

τὸ δέ γε οἶμαι λογιστικόν τε καὶ θυμοειδὲς χαμαὶ ἔνθεν καὶ ἔνθεν παρακαθίσας ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνῳ καὶ καταδουλωσάμενος, τὸ μὲν οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἐᾷ λογίζεσθαι οὐδὲ σκοπεῖν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ὁπόθεν ἐξ ἐλαττόνων χρημάτων πλείω ἔσται, τὸ δὲ αὖ θαυμάζειν καὶ τιμᾶν μηδὲν ἄλλο ἢ πλοῦτόν τε καὶ πλουσίους, καὶ φιλοτιμεῖσθαι μηδ᾽ ἐφ᾽ ἑνὶ ἄλλῳ ἢ ἐπὶ χρημάτων κτήσει καὶ ἐάν τι ἄλλο εἰς τοῦτο φέρῃ.

οὐκ ἔστ᾽ ἄλλη, ἔφη, μεταβολὴ οὕτω ταχεῖά τε καὶ ἰσχυρὰ ἐκ φιλοτίμου νέου εἰς φιλοχρήματον. [553e]

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὗτος, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὀλιγαρχικός ἐστιν;

ἡ γοῦν μεταβολὴ αὐτοῦ ἐξ ὁμοίου ἀνδρός ἐστι τῇ πολιτείᾳ, ἐξ ἧς ἡ ὀλιγαρχία μετέστη.

σκοπῶμεν δὴ εἰ ὅμοιος ἂν εἴη. [554a]

σκοπῶμεν.

οὐκοῦν πρῶτον μὲν τῷ χρήματα περὶ πλείστου ποιεῖσθαι ὅμοιος ἂν εἴη;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

καὶ μὴν τῷ γε φειδωλὸς εἶναι καὶ ἐργάτης, τὰς ἀναγκαίους ἐπιθυμίας μόνον τῶν παρ᾽ αὑτῷ ἀποπιμπλάς, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ἀναλώματα μὴ παρεχόμενος, ἀλλὰ δουλούμενος τὰς ἄλλας ἐπιθυμίας ὡς ματαίους.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

αὐχμηρός γέ τις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὢν καὶ ἀπὸ παντὸς περιουσίαν ποιούμενος, θησαυροποιὸς ἀνήρ-οὓς δὴ καὶ ἐπαινεῖ τὸ πλῆθος [554b] -ἢ οὐχ οὗτος ἂν εἴη ὁ τῇ τοιαύτῃ πολιτείᾳ ὅμοιος;

ἐμοὶ γοῦν, ἔφη, δοκεῖ: χρήματα γοῦν μάλιστα ἔντιμα τῇ τε πόλει καὶ παρὰ τῷ τοιούτῳ.

οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, παιδείᾳ ὁ τοιοῦτος προσέσχηκεν.

οὐ δοκῶ, ἔφη: οὐ γὰρ ἂν τυφλὸν ἡγεμόνα τοῦ χοροῦ ἐστήσατο καὶ ἐτί<μα> μάλιστα.

εὖ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. τόδε δὲ σκόπει: κηφηνώδεις ἐπιθυμίας ἐν αὐτῷ διὰ τὴν ἀπαιδευσίαν μὴ φῶμεν ἐγγίγνεσθαι, τὰς μὲν [554c] πτωχικάς, τὰς δὲ κακούργους, κατεχομένας βίᾳ ὑπὸ τῆς ἄλλης ἐπιμελείας;

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη.

οἶσθ᾽ οὖν, εἶπον, οἷ ἀποβλέψας κατόψει αὐτῶν τὰς κακουργίας;

ποῖ; ἔφη.

εἰς τὰς τῶν ὀρφανῶν ἐπιτροπεύσεις, καὶ εἴ πού τι αὐτοῖς τοιοῦτον συμβαίνει, ὥστε πολλῆς ἐξουσίας λαβέσθαι τοῦ ἀδικεῖν.

ἀληθῆ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τούτῳ δῆλον ὅτι ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις συμβολαίοις ὁ τοιοῦτος, ἐν οἷς εὐδοκιμεῖ δοκῶν δίκαιος εἶναι, ἐπιεικεῖ [554d] τινὶ ἑαυτοῦ βίᾳ κατέχει ἄλλας κακὰς ἐπιθυμίας ἐνούσας, οὐ πείθων ὅτι οὐκ ἄμεινον, οὐδ᾽ ἡμερῶν λόγῳ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάγκῃ καὶ φόβῳ, περὶ τῆς ἄλλης οὐσίας τρέμων;

καὶ πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

καὶ νὴ Δία, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε, τοῖς πολλοῖς γε αὐτῶν ἐνευρήσεις, ὅταν δέῃ τἀλλότρια ἀναλίσκειν, τὰς τοῦ κηφῆνος συγγενεῖς ἐνούσας ἐπιθυμίας.

καὶ μάλα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, σφόδρα.

οὐκ ἄρ᾽ ἂν εἴη ἀστασίαστος ὁ τοιοῦτος ἐν ἑαυτῷ, οὐδὲ εἷς ἀλλὰ διπλοῦς τις, ἐπιθυμίας δὲ ἐπιθυμιῶν ὡς τὸ πολὺ [554e] κρατούσας ἂν ἔχοι βελτίους χειρόνων.

ἔστιν οὕτω.

διὰ ταῦτα δὴ οἶμαι εὐσχημονέστερος ἂν πολλῶν ὁ τοιοῦτος εἴη: ὁμονοητικῆς δὲ καὶ ἡρμοσμένης τῆς ψυχῆς ἀληθὴς ἀρετὴ πόρρω ποι ἐκφεύγοι ἂν αὐτόν.

δοκεῖ μοι.

καὶ μὴν ἀνταγωνιστής γε ἰδίᾳ ἐν πόλει ὁ φειδωλὸς [555a] φαῦλος ἤ τινος νίκης ἢ ἄλλης φιλοτιμίας τῶν καλῶν, χρήματά τε οὐκ ἐθέλων εὐδοξίας ἕνεκα καὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἀγώνων ἀναλίσκειν, δεδιὼς τὰς ἐπιθυμίας τὰς ἀναλωτικὰς ἐγείρειν καὶ συμπαρακαλεῖν ἐπὶ συμμαχίαν τε καὶ φιλονικίαν, ὀλίγοις τισὶν ἑαυτοῦ πολεμῶν ὀλιγαρχικῶς τὰ πολλὰ ἡττᾶται καὶ πλουτεῖ.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

ἔτι οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀπιστοῦμεν μὴ κατὰ τὴν ὀλιγαρχουμένην πόλιν ὁμοιότητι τὸν φειδωλόν τε καὶ χρηματιστὴν [555b] τετάχθαι;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη.

δημοκρατίαν δή, ὡς ἔοικε, μετὰ τοῦτο σκεπτέον, τίνα τε γίγνεται τρόπον, γενομένη τε ποῖόν τινα ἔχει, ἵν᾽ αὖ τὸν τοῦ τοιούτου ἀνδρὸς τρόπον γνόντες παραστησώμεθ᾽ αὐτὸν εἰς κρίσιν.

ὁμοίως γοῦν ἄν, ἔφη, ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς πορευοίμεθα.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μεταβάλλει μὲν τρόπον τινὰ τοιόνδε ἐξ ὀλιγαρχίας εἰς δημοκρατίαν, δι᾽ ἀπληστίαν τοῦ προκειμένου ἀγαθοῦ, τοῦ ὡς πλουσιώτατον δεῖν γίγνεσθαι;

πῶς δή; [555c]

ἅτε οἶμαι ἄρχοντες ἐν αὐτῇ οἱ ἄρχοντες διὰ τὸ πολλὰ κεκτῆσθαι, οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν εἴργειν νόμῳ τῶν νέων ὅσοι ἂν ἀκόλαστοι γίγνωνται, μὴ ἐξεῖναι αὐτοῖς ἀναλίσκειν τε καὶ ἀπολλύναι τὰ αὑτῶν, ἵνα ὠνούμενοι τὰ τῶν τοιούτων καὶ εἰσδανείζοντες ἔτι πλουσιώτεροι καὶ ἐντιμότεροι γίγνωνται.

παντός γε μᾶλλον.

οὐκοῦν δῆλον ἤδη τοῦτο ἐν πόλει, ὅτι πλοῦτον τιμᾶν καὶ σωφροσύνην ἅμα ἱκανῶς κτᾶσθαι ἐν τοῖς πολίταις [555d] ἀδύνατον, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάγκη ἢ τοῦ ἑτέρου ἀμελεῖν ἢ τοῦ ἑτέρου;

ἐπιεικῶς, ἔφη, δῆλον.

παραμελοῦντες δὴ ἐν ταῖς ὀλιγαρχίαις καὶ ἐφιέντες ἀκολασταίνειν οὐκ ἀγεννεῖς ἐνίοτε ἀνθρώπους πένητας ἠνάγκασαν γενέσθαι.

μάλα γε.

κάθηνται δὴ οἶμαι οὗτοι ἐν τῇ πόλει κεκεντρωμένοι τε καὶ ἐξωπλισμένοι, οἱ μὲν ὀφείλοντες χρέα, οἱ δὲ ἄτιμοι γεγονότες, οἱ δὲ ἀμφότερα, μισοῦντές τε καὶ ἐπιβουλεύοντες τοῖς κτησαμένοις τὰ αὑτῶν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις, νεωτερισμοῦ [555e] ἐρῶντες.

ἔστι ταῦτα.

οἱ δὲ δὴ χρηματισταὶ ἐγκύψαντες, οὐδὲ δοκοῦντες τούτους ὁρᾶν, τῶν λοιπῶν τὸν ἀεὶ ὑπείκοντα ἐνιέντες ἀργύριον τιτρώσκοντες, καὶ τοῦ πατρὸς ἐκγόνους τόκους πολλαπλασίους [556a] κομιζόμενοι, πολὺν τὸν κηφῆνα καὶ πτωχὸν ἐμποιοῦσι τῇ πόλει.

πῶς γάρ, ἔφη, οὐ πολύν; καὶ οὔτε γ᾽ ἐκείνῃ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ τοιοῦτον κακὸν ἐκκαόμενον ἐθέλουσιν ἀποσβεννύναι, εἴργοντες τὰ αὑτοῦ ὅπῃ τις βούλεται τρέπειν, οὔτε τῇδε, ᾗ αὖ κατὰ ἕτερον νόμον τὰ τοιαῦτα λύεται.

κατὰ δὴ τίνα;

ὃς μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνόν ἐστι δεύτερος καὶ ἀναγκάζων ἀρετῆς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τοὺς πολίτας. ἐὰν γὰρ ἐπὶ τῷ αὑτοῦ κινδύνῳ [556b] τὰ πολλά τις τῶν ἑκουσίων συμβολαίων προστάττῃ συμβάλλειν, χρηματίζοιντο μὲν ἂν ἧττον ἀναιδῶς ἐν τῇ πόλει, ἐλάττω δ᾽ ἐν αὐτῇ φύοιτο τῶν τοιούτων κακῶν οἵων νυνδὴ εἴπομεν.

καὶ πολύ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

νῦν δέ γ᾽, ἔφην ἐγώ, διὰ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα τοὺς μὲν δὴ ἀρχομένους οὕτω διατιθέασιν ἐν τῇ πόλει οἱ ἄρχοντες: σφᾶς δὲ αὐτοὺς καὶ τοὺς αὑτῶν-ἆρ᾽ οὐ τρυφῶντας μὲν τοὺς νέους καὶ ἀπόνους καὶ πρὸς τὰ τοῦ σώματος καὶ πρὸς [556c] τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς, μαλακοὺς δὲ καρτερεῖν πρὸς ἡδονάς τε καὶ λύπας καὶ ἀργούς;

τί μήν;

αὑτοὺς δὲ πλὴν χρηματισμοῦ τῶν ἄλλων ἠμεληκότας, καὶ οὐδὲν πλείω ἐπιμέλειαν πεποιημένους ἀρετῆς ἢ τοὺς πένητας;

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὕτω δὴ παρεσκευασμένοι ὅταν παραβάλλωσιν ἀλλήλοις οἵ τε ἄρχοντες καὶ οἱ ἀρχόμενοι ἢ ἐν ὁδῶν πορείαις ἢ ἐν ἄλλαις τισὶ κοινωνίαις, ἢ κατὰ θεωρίας ἢ κατὰ στρατείας, ἢ σύμπλοι γιγνόμενοι ἢ συστρατιῶται, ἢ καὶ ἐν αὐτοῖς τοῖς [556d] κινδύνοις ἀλλήλους θεώμενοι μηδαμῇ ταύτῃ καταφρονῶνται οἱ πένητες ὑπὸ τῶν πλουσίων, ἀλλὰ πολλάκις ἰσχνὸς ἀνὴρ πένης, ἡλιωμένος, παραταχθεὶς ἐν μάχῃ πλουσίῳ ἐσκιατροφηκότι, πολλὰς ἔχοντι σάρκας ἀλλοτρίας, ἴδῃ ἄσθματός τε καὶ ἀπορίας μεστόν, ἆρ᾽ οἴει αὐτὸν οὐχ ἡγεῖσθαι κακίᾳ τῇ σφετέρᾳ πλουτεῖν τοὺς τοιούτους, καὶ ἄλλον ἄλλῳ παραγγέλλειν, ὅταν ἰδίᾳ συγγίγνωνται, ὅτι “ἇνδρες ἡμέτεροι: [556e] εἰσὶ γὰρ οὐδέν;”

εὖ οἶδα μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ἔγωγε, ὅτι οὕτω ποιοῦσιν.

οὐκοῦν ὥσπερ σῶμα νοσῶδες μικρᾶς ῥοπῆς ἔξωθεν δεῖται προσλαβέσθαι πρὸς τὸ κάμνειν, ἐνίοτε δὲ καὶ ἄνευ τῶν ἔξω στασιάζει αὐτὸ αὑτῷ, οὕτω δὴ καὶ ἡ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐκείνῳ διακειμένη πόλις ἀπὸ σμικρᾶς προφάσεως, ἔξωθεν ἐπαγομένων ἢ τῶν ἑτέρων ἐξ ὀλιγαρχουμένης πόλεως συμμαχίαν ἢ τῶν ἑτέρων ἐκ δημοκρατουμένης, νοσεῖ τε καὶ αὐτὴ αὑτῇ μάχεται, ἐνίοτε δὲ καὶ ἄνευ τῶν ἔξω στασιάζει; [557a]

καὶ σφόδρα γε.

δημοκρατία δὴ οἶμαι γίγνεται ὅταν οἱ πένητες νικήσαντες τοὺς μὲν ἀποκτείνωσι τῶν ἑτέρων, τοὺς δὲ ἐκβάλωσι, τοῖς δὲ λοιποῖς ἐξ ἴσου μεταδῶσι πολιτείας τε καὶ ἀρχῶν, καὶ ὡς τὸ πολὺ ἀπὸ κλήρων αἱ ἀρχαὶ ἐν αὐτῇ γίγνονται.

ἔστι γάρ, ἔφη, αὕτη ἡ κατάστασις δημοκρατίας, ἐάντε καὶ δι᾽ ὅπλων γένηται ἐάντε καὶ διὰ φόβον ὑπεξελθόντων τῶν ἑτέρων. τίνα δὴ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὗτοι τρόπον οἰκοῦσι; καὶ ποία [557b] τις ἡ τοιαύτη αὖ πολιτεία; δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι ὁ τοιοῦτος ἀνὴρ δημοκρατικός τις ἀναφανήσεται.

δῆλον, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν πρῶτον μὲν δὴ ἐλεύθεροι, καὶ ἐλευθερίας ἡ πόλις μεστὴ καὶ παρρησίας γίγνεται, καὶ ἐξουσία ἐν αὐτῇ ποιεῖν ὅτι τις βούλεται;

λέγεταί γε δή, ἔφη.

ὅπου δέ γε ἐξουσία, δῆλον ὅτι ἰδίαν ἕκαστος ἂν κατασκευὴν τοῦ αὑτοῦ βίου κατασκευάζοιτο ἐν αὐτῇ, ἥτις ἕκαστον ἀρέσκοι.

δῆλον. [557c]

παντοδαποὶ δὴ ἂν οἶμαι ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ πολιτείᾳ μάλιστ᾽ ἐγγίγνοιντο ἄνθρωποι.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

κινδυνεύει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καλλίστη αὕτη τῶν πολιτειῶν εἶναι: ὥσπερ ἱμάτιον ποικίλον πᾶσιν ἄνθεσι πεποικιλμένον, οὕτω καὶ αὕτη πᾶσιν ἤθεσιν πεποικιλμένη καλλίστη ἂν φαίνοιτο. καὶ ἴσως μέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ταύτην, ὥσπερ οἱ παῖδές τε καὶ αἱ γυναῖκες τὰ ποικίλα θεώμενοι, καλλίστην ἂν πολλοὶ κρίνειαν. καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη. [557d]

καὶ ἔστιν γε, ὦ μακάριε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπιτήδειον ζητεῖν ἐν αὐτῇ πολιτείαν.

τί δή;

ὅτι πάντα γένη πολιτειῶν ἔχει διὰ τὴν ἐξουσίαν, καὶ κινδυνεύει τῷ βουλομένῳ πόλιν κατασκευάζειν, ὃ νυνδὴ ἡμεῖς ἐποιοῦμεν, ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι εἰς δημοκρατουμένην ἐλθόντι πόλιν, ὃς ἂν αὐτὸν ἀρέσκῃ τρόπος, τοῦτον ἐκλέξασθαι, ὥσπερ εἰς παντοπώλιον ἀφικομένῳ πολιτειῶν, καὶ ἐκλεξαμένῳ οὕτω κατοικίζειν. [557e]

ἴσως γοῦν, ἔφη, οὐκ ἂν ἀποροῖ παραδειγμάτων.

τὸ δὲ μηδεμίαν ἀνάγκην, εἶπον, εἶναι ἄρχειν ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ πόλει, μηδ᾽ ἂν ᾖς ἱκανὸς ἄρχειν, μηδὲ αὖ ἄρχεσθαι, ἐὰν μὴ βούλῃ, μηδὲ πολεμεῖν πολεμούντων, μηδὲ εἰρήνην ἄγειν τῶν ἄλλων ἀγόντων, ἐὰν μὴ ἐπιθυμῇς εἰρήνης, μηδὲ αὖ, ἐάν τις ἄρχειν νόμος σε διακωλύῃ ἢ δικάζειν, μηδὲν ἧττον καὶ [558a] ἄρχειν καὶ δικάζειν, ἐὰν αὐτῷ σοι ἐπίῃ, ἆρ᾽ οὐ θεσπεσία καὶ ἡδεῖα ἡ τοιαύτη διαγωγὴ ἐν τῷ παραυτίκα;

ἴσως, ἔφη, ἔν γε τούτῳ.

τί δέ; ἡ πρᾳότης ἐνίων τῶν δικασθέντων οὐ κομψή; ἢ οὔπω εἶδες, ἐν τοιαύτῃ πολιτείᾳ [ἀνθρώπων] καταψηφισθέντων θανάτου ἢ φυγῆς, οὐδὲν ἧττον αὐτῶν μενόντων τε καὶ ἀναστρεφομένων ἐν μέσῳ, [καὶ] ὡς οὔτε φροντίζοντος οὔτε ὁρῶντος οὐδενὸς περινοστεῖ ὥσπερ ἥρως;

καὶ πολλούς γ᾽, ἔφη. [558b]

ἡ δὲ συγγνώμη καὶ οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν σμικρολογία αὐτῆς, ἀλλὰ καταφρόνησις ὧν ἡμεῖς ἐλέγομεν σεμνύνοντες, ὅτε τὴν πόλιν ᾠκίζομεν, ὡς εἰ μή τις ὑπερβεβλημένην φύσιν ἔχοι, οὔποτ᾽ ἂν γένοιτο ἀνὴρ ἀγαθός, εἰ μὴ παῖς ὢν εὐθὺς παίζοι ἐν καλοῖς καὶ ἐπιτηδεύοι τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα, ὡς μεγαλοπρεπῶς καταπατήσας᾽ ἅπαντ᾽ αὐτὰ οὐδὲν φροντίζει ἐξ ὁποίων ἄν τις ἐπιτηδευμάτων ἐπὶ τὰ πολιτικὰ ἰὼν πράττῃ, ἀλλὰ τιμᾷ, [558c] ἐὰν φῇ μόνον εὔνους εἶναι τῷ πλήθει;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη, γενναία.

ταῦτά τε δή, ἔφην, ἔχοι ἂν καὶ τούτων ἄλλα ἀδελφὰ δημοκρατία, καὶ εἴη, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡδεῖα πολιτεία καὶ ἄναρχος καὶ ποικίλη, ἰσότητά τινα ὁμοίως ἴσοις τε καὶ ἀνίσοις διανέμουσα.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη, γνώριμα λέγεις.

ἄθρει δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τίς ὁ τοιοῦτος ἰδίᾳ. ἢ πρῶτον σκεπτέον, ὥσπερ τὴν πολιτείαν ἐσκεψάμεθα, τίνα τρόπον γίγνεται;

ναί, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ὧδε; τοῦ φειδωλοῦ ἐκείνου καὶ ὀλιγαρχικοῦ [558d] γένοιτ᾽ ἂν οἶμαι ὑὸς ὑπὸ τῷ πατρὶ τεθραμμένος ἐν τοῖς ἐκείνου ἤθεσι;

τί γὰρ οὔ;

βίᾳ δὴ καὶ οὗτος ἄρχων τῶν ἐν αὑτῷ ἡδονῶν, ὅσαι ἀναλωτικαὶ μέν, χρηματιστικαὶ δὲ μή: αἳ δὴ οὐκ ἀναγκαῖαι κέκληνται-

δῆλον, ἔφη.

βούλει οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἵνα μὴ σκοτεινῶς διαλεγώμεθα, πρῶτον ὁρισώμεθα τάς τε ἀναγκαίους ἐπιθυμίας καὶ τὰς μή;

βούλομαι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὐκοῦν ἅς τε οὐκ ἂν οἷοί τ᾽ εἶμεν ἀποτρέψαι, δικαίως [558e] ἂν ἀναγκαῖαι καλοῖντο, καὶ ὅσαι ἀποτελούμεναι ὠφελοῦσιν ἡμᾶς; τούτων γὰρ ἀμφοτέρων ἐφίεσθαι ἡμῶν τῇ φύσει ἀνάγκη. ἢ οὔ;

καὶ μάλα. [559a]

δικαίως δὴ τοῦτο ἐπ᾽ αὐταῖς ἐροῦμεν, τὸ ἀναγκαῖον.

δικαίως.

τί δέ; ἅς γέ τις ἀπαλλάξειεν ἄν, εἰ μελετῷ ἐκ νέου, καὶ πρὸς οὐδὲν ἀγαθὸν ἐνοῦσαι δρῶσιν, αἱ δὲ καὶ τοὐναντίον, πάσας ταύτας εἰ μὴ ἀναγκαίους φαῖμεν εἶναι, ἆρ᾽ οὐ

καλῶς ἂν λέγοιμεν;

καλῶς μὲν οὖν.

προελώμεθα δή τι παράδειγμα ἑκατέρων αἵ εἰσιν, ἵνα τύπῳ λάβωμεν αὐτάς;

οὐκοῦν χρή.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ἡ τοῦ φαγεῖν μέχρι ὑγιείας τε καὶ εὐεξίας [559b] καὶ αὐτοῦ σίτου τε καὶ ὄψου ἀναγκαῖος ἂν εἴη;

οἶμαι.

ἡ μέν γέ που τοῦ σίτου κατ᾽ ἀμφότερα ἀναγκαία, ᾗ τε ὠφέλιμος ᾗ τε <μὴ> παῦσαι ζῶντα δυνατή.

ναί.

ἡ δὲ ὄψου, εἴ πῄ τινα ὠφελίαν πρὸς εὐεξίαν παρέχεται,

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

τί δὲ ἡ πέρα τούτων καὶ ἀλλοίων ἐδεσμάτων ἢ τοιούτων ἐπιθυμία, δυνατὴ δὲ κολαζομένη ἐκ νέων καὶ παιδευομένη ἐκ τῶν πολλῶν ἀπαλλάττεσθαι, καὶ βλαβερὰ μὲν σώματι, βλαβερὰ δὲ ψυχῇ πρός τε φρόνησιν καὶ τὸ σωφρονεῖν; ἆρά [559c] γε ὀρθῶς οὐκ ἀναγκαία ἂν καλοῖτο;

ὀρθότατα μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀναλωτικὰς φῶμεν εἶναι ταύτας, ἐκείνας δὲ χρηματιστικὰς διὰ τὸ χρησίμους πρὸς τὰ ἔργα εἶναι;

τί μήν;

οὕτω δὴ καὶ περὶ ἀφροδισίων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων φήσομεν;

οὕτω.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ὃν νυνδὴ κηφῆνα ὠνομάζομεν, τοῦτον ἐλέγομεν τὸν τῶν τοιούτων ἡδονῶν καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν γέμοντα καὶ [559d] ἀρχόμενον ὑπὸ τῶν μὴ ἀναγκαίων, τὸν δὲ ὑπὸ τῶν ἀναγκαίων φειδωλόν τε καὶ ὀλιγαρχικόν;

ἀλλὰ τί μήν;

πάλιν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγωμεν ὡς ἐξ ὀλιγαρχικοῦ δημοκρατικὸς γίγνεται. φαίνεται δέ μοι τά γε πολλὰ ὧδε γίγνεσθαι.

πῶς;

ὅταν νέος, τεθραμμένος ὡς νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἀπαιδεύτως τε καὶ φειδωλῶς, γεύσηται κηφήνων μέλιτος, καὶ συγγένηται αἴθωσι θηρσὶ καὶ δεινοῖς, παντοδαπὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ ποικίλας καὶ παντοίως ἐχούσας δυναμένοις σκευάζειν, ἐνταῦθά που [559e] οἴου εἶναι ἀρχὴν αὐτῷ μεταβολῆς ... ὀλιγαρχικῆς τῆς ἑαυτῷ εἰς δημοκρατικήν. πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὥσπερ ἡ πόλις μετέβαλλε βοηθησάσης τῷ ἑτέρῳ μέρει συμμαχίας ἔξωθεν, ὁμοίας ὁμοίῳ, οὕτω καὶ ὁ νεανίας μεταβάλλει βοηθοῦντος αὖ εἴδους ἐπιθυμιῶν ἔξωθεν τῷ ἑτέρῳ τῶν παρ᾽ ἐκείνῳ, συγγενοῦς τε καὶ ὁμοίου;

παντάπασιν μὲν οὖν.

καὶ ἐὰν μέν γε οἶμαι ἀντιβοηθήσῃ τις τῷ ἐν ἑαυτῷ ὀλιγαρχικῷ συμμαχία, ἤ ποθεν παρὰ τοῦ πατρὸς ἢ καὶ τῶν [560a] ἄλλων οἰκείων νουθετούντων τε καὶ κακιζόντων, στάσις δὴ καὶ ἀντίστασις καὶ μάχη ἐν αὐτῷ πρὸς αὑτὸν τότε γίγνεται.

τί μήν;

καὶ ποτὲ μὲν οἶμαι τὸ δημοκρατικὸν ὑπεχώρησε τῷ ὀλιγαρχικῷ, καί τινες τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν αἱ μὲν διεφθάρησαν, αἱ δὲ καὶ ἐξέπεσον, αἰδοῦς τινος ἐγγενομένης ἐν τῇ τοῦ νέου ψυχῇ, καὶ κατεκοσμήθη πάλιν.

γίγνεται γὰρ ἐνίοτε, ἔφη.

αὖθις δὲ οἶμαι τῶν ἐκπεσουσῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν ἄλλαι ὑποτρεφόμεναι [560b] συγγενεῖς δι᾽ ἀνεπιστημοσύνην τροφῆς πατρὸς πολλαί τε καὶ ἰσχυραὶ ἐγένοντο.

φιλεῖ γοῦν, ἔφη, οὕτω γίγνεσθαι.

οὐκοῦν εἵλκυσάν τε πρὸς τὰς αὐτὰς ὁμιλίας, καὶ λάθρᾳ συγγιγνόμεναι πλῆθος ἐνέτεκον.

τί μήν;

τελευτῶσαι δὴ οἶμαι κατέλαβον τὴν τοῦ νέου τῆς ψυχῆς ἀκρόπολιν, αἰσθόμεναι κενὴν μαθημάτων τε καὶ ἐπιτηδευμάτων καλῶν καὶ λόγων ἀληθῶν, οἳ δὴ ἄριστοι φρουροί τε καὶ φύλακες ἐν ἀνδρῶν θεοφιλῶν εἰσι διανοίαις. [560c]

καὶ πολύ γ᾽, ἔφη.

ψευδεῖς δὴ καὶ ἀλαζόνες οἶμαι λόγοι τε καὶ δόξαι ἀντ᾽ ἐκείνων ἀναδραμόντες κατέσχον τὸν αὐτὸν τόπον τοῦ τοιούτου.

σφόδρα γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ πάλιν τε εἰς ἐκείνους τοὺς Λωτοφάγους ἐλθὼν φανερῶς κατοικεῖ, καὶ ἐὰν παρ᾽ οἰκείων τις βοήθεια τῷ φειδωλῷ αὐτοῦ τῆς ψυχῆς ἀφικνῆται, κλῄσαντες οἱ ἀλαζόνες λόγοι ἐκεῖνοι τὰς τοῦ βασιλικοῦ τείχους ἐν αὐτῷ πύλας οὔτε αὐτὴν τὴν συμμαχίαν παριᾶσιν, οὔτε πρέσβεις πρεσβυτέρων [560d] λόγους ἰδιωτῶν εἰσδέχονται, αὐτοί τε κρατοῦσι μαχόμενοι, καὶ τὴν μὲν αἰδῶ ἠλιθιότητα ὀνομάζοντες ὠθοῦσιν ἔξω ἀτίμως φυγάδα, σωφροσύνην δὲ ἀνανδρίαν καλοῦντές τε καὶ προπηλακίζοντες ἐκβάλλουσι, μετριότητα δὲ καὶ κοσμίαν δαπάνην ὡς ἀγροικίαν καὶ ἀνελευθερίαν οὖσαν πείθοντες ὑπερορίζουσι μετὰ πολλῶν καὶ ἀνωφελῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν;

σφόδρα γε.

τούτων δέ γέ που κενώσαντες καὶ καθήραντες τὴν τοῦ [560e] κατεχομένου τε ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν καὶ τελουμένου ψυχὴν μεγάλοισι τέλεσι, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἤδη ὕβριν καὶ ἀναρχίαν καὶ ἀσωτίαν καὶ ἀναίδειαν λαμπρὰς μετὰ πολλοῦ χοροῦ κατάγουσιν ἐστεφανωμένας, ἐγκωμιάζοντες καὶ ὑποκοριζόμενοι, ὕβριν μὲν εὐπαιδευσίαν καλοῦντες, ἀναρχίαν δὲ ἐλευθερίαν, ἀσωτίαν [561a] δὲ μεγαλοπρέπειαν, ἀναίδειαν δὲ ἀνδρείαν. ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὕτω πως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, νέος ὢν μεταβάλλει ἐκ τοῦ ἐν ἀναγκαίοις ἐπιθυμίαις τρεφομένου τὴν τῶν μὴ ἀναγκαίων καὶ ἀνωφελῶν ἡδονῶν ἐλευθέρωσίν τε καὶ ἄνεσιν;

καὶ μάλα γ᾽, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἐναργῶς.

Ζῇ δὴ οἶμαι μετὰ ταῦτα ὁ τοιοῦτος οὐδὲν μᾶλλον εἰς ἀναγκαίους ἢ μὴ ἀναγκαίους ἡδονὰς ἀναλίσκων καὶ χρήματα καὶ πόνους καὶ διατριβάς: ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν εὐτυχὴς ᾖ καὶ μὴ πέρα ἐκβακχευθῇ, ἀλλά τι καὶ πρεσβύτερος γενόμενος τοῦ πολλοῦ [561b] θορύβου παρελθόντος μέρη τε καταδέξηται τῶν ἐκπεσόντων καὶ τοῖς ἐπεισελθοῦσι μὴ ὅλον ἑαυτὸν ἐνδῷ, εἰς ἴσον δή τι καταστήσας τὰς ἡδονὰς διάγει, τῇ παραπιπτούσῃ ἀεὶ ὥσπερ λαχούσῃ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ ἀρχὴν παραδιδοὺς ἕως ἂν πληρωθῇ, καὶ αὖθις ἄλλῃ, οὐδεμίαν ἀτιμάζων ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ἴσου τρέφων.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

καὶ λόγον γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀληθῆ οὐ προσδεχόμενος οὐδὲ παριεὶς εἰς τὸ φρούριον, ἐάν τις λέγῃ ὡς αἱ μέν εἰσι τῶν [561c] καλῶν τε καὶ ἀγαθῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν ἡδοναί, αἱ δὲ τῶν πονηρῶν, καὶ τὰς μὲν χρὴ ἐπιτηδεύειν καὶ τιμᾶν, τὰς δὲ κολάζειν τε καὶ δουλοῦσθαι: ἀλλ᾽ ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις ἀνανεύει τε καὶ ὁμοίας φησὶν ἁπάσας εἶναι καὶ τιμητέας ἐξ ἴσου.

σφόδρα γάρ, ἔφη, οὕτω διακείμενος τοῦτο δρᾷ.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ διαζῇ τὸ καθ᾽ ἡμέραν οὕτω χαριζόμενος τῇ προσπιπτούσῃ ἐπιθυμίᾳ, τοτὲ μὲν μεθύων καὶ καταυλούμενος, αὖθις δὲ ὑδροποτῶν καὶ κατισχναινόμενος, [561d] τοτὲ δ᾽ αὖ γυμναζόμενος, ἔστιν δ᾽ ὅτε ἀργῶν καὶ πάντων ἀμελῶν, τοτὲ δ᾽ ὡς ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ διατρίβων. πολλάκις δὲ πολιτεύεται, καὶ ἀναπηδῶν ὅτι ἂν τύχῃ λέγει τε καὶ πράττει: κἄν ποτέ τινας πολεμικοὺς ζηλώσῃ, ταύτῃ φέρεται, ἢ χρηματιστικούς, ἐπὶ τοῦτ᾽ αὖ. καὶ οὔτε τις τάξις οὔτε ἀνάγκη ἔπεστιν αὐτοῦ τῷ βίῳ, ἀλλ᾽ ἡδύν τε δὴ καὶ ἐλευθέριον καὶ μακάριον καλῶν τὸν βίον τοῦτον χρῆται αὐτῷ διὰ παντός. [561e]

παντάπασιν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, διελήλυθας βίον ἰσονομικοῦ τινος ἀνδρός.

οἶμαι δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ παντοδαπόν τε καὶ πλείστων ἠθῶν μεστόν, καὶ τὸν καλόν τε καὶ ποικίλον, ὥσπερ ἐκείνην τὴν πόλιν, τοῦτον τὸν ἄνδρα εἶναι: ὃν πολλοὶ ἂν καὶ πολλαὶ ζηλώσειαν τοῦ βίου, παραδείγματα πολιτειῶν τε καὶ τρόπων πλεῖστα ἐν αὐτῷ ἔχοντα.

οὗτος γάρ, ἔφη, ἔστιν. [562a]

τί οὖν; τετάχθω ἡμῖν κατὰ δημοκρατίαν ὁ τοιοῦτος ἀνήρ, ὡς δημοκρατικὸς ὀρθῶς ἂν προσαγορευόμενος;

τετάχθω, ἔφη.

ἡ καλλίστη δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πολιτεία τε καὶ ὁ κάλλιστος ἀνὴρ λοιπὰ ἂν ἡμῖν εἴη διελθεῖν, τυραννίς τε καὶ τύραννος.

κομιδῇ γ᾽, ἔφη.

φέρε δή, τίς τρόπος τυραννίδος, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε, γίγνεται; ὅτι μὲν γὰρ ἐκ δημοκρατίας μεταβάλλει σχεδὸν δῆλον.

δῆλον.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τρόπον τινὰ τὸν αὐτὸν ἔκ τε ὀλιγαρχίας δημοκρατία [562b] γίγνεται καὶ ἐκ δημοκρατίας τυραννίς;

πῶς;

ὃ προύθεντο, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀγαθόν, καὶ δι᾽ ὃ ἡ ὀλιγαρχία καθίστατο-τοῦτο δ᾽ ἦν [ὑπερ]πλοῦτος: ἦ γάρ; -

ναί.

ἡ πλούτου τοίνυν ἀπληστία καὶ ἡ τῶν ἄλλων ἀμέλεια διὰ χρηματισμὸν αὐτὴν ἀπώλλυ.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ὃ δημοκρατία ὁρίζεται ἀγαθόν, ἡ τούτου ἀπληστία καὶ ταύτην καταλύει;

λέγεις δ᾽ αὐτὴν τί ὁρίζεσθαι;

τὴν ἐλευθερίαν, εἶπον. τοῦτο γάρ που ἐν δημοκρατουμένῃ [562c] πόλει ἀκούσαις ἂν ὡς ἔχει τε κάλλιστον καὶ διὰ ταῦτα ἐν μόνῃ ταύτῃ ἄξιον οἰκεῖν ὅστις φύσει ἐλεύθερος.

λέγεται γὰρ δή, ἔφη, καὶ πολὺ τοῦτο τὸ ῥῆμα.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅπερ ᾖα νυνδὴ ἐρῶν, ἡ τοῦ τοιούτου ἀπληστία καὶ ἡ τῶν ἄλλων ἀμέλεια καὶ ταύτην τὴν πολιτείαν μεθίστησίν τε καὶ παρασκευάζει τυραννίδος δεηθῆναι;

πῶς; ἔφη.

ὅταν οἶμαι δημοκρατουμένη πόλις ἐλευθερίας διψήσασα [562d] κακῶν οἰνοχόων προστατούντων τύχῃ, καὶ πορρωτέρω τοῦ δέοντος ἀκράτου αὐτῆς μεθυσθῇ, τοὺς ἄρχοντας δή, ἂν μὴ πάνυ πρᾷοι ὦσι καὶ πολλὴν παρέχωσι τὴν ἐλευθερίαν, κολάζει αἰτιωμένη ὡς μιαρούς τε καὶ ὀλιγαρχικούς.

δρῶσιν γάρ, ἔφη, τοῦτο.

τοὺς δέ γε, εἶπον, τῶν ἀρχόντων κατηκόους προπηλακίζει ὡς ἐθελοδούλους τε καὶ οὐδὲν ὄντας, τοὺς δὲ ἄρχοντας μὲν ἀρχομένοις, ἀρχομένους δὲ ἄρχουσιν ὁμοίους ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ ἐπαινεῖ τε καὶ τιμᾷ. ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἐν τοιαύτῃ [562e] πόλει ἐπὶ πᾶν τὸ τῆς ἐλευθερίας ἰέναι;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

καὶ καταδύεσθαί γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε, εἴς τε τὰς ἰδίας οἰκίας καὶ τελευτᾶν μέχρι τῶν θηρίων τὴν ἀναρχίαν ἐμφυομένην.

πῶς, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τὸ τοιοῦτον λέγομεν;

οἷον, ἔφην, πατέρα μὲν ἐθίζεσθαι παιδὶ ὅμοιον γίγνεσθαι καὶ φοβεῖσθαι τοὺς ὑεῖς, ὑὸν δὲ πατρί, καὶ μήτε αἰσχύνεσθαι μήτε δεδιέναι τοὺς γονέας, ἵνα δὴ ἐλεύθερος ᾖ: μέτοικον δὲ [563a] ἀστῷ καὶ ἀστὸν μετοίκῳ ἐξισοῦσθαι, καὶ ξένον ὡσαύτως.

γίγνεται γὰρ οὕτως, ἔφη.

ταῦτά τε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ σμικρὰ τοιάδε ἄλλα γίγνεται: διδάσκαλός τε ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ φοιτητὰς φοβεῖται καὶ θωπεύει, φοιτηταί τε διδασκάλων ὀλιγωροῦσιν, οὕτω δὲ καὶ παιδαγωγῶν: καὶ ὅλως οἱ μὲν νέοι πρεσβυτέροις ἀπεικάζονται καὶ διαμιλλῶνται καὶ ἐν λόγοις καὶ ἐν ἔργοις, οἱ δὲ γέροντες συγκαθιέντες τοῖς νέοις εὐτραπελίας τε καὶ χαριεντισμοῦ [563b] ἐμπίμπλανται, μιμούμενοι τοὺς νέους, ἵνα δὴ μὴ δοκῶσιν ἀηδεῖς εἶναι μηδὲ δεσποτικοί.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τὸ δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔσχατον, ὦ φίλε, τῆς ἐλευθερίας τοῦ πλήθους, ὅσον γίγνεται ἐν τῇ τοιαύτῃ πόλει, ὅταν δὴ οἱ ἐωνημένοι καὶ αἱ ἐωνημέναι μηδὲν ἧττον ἐλεύθεροι ὦσι τῶν πριαμένων. ἐν γυναιξὶ δὲ πρὸς ἄνδρας καὶ ἀνδράσι πρὸς γυναῖκας ὅση ἡ ἰσονομία καὶ ἐλευθερία γίγνεται, ὀλίγου ἐπελαθόμεθ᾽ εἰπεῖν. [563c] οὐκοῦν κατ᾽ Αἰσχύλον, ἔφη, “ἐροῦμεν ὅτι νῦν ἦλθ᾽ ἐπὶ στόμα;”

πάνυ γε, εἶπον: καὶ ἔγωγε οὕτω λέγω: τὸ μὲν γὰρ τῶν θηρίων τῶν ὑπὸ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ὅσῳ ἐλευθερώτερά ἐστιν ἐνταῦθα ἢ ἐν ἄλλῃ, οὐκ ἄν τις πείθοιτο ἄπειρος. ἀτεχνῶς γὰρ αἵ τε κύνες κατὰ τὴν παροιμίαν οἷαίπερ αἱ δέσποιναι γίγνονταί τε δὴ καὶ ἵπποι καὶ ὄνοι, πάνυ ἐλευθέρως καὶ σεμνῶς εἰθισμένοι πορεύεσθαι, κατὰ τὰς ὁδοὺς ἐμβάλλοντες τῷ ἀεὶ ἀπαντῶντι, ἐὰν μὴ ἐξίστηται, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οὕτω [563d] μεστὰ ἐλευθερίας γίγνεται.

τὸ ἐμόν γ᾽, ἔφη, ἐμοὶ λέγεις ὄναρ: αὐτὸς γὰρ εἰς ἀγρὸν πορευόμενος θαμὰ αὐτὸ πάσχω.

τὸ δὲ δὴ κεφάλαιον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πάντων τούτων συνηθροισμένων, ἐννοεῖς ὡς ἁπαλὴν τὴν ψυχὴν τῶν πολιτῶν ποιεῖ, ὥστε κἂν ὁτιοῦν δουλείας τις προσφέρηται, ἀγανακτεῖν καὶ μὴ ἀνέχεσθαι; τελευτῶντες γάρ που οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι οὐδὲ τῶν νόμων φροντίζουσιν γεγραμμένων ἢ ἀγράφων, ἵνα δὴ μηδαμῇ [563e] μηδεὶς αὐτοῖς ᾖ δεσπότης.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη, οἶδα.

αὕτη μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε, ἡ ἀρχὴ οὑτωσὶ καλὴ καὶ νεανική, ὅθεν τυραννὶς φύεται, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ.

νεανικὴ δῆτα, ἔφη: ἀλλὰ τί τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο;

ταὐτόν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅπερ ἐν τῇ ὀλιγαρχίᾳ νόσημα ἐγγενόμενον ἀπώλεσεν αὐτήν, τοῦτο καὶ ἐν ταύτῃ πλέον τε καὶ ἰσχυρότερον ἐκ τῆς ἐξουσίας ἐγγενόμενον καταδουλοῦται δημοκρατίαν. καὶ τῷ ὄντι τὸ ἄγαν τι ποιεῖν μεγάλην φιλεῖ εἰς τοὐναντίον μεταβολὴν ἀνταποδιδόναι, ἐν ὥραις τε καὶ ἐν [564a] φυτοῖς καὶ ἐν σώμασιν, καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐν πολιτείαις οὐχ ἥκιστα.

εἰκός, ἔφη.

ἡ γὰρ ἄγαν ἐλευθερία ἔοικεν οὐκ εἰς ἄλλο τι ἢ εἰς ἄγαν δουλείαν μεταβάλλειν καὶ ἰδιώτῃ καὶ πόλει.

εἰκὸς γάρ.

εἰκότως τοίνυν, εἶπον, οὐκ ἐξ ἄλλης πολιτείας τυραννὶς καθίσταται ἢ ἐκ δημοκρατίας, ἐξ οἶμαι τῆς ἀκροτάτης ἐλευθερίας δουλεία πλείστη τε καὶ ἀγριωτάτη.

ἔχει γάρ, ἔφη, λόγον.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τοῦτ᾽ οἶμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἠρώτας, ἀλλὰ ποῖον [564b] νόσημα ἐν ὀλιγαρχίᾳ τε φυόμενον ταὐτὸν καὶ ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ δουλοῦται αὐτήν.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ἐκεῖνο τοίνυν, ἔφην, ἔλεγον τὸ τῶν ἀργῶν τε καὶ δαπανηρῶν ἀνδρῶν γένος, τὸ μὲν ἀνδρειότατον ἡγούμενον αὐτῶν, τὸ δ᾽ ἀνανδρότερον ἑπόμενον: οὓς δὴ ἀφομοιοῦμεν κηφῆσι, τοὺς μὲν κέντρα ἔχουσι, τοὺς δὲ ἀκέντροις.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽, ἔφη.

τούτω τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ταράττετον ἐν πάσῃ πολιτείᾳ ἐγγιγνομένω, οἷον περὶ σῶμα φλέγμα τε καὶ χολή: ὣ δὴ καὶ [564c] δεῖ τὸν ἀγαθὸν ἰατρόν τε καὶ νομοθέτην πόλεως μὴ ἧττον ἢ σοφὸν μελιττουργὸν πόρρωθεν εὐλαβεῖσθαι, μάλιστα μὲν ὅπως μὴ ἐγγενήσεσθον, ἂν δὲ ἐγγένησθον, ὅπως ὅτι τάχιστα σὺν αὐτοῖσι τοῖς κηρίοις ἐκτετμήσεσθον.

ναὶ μὰ Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, παντάπασί γε.

ὧδε τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λάβωμεν, ἵν᾽ εὐκρινέστερον ἴδωμεν ὃ βουλόμεθα.

πῶς;

τριχῇ διαστησώμεθα τῷ λόγῳ δημοκρατουμένην πόλιν, [564d] ὥσπερ οὖν καὶ ἔχει. ἓν μὲν γάρ που τὸ τοιοῦτον γένος ἐν αὐτῇ ἐμφύεται δι᾽ ἐξουσίαν οὐκ ἔλαττον ἢ ἐν τῇ ὀλιγαρχουμένῃ.

ἔστιν οὕτω.

πολὺ δέ γε δριμύτερον ἐν ταύτῃ ἢ ἐν ἐκείνῃ.

πῶς;

ἐκεῖ μὲν διὰ τὸ μὴ ἔντιμον εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπελαύνεσθαι τῶν ἀρχῶν, ἀγύμναστον καὶ οὐκ ἐρρωμένον γίγνεται: ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ δὲ τοῦτό που τὸ προεστὸς αὐτῆς, ἐκτὸς ὀλίγων, καὶ τὸ μὲν δριμύτατον αὐτοῦ λέγει τε καὶ πράττει, τὸ δ᾽ ἄλλο περὶ τὰ βήματα προσίζον βομβεῖ τε καὶ οὐκ ἀνέχεται τοῦ [564e] ἄλλα λέγοντος, ὥστε πάντα ὑπὸ τοῦ τοιούτου διοικεῖται ἐν τῇ τοιαύτῃ πολιτείᾳ χωρίς τινων ὀλίγων.

μάλα γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἄλλο τοίνυν τοιόνδε ἀεὶ ἀποκρίνεται ἐκ τοῦ πλήθους.

τὸ ποῖον;

χρηματιζομένων που πάντων, οἱ κοσμιώτατοι φύσει ὡς τὸ πολὺ πλουσιώτατοι γίγνονται.

εἰκός.

πλεῖστον δὴ οἶμαι τοῖς κηφῆσι μέλι καὶ εὐπορώτατον ἐντεῦθεν βλίττει.

πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ἔφη, παρά γε τῶν σμικρὰ ἐχόντων τις βλίσειεν;

πλούσιοι δὴ οἶμαι οἱ τοιοῦτοι καλοῦνται κηφήνων βοτάνη.

σχεδόν τι, ἔφη. [565a]

δῆμος δ᾽ ἂν εἴη τρίτον γένος, ὅσοι αὐτουργοί τε καὶ ἀπράγμονες, οὐ πάνυ πολλὰ κεκτημένοι: ὃ δὴ πλεῖστόν τε καὶ κυριώτατον ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ ὅτανπερ ἁθροισθῇ.

ἔστιν γάρ, ἔφη: ἀλλ᾽ οὐ θαμὰ ἐθέλει ποιεῖν τοῦτο, ἐὰν μὴ μέλιτός τι μεταλαμβάνῃ.

οὐκοῦν μεταλαμβάνει, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀεί, καθ᾽ ὅσον δύνανται οἱ προεστῶτες, τοὺς ἔχοντας τὴν οὐσίαν ἀφαιρούμενοι, διανέμοντες τῷ δήμῳ, τὸ πλεῖστον αὐτοὶ ἔχειν. [565b]

μεταλαμβάνει γὰρ οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὕτως.

ἀναγκάζονται δὴ οἶμαι ἀμύνεσθαι, λέγοντές τε ἐν τῷ δήμῳ καὶ πράττοντες ὅπῃ δύνανται, οὗτοι ὧν ἀφαιροῦνται.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

αἰτίαν δὴ ἔσχον ὑπὸ τῶν ἑτέρων, κἂν μὴ ἐπιθυμῶσι νεωτερίζειν, ὡς ἐπιβουλεύουσι τῷ δήμῳ καί εἰσιν ὀλιγαρχικοί.

τί μήν;

οὐκοῦν καὶ τελευτῶντες, ἐπειδὰν ὁρῶσι τὸν δῆμον, οὐχ ἑκόντα ἀλλ᾽ ἀγνοήσαντά τε καὶ ἐξαπατηθέντα ὑπὸ τῶν [565c] διαβαλλόντων, ἐπιχειροῦντα σφᾶς ἀδικεῖν, τότ᾽ ἤδη, εἴτε βούλονται εἴτε μή, ὡς ἀληθῶς ὀλιγαρχικοὶ γίγνονται, οὐχ ἑκόντες, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτο τὸ κακὸν ἐκεῖνος ὁ κηφὴν ἐντίκτει κεντῶν αὐτούς.

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

εἰσαγγελίαι δὴ καὶ κρίσεις καὶ ἀγῶνες περὶ ἀλλήλων γίγνονται.

καὶ μάλα.

οὐκοῦν ἕνα τινὰ ἀεὶ δῆμος εἴωθεν διαφερόντως προΐστασθαι ἑαυτοῦ, καὶ τοῦτον τρέφειν τε καὶ αὔξειν μέγαν;

εἴωθε γάρ. [565d]

τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, δῆλον, ὅτι, ὅτανπερ φύηται τύραννος, ἐκ προστατικῆς ῥίζης καὶ οὐκ ἄλλοθεν ἐκβλαστάνει.

καὶ μάλα δῆλον.

τίς ἀρχὴ οὖν μεταβολῆς ἐκ προστάτου ἐπὶ τύραννον; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι ἐπειδὰν ταὐτὸν ἄρξηται δρᾶν ὁ προστάτης τῷ ἐν τῷ μύθῳ ὃς περὶ τὸ ἐν Ἀρκαδίᾳ τὸ τοῦ Διὸς τοῦ Λυκαίου

ἱερὸν λέγεται;

τίς; ἔφη.

ὡς ἄρα ὁ γευσάμενος τοῦ ἀνθρωπίνου σπλάγχνου, ἐν ἄλλοις ἄλλων ἱερείων ἑνὸς ἐγκατατετμημένου, ἀνάγκη δὴ [565e] τούτῳ λύκῳ γενέσθαι. ἢ οὐκ ἀκήκοας τὸν λόγον;

ἔγωγε.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὕτω καὶ ὃς ἂν δήμου προεστώς, λαβὼν σφόδρα πειθόμενον ὄχλον, μὴ ἀπόσχηται ἐμφυλίου αἵματος, ἀλλ᾽ ἀδίκως ἐπαιτιώμενος, οἷα δὴ φιλοῦσιν, εἰς δικαστήρια ἄγων μιαιφονῇ, βίον ἀνδρὸς ἀφανίζων, γλώττῃ τε καὶ στόματι ἀνοσίῳ γευόμενος φόνου συγγενοῦς, καὶ ἀνδρηλατῇ καὶ [566a] ἀποκτεινύῃ καὶ ὑποσημαίνῃ χρεῶν τε ἀποκοπὰς καὶ γῆς ἀναδασμόν, ἆρα τῷ τοιούτῳ ἀνάγκη δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο καὶ εἵμαρται ἢ ἀπολωλέναι ὑπὸ τῶν ἐχθρῶν ἢ τυραννεῖν καὶ λύκῳ ἐξ ἀνθρώπου γενέσθαι;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

οὗτος δή, ἔφην, ὁ στασιάζων γίγνεται πρὸς τοὺς ἔχοντας τὰς οὐσίας.

οὗτος.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐκπεσὼν μὲν καὶ κατελθὼν βίᾳ τῶν ἐχθρῶν τύραννος ἀπειργασμένος κατέρχεται;

δῆλον. [566b]

ἐὰν δὲ ἀδύνατοι ἐκβάλλειν αὐτὸν ὦσιν ἢ ἀποκτεῖναι διαβάλλοντες τῇ πόλει, βιαίῳ δὴ θανάτῳ ἐπιβουλεύουσιν ἀποκτεινύναι λάθρᾳ.

φιλεῖ γοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὕτω γίγνεσθαι.

τὸ δὴ τυραννικὸν αἴτημα τὸ πολυθρύλητον ἐπὶ τούτῳ πάντες οἱ εἰς τοῦτο προβεβηκότες ἐξευρίσκουσιν, αἰτεῖν τὸν δῆμον φύλακάς τινας τοῦ σώματος, ἵνα σῶς αὐτοῖς ᾖ ὁ τοῦ δήμου βοηθός.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη.

διδόασι δὴ οἶμαι δείσαντες μὲν ὑπὲρ ἐκείνου, θαρρήσαντες δὲ ὑπὲρ ἑαυτῶν. [566c]

καὶ μάλα.

οὐκοῦν τοῦτο ὅταν ἴδῃ ἀνὴρ χρήματα ἔχων καὶ μετὰ τῶν χρημάτων αἰτίαν μισόδημος εἶναι, τότε δὴ οὗτος, ὦ ἑταῖρε, κατὰ τὸν Κροίσῳ γενόμενον χρησμὸν- . . . πολυψήφιδα παρ᾽ Ἕρμον

φεύγει, οὐδὲ μένει, οὐδ᾽ αἰδεῖται κακὸς εἶναι. Hdt.1.55

οὐ γὰρ ἄν, ἔφη, δεύτερον αὖθις αἰδεσθείη.

ὁ δέ γε οἶμαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καταληφθεὶς θανάτῳ δίδοται.

ἀνάγκη.

ὁ δὲ δὴ προστάτης ἐκεῖνος αὐτὸς δῆλον δὴ ὅτι

μέγας [566d] μεγαλωστὶ Hom. Il. 16.776

οὐ κεῖται, ἀλλὰ καταβαλὼν ἄλλους πολλοὺς ἕστηκεν ἐν τῷ δίφρῳ τῆς πόλεως, τύραννος ἀντὶ προστάτου ἀποτετελεσμένος.

τί δ᾽ οὐ μέλλει; ἔφη.

διέλθωμεν δὴ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοῦ τε ἀνδρὸς καὶ τῆς πόλεως, ἐν ᾗ ἂν ὁ τοιοῦτος βροτὸς ἐγγένηται;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, διέλθωμεν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, εἶπον, οὐ ταῖς μὲν πρώταις ἡμέραις τε καὶ χρόνῳ προσγελᾷ τε καὶ ἀσπάζεται πάντας, ᾧ ἂν περιτυγχάνῃ, καὶ [566e] οὔτε τύραννός φησιν εἶναι ὑπισχνεῖταί τε πολλὰ καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, χρεῶν τε ἠλευθέρωσε καὶ γῆν διένειμε δήμῳ τε καὶ τοῖς περὶ ἑαυτὸν καὶ πᾶσιν ἵλεώς τε καὶ πρᾷος εἶναι προσποιεῖται;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

ὅταν δέ γε οἶμαι πρὸς τοὺς ἔξω ἐχθροὺς τοῖς μὲν καταλλαγῇ, τοὺς δὲ καὶ διαφθείρῃ, καὶ ἡσυχία ἐκείνων γένηται, πρῶτον μὲν πολέμους τινὰς ἀεὶ κινεῖ, ἵν᾽ ἐν χρείᾳ ἡγεμόνος ὁ δῆμος ᾖ.

εἰκός γε. [567a]

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἵνα χρήματα εἰσφέροντες πένητες γιγνόμενοι πρὸς τῷ καθ᾽ ἡμέραν ἀναγκάζωνται εἶναι καὶ ἧττον αὐτῷ ἐπιβουλεύωσι;

δῆλον.

καὶ ἄν γέ τινας οἶμαι ὑποπτεύῃ ἐλεύθερα φρονήματα ἔχοντας μὴ ἐπιτρέψειν αὐτῷ ἄρχειν, ὅπως ἂν τούτους μετὰ προφάσεως ἀπολλύῃ ἐνδοὺς τοῖς πολεμίοις; τούτων πάντων

ἕνεκα τυράννῳ ἀεὶ ἀνάγκη πόλεμον ταράττειν;

ἀνάγκη.

ταῦτα δὴ ποιοῦντα ἕτοιμον μᾶλλον ἀπεχθάνεσθαι τοῖς [567b] πολίταις;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν καί τινας τῶν συγκαταστησάντων καὶ ἐν δυνάμει ὄντων παρρησιάζεσθαι καὶ πρὸς αὐτὸν καὶ πρὸς ἀλλήλους, ἐπιπλήττοντας τοῖς γιγνομένοις, οἳ ἂν τυγχάνωσιν ἀνδρικώτατοι ὄντες;

εἰκός γε.

ὑπεξαιρεῖν δὴ τούτους πάντας δεῖ τὸν τύραννον, εἰ μέλλει ἄρξειν, ἕως ἂν μήτε φίλων μήτ᾽ ἐχθρῶν λίπῃ μηδένα ὅτου τι ὄφελος.

δῆλον.

ὀξέως ἄρα δεῖ ὁρᾶν αὐτὸν τίς ἀνδρεῖος, τίς μεγαλόφρων, [567c] τίς φρόνιμος, τίς πλούσιος: καὶ οὕτως εὐδαίμων ἐστίν, ὥστε τούτοις ἅπασιν ἀνάγκη αὐτῷ, εἴτε βούλεται εἴτε μή, πολεμίῳ εἶναι καὶ ἐπιβουλεύειν, ἕως ἂν καθήρῃ τὴν πόλιν.

καλόν γε, ἔφη, καθαρμόν.

ναί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸν ἐναντίον ἢ οἱ ἰατροὶ τὰ σώματα: οἱ μὲν γὰρ τὸ χείριστον ἀφαιροῦντες λείπουσι τὸ βέλτιστον, ὁ δὲ τοὐναντίον.

ὡς ἔοικε γάρ, αὐτῷ, ἔφη, ἀνάγκη, εἴπερ ἄρξει. [567d]

ἐν μακαρίᾳ ἄρα, εἶπον ἐγώ, ἀνάγκῃ δέδεται, ἣ προστάττει αὐτῷ ἢ μετὰ φαύλων τῶν πολλῶν οἰκεῖν, καὶ ὑπὸ τούτων μισούμενον, ἢ μὴ ζῆν.

ἐν τοιαύτῃ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχὶ ὅσῳ ἂν μᾶλλον τοῖς πολίταις ἀπεχθάνηται ταῦτα δρῶν, τοσούτῳ πλειόνων καὶ πιστοτέρων δορυφόρων δεήσεται;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τίνες οὖν οἱ πιστοί; καὶ πόθεν αὐτοὺς μεταπέμψεται;

αὐτόματοι, ἔφη, πολλοὶ ἥξουσι πετόμενοι, ἐὰν τὸν μισθὸν διδῷ.

κηφῆνας, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, νὴ τὸν κύνα, δοκεῖς αὖ τινάς μοι [567e] λέγειν ξενικούς τε καὶ παντοδαπούς.

ἀληθῆ γάρ, ἔφη, δοκῶ σοι.

τίς δὲ αὐτόθεν; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν ἐθελήσειεν-

πῶς;

τοὺς δούλους ἀφελόμενος τοὺς πολίτας, ἐλευθερώσας, τῶν περὶ ἑαυτὸν δορυφόρων ποιήσασθαι.

σφόδρα γ᾽, ἔφη: ἐπεί τοι καὶ πιστότατοι αὐτῷ οὗτοί εἰσιν.

ἦ μακάριον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις τυράννου χρῆμα, εἰ τοιούτοις [568a] φίλοις τε καὶ πιστοῖς ἀνδράσι χρῆται, τοὺς προτέρους ἐκείνους ἀπολέσας.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη, τοιούτοις γε χρῆται.

καὶ θαυμάζουσι δή, εἶπον, οὗτοι οἱ ἑταῖροι αὐτὸν καὶ σύνεισιν οἱ νέοι πολῖται, οἱ δ᾽ ἐπιεικεῖς μισοῦσί τε καὶ φεύγουσι;

τί δ᾽ οὐ μέλλουσιν;

οὐκ ἐτός, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἥ τε τραγῳδία ὅλως σοφὸν δοκεῖ εἶναι καὶ ὁ Εὐριπίδης διαφέρων ἐν αὐτῇ.

τί δή;

ὅτι καὶ τοῦτο πυκνῆς διανοίας ἐχόμενον ἐφθέγξατο, ὡς [568b] ἄρα “σοφοὶ τύραννοί” εἰσι “τῶν σοφῶν συνουσίᾳ.” καὶ ἔλεγε δῆλον ὅτι τούτους εἶναι τοὺς σοφοὺς οἷς σύνεστιν.

καὶ ὡς ἰσόθεόν γ᾽, ἔφη, τὴν τυραννίδα ἐγκωμιάζει, καὶ ἕτερα πολλά, καὶ οὗτος καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ποιηταί.

τοιγάρτοι, ἔφην, ἅτε σοφοὶ ὄντες οἱ τῆς τραγῳδίας ποιηταὶ συγγιγνώσκουσιν ἡμῖν τε καὶ ἐκείνοις ὅσοι ἡμῶν ἐγγὺς πολιτεύονται, ὅτι αὐτοὺς εἰς τὴν πολιτείαν οὐ παραδεξόμεθα ἅτε τυραννίδος ὑμνητάς.

οἶμαι ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη, συγγιγνώσκουσιν ὅσοιπέρ γε αὐτῶν [568c] κομψοί.

εἰς δέ γε οἶμαι τὰς ἄλλας περιιόντες πόλεις, συλλέγοντες τοὺς ὄχλους, καλὰς φωνὰς καὶ μεγάλας καὶ πιθανὰς μισθωσάμενοι, εἰς τυραννίδας τε καὶ δημοκρατίας ἕλκουσι τὰς πολιτείας.

μάλα γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ προσέτι τούτων μισθοὺς λαμβάνουσι καὶ τιμῶνται, μάλιστα μέν, ὥσπερ τὸ εἰκός, ὑπὸ τυράννων, δεύτερον δὲ ὑπὸ δημοκρατίας: ὅσῳ δ᾽ ἂν ἀνωτέρω ἴωσιν πρὸς [568d] τὸ ἄναντες τῶν πολιτειῶν, μᾶλλον ἀπαγορεύει αὐτῶν ἡ τιμή, ὥσπερ ὑπὸ ἄσθματος ἀδυνατοῦσα πορεύεσθαι.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἀλλὰ δή, εἶπον, ἐνταῦθα μὲν ἐξέβημεν: λέγωμεν δὲ πάλιν ἐκεῖνο τὸ τοῦ τυράννου στρατόπεδον, τὸ καλόν τε καὶ πολὺ καὶ ποικίλον καὶ οὐδέποτε ταὐτόν, πόθεν θρέψεται. δῆλον, ἔφη, ὅτι, ἐάν τε ἱερὰ χρήματα ᾖ ἐν τῇ πόλει, ταῦτα ἀναλώσει, ὅποι ποτὲ ἂν ἀεὶ ἐξαρκῇ τὰ τῶν ἀποδομένων, ἐλάττους εἰσφορὰς ἀναγκάζων τὸν δῆμον εἰσφέρειν. [568e]

τί δ᾽ ὅταν δὴ ταῦτα ἐπιλίπῃ;

δῆλον, ἔφη, ὅτι ἐκ τῶν πατρῴων θρέψεται αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ συμπόται τε καὶ ἑταῖροι καὶ ἑταῖραι.

μανθάνω, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ὅτι ὁ δῆμος ὁ γεννήσας τὸν τύραννον θρέψει αὐτόν τε καὶ ἑταίρους.

πολλὴ αὐτῷ, ἔφη, ἀνάγκη.

πῶς [δὲ] λέγεις; εἶπον: ἐὰν δὲ ἀγανακτῇ τε καὶ λέγῃ ὁ δῆμος ὅτι οὔτε δίκαιον τρέφεσθαι ὑπὸ πατρὸς ὑὸν ἡβῶντα, ἀλλὰ τοὐναντίον ὑπὸ ὑέος πατέρα, οὔτε τούτου αὐτὸν ἕνεκα [569a] ἐγέννησέν τε καὶ κατέστησεν, ἵνα, ἐπειδὴ μέγας γένοιτο, τότε αὐτὸς δουλεύων τοῖς αὑτοῦ δούλοις τρέφοι ἐκεῖνόν τε καὶ τοὺς δούλους μετὰ συγκλύδων ἄλλων, ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα ἀπὸ τῶν πλουσίων τε καὶ καλῶν κἀγαθῶν λεγομένων ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐλευθερωθείη ἐκείνου προστάντος, καὶ νῦν κελεύει ἀπιέναι ἐκ τῆς πόλεως αὐτόν τε καὶ τοὺς ἑταίρους, ὥσπερ πατὴρ ὑὸν ἐξ οἰκίας μετὰ ὀχληρῶν συμποτῶν ἐξελαύνων;

γνώσεταί γε, νὴ Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, τότ᾽ ἤδη ὁ δῆμος οἷος οἷον [569b] θρέμμα γεννῶν ἠσπάζετό τε καὶ ηὖξεν, καὶ ὅτι ἀσθενέστερος ὢν ἰσχυροτέρους ἐξελαύνει.

πῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις; τολμήσει τὸν πατέρα βιάζεσθαι, κἂν μὴ πείθηται, τύπτειν ὁ τύραννος;

ναί, ἔφη, ἀφελόμενός γε τὰ ὅπλα.

πατραλοίαν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις τύραννον καὶ χαλεπὸν γηροτρόφον, καὶ ὡς ἔοικε τοῦτο δὴ ὁμολογουμένη ἂν ἤδη τυραννὶς εἴη, καί, τὸ λεγόμενον, ὁ δῆμος φεύγων ἂν καπνὸν [569c] δουλείας ἐλευθέρων εἰς πῦρ δούλων δεσποτείας ἂν ἐμπεπτωκὼς εἴη, ἀντὶ τῆς πολλῆς ἐκείνης καὶ ἀκαίρου ἐλευθερίας τὴν χαλεπωτάτην τε καὶ πικροτάτην δούλων δουλείαν μεταμπισχόμενος.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη, ταῦτα οὕτω γίγνεται.

τί οὖν; εἶπον: οὐκ ἐμμελῶς ἡμῖν εἰρήσεται, ἐὰν φῶμεν ἱκανῶς διεληλυθέναι ὡς μεταβαίνει τυραννὶς ἐκ δημοκρατίας, γενομένη τε οἵα ἐστίν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ἱκανῶς, ἔφη.

Πολιτεία Θ

Σωκράτης, Αδείμαντος

[571a] αὐτὸς δὴ λοιπός, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὁ τυραννικὸς ἀνὴρ σκέψασθαι, πῶς τε μεθίσταται ἐκ δημοκρατικοῦ, γενόμενός τε ποῖός τίς ἐστιν καὶ τίνα τρόπον ζῇ, ἄθλιον ἢ μακάριον.

λοιπὸς γὰρ οὖν ἔτι οὗτος, ἔφη.

οἶσθ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὃ ποθῶ ἔτι;

τὸ ποῖον;

τὸ τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν, οἷαί τε καὶ ὅσαι εἰσίν, οὔ μοι δοκοῦμεν ἱκανῶς διῃρῆσθαι. τούτου δὴ ἐνδεῶς ἔχοντος, ἀσαφεστέρα [571b] ἔσται ἡ ζήτησις οὗ ζητοῦμεν. οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἔτ᾽ ἐν καλῷ;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν: καὶ σκόπει γε ὃ ἐν αὐταῖς βούλομαι ἰδεῖν. ἔστιν δὲ τόδε. τῶν μὴ ἀναγκαίων ἡδονῶν τε καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν δοκοῦσί τινές μοι εἶναι παράνομοι, αἳ κινδυνεύουσι μὲν ἐγγίγνεσθαι παντί, κολαζόμεναι δὲ ὑπό τε τῶν νόμων καὶ τῶν βελτιόνων ἐπιθυμιῶν μετὰ λόγου ἐνίων μὲν ἀνθρώπων ἢ παντάπασιν ἀπαλλάττεσθαι ἢ ὀλίγαι λείπεσθαι καὶ ἀσθενεῖς, [571c] τῶν δὲ ἰσχυρότεραι καὶ πλείους.

λέγεις δὲ καὶ τίνας, ἔφη, ταύτας;

τὰς περὶ τὸν ὕπνον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐγειρομένας, ὅταν τὸ μὲν ἄλλο τῆς ψυχῆς εὕδῃ, ὅσον λογιστικὸν καὶ ἥμερον καὶ ἄρχον ἐκείνου, τὸ δὲ θηριῶδές τε καὶ ἄγριον, ἢ σίτων ἢ μέθης πλησθέν, σκιρτᾷ τε καὶ ἀπωσάμενον τὸν ὕπνον ζητῇ ἰέναι καὶ ἀποπιμπλάναι τὰ αὑτοῦ ἤθη: οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι πάντα ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ τολμᾷ ποιεῖν, ὡς ἀπὸ πάσης λελυμένον τε καὶ ἀπηλλαγμένον αἰσχύνης καὶ φρονήσεως. μητρί τε γὰρ ἐπιχειρεῖν [571d] μείγνυσθαι, ὡς οἴεται, οὐδὲν ὀκνεῖ, ἄλλῳ τε ὁτῳοῦν ἀνθρώπων καὶ θεῶν καὶ θηρίων, μιαιφονεῖν τε ὁτιοῦν, βρώματός τε ἀπέχεσθαι μηδενός: καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ οὔτε ἀνοίας οὐδὲν ἐλλείπει οὔτ᾽ ἀναισχυντίας.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ὅταν δέ γε οἶμαι ὑγιεινῶς τις ἔχῃ αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ καὶ σωφρόνως, καὶ εἰς τὸν ὕπνον ἴῃ τὸ λογιστικὸν μὲν ἐγείρας ἑαυτοῦ καὶ ἑστιάσας λόγων καλῶν καὶ σκέψεων, εἰς σύννοιαν [571e] αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ἀφικόμενος, τὸ ἐπιθυμητικὸν δὲ μήτε ἐνδείᾳ δοὺς μήτε πλησμονῇ, ὅπως ἂν κοιμηθῇ καὶ μὴ παρέχῃ θόρυβον [572a] τῷ βελτίστῳ χαῖρον ἢ λυπούμενον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐᾷ αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ μόνον καθαρὸν σκοπεῖν καὶ ὀρέγεσθαί του αἰσθάνεσθαι ὃ μὴ οἶδεν, ἤ τι τῶν γεγονότων ἢ ὄντων ἢ καὶ μελλόντων, ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ τὸ θυμοειδὲς πραΰνας καὶ μή τισιν εἰς ὀργὰς ἐλθὼν κεκινημένῳ τῷ θυμῷ καθεύδῃ, ἀλλ᾽ ἡσυχάσας μὲν τὼ δύο εἴδη, τὸ τρίτον δὲ κινήσας ἐν ᾧ τὸ φρονεῖν ἐγγίγνεται, οὕτως ἀναπαύηται, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τῆς τ᾽ ἀληθείας ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ μάλιστα ἅπτεται καὶ ἥκιστα παράνομοι τότε αἱ ὄψεις [572b] φαντάζονται τῶν ἐνυπνίων.

παντελῶς μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, οἶμαι οὕτως.

ταῦτα μὲν τοίνυν ἐπὶ πλέον ἐξήχθημεν εἰπεῖν: ὃ δὲ βουλόμεθα γνῶναι τόδ᾽ ἐστίν, ὡς ἄρα δεινόν τι καὶ ἄγριον καὶ ἄνομον ἐπιθυμιῶν εἶδος ἑκάστῳ ἔνεστι, καὶ πάνυ δοκοῦσιν ἡμῶν ἐνίοις μετρίοις εἶναι: τοῦτο δὲ ἄρα ἐν τοῖς ὕπνοις γίγνεται ἔνδηλον. εἰ οὖν τι δοκῶ λέγειν καὶ συγχωρεῖς, ἄθρει.

ἀλλὰ συγχωρῶ.

τὸν τοίνυν δημοτικὸν ἀναμνήσθητι οἷον ἔφαμεν εἶναι. [572c] ἦν δέ που γεγονὼς ἐκ νέου ὑπὸ φειδωλῷ πατρὶ τεθραμμένος, τὰς χρηματιστικὰς ἐπιθυμίας τιμῶντι μόνας, τὰς δὲ μὴ ἀναγκαίους ἀλλὰ παιδιᾶς τε καὶ καλλωπισμοῦ ἕνεκα γιγνομένας ἀτιμάζοντι. ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

συγγενόμενος δὲ κομψοτέροις ἀνδράσι καὶ μεστοῖς ὧν ἄρτι διήλθομεν ἐπιθυμιῶν, ὁρμήσας εἰς ὕβριν τε πᾶσαν καὶ τὸ ἐκείνων εἶδος μίσει τῆς τοῦ πατρὸς φειδωλίας, φύσιν δὲ τῶν διαφθειρόντων βελτίω ἔχων, ἀγόμενος ἀμφοτέρωσε [572d] κατέστη εἰς μέσον ἀμφοῖν τοῖν τρόποιν, καὶ μετρίως δή, ὡς ᾤετο, ἑκάστων ἀπολαύων οὔτε ἀνελεύθερον οὔτε παράνομον βίον ζῇ, δημοτικὸς ἐξ ὀλιγαρχικοῦ γεγονώς.

ἦν γάρ, ἔφη, καὶ ἔστιν αὕτη ἡ δόξα περὶ τὸν τοιοῦτον.

θὲς τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πάλιν τοῦ τοιούτου ἤδη πρεσβυτέρου γεγονότος νέον ὑὸν ἐν τοῖς τούτου αὖ ἤθεσιν τεθραμμένον.

τίθημι.

τίθει τοίνυν καὶ τὰ αὐτὰ ἐκεῖνα περὶ αὐτὸν γιγνόμενα ἅπερ καὶ περὶ τὸν πατέρα αὐτοῦ, ἀγόμενόν τε εἰς πᾶσαν [572e] παρανομίαν, ὀνομαζομένην δ᾽ ὑπὸ τῶν ἀγόντων ἐλευθερίαν ἅπασαν, βοηθοῦντά τε ταῖς ἐν μέσῳ ταύταις ἐπιθυμίαις πατέρα τε καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους οἰκείους, τοὺς δ᾽ αὖ παραβοηθοῦντας: ὅταν δ᾽ ἐλπίσωσιν οἱ δεινοὶ μάγοι τε καὶ τυραννοποιοὶ οὗτοι μὴ ἄλλως τὸν νέον καθέξειν, ἔρωτά τινα αὐτῷ μηχανωμένους ἐμποιῆσαι προστάτην τῶν ἀργῶν καὶ τὰ [573a] ἕτοιμα διανεμομένων ἐπιθυμιῶν, ὑπόπτερον καὶ μέγαν κηφῆνά τινα-ἢ τί ἄλλο οἴει εἶναι τὸν τῶν τοιούτων ἔρωτα; -

οὐδὲν ἔγωγε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἄλλ᾽ ἢ τοῦτο.

οὐκοῦν ὅταν δὴ περὶ αὐτὸν βομβοῦσαι αἱ ἄλλαι ἐπιθυμίαι, θυμιαμάτων τε γέμουσαι καὶ μύρων καὶ στεφάνων καὶ οἴνων καὶ τῶν ἐν ταῖς τοιαύταις συνουσίαις ἡδονῶν ἀνειμένων, ἐπὶ τὸ ἔσχατον αὔξουσαί τε καὶ τρέφουσαι πόθου κέντρον ἐμποιήσωσι τῷ κηφῆνι, τότε δὴ δορυφορεῖταί τε ὑπὸ μανίας καὶ [573b] οἰστρᾷ οὗτος ὁ προστάτης τῆς ψυχῆς, καὶ ἐάν τινας ἐν αὐτῷ δόξας ἢ ἐπιθυμίας λάβῃ ποιουμένας χρηστὰς καὶ ἔτι ἐπαισχυνομένας, ἀποκτείνει τε καὶ ἔξω ὠθεῖ παρ᾽ αὑτοῦ, ἕως ἂν καθήρῃ σωφροσύνης, μανίας δὲ πληρώσῃ ἐπακτοῦ.

παντελῶς, ἔφη, τυραννικοῦ ἀνδρὸς λέγεις γένεσιν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ τὸ πάλαι διὰ τὸ τοιοῦτον τύραννος ὁ Ἔρως λέγεται;

κινδυνεύει, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ὦ φίλε, εἶπον, καὶ μεθυσθεὶς ἀνὴρ τυραννικόν τι [573c] φρόνημα ἴσχει;

ἴσχει γάρ.

καὶ μὴν ὅ γε μαινόμενος καὶ ὑποκεκινηκὼς οὐ μόνον ἀνθρώπων ἀλλὰ καὶ θεῶν ἐπιχειρεῖ τε καὶ ἐλπίζει δυνατὸς εἶναι ἄρχειν.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη.

τυραννικὸς δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ δαιμόνιε, ἀνὴρ ἀκριβῶς γίγνεται, ὅταν ἢ φύσει ἢ ἐπιτηδεύμασιν ἢ ἀμφοτέροις μεθυστικός τε καὶ ἐρωτικὸς καὶ μελαγχολικὸς γένηται.

παντελῶς μὲν οὖν.

γίγνεται μέν, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὕτω καὶ τοιοῦτος ἁνήρ: ζῇ δὲ δὴ πῶς; [573d]

τὸ τῶν παιζόντων, ἔφη, τοῦτο σὺ καὶ ἐμοὶ ἐρεῖς.

λέγω δή, ἔφην. οἶμαι γὰρ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἑορταὶ γίγνονται παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς καὶ κῶμοι καὶ θάλειαι καὶ ἑταῖραι καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα, ὧν ἂν Ἔρως τύραννος ἔνδον οἰκῶν διακυβερνᾷ τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἅπαντα.

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ πολλαὶ καὶ δειναὶ παραβλαστάνουσιν ἐπιθυμίαι ἡμέρας τε καὶ νυκτὸς ἑκάστης, πολλῶν δεόμεναι;

πολλαὶ μέντοι.

ταχὺ ἄρα ἀναλίσκονται ἐάν τινες ὦσι πρόσοδοι.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [573e]

καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο δὴ δανεισμοὶ καὶ τῆς οὐσίας παραιρέσεις.

τί μήν;

ὅταν δὲ δὴ πάντ᾽ ἐπιλείπῃ, ἆρα οὐκ ἀνάγκη μὲν τὰς ἐπιθυμίας βοᾶν πυκνάς τε καὶ σφοδρὰς ἐννενεοττευμένας, τοὺς δ᾽ ὥσπερ ὑπὸ κέντρων ἐλαυνομένους τῶν τε ἄλλων ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ διαφερόντως ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ τοῦ Ἔρωτος, πάσαις ταῖς ἄλλαις ὥσπερ δορυφόροις ἡγουμένου, οἰστρᾶν καὶ σκοπεῖν τίς τι ἔχει, ὃν δυνατὸν ἀφελέσθαι ἀπατήσαντα ἢ [574a] βιασάμενον;

σφόδρα γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἀναγκαῖον δὴ πανταχόθεν φέρειν, ἢ μεγάλαις ὠδῖσί τε καὶ ὀδύναις συνέχεσθαι.

ἀναγκαῖον.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὥσπερ αἱ ἐν αὐτῷ ἡδοναὶ ἐπιγιγνόμεναι τῶν ἀρχαίων πλέον εἶχον καὶ τὰ ἐκείνων ἀφῃροῦντο, οὕτω καὶ αὐτὸς ἀξιώσει νεώτερος ὢν πατρός τε καὶ μητρὸς πλέον ἔχειν, καὶ ἀφαιρεῖσθαι, ἐὰν τὸ αὑτοῦ μέρος ἀναλώσῃ, ἀπονειμάμενος τῶν πατρῴων;

ἀλλὰ τί μήν; ἔφη. [574b]

ἂν δὲ δὴ αὐτῷ μὴ ἐπιτρέπωσιν, ἆρ᾽ οὐ τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ἐπιχειροῖ ἂν κλέπτειν καὶ ἀπατᾶν τοὺς γονέας;

πάντως.

ὁπότε δὲ μὴ δύναιτο, ἁρπάζοι ἂν καὶ βιάζοιτο μετὰ τοῦτο;

οἶμαι, ἔφη.

ἀντεχομένων δὴ καὶ μαχομένων, ὦ θαυμάσιε, γέροντός τε καὶ γραός, ἆρ᾽ εὐλαβηθείη ἂν καὶ φείσαιτο μή τι δρᾶσαι τῶν τυραννικῶν;

οὐ πάνυ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἔγωγε θαρρῶ περὶ τῶν γονέων τοῦ τοιούτου.

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Ἀδείμαντε, πρὸς Διός, ἕνεκα νεωστὶ φίλης καὶ οὐκ ἀναγκαίας ἑταίρας γεγονυίας τὴν πάλαι φίλην καὶ ἀναγκαίαν [574c] μητέρα, ἢ ἕνεκα ὡραίου νεωστὶ φίλου γεγονότος οὐκ ἀναγκαίου τὸν ἄωρόν τε καὶ ἀναγκαῖον πρεσβύτην πατέρα καὶ τῶν φίλων ἀρχαιότατον δοκεῖ ἄν σοι ὁ τοιοῦτος πληγαῖς τε δοῦναι καὶ καταδουλώσασθαι ἂν αὐτοὺς ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνοις, εἰ εἰς τὴν αὐτὴν οἰκίαν ἀγάγοιτο;

ναὶ μὰ Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

σφόδρα γε μακάριον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔοικεν εἶναι τὸ τυραννικὸν ὑὸν τεκεῖν.

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη. [574d]

τί δ᾽, ὅταν δὴ τὰ πατρὸς καὶ μητρὸς ἐπιλείπῃ τὸν τοιοῦτον, πολὺ δὲ ἤδη συνειλεγμένον ἐν αὐτῷ ᾖ τὸ τῶν ἡδονῶν σμῆνος, οὐ πρῶτον μὲν οἰκίας τινὸς ἐφάψεται τοίχου ἤ τινος ὀψὲ νύκτωρ ἰόντος τοῦ ἱματίου, μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα ἱερόν τι νεωκορήσει; καὶ ἐν τούτοις δὴ πᾶσιν, ἃς πάλαι εἶχεν δόξας ἐκ παιδὸς περὶ καλῶν τε καὶ αἰσχρῶν, τὰς δικαίας ποιουμένας, αἱ νεωστὶ ἐκ δουλείας λελυμέναι, δορυφοροῦσαι τὸν ἔρωτα, κρατήσουσι μετ᾽ ἐκείνου, αἳ πρότερον μὲν ὄναρ [574e] ἐλύοντο ἐν ὕπνῳ, ὅτε ἦν αὐτὸς ἔτι ὑπὸ νόμοις τε καὶ πατρὶ δημοκρατούμενος ἐν ἑαυτῷ: τυραννευθεὶς δὲ ὑπὸ Ἔρωτος, οἷος ὀλιγάκις ἐγίγνετο ὄναρ, ὕπαρ τοιοῦτος ἀεὶ γενόμενος, οὔτε τινὸς φόνου δεινοῦ ἀφέξεται οὔτε βρώματος οὔτ᾽ ἔργου, [575a] ἀλλὰ τυραννικῶς ἐν αὐτῷ ὁ Ἔρως ἐν πάσῃ ἀναρχίᾳ καὶ ἀνομίᾳ ζῶν, ἅτε αὐτὸς ὢν μόναρχος, τὸν ἔχοντά τε αὐτὸν ὥσπερ πόλιν ἄξει ἐπὶ πᾶσαν τόλμαν, ὅθεν αὑτόν τε καὶ τὸν περὶ αὑτὸν θόρυβον θρέψει, τὸν μὲν ἔξωθεν εἰσεληλυθότα ἀπὸ κακῆς ὁμιλίας, τὸν δ᾽ ἔνδοθεν ὑπὸ τῶν αὐτῶν τρόπων καὶ ἑαυτοῦ ἀνεθέντα καὶ ἐλευθερωθέντα: ἢ οὐχ οὗτος ὁ βίος τοῦ τοιούτου;

οὗτος μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

καὶ ἂν μέν γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὀλίγοι οἱ τοιοῦτοι ἐν πόλει [575b] ὦσι καὶ τὸ ἄλλο πλῆθος σωφρονῇ, ἐξελθόντες ἄλλον τινὰ δορυφοροῦσι τύραννον ἢ μισθοῦ ἐπικουροῦσιν, ἐάν που πόλεμος ᾖ: ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐν εἰρήνῃ τε καὶ ἡσυχίᾳ γένωνται, αὐτοῦ δὴ ἐν τῇ πόλει κακὰ δρῶσι σμικρὰ πολλά.

τὰ ποῖα δὴ λέγεις;

οἷα κλέπτουσι, τοιχωρυχοῦσι, βαλλαντιοτομοῦσι, λωποδυτοῦσιν, ἱεροσυλοῦσιν, ἀνδραποδίζονται: ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε συκοφαντοῦσιν, ἐὰν δυνατοὶ ὦσι λέγειν, καὶ ψευδομαρτυροῦσι καὶ δωροδοκοῦσιν. [575c]

σμικρά γ᾽, ἔφη, κακὰ λέγεις, ἐὰν ὀλίγοι ὦσιν οἱ τοιοῦτοι.

τὰ γὰρ σμικρά, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς τὰ μεγάλα σμικρά ἐστιν, καὶ ταῦτα δὴ πάντα πρὸς τύραννον πονηρίᾳ τε καὶ ἀθλιότητι πόλεως, τὸ λεγόμενον, οὐδ᾽ ἵκταρ βάλλει. ὅταν γὰρ δὴ πολλοὶ ἐν πόλει γένωνται οἱ τοιοῦτοι καὶ ἄλλοι οἱ συνεπόμενοι αὐτοῖς, καὶ αἴσθωνται ἑαυτῶν τὸ πλῆθος, τότε οὗτοί εἰσιν οἱ τὸν τύραννον γεννῶντες μετὰ δήμου ἀνοίας ἐκεῖνον, ὃς ἂν αὐτῶν μάλιστα αὐτὸς ἐν αὑτῷ μέγιστον καὶ πλεῖστον [575d] ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ τύραννον ἔχῃ.

εἰκότως γ᾽, ἔφη: τυραννικώτατος γὰρ ἂν εἴη.

οὐκοῦν ἐὰν μὲν ἑκόντες ὑπείκωσιν: ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ἐπιτρέπῃ ἡ πόλις, ὥσπερ τότε μητέρα καὶ πατέρα ἐκόλαζεν, οὕτω πάλιν τὴν πατρίδα, ἐὰν οἷός τ᾽ ᾖ, κολάσεται ἐπεισαγόμενος νέους ἑταίρους, καὶ ὑπὸ τούτοις δὴ δουλεύουσαν τὴν πάλαι φίλην μητρίδα τε, Κρῆτές φασι, καὶ πατρίδα ἕξει τε καὶ θρέψει. καὶ τοῦτο δὴ τὸ τέλος ἂν εἴη τῆς ἐπιθυμίας τοῦ τοιούτου ἀνδρός. [575e]

τοῦτο, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, παντάπασί γε.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὗτοί γε τοιοίδε γίγνονται ἰδίᾳ καὶ πρὶν ἄρχειν: πρῶτον μὲν οἷς ἂν συνῶσιν, ἢ κόλαξιν ἑαυτῶν συνόντες καὶ πᾶν ἑτοίμοις ὑπηρετεῖν, ἢ ἐάν τού τι δέωνται, [576a] αὐτοὶ ὑποπεσόντες, πάντα σχήματα τολμῶντες ποιεῖν ὡς οἰκεῖοι, διαπραξάμενοι δὲ ἀλλότριοι;

καὶ σφόδρα γε.

ἐν παντὶ ἄρα τῷ βίῳ ζῶσι φίλοι μὲν οὐδέποτε οὐδενί, ἀεὶ δέ του δεσπόζοντες ἢ δουλεύοντες ἄλλῳ, ἐλευθερίας δὲ καὶ φιλίας ἀληθοῦς τυραννικὴ φύσις ἀεὶ ἄγευστος.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἂν τοὺς τοιούτους ἀπίστους καλοῖμεν;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

καὶ μὴν ἀδίκους γε ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα, εἴπερ ὀρθῶς [576b] ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ὡμολογήσαμεν περὶ δικαιοσύνης οἷόν ἐστιν.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ὀρθῶς γε.

κεφαλαιωσώμεθα τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸν κάκιστον. ἔστιν δέ που, οἷον ὄναρ διήλθομεν, ὃς ἂν ὕπαρ τοιοῦτος ᾖ.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν οὗτος γίγνεται ὃς ἂν τυραννικώτατος φύσει ὢν μοναρχήσῃ, καὶ ὅσῳ ἂν πλείω χρόνον ἐν τυραννίδι βιῷ, τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον τοιοῦτος.

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη διαδεξάμενος τὸν λόγον ὁ Γλαύκων.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὃς ἂν φαίνηται πονηρότατος, καὶ [576c] ἀθλιώτατος φανήσεται; καὶ ὃς ἂν πλεῖστον χρόνον καὶ μάλιστα τυραννεύσῃ, μάλιστά τε καὶ πλεῖστον χρόνον τοιοῦτος γεγονὼς τῇ ἀληθείᾳ; τοῖς δὲ πολλοῖς πολλὰ καὶ δοκεῖ.

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ταῦτα γοῦν οὕτως ἔχειν.

ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅ γε τυραννικὸς κατὰ τὴν τυραννουμένην πόλιν ἂν εἴη ὁμοιότητι, δημοτικὸς δὲ κατὰ δημοκρατουμένην, καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι οὕτω;

τί μήν;

οὐκοῦν, ὅτι πόλις πρὸς πόλιν ἀρετῇ καὶ εὐδαιμονίᾳ, τοῦτο καὶ ἀνὴρ πρὸς ἄνδρα; [576d]

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τί οὖν ἀρετῇ τυραννουμένη πόλις πρὸς βασιλευομένην οἵαν τὸ πρῶτον διήλθομεν;

πᾶν τοὐναντίον, ἔφη: ἡ μὲν γὰρ ἀρίστη, ἡ δὲ κακίστη.

οὐκ ἐρήσομαι, εἶπον, ὁποτέραν λέγεις: δῆλον γάρ. ἀλλ᾽ εὐδαιμονίας τε αὖ καὶ ἀθλιότητος ὡσαύτως ἢ ἄλλως κρίνεις; καὶ μὴ ἐκπληττώμεθα πρὸς τὸν τύραννον ἕνα ὄντα βλέποντες, μηδ᾽ εἴ τινες ὀλίγοι περὶ ἐκεῖνον, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς χρὴ ὅλην [576e] τὴν πόλιν εἰσελθόντας θεάσασθαι, καταδύντες εἰς ἅπασαν καὶ ἰδόντες, οὕτω δόξαν ἀποφαινώμεθα.

ἀλλ᾽ ὀρθῶς, ἔφη, προκαλῇ: καὶ δῆλον παντὶ ὅτι τυραννουμένης μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν ἀθλιωτέρα, βασιλευομένης δὲ οὐκ εὐδαιμονεστέρα.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ περὶ τῶν ἀνδρῶν τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα [577a] προκαλούμενος ὀρθῶς ἂν προκαλοίμην, ἀξιῶν κρίνειν περὶ αὐτῶν ἐκεῖνον, ὃς δύναται τῇ διανοίᾳ εἰς ἀνδρὸς ἦθος ἐνδὺς διιδεῖν καὶ μὴ καθάπερ παῖς ἔξωθεν ὁρῶν ἐκπλήττεται ὑπὸ τῆς τῶν τυραννικῶν προστάσεως ἣν πρὸς τοὺς ἔξω σχηματίζονται, ἀλλ᾽ ἱκανῶς διορᾷ; εἰ οὖν οἰοίμην δεῖν ἐκείνου πάντας ἡμᾶς ἀκούειν, τοῦ δυνατοῦ μὲν κρῖναι, συνῳκηκότος δὲ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ καὶ παραγεγονότος ἔν τε ταῖς κατ᾽ οἰκίαν πράξεσιν, ὡς πρὸς ἑκάστους τοὺς οἰκείους ἔχει, ἐν οἷς [577b] μάλιστα γυμνὸς ἂν ὀφθείη τῆς τραγικῆς σκευῆς, καὶ ἐν αὖ τοῖς δημοσίοις κινδύνοις, καὶ ταῦτα πάντα ἰδόντα κελεύοιμεν ἐξαγγέλλειν πῶς ἔχει εὐδαιμονίας καὶ ἀθλιότητος ὁ τύραννος πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους;

ὀρθότατ᾽ ἄν, ἔφη, καὶ ταῦτα προκαλοῖο.

βούλει οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, προσποιησώμεθα ἡμεῖς εἶναι τῶν δυνατῶν ἂν κρῖναι καὶ ἤδη ἐντυχόντων τοιούτοις, ἵνα ἔχωμεν ὅστις ἀποκρινεῖται ἃ ἐρωτῶμεν;

πάνυ γε. [577c]

ἴθι δή μοι, ἔφην, ὧδε σκόπει. τὴν ὁμοιότητα ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενος τῆς τε πόλεως καὶ τοῦ ἀνδρός, οὕτω καθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἐν μέρει ἀθρῶν, τὰ παθήματα ἑκατέρου λέγε.

τὰ ποῖα; ἔφη.

πρῶτον μέν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὡς πόλιν εἰπεῖν, ἐλευθέραν ἢ δούλην τὴν τυραννουμένην ἐρεῖς;

ὡς οἷόν τ᾽, ἔφη, μάλιστα δούλην.

καὶ μὴν ὁρᾷς γε ἐν αὐτῇ δεσπότας καὶ ἐλευθέρους.

ὁρῶ, ἔφη, σμικρόν γέ τι τοῦτο: τὸ δὲ ὅλον, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν, ἐν αὐτῇ καὶ τὸ ἐπιεικέστατον ἀτίμως τε καὶ ἀθλίως δοῦλον. [577d]

εἰ οὖν, εἶπον, ὅμοιος ἀνὴρ τῇ πόλει, οὐ καὶ ἐν ἐκείνῳ ἀνάγκη τὴν αὐτὴν τάξιν ἐνεῖναι, καὶ πολλῆς μὲν δουλείας τε καὶ ἀνελευθερίας γέμειν τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτοῦ, καὶ ταῦτα αὐτῆς τὰ μέρη δουλεύειν, ἅπερ ἦν ἐπιεικέστατα, μικρὸν δὲ καὶ τὸ μοχθηρότατον καὶ μανικώτατον δεσπόζειν;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; δούλην ἢ ἐλευθέραν τὴν τοιαύτην φήσεις εἶναι ψυχήν;

δούλην δήπου ἔγωγε.

οὐκοῦν ἥ γε αὖ δούλη καὶ τυραννουμένη πόλις ἥκιστα ποιεῖ ἃ βούλεται;

πολύ γε. [577e]

καὶ ἡ τυραννουμένη ἄρα ψυχὴ ἥκιστα ποιήσει ἃ ἂν βουληθῇ, ὡς περὶ ὅλης εἰπεῖν ψυχῆς: ὑπὸ δὲ οἴστρου ἀεὶ ἑλκομένη βίᾳ ταραχῆς καὶ μεταμελείας μεστὴ ἔσται.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

πλουσίαν δὲ ἢ πενομένην ἀνάγκη τὴν τυραννουμένην πόλιν εἶναι;

πενομένην. [578a]

καὶ ψυχὴν ἄρα τυραννικὴν πενιχρὰν καὶ ἄπληστον ἀνάγκη ἀεὶ εἶναι.

οὕτως, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

τί δέ; φόβου γέμειν ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη τήν τε τοιαύτην πόλιν τόν τε τοιοῦτον ἄνδρα;

πολλή γε.

ὀδυρμούς τε καὶ στεναγμοὺς καὶ θρήνους καὶ ἀλγηδόνας οἴει ἔν τινι ἄλλῃ πλείους εὑρήσειν;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἐν ἀνδρὶ δὲ ἡγῇ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐν ἄλλῳ τινὶ πλείω εἶναι ἢ ἐν τῷ μαινομένῳ ὑπὸ ἐπιθυμιῶν τε καὶ ἐρώτων τούτῳ τῷ τυραννικῷ;

πῶς γὰρ ἄν; ἔφη. [578b]

εἰς πάντα δὴ οἶμαι ταῦτά τε καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα ἀποβλέψας τήν τε πόλιν τῶν πόλεων ἀθλιωτάτην ἔκρινας-

οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς; ἔφη.

καὶ μάλα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. ἀλλὰ περὶ τοῦ ἀνδρὸς αὖ τοῦ τυραννικοῦ τί λέγεις εἰς ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ἀποβλέπων;

μακρῷ, ἔφη, ἀθλιώτατον εἶναι τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων.

τοῦτο, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐκέτ᾽ ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

πῶς; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

οὔπω, ἔφην, οἶμαι, οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ τοιοῦτος μάλιστα.

ἀλλὰ τίς μήν;

ὅδε ἴσως σοι ἔτι δόξει εἶναι τούτου ἀθλιώτερος.

ποῖος; [578c]

ὃς ἄν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τυραννικὸς ὢν μὴ ἰδιώτην βίον καταβιῷ, ἀλλὰ δυστυχὴς ᾖ καὶ αὐτῷ ὑπό τινος συμφορᾶς ἐκπορισθῇ ὥστε τυράννῳ γενέσθαι.

τεκμαίρομαί σε, ἔφη, ἐκ τῶν προειρημένων ἀληθῆ λέγειν.

ναί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ οἴεσθαι χρὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἀλλ᾽ εὖ μάλα τῷ τοιούτῳ λόγῳ σκοπεῖν: περὶ γάρ τοι τοῦ μεγίστου ἡ σκέψις, ἀγαθοῦ τε βίου καὶ κακοῦ.

ὀρθότατα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

σκόπει δὴ εἰ ἄρα τι λέγω. δοκεῖ γάρ μοι δεῖν ἐννοῆσαι [578d] ἐκ τῶνδε περὶ αὐτοῦ σκοποῦντας.

ἐκ τίνων;

ἐξ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου τῶν ἰδιωτῶν, ὅσοι πλούσιοι ἐν πόλεσιν ἀνδράποδα πολλὰ κέκτηνται. οὗτοι γὰρ τοῦτό γε προσόμοιον ἔχουσιν τοῖς τυράννοις, τὸ πολλῶν ἄρχειν: διαφέρει δὲ τὸ ἐκείνου πλῆθος.

διαφέρει γάρ.

οἶσθ᾽ οὖν ὅτι οὗτοι ἀδεῶς ἔχουσιν καὶ οὐ φοβοῦνται τοὺς οἰκέτας;

τί γὰρ ἂν φοβοῖντο;

οὐδέν, εἶπον: ἀλλὰ τὸ αἴτιον ἐννοεῖς;

ναί, ὅτι γε πᾶσα ἡ πόλις ἑνὶ ἑκάστῳ βοηθεῖ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν. [578e]

καλῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις. τί δέ; εἴ τις θεῶν ἄνδρα ἕνα, ὅτῳ ἔστιν ἀνδράποδα πεντήκοντα ἢ καὶ πλείω, ἄρας ἐκ τῆς πόλεως αὐτόν τε καὶ γυναῖκα καὶ παῖδας θείη εἰς ἐρημίαν μετὰ τῆς ἄλλης οὐσίας τε καὶ τῶν οἰκετῶν, ὅπου αὐτῷ μηδεὶς τῶν ἐλευθέρων μέλλοι βοηθήσειν, ἐν ποίῳ ἄν τινι καὶ ὁπόσῳ φόβῳ οἴει γενέσθαι αὐτὸν περί τε αὑτοῦ καὶ παίδων καὶ γυναικός, μὴ ἀπόλοιντο ὑπὸ τῶν οἰκετῶν;

ἐν παντί, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἔγωγε. [579a]

οὐκοῦν ἀναγκάζοιτο ἄν τινας ἤδη θωπεύειν αὐτῶν τῶν δούλων καὶ ὑπισχνεῖσθαι πολλὰ καὶ ἐλευθεροῦν οὐδὲν δεόμενος, καὶ κόλαξ αὐτὸς ἂν θεραπόντων ἀναφανείη;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, αὐτῷ, ἢ ἀπολωλέναι.

τί δ᾽, εἰ καὶ ἄλλους, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὁ θεὸς κύκλῳ κατοικίσειεν γείτονας πολλοὺς αὐτῷ, οἳ μὴ ἀνέχοιντο εἴ τις ἄλλος ἄλλου δεσπόζειν ἀξιοῖ, ἀλλ᾽ εἴ πού τινα τοιοῦτον λαμβάνοιεν, ταῖς ἐσχάταις τιμωροῖντο τιμωρίαις; [579b]

ἔτι ἄν, ἔφη, οἶμαι, μᾶλλον ἐν παντὶ κακοῦ εἴη, κύκλῳ φρουρούμενος ὑπὸ πάντων πολεμίων.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἐν τοιούτῳ μὲν δεσμωτηρίῳ δέδεται ὁ τύραννος, φύσει ὢν οἷον διεληλύθαμεν, πολλῶν καὶ παντοδαπῶν φόβων καὶ ἐρώτων μεστός: λίχνῳ δὲ ὄντι αὐτῷ τὴν ψυχὴν μόνῳ τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει οὔτε ἀποδημῆσαι ἔξεστιν οὐδαμόσε, οὔτε θεωρῆσαι ὅσων δὴ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἐλεύθεροι ἐπιθυμηταί εἰσιν, καταδεδυκὼς δὲ ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ τὰ πολλὰ ὡς γυνὴ ζῇ, [579c] φθονῶν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πολίταις, ἐάν τις ἔξω ἀποδημῇ καί τι ἀγαθὸν ὁρᾷ;

παντάπασιν μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τοῖς τοιούτοις κακοῖς πλείω καρποῦται ἀνὴρ ὃς ἂν κακῶς ἐν ἑαυτῷ πολιτευόμενος, ὃν νυνδὴ σὺ ἀθλιώτατον ἔκρινας, τὸν τυραννικόν, ὡς μὴ ἰδιώτης καταβιῷ, ἀλλὰ ἀναγκασθῇ ὑπό τινος τύχης τυραννεῦσαι καὶ ἑαυτοῦ ὢν ἀκράτωρ ἄλλων ἐπιχειρήσῃ ἄρχειν, ὥσπερ εἴ τις κάμνοντι σώματι καὶ ἀκράτορι ἑαυτοῦ μὴ ἰδιωτεύων ἀλλ᾽ ἀγωνιζόμενος [579d] πρὸς ἄλλα σώματα καὶ μαχόμενος ἀναγκάζοιτο διάγειν τὸν βίον.

παντάπασιν, ἔφη, ὁμοιότατά τε καὶ ἀληθέστατα λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων, παντελῶς τὸ πάθος ἄθλιον, καὶ τοῦ ὑπὸ σοῦ κριθέντος χαλεπώτατα ζῆν χαλεπώτερον ἔτι ζῇ ὁ τυραννῶν;

κομιδῇ γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἔστιν ἄρα τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, κἂν εἰ μή τῳ δοκεῖ, ὁ τῷ ὄντι τύραννος τῷ ὄντι δοῦλος τὰς μεγίστας θωπείας καὶ δουλείας [579e] καὶ κόλαξ τῶν πονηροτάτων, καὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν ἀποπιμπλάς, ἀλλὰ πλείστων ἐπιδεέστατος καὶ πένης τῇ ἀληθείᾳ φαίνεται, ἐάν τις ὅλην ψυχὴν ἐπίστηται θεάσασθαι, καὶ φόβου γέμων διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου, σφαδᾳσμῶν τε καὶ ὀδυνῶν πλήρης, εἴπερ τῇ τῆς πόλεως διαθέσει ἧς ἄρχει ἔοικεν. ἔοικεν δέ: ἦ γάρ;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη. [580a]

οὐκοῦν καὶ πρὸς τούτοις ἔτι ἀποδώσομεν τῷ ἀνδρὶ καὶ ἃ τὸ πρότερον εἴπομεν, ὅτι ἀνάγκη καὶ εἶναι καὶ ἔτι μᾶλλον γίγνεσθαι αὐτῷ ἢ πρότερον διὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν φθονερῷ, ἀπίστῳ, ἀδίκῳ, ἀφίλῳ, ἀνοσίῳ καὶ πάσης κακίας πανδοκεῖ τε καὶ τροφεῖ, καὶ ἐξ ἁπάντων τούτων μάλιστα μὲν αὐτῷ δυστυχεῖ εἶναι, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ τοὺς πλησίον αὑτῷ τοιούτους ἀπεργάζεσθαι.

οὐδείς σοι, ἔφη, τῶν νοῦν ἐχόντων ἀντερεῖ.

ἴθι δή μοι, ἔφην ἐγώ, νῦν ἤδη ὥσπερ ὁ διὰ πάντων [580b] κριτὴς ἀποφαίνεται, καὶ σὺ οὕτω, τίς πρῶτος κατὰ τὴν σὴν δόξαν εὐδαιμονίᾳ καὶ τίς δεύτερος, καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἑξῆς πέντε ὄντας κρῖνε, βασιλικόν, τιμοκρατικόν, ὀλιγαρχικόν, δημοκρατικόν, τυραννικόν.

ἀλλὰ ῥᾳδία, ἔφη, ἡ κρίσις. καθάπερ γὰρ εἰσῆλθον ἔγωγε ὥσπερ χοροὺς κρίνω ἀρετῇ καὶ κακίᾳ καὶ εὐδαιμονίᾳ καὶ τῷ ἐναντίῳ.

μισθωσώμεθα οὖν κήρυκα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἢ αὐτὸς ἀνείπω ὅτι ὁ Ἀρίστωνος ὑὸς τὸν ἄριστόν τε καὶ δικαιότατον εὐδαιμονέστατον [580c] ἔκρινε, τοῦτον δ᾽ εἶναι τὸν βασιλικώτατον καὶ βασιλεύοντα αὑτοῦ, τὸν δὲ κάκιστόν τε καὶ ἀδικώτατον ἀθλιώτατον, τοῦτον δὲ αὖ τυγχάνειν ὄντα ὃς ἂν τυραννικώτατος ὢν ἑαυτοῦ τε ὅτι μάλιστα τυραννῇ καὶ τῆς πόλεως;

ἀνειρήσθω σοι, ἔφη.

ἦ οὖν προσαναγορεύω, εἶπον, ἐάντε λανθάνωσιν τοιοῦτοι ὄντες ἐάντε μὴ πάντας ἀνθρώπους τε καὶ θεούς;

προσαναγόρευε, ἔφη.

εἶεν δή, εἶπον: αὕτη μὲν ἡμῖν ἡ ἀπόδειξις μία ἂν εἴη, [580d] δευτέραν δὲ ἰδὲ τήνδε, ἐάν τι δόξῃ εἶναι.

τίς αὕτη;

ἐπειδή, ὥσπερ πόλις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, διῄρηται κατὰ τρία εἴδη, οὕτω καὶ ψυχὴ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου τριχῇ, [λογιστικὸν] δέξεται, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, καὶ ἑτέραν ἀπόδειξιν.

τίνα ταύτην;

τήνδε. τριῶν ὄντων τριτταὶ καὶ ἡδοναί μοι φαίνονται, ἑνὸς ἑκάστου μία ἰδία: ἐπιθυμίαι τε ὡσαύτως καὶ ἀρχαί.

πῶς λέγεις; ἔφη.

τὸ μέν, φαμέν, ἦν ᾧ μανθάνει ἄνθρωπος, τὸ δὲ ᾧ θυμοῦται, τὸ δὲ τρίτον διὰ πολυειδίαν ἑνὶ οὐκ ἔσχομεν ὀνόματι προσειπεῖν [580e] ἰδίῳ αὐτοῦ, ἀλλὰ ὃ μέγιστον καὶ ἰσχυρότατον εἶχεν ἐν αὑτῷ, τούτῳ ἐπωνομάσαμεν: ἐπιθυμητικὸν γὰρ αὐτὸ κεκλήκαμεν διὰ σφοδρότητα τῶν τε περὶ τὴν ἐδωδὴν ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ πόσιν καὶ ἀφροδίσια καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα τούτοις ἀκόλουθα, καὶ φιλοχρήματον δή, ὅτι διὰ χρημάτων μάλιστα ἀποτελοῦνται [581a] αἱ τοιαῦται ἐπιθυμίαι.

καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ τὴν ἡδονὴν αὐτοῦ καὶ φιλίαν εἰ φαῖμεν εἶναι τοῦ κέρδους, μάλιστ᾽ ἂν εἰς ἓν κεφάλαιον ἀπερειδοίμεθα τῷ λόγῳ, ὥστε τι ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς δηλοῦν, ὁπότε τοῦτο τῆς ψυχῆς τὸ μέρος λέγοιμεν, καὶ καλοῦντες αὐτὸ φιλοχρήματον καὶ φιλοκερδὲς ὀρθῶς ἂν καλοῖμεν;

ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ, ἔφη.

τί δέ; τὸ θυμοειδὲς οὐ πρὸς τὸ κρατεῖν μέντοι φαμὲν καὶ νικᾶν καὶ εὐδοκιμεῖν ἀεὶ ὅλον ὡρμῆσθαι; [581b]

καὶ μάλα.

εἰ οὖν φιλόνικον αὐτὸ καὶ φιλότιμον προσαγορεύοιμεν, ἦ ἐμμελῶς ἂν ἔχοι;

ἐμμελέστατα μὲν οὖν.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ᾧ γε μανθάνομεν, παντὶ δῆλον ὅτι πρὸς τὸ εἰδέναι τὴν ἀλήθειαν ὅπῃ ἔχει πᾶν ἀεὶ τέταται, καὶ χρημάτων τε καὶ δόξης ἥκιστα τούτων τούτῳ μέλει.

πολύ γε.

φιλομαθὲς δὴ καὶ φιλόσοφον καλοῦντες αὐτὸ κατὰ τρόπον ἂν καλοῖμεν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ἄρχει ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς τῶν μὲν [581c] τοῦτο, τῶν δὲ τὸ ἕτερον ἐκείνων, ὁπότερον ἂν τύχῃ;

οὕτως, ἔφη.

διὰ ταῦτα δὴ καὶ ἀνθρώπων λέγομεν τὰ πρῶτα τριττὰ γένη εἶναι, φιλόσοφον, φιλόνικον, φιλοκερδές;

κομιδῇ γε.

καὶ ἡδονῶν δὴ τρία εἴδη, ὑποκείμενον ἓν ἑκάστῳ τούτων;

πάνυ γε.

οἶσθ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι εἰ ‘θέλοις τρεῖς τοιούτους ἀνθρώπους ἐν μέρει ἕκαστον ἀνερωτᾶν τίς τούτων τῶν βίων ἥδιστος, τὸν ἑαυτοῦ ἕκαστος μάλιστα ἐγκωμιάσεται; ὅ τε [581d] χρηματιστικὸς πρὸς τὸ κερδαίνειν τὴν τοῦ τιμᾶσθαι ἡδονὴν ἢ τὴν τοῦ μανθάνειν οὐδενὸς ἀξίαν φήσει εἶναι, εἰ μὴ εἴ τι αὐτῶν ἀργύριον ποιεῖ; ἀληθῆ, ἔφη.

τί δὲ ὁ φιλότιμος; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: οὐ τὴν μὲν ἀπὸ τῶν χρημάτων ἡδονὴν φορτικήν τινα ἡγεῖται, καὶ αὖ τὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ μανθάνειν, ὅτι μὴ μάθημα τιμὴν φέρει, καπνὸν καὶ φλυαρίαν;

οὕτως, ἔφη, ἔχει.

τὸν δὲ φιλόσοφον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τί οἰώμεθα τὰς ἄλλας [581e] ἡδονὰς νομίζειν πρὸς τὴν τοῦ εἰδέναι τἀληθὲς ὅπῃ ἔχει καὶ ἐν τοιούτῳ τινὶ ἀεὶ εἶναι μανθάνοντα; [τῆς ἡδονῆς] οὐ πάνυ πόρρω; καὶ καλεῖν τῷ ὄντι ἀναγκαίας, ὡς οὐδὲν τῶν ἄλλων δεόμενον, εἰ μὴ ἀνάγκη ἦν;

εὖ, ἔφη, δεῖ εἰδέναι;

ὅτε δὴ οὖν, εἶπον, ἀμφισβητοῦνται ἑκάστου τοῦ εἴδους αἱ ἡδοναὶ καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ βίος, μὴ ὅτι πρὸς τὸ κάλλιον καὶ αἴσχιον ζῆν μηδὲ τὸ χεῖρον καὶ ἄμεινον, ἀλλὰ πρὸς αὐτὸ τὸ [582a] ἥδιον καὶ ἀλυπότερον, πῶς ἂν εἰδεῖμεν τίς αὐτῶν ἀληθέστατα λέγει;

οὐ πάνυ, ἔφη, ἔγωγε ἔχω εἰπεῖν.

ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε σκόπει: τίνι χρὴ κρίνεσθαι τὰ μέλλοντα καλῶς κριθήσεσθαι; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐμπειρίᾳ τε καὶ φρονήσει καὶ λόγῳ; ἢ τούτων ἔχοι ἄν τις βέλτιον κριτήριον;

καὶ πῶς ἄν; ἔφη.

σκόπει δή: τριῶν ὄντων τῶν ἀνδρῶν τίς ἐμπειρότατος πασῶν ὧν εἴπομεν ἡδονῶν; πότερον ὁ φιλοκερδής, μανθάνων αὐτὴν τὴν ἀλήθειαν οἷόν ἐστιν, ἐμπειρότερος δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι τῆς [582b] ἀπὸ τοῦ εἰδέναι ἡδονῆς, ἢ ὁ φιλόσοφος τῆς ἀπὸ τοῦ κερδαίνειν;

πολύ, ἔφη, διαφέρει. τῷ μὲν γὰρ ἀνάγκη γεύεσθαι τῶν ἑτέρων ἐκ παιδὸς ἀρξαμένῳ: τῷ δὲ φιλοκερδεῖ, ὅπῃ πέφυκε τὰ ὄντα μανθάνοντι, τῆς ἡδονῆς ταύτης, ὡς γλυκεῖά ἐστιν, οὐκ ἀνάγκη γεύεσθαι οὐδ᾽ ἐμπείρῳ γίγνεσθαι, μᾶλλον δὲ καὶ προθυμουμένῳ οὐ ῥᾴδιον.

πολὺ ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, διαφέρει τοῦ γε φιλοκερδοῦς ὁ φιλόσοφος ἐμπειρίᾳ ἀμφοτέρων τῶν ἡδονῶν. [582c]

πολὺ μέντοι.

τί δὲ τοῦ φιλοτίμου; ἆρα μᾶλλον ἄπειρός ἐστι τῆς ἀπὸ τοῦ τιμᾶσθαι ἡδονῆς ἢ ἐκεῖνος τῆς ἀπὸ τοῦ φρονεῖν;

ἀλλὰ τιμὴ μέν, ἔφη, ἐάνπερ ἐξεργάζωνται ἐπὶ ὃ ἕκαστος ὥρμηκε, πᾶσιν αὐτοῖς ἕπεται-καὶ γὰρ ὁ πλούσιος ὑπὸ πολλῶν τιμᾶται καὶ ὁ ἀνδρεῖος καὶ σοφός-ὥστε ἀπό γε τοῦ τιμᾶσθαι, οἷόν ἐστιν, πάντες τῆς ἡδονῆς ἔμπειροι: τῆς δὲ τοῦ ὄντος θέας, οἵαν ἡδονὴν ἔχει, ἀδύνατον ἄλλῳ γεγεῦσθαι πλὴν τῷ φιλοσόφῳ. [582d] ἐμπειρίας μὲν ἄρα, εἶπον, ἕνεκα κάλλιστα τῶν ἀνδρῶν κρίνει οὗτος.

πολύ γε.

καὶ μὴν μετά γε φρονήσεως μόνος ἔμπειρος γεγονὼς ἔσται.

τί μήν;

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ δι᾽ οὗ γε δεῖ ὀργάνου κρίνεσθαι, οὐ τοῦ φιλοκερδοῦς τοῦτο ὄργανον οὐδὲ τοῦ φιλοτίμου, ἀλλὰ τοῦ φιλοσόφου.

τὸ ποῖον;

διὰ λόγων που ἔφαμεν δεῖν κρίνεσθαι. ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

λόγοι δὲ τούτου μάλιστα ὄργανον.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν πλούτῳ καὶ κέρδει ἄριστα ἐκρίνετο τὰ [582e] κρινόμενα, ἃ ἐπῄνει ὁ φιλοκερδὴς καὶ ἔψεγεν, ἀνάγκη ἂν ἦν ταῦτα ἀληθέστατα εἶναι.

πολλή γε.

εἰ δὲ τιμῇ τε καὶ νίκῃ καὶ ἀνδρείᾳ, ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ἃ ὁ φιλότιμός τε καὶ φιλόνικος;

δῆλον.

ἐπειδὴ δ᾽ ἐμπειρίᾳ καὶ φρονήσει καὶ λόγῳ;

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, ἃ ὁ φιλόσοφός τε καὶ ὁ φιλόλογος ἐπαινεῖ, ἀληθέστατα εἶναι. [583a]

τριῶν ἄρ᾽ οὐσῶν τῶν ἡδονῶν ἡ τούτου τοῦ μέρους τῆς ψυχῆς ᾧ μανθάνομεν ἡδίστη ἂν εἴη, καὶ ἐν ᾧ ἡμῶν τοῦτο ἄρχει, ὁ τούτου βίος ἥδιστος;

πῶς δ᾽ οὐ μέλλει; ἔφη: κύριος γοῦν ἐπαινέτης ὢν ἐπαινεῖ τὸν ἑαυτοῦ βίον ὁ φρόνιμος.

τίνα δὲ δεύτερον, εἶπον, βίον καὶ τίνα δευτέραν ἡδονήν φησιν ὁ κριτὴς εἶναι;

δῆλον ὅτι τὴν τοῦ πολεμικοῦ τε καὶ φιλοτίμου: ἐγγυτέρω γὰρ αὐτοῦ ἐστιν ἢ ἡ τοῦ χρηματιστοῦ.

ὑστάτην δὴ τὴν τοῦ φιλοκερδοῦς, ὡς ἔοικεν.

τί μήν; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [583b]

ταῦτα μὲν τοίνυν οὕτω δύ᾽ ἐφεξῆς ἂν εἴη καὶ δὶς νενικηκὼς ὁ δίκαιος τὸν ἄδικον: τὸ δὲ τρίτον Ὀλυμπικῶς τῷ σωτῆρί τε καὶ τῷ Ὀλυμπίῳ Διί, ἄθρει ὅτι οὐδὲ παναληθής ἐστιν ἡ τῶν ἄλλων ἡδονὴ πλὴν τῆς τοῦ φρονίμου οὐδὲ καθαρά, ἀλλ᾽ ἐσκιαγραφημένη τις, ὡς ἐγὼ δοκῶ μοι τῶν σοφῶν τινος ἀκηκοέναι. καίτοι τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη μέγιστόν τε καὶ κυριώτατον τῶν πτωμάτων.

πολύ γε: ἀλλὰ πῶς λέγεις; [583c]

ὧδ᾽, εἶπον, ἐξευρήσω, σοῦ ἀποκρινομένου ζητῶν ἅμα.

Ἐρώτα δή, ἔφη.

λέγε δή, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: οὐκ ἐναντίον φαμὲν λύπην ἡδονῇ;

καὶ μάλα.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ μήτε χαίρειν μήτε λυπεῖσθαι εἶναί τι;

εἶναι μέντοι.

μεταξὺ τούτοιν ἀμφοῖν ἐν μέσῳ ὂν ἡσυχίαν τινὰ περὶ ταῦτα τῆς ψυχῆς; ἢ οὐχ οὕτως αὐτὸ λέγεις;

οὕτως, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν μνημονεύεις, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τοὺς τῶν καμνόντων λόγους, οὓς λέγουσιν ὅταν κάμνωσιν;

ποίους;

ὡς οὐδὲν ἄρα ἐστὶν ἥδιον τοῦ ὑγιαίνειν, ἀλλὰ σφᾶς [583d] ἐλελήθει, πρὶν κάμνειν, ἥδιστον ὄν.

μέμνημαι, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τῶν περιωδυνίᾳ τινὶ ἐχομένων ἀκούεις λεγόντων ὡς οὐδὲν ἥδιον τοῦ παύσασθαι ὀδυνώμενον;

ἀκούω.

καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις γε οἶμαι πολλοῖς τοιούτοις αἰσθάνῃ γιγνομένους τοὺς ἀνθρώπους, ἐν οἷς, ὅταν λυπῶνται, τὸ μὴ λυπεῖσθαι καὶ τὴν ἡσυχίαν τοῦ τοιούτου ἐγκωμιάζουσιν ὡς ἥδιστον, οὐ τὸ χαίρειν.

τοῦτο γάρ, ἔφη, τότε ἡδὺ ἴσως καὶ ἀγαπητὸν γίγνεται, ἡσυχία. [583e]

καὶ ὅταν παύσηται ἄρα, εἶπον, χαίρων τις, ἡ τῆς ἡδονῆς ἡσυχία λυπηρὸν ἔσται.

ἴσως, ἔφη.

ὃ μεταξὺ ἄρα νυνδὴ ἀμφοτέρων ἔφαμεν εἶναι, τὴν ἡσυχίαν, τοῦτό ποτε ἀμφότερα ἔσται, λύπη τε καὶ ἡδονή.

ἔοικεν.

ἦ καὶ δυνατὸν τὸ μηδέτερα ὂν ἀμφότερα γίγνεσθαι;

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

καὶ μὴν τό γε ἡδὺ ἐν ψυχῇ γιγνόμενον καὶ τὸ λυπηρὸν κίνησίς τις ἀμφοτέρω ἐστόν: ἢ οὔ;

ναί. [584a]

τὸ δὲ μήτε λυπηρὸν μήτε ἡδὺ οὐχὶ ἡσυχία μέντοι καὶ ἐν μέσῳ τούτοιν ἐφάνη ἄρτι;

ἐφάνη γάρ.

πῶς οὖν ὀρθῶς ἔστι τὸ μὴ ἀλγεῖν ἡδὺ ἡγεῖσθαι ἢ τὸ μὴ χαίρειν ἀνιαρόν;

οὐδαμῶς.

οὐκ ἔστιν ἄρα τοῦτο, ἀλλὰ φαίνεται, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, παρὰ τὸ ἀλγεινὸν ἡδὺ καὶ παρὰ τὸ ἡδὺ ἀλγεινὸν τότε ἡ ἡσυχία, καὶ οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς τούτων τῶν φαντασμάτων πρὸς ἡδονῆς ἀλήθειαν, ἀλλὰ γοητεία τις.

ὡς γοῦν ὁ λόγος, ἔφη, σημαίνει. [584b]

ἰδὲ τοίνυν, ἔφην ἐγώ, ἡδονάς, αἳ οὐκ ἐκ λυπῶν εἰσίν, ἵνα μὴ πολλάκις οἰηθῇς ἐν τῷ παρόντι οὕτω τοῦτο πεφυκέναι, ἡδονὴν μὲν παῦλαν λύπης εἶναι, λύπην δὲ ἡδονῆς.

ποῦ δή, ἔφη, καὶ ποίας λέγεις;

πολλαὶ μέν, εἶπον, καὶ ἄλλαι, μάλιστα δ᾽ εἰ ‘θέλεις ἐννοῆσαι τὰς περὶ τὰς ὀσμὰς ἡδονάς. αὗται γὰρ οὐ προλυπηθέντι ἐξαίφνης ἀμήχανοι τὸ μέγεθος γίγνονται, παυσάμεναί τε λύπην οὐδεμίαν καταλείπουσιν.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη. [584c]

μὴ ἄρα πειθώμεθα καθαρὰν ἡδονὴν εἶναι τὴν λύπης ἀπαλλαγήν, μηδὲ λύπην τὴν ἡδονῆς.

μὴ γάρ.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, εἶπον, αἵ γε διὰ τοῦ σώματος ἐπὶ τὴν ψυχὴν τείνουσαι καὶ λεγόμεναι ἡδοναί, σχεδὸν αἱ πλεῖσταί τε καὶ μέγισται, τούτου τοῦ εἴδους εἰσί, λυπῶν τινες ἀπαλλαγαί.

εἰσὶ γάρ.

οὐκοῦν καὶ αἱ πρὸ μελλόντων τούτων ἐκ προσδοκίας γιγνόμεναι προησθήσεις τε καὶ προλυπήσεις κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχουσιν;

κατὰ ταὐτά. [584d]

οἶσθ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οἷαί εἰσιν καὶ ᾧ μάλιστα ἐοίκασιν;

τῷ; ἔφη.

νομίζεις τι, εἶπον, ἐν τῇ φύσει εἶναι τὸ μὲν ἄνω, τὸ δὲ κάτω, τὸ δὲ μέσον;

ἔγωγε.

οἴει οὖν ἄν τινα ἐκ τοῦ κάτω φερόμενον πρὸς μέσον ἄλλο τι οἴεσθαι ἢ ἄνω φέρεσθαι; καὶ ἐν μέσῳ στάντα, ἀφορῶντα ὅθεν ἐνήνεκται, ἄλλοθί που ἂν ἡγεῖσθαι εἶναι ἢ ἐν τῷ ἄνω, μὴ ἑωρακότα τὸ ἀληθῶς ἄνω;

μὰ Δί᾽, οὐκ ἔγωγε, ἔφη, ἄλλως οἶμαι οἰηθῆναι ἂν τὸν τοιοῦτον. [584e]

ἀλλ᾽ εἰ πάλιν γ᾽, ἔφην, φέροιτο, κάτω τ᾽ ἂν οἴοιτο φέρεσθαι καὶ ἀληθῆ οἴοιτο;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν ταῦτα πάσχοι ἂν πάντα διὰ τὸ μὴ ἔμπειρος εἶναι τοῦ ἀληθινῶς ἄνω τε ὄντος καὶ ἐν μέσῳ καὶ κάτω;

δῆλον δή.

θαυμάζοις ἂν οὖν εἰ καὶ οἱ ἄπειροι ἀληθείας περὶ πολλῶν τε ἄλλων μὴ ὑγιεῖς δόξας ἔχουσιν, πρός τε ἡδονὴν καὶ λύπην καὶ τὸ μεταξὺ τούτων οὕτω διάκεινται, ὥστε, ὅταν μὲν ἐπὶ τὸ [585a] λυπηρὸν φέρωνται, ἀληθῆ τε οἴονται καὶ τῷ ὄντι λυποῦνται, ὅταν δὲ ἀπὸ λύπης ἐπὶ τὸ μεταξύ, σφόδρα μὲν οἴονται πρὸς πληρώσει τε καὶ ἡδονῇ γίγνεσθαι, ὥσπερ πρὸς μέλαν φαιὸν ἀποσκοποῦντες ἀπειρίᾳ λευκοῦ, καὶ πρὸς τὸ ἄλυπον οὕτω λύπην ἀφορῶντες ἀπειρίᾳ ἡδονῆς ἀπατῶνται;

μὰ Δία, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐκ ἂν θαυμάσαιμι, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον, εἰ μὴ οὕτως ἔχει.

ὧδέ γ᾽ οὖν, εἶπον, ἐννόει: οὐχὶ πεῖνα καὶ δίψα καὶ τὰ [585b] τοιαῦτα κενώσεις τινές εἰσιν τῆς περὶ τὸ σῶμα ἕξεως;

τί μήν;

ἄγνοια δὲ καὶ ἀφροσύνη ἆρ᾽ οὐ κενότης ἐστὶ γῆς περὶ ψυχὴν αὖ ἕξεως;

μάλα γε.

οὐκοῦν πληροῖτ᾽ ἂν ὅ τε τροφῆς μεταλαμβάνων καὶ ὁ νοῦν ἴσχων;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

πλήρωσις δὲ ἀληθεστέρα τοῦ ἧττον ἢ τοῦ μᾶλλον ὄντος;

δῆλον ὅτι τοῦ μᾶλλον.

πότερα οὖν ἡγῇ τὰ γένη μᾶλλον καθαρᾶς οὐσίας μετέχειν, τὰ οἷον σίτου τε καὶ ποτοῦ καὶ ὄψου καὶ συμπάσης τροφῆς, ἢ τὸ δόξης τε ἀληθοῦς εἶδος καὶ ἐπιστήμης καὶ νοῦ καὶ [585c] συλλήβδην αὖ πάσης ἀρετῆς; ὧδε δὲ κρῖνε: τὸ τοῦ ἀεὶ ὁμοίου ἐχόμενον καὶ ἀθανάτου καὶ ἀληθείας, καὶ αὐτὸ τοιοῦτον ὂν καὶ ἐν τοιούτῳ γιγνόμενον, μᾶλλον εἶναί σοι δοκεῖ, ἢ τὸ μηδέποτε ὁμοίου καὶ θνητοῦ, καὶ αὐτὸ τοιοῦτον καὶ ἐν τοιούτῳ γιγνόμενον;

πολύ, ἔφη, διαφέρει τὸ τοῦ ἀεὶ ὁμοίου.

ἡ οὖν ἀεὶ ὁμοίου οὐσία οὐσίας τι μᾶλλον ἢ ἐπιστήμης μετέχει;

οὐδαμῶς.

τί δ᾽; ἀληθείας;

οὐδὲ τοῦτο.

εἰ δὲ ἀληθείας ἧττον, οὐ καὶ οὐσίας;

ἀνάγκη. [585d]

οὐκοῦν ὅλως τὰ περὶ τὴν τοῦ σώματος θεραπείαν γένη γῶν γενῶν αὖ τῶν περὶ τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς θεραπείαν ἧττον ἀληθείας τε καὶ οὐσίας μετέχει;

πολύ γε.

σῶμα δὲ αὐτὸ ψυχῆς οὐκ οἴει οὕτως;

ἔγωγε.

οὐκοῦν τὸ τῶν μᾶλλον ὄντων πληρούμενον καὶ αὐτὸ μᾶλλον ὂν ὄντως μᾶλλον πληροῦται ἢ τὸ τῶν ἧττον ὄντων καὶ αὐτὸ ἧττον ὄν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

εἰ ἄρα τὸ πληροῦσθαι τῶν φύσει προσηκόντων ἡδύ ἐστι, τὸ τῷ ὄντι καὶ τῶν ὄντων πληρούμενον μᾶλλον μᾶλλον [585e] ὄντως τε καὶ ἀληθεστέρως χαίρειν ἂν ποιοῖ ἡδονῇ ἀληθεῖ, τὸ δὲ τῶν ἧττον ὄντων μεταλαμβάνον ἧττόν τε ἂν ἀληθῶς καὶ βεβαίως πληροῖτο καὶ ἀπιστοτέρας ἂν ἡδονῆς καὶ ἧττον ἀληθοῦς μεταλαμβάνοι.

ἀναγκαιότατα, ἔφη. [586a]

οἱ ἄρα φρονήσεως καὶ ἀρετῆς ἄπειροι, εὐωχίαις δὲ καὶ τοῖς τοιούτοις ἀεὶ συνόντες, κάτω, ὡς ἔοικεν, καὶ μέχρι πάλιν πρὸς τὸ μεταξὺ φέρονταί τε καὶ ταύτῃ πλανῶνται διὰ βίου, ὑπερβάντες δὲ τοῦτο πρὸς τὸ ἀληθῶς ἄνω οὔτε ἀνέβλεψαν πώποτε οὔτε ἠνέχθησαν, οὐδὲ τοῦ ὄντος τῷ ὄντι ἐπληρώθησαν, οὐδὲ βεβαίου τε καὶ καθαρᾶς ἡδονῆς ἐγεύσαντο, ἀλλὰ βοσκημάτων δίκην κάτω ἀεὶ βλέποντες καὶ κεκυφότες εἰς γῆν καὶ εἰς τραπέζας βόσκονται χορταζόμενοι καὶ ὀχεύοντες, [586b] καὶ ἕνεκα τῆς τούτων πλεονεξίας λακτίζοντες καὶ κυρίττοντες ἀλλήλους σιδηροῖς κέρασί τε καὶ ὁπλαῖς ἀποκτεινύασι δι᾽ ἀπληστίαν, ἅτε οὐχὶ τοῖς οὖσιν οὐδὲ τὸ ὂν οὐδὲ τὸ στέγον ἑαυτῶν πιμπλάντες.

παντελῶς, ἔφη ὁ Γλαύκων, τὸν τῶν πολλῶν, ὦ Σώκρατες, χρησμῳδεῖς βίον.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἀνάγκη καὶ ἡδοναῖς συνεῖναι μεμειγμέναις λύπαις, εἰδώλοις τῆς ἀληθοῦς ἡδονῆς καὶ ἐσκιαγραφημέναις, [586c] ὑπὸ τῆς παρ᾽ ἀλλήλας θέσεως ἀποχραινομέναις, ὥστε σφοδροὺς ἑκατέρας φαίνεσθαι, καὶ ἔρωτας ἑαυτῶν λυττῶντας τοῖς ἄφροσιν ἐντίκτειν καὶ περιμαχήτους εἶναι, ὥσπερ τὸ τῆς Ἑλένης εἴδωλον ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν Τροίᾳ Στησίχορός φησι γενέσθαι περιμάχητον ἀγνοίᾳ τοῦ ἀληθοῦς;

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ἔφη, τοιοῦτόν τι αὐτὸ εἶναι.

τί δέ; περὶ τὸ θυμοειδὲς οὐχ ἕτερα τοιαῦτα ἀνάγκη γίγνεσθαι, ὃς ἂν αὐτὸ τοῦτο διαπράττηται ἢ φθόνῳ διὰ φιλοτιμίαν ἢ βίᾳ διὰ φιλονικίαν ἢ θυμῷ διὰ δυσκολίαν, [586d] πλησμονὴν τιμῆς τε καὶ νίκης καὶ θυμοῦ διώκων ἄνευ λογισμοῦ τε καὶ νοῦ;

τοιαῦτα, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἀνάγκη καὶ περὶ τοῦτο εἶναι.

τί οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: θαρροῦντες λέγωμεν ὅτι καὶ περὶ τὸ φιλοκερδὲς καὶ τὸ φιλόνικον ὅσαι ἐπιθυμίαι εἰσίν, αἳ μὲν ἂν τῇ ἐπιστήμῃ καὶ λόγῳ ἑπόμεναι καὶ μετὰ τούτων τὰς ἡδονὰς διώκουσαι, ἃς ἂν τὸ φρόνιμον ἐξηγῆται, λαμβάνωσι, τὰς ἀληθεστάτας τε λήψονται, ὡς οἷόν τε αὐταῖς ἀληθεῖς [586e] λαβεῖν, ἅτε ἀληθείᾳ ἑπομένων, καὶ τὰς ἑαυτῶν οἰκείας, εἴπερ τὸ βέλτιστον ἑκάστῳ, τοῦτο καὶ οἰκειότατον;

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη, οἰκειότατόν γε.

τῷ φιλοσόφῳ ἄρα ἑπομένης ἁπάσης τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ μὴ στασιαζούσης ἑκάστῳ τῷ μέρει ὑπάρχει εἴς τε τἆλλα τὰ ἑαυτοῦ πράττειν καὶ δικαίῳ εἶναι, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς τὰς ἑαυτοῦ ἕκαστον καὶ τὰς βελτίστας καὶ εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν τὰς [587a] ἀληθεστάτας καρποῦσθαι.

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

ὅταν δὲ ἄρα τῶν ἑτέρων τι κρατήσῃ, ὑπάρχει αὐτῷ μήτε τὴν ἑαυτοῦ ἡδονὴν ἐξευρίσκειν, τά τε ἄλλ᾽ ἀναγκάζειν ἀλλοτρίαν καὶ μὴ ἀληθῆ ἡδονὴν διώκειν.

οὕτως, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἃ πλεῖστον φιλοσοφίας τε καὶ λόγου ἀφέστηκεν, μάλιστ᾽ ἂν τοιαῦτα ἐξεργάζοιτο;

πολύ γε.

πλεῖστον δὲ λόγου ἀφίσταται οὐχ ὅπερ νόμου τε καὶ τάξεως;

δῆλον δή.

ἐφάνησαν δὲ πλεῖστον ἀφεστῶσαι οὐχ αἱ ἐρωτικαί τε [587b] καὶ τυραννικαὶ ἐπιθυμίαι;

πολύ γε.

ἐλάχιστον δὲ αἱ βασιλικαί τε καὶ κόσμιαι;

ναί.

πλεῖστον δὴ οἶμαι ἀληθοῦς ἡδονῆς καὶ οἰκείας ὁ τύραννος ἀφεστήξει, ὁ δὲ ὀλίγιστον.

ἀνάγκη.

καὶ ἀηδέστατα ἄρα, εἶπον, ὁ τύραννος βιώσεται, ὁ δὲ βασιλεὺς ἥδιστα.

πολλὴ ἀνάγκη.

οἶσθ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅσῳ ἀηδέστερον ζῇ τύραννος βασιλέως;

ἂν εἴπῃς, ἔφη.

τριῶν ἡδονῶν, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐσῶν, μιᾶς μὲν γνησίας, δυοῖν [587c] δὲ νόθαιν, τῶν νόθων εἰς τὸ ἐπέκεινα ὑπερβὰς ὁ τύραννος, φυγὼν νόμον τε καὶ λόγον, δούλαις τισὶ δορυφόροις ἡδοναῖς συνοικεῖ, καὶ ὁπόσῳ ἐλαττοῦται οὐδὲ πάνυ ῥᾴδιον εἰπεῖν, πλὴν ἴσως ὧδε.

πῶς; ἔφη.

ἀπὸ τοῦ ὀλιγαρχικοῦ τρίτος που ὁ τύραννος ἀφειστήκει: ἐν μέσῳ γὰρ αὐτῶν ὁ δημοτικὸς ἦν.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡδονῆς τρίτῳ εἰδώλῳ πρὸς ἀλήθειαν ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνου συνοικοῖ ἄν, εἰ τὰ πρόσθεν ἀληθῆ;

οὕτω.

ὁ δέ γε ὀλιγαρχικὸς ἀπὸ τοῦ βασιλικοῦ αὖ τρίτος, ἐὰν [587d] εἰς ταὐτὸν ἀριστοκρατικὸν καὶ βασιλικὸν τιθῶμεν.

τρίτος γάρ.

τριπλασίου ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τριπλάσιον ἀριθμῷ ἀληθοῦς ἡδονῆς ἀφέστηκεν τύραννος.

φαίνεται.

ἐπίπεδον ἄρ᾽, ἔφην, ὡς ἔοικεν, τὸ εἴδωλον κατὰ τὸν τοῦ μήκους ἀριθμὸν ἡδονῆς τυραννικῆς ἂν εἴη.

κομιδῇ γε.

κατὰ δὲ δύναμιν καὶ τρίτην αὔξην δῆλον δὴ ἀπόστασιν ὅσην ἀφεστηκὼς γίγνεται.

δῆλον, ἔφη, τῷ γε λογιστικῷ.

οὐκοῦν ἐάν τις μεταστρέψας ἀληθείᾳ ἡδονῆς τὸν βασιλέα [587e] τοῦ τυράννου ἀφεστηκότα λέγῃ ὅσον ἀφέστηκεν, ἐννεακαιεικοσικαιεπτακοσιοπλασιάκις ἥδιον αὐτὸν ζῶντα εὑρήσει τελειωθείσῃ τῇ πολλαπλασιώσει, τὸν δὲ τύραννον ἀνιαρότερον τῇ αὐτῇ ταύτῃ ἀποστάσει.

ἀμήχανον, ἔφη, λογισμὸν καταπεφόρηκας τῆς διαφορότητος [588a] τοῖν ἀνδροῖν, τοῦ τε δικαίου καὶ τοῦ ἀδίκου, πρὸς ἡδονήν τε καὶ λύπην.

καὶ μέντοι καὶ ἀληθῆ καὶ προσήκοντά γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, βίοις ἀριθμόν, εἴπερ αὐτοῖς προσήκουσιν ἡμέραι καὶ νύκτες καὶ μῆνες καὶ ἐνιαυτοί.

ἀλλὰ μήν, ἔφη, προσήκουσιν.

οὐκοῦν εἰ τοσοῦτον ἡδονῇ νικᾷ ὁ ἀγαθός τε καὶ δίκαιος τὸν κακόν τε καὶ ἄδικον, ἀμηχάνῳ δὴ ὅσῳ πλείονι νικήσει εὐσχημοσύνῃ τε βίου καὶ κάλλει καὶ ἀρετῇ;

ἀμηχάνῳ μέντοι νὴ Δία, ἔφη. [588b]

εἶεν δή, εἶπον: ἐπειδὴ ἐνταῦθα λόγου γεγόναμεν, ἀναλάβωμεν τὰ πρῶτα λεχθέντα, δι᾽ ἃ δεῦρ᾽ ἥκομεν. ἦν δέ που λεγόμενον λυσιτελεῖν ἀδικεῖν τῷ τελέως μὲν ἀδίκῳ, δοξαζομένῳ δὲ δικαίῳ: ἢ οὐχ οὕτως ἐλέχθη;

οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

νῦν δή, ἔφην, αὐτῷ διαλεγώμεθα, ἐπειδὴ διωμολογησάμεθα τό τε ἀδικεῖν καὶ τὸ δίκαια πράττειν ἣν ἑκάτερον ἔχει δύναμιν.

πῶς; ἔφη.

εἰκόνα πλάσαντες τῆς ψυχῆς λόγῳ, ἵνα εἰδῇ ὁ ἐκεῖνα λέγων οἷα ἔλεγεν. [588c]

ποίαν τινά; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

τῶν τοιούτων τινά, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οἷαι μυθολογοῦνται παλαιαὶ γενέσθαι φύσεις, ἥ τε Χιμαίρας καὶ ἡ Σκύλλης καὶ Κερβέρου, καὶ ἄλλαι τινὲς συχναὶ λέγονται συμπεφυκυῖαι ἰδέαι πολλαὶ εἰς ἓν γενέσθαι.

λέγονται γάρ, ἔφη.

πλάττε τοίνυν μίαν μὲν ἰδέαν θηρίου ποικίλου καὶ πολυκεφάλου, ἡμέρων δὲ θηρίων ἔχοντος κεφαλὰς κύκλῳ καὶ ἀγρίων, καὶ δυνατοῦ μεταβάλλειν καὶ φύειν ἐξ αὑτοῦ πάντα ταῦτα. [588d]

δεινοῦ πλάστου, ἔφη, τὸ ἔργον: ὅμως δέ, ἐπειδὴ εὐπλαστότερον κηροῦ καὶ τῶν τοιούτων λόγος, πεπλάσθω.

μίαν δὴ τοίνυν ἄλλην ἰδέαν λέοντος, μίαν δὲ ἀνθρώπου: πολὺ δὲ μέγιστον ἔστω τὸ πρῶτον καὶ δεύτερον τὸ δεύτερον.

ταῦτα, ἔφη, ῥᾴω, καὶ πέπλασται.

σύναπτε τοίνυν αὐτὰ εἰς ἓν τρία ὄντα, ὥστε πῃ συμπεφυκέναι ἀλλήλοις.

συνῆπται, ἔφη.

περίπλασον δὴ αὐτοῖς ἔξωθεν ἑνὸς εἰκόνα, τὴν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, ὥστε τῷ μὴ δυναμένῳ τὰ ἐντὸς ὁρᾶν, ἀλλὰ τὸ [588e] ἔξω μόνον ἔλυτρον ὁρῶντι, ἓν ζῷον φαίνεσθαι, ἄνθρωπον.

περιπέπλασται, ἔφη.

λέγωμεν δὴ τῷ λέγοντι ὡς λυσιτελεῖ τούτῳ ἀδικεῖν τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, δίκαια δὲ πράττειν οὐ συμφέρει, ὅτι οὐδὲν ἄλλο φησὶν ἢ λυσιτελεῖν αὐτῷ τὸ παντοδαπὸν θηρίον εὐωχοῦντι ποιεῖν ἰσχυρὸν καὶ τὸν λέοντα καὶ τὰ περὶ τὸν λέοντα, τὸν [589a] δὲ ἄνθρωπον λιμοκτονεῖν καὶ ποιεῖν ἀσθενῆ, ὥστε ἕλκεσθαι ὅπῃ ἂν ἐκείνων ὁπότερον ἄγῃ, καὶ μηδὲν ἕτερον ἑτέρῳ συνεθίζειν μηδὲ φίλον ποιεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐᾶν αὐτὰ ἐν αὑτοῖς δάκνεσθαί τε καὶ μαχόμενα ἐσθίειν ἄλληλα.

παντάπασι γάρ, ἔφη, ταῦτ᾽ ἂν λέγοι ὁ τὸ ἀδικεῖν ἐπαινῶν.

οὐκοῦν αὖ ὁ τὰ δίκαια λέγων λυσιτελεῖν φαίη ἂν δεῖν ταῦτα πράττειν καὶ ταῦτα λέγειν, ὅθεν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ὁ ἐντὸς [589b] ἄνθρωπος ἔσται ἐγκρατέστατος, καὶ τοῦ πολυκεφάλου θρέμματος ἐπιμελήσεται ὥσπερ γεωργός, τὰ μὲν ἥμερα τρέφων καὶ τιθασεύων, τὰ δὲ ἄγρια ἀποκωλύων φύεσθαι, σύμμαχον ποιησάμενος τὴν τοῦ λέοντος φύσιν, καὶ κοινῇ πάντων κηδόμενος, φίλα ποιησάμενος ἀλλήλοις τε καὶ αὑτῷ, οὕτω θρέψει;

κομιδῇ γὰρ αὖ λέγει ταῦτα ὁ τὸ δίκαιον ἐπαινῶν.

κατὰ πάντα τρόπον δὴ ὁ μὲν τὰ δίκαια ἐγκωμιάζων ἀληθῆ [589c] ἂν λέγοι, ὁ δὲ τὰ ἄδικα ψεύδοιτο. πρός τε γὰρ ἡδονὴν καὶ πρὸς εὐδοξίαν καὶ ὠφελίαν σκοπουμένῳ ὁ μὲν ἐπαινέτης τοῦ δικαίου ἀληθεύει, ὁ δὲ ψέκτης οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς οὐδ᾽ εἰδὼς ψέγει ὅτι ψέγει.

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐδαμῇ γε.

πείθωμεν τοίνυν αὐτὸν πρᾴως-οὐ γὰρ ἑκὼν ἁμαρτάνει -ἐρωτῶντες: ὦ μακάριε, οὐ καὶ τὰ καλὰ καὶ αἰσχρὰ νόμιμα διὰ τὰ τοιαῦτ᾽ ἂν φαῖμεν γεγονέναι: τὰ μὲν καλὰ τὰ ὑπὸ [589d] τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, μᾶλλον δὲ ἴσως τὰ ὑπὸ τῷ θείῳ τὰ θηριώδη ποιοῦντα τῆς φύσεως, αἰσχρὰ δὲ τὰ ὑπὸ τῷ ἀγρίῳ τὸ ἥμερον δουλούμενα; συμφήσει: ἢ πῶς;

ἐάν μοι, ἔφη, πείθηται.

ἔστιν οὖν, εἶπον, ὅτῳ λυσιτελεῖ ἐκ τούτου τοῦ λόγου χρυσίον λαμβάνειν ἀδίκως, εἴπερ τοιόνδε τι γίγνεται, λαμβάνων τὸ χρυσίον ἅμα καταδουλοῦται τὸ βέλτιστον ἑαυτοῦ [589e] τῷ μοχθηροτάτῳ; ἢ εἰ μὲν λαβὼν χρυσίον ὑὸν ἢ θυγατέρα ἐδουλοῦτο, καὶ ταῦτ᾽ εἰς ἀγρίων τε καὶ κακῶν ἀνδρῶν, οὐκ ἂν αὐτῷ ἐλυσιτέλει οὐδ᾽ ἂν πάμπολυ ἐπὶ τούτῳ λαμβάνειν, εἰ δὲ τὸ ἑαυτοῦ θειότατον ὑπὸ τῷ ἀθεωτάτῳ τε καὶ μιαρωτάτῳ δουλοῦται καὶ μηδὲν ἐλεεῖ, οὐκ ἄρα ἄθλιός ἐστι καὶ πολὺ [590a] ἐπὶ δεινοτέρῳ ὀλέθρῳ χρυσὸν δωροδοκεῖ ἢ Ἐριφύλη ἐπὶ τῇ τοῦ ἀνδρὸς ψυχῇ τὸν ὅρμον δεξαμένη;

πολὺ μέντοι, ἦ δ᾽ ὃς ὁ Γλαύκων: ἐγὼ γάρ σοι ὑπὲρ ἐκείνου ἀποκρινοῦμαι.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ἀκολασταίνειν οἴει διὰ τοιαῦτα πάλαι ψέγεσθαι, ὅτι ἀνίεται ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ τὸ δεινόν, τὸ μέγα ἐκεῖνο καὶ πολυειδὲς θρέμμα, πέρα τοῦ δέοντος;

δῆλον, ἔφη.

ἡ δ᾽ αὐθάδεια καὶ δυσκολία ψέγεται οὐχ ὅταν τὸ λεοντῶδές [590b] τε καὶ ὀφεῶδες αὔξηται καὶ συντείνηται ἀναρμόστως;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

τρυφὴ δὲ καὶ μαλθακία οὐκ ἐπὶ τῇ αὐτοῦ τούτου χαλάσει τε καὶ ἀνέσει ψέγεται, ὅταν ἐν αὐτῷ δειλίαν ἐμποιῇ;

τί μήν;

κολακεία δὲ καὶ ἀνελευθερία οὐχ ὅταν τις τὸ αὐτὸ τοῦτο, τὸ θυμοειδές, ὑπὸ τῷ ὀχλώδει θηρίῳ ποιῇ καὶ ἕνεκα χρημάτων καὶ τῆς ἐκείνου ἀπληστίας προπηλακιζόμενον ἐθίζῃ ἐκ νέου ἀντὶ λέοντος πίθηκον γίγνεσθαι; [590c]

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη.

βαναυσία δὲ καὶ χειροτεχνία διὰ τί οἴει ὄνειδος φέρει; ἢ δι᾽ ἄλλο τι φήσομεν ἢ ὅταν τις ἀσθενὲς φύσει ἔχῃ τὸ τοῦ βελτίστου εἶδος, ὥστε μὴ ἂν δύνασθαι ἄρχειν τῶν ἐν αὑτῷ θρεμμάτων, ἀλλὰ θεραπεύειν ἐκεῖνα, καὶ τὰ θωπεύματα αὐτῶν μόνον δύνηται μανθάνειν;

ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἵνα καὶ ὁ τοιοῦτος ὑπὸ ὁμοίου ἄρχηται οἵουπερ ὁ βέλτιστος, δοῦλον αὐτόν φαμεν δεῖν εἶναι ἐκείνου τοῦ βελτίστου [590d] καὶ ἔχοντος ἐν αὑτῷ τὸ θεῖον ἄρχον, οὐκ ἐπὶ βλάβῃ τῇ τοῦ δούλου οἰόμενοι δεῖν ἄρχεσθαι αὐτόν, ὥσπερ Θρασύμαχος ᾤετο τοὺς ἀρχομένους, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἄμεινον ὂν παντὶ ὑπὸ θείου καὶ φρονίμου ἄρχεσθαι, μάλιστα μὲν οἰκεῖον ἔχοντος ἐν αὑτῷ, εἰ δὲ μή, ἔξωθεν ἐφεστῶτος, ἵνα εἰς δύναμιν πάντες ὅμοιοι ὦμεν καὶ φίλοι, τῷ αὐτῷ κυβερνώμενοι;

καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽, ἔφη. [590e]

δηλοῖ δέ γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ ὁ νόμος ὅτι τοιοῦτον βούλεται, πᾶσι τοῖς ἐν τῇ πόλει σύμμαχος ὤν: καὶ ἡ τῶν παίδων ἀρχή, τὸ μὴ ἐᾶν ἐλευθέρους εἶναι, ἕως ἂν ἐν αὐτοῖς ὥσπερ ἐν πόλει πολιτείαν καταστήσωμεν, καὶ τὸ βέλτιστον [591a] θεραπεύσαντες τῷ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν τοιούτῳ ἀντικαταστήσωμεν φύλακα ὅμοιον καὶ ἄρχοντα ἐν αὐτῷ, καὶ τότε δὴ ἐλεύθερον ἀφίεμεν.

δηλοῖ γάρ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

πῇ δὴ οὖν φήσομεν, ὦ Γλαύκων, καὶ κατὰ τίνα λόγον λυσιτελεῖν ἀδικεῖν, ἢ ἀκολασταίνειν ἤ τι αἰσχρὸν ποιεῖν, ἐξ ὧν πονηρότερος μὲν ἔσται, πλείω δὲ χρήματα ἢ ἄλλην τινὰ δύναμιν κεκτήσεται;

οὐδαμῇ, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

πῇ δ᾽ ἀδικοῦντα λανθάνειν καὶ μὴ διδόναι δίκην λυσιτελεῖν; [591b] ἢ οὐχὶ ὁ μὲν λανθάνων ἔτι πονηρότερος γίγνεται, τοῦ δὲ μὴ λανθάνοντος καὶ κολαζομένου τὸ μὲν θηριῶδες κοιμίζεται καὶ ἡμεροῦται, τὸ δὲ ἥμερον ἐλευθεροῦται, καὶ ὅλη ἡ ψυχὴ εἰς τὴν βελτίστην φύσιν καθισταμένη τιμιωτέραν ἕξιν λαμβάνει, σωφροσύνην τε καὶ δικαιοσύνην μετὰ φρονήσεως κτωμένη, ἢ σῶμα ἰσχύν τε καὶ κάλλος μετὰ ὑγιείας λαμβάνον, τοσούτῳ ὅσῳπερ ψυχὴ σώματος τιμιωτέρα;

παντάπασιν μὲν οὖν, ἔφη. [591c]

οὐκοῦν ὅ γε νοῦν ἔχων πάντα τὰ αὑτοῦ εἰς τοῦτο συντείνας βιώσεται, πρῶτον μὲν τὰ μαθήματα τιμῶν, ἃ τοιαύτην αὐτοῦ τὴν ψυχὴν ἀπεργάσεται, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ἀτιμάζων;

δῆλον, ἔφη.

ἔπειτά γ᾽, εἶπον, τὴν τοῦ σώματος ἕξιν καὶ τροφὴν οὐχ ὅπως τῇ θηριώδει καὶ ἀλόγῳ ἡδονῇ ἐπιτρέψας ἐνταῦθα τετραμμένος ζήσει, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ πρὸς ὑγίειαν βλέπων, οὐδὲ τοῦτο πρεσβεύων, ὅπως ἰσχυρὸς ἢ ὑγιὴς ἢ καλὸς ἔσται, ἐὰν μὴ [591d] καὶ σωφρονήσειν μέλλῃ ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ τὴν ἐν τῷ σώματι ἁρμονίαν τῆς ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἕνεκα συμφωνίας ἁρμοττόμενος φανεῖται.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ἐάνπερ μέλλῃ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ μουσικὸς εἶναι.

οὐκοῦν, εἶπον, καὶ τὴν ἐν τῇ τῶν χρημάτων κτήσει σύνταξίν τε καὶ συμφωνίαν; καὶ τὸν ὄγκον τοῦ πλήθους οὐκ ἐκπληττόμενος ὑπὸ τοῦ τῶν πολλῶν μακαρισμοῦ ἄπειρον αὐξήσει, ἀπέραντα κακὰ ἔχων;

οὐκ οἴομαι, ἔφη. [591e]

ἀλλ᾽ ἀποβλέπων γε, εἶπον, πρὸς τὴν ἐν αὑτῷ πολιτείαν, καὶ φυλάττων μή τι παρακινῇ αὑτοῦ τῶν ἐκεῖ διὰ πλῆθος οὐσίας ἢ δι᾽ ὀλιγότητα, οὕτως κυβερνῶν προσθήσει καὶ ἀναλώσει τῆς οὐσίας καθ᾽ ὅσον ἂν οἷός τ᾽ ᾖ.

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη. [592a]

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ τιμάς γε, εἰς ταὐτὸν ἀποβλέπων, τῶν μὲν μεθέξει καὶ γεύσεται ἑκών, ἃς ἂν ἡγῆται ἀμείνω αὑτὸν ποιήσειν, ἃς δ᾽ ἂν λύσειν τὴν ὑπάρχουσαν ἕξιν, φεύξεται ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ.

οὐκ ἄρα, ἔφη, τά γε πολιτικὰ ἐθελήσει πράττειν, ἐάνπερ τούτου κήδηται.

νὴ τὸν κύνα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔν γε τῇ ἑαυτοῦ πόλει καὶ μάλα, οὐ μέντοι ἴσως ἔν γε τῇ πατρίδι, ἐὰν μὴ θεία τις συμβῇ τύχη.

μανθάνω, ἔφη: ἐν ᾗ νῦν διήλθομεν οἰκίζοντες πόλει λέγεις, τῇ ἐν λόγοις κειμένῃ, ἐπεὶ γῆς γε οὐδαμοῦ οἶμαι [592b] αὐτὴν εἶναι.

ἀλλ᾽, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐν οὐρανῷ ἴσως παράδειγμα ἀνάκειται τῷ βουλομένῳ ὁρᾶν καὶ ὁρῶντι ἑαυτὸν κατοικίζειν. διαφέρει δὲ οὐδὲν εἴτε που ἔστιν εἴτε ἔσται: τὰ γὰρ ταύτης μόνης ἂν πράξειεν, ἄλλης δὲ οὐδεμιᾶς.

εἰκός γ᾽, ἔφη.

Πολιτεία Ι

Σωκράτης, Γλαύκων

[595a] καὶ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πολλὰ μὲν καὶ ἄλλα περὶ αὐτῆς ἐννοῶ, ὡς παντὸς ἄρα μᾶλλον ὀρθῶς ᾠκίζομεν τὴν πόλιν, οὐχ ἥκιστα δὲ ἐνθυμηθεὶς περὶ ποιήσεως λέγω.

τὸ ποῖον; ἔφη.

τὸ μηδαμῇ παραδέχεσθαι αὐτῆς ὅση μιμητική: παντὸς γὰρ μᾶλλον οὐ παραδεκτέα νῦν καὶ ἐναργέστερον, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, φαίνεται, ἐπειδὴ χωρὶς ἕκαστα διῄρηται τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς [595b] εἴδη.

πῶς λέγεις;

ὡς μὲν πρὸς ὑμᾶς εἰρῆσθαι-οὐ γάρ μου κατερεῖτε πρὸς τοὺς τῆς τραγῳδίας ποιητὰς καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἅπαντας τοὺς μιμητικούς-λώβη ἔοικεν εἶναι πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα τῆς τῶν ἀκουόντων διανοίας, ὅσοι μὴ ἔχουσι φάρμακον τὸ εἰδέναι αὐτὰ οἷα τυγχάνει ὄντα.

πῇ δή, ἔφη, διανοούμενος λέγεις;

ῥητέον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: καίτοι φιλία γέ τίς με καὶ αἰδὼς ἐκ παιδὸς ἔχουσα περὶ Ὁμήρου ἀποκωλύει λέγειν. ἔοικε μὲν [595c] γὰρ τῶν καλῶν ἁπάντων τούτων τῶν τραγικῶν πρῶτος διδάσκαλός τε καὶ ἡγεμὼν γενέσθαι. ἀλλ᾽ οὐ γὰρ πρό γε τῆς ἀληθείας τιμητέος ἀνήρ, ἀλλ᾽, ὃ λέγω, ῥητέον.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

ἄκουε δή, μᾶλλον δὲ ἀποκρίνου.

Ἐρώτα.

μίμησιν ὅλως ἔχοις ἄν μοι εἰπεῖν ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστίν; οὐδὲ γάρ τοι αὐτὸς πάνυ τι συννοῶ τί βούλεται εἶναι.

ἦ που ἄρ᾽, ἔφη, ἐγὼ συννοήσω.

οὐδέν γε, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἄτοπον, ἐπεὶ πολλά τοι ὀξύτερον [596a] βλεπόντων ἀμβλύτερον ὁρῶντες πρότεροι εἶδον.

ἔστιν, ἔφη, οὕτως: ἀλλὰ σοῦ παρόντος οὐδ᾽ ἂν προθυμηθῆναι οἷός τε εἴην εἰπεῖν, εἴ τί μοι καταφαίνεται, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸς ὅρα.

βούλει οὖν ἐνθένδε ἀρξώμεθα ἐπισκοποῦντες, ἐκ τῆς εἰωθυίας μεθόδου; εἶδος γάρ πού τι ἓν ἕκαστον εἰώθαμεν τίθεσθαι περὶ ἕκαστα τὰ πολλά, οἷς ταὐτὸν ὄνομα ἐπιφέρομεν. ἢ οὐ μανθάνεις;

μανθάνω.

θῶμεν δὴ καὶ νῦν ὅτι βούλει τῶν πολλῶν. οἷον, εἰ [596b] ‘θέλεις, πολλαί πού εἰσι κλῖναι καὶ τράπεζαι.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἀλλὰ ἰδέαι γέ που περὶ ταῦτα τὰ σκεύη δύο, μία μὲν κλίνης, μία δὲ τραπέζης.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν καὶ εἰώθαμεν λέγειν ὅτι ὁ δημιουργὸς ἑκατέρου τοῦ σκεύους πρὸς τὴν ἰδέαν βλέπων οὕτω ποιεῖ ὁ μὲν τὰς κλίνας, ὁ δὲ τὰς τραπέζας, αἷς ἡμεῖς χρώμεθα, καὶ τἆλλα κατὰ ταὐτά; οὐ γάρ που τήν γε ἰδέαν αὐτὴν δημιουργεῖ οὐδεὶς τῶν δημιουργῶν: πῶς γάρ;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀλλ᾽ ὅρα δὴ καὶ τόνδε τίνα καλεῖς τὸν δημιουργόν. [596c]

τὸν ποῖον;

ὃς πάντα ποιεῖ, ὅσαπερ εἷς ἕκαστος τῶν χειροτεχνῶν.

δεινόν τινα λέγεις καὶ θαυμαστὸν ἄνδρα.

οὔπω γε, ἀλλὰ τάχα μᾶλλον φήσεις. ὁ αὐτὸς γὰρ οὗτος χειροτέχνης οὐ μόνον πάντα οἷός τε σκεύη ποιῆσαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ ἐκ τῆς γῆς φυόμενα ἅπαντα ποιεῖ καὶ ζῷα πάντα ἐργάζεται, τά τε ἄλλα καὶ ἑαυτόν, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις γῆν καὶ οὐρανὸν καὶ θεοὺς καὶ πάντα τὰ ἐν οὐρανῷ καὶ τὰ ἐν Ἅιδου ὑπὸ γῆς ἅπαντα ἐργάζεται. [596d] πάνυ θαυμαστόν, ἔφη, λέγεις σοφιστήν.

ἀπιστεῖς; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. καί μοι εἰπέ, τὸ παράπαν οὐκ ἄν σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι τοιοῦτος δημιουργός, ἢ τινὶ μὲν τρόπῳ γενέσθαι ἂν τούτων ἁπάντων ποιητής, τινὶ δὲ οὐκ ἄν; ἢ οὐκ αἰσθάνῃ ὅτι κἂν αὐτὸς οἷός τ᾽ εἴης πάντα ταῦτα ποιῆσαι τρόπῳ γέ τινι;

καὶ τίς, ἔφη, ὁ τρόπος οὗτος;

οὐ χαλεπός, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀλλὰ πολλαχῇ καὶ ταχὺ δημιουργούμενος, τάχιστα δέ που, εἰ ‘θέλεις λαβὼν κάτοπτρον [596e] περιφέρειν πανταχῇ: ταχὺ μὲν ἥλιον ποιήσεις καὶ τὰ ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ, ταχὺ δὲ γῆν, ταχὺ δὲ σαυτόν τε καὶ τἆλλα ζῷα καὶ σκεύη καὶ φυτὰ καὶ πάντα ὅσα νυνδὴ ἐλέγετο.

ναί, ἔφη, φαινόμενα, οὐ μέντοι ὄντα γέ που τῇ ἀληθείᾳ.

καλῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, καὶ εἰς δέον ἔρχῃ τῷ λόγῳ. τῶν τοιούτων γὰρ οἶμαι δημιουργῶν καὶ ὁ ζωγράφος ἐστίν. ἦ γάρ;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ἀλλὰ φήσεις οὐκ ἀληθῆ οἶμαι αὐτὸν ποιεῖν ἃ ποιεῖ. καίτοι τρόπῳ γέ τινι καὶ ὁ ζωγράφος κλίνην ποιεῖ: ἢ οὔ;

ναί, ἔφη, φαινομένην γε καὶ οὗτος. [597a]

τί δὲ ὁ κλινοποιός; οὐκ ἄρτι μέντοι ἔλεγες ὅτι οὐ τὸ εἶδος ποιεῖ, ὃ δή φαμεν εἶναι ὃ ἔστι κλίνη, ἀλλὰ κλίνην τινά;

ἔλεγον γάρ.

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὴ ὃ ἔστιν ποιεῖ, οὐκ ἂν τὸ ὂν ποιοῖ, ἀλλά τι τοιοῦτον οἷον τὸ ὄν, ὂν δὲ οὔ: τελέως δὲ εἶναι ὂν τὸ τοῦ κλινουργοῦ ἔργον ἢ ἄλλου τινὸς χειροτέχνου εἴ τις φαίη, κινδυνεύει οὐκ ἂν ἀληθῆ λέγειν;

οὔκουν, ἔφη, ὥς γ᾽ ἂν δόξειεν τοῖς περὶ τοὺς τοιούσδε λόγους διατρίβουσιν.

μηδὲν ἄρα θαυμάζωμεν εἰ καὶ τοῦτο ἀμυδρόν τι τυγχάνει ὂν πρὸς ἀλήθειαν. [597b]

μὴ γάρ.

βούλει οὖν, ἔφην, ἐπ᾽ αὐτῶν τούτων ζητήσωμεν τὸν μιμητὴν τοῦτον, τίς ποτ᾽ ἐστίν;

εἰ βούλει, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τριτταί τινες κλῖναι αὗται γίγνονται: μία μὲν ἡ ἐν τῇ φύσει οὖσα, ἣν φαῖμεν ἄν, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, θεὸν ἐργάσασθαι. ἢ τίν᾽ ἄλλον;

οὐδένα, οἶμαι.

μία δέ γε ἣν ὁ τέκτων.

ναί, ἔφη.

μία δὲ ἣν ὁ ζωγράφος. ἦ γάρ;

ἔστω.

ζωγράφος δή, κλινοποιός, θεός, τρεῖς οὗτοι ἐπιστάται τρισὶν εἴδεσι κλινῶν.

ναὶ τρεῖς. [597c]

ὁ μὲν δὴ θεός, εἴτε οὐκ ἐβούλετο, εἴτε τις ἀνάγκη ἐπῆν μὴ πλέον ἢ μίαν ἐν τῇ φύσει ἀπεργάσασθαι αὐτὸν κλίνην, οὕτως ἐποίησεν μίαν μόνον αὐτὴν ἐκείνην ὃ ἔστιν κλίνη: δύο δὲ τοιαῦται ἢ πλείους οὔτε ἐφυτεύθησαν ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ οὔτε μὴ φυῶσιν.

πῶς δή; ἔφη.

ὅτι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰ δύο μόνας ποιήσειεν, πάλιν ἂν μία ἀναφανείη ἧς ἐκεῖναι ἂν αὖ ἀμφότεραι τὸ εἶδος ἔχοιεν, καὶ εἴη ἂν ὃ ἔστιν κλίνη ἐκείνη ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ αἱ δύο.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη. [597d]

ταῦτα δὴ οἶμαι εἰδὼς ὁ θεός, βουλόμενος εἶναι ὄντως κλίνης ποιητὴς ὄντως οὔσης, ἀλλὰ μὴ κλίνης τινὸς μηδὲ κλινοποιός τις, μίαν φύσει αὐτὴν ἔφυσεν.

ἔοικεν.

βούλει οὖν τοῦτον μὲν φυτουργὸν τούτου προσαγορεύωμεν, ἤ τι τοιοῦτον;

δίκαιον γοῦν, ἔφη, ἐπειδήπερ φύσει γε καὶ τοῦτο καὶ τἆλλα πάντα πεποίηκεν.

τί δὲ τὸν τέκτονα; ἆρ᾽ οὐ δημιουργὸν κλίνης;

ναί.

ἦ καὶ τὸν ζωγράφον δημιουργὸν καὶ ποιητὴν τοῦ τοιούτου;

οὐδαμῶς.

ἀλλὰ τί αὐτὸν κλίνης φήσεις εἶναι; [597e]

τοῦτο, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ μετριώτατ᾽ ἂν προσαγορεύεσθαι, μιμητὴς οὗ ἐκεῖνοι δημιουργοί.

εἶεν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: τὸν τοῦ τρίτου ἄρα γεννήματος ἀπὸ τῆς φύσεως μιμητὴν καλεῖς;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τοῦτ᾽ ἄρα ἔσται καὶ ὁ τραγῳδοποιός, εἴπερ μιμητής ἐστι, τρίτος τις ἀπὸ βασιλέως καὶ τῆς ἀληθείας πεφυκώς, καὶ πάντες οἱ ἄλλοι μιμηταί.

κινδυνεύει.

τὸν μὲν δὴ μιμητὴν ὡμολογήκαμεν. εἰπὲ δέ μοι περὶ [598a] τοῦ ζωγράφου τόδε: πότερα ἐκεῖνο αὐτὸ τὸ ἐν τῇ φύσει ἕκαστον δοκεῖ σοι ἐπιχειρεῖν μιμεῖσθαι ἢ τὰ τῶν δημιουργῶν ἔργα;

τὰ τῶν δημιουργῶν, ἔφη.

ἆρα οἷα ἔστιν ἢ οἷα φαίνεται; τοῦτο γὰρ ἔτι διόρισον.

πῶς λέγεις; ἔφη.

ὧδε: κλίνη, ἐάντε ἐκ πλαγίου αὐτὴν θεᾷ ἐάντε καταντικρὺ ἢ ὁπῃοῦν, μή τι διαφέρει αὐτὴ ἑαυτῆς, ἢ διαφέρει μὲν οὐδέν, φαίνεται δὲ ἀλλοία; καὶ τἆλλα ὡσαύτως;

οὕτως, ἔφη: φαίνεται, διαφέρει δ᾽ οὐδέν. [598b]

τοῦτο δὴ αὐτὸ σκόπει: πρὸς πότερον ἡ γραφικὴ πεποίηται περὶ ἕκαστον; πότερα πρὸς τὸ ὄν, ὡς ἔχει, μιμήσασθαι, ἢ πρὸς τὸ φαινόμενον, ὡς φαίνεται, φαντάσματος ἢ ἀληθείας οὖσα μίμησις;

φαντάσματος, ἔφη.

πόρρω ἄρα που τοῦ ἀληθοῦς ἡ μιμητική ἐστιν καί, ὡς ἔοικεν, διὰ τοῦτο πάντα ἀπεργάζεται, ὅτι σμικρόν τι ἑκάστου ἐφάπτεται, καὶ τοῦτο εἴδωλον. οἷον ὁ ζωγράφος, φαμέν, ζωγραφήσει ἡμῖν σκυτοτόμον, τέκτονα, τοὺς ἄλλους δημιουργούς, [598c] περὶ οὐδενὸς τούτων ἐπαΐων τῶν τεχνῶν: ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως παῖδάς γε καὶ ἄφρονας ἀνθρώπους, εἰ ἀγαθὸς εἴη ζωγράφος, γράψας ἂν τέκτονα καὶ πόρρωθεν ἐπιδεικνὺς ἐξαπατῷ ἂν τῷ δοκεῖν ὡς ἀληθῶς τέκτονα εἶναι.

τί δ᾽ οὔ;

ἀλλὰ γὰρ οἶμαι ὦ φίλε, τόδε δεῖ περὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων διανοεῖσθαι: ἐπειδάν τις ἡμῖν ἀπαγγέλλῃ περί του, ὡς ἐνέτυχεν ἀνθρώπῳ πάσας ἐπισταμένῳ τὰς δημιουργίας καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ὅσα εἷς ἕκαστος οἶδεν, οὐδὲν ὅτι οὐχὶ [598d] ἀκριβέστερον ὁτουοῦν ἐπισταμένῳ, ὑπολαμβάνειν δεῖ τῷ τοιούτῳ ὅτι εὐήθης τις ἄνθρωπος, καί, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐντυχὼν γόητί τινι καὶ μιμητῇ ἐξηπατήθη, ὥστε ἔδοξεν αὐτῷ πάσσοφος εἶναι, διὰ τὸ αὐτὸς μὴ οἷός τ᾽ εἶναι ἐπιστήμην καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνην καὶ μίμησιν ἐξετάσαι.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μετὰ τοῦτο ἐπισκεπτέον τήν τε τραγῳδίαν καὶ τὸν ἡγεμόνα αὐτῆς Ὅμηρον, ἐπειδή τινων [598e] ἀκούομεν ὅτι οὗτοι πάσας μὲν τέχνας ἐπίστανται, πάντα δὲ τὰ ἀνθρώπεια τὰ πρὸς ἀρετὴν καὶ κακίαν, καὶ τά γε θεῖα: ἀνάγκη γὰρ τὸν ἀγαθὸν ποιητήν, εἰ μέλλει περὶ ὧν ἂν ποιῇ καλῶς ποιήσειν, εἰδότα ἄρα ποιεῖν, ἢ μὴ οἷόν τε εἶναι ποιεῖν. δεῖ δὴ ἐπισκέψασθαι πότερον μιμηταῖς τούτοις οὗτοι ἐντυχόντες ἐξηπάτηνται καὶ τὰ ἔργα αὐτῶν ὁρῶντες [599a] οὐκ αἰσθάνονται τριττὰ ἀπέχοντα τοῦ ὄντος καὶ ῥᾴδια ποιεῖν μὴ εἰδότι τὴν ἀλήθειαν-φαντάσματα γὰρ ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ὄντα ποιοῦσιν-ἤ τι καὶ λέγουσιν καὶ τῷ ὄντι οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ποιηταὶ ἴσασιν περὶ ὧν δοκοῦσιν τοῖς πολλοῖς εὖ λέγειν.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη, ἐξεταστέον.

οἴει οὖν, εἴ τις ἀμφότερα δύναιτο ποιεῖν, τό τε μιμηθησόμενον καὶ τὸ εἴδωλον, ἐπὶ τῇ τῶν εἰδώλων δημιουργίᾳ ἑαυτὸν ἀφεῖναι ἂν σπουδάζειν καὶ τοῦτο προστήσασθαι τοῦ [599b] ἑαυτοῦ βίου ὡς βέλτιστον ἔχοντα;

οὐκ ἔγωγε.

ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ γε οἶμαι ἐπιστήμων εἴη τῇ ἀληθείᾳ τούτων πέρι ἅπερ καὶ μιμεῖται, πολὺ πρότερον ἐν τοῖς ἔργοις ἂν σπουδάσειεν ἢ ἐπὶ τοῖς μιμήμασι, καὶ πειρῷτο ἂν πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ ἔργα ἑαυτοῦ καταλιπεῖν μνημεῖα, καὶ εἶναι προθυμοῖτ᾽ ἂν μᾶλλον ὁ ἐγκωμιαζόμενος ἢ ὁ ἐγκωμιάζων.

οἶμαι, ἔφη: οὐ γὰρ ἐξ ἴσου ἥ τε τιμὴ καὶ ἡ ὠφελία.

τῶν μὲν τοίνυν ἄλλων πέρι μὴ ἀπαιτῶμεν λόγον Ὅμηρον [599c] ἢ ἄλλον ὁντινοῦν τῶν ποιητῶν, ἐρωτῶντες εἰ ἰατρικὸς ἦν τις αὐτῶν ἀλλὰ μὴ μιμητὴς μόνον ἰατρικῶν λόγων, τίνας ὑγιεῖς ποιητής τις τῶν παλαιῶν ἢ τῶν νέων λέγεται πεποιηκέναι, ὥσπερ Ἀσκληπιός, ἢ τίνας μαθητὰς ἰατρικῆς κατελίπετο, ὥσπερ ἐκεῖνος τοὺς ἐκγόνους, μηδ᾽ αὖ περὶ τὰς ἄλλας τέχνας αὐτοὺς ἐρωτῶμεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐῶμεν: περὶ δὲ ὧν μεγίστων τε καὶ καλλίστων ἐπιχειρεῖ λέγειν Ὅμηρος, πολέμων τε πέρι καὶ στρατηγιῶν καὶ διοικήσεων πόλεων, καὶ [599d] παιδείας πέρι ἀνθρώπου, δίκαιόν που ἐρωτᾶν αὐτὸν πυνθανομένους: ὦ φίλε Ὅμηρε, εἴπερ μὴ τρίτος ἀπὸ τῆς ἀληθείας εἶ ἀρετῆς πέρι, εἰδώλου δημιουργός, ὃν δὴ μιμητὴν ὡρισάμεθα, ἀλλὰ καὶ δεύτερος, καὶ οἷός τε ἦσθα γιγνώσκειν ποῖα ἐπιτηδεύματα βελτίους ἢ χείρους ἀνθρώπους ποιεῖ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, λέγε ἡμῖν τίς τῶν πόλεων διὰ σὲ βέλτιον ᾤκησεν, ὥσπερ διὰ Λυκοῦργον Λακεδαίμων καὶ δι᾽ ἄλλους πολλοὺς [599e] πολλαὶ μεγάλαι τε καὶ σμικραί; σὲ δὲ τίς αἰτιᾶται πόλις νομοθέτην ἀγαθὸν γεγονέναι καὶ σφᾶς ὠφεληκέναι; Χαρώνδαν μὲν γὰρ Ἰταλία καὶ Σικελία, καὶ ἡμεῖς Σόλωνα: σὲ δὲ τίς; ἕξει τινὰ εἰπεῖν;

οὐκ οἶμαι, ἔφη ὁ Γλαύκων: οὔκουν λέγεταί γε οὐδ᾽ ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν Ὁμηριδῶν. [600a]

ἀλλὰ δή τις πόλεμος ἐπὶ Ὁμήρου ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου ἄρχοντος ἢ συμβουλεύοντος εὖ πολεμηθεὶς μνημονεύεται;

οὐδείς.

ἀλλ᾽ οἷα δὴ εἰς τὰ ἔργα σοφοῦ ἀνδρὸς πολλαὶ ἐπίνοιαι καὶ εὐμήχανοι εἰς τέχνας ἤ τινας ἄλλας πράξεις λέγονται, ὥσπερ αὖ Θάλεώ τε πέρι τοῦ Μιλησίου καὶ Ἀναχάρσιος τοῦ Σκύθου;

οὐδαμῶς τοιοῦτον οὐδέν.

ἀλλὰ δὴ εἰ μὴ δημοσίᾳ, ἰδίᾳ τισὶν ἡγεμὼν παιδείας αὐτὸς ζῶν λέγεται Ὅμηρος γενέσθαι, οἳ ἐκεῖνον ἠγάπων ἐπὶ [600b] συνουσίᾳ καὶ τοῖς ὑστέροις ὁδόν τινα παρέδοσαν βίου Ὁμηρικήν, ὥσπερ Πυθαγόρας αὐτός τε διαφερόντως ἐπὶ τούτῳ ἠγαπήθη, καὶ οἱ ὕστεροι ἔτι καὶ νῦν Πυθαγόρειον τρόπον ἐπονομάζοντες τοῦ βίου διαφανεῖς πῃ δοκοῦσιν εἶναι ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις;

οὐδ᾽ αὖ, ἔφη, τοιοῦτον οὐδὲν λέγεται. ὁ γὰρ Κρεώφυλος, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἴσως, ὁ τοῦ Ὁμήρου ἑταῖρος, τοῦ ὀνόματος ἂν γελοιότερος ἔτι πρὸς παιδείαν φανείη, εἰ τὰ λεγόμενα περὶ Ὁμήρου ἀληθῆ. λέγεται γὰρ ὡς πολλή τις ἀμέλεια περὶ [600c] αὐτὸν ἦν ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῦ ἐκείνου, ὅτε ἔζη.

λέγεται γὰρ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ. ἀλλ᾽ οἴει, ὦ Γλαύκων, εἰ τῷ ὄντι οἷός τ᾽ ἦν παιδεύειν ἀνθρώπους καὶ βελτίους ἀπεργάζεσθαι Ὅμηρος, ἅτε περὶ τούτων οὐ μιμεῖσθαι ἀλλὰ γιγνώσκειν δυνάμενος, οὐκ ἄρ᾽ ἂν πολλοὺς ἑταίρους ἐποιήσατο καὶ ἐτιμᾶτο καὶ ἠγαπᾶτο ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν, ἀλλὰ Πρωταγόρας μὲν ἄρα ὁ Ἀβδηρίτης καὶ Πρόδικος ὁ Κεῖος καὶ ἄλλοι πάμπολλοι δύνανται τοῖς ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτῶν παριστάναι ἰδίᾳ συγγιγνόμενοι [600d] ὡς οὔτε οἰκίαν οὔτε πόλιν τὴν αὑτῶν διοικεῖν οἷοί τ᾽ ἔσονται, ἐὰν μὴ σφεῖς αὐτῶν ἐπιστατήσωσιν τῆς παιδείας, καὶ ἐπὶ ταύτῃ τῇ σοφίᾳ οὕτω σφόδρα φιλοῦνται, ὥστε μόνον οὐκ ἐπὶ ταῖς κεφαλαῖς περιφέρουσιν αὐτοὺς οἱ ἑταῖροι: Ὅμηρον δ᾽ ἄρα οἱ ἐπ᾽ ἐκείνου, εἴπερ οἷός τ᾽ ἦν πρὸς ἀρετὴν ὀνῆσαι ἀνθρώπους, ἢ Ἡσίοδον ῥαψῳδεῖν ἂν περιιόντας εἴων, καὶ οὐχὶ μᾶλλον ἂν αὐτῶν ἀντείχοντο ἢ τοῦ χρυσοῦ καὶ [600e] ἠνάγκαζον παρὰ σφίσιν οἴκοι εἶναι, ἢ εἰ μὴ ἔπειθον, αὐτοὶ ἂν ἐπαιδαγώγουν ὅπῃ ᾖσαν, ἕως ἱκανῶς παιδείας μεταλάβοιεν;

παντάπασιν, ἔφη, δοκεῖς μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀληθῆ λέγειν.

οὐκοῦν τιθῶμεν ἀπὸ Ὁμήρου ἀρξαμένους πάντας τοὺς ποιητικοὺς μιμητὰς εἰδώλων ἀρετῆς εἶναι καὶ τῶν ἄλλων περὶ ὧν ποιοῦσιν, τῆς δὲ ἀληθείας οὐχ ἅπτεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ὁ ζωγράφος σκυτοτόμον ποιήσει δοκοῦντα [601a] εἶναι, αὐτός τε οὐκ ἐπαΐων περὶ σκυτοτομίας καὶ τοῖς μὴ ἐπαΐουσιν, ἐκ τῶν χρωμάτων δὲ καὶ σχημάτων θεωροῦσιν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὕτω δὴ οἶμαι καὶ τὸν ποιητικὸν φήσομεν χρώματα ἄττα ἑκάστων τῶν τεχνῶν τοῖς ὀνόμασι καὶ ῥήμασιν ἐπιχρωματίζειν αὐτὸν οὐκ ἐπαΐοντα ἀλλ᾽ ἢ μιμεῖσθαι, ὥστε ἑτέροις τοιούτοις ἐκ τῶν λόγων θεωροῦσι δοκεῖν, ἐάντε περὶ σκυτοτομίας τις λέγῃ ἐν μέτρῳ καὶ ῥυθμῷ καὶ ἁρμονίᾳ, πάνυ εὖ δοκεῖν λέγεσθαι, ἐάντε περὶ στρατηγίας ἐάντε περὶ ἄλλου [601b] ὁτουοῦν: οὕτω φύσει αὐτὰ ταῦτα μεγάλην τινὰ κήλησιν ἔχειν. ἐπεὶ γυμνωθέντα γε τῶν τῆς μουσικῆς χρωμάτων τὰ τῶν ποιητῶν, αὐτὰ ἐφ᾽ αὑτῶν λεγόμενα, οἶμαί σε εἰδέναι οἷα φαίνεται. τεθέασαι γάρ που.

ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔοικεν τοῖς τῶν ὡραίων προσώποις, καλῶν δὲ μή, οἷα γίγνεται ἰδεῖν ὅταν αὐτὰ τὸ ἄνθος προλίπῃ;

παντάπασιν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἴθι δή, τόδε ἄθρει: ὁ τοῦ εἰδώλου ποιητής, ὁ μιμητής, φαμέν, τοῦ μὲν ὄντος οὐδὲν ἐπαΐει, τοῦ δὲ φαινομένου: οὐχ [601c] οὕτως;

ναί.

μὴ τοίνυν ἡμίσεως αὐτὸ καταλίπωμεν ῥηθέν, ἀλλ᾽ ἱκανῶς ἴδωμεν.

λέγε, ἔφη.

ζωγράφος, φαμέν, ἡνίας τε γράψει καὶ χαλινόν;

ναί.

ποιήσει δέ γε σκυτοτόμος καὶ χαλκεύς;

πάνυ γε.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐπαΐει οἵας δεῖ τὰς ἡνίας εἶναι καὶ τὸν χαλινὸν ὁ γραφεύς; ἢ οὐδ᾽ ὁ ποιήσας, ὅ τε χαλκεὺς καὶ ὁ σκυτεύς, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνος ὅσπερ τούτοις ἐπίσταται χρῆσθαι, μόνος ὁ ἱππικός;

ἀληθέστατα.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ περὶ πάντα οὕτω φήσομεν ἔχειν;

πῶς; [601d]

περὶ ἕκαστον ταύτας τινὰς τρεῖς τέχνας εἶναι, χρησομένην, ποιήσουσαν, μιμησομένην;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν ἀρετὴ καὶ κάλλος καὶ ὀρθότης ἑκάστου σκεύους καὶ ζῴου καὶ πράξεως οὐ πρὸς ἄλλο τι ἢ τὴν χρείαν ἐστίν, πρὸς ἣν ἂν ἕκαστον ᾖ πεποιημένον ἢ πεφυκός;

οὕτως.

πολλὴ ἄρα ἀνάγκη τὸν χρώμενον ἑκάστῳ ἐμπειρότατόν τε εἶναι καὶ ἄγγελον γίγνεσθαι τῷ ποιητῇ οἷα ἀγαθὰ ἢ κακὰ ποιεῖ ἐν τῇ χρείᾳ ᾧ χρῆται: οἷον αὐλητής που αὐλοποιῷ [601e] ἐξαγγέλλει περὶ τῶν αὐλῶν, οἳ ἂν ὑπηρετῶσιν ἐν τῷ αὐλεῖν, καὶ ἐπιτάξει οἵους δεῖ ποιεῖν, ὁ δ᾽ ὑπηρετήσει.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν ὁ μὲν εἰδὼς ἐξαγγέλλει περὶ χρηστῶν καὶ πονηρῶν αὐλῶν, ὁ δὲ πιστεύων ποιήσει;

ναί.

τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἄρα σκεύους ὁ μὲν ποιητὴς πίστιν ὀρθὴν ἕξει περὶ κάλλους τε καὶ πονηρίας, συνὼν τῷ εἰδότι καὶ ἀναγκαζόμενος [602a] ἀκούειν παρὰ τοῦ εἰδότος, ὁ δὲ χρώμενος ἐπιστήμην.

πάνυ γε.

ὁ δὲ μιμητὴς πότερον ἐκ τοῦ χρῆσθαι ἐπιστήμην ἕξει περὶ ὧν ἂν γράφῃ, εἴτε καλὰ καὶ ὀρθὰ εἴτε μή, ἢ δόξαν ὀρθὴν διὰ τὸ ἐξ ἀνάγκης συνεῖναι τῷ εἰδότι καὶ ἐπιτάττεσθαι οἷα χρὴ γράφειν;

οὐδέτερα.

οὔτε ἄρα εἴσεται οὔτε ὀρθὰ δοξάσει ὁ μιμητὴς περὶ ὧν ἂν μιμῆται πρὸς κάλλος ἢ πονηρίαν.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

χαρίεις ἂν εἴη ὁ ἐν τῇ ποιήσει μιμητικὸς πρὸς σοφίαν περὶ ὧν ἂν ποιῇ.

οὐ πάνυ. [602b]

ἀλλ᾽ οὖν δὴ ὅμως γε μιμήσεται, οὐκ εἰδὼς περὶ ἑκάστου ὅπῃ πονηρὸν ἢ χρηστόν: ἀλλ᾽, ὡς ἔοικεν, οἷον φαίνεται καλὸν εἶναι τοῖς πολλοῖς τε καὶ μηδὲν εἰδόσιν, τοῦτο μιμήσεται.

τί γὰρ ἄλλο;

ταῦτα μὲν δή, ὥς γε φαίνεται, ἐπιεικῶς ἡμῖν διωμολόγηται, τόν τε μιμητικὸν μηδὲν εἰδέναι ἄξιον λόγου περὶ ὧν μιμεῖται, ἀλλ᾽ εἶναι παιδιάν τινα καὶ οὐ σπουδὴν τὴν μίμησιν, τούς τε τῆς τραγικῆς ποιήσεως ἁπτομένους ἐν ἰαμβείοις καὶ ἐν ἔπεσι πάντας εἶναι μιμητικοὺς ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [602c]

πρὸς Διός, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὸ δὲ δὴ μιμεῖσθαι τοῦτο οὐ περὶ τρίτον μέν τί ἐστιν ἀπὸ τῆς ἀληθείας; ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

πρὸς δὲ δὴ ποῖόν τί ἐστιν τῶν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἔχον τὴν δύναμιν ἣν ἔχει;

τοῦ ποίου τινὸς πέρι λέγεις;

τοῦ τοιοῦδε: ταὐτόν που ἡμῖν μέγεθος ἐγγύθεν τε καὶ πόρρωθεν διὰ τῆς ὄψεως οὐκ ἴσον φαίνεται.

οὐ γάρ.

καὶ ταὐτὰ καμπύλα τε καὶ εὐθέα ἐν ὕδατί τε θεωμένοις καὶ ἔξω, καὶ κοῖλά τε δὴ καὶ ἐξέχοντα διὰ τὴν περὶ τὰ χρώματα αὖ πλάνην τῆς ὄψεως, καὶ πᾶσά τις ταραχὴ δήλη [602d] ἡμῖν ἐνοῦσα αὕτη ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ: ᾧ δὴ ἡμῶν τῷ παθήματι τῆς φύσεως ἡ σκιαγραφία ἐπιθεμένη γοητείας οὐδὲν ἀπολείπει, καὶ ἡ θαυματοποιία καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι πολλαὶ τοιαῦται μηχαναί.

ἀληθῆ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τὸ μετρεῖν καὶ ἀριθμεῖν καὶ ἱστάναι βοήθειαι χαριέσταται πρὸς αὐτὰ ἐφάνησαν, ὥστε μὴ ἄρχειν ἐν ἡμῖν τὸ φαινόμενον μεῖζον ἢ ἔλαττον ἢ πλέον ἢ βαρύτερον, ἀλλὰ τὸ λογισάμενον καὶ μετρῆσαν ἢ καὶ στῆσαν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ; [602e]

ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε τοῦ λογιστικοῦ ἂν εἴη τοῦ ἐν ψυχῇ ἔργον.

τούτου γὰρ οὖν.

τούτῳ δὲ πολλάκις μετρήσαντι καὶ σημαίνοντι μείζω ἄττα εἶναι ἢ ἐλάττω ἕτερα ἑτέρων ἢ ἴσα τἀναντία φαίνεται ἅμα περὶ ταὐτά.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν ἔφαμεν τῷ αὐτῷ ἅμα περὶ ταὐτὰ ἐναντία δοξάζειν ἀδύνατον εἶναι;

καὶ ὀρθῶς γ᾽ ἔφαμεν. [603a]

τὸ παρὰ τὰ μέτρα ἄρα δοξάζον τῆς ψυχῆς τῷ κατὰ τὰ μέτρα οὐκ ἂν εἴη ταὐτόν.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τὸ μέτρῳ γε καὶ λογισμῷ πιστεῦον βέλτιστον ἂν εἴη τῆς ψυχῆς.

τί μήν;

τὸ ἄρα τούτῳ ἐναντιούμενον τῶν φαύλων ἄν τι εἴη ἐν ἡμῖν.

ἀνάγκη.

τοῦτο τοίνυν διομολογήσασθαι βουλόμενος ἔλεγον ὅτι ἡ γραφικὴ καὶ ὅλως ἡ μιμητικὴ πόρρω μὲν τῆς ἀληθείας ὂν τὸ αὑτῆς ἔργον ἀπεργάζεται, πόρρω δ᾽ αὖ φρονήσεως ὄντι τῷ [603b] ἐν ἡμῖν προσομιλεῖ τε καὶ ἑταίρα καὶ φίλη ἐστὶν ἐπ᾽ οὐδενὶ ὑγιεῖ οὐδ᾽ ἀληθεῖ.

παντάπασιν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

φαύλη ἄρα φαύλῳ συγγιγνομένη φαῦλα γεννᾷ ἡ μιμητική.

ἔοικεν.

πότερον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἡ κατὰ τὴν ὄψιν μόνον, ἢ καὶ κατὰ τὴν ἀκοήν, ἣν δὴ ποίησιν ὀνομάζομεν;

εἰκός γ᾽, ἔφη, καὶ ταύτην.

μὴ τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τῷ εἰκότι μόνον πιστεύσωμεν ἐκ τῆς γραφικῆς, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ αὖ ἔλθωμεν τῆς διανοίας [603c] τοῦτο ᾧ προσομιλεῖ ἡ τῆς ποιήσεως μιμητική, καὶ ἴδωμεν φαῦλον ἢ σπουδαῖόν ἐστιν.

ἀλλὰ χρή.

ὧδε δὴ προθώμεθα: πράττοντας, φαμέν, ἀνθρώπους μιμεῖται ἡ μιμητικὴ βιαίους ἢ ἑκουσίας πράξεις, καὶ ἐκ τοῦ πράττειν ἢ εὖ οἰομένους ἢ κακῶς πεπραγέναι, καὶ ἐν τούτοις δὴ πᾶσιν ἢ λυπουμένους ἢ χαίροντας. μή τι ἄλλο ἦν παρὰ ταῦτα;

οὐδέν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐν ἅπασι τούτοις ὁμονοητικῶς ἄνθρωπος διάκειται; [603d] ἢ ὥσπερ κατὰ τὴν ὄψιν ἐστασίαζεν καὶ ἐναντίας εἶχεν ἐν ἑαυτῷ δόξας ἅμα περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν, οὕτω καὶ ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι στασιάζει τε καὶ μάχεται αὐτὸς αὑτῷ; ἀναμιμνῄσκομαι δὲ ὅτι τοῦτό γε νῦν οὐδὲν δεῖ ἡμᾶς διομολογεῖσθαι: ἐν γὰρ τοῖς ἄνω λόγοις ἱκανῶς πάντα ταῦτα διωμολογησάμεθα, ὅτι μυρίων τοιούτων ἐναντιωμάτων ἅμα γιγνομένων ἡ ψυχὴ γέμει ἡμῶν.

ὀρθῶς, ἔφη.

ὀρθῶς γάρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ἀλλ᾽ ὃ τότε ἀπελίπομεν, νῦν μοι [603e] δοκεῖ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι διεξελθεῖν.

τὸ ποῖον; ἔφη.

ἀνήρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐπιεικὴς τοιᾶσδε τύχης μετασχών, ὑὸν ἀπολέσας ἤ τι ἄλλο ὧν περὶ πλείστου ποιεῖται, ἐλέγομέν που καὶ τότε ὅτι ῥᾷστα οἴσει τῶν ἄλλων.

πάνυ γε.

νῦν δέ γε τόδ᾽ ἐπισκεψώμεθα, πότερον οὐδὲν ἀχθέσεται, ἢ τοῦτο μὲν ἀδύνατον, μετριάσει δέ πως πρὸς λύπην.

οὕτω μᾶλλον, ἔφη, τό γε ἀληθές. [604a]

τόδε νῦν μοι περὶ αὐτοῦ εἰπέ: πότερον μᾶλλον αὐτὸν οἴει τῇ λύπῃ μαχεῖσθαί τε καὶ ἀντιτείνειν, ὅταν ὁρᾶται ὑπὸ τῶν ὁμοίων, ἢ ὅταν ἐν ἐρημίᾳ μόνος αὐτὸς καθ᾽ αὑτὸν γίγνηται;

πολύ που, ἔφη, διοίσει, ὅταν ὁρᾶται.

μονωθεὶς δέ γε οἶμαι πολλὰ μὲν τολμήσει φθέγξασθαι, ἃ εἴ τις αὐτοῦ ἀκούοι αἰσχύνοιτ᾽ ἄν, πολλὰ δὲ ποιήσει, ἃ οὐκ ἂν δέξαιτό τινα ἰδεῖν δρῶντα.

οὕτως ἔχει, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν τὸ μὲν ἀντιτείνειν διακελευόμενον λόγος καὶ νόμος [604b] ἐστίν, τὸ δὲ ἕλκον ἐπὶ τὰς λύπας αὐτὸ τὸ πάθος;

ἀληθῆ.

ἐναντίας δὲ ἀγωγῆς γιγνομένης ἐν τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ περὶ τὸ αὐτὸ ἅμα, δύο φαμὲν αὐτὼ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν τὸ μὲν ἕτερον τῷ νόμῳ ἕτοιμον πείθεσθαι, ᾗ ὁ νόμος ἐξηγεῖται;

πῶς;

λέγει που ὁ νόμος ὅτι κάλλιστον ὅτι μάλιστα ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν ἐν ταῖς συμφοραῖς καὶ μὴ ἀγανακτεῖν, ὡς οὔτε δήλου ὄντος τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ τε καὶ κακοῦ τῶν τοιούτων, οὔτε εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν οὐδὲν προβαῖνον τῷ χαλεπῶς φέροντι, οὔτε τι τῶν [604c] ἀνθρωπίνων ἄξιον ὂν μεγάλης σπουδῆς, ὅ τε δεῖ ἐν αὐτοῖς ὅτι τάχιστα παραγίγνεσθαι ἡμῖν, τούτῳ ἐμποδὼν γιγνόμενον τὸ λυπεῖσθαι.

τίνι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, λέγεις;

τῷ βουλεύεσθαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, περὶ τὸ γεγονὸς καὶ ὥσπερ ἐν πτώσει κύβων πρὸς τὰ πεπτωκότα τίθεσθαι τὰ αὑτοῦ πράγματα, ὅπῃ ὁ λόγος αἱρεῖ βέλτιστ᾽ ἂν ἔχειν, ἀλλὰ μὴ προσπταίσαντας καθάπερ παῖδας ἐχομένους τοῦ πληγέντος ἐν τῷ βοᾶν διατρίβειν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ ἐθίζειν τὴν ψυχὴν ὅτι [604d] τάχιστα γίγνεσθαι πρὸς τὸ ἰᾶσθαί τε καὶ ἐπανορθοῦν τὸ πεσόν τε καὶ νοσῆσαν, ἰατρικῇ θρηνῳδίαν ἀφανίζοντα.

ὀρθότατα γοῦν ἄν τις, ἔφη, πρὸς τὰς τύχας οὕτω προσφέροιτο.

οὐκοῦν, φαμέν, τὸ μὲν βέλτιστον τούτῳ τῷ λογισμῷ ἐθέλει ἕπεσθαι.

δῆλον δή.

τὸ δὲ πρὸς τὰς ἀναμνήσεις τε τοῦ πάθους καὶ πρὸς τοὺς ὀδυρμοὺς ἄγον καὶ ἀπλήστως ἔχον αὐτῶν ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀλόγιστόν τε φήσομεν εἶναι καὶ ἀργὸν καὶ δειλίας φίλον;

φήσομεν μὲν οὖν. [604e]

οὐκοῦν τὸ μὲν πολλὴν μίμησιν καὶ ποικίλην ἔχει, τὸ ἀγανακτητικόν, τὸ δὲ φρόνιμόν τε καὶ ἡσύχιον ἦθος, παραπλήσιον ὂν ἀεὶ αὐτὸ αὑτῷ, οὔτε ῥᾴδιον μιμήσασθαι οὔτε μιμουμένου εὐπετὲς καταμαθεῖν, ἄλλως τε καὶ πανηγύρει καὶ παντοδαποῖς ἀνθρώποις εἰς θέατρα συλλεγομένοις: ἀλλοτρίου γάρ που πάθους ἡ μίμησις αὐτοῖς γίγνεται. [605a]

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

ὁ δὴ μιμητικὸς ποιητὴς δῆλον ὅτι οὐ πρὸς τὸ τοιοῦτον τῆς ψυχῆς πέφυκέ τε καὶ ἡ σοφία αὐτοῦ τούτῳ ἀρέσκειν πέπηγεν, εἰ μέλλει εὐδοκιμήσειν ἐν τοῖς πολλοῖς, ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὸ ἀγανακτητικόν τε καὶ ποικίλον ἦθος διὰ τὸ εὐμίμητον εἶναι.

δῆλον.

οὐκοῦν δικαίως ἂν αὐτοῦ ἤδη ἐπιλαμβανοίμεθα, καὶ τιθεῖμεν ἀντίστροφον αὐτὸν τῷ ζωγράφῳ: καὶ γὰρ τῷ φαῦλα ποιεῖν πρὸς ἀλήθειαν ἔοικεν αὐτῷ, καὶ τῷ πρὸς ἕτερον τοιοῦτον [605b] ὁμιλεῖν τῆς ψυχῆς ἀλλὰ μὴ πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον, καὶ ταύτῃ ὡμοίωται. καὶ οὕτως ἤδη ἂν ἐν δίκῃ οὐ παραδεχοίμεθα εἰς μέλλουσαν εὐνομεῖσθαι πόλιν, ὅτι τοῦτο ἐγείρει τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ τρέφει καὶ ἰσχυρὸν ποιῶν ἀπόλλυσι τὸ λογιστικόν, ὥσπερ ἐν πόλει ὅταν τις μοχθηροὺς ἐγκρατεῖς ποιῶν παραδιδῷ τὴν πόλιν, τοὺς δὲ χαριεστέρους φθείρῃ: ταὐτὸν καὶ τὸν μιμητικὸν ποιητὴν φήσομεν κακὴν πολιτείαν ἰδίᾳ ἑκάστου τῇ ψυχῇ ἐμποιεῖν, τῷ ἀνοήτῳ αὐτῆς [605c] χαριζόμενον καὶ οὔτε τὰ μείζω οὔτε τὰ ἐλάττω διαγιγνώσκοντι, ἀλλὰ τὰ αὐτὰ τοτὲ μὲν μεγάλα ἡγουμένῳ, τοτὲ δὲ σμικρά, εἴδωλα εἰδωλοποιοῦντα, τοῦ δὲ ἀληθοῦς πόρρω πάνυ ἀφεστῶτα.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐ μέντοι πω τό γε μέγιστον κατηγορήκαμεν αὐτῆς. τὸ γὰρ καὶ τοὺς ἐπιεικεῖς ἱκανὴν εἶναι λωβᾶσθαι, ἐκτὸς πάνυ τινῶν ὀλίγων, πάνδεινόν που.

τί δ᾽ οὐ μέλλει, εἴπερ γε δρᾷ αὐτό;

ἀκούων σκόπει. οἱ γάρ που βέλτιστοι ἡμῶν ἀκροώμενοι Ὁμήρου ἢ ἄλλου τινὸς τῶν τραγῳδοποιῶν μιμουμένου [605d] τινὰ τῶν ἡρώων ἐν πένθει ὄντα καὶ μακρὰν ῥῆσιν ἀποτείνοντα ἐν τοῖς ὀδυρμοῖς ἢ καὶ ᾁδοντάς τε καὶ κοπτομένους, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι χαίρομέν τε καὶ ἐνδόντες ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς ἑπόμεθα συμπάσχοντες καὶ σπουδάζοντες ἐπαινοῦμεν ὡς ἀγαθὸν ποιητήν, ὃς ἂν ἡμᾶς ὅτι μάλιστα οὕτω διαθῇ.

οἶδα: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ὅταν δὲ οἰκεῖόν τινι ἡμῶν κῆδος γένηται, ἐννοεῖς αὖ ὅτι ἐπὶ τῷ ἐναντίῳ καλλωπιζόμεθα, ἂν δυνώμεθα ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν [605e] καὶ καρτερεῖν, ὡς τοῦτο μὲν ἀνδρὸς ὄν, ἐκεῖνο δὲ γυναικός, ὃ τότε ἐπῃνοῦμεν.

ἐννοῶ, ἔφη.

ἦ καλῶς οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὗτος ὁ ἔπαινος ἔχει, τὸ ὁρῶντα τοιοῦτον ἄνδρα, οἷον ἑαυτόν τις μὴ ἀξιοῖ εἶναι ἀλλ᾽ αἰσχύνοιτο ἄν, μὴ βδελύττεσθαι ἀλλὰ χαίρειν τε καὶ ἐπαινεῖν;

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δί᾽, ἔφη, οὐκ εὐλόγῳ ἔοικεν. [606a]

ναί, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰ ἐκείνῃ γ᾽ αὐτὸ σκοποίης.

πῇ;

εἰ ἐνθυμοῖο ὅτι τὸ βίᾳ κατεχόμενον τότε ἐν ταῖς οἰκείαις συμφοραῖς καὶ πεπεινηκὸς τοῦ δακρῦσαί τε καὶ ἀποδύρασθαι ἱκανῶς καὶ ἀποπλησθῆναι, φύσει ὂν τοιοῦτον οἷον τούτων ἐπιθυμεῖν, τότ᾽ ἐστὶν τοῦτο τὸ ὑπὸ τῶν ποιητῶν πιμπλάμενον καὶ χαῖρον: τὸ δὲ φύσει βέλτιστον ἡμῶν, ἅτε οὐχ ἱκανῶς πεπαιδευμένον λόγῳ οὐδὲ ἔθει, ἀνίησιν τὴν φυλακὴν τοῦ [606b] θρηνώδους τούτου, ἅτε ἀλλότρια πάθη θεωροῦν καὶ ἑαυτῷ οὐδὲν αἰσχρὸν ὂν εἰ ἄλλος ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς φάσκων εἶναι ἀκαίρως πενθεῖ, τοῦτον ἐπαινεῖν καὶ ἐλεεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο κερδαίνειν ἡγεῖται, τὴν ἡδονήν, καὶ οὐκ ἂν δέξαιτο αὐτῆς στερηθῆναι καταφρονήσας ὅλου τοῦ ποιήματος. λογίζεσθαι γὰρ οἶμαι ὀλίγοις τισὶν μέτεστιν ὅτι ἀπολαύειν ἀνάγκη ἀπὸ τῶν ἀλλοτρίων εἰς τὰ οἰκεῖα: θρέψαντα γὰρ ἐν ἐκείνοις ἰσχυρὸν τὸ ἐλεινὸν οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἐν τοῖς αὑτοῦ πάθεσι κατέχειν. [606c] ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος καὶ περὶ τοῦ γελοίου; ὅτι, ἃν αὐτὸς αἰσχύνοιο γελωτοποιῶν, ἐν μιμήσει δὲ κωμῳδικῇ ἢ καὶ ἰδίᾳ ἀκούων σφόδρα χαρῇς καὶ μὴ μισῇς ὡς πονηρά, ταὐτὸν ποιεῖς ὅπερ ἐν τοῖς ἐλέοις; ὃ γὰρ τῷ λόγῳ αὖ κατεῖχες ἐν σαυτῷ βουλόμενον γελωτοποιεῖν, φοβούμενος δόξαν βωμολοχίας, τότ᾽ αὖ ἀνιεῖς, καὶ ἐκεῖ νεανικὸν ποιήσας ἔλαθες πολλάκις ἐν τοῖς οἰκείοις ἐξενεχθεὶς ὥστε κωμῳδοποιὸς γενέσθαι.

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη. [606d]

καὶ περὶ ἀφροδισίων δὴ καὶ θυμοῦ καὶ περὶ πάντων τῶν ἐπιθυμητικῶν τε καὶ λυπηρῶν καὶ ἡδέων ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ, ἃ δή φαμεν πάσῃ πράξει ἡμῖν ἕπεσθαι, ὅτι τοιαῦτα ἡμᾶς ἡ ποιητικὴ μίμησις ἐργάζεται: τρέφει γὰρ ταῦτα ἄρδουσα, δέον αὐχμεῖν, καὶ ἄρχοντα ἡμῖν καθίστησιν, δέον ἄρχεσθαι αὐτὰ ἵνα βελτίους τε καὶ εὐδαιμονέστεροι ἀντὶ χειρόνων καὶ ἀθλιωτέρων γιγνώμεθα.

οὐκ ἔχω ἄλλως φάναι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [606e]

οὐκοῦν, εἶπον, ὦ Γλαύκων, ὅταν Ὁμήρου ἐπαινέταις ἐντύχῃς λέγουσιν ὡς τὴν Ἑλλάδα πεπαίδευκεν οὗτος ὁ ποιητὴς καὶ πρὸς διοίκησίν τε καὶ παιδείαν τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων πραγμάτων ἄξιος ἀναλαβόντι μανθάνειν τε καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν ποιητὴν πάντα τὸν αὑτοῦ βίον κατασκευασάμενον ζῆν, [607a] φιλεῖν μὲν χρὴ καὶ ἀσπάζεσθαι ὡς ὄντας βελτίστους εἰς ὅσον δύνανται, καὶ συγχωρεῖν Ὅμηρον ποιητικώτατον εἶναι καὶ πρῶτον τῶν τραγῳδοποιῶν, εἰδέναι δὲ ὅτι ὅσον μόνον ὕμνους θεοῖς καὶ ἐγκώμια τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς ποιήσεως παραδεκτέον εἰς πόλιν: εἰ δὲ τὴν ἡδυσμένην Μοῦσαν παραδέξῃ ἐν μέλεσιν ἢ ἔπεσιν, ἡδονή σοι καὶ λύπη ἐν τῇ πόλει βασιλεύσετον ἀντὶ νόμου τε καὶ τοῦ κοινῇ ἀεὶ δόξαντος εἶναι βελτίστου λόγου.

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη. [607b]

ταῦτα δή, ἔφην, ἀπολελογήσθω ἡμῖν ἀναμνησθεῖσιν περὶ ποιήσεως, ὅτι εἰκότως ἄρα τότε αὐτὴν ἐκ τῆς πόλεως ἀπεστέλλομεν τοιαύτην οὖσαν: ὁ γὰρ λόγος ἡμᾶς ᾕρει. προσείπωμεν δὲ αὐτῇ, μὴ καί τινα σκληρότητα ἡμῶν καὶ ἀγροικίαν καταγνῷ, ὅτι παλαιὰ μέν τις διαφορὰ φιλοσοφίᾳ τε καὶ ποιητικῇ: καὶ γὰρ ἡ ““λακέρυζα πρὸς δεσπόταν κύων” ἐκείνη ““κραυγάζουσα”Unknown” καὶ ““μέγας ἐν ἀφρόνων κενεαγορίαισι”“ [607c] καὶ ὁ ““τῶν διασόφων ὄχλος κρατῶν”“ καὶ οἱ ““λεπτῶς μεριμνῶντες”,” ὅτι ἄρα ““πένονται”,” καὶ ἄλλα μυρία σημεῖα παλαιᾶς ἐναντιώσεως τούτων. ὅμως δὲ εἰρήσθω ὅτι ἡμεῖς γε, εἴ τινα ἔχοι λόγον εἰπεῖν ἡ πρὸς ἡδονὴν ποιητικὴ καὶ ἡ μίμησις, ὡς χρὴ αὐτὴν εἶναι ἐν πόλει εὐνομουμένῃ, ἅσμενοι ἂν καταδεχοίμεθα, ὡς σύνισμέν γε ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς κηλουμένοις ὑπ᾽ αὐτῆς: ἀλλὰ γὰρ τὸ δοκοῦν ἀληθὲς οὐχ ὅσιον προδιδόναι. ἦ γάρ, ὦ φίλε, οὐ κηλῇ ὑπ᾽ αὐτῆς [607d] καὶ σύ, καὶ μάλιστα ὅταν δι᾽ Ὁμήρου θεωρῇς αὐτήν;

πολύ γε.

οὐκοῦν δικαία ἐστὶν οὕτω κατιέναι, ἀπολογησαμένη ἐν μέλει ἤ τινι ἄλλῳ μέτρῳ;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

δοῖμεν δέ γέ που ἂν καὶ τοῖς προστάταις αὐτῆς, ὅσοι μὴ ποιητικοί, φιλοποιηταὶ δέ, ἄνευ μέτρου λόγον ὑπὲρ αὐτῆς εἰπεῖν, ὡς οὐ μόνον ἡδεῖα ἀλλὰ καὶ ὠφελίμη πρὸς τὰς πολιτείας καὶ τὸν βίον τὸν ἀνθρώπινόν ἐστιν: καὶ εὐμενῶς ἀκουσόμεθα. [607e] κερδανοῦμεν γάρ που ἐὰν μὴ μόνον ἡδεῖα φανῇ ἀλλὰ καὶ ὠφελίμη.

πῶς δ᾽ οὐ μέλλομεν, ἔφη, κερδαίνειν;

εἰ δέ γε μή, ὦ φίλε ἑταῖρε, ὥσπερ οἱ ποτέ του ἐρασθέντες, ἐὰν ἡγήσωνται μὴ ὠφέλιμον εἶναι τὸν ἔρωτα, βίᾳ μέν, ὅμως δὲ ἀπέχονται, καὶ ἡμεῖς οὕτως, διὰ τὸν ἐγγεγονότα μὲν ἔρωτα τῆς τοιαύτης ποιήσεως ὑπὸ τῆς τῶν καλῶν πολιτειῶν [608a] τροφῆς, εὖνοι μὲν ἐσόμεθα φανῆναι αὐτὴν ὡς βελτίστην καὶ ἀληθεστάτην, ἕως δ᾽ ἂν μὴ οἵα τ᾽ ᾖ ἀπολογήσασθαι, ἀκροασόμεθ᾽ αὐτῆς ἐπᾴδοντες ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, ὃν λέγομεν, καὶ ταύτην τὴν ἐπῳδήν, εὐλαβούμενοι πάλιν ἐμπεσεῖν εἰς τὸν παιδικόν τε καὶ τὸν τῶν πολλῶν ἔρωτα. ᾀσόμεθα δ᾽ οὖν ὡς οὐ σπουδαστέον ἐπὶ τῇ τοιαύτῃ ποιήσει ὡς ἀληθείας τε ἁπτομένῃ καὶ σπουδαίᾳ, ἀλλ᾽ εὐλαβητέον [608b] αὐτὴν ὂν τῷ ἀκροωμένῳ, περὶ τῆς ἐν αὑτῷ πολιτείας δεδιότι, καὶ νομιστέα ἅπερ εἰρήκαμεν περὶ ποιήσεως.

παντάπασιν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, σύμφημι.

μέγας γάρ, ἔφην, ὁ ἀγών, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων, μέγας, οὐχ ὅσος δοκεῖ, τὸ χρηστὸν ἢ κακὸν γενέσθαι, ὥστε οὔτε τιμῇ ἐπαρθέντα οὔτε χρήμασιν οὔτε ἀρχῇ οὐδεμιᾷ οὐδέ γε ποιητικῇ ἄξιον ἀμελῆσαι δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς.

σύμφημί σοι, ἔφη, ἐξ ὧν διεληλύθαμεν: οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ἄλλον ὁντινοῦν. [608c]

καὶ μήν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τά γε μέγιστα ἐπίχειρα ἀρετῆς καὶ προκείμενα ἆθλα οὐ διεληλύθαμεν.

ἀμήχανόν τι, ἔφη, λέγεις μέγεθος, εἰ τῶν εἰρημένων μείζω ἐστὶν ἄλλα.

τί δ᾽ ἄν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἔν γε ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ μέγα γένοιτο; πᾶς γὰρ οὗτός γε ὁ ἐκ παιδὸς μέχρι πρεσβύτου χρόνος πρὸς πάντα ὀλίγος πού τις ἂν εἴη.

οὐδὲν μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τί οὖν; οἴει ἀθανάτῳ πράγματι ὑπὲρ τοσούτου δεῖν [608d] χρόνου ἐσπουδακέναι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὑπὲρ τοῦ παντός;

οἶμαι ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη: ἀλλὰ τί τοῦτο λέγεις;

οὐκ ᾔσθησαι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἀθάνατος ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ οὐδέποτε ἀπόλλυται;

καὶ ὃς ἐμβλέψας μοι καὶ θαυμάσας εἶπε: μὰ Δί᾽, οὐκ ἔγωγε: σὺ δὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἔχεις λέγειν;

εἰ μὴ ἀδικῶ γ᾽, ἔφην. οἶμαι δὲ καὶ σύ: οὐδὲν γὰρ χαλεπόν.

ἔμοιγ᾽, ἔφη: σοῦ δ᾽ ἂν ἡδέως ἀκούσαιμι τὸ οὐ χαλεπὸν τοῦτο.

ἀκούοις ἄν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

λέγε μόνον, ἔφη.

ἀγαθόν τι, εἶπον, καὶ κακὸν καλεῖς;

ἔγωγε. [608e]

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὥσπερ ἐγὼ περὶ αὐτῶν διανοῇ;

τὸ ποῖον;

τὸ μὲν ἀπολλύον καὶ διαφθεῖρον πᾶν τὸ κακὸν εἶναι, τὸ δὲ σῷζον καὶ ὠφελοῦν τὸ ἀγαθόν.

ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

τί δέ; κακὸν ἑκάστῳ τι καὶ ἀγαθὸν λέγεις; οἷον ὀφθαλμοῖς [609a] ὀφθαλμίαν καὶ σύμπαντι τῷ σώματι νόσον, σίτῳ τε ἐρυσίβην, σηπεδόνα τε ξύλοις, χαλκῷ δὲ καὶ σιδήρῳ ἰόν, καί, ὅπερ λέγω, σχεδὸν πᾶσι σύμφυτον ἑκάστῳ κακόν τε καὶ νόσημα;

ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ὅταν τῴ τι τούτων προσγένηται, πονηρόν τε ποιεῖ ᾧ προσεγένετο, καὶ τελευτῶν ὅλον διέλυσεν καὶ ἀπώλεσεν;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

τὸ σύμφυτον ἄρα κακὸν ἑκάστου καὶ ἡ πονηρία ἕκαστον ἀπόλλυσιν, ἢ εἰ μὴ τοῦτο ἀπολεῖ, οὐκ ἂν ἄλλο γε αὐτὸ ἔτι [609b] διαφθείρειεν. οὐ γὰρ τό γε ἀγαθὸν μή ποτέ τι ἀπολέσῃ, οὐδὲ αὖ τὸ μήτε κακὸν μήτε ἀγαθόν.

πῶς γὰρ ἄν; ἔφη.

ἐὰν ἄρα τι εὑρίσκωμεν τῶν ὄντων, ᾧ ἔστι μὲν κακὸν ὃ ποιεῖ αὐτὸ μοχθηρόν, τοῦτο μέντοι οὐχ οἷόν τε αὐτὸ λύειν ἀπολλύον, οὐκ ἤδη εἰσόμεθα ὅτι τοῦ πεφυκότος οὕτως ὄλεθρος οὐκ ἦν;

οὕτως, ἔφη, εἰκός.

τί οὖν; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ: ψυχῇ ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἔστιν ὃ ποιεῖ αὐτὴν αὐτὴν κακήν;

καὶ μάλα, ἔφη: ἃ νυνδὴ διῇμεν πάντα, ἀδικία τε καὶ [609c] ἀκολασία καὶ δειλία καὶ ἀμαθία.

ἦ οὖν τι τούτων αὐτὴν διαλύει τε καὶ ἀπόλλυσι; καὶ ἐννόει μὴ ἐξαπατηθῶμεν οἰηθέντες τὸν ἄδικον ἄνθρωπον καὶ ἀνόητον, ὅταν ληφθῇ ἀδικῶν, τότε ἀπολωλέναι ὑπὸ τῆς ἀδικίας, πονηρίας οὔσης ψυχῆς. ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε ποίει: ὥσπερ σῶμα ἡ σώματος πονηρία νόσος οὖσα τήκει καὶ διόλλυσι καὶ ἄγει εἰς τὸ μηδὲ σῶμα εἶναι, καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν [609d] ἅπαντα ὑπὸ τῆς οἰκείας κακίας, τῷ προσκαθῆσθαι καὶ ἐνεῖναι διαφθειρούσης, εἰς τὸ μὴ εἶναι ἀφικνεῖται-οὐχ οὕτω;

ναί.

ἴθι δή, καὶ ψυχὴν κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον σκόπει. ἆρα ἐνοῦσα ἐν αὐτῇ ἀδικία καὶ ἡ ἄλλη κακία τῷ ἐνεῖναι καὶ προσκαθῆσθαι φθείρει αὐτὴν καὶ μαραίνει, ἕως ἂν εἰς θάνατον ἀγαγοῦσα τοῦ σώματος χωρίσῃ;

οὐδαμῶς, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι ἐκεῖνό γε ἄλογον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τὴν μὲν ἄλλου πονηρίαν ἀπολλύναι τι, τὴν δὲ αὑτοῦ μή.

ἄλογον. [609e]

ἐννόει γάρ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, ὅτι οὐδ᾽ ὑπὸ τῆς τῶν σιτίων πονηρίας, ἣ ἂν ᾖ αὐτῶν ἐκείνων, εἴτε παλαιότης εἴτε σαπρότης εἴτε ἡτισοῦν οὖσα, οὐκ οἰόμεθα δεῖν σῶμα ἀπόλλυσθαι: ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν μὲν ἐμποιῇ ἡ αὐτῶν πονηρία τῶν σιτίων τῷ σώματι σώματος μοχθηρίαν, φήσομεν αὐτὸ δι᾽ ἐκεῖνα ὑπὸ τῆς αὑτοῦ κακίας νόσου οὔσης ἀπολωλέναι: ὑπὸ [610a] δὲ σιτίων πονηρίας ἄλλων ὄντων ἄλλο ὂν τὸ σῶμα, ὑπ᾽ ἀλλοτρίου κακοῦ μὴ ἐμποιήσαντος τὸ ἔμφυτον κακόν, οὐδέποτε ἀξιώσομεν διαφθείρεσθαι.

ὀρθότατ᾽ αὖ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τοίνυν λόγον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἐὰν μὴ σώματος πονηρία ψυχῇ ψυχῆς πονηρίαν ἐμποιῇ, μή ποτε ἀξιῶμεν ὑπὸ ἀλλοτρίου κακοῦ ἄνευ τῆς ἰδίας πονηρίας ψυχὴν ἀπόλλυσθαι, τῷ ἑτέρου κακῷ ἕτερον.

ἔχει γάρ, ἔφη, λόγον.

ἢ τοίνυν ταῦτα ἐξελέγξωμεν ὅτι οὐ καλῶς λέγομεν, ἢ [610b] ἕως ἂν ᾖ ἀνέλεγκτα, μή ποτε φῶμεν ὑπὸ πυρετοῦ μηδ᾽ αὖ ὑπ᾽ ἄλλης νόσου μηδ᾽ αὖ ὑπὸ σφαγῆς, μηδ᾽ εἴ τις ὅτι σμικρότατα ὅλον τὸ σῶμα κατατέμοι, ἕνεκα τούτων μηδὲν μᾶλλόν ποτε ψυχὴν ἀπόλλυσθαι, πρὶν ἄν τις ἀποδείξῃ ὡς διὰ ταῦτα τὰ παθήματα τοῦ σώματος αὐτὴ ἐκείνη ἀδικωτέρα καὶ ἀνοσιωτέρα γίγνεται: ἀλλοτρίου δὲ κακοῦ ἐν ἄλλῳ γιγνομένου, τοῦ δὲ ἰδίου ἑκάστῳ μὴ ἐγγιγνομένου, [610c] μήτε ψυχὴν μήτε ἄλλο μηδὲν ἐῶμεν φάναι τινὰ ἀπόλλυσθαι.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε οὐδείς ποτε δείξει, ὡς τῶν ἀποθνῃσκόντων ἀδικώτεραι αἱ ψυχαὶ διὰ τὸν θάνατον γίγνονται.

ἐὰν δέ γέ τις, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὁμόσε τῷ λόγῳ τολμᾷ ἰέναι καὶ λέγειν ὡς πονηρότερος καὶ ἀδικώτερος γίγνεται ὁ ἀποθνῄσκων, ἵνα δὴ μὴ ἀναγκάζηται ἀθανάτους τὰς ψυχὰς ὁμολογεῖν, ἀξιώσομέν που, εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγει ὁ ταῦτα λέγων, τὴν ἀδικίαν εἶναι θανάσιμον τῷ ἔχοντι ὥσπερ νόσον, καὶ ὑπ᾽ [610d] αὐτοῦ, τοῦ ἀποκτεινύντος τῇ ἑαυτοῦ φύσει, ἀποθνῄσκειν τοὺς λαμβάνοντας αὐτό, τοὺς μὲν μάλιστα θᾶττον, τοὺς δ᾽ ἧττον σχολαίτερον, ἀλλὰ μὴ ὥσπερ νῦν διὰ τοῦτο ὑπ᾽ ἄλλων δίκην ἐπιτιθέντων ἀποθνῄσκουσιν οἱ ἄδικοι.

μὰ Δί᾽, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, οὐκ ἄρα πάνδεινον φανεῖται ἡ ἀδικία, εἰ θανάσιμον ἔσται τῷ λαμβάνοντι-ἀπαλλαγὴ γὰρ ἂν εἴη κακῶν-ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον οἶμαι αὐτὴν φανήσεσθαι πᾶν τοὐναντίον [610e] τοὺς ἄλλους ἀποκτεινῦσαν, εἴπερ οἷόν τε, τὸν δ᾽ ἔχοντα καὶ μάλα ζωτικὸν παρέχουσαν, καὶ πρός γ᾽ ἔτι τῷ ζωτικῷ ἄγρυπνον: οὕτω πόρρω που, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐσκήνηται τοῦ θανάσιμος εἶναι.

καλῶς, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, λέγεις. ὁπότε γὰρ δὴ μὴ ἱκανὴ ἥ γε οἰκεία πονηρία καὶ τὸ οἰκεῖον κακὸν ἀποκτεῖναι καὶ ἀπολέσαι ψυχήν, σχολῇ τό γε ἐπ᾽ ἄλλου ὀλέθρῳ τεταγμένον κακὸν ψυχὴν ἤ τι ἄλλο ἀπολεῖ, πλὴν ἐφ᾽ ᾧ τέτακται.

σχολῇ γ᾽, ἔφη, ὥς γε τὸ εἰκός.

οὐκοῦν ὁπότε μηδ᾽ ὑφ᾽ ἑνὸς ἀπόλλυται κακοῦ, μήτε [611a] οἰκείου μήτε ἀλλοτρίου, δῆλον ὅτι ἀνάγκη αὐτὸ ἀεὶ ὂν εἶναι: εἰ δ᾽ ἀεὶ ὄν, ἀθάνατον.

ἀνάγκη, ἔφη.

τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὕτως ἐχέτω: εἰ δ᾽ ἔχει, ἐννοεῖς ὅτι ἀεὶ ἂν εἶεν αἱ αὐταί. οὔτε γὰρ ἄν που ἐλάττους γένοιντο μηδεμιᾶς ἀπολλυμένης, οὔτε αὖ πλείους: εἰ γὰρ ὁτιοῦν τῶν ἀθανάτων πλέον γίγνοιτο, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι ἐκ τοῦ θνητοῦ ἂν γίγνοιτο καὶ πάντα ἂν εἴη τελευτῶντα ἀθάνατα.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

ἀλλ᾽, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, μήτε τοῦτο οἰώμεθα-ὁ γὰρ λόγος οὐκ [611b] ἐάσει-μήτε γε αὖ τῇ ἀληθεστάτῃ φύσει τοιοῦτον εἶναι ψυχήν, ὥστε πολλῆς ποικιλίας καὶ ἀνομοιότητός τε καὶ διαφορᾶς γέμειν αὐτὸ πρὸς αὑτό.

πῶς λέγεις; ἔφη.

οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ἀίδιον εἶναι σύνθετόν τε ἐκ πολλῶν καὶ μὴ τῇ καλλίστῃ κεχρημένον συνθέσει, ὡς νῦν ἡμῖν ἐφάνη ἡ ψυχή.

οὔκουν εἰκός γε.

ὅτι μὲν τοίνυν ἀθάνατον ψυχή, καὶ ὁ ἄρτι λόγος καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἀναγκάσειαν ἄν: οἷον δ᾽ ἐστὶν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, οὐ λελωβημένον [611c] δεῖ αὐτὸ θεάσασθαι ὑπό τε τῆς τοῦ σώματος κοινωνίας καὶ ἄλλων κακῶν, ὥσπερ νῦν ἡμεῖς θεώμεθα, ἀλλ᾽ οἷόν ἐστιν καθαρὸν γιγνόμενον, τοιοῦτον ἱκανῶς λογισμῷ διαθεατέον, καὶ πολύ γε κάλλιον αὐτὸ εὑρήσει καὶ ἐναργέστερον δικαιοσύνας τε καὶ ἀδικίας διόψεται καὶ πάντα ἃ νῦν διήλθομεν. νῦν δὲ εἴπομεν μὲν ἀληθῆ περὶ αὐτοῦ, οἷον ἐν τῷ παρόντι φαίνεται: τεθεάμεθα μέντοι διακείμενον αὐτό, ὥσπερ οἱ τὸν [611d] θαλάττιον Γλαῦκον ὁρῶντες οὐκ ἂν ἔτι ῥᾳδίως αὐτοῦ ἴδοιεν τὴν ἀρχαίαν φύσιν, ὑπὸ τοῦ τά τε παλαιὰ τοῦ σώματος μέρη τὰ μὲν ἐκκεκλάσθαι, τὰ δὲ συντετρῖφθαι καὶ πάντως λελωβῆσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν κυμάτων, ἄλλα δὲ προσπεφυκέναι, ὄστρεά τε καὶ φυκία καὶ πέτρας, ὥστε παντὶ μᾶλλον θηρίῳ ἐοικέναι ἢ οἷος ἦν φύσει, οὕτω καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἡμεῖς θεώμεθα διακειμένην ὑπὸ μυρίων κακῶν. ἀλλὰ δεῖ, ὦ Γλαύκων, ἐκεῖσε βλέπειν.

ποῖ; ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [611e]

εἰς τὴν φιλοσοφίαν αὐτῆς, καὶ ἐννοεῖν ὧν ἅπτεται καὶ οἵων ἐφίεται ὁμιλιῶν, ὡς συγγενὴς οὖσα τῷ τε θείῳ καὶ ἀθανάτῳ καὶ τῷ ἀεὶ ὄντι, καὶ οἵα ἂν γένοιτο τῷ τοιούτῳ πᾶσα ἐπισπομένη καὶ ὑπὸ ταύτης τῆς ὁρμῆς ἐκκομισθεῖσα ἐκ τοῦ πόντου ἐν ᾧ νῦν ἐστίν, καὶ περικρουσθεῖσα πέτρας [612a] τε καὶ ὄστρεα ἃ νῦν αὐτῇ, ἅτε γῆν ἑστιωμένῃ, γεηρὰ καὶ πετρώδη πολλὰ καὶ ἄγρια περιπέφυκεν ὑπὸ τῶν εὐδαιμόνων λεγομένων ἑστιάσεων. καὶ τότ᾽ ἄν τις ἴδοι αὐτῆς τὴν ἀληθῆ φύσιν, εἴτε πολυειδὴς εἴτε μονοειδής, εἴτε ὅπῃ ἔχει καὶ ὅπως: νῦν δὲ τὰ ἐν τῷ ἀνθρωπίνῳ βίῳ πάθη τε καὶ εἴδη, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἐπιεικῶς αὐτῆς διεληλύθαμεν.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, τά τε ἄλλα ἀπελυσάμεθα ἐν τῷ λόγῳ, [612b] καὶ οὐ τοὺς μισθοὺς οὐδὲ τὰς δόξας δικαιοσύνης ἐπῃνέκαμεν, ὥσπερ Ἡσίοδόν τε καὶ Ὅμηρον ὑμεῖς ἔφατε, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ δικαιοσύνην αὐτῇ ψυχῇ ἄριστον ηὕρομεν, καὶ ποιητέον εἶναι αὐτῇ τὰ δίκαια, ἐάντ᾽ ἔχῃ τὸν Γύγου δακτύλιον, ἐάντε μή, καὶ πρὸς τοιούτῳ δακτυλίῳ τὴν Ἄιδος κυνῆν;

ἀληθέστατα, ἔφη, λέγεις.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, νῦν ἤδη ἀνεπίφθονόν ἐστιν πρὸς ἐκείνοις καὶ τοὺς μισθοὺς τῇ δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ τῇ [612c] ἄλλῃ ἀρετῇ ἀποδοῦναι, ὅσους τε καὶ οἵους τῇ ψυχῇ παρέχει παρ᾽ ἀνθρώπων τε καὶ θεῶν, ζῶντός τε ἔτι τοῦ ἀνθρώπου καὶ ἐπειδὰν τελευτήσῃ;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἀποδώσετέ μοι ἃ ἐδανείσασθε ἐν τῷ λόγῳ;

τί μάλιστα;

ἔδωκα ὑμῖν τὸν δίκαιον δοκεῖν ἄδικον εἶναι καὶ τὸν ἄδικον δίκαιον: ὑμεῖς γὰρ ᾐτεῖσθε, κἂν εἰ μὴ δυνατὸν εἴη ταῦτα λανθάνειν καὶ θεοὺς καὶ ἀνθρώπους, ὅμως δοτέον εἶναι τοῦ λόγου ἕνεκα, ἵνα αὐτὴ δικαιοσύνη πρὸς ἀδικίαν αὐτὴν [612d] κριθείη. ἢ οὐ μνημονεύεις;

ἀδικοίην μεντἄν, ἔφη, εἰ μή.

ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, κεκριμέναι εἰσί, πάλιν ἀπαιτῶ ὑπὲρ δικαιοσύνης, ὥσπερ ἔχει δόξης καὶ παρὰ θεῶν καὶ παρ᾽ ἀνθρώπων, καὶ ἡμᾶς ὁμολογεῖν περὶ αὐτῆς δοκεῖσθαι οὕτω, ἵνα καὶ τὰ νικητήρια κομίσηται, ἀπὸ τοῦ δοκεῖν κτωμένη ἃ δίδωσι τοῖς ἔχουσιν αὐτήν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ τὰ ἀπὸ τοῦ εἶναι ἀγαθὰ διδοῦσα ἐφάνη καὶ οὐκ ἐξαπατῶσα τοὺς τῷ ὄντι λαμβάνοντας αὐτήν. [612e]

δίκαια, ἔφη, αἰτῇ.

οὐκοῦν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτο ἀποδώσετε, ὅτι θεούς γε οὐ λανθάνει ἑκάτερος αὐτῶν οἷός ἐστιν;

ἀποδώσομεν, ἔφη.

εἰ δὲ μὴ λανθάνετον, ὁ μὲν θεοφιλὴς ἂν εἴη, ὁ δὲ θεομισής, ὥσπερ καὶ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ὡμολογοῦμεν.

ἔστι ταῦτα.

τῷ δὲ θεοφιλεῖ οὐχ ὁμολογήσομεν, ὅσα γε ἀπὸ θεῶν [613a] γίγνεται, πάντα γίγνεσθαι ὡς οἷόν τε ἄριστα, εἰ μή τι ἀναγκαῖον αὐτῷ κακὸν ἐκ προτέρας ἁμαρτίας ὑπῆρχεν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὕτως ἄρα ὑποληπτέον περὶ τοῦ δικαίου ἀνδρός, ἐάντ᾽ ἐν πενίᾳ γίγνηται ἐάντ᾽ ἐν νόσοις ἤ τινι ἄλλῳ τῶν δοκούντων κακῶν, ὡς τούτῳ ταῦτα εἰς ἀγαθόν τι τελευτήσει ζῶντι ἢ καὶ ἀποθανόντι. οὐ γὰρ δὴ ὑπό γε θεῶν ποτε ἀμελεῖται ὃς ἂν προθυμεῖσθαι ἐθέλῃ δίκαιος γίγνεσθαι καὶ ἐπιτηδεύων [613b] ἀρετὴν εἰς ὅσον δυνατὸν ἀνθρώπῳ ὁμοιοῦσθαι θεῷ.

εἰκός γ᾽, ἔφη, τὸν τοιοῦτον μὴ ἀμελεῖσθαι ὑπὸ τοῦ ὁμοίου.

οὐκοῦν περὶ τοῦ ἀδίκου τἀναντία τούτων δεῖ διανοεῖσθαι;

σφόδρα γε.

τὰ μὲν δὴ παρὰ θεῶν τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττ᾽ ἂν εἴη νικητήρια τῷ δικαίῳ.

κατὰ γοῦν ἐμὴν δόξαν, ἔφη.

τί δέ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, παρ᾽ ἀνθρώπων; ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ὧδε ἔχει, εἰ δεῖ τὸ ὂν τιθέναι; οὐχ οἱ μὲν δεινοί τε καὶ ἄδικοι δρῶσιν ὅπερ οἱ δρομῆς ὅσοι ἂν θέωσιν εὖ ἀπὸ τῶν κάτω, ἀπὸ δὲ τῶν ἄνω μή; τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ὀξέως ἀποπηδῶσιν, τελευτῶντες [613c] δὲ καταγέλαστοι γίγνονται, τὰ ὦτα ἐπὶ τῶν ὤμων ἔχοντες καὶ ἀστεφάνωτοι ἀποτρέχοντες: οἱ δὲ τῇ ἀληθείᾳ δρομικοὶ εἰς τέλος ἐλθόντες τά τε ἆθλα λαμβάνουσιν καὶ στεφανοῦνται. οὐχ οὕτω καὶ περὶ τῶν δικαίων τὸ πολὺ συμβαίνει; πρὸς τὸ τέλος ἑκάστης πράξεως καὶ ὁμιλίας καὶ τοῦ βίου εὐδοκιμοῦσί τε καὶ τὰ ἆθλα παρὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων φέρονται;

καὶ μάλα.

ἀνέξῃ ἄρα λέγοντος ἐμοῦ περὶ τούτων ἅπερ αὐτὸς ἔλεγες [613d] περὶ τῶν ἀδίκων; ἐρῶ γὰρ δὴ ὅτι οἱ μὲν δίκαιοι, ἐπειδὰν πρεσβύτεροι γένωνται, ἐν τῇ αὑτῶν πόλει ἄρχουσί τε ἂν βούλωνται τὰς ἀρχάς, γαμοῦσί τε ὁπόθεν ἂν βούλωνται, ἐκδιδόασί τε εἰς οὓς ἂν ἐθέλωσι: καὶ πάντα ἃ σὺ περὶ ἐκείνων, ἐγὼ νῦν λέγω περὶ τῶνδε. καὶ αὖ καὶ περὶ τῶν ἀδίκων, ὅτι οἱ πολλοὶ αὐτῶν, καὶ ἐὰν νέοι ὄντες λάθωσιν, ἐπὶ τέλους τοῦ δρόμου αἱρεθέντες καταγέλαστοί εἰσιν καὶ γέροντες γιγνόμενοι ἄθλιοι προπηλακίζονται ὑπὸ ξένων τε [613e] καὶ ἀστῶν, μαστιγούμενοι καὶ ἃ ἄγροικα ἔφησθα σὺ εἶναι, ἀληθῆ λέγων-εἶτα στρεβλώσονται καὶ ἐκκαυθήσονται- πάντα ἐκεῖνα οἴου καὶ ἐμοῦ ἀκηκοέναι ὡς πάσχουσιν. ἀλλ᾽ ὃ λέγω, ὅρα εἰ ἀνέξῃ.

καὶ πάνυ, ἔφη: δίκαια γὰρ λέγεις.

ἃ μὲν τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ζῶντι τῷ δικαίῳ παρὰ θεῶν τε [614a] καὶ ἀνθρώπων ἆθλά τε καὶ μισθοὶ καὶ δῶρα γίγνεται πρὸς ἐκείνοις τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς οἷς αὐτὴ παρείχετο ἡ δικαιοσύνη, τοιαῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη.

καὶ μάλ᾽, ἔφη, καλά τε καὶ βέβαια.

ταῦτα τοίνυν, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, οὐδέν ἐστι πλήθει οὐδὲ μεγέθει πρὸς ἐκεῖνα ἃ τελευτήσαντα ἑκάτερον περιμένει: χρὴ δ᾽ αὐτὰ ἀκοῦσαι, ἵνα τελέως ἑκάτερος αὐτῶν ἀπειλήφῃ τὰ ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου ὀφειλόμενα ἀκοῦσαι. [614b]

λέγοις ἄν, ἔφη, ὡς οὐ πολλὰ ἄλλ᾽ ἥδιον ἀκούοντι.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μέντοι σοι, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, Ἀλκίνου γε ἀπόλογον ἐρῶ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀλκίμου μὲν ἀνδρός, Ἠρὸς τοῦ Ἀρμενίου, τὸ γένος Παμφύλου: ὅς ποτε ἐν πολέμῳ τελευτήσας, ἀναιρεθέντων δεκαταίων τῶν νεκρῶν ἤδη διεφθαρμένων, ὑγιὴς μὲν ἀνῃρέθη, κομισθεὶς δ᾽ οἴκαδε μέλλων θάπτεσθαι δωδεκαταῖος ἐπὶ τῇ πυρᾷ κείμενος ἀνεβίω, ἀναβιοὺς δ᾽ ἔλεγεν ἃ ἐκεῖ ἴδοι. ἔφη δέ, ἐπειδὴ οὗ ἐκβῆναι, τὴν ψυχὴν πορεύεσθαι [614c] μετὰ πολλῶν, καὶ ἀφικνεῖσθαι σφᾶς εἰς τόπον τινὰ δαιμόνιον, ἐν ᾧ τῆς τε γῆς δύ᾽ εἶναι χάσματα ἐχομένω ἀλλήλοιν καὶ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ αὖ ἐν τῷ ἄνω ἄλλα καταντικρύ. δικαστὰς δὲ μεταξὺ τούτων καθῆσθαι, οὕς, ἐπειδὴ διαδικάσειαν, τοὺς μὲν δικαίους κελεύειν πορεύεσθαι τὴν εἰς δεξιάν τε καὶ ἄνω διὰ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, σημεῖα περιάψαντας τῶν δεδικασμένων ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν, τοὺς δὲ ἀδίκους τὴν εἰς ἀριστεράν τε καὶ κάτω, ἔχοντας καὶ τούτους ἐν τῷ ὄπισθεν σημεῖα πάντων ὧν [614d] ἔπραξαν. ἑαυτοῦ δὲ προσελθόντος εἰπεῖν ὅτι δέοι αὐτὸν ἄγγελον ἀνθρώποις γενέσθαι τῶν ἐκεῖ καὶ διακελεύοιντό οἱ ἀκούειν τε καὶ θεᾶσθαι πάντα τὰ ἐν τῷ τόπῳ. ὁρᾶν δὴ ταύτῃ μὲν καθ᾽ ἑκάτερον τὸ χάσμα τοῦ οὐρανοῦ τε καὶ τῆς γῆς ἀπιούσας τὰς ψυχάς, ἐπειδὴ αὐταῖς δικασθείη, κατὰ δὲ τὼ ἑτέρω ἐκ μὲν τοῦ ἀνιέναι ἐκ τῆς γῆς μεστὰς αὐχμοῦ τε καὶ κόνεως, ἐκ δὲ τοῦ ἑτέρου καταβαίνειν ἑτέρας ἐκ τοῦ [614e] οὐρανοῦ καθαράς. καὶ τὰς ἀεὶ ἀφικνουμένας ὥσπερ ἐκ πολλῆς πορείας φαίνεσθαι ἥκειν, καὶ ἁσμένας εἰς τὸν λειμῶνα ἀπιούσας οἷον ἐν πανηγύρει κατασκηνᾶσθαι, καὶ ἀσπάζεσθαί τε ἀλλήλας ὅσαι γνώριμαι, καὶ πυνθάνεσθαι τάς τε ἐκ τῆς γῆς ἡκούσας παρὰ τῶν ἑτέρων τὰ ἐκεῖ καὶ τὰς ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ τὰ παρ᾽ ἐκείναις. διηγεῖσθαι δὲ ἀλλήλαις τὰς [615a] μὲν ὀδυρομένας τε καὶ κλαούσας, ἀναμιμνῃσκομένας ὅσα τε καὶ οἷα πάθοιεν καὶ ἴδοιεν ἐν τῇ ὑπὸ γῆς πορείᾳ-εἶναι δὲ τὴν πορείαν χιλιέτη-τὰς δ᾽ αὖ ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ εὐπαθείας διηγεῖσθαι καὶ θέας ἀμηχάνους τὸ κάλλος. τὰ μὲν οὖν πολλά, ὦ Γλαύκων, πολλοῦ χρόνου διηγήσασθαι: τὸ δ᾽ οὖν κεφάλαιον ἔφη τόδε εἶναι, ὅσα πώποτέ τινα ἠδίκησαν καὶ ὅσους ἕκαστοι, ὑπὲρ ἁπάντων δίκην δεδωκέναι ἐν μέρει, ὑπὲρ ἑκάστου δεκάκις-τοῦτο δ᾽ εἶναι κατὰ ἑκατονταετηρίδα [615b] ἑκάστην, ὡς βίου ὄντος τοσούτου τοῦ ἀνθρωπίνου-ἵνα δεκαπλάσιον τὸ ἔκτεισμα τοῦ ἀδικήματος ἐκτίνοιεν, καὶ οἷον εἴ τινες πολλοῖς θανάτων ἦσαν αἴτιοι, ἢ πόλεις προδόντες ἢ στρατόπεδα, καὶ εἰς δουλείας ἐμβεβληκότες ἤ τινος ἄλλης κακουχίας μεταίτιοι, πάντων τούτων δεκαπλασίας ἀλγηδόνας ὑπὲρ ἑκάστου κομίσαιντο, καὶ αὖ εἴ τινας εὐεργεσίας εὐεργετηκότες καὶ δίκαιοι καὶ ὅσιοι γεγονότες εἶεν, κατὰ ταὐτὰ [615c] τὴν ἀξίαν κομίζοιντο. τῶν δὲ εὐθὺς γενομένων καὶ ὀλίγον χρόνον βιούντων πέρι ἄλλα ἔλεγεν οὐκ ἄξια μνήμης. εἰς δὲ θεοὺς ἀσεβείας τε καὶ εὐσεβείας καὶ γονέας καὶ αὐτόχειρος φόνου μείζους ἔτι τοὺς μισθοὺς διηγεῖτο.

ἔφη γὰρ δὴ παραγενέσθαι ἐρωτωμένῳ ἑτέρῳ ὑπὸ ἑτέρου ὅπου εἴη Ἀρδιαῖος ὁ μέγας. ὁ δὲ Ἀρδιαῖος οὗτος τῆς Παμφυλίας ἔν τινι πόλει τύραννος ἐγεγόνει, ἤδη χιλιοστὸν ἔτος εἰς ἐκεῖνον τὸν χρόνον, γέροντά τε πατέρα ἀποκτείνας [615d] καὶ πρεσβύτερον ἀδελφόν, καὶ ἄλλα δὴ πολλά τε καὶ ἀνόσια εἰργασμένος, ὡς ἐλέγετο. ἔφη οὖν τὸν ἐρωτώμενον εἰπεῖν, “οὐχ ἥκει,” φάναι, “οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἥξει δεῦρο. ἐθεασάμεθα γὰρ οὖν δὴ καὶ τοῦτο τῶν δεινῶν θεαμάτων: ἐπειδὴ ἐγγὺς τοῦ στομίου ἦμεν μέλλοντες ἀνιέναι καὶ τἆλλα πάντα πεπονθότες, ἐκεῖνόν τε κατείδομεν ἐξαίφνης καὶ ἄλλους-σχεδόν τι αὐτῶν τοὺς πλείστους τυράννους: ἦσαν δὲ καὶ ἰδιῶταί τινες τῶν [615e] μεγάλα ἡμαρτηκότων-οὓς οἰομένους ἤδη ἀναβήσεσθαι οὐκ ἐδέχετο τὸ στόμιον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμυκᾶτο ὁπότε τις τῶν οὕτως ἀνιάτως ἐχόντων εἰς πονηρίαν ἢ μὴ ἱκανῶς δεδωκὼς δίκην ἐπιχειροῖ ἀνιέναι. ἐνταῦθα δὴ ἄνδρες, ἔφη, ἄγριοι, διάπυροι ἰδεῖν, παρεστῶτες καὶ καταμανθάνοντες τὸ φθέγμα, τοὺς μὲν διαλαβόντες ἦγον, τὸν δὲ Ἀρδιαῖον καὶ ἄλλους συμποδίσαντες [616a] χεῖράς τε καὶ πόδας καὶ κεφαλήν, καταβαλόντες καὶ ἐκδείραντες, εἷλκον παρὰ τὴν ὁδὸν ἐκτὸς ἐπ᾽ ἀσπαλάθων κνάμπτοντες, καὶ τοῖς ἀεὶ παριοῦσι σημαίνοντες ὧν ἕνεκά τε καὶ ὅτι εἰς τὸν Τάρταρον ἐμπεσούμενοι ἄγοιντο.” ἔνθα δὴ φόβων, ἔφη, πολλῶν καὶ παντοδαπῶν σφίσι γεγονότων, τοῦτον ὑπερβάλλειν, μὴ γένοιτο ἑκάστῳ τὸ φθέγμα ὅτε ἀναβαίνοι, καὶ ἁσμενέστατα ἕκαστον σιγήσαντος ἀναβῆναι. καὶ τὰς μὲν δὴ δίκας τε καὶ τιμωρίας τοιαύτας τινὰς [616b] εἶναι, καὶ αὖ τὰς εὐεργεσίας ταύταις ἀντιστρόφους. ἐπειδὴ δὲ τοῖς ἐν τῷ λειμῶνι ἑκάστοις ἑπτὰ ἡμέραι γένοιντο, ἀναστάντας ἐντεῦθεν δεῖν τῇ ὀγδόῃ πορεύεσθαι, καὶ ἀφικνεῖσθαι τεταρταίους ὅθεν καθορᾶν ἄνωθεν διὰ παντὸς τοῦ οὐρανοῦ καὶ γῆς τεταμένον φῶς εὐθύ, οἷον κίονα, μάλιστα τῇ ἴριδι προσφερῆ, λαμπρότερον δὲ καὶ καθαρώτερον: εἰς ὃ ἀφικέσθαι προελθόντες ἡμερησίαν ὁδόν, καὶ ἰδεῖν αὐτόθι κατὰ [616c] μέσον τὸ φῶς ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ τὰ ἄκρα αὐτοῦ τῶν δεσμῶν τεταμένα-εἶναι γὰρ τοῦτο τὸ φῶς σύνδεσμον τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, οἷον τὰ ὑποζώματα τῶν τριήρων, οὕτω πᾶσαν συνέχον τὴν περιφοράν-ἐκ δὲ τῶν ἄκρων τεταμένον ἀνάγκης ἄτρακτον, δι᾽ οὗ πάσας ἐπιστρέφεσθαι τὰς περιφοράς: οὗ τὴν μὲν ἠλακάτην τε καὶ τὸ ἄγκιστρον εἶναι ἐξ ἀδάμαντος, τὸν δὲ σφόνδυλον μεικτὸν ἔκ τε τούτου καὶ ἄλλων γενῶν. τὴν δὲ [616d] τοῦ σφονδύλου φύσιν εἶναι τοιάνδε: τὸ μὲν σχῆμα οἵαπερ ἡ τοῦ ἐνθάδε, νοῆσαι δὲ δεῖ ἐξ ὧν ἔλεγεν τοιόνδε αὐτὸν εἶναι, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἐν ἑνὶ μεγάλῳ σφονδύλῳ κοίλῳ καὶ ἐξεγλυμμένῳ διαμπερὲς ἄλλος τοιοῦτος ἐλάττων ἐγκέοιτο ἁρμόττων, καθάπερ οἱ κάδοι οἱ εἰς ἀλλήλους ἁρμόττοντες, καὶ οὕτω δὴ τρίτον ἄλλον καὶ τέταρτον καὶ ἄλλους τέτταρας. ὀκτὼ γὰρ εἶναι τοὺς σύμπαντας σφονδύλους, ἐν ἀλλήλοις ἐγκειμένους, [616e] κύκλους ἄνωθεν τὰ χείλη φαίνοντας, νῶτον συνεχὲς ἑνὸς σφονδύλου ἀπεργαζομένους περὶ τὴν ἠλακάτην: ἐκείνην δὲ διὰ μέσου τοῦ ὀγδόου διαμπερὲς ἐληλάσθαι. τὸν μὲν οὖν πρῶτόν τε καὶ ἐξωτάτω σφόνδυλον πλατύτατον τὸν τοῦ χείλους κύκλον ἔχειν, τὸν δὲ τοῦ ἕκτου δεύτερον, τρίτον δὲ τὸν τοῦ τετάρτου, τέταρτον δὲ τὸν τοῦ ὀγδόου, πέμπτον δὲ τὸν τοῦ ἑβδόμου, ἕκτον δὲ τὸν τοῦ πέμπτου, ἕβδομον δὲ τὸν τοῦ τρίτου, ὄγδοον δὲ τὸν τοῦ δευτέρου. καὶ τὸν μὲν τοῦ μεγίστου ποικίλον, τὸν δὲ τοῦ ἑβδόμου λαμπρότατον, τὸν δὲ [617a] τοῦ ὀγδόου τὸ χρῶμα ἀπὸ τοῦ ἑβδόμου ἔχειν προσλάμποντος, τὸν δὲ τοῦ δευτέρου καὶ πέμπτου παραπλήσια ἀλλήλοις, ξανθότερα ἐκείνων, τρίτον δὲ λευκότατον χρῶμα ἔχειν, τέταρτον δὲ ὑπέρυθρον, δεύτερον δὲ λευκότητι τὸν ἕκτον. κυκλεῖσθαι δὲ δὴ στρεφόμενον τὸν ἄτρακτον ὅλον μὲν τὴν αὐτὴν φοράν, ἐν δὲ τῷ ὅλῳ περιφερομένῳ τοὺς μὲν ἐντὸς ἑπτὰ κύκλους τὴν ἐναντίαν τῷ ὅλῳ ἠρέμα περιφέρεσθαι, αὐτῶν δὲ τούτων τάχιστα μὲν ἰέναι τὸν ὄγδοον, δευτέρους δὲ καὶ ἅμα [617b] ἀλλήλοις τόν τε ἕβδομον καὶ ἕκτον καὶ πέμπτον: [τὸν] τρίτον δὲ φορᾷ ἰέναι, ὡς σφίσι φαίνεσθαι, ἐπανακυκλούμενον τὸν τέταρτον, τέταρτον δὲ τὸν τρίτον καὶ πέμπτον τὸν δεύτερον. στρέφεσθαι δὲ αὐτὸν ἐν τοῖς τῆς ἀνάγκης γόνασιν. ἐπὶ δὲ τῶν κύκλων αὐτοῦ ἄνωθεν ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστου βεβηκέναι Σειρῆνα συμπεριφερομένην, φωνὴν μίαν ἱεῖσαν, ἕνα τόνον: ἐκ πασῶν δὲ ὀκτὼ οὐσῶν μίαν ἁρμονίαν συμφωνεῖν. ἄλλας δὲ καθημένας [617c] πέριξ δι᾽ ἴσου τρεῖς, ἐν θρόνῳ ἑκάστην, θυγατέρας τῆς ἀνάγκης, Μοίρας, λευχειμονούσας, στέμματα ἐπὶ τῶν κεφαλῶν ἐχούσας, Λάχεσίν τε καὶ Κλωθὼ καὶ Ἄτροπον, ὑμνεῖν πρὸς τὴν τῶν Σειρήνων ἁρμονίαν, Λάχεσιν μὲν τὰ γεγονότα, Κλωθὼ δὲ τὰ ὄντα, Ἄτροπον δὲ τὰ μέλλοντα. καὶ τὴν μὲν Κλωθὼ τῇ δεξιᾷ χειρὶ ἐφαπτομένην συνεπιστρέφειν τοῦ ἀτράκτου τὴν ἔξω περιφοράν, διαλείπουσαν χρόνον, τὴν δὲ Ἄτροπον τῇ ἀριστερᾷ τὰς ἐντὸς αὖ ὡσαύτως: τὴν δὲ Λάχεσιν [617d] ἐν μέρει ἑκατέρας ἑκατέρᾳ τῇ χειρὶ ἐφάπτεσθαι. σφᾶς οὖν, ἐπειδὴ ἀφικέσθαι, εὐθὺς δεῖν ἰέναι πρὸς τὴν Λάχεσιν. προφήτην οὖν τινα σφᾶς πρῶτον μὲν ἐν τάξει διαστῆσαι, ἔπειτα λαβόντα ἐκ τῶν τῆς Λαχέσεως γονάτων κλήρους τε καὶ βίων παραδείγματα, ἀναβάντα ἐπί τι βῆμα ὑψηλὸν εἰπεῖν-

“ἀνάγκης θυγατρὸς κόρης Λαχέσεως λόγος. Ψυχαὶ ἐφήμεροι, ἀρχὴ ἄλλης περιόδου θνητοῦ γένους θανατηφόρου. [617e] οὐχ ὑμᾶς δαίμων λήξεται, ἀλλ᾽ ὑμεῖς δαίμονα αἱρήσεσθε. πρῶτος δ᾽ ὁ λαχὼν πρῶτος αἱρείσθω βίον ᾧ συνέσται ἐξ ἀνάγκης. ἀρετὴ δὲ ἀδέσποτον, ἣν τιμῶν καὶ ἀτιμάζων πλέον καὶ ἔλαττον αὐτῆς ἕκαστος ἕξει. αἰτία ἑλομένου: θεὸς ἀναίτιος.”

ταῦτα εἰπόντα ῥῖψαι ἐπὶ πάντας τοὺς κλήρους, τὸν δὲ παρ᾽ αὑτὸν πεσόντα ἕκαστον ἀναιρεῖσθαι πλὴν οὗ, ἓ δὲ οὐκ ἐᾶν: τῷ δὲ ἀνελομένῳ δῆλον εἶναι ὁπόστος εἰλήχει. [618a] μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο αὖθις τὰ τῶν βίων παραδείγματα εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν σφῶν θεῖναι ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν, πολὺ πλείω τῶν παρόντων. εἶναι δὲ παντοδαπά: ζῴων τε γὰρ πάντων βίους καὶ δὴ καὶ τοὺς ἀνθρωπίνους ἅπαντας. τυραννίδας τε γὰρ ἐν αὐτοῖς εἶναι, τὰς μὲν διατελεῖς, τὰς δὲ καὶ μεταξὺ διαφθειρομένας καὶ εἰς πενίας τε καὶ φυγὰς καὶ εἰς πτωχείας τελευτώσας: εἶναι δὲ καὶ δοκίμων ἀνδρῶν βίους, τοὺς μὲν ἐπὶ εἴδεσιν καὶ κατὰ κάλλη καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ἰσχύν [618b] τε καὶ ἀγωνίαν, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐπὶ γένεσιν καὶ προγόνων ἀρεταῖς, καὶ ἀδοκίμων κατὰ ταῦτα, ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ γυναικῶν. ψυχῆς δὲ τάξιν οὐκ ἐνεῖναι διὰ τὸ ἀναγκαίως ἔχειν ἄλλον ἑλομένην βίον ἀλλοίαν γίγνεσθαι: τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα ἀλλήλοις τε καὶ πλούτοις καὶ πενίαις, τὰ δὲ νόσοις, τὰ δ᾽ ὑγιείαις μεμεῖχθαι, τὰ δὲ καὶ μεσοῦν τούτων. ἔνθα δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὦ φίλε Γλαύκων, ὁ πᾶς κίνδυνος ἀνθρώπῳ, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα μάλιστα [618c] ἐπιμελητέον ὅπως ἕκαστος ἡμῶν τῶν ἄλλων μαθημάτων ἀμελήσας τούτου τοῦ μαθήματος καὶ ζητητὴς καὶ μαθητὴς ἔσται, ἐάν ποθεν οἷός τ᾽ ᾖ μαθεῖν καὶ ἐξευρεῖν τίς αὐτὸν ποιήσει δυνατὸν καὶ ἐπιστήμονα, βίον καὶ χρηστὸν καὶ πονηρὸν διαγιγνώσκοντα, τὸν βελτίω ἐκ τῶν δυνατῶν ἀεὶ πανταχοῦ αἱρεῖσθαι: ἀναλογιζόμενον πάντα τὰ νυνδὴ ῥηθέντα καὶ συντιθέμενα ἀλλήλοις καὶ διαιρούμενα πρὸς ἀρετὴν βίου πῶς ἔχει, εἰδέναι τί κάλλος πενίᾳ ἢ πλούτῳ κραθὲν καὶ [618d] μετὰ ποίας τινὸς ψυχῆς ἕξεως κακὸν ἢ ἀγαθὸν ἐργάζεται, καὶ τί εὐγένειαι καὶ δυσγένειαι καὶ ἰδιωτεῖαι καὶ ἀρχαὶ καὶ ἰσχύες καὶ ἀσθένειαι καὶ εὐμαθίαι καὶ δυσμαθίαι καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα τῶν φύσει περὶ ψυχὴν ὄντων καὶ τῶν ἐπικτήτων τί συγκεραννύμενα πρὸς ἄλληλα ἐργάζεται, ὥστε ἐξ ἁπάντων αὐτῶν δυνατὸν εἶναι συλλογισάμενον αἱρεῖσθαι, πρὸς τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς φύσιν ἀποβλέποντα, τόν τε χείρω καὶ τὸν ἀμείνω [618e] βίον, χείρω μὲν καλοῦντα ὃς αὐτὴν ἐκεῖσε ἄξει, εἰς τὸ ἀδικωτέραν γίγνεσθαι, ἀμείνω δὲ ὅστις εἰς τὸ δικαιοτέραν. τὰ δὲ ἄλλα πάντα χαίρειν ἐάσει: ἑωράκαμεν γὰρ ὅτι ζῶντί τε καὶ τελευτήσαντι αὕτη κρατίστη αἵρεσις. ἀδαμαντίνως δὴ [619a] δεῖ ταύτην τὴν δόξαν ἔχοντα εἰς Ἅιδου ἰέναι, ὅπως ἂν ᾖ καὶ ἐκεῖ ἀνέκπληκτος ὑπὸ πλούτων τε καὶ τῶν τοιούτων κακῶν, καὶ μὴ ἐμπεσὼν εἰς τυραννίδας καὶ ἄλλας τοιαύτας πράξεις πολλὰ μὲν ἐργάσηται καὶ ἀνήκεστα κακά, ἔτι δὲ αὐτὸς μείζω πάθῃ, ἀλλὰ γνῷ τὸν μέσον ἀεὶ τῶν τοιούτων βίον αἱρεῖσθαι καὶ φεύγειν τὰ ὑπερβάλλοντα ἑκατέρωσε καὶ ἐν τῷδε τῷ βίῳ κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν καὶ ἐν παντὶ τῷ ἔπειτα: οὕτω γὰρ [619b] εὐδαιμονέστατος γίγνεται ἄνθρωπος.

καὶ δὴ οὖν καὶ τότε ὁ ἐκεῖθεν ἄγγελος ἤγγελλε τὸν μὲν προφήτην οὕτως εἰπεῖν: “καὶ τελευταίῳ ἐπιόντι, ξὺν νῷ ἑλομένῳ, συντόνως ζῶντι κεῖται βίος ἀγαπητός, οὐ κακός. μήτε ὁ ἄρχων αἱρέσεως ἀμελείτω μήτε ὁ τελευτῶν ἀθυμείτω.”

εἰπόντος δὲ ταῦτα τὸν πρῶτον λαχόντα ἔφη εὐθὺς ἐπιόντα τὴν μεγίστην τυραννίδα ἑλέσθαι, καὶ ὑπὸ ἀφροσύνης τε καὶ λαιμαργίας οὐ πάντα ἱκανῶς ἀνασκεψάμενον ἑλέσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ [619c] αὐτὸν λαθεῖν ἐνοῦσαν εἱμαρμένην παίδων αὑτοῦ βρώσεις καὶ ἄλλα κακά: ἐπειδὴ δὲ κατὰ σχολὴν σκέψασθαι, κόπτεσθαί τε καὶ ὀδύρεσθαι τὴν αἵρεσιν, οὐκ ἐμμένοντα τοῖς προρρηθεῖσιν ὑπὸ τοῦ προφήτου: οὐ γὰρ ἑαυτὸν αἰτιᾶσθαι τῶν κακῶν, ἀλλὰ τύχην τε καὶ δαίμονας καὶ πάντα μᾶλλον ἀνθ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ. εἶναι δὲ αὐτὸν τῶν ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἡκόντων, ἐν τεταγμένῃ πολιτείᾳ ἐν τῷ προτέρῳ βίῳ βεβιωκότα, ἔθει [619d] ἄνευ φιλοσοφίας ἀρετῆς μετειληφότα. ὡς δὲ καὶ εἰπεῖν, οὐκ ἐλάττους εἶναι ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις ἁλισκομένους τοὺς ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἥκοντας, ἅτε πόνων ἀγυμνάστους: τῶν δ᾽ ἐκ τῆς γῆς τοὺς πολλούς, ἅτε αὐτούς τε πεπονηκότας ἄλλους τε ἑωρακότας, οὐκ ἐξ ἐπιδρομῆς τὰς αἱρέσεις ποιεῖσθαι. διὸ δὴ καὶ μεταβολὴν τῶν κακῶν καὶ τῶν ἀγαθῶν ταῖς πολλαῖς τῶν ψυχῶν γίγνεσθαι καὶ διὰ τὴν τοῦ κλήρου τύχην: ἐπεὶ εἴ τις ἀεί, ὁπότε εἰς τὸν ἐνθάδε βίον ἀφικνοῖτο, ὑγιῶς φιλοσοφοῖ [619e] καὶ ὁ κλῆρος αὐτῷ τῆς αἱρέσεως μὴ ἐν τελευταίοις πίπτοι, κινδυνεύει ἐκ τῶν ἐκεῖθεν ἀπαγγελλομένων οὐ μόνον ἐνθάδε εὐδαιμονεῖν ἄν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν ἐνθένδε ἐκεῖσε καὶ δεῦρο πάλιν πορείαν οὐκ ἂν χθονίαν καὶ τραχεῖαν πορεύεσθαι, ἀλλὰ λείαν τε καὶ οὐρανίαν.

ταύτην γὰρ δὴ ἔφη τὴν θέαν ἀξίαν εἶναι ἰδεῖν, ὡς ἕκασται [620a] αἱ ψυχαὶ ᾑροῦντο τοὺς βίους: ἐλεινήν τε γὰρ ἰδεῖν εἶναι καὶ γελοίαν καὶ θαυμασίαν. κατὰ συνήθειαν γὰρ τοῦ προτέρου βίου τὰ πολλὰ αἱρεῖσθαι. ἰδεῖν μὲν γὰρ ψυχὴν ἔφη τήν ποτε Ὀρφέως γενομένην κύκνου βίον αἱρουμένην, μίσει τοῦ γυναικείου γένους διὰ τὸν ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνων θάνατον οὐκ ἐθέλουσαν ἐν γυναικὶ γεννηθεῖσαν γενέσθαι: ἰδεῖν δὲ τὴν Θαμύρου ἀηδόνος ἑλομένην: ἰδεῖν δὲ καὶ κύκνον μεταβάλλοντα εἰς ἀνθρωπίνου βίου αἵρεσιν, καὶ ἄλλα ζῷα μουσικὰ ὡσαύτως. [620b] εἰκοστὴν δὲ λαχοῦσαν ψυχὴν ἑλέσθαι λέοντος βίον: εἶναι δὲ τὴν Αἴαντος τοῦ Τελαμωνίου, φεύγουσαν ἄνθρωπον γενέσθαι, μεμνημένην τῆς τῶν ὅπλων κρίσεως. τὴν δ᾽ ἐπὶ τούτῳ Ἀγαμέμνονος: ἔχθρᾳ δὲ καὶ ταύτην τοῦ ἀνθρωπίνου γένους διὰ τὰ πάθη ἀετοῦ διαλλάξαι βίον. ἐν μέσοις δὲ λαχοῦσαν τὴν Ἀταλάντης ψυχήν, κατιδοῦσαν μεγάλας τιμὰς ἀθλητοῦ ἀνδρός, οὐ δύνασθαι παρελθεῖν, ἀλλὰ λαβεῖν. μετὰ [620c] δὲ ταύτην ἰδεῖν τὴν Ἐπειοῦ τοῦ Πανοπέως εἰς τεχνικῆς γυναικὸς ἰοῦσαν φύσιν: πόρρω δ᾽ ἐν ὑστάτοις ἰδεῖν τὴν τοῦ γελωτοποιοῦ Θερσίτου πίθηκον ἐνδυομένην. κατὰ τύχην δὲ τὴν Ὀδυσσέως λαχοῦσαν πασῶν ὑστάτην αἱρησομένην ἰέναι, μνήμῃ δὲ τῶν προτέρων πόνων φιλοτιμίας λελωφηκυῖαν ζητεῖν περιιοῦσαν χρόνον πολὺν βίον ἀνδρὸς ἰδιώτου ἀπράγμονος, καὶ μόγις εὑρεῖν κείμενόν που καὶ παρημελημένον [620d] ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ εἰπεῖν ἰδοῦσαν ὅτι τὰ αὐτὰ ἂν ἔπραξεν καὶ πρώτη λαχοῦσα, καὶ ἁσμένην ἑλέσθαι. καὶ ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων δὴ θηρίων ὡσαύτως εἰς ἀνθρώπους ἰέναι καὶ εἰς ἄλληλα, τὰ μὲν ἄδικα εἰς τὰ ἄγρια, τὰ δὲ δίκαια εἰς τὰ ἥμερα μεταβάλλοντα, καὶ πάσας μείξεις μείγνυσθαι.

ἐπειδὴ δ᾽ οὖν πάσας τὰς ψυχὰς τοὺς βίους ᾑρῆσθαι, ὥσπερ ἔλαχον ἐν τάξει προσιέναι πρὸς τὴν Λάχεσιν: ἐκείνην δ᾽ ἑκάστῳ ὃν εἵλετο δαίμονα, τοῦτον φύλακα συμπέμπειν [620e] τοῦ βίου καὶ ἀποπληρωτὴν τῶν αἱρεθέντων. ὃν πρῶτον μὲν ἄγειν αὐτὴν πρὸς τὴν Κλωθὼ ὑπὸ τὴν ἐκείνης χεῖρά τε καὶ ἐπιστροφὴν τῆς τοῦ ἀτράκτου δίνης, κυροῦντα ἣν λαχὼν εἵλετο μοῖραν: ταύτης δ᾽ ἐφαψάμενον αὖθις ἐπὶ τὴν τῆς Ἀτρόπου ἄγειν νῆσιν, ἀμετάστροφα τὰ ἐπικλωσθέντα ποιοῦντα: ἐντεῦθεν δὲ δὴ ἀμεταστρεπτὶ ὑπὸ τὸν τῆς [621a] ἀνάγκης ἰέναι θρόνον, καὶ δι᾽ ἐκείνου διεξελθόντα, ἐπειδὴ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι διῆλθον, πορεύεσθαι ἅπαντας εἰς τὸ τῆς Λήθης πεδίον διὰ καύματός τε καὶ πνίγους δεινοῦ: καὶ γὰρ εἶναι αὐτὸ κενὸν δένδρων τε καὶ ὅσα γῆ φύει. σκηνᾶσθαι οὖν σφᾶς ἤδη ἑσπέρας γιγνομένης παρὰ τὸν Ἀμέλητα ποταμόν, οὗ τὸ ὕδωρ ἀγγεῖον οὐδὲν στέγειν. μέτρον μὲν οὖν τι τοῦ ὕδατος πᾶσιν ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι πιεῖν, τοὺς δὲ φρονήσει μὴ σῳζομένους πλέον πίνειν τοῦ μέτρου: τὸν δὲ ἀεὶ πιόντα [621b] πάντων ἐπιλανθάνεσθαι. ἐπειδὴ δὲ κοιμηθῆναι καὶ μέσας νύκτας γενέσθαι, βροντήν τε καὶ σεισμὸν γενέσθαι, καὶ ἐντεῦθεν ἐξαπίνης ἄλλον ἄλλῃ φέρεσθαι ἄνω εἰς τὴν γένεσιν, ᾁττοντας ὥσπερ ἀστέρας. αὐτὸς δὲ τοῦ μὲν ὕδατος κωλυθῆναι πιεῖν: ὅπῃ μέντοι καὶ ὅπως εἰς τὸ σῶμα ἀφίκοιτο, οὐκ εἰδέναι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐξαίφνης ἀναβλέψας ἰδεῖν ἕωθεν αὑτὸν κείμενον ἐπὶ τῇ πυρᾷ.

καὶ οὕτως, ὦ Γλαύκων, μῦθος ἐσώθη καὶ οὐκ ἀπώλετο, [621c] καὶ ἡμᾶς ἂν σώσειεν, ἂν πειθώμεθα αὐτῷ, καὶ τὸν τῆς Λήθης ποταμὸν εὖ διαβησόμεθα καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν οὐ μιανθησόμεθα. ἀλλ᾽ ἂν ἐμοὶ πειθώμεθα, νομίζοντες ἀθάνατον ψυχὴν καὶ δυνατὴν πάντα μὲν κακὰ ἀνέχεσθαι, πάντα δὲ ἀγαθά, τῆς ἄνω ὁδοῦ ἀεὶ ἑξόμεθα καὶ δικαιοσύνην μετὰ φρονήσεως παντὶ τρόπῳ ἐπιτηδεύσομεν, ἵνα καὶ ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς φίλοι ὦμεν καὶ τοῖς θεοῖς, αὐτοῦ τε μένοντες ἐνθάδε, καὶ ἐπειδὰν τὰ ἆθλα [621d] αὐτῆς κομιζώμεθα, ὥσπερ οἱ νικηφόροι περιαγειρόμενοι, καὶ ἐνθάδε καὶ ἐν τῇ χιλιέτει πορείᾳ, ἣν διεληλύθαμεν, εὖ πράττωμεν.

PHAEDRUS

Σωκράτης
ὦ φίλε Φαῖδρε, ποῖ δὴ καὶ πόθεν;
Φαῖδρος
παρὰ Λυσίου, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦ Κεφάλου, πορεύομαι δὲ πρὸς περίπατον ἔξω τείχους· συχνὸν γὰρ ἐκεῖ διέτριψα χρόνον καθήμενος ἐξ ἑωθινοῦ. τῷ δὲ σῷ καὶ ἐμῷ ἑταίρῳ πειθόμενος Ἀκουμενῷ κατὰ τὰς ὁδοὺς ποιοῦμαι τοὺς περιπάτους· φησὶ γὰρ ἀκοπωτέρους εἶναι τῶν ἐν τοῖς [227b] δρόμοις.
Σωκράτης
καλῶς γάρ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, λέγει. ἀτὰρ Λυσίας ἦν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐν ἄστει.
Φαῖδρος
ναί, παρ᾽ Ἐπικράτει, ἐν τῇδε τῇ πλησίον τοῦ Ὀλυμπίου οἰκίᾳ τῇ Μορυχίᾳ.
Σωκράτης
τίς οὖν δὴ ἦν ἡ διατριβή; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι τῶν λόγων ὑμᾶς Λυσίας εἱστία;
Φαῖδρος
πεύσῃ, εἴ σοι σχολὴ προϊόντι ἀκούειν.
Σωκράτης
τί δέ; οὐκ ἂν οἴει με κατὰ Πίνδαρον “καὶ ἀσχολίας ὑπέρτερον” πρᾶγμα ποιήσασθαι τὸ τεήν τε καὶ Λυσίου διατριβὴν ἀκοῦσαι;
[227c] Φαῖδρος
πρόαγε δή.
Σωκράτης
λέγοις ἄν.
Φαῖδρος
καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, προσήκουσα γέ σοι ἡ ἀκοή· ὁ γάρ τοι λόγος ἦν, περὶ ὃν διετρίβομεν, οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅντινα τρόπον ἐρωτικός. γέγραφε γὰρ δὴ ὁ Λυσίας πειρώμενόν τινα τῶν καλῶν, οὐχ ὑπ᾽ ἐραστοῦ δέ, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ δὴ τοῦτο καὶ κεκόμψευται· λέγει γὰρ ὡς χαριστέον μὴ ἐρῶντι μᾶλλον ἢ ἐρῶντι.
Σωκράτης
ὢ γενναῖος. εἴθε γράψειεν ὡς χρὴ πένητι μᾶλλον ἢ πλουσίῳ, καὶ πρεσβυτέρῳ ἢ νεωτέρῳ, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα [227d] ἐμοί τε πρόσεστι καὶ τοῖς πολλοῖς ἡμῶν· ἦ γὰρ ἂν ἀστεῖοι καὶ δημωφελεῖς εἶεν οἱ λόγοι. ἔγωγ᾽ οὖν οὕτως ἐπιτεθύμηκα ἀκοῦσαι, ὥστ᾽ ἐὰν βαδίζων ποιῇ τὸν περίπατον Μέγαράδε καὶ κατὰ Ἡρόδικον προσβὰς τῷ τείχει πάλιν ἀπίῃς, οὐ μή σου ἀπολειφθῶ.
Φαῖδρος
πῶς λέγεις, ὦ βέλτιστε Σώκρατες; οἴει με, ἃ [228a] Λυσίας ἐν πολλῷ χρόνῳ κατὰ σχολὴν συνέθηκε, δεινότατος ὢν τῶν νῦν γράφειν, ταῦτα ἰδιώτην ὄντα ἀπομνημονεύσειν ἀξίως ἐκείνου; πολλοῦ γε δέω· καίτοι ἐβουλόμην γ᾽ ἂν μᾶλλον ἤ μοι πολὺ χρυσίον γενέσθαι.
Σωκράτης
ὦ Φαῖδρε, εἰ ἐγὼ Φαῖδρον ἀγνοῶ, καὶ ἐμαυτοῦ ἐπιλέλησμαι. ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὐδέτερά ἐστι τούτων· εὖ οἶδα ὅτι Λυσίου λόγον ἀκούων ἐκεῖνος οὐ μόνον ἅπαξ ἤκουσεν, ἀλλὰ πολλάκις ἐπαναλαμβάνων ἐκέλευέν οἱ λέγειν, ὁ δὲ ἐπείθετο [228b] προθύμως. τῷ δὲ οὐδὲ ταῦτα ἦν ἱκανά, ἀλλὰ τελευτῶν παραλαβὼν τὸ βιβλίον ἃ μάλιστα ἐπεθύμει ἐπεσκόπει, καὶ τοῦτο δρῶν ἐξ ἑωθινοῦ καθήμενος ἀπειπὼν εἰς περίπατον ᾔει, ὡς μὲν ἐγὼ οἶμαι, νὴ τὸν κύνα, ἐξεπιστάμενος τὸν λόγον, εἰ μὴ πάνυ τι ἦν μακρός. ἐπορεύετο δ᾽ ἐκτὸς τείχους ἵνα μελετῴη. ἀπαντήσας δὲ τῷ νοσοῦντι περὶ λόγων ἀκοήν, ἰδὼν μέν, ἰδών, ἥσθη ὅτι ἕξοι τὸν συγκορυβαντιῶντα, [228c] καὶ προάγειν ἐκέλευε. δεομένου δὲ λέγειν τοῦ τῶν λόγων ἐραστοῦ, ἐθρύπτετο ὡς δὴ οὐκ ἐπιθυμῶν λέγειν· τελευτῶν δὲ ἔμελλε καὶ εἰ μή τις ἑκὼν ἀκούοι βίᾳ ἐρεῖν. σὺ οὖν, ὦ Φαῖδρε, αὐτοῦ δεήθητι ὅπερ τάχα πάντως ποιήσει νῦν ἤδη ποιεῖν.
Φαῖδρος
ἐμοὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς πολὺ κράτιστόν ἐστιν οὕτως ὅπως δύναμαι λέγειν, ὥς μοι δοκεῖς σὺ οὐδαμῶς με ἀφήσειν πρὶν ἂν εἴπω ἁμῶς γέ πως.
Σωκράτης
πάνυ γάρ σοι ἀληθῆ δοκῶ.
[228d] Φαῖδρος
οὑτωσὶ τοίνυν ποιήσω. τῷ ὄντι γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, παντὸς μᾶλλον τά γε ῥήματα οὐκ ἐξέμαθον· τὴν μέντοι διάνοιαν σχεδὸν ἁπάντων, οἷς ἔφη διαφέρειν τὰ τοῦ ἐρῶντος ἢ τὰ τοῦ μή, ἐν κεφαλαίοις ἕκαστον ἐφεξῆς δίειμι, ἀρξάμενος ἀπὸ τοῦ πρώτου.
Σωκράτης
δείξας γε πρῶτον, ὦ φιλότης, τί ἄρα ἐν τῇ ἀριστερᾷ ἔχεις ὑπὸ τῷ ἱματίῳ· τοπάζω γάρ σε ἔχειν τὸν λόγον αὐτόν. εἰ δὲ τοῦτό ἐστιν, οὑτωσὶ διανοοῦ περὶ ἐμοῦ, ὡς [228e] ἐγώ σε πάνυ μὲν φιλῶ, παρόντος δὲ καὶ Λυσίου, ἐμαυτόν σοι ἐμμελετᾶν παρέχειν οὐ πάνυ δέδοκται. ἀλλ᾽ ἴθι, δείκνυε.
Φαῖδρος
παῦε. ἐκκέκρουκάς με ἐλπίδος, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἣν εἶχον ἐν σοὶ ὡς ἐγγυμνασόμενος. ἀλλὰ ποῦ δὴ βούλει καθιζόμενοι ἀναγνῶμεν;
[229a] Σωκράτης
δεῦρ᾽ ἐκτραπόμενοι κατὰ τὸν Ἰλισὸν ἴωμεν, εἶτα ὅπου ἂν δόξῃ ἐν ἡσυχίᾳ καθιζησόμεθα.
Φαῖδρος
εἰς καιρόν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀνυπόδητος ὢν ἔτυχον· σὺ μὲν γὰρ δὴ ἀεί. ῥᾷστον οὖν ἡμῖν κατὰ τὸ ὑδάτιον βρέχουσι τοὺς πόδας ἰέναι, καὶ οὐκ ἀηδές, ἄλλως τε καὶ τήνδε τὴν ὥραν τοῦ ἔτους τε καὶ τῆς ἡμέρας.
Σωκράτης
πρόαγε δή, καὶ σκόπει ἅμα ὅπου καθιζησόμεθα.
Φαῖδρος
ὁρᾷς οὖν ἐκείνην τὴν ὑψηλοτάτην πλάτανον;
Σωκράτης
τί μήν;
[229b] Φαῖδρος
ἐκεῖ σκιά τ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ πνεῦμα μέτριον, καὶ πόα καθίζεσθαι ἢ ἂν βουλώμεθα κατακλινῆναι.
Σωκράτης
προάγοις ἄν.
Φαῖδρος
εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἐνθένδε μέντοι ποθὲν ἀπὸ τοῦ Ἰλισοῦ λέγεται ὁ Βορέας τὴν Ὠρείθυιαν ἁρπάσαι;
Σωκράτης
λέγεται γάρ.
Φαῖδρος
ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐνθένδε; χαρίεντα γοῦν καὶ καθαρὰ καὶ διαφανῆ τὰ ὑδάτια φαίνεται, καὶ ἐπιτήδεια κόραις παίζειν παρ᾽ αὐτά.
[229c] Σωκράτης
οὔκ, ἀλλὰ κάτωθεν ὅσον δύ᾽ ἢ τρία στάδια, ᾗ πρὸς τὸ ἐν Ἄγρας διαβαίνομεν· καὶ πού τίς ἐστι βωμὸς αὐτόθι Βορέου.
Φαῖδρος
οὐ πάνυ νενόηκα· ἀλλ᾽ εἰπὲ πρὸς Διός, ὦ Σώκρατες, σὺ τοῦτο τὸ μυθολόγημα πείθῃ ἀληθὲς εἶναι;
Σωκράτης
ἀλλ᾽ εἰ ἀπιστοίην, ὥσπερ οἱ σοφοί, οὐκ ἂν ἄτοπος εἴην, εἶτα σοφιζόμενος φαίην αὐτὴν πνεῦμα Βορέου κατὰ τῶν πλησίον πετρῶν σὺν Φαρμακείᾳ παίζουσαν ὦσαι, καὶ οὕτω δὴ τελευτήσασαν λεχθῆναι ὑπὸ τοῦ Βορέου ἀνάρπαστον [229d] γεγονέναι — ἢ ἐξ Ἀρείου πάγου· λέγεται γὰρ αὖ καὶ οὗτος ὁ λόγος, ὡς ἐκεῖθεν ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐνθένδε ἡρπάσθη. ἐγὼ δέ, ὦ Φαῖδρε, ἄλλως μὲν τὰ τοιαῦτα χαρίεντα ἡγοῦμαι, λίαν δὲ δεινοῦ καὶ ἐπιπόνου καὶ οὐ πάνυ εὐτυχοῦς ἀνδρός, κατ᾽ ἄλλο μὲν οὐδέν, ὅτι δ᾽ αὐτῷ ἀνάγκη μετὰ τοῦτο τὸ τῶν Ἱπποκενταύρων εἶδος ἐπανορθοῦσθαι, καὶ αὖθις τὸ τῆς Χιμαίρας, καὶ ἐπιῤῥεῖ δὲ ὄχλος τοιούτων Γοργόνων καὶ Πηγάσων καὶ [229e] ἄλλων ἀμηχάνων πλήθη τε καὶ ἀτοπίαι τερατολόγων τινῶν φύσεων· αἷς εἴ τις ἀπιστῶν προσβιβᾷ κατὰ τὸ εἰκὸς ἕκαστον, ἅτε ἀγροίκῳ τινὶ σοφίᾳ χρώμενος, πολλῆς αὐτῷ σχολῆς δεήσει. ἐμοὶ δὲ πρὸς αὐτὰ οὐδαμῶς ἐστι σχολή· τὸ δὲ αἴτιον, ὦ φίλε, τούτου τόδε. οὐ δύναμαί πω κατὰ τὸ Δελφικὸν γράμμα γνῶναι ἐμαυτόν· γελοῖον δή μοι φαίνεται [230a] τοῦτο ἔτι ἀγνοοῦντα τὰ ἀλλότρια σκοπεῖν. ὅθεν δὴ χαίρειν ἐάσας ταῦτα, πειθόμενος δὲ τῷ νομιζομένῳ περὶ αὐτῶν, ὃ νυνδὴ ἔλεγον, σκοπῶ οὐ ταῦτα ἀλλ᾽ ἐμαυτόν, εἴτε τι θηρίον ὂν τυγχάνω Τυφῶνος πολυπλοκώτερον καὶ μᾶλλον ἐπιτεθυμμένον, εἴτε ἡμερώτερόν τε καὶ ἁπλούστερον ζῷον, θείας τινὸς καὶ ἀτύφου μοίρας φύσει μετέχον. ἀτάρ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, μεταξὺ τῶν λόγων, ἆρ᾽ οὐ τόδε ἦν τὸ δένδρον ἐφ᾽ ὅπερ ἦγες ἡμᾶς;
[230b] Φαῖδρος
τοῦτο μὲν οὖν αὐτό.
Σωκράτης
νὴ τὴν Ἥραν, καλή γε ἡ καταγωγή. ἥ τε γὰρ πλάτανος αὕτη μάλ᾽ ἀμφιλαφής τε καὶ ὑψηλή, τοῦ τε ἄγνου τὸ ὕψος καὶ τὸ σύσκιον πάγκαλον, καὶ ὡς ἀκμὴν ἔχει τῆς ἄνθης, ὡς ἂν εὐωδέστατον παρέχοι τὸν τόπον· ἥ τε αὖ πηγὴ χαριεστάτη ὑπὸ τῆς πλατάνου ῥεῖ μάλα ψυχροῦ ὕδατος, ὥστε γε τῷ ποδὶ τεκμήρασθαι. Νυμφῶν τέ τινων καὶ Ἀχελῴου ἱερὸν ἀπὸ τῶν κορῶν τε καὶ ἀγαλμάτων ἔοικεν εἶναι.
[230c] εἰ δ᾽ αὖ βούλει, τὸ εὔπνουν τοῦ τόπου ὡς ἀγαπητὸν καὶ σφόδρα ἡδύ· θερινόν τε καὶ λιγυρὸν ὑπηχεῖ τῷ τῶν τεττίγων χορῷ. πάντων δὲ κομψότατον τὸ τῆς πόας, ὅτι ἐν ἠρέμα προσάντει ἱκανὴ πέφυκε κατακλινέντι τὴν κεφαλὴν παγκάλως ἔχειν. ὥστε ἄριστά σοι ἐξενάγηται, ὦ φίλε Φαῖδρε.
Φαῖδρος
σὺ δέ γε, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ἀτοπώτατός τις φαίνῃ. ἀτεχνῶς γάρ, ὃ λέγεις, ξεναγουμένῳ τινὶ καὶ οὐκ ἐπιχωρίῳ [230d] ἔοικας· οὕτως ἐκ τοῦ ἄστεος οὔτ᾽ εἰς τὴν ὑπερορίαν ἀποδημεῖς, οὔτ᾽ ἔξω τείχους ἔμοιγε δοκεῖς τὸ παράπαν ἐξιέναι.
Σωκράτης
συγγίγνωσκέ μοι, ὦ ἄριστε. φιλομαθὴς γάρ εἰμι· τὰ μὲν οὖν χωρία καὶ τὰ δένδρα οὐδέν μ᾽ ἐθέλει διδάσκειν, οἱ δ᾽ ἐν τῷ ἄστει ἄνθρωποι. σὺ μέντοι δοκεῖς μοι τῆς ἐμῆς ἐξόδου τὸ φάρμακον ηὑρηκέναι. ὥσπερ γὰρ οἱ τὰ πεινῶντα θρέμματα θαλλὸν ἤ τινα καρπὸν προσείοντες ἄγουσιν, σὺ ἐμοὶ λόγους οὕτω προτείνων ἐν βιβλίοις τήν τε [230e] Ἀττικὴν φαίνῃ περιάξειν ἅπασαν καὶ ὅποι ἂν ἄλλοσε βούλῃ. νῦν δ᾽ οὖν ἐν τῷ παρόντι δεῦρ᾽ ἀφικόμενος ἐγὼ μέν μοι δοκῶ κατακείσεσθαι, σὺ δ᾽ ἐν ὁποίῳ σχήματι οἴει ῥᾷστα ἀναγνώσεσθαι, τοῦθ᾽ ἑλόμενος ἀναγίγνωσκε.
Φαῖδρος
ἄκουε δή.
περὶ μὲν τῶν ἐμῶν πραγμάτων ἐπίστασαι, καὶ ὡς νομίζω συμφέρειν ἡμῖν γενομένων τούτων ἀκήκοας· ἀξιῶ δὲ μὴ διὰ [231a] τοῦτο ἀτυχῆσαι ὧν δέομαι, ὅτι οὐκ ἐραστὴς ὤν σου τυγχάνω. ὡς ἐκείνοις μὲν τότε μεταμέλει ὧν ἂν εὖ ποιήσωσιν, ἐπειδὰν τῆς ἐπιθυμίας παύσωνται· τοῖς δὲ οὐκ ἔστι χρόνος ἐν ᾧ μεταγνῶναι προσήκει. οὐ γὰρ ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης ἀλλ᾽ ἑκόντες, ὡς ἂν ἄριστα περὶ τῶν οἰκείων βουλεύσαιντο, πρὸς τὴν δύναμιν τὴν αὑτῶν εὖ ποιοῦσιν. ἔτι δὲ οἱ μὲν ἐρῶντες σκοποῦσιν ἅ τε κακῶς διέθεντο τῶν αὑτῶν διὰ τὸν ἔρωτα καὶ ἃ πεποιήκασιν εὖ, καὶ ὃν εἶχον πόνον προστιθέντες [231b] ἡγοῦνται πάλαι τὴν ἀξίαν ἀποδεδωκέναι χάριν τοῖς ἐρωμένοις· τοῖς δὲ μὴ ἐρῶσιν οὔτε τὴν τῶν οἰκείων ἀμέλειαν διὰ τοῦτο ἔστιν προφασίζεσθαι, οὔτε τοὺς παρεληλυθότας πόνους ὑπολογίζεσθαι, οὔτε τὰς πρὸς τοὺς προσήκοντας διαφορὰς αἰτιάσασθαι· ὥστε περιῃρημένων τοσούτων κακῶν οὐδὲν ὑπολείπεται ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ποιεῖν προθύμως ὅτι ἂν αὐτοῖς οἴωνται πράξαντες χαριεῖσθαι. ἔτι δὲ εἰ διὰ τοῦτο ἄξιον [231c] τοὺς ἐρῶντας περὶ πολλοῦ ποιεῖσθαι, ὅτι τούτους μάλιστά φασιν φιλεῖν ὧν ἂν ἐρῶσιν, καὶ ἕτοιμοί εἰσι καὶ ἐκ τῶν λόγων καὶ ἐκ τῶν ἔργων τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀπεχθανόμενοι τοῖς ἐρωμένοις χαρίζεσθαι, ῥᾴδιον γνῶναι, εἰ ἀληθῆ λέγουσιν, ὅτι ὅσων ἂν ὕστερον ἐρασθῶσιν, ἐκείνους αὐτῶν περὶ πλείονος ποιήσονται, καὶ δῆλον ὅτι, ἐὰν ἐκείνοις δοκῇ, καὶ τούτους κακῶς ποιήσουσιν. καίτοι πῶς εἰκός ἐστι τοιοῦτον πρᾶγμα προέσθαι [231d] τοιαύτην ἔχοντι συμφοράν, ἣν οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἐπιχειρήσειεν οὐδεὶς ἔμπειρος ὢν ἀποτρέπειν; καὶ γὰρ αὐτοὶ ὁμολογοῦσι νοσεῖν μᾶλλον ἢ σωφρονεῖν, καὶ εἰδέναι ὅτι κακῶς φρονοῦσιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δύνασθαι αὑτῶν κρατεῖν· ὥστε πῶς ἂν εὖ φρονήσαντες ταῦτα καλῶς ἔχειν ἡγήσαιντο περὶ ὧν οὕτω διακείμενοι βουλεύονται; καὶ μὲν δὴ εἰ μὲν ἐκ τῶν ἐρώντων τὸν βέλτιστον αἱροῖο, ἐξ ὀλίγων ἄν σοι ἡ ἔκλεξις εἴη· εἰ δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων τὸν σαυτῷ ἐπιτηδειότατον, ἐκ πολλῶν· ὥστε πολὺ [231e] πλείων ἐλπὶς ἐν τοῖς πολλοῖς ὄντα τυχεῖν τὸν ἄξιον τῆς σῆς φιλίας.
εἰ τοίνυν τὸν νόμον τὸν καθεστηκότα δέδοικας, μὴ πυθομένων τῶν ἀνθρώπων ὄνειδός σοι γένηται, εἰκός ἐστι [232a] τοὺς μὲν ἐρῶντας, οὕτως ἂν οἰομένους καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων ζηλοῦσθαι ὥσπερ αὐτοὺς ὑφ᾽ αὑτῶν, ἐπαρθῆναι τῷ λέγειν καὶ φιλοτιμουμένους ἐπιδείκνυσθαι πρὸς ἅπαντας ὅτι οὐκ ἄλλως αὐτοῖς πεπόνηται· τοὺς δὲ μὴ ἐρῶντας, κρείττους αὑτῶν ὄντας, τὸ βέλτιστον ἀντὶ τῆς δόξης τῆς παρὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων αἱρεῖσθαι. ἔτι δὲ τοὺς μὲν ἐρῶντας πολλοὺς ἀνάγκη πυθέσθαι καὶ ἰδεῖν ἀκολουθοῦντας τοῖς ἐρωμένοις καὶ ἔργον τοῦτο ποιουμένους, ὥστε ὅταν ὀφθῶσι διαλεγόμενοι [232b] ἀλλήλοις, τότε αὐτοὺς οἴονται ἢ γεγενημένης ἢ μελλούσης ἔσεσθαι τῆς ἐπιθυμίας συνεῖναι· τοὺς δὲ μὴ ἐρῶντας οὐδ᾽ αἰτιᾶσθαι διὰ τὴν συνουσίαν ἐπιχειροῦσιν, εἰδότες ὅτι ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστιν ἢ διὰ φιλίαν τῳ διαλέγεσθαι ἢ δι᾽ ἄλλην τινὰ ἡδονήν. καὶ μὲν δὴ εἴ σοι δέος παρέστηκεν ἡγουμένῳ χαλεπὸν εἶναι φιλίαν συμμένειν, καὶ ἄλλῳ μὲν τρόπῳ διαφορᾶς γενομένης κοινὴν <ἂν> ἀμφοτέροις καταστῆναι τὴν [232c] συμφοράν, προεμένου δέ σου ἃ περὶ πλείστου ποιῇ μεγάλην ἄν σοι βλάβην ἂν γενέσθαι, εἰκότως ἂν τοὺς ἐρῶντας μᾶλλον ἂν φοβοῖο· πολλὰ γὰρ αὐτούς ἐστι τὰ λυποῦντα, καὶ πάντ᾽ ἐπὶ τῇ αὑτῶν βλάβῃ νομίζουσι γίγνεσθαι. διόπερ καὶ τὰς πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους τῶν ἐρωμένων συνουσίας ἀποτρέπουσιν, φοβούμενοι τοὺς μὲν οὐσίαν κεκτημένους μὴ χρήμασιν αὐτοὺς ὑπερβάλωνται, τοὺς δὲ πεπαιδευμένους μὴ συνέσει κρείττους γένωνται· τῶν δὲ ἄλλο τι κεκτημένων [232d] ἀγαθὸν τὴν δύναμιν ἑκάστου φυλάττονται. πείσαντες μὲν οὖν ἀπεχθέσθαι σε τούτοις εἰς ἐρημίαν φίλων καθιστᾶσιν, ἐὰν δὲ τὸ σεαυτοῦ σκοπῶν ἄμεινον ἐκείνων φρονῇς, ἥξεις αὐτοῖς εἰς διαφοράν· ὅσοι δὲ μὴ ἐρῶντες ἔτυχον, ἀλλὰ δι᾽ ἀρετὴν ἔπραξαν ὧν ἐδέοντο, οὐκ ἂν τοῖς συνοῦσι φθονοῖεν, ἀλλὰ τοὺς μὴ ἐθέλοντας μισοῖεν, ἡγούμενοι ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνων μὲν ὑπερορᾶσθαι, ὑπὸ τῶν συνόντων δὲ ὠφελεῖσθαι, ὥστε πολὺ [232e] πλείων ἐλπὶς φιλίαν αὐτοῖς ἐκ τοῦ πράγματος ἢ ἔχθραν γενέσθαι.
καὶ μὲν δὴ τῶν μὲν ἐρώντων πολλοὶ πρότερον τοῦ σώματος ἐπεθύμησαν ἢ τὸν τρόπον ἔγνωσαν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων οἰκείων ἔμπειροι ἐγένοντο, ὥστε ἄδηλον αὐτοῖς εἰ ἔτι τότε βουλήσονται φίλοι εἶναι, ἐπειδὰν τῆς ἐπιθυμίας παύσωνται· [233a] τοῖς δὲ μὴ ἐρῶσιν, οἳ καὶ πρότερον ἀλλήλοις φίλοι ὄντες ταῦτα ἔπραξαν, οὐκ ἐξ ὧν ἂν εὖ πάθωσι ταῦτα εἰκὸς ἐλάττω τὴν φιλίαν αὐτοῖς ποιῆσαι, ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μνημεῖα καταλειφθῆναι τῶν μελλόντων ἔσεσθαι. καὶ μὲν δὴ βελτίονί σοι προσήκει γενέσθαι ἐμοὶ πειθομένῳ ἢ ἐραστῇ. ἐκεῖνοι μὲν γὰρ καὶ παρὰ τὸ βέλτιστον τά τε λεγόμενα καὶ τὰ πραττόμενα ἐπαινοῦσιν, τὰ μὲν δεδιότες μὴ ἀπέχθωνται, τὰ δὲ [233b] καὶ αὐτοὶ χεῖρον διὰ τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν γιγνώσκοντες. τοιαῦτα γὰρ ὁ ἔρως ἐπιδείκνυται· δυστυχοῦντας μέν, ἃ μὴ λύπην τοῖς ἄλλοις παρέχει, ἀνιαρὰ ποιεῖ νομίζειν· εὐτυχοῦντας δὲ καὶ τὰ μὴ ἡδονῆς ἄξια παρ᾽ ἐκείνων ἐπαίνου ἀναγκάζει τυγχάνειν· ὥστε πολὺ μᾶλλον ἐλεεῖν τοῖς ἐρωμένοις ἢ ζηλοῦν αὐτοὺς προσήκει. ἐὰν δέ μοι πείθῃ, πρῶτον μὲν οὐ τὴν παροῦσαν ἡδονὴν θεραπεύων συνέσομαί σοι, ἀλλὰ καὶ [233c] τὴν μέλλουσαν ὠφελίαν ἔσεσθαι, οὐχ ὑπ᾽ ἔρωτος ἡττώμενος ἀλλ᾽ ἐμαυτοῦ κρατῶν, οὐδὲ διὰ σμικρὰ ἰσχυρὰν ἔχθραν ἀναιρούμενος ἀλλὰ διὰ μεγάλα βραδέως ὀλίγην ὀργὴν ποιούμενος, τῶν μὲν ἀκουσίων συγγνώμην ἔχων, τὰ δὲ ἑκούσια πειρώμενος ἀποτρέπειν· ταῦτα γάρ ἐστι φιλίας πολὺν χρόνον ἐσομένης τεκμήρια. εἰ δ᾽ ἄρα σοι τοῦτο παρέστηκεν, ὡς οὐχ οἷόν τε ἰσχυρὰν φιλίαν γενέσθαι ἐὰν μή τις ἐρῶν τυγχάνῃ, [233d] ἐνθυμεῖσθαι χρὴ ὅτι οὔτ᾽ ἂν τοὺς ὑεῖς περὶ πολλοῦ ἐποιούμεθα οὔτ᾽ ἂν τοὺς πατέρας καὶ τὰς μητέρας, οὔτ᾽ ἂν πιστοὺς φίλους ἐκεκτήμεθα, οἳ οὐκ ἐξ ἐπιθυμίας τοιαύτης γεγόνασιν ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ἑτέρων ἐπιτηδευμάτων.
ἔτι δὲ εἰ χρὴ τοῖς δεομένοις μάλιστα χαρίζεσθαι, προσήκει καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις μὴ τοὺς βελτίστους ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἀπορωτάτους εὖ ποιεῖν· μεγίστων γὰρ ἀπαλλαγέντες κακῶν πλείστην χάριν αὐτοῖς εἴσονται. καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ ἐν ταῖς [233e] ἰδίαις δαπάναις οὐ τοὺς φίλους ἄξιον παρακαλεῖν, ἀλλὰ τοὺς προσαιτοῦντας καὶ τοὺς δεομένους πλησμονῆς· ἐκεῖνοι γὰρ καὶ ἀγαπήσουσιν καὶ ἀκολουθήσουσιν καὶ ἐπὶ τὰς θύρας ἥξουσι καὶ μάλιστα ἡσθήσονται καὶ οὐκ ἐλαχίστην χάριν εἴσονται καὶ πολλὰ ἀγαθὰ αὐτοῖς εὔξονται. ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως προσήκει οὐ τοῖς σφόδρα δεομένοις χαρίζεσθαι, ἀλλὰ τοῖς μάλιστα ἀποδοῦναι χάριν δυναμένοις· οὐδὲ τοῖς προσαιτοῦσι [234a] μόνον, ἀλλὰ τοῖς τοῦ πράγματος ἀξίοις· οὐδὲ ὅσοι τῆς σῆς ὥρας ἀπολαύσονται, ἀλλ᾽ οἵτινες πρεσβυτέρῳ γενομένῳ τῶν σφετέρων ἀγαθῶν μεταδώσουσιν· οὐδὲ οἳ διαπραξάμενοι πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους φιλοτιμήσονται, ἀλλ᾽ οἵτινες αἰσχυνόμενοι πρὸς ἅπαντας σιωπήσονται· οὐδὲ τοῖς ὀλίγον χρόνον σπουδάζουσιν, ἀλλὰ τοῖς ὁμοίως διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου φίλοις ἐσομένοις· οὐδὲ οἵτινες παυόμενοι τῆς ἐπιθυμίας ἔχθρας πρόφασιν ζητήσουσιν, ἀλλ᾽ οἳ παυσαμένου τῆς ὥρας τότε [234b] τὴν αὑτῶν ἀρετὴν ἐπιδείξονται. σὺ οὖν τῶν τε εἰρημένων μέμνησο καὶ ἐκεῖνο ἐνθυμοῦ, ὅτι τοὺς μὲν ἐρῶντας οἱ φίλοι νουθετοῦσιν ὡς ὄντος κακοῦ τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος, τοῖς δὲ μὴ ἐρῶσιν οὐδεὶς πώποτε τῶν οἰκείων ἐμέμψατο ὡς διὰ τοῦτο κακῶς βουλευομένοις περὶ ἑαυτῶν.
ἴσως ἂν οὖν ἔροιό με εἰ ἅπασίν σοι παραινῶ τοῖς μὴ ἐρῶσι χαρίζεσθαι. ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι οὐδ᾽ ἂν τὸν ἐρῶντα πρὸς ἅπαντάς σε κελεύειν τοὺς ἐρῶντας ταύτην ἔχειν τὴν [234c] διάνοιαν. οὔτε γὰρ τῷ λαμβάνοντι χάριτος ἴσης ἄξιον, οὔτε σοὶ βουλομένῳ τοὺς ἄλλους λανθάνειν ὁμοίως δυνατόν· δεῖ δὲ βλάβην μὲν ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ μηδεμίαν, ὠφελίαν δὲ ἀμφοῖν γίγνεσθαι. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ἱκανά μοι νομίζω τὰ εἰρημένα· εἰ δ᾽ ἔτι <τι> σὺ ποθεῖς, ἡγούμενος παραλελεῖφθαι, ἐρώτα.
Φαῖδρος
τί σοι φαίνεται, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁ λόγος; οὐχ ὑπερφυῶς τά τε ἄλλα καὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν εἰρῆσθαι;
[234d] Σωκράτης
δαιμονίως μὲν οὖν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ὥστε με ἐκπλαγῆναι. καὶ τοῦτο ἐγὼ ἔπαθον διὰ σέ, ὦ Φαῖδρε, πρὸς σὲ ἀποβλέπων, ὅτι ἐμοὶ ἐδόκεις γάνυσθαι ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου μεταξὺ ἀναγιγνώσκων· ἡγούμενος γὰρ σὲ μᾶλλον ἢ ἐμὲ ἐπαΐειν περὶ τῶν τοιούτων σοὶ εἱπόμην, καὶ ἑπόμενος συνεβάκχευσα μετὰ σοῦ τῆς θείας κεφαλῆς.
Φαῖδρος
εἶεν· οὕτω δὴ δοκεῖ παίζειν;
Σωκράτης
δοκῶ γάρ σοι παίζειν καὶ οὐχὶ ἐσπουδακέναι;
[234e] Φαῖδρος
μηδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἀληθῶς εἰπὲ πρὸς Διὸς φιλίου, οἴει ἄν τινα ἔχειν εἰπεῖν ἄλλον τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἕτερα τούτων μείζω καὶ πλείω περὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ πράγματος;
Σωκράτης
τί δέ; καὶ ταύτῃ δεῖ ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ τὸν λόγον ἐπαινεθῆναι, ὡς τὰ δέοντα εἰρηκότος τοῦ ποιητοῦ, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκείνῃ μόνον, ὅτι σαφῆ καὶ στρογγύλα, καὶ ἀκριβῶς ἕκαστα τῶν ὀνομάτων ἀποτετόρνευται; εἰ γὰρ δεῖ, συγχωρητέον χάριν σήν, ἐπεὶ ἐμέ γε ἔλαθεν ὑπὸ τῆς ἐμῆς [235a] οὐδενίας· τῷ γὰρ ῥητορικῷ αὐτοῦ μόνῳ τὸν νοῦν προσεῖχον, τοῦτο δὲ οὐδ᾽ <ἂν> αὐτὸν ᾤμην Λυσίαν οἴεσθαι ἱκανὸν εἶναι. καὶ οὖν μοι ἔδοξεν, ὦ Φαῖδρε, εἰ μή τι σὺ ἄλλο λέγεις, δὶς καὶ τρὶς τὰ αὐτὰ εἰρηκέναι, ὡς οὐ πάνυ εὐπορῶν τοῦ πολλὰ λέγειν περὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ, ἢ ἴσως οὐδὲν αὐτῷ μέλον τοῦ τοιούτου· καὶ ἐφαίνετο δή μοι νεανιεύεσθαι ἐπιδεικνύμενος ὡς οἷός τε ὢν ταὐτὰ ἑτέρως τε καὶ ἑτέρως λέγων ἀμφοτέρως εἰπεῖν ἄριστα.
[235b] Φαῖδρος
οὐδὲν λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες· αὐτὸ γὰρ τοῦτο καὶ μάλιστα ὁ λόγος ἔχει. τῶν γὰρ ἐνόντων ἀξίως ῥηθῆναι ἐν τῷ πράγματι οὐδὲν παραλέλοιπεν, ὥστε παρὰ τὰ ἐκείνῳ εἰρημένα μηδέν᾽ <ἄν> ποτε δύνασθαι εἰπεῖν ἄλλα πλείω καὶ πλείονος ἄξια.
Σωκράτης
τοῦτο ἐγώ σοι οὐκέτι οἷός τ᾽ ἔσομαι πιθέσθαι· παλαιοὶ γὰρ καὶ σοφοὶ ἄνδρες τε καὶ γυναῖκες περὶ αὐτῶν εἰρηκότες καὶ γεγραφότες ἐξελέγξουσί με, ἐάν σοι χαριζόμενος συγχωρῶ.
[235c] Φαῖδρος
τίνες οὗτοι; καὶ ποῦ σὺ βελτίω τούτων ἀκήκοας;
Σωκράτης
νῦν μὲν οὕτως οὐκ ἔχω εἰπεῖν· δῆλον δὲ ὅτι τινῶν ἀκήκοα, ἤ που Σαπφοῦς τῆς καλῆς ἢ Ἀνακρέοντος τοῦ σοφοῦ ἢ καὶ συγγραφέων τινῶν. πόθεν δὴ τεκμαιρόμενος λέγω; πλῆρές πως, ὦ δαιμόνιε, τὸ στῆθος ἔχων αἰσθάνομαι παρὰ ταῦτα ἂν ἔχειν εἰπεῖν ἕτερα μὴ χείρω. ὅτι μὲν οὖν παρά γε ἐμαυτοῦ οὐδὲν αὐτῶν ἐννενόηκα, εὖ οἶδα, συνειδὼς ἐμαυτῷ ἀμαθίαν· λείπεται δὴ οἶμαι ἐξ ἀλλοτρίων ποθὲν [235d] ναμάτων διὰ τῆς ἀκοῆς πεπληρῶσθαί με δίκην ἀγγείου. ὑπὸ δὲ νωθείας αὖ καὶ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἐπιλέλησμαι, ὅπως τε καὶ ὧντινων ἤκουσα.
Φαῖδρος
ἀλλ᾽, ὦ γενναιότατε, κάλλιστα εἴρηκας. σὺ γὰρ ἐμοὶ ὧντινων μὲν καὶ ὅπως ἤκουσας μηδ᾽ ἂν κελεύω εἴπῃς, τοῦτο δὲ αὐτὸ ὃ λέγεις ποίησον· τῶν ἐν τῷ βιβλίῳ βελτίω τε καὶ μὴ ἐλάττω ἕτερα ὑπέσχησαι εἰπεῖν τούτων ἀπεχόμενος, καί σοι ἐγώ, ὥσπερ οἱ ἐννέα ἄρχοντες, ὑπισχνοῦμαι χρυσῆν εἰκόνα ἰσομέτρητον εἰς Δελφοὺς ἀναθήσειν, οὐ [235e] μόνον ἐμαυτοῦ ἀλλὰ καὶ σήν.
Σωκράτης
φίλτατος εἶ καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς χρυσοῦς, ὦ Φαῖδρε, εἴ με οἴει λέγειν ὡς Λυσίας τοῦ παντὸς ἡμάρτηκεν, καὶ οἷόν τε δὴ παρὰ πάντα ταῦτα ἄλλα εἰπεῖν· τοῦτο δὲ οἶμαι οὐδ᾽ ἂν τὸν φαυλότατον παθεῖν συγγραφέα. αὐτίκα περὶ οὗ ὁ λόγος, τίνα οἴει λέγοντα ὡς χρὴ μὴ ἐρῶντι μᾶλλον ἢ ἐρῶντι χαρίζεσθαι, παρέντα τοῦ μὲν τὸ φρόνιμον ἐγκωμιάζειν,
[236a] τοῦ δὲ τὸ ἄφρον ψέγειν, ἀναγκαῖα γοῦν ὄντα, εἶτ᾽ ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα ἕξειν λέγειν; ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι τὰ μὲν τοιαῦτα ἐατέα καὶ συγγνωστέα λέγοντι· καὶ τῶν μὲν τοιούτων οὐ τὴν εὕρεσιν ἀλλὰ τὴν διάθεσιν ἐπαινετέον, τῶν δὲ μὴ ἀναγκαίων τε καὶ χαλεπῶν εὑρεῖν πρὸς τῇ διαθέσει καὶ τὴν εὕρεσιν.
Φαῖδρος
συγχωρῶ ὃ λέγεις· μετρίως γάρ μοι δοκεῖς εἰρηκέναι. ποιήσω οὖν καὶ ἐγὼ οὕτως· τὸ μὲν τὸν ἐρῶντα [236b] τοῦ μὴ ἐρῶντος μᾶλλον νοσεῖν δώσω σοι ὑποτίθεσθαι, τῶν δὲ λοιπῶν ἕτερα πλείω καὶ πλείονος ἄξια εἰπὼν τῶνδε [Λυσίου] παρὰ τὸ Κυψελιδῶν ἀνάθημα σφυρήλατος ἐν Ὀλυμπίᾳ στάθητι.
Σωκράτης
ἐσπούδακας, ὦ Φαῖδρε, ὅτι σου τῶν παιδικῶν ἐπελαβόμην ἐρεσχηλῶν σε, καὶ οἴει δή με ὡς ἀληθῶς ἐπιχειρήσειν εἰπεῖν παρὰ τὴν ἐκείνου σοφίαν ἕτερόν τι ποικιλώτερον;
Φαῖδρος
περὶ μὲν τούτου, ὦ φίλε, εἰς τὰς ὁμοίας λαβὰς [236c] ἐλήλυθας. ῥητέον μὲν γάρ σοι παντὸς μᾶλλον οὕτως ὅπως οἷός τε εἶ, ἵνα μὴ τὸ τῶν κωμῳδῶν φορτικὸν πρᾶγμα ἀναγκαζώμεθα ποιεῖν ἀνταποδιδόντες ἀλλήλοις [εὐλαβήθητι], καὶ μὴ βούλου με ἀναγκάσαι λέγειν ἐκεῖνο τὸ “εἰ ἐγώ, ὦ Σώκρατες, Σωκράτην ἀγνοῶ, καὶ ἐμαυτοῦ ἐπιλέλησμαι,” καὶ ὅτι “ἐπεθύμει μὲν λέγειν, ἐθρύπτετο δέ·” ἀλλὰ διανοήθητι ὅτι ἐντεῦθεν οὐκ ἄπιμεν πρὶν ἂν σὺ εἴπῃς ἃ ἔφησθα ἐν τῷ στήθει ἔχειν. ἐσμὲν δὲ μόνω ἐν ἐρημίᾳ, [236d] ἰσχυρότερος δ᾽ ἐγὼ καὶ νεώτερος, ἐκ δὲ ἁπάντων τούτων “σύνες ὅ τοι λέγω,” καὶ μηδαμῶς πρὸς βίαν βουληθῇς μᾶλλον ἢ ἑκὼν λέγειν.
Σωκράτης
ἀλλ᾽, ὦ μακάριε Φαῖδρε, γελοῖος ἔσομαι παρ᾽ ἀγαθὸν ποιητὴν ἰδιώτης αὐτοσχεδιάζων περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν.
Φαῖδρος
οἶσθ᾽ ὡς ἔχει; παῦσαι πρός με καλλωπιζόμενος· σχεδὸν γὰρ ἔχω ὃ εἰπὼν ἀναγκάσω σε λέγειν.
Σωκράτης
μηδαμῶς τοίνυν εἴπῃς.
Φαῖδρος
οὔκ, ἀλλὰ καὶ δὴ λέγω· ὁ δέ μοι λόγος ὅρκος ἔσται. ὄμνυμι γάρ σοι — τίνα μέντοι, τίνα θεῶν; ἢ βούλει [236e] τὴν πλάτανον ταυτηνί; — ἦ μήν, ἐάν μοι μὴ εἴπῃς τὸν λόγον ἐναντίον αὐτῆς ταύτης, μηδέποτέ σοι ἕτερον λόγον μηδένα μηδενὸς μήτε ἐπιδείξειν μήτε ἐξαγγελεῖν.
Σωκράτης
βαβαῖ, ὦ μιαρέ, ὡς εὖ ἀνηῦρες τὴν ἀνάγκην ἀνδρὶ φιλολόγῳ ποιεῖν ὃ ἂν κελεύῃς.
Φαῖδρος
τί δῆτα ἔχων στρέφῃ;
Σωκράτης
οὐδὲν ἔτι, ἐπειδὴ σύ γε ταῦτα ὀμώμοκας. πῶς γὰρ ἂν οἷός τ᾽ εἴην τοιαύτης θοίνης ἀπέχεσθαι;
[237a] Φαῖδρος
λέγε δή.
Σωκράτης
οἶσθ᾽ οὖν ὡς ποιήσω;
Φαῖδρος
τοῦ πέρι;
Σωκράτης
ἐγκαλυψάμενος ἐρῶ, ἵν᾽ ὅτι τάχιστα διαδράμω τὸν λόγον καὶ μὴ βλέπων πρὸς σὲ ὑπ᾽ αἰσχύνης διαπορῶμαι.
Φαῖδρος
λέγε μόνον, τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα ὅπως βούλει ποίει.
Σωκράτης
ἄγετε δή, ὦ Μοῦσαι, εἴτε δι᾽ ᾠδῆς εἶδος λίγειαι, εἴτε διὰ γένος μουσικὸν τὸ Λιγύων ταύτην ἔσχετ᾽ ἐπωνυμίαν, “ξύμ μοι λάβεσθε” τοῦ μύθου, ὅν με ἀναγκάζει ὁ βέλτιστος οὑτοσὶ λέγειν, ἵν᾽ ὁ ἑταῖρος αὐτοῦ, καὶ πρότερον [237b] δοκῶν τούτῳ σοφὸς εἶναι, νῦν ἔτι μᾶλλον δόξῃ.
ἦν οὕτω δὴ παῖς, μᾶλλον δὲ μειρακίσκος, μάλα καλός· τούτῳ δὲ ἦσαν ἐρασταὶ πάνυ πολλοί. εἷς δέ τις αὐτῶν αἱμύλος ἦν, ὃς οὐδενὸς ἧττον ἐρῶν ἐπεπείκει τὸν παῖδα ὡς οὐκ ἐρῴη. καί ποτε αὐτὸν αἰτῶν ἔπειθεν τοῦτ᾽ αὐτό, ὡς μὴ ἐρῶντι πρὸ τοῦ ἐρῶντος δέοι χαρίζεσθαι, ἔλεγέν τε ὧδε —
περὶ παντός, ὦ παῖ, μία ἀρχὴ τοῖς μέλλουσι καλῶς [237c] βουλεύσεσθαι· εἰδέναι δεῖ περὶ οὗ ἂν ᾖ ἡ βουλή, ἢ παντὸς ἁμαρτάνειν ἀνάγκη. τοὺς δὲ πολλοὺς λέληθεν ὅτι οὐκ ἴσασι τὴν οὐσίαν ἑκάστου. ὡς οὖν εἰδότες οὐ διομολογοῦνται ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆς σκέψεως, προελθόντες δὲ τὸ εἰκὸς ἀποδιδόασιν· οὔτε γὰρ ἑαυτοῖς οὔτε ἀλλήλοις ὁμολογοῦσιν. ἐγὼ οὖν καὶ σὺ μὴ πάθωμεν ὃ ἄλλοις ἐπιτιμῶμεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ σοὶ καὶ ἐμοὶ ὁ λόγος πρόκειται πότερα ἐρῶντι ἢ μὴ μᾶλλον εἰς φιλίαν ἰτέον, περὶ ἔρωτος οἷόν τ᾽ ἔστι καὶ ἣν ἔχει δύναμιν, [237d] ὁμολογίᾳ θέμενοι ὅρον, εἰς τοῦτο ἀποβλέποντες καὶ ἀναφέροντες τὴν σκέψιν ποιώμεθα εἴτε ὠφελίαν εἴτε βλάβην παρέχει. ὅτι μὲν οὖν δὴ ἐπιθυμία τις ὁ ἔρως, ἅπαντι δῆλον· ὅτι δ᾽ αὖ καὶ μὴ ἐρῶντες ἐπιθυμοῦσι τῶν καλῶν, ἴσμεν. τῷ δὴ τὸν ἐρῶντά τε καὶ μὴ κρινοῦμεν; δεῖ αὖ νοῆσαι ὅτι ἡμῶν ἐν ἑκάστῳ δύο τινέ ἐστον ἰδέα ἄρχοντε καὶ ἄγοντε, οἷν ἑπόμεθα ᾗ ἂν ἄγητον, ἡ μὲν ἔμφυτος οὖσα ἐπιθυμία ἡδονῶν, ἄλλη δὲ ἐπίκτητος δόξα, ἐφιεμένη τοῦ ἀρίστου. τούτω δὲ ἐν ἡμῖν τοτὲ μὲν ὁμονοεῖτον, [237e] ἔστι δὲ ὅτε στασιάζετον· καὶ τοτὲ μὲν ἡ ἑτέρα, ἄλλοτε δὲ ἡ ἑτέρα κρατεῖ. δόξης μὲν οὖν ἐπὶ τὸ ἄριστον λόγῳ ἀγούσης καὶ κρατούσης τῷ κράτει σωφροσύνη ὄνομα· [238a] ἐπιθυμίας δὲ ἀλόγως ἑλκούσης ἐπὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ ἀρξάσης ἐν ἡμῖν τῇ ἀρχῇ ὕβρις ἐπωνομάσθη. ὕβρις δὲ δὴ πολυώνυμον — πολυμελὲς γὰρ καὶ πολυμερές — καὶ τούτων τῶν ἰδεῶν ἐκπρεπὴς ἣ ἂν τύχῃ γενομένη, τὴν αὑτῆς ἐπωνυμίαν ὀνομαζόμενον τὸν ἔχοντα παρέχεται, οὔτε τινὰ καλὴν οὔτ᾽ ἐπαξίαν κεκτῆσθαι. περὶ μὲν γὰρ ἐδωδὴν κρατοῦσα τοῦ λόγου τε τοῦ ἀρίστου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιθυμιῶν ἐπιθυμία [238b] γαστριμαργία τε καὶ τὸν ἔχοντα ταὐτὸν τοῦτο κεκλημένον παρέξεται· περὶ δ᾽ αὖ μέθας τυραννεύσασα, τὸν κεκτημένον ταύτῃ ἄγουσα, δῆλον οὗ τεύξεται προσρήματος· καὶ τἆλλα δὴ τὰ τούτων ἀδελφὰ καὶ ἀδελφῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν ὀνόματα τῆς ἀεὶ δυναστευούσης ᾗ προσήκει καλεῖσθαι πρόδηλον. ἧς δ᾽ ἕνεκα πάντα τὰ πρόσθεν εἴρηται, σχεδὸν μὲν ἤδη φανερόν, λεχθὲν δὲ ἢ μὴ λεχθὲν πάντως σαφέστερον· ἡ γὰρ ἄνευ λόγου δόξης ἐπὶ τὸ ὀρθὸν ὁρμώσης κρατήσασα ἐπιθυμία [238c] πρὸς ἡδονὴν ἀχθεῖσα κάλλους, καὶ ὑπὸ αὖ τῶν ἑαυτῆς συγγενῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν ἐπὶ σωμάτων κάλλος ἐῤῥωμένως ῥωσθεῖσα νικήσασα ἀγωγῇ, ἀπ᾽ αὐτῆς τῆς ῥώμης ἐπωνυμίαν λαβοῦσα, ἔρως ἐκλήθη.
ἀτάρ, ὦ φίλε Φαῖδρε, δοκῶ τι σοί, ὥσπερ ἐμαυτῷ, θεῖον πάθος πεπονθέναι;
Φαῖδρος
πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, παρὰ τὸ εἰωθὸς εὔροιά τίς σε εἴληφεν.
Σωκράτης
σιγῇ τοίνυν μου ἄκουε. τῷ ὄντι γὰρ θεῖος ἔοικεν [238d] ὁ τόπος εἶναι, ὥστε ἐὰν ἄρα πολλάκις νυμφόληπτος προϊόντος τοῦ λόγου γένωμαι, μὴ θαυμάσῃς· τὰ νῦν γὰρ οὐκέτι πόῤῥω διθυράμβων φθέγγομαι.
Φαῖδρος
ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.
Σωκράτης
τούτων μέντοι σὺ αἴτιος. ἀλλὰ τὰ λοιπὰ ἄκουε· ἴσως γὰρ κἂν ἀποτράποιτο τὸ ἐπιόν. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν θεῷ μελήσει, ἡμῖν δὲ πρὸς τὸν παῖδα πάλιν τῷ λόγῳ ἰτέον.
εἶεν, ὦ φέριστε· ὃ μὲν δὴ τυγχάνει ὂν περὶ οὗ βουλευτέον, εἴρηταί τε καὶ ὥρισται, βλέποντες δὲ δὴ πρὸς αὐτὸ [238e] τὰ λοιπὰ λέγωμεν τίς ὠφελία ἢ βλάβη ἀπό τε ἐρῶντος καὶ μὴ τῷ χαριζομένῳ ἐξ εἰκότος συμβήσεται. τῷ δὴ ὑπὸ ἐπιθυμίας ἀρχομένῳ δουλεύοντί τε ἡδονῇ ἀνάγκη που τὸν ἐρώμενον ὡς ἥδιστον ἑαυτῷ παρασκευάζειν· νοσοῦντι δὲ πᾶν ἡδὺ τὸ μὴ ἀντιτεῖνον, κρεῖττον δὲ καὶ ἴσον ἐχθρόν.
[239a] οὔτε δὴ κρείττω οὔτε ἰσούμενον ἑκὼν ἐραστὴς παιδικὰ ἀνέξεται, ἥττω δὲ καὶ ὑποδεέστερον ἀεὶ ἀπεργάζεται· ἥττων δὲ ἀμαθὴς σοφοῦ, δειλὸς ἀνδρείου, ἀδύνατος εἰπεῖν ῥητορικοῦ, βραδὺς ἀγχίνου. τοσούτων κακῶν καὶ ἔτι πλειόνων κατὰ τὴν διάνοιαν ἐραστὴν ἐρωμένῳ ἀνάγκη γιγνομένων τε καὶ φύσει ἐνόντων [τῶν] μὲν ἥδεσθαι, τὰ δὲ παρασκευάζειν, ἢ στέρεσθαι τοῦ παραυτίκα ἡδέος. φθονερὸν δὴ ἀνάγκη [239b] εἶναι, καὶ πολλῶν μὲν ἄλλων συνουσιῶν ἀπείργοντα καὶ ὠφελίμων ὅθεν ἂν μάλιστ᾽ ἀνὴρ γίγνοιτο, μεγάλης αἴτιον εἶναι βλάβης, μεγίστης δὲ τῆς ὅθεν ἂν φρονιμώτατος εἴη. τοῦτο δὲ ἡ θεία φιλοσοφία τυγχάνει ὄν, ἧς ἐραστὴν παιδικὰ ἀνάγκη πόῤῥωθεν εἴργειν, περίφοβον ὄντα τοῦ καταφρονηθῆναι· τά τε ἄλλα μηχανᾶσθαι ὅπως ἂν ᾖ πάντα ἀγνοῶν καὶ πάντα ἀποβλέπων εἰς τὸν ἐραστήν, οἷος ὢν τῷ μὲν ἥδιστος, ἑαυτῷ δὲ βλαβερώτατος ἂν εἴη. τὰ μὲν οὖν κατὰ [239c] διάνοιαν ἐπίτροπός τε καὶ κοινωνὸς οὐδαμῇ λυσιτελὴς ἀνὴρ ἔχων ἔρωτα.
τὴν δὲ τοῦ σώματος ἕξιν τε καὶ θεραπείαν οἵαν τε καὶ ὡς θεραπεύσει οὗ ἂν γένηται κύριος, ὃς ἡδὺ πρὸ ἀγαθοῦ ἠνάγκασται διώκειν, δεῖ μετὰ ταῦτα ἰδεῖν. ὀφθήσεται δὴ μαλθακόν τινα καὶ οὐ στερεὸν διώκων, οὐδ᾽ ἐν ἡλίῳ καθαρῷ τεθραμμένον ἀλλὰ ὑπὸ συμμιγεῖ σκιᾷ, πόνων μὲν ἀνδρείων καὶ ἱδρώτων ξηρῶν ἄπειρον, ἔμπειρον δὲ ἁπαλῆς καὶ ἀνάνδρου [239d] διαίτης, ἀλλοτρίοις χρώμασι καὶ κόσμοις χήτει οἰκείων κοσμούμενον, ὅσα τε ἄλλα τούτοις ἕπεται πάντα ἐπιτηδεύοντα, ἃ δῆλα καὶ οὐκ ἄξιον περαιτέρω προβαίνειν, ἀλλὰ ἓν κεφάλαιον ὁρισαμένους ἐπ᾽ ἄλλο ἰέναι· τὸ γὰρ τοιοῦτον σῶμα ἐν πολέμῳ τε καὶ ἄλλαις χρείαις ὅσαι μεγάλαι οἱ μὲν ἐχθροὶ θαῤῥοῦσιν, οἱ δὲ φίλοι καὶ αὐτοὶ οἱ ἐρασταὶ φοβοῦνται.
τοῦτο μὲν οὖν ὡς δῆλον ἐατέον, τὸ δ᾽ ἐφεξῆς ῥητέον, [239e] τίνα ἡμῖν ὠφελίαν ἢ τίνα βλάβην περὶ τὴν κτῆσιν ἡ τοῦ ἐρῶντος ὁμιλία τε καὶ ἐπιτροπεία παρέξεται. σαφὲς δὴ τοῦτό γε παντὶ μέν, μάλιστα δὲ τῷ ἐραστῇ, ὅτι τῶν φιλτάτων τε καὶ εὐνουστάτων καὶ θειοτάτων κτημάτων ὀρφανὸν πρὸ παντὸς εὔξαιτ᾽ ἂν εἶναι τὸν ἐρώμενον· πατρὸς γὰρ καὶ μητρὸς καὶ συγγενῶν καὶ φίλων στέρεσθαι ἂν αὐτὸν δέξαιτο, [240a] διακωλυτὰς καὶ ἐπιτιμητὰς ἡγούμενος τῆς ἡδίστης πρὸς αὐτὸν ὁμιλίας. ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐσίαν γ᾽ ἔχοντα χρυσοῦ ἤ τινος ἄλλης κτήσεως οὔτε εὐάλωτον ὁμοίως οὔτε ἁλόντα εὐμεταχείριστον ἡγήσεται· ἐξ ὧν πᾶσα ἀνάγκη ἐραστὴν παιδικοῖς φθονεῖν μὲν οὐσίαν κεκτημένοις, ἀπολλυμένης δὲ χαίρειν. ἔτι τοίνυν ἄγαμον, ἄπαιδα, ἄοικον ὅτι πλεῖστον χρόνον παιδικὰ ἐραστὴς εὔξαιτ᾽ ἂν γενέσθαι, τὸ αὑτοῦ γλυκὺ ὡς πλεῖστον χρόνον καρποῦσθαι ἐπιθυμῶν.
ἔστι μὲν δὴ καὶ ἄλλα κακά, ἀλλά τις δαίμων ἔμειξε τοῖς [240b] πλείστοις ἐν τῷ παραυτίκα ἡδονήν, οἷον κόλακι, δεινῷ θηρίῳ καὶ βλάβῃ μεγάλῃ, ὅμως ἐπέμειξεν ἡ φύσις ἡδονήν τινα οὐκ ἄμουσον, καί τις ἑταίραν ὡς βλαβερὸν ψέξειεν ἄν, καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ τῶν τοιουτοτρόπων θρεμμάτων τε καὶ ἐπιτηδευμάτων, οἷς τό γε καθ᾽ ἡμέραν ἡδίστοισιν εἶναι ὑπάρχει· παιδικοῖς δὲ ἐραστὴς πρὸς τῷ βλαβερῷ καὶ εἰς τὸ συνημερεύειν πάντων [240c] ἀηδέστατον. ἥλικα γὰρ δὴ καὶ ὁ παλαιὸς λόγος τέρπειν τὸν ἥλικα — ἡ γὰρ οἶμαι χρόνου ἰσότης ἐπ᾽ ἴσας ἡδονὰς ἄγουσα δι᾽ ὁμοιότητα φιλίαν παρέχεται — ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως κόρον γε καὶ ἡ τούτων συνουσία ἔχει. καὶ μὴν τό γε ἀναγκαῖον αὖ βαρὺ παντὶ περὶ πᾶν λέγεται· ὃ δὴ πρὸς τῇ ἀνομοιότητι μάλιστα ἐραστὴς πρὸς παιδικὰ ἔχει. νεωτέρῳ γὰρ πρεσβύτερος συνὼν οὔθ᾽ ἡμέρας οὔτε νυκτὸς ἑκὼν ἀπολείπεται, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπ᾽ [240d] ἀνάγκης τε καὶ οἴστρου ἐλαύνεται, ὃς ἐκείνῳ μὲν ἡδονὰς ἀεὶ διδοὺς ἄγει, ὁρῶντι, ἀκούοντι, ἁπτομένῳ, καὶ πᾶσαν αἴσθησιν αἰσθανομένῳ τοῦ ἐρωμένου, ὥστε μεθ᾽ ἡδονῆς ἀραρότως αὐτῷ ὑπηρετεῖν· τῷ δὲ δὴ ἐρωμένῳ ποῖον παραμύθιον ἢ τίνας ἡδονὰς διδοὺς ποιήσει τὸν ἴσον χρόνον συνόντα μὴ οὐχὶ ἐπ᾽ ἔσχατον ἐλθεῖν ἀηδίας — ὁρῶντι μὲν ὄψιν πρεσβυτέραν καὶ οὐκ ἐν ὥρᾳ, ἑπομένων δὲ τῶν ἄλλων ταύτῃ, ἃ καὶ λόγῳ [240e] ἐστὶν ἀκούειν οὐκ ἐπιτερπές, μὴ ὅτι δὴ ἔργῳ ἀνάγκης ἀεὶ προσκειμένης μεταχειρίζεσθαι, φυλακάς τε δὴ καχυποτόπους φυλαττομένῳ διὰ παντὸς καὶ πρὸς ἅπαντας, ἀκαίρους τε ἐπαίνους καὶ ὑπερβάλλοντας ἀκούοντι, ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως ψόγους νήφοντος μὲν οὐκ ἀνεκτούς, εἰς δὲ μέθην ἰόντος πρὸς τῷ μὴ ἀνεκτῷ ἐπαισχεῖς, παῤῥησίᾳ κατακορεῖ καὶ ἀναπεπταμένῃ χρωμένου;
καὶ ἐρῶν μὲν βλαβερός τε καὶ ἀηδής, λήξας δὲ τοῦ ἔρωτος εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον ἄπιστος, εἰς ὃν πολλὰ καὶ μετὰ πολλῶν ὅρκων τε καὶ δεήσεων ὑπισχνούμενος μόγις [241a] κατεῖχε τήν γ᾽ ἐν τῷ τότε συνουσίαν ἐπίπονον οὖσαν φέρειν δι᾽ ἐλπίδα ἀγαθῶν. τότε δὴ δέον ἐκτίνειν, μεταβαλὼν ἄλλον ἄρχοντα ἐν αὑτῷ καὶ προστάτην, νοῦν καὶ σωφροσύνην ἀντ᾽ ἔρωτος καὶ μανίας, ἄλλος γεγονὼς λέληθεν τὰ παιδικά. καὶ ὁ μὲν αὐτὸν χάριν ἀπαιτεῖ τῶν τότε, ὑπομιμνῄσκων τὰ πραχθέντα καὶ λεχθέντα, ὡς τῷ αὐτῷ διαλεγόμενος· ὁ δὲ ὑπ᾽ αἰσχύνης οὔτε εἰπεῖν τολμᾷ ὅτι ἄλλος γέγονεν, οὔθ᾽ ὅπως τὰ τῆς προτέρας ἀνοήτου ἀρχῆς ὁρκωμόσιά τε καὶ ὑποσχέσεις [241b] ἐμπεδώσῃ ἔχει, νοῦν ἤδη ἐσχηκὼς καὶ σεσωφρονηκώς, ἵνα μὴ πράττων ταὐτὰ τῷ πρόσθεν ὅμοιός τε ἐκείνῳ καὶ ὁ αὐτὸς πάλιν γένηται. φυγὰς δὴ γίγνεται ἐκ τούτων, καὶ ἀπεστερηκὼς ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης ὁ πρὶν ἐραστής, ὀστράκου μεταπεσόντος, ἵεται φυγῇ μεταβαλών· ὁ δὲ ἀναγκάζεται διώκειν ἀγανακτῶν καὶ ἐπιθεάζων, ἠγνοηκὼς τὸ ἅπαν ἐξ ἀρχῆς, ὅτι οὐκ ἄρα ἔδει ποτὲ ἐρῶντι καὶ ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης ἀνοήτῳ χαρίζεσθαι, [241c] ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον μὴ ἐρῶντι καὶ νοῦν ἔχοντι· εἰ δὲ μή, ἀναγκαῖον εἴη ἐνδοῦναι αὑτὸν ἀπίστῳ, δυσκόλῳ, φθονερῷ, ἀηδεῖ, βλαβερῷ μὲν πρὸς οὐσίαν, βλαβερῷ δὲ πρὸς τὴν τοῦ σώματος ἕξιν, πολὺ δὲ βλαβερωτάτῳ πρὸς τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς παίδευσιν, ἧς οὔτε ἀνθρώποις οὔτε θεοῖς τῇ ἀληθείᾳ τιμιώτερον οὔτε ἔστιν οὔτε ποτὲ ἔσται. ταῦτά τε οὖν χρή, ὦ παῖ, συννοεῖν, καὶ εἰδέναι τὴν ἐραστοῦ φιλίαν ὅτι οὐ μετ᾽ εὐνοίας γίγνεται, ἀλλὰ σιτίου τρόπον, χάριν πλησμονῆς, [241d] ὡς λύκοι ἄρνας ἀγαπῶσιν, ὣς παῖδα φιλοῦσιν ἐρασταί.
τοῦτ᾽ ἐκεῖνο, ὦ Φαῖδρε. οὐκέτ᾽ ἂν τὸ πέρα ἀκούσαις ἐμοῦ λέγοντος, ἀλλ᾽ ἤδη σοι τέλος ἐχέτω ὁ λόγος.
Φαῖδρος
καίτοι ᾤμην γε μεσοῦν αὐτόν, καὶ ἐρεῖν τὰ ἴσα περὶ τοῦ μὴ ἐρῶντος, ὡς δεῖ ἐκείνῳ χαρίζεσθαι μᾶλλον, λέγων ὅσα αὖ ἔχει ἀγαθά· νῦν δὲ δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, τί ἀποπαύῃ;
[241e] Σωκράτης
οὐκ ᾔσθου, ὦ μακάριε, ὅτι ἤδη ἔπη φθέγγομαι ἀλλ᾽ οὐκέτι διθυράμβους, καὶ ταῦτα ψέγων; ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐπαινεῖν τὸν ἕτερον ἄρξωμαι, τί με οἴει ποιήσειν; ἆρ᾽ οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι ὑπὸ τῶν Νυμφῶν, αἷς με σὺ προύβαλες ἐκ προνοίας, σαφῶς ἐνθουσιάσω; λέγω οὖν ἑνὶ λόγῳ ὅτι ὅσα τὸν ἕτερον λελοιδορήκαμεν, τῷ ἑτέρῳ τἀναντία τούτων ἀγαθὰ πρόσεστιν. καὶ τί δεῖ μακροῦ λόγου; περὶ γὰρ ἀμφοῖν ἱκανῶς εἴρηται. καὶ οὕτω δὴ ὁ μῦθος ὅτι πάσχειν προσήκει αὐτῷ, τοῦτο [242a] πείσεται· κἀγὼ τὸν ποταμὸν τοῦτον διαβὰς ἀπέρχομαι πρὶν ὑπὸ σοῦ τι μεῖζον ἀναγκασθῆναι.
Φαῖδρος
μήπω γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, πρὶν ἂν τὸ καῦμα παρέλθῃ. ἢ οὐχ ὁρᾷς ὡς σχεδὸν ἤδη μεσημβρία ἵσταται ἡ δὴ καλουμένη σταθερά; ἀλλὰ περιμείναντες καὶ ἅμα περὶ τῶν εἰρημένων διαλεχθέντες, τάχα ἐπειδὰν ἀποψυχῇ ἴμεν.
Σωκράτης
θεῖός γ᾽ εἶ περὶ τοὺς λόγους, ὦ Φαῖδρε, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς θαυμάσιος. οἶμαι γὰρ ἐγὼ τῶν ἐπὶ τοῦ σοῦ βίου γεγονότων [242b] λόγων μηδένα πλείους ἢ σὲ πεποιηκέναι γεγενῆσθαι ἤτοι αὐτὸν λέγοντα ἢ ἄλλους ἑνί γέ τῳ τρόπῳ προσαναγκάζοντα — Σιμμίαν Θηβαῖον ἐξαιρῶ λόγου· τῶν δὲ ἄλλων πάμπολυ κρατεῖς — καὶ νῦν αὖ δοκεῖς αἴτιός μοι γεγενῆσθαι λόγῳ τινὶ ῥηθῆναι.
Φαῖδρος
οὐ πόλεμόν γε ἀγγέλλεις. ἀλλὰ πῶς δὴ καὶ τίνι τούτῳ;
Σωκράτης
ἡνίκ᾽ ἔμελλον, ὠγαθέ, τὸν ποταμὸν διαβαίνειν, τὸ δαιμόνιόν τε καὶ τὸ εἰωθὸς σημεῖόν μοι γίγνεσθαι ἐγένετο [242c] — ἀεὶ δέ με ἐπίσχει ὃ ἂν μέλλω πράττειν — καί τινα φωνὴν ἔδοξα αὐτόθεν ἀκοῦσαι, ἥ με οὐκ ἐᾷ ἀπιέναι πρὶν ἂν ἀφοσιώσωμαι, ὡς δή τι ἡμαρτηκότα εἰς τὸ θεῖον. εἰμὶ δὴ οὖν μάντις μέν, οὐ πάνυ δὲ σπουδαῖος, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ οἱ τὰ γράμματα φαῦλοι, ὅσον μὲν ἐμαυτῷ μόνον ἱκανός· σαφῶς οὖν ἤδη μανθάνω τὸ ἁμάρτημα. ὡς δή τοι, ὦ ἑταῖρε, μαντικόν γέ τι καὶ ἡ ψυχή· ἐμὲ γὰρ ἔθραξε μέν τι καὶ πάλαι λέγοντα τὸν λόγον, καί πως ἐδυσωπούμην κατ᾽ Ἴβυκον, μή τι παρὰ θεοῖς
[242d] ἀμβλακὼν τιμὰν πρὸς ἀνθρώπων ἀμείψω·
νῦν δ᾽ ᾔσθημαι τὸ ἁμάρτημα.
Φαῖδρος
λέγεις δὲ δὴ τί;
Σωκράτης
δεινόν, ὦ Φαῖδρε, δεινὸν λόγον αὐτός τε ἐκόμισας ἐμέ τε ἠνάγκασας εἰπεῖν.
Φαῖδρος
πῶς δή;
Σωκράτης
εὐήθη καὶ ὑπό τι ἀσεβῆ· οὗ τίς ἂν εἴη δεινότερος;
Φαῖδρος
οὐδείς, εἴ γε σὺ ἀληθῆ λέγεις.
Σωκράτης
τί οὖν; τὸν ἔρωτα οὐκ Ἀφροδίτης καὶ θεόν τινα ἡγῇ;
Φαῖδρος
λέγεταί γε δή.
Σωκράτης
οὔ τι ὑπό γε Λυσίου, οὐδὲ ὑπὸ τοῦ σοῦ λόγου, ὃς[242e] διὰ τοῦ ἐμοῦ στόματος καταφαρμακευθέντος ὑπὸ σοῦ ἐλέχθη. εἰ δ᾽ ἔστιν, ὥσπερ οὖν ἔστι, θεὸς ἤ τι θεῖον ὁ Ἔρως, οὐδὲν ἂν κακὸν εἴη, τὼ δὲ λόγω τὼ νυνδὴ περὶ αὐτοῦ εἰπέτην ὡς τοιούτου ὄντος· ταύτῃ τε οὖν ἡμαρτανέτην περὶ τὸν ἔρωτα, ἔτι τε ἡ εὐήθεια αὐτοῖν πάνυ ἀστεία, τὸ μηδὲν ὑγιὲς λέγοντε [243a] μηδὲ ἀληθὲς σεμνύνεσθαι ὡς τὶ ὄντε, εἰ ἄρα ἀνθρωπίσκους τινὰς ἐξαπατήσαντε εὐδοκιμήσετον ἐν αὐτοῖς. ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν, ὦ φίλε, καθήρασθαι ἀνάγκη· ἔστιν δὲ τοῖς ἁμαρτάνουσι περὶ μυθολογίαν καθαρμὸς ἀρχαῖος, ὃν Ὅμηρος μὲν οὐκ ᾔσθετο, Στησίχορος δέ. τῶν γὰρ ὀμμάτων στερηθεὶς διὰ τὴν Ἑλένης κακηγορίαν οὐκ ἠγνόησεν ὥσπερ Ὅμηρος, ἀλλ᾽ ἅτε μουσικὸς ὢν ἔγνω τὴν αἰτίαν, καὶ ποιεῖ εὐθὺς —

οὐκ ἔστ᾽ ἔτυμος λόγος οὗτος,
οὐδ᾽ ἔβας ἐν νηυσὶν εὐσέλμοις,
[243b] οὐδ᾽ ἵκεο Πέργαμα Τροίας·

καὶ ποιήσας δὴ πᾶσαν τὴν καλουμένην Παλινῳδίαν παραχρῆμα ἀνέβλεψεν. ἐγὼ οὖν σοφώτερος ἐκείνων γενήσομαι κατ᾽ αὐτό γε τοῦτο· πρὶν γάρ τι παθεῖν διὰ τὴν τοῦ Ἔρωτος κακηγορίαν πειράσομαι αὐτῷ ἀποδοῦναι τὴν παλινῳδίαν, γυμνῇ τῇ κεφαλῇ καὶ οὐχ ὥσπερ τότε ὑπ᾽ αἰσχύνης ἐγκεκαλυμμένος.
Φαῖδρος
τουτωνί, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἔστιν ἅττ᾽ ἂν ἐμοὶ εἶπες ἡδίω.
[243c] Σωκράτης
καὶ γάρ, ὠγαθὲ Φαῖδρε, ἐννοεῖς ὡς ἀναιδῶς εἴρησθον τὼ λόγω, οὗτός τε καὶ ὁ ἐκ τοῦ βιβλίου ῥηθείς. εἰ γὰρ ἀκούων τις τύχοι ἡμῶν γεννάδας καὶ πρᾷος τὸ ἦθος, ἑτέρου δὲ τοιούτου ἐρῶν ἢ καὶ πρότερόν ποτε ἐρασθείς, λεγόντων ὡς διὰ σμικρὰ μεγάλας ἔχθρας οἱ ἐρασταὶ ἀναιροῦνται καὶ ἔχουσι πρὸς τὰ παιδικὰ φθονερῶς τε καὶ βλαβερῶς, πῶς οὐκ ἂν οἴει αὐτὸν ἡγεῖσθαι ἀκούειν ἐν ναύταις που τεθραμμένων καὶ οὐδένα ἐλεύθερον ἔρωτα ἑωρακότων, πολλοῦ δ᾽ ἂν δεῖν [243d] ἡμῖν ὁμολογεῖν ἃ ψέγομεν τὸν ἔρωτα;
Φαῖδρος
ἴσως νὴ Δί᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες.
Σωκράτης
τοῦτόν γε τοίνυν ἔγωγε αἰσχυνόμενος, καὶ αὐτὸν τὸν ἔρωτα δεδιώς, ἐπιθυμῶ ποτίμῳ λόγῳ οἷον ἁλμυρὰν ἀκοὴν ἀποκλύσασθαι· συμβουλεύω δὲ καὶ Λυσίᾳ ὅτι τάχιστα γράψαι ὡς χρὴ ἐραστῇ μᾶλλον ἢ μὴ ἐρῶντι ἐκ τῶν ὁμοίων χαρίζεσθαι.
Φαῖδρος
ἀλλ᾽ εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι ἕξει τοῦθ᾽ οὕτω· σοῦ γὰρ εἰπόντος τὸν τοῦ ἐραστοῦ ἔπαινον, πᾶσα ἀνάγκη Λυσίαν ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ
[243e] ἀναγκασθῆναι γράψαι αὖ περὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ λόγον.
Σωκράτης
τοῦτο μὲν πιστεύω, ἕωσπερ ἂν ᾖς ὃς εἶ.
Φαῖδρος
λέγε τοίνυν θαῤῥῶν.
Σωκράτης
ποῦ δή μοι ὁ παῖς πρὸς ὃν ἔλεγον; ἵνα καὶ τοῦτο ἀκούσῃ, καὶ μὴ ἀνήκοος ὢν φθάσῃ χαρισάμενος τῷ μὴ ἐρῶντι.
Φαῖδρος
οὗτος παρά σοι μάλα πλησίον ἀεὶ πάρεστιν, ὅταν σὺ βούλῃ.
Σωκράτης
οὑτωσὶ τοίνυν, ὦ παῖ καλέ, ἐννόησον, ὡς ὁ μὲν [244a] πρότερος ἦν λόγος Φαίδρου τοῦ Πυθοκλέους, Μυῤῥινουσίου ἀνδρός· ὃν δὲ μέλλω λέγειν, Στησιχόρου τοῦ Εὐφήμου, Ἱμεραίου. λεκτέος δὲ ὧδε, ὅτι οὐκ ἔστ᾽ ἔτυμος λόγος ὃς ἂν παρόντος ἐραστοῦ τῷ μὴ ἐρῶντι μᾶλλον φῇ δεῖν χαρίζεσθαι, διότι δὴ ὁ μὲν μαίνεται, ὁ δὲ σωφρονεῖ. εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἦν ἁπλοῦν τὸ μανίαν κακὸν εἶναι, καλῶς ἂν ἐλέγετο· νῦν δὲ τὰ μέγιστα τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἡμῖν γίγνεται διὰ μανίας, θείᾳ μέντοι δόσει διδομένης. ἥ τε γὰρ δὴ ἐν Δελφοῖς προφῆτις αἵ τ᾽ ἐν [244b] Δωδώνῃ ἱέρειαι μανεῖσαι μὲν πολλὰ δὴ καὶ καλὰ ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ τὴν Ἑλλάδα ἠργάσαντο, σωφρονοῦσαι δὲ βραχέα ἢ οὐδέν· καὶ ἐὰν δὴ λέγωμεν Σίβυλλάν τε καὶ ἄλλους, ὅσοι μαντικῇ χρώμενοι ἐνθέῳ πολλὰ δὴ πολλοῖς προλέγοντες εἰς τὸ μέλλον ὤρθωσαν, μηκύνοιμεν ἂν δῆλα παντὶ λέγοντες. τόδε μὴν ἄξιον ἐπιμαρτύρασθαι, ὅτι καὶ τῶν παλαιῶν οἱ τὰ ὀνόματα τιθέμενοι οὐκ αἰσχρὸν ἡγοῦντο οὐδὲ ὄνειδος μανίαν· [244c] οὐ γὰρ ἂν τῇ καλλίστῃ τέχνῃ, ᾗ τὸ μέλλον κρίνεται, αὐτὸ τοῦτο τοὔνομα ἐμπλέκοντες μανικὴν ἐκάλεσαν. ἀλλ᾽ ὡς καλοῦ ὄντος, ὅταν θείᾳ μοίρᾳ γίγνηται, οὕτω νομίσαντες ἔθεντο, οἱ δὲ νῦν ἀπειροκάλως τὸ ταῦ ἐπεμβάλλοντες μαντικὴν ἐκάλεσαν. ἐπεὶ καὶ τήν γε τῶν ἐμφρόνων, ζήτησιν τοῦ μέλλοντος διά τε ὀρνίθων ποιουμένων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων σημείων, ἅτ᾽ ἐκ διανοίας ποριζομένων ἀνθρωπίνῃ οἰήσει νοῦν τε καὶ ἱστορίαν, οἰονοϊστικὴν ἐπωνόμασαν, [244d] ἣν νῦν οἰωνιστικὴν τῷ ω σεμνύνοντες οἱ νέοι καλοῦσιν· ὅσῳ δὴ οὖν τελεώτερον καὶ ἐντιμότερον μαντικὴ οἰωνιστικῆς, τό τε ὄνομα τοῦ ὀνόματος ἔργον τ᾽ ἔργου, τόσῳ κάλλιον μαρτυροῦσιν οἱ παλαιοὶ μανίαν σωφροσύνης τὴν ἐκ θεοῦ τῆς παρ᾽ ἀνθρώπων γιγνομένης. ἀλλὰ μὴν νόσων γε καὶ πόνων τῶν μεγίστων, ἃ δὴ παλαιῶν ἐκ μηνιμάτων ποθὲν ἔν τισι τῶν γενῶν ἡ μανία ἐγγενομένη καὶ προφητεύσασα, οἷς ἔδει [244e] ἀπαλλαγὴν ηὕρετο, καταφυγοῦσα πρὸς θεῶν εὐχάς τε καὶ λατρείας, ὅθεν δὴ καθαρμῶν τε καὶ τελετῶν τυχοῦσα ἐξάντη ἐποίησε τὸν [ἑαυτῆς] ἔχοντα πρός τε τὸν παρόντα καὶ τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον, λύσιν τῷ ὀρθῶς μανέντι τε καὶ κατασχομένῳ [245a] τῶν παρόντων κακῶν εὑρομένη. τρίτη δὲ ἀπὸ Μουσῶν κατοκωχή τε καὶ μανία, λαβοῦσα ἁπαλὴν καὶ ἄβατον ψυχήν, ἐγείρουσα καὶ ἐκβακχεύουσα κατά τε ᾠδὰς καὶ κατὰ τὴν ἄλλην ποίησιν, μυρία τῶν παλαιῶν ἔργα κοσμοῦσα τοὺς ἐπιγιγνομένους παιδεύει· ὃς δ᾽ ἂν ἄνευ μανίας Μουσῶν ἐπὶ ποιητικὰς θύρας ἀφίκηται, πεισθεὶς ὡς ἄρα ἐκ τέχνης ἱκανὸς ποιητὴς ἐσόμενος, ἀτελὴς αὐτός τε καὶ ἡ ποίησις ὑπὸ τῆς τῶν μαινομένων ἡ τοῦ σωφρονοῦντος ἠφανίσθη.
[245b] τοσαῦτα μέν σοι καὶ ἔτι πλείω ἔχω μανίας γιγνομένης ἀπὸ θεῶν λέγειν καλὰ ἔργα. ὥστε τοῦτό γε αὐτὸ μὴ φοβώμεθα, μηδέ τις ἡμᾶς λόγος θορυβείτω δεδιττόμενος ὡς πρὸ τοῦ κεκινημένου τὸν σώφρονα δεῖ προαιρεῖσθαι φίλον· ἀλλὰ τόδε πρὸς ἐκείνῳ δείξας φερέσθω τὰ νικητήρια, ὡς οὐκ ἐπ᾽ ὠφελίᾳ ὁ ἔρως τῷ ἐρῶντι καὶ τῷ ἐρωμένῳ ἐκ θεῶν ἐπιπέμπεται. ἡμῖν δὲ ἀποδεικτέον αὖ τοὐναντίον, ὡς ἐπ᾽ εὐτυχίᾳ τῇ μεγίστῃ [245c] παρὰ θεῶν ἡ τοιαύτη μανία δίδοται· ἡ δὲ δὴ ἀπόδειξις ἔσται δεινοῖς μὲν ἄπιστος, σοφοῖς δὲ πιστή. δεῖ οὖν πρῶτον ψυχῆς φύσεως πέρι θείας τε καὶ ἀνθρωπίνης ἰδόντα πάθη τε καὶ ἔργα τἀληθὲς νοῆσαι· ἀρχὴ δὲ ἀποδείξεως ἥδε.
ψυχὴ πᾶσα ἀθάνατος. τὸ γὰρ ἀεικίνητον ἀθάνατον· τὸ δ᾽ ἄλλο κινοῦν καὶ ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου κινούμενον, παῦλαν ἔχον κινήσεως, παῦλαν ἔχει ζωῆς. μόνον δὴ τὸ αὑτὸ κινοῦν, ἅτε οὐκ ἀπολεῖπον ἑαυτό, οὔποτε λήγει κινούμενον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὅσα κινεῖται τοῦτο πηγὴ καὶ ἀρχὴ κινήσεως.
[245d] ἀρχὴ δὲ ἀγένητον. ἐξ ἀρχῆς γὰρ ἀνάγκη πᾶν τὸ γιγνόμενον γίγνεσθαι, αὐτὴν δὲ μηδ᾽ ἐξ ἑνός· εἰ γὰρ ἔκ του ἀρχὴ γίγνοιτο, οὐκ ἂν ἔτι ἀρχὴ γίγνοιτο. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἀγένητόν ἐστιν, καὶ ἀδιάφθορον αὐτὸ ἀνάγκη εἶναι. ἀρχῆς γὰρ δὴ ἀπολομένης οὔτε αὐτή ποτε ἔκ του οὔτε ἄλλο ἐξ ἐκείνης γενήσεται, εἴπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς δεῖ τὰ πάντα γίγνεσθαι. οὕτω δὴ κινήσεως μὲν ἀρχὴ τὸ αὐτὸ αὑτὸ κινοῦν. τοῦτο δὲ οὔτ᾽ ἀπόλλυσθαι οὔτε γίγνεσθαι δυνατόν, ἢ πάντα τε οὐρανὸν [245e] πᾶσάν τε γῆν εἰς ἓν συμπεσοῦσαν στῆναι καὶ μήποτε αὖθις ἔχειν ὅθεν κινηθέντα γενήσεται. ἀθανάτου δὲ πεφασμένου τοῦ ὑφ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ κινουμένου, ψυχῆς οὐσίαν τε καὶ λόγον τοῦτον αὐτόν τις λέγων οὐκ αἰσχυνεῖται. πᾶν γὰρ σῶμα, ᾧ μὲν ἔξωθεν τὸ κινεῖσθαι, ἄψυχον, ᾧ δὲ ἔνδοθεν αὐτῷ ἐξ αὑτοῦ, ἔμψυχον, ὡς ταύτης οὔσης φύσεως ψυχῆς· εἰ δ᾽ ἔστιν τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχον, μὴ ἄλλο τι εἶναι τὸ αὐτὸ ἑαυτὸ [246a] κινοῦν ἢ ψυχήν, ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἀγένητόν τε καὶ ἀθάνατον ψυχὴ ἂν εἴη.
περὶ μὲν οὖν ἀθανασίας αὐτῆς ἱκανῶς· περὶ δὲ τῆς ἰδέας αὐτῆς ὧδε λεκτέον. οἷον μέν ἐστι, πάντῃ πάντως θείας εἶναι καὶ μακρᾶς διηγήσεως, ᾧ δὲ ἔοικεν, ἀνθρωπίνης τε καὶ ἐλάττονος· ταύτῃ οὖν λέγωμεν. ἐοικέτω δὴ συμφύτῳ δυνάμει ὑποπτέρου ζεύγους τε καὶ ἡνιόχου. θεῶν μὲν οὖν ἵπποι τε καὶ ἡνίοχοι πάντες αὐτοί τε ἀγαθοὶ καὶ ἐξ ἀγαθῶν, [246b] τὸ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων μέμεικται. καὶ πρῶτον μὲν ἡμῶν ὁ ἄρχων συνωρίδος ἡνιοχεῖ, εἶτα τῶν ἵππων ὁ μὲν αὐτῷ καλός τε καὶ ἀγαθὸς καὶ ἐκ τοιούτων, ὁ δ᾽ ἐξ ἐναντίων τε καὶ ἐναντίος· χαλεπὴ δὴ καὶ δύσκολος ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἡ περὶ ἡμᾶς ἡνιόχησις. πῇ δὴ οὖν θνητόν τε καὶ ἀθάνατον ζῷον ἐκλήθη πειρατέον εἰπεῖν. ψυχὴ πᾶσα παντὸς ἐπιμελεῖται τοῦ ἀψύχου, πάντα δὲ οὐρανὸν περιπολεῖ, ἄλλοτ᾽ ἐν ἄλλοις εἴδεσι γιγνομένη. τελέα [246c] μὲν οὖν οὖσα καὶ ἐπτερωμένη μετεωροπορεῖ τε καὶ πάντα τὸν κόσμον διοικεῖ, ἡ δὲ πτεροῤῥυήσασα φέρεται ἕως ἂν στερεοῦ τινος ἀντιλάβηται, οὗ κατοικισθεῖσα, σῶμα γήϊνον λαβοῦσα, αὐτὸ αὑτὸ δοκοῦν κινεῖν διὰ τὴν ἐκείνης δύναμιν, ζῷον τὸ σύμπαν ἐκλήθη, ψυχὴ καὶ σῶμα παγέν, θνητόν τ᾽ ἔσχεν ἐπωνυμίαν· ἀθάνατον δὲ οὐδ᾽ ἐξ ἑνὸς λόγου λελογισμένου, ἀλλὰ πλάττομεν οὔτε ἰδόντες οὔτε ἱκανῶς νοήσαντες [246d] θεόν, ἀθάνατόν τι ζῷον, ἔχον μὲν ψυχήν, ἔχον δὲ σῶμα, τὸν ἀεὶ δὲ χρόνον ταῦτα συμπεφυκότα. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν δή, ὅπῃ τῷ θεῷ φίλον, ταύτῃ ἐχέτω τε καὶ λεγέσθω· τὴν δὲ αἰτίαν τῆς τῶν πτερῶν ἀποβολῆς, δι᾽ ἣν ψυχῆς ἀποῤῥεῖ, λάβωμεν. ἔστι δέ τις τοιάδε.
πέφυκεν ἡ πτεροῦ δύναμις τὸ ἐμβριθὲς ἄγειν ἄνω μετεωρίζουσα ᾗ τὸ τῶν θεῶν γένος οἰκεῖ, κεκοινώνηκε δέ πῃ μάλιστα τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα τοῦ θείου [ψυχή], τὸ δὲ θεῖον [246e] καλόν, σοφόν, ἀγαθόν, καὶ πᾶν ὅτι τοιοῦτον· τούτοις δὴ τρέφεταί τε καὶ αὔξεται μάλιστά γε τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς πτέρωμα, αἰσχρῷ δὲ καὶ κακῷ καὶ τοῖς ἐναντίοις φθίνει τε καὶ διόλλυται. ὁ μὲν δὴ μέγας ἡγεμὼν ἐν οὐρανῷ Ζεύς, ἐλαύνων πτηνὸν ἅρμα, πρῶτος πορεύεται, διακοσμῶν πάντα καὶ ἐπιμελούμενος· τῷ δ᾽ ἕπεται στρατιὰ θεῶν τε καὶ δαιμόνων, [247a] κατὰ ἕνδεκα μέρη κεκοσμημένη. μένει γὰρ Ἑστία ἐν θεῶν οἴκῳ μόνη· τῶν δὲ ἄλλων ὅσοι ἐν τῷ τῶν δώδεκα ἀριθμῷ τεταγμένοι θεοὶ ἄρχοντες ἡγοῦνται κατὰ τάξιν ἣν ἕκαστος ἐτάχθη. πολλαὶ μὲν οὖν καὶ μακάριαι θέαι τε καὶ διέξοδοι ἐντὸς οὐρανοῦ, ἃς θεῶν γένος εὐδαιμόνων ἐπιστρέφεται πράττων ἕκαστος αὐτῶν τὸ αὑτοῦ, ἕπεται δὲ ὁ ἀεὶ ἐθέλων τε καὶ δυνάμενος· φθόνος γὰρ ἔξω θείου χοροῦ ἵσταται. ὅταν δὲ δὴ πρὸς δαῖτα καὶ ἐπὶ θοίνην ἴωσιν, ἄκραν ἐπὶ τὴν [247b] ὑπουράνιον ἁψῖδα πορεύονται πρὸς ἄναντες, ᾗ δὴ τὰ μὲν θεῶν ὀχήματα ἰσοῤῥόπως εὐήνια ὄντα ῥᾳδίως πορεύεται, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα μόγις· βρίθει γὰρ ὁ τῆς κάκης ἵππος μετέχων, ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ῥέπων τε καὶ βαρύνων ᾧ μὴ καλῶς ἦν τεθραμμένος τῶν ἡνιόχων. ἔνθα δὴ πόνος τε καὶ ἀγὼν ἔσχατος ψυχῇ πρόκειται. αἱ μὲν γὰρ ἀθάνατοι καλούμεναι, ἡνίκ᾽ ἂν πρὸς ἄκρῳ γένωνται, ἔξω πορευθεῖσαι ἔστησαν ἐπὶ τῷ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ [247c] νώτῳ, στάσας δὲ αὐτὰς περιάγει ἡ περιφορά, αἱ δὲ θεωροῦσι τὰ ἔξω τοῦ οὐρανοῦ.
τὸν δὲ ὑπερουράνιον τόπον οὔτε τις ὕμνησέ πω τῶν τῇδε ποιητὴς οὔτε ποτὲ ὑμνήσει κατ᾽ ἀξίαν. ἔχει δὲ ὧδε — τολμητέον γὰρ οὖν τό γε ἀληθὲς εἰπεῖν, ἄλλως τε καὶ περὶ ἀληθείας λέγοντα — ἡ γὰρ ἀχρώματός τε καὶ ἀσχημάτιστος καὶ ἀναφὴς οὐσία ὄντως οὖσα, ψυχῆς κυβερνήτῃ μόνῳ θεατὴ νῷ, περὶ ἣν τὸ τῆς ἀληθοῦς ἐπιστήμης γένος, τοῦτον ἔχει [247d] τὸν τόπον. ἅτ᾽ οὖν θεοῦ διάνοια νῷ τε καὶ ἐπιστήμῃ ἀκηράτῳ τρεφομένη, καὶ ἁπάσης ψυχῆς ὅσῃ ἂν μέλῃ τὸ προσῆκον δέξασθαι, ἰδοῦσα διὰ χρόνου τὸ ὂν ἀγαπᾷ τε καὶ θεωροῦσα τἀληθῆ τρέφεται καὶ εὐπαθεῖ, ἕως ἂν κύκλῳ ἡ περιφορὰ εἰς ταὐτὸν περιενέγκῃ. ἐν δὲ τῇ περιόδῳ καθορᾷ μὲν αὐτὴν δικαιοσύνην, καθορᾷ δὲ σωφροσύνην, καθορᾷ δὲ ἐπιστήμην, οὐχ ᾗ γένεσις πρόσεστιν, οὐδ᾽ ἥ ἐστίν που ἑτέρα [247e] ἐν ἑτέρῳ οὖσα ὧν ἡμεῖς νῦν ὄντων καλοῦμεν, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἐν τῷ ὅ ἐστιν ὂν ὄντως ἐπιστήμην οὖσαν· καὶ τἆλλα ὡσαύτως τὰ ὄντα ὄντως θεασαμένη καὶ ἑστιαθεῖσα, δῦσα πάλιν εἰς τὸ εἴσω τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, οἴκαδε ἦλθεν. ἐλθούσης δὲ αὐτῆς ὁ ἡνίοχος πρὸς τὴν φάτνην τοὺς ἵππους στήσας παρέβαλεν ἀμβροσίαν τε καὶ ἐπ᾽ αὐτῇ νέκταρ ἐπότισεν.
[248a] καὶ οὗτος μὲν θεῶν βίος· αἱ δὲ ἄλλαι ψυχαί, ἡ μὲν ἄριστα θεῷ ἑπομένη καὶ εἰκασμένη ὑπερῆρεν εἰς τὸν ἔξω τόπον τὴν τοῦ ἡνιόχου κεφαλήν, καὶ συμπεριηνέχθη τὴν περιφοράν, θορυβουμένη ὑπὸ τῶν ἵππων καὶ μόγις καθορῶσα τὰ ὄντα· ἡ δὲ τοτὲ μὲν ἦρεν, τοτὲ δ᾽ ἔδυ, βιαζομένων δὲ τῶν ἵππων τὰ μὲν εἶδεν, τὰ δ᾽ οὔ. αἱ δὲ δὴ ἄλλαι γλιχόμεναι μὲν ἅπασαι τοῦ ἄνω ἕπονται, ἀδυνατοῦσαι δέ, ὑποβρύχιαι συμπεριφέρονται, πατοῦσαι ἀλλήλας καὶ ἐπιβάλλουσαι, ἑτέρα [248b] πρὸ τῆς ἑτέρας πειρωμένη γενέσθαι. θόρυβος οὖν καὶ ἅμιλλα καὶ ἱδρὼς ἔσχατος γίγνεται, οὗ δὴ κακίᾳ ἡνιόχων πολλαὶ μὲν χωλεύονται, πολλαὶ δὲ πολλὰ πτερὰ θραύονται· πᾶσαι δὲ πολὺν ἔχουσαι πόνον ἀτελεῖς τῆς τοῦ ὄντος θέας ἀπέρχονται, καὶ ἀπελθοῦσαι τροφῇ δοξαστῇ χρῶνται. οὗ δ᾽ ἕνεχ᾽ ἡ πολλὴ σπουδὴ τὸ ἀληθείας ἰδεῖν πεδίον οὗ ἐστιν, ἥ τε δὴ προσήκουσα ψυχῆς τῷ ἀρίστῳ νομὴ ἐκ τοῦ ἐκεῖ [248c] λειμῶνος τυγχάνει οὖσα, ἥ τε τοῦ πτεροῦ φύσις, ᾧ ψυχὴ κουφίζεται, τούτῳ τρέφεται. θεσμός τε Ἀδραστείας ὅδε. ἥτις ἂν ψυχὴ θεῷ συνοπαδὸς γενομένη κατίδῃ τι τῶν ἀληθῶν, μέχρι τε τῆς ἑτέρας περιόδου εἶναι ἀπήμονα, κἂν ἀεὶ τοῦτο δύνηται ποιεῖν, ἀεὶ ἀβλαβῆ εἶναι· ὅταν δὲ ἀδυνατήσασα ἐπισπέσθαι μὴ ἴδῃ, καί τινι συντυχίᾳ χρησαμένη λήθης τε καὶ κακίας πλησθεῖσα βαρυνθῇ, βαρυνθεῖσα δὲ πτεροῤῥυήσῃ τε καὶ ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν πέσῃ, τότε νόμος ταύτην [248d] μὴ φυτεῦσαι εἰς μηδεμίαν θήρειον φύσιν ἐν τῇ πρώτῃ γενέσει, ἀλλὰ τὴν μὲν πλεῖστα ἰδοῦσαν εἰς γονὴν ἀνδρὸς γενησομένου φιλοσόφου ἢ φιλοκάλου ἢ μουσικοῦ τινος καὶ ἐρωτικοῦ, τὴν δὲ δευτέραν εἰς βασιλέως ἐννόμου ἢ πολεμικοῦ καὶ ἀρχικοῦ, τρίτην εἰς πολιτικοῦ ἤ τινος οἰκονομικοῦ ἢ χρηματιστικοῦ, τετάρτην εἰς φιλοπόνου <ἢ> γυμναστικοῦ ἢ περὶ σώματος ἴασίν τινος ἐσομένου, πέμπτην μαντικὸν βίον [248e] ἤ τινα τελεστικὸν ἕξουσαν· ἕκτῃ ποιητικὸς ἢ τῶν περὶ μίμησίν τις ἄλλος ἁρμόσει, ἑβδόμῃ δημιουργικὸς ἢ γεωργικός, ὀγδόῃ σοφιστικὸς ἢ δημοκοπικός, ἐνάτῃ τυραννικός. ἐν δὴ τούτοις ἅπασιν ὃς μὲν ἂν δικαίως διαγάγῃ ἀμείνονος μοίρας μεταλαμβάνει, ὃς δ᾽ ἂν ἀδίκως, χείρονος· εἰς μὲν γὰρ τὸ αὐτὸ ὅθεν ἥκει ἡ ψυχὴ ἑκάστη οὐκ ἀφικνεῖται ἐτῶν μυρίων — [249a] οὐ γὰρ πτεροῦται πρὸ τοσούτου χρόνου — πλὴν ἡ τοῦ φιλοσοφήσαντος ἀδόλως ἢ παιδεραστήσαντος μετὰ φιλοσοφίας, αὗται δὲ τρίτῃ περιόδῳ τῇ χιλιετεῖ, ἐὰν ἕλωνται τρὶς ἐφεξῆς τὸν βίον τοῦτον, οὕτω πτερωθεῖσαι τρισχιλιοστῷ ἔτει ἀπέρχονται. αἱ δὲ ἄλλαι, ὅταν τὸν πρῶτον βίον τελευτήσωσιν, κρίσεως ἔτυχον, κριθεῖσαι δὲ αἱ μὲν εἰς τὰ ὑπὸ γῆς δικαιωτήρια ἐλθοῦσαι δίκην ἐκτίνουσιν, αἱ δ᾽ εἰς τοὐρανοῦ τινα τόπον ὑπὸ τῆς Δίκης κουφισθεῖσαι διάγουσιν ἀξίως οὗ ἐν [249b] ἀνθρώπου εἴδει ἐβίωσαν βίου. τῷ δὲ χιλιοστῷ ἀμφότεραι ἀφικνούμεναι ἐπὶ κλήρωσίν τε καὶ αἵρεσιν τοῦ δευτέρου βίου αἱροῦνται ὃν ἂν θέλῃ ἑκάστη· ἔνθα καὶ εἰς θηρίου βίον ἀνθρωπίνη ψυχὴ ἀφικνεῖται, καὶ ἐκ θηρίου ὅς ποτε ἄνθρωπος ἦν πάλιν εἰς ἄνθρωπον. οὐ γὰρ ἥ γε μήποτε ἰδοῦσα τὴν ἀλήθειαν εἰς τόδε ἥξει τὸ σχῆμα. δεῖ γὰρ ἄνθρωπον συνιέναι κατ᾽ εἶδος λεγόμενον, ἐκ πολλῶν ἰὸν αἰσθήσεων [249c] εἰς ἓν λογισμῷ συναιρούμενον· τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀνάμνησις ἐκείνων ἅ ποτ᾽ εἶδεν ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ συμπορευθεῖσα θεῷ καὶ ὑπεριδοῦσα ἃ νῦν εἶναί φαμεν, καὶ ἀνακύψασα εἰς τὸ ὂν ὄντως. διὸ δὴ δικαίως μόνη πτεροῦται ἡ τοῦ φιλοσόφου διάνοια· πρὸς γὰρ ἐκείνοις ἀεί ἐστιν μνήμῃ κατὰ δύναμιν, πρὸς οἷσπερ θεὸς ὢν θεῖός ἐστιν. τοῖς δὲ δὴ τοιούτοις ἀνὴρ ὑπομνήμασιν ὀρθῶς χρώμενος, τελέους ἀεὶ τελετὰς τελούμενος, τέλεος ὄντως μόνος γίγνεται· ἐξιστάμενος δὲ τῶν [249d] ἀνθρωπίνων σπουδασμάτων καὶ πρὸς τῷ θείῳ γιγνόμενος, νουθετεῖται μὲν ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ὡς παρακινῶν, ἐνθουσιάζων δὲ λέληθεν τοὺς πολλούς.
ἔστι δὴ οὖν δεῦρο ὁ πᾶς ἥκων λόγος περὶ τῆς τετάρτης μανίας — ἣν ὅταν τὸ τῇδέ τις ὁρῶν κάλλος, τοῦ ἀληθοῦς ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενος, πτερῶταί τε καὶ ἀναπτερούμενος προθυμούμενος ἀναπτέσθαι, ἀδυνατῶν δέ, ὄρνιθος δίκην βλέπων ἄνω, τῶν κάτω δὲ ἀμελῶν, αἰτίαν ἔχει ὡς μανικῶς διακείμενος — ὡς [249e] ἄρα αὕτη πασῶν τῶν ἐνθουσιάσεων ἀρίστη τε καὶ ἐξ ἀρίστων τῷ τε ἔχοντι καὶ τῷ κοινωνοῦντι αὐτῆς γίγνεται, καὶ ὅτι ταύτης μετέχων τῆς μανίας ὁ ἐρῶν τῶν καλῶν ἐραστὴς καλεῖται. καθάπερ γὰρ εἴρηται, πᾶσα μὲν ἀνθρώπου ψυχὴ φύσει τεθέαται τὰ ὄντα, ἢ οὐκ ἂν ἦλθεν [250a] εἰς τόδε τὸ ζῷον· ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι δὲ ἐκ τῶνδε ἐκεῖνα οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἁπάσῃ, οὔτε ὅσαι βραχέως εἶδον τότε τἀκεῖ, οὔθ᾽ αἳ δεῦρο πεσοῦσαι ἐδυστύχησαν, ὥστε ὑπό τινων ὁμιλιῶν ἐπὶ τὸ ἄδικον τραπόμεναι λήθην ὧν τότε εἶδον ἱερῶν ἔχειν. ὀλίγαι δὴ λείπονται αἷς τὸ τῆς μνήμης ἱκανῶς πάρεστιν· αὗται δέ, ὅταν τι τῶν ἐκεῖ ὁμοίωμα ἴδωσιν, ἐκπλήττονται καὶ οὐκέτ᾽ <ἐν> αὑτῶν γίγνονται, ὃ δ᾽ ἔστι τὸ πάθος ἀγνοοῦσι [250b] διὰ τὸ μὴ ἱκανῶς διαισθάνεσθαι. δικαιοσύνης μὲν οὖν καὶ σωφροσύνης καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα τίμια ψυχαῖς οὐκ ἔνεστι φέγγος οὐδὲν ἐν τοῖς τῇδε ὁμοιώμασιν, ἀλλὰ δι᾽ ἀμυδρῶν ὀργάνων μόγις αὐτῶν καὶ ὀλίγοι ἐπὶ τὰς εἰκόνας ἰόντες θεῶνται τὸ τοῦ εἰκασθέντος γένος· κάλλος δὲ τότ᾽ ἦν ἰδεῖν λαμπρόν, ὅτε σὺν εὐδαίμονι χορῷ μακαρίαν ὄψιν τε καὶ θέαν, ἑπόμενοι μετὰ μὲν Διὸς ἡμεῖς, ἄλλοι δὲ μετ᾽ ἄλλου θεῶν, εἶδόν τε καὶ ἐτελοῦντο τῶν τελετῶν ἣν θέμις λέγειν [250c] μακαριωτάτην, ἣν ὠργιάζομεν ὁλόκληροι μὲν αὐτοὶ ὄντες καὶ ἀπαθεῖς κακῶν ὅσα ἡμᾶς ἐν ὑστέρῳ χρόνῳ ὑπέμενεν, ὁλόκληρα δὲ καὶ ἁπλᾶ καὶ ἀτρεμῆ καὶ εὐδαίμονα φάσματα μυούμενοί τε καὶ ἐποπτεύοντες ἐν αὐγῇ καθαρᾷ, καθαροὶ ὄντες καὶ ἀσήμαντοι τούτου ὃ νῦν δὴ σῶμα περιφέροντες ὀνομάζομεν, ὀστρέου τρόπον δεδεσμευμένοι.
ταῦτα μὲν οὖν μνήμῃ κεχαρίσθω, δι᾽ ἣν πόθῳ τῶν τότε νῦν μακρότερα εἴρηται· περὶ δὲ κάλλους, ὥσπερ εἴπομεν,
[250d] μετ᾽ ἐκείνων τε ἔλαμπεν ὄν, δεῦρό τ᾽ ἐλθόντες κατειλήφαμεν αὐτὸ διὰ τῆς ἐναργεστάτης αἰσθήσεως τῶν ἡμετέρων στίλβον ἐναργέστατα. ὄψις γὰρ ἡμῖν ὀξυτάτη τῶν διὰ τοῦ σώματος ἔρχεται αἰσθήσεων, ᾗ φρόνησις οὐχ ὁρᾶται — δεινοὺς γὰρ ἂν παρεῖχεν ἔρωτας, εἴ τι τοιοῦτον ἑαυτῆς ἐναργὲς εἴδωλον παρείχετο εἰς ὄψιν ἰόν — καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα ἐραστά· νῦν δὲ κάλλος μόνον ταύτην ἔσχε μοῖραν, ὥστ᾽ ἐκφανέστατον εἶναι [250e] καὶ ἐρασμιώτατον. ὁ μὲν οὖν μὴ νεοτελὴς ἢ διεφθαρμένος οὐκ ὀξέως ἐνθένδε ἐκεῖσε φέρεται πρὸς αὐτὸ τὸ κάλλος, θεώμενος αὐτοῦ τὴν τῇδε ἐπωνυμίαν, ὥστ᾽ οὐ σέβεται προσορῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡδονῇ παραδοὺς τετράποδος νόμον βαίνειν ἐπιχειρεῖ καὶ παιδοσπορεῖν, καὶ ὕβρει προσομιλῶν οὐ δέδοικεν [251a] οὐδ᾽ αἰσχύνεται παρὰ φύσιν ἡδονὴν διώκων· ὁ δὲ ἀρτιτελής, ὁ τῶν τότε πολυθεάμων, ὅταν θεοειδὲς πρόσωπον ἴδῃ κάλλος εὖ μεμιμημένον ἤ τινα σώματος ἰδέαν, πρῶτον μὲν ἔφριξε καί τι τῶν τότε ὑπῆλθεν αὐτὸν δειμάτων, εἶτα προσορῶν ὡς θεὸν σέβεται, καὶ εἰ μὴ ἐδεδίει τὴν τῆς σφόδρα μανίας δόξαν, θύοι ἂν ὡς ἀγάλματι καὶ θεῷ τοῖς παιδικοῖς. ἰδόντα δ᾽ αὐτὸν οἷον ἐκ τῆς φρίκης μεταβολή τε [251b] καὶ ἱδρὼς καὶ θερμότης ἀήθης λαμβάνει· δεξάμενος γὰρ τοῦ κάλλους τὴν ἀποῤῥοὴν διὰ τῶν ὀμμάτων ἐθερμάνθη ᾗ ἡ τοῦ πτεροῦ φύσις ἄρδεται, θερμανθέντος δὲ ἐτάκη τὰ περὶ τὴν ἔκφυσιν, ἃ πάλαι ὑπὸ σκληρότητος συμμεμυκότα εἶργε μὴ βλαστάνειν, ἐπιῤῥυείσης δὲ τῆς τροφῆς ᾤδησέ τε καὶ ὥρμησε φύεσθαι ἀπὸ τῆς ῥίζης ὁ τοῦ πτεροῦ καυλὸς ὑπὸ πᾶν τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς εἶδος· πᾶσα γὰρ ἦν τὸ πάλαι πτερωτή.
[251c] ζεῖ οὖν ἐν τούτῳ ὅλη καὶ ἀνακηκίει, καὶ ὅπερ τὸ τῶν ὀδοντοφυούντων πάθος περὶ τοὺς ὀδόντας γίγνεται ὅταν ἄρτι φύωσιν, κνῆσίς τε καὶ ἀγανάκτησις περὶ τὰ οὖλα, ταὐτὸν δὴ πέπονθεν ἡ τοῦ πτεροφυεῖν ἀρχομένου ψυχή· ζεῖ τε καὶ ἀγανακτεῖ καὶ γαργαλίζεται φύουσα τὰ πτερά. ὅταν μὲν οὖν βλέπουσα πρὸς τὸ τοῦ παιδὸς κάλλος, ἐκεῖθεν μέρη ἐπιόντα καὶ ῥέοντ᾽ — ἃ δὴ διὰ ταῦτα ἵμερος καλεῖται — δεχομένη [τὸν ἵμερον] ἄρδηταί τε καὶ θερμαίνηται, λωφᾷ τε τῆς ὀδύνης [251d] καὶ γέγηθεν· ὅταν δὲ χωρὶς γένηται καὶ αὐχμήσῃ, τὰ τῶν διεξόδων στόματα ᾗ τὸ πτερὸν ὁρμᾷ, συναυαινόμενα μύσαντα ἀποκλῄει τὴν βλάστην τοῦ πτεροῦ, ἡ δ᾽ ἐντὸς μετὰ τοῦ ἱμέρου ἀποκεκλῃμένη, πηδῶσα οἷον τὰ σφύζοντα, τῇ διεξόδῳ ἐγχρίει ἑκάστη τῇ καθ᾽ αὑτήν, ὥστε πᾶσα κεντουμένη κύκλῳ ἡ ψυχὴ οἰστρᾷ καὶ ὀδυνᾶται, μνήμην δ᾽ αὖ ἔχουσα τοῦ καλοῦ γέγηθεν. ἐκ δὲ ἀμφοτέρων μεμειγμένων ἀδημονεῖ τε τῇ ἀτοπίᾳ τοῦ πάθους καὶ ἀποροῦσα λυττᾷ, καὶ ἐμμανὴς [251e] οὖσα οὔτε νυκτὸς δύναται καθεύδειν οὔτε μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν οὗ ἂν ᾖ μένειν, θεῖ δὲ ποθοῦσα ὅπου ἂν οἴηται ὄψεσθαι τὸν ἔχοντα τὸ κάλλος· ἰδοῦσα δὲ καὶ ἐποχετευσαμένη ἵμερον ἔλυσε μὲν τὰ τότε συμπεφραγμένα, ἀναπνοὴν δὲ λαβοῦσα κέντρων τε καὶ ὠδίνων ἔληξεν, ἡδονὴν δ᾽ αὖ ταύτην γλυκυτάτην ἐν τῷ [252a] παρόντι καρποῦται. ὅθεν δὴ ἑκοῦσα εἶναι οὐκ ἀπολείπεται, οὐδέ τινα τοῦ καλοῦ περὶ πλείονος ποιεῖται, ἀλλὰ μητέρων τε καὶ ἀδελφῶν καὶ ἑταίρων πάντων λέλησται, καὶ οὐσίας δι᾽ ἀμέλειαν ἀπολλυμένης παρ᾽ οὐδὲν τίθεται, νομίμων δὲ καὶ εὐσχημόνων, οἷς πρὸ τοῦ ἐκαλλωπίζετο, πάντων καταφρονήσασα δουλεύειν ἑτοίμη καὶ κοιμᾶσθαι ὅπου ἂν ἐᾷ τις ἐγγυτάτω τοῦ πόθου· πρὸς γὰρ τῷ σέβεσθαι τὸν τὸ κάλλος [252b] ἔχοντα ἰατρὸν ηὕρηκε μόνον τῶν μεγίστων πόνων. τοῦτο δὲ τὸ πάθος, ὦ παῖ καλέ, πρὸς ὃν δή μοι ὁ λόγος, ἄνθρωποι μὲν ἔρωτα ὀνομάζουσιν, θεοὶ δὲ ὃ καλοῦσιν ἀκούσας εἰκότως διὰ νεότητα γελάσῃ. λέγουσι δὲ οἶμαί τινες Ὁμηριδῶν ἐκ τῶν ἀποθέτων ἐπῶν δύο ἔπη εἰς τὸν ἔρωτα, ὧν τὸ ἕτερον ὑβριστικὸν πάνυ καὶ οὐ σφόδρα τι ἔμμετρον· ὑμνοῦσι δὲ ὧδε —

[252c] τὸν δ᾽ ἤτοι θνητοὶ μὲν ἔρωτα καλοῦσι ποτηνόν,
ἀθάνατοι δὲ Πτέρωτα, διὰ πτεροφύτορ᾽ ἀνάγκην.

τούτοις δὴ ἔξεστι μὲν πείθεσθαι, ἔξεστιν δὲ μή· ὅμως δὲ ἥ γε αἰτία καὶ τὸ πάθος τῶν ἐρώντων τοῦτο ἐκεῖνο τυγχάνει ὄν.
τῶν μὲν οὖν Διὸς ὀπαδῶν ὁ ληφθεὶς ἐμβριθέστερον δύναται φέρειν τὸ τοῦ πτερωνύμου ἄχθος· ὅσοι δὲ Ἄρεώς τε θεραπευταὶ καὶ μετ᾽ ἐκείνου περιεπόλουν, ὅταν ὑπ᾽ Ἔρωτος ἁλῶσι καί τι οἰηθῶσιν ἀδικεῖσθαι ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐρωμένου, φονικοὶ καὶ ἕτοιμοι καθιερεύειν αὑτούς τε καὶ τὰ παιδικά.
[252d] καὶ οὕτω καθ᾽ ἕκαστον θεόν, οὗ ἕκαστος ἦν χορευτής, ἐκεῖνον τιμῶν τε καὶ μιμούμενος εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ζῇ, ἕως ἂν ᾖ ἀδιάφθορος καὶ τὴν τῇδε πρώτην γένεσιν βιοτεύῃ, καὶ τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ πρός τε τοὺς ἐρωμένους καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ὁμιλεῖ τε καὶ προσφέρεται. τόν τε οὖν ἔρωτα τῶν καλῶν πρὸς τρόπου ἐκλέγεται ἕκαστος, καὶ ὡς θεὸν αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον ὄντα ἑαυτῷ οἷον ἄγαλμα τεκταίνεταί τε καὶ κατακοσμεῖ, ὡς [252e] τιμήσων τε καὶ ὀργιάσων. οἱ μὲν δὴ οὖν Διὸς δῖόν τινα εἶναι ζητοῦσι τὴν ψυχὴν τὸν ὑφ᾽ αὑτῶν ἐρώμενον· σκοποῦσιν οὖν εἰ φιλόσοφός τε καὶ ἡγεμονικὸς τὴν φύσιν, καὶ ὅταν αὐτὸν εὑρόντες ἐρασθῶσι, πᾶν ποιοῦσιν ὅπως τοιοῦτος ἔσται. ἐὰν οὖν μὴ πρότερον ἐμβεβῶσι τῷ ἐπιτηδεύματι, τότε ἐπιχειρήσαντες μανθάνουσί τε ὅθεν ἄν τι δύνωνται καὶ αὐτοὶ μετέρχονται, ἰχνεύοντες δὲ παρ᾽ ἑαυτῶν ἀνευρίσκειν [253a] τὴν τοῦ σφετέρου θεοῦ φύσιν εὐποροῦσι διὰ τὸ συντόνως ἠναγκάσθαι πρὸς τὸν θεὸν βλέπειν, καὶ ἐφαπτόμενοι αὐτοῦ τῇ μνήμῃ ἐνθουσιῶντες ἐξ ἐκείνου λαμβάνουσι τὰ ἔθη καὶ τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα, καθ᾽ ὅσον δυνατὸν θεοῦ ἀνθρώπῳ μετασχεῖν· καὶ τούτων δὴ τὸν ἐρώμενον αἰτιώμενοι ἔτι τε μᾶλλον ἀγαπῶσι, κἂν ἐκ Διὸς ἀρύτωσιν ὥσπερ αἱ βάκχαι, ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ ἐρωμένου ψυχὴν ἐπαντλοῦντες ποιοῦσιν ὡς δυνατὸν [253b] ὁμοιότατον τῷ σφετέρῳ θεῷ. ὅσοι δ᾽ αὖ μεθ᾽ Ἥρας εἵποντο, βασιλικὸν ζητοῦσι, καὶ εὑρόντες περὶ τοῦτον πάντα δρῶσιν τὰ αὐτά. οἱ δὲ Ἀπόλλωνός τε καὶ ἑκάστου τῶν θεῶν οὕτω κατὰ τὸν θεὸν ἰόντες ζητοῦσι τὸν σφέτερον παῖδα πεφυκέναι, καὶ ὅταν κτήσωνται, μιμούμενοι αὐτοί τε καὶ τὰ παιδικὰ πείθοντες καὶ ῥυθμίζοντες εἰς τὸ ἐκείνου ἐπιτήδευμα καὶ ἰδέαν ἄγουσιν, ὅση ἑκάστῳ δύναμις, οὐ φθόνῳ οὐδ᾽ ἀνελευθέρῳ δυσμενείᾳ χρώμενοι πρὸς τὰ παιδικά, ἀλλ᾽ εἰς ὁμοιότητα [253c] αὑτοῖς καὶ τῷ θεῷ ὃν ἂν τιμῶσι πᾶσαν πάντως ὅτι μάλιστα πειρώμενοι ἄγειν οὕτω ποιοῦσι. προθυμία μὲν οὖν τῶν ὡς ἀληθῶς ἐρώντων καὶ τελετή, ἐάν γε διαπράξωνται ὃ προθυμοῦνται ᾗ λέγω, οὕτω καλή τε καὶ εὐδαιμονικὴ ὑπὸ τοῦ δι᾽ ἔρωτα μανέντος φίλου τῷ φιληθέντι γίγνεται, ἐὰν αἱρεθῇ· ἁλίσκεται δὲ δὴ ὁ αἱρεθεὶς τοιῷδε τρόπῳ.
καθάπερ ἐν ἀρχῇ τοῦδε τοῦ μύθου τριχῇ διείλομεν ψυχὴν ἑκάστην, ἱππομόρφω μὲν δύο τινὲ εἴδη, ἡνιοχικὸν δὲ εἶδος [253d] τρίτον, καὶ νῦν ἔτι ἡμῖν ταῦτα μενέτω. τῶν δὲ δὴ ἵππων ὁ μέν, φαμέν, ἀγαθός, ὁ δ᾽ οὔ· ἀρετὴ δὲ τίς τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ ἢ κακοῦ κακία, οὐ διείπομεν, νῦν δὲ λεκτέον. ὁ μὲν τοίνυν αὐτοῖν ἐν τῇ καλλίονι στάσει ὢν τό τε εἶδος ὀρθὸς καὶ διηρθρωμένος, ὑψαύχην, ἐπίγρυπος, λευκὸς ἰδεῖν, μελανόμματος, τιμῆς ἐραστὴς μετὰ σωφροσύνης τε καὶ αἰδοῦς, καὶ ἀληθινῆς δόξης ἑταῖρος, ἄπληκτος, κελεύσματι μόνον καὶ [253e] λόγῳ ἡνιοχεῖται· ὁ δ᾽ αὖ σκολιός, πολύς, εἰκῇ συμπεφορημένος, κρατεραύχην, βραχυτράχηλος, σιμοπρόσωπος, μελάγχρως, γλαυκόμματος, ὕφαιμος, ὕβρεως καὶ ἀλαζονείας ἑταῖρος, περὶ ὦτα λάσιος, κωφός, μάστιγι μετὰ κέντρων μόγις ὑπείκων. ὅταν δ᾽ οὖν ὁ ἡνίοχος ἰδὼν τὸ ἐρωτικὸν ὄμμα, πᾶσαν αἰσθήσει διαθερμήνας τὴν ψυχήν, γαργαλισμοῦ τε καὶ πόθου [254a] κέντρων ὑποπλησθῇ, ὁ μὲν εὐπειθὴς τῷ ἡνιόχῳ τῶν ἵππων, ἀεί τε καὶ τότε αἰδοῖ βιαζόμενος, ἑαυτὸν κατέχει μὴ ἐπιπηδᾶν τῷ ἐρωμένῳ· ὁ δὲ οὔτε κέντρων ἡνιοχικῶν οὔτε μάστιγος ἔτι ἐντρέπεται, σκιρτῶν δὲ βίᾳ φέρεται, καὶ πάντα πράγματα παρέχων τῷ σύζυγί τε καὶ ἡνιόχῳ ἀναγκάζει ἰέναι τε πρὸς τὰ παιδικὰ καὶ μνείαν ποιεῖσθαι τῆς τῶν ἀφροδισίων χάριτος. τὼ δὲ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς μὲν ἀντιτείνετον [254b] ἀγανακτοῦντε, ὡς δεινὰ καὶ παράνομα ἀναγκαζομένω· τελευτῶντε δέ, ὅταν μηδὲν ᾖ πέρας κακοῦ, πορεύεσθον ἀγομένω, εἴξαντε καὶ ὁμολογήσαντε ποιήσειν τὸ κελευόμενον. καὶ πρὸς αὐτῷ τ᾽ ἐγένοντο καὶ εἶδον τὴν ὄψιν τὴν τῶν παιδικῶν ἀστράπτουσαν. ἰδόντος δὲ τοῦ ἡνιόχου ἡ μνήμη πρὸς τὴν τοῦ κάλλους φύσιν ἠνέχθη, καὶ πάλιν εἶδεν αὐτὴν μετὰ σωφροσύνης ἐν ἁγνῷ βάθρῳ βεβῶσαν· ἰδοῦσα δὲ ἔδεισέ τε καὶ σεφθεῖσα ἀνέπεσεν ὑπτία, καὶ ἅμα ἠναγκάσθη εἰς [254c] τοὐπίσω ἑλκύσαι τὰς ἡνίας οὕτω σφόδρα, ὥστ᾽ ἐπὶ τὰ ἰσχία ἄμφω καθίσαι τὼ ἵππω, τὸν μὲν ἑκόντα διὰ τὸ μὴ ἀντιτείνειν, τὸν δὲ ὑβριστὴν μάλ᾽ ἄκοντα. ἀπελθόντε δὲ ἀπωτέρω, ὁ μὲν ὑπ᾽ αἰσχύνης τε καὶ θάμβους ἱδρῶτι πᾶσαν ἔβρεξε τὴν ψυχήν, ὁ δὲ λήξας τῆς ὀδύνης, ἣν ὑπὸ τοῦ χαλινοῦ τε ἔσχεν καὶ τοῦ πτώματος, μόγις ἐξαναπνεύσας ἐλοιδόρησεν ὀργῇ, πολλὰ κακίζων τόν τε ἡνίοχον καὶ τὸν ὁμόζυγα ὡς δειλίᾳ τε καὶ ἀνανδρίᾳ λιπόντε τὴν τάξιν καὶ [254d] ὁμολογίαν· καὶ πάλιν οὐκ ἐθέλοντας προσιέναι ἀναγκάζων μόγις συνεχώρησεν δεομένων εἰς αὖθις ὑπερβαλέσθαι. ἐλθόντος δὲ τοῦ συντεθέντος χρόνου [οὗ] ἀμνημονεῖν προσποιουμένω ἀναμιμνῄσκων, βιαζόμενος, χρεμετίζων, ἕλκων ἠνάγκασεν αὖ προσελθεῖν τοῖς παιδικοῖς ἐπὶ τοὺς αὐτοὺς λόγους, καὶ ἐπειδὴ ἐγγὺς ἦσαν, ἐγκύψας καὶ ἐκτείνας τὴν κέρκον, ἐνδακὼν τὸν χαλινόν, μετ᾽ ἀναιδείας ἕλκει· ὁ δ᾽ [254e] ἡνίοχος ἔτι μᾶλλον ταὐτὸν πάθος παθών, ὥσπερ ἀπὸ ὕσπληγος ἀναπεσών, ἔτι μᾶλλον τοῦ ὑβριστοῦ ἵππου ἐκ τῶν ὀδόντων βίᾳ ὀπίσω σπάσας τὸν χαλινόν, τήν τε κακηγόρον γλῶτταν καὶ τὰς γνάθους καθῄμαξεν καὶ τὰ σκέλη τε καὶ τὰ ἰσχία πρὸς τὴν γῆν ἐρείσας ὀδύναις ἔδωκεν. ὅταν δὲ ταὐτὸν πολλάκις πάσχων ὁ πονηρὸς τῆς ὕβρεως λήξῃ, ταπεινωθεὶς ἕπεται ἤδη τῇ τοῦ ἡνιόχου προνοίᾳ, καὶ ὅταν ἴδῃ τὸν καλόν, φόβῳ διόλλυται· ὥστε συμβαίνει τότ᾽ ἤδη τὴν τοῦ ἐραστοῦ ψυχὴν τοῖς παιδικοῖς αἰδουμένην τε καὶ δεδιυῖαν [255a] ἕπεσθαι. ἅτε οὖν πᾶσαν θεραπείαν ὡς ἰσόθεος θεραπευόμενος οὐχ ὑπὸ σχηματιζομένου τοῦ ἐρῶντος ἀλλ᾽ ἀληθῶς τοῦτο πεπονθότος, καὶ αὐτὸς ὢν φύσει φίλος τῷ θεραπεύοντι, ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν ὑπὸ συμφοιτητῶν ἤ τινων ἄλλων διαβεβλημένος ᾖ, λεγόντων ὡς αἰσχρὸν ἐρῶντι πλησιάζειν, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ἀπωθῇ τὸν ἐρῶντα, προϊόντος δὲ ἤδη τοῦ χρόνου ἥ τε ἡλικία καὶ τὸ χρεὼν ἤγαγεν εἰς [255b] τὸ προσέσθαι αὐτὸν εἰς ὁμιλίαν· οὐ γὰρ δήποτε εἵμαρται κακὸν κακῷ φίλον οὐδ᾽ ἀγαθὸν μὴ φίλον ἀγαθῷ εἶναι. προσεμένου δὲ καὶ λόγον καὶ ὁμιλίαν δεξαμένου, ἐγγύθεν ἡ εὔνοια γιγνομένη τοῦ ἐρῶντος ἐκπλήττει τὸν ἐρώμενον διαισθανόμενον ὅτι οὐδ᾽ οἱ σύμπαντες ἄλλοι φίλοι τε καὶ οἰκεῖοι μοῖραν φιλίας οὐδεμίαν παρέχονται πρὸς τὸν ἔνθεον φίλον. ὅταν δὲ χρονίζῃ τοῦτο δρῶν καὶ πλησιάζῃ μετὰ τοῦ ἅπτεσθαι ἔν τε γυμνασίοις καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις ὁμιλίαις, [255c] τότ᾽ ἤδη ἡ τοῦ ῥεύματος ἐκείνου πηγή, ὃν ἵμερον Ζεὺς Γανυμήδους ἐρῶν ὠνόμασε, πολλὴ φερομένη πρὸς τὸν ἐραστήν, ἡ μὲν εἰς αὐτὸν ἔδυ, ἡ δ᾽ ἀπομεστουμένου ἔξω ἀποῤῥεῖ· καὶ οἷον πνεῦμα ἤ τις ἠχὼ ἀπὸ λείων τε καὶ στερεῶν ἁλλομένη πάλιν ὅθεν ὡρμήθη φέρεται, οὕτω τὸ τοῦ κάλλους ῥεῦμα πάλιν εἰς τὸν καλὸν διὰ τῶν ὀμμάτων ἰόν, ᾗ πέφυκεν ἐπὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἰέναι ἀφικόμενον καὶ ἀναπτερῶσαν, [255d] τὰς διόδους τῶν πτερῶν ἄρδει τε καὶ ὥρμησε πτεροφυεῖν τε καὶ τὴν τοῦ ἐρωμένου αὖ ψυχὴν ἔρωτος ἐνέπλησεν. ἐρᾷ μὲν οὖν, ὅτου δὲ ἀπορεῖ· καὶ οὔθ᾽ ὅτι πέπονθεν οἶδεν οὐδ᾽ ἔχει φράσαι, ἀλλ᾽ οἷον ἀπ᾽ ἄλλου ὀφθαλμίας ἀπολελαυκὼς πρόφασιν εἰπεῖν οὐκ ἔχει, ὥσπερ δὲ ἐν κατόπτρῳ ἐν τῷ ἐρῶντι ἑαυτὸν ὁρῶν λέληθεν. καὶ ὅταν μὲν ἐκεῖνος παρῇ, λήγει κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐκείνῳ τῆς ὀδύνης, ὅταν δὲ ἀπῇ, κατὰ ταὐτὰ αὖ ποθεῖ καὶ ποθεῖται, εἴδωλον [255e] ἔρωτος ἀντέρωτα ἔχων· καλεῖ δὲ αὐτὸν καὶ οἴεται οὐκ ἔρωτα ἀλλὰ φιλίαν εἶναι. ἐπιθυμεῖ δὲ ἐκείνῳ παραπλησίως μέν, ἀσθενεστέρως δέ, ὁρᾶν, ἅπτεσθαι, φιλεῖν, συγκατακεῖσθαι· καὶ δή, οἷον εἰκός, ποιεῖ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ταχὺ ταῦτα. ἐν οὖν τῇ συγκοιμήσει τοῦ μὲν ἐραστοῦ ὁ ἀκόλαστος ἵππος ἔχει ὅτι λέγῃ πρὸς τὸν ἡνίοχον, καὶ ἀξιοῖ ἀντὶ πολλῶν πόνων [256a] σμικρὰ ἀπολαῦσαι· ὁ δὲ τῶν παιδικῶν ἔχει μὲν οὐδὲν εἰπεῖν, σπαργῶν δὲ καὶ ἀπορῶν περιβάλλει τὸν ἐραστὴν καὶ φιλεῖ, ὡς σφόδρ᾽ εὔνουν ἀσπαζόμενος, ὅταν τε συγκατακέωνται, οἷός ἐστι μὴ ἂν ἀπαρνηθῆναι τὸ αὑτοῦ μέρος χαρίσασθαι τῷ ἐρῶντι, εἰ δεηθείη τυχεῖν· ὁ δὲ ὁμόζυξ αὖ μετὰ τοῦ ἡνιόχου πρὸς ταῦτα μετ᾽ αἰδοῦς καὶ λόγου ἀντιτείνει. ἐὰν μὲν δὴ οὖν εἰς τεταγμένην τε δίαιταν καὶ φιλοσοφίαν νικήσῃ τὰ βελτίω τῆς διανοίας ἀγαγόντα, μακάριον μὲν [256b] καὶ ὁμονοητικὸν τὸν ἐνθάδε βίον διάγουσιν, ἐγκρατεῖς αὑτῶν καὶ κόσμιοι ὄντες, δουλωσάμενοι μὲν ᾧ κακία ψυχῆς ἐνεγίγνετο, ἐλευθερώσαντες δὲ ᾧ ἀρετή· τελευτήσαντες δὲ δὴ ὑπόπτεροι καὶ ἐλαφροὶ γεγονότες τῶν τριῶν παλαισμάτων τῶν ὡς ἀληθῶς Ὀλυμπιακῶν ἓν νενικήκασιν, οὗ μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν οὔτε σωφροσύνη ἀνθρωπίνη οὔτε θεία μανία δυνατὴ πορίσαι ἀνθρώπῳ. ἐὰν δὲ δὴ διαίτῃ φορτικωτέρᾳ τε καὶ [256c] ἀφιλοσόφῳ, φιλοτίμῳ δὲ χρήσωνται, τάχ᾽ ἄν που ἐν μέθαις ἤ τινι ἄλλῃ ἀμελείᾳ τὼ ἀκολάστω αὐτοῖν ὑποζυγίω λαβόντε τὰς ψυχὰς ἀφρούρους, συναγαγόντε εἰς ταὐτόν, τὴν ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν μακαριστὴν αἵρεσιν εἱλέσθην τε καὶ διεπραξάσθην· καὶ διαπραξαμένω τὸ λοιπὸν ἤδη χρῶνται μὲν αὐτῇ, σπανίᾳ δέ, ἅτε οὐ πάσῃ δεδογμένα τῇ διανοίᾳ πράττοντες. φίλω μὲν οὖν καὶ τούτω, ἧττον δὲ ἐκείνων, ἀλλήλοιν [256d] διά τε τοῦ ἔρωτος καὶ ἔξω γενομένω διάγουσι, πίστεις τὰς μεγίστας ἡγουμένω ἀλλήλοιν δεδωκέναι τε καὶ δεδέχθαι, ἃς οὐ θεμιτὸν εἶναι λύσαντας εἰς ἔχθραν ποτὲ ἐλθεῖν. ἐν δὲ τῇ τελευτῇ ἄπτεροι μέν, ὡρμηκότες δὲ πτεροῦσθαι ἐκβαίνουσι τοῦ σώματος, ὥστε οὐ σμικρὸν ἆθλον τῆς ἐρωτικῆς μανίας φέρονται· εἰς γὰρ σκότον καὶ τὴν ὑπὸ γῆς πορείαν οὐ νόμος ἐστὶν ἔτι ἐλθεῖν τοῖς κατηργμένοις ἤδη τῆς ὑπουρανίου πορείας, ἀλλὰ φανὸν βίον διάγοντας εὐδαιμονεῖν [256e] μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων πορευομένους, καὶ ὁμοπτέρους ἔρωτος χάριν, ὅταν γένωνται, γενέσθαι.
ταῦτα τοσαῦτα, ὦ παῖ, καὶ θεῖα οὕτω σοι δωρήσεται ἡ παρ᾽ ἐραστοῦ φιλία· ἡ δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ μὴ ἐρῶντος οἰκειότης, σωφροσύνῃ θνητῇ κεκραμένη, θνητά τε καὶ φειδωλὰ οἰκονομοῦσα, ἀνελευθερίαν ὑπὸ πλήθους ἐπαινουμένην ὡς ἀρετὴν [257a] τῇ φίλῃ ψυχῇ ἐντεκοῦσα, ἐννέα χιλιάδας ἐτῶν περὶ γῆν κυλινδουμένην αὐτὴν καὶ ὑπὸ γῆς ἄνουν παρέξει.
αὕτη σοι, ὦ φίλε Ἔρως, εἰς ἡμετέραν δύναμιν ὅτι καλλίστη καὶ ἀρίστη δέδοταί τε καὶ ἐκτέτεισται παλινῳδία, τά τε ἄλλα καὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν ἠναγκασμένη ποιητικοῖς τισιν διὰ Φαῖδρον εἰρῆσθαι. ἀλλὰ τῶν προτέρων τε συγγνώμην καὶ τῶνδε χάριν ἔχων, εὐμενὴς καὶ ἵλεως τὴν ἐρωτικήν μοι τέχνην ἣν ἔδωκας μήτε ἀφέλῃ μήτε πηρώσῃς δι᾽ ὀργήν, δίδου τ᾽ ἔτι μᾶλλον ἢ νῦν παρὰ τοῖς καλοῖς τίμιον εἶναι.
[257b] ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν δ᾽ εἴ τι λόγῳ σοι ἀπηχὲς εἴπομεν Φαῖδρός τε καὶ ἐγώ, Λυσίαν τὸν τοῦ λόγου πατέρα αἰτιώμενος παῦε τῶν τοιούτων λόγων, ἐπὶ φιλοσοφίαν δέ, ὥσπερ ἁδελφὸς αὐτοῦ Πολέμαρχος τέτραπται, τρέψον, ἵνα καὶ ὁ ἐραστὴς ὅδε αὐτοῦ μηκέτι ἐπαμφοτερίζῃ καθάπερ νῦν, ἀλλ᾽ ἁπλῶς πρὸς ἔρωτα μετὰ φιλοσόφων λόγων τὸν βίον ποιῆται.
Φαῖδρος
συνεύχομαί σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἴπερ ἄμεινον ταῦθ᾽ [257c] ἡμῖν εἶναι, ταῦτα γίγνεσθαι. τὸν λόγον δέ σου πάλαι θαυμάσας ἔχω, ὅσῳ καλλίω τοῦ προτέρου ἀπηργάσω· ὥστε ὀκνῶ μή μοι ὁ Λυσίας ταπεινὸς φανῇ, ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ ἐθελήσῃ πρὸς αὐτὸν ἄλλον ἀντιπαρατεῖναι. καὶ γάρ τις αὐτόν, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ἔναγχος τῶν πολιτικῶν τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ λοιδορῶν ὠνείδιζε, καὶ διὰ πάσης τῆς λοιδορίας ἐκάλει λογογράφον· τάχ᾽ οὖν ἂν ὑπὸ φιλοτιμίας ἐπίσχοι ἡμῖν ἂν τοῦ γράφειν.
Σωκράτης
γελοῖόν γ᾽, ὦ νεανία, τὸ δόγμα λέγεις, καὶ τοῦ [257d] ἑταίρου συχνὸν διαμαρτάνεις, εἰ αὐτὸν οὕτως ἡγῇ τινα ψοφοδεᾶ. ἴσως δὲ καὶ τὸν λοιδορούμενον αὐτῷ οἴει ὀνειδίζοντα λέγειν ἃ ἔλεγεν.
Φαῖδρος
ἐφαίνετο γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες· καὶ σύνοισθά που καὶ αὐτὸς ὅτι οἱ μέγιστον δυνάμενοί τε καὶ σεμνότατοι ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν αἰσχύνονται λόγους τε γράφειν καὶ καταλείπειν συγγράμματα ἑαυτῶν, δόξαν φοβούμενοι τοῦ ἔπειτα χρόνου, μὴ σοφισταὶ καλῶνται.
Σωκράτης
γλυκὺς ἀγκών, ὦ Φαῖδρε, λέληθέν σε ὅτι ἀπὸ τοῦ [257e] μακροῦ ἀγκῶνος τοῦ κατὰ Νεῖλον ἐκλήθη· καὶ πρὸς τῷ ἀγκῶνι λανθάνει σε ὅτι οἱ μέγιστον φρονοῦντες τῶν πολιτικῶν μάλιστα ἐρῶσι λογογραφίας τε καὶ καταλείψεως συγγραμμάτων, οἵ γε καὶ ἐπειδάν τινα γράφωσι λόγον, οὕτως ἀγαπῶσι τοὺς ἐπαινέτας, ὥστε προσπαραγράφουσι πρώτους οἳ ἂν ἑκασταχοῦ ἐπαινῶσιν αὐτούς.
Φαῖδρος
πῶς λέγεις τοῦτο; οὐ γὰρ μανθάνω.
[258a] Σωκράτης
οὐ μανθάνεις ὅτι ἐν ἀρχῇ ἀνδρὸς πολιτικοῦ [συγγράμματι] πρῶτος ὁ ἐπαινέτης γέγραπται.
Φαῖδρος
πῶς;
Σωκράτης
“ ἔδοξέ” πού φησιν “τῇ βουλῇ” ἢ “τῷ δήμῳ” ἢ ἀμφοτέροις, καὶ “ὃς <καὶ ὃς> εἶπεν” — τὸν αὑτὸν δὴ λέγων μάλα σεμνῶς καὶ ἐγκωμιάζων ὁ συγγραφεύς — ἔπειτα λέγει δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο, ἐπιδεικνύμενος τοῖς ἐπαινέταις τὴν ἑαυτοῦ σοφίαν, ἐνίοτε πάνυ μακρὸν ποιησάμενος σύγγραμμα· ἤ σοι ἄλλο τι φαίνεται τὸ τοιοῦτον ἢ λόγος συγγεγραμμένος;
[258b] Φαῖδρος
οὐκ ἔμοιγε.
Σωκράτης
οὐκοῦν ἐὰν μὲν οὗτος ἐμμένῃ, γεγηθὼς ἀπέρχεται ἐκ τοῦ θεάτρου ὁ ποιητής· ἐὰν δὲ ἐξαλειφθῇ καὶ ἄμοιρος γένηται λογογραφίας τε καὶ τοῦ ἄξιος εἶναι συγγράφειν, πενθεῖ αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ ἑταῖροι.
Φαῖδρος
καὶ μάλα.
Σωκράτης
δῆλόν γε ὅτι οὐχ ὡς ὑπερφρονοῦντες τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς τεθαυμακότες.
Φαῖδρος
πάνυ μὲν οὖν.
Σωκράτης
τί δέ; ὅταν ἱκανὸς γένηται ῥήτωρ ἢ βασιλεύς, ὥστε [258c] λαβὼν τὴν Λυκούργου ἢ Σόλωνος ἢ Δαρείου δύναμιν ἀθάνατος γενέσθαι λογογράφος ἐν πόλει, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἰσόθεον ἡγεῖται αὐτός τε αὑτὸν ἔτι ζῶν, καὶ οἱ ἔπειτα γιγνόμενοι ταὐτὰ ταῦτα περὶ αὐτοῦ νομίζουσι, θεώμενοι αὐτοῦ τὰ συγγράμματα;
Φαῖδρος
καὶ μάλα.
Σωκράτης
οἴει τινὰ οὖν τῶν τοιούτων, ὅστις καὶ ὁπωστιοῦν δύσνους Λυσίᾳ, ὀνειδίζειν αὐτὸ τοῦτο ὅτι συγγράφει;
Φαῖδρος
οὔκουν εἰκός γε ἐξ ὧν σὺ λέγεις· καὶ γὰρ ἂν τῇ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιθυμίᾳ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὀνειδίζοι.
[258d] Σωκράτης
τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα παντὶ δῆλον, ὅτι οὐκ αἰσχρὸν αὐτό γε τὸ γράφειν λόγους.
Φαῖδρος
τί γάρ;
Σωκράτης
ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνο οἶμαι αἰσχρὸν ἤδη, τὸ μὴ καλῶς λέγειν τε καὶ γράφειν ἀλλ᾽ αἰσχρῶς τε καὶ κακῶς.
Φαῖδρος
δῆλον δή.
Σωκράτης
τίς οὖν ὁ τρόπος τοῦ καλῶς τε καὶ μὴ γράφειν; δεόμεθά τι, ὦ Φαῖδρε, Λυσίαν τε περὶ τούτων ἐξετάσαι καὶ ἄλλον ὅστις πώποτέ τι γέγραφεν ἢ γράψει, εἴτε πολιτικὸν σύγγραμμα εἴτε ἰδιωτικόν, ἐν μέτρῳ ὡς ποιητὴς ἢ ἄνευ μέτρου ὡς ἰδιώτης.

PARMENIDES

Κέφαλος.

[126a] Κέφαλος: ἐπειδὴ Ἀθήναζε οἴκοθεν ἐκ Κλαζομενῶν ἀφικόμεθα, κατ᾽ ἀγορὰν ἐνετύχομεν Ἀδειμάντῳ τε καὶ Γλαύκωνι: καί μου λαβόμενος τῆς χειρὸς ὁ Ἀδείμαντος, Χαῖρ᾽, ἔφη, ὦ Κέφαλε, καὶ εἴ του δέῃ τῶν τῇδε ὧν ἡμεῖς δυνατοί, φράζε.

ἀλλὰ μὲν δή, εἶπον ἐγώ, πάρειμί γε ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο, δεησόμενος ὑμῶν.

λέγοις ἄν, ἔφη, τὴν δέησιν. [126b]

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον: τῷ ἀδελφῷ ὑμῶν τῷ ὁμομητρίῳ τί ἦν ὄνομα; οὐ γὰρ μέμνημαι. παῖς δέ που ἦν, ὅτε τὸ πρότερον ἐπεδήμησα δεῦρο ἐκ Κλαζομενῶν: πολὺς δὲ ἤδη χρόνος ἐξ ἐκείνου. τῷ μὲν γὰρ πατρί, δοκῶ, Πυριλάμπης ὄνομα.

πάνυ γε, ἔφη.

αὐτῷ δέ γε;

Ἀντιφῶν. ἀλλὰ τί μάλιστα πυνθάνῃ;

οἵδε, εἶπον ἐγώ, πολῖταί τ᾽ ἐμοί εἰσι, μάλα φιλόσοφοι, ἀκηκόασί τε ὅτι οὗτος ὁ Ἀντιφῶν Πυθοδώρῳ τινὶ Ζήνωνος [126c] ἑταίρῳ πολλὰ ἐντετύχηκε, καὶ τοὺς λόγους, οὕς ποτε Σωκράτης καὶ Ζήνων καὶ Παρμενίδης διελέχθησαν, πολλάκις ἀκούσας τοῦ Πυθοδώρου ἀπομνημονεύει.

ἀληθῆ, ἔφη, λέγεις.

τούτων τοίνυν, εἶπον, δεόμεθα διακοῦσαι.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐ χαλεπόν, ἔφη: μειράκιον γὰρ ὢν αὐτοὺς εὖ μάλα διεμελέτησεν, ἐπεὶ νῦν γε κατὰ τὸν πάππον τε καὶ ὁμώνυμον πρὸς ἱππικῇ τὰ πολλὰ διατρίβει. ἀλλ᾽ εἰ δεῖ, ἴωμεν παρ᾽ αὐτόν: ἄρτι γὰρ ἐνθένδε οἴκαδε οἴχεται, οἰκεῖ δὲ ἐγγὺς ἐν Μελίτῃ. [127a]

ταῦτα εἰπόντες ἐβαδίζομεν, καὶ κατελάβομεν τὸν Ἀντιφῶντα οἴκοι, χαλινόν τινα χαλκεῖ ἐκδιδόντα σκευάσαι: ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐκείνου ἀπηλλάγη οἵ τε ἀδελφοὶ ἔλεγον αὐτῷ ὧν ἕνεκα παρεῖμεν, ἀνεγνώρισέν τέ με ἐκ τῆς προτέρας ἐπιδημίας καί με ἠσπάζετο, καὶ δεομένων ἡμῶν διελθεῖν τοὺς λόγους, τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ὤκνει πολὺ γὰρ ἔφη ἔργον εἶναι ἔπειτα μέντοι διηγεῖτο. ἔφη δὲ δὴ ὁ Ἀντιφῶν λέγειν τὸν Πυθόδωρον ὅτι ἀφίκοιντό ποτε εἰς Παναθήναια τὰ μεγάλα [127b]Ζήνων τε καὶ Παρμενίδης. τὸν μὲν οὖν Παρμενίδην εὖ μάλα ἤδη πρεσβύτην εἶναι, σφόδρα πολιόν, καλὸν δὲ κἀγαθὸν τὴν ὄψιν, περὶ ἔτη μάλιστα πέντε καὶ ἑξήκοντα: Ζήνωνα δὲ ἐγγὺς τῶν τετταράκοντα τότε εἶναι, εὐμήκη δὲ καὶ χαρίεντα ἰδεῖν, καὶ λέγεσθαι αὐτὸν παιδικὰ τοῦ Παρμενίδου γεγονέναι. καταλύειν δὲ αὐτοὺς ἔφη παρὰ τῷ [127c] Πυθοδώρῳ ἐκτὸς τείχους ἐν Κεραμεικῷ: οἷ δὴ καὶ ἀφικέσθαι τόν τε Σωκράτη καὶ ἄλλους τινὰς μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ πολλούς, ἐπιθυμοῦντας ἀκοῦσαι τῶν τοῦ Ζήνωνος γραμμάτων τότε γὰρ αὐτὰ πρῶτον ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνων κομισθῆναι Σωκράτη δὲ εἶναι τότε σφόδρα νέον. ἀναγιγνώσκειν οὖν αὐτοῖς τὸν Ζήνωνα αὐτόν, τὸν δὲ Παρμενίδην τυχεῖν ἔξω ὄντα: καὶ εἶναι πάνυ βραχὺ ἔτι λοιπὸν τῶν λόγων ἀναγιγνωσκομένων, ἡνίκα [127d]αὐτός τε ἐπεισελθεῖν ἔφη ὁ Πυθόδωρος ἔξωθεν καὶ τὸν Παρμενίδην μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ Ἀριστοτέλη τὸν τῶν τριάκοντα γενόμενον, καὶ σμίκρ᾽ ἄττα ἔτι ἐπακοῦσαι τῶν γραμμάτων: οὐ μὴν αὐτός γε, ἀλλὰ καὶ πρότερον ἀκηκοέναι τοῦ Ζήνωνος.

τὸν οὖν Σωκράτη ἀκούσαντα πάλιν τε κελεῦσαι τὴν πρώτην ὑπόθεσιν τοῦ πρώτου λόγου ἀναγνῶναι, καὶ ἀναγνωσθείσης, [127e]πῶς, φάναι, ὦ Ζήνων, τοῦτο λέγεις; εἰ πολλά ἐστι τὰ ὄντα, ὡς ἄρα δεῖ αὐτὰ ὅμοιά τε εἶναι καὶ ἀνόμοια, τοῦτο δὲ δὴ ἀδύνατον: οὔτε γὰρ τὰ ἀνόμοια ὅμοια οὔτε τὰ ὅμοια ἀνόμοια οἷόν τε εἶναι; οὐχ οὕτω λέγεις;

οὕτω, φάναι τὸν Ζήνωνα.

οὐκοῦν εἰ ἀδύνατον τά τε ἀνόμοια ὅμοια εἶναι καὶ τὰ ὅμοια ἀνόμοια, ἀδύνατον δὴ καὶ πολλὰ εἶναι; εἰ γὰρ πολλὰ εἴη, πάσχοι ἂν τὰ ἀδύνατα. ἆρα τοῦτό ἐστιν ὃ βούλονταί σου οἱ λόγοι, οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ διαμάχεσθαι παρὰ πάντα τὰ λεγόμενα ὡς οὐ πολλά ἐστι; καὶ τούτου αὐτοῦ οἴει σοι τεκμήριον εἶναι ἕκαστον τῶν λόγων, ὥστε καὶ ἡγῇ τοσαῦτα τεκμήρια παρέχεσθαι, ὅσουσπερ λόγους γέγραφας, ὡς οὐκ [128a]ἔστι πολλά; οὕτω λέγεις, ἢ ἐγὼ οὐκ ὀρθῶς καταμανθάνω;

οὔκ, ἀλλά, φάναι τὸν Ζήνωνα, καλῶς συνῆκας ὅλον τὸ γράμμα ὃ βούλεται.

μανθάνω, εἰπεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, ὦ Παρμενίδη, ὅτι Ζήνων ὅδε οὐ μόνον τῇ ἄλλῃ σου φιλίᾳ βούλεται ᾠκειῶσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῷ συγγράμματι. ταὐτὸν γὰρ γέγραφε τρόπον τινὰ ὅπερ σύ, μεταβάλλων δὲ ἡμᾶς πειρᾶται ἐξαπατᾶν ὡς ἕτερόν τι λέγων. σὺ μὲν γὰρ ἐν τοῖς ποιήμασιν ἓν φῂς εἶναι τὸ [128b]πᾶν, καὶ τούτων τεκμήρια παρέχῃ καλῶς τε καὶ εὖ: ὅδε δὲ αὖ οὐ πολλά φησιν εἶναι, τεκμήρια δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς πάμπολλα καὶ παμμεγέθη παρέχεται. τὸ οὖν τὸν μὲν ἓν φάναι, τὸν δὲ μὴ πολλά, καὶ οὕτως ἑκάτερον λέγειν ὥστε μηδὲν τῶν αὐτῶν εἰρηκέναι δοκεῖν σχεδόν τι λέγοντας ταὐτά, ὑπὲρ ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἄλλους φαίνεται ὑμῖν τὰ εἰρημένα εἰρῆσθαι.

ναί, φάναι τὸν Ζήνωνα, ὦ Σώκρατες. σὺ δ᾽ οὖν τὴν ἀλήθειαν τοῦ γράμματος οὐ πανταχοῦ ᾔσθησαι. καίτοι [128c] ὥσπερ γε αἱ Λάκαιναι σκύλακες εὖ μεταθεῖς τε καὶ ἰχνεύεις τὰ λεχθέντα: ἀλλὰ πρῶτον μέν σε τοῦτο λανθάνει, ὅτι οὐ παντάπασιν οὕτω σεμνύνεται τὸ γράμμα, ὥστε ἅπερ σὺ λέγεις διανοηθὲν γραφῆναι, τοὺς ἀνθρώπους δὲ ἐπικρυπτόμενον ὥς τι μέγα διαπραττόμενον: ἀλλὰ σὺ μὲν εἶπες τῶν συμβεβηκότων τι, ἔστι δὲ τό γε ἀληθὲς βοήθειά τις ταῦτα [τὰ γράμματa}}τῷ Παρμενίδου λόγῳ πρὸς τοὺς ἐπιχειροῦντας [128d]αὐτὸν κωμῳδεῖν ὡς εἰ ἕν ἐστι, πολλὰ καὶ γελοῖα συμβαίνει πάσχειν τῷ λόγῳ καὶ ἐναντία αὑτῷ. ἀντιλέγει δὴ οὖν τοῦτο τὸ γράμμα πρὸς τοὺς τὰ πολλὰ λέγοντας, καὶ ἀνταποδίδωσι ταὐτὰ καὶ πλείω, τοῦτο βουλόμενον δηλοῦν, ὡς ἔτι γελοιότερα πάσχοι ἂν αὐτῶν ἡ ὑπόθεσις, εἰ πολλά ἐστιν, ἢ ἡ τοῦ ἓν εἶναι, εἴ τις ἱκανῶς ἐπεξίοι. διὰ τοιαύτην δὴ φιλονικίαν ὑπὸ νέου ὄντος ἐμοῦ ἐγράφη, καί τις αὐτὸ ἔκλεψε γραφέν, ὥστε οὐδὲ βουλεύσασθαι ἐξεγένετο εἴτ᾽ [128e]ἐξοιστέον αὐτὸ εἰς τὸ φῶς εἴτε μή. ταύτῃ οὖν σε λανθάνει, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι οὐχ ὑπὸ νέου φιλονικίας οἴει αὐτὸ γεγράφθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ πρεσβυτέρου φιλοτιμίας: ἐπεί, ὅπερ γ᾽ εἶπον, οὐ κακῶς ἀπῄκασας.

ἀλλ᾽ ἀποδέχομαι, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, καὶ ἡγοῦμαι ὡς λέγεις ἔχειν. τόδε δέ μοι εἰπέ: οὐ νομίζεις εἶναι αὐτὸ καθ᾽ [129a]αὑτὸ εἶδός τι ὁμοιότητος, καὶ τῷ τοιούτῳ αὖ ἄλλο τι ἐναντίον, ὃ ἔστιν ἀνόμοιον: τούτοιν δὲ δυοῖν ὄντοιν καὶ ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ καὶ τἆλλα ἃ δὴ πολλὰ καλοῦμεν μεταλαμβάνειν; καὶ τὰ μὲν τῆς ὁμοιότητος μεταλαμβάνοντα ὅμοια γίγνεσθαι ταύτῃ τε καὶ κατὰ τοσοῦτον ὅσον ἂν μεταλαμβάνῃ, τὰ δὲ τῆς ἀνομοιότητος ἀνόμοια, τὰ δὲ ἀμφοτέρων ἀμφότερα; εἰ δὲ καὶ πάντα ἐναντίων ὄντων ἀμφοτέρων μεταλαμβάνει, καὶ ἔστι τῷ μετέχειν ἀμφοῖν ὅμοιά τε καὶ ἀνόμοια αὐτὰ [129b]αὑτοῖς, τί θαυμαστόν; εἰ μὲν γὰρ αὐτὰ τὰ ὅμοιά τις ἀπέφαινεν ἀνόμοια γιγνόμενα ἢ τὰ ἀνόμοια ὅμοια, τέρας ἂν οἶμαι ἦν: εἰ δὲ τὰ τούτων μετέχοντα ἀμφοτέρων ἀμφότερα ἀποφαίνει πεπονθότα, οὐδὲν ἔμοιγε, ὦ Ζήνων, ἄτοπον δοκεῖ, οὐδέ γε εἰ ἓν ἅπαντα ἀποφαίνει τις τῷ μετέχειν τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα πολλὰ τῷ πλήθους αὖ μετέχειν. ἀλλ᾽ εἰ ὃ ἔστιν ἕν, αὐτὸ τοῦτο πολλὰ ἀποδείξει καὶ αὖ τὰ πολλὰ δὴ [129c] ἕν, τοῦτο ἤδη θαυμάσομαι. καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων ὡσαύτως: εἰ μὲν αὐτὰ τὰ γένη τε καὶ εἴδη ἐν αὑτοῖς ἀποφαίνοι τἀναντία ταῦτα πάθη πάσχοντα, ἄξιον θαυμάζειν: εἰ δ᾽ ἐμὲ ἕν τις ἀποδείξει ὄντα καὶ πολλά, τί θαυμαστόν, λέγων, ὅταν μὲν βούληται πολλὰ ἀποφῆναι, ὡς ἕτερα μὲν τὰ ἐπὶ δεξιά μού ἐστιν, ἕτερα δὲ τὰ ἐπ᾽ ἀριστερά, καὶ ἕτερα μὲν τὰ πρόσθεν, ἕτερα δὲ τὰ ὄπισθεν, καὶ ἄνω καὶ κάτω ὡσαύτως πλήθους γὰρ οἶμαι μετέχω ὅταν δὲ ἕν, ἐρεῖ ὡς [129d]ἑπτὰ ἡμῶν ὄντων εἷς ἐγώ εἰμι ἄνθρωπος μετέχων καὶ τοῦ ἑνός: ὥστε ἀληθῆ ἀποφαίνει ἀμφότερα. ἐὰν οὖν τις τοιαῦτα ἐπιχειρῇ πολλὰ καὶ ἓν ταὐτὸν ἀποφαίνειν, λίθους καὶ ξύλα καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, τὶ φήσομεν αὐτὸν πολλὰ καὶ ἓν ἀποδεικνύναι, οὐ τὸ ἓν πολλὰ οὐδὲ τὰ πολλὰ ἕν, οὐδέ τι θαυμαστὸν λέγειν, ἀλλ᾽ ἅπερ ἂν πάντες ὁμολογοῖμεν: ἐὰν δέ τις ὧν νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον πρῶτον μὲν διαιρῆται χωρὶς αὐτὰ καθ᾽ αὑτὰ τὰ εἴδη, οἷον ὁμοιότητά τε καὶ ἀνομοιότητα καὶ πλῆθος [129e]καὶ τὸ ἓν καὶ στάσιν καὶ κίνησιν καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα, εἶτα ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ταῦτα δυνάμενα συγκεράννυσθαι καὶ διακρίνεσθαι ἀποφαίνῃ, ἀγαίμην ἂν ἔγωγ᾽, ἔφη, θαυμαστῶς, ὦ Ζήνων. ταῦτα δὲ ἀνδρείως μὲν πάνυ ἡγοῦμαι πεπραγματεῦσθαι: πολὺ μεντἂν ὧδε μᾶλλον, ὡς λέγω, ἀγασθείην εἴ τις ἔχοι τὴν αὐτὴν ταύτην ἀπορίαν ἐν αὐτοῖς τοῖς εἴδεσι [130a]παντοδαπῶς πλεκομένην, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς ὁρωμένοις διήλθετε, οὕτως καὶ ἐν τοῖς λογισμῷ λαμβανομένοις ἐπιδεῖξαι.

λέγοντος δή, ἔφη ὁ Πυθόδωρος, τοῦ Σωκράτους ταῦτα αὐτὸς μὲν <ἂν> οἴεσθαι ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστου ἄχθεσθαι τόν τε Παρμενίδην καὶ τὸν Ζήνωνα, τοὺς δὲ πάνυ τε αὐτῷ προσέχειν τὸν νοῦν καὶ θαμὰ εἰς ἀλλήλους βλέποντας μειδιᾶν ὡς ἀγαμένους τὸν Σωκράτη. ὅπερ οὖν καὶ παυσαμένου αὐτοῦ εἰπεῖν τὸν Παρμενίδην: ὦ Σώκρατες, φάναι, ὡς ἄξιος εἶ [130b]ἄγασθαι τῆς ὁρμῆς τῆς ἐπὶ τοὺς λόγους. καί μοι εἰπέ, αὐτὸς σὺ οὕτω διῄρησαι ὡς λέγεις, χωρὶς μὲν εἴδη αὐτὰ ἄττα, χωρὶς δὲ τὰ τούτων αὖ μετέχοντα; καί τί σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι αὐτὴ ὁμοιότης χωρὶς ἧς ἡμεῖς ὁμοιότητος ἔχομεν, καὶ ἓν δὴ καὶ πολλὰ καὶ πάντα ὅσα νυνδὴ Ζήνωνος ἤκουες;

ἔμοιγε, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη.

ἦ καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, εἰπεῖν τὸν Παρμενίδην, οἷον δικαίου τι εἶδος αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ καὶ καλοῦ καὶ ἀγαθοῦ καὶ πάντων αὖ τῶν τοιούτων;

ναί, φάναι. [130c]

τί δ᾽, ἀνθρώπου εἶδος χωρὶς ἡμῶν καὶ τῶν οἷοι ἡμεῖς ἐσμεν πάντων, αὐτό τι εἶδος ἀνθρώπου ἢ πυρὸς ἢ καὶ ὕδατος;

ἐν ἀπορίᾳ, φάναι, πολλάκις δή, ὦ Παρμενίδη, περὶ αὐτῶν γέγονα, πότερα χρὴ φάναι ὥσπερ περὶ ἐκείνων ἢ ἄλλως.

ἦ καὶ περὶ τῶνδε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἃ καὶ γελοῖα δόξειεν ἂν εἶναι, οἷον θρὶξ καὶ πηλὸς καὶ ῥύπος ἢ ἄλλο τι ἀτιμότατόν τε καὶ φαυλότατον, ἀπορεῖς εἴτε χρὴ φάναι καὶ τούτων [130d]ἑκάστου εἶδος εἶναι χωρίς, ὂν ἄλλο αὖ ἢ ὧν <τι> ἡμεῖς μεταχειριζόμεθα, εἴτε καὶ μή;

οὐδαμῶς, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μέν γε ἅπερ ὁρῶμεν, ταῦτα καὶ εἶναι: εἶδος δέ τι αὐτῶν οἰηθῆναι εἶναι μὴ λίαν ᾖ ἄτοπον. ἤδη μέντοι ποτέ με καὶ ἔθραξε μή τι ᾖ περὶ πάντων ταὐτόν: ἔπειτα ὅταν ταύτῃ στῶ, φεύγων οἴχομαι, δείσας μή ποτε εἴς τινα βυθὸν φλυαρίας ἐμπεσὼν διαφθαρῶ: ἐκεῖσε δ᾽ οὖν ἀφικόμενος, εἰς ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν εἴδη ἔχειν, περὶ ἐκεῖνα πραγματευόμενος διατρίβω. [130e]

νέος γὰρ εἶ ἔτι, φάναι τὸν Παρμενίδην, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ οὔπω σου ἀντείληπται φιλοσοφία ὡς ἔτι ἀντιλήψεται κατ᾽ ἐμὴν δόξαν, ὅτε οὐδὲν αὐτῶν ἀτιμάσεις: νῦν δὲ ἔτι πρὸς ἀνθρώπων ἀποβλέπεις δόξας διὰ τὴν ἡλικίαν. τόδε δ᾽ οὖν μοι εἰπέ. δοκεῖ σοι, ὡς φῄς, εἶναι εἴδη ἄττα, ὧν τάδε τὰ ἄλλα μεταλαμβάνοντα τὰς ἐπωνυμίας αὐτῶν ἴσχειν, οἷον [131a]ὁμοιότητος μὲν μεταλαβόντα ὅμοια, μεγέθους δὲ μεγάλα, κάλλους δὲ καὶ δικαιοσύνης δίκαιά τε καὶ καλὰ γίγνεσθαι;

πάνυ γε, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη.

οὐκοῦν ἤτοι ὅλου τοῦ εἴδους ἢ μέρους ἕκαστον τὸ μεταλαμβάνον μεταλαμβάνει; ἢ ἄλλη τις ἂν μετάληψις χωρὶς τούτων γένοιτο;

καὶ πῶς ἄν; εἶπεν.

πότερον οὖν δοκεῖ σοι ὅλον τὸ εἶδος ἐν ἑκάστῳ εἶναι τῶν πολλῶν ἓν ὄν, ἢ πῶς;

τί γὰρ κωλύει, φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη, ὦ Παρμενίδη, [ἓν εἶναι]; [131b]

ἓν ἄρα ὂν καὶ ταὐτὸν ἐν πολλοῖς καὶ χωρὶς οὖσιν ὅλον ἅμα ἐνέσται, καὶ οὕτως αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ χωρὶς ἂν εἴη.

οὐκ ἄν, εἴ γε, φάναι, οἷον [εἰ] ἡμέρα [εἴη] μία καὶ ἡ αὐτὴ οὖσα πολλαχοῦ ἅμα ἐστὶ καὶ οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον αὐτὴ αὑτῆς χωρίς ἐστιν, εἰ οὕτω καὶ ἕκαστον τῶν εἰδῶν ἓν ἐν πᾶσιν ἅμα ταὐτὸν εἴη.

ἡδέως γε, φάναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἓν ταὐτὸν ἅμα πολλαχοῦ ποιεῖς, οἷον εἰ ἱστίῳ καταπετάσας πολλοὺς ἀνθρώπους φαίης ἓν ἐπὶ πολλοῖς εἶναι ὅλον: ἢ οὐ τὸ τοιοῦτον ἡγῇ λέγειν; [131c]

ἴσως, φάναι.

ἦ οὖν ὅλον ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστῳ τὸ ἱστίον εἴη ἄν, ἢ μέρος αὐτοῦ ἄλλο ἐπ᾽ ἄλλῳ;

μέρος.

μεριστὰ ἄρα, φάναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔστιν αὐτὰ τὰ εἴδη, καὶ τὰ μετέχοντα αὐτῶν μέρους ἂν μετέχοι, καὶ οὐκέτι ἐν ἑκάστῳ ὅλον, ἀλλὰ μέρος ἑκάστου ἂν εἴη.

φαίνεται οὕτω γε.

ἦ οὖν ἐθελήσεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, φάναι τὸ ἓν εἶδος ἡμῖν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ μερίζεσθαι, καὶ ἔτι ἓν ἔσται;

οὐδαμῶς, εἰπεῖν.

ὅρα γάρ, φάναι: εἰ αὐτὸ τὸ μέγεθος μεριεῖς καὶ ἕκαστον [131d]τῶν πολλῶν μεγάλων μεγέθους μέρει σμικροτέρῳ αὐτοῦ τοῦ μεγέθους μέγα ἔσται, ἆρα οὐκ ἄλογον φανεῖται;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

τί δέ; τοῦ ἴσου μέρος ἕκαστον σμικρὸν ἀπολαβόν τι ἕξει ᾧ ἐλάττονι ὄντι αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἴσου τὸ ἔχον ἴσον τῳ ἔσται;

ἀδύνατον.

ἀλλὰ τοῦ σμικροῦ μέρος τις ἡμῶν ἕξει, τούτου δὲ αὐτοῦ τὸ σμικρὸν μεῖζον ἔσται ἅτε μέρους ἑαυτοῦ ὄντος, καὶ οὕτω δὴ αὐτὸ τὸ σμικρὸν μεῖζον ἔσται: ᾧ δ᾽ ἂν προστεθῇ τὸ [131e]ἀφαιρεθέν, τοῦτο σμικρότερον ἔσται ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μεῖζον ἢ πρίν.

οὐκ ἂν γένοιτο, φάναι, τοῦτό γε.

τίνα οὖν τρόπον, εἰπεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῶν εἰδῶν σοι τὰ ἄλλα μεταλήψεται, μήτε κατὰ μέρη μήτε κατὰ ὅλα μεταλαμβάνειν δυνάμενα;

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, φάναι, οὔ μοι δοκεῖ εὔκολον εἶναι τὸ τοιοῦτον οὐδαμῶς διορίσασθαι.

τί δὲ δή; πρὸς τόδε πῶς ἔχεις;

τὸ ποῖον; [132a]

οἶμαί σε ἐκ τοῦ τοιοῦδε ἓν ἕκαστον εἶδος οἴεσθαι εἶναι: ὅταν πόλλ᾽ ἄττα μεγάλα σοι δόξῃ εἶναι, μία τις ἴσως δοκεῖ ἰδέα ἡ αὐτὴ εἶναι ἐπὶ πάντα ἰδόντι, ὅθεν ἓν τὸ μέγα ἡγῇ εἶναι.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις, φάναι.

τί δ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ μέγα καὶ τἆλλα τὰ μεγάλα, ἐὰν ὡσαύτως τῇ ψυχῇ ἐπὶ πάντα ἴδῃς, οὐχὶ ἕν τι αὖ μέγα φανεῖται, ᾧ ταῦτα πάντα μεγάλα φαίνεσθαι;

ἔοικεν.

ἄλλο ἄρα εἶδος μεγέθους ἀναφανήσεται, παρ᾽ αὐτό τε τὸ μέγεθος γεγονὸς καὶ τὰ μετέχοντα αὐτοῦ: καὶ ἐπὶ τούτοις αὖ [132b]πᾶσιν ἕτερον, ᾧ ταῦτα πάντα μεγάλα ἔσται: καὶ οὐκέτι δὴ ἓν ἕκαστόν σοι τῶν εἰδῶν ἔσται, ἀλλὰ ἄπειρα τὸ πλῆθος.

ἀλλά, φάναι, ὦ Παρμενίδη, τὸν Σωκράτη, μὴ τῶν εἰδῶν ἕκαστον ᾖ τούτων νόημα, καὶ οὐδαμοῦ αὐτῷ προσήκῃ ἐγγίγνεσθαι ἄλλοθι ἢ ἐν ψυχαῖς: οὕτω γὰρ ἂν ἕν γε ἕκαστον εἴη καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἔτι πάσχοι ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγετο.

τί οὖν; φάναι, ἓν ἕκαστόν ἐστι τῶν νοημάτων, νόημα δὲ οὐδενός;

ἀλλ᾽ ἀδύνατον, εἰπεῖν.

ἀλλὰ τινός;

ναί. [132c]

ὄντος ἢ οὐκ ὄντος;

ὄντος.

οὐχ ἑνός τινος, ὃ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν ἐκεῖνο τὸ νόημα ἐπὸν νοεῖ, μίαν τινὰ οὖσαν ἰδέαν;

ναί.

εἶτα οὐκ εἶδος ἔσται τοῦτο τὸ νοούμενον ἓν εἶναι, ἀεὶ ὂν τὸ αὐτὸ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν;

ἀνάγκη αὖ φαίνεται.

τί δὲ δή; εἰπεῖν τὸν Παρμενίδην, οὐκ ἀνάγκῃ ᾗ τἆλλα φῂς τῶν εἰδῶν μετέχειν ἢ δοκεῖ σοι ἐκ νοημάτων ἕκαστον εἶναι καὶ πάντα νοεῖν, ἢ νοήματα ὄντα ἀνόητα εἶναι; ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ τοῦτο, φάναι, ἔχει λόγον, ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Παρμενίδη, [132d]μάλιστα ἔμοιγε καταφαίνεται ὧδε ἔχειν: τὰ μὲν εἴδη ταῦτα ὥσπερ παραδείγματα ἑστάναι ἐν τῇ φύσει, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα τούτοις ἐοικέναι καὶ εἶναι ὁμοιώματα, καὶ ἡ μέθεξις αὕτη τοῖς ἄλλοις γίγνεσθαι τῶν εἰδῶν οὐκ ἄλλη τις ἢ εἰκασθῆναι αὐτοῖς.

εἰ οὖν τι, ἔφη, ἔοικεν τῷ εἴδει, οἷόν τε ἐκεῖνο τὸ εἶδος μὴ ὅμοιον εἶναι τῷ εἰκασθέντι, καθ᾽ ὅσον αὐτῷ ἀφωμοιώθη; ἢ ἔστι τις μηχανὴ τὸ ὅμοιον μὴ ὁμοίῳ ὅμοιον εἶναι;

οὐκ ἔστι.

τὸ δὲ ὅμοιον τῷ ὁμοίῳ ἆρ᾽ οὐ μεγάλη ἀνάγκη ἑνὸς τοῦ [132e]αὐτοῦ [εἴδους] μετέχειν;

ἀνάγκη.

οὗ δ᾽ ἂν τὰ ὅμοια μετέχοντα ὅμοια ᾖ, οὐκ ἐκεῖνο ἔσται αὐτὸ τὸ εἶδος;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

οὐκ ἄρα οἷόν τέ τι τῷ εἴδει ὅμοιον εἶναι, οὐδὲ τὸ εἶδος ἄλλῳ: εἰ δὲ μή, παρὰ τὸ εἶδος ἀεὶ ἄλλο ἀναφανήσεται εἶδος, [133a]καὶ ἂν ἐκεῖνό τῳ ὅμοιον ᾖ, ἕτερον αὖ, καὶ οὐδέποτε παύσεται ἀεὶ καινὸν εἶδος γιγνόμενον, ἐὰν τὸ εἶδος τῷ ἑαυτοῦ μετέχοντι ὅμοιον γίγνηται.

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

οὐκ ἄρα ὁμοιότητι τἆλλα τῶν εἰδῶν μεταλαμβάνει, ἀλλά τι ἄλλο δεῖ ζητεῖν ᾧ μεταλαμβάνει.

ἔοικεν.

ὁρᾷς οὖν, φάναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅση ἡ ἀπορία ἐάν τις ὡς εἴδη ὄντα αὐτὰ καθ᾽ αὑτὰ διορίζηται;

καὶ μάλα.

εὖ τοίνυν ἴσθι, φάναι, ὅτι ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδέπω ἅπτῃ [133b]αὐτῆς ὅση ἐστὶν ἡ ἀπορία, εἰ ἓν εἶδος ἕκαστον τῶν ὄντων ἀεί τι ἀφοριζόμενος θήσεις.

πῶς δή; εἰπεῖν.

πολλὰ μὲν καὶ ἄλλα, φάναι, μέγιστον δὲ τόδε. εἴ τις φαίη μηδὲ προσήκειν αὐτὰ γιγνώσκεσθαι ὄντα τοιαῦτα οἷά φαμεν δεῖν εἶναι τὰ εἴδη, τῷ ταῦτα λέγοντι οὐκ ἂν ἔχοι τις ἐνδείξασθαι ὅτι ψεύδεται, εἰ μὴ πολλῶν μὲν τύχοι ἔμπειρος ὢν ὁ ἀμφισβητῶν καὶ μὴ ἀφυής, ἐθέλοι δὲ πάνυ πολλὰ καὶ πόρρωθεν πραγματευομένου τοῦ ἐνδεικνυμένου ἕπεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ [133c] ἀπίθανος εἴη ὁ ἄγνωστα ἀναγκάζων αὐτὰ εἶναι.

πῇ δή, ὦ Παρμενίδη; φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη.

ὅτι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἶμαι ἂν καὶ σὲ καὶ ἄλλον, ὅστις αὐτήν τινα καθ᾽ αὑτὴν ἑκάστου οὐσίαν τίθεται εἶναι, ὁμολογῆσαι ἂν πρῶτον μὲν μηδεμίαν αὐτῶν εἶναι ἐν ἡμῖν.

πῶς γὰρ ἂν αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν ἔτι εἴη; φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη.

καλῶς λέγεις, εἰπεῖν.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅσαι τῶν ἰδεῶν πρὸς ἀλλήλας εἰσὶν αἵ εἰσιν, αὐταὶ πρὸς αὑτὰς τὴν οὐσίαν ἔχουσιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πρὸς τὰ παρ᾽ [133d]ἡμῖν εἴτε ὁμοιώματα εἴτε ὅπῃ δή τις αὐτὰ τίθεται, ὧν ἡμεῖς μετέχοντες εἶναι ἕκαστα ἐπονομαζόμεθα: τὰ δὲ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ταῦτα ὁμώνυμα ὄντα ἐκείνοις αὐτὰ αὖ πρὸς αὑτά ἐστιν ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πρὸς τὰ εἴδη, καὶ ἑαυτῶν ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκείνων ὅσα αὖ ὀνομάζεται οὕτως.

πῶς λέγεις; φάναι τὸν Σωκράτη.

οἷον, φάναι τὸν Παρμενίδην, εἴ τις ἡμῶν του δεσπότης ἢ δοῦλός ἐστιν, οὐκ αὐτοῦ δεσπότου δήπου, ὃ ἔστι δεσπότης, [133e]ἐκείνου δοῦλός ἐστιν, οὐδὲ αὐτοῦ δούλου, ὃ ἔστι δοῦλος, δεσπότης ὁ δεσπότης, ἀλλ᾽ ἄνθρωπος ὢν ἀνθρώπου ἀμφότερα ταῦτ᾽ ἐστίν: αὐτὴ δὲ δεσποτεία αὐτῆς δουλείας ἐστὶν ὅ ἐστι, καὶ δουλεία ὡσαύτως αὐτὴ δουλεία αὐτῆς δεσποτείας, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὰ ἐν ἡμῖν πρὸς ἐκεῖνα τὴν δύναμιν ἔχει οὐδὲ ἐκεῖνα πρὸς ἡμᾶς, ἀλλ᾽, ὃ λέγω, αὐτὰ αὑτῶν καὶ πρὸς αὑτὰ ἐκεῖνά τέ ἐστι, καὶ [134a]τὰ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ὡσαύτως πρὸς αὑτά. ἢ οὐ μανθάνεις ὃ λέγω;

πάνυ γ᾽, εἰπεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, μανθάνω.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐπιστήμη, φάναι, αὐτὴ μὲν ὃ ἔστι ἐπιστήμη τῆς ὃ ἔστιν ἀλήθεια αὐτῆς ἂν ἐκείνης εἴη ἐπιστήμη;

πάνυ γε.

ἑκάστη δὲ αὖ τῶν ἐπιστημῶν, ἣ ἔστιν, ἑκάστου τῶν ὄντων, ὃ ἔστιν, εἴη ἂν ἐπιστήμη: ἢ οὔ;

ναί.

ἡ δὲ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐπιστήμη οὐ τῆς παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἂν ἀληθείας εἴη, καὶ αὖ ἑκάστη ἡ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐπιστήμη τῶν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν [134b]ὄντων ἑκάστου ἂν ἐπιστήμη συμβαίνοι εἶναι;

ἀνάγκη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν αὐτά γε τὰ εἴδη, ὡς ὁμολογεῖς, οὔτε ἔχομεν οὔτε παρ᾽ ἡμῖν οἷόν τε εἶναι.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

γιγνώσκεται δέ γέ που ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ τοῦ εἴδους τοῦ τῆς ἐπιστήμης αὐτὰ τὰ γένη ἃ ἔστιν ἕκαστα;

ναί.

ὅ γε ἡμεῖς οὐκ ἔχομεν.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐκ ἄρα ὑπό γε ἡμῶν γιγνώσκεται τῶν εἰδῶν οὐδέν, ἐπειδὴ αὐτῆς ἐπιστήμης οὐ μετέχομεν.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

ἄγνωστον ἄρα ἡμῖν καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ καλὸν ὃ ἔστι καὶ [134c] τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ πάντα ἃ δὴ ὡς ἰδέας αὐτὰς οὔσας ὑπολαμβάνομεν.

κινδυνεύει.

ὅρα δὴ ἔτι τούτου δεινότερον τόδε.

τὸ ποῖον;

φαίης ἄν που, εἴπερ ἔστιν αὐτό τι γένος ἐπιστήμης, πολὺ αὐτὸ ἀκριβέστερον εἶναι ἢ τὴν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐπιστήμην, καὶ κάλλος καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οὕτω.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ τι ἄλλο αὐτῆς ἐπιστήμης μετέχει, οὐκ ἄν τινα μᾶλλον ἢ θεὸν φαίης ἔχειν τὴν ἀκριβεστάτην ἐπιστήμην;

ἀνάγκη. [134d]

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οἷός τε αὖ ἔσται ὁ θεὸς τὰ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν γιγνώσκειν αὐτὴν ἐπιστήμην ἔχων;

τί γὰρ οὔ;

ὅτι, ἔφη ὁ Παρμενίδης, ὡμολόγηται ἡμῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, μήτε ἐκεῖνα τὰ εἴδη πρὸς τὰ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν τὴν δύναμιν ἔχειν ἣν ἔχει, μήτε τὰ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν πρὸς ἐκεῖνα, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὰ πρὸς αὑτὰ ἑκάτερα.

ὡμολόγηται γάρ.

οὐκοῦν εἰ παρὰ τῷ θεῷ αὕτη ἐστὶν ἡ ἀκριβεστάτη δεσποτεία καὶ αὕτη ἡ ἀκριβεστάτη ἐπιστήμη, οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἡ δεσποτεία ἡ ἐκείνων ἡμῶν ποτὲ ἂν δεσπόσειεν, οὔτ᾽ ἂν [134e]ἐπιστήμη ἡμᾶς γνοίη οὐδέ τι ἄλλο τῶν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν, ἀλλὰ ὁμοίως ἡμεῖς τε ἐκείνων οὐκ ἄρχομεν τῇ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἀρχῇ οὐδὲ γιγνώσκομεν τοῦ θείου οὐδὲν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ ἐπιστήμῃ, ἐκεῖνοί τε αὖ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον οὔτε δεσπόται ἡμῶν εἰσὶν οὔτε γιγνώσκουσι τὰ ἀνθρώπεια πράγματα θεοὶ ὄντες.

ἀλλὰ μὴ λίαν, ἔφη, <ᾖ> θαυμαστὸς ὁ λόγος, εἴ τις τὸν θεὸν ἀποστερήσει τοῦ εἰδέναι.

ταῦτα μέντοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη ὁ Παρμενίδης, καὶ ἔτι [135a]ἄλλα πρὸς τούτοις πάνυ πολλὰ ἀναγκαῖον ἔχειν τὰ εἴδη, εἰ εἰσὶν αὗται αἱ ἰδέαι τῶν ὄντων καὶ ὁριεῖταί τις αὐτό τι ἕκαστον εἶδος: ὥστε ἀπορεῖν τε τὸν ἀκούοντα καὶ ἀμφισβητεῖν ὡς οὔτε ἔστι ταῦτα, εἴ τε ὅτι μάλιστα εἴη, πολλὴ ἀνάγκη αὐτὰ εἶναι τῇ ἀνθρωπίνῃ φύσει ἄγνωστα, καὶ ταῦτα λέγοντα δοκεῖν τε τὶ λέγειν καί, ὃ ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν, θαυμαστῶς ὡς δυσανάπειστον εἶναι. καὶ ἀνδρὸς πάνυ μὲν εὐφυοῦς τοῦ δυνησομένου μαθεῖν ὡς ἔστι γένος τι ἑκάστου καὶ οὐσία αὐτὴ [135b]καθ᾽ αὑτήν, ἔτι δὲ θαυμαστοτέρου τοῦ εὑρήσοντος καὶ ἄλλον δυνησομένου διδάξαι ταῦτα πάντα ἱκανῶς διευκρινησάμενον. συγχωρῶ σοι, ἔφη, ὦ Παρμενίδη, ὁ Σωκράτης: πάνυ γάρ μοι κατὰ νοῦν λέγεις.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, εἶπεν ὁ Παρμενίδης, εἴ γέ τις δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὖ μὴ ἐάσει εἴδη τῶν ὄντων εἶναι, εἰς πάντα τὰ νυνδὴ καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα ἀποβλέψας, μηδέ τι ὁριεῖται εἶδος ἑνὸς ἑκάστου, οὐδὲ ὅποι τρέψει τὴν διάνοιαν ἕξει, μὴ ἐῶν [135c] ἰδέαν τῶν ὄντων ἑκάστου τὴν αὐτὴν ἀεὶ εἶναι, καὶ οὕτως τὴν τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι δύναμιν παντάπασι διαφθερεῖ. τοῦ τοιούτου μὲν οὖν μοι δοκεῖς καὶ μᾶλλον ᾐσθῆσθαι.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις, φάναι.

τί οὖν ποιήσεις φιλοσοφίας πέρι; πῇ τρέψῃ ἀγνοουμένων τούτων;

οὐ πάνυ μοι δοκῶ καθορᾶν ἔν γε τῷ παρόντι.

πρῲ γάρ, εἰπεῖν, πρὶν γυμνασθῆναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁρίζεσθαι ἐπιχειρεῖς καλόν τέ τι καὶ δίκαιον καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἓν [135d]ἕκαστον τῶν εἰδῶν. ἐνενόησα γὰρ καὶ πρῴην σου ἀκούων διαλεγομένου ἐνθάδε Ἀριστοτέλει τῷδε. καλὴ μὲν οὖν καὶ θεία, εὖ ἴσθι, ἡ ὁρμὴ ἣν ὁρμᾷς ἐπὶ τοὺς λόγους: ἕλκυσον δὲ σαυτὸν καὶ γύμνασαι μᾶλλον διὰ τῆς δοκούσης ἀχρήστου εἶναι καὶ καλουμένης ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ἀδολεσχίας, ἕως ἔτι νέος εἶ: εἰ δὲ μή, σὲ διαφεύξεται ἡ ἀλήθεια.

τίς οὖν ὁ τρόπος, φάναι, ὦ Παρμενίδη, τῆς γυμνασίας;

οὗτος, εἶπεν, ὅνπερ ἤκουσας Ζήνωνος. πλὴν τοῦτό γέ [135e]σου καὶ πρὸς τοῦτον ἠγάσθην εἰπόντος, ὅτι οὐκ εἴας ἐν τοῖς ὁρωμένοις οὐδὲ περὶ ταῦτα τὴν πλάνην ἐπισκοπεῖν, ἀλλὰ περὶ ἐκεῖνα ἃ μάλιστά τις ἂν λόγῳ λάβοι καὶ εἴδη ἂν ἡγήσαιτο εἶναι.

δοκεῖ γάρ μοι, ἔφη, ταύτῃ γε οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν εἶναι καὶ ὅμοια καὶ ἀνόμοια καὶ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν τὰ ὄντα πάσχοντα ἀποφαίνειν.

καὶ καλῶς γ᾽, ἔφη. χρὴ δὲ καὶ τόδε ἔτι πρὸς τούτῳ ποιεῖν, μὴ μόνον εἰ ἔστιν ἕκαστον ὑποτιθέμενον σκοπεῖν τὰ [136a]συμβαίνοντα ἐκ τῆς ὑποθέσεως, ἀλλὰ καὶ εἰ μὴ ἔστι τὸ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ὑποτίθεσθαι, εἰ βούλει μᾶλλον γυμνασθῆναι.

πῶς λέγεις; φάναι.

οἷον, ἔφη, εἰ βούλει, περὶ ταύτης τῆς ὑποθέσεως ἣν Ζήνων ὑπέθετο, εἰ πολλά ἐστι, τί χρὴ συμβαίνειν καὶ αὐτοῖς τοῖς πολλοῖς πρὸς αὑτὰ καὶ πρὸς τὸ ἓν καὶ τῷ ἑνὶ πρός τε αὑτὸ καὶ πρὸς τὰ πολλά: καὶ αὖ εἰ μή ἐστι πολλά, πάλιν σκοπεῖν τί συμβήσεται καὶ τῷ ἑνὶ καὶ τοῖς πολλοῖς καὶ πρὸς [136b]αὑτὰ καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα: καὶ αὖθις αὖ ἐὰν ὑποθῇ εἰ ἔστιν ὁμοιότης ἢ εἰ μὴ ἔστιν, τί ἐφ᾽ ἑκατέρας τῆς ὑποθέσεως συμβήσεται καὶ αὐτοῖς τοῖς ὑποτεθεῖσιν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις καὶ πρὸς αὑτὰ καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα. καὶ περὶ ἀνομοίου ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος καὶ περὶ κινήσεως καὶ περὶ στάσεως καὶ περὶ γενέσεως καὶ φθορᾶς καὶ περὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ εἶναι καὶ τοῦ μὴ εἶναι: καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ, περὶ ὅτου ἂν ἀεὶ ὑποθῇ ὡς ὄντος καὶ ὡς οὐκ ὄντος καὶ ὁτιοῦν ἄλλο πάθος πάσχοντος, δεῖ σκοπεῖν τὰ συμβαίνοντα [136c] πρὸς αὑτὸ καὶ πρὸς ἓν ἕκαστον τῶν ἄλλων, ὅτι ἂν προέλῃ, καὶ πρὸς πλείω καὶ πρὸς σύμπαντα ὡσαύτως: καὶ τἆλλα αὖ πρὸς αὑτά τε καὶ πρὸς ἄλλο ὅτι ἂν προαιρῇ ἀεί, ἐάντε ὡς ὂν ὑποθῇ ὃ ὑπετίθεσο, ἄντε ὡς μὴ ὄν, εἰ μέλλεις τελέως γυμνασάμενος κυρίως διόψεσθαι τὸ ἀληθές.

ἀμήχανόν γ᾽ ἔφη, λέγεις, ὦ Παρμενίδη, πραγματείαν, καὶ οὐ σφόδρα μανθάνω. ἀλλά μοι τί οὐ διῆλθες αὐτὸς ὑποθέμενός τι, ἵνα μᾶλλον καταμάθω; [136d]

πολὺ ἔργον, φάναι, ὦ Σώκρατες, προστάττεις ὡς τηλικῷδε.

ἀλλὰ σύ, εἰπεῖν τὸν Σωκράτη, Ζήνων, τί οὐ διῆλθες ἡμῖν;

καὶ τὸν Ζήνωνα ἔφη γελάσαντα φάναι: αὐτοῦ, ὦ Σώκρατες, δεώμεθα Παρμενίδου: μὴ γὰρ οὐ φαῦλον ᾖ ὃ λέγει. ἢ οὐχ ὁρᾷς ὅσον ἔργον προστάττεις; εἰ μὲν οὖν πλείους ἦμεν, οὐκ ἂν ἄξιον ἦν δεῖσθαι: ἀπρεπῆ γὰρ τὰ τοιαῦτα πολλῶν ἐναντίον λέγειν ἄλλως τε καὶ τηλικούτῳ: [136e]ἀγνοοῦσιν γὰρ οἱ πολλοὶ ὅτι ἄνευ ταύτης τῆς διὰ πάντων διεξόδου τε καὶ πλάνης ἀδύνατον ἐντυχόντα τῷ ἀληθεῖ νοῦν σχεῖν. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Παρμενίδη, Σωκράτει συνδέομαι, ἵνα καὶ αὐτὸς διακούσω διὰ χρόνου.

ταῦτα δὴ εἰπόντος τοῦ Ζήνωνος, ἔφη ὁ Ἀντιφῶν φάναι τὸν Πυθόδωρον, αὐτόν τε δεῖσθαι τοῦ Παρμενίδου καὶ τὸν Ἀριστοτέλη καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, ἐνδείξασθαι ὃ λέγοι καὶ μὴ ἄλλως ποιεῖν. τὸν οὖν Παρμενίδην: ἀνάγκη, φάναι, πείθεσθαι. καίτοι δοκῶ μοι τὸ τοῦ Ἰβυκείου ἵππου πεπονθέναι, [137a]ᾧ ἐκεῖνος ἀθλητῇ ὄντι καὶ πρεσβυτέρῳ, ὑφ᾽ ἅρματι μέλλοντι ἀγωνιεῖσθαι καὶ δι᾽ ἐμπειρίαν τρέμοντι τὸ μέλλον, ἑαυτὸν ἀπεικάζων ἄκων ἔφη καὶ αὐτὸς οὕτω πρεσβύτης ὢν εἰς τὸν ἔρωτα ἀναγκάζεσθαι ἰέναι: κἀγώ μοι δοκῶ μεμνημένος μάλα φοβεῖσθαι πῶς χρὴ τηλικόνδε ὄντα διανεῦσαι τοιοῦτόν τε καὶ τοσοῦτον πέλαγος λόγων: ὅμως δὲ δεῖ γὰρ χαρίζεσθαι, ἐπειδὴ καί, ὃ Ζήνων λέγει, αὐτοί ἐσμεν. πόθεν οὖν δὴ [137b]ἀρξόμεθα καὶ τί πρῶτον ὑποθησόμεθα; ἢ βούλεσθε, ἐπειδήπερ δοκεῖ πραγματειώδη παιδιὰν παίζειν, ἀπ᾽ ἐμαυτοῦ ἄρξωμαι καὶ τῆς ἐμαυτοῦ ὑποθέσεως, περὶ τοῦ ἑνὸς αὐτοῦ ὑποθέμενος, εἴτε ἕν ἐστιν εἴτε μὴ ἕν, τί χρὴ συμβαίνειν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, φάναι τὸν Ζήνωνα.

τίς οὖν, εἰπεῖν, μοὶ ἀποκρινεῖται; ἢ ὁ νεώτατος; ἥκιστα γὰρ ἂν πολυπραγμονοῖ, καὶ ἃ οἴεται μάλιστα ἂν ἀποκρίνοιτο: καὶ ἅμα ἐμοὶ ἀνάπαυλα ἂν εἴη ἡ ἐκείνου ἀπόκρισις. [137c]

ἕτοιμός σοι, ὦ Παρμενίδη, φάναι, τοῦτο, τὸν Ἀριστοτέλη: ἐμὲ γὰρ λέγεις τὸν νεώτατον λέγων. ἀλλὰ ἐρώτα ὡς ἀποκρινουμένου.

εἶεν δή, φάναι: εἰ ἕν ἐστιν, ἄλλο τι οὐκ ἂν εἴη πολλὰ τὸ ἕν;

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

οὔτε ἄρα μέρος αὐτοῦ οὔτε ὅλον αὐτὸ δεῖ εἶναι.

τί δή;

τὸ μέρος που ὅλου μέρος ἐστίν.

ναί.

τί δὲ τὸ ὅλον; οὐχὶ οὗ ἂν μέρος μηδὲν ἀπῇ ὅλον ἂν εἴη;

πάνυ γε.

ἀμφοτέρως ἄρα τὸ ἓν ἐκ μερῶν ἂν εἴη, ὅλον τε ὂν καὶ μέρη ἔχον.

ἀνάγκη.

ἀμφοτέρως ἂν ἄρα [137d]οὕτως τὸ ἓν πολλὰ εἴη ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἕν.

ἀληθῆ.

δεῖ δέ γε μὴ πολλὰ ἀλλ᾽ ἓν αὐτὸ εἶναι.

δεῖ.

οὔτ᾽ ἄρα ὅλον ἔσται οὔτε μέρη ἕξει, εἰ ἓν ἔσται τὸ ἕν.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐκοῦν εἰ μηδὲν ἔχει μέρος, οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἀρχὴν οὔτε τελευτὴν οὔτε μέσον ἔχοι: μέρη γὰρ ἂν ἤδη αὐτοῦ τὰ τοιαῦτα εἴη.

ὀρθῶς.

καὶ μὴν τελευτή γε καὶ ἀρχὴ πέρας ἑκάστου.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἄπειρον ἄρα τὸ ἕν, εἰ μήτε ἀρχὴν μήτε τελευτὴν ἔχει.

ἄπειρον.

καὶ ἄνευ σχήματος ἄρα: οὔτε γὰρ [137e]στρογγύλου οὔτε εὐθέος μετέχει.

πῶς;

στρογγύλον γέ πού ἐστι τοῦτο οὗ ἂν τὰ ἔσχατα πανταχῇ ἀπὸ τοῦ μέσου ἴσον ἀπέχῃ.

ναί.

καὶ μὴν εὐθύ γε, οὗ ἂν τὸ μέσον ἀμφοῖν τοῖν ἐσχάτοιν ἐπίπροσθεν ᾖ.

οὕτως.

οὐκοῦν μέρη ἂν ἔχοι τὸ ἓν καὶ πολλὰ ἂν εἴη, εἴτε εὐθέος σχήματος εἴτε περιφεροῦς μετέχοι.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὔτε ἄρα εὐθὺ οὔτε [138a]περιφερές ἐστιν, ἐπείπερ οὐδὲ μέρη ἔχει.

ὀρθῶς.

καὶ μὴν τοιοῦτόν γε ὂν οὐδαμοῦ ἂν εἴη: οὔτε γὰρ ἐν ἄλλῳ οὔτε ἐν ἑαυτῷ εἴη.

πῶς δή;

ἐν ἄλλῳ μὲν ὂν κύκλῳ που ἂν περιέχοιτο ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου ἐν ᾧ ἐνείη, καὶ πολλαχοῦ ἂν αὐτοῦ ἅπτοιτο πολλοῖς: τοῦ δὲ ἑνός τε καὶ ἀμεροῦς καὶ κύκλου μὴ μετέχοντος ἀδύνατον πολλαχῇ κύκλῳ ἅπτεσθαι.

ἀδύνατον.

ἀλλὰ μὴν αὐτό γε ἐν ἑαυτῷ ὂν κἂν ἑαυτῷ εἴη περιέχον οὐκ ἄλλο ἢ αὑτό, εἴπερ καὶ ἐν [138b]ἑαυτῷ εἴη: ἔν τῳ γάρ τι εἶναι μὴ περιέχοντι ἀδύνατον.

ἀδύνατον γάρ.

οὐκοῦν ἕτερον μὲν ἄν τι εἴη αὐτὸ τὸ περιέχον, ἕτερον δὲ τὸ περιεχόμενον: οὐ γὰρ ὅλον γε ἄμφω ταὐτὸν ἅμα πείσεται καὶ ποιήσει: καὶ οὕτω τὸ ἓν οὐκ ἂν εἴη ἔτι ἓν ἀλλὰ δύο.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὐκ ἄρα ἐστίν που τὸ ἕν, μήτε ἐν αὑτῷ μήτε ἐν ἄλλῳ ἐνόν.

οὐκ ἔστιν.

ὅρα δή, οὕτως ἔχον εἰ οἷόν τέ ἐστιν ἑστάναι ἢ κινεῖσθαι.

τί δὴ γὰρ οὔ;

ὅτι κινούμενόν γε ἢ φέροιτο ἢ [138c] ἀλλοιοῖτο ἄν: αὗται γὰρ μόναι κινήσεις.

ναί.

ἀλλοιούμενον δὲ τὸ ἓν ἑαυτοῦ ἀδύνατόν που ἓν ἔτι εἶναι.

ἀδύνατον.

οὐκ ἄρα κατ᾽ ἀλλοίωσίν γε κινεῖται.

οὐ φαίνεται.

ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα τῷ φέρεσθαι;

ἴσως.

καὶ μὴν εἰ φέροιτο τὸ ἕν, ἤτοι ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ἂν περιφέροιτο κύκλῳ ἢ μεταλλάττοι χώραν ἑτέραν ἐξ ἑτέρας.

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν κύκλῳ μὲν περιφερόμενον ἐπὶ μέσου βεβηκέναι ἀνάγκη, καὶ τὰ περὶ τὸ μέσον φερόμενα ἄλλα μέρη ἔχειν ἑαυτοῦ: ᾧ δὲ [138d]μήτε μέσου μήτε μερῶν προσήκει, τίς μηχανὴ τοῦτο κύκλῳ ποτ᾽ ἐπὶ τοῦ μέσου ἐνεχθῆναι;

οὐδεμία.

ἀλλὰ δὴ χώραν ἀμεῖβον ἄλλοτ᾽ ἄλλοθι γίγνεται καὶ οὕτω κινεῖται;

εἴπερ γε δή.

οὐκοῦν εἶναι μέν που ἔν τινι αὐτῷ ἀδύνατον ἐφάνη;

ναί.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν γίγνεσθαι ἔτι ἀδυνατώτερον;

οὐκ ἐννοῶ ὅπῃ.

εἰ ἔν τῴ τι γίγνεται, οὐκ ἀνάγκη μήτε πω ἐν ἐκείνῳ εἶναι ἔτι ἐγγιγνόμενον, μήτ᾽ ἔτι ἔξω ἐκείνου παντάπασιν, εἴπερ ἤδη ἐγγίγνεται;

ἀνάγκη.

εἰ ἄρα τι [138e]ἄλλο πείσεται τοῦτο, ἐκεῖνο ἂν μόνον πάσχοι οὗ μέρη εἴη: τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἄν τι αὐτοῦ ἤδη ἐν ἐκείνῳ, τὸ δὲ ἔξω εἴη ἅμα: τὸ δὲ μὴ ἔχον μέρη οὐχ οἷόν τέ που ἔσται τρόπῳ οὐδενὶ ὅλον ἅμα μήτε ἐντὸς εἶναί τινος μήτε ἔξω.

ἀληθῆ.

οὗ δὲ μήτε μέρη εἰσὶ μήτε ὅλον τυγχάνει ὄν, οὐ πολὺ ἔτι ἀδυνατώτερον ἐγγίγνεσθαί που, μήτε κατὰ μέρη μήτε κατὰ ὅλον ἐγγιγνόμενον;

φαίνεται.

οὔτ᾽ ἄρα ποι ἰὸν καὶ ἔν [139a]τῳ γιγνόμενον χώραν ἀλλάττει, οὔτ᾽ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ περιφερόμενον οὔτε ἀλλοιούμενον.

οὐκ ἔοικε.

κατὰ πᾶσαν ἄρα κίνησιν τὸ ἓν ἀκίνητον.

ἀκίνητον.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ εἶναί γέ φαμεν ἔν τινι αὐτὸ ἀδύνατον.

φαμὲν γάρ.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ποτὲ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ἐστιν.

τί δή;

ὅτι ἤδη ἂν ἐν ἐκείνῳ εἴη ἐν ᾧ τῷ αὐτῷ ἐστιν.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἀλλ᾽ οὔτε ἐν αὑτῷ οὔτε ἐν ἄλλῳ οἷόν τε ἦν αὐτῷ ἐνεῖναι.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὐδέποτε ἄρα ἐστὶ τὸ ἓν ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

[139b]ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε μηδέποτε ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ὂν οὔτε ἡσυχίαν ἄγει οὔθ᾽ ἕστηκεν.

οὐ γὰρ οἷόν τε.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὔτε ἕστηκεν οὔτε κινεῖται.

οὔκουν δὴ φαίνεταί γε.

οὐδὲ μὴν ταὐτόν γε οὔτε ἑτέρῳ οὔτε ἑαυτῷ ἔσται, οὐδ᾽ αὖ ἕτερον οὔτε αὑτοῦ οὔτε ἑτέρου ἂν εἴη.

πῇ δή;

ἕτερον μέν που ἑαυτοῦ ὂν ἑνὸς ἕτερον ἂν εἴη καὶ οὐκ ἂν εἴη ἕν.

ἀληθῆ.

καὶ μὴν ταὐτόν γε ἑτέρῳ ὂν ἐκεῖνο ἂν εἴη, αὐτὸ [139c] δ᾽ οὐκ ἂν εἴη: ὥστε οὐδ᾽ ἂν οὕτως εἴη ὅπερ ἔστιν, ἕν, ἀλλ᾽ ἕτερον ἑνός.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ταὐτὸν μὲν ἄρα ἑτέρῳ ἢ ἕτερον ἑαυτοῦ οὐκ ἔσται.

οὐ γάρ.

ἕτερον δέ γε ἑτέρου οὐκ ἔσται, ἕως ἂν ᾖ ἕν: οὐ γὰρ ἑνὶ προσήκει ἑτέρῳ τινὸς εἶναι, ἀλλὰ μόνῳ ἑτέρῳ ἑτέρου, ἄλλῳ δὲ οὐδενί.

ὀρθῶς.

τῷ μὲν ἄρα ἓν εἶναι οὐκ ἔσται ἕτερον: ἢ οἴει;

οὐ δῆτα.

ἀλλὰ μὴν εἰ μὴ τούτῳ, οὐχ ἑαυτῷ ἔσται, εἰ δὲ μὴ αὑτῷ, οὐδὲ αὐτό: αὐτὸ δὲ μηδαμῇ ὂν ἕτερον οὐδενὸς ἔσται [139d]ἕτερον.

ὀρθῶς.

οὐδὲ μὴν ταὐτόν γε ἑαυτῷ ἔσται.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οὐχ ἥπερ τοῦ ἑνὸς φύσις, αὑτὴ δήπου καὶ τοῦ ταὐτοῦ.

τί δή;

ὅτι οὐκ, ἐπειδὰν ταὐτὸν γένηταί τῴ τι, ἓν γίγνεται.

ἀλλὰ τί μήν;

τοῖς πολλοῖς ταὐτὸν γενόμενον πολλὰ ἀνάγκη γίγνεσθαι ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἕν.

ἀληθῆ.

ἀλλ᾽ εἰ τὸ ἓν καὶ τὸ ταὐτὸν μηδαμῇ διαφέρει, ὁπότε τι ταὐτὸν ἐγίγνετο, ἀεὶ ἂν ἓν ἐγίγνετο, καὶ ὁπότε ἕν, ταὐτόν. [139e]

πάνυ γε.

εἰ ἄρα τὸ ἓν ἑαυτῷ ταὐτὸν ἔσται, οὐχ ἓν ἑαυτῷ ἔσται: καὶ οὕτω ἓν ὂν οὐχ ἓν ἔσται. ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε ἀδύνατον: ἀδύνατον ἄρα καὶ τῷ ἑνὶ ἢ ἑτέρου ἕτερον εἶναι ἢ ἑαυτῷ ταὐτόν.

ἀδύνατον.

οὕτω δὴ ἕτερόν γε ἢ ταὐτὸν τὸ ἓν οὔτ᾽ ἂν αὑτῷ οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἑτέρῳ εἴη.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὐδὲ μὴν ὅμοιόν τινι ἔσται οὐδ᾽ ἀνόμοιον οὔτε αὑτῷ οὔτε ἑτέρῳ.

τί δή;

ὅτι τὸ ταὐτόν που πεπονθὸς ὅμοιον.

ναί.

τοῦ δέ γε ἑνὸς χωρὶς ἐφάνη τὴν φύσιν τὸ ταὐτόν. [140a]

ἐφάνη γάρ.

ἀλλὰ μὴν εἴ τι πέπονθε χωρὶς τοῦ ἓν εἶναι τὸ ἕν, πλείω ἂν εἶναι πεπόνθοι ἢ ἕν, τοῦτο δὲ ἀδύνατον.

ναί.

οὐδαμῶς ἔστιν ἄρα ταὐτὸν πεπονθὸς εἶναι τὸ ἓν οὔτε ἄλλῳ οὔτε ἑαυτῷ.

οὐ φαίνεται.

οὐδὲ ὅμοιον ἄρα δυνατὸν αὐτὸ εἶναι οὔτε ἄλλῳ οὔτε ἑαυτῷ.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

οὐδὲ μὴν ἕτερόν γε πέπονθεν εἶναι τὸ ἕν: καὶ γὰρ οὕτω πλείω ἂν πεπόνθοι εἶναι ἢ ἕν.

πλείω γάρ.

τό γε μὴν ἕτερον πεπονθὸς ἢ ἑαυτοῦ ἢ ἄλλου ἀνόμοιον ἂν εἴη ἢ ἑαυτῷ [140b]ἢ ἄλλῳ, εἴπερ τὸ ταὐτὸν πεπονθὸς ὅμοιον.

ὀρθῶς.

τὸ δέ γε ἕν, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐδαμῶς ἕτερον πεπονθὸς οὐδαμῶς ἀνόμοιόν ἐστιν οὔτε αὑτῷ οὔτε ἑτέρῳ.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὔτε ἄρα ὅμοιον οὔτε ἀνόμοιον οὔθ᾽ ἑτέρῳ οὔτε ἑαυτῷ ἂν εἴη τὸ ἕν.

οὐ φαίνεται.

καὶ μὴν τοιοῦτόν γε ὂν οὔτε ἴσον οὔτε ἄνισον ἔσται οὔτε ἑαυτῷ οὔτε ἄλλῳ.

πῇ;

ἴσον μὲν ὂν τῶν αὐτῶν μέτρων ἔσται ἐκείνῳ ᾧ ἂν ἴσον ᾖ.

ναί.

μεῖζον δέ που [140c] ἢ ἔλαττον ὄν, οἷς μὲν ἂν σύμμετρον ᾖ, τῶν μὲν ἐλαττόνων πλείω μέτρα ἕξει, τῶν δὲ μειζόνων ἐλάττω.

ναί.

οἷς δ᾽ ἂν μὴ σύμμετρον, τῶν μὲν σμικροτέρων, τῶν δὲ μειζόνων μέτρων ἔσται.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκοῦν ἀδύνατον τὸ μὴ μετέχον τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἢ μέτρων τῶν αὐτῶν εἶναι ἢ ἄλλων ὡντινωνοῦν τῶν αὐτῶν;

ἀδύνατον.

ἴσον μὲν ἄρα οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἑαυτῷ οὔτε ἄλλῳ εἴη μὴ τῶν αὐτῶν μέτρων ὄν.

οὔκουν φαίνεταί γε.

ἀλλὰ μὴν πλειόνων γε μέτρων ὂν ἢ ἐλαττόνων, ὅσωνπερ μέτρων, τοσούτων καὶ μερῶν ἂν εἴη: καὶ [140d]οὕτω αὖ οὐκέτι ἓν ἔσται ἀλλὰ τοσαῦτα ὅσαπερ καὶ τὰ μέτρα. ὀρθῶς.

εἰ δέ γε ἑνὸς μέτρου εἴη, ἴσον ἂν γίγνοιτο τῷ μέτρῳ: τοῦτο δὲ ἀδύνατον ἐφάνη, ἴσον τῳ αὐτὸ εἶναι.

ἐφάνη γάρ.

οὔτε ἄρα ἑνὸς μέτρου μετέχον οὔτε πολλῶν οὔτε ὀλίγων, οὔτε τὸ παράπαν τοῦ αὐτοῦ μετέχον, οὔτε ἑαυτῷ ποτε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἔσται ἴσον οὔτε ἄλλῳ: οὔτε αὖ μεῖζον οὐδὲ ἔλαττον οὔτε ἑαυτοῦ οὔτε ἑτέρου.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν οὕτω. [140e]

τί δέ; πρεσβύτερον ἢ νεώτερον ἢ τὴν αὐτὴν ἡλικίαν ἔχειν τὸ ἓν δοκεῖ τῳ δυνατὸν εἶναι;

τί δὴ γὰρ οὔ;

ὅτι που ἡλικίαν μὲν τὴν αὐτὴν ἔχον ἢ αὑτῷ ἢ ἄλλῳ ἰσότητος χρόνου καὶ ὁμοιότητος μεθέξει, ὧν ἐλέγομεν οὐ μετεῖναι τῷ ἑνί, οὔτε ὁμοιότητος οὔτε ἰσότητος. ἐλέγομεν γὰρ οὖν.

καὶ μὴν καὶ ὅτι ἀνομοιότητός τε καὶ ἀνισότητος οὐ μετέχει, καὶ τοῦτο ἐλέγομεν.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. πῶς οὖν [141a]οἷόν τε ἔσται τινὸς ἢ πρεσβύτερον ἢ νεώτερον εἶναι ἢ τὴν αὐτὴν ἡλικίαν ἔχειν τῳ τοιοῦτον ὄν;

οὐδαμῶς.

οὐκ ἄρα ἂν εἴη νεώτερόν γε οὐδὲ πρεσβύτερον οὐδὲ τὴν αὐτὴν ἡλικίαν ἔχον τὸ ἓν οὔτε αὑτῷ οὔτε ἄλλῳ.

οὐ φαίνεται.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐδὲ ἐν χρόνῳ τὸ παράπαν δύναιτο ἂν εἶναι τὸ ἕν, εἰ τοιοῦτον εἴη; ἢ οὐκ ἀνάγκη, ἐάν τι ᾖ ἐν χρόνῳ, ἀεὶ αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ πρεσβύτερον γίγνεσθαι; ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν τό γε πρεσβύτερον ἀεὶ νεωτέρου πρεσβύτερον;

τί μήν; [141b]

τὸ πρεσβύτερον ἄρα ἑαυτοῦ γιγνόμενον καὶ νεώτερον ἑαυτοῦ ἅμα γίγνεται, εἴπερ μέλλει ἔχειν ὅτου πρεσβύτερον γίγνηται.

πῶς λέγεις;

ὧδε: διάφορον ἕτερον ἑτέρου οὐδὲν δεῖ γίγνεσθαι ἤδη ὄντος διαφόρου, ἀλλὰ τοῦ μὲν ἤδη ὄντος ἤδη εἶναι, τοῦ δὲ γεγονότος γεγονέναι, τοῦ δὲ μέλλοντος μέλλειν, τοῦ δὲ γιγνομένου οὔτε γεγονέναι οὔτε μέλλειν οὔτε εἶναί πω διάφορον, ἀλλὰ γίγνεσθαι καὶ ἄλλως [141c] οὐκ εἶναι.

ἀνάγκη γὰρ δή.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε πρεσβύτερον διαφορότης νεωτέρου ἐστὶν καὶ οὐδενὸς ἄλλου.

ἔστι γάρ.

τὸ ἄρα πρεσβύτερον ἑαυτοῦ γιγνόμενον ἀνάγκη καὶ νεώτερον ἅμα ἑαυτοῦ γίγνεσθαι.

ἔοικεν.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ μήτε πλείω ἑαυτοῦ γίγνεσθαι χρόνον μήτε ἐλάττω, ἀλλὰ τὸν ἴσον χρόνον καὶ γίγνεσθαι ἑαυτῷ καὶ εἶναι καὶ γεγονέναι καὶ μέλλειν ἔσεσθαι.

ἀνάγκη γὰρ οὖν καὶ ταῦτα.

ἀνάγκη ἄρα ἐστίν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅσα γε ἐν χρόνῳ ἐστὶν [141d]καὶ μετέχει τοῦ τοιούτου, ἕκαστον αὐτῶν τὴν αὐτήν τε αὐτὸ αὑτῷ ἡλικίαν ἔχειν καὶ πρεσβύτερόν τε αὑτοῦ ἅμα καὶ νεώτερον γίγνεσθαι.

κινδυνεύει.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τῷ γε ἑνὶ τῶν τοιούτων παθημάτων οὐδὲν μετῆν.

οὐ γὰρ μετῆν.

οὐδὲ ἄρα χρόνου αὐτῷ μέτεστιν, οὐδ᾽ ἔστιν ἔν τινι χρόνῳ.

οὔκουν δή, ὥς γε ὁ λόγος αἱρεῖ.

τί οὖν; τὸ ἦν καὶ τὸ γέγονε καὶ τὸ ἐγίγνετο οὐ χρόνου μέθεξιν δοκεῖ σημαίνειν τοῦ ποτὲ γεγονότος;

καὶ μάλα.

[141e]τί δέ; τὸ ἔσται καὶ τὸ γενήσεται καὶ τὸ γενηθήσεται οὐ τοῦ ἔπειτα [τοῦ μέλλοντος];

ναί.

τὸ δὲ δὴ ἔστι καὶ τὸ γίγνεται οὐ τοῦ νῦν παρόντος;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

εἰ ἄρα τὸ ἓν μηδαμῇ μηδενὸς μετέχει χρόνου, οὔτε ποτὲ γέγονεν οὔτ᾽ ἐγίγνετο οὔτ᾽ ἦν ποτέ, οὔτε νῦν γέγονεν οὔτε γίγνεται οὔτε ἔστιν, οὔτ᾽ ἔπειτα γενήσεται οὔτε γενηθήσεται οὔτε ἔσται.

ἀληθέστατα.

ἔστιν οὖν οὐσίας ὅπως ἄν τι μετάσχοι ἄλλως ἢ κατὰ τούτων τι;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

οὐδαμῶς ἄρα τὸ ἓν οὐσίας μετέχει.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

οὐδαμῶς ἄρα ἔστι τὸ ἕν.

οὐ φαίνεται.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα οὕτως ἔστιν ὥστε ἓν εἶναι: εἴη γὰρ ἂν ἤδη ὂν καὶ οὐσίας μετέχον: ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἔοικεν, τὸ ἓν οὔτε ἕν ἐστιν οὔτε ἔστιν, εἰ δεῖ τῷ [142a]τοιῷδε λόγῳ πιστεύειν.

κινδυνεύει.

ὃ δὲ μὴ ἔστι, τούτῳ τῷ μὴ ὄντι εἴη ἄν τι αὐτῷ ἢ αὐτοῦ;

καὶ πῶς;

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ὄνομα ἔστιν αὐτῷ οὐδὲ λόγος οὐδέ τις ἐπιστήμη οὐδὲ αἴσθησις οὐδὲ δόξα.

οὐ φαίνεται.

οὐδ᾽ ὀνομάζεται ἄρα οὐδὲ λέγεται οὐδὲ δοξάζεται οὐδὲ γιγνώσκεται, οὐδέ τι τῶν ὄντων αὐτοῦ αἰσθάνεται.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

ἦ δυνατὸν οὖν περὶ τὸ ἓν ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν;

οὔκουν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ. [142b]

βούλει οὖν ἐπὶ τὴν ὑπόθεσιν πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐπανέλθωμεν, ἐάν τι ἡμῖν ἐπανιοῦσιν ἀλλοῖον φανῇ;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν βούλομαι.

οὐκοῦν ἓν εἰ ἔστιν, φαμέν, τὰ συμβαίνοντα περὶ αὐτοῦ, ποῖά ποτε τυγχάνει ὄντα, διομολογητέα ταῦτα: οὐχ οὕτω;

ναί.

ὅρα δὴ ἐξ ἀρχῆς. ἓν εἰ ἔστιν, ἆρα οἷόν τε αὐτὸ εἶναι μέν, οὐσίας δὲ μὴ μετέχειν;

οὐχ οἷόν τε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡ οὐσία τοῦ ἑνὸς εἴη ἂν οὐ ταὐτὸν οὖσα τῷ ἑνί: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐκείνη ἦν ἐκείνου οὐσία, οὐδ᾽ ἂν [142c] ἐκεῖνο, τὸ ἕν, ἐκείνης μετεῖχεν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμοιον ἂν ἦν λέγειν ἕν τε εἶναι καὶ ἓν ἕν. νῦν δὲ οὐχ αὕτη ἐστὶν ἡ ὑπόθεσις, εἰ ἓν ἕν, τί χρὴ συμβαίνειν, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ ἓν ἔστιν: οὐχ οὕτω;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν ὡς ἄλλο τι σημαῖνον τὸ ἔστι τοῦ ἕν;

ἀνάγκη.

ἆρα οὖν ἄλλο ἢ ὅτι οὐσίας μετέχει τὸ ἕν, τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη τὸ λεγόμενον, ἐπειδάν τις συλλήβδην εἴπῃ ὅτι ἓν ἔστιν;

πάνυ γε.

πάλιν δὴ λέγωμεν, ἓν εἰ ἔστιν, τί συμβήσεται. σκόπει οὖν εἰ οὐκ ἀνάγκη ταύτην τὴν ὑπόθεσιν τοιοῦτον ὂν τὸ ἓν σημαίνειν, οἷον [142d]μέρη ἔχειν;

πῶς;

ὧδε: εἰ τὸ ἔστι τοῦ ἑνὸς ὄντος λέγεται καὶ τὸ ἓν τοῦ ὄντος ἑνός, ἔστι δὲ οὐ τὸ αὐτὸ ἥ τε οὐσία καὶ τὸ ἕν, τοῦ αὐτοῦ δὲ ἐκείνου οὗ ὑπεθέμεθα, τοῦ ἑνὸς ὄντος, ἆρα οὐκ ἀνάγκη τὸ μὲν ὅλον ἓν ὂν εἶναι αὐτό, τούτου δὲ γίγνεσθαι μόρια τό τε ἓν καὶ τὸ εἶναι;

ἀνάγκη.

πότερον οὖν ἑκάτερον τῶν μορίων τούτων μόριον μόνον προσεροῦμεν, ἢ τοῦ ὅλου μόριον τό γε μόριον προσρητέον;

τοῦ ὅλου.

καὶ ὅλον ἄρα ἐστί, ὃ ἂν ἓν ᾖ, καὶ μόριον ἔχει.

πάνυ γε.

τί οὖν; τῶν μορίων ἑκάτερον [142e]τούτων τοῦ ἑνὸς ὄντος, τό τε ἓν καὶ τὸ ὄν, ἆρα ἀπολείπεσθον ἢ τὸ ἓν τοῦ εἶναι μορίου ἢ τὸ ὂν τοῦ ἑνὸς μορίου; οὐκ ἂν εἴη.

πάλιν ἄρα καὶ τῶν μορίων ἑκάτερον τό τε ἓν ἴσχει καὶ τὸ ὄν, καὶ γίγνεται τὸ ἐλάχιστον ἐκ δυοῖν αὖ μορίοιν τὸ μόριον, καὶ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον οὕτως ἀεί, ὅτιπερ ἂν μόριον γένηται, τούτω τὼ μορίω ἀεὶ ἴσχει: τό τε γὰρ ἓν τὸ ὂν ἀεὶ ἴσχει καὶ τὸ ὂν τὸ ἕν: ὥστε ἀνάγκη [143a]δύ᾽ ἀεὶ γιγνόμενον μηδέποτε ἓν εἶναι. παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν ἄπειρον ἂν τὸ πλῆθος οὕτω τὸ ἓν ὂν εἴη;

ἔοικεν.

ἴθι δὴ καὶ τῇδε ἔτι.

πῇ;

οὐσίας φαμὲν μετέχειν τὸ ἕν, διὸ ἔστιν;

ναί.

καὶ διὰ ταῦτα δὴ τὸ ἓν ὂν πολλὰ ἐφάνη.

οὕτω.

τί δέ; αὐτὸ τὸ ἕν, ὃ δή φαμεν οὐσίας μετέχειν, ἐὰν αὐτὸ τῇ διανοίᾳ μόνον καθ᾽ αὑτὸ λάβωμεν ἄνευ τούτου οὗ φαμεν μετέχειν, ἆρά γε ἓν μόνον φανήσεται ἢ καὶ πολλὰ τὸ αὐτὸ τοῦτο;

ἕν, οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

[143b]ἴδωμεν δή: ἄλλο τι ἕτερον μὲν ἀνάγκη τὴν οὐσίαν αὐτοῦ εἶναι, ἕτερον δὲ αὐτό, εἴπερ μὴ οὐσία τὸ ἕν, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἓν οὐσίας μετέσχεν.

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν εἰ ἕτερον μὲν ἡ οὐσία, ἕτερον δὲ τὸ ἕν, οὔτε τῷ ἓν τὸ ἓν τῆς οὐσίας ἕτερον οὔτε τῷ οὐσία εἶναι ἡ οὐσία τοῦ ἑνὸς ἄλλο, ἀλλὰ τῷ ἑτέρῳ τε καὶ ἄλλῳ ἕτερα ἀλλήλων.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ὥστε οὐ ταὐτόν ἐστιν οὔτε τῷ ἑνὶ οὔτε τῇ οὐσίᾳ τὸ ἕτερον.

πῶς γάρ; [143c]

τί οὖν; ἐὰν προελώμεθα αὐτῶν εἴτε βούλει τὴν οὐσίαν καὶ τὸ ἕτερον εἴτε τὴν οὐσίαν καὶ τὸ ἓν εἴτε τὸ ἓν καὶ τὸ ἕτερον, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐν ἑκάστῃ τῇ προαιρέσει προαιρούμεθά τινε ὣ ὀρθῶς ἔχει καλεῖσθαι ἀμφοτέρω;

πῶς;

ὧδε: ἔστιν οὐσίαν εἰπεῖν;

ἔστιν.

καὶ αὖθις εἰπεῖν ἕν;

καὶ τοῦτο.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ἑκάτερον αὐτοῖν εἴρηται;

ναί.

τί δ᾽ ὅταν εἴπω οὐσία τε καὶ ἕν, ἆρα οὐκ ἀμφοτέρω;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐὰν οὐσία τε καὶ ἕτερον ἢ ἕτερόν τε καὶ ἕν, καὶ οὕτω πανταχῶς ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστου ἄμφω λέγω;

ναί.

[143d]ὣ δ᾽ ἂν ἄμφω ὀρθῶς προσαγορεύησθον, ἆρα οἷόν τε ἄμφω μὲν αὐτὼ εἶναι, δύο δὲ μή;

οὐχ οἷόν τε.

ὣ δ᾽ ἂν δύο ἦτον, ἔστι τις μηχανὴ μὴ οὐχ ἑκάτερον αὐτοῖν ἓν εἶναι;

οὐδεμία.

τούτων ἄρα ἐπείπερ σύνδυο ἕκαστα συμβαίνει εἶναι, καὶ ἓν ἂν εἴη ἕκαστον.

φαίνεται.

εἰ δὲ ἓν ἕκαστον αὐτῶν ἐστι, συντεθέντος ἑνὸς ὁποιουοῦν ᾑτινιοῦν συζυγίᾳ οὐ τρία γίγνεται τὰ πάντα;

ναί.

τρία δὲ οὐ περιττὰ καὶ δύο ἄρτια;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τί δέ; δυοῖν ὄντοιν οὐκ [143e]ἀνάγκη εἶναι καὶ δίς, καὶ τριῶν ὄντων τρίς, εἴπερ ὑπάρχει τῷ τε δύο τὸ δὶς ἓν καὶ τῷ τρία τὸ τρὶς ἕν;

ἀνάγκη.

δυοῖν δὲ ὄντοιν καὶ δὶς οὐκ ἀνάγκη δύο δὶς εἶναι; καὶ τριῶν καὶ τρὶς οὐκ ἀνάγκη αὖ τρία τρὶς εἶναι;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τί δέ; τριῶν ὄντων καὶ δὶς ὄντων καὶ δυοῖν ὄντοιν καὶ τρὶς ὄντοιν οὐκ ἀνάγκη τε τρία δὶς εἶναι καὶ δύο τρίς;

πολλή γε.

ἄρτιά τε ἄρα ἀρτιάκις ἂν εἴη καὶ [144a]περιττὰ περιττάκις καὶ ἄρτια περιττάκις καὶ περιττὰ ἀρτιάκις.

ἔστιν οὕτω.

εἰ οὖν ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει, οἴει τινὰ ἀριθμὸν ὑπολείπεσθαι ὃν οὐκ ἀνάγκη εἶναι;

οὐδαμῶς γε.

εἰ ἄρα ἔστιν ἕν, ἀνάγκη καὶ ἀριθμὸν εἶναι.

ἀνάγκη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἀριθμοῦ γε ὄντος πολλὰ ἂν εἴη καὶ πλῆθος ἄπειρον τῶν ὄντων: ἢ οὐκ ἄπειρος ἀριθμὸς πλήθει καὶ μετέχων οὐσίας γίγνεται;

καὶ πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν εἰ πᾶς ἀριθμὸς οὐσίας μετέχει, καὶ τὸ μόριον ἕκαστον τοῦ ἀριθμοῦ μετέχοι ἂν αὐτῆς;

ναί. [144b]

ἐπὶ πάντα ἄρα πολλὰ ὄντα ἡ οὐσία νενέμηται καὶ οὐδενὸς ἀποστατεῖ τῶν ὄντων, οὔτε τοῦ σμικροτάτου οὔτε τοῦ μεγίστου; ἢ τοῦτο μὲν καὶ ἄλογον ἐρέσθαι; πῶς γὰρ ἂν δὴ οὐσία γε τῶν ὄντων του ἀποστατοῖ;

οὐδαμῶς.

κατακεκερμάτισται ἄρα ὡς οἷόν τε σμικρότατα καὶ μέγιστα καὶ πανταχῶς ὄντα, καὶ μεμέρισται πάντων μάλιστα, καὶ ἔστι [144c] μέρη ἀπέραντα τῆς οὐσίας.

ἔχει οὕτω.

πλεῖστα ἄρα ἐστὶ τὰ μέρη αὐτῆς.

πλεῖστα μέντοι.

τί οὖν; ἔστι τι αὐτῶν ὃ ἔστι μὲν μέρος τῆς οὐσίας, οὐδὲν μέντοι μέρος;

καὶ πῶς ἄν [τοι] τοῦτο γένοιτο;

ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ γε οἶμαι ἔστιν, ἀνάγκη αὐτὸ ἀεί, ἕωσπερ ἂν ᾖ, ἕν γέ τι εἶναι, μηδὲν δὲ ἀδύνατον.

ἀνάγκη.

πρὸς ἅπαντι ἄρα [ἑκάστῳ] τῷ τῆς οὐσίας μέρει πρόσεστιν τὸ ἕν, οὐκ ἀπολειπόμενον οὔτε σμικροτέρου οὔτε μείζονος μέρους οὔτε ἄλλου οὐδενός.

οὕτω.

ἆρα οὖν ἓν [144d]ὂν πολλαχοῦ ἅμα ὅλον ἐστί; τοῦτο ἄθρει.

ἀλλ᾽ ἀθρῶ καὶ ὁρῶ ὅτι ἀδύνατον.

μεμερισμένον ἄρα, εἴπερ μὴ ὅλον: ἄλλως γάρ που οὐδαμῶς ἅμα ἅπασι τοῖς τῆς οὐσίας μέρεσιν παρέσται ἢ μεμερισμένον.

ναί.

καὶ μὴν τό γε μεριστὸν πολλὴ ἀνάγκη εἶναι τοσαῦτα ὅσαπερ μέρη.

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκ ἄρα ἀληθῆ ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν λέγοντες ὡς πλεῖστα μέρη ἡ οὐσία νενεμημένη εἴη. οὐδὲ γὰρ πλείω τοῦ ἑνὸς νενέμηται, ἀλλ᾽ [144e]ἴσα, ὡς ἔοικε, τῷ ἑνί: οὔτε γὰρ τὸ ὂν τοῦ ἑνὸς ἀπολείπεται οὔτε τὸ ἓν τοῦ ὄντος, ἀλλ᾽ ἐξισοῦσθον δύο ὄντε ἀεὶ παρὰ πάντα.

παντάπασιν οὕτω φαίνεται.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα αὐτὸ κεκερματισμένον ὑπὸ τῆς οὐσίας πολλά τε καὶ ἄπειρα τὸ πλῆθός ἐστιν.

φαίνεται.

οὐ μόνον ἄρα τὸ ὂν ἓν πολλά ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ ἓν ὑπὸ τοῦ ὄντος διανενεμημένον πολλὰ ἀνάγκη εἶναι.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

καὶ μὴν ὅτι γε ὅλου τὰ μόρια μόρια, πεπερασμένον ἂν εἴη κατὰ τὸ ὅλον τὸ ἕν: ἢ οὐ περιέχεται ὑπὸ τοῦ ὅλου τὰ [145a]μόρια;

ἀνάγκη.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε περιέχον πέρας ἂν εἴη.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τὸ ἓν ἄρα ὂν ἕν τέ ἐστί που καὶ πολλά, καὶ ὅλον καὶ μόρια, καὶ πεπερασμένον καὶ ἄπειρον πλήθει.

φαίνεται.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ, ἐπείπερ πεπερασμένον, καὶ ἔσχατα ἔχον;

ἀνάγκη.

τί δέ; εἰ ὅλον, οὐ καὶ ἀρχὴν ἂν ἔχοι καὶ μέσον καὶ τελευτήν; ἢ οἷόν τέ τι ὅλον εἶναι ἄνευ τριῶν τούτων; κἄν του ἓν ὁτιοῦν αὐτῶν ἀποστατῇ, ἐθελήσει ἔτι ὅλον εἶναι;

οὐκ ἐθελήσει.

καὶ ἀρχὴν δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, καὶ [145b]τελευτὴν καὶ μέσον ἔχοι ἂν τὸ ἕν.

ἔχοι.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε μέσον ἴσον τῶν ἐσχάτων ἀπέχει: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἄλλως μέσον εἴη.

οὐ γάρ.

καὶ σχήματος δή τινος, ὡς ἔοικε, τοιοῦτον ὂν μετέχοι ἂν τὸ ἕν, ἤτοι εὐθέος ἢ στρογγύλου ἤ τινος μεικτοῦ ἐξ ἀμφοῖν.

μετέχοι γὰρ ἄν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὕτως ἔχον οὐκ αὐτό τε ἐν ἑαυτῷ ἔσται καὶ ἐν ἄλλῳ;

πῶς;

τῶν μερῶν που ἕκαστον ἐν τῷ ὅλῳ ἐστὶ καὶ οὐδὲν ἐκτὸς τοῦ ὅλου.

οὕτω.

πάντα δὲ τὰ μέρη ὑπὸ τοῦ [145c] ὅλου περιέχεται;

ναί.

καὶ μὴν τά γε πάντα μέρη τὰ αὑτοῦ τὸ ἕν ἐστι, καὶ οὔτε τι πλέον οὔτε ἔλαττον ἢ πάντα.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ὅλον τὸ ἕν ἐστιν;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

εἰ ἄρα πάντα τὰ μέρη ἐν ὅλῳ τυγχάνει ὄντα, ἔστι δὲ τά τε πάντα τὸ ἓν καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ ὅλον, περιέχεται δὲ ὑπὸ τοῦ ὅλου τὰ πάντα, ὑπὸ τοῦ ἑνὸς ἂν περιέχοιτο τὸ ἕν, καὶ οὕτως ἂν ἤδη τὸ ἓν αὐτὸ ἐν ἑαυτῷ εἴη.

φαίνεται.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι τό γε ὅλον αὖ οὐκ ἐν τοῖς μέρεσίν ἐστιν, οὔτε ἐν πᾶσιν οὔτε [145d]ἐν τινί. εἰ γὰρ ἐν πᾶσιν, ἀνάγκη καὶ ἐν ἑνί: ἔν τινι γὰρ ἑνὶ μὴ ὂν οὐκ ἂν ἔτι που δύναιτο ἔν γε ἅπασιν εἶναι: εἰ δὲ τοῦτο μὲν τὸ ἓν τῶν ἁπάντων ἐστί, τὸ δὲ ὅλον ἐν τούτῳ μὴ ἔνι, πῶς ἔτι ἔν γε τοῖς πᾶσιν ἐνέσται;

οὐδαμῶς.

οὐδὲ μὴν ἐν τισὶ τῶν μερῶν: εἰ γὰρ ἐν τισὶ τὸ ὅλον εἴη, τὸ πλέον ἂν ἐν τῷ ἐλάττονι εἴη, ὅ ἐστιν ἀδύνατον.

ἀδύνατον γάρ.

μὴ ὂν δ᾽ ἐν πλέοσιν μηδ᾽ ἐν ἑνὶ μηδ᾽ ἐν ἅπασι τοῖς μέρεσι τὸ ὅλον οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἐν ἑτέρῳ τινὶ εἶναι ἢ μηδαμοῦ [145e]ἔτι εἶναι;

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν μηδαμοῦ μὲν ὂν οὐδὲν ἂν εἴη, ὅλον δὲ ὄν, ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἐν αὑτῷ ἐστιν, ἀνάγκη ἐν ἄλλῳ εἶναι;

πάνυ γε.

ἧι μὲν ἄρα τὸ ἓν ὅλον, ἐν ἄλλῳ ἐστίν: ᾗ δὲ τὰ πάντα μέρη ὄντα τυγχάνει, αὐτὸ ἐν ἑαυτῷ: καὶ οὕτω τὸ ἓν ἀνάγκη αὐτό τε ἐν ἑαυτῷ εἶναι καὶ ἐν ἑτέρῳ.

ἀνάγκη.

οὕτω δὴ πεφυκὸς τὸ ἓν ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη καὶ κινεῖσθαι καὶ ἑστάναι;

πῇ;

ἕστηκε μέν που, εἴπερ αὐτὸ ἐν ἑαυτῷ [146a]ἐστιν: ἐν γὰρ ἑνὶ ὂν καὶ ἐκ τούτου μὴ μεταβαῖνον ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ἂν εἴη, ἐν ἑαυτῷ.

ἔστι γάρ.

τὸ δέ γε ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ἀεὶ ὂν ἑστὸς δήπου ἀνάγκη ἀεὶ εἶναι.

πάνυ γε.

τί δέ; τὸ ἐν ἑτέρῳ ἀεὶ ὂν οὐ τὸ ἐναντίον ἀνάγκη μηδέποτ᾽ ἐν ταὐτῷ εἶναι, μηδέποτε δὲ ὂν ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ μηδὲ ἑστάναι, μὴ ἑστὸς δὲ κινεῖσθαι;

οὕτως.

ἀνάγκη ἄρα τὸ ἕν, αὐτό τε ἐν ἑαυτῷ ἀεὶ ὂν καὶ ἐν ἑτέρῳ, ἀεὶ κινεῖσθαί τε καὶ ἑστάναι.

φαίνεται.

καὶ μὴν ταὐτόν γε δεῖ εἶναι αὐτὸ ἑαυτῷ καὶ ἕτερον [146b]ἑαυτοῦ, καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὡσαύτως ταὐτόν τε καὶ ἕτερον εἶναι, εἴπερ καὶ τὰ πρόσθεν πέπονθεν.

πῶς;

πᾶν που πρὸς ἅπαν ὧδε ἔχει, ἢ ταὐτόν ἐστιν ἢ ἕτερον: ἢ ἐὰν μὴ ταὐτὸν ᾖ μηδ᾽ ἕτερον, μέρος ἂν εἴη τούτου πρὸς ὃ οὕτως ἔχει, ἢ ὡς πρὸς μέρος ὅλον ἂν εἴη.

φαίνεται.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸ ἓν αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ μέρος ἐστίν;

οὐδαμῶς.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ὡς πρὸς μέρος αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ ὅλον ἂν εἴη, πρὸς ἑαυτὸ μέρος ὄν.

οὐ γὰρ οἷόν [146c] τε.

ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα ἕτερόν ἐστιν ἑνὸς τὸ ἕν;

οὐ δῆτα.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ἑαυτοῦ γε ἕτερον ἂν εἴη.

οὐ μέντοι.

εἰ οὖν μήτε ἕτερον μήτε ὅλον μήτε μέρος αὐτὸ πρὸς ἑαυτό ἐστιν, οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἤδη ταὐτὸν εἶναι αὐτὸ ἑαυτῷ;

ἀνάγκη.

τί δέ; τὸ ἑτέρωθι ὂν αὐτὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ὄντος ἑαυτῷ οὐκ ἀνάγκη αὐτὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἕτερον εἶναι, εἴπερ καὶ ἑτέρωθι ἔσται;

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

οὕτω μὴν ἐφάνη ἔχον τὸ ἕν, αὐτό τε ἐν ἑαυτῷ ὂν ἅμα καὶ ἐν ἑτέρῳ.

ἐφάνη γάρ.

ἕτερον ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, [146d]εἴη ταύτῃ ἂν ἑαυτοῦ τὸ ἕν.

ἔοικεν.

τί οὖν; εἴ τού τι ἕτερόν ἐστιν, οὐχ ἑτέρου ὄντος ἕτερον ἔσται;

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν ὅσα μὴ ἕν ἐστιν, ἅπανθ᾽ ἕτερα τοῦ ἑνός, καὶ τὸ ἓν τῶν μὴ ἕν;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἕτερον ἄρα ἂν εἴη τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων.

ἕτερον.

ὅρα δή: αὐτό τε ταὐτὸν καὶ τὸ ἕτερον ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐναντία ἀλλήλοις;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἦ οὖν ἐθελήσει ταὐτὸν ἐν τῷ ἑτέρῳ ἢ τὸ ἕτερον ἐν ταὐτῷ ποτε εἶναι;

οὐκ ἐθελήσει.

εἰ ἄρα τὸ ἕτερον ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ μηδέποτε ἔσται, οὐδὲν ἔστι τῶν ὄντων ἐν ᾧ ἐστὶν τὸ ἕτερον χρόνον οὐδένα: [146e]εἰ γὰρ ὁντινοῦν εἴη ἔν τῳ, ἐκεῖνον ἂν τὸν χρόνον ἐν ταὐτῷ εἴη τὸ ἕτερον. οὐχ οὕτως;

οὕτως.

ἐπειδὴ δ᾽ οὐδέποτε ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ἐστιν, οὐδέποτε ἔν τινι τῶν ὄντων ἂν εἴη τὸ ἕτερον.

ἀληθῆ.

οὔτ᾽ ἄρα ἐν τοῖς μὴ ἓν οὔτε ἐν τῷ ἑνὶ ἐνείη ἂν τὸ ἕτερον.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὐκ ἄρα τῷ ἑτέρῳ γ᾽ ἂν εἴη τὸ ἓν τῶν μὴ ἓν οὐδὲ τὰ μὴ ἓν τοῦ ἑνὸς ἕτερα.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐδὲ μὴν ἑαυτοῖς γε ἕτερ᾽ ἂν εἴη ἀλλήλων, μὴ μετέχοντα [147a]τοῦ ἑτέρου.

πῶς γάρ;

εἰ δὲ μήτε αὑτοῖς ἕτερά ἐστι μήτε τῷ ἑτέρῳ, οὐ πάντῃ ἤδη ἂν ἐκφεύγοι τὸ μὴ ἕτερα εἶναι ἀλλήλων;

ἐκφεύγοι.

ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδὲ τοῦ ἑνός γε μετέχει τὰ μὴ ἕν: οὐ γὰρ ἂν μὴ ἓν ἦν, ἀλλά πῃ ἂν ἓν ἦν.

ἀληθῆ.

οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἀριθμὸς εἴη ἄρα τὰ μὴ ἕν: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν οὕτω μὴ ἓν ἦν παντάπασιν, ἀριθμόν γε ἔχοντα.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

τί δέ; τὰ μὴ ἓν τοῦ ἑνὸς ἆρα μόριά ἐστιν; ἢ κἂν οὕτω μετεῖχε τοῦ ἑνὸς τὰ μὴ ἕν;

μετεῖχεν.

εἰ ἄρα πάντῃ τὸ μὲν ἕν ἐστι, [147b]τὰ δὲ μὴ ἕν, οὔτ᾽ ἂν μόριον τῶν μὴ ἓν τὸ ἓν εἴη οὔτε ὅλον ὡς μορίων: οὔτε αὖ τὰ μὴ ἓν τοῦ ἑνὸς μόρια, οὔτε ὅλα ὡς μορίῳ τῷ ἑνί.

οὐ γάρ.

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἔφαμεν τὰ μήτε μόρια μήτε ὅλα μήτε ἕτερα ἀλλήλων ταὐτὰ ἔσεσθαι ἀλλήλοις.

ἔφαμεν γάρ.

φῶμεν ἄρα καὶ τὸ ἓν πρὸς τὰ μὴ ἓν οὕτως ἔχον τὸ αὐτὸ εἶναι αὐτοῖς;

φῶμεν.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἕτερόν τε τῶν ἄλλων ἐστὶν καὶ ἑαυτοῦ καὶ ταὐτὸν ἐκείνοις τε καὶ ἑαυτῷ.

κινδυνεύει φαίνεσθαι ἐκ γε τοῦ λόγου. [147c]

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ὅμοιόν τε καὶ ἀνόμοιον ἑαυτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις;

ἴσως.

ἐπειδὴ γοῦν ἕτερον τῶν ἄλλων ἐφάνη, καὶ τἆλλά που ἕτερα ἂν ἐκείνου εἴη.

τί μήν;

οὐκοῦν οὕτως ἕτερον τῶν ἄλλων, ὥσπερ καὶ τἆλλα ἐκείνου, καὶ οὔτε μᾶλλον οὔτε ἧττον;

τί γὰρ ἄν;

εἰ ἄρα μήτε μᾶλλον μήτε ἧττον, ὁμοίως.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν ᾗ ἕτερον εἶναι πέπονθεν τῶν ἄλλων καὶ τἆλλα ἐκείνου ὡσαύτως, ταύτῃ ταὐτὸν ἂν πεπονθότα εἶεν τό τε ἓν τοῖς ἄλλοις καὶ τἆλλα τῷ ἑνί.

[147d]πῶς λέγεις;

ὧδε: ἕκαστον τῶν ὀνομάτων οὐκ ἐπί τινι καλεῖς;

ἔγωγε.

τί οὖν; τὸ αὐτὸ ὄνομα εἴποις ἂν πλεονάκις ἢ ἅπαξ;

ἔγωγε.

πότερον οὖν ἐὰν μὲν ἅπαξ εἴπῃς, ἐκεῖνο προσαγορεύεις οὗπέρ ἐστι τοὔνομα, ἐὰν δὲ πολλάκις, οὐκ ἐκεῖνο; ἢ ἐάντε ἅπαξ ἐάντε πολλάκις ταὐτὸν ὄνομα φθέγξῃ, πολλὴ ἀνάγκη σε ταὐτὸν καὶ λέγειν ἀεί;

τί μήν;

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ἕτερον ὄνομά ἐστιν ἐπί τινι;

πάνυ γε.

[147e]ὅταν ἄρα αὐτὸ φθέγγῃ, ἐάντε ἅπαξ ἐάντε πολλάκις, οὐκ ἐπ᾽ ἄλλῳ οὐδὲ ἄλλο τι ὀνομάζεις ἢ ἐκεῖνο οὗπερ ἦν ὄνομα.

ἀνάγκη.

ὅταν δὴ λέγωμεν ὅτι ἕτερον μὲν τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός, ἕτερον δὲ τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων, δὶς τὸ ἕτερον εἰπόντες οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ἐπ᾽ ἄλλῃ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἐκείνῃ τῇ φύσει αὐτὸ ἀεὶ λέγομεν ἧσπερ ἦν τοὔνομα.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἧι ἄρα ἕτερον τῶν [148a]ἄλλων τὸ ἓν καὶ τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός, κατ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ ἕτερον πεπονθέναι οὐκ ἄλλο ἀλλὰ τὸ αὐτὸ ἂν πεπονθὸς εἴη τὸ ἓν τοῖς ἄλλοις: τὸ δέ που ταὐτὸν πεπονθὸς ὅμοιον: οὐχί;

ναί.

ἧι δὴ τὸ ἓν ἕτερον τῶν ἄλλων πέπονθεν εἶναι, κατ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἅπαν ἅπασιν ὅμοιον ἂν εἴη: ἅπαν γὰρ ἁπάντων ἕτερόν ἐστιν.

ἔοικεν.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε ὅμοιον τῷ ἀνομοίῳ ἐναντίον.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ἕτερον τῷ ταὐτῷ.

καὶ τοῦτο.

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ τοῦτό γ᾽ ἐφάνη, ὡς ἄρα τὸ ἓν τοῖς [148b]ἄλλοις ταὐτόν.

ἐφάνη γάρ.

τοὐναντίον δέ γε πάθος ἐστὶ τὸ εἶναι ταὐτὸν τοῖς ἄλλοις τῷ ἕτερον εἶναι τῶν ἄλλων.

πάνυ γε.

ἧι γε μὴν ἕτερον, ὅμοιον ἐφάνη.

ναί.

ἧι ἄρα ταὐτόν, ἀνόμοιον ἔσται κατὰ τοὐναντίον πάθος τῷ ὁμοιοῦντι πάθει. ὡμοίου δέ που τὸ ἕτερον;

ναί.

ἀνομοιώσει ἄρα τὸ ταὐτόν, ἢ οὐκ ἐναντίον ἔσται τῷ ἑτέρῳ.

[148c] ἔοικεν.

ὅμοιον ἄρα καὶ ἀνόμοιον ἔσται τὸ ἓν τοῖς ἄλλοις, ᾗ μὲν ἕτερον, ὅμοιον, ᾗ δὲ ταὐτόν, ἀνόμοιον.

ἔχει γὰρ οὖν δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, καὶ τοιοῦτον λόγον.

καὶ γὰρ τόνδε ἔχει.

τίνα;

ἧι ταὐτὸν πέπονθε, μὴ ἀλλοῖον πεπονθέναι, μὴ ἀλλοῖον δὲ πεπονθὸς μὴ ἀνόμοιον, μὴ ἀνόμοιον δὲ ὅμοιον εἶναι: ᾗ δ᾽ ἄλλο πέπονθεν, ἀλλοῖον, ἀλλοῖον δὲ ὂν ἀνόμοιον εἶναι.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

ταὐτόν τε ἄρα ὂν τὸ ἓν τοῖς ἄλλοις καὶ ὅτι ἕτερόν ἐστι, κατ᾽ ἀμφότερα καὶ κατὰ ἑκάτερον, ὅμοιόν [148d]τε ἂν εἴη καὶ ἀνόμοιον τοῖς ἄλλοις.

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἑαυτῷ ὡσαύτως, ἐπείπερ ἕτερόν τε ἑαυτοῦ καὶ ταὐτὸν ἑαυτῷ ἐφάνη, κατ᾽ ἀμφότερα καὶ κατὰ ἑκάτερον ὅμοιόν τε καὶ ἀνόμοιον φανήσεται;

ἀνάγκη.

τί δὲ δή; περὶ τοῦ ἅπτεσθαι τὸ ἓν αὑτοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων καὶ τοῦ μὴ ἅπτεσθαι πέρι πῶς ἔχει, σκόπει.

σκοπῶ.

αὐτὸ γάρ που ἐν ἑαυτῷ ὅλῳ τὸ ἓν ἐφάνη ὄν.

ὀρθῶς.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις τὸ ἕν;

ναί.

ἧι μὲν ἄρα ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις, [148e]τῶν ἄλλων ἅπτοιτο ἄν: ᾗ δὲ αὐτὸ ἐν ἑαυτῷ, τῶν μὲν ἄλλων ἀπείργοιτο ἅπτεσθαι, αὐτὸ δὲ αὑτοῦ ἅπτοιτο ἂν ἐν ἑαυτῷ ὄν.

φαίνεται.

οὕτω μὲν δὴ ἅπτοιτο ἂν τὸ ἓν αὑτοῦ τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων.

ἅπτοιτο.

τί δὲ τῇδε; ἆρ᾽ οὐ πᾶν τὸ μέλλον ἅψεσθαί τινος ἐφεξῆς δεῖ κεῖσθαι ἐκείνῳ οὗ μέλλει ἅπτεσθαι, ταύτην τὴν ἕδραν κατέχον ἣ ἂν μετ᾽ ἐκείνην ᾖ [ἕδρα] ᾗ ἂν κέηται, ἅπτεται;

ἀνάγκη.

καὶ τὸ ἓν ἄρα εἰ μέλλει αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ ἅψεσθαι, ἐφεξῆς δεῖ εὐθὺς μετὰ ἑαυτὸ κεῖσθαι, τὴν ἐχομένην χώραν κατέχον ἐκείνης ἐν ᾗ αὐτό ἐστιν.

δεῖ γὰρ οὖν.

οὐκοῦν δύο μὲν ὂν τὸ ἓν ποιήσειεν [149a]ἂν ταῦτα καὶ ἐν δυοῖν χώραιν ἅμα γένοιτο: ἕως δ᾽ ἂν ᾖ ἕν, οὐκ ἐθελήσει;

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ἡ αὐτὴ ἄρα ἀνάγκη τῷ ἑνὶ μήτε δύο εἶναι μήτε ἅπτεσθαι αὐτῷ αὑτοῦ.

ἡ αὐτή.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ μὴν τῶν ἄλλων ἅψεται.

τί δή;

ὅτι, φαμέν, τὸ μέλλον ἅψεσθαι χωρὶς ὂν ἐφεξῆς δεῖ ἐκείνῳ εἶναι οὗ μέλλει ἅψεσθαι, τρίτον δὲ αὐτῶν ἐν μέσῳ μηδὲν εἶναι.

ἀληθῆ.

δύο ἄρα δεῖ τὸ ὀλίγιστον εἶναι, εἰ μέλλει ἅψις εἶναι.

δεῖ.

ἐὰν δὲ τοῖν δυοῖν ὅροιν τρίτον προσγένηται ἑξῆς, αὐτὰ [149b]μὲν τρία ἔσται, αἱ δὲ ἅψεις δύο.

ναί.

καὶ οὕτω δὴ ἀεὶ ἑνὸς προσγιγνομένου μία καὶ ἅψις προσγίγνεται, καὶ συμβαίνει τὰς ἅψεις τοῦ πλήθους τῶν ἀριθμῶν μιᾷ ἐλάττους εἶναι. ᾧ γὰρ τὰ πρῶτα δύο ἐπλεονέκτησεν τῶν ἅψεων εἰς τὸ πλείω εἶναι τὸν ἀριθμὸν ἢ τὰς ἅψεις, τῷ ἴσῳ τούτῳ καὶ ὁ ἔπειτα ἀριθμὸς πᾶς πασῶν τῶν ἅψεων πλεονεκτεῖ: ἤδη [149c] γὰρ τὸ λοιπὸν ἅμα ἕν τε τῷ ἀριθμῷ προσγίγνεται καὶ μία ἅψις ταῖς ἅψεσιν.

ὀρθῶς.

ὅσα ἄρα ἐστὶν τὰ ὄντα τὸν ἀριθμόν, ἀεὶ μιᾷ αἱ ἅψεις ἐλάττους εἰσὶν αὐτῶν.

ἀληθῆ.

εἰ δέ γε ἓν μόνον ἐστίν, δυὰς δὲ μὴ ἔστιν, ἅψις οὐκ ἂν εἴη.

πῶς γάρ;

οὔκουν, φαμέν, τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς οὔτε ἕν ἐστιν οὔτε μετέχει αὐτοῦ, εἴπερ ἄλλα ἐστίν.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐκ ἄρα ἔνεστιν ἀριθμὸς ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις, ἑνὸς μὴ ἐνόντος ἐν αὐτοῖς.

πῶς γάρ;

οὔτ᾽ ἄρα ἕν ἐστι τὰ ἄλλα οὔτε δύο οὔτε [149d]ἄλλου ἀριθμοῦ ἔχοντα ὄνομα οὐδέν.

οὔ.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα μόνον ἐστὶν ἕν, καὶ δυὰς οὐκ ἂν εἴη.

οὐ φαίνεται.

ἅψις ἄρα οὐκ ἔστιν δυοῖν μὴ ὄντοιν.

οὐκ ἔστιν.

οὔτ᾽ ἄρα τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων ἅπτεται οὔτε τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνός, ἐπείπερ ἅψις οὐκ ἔστιν.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὕτω δὴ κατὰ πάντα ταῦτα τὸ ἓν τῶν τε ἄλλων καὶ ἑαυτοῦ ἅπτεταί τε καὶ οὐχ ἅπτεται.

ἔοικεν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ἴσον ἐστὶ καὶ ἄνισον αὑτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις;

πῶς;

εἰ μεῖζον εἴη τὸ ἓν ἢ τἆλλα ἢ ἔλαττον, [149e]ἢ αὖ τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς μείζω ἢ ἐλάττω, ἆρα οὐκ ἂν τῷ μὲν ἓν εἶναι τὸ ἓν καὶ τἆλλα ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς οὔτε τι μείζω οὔτε τι ἐλάττω ἂν εἴη ἀλλήλων αὐταῖς γε ταύταις ταῖς οὐσίαις; ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὲν πρὸς τῷ τοιαῦτα εἶναι ἑκάτερα ἰσότητα ἔχοιεν, ἴσα ἂν εἴη πρὸς ἄλληλα: εἰ δὲ τὰ μὲν μέγεθος, τὸ δὲ σμικρότητα, ἢ καὶ μέγεθος μὲν τὸ ἕν, σμικρότητα δὲ τἆλλα, ὁποτέρῳ μὲν τῷ εἴδει μέγεθος προσείη, μεῖζον ἂν εἴη, ᾧ δὲ σμικρότης, ἔλαττον;

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν ἐστόν γέ τινε τούτω εἴδη, τό τε μέγεθος καὶ ἡ σμικρότης; οὐ γὰρ ἄν που μὴ ὄντε γε ἐναντίω τε ἀλλήλοιν εἴτην καὶ ἐν τοῖς [150a]οὖσιν ἐγγιγνοίσθην.

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

εἰ ἄρα ἐν τῷ ἑνὶ σμικρότης ἐγγίγνεται, ἤτοι ἐν ὅλῳ ἂν ἢ ἐν μέρει αὐτοῦ ἐνείη.

ἀνάγκη.

τί δ᾽ εἰ ἐν ὅλῳ ἐγγίγνοιτο; οὐχὶ ἢ ἐξ ἴσου ἂν τῷ ἑνὶ δι᾽ ὅλου αὐτοῦ τεταμένη εἴη ἢ περιέχουσα αὐτό;

δῆλον δή.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἐξ ἴσου μὲν οὖσα ἡ σμικρότης τῷ ἑνὶ ἴση ἂν αὐτῷ εἴη, περιέχουσα δὲ μείζων;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

δυνατὸν οὖν σμικρότητα ἴσην τῳ εἶναι ἢ μείζω τινός, καὶ πράττειν τὰ μεγέθους τε καὶ ἰσότητος, ἀλλὰ [150b]μὴ τὰ ἑαυτῆς;

ἀδύνατον.

ἐν μὲν ὅλῳ ἄρα τῷ ἑνὶ οὐκ ἂν εἴη σμικρότης, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ, ἐν μέρει.

ναί.

οὐδέ γε ἐν παντὶ αὖ τῷ μέρει: εἰ δὲ μή, ταὐτὰ ποιήσει ἅπερ πρὸς τὸ ὅλον: ἴση ἔσται ἢ μείζων τοῦ μέρους ἐν ᾧ ἂν ἀεὶ ἐνῇ.

ἀνάγκη.

οὐδενί ποτε ἄρα ἐνέσται τῶν ὄντων σμικρότης, μήτ᾽ ἐν μέρει μήτ᾽ ἐν ὅλῳ ἐγγιγνομένη: οὐδέ τι ἔσται σμικρὸν πλὴν αὐτῆς σμικρότητος.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα μέγεθος ἐνέσται ἐν αὐτῷ: μεῖζον γὰρ ἄν τι εἴη ἄλλο καὶ [150c] πλὴν αὐτοῦ μεγέθους, ἐκεῖνο ἐν ᾧ τὸ μέγεθος ἐνείη, καὶ ταῦτα σμικροῦ αὐτῷ οὐκ ὄντος, οὗ ἀνάγκη ὑπερέχειν, ἐάνπερ ᾖ μέγα: τοῦτο δὲ ἀδύνατον, ἐπειδὴ σμικρότης οὐδαμοῦ ἔνι.

ἀληθῆ.

ἀλλὰ μὴν αὐτὸ μέγεθος οὐκ ἄλλου μεῖζον ἢ αὐτῆς σμικρότητος, οὐδὲ σμικρότης ἄλλου ἔλαττον ἢ αὐτοῦ μεγέθους.

οὐ γάρ.

οὔτε ἄρα τὰ ἄλλα μείζω τοῦ ἑνὸς οὐδὲ ἐλάττω, μήτε μέγεθος μήτε σμικρότητα ἔχοντα, οὔτε [150d]αὐτὼ τούτω πρὸς τὸ ἓν ἔχετον τὴν δύναμιν τὴν τοῦ ὑπερέχειν καὶ ὑπερέχεσθαι, ἀλλὰ πρὸς ἀλλήλω, οὔτε αὖ τὸ ἓν τούτοιν οὐδὲ τῶν ἄλλων μεῖζον ἂν οὐδ᾽ ἔλαττον εἴη, μήτε μέγεθος μήτε σμικρότητα ἔχον.

οὔκουν φαίνεταί γε.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, εἰ μήτε μεῖζον μήτε ἔλαττον τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων, ἀνάγκη αὐτὸ ἐκείνων μήτε ὑπερέχειν μήτε ὑπερέχεσθαι;

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν τό γε μήτε ὑπερέχον μήτε ὑπερεχόμενον πολλὴ ἀνάγκη ἐξ ἴσου εἶναι, ἐξ ἴσου δὲ ὂν ἴσον εἶναι.

πῶς γὰρ [150e]οὔ;

καὶ μὴν καὶ αὐτό γε τὸ ἓν πρὸς ἑαυτὸ οὕτως ἂν ἔχοι: μήτε μέγεθος ἐν ἑαυτῷ μήτε σμικρότητα ἔχον οὔτ᾽ ἂν ὑπερέχοιτο οὔτ᾽ ἂν ὑπερέχοι ἑαυτοῦ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ἴσου ὂν ἴσον ἂν εἴη ἑαυτῷ.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα ἑαυτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἴσον ἂν εἴη.

φαίνεται.

καὶ μὴν αὐτό γε ἐν ἑαυτῷ ὂν καὶ περὶ ἑαυτὸ ἂν εἴη ἔξωθεν, καὶ περιέχον μὲν μεῖζον [151a]ἂν ἑαυτοῦ εἴη, περιεχόμενον δὲ ἔλαττον, καὶ οὕτω μεῖζον ἂν καὶ ἔλαττον εἴη αὐτὸ ἑαυτοῦ τὸ ἕν.

εἴη γὰρ ἄν.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τόδε ἀνάγκη, μηδὲν εἶναι ἐκτὸς τοῦ ἑνός τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ εἶναί που δεῖ τό γε ὂν ἀεί.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν τό γε ἔν τῳ ὂν ἐν μείζονι ἔσται ἔλαττον ὄν; οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἄλλως ἕτερον ἐν ἑτέρῳ εἴη.

οὐ γάρ.

ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐδὲν ἕτερον ἔστι χωρὶς τῶν ἄλλων καὶ τοῦ ἑνός, δεῖ δὲ αὐτὰ ἔν τῳ εἶναι, οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἤδη ἐν ἀλλήλοις εἶναι, τά τε ἄλλα ἐν τῷ ἑνὶ καὶ τὸ ἓν ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις, [151b]ἢ μηδαμοῦ εἶναι;

φαίνεται.

ὅτι μὲν ἄρα τὸ ἓν ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἔνεστι, μείζω ἂν εἴη τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνός, περιέχοντα αὐτό, τὸ δὲ ἓν ἔλαττον τῶν ἄλλων, περιεχόμενον: ὅτι δὲ τὰ ἄλλα ἐν τῷ ἑνί, τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον μεῖζον ἂν εἴη, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς ἐλάττω.

ἔοικεν.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα ἴσον τε καὶ μεῖζον καὶ ἔλαττόν ἐστιν αὐτό τε αὑτοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων.

φαίνεται.

καὶ μὴν εἴπερ μεῖζον καὶ ἔλαττον καὶ ἴσον, ἴσων ἂν εἴη μέτρων καὶ πλειόνων καὶ ἐλαττόνων [151c] αὑτῷ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις, ἐπειδὴ δὲ μέτρων, καὶ μερῶν.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἴσων μὲν ἄρα μέτρων ὂν καὶ πλειόνων καὶ ἐλαττόνων, καὶ ἀριθμῷ ἔλαττον ἂν καὶ πλέον εἴη αὐτό τε αὑτοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων καὶ ἴσον αὑτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις κατὰ ταὐτά.

πῶς;

ὧνπερ μεῖζόν ἐστι, πλειόνων που καὶ μέτρων ἂν εἴη αὐτῶν, ὅσων δὲ μέτρων, καὶ μερῶν: καὶ ὧν ἔλαττον, ὡσαύτως: καὶ οἷς ἴσον, κατὰ ταὐτά.

οὕτως.

οὐκοῦν ἑαυτοῦ μεῖζον καὶ ἔλαττον ὂν καὶ ἴσον ἴσων ἂν εἴη [151d]μέτρων καὶ πλειόνων καὶ ἐλαττόνων αὑτῷ, ἐπειδὴ δὲ μέτρων, καὶ μερῶν;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἴσων μὲν ἄρα μερῶν ὂν αὑτῷ ἴσον ἂν τὸ πλῆθος αὑτῷ εἴη, πλειόνων δὲ πλέον, ἐλαττόνων δὲ ἔλαττον τὸν ἀριθμὸν αὑτοῦ.

φαίνεται.

οὐκοῦν καὶ πρὸς τἆλλα ὡσαύτως ἕξει τὸ ἕν; ὅτι μὲν μεῖζον αὐτῶν φαίνεται, ἀνάγκη πλέον εἶναι καὶ τὸν ἀριθμὸν αὐτῶν: ὅτι δὲ σμικρότερον, ἔλαττον: ὅτι δὲ ἴσον μεγέθει, ἴσον καὶ τὸ πλῆθος εἶναι τοῖς ἄλλοις;

ἀνάγκη.

οὕτω δὴ αὖ, ὡς [151e]ἔοικε, τὸ ἓν καὶ ἴσον καὶ πλέον καὶ ἔλαττον τὸν ἀριθμὸν αὐτό τε αὑτοῦ ἔσται καὶ τῶν ἄλλων.

ἔσται.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ χρόνου μετέχει τὸ ἕν, καὶ ἐστί τε καὶ γίγνεται νεώτερόν τε καὶ πρεσβύτερον αὐτό τε ἑαυτοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ οὔτε νεώτερον οὔτε πρεσβύτερον οὔτε ἑαυτοῦ οὔτε τῶν ἄλλων, χρόνου μετέχον;

πῶς;

εἶναι μέν που αὐτῷ ὑπάρχει, εἴπερ ἓν ἔστιν.

ναί.

τὸ δὲ εἶναι ἄλλο τί ἐστιν ἢ μέθεξις οὐσίας μετὰ χρόνου τοῦ παρόντος, ὥσπερ [152a]τὸ ἦν μετὰ τοῦ παρεληλυθότος καὶ αὖ τὸ ἔσται μετὰ τοῦ μέλλοντος οὐσίας ἐστὶ κοινωνία;

ἔστι γάρ.

μετέχει μὲν ἄρα χρόνου, εἴπερ καὶ τοῦ εἶναι.

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν πορευομένου τοῦ χρόνου;

ναί.

ἀεὶ ἄρα πρεσβύτερον γίγνεται ἑαυτοῦ, εἴπερ προέρχεται κατὰ χρόνον.

ἀνάγκη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν μεμνήμεθα ὅτι νεωτέρου γιγνομένου τὸ πρεσβύτερον πρεσβύτερον γίγνεται;

μεμνήμεθα.

οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ πρεσβύτερον ἑαυτοῦ γίγνεται τὸ ἕν, νεωτέρου ἂν γιγνομένου ἑαυτοῦ πρεσβύτερον [152b]γίγνοιτο;

ἀνάγκη.

γίγνεται μὲν δὴ νεώτερόν τε καὶ πρεσβύτερον αὑτοῦ οὕτω.

ναί.

ἔστι δὲ πρεσβύτερον ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ὅταν κατὰ τὸν νῦν χρόνον ᾖ γιγνόμενον τὸν μεταξὺ τοῦ ἦν τε καὶ ἔσται; οὐ γάρ που πορευόμενόν γε ἐκ τοῦ ποτὲ εἰς τὸ ἔπειτα ὑπερβήσεται τὸ νῦν.

οὐ γάρ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἐπίσχει τότε τοῦ γίγνεσθαι πρεσβύτερον, ἐπειδὰν [152c] τῷ νῦν ἐντύχῃ, καὶ οὐ γίγνεται, ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι τότ᾽ ἤδη πρεσβύτερον; προϊὸν γὰρ οὐκ ἄν ποτε ληφθείη ὑπὸ τοῦ νῦν. τὸ γὰρ προϊὸν οὕτως ἔχει ὡς ἀμφοτέρων ἐφάπτεσθαι, τοῦ τε νῦν καὶ τοῦ ἔπειτα, τοῦ μὲν νῦν ἀφιέμενον, τοῦ δ᾽ ἔπειτα ἐπιλαμβανόμενον, μεταξὺ ἀμφοτέρων γιγνόμενον, τοῦ τε ἔπειτα καὶ τοῦ νῦν.

ἀληθῆ.

εἰ δέ γε ἀνάγκη μὴ παρελθεῖν τὸ νῦν πᾶν τὸ γιγνόμενον, ἐπειδὰν κατὰ τοῦτο ᾖ, [152d]ἐπίσχει ἀεὶ τοῦ γίγνεσθαι καὶ ἔστι τότε τοῦτο ὅτι ἂν τύχῃ γιγνόμενον.

φαίνεται.

καὶ τὸ ἓν ἄρα, ὅταν πρεσβύτερον γιγνόμενον ἐντύχῃ τῷ νῦν, ἐπέσχεν τοῦ γίγνεσθαι καὶ ἔστι τότε πρεσβύτερον.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν οὗπερ ἐγίγνετο πρεσβύτερον, τούτου καὶ ἔστιν: ἐγίγνετο δὲ αὑτοῦ;

ναί.

ἔστι δὲ τὸ πρεσβύτερον νεωτέρου πρεσβύτερον;

ἔστιν.

καὶ νεώτερον ἄρα τότε αὑτοῦ ἐστι τὸ ἕν, ὅταν πρεσβύτερον γιγνόμενον ἐντύχῃ τῷ νῦν.

ἀνάγκη.

τό γε μὴν [152e]νῦν ἀεὶ πάρεστι τῷ ἑνὶ διὰ παντὸς τοῦ εἶναι: ἔστι γὰρ ἀεὶ νῦν ὅτανπερ ᾖ.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

ἀεὶ ἄρα ἐστί τε καὶ γίγνεται πρεσβύτερον ἑαυτοῦ καὶ νεώτερον τὸ ἕν.

ἔοικεν.

πλείω δὲ χρόνον αὐτὸ ἑαυτοῦ ἔστιν ἢ γίγνεται, ἢ τὸν ἴσον;

τὸν ἴσον.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τόν γε ἴσον χρόνον ἢ γιγνόμενον ἢ ὂν τὴν αὐτὴν ἡλικίαν ἔχει.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τὸ δὲ τὴν αὐτὴν ἡλικίαν ἔχον οὔτε πρεσβύτερον οὔτε νεώτερόν ἐστιν.

οὐ γάρ.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα τὸν ἴσον χρόνον αὐτὸ ἑαυτῷ καὶ γιγνόμενον καὶ ὂν οὔτε νεώτερον οὔτε πρεσβύτερον ἑαυτοῦ ἐστιν οὐδὲ γίγνεται.

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

τί δέ; τῶν ἄλλων;

οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν. [153a]

τόδε γε μὴν ἔχεις λέγειν, ὅτι τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνός, εἴπερ ἕτερά ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ μὴ ἕτερον, πλείω ἐστὶν ἑνός: ἕτερον μὲν γὰρ ὂν ἓν ἂν ἦν, ἕτερα δὲ ὄντα πλείω ἑνός ἐστι καὶ πλῆθος ἂν ἔχοι.

ἔχοι γὰρ ἄν.

πλῆθος δὲ ὂν ἀριθμοῦ πλείονος ἂν μετέχοι ἢ τοῦ ἑνός.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τί οὖν; ἀριθμοῦ φήσομεν τὰ πλείω γίγνεσθαί τε καὶ γεγονέναι πρότερον, ἢ τὰ ἐλάττω;

τὰ ἐλάττω.

τὸ ὀλίγιστον ἄρα πρῶτον: τοῦτο [153b]δ᾽ ἔστι τὸ ἕν. ἦ γάρ;

ναί.

πάντων ἄρα τὸ ἓν πρῶτον γέγονε τῶν ἀριθμὸν ἐχόντων: ἔχει δὲ καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ἀριθμόν, εἴπερ ἄλλα καὶ μὴ ἄλλο ἐστίν.

ἔχει γάρ.

πρῶτον δέ γε οἶμαι γεγονὸς πρότερον γέγονε, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ὕστερον, τὰ δ᾽ ὕστερον γεγονότα νεώτερα τοῦ πρότερον γεγονότος: καὶ οὕτως ἂν εἴη τἆλλα νεώτερα τοῦ ἑνός, τὸ δὲ ἓν πρεσβύτερον τῶν ἄλλων.

εἴη γὰρ ἄν.

τί δὲ τόδε; ἆρ᾽ ἂν εἴη τὸ ἓν παρὰ φύσιν τὴν αὑτοῦ [153c] γεγονός, ἢ ἀδύνατον;

ἀδύνατον.

ἀλλὰ μὴν μέρη γε ἔχον ἐφάνη τὸ ἕν, εἰ δὲ μέρη, καὶ ἀρχὴν καὶ τελευτὴν καὶ μέσον.

ναί.

οὐκοῦν πάντων πρῶτον ἀρχὴ γίγνεται, καὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ ἑκάστου τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ μετὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ τἆλλα πάντα μέχρι τοῦ τέλους; τί μήν;

καὶ μὴν μόριά γε φήσομεν ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι πάντα τἆλλα τοῦ ὅλου τε καὶ ἑνός, αὐτὸ δὲ ἐκεῖνο ἅμα τῇ τελευτῇ γεγονέναι ἕν τε καὶ ὅλον.

φήσομεν γάρ.

τελευτὴ δέ γε οἶμαι ὕστατον γίγνεται, τούτῳ [153d]δ᾽ ἅμα τὸ ἓν πέφυκε γίγνεσθαι: ὥστ᾽ εἴπερ ἀνάγκη αὐτὸ τὸ ἓν μὴ παρὰ φύσιν γίγνεσθαι, ἅμα τελευτῇ ἂν γεγονὸς ὕστατον ἂν τῶν ἄλλων πεφυκὸς εἴη γίγνεσθαι.

φαίνεται.

νεώτερον ἄρα τῶν ἄλλων τὸ ἕν ἐστι, τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς πρεσβύτερα.

οὕτως αὖ μοι φαίνεται.

τί δὲ δή; ἀρχὴν ἢ ἄλλο μέρος ὁτιοῦν τοῦ ἑνὸς ἢ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν, ἐάνπερ μέρος ᾖ ἀλλὰ μὴ μέρη, οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον ἓν εἶναι, μέρος γε ὄν;

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν τὸ ἓν ἅμα τε τῷ πρώτῳ γιγνομένῳ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν καὶ [153e]ἅμα τῷ δευτέρῳ, καὶ οὐδενὸς ἀπολείπεται τῶν ἄλλων γιγνομένων, ὅτιπερ ἂν προσγίγνηται ὁτῳοῦν, ἕως ἂν πρὸς τὸ ἔσχατον διελθὸν ὅλον ἓν γένηται, οὔτε μέσου οὔτε πρώτου οὔτε ἐσχάτου οὔτε ἄλλου οὐδενὸς ἀπολειφθὲν ἐν τῇ γενέσει.

ἀληθῆ.

πᾶσιν ἄρα τοῖς ἄλλοις τὴν αὐτὴν ἡλικίαν ἴσχει τὸ ἕν: ὥστ᾽ εἰ μὴ παρὰ φύσιν πέφυκεν αὐτὸ τὸ ἕν, οὔτε πρότερον οὔτε ὕστερον τῶν ἄλλων γεγονὸς ἂν εἴη, ἀλλ᾽ ἅμα. [154a]καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων οὔτε πρεσβύτερον οὔτε νεώτερον ἂν εἴη, οὐδὲ τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός: κατὰ δὲ τὸν πρόσθεν πρεσβύτερόν τε καὶ νεώτερον, καὶ τἆλλα ἐκείνου ὡσαύτως.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

ἔστι μὲν δὴ οὕτως ἔχον τε καὶ γεγονός. ἀλλὰ τί αὖ περὶ τοῦ γίγνεσθαι αὐτὸ πρεσβύτερόν τε καὶ νεώτερον τῶν ἄλλων καὶ τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός, καὶ μήτε νεώτερον μήτε πρεσβύτερον γίγνεσθαι; ἆρα ὥσπερ περὶ τοῦ εἶναι, οὕτω καὶ περὶ τοῦ γίγνεσθαι ἔχει, ἢ ἑτέρως;

οὐκ [154b]ἔχω λέγειν.

ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ τοσόνδε γε: εἰ καὶ ἔστιν πρεσβύτερον ἕτερον ἑτέρου, γίγνεσθαί γε αὐτὸ πρεσβύτερον ἔτι ἢ ὡς τὸ πρῶτον εὐθὺς γενόμενον διήνεγκε τῇ ἡλικίᾳ οὐκ ἂν ἔτι δύναιτο, οὐδ᾽ αὖ τὸ νεώτερον ὂν ἔτι νεώτερον γίγνεσθαι: ἀνίσοις γὰρ ἴσα προστιθέμενα, χρόνῳ τε καὶ ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν, ἴσῳ ποιεῖ διαφέρειν ἀεὶ ὅσῳπερ ἂν τὸ πρῶτον διενέγκῃ.

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὐκ ἄρα τό γε ὂν τοῦ [ἑνὸς] ὄντος γίγνοιτ᾽ [154c] ἄν ποτε πρεσβύτερον οὐδὲ νεώτερον, εἴπερ ἴσῳ διαφέρει ἀεὶ τὴν ἡλικίαν: ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι καὶ γέγονε πρεσβύτερον, τὸ δὲ νεώτερον, γίγνεται δ᾽ οὔ.

ἀληθῆ.

καὶ τὸ ἓν ἄρα ὂν τῶν ἄλλων ὄντων οὔτε πρεσβύτερόν ποτε οὔτε νεώτερον γίγνεται.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ὅρα δὲ εἰ τῇδε πρεσβύτερα καὶ νεώτερα γίγνεται.

πῇ δή;

ἧι τό τε ἓν τῶν ἄλλων ἐφάνη πρεσβύτερον καὶ τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός.

τί οὖν;

ὅταν τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων πρεσβύτερον ᾖ, πλείω που χρόνον γέγονεν ἢ τὰ [154d]ἄλλα.

ναί.

πάλιν δὴ σκόπει: ἐὰν πλέονι καὶ ἐλάττονι χρόνῳ προστιθῶμεν τὸν ἴσον χρόνον, ἆρα τῷ ἴσῳ μορίῳ διοίσει τὸ πλέον τοῦ ἐλάττονος ἢ σμικροτέρῳ;

σμικροτέρῳ.

οὐκ ἄρα ἔσται, ὅτιπερ τὸ πρῶτον ἦν πρὸς τἆλλα ἡλικίᾳ διαφέρον τὸ ἕν, τοῦτο καὶ εἰς τὸ ἔπειτα, ἀλλὰ ἴσον λαμβάνον χρόνον τοῖς ἄλλοις ἔλαττον ἀεὶ τῇ ἡλικίᾳ διοίσει αὐτῶν ἢ πρότερον: ἢ οὔ;

ναί.

οὐκοῦν τό γε ἔλαττον διαφέρον [154e]ἡλικίᾳ πρός τι ἢ πρότερον νεώτερον γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἢ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν πρὸς ἐκεῖνα πρὸς ἃ ἦν πρεσβύτερον πρότερον;

νεώτερον.

εἰ δὲ ἐκεῖνο νεώτερον, οὐκ ἐκεῖνα αὖ τὰ ἄλλα πρὸς τὸ ἓν πρεσβύτερα ἢ πρότερον;

πάνυ γε.

τὸ μὲν νεώτερον ἄρα γεγονὸς πρεσβύτερον γίγνεται πρὸς τὸ πρότερον γεγονός τε καὶ πρεσβύτερον ὄν, ἔστι δὲ οὐδέποτε πρεσβύτερον, ἀλλὰ γίγνεται ἀεὶ ἐκείνου πρεσβύτερον: ἐκεῖνο μὲν γὰρ ἐπὶ τὸ νεώτερον ἐπιδίδωσιν, τὸ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τὸ πρεσβύτερον. [155a]τὸ δ᾽ αὖ πρεσβύτερον τοῦ νεωτέρου νεώτερον γίγνεται ὡσαύτως. ἰόντε γὰρ αὐτοῖν εἰς τὸ ἐναντίον τὸ ἐναντίον ἀλλήλοιν γίγνεσθον, τὸ μὲν νεώτερον πρεσβύτερον τοῦ πρεσβυτέρου, τὸ δὲ πρεσβύτερον νεώτερον τοῦ νεωτέρου: γενέσθαι δὲ οὐκ ἂν οἵω τε εἴτην. εἰ γὰρ γένοιντο, οὐκ ἂν ἔτι γίγνοιντο, ἀλλ᾽ εἶεν ἄν. νῦν δὲ γίγνονται μὲν πρεσβύτερα ἀλλήλων καὶ νεώτερα: τὸ μὲν ἓν τῶν ἄλλων νεώτερον γίγνεται, ὅτι πρεσβύτερον ἐφάνη ὂν καὶ πρότερον [155b]γεγονός, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς πρεσβύτερα, ὅτι ὕστερα γέγονε. κατὰ δὲ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω πρὸς τὸ ἓν ἴσχει, ἐπειδήπερ αὐτοῦ πρεσβύτερα ἐφάνη καὶ πρότερα γεγονότα. φαίνεται γὰρ οὖν οὕτως.

οὐκοῦν ᾗ μὲν οὐδὲν ἕτερον ἑτέρου πρεσβύτερον γίγνεται οὐδὲ νεώτερον, κατὰ τὸ ἴσῳ ἀριθμῷ ἀλλήλων ἀεὶ διαφέρειν, οὔτε τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων πρεσβύτερον γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν οὐδὲ νεώτερον, οὔτε τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός: ᾗ δὲ ἄλλῳ ἀεὶ μορίῳ διαφέρειν ἀνάγκη [155c] τὰ πρότερα τῶν ὑστέρων γενόμενα καὶ τὰ ὕστερα τῶν προτέρων, ταύτῃ δὴ ἀνάγκη πρεσβύτερά τε καὶ νεώτερα ἀλλήλων γίγνεσθαι τά τε ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

κατὰ δὴ πάντα ταῦτα τὸ ἓν αὐτό τε αὑτοῦ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πρεσβύτερον καὶ νεώτερον ἔστι τε καὶ γίγνεται, καὶ οὔτε πρεσβύτερον οὔτε νεώτερον οὔτ᾽ ἔστιν οὔτε γίγνεται οὔτε αὑτοῦ οὔτε τῶν ἄλλων.

παντελῶς μὲν οὖν.

ἐπειδὴ δὲ χρόνου μετέχει τὸ ἓν καὶ τοῦ [155d]πρεσβύτερόν τε καὶ νεώτερον γίγνεσθαι, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη καὶ τοῦ ποτὲ μετέχειν καὶ τοῦ ἔπειτα καὶ τοῦ νῦν, εἴπερ χρόνου μετέχει;

ἀνάγκη.

ἦν ἄρα τὸ ἓν καὶ ἔστι καὶ ἔσται καὶ ἐγίγνετο καὶ γίγνεται καὶ γενήσεται.

τί μήν;

καὶ εἴη ἄν τι ἐκείνῳ καὶ ἐκείνου, καὶ ἦν καὶ ἔστιν καὶ ἔσται.

πάνυ γε.

καὶ ἐπιστήμη δὴ εἴη ἂν αὐτοῦ καὶ δόξα καὶ αἴσθησις, εἴπερ καὶ νῦν ἡμεῖς περὶ αὐτοῦ πάντα ταῦτα πράττομεν.

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

καὶ ὄνομα δὴ καὶ λόγος ἔστιν αὐτῷ, καὶ [155e]ὀνομάζεται καὶ λέγεται: καὶ ὅσαπερ καὶ περὶ τὰ ἄλλα τῶν τοιούτων τυγχάνει ὄντα, καὶ περὶ τὸ ἓν ἔστιν.

παντελῶς μὲν οὖν ἔχει οὕτως.

ἔτι δὴ τὸ τρίτον λέγωμεν. τὸ ἓν εἰ ἔστιν οἷον διεληλύθαμεν, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη αὐτό, ἕν τε ὂν καὶ πολλὰ καὶ μήτε ἓν μήτε πολλὰ καὶ μετέχον χρόνου, ὅτι μὲν ἔστιν ἕν, οὐσίας μετέχειν ποτέ, ὅτι δ᾽ οὐκ ἔστι, μὴ μετέχειν αὖ ποτε οὐσίας;

ἀνάγκη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὅτε μετέχει, οἷόν τε ἔσται τότε μὴ μετέχειν, ἢ ὅτε μὴ μετέχει, μετέχειν;

οὐχ οἷόν τε.

ἐν ἄλλῳ ἄρα χρόνῳ μετέχει καὶ ἐν ἄλλῳ οὐ μετέχει: οὕτω γὰρ ἂν μόνως τοῦ αὐτοῦ μετέχοι τε καὶ οὐ μετέχοι.

[156a]ὀρθῶς.

οὐκοῦν ἔστι καὶ οὗτος χρόνος, ὅτε μεταλαμβάνει τοῦ εἶναι καὶ ὅτε ἀπαλλάττεται αὐτοῦ; ἢ πῶς οἷόν τε ἔσται τοτὲ μὲν ἔχειν τὸ αὐτό, τοτὲ δὲ μὴ ἔχειν, ἐὰν μή ποτε καὶ λαμβάνῃ αὐτὸ καὶ ἀφίῃ;

οὐδαμῶς.

τὸ δὴ οὐσίας μεταλαμβάνειν ἆρά γε οὐ γίγνεσθαι καλεῖς;

ἔγωγε.

τὸ δὲ ἀπαλλάττεσθαι οὐσίας ἆρα οὐκ ἀπόλλυσθαι;

καὶ πάνυ γε. τὸ ἓν δή, ὡς ἔοικε, λαμβάνον τε καὶ ἀφιὲν οὐσίαν γίγνεταί [156b]τε καὶ ἀπόλλυται.

ἀνάγκη.

ἓν δὲ καὶ πολλὰ ὂν καὶ γιγνόμενον καὶ ἀπολλύμενον ἆρ᾽ οὐχ, ὅταν μὲν γίγνηται ἕν, τὸ πολλὰ εἶναι ἀπόλλυται, ὅταν δὲ πολλά, τὸ ἓν εἶναι ἀπόλλυται;

πάνυ γε.

ἓν δὲ γιγνόμενον καὶ πολλὰ ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη διακρίνεσθαί τε καὶ συγκρίνεσθαι;

πολλή γε.

καὶ μὴν ἀνόμοιόν γε καὶ ὅμοιον ὅταν γίγνηται, ὁμοιοῦσθαί τε καὶ ἀνομοιοῦσθαι;

ναί.

καὶ ὅταν μεῖζον καὶ ἔλαττον καὶ ἴσον, αὐξάνεσθαί τε καὶ φθίνειν καὶ ἰσοῦσθαι;

οὕτως. [156c]

ὅταν δὲ κινούμενόν τε ἵστηται καὶ ὅταν ἑστὸς ἐπὶ τὸ κινεῖσθαι μεταβάλλῃ, δεῖ δήπου αὐτό γε μηδ᾽ ἐν ἑνὶ χρόνῳ εἶναι.

πῶς δή;

ἑστός τε πρότερον ὕστερον κινεῖσθαι καὶ πρότερον κινούμενον ὕστερον ἑστάναι, ἄνευ μὲν τοῦ μεταβάλλειν οὐχ οἷόν τε ἔσται ταῦτα πάσχειν.

πῶς γάρ;

χρόνος δέ γε οὐδεὶς ἔστιν, ἐν ᾧ τι οἷόν τε ἅμα μήτε κινεῖσθαι μήτε ἑστάναι.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ μὴν μεταβάλλει ἄνευ τοῦ μεταβάλλειν.

οὐκ εἰκός.

πότ᾽ οὖν μεταβάλλει; οὔτε γὰρ ἑστὸς ὂν οὔτε κινούμενον μεταβάλλει, οὔτε ἐν [156d]χρόνῳ ὄν.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἔστι τὸ ἄτοπον τοῦτο, ἐν ᾧ τότ᾽ ἂν εἴη, ὅτε μεταβάλλει;

τὸ ποῖον δή;

τὸ ἐξαίφνης. τὸ γὰρ ἐξαίφνης τοιόνδε τι ἔοικε σημαίνειν, ὡς ἐξ ἐκείνου μεταβάλλον εἰς ἑκάτερον. οὐ γὰρ ἔκ γε τοῦ ἑστάναι ἑστῶτος ἔτι μεταβάλλει, οὐδ᾽ ἐκ τῆς κινήσεως κινουμένης ἔτι μεταβάλλει: ἀλλὰ ἡ ἐξαίφνης αὕτη φύσις ἄτοπός τις ἐγκάθηται μεταξὺ τῆς κινήσεώς τε καὶ στάσεως, [156e]ἐν χρόνῳ οὐδενὶ οὖσα, καὶ εἰς ταύτην δὴ καὶ ἐκ ταύτης τό τε κινούμενον μεταβάλλει ἐπὶ τὸ ἑστάναι καὶ τὸ ἑστὸς ἐπὶ τὸ κινεῖσθαι.

κινδυνεύει.

καὶ τὸ ἓν δή, εἴπερ ἕστηκέ τε καὶ κινεῖται, μεταβάλλοι ἂν ἐφ᾽ ἑκάτερα μόνως γὰρ ἂν οὕτως ἀμφότερα ποιοῖ μεταβάλλον δ᾽ ἐξαίφνης μεταβάλλει, καὶ ὅτε μεταβάλλει, ἐν οὐδενὶ χρόνῳ ἂν εἴη, οὐδὲ κινοῖτ᾽ ἂν τότε, οὐδ᾽ ἂν σταίη.

οὐ γάρ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὕτω καὶ πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας μεταβολὰς ἔχει, ὅταν ἐκ τοῦ εἶναι εἰς τὸ ἀπόλλυσθαι [157a]μεταβάλλῃ ἢ ἐκ τοῦ μὴ εἶναι εἰς τὸ γίγνεσθαι, μεταξύ τινων τότε γίγνεται κινήσεών τε καὶ στάσεων, καὶ οὔτε ἔστι τότε οὔτε οὐκ ἔστι, οὔτε γίγνεται οὔτε ἀπόλλυται;

ἔοικε γοῦν.

κατὰ δὴ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον καὶ ἐξ ἑνὸς ἐπὶ πολλὰ ἰὸν καὶ ἐκ πολλῶν ἐφ᾽ ἓν οὔτε ἕν ἐστιν οὔτε πολλά, οὔτε διακρίνεται οὔτε συγκρίνεται. καὶ ἐξ ὁμοίου ἐπὶ ἀνόμοιον καὶ ἐξ ἀνομοίου ἐπὶ ὅμοιον ἰὸν οὔτε ὅμοιον οὔτε ἀνόμοιον, οὔτε ὁμοιούμενον οὔτε ἀνομοιούμενον: καὶ [157b]ἐκ σμικροῦ ἐπὶ μέγα καὶ ἐπὶ ἴσον καὶ εἰς τὰ ἐναντία ἰὸν οὔτε σμικρὸν οὔτε μέγα οὔτε ἴσον, οὔτε αὐξανόμενον οὔτε φθῖνον οὔτε ἰσούμενον εἴη ἄν.

οὐκ ἔοικε.

ταῦτα δὴ τὰ παθήματα πάντ᾽ ἂν πάσχοι τὸ ἕν, εἰ ἔστιν.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τί δὲ τοῖς ἄλλοις προσήκοι ἂν πάσχειν, ἓν εἰ ἔστιν, ἆρα οὐ σκεπτέον;

σκεπτέον.

λέγωμεν δή, ἓν εἰ ἔστι, τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς τί χρὴ πεπονθέναι;

λέγωμεν.

οὐκοῦν ἐπείπερ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνός ἐστιν, οὔτε τὸ ἕν ἐστι τἆλλα: οὐ [157c] γὰρ ἂν ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς ἦν.

ὀρθῶς.

οὐδὲ μὴν στέρεταί γε παντάπασι τοῦ ἑνὸς τἆλλα, ἀλλὰ μετέχει πῃ.

πῇ δή;

ὅτι που τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς μόρια ἔχοντα ἄλλα ἐστίν: εἰ γὰρ μόρια μὴ ἔχοι, παντελῶς ἂν ἓν εἴη.

ὀρθῶς.

μόρια δέ γε, φαμέν, τούτου ἐστὶν ὃ ἂν ὅλον ᾖ.

φαμὲν γάρ.

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε ὅλον ἓν ἐκ πολλῶν ἀνάγκη εἶναι, οὗ ἔσται μόρια τὰ μόρια: ἕκαστον γὰρ τῶν μορίων οὐ πολλῶν μόριον χρὴ εἶναι, ἀλλὰ ὅλου.

πῶς τοῦτο;

εἴ τι πολλῶν μόριον εἴη, [157d]ἐν οἷς αὐτὸ εἴη, ἑαυτοῦ τε δήπου μόριον ἔσται, ὅ ἐστιν ἀδύνατον, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων δὴ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου, εἴπερ καὶ πάντων. ἑνὸς γὰρ μὴ ὂν μόριον, πλὴν τούτου τῶν ἄλλων ἔσται, καὶ οὕτως ἑνὸς ἑκάστου οὐκ ἔσται μόριον, μὴ ὂν δὲ μόριον ἑκάστου οὐδενὸς τῶν πολλῶν ἔσται. μηδενὸς δὲ ὂν πάντων τούτων τι εἶναι, ὧν οὐδενὸς οὐδέν ἐστι, καὶ μόριον καὶ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν ἀδύνατον [εἶναι].

φαίνεταί γε δή.

οὐκ ἄρα τῶν πολλῶν οὐδὲ πάντων τὸ μόριον μόριον, ἀλλὰ μιᾶς τινὸς ἰδέας καὶ [157e]ἑνός τινος ὃ καλοῦμεν ὅλον, ἐξ ἁπάντων ἓν τέλειον γεγονός, τούτου μόριον ἂν τὸ μόριον εἴη.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

εἰ ἄρα τἆλλα μόρια ἔχει, κἂν τοῦ ὅλου τε καὶ ἑνὸς μετέχοι.

πάνυ γε.

ἓν ἄρα ὅλον τέλειον μόρια ἔχον ἀνάγκη εἶναι τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός.

ἀνάγκη.

καὶ μὴν καὶ περὶ τοῦ μορίου γε ἑκάστου ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος: καὶ γὰρ τοῦτο ἀνάγκη μετέχειν [158a]τοῦ ἑνός. εἰ γὰρ ἕκαστον αὐτῶν μόριόν ἐστι, τό γε ἕκαστον εἶναι ἓν δήπου σημαίνει, ἀφωρισμένον μὲν τῶν ἄλλων, καθ᾽ αὑτὸ δὲ ὄν, εἴπερ ἕκαστον ἔσται.

ὀρθῶς.

μετέχοι δέ γε ἂν τοῦ ἑνὸς δῆλον ὅτι ἄλλο ὂν ἢ ἕν: οὐ γὰρ ἂν μετεῖχεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἦν ἂν αὐτὸ ἕν. νῦν δὲ ἑνὶ μὲν εἶναι πλὴν αὐτῷ τῷ ἑνὶ ἀδύνατόν που.

ἀδύνατον.

μετέχειν δέ γε τοῦ ἑνὸς ἀνάγκη τῷ τε ὅλῳ καὶ τῷ μορίῳ. τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἓν ὅλον ἔσται, οὗ μόρια τὰ μόρια: τὸ δ᾽ αὖ ἕκαστον ἓν μόριον τοῦ ὅλου, ὃ ἂν ᾖ [158b]μόριον ὅλου.

οὕτως.

οὐκοῦν ἕτερα ὄντα τοῦ ἑνὸς μεθέξει τὰ μετέχοντα αὐτοῦ;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τὰ δ᾽ ἕτερα τοῦ ἑνὸς πολλά που ἂν εἴη: εἰ γὰρ μήτε ἓν μήτε ἑνὸς πλείω εἴη τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός, οὐδὲν ἂν εἴη.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ἐπεὶ δέ γε πλείω ἑνός ἐστι τά τε τοῦ ἑνὸς μορίου καὶ τὰ τοῦ ἑνὸς ὅλου μετέχοντα, οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἤδη πλήθει ἄπειρα εἶναι αὐτά γε ἐκεῖνα τὰ μεταλαμβάνοντα τοῦ ἑνός;

πῶς;

ὧδε ἴδωμεν. ἄλλο τι οὐχ ἓν ὄντα οὐδὲ μετέχοντα τοῦ ἑνὸς τότε, ὅτε μεταλαμβάνει αὐτοῦ, μεταλαμβάνει;

δῆλα δή.

[158c] οὐκοῦν πλήθη ὄντα, ἐν οἷς τὸ ἓν οὐκ ἔνι;

πλήθη μέντοι.

τί οὖν; εἰ ἐθέλοιμεν τῇ διανοίᾳ τῶν τοιούτων ἀφελεῖν ὡς οἷοί τέ ἐσμεν ὅτι ὀλίγιστον, οὐκ ἀνάγκη καὶ τὸ ἀφαιρεθὲν ἐκεῖνο, εἴπερ τοῦ ἑνὸς μὴ μετέχοι, πλῆθος εἶναι καὶ οὐχ ἕν;

ἀνάγκη.

οὐκοῦν οὕτως ἀεὶ σκοποῦντες αὐτὴν καθ᾽ αὑτὴν τὴν ἑτέραν φύσιν τοῦ εἴδους ὅσον ἂν αὐτῆς ἀεὶ ὁρῶμεν ἄπειρον ἔσται πλήθει;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

καὶ μὴν ἐπειδάν γε [158d]ἓν ἕκαστον μόριον μόριον γένηται, πέρας ἤδη ἔχει πρὸς ἄλληλα καὶ πρὸς τὸ ὅλον, καὶ τὸ ὅλον πρὸς τὰ μόρια.

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

τοῖς ἄλλοις δὴ τοῦ ἑνὸς συμβαίνει ἐκ μὲν τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ ἐξ ἑαυτῶν κοινωνησάντων, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἕτερόν τι γίγνεσθαι ἐν ἑαυτοῖς, ὃ δὴ πέρας παρέσχε πρὸς ἄλληλα: ἡ δ᾽ ἑαυτῶν φύσις καθ᾽ ἑαυτὰ ἀπειρίαν.

φαίνεται.

οὕτω δὴ τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ ὅλα καὶ κατὰ μόρια ἄπειρά τέ ἐστι καὶ πέρατος μετέχει.

πάνυ γε. [158e]

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅμοιά τε καὶ ἀνόμοια ἀλλήλοις τε καὶ ἑαυτοῖς;

πῇ δή;

ἧι μέν που ἄπειρά ἐστι κατὰ τὴν ἑαυτῶν φύσιν πάντα, ταὐτὸν πεπονθότα ἂν εἴη ταύτῃ.

πάνυ γε.

καὶ μὴν ᾗ γε ἅπαντα πέρατος μετέχει, καὶ ταύτῃ πάντ᾽ ἂν εἴη ταὐτὸν πεπονθότα.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

ἧι δέ γε πεπερασμένα τε εἶναι καὶ ἄπειρα πέπονθεν, ἐναντία πάθη ἀλλήλοις ὄντα ταῦτα τὰ [159a]πάθη πέπονθεν.

ναί.

τὰ δ᾽ ἐναντία γε ὡς οἷόν τε ἀνομοιότατα.

τί μήν;

κατὰ μὲν ἄρα ἑκάτερον τὸ πάθος ὅμοια ἂν εἴη αὐτά τε αὑτοῖς καὶ ἀλλήλοις, κατὰ δ᾽ ἀμφότερα ἀμφοτέρως ἐναντιώτατά τε καὶ ἀνομοιότατα.

κινδυνεύει.

οὕτω δὴ τὰ ἄλλα αὐτά τε αὑτοῖς καὶ ἀλλήλοις ὅμοιά τε καὶ ἀνόμοια ἂν εἴη.

οὕτως.

καὶ ταὐτὰ δὴ καὶ ἕτερα ἀλλήλων, καὶ κινούμενα καὶ ἑστῶτα, καὶ πάντα τὰ ἐναντία πάθη οὐκέτι χαλεπῶς εὑρήσομεν πεπονθότα τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός, ἐπείπερ καὶ [159b]ταῦτα ἐφάνη πεπονθότα.

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

οὐκοῦν, εἰ ταῦτα μὲν ἤδη ἐῷμεν ὡς φανερά, ἐπισκοποῖμεν δὲ πάλιν ἓν εἰ ἔστιν, ἆρα καὶ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς ἢ οὕτω μόνον;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

λέγωμεν δὴ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἓν εἰ ἔστι, τί χρὴ τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς πεπονθέναι.

λέγωμεν γάρ.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ χωρὶς μὲν τὸ ἓν τῶν ἄλλων, χωρὶς δὲ τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς εἶναι;

τί δή;

ὅτι που οὐκ ἔστι παρὰ ταῦτα ἕτερον, ὃ ἄλλο μέν ἐστι τοῦ ἑνός, ἄλλο δὲ τῶν ἄλλων: [159c] πάντα γὰρ εἴρηται, ὅταν ῥηθῇ τό τε ἓν καὶ τἆλλα.

πάντα γάρ.

οὐκ ἄρα ἔτ᾽ ἔστιν ἕτερον τούτων, ἐν ᾧ τό τε ἓν ἂν εἴη τῷ αὐτῷ καὶ τἆλλα.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐδέποτε ἄρα ἐν ταὐτῷ ἐστι τὸ ἓν καὶ τἆλλα.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

χωρὶς ἄρα;

ναί.

οὐδὲ μὴν μόριά γε ἔχειν φαμὲν τὸ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἕν.

πῶς γάρ;

οὔτ᾽ ἄρα ὅλον εἴη ἂν τὸ ἓν ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις οὔτε μόρια αὐτοῦ, εἰ χωρίς τέ ἐστι τῶν ἄλλων καὶ μόρια μὴ ἔχει.

πῶς [159d]γάρ;

οὐδενὶ ἄρα τρόπῳ μετέχοι ἂν τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός, μήτε κατὰ μόριόν τι αὐτοῦ μήτε κατὰ ὅλον μετέχοντα.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

οὐδαμῇ ἄρα ἓν τἆλλά ἐστιν, οὐδ᾽ ἔχει ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἓν οὐδέν.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα πολλά ἐστι τἆλλα: ἓν γὰρ ἂν ἦν ἕκαστον αὐτῶν μόριον τοῦ ὅλου, εἰ πολλὰ ἦν: νῦν δὲ οὔτε ἓν οὔτε πολλὰ οὔτε ὅλον οὔτε μόριά ἐστι τἆλλα τοῦ ἑνός, ἐπειδὴ αὐτοῦ οὐδαμῇ μετέχει.

ὀρθῶς.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα δύο οὐδὲ τρία οὔτε αὐτά ἐστι τὰ ἄλλα οὔτε ἔνεστιν ἐν αὐτοῖς, [159e]εἴπερ τοῦ ἑνὸς πανταχῇ στέρεται.

οὕτως.

οὐδὲ ὅμοια ἄρα καὶ ἀνόμοια οὔτε αὐτά ἐστι τῷ ἑνὶ τὰ ἄλλα, οὔτε ἔνεστιν ἐν αὐτοῖς ὁμοιότης καὶ ἀνομοιότης: εἰ γὰρ ὅμοια καὶ ἀνόμοια αὐτὰ εἴη ἢ ἔχοι ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ὁμοιότητα καὶ ἀνομοιότητα, δύο που εἴδη ἐναντία ἀλλήλοις ἔχοι ἂν ἐν ἑαυτοῖς τὰ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνός.

φαίνεται.

ἦν δέ γε ἀδύνατον δυοῖν τινοῖν μετέχειν ἃ μηδ᾽ ἑνὸς μετέχοι.

ἀδύνατον.

οὔτ᾽ ἄρα ὅμοια οὔτ᾽ ἀνόμοιά ἐστιν οὔτ᾽ ἀμφότερα τἆλλα. [160a]ὅμοια μὲν γὰρ ἂν ὄντα ἢ ἀνόμοια ἑνὸς ἂν τοῦ ἑτέρου εἴδους μετέχοι, ἀμφότερα δὲ ὄντα δυοῖν τοῖν ἐναντίοιν: ταῦτα δὲ ἀδύνατον ἐφάνη.

ἀληθῆ.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα τὰ αὐτὰ οὐδ᾽ ἕτερα, οὐδὲ κινούμενα οὐδὲ ἑστῶτα, οὐδὲ γιγνόμενα οὐδὲ ἀπολλύμενα, οὐδὲ μείζω οὐδὲ ἐλάττω οὐδὲ ἴσα: οὐδὲ ἄλλο οὐδὲν πέπονθε τῶν τοιούτων: εἰ γάρ τι τοιοῦτον πεπονθέναι ὑπομένει τὰ ἄλλα, καὶ ἑνὸς καὶ δυοῖν καὶ τριῶν καὶ περιττοῦ καὶ ἀρτίου μεθέξει, ὧν αὐτοῖς ἀδύνατον [160b]ἐφάνη μετέχειν τοῦ ἑνός γε πάντῃ πάντως στερομένοις.

ἀληθέστατα.

οὕτω δὴ ἓν εἰ ἔστιν, πάντα τέ ἐστι τὸ ἓν καὶ οὐδὲ ἕν ἐστι καὶ πρὸς ἑαυτὸ καὶ πρὸς τὰ ἄλλα ὡσαύτως.

παντελῶς μὲν οὖν.

εἶεν: εἰ δὲ δὴ μὴ ἔστι τὸ ἕν, τί χρὴ συμβαίνειν ἆρ᾽ οὐ σκεπτέον μετὰ τοῦτο;

σκεπτέον γάρ.

τίς οὖν ἂν εἴη αὕτη ἡ ὑπόθεσις, εἰ ἓν μὴ ἔστιν; ἆρά τι διαφέρει τῆσδε, εἰ μὴ ἓν μὴ ἔστιν;

διαφέρει μέντοι.

διαφέρει μόνον, ἢ καὶ πᾶν [160c] τοὐναντίον ἐστὶν εἰπεῖν εἰ μὴ ἓν μὴ ἔστι τοῦ εἰ ἓν μὴ ἔστιν;

πᾶν τοὐναντίον.

τί δ᾽ εἴ τις λέγοι εἰ μέγεθος μὴ ἔστιν ἢ σμικρότης μὴ ἔστιν ἤ τι ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων, ἆρα ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστου ἂν δηλοῖ ὅτι ἕτερόν τι λέγοι τὸ μὴ ὄν;

πάνυ γε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ νῦν δηλοῖ ὅτι ἕτερον λέγει τῶν ἄλλων τὸ μὴ ὄν, ὅταν εἴπῃ ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστι, καὶ ἴσμεν ὃ λέγει;

ἴσμεν.

πρῶτον μὲν ἄρα γνωστόν τι λέγει, ἔπειτα ἕτερον τῶν ἄλλων, ὅταν εἴπῃ ἕν, εἴτε τὸ εἶναι αὐτῷ προσθεὶς εἴτε [160d]τὸ μὴ εἶναι: οὐδὲν <γὰρ> ἧττον γιγνώσκεται, τί τὸ λεγόμενον μὴ εἶναι, καὶ ὅτι διάφορον τῶν ἄλλων. ἢ οὔ;

ἀνάγκη.

ὧδε ἄρα λεκτέον ἐξ ἀρχῆς, ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστι, τί χρὴ εἶναι. πρῶτον μὲν οὖν αὐτῷ τοῦτο ὑπάρχειν δεῖ, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἶναι αὐτοῦ ἐπιστήμην, ἢ μηδὲ ὅτι λέγεται γιγνώσκεσθαι, ὅταν τις εἴπῃ ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστιν.

ἀληθῆ.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ἕτερα αὐτοῦ εἶναι, ἢ μηδὲ ἐκεῖνο ἕτερον τῶν ἄλλων λέγεσθαι;

πάνυ γε.

καὶ ἑτεροιότης ἄρα ἐστὶν αὐτῷ πρὸς τῇ ἐπιστήμῃ. [160e]οὐ γὰρ τὴν τῶν ἄλλων ἑτεροιότητα λέγει, ὅταν τὸ ἓν ἕτερον τῶν ἄλλων λέγῃ, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἐκείνου.

φαίνεται.

καὶ μὴν τοῦ γε ἐκείνου καὶ τοῦ τινὸς καὶ τούτου καὶ τούτῳ καὶ τούτων καὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων μετέχει τὸ μὴ ὂν ἕν: οὐ γὰρ ἂν τὸ ἓν ἐλέγετο οὐδ᾽ ἂν τοῦ ἑνὸς ἕτερα, οὐδ᾽ ἐκείνῳ ἄν τι ἦν οὐδ᾽ ἐκείνου, οὐδ᾽ ἄν τι ἐλέγετο, εἰ μήτε τοῦ τινὸς αὐτῷ μετῆν μήτε τῶν ἄλλων τούτων.

ὀρθῶς.

εἶναι μὲν δὴ τῷ ἑνὶ οὐχ οἷόν τε, εἴπερ γε μὴ ἔστι, μετέχειν δὲ πολλῶν οὐδὲν [161a]κωλύει, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀνάγκη, εἴπερ τό γε ἓν ἐκεῖνο καὶ μὴ ἄλλο μὴ ἔστιν. εἰ μέντοι μήτε τὸ ἓν μήτ᾽ ἐκεῖνο μὴ ἔσται, ἀλλὰ περὶ ἄλλου του ὁ λόγος, οὐδὲ φθέγγεσθαι δεῖ οὐδέν: εἰ δὲ τὸ ἓν ἐκεῖνο καὶ μὴ ἄλλο ὑπόκειται μὴ εἶναι, καὶ τοῦ ἐκείνου καὶ ἄλλων πολλῶν ἀνάγκη αὐτῷ μετεῖναι.

καὶ πάνυ γε.

καὶ ἀνομοιότης ἄρα ἐστὶν αὐτῷ πρὸς τὰ ἄλλα: τὰ γὰρ ἄλλα τοῦ ἑνὸς ἕτερα ὄντα ἑτεροῖα καὶ εἴη ἄν.

ναί.

τὰ δ᾽ ἑτεροῖα οὐκ ἀλλοῖα;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

τὰ δ᾽ ἀλλοῖα οὐκ [161b]ἀνόμοια;

ἀνόμοια μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν εἴπερ τῷ ἑνὶ ἀνόμοιά ἐστι, δῆλον ὅτι ἀνομοίῳ τά γε ἀνόμοια ἀνόμοια ἂν εἴη.

δῆλον.

εἴη δὴ ἂν καὶ τῷ ἑνὶ ἀνομοιότης, πρὸς ἣν τὰ ἄλλα ἀνόμοια αὐτῷ ἐστιν.

ἔοικεν.

εἰ δὲ δὴ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνομοιότης ἔστιν αὐτῷ, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη ἑαυτοῦ ὁμοιότητα αὐτῷ εἶναι;

πῶς;

εἰ ἑνὸς ἀνομοιότης ἔστι τῷ ἑνί, οὐκ ἄν που περὶ τοῦ τοιούτου ὁ λόγος εἴη οἵου τοῦ ἑνός, οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἡ ὑπόθεσις εἴη περὶ ἑνός, ἀλλὰ περὶ ἄλλου ἢ ἑνός.

πάνυ [161c] γε.

οὐ δεῖ δέ γε.

οὐ δῆτα.

δεῖ ἄρα ὁμοιότητα τῷ ἑνὶ αὐτοῦ ἑαυτῷ εἶναι.

δεῖ.

καὶ μὴν οὐδ᾽ αὖ ἴσον γ᾽ ἐστὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις: εἰ γὰρ εἴη ἴσον, εἴη τε ἂν ἤδη καὶ ὅμοιον ἂν εἴη αὐτοῖς κατὰ τὴν ἰσότητα. ταῦτα δ᾽ ἀμφότερα ἀδύνατα, εἴπερ μὴ ἔστιν ἕν.

ἀδύνατα.

ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐκ ἔστι τοῖς ἄλλοις ἴσον, ἆρα οὐκ ἀνάγκη καὶ τἆλλα ἐκείνῳ μὴ ἴσα εἶναι;

ἀνάγκη.

τὰ δὲ μὴ ἴσα οὐκ ἄνισα;

ναί.

τὰ δὲ ἄνισα οὐ τῷ ἀνίσῳ ἄνισα;

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

καὶ ἀνισότητος δὴ μετέχει τὸ ἕν, [161d]πρὸς ἣν τἆλλα αὐτῷ ἐστιν ἄνισα;

μετέχει.

ἀλλὰ μέντοι ἀνισότητός γε ἐστὶ μέγεθός τε καὶ σμικρότης.

ἔστι γάρ.

ἔστιν ἄρα καὶ μέγεθός τε καὶ σμικρότης τῷ τοιούτῳ ἑνί;

κινδυνεύει.

μέγεθος μὴν καὶ σμικρότης ἀεὶ ἀφέστατον ἀλλήλοιν.

πάνυ γε.

μεταξὺ ἄρα τι αὐτοῖν ἀεί ἐστιν.

ἔστιν.

ἔχεις οὖν τι ἄλλο εἰπεῖν μεταξὺ αὐτοῖν ἢ ἰσότητα;

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο.

ὅτῳ ἄρα ἔστι μέγεθος καὶ σμικρότης, ἔστι καὶ ἰσότης αὐτῷ μεταξὺ τούτοιν οὖσα.

[161e]φαίνεται.

τῷ δὴ ἑνὶ μὴ ὄντι, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ ἰσότητος ἂν μετείη καὶ μεγέθους καὶ σμικρότητος.

ἔοικεν.

καὶ μὴν καὶ οὐσίας γε δεῖ αὐτὸ μετέχειν πῃ.

πῶς δή;

ἔχειν αὐτὸ δεῖ οὕτως ὡς λέγομεν: εἰ γὰρ μὴ οὕτως ἔχει, οὐκ ἂν ἀληθῆ λέγοιμεν ἡμεῖς λέγοντες τὸ ἓν μὴ εἶναι: εἰ δὲ ἀληθῆ, δῆλον ὅτι ὄντα αὐτὰ λέγομεν. ἢ οὐχ οὕτως;

οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

ἐπειδὴ δέ φαμεν ἀληθῆ λέγειν, ἀνάγκη [162a]ἡμῖν φάναι καὶ ὄντα λέγειν.

ἀνάγκη.

ἔστιν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, τὸ ἓν οὐκ ὄν: εἰ γὰρ μὴ ἔσται μὴ ὄν, ἀλλά πῃ τοῦ εἶναι ἀνήσει πρὸς τὸ μὴ εἶναι, εὐθὺς ἔσται ὄν.

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

δεῖ ἄρα αὐτὸ δεσμὸν ἔχειν τοῦ μὴ εἶναι τὸ εἶναι μὴ ὄν, εἰ μέλλει μὴ εἶναι, ὁμοίως ὥσπερ τὸ ὂν τὸ μὴ ὂν ἔχειν μὴ εἶναι, ἵνα τελέως αὖ [εἶναι] ᾖ: οὕτως γὰρ ἂν τό τε ὂν μάλιστ᾽ ἂν εἴη καὶ τὸ μὴ ὂν οὐκ ἂν εἴη, μετέχοντα τὸ μὲν ὂν οὐσίας τοῦ εἶναι ὄν, μὴ οὐσίας δὲ τοῦ <μὴ> εἶναι μὴ [162b]ὄν, εἰ μέλλει τελέως εἶναι, τὸ δὲ μὴ ὂν μὴ οὐσίας μὲν τοῦ μὴ εἶναι [μὴ] ὄν, οὐσίας δὲ τοῦ εἶναι μὴ ὄν, εἰ καὶ τὸ μὴ ὂν αὖ τελέως μὴ ἔσται.

ἀληθέστατα.

οὐκοῦν ἐπείπερ τῷ τε ὄντι τοῦ μὴ εἶναι καὶ τῷ μὴ ὄντι τοῦ εἶναι μέτεστι, καὶ τῷ ἑνί, ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἔστι, τοῦ εἶναι ἀνάγκη μετεῖναι εἰς τὸ μὴ εἶναι.

ἀνάγκη.

καὶ οὐσία δὴ φαίνεται τῷ ἑνί, εἰ μὴ ἔστιν.

φαίνεται.

καὶ μὴ οὐσία ἄρα, εἴπερ μὴ ἔστιν.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

οἷόν τε οὖν τὸ ἔχον πως μὴ ἔχειν οὕτω, μὴ μεταβάλλον ἐκ ταύτης τῆς ἕξεως;

οὐχ οἷόν τε.

πᾶν ἄρα τὸ τοιοῦτον [162c] μεταβολὴν σημαίνει, ὃ ἂν οὕτω τε καὶ μὴ οὕτως ἔχῃ.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

μεταβολὴ δὲ κίνησις: ἢ τί φήσομεν;

κίνησις.

οὐκοῦν τὸ ἓν ὄν τε καὶ οὐκ ὂν ἐφάνη;

ναί.

οὕτως ἄρα καὶ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχον φαίνεται.

ἔοικεν.

καὶ κινούμενον ἄρα τὸ οὐκ ὂν ἓν πέφανται, ἐπείπερ καὶ μεταβολὴν ἐκ τοῦ εἶναι ἐπὶ τὸ μὴ εἶναι ἔχον.

κινδυνεύει.

ἀλλὰ μὴν εἰ μηδαμοῦ γέ ἐστι τῶν ὄντων, ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν εἴπερ μὴ ἔστιν, οὐδ᾽ ἂν μεθίσταιτό ποθέν ποι.

πῶς γάρ;

οὐκ ἄρα τῷ γε [162d]μεταβαίνειν κινοῖτ᾽ ἄν.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐδὲ μὴν ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ ἂν στρέφοιτο: ταὐτοῦ γὰρ οὐδαμοῦ ἅπτεται. ὂν γὰρ ἐστὶ τὸ ταὐτόν: τὸ δὲ μὴ ὂν ἔν τῳ τῶν ὄντων ἀδύνατον εἶναι.

ἀδύνατον γάρ.

οὐκ ἄρα τὸ ἕν γε μὴ ὂν στρέφεσθαι ἂν δύναιτο ἐν ἐκείνῳ ἐν ᾧ μὴ ἔστιν.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

οὐδὲ μὴν ἀλλοιοῦταί που τὸ ἓν ἑαυτοῦ, οὔτε τὸ ὂν οὔτε τὸ μὴ ὄν: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἦν ὁ λόγος ἔτι περὶ τοῦ ἑνός, εἴπερ ἠλλοιοῦτο αὐτὸ ἑαυτοῦ, ἀλλὰ περὶ ἄλλου τινός.

ὀρθῶς.

εἰ δὲ μήτ᾽ ἀλλοιοῦται μήτε ἐν ταὐτῷ στρέφεται μήτε μεταβαίνει, ἆρ᾽ [162e]ἄν πῃ ἔτι κινοῖτο;

πῶς γάρ;

τό γε μὴν ἀκίνητον ἀνάγκη ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν, τὸ δὲ ἡσυχάζον ἑστάναι.

ἀνάγκη.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐκ ὂν ἕστηκέ τε καὶ κινεῖται.

ἔοικεν.

καὶ μὴν εἴπερ γε κινεῖται, μεγάλη ἀνάγκη αὐτῷ ἀλλοιοῦσθαι: [163a]ὅπῃ γὰρ ἄν τι κινηθῇ, κατὰ τοσοῦτον οὐκέθ᾽ ὡσαύτως ἔχει ὡς εἶχεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἑτέρως.

οὕτως.

κινούμενον δὴ τὸ ἓν καὶ ἀλλοιοῦται.

ναί.

καὶ μὴν μηδαμῇ γε κινούμενον οὐδαμῇ ἂν ἀλλοιοῖτο.

οὐ γάρ.

ἧι μὲν ἄρα κινεῖται τὸ οὐκ ὂν ἕν, ἀλλοιοῦται: ᾗ δὲ μὴ κινεῖται, οὐκ ἀλλοιοῦται.

οὐ γάρ.

τὸ ἓν ἄρα μὴ ὂν ἀλλοιοῦταί τε καὶ οὐκ ἀλλοιοῦται.

φαίνεται.

τὸ δ᾽ ἀλλοιούμενον ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀνάγκη γίγνεσθαι μὲν ἕτερον ἢ πρότερον, ἀπόλλυσθαι δὲ ἐκ τῆς [163b]προτέρας ἕξεως: τὸ δὲ μὴ ἀλλοιούμενον μήτε γίγνεσθαι μήτε ἀπόλλυσθαι;

ἀνάγκη.

καὶ τὸ ἓν ἄρα μὴ ὂν ἀλλοιούμενον μὲν γίγνεταί τε καὶ ἀπόλλυται, μὴ ἀλλοιούμενον δὲ οὔτε γίγνεται οὔτε ἀπόλλυται: καὶ οὕτω τὸ ἓν μὴ ὂν γίγνεταί τε καὶ ἀπόλλυται, καὶ οὔτε γίγνεται οὔτ᾽ ἀπόλλυται.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

αὖθις δὴ ἐπὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἴωμεν πάλιν ὀψόμενοι εἰ ταὐτὰ ἡμῖν φανεῖται ἅπερ καὶ νῦν ἢ ἕτερα.

ἀλλὰ χρή.

οὐκοῦν [163c] ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστι, φαμέν, τί χρὴ περὶ αὐτοῦ συμβαίνειν;

ναί.

τὸ δὲ μὴ ἔστιν ὅταν λέγωμεν, ἆρα μή τι ἄλλο σημαίνει ἢ οὐσίας ἀπουσίαν τούτῳ ᾧ ἂν φῶμεν μὴ εἶναι;

οὐδὲν ἄλλο.

πότερον οὖν, ὅταν φῶμεν μὴ εἶναί τι, πὼς οὐκ εἶναί φαμεν αὐτό, πὼς δὲ εἶναι; ἢ τοῦτο τὸ μὴ ἔστι λεγόμενον ἁπλῶς σημαίνει ὅτι οὐδαμῶς οὐδαμῇ ἔστιν οὐδέ πῃ μετέχει οὐσίας τό γε μὴ ὄν;

ἁπλούστατα μὲν οὖν.

οὔτε ἄρα εἶναι δύναιτο ἂν τὸ μὴ ὂν οὔτε ἄλλως οὐδαμῶς [163d]οὐσίας μετέχειν.

οὐ γάρ.

τὸ δὲ γίγνεσθαι καὶ τὸ ἀπόλλυσθαι μή τι ἄλλο ἦν ἢ τὸ μὲν οὐσίας μεταλαμβάνειν, τὸ δ᾽ ἀπολλύναι οὐσίαν;

οὐδὲν ἄλλο.

ὧι δέ γε μηδὲν τούτου μέτεστιν, οὔτ᾽ ἂν λαμβάνοι οὔτ᾽ ἀπολλύοι αὐτό.

πῶς γάρ;

τῷ ἑνὶ ἄρα, ἐπειδὴ οὐδαμῇ ἔστιν, οὔτε ἑκτέον οὔτε ἀπαλλακτέον οὔτε μεταληπτέον οὐσίας οὐδαμῶς.

εἰκός.

οὔτε ἄρα ἀπόλλυται τὸ μὴ ὂν ἓν οὔτε γίγνεται, ἐπείπερ οὐδαμῇ μετέχει οὐσίας.

οὐ φαίνεται.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρ᾽ [163e]ἀλλοιοῦται οὐδαμῇ: ἤδη γὰρ ἂν γίγνοιτό τε καὶ ἀπολλύοιτο τοῦτο πάσχον.

ἀληθῆ.

εἰ δὲ μὴ ἀλλοιοῦται, οὐκ ἀνάγκη μηδὲ κινεῖσθαι;

ἀνάγκη.

οὐδὲ μὴν ἑστάναι φήσομεν τὸ μηδαμοῦ ὄν: τὸ γὰρ ἑστὸς ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ τινι δεῖ ἀεὶ εἶναι.

τῷ αὐτῷ: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

οὕτω δὴ αὖ τὸ μὴ ὂν μήτε ποτὲ ἑστάναι μήτε κινεῖσθαι λέγωμεν.

μὴ γὰρ οὖν.

ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἔστι γε αὐτῷ τι τῶν ὄντων: ἤδη γὰρ ἂν τούτου [164a]μετέχον [ὄντος] οὐσίας μετέχοι.

δῆλον.

οὔτε ἄρα μέγεθος οὔτε σμικρότης οὔτε ἰσότης αὐτῷ ἔστιν.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐδὲ μὴν ὁμοιότης γε οὐδὲ ἑτεροιότης οὔτε πρὸς αὑτὸ οὔτε πρὸς τἆλλα εἴη ἂν αὐτῷ.

οὐ φαίνεται.

τί δέ; τἆλλα ἔσθ᾽ ὅπως ἂν εἴη αὐτῷ, εἰ μηδὲν αὐτῷ δεῖ εἶναι;

οὐκ ἔστιν.

οὔτε ἄρα ὅμοια οὔτε ἀνόμοια οὔτε ταὐτὰ οὔθ᾽ ἕτερά ἐστιν αὐτῷ τὰ ἄλλα.

οὐ γάρ.

τί δέ; τὸ ἐκείνου ἢ τὸ ἐκείνῳ ἢ τὸ τὶ ἢ τὸ τοῦτο ἢ τὸ τούτου ἢ ἄλλου ἢ ἄλλῳ ἢ ποτὲ ἢ [164b]ἔπειτα ἢ νῦν ἢ ἐπιστήμη ἢ δόξα ἢ αἴσθησις ἢ λόγος ἢ ὄνομα ἢ ἄλλο ὁτιοῦν τῶν ὄντων περὶ τὸ μὴ ὂν ἔσται;

οὐκ ἔσται.

οὕτω δὴ ἓν οὐκ ὂν οὐκ ἔχει πως οὐδαμῇ.

οὔκουν δὴ ἔοικέν γε οὐδαμῇ ἔχειν.

ἔτι δὴ λέγωμεν, ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστι, τἆλλα τί χρὴ πεπονθέναι.

λέγωμεν γάρ.

ἄλλα μέν που δεῖ αὐτὰ εἶναι: εἰ γὰρ μηδὲ ἄλλα ἐστίν, οὐκ ἂν περὶ τῶν ἄλλων λέγοιτο.

οὕτω.

εἰ δὲ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὁ λόγος, τά γε ἄλλα ἕτερά ἐστιν. ἢ οὐκ ἐπὶ τῷ αὐτῷ καλεῖς τό τε ἄλλο καὶ τὸ [164c] ἕτερον;

ἔγωγε.

ἕτερον δέ γέ πού φαμεν τὸ ἕτερον εἶναι ἑτέρου, καὶ τὸ ἄλλο δὴ ἄλλο εἶναι ἄλλου;

ναί.

καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἄρα, εἰ μέλλει ἄλλα εἶναι, ἔστι τι οὗ ἄλλα ἔσται.

ἀνάγκη.

τί δὴ οὖν ἂν εἴη; τοῦ μὲν γὰρ ἑνὸς οὐκ ἔσται ἄλλα, μὴ ὄντος γε.

οὐ γάρ.

ἀλλήλων ἄρα ἐστί: τοῦτο γὰρ αὐτοῖς ἔτι λείπεται, ἢ μηδενὸς εἶναι ἄλλοις.

ὀρθῶς.

κατὰ πλήθη ἄρα ἕκαστα ἀλλήλων ἄλλα ἐστί: κατὰ ἓν γὰρ οὐκ ἂν οἷά τε εἴη, μὴ ὄντος ἑνός. ἀλλ᾽ ἕκαστος, ὡς [164d]ἔοικεν, ὁ ὄγκος αὐτῶν ἄπειρός ἐστι πλήθει, κἂν τὸ σμικρότατον δοκοῦν εἶναι λάβῃ τις, ὥσπερ ὄναρ ἐν ὕπνῳ φαίνεται ἐξαίφνης ἀντὶ ἑνὸς δόξαντος εἶναι πολλὰ καὶ ἀντὶ σμικροτάτου παμμέγεθες πρὸς τὰ κερματιζόμενα ἐξ αὐτοῦ.

ὀρθότατα.

τοιούτων δὴ ὄγκων ἄλλα ἀλλήλων ἂν εἴη τἆλλα, εἰ ἑνὸς μὴ ὄντος ἄλλα ἐστίν.

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν πολλοὶ ὄγκοι ἔσονται, εἷς ἕκαστος φαινόμενος, ὢν δὲ οὔ, εἴπερ ἓν μὴ ἔσται;

οὕτω.

καὶ ἀριθμὸς δὲ εἶναι αὐτῶν [164e]δόξει, εἴπερ καὶ ἓν ἕκαστον, πολλῶν ὄντων.

πάνυ γε.

καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ ἄρτια, τὰ δὲ περιττὰ ἐν αὐτοῖς ὄντα οὐκ ἀληθῶς φαίνεται, εἴπερ ἓν μὴ ἔσται.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

καὶ μὴν καὶ σμικρότατόν γε, φαμέν, δόξει ἐν αὐτοῖς ἐνεῖναι: φαίνεται δὲ τοῦτο πολλὰ καὶ μεγάλα πρὸς ἕκαστον τῶν [165a]πολλῶν ὡς σμικρῶν ὄντων.

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

καὶ ἴσος μὴν τοῖς πολλοῖς καὶ σμικροῖς ἕκαστος ὄγκος δοξασθήσεται εἶναι: οὐ γὰρ ἂν μετέβαινεν ἐκ μείζονος εἰς ἔλαττον φαινόμενος, πρὶν εἰς τὸ μεταξὺ δόξειεν ἐλθεῖν, τοῦτο δ᾽ εἴη ἂν φάντασμα ἰσότητος.

εἰκός.

οὐκοῦν καὶ πρὸς ἄλλον ὄγκον πέρας ἔχων, αὐτός γε πρὸς αὑτὸν οὔτε ἀρχὴν οὔτε πέρας οὔτε μέσον ἔχων;

πῇ δή;

ὅτι ἀεὶ αὐτῶν ὅταν τίς τι λάβῃ τῇ διανοίᾳ ὥς τι τούτων ὄν, πρό τε τῆς ἀρχῆς ἄλλη [165b]ἀεὶ φαίνεται ἀρχή, μετά τε τὴν τελευτὴν ἑτέρα ὑπολειπομένη τελευτή, ἔν τε τῷ μέσῳ ἄλλα μεσαίτερα τοῦ μέσου, σμικρότερα δέ, διὰ τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι ἑνὸς αὐτῶν ἑκάστου λαμβάνεσθαι, ἅτε οὐκ ὄντος τοῦ ἑνός.

ἀληθέστατα.

θρύπτεσθαι δὴ οἶμαι κερματιζόμενον ἀνάγκη πᾶν τὸ ὄν, ὃ ἄν τις λάβῃ τῇ διανοίᾳ: ὄγκος γάρ που ἄνευ ἑνὸς ἀεὶ λαμβάνοιτ᾽ ἄν.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν τό γε τοιοῦτον πόρρωθεν μὲν [165c] ὁρῶντι καὶ ἀμβλὺ ἓν φαίνεσθαι ἀνάγκη, ἐγγύθεν δὲ καὶ ὀξὺ νοοῦντι πλήθει ἄπειρον ἓν ἕκαστον φανῆναι, εἴπερ στέρεται τοῦ ἑνὸς μὴ ὄντος;

ἀναγκαιότατον μὲν οὖν.

οὕτω δὴ ἄπειρά τε καὶ πέρας ἔχοντα καὶ ἓν καὶ πολλὰ ἕκαστα τἆλλα δεῖ φαίνεσθαι, ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστιν, τἆλλα δὲ τοῦ ἑνός.

δεῖ γάρ.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅμοιά τε καὶ ἀνόμοια δόξει εἶναι;

πῇ δή;

οἷον ἐσκιαγραφημένα ἀποστάντι μὲν ἓν πάντα φαινόμενα ταὐτὸν φαίνεσθαι πεπονθέναι καὶ ὅμοια εἶναι.

πάνυ [165d]γε.

προσελθόντι δέ γε πολλὰ καὶ ἕτερα καὶ τῷ τοῦ ἑτέρου φαντάσματι ἑτεροῖα καὶ ἀνόμοια ἑαυτοῖς.

οὕτω.

καὶ ὁμοίους δὴ καὶ ἀνομοίους τοὺς ὄγκους αὐτούς τε αὑτοῖς ἀνάγκη φαίνεσθαι καὶ ἀλλήλοις.

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τοὺς αὐτοὺς καὶ ἑτέρους ἀλλήλων, καὶ ἁπτομένους καὶ χωρὶς ἑαυτῶν, καὶ κινουμένους πάσας κινήσεις καὶ ἑστῶτας πάντῃ, καὶ γιγνομένους καὶ ἀπολλυμένους καὶ μηδέτερα, καὶ πάντα που τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἃ διελθεῖν εὐπετὲς ἤδη ἡμῖν, εἰ ἑνὸς [165e]μὴ ὄντος πολλὰ ἔστιν.

ἀληθέστατα μὲν οὖν.

ἔτι δὴ ἅπαξ ἐλθόντες πάλιν ἐπὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν εἴπωμεν, ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστι, τἆλλα δὲ τοῦ ἑνός, τί χρὴ εἶναι.

εἴπωμεν γὰρ οὖν.

οὐκοῦν ἓν μὲν οὐκ ἔσται τἆλλα.

πῶς γάρ;

οὐδὲ μὴν πολλά γε: ἐν γὰρ πολλοῖς οὖσιν ἐνείη ἂν καὶ ἕν. εἰ γὰρ μηδὲν αὐτῶν ἐστὶν ἕν, ἅπαντα οὐδέν ἐστιν, ὥστε οὐδ᾽ ἂν πολλὰ εἴη.

ἀληθῆ.

μὴ ἐνόντος δὲ ἑνὸς ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις, οὔτε πολλὰ οὔτε ἕν ἐστι τἆλλα.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐδέ [166a]γε φαίνεται ἓν οὐδὲ πολλά.

τί δή;

ὅτι τἆλλα τῶν μὴ ὄντων οὐδενὶ οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς οὐδεμίαν κοινωνίαν ἔχει, οὐδέ τι τῶν μὴ ὄντων παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων τῴ ἐστιν: οὐδὲν γὰρ μέρος ἐστὶ τοῖς μὴ οὖσιν.

ἀληθῆ.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα δόξα τοῦ μὴ ὄντος παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἐστὶν οὐδέ τι φάντασμα, οὐδὲ δοξάζεται οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς τὸ μὴ ὂν ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων.

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

ἓν ἄρα εἰ μὴ ἔστιν, οὐδὲ δοξάζεταί τι τῶν [166b]ἄλλων ἓν εἶναι οὐδὲ πολλά: ἄνευ γὰρ ἑνὸς πολλὰ δοξάσαι ἀδύνατον.

ἀδύνατον γάρ.

ἓν ἄρα εἰ μὴ ἔστι, τἆλλα οὔτε ἔστιν οὔτε δοξάζεται ἓν οὐδὲ πολλά.

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ὅμοια οὐδὲ ἀνόμοια.

οὐ γάρ.

οὐδὲ μὴν τὰ αὐτά γε οὐδ᾽ ἕτερα, οὐδὲ ἁπτόμενα οὐδὲ χωρίς, οὐδὲ ἄλλα ὅσα ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν διήλθομεν ὡς φαινόμενα αὐτά, τούτων οὔτε τι ἔστιν οὔτε φαίνεται τἆλλα, ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστιν.

ἀληθῆ.

οὐκοῦν καὶ [166c] συλλήβδην εἰ εἴποιμεν, ἓν εἰ μὴ ἔστιν, οὐδέν ἐστιν, ὀρθῶς ἂν εἴποιμεν;

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

εἰρήσθω τοίνυν τοῦτό τε καὶ ὅτι, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἓν εἴτ᾽ ἔστιν εἴτε μὴ ἔστιν, αὐτό τε καὶ τἆλλα καὶ πρὸς αὑτὰ καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα πάντα πάντως ἐστί τε καὶ οὐκ ἔστι καὶ φαίνεταί τε καὶ οὐ φαίνεται.

ἀληθέστατα.

THEAETETUS

Εὐκλείδης

ἄρτι, ὦ Τερψίων, ἢ πάλαι ἐξ ἀγροῦ;

Τερψίων

ἐπιεικῶς πάλαι. καὶ σέ γε ἐζήτουν κατ’ ἀγορὰν καὶ ἐθαύμαζον ὅτι οὐχ οἷός τ’ ἦ εὑρεῖν.

Εὐκλείδης

οὐ γὰρ ἦ κατὰ πόλιν.

Τερψίων

ποῦ μήν;

Εὐκλείδης

εἰς λιμένα καταβαίνων Θεαιτήτῳ ἐνέτυχον φερομένῳ ἐκ Κορίνθου ἀπὸ τοῦ στρατοπέδου Ἀθήναζε.

Τερψίων

ζῶντι ἢ τετελευτηκότι;

[142b] Εὐκλείδης

ζῶντι καὶ μάλα μόλις: χαλεπῶς μὲν γὰρ ἔχει καὶ ὑπὸ τραυμάτων τινῶν, μᾶλλον μὴν αὐτὸν αἱρεῖ τὸ γεγονὸς νόσημα ἐν τῷ στρατεύματι.

Τερψίων

μῶν ἡ δυσεντερία;

Εὐκλείδης

ναί.

Τερψίων

οἷον ἄνδρα λέγεις ἐν κινδύνῳ εἶναι.

Εὐκλείδης

καλόν τε καὶ ἀγαθόν, ὦ Τερψίων, ἐπεί τοι καὶ νῦν ἤκουόν τινων μάλα ἐγκωμιαζόντων αὐτὸν περὶ τὴν μάχην.

Τερψίων

καὶ οὐδέν γ’ ἄτοπον, ἀλλὰ πολὺ θαυμαστότερον εἰ [142c] μὴ τοιοῦτος ἦν. ἀτὰρ πῶς οὐκ αὐτοῦ Μεγαροῖ κατέλυεν;

Εὐκλείδης

ἠπείγετο οἴκαδε: ἐπεὶ ἔγωγ’ ἐδεόμην καὶ συνεβούλευον, ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἤθελεν. καὶ δῆτα προπέμψας αὐτόν, ἀπιὼν πάλιν ἀνεμνήσθην καὶ ἐθαύμασα Σωκράτους ὡς μαντικῶς ἄλλα τε δὴ εἶπε καὶ περὶ τούτου. δοκεῖ γάρ μοι ὀλίγον πρὸ τοῦ θανάτου ἐντυχεῖν αὐτῷ μειρακίῳ ὄντι, καὶ συγγενόμενός τε καὶ διαλεχθεὶς πάνυ ἀγασθῆναι αὐτοῦ τὴν φύσιν. καί μοι ἐλθόντι Ἀθήναζε τούς τε λόγους οὓς διελέχθη [142d] αὐτῷ διηγήσατο καὶ μάλα ἀξίους ἀκοῆς, εἶπέ τε ὅτι πᾶσα ἀνάγκη εἴη τοῦτον ἐλλόγιμον γενέσθαι, εἴπερ εἰς ἡλικίαν ἔλθοι.

Τερψίων

καὶ ἀληθῆ γε, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἶπεν. ἀτὰρ τίνες ἦσαν οἱ λόγοι; ἔχοις ἂν διηγήσασθαι;

Εὐκλείδης

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, οὔκουν οὕτω γε ἀπὸ στόματος: [143a] ἀλλ’ ἐγραψάμην μὲν τότ’ εὐθὺς οἴκαδ’ ἐλθὼν ὑπομνήματα, ὕστερον δὲ κατὰ σχολὴν ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενος ἔγραφον, καὶ ὁσάκις Ἀθήναζε ἀφικοίμην, ἐπανηρώτων τὸν Σωκράτη ὃ μὴ ἐμεμνήμην, καὶ δεῦρο ἐλθὼν ἐπηνορθούμην: ὥστε μοι σχεδόν τι πᾶς ὁ λόγος γέγραπται.

Τερψίων

ἀληθῆ: ἤκουσά σου καὶ πρότερον, καὶ μέντοι ἀεὶ μέλλων κελεύσειν ἐπιδεῖξαι διατέτριφα δεῦρο. ἀλλὰ τί κωλύει νῦν ἡμᾶς διελθεῖν; πάντως ἔγωγε καὶ ἀναπαύσασθαι δέομαι ὡς ἐξ ἀγροῦ ἥκων.

[143b] Εὐκλείδης

ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ καὶ αὐτὸς μέχρι Ἐρινοῦ Θεαίτητον προύπεμψα, ὥστε οὐκ ἂν ἀηδῶς ἀναπαυοίμην. ἀλλ’ ἴωμεν, καὶ ἡμῖν ἅμα ἀναπαυομένοις ὁ παῖς ἀναγνώσεται.

Τερψίων

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Εὐκλείδης

τὸ μὲν δὴ βιβλίον, ὦ Τερψίων, τουτί: ἐγραψάμην δὲ δὴ οὑτωσὶ τὸν λόγον, οὐκ ἐμοὶ Σωκράτη διηγούμενον ὡς διηγεῖτο, ἀλλὰ διαλεγόμενον οἷς ἔφη διαλεχθῆναι. ἔφη δὲ τῷ τε γεωμέτρῃ Θεοδώρῳ καὶ τῷ Θεαιτήτῳ. ἵνα οὖν ἐν τῇ [143c] γραφῇ μὴ παρέχοιεν πράγματα αἱ μεταξὺ τῶν λόγων διηγήσεις περὶ αὑτοῦ τε ὁπότε λέγοι ὁ Σωκράτης, οἷον “καὶ ἐγὼ ἔφην” ἢ “καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον,” ἢ αὖ περὶ τοῦ ἀποκρινομένου ὅτι “συνέφη” ἢ “οὐχ ὡμολόγει,” τούτων ἕνεκα ὡς αὐτὸν αὐτοῖς διαλεγόμενον ἔγραψα, ἐξελὼν τὰ τοιαῦτα.

Τερψίων

καὶ οὐδέν γε ἀπὸ τρόπου, ὦ Εὐκλείδη.

Εὐκλείδης

ἀλλά, παῖ, λαβὲ τὸ βιβλίον καὶ λέγε.

[143d] Σωκράτης

εἰ μὲν τῶν ἐν Κυρήνῃ μᾶλλον ἐκηδόμην, ὦ Θεόδωρε, τὰ ἐκεῖ ἄν σε καὶ περὶ ἐκείνων ἀνηρώτων, εἴ τινες αὐτόθι περὶ γεωμετρίαν ἤ τινα ἄλλην φιλοσοφίαν εἰσὶ τῶν νέων ἐπιμέλειαν ποιούμενοι: νῦν δὲ ἧττον γὰρ ἐκείνους ἢ τούσδε φιλῶ, καὶ μᾶλλον ἐπιθυμῶ εἰδέναι τίνες ἡμῖν τῶν νέων ἐπίδοξοι γενέσθαι ἐπιεικεῖς. ταῦτα δὴ αὐτός τε σκοπῶ καθ’ ὅσον δύναμαι, καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἐρωτῶ οἷς ἂν ὁρῶ τοὺς νέους ἐθέλοντας συγγίγνεσθαι. σοὶ δὴ οὐκ ὀλίγιστοι πλησιάζουσι, [143e] καὶ δικαίως: ἄξιος γὰρ τά τε ἄλλα καὶ γεωμετρίας ἕνεκα. εἰ δὴ οὖν τινι ἐνέτυχες ἀξίῳ λόγου, ἡδέως ἂν πυθοίμην.

Θεόδωρος

καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐμοί τε εἰπεῖν καὶ σοὶ ἀκοῦσαι πάνυ ἄξιον οἵῳ ὑμῖν τῶν πολιτῶν μειρακίῳ ἐντετύχηκα. καὶ εἰ μὲν ἦν καλός, ἐφοβούμην ἂν σφόδρα λέγειν, μὴ καί τῳ δόξω ἐν ἐπιθυμίᾳ αὐτοῦ εἶναι. νῦν δέ — καὶ μή μοι ἄχθου — οὐκ ἔστι καλός, προσέοικε δὲ σοὶ τήν τε σιμότητα καὶ τὸ ἔξω τῶν ὀμμάτων: ἧττον δὲ ἢ σὺ ταῦτ’ ἔχει. [144a] ἀδεῶς δὴ λέγω. εὖ γὰρ ἴσθι ὅτι ὧν δὴ πώποτε ἐνέτυχον — καὶ πάνυ πολλοῖς πεπλησίακα — οὐδένα πω ᾐσθόμην οὕτω θαυμαστῶς εὖ πεφυκότα. τὸ γὰρ εὐμαθῆ ὄντα ὡς ἄλλῳ χαλεπὸν πρᾷον αὖ εἶναι διαφερόντως, καὶ ἐπὶ τούτοις ἀνδρεῖον παρ’ ὁντινοῦν, ἐγὼ μὲν οὔτ’ ἂν ᾠόμην γενέσθαι οὔτε ὁρῶ γιγνόμενον: ἀλλ’ οἵ τε ὀξεῖς ὥσπερ οὗτος καὶ ἀγχίνοι καὶ μνήμονες ὡς τὰ πολλὰ καὶ πρὸς τὰς ὀργὰς ὀξύῤῥοποί εἰσι, καὶ ᾄττοντες φέρονται ὥσπερ τὰ ἀνερμάτιστα [144b] πλοῖα, καὶ μανικώτεροι ἢ ἀνδρειότεροι φύονται, οἵ τε αὖ ἐμβριθέστεροι νωθροί πως ἀπαντῶσι πρὸς τὰς μαθήσεις καὶ λήθης γέμοντες. ὁ δὲ οὕτω λείως τε καὶ ἀπταίστως καὶ ἀνυσίμως ἔρχεται ἐπὶ τὰς μαθήσεις τε καὶ ζητήσεις μετὰ πολλῆς πρᾳότητος, οἷον ἐλαίου ῥεῦμα ἀψοφητὶ ῥέοντος, ὥστε θαυμάσαι τὸ τηλικοῦτον ὄντα οὕτως ταῦτα διαπράττεσθαι.

Σωκράτης

εὖ ἀγγέλλεις. τίνος δὲ καὶ ἔστι τῶν πολιτῶν;

Θεόδωρος

ἀκήκοα μὲν τοὔνομα, μνημονεύω δὲ οὔ. ἀλλὰ [144c] γάρ ἐστι τῶνδε τῶν προσιόντων ὁ ἐν τῷ μέσῳ: ἄρτι γὰρ ἐν τῷ ἔξω δρόμῳ ἠλείφοντο ἑταῖροί τέ τινες οὗτοι αὐτοῦ καὶ αὐτός, νῦν δέ μοι δοκοῦσιν ἀλειψάμενοι δεῦρο ἰέναι. ἀλλὰ σκόπει εἰ γιγνώσκεις αὐτόν.

Σωκράτης

γιγνώσκω: ὁ τοῦ Σουνιῶς Εὐφρονίου ἐστίν, καὶ πάνυ γε, ὦ φίλε, ἀνδρὸς οἷον καὶ σὺ τοῦτον διηγῇ, καὶ ἄλλως εὐδοκίμου, καὶ μέντοι καὶ οὐσίαν μάλα πολλὴν κατέλιπεν. τὸ δ’ ὄνομα οὐκ οἶδα τοῦ μειρακίου.

[144d] Θεόδωρος

Θεαίτητος, ὦ Σώκρατες, τό γε ὄνομα: τὴν μέντοι οὐσίαν δοκοῦσί μοι ἐπίτροποί τινες διεφθαρκέναι. ἀλλ’ ὅμως καὶ πρὸς τὴν τῶν χρημάτων ἐλευδεριότητα θαυμαστός, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

γεννικὸν λέγεις τὸν ἄνδρα. καί μοι κέλευε αὐτὸν ἐνθάδε παρακαθίζεσθαι.

Θεόδωρος

ἔσται ταῦτα. Θεαίτητε, δεῦρο παρὰ Σωκράτη.

Σωκράτης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἵνα κἀγὼ ἐμαυτὸν ἀνασκέψωμαι ποῖόν τι ἔχω τὸ πρόσωπον: φησὶν γὰρ Θεόδωρος [144e] ἔχειν με σοὶ ὅμοιον. ἀτὰρ εἰ νῷν ἐχόντοιν ἑκατέρου λύραν ἔφη αὐτὰς ἡρμόσθαι ὁμοίως, πότερον εὐθὺς ἂν ἐπιστεύομεν ἢ ἐπεσκεψάμεθ’ ἂν εἰ μουσικὸς ὢν λέγει;

Θεαίτητος

ἐπεσκεψάμεθ’ ἄν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοιοῦτον μὲν εὑρόντες ἐπειθόμεθ’ ἄν, ἄμουσον δέ, ἠπιστοῦμεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

νῦν δέ γ’, οἶμαι, εἴ τι μέλει ἡμῖν τῆς τῶν προσώπων [145a] ὁμοιότητος, σκεπτέον εἰ γραφικὸς ὢν λέγει ἢ οὔ.

Θεαίτητος

δοκεῖ μοι.

Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν ζωγραφικὸς Θεόδωρος;

Θεαίτητος

οὔχ, ὅσον γέ με εἰδέναι.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὐδὲ γεωμετρικός;

Θεαίτητος

πάντως δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ ἀστρονομικὸς καὶ λογιστικός τε καὶ μουσικὸς καὶ ὅσα παιδείας ἔχεται;

Θεαίτητος

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

εἰ μὲν ἄρα ἡμᾶς τοῦ σώματός τι ὁμοίους φησὶν εἶναι ἐπαινῶν πῃ ἢ ψέγων, οὐ πάνυ αὐτῷ ἄξιον τὸν νοῦν προσέχειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως οὔ.

[145b] Σωκράτης

τί δ’ εἰ ποτέρου τὴν ψυχὴν ἐπαινοῖ πρὸς ἀρετήν τε καὶ σοφίαν; ἆρ’ οὐκ ἄξιον τῷ μὲν ἀκούσαντι προθυμεῖσθαι ἀνασκέψασθαι τὸν ἐπαινεθέντα, τῷ δὲ προθύμως ἑαυτὸν ἐπιδεικνύναι;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ὥρα τοίνυν, ὦ φίλε Θεαίτητε, σοὶ μὲν ἐπιδεικνύναι, ἐμοὶ δὲ σκοπεῖσθαι: ὡς εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι Θεόδωρος πολλοὺς δὴ πρός με ἐπαινέσας ξένους τε καὶ ἀστοὺς οὐδένα πω ἐπῄνεσεν ὡς σὲ νυνδή.

Θεαίτητος

εὖ ἂν ἔχοι, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἀλλ’ ὅρα μὴ παίζων [145c] ἔλεγεν.

Σωκράτης

οὐχ οὗτος ὁ τρόπος Θεοδώρου: ἀλλὰ μὴ ἀναδύου τὰ ὡμολογημένα σκηπτόμενος παίζοντα λέγειν τόνδε, ἵνα μὴ καὶ ἀναγκασθῇ μαρτυρεῖν — πάντως γὰρ οὐδεὶς ἐπισκήψετ’ αὐτῷ — ἀλλὰ θαῤῥῶν ἔμμενε τῇ ὁμολογίᾳ.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ χρὴ ταῦτα ποιεῖν, εἰ σοὶ δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

λέγε δή μοι: μανθάνεις που παρὰ Θεοδώρου γεωμετρίας ἄττα;

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

[145d] Σωκράτης

καὶ τῶν περὶ ἀστρονομίαν τε καὶ ἁρμονίας καὶ λογισμούς;

Θεαίτητος

προθυμοῦμαί γε δή.

Σωκράτης

καὶ γὰρ ἐγώ, ὦ παῖ, παρά τε τούτου καὶ παρ’ ἄλλων οὓς ἂν οἴωμαί τι τούτων ἐπαί¨ειν. ἀλλ’ ὅμως τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ἔχω περὶ αὐτὰ μετρίως, μικρὸν δέ τι ἀπορῶ ὃ μετὰ σοῦ τε καὶ τῶνδε σκεπτέον. καί μοι λέγε: ἆρ’ οὐ τὸ μανθάνειν ἐστὶν τὸ σοφώτερον γίγνεσθαι περὶ ὃ μανθάνει τις;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

σοφίᾳ δέ γ’ οἶμαι σοφοὶ οἱ σοφοί.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[145e] Σωκράτης

τοῦτο δὲ μῶν διαφέρει τι ἐπιστήμης;

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης

ἡ σοφία. ἢ οὐχ ἅπερ ἐπιστήμονες ταῦτα καὶ σοφοί;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

ταὐτὸν ἄρα ἐπιστήμη καὶ σοφία;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτ’ αὐτὸ τοίνυν ἐστὶν ὃ ἀπορῶ καὶ οὐ δύναμαι λαβεῖν ἱκανῶς παρ’ ἐμαυτῷ, ἐπιστήμη ὅτι ποτὲ τυγχάνει ὄν. [146a] ἆρ’ οὖν δὴ ἔχομεν λέγειν αὐτό; τί φατέ; τίς ἂν ἡμῶν πρῶτος εἴποι; ὁ δὲ ἁμαρτών, καὶ ὃς ἂν ἀεὶ ἁμαρτάνῃ, καθεδεῖται, ὥσπερ φασὶν οἱ παῖδες οἱ σφαιρίζοντες, ὄνος: ὃς δ’ ἂν περιγένηται ἀναμάρτητος, βασιλεύσει ἡμῶν καὶ ἐπιτάξει ὅτι ἂν βούληται ἀποκρίνεσθαι. τί σιγᾶτε; οὔ τί που, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ἐγὼ ὑπὸ φιλολογίας ἀγροικίζομαι, προθυμούμενος ἡμᾶς ποιῆσαι διαλέγεσθαι καὶ φίλους τε καὶ προσηγόρους ἀλλήλοις γίγνεσθαι;

[146b] Θεόδωρος

ἥκιστα μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ τοιοῦτον ἂν εἴη ἄγροικον, ἀλλὰ τῶν μειρακίων τι κέλευέ σοι ἀποκρίνεσθαι: ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ ἀήθης τῆς τοιαύτης διαλέκτου, καὶ οὐδ’ αὖ συνεθίζεσθαι ἡλικίαν ἔχω. τοῖσδε δὲ πρέποι τε ἂν τοῦτο καὶ πολὺ πλέον ἐπιδιδοῖεν: τῷ γὰρ ὄντι ἡ νεότης εἰς πᾶν ἐπίδοσιν ἔχει. ἀλλ’, ὥσπερ ἤρξω, μὴ ἀφίεσο τοῦ Θεαιτήτου ἀλλ’ ἐρώτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀκούεις δή, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἃ λέγει Θεόδωρος, ᾧ [146c] ἀπειθεῖν, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, οὔτε σὺ ἐθελήσεις, οὔτε θέμις περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀνδρὶ σοφῷ ἐπιτάττοντι νεώτερον ἀπειθεῖν. ἀλλ’ εὖ καὶ γενναίως εἰπέ: τί σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι ἐπιστήμη;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ χρή, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπειδήπερ ὑμεῖς κελεύετε. πάντως γάρ, ἄν τι καὶ ἁμάρτω, ἐπανορθώσετε.

Σωκράτης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἄνπερ γε οἷοί τε ὦμεν.

Θεαίτητος

δοκεῖ τοίνυν μοι καὶ ἃ παρὰ Θεοδώρου ἄν τις μάθοι ἐπιστῆμαι εἶναι, γεωμετρία τε καὶ ἃς νυνδὴ σὺ διῆλθες, [146d] καὶ αὖ σκυτοτομική τε καὶ αἱ τῶν ἄλλων δημιουργῶν τέχναι, πᾶσαί τε καὶ ἑκάστη τούτων, οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ ἐπιστήμη εἶναι.

Σωκράτης

γενναίως γε καὶ φιλοδώρως, ὦ φίλε, ἓν αἰτηθεὶς πολλὰ δίδως καὶ ποικίλα ἀντὶ ἁπλοῦ.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς τί τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

ἴσως μὲν οὐδέν: ὃ μέντοι οἶμαι, φράσω. ὅταν λέγῃς σκυτικήν, μή τι ἄλλο φράζεις ἢ ἐπιστήμην ὑποδημάτων ἐργασίας;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

[146e] Σωκράτης

τί δ’ ὅταν τεκτονικήν; μή τι ἄλλο ἢ ἐπιστήμην τῆς τῶν ξυλίνων σκευῶν ἐργασίας;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδὲ τοῦτο.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐν ἀμφοῖν, οὗ ἑκατέρα ἐπιστήμη, τοῦτο ὁρίζεις;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δέ γ’ ἐρωτηθέν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, οὐ τοῦτο ἦν, τίνων ἡ ἐπιστήμη, οὐδὲ ὁπόσαι τινές: οὐ γὰρ ἀριθμῆσαι αὐτὰς βουλόμενοι ἠρόμεθα ἀλλὰ γνῶναι ἐπιστήμην αὐτὸ ὅτι ποτ’ ἐστίν. ἢ οὐδὲν λέγω;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ὀρθῶς.

[147a] Σωκράτης

σκέψαι δὴ καὶ τόδε. εἴ τις ἡμᾶς τῶν φαύλων τι καὶ προχείρων ἔροιτο, οἷον περὶ πηλοῦ ὅτι ποτ’ ἐστίν, εἰ ἀποκριναίμεθα αὐτῷ πηλὸς ὁ τῶν χυτρέων καὶ πηλὸς ὁ τῶν ἰπνοπλαθῶν καὶ πηλὸς ὁ τῶν πλινθουργῶν, οὐκ ἂν γελοῖοι εἶμεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως.

Σωκράτης

πρῶτον μέν γέ που οἰόμενοι συνιέναι ἐκ τῆς ἡμετέρας ἀποκρίσεως τὸν ἐρωτῶντα, ὅταν εἴπωμεν πηλός, εἴτε ὁ τῶν [147b] κοροπλαθῶν προσθέντες εἴτε ἄλλων ὡντινωνοῦν δημιουργῶν. ἢ οἴει τίς τι συνίησίν τινος ὄνομα, ὃ μὴ οἶδεν τί ἐστιν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

οὐδ’ ἄρα ἐπιστήμην ὑποδημάτων συνίησιν ὁ ἐπιστήμην μὴ εἰδώς.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γάρ.

Σωκράτης

σκυτικὴν ἄρα οὐ συνίησιν ὃς ἂν ἐπιστήμην ἀγνοῇ, οὐδέ τινα ἄλλην τέχνην.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστιν οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

γελοία ἄρα ἡ ἀπόκρισις τῷ ἐρωτηθέντι ἐπιστήμη τί ἐστιν, ὅταν ἀποκρίνηται τέχνης τινὸς ὄνομα. τινὸς γὰρ [147c] ἐπιστήμην ἀποκρίνεται οὐ τοῦτ’ ἐρωτηθείς.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ἔπειτά γέ που ἐξὸν φαύλως καὶ βραχέως ἀποκρίνασθαι περιέρχεται ἀπέραντον ὁδόν. οἷον καὶ ἐν τῇ τοῦ πηλοῦ ἐρωτήσει φαῦλόν που καὶ ἁπλοῦν εἰπεῖν ὅτι γῆ ὑγρῷ φυραθεῖσα πηλὸς ἂν εἴη, τὸ δ’ ὅτου ἐᾶν χαίρειν.

Θεαίτητος

ῥᾳδιον, ὦ Σώκρατες, νῦν γε οὕτω φαίνεται: ἀτὰρ κινδυνεύεις ἐρωτᾶν οἷον καὶ αὐτοῖς ἡμῖν ἔναγχος εἰσῆλθε [147d] διαλεγομένοις, ἐμοί τε καὶ τῷ σῷ ὁμωνύμῳ τούτῳ Σωκράτει.

Σωκράτης

τὸ ποῖον δή, ὦ Θεαίτητε;

Θεαίτητος

περὶ δυνάμεών τι ἡμῖν Θεόδωρος ὅδε ἔγραφε, τῆς τε τρίποδος πέρι καὶ πεντέποδος [ἀποφαίνων] ὅτι μήκει οὐ σύμμετροι τῇ ποδιαίᾳ, καὶ οὕτω κατὰ μίαν ἑκάστην προαιρούμενος μέχρι τῆς ἑπτακαιδεκάποδος: ἐν δὲ ταύτῃ πως ἐνέσχετο. ἡμῖν οὖν εἰσῆλθέ τι τοιοῦτον, ἐπειδὴ ἄπειροι τὸ πλῆθος αἱ δυνάμεις ἐφαίνοντο, πειραθῆναι συλλαβεῖν εἰς ἕν, ὅτῳ πάσας [147e] ταύτας προσαγορεύσομεν τὰς δυνάμεις.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ ηὕρετέ τι τοιοῦτον;

Θεαίτητος

ἔμοιγε δοκοῦμεν: σκόπει δὲ καὶ σύ.

Σωκράτης

λέγε.

Θεαίτητος

τὸν ἀριθμὸν πάντα δίχα διελάβομεν: τὸν μὲν δυνάμενον ἴσον ἰσάκις γίγνεσθαι τῷ τετραγώνῳ τὸ σχῆμα ἀπεικάσαντες τετράγωνόν τε καὶ ἰσόπλευρον προσείπομεν.

Σωκράτης

καὶ εὖ γε.

Θεαίτητος

τὸν τοίνυν μεταξὺ τούτου, ὧν καὶ τὰ τρία καὶ [148a] τὰ πέντε καὶ πᾶς ὃς ἀδύνατος ἴσος ἰσάκις γενέσθαι, ἀλλ’ ἢ πλείων ἐλαττονάκις ἢ ἐλάττων πλεονάκις γίγνεται, μείζων δὲ καὶ ἐλάττων ἀεὶ πλευρὰ αὐτὸν περιλαμβάνει, τῷ προμήκει αὖ σχήματι ἀπεικάσαντες προμήκη ἀριθμὸν ἐκαλέσαμεν.

Σωκράτης

κάλλιστα. ἀλλὰ τί τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο;

Θεαίτητος

ὅσαι μὲν γραμμαὶ τὸν ἰσόπλευρον καὶ ἐπίπεδον ἀριθμὸν τετραγωνίζουσι, μῆκος ὡρισάμεθα, ὅσαι δὲ τὸν ἑτερομήκη, [148b] δυνάμεις, ὡς μήκει μὲν οὐ συμμέτρους ἐκείναις, τοῖς δ’ ἐπιπέδοις ἃ δύνανται. καὶ περὶ τὰ στερεὰ ἄλλο τοιοῦτον.

Σωκράτης

ἄριστά γ’ ἀνθρώπων, ὦ παῖδες: ὥστε μοι δοκεῖ ὁ Θεόδωρος οὐκ ἔνοχος τοῖς ψευδομαρτυρίοις ἔσεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅ γε ἐρωτᾷς περὶ ἐπιστήμης οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην ἀποκρίνασθαι ὥσπερ περὶ τοῦ μήκους τε καὶ τῆς δυνάμεως. καίτοι σύ γέ μοι δοκεῖς τοιοῦτόν τι ζητεῖν: ὥστε πάλιν αὖ φαίνεται ψευδὴς ὁ Θεόδωρος.

[148c] Σωκράτης

τί δέ; εἴ σε πρὸς δρόμον ἐπαινῶν μηδενὶ οὕτω δρομικῷ ἔφη τῶν νέων ἐντετυχηκέναι, εἶτα διαθέων τοῦ ἀκμάζοντος καὶ ταχίστου ἡττήθης, ἧττόν τι ἂν οἴει ἀληθῆ τόνδ’ ἐπαινέσαι;

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τὴν ἐπιστήμην, ὥσπερ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, σμικρόν τι οἴει εἶναι ἐξευρεῖν καὶ οὐ τῶν πάντῃ ἄκρων;

Θεαίτητος

νὴ τὸν Δί’ ἔγωγε καὶ μάλα γε τῶν ἀκροτάτων.

Σωκράτης

θάῤῥει τοίνυν περὶ σαυτῷ καὶ τὶ οἴου Θεόδωρον [148d] λέγειν, προθυμήθητι δὲ παντὶ τρόπῳ τῶν τε ἄλλων πέρι καὶ ἐπιστήμης λαβεῖν λόγον τί ποτε τυγχάνει ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

προθυμίας μὲν ἕνεκα, ὦ Σώκρατες, φανεῖται.

Σωκράτης

ἴθι δή — καλῶς γὰρ ἄρτι ὑφηγήσω — πειρῶ μιμούμενος τὴν περὶ τῶν δυνάμεων ἀπόκρισιν, ὥσπερ ταύτας πολλὰς οὔσας ἑνὶ εἴδει περιέλαβες, οὕτω καὶ τὰς πολλὰς ἐπιστήμας ἑνὶ λόγῳ προσειπεῖν.

[148e] Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ εὖ ἴσθι, ὦ Σώκρατες, πολλάκις δὴ αὐτὸ ἐπεχείρησα σκέψασθαι, ἀκούων τὰς παρὰ σοῦ ἀποφερομένας ἐρωτήσεις. ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὔτ’ αὐτὸς δύναμαι πεῖσαι ἐμαυτὸν ὡς ἱκανῶς τι λέγω οὔτ’ ἄλλου ἀκοῦσαι λέγοντος οὕτως ὡς σὺ διακελεύῃ, οὐ μὲν δὴ αὖ οὐδ’ ἀπαλλαγῆναι τοῦ μέλειν.

Σωκράτης

ὠδίνεις γάρ, ὦ φίλε Θεαίτητε, διὰ τὸ μὴ κενὸς ἀλλ’ ἐγκύμων εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ οἶδα, ὦ Σώκρατες: ὃ μέντοι πέπονθα λέγω.

[149a] Σωκράτης

εἶτα, ὦ καταγέλαστε, οὐκ ἀκήκοας ὡς ἐγώ εἰμι ὑὸς μαίας μάλα γενναίας τε καὶ βλοσυρᾶς, Φαιναρέτης;

Θεαίτητος

ἤδη τοῦτό γε ἤκουσα.

Σωκράτης

ἆρα καὶ ὅτι ἐπιτηδεύω τὴν αὐτὴν τέχνην ἀκήκοας;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ εὖ ἴσθ’ ὅτι: μὴ μέντοι μου κατείπῃς πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους. λέληθα γάρ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ταύτην ἔχων τὴν τέχνην: οἱ δέ, ἅτε οὐκ εἰδότες, τοῦτο μὲν οὐ λέγουσι περὶ ἐμοῦ, ὅτι δὲ ἀτοπώτατός εἰμι καὶ ποιῶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἀπορεῖν. ἦ καὶ τοῦτο ἀκήκοας;

[149b] Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

εἴπω οὖν σοι τὸ αἴτιον;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἐννόησον δὴ τὸ περὶ τὰς μαίας ἅπαν ὡς ἔχει, καὶ ῥᾷον μαθήσῃ ὃ βούλομαι. οἶσθα γάρ που ὡς οὐδεμία αὐτῶν ἔτι αὐτὴ κυϊσκομένη τε καὶ τίκτουσα ἄλλας μαιεύεται, ἀλλ’ αἱ ἤδη ἀδύνατοι τίκτειν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

αἰτίαν δέ γε τούτου φασὶν εἶναι τὴν Ἄρτεμιν, ὅτι ἄλοχος οὖσα τὴν λοχείαν εἴληχε. στερίφαις μὲν οὖν ἄρα [149c] οὐκ ἔδωκε μαιεύεσθαι, ὅτι ἡ ἀνθρωπίνη φύσις ἀσθενεστέρα ἢ λαβεῖν τέχνην ὧν ἂν ᾖ ἄπειρος: ταῖς δὲ δι’ ἡλικίαν ἀτόκοις προσέταξε τιμῶσα τὴν αὑτῆς ὁμοιότητα.

Θεαίτητος

εἰκός.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ τόδε εἰκός τε καὶ ἀναγκαῖον, τὰς κυούσας καὶ μὴ γιγνώσκεσθαι μᾶλλον ὑπὸ τῶν μαιῶν ἢ τῶν ἄλλων;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν καὶ διδοῦσαί γε αἱ μαῖαι φαρμάκια καὶ [149d] ἐπᾴδουσαι δύνανται ἐγείρειν τε τὰς ὠδῖνας καὶ μαλθακωτέρας ἂν βούλωνται ποιεῖν, καὶ τίκτειν τε δὴ τὰς δυστοκούσας, καὶ ἐὰν †νέον ὂν† δόξῃ ἀμβλίσκειν, ἀμβλίσκουσιν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ἔτι καὶ τόδε αὐτῶν ᾔσθησαι, ὅτι καὶ προμνήστριαί εἰσι δεινόταται, ὡς πάσσοφοι οὖσαι περὶ τοῦ γνῶναι ποίαν χρὴ ποίῳ ἀνδρὶ συνοῦσαν ὡς ἀρίστους παῖδας τίκτειν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐ πάνυ τοῦτο οἶδα.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἴσθ’ ὅτι ἐπὶ τούτῳ μεῖζον φρονοῦσιν ἢ ἐπὶ [149e] τῇ ὀμφαλητομίᾳ. ἐννόει γάρ: τῆς αὐτῆς ἢ ἄλλης οἴει τέχνης εἶναι θεραπείαν τε καὶ συγκομιδὴν τῶν ἐκ γῆς καρπῶν καὶ αὖ τὸ γιγνώσκειν εἰς ποίαν γῆν ποῖον φυτόν τε καὶ σπέρμα καταβλητέον;

Θεαίτητος

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τῆς αὐτῆς.

Σωκράτης

εἰς γυναῖκα δέ, ὦ φίλε, ἄλλην μὲν οἴει τοῦ τοιούτου, ἄλλην δὲ συγκομιδῆς;

Θεαίτητος

οὔκουν εἰκός γε.

[150a] Σωκράτης

οὐ γάρ. ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν ἄδικόν τε καὶ ἄτεχνον συναγωγὴν ἀνδρὸς καὶ γυναικός, ᾗ δὴ προαγωγία ὄνομα, φεύγουσι καὶ τὴν προμνηστικὴν ἅτε σεμναὶ οὖσαι αἱ μαῖαι, φοβούμεναι μὴ εἰς ἐκείνην τὴν αἰτίαν διὰ ταύτην ἐμπέσωσιν: ἐπεὶ ταῖς γε ὄντως μαίαις μόναις που προσήκει καὶ προμνήσασθαι ὀρθῶς.

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

τὸ μὲν τοίνυν τῶν μαιῶν τοσοῦτον, ἔλαττον δὲ τοῦ ἐμοῦ δράματος. οὐ γὰρ πρόσεστι γυναιξὶν ἐνίοτε μὲν [150b] εἴδωλα τίκτειν, ἔστι δ’ ὅτε ἀληθινά, τοῦτο δὲ μὴ ῥᾴδιον εἶναι διαγνῶναι. εἰ γὰρ προσῆν, μέγιστόν τε καὶ κάλλιστον ἔργον ἦν ἂν ταῖς μαίαις τὸ κρίνειν τὸ ἀληθές τε καὶ μή: ἢ οὐκ οἴει;

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τῇ δέ γ’ ἐμῇ τέχνῃ τῆς μαιεύσεως τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ὑπάρχει ὅσα ἐκείναις, διαφέρει δὲ τῷ τε ἄνδρας ἀλλὰ μὴ γυναῖκας μαιεύεσθαι καὶ τῷ τὰς ψυχὰς αὐτῶν τικτούσας ἐπισκοπεῖν ἀλλὰ μὴ τὰ σώματα. μέγιστον δὲ τοῦτ’ ἔνι [150c] τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ τέχνῃ, βασανίζειν δυνατὸν εἶναι παντὶ τρόπῳ πότερον εἴδωλον καὶ ψεῦδος ἀποτίκτει τοῦ νέου ἡ διάνοια ἢ γόνιμόν τε καὶ ἀληθές. ἐπεὶ τόδε γε καὶ ἐμοὶ ὑπάρχει ὅπερ ταῖς μαίαις: ἄγονός εἰμι σοφίας, καὶ ὅπερ ἤδη πολλοί μοι ὠνείδισαν, ὡς τοὺς μὲν ἄλλους ἐρωτῶ, αὐτὸς δὲ οὐδὲν ἀποφαίνομαι περὶ οὐδενὸς διὰ τὸ μηδὲν ἔχειν σοφόν, ἀληθὲς ὀνειδίζουσιν. τὸ δὲ αἴτιον τούτου τόδε: μαιεύεσθαί με ὁ θεὸς ἀναγκάζει, γεννᾶν δὲ ἀπεκώλυσεν. εἰμὶ δὴ οὖν αὐτὸς [150d] μὲν οὐ πάνυ τι σοφός, οὐδέ τί μοι ἔστιν εὕρημα τοιοῦτον γεγονὸς τῆς ἐμῆς ψυχῆς ἔκγονον: οἱ δ’ ἐμοὶ συγγιγνόμενοι τὸ μὲν πρῶτον φαίνονται ἔνιοι μὲν καὶ πάνυ ἀμαθεῖς, πάντες δὲ προϊούσης τῆς συνουσίας, οἷσπερ ἂν ὁ θεὸς παρείκῃ, θαυμαστὸν ὅσον ἐπιδιδόντες, ὡς αὑτοῖς τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις δοκοῦσι: καὶ τοῦτο ἐναργὲς ὅτι παρ’ ἐμοῦ οὐδὲν πώποτε μαθόντες, ἀλλ’ αὐτοὶ παρ’ αὑτῶν πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ εὑρόντες τε καὶ τεκόντες. τῆς μέντοι μαιείας ὁ θεός τε καὶ ἐγὼ [150e] αἴτιος. ὧδε δὲ δῆλον: πολλοὶ ἤδη τοῦτο ἀγνοήσαντες καὶ ἑαυτοὺς αἰτιασάμενοι, ἐμοῦ δὲ καταφρονήσαντες, ἢ αὐτοὶ ἢ ὑπ’ ἄλλων πεισθέντες ἀπῆλθον πρῳαίτερον τοῦ δέοντος, ἀπελθόντες δὲ τά τε λοιπὰ ἐξήμβλωσαν διὰ πονηρὰν συνουσίαν καὶ τὰ ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ μαιευθέντα κακῶς τρέφοντες ἀπώλεσαν, ψευδῆ καὶ εἴδωλα περὶ πλείονος ποιησάμενοι τοῦ ἀληθοῦς, τελευτῶντες δ’ αὑτοῖς τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις [151a] ἔδοξαν ἀμαθεῖς εἶναι. ὧν εἷς γέγονεν Ἀριστείδης ὁ Λυσιμάχου καὶ ἄλλοι πάνυ πολλοί: οὕς, ὅταν πάλιν ἔλθωσι δεόμενοι τῆς ἐμῆς συνουσίας καὶ θαυμαστὰ δρῶντες, ἐνίοις μὲν τὸ γιγνόμενόν μοι δαιμόνιον ἀποκωλύει συνεῖναι, ἐνίοις δὲ ἐᾷ, καὶ πάλιν οὗτοι ἐπιδιδόασι. πάσχουσι δὲ δὴ οἱ ἐμοὶ συγγιγνόμενοι καὶ τοῦτο ταὐτὸν ταῖς τικτούσαις: ὠδίνουσι γὰρ καὶ ἀπορίας ἐμπίμπλανται νύκτας τε καὶ ἡμέρας πολὺ μᾶλλον ἢ ‘κεῖναι: ταύτην δὲ τὴν ὠδῖνα ἐγείρειν τε καὶ [151b] ἀποπαύειν ἡ ἐμὴ τέχνη δύναται. καὶ οὗτοι μὲν δὴ οὕτως. ἐνίοις δέ, ὦ Θεαίτητε, οἳ ἄν μοι μὴ δόξωσί πως ἐγκύμονες εἶναι, γνοὺς ὅτι οὐδὲν ἐμοῦ δέονται, πάνυ εὐμενῶς προμνῶμαι καί, σὺν θεῷ εἰπεῖν, πάνυ ἱκανῶς τοπάζω οἷς ἂν συγγενόμενοι ὄναιντο: ὧν πολλοὺς μὲν δὴ ἐξέδωκα προδίκῳ, πολλοὺς δὲ ἄλλοις σοφοῖς τε καὶ θεσπεσίοις ἀνδράσι. ταῦτα δή σοι, ὦ ἄριστε, ἕνεκα τοῦδε ἐμήκυνα: ὑποπτεύω σε, ὥσπερ καὶ αὐτὸς οἴει, ὠδίνειν τι κυοῦντα ἔνδον. προσφέρου οὖν [151c] πρός με ὡς πρὸς μαίας ὑὸν καὶ αὐτὸν μαιευτικόν, καὶ ἃ ἂν ἐρωτῶ προθυμοῦ ὅπως οἷός τ’ εἶ οὕτως ἀποκρίνασθαι: καὶ ἐὰν ἄρα σκοπούμενός τι ὧν ἂν λέγῃς ἡγήσωμαι εἴδωλον καὶ μὴ ἀληθές, εἶτα ὑπεξαιρῶμαι καὶ ἀποβάλλω, μὴ ἀγρίαινε ὥσπερ αἱ πρωτοτόκοι περὶ τὰ παιδία. πολλοὶ γὰρ ἤδη, ὦ θαυμάσιε, πρός με οὕτω διετέθησαν, ὥστε ἀτεχνῶς δάκνειν ἕτοιμοι εἶναι, ἐπειδάν τινα λῆρον αὐτῶν ἀφαιρῶμαι, καὶ οὐκ οἴονταί με εὐνοίᾳ τοῦτο ποιεῖν, πόῤῥω ὄντες τοῦ εἰδέναι ὅτι [151d] οὐδεὶς θεὸς δύσνους ἀνθρώποις, οὐδ’ ἐγὼ δυσνοίᾳ τοιοῦτον οὐδὲν δρῶ, ἀλλά μοι ψεῦδός τε συγχωρῆσαι καὶ ἀληθὲς ἀφανίσαι οὐδαμῶς θέμις. πάλιν δὴ οὖν ἐξ ἀρχῆς, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὅτι ποτ’ ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη, πειρῶ λέγειν: ὡς δ’ οὐχ οἷός τ’ εἶ, μηδέποτ’ εἴπῃς. ἐὰν γὰρ θεὸς ἐθέλῃ καὶ ἀνδρίζῃ, οἷός τ’ ἔσῃ.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, σοῦ γε οὕτω παρακελευομένου αἰσχρὸν μὴ οὐ παντὶ τρόπῳ προθυμεῖσθαι ὅτι [151e] τις ἔχει λέγειν. δοκεῖ οὖν μοι ὁ ἐπιστάμενός τι αἰσθάνεσθαι τοῦτο ὃ ἐπίσταται, καὶ ὥς γε νυνὶ φαίνεται, οὐκ ἄλλο τί ἐστιν ἐπιστήμη ἢ αἴσθησις.

Σωκράτης

εὖ γε καὶ γενναίως, ὦ παῖ: χρὴ γὰρ οὕτως ἀποφαινόμενον λέγειν. ἀλλὰ φέρε δὴ αὐτὸ κοινῇ σκεψώμεθα, γόνιμον ἢ ἀνεμιαῖον τυγχάνει ὄν. αἴσθησις, φῄς, ἐπιστήμη;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

κινδυνεύεις μέντοι λόγον οὐ φαῦλον εἰρηκέναι περὶ [152a] ἐπιστήμης, ἀλλ’ ὃν ἔλεγε καὶ Πρωταγόρας. τρόπον δέ τινα ἄλλον εἴρηκε τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα. φησὶ γάρ που “πάντων χρημάτων μέτρον” ἄνθρωπον εἶναι, “τῶν μὲν ὄντων ὡς ἔστι, τῶν δὲ μὴ ὄντων ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν.” ἀνέγνωκας γάρ που;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνέγνωκα καὶ πολλάκις.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οὕτω πως λέγει, ὡς οἷα μὲν ἕκαστα ἐμοὶ φαίνεται τοιαῦτα μὲν ἔστιν ἐμοί, οἷα δὲ σοί, τοιαῦτα δὲ αὖ σοί: ἄνθρωπος δὲ σύ τε κἀγώ;

Θεαίτητος

λέγει γὰρ οὖν οὕτω.

[152b] Σωκράτης

εἰκὸς μέντοι σοφὸν ἄνδρα μὴ ληρεῖν: ἐπακολουθήσωμεν οὖν αὐτῷ. ἆρ’ οὐκ ἐνίοτε πνέοντος ἀνέμου τοῦ αὐτοῦ ὁ μὲν ἡμῶν ῥιγῷ, ὁ δ’ οὔ; καὶ ὁ μὲν ἠρέμα, ὁ δὲ σφόδρα;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης

πότερον οὖν τότε αὐτὸ ἐφ’ ἑαυτοῦ τὸ πνεῦμα ψυχρὸν ἢ οὐ ψυχρὸν φήσομεν; ἢ πεισόμεθα τῷ Πρωταγόρᾳ ὅτι τῷ μὲν ῥιγῶντι ψυχρόν, τῷ δὲ μὴ οὔ;

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ φαίνεται οὕτω ἑκατέρῳ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δέ γε «φαίνεται» αἰσθάνεσθαί ἐστιν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔστιν γάρ.

[152c] Σωκράτης

φαντασία ἄρα καὶ αἴσθησις ταὐτὸν ἔν τε θερμοῖς καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις. οἷα γὰρ αἰσθάνεται ἕκαστος, τοιαῦτα ἑκάστῳ καὶ κινδυνεύει εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

αἴσθησις ἄρα τοῦ ὄντος ἀεί ἐστιν καὶ ἀψευδὲς ὡς ἐπιστήμη οὖσα.

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν πρὸς Χαρίτων πάσσοφός τις ἦν ὁ Πρωταγόρας, καὶ τοῦτο ἡμῖν μὲν ᾐνίξατο τῷ πολλῷ συρφετῷ, τοῖς δὲ μαθηταῖς ἐν ἀποῤῥήτῳ τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἔλεγεν;

[152d] Θεαίτητος

πῶς δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτο λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

ἐγὼ ἐρῶ καὶ μάλ’ οὐ φαῦλον λόγον, ὡς ἄρα ἓν μὲν αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ οὐδέν ἐστιν, οὐδ’ ἄν τι προσείποις ὀρθῶς οὐδ’ ὁποιονοῦν τι, ἀλλ’ ἐὰν ὡς μέγα προσαγορεύῃς, καὶ σμικρὸν φανεῖται, καὶ ἐὰν βαρύ, κοῦφον, σύμπαντά τε οὕτως, ὡς μηδενὸς ὄντος ἑνὸς μήτε τινὸς μήτε ὁποιουοῦν: ἐκ δὲ δὴ φορᾶς τε καὶ κινήσεως καὶ κράσεως πρὸς ἄλληλα γίγνεται πάντα ἃ δή φαμεν εἶναι, οὐκ ὀρθῶς προσαγορεύοντες: [152e] ἔστι μὲν γὰρ οὐδέποτ’ οὐδέν, ἀεὶ δὲ γίγνεται. καὶ περὶ τούτου πάντες ἑξῆς οἱ σοφοὶ πλὴν Παρμενίδου συμφερέσθων, Πρωταγόρας τε καὶ Ἡράκλειτος καὶ Ἐμπεδοκλῆς, καὶ τῶν ποιητῶν οἱ ἄκροι τῆς ποιήσεως ἑκατέρας, κωμῳδίας μὲν Ἐπίχαρμος, τραγῳδίας δὲ Ὅμηρος, <ὃς> εἰπών —

Ὠκεανόν τε θεῶν γένεσιν καὶ μητέρα Τηθύν

ηομ. ιλ. 14.201, 302.πάντα εἴρηκεν ἔκγονα ῥοῆς τε καὶ κινήσεως: ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ τοῦτο λέγειν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔμοιγε.

[153a] Σωκράτης

τίς οὖν ἂν ἔτι πρός γε τοσοῦτον στρατόπεδον καὶ στρατηγὸν Ὅμηρον δύναιτο ἀμφισβητήσας μὴ οὐ καταγέλαστος γενέσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐ γάρ, ὦ Θεαίτητε. ἐπεὶ καὶ τάδε τῷ λόγῳ σημεῖα ἱκανά, ὅτι τὸ μὲν εἶναι δοκοῦν καὶ τὸ γίγνεσθαι κίνησις παρέχει, τὸ δὲ μὴ εἶναι καὶ ἀπόλλυσθαι ἡσυχία: τὸ γὰρ θερμόν τε καὶ πῦρ, ὃ δὴ καὶ τἆλλα γεννᾷ καὶ ἐπιτροπεύει, αὐτὸ γεννᾶται ἐκ φορᾶς καὶ τρίψεως: τούτω δὲ κινήσεις. ἢ οὐχ αὗται γενέσεις πυρός;

[153b] Θεαίτητος

αὗται μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν τό γε τῶν ζῴων γένος ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν τούτων φύεται.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; ἡ τῶν σωμάτων ἕξις οὐχ ὑπὸ ἡσυχίας μὲν καὶ ἀργίας διόλλυται, ὑπὸ γυμνασίων δὲ καὶ κινήσεως ἐπὶ πολὺ σῴζεται;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἡ δ’ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἕξις οὐχ ὑπὸ μαθήσεως μὲν καὶ μελέτης, κινήσεων ὄντων, κτᾶταί τε μαθήματα καὶ σῴζεται καὶ γίγνεται βελτίων, ὑπὸ δ’ ἡσυχίας, ἀμελετησίας τε καὶ [153c] ἀμαθίας οὔσης, οὔτε τι μανθάνει ἅ τε ἂν μάθῃ ἐπιλανθάνεται;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης

τὸ μὲν ἄρα ἀγαθὸν κίνησις κατά τε ψυχὴν καὶ κατὰ σῶμα, τὸ δὲ τοὐναντίον;

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι οὖν σοι λέγω νηνεμίας τε καὶ γαλήνας καὶ ὅσα τοιαῦτα, ὅτι αἱ μὲν ἡσυχίαι σήπουσι καὶ ἀπολλύασι, τὰ δ’ ἕτερα σῴζει; καὶ ἐπὶ τούτοις τὸν κολοφῶνα, [ἀναγκάζω] προσβιβάζω τὴν χρυσῆν σειρὰν ὡς οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ τὸν ἥλιον [153d] Ὅμηρος λέγει, καὶ δηλοῖ ὅτι ἕως μὲν ἂν ἡ περιφορὰ ᾖ κινουμένη καὶ ὁ ἥλιος, πάντα ἔστι καὶ σῴζεται τὰ ἐν θεοῖς τε καὶ ἀνθρώποις, εἰ δὲ σταίη τοῦτο ὥσπερ δεθέν, πάντα χρήματ’ ἂν διαφθαρείη καὶ γένοιτ’ ἂν τὸ λεγόμενον ἄνω κάτω πάντα;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ταῦτα δηλοῦν ἅπερ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ὑπόλαβε τοίνυν, ὦ ἄριστε, οὑτωσί: κατὰ τὰ ὄμματα πρῶτον, ὃ δὴ καλεῖς χρῶμα λευκόν, μὴ εἶναι αὐτὸ ἕτερόν τι ἔξω τῶν σῶν ὀμμάτων μηδ’ ἐν τοῖς ὄμμασι μηδέ [153e] τιν’ αὐτῷ χώραν ἀποτάξῃς: ἤδη γὰρ ἂν εἴη τε δήπου ἐν τάξει καὶ μένον καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἐν γενέσει γίγνοιτο.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ πῶς;

Σωκράτης

ἑπώμεθα τῷ ἄρτι λόγῳ, μηδὲν αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ ἓν ὂν τιθέντες: καὶ ἡμῖν οὕτω μέλαν τε καὶ λευκὸν καὶ ὁτιοῦν ἄλλο χρῶμα ἐκ τῆς προσβολῆς τῶν ὀμμάτων πρὸς τὴν προσήκουσαν φορὰν φανεῖται γεγενημένον, καὶ ὃ δὴ ἕκαστον [154a] εἶναί φαμεν χρῶμα οὔτε τὸ προσβάλλον οὔτε τὸ προσβαλλόμενον ἔσται, ἀλλὰ μεταξύ τι ἑκάστῳ ἴδιον γεγονός: ἢ σὺ διισχυρίσαιο ἂν ὡς οἷον σοὶ φαίνεται ἕκαστον χρῶμα, τοιοῦτον καὶ κυνὶ καὶ ὁτῳοῦν ζῴῳ;

Θεαίτητος

μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; ἄλλῳ ἀνθρώπῳ ἆρ’ ὅμοιον καὶ σοὶ φαίνεται ὁτιοῦν; ἔχεις τοῦτο ἰσχυρῶς, ἢ πολὺ μᾶλλον ὅτι οὐδὲ σοὶ αὐτῷ ταὐτὸν διὰ τὸ μηδέποτε ὁμοίως αὐτὸν σεαυτῷ ἔχειν;

Θεαίτητος

τοῦτο μᾶλλόν μοι δοκεῖ ἢ ἐκεῖνο.

[154b] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν ᾧ παραμετρούμεθα ἢ οὗ ἐφαπτόμεθα μέγα ἢ λευκὸν ἢ θερμὸν ἦν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἄλλῳ προσπεσὸν ἄλλο ἂν ἐγεγόνει, αὐτό γε μηδὲν μεταβάλλον: εἰ δὲ αὖ τὸ παραμετρούμενον ἢ ἐφαπτόμενον ἕκαστον ἦν τούτων, οὐκ ἂν αὖ ἄλλου προσελθόντος ἤ τι παθόντος αὐτὸ μηδὲν παθὸν ἄλλο ἂν ἐγένετο. ἐπεὶ νῦν γε, ὦ φίλε, θαυμαστά τε καὶ γελοῖα εὐχερῶς πως ἀναγκαζόμεθα λέγειν, ὡς φαίη ἂν Πρωταγόρας τε καὶ πᾶς ὁ τὰ αὐτὰ ἐκείνῳ ἐπιχειρῶν λέγειν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δὴ καὶ ποῖα λέγεις;

[154c] Σωκράτης

σμικρὸν λαβὲ παράδειγμα, καὶ πάντα εἴσῃ ἃ βούλομαι. ἀστραγάλους γάρ που ἕξ, ἂν μὲν τέτταρας αὐτοῖς προσενέγκῃς, πλείους φαμὲν εἶναι τῶν τεττάρων καὶ ἡμιολίους, ἐὰν δὲ δώδεκα, ἐλάττους καὶ ἡμίσεις, καὶ οὐδὲ ἀνεκτὸν ἄλλως λέγειν: ἢ σὺ ἀνέξῃ;

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; ἄν σε Πρωταγόρας ἔρηται ἤ τις ἄλλος: “ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἔσθ’ ὅπως τι μεῖζον ἢ πλέον γίγνεται ἄλλως ἢ αὐξηθέν;” τί ἀποκρινῇ;

Θεαίτητος

ἐὰν μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ δοκοῦν πρὸς τὴν νῦν [154d] ἐρώτησιν ἀποκρίνωμαι, ὅτι οὐκ ἔστιν: ἐὰν δὲ πρὸς τὴν προτέραν, φυλάττων μὴ ἐναντία εἴπω, ὅτι ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης

εὖ γε νὴ τὴν Ἥραν, ὦ φίλε, καὶ θείως. ἀτάρ, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐὰν ἀποκρίνῃ ὅτι ἔστιν, Εὐριπίδειόν τι συμβήσεται: ἡ μὲν γὰρ γλῶττα ἀνέλεγκτος ἡμῖν ἔσται, ἡ δὲ φρὴν οὐκ ἀνέλεγκτος.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν δεινοὶ καὶ σοφοὶ ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ ἦμεν, πάντα τὰ τῶν φρενῶν ἐξητακότες, ἤδη ἂν τὸ λοιπὸν [154e] ἐκ περιουσίας ἀλλήλων ἀποπειρώμενοι, συνελθόντες σοφιστικῶς εἰς μάχην τοιαύτην, ἀλλήλων τοὺς λόγους τοῖς λόγοις ἐκρούομεν: νῦν δὲ ἅτε ἰδιῶται πρῶτον βουλησόμεθα θεάσασθαι αὐτὰ πρὸς αὑτὰ τί ποτ’ ἐστὶν ἃ διανοούμεθα, πότερον ἡμῖν ἀλλήλοις συμφωνεῖ ἢ οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ἔγωγε τοῦτ’ ἂν βουλοίμην.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν ἐγώ. ὅτε δ’ οὕτως ἔχει, ἄλλο τι ἢ ἠρέμα, ὡς πάνυ πολλὴν σχολὴν ἄγοντες, πάλιν ἐπανασκεψόμεθα, [155a] οὐ δυσκολαίνοντες ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς ἐξετάζοντες, ἅττα ποτ’ ἐστὶ ταῦτα τὰ φάσματα ἐν ἡμῖν; ὧν πρῶτον ἐπισκοποῦντες φήσομεν, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, μηδέποτε μηδὲν ἂν μεῖζον μηδὲ ἔλαττον γενέσθαι μήτε ὄγκῳ μήτε ἀριθμῷ, ἕως ἴσον εἴη αὐτὸ ἑαυτῷ. οὐχ οὕτως;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

δεύτερον δέ γε, ᾧ μήτε προστιθοῖτο μήτε ἀφαιροῖτο, τοῦτο μήτε αὐξάνεσθαί ποτε μήτε φθίνειν, ἀεὶ δὲ ἴσον εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

[155b] Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ καὶ τρίτον, ὃ μὴ πρότερον ἦν, ὕστερον ἀλλὰ τοῦτο εἶναι ἄνευ τοῦ γενέσθαι καὶ γίγνεσθαι ἀδύνατον;

Θεαίτητος

δοκεῖ γε δή.

Σωκράτης

ταῦτα δή, οἴομαι, ὁμολογήματα τρία μάχεται αὐτὰ αὑτοῖς ἐν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ ψυχῇ, ὅταν τὰ περὶ τῶν ἀστραγάλων λέγωμεν, ἢ ὅταν φῶμεν ἐμὲ τηλικόνδε ὄντα, μήτε αὐξηθέντα μήτε τοὐναντίον παθόντα, ἐν ἐνιαυτῷ σοῦ τοῦ νέου νῦν μὲν μείζω εἶναι, ὕστερον δὲ ἐλάττω, μηδὲν τοῦ ἐμοῦ ὄγκου [155c] ἀφαιρεθέντος ἀλλὰ σοῦ αὐξηθέντος. εἰμὶ γὰρ δὴ ὕστερον ὃ πρότερον οὐκ ἦ, οὐ γενόμενος: ἄνευ γὰρ τοῦ γίγνεσθαι γενέσθαι ἀδύνατον, μηδὲν δὲ ἀπολλὺς τοῦ ὄγκου οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐγιγνόμην ἐλάττων. καὶ ἄλλα δὴ μυρία ἐπὶ μυρίοις οὕτως ἔχει, εἴπερ καὶ ταῦτα παραδεξόμεθα. ἕπῃ γάρ που, ὦ Θεαίτητε: δοκεῖς γοῦν μοι οὐκ ἄπειρος τῶν τοιούτων εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ νὴ τοὺς θεούς γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὑπερφυῶς ὡς θαυμάζω τί ποτ’ ἐστὶ ταῦτα, καὶ ἐνίοτε ὡς ἀληθῶς βλέπων εἰς αὐτὰ σκοτοδινιῶ.

[155d] Σωκράτης

Θεόδωρος γάρ, ὦ φίλε, φαίνεται οὐ κακῶς τοπάζειν περὶ τῆς φύσεώς σου. μάλα γὰρ φιλοσόφου τοῦτο τὸ πάθος, τὸ θαυμάζειν: οὐ γὰρ ἄλλη ἀρχὴ φιλοσοφίας ἢ αὕτη, καὶ ἔοικεν ὁ τὴν Ἶριν Θαύμαντος ἔκγονον φήσας οὐ κακῶς γενεαλογεῖν. ἀλλὰ πότερον μανθάνεις ἤδη δι’ ὃ ταῦτα τοιαῦτ’ ἐστὶν ἐξ ὧν τὸν Πρωταγόραν φαμὲν λέγειν, ἢ οὔπω;

Θεαίτητος

οὔπω μοι δοκῶ.

Σωκράτης

χάριν οὖν μοι εἴσῃ ἐάν σοι ἀνδρός, μᾶλλον δὲ ἀνδρῶν ὀνομαστῶν τῆς διανοίας τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἀποκεκρυμμένην [155e] συνεξερευνήσωμαι αὐτῶν;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὐκ εἴσομαι, καὶ πάνυ γε πολλήν;

Σωκράτης

ἄθρει δὴ περισκοπῶν μή τις τῶν ἀμυήτων ἐπακούῃ. εἰσὶν δὲ οὗτοι οἱ οὐδὲν ἄλλο οἰόμενοι εἶναι ἢ οὗ ἂν δύνωνται ἀπρὶξ τοῖν χεροῖν λαβέσθαι, πράξεις δὲ καὶ γενέσεις καὶ πᾶν τὸ ἀόρατον οὐκ ἀποδεχόμενοι ὡς ἐν οὐσίας μέρει.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μὲν δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, σκληρούς γε λέγεις καὶ [156a] ἀντιτύπους ἀνθρώπους.

Σωκράτης

εἰσὶν γάρ, ὦ παῖ, μάλ’ εὖ ἄμουσοι: ἇλλοι δὲ πολὺ κομψότεροι, ὧν μέλλω σοι τὰ μυστήρια λέγειν. ἀρχὴ δέ, ἐξ ἧς καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν πάντα ἤρτηται, ἥδε αὐτῶν, ὡς τὸ πᾶν κίνησις ἦν καὶ ἄλλο παρὰ τοῦτο οὐδέν, τῆς δὲ κινήσεως δύο εἴδη, πλήθει μὲν ἄπειρον ἑκάτερον, δύναμιν δὲ τὸ μὲν ποιεῖν ἔχον, τὸ δὲ πάσχειν. ἐκ δὲ τῆς τούτων ὁμιλίας τε καὶ τρίψεως πρὸς ἄλληλα γίγνεται ἔκγονα πλήθει μὲν [156b] ἄπειρα, δίδυμα δέ, τὸ μὲν αἰσθητόν, τὸ δὲ αἴσθησις, ἀεὶ συνεκπίπτουσα καὶ γεννωμένη μετὰ τοῦ αἰσθητοῦ. αἱ μὲν οὖν αἰσθήσεις τὰ τοιάδε ἡμῖν ἔχουσιν ὀνόματα, ὄψεις τε καὶ ἀκοαὶ καὶ ὀσφρήσεις καὶ ψύξεις τε καὶ καύσεις καὶ ἡδοναί γε δὴ καὶ λῦπαι καὶ ἐπιθυμίαι καὶ φόβοι κεκλημέναι καὶ ἄλλαι, ἀπέραντοι μὲν αἱ ἀνώνυμοι, παμπληθεῖς δὲ αἱ ὠνομασμέναι: τὸ δ’ αὖ αἰσθητὸν γένος τούτων ἑκάσταις ὁμόγονον, [156c] ὄψεσι μὲν χρώματα παντοδαπαῖς παντοδαπά, ἀκοαῖς δὲ ὡσαύτως φωναί, καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις αἰσθήσεσι τὰ ἄλλα αἰσθητὰ συγγενῆ γιγνόμενα. τί δὴ οὖν ἡμῖν βούλεται οὗτος ὁ μῦθος, ὦ Θεαίτητε, πρὸς τὰ πρότερα; ἆρα ἐννοεῖς;

Θεαίτητος

οὐ πάνυ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἄθρει ἐάν πως ἀποτελεσθῇ. βούλεται γὰρ δὴ λέγειν ὡς ταῦτα πάντα μὲν ὥσπερ λέγομεν κινεῖται, τάχος δὲ καὶ βραδυτὴς ἔνι τῇ κινήσει αὐτῶν. ὅσον μὲν οὖν βραδύ, ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ καὶ πρὸς τὰ πλησιάζοντα τὴν [156d] κίνησιν ἴσχει καὶ οὕτω δὴ γεννᾷ, τὰ δὲ γεννώμενα οὕτω δὴ θάττω ἐστίν. φέρεται γὰρ καὶ ἐν φορᾷ αὐτῶν ἡ κίνησις πέφυκεν. ἐπειδὰν οὖν ὄμμα καὶ ἄλλο τι τῶν τούτῳ συμμέτρων πλησιάσαν γεννήσῃ τὴν λευκότητά τε καὶ αἴσθησιν αὐτῇ σύμφυτον, ἃ οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐγένετο ἑκατέρου ἐκείνων πρὸς ἄλλο ἐλθόντος, τότε δὴ μεταξὺ φερομένων τῆς μὲν [156e] ὄψεως πρὸς τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν, τῆς δὲ λευκότητος πρὸς τοῦ συναποτίκτοντος τὸ χρῶμα, ὁ μὲν ὀφθαλμὸς ἄρα ὄψεως ἔμπλεως ἐγένετο καὶ ὁρᾷ δὴ τότε καὶ ἐγένετο οὔ τι ὄψις ἀλλ’ ὀφθαλμὸς ὁρῶν, τὸ δὲ συγγεννῆσαν τὸ χρῶμα λευκότητος περιεπλήσθη καὶ ἐγένετο οὐ λευκότης αὖ ἀλλὰ λευκόν, εἴτε ξύλον εἴτε λίθος εἴτε ὁτῳοῦν συνέβη χρῆμα χρωσθῆναι τῷ τοιούτῳ χρώματι. καὶ τἆλλα δὴ οὕτω, σκληρὸν καὶ θερμὸν καὶ πάντα, τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ὑποληπτέον, αὐτὸ μὲν καθ’ [157a] αὑτὸ μηδὲν εἶναι, ὃ δὴ καὶ τότε ἐλέγομεν, ἐν δὲ τῇ πρὸς ἄλληλα ὁμιλίᾳ πάντα γίγνεσθαι καὶ παντοῖα ἀπὸ τῆς κινήσεως, ἐπεὶ καὶ τὸ ποιοῦν εἶναί τι καὶ τὸ πάσχον αὐτῶν ἐπὶ ἑνὸς νοῆσαι, ὥς φασιν, οὐκ εἶναι παγίως. οὔτε γὰρ ποιοῦν ἐστί τι πρὶν ἂν τῷ πάσχοντι συνέλθῃ, οὔτε πάσχον πρὶν ἂν τῷ ποιοῦντι: τό τέ τινι συνελθὸν καὶ ποιοῦν ἄλλῳ αὖ προσπεσὸν πάσχον ἀνεφάνη. ὥστε ἐξ ἁπάντων τούτων, ὅπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐλέγομεν, οὐδὲν εἶναι ἓν αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτό, ἀλλά [157b] τινι ἀεὶ γίγνεσθαι, τὸ δ’ εἶναι πανταχόθεν ἐξαιρετέον, οὐχ ὅτι ἡμεῖς πολλὰ καὶ ἄρτι ἠναγκάσμεθα ὑπὸ συνηθείας καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνης χρῆσθαι αὐτῷ. τὸ δ’ οὐ δεῖ, ὡς ὁ τῶν σοφῶν λόγος, οὔτε τι συγχωρεῖν οὔτε του οὔτ’ ἐμοῦ οὔτε τόδε οὔτ’ ἐκεῖνο οὔτε ἄλλο οὐδὲν ὄνομα ὅτι ἂν ἱστῇ, ἀλλὰ κατὰ φύσιν φθέγγεσθαι γιγνόμενα καὶ ποιούμενα καὶ ἀπολλύμενα καὶ ἀλλοιούμενα: ὡς ἐάν τί τις στήσῃ τῷ λόγῳ, εὐέλεγκτος ὁ τοῦτο ποιῶν. δεῖ δὲ καὶ κατὰ μέρος οὕτω λέγειν καὶ περὶ πολλῶν ἁθροισθέντων, ᾧ δὴ ἁθροίσματι [157c] ἄνθρωπόν τε τίθενται καὶ λίθον καὶ ἕκαστον ζῷόν τε καὶ εἶδος. ταῦτα δή, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἆρ’ ἡδέα δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι, καὶ γεύοιο ἂν αὐτῶν ὡς ἀρεσκόντων;

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ οἶδα ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες: καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲ περὶ σοῦ δύναμαι κατανοῆσαι πότερα δοκοῦντά σοι λέγεις αὐτὰ ἢ ἐμοῦ ἀποπειρᾷ.

Σωκράτης

οὐ μνημονεύεις, ὦ φίλε, ὅτι ἐγὼ μὲν οὔτ’ οἶδα οὔτε ποιοῦμαι τῶν τοιούτων οὐδὲν ἐμόν, ἀλλ’ εἰμὶ αὐτῶν ἄγονος, σὲ δὲ μαιεύομαι καὶ τούτου ἕνεκα ἐπᾴδω τε καὶ παρατίθημι [157d] ἑκάστων τῶν σοφῶν ἀπογεύσασθαι, ἕως ἂν εἰς φῶς τὸ σὸν δόγμα συνεξαγάγω: ἐξαχθέντος δὲ τότ’ ἤδη σκέψομαι εἴτ’ ἀνεμιαῖον εἴτε γόνιμον ἀναφανήσεται. ἀλλὰ θαῤῥῶν καὶ καρτερῶν εὖ καὶ ἀνδρείως ἀποκρίνου ἃ ἂν φαίνηταί σοι περὶ ὧν ἂν ἐρωτῶ.

Θεαίτητος

ἐρώτα δή.

Σωκράτης

λέγε τοίνυν πάλιν εἴ σοι ἀρέσκει τὸ μή τι εἶναι ἀλλὰ γίγνεσθαι ἀεὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ καλὸν καὶ πάντα ἃ ἄρτι διῇμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἔμοιγε, ἐπειδὴ σοῦ ἀκούω οὕτω διεξιόντος, θαυμασίως φαίνεται ὡς ἔχειν λόγον καὶ ὑποληπτέον ᾗπερ διελήλυθας.

[157e] Σωκράτης

μὴ τοίνυν ἀπολίπωμεν ὅσον ἐλλεῖπον αὐτοῦ. λείπεται δὲ ἐνυπνίων τε πέρι καὶ νόσων τῶν τε ἄλλων καὶ μανίας, ὅσα τε παρακούειν ἢ παρορᾶν ἤ τι ἄλλο παραισθάνεσθαι λέγεται. οἶσθα γάρ που ὅτι ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις ὁμολογουμένως ἐλέγχεσθαι δοκεῖ ὃν ἄρτι διῇμεν λόγον, [158a] ὡς παντὸς μᾶλλον ἡμῖν ψευδεῖς αἰσθήσεις ἐν αὐτοῖς γιγνομένας, καὶ πολλοῦ δεῖ τὰ φαινόμενα ἑκάστῳ ταῦτα καὶ εἶναι, ἀλλὰ πᾶν τοὐναντίον οὐδὲν ὧν φαίνεται εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τίς δὴ οὖν, ὦ παῖ, λείπεται λόγος τῷ τὴν αἴσθησιν ἐπιστήμην τιθεμένῳ καὶ τὰ φαινόμενα ἑκάστῳ ταῦτα καὶ εἶναι τούτῳ ᾧ φαίνεται;

Θεαίτητος

ἐγὼ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀκνῶ εἰπεῖν ὅτι οὐκ ἔχω τί λέγω, διότι μοι νυνδὴ ἐπέπληξας εἰπόντι αὐτό. ἐπεὶ ὡς [158b] ἀληθῶς γε οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην ἀμφισβητῆσαι ὡς οἱ μαινόμενοι ἢ [οἱ] ὀνειρώττοντες οὐ ψευδῆ δοξάζουσιν, ὅταν οἱ μὲν θεοὶ αὐτῶν οἴωνται εἶναι, οἱ δὲ πτηνοί τε καὶ ὡς πετόμενοι ἐν τῷ ὕπνῳ διανοῶνται.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐδὲ τὸ τοιόνδε ἀμφισβήτημα ἐννοεῖς περὶ αὐτῶν, μάλιστα δὲ περὶ τοῦ ὄναρ τε καὶ ὕπαρ;

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης

ὃ πολλάκις σε οἶμαι ἀκηκοέναι ἐρωτώντων, τί ἄν τις ἔχοι τεκμήριον ἀποδεῖξαι, εἴ τις ἔροιτο νῦν οὕτως ἐν τῷ παρόντι πότερον καθεύδομεν καὶ πάντα ἃ διανοούμεθα ὀνειρώττομεν, [158c] ἢ ἐγρηγόραμέν τε καὶ ὕπαρ ἀλλήλοις διαλεγόμεθα.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄπορόν γε ὅτῳ χρὴ ἐπιδεῖξαι τεκμηρίῳ: πάντα γὰρ ὥσπερ ἀντίστροφα τὰ αὐτὰ παρακολουθεῖ. ἅ τε γὰρ νυνὶ διειλέγμεθα οὐδὲν κωλύει καὶ ἐν τῷ ὕπνῳ δοκεῖν ἀλλήλοις διαλέγεσθαι: καὶ ὅταν δὴ ὄναρ ὀνείρατα δοκῶμεν διηγεῖσθαι, ἄτοπος ἡ ὁμοιότης τούτων ἐκείνοις.

Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς οὖν ὅτι τό γε ἀμφισβητῆσαι οὐ χαλεπόν, ὅτε [158d] καὶ πότερόν ἐστιν ὕπαρ ἢ ὄναρ ἀμφισβητεῖται, καὶ δὴ ἴσου ὄντος τοῦ χρόνου ὃν καθεύδομεν ᾧ ἐγρηγόραμεν, ἐν ἑκατέρῳ διαμάχεται ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ τὰ ἀεὶ παρόντα δόγματα παντὸς μᾶλλον εἶναι ἀληθῆ, ὥστε ἴσον μὲν χρόνον τάδε φαμὲν ὄντα εἶναι, ἴσον δὲ ἐκεῖνα, καὶ ὁμοίως ἐφ’ ἑκατέροις διισχυριζόμεθα.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ νόσων τε καὶ μανιῶν ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, πλὴν τοῦ χρόνου ὅτι οὐχὶ ἴσος;

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; πλήθει χρόνου καὶ ὀλιγότητι τὸ ἀληθὲς ὁρισθήσεται;

[158e] Θεαίτητος

γελοῖον μεντἂν εἴη πολλαχῇ.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλά τι ἄλλο ἔχεις σαφὲς ἐνδείξασθαι ὁποῖα τούτων τῶν δοξασμάτων ἀληθῆ;

Θεαίτητος

οὔ μοι δοκῶ.

Σωκράτης

ἐμοῦ τοίνυν ἄκουε οἷα περὶ αὐτῶν ἂν λέγοιεν οἱ τὰ ἀεὶ δοκοῦντα ὁριζόμενοι τῷ δοκοῦντι εἶναι ἀληθῆ. λέγουσι δέ, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, οὕτως ἐρωτῶντες: “ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὃ ἂν ἕτερον ᾖ παντάπασιν, μή πῄ τινα δύναμιν τὴν αὐτὴν ἕξει τῷ ἑτέρῳ; καὶ μὴ ὑπολάβωμεν τῇ μὲν ταὐτὸν εἶναι ὃ ἐρωτῶμεν τῇ δὲ ἕτερον, ἀλλ’ ὅλως ἕτερον.”

[159a] Θεαίτητος

ἀδύνατον τοίνυν ταὐτόν τι ἔχειν ἢ ἐν δυνάμει ἢ ἐν ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν, ὅταν ᾖ κομιδῇ ἕτερον.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ καὶ ἀνόμοιον ἀναγκαῖον τὸ τοιοῦτον ὁμολογεῖν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

εἰ ἄρα τι συμβαίνει ὅμοιόν τῳ γίγνεσθαι ἢ ἀνόμοιον, εἴτε ἑαυτῷ εἴτε ἄλλῳ, ὁμοιούμενον μὲν ταὐτὸν φήσομεν γίγνεσθαι, ἀνομοιούμενον δὲ ἕτερον;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν ὡς πολλὰ μὲν εἴη τὰ ποιοῦντα καὶ ἄπειρα, ὡσαύτως δέ γε τὰ πάσχοντα;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν ὅτι γε ἄλλο ἄλλῳ συμμειγνύμενον καὶ ἄλλῳ οὐ ταὐτὰ ἀλλ’ ἕτερα γεννήσει;

[159b] Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

λέγωμεν δὴ ἐμέ τε καὶ σὲ καὶ τἆλλα ἤδη κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, Σωκράτη ὑγιαίνοντα καὶ Σωκράτη αὖ ἀσθενοῦντα. πότερον ὅμοιον τοῦτ’ ἐκείνῳ ἢ ἀνόμοιον φήσομεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἆρα τὸν ἀσθενοῦντα Σωκράτη, ὅλον τοῦτο λέγεις ὅλῳ ἐκείνῳ, τῷ ὑγιαίνοντι Σωκράτει;

Σωκράτης

κάλλιστα ὑπέλαβες: αὐτὸ τοῦτο λέγω.

Θεαίτητος

ἀνόμοιον δήπου.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ἕτερον ἄρα οὕτως ὥσπερ ἀνόμοιον;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

[159c] Σωκράτης

καὶ καθεύδοντα δὴ καὶ πάντα ἃ νυνδὴ διήλθομεν, ὡσαύτως φήσεις;

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἕκαστον δὴ τῶν πεφυκότων τι ποιεῖν, ἄλλο τι, ὅταν μὲν λάβῃ ὑγιαίνοντα Σωκράτη, ὡς ἑτέρῳ μοι χρήσεται, ὅταν δὲ ἀσθενοῦντα, ὡς ἑτέρῳ;

Θεαίτητος

τί δ’ οὐ μέλλει;

Σωκράτης

καὶ ἕτερα δὴ ἐφ’ ἑκατέρου γεννήσομεν ἐγώ τε ὁ πάσχων καὶ ἐκεῖνο τὸ ποιοῦν;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

ὅταν δὴ οἶνον πίνω ὑγιαίνων, ἡδύς μοι φαίνεται καὶ γλυκύς;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἐγέννησε γὰρ δὴ ἐκ τῶν προωμολογημένων τό τε [159d] ποιοῦν καὶ τὸ πάσχον γλυκύτητά τε καὶ αἴσθησιν, ἅμα φερόμενα ἀμφότερα, καὶ ἡ μὲν αἴσθησις πρὸς τοῦ πάσχοντος οὖσα αἰσθανομένην τὴν γλῶτταν ἀπηργάσατο, ἡ δὲ γλυκύτης πρὸς τοῦ οἴνου περὶ αὐτὸν φερομένη γλυκὺν τὸν οἶνον τῇ ὑγιαινούσῃ γλώττῃ ἐποίησεν καὶ εἶναι καὶ φαίνεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν τὰ πρότερα ἡμῖν οὕτως ὡμολόγητο.

Σωκράτης

ὅταν δὲ ἀσθενοῦντα, ἄλλο τι πρῶτον μὲν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ οὐ τὸν αὐτὸν ἔλαβεν; ἀνομοίῳ γὰρ δὴ προσῆλθεν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[159e] Σωκράτης

ἕτερα δὴ αὖ ἐγεννησάτην ὅ τε τοιοῦτος Σωκράτης καὶ ἡ τοῦ οἴνου πόσις, περὶ μὲν τὴν γλῶτταν αἴσθησιν πικρότητος, περὶ δὲ τὸν οἶνον γιγνομένην καὶ φερομένην πικρότητα, καὶ τὸν μὲν οὐ πικρότητα ἀλλὰ πικρόν, ἐμὲ δὲ οὐκ αἴσθησιν ἀλλ’ αἰσθανόμενον;

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὔκουν ἐγώ τε οὐδὲν ἄλλο ποτὲ γενήσομαι οὕτως αἰσθανόμενος: τοῦ γὰρ ἄλλου ἄλλη αἴσθησις, καὶ ἀλλοῖον [160a] καὶ ἄλλον ποιεῖ τὸν αἰσθανόμενον: οὔτ’ ἐκεῖνο τὸ ποιοῦν ἐμὲ μήποτ’ ἄλλῳ συνελθὸν ταὐτὸν γεννῆσαν τοιοῦτον γένηται: ἀπὸ γὰρ ἄλλου ἄλλο γεννῆσαν ἀλλοῖον γενήσεται.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲ μὴν ἔγωγε ἐμαυτῷ τοιοῦτος, ἐκεῖνό τε ἑαυτῷ τοιοῦτον γενήσεται.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἀνάγκη δέ γε ἐμέ τε τινὸς γίγνεσθαι, ὅταν αἰσθανόμενος γίγνωμαι: αἰσθανόμενον γάρ, μηδενὸς δὲ αἰσθανόμενον, [160b] ἀδύνατον γίγνεσθαι: ἐκεῖνό τε τινὶ γίγνεσθαι, ὅταν γλυκὺ ἢ πικρὸν ἤ τι τοιοῦτον γίγνηται: γλυκὺ γάρ, μηδενὶ δὲ γλυκὺ ἀδύνατον γενέσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

λείπεται δὴ οἶμαι ἡμῖν ἀλλήλοις, εἴτ’ ἐσμέν, εἶναι, εἴτε γιγνόμεθα, γίγνεσθαι, ἐπείπερ ἡμῶν ἡ ἀνάγκη τὴν οὐσίαν συνδεῖ μέν, συνδεῖ δὲ οὐδενὶ τῶν ἄλλων οὐδ’ αὖ ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς. ἀλλήλοις δὴ λείπεται συνδεδέσθαι. ὥστε εἴτε τις εἶναί τι ὀνομάζει, τινὶ εἶναι ἢ τινὸς ἢ πρός τι ῥητέον αὐτῷ, εἴτε γίγνεσθαι: αὐτὸ δὲ ἐφ’ αὑτοῦ τι ἢ ὂν ἢ γιγνόμενον οὔτε [160c] αὐτῷ λεκτέον οὔτ’ ἄλλου λέγοντος ἀποδεκτέον, ὡς ὁ λόγος ὃν διεληλύθαμεν σημαίνει.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὅτε δὴ τὸ ἐμὲ ποιοῦν ἐμοί ἐστιν καὶ οὐκ ἄλλῳ, ἐγὼ καὶ αἰσθάνομαι αὐτοῦ, ἄλλος δ’ οὔ;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἀληθὴς ἄρα ἐμοὶ ἡ ἐμὴ αἴσθησις — τῆς γὰρ ἐμῆς οὐσίας ἀεί ἐστιν — καὶ ἐγὼ κριτὴς κατὰ τὸν Πρωταγόραν τῶν τε ὄντων ἐμοὶ ὡς ἔστι, καὶ τῶν μὴ ὄντων ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

[160d] Σωκράτης

πῶς ἂν οὖν ἀψευδὴς ὢν καὶ μὴ πταίων τῇ διανοίᾳ περὶ τὰ ὄντα ἢ γιγνόμενα οὐκ ἐπιστήμων ἂν εἴην ὧνπερ αἰσθητής;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς ὅπως οὔ.

Σωκράτης

παγκάλως ἄρα σοι εἴρηται ὅτι ἐπιστήμη οὐκ ἄλλο τί ἐστιν ἢ αἴσθησις, καὶ εἰς ταὐτὸν συμπέπτωκεν, κατὰ μὲν Ὅμηρον καὶ Ἡράκλειτον καὶ πᾶν τὸ τοιοῦτον φῦλον οἷον ῥεύματα κινεῖσθαι τὰ πάντα, κατὰ δὲ Πρωταγόραν τὸν σοφώτατον πάντων χρημάτων ἄνθρωπον μέτρον εἶναι, κατὰ [160e] δὲ Θεαίτητον τούτων οὕτως ἐχόντων αἴσθησιν ἐπιστήμην γίγνεσθαι. ἦ γάρ, ὦ Θεαίτητε; φῶμεν τοῦτο σὸν μὲν εἶναι οἷον νεογενὲς παιδίον, ἐμὸν δὲ μαίευμα; ἢ πῶς λέγεις;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο μὲν δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, μόλις ποτὲ ἐγεννήσαμεν, ὅτι δή ποτε τυγχάνει ὄν. μετὰ δὲ τὸν τόκον τὰ ἀμφιδρόμια αὐτοῦ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἐν κύκλῳ περιθρεκτέον τῷ λόγῳ, σκοπουμένους μὴ λάθῃ ἡμᾶς οὐκ ἄξιον ὂν τροφῆς τὸ γιγνόμενον, [161a] ἀλλὰ ἀνεμιαῖόν τε καὶ ψεῦδος. ἢ σὺ οἴει πάντως δεῖν τό γε σὸν τρέφειν καὶ μὴ ἀποτιθέναι, ἢ καὶ ἀνέξῃ ἐλεγχόμενον ὁρῶν, καὶ οὐ σφόδρα χαλεπανεῖς ἐάν τις σοῦ ὡς πρωτοτόκου αὐτὸ ὑφαιρῇ;

Θεόδωρος

ἀνέξεται, ὦ Σώκρατες, Θεαίτητος: οὐδαμῶς γὰρ δύσκολος. ἀλλὰ πρὸς θεῶν εἰπὲ ᾗ αὖ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει;

Σωκράτης

φιλόλογός γ’ εἶ ἀτεχνῶς καὶ χρηστός, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ὅτι με οἴει λόγων τινὰ εἶναι θύλακον καὶ ῥᾳδίως ἐξελόντα [161b] ἐρεῖν ὡς οὐκ αὖ ἔχει οὕτω ταῦτα: τὸ δὲ γιγνόμενον οὐκ ἐννοεῖς, ὅτι οὐδεὶς τῶν λόγων ἐξέρχεται παρ’ ἐμοῦ ἀλλ’ ἀεὶ παρὰ τοῦ ἐμοὶ προσδιαλεγομένου, ἐγὼ δὲ οὐδὲν ἐπίσταμαι πλέον πλὴν βραχέος, ὅσον λόγον παρ’ ἑτέρου σοφοῦ λαβεῖν καὶ ἀποδέξασθαι μετρίως. καὶ νῦν τοῦτο παρὰ τοῦδε πειράσομαι, οὔ τι αὐτὸς εἰπεῖν.

Θεόδωρος

σὺ κάλλιον, ὦ Σώκρατες, λέγεις: καὶ ποίει οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

οἶσθ’ οὖν, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ὃ θαυμάζω τοῦ ἑταίρου σου Πρωταγόρου;

[161c] Θεόδωρος

τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης

τὰ μὲν ἄλλα μοι πάνυ ἡδέως εἴρηκεν, ὡς τὸ δοκοῦν ἑκάστῳ τοῦτο καὶ ἔστιν: τὴν δ’ ἀρχὴν τοῦ λόγου τεθαύμακα, ὅτι οὐκ εἶπεν ἀρχόμενος τῆς Ἀληθείας ὅτι “πάντων χρημάτων μέτρον ἐστὶν ὗς” ἢ “κυνοκέφαλος” ἤ τι ἄλλο ἀτοπώτερον τῶν ἐχόντων αἴσθησιν, ἵνα μεγαλοπρεπῶς καὶ πάνυ καταφρονητικῶς ἤρξατο ἡμῖν λέγειν, ἐνδεικνύμενος ὅτι ἡμεῖς μὲν αὐτὸν ὥσπερ θεὸν ἐθαυμάζομεν ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ, ὁ δ’ ἄρα [161d] ἐτύγχανεν ὢν εἰς φρόνησιν οὐδὲν βελτίων βατράχου γυρίνου, μὴ ὅτι ἄλλου του ἀνθρώπων. ἢ πῶς λέγωμεν, ὦ Θεόδωρε; εἰ γὰρ δὴ ἑκάστῳ ἀληθὲς ἔσται ὃ ἂν δι’ αἰσθήσεως δοξάζῃ, καὶ μήτε τὸ ἄλλου πάθος ἄλλος βέλτιον διακρινεῖ, μήτε τὴν δόξαν κυριώτερος ἔσται ἐπισκέψασθαι ἕτερος τὴν ἑτέρου ὀρθὴ ἢ ψευδής, ἀλλ’ ὃ πολλάκις εἴρηται, αὐτὸς τὰ αὑτοῦ ἕκαστος μόνος δοξάσει, ταῦτα δὲ πάντα ὀρθὰ καὶ ἀληθῆ, τί δή ποτε, ὦ ἑταῖρε, Πρωταγόρας μὲν σοφός, ὥστε καὶ ἄλλων [161e] διδάσκαλος ἀξιοῦσθαι δικαίως μετὰ μεγάλων μισθῶν, ἡμεῖς δὲ ἀμαθέστεροί τε καὶ φοιτητέον ἡμῖν ἦν παρ’ ἐκεῖνον, μέτρῳ ὄντι αὐτῷ ἑκάστῳ τῆς αὑτοῦ σοφίας; ταῦτα πῶς μὴ φῶμεν δημούμενον λέγειν τὸν Πρωταγόραν; τὸ δὲ δὴ ἐμόν τε καὶ τῆς ἐμῆς τέχνης τῆς μαιευτικῆς σιγῶ ὅσον γέλωτα ὀφλισκάνομεν, οἶμαι δὲ καὶ σύμπασα ἡ τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι πραγματεία. τὸ γὰρ ἐπισκοπεῖν καὶ ἐπιχειρεῖν ἐλέγχειν τὰς ἀλλήλων φαντασίας τε καὶ δόξας, ὀρθὰς ἑκάστου οὔσας, οὐ μακρὰ [162a] μὲν καὶ διωλύγιος φλυαρία, εἰ ἀληθὴς ἡ Ἀλήθεια Πρωταγόρου ἀλλὰ μὴ παίζουσα ἐκ τοῦ ἀδύτου τῆς βίβλου ἐφθέγξατο;

Θεόδωρος

ὦ Σώκρατες, φίλος ἁνήρ, ὥσπερ σὺ νυνδὴ εἶπες. οὐκ ἂν οὖν δεξαίμην δι’ ἐμοῦ ὁμολογοῦντος ἐλέγχεσθαι Πρωταγόραν, οὐδ’ αὖ σοὶ παρὰ δόξαν ἀντιτείνειν. τὸν οὖν Θεαίτητον πάλιν λαβέ: πάντως καὶ νυνδὴ μάλ’ ἐμμελῶς σοι ἐφαίνετο ὑπακούειν.

[162b] Σωκράτης

ἆρα κἂν εἰς Λακεδαίμονα ἐλθών, ὦ Θεόδωρε, πρὸς τὰς παλαίστρας ἀξιοῖς ἂν ἄλλους θεώμενος γυμνούς, ἐνίους φαύλους, αὐτὸς μὴ ἀντεπιδεικνύναι τὸ εἶδος παραποδυόμενος;

Θεόδωρος

ἀλλὰ τί μὴν δοκεῖς, εἴπερ μέλλοιέν μοι ἐπιτρέψειν καὶ πείσεσθαι; ὥσπερ νῦν οἶμαι ὑμᾶς πείσειν ἐμὲ μὲν ἐᾶν θεᾶσθαι καὶ μὴ ἕλκειν πρὸς τὸ γυμνάσιον σκληρὸν ἤδη ὄντα, τῷ δὲ δὴ νεωτέρῳ τε καὶ ὑγροτέρῳ ὄντι προσπαλαίειν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ εἰ οὕτως, ὦ Θεόδωρε, σοὶ φίλον, οὐδ’ ἐμοὶ [162c] ἐχθρόν, φασὶν οἱ παροιμιαζόμενοι. πάλιν δὴ οὖν ἐπὶ τὸν σοφὸν Θεαίτητον ἰτέον. λέγε δή, ὦ Θεαίτητε, πρῶτον μὲν ἃ νυνδὴ διήλθομεν, ἆρα οὐ σὺ θαυμάζεις εἰ ἐξαίφνης οὕτως ἀναφανήσῃ μηδὲν χείρων εἰς σοφίαν ὁτουοῦν ἀνθρώπων ἢ καὶ θεῶν; ἢ ἧττόν τι οἴει τὸ Πρωταγόρειον μέτρον εἰς θεοὺς ἢ εἰς ἀνθρώπους λέγεσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε: καὶ ὅπερ γε ἐρωτᾷς, πάνυ θαυμάζω. ἡνίκα γὰρ διῇμεν ὃν τρόπον λέγοιεν τὸ δοκοῦν [162d] ἑκάστῳ τοῦτο καὶ εἶναι τῷ δοκοῦντι, πάνυ μοι εὖ ἐφαίνετο λέγεσθαι: νῦν δὲ τοὐναντίον τάχα μεταπέπτωκεν.

Σωκράτης

νέος γὰρ εἶ, ὦ φίλε παῖ: τῆς οὖν δημηγορίας ὀξέως ὑπακούεις καὶ πείθῃ. πρὸς γὰρ ταῦτα ἐρεῖ Πρωταγόρας ἤ τις ἄλλος ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ: “ὦ γενναῖοι παῖδές τε καὶ γέροντες, δημηγορεῖτε συγκαθεζόμενοι, θεούς τε εἰς τὸ μέσον ἄγοντες, [162e] οὓς ἐγὼ ἔκ τε τοῦ λέγειν καὶ τοῦ γράφειν περὶ αὐτῶν ὡς εἰσὶν ἢ ὡς οὐκ εἰσίν, ἐξαιρῶ, καὶ ἃ οἱ πολλοὶ ἂν ἀποδέχοιντο ἀκούοντες, λέγετε ταῦτα, ὡς δεινὸν εἰ μηδὲν διοίσει εἰς σοφίαν ἕκαστος τῶν ἀνθρώπων βοσκήματος ὁτουοῦν: ἀπόδειξιν δὲ καὶ ἀνάγκην οὐδ’ ἡντινοῦν λέγετε ἀλλὰ τῷ εἰκότι χρῆσθε, ᾧ εἰ ἐθέλοι Θεόδωρος ἢ ἄλλος τις τῶν γεωμετρῶν χρώμενος γεωμετρεῖν, ἄξιος οὐδ’ ἑνὸς μόνου ἂν εἴη. σκοπεῖτε οὖν σύ τε καὶ Θεόδωρος εἰ ἀποδέξεσθε πιθανολογίᾳ τε καὶ εἰκόσι [163a] περὶ τηλικούτων λεγομένους λόγους.”

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ οὐ δίκαιον, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὔτε σὺ οὔτε ἂν ἡμεῖς φαῖμεν.

Σωκράτης

ἄλλῃ δὴ σκεπτέον, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὡς ὅ τε σὸς καὶ ὁ Θεοδώρου λόγος.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ἄλλῃ.

Σωκράτης

τῇδε δὴ σκοπῶμεν εἰ ἄρα ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη τε καὶ αἴσθησις ταὐτὸν ἢ ἕτερον. εἰς γὰρ τοῦτό που πᾶς ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν ἔτεινεν, καὶ τούτου χάριν τὰ πολλὰ καὶ ἄτοπα ταῦτα ἐκινήσαμεν. οὐ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

[163b] Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν ὁμολογήσομεν, ἃ τῷ ὁρᾶν αἰσθανόμεθα ἢ τῷ ἀκούειν, πάντα ταῦτα ἅμα καὶ ἐπίστασθαι; οἷον τῶν βαρβάρων πρὶν μαθεῖν τὴν φωνὴν πότερον οὐ φήσομεν ἀκούειν ὅταν φθέγγωνται, ἢ ἀκούειν τε καὶ ἐπίστασθαι ἃ λέγουσι; καὶ αὖ γράμματα μὴ ἐπιστάμενοι, βλέποντες εἰς αὐτὰ πότερον οὐχ ὁρᾶν ἢ ἐπίστασθαι εἴπερ ὁρῶμεν διισχυριούμεθα;

Θεαίτητος

αὐτό γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτο αὐτῶν, ὅπερ ὁρῶμέν τε καὶ ἀκούομεν, ἐπίστασθαι φήσομεν: τῶν μὲν γὰρ τὸ σχῆμα καὶ τὸ χρῶμα ὁρᾶν τε καὶ ἐπίστασθαι, τῶν δὲ τὴν [163c] ὀξύτητα καὶ βαρύτητα ἀκούειν τε ἅμα καὶ εἰδέναι: ἃ δὲ οἵ τε γραμματισταὶ περὶ αὐτῶν καὶ οἱ ἑρμηνῆς διδάσκουσιν, οὔτε αἰσθάνεσθαι τῷ ὁρᾶν ἢ ἀκούειν οὔτε ἐπίστασθαι.

Σωκράτης

ἄριστά γ’, ὦ Θεαίτητε, καὶ οὐκ ἄξιόν σοι πρὸς ταῦτα ἀμφισβητῆσαι, ἵνα καὶ αὐξάνῃ. ἀλλ’ ὅρα δὴ καὶ τόδε ἄλλο προσιόν, καὶ σκόπει πῇ αὐτὸ διωσόμεθα.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον δή;

[163d] Σωκράτης

τὸ τοιόνδε: εἴ τις ἔροιτο: “ἆρα δυνατὸν ὅτου τις ἐπιστήμων γένοιτό ποτε, ἔτι ἔχοντα μνήμην αὐτοῦ τούτου καὶ σῳζόμενον, τότε ὅτε μέμνηται μὴ ἐπίστασθαι αὐτὸ τοῦτο ὃ μέμνηται;” μακρολογῶ δέ, ὡς ἔοικε, βουλόμενος ἐρέσθαι εἰ μαθών τίς τι μεμνημένος μὴ οἶδε.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες; τέρας γὰρ ἂν εἴη ὃ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

μὴ οὖν ἐγὼ ληρῶ; σκόπει δέ. ἆρα τὸ ὁρᾶν οὐκ αἰσθάνεσθαι λέγεις καὶ τὴν ὄψιν αἴσθησιν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

[163e] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὁ ἰδών τι ἐπιστήμων ἐκείνου γέγονεν ὃ εἶδεν κατὰ τὸν ἄρτι λόγον;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; μνήμην οὐ λέγεις μέντοι τι;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

πότερον οὐδενὸς ἢ τινός;

Θεαίτητος

τινὸς δήπου.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὧν ἔμαθε καὶ ὧν ᾔσθετο, τοιουτωνί τινων;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

ὃ δὴ εἶδέ τις, μέμνηταί που ἐνίοτε;

Θεαίτητος

μέμνηται.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ μύσας; ἢ τοῦτο δράσας ἐπελάθετο;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ δεινόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτό γε φάναι.

[164a] Σωκράτης

δεῖ γε μέντοι, εἰ σώσομεν τὸν πρόσθε λόγον: εἰ δὲ μή, οἴχεται.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ ἐγώ, νὴ τὸν Δία, ὑποπτεύω, οὐ μὴν ἱκανῶς γε συννοῶ: ἀλλ’ εἰπὲ πῇ.

Σωκράτης

τῇδε: ὁ μὲν ὁρῶν ἐπιστήμων, φαμέν, τούτου γέγονεν οὗπερ ὁρῶν: ὄψις γὰρ καὶ αἴσθησις καὶ ἐπιστήμη ταὐτὸν ὡμολόγηται.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ὁ δέ γε ὁρῶν καὶ ἐπιστήμων γεγονὼς οὗ ἑώρα, ἐὰν μύσῃ, μέμνηται μέν, οὐχ ὁρᾷ δὲ αὐτό. ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[164b] Σωκράτης

τὸ δέ γε «οὐχ ὁρᾷ» «οὐκ ἐπίσταταί» ἐστιν, εἴπερ καὶ τὸ “ὁρᾷ” “ἐπίσταται.”

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

συμβαίνει ἄρα, οὗ τις ἐπιστήμων ἐγένετο, ἔτι μεμνημένον αὐτὸν μὴ ἐπίστασθαι, ἐπειδὴ οὐχ ὁρᾷ: ὃ τέρας ἔφαμεν ἂν εἶναι εἰ γίγνοιτο.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

τῶν ἀδυνάτων δή τι συμβαίνειν φαίνεται ἐάν τις ἐπιστήμην καὶ αἴσθησιν ταὐτὸν φῇ εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ἄλλο ἄρα ἑκάτερον φατέον.

Θεαίτητος

κινδυνεύει.

[164c] Σωκράτης

τί οὖν δῆτ’ ἂν εἴη ἐπιστήμη; πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς, ὡς ἔοικεν, λεκτέον. καίτοι τί ποτε μέλλομεν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, δρᾶν;

Θεαίτητος

τίνος πέρι;

Σωκράτης

φαινόμεθά μοι ἀλεκτρυόνος ἀγεννοῦς δίκην πρὶν νενικηκέναι ἀποπηδήσαντες ἀπὸ τοῦ λόγου ᾄδειν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης

ἀντιλογικῶς ἐοίκαμεν πρὸς τὰς τῶν ὀνομάτων ὁμολογίας ἀνομολογησάμενοι καὶ τοιούτῳ τινὶ περιγενόμενοι τοῦ λόγου ἀγαπᾶν, καὶ οὐ φάσκοντες ἀγωνισταὶ ἀλλὰ φιλόσοφοι [164d] εἶναι λανθάνομεν ταὐτὰ ἐκείνοις τοῖς δεινοῖς ἀνδράσιν ποιοῦντες.

Θεαίτητος

οὔπω μανθάνω ὅπως λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ πειράσομαι δηλῶσαι περὶ αὐτῶν ὅ γε δὴ νοῶ. ἠρόμεθα γὰρ δὴ εἰ μαθὼν καὶ μεμνημένος τίς τι μὴ ἐπίσταται, καὶ τὸν ἰδόντα καὶ μύσαντα μεμνημένον ὁρῶντα δὲ οὒ ἀποδείξαντες, οὐκ εἰδότα ἀπεδείξαμεν καὶ ἅμα μεμνημένον: τοῦτο δ’ εἶναι ἀδύνατον. καὶ οὕτω δὴ μῦθος ἀπώλετο ὁ Πρωταγόρειος, καὶ ὁ σὸς ἅμα ὁ τῆς ἐπιστήμης καὶ αἰσθήσεως ὅτι ταὐτόν ἐστιν.

[164e] Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὔ τι ἄν, οἶμαι, ὦ φίλε, εἴπερ γε ὁ πατὴρ τοῦ ἑτέρου μύθου ἔζη, ἀλλὰ πολλὰ ἂν ἤμυνε: νῦν δὲ ὀρφανὸν αὐτὸν ἡμεῖς προπηλακίζομεν. καὶ γὰρ οὐδ’ οἱ ἐπίτροποι, οὓς Πρωταγόρας κατέλιπεν, βοηθεῖν ἐθέλουσιν, ὧν Θεόδωρος εἷς ὅδε. ἀλλὰ δὴ αὐτοὶ κινδυνεύσομεν τοῦ δικαίου ἕνεκ’ αὐτῷ βοηθεῖν.

Θεόδωρος

οὐ γὰρ ἐγώ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον Καλλίας [165a] ὁ Ἱππονίκου τῶν ἐκείνου ἐπίτροπος: ἡμεῖς δέ πως θᾶττον ἐκ τῶν ψιλῶν λόγων πρὸς τὴν γεωμετρίαν ἀπενεύσαμεν. χάριν γε μέντοι σοὶ ἕξομεν ἐὰν αὐτῷ βοηθῇς.

Σωκράτης

καλῶς λέγεις, ὦ Θεόδωρε. σκέψαι οὖν τήν γ’ ἐμὴν βοήθειαν. τῶν γὰρ ἄρτι δεινότερα ἄν τις ὁμολογήσειεν μὴ προσέχων τοῖς ῥήμασι τὸν νοῦν, ᾗ τὸ πολὺ εἰθίσμεθα φάναι τε καὶ ἀπαρνεῖσθαι. σοὶ λέγω ὅπῃ, ἢ Θεαιτήτῳ.

Θεόδωρος

εἰς τὸ κοινὸν μὲν οὖν, ἀποκρινέσθω δὲ ὁ νεώτερος: [165b] σφαλεὶς γὰρ ἧττον ἀσχημονήσει.

Σωκράτης

λέγω δὴ τὸ δεινότατον ἐρώτημα, ἔστι δὲ οἶμαι τοιόνδε τι: “ἆρα οἷόν τε τὸν αὐτὸν εἰδότα τι τοῦτο ὃ οἶδεν μὴ εἰδέναι;”

Θεόδωρος

τί δὴ οὖν ἀποκρινούμεθα, ὦ Θεαίτητε;

Θεαίτητος

ἀδύνατόν που, οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὔκ, εἰ τὸ ὁρᾶν γε ἐπίστασθαι θήσεις. τί γὰρ χρήσῃ ἀφύκτῳ ἐρωτήματι, τὸ λεγόμενον ἐν φρέατι συσχόμενος, ὅταν ἐρωτᾷ ἀνέκπληκτος ἀνήρ, καταλαβὼν τῇ χειρὶ [165c] σοῦ τὸν ἕτερον ὀφθαλμόν, εἰ ὁρᾷς τὸ ἱμάτιον τῷ κατειλημμένῳ;

Θεαίτητος

οὐ φήσω οἶμαι τούτῳ γε, τῷ μέντοι ἑτέρῳ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὁρᾷς τε καὶ οὐχ ὁρᾷς ἅμα ταὐτόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτω γέ πως.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲν ἐγώ, φήσει, τοῦτο οὔτε τάττω οὔτ’ ἠρόμην τὸ ὅπως, ἀλλ’ εἰ ὃ ἐπίστασαι, τοῦτο καὶ οὐκ ἐπίστασαι. νῦν δὲ ὃ οὐχ ὁρᾷς ὁρῶν φαίνῃ. ὡμολογηκὼς δὲ τυγχάνεις τὸ ὁρᾶν ἐπίστασθαι καὶ τὸ μὴ ὁρᾶν μὴ ἐπίστασθαι. ἐξ οὖν τούτων λογίζου τί σοι συμβαίνει.

[165d] Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ λογίζομαι ὅτι τἀναντία οἷς ὑπεθέμην.

Σωκράτης

ἴσως δέ γ’, ὦ θαυμάσιε, πλείω ἂν τοιαῦτ’ ἔπαθες εἴ τίς σε προσηρώτα εἰ ἐπίστασθαι ἔστι μὲν ὀξύ, ἔστι δὲ ἀμβλύ, καὶ ἐγγύθεν μὲν ἐπίστασθαι, πόῤῥωθεν δὲ μή, καὶ σφόδρα καὶ ἠρέμα τὸ αὐτό, καὶ ἄλλα μυρία, ἃ ἐλλοχῶν ἂν πελταστικὸς ἀνὴρ μισθοφόρος ἐν λόγοις ἐρόμενος, ἡνίκ’ ἐπιστήμην καὶ αἴσθησιν ταὐτὸν ἔθου, ἐμβαλὼν ἂν εἰς τὸ ἀκούειν καὶ ὀσφραίνεσθαι καὶ τὰς τοιαύτας αἰσθήσεις, ἤλεγχεν [165e] ἂν ἐπέχων καὶ οὐκ ἀνιεὶς πρὶν θαυμάσας τὴν πολυάρατον σοφίαν συνεποδίσθης ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ, οὗ δή σε χειρωσάμενός τε καὶ συνδήσας ἤδη ἂν τότε ἐλύτρου χρημάτων ὅσων σοί τε κἀκείνῳ ἐδόκει. τίν’ οὖν δὴ ὁ Πρωταγόρας, φαίης ἂν ἴσως, λόγον ἐπίκουρον τοῖς αὑτοῦ ἐρεῖ; ἄλλο τι πειρώμεθα λέγειν;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ταῦτά τε δὴ πάντα ὅσα ἡμεῖς ἐπαμύνοντες αὐτῷ [166a] λέγομεν, καὶ ὁμόσε οἶμαι χωρήσεται καταφρονῶν ἡμῶν καὶ λέγων: “οὗτος δὴ ὁ Σωκράτης ὁ χρηστός, ἐπειδὴ αὐτῷ παιδίον τι ἐρωτηθὲν ἔδεισεν εἰ οἷόν τε τὸν αὐτὸν τὸ αὐτὸ μεμνῆσθαι ἅμα καὶ μὴ εἰδέναι, καὶ δεῖσαν ἀπέφησεν διὰ τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι προορᾶν, γέλωτα δὴ τὸν ἐμὲ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἀπέδειξεν. τὸ δέ, ὦ ῥᾳθυμότατε Σώκρατες, τῇδ’ ἔχει: ὅταν τι τῶν ἐμῶν δι’ ἐρωτήσεως σκοπῇς, ἐὰν μὲν ὁ ἐρωτηθεὶς οἷάπερ ἂν ἐγὼ ἀποκριναίμην ἀποκρινάμενος σφάλληται, ἐγὼ [166b] ἐλέγχομαι, εἰ δὲ ἀλλοῖα, αὐτὸς ὁ ἐρωτηθείς. αὐτίκα γὰρ δοκεῖς τινά σοι συγχωρήσεσθαι μνήμην παρεῖναί τῳ ὧν ἔπαθε, τοιοῦτόν τι οὖσαν πάθος οἷον ὅτε ἔπασχε, μηκέτι πάσχοντι; πολλοῦ γε δεῖ. ἢ αὖ ἀποκνήσειν ὁμολογεῖν οἷόν τ’ εἶναι εἰδέναι καὶ μὴ εἰδέναι τὸν αὐτὸν τὸ αὐτό; ἢ ἐάνπερ τοῦτο δείσῃ, δώσειν ποτὲ τὸν αὐτὸν εἶναι τὸν ἀνομοιούμενον τῷ πρὶν ἀνομοιοῦσθαι ὄντι; μᾶλλον δὲ τὸν εἶναί τινα ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ τούς, καὶ τούτους γιγνομένους ἀπείρους, ἐάνπερ [166c] ἀνομοίωσις γίγνηται, εἰ δὴ ὀνομάτων γε δεήσει θηρεύσεις διευλαβεῖσθαι ἀλλήλων; ἀλλ’, ὦ μακάριε,” φήσει, “γενναιοτέρως ἐπ’ αὐτὸ ἐλθὼν ὃ λέγω, εἰ δύνασαι, ἐξέλεγξον ὡς οὐχὶ ἴδιαι αἰσθήσεις ἑκάστῳ ἡμῶν γίγνονται, ἢ ὡς ἰδίων γιγνομένων οὐδέν τι ἂν μᾶλλον τὸ φαινόμενον μόνῳ ἐκείνῳ γίγνοιτο, ἢ εἰ εἶναι δεῖ ὀνομάζειν, εἴη ᾧπερ φαίνεται: ὗς δὲ δὴ καὶ κυνοκεφάλους λέγων οὐ μόνον αὐτὸς ὑηνεῖς, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ἀκούοντας τοῦτο δρᾶν εἰς τὰ συγγράμματά μου ἀναπείθεις, [166d] οὐ καλῶς ποιῶν. ἐγὼ γάρ φημι μὲν τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἔχειν ὡς γέγραφα: μέτρον γὰρ ἕκαστον ἡμῶν εἶναι τῶν τε ὄντων καὶ μή, μυρίον μέντοι διαφέρειν ἕτερον ἑτέρου αὐτῷ τούτῳ, ὅτι τῷ μὲν ἄλλα ἔστι τε καὶ φαίνεται, τῷ δὲ ἄλλα. καὶ σοφίαν καὶ σοφὸν ἄνδρα πολλοῦ δέω τὸ μὴ φάναι εἶναι, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸν τοῦτον καὶ λέγω σοφόν, ὃς ἄν τινι ἡμῶν, ᾧ φαίνεται καὶ ἔστι κακά, μεταβάλλων ποιήσῃ ἀγαθὰ φαίνεσθαί τε καὶ εἶναι. τὸν δὲ λόγον αὖ μὴ τῷ ῥήματί μου [166e] δίωκε, ἀλλ’ ὧδε ἔτι σαφέστερον μάθε τί λέγω. οἷον γὰρ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγετο ἀναμνήσθητι, ὅτι τῷ μὲν ἀσθενοῦντι πικρὰ φαίνεται ἃ ἐσθίει καὶ ἔστι, τῷ δὲ ὑγιαίνοντι τἀναντία ἔστι καὶ φαίνεται. σοφώτερον μὲν οὖν τούτων οὐδέτερον δεῖ [167a] ποιῆσαι — οὐδὲ γὰρ δυνατόν — οὐδὲ κατηγορητέον ὡς ὁ μὲν κάμνων ἀμαθὴς ὅτι τοιαῦτα δοξάζει, ὁ δὲ ὑγιαίνων σοφὸς ὅτι ἀλλοῖα, μεταβλητέον δ’ ἐπὶ θάτερα: ἀμείνων γὰρ ἡ ἑτέρα ἕξις. οὕτω δὲ καὶ ἐν τῇ παιδείᾳ ἀπὸ ἑτέρας ἕξεως ἐπὶ τὴν ἀμείνω μεταβλητέον: ἀλλ’ ὁ μὲν ἰατρὸς φαρμάκοις μεταβάλλει, ὁ δὲ σοφιστὴς λόγοις. ἐπεὶ οὔ τί γε ψευδῆ δοξάζοντά τίς τινα ὕστερον ἀληθῆ ἐποίησε δοξάζειν: οὔτε γὰρ τὰ μὴ ὄντα δυνατὸν δοξάσαι, οὔτε ἄλλα παρ’ ἃ ἂν πάσχῃ, ταῦτα [167b] δὲ ἀεὶ ἀληθῆ. ἀλλ’ οἶμαι πονηρᾶς ψυχῆς ἕξει δοξάζοντα συγγενῆ ἑαυτῆς χρηστὴ ἐποίησε δοξάσαι ἕτερα τοιαῦτα, ἃ δή τινες τὰ φαντάσματα ὑπὸ ἀπειρίας ἀληθῆ καλοῦσιν, ἐγὼ δὲ βελτίω μὲν τὰ ἕτερα τῶν ἑτέρων, ἀληθέστερα δὲ οὐδέν. καὶ τοὺς σοφούς, ὦ φίλε Σώκρατες, πολλοῦ δέω βατράχους λέγειν, ἀλλὰ κατὰ μὲν σώματα ἰατροὺς λέγω, κατὰ δὲ φυτὰ γεωργούς. φημὶ γὰρ καὶ τούτους τοῖς φυτοῖς ἀντὶ πονηρῶν [167c] αἰσθήσεων, ὅταν τι αὐτῶν ἀσθενῇ, χρηστὰς καὶ ὑγιεινὰς αἰσθήσεις τε καὶ ἀληθεῖς ἐμποιεῖν, τοὺς δέ γε σοφούς τε καὶ ἀγαθοὺς ῥήτορας ταῖς πόλεσι τὰ χρηστὰ ἀντὶ τῶν πονηρῶν δίκαια δοκεῖν εἶναι ποιεῖν. ἐπεὶ οἷά γ’ ἂν ἑκάστῃ πόλει δίκαια καὶ καλὰ δοκῇ, ταῦτα καὶ εἶναι αὐτῇ, ἕως ἂν αὐτὰ νομίζῃ: ἀλλ’ ὁ σοφὸς ἀντὶ πονηρῶν ὄντων αὐτοῖς ἑκάστων χρηστὰ ἐποίησεν εἶναι καὶ δοκεῖν. κατὰ δὲ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον καὶ ὁ σοφιστὴς τοὺς παιδευομένους οὕτω δυνάμενος παιδαγωγεῖν σοφός τε [167d] καὶ ἄξιος πολλῶν χρημάτων τοῖς παιδευθεῖσιν. καὶ οὕτω σοφώτεροί τέ εἰσιν ἕτεροι ἑτέρων καὶ οὐδεὶς ψευδῆ δοξάζει, καὶ σοί, ἐάντε βούλῃ ἐάντε μή, ἀνεκτέον ὄντι μέτρῳ: σῴζεται γὰρ ἐν τούτοις ὁ λόγος οὗτος. ᾧ σὺ εἰ μὲν ἔχεις ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἀμφισβητεῖν, ἀμφισβήτει λόγῳ ἀντιδιεξελθών: εἰ δὲ δι’ ἐρωτήσεων βούλει, δι’ ἐρωτήσεων: οὐδὲ γὰρ τοῦτο φευκτέον, ἀλλὰ πάντων μάλιστα διωκτέον τῷ νοῦν ἔχοντι. ποίει [167e] μέντοι οὑτωσί: μὴ ἀδίκει ἐν τῷ ἐρωτᾶν. καὶ γὰρ πολλὴ ἀλογία ἀρετῆς φάσκοντα ἐπιμελεῖσθαι μηδὲν ἀλλ’ ἢ ἀδικοῦντα ἐν λόγοις διατελεῖν. ἀδικεῖν δ’ ἐστὶν ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ, ὅταν τις μὴ χωρὶς μὲν ὡς ἀγωνιζόμενος τὰς διατριβὰς ποιῆται, χωρὶς δὲ διαλεγόμενος, καὶ ἐν μὲν τῷ παίζῃ τε καὶ σφάλλῃ καθ’ ὅσον ἂν δύνηται, ἐν δὲ τῷ διαλέγεσθαι σπουδάζῃ τε καὶ ἐπανορθοῖ τὸν προσδιαλεγόμενον, ἐκεῖνα μόνα αὐτῷ ἐνδεικνύμενος [168a] τὰ σφάλματα, ἃ αὐτὸς ὑφ’ ἑαυτοῦ καὶ τῶν προτέρων συνουσιῶν παρεκέκρουστο. ἂν μὲν γὰρ οὕτω ποιῇς, ἑαυτοὺς αἰτιάσονται οἱ προσδιατρίβοντές σοι τῆς αὑτῶν ταραχῆς καὶ ἀπορίας ἀλλ’ οὐ σέ, καὶ σὲ μὲν διώξονται καὶ φιλήσουσιν, αὑτοὺς δὲ μισήσουσι καὶ φεύξονται ἀφ’ ἑαυτῶν εἰς φιλοσοφίαν, ἵν’ ἄλλοι γενόμενοι ἀπαλλαγῶσι τῶν οἳ πρότερον ἦσαν: ἐὰν δὲ τἀναντία τούτων δρᾷς ὥσπερ οἱ πολλοί, τἀναντία συμβήσεταί σοι καὶ τοὺς συνόντας ἀντὶ φιλοσόφων [168b] μισοῦντας τοῦτο τὸ πρᾶγμα ἀποφανεῖς ἐπειδὰν πρεσβύτεροι γένωνται. ἐὰν οὖν ἐμοὶ πείθῃ, ὃ καὶ πρότερον ἐῤῥήθη, οὐ δυσμενῶς οὐδὲ μαχητικῶς ἀλλ’ ἵλεῳ τῇ διανοίᾳ συγκαθεὶς ὡς ἀληθῶς σκέψῃ τί ποτε λέγομεν, κινεῖσθαί τε ἀποφαινόμενοι τὰ πάντα, τό τε δοκοῦν ἑκάστῳ τοῦτο καὶ εἶναι ἰδιώτῃ τε καὶ πόλει. καὶ ἐκ τούτων ἐπισκέψῃ εἴτε ταὐτὸν εἴτε καὶ ἄλλο ἐπιστήμη καὶ αἴσθησις, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἐκ συνηθείας [168c] ῥημάτων τε καὶ ὀνομάτων, ἃ οἱ πολλοὶ ὅπῃ ἂν τύχωσιν ἕλκοντες ἀπορίας ἀλλήλοις παντοδαπὰς παρέχουσι.” ταῦτα, ὦ Θεόδωρε, τῷ ἑταίρῳ σου εἰς βοήθειαν προσηρξάμην κατ’ ἐμὴν δύναμιν σμικρὰ ἀπὸ σμικρῶν: εἰ δ’ αὐτὸς ἔζη, μεγαλειότερον ἂν τοῖς αὑτοῦ ἐβοήθησεν.

Θεόδωρος

παίζεις, ὦ Σώκρατες: πάνυ γὰρ νεανικῶς τῷ ἀνδρὶ βεβοήθηκας.

Σωκράτης

εὖ λέγεις, ὦ ἑταῖρε. καί μοι εἰπέ: ἐνενόησάς που λέγοντος ἄρτι τοῦ Πρωταγόρου καὶ ὀνειδίζοντος ἡμῖν ὅτι [168d] πρὸς παιδίον τοὺς λόγους ποιούμενοι τῷ τοῦ παιδὸς φόβῳ ἀγωνιζοίμεθα εἰς τὰ ἑαυτοῦ, καὶ χαριεντισμόν τινα ἀποκαλῶν, ἀποσεμνύνων δὲ τὸ πάντων μέτρον, σπουδάσαι ἡμᾶς διεκελεύσατο περὶ τὸν αὑτοῦ λόγον;

Θεόδωρος

πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἐνενόησα, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; κελεύεις πείθεσθαι αὐτῷ;

Θεόδωρος

σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς οὖν ὅτι τάδε πάντα πλὴν σοῦ παιδία ἐστίν. εἰ οὖν πεισόμεθα τῷ ἀνδρί, ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ δεῖ ἐρωτῶντάς τε καὶ [168e] ἀποκρινομένους ἀλλήλοις σπουδάσαι αὐτοῦ περὶ τὸν λόγον, ἵνα μὴ τοῦτό γε ἔχῃ ἐγκαλεῖν, ὡς παίζοντες πρὸς μειράκια διεσκεψάμεθ’ αὐτοῦ τὸν λόγον.

Θεόδωρος

τί δ’; οὐ πολλῶν τοι Θεαίτητος μεγάλους πώγωνας ἐχόντων ἄμεινον ἂν ἐπακολουθήσειε λόγῳ διερευνωμένῳ;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οὔ τι σοῦ γε, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ἄμεινον. μὴ οὖν οἴου ἐμὲ μὲν τῷ σῷ ἑταίρῳ τετελευτηκότι δεῖν παντὶ τρόπῳ [169a] ἐπαμύνειν, σὲ δὲ μηδενί. ἀλλ’ ἴθι, ὦ ἄριστε, ὀλίγον ἐπίσπου, μέχρι τούτου αὐτοῦ ἕως ἂν εἰδῶμεν εἴτε ἄρα σὲ δεῖ διαγραμμάτων πέρι μέτρον εἶναι, εἴτε πάντες ὁμοίως σοὶ ἱκανοὶ ἑαυτοῖς εἴς τε ἀστρονομίαν καὶ τἆλλα ὧν δὴ σὺ πέρι αἰτίαν ἔχεις διαφέρειν.

Θεόδωρος

οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ὦ Σώκρατες, σοὶ παρακαθήμενον μὴ διδόναι λόγον, ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ ἄρτι παρελήρησα φάσκων σε ἐπιτρέψειν μοι μὴ ἀποδύεσθαι, καὶ οὐχὶ ἀναγκάσειν καθάπερ Λακεδαιμόνιοι: σὺ δέ μοι δοκεῖς πρὸς τὸν Σκίρωνα μᾶλλον [169b] τείνειν. Λακεδαιμόνιοι μὲν γὰρ ἀπιέναι ἢ ἀποδύεσθαι κελεύουσι, σὺ δὲ κατ’ Ἀνταῖόν τί μοι μᾶλλον δοκεῖς τὸ δρᾶμα δρᾶν: τὸν γὰρ προσελθόντα οὐκ ἀνίης πρὶν <ἂν> ἀναγκάσῃς ἀποδύσας ἐν τοῖς λόγοις προσπαλαῖσαι.

Σωκράτης

ἄριστά γε, ὦ Θεόδωρε, τὴν νόσον μου ἀπῄκασας: ἰσχυρικώτερος μέντοι ἐγὼ ἐκείνων. μυρίοι γὰρ ἤδη μοι Ἡρακλέες τε καὶ Θησέες ἐντυχόντες καρτεροὶ πρὸς τὸ λέγειν μάλ’ εὖ συγκεκόφασιν, ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ἀφίσταμαι: [169c] οὕτω τις ἔρως δεινὸς ἐνδέδυκε τῆς περὶ ταῦτα γυμνασίας. μὴ οὖν μηδὲ σὺ φθονήσῃς προσανατριψάμενος σαυτόν τε ἅμα καὶ ἐμὲ ὀνῆσαι.

Θεόδωρος

οὐδὲν ἔτι ἀντιλέγω, ἀλλ’ ἄγε ὅπῃ ‘θέλεις: πάντως τὴν περὶ ταῦτα εἱμαρμένην ἣν <ἂν> σὺ ἐπικλώσῃς δεῖ ἀνατλῆναι ἐλεγχόμενον. οὐ μέντοι περαιτέρω γε ὧν προτίθεσαι οἷός τ’ ἔσομαι παρασχεῖν ἐμαυτόν σοι.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἀρκεῖ καὶ μέχρι τούτων. καί μοι πάνυ τήρει τὸ τοιόνδε, μή που παιδικόν τι λάθωμεν εἶδος τῶν λόγων [169d] ποιούμενοι, καί τις πάλιν ἡμῖν αὐτὸ ὀνειδίσῃ.

Θεόδωρος

ἀλλὰ δὴ πειράσομαί γε καθ’ ὅσον ἂν δύνωμαι.

Σωκράτης

τοῦδε τοίνυν πρῶτον πάλιν ἀντιλαβώμεθα οὗπερ τὸ πρότερον, καὶ ἴδωμεν ὀρθῶς ἢ οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἐδυσχεραίνομεν ἐπιτιμῶντες τῷ λόγῳ ὅτι αὐτάρκη ἕκαστον εἰς φρόνησιν ἐποίει, καὶ ἡμῖν συνεχώρησεν ὁ Πρωταγόρας περί τε τοῦ ἀμείνονος καὶ χείρονος διαφέρειν τινάς, οὓς δὴ καὶ εἶναι σοφούς. οὐχί;

Θεόδωρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

εἰ μὲν τοίνυν αὐτὸς παρὼν ὡμολόγει ἀλλὰ μὴ ἡμεῖς [169e] βοηθοῦντες ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ συνεχωρήσαμεν, οὐδὲν ἂν πάλιν ἔδει ἐπαναλαβόντας βεβαιοῦσθαι: νῦν δὲ τάχ’ ἄν τις ἡμᾶς ἀκύρους τιθείη τῆς ὑπὲρ ἐκείνου ὁμολογίας. διὸ καλλιόνως ἔχει σαφέστερον περὶ τούτου αὐτοῦ διομολογήσασθαι: οὐ γάρ τι σμικρὸν παραλλάττει οὕτως ἔχον ἢ ἄλλως.

Θεόδωρος

λέγεις ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

μὴ τοίνυν δι’ ἄλλων ἀλλ’ ἐκ τοῦ ἐκείνου λόγου ὡς [170a] διὰ βραχυτάτων λάβωμεν τὴν ὁμολογίαν.

Θεόδωρος

πῶς;

Σωκράτης

οὑτωσί: τὸ δοκοῦν ἑκάστῳ τοῦτο καὶ εἶναί φησί που ᾧ δοκεῖ;

Θεόδωρος

φησὶ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, καὶ ἡμεῖς ἀνθρώπου, μᾶλλον δὲ πάντων ἀνθρώπων δόξας λέγομεν, καὶ φαμὲν οὐδένα ὅντινα οὐ τὰ μὲν αὑτὸν ἡγεῖσθαι τῶν ἄλλων σοφώτερον, τὰ δὲ ἄλλους ἑαυτοῦ, καὶ ἔν γε τοῖς μεγίστοις κινδύνοις, ὅταν ἐν στρατείαις ἢ νόσοις ἢ ἐν θαλάττῃ χειμάζωνται, ὥσπερ πρὸς θεοὺς ἔχειν τοὺς ἐν ἑκάστοις ἄρχοντας, σωτῆρας σφῶν [170b] προσδοκῶντας, οὐκ ἄλλῳ τῳ διαφέροντας ἢ τῷ εἰδέναι: καὶ πάντα που μεστὰ τἀνθρώπινα ζητούντων διδασκάλους τε καὶ ἄρχοντας ἑαυτῶν τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων τῶν τε ἐργασιῶν, οἰομένων τε αὖ ἱκανῶν μὲν διδάσκειν, ἱκανῶν δὲ ἄρχειν εἶναι. καὶ ἐν τούτοις ἅπασι τί ἄλλο φήσομεν ἢ αὐτοὺς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἡγεῖσθαι σοφίαν καὶ ἀμαθίαν εἶναι παρὰ σφίσιν;

Θεόδωρος

οὐδὲν ἄλλο.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τὴν μὲν σοφίαν ἀληθῆ διάνοιαν ἡγοῦνται, τὴν δὲ ἀμαθίαν ψευδῆ δόξαν;

[170c] Θεόδωρος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, χρησόμεθα τῷ λόγῳ; πότερον ἀληθῆ φῶμεν ἀεὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους δοξάζειν, ἢ τοτὲ μὲν ἀληθῆ, τοτὲ δὲ ψευδῆ; ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων γάρ που συμβαίνει μὴ ἀεὶ ἀληθῆ ἀλλ’ ἀμφότερα αὐτοὺς δοξάζειν. σκόπει γάρ, ὦ Θεόδωρε, εἰ ἐθέλοι ἄν τις τῶν ἀμφὶ Πρωταγόραν ἢ σὺ αὐτὸς διαμάχεσθαι ὡς οὐδεὶς ἡγεῖται ἕτερος ἕτερον ἀμαθῆ τε εἶναι καὶ ψευδῆ δοξάζειν.

Θεόδωρος

ἀλλ’ ἄπιστον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

[170d] Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν εἰς τοῦτό γε ἀνάγκης ὁ λόγος ἥκει ὁ πάντων χρημάτων μέτρον ἄνθρωπον λέγων.

Θεόδωρος

πῶς δή;

Σωκράτης

ὅταν σὺ κρίνας τι παρὰ σαυτῷ πρός με ἀποφαίνῃ περί τινος δόξαν, σοὶ μὲν δὴ τοῦτο κατὰ τὸν ἐκείνου λόγον ἀληθὲς ἔστω, ἡμῖν δὲ δὴ τοῖς ἄλλοις περὶ τῆς σῆς κρίσεως πότερον οὐκ ἔστιν κριταῖς γενέσθαι, ἢ ἀεὶ σὲ κρίνομεν ἀληθῆ δοξάζειν; ἢ μυρίοι ἑκάστοτέ σοι μάχονται ἀντιδοξάζοντες, ἡγούμενοι ψευδῆ κρίνειν τε καὶ οἴεσθαι;

[170e] Θεόδωρος

νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, μάλα μυρίοι δῆτα, φησὶν Ὅμηρος, οἵ γέ μοι τὰ ἐξ ἀνθρώπων πράγματα παρέχουσιν.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; βούλει λέγωμεν ὡς σὺ τότε σαυτῷ μὲν ἀληθῆ δοξάζεις, τοῖς δὲ μυρίοις ψευδῆ;

Θεόδωρος

ἔοικεν ἔκ γε τοῦ λόγου ἀνάγκη εἶναι.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ αὐτῷ Πρωταγόρᾳ; ἆρ’ οὐχὶ ἀνάγκη, εἰ μὲν μηδὲ αὐτὸς ᾤετο μέτρον εἶναι ἄνθρωπον μηδὲ οἱ πολλοί, ὥσπερ οὐδὲ οἴονται, μηδενὶ δὴ εἶναι ταύτην τὴν ἀλήθειαν [171a] ἣν ἐκεῖνος ἔγραψεν; εἰ δὲ αὐτὸς μὲν ᾤετο, τὸ δὲ πλῆθος μὴ συνοίεται, οἶσθ’ ὅτι πρῶτον μὲν ὅσῳ πλείους οἷς μὴ δοκεῖ ἢ οἷς δοκεῖ, τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον οὐκ ἔστιν ἢ ἔστιν.

Θεόδωρος

ἀνάγκη, εἴπερ γε καθ’ ἑκάστην δόξαν ἔσται καὶ οὐκ ἔσται.

Σωκράτης

ἔπειτά γε τοῦτ’ ἔχει κομψότατον: ἐκεῖνος μὲν περὶ τῆς αὑτοῦ οἰήσεως τὴν τῶν ἀντιδοξαζόντων οἴησιν, ᾗ ἐκεῖνον ἡγοῦνται ψεύδεσθαι, συγχωρεῖ που ἀληθῆ εἶναι ὁμολογῶν τὰ ὄντα δοξάζειν ἅπαντας.

Θεόδωρος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

[171b] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τὴν αὑτοῦ ἂν ψευδῆ συγχωροῖ, εἰ τὴν τῶν ἡγουμένων αὐτὸν ψεύδεσθαι ὁμολογεῖ ἀληθῆ εἶναι;

Θεόδωρος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

οἱ δέ γ’ ἄλλοι οὐ συγχωροῦσιν ἑαυτοῖς ψεύδεσθαι;

Θεόδωρος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ὁ δέ γ’ αὖ ὁμολογεῖ καὶ ταύτην ἀληθῆ τὴν δόξαν ἐξ ὧν γέγραφεν.

Θεόδωρος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἐξ ἁπάντων ἄρα ἀπὸ Πρωταγόρου ἀρξαμένων ἀμφισβητήσεται, μᾶλλον δὲ ὑπό γε ἐκείνου ὁμολογήσεται, ὅταν τῷ τἀναντία λέγοντι συγχωρῇ ἀληθῆ αὐτὸν δοξάζειν, [171c] τότε καὶ ὁ Πρωταγόρας αὐτὸς συγχωρήσεται μήτε κύνα μήτε τὸν ἐπιτυχόντα ἄνθρωπον μέτρον εἶναι μηδὲ περὶ ἑνὸς οὗ ἂν μὴ μάθῃ. οὐχ οὕτως;

Θεόδωρος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ ἀμφισβητεῖται ὑπὸ πάντων, οὐδενὶ ἂν εἴη ἡ Πρωταγόρου Ἀλήθεια ἀληθής, οὔτε τινὶ ἄλλῳ οὔτ’ αὐτῷ ἐκείνῳ.

Θεόδωρος

ἄγαν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸν ἑταῖρόν μου καταθέομεν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλά τοι, ὦ φίλε, ἄδηλον εἰ καὶ παραθέομεν τὸ ὀρθόν. εἰκός γε ἄρα ἐκεῖνον πρεσβύτερον ὄντα σοφώτερον [171d] ἡμῶν εἶναι: καὶ εἰ αὐτίκα ἐντεῦθεν ἀνακύψειε μέχρι τοῦ αὐχένος, πολλὰ ἂν ἐμέ τε ἐλέγξας ληροῦντα, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, καὶ σὲ ὁμολογοῦντα, καταδὺς ἂν οἴχοιτο ἀποτρέχων. ἀλλ’ ἡμῖν ἀνάγκη οἶμαι χρῆσθαι ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς ὁποῖοί τινές ἐσμεν, καὶ τὰ δοκοῦντα ἀεὶ ταῦτα λέγειν. καὶ δῆτα καὶ νῦν ἄλλο τι φῶμεν ὁμολογεῖν ἂν τοῦτό γε ὁντινοῦν, τὸ εἶναι σοφώτερον ἕτερον ἑτέρου, εἶναι δὲ καὶ ἀμαθέστερον;

Θεόδωρος

ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ ταύτῃ ἂν μάλιστα ἵστασθαι τὸν λόγον, ᾗ [171e] ἡμεῖς ὑπεγράψαμεν βοηθοῦντες Πρωταγόρᾳ, ὡς τὰ μὲν πολλὰ ᾗ δοκεῖ, ταύτῃ καὶ ἔστιν ἑκάστῳ, θερμά, ξηρά, γλυκέα, πάντα ὅσα τοῦ τύπου τούτου: εἰ δέ που ἔν τισι συγχωρήσεται διαφέρειν ἄλλον ἄλλου, περὶ τὰ ὑγιεινὰ καὶ νοσώδη ἐθελῆσαι ἂν φάναι μὴ πᾶν γύναιον καὶ παιδίον, καὶ θηρίον δέ, ἱκανὸν εἶναι ἰᾶσθαι αὑτὸ γιγνῶσκον ἑαυτῷ τὸ ὑγιεινόν, ἀλλὰ ἐνταῦθα δὴ ἄλλον ἄλλου διαφέρειν, εἴπερ που;

Θεόδωρος

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ οὕτως.

[172a] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ πολιτικῶν, καλὰ μὲν καὶ αἰσχρὰ καὶ δίκαια καὶ ἄδικα καὶ ὅσια καὶ μή, οἷα ἂν ἑκάστη πόλις οἰηθεῖσα θῆται νόμιμα αὑτῇ, ταῦτα καὶ εἶναι τῇ ἀληθείᾳ ἑκάστῃ, καὶ ἐν τούτοις μὲν οὐδὲν σοφώτερον οὔτε ἰδιώτην ἰδιώτου οὔτε πόλιν πόλεως εἶναι: ἐν δὲ τῷ συμφέροντα ἑαυτῇ ἢ μὴ συμφέροντα τίθεσθαι, ἐνταῦθ’, εἴπερ που, αὖ ὁμολογήσει σύμβουλόν τε συμβούλου διαφέρειν καὶ πόλεως δόξαν ἑτέραν ἑτέρας πρὸς ἀλήθειαν, καὶ οὐκ ἂν πάνυ τολμήσειε [172b] φῆσαι, ἃ ἂν θῆται πόλις συμφέροντα οἰηθεῖσα αὑτῇ, παντὸς μᾶλλον ταῦτα καὶ συνοίσειν: ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖ οὗ λέγω, ἐν τοῖς δικαίοις καὶ ἀδίκοις καὶ ὁσίοις καὶ ἀνοσίοις, ἐθέλουσιν ἰσχυρίζεσθαι ὡς οὐκ ἔστι φύσει αὐτῶν οὐδὲν οὐσίαν ἑαυτοῦ ἔχον, ἀλλὰ τὸ κοινῇ δόξαν τοῦτο γίγνεται ἀληθὲς τότε, ὅταν δόξῃ καὶ ὅσον ἂν δοκῇ χρόνον. καὶ ὅσοι γε ἂν μὴ παντάπασι τὸν Πρωταγόρου λόγον λέγωσιν, ὧδέ πως τὴν σοφίαν ἄγουσι. λόγος δὲ ἡμᾶς, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ἐκ λόγου μείζων ἐξ ἐλάττονος [172c] καταλαμβάνει.

Θεόδωρος

οὐκοῦν σχολὴν ἄγομεν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

φαινόμεθα. καὶ πολλάκις μέν γε δή, ὦ δαιμόνιε, καὶ ἄλλοτε κατενόησα, ἀτὰρ καὶ νῦν, ὡς εἰκότως οἱ ἐν ταῖς φιλοσοφίαις πολὺν χρόνον διατρίψαντες εἰς τὰ δικαστήρια ἰόντες γελοῖοι φαίνονται ῥήτορες.

Θεόδωρος

πῶς δὴ οὖν λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

κινδυνεύουσιν οἱ ἐν δικαστηρίοις καὶ τοῖς τοιούτοις ἐκ νέων κυλινδούμενοι πρὸς τοὺς ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ καὶ τῇ [172d] τοιᾷδε διατριβῇ τεθραμμένους ὡς οἰκέται πρὸς ἐλευθέρους τεθράφθαι.

Θεόδωρος

πῇ δή;

Σωκράτης

ἧι τοῖς μὲν τοῦτο ὃ σὺ εἶπες ἀεὶ πάρεστι, σχολή, καὶ τοὺς λόγους ἐν εἰρήνῃ ἐπὶ σχολῆς ποιοῦνται: ὥσπερ ἡμεῖς νυνὶ τρίτον ἤδη λόγον ἐκ λόγου μεταλαμβάνομεν, οὕτω κἀκεῖνοι, ἐὰν αὐτοὺς ὁ ἐπελθὼν τοῦ προκειμένου μᾶλλον καθάπερ ἡμᾶς ἀρέσῃ: καὶ διὰ μακρῶν ἢ βραχέων μέλει οὐδὲν λέγειν, ἂν μόνον τύχωσι τοῦ ὄντος: οἱ δὲ ἐν ἀσχολίᾳ [172e] τε ἀεὶ λέγουσι — κατεπείγει γὰρ ὕδωρ ῥέον — καὶ οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖ περὶ οὗ ἂν ἐπιθυμήσωσι τοὺς λόγους ποιεῖσθαι, ἀλλ’ ἀνάγκην ἔχων ὁ ἀντίδικος ἐφέστηκεν καὶ ὑπογραφὴν παραναγιγνωσκομένην ὧν ἐκτὸς οὐ ῥητέον [ἣν ἀντωμοσίαν καλοῦσιν]: οἱ δὲ λόγοι ἀεὶ περὶ ὁμοδούλου πρὸς δεσπότην καθήμενον, ἐν χειρί τινα δίκην ἔχοντα, καὶ οἱ ἀγῶνες οὐδέποτε τὴν ἄλλως ἀλλ’ ἀεὶ τὴν περὶ αὐτοῦ, πολλάκις δὲ καὶ περὶ ψυχῆς [173a] ὁ δρόμος: ὥστ’ ἐξ ἁπάντων τούτων ἔντονοι καὶ δριμεῖς γίγνονται, ἐπιστάμενοι τὸν δεσπότην λόγῳ τε θωπεῦσαι καὶ ἔργῳ ὑπελθεῖν, σμικροὶ δὲ καὶ οὐκ ὀρθοὶ τὰς ψυχάς. τὴν γὰρ αὔξην καὶ τὸ εὐθύ τε καὶ τὸ ἐλευθέριον ἡ ἐκ νέων δουλεία ἀφῄρηται, ἀναγκάζουσα πράττειν σκολιά, μεγάλους κινδύνους καὶ φόβους ἔτι ἁπαλαῖς ψυχαῖς ἐπιβάλλουσα, οὓς οὐ δυνάμενοι μετὰ τοῦ δικαίου καὶ ἀληθοῦς ὑποφέρειν, εὐθὺς ἐπὶ τὸ ψεῦδός τε καὶ τὸ ἀλλήλους ἀνταδικεῖν τρεπόμενοι [173b] πολλὰ κάμπτονται καὶ συγκλῶνται, ὥσθ’ ὑγιὲς οὐδὲν ἔχοντες τῆς διανοίας εἰς ἄνδρας ἐκ μειρακίων τελευτῶσι, δεινοί τε καὶ σοφοὶ γεγονότες, ὡς οἴονται. καὶ οὗτοι μὲν δὴ τοιοῦτοι, ὦ Θεόδωρε: τοὺς δὲ τοῦ ἡμετέρου χοροῦ πότερον βούλει διελθόντες ἢ ἐάσαντες πάλιν ἐπὶ τὸν λόγον τρεπώμεθα, ἵνα μὴ καί, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, λίαν πολὺ τῇ ἐλευθερίᾳ καὶ μεταλήψει τῶν λόγων καταχρώμεθα;

Θεόδωρος

μηδαμῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ διελθόντες. πάνυ [173c] γὰρ εὖ τοῦτο εἴρηκας, ὅτι οὐχ ἡμεῖς οἱ ἐν τῷ τοιῷδε χορεύοντες τῶν λόγων ὑπηρέται, ἀλλ’ οἱ λόγοι ἡμέτεροι ὥσπερ οἰκέται, καὶ ἕκαστος αὐτῶν περιμένει ἀποτελεσθῆναι ὅταν ἡμῖν δοκῇ: οὔτε γὰρ δικαστὴς οὔτε θεατὴς ὥσπερ ποιηταῖς ἐπιτιμήσων τε καὶ ἄρξων ἐπιστατεῖ παρ’ ἡμῖν.

Σωκράτης

λέγωμεν δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπεὶ σοί γε δοκεῖ, περὶ τῶν κορυφαίων: τί γὰρ ἄν τις τούς γε φαύλως διατρίβοντας ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ λέγοι; οὗτοι δέ που ἐκ νέων πρῶτον μὲν εἰς [173d] ἀγορὰν οὐκ ἴσασι τὴν ὁδόν, οὐδὲ ὅπου δικαστήριον ἢ βουλευτήριον ἤ τι κοινὸν ἄλλο τῆς πόλεως συνέδριον: νόμους δὲ καὶ ψηφίσματα λεγόμενα ἢ γεγραμμένα οὔτε ὁρῶσιν οὔτε ἀκούουσι: σπουδαὶ δὲ ἑταιριῶν ἐπ’ ἀρχὰς καὶ σύνοδοι καὶ δεῖπνα καὶ σὺν αὐλητρίσι κῶμοι, οὐδὲ ὄναρ πράττειν προσίσταται αὐτοῖς. εὖ δὲ ἢ κακῶς τις γέγονεν ἐν πόλει, ἤ τί τῳ κακόν ἐστιν ἐκ προγόνων γεγονὸς ἢ πρὸς ἀνδρῶν ἢ γυναικῶν, μᾶλλον αὐτὸν λέληθεν ἢ οἱ τῆς θαλάττης λεγόμενοι [173e] χόες. καὶ ταῦτα πάντ’ οὐδ’ ὅτι οὐκ οἶδεν, οἶδεν: οὐδὲ γὰρ αὐτῶν ἀπέχεται τοῦ εὐδοκιμεῖν χάριν, ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι τὸ σῶμα μόνον ἐν τῇ πόλει κεῖται αὐτοῦ καὶ ἐπιδημεῖ, ἡ δὲ διάνοια, ταῦτα πάντα ἡγησαμένη σμικρὰ καὶ οὐδέν, ἀτιμάσασα πανταχῇ πέτεται κατὰ Πίνδαρον “τᾶς τε γᾶς ὑπένερθε” καὶ τὰ ἐπίπεδα γεωμετροῦσα, “οὐρανοῦ θ’ ὕπερ” ἀστρονομοῦσα, [174a] καὶ πᾶσαν πάντῃ φύσιν ἐρευνωμένη τῶν ὄντων ἑκάστου ὅλου, εἰς τῶν ἐγγὺς οὐδὲν αὑτὴν συγκαθιεῖσα.

Θεόδωρος

πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

ὥσπερ καὶ Θαλῆν ἀστρονομοῦντα, ὦ Θεόδωρε, καὶ ἄνω βλέποντα, πεσόντα εἰς φρέαρ, Θρᾷττά τις ἐμμελὴς καὶ χαρίεσσα θεραπαινὶς ἀποσκῶψαι λέγεται ὡς τὰ μὲν ἐν οὐρανῷ προθυμοῖτο εἰδέναι, τὰ δ’ ἔμπροσθεν αὐτοῦ καὶ παρὰ πόδας λανθάνοι αὐτόν. ταὐτὸν δὲ ἀρκεῖ σκῶμμα ἐπὶ πάντας [174b] ὅσοι ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ διάγουσι. τῷ γὰρ ὄντι τὸν τοιοῦτον ὁ μὲν πλησίον καὶ ὁ γείτων λέληθεν, οὐ μόνον ὅτι πράττει, ἀλλ’ ὀλίγου καὶ εἰ ἄνθρωπός ἐστιν ἤ τι ἄλλο θρέμμα: τί δέ ποτ’ ἐστὶν ἄνθρωπος καὶ τί τῇ τοιαύτῃ φύσει προσήκει διάφορον τῶν ἄλλων ποιεῖν ἢ πάσχειν, ζητεῖ τε καὶ πράγματ’ ἔχει διερευνώμενος. μανθάνεις γάρ που, ὦ Θεόδωρε: ἢ οὔ;

Θεόδωρος

ἔγωγε: καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

τοιγάρτοι, ὦ φίλε, ἰδίᾳ τε συγγιγνόμενος ὁ τοιοῦτος [174c] ἑκάστῳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, ὅπερ ἀρχόμενος ἔλεγον, ὅταν ἐν δικαστηρίῳ ἤ που ἄλλοθι ἀναγκασθῇ περὶ τῶν παρὰ πόδας καὶ τῶν ἐν ὀφθαλμοῖς διαλέγεσθαι, γέλωτα παρέχει οὐ μόνον Θρᾴτταις ἀλλὰ καὶ τῷ ἄλλῳ ὄχλῳ, εἰς φρέατά τε καὶ πᾶσαν ἀπορίαν ἐμπίπτων ὑπὸ ἀπειρίας, καὶ ἡ ἀσχημοσύνη δεινή, δόξαν ἀβελτερίας παρεχομένη: ἔν τε γὰρ ταῖς λοιδορίαις ἴδιον ἔχει οὐδὲν οὐδένα λοιδορεῖν, ἅτ’ οὐκ εἰδὼς κακὸν οὐδὲν οὐδενὸς ἐκ τοῦ μὴ μεμελετηκέναι: ἀπορῶν [174d] οὖν γελοῖος φαίνεται. ἔν τε τοῖς ἐπαίνοις καὶ ταῖς τῶν ἄλλων μεγαλαυχίαις οὐ προσποιήτως ἀλλὰ τῷ ὄντι γελῶν ἔνδηλος γιγνόμενος ληρώδης δοκεῖ εἶναι. τύραννόν τε γὰρ ἢ βασιλέα ἐγκωμιαζόμενον, ἕνα τῶν νομέων, οἷον συβώτην ἢ ποιμένα ἤ τινα βουκόλον, ἡγεῖται ἀκούειν εὐδαιμονιζόμενον πολὺ βδάλλοντα: δυσκολώτερον δὲ ἐκείνων ζῷον καὶ ἐπιβουλότερον ποιμαίνειν τε καὶ βδάλλειν νομίζει αὐτούς, ἄγροικον δὲ καὶ ἀπαίδευτον ὑπὸ ἀσχολίας οὐδὲν ἧττον τῶν [174e] νομέων τὸν τοιοῦτον ἀναγκαῖον γίγνεσθαι, σηκὸν ἐν ὄρει τὸ τεῖχος περιβεβλημένον. γῆς δὲ ὅταν μυρία πλέθρα ἢ ἔτι πλείω ἀκούσῃ ὥς τις ἄρα κεκτημένος θαυμαστὰ πλήθει κέκτηται, πάνσμικρα δοκεῖ ἀκούειν εἰς ἅπασαν εἰωθὼς τὴν γῆν βλέπειν. τὰ δὲ δὴ γένη ὑμνούντων, ὡς γενναῖός τις ἑπτὰ πάππους πλουσίους ἔχων ἀποφῆναι, παντάπασιν ἀμβλὺ καὶ ἐπὶ σμικρὸν ὁρώντων ἡγεῖται τὸν ἔπαινον, ὑπὸ [175a] ἀπαιδευσίας οὐ δυναμένων εἰς τὸ πᾶν ἀεὶ βλέπειν οὐδὲ λογίζεσθαι ὅτι πάππων καὶ προγόνων μυριάδες ἑκάστῳ γεγόνασιν ἀναρίθμητοι, ἐν αἷς πλούσιοι καὶ πτωχοὶ καὶ βασιλῆς καὶ δοῦλοι βάρβαροί τε καὶ Ἕλληνες πολλάκις μυρίοι γεγόνασιν ὁτῳοῦν: ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ πέντε καὶ εἴκοσι καταλόγῳ προγόνων σεμνυνομένων καὶ ἀναφερόντων εἰς Ἡρακλέα τὸν Ἀμφιτρύωνος ἄτοπα αὐτῷ καταφαίνεται τῆς σμικρολογίας, ὅτι [175b] δὲ ὁ ἀπ’ Ἀμφιτρύωνος εἰς τὸ ἄνω πεντεκαιεικοστὸς τοιοῦτος ἦν οἵα συνέβαινεν αὐτῷ τύχη, καὶ ὁ πεντηκοστὸς ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ, γελᾷ οὐ δυναμένων λογίζεσθαί τε καὶ χαυνότητα ἀνοήτου ψυχῆς ἀπαλλάττειν. ἐν ἅπασι δὴ τούτοις ὁ τοιοῦτος ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν καταγελᾶται, τὰ μὲν ὑπερηφάνως ἔχων, ὡς δοκεῖ, τὰ δ’ ἐν ποσὶν ἀγνοῶν τε καὶ ἐν ἑκάστοις ἀπορῶν.

Θεόδωρος

παντάπασι τὰ γιγνόμενα λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ὅταν δέ γέ τινα αὐτός, ὦ φίλε, ἑλκύσῃ ἄνω, καὶ [175c] ἐθελήσῃ τις αὐτῷ ἐκβῆναι ἐκ τοῦ “τί ἐγὼ σὲ ἀδικῶ ἢ σὺ ἐμέ”; εἰς σκέψιν αὐτῆς δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ ἀδικίας, τί τε ἑκάτερον αὐτοῖν καὶ τί τῶν πάντων ἢ ἀλλήλων διαφέρετον, ἢ ἐκ τοῦ “εἰ βασιλεὺς εὐδαίμων,” “κεκτημένος τ’ αὖ χρυσίον,” βασιλείας πέρι καὶ ἀνθρωπίνης ὅλως εὐδαιμονίας καὶ ἀθλιότητος ἐπὶ σκέψιν, ποίω τέ τινε ἐστὸν καὶ τίνα τρόπον ἀνθρώπου φύσει προσήκει τὸ μὲν κτήσασθαι αὐτοῖν, τὸ δὲ ἀποφυγεῖν — περὶ τούτων ἁπάντων ὅταν αὖ δέῃ λόγον [175d] διδόναι τὸν σμικρὸν ἐκεῖνον τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ δριμὺν καὶ δικανικόν, πάλιν αὖ τὰ ἀντίστροφα ἀποδίδωσιν: εἰλιγγιῶν τε ἀπὸ ὑψηλοῦ κρεμασθεὶς καὶ βλέπων μετέωρος ἄνωθεν ὑπὸ ἀηθείας ἀδημονῶν τε καὶ ἀπορῶν καὶ βατταρίζων γέλωτα Θρᾴτταις μὲν οὐ παρέχει οὐδ’ ἄλλῳ ἀπαιδεύτῳ οὐδενί, οὐ γὰρ αἰσθάνονται, τοῖς δ’ ἐναντίως ἢ ὡς ἀνδραπόδοις τραφεῖσι πᾶσιν. οὗτος δὴ ἑκατέρου τρόπος, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ὁ [175e] μὲν τῷ ὄντι ἐν ἐλευθερίᾳ τε καὶ σχολῇ τεθραμμένου, ὃν δὴ φιλόσοφον καλεῖς, ᾧ ἀνεμέσητον εὐήθει δοκεῖν καὶ οὐδενὶ εἶναι ὅταν εἰς δουλικὰ ἐμπέσῃ διακονήματα, οἷον στρωματόδεσμον μὴ ἐπισταμένου συσκευάσασθαι μηδὲ ὄψον ἡδῦναι ἢ θῶπας λόγους: ὁ δ’ αὖ τὰ μὲν τοιαῦτα πάντα δυναμένου τορῶς τε καὶ ὀξέως διακονεῖν, ἀναβάλλεσθαι δὲ οὐκ ἐπισταμένου ἐπιδέξια ἐλευθερίως οὐδέ γ’ ἁρμονίαν λόγων [176a] λαβόντος ὀρθῶς ὑμνῆσαι θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνδρῶν εὐδαιμόνων βίον [ἀληθῆ].

Θεόδωρος

εἰ πάντας, ὦ Σώκρατες, πείθοις ἃ λέγεις ὥσπερ ἐμέ, πλείων ἂν εἰρήνη καὶ κακὰ ἐλάττω κατ’ ἀνθρώπους εἴη.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οὔτ’ ἀπολέσθαι τὰ κακὰ δυνατόν, ὦ Θεόδωρε — ὑπεναντίον γάρ τι τῷ ἀγαθῷ ἀεὶ εἶναι ἀνάγκη — οὔτ’ ἐν θεοῖς αὐτὰ ἱδρῦσθαι, τὴν δὲ θνητὴν φύσιν καὶ τόνδε τὸν τόπον περιπολεῖ ἐξ ἀνάγκης. διὸ καὶ πειρᾶσθαι χρὴ ἐνθένδε [176b] ἐκεῖσε φεύγειν ὅτι τάχιστα. φυγὴ δὲ ὁμοίωσις θεῷ κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν: ὁμοίωσις δὲ δίκαιον καὶ ὅσιον μετὰ φρονήσεως γενέσθαι. ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ ἄριστε, οὐ πάνυ τι ῥᾴδιον πεῖσαι ὡς ἄρα οὐχ ὧν ἕνεκα οἱ πολλοί φασι δεῖν πονηρίαν μὲν φεύγειν, ἀρετὴν δὲ διώκειν, τούτων χάριν τὸ μὲν ἐπιτηδευτέον, τὸ δ’ οὔ, ἵνα δὴ μὴ κακὸς καὶ ἵνα ἀγαθὸς δοκῇ εἶναι: ταῦτα μὲν γάρ ἐστιν ὁ λεγόμενος γραῶν ὕθλος, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται: τὸ δὲ ἀληθὲς ὧδε λέγωμεν. θεὸς οὐδαμῇ [176c] οὐδαμῶς ἄδικος, ἀλλ’ ὡς οἷόν τε δικαιότατος, καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν αὐτῷ ὁμοιότερον οὐδὲν ἢ ὃς ἂν ἡμῶν αὖ γένηται ὅτι δικαιότατος. περὶ τοῦτο καὶ ἡ ὡς ἀληθῶς δεινότης ἀνδρὸς καὶ οὐδενία τε καὶ ἀνανδρία. ἡ μὲν γὰρ τούτου γνῶσις σοφία καὶ ἀρετὴ ἀληθινή, ἡ δὲ ἄγνοια ἀμαθία καὶ κακία ἐναργής: αἱ δ’ ἄλλαι δεινότητές τε δοκοῦσαι καὶ σοφίαι ἐν μὲν πολιτικαῖς δυναστείαις γιγνόμεναι φορτικαί, ἐν δὲ τέχναις [176d] βάναυσοι. τῷ οὖν ἀδικοῦντι καὶ ἀνόσια λέγοντι ἢ πράττοντι μακρῷ ἄριστ’ ἔχει τὸ μὴ συγχωρεῖν δεινῷ ὑπὸ πανουργίας εἶναι: ἀγάλλονται γὰρ τῷ ὀνείδει καὶ οἴονται ἀκούειν ὅτι οὐ λῆροί εἰσι, γῆς ἄλλως ἄχθη, ἀλλ’ ἄνδρες οἵους δεῖ ἐν πόλει τοὺς σωθησομένους. λεκτέον οὖν τἀληθές, ὅτι τοσούτῳ μᾶλλόν εἰσιν οἷοι οὐκ οἴονται, ὅτι οὐχὶ οἴονται: ἀγνοοῦσι γὰρ ζημίαν ἀδικίας, ὃ δεῖ ἥκιστα ἀγνοεῖν. οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἣν δοκοῦσιν, πληγαί τε καὶ θάνατοι, ὧν ἐνίοτε πάσχουσιν [176e] οὐδὲν ἀδικοῦντες, ἀλλὰ ἣν ἀδύνατον ἐκφυγεῖν.

Θεόδωρος

τίνα δὴ λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

παραδειγμάτων, ὦ φίλε, ἐν τῷ ὄντι ἑστώτων, τοῦ μὲν θείου εὐδαιμονεστάτου, τοῦ δὲ ἀθέου ἀθλιωτάτου, οὐχ ὁρῶντες ὅτι οὕτως ἔχει, ὑπὸ ἠλιθιότητός τε καὶ τῆς ἐσχάτης [177a] ἀνοίας λανθάνουσι τῷ μὲν ὁμοιούμενοι διὰ τὰς ἀδίκους πράξεις, τῷ δὲ ἀνομοιούμενοι. οὗ δὴ τίνουσι δίκην ζῶντες τὸν εἰκότα βίον ᾧ ὁμοιοῦνται: ἐὰν δ’ εἴπωμεν ὅτι, ἂν μὴ ἀπαλλαγῶσι τῆς δεινότητος, καὶ τελευτήσαντας αὐτοὺς ἐκεῖνος μὲν ὁ τῶν κακῶν καθαρὸς τόπος οὐ δέξεται, ἐνθάδε δὲ τὴν αὑτοῖς ὁμοιότητα τῆς διαγωγῆς ἀεὶ ἕξουσι, κακοὶ κακοῖς συνόντες, ταῦτα δὴ καὶ παντάπασιν ὡς δεινοὶ καὶ πανοῦργοι ἀνοήτων τινῶν ἀκούσονται.

Θεόδωρος

καὶ μάλα δή, ὦ Σώκρατες.

[177b] Σωκράτης

οἶδά τοι, ὦ ἑταῖρε. ἓν μέντοι τι αὐτοῖς συμβέβηκεν: ὅταν ἰδίᾳ λόγον δέῃ δοῦναί τε καὶ δέξασθαι περὶ ὧν ψέγουσι, καὶ ἐθελήσωσιν ἀνδρικῶς πολὺν χρόνον ὑπομεῖναι καὶ μὴ ἀνάνδρως φυγεῖν, τότε ἀτόπως, ὦ δαιμόνιε, τελευτῶντες οὐκ ἀρέσκουσιν αὐτοὶ αὑτοῖς περὶ ὧν λέγουσι, καὶ ἡ ῥητορικὴ ἐκείνη πως ἀπομαραίνεται, ὥστε παίδων μηδὲν δοκεῖν διαφέρειν. περὶ μὲν οὖν τούτων, ἐπειδὴ καὶ πάρεργα τυγχάνει λεγόμενα, ἀποστῶμεν — εἰ δὲ μή, πλείω [177c] ἀεὶ ἐπιῤῥέοντα καταχώσει ἡμῶν τὸν ἐξ ἀρχῆς λόγον — ἐπὶ δὲ τὰ ἔμπροσθεν ἴωμεν, εἰ καὶ σοὶ δοκεῖ.

Θεόδωρος

ἐμοὶ μὲν τὰ τοιαῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἀηδέστερα ἀκούειν: ῥᾴω γὰρ τηλικῷδε ὄντι ἐπακολουθεῖν. εἰ μέντοι δοκεῖ, πάλιν ἐπανίωμεν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐνταῦθά που ἦμεν τοῦ λόγου, ἐν ᾧ ἔφαμεν τοὺς τὴν φερομένην οὐσίαν λέγοντας, καὶ τὸ ἀεὶ δοκοῦν ἑκάστῳ τοῦτο καὶ εἶναι τούτῳ ᾧ δοκεῖ, ἐν μὲν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἐθέλειν διισχυρίζεσθαι καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα περὶ τὰ δίκαια, ὡς [177d] παντὸς μᾶλλον ἃ ἂν θῆται πόλις δόξαντα αὑτῇ, ταῦτα καὶ ἔστι δίκαια τῇ θεμένῃ, ἕωσπερ ἂν κέηται: περὶ δὲ τἀγαθὰ οὐδένα ἀνδρεῖον ἔθ’ οὕτως εἶναι ὥστε τολμᾶν διαμάχεσθαι ὅτι καὶ ἃ ἂν ὠφέλιμα οἰηθεῖσα πόλις ἑαυτῇ θῆται, καὶ ἔστι τοσοῦτον χρόνον ὅσον ἂν κέηται ὠφέλιμα, πλὴν εἴ τις τὸ ὄνομα λέγοι: τοῦτο δέ που σκῶμμ’ ἂν εἴη πρὸς ὃ λέγομεν. ἢ οὐχί;

Θεόδωρος

πάνυ γε.

[177e] Σωκράτης

μὴ γὰρ λεγέτω τὸ ὄνομα, ἀλλὰ τὸ πρᾶγμα τὸ ὀνομαζόμενον θεωρείτω.

Θεόδωρος

μὴ γάρ.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ὃ ἂν τοῦτο ὀνομάζῃ, τούτου δήπου στοχάζεται νομοθετουμένη, καὶ πάντας τοὺς νόμους, καθ’ ὅσον οἴεταί τε καὶ δύναται, ὡς ὠφελιμωτάτους ἑαυτῇ τίθεται: ἢ πρὸς ἄλλο τι βλέπουσα νομοθετεῖται;

[178a] Θεόδωρος

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν καὶ τυγχάνει ἀεί, ἢ πολλὰ καὶ διαμαρτάνει ἑκάστη;

Θεόδωρος

οἶμαι ἔγωγε καὶ ἁμαρτάνειν.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι τοίνυν ἐνθένδε ἂν μᾶλλον πᾶς τις ὁμολογήσειεν ταὐτὰ ταῦτα, εἰ περὶ παντός τις τοῦ εἴδους ἐρωτῴη ἐν ᾧ καὶ τὸ ὠφέλιμον τυγχάνει ὄν: ἔστι δέ που καὶ περὶ τὸν μέλλοντα χρόνον. ὅταν γὰρ νομοθετώμεθα, ὡς ἐσομένους ὠφελίμους τοὺς νόμους τιθέμεθα εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον: τοῦτο δὲ «μέλλον» ὀρθῶς ἂν λέγοιμεν.

[178b] Θεόδωρος

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἴθι δή, οὑτωσὶ ἐρωτῶμεν Πρωταγόραν ἢ ἄλλον τινὰ τῶν ἐκείνῳ τὰ αὐτὰ λεγόντων: “πάντων μέτρον ἄνθρωπός ἐστιν,” ὡς φατέ, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, λευκῶν βαρέων κούφων, οὐδενὸς ὅτου οὐ τῶν τοιούτων: ἔχων γὰρ αὐτῶν τὸ κριτήριον ἐν αὑτῷ, οἷα πάσχει τοιαῦτα οἰόμενος, ἀληθῆ τε οἴεται αὑτῷ καὶ ὄντα. οὐχ οὕτω;

Θεόδωρος

οὕτω.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ τῶν μελλόντων ἔσεσθαι, φήσομεν, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, [178c] ἔχει τὸ κριτήριον ἐν αὑτῷ, καὶ οἷα ἂν οἰηθῇ ἔσεσθαι, ταῦτα καὶ γίγνεται ἐκείνῳ τῷ οἰηθέντι; οἷον θερμή: ἆρ’ ὅταν τις οἰηθῇ ἰδιώτης αὑτὸν πυρετὸν λήψεσθαι καὶ ἔσεσθαι ταύτην τὴν θερμότητα, καὶ ἕτερος, ἰατρὸς δέ, ἀντοιηθῇ, κατὰ τὴν ποτέρου δόξαν φῶμεν τὸ μέλλον ἀποβήσεσθαι, ἢ κατὰ τὴν ἀμφοτέρων, καὶ τῷ μὲν ἰατρῷ οὐ θερμὸς οὐδὲ πυρέττων γενήσεται, ἑαυτῷ δὲ ἀμφότερα;

Θεόδωρος

γελοῖον μεντἂν εἴη.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οἶμαι περὶ οἴνου γλυκύτητος καὶ αὐστηρότητος [178d] μελλούσης ἔσεσθαι ἡ τοῦ γεωργοῦ δόξα ἀλλ’ οὐχ ἡ τοῦ κιθαριστοῦ κυρία.

Θεόδωρος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

οὐδ’ ἂν αὖ περὶ ἀναρμόστου τε καὶ εὐαρμόστου ἐσομένου παιδοτρίβης ἂν βέλτιον δοξάσειεν μουσικοῦ, ὃ καὶ ἔπειτα αὐτῷ τῷ παιδοτρίβῃ δόξει εὐάρμοστον εἶναι.

Θεόδωρος

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ τοῦ μέλλοντος ἑστιάσεσθαι μὴ μαγειρικοῦ ὄντος, σκευαζομένης θοίνης, ἀκυροτέρα ἡ κρίσις τῆς τοῦ ὀψοποιοῦ περὶ τῆς ἐσομένης ἡδονῆς. περὶ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ [178e] ἤδη ὄντος ἑκάστῳ ἡδέος ἢ γεγονότος μηδέν πω τῷ λόγῳ διαμαχώμεθα, ἀλλὰ περὶ τοῦ μέλλοντος ἑκάστῳ καὶ δόξειν καὶ ἔσεσθαι πότερον αὐτὸς αὑτῷ ἄριστος κριτής, ἢ σύ, ὦ Πρωταγόρα, τό γε περὶ λόγους πιθανὸν ἑκάστῳ ἡμῶν ἐσόμενον εἰς δικαστήριον βέλτιον ἂν προδοξάσαις ἢ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν ὁστισοῦν;

Θεόδωρος

καὶ μάλα, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτό γε σφόδρα ὑπισχνεῖτο πάντων διαφέρειν αὐτός.

Σωκράτης

νὴ Δία, ὦ μέλε: ἢ οὐδείς γ’ ἂν αὐτῷ διελέγετο [179a] διδοὺς πολὺ ἀργύριον, εἰ μὴ τοὺς συνόντας ἔπειθεν ὅτι καὶ τὸ μέλλον ἔσεσθαί τε καὶ δόξειν οὔτε μάντις οὔτε τις ἄλλος ἄμεινον κρίνειεν ἂν ἢ αὐτός [αὑτῷ].

Θεόδωρος

ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ αἱ νομοθεσίαι καὶ τὸ ὠφέλιμον περὶ τὸ μέλλον ἐστί, καὶ πᾶς ἂν ὁμολογοῖ νομοθετουμένην πόλιν πολλάκις ἀνάγκην εἶναι τοῦ ὠφελιμωτάτου ἀποτυγχάνειν;

Θεόδωρος

μάλα γε.

Σωκράτης

μετρίως ἄρα ἡμῖν πρὸς τὸν διδάσκαλόν σου εἰρήσεται [179b] ὅτι ἀνάγκη αὐτῷ ὁμολογεῖν σοφώτερόν τε ἄλλον ἄλλου εἶναι καὶ τὸν μὲν τοιοῦτον μέτρον εἶναι, ἐμοὶ δὲ τῷ ἀνεπιστήμονι μηδὲ ὁπωστιοῦν ἀνάγκην εἶναι μέτρῳ γίγνεσθαι, ὡς ἄρτι με ἠνάγκαζεν ὁ ὑπὲρ ἐκείνου λόγος, εἴτ’ ἐβουλόμην εἴτε μή, τοιοῦτον εἶναι.

Θεόδωρος

ἐκείνῃ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, μάλιστα ἁλίσκεσθαι ὁ λόγος, ἁλισκόμενος καὶ ταύτῃ, ᾗ τὰς τῶν ἄλλων δόξας κυρίας ποιεῖ, αὗται δὲ ἐφάνησαν τοὺς ἐκείνου λόγους οὐδαμῇ ἀληθεῖς ἡγούμεναι.

[179c] Σωκράτης

πολλαχῇ, ὦ Θεόδωρε, καὶ ἄλλῃ ἂν τό γε τοιοῦτον ἁλοίη μὴ πᾶσαν παντὸς ἀληθῆ δόξαν εἶναι: περὶ δὲ τὸ παρὸν ἑκάστῳ πάθος, ἐξ ὧν αἱ αἰσθήσεις καὶ αἱ κατὰ ταύτας δόξαι γίγνονται, χαλεπώτερον ἑλεῖν ὡς οὐκ ἀληθεῖς. ἴσως δὲ οὐδὲν λέγω: ἀνάλωτοι γάρ, εἰ ἔτυχον, εἰσίν, καὶ οἱ φάσκοντες αὐτὰς ἐναργεῖς τε εἶναι καὶ ἐπιστήμας τάχα ἂν ὄντα λέγοιεν, καὶ Θεαίτητος ὅδε οὐκ ἀπὸ σκοποῦ εἴρηκεν [179d] αἴσθησιν καὶ ἐπιστήμην ταὐτὸν θέμενος. προσιτέον οὖν ἐγγυτέρω, ὡς ὁ ὑπὲρ Πρωταγόρου λόγος ἐπέταττε, καὶ σκεπτέον τὴν φερομένην ταύτην οὐσίαν διακρούοντα εἴτε ὑγιὲς εἴτε σαθρὸν φθέγγεται: μάχη δ’ οὖν περὶ αὐτῆς οὐ φαύλη οὐδ’ ὀλίγοις γέγονεν.

Θεόδωρος

πολλοῦ καὶ δεῖ φαύλη εἶναι, ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τὴν Ἰωνίαν καὶ ἐπιδίδωσι πάμπολυ. οἱ γὰρ τοῦ Ἡρακλείτου ἑταῖροι χορηγοῦσι τούτου τοῦ λόγου μάλα ἐῤῥωμένως.

Σωκράτης

τῷ τοι, ὦ φίλε Θεόδωρε, μᾶλλον σκεπτέον καὶ ἐξ [179e] ἀρχῆς, ὥσπερ αὐτοὶ ὑποτείνονται.

Θεόδωρος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν. καὶ γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, περὶ τούτων τῶν Ἡρακλειτείων ἤ, ὥσπερ σὺ λέγεις, Ὁμηρείων καὶ ἔτι παλαιοτέρων, αὐτοῖς μὲν τοῖς περὶ τὴν Ἔφεσον, ὅσοι προσποιοῦνται ἔμπειροι, οὐδὲν μᾶλλον οἷόν τε διαλεχθῆναι ἢ τοῖς οἰστρῶσιν. ἀτεχνῶς γὰρ κατὰ τὰ συγγράμματα φέρονται, τὸ δ’ ἐπιμεῖναι ἐπὶ λόγῳ καὶ ἐρωτήματι καὶ ἡσυχίως [180a] ἐν μέρει ἀποκρίνασθαι καὶ ἐρέσθαι ἧττον αὐτοῖς ἔνι ἢ τὸ μηδέν: μᾶλλον δὲ ὑπερβάλλει τὸ οὐδ’ οὐδὲν πρὸς τὸ μηδὲ σμικρὸν ἐνεῖναι τοῖς ἀνδράσιν ἡσυχίας. ἀλλ’ ἄν τινά τι ἔρῃ, ὥσπερ ἐκ φαρέτρας ῥηματίσκια αἰνιγματώδη ἀνασπῶντες ἀποτοξεύουσι, κἂν τούτου ζητῇς λόγον λαβεῖν τί εἴρηκεν, ἑτέρῳ πεπλήξῃ καινῶς μετωνομασμένῳ. περανεῖς δὲ οὐδέποτε οὐδὲν πρὸς οὐδένα αὐτῶν: οὐδέ γε ἐκεῖνοι αὐτοὶ πρὸς ἀλλήλους, ἀλλ’ εὖ πάνυ φυλάττουσι τὸ μηδὲν βέβαιον ἐᾶν εἶναι [180b] μήτ’ ἐν λόγῳ μήτ’ ἐν ταῖς αὑτῶν ψυχαῖς, ἡγούμενοι, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, αὐτὸ στάσιμον εἶναι: τούτῳ δὲ πάνυ πολεμοῦσιν, καὶ καθ’ ὅσον δύνανται πανταχόθεν ἐκβάλλουσιν.

Σωκράτης

ἴσως, ὦ Θεόδωρε, τοὺς ἄνδρας μαχομένους ἑώρακας, εἰρηνεύουσιν δὲ οὐ συγγέγονας: οὐ γὰρ σοὶ ἑταῖροί εἰσιν. ἀλλ’ οἶμαι τὰ τοιαῦτα τοῖς μαθηταῖς ἐπὶ σχολῆς φράζουσιν, οὓς ἂν βούλωνται ὁμοίους αὑτοῖς ποιῆσαι.

Θεόδωρος

ποίοις μαθηταῖς, ὦ δαιμόνιε; οὐδὲ γίγνεται τῶν [180c] τοιούτων ἕτερος ἑτέρου μαθητής, ἀλλ’ αὐτόματοι ἀναφύονται ὁπόθεν ἂν τύχῃ ἕκαστος αὐτῶν ἐνθουσιάσας, καὶ τὸν ἕτερον ὁ ἕτερος οὐδὲν ἡγεῖται εἰδέναι. παρὰ μὲν οὖν τούτων, ὅπερ ᾖα ἐρῶν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε λάβοις λόγον οὔτε ἑκόντων οὔτε ἀκόντων: αὐτοὺς δὲ δεῖ παραλαβόντας ὥσπερ πρόβλημα ἐπισκοπεῖσθαι.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μετρίως γε λέγεις. τὸ δὲ δὴ πρόβλημα ἄλλο τι παρειλήφαμεν παρὰ μὲν τῶν ἀρχαίων μετὰ ποιήσεως [180d] ἐπικρυπτομένων τοὺς πολλούς, ὡς ἡ γένεσις τῶν ἄλλων πάντων Ὠκεανός τε καὶ Τηθὺς ῥεύματα <ὄντα> τυγχάνει καὶ οὐδὲν ἕστηκε, παρὰ δὲ τῶν ὑστέρων ἅτε σοφωτέρων ἀναφανδὸν ἀποδεικνυμένων, ἵνα καὶ οἱ σκυτοτόμοι αὐτῶν τὴν σοφίαν μάθωσιν ἀκούσαντες καὶ παύσωνται ἠλιθίως οἰόμενοι τὰ μὲν ἑστάναι, τὰ δὲ κινεῖσθαι τῶν ὄντων, μαθόντες δὲ ὅτι πάντα κινεῖται τιμῶσιν αὐτούς; ὀλίγου δὲ ἐπελαθόμην, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ὅτι ἄλλοι αὖ τἀναντία τούτοις ἀπεφήναντο,

[180e] †οἷον ἀκίνητον τελέθει τῷ παντὶ ὄνομ’ εἶναι†

παρμενιδες, λινε 98 ̔εδ. μυλλαξἠ.καὶ ἄλλα ὅσα Μέλισσοί τε καὶ Παρμενίδαι ἐναντιούμενοι πᾶσι τούτοις διισχυρίζονται, ὡς ἕν τε πάντα ἐστὶ καὶ ἕστηκεν αὐτὸ ἐν αὑτῷ οὐκ ἔχον χώραν ἐν ᾗ κινεῖται. τούτοις οὖν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, πᾶσι τί χρησόμεθα; κατὰ σμικρὸν γὰρ προϊόντες λελήθαμεν ἀμφοτέρων εἰς τὸ μέσον πεπτωκότες, καὶ ἂν μή [181a] πῃ ἀμυνόμενοι διαφύγωμεν, δίκην δώσομεν ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν ταῖς παλαίστραις διὰ γραμμῆς παίζοντες, ὅταν ὑπ’ ἀμφοτέρων ληφθέντες ἕλκωνται εἰς τἀναντία. δοκεῖ οὖν μοι τοὺς ἑτέρους πρότερον σκεπτέον, ἐφ’ οὕσπερ ὡρμήσαμεν, τοὺς ῥέοντας, καὶ ἐὰν μέν τι φαίνωνται λέγοντες, συνέλξομεν μετ’ αὐτῶν ἡμᾶς αὐτούς, τοὺς ἑτέρους ἐκφυγεῖν πειρώμενοι: ἐὰν δὲ οἱ τοῦ ὅλου στασιῶται ἀληθέστερα λέγειν δοκῶσι, φευξόμεθα παρ’ [181b] αὐτοὺς ἀπ’ αὖ τῶν τὰ ἀκίνητα κινούντων. ἀμφότεροι δ’ ἂν φανῶσι μηδὲν μέτριον λέγοντες, γελοῖοι ἐσόμεθα ἡγούμενοι ἡμᾶς μὲν τὶ λέγειν φαύλους ὄντας, παμπαλαίους δὲ καὶ πασσόφους ἄνδρας ἀποδεδοκιμακότες. ὅρα οὖν, ὦ Θεόδωρε, εἰ λυσιτελεῖ εἰς τοσοῦτον προϊέναι κίνδυνον.

Θεόδωρος

οὐδὲν μὲν οὖν ἀνεκτόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, μὴ οὐ διασκέψασθαι τί λέγουσιν ἑκάτεροι τῶν ἀνδρῶν.

Σωκράτης

σκεπτέον ἂν εἴη σοῦ γε οὕτω προθυμουμένου. δοκεῖ [181c] οὖν μοι ἀρχὴ εἶναι τῆς σκέψεως κινήσεως πέρι, ποῖόν τί ποτε ἄρα λέγοντές φασι τὰ πάντα κινεῖσθαι. βούλομαι δὲ λέγειν τὸ τοιόνδε: πότερον ἕν τι εἶδος αὐτῆς λέγουσιν ἤ, ὥσπερ ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, δύο; μὴ μέντοι μόνον ἐμοὶ δοκείτω, ἀλλὰ συμμέτεχε καὶ σύ, ἵνα κοινῇ πάσχωμεν ἄν τι καὶ δέῃ. καί μοι λέγε: ἆρα κινεῖσθαι καλεῖς ὅταν τι χώραν ἐκ χώρας μεταβάλλῃ ἢ καὶ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ στρέφηται;

Θεόδωρος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν ἓν ἔστω εἶδος. ὅταν δὲ ᾖ μὲν ἐν [181d] τῷ αὐτῷ, γηράσκῃ δέ, ἢ μέλαν ἐκ λευκοῦ ἢ σκληρὸν ἐκ μαλακοῦ γίγνηται, ἤ τινα ἄλλην ἀλλοίωσιν ἀλλοιῶται, ἆρα οὐκ ἄξιον ἕτερον εἶδος φάναι κινήσεως;

Θεόδωρος

[ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ] ἀναγκαῖον μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

δύο δὴ λέγω τούτω εἴδει κινήσεως, ἀλλοίωσιν, τὴν δὲ φοράν.

Θεόδωρος

ὀρθῶς γε λέγων.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο τοίνυν οὕτω διελόμενοι διαλεγώμεθα ἤδη τοῖς τὰ πάντα φάσκουσιν κινεῖσθαι καὶ ἐρωτῶμεν: πότερον πᾶν [181e] φατε ἀμφοτέρως κινεῖσθαι, φερόμενόν τε καὶ ἀλλοιούμενον, ἢ τὸ μέν τι ἀμφοτέρως, τὸ δ’ ἑτέρως;

Θεόδωρος

ἀλλὰ μὰ Δί’ ἔγωγε οὐκ ἔχω εἰπεῖν: οἶμαι δ’ ἂν φάναι ἀμφοτέρως.

Σωκράτης

εἰ δέ γε μή, ὦ ἑταῖρε, κινούμενά τε αὐτοῖς καὶ ἑστῶτα φανεῖται, καὶ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον ὀρθῶς ἕξει εἰπεῖν ὅτι κινεῖται τὰ πάντα ἢ ὅτι ἕστηκεν.

Θεόδωρος

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ κινεῖσθαι αὐτὰ δεῖ, τὸ δὲ μὴ κινεῖσθαι [182a] μὴ ἐνεῖναι μηδενί, πάντα δὴ πᾶσαν κίνησιν ἀεὶ κινεῖται.

Θεόδωρος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

σκόπει δή μοι τόδε αὐτῶν: τῆς θερμότητος ἢ λευκότητος ἢ ὁτουοῦν γένεσιν οὐχ οὕτω πως ἐλέγομεν φάναι αὐτούς, φέρεσθαι ἕκαστον τούτων ἅμα αἰσθήσει μεταξὺ τοῦ ποιοῦντός τε καὶ πάσχοντος, καὶ τὸ μὲν πάσχον αἰσθητικὸν ἀλλ’ οὐκ αἴσθησιν [ἔτι] γίγνεσθαι, τὸ δὲ ποιοῦν ποιόν τι ἀλλ’ οὐ ποιότητα; ἴσως οὖν ἡ “ποιότης” ἅμα ἀλλόκοτόν τε φαίνεται ὄνομα καὶ οὐ μανθάνεις ἁθρόον λεγόμενον: κατὰ [182b] μέρη οὖν ἄκουε. τὸ γὰρ ποιοῦν οὔτε θερμότης οὔτε λευκότης, θερμὸν δὲ καὶ λευκὸν γίγνεται, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω: μέμνησαι γάρ που ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ὅτι οὕτως ἐλέγομεν, ἓν μηδὲν αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ εἶναι, μηδ’ αὖ τὸ ποιοῦν ἢ πάσχον, ἀλλ’ ἐξ ἀμφοτέρων πρὸς ἄλληλα συγγιγνομένων τὰς αἰσθήσεις καὶ τὰ αἰσθητὰ ἀποτίκτοντα τὰ μὲν ποι’ ἄττα γίγνεσθαι, τὰ δὲ αἰσθανόμενα.

Θεόδωρος

μέμνημαι: πῶς δ’ οὔ;

[182c] Σωκράτης

τὰ μὲν τοίνυν ἄλλα χαίρειν ἐάσωμεν, εἴτε ἄλλως εἴτε οὕτως λέγουσιν: οὗ δ’ ἕνεκα λέγομεν, τοῦτο μόνον φυλάττωμεν, ἐρωτῶντες: Κινεῖται καὶ ῥεῖ, ὥς φατε, τὰ πάντα; ἦ γάρ;

Θεόδωρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἀμφοτέρας ἃς διειλόμεθα κινήσεις, φερόμενά τε καὶ ἀλλοιούμενα;

Θεόδωρος

πῶς δ’ οὔ; εἴπερ γε δὴ τελέως κινήσεται.

Σωκράτης

εἰ μὲν τοίνυν ἐφέρετο μόνον, ἠλλοιοῦτο δὲ μή, εἴχομεν ἄν που εἰπεῖν οἷα ἄττα ῥεῖ τὰ φερόμενα: ἢ πῶς λέγομεν;

Θεόδωρος

οὕτως.

[182d] Σωκράτης

ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐδὲ τοῦτο μένει, τὸ λευκὸν ῥεῖν τὸ ῥέον, ἀλλὰ μεταβάλλει, ὥστε καὶ αὐτοῦ τούτου εἶναι ῥοήν, τῆς λευκότητος, καὶ μεταβολὴν εἰς ἄλλην χρόαν, ἵνα μὴ ἁλῷ ταύτῃ μένον, ἆρά ποτε οἷόν τέ τι προσειπεῖν χρῶμα, ὥστε καὶ ὀρθῶς προσαγορεύειν;

Θεόδωρος

καὶ τίς μηχανή, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἢ ἄλλο γέ τι τῶν τοιούτων, εἴπερ ἀεὶ λέγοντος ὑπεξέρχεται ἅτε δὴ ῥέον;

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ περὶ αἰσθήσεως ἐροῦμεν ὁποιασοῦν, οἷον τῆς [182e] τοῦ ὁρᾶν ἢ ἀκούειν; μένειν ποτὲ ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ ὁρᾶν ἢ ἀκούειν;

Θεόδωρος

οὔκουν δεῖ γε, εἴπερ πάντα κινεῖται.

Σωκράτης

οὔτε ἄρα ὁρᾶν προσρητέον τι μᾶλλον ἢ μὴ ὁρᾶν, οὐδέ τιν’ ἄλλην αἴσθησιν μᾶλλον ἢ μή, πάντων γε πάντως κινουμένων.

Θεόδωρος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν αἴσθησίς γε ἐπιστήμη, ὡς ἔφαμεν ἐγώ τε καὶ Θεαίτητος.

Θεόδωρος

ἦν ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲν ἄρα ἐπιστήμην μᾶλλον ἢ μὴ ἐπιστήμην ἀπεκρινάμεθα ἐρωτώμενοι ὅτι ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη.

[183a] Θεόδωρος

ἐοίκατε.

Σωκράτης

καλὸν ἂν ἡμῖν συμβαίνοι τὸ ἐπανόρθωμα τῆς ἀποκρίσεως, προθυμηθεῖσιν ἀποδεῖξαι ὅτι πάντα κινεῖται, ἵνα δὴ ἐκείνη ἡ ἀπόκρισις ὀρθὴ φανῇ. τὸ δ’, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐφάνη, εἰ πάντα κινεῖται, πᾶσα ἀπόκρισις, περὶ ὅτου ἄν τις ἀποκρίνηται, ὁμοίως ὀρθὴ εἶναι, οὕτω τ’ ἔχειν φάναι καὶ μὴ οὕτω, εἰ δὲ βούλει, γίγνεσθαι, ἵνα μὴ στήσωμεν αὐτοὺς τῷ λόγῳ.

Θεόδωρος

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

πλήν γε, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ὅτι “οὕτω” τε εἶπον καὶ “οὐχ οὕτω.” δεῖ δὲ οὐδὲ τοῦτο <τὸ> “οὕτω” λέγειν — οὐδὲ [183b] γὰρ ἂν ἔτι κινοῖτο <τὸ> “οὕτω” — οὐδ’ αὖ “μὴ οὕτω” — οὐδὲ γὰρ τοῦτο κίνησις — ἀλλά τιν’ ἄλλην φωνὴν θετέον τοῖς τὸν λόγον τοῦτον λέγουσιν, ὡς νῦν γε πρὸς τὴν αὑτῶν ὑπόθεσιν οὐκ ἔχουσι ῥήματα, εἰ μὴ ἄρα τὸ “οὐδ’ οὕτως” μάλιστα [δ’ οὕτως] ἂν αὐτοῖς ἁρμόττοι, ἄπειρον λεγόμενον.

Θεόδωρος

οἰκειοτάτη γοῦν διάλεκτος αὕτη αὐτοῖς.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν, ὦ Θεόδωρε, τοῦ τε σοῦ ἑταίρου ἀπηλλάγμεθα, καὶ οὔπω συγχωροῦμεν αὐτῷ πάντ’ ἄνδρα πάντων [183c] χρημάτων μέτρον εἶναι, ἂν μὴ φρόνιμός τις ᾖ: ἐπιστήμην τε αἴσθησιν οὐ συγχωρησόμεθα κατά γε τὴν τοῦ πάντα κινεῖσθαι μέθοδον, [ἢ] εἰ μή [τί] πως ἄλλως Θεαίτητος ὅδε λέγει.

Θεόδωρος

ἄριστ’ εἴρηκας, ὦ Σώκρατες: τούτων γὰρ περανθέντων καὶ ἐμὲ ἔδει ἀπηλλάχθαι σοι ἀποκρινόμενον κατὰ τὰς συνθήκας, ἐπειδὴ τὸ περὶ τοῦ Πρωταγόρου λόγου τέλος σχοίη.

Θεαίτητος

μὴ πρίν γ’ ἄν, ὦ Θεόδωρε, Σωκράτης τε καὶ σὺ [183d] τοὺς φάσκοντας αὖ τὸ πᾶν ἑστάναι διέλθητε, ὥσπερ ἄρτι προύθεσθε.

Θεόδωρος

νέος ὤν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους ἀδικεῖν διδάσκεις ὁμολογίας παραβαίνοντας; ἀλλὰ παρασκευάζου ὅπως τῶν ἐπιλοίπων Σωκράτει δώσεις λόγον.

Θεαίτητος

ἐάνπερ γε βούληται. ἥδιστα μεντἂν ἤκουσα περὶ ὧν λέγω.

Θεόδωρος

«Ἱππέας εἰς πεδίον» προκαλῇ Σωκράτη εἰς λόγους προκαλούμενος: ἐρώτα οὖν καὶ ἀκούσῃ.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλά μοι δοκῶ, ὦ Θεόδωρε, περί γε ὧν κελεύει [183e] Θεαίτητος οὐ πείσεσθαι αὐτῷ.

Θεόδωρος

τί δὴ οὖν οὐ πείσεσθαι;

Σωκράτης

μέλισσον μὲν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους, οἳ ἓν ἑστὸς λέγουσι τὸ πᾶν, αἰσχυνόμενος μὴ φορτικῶς σκοπῶμεν, ἧττον αἰσχύνομαι ἢ ἕνα ὄντα Παρμενίδην. Παρμενίδης δέ μοι φαίνεται, τὸ τοῦ Ὁμήρου, “αἰδοῖός τέ μοι” εἶναι ἅμα “δεινός τε.” συμπροσέμειξα γὰρ δὴ τῷ ἀνδρὶ πάνυ νέος πάνυ πρεσβύτῃ, [184a] καί μοι ἐφάνη βάθος τι ἔχειν παντάπασι γενναῖον. φοβοῦμαι οὖν μὴ οὔτε τὰ λεγόμενα συνιῶμεν, τί τε διανοούμενος εἶπε πολὺ πλέον λειπώμεθα, καὶ τὸ μέγιστον, οὗ ἕνεκα ὁ λόγος ὥρμηται, ἐπιστήμης πέρι τί ποτ’ ἐστίν, ἄσκεπτον γένηται ὑπὸ τῶν ἐπεισκωμαζόντων λόγων, εἴ τις αὐτοῖς πείσεται: ἄλλως τε καὶ ὃν νῦν ἐγείρομεν πλήθει ἀμήχανον, εἴτε τις ἐν παρέργῳ σκέψεται, ἀνάξι’ ἂν πάθοι, εἴτε ἱκανῶς, μηκυνόμενος τὸ τῆς ἐπιστήμης ἀφανιεῖ. δεῖ δὲ οὐδέτερα, ἀλλὰ Θεαίτητον [184b] ὧν κυεῖ περὶ ἐπιστήμης πειρᾶσθαι ἡμᾶς τῇ μαιευτικῇ τέχνῃ ἀπολῦσαι.

Θεόδωρος

ἀλλὰ χρή, εἰ δοκεῖ, οὕτω ποιεῖν.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι τοίνυν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, τοσόνδε περὶ τῶν εἰρημένων ἐπίσκεψαι. αἴσθησιν γὰρ δὴ ἐπιστήμην ἀπεκρίνω: ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

εἰ οὖν τίς σε ὧδ’ ἐρωτῴη: “τῷ τὰ λευκὰ καὶ μέλανα ὁρᾷ ἄνθρωπος καὶ τῷ τὰ ὀξέα καὶ βαρέα ἀκούει;” εἴποις ἂν οἶμαι “ὄμμασί τε καὶ ὠσίν.”

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

[184c] Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ εὐχερὲς τῶν ὀνομάτων τε καὶ ῥημάτων καὶ μὴ δι’ ἀκριβείας ἐξεταζόμενον τὰ μὲν πολλὰ οὐκ ἀγεννές, ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον τὸ τούτου ἐναντίον ἀνελεύθερον, ἔστι δὲ ὅτε ἀναγκαῖον, οἷον καὶ νῦν ἀνάγκη ἐπιλαβέσθαι τῆς ἀποκρίσεως ἣν ἀποκρίνῃ, ᾗ οὐκ ὀρθή. σκόπει γάρ: ἀπόκρισις ποτέρα ὀρθοτέρα, ᾧ ὁρῶμεν τοῦτο εἶναι ὀφθαλμούς, ἢ δι’ οὗ ὁρῶμεν, καὶ ᾧ ἀκούομεν ὦτα, ἢ δι’ οὗ ἀκούομεν;

Θεαίτητος

δι’ ὧν ἕκαστα αἰσθανόμεθα, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, μᾶλλον ἢ οἷς.

[184d] Σωκράτης

δεινὸν γάρ που, ὦ παῖ, εἰ πολλαί τινες ἐν ἡμῖν ὥσπερ ἐν δουρείοις ἵπποις αἰσθήσεις ἐγκάθηνται, ἀλλὰ μὴ εἰς μίαν τινὰ ἰδέαν, εἴτε ψυχὴν εἴτε ὅτι δεῖ καλεῖν, πάντα ταῦτα συντείνει, ᾗ διὰ τούτων οἷον ὀργάνων αἰσθανόμεθα ὅσα αἰσθητά.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖ οὕτω μᾶλλον ἢ ἐκείνως.

Σωκράτης

τοῦδέ τοι ἕνεκα αὐτά σοι διακριβοῦμαι, εἴ τινι ἡμῶν αὐτῶν τῷ αὐτῷ διὰ μὲν ὀφθαλμῶν ἐφικνούμεθα λευκῶν τε [184e] καὶ μελάνων, διὰ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων ἑτέρων αὖ τινῶν: καὶ ἕξεις ἐρωτώμενος πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα εἰς τὸ σῶμα ἀναφέρειν; ἴσως δὲ βέλτιον σὲ λέγειν αὐτὰ ἀποκρινόμενον μᾶλλον ἢ ἐμὲ ὑπὲρ σοῦ πολυπραγμονεῖν. καί μοι λέγε: θερμὰ καὶ σκληρὰ καὶ κοῦφα καὶ γλυκέα δι’ ὧν αἰσθάνῃ, ἆρα οὐ τοῦ σώματος ἕκαστα τίθης; ἢ ἄλλου τινός;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδενὸς ἄλλου.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ ἐθελήσεις ὁμολογεῖν ἃ δι’ ἑτέρας δυνάμεως [185a] αἰσθάνῃ, ἀδύνατον εἶναι δι’ ἄλλης ταῦτ’ αἰσθέσθαι, οἷον ἃ δι’ ἀκοῆς, δι’ ὄψεως, ἢ ἃ δι’ ὄψεως, δι’ ἀκοῆς;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἐθελήσω;

Σωκράτης

εἴ τι ἄρα περὶ ἀμφοτέρων διανοῇ, οὐκ ἂν διά γε τοῦ ἑτέρου ὀργάνου, οὐδ’ αὖ διὰ τοῦ ἑτέρου περὶ ἀμφοτέρων αἰσθάνοι’ ἄν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

περὶ δὴ φωνῆς καὶ περὶ χρόας πρῶτον μὲν αὐτὸ τοῦτο περὶ ἀμφοτέρων ἦ διανοῇ, ὅτι ἀμφοτέρω ἐστόν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅτι ἑκάτερον ἑκατέρου μὲν ἕτερον, ἑαυτῷ δὲ ταὐτόν;

[185b] Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὅτι ἀμφοτέρω δύο, ἑκάτερον δὲ ἕν;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ τοῦτο.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ εἴτε ἀνομοίω εἴτε ὁμοίω ἀλλήλοιν, δυνατὸς εἶ ἐπισκέψασθαι;

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως.

Σωκράτης

ταῦτα δὴ πάντα διὰ τίνος περὶ αὐτοῖν διανοῇ; οὔτε γὰρ δι’ ἀκοῆς οὔτε δι’ ὄψεως οἷόν τε τὸ κοινὸν λαμβάνειν περὶ αὐτῶν. ἔτι δὲ καὶ τόδε τεκμήριον περὶ οὗ λέγομεν: εἰ γὰρ δυνατὸν εἴη ἀμφοτέρω σκέψασθαι ἆρ’ ἐστὸν ἁλμυρὼ ἢ οὔ, [185c] οἶσθ’ ὅτι ἕξεις εἰπεῖν ᾧ ἐπισκέψῃ, καὶ τοῦτο οὔτε ὄψις οὔτε ἀκοὴ φαίνεται, ἀλλά τι ἄλλο.

Θεαίτητος

τί δ’ οὐ μέλλει, ἥ γε διὰ τῆς γλώττης δύναμις;

Σωκράτης

καλῶς λέγεις. ἡ δὲ δὴ διὰ τίνος δύναμις τό τ’ ἐπὶ πᾶσι κοινὸν καὶ τὸ ἐπὶ τούτοις δηλοῖ σοι, ᾧ τὸ “ἔστιν” ἐπονομάζεις καὶ τὸ “οὐκ ἔστι” καὶ ἃ νυνδὴ ἠρωτῶμεν περὶ αὐτῶν; τούτοις πᾶσι ποῖα ἀποδώσεις ὄργανα δι’ ὧν αἰσθάνεται ἡμῶν τὸ αἰσθανόμενον ἕκαστα;

Θεαίτητος

οὐσίαν λέγεις καὶ τὸ μὴ εἶναι, καὶ ὁμοιότητα καὶ ἀνομοιότητα, καὶ τὸ ταὐτόν τε καὶ [τὸ] ἕτερον, ἔτι δὲ [185d] ἕν τε καὶ τὸν ἄλλον ἀριθμὸν περὶ αὐτῶν. δῆλον δὲ ὅτι καὶ ἄρτιόν τε καὶ περιττὸν ἐρωτᾷς, καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα τούτοις ἕπεται, διὰ τίνος ποτὲ τῶν τοῦ σώματος τῇ ψυχῇ αἰσθανόμεθα.

Σωκράτης

ὑπέρευ, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἀκολουθεῖς, καὶ ἔστιν ἃ ἐρωτῶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μὰ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔγωγε οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιμι εἰπεῖν, πλήν γ’ ὅτι μοι δοκεῖ τὴν ἀρχὴν οὐδ’ εἶναι τοιοῦτον οὐδὲν τούτοις ὄργανον ἴδιον ὥσπερ ἐκείνοις, ἀλλ’ [185e] αὐτὴ δι’ αὑτῆς ἡ ψυχὴ τὰ κοινά μοι φαίνεται περὶ πάντων ἐπισκοπεῖν.

Σωκράτης

καλὸς γὰρ εἶ, ὦ Θεαίτητε, καὶ οὐχ, ὡς ἔλεγε Θεόδωρος, αἰσχρός: ὁ γὰρ καλῶς λέγων καλός τε καὶ ἀγαθός. πρὸς δὲ τῷ καλῷ εὖ ἐποίησάς με μάλα συχνοῦ λόγου ἀπαλλάξας, εἰ φαίνεταί σοι τὰ μὲν αὐτὴ δι’ αὑτῆς ἡ ψυχὴ ἐπισκοπεῖν, τὰ δὲ διὰ τῶν τοῦ σώματος δυνάμεων. τοῦτο γὰρ ἦν ὃ καὶ αὐτῷ μοι ἐδόκει, ἐβουλόμην δὲ καὶ σοὶ δόξαι.

[186a] Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μὴν φαίνεταί γε.

Σωκράτης

ποτέρων οὖν τίθης τὴν οὐσίαν; τοῦτο γὰρ μάλιστα ἐπὶ πάντων παρέπεται.

Θεαίτητος

ἐγὼ μὲν ὧν αὐτὴ ἡ ψυχὴ καθ’ αὑτὴν ἐπορέγεται.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ τὸ ὅμοιον καὶ τὸ ἀνόμοιον καὶ τὸ ταὐτὸν καὶ ἕτερον;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; καλὸν καὶ αἰσχρὸν καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ κακόν;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ τούτων μοι δοκεῖ ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα πρὸς ἄλληλα σκοπεῖσθαι τὴν οὐσίαν, ἀναλογιζομένη ἐν ἑαυτῇ τὰ [186b] γεγονότα καὶ τὰ παρόντα πρὸς τὰ μέλλοντα.

Σωκράτης

ἔχε δή: ἄλλο τι τοῦ μὲν σκληροῦ τὴν σκληρότητα διὰ τῆς ἐπαφῆς αἰσθήσεται, καὶ τοῦ μαλακοῦ τὴν μαλακότητα ὡσαύτως;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὴν δέ γε οὐσίαν καὶ ὅτι ἐστὸν καὶ τὴν ἐναντιότητα πρὸς ἀλλήλω καὶ τὴν οὐσίαν αὖ τῆς ἐναντιότητος αὐτὴ ἡ ψυχὴ ἐπανιοῦσα καὶ συμβάλλουσα πρὸς ἄλληλα κρίνειν πειρᾶται ἡμῖν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τὰ μὲν εὐθὺς γενομένοις πάρεστι φύσει [186c] αἰσθάνεσθαι ἀνθρώποις τε καὶ θηρίοις, ὅσα διὰ τοῦ σώματος παθήματα ἐπὶ τὴν ψυχὴν τείνει: τὰ δὲ περὶ τούτων ἀναλογίσματα πρός τε οὐσίαν καὶ ὠφέλειαν μόγις καὶ ἐν χρόνῳ διὰ πολλῶν πραγμάτων καὶ παιδείας παραγίγνεται οἷς ἂν καὶ παραγίγνηται;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οἷόν τε οὖν ἀληθείας τυχεῖν, ᾧ μηδὲ οὐσίας;

Θεαίτητος

ἀδύνατον.

Σωκράτης

οὗ δὲ ἀληθείας τις ἀτυχήσει, ποτὲ τούτου ἐπιστήμων ἔσται;

[186d] Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

ἐν μὲν ἄρα τοῖς παθήμασιν οὐκ ἔνι ἐπιστήμη, ἐν δὲ τῷ περὶ ἐκείνων συλλογισμῷ: οὐσίας γὰρ καὶ ἀληθείας ἐνταῦθα μέν, ὡς ἔοικε, δυνατὸν ἅψασθαι, ἐκεῖ δὲ ἀδύνατον.

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν ταὐτὸν ἐκεῖνό τε καὶ τοῦτο καλεῖς, τοσαύτας διαφορὰς ἔχοντε;

Θεαίτητος

οὔκουν δὴ δίκαιόν γε.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν δὴ ἐκείνῳ ἀποδίδως ὄνομα, τῷ ὁρᾶν ἀκούειν ὀσφραίνεσθαι ψύχεσθαι θερμαίνεσθαι;

[186e] Θεαίτητος

αἰσθάνεσθαι ἔγωγε: τί γὰρ ἄλλο;

Σωκράτης

σύμπαν ἄρ’ αὐτὸ καλεῖς αἴσθησιν;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

ὧι γε, φαμέν, οὐ μέτεστιν ἀληθείας ἅψασθαι: οὐδὲ γὰρ οὐσίας.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐδ’ ἄρ’ ἐπιστήμης.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γάρ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρ’ ἂν εἴη ποτέ, ὦ Θεαίτητε, αἴσθησίς τε καὶ ἐπιστήμη ταὐτόν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ φαίνεται, ὦ Σώκρατες. καὶ μάλιστά γε νῦν καταφανέστατον γέγονεν ἄλλο ὂν αἰσθήσεως ἐπιστήμη.

[187a] Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οὔ τι μὲν δὴ τούτου γε ἕνεκα ἠρχόμεθα διαλεγόμενοι, ἵνα εὕρωμεν τί ποτ’ οὐκ ἔστ’ ἐπιστήμη, ἀλλὰ τί ἔστιν. ὅμως δὲ τοσοῦτόν γε προβεβήκαμεν, ὥστε μὴ ζητεῖν αὐτὴν ἐν αἰσθήσει τὸ παράπαν ἀλλ’ ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ ὀνόματι, ὅτι ποτ’ ἔχει ἡ ψυχή, ὅταν αὐτὴ καθ’ αὑτὴν πραγματεύηται περὶ τὰ ὄντα.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε καλεῖται, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, δοξάζειν.

Σωκράτης

ὀρθῶς γὰρ οἴει, ὦ φίλε. καὶ ὅρα δὴ νῦν πάλιν ἐξ [187b] ἀρχῆς, πάντα τὰ πρόσθεν ἐξαλείψας, εἴ τι μᾶλλον καθορᾷς, ἐπειδὴ ἐνταῦθα προελήλυθας. καὶ λέγε αὖθις τί ποτ’ ἐστὶν ἐπιστήμη.

Θεαίτητος

δόξαν μὲν πᾶσαν εἰπεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀδύνατον, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ψευδής ἐστι δόξα: κινδυνεύει δὲ ἡ ἀληθὴς δόξα ἐπιστήμη εἶναι, καί μοι τοῦτο ἀποκεκρίσθω. ἐὰν γὰρ μὴ φανῇ προϊοῦσιν ὥσπερ τὸ νῦν, ἄλλο τι πειρασόμεθα λέγειν.

Σωκράτης

οὕτω μέντοι χρή, ὦ Θεαίτητε, λέγειν προθύμως μᾶλλον, ἢ ὡς τὸ πρῶτον ὤκνεις ἀποκρίνεσθαι. ἐὰν γὰρ [187c] οὕτω δρῶμεν, δυοῖν θάτερα, ἢ εὑρήσομεν ἐφ’ ὃ ἐρχόμεθα, ἢ ἧττον οἰησόμεθα εἰδέναι ὃ μηδαμῇ ἴσμεν: καίτοι οὐκ ἂν εἴη μεμπτὸς μισθὸς ὁ τοιοῦτος. καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν τί φῄς; δυοῖν ὄντοιν ἰδέαιν δόξης, τοῦ μὲν ἀληθινοῦ, ψευδοῦς δὲ τοῦ ἑτέρου, τὴν ἀληθῆ δόξαν ἐπιστήμην ὁρίζῃ;

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε: τοῦτο γὰρ αὖ νῦν μοι φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ἔτ’ ἄξιον περὶ δόξης ἀναλαβεῖν πάλιν —

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

[187d] Σωκράτης

θράττει μέ πως νῦν τε καὶ ἄλλοτε δὴ πολλάκις, ὥστ’ ἐν ἀπορίᾳ πολλῇ πρὸς ἐμαυτὸν καὶ πρὸς ἄλλον γεγονέναι, οὐκ ἔχοντα εἰπεῖν τί ποτ’ ἐστὶ τοῦτο τὸ πάθος παρ’ ἡμῖν καὶ τίνα τρόπον ἐγγιγνόμενον.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον δή;

Σωκράτης

τὸ δοξάζειν τινὰ ψευδῆ. σκοπῶ δὴ καὶ νῦν ἔτι διστάζων, πότερον ἐάσωμεν αὐτὸ ἢ ἐπισκεψώμεθα ἄλλον τρόπον ἢ ὀλίγον πρότερον.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἴπερ γε καὶ ὁπῃτιοῦν φαίνεται δεῖν; ἄρτι γὰρ οὐ κακῶς γε σὺ καὶ Θεόδωρος ἐλέγετε σχολῆς πέρι, ὡς οὐδὲν ἐν τοῖς τοιοῖσδε κατεπείγει.

[187e] Σωκράτης

ὀρθῶς ὑπέμνησας: ἴσως γὰρ οὐκ ἀπὸ καιροῦ πάλιν ὥσπερ ἴχνος μετελθεῖν. κρεῖττον γάρ που σμικρὸν εὖ ἢ πολὺ μὴ ἱκανῶς περᾶναι.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

πῶς οὖν; τί δὴ καὶ λέγομεν; ψευδῆ φαμεν ἑκάστοτε εἶναι δόξαν, καί τινα ἡμῶν δοξάζειν ψευδῆ, τὸν δ’ αὖ ἀληθῆ, ὡς φύσει οὕτως ἐχόντων;

Θεαίτητος

φαμὲν γὰρ δή.

[188a] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τόδε γ’ ἔσθ’ ἡμῖν περὶ πάντα καὶ καθ’ ἕκαστον, ἤτοι εἰδέναι ἢ μὴ εἰδέναι; μανθάνειν γὰρ καὶ ἐπιλανθάνεσθαι μεταξὺ τούτων ὡς ὄντα χαίρειν λέγω ἐν τῷ παρόντι: νῦν γὰρ ἡμῖν πρὸς λόγον ἐστὶν οὐδέν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄλλο γ’ οὐδὲν λείπεται περὶ ἕκαστον πλὴν εἰδέναι ἢ μὴ εἰδέναι.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἤδη ἀνάγκη τὸν δοξάζοντα δοξάζειν ἢ ὧν τι οἶδεν ἢ μὴ οἶδεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν εἰδότα γε μὴ εἰδέναι τὸ αὐτὸ ἢ μὴ εἰδότα [188b] εἰδέναι ἀδύνατον.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ὁ τὰ ψευδῆ δοξάζων, ἃ οἶδε, ταῦτα οἴεται οὐ ταῦτα εἶναι ἀλλὰ ἕτερα ἄττα ὧν οἶδε, καὶ ἀμφότερα εἰδὼς ἀγνοεῖ αὖ ἀμφότερα;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἀδύνατον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἆρα, ἃ μὴ οἶδεν, ἡγεῖται αὐτὰ εἶναι ἕτερα ἄττα ὧν μὴ οἶδε, καὶ τοῦτ’ ἔστι τῷ μήτε Θεαίτητον μήτε Σωκράτη εἰδότι εἰς τὴν διάνοιαν λαβεῖν ὡς ὁ Σωκράτης Θεαίτητος ἢ [ὁ] Θεαίτητος Σωκράτης;

[188c] Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς ἄν;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οὐ μήν, ἅ γέ τις οἶδεν, οἴεταί που ἃ μὴ οἶδεν αὐτὰ εἶναι, οὐδ’ αὖ ἃ μὴ οἶδεν, ἃ οἶδεν.

Θεαίτητος

τέρας γὰρ ἔσται.

Σωκράτης

πῶς οὖν ἂν ἔτι ψευδῆ δοξάσειεν; ἐκτὸς γὰρ τούτων ἀδύνατόν που δοξάζειν, ἐπείπερ πάντ’ ἢ ἴσμεν ἢ οὐκ ἴσμεν, ἐν δὲ τούτοις οὐδαμοῦ φαίνεται δυνατὸν ψευδῆ δοξάσαι.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ ταύτῃ σκεπτέον ὃ ζητοῦμεν, κατὰ τὸ [188d] εἰδέναι καὶ μὴ εἰδέναι ἰόντας, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὸ εἶναι καὶ μή;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

μὴ ἁπλοῦν ᾖ ὅτι ὁ τὰ μὴ ὄντα περὶ ὁτουοῦν δοξάζων οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὡς οὐ ψευδῆ δοξάσει, κἂν ὁπωσοῦν ἄλλως τὰ τῆς διανοίας ἔχῃ.

Θεαίτητος

εἰκός γ’ αὖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

πῶς οὖν; τί ἐροῦμεν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἐάν τις ἡμᾶς ἀνακρίνῃ: “δυνατὸν δὲ ὁτῳοῦν ὃ λέγεται, καί τις ἀνθρώπων τὸ μὴ ὂν δοξάσει, εἴτε περὶ τῶν ὄντων του εἴτε αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτό;” καὶ ἡμεῖς δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, πρὸς ταῦτα φήσομεν: “ὅταν [188e] γε μὴ ἀληθῆ οἴηται οἰόμενος:” ἢ πῶς ἐροῦμεν;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν καὶ ἄλλοθί που τὸ τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν;

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης

εἴ τις ὁρᾷ μέν τι, ὁρᾷ δὲ οὐδέν.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν εἰ ἕν γέ τι ὁρᾷ, τῶν ὄντων τι ὁρᾷ. ἢ σὺ οἴει ποτὲ τὸ ἓν ἐν τοῖς μὴ οὖσιν εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ὁ ἄρα ἕν γέ τι ὁρῶν ὄν τι ὁρᾷ.

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται.

[189a] Σωκράτης

καὶ ὁ ἄρα τι ἀκούων ἕν γέ τι ἀκούει καὶ ὂν [ἀκούει].

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὁ ἁπτόμενος δή του ἑνός γέ του ἅπτεται καὶ ὄντος, εἴπερ ἑνός;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ τοῦτο.

Σωκράτης

ὁ δὲ δὴ δοξάζων οὐχ ἕν γέ τι δοξάζει;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

ὁ δ’ ἕν τι δοξάζων οὐκ ὄν τι;

Θεαίτητος

συγχωρῶ.

Σωκράτης

ὁ ἄρα μὴ ὂν δοξάζων οὐδὲν δοξάζει.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν ὅ γε μηδὲν δοξάζων τὸ παράπαν οὐδὲ δοξάζει.

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον, ὡς ἔοικεν.

[189b] Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα οἷόν τε τὸ μὴ ὂν δοξάζειν, οὔτε περὶ τῶν ὄντων οὔτε αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτό.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἄλλο τι ἄρ’ ἐστὶ τὸ ψευδῆ δοξάζειν τοῦ τὰ μὴ ὄντα δοξάζειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἄλλο ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

οὔτ’ ἄρ’ οὕτως οὔτε ὡς ὀλίγον πρότερον ἐσκοποῦμεν, ψευδής ἐστι δόξα ἐν ἡμῖν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν δή.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἆρα ὧδε γιγνόμενον τοῦτο προσαγορεύομεν;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλοδοξίαν τινὰ οὖσαν ψευδῆ φαμεν εἶναι δόξαν, [189c] ὅταν τίς <τι> τῶν ὄντων ἄλλο αὖ τῶν ὄντων ἀνταλλαξάμενος τῇ διανοίᾳ φῇ εἶναι. οὕτω γὰρ ὂν μὲν ἀεὶ δοξάζει, ἕτερον δὲ ἀνθ’ ἑτέρου, καὶ ἁμαρτάνων οὗ ἐσκόπει δικαίως ἂν καλοῖτο ψευδῆ δοξάζων.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθότατά μοι νῦν δοκεῖς εἰρηκέναι. ὅταν γάρ τις ἀντὶ καλοῦ αἰσχρὸν ἢ ἀντὶ αἰσχροῦ καλὸν δοξάζῃ, τότε ὡς ἀληθῶς δοξάζει ψευδῆ.

Σωκράτης

δῆλος εἶ, ὦ Θεαίτητε, καταφρονῶν μου καὶ οὐ δεδιώς.

Θεαίτητος

τί μάλιστα;

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἂν οἶμαι σοὶ δοκῶ τοῦ ἀληθῶς ψευδοῦς ἀντιλαβέσθαι, [189d] ἐρόμενος εἰ οἷόν τε ταχὺ βραδέως ἢ κοῦφον βαρέως ἢ ἄλλο τι ἐναντίον μὴ κατὰ τὴν αὑτοῦ φύσιν ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὴν τοῦ ἐναντίου γίγνεσθαι ἑαυτῷ ἐναντίως. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν, ἵνα μὴ μάτην θαῤῥήσῃς, ἀφίημι. ἀρέσκει δέ, ὡς φῄς, τὸ τὰ ψευδῆ δοξάζειν ἀλλοδοξεῖν εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης

ἔστιν ἄρα κατὰ τὴν σὴν δόξαν ἕτερόν τι ὡς ἕτερον καὶ μὴ ὡς ἐκεῖνο τῇ διανοίᾳ τίθεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστι μέντοι.

[189e] Σωκράτης

ὅταν οὖν τοῦθ’ ἡ διάνοιά του δρᾷ, οὐ καὶ ἀνάγκη αὐτὴν ἤτοι ἀμφότερα ἢ τὸ ἕτερον διανοεῖσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη μὲν οὖν: ἤτοι ἅμα γε ἢ ἐν μέρει.

Σωκράτης

κάλλιστα. τὸ δὲ διανοεῖσθαι ἆρ’ ὅπερ ἐγὼ καλεῖς;

Θεαίτητος

τί καλῶν;

Σωκράτης

λόγον ὃν αὐτὴ πρὸς αὑτὴν ἡ ψυχὴ διεξέρχεται περὶ ὧν ἂν σκοπῇ. ὥς γε μὴ εἰδώς σοι ἀποφαίνομαι. τοῦτο γάρ μοι ἰνδάλλεται διανοουμένη οὐκ ἄλλο τι ἢ διαλέγεσθαι, αὐτὴ [190a] ἑαυτὴν ἐρωτῶσα καὶ ἀποκρινομένη, καὶ φάσκουσα καὶ οὐ φάσκουσα. ὅταν δὲ ὁρίσασα, εἴτε βραδύτερον εἴτε καὶ ὀξύτερον ἐπᾴξασα, τὸ αὐτὸ ἤδη φῇ καὶ μὴ διστάζῃ, δόξαν ταύτην τίθεμεν αὐτῆς. ὥστ’ ἔγωγε τὸ δοξάζειν λέγειν καλῶ καὶ τὴν δόξαν λόγον εἰρημένον, οὐ μέντοι πρὸς ἄλλον οὐδὲ φωνῇ, ἀλλὰ σιγῇ πρὸς αὑτόν: σὺ δὲ τί;

Θεαίτητος

κἀγώ.

Σωκράτης

ὅταν ἄρα τις τὸ ἕτερον ἕτερον δοξάζῃ, καὶ φησίν, ὡς ἔοικε, τὸ ἕτερον ἕτερον εἶναι πρὸς ἑαυτόν.

[190b] Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

ἀναμιμνῄσκου δὴ εἰ πώποτ’ εἶπες πρὸς σεαυτὸν ὅτι παντὸς μᾶλλον τό τοι καλὸν αἰσχρόν ἐστιν ἢ τὸ ἄδικον δίκαιον. ἢ καί, τὸ πάντων κεφάλαιον, σκόπει εἴ ποτ’ ἐπεχείρησας σεαυτὸν πείθειν ὡς παντὸς μᾶλλον τὸ ἕτερον ἕτερόν ἐστιν, ἢ πᾶν τοὐναντίον οὐδ’ ἐν ὕπνῳ πώποτε ἐτόλμησας εἰπεῖν πρὸς σεαυτὸν ὡς παντάπασιν ἄρα τὰ περιττὰ ἄρτιά ἐστιν ἤ τι ἄλλο τοιοῦτον.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

[190c] Σωκράτης

ἄλλον δέ τινα οἴει ὑγιαίνοντα ἢ μαινόμενον τολμῆσαι σπουδῇ πρὸς ἑαυτὸν εἰπεῖν ἀναπείθοντα αὑτὸν ὡς ἀνάγκη τὸν βοῦν ἵππον εἶναι ἢ τὰ δύο ἕν;

Θεαίτητος

μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰ τὸ λέγειν πρὸς ἑαυτὸν δοξάζειν ἐστίν, οὐδεὶς ἀμφότερά γε λέγων καὶ δοξάζων [καὶ] ἐφαπτόμενος ἀμφοῖν τῇ ψυχῇ εἴποι ἂν καὶ δοξάσειεν ὡς τὸ ἕτερον ἕτερόν ἐστιν. ἐατέον δὲ καὶ σοὶ τὸ ῥῆμα [περὶ τοῦ ἑτέρου]: λέγω [190d] γὰρ αὐτὸ τῇδε, μηδένα δοξάζειν ὡς τὸ αἰσχρὸν καλὸν ἢ ἄλλο τι τῶν τοιούτων.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐῶ τε καί μοι δοκεῖ ὡς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ἄμφω μὲν ἄρα δοξάζοντα ἀδύνατον τό γε ἕτερον ἕτερον δοξάζειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν τὸ ἕτερόν γε μόνον δοξάζων, τὸ δὲ ἕτερον μηδαμῇ, οὐδέποτε δοξάσει τὸ ἕτερον ἕτερον εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ λέγεις: ἀναγκάζοιτο γὰρ ἂν ἐφάπτεσθαι καὶ οὗ μὴ δοξάζει.

Σωκράτης

οὔτ’ ἄρ’ ἀμφότερα οὔτε τὸ ἕτερον δοξάζοντι ἐγχωρεῖ [190e] ἀλλοδοξεῖν. ὥστ’ εἴ τις ὁριεῖται δόξαν εἶναι ψευδῆ τὸ ἑτεροδοξεῖν, οὐδὲν ἂν λέγοι: οὔτε γὰρ ταύτῃ οὔτε κατὰ τὰ πρότερα φαίνεται ψευδὴς ἐν ἡμῖν οὖσα δόξα.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μέντοι, ὦ Θεαίτητε, εἰ τοῦτο μὴ φανήσεται ὄν, πολλὰ ἀναγκασθησόμεθα ὁμολογεῖν καὶ ἄτοπα.

Θεαίτητος

τὰ ποῖα δή;

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἐρῶ σοι πρὶν ἂν πανταχῇ πειραθῶ σκοπῶν. αἰσχυνοίμην γὰρ ἂν ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν, ἐν ᾧ ἀποροῦμεν, ἀναγκαζομένων [191a] ὁμολογεῖν οἷα λέγω. ἀλλ’ ἐὰν εὕρωμεν καὶ ἐλεύθεροι γενώμεθα, τότ’ ἤδη περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐροῦμεν ὡς πασχόντων αὐτὰ ἐκτὸς τοῦ γελοίου ἑστῶτες: ἐὰν δὲ πάντῃ ἀπορήσωμεν, ταπεινωθέντες οἶμαι τῷ λόγῳ παρέξομεν ὡς ναυτιῶντες πατεῖν τε καὶ χρῆσθαι ὅτι ἂν βούληται. ᾗ οὖν ἔτι πόρον τινὰ εὑρίσκω τοῦ ζητήματος ἡμῖν, ἄκουε.

Θεαίτητος

λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης

οὐ φήσω ἡμᾶς ὀρθῶς ὁμολογῆσαι, ἡνίκα ὡμολογήσαμεν ἅ τις οἶδεν, ἀδύνατον δοξάσαι ἃ μὴ οἶδεν εἶναι αὐτὰ [191b] καὶ ψευσθῆναι: ἀλλά πῃ δυνατόν.

Θεαίτητος

ἆρα λέγεις ὃ καὶ ἐγὼ τότε ὑπώπτευσα, ἡνίκ’ αὐτὸ ἔφαμεν τοιοῦτον εἶναι, ὅτι ἐνίοτ’ ἐγὼ γιγνώσκων Σωκράτη, πόῤῥωθεν δὲ ὁρῶν ἄλλον ὃν οὐ γιγνώσκω, ᾠήθην εἶναι Σωκράτη ὃν οἶδα; γίγνεται γὰρ δὴ ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ οἷον λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἀπέστημεν αὐτοῦ, ὅτι ἃ ἴσμεν ἐποίει ἡμᾶς εἰδότας μὴ εἰδέναι;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

μὴ γὰρ οὕτω τιθῶμεν, ἀλλ’ ὧδε: ἴσως πῃ ἡμῖν [191c] συγχωρήσεται, ἴσως δὲ ἀντιτενεῖ. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐν τοιούτῳ ἐχόμεθα, ἐν ᾧ ἀνάγκη πάντα μεταστρέφοντα λόγον βασανίζειν. σκόπει οὖν εἰ τὶ λέγω. ἆρα ἔστιν μὴ εἰδότα τι πρότερον ὕστερον μαθεῖν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔστι μέντοι.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ αὖθις ἕτερον καὶ ἕτερον;

Θεαίτητος

τί δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

θὲς δή μοι λόγου ἕνεκα ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἡμῶν ἐνὸν κήρινον ἐκμαγεῖον, τῷ μὲν μεῖζον, τῷ δ’ ἔλαττον, καὶ τῷ μὲν καθαρωτέρου κηροῦ, τῷ δὲ κοπρωδεστέρου, καὶ σκληροτέρου, [191d] ἐνίοις δὲ ὑγροτέρου, ἔστι δ’ οἷς μετρίως ἔχοντος.

Θεαίτητος

τίθημι.

Σωκράτης

δῶρον τοίνυν αὐτὸ φῶμεν εἶναι τῆς τῶν Μουσῶν μητρὸς Μνημοσύνης, καὶ εἰς τοῦτο ὅτι ἂν βουληθῶμεν μνημονεῦσαι ὧν ἂν ἴδωμεν ἢ ἀκούσωμεν ἢ αὐτοὶ ἐννοήσωμεν, ὑπέχοντας αὐτὸ ταῖς αἰσθήσεσι καὶ ἐννοίαις, ἀποτυποῦσθαι, ὥσπερ δακτυλίων σημεῖα ἐνσημαινομένους: καὶ ὃ μὲν ἂν ἐκμαγῇ, μνημονεύειν τε καὶ ἐπίστασθαι ἕως ἂν ἐνῇ τὸ εἴδωλον αὐτοῦ: ὃ δ’ ἂν ἐξαλειφθῇ ἢ μὴ οἷόν τε γένηται [191e] ἐκμαγῆναι, ἐπιλελῆσθαί τε καὶ μὴ ἐπίστασθαι.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστω οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

ὁ τοίνυν ἐπιστάμενος μὲν αὐτά, σκοπῶν δέ τι ὧν ὁρᾷ ἢ ἀκούει, ἄθρει εἰ ἄρα τοιῷδε τρόπῳ ψευδῆ ἂν δοξάσαι.

Θεαίτητος

ποίῳ δή τινι;

Σωκράτης

ἃ οἶδεν, οἰηθεὶς εἶναι τοτὲ μὲν ἃ οἶδε, τοτὲ δὲ ἃ μή. ταῦτα γὰρ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν οὐ καλῶς ὡμολογήσαμεν ὁμολογοῦντες ἀδύνατα.

Θεαίτητος

νῦν δὲ πῶς λέγεις;

[192a] Σωκράτης

δεῖ ὧδε λέγεσθαι περὶ αὐτῶν ἐξ ἀρχῆς διοριζομένους ὅτι ὃ μέν τις οἶδεν, σχὼν αὐτοῦ μνημεῖον ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ, αἰσθάνεται δὲ αὐτὸ μή, οἰηθῆναι ἕτερόν τι ὧν οἶδεν, ἔχοντα καὶ ἐκείνου τύπον, αἰσθανόμενον δὲ μή, ἀδύνατον. καὶ ὅ γε οἶδεν αὖ, οἰηθῆναι εἶναι ὃ μὴ οἶδε μηδ’ ἔχει αὐτοῦ σφραγῖδα: καὶ ὃ μὴ οἶδεν, ὃ μὴ οἶδεν αὖ: καὶ ὃ μὴ οἶδεν, ὃ οἶδε: καὶ ὃ αἰσθάνεταί γε, ἕτερόν τι ὧν αἰσθάνεται οἰηθῆναι εἶναι: καὶ ὃ αἰσθάνεται, ὧν τι μὴ αἰσθάνεται: καὶ [192b] ὃ μὴ αἰσθάνεται, ὧν μὴ αἰσθάνεται: καὶ ὃ μὴ αἰσθάνεται, ὧν αἰσθάνεται. καὶ ἔτι γε αὖ καὶ ὃ οἶδε καὶ αἰσθάνεται καὶ ἔχει τὸ σημεῖον κατὰ τὴν αἴσθησιν, οἰηθῆναι αὖ ἕτερόν τι ὧν οἶδε καὶ αἰσθάνεται καὶ ἔχει αὖ καὶ ἐκείνου τὸ σημεῖον κατὰ τὴν αἴσθησιν, ἀδυνατώτερον ἔτι ἐκείνων, εἰ οἷόν τε. καὶ ὃ οἶδε καὶ [ὃ] αἰσθάνεται ἔχων τὸ μνημεῖον ὀρθῶς, ὃ οἶδεν οἰηθῆναι ἀδύνατον: καὶ ὃ οἶδε καὶ αἰσθάνεται ἔχων [192c] κατὰ ταὐτά, ὃ αἰσθάνεται: καὶ ὃ αὖ μὴ οἶδε μηδὲ αἰσθάνεται, ὃ μὴ οἶδε μηδὲ αἰσθάνεται: καὶ ὃ μὴ οἶδε μηδὲ αἰσθάνεται, ὃ μὴ οἶδε: καὶ ὃ μὴ οἶδε μηδὲ αἰσθάνεται, ὃ μὴ αἰσθάνεται: πάντα ταῦτα ὑπερβάλλει ἀδυναμίᾳ τοῦ ἐν αὐτοῖς ψευδῆ τινα δοξάσαι. λείπεται δὴ ἐν τοῖς τοιοῖσδε, εἴπερ που ἄλλοθι, τὸ τοιοῦτον γενέσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

ἐν τίσι δή; ἐὰν ἄρα ἐξ αὐτῶν τι μᾶλλον μάθω: νῦν μὲν γὰρ οὐχ ἕπομαι.

Σωκράτης

ἐν οἷς οἶδεν, οἰηθῆναι αὐτὰ ἕτερ’ ἄττα εἶναι ὧν οἶδε καὶ αἰσθάνεται: ἢ ὧν μὴ οἶδεν, αἰσθάνεται δέ: ἢ ὧν [192d] οἶδε καὶ αἰσθάνεται, ὧν οἶδεν αὖ καὶ αἰσθάνεται.

Θεαίτητος

νῦν πολὺ πλέον ἀπελείφθην ἢ τότε.

Σωκράτης

ὧδε δὴ ἀνάπαλιν ἄκουε. ἐγὼ εἰδὼς Θεόδωρον καὶ ἐν ἐμαυτῷ μεμνημένος οἷός ἐστι, καὶ Θεαίτητον κατὰ ταὐτά, ἄλλο τι ἐνίοτε μὲν ὁρῶ αὐτούς, ἐνίοτε δὲ οὔ, καὶ ἅπτομαί ποτ’ αὐτῶν, τοτὲ δ’ οὔ, καὶ ἀκούω ἤ τινα ἄλλην αἴσθησιν αἰσθάνομαι, τοτὲ δ’ αἴσθησιν μὲν οὐδεμίαν ἔχω περὶ ὑμῶν, μέμνημαι δὲ ὑμᾶς οὐδὲν ἧττον καὶ ἐπίσταμαι αὐτὸς ἐν ἐμαυτῷ;

[192e] Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο τοίνυν πρῶτον μάθε ὧν βούλομαι δηλῶσαι, ὅτι ἔστι μὲν ἃ οἶδε μὴ αἰσθάνεσθαι, ἔστιν δὲ αἰσθάνεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἃ μὴ οἶδε, πολλάκις μὲν ἔστι μηδὲ αἰσθάνεσθαι, πολλάκις δὲ αἰσθάνεσθαι μόνον;

Θεαίτητος

ἔστι καὶ τοῦτο.

Σωκράτης

ἰδὲ δὴ ἐάν τι μᾶλλον νῦν ἐπίσπῃ. Σωκράτης [193a] εἰ γιγνώσκει Θεόδωρον καὶ Θεαίτητον, ὁρᾷ δὲ μηδέτερον, μηδὲ ἄλλη αἴσθησις αὐτῷ πάρεστι περὶ αὐτῶν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐν ἑαυτῷ δοξάσειεν ὡς ὁ Θεαίτητός ἐστι Θεόδωρος. λέγω τὶ ἢ οὐδέν;

Θεαίτητος

ναί, ἀληθῆ γε.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν ἐκείνων πρῶτον ἦν ὧν ἔλεγον.

Θεαίτητος

ἦν γάρ.

Σωκράτης

δεύτερον τοίνυν, ὅτι τὸν μὲν γιγνώσκων ὑμῶν, τὸν δὲ μὴ γιγνώσκων, αἰσθανόμενος δὲ μηδέτερον, οὐκ ἄν ποτε αὖ οἰηθείην ὃν οἶδα εἶναι ὃν μὴ οἶδα.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

[193b] Σωκράτης

τρίτον δέ, μηδέτερον γιγνώσκων μηδὲ αἰσθανόμενος οὐκ ἂν οἰηθείην ὃν μὴ οἶδα ἕτερόν τιν’ εἶναι ὧν μὴ οἶδα. καὶ τἆλλα τὰ πρότερα πάνθ’ ἑξῆς νόμιζε πάλιν ἀκηκοέναι, ἐν οἷς οὐδέποτ’ ἐγὼ περὶ σοῦ καὶ Θεοδώρου τὰ ψευδῆ δοξάσω, οὔτε γιγνώσκων οὔτε ἀγνοῶν ἄμφω, οὔτε τὸν μέν, τὸν δ’ οὐ γιγνώσκων: καὶ περὶ αἰσθήσεων κατὰ ταὐτά, εἰ ἄρα ἕπῃ.

Θεαίτητος

ἕπομαι.

Σωκράτης

λείπεται τοίνυν τὰ ψευδῆ δοξάσαι ἐν τῷδε, ὅταν γιγνώσκων σὲ καὶ Θεόδωρον, καὶ ἔχων ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ κηρίνῳ [193c] ὥσπερ δακτυλίων σφῷν ἀμφοῖν τὰ σημεῖα, διὰ μακροῦ καὶ μὴ ἱκανῶς ὁρῶν ἄμφω προθυμηθῶ, τὸ οἰκεῖον ἑκατέρου σημεῖον ἀποδοὺς τῇ οἰκείᾳ ὄψει, ἐμβιβάσας προσαρμόσαι εἰς τὸ ἑαυτῆς ἴχνος, ἵνα γένηται ἀναγνώρισις, εἶτα τούτων ἀποτυχὼν καὶ ὥσπερ οἱ ἔμπαλιν ὑποδούμενοι παραλλάξας προσβάλω τὴν ἑκατέρου ὄψιν πρὸς τὸ ἀλλότριον σημεῖον, ἢ καὶ οἷα τὰ ἐν τοῖς κατόπτροις τῆς ὄψεως πάθη, δεξιὰ εἰς [193d] ἀριστερὰ μεταῤῥεούσης, ταὐτὸν παθὼν διαμάρτω: τότε δὴ συμβαίνει ἡ ἑτεροδοξία καὶ τὸ ψευδῆ δοξάζειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικε γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες. θαυμασίως ὡς λέγεις τὸ τῆς δόξης πάθος.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ ὅταν ἀμφοτέρους γιγνώσκων τὸν μὲν πρὸς τῷ γιγνώσκειν αἰσθάνωμαι, τὸν δὲ μή, τὴν δὲ γνῶσιν τοῦ ἑτέρου μὴ κατὰ τὴν αἴσθησιν ἔχω, ὃ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν οὕτως ἔλεγον καί μου τότε οὐκ ἐμάνθανες.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο μὴν ἔλεγον, ὅτι γιγνώσκων τὸν ἕτερον καὶ [193e] αἰσθανόμενος, καὶ τὴν γνῶσιν κατὰ τὴν αἴσθησιν αὐτοῦ ἔχων, οὐδέποτε οἰήσεται εἶναι αὐτὸν ἕτερόν τινα ὃν γιγνώσκει τε καὶ αἰσθάνεται καὶ τὴν γνῶσιν αὖ καὶ ἐκείνου ἔχει κατὰ τὴν αἴσθησιν. ἦν γὰρ τοῦτο;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

παρελείπετο δέ γέ που τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον, ἐν ᾧ δή φαμεν τὴν ψευδῆ δόξαν γίγνεσθαι τὸ ἄμφω γιγνώσκοντα [194a] καὶ ἄμφω ὁρῶντα ἤ τινα ἄλλην αἴσθησιν ἔχοντα ἀμφοῖν τὼ σημείω μὴ κατὰ τὴν αὐτοῦ αἴσθησιν ἑκάτερον ἔχειν, ἀλλ’ οἷον τοξότην φαῦλον ἱέντα παραλλάξαι τοῦ σκοποῦ καὶ ἁμαρτεῖν, ὃ δὴ καὶ ψεῦδος ἄρα ὠνόμασται.

Θεαίτητος

εἰκότως γε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὅταν τοίνυν τῷ μὲν παρῇ αἴσθησις τῶν σημείων, τῷ δὲ μή, τὸ δὲ τῆς ἀπούσης αἰσθήσεως τῇ παρούσῃ προσαρμόσῃ, πάντῃ ταύτῃ ψεύδεται ἡ διάνοια. καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ, περὶ ὧν μὲν μὴ οἶδέ τις μηδ’ ἐπῄσθετο πώποτε, οὐκ ἔστιν, [194b] ὡς ἔοικεν, οὔτε ψεύδεσθαι οὔτε ψευδὴς δόξα, εἴ τι νῦν ἡμεῖς ὑγιὲς λέγομεν: περὶ δὲ ὧν ἴσμεν τε καὶ αἰσθανόμεθα, ἐν αὐτοῖς τούτοις στρέφεται καὶ ἑλίττεται ἡ δόξα ψευδὴς καὶ ἀληθὴς γιγνομένη, καταντικρὺ μὲν καὶ κατὰ τὸ εὐθὺ τὰ οἰκεῖα συνάγουσα ἀποτυπώματα καὶ τύπους ἀληθής, εἰς πλάγια δὲ καὶ σκολιὰ ψευδής.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν καλῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, λέγεται;

[194c] Σωκράτης

ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ τάδε ἀκούσας μᾶλλον αὐτὸ ἐρεῖς. τὸ μὲν γὰρ τἀληθὲς δοξάζειν καλόν, τὸ δὲ ψεύδεσθαι αἰσχρόν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ταῦτα τοίνυν φασὶν ἐνθένδε γίγνεσθαι. ὅταν μὲν ὁ κηρός του ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ βαθύς τε καὶ πολὺς καὶ λεῖος καὶ μετρίως ὠργασμένος ᾖ, τὰ ἰόντα διὰ τῶν αἰσθήσεων, ἐνσημαινόμενα εἰς τοῦτο τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς “κέαρ,” ὃ ἔφη Ὅμηρος αἰνιττόμενος τὴν τοῦ κηροῦ ὁμοιότητα, τότε μὲν καὶ τούτοις [194d] καθαρὰ τὰ σημεῖα ἐγγιγνόμενα καὶ ἱκανῶς τοῦ βάθους ἔχοντα πολυχρόνιά τε γίγνεται καὶ εἰσὶν οἱ τοιοῦτοι πρῶτον μὲν εὐμαθεῖς, ἔπειτα μνήμονες, εἶτα οὐ παραλλάττουσι τῶν αἰσθήσεων τὰ σημεῖα ἀλλὰ δοξάζουσιν ἀληθῆ. σαφῆ γὰρ καὶ ἐν εὐρυχωρίᾳ ὄντα ταχὺ διανέμουσιν ἐπὶ τὰ αὑτῶν ἕκαστα ἐκμαγεῖα, ἃ δὴ ὄντα καλεῖται, καὶ σοφοὶ δὴ οὗτοι καλοῦνται. ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι;

Θεαίτητος

ὑπερφυῶς μὲν οὖν.

[194e] Σωκράτης

ὅταν τοίνυν λάσιόν του τὸ κέαρ ᾖ, ὃ δὴ ἐπῄνεσεν ὁ πάσσοφος ποιητής, ἢ ὅταν κοπρῶδες καὶ μὴ καθαροῦ τοῦ κηροῦ, ἢ ὑγρὸν σφόδρα ἢ σκληρόν, ὧν μὲν ὑγρὸν εὐμαθεῖς μέν, ἐπιλήσμονες δὲ γίγνονται, ὧν δὲ σκληρόν, τἀναντία. οἱ δὲ δὴ λάσιον καὶ τραχὺ λιθῶδές τι ἢ γῆς ἢ κόπρου συμμιγείσης ἔμπλεων ἔχοντες ἀσαφῆ τὰ ἐκμαγεῖα ἴσχουσιν. ἀσαφῆ δὲ καὶ οἱ τὰ σκληρά: βάθος γὰρ οὐκ ἔνι. ἀσαφῆ [195a] δὲ καὶ οἱ τὰ ὑγρά: ὑπὸ γὰρ τοῦ συγχεῖσθαι ταχὺ γίγνεται ἀμυδρά. ἐὰν δὲ πρὸς πᾶσι τούτοις ἐπ’ ἀλλήλων συμπεπτωκότα ᾖ ὑπὸ στενοχωρίας, ἐάν του σμικρὸν ᾖ τὸ ψυχάριον, ἔτι ἀσαφέστερα ἐκείνων. πάντες οὖν οὗτοι γίγνονται οἷοι δοξάζειν ψευδῆ. ὅταν γάρ τι ὁρῶσιν ἢ ἀκούωσιν ἢ ἐπινοῶσιν, ἕκαστα ἀπονέμειν ταχὺ ἑκάστοις οὐ δυνάμενοι βραδεῖς τέ εἰσι καὶ ἀλλοτριονομοῦντες παρορῶσί τε καὶ παρακούουσι καὶ παρανοοῦσι πλεῖστα, καὶ καλοῦνται αὖ οὗτοι ἐψευσμένοι τε δὴ τῶν ὄντων καὶ ἀμαθεῖς.

[195b] Θεαίτητος

ὀρθότατα ἀνθρώπων λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

φῶμεν ἄρα ἐν ἡμῖν ψευδεῖς δόξας εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ἀληθεῖς δή;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ ἀληθεῖς.

Σωκράτης

ἤδη οὖν οἰόμεθα ἱκανῶς ὡμολογῆσθαι ὅτι παντὸς μᾶλλον ἐστὸν ἀμφοτέρα τούτω τὼ δόξα;

Θεαίτητος

ὑπερφυῶς μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

δεινόν τε, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὡς ἀληθῶς κινδυνεύει καὶ ἀηδὲς εἶναι ἀνὴρ ἀδολέσχης.

Θεαίτητος

τί δέ; πρὸς τί τοῦτ’ εἶπες;

[195c] Σωκράτης

τὴν ἐμαυτοῦ δυσμαθίαν δυσχεράνας καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀδολεσχίαν. τί γὰρ ἄν τις ἄλλο θεῖτο ὄνομα, ὅταν ἄνω κάτω τοὺς λόγους ἕλκῃ τις ὑπὸ νωθείας οὐ δυνάμενος πεισθῆναι, καὶ ᾖ δυσαπάλλακτος ἀφ’ ἑκάστου λόγου;

Θεαίτητος

σὺ δὲ δὴ τί δυσχεραίνεις;

Σωκράτης

οὐ δυσχεραίνω μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ δέδοικα ὅτι ἀποκρινοῦμαι ἄν τις ἔρηταί με: “ὦ Σώκρατες, ηὕρηκας δὴ ψευδῆ δόξαν, ὅτι οὔτε ἐν ταῖς αἰσθήσεσίν ἐστι πρὸς ἀλλήλας οὔτ’ [195d] ἐν ταῖς διανοίαις ἀλλ’ ἐν τῇ συνάψει αἰσθήσεως πρὸς διάνοιαν;” φήσω δὲ ἐγὼ οἶμαι καλλωπιζόμενος ὥς τι ηὑρηκότων ἡμῶν καλόν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ αἰσχρὸν εἶναι τὸ νῦν ἀποδεδειγμένον.

Σωκράτης

«οὐκοῦν», φησί, «λέγεις ὅτι αὖ τὸν ἄνθρωπον ὃν διανοούμεθα μόνον, ὁρῶμεν δ’ οὔ, ἵππον οὐκ ἄν ποτε οἰηθείημεν εἶναι, ὃν αὖ οὔτε ὁρῶμεν οὔτε ἁπτόμεθα, διανοούμεθα δὲ μόνον καὶ ἄλλ’ οὐδὲν αἰσθανόμεθα περὶ αὐτοῦ;» ταῦτα οἶμαι φήσω λέγειν.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ ὀρθῶς γε.

[195e] Σωκράτης

«τί οὖν», φησί, «τὰ ἕνδεκα ἃ μηδὲν ἄλλο ἢ διανοεῖταί τις, ἄλλο τι ἐκ τούτου τοῦ λόγου οὐκ ἄν ποτε οἰηθείη δώδεκα εἶναι ἃ μόνον αὖ διανοεῖται;» ἴθι οὖν δή, σὺ ἀποκρίνου.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἀποκρινοῦμαι ὅτι ὁρῶν μὲν ἄν τις ἢ ἐφαπτόμενος οἰηθείη τὰ ἕνδεκα δώδεκα εἶναι, ἃ μέντοι ἐν τῇ διανοίᾳ ἔχει, οὐκ ἄν ποτε περὶ αὐτῶν ταῦτα δοξάσειεν οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; οἴει τινὰ πώποτε αὐτὸν ἐν αὑτῷ πέντε καὶ [196a] ἑπτά, λέγω δὲ μὴ ἀνθρώπους ἑπτὰ καὶ πέντε προθέμενον σκοπεῖν μηδ’ ἄλλο τοιοῦτον, ἀλλ’ αὐτὰ πέντε καὶ ἑπτά, ἅ φαμεν ἐκεῖ μνημεῖα ἐν τῷ ἐκμαγείῳ εἶναι καὶ ψευδῆ ἐν αὐτοῖς οὐκ εἶναι δοξάσαι, ταῦτα αὐτὰ εἴ τις ἀνθρώπων ἤδη πώποτε ἐσκέψατο λέγων πρὸς αὑτὸν καὶ ἐρωτῶν πόσα ποτ’ ἐστίν, καὶ ὁ μέν τις εἶπεν οἰηθεὶς ἕνδεκα αὐτὰ εἶναι, ὁ δὲ δώδεκα, ἢ πάντες λέγουσί τε καὶ οἴονται δώδεκα αὐτὰ εἶναι;

[196b] Θεαίτητος

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ἀλλὰ πολλοὶ δὴ καὶ ἕνδεκα: ἐὰν δέ γε ἐν πλείονι ἀριθμῷ τις σκοπῆται, μᾶλλον σφάλλεται. οἶμαι γάρ σε περὶ παντὸς [μᾶλλον] ἀριθμοῦ λέγειν.

Σωκράτης

ὀρθῶς γὰρ οἴει: καὶ ἐνθυμοῦ μή τι τότε γίγνεται ἄλλο ἢ αὐτὰ τὰ δώδεκα τὰ ἐν τῷ ἐκμαγείῳ ἕνδεκα οἰηθῆναι.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικέ γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰς τοὺς πρώτους πάλιν ἀνήκει λόγους; ὁ γὰρ τοῦτο παθών, ὃ οἶδεν, ἕτερον αὐτὸ οἴεται εἶναι ὧν αὖ οἶδεν, ὃ ἔφαμεν ἀδύνατον, καὶ τούτῳ αὐτῷ ἠναγκάζομεν μὴ εἶναι [196c] ψευδῆ δόξαν, ἵνα μὴ τὰ αὐτὰ ὁ αὐτὸς ἀναγκάζοιτο εἰδὼς μὴ εἰδέναι ἅμα.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἄλλ’ ὁτιοῦν δεῖ ἀποφαίνειν τὸ τὰ ψευδῆ δοξάζειν ἢ διανοίας πρὸς αἴσθησιν παραλλαγήν. εἰ γὰρ τοῦτ’ ἦν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐν αὐτοῖς τοῖς διανοήμασιν ἐψευδόμεθα. νῦν δὲ ἤτοι οὐκ ἔστι ψευδὴς δόξα, ἢ ἅ τις οἶδεν, οἷόν τε μὴ εἰδέναι. καὶ τούτων πότερα αἱρῇ;

Θεαίτητος

ἄπορον αἵρεσιν προτίθης, ὦ Σώκρατες.

[196d] Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μέντοι ἀμφότερά γε κινδυνεύει ὁ λόγος οὐκ ἐάσειν. ὅμως δέ — πάντα γὰρ τολμητέον — τί εἰ ἐπιχειρήσαιμεν ἀναισχυντεῖν;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Σωκράτης

ἐθελήσαντες εἰπεῖν ποῖόν τί ποτ’ ἐστὶ τὸ ἐπίστασθαι.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ τί τοῦτο ἀναίσχυντον;

Σωκράτης

ἔοικας οὐκ ἐννοεῖν ὅτι πᾶς ἡμῖν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὁ λόγος ζήτησις γέγονεν ἐπιστήμης ὡς οὐκ εἰδόσι τί ποτ’ ἐστίν.

Θεαίτητος

ἐννοῶ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἔπειτ’ οὐκ ἀναιδὲς δοκεῖ μὴ εἰδότας ἐπιστήμην ἀποφαίνεσθαι τὸ ἐπίστασθαι οἷόν ἐστιν; ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ [196e] Θεαίτητε, πάλαι ἐσμὲν ἀνάπλεῳ τοῦ μὴ καθαρῶς διαλέγεσθαι. μυριάκις γὰρ εἰρήκαμεν τὸ “γιγνώσκομεν” καὶ “οὐ γιγνώσκομεν,” καὶ “ἐπιστάμεθα” καὶ “οὐκ ἐπιστάμεθα,” ὥς τι συνιέντες ἀλλήλων ἐν ᾧ ἔτι ἐπιστήμην ἀγνοοῦμεν: εἰ δὲ βούλει, καὶ νῦν ἐν τῷ παρόντι κεχρήμεθ’ αὖ τῷ “ἀγνοεῖν” τε καὶ “συνιέναι,” ὡς προσῆκον αὐτοῖς χρῆσθαι εἴπερ στερόμεθα ἐπιστήμης.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ τίνα τρόπον διαλέξῃ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τούτων ἀπεχόμενος;

[197a] Σωκράτης

οὐδένα ὤν γε ὃς εἰμί, εἰ μέντοι ἦ ἀντιλογικός: οἷος ἀνὴρ εἰ καὶ νῦν παρῆν, τούτων τ’ ἂν ἔφη ἀπέχεσθαι καὶ ἡμῖν σφόδρ’ ἂν ἃ ἐγὼ λέγω ἐπέπληττεν. ἐπειδὴ οὖν ἐσμεν φαῦλοι, βούλει τολμήσω εἰπεῖν οἷόν ἐστι τὸ ἐπίστασθαι; φαίνεται γάρ μοι προὔργου τι ἂν γενέσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

τόλμα τοίνυν νὴ Δία. τούτων δὲ μὴ ἀπεχομένῳ σοι ἔσται πολλὴ συγγνώμη.

Σωκράτης

ἀκήκοας οὖν ὃ νῦν λέγουσιν τὸ ἐπίστασθαι;

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως: οὐ μέντοι ἔν γε τῷ παρόντι μνημονεύω.

[197b] Σωκράτης

ἐπιστήμης που ἕξιν φασὶν αὐτὸ εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

ἡμεῖς τοίνυν σμικρὸν μεταθώμεθα καὶ εἴπωμεν ἐπιστήμης κτῆσιν.

Θεαίτητος

τί οὖν δὴ φήσεις τοῦτο ἐκείνου διαφέρειν;

Σωκράτης

ἴσως μὲν οὐδέν: ὃ δ’ οὖν δοκεῖ ἀκούσας συνδοκίμαζε.

Θεαίτητος

ἐάνπερ γε οἷός τ’ ὦ.

Σωκράτης

οὐ τοίνυν μοι ταὐτὸν φαίνεται τῷ κεκτῆσθαι τὸ ἔχειν. οἷον ἱμάτιον πριάμενός τις καὶ ἐγκρατὴς ὢν μὴ φορῶν, ἔχειν μὲν οὐκ ἂν αὐτὸν αὐτό, κεκτῆσθαί γε μὴν φαῖμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς γε.

[197c] Σωκράτης

ὅρα δὴ καὶ ἐπιστήμην εἰ δυνατὸν οὕτω κεκτημένον μὴ ἔχειν, ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ εἴ τις ὄρνιθας ἀγρίας, περιστερὰς ἤ τι ἄλλο, θηρεύσας οἴκοι κατασκευασάμενος περιστερεῶνα τρέφοι, τρόπον μὲν [γὰρ] ἄν πού τινα φαῖμεν αὐτὸν αὐτὰς ἀεὶ ἔχειν, ὅτι δὴ κέκτηται. ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τρόπον δέ γ’ ἄλλον οὐδεμίαν ἔχειν, ἀλλὰ δύναμιν μὲν αὐτῷ περὶ αὐτὰς παραγεγονέναι, ἐπειδὴ ἐν οἰκείῳ περιβόλῳ ὑποχειρίους ἐποιήσατο, λαβεῖν καὶ σχεῖν ἐπειδὰν [197d] βούληται, θηρευσαμένῳ ἣν ἂν ἀεὶ ἐθέλῃ, καὶ πάλιν ἀφιέναι, καὶ τοῦτο ἐξεῖναι ποιεῖν ὁποσάκις ἂν δοκῇ αὐτῷ.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης

πάλιν δή, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν κήρινόν τι ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς κατεσκευάζομεν οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅτι πλάσμα, νῦν αὖ ἐν ἑκάστῃ ψυχῇ ποιήσωμεν περιστερεῶνά τινα παντοδαπῶν ὀρνίθων, τὰς μὲν κατ’ ἀγέλας οὔσας χωρὶς τῶν ἄλλων, τὰς δὲ κατ’ ὀλίγας, ἐνίας δὲ μόνας διὰ πασῶν ὅπῃ ἂν τύχωσι πετομένας.

[197e] Θεαίτητος

πεποιήσθω δή. ἀλλὰ τί τοὐντεῦθεν;

Σωκράτης

παιδίων μὲν ὄντων φάναι χρὴ εἶναι τοῦτο τὸ ἀγγεῖον κενόν, ἀντὶ δὲ τῶν ὀρνίθων ἐπιστήμας νοῆσαι: ἣν δ’ ἂν ἐπιστήμην κτησάμενος καθείρξῃ εἰς τὸν περίβολον, φάναι αὐτὸν μεμαθηκέναι ἢ ηὑρηκέναι τὸ πρᾶγμα οὗ ἦν αὕτη ἡ ἐπιστήμη, καὶ τὸ ἐπίστασθαι τοῦτ’ εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστω.

[198a] Σωκράτης

τὸ τοίνυν πάλιν ἣν ἂν βούληται τῶν ἐπιστημῶν θηρεύειν καὶ λαβόντα ἴσχειν καὶ αὖθις ἀφιέναι σκόπει τίνων δεῖται ὀνομάτων, εἴτε τῶν αὐτῶν ὧν τὸ πρῶτον ὅτε ἐκτᾶτο εἴτε ἑτέρων. μαθήσῃ δ’ ἐνθένδε σαφέστερον τί λέγω. ἀριθμητικὴν μὲν γὰρ λέγεις τέχνην;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ταύτην δὴ ὑπόλαβε θήραν ἐπιστημῶν ἀρτίου τε καὶ περιττοῦ παντός.

Θεαίτητος

ὑπολαμβάνω.

Σωκράτης

ταύτῃ δὴ οἶμαι τῇ τέχνῃ αὐτός τε ὑποχειρίους τὰς [198b] ἐπιστήμας τῶν ἀριθμῶν ἔχει καὶ ἄλλῳ παραδίδωσιν ὁ παραδιδούς.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ καλοῦμέν γε παραδιδόντα μὲν διδάσκειν, παραλαμβάνοντα δὲ μανθάνειν, ἔχοντα δὲ δὴ τῷ κεκτῆσθαι ἐν τῷ περιστερεῶνι ἐκείνῳ ἐπίστασθαι.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

τῷ δὲ δὴ ἐντεῦθεν ἤδη πρόσσχες τὸν νοῦν. ἀριθμητικὸς γὰρ ὢν τελέως ἄλλο τι πάντας ἀριθμοὺς ἐπίσταται; πάντων γὰρ ἀριθμῶν εἰσιν αὐτῷ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἐπιστῆμαι.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

[198c] Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν ὁ τοιοῦτος ἀριθμοῖ ἄν ποτέ τι ἢ αὐτὸς πρὸς αὑτὸν αὐτὰ ἢ ἄλλο τι τῶν ἔξω ὅσα ἔχει ἀριθμόν;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ ἀριθμεῖν γε οὐκ ἄλλο τι θήσομεν τοῦ σκοπεῖσθαι πόσος τις ἀριθμὸς τυγχάνει ὤν.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

ὃ ἄρα ἐπίσταται, σκοπούμενος φαίνεται ὡς οὐκ εἰδώς, ὃν ὡμολογήκαμεν ἅπαντα ἀριθμὸν εἰδέναι. ἀκούεις γάρ που τὰς τοιαύτας ἀμφισβητήσεις.

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

[198d] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἡμεῖς ἀπεικάζοντες τῇ τῶν περιστερῶν κτήσει τε καὶ θήρᾳ ἐροῦμεν ὅτι διττὴ ἦν ἡ θήρα, ἡ μὲν πρὶν ἐκτῆσθαι τοῦ κεκτῆσθαι ἕνεκα, ἡ δὲ κεκτημένῳ τοῦ λαβεῖν καὶ ἔχειν ἐν ταῖς χερσὶν ἃ πάλαι ἐκέκτητο. οὕτως δὲ καὶ ὧν πάλαι ἐπιστῆμαι ἦσαν αὐτῷ μαθόντι καὶ ἠπίστατο αὐτά, πάλιν ἔστι καταμανθάνειν ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ἀναλαμβάνοντα τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἑκάστου καὶ ἴσχοντα, ἣν ἐκέκτητο μὲν πάλαι, πρόχειρον δ’ οὐκ εἶχε τῇ διανοίᾳ;

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

[198e] Σωκράτης

τοῦτο δὴ ἄρτι ἠρώτων, ὅπως χρὴ τοῖς ὀνόμασι χρώμενον λέγειν περὶ αὐτῶν, ὅταν ἀριθμήσων ἴῃ ὁ ἀριθμητικὸς ἤ τι ἀναγνωσόμενος ὁ γραμματικός, ὡς ἐπιστάμενος ἄρα ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ πάλιν ἔρχεται μαθησόμενος παρ’ ἑαυτοῦ ἃ ἐπίσταται;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἄτοπον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἃ οὐκ ἐπίσταται φῶμεν αὐτὸν ἀναγνώσεσθαι [199a] καὶ ἀριθμήσειν, δεδωκότες αὐτῷ πάντα μὲν γράμματα πάντα δὲ ἀριθμὸν ἐπίστασθαι;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτ’ ἄλογον.

Σωκράτης

βούλει οὖν λέγωμεν ὅτι τῶν μὲν ὀνομάτων οὐδὲν ἡμῖν μέλει, ὅπῃ τις χαίρει ἕλκων τὸ ἐπίστασθαι καὶ μανθάνειν, ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὡρισάμεθα ἕτερον μέν τι τὸ κεκτῆσθαι τὴν ἐπιστήμην, ἕτερον δὲ τὸ ἔχειν, ὃ μέν τις ἔκτηται μὴ κεκτῆσθαι ἀδύνατόν φαμεν εἶναι, ὥστε οὐδέποτε συμβαίνει ὅ τις οἶδεν μὴ εἰδέναι, ψευδῆ μέντοι δόξαν οἷόν τ’ εἶναι περὶ αὐτοῦ λαβεῖν; [199b] μὴ γὰρ ἔχειν τὴν ἐπιστήμην τούτου οἷόν τε, ἀλλ’ ἑτέραν ἀντ’ ἐκείνης, ὅταν θηρεύων τινά πού ποτ’ ἐπιστήμην διαπετομένων ἀνθ’ ἑτέρας ἑτέραν ἁμαρτὼν λάβῃ, τότε ἄρα τὰ ἕνδεκα δώδεκα ᾠήθη εἶναι, τὴν τῶν ἕνδεκα ἐπιστήμην ἀντὶ τῆς τῶν δώδεκα λαβὼν τὴν ἐν ἑαυτῷ οἷον φάτταν ἀντὶ περιστερᾶς.

Θεαίτητος

ἔχει γὰρ οὖν λόγον.

Σωκράτης

ὅταν δέ γε ἣν ἐπιχειρεῖ λαβεῖν λάβῃ, ἀψευδεῖν τε καὶ τὰ ὄντα δοξάζειν τότε, καὶ οὕτω δὴ εἶναι ἀληθῆ τε καὶ [199c] ψευδῆ δόξαν, καὶ ὧν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐδυσχεραίνομεν οὐδὲν ἐμποδὼν γίγνεσθαι; ἴσως οὖν μοι συμφήσεις: ἢ πῶς ποιήσεις;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

καὶ γὰρ τοῦ μὲν ἃ ἐπίστανται μὴ ἐπίστασθαι ἀπηλλάγμεθα: ἃ γὰρ κεκτήμεθα μὴ κεκτῆσθαι οὐδαμοῦ ἔτι συμβαίνει, οὔτε ψευσθεῖσί τινος οὔτε μή. δεινότερον μέντοι πάθος ἄλλο παραφαίνεσθαί μοι δοκεῖ.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης

εἰ ἡ τῶν ἐπιστημῶν μεταλλαγὴ ψευδὴς γενήσεταί ποτε δόξα.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δή;

[199d] Σωκράτης

πρῶτον μὲν τό τινος ἔχοντα ἐπιστήμην τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἀγνοεῖν, μὴ ἀγνωμοσύνῃ ἀλλὰ τῇ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπιστήμῃ: ἔπειτα ἕτερον αὖ τοῦτο δοξάζειν, τὸ δ’ ἕτερον τοῦτο, πῶς οὐ πολλὴ ἀλογία, ἐπιστήμης παραγενομένης γνῶναι μὲν τὴν ψυχὴν μηδέν, ἀγνοῆσαι δὲ πάντα; ἐκ γὰρ τούτου τοῦ λόγου κωλύει οὐδὲν καὶ ἄγνοιαν παραγενομένην γνῶναί τι ποιῆσαι καὶ τυφλότητα ἰδεῖν, εἴπερ καὶ ἐπιστήμη ἀγνοῆσαί ποτέ τινα ποιήσει.

[199e] Θεαίτητος

ἴσως γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ καλῶς τὰς ὄρνιθας ἐτίθεμεν ἐπιστήμας μόνον τιθέντες, ἔδει δὲ καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνας τιθέναι ὁμοῦ συνδιαπετομένας ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ, καὶ τὸν θηρεύοντα τοτὲ μὲν ἐπιστήμην λαμβάνοντα, τοτὲ δ’ ἀνεπιστημοσύνην τοῦ αὐτοῦ πέρι ψευδῆ μὲν δοξάζειν τῇ ἀνεπιστημοσύνῃ, ἀληθῆ δὲ τῇ ἐπιστήμῃ.

Σωκράτης

οὐ ῥᾴδιόν γε, ὦ Θεαίτητε, μὴ ἐπαινεῖν σε: ὃ μέντοι εἶπες πάλιν ἐπίσκεψαι. ἔστω μὲν γὰρ ὡς λέγεις: ὁ δὲ δὴ τὴν [200a] ἀνεπιστημοσύνην λαβὼν ψευδῆ μέν, φῄς, δοξάσει. ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐ δήπου καὶ ἡγήσεταί γε ψευδῆ δοξάζειν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γάρ;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἀληθῆ γε, καὶ ὡς εἰδὼς διακείσεται περὶ ὧν ἔψευσται.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

ἐπιστήμην ἄρα οἰήσεται τεθηρευκὼς ἔχειν ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἀνεπιστημοσύνην.

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν μακρὰν περιελθόντες πάλιν ἐπὶ τὴν πρώτην πάρεσμεν ἀπορίαν. ὁ γὰρ ἐλεγκτικὸς ἐκεῖνος γελάσας φήσει: [200b] “πότερον,” ὦ βέλτιστοι, “ἀμφοτέρας τις εἰδώς, ἐπιστήμην τε καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσύνην, ἣν οἶδεν, ἑτέραν αὐτὴν οἴεταί τινα εἶναι ὧν οἶδεν; ἢ οὐδετέραν [αὐτὴν] εἰδώς, ἣν μὴ οἶδε, δοξάζει ἑτέραν ὧν οὐκ οἶδεν; ἢ τὴν μὲν εἰδώς, τὴν δ’ οὔ, ἣν οἶδεν, ἣν μὴ οἶδεν; ἢ ἣν μὴ οἶδεν, ἣν οἶδεν ἡγεῖται; ἢ πάλιν αὖ μοι ἐρεῖτε ὅτι τῶν ἐπιστημῶν καὶ ἀνεπιστημοσυνῶν εἰσὶν αὖ ἐπιστῆμαι, ἃς ὁ κεκτημένος ἐν ἑτέροις τισὶ γελοίοις [200c] περιστερεῶσιν ἢ κηρίνοις πλάσμασι καθείρξας, ἕωσπερ ἂν κεκτῆται ἐπίσταται, καὶ ἐὰν μὴ προχείρους ἔχῃ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ; καὶ οὕτω δὴ ἀναγκασθήσεσθε εἰς ταὐτὸν περιτρέχειν μυριάκις οὐδὲν πλέον ποιοῦντες;” τί πρὸς ταῦτα, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἀποκρινούμεθα;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μὰ Δί’, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔγωγε οὐκ ἔχω τί χρὴ λέγειν.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν ἡμῖν, ὦ παῖ, καλῶς ὁ λόγος ἐπιπλήττει καὶ ἐνδείκνυται ὅτι οὐκ ὀρθῶς ψευδῆ δόξαν προτέραν ζητοῦμεν [200d] ἐπιστήμης, ἐκείνην ἀφέντες; τὸ δ’ ἐστὶν ἀδύνατον γνῶναι πρὶν ἄν τις ἐπιστήμην ἱκανῶς λάβῃ τί ποτ’ ἐστίν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐν τῷ παρόντι ὡς λέγεις οἴεσθαι.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν τις ἐρεῖ πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐπιστήμην; οὐ γάρ που ἀπεροῦμέν γέ πω;

Θεαίτητος

ἥκιστα, ἐάνπερ μὴ σύ γε ἀπαγορεύῃς.

Σωκράτης

λέγε δή, τί ἂν αὐτὸ μάλιστα εἰπόντες ἥκιστ’ ἂν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς ἐναντιωθεῖμεν;

[200e] Θεαίτητος

ὅπερ ἐπεχειροῦμεν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν: οὐ γὰρ ἔχω ἔγωγε ἄλλο οὐδέν.

Σωκράτης

τὸ ποῖον;

Θεαίτητος

τὴν ἀληθῆ δόξαν ἐπιστήμην εἶναι. ἀναμάρτητόν γέ πού ἐστιν τὸ δοξάζειν ἀληθῆ, καὶ τὰ ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ γιγνόμενα πάντα καλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ γίγνεται.

Σωκράτης

ὁ τὸν ποταμὸν καθηγούμενος, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἔφη ἄρα δείξειν αὐτό: καὶ τοῦτο ἐὰν ἰόντες ἐρευνῶμεν, τάχ’ ἂν [201a] ἐμπόδιον γενόμενον αὐτὸ φήνειεν τὸ ζητούμενον, μένουσι δὲ δῆλον οὐδέν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς λέγεις: ἀλλ’ ἴωμέν γε καὶ σκοπῶμεν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοῦτό γε βραχείας σκέψεως: τέχνη γάρ σοι ὅλη σημαίνει μὴ εἶναι ἐπιστήμην αὐτό.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δή; καὶ τίς αὕτη;

Σωκράτης

ἡ τῶν μεγίστων εἰς σοφίαν, οὓς δὴ καλοῦσιν ῥήτοράς τε καὶ δικανικούς. οὗτοι γάρ που τῇ ἑαυτῶν τέχνῃ πείθουσιν οὐ διδάσκοντες ἀλλὰ δοξάζειν ποιοῦντες ἃ ἂν βούλωνται. ἢ σὺ οἴει δεινούς τινας οὕτω διδασκάλους εἶναι, [201b] ὥστε οἷς μὴ παρεγένοντό τινες ἀποστερουμένοις χρήματα ἤ τι ἄλλο βιαζομένοις, τούτοις δύνασθαι πρὸς ὕδωρ σμικρὸν διδάξαι ἱκανῶς τῶν γενομένων τὴν ἀλήθειαν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς ἔγωγε οἶμαι, ἀλλὰ πεῖσαι μέν.

Σωκράτης

τὸ πεῖσαι δ’ οὐχὶ δοξάσαι λέγεις ποιῆσαι;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὅταν δικαίως πεισθῶσιν δικασταὶ περὶ ὧν ἰδόντι μόνον ἔστιν εἰδέναι, ἄλλως δὲ μή, ταῦτα τότε ἐξ [201c] ἀκοῆς κρίνοντες, ἀληθῆ δόξαν λαβόντες, ἄνευ ἐπιστήμης ἔκριναν, ὀρθὰ πεισθέντες, εἴπερ εὖ ἐδίκασαν;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄν, ὦ φίλε, εἴ γε ταὐτὸν ἦν δόξα τε ἀληθὴς †καὶ δικαστήρια† καὶ ἐπιστήμη, ὀρθά ποτ’ ἂν δικαστὴς ἄκρος ἐδόξαζεν ἄνευ ἐπιστήμης: νῦν δὲ ἔοικεν ἄλλο τι ἑκάτερον εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

ὅ γε ἐγώ, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰπόντος του ἀκούσας ἐπελελήσμην, νῦν δ’ ἐννοῶ: ἔφη δὲ τὴν μὲν μετὰ λόγου [201d] ἀληθῆ δόξαν ἐπιστήμην εἶναι, τὴν δὲ ἄλογον ἐκτὸς ἐπιστήμης: καὶ ὧν μὲν μή ἐστι λόγος, οὐκ ἐπιστητὰ εἶναι, οὑτωσὶ καὶ ὀνομάζων, ἃ δ’ ἔχει, ἐπιστητά.

Σωκράτης

ἦ καλῶς λέγεις. τὰ δὲ δὴ ἐπιστητὰ ταῦτα καὶ μὴ πῇ διῄρει, λέγε, εἰ ἄρα κατὰ ταὐτὰ σύ τε κἀγὼ ἀκηκόαμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ οὐκ οἶδα εἰ ἐξευρήσω: λέγοντος μεντἂν ἑτέρου, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, ἀκολουθήσαιμ’ ἄν.

Σωκράτης

ἄκουε δὴ ὄναρ ἀντὶ ὀνείρατος. ἐγὼ γὰρ αὖ ἐδόκουν [201e] ἀκούειν τινῶν ὅτι τὰ μὲν πρῶτα οἱονπερεὶ στοιχεῖα, ἐξ ὧν ἡμεῖς τε συγκείμεθα καὶ τἆλλα, λόγον οὐκ ἔχοι. αὐτὸ γὰρ καθ’ αὑτὸ ἕκαστον ὀνομάσαι μόνον εἴη, προσειπεῖν δὲ οὐδὲν ἄλλο δυνατόν, οὔθ’ ὡς ἔστιν, οὔθ’ ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν: ἤδη γὰρ [202a] ἂν οὐσίαν ἢ μὴ οὐσίαν αὐτῷ προστίθεσθαι, δεῖν δὲ οὐδὲν προσφέρειν, εἴπερ αὐτὸ ἐκεῖνο μόνον τις ἐρεῖ. ἐπεὶ οὐδὲ τὸ “αὐτὸ” οὐδὲ τὸ “ἐκεῖνο” οὐδὲ τὸ “ἕκαστον” οὐδὲ τὸ “μόνον” οὐδὲ “τοῦτο” προσοιστέον οὐδ’ ἄλλα πολλὰ τοιαῦτα: ταῦτα μὲν γὰρ περιτρέχοντα πᾶσι προσφέρεσθαι, ἕτερα ὄντα ἐκείνων οἷς προστίθεται, δεῖν δέ, εἴπερ ἦν δυνατὸν αὐτὸ λέγεσθαι καὶ εἶχεν οἰκεῖον αὑτοῦ λόγον, ἄνευ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων λέγεσθαι. νῦν δὲ ἀδύνατον εἶναι [202b] ὁτιοῦν τῶν πρώτων ῥηθῆναι λόγῳ: οὐ γὰρ εἶναι αὐτῷ ἀλλ’ ἢ ὀνομάζεσθαι μόνον — ὄνομα γὰρ μόνον ἔχειν — τὰ δὲ ἐκ τούτων ἤδη συγκείμενα, ὥσπερ αὐτὰ πέπλεκται, οὕτω καὶ τὰ ὀνόματα αὐτῶν συμπλακέντα λόγον γεγονέναι: ὀνομάτων γὰρ συμπλοκὴν εἶναι λόγου οὐσίαν. οὕτω δὴ τὰ μὲν στοιχεῖα ἄλογα καὶ ἄγνωστα εἶναι, αἰσθητὰ δέ: τὰς δὲ συλλαβὰς γνωστάς τε καὶ ῥητὰς καὶ ἀληθεῖ δόξῃ δοξαστάς. ὅταν μὲν οὖν ἄνευ λόγου τὴν ἀληθῆ δόξαν τινός τις λάβῃ, [202c] ἀληθεύειν μὲν αὐτοῦ τὴν ψυχὴν περὶ αὐτό, γιγνώσκειν δ’ οὔ: τὸν γὰρ μὴ δυνάμενον δοῦναί τε καὶ δέξασθαι λόγον ἀνεπιστήμονα εἶναι περὶ τούτου: προσλαβόντα δὲ λόγον δυνατόν τε ταῦτα πάντα γεγονέναι καὶ τελείως πρὸς ἐπιστήμην ἔχειν. οὕτως σὺ τὸ ἐνύπνιον ἢ ἄλλως ἀκήκοας;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτω μὲν οὖν παντάπασιν.

Σωκράτης

ἀρέσκει οὖν σε καὶ τίθεσαι ταύτῃ, δόξαν ἀληθῆ μετὰ λόγου ἐπιστήμην εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

[202d] Σωκράτης

ἆρ’, ὦ Θεαίτητε, νῦν οὕτω τῇδε τῇ ἡμέρᾳ εἰλήφαμεν ὃ πάλαι καὶ πολλοὶ τῶν σοφῶν ζητοῦντες πρὶν εὑρεῖν κατεγήρασαν;

Θεαίτητος

ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, καλῶς λέγεσθαι τὸ νῦν ῥηθέν.

Σωκράτης

καὶ εἰκός γε αὐτὸ τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχειν: τίς γὰρ ἂν καὶ ἔτι ἐπιστήμη εἴη χωρὶς τοῦ λόγου τε καὶ ὀρθῆς δόξης; ἓν μέντοι τί με τῶν ῥηθέντων ἀπαρέσκει.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον δή;

Σωκράτης

ὃ καὶ δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι κομψότατα, ὡς τὰ μὲν [202e] στοιχεῖα ἄγνωστα, τὸ δὲ τῶν συλλαβῶν γένος γνωστόν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς;

Σωκράτης

ἰστέον δή: ὥσπερ γὰρ ὁμήρους ἔχομεν τοῦ λόγου τὰ παραδείγματα οἷς χρώμενος εἶπε πάντα ταῦτα.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖα δή;

Σωκράτης

τὰ τῶν γραμμάτων στοιχεῖά τε καὶ συλλαβάς. ἢ οἴει ἄλλοσέ ποι βλέποντα ταῦτα εἰπεῖν τὸν εἰπόντα ἃ λέγομεν;

Θεαίτητος

οὔκ, ἀλλ’ εἰς ταῦτα.

[203a] Σωκράτης

βασανίζωμεν δὴ αὐτὰ ἀναλαμβάνοντες, μᾶλλον δὲ ἡμᾶς αὐτούς, οὕτως ἢ οὐχ οὕτως γράμματα ἐμάθομεν. φέρε πρῶτον: ἆρ’ αἱ μὲν συλλαβαὶ λόγον ἔχουσι, τὰ δὲ στοιχεῖα ἄλογα;

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως.

Σωκράτης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν καὶ ἐμοὶ φαίνεται. Σωκράτους γοῦν εἴ τις ἔροιτο τὴν πρώτην συλλαβὴν οὑτωσί: “ὦ Θεαίτητε, λέγε τί ἐστι ΣΩ”; τί ἀποκρινῇ;

Θεαίτητος

ὅτι σῖγμα καὶ ὦ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοῦτον ἔχεις λόγον τῆς συλλαβῆς;

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

[203b] Σωκράτης

ἴθι δή, οὕτως εἰπὲ καὶ τὸν τοῦ σῖγμα λόγον.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς τοῦ στοιχείου τις ἐρεῖ στοιχεῖα; καὶ γὰρ δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, τό τε σῖγμα τῶν ἀφώνων ἐστί, ψόφος τις μόνον, οἷον συριττούσης τῆς γλώττης: τοῦ δ’ αὖ βῆτα οὔτε φωνὴ οὔτε ψόφος, οὐδὲ τῶν πλείστων στοιχείων. ὥστε πάνυ εὖ ἔχει τὸ λέγεσθαι αὐτὰ ἄλογα, ὧν γε τὰ ἐναργέστατα αὐτὰ τὰ ἑπτὰ φωνὴν μόνον ἔχει, λόγον δὲ οὐδ’ ὁντινοῦν.

Σωκράτης

τουτὶ μὲν ἄρα, ὦ ἑταῖρε, κατωρθώκαμεν περὶ ἐπιστήμης.

Θεαίτητος

φαινόμεθα.

[203c] Σωκράτης

τί δέ; τὸ μὴ γνωστὸν εἶναι τὸ στοιχεῖον ἀλλὰ τὴν συλλαβὴν ἆρ’ ὀρθῶς ἀποδεδείγμεθα;

Θεαίτητος

εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δή, τὴν συλλαβὴν πότερον λέγομεν τὰ ἀμφότερα στοιχεῖα, καὶ ἐὰν πλείω ᾖ ἢ δύο, τὰ πάντα, ἢ μίαν τινὰ ἰδέαν γεγονυῖαν συντεθέντων αὐτῶν;

Θεαίτητος

τὰ ἅπαντα ἔμοιγε δοκοῦμεν.

Σωκράτης

ὅρα δὴ ἐπὶ δυοῖν, σῖγμα καὶ ὦ. ἀμφότερά ἐστιν ἡ πρώτη συλλαβὴ τοῦ ἐμοῦ ὀνόματος. ἄλλο τι ὁ γιγνώσκων αὐτὴν τὰ ἀμφότερα γιγνώσκει;

[203d] Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Σωκράτης

τὸ σῖγμα καὶ τὸ ὦ ἄρα γιγνώσκει.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’; ἑκάτερον ἄρ’ ἀγνοεῖ καὶ οὐδέτερον εἰδὼς ἀμφότερα γιγνώσκει;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ δεινὸν καὶ ἄλογον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μέντοι εἴ γε ἀνάγκη ἑκάτερον γιγνώσκειν, εἴπερ ἀμφότερά τις γνώσεται, προγιγνώσκειν τὰ στοιχεῖα ἅπασα ἀνάγκη τῷ μέλλοντί ποτε γνώσεσθαι συλλαβήν, καὶ οὕτως ἡμῖν ὁ καλὸς λόγος ἀποδεδρακὼς οἰχήσεται.

[203e] Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα γε ἐξαίφνης.

Σωκράτης

οὐ γὰρ καλῶς αὐτὸν φυλάττομεν. χρῆν γὰρ ἴσως τὴν συλλαβὴν τίθεσθαι μὴ τὰ στοιχεῖα ἀλλ’ ἐξ ἐκείνων ἕν τι γεγονὸς εἶδος, ἰδέαν μίαν αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ ἔχον, ἕτερον δὲ τῶν στοιχείων.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν: καὶ τάχα γ’ ἂν μᾶλλον οὕτως ἢ ‘κείνως ἔχοι.

Σωκράτης

σκεπτέον καὶ οὐ προδοτέον οὕτως ἀνάνδρως μέγαν τε καὶ σεμνὸν λόγον.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

[204a] Σωκράτης

ἐχέτω δὴ ὡς νῦν φαμεν, μία ἰδέα ἐξ ἑκάστων τῶν συναρμοττόντων στοιχείων γιγνομένη ἡ συλλαβή, ὁμοίως ἔν τε γράμμασι καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἅπασι.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν μέρη αὐτῆς οὐ δεῖ εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Σωκράτης

ὅτι οὗ ἂν ᾖ μέρη, τὸ ὅλον ἀνάγκη τὰ πάντα μέρη εἶναι. ἢ καὶ τὸ ὅλον ἐκ τῶν μερῶν λέγεις γεγονὸς ἕν τι εἶδος ἕτερον τῶν πάντων μερῶν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ δὴ πᾶν καὶ τὸ ὅλον πότερον ταὐτὸν καλεῖς ἢ [204b] ἕτερον ἑκάτερον;

Θεαίτητος

ἔχω μὲν οὐδὲν σαφές, ὅτι δὲ κελεύεις προθύμως ἀποκρίνασθαι, παρακινδυνεύων λέγω ὅτι ἕτερον.

Σωκράτης

ἡ μὲν προθυμία, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὀρθή: εἰ δὲ καὶ ἡ ἀπόκρισις, σκεπτέον.

Θεαίτητος

δεῖ γε δή.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν διαφέροι ἂν τὸ ὅλον τοῦ παντός, ὡς ὁ νῦν λόγος;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ δή; τὰ πάντα καὶ τὸ πᾶν ἔσθ’ ὅτι διαφέρει; οἷον ἐπειδὰν λέγωμεν ἕν, δύο, τρία, τέτταρα, πέντε, ἕξ, καὶ [204c] ἐὰν δὶς τρία ἢ τρὶς δύο ἢ τέτταρά τε καὶ δύο ἢ τρία καὶ δύο καὶ ἕν, πότερον ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις τὸ αὐτὸ ἢ ἕτερον λέγομεν;

Θεαίτητος

τὸ αὐτό.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ ἄλλο τι ἢ ἕξ;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐφ’ ἑκάστης λέξεως πάντα ἓξ εἰρήκαμεν;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

πᾶν δ’ οὐδὲν λέγομεν τὰ πάντα λέγοντες;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

ἦ ἄλλο τι ἢ τὰ ἕξ;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

[204d] Σωκράτης

ταὐτὸν ἄρα ἔν γε τοῖς ὅσα ἐξ ἀριθμοῦ ἐστι τό τε πᾶν προσαγορεύομεν καὶ τὰ ἅπαντα;

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ὧδε δὴ περὶ αὐτῶν λέγωμεν. ὁ τοῦ πλέθρου ἀριθμὸς καὶ τὸ πλέθρον ταὐτόν: ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὁ τοῦ σταδίου δὴ ὡσαύτως.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν καὶ ὁ τοῦ στρατοπέδου γε καὶ τὸ στρατόπεδον, καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ὁμοίως; ὁ γὰρ ἀριθμὸς πᾶς τὸ ὂν πᾶν ἕκαστον αὐτῶν ἐστιν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[204e] Σωκράτης

ὁ δὲ ἑκάστων ἀριθμὸς μῶν ἄλλο τι ἢ μέρη ἐστίν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

Σωκράτης

ὅσα ἄρα ἔχει μέρη, ἐκ μερῶν ἂν εἴη;

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

τὰ δέ γε πάντα μέρη τὸ πᾶν εἶναι ὡμολόγηται, εἴπερ καὶ ὁ πᾶς ἀριθμὸς τὸ πᾶν ἔσται.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

τὸ ὅλον ἄρ’ οὐκ ἔστιν ἐκ μερῶν. πᾶν γὰρ ἂν εἴη τὰ πάντα ὂν μέρη.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

μέρος δ’ ἔσθ’ ὅτου ἄλλου ἐστὶν ὅπερ ἐστὶν ἢ τοῦ ὅλου;

Θεαίτητος

τοῦ παντός γε.

[205a] Σωκράτης

ἀνδρικῶς γε, ὦ Θεαίτητε, μάχῃ. τὸ πᾶν δὲ οὐχ ὅταν μηδὲν ἀπῇ, αὐτὸ τοῦτο πᾶν ἐστιν;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

ὅλον δὲ οὐ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἔσται, οὗ ἂν μηδαμῇ μηδὲν ἀποστατῇ; οὗ δ’ ἂν ἀποστατῇ, οὔτε ὅλον οὔτε πᾶν, ἅμα γενόμενον ἐκ τοῦ αὐτοῦ τὸ αὐτό;

Θεαίτητος

δοκεῖ μοι νῦν οὐδὲν διαφέρειν πᾶν τε καὶ ὅλον.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐλέγομεν ὅτι οὗ ἂν μέρη ᾖ, τὸ ὅλον τε καὶ πᾶν τὰ πάντα μέρη ἔσται;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

πάλιν δή, ὅπερ ἄρτι ἐπεχείρουν, οὐκ, εἴπερ ἡ [205b] συλλαβὴ μὴ τὰ στοιχεῖά ἐστιν, ἀνάγκη αὐτὴν μὴ ὡς μέρη ἔχειν ἑαυτῆς τὰ στοιχεῖα, ἢ ταὐτὸν οὖσαν αὐτοῖς ὁμοίως ἐκείνοις γνωστὴν εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοῦτο ἵνα μὴ γένηται, ἕτερον αὐτῶν αὐτὴν ἐθέμεθα;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’; εἰ μὴ τὰ στοιχεῖα συλλαβῆς μέρη ἐστίν, ἔχεις ἄλλ’ ἄττα εἰπεῖν ἃ μέρη μέν ἐστι συλλαβῆς, οὐ μέντοι στοιχεῖά γ’ ἐκείνης;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς. εἰ γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, μόρι’ ἄττ’ αὐτῆς συγχωροίην, γελοῖόν που τὰ στοιχεῖα ἀφέντα ἐπ’ ἄλλα ἰέναι.

[205c] Σωκράτης

παντάπασι δή, ὦ Θεαίτητε, κατὰ τὸν νῦν λόγον μία τις ἰδέα ἀμέριστος συλλαβὴ ἂν εἴη.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

μέμνησαι οὖν, ὦ φίλε, ὅτι ὀλίγον ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν ἀπεδεχόμεθα ἡγούμενοι εὖ λέγεσθαι ὅτι τῶν πρώτων οὐκ εἴη λόγος ἐξ ὧν τἆλλα σύγκειται, διότι αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ ἕκαστον εἴη ἀσύνθετον, καὶ οὐδὲ τὸ “εἶναι” περὶ αὐτοῦ ὀρθῶς ἔχοι προσφέροντα εἰπεῖν, οὐδὲ “τοῦτο,” ὡς ἕτερα καὶ ἀλλότρια λεγόμενα, καὶ αὕτη δὴ ἡ αἰτία ἄλογόν τε καὶ ἄγνωστον αὐτὸ ποιοῖ;

Θεαίτητος

μέμνημαι.

[205d] Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν ἄλλη τις ἢ αὕτη ἡ αἰτία τοῦ μονοειδές τε καὶ ἀμέριστον αὐτὸ εἶναι; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ οὐχ ὁρῶ ἄλλην.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν δὴ φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰς ταὐτὸν ἐμπέπτωκεν ἡ συλλαβὴ εἶδος ἐκείνῳ, εἴπερ μέρη τε μὴ ἔχει καὶ μία ἐστὶν ἰδέα;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

εἰ μὲν ἄρα πολλὰ στοιχεῖα ἡ συλλαβή ἐστιν καὶ ὅλον τι, μέρη δ’ αὐτῆς ταῦτα, ὁμοίως αἵ τε συλλαβαὶ γνωσταὶ καὶ ῥηταὶ καὶ τὰ στοιχεῖα, ἐπείπερ τὰ πάντα μέρη τῷ ὅλῳ ταὐτὸν ἐφάνη.

[205e] Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης

εἰ δέ γε ἕν τε καὶ ἀμερές, ὁμοίως μὲν συλλαβή, ὡσαύτως δὲ στοιχεῖον ἄλογόν τε καὶ ἄγνωστον: ἡ γὰρ αὐτὴ αἰτία ποιήσει αὐτὰ τοιαῦτα.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔχω ἄλλως εἰπεῖν.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα μὴ ἀποδεχώμεθα, ὃς ἂν λέγῃ συλλαβὴν μὲν γνωστὸν καὶ ῥητόν, στοιχεῖον δὲ τοὐναντίον.

Θεαίτητος

μὴ γάρ, εἴπερ τῷ λόγῳ πειθόμεθα.

[206a] Σωκράτης

τί δ’ αὖ; τοὐναντίον λέγοντος ἆρ’ οὐ μᾶλλον ἂν ἀποδέξαιο ἐξ ὧν αὐτὸς σύνοισθα σαυτῷ ἐν τῇ τῶν γραμμάτων μαθήσει;

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης

ὡς οὐδὲν ἄλλο μανθάνων διετέλεσας ἢ τὰ στοιχεῖα ἔν τε τῇ ὄψει διαγιγνώσκειν πειρώμενος καὶ ἐν τῇ ἀκοῇ αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ ἕκαστον, ἵνα μὴ ἡ θέσις σε ταράττοι λεγομένων τε καὶ γραφομένων.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ἐν δὲ κιθαριστοῦ τελέως μεμαθηκέναι μῶν ἄλλο τι [206b] ἦν ἢ τὸ τῷ φθόγγῳ ἑκάστῳ δύνασθαι ἐπακολουθεῖν, ποίας χορδῆς εἴη: ἃ δὴ στοιχεῖα πᾶς ἂν ὁμολογήσειε μουσικῆς λέγεσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδὲν ἄλλο.

Σωκράτης

ὧν μὲν ἄρ’ αὐτοὶ ἔμπειροί ἐσμεν στοιχείων καὶ συλλαβῶν, εἰ δεῖ ἀπὸ τούτων τεκμαίρεσθαι καὶ εἰς τὰ ἄλλα, πολὺ τὸ τῶν στοιχείων γένος ἐναργεστέραν τε τὴν γνῶσιν ἔχειν φήσομεν καὶ κυριωτέραν τῆς συλλαβῆς πρὸς τὸ λαβεῖν τελέως ἕκαστον μάθημα, καὶ ἐάν τις φῇ συλλαβὴν μὲν γνωστόν, ἄγνωστον δὲ πεφυκέναι στοιχεῖον, ἑκόντα ἢ ἄκοντα παίζειν ἡγησόμεθ’ αὐτόν.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

[206c] Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ δὴ τούτου μὲν ἔτι κἂν ἄλλαι φανεῖεν ἀποδείξεις, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ: τὸ δὲ προκείμενον μὴ ἐπιλαθώμεθα δι’ αὐτὰ ἰδεῖν, ὅτι δή ποτε καὶ λέγεται τὸ μετὰ δόξης ἀληθοῦς λόγον προσγενόμενον τὴν τελεωτάτην ἐπιστήμην γεγονέναι.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν χρὴ ὁρᾶν.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δή, τί ποτε βούλεται τὸν λόγον ἡμῖν σημαίνειν; τριῶν γὰρ ἕν τί μοι δοκεῖ λέγειν.

Θεαίτητος

τίνων δή;

[206d] Σωκράτης

τὸ μὲν πρῶτον εἴη ἂν τὸ τὴν αὑτοῦ διάνοιαν ἐμφανῆ ποιεῖν διὰ φωνῆς μετὰ ῥημάτων τε καὶ ὀνομάτων, ὥσπερ εἰς κάτοπτρον ἢ ὕδωρ τὴν δόξαν ἐκτυπούμενον εἰς τὴν διὰ τοῦ στόματος ῥοήν. ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι τὸ τοιοῦτον λόγος εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

ἔμοιγε. τὸν γοῦν αὐτὸ δρῶντα λέγειν φαμέν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν αὖ τοῦτό γε πᾶς ποιεῖν δυνατὸς θᾶττον ἢ σχολαίτερον, τὸ ἐνδείξασθαι τί δοκεῖ περὶ ἑκάστου αὐτῷ, ὁ μὴ ἐνεὸς ἢ κωφὸς ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς: καὶ οὕτως ὅσοι τι ὀρθὸν [206e] δοξάζουσι, πάντες αὐτὸ μετὰ λόγου φανοῦνται ἔχοντες, καὶ οὐδαμοῦ ἔτι ὀρθὴ δόξα χωρὶς ἐπιστήμης γενήσεται.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

μὴ τοίνυν ῥᾳδίως καταγιγνώσκωμεν τὸ μηδὲν εἰρηκέναι τὸν ἀποφηνάμενον ἐπιστήμην ὃ νῦν σκοποῦμεν. ἴσως γὰρ ὁ λέγων οὐ τοῦτο ἔλεγεν, ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐρωτηθέντα τί ἕκαστον δυνατὸν εἶναι τὴν ἀπόκρισιν διὰ τῶν στοιχείων [207a] ἀποδοῦναι τῷ ἐρομένῳ.

Θεαίτητος

οἷον τί λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

οἷον καὶ Ἡσίοδος περὶ ἁμάξης λέγει τὸ “ἑκατὸν δέ τε δούραθ’ ἁμάξης.” ἃ ἐγὼ μὲν οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην εἰπεῖν, οἶμαι δὲ οὐδὲ σύ: ἀλλ’ ἀγαπῷμεν ἂν ἐρωτηθέντες ὅτι ἐστὶν ἅμαξα, εἰ ἔχοιμεν εἰπεῖν τροχοί, ἄξων, ὑπερτερία, ἄντυγες, ζυγόν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ὁ δέ γε ἴσως οἴοιτ’ ἂν ἡμᾶς, ὥσπερ ἂν τὸ σὸν ὄνομα ἐρωτηθέντας καὶ ἀποκρινομένους κατὰ συλλαβήν, [207b] γελοίους εἶναι, ὀρθῶς μὲν δοξάζοντας καὶ λέγοντας ἃ λέγομεν, οἰομένους δὲ γραμματικοὺς εἶναι καὶ ἔχειν τε καὶ λέγειν γραμματικῶς τὸν τοῦ Θεαιτήτου ὀνόματος λόγον: τὸ δ’ οὐκ εἶναι ἐπιστημόνως οὐδὲν λέγειν, πρὶν ἂν διὰ τῶν στοιχείων μετὰ τῆς ἀληθοῦς δόξης ἕκαστον περαίνῃ τις, ὅπερ καὶ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθε που ἐῤῥήθη.

Θεαίτητος

ἐῤῥήθη γάρ.

Σωκράτης

οὕτω τοίνυν καὶ περὶ ἁμάξης ἡμᾶς μὲν ὀρθὴν ἔχειν δόξαν, τὸν δὲ διὰ τῶν ἑκατὸν ἐκείνων δυνάμενον διελθεῖν [207c] αὐτῆς τὴν οὐσίαν, προσλαβόντα τοῦτο, λόγον τε προσειληφέναι τῇ ἀληθεῖ δόξῃ καὶ ἀντὶ δοξαστικοῦ τεχνικόν τε καὶ ἐπιστήμονα περὶ ἁμάξης οὐσίας γεγονέναι, διὰ στοιχείων τὸ ὅλον περάναντα.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν εὖ δοκεῖ σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

εἰ σοί, ὦ ἑταῖρε, δοκεῖ, καὶ ἀποδέχῃ τὴν διὰ στοιχείου διέξοδον περὶ ἑκάστου λόγον εἶναι, τὴν δὲ κατὰ συλλαβὰς ἢ καὶ κατὰ μεῖζον ἔτι ἀλογίαν, τοῦτό μοι λέγε, [207d] ἵν’ αὐτὸ ἐπισκοπῶμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ πάνυ ἀποδέχομαι.

Σωκράτης

πότερον ἡγούμενος ἐπιστήμονα εἶναι ὁντινοῦν ὁτουοῦν, ὅταν τὸ αὐτὸ τοτὲ μὲν τοῦ αὐτοῦ δοκῇ αὐτῷ εἶναι, τοτὲ δὲ ἑτέρου, ἢ καὶ ὅταν τοῦ αὐτοῦ τοτὲ μὲν ἕτερον, τοτὲ δὲ ἕτερον δοξάζῃ;

Θεαίτητος

μὰ Δί’ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

εἶτα ἀμνημονεῖς ἐν τῇ τῶν γραμμάτων μαθήσει κατ’ ἀρχὰς σαυτόν τε καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους δρῶντας αὐτά;

Θεαίτητος

ἆρα λέγεις τῆς αὐτῆς συλλαβῆς τοτὲ μὲν ἕτερον, [207e] τοτὲ δὲ ἕτερον ἡγουμένους γράμμα, καὶ τὸ αὐτὸ τοτὲ μὲν εἰς τὴν προσήκουσαν, τοτὲ δὲ εἰς ἄλλην τιθέντας συλλαβήν;

Σωκράτης

ταῦτα λέγω.

Θεαίτητος

μὰ Δί’ οὐ τοίνυν ἀμνημονῶ, οὐδέ γέ πω ἡγοῦμαι ἐπίστασθαι τοὺς οὕτως ἔχοντας.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; ὅταν ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ καιρῷ “Θεαίτητον” γράφων τις θῆτα καὶ εἶ οἴηταί τε δεῖν γράφειν καὶ γράψῃ, [208a] καὶ αὖ “Θεόδωρον” ἐπιχειρῶν γράφειν ταῦ καὶ εἶ οἴηταί τε δεῖν γράφειν καὶ γράψῃ, ἆρ’ ἐπίστασθαι φήσομεν αὐτὸν τὴν πρώτην τῶν ὑμετέρων ὀνομάτων συλλαβήν;

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἄρτι ὡμολογήσαμεν τὸν οὕτως ἔχοντα μήπω εἰδέναι.

Σωκράτης

κωλύει οὖν τι καὶ περὶ τὴν δευτέραν συλλαβὴν καὶ τρίτην καὶ τετάρτην οὕτως ἔχειν τὸν αὐτόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν γε.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν τότε τὴν διὰ στοιχείου διέξοδον ἔχων γράψει “Θεαίτητον” μετὰ ὀρθῆς δόξης, ὅταν ἑξῆς γράφῃ;

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον δή.

[208b] Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἔτι ἀνεπιστήμων ὤν, ὀρθὰ δὲ δοξάζων, ὥς φαμεν;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

λόγον γε ἔχων μετὰ ὀρθῆς δόξης. τὴν γὰρ διὰ τοῦ στοιχείου ὁδὸν ἔχων ἔγραφεν, ἣν δὴ λόγον ὡμολογήσαμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης

ἔστιν ἄρα, ὦ ἑταῖρε, μετὰ λόγου ὀρθὴ δόξα, ἣν οὔπω δεῖ ἐπιστήμην καλεῖν.

Θεαίτητος

κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης

ὄναρ δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπλουτήσαμεν οἰηθέντες ἔχειν τὸν ἀληθέστατον ἐπιστήμης λόγον. ἢ μήπω κατηγορῶμεν; [208c] ἴσως γὰρ οὐ τοῦτό τις αὐτὸν ὁριεῖται, ἀλλὰ τὸ λοιπὸν εἶδος τῶν τριῶν, ὧν ἕν γέ τι ἔφαμεν λόγον θήσεσθαι τὸν ἐπιστήμην ὁριζόμενον δόξαν εἶναι ὀρθὴν μετὰ λόγου.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς ὑπέμνησας: ἔτι γὰρ ἓν λοιπόν. τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἦν διανοίας ἐν φωνῇ ὥσπερ εἴδωλον, τὸ δ’ ἄρτι λεχθὲν διὰ στοιχείου ὁδὸς ἐπὶ τὸ ὅλον: τὸ δὲ δὴ τρίτον τί λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

ὅπερ ἂν οἱ πολλοὶ εἴποιεν, τὸ ἔχειν τι σημεῖον εἰπεῖν ᾧ τῶν ἁπάντων διαφέρει τὸ ἐρωτηθέν.

Θεαίτητος

οἷον τίνα τίνος ἔχεις μοι λόγον εἰπεῖν;

[208d] Σωκράτης

οἷον, εἰ βούλει, ἡλίου πέρι ἱκανὸν οἶμαί σοι εἶναι ἀποδέξασθαι, ὅτι τὸ λαμπρότατόν ἐστι τῶν κατὰ τὸν οὐρανὸν ἰόντων περὶ γῆν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

λαβὲ δὴ οὗ χάριν εἴρηται. ἔστι δὲ ὅπερ ἄρτι ἐλέγομεν, ὡς ἄρα τὴν διαφορὰν ἑκάστου ἂν λαμβάνῃς ᾗ τῶν ἄλλων διαφέρει, λόγον, ὥς φασί τινες, λήψῃ: ἕως δ’ ἂν κοινοῦ τινος ἐφάπτῃ, ἐκείνων πέρι σοι ἔσται ὁ λόγος ὧν ἂν ἡ κοινότης ᾖ.

[208e] Θεαίτητος

μανθάνω: καί μοι δοκεῖ καλῶς ἔχειν λόγον τὸ τοιοῦτον καλεῖν.

Σωκράτης

ὃς δ’ ἂν μετ’ ὀρθῆς δόξης περὶ ὁτουοῦν τῶν ὄντων τὴν διαφορὰν τῶν ἄλλων προσλάβῃ, αὐτοῦ ἐπιστήμων γεγονὼς ἔσται οὗ πρότερον ἦν δοξαστής.

Θεαίτητος

φαμέν γε μὴν οὕτω.

Σωκράτης

νῦν δῆτα, ὦ Θεαίτητε, παντάπασιν ἔγωγε, ἐπειδὴ ἐγγὺς ὥσπερ σκιαγραφήματος γέγονα τοῦ λεγομένου, συνίημι οὐδὲ σμικρόν: ἕως δὲ ἀφειστήκη πόῤῥωθεν, ἐφαίνετό τί μοι λέγεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς τί τοῦτο;

[209a] Σωκράτης

φράσω, ἐὰν οἷός τε γένωμαι. ὀρθὴν ἔγωγε ἔχων δόξαν περὶ σοῦ, ἐὰν μὲν προσλάβω τὸν σὸν λόγον, γιγνώσκω δή σε, εἰ δὲ μή, δοξάζω μόνον.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

λόγος δέ γε ἦν ἡ τῆς σῆς διαφορότητος ἑρμηνεία.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

ἡνίκ’ οὖν ἐδόξαζον μόνον, ἄλλο τι ᾧ τῶν ἄλλων διαφέρεις, τούτων οὐδενὸς ἡπτόμην τῇ διανοίᾳ;

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔοικε.

Σωκράτης

τῶν κοινῶν τι ἄρα διενοούμην, ὧν οὐδὲν σὺ μᾶλλον ἤ τις ἄλλος ἔχει.

[209b] Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δὴ πρὸς Διός: πῶς ποτε ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ σὲ μᾶλλον ἐδόξαζον ἢ ἄλλον ὁντινοῦν; θὲς γάρ με διανοούμενον ὡς ἔστιν οὗτος Θεαίτητος, ὃς ἂν ᾖ τε ἄνθρωπος καὶ ἔχῃ ῥῖνα καὶ ὀφθαλμοὺς καὶ στόμα καὶ οὕτω δὴ ἓν ἕκαστον τῶν μελῶν. αὕτη οὖν ἡ διάνοια ἔσθ’ ὅτι μᾶλλον ποιήσει με Θεαίτητον ἢ Θεόδωρον διανοεῖσθαι, ἢ τῶν λεγομένων Μυσῶν τὸν ἔσχατον;

Θεαίτητος

τί γάρ;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ ἐὰν δὴ μὴ μόνον τὸν ἔχοντα ῥῖνα καὶ ὀφθαλμοὺς [209c] διανοηθῶ, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸν σιμόν τε καὶ ἐξόφθαλμον, μή τι σὲ αὖ μᾶλλον δοξάσω ἢ ἐμαυτὸν ἢ ὅσοι τοιοῦτοι;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ’ οὐ πρότερόν γε, οἶμαι, Θεαίτητος ἐν ἐμοὶ δοξασθήσεται, πρὶν ἂν ἡ σιμότης αὕτη τῶν ἄλλων σιμοτήτων ὧν ἐγὼ ἑώρακα διάφορόν τι μνημεῖον παρ’ ἐμοὶ ἐνσημηναμένη κατάθηται — καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω ἐξ ὧν εἶ σύ — ἥ με, καὶ ἐὰν αὔριον ἀπαντήσω, ἀναμνήσει καὶ ποιήσει ὀρθὰ δοξάζειν περὶ σοῦ.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα.

[209d] Σωκράτης

περὶ τὴν διαφορότητα ἄρα καὶ ἡ ὀρθὴ δόξα ἂν εἴη ἑκάστου πέρι.

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεταί γε.

Σωκράτης

τὸ οὖν προσλαβεῖν λόγον τῇ ὀρθῇ δόξῃ τί ἂν ἔτι εἴη; εἰ μὲν γὰρ προσδοξάσαι λέγει ᾗ διαφέρει τι τῶν ἄλλων, πάνυ γελοία γίγνεται ἡ ἐπίταξις.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Σωκράτης

ὧν ὀρθὴν δόξαν ἔχομεν ᾗ τῶν ἄλλων διαφέρει, τούτων προσλαβεῖν κελεύει ἡμᾶς ὀρθὴν δόξαν ᾗ τῶν ἄλλων διαφέρει. καὶ οὕτως ἡ μὲν σκυτάλης ἢ ὑπέρου ἢ ὅτου δὴ [209e] λέγεται περιτροπὴ πρὸς ταύτην τὴν ἐπίταξιν οὐδὲν ἂν λέγοι, τυφλοῦ δὲ παρακέλευσις ἂν καλοῖτο δικαιότερον: τὸ γάρ, ἃ ἔχομεν, ταῦτα προσλαβεῖν κελεύειν, ἵνα μάθωμεν ἃ δοξάζομεν, πάνυ γενναίως ἔοικεν ἐσκοτωμένῳ.

Θεαίτητος

εἰπὲ δὴ τί νυνδὴ ὡς ἐρῶν ἐπύθου;

Σωκράτης

εἰ τὸ λόγον, ὦ παῖ, προσλαβεῖν γνῶναι κελεύει, ἀλλὰ μὴ δοξάσαι τὴν διαφορότητα, ἡδὺ χρῆμ’ ἂν εἴη τοῦ καλλίστου τῶν περὶ ἐπιστήμης λόγου. τὸ γὰρ γνῶναι [210a] ἐπιστήμην που λαβεῖν ἐστιν: ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

a]

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐρωτηθείς, ὡς ἔοικε, τί ἐστιν ἐπιστήμη, ἀποκρινεῖται ὅτι δόξα ὀρθὴ μετὰ ἐπιστήμης διαφορότητος. λόγου γὰρ πρόσληψις τοῦτ’ ἂν εἴη κατ’ ἐκεῖνον.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

καὶ παντάπασί γε εὔηθες, ζητούντων ἡμῶν ἐπιστήμην, δόξαν φάναι ὀρθὴν εἶναι μετ’ ἐπιστήμης εἴτε διαφορότητος εἴτε ὁτουοῦν. οὔτε ἄρα αἴσθησις, ὦ Θεαίτητε, οὔτε [210b] δόξα ἀληθὴς οὔτε μετ’ ἀληθοῦς δόξης λόγος προσγιγνόμενος ἐπιστήμη ἂν εἴη.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

ἦ οὖν ἔτι κυοῦμέν τι καὶ ὠδίνομεν, ὦ φίλε, περὶ ἐπιστήμης, ἢ πάντα ἐκτετόκαμεν;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δί’ ἔγωγε πλείω ἢ ὅσα εἶχον ἐν ἐμαυτῷ διὰ σὲ εἴρηκα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ταῦτα μὲν πάντα ἡ μαιευτικὴ ἡμῖν τέχνη ἀνεμιαῖά φησι γεγενῆσθαι καὶ οὐκ ἄξια τροφῆς;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἐὰν τοίνυν ἄλλων μετὰ ταῦτα ἐγκύμων ἐπιχειρῇς [210c] γίγνεσθαι, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἐάντε γίγνῃ, βελτιόνων ἔσῃ πλήρης διὰ τὴν νῦν ἐξέτασιν, ἐάντε κενὸς ᾖς, ἧττον ἔσῃ βαρὺς τοῖς συνοῦσι καὶ ἡμερώτερος σωφρόνως οὐκ οἰόμενος εἰδέναι ἃ μὴ οἶσθα. τοσοῦτον γὰρ μόνον ἡ ἐμὴ τέχνη δύναται, πλέον δὲ οὐδέν, οὐδέ τι οἶδα ὧν οἱ ἄλλοι, ὅσοι μεγάλοι καὶ θαυμάσιοι ἄνδρες εἰσί τε καὶ γεγόνασιν: τὴν δὲ μαιείαν ταύτην ἐγώ τε καὶ ἡ μήτηρ ἐκ θεοῦ ἐλάχομεν, ἡ μὲν τῶν γυναικῶν, [210d] ἐγὼ δὲ τῶν νέων τε καὶ γενναίων καὶ ὅσοι καλοί. νῦν μὲν οὖν ἀπαντητέον μοι εἰς τὴν τοῦ βασιλέως στοὰν ἐπὶ τὴν Μελήτου γραφὴν ἥν με γέγραπται: ἕωθεν δέ, ὦ Θεόδωρε, δεῦρο πάλιν ἀπαντῶμεν.

CLITOPHON

Σωκράτης

Κλειτόφων

[406α]

Σωκράτης

Κλειτοφῶντα τὸν Ἀριστωνύμου τις ἡμῖν διηγεῖτο ἔναγχος, ὅτι Λυσίᾳ διαλεγόμενος τὰς μὲν μετὰ Σωκράτους διατριβὰς ψέγοι, τὴν Θρασυμάχου δὲ συνουσίαν ὑπερεπαινοῖ.

Κλειτόφων

ὅστις, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἀπεμνημόνευέ σοι τοὺς ἐμοὶ περὶ σοῦ γενομένους λόγους πρὸς Λυσίαν: τὰ μὲν γὰρ ἔγωγε οὐκ ἐπῄνουν σε, τὰ δὲ καὶ ἐπῄνουν. ἐπεὶ δὲ δῆλος εἶ μεμφόμενος μέν μοι, προσποιούμενος δὲ μηδὲν φροντίζειν, ἥδιστ᾽ ἄν σοι διεξέλθοιμι αὐτοὺς αὐτός, ἐπειδὴ καὶ μόνω τυγχάνομεν ὄντε, ἵνα ἧττόν με ἡγῇ πρὸς σὲ φαύλως ἔχειν. νῦν γὰρ ἴσως οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἀκήκοας, ὥστε φαίνῃ πρὸς ἐμὲ ἔχειν τραχυτέρως τοῦ δέοντος: εἰ δέ μοι δίδως παρρησίαν, ἥδιστα ἂν δεξαίμην καὶ ἐθέλω λέγειν. [407α]

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ αἰσχρὸν μὴν σοῦ γε ὠφελεῖν με προθυμουμένου μὴ ὑπομένειν: δῆλον γὰρ ὡς γνοὺς ὅπῃ χείρων εἰμὶ καὶ βελτίων, τὰ μὲν ἀσκήσω καὶ διώξομαι, τὰ δὲ φεύξομαι κατὰ κράτος.

Κλειτόφων

ἀκούοις ἄν. ἐγὼ γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, σοὶ συγγιγνόμενος πολλάκις ἐξεπληττόμην ἀκούων, καί μοι ἐδόκεις παρὰ τοὺς ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους κάλλιστα λέγειν, ὁπότε ἐπιτιμῶν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ὥσπερ ἐπὶ μηχανῆς τραγικῆς θεός, ὕμνεις [407β] λέγων: ‘ποῖ φέρεσθε, ὤνθρωποι; καὶ ἀγνοεῖτε οὐδὲν τῶν δεόντων πράττοντες, οἵτινες χρημάτων μὲν πέρι τὴν πᾶσαν σπουδὴν ἔχετε ὅπως ὑμῖν ἔσται, τῶν δ᾽ ὑέων οἷς ταῦτα παραδώσετε ὅπως ἐπιστήσονται χρῆσθαι δικαίως τούτοις, οὔτε διδασκάλους αὐτοῖς εὑρίσκετε τῆς δικαιοσύνης, εἴπερ μαθητόν — εἰ δὲ μελετητόν τε καὶ ἀσκητόν, οἵτινες ἐξασκήσουσιν καὶ ἐκμελετήσουσιν ἱκανῶς — οὐδέ γ᾽ ἔτι πρότερον ὑμᾶς αὐτοὺς οὕτως ἐθεραπεύσατε. ἀλλ᾽ ὁρῶντες γράμματα [407ξ] καὶ μουσικὴν καὶ γυμναστικὴν ὑμᾶς τε αὐτοὺς καὶ τοὺς παῖδας ὑμῶν ἱκανῶς μεμαθηκότας — ἃ δὴ παιδείαν ἀρετῆς εἶναι τελέαν ἡγεῖσθε — κἄπειτα οὐδὲν ἧττον κακοὺς γιγνομένους περὶ τὰ χρήματα, πῶς οὐ καταφρονεῖτε τῆς νῦν παιδεύσεως οὐδὲ ζητεῖτε οἵτινες ὑμᾶς παύσουσι ταύτης τῆς ἀμουσίας; καίτοι διά γε ταύτην τὴν πλημμέλειαν καὶ ῥᾳθυμίαν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ διὰ τὴν ἐν τῷ ποδὶ πρὸς τὴν λύραν ἀμετρίαν, καὶ ἀδελφὸς ἀδελφῷ καὶ πόλεις πόλεσιν ἀμέτρως καὶ [407δ] ἀναρμόστως προσφερόμεναι στασιάζουσι καὶ πολεμοῦντες τὰ ἔσχατα δρῶσιν καὶ πάσχουσιν. ὑμεῖς δέ φατε οὐ δι᾽ ἀπαιδευσίαν οὐδὲ δι᾽ ἄγνοιαν ἀλλ᾽ ἑκόντας τοὺς ἀδίκους ἀδίκους εἶναι, πάλιν δ᾽ αὖ τολμᾶτε λέγειν ὡς αἰσχρὸν καὶ θεομισὲς ἡ ἀδικία: πῶς οὖν δή τις τό γε τοιοῦτον κακὸν ἑκὼν αἱροῖτ᾽ ἄν; Ἥττων ὃς ἂν ᾖ, φατέ, τῶν ἡδονῶν. οὐκοῦν καὶ τοῦτο ἀκούσιον, εἴπερ τὸ νικᾶν ἑκούσιον; ὥστε ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου τό γε ἀδικεῖν ἀκούσιον ὁ λόγος αἱρεῖ, καὶ δεῖν ἐπιμέλειαν τῆς [407ε] νῦν πλείω ποιεῖσθαι πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα ἰδίᾳ θ᾽ ἅμα καὶ δημοσίᾳ συμπάσας τὰς πόλεις.’

ταῦτ᾽ οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐγὼ ὅταν ἀκούω σοῦ θαμὰ λέγοντος, καὶ μάλα ἄγαμαι καὶ θαυμαστῶς ὡς ἐπαινῶ. καὶ ὁπόταν αὖ φῇς τὸ ἐφεξῆς τούτῳ, τοὺς ἀσκοῦντας μὲν τὰ σώματα, τῆς δὲ ψυχῆς ἠμεληκότας ἕτερόν τι πράττειν τοιοῦτον, τοῦ μὲν ἄρξοντος ἀμελεῖν, περὶ δὲ τὸ ἀρξόμενον ἐσπουδακέναι. καὶ ὅταν λέγῃς ὡς ὅτῳ τις μὴ ἐπίσταται χρῆσθαι, κρεῖττον ἐᾶν τὴν τούτου χρῆσιν: εἰ δή τις μὴ ἐπίσταται ὀφθαλμοῖς χρῆσθαι μηδὲ ὠσὶν μηδὲ σύμπαντι τῷ σώματι, τούτῳ μήτε ἀκούειν μήθ᾽ ὁρᾶν μήτ᾽ ἄλλην χρείαν μηδεμίαν χρῆσθαι τῷ σώματι κρεῖττον ἢ ὁπῃοῦν χρῆσθαι. [408α] καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ τέχνην ὡσαύτως: ὅστις γὰρ δὴ μὴ ἐπίσταται τῇ ἑαυτοῦ λύρᾳ χρῆσθαι, δῆλον ὡς οὐδὲ τῇ τοῦ γείτονος, οὐδὲ ὅστις μὴ τῇ τῶν ἄλλων, οὐδὲ τῇ ἑαυτοῦ, οὐδ᾽ ἄλλῳ τῶν ὀργάνων οὐδὲ κτημάτων οὐδενί. καὶ τελευτᾷ δὴ καλῶς ὁ λόγος οὗτός σοι, ὡς ὅστις ψυχῇ μὴ ἐπίσταται χρῆσθαι, τούτῳ τὸ ἄγειν ἡσυχίαν τῇ ψυχῇ καὶ μὴ ζῆν κρεῖττον ἢ ζῆν πράττοντι καθ᾽ αὑτόν: εἰ δέ τις ἀνάγκη ζῆν εἴη, δούλῳ ἄμεινον [408β] ἢ ἐλευθέρῳ διάγειν τῷ τοιούτῳ τὸν βίον ἐστὶν ἄρα, καθάπερ πλοίου παραδόντι τὰ πηδάλια τῆς διανοίας ἄλλῳ, τῷ μαθόντι τὴν τῶν ἀνθρώπων κυβερνητικήν, ἣν δὴ σὺ πολιτικήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπονομάζεις πολλάκις, τὴν αὐτὴν δὴ ταύτην δικαστικήν τε καὶ δικαιοσύνην ὡς ἔστιν λέγων. τούτοις δὴ τοῖς λόγοις καὶ ἑτέροις τοιούτοις παμπόλλοις καὶ παγκάλως λεγομένοις, ὡς διδακτὸν ἀρετὴ καὶ πάντων ἑαυτοῦ δεῖ μάλιστα [408ξ] ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, σχεδὸν οὔτ᾽ ἀντεῖπον πώποτε οὔτ᾽ οἶμαι μήποτε ὕστερον ἀντείπω, προτρεπτικωτάτους τε ἡγοῦμαι καὶ ὠφελιμωτάτους, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ καθεύδοντας ἐπεγείρειν ἡμᾶς. προσεῖχον δὴ τὸν νοῦν τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα ὡς ἀκουσόμενος, ἐπανερωτῶν οὔτι σὲ τὸ πρῶτον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ τῶν ἡλικιωτῶν τε καὶ συνεπιθυμητῶν ἢ ἑταίρων σῶν, ἢ ὅπως δεῖ πρὸς σὲ περὶ αὐτῶν τὸ τοιοῦτον ὀνομάζειν. τούτων γὰρ τοὺς τὶ μάλιστα εἶναι δοξαζομένους ὑπὸ σοῦ πρώτους ἐπανηρώτων, πυνθανόμενος τίς ὁ μετὰ ταῦτ᾽ εἴη λόγος, καὶ [408δ] κατὰ σὲ τρόπον τινὰ ὑποτείνων αὐτοῖς, ‘ὦ βέλτιστοι,’ ἔφην, ‘ὑμεῖς, πῶς ποτε νῦν ἀποδεχόμεθα τὴν Σωκράτους προτροπὴν ἡμῶν ἐπ᾽ ἀρετήν; ὡς ὄντος μόνου τούτου, ἐπεξελθεῖν δὲ οὐκ ἔνι τῷ πράγματι καὶ λαβεῖν αὐτὸ τελέως, ἀλλ᾽ ἡμῖν παρὰ πάντα δὴ τὸν βίον ἔργον τοῦτ᾽ ἔσται, τοὺς μήπω προτετραμμένους προτρέπειν, καὶ ἐκείνους αὖ ἑτέρους; ἢ δεῖ τὸν Σωκράτη καὶ ἀλλήλους ἡμᾶς τὸ μετὰ τοῦτ᾽ ἐπανερωτᾶν, [408ε] ὁμολογήσαντας τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ἀνθρώπῳ πρακτέον εἶναι, τί τοὐντεῦθεν; πῶς ἄρχεσθαι δεῖν φαμεν δικαιοσύνης πέρι μαθήσεως; ὥσπερ ἂν εἴ τις ἡμᾶς προύτρεπεν τοῦ σώματος ἐπιμέλειαν ποιεῖσθαι, μηδὲν προνοοῦντας ὁρῶν καθάπερ παῖδας ὡς ἔστιν τις γυμναστικὴ καὶ ἰατρική, κἄπειτα ὠνείδιζεν, λέγων ὡς αἰσχρὸν πυρῶν μὲν καὶ κριθῶν καὶ ἀμπέλων ἐπιμέλειαν πᾶσαν ποιεῖσθαι, καὶ ὅσα τοῦ σώματος ἕνεκα διαπονούμεθά τε καὶ κτώμεθα, τούτου δ᾽ αὐτοῦ μηδεμίαν τέχνην μηδὲ μηχανήν, ὅπως ὡς βέλτιστον ἔσται τὸ σῶμα, ἐξευρίσκειν, καὶ ταῦτα οὖσαν. εἰ δ᾽ ἐπανηρόμεθα τὸν ταῦθ᾽ [409α] ἡμᾶς προτρέποντα: λέγεις δὲ εἶναι τίνας ταύτας τὰς τέχνας; εἶπεν ἂν ἴσως ὅτι γυμναστικὴ καὶ ἰατρική. καὶ νῦν δὴ τίνα φαμὲν εἶναι τὴν ἐπὶ τῇ τῆς ψυχῆς ἀρετῇ τέχνην; λεγέσθω.’ ὁ δὴ δοκῶν αὐτῶν ἐρρωμενέστατος εἶναι πρὸς ταῦτα ἀποκρινόμενος εἶπέν μοι ταύτην τὴν τέχνην εἶναι ἥνπερ ἀκούεις σὺ λέγοντος, ἔφη, Σωκράτους, οὐκ ἄλλην ἢ δικαιοσύνην. εἰπόντος δ᾽ ἐμοῦ ‘μή μοι τὸ ὄνομα μόνον εἴπῃς, ἀλλὰ ὧδε. [409β] ἰατρική πού τις λέγεται τέχνη: ταύτης δ᾽ ἐστὶν διττὰ τὰ ἀποτελούμενα, τὸ μὲν ἰατροὺς ἀεὶ πρὸς τοῖς οὖσιν ἑτέρους ἐξεργάζεσθαι, τὸ δὲ ὑγίειαν: ἔστιν δὲ τούτων θάτερον οὐκέτι τέχνη, τῆς τέχνης δὲ τῆς διδασκούσης τε καὶ διδασκομένης ἔργον, ὃ δὴ λέγομεν ὑγίειαν. καὶ τεκτονικῆς δὲ κατὰ ταὐτὰ οἰκία τε καὶ τεκτονικὴ τὸ μὲν ἔργον, τὸ δὲ δίδαγμα. τῆς δὴ δικαιοσύνης ὡσαύτως τὸ μὲν δικαίους ἔστω ποιεῖν, καθάπερ ἐκεῖ τοὺς τεχνίτας ἑκάστους: τὸ δ᾽ ἕτερον, ὃ δύναται ποιεῖν [409ξ] ἡμῖν ἔργον ὁ δίκαιος, τί τοῦτό φαμεν; εἰπέ.’ οὗτος μέν, ὡς οἶμαι, τὸ συμφέρον ἀπεκρίνατο, ἄλλος δὲ τὸ δέον, ἕτερος δὲ τὸ ὠφέλιμον, ὁ δὲ τὸ λυσιτελοῦν. ἐπανῄειν δὴ ἐγὼ λέγων ὅτι ‘κἀκεῖ τά γε ὀνόματα ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐν ἑκάστῃ τῶν τεχνῶν, ὀρθῶς πράττειν, λυσιτελοῦντα, ὠφέλιμα καὶ τἆλλα τὰ τοιαῦτα: ἀλλὰ πρὸς ὅτι ταῦτα πάντα τείνει, ἐρεῖ τὸ ἴδιον ἑκάστη ἡ τέχνη, οἷον ἡ τεκτονικὴ τὸ εὖ, τὸ καλῶς, τὸ δεόντως, ὥστε [409δ] τὰ ξύλινα, φήσει, σκεύη γίγνεσθαι, ἃ δὴ οὐκ ἔστιν τέχνη. λεγέσθω δὴ καὶ τὸ τῆς δικαιοσύνης ὡσαύτως.’ τελευτῶν ἀπεκρίνατό τις ὦ Σώκρατές μοι τῶν σῶν ἑταίρων, ὃς δὴ κομψότατα ἔδοξεν εἰπεῖν, ὅτι τοῦτ᾽ εἴη τὸ τῆς δικαιοσύνης ἴδιον ἔργον, ὃ τῶν ἄλλων οὐδεμιᾶς, φιλίαν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ποιεῖν. οὗτος δ᾽ αὖ ἐρωτώμενος τὴν φιλίαν ἀγαθόν τ᾽ ἔφη εἶναι καὶ οὐδέποτε κακόν, τὰς δὲ τῶν παίδων φιλίας καὶ τὰς τῶν θηρίων, ἃς ἡμεῖς τοῦτο τοὔνομα ἐπονομάζομεν, οὐκ ἀπεδέχετο εἶναι φιλίας ἐπανερωτώμενος: συνέβαινε γὰρ αὐτῷ [409ε] τὰ πλείω τὰς τοιαύτας βλαβερὰς ἢ ἀγαθὰς εἶναι. φεύγων δὴ τὸ τοιοῦτον οὐδὲ φιλίας ἔφη τὰς τοιαύτας εἶναι, ψευδῶς δὲ ὀνομάζειν αὐτὰς τοὺς οὕτως ὀνομάζοντας: τὴν δὲ ὄντως καὶ ἀληθῶς φιλίαν εἶναι σαφέστατα ὁμόνοιαν. τὴν δὲ ὁμόνοιαν ἐρωτώμενος εἰ ὁμοδοξίαν εἶναι λέγοι ἢ ἐπιστήμην, τὴν μὲν ὁμοδοξίαν ἠτίμαζεν: ἠναγκάζοντο γὰρ πολλαὶ καὶ βλαβεραὶ γίγνεσθαι ὁμοδοξίαι ἀνθρώπων, τὴν δὲ φιλίαν ἀγαθὸν ὡμολογήκει πάντως εἶναι καὶ δικαιοσύνης ἔργον, ὥστε ταὐτὸν ἔφησεν εἶναι ὁμόνοιαν καὶ ἐπιστήμην οὖσαν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δόξαν. ὅτε δὴ ἐνταῦθα ἦμεν τοῦ λόγου ἀποροῦντες, [410α] οἱ παρόντες ἱκανοὶ ἦσαν ἐπιπλήττειν τε αὐτῷ καὶ λέγειν ὅτι περιδεδράμηκεν εἰς ταὐτὸν ὁ λόγος τοῖς πρώτοις, καὶ ἔλεγον ὅτι ‘καὶ ἡ ἰατρικὴ ὁμόνοιά τίς ἐστι καὶ ἅπασαι αἱ τέχναι, καὶ περὶ ὅτου εἰσὶν ἔχουσι λέγειν: τὴν δὲ ὑπὸ σοῦ λεγομένην δικαιοσύνην ἢ ὁμόνοιαν, ὅποι τείνουσά ἐστιν, διαπέφευγεν, καὶ ἄδηλον αὐτῆς ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔστιν τὸ ἔργον.’

ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐγὼ τελευτῶν καὶ σὲ αὐτὸν ἠρώτων, καὶ εἶπές μοι δικαιοσύνης εἶναι τοὺς μὲν ἐχθροὺς βλάπτειν, [410β] τοὺς δὲ φίλους εὖ ποιεῖν. ὕστερον δὲ ἐφάνη βλάπτειν γε οὐδέποτε ὁ δίκαιος οὐδένα: πάντα γὰρ ἐπ᾽ ὠφελίᾳ πάντας δρᾶν. ταῦτα δὲ οὐχ ἅπαξ οὐδὲ δὶς ἀλλὰ πολὺν δὴ ὑπομείνας χρόνον καὶ λιπαρῶν ἀπείρηκα, νομίσας σε τὸ μὲν προτρέπειν εἰς ἀρετῆς ἐπιμέλειαν κάλλιστ᾽ ἀνθρώπων δρᾶν, δυοῖν δὲ θάτερον, ἢ τοσοῦτον μόνον δύνασθαι, μακρότερον δὲ οὐδέν, ὃ γένοιτ᾽ ἂν καὶ περὶ ἄλλην ἡντιναοῦν τέχνην, οἷον μὴ ὄντα κυβερνήτην καταμελετῆσαι τὸν ἔπαινον [410ξ] περὶ αὐτῆς, ὡς πολλοῦ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἀξία, καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν ὡσαύτως: ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ σοί τις ἐπενέγκοι τάχ᾽ ἂν περὶ δικαιοσύνης, ὡς οὐ μᾶλλον ὄντι δικαιοσύνης ἐπιστήμονι, διότι καλῶς αὐτὴν ἐγκωμιάζεις. οὐ μὴν τό γε ἐμὸν οὕτως ἔχει: δυοῖν δὲ θάτερον, ἢ οὐκ εἰδέναι σε ἢ οὐκ ἐθέλειν αὐτῆς ἐμοὶ κοινωνεῖν. διὰ ταῦτα δὴ καὶ πρὸς Θρασύμαχον οἶμαι πορεύσομαι καὶ ἄλλοσε ὅποι δύναμαι, ἀπορῶν: ἐπεὶ εἴ γ᾽ ἐθέλεις σὺ τούτων μὲν ἤδη παύσασθαι [410δ] πρὸς ἐμὲ τῶν λόγων τῶν προτρεπτικῶν, οἷον δέ, εἰ περὶ γυμναστικῆς προτετραμμένος ἦ τοῦ σώματος δεῖν μὴ ἀμελεῖν, τὸ ἐφεξῆς ἂν τῷ προτρεπτικῷ λόγῳ ἔλεγες οἷον τὸ σῶμά μου φύσει ὂν οἵας θεραπείας δεῖται, καὶ νῦν δὴ ταὐτὸν γιγνέσθω. θὲς τὸν Κλειτοφῶντα ὁμολογοῦντα ὡς ἔστιν καταγέλαστον τῶν μὲν ἄλλων ἐπιμέλειαν ποιεῖσθαι, ψυχῆς δέ, [410ε] ἧς ἕνεκα τἆλλα διαπονούμεθα, ταύτης ἠμεληκέναι: καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οἴου με νῦν οὕτως εἰρηκέναι τὰ τούτοις ἑξῆς, ἃ καὶ νυνδὴ διῆλθον. καί σου δεόμενος λέγω μηδαμῶς ἄλλως ποιεῖν, ἵνα μή, καθάπερ νῦν, τὰ μὲν ἐπαινῶ σε πρὸς Λυσίαν καὶ πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους, τὰ δέ τι καὶ ψέγω. μὴ μὲν γὰρ προτετραμμένῳ σε ἀνθρώπῳ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄξιον εἶναι τοῦ παντὸς φήσω, προτετραμμένῳ δὲ σχεδὸν καὶ ἐμπόδιον τοῦ πρὸς τέλος ἀρετῆς ἐλθόντα εὐδαίμονα γενέσθαι.

TIMAEUS

Σωκράτης, Τίμαιος, Ἑρμοκράτης, Κριτίας

[17α] Σωκράτης
εἶς, δύο, τρεῖς: ὁ δὲ δὴ τέταρτος ἡμῖν, ὦ φίλε Τίμαιε, ποῦ τῶν χθὲς μὲν δαιτυμόνων, τὰ νῦν δὲ ἑστιατόρων;

Τίμαιος
ἀσθένειὰ τις αὐτῷ συνέπεσεν, ὧ Σώκρατες: οὐ γὰρ ἄ ἑκὼν τῆσδε ἀπελείπετο τῆς συνουσίας.

Σωκράτης
οὐκοῦν σὸν τῶνδέ τε ἓργον καὶ τὸ ὑπὲρ τοῦ ἀπόντος ἀναπληροῦν μέρος;

[17β] Τίμαιος
πάνυ μὲν οὖν, καὶ κατὰ δύναμιν γε οὐδὲν ἐλλείψομεν: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν εἴη δίκαιον, χθὲς ὑπὸ σοῦ ξενισθέντας οἶς ἦν πρέπον ξενίοις, μὴ οὐ προθύμως σὲ τοὺς λοιποὺς ἡμῶν ἀνταφεστιᾶν.

Σωκράτης
ἆρ’ οὖν μέμνησθε ὅσα ὑμῖν καὶ περὶ ὧν ἐπέταξα εἰπεῖν;

Τίμαιος
τὰ μὲν μεμνήμεθα, ὅσα δὲ μή, σὺ παρὼν ὑπομνήσεις: μᾶλλον δε, εἰ μη τι σοι χαλεπόν, ἐξ ἀρχῆς διὰ βραχέων πάλιν ἐπάνελθε αὐτά, ἵναβεβαιωθῆ μᾶλλον παρ’ ἡμῖν.

[17γ] Σωκράτης
ταῦτ’ ἔσται. χθές που τῶν ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ ῥηθέντων λόγων περὶ πολιτείας ἦν τὸ κεφάλαιον οἵα τε καὶ ἐξ οἵων ἀνδρῶν ἀρίστη κατεφαίνετ’ ἄν μοι γενέσθαι.

Τίμαιος
καὶ μάλα γε ἡμῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ῥηθεῖσα πᾶσιν κατὰ νοῦν.

Σωκράτης
ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ τὸ τῶν γεωργῶν ὅσαι τε ἄλλαι τέχναι πρῶτον ἐν αὐτῆ χωρὶς διειλόμεθα ἀπὸ τοῦ γένους τοῦ τῶν προπολεμησόντων;

Τίμαιος
Ναι.

Σωκράτης
καὶ κατὰ φύσιν δὴ δόντες ταὸ καθ’ αὑτὸν ἑκάστῳ

[17δ] πρόσφορον ἓν μόνον ἐπιτήδευμα, μὶαν ἑκάστῳ τέχνην, τούτους οὕς πρὸ πάντων ἔδει πολεμεῖν, εἴπομεν ὡς ἄρ’ αὐτοὺς δέοι φύλακας εἶναι μόνον τῆς πόλεως, εἴτε τις ἔξωθεν ἢ καὶ τῶν ἔνδοθεν ἴοι κακουργήσων, δικάζοντας μὲν πρᾴως τοῖς

[18α] ἀρχομένοις ὑπ’ αὐτῶν καὶ φύσει φίλοις οὖσιν, χαλεποὺς δὲ ἐν ταῖς μάχαις τοῖς ἐντυγχάνουσιν τῶν ἐχθρῶν γιγνομένους.

Τίμαιος
Παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης
φύσιν γὰρ οἶμαί τινα τῶν φυλάκων τῆς ψυχῆς ἐλέγομεν ἅμα μέν θυμοειδῆ, ἅμα μὲν θυμοειδῆ, ἅμα δὲ φιλόσοφον δεῖν εἶναι διαφερόντως, ἵνα πρὸς ἑκατέρους δύναιντο ὀρθῶς πρᾷοι καὶ χαλεποὶ γίγνεσθαι.

Τίμαιος
ναί.

Σωκράτης
τί δὲ τροφήν; ἆρ’ ου’ γυμναστικῆ καὶ μουσικῆ μαθήμασίν τε ὅσα προσήκει τούτοις, ἐν ἅπασι τεθράφθαι;

Τίμαιος
πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

[18β] Σωκράτης
τοὺς δέ γε οὕτω τραφέντας ἐλέχθη που μήτε χρυςὸν μήτε ἄργυρον μήτε ἄλλο ποτὲ μηδὲν κτῆμα ἐαυτῶν ἴδιον νομίζειν δεῖν, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἐπικούρους μισθὸν λαμβάνοντας τῆς φυλακῆς παρὰ τῶν σῳζομένων ὑπ’ αὐτῶν, ὅσος σώφροσιν μέτριος, ἀναλίσκειν τε δὴ κοινῆ καὶ συνδιαιτωμένους μετὰ ἀλλήλων ζῆν, ἐπιμέλειαν ἔχοντας ἀρετῆς διὰ παντός, τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδευμάτων ἄγοντας σχολήν.

Τίμαιος
ἐλέχθη καὶ ταῦτα ταύτη.

[18γ] Σωκράτης
καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ περὶ γυναικῶν ἐπεμνήσθημεν, ὡς τὰς φύσεις τοῖς ἀνδράσιν παραπλησίας εἴη συναρμοστέον, καὶ τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα πάντα κοινά κατά τε πόλεμον καὶ κατὰ ταὴν άλλην δίαιταν± δοτέον πάσαις.

Τίμαιος
ταύτη καὶ ταῦτα ἐλέγετο.

Σωκράτης
τί δὲ δὴ τὸ περὶ τῆς παιδοποιίας; ἢ τοῦτο μὲν διὰ τὴν ἀήθειαν τῶν λεχθέντων εὐμνημόνευτον, ὅτι κοινὰ τὰ τῶν γάμων καὶ τὰ τῶν παίδων πᾶσιν ἁπάντων ἐτίθεμεν, μηχανωμένους± ὃπως± μηδεὶς ποτε τὸ γεγενημένον αὐτῶν ἰδίᾳ γνώσοιτο±,

[18δ] νομιοῦσιν δὲ πάντες πάντας αὐτοὺς ὁμογενεῖς, ἀδελφὰς μὲν καὶ ἀδελφοὺς ὅσοιπερ ἂν τῆς πρεπούσης ἐντὸς ἡλικίας γίγνωνται, τοὺς δ’ ἔμπροσθεν καὶ ἄνωθεν γονέας τε καὶ γονέων προγόνους, τοὺς δ’ εἰς τὸ κάτωθεν ἐκγόνους παῖδάς τε ἐκγόνων;

Τίμαιος
ναί, καὶ ταῦτα εὐμνημόνευτα ᾗλέγεις.

Σωκράτης
ὅπως δὲ δὴ κατὰ δύναμιν εὐθὺς γίγνοιντο ὡς ἄριστοι τὰς φύσεις, ἆρ’ οὐ μεμνήμεθα ὡς τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἔφαμεν καὶ τὰς ἀρχούσας δεῖν εἰς τὴν τῶν γάμων σύνερξιν λάθρᾳ

[18ε] μηχανᾶσθαι κλὴροις τισὶν ὅπως οἱ κακοὶ χωρὶς οἵ τ’ ἀγαθοὶ ταῖς ὁμοίαις ἑκάτεροι συλλήξονται, καὶ μή τις αὐτοῖς ἔχθρα διὰ ταῦτα γίγνηται, τύχην ἡγουμένοις αἰτίαν τῆς συλλήξεως;

Τίμαιος
μεμνήμεθα.

[19α] Σωκράτης
καὶ μὴν ὅτι γε τὰ μὲν τῶν ἀγαθῶν θρεπτέον ἔφαμεν εἶναι, τὰ δὲ τῶν κακῶν εἰς τὴν ἄλλην λάθρᾳ διαδοτέον πόλιν: ἐπαυξανομένων δὲ σκοποῦντας ἀεὶ τοὺς ἀξίους πάλιν ἀνάγειν δεῖν, τοὺς δὲ παρὰ σφίσιν ἀναξίους εἰς τὴν τῶν ἐπανιόντων χώραν μεταλλάττειν;

Τίμαιος
οὕτως.

Σωκράτης
ἆρ’ οὖν δὴ διεληλύθαμεν ἤδη καθάπερ χθές, ὡς ἐν κεφαλαίοις πάλιν ἐπανελθεῖν, ἢν ποθοῦμεν ἔτι τι τῶν ῥηθέντων, ὦ φίλε Γίμαιε, ὡς ἀπολειπόμενον;

[19β] Τίμαιος
οὐδαμῶς, ἀλλὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτ’ ἦν ταὰ λεχθέντα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης
ἀκούοιτ’ ἂν ἤδη τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα περὶ τῆς πολιτείας ἣν διήλθομεν, οἷόν τι πρὸς αὐτὴν πεπονθὼς τυγχάνω. Προσέοικεν δὲ δή τινί μοι τοιῷδε τὸ πάθος, οἷον εἴ τις ζῷα καλά που θεασάμενος, εἴτε ὑπὸ γραφῆς εἰργασμένα εἴτε καὶ ζῶντα ἀληθινῶς ἡσυχίαν δὲ ἄγοντα, εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν ἀφίκοιτο θεάσασθαι κινούμενά τε αὐτὰ και τι τῶν τοῖς σώμασιν δοκούντων

[19γ] προσήκειν κατὰ τὴν ἀγωνίαν ἀθλοῦντα: ταὐτὸν καὶ ἐγὼ πέπονθα πρὸς τὴν πόλιν ἣν διήλθομεν. ἡδέως γὰρ ᾴν του λόγῳ διεξιόντος ἀκούσαιμ’ ἂν ἄθλους οὓς πόλις ἀθλεῖ, τούτους αὐτὴν ἀγωνιζομένην πρὸς πόλεις ἄλλας, πρεπόντως εἴς τε πόλεμον ἀφικομένην καὶ ἐν τῷ πολεμεῖν τὰ προσήκοντα ἀποδιδοῦσαν τῇ παιδείᾳ καὶ τροφῇ κατά τε τὰς ἐν τοῖς ἔργοις πράξεις καὶ κατὰ τὰς ἐν τοῖς λόγοις διερμηνεύσεις πρὸς ἑκάστας τῶν πόλεων. ταῦτ’ οὖν, ὦ Κριτία καὶ Ἑρμόκρατες,

[19δ] ἐμαυτοῦ μὲν αὐτὸς κατέγνωκα μη ποτ’ ἂν δυνατὸς γενέσθαι τοὺς ἄνδρας καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἱκανῶς ἐγκωμιάσαι. Καὶ τὸ μὲν ἐμὸν οὐδὲν θαυμαστόν: ἀλλὰ τὴν αὐτὴν δόξαν εἴληφα καὶ περὶ τῶν πάλαι γεγονότων καὶ περὶ τῶν νῦν ὄντων ποιητῶν, οὔτι τὸ ποιητικὸν ἀτιμάζων γένος, ἀλλὰ παντὶ δῆλον ὡς τὸ μιμητικὸν ἔθνος, οἷς ἂν ἐντραφῆ, ταῦτα μιμήσεται ῥᾷστα καὶ ἄριστα, τὸ δ’ ἐκτὸς τῆς τροφῆς ἑκάστοις

[19ε] γιγνόμενον χαλεπὸν μὲν ἔργοις, ἔτι δὲ χαλεπώτερον λόγοις εὖ μιμεῖσθαι. τὸ δὲ τῶν σοφιστῶν γένος αὖ πολλῶν μὲν λόγων καὶ καλῶν ἄλλων μάλ’ ἔμπειρον ἥγημαι, φοβοῦμαι δὲ μη πως, ἅτε πλανητὸν ὂν κατὰ πόλεις οἰκήσεις τε ἰδίας οὐδαμῆ διῳκηκός, ἄστοχον ἅμα φιλοσόφων ἀνδρῶν ᾖ καὶ πολιτικῶν, ὅσ’ ἂν οἷά τε ἐν πολέμῳ καὶ μάχαις πράττοντες ἔργῳ καὶ λόγῳ προσομιλοῦντες ἑκάστοις πράττοιεν καὶ λέγοιεν. καταλέλειπται δὴ τὸ τῆς ὐμετέρας ἕξεως γένος,

[20α] ἅμα ἀμφοτέρων φύσει καὶ τροφῇ μετέχον. Τίμαιός τε γὰρ ὅδε, εὐνομωτάτης ὢν πόλεως τῆς ἐν Ἰταλίᾳ Λοκρίδος, οὐσίᾳ καὶ γένει οὐδενὸς ὕστερος ὢν τῶν ἐκεῖ, τὰς μεγίστας μὲν ἀρχἀς τε καὶ τιμὰς τὼν ἐν τῇ πόλει μετακεχείρισται, φιλοσοφίας δ’ αὖ κατ’ ἐμὴν δόξαν ἐπ’ ἄκρον ἁπάσης ἐλήλυθεν: Κριτίαν δέ που πάντες οἱ τῇδε ἴσμεν οὐδενὸς ἰδιώτην ὄντα ὧν λέγομεν. τῆς δὲ Ἑρμοκράτους αὖ περὶ φύσεως καὶ τροφῆς, πρὸς ἅπαντα ταῦτ’ εἶναι ἱκανὴν πολλῶν μαρτυρούντων

[20β] πιστευτέον. διὸ καὶ χθὲς ἐγὼ διανοούμενος, ὑμῶν δεομένων τὰ περὶ τῆς πολιτείας διελθεῖν, προθύμως ἐχαριζόμην, εἰδὼς ὅτι τὸν ἑξῆς λόγον οὐδένες ἂν ὑμῶν ἐθελόντων ἱκανώτερον ἀποδοῖεν – εἰς γὰρ πόλεμον πρέποντα καταστήσαντες τὴν πόλιν ἅπαντ’ αὐτῇ τὰ προσήκοντα ἀποδοῖτ’ ἂν μόνοι τῶν νῦν — εἰπὼν δὴ τἀπιταχθέντα ἀντεπέταξα ὑμῖν ἃ καὶ νῦν λέγω. συνωμολογήσατ’ οὖν κοινῇ σκεψάμενοι πρὸς ὑμᾶς

[20γ] αὐτοὺς εἰς νῦν ἀνταποδώσειν μοι τὰ τῶν λόγων ξένια, πάρειμί τε οὖν δὴ κεκοσμημένος ἐπ’ αὐτὰ καὶ πάντων ἑτοιμότατος ὢν δέχεσθαι.

Ἑρμοκράτης
καὶ μὲν δή, καθάπερ εἶπεν Τίμαιος ὅδε, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὔτε ἐλλείψομεν προθυμίας οὐδέν οὔτε ἔστιν οὐδεμία πρόφασις ἡμῖν τοῦ μὴ δρᾶν ταῦτα: ὥστε καὶ χθές, εὐθὺς ἐνθένδε ἐπειδὴ παρὰ Κριτίαν πρὸς τὸν ξενῶνα οὗ καὶ καταλύομεν ἀφικόμεθα, καὶ ἔτι πρότερον καθ’ ὁδὸν αὐτὰ ταῦτ’ ἐσκοποῦμεν.

[20δ] ὅδε οὖν ἡμῖν λόγον εἰσηγήσατο ἐκ παλαιᾶς ἀκοῆς: ὃν καὶ νῦν λέγε, ὦ Κριτία, τῴδε, ἵνα συνδοκιμάσῃ πρὸς την ἐπίταξιν εἴτ’ ἐπιτήδειος εἴτε ἀνεπιτήδειός ἐστι.

Κριτίας
ταῦτα χρὴ δρᾶν, εἰ καὶ τῷ τρίτῳ κοινωνῷ Τιμαίῳ συνδοκεῖ.

Τίμαιος
δοκεῖ μήν.

Κριτίας
ἄκουε δή, ὦ Σώκρατες, λόγου μάλα μὲν ἀτόπου, παντάπασί γε μὴν ἀληθοῦς, ὡς ὁ τῶν ἑπτὰ σοφώτατος

[20ε] Σόλων ποτ’ ἔφη. ἦν μὲν οὖν οἰκεῖος καὶ σφόδρα φίλος ἠμῖν Δρωπίδου τοῦ προπάππου, καθάπερ λέγει πολλαχοῦ καὶ αὐτὸς ἐν τῇ ποιήσει: πρὸς δὲ Κριτίαν τὸν ἡμέτερον πάππον εἶπεν, ὡς ἀπεμνημόνευεν αὖ πρὸς ἡμᾶς ὁ γέρων, ὅτι μεγάλα καὶ θαυμαστὰ τῆσδ’ εἴη παλαιὰ ἔργα τῆς πόλεως ὑπὸ χρόνου καὶ φθορᾶς ἀνθρώπων ἠφανισμένα, πάντων δὲ ἓν μέγιστον,

[21α] οὗ νῦν ἐπιμνησθεῖσιν πρέπον ἂν ἡμῖν εἴη σοί τε ἀποδοῦναι χάριν καὶ τὴν θεὸν ἅμα ἐν τῇ πανηγύρει δικαίως τε καὶ ἀληθῶς οἷόνπερ ὑμνοῦντας ἐγκωμιάζειν.

Σωκράτης
εὖ λέγεις. ἀλλὰ δὴ ποῖον ἔργον τοῦτο Κριτίας οὐ λεγόμενον μέν, ὡς δὲ πραχθὲν ὄντως ὑπὸ τῆσδε τῆς πόλεως ἀρχαῖον διηγεῖτο κατὰ τὴν Σόλωνος ἀκοήν;

Κριτίας
ἐγὼ φράσω, παλαιὸν ἀκηκοὼς λόγον οὐ νέου ἀνδρός. ἦν μὲν γὰρ δὴ τότε Κριτίας, ὡς ἔφη, σχεδὸν ἐγγὺς

[21β] ἤδη τῶν ἐνενήκοντα ἐτῶν, ἐγὼ δέ πῃ μάλιστα δεκέτης: ἡ δὲ Κουρεῶτις ἡμῖν οὖσα ἐτύγχανεν Ἀπατουρίων. Τὸ δὴ τῆς ἑορτῆς σύνηθες ἑκάστοτε καὶ τότε συνέβη τοῖς παισίν: ἆθλα γὰρ ἡμῖν οἱ πατέρες ἔθεσαν ῥαψῳδίας. πολλῶν μὲν οὖν δὴ καὶ πολλὰ ἐλέχθη ποιητῶν ποιήματα, ἅτε δὲ νέα κατ’ ἐκεῖνον τὸν χρόνον ὄντα τὰ Σόλωνος πολλοὶ τῶν παίδων ᾔσαμεν. εἶπεν οὖν τις τῶν φρατέρων, εἴτε δὴ δοκοῦν αὐτῷ τότε εἴτε καὶ χάριν τινὰ τῷ Κριτίᾳ φέρων, δοκεῖν οἱ τά τε

[21γ] ἄλλα σοφώτατον γεγονέναι Σόλωνα καὶ κατὰ τὴν ποίησιν αὖ τῶν ποιητῶν πάντων ἐλευθεριώτατον. ὁ δὴ γέρων — σφόδρα γὰρ οὖν μέμνημαι — μάλα τε ἥσθη καὶ διαμειδιάσας εἶπεν: “εἴγε, ὦ Ἀμύνανδρε, μὴ παρέργῳ τῇ ποιήσει κατεχρήσατο, ἀλλ’ ἐσπουδάκει καθάπερ ἄλλοι, τον τε λόγον ὃν ἀπ’ Αἰγύπτου δεῦρο ἠνέγκατο ἀπετέλεσεν, καὶ μὴ διὰ τὰς στάσεις ὑπὸ κακῶν τε ἄλλων ὅσα ηὗρεν ἐνθάδε ἥκων ἠναγκάσθη

[21δ] καταμελῆσαι, κατά γε ἐμὴν δόξαν οὔτε Ἡσίοδος οὔτε Ὅμηρος οὔτε ἄλλος οὐδεὶς ποιητὴς εὐδοκιμώτερος ἐγένετο ἄν ποτε αὐτοῦ” “τις δ’ ἦν ὁ λόγος,” ἦ δ’ ὅς, “ὦ Κριτία;” “ἦ περὶ μεγίστης,” ἔφη, “καὶ ὀνομαστοτάτης πασῶν δικαιότα’ ἂν πράξεως οὔσης, ἣν ἥδε ἡ πόλις ἔπραξε μέν, διὰ δὲ χρόνον καὶ φθορὰν τῶν ἐργασαμένων οὐ διήρκεσε δεῦρο ὀ λόγος.” “λέγε ἐξ ἀρχῆς,” ἦ δ’ ὄς, “τι τε καὶ πῶς καὶ παρὰ τίνων ὡς ἀληθῆ διακηκοὼς ἔλεγεν ὁ Σόλων.”

[21ε] “ἔστιν τις κατ’ Αἴγυπτον,” ἦ δ’ ὄς, “ἐν τῷ Δέλτα, περὶ ὃν κατὰ κορυφὴν σχίζεται τὸ τοῦ Νείλου ῥεῦμα Σαϊτικὸς ἐπικαλούμενος νομός, τούτου δὲ τοῦ νομοῦ μεγίστη πόλις Σάις — ὅθεν δὴ καὶ Ἄμασις ἦν ὁ βασιλεύς — οἷς τῆς πόλεως θεὸς ἀρχηγός τις ἐστιν±, Αἰγυπτιστὶ μὲν τοὔνομα Νηίθ, Ἑλληνιστὶ δε, ὡς ὁ ἐκείνων λόγος, Ἀθηνᾶ: μάλα δὲ φιλαθήναιοι καί τινα τρόπον οἰκεῖοι τῶνδ’ εἶναί φασιν. οἷ δὴ Σόλων ἔφη πορευθεὶς σφόδρα τε γενέσθαι παρ’ αὐτοῖς ἔντιμος,

[22α] καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ παλαιὰ ἀνερωτῶν ποτε τοὺς μάλιστα περὶ ταῦτα τῶν ἱερέων ἐμπείρους, σχεδὸν οὔτε αὑτὸν οὔτε ἄλλον Ἕλληνα οὐδένα οὐδὲν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν εἰδότα περὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἀνευρεῖν. καί ποτε προαγαγεῖν βουληθεὶς αὐτοὺς περὶ τῶν ἀρχαίων εἰς λόγους, τῶν τῄδε τὰ ἀρχαιότατα λέγειν ἐπιχειρεῖν, περὶ Φορωνέως τε τοῦ πρώτου λεχθέντος καὶ Νιόβης, καὶ μετὰ τὸν κατακλυσμὸν αὖ περὶ Δευκαλίωνος

[22β] καὶ Πύρρας ὡς διεγένοντο μυθολογεῖν, καὶ τοὺς ἐξ αὐτῶν γενεαλογεῖν, καὶ τὰ τῶν ἐτῶν ὅσα ἦν οἷς ἔλεγεν πειρᾶσθαι διαμνημονεύων τοὺς χρόνους ἀριθμεῖν: καί τινα εἰπεῖν τῶν ἱερέων εὖ μάλα παλαιόν: “ὦ Σόλων, Σόλων, Ἕλληνες ἀεὶ παίδές ἐστε, γέρων δὲ Ἕλλην οὐκ ἔστιν.” ἀκούσας οὖν, “πῶς τί τοῦτο λέγεις;” φάναι. “νέοι ἐστέ,” εἰπεῖν, “τὰς ψυχὰς πάντες: οὐδεμίαν γὰρ ἐν αὐταῖς ἔχετε δι’ ἀρχαίαν ἀκοὴν παλαιὰν δόξαν οὐδὲ μάθημα χρόνῳ πολιὸν οὐδέν. Τὸ

[22γ] δὲ τούτων αἴτιον τόδε. πολλαὶ κατὰ πολλὰ φθοραὶ γεγόνασιν ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἔσονται, πυρὶ μὲν καὶ ὕδατι μέγισται, μυρίοις δὲ ἄλλοις ἕτεραι βραχύτεραι. τὸ γὰρ οὖν καί παρ’ ὑμῖν λεγόμενον, ὥς ποτε Φαέθων Ἡλίου παῖς τὸ τοῦ πατρὸς ἅρμα ζεύξας διὰ τὸ μὴ δυνατὸς εἶναι κατὰ τὴν τοῦ πατρός ὁδὸν ἐλαύνειν τά τ’ ἐπὶ γῆς συνέκαυσεν καὶ αὐτὸς κεραυνωθεὶς διεφθάρη, τοῦτο μύθου μὲν σχῆμα ἔχον λέγεται, τὸ δὲ

[22δ] ἀληθές ἐστι τῶν περὶ γῆν κατ’ οὐρανὸν ἰόντων παράλλαξις καὶ διὰ μακρῶν χρόνων γιγνομένη ταῶν ἐπὶ γῆς πυρὶ πολλῷ φθορά. τότε οὖν ὅσοι κατ’ ὄρη καὶ ἐν ὑψηλοῖς τόποις καὶ ἐν ξηροῖς οἰκοῦσιν μᾶλλον διόλλυνται τῳν ποταμοῖς καὶ θαλάττῃ προσοικούντων: ἡμῖν δὲ ὁ Νεῖλος εἴς τε τἆλλα σωτὴρ καὶ τότε ἐκ ταύτης τῆς ἀπορίας σῴζει λυόμενος. ὅταν δ’ αὖ θεοὶ τὴν γῆν ὕδασιν καθαίροντες κατακλύζωσιν, οἱ μὲν ἐν τοῖς ὄρεσιν διασῴζονται βουκόλοι νομῆς τε, οἱ δ’ ἐν ταῖς

[22ε] παρ’ ὑμῖν πόλεσιν εἰς τὴν θάλατταν ὑπὸ τῶν ποταμῶν φέρονται: κατὰ δὲ τήνδε χώραν οὔτε τότε οὔτε ἄλλοτε ἄνωθεν ἐπὶ τὰς ἀρούρας ὕδωρ ἐπιρρεῖ, τὸ δ’ ἐναντίον κάτωθεν πᾶν ἐπανιέναι πέφυκεν. ὅθεν καὶ δι’ ἅς αἰτίας τἀνθάδε σῴζόμενα λέγεται παλαιότατα: τὸ δὲ ἀληθές, ἐν πᾶσιν τοῖς τόποις ὅπου μὴ χειμὼν ἐξαίσιος ἢ καῦμα ἀπείργει, πλέον,

[23α] τοτὲ δὲ ἔλαττον ἀεὶ γένος ἐστὶν ἀνθρώπων. ὅσα δὲ ἢ παρ’ ὑμῖν ἢ τῇδε ἢ καὶ κατ’ ἄλλον τόπον ὦν ἀκοῇ ἴσμεν, εἴ πού τι καλὸν ῂ μέγα γέγονεν ἢ καί τινα διαφοράν ἄλλην ἔχον, πάντα γεγραμμένα ἐκ παλαιοῦ τῇδ’ ἐστὶν ἐν τοῖς ἱεροῖς καὶ σεσωσμένα: τὰ δὲ παρ’ ὑμῖν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἄρτι κατεσκευασμένα ἑκάστοτε τυγχάνει γράμμασι καὶ ἅπασιν ὁπόσων πόλεις δέονται, καὶ πάλιν δι’ εἰωθότων ἐτῶν ὥσπερ νόσημα ἥκει φερόμενον αὐτοῖς ῥεῦμα οὐράνιον καὶ τοὺς ἀγραμμάτους

[23β] τε καὶ ἀμούσους ἔλιπεν ὑμῶν, ὥστε πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς οἷον νέοι γίγνεσθε, οὐδὲν εἰδότες οὔτε τῶν τῇδε οὔτε τῶν παρ’ ὑμῖν, ὅσα ἦν ἐν τοῖς παλαιοῖς χρόνοις. τὰ γοῦν νυνδὴ γενεαλογηθέντα, ὦ Σόλων, περὶ τῶν παρ’ ὑμῖν ἅ διῆλθες, παίδων βραχύ τι διαφέρει μύθων, οἵ πρῶτον μὲν ἕνα γῆς κατακλυσμὸν μέμνησθε πολλῶν ἔμπροσθεν γεγονότων, ἔτι δὲ τὸ κάλλιστον καὶ ἄριστον γένος ἐπ’ ἀνθρώπους ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ παρ’ ὑμῖν οὐκ ἴστε γεγονός, ἐξ ὧν σύ τε καὶ πᾶσα ῂ

[23γ] πόλις ἔστιν τὰ νῦν”

[23c] πόλις ἔστιν τὰ νυ̂ν ὑμω̂ν, περιλειφθέντος ποτὲ σπέρματος βραχέος, ἀλλ’ ὑμα̂ς λέληθεν διὰ τὸ τοὺς περιγενομένους ἐπὶ πολλὰς γενεὰς γράμμασιν τελευτα̂ν ἀφώνους. ἠ̂ν γὰρ δή ποτε, ὠ̂ Σόλων, ὑπὲρ τὴν μεγίστην φθορὰν ὕδασιν ἡ νυ̂ν ̓Αθηναίων οὐ̂σα πόλις ἀρίστη πρός τε τὸν πόλεμον καὶ κατὰ πάντα εὐνομωτάτη διαφερόντως: ᾑ̂ κάλλιστα ἔργα καὶ πολιτει̂αι γενέσθαι λέγονται κάλλισται πασω̂ν ὁπόσων ὑπὸ

[23d] τὸν οὐρανὸν ἡμει̂ς ἀκοὴν παρεδεξάμεθα.’ ἀκούσας οὐ̂ν ὁ Σόλων ἔφη θαυμάσαι καὶ πα̂σαν προθυμίαν σχει̂ν δεόμενος τω̂ν ἱερέων πάντα δι’ ἀκριβείας οἱ τὰ περὶ τω̂ν πάλαι πολιτω̂ν ἑξη̂ς διελθει̂ν. τὸν οὐ̂ν ἱερέα φάναι: ‘φθόνος οὐδείς, ὠ̂ Σόλων, ἀλλὰ σου̂ τε ἕνεκα ἐρω̂ καὶ τη̂ς πόλεως ὑμω̂ν, μάλιστα δὲ τη̂ς θεου̂ χάριν, ἣ τήν τε ὑμετέραν καὶ τήνδε ἔλαχεν καὶ ἔθρεψεν καὶ ἐπαίδευσεν, προτέραν μὲν τὴν παρ’

[23e] ὑμι̂ν ἔτεσιν χιλίοις, ἐκ Γη̂ς τε καὶ ̔Ηφαίστου τὸ σπέρμα παραλαβου̂σα ὑμω̂ν, τήνδε δὲ ὑστέραν. τη̂ς δὲ ἐνθάδε διακοσμήσεως παρ’ ἡμι̂ν ἐν τοι̂ς ἱεροι̂ς γράμμασιν ὀκτακισχιλίων ἐτω̂ν ἀριθμὸς γέγραπται. περὶ δὴ τω̂ν ἐνακισχίλια γεγονότων ἔτη πολιτω̂ν σοι δηλώσω διὰ βραχέων νόμους, καὶ τω̂ν ἔργων αὐτοι̂ς ὃ κάλλιστον ἐπράχθη: τὸ δ’ ἀκριβὲς περὶ

[24a] πάντων ἐφεξη̂ς εἰς αὐ̂θις κατὰ σχολὴν αὐτὰ τὰ γράμματα λαβόντες διέξιμεν. τοὺς μὲν οὐ̂ν νόμους σκόπει πρὸς τοὺς τῃ̂δε: πολλὰ γὰρ παραδείγματα τω̂ν τότε παρ’ ὑμι̂ν ὄντων ἐνθάδε νυ̂ν ἀνευρήσεις, πρω̂τον μὲν τὸ τω̂ν ἱερέων γένος ἀπὸ τω̂ν ἄλλων χωρὶς ἀφωρισμένον, μετὰ δὲ του̂το τὸ τω̂ν δημιουργω̂ν, ὅτι καθ’ αὑτὸ ἕκαστον ἄλλῳ δὲ οὐκ ἐπιμειγνύμενον δημιουργει̂, τό τε τω̂ν νομέων καὶ τὸ τω̂ν θηρευτω̂ν τό τε

[24b] τω̂ν γεωργω̂ν. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ μάχιμον γένος ᾔσθησαί που τῃ̂δε ἀπὸ πάντων τω̂ν γενω̂ν κεχωρισμένον, οἱ̂ς οὐδὲν ἄλλο πλὴν τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ὑπὸ του̂ νόμου προσετάχθη μέλειν: ἔτι δὲ ἡ τη̂ς ὁπλίσεως αὐτω̂ν σχέσις ἀσπίδων καὶ δοράτων, οἱ̂ς ἡμει̂ς πρω̂τοι τω̂ν περὶ τὴν ̓Ασίαν ὡπλίσμεθα, τη̂ς θεου̂ καθάπερ ἐν ἐκείνοις τοι̂ς τόποις παρ’ ὑμι̂ν πρώτοις ἐνδειξαμένης. τὸ δ’ αὐ̂ περὶ τη̂ς φρονήσεως, ὁρᾳ̂ς που τὸν νόμον τῃ̂δε ὅσην ἐπιμέλειαν ἐποιήσατο εὐθὺς κατ’ ἀρχὰς περί τε

[24c] τὸν κόσμον, ἅπαντα μέχρι μαντικη̂ς καὶ ἰατρικη̂ς πρὸς ὑγίειαν ἐκ τούτων θείων ὄντων εἰς τὰ ἀνθρώπινα ἀνευρών, ὅσα τε ἄλλα τούτοις ἕπεται μαθήματα πάντα κτησάμενος. ταύτην οὐ̂ν δὴ τότε σύμπασαν τὴν διακόσμησιν καὶ σύνταξιν ἡ θεὸς προτέρους ὑμα̂ς διακοσμήσασα κατῴκισεν, ἐκλεξαμένη τὸν τόπον ἐν ᾡ̂ γεγένησθε, τὴν εὐκρασίαν τω̂ν ὡρω̂ν ἐν αὐτῳ̂ κατιδου̂σα, ὅτι φρονιμωτάτους ἄνδρας οἴσοι: ἅτε οὐ̂ν φιλοπόλεμός

[24d] τε καὶ φιλόσοφος ἡ θεὸς οὐ̂σα τὸν προσφερεστάτους αὐτῃ̂ μέλλοντα οἴσειν τόπον ἄνδρας, του̂τον ἐκλεξαμένη πρω̂τον κατῴκισεν. ᾠκει̂τε δὴ οὐ̂ν νόμοις τε τοιούτοις χρώμενοι καὶ ἔτι μα̂λλον εὐνομούμενοι πάσῃ τε παρὰ πάντας ἀνθρώπους ὑπερβεβληκότες ἀρετῃ̂, καθάπερ εἰκὸς γεννήματα καὶ παιδεύματα θεω̂ν ὄντας. πολλὰ μὲν οὐ̂ν ὑμω̂ν καὶ μεγάλα ἔργα τη̂ς πόλεως τῃ̂δε γεγραμμένα θαυμάζεται, πάντων μὴν

[24e] ἓν ὑπερέχει μεγέθει καὶ ἀρετῃ̂: λέγει γὰρ τὰ γεγραμμένα ὅσην ἡ πόλις ὑμω̂ν ἔπαυσέν ποτε δύναμιν ὕβρει πορευομένην ἅμα ἐπὶ πα̂σαν Εὐρώπην καὶ ̓Ασίαν, ἔξωθεν ὁρμηθει̂σαν ἐκ του̂ ̓Ατλαντικου̂ πελάγους. τότε γὰρ πορεύσιμον ἠ̂ν τὸ ἐκει̂ πέλαγος: νη̂σον γὰρ πρὸ του̂ στόματος εἰ̂χεν ὃ καλει̂τε, ὥς φατε, ὑμει̂ς ̔Ηρακλέους στήλας, ἡ δὲ νη̂σος ἅμα Λιβύης ἠ̂ν καὶ ̓Ασίας μείζων, ἐξ ἡ̂ς ἐπιβατὸν ἐπὶ τὰς ἄλλας νήσους τοι̂ς τότε ἐγίγνετο πορευομένοις, ἐκ δὲ τω̂ν νήσων

[25a] ἐπὶ τὴν καταντικρὺ πα̂σαν ἤπειρον τὴν περὶ τὸν ἀληθινὸν ἐκει̂νον πόντον. τάδε μὲν γάρ, ὅσα ἐντὸς του̂ στόματος οὑ̂ λέγομεν, φαίνεται λιμὴν στενόν τινα ἔχων εἴσπλουν: ἐκει̂νο δὲ πέλαγος ὄντως ἥ τε περιέχουσα αὐτὸ γη̂ παντελω̂ς ἀληθω̂ς ὀρθότατ’ ἂν λέγοιτο ἤπειρος. ἐν δὲ δὴ τῃ̂ ̓Ατλαντίδι νήσῳ ταύτῃ μεγάλη συνέστη καὶ θαυμαστὴ δύναμις βασιλέων, κρατου̂σα μὲν ἁπάσης τη̂ς νήσου, πολλω̂ν δὲ ἄλλων νήσων καὶ μερω̂ν τη̂ς ἠπείρου: πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἔτι τω̂ν ἐντὸς τῃ̂δε

[25b] Λιβύης μὲν ἠ̂ρχον μέχρι πρὸς Αἴγυπτον, τη̂ς δὲ Εὐρώπης μέχρι Τυρρηνίας. αὕτη δὴ πα̂σα συναθροισθει̂σα εἰς ἓν ἡ δύναμις τόν τε παρ’ ὑμι̂ν καὶ τὸν παρ’ ἡμι̂ν καὶ τὸν ἐντὸς του̂ στόματος πάντα τόπον μιᾳ̂ ποτὲ ἐπεχείρησεν ὁρμῃ̂ δουλου̂σθαι. τότε οὐ̂ν ὑμω̂ν, ὠ̂ Σόλων, τη̂ς πόλεως ἡ δύναμις εἰς ἅπαντας ἀνθρώπους διαφανὴς ἀρετῃ̂ τε καὶ ῥώμῃ ἐγένετο: πάντων γὰρ προστα̂σα εὐψυχίᾳ καὶ τέχναις ὅσαι κατὰ πόλεμον,

[25c] τὰ μὲν τω̂ν ̔Ελλήνων ἡγουμένη, τὰ δ’ αὐτὴ μονωθει̂σα ἐξ ἀνάγκης τω̂ν ἄλλων ἀποστάντων, ἐπὶ τοὺς ἐσχάτους ἀφικομένη κινδύνους, κρατήσασα μὲν τω̂ν ἐπιόντων τρόπαιον ἔστησεν, τοὺς δὲ μήπω δεδουλωμένους διεκώλυσεν δουλωθη̂ναι, τοὺς δ’ ἄλλους, ὅσοι κατοικου̂μεν ἐντὸς ὅρων ̔Ηρακλείων, ἀφθόνως ἅπαντας ἠλευθέρωσεν. ὑστέρῳ δὲ χρόνῳ σεισμω̂ν ἐξαισίων καὶ κατακλυσμω̂ν γενομένων, μια̂ς

[25d] ἡμέρας καὶ νυκτὸς χαλεπη̂ς ἐπελθούσης, τό τε παρ’ ὑμι̂ν μάχιμον πα̂ν ἁθρόον ἔδυ κατὰ γη̂ς, ἥ τε ̓Ατλαντὶς νη̂σος ὡσαύτως κατὰ τη̂ς θαλάττης δυ̂σα ἠφανίσθη: διὸ καὶ νυ̂ν ἄπορον καὶ ἀδιερεύνητον γέγονεν τοὐκει̂ πέλαγος, πηλου̂ κάρτα βραχέος ἐμποδὼν ὄντος, ὃν ἡ νη̂σος ἱζομένη παρέσχετο.” τὰ μὲν δὴ ῥηθέντα, ὠ̂ Σώκρατες, ὑπὸ του̂ παλαιου̂

[25e] Κριτίου κατ’ ἀκοὴν τὴν Σόλωνος, ὡς συντόμως εἰπει̂ν, ἀκήκοας: λέγοντος δὲ δὴ χθὲς σου̂ περὶ πολιτείας τε καὶ τω̂ν ἀνδρω̂ν οὓς ἔλεγες, ἐθαύμαζον ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενος αὐτὰ ἃ νυ̂ν λέγω, κατανοω̂ν ὡς δαιμονίως ἔκ τινος τύχης οὐκ ἄπο σκοπου̂ συνηνέχθης τὰ πολλὰ οἱ̂ς Σόλων εἰ̂πεν. οὐ μὴν

[26a] ἐβουλήθην παραχρη̂μα εἰπει̂ν: διὰ χρόνου γὰρ οὐχ ἱκανω̂ς ἐμεμνήμην. ἐνενόησα οὐ̂ν ὅτι χρεὼν εἴη με πρὸς ἐμαυτὸν πρω̂τον ἱκανω̂ς πάντα ἀναλαβόντα λέγειν οὕτως. ὅθεν ταχὺ συνωμολόγησά σοι τὰ ἐπιταχθέντα χθές, ἡγούμενος, ὅπερ ἐν ἅπασι τοι̂ς τοιοι̂σδε μέγιστον ἔργον, λόγον τινὰ πρέποντα τοι̂ς βουλήμασιν ὑποθέσθαι, τούτου μετρίως ἡμα̂ς εὐπορήσειν. οὕτω δή, καθάπερ ὅδ’ εἰ̂πεν, χθές τε εὐθὺς ἐνθένδε ἀπιὼν

[26b] πρὸς τούσδε ἀνέφερον αὐτὰ ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενος, ἀπελθών τε σχεδόν τι πάντα ἐπισκοπω̂ν τη̂ς νυκτὸς ἀνέλαβον. ὡς δή τοι, τὸ λεγόμενον, τὰ παίδων μαθήματα θαυμαστὸν ἔχει τι μνημει̂ον. ἐγὼ γὰρ ἃ μὲν χθὲς ἤκουσα, οὐκ ἂν οἰ̂δ’ εἰ δυναίμην ἅπαντα ἐν μνήμῃ πάλιν λαβει̂ν: ταυ̂τα δὲ ἃ πάμπολυν χρόνον διακήκοα, παντάπασι θαυμάσαιμ’ ἂν εἴ τί με αὐτω̂ν διαπέφευγεν. ἠ̂ν μὲν οὐ̂ν μετὰ πολλη̂ς ἡδονη̂ς καὶ

[26c] παιδια̂ς τότε ἀκουόμενα, καὶ του̂ πρεσβύτου προθύμως με διδάσκοντος, ἅτ’ ἐμου̂ πολλάκις ἐπανερωτω̂ντος, ὥστε οἱ̂ον ἐγκαύματα ἀνεκπλύτου γραφη̂ς ἔμμονά μοι γέγονεν: καὶ δὴ καὶ τοι̂σδε εὐθὺς ἔλεγον ἕωθεν αὐτὰ ταυ̂τα, ἵνα εὐποροι̂εν λόγων μετ’ ἐμου̂. νυ̂ν οὐ̂ν, οὑ̂περ ἕνεκα πάντα ταυ̂τα εἴρηται, λέγειν εἰμὶ ἕτοιμος, ὠ̂ Σώκρατες, μὴ μόνον ἐν κεφαλαίοις ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ ἤκουσα καθ’ ἕκαστον: τοὺς δὲ πολίτας καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἣν χθὲς ἡμι̂ν ὡς ἐν μύθῳ διῄεισθα σύ, νυ̂ν μετενεγκόντες

[26d] ἐπὶ τἀληθὲς δευ̂ρο θήσομεν ὡς ἐκείνην τήνδε οὐ̂σαν, καὶ τοὺς πολίτας οὓς διενοου̂ φήσομεν ἐκείνους τοὺς ἀληθινοὺς εἰ̂ναι προγόνους ἡμω̂ν, οὓς ἔλεγεν ὁ ἱερεύς. πάντως ἁρμόσουσι καὶ οὐκ ἀπᾳσόμεθα λέγοντες αὐτοὺς εἰ̂ναι τοὺς ἐν τῳ̂ τότε ὄντας χρόνῳ. κοινῃ̂ δὲ διαλαμβάνοντες ἅπαντες πειρασόμεθα τὸ πρέπον εἰς δύναμιν οἱ̂ς ἐπέταξας ἀποδου̂ναι. σκοπει̂ν οὐ̂ν δὴ χρή, ὠ̂ Σώκρατες, εἰ κατὰ νου̂ν ὁ λόγος ἡμι̂ν

[26e] οὑ̂τος, ἤ τινα ἔτ’ ἄλλον ἀντ’ αὐτου̂ ζητητέον.

Σωκράτης
καὶ τίν’ ἄν, ὠ̂ Κριτία, μα̂λλον ἀντὶ τούτου μεταλάβοιμεν, ὃς τῃ̂ τε παρούσῃ τη̂ς θεου̂ θυσίᾳ διὰ τὴν οἰκειότητ’ ἂν πρέποι μάλιστα, τό τε μὴ πλασθέντα μυ̂θον ἀλλ’ ἀληθινὸν λόγον εἰ̂ναι πάμμεγά που. πω̂ς γὰρ καὶ πόθεν ἄλλους ἀνευρήσομεν ἀφέμενοι τούτων; οὐκ ἔστιν, ἀλλ’ ἀγαθῃ̂ τύχῃ χρὴ λέγειν μὲν ὑμα̂ς, ἐμὲ δὲ ἀντὶ τω̂ν χθὲς λόγων νυ̂ν

[27a] ἡσυχίαν ἄγοντα ἀντακούειν.

Κριτίας
σκόπει δὴ τὴν τω̂ν ξενίων σοι διάθεσιν, ὠ̂ Σώκρατες, ᾑ̂ διέθεμεν. ἔδοξεν γὰρ ἡμι̂ν Τίμαιον μέν, ἅτε ὄντα ἀστρονομικώτατον ἡμω̂ν καὶ περὶ φύσεως του̂ παντὸς εἰδέναι μάλιστα ἔργον πεποιημένον, πρω̂τον λέγειν ἀρχόμενον ἀπὸ τη̂ς του̂ κόσμου γενέσεως, τελευτα̂ν δὲ εἰς ἀνθρώπων φύσιν: ἐμὲ δὲ μετὰ του̂τον, ὡς παρὰ μὲν τούτου δεδεγμένον ἀνθρώπους τῳ̂ λόγῳ γεγονότας, παρὰ σου̂ δὲ πεπαιδευμένους διαφερόντως

[27b] αὐτω̂ν τινας, κατὰ δὲ τὸν Σόλωνος λόγον τε καὶ νόμον εἰσαγαγόντα αὐτοὺς ὡς εἰς δικαστὰς ἡμα̂ς ποιη̂σαι πολίτας τη̂ς πόλεως τη̂σδε ὡς ὄντας τοὺς τότε ̓Αθηναίους, οὓς ἐμήνυσεν ἀφανει̂ς ὄντας ἡ τω̂ν ἱερω̂ν γραμμάτων φήμη, τὰ λοιπὰ δὲ ὡς περὶ πολιτω̂ν καὶ ̓Αθηναίων ὄντων ἤδη ποιει̂σθαι τοὺς λόγους.

Σωκράτης
τελέως τε καὶ λαμπρω̂ς ἔοικα ἀνταπολήψεσθαι τὴν τω̂ν λόγων ἑστίασιν. σὸν οὐ̂ν ἔργον λέγειν ἄν, ὠ̂ Τίμαιε, τὸ μετὰ του̂το, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἴη καλέσαντα κατὰ νόμον θεούς.

[27c] Τίμαιος
ἀλλ’, ὠ̂ Σώκρατες, του̂τό γε δὴ πάντες ὅσοι καὶ κατὰ βραχὺ σωφροσύνης μετέχουσιν, ἐπὶ παντὸς ὁρμῃ̂ καὶ σμικρου̂ καὶ μεγάλου πράγματος θεὸν ἀεί που καλου̂σιν: ἡμα̂ς δὲ τοὺς περὶ του̂ παντὸς λόγους ποιει̂σθαί πῃ μέλλοντας, ᾑ̂ γέγονεν ἢ καὶ ἀγενές ἐστιν, εἰ μὴ παντάπασι παραλλάττομεν, ἀνάγκη θεούς τε καὶ θεὰς ἐπικαλουμένους εὔχεσθαι πάντα κατὰ νου̂ν ἐκείνοις μὲν μάλιστα, ἑπομένως

[27d] δὲ ἡμι̂ν εἰπει̂ν. καὶ τὰ μὲν περὶ θεω̂ν ταύτῃ παρακεκλήσθω: τὸ δ’ ἡμέτερον παρακλητέον, ᾑ̂ ῥᾳ̂στ’ ἂν ὑμει̂ς μὲν μάθοιτε, ἐγὼ δὲ ᾑ̂ διανοου̂μαι μάλιστ’ ἂν περὶ τω̂ν προκειμένων ἐνδειξαίμην. ἔστιν οὐ̂ν δὴ κατ’ ἐμὴν δόξαν πρω̂τον διαιρετέον τάδε: τί τὸ ὂν ἀεί, γένεσιν δὲ οὐκ ἔχον, καὶ τί τὸ γιγνόμενον μὲν

[27d] δὲ ἡμι̂ν εἰπει̂ν. καὶ τὰ μὲν περὶ θεω̂ν ταύτῃ παρακεκλήσθω: τὸ δ’ ἡμέτερον παρακλητέον, ᾑ̂ ῥᾳ̂στ’ ἂν ὑμει̂ς μὲν μάθοιτε, ἐγὼ δὲ ᾑ̂ διανοου̂μαι μάλιστ’ ἂν περὶ τω̂ν προκειμένων ἐνδειξαίμην. ἔστιν οὐ̂ν δὴ κατ’ ἐμὴν δόξαν πρω̂τον διαιρετέον τάδε: τί τὸ ὂν ἀεί, γένεσιν δὲ οὐκ ἔχον, καὶ τί τὸ γιγνόμενον μὲν

[28b] οὕτως ἀποτελει̂σθαι πα̂ν: οὑ̂ δ’ ἂν εἰς γεγονός, γεννητῳ̂ παραδείγματι προσχρώμενος, οὐ καλόν. ὁ δὴ πα̂ς οὐρανὸς — ἢ κόσμος ἢ καὶ ἄλλο ὅτι ποτὲ ὀνομαζόμενος μάλιστ’ ἂν δέχοιτο, του̂θ’ ἡμι̂ν ὠνομάσθω — σκεπτέον δ’ οὐ̂ν περὶ αὐτου̂ πρω̂τον, ὅπερ ὑπόκειται περὶ παντὸς ἐν ἀρχῃ̂ δει̂ν σκοπει̂ν, πότερον ἠ̂ν ἀεί, γενέσεως ἀρχὴν ἔχων οὐδεμίαν, ἢ γέγονεν, ἀπ’ ἀρχη̂ς τινος ἀρξάμενος. γέγονεν: ὁρατὸς γὰρ ἁπτός τέ ἐστιν καὶ σω̂μα ἔχων, πάντα δὲ τὰ τοιαυ̂τα αἰσθητά, τὰ

[28c] δ’ αἰσθητά, δόξῃ περιληπτὰ μετ’ αἰσθήσεως, γιγνόμενα καὶ γεννητὰ ἐφάνη. τῳ̂ δ’ αὐ̂ γενομένῳ φαμὲν ὑπ’ αἰτίου τινὸς ἀνάγκην εἰ̂ναι γενέσθαι. τὸν μὲν οὐ̂ν ποιητὴν καὶ πατέρα του̂δε του̂ παντὸς εὑρει̂ν τε ἔργον καὶ εὑρόντα εἰς πάντας ἀδύνατον λέγειν: τόδε δ’ οὐ̂ν πάλιν ἐπισκεπτέον περὶ αὐτου̂, πρὸς πότερον τω̂ν παραδειγμάτων ὁ τεκταινόμενος αὐτὸν

[29a] ἀπηργάζετο, πότερον πρὸς τὸ κατὰ ταὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως ἔχον ἢ πρὸς τὸ γεγονός. εἰ μὲν δὴ καλός ἐστιν ὅδε ὁ κόσμος ὅ τε δημιουργὸς ἀγαθός, δη̂λον ὡς πρὸς τὸ ἀίδιον ἔβλεπεν: εἰ δὲ ὃ μηδ’ εἰπει̂ν τινι θέμις, πρὸς γεγονός. παντὶ δὴ σαφὲς ὅτι πρὸς τὸ ἀίδιον: ὁ μὲν γὰρ κάλλιστος τω̂ν γεγονότων, ὁ δ’ ἄριστος τω̂ν αἰτίων. οὕτω δὴ γεγενημένος πρὸς τὸ λόγῳ καὶ φρονήσει περιληπτὸν καὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχον δεδημιούργηται:

[29b] τούτων δὲ ὑπαρχόντων αὐ̂ πα̂σα ἀνάγκη τόνδε τὸν κόσμον εἰκόνα τινὸς εἰ̂ναι. μέγιστον δὴ παντὸς ἄρξασθαι κατὰ φύσιν ἀρχήν. ὡ̂δε οὐ̂ν περί τε εἰκόνος καὶ περὶ του̂ παραδείγματος αὐτη̂ς διοριστέον, ὡς ἄρα τοὺς λόγους, ὡ̂νπέρ εἰσιν ἐξηγηταί, τούτων αὐτω̂ν καὶ συγγενει̂ς ὄντας: του̂ μὲν οὐ̂ν μονίμου καὶ βεβαίου καὶ μετὰ νου̂ καταφανου̂ς μονίμους καὶ ἀμεταπτώτους — καθ’ ὅσον οἱ̂όν τε καὶ ἀνελέγκτοις προσήκει λόγοις εἰ̂ναι καὶ ἀνικήτοις, τούτου δει̂

[29c] μηδὲν ἐλλείπειν — τοὺς δὲ του̂ πρὸς μὲν ἐκει̂νο ἀπεικασθέντος, ὄντος δὲ εἰκόνος εἰκότας ἀνὰ λόγον τε ἐκείνων ὄντας: ὅτιπερ πρὸς γένεσιν οὐσία, του̂το πρὸς πίστιν ἀλήθεια. ἐὰν οὐ̂ν, ὠ̂ Σώκρατες, πολλὰ πολλω̂ν πέρι, θεω̂ν καὶ τη̂ς του̂ παντὸς γενέσεως, μὴ δυνατοὶ γιγνώμεθα πάντῃ πάντως αὐτοὺς ἑαυτοι̂ς ὁμολογουμένους λόγους καὶ ἀπηκριβωμένους ἀποδου̂ναι, μὴ θαυμάσῃς: ἀλλ’ ἐὰν ἄρα μηδενὸς ἡ̂ττον παρεχώμεθα εἰκότας, ἀγαπα̂ν χρή, μεμνημένους ὡς ὁ λέγων ἐγὼ

[29d] ὑμει̂ς τε οἱ κριταὶ φύσιν ἀνθρωπίνην ἔχομεν, ὥστε περὶ τούτων τὸν εἰκότα μυ̂θον ἀποδεχομένους πρέπει τούτου μηδὲν ἔτι πέρα ζητει̂ν.

Σωκράτης
ἄριστα, ὠ̂ Τίμαιε, παντάπασί τε ὡς κελεύεις ἀποδεκτέον: τὸ μὲν οὐ̂ν προοίμιον θαυμασίως ἀπεδεξάμεθά σου, τὸν δὲ δὴ νόμον ἡμι̂ν ἐφεξη̂ς πέραινε.

Τίμαιος
λέγωμεν δὴ δι’ ἥντινα αἰτίαν γένεσιν καὶ τὸ πα̂ν

[29e] τόδε ὁ συνιστὰς συνέστησεν. ἀγαθὸς ἠ̂ν, ἀγαθῳ̂+ δὲ οὐδεὶς περὶ οὐδενὸς οὐδέποτε ἐγγίγνεται φθόνος: τούτου δ’ ἐκτὸς ὢν πάντα ὅτι μάλιστα ἐβουλήθη γενέσθαι παραπλήσια ἑαυτῳ̂. ταύτην δὴ γενέσεως καὶ κόσμου μάλιστ’ ἄν τις ἀρχὴν κυριωτάτην

[30a] παρ’ ἀνδρω̂ν φρονίμων ἀποδεχόμενος ὀρθότατα ἀποδέχοιτ’ ἄν. βουληθεὶς γὰρ ὁ θεὸς ἀγαθὰ μὲν πάντα, φλαυ̂ρον δὲ μηδὲν εἰ̂ναι κατὰ δύναμιν, οὕτω δὴ πα̂ν ὅσον ἠ̂ν ὁρατὸν παραλαβὼν οὐχ ἡσυχίαν ἄγον ἀλλὰ κινούμενον πλημμελω̂ς καὶ ἀτάκτως, εἰς τάξιν αὐτὸ ἤγαγεν ἐκ τη̂ς ἀταξίας, ἡγησάμενος ἐκει̂νο τούτου πάντως ἄμεινον. θέμις δ’ οὔτ’ ἠ̂ν οὔτ’ ἔστιν τῳ̂ ἀρίστῳ δρα̂ν ἄλλο πλὴν τὸ κάλλιστον:

[30b] λογισάμενος οὐ̂ν ηὕρισκεν ἐκ τω̂ν κατὰ φύσιν ὁρατω̂ν οὐδὲν ἀνόητον του̂ νου̂ν ἔχοντος ὅλον ὅλου κάλλιον ἔσεσθαί ποτε ἔργον, νου̂ν δ’ αὐ̂ χωρὶς ψυχη̂ς ἀδύνατον παραγενέσθαι τῳ. διὰ δὴ τὸν λογισμὸν τόνδε νου̂ν μὲν ἐν ψυχῃ̂, ψυχὴν δ’ ἐν σώματι συνιστὰς τὸ πα̂ν συνετεκταίνετο, ὅπως ὅτι κάλλιστον εἴη κατὰ φύσιν ἄριστόν τε ἔργον ἀπειργασμένος. οὕτως οὐ̂ν δὴ κατὰ λόγον τὸν εἰκότα δει̂ λέγειν τόνδε τὸν κόσμον ζῳ̂ον ἔμψυχον ἔννουν τε τῃ̂ ἀληθείᾳ διὰ τὴν του̂ θεου̂

[30c] γενέσθαι πρόνοιαν. τούτου δ’ ὑπάρχοντος αὐ̂ τὰ τούτοις ἐφεξη̂ς ἡμι̂ν λεκτέον, τίνι τω̂ν ζῴων αὐτὸν εἰς ὁμοιότητα ὁ συνιστὰς συνέστησεν. τω̂ν μὲν οὐ̂ν ἐν μέρους εἴδει πεφυκότων μηδενὶ καταξιώσωμεν — ἀτελει̂ γὰρ ἐοικὸς οὐδέν ποτ’ ἂν γένοιτο καλόν — οὑ̂ δ’ ἔστιν τἀ̂λλα ζῳ̂α καθ’ ἓν καὶ κατὰ γένη μόρια, τούτῳ πάντων ὁμοιότατον αὐτὸν εἰ̂ναι τιθω̂μεν. τὰ γὰρ δὴ νοητὰ ζῳ̂α πάντα ἐκει̂νο ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂ περιλαβὸν ἔχει, καθάπερ ὅδε ὁ

[30d] κόσμος ἡμα̂ς ὅσα τε ἄλλα θρέμματα συνέστηκεν ὁρατά. τῳ̂ γὰρ τω̂ν νοουμένων καλλίστῳ καὶ κατὰ πάντα τελέῳ μάλιστα αὐτὸν ὁ θεὸς ὁμοιω̂σαι βουληθεὶς ζῳ̂ον ἓν ὁρατόν, πάνθ’ ὅσα

[31a] αὐτου̂ κατὰ φύσιν συγγενη̂ ζῳ̂α ἐντὸς ἔχον ἑαυτου̂, συνέστησε. πότερον οὐ̂ν ὀρθω̂ς ἕνα οὐρανὸν προσειρήκαμεν, ἢ πολλοὺς καὶ ἀπείρους λέγειν ἠ̂ν ὀρθότερον; ἕνα, εἴπερ κατὰ τὸ παράδειγμα δεδημιουργημένος ἔσται. τὸ γὰρ περιέχον πάντα ὁπόσα νοητὰ ζῳ̂α μεθ’ ἑτέρου δεύτερον οὐκ ἄν ποτ’ εἴη: πάλιν γὰρ ἂν ἕτερον εἰ̂ναι τὸ περὶ ἐκείνω δέοι ζῳ̂ον, οὑ̂ μέρος ἂν εἴτην ἐκείνω, καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἔτι ἐκείνοιν ἀλλ’ ἐκείνῳ τῳ̂ περιέχοντι τόδ’ ἂν ἀφωμοιωμένον λέγοιτο ὀρθότερον. ἵνα

[31b] οὐ̂ν τόδε κατὰ τὴν μόνωσιν ὅμοιον ᾐ̂ τῳ̂ παντελει̂ ζῴῳ, διὰ ταυ̂τα οὔτε δύο οὔτ’ ἀπείρους ἐποίησεν ὁ ποιω̂ν κόσμους, ἀλλ’ εἱ̂ς ὅδε μονογενὴς οὐρανὸς γεγονὼς ἔστιν καὶ ἔτ’ ἔσται. σωματοειδὲς δὲ δὴ καὶ ὁρατὸν ἁπτόν τε δει̂ τὸ γενόμενον εἰ̂ναι, χωρισθὲν δὲ πυρὸς οὐδὲν ἄν ποτε ὁρατὸν γένοιτο, οὐδὲ ἁπτὸν ἄνευ τινὸς στερεου̂, στερεὸν δὲ οὐκ ἄνευ γη̂ς: ὅθεν ἐκ πυρὸς καὶ γη̂ς τὸ του̂ παντὸς ἀρχόμενος συνιστάναι σω̂μα ὁ θεὸς ἐποίει. δύο δὲ μόνω καλω̂ς συνίστασθαι τρίτου χωρὶς

[31c] οὐ δυνατόν: δεσμὸν γὰρ ἐν μέσῳ δει̂ τινα ἀμφοι̂ν συναγωγὸν γίγνεσθαι. δεσμω̂ν δὲ κάλλιστος ὃς ἂν αὑτὸν καὶ τὰ συνδούμενα ὅτι μάλιστα ἓν ποιῃ̂, του̂το δὲ πέφυκεν ἀναλογία κάλλιστα ἀποτελει̂ν. ὁπόταν γὰρ ἀριθμω̂ν τριω̂ν εἴτε ὄγκων

[32a] εἴτε δυνάμεων ὡντινωνου̂ν ᾐ̂ τὸ μέσον, ὅτιπερ τὸ πρω̂τον πρὸς αὐτό, του̂το αὐτὸ πρὸς τὸ ἔσχατον, καὶ πάλιν αὐ̂θις, ὅτι τὸ ἔσχατον πρὸς τὸ μέσον, τὸ μέσον πρὸς τὸ πρω̂τον, τότε τὸ μέσον μὲν πρω̂τον καὶ ἔσχατον γιγνόμενον, τὸ δ’ ἔσχατον καὶ τὸ πρω̂τον αὐ̂ μέσα ἀμφότερα, πάνθ’ οὕτως ἐξ ἀνάγκης τὰ αὐτὰ εἰ̂ναι συμβήσεται, τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ γενόμενα ἀλλήλοις ἓν πάντα ἔσται. εἰ μὲν οὐ̂ν ἐπίπεδον μέν, βάθος δὲ μηδὲν ἔχον ἔδει γίγνεσθαι τὸ του̂ παντὸς σω̂μα, μία μεσότης ἂν ἐξήρκει

[32b] τά τε μεθ’ αὑτη̂ς συνδει̂ν καὶ ἑαυτήν, νυ̂ν δὲ στερεοειδη̂ γὰρ αὐτὸν προση̂κεν εἰ̂ναι, τὰ δὲ στερεὰ μία μὲν οὐδέποτε, δύο δὲ ἀεὶ μεσότητες συναρμόττουσιν: οὕτω δὴ πυρός τε καὶ γη̂ς ὕδωρ ἀέρα τε ὁ θεὸς ἐν μέσῳ θείς, καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα καθ’ ὅσον ἠ̂ν δυνατὸν ἀνὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον ἀπεργασάμενος, ὅτιπερ πυ̂ρ πρὸς ἀέρα, του̂το ἀέρα πρὸς ὕδωρ, καὶ ὅτι ἀὴρ πρὸς ὕδωρ, ὕδωρ πρὸς γη̂ν, συνέδησεν καὶ συνεστήσατο οὐρανὸν ὁρατὸν καὶ ἁπτόν. καὶ διὰ ταυ̂τα ἔκ τε δὴ τούτων τοιούτων

[32c] καὶ τὸν ἀριθμὸν τεττάρων τὸ του̂ κόσμου σω̂μα ἐγεννήθη δι’ ἀναλογίας ὁμολογη̂σαν, φιλίαν τε ἔσχεν ἐκ τούτων, ὥστε εἰς ταὐτὸν αὑτῳ̂ συνελθὸν ἄλυτον ὑπό του ἄλλου πλὴν ὑπὸ του̂ συνδήσαντος γενέσθαι. τω̂ν δὲ δὴ τεττάρων ἓν ὅλον ἕκαστον εἴληφεν ἡ του̂ κόσμου σύστασις. ἐκ γὰρ πυρὸς παντὸς ὕδατός τε καὶ ἀέρος καὶ γη̂ς συνέστησεν αὐτὸν ὁ συνιστάς, μέρος οὐδὲν οὐδενὸς οὐδὲ δύναμιν ἔξωθεν ὑπολιπών, τάδε διανοηθείς, [32d] πρω̂τον μὲν ἵνα ὅλον ὅτι μάλιστα ζῳ̂ον τέλεον ἐκ τελέων

[33a] τω̂ν μερω̂ν εἴη, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἕν, ἅτε οὐχ ὑπολελειμμένων ἐξ ὡ̂ν ἄλλο τοιου̂τον γένοιτ’ ἄν, ἔτι δὲ ἵν’ ἀγήρων καὶ ἄνοσον ᾐ̂, κατανοω̂ν ὡς συστάτῳ σώματι θερμὰ καὶ ψυχρὰ καὶ πάνθ’ ὅσα δυνάμεις ἰσχυρὰς ἔχει περιιστάμενα ἔξωθεν καὶ προσπίπτοντα ἀκαίρως λύει καὶ νόσους γη̂ράς τε ἐπάγοντα φθίνειν ποιει̂. διὰ δὴ τὴν αἰτίαν καὶ τὸν λογισμὸν τόνδε ἕνα ὅλον ὅλων ἐξ ἁπάντων τέλεον καὶ ἀγήρων καὶ ἄνοσον

[33b] αὐτὸν ἐτεκτήνατο. σχη̂μα δὲ ἔδωκεν αὐτῳ̂ τὸ πρέπον καὶ τὸ συγγενές. τῳ̂ δὲ τὰ πάντα ἐν αὑτῳ̂ ζῳ̂α περιέχειν μέλλοντι ζῴῳ πρέπον ἂν εἴη σχη̂μα τὸ περιειληφὸς ἐν αὑτῳ̂ πάντα ὁπόσα σχήματα: διὸ καὶ σφαιροειδές, ἐκ μέσου πάντῃ πρὸς τὰς τελευτὰς ἴσον ἀπέχον, κυκλοτερὲς αὐτὸ ἐτορνεύσατο, πάντων τελεώτατον ὁμοιότατόν τε αὐτὸ ἑαυτῳ̂ σχημάτων, νομίσας μυρίῳ κάλλιον ὅμοιον ἀνομοίου. λει̂ον δὲ δὴ κύκλῳ

[33c] πα̂ν ἔξωθεν αὐτὸ ἀπηκριβου̂το πολλω̂ν χάριν. ὀμμάτων τε γὰρ ἐπεδει̂το οὐδέν, ὁρατὸν γὰρ οὐδὲν ὑπελείπετο ἔξωθεν, οὐδ’ ἀκοη̂ς, οὐδὲ γὰρ ἀκουστόν: πνευ̂μά τε οὐκ ἠ̂ν περιεστὸς δεόμενον ἀναπνοη̂ς, οὐδ’ αὐ̂ τινος ἐπιδεὲς ἠ̂ν ὀργάνου σχει̂ν ᾡ̂ τὴν μὲν εἰς ἑαυτὸ τροφὴν δέξοιτο, τὴν δὲ πρότερον ἐξικμασμένην ἀποπέμψοι πάλιν. ἀπῄει τε γὰρ οὐδὲν οὐδὲ προσῄειν αὐτῳ̂ ποθεν — οὐδὲ γὰρ ἠ̂ν — αὐτὸ γὰρ ἑαυτῳ̂ τροφὴν τὴν ἑαυτου̂ φθίσιν παρέχον καὶ πάντα ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂ καὶ ὑφ’

[33d] ἑαυτου̂ πάσχον καὶ δρω̂ν ἐκ τέχνης γέγονεν: ἡγήσατο γὰρ αὐτὸ ὁ συνθεὶς αὔταρκες ὂν ἄμεινον ἔσεσθαι μα̂λλον ἢ προσδεὲς ἄλλων. χειρω̂ν δέ, αἱ̂ς οὔτε λαβει̂ν οὔτε αὐ̂ τινα ἀμύνασθαι χρεία τις ἠ̂ν, μάτην οὐκ ᾤετο δει̂ν αὐτῳ̂ προσάπτειν, οὐδὲ ποδω̂ν οὐδὲ ὅλως τη̂ς περὶ τὴν βάσιν

[34a] ὑπηρεσίας. κίνησιν γὰρ ἀπένειμεν αὐτῳ̂ τὴν του̂ σώματος οἰκείαν, τω̂ν ἑπτὰ τὴν περὶ νου̂ν καὶ φρόνησιν μάλιστα οὐ̂σαν: διὸ δὴ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐν τῳ̂ αὐτῳ̂ καὶ ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂ περιαγαγὼν αὐτὸ ἐποίησε κύκλῳ κινει̂σθαι στρεφόμενον, τὰς δὲ ἓξ ἁπάσας κινήσεις ἀφει̂λεν καὶ ἀπλανὲς ἀπηργάσατο ἐκείνων. ἐπὶ δὲ τὴν περίοδον ταύτην ἅτ’ οὐδὲν ποδω̂ν δέον ἀσκελὲς καὶ ἄπουν αὐτὸ ἐγέννησεν. οὑ̂τος δὴ πα̂ς ὄντος ἀεὶ λογισμὸς θεου̂ περὶ τὸν ποτὲ

[34b] ἐσόμενον θεὸν λογισθεὶς λει̂ον καὶ ὁμαλὸν πανταχῃ̂ τε ἐκ μέσου ἴσον καὶ ὅλον καὶ τέλεον ἐκ τελέων σωμάτων σω̂μα ἐποίησεν: ψυχὴν δὲ εἰς τὸ μέσον αὐτου̂ θεὶς διὰ παντός τε ἔτεινεν καὶ ἔτι ἔξωθεν τὸ σω̂μα αὐτῃ̂ περιεκάλυψεν, καὶ κύκλῳ δὴ κύκλον στρεφόμενον οὐρανὸν ἕνα μόνον ἔρημον κατέστησεν, δι’ ἀρετὴν δὲ αὐτὸν αὑτῳ̂ δυνάμενον συγγίγνεσθαι καὶ οὐδενὸς ἑτέρου προσδεόμενον, γνώριμον δὲ καὶ φίλον ἱκανω̂ς αὐτὸν αὑτῳ̂. διὰ πάντα δὴ ταυ̂τα εὐδαίμονα θεὸν αὐτὸν ἐγεννήσατο. τὴν δὲ δὴ ψυχὴν οὐχ ὡς νυ̂ν ὑστέραν ἐπιχειρου̂μεν λέγειν,

[34c] οὕτως ἐμηχανήσατο καὶ ὁ θεὸς νεωτέραν — οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἄρχεσθαι πρεσβύτερον ὑπὸ νεωτέρου συνέρξας εἴασεν — ἀλλά πως ἡμει̂ς πολὺ μετέχοντες του̂ προστυχόντος τε καὶ εἰκῃ̂ ταύτῃ πῃ καὶ λέγομεν, ὁ δὲ καὶ γενέσει καὶ ἀρετῃ̂ προτέραν καὶ πρεσβυτέραν ψυχὴν σώματος ὡς δεσπότιν καὶ ἄρξουσαν ἀρξομένου

[35a] συνεστήσατο ἐκ τω̂νδέ τε καὶ τοιῳ̂δε τρόπῳ. τη̂ς ἀμερίστου καὶ ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐχούσης οὐσίας καὶ τη̂ς αὐ̂ περὶ τὰ σώματα γιγνομένης μεριστη̂ς τρίτον ἐξ ἀμφοι̂ν ἐν μέσῳ συνεκεράσατο οὐσίας εἰ̂δος, τη̂ς τε ταὐτου̂ φύσεως [αὐ̂ πέρι] καὶ τη̂ς του̂ ἑτέρου, καὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ συνέστησεν ἐν μέσῳ του̂ τε ἀμερου̂ς αὐτω̂ν καὶ του̂ κατὰ τὰ σώματα μεριστου̂: καὶ τρία λαβὼν αὐτὰ ὄντα συνεκεράσατο εἰς μίαν πάντα ἰδέαν, τὴν θατέρου φύσιν δύσμεικτον οὐ̂σαν εἰς ταὐτὸν συναρμόττων βίᾳ.

[35b] μειγνὺς δὲ μετὰ τη̂ς οὐσίας καὶ ἐκ τριω̂ν ποιησάμενος ἕν, πάλιν ὅλον του̂το μοίρας ὅσας προση̂κεν διένειμεν, ἑκάστην δὲ ἔκ τε ταὐτου̂ καὶ θατέρου καὶ τη̂ς οὐσίας μεμειγμένην. ἤρχετο δὲ διαιρει̂ν ὡ̂δε. μίαν ἀφει̂λεν τὸ πρω̂τον ἀπὸ παντὸς μοι̂ραν, μετὰ δὲ ταύτην ἀφῄρει διπλασίαν ταύτης, τὴν δ’ αὐ̂ τρίτην ἡμιολίαν μὲν τη̂ς δευτέρας, τριπλασίαν δὲ τη̂ς πρώτης, τετάρτην δὲ τη̂ς δευτέρας διπλη̂ν, πέμπτην δὲ τριπλη̂ν τη̂ς

[35c] τρίτης, τὴν δ’ ἕκτην τη̂ς πρώτης ὀκταπλασίαν, ἑβδόμην δ’ ἑπτακαιεικοσιπλασίαν τη̂ς πρώτης: μετὰ δὲ ταυ̂τα συνεπληρου̂το

[36a] τά τε διπλάσια καὶ τριπλάσια διαστήματα, μοίρας ἔτι ἐκει̂θεν ἀποτέμνων καὶ τιθεὶς εἰς τὸ μεταξὺ τούτων, ὥστε ἐν ἑκάστῳ διαστήματι δύο εἰ̂ναι μεσότητας, τὴν μὲν ταὐτῳ̂ μέρει τω̂ν ἄκρων αὐτω̂ν ὑπερέχουσαν καὶ ὑπερεχομένην, τὴν δὲ ἴσῳ μὲν κατ’ ἀριθμὸν ὑπερέχουσαν, ἴσῳ δὲ ὑπερεχομένην. ἡμιολίων δὲ διαστάσεων καὶ ἐπιτρίτων καὶ ἐπογδόων γενομένων ἐκ τούτων τω̂ν δεσμω̂ν ἐν ται̂ς πρόσθεν διαστάσεσιν,

[36b] τῳ̂ του̂ ἐπογδόου διαστήματι τὰ ἐπίτριτα πάντα συνεπληρου̂το, λείπων αὐτω̂ν ἑκάστου μόριον, τη̂ς του̂ μορίου ταύτης διαστάσεως λειφθείσης ἀριθμου̂ πρὸς ἀριθμὸν ἐχούσης τοὺς ὅρους ἓξ καὶ πεντήκοντα καὶ διακοσίων πρὸς τρία καὶ τετταράκοντα καὶ διακόσια. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ μειχθέν, ἐξ οὑ̂ ταυ̂τα κατέτεμνεν, οὕτως ἤδη πα̂ν κατανηλώκει. ταύτην οὐ̂ν τὴν σύστασιν πα̂σαν διπλη̂ν κατὰ μη̂κος σχίσας, μέσην πρὸς μέσην ἑκατέραν ἀλλήλαις οἱ̂ον χει̂ προσβαλὼν κατέκαμψεν

[36c] εἰς ἓν κύκλῳ, συνάψας αὑται̂ς τε καὶ ἀλλήλαις ἐν τῳ̂ καταντικρὺ τη̂ς προσβολη̂ς, καὶ τῃ̂ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐν ταὐτῳ̂ περιαγομένῃ κινήσει πέριξ αὐτὰς ἔλαβεν, καὶ τὸν μὲν ἔξω, τὸν δ’ ἐντὸς ἐποιει̂το τω̂ν κύκλων. τὴν μὲν οὐ̂ν ἔξω φορὰν ἐπεφήμισεν εἰ̂ναι τη̂ς ταὐτου̂ φύσεως, τὴν δ’ ἐντὸς τη̂ς θατέρου. τὴν μὲν δὴ ταὐτου̂ κατὰ πλευρὰν ἐπὶ δεξιὰ περιήγαγεν, τὴν δὲ θατέρου κατὰ διάμετρον ἐπ’ ἀριστερά, κράτος δ’ ἔδωκεν τῃ̂

[36d] ταὐτου̂ καὶ ὁμοίου περιφορᾳ̂: μίαν γὰρ αὐτὴν ἄσχιστον εἴασεν, τὴν δ’ ἐντὸς σχίσας ἑξαχῃ̂ ἑπτὰ κύκλους ἀνίσους κατὰ τὴν του̂ διπλασίου καὶ τριπλασίου διάστασιν ἑκάστην, οὐσω̂ν ἑκατέρων τριω̂ν, κατὰ τἀναντία μὲν ἀλλήλοις+ προσέταξεν ἰέναι τοὺς κύκλους, τάχει δὲ τρει̂ς μὲν ὁμοίως, τοὺς δὲ τέτταρας ἀλλήλοις καὶ τοι̂ς τρισὶν ἀνομοίως+, ἐν λόγῳ δὲ φερομένους. ἐπεὶ δὲ κατὰ νου̂ν τῳ̂ συνιστάντι πα̂σα ἡ τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς σύστασις ἐγεγένητο, μετὰ του̂το πα̂ν τὸ σωματοειδὲς ἐντὸς

[36e] αὐτη̂ς ἐτεκταίνετο καὶ μέσον μέσῃ συναγαγὼν προσήρμοττεν: ἡ δ’ ἐκ μέσου πρὸς τὸν ἔσχατον οὐρανὸν πάντῃ διαπλακει̂σα κύκλῳ τε αὐτὸν ἔξωθεν περικαλύψασα, αὐτὴ ἐν αὑτῃ̂ στρεφομένη, θείαν ἀρχὴν ἤρξατο ἀπαύστου καὶ ἔμφρονος βίου πρὸς τὸν σύμπαντα χρόνον. καὶ τὸ μὲν δὴ σω̂μα ὁρατὸν οὐρανου̂ γέγονεν, αὐτὴ δὲ ἀόρατος μέν, λογισμου̂ δὲ μετέχουσα καὶ

[37a] ἁρμονίας ψυχή, τω̂ν νοητω̂ν ἀεί τε ὄντων ὑπὸ του̂ ἀρίστου ἀρίστη γενομένη τω̂ν γεννηθέντων. ἅτε οὐ̂ν ἐκ τη̂ς ταὐτου̂ καὶ τη̂ς θατέρου φύσεως ἔκ τε οὐσίας τριω̂ν τούτων συγκραθει̂σα μοιρω̂ν, καὶ ἀνὰ λόγον μερισθει̂σα καὶ συνδεθει̂σα, αὐτή τε ἀνακυκλουμένη πρὸς αὑτήν, ὅταν οὐσίαν σκεδαστὴν ἔχοντός τινος ἐφάπτηται καὶ ὅταν ἀμέριστον, λέγει κινουμένη διὰ πάσης ἑαυτη̂ς ὅτῳ τ’ ἄν τι ταὐτὸν ᾐ̂ καὶ ὅτου ἂν

[37b] ἕτερον, πρὸς ὅτι τε μάλιστα καὶ ὅπῃ καὶ ὅπως καὶ ὁπότε συμβαίνει κατὰ τὰ γιγνόμενά τε πρὸς ἕκαστον ἕκαστα εἰ̂ναι καὶ πάσχειν καὶ πρὸς τὰ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχοντα ἀεί. λόγος δὲ ὁ κατὰ ταὐτὸν ἀληθὴς γιγνόμενος περί τε θάτερον ὂν καὶ περὶ τὸ ταὐτόν, ἐν τῳ̂ κινουμένῳ ὑφ’ αὑτου̂ φερόμενος ἄνευ φθόγγου καὶ ἠχη̂ς, ὅταν μὲν περὶ τὸ αἰσθητὸν γίγνηται καὶ ὁ του̂ θατέρου κύκλος ὀρθὸς ἰὼν εἰς πα̂σαν αὐτου̂ τὴν ψυχὴν διαγγείλῃ, δόξαι καὶ πίστεις γίγνονται βέβαιοι καὶ ἀληθει̂ς,

[37c] ὅταν δὲ αὐ̂ περὶ τὸ λογιστικὸν ᾐ̂ καὶ ὁ του̂ ταὐτου̂ κύκλος εὔτροχος ὢν αὐτὰ μηνύσῃ, νου̂ς ἐπιστήμη τε ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἀποτελει̂ται: τούτω δὲ ἐν ᾡ̂ τω̂ν ὄντων ἐγγίγνεσθον, ἄν ποτέ τις αὐτὸ ἄλλο πλὴν ψυχὴν εἴπῃ, πα̂ν μα̂λλον ἢ τἀληθὲς ἐρει̂. ὡς δὲ κινηθὲν αὐτὸ καὶ ζω̂ν ἐνόησεν τω̂ν ἀιδίων θεω̂ν γεγονὸς ἄγαλμα ὁ γεννήσας πατήρ, ἠγάσθη τε καὶ εὐφρανθεὶς ἔτι δὴ μα̂λλον ὅμοιον πρὸς τὸ παράδειγμα ἐπενόησεν ἀπεργάσασθαι.

[37d] καθάπερ οὐ̂ν αὐτὸ τυγχάνει ζῳ̂ον ἀίδιον ὄν, καὶ τόδε τὸ πα̂ν οὕτως εἰς δύναμιν ἐπεχείρησε τοιου̂τον ἀποτελει̂ν. ἡ μὲν οὐ̂ν του̂ ζῴου φύσις ἐτύγχανεν οὐ̂σα αἰώνιος, καὶ του̂το μὲν δὴ τῳ̂ γεννητῳ̂ παντελω̂ς προσάπτειν οὐκ ἠ̂ν δυνατόν: εἰκὼ δ’ ἐπενόει κινητόν τινα αἰω̂νος ποιη̂σαι, καὶ διακοσμω̂ν ἅμα οὐρανὸν ποιει̂ μένοντος αἰω̂νος ἐν ἑνὶ κατ’ ἀριθμὸν ἰου̂σαν αἰώνιον εἰκόνα, του̂τον ὃν δὴ χρόνον ὠνομάκαμεν.

[37e] ἡμέρας γὰρ καὶ νύκτας καὶ μη̂νας καὶ ἐνιαυτούς, οὐκ ὄντας πρὶν οὐρανὸν γενέσθαι, τότε ἅμα ἐκείνῳ συνισταμένῳ τὴν γένεσιν αὐτω̂ν μηχανα̂ται: ταυ̂τα δὲ πάντα μέρη χρόνου, καὶ τό τ’ ἠ̂ν τό τ’ ἔσται χρόνου γεγονότα εἴδη, ἃ δὴ φέροντες λανθάνομεν ἐπὶ τὴν ἀίδιον οὐσίαν οὐκ ὀρθω̂ς. λέγομεν γὰρ δὴ ὡς ἠ̂ν ἔστιν τε καὶ ἔσται, τῃ̂ δὲ τὸ ἔστιν μόνον κατὰ τὸν

[38a] ἀληθη̂ λόγον προσήκει, τὸ δὲ ἠ̂ν τό τ’ ἔσται περὶ τὴν ἐν χρόνῳ γένεσιν ἰου̂σαν πρέπει λέγεσθαι — κινήσεις γάρ ἐστον, τὸ δὲ ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔχον ἀκινήτως οὔτε πρεσβύτερον οὔτε νεώτερον προσήκει γίγνεσθαι διὰ χρόνου οὐδὲ γενέσθαι ποτὲ οὐδὲ γεγονέναι νυ̂ν οὐδ’ εἰς αὐ̂θις ἔσεσθαι, τὸ παράπαν τε οὐδὲν ὅσα γένεσις τοι̂ς ἐν αἰσθήσει φερομένοις προση̂ψεν, ἀλλὰ χρόνου ταυ̂τα αἰω̂να μιμουμένου καὶ κατ’ ἀριθμὸν κυκλουμένου γέγονεν εἴδη — καὶ πρὸς τούτοις ἔτι τὰ τοιάδε,

[38b] τό τε γεγονὸς εἰ̂ναι γεγονὸς καὶ τὸ γιγνόμενον εἰ̂ναι γιγνόμενον, ἔτι τε τὸ γενησόμενον εἰ̂ναι γενησόμενον καὶ τὸ μὴ ὂν μὴ ὂν εἰ̂ναι, ὡ̂ν οὐδὲν ἀκριβὲς λέγομεν. περὶ μὲν οὐ̂ν τούτων τάχ’ ἂν οὐκ εἴη καιρὸς πρέπων ἐν τῳ̂ παρόντι διακριβολογει̂σθαι. χρόνος δ’ οὐ̂ν μετ’ οὐρανου̂ γέγονεν, ἵνα ἅμα γεννηθέντες ἅμα καὶ λυθω̂σιν, ἄν ποτε λύσις τις αὐτω̂ν γίγνηται, καὶ κατὰ τὸ παράδειγμα τη̂ς διαιωνίας φύσεως, ἵν’ ὡς ὁμοιότατος

[38c] αὐτῳ̂ κατὰ δύναμιν ᾐ̂: τὸ μὲν γὰρ δὴ παράδειγμα πάντα αἰω̂νά ἐστιν ὄν, ὁ δ’ αὐ̂ διὰ τέλους τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον γεγονώς τε καὶ ὢν καὶ ἐσόμενος. ἐξ οὐ̂ν λόγου καὶ διανοίας θεου̂ τοιαύτης πρὸς χρόνου γένεσιν, ἵνα γεννηθῃ̂ χρόνος, ἥλιος καὶ σελήνη καὶ πέντε ἄλλα ἄστρα, ἐπίκλην ἔχοντα πλανητά, εἰς διορισμὸν καὶ φυλακὴν ἀριθμω̂ν χρόνου γέγονεν: σώματα δὲ αὐτω̂ν ἑκάστων ποιήσας ὁ θεὸς ἔθηκεν εἰς τὰς περιφορὰς ἃς ἡ θατέρου περίοδος ᾔειν, ἑπτὰ οὔσας ὄντα

[38d] ἑπτά, σελήνην μὲν εἰς τὸν περὶ γη̂ν πρω̂τον, ἥλιον δὲ εἰς τὸν δεύτερον ὑπὲρ γη̂ς, ἑωσφόρον δὲ καὶ τὸν ἱερὸν ̔Ερμου̂ λεγόμενον εἰς [τὸν] τάχει μὲν ἰσόδρομον ἡλίῳ κύκλον ἰόντας, τὴν δὲ ἐναντίαν εἰληχότας αὐτῳ̂ δύναμιν: ὅθεν καταλαμβάνουσίν τε καὶ καταλαμβάνονται κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὑπ’ ἀλλήλων ἥλιός τε καὶ ὁ του̂ ̔Ερμου̂ καὶ ἑωσφόρος. τὰ δ’ ἄλλα οἱ̂ δὴ καὶ δι’ ἃς αἰτίας ἱδρύσατο, εἴ τις ἐπεξίοι πάσας, ὁ λόγος

[38e] πάρεργος ὢν πλέον ἂν ἔργον ὡ̂ν ἕνεκα λέγεται παράσχοι. ταυ̂τα μὲν οὐ̂ν ἴσως τάχ’ ἂν κατὰ σχολὴν ὕστερον τη̂ς ἀξίας τύχοι διηγήσεως: ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐ̂ν εἰς τὴν ἑαυτῳ̂ πρέπουσαν ἕκαστον ἀφίκετο φορὰν τω̂ν ὅσα ἔδει συναπεργάζεσθαι χρόνον, δεσμοι̂ς τε ἐμψύχοις σώματα δεθέντα ζῳ̂α ἐγεννήθη τό τε προσταχθὲν ἔμαθεν, κατὰ δὴ τὴν θατέρου φορὰν

[39a] πλαγίαν οὐ̂σαν, διὰ τη̂ς ταὐτου̂ φορα̂ς ἰούσης τε καὶ κρατουμένης, τὸ μὲν μείζονα αὐτω̂ν, τὸ δ’ ἐλάττω κύκλον ἰόν, θα̂ττον μὲν τὰ τὸν ἐλάττω, τὰ δὲ τὸν μείζω βραδύτερον περιῄειν. τῃ̂ δὴ ταὐτου̂ φορᾳ̂ τὰ τάχιστα περιιόντα ὑπὸ τω̂ν βραδύτερον ἰόντων ἐφαίνετο καταλαμβάνοντα καταλαμβάνεσθαι: πάντας γὰρ τοὺς κύκλους αὐτω̂ν στρέφουσα ἕλικα διὰ τὸ διχῃ̂ κατὰ

[39b] τὰ ἐναντία ἅμα προϊέναι τὸ βραδύτατα ἀπιὸν ἀφ’ αὑτη̂ς οὔσης ταχίστης ἐγγύτατα ἀπέφαινεν. ἵνα δ’ εἴη μέτρον ἐναργές τι πρὸς ἄλληλα βραδυτη̂τι καὶ τάχει καὶ τὰ περὶ τὰς ὀκτὼ φορὰς πορεύοιτο, φω̂ς ὁ θεὸς ἀνη̂ψεν ἐν τῃ̂ πρὸς γη̂ν δευτέρᾳ τω̂ν περιόδων, ὃ δὴ νυ̂ν κεκλήκαμεν ἥλιον, ἵνα ὅτι μάλιστα εἰς ἅπαντα φαίνοι τὸν οὐρανὸν μετάσχοι τε ἀριθμου̂ τὰ ζῳ̂α ὅσοις ἠ̂ν προση̂κον, μαθόντα παρὰ τη̂ς ταὐτου̂ καὶ ὁμοίου

[39c] περιφορα̂ς. νὺξ μὲν οὐ̂ν ἡμέρα τε γέγονεν οὕτως καὶ διὰ ταυ̂τα, ἡ τη̂ς μια̂ς καὶ φρονιμωτάτης κυκλήσεως περίοδος: μεὶς δὲ ἐπειδὰν σελήνη περιελθου̂σα τὸν ἑαυτη̂ς κύκλον ἥλιον ἐπικαταλάβῃ, ἐνιαυτὸς δὲ ὁπόταν ἥλιος τὸν ἑαυτου̂ περιέλθῃ κύκλον. τω̂ν δ’ ἄλλων τὰς περιόδους οὐκ ἐννενοηκότες ἄνθρωποι, πλὴν ὀλίγοι τω̂ν πολλω̂ν, οὔτε ὀνομάζουσιν οὔτε πρὸς ἄλληλα συμμετρου̂νται σκοπου̂ντες ἀριθμοι̂ς, ὥστε ὡς ἔπος

[39d] εἰπει̂ν οὐκ ἴσασιν χρόνον ὄντα τὰς τούτων πλάνας, πλήθει μὲν ἀμηχάνῳ χρωμένας, πεποικιλμένας δὲ θαυμαστω̂ς: ἔστιν δ’ ὅμως οὐδὲν ἡ̂ττον κατανοη̂σαι δυνατὸν ὡς ὅ γε τέλεος ἀριθμὸς χρόνου τὸν τέλεον ἐνιαυτὸν πληροι̂ τότε, ὅταν ἁπασω̂ν τω̂ν ὀκτὼ περιόδων τὰ πρὸς ἄλληλα συμπερανθέντα τάχη σχῃ̂ κεφαλὴν τῳ̂ του̂ ταὐτου̂ καὶ ὁμοίως ἰόντος ἀναμετρηθέντα κύκλῳ. κατὰ ταυ̂τα δὴ καὶ τούτων ἕνεκα ἐγεννήθη τω̂ν ἄστρων ὅσα δι’ οὐρανου̂ πορευόμενα ἔσχεν τροπάς, ἵνα τόδε

[39e] ὡς ὁμοιότατον ᾐ̂ τῳ̂ τελέῳ καὶ νοητῳ̂ ζῴῳ πρὸς τὴν τη̂ς διαιωνίας μίμησιν φύσεως. καὶ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ἤδη μέχρι χρόνου γενέσεως ἀπείργαστο εἰς ὁμοιότητα ᾡ̂περ ἀπεικάζετο, τὸ δὲ μήπω τὰ πάντα ζῳ̂α ἐντὸς αὑτου̂ γεγενημένα περιειληφέναι, ταύτῃ ἔτι εἰ̂χεν ἀνομοίως. του̂το δὴ τὸ κατάλοιπον ἀπηργάζετο αὐτου̂ πρὸς τὴν του̂ παραδείγματος ἀποτυπούμενος φύσιν. ᾑ̂περ οὐ̂ν νου̂ς ἐνούσας ἰδέας τῳ̂ ὃ ἔστιν ζῳ̂ον, οἱ̂αί τε ἔνεισι καὶ ὅσαι, καθορᾳ̂, τοιαύτας καὶ τοσαύτας διενοήθη δει̂ν καὶ τόδε σχει̂ν. εἰσὶν δὴ τέτταρες, μία μὲν οὐράνιον θεω̂ν γένος, ἄλλη δὲ

[40a] πτηνὸν καὶ ἀεροπόρον, τρίτη δὲ ἔνυδρον εἰ̂δος, πεζὸν δὲ καὶ χερσαι̂ον τέταρτον. του̂ μὲν οὐ̂ν θείου τὴν πλείστην ἰδέαν ἐκ πυρὸς ἀπηργάζετο, ὅπως ὅτι λαμπρότατον ἰδει̂ν τε κάλλιστον εἴη, τῳ̂ δὲ παντὶ προσεικάζων εὔκυκλον ἐποίει, τίθησίν τε εἰς τὴν του̂ κρατίστου φρόνησιν ἐκείνῳ συνεπόμενον, νείμας περὶ πάντα κύκλῳ τὸν οὐρανόν, κόσμον ἀληθινὸν αὐτῳ̂ πεποικιλμένον εἰ̂ναι καθ’ ὅλον. κινήσεις δὲ δύο προση̂ψεν ἑκάστῳ, τὴν μὲν ἐν ταὐτῳ̂ κατὰ ταὐτά, περὶ τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν ἀεὶ

[40b] τὰ αὐτὰ ἑαυτῳ̂ διανοουμένῳ, τὴν δὲ εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν, ὑπὸ τη̂ς ταὐτου̂ καὶ ὁμοίου περιφορα̂ς κρατουμένῳ: τὰς δὲ πέντε κινήσεις ἀκίνητον καὶ ἑστός, ἵνα ὅτι μάλιστα αὐτω̂ν ἕκαστον γένοιτο ὡς ἄριστον. ἐξ ἡ̂ς δὴ τη̂ς αἰτίας γέγονεν ὅσ’ ἀπλανη̂ τω̂ν ἄστρων ζῳ̂α θει̂α ὄντα καὶ ἀίδια καὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐν ταὐτῳ̂ στρεφόμενα ἀεὶ μένει: τὰ δὲ τρεπόμενα καὶ πλάνην τοιαύτην ἴσχοντα, καθάπερ ἐν τοι̂ς πρόσθεν ἐρρήθη, κατ’ ἐκει̂να γέγονεν. γη̂ν δὲ τροφὸν μὲν ἡμετέραν, ἰλλομένην δὲ

[40c] τὴν περὶ τὸν διὰ παντὸς πόλον τεταμένον, φύλακα καὶ δημιουργὸν νυκτός τε καὶ ἡμέρας ἐμηχανήσατο, πρώτην καὶ πρεσβυτάτην+ θεω̂ν+ ὅσοι+ ἐντὸς+ οὐρανου̂+ γεγόνασιν. χορείας δὲ τούτων αὐτω̂ν καὶ παραβολὰς ἀλλήλων, καὶ [περὶ] τὰς τω̂ν κύκλων πρὸς ἑαυτοὺς ἐπανακυκλήσεις καὶ προχωρήσεις, ἔν τε ται̂ς συνάψεσιν ὁποι̂οι τω̂ν θεω̂ν κατ’ ἀλλήλους γιγνόμενοι καὶ ὅσοι καταντικρύ, μεθ’ οὕστινάς τε ἐπίπροσθεν ἀλλήλοις ἡμι̂ν τε κατὰ χρόνους οὕστινας ἕκαστοι κατακαλύπτονται καὶ πάλιν ἀναφαινόμενοι φόβους καὶ σημει̂α τω̂ν

[40d] μετὰ ταυ̂τα γενησομένων τοι̂ς οὐ δυναμένοις λογίζεσθαι πέμπουσιν, τὸ λέγειν ἄνευ δι’ ὄψεως τούτων αὐ̂ τω̂ν μιμημάτων μάταιος ἂν εἴη πόνος: ἀλλὰ ταυ̂τά τε ἱκανω̂ς ἡμι̂ν ταύτῃ καὶ τὰ περὶ θεω̂ν ὁρατω̂ν καὶ γεννητω̂ν εἰρημένα φύσεως ἐχέτω τέλος. περὶ δὲ τω̂ν ἄλλων δαιμόνων εἰπει̂ν καὶ γνω̂ναι τὴν γένεσιν μει̂ζον ἢ καθ’ ἡμα̂ς, πειστέον δὲ τοι̂ς εἰρηκόσιν ἔμπροσθεν, ἐκγόνοις μὲν θεω̂ν οὐ̂σιν, ὡς ἔφασαν, σαφω̂ς δέ που τούς γε αὑτω̂ν προγόνους εἰδόσιν: ἀδύνατον οὐ̂ν θεω̂ν

[40e] παισὶν ἀπιστει̂ν, καίπερ ἄνευ τε εἰκότων καὶ ἀναγκαίων ἀποδείξεων λέγουσιν, ἀλλ’ ὡς οἰκει̂α φασκόντων ἀπαγγέλλειν ἑπομένους τῳ̂ νόμῳ πιστευτέον. οὕτως οὐ̂ν κατ’ ἐκείνους ἡμι̂ν ἡ γένεσις περὶ τούτων τω̂ν θεω̂ν ἐχέτω καὶ λεγέσθω. Γη̂ς τε καὶ Οὐρανου̂ παι̂δες ̓Ωκεανός τε καὶ Τηθὺς ἐγενέσθην, τούτων δὲ Φόρκυς Κρόνος τε καὶ ̔Ρέα καὶ ὅσοι μετὰ

[41a] τούτων, ἐκ δὲ Κρόνου καὶ ̔Ρέας Ζεὺς ̔´Ηρα τε καὶ πάντες ὅσους ἴσμεν ἀδελφοὺς λεγομένους αὐτω̂ν, ἔτι τε τούτων ἄλλους ἐκγόνους: ἐπεὶ δ’ οὐ̂ν πάντες ὅσοι τε περιπολου̂σιν φανερω̂ς καὶ ὅσοι φαίνονται καθ’ ὅσον ἂν ἐθέλωσιν θεοὶ γένεσιν ἔσχον, λέγει πρὸς αὐτοὺς ὁ τόδε τὸ πα̂ν γεννήσας τάδε—”θεοὶ θεω̂ν, ὡ̂ν ἐγὼ δημιουργὸς πατήρ τε ἔργων, δι’ ἐμου̂ γενόμενα ἄλυτα ἐμου̂ γε μὴ ἐθέλοντος. τὸ μὲν οὐ̂ν δὴ

[41b] δεθὲν πα̂ν λυτόν, τό γε μὴν καλω̂ς ἁρμοσθὲν καὶ ἔχον εὐ̂ λύειν ἐθέλειν κακου̂: δι’ ἃ καὶ ἐπείπερ γεγένησθε, ἀθάνατοι μὲν οὐκ ἐστὲ οὐδ’ ἄλυτοι τὸ πάμπαν, οὔτι μὲν δὴ λυθήσεσθέ γε οὐδὲ τεύξεσθε θανάτου μοίρας, τη̂ς ἐμη̂ς βουλήσεως μείζονος ἔτι δεσμου̂ καὶ κυριωτέρου λαχόντες ἐκείνων οἱ̂ς ὅτ’ ἐγίγνεσθε συνεδει̂σθε. νυ̂ν οὐ̂ν ὃ λέγω πρὸς ὑμα̂ς ἐνδεικνύμενος, μάθετε. θνητὰ ἔτι γένη λοιπὰ τρία ἀγέννητα: τούτων δὲ μὴ γενομένων οὐρανὸς ἀτελὴς ἔσται: τὰ γὰρ ἅπαντ’ ἐν

[41c] αὑτῳ̂ γένη ζῴων οὐχ ἕξει, δει̂ δέ, εἰ μέλλει τέλεος ἱκανω̂ς εἰ̂ναι. δι’ ἐμου̂ δὲ ταυ̂τα γενόμενα καὶ βίου μετασχόντα θεοι̂ς ἰσάζοιτ’ ἄν: ἵνα οὐ̂ν θνητά τε ᾐ̂ τό τε πα̂ν τόδε ὄντως ἅπαν ᾐ̂, τρέπεσθε κατὰ φύσιν ὑμει̂ς ἐπὶ τὴν τω̂ν ζῴων δημιουργίαν, μιμούμενοι τὴν ἐμὴν δύναμιν περὶ τὴν ὑμετέραν γένεσιν+. καὶ καθ’ ὅσον μὲν αὐτω̂ν ἀθανάτοις ὁμώνυμον εἰ̂ναι προσήκει, θει̂ον λεγόμενον ἡγεμονου̂ν τε ἐν αὐτοι̂ς τω̂ν ἀεὶ δίκῃ καὶ ὑμι̂ν ἐθελόντων ἕπεσθαι, σπείρας καὶ ὑπαρξάμενος

[41d] ἐγὼ παραδώσω: τὸ δὲ λοιπὸν ὑμει̂ς, ἀθανάτῳ θνητὸν προσυφαίνοντες, ἀπεργάζεσθε ζῳ̂α καὶ γεννα̂τε τροφήν τε διδόντες αὐξάνετε καὶ φθίνοντα πάλιν δέχεσθε.” ταυ̂τ’ εἰ̂πε, καὶ πάλιν ἐπὶ τὸν πρότερον κρατη̂ρα, ἐν ᾡ̂ τὴν του̂ παντὸς ψυχὴν κεραννὺς ἔμισγεν, τὰ τω̂ν πρόσθεν ὑπόλοιπα κατεχει̂το μίσγων τρόπον μέν τινα τὸν αὐτόν, ἀκήρατα δὲ οὐκέτι κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως, ἀλλὰ δεύτερα καὶ τρίτα. συστήσας δὲ τὸ πα̂ν διει̂λεν ψυχὰς ἰσαρίθμους τοι̂ς ἄστροις,

[41e] ἔνειμέν θ’ ἑκάστην πρὸς ἕκαστον, καὶ ἐμβιβάσας ὡς ἐς ὄχημα τὴν του̂ παντὸς φύσιν ἔδειξεν, νόμους τε τοὺς εἱμαρμένους εἰ̂πεν αὐται̂ς, ὅτι γένεσις πρώτη μὲν ἔσοιτο τεταγμένη μία πα̂σιν, ἵνα μήτις ἐλαττοι̂το ὑπ’ αὐτου̂, δέοι δὲ σπαρείσας αὐτὰς εἰς τὰ προσήκοντα ἑκάσταις ἕκαστα ὄργανα χρόνων

[42a] φυ̂ναι ζῴων τὸ θεοσεβέστατον, διπλη̂ς δὲ οὔσης τη̂ς ἀνθρωπίνης φύσεως, τὸ κρει̂ττον τοιου̂τον εἴη γένος ὃ καὶ ἔπειτα κεκλήσοιτο ἀνήρ. ὁπότε δὴ σώμασιν ἐμφυτευθει̂εν ἐξ ἀνάγκης, καὶ τὸ μὲν προσίοι, τὸ δ’ ἀπίοι του̂ σώματος αὐτω̂ν, πρω̂τον μὲν αἴσθησιν ἀναγκαι̂ον εἴη μίαν πα̂σιν ἐκ βιαίων παθημάτων σύμφυτον γίγνεσθαι, δεύτερον δὲ ἡδονῃ̂ καὶ λύπῃ μεμειγμένον ἔρωτα, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις φόβον καὶ θυμὸν ὅσα

[42b] τε ἑπόμενα αὐτοι̂ς καὶ ὁπόσα ἐναντίως πέφυκε διεστηκότα: ὡ̂ν εἰ μὲν κρατήσοιεν, δίκῃ βιώσοιντο, κρατηθέντες δὲ ἀδικίᾳ. καὶ ὁ μὲν εὐ̂ τὸν προσήκοντα χρόνον βιούς, πάλιν εἰς τὴν του̂ συννόμου πορευθεὶς οἴκησιν ἄστρου, βίον εὐδαίμονα καὶ συνήθη ἕξοι, σφαλεὶς δὲ τούτων εἰς γυναικὸς φύσιν ἐν τῃ̂

[42c] δευτέρᾳ γενέσει μεταβαλοι̂: μὴ παυόμενός τε ἐν τούτοις ἔτι κακίας, τρόπον ὃν κακύνοιτο, κατὰ τὴν ὁμοιότητα τη̂ς του̂ τρόπου γενέσεως εἴς τινα τοιαύτην ἀεὶ μεταβαλοι̂ θήρειον φύσιν, ἀλλάττων τε οὐ πρότερον πόνων λήξοι, πρὶν τῃ̂ ταὐτου̂ καὶ ὁμοίου περιόδῳ τῃ̂ ἐν αὑτῳ̂ συνεπισπώμενος τὸν πολὺν ὄχλον καὶ ὕστερον προσφύντα ἐκ πυρὸς καὶ ὕδατος καὶ ἀέρος

[42d] καὶ γη̂ς, θορυβώδη καὶ ἄλογον ὄντα, λόγῳ κρατήσας εἰς τὸ τη̂ς πρώτης καὶ ἀρίστης ἀφίκοιτο εἰ̂δος ἕξεως. διαθεσμοθετήσας δὲ πάντα αὐτοι̂ς ταυ̂τα, ἵνα τη̂ς ἔπειτα εἴη κακίας ἑκάστων ἀναίτιος, ἔσπειρεν τοὺς μὲν εἰς γη̂ν, τοὺς δ’ εἰς σελήνην, τοὺς δ’ εἰς τἀ̂λλα ὅσα ὄργανα χρόνου: τὸ δὲ μετὰ τὸν σπόρον τοι̂ς νέοις παρέδωκεν θεοι̂ς σώματα πλάττειν θνητά, τό τ’ ἐπίλοιπον, ὅσον ἔτι ἠ̂ν ψυχη̂ς ἀνθρωπίνης δέον

[42e] προσγενέσθαι, του̂το καὶ πάνθ’ ὅσα ἀκόλουθα ἐκείνοις ἀπεργασαμένους ἄρχειν, καὶ κατὰ δύναμιν ὅτι κάλλιστα καὶ ἄριστα τὸ θνητὸν διακυβερνα̂ν ζῳ̂ον, ὅτι μὴ κακω̂ν αὐτὸ ἑαυτῳ̂ γίγνοιτο αἴτιον. καὶ ὁ μὲν δὴ ἅπαντα ταυ̂τα διατάξας ἔμενεν ἐν τῳ̂ ἑαυτου̂ κατὰ τρόπον ἤθει: μένοντος δὲ νοήσαντες οἱ παι̂δες τὴν του̂ πατρὸς τάξιν ἐπείθοντο αὐτῃ̂, καὶ λαβόντες ἀθάνατον ἀρχὴν θνητου̂ ζῴου, μιμούμενοι τὸν σφέτερον δημιουργόν, πυρὸς καὶ γη̂ς ὕδατός τε καὶ ἀέρος ἀπὸ του̂ κόσμου δανειζόμενοι

[43a] μόρια ὡς ἀποδοθησόμενα πάλιν, εἰς ταὐτὸν τὰ λαμβανόμενα συνεκόλλων, οὐ τοι̂ς ἀλύτοις οἱ̂ς αὐτοὶ συνείχοντο δεσμοι̂ς, ἀλλὰ διὰ σμικρότητα ἀοράτοις πυκνοι̂ς γόμφοις συντήκοντες, ἓν ἐξ ἁπάντων ἀπεργαζόμενοι σω̂μα ἕκαστον, τὰς τη̂ς ἀθανάτου ψυχη̂ς περιόδους ἐνέδουν εἰς ἐπίρρυτον σω̂μα καὶ ἀπόρρυτον. αἱ δ’ εἰς ποταμὸν ἐνδεθει̂σαι πολὺν οὔτ’ ἐκράτουν οὔτ’ ἐκρατου̂ντο, βίᾳ δὲ ἐφέροντο καὶ ἔφερον, ὥστε τὸ

[43b] μὲν ὅλον κινει̂σθαι ζῳ̂ον, ἀτάκτως μὴν ὅπῃ τύχοι προϊέναι καὶ ἀλόγως, τὰς ἓξ ἁπάσας κινήσεις ἔχον: εἴς τε γὰρ τὸ πρόσθε καὶ ὄπισθεν καὶ πάλιν εἰς δεξιὰ καὶ ἀριστερὰ κάτω τε καὶ ἄνω καὶ πάντῃ κατὰ τοὺς ἓξ τόπους πλανώμενα προῄειν. πολλου̂ γὰρ ὄντος του̂ κατακλύζοντος καὶ ἀπορρέοντος κύματος ὃ τὴν τροφὴν παρει̂χεν, ἔτι μείζω θόρυβον ἀπηργάζετο τὰ τω̂ν προσπιπτόντων παθήματα ἑκάστοις, ὅτε

[43c] πυρὶ προσκρούσειε τὸ σω̂μά τινος ἔξωθεν ἀλλοτρίῳ περιτυχὸν ἢ καὶ στερεῳ̂ γη̂ς πάγῳ ὑγροι̂ς τε ὀλισθήμασιν ὑδάτων, εἴτε ζάλῃ πνευμάτων ὑπὸ ἀέρος φερομένων καταληφθείη, καὶ ὑπὸ πάντων τούτων διὰ του̂ σώματος αἱ κινήσεις ἐπὶ τὴν ψυχὴν φερόμεναι προσπίπτοιεν: αἳ δὴ καὶ ἔπειτα διὰ ταυ̂τα ἐκλήθησάν τε καὶ νυ̂ν ἔτι αἰσθήσεις συνάπασαι κέκληνται. καὶ δὴ καὶ τότε ἐν τῳ̂ παρόντι πλείστην καὶ μεγίστην παρεχόμεναι κίνησιν, μετὰ του̂ ῥέοντος ἐνδελεχω̂ς

[43d] ὀχετου̂ κινου̂σαι καὶ σφοδρω̂ς σείουσαι τὰς τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς περιόδους, τὴν μὲν ταὐτου̂ παντάπασιν ἐπέδησαν ἐναντία αὐτῃ̂ ῥέουσαι καὶ ἐπέσχον ἄρχουσαν καὶ ἰου̂σαν, τὴν δ’ αὐ̂ θατέρου διέσεισαν, ὥστε τὰς του̂ διπλασίου καὶ τριπλασίου τρει̂ς ἑκατέρας ἀποστάσεις καὶ τὰς τω̂ν ἡμιολίων καὶ ἐπιτρίτων καὶ ἐπογδόων μεσότητας καὶ συνδέσεις, ἐπειδὴ παντελω̂ς λυταὶ οὐκ ἠ̂σαν πλὴν ὑπὸ του̂ συνδήσαντος, πάσας μὲν

[43e] στρέψαι στροφάς, πάσας δὲ κλάσεις καὶ διαφθορὰς τω̂ν κύκλων ἐμποιει̂ν, ὁσαχῃ̂περ ἠ̂ν δυνατόν, ὥστε μετ’ ἀλλήλων μόγις συνεχομένας φέρεσθαι μέν, ἀλόγως δὲ φέρεσθαι, τοτὲ μὲν ἀντίας, ἄλλοτε δὲ πλαγίας, τοτὲ δὲ ὑπτίας: οἱ̂ον ὅταν τις ὕπτιος ἐρείσας τὴν κεφαλὴν μὲν ἐπὶ γη̂ς, τοὺς δὲ πόδας ἄνω προσβαλὼν ἔχῃ πρός τινι, τότε ἐν τούτῳ τῳ̂ πάθει του̂ τε πάσχοντος καὶ τω̂ν ὁρώντων τά τε δεξιὰ ἀριστερὰ καὶ τὰ ἀριστερὰ δεξιὰ ἑκατέροις τὰ ἑκατέρων φαντάζεται. ταὐτὸν δὴ του̂το καὶ τοιαυ̂τα ἕτερα αἱ περιφοραὶ πάσχουσαι σφοδρω̂ς,

[44a] ὅταν τέ τῳ τω̂ν ἔξωθεν του̂ ταὐτου̂ γένους ἢ του̂ θατέρου περιτύχωσιν, τότε ταὐτόν τῳ καὶ θάτερόν του τἀναντία τω̂ν ἀληθω̂ν προσαγορεύουσαι ψευδει̂ς καὶ ἀνόητοι γεγόνασιν, οὐδεμία τε ἐν αὐται̂ς τότε περίοδος ἄρχουσα οὐδ’ ἡγεμών ἐστιν: αἱ̂ς δ’ ἂν ἔξωθεν αἰσθήσεις τινὲς φερόμεναι καὶ προσπεσου̂σαι συνεπισπάσωνται καὶ τὸ τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς ἅπαν κύτος, τόθ’ αὑ̂ται κρατούμεναι κρατει̂ν δοκου̂σι. καὶ διὰ δὴ ταυ̂τα πάντα τὰ παθήματα νυ̂ν κατ’ ἀρχάς τε ἄνους ψυχὴ γίγνεται

[44b] τὸ πρω̂τον, ὅταν εἰς σω̂μα ἐνδεθῃ̂ θνητόν. ὅταν δὲ τὸ τη̂ς αὔξης καὶ τροφη̂ς ἔλαττον ἐπίῃ ῥευ̂μα, πάλιν δὲ αἱ περίοδοι λαμβανόμεναι γαλήνης τὴν ἑαυτω̂ν ὁδὸν ἴωσι καὶ καθιστω̂νται μα̂λλον ἐπιόντος του̂ χρόνου, τότε ἤδη πρὸς τὸ κατὰ φύσιν ἰόντων σχη̂μα ἑκάστων τω̂ν κύκλων αἱ περιφοραὶ κατευθυνόμεναι, τό τε θάτερον καὶ τὸ ταὐτὸν προσαγορεύουσαι κατ’ ὀρθόν, ἔμφρονα τὸν ἔχοντα αὐτὰς γιγνόμενον ἀποτελου̂σιν. ἂν μὲν οὐ̂ν δὴ καὶ συνεπιλαμβάνηταί τις ὀρθὴ τροφὴ παιδεύσεως,

[44c] ὁλόκληρος ὑγιής τε παντελω̂ς, τὴν μεγίστην ἀποφυγὼν νόσον, γίγνεται: καταμελήσας δέ, χωλὴν του̂ βίου διαπορευθεὶς ζωήν, ἀτελὴς καὶ ἀνόητος εἰς ̔´Αιδου πάλιν ἔρχεται. ταυ̂τα μὲν οὐ̂ν ὕστερά ποτε γίγνεται: περὶ δὲ τω̂ν νυ̂ν προτεθέντων δει̂ διελθει̂ν ἀκριβέστερον, τὰ δὲ πρὸ τούτων, περὶ σωμάτων κατὰ μέρη τη̂ς γενέσεως καὶ περὶ ψυχη̂ς, δι’ ἅς τε αἰτίας καὶ προνοίας γέγονε θεω̂ν, του̂ μάλιστα

[44d] εἰκότος ἀντεχομένοις, οὕτω καὶ κατὰ ταυ̂τα πορευομένοις διεξιτέον. τὰς μὲν δὴ θείας περιόδους δύο οὔσας, τὸ του̂ παντὸς σχη̂μα ἀπομιμησάμενοι περιφερὲς ὄν, εἰς σφαιροειδὲς σω̂μα ἐνέδησαν, του̂το ὃ νυ̂ν κεφαλὴν ἐπονομάζομεν, ὃ θειότατόν τέ ἐστιν καὶ τω̂ν ἐν ἡμι̂ν πάντων δεσποτου̂ν: ᾡ̂ καὶ πα̂ν τὸ σω̂μα παρέδοσαν ὑπηρεσίαν αὐτῳ̂ συναθροίσαντες θεοί, κατανοήσαντες ὅτι πασω̂ν ὅσαι κινήσεις ἔσοιντο μετέχοι. ἵν’ οὐ̂ν μὴ κυλινδούμενον ἐπὶ γη̂ς ὕψη τε καὶ βάθη παντοδαπὰ

[44e] ἐχούσης ἀποροι̂ τὰ μὲν ὑπερβαίνειν, ἔνθεν δὲ ἐκβαίνειν, ὄχημα αὐτῳ̂ του̂το καὶ εὐπορίαν ἔδοσαν: ὅθεν δὴ μη̂κος τὸ σω̂μα ἔσχεν, ἐκτατά τε κω̂λα καὶ καμπτὰ ἔφυσεν τέτταρα θεου̂ μηχανησαμένου πορείαν, οἱ̂ς ἀντιλαμβανόμενον καὶ ἀπερειδόμενον διὰ πάντων τόπων πορεύεσθαι δυνατὸν γέγονε,

[45a] τὴν του̂ θειοτάτου καὶ ἱερωτάτου φέρον οἴκησιν ἐπάνωθεν ἡμω̂ν. σκέλη μὲν οὐ̂ν χει̂ρές τε ταύτῃ καὶ διὰ ταυ̂τα προσέφυ πα̂σιν: του̂ δ’ ὄπισθεν τὸ πρόσθεν τιμιώτερον καὶ ἀρχικώτερον νομίζοντες θεοὶ ταύτῃ τὸ πολὺ τη̂ς πορείας ἡμι̂ν ἔδοσαν. ἔδει δὴ διωρισμένον ἔχειν καὶ ἀνόμοιον του̂ σώματος τὸ πρόσθεν ἄνθρωπον. διὸ πρω̂τον μὲν περὶ τὸ τη̂ς κεφαλη̂ς κύτος, ὑποθέντες αὐτόσε τὸ πρόσωπον, ὄργανα ἐνέδησαν

[45b] τούτῳ πάσῃ τῃ̂ τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς προνοίᾳ, καὶ διέταξαν τὸ μετέχον ἡγεμονίας του̂τ’ εἰ̂ναι, τὸ κατὰ φύσιν+ πρόσθεν: τω̂ν δὲ ὀργάνων πρω̂τον μὲν φωσφόρα συνετεκτήναντο ὄμματα, τοιᾳ̂δε ἐνδήσαντες αἰτίᾳ. του̂ πυρὸς ὅσον τὸ μὲν κάειν οὐκ ἔσχε, τὸ δὲ παρέχειν φω̂ς ἥμερον, οἰκει̂ον ἑκάστης ἡμέρας, σω̂μα ἐμηχανήσαντο γίγνεσθαι. τὸ γὰρ ἐντὸς ἡμω̂ν ἀδελφὸν ὂν τούτου πυ̂ρ εἰλικρινὲς ἐποίησαν διὰ τω̂ν ὀμμάτων ῥει̂ν λει̂ον καὶ πυκνὸν ὅλον μέν, μάλιστα δὲ τὸ μέσον συμπιλήσαντες

[45c] τω̂ν ὀμμάτων, ὥστε τὸ μὲν ἄλλο ὅσον παχύτερον στέγειν πα̂ν, τὸ τοιου̂τον δὲ μόνον αὐτὸ καθαρὸν διηθει̂ν. ὅταν οὐ̂ν μεθημερινὸν ᾐ̂ φω̂ς περὶ τὸ τη̂ς ὄψεως ῥευ̂μα, τότε ἐκπι̂πτον ὅμοιον πρὸς ὅμοιον, συμπαγὲς γενόμενον, ἓν σω̂μα οἰκειωθὲν συνέστη κατὰ τὴν τω̂ν ὀμμάτων εὐθυωρίαν, ὅπῃπερ ἂν ἀντερείδῃ τὸ προσπι̂πτον ἔνδοθεν πρὸς ὃ τω̂ν ἔξω συνέπεσεν. ὁμοιοπαθὲς δὴ δι’ ὁμοιότητα πα̂ν γενόμενον, ὅτου τε ἂν αὐτό

[45d] ποτε ἐφάπτηται καὶ ὃ ἂν ἄλλο ἐκείνου, τούτων τὰς κινήσεις διαδιδὸν εἰς ἅπαν τὸ σω̂μα μέχρι τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς αἴσθησιν παρέσχετο ταύτην ᾑ̂ δὴ ὁρα̂ν φαμεν. ἀπελθόντος δὲ εἰς νύκτα του̂ συγγενου̂ς πυρὸς ἀποτέτμηται: πρὸς γὰρ ἀνόμοιον ἐξιὸν ἀλλοιου̂ταί τε αὐτὸ καὶ κατασβέννυται, συμφυὲς οὐκέτι τῳ̂ πλησίον ἀέρι γιγνόμενον, ἅτε πυ̂ρ οὐκ ἔχοντι. παύεταί τε οὐ̂ν ὁρω̂ν, ἔτι τε ἐπαγωγὸν ὕπνου γίγνεται: σωτηρίαν γὰρ ἣν οἱ θεοὶ τη̂ς ὄψεως ἐμηχανήσαντο, τὴν τω̂ν βλεφάρων

[45e] φύσιν, ὅταν ταυ̂τα συμμύσῃ, καθείργνυσι τὴν του̂ πυρὸς ἐντὸς δύναμιν, ἡ δὲ διαχει̂ τε καὶ ὁμαλύνει τὰς ἐντὸς κινήσεις, ὁμαλυνθεισω̂ν δὲ ἡσυχία γίγνεται, γενομένης δὲ πολλη̂ς μὲν ἡσυχίας βραχυόνειρος ὕπνος ἐμπίπτει, καταλειφθεισω̂ν δέ τινων κινήσεων μειζόνων, οἱ̂αι καὶ ἐν οἵοις ἂν τόποις λείπωνται,

[46a] τοιαυ̂τα καὶ τοσαυ̂τα παρέσχοντο ἀφομοιωθέντα ἐντὸς ἔξω τε ἐγερθει̂σιν ἀπομνημονευόμενα φαντάσματα. τὸ δὲ περὶ τὴν τω̂ν κατόπτρων εἰδωλοποιίαν καὶ πάντα ὅσα ἐμφανη̂ καὶ λει̂α, κατιδει̂ν οὐδὲν ἔτι χαλεπόν. ἐκ γὰρ τη̂ς ἐντὸς ἐκτός τε του̂ πυρὸς ἑκατέρου κοινωνίας ἀλλήλοις, ἑνός τε αὐ̂ περὶ τὴν λειότητα ἑκάστοτε γενομένου καὶ πολλαχῃ̂ μεταρρυθμισθέντος,

[46b] πάντα τὰ τοιαυ̂τα ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἐμφαίνεται, του̂ περὶ τὸ πρόσωπον πυρὸς τῳ̂ περὶ τὴν ὄψιν πυρὶ περὶ τὸ λει̂ον καὶ λαμπρὸν συμπαγου̂ς γιγνομένου. δεξιὰ δὲ φαντάζεται τὰ ἀριστερά, ὅτι τοι̂ς ἐναντίοις μέρεσιν τη̂ς ὄψεως περὶ τἀναντία μέρη γίγνεται ἐπαφὴ παρὰ τὸ καθεστὸς ἔθος τη̂ς προσβολη̂ς: δεξιὰ δὲ τὰ δεξιὰ καὶ τὰ ἀριστερὰ ἀριστερὰ τοὐναντίον, ὅταν μεταπέσῃ συμπηγνύμενον ᾡ̂ συμπήγνυται φω̂ς,

[46c] του̂το δέ, ὅταν ἡ τω̂ν κατόπτρων λειότης, ἔνθεν καὶ ἔνθεν ὕψη λαβου̂σα, τὸ δεξιὸν εἰς τὸ ἀριστερὸν μέρος ἀπώσῃ τη̂ς ὄψεως καὶ θάτερον ἐπὶ θάτερον. κατὰ δὲ τὸ μη̂κος στραφὲν του̂ προσώπου ταὐτὸν του̂το ὕπτιον ἐποίησεν πα̂ν φαίνεσθαι, τὸ κάτω πρὸς τὸ ἄνω τη̂ς αὐγη̂ς τό τ’ ἄνω πρὸς τὸ κάτω πάλιν ἀπω̂σαν. ταυ̂τ’ οὐ̂ν πάντα ἔστιν τω̂ν συναιτίων οἱ̂ς θεὸς ὑπηρετου̂σιν χρη̂ται τὴν του̂ ἀρίστου κατὰ τὸ δυνατὸν ἰδέαν

[46d] ἀποτελω̂ν: δοξάζεται δὲ ὑπὸ τω̂ν πλείστων οὐ συναίτια ἀλλὰ αἴτια εἰ̂ναι τω̂ν πάντων, ψύχοντα καὶ θερμαίνοντα πηγνύντα τε καὶ διαχέοντα καὶ ὅσα τοιαυ̂τα ἀπεργαζόμενα. λόγον δὲ οὐδένα οὐδὲ νου̂ν εἰς οὐδὲν δυνατὰ ἔχειν ἐστίν. τω̂ν γὰρ ὄντων ᾡ̂ νου̂ν μόνῳ κτα̂σθαι προσήκει, λεκτέον ψυχήν — του̂το δὲ ἀόρατον, πυ̂ρ δὲ καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ γη̂ καὶ ἀὴρ σώματα πάντα ὁρατὰ γέγονεν — τὸν δὲ νου̂ καὶ ἐπιστήμης ἐραστὴν ἀνάγκη τὰς τη̂ς ἔμφρονος φύσεως αἰτίας πρώτας

[46e] μεταδιώκειν, ὅσαι δὲ ὑπ’ ἄλλων μὲν κινουμένων, ἕτερα δὲ κατὰ ἀνάγκης κινούντων γίγνονται, δευτέρας. ποιητέον δὴ κατὰ ταυ̂τα καὶ ἡμι̂ν: λεκτέα μὲν ἀμφότερα τὰ τω̂ν αἰτιω̂ν γένη, χωρὶς δὲ ὅσαι μετὰ νου̂ καλω̂ν καὶ ἀγαθω̂ν δημιουργοὶ καὶ ὅσαι μονωθει̂σαι φρονήσεως τὸ τυχὸν ἄτακτον ἑκάστοτε ἐξεργάζονται. τὰ μὲν οὐ̂ν τω̂ν ὀμμάτων συμμεταίτια πρὸς τὸ σχει̂ν τὴν δύναμιν ἣν νυ̂ν εἴληχεν εἰρήσθω: τὸ δὲ μέγιστον αὐτω̂ν εἰς ὠφελίαν ἔργον, δι’ ὃ θεὸς αὔθ’ ἡμι̂ν

[47a] δεδώρηται, μετὰ του̂το ῥητέον. ὄψις δὴ κατὰ τὸν ἐμὸν λόγον αἰτία τη̂ς μεγίστης ὠφελίας γέγονεν ἡμι̂ν, ὅτι τω̂ν νυ̂ν λόγων περὶ του̂ παντὸς λεγομένων οὐδεὶς ἄν ποτε ἐρρήθη μήτε ἄστρα μήτε ἥλιον μήτε οὐρανὸν ἰδόντων. νυ̂ν δ’ ἡμέρα τε καὶ νὺξ ὀφθει̂σαι μη̂νές τε καὶ ἐνιαυτω̂ν περίοδοι καὶ ἰσημερίαι καὶ τροπαὶ μεμηχάνηνται μὲν ἀριθμόν, χρόνου δὲ ἔννοιαν περί τε τη̂ς του̂ παντὸς φύσεως ζήτησιν ἔδοσαν: ἐξ ὡ̂ν

[47b] ἐπορισάμεθα φιλοσοφίας γένος, οὑ̂ μει̂ζον ἀγαθὸν οὔτ’ ἠ̂λθεν οὔτε ἥξει ποτὲ τῳ̂ θνητῳ̂ γένει δωρηθὲν ἐκ θεω̂ν. λέγω δὴ του̂το ὀμμάτων μέγιστον ἀγαθόν: τἀ̂λλα δὲ ὅσα ἐλάττω τί ἂν ὑμνοι̂μεν, ὡ̂ν ὁ μὴ φιλόσοφος τυφλωθεὶς ὀδυρόμενος ἂν θρηνοι̂ μάτην; ἀλλὰ τούτου λεγέσθω παρ’ ἡμω̂ν αὕτη ἐπὶ ταυ̂τα αἰτία, θεὸν ἡμι̂ν ἀνευρει̂ν δωρήσασθαί τε ὄψιν, ἵνα τὰς ἐν οὐρανῳ̂ του̂ νου̂ κατιδόντες περιόδους χρησαίμεθα ἐπὶ τὰς περιφορὰς τὰς τη̂ς παρ’ ἡμι̂ν διανοήσεως, συγγενει̂ς

[47c] ἐκείναις οὔσας, ἀταράκτοις τεταραγμένας, ἐκμαθόντες δὲ καὶ λογισμω̂ν κατὰ φύσιν ὀρθότητος μετασχόντες, μιμούμενοι τὰς του̂ θεου̂ πάντως ἀπλανει̂ς οὔσας, τὰς ἐν ἡμι̂ν πεπλανημένας καταστησαίμεθα. φωνη̂ς τε δὴ καὶ ἀκοη̂ς πέρι πάλιν ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, ἐπὶ ταὐτὰ τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν ἕνεκα παρὰ θεω̂ν δεδωρη̂σθαι. λόγος τε γὰρ ἐπ’ αὐτὰ ταυ̂τα τέτακται, τὴν μεγίστην συμβαλλόμενος εἰς αὐτὰ μοι̂ραν, ὅσον τ’ αὐ̂ μουσικη̂ς

[47d] φωνῃ̂ χρήσιμον πρὸς ἀκοὴν ἕνεκα ἁρμονίας ἐστὶ δοθέν. ἡ δὲ ἁρμονία, συγγενει̂ς ἔχουσα φορὰς ται̂ς ἐν ἡμι̂ν τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς περιόδοις, τῳ̂ μετὰ νου̂ προσχρωμένῳ Μούσαις οὐκ ἐφ’ ἡδονὴν ἄλογον καθάπερ νυ̂ν εἰ̂ναι δοκει̂ χρήσιμος, ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ τὴν γεγονυι̂αν ἐν ἡμι̂ν ἀνάρμοστον ψυχη̂ς περίοδον εἰς κατακόσμησιν καὶ συμφωνίαν ἑαυτῃ̂ σύμμαχος ὑπὸ Μουσω̂ν δέδοται: καὶ ῥυθμὸς αὐ̂ διὰ τὴν ἄμετρον ἐν ἡμι̂ν καὶ χαρίτων

[47e] ἐπιδεα̂ γιγνομένην ἐν τοι̂ς πλείστοις ἕξιν ἐπίκουρος ἐπὶ ταὐτὰ ὑπὸ τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν ἐδόθη. τὰ μὲν οὐ̂ν παρεληλυθότα τω̂ν εἰρημένων πλὴν βραχέων ἐπιδέδεικται τὰ διὰ νου̂ δεδημιουργημένα: δει̂ δὲ καὶ τὰ δι’ ἀνάγκης γιγνόμενα τῳ̂ λόγῳ παραθέσθαι. μεμειγμένη γὰρ

[48a] οὐ̂ν ἡ του̂δε του̂ κόσμου γένεσις ἐξ ἀνάγκης τε καὶ νου̂ συστάσεως ἐγεννήθη: νου̂ δὲ ἀνάγκης ἄρχοντος τῳ̂ πείθειν αὐτὴν τω̂ν γιγνομένων τὰ πλει̂στα ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιστον ἄγειν, ταύτῃ κατὰ ταυ̂τά τε δι’ ἀνάγκης ἡττωμένης ὑπὸ πειθου̂ς ἔμφρονος οὕτω κατ’ ἀρχὰς συνίστατο τόδε τὸ πα̂ν. εἴ τις οὐ̂ν ᾑ̂ γέγονεν κατὰ ταυ̂τα ὄντως ἐρει̂, μεικτέον καὶ τὸ τη̂ς πλανωμένης εἰ̂δος αἰτίας, ᾑ̂ φέρειν πέφυκεν: ὡ̂δε οὐ̂ν πάλιν

[48b] ἀναχωρητέον, καὶ λαβου̂σιν αὐτω̂ν τούτων προσήκουσαν ἑτέραν ἀρχὴν αὐ̂θις αὐ̂, καθάπερ περὶ τω̂ν τότε νυ̂ν οὕτω περὶ τούτων πάλιν ἀρκτέον+ ἀπ’ ἀρχη̂ς. τὴν δὴ πρὸ τη̂ς οὐρανου̂ γενέσεως πυρὸς ὕδατός τε καὶ ἀέρος καὶ γη̂ς φύσιν θεατέον αὐτὴν καὶ τὰ πρὸ τούτου πάθη: νυ̂ν γὰρ οὐδείς πω γένεσιν αὐτω̂ν μεμήνυκεν, ἀλλ’ ὡς εἰδόσιν πυ̂ρ ὅτι ποτέ ἐστιν καὶ ἕκαστον αὐτω̂ν λέγομεν ἀρχὰς αὐτὰ τιθέμενοι στοιχει̂α του̂ παντός, προση̂κον αὐτοι̂ς οὐδ’ ἂν ὡς ἐν συλλαβη̂ς

[48c] εἴδεσιν μόνον εἰκότως ὑπὸ του̂ καὶ βραχὺ φρονου̂ντος ἀπεικασθη̂ναι. νυ̂ν δὲ οὐ̂ν τό γε παρ’ ἡμω̂ν ὡ̂δε ἐχέτω: τὴν μὲν περὶ ἁπάντων εἴτε ἀρχὴν εἴτε ἀρχὰς εἴτε ὅπῃ δοκει̂ τούτων πέρι τὸ νυ̂ν οὐ ῥητέον, δι’ ἄλλο μὲν οὐδέν, διὰ δὲ τὸ χαλεπὸν εἰ̂ναι κατὰ τὸν παρόντα τρόπον τη̂ς διεξόδου δηλω̂σαι τὰ δοκου̂ντα, μήτ’ οὐ̂ν ὑμει̂ς οἴεσθε δει̂ν ἐμὲ λέγειν, οὔτ’ αὐτὸς αὐ̂ πείθειν ἐμαυτὸν εἴην ἂν δυνατὸς ὡς ὀρθω̂ς ἐγχειροι̂μ’

[48d] ἂν τοσου̂τον ἐπιβαλλόμενος ἔργον: τὸ δὲ κατ’ ἀρχὰς ῥηθὲν διαφυλάττων, τὴν τω̂ν εἰκότων λόγων δύναμιν, πειράσομαι μηδενὸς ἡ̂ττον εἰκότα, μα̂λλον δέ, καὶ ἔμπροσθεν ἀπ’ ἀρχη̂ς περὶ ἑκάστων καὶ συμπάντων λέγειν. θεὸν δὴ καὶ νυ̂ν ἐπ’ ἀρχῃ̂ τω̂ν λεγομένων σωτη̂ρα ἐξ ἀτόπου καὶ ἀήθους διηγήσεως πρὸς τὸ τω̂ν εἰκότων δόγμα διασῴζειν ἡμα̂ς

[48e] ἐπικαλεσάμενοι πάλιν ἀρχώμεθα λέγειν. ἡ δ’ οὐ̂ν αὐ̂θις ἀρχὴ περὶ του̂ παντὸς ἔστω μειζόνως τη̂ς πρόσθεν διῃρημένη: τότε μὲν γὰρ δύο εἴδη διειλόμεθα, νυ̂ν δὲ τρίτον ἄλλο γένος ἡμι̂ν δηλωτέον. τὰ μὲν γὰρ δύο ἱκανὰ ἠ̂ν ἐπὶ τοι̂ς ἔμπροσθεν λεχθει̂σιν, ἓν μὲν ὡς παραδείγματος εἰ̂δος ὑποτεθέν, νοητὸν καὶ ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὄν, μίμημα δὲ

[49a] παραδείγματος δεύτερον, γένεσιν ἔχον καὶ ὁρατόν. τρίτον δὲ τότε μὲν οὐ διειλόμεθα, νομίσαντες τὰ δύο ἕξειν ἱκανω̂ς: νυ̂ν δὲ ὁ λόγος ἔοικεν εἰσαναγκάζειν χαλεπὸν καὶ ἀμυδρὸν εἰ̂δος ἐπιχειρει̂ν λόγοις ἐμφανίσαι. τίν’ οὐ̂ν ἔχον δύναμιν καὶ φύσιν αὐτὸ ὑποληπτέον; τοιάνδε μάλιστα: πάσης εἰ̂ναι γενέσεως ὑποδοχὴν αὐτὴν οἱ̂ον τιθήνην. εἴρηται μὲν οὐ̂ν τἀληθές, δει̂ δὲ ἐναργέστερον εἰπει̂ν περὶ αὐτου̂, χαλεπὸν

[49b] δὲ ἄλλως τε καὶ διότι προαπορηθη̂ναι περὶ πυρὸς καὶ τω̂ν μετὰ πυρὸς ἀναγκαι̂ον τούτου χάριν: τούτων γὰρ εἰπει̂ν ἕκαστον ὁποι̂ον ὄντως ὕδωρ χρὴ λέγειν μα̂λλον ἢ πυ̂ρ, καὶ ὁποι̂ον ὁτιου̂ν μα̂λλον ἢ καὶ ἅπαντα καθ’ ἕκαστόν τε, οὕτως ὥστε τινὶ πιστῳ̂ καὶ βεβαίῳ χρήσασθαι λόγῳ, χαλεπόν. πω̂ς οὐ̂ν δὴ του̂τ’ αὐτὸ καὶ πῃ̂ καὶ τί περὶ αὐτω̂ν εἰκότως διαπορηθέντες ἂν λέγοιμεν; πρω̂τον μέν, ὃ δὴ νυ̂ν ὕδωρ ὠνομάκαμεν, πηγνύμενον ὡς δοκου̂μεν λίθους καὶ γη̂ν γιγνόμενον

[49c] ὁρω̂μεν, τηκόμενον δὲ καὶ διακρινόμενον αὐ̂ ταὐτὸν του̂το πνευ̂μα καὶ ἀέρα, συγκαυθέντα δὲ ἀέρα πυ̂ρ, ἀνάπαλιν δὲ συγκριθὲν καὶ κατασβεσθὲν εἰς ἰδέαν τε ἀπιὸν αὐ̂θις ἀέρος πυ̂ρ, καὶ πάλιν ἀέρα συνιόντα καὶ πυκνούμενον νέφος καὶ ὁμίχλην, ἐκ δὲ τούτων ἔτι μα̂λλον συμπιλουμένων ῥέον ὕδωρ, ἐξ ὕδατος δὲ γη̂ν καὶ λίθους αὐ̂θις, κύκλον τε οὕτω διαδιδόντα εἰς ἄλληλα, ὡς φαίνεται, τὴν γένεσιν. οὕτω δὴ τούτων οὐδέποτε

[49d] τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν ἑκάστων φανταζομένων, ποι̂ον αὐτω̂ν ὡς ὂν ὁτιου̂ν του̂το καὶ οὐκ ἄλλο παγίως διισχυριζόμενος οὐκ αἰσχυνει̂ταί τις ἑαυτόν; οὐκ ἔστιν, ἀλλ’ ἀσφαλέστατα μακρῳ̂ περὶ τούτων τιθεμένους ὡ̂δε λέγειν: ἀεὶ ὃ καθορω̂μεν ἄλλοτε ἄλλῃ γιγνόμενον, ὡς πυ̂ρ, μὴ του̂το ἀλλὰ τὸ τοιου̂τον ἑκάστοτε προσαγορεύειν πυ̂ρ, μηδὲ ὕδωρ του̂το ἀλλὰ τὸ τοιου̂τον ἀεί, μηδὲ ἄλλο ποτὲ μηδὲν ὥς τινα ἔχον βεβαιότητα, ὅσα

[49e] δεικνύντες τῳ̂ ῥήματι τῳ̂ τόδε καὶ του̂το προσχρώμενοι δηλου̂ν ἡγούμεθά τι: φεύγει γὰρ οὐχ ὑπομένον τὴν του̂ τόδε καὶ του̂το καὶ τὴν τῳ̂δε καὶ πα̂σαν ὅση μόνιμα ὡς ὄντα αὐτὰ ἐνδείκνυται φάσις. ἀλλὰ ταυ̂τα μὲν ἕκαστα μὴ λέγειν, τὸ δὲ τοιου̂τον ἀεὶ περιφερόμενον ὅμοιον ἑκάστου πέρι καὶ συμπάντων οὕτω καλει̂ν, καὶ δὴ καὶ πυ̂ρ τὸ διὰ παντὸς τοιου̂τον, καὶ ἅπαν ὅσονπερ ἂν ἔχῃ γένεσιν: ἐν ᾡ̂ δὲ ἐγγιγνόμενα ἀεὶ ἕκαστα αὐτω̂ν φαντάζεται καὶ πάλιν ἐκει̂θεν ἀπόλλυται,

[50a] μόνον ἐκει̂νο αὐ̂ προσαγορεύειν τῳ̂ τε του̂το καὶ τῳ̂ τόδε προσχρωμένους ὀνόματι, τὸ δὲ ὁποιονου̂ν τι, θερμὸν ἢ λευκὸν ἢ καὶ ὁτιου̂ν τω̂ν ἐναντίων, καὶ πάνθ’ ὅσα ἐκ τούτων, μηδὲν ἐκει̂νο αὐ̂ τούτων καλει̂ν. ἔτι δὲ σαφέστερον αὐτου̂ πέρι προθυμητέον αὐ̂θις εἰπει̂ν. εἰ γὰρ πάντα τις σχήματα πλάσας ἐκ χρυσου̂ μηδὲν μεταπλάττων παύοιτο ἕκαστα εἰς ἅπαντα, δεικνύντος δή τινος αὐτω̂ν ἓν καὶ ἐρομένου

[50b] τί ποτ’ ἐστί, μακρῳ̂ πρὸς ἀλήθειαν ἀσφαλέστατον εἰπει̂ν ὅτι χρυσός, τὸ δὲ τρίγωνον ὅσα τε ἄλλα σχήματα ἐνεγίγνετο, μηδέποτε λέγειν ταυ̂τα ὡς ὄντα, ἅ γε μεταξὺ τιθεμένου μεταπίπτει, ἀλλ’ ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ τὸ τοιου̂τον μετ’ ἀσφαλείας ἐθέλῃ δέχεσθαί τινος, ἀγαπα̂ν. ὁ αὐτὸς δὴ λόγος καὶ περὶ τη̂ς τὰ πάντα δεχομένης σώματα φύσεως. ταὐτὸν αὐτὴν ἀεὶ προσρητέον: ἐκ γὰρ τη̂ς ἑαυτη̂ς τὸ παράπαν οὐκ ἐξίσταται δυνάμεως — δέχεταί τε γὰρ ἀεὶ τὰ πάντα, καὶ

[50c] μορφὴν οὐδεμίαν ποτὲ οὐδενὶ τω̂ν εἰσιόντων ὁμοίαν εἴληφεν οὐδαμῃ̂ οὐδαμω̂ς: ἐκμαγει̂ον γὰρ φύσει παντὶ κει̂ται, κινούμενόν τε καὶ διασχηματιζόμενον ὑπὸ τω̂ν εἰσιόντων, φαίνεται δὲ δι’ ἐκει̂να ἄλλοτε ἀλλοι̂ον — τὰ δὲ εἰσιόντα καὶ ἐξιόντα τω̂ν ὄντων ἀεὶ μιμήματα, τυπωθέντα ἀπ’ αὐτω̂ν τρόπον τινὰ δύσφραστον καὶ θαυμαστόν, ὃν εἰς αὐ̂θις μέτιμεν. ἐν δ’ οὐ̂ν τῳ̂ παρόντι χρὴ γένη διανοηθη̂ναι τριττά, τὸ μὲν

[50d] γιγνόμενον, τὸ δ’ ἐν ᾡ̂ γίγνεται, τὸ δ’ ὅθεν ἀφομοιούμενον φύεται τὸ γιγνόμενον. καὶ δὴ καὶ προσεικάσαι πρέπει τὸ μὲν δεχόμενον μητρί, τὸ δ’ ὅθεν πατρί, τὴν δὲ μεταξὺ τούτων φύσιν ἐκγόνῳ, νοη̂σαί τε ὡς οὐκ ἂν ἄλλως, ἐκτυπώματος ἔσεσθαι μέλλοντος ἰδει̂ν ποικίλου πάσας ποικιλίας, του̂τ’ αὐτὸ ἐν ᾡ̂ ἐκτυπούμενον ἐνίσταται γένοιτ’ ἂν παρεσκευασμένον εὐ̂, πλὴν ἄμορφον ὂν ἐκείνων ἁπασω̂ν τω̂ν ἰδεω̂ν ὅσας

[50e] μέλλοι δέχεσθαί ποθεν. ὅμοιον γὰρ ὂν τω̂ν ἐπεισιόντων τινὶ τὰ τη̂ς ἐναντίας τά τε τη̂ς τὸ παράπαν ἄλλης φύσεως ὁπότ’ ἔλθοι δεχόμενον κακω̂ς ἂν ἀφομοιοι̂, τὴν αὑτου̂ παρεμφαι̂νον ὄψιν. διὸ καὶ πάντων ἐκτὸς εἰδω̂ν εἰ̂ναι χρεὼν τὸ τὰ πάντα ἐκδεξόμενον ἐν αὑτῳ̂ γένη, καθάπερ περὶ τὰ ἀλείμματα ὁπόσα εὐώδη τέχνῃ μηχανω̂νται πρω̂τον του̂τ’ αὐτὸ ὑπάρχον, ποιου̂σιν ὅτι μάλιστα ἀώδη τὰ δεξόμενα ὑγρὰ τὰς ὀσμάς: ὅσοι τε ἔν τισιν τω̂ν μαλακω̂ν σχήματα ἀπομάττειν ἐπιχειρου̂σι, τὸ παράπαν σχη̂μα οὐδὲν ἔνδηλον ὑπάρχειν ἐω̂σι, προομαλύναντες δὲ ὅτι λειότατον ἀπεργάζονται.

[51a] ταὐτὸν οὐ̂ν καὶ τῳ̂ τὰ τω̂ν πάντων ἀεί τε ὄντων κατὰ πα̂ν ἑαυτου̂ πολλάκις ἀφομοιώματα καλω̂ς μέλλοντι δέχεσθαι πάντων ἐκτὸς αὐτῳ̂ προσήκει πεφυκέναι τω̂ν εἰδω̂ν. διὸ δὴ τὴν του̂ γεγονότος ὁρατου̂ καὶ πάντως αἰσθητου̂ μητέρα καὶ ὑποδοχὴν μήτε γη̂ν μήτε ἀέρα μήτε πυ̂ρ μήτε ὕδωρ λέγωμεν, μήτε ὅσα ἐκ τούτων μήτε ἐξ ὡ̂ν ταυ̂τα γέγονεν: ἀλλ’ ἀνόρατον εἰ̂δός τι καὶ ἄμορφον, πανδεχές, μεταλαμβάνον

[51b] δὲ ἀπορώτατά πῃ του̂ νοητου̂ καὶ δυσαλωτότατον αὐτὸ λέγοντες οὐ ψευσόμεθα. καθ’ ὅσον δ’ ἐκ τω̂ν προειρημένων δυνατὸν ἐφικνει̂σθαι τη̂ς φύσεως αὐτου̂, τῃ̂δ’ ἄν τις ὀρθότατα λέγοι: πυ̂ρ μὲν ἑκάστοτε αὐτου̂ τὸ πεπυρωμένον μέρος φαίνεσθαι, τὸ δὲ ὑγρανθὲν ὕδωρ, γη̂ν τε καὶ ἀέρα καθ’ ὅσον ἂν μιμήματα τούτων δέχηται. λόγῳ δὲ δὴ μα̂λλον τὸ τοιόνδε διοριζομένους περὶ αὐτω̂ν διασκεπτέον: ἀ̂ρα ἔστιν τι πυ̂ρ αὐτὸ ἐφ’ ἑαυτου̂ καὶ πάντα περὶ ὡ̂ν ἀεὶ λέγομεν οὕτως

[51c] αὐτὰ καθ’ αὑτὰ ὄντα ἕκαστα, ἢ ταυ̂τα ἅπερ καὶ βλέπομεν, ὅσα τε ἄλλα διὰ του̂ σώματος αἰσθανόμεθα, μόνα ἐστὶν τοιαύτην ἔχοντα ἀλήθειαν, ἄλλα δὲ οὐκ ἔστι παρὰ ταυ̂τα οὐδαμῃ̂ οὐδαμω̂ς, ἀλλὰ μάτην ἑκάστοτε εἰ̂ναί τί φαμεν εἰ̂δος ἑκάστου νοητόν, τὸ δ’ οὐδὲν ἄρ’ ἠ̂ν πλὴν λόγος; οὔτε οὐ̂ν δὴ τὸ παρὸν ἄκριτον καὶ ἀδίκαστον ἀφέντα ἄξιον φάναι διισχυριζόμενον ἔχειν οὕτως, οὔτ’ ἐπὶ λόγου μήκει πάρεργον

[51d] ἄλλο μη̂κος ἐπεμβλητέον: εἰ δέ τις ὅρος ὁρισθεὶς μέγας διὰ βραχέων φανείη, του̂το μάλιστα ἐγκαιριώτατον γένοιτ’ ἄν. ὡ̂δε οὐ̂ν τήν γ’ ἐμὴν αὐτὸς τίθεμαι ψη̂φον. εἰ μὲν νου̂ς καὶ δόξα ἀληθής ἐστον δύο γένη, παντάπασιν εἰ̂ναι καθ’ αὑτὰ ταυ̂τα, ἀναίσθητα ὑφ’ ἡμω̂ν εἴδη, νοούμενα μόνον: εἰ δ’, ὥς τισιν φαίνεται, δόξα ἀληθὴς νου̂ διαφέρει τὸ μηδέν, πάνθ’ ὁπόσ’ αὐ̂ διὰ του̂ σώματος αἰσθανόμεθα θετέον βεβαιότατα.

[51e] δύο δὴ λεκτέον ἐκείνω, διότι χωρὶς γεγόνατον ἀνομοίως τε ἔχετον. τὸ μὲν γὰρ αὐτω̂ν διὰ διδαχη̂ς, τὸ δ’ ὑπὸ πειθου̂ς ἡμι̂ν ἐγγίγνεται: καὶ τὸ μὲν ἀεὶ+ μετ’ ἀληθου̂ς+ λόγου+, τὸ δὲ ἄλογον+: καὶ τὸ μὲν ἀκίνητον+ πειθοι̂+, τὸ δὲ μεταπειστόν+: καὶ του̂ μὲν πάντα ἄνδρα μετέχειν φατέον, νου̂ δὲ θεούς, ἀνθρώπων δὲ γένος βραχύ τι. τούτων δὲ οὕτως ἐχόντων

[52a] ὁμολογητέον ἓν μὲν εἰ̂ναι τὸ κατὰ ταὐτὰ εἰ̂δος ἔχον, ἀγέννητον καὶ ἀνώλεθρον, οὔτε εἰς ἑαυτὸ εἰσδεχόμενον ἄλλο ἄλλοθεν οὔτε αὐτὸ εἰς ἄλλο ποι ἰόν, ἀόρατον δὲ καὶ ἄλλως ἀναίσθητον, του̂το ὃ δὴ νόησις εἴληχεν ἐπισκοπει̂ν: τὸ δὲ ὁμώνυμον ὅμοιόν τε ἐκείνῳ δεύτερον, αἰσθητόν, γεννητόν, πεφορημένον ἀεί, γιγνόμενόν τε ἔν τινι τόπῳ καὶ πάλιν ἐκει̂θεν ἀπολλύμενον, δόξῃ μετ’ αἰσθήσεως περιληπτόν: τρίτον δὲ αὐ̂ γένος ὂν τὸ τη̂ς χώρας ἀεί, φθορὰν οὐ προσδεχόμενον,

[52b] ἕδραν δὲ παρέχον ὅσα ἔχει γένεσιν πα̂σιν, αὐτὸ δὲ μετ’ ἀναισθησίας ἁπτὸν λογισμῳ̂ τινι νόθῳ, μόγις πιστόν, πρὸς ὃ δὴ καὶ ὀνειροπολου̂μεν βλέποντες καί φαμεν ἀναγκαι̂ον εἰ̂ναί που τὸ ὂν ἅπαν ἔν τινι τόπῳ καὶ κατέχον χώραν τινά, τὸ δὲ μήτ’ ἐν γῃ̂ μήτε που κατ’ οὐρανὸν οὐδὲν εἰ̂ναι. ταυ̂τα δὴ πάντα καὶ τούτων ἄλλα ἀδελφὰ καὶ περὶ τὴν ἄυπνον καὶ ἀληθω̂ς φύσιν ὑπάρχουσαν ὑπὸ ταύτης τη̂ς ὀνειρώξεως

[52c] οὐ δυνατοὶ γιγνόμεθα ἐγερθέντες διοριζόμενοι τἀληθὲς λέγειν, ὡς εἰκόνι μέν, ἐπείπερ οὐδ’ αὐτὸ του̂το ἐφ’ ᾡ̂ γέγονεν ἑαυτη̂ς ἐστιν, ἑτέρου δέ τινος ἀεὶ φέρεται φάντασμα, διὰ ταυ̂τα ἐν ἑτέρῳ προσήκει τινὶ γίγνεσθαι, οὐσίας ἁμωσγέπως ἀντεχομένην, ἢ μηδὲν τὸ παράπαν αὐτὴν εἰ̂ναι, τῳ̂ δὲ ὄντως ὄντι βοηθὸς ὁ δι’ ἀκριβείας ἀληθὴς λόγος, ὡς ἕως ἄν τι τὸ μὲν ἄλλο ᾐ̂, τὸ δὲ ἄλλο, οὐδέτερον ἐν οὐδετέρῳ ποτὲ γενόμενον

[52d] ἓν ἅμα ταὐτὸν καὶ δύο γενήσεσθον. οὑ̂τος μὲν οὐ̂ν δὴ παρὰ τη̂ς ἐμη̂ς ψήφου λογισθεὶς ἐν κεφαλαίῳ δεδόσθω λόγος, ὄν τε καὶ χώραν καὶ γένεσιν εἰ̂ναι, τρία τριχῃ̂, καὶ πρὶν οὐρανὸν γενέσθαι: τὴν δὲ δὴ γενέσεως τιθήνην ὑγραινομένην καὶ πυρουμένην καὶ τὰς γη̂ς τε καὶ ἀέρος μορφὰς δεχομένην, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα τούτοις πάθη συνέπεται

[52e] πάσχουσαν, παντοδαπὴν μὲν ἰδει̂ν φαίνεσθαι, διὰ δὲ τὸ μήθ’ ὁμοίων δυνάμεων μήτε ἰσορρόπων ἐμπίμπλασθαι κατ’ οὐδὲν αὐτη̂ς ἰσορροπει̂ν, ἀλλ’ ἀνωμάλως πάντῃ ταλαντουμένην σείεσθαι μὲν ὑπ’ ἐκείνων αὐτήν, κινουμένην δ’ αὐ̂ πάλιν ἐκει̂να σείειν: τὰ δὲ κινούμενα ἄλλα ἄλλοσε ἀεὶ φέρεσθαι διακρινόμενα, ὥσπερ τὰ ὑπὸ τω̂ν πλοκάνων τε καὶ ὀργάνων τω̂ν περὶ τὴν του̂ σίτου κάθαρσιν σειόμενα καὶ

[53a] ἀνικμώμενα τὰ μὲν πυκνὰ καὶ βαρέα ἄλλῃ, τὰ δὲ μανὰ καὶ κου̂φα εἰς ἑτέραν ἵζει φερόμενα ἕδραν: τότε οὕτω τὰ τέτταρα γένη σειόμενα ὑπὸ τη̂ς δεξαμενη̂ς, κινουμένης αὐτη̂ς οἱ̂ον ὀργάνου σεισμὸν παρέχοντος, τὰ μὲν ἀνομοιότατα πλει̂στον αὐτὰ ἀφ’ αὑτω̂ν ὁρίζειν, τὰ δὲ ὁμοιότατα μάλιστα εἰς ταὐτὸν συνωθει̂ν, διὸ δὴ καὶ χώραν ταυ̂τα ἄλλα ἄλλην ἴσχειν, πρὶν καὶ τὸ πα̂ν ἐξ αὐτω̂ν διακοσμηθὲν γενέσθαι. καὶ τὸ μὲν δὴ πρὸ τούτου πάντα ταυ̂τ’ εἰ̂χεν ἀλόγως καὶ ἀμέτρως:

[53b] ὅτε δ’ ἐπεχειρει̂το κοσμει̂σθαι τὸ πα̂ν, πυ̂ρ πρω̂τον καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ γη̂ν καὶ ἀέρα, ἴχνη μὲν ἔχοντα αὑτω̂ν ἄττα, παντάπασί γε μὴν διακείμενα ὥσπερ εἰκὸς ἔχειν ἅπαν ὅταν ἀπῃ̂ τινος θεός, οὕτω δὴ τότε πεφυκότα ταυ̂τα πρω̂τον διεσχηματίσατο εἴδεσί τε καὶ ἀριθμοι̂ς. τὸ δὲ ᾑ̂ δυνατὸν ὡς κάλλιστα ἄριστά τε ἐξ οὐχ οὕτως ἐχόντων τὸν θεὸν αὐτὰ συνιστάναι, παρὰ πάντα ἡμι̂ν ὡς ἀεὶ του̂το λεγόμενον ὑπαρχέτω: νυ̂ν δ’ οὐ̂ν τὴν διάταξιν αὐτω̂ν ἐπιχειρητέον ἑκάστων καὶ γένεσιν

[53c] ἀήθει λόγῳ πρὸς ὑμα̂ς δηλου̂ν, ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐπεὶ μετέχετε τω̂ν κατὰ παίδευσιν ὁδω̂ν δι’ ὡ̂ν ἐνδείκνυσθαι τὰ λεγόμενα ἀνάγκη, συνέψεσθε. πρω̂τον μὲν δὴ πυ̂ρ καὶ γη̂ καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ ἀὴρ ὅτι σώματά ἐστι, δη̂λόν που καὶ παντί: τὸ δὲ του̂ σώματος εἰ̂δος πα̂ν καὶ βάθος ἔχει. τὸ δὲ βάθος αὐ̂ πα̂σα ἀνάγκη τὴν ἐπίπεδον περιειληφέναι φύσιν: ἡ δὲ ὀρθὴ τη̂ς ἐπιπέδου βάσεως ἐκ τριγώνων συνέστηκεν. τὰ δὲ τρίγωνα πάντα ἐκ δυοι̂ν ἄρχεται

[53d] τριγώνοιν, μίαν μὲν ὀρθὴν ἔχοντος ἑκατέρου γωνίαν, τὰς δὲ ὀξείας: ὡ̂ν τὸ μὲν ἕτερον ἑκατέρωθεν ἔχει μέρος γωνίας ὀρθη̂ς πλευραι̂ς ἴσαις διῃρημένης, τὸ δ’ ἕτερον ἀνίσοις ἄνισα μέρη νενεμημένης. ταύτην δὴ πυρὸς ἀρχὴν καὶ τω̂ν ἄλλων σωμάτων ὑποτιθέμεθα κατὰ τὸν μετ’ ἀνάγκης εἰκότα λόγον πορευόμενοι: τὰς δ’ ἔτι τούτων ἀρχὰς ἄνωθεν θεὸς οἰ̂δεν καὶ ἀνδρω̂ν ὃς ἂν ἐκείνῳ φίλος ᾐ̂. δει̂ δὴ λέγειν ποι̂α

[53e] κάλλιστα σώματα γένοιτ’ ἂν τέτταρα, ἀνόμοια μὲν ἑαυτοι̂ς, δυνατὰ δὲ ἐξ ἀλλήλων αὐτω̂ν ἄττα διαλυόμενα γίγνεσθαι: τούτου γὰρ τυχόντες ἔχομεν τὴν ἀλήθειαν γενέσεως πέρι γη̂ς τε καὶ πυρὸς τω̂ν τε ἀνὰ λόγον ἐν μέσῳ. τόδε γὰρ οὐδενὶ συγχωρησόμεθα, καλλίω τούτων ὁρώμενα σώματα εἰ̂ναί που καθ’ ἓν γένος ἕκαστον ὄν. του̂τ’ οὐ̂ν προθυμητέον, τὰ διαφέροντα κάλλει σωμάτων τέτταρα γένη συναρμόσασθαι καὶ φάναι τὴν τούτων ἡμα̂ς φύσιν ἱκανω̂ς εἰληφέναι.

[54a] τοι̂ν δὴ δυοι̂ν τριγώνοιν τὸ μὲν ἰσοσκελὲς μίαν εἴληχεν φύσιν, τὸ δὲ πρόμηκες ἀπεράντους: προαιρετέον οὐ̂ν αὐ̂ τω̂ν ἀπείρων τὸ κάλλιστον, εἰ μέλλομεν ἄρξεσθαι κατὰ τρόπον. ἂν οὐ̂ν τις ἔχῃ κάλλιον ἐκλεξάμενος εἰπει̂ν εἰς τὴν τούτων σύστασιν, ἐκει̂νος οὐκ ἐχθρὸς ὢν ἀλλὰ φίλος κρατει̂: τιθέμεθα δ’ οὐ̂ν τω̂ν πολλω̂ν τριγώνων κάλλιστον ἕν, ὑπερβάντες τἀ̂λλα, ἐξ οὑ̂ τὸ ἰσόπλευρον τρίγωνον ἐκ τρίτου συνέστηκεν.

[54b] διότι δέ, λόγος πλείων: ἀλλὰ τῳ̂ του̂το ἐλέγξαντι καὶ ἀνευρόντι δὴ οὕτως ἔχον κει̂ται φίλια τὰ ἀ̂θλα. προῃρήσθω δὴ δύο τρίγωνα ἐξ ὡ̂ν τό τε του̂ πυρὸς καὶ τὰ τω̂ν ἄλλων σώματα μεμηχάνηται, τὸ μὲν ἰσοσκελές, τὸ δὲ τριπλη̂ν κατὰ δύναμιν ἔχον τη̂ς ἐλάττονος τὴν μείζω πλευρὰν ἀεί. τὸ δὴ πρόσθεν ἀσαφω̂ς ῥηθὲν νυ̂ν μα̂λλον διοριστέον. τὰ γὰρ τέτταρα γένη δι’ ἀλλήλων εἰς ἄλληλα ἐφαίνετο πάντα γένεσιν ἔχειν, οὐκ ὀρθω̂ς φανταζόμενα: γίγνεται μὲν γὰρ ἐκ

[54c] τω̂ν τριγώνων ὡ̂ν προῃρήμεθα γένη τέτταρα, τρία μὲν ἐξ ἑνὸς του̂ τὰς πλευρὰς ἀνίσους ἔχοντος, τὸ δὲ τέταρτον ἓν μόνον ἐκ του̂ ἰσοσκελου̂ς τριγώνου συναρμοσθέν. οὔκουν δυνατὰ πάντα εἰς ἄλληλα διαλυόμενα ἐκ πολλω̂ν σμικρω̂ν ὀλίγα μεγάλα καὶ τοὐναντίον γίγνεσθαι, τὰ δὲ τρία οἱ̂όν τε: ἐκ γὰρ ἑνὸς ἅπαντα πεφυκότα λυθέντων τε τω̂ν μειζόνων πολλὰ σμικρὰ ἐκ τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν συστήσεται, δεχόμενα τὰ προσήκοντα ἑαυτοι̂ς σχήματα, καὶ σμικρὰ ὅταν αὐ̂ πολλὰ κατὰ

[54d] τὰ τρίγωνα διασπαρῃ̂, γενόμενος εἱ̂ς ἀριθμὸς ἑνὸς ὄγκου μέγα ἀποτελέσειεν ἂν ἄλλο εἰ̂δος ἕν. ταυ̂τα μὲν οὐ̂ν λελέχθω περὶ τη̂ς εἰς ἄλληλα γενέσεως: οἱ̂ον δὲ ἕκαστον αὐτω̂ν γέγονεν εἰ̂δος καὶ ἐξ ὅσων συμπεσόντων ἀριθμω̂ν, λέγειν ἂν ἑπόμενον εἴη. ἄρξει δὴ τό τε πρω̂τον εἰ̂δος καὶ σμικρότατον συνιστάμενον, στοιχει̂ον δ’ αὐτου̂ τὸ τὴν ὑποτείνουσαν τη̂ς ἐλάττονος πλευρα̂ς διπλασίαν ἔχον μήκει: σύνδυο δὲ τοιούτων κατὰ διάμετρον συντιθεμένων καὶ τρὶς τούτου

[54e] γενομένου, τὰς διαμέτρους καὶ τὰς βραχείας πλευρὰς εἰς ταὐτὸν ὡς κέντρον ἐρεισάντων, ἓν ἰσόπλευρον τρίγωνον ἐξ ἓξ τὸν ἀριθμὸν ὄντων γέγονεν. τρίγωνα δὲ ἰσόπλευρα συνιστάμενα τέτταρα κατὰ σύντρεις ἐπιπέδους γωνίας μίαν στερεὰν

[55a] γωνίαν ποιει̂, τη̂ς ἀμβλυτάτης τω̂ν ἐπιπέδων γωνιω̂ν ἐφεξη̂ς γεγονυι̂αν: τοιούτων δὲ ἀποτελεσθεισω̂ν τεττάρων πρω̂τον εἰ̂δος στερεόν, ὅλου περιφερου̂ς διανεμητικὸν εἰς ἴσα μέρη καὶ ὅμοια, συνίσταται. δεύτερον δὲ ἐκ μὲν τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν τριγώνων, κατὰ δὲ ἰσόπλευρα τρίγωνα ὀκτὼ συστάντων, μίαν ἀπεργασαμένων στερεὰν γωνίαν ἐκ τεττάρων ἐπιπέδων: καὶ γενομένων ἓξ τοιούτων τὸ δεύτερον αὐ̂ σω̂μα οὕτως ἔσχεν τέλος. τὸ δὲ τρίτον ἐκ δὶς ἑξήκοντα τω̂ν στοιχείων συμπαγέντων,

[55b] στερεω̂ν δὲ γωνιω̂ν δώδεκα, ὑπὸ πέντε ἐπιπέδων τριγώνων ἰσοπλεύρων περιεχομένης ἑκάστης, εἴκοσι βάσεις ἔχον ἰσοπλεύρους τριγώνους γέγονεν. καὶ τὸ μὲν ἕτερον ἀπήλλακτο τω̂ν στοιχείων ταυ̂τα γεννη̂σαν, τὸ δὲ ἰσοσκελὲς τρίγωνον ἐγέννα τὴν του̂ τετάρτου φύσιν, κατὰ τέτταρα συνιστάμενον, εἰς τὸ κέντρον τὰς ὀρθὰς γωνίας συνάγον, ἓν ἰσόπλευρον τετράγωνον ἀπεργασάμενον: ἓξ δὲ τοιαυ̂τα

[55c] συμπαγέντα γωνίας ὀκτὼ στερεὰς ἀπετέλεσεν, κατὰ τρει̂ς ἐπιπέδους ὀρθὰς συναρμοσθείσης ἑκάστης: τὸ δὲ σχη̂μα του̂ συστάντος σώματος γέγονεν κυβικόν, ἓξ ἐπιπέδους τετραγώνους ἰσοπλεύρους βάσεις ἔχον. ἔτι δὲ οὔσης συστάσεως μια̂ς πέμπτης, ἐπὶ τὸ πα̂ν ὁ θεὸς αὐτῃ̂ κατεχρήσατο ἐκει̂νο διαζωγραφω̂ν. ἃ δή τις εἰ πάντα λογιζόμενος ἐμμελω̂ς ἀποροι̂ πότερον ἀπείρους χρὴ κόσμους εἰ̂ναι λέγειν ἢ πέρας ἔχοντας, τὸ μὲν

[55d] ἀπείρους ἡγήσαιτ’ ἂν ὄντως ἀπείρου τινὸς εἰ̂ναι δόγμα ὡ̂ν ἔμπειρον χρεὼν εἰ̂ναι, πότερον δὲ ἕνα ἢ πέντε αὐτοὺς ἀληθείᾳ πεφυκότας λέγειν ποτὲ προσήκει, μα̂λλον ἂν ταύτῃ στὰς εἰκότως διαπορήσαι. τὸ μὲν οὐ̂ν δὴ παρ’ ἡμω̂ν ἕνα αὐτὸν κατὰ τὸν εἰκότα λόγον πεφυκότα μηνύει θεόν, ἄλλος δὲ εἰς ἄλλα πῃ βλέψας ἕτερα δοξάσει. καὶ του̂τον μὲν μεθετέον, τὰ δὲ γεγονότα νυ̂ν τῳ̂ λόγῳ γένη διανείμωμεν εἰς πυ̂ρ καὶ γη̂ν καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ ἀέρα. γῃ̂ μὲν δὴ τὸ κυβικὸν εἰ̂δος δω̂μεν:

[55e] ἀκινητοτάτη γὰρ τω̂ν τεττάρων γενω̂ν γη̂ καὶ τω̂ν σωμάτων πλαστικωτάτη, μάλιστα δὲ ἀνάγκη γεγονέναι τοιου̂τον τὸ τὰς βάσεις ἀσφαλεστάτας ἔχον: βάσις δὲ ἥ τε τω̂ν κατ’ ἀρχὰς τριγώνων ὑποτεθέντων ἀσφαλεστέρα κατὰ φύσιν ἡ τω̂ν ἴσων πλευρω̂ν τη̂ς τω̂ν ἀνίσων, τό τε ἐξ ἑκατέρου συντεθὲν ἐπίπεδον ἰσόπλευρον ἰσοπλεύρου τετράγωνον τριγώνου κατά τε μέρη καὶ καθ’ ὅλον στασιμωτέρως ἐξ ἀνάγκης βέβηκεν. Διὸ

[56a] γῃ̂ μὲν του̂το ἀπονέμοντες τὸν εἰκότα λόγον διασῴζομεν, ὕδατι δ’ αὐ̂ τω̂ν λοιπω̂ν τὸ δυσκινητότατον εἰ̂δος, τὸ δ’ εὐκινητότατον πυρί, τὸ δὲ μέσον ἀέρι: καὶ τὸ μὲν σμικρότατον σω̂μα πυρί, τὸ δ’ αὐ̂ μέγιστον ὕδατι, τὸ δὲ μέσον ἀέρι: καὶ τὸ μὲν ὀξύτατον αὐ̂ πυρί, τὸ δὲ δεύτερον ἀέρι, τὸ δὲ τρίτον ὕδατι. ταυ̂τ’ οὐ̂ν δὴ πάντα, τὸ μὲν ἔχον ὀλιγίστας βάσεις εὐκινητότατον ἀνάγκη πεφυκέναι, τμητικώτατόν τε

[56b] καὶ ὀξύτατον ὂν πάντῃ πάντων, ἔτι τε ἐλαφρότατον, ἐξ ὀλιγίστων συνεστὸς τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν μερω̂ν: τὸ δὲ δεύτερον δευτέρως τὰ αὐτὰ ταυ̂τ’ ἔχειν, τρίτως δὲ τὸ τρίτον. ἔστω δὴ κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον καὶ κατὰ τὸν εἰκότα τὸ μὲν τη̂ς πυραμίδος στερεὸν γεγονὸς εἰ̂δος πυρὸς στοιχει̂ον καὶ σπέρμα: τὸ δὲ δεύτερον κατὰ γένεσιν εἴπωμεν ἀέρος, τὸ δὲ τρίτον ὕδατος. πάντα οὐ̂ν δὴ ταυ̂τα δει̂ διανοει̂σθαι σμικρὰ οὕτως, ὡς καθ’

[56c] ἓν ἕκαστον μὲν του̂ γένους ἑκάστου διὰ σμικρότητα οὐδὲν ὁρώμενον ὑφ’ ἡμω̂ν, συναθροισθέντων δὲ πολλω̂ν τοὺς ὄγκους αὐτω̂ν ὁρα̂σθαι: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ τω̂ν ἀναλογιω̂ν περί τε τὰ πλήθη καὶ τὰς κινήσεις καὶ τὰς ἄλλας δυνάμεις πανταχῃ̂ τὸν θεόν, ὅπῃπερ ἡ τη̂ς ἀνάγκης ἑκου̂σα πεισθει̂σά τε φύσις ὑπει̂κεν, ταύτῃ πάντῃ δι’ ἀκριβείας ἀποτελεσθεισω̂ν ὑπ’ αὐτου̂ συνηρμόσθαι ταυ̂τα ἀνὰ λόγον. ἐκ δὴ πάντων ὡ̂νπερ τὰ γένη προειρήκαμεν ὡ̂δ’ ἂν κατὰ

[56d] τὸ εἰκὸς μάλιστ’ ἂν ἔχοι. γη̂ μὲν συντυγχάνουσα πυρὶ διαλυθει̂σά τε ὑπὸ τη̂ς ὀξύτητος αὐτου̂ φέροιτ’ ἄν, εἴτ’ ἐν αὐτῳ̂ πυρὶ λυθει̂σα εἴτ’ ἐν ἀέρος εἴτ’ ἐν ὕδατος ὄγκῳ τύχοι, μέχριπερ ἂν αὐτη̂ς πῃ συντυχόντα τὰ μέρη, πάλιν συναρμοσθέντα αὐτὰ αὑτοι̂ς, γη̂ γένοιτο — οὐ γὰρ εἰς ἄλλο γε εἰ̂δος ἔλθοι ποτ’ ἄν — ὕδωρ δὲ ὑπὸ πυρὸς μερισθέν, εἴτε καὶ ὑπ’ ἀέρος, ἐγχωρει̂ γίγνεσθαι συστάντα ἓν μὲν πυρὸς σω̂μα, δύο

[56e] δὲ ἀέρος: τὰ δὲ ἀέρος τμήματα ἐξ ἑνὸς μέρους διαλυθέντος δύ’ ἂν γενοίσθην σώματα πυρός. καὶ πάλιν, ὅταν ἀέρι πυ̂ρ ὕδασίν τε ἤ τινι γῃ̂ περιλαμβανόμενον ἐν πολλοι̂ς ὀλίγον, κινούμενον ἐν φερομένοις, μαχόμενον καὶ νικηθὲν καταθραυσθῃ̂, δύο πυρὸς σώματα εἰς ἓν συνίστασθον εἰ̂δος ἀέρος: καὶ κρατηθέντος ἀέρος κερματισθέντος τε ἐκ δυοι̂ν ὅλοιν καὶ ἡμίσεος ὕδατος εἰ̂δος ἓν ὅλον ἔσται συμπαγές. ὡ̂δε γὰρ δὴ λογισώμεθα αὐτὰ πάλιν, ὡς ὅταν ἐν πυρὶ λαμβανόμενον τω̂ν

[57a] ἄλλων ὑπ’ αὐτου̂ τι γένος τῃ̂ τω̂ν γωνιω̂ν καὶ κατὰ τὰς πλευρὰς ὀξύτητι τέμνηται, συστὰν μὲν εἰς τὴν ἐκείνου φύσιν πέπαυται τεμνόμενον — τὸ γὰρ ὅμοιον καὶ ταὐτὸν αὑτῳ̂ γένος ἕκαστον οὔτε τινὰ μεταβολὴν ἐμποιη̂σαι δυνατὸν οὔτε τι παθει̂ν ὑπὸ του̂ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὁμοίως τε ἔχοντος — ἕως δ’ ἂν εἰς ἄλλο τι γιγνόμενον ἡ̂ττον ὂν κρείττονι μάχηται, λυόμενον οὐ παύεται. τά τε αὐ̂ σμικρότερα ὅταν ἐν τοι̂ς μείζοσιν πολλοι̂ς περιλαμβανόμενα

[57b] ὀλίγα διαθραυόμενα κατασβεννύηται, συνίστασθαι μὲν ἐθέλοντα εἰς τὴν του̂ κρατου̂ντος ἰδέαν πέπαυται κατασβεννύμενα γίγνεταί τε ἐκ πυρὸς ἀήρ, ἐξ ἀέρος ὕδωρ: ἐὰν δ’ εἰς ταὐτὰ ἴῃ καὶ τω̂ν ἄλλων τι συνιὸν γενω̂ν μάχηται, λυόμενα οὐ παύεται, πρὶν ἢ παντάπασιν ὠθούμενα καὶ διαλυθέντα ἐκφύγῃ πρὸς τὸ συγγενές, ἢ νικηθέντα, ἓν ἐκ πολλω̂ν ὅμοιον τῳ̂ κρατήσαντι γενόμενον, αὐτου̂ σύνοικον μείνῃ. Καὶ

[57c] δὴ καὶ κατὰ ταυ̂τα τὰ παθήματα διαμείβεται τὰς χώρας ἅπαντα: διέστηκεν μὲν γὰρ του̂ γένους ἑκάστου τὰ πλήθη κατὰ τόπον ἴδιον διὰ τὴν τη̂ς δεχομένης κίνησιν, τὰ δὲ ἀνομοιούμενα ἑκάστοτε ἑαυτοι̂ς, ἄλλοις δὲ ὁμοιούμενα, φέρεται διὰ τὸν σεισμὸν πρὸς τὸν ἐκείνων οἱ̂ς ἂν ὁμοιωθῃ̂ τόπον. ὅσα μὲν οὐ̂ν ἄκρατα καὶ πρω̂τα σώματα διὰ τοιούτων αἰτιω̂ν γέγονεν: τὸ δ’ ἐν τοι̂ς εἴδεσιν αὐτω̂ν ἕτερα ἐμπεφυκέναι γένη τὴν ἑκατέρου τω̂ν στοιχείων αἰτιατέον σύστασιν,

[57d] μὴ μόνον ἓν ἑκατέραν μέγεθος ἔχον τὸ τρίγωνον φυτευ̂σαι κατ’ ἀρχάς, ἀλλ’ ἐλάττω τε καὶ μείζω, τὸν ἀριθμὸν δὲ ἔχοντα τοσου̂τον ὅσαπερ ἂν ᾐ̂ τἀν τοι̂ς εἴδεσι γένη. διὸ δὴ συμμειγνύμενα αὐτά τε πρὸς αὑτὰ καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα τὴν ποικιλίαν ἐστὶν ἄπειρα: ἡ̂ς δὴ δει̂ θεωροὺς γίγνεσθαι τοὺς μέλλοντας περὶ φύσεως εἰκότι λόγῳ χρήσεσθαι. κινήσεως οὐ̂ν στάσεώς τε πέρι, τίνα τρόπον καὶ μεθ’ ὡ̂ντινων γίγνεσθον, εἰ μή τις διομολογήσεται, πόλλ’ ἂν εἴη

[57e] ἐμποδὼν τῳ̂ κατόπισθεν λογισμῳ̂. τὰ μὲν οὐ̂ν ἤδη περὶ αὐτω̂ν εἴρηται, πρὸς δ’ ἐκείνοις ἔτι τάδε, ἐν μὲν ὁμαλότητι μηδέποτε ἐθέλειν κίνησιν ἐνει̂ναι. τὸ γὰρ κινησόμενον ἄνευ του̂ κινήσοντος ἢ τὸ κινη̂σον ἄνευ του̂ κινησομένου χαλεπόν, μα̂λλον δὲ ἀδύνατον, εἰ̂ναι: κίνησις δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν τούτων ἀπόντων, ταυ̂τα δὲ ὁμαλὰ εἰ̂ναί ποτε ἀδύνατον. οὕτω δὴ στάσιν μὲν ἐν ὁμαλότητι, κίνησιν δὲ εἰς ἀνωμαλότητα ἀεὶ

[58a] τιθω̂μεν: αἰτία δὲ ἀνισότης αὐ̂ τη̂ς ἀνωμάλου φύσεως. ἀνισότητος δὲ γένεσιν μὲν διεληλύθαμεν: πω̂ς δέ ποτε οὐ κατὰ γένη διαχωρισθέντα ἕκαστα πέπαυται τη̂ς δι’ ἀλλήλων κινήσεως καὶ φορα̂ς, οὐκ εἴπομεν. ὡ̂δε οὐ̂ν πάλιν ἐρου̂μεν. ἡ του̂ παντὸς περίοδος, ἐπειδὴ συμπεριέλαβεν τὰ γένη, κυκλοτερὴς οὐ̂σα καὶ πρὸς αὑτὴν πεφυκυι̂α βούλεσθαι συνιέναι, σφίγγει πάντα καὶ κενὴν χώραν οὐδεμίαν ἐᾳ̂ λείπεσθαι. Διὸ

[58b] δὴ πυ̂ρ μὲν εἰς ἅπαντα διελήλυθε μάλιστα, ἀὴρ δὲ δεύτερον, ὡς λεπτότητι δεύτερον ἔφυ, καὶ τἀ̂λλα ταύτῃ: τὰ γὰρ ἐκ μεγίστων μερω̂ν γεγονότα μεγίστην κενότητα ἐν τῃ̂ συστάσει παραλέλοιπεν, τὰ δὲ σμικρότατα ἐλαχίστην. ἡ δὴ τη̂ς πιλήσεως σύνοδος τὰ σμικρὰ εἰς τὰ τω̂ν μεγάλων διάκενα συνωθει̂. σμικρω̂ν οὐ̂ν παρὰ μεγάλα τιθεμένων καὶ τω̂ν ἐλαττόνων τὰ μείζονα διακρινόντων, τω̂ν δὲ μειζόνων ἐκει̂να συγκρινόντων, πάντ’ ἄνω κάτω μεταφέρεται πρὸς τοὺς ἑαυτω̂ν τόπους:

[58c] μεταβάλλον γὰρ τὸ μέγεθος ἕκαστον καὶ τὴν τόπων μεταβάλλει στάσιν. οὕτω δὴ διὰ ταυ̂τά τε ἡ τη̂ς ἀνωμαλότητος διασῳζομένη γένεσις ἀεὶ τὴν ἀεὶ κίνησιν τούτων οὐ̂σαν ἐσομένην τε ἐνδελεχω̂ς παρέχεται. μετὰ δὴ ταυ̂τα δει̂ νοει̂ν ὅτι πυρός τε γένη πολλὰ γέγονεν, οἱ̂ον φλὸξ τό τε ἀπὸ τη̂ς φλογὸς ἀπιόν, ὃ κάει μὲν οὔ, φω̂ς δὲ τοι̂ς ὄμμασιν παρέχει, τό τε φλογὸς ἀποσβεσθείσης ἐν

[58d] τοι̂ς διαπύροις καταλειπόμενον αὐτου̂: κατὰ ταὐτὰ δὲ ἀέρος, τὸ μὲν εὐαγέστατον ἐπίκλην αἰθὴρ καλούμενος, ὁ δὲ θολερώτατος ὁμίχλη τε καὶ σκότος, ἕτερά τε ἀνώνυμα εἴδη, γεγονότα διὰ τὴν τω̂ν τριγώνων ἀνισότητα. τὰ δὲ ὕδατος διχῃ̂ μὲν πρω̂τον, τὸ μὲν ὑγρόν, τὸ δὲ χυτὸν γένος αὐτου̂. τὸ μὲν οὐ̂ν ὑγρὸν διὰ τὸ μετέχον εἰ̂ναι τω̂ν γενω̂ν τω̂ν ὕδατος ὅσα σμικρά, ἀνίσων ὄντων, κινητικὸν αὐτό τε καθ’ αὑτὸ καὶ ὑπ’ ἄλλου διὰ τὴν ἀνωμαλότητα καὶ τὴν του̂ σχήματος ἰδέαν γέγονεν: τὸ

[58e] δὲ ἐκ μεγάλων καὶ ὁμαλω̂ν στασιμώτερον μὲν ἐκείνου καὶ βαρὺ πεπηγὸς ὑπὸ ὁμαλότητός ἐστιν, ὑπὸ δὲ πυρὸς εἰσιόντος καὶ διαλύοντος αὐτὸ τὴν ὁμαλότητα ἀποβάλλει, ταύτην δὲ ἀπολέσαν μετίσχει μα̂λλον κινήσεως, γενόμενον δὲ εὐκίνητον, ὑπὸ του̂ πλησίον ἀέρος ὠθούμενον καὶ κατατεινόμενον ἐπὶ γη̂ν, τήκεσθαι μὲν τὴν τω̂ν ὄγκων καθαίρεσιν, ῥοὴν δὲ τὴν κατάτασιν ἐπὶ γη̂ν ἐπωνυμίαν ἑκατέρου του̂ πάθους ἔλαβεν.

[59a] πάλιν δ’ ἐκπίπτοντος αὐτόθεν του̂ πυρός, ἅτε οὐκ εἰς κενὸν ἐξιόντος, ὠθούμενος ὁ πλησίον ἀὴρ εὐκίνητον ὄντα ἔτι τὸν ὑγρὸν ὄγκον εἰς τὰς του̂ πυρὸς ἕδρας συνωθω̂ν αὐτὸν αὑτῳ̂ συμμείγνυσιν: ὁ δὲ συνωθούμενος ἀπολαμβάνων τε τὴν ὁμαλότητα πάλιν, ἅτε του̂ τη̂ς ἀνωμαλότητος δημιουργου̂ πυρὸς ἀπιόντος, εἰς ταὐτὸν αὑτῳ̂ καθίσταται. καὶ τὴν μὲν του̂ πυρὸς ἀπαλλαγὴν ψυ̂ξιν, τὴν δὲ σύνοδον ἀπελθόντος ἐκείνου πεπηγὸς εἰ̂ναι γένος προσερρήθη. τούτων δὴ πάντων

[59b] ὅσα χυτὰ προσείπομεν ὕδατα, τὸ μὲν ἐκ λεπτοτάτων καὶ ὁμαλωτάτων πυκνότατον γιγνόμενον, μονοειδὲς γένος, στίλβοντι καὶ ξανθῳ̂ χρώματι κοινωθέν, τιμαλφέστατον κτη̂μα χρυσὸς ἠθημένος διὰ πέτρας ἐπάγη: χρυσου̂ δὲ ὄζος, διὰ πυκνότητα σκληρότατον ὂν καὶ μελανθέν, ἀδάμας ἐκλήθη. τὸ δ’ ἐγγὺς μὲν χρυσου̂ τω̂ν μερω̂ν, εἴδη δὲ πλείονα ἑνὸς ἔχον, πυκνότητι δέ, τῃ̂ μὲν χρυσου̂ πυκνότερον ὄν, καὶ γη̂ς μόριον ὀλίγον καὶ λεπτὸν μετασχόν, ὥστε σκληρότερον εἰ̂ναι, τῳ̂

[59c] δὲ μεγάλα ἐντὸς αὑτου̂ διαλείμματα ἔχειν κουφότερον, τω̂ν λαμπρω̂ν πηκτω̂ν τε ἓν γένος ὑδάτων χαλκὸς συσταθεὶς γέγονεν: τὸ δ’ ἐκ γη̂ς αὐτῳ̂ μειχθέν, ὅταν παλαιουμένω διαχωρίζησθον πάλιν ἀπ’ ἀλλήλων, ἐκφανὲς καθ’ αὑτὸ γιγνόμενον ἰὸς λέγεται. τἀ̂λλα δὲ τω̂ν τοιούτων οὐδὲν ποικίλον ἔτι διαλογίσασθαι τὴν τω̂ν εἰκότων μύθων μεταδιώκοντα ἰδέαν: ἣν ὅταν τις ἀναπαύσεως ἕνεκα τοὺς περὶ τω̂ν ὄντων ἀεὶ καταθέμενος λόγους, τοὺς γενέσεως πέρι διαθεώμενος

[59d] εἰκότας ἀμεταμέλητον ἡδονὴν κτα̂ται, μέτριον ἂν ἐν τῳ̂ βίῳ παιδιὰν καὶ φρόνιμον ποιοι̂το. ταύτῃ δὴ καὶ τὰ νυ̂ν ἐφέντες τὸ μετὰ του̂το τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν πέρι τὰ ἑξη̂ς εἰκότα δίιμεν τῃ̂δε. τὸ πυρὶ μεμειγμένον ὕδωρ, ὅσον λεπτὸν ὑγρόν τε διὰ τὴν κίνησιν καὶ τὴν ὁδὸν ἣν κυλινδούμενον ἐπὶ γη̂ς ὑγρὸν λέγεται, μαλακόν τε αὐ̂ τῳ̂ τὰς βάσεις ἡ̂ττον ἑδραίους οὔσας ἢ τὰς γη̂ς ὑπείκειν, του̂το ὅταν πυρὸς ἀποχωρισθὲν ἀέρος τε μονωθῃ̂,

[59e] γέγονεν μὲν ὁμαλώτερον, συνέωσται δὲ ὑπὸ τω̂ν ἐξιόντων εἰς αὑτό, παγέν τε οὕτως τὸ μὲν ὑπὲρ γη̂ς μάλιστα παθὸν ταυ̂τα χάλαζα, τὸ δ’ ἐπὶ γη̂ς κρύσταλλος, τὸ δὲ ἡ̂ττον, ἡμιπαγές τε ὂν ἔτι, τὸ μὲν ὑπὲρ γη̂ς αὐ̂ χιών, τὸ δ’ ἐπὶ γη̂ς συμπαγὲν ἐκ δρόσου γενόμενον πάχνη λέγεται. τὰ δὲ δὴ πλει̂στα ὑδάτων εἴδη μεμειγμένα ἀλλήλοις — σύμπαν μὲν τὸ γένος,

[60a] διὰ τω̂ν ἐκ γη̂ς φυτω̂ν ἠθημένα, χυμοὶ λεγόμενοι — διὰ δὲ τὰς μείξεις ἀνομοιότητα ἕκαστοι σχόντες τὰ μὲν ἄλλα πολλὰ ἀνώνυμα γένη παρέσχοντο, τέτταρα δὲ ὅσα ἔμπυρα εἴδη, διαφανη̂ μάλιστα γενόμενα, εἴληφεν ὀνόματα αὐτω̂ν, τὸ μὲν τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς μετὰ του̂ σώματος θερμαντικὸν οἰ̂νος, τὸ δὲ λει̂ον καὶ διακριτικὸν ὄψεως διὰ ταυ̂τά τε ἰδει̂ν λαμπρὸν καὶ στίλβον λιπαρόν τε φανταζόμενον ἐλαιηρὸν εἰ̂δος, πίττα καὶ κίκι καὶ ἔλαιον αὐτὸ ὅσα τ’ ἄλλα τη̂ς αὐτη̂ς δυνάμεως: ὅσον δὲ διαχυτικὸν

[60b] μέχρι φύσεως τω̂ν περὶ τὸ στόμα συνόδων, ταύτῃ τῃ̂ δυνάμει γλυκύτητα παρεχόμενον, μέλι τὸ κατὰ πάντων μάλιστα πρόσρημα ἔσχεν, τὸ δὲ τη̂ς σαρκὸς διαλυτικὸν τῳ̂ κάειν, ἀφρω̂δες γένος, ἐκ πάντων ἀφορισθὲν τω̂ν χυμω̂ν, ὀπὸς ἐπωνομάσθη. γη̂ς δὲ εἴδη, τὸ μὲν ἠθημένον διὰ ὕδατος τοιῳ̂δε τρόπῳ γίγνεται σω̂μα λίθινον. τὸ συμμιγὲς ὕδωρ ὅταν ἐν τῃ̂ συμμείξει κοπῃ̂, μετέβαλεν εἰς ἀέρος ἰδέαν: γενόμενος δὲ

[60c] ἀὴρ εἰς τὸν ἑαυτου̂ τόπον ἀναθει̂. κενὸν δ’ ὑπερει̂χεν αὐτω̂ν οὐδέν: τὸν οὐ̂ν πλησίον ἔωσεν ἀέρα. ὁ δὲ ἅτε ὢν βαρύς, ὠσθεὶς καὶ περιχυθεὶς τῳ̂ τη̂ς γη̂ς ὄγκῳ, σφόδρα ἔθλιψεν συνέωσέν τε αὐτὸν εἰς τὰς ἕδρας ὅθεν ἀνῄει ὁ νέος ἀήρ: συνωσθει̂σα δὲ ὑπὸ ἀέρος ἀλύτως ὕδατι γη̂ συνίσταται πέτρα, καλλίων μὲν ἡ τω̂ν ἴσων καὶ ὁμαλω̂ν διαφανὴς μερω̂ν, αἰσχίων δὲ ἡ ἐναντία. τὸ δὲ ὑπὸ πυρὸς τάχους τὸ νοτερὸν

[60d] πα̂ν ἐξαρπασθὲν καὶ κραυρότερον ἐκείνου συστάν, ᾡ̂ γένει κέραμον ἐπωνομάκαμεν, του̂το γέγονεν: ἔστιν δὲ ὅτε νοτίδος ὑπολειφθείσης χυτὴ γη̂ γενομένη διὰ πυρὸς ὅταν ψυχθῃ̂, γίγνεται τὸ μέλαν χρω̂μα ἔχον λίθος. τὼ δ’ αὐ̂ κατὰ ταὐτὰ μὲν ταυ̂τα ἐκ συμμείξεως ὕδατος ἀπομονουμένω πολλου̂, λεπτοτέρων δὲ ἐκ γη̂ς μερω̂ν ἁλμυρώ τε ὄντε, ἡμιπαγη̂ γενομένω καὶ λυτὼ πάλιν ὑφ’ ὕδατος, τὸ μὲν ἐλαίου καὶ γη̂ς καθαρτικὸν γένος λίτρον, τὸ δ’ εὐάρμοστον ἐν ται̂ς κοινωνίαις

[60e] ται̂ς περὶ τὴν του̂ στόματος αἴσθησιν ἁλω̂ν κατὰ λόγον [νόμου] θεοφιλὲς σω̂μα ἐγένετο. τὰ δὲ κοινὰ ἐξ ἀμφοι̂ν ὕδατι μὲν οὐ λυτά, πυρὶ δέ, διὰ τὸ τοιόνδε οὕτω συμπήγνυται. γη̂ς ὄγκους πυ̂ρ μὲν ἀήρ τε οὐ τήκει: τη̂ς γὰρ συστάσεως τω̂ν διακένων αὐτη̂ς σμικρομερέστερα πεφυκότα, διὰ πολλη̂ς εὐρυχωρίας ἰόντα, οὐ βιαζόμενα, ἄλυτον αὐτὴν ἐάσαντα ἄτηκτον παρέσχεν: τὰ δὲ ὕδατος ἐπειδὴ μείζω πέφυκεν μέρη, βίαιον ποιούμενα τὴν διέξοδον, λύοντα αὐτὴν τήκει. γη̂ν

[61a] μὲν γὰρ ἀσύστατον ὑπὸ βίας οὕτως ὕδωρ μόνον λύει, συνεστηκυι̂αν δὲ πλὴν πυρὸς οὐδέν: εἴσοδος γὰρ οὐδενὶ πλὴν πυρὶ λέλειπται. τὴν δὲ ὕδατος αὐ̂ σύνοδον τὴν μὲν βιαιοτάτην πυ̂ρ μόνον, τὴν δὲ ἀσθενεστέραν ἀμφότερα, πυ̂ρ τε καὶ ἀήρ, διαχει̂τον, ὁ μὲν κατὰ τὰ διάκενα, τὸ δὲ καὶ κατὰ τὰ τρίγωνα: βίᾳ δὲ ἀέρα συστάντα οὐδὲν λύει πλὴν κατὰ τὸ στοιχει̂ον, ἀβίαστον δὲ κατατήκει μόνον πυ̂ρ. τὰ δὴ τω̂ν συμμείκτων ἐκ γη̂ς τε καὶ ὕδατος σωμάτων, μέχριπερ ἂν

[61b] ὕδωρ αὐτου̂ τὰ τη̂ς γη̂ς διάκενα καὶ βίᾳ συμπεπιλημένα κατέχῃ, τὰ μὲν ὕδατος ἐπιόντα ἔξωθεν εἴσοδον οὐκ ἔχοντα μέρη περιρρέοντα τὸν ὅλον ὄγκον ἄτηκτον εἴασεν, τὰ δὲ πυρὸς εἰς τὰ τω̂ν ὑδάτων διάκενα εἰσιόντα, ὅπερ ὕδωρ γη̂ν, του̂το πυ̂ρ [ἀέρα] ἀπεργαζόμενα, τηχθέντι τῳ̂ κοινῳ̂ σώματι ῥει̂ν μόνα αἴτια συμβέβηκεν: τυγχάνει δὲ ταυ̂τα ὄντα, τὰ μὲν ἔλαττον ἔχοντα ὕδατος ἢ γη̂ς, τό τε περὶ τὴν ὕαλον γένος

[61c] ἅπαν ὅσα τε λίθων χυτὰ εἴδη καλει̂ται, τὰ δὲ πλέον ὕδατος αὐ̂, πάντα ὅσα κηροειδη̂ καὶ θυμιατικὰ σώματα συμπήγνυται. καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ σχήμασι κοινωνίαις τε καὶ μεταλλαγαι̂ς εἰς ἄλληλα πεποικιλμένα εἴδη σχεδὸν ἐπιδέδεικται: τὰ δὲ παθήματα αὐτω̂ν δι’ ἃς αἰτίας γέγονεν πειρατέον ἐμφανίζειν. πρω̂τον μὲν οὐ̂ν ὑπάρχειν αἴσθησιν δει̂ τοι̂ς λεγομένοις ἀεί, σαρκὸς δὲ καὶ τω̂ν περὶ σάρκα γένεσιν, ψυχη̂ς τε ὅσον θνητόν, οὔπω διεληλύθαμεν: τυγχάνει δὲ οὔτε ταυ̂τα χωρὶς

[61d] τω̂ν περὶ τὰ παθήματα ὅσα αἰσθητικὰ οὔτ’ ἐκει̂να ἄνευ τούτων δυνατὰ ἱκανω̂ς+ λεχθη̂ναι+, τὸ δὲ ἅμα σχεδὸν οὐ δυνατόν. ὑποθετέον δὴ πρότερον θάτερα, τὰ δ’ ὑποτεθέντα ἐπάνιμεν αὐ̂θις. ἵνα οὐ̂ν ἑξη̂ς τὰ παθήματα λέγηται τοι̂ς γένεσιν, ἔστω πρότερα ἡμι̂ν τὰ περὶ σω̂μα καὶ ψυχὴν ὄντα. πρω̂τον μὲν οὐ̂ν ᾑ̂ πυ̂ρ θερμὸν λέγομεν, ἴδωμεν ὡ̂δε σκοπου̂ντες, τὴν διάκρισιν καὶ τομὴν αὐτου̂ περὶ τὸ σω̂μα ἡμω̂ν γιγνομένην

[61e] ἐννοηθέντες. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ ὀξύ τι τὸ πάθος, πάντες σχεδὸν αἰσθανόμεθα: τὴν δὲ λεπτότητα τω̂ν πλευρω̂ν καὶ γωνιω̂ν ὀξύτητα τω̂ν τε μορίων σμικρότητα καὶ τη̂ς φορα̂ς τὸ τάχος, οἱ̂ς πα̂σι σφοδρὸν ὂν καὶ τομὸν ὀξέως τὸ προστυχὸν ἀεὶ

[62a] τέμνει, λογιστέον ἀναμιμνῃσκομένοις τὴν του̂ σχήματος αὐτου̂ γένεσιν, ὅτι μάλιστα ἐκείνη καὶ οὐκ ἄλλη φύσις διακρίνουσα ἡμω̂ν κατὰ σμικρά τε τὰ σώματα κερματίζουσα του̂το ὃ νυ̂ν θερμὸν λέγομεν εἰκότως τὸ πάθημα καὶ τοὔνομα παρέσχεν. τὸ δ’ ἐναντίον τούτων κατάδηλον μέν, ὅμως δὲ μηδὲν ἐπιδεὲς ἔστω λόγου. τὰ γὰρ δὴ τω̂ν περὶ τὸ σω̂μα ὑγρω̂ν μεγαλομερέστερα εἰσιόντα, τὰ σμικρότερα ἐξωθου̂ντα, εἰς τὰς ἐκείνων οὐ δυνάμενα ἕδρας ἐνδυ̂ναι, συνωθου̂ντα ἡμω̂ν

[62b] τὸ νοτερόν, ἐξ ἀνωμάλου κεκινημένου τε ἀκίνητον δι’ ὁμαλότητα καὶ τὴν σύνωσιν ἀπεργαζόμενα πήγνυσιν: τὸ δὲ παρὰ φύσιν συναγόμενον μάχεται κατὰ φύσιν αὐτὸ ἑαυτὸ εἰς τοὐναντίον ἀπωθου̂ν. τῃ̂ δὴ μάχῃ καὶ τῳ̂ σεισμῳ̂ τούτῳ τρόμος καὶ ῥι̂γος ἐτέθη, ψυχρόν τε τὸ πάθος ἅπαν του̂το καὶ τὸ δρω̂ν αὐτὸ ἔσχεν ὄνομα. σκληρὸν δέ, ὅσοις ἂν ἡμω̂ν ἡ σὰρξ ὑπείκῃ, μαλακὸν δέ, ὅσα ἂν τῃ̂ σαρκί: πρὸς ἄλληλά τε οὕτως. ὑπείκει δὲ ὅσον ἐπὶ σμικρου̂ βαίνει: τὸ δὲ ἐκ

[62c] τετραγώνων ὂν βάσεων, ἅτε βεβηκὸς σφόδρα, ἀντιτυπώτατον εἰ̂δος, ὅτι τε ἂν εἰς πυκνότητα συνιὸν πλείστην ἀντίτονον ᾐ̂ μάλιστα. βαρὺ δὲ καὶ κου̂φον μετὰ τη̂ς του̂ κάτω φύσεως ἄνω τε λεγομένης ἐξεταζόμενον ἂν δηλωθείη σαφέστατα. φύσει γὰρ δή τινας τόπους δύο εἰ̂ναι διειληφότας διχῃ̂ τὸ πα̂ν ἐναντίους, τὸν μὲν κάτω, πρὸς ὃν φέρεται πάνθ’ ὅσα τινὰ ὄγκον σώματος ἔχει, τὸν δὲ ἄνω, πρὸς ὃν ἀκουσίως ἔρχεται πα̂ν, οὐκ ὀρθὸν οὐδαμῃ̂ νομίζειν: του̂ γὰρ παντὸς

[62d] οὐρανου̂ σφαιροειδου̂ς ὄντος, ὅσα μὲν ἀφεστω̂τα ἴσον του̂ μέσου γέγονεν ἔσχατα, ὁμοίως αὐτὰ χρὴ ἔσχατα πεφυκέναι, τὸ δὲ μέσον τὰ αὐτὰ μέτρα τω̂ν ἐσχάτων ἀφεστηκὸς ἐν τῳ̂ καταντικρὺ νομίζειν δει̂ πάντων εἰ̂ναι. του̂ δὴ κόσμου ταύτῃ πεφυκότος, τί τω̂ν εἰρημένων ἄνω τις ἢ κάτω τιθέμενος οὐκ ἐν δίκῃ δόξει τὸ μηδὲν προση̂κον ὄνομα λέγειν; ὁ μὲν γὰρ μέσος ἐν αὐτῳ̂ τόπος οὔτε κάτω πεφυκὼς οὔτε ἄνω λέγεσθαι δίκαιος, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸ ἐν μέσῳ: ὁ δὲ πέριξ οὔτε δὴ μέσος οὔτ’ ἔχων διάφορον αὑτου̂ μέρος ἕτερον θατέρου μα̂λλον πρὸς τὸ μέσον ἤ τι τω̂ν καταντικρύ. του̂ δὲ ὁμοίως πάντῃ πεφυκότος ποι̂ά τις ἐπιφέρων ὀνόματα αὐτῳ̂ ἐναντία καὶ πῃ̂ καλω̂ς ἂν ἡγοι̂το λέγειν; εἰ γάρ τι καὶ στερεὸν εἴη κατὰ μέσον του̂

[63a] παντὸς ἰσοπαλές, εἰς οὐδὲν ἄν ποτε τω̂ν ἐσχάτων ἐνεχθείη διὰ τὴν πάντῃ ὁμοιότητα αὐτω̂ν: ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ περὶ αὐτὸ πορεύοιτό τις ἐν κύκλῳ, πολλάκις ἂν στὰς ἀντίπους ταὐτὸν αὐτου̂ κάτω καὶ ἄνω προσείποι. τὸ μὲν γὰρ ὅλον, καθάπερ εἴρηται νυνδή, σφαιροειδὲς ὄν, τόπον τινὰ κάτω, τὸν δὲ ἄνω λέγειν ἔχειν οὐκ ἔμφρονος: ὅθεν δὲ ὠνομάσθη ταυ̂τα καὶ ἐν οἱ̂ς ὄντα εἰθίσμεθα δι’ ἐκει̂να καὶ τὸν οὐρανὸν ὅλον οὕτω διαιρούμενοι

[63b] λέγειν, ταυ̂τα διομολογητέον ὑποθεμένοις τάδε ἡμι̂ν. εἴ τις ἐν τῳ̂ του̂ παντὸς τόπῳ καθ’ ὃν ἡ του̂ πυρὸς εἴληχε μάλιστα φύσις, οὑ̂ καὶ πλει̂στον ἂν ἠθροισμένον εἴη πρὸς ὃ φέρεται, ἐπεμβὰς ἐπ’ ἐκει̂νο καὶ δύναμιν εἰς του̂το ἔχων, μέρη του̂ πυρὸς ἀφαιρω̂ν ἱσταίη τιθεὶς εἰς πλάστιγγας, αἴρων τὸν ζυγὸν καὶ τὸ πυ̂ρ ἕλκων εἰς ἀνόμοιον ἀέρα βιαζόμενος

[63c] δη̂λον ὡς τοὔλαττόν που του̂ μείζονος ῥᾳ̂ον βια̂ται: ῥώμῃ γὰρ μιᾳ̂ δυοι̂ν ἅμα μετεωριζομένοιν τὸ μὲν ἔλαττον μα̂λλον, τὸ δὲ πλέον ἡ̂ττον ἀνάγκη που κατατεινόμενον συνέπεσθαι τῃ̂ βίᾳ, καὶ τὸ μὲν πολὺ βαρὺ καὶ κάτω φερόμενον κληθη̂ναι, τὸ δὲ σμικρὸν ἐλαφρὸν καὶ ἄνω. ταὐτὸν δὴ του̂το δει̂ φωρα̂σαι δρω̂ντας ἡμα̂ς περὶ τόνδε τὸν τόπον. ἐπὶ γὰρ γη̂ς βεβω̂τες γεώδη+ γένη+ διιστάμενοι, καὶ γη̂ν ἐνίοτε αὐτήν, ἕλκομεν εἰς ἀνόμοιον ἀέρα βίᾳ καὶ παρὰ φύσιν, ἀμφότερα του̂

[63d] συγγενου̂ς ἀντεχόμενα, τὸ δὲ σμικρότερον ῥᾳ̂ον του̂ μείζονος βιαζομένοις εἰς τὸ ἀνόμοιον πρότερον συνέπεται: κου̂φον οὐ̂ν αὐτὸ προσειρήκαμεν, καὶ τὸν τόπον εἰς ὃν βιαζόμεθα, ἄνω, τὸ δ’ ἐναντίον τούτοις πάθος βαρὺ καὶ κάτω. ταυ̂τ’ οὐ̂ν δὴ διαφόρως ἔχειν αὐτὰ πρὸς αὑτὰ ἀνάγκη διὰ τὸ τὰ πλήθη τω̂ν γενω̂ν τόπον ἐναντίον ἄλλα ἄλλοις κατέχειν — τὸ γὰρ ἐν ἑτέρῳ κου̂φον ὂν τόπῳ τῳ̂ κατὰ τὸν ἐναντίον τόπον ἐλαφρῳ̂

[63e] καὶ τῳ̂ βαρει̂ τὸ βαρὺ τῳ̂ τε κάτω τὸ κάτω καὶ τὸ ἄνω τῳ̂ ἄνω πάντ’ ἐναντία καὶ πλάγια καὶ πάντως διάφορα πρὸς ἄλληλα ἀνευρεθήσεται γιγνόμενα καὶ ὄντα — τόδε γε μὴν ἕν τι διανοητέον περὶ πάντων αὐτω̂ν, ὡς ἡ μὲν πρὸς τὸ συγγενὲς ὁδὸς ἑκάστοις οὐ̂σα βαρὺ μὲν τὸ φερόμενον ποιει̂, τὸν δὲ τόπον εἰς ὃν τὸ τοιου̂τον φέρεται, κάτω, τὰ δὲ τούτοις ἔχοντα ὡς ἑτέρως θάτερα. περὶ δὴ τούτων αὐ̂ τω̂ν παθημάτων ταυ̂τα αἴτια εἰρήσθω. λείου δ’ αὐ̂ καὶ τραχέος παθήματος αἰτίαν πα̂ς που κατιδὼν καὶ ἑτέρῳ δυνατὸς ἂν εἴη λέγειν: σκληρότης γὰρ ἀνωμαλότητι μειχθει̂σα, τὸ δ’

[64a] ὁμαλότης πυκνότητι παρέχεται. μέγιστον δὲ καὶ λοιπὸν τω̂ν κοινω̂ν περὶ ὅλον τὸ σω̂μα παθημάτων τὸ τω̂ν ἡδέων καὶ τω̂ν ἀλγεινω̂ν αἴτιον ἐν οἱ̂ς διεληλύθαμεν, καὶ ὅσα διὰ τω̂ν του̂ σώματος μορίων αἰσθήσεις κεκτημένα καὶ λύπας ἐν αὑτοι̂ς ἡδονάς θ’ ἅμα ἑπομένας ἔχει. ὡ̂δ’ οὐ̂ν κατὰ παντὸς αἰσθητου̂ καὶ ἀναισθήτου παθήματος τὰς αἰτίας λαμβάνωμεν, ἀναμιμνῃσκόμενοι τὸ τη̂ς

[64b] εὐκινήτου τε καὶ δυσκινήτου φύσεως ὅτι διειλόμεθα ἐν τοι̂ς πρόσθεν: ταύτῃ γὰρ δὴ μεταδιωκτέον πάντα ὅσα ἐπινοου̂μεν ἑλει̂ν. τὸ μὲν γὰρ κατὰ φύσιν εὐκίνητον, ὅταν καὶ βραχὺ πάθος εἰς αὐτὸ ἐμπίπτῃ, διαδίδωσιν κύκλῳ μόρια ἕτερα ἑτέροις ταὐτὸν ἀπεργαζόμενα, μέχριπερ ἂν ἐπὶ τὸ φρόνιμον ἐλθόντα ἐξαγγείλῃ του̂ ποιήσαντος τὴν δύναμιν: τὸ δ’ ἐναντίον ἑδραι̂ον ὂν κατ’ οὐδένα τε κύκλον ἰὸν πάσχει μόνον,

64c}} ἄλλο δὲ οὐ κινει̂ τω̂ν πλησίον, ὥστε οὐ διαδιδόντων μορίων μορίοις ἄλλων ἄλλοις τὸ πρω̂τον πάθος ἐν αὐτοι̂ς ἀκίνητον εἰς τὸ πα̂ν ζῳ̂ον γενόμενον ἀναίσθητον παρέσχεν τὸ παθόν. ταυ̂τα δὲ περί τε ὀστα̂ καὶ τὰς τρίχας ἐστὶν καὶ ὅσ’ ἄλλα γήϊνα τὸ πλει̂στον ἔχομεν ἐν ἡμι̂ν μόρια: τὰ δὲ ἔμπροσθεν περὶ τὰ τη̂ς ὄψεως καὶ ἀκοη̂ς μάλιστα, διὰ τὸ πυρὸς ἀέρος τε ἐν αὐτοι̂ς δύναμιν ἐνει̂ναι μεγίστην. τὸ δὴ τη̂ς ἡδονη̂ς καὶ λύπης ὡ̂δε δει̂ διανοει̂σθαι: τὸ μὲν παρὰ φύσιν καὶ

[64d] βίαιον γιγνόμενον ἁθρόον παρ’ ἡμι̂ν πάθος ἀλγεινόν, τὸ δ’ εἰς φύσιν ἀπιὸν πάλιν ἁθρόον ἡδύ, τὸ δὲ ἡρέμα καὶ κατὰ σμικρὸν ἀναίσθητον, τὸ δ’ ἐναντίον τούτοις ἐναντίως. τὸ δὲ μετ’ εὐπετείας γιγνόμενον ἅπαν αἰσθητὸν μὲν ὅτι μάλιστα, λύπης δὲ καὶ ἡδονη̂ς οὐ μετέχον, οἱ̂ον τὰ περὶ τὴν ὄψιν αὐτὴν παθήματα, ἣ δὴ σω̂μα ἐν τοι̂ς πρόσθεν ἐρρήθη καθ’ ἡμέραν συμφυὲς ἡμω̂ν γίγνεσθαι. ταύτῃ γὰρ τομαὶ μὲν καὶ καύσεις καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα πάσχει λύπας οὐκ ἐμποιου̂σιν, οὐδὲ

[64e] ἡδονὰς πάλιν ἐπὶ ταὐτὸν ἀπιούσης εἰ̂δος, μέγισται δὲ αἰσθήσεις καὶ σαφέσταται καθ’ ὅτι τ’ ἂν πάθῃ καὶ ὅσων ἂν αὐτή πῃ προσβαλου̂σα ἐφάπτηται: βία γὰρ τὸ πάμπαν οὐκ ἔνι τῃ̂ διακρίσει τε αὐτη̂ς καὶ συγκρίσει. τὰ δ’ ἐκ μειζόνων μερω̂ν σώματα μόγις εἴκοντα τῳ̂ δρω̂ντι, διαδιδόντα δὲ εἰς ὅλον τὰς κινήσεις, ἡδονὰς ἴσχει καὶ λύπας, ἀλλοτριούμενα

[65a] μὲν λύπας, καθιστάμενα δὲ εἰς τὸ αὐτὸ πάλιν ἡδονάς. ὅσα δὲ κατὰ σμικρὸν τὰς ἀποχωρήσεις ἑαυτω̂ν καὶ κενώσεις εἴληφεν, τὰς δὲ πληρώσεις ἁθρόας καὶ κατὰ μεγάλα, κενώσεως μὲν ἀναίσθητα, πληρώσεως δὲ αἰσθητικὰ γιγνόμενα, λύπας μὲν οὐ παρέχει τῳ̂ θνητῳ̂ τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς, μεγίστας δὲ ἡδονάς: ἔστιν δὲ ἔνδηλα περὶ τὰς εὐωδίας. ὅσα δὲ ἀπαλλοτριου̂ται μὲν ἁθρόα, κατὰ σμικρὰ δὲ μόγις τε εἰς ταὐτὸν

[65b] πάλιν ἑαυτοι̂ς καθίσταται, τοὐναντίον τοι̂ς ἔμπροσθεν πάντα ἀποδίδωσιν: ταυ̂τα δ’ αὐ̂ περὶ τὰς καύσεις καὶ τομὰς του̂ σώματος γιγνόμενά ἐστιν κατάδηλα. καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ κοινὰ του̂ σώματος παντὸς παθήματα, τω̂ν τ’ ἐπωνυμιω̂ν ὅσαι τοι̂ς δρω̂σιν αὐτὰ γεγόνασι, σχεδὸν εἴρηται: τὰ δ’ ἐν ἰδίοις μέρεσιν ἡμω̂ν γιγνόμενα, τά τε πάθη καὶ τὰς αἰτίας αὐ̂ τω̂ν δρώντων, πειρατέον εἰπει̂ν, ἄν πῃ

[65c] δυνώμεθα. πρω̂τον οὐ̂ν ὅσα τω̂ν χυμω̂ν πέρι λέγοντες ἐν τοι̂ς πρόσθεν ἀπελίπομεν, ἴδια ὄντα παθήματα περὶ τὴν γλω̂τταν, ἐμφανιστέον ᾑ̂ δυνατόν. φαίνεται δὲ καὶ ταυ̂τα, ὥσπερ οὐ̂ν καὶ τὰ πολλά, διὰ συγκρίσεών τέ τινων καὶ διακρίσεων γίγνεσθαι, πρὸς δὲ αὐται̂ς κεχρη̂σθαι μα̂λλόν τι τω̂ν ἄλλων τραχύτησί τε καὶ λειότησιν. ὅσα μὲν γὰρ εἰσιόντα περὶ τὰ φλέβια, οἱ̂όνπερ δοκίμια τη̂ς γλώττης

[65d] τεταμένα ἐπὶ τὴν καρδίαν, εἰς τὰ νοτερὰ τη̂ς σαρκὸς καὶ ἁπαλὰ ἐμπίπτοντα γήϊνα μέρη κατατηκόμενα συνάγει τὰ φλέβια καὶ ἀποξηραίνει, τραχύτερα μὲν ὄντα στρυφνά, ἡ̂ττον δὲ τραχύνοντα αὐστηρὰ φαίνεται: τὰ δὲ τούτων τε ῥυπτικὰ καὶ πα̂ν τὸ περὶ τὴν γλω̂τταν ἀποπλύνοντα, πέρα μὲν του̂ μετρίου του̂το δρω̂ντα καὶ προσεπιλαμβανόμενα ὥστε ἀποτήκειν αὐτη̂ς τη̂ς φύσεως, οἱ̂ον ἡ τω̂ν λίτρων

[65e] δύναμις, πικρὰ πάνθ’ οὕτως ὠνόμασται, τὰ δὲ ὑποδεέστερα τη̂ς λιτρώδους ἕξεως ἐπὶ τὸ μέτριόν τε τῃ̂ ῥύψει χρώμενα ἁλυκὰ ἄνευ πικρότητος τραχείας καὶ φίλα μα̂λλον ἡμι̂ν φαντάζεται. τὰ δὲ τῃ̂ του̂ στόματος θερμότητι κοινωνήσαντα καὶ λεαινόμενα ὑπ’ αὐτου̂, συνεκπυρούμενα καὶ πάλιν αὐτὰ ἀντικάοντα τὸ διαθερμη̂ναν, φερόμενά τε ὑπὸ κουφότητος ἄνω πρὸς τὰς τη̂ς κεφαλη̂ς αἰσθήσεις, τέμνοντά τε

[66a] πάνθ’ ὁπόσοις ἂν προσπίπτῃ, διὰ ταύτας τὰς δυνάμεις δριμέα πάντα τὰ τοιαυ̂τα ἐλέχθη. τὸ δὲ αὐ̂ τω̂ν προλελεπτυσμένων μὲν ὑπὸ σηπεδόνος, εἰς δὲ τὰς στενὰς φλέβας ἐνδυομένων, καὶ τοι̂ς ἐνου̂σιν αὐτόθι μέρεσιν γεώδεσιν καὶ ὅσα ἀέρος συμμετρίαν ἔχοντα, ὥστε κινήσαντα περὶ ἄλληλα ποιει̂ν κυκα̂σθαι, κυκώμενα δὲ περιπίπτειν τε καὶ εἰς ἕτερα ἐνδυόμενα ἕτερα κοι̂λα ἀπεργάζεσθαι περιτεινόμενα τοι̂ς εἰσιου̂σιν —

[66b] ἃ δὴ νοτίδος περὶ ἀέρα κοίλης περιταθείσης, τοτὲ μὲν γεώδους, τοτὲ δὲ καὶ καθαρα̂ς, νοτερὰ ἀγγει̂α ἀέρος, ὕδατα κοι̂λα περιφερη̂ τε γενέσθαι, καὶ τὰ μὲν τη̂ς καθαρα̂ς διαφανει̂ς περιστη̂ναι κληθείσας ὄνομα πομφόλυγας, τὰ δὲ τη̂ς γεώδους ὁμου̂ κινουμένης τε καὶ αἰρομένης ζέσιν τε καὶ ζύμωσιν ἐπίκλην λεχθη̂ναι — τὸ δὲ τούτων αἴτιον τω̂ν παθημάτων ὀξὺ προσρηθη̂ναι. σύμπασιν δὲ τοι̂ς περὶ ταυ̂τα εἰρημένοις

[66c] πάθος ἐναντίον ἀπ’ ἐναντίας ἐστὶ προφάσεως: ὁπόταν ἡ τω̂ν εἰσιόντων σύστασις ἐν ὑγροι̂ς, οἰκεία τῃ̂ τη̂ς γλώττης ἕξει πεφυκυι̂α, λεαίνῃ μὲν ἐπαλείφουσα τὰ τραχυνθέντα, τὰ δὲ παρὰ φύσιν συνεστω̂τα ἢ κεχυμένα τὰ μὲν συνάγῃ, τὰ δὲ χαλᾳ̂, καὶ πάνθ’ ὅτι μάλιστα ἱδρύῃ κατὰ φύσιν, ἡδὺ καὶ προσφιλὲς παντὶ πα̂ν τὸ τοιου̂τον ἴαμα τω̂ν βιαίων παθημάτων γιγνόμενον κέκληται γλυκύ.

[66d] καὶ τὰ μὲν ταύτῃ ταυ̂τα: περὶ δὲ δὴ τὴν τω̂ν μυκτήρων δύναμιν, εἴδη μὲν οὐκ ἔνι. τὸ γὰρ τω̂ν ὀσμω̂ν πα̂ν ἡμιγενές, εἴδει δὲ οὐδενὶ συμβέβηκεν συμμετρία πρὸς τό τινα σχει̂ν ὀσμήν: ἀλλ’ ἡμω̂ν αἱ περὶ ταυ̂τα φλέβες πρὸς μὲν τὰ γη̂ς ὕδατός τε γένη στενότεραι συνέστησαν, πρὸς δὲ τὰ πυρὸς ἀέρος τε εὐρύτεραι, διὸ τούτων οὐδεὶς οὐδενὸς ὀσμη̂ς πώποτε ᾔσθετό τινος, ἀλλὰ ἢ βρεχομένων ἢ σηπομένων ἢ τηκομένων ἢ θυμιωμένων γίγνονταί τινων. μεταβάλλοντος γὰρ

[66e] ὕδατος εἰς ἀέρα ἀέρος τε εἰς ὕδωρ ἐν τῳ̂ μεταξὺ τούτων γεγόνασιν, εἰσίν τε ὀσμαὶ σύμπασαι καπνὸς ἢ ὁμίχλη, τούτων δὲ τὸ μὲν ἐξ ἀέρος εἰς ὕδωρ ἰὸν ὁμίχλη, τὸ δὲ ἐξ ὕδατος εἰς ἀέρα καπνός: ὅθεν λεπτότεραι μὲν ὕδατος, παχύτεραι δὲ ὀσμαὶ σύμπασαι γεγόνασιν ἀέρος. δηλου̂νται δὲ ὁπόταν τινὸς ἀντιφραχθέντος περὶ τὴν ἀναπνοὴν ἄγῃ τις βίᾳ τὸ πνευ̂μα εἰς αὑτόν: τότε γὰρ ὀσμὴ μὲν οὐδεμία συνδιηθει̂ται, τὸ δὲ πνευ̂μα τω̂ν ὀσμω̂ν ἐρημωθὲν αὐτὸ μόνον

[67a] ἕπεται. δύ’ οὐ̂ν ταυ̂τα ἀνώνυμα τὰ τούτων ποικίλματα γέγονεν, οὐκ ἐκ πολλω̂ν οὐδὲ ἁπλω̂ν εἰδω̂ν ὄντα, ἀλλὰ διχῃ̂ τό θ’ ἡδὺ καὶ τὸ λυπηρὸν αὐτόθι μόνω διαφανη̂ λέγεσθον, τὸ μὲν τραχυ̂νόν τε καὶ βιαζόμενον τὸ κύτος ἅπαν, ὅσον ἡμω̂ν μεταξὺ κορυφη̂ς του̂ τε ὀμφαλου̂ κει̂ται, τὸ δὲ ταὐτὸν του̂το καταπραυ̂¨νον καὶ πάλιν ᾑ̂ πέφυκεν ἀγαπητω̂ς ἀποδιδόν. τρίτον δὲ αἰσθητικὸν ἐν ἡμι̂ν μέρος ἐπισκοπου̂σιν τὸ περὶ

[67b] τὴν ἀκοήν, δι’ ἃς αἰτίας τὰ περὶ αὐτὸ συμβαίνει παθήματα, λεκτέον. ὅλως μὲν οὐ̂ν φωνὴν θω̂μεν τὴν δι’ ὤτων ὑπ’ ἀέρος ἐγκεφάλου τε καὶ αἵματος μέχρι ψυχη̂ς πληγὴν διαδιδομένην, τὴν δὲ ὑπ’ αὐτη̂ς κίνησιν, ἀπὸ τη̂ς κεφαλη̂ς μὲν ἀρχομένην, τελευτω̂σαν δὲ περὶ τὴν του̂ ἥπατος ἕδραν, ἀκοήν: ὅση δ’ αὐτη̂ς ταχει̂α, ὀξει̂αν, ὅση δὲ βραδυτέρα, βαρυτέραν: τὴν δὲ ὁμοίαν ὁμαλήν τε καὶ λείαν, τὴν δὲ ἐναντίαν τραχει̂αν:

[67c] μεγάλην δὲ τὴν πολλήν, ὅση δὲ ἐναντία, σμικράν. τὰ δὲ περὶ συμφωνίας αὐτω̂ν ἐν τοι̂ς ὕστερον λεχθησομένοις ἀνάγκη ῥηθη̂ναι. τέταρτον δὴ λοιπὸν ἔτι γένος ἡμι̂ν αἰσθητικόν, ὃ διελέσθαι δει̂ συχνὰ ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂ ποικίλματα κεκτημένον, ἃ σύμπαντα μὲν χρόας ἐκαλέσαμεν, φλόγα τω̂ν σωμάτων ἑκάστων ἀπορρέουσαν, ὄψει σύμμετρα μόρια ἔχουσαν πρὸς αἴσθησιν: ὄψεως δ’ ἐν τοι̂ς πρόσθεν αὐτὸ περὶ τω̂ν αἰτίων τη̂ς γενέσεως

[67d] ἐρρήθη. τῃ̂δ’ οὐ̂ν τω̂ν χρωμάτων πέρι μάλιστα εἰκὸς πρέποι τ’ ἂν ἐπιεικει̂ λόγῳ διεξελθει̂ν: τὰ φερόμενα ἀπὸ τω̂ν ἄλλων μόρια ἐμπίπτοντά τε εἰς τὴν ὄψιν τὰ μὲν ἐλάττω, τὰ δὲ μείζω, τὰ δ’ ἴσα τοι̂ς αὐτη̂ς τη̂ς ὄψεως μέρεσιν εἰ̂ναι: τὰ μὲν οὐ̂ν ἴσα ἀναίσθητα, ἃ δὴ καὶ διαφανη̂ λέγομεν, τὰ δὲ μείζω καὶ ἐλάττω, τὰ μὲν συγκρίνοντα, τὰ δὲ διακρίνοντα αὐτήν, τοι̂ς περὶ τὴν σάρκα θερμοι̂ς καὶ ψυχροι̂ς καὶ τοι̂ς

[67e] περὶ τὴν γλω̂τταν στρυφνοι̂ς, καὶ ὅσα θερμαντικὰ ὄντα δριμέα ἐκαλέσαμεν, ἀδελφὰ εἰ̂ναι, τά τε λευκὰ καὶ τὰ μέλανα, ἐκείνων παθήματα γεγονότα ἐν ἄλλῳ γένει τὰ αὐτά, φανταζόμενα δὲ ἄλλα διὰ ταύτας τὰς αἰτίας. οὕτως οὐ̂ν αὐτὰ προσρητέον: τὸ μὲν διακριτικὸν τη̂ς ὄψεως λευκόν, τὸ δ’ ἐναντίον αὐτου̂ μέλαν, τὴν δὲ ὀξυτέραν φορὰν καὶ γένους πυρὸς ἑτέρου προσπίπτουσαν καὶ διακρίνουσαν τὴν ὄψιν μέχρι τω̂ν ὀμμάτων, αὐτάς τε τω̂ν ὀφθαλμω̂ν τὰς διεξόδους

[68a] βίᾳ διωθου̂σαν καὶ τήκουσαν, πυ̂ρ μὲν ἁθρόον καὶ ὕδωρ, ὃ δάκρυον καλου̂μεν, ἐκει̂θεν ἐκχέουσαν, αὐτὴν δὲ οὐ̂σαν πυ̂ρ ἐξ ἐναντίας ἀπαντω̂σαν, καὶ του̂ μὲν ἐκπηδω̂ντος πυρὸς οἱ̂ον ἀπ’ ἀστραπη̂ς, του̂ δ’ εἰσιόντος καὶ περὶ τὸ νοτερὸν κατασβεννυμένου, παντοδαπω̂ν ἐν τῃ̂ κυκήσει ταύτῃ γιγνομένων χρωμάτων, μαρμαρυγὰς μὲν τὸ πάθος προσείπομεν, τὸ δὲ του̂το ἀπεργαζόμενον λαμπρόν τε καὶ στίλβον ἐπωνομάσαμεν.

[68b] τὸ δὲ τούτων αὐ̂ μεταξὺ πυρὸς γένος, πρὸς μὲν τὸ τω̂ν ὀμμάτων ὑγρὸν ἀφικνούμενον καὶ κεραννύμενον αὐτῳ̂, στίλβον δὲ οὔ: τῃ̂ δὲ διὰ τη̂ς νοτίδος αὐγῃ̂ του̂ πυρὸς μειγνυμένου χρω̂μα ἔναιμον παρασχομένῃ, τοὔνομα ἐρυθρὸν λέγομεν. λαμπρόν τε ἐρυθρῳ̂ λευκῳ̂ τε μειγνύμενον ξανθὸν γέγονεν: τὸ δὲ ὅσον μέτρον ὅσοις, οὐδ’ εἴ τις εἰδείη, νου̂ν ἔχει τὸ λέγειν, ὡ̂ν μήτε τινὰ ἀνάγκην μήτε τὸν εἰκότα λόγον καὶ μετρίως ἄν τις εἰπει̂ν εἴη δυνατός. ἐρυθρὸν δὲ δὴ

[68c] μέλανι λευκῳ̂ τε κραθὲν ἁλουργόν: ὄρφνινον δέ, ὅταν τούτοις μεμειγμένοις καυθει̂σίν τε μα̂λλον συγκραθῃ̂ μέλαν. πυρρὸν δὲ ξανθου̂ τε καὶ φαιου̂ κράσει γίγνεται, φαιὸν δὲ λευκου̂ τε καὶ μέλανος, τὸ δὲ ὠχρὸν λευκου̂ ξανθῳ̂ μειγνυμένου. λαμπρῳ̂ δὲ λευκὸν συνελθὸν καὶ εἰς μέλαν κατακορὲς ἐμπεσὸν κυανου̂ν χρω̂μα ἀποτελει̂ται, κυανου̂ δὲ λευκῳ̂ κεραννυμένου γλαυκόν, πυρρου̂ δὲ μέλανι πράσιον. τὰ δὲ

[68d] ἄλλα ἀπὸ τούτων σχεδὸν δη̂λα αἱ̂ς ἂν ἀφομοιούμενα μείξεσιν διασῴζοι τὸν εἰκότα μυ̂θον. εἰ δέ τις τούτων ἔργῳ σκοπούμενος βάσανον λαμβάνοι, τὸ τη̂ς ἀνθρωπίνης καὶ θείας φύσεως ἠγνοηκὼς ἂν εἴη διάφορον, ὅτι θεὸς μὲν τὰ πολλὰ εἰς ἓν συγκεραννύναι καὶ πάλιν ἐξ ἑνὸς εἰς πολλὰ διαλύειν ἱκανω̂ς ἐπιστάμενος ἅμα καὶ δυνατός, ἀνθρώπων δὲ οὐδεὶς οὐδέτερα τούτων ἱκανὸς οὔτε ἔστι νυ̂ν οὔτε εἰς αὐ̂θίς ποτε ἔσται.

[68e] ταυ̂τα δὴ πάντα τότε ταύτῃ πεφυκότα ἐξ ἀνάγκης ὁ του̂ καλλίστου τε καὶ ἀρίστου δημιουργὸς ἐν τοι̂ς γιγνομένοις παρελάμβανεν, ἡνίκα τὸν αὐτάρκη τε καὶ τὸν τελεώτατον θεὸν ἐγέννα, χρώμενος μὲν ται̂ς περὶ ταυ̂τα αἰτίαις ὑπηρετούσαις, τὸ δὲ εὐ̂ τεκταινόμενος ἐν πα̂σιν τοι̂ς γιγνομένοις αὐτός. διὸ δὴ χρὴ δύ’ αἰτίας εἴδη διορίζεσθαι, τὸ μὲν ἀναγκαι̂ον, τὸ δὲ θει̂ον, καὶ τὸ μὲν θει̂ον ἐν ἅπασιν ζητει̂ν

[69a] κτήσεως ἕνεκα εὐδαίμονος βίου, καθ’ ὅσον ἡμω̂ν ἡ φύσις ἐνδέχεται, τὸ δὲ ἀναγκαι̂ον ἐκείνων χάριν, λογιζόμενον ὡς ἄνευ τούτων οὐ δυνατὰ αὐτὰ ἐκει̂να ἐφ’ οἱ̂ς σπουδάζομεν μόνα κατανοει̂ν οὐδ’ αὐ̂ λαβει̂ν οὐδ’ ἄλλως πως μετασχει̂ν. ὅτ’ οὐ̂ν δὴ τὰ νυ̂ν οἱ̂α τέκτοσιν ἡμι̂ν ὕλη παράκειται τὰ τω̂ν αἰτίων γένη διυλισμένα, ἐξ ὡ̂ν τὸν ἐπίλοιπον λόγον δει̂ συνυφανθη̂ναι, πάλιν ἐπ’ ἀρχὴν ἐπανέλθωμεν διὰ βραχέων, ταχύ τε εἰς ταὐτὸν πορευθω̂μεν ὅθεν δευ̂ρο ἀφικόμεθα,

[69b] καὶ τελευτὴν ἤδη κεφαλήν τε τῳ̂ μύθῳ πειρώμεθα ἁρμόττουσαν ἐπιθει̂ναι τοι̂ς πρόσθεν. ὥσπερ γὰρ οὐ̂ν καὶ κατ’ ἀρχὰς ἐλέχθη, ταυ̂τα ἀτάκτως ἔχοντα ὁ θεὸς ἐν ἑκάστῳ τε αὐτῳ̂ πρὸς αὑτὸ καὶ πρὸς ἄλληλα συμμετρίας ἐνεποίησεν, ὅσας τε καὶ ὅπῃ δυνατὸν ἠ̂ν ἀνάλογα καὶ σύμμετρα εἰ̂ναι. τότε γὰρ οὔτε τούτων, ὅσον μὴ τύχῃ, τι μετει̂χεν, οὔτε τὸ παράπαν ὀνομάσαι τω̂ν νυ̂ν ὀνομαζομένων ἀξιόλογον ἠ̂ν οὐδέν, οἱ̂ον πυ̂ρ καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ εἴ τι τω̂ν ἄλλων: ἀλλὰ πάντα ταυ̂τα

[69c] πρω̂τον διεκόσμησεν, ἔπειτ’ ἐκ τούτων πα̂ν τόδε συνεστήσατο, ζῳ̂ον ἓν ζῳ̂α ἔχον τὰ πάντα ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂ θνητὰ ἀθάνατά τε. καὶ τω̂ν μὲν θείων αὐτὸς γίγνεται δημιουργός, τω̂ν δὲ θνητω̂ν τὴν γένεσιν τοι̂ς ἑαυτου̂ γεννήμασιν δημιουργει̂ν προσέταξεν. οἱ δὲ μιμούμενοι, παραλαβόντες ἀρχὴν ψυχη̂ς ἀθάνατον, τὸ μετὰ του̂το θνητὸν σω̂μα αὐτῃ̂ περιετόρνευσαν ὄχημά τε πα̂ν τὸ σω̂μα ἔδοσαν ἄλλο τε εἰ̂δος ἐν αὐτῳ̂ ψυχη̂ς προσῳκοδόμουν τὸ θνητόν, δεινὰ καὶ ἀναγκαι̂α ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂

[69d] παθήματα ἔχον, πρω̂τον μὲν ἡδονήν, μέγιστον κακου̂ δέλεαρ, ἔπειτα λύπας, ἀγαθω̂ν φυγάς, ἔτι δ’ αὐ̂ θάρρος+ καὶ φόβον, ἄφρονε+ συμβούλω, θυμὸν δὲ δυσπαραμύθητον, ἐλπίδα δ’ εὐπαράγωγον: αἰσθήσει δὲ ἀλόγῳ καὶ ἐπιχειρητῃ̂ παντὸς ἔρωτι συγκερασάμενοι ταυ̂τα, ἀναγκαίως τὸ θνητὸν γένος συνέθεσαν. καὶ διὰ ταυ̂τα δὴ σεβόμενοι μιαίνειν τὸ θει̂ον, ὅτι μὴ πα̂σα ἠ̂ν ἀνάγκη, χωρὶς ἐκείνου κατοικίζουσιν εἰς

[69e] ἄλλην του̂ σώματος οἴκησιν τὸ θνητόν, ἰσθμὸν καὶ ὅρον διοικοδομήσαντες τη̂ς τε κεφαλη̂ς καὶ του̂ στήθους, αὐχένα μεταξὺ τιθέντες, ἵν’ εἴη χωρίς. ἐν δὴ τοι̂ς στήθεσιν καὶ τῳ̂ καλουμένῳ θώρακι τὸ τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς θνητὸν γένος ἐνέδουν. καὶ ἐπειδὴ τὸ μὲν ἄμεινον αὐτη̂ς, τὸ δὲ χει̂ρον ἐπεφύκει, διοικοδομου̂σι του̂ θώρακος αὐ̂ τὸ κύτος, διορίζοντες οἱ̂ον

[70a] γυναικω̂ν, τὴν δὲ ἀνδρω̂ν χωρὶς οἴκησιν, τὰς φρένας διάφραγμα εἰς τὸ μέσον αὐτω̂ν τιθέντες. τὸ μετέχον οὐ̂ν τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς ἀνδρείας καὶ θυμου̂, φιλόνικον ὄν, κατῴκισαν ἐγγυτέρω τη̂ς κεφαλη̂ς μεταξὺ τω̂ν φρενω̂ν τε καὶ αὐχένος, ἵνα του̂ λόγου κατήκοον ὂν κοινῃ̂ μετ’ ἐκείνου βίᾳ τὸ τω̂ν ἐπιθυμιω̂ν κατέχοι γένος, ὁπότ’ ἐκ τη̂ς ἀκροπόλεως τῳ̂ τ’ ἐπιτάγματι καὶ λόγῳ μηδαμῃ̂ πείθεσθαι ἑκὸν ἐθέλοι: τὴν δὲ δὴ καρδίαν

[70b] ἅμμα τω̂ν φλεβω̂ν καὶ πηγὴν του̂ περιφερομένου κατὰ πάντα τὰ μέλη σφοδρω̂ς αἵματος εἰς τὴν δορυφορικὴν οἴκησιν κατέστησαν, ἵνα, ὅτε ζέσειεν τὸ του̂ θυμου̂ μένος, του̂ λόγου παραγγείλαντος ὥς τις ἄδικος περὶ αὐτὰ γίγνεται πρα̂ξις ἔξωθεν ἢ καί τις ἀπὸ τω̂ν ἔνδοθεν ἐπιθυμιω̂ν, ὀξέως διὰ πάντων τω̂ν στενωπω̂ν πα̂ν ὅσον αἰσθητικὸν ἐν τῳ̂ σώματι, τω̂ν τε παρακελεύσεων καὶ ἀπειλω̂ν αἰσθανόμενον, γίγνοιτο ἐπήκοον καὶ ἕποιτο πάντῃ, καὶ τὸ βέλτιστον οὕτως ἐν αὐτοι̂ς

[70c] πα̂σιν ἡγεμονει̂ν ἐῳ̂. τῃ̂ δὲ δὴ πηδήσει τη̂ς καρδίας ἐν τῃ̂ τω̂ν δεινω̂ν προσδοκίᾳ καὶ τῃ̂ του̂ θυμου̂ ἐγέρσει, προγιγνώσκοντες ὅτι διὰ πυρὸς ἡ τοιαύτη πα̂σα ἔμελλεν οἴδησις γίγνεσθαι τω̂ν θυμουμένων, ἐπικουρίαν αὐτῃ̂ μηχανώμενοι τὴν του̂ πλεύμονος ἰδέαν ἐνεφύτευσαν, πρω̂τον μὲν μαλακὴν καὶ ἄναιμον, εἰ̂τα σήραγγας ἐντὸς ἔχουσαν οἱ̂ον σπόγγου κατατετρημένας, ἵνα τό τε πνευ̂μα καὶ τὸ πω̂μα δεχομένη,

[70d] ψύχουσα, ἀναπνοὴν καὶ ῥᾳστώνην ἐν τῳ̂ καύματι παρέχοι: διὸ δὴ τη̂ς ἀρτηρίας ὀχετοὺς ἐπὶ τὸν πλεύμονα ἔτεμον, καὶ περὶ τὴν καρδίαν αὐτὸν περιέστησαν οἱ̂ον μάλαγμα, ἵν’ ὁ θυμὸς ἡνίκα ἐν αὐτῃ̂ ἀκμάζοι, πηδω̂σα εἰς ὑπει̂κον καὶ ἀναψυχομένη, πονου̂σα ἡ̂ττον, μα̂λλον τῳ̂ λόγῳ μετὰ θυμου̂ δύναιτο ὑπηρετει̂ν. τὸ δὲ δὴ σίτων τε καὶ ποτω̂ν ἐπιθυμητικὸν τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς καὶ ὅσων ἔνδειαν διὰ τὴν του̂ σώματος ἴσχει φύσιν, του̂το

[70e] εἰς τὸ μεταξὺ τω̂ν τε φρενω̂ν καὶ του̂ πρὸς τὸν ὀμφαλὸν ὅρου κατῴκισαν, οἱ̂ον φάτνην ἐν ἅπαντι τούτῳ τῳ̂ τόπῳ τῃ̂ του̂ σώματος τροφῃ̂ τεκτηνάμενοι: καὶ κατέδησαν δὴ τὸ τοιου̂τον ἐνταυ̂θα ὡς θρέμμα ἄγριον, τρέφειν δὲ συνημμένον ἀναγκαι̂ον, εἴπερ τι μέλλοι ποτὲ θνητὸν ἔσεσθαι γένος. ἵν’ οὐ̂ν ἀεὶ νεμόμενον πρὸς φάτνῃ καὶ ὅτι πορρωτάτω του̂ βουλευομένου κατοικου̂ν, θόρυβον καὶ βοὴν ὡς ἐλαχίστην παρέχον,

[71a] τὸ κράτιστον καθ’ ἡσυχίαν περὶ του̂ πα̂σι κοινῃ̂ καὶ ἰδίᾳ συμφέροντος ἐῳ̂ βουλεύεσθαι, διὰ ταυ̂τα ἐνταυ̂θ’ ἔδοσαν αὐτῳ̂ τὴν τάξιν. εἰδότες δὲ αὐτὸ ὡς λόγου μὲν οὔτε συνήσειν ἔμελλεν, εἴ τέ πῃ καὶ μεταλαμβάνοι τινὸς αὐτω̂ν αἰσθήσεως, οὐκ ἔμφυτον αὐτῳ̂ τὸ μέλειν τινω̂ν ἔσοιτο λόγων, ὑπὸ δὲ εἰδώλων καὶ φαντασμάτων νυκτός τε καὶ μεθ’ ἡμέραν μάλιστα ψυχαγωγήσοιτο, τούτῳ δὴ θεὸς ἐπιβουλεύσας αὐτῳ̂ τὴν ἥπατος

[71b] ἰδέαν συνέστησε καὶ ἔθηκεν εἰς τὴν ἐκείνου κατοίκησιν, πυκνὸν καὶ λει̂ον καὶ λαμπρὸν καὶ γλυκὺ καὶ πικρότητα ἔχον μηχανησάμενος, ἵνα ἐν αὐτῳ̂ τω̂ν διανοημάτων ἡ ἐκ του̂ νου̂ φερομένη δύναμις, οἱ̂ον ἐν κατόπτρῳ δεχομένῳ τύπους καὶ κατιδει̂ν εἴδωλα παρέχοντι, φοβοι̂ μὲν αὐτό, ὁπότε μέρει τη̂ς πικρότητος χρωμένη συγγενει̂, χαλεπὴ προσενεχθει̂σα ἀπειλῃ̂, κατὰ πα̂ν ὑπομειγνυ̂σα ὀξέως τὸ ἡ̂παρ, χολώδη χρώματα ἐμφαίνοι, συνάγουσά τε πα̂ν ῥυσὸν καὶ τραχὺ ποιοι̂,

[71c] λοβὸν δὲ καὶ δοχὰς πύλας τε τὸ μὲν ἐξ ὀρθου̂ κατακάμπτουσα καὶ συσπω̂σα, τὰ δὲ ἐμφράττουσα συγκλείουσά τε, λύπας καὶ ἄσας παρέχοι, καὶ ὅτ’ αὐ̂ τἀναντία φαντάσματα ἀποζωγραφοι̂ πρᾳότητός τις ἐκ διανοίας ἐπίπνοια, τη̂ς μὲν πικρότητος ἡσυχίαν παρέχουσα τῳ̂ μήτε κινει̂ν μήτε προσάπτεσθαι τη̂ς ἐναντίας ἑαυτῃ̂ φύσεως ἐθέλειν, γλυκύτητι δὲ τῃ̂ κατ’ ἐκει̂νο συμφύτῳ πρὸς αὐτὸ χρωμένη καὶ πάντα

[71d] ὀρθὰ καὶ λει̂α αὐτου̂ καὶ ἐλεύθερα ἀπευθύνουσα, ἵλεών τε καὶ εὐήμερον ποιοι̂ τὴν περὶ τὸ ἡ̂παρ ψυχη̂ς μοι̂ραν κατῳκισμένην, ἔν τε τῃ̂ νυκτὶ διαγωγὴν ἔχουσαν μετρίαν, μαντείᾳ χρωμένην καθ’ ὕπνον, ἐπειδὴ λόγου καὶ φρονήσεως οὐ μετει̂χε. μεμνημένοι γὰρ τη̂ς του̂ πατρὸς ἐπιστολη̂ς οἱ συστήσαντες ἡμα̂ς, ὅτε τὸ θνητὸν ἐπέστελλεν γένος ὡς ἄριστον εἰς δύναμιν ποιει̂ν, οὕτω δὴ κατορθου̂ντες καὶ τὸ φαυ̂λον

[71e] ἡμω̂ν, ἵνα ἀληθείας πῃ προσάπτοιτο, κατέστησαν ἐν τούτῳ τὸ μαντει̂ον. ἱκανὸν δὲ σημει̂ον ὡς μαντικὴν ἀφροσύνῃ θεὸς ἀνθρωπίνῃ δέδωκεν: οὐδεὶς γὰρ ἔννους ἐφάπτεται μαντικη̂ς ἐνθέου καὶ ἀληθου̂ς+, ἀλλ’ ἢ καθ’ ὕπνον τὴν τη̂ς φρονήσεως πεδηθεὶς δύναμιν ἢ διὰ νόσον, ἢ διά τινα ἐνθουσιασμὸν παραλλάξας. ἀλλὰ συννοη̂σαι μὲν ἔμφρονος τά τε ῥηθέντα ἀναμνησθέντα ὄναρ ἢ ὕπαρ ὑπὸ τη̂ς μαντικη̂ς τε καὶ ἐνθουσιαστικη̂ς φύσεως, καὶ ὅσα ἂν φαντάσματα

[72a] ὀφθῃ̂, πάντα λογισμῳ̂ διελέσθαι ὅπῃ τι σημαίνει καὶ ὅτῳ μέλλοντος ἢ παρελθόντος ἢ παρόντος κακου̂ ἢ ἀγαθου̂: του̂ δὲ μανέντος ἔτι τε ἐν τούτῳ μένοντος οὐκ ἔργον τὰ φανέντα καὶ φωνηθέντα ὑφ’ ἑαυτου̂ κρίνειν, ἀλλ’ εὐ̂ καὶ πάλαι λέγεται τὸ πράττειν καὶ γνω̂ναι τά τε αὑτου̂ καὶ ἑαυτὸν σώφρονι μόνῳ προσήκειν. ὅθεν δὴ καὶ τὸ τω̂ν προφητω̂ν γένος ἐπὶ

[72b] ται̂ς ἐνθέοις μαντείαις κριτὰς ἐπικαθιστάναι νόμος: οὓς μάντεις αὐτοὺς ὀνομάζουσίν τινες, τὸ πα̂ν ἠγνοηκότες ὅτι τη̂ς δι’ αἰνιγμω̂ν οὑ̂τοι φήμης καὶ φαντάσεως ὑποκριταί, καὶ οὔτι μάντεις, προφη̂ται δὲ μαντευομένων δικαιότατα ὀνομάζοιντ’ ἄν. ἡ μὲν οὐ̂ν φύσις ἥπατος διὰ ταυ̂τα τοιαύτη τε καὶ ἐν τόπῳ ᾡ̂ λέγομεν πέφυκε, χάριν μαντικη̂ς: καὶ ἔτι μὲν δὴ ζω̂ντος ἑκάστου τὸ τοιου̂τον σημει̂α ἐναργέστερα ἔχει, στερηθὲν δὲ του̂ ζη̂ν γέγονε τυφλὸν καὶ τὰ μαντει̂α ἀμυδρότερα

[72c] ἔσχεν του̂ τι σαφὲς σημαίνειν. ἡ δ’ αὐ̂ του̂ γείτονος αὐτῳ̂ σύστασις καὶ ἕδρα σπλάγχνου γέγονεν ἐξ ἀριστερα̂ς χάριν ἐκείνου, του̂ παρέχειν αὐτὸ λαμπρὸν ἀεὶ καὶ καθαρόν, οἱ̂ον κατόπτρῳ παρεσκευασμένον καὶ ἕτοιμον ἀεὶ παρακείμενον ἐκμαγει̂ον. διὸ δὴ καὶ ὅταν τινὲς ἀκαθαρσίαι γίγνωνται διὰ νόσους σώματος περὶ τὸ ἡ̂παρ, πάντα ἡ σπληνὸς καθαίρουσα αὐτὰ δέχεται μανότης, ἅτε κοίλου καὶ ἀναίμου ὑφανθέντος:

[72d] ὅθεν πληρούμενος τω̂ν ἀποκαθαιρομένων μέγας καὶ ὕπουλος αὐξάνεται, καὶ πάλιν, ὅταν καθαρθῃ̂ τὸ σω̂μα, ταπεινούμενος εἰς ταὐτὸν συνίζει. τὰ μὲν οὐ̂ν περὶ ψυχη̂ς, ὅσον θνητὸν ἔχει καὶ ὅσον θει̂ον, καὶ ὅπῃ καὶ μεθ’ ὡ̂ν καὶ δι’ ἃ χωρὶς ᾠκίσθη, τὸ μὲν ἀληθὲς ὡς εἴρηται, θεου̂ συμφήσαντος τότ’ ἂν οὕτως μόνως διισχυριζοίμεθα: τό γε μὴν εἰκὸς ἡμι̂ν εἰρη̂σθαι, καὶ νυ̂ν καὶ ἔτι μα̂λλον ἀνασκοπου̂σι διακινδυνευτέον τὸ φάναι καὶ πεφάσθω.

[72e] τὸ δ’ ἑξη̂ς δὴ τούτοισιν κατὰ ταὐτὰ μεταδιωκτέον: ἠ̂ν δὲ τὸ του̂ σώματος ἐπίλοιπον ᾑ̂ γέγονεν. ἐκ δὴ λογισμου̂ τοιου̂δε συνίστασθαι μάλιστ’ ἂν αὐτὸ πάντων πρέποι. τὴν ἐσομένην ἐν ἡμι̂ν ποτω̂ν καὶ ἐδεστω̂ν ἀκολασίαν ᾔδεσαν οἱ συντιθέντες ἡμω̂ν τὸ γένος, καὶ ὅτι του̂ μετρίου καὶ ἀναγκαίου διὰ μαργότητα πολλῳ̂ χρησοίμεθα πλέονι: ἵν’ οὐ̂ν μὴ φθορὰ διὰ νόσους ὀξει̂α γίγνοιτο καὶ ἀτελὲς τὸ γένος εὐθὺς

[73a] τὸ θνητὸν τελευτῳ̂, ταυ̂τα προορώμενοι τῃ̂ του̂ περιγενησομένου πώματος ἐδέσματός τε ἕξει τὴν ὀνομαζομένην κάτω κοιλίαν ὑποδοχὴν ἔθεσαν, εἵλιξάν τε πέριξ τὴν τω̂ν ἐντέρων γένεσιν, ὅπως μὴ ταχὺ διεκπερω̂σα ἡ τροφὴ ταχὺ πάλιν τροφη̂ς ἑτέρας δει̂σθαι τὸ σω̂μα ἀναγκάζοι, καὶ παρέχουσα ἀπληστίαν, διὰ γαστριμαργίαν ἀφιλόσοφον καὶ ἄμουσον πα̂ν ἀποτελοι̂ τὸ γένος, ἀνυπήκοον του̂ θειοτάτου τω̂ν παρ’ ἡμι̂ν.

[73b] τὸ δὲ ὀστω̂ν καὶ σαρκω̂ν καὶ τη̂ς τοιαύτης φύσεως πέρι πάσης ὡ̂δε ἔσχεν. τούτοις σύμπασιν ἀρχὴ μὲν ἡ του̂ μυελου̂ γένεσις: οἱ γὰρ του̂ βίου δεσμοί, τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς τῳ̂ σώματι συνδουμένης, ἐν τούτῳ διαδούμενοι κατερρίζουν τὸ θνητὸν γένος: αὐτὸς δὲ ὁ μυελὸς γέγονεν ἐξ ἄλλων. τω̂ν γὰρ τριγώνων ὅσα πρω̂τα ἀστραβη̂ καὶ λει̂α ὄντα πυ̂ρ τε καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ ἀέρα καὶ γη̂ν δι’ ἀκριβείας μάλιστα ἠ̂ν παρασχει̂ν δυνατά, ταυ̂τα ὁ θεὸς ἀπὸ τω̂ν ἑαυτω̂ν ἕκαστα γενω̂ν χωρὶς

[73c] ἀποκρίνων, μειγνὺς δὲ ἀλλήλοις σύμμετρα, πανσπερμίαν παντὶ θνητῳ̂ γένει μηχανώμενος, τὸν μυελὸν ἐξ αὐτω̂ν ἀπηργάσατο, καὶ μετὰ ταυ̂τα δὴ φυτεύων ἐν αὐτῳ̂ κατέδει τὰ τω̂ν ψυχω̂ν γένη, σχημάτων τε ὅσα ἔμελλεν αὐ̂ σχήσειν οἱ̂ά τε καθ’ ἕκαστα εἴδη, τὸν μυελὸν αὐτὸν τοσαυ̂τα καὶ τοιαυ̂τα διῃρει̂το σχήματα εὐθὺς ἐν τῃ̂ διανομῃ̂ τῃ̂ κατ’ ἀρχάς. καὶ τὴν μὲν τὸ θει̂ον σπέρμα οἱ̂ον ἄρουραν μέλλουσαν ἕξειν ἐν αὑτῃ̂ περιφερη̂ πανταχῃ̂ πλάσας ἐπωνόμασεν του̂ μυελου̂

[73d] ταύτην τὴν μοι̂ραν ἐγκέφαλον, ὡς ἀποτελεσθέντος ἑκάστου ζῴου τὸ περὶ του̂τ’ ἀγγει̂ον κεφαλὴν γενησόμενον: ὃ δ’ αὐ̂ τὸ λοιπὸν καὶ θνητὸν τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς ἔμελλε καθέξειν, ἅμα στρογγύλα καὶ προμήκη διῃρει̂το σχήματα, μυελὸν δὲ πάντα ἐπεφήμισεν, καὶ καθάπερ ἐξ ἀγκυρω̂ν βαλλόμενος ἐκ τούτων πάσης ψυχη̂ς δεσμοὺς περὶ του̂το σύμπαν ἤδη τὸ σω̂μα ἡμω̂ν ἀπηργάζετο, στέγασμα μὲν αὐτῳ̂ πρω̂τον συμπηγνὺς περὶ

[73e] ὅλον ὀστέινον. τὸ δὲ ὀστου̂ν συνίστησιν ὡ̂δε. γη̂ν διαττήσας καθαρὰν καὶ λείαν ἐφύρασε καὶ ἔδευσεν μυελῳ̂, καὶ μετὰ του̂το εἰς πυ̂ρ αὐτὸ ἐντίθησιν, μετ’ ἐκει̂νο δὲ εἰς ὕδωρ βάπτει, πάλιν δὲ εἰς πυ̂ρ, αὐ̂θίς τε εἰς ὕδωρ: μεταφέρων δ’ οὕτω πολλάκις εἰς ἑκάτερον ὑπ’ ἀμφοι̂ν ἄτηκτον ἀπηργάσατο. καταχρώμενος δὴ τούτῳ περὶ μὲν τὸν ἐγκέφαλον αὐτου̂ σφαι̂ραν περιετόρνευσεν ὀστεί¨νην, ταύτῃ δὲ στενὴν διέξοδον

[74a] κατελείπετο: καὶ περὶ τὸν διαυχένιον ἅμα καὶ νωτιαι̂ον μυελὸν ἐξ αὐτου̂ σφονδύλους πλάσας ὑπέτεινεν οἱ̂ον στρόφιγγας, ἀρξάμενος ἀπὸ τη̂ς κεφαλη̂ς, διὰ παντὸς του̂ κύτους+. καὶ τὸ πα̂ν δὴ σπέρμα διασῴζων οὕτως λιθοειδει̂ περιβόλῳ συνέφραξεν, ἐμποιω̂ν ἄρθρα, τῃ̂ θατέρου προσχρώμενος ἐν αὐτοι̂ς ὡς μέσῃ ἐνισταμένῃ δυνάμει, κινήσεως καὶ κάμψεως ἕνεκα. τὴν δ’ αὐ̂ τη̂ς ὀστεί¨νης φύσεως ἕξιν ἡγησάμενος

[74b] του̂ δέοντος κραυροτέραν εἰ̂ναι καὶ ἀκαμπτοτέραν, διάπυρόν τ’ αὐ̂ γιγνομένην καὶ πάλιν ψυχομένην σφακελίσασαν ταχὺ διαφθερει̂ν τὸ σπέρμα ἐντὸς αὑτη̂ς, διὰ ταυ̂τα οὕτω τὸ τω̂ν νεύρων καὶ τὸ τη̂ς σαρκὸς γένος ἐμηχανα̂το, ἵνα τῳ̂ μὲν πάντα τὰ μέλη συνδήσας ἐπιτεινομένῳ καὶ ἀνιεμένῳ περὶ τοὺς στρόφιγγας καμπτόμενον τὸ σω̂μα καὶ ἐκτεινόμενον παρέχοι, τὴν δὲ σάρκα προβολὴν μὲν καυμάτων, πρόβλημα δὲ χειμώνων, ἔτι δὲ πτωμάτων οἱ̂ον τὰ πιλητὰ ἔσεσθαι κτήματα,

[74c] σώμασιν μαλακω̂ς καὶ πρᾴως ὑπείκουσαν, θερμὴν δὲ νοτίδα ἐντὸς ἑαυτη̂ς ἔχουσαν θέρους μὲν ἀνιδίουσαν καὶ νοτιζομένην ἔξωθεν ψυ̂χος κατὰ πα̂ν τὸ σω̂μα παρέξειν οἰκει̂ον, διὰ χειμω̂νος δὲ πάλιν αὐ̂ τούτῳ τῳ̂ πυρὶ τὸν προσφερόμενον ἔξωθεν καὶ περιιστάμενον πάγον ἀμυνει̂σθαι μετρίως. ταυ̂τα ἡμω̂ν διανοηθεὶς ὁ κηροπλάστης, ὕδατι μὲν καὶ πυρὶ καὶ γῃ̂ συμμείξας καὶ συναρμόσας, ἐξ ὀξέος καὶ ἁλμυρου̂ συνθεὶς

[74d] ζύμωμα ὑπομείξας αὐτοι̂ς, σάρκα ἔγχυμον καὶ μαλακὴν συνέστησεν: τὴν δὲ τω̂ν νεύρων+ φύσιν+ ἐξ ὀστου̂ καὶ σαρκὸς ἀζύμου κράσεως μίαν ἐξ ἀμφοι̂ν μέσην δυνάμει συνεκεράσατο, ξανθῳ̂ χρώματι προσχρώμενος. ὅθεν συντονωτέραν μὲν καὶ γλισχροτέραν σαρκω̂ν, μαλακωτέραν δὲ ὀστω̂ν ὑγροτέραν τε ἐκτήσατο δύναμιν νευ̂ρα: οἱ̂ς συμπεριλαβὼν ὁ θεὸς ὀστα̂ καὶ μυελόν, δήσας πρὸς ἄλληλα νεύροις, μετὰ ταυ̂τα σαρξὶν

[74e] πάντα αὐτὰ κατεσκίασεν ἄνωθεν. ὅσα μὲν οὐ̂ν ἐμψυχότατα τω̂ν ὀστω̂ν ἠ̂ν, ὀλιγίσταις συνέφραττε σαρξίν, ἃ δ’ ἀψυχότατα ἐντός, πλείσταις καὶ πυκνοτάταις, καὶ δὴ κατὰ τὰς συμβολὰς τω̂ν ὀστω̂ν, ὅπῃ μήτινα ἀνάγκην ὁ λόγος ἀπέφαινεν δει̂ν αὐτὰς εἰ̂ναι, βραχει̂αν σάρκα ἔφυσεν, ἵνα μήτε ἐμποδὼν ται̂ς καμπαι̂σιν οὐ̂σαι δύσφορα τὰ σώματα ἀπεργάζοιντο, ἅτε δυσκίνητα γιγνόμενα, μήτ’ αὐ̂ πολλαὶ καὶ πυκναὶ σφόδρα τε ἐν ἀλλήλαις ἐμπεπιλημέναι, διὰ στερεότητα ἀναισθησίαν ἐμποιου̂σαι, δυσμνημονευτότερα καὶ κωφότερα τὰ περὶ τὴν διάνοιαν ποιοι̂εν. διὸ δὴ τό τε τω̂ν μηρω̂ν καὶ κνημω̂ν καὶ

[75a] τὸ περὶ τὴν τω̂ν ἰσχίων φύσιν τά τε περὶ τὰ τω̂ν βραχιόνων ὀστα̂ καὶ τὰ τω̂ν πήχεων, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα ἡμω̂ν ἄναρθρα, ὅσα τε ἐντὸς ὀστα̂ δι’ ὀλιγότητα ψυχη̂ς ἐν μυελῳ̂ κενά ἐστιν φρονήσεως, ταυ̂τα πάντα συμπεπλήρωται σαρξίν: ὅσα δὲ ἔμφρονα, ἡ̂ττον — εἰ μή πού τινα αὐτὴν καθ’ αὑτὴν αἰσθήσεων ἕνεκα σάρκα οὕτω συνέστησεν, οἱ̂ον τὸ τη̂ς γλώττης εἰ̂δος — τὰ δὲ πλει̂στα ἐκείνως: ἡ γὰρ ἐξ ἀνάγκης γιγνομένη καὶ

[75b] συντρεφομένη φύσις οὐδαμῃ̂ προσδέχεται πυκνὸν ὀστου̂ν καὶ σάρκα πολλὴν ἅμα τε αὐτοι̂ς ὀξυήκοον αἴσθησιν. μάλιστα γὰρ ἂν αὐτὰ πάντων ἔσχεν ἡ περὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν σύστασις, εἴπερ ἅμα συμπίπτειν ἠθελησάτην, καὶ τὸ τω̂ν ἀνθρώπων γένος σαρκώδη ἔχον ἐφ’ ἑαυτῳ̂ καὶ νευρώδη κρατεράν τε κεφαλὴν βίον ἂν διπλου̂ν καὶ πολλαπλου̂ν καὶ ὑγιεινότερον καὶ ἀλυπότερον του̂ νυ̂ν κατεκτήσατο. νυ̂ν δὲ τοι̂ς περὶ τὴν ἡμετέραν γένεσιν δημιουργοι̂ς, ἀναλογιζομένοις πότερον πολυχρονιώτερον

[75c] χει̂ρον ἢ βραχυχρονιώτερον βέλτιον ἀπεργάσαιντο γένος, συνέδοξεν του̂ πλείονος βίου, φαυλοτέρου δέ, τὸν ἐλάττονα ἀμείνονα ὄντα παντὶ πάντως αἱρετέον: ὅθεν δὴ μανῳ̂ μὲν ὀστῳ̂, σαρξὶν δὲ καὶ νεύροις κεφαλήν, ἅτε οὐδὲ καμπὰς ἔχουσαν, οὐ συνεστέγασαν. κατὰ πάντα οὐ̂ν ταυ̂τα εὐαισθητοτέρα μὲν καὶ φρονιμωτέρα, πολὺ δὲ ἀσθενεστέρα παντὸς ἀνδρὸς προσετέθη κεφαλὴ σώματι. τὰ δὲ νευ̂ρα διὰ

[75d] ταυ̂τα καὶ οὕτως ὁ θεὸς ἐπ’ ἐσχάτην τὴν κεφαλὴν περιστήσας κύκλῳ περὶ τὸν τράχηλον ἐκόλλησεν ὁμοιότητι, καὶ τὰς σιαγόνας ἄκρας αὐτοι̂ς συνέδησεν ὑπὸ τὴν φύσιν του̂ προσώπου: τὰ δ’ ἄλλα εἰς ἅπαντα τὰ μέλη διέσπειρε, συνάπτων ἄρθρον ἄρθρῳ. τὴν δὲ δὴ του̂ στόματος ἡμω̂ν δύναμιν ὀδου̂σιν καὶ γλώττῃ καὶ χείλεσιν ἕνεκα τω̂ν ἀναγκαίων καὶ τω̂ν ἀρίστων διεκόσμησαν οἱ διακοσμου̂ντες ᾑ̂ νυ̂ν

[75e] διατέτακται, τὴν μὲν εἴσοδον τω̂ν ἀναγκαίων μηχανώμενοι χάριν, τὴν δ’ ἔξοδον τω̂ν ἀρίστων: ἀναγκαι̂ον μὲν γὰρ πα̂ν ὅσον εἰσέρχεται τροφὴν διδὸν τῳ̂ σώματι, τὸ δὲ λόγων να̂μα ἔξω ῥέον καὶ ὑπηρετου̂ν φρονήσει κάλλιστον καὶ ἄριστον πάντων ναμάτων. τὴν δ’ αὐ̂ κεφαλὴν οὔτε μόνον ὀστεί¨νην ψιλὴν δυνατὸν ἐα̂ν ἠ̂ν διὰ τὴν ἐν ται̂ς ὥραις ἐφ’ ἑκάτερον ὑπερβολήν, οὔτ’ αὐ̂ συσκιασθει̂σαν κωφὴν καὶ ἀναίσθητον διὰ τὸν τω̂ν σαρκω̂ν ὄχλον περιιδει̂ν γιγνομένην: τη̂ς δὴ

[76a] σαρκοειδου̂ς φύσεως οὐ καταξηραινομένης λέμμα μει̂ζον περιγιγνόμενον ἐχωρίζετο, δέρμα τὸ νυ̂ν λεγόμενον. του̂το δὲ διὰ τὴν περὶ τὸν ἐγκέφαλον νοτίδα συνιὸν αὐτὸ πρὸς αὑτὸ καὶ βλαστάνον κύκλῳ περιημφιέννυεν τὴν κεφαλήν: ἡ δὲ νοτὶς ὑπὸ τὰς ῥαφὰς ἀνιου̂σα ἠ̂ρδε καὶ συνέκλεισεν αὐτὸ ἐπὶ τὴν κορυφήν, οἱ̂ον ἅμμα συναγαγου̂σα, τὸ δὲ τω̂ν ῥαφω̂ν παντοδαπὸν εἰ̂δος γέγονε διὰ τὴν τω̂ν περιόδων δύναμιν καὶ τη̂ς τροφη̂ς, μα̂λλον μὲν ἀλλήλοις μαχομένων τούτων πλείους,

[76b] ἡ̂ττον δὲ ἐλάττους. του̂το δὴ πα̂ν τὸ δέρμα κύκλῳ κατεκέντει πυρὶ τὸ θει̂ον, τρηθέντος δὲ καὶ τη̂ς ἰκμάδος ἔξω δι’ αὐτου̂ φερομένης τὸ μὲν ὑγρὸν καὶ θερμὸν ὅσον εἰλικρινὲς ἀπῄειν, τὸ δὲ μεικτὸν ἐξ ὡ̂ν καὶ τὸ δέρμα ἠ̂ν, αἰρόμενον μὲν ὑπὸ τη̂ς φορα̂ς ἔξω μακρὸν ἐτείνετο, λεπτότητα ἴσην ἔχον τῳ̂ κατακεντήματι, διὰ δὲ βραδυτη̂τα ἀπωθούμενον ὑπὸ του̂ περιεστω̂τος ἔξωθεν πνεύματος πάλιν ἐντὸς ὑπὸ τὸ δέρμα

[76c] εἱλλόμενον κατερριζου̂το: καὶ κατὰ ταυ̂τα δὴ τὰ πάθη τὸ τριχω̂ν γένος ἐν τῳ̂ δέρματι πέφυκεν, συγγενὲς μὲν ἱμαντω̂δες ὂν αὐτου̂, σκληρότερον δὲ καὶ πυκνότερον τῃ̂ πιλήσει τη̂ς ψύξεως, ἣν ἀποχωριζομένη δέρματος ἑκάστη θρὶξ ψυχθει̂σα συνεπιλήθη. τούτῳ δὴ λασίαν ἡμω̂ν ἀπηργάσατο τὴν κεφαλὴν ὁ ποιω̂ν, χρώμενος μὲν αἰτίοις τοι̂ς εἰρημένοις, διανοούμενος δὲ ἀντὶ σαρκὸς αὐτὸ δει̂ν εἰ̂ναι στέγασμα τη̂ς

[76d] περὶ τὸν ἐγκέφαλον ἕνεκα ἀσφαλείας κου̂φον καὶ θέρους χειμω̂νός τε ἱκανὸν σκιὰν καὶ σκέπην παρέχειν, εὐαισθησίας δὲ οὐδὲν διακώλυμα ἐμποδὼν γενησόμενον. τὸ δ’ ἐν τῃ̂ περὶ τοὺς δακτύλους καταπλοκῃ̂ του̂ νεύρου καὶ του̂ δέρματος ὀστου̂ τε, συμμειχθὲν ἐκ τριω̂ν, ἀποξηρανθὲν ἓν κοινὸν συμπάντων σκληρὸν γέγονεν δέρμα, τοι̂ς μὲν συναιτίοις τούτοις δημιουργηθέν, τῃ̂ δὲ αἰτιωτάτῃ διανοίᾳ τω̂ν ἔπειτα ἐσομένων ἕνεκα εἰργασμένον. ὡς γάρ ποτε ἐξ ἀνδρω̂ν γυναι̂κες καὶ τἀ̂λλα

[76e] θηρία γενήσοιντο, ἠπίσταντο οἱ συνιστάντες ἡμα̂ς, καὶ δὴ καὶ τη̂ς τω̂ν ὀνύχων χρείας ὅτι πολλὰ τω̂ν θρεμμάτων καὶ ἐπὶ πολλὰ δεήσοιτο ᾔδεσαν, ὅθεν ἐν ἀνθρώποις εὐθὺς γιγνομένοις ὑπετυπώσαντο τὴν τω̂ν ὀνύχων γένεσιν. τούτῳ δὴ τῳ̂ λόγῳ καὶ ται̂ς προφάσεσιν ταύταις δέρμα τρίχας ὄνυχάς τε ἐπ’ ἄκροις τοι̂ς κώλοις ἔφυσαν. ἐπειδὴ δὲ πάντ’ ἠ̂ν τὰ του̂ θνητου̂ ζῴου συμπεφυκότα

[77a] μέρη καὶ μέλη, τὴν δὲ ζωὴν ἐν πυρὶ καὶ πνεύματι συνέβαινεν ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἔχειν αὐτῳ̂, καὶ διὰ ταυ̂τα ὑπὸ τούτων τηκόμενον κενούμενόν τ’ ἔφθινεν, βοήθειαν αὐτῳ̂ θεοὶ μηχανω̂νται. τη̂ς γὰρ ἀνθρωπίνης συγγενη̂ φύσεως φύσιν ἄλλαις ἰδέαις καὶ αἰσθήσεσιν κεραννύντες, ὥσθ’ ἕτερον ζῳ̂ον εἰ̂ναι, φυτεύουσιν: ἃ δὴ νυ̂ν ἥμερα δένδρα καὶ φυτὰ καὶ σπέρματα παιδευθέντα ὑπὸ γεωργίας τιθασω̂ς πρὸς ἡμα̂ς ἔσχεν, πρὶν δὲ ἠ̂ν μόνα τὰ

[77b] τω̂ν ἀγρίων γένη, πρεσβύτερα τω̂ν ἡμέρων ὄντα. πα̂ν γὰρ οὐ̂ν ὅτιπερ ἂν μετάσχῃ του̂ ζη̂ν, ζῳ̂ον μὲν ἂν ἐν δίκῃ λέγοιτο ὀρθότατα: μετέχει γε μὴν του̂το ὃ νυ̂ν λέγομεν του̂ τρίτου ψυχη̂ς εἴδους, ὃ μεταξὺ φρενω̂ν ὀμφαλου̂ τε ἱδρυ̂σθαι λόγος, ᾡ̂ δόξης μὲν λογισμου̂ τε καὶ νου̂ μέτεστιν τὸ μηδέν, αἰσθήσεως δὲ ἡδείας καὶ ἀλγεινη̂ς μετὰ ἐπιθυμιω̂ν. πάσχον γὰρ διατελει̂ πάντα, στραφέντι δ’ αὐτῳ̂ ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂ περὶ ἑαυτό, τὴν

[77c] μὲν ἔξωθεν ἀπωσαμένῳ κίνησιν, τῃ̂ δ’ οἰκείᾳ χρησαμένῳ, τω̂ν αὑτου̂ τι λογίσασθαι κατιδόντι φύσει οὐ παραδέδωκεν ἡ γένεσις. διὸ δὴ ζῃ̂ μὲν ἔστιν τε οὐχ ἕτερον ζῴου, μόνιμον δὲ καὶ κατερριζωμένον πέπηγεν διὰ τὸ τη̂ς ὑφ’ ἑαυτου̂ κινήσεως ἐστερη̂σθαι. ταυ̂τα δὴ τὰ γένη πάντα φυτεύσαντες οἱ κρείττους τοι̂ς ἥττοσιν ἡμι̂ν τροφήν, τὸ σω̂μα αὐτὸ ἡμω̂ν διωχέτευσαν τέμνοντες οἱ̂ον ἐν κήποις ὀχετούς, ἵνα ὥσπερ ἐκ νάματος ἐπιόντος ἄρδοιτο. καὶ πρω̂τον μὲν ὀχετοὺς κρυφαίους ὑπὸ

[77d] τὴν σύμφυσιν του̂ δέρματος καὶ τη̂ς σαρκὸς δύο φλέβας ἔτεμον νωτιαίας, δίδυμον ὡς τὸ σω̂μα ἐτύγχανεν δεξιοι̂ς τε καὶ ἀριστεροι̂ς ὄν: ταύτας δὲ καθη̂καν παρὰ τὴν ῥάχιν, καὶ τὸν γόνιμον μεταξὺ λαβόντες μυελόν, ἵνα οὑ̂τός τε ὅτι μάλιστα θάλλοι, καὶ ἐπὶ τἀ̂λλα εὔρους ἐντευ̂θεν ἅτε ἐπὶ κάταντες ἡ ἐπίχυσις γιγνομένη παρέχοι τὴν ὑδρείαν ὁμαλήν. μετὰ δὲ ταυ̂τα σχίσαντες περὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν τὰς φλέβας καὶ δι’

[77e] ἀλλήλων ἐναντίας πλέξαντες διει̂σαν, τὰς μὲν ἐκ τω̂ν δεξιω̂ν ἐπὶ τἀριστερὰ του̂ σώματος, τὰς δ’ ἐκ τω̂ν ἀριστερω̂ν ἐπὶ τὰ δεξιὰ κλίναντες, ὅπως δεσμὸς ἅμα τῃ̂ κεφαλῃ̂ πρὸς τὸ σω̂μα εἴη μετὰ του̂ δέρματος, ἐπειδὴ νεύροις οὐκ ἠ̂ν κύκλῳ κατὰ κορυφὴν περιειλημμένη, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ τω̂ν αἰσθήσεων πάθος ἵν’ ἀφ’ ἑκατέρων τω̂ν μερω̂ν εἰς ἅπαν τὸ σω̂μα εἴη διάδηλον. τὸ δ’ ἐντευ̂θεν ἤδη τὴν ὑδραγωγίαν παρεσκεύασαν τρόπῳ τινὶ

[78a] τοιῳ̂δε, ὃν κατοψόμεθα ῥᾳ̂ον προδιομολογησάμενοι τὸ τοιόνδε, ὅτι πάντα ὅσα ἐξ ἐλαττόνων συνίσταται στέγει τὰ μείζω, τὰ δὲ ἐκ μειζόνων τὰ σμικρότερα οὐ δύναται, πυ̂ρ δὲ πάντων γενω̂ν σμικρομερέστατον, ὅθεν δι’ ὕδατος καὶ γη̂ς ἀέρος τε καὶ ὅσα ἐκ τούτων συνίσταται διαχωρει̂ καὶ στέγειν οὐδὲν αὐτὸ δύναται. ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ περὶ τη̂ς παρ’ ἡμι̂ν κοιλίας διανοητέον, ὅτι σιτία μὲν καὶ ποτὰ ὅταν εἰς αὐτὴν ἐμπέσῃ,

[78b] στέγει, πνευ̂μα δὲ καὶ πυ̂ρ σμικρομερέστερα ὄντα τη̂ς αὑτη̂ς συστάσεως οὐ δύναται. τούτοις οὐ̂ν κατεχρήσατο ὁ θεὸς εἰς τὴν ἐκ τη̂ς κοιλίας ἐπὶ τὰς φλέβας ὑδρείαν, πλέγμα ἐξ ἀέρος καὶ πυρὸς οἱ̂ον οἱ κύρτοι συνυφηνάμενος, διπλα̂ κατὰ τὴν εἴσοδον ἐγκύρτια ἔχον, ὡ̂ν θάτερον αὐ̂ πάλιν διέπλεξεν δίκρουν: καὶ ἀπὸ τω̂ν ἐγκυρτίων δὴ διετείνατο οἱ̂ον σχοίνους κύκλῳ διὰ παντὸς πρὸς τὰ ἔσχατα του̂ πλέγματος. τὰ μὲν

[78c] οὐ̂ν ἔνδον ἐκ πυρὸς συνεστήσατο του̂ πλοκάνου ἅπαντα, τὰ δ’ ἐγκύρτια καὶ τὸ κύτος ἀεροειδη̂, καὶ λαβὼν αὐτὸ περιέστησεν τῳ̂ πλασθέντι ζῴῳ τρόπον τοιόνδε. τὸ μὲν τω̂ν ἐγκυρτίων εἰς τὸ στόμα μεθη̂κεν: διπλου̂ δὲ ὄντος αὐτου̂ κατὰ μὲν τὰς ἀρτηρίας εἰς τὸν πλεύμονα καθη̂κεν θάτερον, τὸ δ’ εἰς τὴν κοιλίαν παρὰ τὰς ἀρτηρίας: τὸ δ’ ἕτερον σχίσας τὸ μέρος ἑκάτερον κατὰ τοὺς ὀχετοὺς τη̂ς ῥινὸς ἀφη̂κεν κοινόν, ὥσθ’ ὅτε μὴ κατὰ στόμα ἴοι+ θάτερον, ἐκ τούτου πάντα καὶ τὰ

[78d] ἐκείνου ῥεύματα ἀναπληρου̂σθαι. τὸ δὲ ἄλλο κύτος του̂ κύρτου περὶ τὸ σω̂μα ὅσον κοι̂λον ἡμω̂ν περιέφυσεν, καὶ πα̂ν δὴ του̂το τοτὲ μὲν εἰς τὰ ἐγκύρτια συρρει̂ν μαλακω̂ς, ἅτε ἀέρα ὄντα, ἐποίησεν, τοτὲ δὲ ἀναρρει̂ν μὲν τὰ ἐγκύρτια, τὸ δὲ πλέγμα, ὡς ὄντος του̂ σώματος μανου̂, δύεσθαι εἴσω δι’ αὐτου̂ καὶ πάλιν ἔξω, τὰς δὲ ἐντὸς του̂ πυρὸς ἀκτι̂νας διαδεδεμένας ἀκολουθει̂ν ἐφ’ ἑκάτερα ἰόντος του̂ ἀέρος, καὶ του̂το,

[78e] ἕωσπερ ἂν τὸ θνητὸν συνεστήκῃ ζῳ̂ον, μὴ διαπαύεσθαι γιγνόμενον: τούτῳ δὲ δὴ τῳ̂ γένει τὸν τὰς ἐπωνυμίας θέμενον ἀναπνοὴν καὶ ἐκπνοὴν λέγομεν θέσθαι τοὔνομα. πα̂ν δὲ δὴ τό τ’ ἔργον καὶ τὸ πάθος του̂θ’ ἡμω̂ν τῳ̂ σώματι γέγονεν ἀρδομένῳ καὶ ἀναψυχομένῳ τρέφεσθαι καὶ ζη̂ν: ὁπόταν γὰρ εἴσω καὶ ἔξω τη̂ς ἀναπνοη̂ς ἰούσης τὸ πυ̂ρ ἐντὸς συνημμένον ἕπηται, διαιωρούμενον δὲ ἀεὶ διὰ τη̂ς κοιλίας εἰσελθὸν τὰ

[79a] σιτία καὶ ποτὰ λάβῃ, τήκει δή, καὶ κατὰ σμικρὰ διαιρου̂ν, διὰ τω̂ν ἐξόδων ᾑ̂περ πορεύεται διάγον, οἱ̂ον ἐκ κρήνης ἐπ’ ὀχετοὺς ἐπὶ τὰς φλέβας ἀντλου̂ν αὐτά, ῥει̂ν ὥσπερ αὐλω̂νος διὰ του̂ σώματος τὰ τω̂ν φλεβω̂ν ποιει̂ ῥεύματα. πάλιν δὲ τὸ τη̂ς ἀναπνοη̂ς ἴδωμεν πάθος, αἱ̂ς χρώμενον αἰτίαις τοιου̂τον γέγονεν οἱ̂όνπερ τὰ νυ̂ν ἐστιν. ὡ̂δ’ οὐ̂ν.

[79b] ἐπειδὴ κενὸν οὐδέν ἐστιν εἰς ὃ τω̂ν φερομένων δύναιτ’ ἂν εἰσελθει̂ν τι, τὸ δὲ πνευ̂μα φέρεται παρ’ ἡμω̂ν ἔξω, τὸ μετὰ του̂το ἤδη παντὶ δη̂λον ὡς οὐκ εἰς κενόν, ἀλλὰ τὸ πλησίον ἐκ τη̂ς ἕδρας ὠθει̂: τὸ δ’ ὠθούμενον ἐξελαύνει τὸ πλησίον ἀεί, καὶ κατὰ ταύτην τὴν ἀνάγκην πα̂ν περιελαυνόμενον εἰς τὴν ἕδραν ὅθεν ἐξη̂λθεν τὸ πνευ̂μα, εἰσιὸν ἐκει̂σε καὶ ἀναπληρου̂ν αὐτὴν συνέπεται τῳ̂ πνεύματι, καὶ του̂το ἅμα πα̂ν

[79c] οἱ̂ον τροχου̂ περιαγομένου γίγνεται διὰ τὸ κενὸν μηδὲν εἰ̂ναι. διὸ δὴ τὸ τω̂ν στηθω̂ν καὶ τὸ του̂ πλεύμονος ἔξω+ μεθιὲν τὸ πνευ̂μα πάλιν ὑπὸ του̂ περὶ τὸ σω̂μα ἀέρος, εἴσω διὰ μανω̂ν τω̂ν σαρκω̂ν δυομένου καὶ περιελαυνομένου, γίγνεται πλη̂ρες: αὐ̂θις δὲ ἀποτρεπόμενος ὁ ἀὴρ+ καὶ διὰ του̂ σώματος+ ἔξω ἰὼν εἴσω τὴν ἀναπνοὴν περιωθει̂ κατὰ τὴν του̂ στόματος καὶ τὴν τω̂ν μυκτήρων δίοδον. τὴν δ’ αἰτίαν τη̂ς ἀρχη̂ς αὐτω̂ν θετέον

[79d] τήνδε. πα̂ν ζῳ̂ον αὑτου̂ τἀντὸς περὶ τὸ αἱ̂μα καὶ τὰς φλέβας θερμότατα ἔχει, οἱ̂ον ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂ πηγήν τινα ἐνου̂σαν πυρός: ὃ δὴ καὶ προσῃκάζομεν τῳ̂ του̂ κύρτου πλέγματι, κατὰ μέσον διατεταμένον ἐκ πυρὸς πεπλέχθαι πα̂ν, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ὅσα ἔξωθεν, ἀέρος. τὸ θερμὸν δὴ κατὰ φύσιν εἰς τὴν αὑτου̂ χώραν ἔξω πρὸς τὸ συγγενὲς ὁμολογητέον ἰέναι: δυοι̂ν δὲ τοι̂ν διεξόδοιν οὔσαιν, τη̂ς μὲν κατὰ τὸ σω̂μα ἔξω, τη̂ς δὲ αὐ̂

[79e] κατὰ τὸ στόμα καὶ τὰς ῥι̂νας, ὅταν μὲν ἐπὶ θάτερα ὁρμήσῃ, θάτερα περιωθει̂, τὸ δὲ περιωσθὲν εἰς τὸ πυ̂ρ ἐμπι̂πτον θερμαίνεται, τὸ δ’ ἐξιὸν ψύχεται. μεταβαλλούσης δὲ τη̂ς θερμότητος καὶ τω̂ν κατὰ τὴν ἑτέραν ἔξοδον θερμοτέρων γιγνομένων πάλιν ἐκείνῃ ῥέπον αὐ̂ τὸ θερμότερον μα̂λλον, πρὸς τὴν αὑτου̂ φύσιν φερόμενον, περιωθει̂ τὸ κατὰ θάτερα: τὸ δὲ τὰ αὐτὰ πάσχον καὶ τὰ αὐτὰ ἀνταποδιδὸν ἀεί, κύκλον οὕτω σαλευόμενον ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα ἀπειργασμένον ὑπ’ ἀμφοτέρων τὴν ἀναπνοὴν καὶ ἐκπνοὴν γίγνεσθαι παρέχεται. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ τω̂ν περὶ τὰς ἰατρικὰς σικύας παθημάτων

[80a] αἴτια καὶ τὰ τη̂ς καταπόσεως τά τε τω̂ν ῥιπτουμένων, ὅσα ἀφεθέντα μετέωρα καὶ ὅσα ἐπὶ γη̂ς φέρεται, ταύτῃ διωκτέον, καὶ ὅσοι φθόγγοι ταχει̂ς τε καὶ βραδει̂ς ὀξει̂ς τε καὶ βαρει̂ς φαίνονται, τοτὲ μὲν ἀνάρμοστοι φερόμενοι δι’ ἀνομοιότητα τη̂ς ἐν ἡμι̂ν ὑπ’ αὐτω̂ν κινήσεως, τοτὲ δὲ σύμφωνοι δι’ ὁμοιότητα. τὰς γὰρ τω̂ν προτέρων καὶ θαττόνων οἱ βραδύτεροι κινήσεις ἀποπαυομένας ἤδη τε εἰς ὅμοιον ἐληλυθυίας,

[80b] αἱ̂ς ὕστερον αὐτοὶ προσφερόμενοι κινου̂σιν ἐκείνας, καταλαμβάνουσιν, καταλαμβάνοντες δὲ οὐκ ἄλλην ἐπεμβάλλοντες ἀνετάραξαν κίνησιν, ἀλλ’ ἀρχὴν βραδυτέρας φορα̂ς κατὰ τὴν τη̂ς θάττονος, ἀποληγούσης δέ, ὁμοιότητα προσάψαντες, μίαν ἐξ ὀξείας καὶ βαρείας συνεκεράσαντο πάθην: ὅθεν ἡδονὴν μὲν τοι̂ς ἄφροσιν, εὐφροσύνην δὲ τοι̂ς ἔμφροσιν διὰ τὴν τη̂ς θείας ἁρμονίας μίμησιν ἐν θνηται̂ς γενομένην φοραι̂ς παρέσχον. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ τω̂ν ὑδάτων πάντα ῥεύματα, ἔτι δὲ

[80c] τὰ τω̂ν κεραυνω̂ν πτώματα καὶ τὰ θαυμαζόμενα ἠλέκτρων περὶ τη̂ς ἕλξεως καὶ τω̂ν ̔Ηρακλείων λίθων, πάντων τούτων ὁλκὴ μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν οὐδενί ποτε, τὸ δὲ κενὸν εἰ̂ναι μηδὲν περιωθει̂ν τε αὑτὰ ταυ̂τα εἰς ἄλληλα, τό τε διακρινόμενα καὶ συγκρινόμενα πρὸς τὴν αὑτω̂ν διαμειβόμενα ἕδραν ἕκαστα ἰέναι πάντα, τούτοις τοι̂ς παθήμασιν πρὸς ἄλληλα συμπλεχθει̂σιν τεθαυματουργημένα τῳ̂ κατὰ τρόπον ζητου̂ντι φανήσεται.

[80d] καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ τη̂ς ἀναπνοη̂ς, ὅθεν ὁ λόγος ὥρμησεν, κατὰ ταυ̂τα καὶ διὰ τούτων γέγονεν, ὥσπερ ἐν τοι̂ς πρόσθεν εἴρηται, τέμνοντος μὲν τὰ σιτία του̂ πυρός, αἰωρουμένου δὲ ἐντὸς τῳ̂ πνεύματι συνεπομένου, τὰς φλέβας τε ἐκ τη̂ς κοιλίας τῃ̂ συναιωρήσει πληρου̂ντος τῳ̂ τὰ τετμημένα αὐτόθεν ἐπαντλει̂ν: καὶ διὰ ταυ̂τα δὴ καθ’ ὅλον τὸ σω̂μα πα̂σιν τοι̂ς ζῴοις τὰ τη̂ς τροφη̂ς νάματα οὕτως ἐπίρρυτα γέγονεν. νεότμητα δὲ καὶ ἀπὸ συγγενω̂ν ὄντα, τὰ μὲν καρπω̂ν, τὰ δὲ χλόης,

[80e] ἃ θεὸς ἐπ’ αὐτὸ του̂θ’ ἡμι̂ν ἐφύτευσεν, εἰ̂ναι τροφήν, παντοδαπὰ μὲν χρώματα ἴσχει διὰ τὴν σύμμειξιν, ἡ δ’ ἐρυθρὰ πλείστη περὶ αὐτὰ χρόα διαθει̂, τη̂ς του̂ πυρὸς τομη̂ς τε καὶ ἐξομόρξεως ἐν ὑγρῳ̂ δεδημιουργημένη φύσις. ὅθεν του̂ κατὰ τὸ σω̂μα ῥέοντος τὸ χρω̂μα ἔσχεν οἵαν ὄψιν διεληλύθαμεν ὃ καλου̂μεν αἱ̂μα, νομὴν σαρκω̂ν καὶ σύμπαντος του̂ σώματος,

[81a] ὅθεν ὑδρευόμενα ἕκαστα πληροι̂ τὴν του̂ κενουμένου βάσιν: ὁ δὲ τρόπος τη̂ς πληρώσεως ἀποχωρήσεώς τε γίγνεται καθάπερ ἐν τῳ̂ παντὶ παντὸς ἡ φορὰ γέγονεν, ἣν τὸ συγγενὲς πα̂ν φέρεται πρὸς ἑαυτό. τὰ μὲν γὰρ δὴ περιεστω̂τα ἐκτὸς ἡμα̂ς τήκει τε ἀεὶ καὶ διανέμει πρὸς ἕκαστον εἰ̂δος τὸ ὁμόφυλον ἀποπέμποντα, τὰ δὲ ἔναιμα αὐ̂, κερματισθέντα ἐντὸς παρ’ ἡμι̂ν καὶ περιειλημμένα ὥσπερ ὑπ’

[81b] οὐρανου̂ συνεστω̂τος ἑκάστου του̂ ζῴου, τὴν του̂ παντὸς ἀναγκάζεται μιμει̂σθαι φοράν: πρὸς τὸ συγγενὲς οὐ̂ν φερόμενον ἕκαστον τω̂ν ἐντὸς μερισθέντων τὸ κενωθὲν τότε πάλιν ἀνεπλήρωσεν. ὅταν μὲν δὴ πλέον του̂ ἐπιρρέοντος ἀπίῃ, φθίνει πα̂ν, ὅταν δὲ ἔλαττον, αὐξάνεται. νέα μὲν οὐ̂ν σύστασις του̂ παντὸς ζῴου, καινὰ τὰ τρίγωνα οἱ̂ον ἐκ δρυόχων ἔτι ἔχουσα τω̂ν γενω̂ν, ἰσχυρὰν μὲν τὴν σύγκλεισιν αὐτω̂ν πρὸς ἄλληλα κέκτηται, συμπέπηγεν δὲ ὁ πα̂ς ὄγκος αὐτη̂ς

[81c] ἁπαλός, ἅτ’ ἐκ μυελου̂ μὲν νεωστὶ γεγονυίας, τεθραμμένης δὲ ἐν γάλακτι: τὰ δὴ περιλαμβανόμενα ἐν αὐτῃ̂ τρίγωνα ἔξωθεν ἐπεισελθόντα, ἐξ ὡ̂ν ἂν ᾐ̂ τά τε σιτία καὶ ποτά, τω̂ν ἑαυτη̂ς τριγώνων παλαιότερα ὄντα καὶ ἀσθενέστερα καινοι̂ς ἐπικρατει̂ τέμνουσα, καὶ μέγα ἀπεργάζεται τὸ ζῳ̂ον τρέφουσα ἐκ πολλω̂ν ὁμοίων. ὅταν δ’ ἡ ῥίζα τω̂ν τριγώνων χαλᾳ̂ διὰ τὸ πολλοὺς ἀγω̂νας ἐν πολλῳ̂ χρόνῳ πρὸς πολλὰ

[81d] ἠγωνίσθαι, τὰ μὲν τη̂ς τροφη̂ς εἰσιόντα οὐκέτι δύναται τέμνειν εἰς ὁμοιότητα ἑαυτοι̂ς, αὐτὰ δὲ ὑπὸ τω̂ν ἔξωθεν ἐπεισιόντων εὐπετω̂ς διαιρει̂ται: φθίνει δὴ πα̂ν ζῳ̂ον ἐν τούτῳ κρατούμενον, γη̂ράς τε ὀνομάζεται τὸ πάθος. τέλος δέ, ἐπειδὰν τω̂ν περὶ τὸν μυελὸν τριγώνων οἱ συναρμοσθέντες μηκέτι ἀντέχωσιν δεσμοὶ τῳ̂ πόνῳ διιστάμενοι, μεθια̂σιν τοὺς τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς αὐ̂ δεσμούς, ἡ δὲ λυθει̂σα κατὰ φύσιν μεθ’ ἡδονη̂ς

[81e] ἐξέπτατο: πα̂ν γὰρ τὸ μὲν παρὰ φύσιν ἀλγεινόν, τὸ δ’ ᾑ̂ πέφυκεν γιγνόμενον ἡδύ. καὶ θάνατος δὴ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὁ μὲν κατὰ νόσους καὶ ὑπὸ τραυμάτων γιγνόμενος ἀλγεινὸς καὶ βίαιος, ὁ δὲ μετὰ γήρως ἰὼν ἐπὶ τέλος κατὰ φύσιν ἀπονώτατος τω̂ν θανάτων καὶ μα̂λλον μεθ’ ἡδονη̂ς γιγνόμενος ἢ λύπης. τὸ δὲ τω̂ν νόσων ὅθεν συνίσταται, δη̂λόν που καὶ παντί.

82a}} τεττάρων γὰρ ὄντων γενω̂ν ἐξ ὡ̂ν συμπέπηγεν τὸ σω̂μα, γη̂ς πυρὸς ὕδατός τε καὶ ἀέρος, τούτων ἡ παρὰ φύσιν πλεονεξία καὶ ἔνδεια καὶ τη̂ς χώρας μετάστασις ἐξ οἰκείας ἐπ’ ἀλλοτρίαν γιγνομένη, πυρός τε αὐ̂ καὶ τω̂ν ἑτέρων ἐπειδὴ γένη πλείονα ἑνὸς ὄντα τυγχάνει, τὸ μὴ προση̂κον ἕκαστον ἑαυτῳ̂ προσλαμβάνειν, καὶ πάνθ’ ὅσα τοιαυ̂τα, στάσεις καὶ νόσους παρέχει: παρὰ φύσιν γὰρ ἑκάστου γιγνομένου καὶ μεθισταμένου θερμαίνεται μὲν ὅσα ἂν πρότερον ψύχηται,

[82b] ξηρὰ δὲ ὄντα εἰς ὕστερον γίγνεται νοτερά, καὶ κου̂φα δὴ καὶ βαρέα, καὶ πάσας πάντῃ μεταβολὰς δέχεται. μόνως γὰρ δή, φαμέν, ταὐτὸν ταὐτῳ̂ κατὰ ταὐτὸν καὶ ὡσαύτως καὶ ἀνὰ λόγον προσγιγνόμενον καὶ ἀπογιγνόμενον ἐάσει ταὐτὸν ὂν αὑτῳ̂ σω̂ν καὶ ὑγιὲς μένειν: ὃ δ’ ἂν πλημμελήσῃ τι τούτων ἐκτὸς ἀπιὸν ἢ προσιόν, ἀλλοιότητας παμποικίλας καὶ νόσους φθοράς τε ἀπείρους παρέξεται. δευτέρων δὴ συστάσεων αὐ̂ κατὰ φύσιν συνεστηκυιω̂ν,

[82c] δευτέρα κατανόησις νοσημάτων τῳ̂ βουλομένῳ γίγνεται συννοη̂σαι. μυελου̂ γὰρ ἐξ ἐκείνων ὀστου̂ τε καὶ σαρκὸς καὶ νεύρου συμπαγέντος, ἔτι τε αἵματος ἄλλον μὲν τρόπον, ἐκ δὲ τω̂ν αὐτω̂ν γεγονότος, τω̂ν μὲν ἄλλων τὰ πλει̂στα ᾑ̂περ τὰ πρόσθεν, τὰ δὲ μέγιστα τω̂ν νοσημάτων τῃ̂δε χαλεπὰ συμπέπτωκεν: ὅταν ἀνάπαλιν ἡ γένεσις τούτων πορεύηται, τότε ταυ̂τα διαφθείρεται. κατὰ φύσιν γὰρ σάρκες μὲν καὶ νευ̂ρα ἐξ αἵματος γίγνεται, νευ̂ρον μὲν ἐξ ἰνω̂ν διὰ τὴν συγγένειαν,

[82d] σάρκες δὲ ἀπὸ του̂ παγέντος ὃ πήγνυται χωριζόμενον ἰνω̂ν: τὸ δὲ ἀπὸ τω̂ν νεύρων καὶ σαρκω̂ν ἀπιὸν αὐ̂ γλίσχρον καὶ λιπαρὸν ἅμα μὲν τὴν σάρκα κολλᾳ̂ πρὸς τὴν τω̂ν ὀστω̂ν φύσιν αὐτό τε τὸ περὶ τὸν μυελὸν ὀστου̂ν τρέφον αὔξει, τὸ δ’ αὐ̂ διὰ τὴν πυκνότητα τω̂ν ὀστω̂ν διηθούμενον καθαρώτατον γένος τω̂ν τριγώνων λειότατόν τε καὶ λιπαρώτατον, λειβόμενον ἀπὸ τω̂ν ὀστω̂ν καὶ στάζον, ἄρδει τὸν

[82e] μυελόν. καὶ κατὰ ταυ̂τα μὲν γιγνομένων ἑκάστων ὑγίεια συμβαίνει τὰ πολλά: νόσοι δέ, ὅταν ἐναντίως. ὅταν γὰρ τηκομένη σὰρξ ἀνάπαλιν εἰς τὰς φλέβας τὴν τηκεδόνα ἐξιῃ̂+, τότε μετὰ πνεύματος αἱ̂μα πολύ τε καὶ παντοδαπὸν ἐν ται̂ς φλεψὶ χρώμασι καὶ πικρότησι ποικιλλόμενον, ἔτι δὲ ὀξείαις καὶ ἁλμυραι̂ς δυνάμεσι, χολὰς καὶ ἰχω̂ρας καὶ φλέγματα παντοι̂α ἴσχει: παλιναίρετα γὰρ πάντα γεγονότα καὶ διεφθαρμένα τό τε αἱ̂μα αὐτὸ πρω̂τον διόλλυσι, καὶ αὐτὰ οὐδεμίαν

[83a] τροφὴν ἔτι τῳ̂ σώματι παρέχοντα φέρεται πάντῃ διὰ τω̂ν φλεβω̂ν, τάξιν τω̂ν κατὰ φύσιν οὐκέτ’ ἴσχοντα περιόδων, ἐχθρὰ μὲν αὐτὰ αὑτοι̂ς διὰ τὸ μηδεμίαν ἀπόλαυσιν ἑαυτω̂ν ἔχειν, τῳ̂ συνεστω̂τι δὲ του̂ σώματος καὶ μένοντι κατὰ χώραν πολέμια, διολλύντα καὶ τήκοντα. ὅσον μὲν οὐ̂ν ἂν παλαιότατον ὂν τη̂ς σαρκὸς τακῃ̂, δύσπεπτον γιγνόμενον μελαίνει μὲν ὑπὸ παλαια̂ς συγκαύσεως, διὰ δὲ τὸ πάντῃ διαβεβρω̂σθαι

[83b] πικρὸν ὂν παντὶ χαλεπὸν προσπίπτει του̂ σώματος ὅσον ἂν μήπω διεφθαρμένον ᾐ̂, καὶ τοτὲ μὲν ἀντὶ τη̂ς πικρότητος ὀξύτητα ἔσχεν τὸ μέλαν χρω̂μα, ἀπολεπτυνθέντος μα̂λλον του̂ πικρου̂, τοτὲ δὲ ἡ πικρότης αὐ̂ βαφει̂σα αἵματι χρω̂μα ἔσχεν ἐρυθρώτερον, του̂ δὲ μέλανος τούτῳ συγκεραννυμένου χλοω̂δες: ἔτι δὲ συμμείγνυται ξανθὸν χρω̂μα μετὰ τη̂ς πικρότητος, ὅταν νέα συντακῃ̂ σὰρξ ὑπὸ του̂ περὶ τὴν φλόγα πυρός. καὶ τὸ μὲν κοινὸν ὄνομα πα̂σιν τούτοις ἤ τινες

[83c] ἰατρω̂ν που χολὴν ἐπωνόμασαν, ἢ καί τις ὢν δυνατὸς εἰς πολλὰ μὲν καὶ ἀνόμοια βλέπειν, ὁρα̂ν δὲ ἐν αὐτοι̂ς ἓν γένος ἐνὸν ἄξιον ἐπωνυμίας πα̂σιν: τὰ δ’ ἄλλα ὅσα χολη̂ς εἴδη λέγεται, κατὰ τὴν χρόαν ἔσχεν λόγον αὐτω̂ν ἕκαστον ἴδιον. ἰχὼρ δέ, ὁ μὲν αἵματος ὀρὸς πρᾳ̂ος, ὁ δὲ μελαίνης χολη̂ς ὀξείας τε ἄγριος, ὅταν συμμειγνύηται διὰ θερμότητα ἁλμυρᾳ̂ δυνάμει: καλει̂ται δὲ ὀξὺ φλέγμα τὸ τοιου̂τον. τὸ δ’ αὐ̂ μετ’ ἀέρος τηκόμενον ἐκ νέας καὶ ἁπαλη̂ς σαρκός, τούτου δὲ

[83d] ἀνεμωθέντος καὶ συμπεριληφθέντος ὑπὸ ὑγρότητος, καὶ πομφολύγων συστασω̂ν ἐκ του̂ πάθους τούτου καθ’ ἑκάστην μὲν ἀοράτων διὰ σμικρότητα, συναπασω̂ν δὲ τὸν ὄγκον παρεχομένων ὁρατόν, χρω̂μα ἐχουσω̂ν διὰ τὴν του̂ ἀφρου̂ γένεσιν ἰδει̂ν λευκόν, ταύτην πα̂σαν τηκεδόνα ἁπαλη̂ς σαρκὸς μετὰ πνεύματος συμπλακει̂σαν λευκὸν εἰ̂ναι φλέγμα φαμέν. φλέγματος δὲ αὐ̂ νέου συνισταμένου ὀρὸς ἱδρὼς καὶ δάκρυον,

[83e] ὅσα τε ἄλλα τοιαυ̂τα σώματα τὸ καθ’ ἡμέραν χει̂ται καθαιρόμενα: καὶ ταυ̂τα μὲν δὴ πάντα νόσων ὄργανα γέγονεν, ὅταν αἱ̂μα μὴ ἐκ τω̂ν σιτίων καὶ ποτω̂ν πληθύσῃ κατὰ φύσιν, ἀλλ’ ἐξ ἐναντίων τὸν ὄγκον παρὰ τοὺς τη̂ς φύσεως λαμβάνῃ νόμους. διακρινομένης μὲν οὐ̂ν ὑπὸ νόσων τη̂ς σαρκὸς ἑκάστης, μενόντων δὲ τω̂ν πυθμένων αὐται̂ς ἡμίσεια τη̂ς συμφορα̂ς ἡ δύναμις — ἀνάληψιν γὰρ ἔτι μετ’ εὐπετείας ἴσχει —

[84a] τὸ δὲ δὴ σάρκας+ ὀστοι̂ς+ συνδου̂ν ὁπότ’+ ἂν νοσήσῃ, καὶ μηκέτι αὐτὸ ἐξ ἰνω̂ν †αἱ̂μα καὶ νεύρων ἀποχωριζόμενον ὀστῳ̂ μὲν τροφή, σαρκὶ δὲ πρὸς ὀστου̂ν γίγνηται δεσμός, ἀλλ’ ἐκ λιπαρου̂ καὶ λείου καὶ γλίσχρου τραχὺ καὶ ἁλμυρὸν αὐχμη̂σαν ὑπὸ κακη̂ς διαίτης γένηται, τότε ταυ̂τα πάσχον πα̂ν τὸ τοιου̂τον καταψήχεται μὲν αὐτὸ πάλιν ὑπὸ τὰς σάρκας καὶ τὰ νευ̂ρα, ἀφιστάμενον ἀπὸ τω̂ν ὀστω̂ν, αἱ δ’ ἐκ τω̂ν

[84b] ῥιζω̂ν συνεκπίπτουσαι τά τε νευ̂ρα γυμνὰ καταλείπουσι καὶ μεστὰ ἅλμης: αὐταὶ δὲ πάλιν εἰς τὴν αἵματος φορὰν ἐμπεσου̂σαι τὰ πρόσθεν ῥηθέντα νοσήματα πλείω ποιου̂σιν. χαλεπω̂ν δὲ τούτων περὶ τὰ σώματα παθημάτων γιγνομένων μείζω ἔτι γίγνεται τὰ πρὸ τούτων, ὅταν ὀστου̂ν διὰ πυκνότητα σαρκὸς ἀναπνοὴν μὴ λαμβάνον ἱκανήν, ὑπ’ εὐρω̂τος θερμαινόμενον, σφακελίσαν μήτε τὴν τροφὴν καταδέχηται

[84c] πάλιν τε αὐτὸ εἰς ἐκείνην ἐναντίως ἴῃ ψηχόμενον, ἡ δ’ εἰς σάρκας, σὰρξ δὲ εἰς αἱ̂μα ἐμπίπτουσα τραχύτερα πάντα τω̂ν πρόσθεν τὰ νοσήματα ἀπεργάζηται: τὸ δ’ ἔσχατον πάντων, ὅταν ἡ του̂ μυελου̂ φύσις+ ἀπ’ ἐνδείας ἤ τινος ὑπερβολη̂ς νοσήσῃ, τὰ μέγιστα καὶ κυριώτατα πρὸς θάνατον τω̂ν νοσημάτων ἀποτελει̂, πάσης ἀνάπαλιν τη̂ς του̂ σώματος φύσεως ἐξ ἀνάγκης ῥυείσης. τρίτον δ’ αὐ̂ νοσημάτων εἰ̂δος τριχῃ̂ δει̂ διανοει̂σθαι

[84d] γιγνόμενον, τὸ μὲν ὑπὸ πνεύματος, τὸ δὲ φλέγματος, τὸ δὲ χολη̂ς. ὅταν μὲν γὰρ ὁ τω̂ν πνευμάτων τῳ̂ σώματι ταμίας πλεύμων μὴ καθαρὰς παρέχῃ τὰς διεξόδους ὑπὸ ῥευμάτων φραχθείς, ἔνθα μὲν οὐκ ἰόν, ἔνθα δὲ πλει̂ον ἢ τὸ προση̂κον πνευ̂μα εἰσιὸν τὰ μὲν οὐ τυγχάνοντα ἀναψυχη̂ς σήπει, τὰ δὲ τω̂ν φλεβω̂ν διαβιαζόμενον καὶ συνεπιστρέφον αὐτὰ τη̂κόν τε τὸ σω̂μα εἰς τὸ μέσον αὐτου̂ διάφραγμά τ’ ἴσχον

[84e] ἐναπολαμβάνεται, καὶ μυρία δὴ νοσήματα ἐκ τούτων ἀλγεινὰ μετὰ πλήθους ἱδρω̂τος πολλάκις ἀπείργασται. πολλάκις δ’ ἐν τῳ̂ σώματι διακριθείσης σαρκὸς πνευ̂μα ἐγγενόμενον καὶ ἀδυνατου̂ν ἔξω πορευθη̂ναι τὰς αὐτὰς τοι̂ς ἐπεισεληλυθόσιν ὠδι̂νας παρέσχεν, μεγίστας δέ, ὅταν περὶ τὰ νευ̂ρα καὶ τὰ ταύτῃ φλέβια περιστὰν καὶ ἀνοιδη̂σαν τούς τε ἐπιτόνους καὶ τὰ συνεχη̂ νευ̂ρα οὕτως εἰς τὸ ἐξόπισθεν κατατείνῃ τούτοις: ἃ δὴ καὶ ἀπ’ αὐτου̂ τη̂ς συντονίας του̂ παθήματος τὰ νοσήματα τέτανοί τε καὶ ὀπισθότονοι προσερρήθησαν. ὡ̂ν καὶ τὸ φάρμακον χαλεπόν: πυρετοὶ γὰρ οὐ̂ν δὴ τὰ τοιαυ̂τα ἐπιγιγνόμενοι

[85a] μάλιστα λύουσιν. τὸ δὲ λευκὸν φλέγμα διὰ τὸ τω̂ν πομφολύγων πνευ̂μα χαλεπὸν ἀποληφθέν, ἔξω δὲ του̂ σώματος ἀναπνοὰς ἴσχον ἠπιώτερον μέν, καταποικίλλει δὲ τὸ σω̂μα λεύκας ἀλφούς τε καὶ τὰ τούτων συγγενη̂ νοσήματα ἀποτίκτον. μετὰ χολη̂ς δὲ μελαίνης κερασθὲν ἐπὶ τὰς περιόδους τε τὰς ἐν τῃ̂ κεφαλῃ̂ θειοτάτας οὔσας ἐπισκεδαννύμενον καὶ συνταράττον αὐτάς, καθ’ ὕπνον μὲν ἰὸν πρᾳύ¨τερον,

[85b] ἐγρηγορόσιν δὲ ἐπιτιθέμενον δυσαπαλλακτότερον: νόσημα δὲ ἱερα̂ς ὂν φύσεως ἐνδικώτατα ἱερὸν λέγεται. φλέγμα δ’ ὀξὺ καὶ ἁλμυρὸν πηγὴ πάντων νοσημάτων ὅσα γίγνεται καταρροϊκά: διὰ δὲ τοὺς τόπους εἰς οὓς ῥει̂ παντοδαποὺς ὄντας παντοι̂α ὀνόματα εἴληφεν. ὅσα δὲ φλεγμαίνειν λέγεται του̂ σώματος, ἀπὸ του̂ κάεσθαί τε καὶ φλέγεσθαι, διὰ χολὴν γέγονε πάντα. λαμβάνουσα μὲν οὐ̂ν ἀναπνοὴν ἔξω παντοι̂α

[85c] ἀναπέμπει φύματα ζέουσα, καθειργνυμένη δ’ ἐντὸς πυρίκαυτα νοσήματα πολλὰ ἐμποιει̂, μέγιστον δέ, ὅταν αἵματι καθαρῳ̂ συγκερασθει̂σα τὸ τω̂ν ἰνω̂ν γένος ἐκ τη̂ς ἑαυτω̂ν διαφορῃ̂ τάξεως, αἳ διεσπάρησαν μὲν εἰς αἱ̂μα, ἵνα συμμέτρως λεπτότητος ἴσχοι καὶ πάχους καὶ μήτε διὰ θερμότητα ὡς ὑγρὸν ἐκ μανου̂ του̂ σώματος ἐκρέοι, μήτ’ αὐ̂ πυκνότερον δυσκίνητον

[85d] ὂν μόλις ἀναστρέφοιτο ἐν ται̂ς φλεψίν. καιρὸν δὴ τούτων ἰ̂νες τῃ̂ τη̂ς φύσεως γενέσει φυλάττουσιν: ἃς ὅταν τις καὶ τεθνεω̂τος αἵματος ἐν ψύξει τε ὄντος πρὸς ἀλλήλας συναγάγῃ, διαχει̂ται πα̂ν τὸ λοιπὸν αἱ̂μα, ἐαθει̂σαι δὲ ταχὺ μετὰ του̂ περιεστω̂τος αὐτὸ ψύχους συμπηγνύασιν. ταύτην δὴ τὴν δύναμιν ἐχουσω̂ν ἰνω̂ν ἐν αἵματι χολὴ φύσει παλαιὸν αἱ̂μα γεγονυι̂α καὶ πάλιν ἐκ τω̂ν σαρκω̂ν εἰς του̂το τετηκυι̂α, θερμὴ καὶ ὑγρὰ κατ’ ὀλίγον τὸ πρω̂τον ἐμπίπτουσα πήγνυται

[85e] διὰ τὴν τω̂ν ἰνω̂ν δύναμιν, πηγνυμένη δὲ καὶ βίᾳ κατασβεννυμένη χειμω̂να καὶ τρόμον ἐντὸς παρέχει. πλείων δ’ ἐπιρρέουσα, τῃ̂ παρ’ αὐτη̂ς θερμότητι κρατήσασα τὰς ἰ̂νας εἰς ἀταξίαν ζέσασα διέσεισεν: καὶ ἐὰν μὲν ἱκανὴ διὰ τέλους κρατη̂σαι γένηται, πρὸς τὸ του̂ μυελου̂ διαπεράσασα γένος κάουσα ἔλυσεν τὰ τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς αὐτόθεν οἱ̂ον νεὼς πείσματα μεθη̂κέν τε ἐλευθέραν, ὅταν δ’ ἐλάττων ᾐ̂ τό τε σω̂μα ἀντίσχῃ τηκόμενον, αὐτὴ κρατηθει̂σα ἢ κατὰ πα̂ν τὸ σω̂μα ἐξέπεσεν, ἢ διὰ τω̂ν φλεβω̂ν εἰς τὴν κάτω συνωσθει̂σα ἢ τὴν ἄνω κοιλίαν, οἱ̂ον φυγὰς ἐκ πόλεως στασιασάσης ἐκ

[86a] του̂ σώματος ἐκπίπτουσα, διαρροίας καὶ δυσεντερίας καὶ τὰ τοιαυ̂τα νοσήματα πάντα παρέσχετο. τὸ μὲν οὐ̂ν ἐκ πυρὸς ὑπερβολη̂ς μάλιστα νοση̂σαν σω̂μα συνεχη̂ καύματα καὶ πυρετοὺς ἀπεργάζεται, τὸ δ’ ἐξ ἀέρος ἀμφημερινούς, τριταίους δ’ ὕδατος διὰ τὸ νωθέστερον ἀέρος καὶ πυρὸς αὐτὸ εἰ̂ναι: τὸ δὲ γη̂ς, τετάρτως ὂν νωθέστατον τούτων, ἐν τετραπλασίαις περιόδοις χρόνου καθαιρόμενον, τεταρταίους πυρετοὺς ποιη̂σαν ἀπαλλάττεται μόλις.

[86b] καὶ τὰ μὲν περὶ τὸ σω̂μα νοσήματα ταύτῃ συμβαίνει γιγνόμενα, τὰ δὲ περὶ ψυχὴν διὰ σώματος ἕξιν τῃ̂δε. νόσον μὲν δὴ ψυχη̂ς ἄνοιαν συγχωρητέον, δύο δ’ ἀνοίας γένη, τὸ μὲν μανίαν, τὸ δὲ ἀμαθίαν. πα̂ν οὐ̂ν ὅτι πάσχων τις πάθος ὁπότερον αὐτω̂ν ἴσχει, νόσον προσρητέον, ἡδονὰς δὲ καὶ λύπας ὑπερβαλλούσας τω̂ν νόσων μεγίστας θετέον τῃ̂ ψυχῃ̂: περιχαρὴς γὰρ ἄνθρωπος ὢν ἢ καὶ τἀναντία ὑπὸ

[86c] λύπης πάσχων, σπεύδων τὸ μὲν ἑλει̂ν ἀκαίρως, τὸ δὲ φυγει̂ν, οὔθ’ ὁρα̂ν οὔτε ἀκούειν ὀρθὸν οὐδὲν δύναται, λυττᾳ̂ δὲ καὶ λογισμου̂ μετασχει̂ν ἥκιστα τότε δὴ δυνατός. τὸ δὲ σπέρμα ὅτῳ πολὺ καὶ ῥυω̂δες περὶ τὸν μυελὸν γίγνεται καὶ καθαπερεὶ δένδρον πολυκαρπότερον του̂ συμμέτρου πεφυκὸς ᾐ̂, πολλὰς μὲν καθ’ ἕκαστον ὠδι̂νας, πολλὰς δ’ ἡδονὰς κτώμενος ἐν ται̂ς ἐπιθυμίαις καὶ τοι̂ς περὶ τὰ τοιαυ̂τα τόκοις, ἐμμανὴς τὸ πλει̂στον γιγνόμενος του̂ βίου διὰ τὰς μεγίστας ἡδονὰς

[86d] καὶ λύπας, νοσου̂σαν καὶ ἄφρονα ἴσχων ὑπὸ του̂ σώματος τὴν ψυχήν, οὐχ ὡς νοσω̂ν ἀλλ’ ὡς ἑκὼν κακὸς δοξάζεται: τὸ δὲ ἀληθὲς ἡ περὶ τὰ ἀφροδίσια ἀκολασία κατὰ τὸ πολὺ μέρος διὰ τὴν ἑνὸς γένους ἕξιν ὑπὸ μανότητος ὀστω̂ν ἐν σώματι ῥυώδη καὶ ὑγραίνουσαν νόσος ψυχη̂ς γέγονεν. καὶ σχεδὸν δὴ πάντα ὁπόσα ἡδονω̂ν ἀκράτεια καὶ ὄνειδος ὡς ἑκόντων λέγεται τω̂ν κακω̂ν, οὐκ ὀρθω̂ς ὀνειδίζεται: κακὸς

[86e] μὲν γὰρ ἑκὼν οὐδείς, διὰ δὲ πονηρὰν ἕξιν τινὰ του̂ σώματος καὶ ἀπαίδευτον τροφὴν ὁ κακὸς γίγνεται κακός, παντὶ δὲ ταυ̂τα ἐχθρὰ καὶ ἄκοντι προσγίγνεται. καὶ πάλιν δὴ τὸ περὶ τὰς λύπας ἡ ψυχὴ κατὰ ταὐτὰ διὰ σω̂μα πολλὴν ἴσχει κακίαν. ὅτου γὰρ ἂν ἢ τω̂ν ὀξέων καὶ τω̂ν ἁλυκω̂ν φλεγμάτων καὶ ὅσοι πικροὶ καὶ χολώδεις χυμοὶ κατὰ τὸ σω̂μα πλανηθέντες ἔξω μὲν μὴ λάβωσιν ἀναπνοήν, ἐντὸς δὲ εἱλλόμενοι

[87a] τὴν ἀφ’ αὑτω̂ν ἀτμίδα τῃ̂ τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς φορᾳ̂ συμμείξαντες ἀνακερασθω̂σι, παντοδαπὰ νοσήματα ψυχη̂ς ἐμποιου̂σι μα̂λλον καὶ ἡ̂ττον καὶ ἐλάττω καὶ πλείω, πρός τε τοὺς τρει̂ς τόπους ἐνεχθέντα τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς, πρὸς ὃν ἂν ἕκαστ’ αὐτω̂ν προσπίπτῃ, ποικίλλει μὲν εἴδη δυσκολίας καὶ δυσθυμίας παντοδαπά, ποικίλλει δὲ θρασύτητός τε καὶ δειλίας, ἔτι δὲ λήθης ἅμα καὶ δυσμαθίας. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις, ὅταν οὕτως

[87b] κακω̂ς παγέντων πολιτει̂αι κακαὶ καὶ λόγοι κατὰ πόλεις ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ λεχθω̂σιν, ἔτι δὲ μαθήματα μηδαμῃ̂ τούτων ἰατικὰ ἐκ νέων μανθάνηται, ταύτῃ κακοὶ πάντες οἱ κακοὶ διὰ δύο ἀκουσιώτατα γιγνόμεθα: ὡ̂ν αἰτιατέον μὲν τοὺς φυτεύοντας ἀεὶ τω̂ν φυτευομένων μα̂λλον καὶ τοὺς τρέφοντας τω̂ν τρεφομένων, προθυμητέον μήν, ὅπῃ τις δύναται, καὶ διὰ τροφη̂ς καὶ δι’ ἐπιτηδευμάτων μαθημάτων τε φυγει̂ν μὲν κακίαν, τοὐναντίον δὲ ἑλει̂ν. ταυ̂τα μὲν οὐ̂ν δὴ τρόπος ἄλλος λόγων.

[87c] τὸ δὲ τούτων ἀντίστροφον αὐ̂, τὸ περὶ τὰς τω̂ν σωμάτων καὶ διανοήσεων θεραπείας αἱ̂ς αἰτίαις σῴζεται, πάλιν εἰκὸς καὶ πρέπον ἀνταποδου̂ναι: δικαιότερον γὰρ τω̂ν ἀγαθω̂ν πέρι μα̂λλον ἢ τω̂ν κακω̂ν ἴσχειν λόγον. πα̂ν δὴ τὸ ἀγαθὸν καλόν, τὸ δὲ καλὸν οὐκ ἄμετρον: καὶ ζῳ̂ον οὐ̂ν τὸ τοιου̂τον ἐσόμενον σύμμετρον θετέον. συμμετριω̂ν δὲ τὰ μὲν σμικρὰ διαισθανόμενοι συλλογιζόμεθα, τὰ δὲ κυριώτατα καὶ μέγιστα

[87d] ἀλογίστως ἔχομεν. πρὸς γὰρ ὑγιείας καὶ νόσους ἀρετάς τε καὶ κακίας οὐδεμία συμμετρία καὶ ἀμετρία μείζων ἢ ψυχη̂ς αὐτη̂ς πρὸς σω̂μα αὐτό: ὡ̂ν οὐδὲν σκοπου̂μεν οὐδ’ ἐννοου̂μεν, ὅτι ψυχὴν ἰσχυρὰν καὶ πάντῃ μεγάλην ἀσθενέστερον καὶ ἔλαττον εἰ̂δος ὅταν ὀχῃ̂, καὶ ὅταν αὐ̂ τοὐναντίον συμπαγη̂τον τούτω, οὐ καλὸν ὅλον τὸ ζῳ̂ον — ἀσύμμετρον γὰρ ται̂ς μεγίσταις συμμετρίαις — τὸ δὲ ἐναντίως ἔχον πάντων θεαμάτων τῳ̂ δυναμένῳ καθορα̂ν κάλλιστον καὶ ἐρασμιώτατον.

[87e] οἱ̂ον οὐ̂ν ὑπερσκελὲς ἢ καί τινα ἑτέραν ὑπέρεξιν ἄμετρον ἑαυτῳ̂ τι σω̂μα ὂν ἅμα μὲν αἰσχρόν, ἅμα δ’ ἐν τῃ̂ κοινωνίᾳ τω̂ν πόνων πολλοὺς μὲν κόπους, πολλὰ δὲ σπάσματα καὶ διὰ τὴν παραφορότητα πτώματα παρέχον μυρίων κακω̂ν αἴτιον ἑαυτῳ̂, ταὐτὸν δὴ διανοητέον καὶ περὶ του̂ συναμφοτέρου, ζῳ̂ον ὃ καλου̂μεν, ὡς ὅταν τε ἐν αὐτῳ̂ ψυχὴ κρείττων

[88a] οὐ̂σα σώματος περιθύμως ἴσχῃ, διασείουσα πα̂ν αὐτὸ ἔνδοθεν νόσων ἐμπίμπλησι, καὶ ὅταν εἴς τινας μαθήσεις καὶ ζητήσεις συντόνως ἴῃ, κατατήκει, διδαχάς τ’ αὐ̂ καὶ μάχας ἐν λόγοις ποιουμένη δημοσίᾳ καὶ ἰδίᾳ δι’ ἐρίδων καὶ φιλονικίας γιγνομένων διάπυρον αὐτὸ ποιου̂σα σαλεύει, καὶ ῥεύματα ἐπάγουσα, τω̂ν λεγομένων ἰατρω̂ν ἀπατω̂σα τοὺς πλείστους, τἀναίται αἰτια̂σθαι ποιει̂: σω̂μά τε ὅταν αὐ̂ μέγα καὶ ὑπέρψυχον σμικρᾳ̂ συμφυὲς ἀσθενει̂ τε διανοίᾳ γένηται, διττω̂ν

[88b] ἐπιθυμιω̂ν οὐσω̂ν φύσει κατ’ ἀνθρώπους, διὰ σω̂μα μὲν τροφη̂ς, διὰ δὲ τὸ θειότατον τω̂ν ἐν ἡμι̂ν φρονήσεως, αἱ του̂ κρείττονος κινήσεις κρατου̂σαι καὶ τὸ μὲν σφέτερον αὔξουσαι, τὸ δὲ τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς κωφὸν καὶ δυσμαθὲς ἀμνη̂μόν τε ποιου̂σαι, τὴν μεγίστην νόσον ἀμαθίαν ἐναπεργάζονται. μία δὴ σωτηρία πρὸς ἄμφω, μήτε τὴν ψυχὴν ἄνευ σώματος κινει̂ν μήτε σω̂μα ἄνευ ψυχη̂ς, ἵνα ἀμυνομένω γίγνησθον ἰσορρόπω καὶ

[88c] ὑγιη̂. τὸν δὴ μαθηματικὸν ἤ τινα ἄλλην σφόδρα μελέτην διανοίᾳ κατεργαζόμενον καὶ τὴν του̂ σώματος ἀποδοτέον κίνησιν, γυμναστικῃ̂ προσομιλου̂ντα, τόν τε αὐ̂ σω̂μα ἐπιμελω̂ς πλάττοντα τὰς τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς ἀνταποδοτέον κινήσεις, μουσικῃ̂ καὶ πάσῃ φιλοσοφίᾳ προσχρώμενον, εἰ μέλλει δικαίως τις ἅμα μὲν καλός, ἅμα δὲ ἀγαθὸς ὀρθω̂ς κεκλη̂σθαι. κατὰ δὲ ταὐτὰ ταυ̂τα καὶ τὰ μέρη θεραπευτέον, τὸ του̂ παντὸς

[88d] ἀπομιμούμενον εἰ̂δος. του̂ γὰρ σώματος ὑπὸ τω̂ν εἰσιόντων καομένου τε ἐντὸς καὶ ψυχομένου, καὶ πάλιν ὑπὸ τω̂ν ἔξωθεν ξηραινομένου καὶ ὑγραινομένου καὶ τὰ τούτοις ἀκόλουθα πάσχοντος ὑπ’ ἀμφοτέρων τω̂ν κινήσεων, ὅταν μέν τις ἡσυχίαν ἄγον τὸ σω̂μα παραδιδῳ̂ ται̂ς κινήσεσι, κρατηθὲν διώλετο, ἐὰν δὲ ἥν τε τροφὸν καὶ τιθήνην του̂ παντὸς προσείπομεν μιμη̂ταί τις, καὶ τὸ σω̂μα μάλιστα μὲν μηδέποτε ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν ἐᾳ̂, κινῃ̂ δὲ καὶ σεισμοὺς ἀεί τινας ἐμποιω̂ν αὐτῳ̂ διὰ

[88e] παντὸς τὰς ἐντὸς καὶ ἐκτὸς ἀμύνηται κατὰ φύσιν κινήσεις, καὶ μετρίως σείων τά τε περὶ τὸ σω̂μα πλανώμενα παθήματα καὶ μέρη κατὰ συγγενείας εἰς τάξιν κατακοσμῃ̂ πρὸς ἄλληλα, κατὰ τὸν πρόσθεν λόγον ὃν περὶ του̂ παντὸς ἐλέγομεν, οὐκ ἐχθρὸν παρ’ ἐχθρὸν τιθέμενον ἐάσει πολέμους ἐντίκτειν τῳ̂ σώματι καὶ νόσους, ἀλλὰ φίλον παρὰ φίλον τεθὲν ὑγίειαν

[89a] ἀπεργαζόμενον παρέξει. τω̂ν δ’ αὐ̂ κινήσεων ἡ ἐν ἑαυτῳ̂ ὑφ’ αὑτου̂ ἀρίστη κίνησις — μάλιστα γὰρ τῃ̂ διανοητικῃ̂ καὶ τῃ̂ του̂ παντὸς κινήσει συγγενής — ἡ δὲ ὑπ’ ἄλλου χείρων: χειρίστη δὲ ἡ κειμένου του̂ σώματος καὶ ἄγοντος ἡσυχίαν δι’ ἑτέρων αὐτὸ κατὰ μέρη κινου̂σα. διὸ δὴ τω̂ν καθάρσεων καὶ συστάσεων του̂ σώματος ἡ μὲν διὰ τω̂ν γυμνασίων ἀρίστη, δευτέρα δὲ ἡ διὰ τω̂ν αἰωρήσεων κατά τε τοὺς πλου̂ς καὶ ὅπῃπερ ἂν ὀχήσεις ἄκοποι γίγνωνται: τρίτον δὲ εἰ̂δος κινήσεως

[89b] σφόδρα ποτὲ ἀναγκαζομένῳ χρήσιμον, ἄλλως δὲ οὐδαμω̂ς τῳ̂ νου̂ν ἔχοντι προσδεκτέον, τὸ τη̂ς φαρμακευτικη̂ς καθάρσεως γιγνόμενον ἰατρικόν. τὰ γὰρ νοσήματα, ὅσα μὴ μεγάλους ἔχει κινδύνους, οὐκ ἐρεθιστέον φαρμακείαις. πα̂σα γὰρ σύστασις νόσων τρόπον τινὰ τῃ̂ τω̂ν ζῴων φύσει προσέοικε. καὶ γὰρ ἡ τούτων σύνοδος ἔχουσα τεταγμένους του̂ βίου γίγνεται χρόνους του̂ τε γένους σύμπαντος, καὶ καθ’ αὑτὸ τὸ ζῳ̂ον εἱμαρμένον ἕκαστον ἔχον τὸν βίον φύεται,

[89c] χωρὶς τω̂ν ἐξ ἀνάγκης παθημάτων: τὰ γὰρ τρίγωνα εὐθὺς κατ’ ἀρχὰς ἑκάστου δύναμιν ἔχοντα συνίσταται μέχρι τινὸς χρόνου δυνατὰ ἐξαρκει̂ν, οὑ̂ βίον οὐκ ἄν ποτέ τις εἰς τὸ πέραν ἔτι βιῴη. τρόπος οὐ̂ν ὁ αὐτὸς καὶ τη̂ς περὶ τὰ νοσήματα συστάσεως: ἣν ὅταν τις παρὰ τὴν εἱμαρμένην του̂ χρόνου φθείρῃ φαρμακείαις, ἅμα ἐκ σμικρω̂ν μεγάλα καὶ πολλὰ ἐξ ὀλίγων νοσήματα φιλει̂ γίγνεσθαι. διὸ παιδαγωγει̂ν δει̂ διαίταις πάντα τὰ τοιαυ̂τα, καθ’ ὅσον ἂν ᾐ̂ τῳ σχολή,

[89d] ἀλλ’ οὐ φαρμακεύοντα κακὸν δύσκολον ἐρεθιστέον. καὶ περὶ μὲν του̂ κοινου̂ ζῴου καὶ του̂ κατὰ τὸ σω̂μα αὐτου̂ μέρους, ᾑ̂ τις ἂν καὶ διαπαιδαγωγω̂ν καὶ διαπαιδαγωγούμενος ὑφ’ αὑτου̂ μάλιστ’ ἂν κατὰ λόγον ζῴη, ταύτῃ λελέχθω: τὸ δὲ δὴ παιδαγωγη̂σον αὐτὸ μα̂λλόν που καὶ πρότερον παρασκευαστέον εἰς δύναμιν ὅτι κάλλιστον καὶ ἄριστον εἰς τὴν παιδαγωγίαν εἰ̂ναι. δι’ ἀκριβείας μὲν οὐ̂ν περὶ τούτων

[89e] διελθει̂ν ἱκανὸν ἂν γένοιτο αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ μόνον ἔργον: τὸ δ’ ἐν παρέργῳ κατὰ τὰ πρόσθεν ἑπόμενος ἄν τις οὐκ ἄπο τρόπου τῃ̂δε σκοπω̂ν ὡ̂δε τῳ̂ λόγῳ διαπεράναιτ’ ἄν. καθάπερ εἴπομεν πολλάκις, ὅτι τρία τριχῃ̂ ψυχη̂ς ἐν ἡμι̂ν εἴδη κατῴκισται, τυγχάνει δὲ ἕκαστον κινήσεις ἔχον, οὕτω κατὰ ταὐτὰ καὶ νυ̂ν ὡς διὰ βραχυτάτων ῥητέον ὅτι τὸ μὲν αὐτω̂ν ἐν ἀργίᾳ διάγον καὶ τω̂ν ἑαυτου̂ κινήσεων ἡσυχίαν ἄγον ἀσθενέστατον ἀνάγκη γίγνεσθαι, τὸ δ’ ἐν γυμνασίοις ἐρρωμενέστατον:

[90a] διὸ φυλακτέον ὅπως ἂν ἔχωσιν τὰς κινήσεις πρὸς ἄλληλα συμμέτρους. τὸ δὲ δὴ περὶ του̂ κυριωτάτου παρ’ ἡμι̂ν ψυχη̂ς εἴδους διανοει̂σθαι δει̂ τῃ̂δε, ὡς ἄρα αὐτὸ δαίμονα θεὸς ἑκάστῳ δέδωκεν, του̂το ὃ δή φαμεν οἰκει̂ν μὲν ἡμω̂ν ἐπ’ ἄκρῳ τῳ̂ σώματι, πρὸς δὲ τὴν ἐν οὐρανῳ̂ συγγένειαν ἀπὸ γη̂ς ἡμα̂ς αἴρειν ὡς ὄντας φυτὸν οὐκ ἔγγειον ἀλλὰ οὐράνιον, ὀρθότατα λέγοντες: ἐκει̂θεν γάρ, ὅθεν ἡ πρώτη τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς γένεσις ἔφυ, τὸ θει̂ον τὴν κεφαλὴν καὶ ῥίζαν ἡμω̂ν

[90b] ἀνακρεμαννὺν ὀρθοι̂ πα̂ν τὸ σω̂μα. τῳ̂ μὲν οὐ̂ν περὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας ἢ περὶ φιλονικίας τετευτακότι καὶ ταυ̂τα διαπονου̂ντι σφόδρα πάντα τὰ δόγματα ἀνάγκη θνητὰ ἐγγεγονέναι, καὶ παντάπασιν καθ’ ὅσον μάλιστα δυνατὸν θνητῳ̂ γίγνεσθαι, τούτου μηδὲ σμικρὸν ἐλλείπειν, ἅτε τὸ τοιου̂τον ηὐξηκότι: τῳ̂ δὲ περὶ φιλομαθίαν καὶ περὶ τὰς ἀληθει̂ς φρονήσεις ἐσπουδακότι καὶ ταυ̂τα μάλιστα τω̂ν αὑτου̂ γεγυμνασμένῳ

[90c] φρονει̂ν μὲν ἀθάνατα καὶ θει̂α, ἄνπερ ἀληθείας ἐφάπτηται, πα̂σα ἀνάγκη που, καθ’ ὅσον δ’ αὐ̂ μετασχει̂ν ἀνθρωπίνῃ φύσει ἀθανασίας ἐνδέχεται, τούτου μηδὲν μέρος ἀπολείπειν, ἅτε δὲ ἀεὶ θεραπεύοντα τὸ θει̂ον ἔχοντά τε αὐτὸν εὐ̂ κεκοσμημένον τὸν δαίμονα σύνοικον ἑαυτῳ̂, διαφερόντως εὐδαίμονα εἰ̂ναι. θεραπεία δὲ δὴ παντὶ παντὸς μία, τὰς οἰκείας ἑκάστῳ τροφὰς καὶ κινήσεις ἀποδιδόναι. τῳ̂ δ’ ἐν ἡμι̂ν θείῳ συγγενει̂ς εἰσιν κινήσεις αἱ του̂ παντὸς διανοήσεις

[90d] καὶ περιφοραί: ταύταις δὴ συνεπόμενον ἕκαστον δει̂, τὰς περὶ τὴν γένεσιν ἐν τῃ̂ κεφαλῃ̂ διεφθαρμένας ἡμω̂ν περιόδους ἐξορθου̂ντα διὰ τὸ καταμανθάνειν τὰς του̂ παντὸς ἁρμονίας τε καὶ περιφοράς, τῳ̂ κατανοουμένῳ τὸ κατανοου̂ν ἐξομοιω̂σαι κατὰ τὴν ἀρχαίαν φύσιν, ὁμοιώσαντα δὲ τέλος ἔχειν του̂ προτεθέντος ἀνθρώποις ὑπὸ θεω̂ν ἀρίστου βίου πρός τε τὸν παρόντα καὶ τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον.

[90e] καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ νυ̂ν ἡμι̂ν ἐξ ἀρχη̂ς παραγγελθέντα διεξελθει̂ν περὶ του̂ παντὸς μέχρι γενέσεως ἀνθρωπίνης σχεδὸν ἔοικε τέλος ἔχειν. τὰ γὰρ ἄλλα ζῳ̂α ᾑ̂ γέγονεν αὐ̂, διὰ βραχέων ἐπιμνηστέον, ὃ μή τις ἀνάγκη μηκύνειν: οὕτω γὰρ ἐμμετρότερός τις ἂν αὑτῳ̂ δόξειεν περὶ τοὺς τούτων λόγους εἰ̂ναι. τῃ̂δ’ οὐ̂ν τὸ τοιου̂τον ἔστω λεγόμενον. τω̂ν γενομένων ἀνδρω̂ν ὅσοι δειλοὶ καὶ τὸν βίον ἀδίκως διη̂λθον, κατὰ λόγον τὸν εἰκότα γυναι̂κες μετεφύοντο ἐν τῃ̂ δευτέρᾳ

[91a] γενέσει: καὶ κατ’ ἐκει̂νον δὴ τὸν χρόνον διὰ ταυ̂τα θεοὶ τὸν τη̂ς συνουσίας ἔρωτα ἐτεκτήναντο, ζῳ̂ον τὸ μὲν ἐν ἡμι̂ν, τὸ δ’ ἐν ται̂ς γυναιξὶν συστήσαντες ἔμψυχον, τοιῳ̂δε τρόπῳ ποιήσαντες ἑκάτερον. τὴν του̂ ποτου̂ διέξοδον, ᾑ̂ διὰ του̂ πλεύμονος τὸ πω̂μα ὑπὸ τοὺς νεφροὺς εἰς τὴν κύστιν ἐλθὸν καὶ τῳ̂ πνεύματι θλιφθὲν συνεκπέμπει δεχομένη, συνέτρησαν εἰς τὸν ἐκ τη̂ς κεφαλη̂ς κατὰ τὸν αὐχένα καὶ διὰ τη̂ς ῥάχεως

[91b] μυελὸν συμπεπηγότα, ὃν δὴ σπέρμα ἐν τοι̂ς πρόσθεν λόγοις εἴπομεν: ὁ δέ, ἅτ’ ἔμψυχος ὢν καὶ λαβὼν ἀναπνοήν, του̂θ’ ᾑ̂περ ἀνέπνευσεν, τη̂ς ἐκροη̂ς ζωτικὴν ἐπιθυμίαν ἐμποιήσας αὐτῳ̂, του̂ γεννα̂ν ἔρωτα ἀπετέλεσεν. διὸ δὴ τω̂ν μὲν ἀνδρω̂ν τὸ περὶ τὴν τω̂ν αἰδοίων φύσιν ἀπειθές τε καὶ αὐτοκρατὲς γεγονός, οἱ̂ον ζῳ̂ον ἀνυπήκοον του̂ λόγου, πάντων δι’ ἐπιθυμίας οἰστρώδεις ἐπιχειρει̂ κρατει̂ν: αἱ δ’ ἐν

[91c] ται̂ς γυναιξὶν αὐ̂ μη̂τραί τε καὶ ὑστέραι λεγόμεναι διὰ τὰ αὐτὰ ταυ̂τα, ζῳ̂ον ἐπιθυμητικὸν ἐνὸν τη̂ς παιδοποιίας, ὅταν ἄκαρπον παρὰ τὴν ὥραν χρόνον πολὺν γίγνηται, χαλεπω̂ς ἀγανακτου̂ν φέρει, καὶ πλανώμενον πάντῃ κατὰ τὸ σω̂μα, τὰς του̂ πνεύματος διεξόδους ἀποφράττον, ἀναπνει̂ν οὐκ ἐω̂ν εἰς ἀπορίας τὰς ἐσχάτας ἐμβάλλει καὶ νόσους παντοδαπὰς ἄλλας παρέχει, μέχριπερ ἂν ἑκατέρων ἡ ἐπιθυμία καὶ ὁ

[91d] ἔρως συναγαγόντες, οἱ̂ον ἀπὸ δένδρων καρπὸν καταδρέψαντες, ὡς εἰς ἄρουραν τὴν μήτραν ἀόρατα ὑπὸ σμικρότητος καὶ ἀδιάπλαστα ζῳ̂α κατασπείραντες καὶ πάλιν διακρίναντες μεγάλα ἐντὸς ἐκθρέψωνται καὶ μετὰ του̂το εἰς φω̂ς ἀγαγόντες ζῴων ἀποτελέσωσι γένεσιν. γυναι̂κες μὲν οὐ̂ν καὶ τὸ θη̂λυ πα̂ν οὕτω γέγονεν: τὸ δὲ τω̂ν ὀρνέων φυ̂λον μετερρυθμίζετο, ἀντὶ τριχω̂ν πτερὰ φύον, ἐκ τω̂ν ἀκάκων ἀνδρω̂ν, κούφων δέ, καὶ μετεωρολογικω̂ν μέν, ἡγουμένων δὲ δι’ ὄψεως

[91e] τὰς περὶ τούτων ἀποδείξεις βεβαιοτάτας εἰ̂ναι δι’ εὐήθειαν. τὸ δ’ αὐ̂ πεζὸν καὶ θηριω̂δες γέγονεν ἐκ τω̂ν μηδὲν προσχρωμένων φιλοσοφίᾳ μηδὲ ἀθρούντων τη̂ς περὶ τὸν οὐρανὸν φύσεως πέρι μηδέν, διὰ τὸ μηκέτι ται̂ς ἐν τῃ̂ κεφαλῃ̂ χρη̂σθαι περιόδοις, ἀλλὰ τοι̂ς περὶ τὰ στήθη τη̂ς ψυχη̂ς ἡγεμόσιν ἕπεσθαι μέρεσιν. ἐκ τούτων οὐ̂ν τω̂ν ἐπιτηδευμάτων τά τ’ ἐμπρόσθια κω̂λα καὶ τὰς κεφαλὰς εἰς γη̂ν ἑλκόμενα ὑπὸ συγγενείας ἤρεισαν, προμήκεις τε καὶ παντοίας ἔσχον τὰς

[92a] κορυφάς, ὅπῃ συνεθλίφθησαν ὑπὸ ἀργίας ἑκάστων αἱ περιφοραί: τετράπουν τε τὸ γένος αὐτω̂ν ἐκ ταύτης ἐφύετο καὶ πολύπουν τη̂ς προφάσεως, θεου̂ βάσεις ὑποτιθέντος πλείους τοι̂ς μα̂λλον ἄφροσιν, ὡς μα̂λλον ἐπὶ γη̂ν ἕλκοιντο. τοι̂ς δ’ ἀφρονεστάτοις αὐτω̂ν τούτων καὶ παντάπασιν πρὸς γη̂ν πα̂ν τὸ σω̂μα κατατεινομένοις ὡς οὐδὲν ἔτι ποδω̂ν χρείας οὔσης, ἄποδα αὐτὰ καὶ ἰλυσπώμενα ἐπὶ γη̂ς ἐγέννησαν. τὸ δὲ

[92b] τέταρτον γένος ἔνυδρον γέγονεν ἐκ τω̂ν μάλιστα ἀνοητοτάτων καὶ ἀμαθεστάτων, οὓς οὐδ’ ἀναπνοη̂ς καθαρα̂ς ἔτι ἠξίωσαν οἱ μεταπλάττοντες, ὡς τὴν ψυχὴν ὑπὸ πλημμελείας πάσης ἀκαθάρτως ἐχόντων, ἀλλ’ ἀντὶ λεπτη̂ς καὶ καθαρα̂ς ἀναπνοη̂ς ἀέρος εἰς ὕδατος θολερὰν καὶ βαθει̂αν ἔωσαν ἀνάπνευσιν: ὅθεν ἰχθύων ἔθνος καὶ τὸ τω̂ν ὀστρέων συναπάντων τε ὅσα ἔνυδρα γέγονεν, δίκην ἀμαθίας ἐσχάτης ἐσχάτας οἰκήσεις

[92c] εἰληχότων. καὶ κατὰ ταυ̂τα δὴ πάντα τότε καὶ νυ̂ν διαμείβεται τὰ ζῳ̂α εἰς ἄλληλα, νου̂ καὶ ἀνοίας ἀποβολῃ̂ καὶ κτήσει μεταβαλλόμενα. καὶ δὴ καὶ τέλος περὶ του̂ παντὸς νυ̂ν ἤδη τὸν λόγον ἡμι̂ν φω̂μεν ἔχειν: θνητὰ γὰρ καὶ ἀθάνατα ζῳ̂α λαβὼν καὶ συμπληρωθεὶς ὅδε ὁ κόσμος οὕτω, ζῳ̂ον ὁρατὸν τὰ ὁρατὰ περιέχον, εἰκὼν του̂ νοητου̂ θεὸς αἰσθητός, μέγιστος καὶ ἄριστος κάλλιστός τε καὶ τελεώτατος γέγονεν εἱ̂ς οὐρανὸς ὅδε μονογενὴς ὤν.

CRITIAS

Πρόσωπα: Τίμαιος, Κριτίας, Σωκράτης, ̔Ερμοκράτης

[106a] Τίμαιος

ὡς ἅσμενος, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἷον ἐκ μακρᾶς ἀναπεπαυμένος ὁδοῦ, νῦν οὕτως ἐκ τῆς τοῦ λόγου διαπορείας ἀγαπητῶς ἀπήλλαγμαι. τῷ δὲ πρὶν μὲν πάλαι ποτ’ ἔργῳ, νῦν δὲ λόγοις ἄρτι θεῷ γεγονότι προσεύχομαι, τῶν ῥηθέντων ὅσα μὲν ἐρρήθη μετρίως, σωτηρίαν ἡμῖν αὐτὸν αὐτῶν

[106b] διδόναι, παρὰ μέλος δὲ εἴ τι περὶ αὐτῶν ἄκοντες εἴπομεν, δίκην τὴν πρέπουσαν ἐπιτιθέναι. δίκη δὲ ὀρθὴ τὸν πλημμελοῦντα ἐμμελῆ ποιεῖν: ἵν’ οὖν τὸ λοιπὸν τοὺς περὶ θεῶν γενέσεως ὀρθῶς λέγωμεν λόγους, φάρμακον ἡμῖν αὐτὸν τελεώτατον καὶ ἄριστον φαρμάκων ἐπιστήμην εὐχόμεθα διδόναι, προσευξάμενοι δὲ παραδίδομεν κατὰ τὰς ὁμολογίας Κριτίᾳ τὸν ἑξῆς λόγον.

Κριτίας

ἀλλ’, ὦ Τίμαιε, δέχομαι μέν, ᾡ̂ δὲ καὶ σὺ κατ’

[106c] ἀρχὰς ἐχρήσω, συγγνώμην αἰτούμενος ὡς περὶ μεγάλων μέλλων λέγειν, ταὐτὸν καὶ νῦν ἐγὼ τοῦτο παραιτοῦμαι,

[107a] μειζόνως δὲ αὐτοῦ τυχεῖν ἔτι μᾶλλον ἀξιῶ περὶ τῶν μελλόντων ῥηθήσεσθαι. καίτοι σχεδὸν μὲν οἶδα παραίτησιν εὖ μάλα φιλότιμον καὶ τοῦ δέοντος ἀγροικοτέραν μέλλων παραιτεῖσθαι, ῥητέον δὲ ὅμως. ὡς μὲν γὰρ οὐκ εὖ τὰ παρὰ σοῦ λεχθέντα εἴρηται, τίς ἂν ἐπιχειρήσειεν ἔμφρων λέγειν; ὅτι δὲ τὰ ῥηθησόμενα πλείονος συγγνώμης δεῖται χαλεπώτερα ὄντα, τοῦτο πειρατέον πῃ διδάξαι. περὶ θεῶν γάρ, ὦ Τίμαιε, λέγοντά τι πρὸς ἀνθρώπους δοκεῖν ἱκανῶς

[107b] λέγειν ῥᾷον ἢ περὶ θνητῶν πρὸς ἡμᾶς. ἡ γὰρ ἀπειρία καὶ σφόδρα ἄγνοια τῶν ἀκουόντων περὶ ὧν ἂν οὕτως ἔχωσιν πολλὴν εὐπορίαν παρέχεσθον τῷ μέλλοντι λέγειν τι περὶ αὐτῶν: περὶ δὲ δὴ θεῶν ἴσμεν ὡς ἔχομεν. ἵνα δὲ σαφέστερον ὃ λέγω δηλώσω, τῇδέ μοι συνεπίσπεσθε. μίμησιν μὲν γὰρ δὴ καὶ ἀπεικασίαν τὰ παρὰ πάντων ἡμῶν ῥηθέντα χρεών που γενέσθαι: τὴν δὲ τῶν γραφέων εἰδωλοποιίαν περὶ τὰ θεῖά τε καὶ τὰ ἀνθρώπινα σώματα γιγνομένην

[107c] ἴδωμεν ῥᾳστώνης τε πέρι καὶ χαλεπότητος πρὸς τὸ τοῖς ὁρῶσιν δοκεῖν ἀποχρώντως μεμιμῆσθαι, καὶ κατοψόμεθα ὅτι γῆν μὲν καὶ ὄρη καὶ ποταμοὺς καὶ ὕλην οὐρανόν τε σύμπαντα καὶ τὰ περὶ αὐτὸν ὄντα καὶ ἰόντα πρῶτον μὲν ἀγαπῶμεν ἄν τίς τι καὶ βραχὺ πρὸς ὁμοιότητα αὐτῶν ἀπομιμεῖσθαι δυνατὸς ᾐ̂, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις, ἅτε οὐδὲν εἰδότες ἀκριβὲς περὶ τῶν τοιούτων, οὔτε ἐξετάζομεν οὔτε ἐλέγχομεν τὰ γεγραμμένα,

[107d] σκιαγραφίᾳ δὲ ἀσαφεῖ καὶ ἀπατηλῷ χρώμεθα περὶ αὐτά: τὰ δὲ ἡμέτερα ὁπόταν τις ἐπιχειρῇ σώματα ἀπεικάζειν, ὀξέως αἰσθανόμενοι τὸ παραλειπόμενον διὰ τὴν ἀεὶ σύνοικον κατανόησιν χαλεποὶ κριταὶ γιγνόμεθα τῷ μὴ πάσας πάντως τὰς ὁμοιότητας ἀποδιδόντι. ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ κατὰ τοὺς λόγους ἰδεῖν δεῖ γιγνόμενον, ὅτι τὰ μὲν οὐράνια καὶ θεῖα ἀγαπῶμεν καὶ σμικρῶς εἰκότα λεγόμενα, τὰ δὲ θνητὰ καὶ ἀνθρώπινα ἀκριβῶς ἐξετάζομεν. ἐκ δὴ τοῦ παραχρῆμα

[107e] νῦν λεγόμενα, τὸ πρέπον ἂν μὴ δυνώμεθα πάντως ἀποδιδόναι, συγγιγνώσκειν χρεών: οὐ γὰρ ὡς ῥᾴδια τὰ θνητὰ ἀλλ’ ὡς χαλεπὰ πρὸς δόξαν ὄντα ἀπεικάζειν δεῖ διανοεῖσθαι.

[108a] ταῦτα δὴ βουλόμενος ὑμᾶς ὑπομνῆσαι, καὶ τὸ τῆς συγγνώμης οὐκ ἔλαττον ἀλλὰ μεῖζον αἰτῶν περὶ τῶν μελλόντων ῥηθήσεσθαι, πάντα ταῦτα εἴρηκα, ὦ Σώκρατες. εἰ δὴ δικαίως αἰτεῖν φαίνομαι τὴν δωρεάν, ἑκόντες δίδοτε.

Σωκράτης

τί δ’ οὐ μέλλομεν, ὦ Κριτία, διδόναι; καὶ πρός γε ἔτι τρίτῳ δεδόσθω ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ̔Ερμοκράτει παρ’ ἡμῶν. δῆλον γὰρ ὡς ὀλίγον ὕστερον, ὅταν αὐτὸν δέῃ λέγειν,

[108b] παραιτήσεται καθάπερ ὑμεῖς: ἵν’ οὖν ἑτέραν ἀρχὴν ἐκπορίζηται καὶ μὴ τὴν αὐτὴν ἀναγκασθῇ λέγειν, ὡς ὑπαρχούσης αὐτῷ συγγνώμης εἰς τότε οὕτω λεγέτω. προλέγω γε μήν, ὦ φίλε Κριτία, σοὶ τὴν τοῦ θεάτρου διάνοιαν, ὅτι θαυμαστῶς ὁ πρότερος ηὐδοκίμηκεν ἐν αὐτῷ ποιητής, ὥστε τῆς συγγνώμης δεήσει τινός σοι παμπόλλης, εἰ μέλλεις αὐτὰ δυνατὸς γενέσθαι παραλαβεῖν.

̔Ερμοκράτης ταὐτὸν μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, κἀμοὶ παραγγέλλεις ὅπερ

[108c] τῷδε. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἀθυμοῦντες+ ἄνδρες+ οὔπω+ τρόπαιον ἔστησαν+, ὦ Κριτία: προϊέναι τε οὖν ἐπὶ τὸν λόγον ἀνδρείως χρή, καὶ τὸν Παίωνά τε καὶ τὰς μούσας ἐπικαλούμενον τοὺς παλαιοὺς πολίτας ἀγαθοὺς ὄντας ἀναφαίνειν τε καὶ ὑμνεῖν.

Κριτίας

ὦ φίλε ̔Ερμόκρατες, τῆς ὑστέρας τεταγμένος, ἐπίπροσθεν ἔχων ἄλλον, ἔτι θαρρεῖς. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν οἷόν ἐστιν, αὐτό σοι τάχα δηλώσει: παραμυθουμένῳ δ’ οὖν καὶ [108d] παραθαρρύνοντί σοι πειστέον, καὶ πρὸς οἷς θεοῖς εἶπες τούς τε ἄλλους κλητέον καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ μάλιστα Μνημοσύνην. σχεδὸν γὰρ τὰ μέγιστα ἡμῖν τῶν λόγων ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ θεῷ πάντ’ ἐστίν: μνησθέντες γὰρ ἱκανῶς καὶ ἀπαγγείλαντες τά ποτε ῥηθέντα ὑπὸ τῶν ἱερέων καὶ δεῦρο ὑπὸ Σόλωνος κομισθέντα σχεδὸν οἶδ’ ὅτι τῷδε τῷ θεάτρῳ δόξομεν τὰ προσήκοντα μετρίως ἀποτετελεκέναι. τοῦτ’ οὖν αὔτ’ ἤδη δραστέον, καὶ μελλητέον οὐδὲν ἔτι.

[108e] πάντων δὴ πρῶτον μνησθῶμεν ὅτι τὸ κεφάλαιον ἦν ἐνακισχίλια ἔτη, ἀφ’ οὑ̂ γεγονὼς ἐμηνύθη πόλεμος τοῖς θ’ ὑπὲρ ̔Ηρακλείας στήλας ἔξω κατοικοῦσιν καὶ τοῖς ἐντὸς πᾶσιν: ὃν δεῖ νῦν διαπεραίνειν. τῶν μὲν οὖν ἥδε ἡ πόλις ἄρξασα καὶ πάντα τὸν πόλεμον διαπολεμήσασα ἐλέγετο, τῶν δ’ οἱ τῆς ̓Ατλαντίδος νήσου βασιλῆς, ἣν δὴ Λιβύης καὶ ̓Ασίας μείζω νῆσον οὖσαν ἔφαμεν εἶναί ποτε, νῦν δὲ ὑπὸ σεισμῶν δῦσαν ἄπορον πηλὸν τοῖς ἐνθένδε ἐκπλέουσιν

[109a] ἐπὶ τὸ πᾶν πέλαγος, ὥστε μηκέτι πορεύεσθαι, κωλυτὴν παρασχεῖν. τὰ μὲν δὴ πολλὰ ἔθνη βάρβαρα, καὶ ὅσα ̔Ελλήνων ἦν γένη τότε, καθ’ ἕκαστα ἡ τοῦ λόγου διέξοδος οἷον ἀνειλλομένη τὸ προστυχὸν ἑκασταχοῦ δηλώσει: τὸ δὲ ̓Αθηναίων τε τῶν τότε καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων, οἷς διεπολέμησαν, ἀνάγκη κατ’ ἀρχὰς διελθεῖν πρῶτα, τήν τε δύναμιν ἑκατέρων καὶ τὰς πολιτείας. αὐτῶν δὲ τούτων τὰ τῇδε ἔμπροσθεν προτιμητέον εἰπεῖν.

[109b] θεοὶ γὰρ ἅπασαν γῆν ποτε κατὰ τοὺς τόπους διελάγχανον — οὐ κατ’ ἔριν: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ὀρθὸν ἔχοι λόγον θεοὺς ἀγνοεῖν τὰ πρέποντα ἑκάστοις αὑτῶν, οὐδ’ αὖ γιγνώσκοντας τὸ μᾶλλον ἄλλοις προσῆκον τοῦτο ἑτέρους αὑτοῖς δι’ ἐρίδων ἐπιχειρεῖν κτᾶσθαι — δίκης δὴ κλήροις τὸ φίλον λαγχάνοντες κατῴκιζον τὰς χώρας, καὶ κατοικίσαντες, οἷον νομῆς ποίμνια, κτήματα καὶ θρέμματα ἑαυτῶν ἡμᾶς ἔτρεφον, πλὴν οὐ σώμασι

[109c] σώματα βιαζόμενοι, καθάπερ ποιμένες κτήνη πληγῇ νέμοντες, ἀλλ’ ᾗ μάλιστα εὔστροφον ζῷον, ἐκ πρύμνης ἀπευθύνοντες, οἷον οἴακι πειθοῖ ψυχῆς ἐφαπτόμενοι κατὰ τὴν αὐτῶν διάνοιαν, οὕτως ἄγοντες τὸ θνητὸν πᾶν ἐκυβέρνων. ἄλλοι μὲν οὖν κατ’ ἄλλους τόπους κληρουχήσαντες θεῶν ἐκεῖνα ἐκόσμουν, ̔´Ηφαιστος δὲ κοινὴν καὶ ̓Αθηνᾶ φύσιν ἔχοντες, ἅμα μὲν ἀδελφὴν ἐκ ταὐτοῦ πατρός, ἅμα δὲ φιλοσοφίᾳ φιλοτεχνίᾳ τε ἐπὶ τὰ αὐτὰ ἐλθόντες, οὕτω μίαν ἄμφω λῆξιν τήνδε τὴν χώραν εἰλήχατον ὡς οἰκείαν καὶ πρόσφορον ἀρετῇ

[109d] καὶ φρονήσει πεφυκυῖαν, ἄνδρας δὲ ἀγαθοὺς ἐμποιήσαντες αὐτόχθονας ἐπὶ νοῦν ἔθεσαν τὴν τῆς πολιτείας τάξιν: ὧν τὰ μὲν ὀνόματα σέσωται, τὰ δὲ ἔργα διὰ τὰς τῶν παραλαμβανόντων φθορὰς καὶ τὰ μήκη τῶν χρόνων ἠφανίσθη. τὸ γὰρ περιλειπόμενον ἀεὶ γένος, ὥσπερ καὶ πρόσθεν ἐρρήθη, κατελείπετο ὄρειον καὶ ἀγράμματον, τῶν ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ δυναστῶν τὰ ὀνόματα ἀκηκοὸς μόνον καὶ βραχέα πρὸς αὐτοῖς τῶν ἔργων. τὰ μὲν οὖν ὀνόματα τοῖς ἐκγόνοις ἐτίθεντο

[109e] ἀγαπῶντες, τὰς δὲ ἀρετὰς καὶ τοὺς νόμους τῶν ἔμπροσθεν οὐκ εἰδότες, εἰ μὴ σκοτεινὰς περὶ ἑκάστων τινὰς ἀκοάς, ἐν ἀπορίᾳ δὲ τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἐπὶ πολλὰς γενεὰς ὄντες αὐτοὶ

[110a] καὶ παῖδες, πρὸς οἷς ἠπόρουν τὸν νοῦν ἔχοντες, τούτων πέρι καὶ τοὺς λόγους ποιούμενοι, τῶν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν καὶ πάλαι ποτὲ γεγονότων ἠμέλουν. μυθολογία γὰρ ἀναζήτησίς τε τῶν παλαιῶν μετὰ σχολῆς ἅμ’ ἐπὶ τὰς πόλεις ἔρχεσθον, ὅταν ἴδητόν τισιν ἤδη τοῦ βίου τἀναγκαῖα κατεσκευασμένα, πρὶν δὲ οὔ. ταύτῃ δὴ τὰ τῶν παλαιῶν ὀνόματα ἄνευ τῶν ἔργων διασέσωται. λέγω δὲ αὐτὰ τεκμαιρόμενος ὅτι Κέκροπός τε καὶ ̓Ερεχθέως καὶ ̓Εριχθονίου καὶ ̓Ερυσίχθονος

[110b] τῶν τε ἄλλων τὰ πλεῖστα ὅσαπερ καὶ Θησέως τῶν ἄνω περὶ τῶν ὀνομάτων ἑκάστων ἀπομνημονεύεται, τούτων ἐκείνους τὰ πολλὰ ἐπονομάζοντας τοὺς ἱερέας Σόλων ἔφη τὸν τότε διηγεῖσθαι πόλεμον, καὶ τὰ τῶν γυναικῶν κατὰ τὰ αὐτά. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ τῆς θεοῦ σχῆμα καὶ ἄγαλμα, ὡς κοινὰ τότ’ ἦν τὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα ταῖς τε γυναιξὶ καὶ τοῖς ἀνδράσι τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον, οὕτω κατ’ ἐκεῖνον τὸν νόμον ὡπλισμένην τὴν θεὸν ἀνάθημα εἶναι τοῖς τότε, ἔνδειγμα ὅτι πάνθ’

[110c] ὅσα σύννομα ζῷα θήλεα καὶ ὅσα ἄρρενα, τὴν προσήκουσαν ἀρετὴν ἑκάστῳ γένει πᾶν κοινῇ δυνατὸν ἐπιτηδεύειν πέφυκεν. ὤικει δὲ δὴ τότ’ ἐν τῇδε τῇ χώρᾳ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ἔθνη τῶν πολιτῶν περὶ τὰς δημιουργίας ὄντα καὶ τὴν ἐκ τῆς γῆς τροφήν, τὸ δὲ μάχιμον ὑπ’ ἀνδρῶν θείων κατ’ ἀρχὰς ἀφορισθὲν ᾤκει χωρίς, πάντα εἰς τροφὴν καὶ παίδευσιν τὰ προσήκοντα ἔχον, ἴδιον μὲν αὐτῶν οὐδεὶς οὐδὲν κεκτημένος,

[110d] ἅπαντα δὲ πάντων κοινὰ νομίζοντες αὑτῶν, πέρα δὲ ἱκανῆς τροφῆς οὐδὲν ἀξιοῦντες παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων δέχεσθαι πολιτῶν, καὶ πάντα δὴ τὰ χθὲς λεχθέντα ἐπιτηδεύματα ἐπιτηδεύοντες, ὅσα περὶ τῶν ὑποτεθέντων ἐρρήθη φυλάκων. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ περὶ τῆς χώρας ἡμῶν πιθανὸν καὶ ἀληθὲς ἐλέγετο, πρῶτον μὲν τοὺς ὅρους αὐτὴν ἐν τῷ τότ’ ἔχειν ἀφωρισμένους πρὸς τὸν ̓Ισθμὸν καὶ τὸ κατὰ τὴν ἄλλην ἤπειρον μέχρι τοῦ

[110e] Κιθαιρῶνος καὶ Πάρνηθος τῶν ἄκρων, καταβαίνειν δὲ τοὺς ὅρους ἐν δεξιᾷ τὴν ̓Ωρωπίαν ἔχοντας, ἐν ἀριστερᾷ δὲ πρὸς θαλάττης ἀφορίζοντας τὸν ̓Ασωπόν: ἀρετῇ δὲ πᾶσαν γῆν ὑπὸ τῆς ἐνθάδε ὑπερβάλλεσθαι, διὸ καὶ δυνατὴν εἶναι τότε τρέφειν τὴν χώραν στρατόπεδον πολὺ τῶν περὶ γῆν ἀργὸν ἔργων. μέγα δὲ τεκμήριον ἀρετῆς: τὸ γὰρ νῦν αὐτῆς λείψανον ἐνάμιλλόν ἐστι πρὸς ἡντινοῦν τῷ πάμφορον εὔκαρπόν

[111a] τε εἶναι καὶ τοῖς ζῴοις πᾶσιν εὔβοτον. τότε δὲ πρὸς τῷ κάλλει καὶ παμπλήθη ταῦτα ἔφερεν. πῶς οὖν δὴ τοῦτο πιστόν, καὶ κατὰ τί λείψανον τῆς τότε γῆς ὀρθῶς ἂν λέγοιτο; πᾶσα ἀπὸ τῆς ἄλλης ἠπείρου μακρὰ προτείνουσα εἰς τὸ πέλαγος οἷον ἄκρα κεῖται: τὸ δὴ τῆς θαλάττης ἀγγεῖον περὶ αὐτὴν τυγχάνει πᾶν ἀγχιβαθὲς ὄν. πολλῶν οὖν γεγονότων καὶ μεγάλων κατακλυσμῶν ἐν τοῖς ἐνακισχιλίοις ἔτεσι — τοσαῦτα γὰρ πρὸς τὸν νῦν ἀπ’ ἐκείνου τοῦ χρόνου

[111b] γέγονεν ἔτη — τὸ τῆς γῆς ἐν τούτοις τοῖς χρόνοις καὶ πάθεσιν ἐκ τῶν ὑψηλῶν ἀπορρέον οὔτε χῶμα, ὡς ἐν ἄλλοις τόποις, προχοῖ λόγου ἄξιον ἀεί τε κύκλῳ περιρρέον εἰς βάθος ἀφανίζεται: λέλειπται δή, καθάπερ ἐν ταῖς σμικραῖς νήσοις, πρὸς τὰ τότε τὰ νῦν οἷον νοσήσαντος σώματος ὀστᾶ, περιερρυηκυίας τῆς γῆς ὅση πίειρα καὶ μαλακή, τοῦ λεπτοῦ σώματος τῆς χώρας μόνου λειφθέντος. τότε δὲ ἀκέραιος

[111c] οὖσα τά τε ὄρη γηλόφους ὑψηλοὺς εἶχε, καὶ τὰ φελλέως νῦν ὀνομασθέντα+ πεδία+ πλήρη γῆς πιείρας ἐκέκτητο, καὶ πολλὴν ἐν τοῖς ὄρεσιν ὕλην εἶχεν, ἧς καὶ νῦν ἔτι φανερὰ τεκμήρια: τῶν γὰρ ὀρῶν ἔστιν ἃ νῦν μὲν ἔχει μελίτταις μόναις τροφήν, χρόνος δ’ οὐ πάμπολυς ὅτε δένδρων †αὐτόθεν εἰς οἰκοδομήσεις τὰς μεγίστας ἐρεψίμων τμηθέντων στεγάσματ’ ἐστὶν ἔτι σᾶ. πολλὰ δ’ ἦν ἄλλ’ ἥμερα ὑψηλὰ δένδρα, νομὴν δὲ βοσκήμασιν ἀμήχανον ἔφερεν. καὶ δὴ καὶ

[111d] τὸ κατ’ ἐνιαυτὸν ὕδωρ ἐκαρποῦτ’ ἐκ Διός, οὐχ ὡς νῦν ἀπολλῦσα ῥέον ἀπὸ ψιλῆς τῆς γῆς εἰς θάλατταν, ἀλλὰ πολλὴν ἔχουσα καὶ εἰς αὐτὴν καταδεχομένη, τῇ κεραμίδι στεγούσῃ γῇ διαταμιευομένη, τὸ καταποθὲν ἐκ τῶν ὑψηλῶν ὕδωρ εἰς τὰ κοῖλα ἀφιεῖσα κατὰ πάντας τοὺς τόπους παρείχετο ἄφθονα κρηνῶν καὶ ποταμῶν νάματα, ὧν καὶ νῦν ἔτι ἐπὶ ταῖς πηγαῖς πρότερον οὔσαις ἱερὰ λελειμμένα ἐστὶν σημεῖα ὅτι περὶ αὐτῆς ἀληθῆ λέγεται τὰ νῦν.

[111e] τὰ μὲν οὖν τῆς ἄλλης χώρας φύσει τε οὕτως εἶχε, καὶ διεκεκόσμητο ὡς εἰκὸς ὑπὸ γεωργῶν μὲν ἀληθινῶν καὶ πραττόντων αὐτὸ τοῦτο, φιλοκάλων δὲ καὶ εὐφυῶν, γῆν δὲ ἀρίστην καὶ ὕδωρ ἀφθονώτατον ἐχόντων καὶ ὑπὲρ τῆς γῆς ὥρας μετριώτατα κεκραμένας: τὸ δ’ ἄστυ κατῳκισμένον ὧδ’ ἦν ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ. πρῶτον μὲν τὸ τῆς ἀκροπόλεως εἶχε

[112a] τότε οὐχ ὡς τὰ νῦν ἔχει. νῦν μὲν γὰρ μία γενομένη νὺξ ὑγρὰ διαφερόντως γῆς αὐτὴν ψιλὴν περιτήξασα πεποίηκε, σεισμῶν ἅμα καὶ πρὸ τῆς ἐπὶ Δευκαλίωνος φθορᾶς τρίτου πρότερον ὕδατος ἐξαισίου γενομένου: τὸ δὲ πρὶν ἐν ἑτέρῳ χρόνῳ μέγεθος μὲν ἦν πρὸς τὸν ̓Ηριδανὸν καὶ τὸν ̓Ιλισὸν ἀποβεβηκυῖα καὶ περιειληφυῖα ἐντὸς τὴν Πύκνα καὶ τὸν Λυκαβηττὸν ὅρον ἐκ τοῦ καταντικρὺ τῆς Πυκνὸς ἔχουσα, γεώδης δ’ ἦν πᾶσα καὶ πλὴν ὀλίγον ἐπίπεδος ἄνωθεν.

[112b] ᾠκεῖτο δὲ τὰ μὲν ἔξωθεν, ὑπ’ αὐτὰ τὰ πλάγια αὐτῆς, ὑπὸ τῶν δημιουργῶν καὶ τῶν γεωργῶν ὅσοι πλησίον ἐγεώργουν: τὰ δ’ ἐπάνω τὸ μάχιμον αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ μόνον γένος περὶ τὸ τῆς ̓Αθηνᾶς ̔Ηφαίστου τε ἱερὸν κατῳκήκειν, οἷον μιᾶς οἰκίας κῆπον ἑνὶ περιβόλῳ προσπεριβεβλημένοι. τὰ γὰρ πρόσβορρα αὐτῆς ᾤκουν οἰκίας κοινὰς καὶ συσσίτια χειμερινὰ κατασκευασάμενοι, καὶ πάντα ὅσα πρέποντ’ ἦν τῇ κοινῇ

[112c] πολιτείᾳ δι’ οἰκοδομήσεων ὑπάρχειν αὐτῶν καὶ τῶν ἱερῶν, ἄνευ χρυσοῦ καὶ ἀργύρου — τούτοις γὰρ οὐδὲν οὐδαμόσε προσεχρῶντο, ἀλλὰ τὸ μέσον ὑπερηφανίας καὶ ἀνελευθερίας μεταδιώκοντες κοσμίας ᾠκοδομοῦντο οἰκήσεις, ἐν αἷς αὐτοί τε καὶ ἐκγόνων ἔκγονοι καταγηρῶντες ἄλλοις ὁμοίοις τὰς αὐτὰς ἀεὶ παρεδίδοσαν — τὰ δὲ πρὸς νότου, κήπους καὶ γυμνάσια συσσίτιά τε ἀνέντες οἷα θέρους, κατεχρῶντο ἐπὶ ταῦτα αὐτοῖς. κρήνη δ’ ἦν μία κατὰ τὸν τῆς νῦν ἀκροπόλεως τόπον, ἧς

[112d] ἀποσβεσθείσης ὑπὸ τῶν σεισμῶν τὰ νῦν νάματα μικρὰ κύκλῳ καταλέλειπται, τοῖς δὲ τότε πᾶσιν παρεῖχεν ἄφθονον ῥεῦμα, εὐκρὰς οὖσα πρὸς χειμῶνά τε καὶ θέρος. τούτῳ δὴ κατῴκουν τῷ σχήματι, τῶν μὲν αὑτῶν πολιτῶν φύλακες, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων ̔Ελλήνων ἡγεμόνες ἑκόντων, πλῆθος δὲ διαφυλάττοντες ὅτι μάλιστα ταὐτὸν αὑτῶν εἶναι πρὸς τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον ἀνδρῶν καὶ γυναικῶν, τὸ δυνατὸν πολεμεῖν ἤδη καὶ τὸ ἔτι, περὶ δύο

[112e] μάλιστα ὄντας μυριάδας. οὑ̂τοι μὲν οὖν δὴ τοιοῦτοί τε ὄντες αὐτοὶ καί τινα τοιοῦτον ἀεὶ τρόπον τήν τε αὑτῶν καὶ τὴν ̔Ελλάδα δίκῃ διοικοῦντες, ἐπὶ+ πᾶσαν+ Εὐρώπην καὶ ̓Ασίαν+ κατά τε σωμάτων κάλλη καὶ κατὰ τὴν τῶν ψυχῶν παντοίαν ἀρετὴν ἐλλόγιμοι+´ τε ἦσαν καὶ ὀνομαστότατοι πάντων τῶν τότε: τὰ δὲ δὴ τῶν ἀντιπολεμησάντων αὐτοῖς οἷα ἦν ὥς τε ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς ἐγένετο, μνήμης ἂν μὴ στερηθῶμεν ὧν ἔτι παῖδες ὄντες ἠκούσαμεν, εἰς τὸ μέσον αὐτὰ νῦν ἀποδώσομεν ὑμῖν τοῖς φίλοις εἶναι κοινά.

[113a] τὸ δ’ ἔτι βραχὺ πρὸ τοῦ λόγου δεῖ δηλῶσαι, μὴ πολλάκις ἀκούοντες ̔Ελληνικὰ βαρβάρων ἀνδρῶν ὀνόματα θαυμάζητε: τὸ γὰρ αἴτιον αὐτῶν πεύσεσθε. Σόλων, ἅτ’ ἐπινοῶν εἰς τὴν αὑτοῦ ποίησιν καταχρήσασθαι τῷ λόγῳ, διαπυνθανόμενος τὴν τῶν ὀνομάτων δύναμιν, ηὑ̂ρεν τούς τε Αἰγυπτίους τοὺς πρώτους ἐκείνους αὐτὰ γραψαμένους εἰς τὴν αὑτῶν φωνὴν μετενηνοχότας, αὐτός τε αὖ πάλιν ἑκάστου τὴν διάνοιαν ὀνόματος

[113b] ἀναλαμβάνων εἰς τὴν ἡμετέραν ἄγων φωνὴν ἀπεγράφετο: καὶ ταῦτά γε δὴ τὰ γράμματα παρὰ τῷ πάππῳ τ’ ἦν καὶ ἔτ’ ἐστὶν παρ’ ἐμοὶ νῦν, διαμεμελέτηταί τε ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ παιδὸς ὄντος. ἂν οὖν ἀκούητε τοιαῦτα οἷα καὶ τῇδε ὀνόματα, μηδὲν ὑμῖν ἔστω θαῦμα: τὸ γὰρ αἴτιον αὐτῶν ἔχετε. μακροῦ δὲ δὴ λόγου τοιάδε τις ἦν ἀρχὴ τότε. καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέχθη περὶ τῆς τῶν θεῶν λήξεως, ὅτι κατενείμαντο γῆν πᾶσαν ἔνθα μὲν μείζους

[113c] λήξεις, ἔνθα δὲ καὶ ἐλάττους, ἱερὰ θυσίας τε αὑτοῖς κατασκευάζοντες, οὕτω δὴ καὶ τὴν νῆσον Ποσειδῶν τὴν ̓Ατλαντίδα λαχὼν ἐκγόνους αὑτοῦ κατῴκισεν ἐκ θνητῆς γυναικὸς γεννήσας ἔν τινι τόπῳ τοιῷδε τῆς νήσου. πρὸς θαλάττης μέν, κατὰ δὲ μέσον πάσης πεδίον ἦν, ὃ δὴ πάντων πεδίων κάλλιστον ἀρετῇ τε ἱκανὸν γενέσθαι λέγεται, πρὸς τῷ πεδίῳ δὲ αὖ κατὰ μέσον σταδίους ὡς πεντήκοντα ἀφεστὸς ἦν ὄρος βραχὺ πάντῃ. τούτῳ δ’ ἦν ἔνοικος τῶν ἐκεῖ κατὰ ἀρχὰς ἐκ

[113d] γῆς ἀνδρῶν γεγονότων Εὐήνωρ μὲν ὄνομα, γυναικὶ δὲ συνοικῶν Λευκίππῃ: Κλειτὼ δὲ μονογενῆ θυγατέρα ἐγεννησάσθην. ἤδη δ’ εἰς ἀνδρὸς ὥραν ἡκούσης τῆς κόρης ἥ τε μήτηρ τελευτᾷ καὶ ὁ πατήρ, αὐτῆς δὲ εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν Ποσειδῶν ἐλθὼν συμμείγνυται, καὶ τὸν γήλοφον, ἐν ᾡ̂ κατῴκιστο, ποιῶν εὐερκῆ περιρρήγνυσιν κύκλῳ, θαλάττης γῆς τε ἐναλλὰξ ἐλάττους μείζους τε περὶ ἀλλήλους ποιῶν τροχούς, δύο μὲν γῆς, θαλάττης δὲ τρεῖς οἷον τορνεύων ἐκ μέσης τῆς νήσου,

[113e] πάντῃ ἴσον ἀφεστῶτας, ὥστε ἄβατον ἀνθρώποις εἶναι: πλοῖα γὰρ καὶ τὸ πλεῖν οὔπω τότε ἦν. αὐτὸς δὲ τήν τε ἐν μέσῳ νῆσον οἷα δὴ θεὸς εὐμαρῶς διεκόσμησεν, ὕδατα μὲν διττὰ ὑπὸ γῆς ἄνω πηγαῖα κομίσας, τὸ μὲν θερμόν, ψυχρὸν δὲ ἐκ κρήνης ἀπορρέον ἕτερον, τροφὴν δὲ παντοίαν καὶ ἱκανὴν ἐκ τῆς γῆς ἀναδιδούς. παίδων δὲ ἀρρένων πέντε γενέσεις διδύμους γεννησάμενος ἐθρέψατο, καὶ τὴν νῆσον τὴν ̓Ατλαντίδα πᾶσαν δέκα μέρη κατανείμας τῶν μὲν πρεσβυτάτων τῷ προτέρῳ

[114a] γενομένῳ τήν τε μητρῴαν οἴκησιν καὶ τὴν κύκλῳ λῆξιν, πλείστην καὶ ἀρίστην οὖσαν, ἀπένειμε, βασιλέα τε τῶν ἄλλων κατέστησε, τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους ἄρχοντας, ἑκάστῳ δὲ ἀρχὴν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τόπον πολλῆς χώρας ἔδωκεν. ὀνόματα δὲ πᾶσιν ἔθετο, τῷ μὲν πρεσβυτάτῳ καὶ βασιλεῖ τοῦτο οὑ̂ δὴ καὶ πᾶσα ἡ νῆσος τό τε πέλαγος ἔσχεν ἐπωνυμίαν, ̓Ατλαντικὸν λεχθέν, ὅτι τοὔνομ’ ἦν τῷ πρώτῳ βασιλεύσαντι

[114b] τότε ̓´Ατλας: τῷ δὲ διδύμῳ μετ’ ἐκεῖνόν τε γενομένῳ, λῆξιν δὲ ἄκρας τῆς νήσου πρὸς ̔Ηρακλείων στηλῶν εἰληχότι ἐπὶ τὸ τῆς Γαδειρικῆς νῦν χώρας κατ’ ἐκεῖνον τὸν τόπον ὀνομαζομένης, ̔Ελληνιστὶ μὲν Εὔμηλον, τὸ δ’ ἐπιχώριον Γάδειρον, ὅπερ τ’ ἦν ἐπίκλην ταύτῃ ὄνομ’ ἂ<ν> παράσχοι. τοῖν δὲ δευτέροιν γενομένοιν τὸν μὲν ̓Αμφήρη, τὸν δὲ Εὐαίμονα ἐκάλεσεν: τρίτοις δέ, Μνησέα μὲν τῷ προτέρῳ γενομένῳ,

[114c] τῷ δὲ μετὰ τοῦτον Αὐτόχθονα: τῶν δὲ τετάρτων ̓Ελάσιππον μὲν τὸν πρότερον, Μήστορα δὲ τὸν ὕστερον: ἐπὶ δὲ τοῖς πέμπτοις τῷ μὲν ἔμπροσθεν ̓Αζάης ὄνομα ἐτέθη, τῷ δ’ ὑστέρῳ Διαπρέπης. οὑ̂τοι δὴ πάντες αὐτοί τε καὶ ἔκγονοι τούτων ἐπὶ γενεὰς πολλὰς ᾤκουν ἄρχοντες μὲν πολλῶν ἄλλων κατὰ τὸ πέλαγος νήσων, ἔτι δέ, ὥσπερ καὶ πρότερον ἐρρήθη, μέχρι τε Αἰγύπτου καὶ Τυρρηνίας τῶν ἐντὸς δεῦρο ἐπάρχοντες.

[114d] ̓´Ατλαντος δὴ πολὺ μὲν ἄλλο καὶ τίμιον γίγνεται γένος, βασιλεὺς δὲ ὁ πρεσβύτατος ἀεὶ τῷ πρεσβυτάτῳ τῶν ἐκγόνων παραδιδοὺς ἐπὶ γενεὰς πολλὰς τὴν βασιλείαν διέσῳζον, πλοῦτον μὲν κεκτημένοι πλήθει τοσοῦτον, ὅσος οὔτε πω πρόσθεν ἐν δυναστείαις τισὶν βασιλέων γέγονεν οὔτε ποτὲ ὕστερον γενέσθαι ῥᾴδιος, κατεσκευασμένα δὲ πάντ’ ἦν αὐτοῖς ὅσα ἐν πόλει καὶ ὅσα κατὰ τὴν ἄλλην χώραν ἦν ἔργον κατασκευάσασθαι. πολλὰ μὲν γὰρ διὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν αὐτοῖς προσῄειν

[114e] ἔξωθεν, πλεῖστα δὲ ἡ νῆσος αὐτὴ παρείχετο εἰς τὰς τοῦ βίου κατασκευάς, πρῶτον μὲν ὅσα ὑπὸ μεταλλείας ὀρυττόμενα στερεὰ καὶ ὅσα τηκτὰ γέγονε, καὶ τὸ νῦν ὀνομαζόμενον μόνον — τότε δὲ πλέον ὀνόματος ἦν τὸ γένος ἐκ γῆς ὀρυττόμενον ὀρειχάλκου κατὰ τόπους πολλοὺς τῆς νήσου, πλὴν χρυσοῦ τιμιώτατον ἐν τοῖς τότε ὄν — καὶ ὅσα ὕλη πρὸς τὰ τεκτόνων διαπονήματα παρέχεται, πάντα φέρουσα ἄφθονα, τά τε αὖ περὶ τὰ ζῷα ἱκανῶς ἥμερα καὶ ἄγρια τρέφουσα. καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐλεφάντων ἦν ἐν αὐτῇ γένος πλεῖστον: νομὴ γὰρ τοῖς τε ἄλλοις ζῴοις, ὅσα καθ’ ἕλη καὶ λίμνας καὶ ποταμούς, ὅσα

[115a] τ’ αὖ κατ’ ὄρη καὶ ὅσα ἐν τοῖς πεδίοις νέμεται, σύμπασιν παρῆν ἅδην, καὶ τούτῳ κατὰ ταὐτὰ τῷ ζῴῳ, μεγίστῳ πεφυκότι καὶ πολυβορωτάτῳ. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις, ὅσα εὐώδη τρέφει που γῆ τὰ νῦν, ῥιζῶν ἢ χλόης ἢ ξύλων ἢ χυλῶν στακτῶν εἴτε ἀνθῶν ἢ καρπῶν, ἔφερέν τε ταῦτα καὶ ἔτρεφεν εὖ: ἔτι δὲ τὸν ἥμερον καρπόν, τόν τε ξηρόν, ὃς ἡμῖν τῆς τροφῆς ἕνεκά ἐστιν, καὶ ὅσοις χάριν τοῦ σίτου προσχρώμεθα — καλοῦμεν δὲ αὐτοῦ

[115b] τὰ μέρη σύμπαντα ὄσπρια — καὶ τὸν ὅσος ξύλινος, πώματα καὶ βρώματα καὶ ἀλείμματα φέρων, παιδιᾶς τε ὃς ἕνεκα ἡδονῆς τε γέγονε δυσθησαύριστος ἀκροδρύων καρπός, ὅσα τε παραμύθια πλησμονῆς μεταδόρπια ἀγαπητὰ κάμνοντι τίθεμεν, ἅπαντα ταῦτα ἡ τότε [ποτὲ] οὖσα ὑφ’ ἡλίῳ νῆσος ἱερὰ καλά τε καὶ θαυμαστὰ καὶ πλήθεσιν ἄπειρ’ ἔφερεν. ταῦτα οὖν λαμβάνοντες πάντα παρὰ τῆς γῆς κατεσκευάζοντο τά τε

[115c] ἱερὰ καὶ τὰς βασιλικὰς οἰκήσεις καὶ τοὺς λιμένας καὶ τὰ νεώρια καὶ σύμπασαν τὴν ἄλλην χώραν, τοιᾷδ’ ἐν τάξει+ διακοσμοῦντες. τοὺς τῆς θαλάττης τροχούς, οἳ περὶ τὴν ἀρχαίαν ἦσαν μητρόπολιν, πρῶτον μὲν ἐγεφύρωσαν, ὁδὸν ἔξω καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ βασίλεια ποιούμενοι. τὰ δὲ βασίλεια ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ τῶν προγόνων κατοικήσει κατ’ ἀρχὰς ἐποιήσαντο εὐθύς, ἕτερος δὲ παρ’ ἑτέρου δεχόμενος, κεκοσμημένα κοσμῶν,

[115d] ὑπερεβάλλετο εἰς δύναμιν ἀεὶ τὸν ἔμπροσθεν, ἕως εἰς ἔκπληξιν μεγέθεσιν κάλλεσίν τε ἔργων ἰδεῖν τὴν οἴκησιν ἀπηργάσαντο. διώρυχα μὲν γὰρ ἐκ τῆς θαλάττης ἀρχόμενοι τρίπλεθρον τὸ πλάτος, ἑκατὸν δὲ ποδῶν βάθος, μῆκος δὲ πεντήκοντα σταδίων, ἐπὶ τὸν ἐξωτάτω τροχὸν συνέτρησαν, καὶ τὸν ἀνάπλουν ἐκ τῆς θαλάττης ταύτῃ πρὸς ἐκεῖνον ὡς εἰς λιμένα ἐποιήσαντο, διελόντες στόμα ναυσὶν ταῖς μεγίσταις ἱκανὸν εἰσπλεῖν. καὶ δὴ καὶ τοὺς τῆς γῆς τροχούς, οἳ τοὺς

[115e] τῆς θαλάττης διεῖργον, κατὰ τὰς γεφύρας διεῖλον ὅσον μιᾷ τριήρει διέκπλουν εἰς ἀλλήλους, καὶ κατεστέγασαν ἄνωθεν ὥστε τὸν ὑπόπλουν κάτωθεν εἶναι: τὰ γὰρ τῶν τῆς γῆς τροχῶν χείλη βάθος εἶχεν ἱκανὸν ὑπερέχον τῆς θαλάττης. ἦν δὲ ὁ μὲν μέγιστος τῶν τροχῶν, εἰς ὃν ἡ θάλαττα συνετέτρητο, τριστάδιος τὸ πλάτος, ὁ δ’ ἑξῆς τῆς γῆς ἴσος ἐκείνῳ: τοῖν δὲ δευτέροιν ὁ μὲν ὑγρὸς δυοῖν σταδίοιν πλάτος, ὁ δὲ ξηρὸς ἴσος αὖ πάλιν τῷ πρόσθεν ὑγρῷ: σταδίου δὲ ὁ

[116a] περὶ αὐτὴν τὴν ἐν μέσῳ νῆσον περιθέων. ἡ δὲ νῆσος, ἐν ᾗ τὰ βασίλεια ἦν, πέντε σταδίων τὴν διάμετρον εἶχεν. ταύτην δὴ κύκλῳ καὶ τοὺς τροχοὺς καὶ τὴν γέφυραν πλεθριαίαν τὸ πλάτος οὖσαν ἔνθεν καὶ ἔνθεν λιθίνῳ περιεβάλλοντο τείχει, πύργους καὶ πύλας ἐπὶ τῶν γεφυρῶν κατὰ τὰς τῆς θαλάττης διαβάσεις ἑκασταχόσε ἐπιστήσαντες: τὸν δὲ λίθον ἔτεμνον ὑπὸ τῆς νήσου κύκλῳ τῆς ἐν μέσῳ καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν τροχῶν ἔξωθεν καὶ ἐντός, τὸν μὲν λευκόν, τὸν δὲ μέλανα,

[116b] τὸν δὲ ἐρυθρὸν ὄντα, τέμνοντες δὲ ἅμ’ ἠργάζοντο νεωσοίκους κοίλους διπλοῦς ἐντός, κατηρεφεῖς αὐτῇ τῇ πέτρᾳ. καὶ τῶν οἰκοδομημάτων τὰ μὲν ἁπλᾶ, τὰ δὲ μειγνύντες τοὺς λίθους ποικίλα ὕφαινον παιδιᾶς χάριν, ἡδονὴν αὐτοῖς σύμφυτον ἀπονέμοντες: καὶ τοῦ μὲν περὶ τὸν ἐξωτάτω τροχὸν τείχους χαλκῷ περιελάμβανον πάντα τὸν περίδρομον, οἷον ἀλοιφῇ προσχρώμενοι, τοῦ δ’ ἐντὸς καττιτέρῳ περιέτηκον, τὸν δὲ

[116c] περὶ αὐτὴν τὴν ἀκρόπολιν ὀρειχάλκῳ μαρμαρυγὰς ἔχοντι πυρώδεις. τὰ δὲ δὴ τῆς ἀκροπόλεως ἐντὸς βασίλεια κατεσκευασμένα ὧδ’ ἦν. ἐν μέσῳ μὲν ἱερὸν ἅγιον αὐτόθι τῆς τε Κλειτοῦς καὶ τοῦ Ποσειδῶνος ἄβατον ἀφεῖτο, περιβόλῳ χρυσῷ περιβεβλημένον, τοῦτ’ ἐν ᾡ̂ κατ’ ἀρχὰς ἐφίτυσαν καὶ ἐγέννησαν τὸ τῶν δέκα βασιλειδῶν γένος: ἔνθα καὶ κατ’ ἐνιαυτὸν ἐκ πασῶν τῶν δέκα λήξεων ὡραῖα αὐτόσε ἀπετέλουν ἱερὰ ἐκείνων ἑκάστῳ. τοῦ δὲ Ποσειδῶνος αὐτοῦ νεὼς ἦν, σταδίου [116d] μὲν μῆκος, εὖρος δὲ τρίπλεθρος, ὕψος δ’ ἐπὶ τούτοις σύμμετρον ἰδεῖν, εἶδος δέ τι βαρβαρικὸν ἔχοντος. πάντα δὲ ἔξωθεν περιήλειψαν τὸν νεὼν ἀργύρῳ, πλὴν τῶν ἀκρωτηρίων, τὰ δὲ ἀκρωτήρια χρυσῷ: τὰ δ’ ἐντός, τὴν μὲν ὀροφὴν ἐλεφαντίνην ἰδεῖν πᾶσαν χρυσῷ καὶ ἀργύρῳ καὶ ὀρειχάλκῳ πεποικιλμένην, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα πάντα τῶν τοίχων τε καὶ κιόνων καὶ ἐδάφους ὀρειχάλκῳ περιέλαβον. χρυσᾶ δὲ ἀγάλματα ἐνέστησαν, τὸν μὲν θεὸν ἐφ’ ἅρματος ἑστῶτα ἓξ ὑποπτέρων

[116e] ἵππων ἡνίοχον, αὐτόν τε ὑπὸ μεγέθους τῇ κορυφῇ τῆς ὀροφῆς ἐφαπτόμενον, Νηρῇδας δὲ ἐπὶ δελφίνων ἑκατὸν κύκλῳ — τοσαύτας γὰρ ἐνόμιζον αὐτὰς οἱ τότε εἶναι — πολλὰ δ’ ἐντὸς ἄλλα ἀγάλματα ἰδιωτῶν ἀναθήματα ἐνῆν. περὶ δὲ τὸν νεὼν ἔξωθεν εἰκόνες ἁπάντων ἕστασαν ἐκ χρυσοῦ, τῶν γυναικῶν καὶ αὐτῶν ὅσοι τῶν δέκα ἐγεγόνεσαν βασιλέων, καὶ πολλὰ ἕτερα ἀναθήματα μεγάλα τῶν τε βασιλέων καὶ ἰδιωτῶν ἐξ αὐτῆς τε τῆς πόλεως καὶ τῶν ἔξωθεν ὅσων ἐπῆρχον. Βωμός

[117a] τε δὴ συνεπόμενος ἦν τὸ μέγεθος καὶ τὸ τῆς ἐργασίας ταύτῃ τῇ κατασκευῇ, καὶ τὰ βασίλεια κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ πρέποντα μὲν τῷ τῆς ἀρχῆς μεγέθει, πρέποντα δὲ τῷ περὶ τὰ ἱερὰ κόσμῳ. ταῖς δὲ δὴ κρήναις, τῇ τοῦ ψυχροῦ καὶ τῇ τοῦ θερμοῦ νάματος, πλῆθος μὲν ἄφθονον ἐχούσαις, ἡδονῇ δὲ καὶ ἀρετῇ τῶν ὑδάτων πρὸς ἑκατέρου τὴν χρῆσιν θαυμαστοῦ πεφυκότος, ἐχρῶντο περιστήσαντες οἰκοδομήσεις καὶ δένδρων φυτεύσεις πρεπούσας [117b] ὕδασι, δεξαμενάς τε αὖ τὰς μὲν ὑπαιθρίους, τὰς δὲ χειμερινὰς τοῖς θερμοῖς λουτροῖς ὑποστέγους περιτιθέντες, χωρὶς μὲν βασιλικάς, χωρὶς δὲ ἰδιωτικάς, ἔτι δὲ γυναιξὶν ἄλλας καὶ ἑτέρας ἵπποις καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὑποζυγίοις, τὸ πρόσφορον τῆς κοσμήσεως ἑκάστοις ἀπονέμοντες. τὸ δὲ ἀπορρέον ἦγον ἐπὶ τὸ τοῦ Ποσειδῶνος ἄλσος, δένδρα παντοδαπὰ κάλλος ὕψος τε δαιμόνιον ὑπ’ ἀρετῆς τῆς γῆς ἔχοντα, καὶ ἐπὶ τοὺς ἔξω κύκλους δι’ ὀχετῶν κατὰ τὰς γεφύρας

[117c] ἐπωχέτευον: οὑ̂ δὴ πολλὰ μὲν ἱερὰ καὶ πολλῶν θεῶν, πολλοὶ δὲ κῆποι καὶ πολλὰ γυμνάσια ἐκεχειρούργητο, τὰ μὲν ἀνδρῶν, τὰ δὲ ἵππων χωρὶς ἐν ἑκατέρᾳ τῇ τῶν τροχῶν νήσῳ, τά τε ἄλλα καὶ κατὰ μέσην τὴν μείζω τῶν νήσων ἐξῃρημένος ἱππόδρομος ἦν αὐτοῖς, σταδίου τὸ πλάτος ἔχων, τὸ δὲ μῆκος περὶ τὸν κύκλον ὅλον ἀφεῖτο εἰς ἅμιλλαν τοῖς ἵπποις. δορυφορικαὶ δὲ περὶ αὐτὸν ἔνθεν τε καὶ ἔνθεν οἰκήσεις ἦσαν

[117d] τῷ πλήθει τῶν δορυφόρων: τοῖς δὲ πιστοτέροις ἐν τῷ μικροτέρῳ τροχῷ καὶ πρὸς τῆς ἀκροπόλεως μᾶλλον ὄντι διετέτακτο ἡ φρουρά, τοῖς δὲ πάντων διαφέρουσιν πρὸς πίστιν ἐντὸς τῆς ἀκροπόλεως περὶ τοὺς βασιλέας αὐτοὺς ἦσαν οἰκήσεις δεδομέναι. τὰ δὲ νεώρια τριήρων μεστὰ ἦν καὶ σκευῶν ὅσα τριήρεσιν προσήκει, πάντα δὲ ἐξηρτυμένα ἱκανῶς. καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ περὶ τὴν τῶν βασιλέων οἴκησιν οὕτω κατεσκεύαστο: διαβάντι δὲ τοὺς λιμένας ἔξω τρεῖς ὄντας ἀρξάμενον ἀπὸ

[117e] τῆς θαλάττης ᾔειν ἐν κύκλῳ τεῖχος, πεντήκοντα σταδίους τοῦ μεγίστου τροχοῦ τε καὶ λιμένος ἀπέχον πανταχῇ, καὶ συνέκλειεν εἰς ταὐτὸν πρὸς τὸ τῆς διώρυχος στόμα τὸ πρὸς θαλάττης. τοῦτο δὴ πᾶν συνῳκεῖτο μὲν ὑπὸ πολλῶν καὶ πυκνῶν οἰκήσεων, ὁ δὲ ἀνάπλους καὶ ὁ μέγιστος λιμὴν ἔγεμεν πλοίων καὶ ἐμπόρων ἀφικνουμένων πάντοθεν, φωνὴν καὶ θόρυβον παντοδαπὸν κτύπον τε μεθ’ ἡμέραν καὶ διὰ νυκτὸς ὑπὸ πλήθους παρεχομένων. τὸ μὲν οὖν ἄστυ καὶ τὸ περὶ τὴν ἀρχαίαν οἴκησιν σχεδὸν ὡς τότ’ ἐλέχθη νῦν διεμνημόνευται: τῆς δ’ ἄλλης χώρας

[118a] ὡς ἡ φύσις εἶχεν καὶ τὸ τῆς διακοσμήσεως εἶδος, ἀπομνημονεῦσαι πειρατέον. πρῶτον μὲν οὖν ὁ τόπος ἅπας ἐλέγετο σφόδρα τε ὑψηλὸς καὶ ἀπότομος ἐκ θαλάττης, τὸ δὲ περὶ τὴν πόλιν πᾶν πεδίον, ἐκείνην μὲν περιέχον, αὐτὸ δὲ κύκλῳ περιεχόμενον ὄρεσιν μέχρι πρὸς τὴν θάλατταν καθειμένοις, λεῖον καὶ ὁμαλές, πρόμηκες δὲ πᾶν, ἐπὶ μὲν θάτερα τρισχιλίων σταδίων, κατὰ δὲ μέσον ἀπὸ θαλάττης ἄνω δισχιλίων.

[118b] ὁ δὲ τόπος οὑ̂τος ὅλης τῆς νήσου πρὸς νότον ἐτέτραπτο, ἀπὸ τῶν ἄρκτων κατάβορρος. τὰ δὲ περὶ αὐτὸν ὄρη τότε ὑμνεῖτο πλῆθος καὶ μέγεθος καὶ κάλλος παρὰ πάντα τὰ νῦν ὄντα γεγονέναι, πολλὰς μὲν κώμας καὶ πλουσίας περιοίκων ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἔχοντα, ποταμοὺς δὲ καὶ λίμνας καὶ λειμῶνας τροφὴν τοῖς πᾶσιν ἡμέροις καὶ ἀγρίοις ἱκανὴν θρέμμασιν, ὕλην δὲ καὶ πλήθει καὶ γένεσι ποικίλην σύμπασίν τε τοῖς ἔργοις καὶ πρὸς ἕκαστα ἄφθονον. ὧδε οὖν τὸ πεδίον φύσει

[118c] καὶ ὑπὸ βασιλέων πολλῶν ἐν πολλῷ χρόνῳ διεπεπόνητο. τετράγωνον μὲν αὔθ’ ὑπῆρχεν τὰ πλεῖστ’ ὀρθὸν καὶ πρόμηκες, ὅτι δὲ ἐνέλειπε, κατηύθυντο τάφρου κύκλῳ περιορυχθείσης: τὸ δὲ βάθος καὶ πλάτος τό τε μῆκος αὐτῆς ἄπιστον μὲν λεχθέν, ὡς χειροποίητον ἔργον, πρὸς τοῖς ἄλλοις διαπονήμασι τοσοῦτον εἶναι, ῥητέον δὲ ὅ γε ἠκούσαμεν: πλέθρου μὲν γὰρ βάθος ὀρώρυκτο, τὸ δὲ πλάτος ἁπάντῃ σταδίου,

[118d] περὶ δὲ πᾶν τὸ πεδίον ὀρυχθεῖσα συνέβαινεν εἶναι τὸ μῆκος σταδίων μυρίων. τὰ δ’ ἐκ τῶν ὀρῶν καταβαίνοντα ὑποδεχομένη ῥεύματα καὶ περὶ τὸ πεδίον κυκλωθεῖσα, πρὸς τὴν πόλιν ἔνθεν τε καὶ ἔνθεν ἀφικομένη, ταύτῃ πρὸς θάλατταν μεθεῖτο ἐκρεῖν. ἄνωθεν δὲ ἀπ’ αὐτῆς τὸ πλάτος μάλιστα ἑκατὸν ποδῶν διώρυχες εὐθεῖαι τετμημέναι κατὰ τὸ πεδίον πάλιν εἰς τὴν τάφρον τὴν πρὸς θαλάττης ἀφεῖντο, ἑτέρα δὲ ἀφ’ ἑτέρας αὐτῶν σταδίους ἑκατὸν ἀπεῖχεν: ᾗ δὴ τήν

[118e] τε ἐκ τῶν ὀρῶν ὕλην κατῆγον εἰς τὸ ἄστυ καὶ τἀ̂λλα δὲ ὡραῖα πλοίοις κατεκομίζοντο, διάπλους ἐκ τῶν διωρύχων εἰς ἀλλήλας τε πλαγίας καὶ πρὸς τὴν πόλιν τεμόντες. καὶ δὶς δὴ τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ τὴν γῆν ἐκαρποῦντο, χειμῶνος μὲν τοῖς ἐκ Διὸς ὕδασι χρώμενοι, θέρους δὲ ὅσα γῆ φέρει τὰ ἐκ τῶν διωρύχων ἐπάγοντες νάματα. πλῆθος δέ, τῶν μὲν ἐν τῷ πεδίῳ χρησίμων πρὸς πόλεμον ἀνδρῶν ἐτέτακτο τὸν

[119a] κλῆρον ἕκαστον παρέχειν ἄνδρα ἡγεμόνα, τὸ δὲ τοῦ κλήρου μέγεθος εἰς δέκα δεκάκις ἦν στάδια, μυριάδες δὲ συμπάντων τῶν κλήρων ἦσαν ἕξ: τῶν δ’ ἐκ τῶν ὀρῶν καὶ τῆς ἄλλης χώρας ἀπέραντος μὲν ἀριθμὸς ἀνθρώπων ἐλέγετο, κατὰ δὲ τόπους καὶ κώμας εἰς τούτους τοὺς κλήρους πρὸς τοὺς ἡγεμόνας ἅπαντες διενενέμηντο. τὸν οὖν ἡγεμόνα ἦν τεταγμένον εἰς τὸν πόλεμον παρέχειν ἕκτον μὲν ἅρματος πολεμιστηρίου μόριον εἰς μύρια ἅρματα, ἵππους δὲ δύο καὶ

[119b] ἀναβάτας, ἔτι δὲ συνωρίδα χωρὶς δίφρου καταβάτην τε μικράσπιδα καὶ τὸν ἀμφοῖν μετ’ ἐπιβάτην τοῖν ἵπποιν ἡνίοχον ἔχουσαν, ὁπλίτας δὲ δύο καὶ τοξότας σφενδονήτας τε ἑκατέρους δύο, γυμνῆτας δὲ λιθοβόλους καὶ ἀκοντιστὰς τρεῖς ἑκατέρους, ναύτας δὲ τέτταρας εἰς πλήρωμα διακοσίων καὶ χιλίων νεῶν. τὰ μὲν οὖν πολεμιστήρια οὕτω διετέτακτο τῆς βασιλικῆς πόλεως, τῶν δὲ ἐννέα ἄλλα ἄλλως, ἃ μακρὸς ἂν χρόνος εἴη λέγειν.

[119c] τὰ δὲ τῶν ἀρχῶν καὶ τιμῶν ὧδ’ εἶχεν ἐξ ἀρχῆς διακοσμηθέντα. τῶν δέκα βασιλέων εἷς ἕκαστος ἐν μὲν τῷ καθ’ αὑτὸν μέρει κατὰ τὴν αὑτοῦ πόλιν τῶν ἀνδρῶν καὶ τῶν πλείστων νόμων ἦρχεν, κολάζων καὶ ἀποκτεινὺς ὅντιν’ ἐθελήσειεν: ἡ δὲ ἐν ἀλλήλοις ἀρχὴ καὶ κοινωνία κατὰ ἐπιστολὰς ἦν τὰς τοῦ Ποσειδῶνος, ὡς ὁ νόμος αὐτοῖς παρέδωκεν καὶ γράμματα ὑπὸ τῶν πρώτων ἐν στήλῃ γεγραμμένα

[119d] ὀρειχαλκίνῃ, ἣ κατὰ μέσην τὴν νῆσον ἔκειτ’ ἐν ἱερῷ Ποσειδῶνος, οἷ δὴ δι’ ἐνιαυτοῦ πέμπτου, τοτὲ δὲ ἐναλλὰξ ἕκτου, συνελέγοντο, τῷ τε ἀρτίῳ καὶ τῷ περιττῷ μέρος ἴσον ἀπονέμοντες, συλλεγόμενοι δὲ περί τε τῶν κοινῶν ἐβουλεύοντο καὶ ἐξήταζον εἴ τίς τι παραβαίνοι, καὶ ἐδίκαζον. ὅτε δὲ δικάζειν μέλλοιεν, πίστεις ἀλλήλοις τοιάσδε ἐδίδοσαν πρότερον. ἀφέτων ὄντων ταύρων ἐν τῷ τοῦ Ποσειδῶνος ἱερῷ, μόνοι γιγνόμενοι δέκα ὄντες, ἐπευξάμενοι τῷ θεῷ τὸ κεχαρισμένον

[119e] αὐτῷ θῦμα ἑλεῖν, ἄνευ σιδήρου ξύλοις καὶ βρόχοις ἐθήρευον, ὃν δὲ ἕλοιεν τῶν ταύρων, πρὸς τὴν στήλην προσαγαγόντες κατὰ κορυφὴν αὐτῆς ἔσφαττον κατὰ τῶν γραμμάτων. ἐν δὲ τῇ στήλῃ πρὸς τοῖς νόμοις ὅρκος ἦν μεγάλας ἀρὰς ἐπευχόμενος τοῖς ἀπειθοῦσιν. ὅτ’ οὖν κατὰ τοὺς

[120a] αὑτῶν νόμους θύσαντες καθαγίζοιεν πάντα τοῦ ταύρου τὰ μέλη, κρατῆρα κεράσαντες ὑπὲρ ἑκάστου θρόμβον ἐνέβαλλον αἵματος, τὸ δ’ ἄλλ’ εἰς τὸ πῦρ ἔφερον, περικαθήραντες τὴν στήλην: μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο χρυσαῖς φιάλαις ἐκ τοῦ κρατῆρος ἀρυτόμενοι, κατὰ τοῦ πυρὸς σπένδοντες ἐπώμνυσαν δικάσειν τε κατὰ τοὺς ἐν τῇ στήλῃ νόμους καὶ κολάσειν εἴ τίς τι πρότερον παραβεβηκὼς εἴη, τό τε αὖ μετὰ τοῦτο μηδὲν τῶν γραμμάτων ἑκόντες παραβήσεσθαι, μηδὲ ἄρξειν μηδὲ ἄρχοντι

[120b] πείσεσθαι πλὴν κατὰ τοὺς τοῦ πατρὸς ἐπιτάττοντι νόμους. ταῦτα ἐπευξάμενος ἕκαστος αὐτῶν αὑτῷ καὶ τῷ ἀφ’ αὑτοῦ γένει+, πιὼν καὶ ἀναθεὶς τὴν φιάλην εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν τοῦ θεοῦ, περὶ τὸ δεῖπνον καὶ τἀναγκαῖα διατρίψας, ἐπειδὴ γίγνοιτο σκότος καὶ τὸ πῦρ ἐψυγμένον τὸ περὶ τὰ θύματα εἴη, πάντες οὕτως ἐνδύντες ὅτι καλλίστην κυανῆν στολήν, ἐπὶ τὰ τῶν ὁρκωμοσίων καύματα χαμαὶ καθίζοντες, νύκτωρ,

[120c] πᾶν τὸ περὶ τὸ ἱερὸν ἀποσβεννύντες πῦρ, ἐδικάζοντό τε καὶ ἐδίκαζον εἴ τίς τι παραβαίνειν αὐτῶν αἰτιῷτό τινα+: δικάσαντες δέ, τὰ δικασθέντα, ἐπειδὴ φῶς γένοιτο, ἐν χρυσῷ πίνακι γράψαντες μετὰ τῶν στολῶν μνημεῖα ἀνετίθεσαν. νόμοι δὲ πολλοὶ μὲν ἄλλοι περὶ τὰ γέρα τῶν βασιλέων ἑκάστων ἦσαν ἴδιοι, τὰ δὲ μέγιστα, μήτε ποτὲ ὅπλα ἐπ’ ἀλλήλους οἴσειν βοηθήσειν τε πάντας, ἄν πού τις αὐτῶν ἔν τινι πόλει τὸ βασιλικὸν καταλύειν ἐπιχειρῇ γένος, κοινῇ

[120d] δέ, καθάπερ οἱ πρόσθεν, βουλευόμενοι τὰ δόξαντα περὶ πολέμου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πράξεων, ἡγεμονίαν ἀποδιδόντες τῷ ̓Ατλαντικῷ γένει. θανάτου δὲ τὸν βασιλέα τῶν συγγενῶν μηδενὸς εἶναι κύριον, ὃν ἂν μὴ τῶν δέκα τοῖς ὑπὲρ ἥμισυ δοκῇ. ταύτην δὴ τοσαύτην καὶ τοιαύτην δύναμιν ἐν ἐκείνοις τότε οὖσαν τοῖς τόποις ὁ θεὸς ἐπὶ τούσδε αὖ τοὺς τόπους συντάξας ἐκόμισεν ἔκ τινος τοιᾶσδε, ὡς λόγος, προφάσεως.

[120e] ἐπὶ πολλὰς μὲν γενεάς, μέχριπερ ἡ τοῦ θεοῦ φύσις αὐτοῖς ἐξήρκει, κατήκοοί τε ἦσαν τῶν νόμων καὶ πρὸς τὸ συγγενὲς θεῖον φιλοφρόνως εἶχον: τὰ γὰρ φρονήματα ἀληθινὰ καὶ πάντῃ μεγάλα ἐκέκτηντο, πρᾳότητι μετὰ φρονήσεως πρός τε τὰς ἀεὶ συμβαινούσας τύχας καὶ πρὸς ἀλλήλους χρώμενοι, διὸ πλὴν ἀρετῆς πάντα ὑπερορῶντες μικρὰ ἡγοῦντο

[121a] τὰ παρόντα καὶ ῥᾳδίως ἔφερον οἷον ἄχθος τὸν τοῦ χρυσοῦ τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων κτημάτων ὄγκον, ἀλλ’ οὐ μεθύοντες ὑπὸ τρυφῆς διὰ πλοῦτον ἀκράτορες αὑτῶν ὄντες ἐσφάλλοντο, νήφοντες δὲ ὀξὺ καθεώρων ὅτι καὶ ταῦτα πάντα ἐκ φιλίας τῆς κοινῆς μετ’ ἀρετῆς αὐξάνεται, τῇ δὲ τούτων σπουδῇ καὶ τιμῇ φθίνει ταῦτά τε αὐτὰ κἀκείνη συναπόλλυται τούτοις. ἐκ δὴ λογισμοῦ τε τοιούτου καὶ φύσεως θείας παραμενούσης πάντ’ αὐτοῖς ηὐξήθη ἃ πρὶν διήλθομεν. ἐπεὶ δ’ ἡ τοῦ θεοῦ μὲν μοῖρα ἐξίτηλος ἐγίγνετο ἐν αὐτοῖς πολλῷ τῷ θνητῷ καὶ

[121b] πολλάκις ἀνακεραννυμένη, τὸ δὲ ἀνθρώπινον ἦθος ἐπεκράτει, τότε ἤδη τὰ παρόντα φέρειν ἀδυνατοῦντες ἠσχημόνουν, καὶ τῷ δυναμένῳ μὲν ὁρᾶν αἰσχροὶ κατεφαίνοντο, τὰ κάλλιστα ἀπὸ τῶν τιμιωτάτων ἀπολλύντες, τοῖς δὲ ἀδυνατοῦσιν ἀληθινὸν πρὸς εὐδαιμονίαν βίον ὁρᾶν τότε δὴ μάλιστα πάγκαλοι μακάριοί τε ἐδοξάζοντο εἶναι, πλεονεξίας ἀδίκου καὶ δυνάμεως ἐμπιμπλάμενοι. θεὸς δὲ ὁ θεῶν Ζεὺς ἐν νόμοις βασιλεύων, ἅτε δυνάμενος καθορᾶν τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἐννοήσας γένος ἐπιεικὲς ἀθλίως διατιθέμενον, δίκην αὐτοῖς

[121c] ἐπιθεῖναι βουληθείς, ἵνα γένοιντο ἐμμελέστεροι σωφρονισθέντες, συνήγειρεν θεοὺς πάντας εἰς τὴν τιμιωτάτην αὐτῶν οἴκησιν, ἣ δὴ κατὰ μέσον παντὸς τοῦ κόσμου βεβηκυῖα καθορᾷ πάντα ὅσα γενέσεως μετείληφεν, καὶ συναγείρας εἶπεν —

SOPHIST

Πρόσωπα: Σοφιστής, Θεόδωρος, Σωκράτης, Ἐλεάτης Ξένος, Θεαίτητος

[216a] Θεόδωρος

κατὰ τὴν χθὲς ὁμολογίαν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἥκομεν αὐτοί τε κοσμίως καὶ τόνδε τινὰ ξένον ἄγομεν, τὸ μὲν γένος ἐξ Ἐλέας, ἑταῖρον δὲ τῶν ἀμφὶ Παρμενίδην καὶ Ζήνωνα [ἑταίρων], μάλα δὲ ἄνδρα φιλόσοφον.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ’ οὖν, ὦ Θεόδωρε, οὐ ξένον ἀλλά τινα θεὸν ἄγων κατὰ τὸν Ὁμήρου λόγον λέληθας; ὅς φησιν ἄλλους [216b] τε θεοὺς τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ὁπόσοι μετέχουσιν αἰδοῦς δικαίας, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν ξένιον οὐχ ἥκιστα θεὸν συνοπαδὸν γιγνόμενον ὕβρεις τε καὶ εὐνομίας τῶν ἀνθρώπων καθορᾶν. τάχ’ οὖν ἂν καὶ σοί τις οὗτος τῶν κρειττόνων συνέποιτο, φαύλους ἡμᾶς ὄντας ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἐποψόμενός τε καὶ ἐλέγξων, θεὸς ὤν τις ἐλεγκτικός.

Θεόδωρος

οὐχ οὗτος ὁ τρόπος, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦ ξένου, ἀλλὰ μετριώτερος τῶν περὶ τὰς ἔριδας ἐσπουδακότων. καί μοι δοκεῖ θεὸς μὲν ἁνὴρ οὐδαμῶς εἶναι, θεῖος μήν: πάντας [216c] γὰρ ἐγὼ τοὺς φιλοσόφους τοιούτους προσαγορεύω.

Σωκράτης

καὶ καλῶς γε, ὦ φίλε. τοῦτο μέντοι κινδυνεύει τὸ γένος οὐ πολύ τι ῥᾷον ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν εἶναι διακρίνειν ἢ τὸ τοῦ θεοῦ: πάνυ γὰρ ἇνδρες οὗτοι παντοῖοι φανταζόμενοι διὰ τὴν τῶν ἄλλων ἄγνοιαν “ἐπιστρωφῶσι πόληασηομ. οδ. 17.485-7,” οἱ μὴ πλαστῶς ἀλλ’ ὄντως φιλόσοφοι, καθορῶντες ὑψόθεν τὸν τῶν κάτω βίον, καὶ τοῖς μὲν δοκοῦσιν εἶναι τοῦ μηδενὸς [τίμιοι], τοῖς δ’ ἄξιοι τοῦ παντός: καὶ τοτὲ μὲν πολιτικοὶ [216d] φαντάζονται, τοτὲ δὲ σοφισταί, τοτὲ δ’ ἔστιν οἷς δόξαν παράσχοιντ’ ἂν ὡς παντάπασιν ἔχοντες μανικῶς. τοῦ μέντοι ξένου ἡμῖν ἡδέως ἂν πυνθανοίμην, εἰ φίλον αὐτῷ, τί ταῦθ’ [217a] οἱ περὶ τὸν ἐκεῖ τόπον ἡγοῦντο καὶ ὠνόμαζον.

Θεόδωρος

τὰ ποῖα δή;

Σωκράτης

σοφιστήν, πολιτικόν, φιλόσοφον.

Θεόδωρος

τί δὲ μάλιστα καὶ τὸ ποῖόν τι περὶ αὐτῶν διαπορηθεὶς ἐρέσθαι διενοήθης;

Σωκράτης

τόδε: πότερον ἓν πάντα ταῦτα ἐνόμιζον ἢ δύο, ἢ καθάπερ τὰ ὀνόματα τρία, τρία καὶ τὰ γένη διαιρούμενοι καθ’ ἓν ὄνομα [γένος] ἑκάστῳ προσῆπτον;

Θεόδωρος

ἀλλ’ οὐδείς, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, φθόνος αὐτῷ διελθεῖν αὐτά: ἢ πῶς, ὦ ξένε, λέγωμεν;

[217b] Ξένος

οὕτως, ὦ Θεόδωρε. φθόνος μὲν γὰρ οὐδεὶς οὐδὲ χαλεπὸν εἰπεῖν ὅτι γε τρί’ ἡγοῦντο: καθ’ ἕκαστον μὴν διορίσασθαι σαφῶς τί ποτ’ ἔστιν, οὐ σμικρὸν οὐδὲ ῥᾴδιον ἔργον.

Θεόδωρος

καὶ μὲν δὴ κατὰ τύχην γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, λόγων ἐπελάβου παραπλησίων ὧν καὶ πρὶν ἡμᾶς δεῦρ’ ἐλθεῖν διερωτῶντες αὐτὸν ἐτυγχάνομεν, ὁ δὲ ταὐτὰ ἅπερ πρὸς σὲ νῦν καὶ τότε ἐσκήπτετο πρὸς ἡμᾶς: ἐπεὶ διακηκοέναι γέ φησιν ἱκανῶς καὶ οὐκ ἀμνημονεῖν.

[217c] Σωκράτης

μὴ τοίνυν, ὦ ξένε, ἡμῶν τήν γε πρώτην αἰτησάντων χάριν ἀπαρνηθεὶς γένῃ, τοσόνδε δ’ ἡμῖν φράζε. πότερον εἴωθας ἥδιον αὐτὸς ἐπὶ σαυτοῦ μακρῷ λόγῳ διεξιέναι λέγων τοῦτο ὃ ἂν ἐνδείξασθαί τῳ βουληθῇς, ἢ δι’ ἐρωτήσεων, οἷόν ποτε καὶ Παρμενίδῃ χρωμένῳ καὶ διεξιόντι λόγους παγκάλους παρεγενόμην ἐγὼ νέος ὤν, ἐκείνου μάλα δὴ τότε ὄντος πρεσβύτου;

[217d] Ξένος

τῷ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλύπως τε καὶ εὐηνίως προσδιαλεγομένῳ ῥᾷον οὕτω, τὸ πρὸς ἄλλον: εἰ δὲ μή, τὸ καθ’ αὑτόν.

Σωκράτης

ἔξεστι τοίνυν τῶν παρόντων ὃν ἂν βουληθῇς ἐκλέξασθαι, πάντες γὰρ ὑπακούσονταί σοι πρᾴως: συμβούλῳ μὴν ἐμοὶ χρώμενος τῶν νέων τινὰ αἱρήσῃ, Θεαίτητον τόνδε, ἢ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων εἴ τίς σοι κατὰ νοῦν.

Ξένος

ὦ Σώκρατες, αἰδώς τίς μ’ ἔχει τὸ νῦν πρῶτον συγγενόμενον ὑμῖν μὴ κατὰ σμικρὸν ἔπος πρὸς ἔπος ποιεῖσθαι [217e] τὴν συνουσίαν, ἀλλ’ ἐκτείναντα ἀπομηκύνειν λόγον συχνὸν κατ’ ἐμαυτόν, εἴτε καὶ πρὸς ἕτερον, οἷον ἐπίδειξιν ποιούμενον: τῷ γὰρ ὄντι τὸ νῦν ῥηθὲν οὐχ ὅσον ὧδε ἐρωτηθὲν ἐλπίσειεν ἂν αὐτὸ εἶναί τις, ἀλλὰ τυγχάνει λόγου παμμήκους ὄν. τὸ δὲ αὖ σοὶ μὴ χαρίζεσθαι καὶ τοῖσδε, ἄλλως τε καὶ σοῦ λέξαντος ὡς εἶπες, ἄξενόν τι καταφαίνεταί μοι καὶ [218a] ἄγριον. ἐπεὶ Θεαίτητόν γε τὸν προσδιαλεγόμενον εἶναι δέχομαι παντάπασιν ἐξ ὧν αὐτός τε πρότερον διείλεγμαι καὶ σὺ τὰ νῦν μοι διακελεύῃ.

Θεαίτητος

δρᾶ τοίνυν, ὦ ξένε, οὕτω καὶ καθάπερ εἶπε Σωκράτης πᾶσιν κεχαρισμένος ἔσῃ.

Ξένος

κινδυνεύει πρὸς μὲν ταῦτα οὐδὲν ἔτι λεκτέον εἶναι, Θεαίτητε: πρὸς δὲ σὲ ἤδη τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, ὡς ἔοικε, γίγνοιτο ἂν ὁ λόγος. ἂν δ’ ἄρα τι τῷ μήκει πονῶν ἄχθῃ, μὴ ἐμὲ αἰτιᾶσθαι τούτων, ἀλλὰ τούσδε τοὺς σοὺς ἑταίρους.

[218b] Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ οἶμαι μὲν δὴ νῦν οὕτως οὐκ ἀπερεῖν: ἂν δ’ ἄρα τι τοιοῦτον γίγνηται, καὶ τόνδε παραληψόμεθα Σωκράτη, τὸν Σωκράτους μὲν ὁμώνυμον, ἐμὸν δὲ ἡλικιώτην καὶ συγγυμναστήν, ᾧ συνδιαπονεῖν μετ’ ἐμοῦ τὰ πολλὰ οὐκ ἄηθες.

Ξένος

εὖ λέγεις, καὶ ταῦτα μὲν ἰδίᾳ βουλεύσῃ προϊόντος τοῦ λόγου: κοινῇ δὲ μετ’ ἐμοῦ σοι συσκεπτέον ἀρχομένῳ πρῶτον, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, νῦν ἀπὸ τοῦ σοφιστοῦ, ζητοῦντι [218c] καὶ ἐμφανίζοντι λόγῳ τί ποτ’ ἔστι. νῦν γὰρ δὴ σύ τε κἀγὼ τούτου πέρι τοὔνομα μόνον ἔχομεν κοινῇ, τὸ δὲ ἔργον ἐφ’ ᾧ καλοῦμεν ἑκάτερος τάχ’ ἂν ἰδίᾳ παρ’ ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς ἔχοιμεν: δεῖ δὲ ἀεὶ παντὸς πέρι τὸ πρᾶγμα αὐτὸ μᾶλλον διὰ λόγων ἢ τοὔνομα μόνον συνωμολογῆσθαι χωρὶς λόγου. τὸ δὲ φῦλον ὃ νῦν ἐπινοοῦμεν ζητεῖν οὐ πάντων ῥᾷστον συλλαβεῖν τί ποτ’ ἔστιν, ὁ σοφιστής: ὅσα δ’ αὖ τῶν μεγάλων δεῖ διαπονεῖσθαι καλῶς, περὶ τῶν τοιούτων δέδοκται πᾶσιν καὶ πάλαι [218d] τὸ πρότερον ἐν σμικροῖς καὶ ῥᾴοσιν αὐτὰ δεῖν μελετᾶν, πρὶν ἐν αὐτοῖς τοῖς μεγίστοις. νῦν οὖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἔγωγε καὶ νῷν οὕτω συμβουλεύω, χαλεπὸν καὶ δυσθήρευτον ἡγησαμένοις εἶναι τὸ τοῦ σοφιστοῦ γένος πρότερον ἐν ἄλλῳ ῥᾴονι τὴν μέθοδον αὐτοῦ προμελετᾶν, εἰ μὴ σύ ποθεν εὐπετεστέραν ἔχεις εἰπεῖν ἄλλην ὁδόν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἔχω.

Ξένος

βούλει δῆτα περί τινος τῶν φαύλων μετιόντες πειραθῶμεν παράδειγμα αὐτὸ θέσθαι τοῦ μείζονος;

[218e] Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τί δῆτα προταξαίμεθ’ ἂν εὔγνωστον μὲν καὶ σμικρόν, λόγον δὲ μηδενὸς ἐλάττονα ἔχον τῶν μειζόνων; οἷον ἀσπαλιευτής: ἆρ’ οὐ πᾶσί τε γνώριμον καὶ σπουδῆς οὐ πάνυ τι πολλῆς τινος ἐπάξιον;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

[219a] Ξένος

μέθοδον μὴν αὐτὸν ἐλπίζω καὶ λόγον οὐκ ἀνεπιτήδειον ἡμῖν ἔχειν πρὸς ὃ βουλόμεθα.

Θεαίτητος

καλῶς ἂν ἔχοι.

Ξένος

φέρε δή, τῇδε ἀρχώμεθα αὐτοῦ. καί μοι λέγε: πότερον ὡς τεχνίτην αὐτὸν ἤ τινα ἄτεχνον, ἄλλην δὲ δύναμιν ἔχοντα θήσομεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἥκιστά γε ἄτεχνον.

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ μὴν τῶν γε τεχνῶν πασῶν σχεδὸν εἴδη δύο.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

γεωργία μὲν καὶ ὅση περὶ τὸ θνητὸν πᾶν σῶμα θεραπεία, τό τε αὖ περὶ τὸ σύνθετον καὶ πλαστόν, ὃ δὴ [219b] σκεῦος ὠνομάκαμεν, ἥ τε μιμητική, σύμπαντα ταῦτα δικαιότατ’ ἂν ἑνὶ προσαγορεύοιτ’ ἂν ὀνόματι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς καὶ τίνι;

Ξένος

πᾶν ὅπερ ἂν μὴ πρότερόν τις ὂν ὕστερον εἰς οὐσίαν ἄγῃ, τὸν μὲν ἄγοντα ποιεῖν, τὸ δὲ ἀγόμενον ποιεῖσθαί πού φαμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

τὰ δέ γε νυνδὴ <ἃ> διήλθομεν ἅπαντα εἶχεν εἰς τοῦτο τὴν αὑτῶν δύναμιν.

Θεαίτητος

εἶχε γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

ποιητικὴν τοίνυν αὐτὰ συγκεφαλαιωσάμενοι προσείπωμεν.

[219c] Θεαίτητος

ἔστω.

Ξένος

τὸ δὴ μαθηματικὸν αὖ μετὰ τοῦτο εἶδος ὅλον καὶ τὸ τῆς γνωρίσεως τό τε χρηματιστικὸν καὶ ἀγωνιστικὸν καὶ θηρευτικόν, ἐπειδὴ δημιουργεῖ μὲν οὐδὲν τούτων, τὰ δὲ ὄντα καὶ γεγονότα τὰ μὲν χειροῦται λόγοις καὶ πράξεσι, τὰ δὲ τοῖς χειρουμένοις οὐκ ἐπιτρέπει, μάλιστ’ ἄν που διὰ ταῦτα συνάπαντα τὰ μέρη τέχνη τις κτητικὴ λεχθεῖσα ἂν διαπρέψειεν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί: πρέποι γὰρ ἄν.

[219d] Ξένος

κτητικῆς δὴ καὶ ποιητικῆς συμπασῶν οὐσῶν τῶν τεχνῶν ἐν ποτέρᾳ τὴν ἀσπαλιευτικήν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, τιθῶμεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἐν κτητικῇ που δῆλον.

Ξένος

κτητικῆς δὲ ἆρ’ οὐ δύο εἴδη; τὸ μὲν ἑκόντων πρὸς ἑκόντας μεταβλητικὸν ὂν διά τε δωρεῶν καὶ μισθώσεων καὶ ἀγοράσεων, τὸ δὲ λοιπόν, ἢ κατ’ ἔργα ἢ κατὰ λόγους χειρούμενον σύμπαν, χειρωτικὸν ἂν εἴη;

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται γοῦν ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τὴν χειρωτικὴν ἆρ’ οὐ διχῇ τμητέον;

Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

[219e] Ξένος

τὸ μὲν ἀναφανδὸν ὅλον ἀγωνιστικὸν θέντας, τὸ δὲ κρυφαῖον αὐτῆς πᾶν θηρευτικόν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὴν δέ γε μὴν θηρευτικὴν ἄλογον τὸ μὴ οὐ τέμνειν διχῇ.

Θεαίτητος

λέγε ὅπῃ.

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν ἀψύχου γένους διελομένους, τὸ δ’ ἐμψύχου.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν; εἴπερ ἔστον γε ἄμφω.

[220a] Ξένος

πῶς δὲ οὐκ ἔστον; καὶ δεῖ γε ἡμᾶς τὸ μὲν τῶν ἀψύχων, ἀνώνυμον ὂν πλὴν κατ’ ἔνια τῆς κολυμβητικῆς ἄττα μέρη καὶ τοιαῦτ’ ἄλλα βραχέα, χαίρειν ἐᾶσαι, τὸ δέ, τῶν ἐμψύχων ζῴων οὖσαν θήραν, προσειπεῖν ζῳοθηρικήν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστω.

Ξένος

ζῳοθηρικῆς δὲ ἆρ’ οὐ διπλοῦν εἶδος ἂν λέγοιτο ἐν δίκῃ, τὸ μὲν πεζοῦ γένους, πολλοῖς εἴδεσι καὶ ὀνόμασι διῃρημένον, πεζοθηρικόν, τὸ δ’ ἕτερον νευστικοῦ ζῴου πᾶν ἐνυγροθηρικόν;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

[220b] Ξένος

νευστικοῦ μὴν τὸ μὲν πτηνὸν φῦλον ὁρῶμεν, τὸ δὲ ἔνυδρον;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

καὶ τοῦ πτηνοῦ μὴν γένους πᾶσα ἡμῖν ἡ θήρα λέγεταί πού τις ὀρνιθευτική.

Θεαίτητος

λέγεται γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

τοῦ δὲ ἐνύδρου σχεδὸν τὸ σύνολον ἁλιευτική.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τί δέ; ταύτην αὖ τὴν θήραν ἆρ’ οὐκ ἂν κατὰ μέγιστα μέρη δύο διέλοιμεν;

Θεαίτητος

κατὰ ποῖα;

Ξένος

καθ’ ἃ τὸ μὲν ἕρκεσιν αὐτόθεν ποιεῖται τὴν θήραν, τὸ δὲ πληγῇ.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς λέγεις, καὶ πῇ διαιρούμενος ἑκάτερον;

[220c] Ξένος

τὸ μέν, ὅτι πᾶν ὅσον ἂν ἕνεκα κωλύσεως εἴργῃ τι περιέχον, ἕρκος εἰκὸς ὀνομάζειν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

κύρτους δὴ καὶ δίκτυα καὶ βρόχους καὶ πόρκους καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα μῶν ἄλλο τι πλὴν ἕρκη χρὴ προσαγορεύειν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

Ξένος

τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα ἑρκοθηρικὸν τῆς ἄγρας τὸ μέρος φήσομεν ἤ τι τοιοῦτον.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὸ δὲ ἀγκίστροις καὶ τριόδουσι πληγῇ γιγνόμενον [220d] ἕτερον μὲν ἐκείνου, πληκτικὴν δέ τινα θήραν ἡμᾶς προσειπεῖν ἑνὶ λόγῳ νῦν χρεών: ἢ τί τις ἄν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, εἴποι κάλλιον;

Θεαίτητος

ἀμελῶμεν τοῦ ὀνόματος: ἀρκεῖ γὰρ καὶ τοῦτο.

Ξένος

τῆς τοίνυν πληκτικῆς τὸ μὲν νυκτερινὸν οἶμαι πρὸς πυρὸς φῶς γιγνόμενον ὑπ’ αὐτῶν τῶν περὶ τὴν θήραν πυρευτικὴν ῥηθῆναι συμβέβηκεν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε μεθημερινόν, ὡς ἐχόντων ἐν ἄκροις ἄγκιστρα καὶ τῶν τριοδόντων, πᾶν ἀγκιστρευτικόν.

[220e] Θεαίτητος

λέγεται γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

τοῦ τοίνυν ἀγκιστρευτικοῦ τῆς πληκτικῆς τὸ μὲν ἄνωθεν εἰς τὸ κάτω γιγνόμενον διὰ τὸ τοῖς τριόδουσιν οὕτω μάλιστα χρῆσθαι τριοδοντία τις οἶμαι κέκληται.

Θεαίτητος

φασὶ γοῦν τινές.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε λοιπόν ἐστιν ἓν ἔτι μόνον ὡς εἰπεῖν εἶδος.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

τὸ τῆς ἐναντίας ταύτῃ πληγῆς, ἀγκίστρῳ τε γιγνόμενον καὶ τῶν ἰχθύων οὐχ ᾗ τις ἂν τύχῃ τοῦ σώματος, ὥσπερ [221a] τοῖς τριόδουσιν, ἀλλὰ περὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν καὶ τὸ στόμα τοῦ θηρευθέντος ἑκάστοτε, καὶ κάτωθεν εἰς τοὐναντίον ἄνω ῥάβδοις καὶ καλάμοις ἀνασπώμενον: οὗ τί φήσομεν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, δεῖν τοὔνομα λέγεσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

δοκῶ μέν, ὅπερ ἄρτι προυθέμεθα δεῖν ἐξευρεῖν, τοῦτ’ αὐτὸ νῦν ἀποτετελέσθαι.

Ξένος

νῦν ἄρα τῆς ἀσπαλιευτικῆς πέρι σύ τε κἀγὼ [221b] συνωμολογήκαμεν οὐ μόνον τοὔνομα, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸν λόγον περὶ αὐτὸ τοὖργον εἰλήφαμεν ἱκανῶς. συμπάσης γὰρ τέχνης τὸ μὲν ἥμισυ μέρος κτητικὸν ἦν, κτητικοῦ δὲ χειρωτικόν, χειρωτικοῦ δὲ θηρευτικόν, τοῦ δὲ θηρευτικοῦ ζῳοθηρικόν, ζῳοθηρικοῦ δὲ ἐνυγροθηρικόν, ἐνυγροθηρικοῦ δὲ τὸ κάτωθεν τμῆμα ὅλον ἁλιευτικόν, ἁλιευτικῆς δὲ πληκτικόν, πληκτικῆς δὲ ἀγκιστρευτικόν: τούτου δὲ τὸ περὶ τὴν κάτωθεν [221c] ἄνω πληγὴν ἀνασπωμένην, ἀπ’ αὐτῆς τῆς πράξεως ἀφομοιωθὲν τοὔνομα, ἡ νῦν ἀσπαλιευτικὴ ζητηθεῖσα ἐπίκλην γέγονεν.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν τοῦτό γε ἱκανῶς δεδήλωται.

Ξένος

φέρε δή, κατὰ τοῦτο τὸ παράδειγμα καὶ τὸν σοφιστὴν ἐπιχειρῶμεν εὑρεῖν ὅτι ποτ’ ἔστιν.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἐκεῖνό γ’ ἦν τὸ ζήτημα πρῶτον, πότερον ἰδιώτην ἤ τινα τέχνην ἔχοντα θετέον εἶναι τὸν ἀσπαλιευτήν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[221d] Ξένος

καὶ νῦν δὴ τοῦτον ἰδιώτην θήσομεν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἢ παντάπασιν ὡς ἀληθῶς σοφιστήν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς ἰδιώτην: μανθάνω γὰρ ὃ λέγεις, ὡς παντὸς δεῖ τοιοῦτος εἶναι τό γε ὄνομα τοῦτο ἔχων.

Ξένος

ἀλλά τινα τέχνην αὐτὸν ἡμῖν ἔχοντα, ὡς ἔοικε, θετέον.

Θεαίτητος

τίνα ποτ’ οὖν δὴ ταύτην;

Ξένος

ἆρ’ ὦ πρὸς θεῶν ἠγνοήκαμεν τἀνδρὸς τὸν ἄνδρα ὄντα συγγενῆ;

Θεαίτητος

τίνα τοῦ;

Ξένος

τὸν ἀσπαλιευτὴν τοῦ σοφιστοῦ.

Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

Ξένος

θηρευτά τινε καταφαίνεσθον ἄμφω μοι.

[221e] Θεαίτητος

τίνος θήρας ἅτερος; τὸν μὲν γὰρ ἕτερον εἴπομεν.

Ξένος

δίχα που νυνδὴ διείλομεν τὴν ἄγραν πᾶσαν, νευστικοῦ μέρους, τὸ δὲ πεζοῦ τέμνοντες.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ τὸ μὲν διήλθομεν, ὅσον περὶ τὰ νευστικὰ τῶν ἐνύδρων: τὸ δὲ πεζὸν εἰάσαμεν ἄσχιστον, εἰπόντες ὅτι πολυειδὲς εἴη.

[222a] Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

μέχρι μὲν τοίνυν ἐνταῦθα ὁ σοφιστὴς καὶ [ὁ] ἀσπαλιευτὴς ἅμα ἀπὸ τῆς κτητικῆς τέχνης πορεύεσθον.

Θεαίτητος

ἐοίκατον γοῦν.

Ξένος

ἐκτρέπεσθον δέ γε ἀπὸ τῆς ζῳοθηρικῆς, ὁ μὲν ἐπὶ θάλαττάν που καὶ ποταμοὺς καὶ λίμνας, τὰ ἐν τούτοις ζῷα θηρευσόμενος.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

ὁ δέ γε ἐπὶ [τὴν] γῆν καὶ ποταμοὺς ἑτέρους αὖ τινας, πλούτου καὶ νεότητος οἷον λειμῶνας ἀφθόνους, τἀν τούτοις θρέμματα χειρωσόμενος.

[222b] Θεαίτητος

πῶς λέγεις;

Ξένος

τῆς πεζῆς θήρας γίγνεσθον δύο μεγίστω τινὲ μέρει.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖον ἑκάτερον;

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν τῶν ἡμέρων, τὸ δὲ τῶν ἀγρίων.

Θεαίτητος

εἶτ’ ἔστι τις θήρα τῶν ἡμέρων;

Ξένος

εἴπερ γέ ἐστιν ἄνθρωπος ἥμερον ζῷον. θὲς δὲ ὅπῃ χαίρεις, εἴτε μηδὲν τιθεὶς ἥμερον, εἴτε ἄλλο μὲν ἥμερόν τι, τὸν δὲ ἄνθρωπον ἄγριον, εἴτε ἥμερον μὲν λέγεις αὖ τὸν ἄνθρωπον, ἀνθρώπων δὲ μηδεμίαν ἡγῇ θήραν: τούτων ὁπότερ’ ἂν ἡγῇ φίλον εἰρῆσθαί σοι, τοῦτο ἡμῖν διόρισον.

[222c] Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἡμᾶς τε ἥμερον, ὦ ξένε, ἡγοῦμαι ζῷον, θήραν τε ἀνθρώπων εἶναι λέγω.

Ξένος

διττὴν τοίνυν καὶ τὴν ἡμεροθηρικὴν εἴπωμεν.

Θεαίτητος

κατὰ τί λέγοντες;

Ξένος

τὴν μὲν λῃστικὴν καὶ ἀνδραποδιστικὴν καὶ τυραννικὴν καὶ σύμπασαν τὴν πολεμικήν, ἓν πάντα, βίαιον θήραν, ὁρισάμενοι.

Θεαίτητος

καλῶς.

Ξένος

τὴν δέ γε δικανικὴν καὶ δημηγορικὴν καὶ προσομιλητικήν, ἓν αὖ τὸ σύνολον, πιθανουργικήν τινα μίαν [222d] τέχνην προσειπόντες.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

τῆς δὴ πιθανουργικῆς διττὰ λέγωμεν γένη.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖα;

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν ἕτερον ἰδίᾳ, τὸ δὲ δημοσίᾳ γιγνόμενον.

Θεαίτητος

γίγνεσθον γὰρ οὖν εἶδος ἑκάτερον.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν αὖ τῆς ἰδιοθηρευτικῆς τὸ μὲν μισθαρνητικόν ἐστιν, τὸ δὲ δωροφορικόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐ μανθάνω.

Ξένος

τῇ τῶν ἐρώντων θήρᾳ τὸν νοῦν, ὡς ἔοικας, οὔπω προσέσχες.

Θεαίτητος

τοῦ πέρι;

[222e] Ξένος

ὅτι τοῖς θηρευθεῖσι δῶρα προσεπιδιδόασιν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ξένος

τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν ἐρωτικῆς τέχνης ἔστω εἶδος.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

τοῦ δέ γε μισθαρνητικοῦ τὸ μὲν προσομιλοῦν διὰ χάριτος καὶ παντάπασι δι’ ἡδονῆς τὸ δέλεαρ πεποιημένον καὶ τὸν μισθὸν πραττόμενον τροφὴν ἑαυτῷ μόνον κολακικήν, ὡς [223a] ἐγᾦμαι, πάντες φαῖμεν ἂν <ἢ> ἡδυντικήν τινα τέχνην εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

τὸ δὲ ἐπαγγελλόμενον μὲν ὡς ἀρετῆς ἕνεκα τὰς ὁμιλίας ποιούμενον, μισθὸν δὲ νόμισμα πραττόμενον, ἆρα οὐ τοῦτο τὸ γένος ἑτέρῳ προσειπεῖν ἄξιον ὀνόματι;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

τίνι δὴ τούτῳ; πειρῶ λέγειν.

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον δή: τὸν γὰρ σοφιστήν μοι δοκοῦμεν ἀνηυρηκέναι. τοῦτ’ οὖν ἔγωγε εἰπὼν τὸ προσῆκον ὄνομ’ ἂν ἡγοῦμαι καλεῖν αὐτόν.

[223b] Ξένος

κατὰ δὴ τὸν νῦν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, λόγον, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡ τέχνης οἰκειωτικῆς, <χειρωτικῆς>, [κτητικῆς,] θηρευτικῆς, ζῳοθηρίας, [πεζοθηρίας,] χερσαίας, [ἡμεροθηρικῆς,] ἀνθρωποθηρίας, <πιθανοθηρίας>, ἰδιοθηρίας, [μισθαρνικῆς,] νομισματοπωλικῆς, δοξοπαιδευτικῆς, νέων πλουσίων καὶ ἐνδόξων γιγνομένη θήρα προσρητέον, ὡς ὁ νῦν λόγος ἡμῖν συμβαίνει, σοφιστική.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

[223c] Ξένος

ἔτι δὲ καὶ τῇδε ἴδωμεν: οὐ γάρ τι φαύλης μέτοχόν ἐστι τέχνης τὸ νῦν ζητούμενον, ἀλλ’ εὖ μάλα ποικίλης. καὶ γὰρ οὖν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν εἰρημένοις φάντασμα παρέχεται μὴ τοῦτο ὃ νῦν αὐτὸ ἡμεῖς φαμεν ἀλλ’ ἕτερον εἶναί τι γένος.

Θεαίτητος

πῇ δή;

Ξένος

τὸ τῆς κτητικῆς τέχνης διπλοῦν ἦν εἶδός που, τὸ μὲν θηρευτικὸν μέρος ἔχον, τὸ δὲ ἀλλακτικόν.

Θεαίτητος

ἦν γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

τῆς τοίνυν ἀλλακτικῆς δύο εἴδη λέγωμεν, τὸ μὲν δωρητικόν, τὸ δὲ ἕτερον ἀγοραστικόν;

Θεαίτητος

εἰρήσθω.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν αὖ φήσομεν ἀγοραστικὴν διχῇ τέμνεσθαι.

[223d] Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

Ξένος

τὴν μὲν τῶν αὐτουργῶν αὐτοπωλικὴν διαιρουμένην, τὴν δὲ τὰ ἀλλότρια ἔργα μεταβαλλομένην μεταβλητικήν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τῆς μεταβλητικῆς οὐχ ἡ μὲν κατὰ πόλιν ἀλλαγή, σχεδὸν αὐτῆς ἥμισυ μέρος ὄν, καπηλικὴ προσαγορεύεται;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε ἐξ ἄλλης εἰς ἄλλην πόλιν διαλλάττον ὠνῇ καὶ πράσει ἐμπορική;

Θεαίτητος

τί δ’ οὔ;

[223e] Ξένος

τῆς δ’ ἐμπορικῆς ἆρ’ οὐκ ᾐσθήμεθα ὅτι τὸ μὲν ὅσοις τὸ σῶμα τρέφεται καὶ χρῆται, τὸ δὲ ὅσοις ἡ ψυχή, πωλοῦν διὰ νομίσματος ἀλλάττεται;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις;

Ξένος

τὸ περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἴσως ἀγνοοῦμεν, ἐπεὶ τό γε ἕτερόν που συνίεμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[224a] Ξένος

μουσικήν τε τοίνυν συνάπασαν λέγωμεν, ἐκ πόλεως ἑκάστοτε εἰς πόλιν ἔνθεν μὲν ὠνηθεῖσαν, ἑτέρωσε δὲ ἀγομένην [καὶ πιπρασκομένην], καὶ γραφικὴν καὶ θαυματοποιικὴν καὶ πολλὰ ἕτερα τῆς ψυχῆς, τὰ μὲν παραμυθίας, τὰ δὲ καὶ σπουδῆς χάριν ἀχθέντα καὶ πωλούμενα, τὸν ἄγοντα καὶ πωλοῦντα μηδὲν ἧττον τῆς τῶν σιτίων καὶ ποτῶν πράσεως ἔμπορον ὀρθῶς ἂν λεγόμενον παρασχεῖν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

[224b] Ξένος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸν μαθήματα συνωνούμενον πόλιν τε ἐκ πόλεως νομίσματος ἀμείβοντα ταὐτὸν προσερεῖς ὄνομα;

Θεαίτητος

σφόδρα γε.

Ξένος

τῆς δὴ ψυχεμπορικῆς ταύτης ἆρ’ οὐ τὸ μὲν ἐπιδεικτικὴ δικαιότατα λέγοιτ’ ἄν, τὸ δὲ γελοίῳ μὲν οὐχ ἧττον τοῦ πρόσθεν, ὅμως δὲ μαθημάτων οὖσαν πρᾶσιν αὐτὴν ἀδελφῷ τινι τῆς πράξεως ὀνόματι προσειπεῖν ἀνάγκη;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ταύτης τοίνυν τῆς μαθηματοπωλικῆς τὸ μὲν περὶ [224c] τὰ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν μαθήματα ἑτέρῳ, τὸ δὲ περὶ τὸ τῆς ἀρετῆς ἄλλῳ προσρητέον.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

τεχνοπωλικὸν μὴν τό γε περὶ τἆλλα ἂν ἁρμόττοι: τὸ δὲ περὶ ταῦτα σὺ προθυμήθητι λέγειν ὄνομα.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ τί τις ἂν ἄλλο ὄνομα εἰπὼν οὐκ ἂν πλημμελοίη πλὴν τὸ νῦν ζητούμενον αὐτὸ εἶναι τὸ σοφιστικὸν γένος;

Ξένος

οὐδὲν ἄλλο. ἴθι δὴ νῦν συναγάγωμεν αὐτὸ λέγοντες ὡς τὸ τῆς κτητικῆς, μεταβλητικῆς, ἀγοραστικῆς, [224d] ἐμπορικῆς, ψυχεμπορικῆς περὶ λόγους καὶ μαθήματα ἀρετῆς πωλητικὸν δεύτερον ἀνεφάνη σοφιστική.

Θεαίτητος

μάλα γε.

Ξένος

τρίτον δέ γ’ οἶμαί σε, κἂν εἴ τις αὐτοῦ καθιδρυμένος ἐν πόλει, τὰ μὲν ὠνούμενος, τὰ δὲ καὶ τεκταινόμενος αὐτὸς μαθήματα περὶ τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα καὶ πωλῶν, ἐκ τούτου τὸ ζῆν προυτάξατο, καλεῖν οὐδὲν ἄλλο πλὴν ὅπερ νυνδή.

Θεαίτητος

τί δ’ οὐ μέλλω;

[224e] Ξένος

καὶ τὸ κτητικῆς ἄρα μεταβλητικόν, ἀγοραστικόν, καπηλικὸν εἴτε αὐτοπωλικόν, ἀμφοτέρως, ὅτιπερ ἂν ᾖ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα μαθηματοπωλικὸν γένος, ἀεὶ σὺ προσερεῖς, ὡς φαίνῃ, σοφιστικόν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη: τῷ γὰρ λόγῳ δεῖ συνακολουθεῖν.

Ξένος

ἔτι δὴ σκοπῶμεν εἴ τινι τοιῷδε προσέοικεν ἄρα τὸ νῦν μεταδιωκόμενον γένος.

[225a] Θεαίτητος

ποίῳ δή;

Ξένος

τῆς κτητικῆς ἀγωνιστική τι μέρος ἡμῖν ἦν.

Θεαίτητος

ἦν γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

οὐκ ἀπὸ τρόπου τοίνυν ἐστὶ διαιρεῖν αὐτὴν δίχα.

Θεαίτητος

καθ’ ὁποῖα λέγε.

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν ἁμιλλητικὸν αὐτῆς τιθέντας, τὸ δὲ μαχητικόν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστιν.

Ξένος

τῆς τοίνυν μαχητικῆς τῷ μὲν σώματι πρὸς σώματα γιγνομένῳ σχεδὸν εἰκὸς καὶ πρέπον ὄνομα λέγειν τι τοιοῦτον τιθεμένους οἷον βιαστικόν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τῷ δὲ λόγοις πρὸς λόγους τί τις, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἄλλο [225b] εἴπῃ πλὴν ἀμφισβητητικόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε περὶ τὰς ἀμφισβητήσεις θετέον διττόν.

Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

Ξένος

καθ’ ὅσον μὲν γὰρ γίγνεται μήκεσί τε πρὸς ἐναντία μήκη λόγων καὶ περὶ [τὰ] δίκαια καὶ ἄδικα δημοσίᾳ, δικανικόν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὸ δ’ ἐν ἰδίοις αὖ καὶ κατακεκερματισμένον ἐρωτήσεσι πρὸς ἀποκρίσεις μῶν εἰθίσμεθα καλεῖν ἄλλο πλὴν ἀντιλογικόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

Ξένος

τοῦ δὲ ἀντιλογικοῦ τὸ μὲν ὅσον περὶ τὰ συμβόλαια [225c] ἀμφισβητεῖται μέν, εἰκῇ δὲ καὶ ἀτέχνως περὶ αὐτὸ πράττεται, ταῦτα θετέον μὲν εἶδος, ἐπείπερ αὐτὸ διέγνωκεν ὡς ἕτερον ὂν ὁ λόγος, ἀτὰρ ἐπωνυμίας οὔθ’ ὑπὸ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ἔτυχεν οὔτε νῦν ὑφ’ ἡμῶν τυχεῖν ἄξιον.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ: κατὰ σμικρὰ γὰρ λίαν καὶ παντοδαπὰ διῄρηται.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε ἔντεχνον, καὶ περὶ δικαίων αὐτῶν καὶ ἀδίκων καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὅλως ἀμφισβητοῦν, ἆρ’ οὐκ ἐριστικὸν αὖ λέγειν εἰθίσμεθα;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

[225d] Ξένος

τοῦ μὴν ἐριστικοῦ τὸ μὲν χρηματοφθορικόν, τὸ δὲ χρηματιστικὸν ὂν τυγχάνει.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασί γε.

Ξένος

τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν τοίνυν ἣν ἑκάτερον δεῖ καλεῖν αὐτῶν πειραθῶμεν εἰπεῖν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν χρή.

Ξένος

δοκῶ μὴν τό γε δι’ ἡδονὴν τῆς περὶ ταῦτα διατριβῆς ἀμελὲς τῶν οἰκείων γιγνόμενον, περὶ δὲ τὴν λέξιν τοῖς πολλοῖς τῶν ἀκουόντων οὐ μεθ’ ἡδονῆς ἀκουόμενον καλεῖσθαι κατὰ γνώμην τὴν ἐμὴν οὐχ ἕτερον ἀδολεσχικοῦ.

Θεαίτητος

λέγεται γὰρ οὖν οὕτω πως.

[225e] Ξένος

τούτου τοίνυν τοὐναντίον, ἀπὸ τῶν ἰδιωτικῶν ἐρίδων χρηματιζόμενον, ἐν τῷ μέρει σὺ πειρῶ νῦν εἰπεῖν.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ <τί> τις ἂν αὖ εἰπὼν ἕτερον οὐκ ἐξαμάρτοι πλήν γε τὸν θαυμαστὸν πάλιν ἐκεῖνον ἥκειν αὖ νῦν τέταρτον τὸν μεταδιωκόμενον ὑφ’ ἡμῶν σοφιστήν;

[226a] Ξένος

οὐδὲν ἀλλ’ ἢ τὸ χρηματιστικὸν γένος, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐριστικῆς ὂν τέχνης, τῆς ἀντιλογικῆς, τῆς ἀμφισβητητικῆς, τῆς μαχητικῆς, τῆς ἀγωνιστικῆς, τῆς κτητικῆς ἔστιν, ὡς ὁ λόγος αὖ μεμήνυκε νῦν, ὁ σοφιστής.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ὁρᾷς οὖν ὡς ἀληθῆ λέγεται τὸ ποικίλον εἶναι τοῦτο τὸ θηρίον καὶ τὸ λεγόμενον οὐ τῇ ἑτέρᾳ ληπτόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν ἀμφοῖν χρή.

[226b] Ξένος

χρὴ γὰρ οὖν, καὶ κατὰ δύναμίν γε οὕτω ποιητέον, τοιόνδε τι μεταθέοντας ἴχνος αὐτοῦ. καί μοι λέγε: τῶν οἰκετικῶν ὀνομάτων καλοῦμεν ἄττα που;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πολλά: ἀτὰρ ποῖα δὴ τῶν πολλῶν πυνθάνῃ;

Ξένος

τὰ τοιάδε, οἷον διηθεῖν τε λέγομεν καὶ διαττᾶν καὶ βράττειν καὶ †διακρίνειν.†

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

καὶ πρός γε τούτοις ἔτι ξαίνειν, κατάγειν, κερκίζειν, καὶ μυρία ἐν ταῖς τέχναις ἄλλα τοιαῦτα ἐνόντα ἐπιστάμεθα. ἦ γάρ;

[226c] Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον αὐτῶν πέρι βουληθεὶς δηλῶσαι παραδείγματα προθεὶς ταῦτα κατὰ πάντων ἤρου;

Ξένος

διαιρετικά που τὰ λεχθέντα εἴρηται σύμπαντα.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

κατὰ τὸν ἐμὸν τοίνυν λόγον ὡς περὶ ταῦτα μίαν οὖσαν ἐν ἅπασι τέχνην ἑνὸς ὀνόματος ἀξιώσομεν αὐτήν.

Θεαίτητος

τίνα προσειπόντες;

Ξένος

διακριτικήν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστω.

Ξένος

σκόπει δὴ ταύτης αὖ δύο ἄν πῃ δυνώμεθα κατιδεῖν εἴδη.

Θεαίτητος

ταχεῖαν ὡς ἐμοὶ σκέψιν ἐπιτάττεις.

[226d] Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἔν γε ταῖς εἰρημέναις διακρίσεσι τὸ μὲν χεῖρον ἀπὸ βελτίονος ἀποχωρίζειν ἦν, τὸ δ’ ὅμοιον ἀφ’ ὁμοίου.

Θεαίτητος

σχεδὸν οὕτω νῦν λεχθὲν φαίνεται.

Ξένος

τῆς μὲν τοίνυν ὄνομα οὐκ ἔχω λεγόμενον: τῆς δὲ καταλειπούσης μὲν τὸ βέλτιον διακρίσεως, τὸ δὲ χεῖρον ἀποβαλλούσης ἔχω.

Θεαίτητος

λέγε τί.

Ξένος

πᾶσα ἡ τοιαύτη διάκρισις, ὡς ἐγὼ συννοῶ, λέγεται παρὰ πάντων καθαρμός τις.

Θεαίτητος

λέγεται γὰρ οὖν.

[226e] Ξένος

οὐκοῦν τό γε καθαρτικὸν εἶδος αὖ διπλοῦν ὂν πᾶς ἂν ἴδοι;

Θεαίτητος

ναί, κατὰ σχολήν γε ἴσως: οὐ μὴν ἔγωγε καθορῶ νῦν.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν τά γε περὶ τὰ σώματα πολλὰ εἴδη καθάρσεων ἑνὶ περιλαβεῖν ὀνόματι προσήκει.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖα καὶ τίνι;

Ξένος

τά τε τῶν ζῴων, ὅσα ἐντὸς σωμάτων ὑπὸ γυμναστικῆς [227a] ἰατρικῆς τε ὀρθῶς διακρινόμενα καθαίρεται καὶ περὶ τἀκτός, εἰπεῖν μὲν φαῦλα, ὅσα βαλανευτικὴ παρέχεται: καὶ τῶν ἀψύχων σωμάτων, ὧν γναφευτικὴ καὶ σύμπασα κοσμητικὴ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν παρεχομένη κατὰ σμικρὰ πολλὰ καὶ γελοῖα δοκοῦντα ὀνόματα ἔσχεν.

Θεαίτητος

μάλα γε.

Ξένος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε. ἀλλὰ γὰρ τῇ τῶν λόγων μεθόδῳ σπογγιστικῆς ἢ φαρμακοποσίας οὐδὲν ἧττον οὐδέ τι μᾶλλον τυγχάνει μέλον εἰ τὸ μὲν σμικρά, τὸ δὲ μεγάλα ἡμᾶς ὠφελεῖ καθαῖρον. τοῦ κτήσασθαι γὰρ [227b] ἕνεκα νοῦν πασῶν τεχνῶν τὸ συγγενὲς καὶ τὸ μὴ συγγενὲς κατανοεῖν πειρωμένη τιμᾷ πρὸς τοῦτο ἐξ ἴσου πάσας, καὶ θάτερα τῶν ἑτέρων κατὰ τὴν ὁμοιότητα οὐδὲν ἡγεῖται γελοιότερα, σεμνότερον δέ τι τὸν διὰ στρατηγικῆς ἢ φθειριστικῆς δηλοῦντα θηρευτικὴν οὐδὲν νενόμικεν, ἀλλ’ ὡς τὸ πολὺ χαυνότερον. καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν, ὅπερ ἤρου, τί προσεροῦμεν ὄνομα συμπάσας δυνάμεις ὅσαι σῶμα εἴτε ἔμψυχον εἴτε ἄψυχον [227c] εἰλήχασι καθαίρειν, οὐδὲν αὐτῇ διοίσει ποῖόν τι λεχθὲν εὐπρεπέστατον εἶναι δόξει: μόνον ἐχέτω χωρὶς τῶν τῆς ψυχῆς καθάρσεων πάντα συνδῆσαν ὅσα ἄλλο τι καθαίρει. τὸν γὰρ περὶ τὴν διάνοιαν καθαρμὸν ἀπὸ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπικεχείρηκεν ἀφορίσασθαι τὰ νῦν, εἴ γε ὅπερ βούλεται μανθάνομεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μεμάθηκα, καὶ συγχωρῶ δύο μὲν εἴδη καθάρσεως, ἓν δὲ τὸ περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν εἶδος εἶναι, τοῦ περὶ τὸ σῶμα χωρὶς ὄν.

Ξένος

πάντων κάλλιστα. καί μοι τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἐπάκουε [227d] πειρώμενος αὖ τὸ λεχθὲν διχῇ τέμνειν.

Θεαίτητος

καθ’ ὁποῖ’ ἂν ὑφηγῇ πειράσομαί σοι συντέμνειν.

Ξένος

πονηρίαν ἕτερον ἀρετῆς ἐν ψυχῇ λέγομέν τι;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν καθαρμός γ’ ἦν τὸ λείπειν μὲν θάτερον, ἐκβάλλειν δὲ ὅσον ἂν ᾖ πού τι φλαῦρον.

Θεαίτητος

ἦν γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

καὶ ψυχῆς ἄρα, καθ’ ὅσον ἂν εὑρίσκωμεν κακίας ἀφαίρεσίν τινα, καθαρμὸν αὐτὸν λέγοντες ἐν μέλει φθεγξόμεθα.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα γε.

Ξένος

δύο μὲν εἴδη κακίας περὶ ψυχὴν ῥητέον.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖα;

[228a] Ξένος

τὸ μὲν οἷον νόσον ἐν σώματι, τὸ δ’ οἷον αἶσχος ἐγγιγνόμενον.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔμαθον.

Ξένος

νόσον ἴσως καὶ στάσιν οὐ ταὐτὸν νενόμικας;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδ’ αὖ πρὸς τοῦτο ἔχω τί χρή με ἀποκρίνασθαι.

Ξένος

πότερον ἄλλο τι στάσιν ἡγούμενος ἢ τὴν τοῦ φύσει συγγενοῦς ἔκ τινος διαφθορᾶς διαφοράν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ αἶσχος ἄλλο τι πλὴν τὸ τῆς ἀμετρίας πανταχοῦ δυσειδὲς ἐνὸν γένος;

[228b] Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς ἄλλο.

Ξένος

τί δέ; ἐν ψυχῇ δόξας ἐπιθυμίαις καὶ θυμὸν ἡδοναῖς καὶ λόγον λύπαις καὶ πάντα ἀλλήλοις ταῦτα τῶν φλαύρως ἐχόντων οὐκ ᾐσθήμεθα διαφερόμενα;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ σφόδρα γε.

Ξένος

συγγενῆ γε μὴν ἐξ ἀνάγκης σύμπαντα γέγονεν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

στάσιν ἄρα καὶ νόσον τῆς ψυχῆς πονηρίαν λέγοντες ὀρθῶς ἐροῦμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθότατα μὲν οὖν.

[228c] Ξένος

τί δ’; ὅσ’ <ἂν> κινήσεως μετασχόντα καὶ σκοπόν τινα θέμενα πειρώμενα τούτου τυγχάνειν καθ’ ἑκάστην ὁρμὴν παράφορα αὐτοῦ γίγνηται καὶ ἀποτυγχάνῃ, πότερον αὐτὰ φήσομεν ὑπὸ συμμετρίας τῆς πρὸς ἄλληλα ἢ τοὐναντίον ὑπὸ ἀμετρίας αὐτὰ πάσχειν;

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον ὡς ὑπὸ ἀμετρίας.

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ μὴν ψυχήν γε ἴσμεν ἄκουσαν πᾶσαν πᾶν ἀγνοοῦσαν.

Θεαίτητος

σφόδρα γε.

Ξένος

τό γε μὴν ἀγνοεῖν ἐστιν ἐπ’ ἀλήθειαν ὁρμωμένης [228d] ψυχῆς, παραφόρου συνέσεως γιγνομένης, οὐδὲν ἄλλο πλὴν παραφροσύνη.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ψυχὴν ἄρα ἀνόητον αἰσχρὰν καὶ ἄμετρον θετέον.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Ξένος

ἔστι δὴ δύο ταῦτα, ὡς φαίνεται, κακῶν ἐν αὐτῇ γένη, τὸ μὲν πονηρία καλούμενον ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν, νόσος αὐτῆς σαφέστατα ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε ἄγνοιαν μὲν καλοῦσι, κακίαν δὲ αὐτὸ ἐν ψυχῇ μόνον γιγνόμενον οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν ὁμολογεῖν.

[228e] Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ συγχωρητέον, ὃ νυνδὴ λέξαντος ἠμφεγνόησά σου, τὸ δύο εἶναι γένη κακίας ἐν ψυχῇ, καὶ δειλίαν μὲν καὶ ἀκολασίαν καὶ ἀδικίαν σύμπαντα ἡγητέον νόσον ἐν ἡμῖν, τὸ δὲ τῆς πολλῆς καὶ παντοδαπῆς ἀγνοίας πάθος αἶσχος θετέον.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν ἔν γε σώματι περὶ δύο παθήματε τούτω δύο τέχνα τινὲ ἐγενέσθην;

Θεαίτητος

τίνε τούτω;

[229a] Ξένος

περὶ μὲν αἶσχος γυμναστική, περὶ δὲ νόσον ἰατρική.

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεσθον.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν καὶ περὶ μὲν ὕβριν καὶ ἀδικίαν καὶ δειλίαν ἡ κολαστικὴ πέφυκε τεχνῶν μάλιστα δὴ πασῶν προσήκουσα Δίκῃ.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ γοῦν εἰκός, ὡς εἰπεῖν κατὰ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην δόξαν.

Ξένος

τί δέ; περὶ σύμπασαν ἄγνοιαν μῶν ἄλλην τινὰ ἢ διδασκαλικὴν ὀρθότερον εἴποι τις ἄν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδεμίαν.

[229b] Ξένος

φέρε δή: διδασκαλικῆς δὲ ἆρα ἓν μόνον γένος φατέον [εἶναι] ἢ πλείω, δύο δέ τινε αὐτῆς εἶναι μεγίστω; σκόπει.

Θεαίτητος

σκοπῶ.

Ξένος

καί μοι δοκοῦμεν τῇδε ἄν πῃ τάχιστα εὑρεῖν.

Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

Ξένος

τὴν ἄγνοιαν ἰδόντες εἴ πῃ κατὰ μέσον αὑτῆς τομὴν ἔχει τινά. διπλῆ γὰρ αὕτη γιγνομένη δῆλον ὅτι καὶ τὴν διδασκαλικὴν δύο ἀναγκάζει μόρια ἔχειν, ἓν ἐφ’ ἑνὶ [γένει] τῶν αὑτῆς ἑκατέρῳ.

Θεαίτητος

τί οὖν; καταφανές πῄ σοι τὸ νῦν ζητούμενον;

[229c] Ξένος

ἀγνοίας γοῦν μέγα τί μοι δοκῶ καὶ χαλεπὸν ἀφωρισμένον ὁρᾶν εἶδος, πᾶσι τοῖς ἄλλοις αὐτῆς ἀντίσταθμον μέρεσιν.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖον δή;

Ξένος

τὸ μὴ κατειδότα τι δοκεῖν εἰδέναι: δι’ οὗ κινδυνεύει πάντα ὅσα διανοίᾳ σφαλλόμεθα γίγνεσθαι πᾶσιν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος

καὶ δὴ καὶ τούτῳ γε οἶμαι μόνῳ τῆς ἀγνοίας ἀμαθίαν τοὔνομα προσρηθῆναι.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

τί δὲ δὴ τῷ τῆς διδασκαλικῆς ἄρα μέρει τῷ τοῦτο ἀπαλλάττοντι λεκτέον;

[229d] Θεαίτητος

οἶμαι μὲν [οὖν], ὦ ξένε, τὸ μὲν ἄλλο δημιουργικὰς διδασκαλίας, τοῦτο δὲ ἐνθάδε γε παιδείαν δι’ ἡμῶν κεκλῆσθαι.

Ξένος

καὶ γὰρ σχεδόν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἐν πᾶσιν Ἕλλησιν. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἡμῖν ἔτι καὶ τοῦτο σκεπτέον, ἆρ’ ἄτομον ἤδη ἐστὶ πᾶν ἤ τινα ἔχον διαίρεσιν ἀξίαν ἐπωνυμίας.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν χρὴ σκοπεῖν.

Ξένος

δοκεῖ τοίνυν μοι καὶ τοῦτο ἔτι πῃ σχίζεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

κατὰ τί;

[229e] Ξένος

τῆς ἐν τοῖς λόγοις διδασκαλικῆς ἡ μὲν τραχυτέρα τις ἔοικεν ὁδὸς εἶναι, τὸ δ’ ἕτερον αὐτῆς μόριον λειότερον.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον δὴ τούτων ἑκάτερον λέγομεν;

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν ἀρχαιοπρεπές τι πάτριον, ᾧ πρὸς τοὺς ὑεῖς μάλιστ’ ἐχρῶντό τε καὶ ἔτι πολλοὶ χρῶνται τὰ νῦν, ὅταν [230a] αὐτοῖς ἐξαμαρτάνωσί τι, τὰ μὲν χαλεπαίνοντες, τὰ δὲ μαλθακωτέρως παραμυθούμενοι: τὸ δ’ οὖν σύμπαν αὐτὸ ὀρθότατα εἴποι τις ἂν νουθετητικήν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστιν οὕτως.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε, εἴξασί τινες αὖ λόγον ἑαυτοῖς δόντες ἡγήσασθαι πᾶσαν ἀκούσιον ἀμαθίαν εἶναι, καὶ μαθεῖν οὐδέν ποτ’ ἂν ἐθέλειν τὸν οἰόμενον εἶναι σοφὸν τούτων ὧν οἴοιτο πέρι δεινὸς εἶναι, μετὰ δὲ πολλοῦ πόνου τὸ νουθετητικὸν εἶδος τῆς παιδείας σμικρὸν ἀνύτειν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς γε νομίζοντες.

[230b] Ξένος

τῷ τοι ταύτης τῆς δόξης ἐπὶ ἐκβολὴν ἄλλῳ τρόπῳ στέλλονται.

Θεαίτητος

τίνι δή;

Ξένος

διερωτῶσιν ὧν ἂν οἴηταί τίς τι πέρι λέγειν λέγων μηδέν: εἶθ’ ἅτε πλανωμένων τὰς δόξας ῥᾳδίως ἐξετάζουσι, καὶ συνάγοντες δὴ τοῖς λόγοις εἰς ταὐτὸν τιθέασι παρ’ ἀλλήλας, τιθέντες δὲ ἐπιδεικνύουσιν αὐτὰς αὑταῖς ἅμα περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν πρὸς τὰ αὐτὰ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐναντίας. οἱ δ’ ὁρῶντες ἑαυτοῖς μὲν χαλεπαίνουσι, πρὸς δὲ τοὺς ἄλλους ἡμεροῦνται, [230c] καὶ τούτῳ δὴ τῷ τρόπῳ τῶν περὶ αὑτοὺς μεγάλων καὶ σκληρῶν δοξῶν ἀπαλλάττονται πασῶν [τε] ἀπαλλαγῶν ἀκούειν τε ἡδίστην καὶ τῷ πάσχοντι βεβαιότατα γιγνομένην. νομίζοντες γάρ, ὦ παῖ φίλε, οἱ καθαίροντες αὐτούς, ὥσπερ οἱ περὶ τὰ σώματα ἰατροὶ νενομίκασι μὴ πρότερον ἂν τῆς προσφερομένης τροφῆς ἀπολαύειν δύνασθαι σῶμα, πρὶν ἂν τὰ ἐμποδίζοντα ἐντός τις ἐκβάλῃ, ταὐτὸν καὶ περὶ ψυχῆς διενοήθησαν ἐκεῖνοι, μὴ πρότερον αὐτὴν ἕξειν τῶν προσφερομένων μαθημάτων [230d] ὄνησιν, πρὶν ἂν ἐλέγχων τις τὸν ἐλεγχόμενον εἰς αἰσχύνην καταστήσας, τὰς τοῖς μαθήμασιν ἐμποδίους δόξας ἐξελών, καθαρὸν ἀποφήνῃ καὶ ταῦτα ἡγούμενον ἅπερ οἶδεν εἰδέναι μόνα, πλείω δὲ μή.

Θεαίτητος

βελτίστη γοῦν καὶ σωφρονεστάτη τῶν ἕξεων αὕτη.

Ξένος

διὰ ταῦτα δὴ πάντα ἡμῖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, καὶ τὸν ἔλεγχον λεκτέον ὡς ἄρα μεγίστη καὶ κυριωτάτη τῶν καθάρσεών ἐστι, καὶ τὸν ἀνέλεγκτον αὖ νομιστέον, ἂν καὶ τυγχάνῃ [230e] βασιλεὺς ὁ μέγας ὤν, τὰ μέγιστα ἀκάθαρτον ὄντα, ἀπαίδευτόν τε καὶ αἰσχρὸν γεγονέναι ταῦτα ἃ καθαρώτατον καὶ κάλλιστον ἔπρεπε τὸν ὄντως ἐσόμενον εὐδαίμονα εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τοὺς ταύτῃ χρωμένους τῇ τέχνῃ τίνας [231a] φήσομεν; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ φοβοῦμαι σοφιστὰς φάναι.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Ξένος

μὴ μεῖζον αὐτοῖς προσάπτωμεν γέρας.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μὴν προσέοικέ γε τοιούτῳ τινὶ τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα.

Ξένος

καὶ γὰρ κυνὶ λύκος, ἀγριώτατον ἡμερωτάτῳ. τὸν δὲ ἀσφαλῆ δεῖ πάντων μάλιστα περὶ τὰς ὁμοιότητας ἀεὶ ποιεῖσθαι τὴν φυλακήν: ὀλισθηρότατον γὰρ τὸ γένος. ὅμως δὲ ἔστω: οὐ γὰρ περὶ σμικρῶν ὅρων τὴν ἀμφισβήτησιν οἴομαι [231b] γενήσεσθαι τότε ὁπόταν ἱκανῶς φυλάττωσιν.

Θεαίτητος

οὔκουν τό γε εἰκός.

Ξένος

ἔστω δὴ διακριτικῆς τέχνης καθαρτική, καθαρτικῆς δὲ τὸ περὶ ψυχὴν μέρος ἀφωρίσθω, τούτου δὲ διδασκαλική, διδασκαλικῆς δὲ παιδευτική: τῆς δὲ παιδευτικῆς ὁ περὶ τὴν μάταιον δοξοσοφίαν γιγνόμενος ἔλεγχος ἐν τῷ νῦν λόγῳ παραφανέντι μηδὲν ἄλλ’ ἡμῖν εἶναι λεγέσθω πλὴν ἡ γένει γενναία σοφιστική.

Θεαίτητος

λεγέσθω μέν: ἀπορῶ δὲ ἔγωγε ἤδη διὰ τὸ πολλὰ [231c] πεφάνθαι, τί χρή ποτε ὡς ἀληθῆ λέγοντα καὶ διισχυριζόμενον εἰπεῖν ὄντως εἶναι τὸν σοφιστήν.

Ξένος

εἰκότως γε σὺ ἀπορῶν. ἀλλά τοι κἀκεῖνον ἡγεῖσθαι χρὴ νῦν ἤδη σφόδρα ἀπορεῖν ὅπῃ ποτὲ ἔτι διαδύσεται τὸν λόγον: ὀρθὴ γὰρ ἡ παροιμία, τὸ τὰς ἁπάσας μὴ ῥᾴδιον εἶναι διαφεύγειν. νῦν οὖν καὶ μάλιστα ἐπιθετέον αὐτῷ.

Θεαίτητος

καλῶς λέγεις.

Ξένος

πρῶτον δὴ στάντες οἷον ἐξαναπνεύσωμεν, καὶ πρὸς [231d] ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς διαλογισώμεθα ἅμα ἀναπαυόμενοι, φέρε, ὁπόσα ἡμῖν ὁ σοφιστὴς πέφανται. δοκῶ μὲν γάρ, τὸ πρῶτον ηὑρέθη νέων καὶ πλουσίων ἔμμισθος θηρευτής.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε δεύτερον ἔμπορός τις περὶ τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς μαθήματα.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

τρίτον δὲ ἆρα οὐ περὶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα κάπηλος ἀνεφάνη;

Θεαίτητος

ναί, καὶ τέταρτόν γε αὐτοπώλης περὶ τὰ μαθήματα ἡμῖν <ἦν>.

Ξένος

ὀρθῶς ἐμνημόνευσας. πέμπτον δ’ ἐγὼ πειράσομαι [231e] μνημονεύειν: τῆς γὰρ ἀγωνιστικῆς περὶ λόγους ἦν τις ἀθλητής, τὴν ἐριστικὴν τέχνην ἀφωρισμένος.

Θεαίτητος

ἦν γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

τό γε μὴν ἕκτον ἀμφισβητήσιμον μέν, ὅμως δ’ ἔθεμεν αὐτῷ συγχωρήσαντες δοξῶν ἐμποδίων μαθήμασιν περὶ ψυχὴν καθαρτὴν αὐτὸν εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

[232a] Ξένος

ἆρ’ οὖν ἐννοεῖς, ὅταν ἐπιστήμων τις πολλῶν φαίνηται, μιᾶς δὲ τέχνης ὀνόματι προσαγορεύηται, τὸ φάντασμα τοῦτο ὡς οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὑγιές, ἀλλὰ δῆλον ὡς ὁ πάσχων αὐτὸ πρός τινα τέχνην οὐ δύναται κατιδεῖν ἐκεῖνο αὐτῆς εἰς ὃ πάντα τὰ μαθήματα ταῦτα βλέπει, διὸ καὶ πολλοῖς ὀνόμασιν ἀνθ’ ἑνὸς τὸν ἔχοντα αὐτὰ προσαγορεύει;

Θεαίτητος

κινδυνεύει τοῦτο ταύτῃ πῃ μάλιστα πεφυκέναι.

[232b] Ξένος

μὴ τοίνυν ἡμεῖς γε αὐτὸ ἐν τῇ ζητήσει δι’ ἀργίαν πάσχωμεν, ἀλλ’ ἀναλάβωμεν <ἓν> πρῶτον τῶν περὶ τὸν σοφιστὴν εἰρημένων. ἓν γάρ τί μοι μάλιστα κατεφάνη αὐτὸν μηνῦον.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

ἀντιλογικὸν αὐτὸν ἔφαμεν εἶναί που.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τί δ’; οὐ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων αὐτοῦ τούτου διδάσκαλον γίγνεσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

σκοπῶμεν δή, περὶ τίνος ἄρα καί φασιν οἱ τοιοῦτοι ποιεῖν ἀντιλογικούς. ἡ δὲ σκέψις ἡμῖν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἔστω τῇδέ [232c] πῃ. φέρε, περὶ τῶν θείων, ὅσ’ ἀφανῆ τοῖς πολλοῖς, ἆρ’ ἱκανοὺς ποιοῦσι τοῦτο δρᾶν;

Θεαίτητος

λέγεται γοῦν δὴ περὶ αὐτῶν ταῦτα.

Ξένος

τί δ’ ὅσα φανερὰ γῆς τε καὶ οὐρανοῦ καὶ τῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα;

Θεαίτητος

τί γάρ;

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἔν γε ταῖς ἰδίαις συνουσίαις, ὁπόταν γενέσεώς τε καὶ οὐσίας πέρι κατὰ πάντων λέγηταί τι, σύνισμεν ὡς αὐτοί τε ἀντειπεῖν δεινοὶ τούς τε ἄλλους ὅτι ποιοῦσιν ἅπερ αὐτοὶ δυνατούς;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασί γε.

[232d] Ξένος

τί δ’ αὖ περὶ νόμων καὶ συμπάντων τῶν πολιτικῶν, ἆρ’ οὐχ ὑπισχνοῦνται ποιεῖν ἀμφισβητητικούς;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδεὶς γὰρ ἂν αὐτοῖς ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν διελέγετο μὴ τοῦτο ὑπισχνουμένοις.

Ξένος

τά γε μὴν περὶ πασῶν τε καὶ κατὰ μίαν ἑκάστην τέχνην, ἃ δεῖ πρὸς ἕκαστον αὐτὸν τὸν δημιουργὸν ἀντειπεῖν, δεδημοσιωμένα που καταβέβληται γεγραμμένα τῷ βουλομένῳ μαθεῖν.

Θεαίτητος

τὰ Πρωταγόρειά μοι φαίνῃ περί τε πάλης καὶ [232e] τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν εἰρηκέναι.

Ξένος

καὶ πολλῶν γε, ὦ μακάριε, ἑτέρων. ἀτὰρ δὴ τὸ τῆς ἀντιλογικῆς τέχνης ἆρ’ οὐκ ἐν κεφαλαίῳ περὶ πάντων πρὸς ἀμφισβήτησιν ἱκανή τις δύναμις ἔοικ’ εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται γοῦν δὴ σχεδὸν οὐδὲν ὑπολιπεῖν.

Ξένος

σὺ δὴ πρὸς θεῶν, ὦ παῖ, δυνατὸν ἡγῇ τοῦτο; τάχα γὰρ ἂν ὑμεῖς μὲν ὀξύτερον οἱ νέοι πρὸς αὐτὸ βλέποιτε, ἡμεῖς δὲ ἀμβλύτερον.

[233a] Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον, καὶ πρὸς τί μάλιστα λέγεις; οὐ γάρ που κατανοῶ τὸ νῦν ἐρωτώμενον.

Ξένος

εἰ πάντα ἐπίστασθαί τινα ἀνθρώπων ἐστὶ δυνατόν.

Θεαίτητος

μακάριον μεντἂν ἡμῶν, ὦ ξένε, ἦν τὸ γένος.

Ξένος

πῶς οὖν ἄν ποτέ τις πρός γε τὸν ἐπιστάμενον αὐτὸς ἀνεπιστήμων ὢν δύναιτ’ ἂν ὑγιές τι λέγων ἀντειπεῖν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος

τί ποτ’ οὖν ἂν εἴη τὸ τῆς σοφιστικῆς δυνάμεως θαῦμα;

Θεαίτητος

τοῦ δὴ πέρι;

[233b] Ξένος

καθ’ ὅντινα τρόπον ποτὲ δυνατοὶ τοῖς νέοις δόξαν παρασκευάζειν ὡς εἰσὶ πάντα πάντων αὐτοὶ σοφώτατοι. δῆλον γὰρ ὡς εἰ μήτε ἀντέλεγον ὀρθῶς μήτε ἐκείνοις ἐφαίνοντο, φαινόμενοί τε εἰ μηδὲν αὖ μᾶλλον ἐδόκουν διὰ τὴν ἀμφισβήτησιν εἶναι φρόνιμοι, τὸ σὸν δὴ τοῦτο, σχολῇ ποτ’ ἂν αὐτοῖς τις χρήματα διδοὺς ἤθελεν ἂν τούτων αὐτῶν μαθητὴς γίγνεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

σχολῇ μεντἄν.

Ξένος

νῦν δέ γ’ ἐθέλουσιν;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα.

[233c] Ξένος

δοκοῦσι γὰρ οἶμαι πρὸς ταῦτα ἐπιστημόνως ἔχειν αὐτοὶ πρὸς ἅπερ ἀντιλέγουσιν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

δρῶσι δέ γε τοῦτο πρὸς ἅπαντα, φαμέν;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

πάντα ἄρα σοφοὶ τοῖς μαθηταῖς φαίνονται.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

οὐκ ὄντες γε: ἀδύνατον γὰρ τοῦτό γε ἐφάνη.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἀδύνατον;

Ξένος

δοξαστικὴν ἄρα τινὰ περὶ πάντων ἐπιστήμην ὁ σοφιστὴς ἡμῖν ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἀλήθειαν ἔχων ἀναπέφανται.

[233d] Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, καὶ κινδυνεύει γε τὸ νῦν εἰρημένον ὀρθότατα περὶ αὐτῶν εἰρῆσθαι.

Ξένος

λάβωμεν τοίνυν σαφέστερόν τι παράδειγμα περὶ τούτων.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ξένος

τόδε. καί μοι πειρῶ προσέχων τὸν νοῦν εὖ μάλα ἀποκρίνασθαι.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

εἴ τις φαίη μὴ λέγειν μηδ’ ἀντιλέγειν, ἀλλὰ ποιεῖν καὶ δρᾶν μιᾷ τέχνῃ συνάπαντα ἐπίστασθαι πράγματα —

[233e] Θεαίτητος

πῶς πάντα εἶπες;

Ξένος

τὴν ἀρχὴν τοῦ ῥηθέντος σύ γ’ ἡμῖν εὐθὺς ἀγνοεῖς: τὰ γὰρ σύμπαντα, ὡς ἔοικας, οὐ μανθάνεις.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

λέγω τοίνυν σὲ καὶ ἐμὲ τῶν πάντων καὶ πρὸς ἡμῖν τἆλλα ζῷα καὶ δένδρα.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς λέγεις;

Ξένος

εἴ τις ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ καὶ τἆλλα φυτὰ πάντα ποιήσειν φαίη —

[234a] Θεαίτητος

τίνα δὴ λέγων τὴν ποίησιν; οὐ γὰρ δὴ γεωργόν γε ἐρεῖς τινα: καὶ γὰρ ζῴων αὐτὸν εἶπες ποιητήν.

Ξένος

φημί, καὶ πρός γε θαλάττης καὶ γῆς καὶ οὐρανοῦ καὶ θεῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων συμπάντων: καὶ τοίνυν καὶ ταχὺ ποιήσας αὐτῶν ἕκαστα πάνυ σμικροῦ νομίσματος ἀποδίδοται.

Θεαίτητος

παιδιὰν λέγεις τινά.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τὴν τοῦ λέγοντος ὅτι πάντα οἶδε καὶ ταῦτα ἕτερον ἂν διδάξειεν ὀλίγου καὶ ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ, μῶν οὐ παιδιὰν νομιστέον;

Θεαίτητος

πάντως που.

[234b] Ξένος

παιδιᾶς δὲ ἔχεις ἤ τι τεχνικώτερον ἢ καὶ χαριέστερον εἶδος ἢ τὸ μιμητικόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς: πάμπολυ γὰρ εἴρηκας εἶδος εἰς ἓν πάντα συλλαβὼν καὶ σχεδὸν ποικιλώτατον.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν τόν γ’ ὑπισχνούμενον δυνατὸν εἶναι μιᾷ τέχνῃ πάντα ποιεῖν γιγνώσκομέν που τοῦτο, ὅτι μιμήματα καὶ ὁμώνυμα τῶν ὄντων ἀπεργαζόμενος τῇ γραφικῇ τέχνῃ δυνατὸς ἔσται τοὺς ἀνοήτους τῶν νέων παίδων, πόῤῥωθεν τὰ γεγραμμένα ἐπιδεικνύς, λανθάνειν ὡς ὅτιπερ ἂν βουληθῇ δρᾶν, τοῦτο ἱκανώτατος ὢν ἀποτελεῖν ἔργῳ.

[234c] Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

τί δὲ δή; περὶ τοὺς λόγους ἆρ’ οὐ προσδοκῶμεν εἶναί τινα ἄλλην τέχνην, ᾗ αὖ δυνατὸν <ὂν> [αὖ] τυγχάνει τοὺς νέους καὶ ἔτι πόῤῥω τῶν πραγμάτων τῆς ἀληθείας ἀφεστῶτας διὰ τῶν ὤτων τοῖς λόγοις γοητεύειν, δεικνύντας εἴδωλα λεγόμενα περὶ πάντων, ὥστε ποιεῖν ἀληθῆ δοκεῖν λέγεσθαι καὶ τὸν λέγοντα δὴ σοφώτατον πάντων ἅπαντ’ εἶναι;

[234d] Θεαίτητος

τί γὰρ οὐκ ἂν εἴη ἄλλη τις τοιαύτη τέχνη;

Ξένος

τοὺς πολλοὺς οὖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, τῶν τότε ἀκουόντων ἆρ’ οὐκ ἀνάγκη χρόνου τε ἐπελθόντος αὐτοῖς ἱκανοῦ καὶ προϊούσης ἡλικίας τοῖς τε οὖσι προσπίπτοντας ἐγγύθεν καὶ διὰ παθημάτων ἀναγκαζομένους ἐναργῶς ἐφάπτεσθαι τῶν ὄντων, μεταβάλλειν τὰς τότε γενομένας δόξας, ὥστε σμικρὰ μὲν φαίνεσθαι τὰ μεγάλα, χαλεπὰ δὲ τὰ ῥᾴδια, καὶ πάντα [234e] πάντῃ ἀνατετράφθαι τὰ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις φαντάσματα ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν ταῖς πράξεσιν ἔργων παραγενομένων;

Θεαίτητος

ὡς γοῦν ἐμοὶ τηλικῷδε ὄντι κρῖναι. οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ἐμὲ τῶν ἔτι πόῤῥωθεν ἀφεστηκότων εἶναι.

Ξένος

τοιγαροῦν ἡμεῖς σε οἵδε πάντες πειρασόμεθα καὶ νῦν πειρώμεθα ὡς ἐγγύτατα ἄνευ τῶν παθημάτων προσάγειν. περὶ δ’ οὖν τοῦ σοφιστοῦ τόδε μοι λέγε: πότερον ἤδη τοῦτο [235a] σαφές, ὅτι τῶν γοήτων ἐστί τις, μιμητὴς ὢν τῶν ὄντων, ἢ διστάζομεν ἔτι μὴ περὶ ὅσωνπερ ἀντιλέγειν δοκεῖ δυνατὸς εἶναι, περὶ τοσούτων καὶ τὰς ἐπιστήμας ἀληθῶς ἔχων τυγχάνει;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς ἄν, ὦ ξένε; ἀλλὰ σχεδὸν ἤδη σαφὲς ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων, ὅτι τῶν τῆς παιδιᾶς μετεχόντων ἐστί τις †μερῶν† εἷς.

Ξένος

γόητα μὲν δὴ καὶ μιμητὴν ἄρα θετέον αὐτόν τινα.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὐ θετέον;

Ξένος

ἄγε δή, νῦν ἡμέτερον ἔργον ἤδη τὸν θῆρα μηκέτ’ [235b] ἀνεῖναι: σχεδὸν γὰρ αὐτὸν περιειλήφαμεν ἐν ἀμφιβληστρικῷ τινι τῶν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ὀργάνων, ὥστε οὐκέτ’ ἐκφεύξεται τόδε γε.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

τὸ μὴ οὐ τοῦ γένους εἶναι τοῦ τῶν θαυματοποιῶν τις εἷς.

Θεαίτητος

κἀμοὶ τοῦτό γε οὕτω περὶ αὐτοῦ συνδοκεῖ.

Ξένος

δέδοκται τοίνυν ὅτι τάχιστα διαιρεῖν τὴν εἰδωλοποιικὴν τέχνην, καὶ καταβάντας εἰς αὐτήν, ἐὰν μὲν ἡμᾶς εὐθὺς ὁ σοφιστὴς ὑπομείνῃ, συλλαβεῖν αὐτὸν κατὰ τὰ ἐπεσταλμένα [235c] ὑπὸ τοῦ βασιλικοῦ λόγου, κἀκείνῳ παραδόντας ἀποφῆναι τὴν ἄγραν: ἐὰν δ’ ἄρα κατὰ μέρη τῆς μιμητικῆς δύηταί πῃ, συνακολουθεῖν αὐτῷ διαιροῦντας ἀεὶ τὴν ὑποδεχομένην αὐτὸν μοῖραν, ἕωσπερ ἂν ληφθῇ. πάντως οὔτε οὗτος οὔτε ἄλλο γένος οὐδὲν μή ποτε ἐκφυγὸν ἐπεύξηται τὴν τῶν οὕτω δυναμένων μετιέναι καθ’ ἕκαστά τε καὶ ἐπὶ πάντα μέθοδον.

Θεαίτητος

λέγεις εὖ, καὶ ταῦτα ταύτῃ ποιητέον.

Ξένος

κατὰ δὴ τὸν παρεληλυθότα τρόπον τῆς διαιρέσεως [235d] ἔγωγέ μοι καὶ νῦν φαίνομαι δύο καθορᾶν εἴδη τῆς μιμητικῆς: τὴν δὲ ζητουμένην ἰδέαν, ἐν ὁποτέρῳ ποθ’ ἡμῖν οὖσα τυγχάνει, καταμαθεῖν οὐδέπω μοι δοκῶ νῦν δυνατὸς εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

σὺ δ’ ἀλλ’ εἰπὲ πρῶτον καὶ δίελε ἡμῖν τίνε τὼ δύο λέγεις.

Ξένος

μίαν μὲν τὴν εἰκαστικὴν ὁρῶν ἐν αὐτῇ τέχνην. ἔστι δ’ αὕτη μάλιστα ὁπόταν κατὰ τὰς τοῦ παραδείγματος συμμετρίας τις ἐν μήκει καὶ πλάτει καὶ βάθει, καὶ πρὸς [235e] τούτοις ἔτι χρώματα ἀποδιδοὺς τὰ προσήκοντα ἑκάστοις, τὴν τοῦ μιμήματος γένεσιν ἀπεργάζηται.

Θεαίτητος

τί δ’; οὐ πάντες οἱ μιμούμενοί τι τοῦτ’ ἐπιχειροῦσι δρᾶν;

Ξένος

οὔκουν ὅσοι γε τῶν μεγάλων πού τι πλάττουσιν ἔργων ἢ γράφουσιν. εἰ γὰρ ἀποδιδοῖεν τὴν τῶν καλῶν ἀληθινὴν συμμετρίαν, οἶσθ’ ὅτι σμικρότερα μὲν τοῦ δέοντος [236a] τὰ ἄνω, μείζω δὲ τὰ κάτω φαίνοιτ’ ἂν διὰ τὸ τὰ μὲν πόῤῥωθεν, τὰ δ’ ἐγγύθεν ὑφ’ ἡμῶν ὁρᾶσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐ χαίρειν τὸ ἀληθὲς ἐάσαντες οἱ δημιουργοὶ νῦν οὐ τὰς οὔσας συμμετρίας ἀλλὰ τὰς δοξούσας εἶναι καλὰς τοῖς εἰδώλοις ἐναπεργάζονται;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασί γε.

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν ἄρα ἕτερον οὐ δίκαιον, εἰκός γε ὄν, εἰκόνα καλεῖν;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[236b] Ξένος

καὶ τῆς γε μιμητικῆς τὸ ἐπὶ τούτῳ μέρος κλητέον ὅπερ εἴπομεν ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν, εἰκαστικήν;

Θεαίτητος

κλητέον.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τὸ φαινόμενον μὲν διὰ τὴν οὐκ ἐκ καλοῦ θέαν ἐοικέναι τῷ καλῷ, δύναμιν δὲ εἴ τις λάβοι τὰ τηλικαῦτα ἱκανῶς ὁρᾶν, μηδ’ εἰκὸς ᾧ φησιν ἐοικέναι, τί καλοῦμεν; ἆρ’ οὐκ, ἐπείπερ φαίνεται μέν, ἔοικε δὲ οὔ, φάντασμα;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν πάμπολυ καὶ κατὰ τὴν ζωγραφίαν τοῦτο τὸ [236c] μέρος ἐστὶ καὶ κατὰ σύμπασαν μιμητικήν;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

τὴν δὴ φάντασμα ἀλλ’ οὐκ εἰκόνα ἀπεργαζομένην τέχνην ἆρ’ οὐ φανταστικὴν ὀρθότατ’ ἂν προσαγορεύοιμεν;

Θεαίτητος

πολύ γε.

Ξένος

τούτω τοίνυν τὼ δύο ἔλεγον εἴδη τῆς εἰδωλοποιικῆς, εἰκαστικὴν καὶ φανταστικήν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

ὃ δέ γε καὶ τότ’ ἠμφεγνόουν, <ἐν> ποτέρᾳ τὸν σοφιστὴν θετέον, οὐδὲ νῦν πω δύναμαι θεάσασθαι σαφῶς, [236d] ἀλλ’ ὄντως θαυμαστὸς ἁνὴρ καὶ κατιδεῖν παγχάλεπος, ἐπεὶ καὶ νῦν μάλα εὖ καὶ κομψῶς εἰς ἄπορον εἶδος διερευνήσασθαι καταπέφευγεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Ξένος

ἆρ’ οὖν αὐτὸ γιγνώσκων σύμφης, ἤ σε οἷον ῥύμη τις ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου συνειθισμένον συνεπεσπάσατο πρὸς τὸ ταχὺ συμφῆσαι;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς καὶ πρὸς τί τοῦτο εἴρηκας;

Ξένος

ὄντως, ὦ μακάριε, ἐσμὲν ἐν παντάπασι χαλεπῇ [236e] σκέψει. τὸ γὰρ φαίνεσθαι τοῦτο καὶ τὸ δοκεῖν, εἶναι δὲ μή, καὶ τὸ λέγειν μὲν ἄττα, ἀληθῆ δὲ μή, πάντα ταῦτά ἐστι μεστὰ ἀπορίας ἀεὶ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν χρόνῳ καὶ νῦν. ὅπως γὰρ εἰπόντα χρὴ ψευδῆ λέγειν ἢ δοξάζειν ὄντως εἶναι, καὶ τοῦτο φθεγξάμενον ἐναντιολογίᾳ μὴ συνέχεσθαι, παντάπασιν, ὦ [237a] Θεαίτητε, χαλεπόν.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Ξένος

τετόλμηκεν ὁ λόγος οὗτος ὑποθέσθαι τὸ μὴ ὂν εἶναι: ψεῦδος γὰρ οὐκ ἂν ἄλλως ἐγίγνετο ὄν. Παρμενίδης δὲ ὁ μέγας, ὦ παῖ, παισὶν ἡμῖν οὖσιν ἀρχόμενός τε καὶ διὰ τέλους τοῦτο ἀπεμαρτύρατο, πεζῇ τε ὧδε ἑκάστοτε λέγων καὶ μετὰ μέτρων —

οὐ γὰρ μήποτε τοῦτο δαμῇ, φησίν, εἶναι μὴ ἐόντα: ἀλλὰ σὺ τῆσδ’ ἀφ’ ὁδοῦ διζήμενος εἶργε νόημα.

παρμενιδες φρ. 7.1 [237b] παρ’ ἐκείνου τε οὖν μαρτυρεῖται, καὶ μάλιστά γε δὴ πάντων ὁ λόγος αὐτὸς ἂν δηλώσειε μέτρια βασανισθείς. τοῦτο οὖν αὐτὸ πρῶτον θεασώμεθα, εἰ μή τί σοι διαφέρει.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ μὲν ἐμὸν ὅπῃ βούλει τίθεσο, τὸν δὲ λόγον ᾗ βέλτιστα διέξεισι σκοπῶν αὐτός τε ἴθι κἀμὲ κατὰ ταύτην τὴν ὁδὸν ἄγε.

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ χρὴ δρᾶν ταῦτα. καί μοι λέγε: τὸ μηδαμῶς ὂν τολμῶμέν που φθέγγεσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

μὴ τοίνυν ἔριδος ἕνεκα μηδὲ παιδιᾶς, ἀλλ’ εἰ σπουδῇ [237c] δέοι συννοήσαντά τινα ἀποκρίνασθαι τῶν ἀκροατῶν ποῖ χρὴ τοὔνομ’ ἐπιφέρειν τοῦτο, τὸ μὴ ὄν, τί δοκοῦμεν ἂν εἰς τί καὶ ἐπὶ ποῖον αὐτόν τε καταχρήσασθαι καὶ τῷ πυνθανομένῳ δεικνύναι;

Θεαίτητος

χαλεπὸν ἤρου καὶ σχεδὸν εἰπεῖν οἵῳ γε ἐμοὶ παντάπασιν ἄπορον.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ οὖν τοῦτό γε δῆλον, ὅτι τῶν ὄντων ἐπί <τι> τὸ μὴ ὂν οὐκ οἰστέον.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν ἐπείπερ οὐκ ἐπὶ τὸ ὄν, οὐδ’ ἐπὶ τὸ τὶ φέρων ὀρθῶς ἄν τις φέροι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δή;

[237d] Ξένος

καὶ τοῦτο ἡμῖν που φανερόν, ὡς καὶ τὸ “τὶ” τοῦτο [ῥῆμα] ἐπ’ ὄντι λέγομεν ἑκάστοτε: μόνον γὰρ αὐτὸ λέγειν, ὥσπερ γυμνὸν καὶ ἀπηρημωμένον ἀπὸ τῶν ὄντων ἁπάντων, ἀδύνατον: ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ἀδύνατον.

Ξένος

ἆρα τῇδε σκοπῶν σύμφης, ὡς ἀνάγκη τόν τι λέγοντα ἕν γέ τι λέγειν;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

ἑνὸς γὰρ δὴ τό γε “τὶ” φήσεις σημεῖον εἶναι, τὸ δὲ “τινὲ” δυοῖν, τὸ δὲ “τινὲς” πολλῶν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

[237e] Ξένος

τὸν δὲ δὴ μὴ τὶ λέγοντα ἀναγκαιότατον, ὡς ἔοικε, παντάπασι μηδὲν λέγειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀναγκαιότατον μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ἆρ’ οὖν οὐδὲ τοῦτο συγχωρητέον, τὸ τὸν τοιοῦτον λέγειν μέν [τι], λέγειν μέντοι μηδέν, ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ λέγειν φατέον, ὅς γ’ ἂν ἐπιχειρῇ μὴ ὂν φθέγγεσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

τέλος γοῦν ἂν ἀπορίας ὁ λόγος ἔχοι.

[238a] Ξένος

μήπω μέγ’ εἴπῃς: ἔτι γάρ, ὦ μακάριε, ἔστι, καὶ ταῦτά γε τῶν ἀποριῶν ἡ μεγίστη καὶ πρώτη. περὶ γὰρ αὐτὴν αὐτοῦ τὴν ἀρχὴν οὖσα τυγχάνει.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς φῄς; λέγε καὶ μηδὲν ἀποκνήσῃς.

Ξένος

τῷ μὲν ὄντι που προσγένοιτ’ ἄν τι τῶν ὄντων ἕτερον.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

μὴ ὄντι δέ τι τῶν ὄντων ἆρά ποτε προσγίγνεσθαι φήσομεν δυνατὸν εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς;

Ξένος

ἀριθμὸν δὴ τὸν σύμπαντα τῶν ὄντων τίθεμεν.

[238b] Θεαίτητος

εἴπερ γε καὶ ἄλλο τι θετέον ὡς ὄν.

Ξένος

μὴ τοίνυν μηδ’ ἐπιχειρῶμεν ἀριθμοῦ μήτε πλῆθος μήτε ἓν πρὸς τὸ μὴ ὂν προσφέρειν.

Θεαίτητος

οὔκουν ἂν ὀρθῶς γε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπιχειροῖμεν, ὥς φησιν ὁ λόγος.

Ξένος

πῶς οὖν ἂν ἢ διὰ τοῦ στόματος φθέγξαιτο ἄν τις ἢ καὶ τῇ διανοίᾳ τὸ παράπαν λάβοι τὰ μὴ ὄντα ἢ τὸ μὴ ὂν χωρὶς ἀριθμοῦ;

Θεαίτητος

λέγε πῇ;

Ξένος

μὴ ὄντα μὲν ἐπειδὰν λέγωμεν, ἆρα οὐ πλῆθος [238c] ἐπιχειροῦμεν ἀριθμοῦ προστιθέναι;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

μὴ ὂν δέ, ἆρα οὐ τὸ ἓν αὖ;

Θεαίτητος

σαφέστατά γε.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν οὔτε δίκαιόν γε οὔτε ὀρθόν φαμεν ὂν ἐπιχειρεῖν μὴ ὄντι προσαρμόττειν.

Θεαίτητος

λέγεις ἀληθέστατα.

Ξένος

συννοεῖς οὖν ὡς οὔτε φθέγξασθαι δυνατὸν ὀρθῶς οὔτ’ εἰπεῖν οὔτε διανοηθῆναι τὸ μὴ ὂν αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτό, ἀλλ’ ἔστιν ἀδιανόητόν τε καὶ ἄῤῥητον καὶ ἄφθεγκτον καὶ ἄλογον;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

[238d] Ξένος

ἆρ’ οὖν ἐψευσάμην ἄρτι λέγων τὴν μεγίστην ἀπορίαν ἐρεῖν αὐτοῦ πέρι, τὸ δὲ ἔτι μείζω τινὰ λέγειν ἄλλην ἔχομεν;

Θεαίτητος

τίνα δή;

Ξένος

ὦ θαυμάσιε, οὐκ ἐννοεῖς αὐτοῖς τοῖς λεχθεῖσιν ὅτι καὶ τὸν ἐλέγχοντα εἰς ἀπορίαν καθίστησι τὸ μὴ ὂν οὕτως, ὥστε, ὁπόταν αὐτὸ ἐπιχειρῇ τις ἐλέγχειν, ἐναντία αὐτὸν αὑτῷ περὶ ἐκεῖνο ἀναγκάζεσθαι λέγειν;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς φῄς; εἰπὲ ἔτι σαφέστερον.

Ξένος

οὐδὲν δεῖ τὸ σαφέστερον ἐν ἐμοὶ σκοπεῖν. ἐγὼ μὲν [238e] γὰρ ὑποθέμενος οὔτε ἑνὸς οὔτε τῶν πολλῶν τὸ μὴ ὂν δεῖν μετέχειν, ἄρτι τε καὶ νῦν οὕτως ἓν αὐτὸ εἴρηκα: τὸ μὴ ὂν γὰρ φημί. συνίης τοι.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν αὖ καὶ σμικρὸν ἔμπροσθεν ἄφθεγκτόν τε αὐτὸ καὶ ἄῤῥητον καὶ ἄλογον ἔφην εἶναι. συνέπῃ;

Θεαίτητος

συνέπομαι. πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν τό γε εἶναι προσάπτειν πειρώμενος ἐναντία [239a] τοῖς πρόσθεν ἔλεγον;

Θεαίτητος

φαίνῃ.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τοῦτο προσάπτων οὐχ ὡς ἑνὶ διελεγόμην;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἄλογόν γε λέγων καὶ ἄῤῥητον καὶ ἄφθεγκτον ὥς γε πρὸς ἓν τὸν λόγον ἐποιούμην.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

φαμὲν δέ γε δεῖν, εἴπερ ὀρθῶς τις λέξει, μήτε ὡς ἓν μήτε ὡς πολλὰ διορίζειν αὐτό, μηδὲ τὸ παράπαν αὐτὸ καλεῖν: ἑνὸς γὰρ εἴδει καὶ κατὰ ταύτην ἂν τὴν πρόσρησιν προσαγορεύοιτο.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασί γε.

[239b] Ξένος

τὸν μὲν τοίνυν ἐμέ γε τί τις ἂν λέγοι; καὶ γὰρ πάλαι καὶ τὰ νῦν ἡττημένον ἂν εὕροι περὶ τὸν τοῦ μὴ ὄντος ἔλεγχον. ὥστε ἐν ἔμοιγε λέγοντι, καθάπερ εἶπον, μὴ σκοπῶμεν τὴν ὀρθολογίαν περὶ τὸ μὴ ὄν, ἀλλ’ εἶα δὴ νῦν ἐν σοὶ σκεψώμεθα.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς φῄς;

Ξένος

ἴθι ἡμῖν εὖ καὶ γενναίως, ἅτε νέος ὤν, ὅτι μάλιστα δύνασαι συντείνας πειράθητι, μήτε οὐσίαν μήτε τὸ ἓν μήτε πλῆθος ἀριθμοῦ προστιθεὶς τῷ μὴ ὄντι, κατὰ τὸ ὀρθὸν φθέγξασθαί τι περὶ αὐτοῦ.

[239c] Θεαίτητος

πολλὴ μεντἄν με καὶ ἄτοπος ἔχοι προθυμία τῆς ἐπιχειρήσεως, εἰ σὲ τοιαῦθ’ ὁρῶν πάσχοντα αὐτὸς ἐπιχειροίην.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ εἰ δοκεῖ, σὲ μὲν καὶ ἐμὲ χαίρειν ἐῶμεν: ἕως δ’ ἄν τινι δυναμένῳ δρᾶν τοῦτο ἐντυγχάνωμεν, μέχρι τούτου λέγωμεν ὡς παντὸς μᾶλλον πανούργως εἰς ἄπορον ὁ σοφιστὴς τόπον καταδέδυκεν.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα δὴ φαίνεται.

Ξένος

τοιγαροῦν εἴ τινα φήσομεν αὐτὸν ἔχειν φανταστικὴν [239d] τέχνην, ῥᾳδίως ἐκ ταύτης τῆς χρείας τῶν λόγων ἀντιλαμβανόμενος ἡμῶν εἰς τοὐναντίον ἀποστρέψει τοὺς λόγους, ὅταν εἰδωλοποιὸν αὐτὸν καλῶμεν, ἀνερωτῶν τί ποτε τὸ παράπαν εἴδωλον λέγομεν. σκοπεῖν οὖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, χρὴ τί τις τῷ νεανίᾳ πρὸς τὸ ἐρωτώμενον ἀποκρινεῖται.

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον ὅτι φήσομεν τά τε ἐν τοῖς ὕδασι καὶ κατόπτροις εἴδωλα, ἔτι καὶ τὰ γεγραμμένα καὶ τὰ τετυπωμένα καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα που τοιαῦτ’ ἔσθ’ ἕτερα.

[239e] Ξένος

φανερός, ὦ Θεαίτητε, εἶ σοφιστὴν οὐχ ἑωρακώς.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Ξένος

δόξει σοι μύειν ἢ παντάπασιν οὐκ ἔχειν ὄμματα.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

τὴν ἀπόκρισιν ὅταν οὕτως αὐτῷ διδῷς ἐὰν ἐν κατόπτροις ἢ πλάσμασι λέγῃς τι, καταγελάσεταί σου τῶν λόγων, ὅταν ὡς βλέποντι λέγῃς αὐτῷ, προσποιούμενος οὔτε κάτοπτρα [240a] οὔτε ὕδατα γιγνώσκειν οὔτε τὸ παράπαν ὄψιν, τὸ δ’ ἐκ τῶν λόγων ἐρωτήσει σε μόνον.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖον;

Ξένος

τὸ διὰ πάντων τούτων ἃ πολλὰ εἰπὼν ἠξίωσας ἑνὶ προσειπεῖν ὀνόματι φθεγξάμενος εἴδωλον ἐπὶ πᾶσιν ὡς ἓν ὄν. λέγε οὖν καὶ ἀμύνου μηδὲν ὑποχωρῶν τὸν ἄνδρα.

Θεαίτητος

τί δῆτα, ὦ ξένε, εἴδωλον ἂν φαῖμεν εἶναι πλήν γε τὸ πρὸς τἀληθινὸν ἀφωμοιωμένον ἕτερον τοιοῦτον;

Ξένος

ἕτερον δὲ λέγεις τοιοῦτον ἀληθινόν, ἢ ἐπὶ τίνι τὸ [240b] τοιοῦτον εἶπες;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς ἀληθινόν γε, ἀλλ’ ἐοικὸς μέν.

Ξένος

ἆρα τὸ ἀληθινὸν ὄντως ὂν λέγων;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τὸ μὴ ἀληθινὸν ἆρ’ ἐναντίον ἀληθοῦς;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

οὐκ ὄντως [οὐκ] ὂν ἄρα λέγεις τὸ ἐοικός, εἴπερ αὐτό γε μὴ ἀληθινὸν ἐρεῖς.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἔστι γε μήν πως.

Ξένος

οὔκουν ἀληθῶς γε, φῄς.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν: πλήν γ’ εἰκὼν ὄντως.

Ξένος

οὐκ ὂν ἄρα [οὐκ] ὄντως ἐστὶν ὄντως ἣν λέγομεν εἰκόνα;

[240c] Θεαίτητος

κινδυνεύει τοιαύτην τινὰ πεπλέχθαι συμπλοκὴν τὸ μὴ ὂν τῷ ὄντι, καὶ μάλα ἄτοπον.

Ξένος

πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἄτοπον; ὁρᾷς γοῦν ὅτι καὶ νῦν διὰ τῆς ἐπαλλάξεως ταύτης ὁ πολυκέφαλος σοφιστὴς ἠνάγκακεν ἡμᾶς τὸ μὴ ὂν οὐχ ἑκόντας ὁμολογεῖν εἶναί πως.

Θεαίτητος

ὁρῶ καὶ μάλα.

Ξένος

τί δὲ δή; τὴν τέχνην αὐτοῦ τίνα ἀφορίσαντες ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς συμφωνεῖν οἷοί τε ἐσόμεθα;

Θεαίτητος

πῇ καὶ τὸ ποῖόν τι φοβούμενος οὕτω λέγεις;

[240d] Ξένος

ὅταν περὶ τὸ φάντασμα αὐτὸν ἀπατᾶν φῶμεν καὶ τὴν τέχνην εἶναί τινα ἀπατητικὴν αὐτοῦ, τότε πότερον ψευδῆ δοξάζειν τὴν ψυχὴν ἡμῶν φήσομεν ὑπὸ τῆς ἐκείνου τέχνης, ἢ τί ποτ’ ἐροῦμεν;

Θεαίτητος

τοῦτο: τί γὰρ ἂν ἄλλο εἴπαιμεν;

Ξένος

ψευδὴς δ’ αὖ δόξα ἔσται τἀναντία τοῖς οὖσι δοξάζουσα, ἢ πῶς;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως: τἀναντία.

Ξένος

λέγεις ἄρα τὰ μὴ ὄντα δοξάζειν τὴν ψευδῆ δόξαν;

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

[240e] Ξένος

πότερον μὴ εἶναι τὰ μὴ ὄντα δοξάζουσαν, ἤ πως εἶναι τὰ μηδαμῶς ὄντα;

Θεαίτητος

εἶναί πως τὰ μὴ ὄντα δεῖ γε, εἴπερ ψεύσεταί ποτέ τίς τι καὶ κατὰ βραχύ.

Ξένος

τί δ’; οὐ καὶ μηδαμῶς εἶναι τὰ πάντως ὄντα δοξάζεται;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ τοῦτο δὴ ψεῦδος;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ τοῦτο.

Ξένος

καὶ λόγος οἶμαι ψευδὴς οὕτω κατὰ ταὐτὰ νομισθήσεται [241a] τά τε ὄντα λέγων μὴ εἶναι καὶ τὰ μὴ ὄντα εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ ἂν ἄλλως τοιοῦτος γένοιτο;

Ξένος

σχεδὸν οὐδαμῶς: ἀλλὰ ταῦτα ὁ σοφιστὴς οὐ φήσει. ἢ τίς μηχανὴ συγχωρεῖν τινα τῶν εὖ φρονούντων, ὅταν [ἄφθεγκτα καὶ ἄῤῥητα καὶ ἄλογα καὶ ἀδιανόητα] προσδιωμολογημένα ᾖ τὰ πρὸ τούτων ὁμολογηθέντα; μανθάνομεν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἃ λέγει;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὐ μανθάνομεν ὅτι τἀναντία φήσει λέγειν ἡμᾶς τοῖς νυνδή, ψευδῆ τολμήσαντας εἰπεῖν ὡς ἔστιν [241b] ἐν δόξαις τε καὶ κατὰ λόγους; τῷ γὰρ μὴ ὄντι τὸ ὂν προσάπτειν ἡμᾶς πολλάκις ἀναγκάζεσθαι, διομολογησαμένους νυνδὴ τοῦτο εἶναι πάντων ἀδυνατώτατον.

Ξένος

ὀρθῶς ἀπεμνημόνευσας. ἀλλ’ ὅρα δὴ [βουλεύεσθαι] τί χρὴ δρᾶν τοῦ σοφιστοῦ πέρι: τὰς γὰρ ἀντιλήψεις καὶ ἀπορίας, ἐὰν αὐτὸν διερευνῶμεν ἐν τῇ τῶν ψευδουργῶν καὶ γοήτων τέχνῃ τιθέντες, ὁρᾷς ὡς εὔποροι καὶ πολλαί.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα.

Ξένος

μικρὸν μέρος τοίνυν αὐτῶν διεληλύθαμεν, οὐσῶν [241c] ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἀπεράντων.

Θεαίτητος

ἀδύνατόν γ’ ἄν, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἴη τὸν σοφιστὴν ἑλεῖν, εἰ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχει.

Ξένος

τί οὖν; οὕτως ἀποστησόμεθα νῦν μαλθακισθέντες;

Θεαίτητος

οὔκουν ἔγωγέ φημι δεῖν, εἰ καὶ κατὰ σμικρὸν οἷοί τ’ ἐπιλαβέσθαι πῃ τἀνδρός ἐσμεν.

Ξένος

ἕξεις οὖν συγγνώμην καὶ καθάπερ νῦν εἶπες ἀγαπήσεις ἐάν πῃ καὶ κατὰ βραχὺ παρασπασώμεθα οὕτως ἰσχυροῦ λόγου;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὐχ ἕξω;

[241d] Ξένος

τόδε τοίνυν ἔτι μᾶλλον παραιτοῦμαί σε.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

μή με οἷον πατραλοίαν ὑπολάβῃς γίγνεσθαί τινα.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Ξένος

τὸν τοῦ πατρὸς Παρμενίδου λόγον ἀναγκαῖον ἡμῖν ἀμυνομένοις ἔσται βασανίζειν, καὶ βιάζεσθαι τό τε μὴ ὂν ὡς ἔστι κατά τι καὶ τὸ ὂν αὖ πάλιν ὡς οὐκ ἔστι πῃ.

Θεαίτητος

φαίνεται τὸ τοιοῦτον διαμαχετέον ἐν τοῖς λόγοις.

Ξένος

πῶς γὰρ οὐ φαίνεται καὶ τὸ λεγόμενον δὴ τοῦτο τυφλῷ; [241e] τούτων γὰρ μήτ’ ἐλεγχθέντων μήτε ὁμολογηθέντων σχολῇ ποτέ τις οἷός τε ἔσται περὶ λόγων ψευδῶν λέγων ἢ δόξης, εἴτε εἰδώλων εἴτε εἰκόνων εἴτε μιμημάτων εἴτε φαντασμάτων αὐτῶν, ἢ καὶ περὶ τεχνῶν τῶν ὅσαι περὶ ταῦτά εἰσι, μὴ καταγέλαστος εἶναι τά <γ’> ἐναντία ἀναγκαζόμενος αὑτῷ λέγειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα.

[242a] Ξένος

διὰ ταῦτα μέντοι τολμητέον ἐπιτίθεσθαι τῷ πατρικῷ λόγῳ νῦν, ἢ τὸ παράπαν ἐατέον, εἰ τοῦτό τις εἴργει δρᾶν ὄκνος.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἡμᾶς τοῦτό γε μηδὲν μηδαμῇ εἴρξῃ.

Ξένος

τρίτον τοίνυν ἔτι σε σμικρόν τι παραιτήσομαι.

Θεαίτητος

λέγε μόνον.

Ξένος

εἶπόν που νυνδὴ λέγων ὡς πρὸς τὸν περὶ ταῦτ’ ἔλεγχον ἀεί τε ἀπειρηκὼς ἐγὼ τυγχάνω καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ νῦν.

Θεαίτητος

εἶπες.

Ξένος

φοβοῦμαι δὴ τὰ εἰρημένα, μή ποτε διὰ ταῦτά σοι μανικὸς εἶναι δόξω παρὰ πόδα μεταβαλὼν ἐμαυτὸν ἄνω καὶ [242b] κάτω. σὴν γὰρ δὴ χάριν ἐλέγχειν τὸν λόγον ἐπιθησόμεθα, ἐάνπερ ἐλέγχωμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ὡς τοίνυν ἔμοιγε μηδαμῇ δόξων μηδὲν πλημμελεῖν, ἂν ἐπὶ τὸν ἔλεγχον τοῦτον καὶ τὴν ἀπόδειξιν ἴῃς, θαῤῥῶν ἴθι τούτου γε ἕνεκα.

Ξένος

φέρε δή, τίνα ἀρχήν τις ἂν ἄρξαιτο παρακινδυνευτικοῦ λόγου; δοκῶ μὲν γὰρ τήνδ’, ὦ παῖ, τὴν ὁδὸν ἀναγκαιοτάτην ἡμῖν εἶναι τρέπεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

ποίαν δή;

Ξένος

τὰ δοκοῦντα νῦν ἐναργῶς ἔχειν ἐπισκέψασθαι πρῶτον [242c] μή πῃ τεταραγμένοι μὲν ὦμεν περὶ ταῦτα, ῥᾳδίως δ’ ἀλλήλοις ὁμολογῶμεν ὡς εὐκρινῶς ἔχοντες.

Θεαίτητος

λέγε σαφέστερον ὃ λέγεις.

Ξένος

εὐκόλως μοι δοκεῖ Παρμενίδης ἡμῖν διειλέχθαι καὶ πᾶς ὅστις πώποτε ἐπὶ κρίσιν ὥρμησε τοῦ τὰ ὄντα διορίσασθαι πόσα τε καὶ ποῖά ἐστιν.

Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

Ξένος

μῦθόν τινα ἕκαστος φαίνεταί μοι διηγεῖσθαι παισὶν ὡς οὖσιν ἡμῖν, ὁ μὲν ὡς τρία τὰ ὄντα, πολεμεῖ δὲ ἀλλήλοις [242d] ἐνίοτε αὐτῶν ἄττα πῃ, τοτὲ δὲ καὶ φίλα γιγνόμενα γάμους τε καὶ τόκους καὶ τροφὰς τῶν ἐκγόνων παρέχεται: δύο δὲ ἕτερος εἰπών, ὑγρὸν καὶ ξηρὸν ἢ θερμὸν καὶ ψυχρόν, συνοικίζει τε αὐτὰ καὶ ἐκδίδωσι: τὸ δὲ παρ’ ἡμῖν Ἐλεατικὸν ἔθνος, ἀπὸ Ξενοφάνους τε καὶ ἔτι πρόσθεν ἀρξάμενον, ὡς ἑνὸς ὄντος τῶν πάντων καλουμένων οὕτω διεξέρχεται τοῖς μύθοις. Ἰάδες δὲ καὶ Σικελαί τινες ὕστερον Μοῦσαι συνενόησαν ὅτι συμπλέκειν [242e] ἀσφαλέστατον ἀμφότερα καὶ λέγειν ὡς τὸ ὂν πολλά τε καὶ ἕν ἐστιν, ἔχθρᾳ δὲ καὶ φιλίᾳ συνέχεται. διαφερόμενον γὰρ ἀεὶ συμφέρεται, φασὶν αἱ συντονώτεραι τῶν Μουσῶν: αἱ δὲ μαλακώτεραι τὸ μὲν ἀεὶ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν ἐχάλασαν, ἐν μέρει δὲ τοτὲ μὲν ἓν εἶναί φασι τὸ πᾶν καὶ φίλον ὑπ’ [243a] ἀφροδίτης, τοτὲ δὲ πολλὰ καὶ πολέμιον αὐτὸ αὑτῷ διὰ νεῖκός τι. ταῦτα δὲ πάντα εἰ μὲν ἀληθῶς τις ἢ μὴ τούτων εἴρηκε, χαλεπὸν καὶ πλημμελὲς οὕτω μεγάλα κλεινοῖς καὶ παλαιοῖς ἀνδράσιν ἐπιτιμᾶν: ἐκεῖνο δὲ ἀνεπίφθονον ἀποφήνασθαι —

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

ὅτι λίαν τῶν πολλῶν ἡμῶν ὑπεριδόντες ὠλιγώρησαν: οὐδὲν γὰρ φροντίσαντες εἴτ’ ἐπακολουθοῦμεν αὐτοῖς λέγουσιν [243b] εἴτε ἀπολειπόμεθα, περαίνουσι τὸ σφέτερον αὐτῶν ἕκαστοι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς λέγεις;

Ξένος

ὅταν τις αὐτῶν φθέγξηται λέγων ὡς ἔστιν ἢ γέγονεν ἢ γίγνεται πολλὰ ἢ ἓν ἢ δύο, καὶ θερμὸν αὖ ψυχρῷ συγκεραννύμενον, ἄλλοθί πῃ διακρίσεις καὶ συγκρίσεις ὑποτιθείς, τούτων, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἑκάστοτε σύ τι πρὸς θεῶν συνίης ὅτι λέγουσιν; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ ὅτε μὲν ἦν νεώτερος, τοῦτό τε τὸ νῦν ἀπορούμενον ὁπότε τις εἴποι, τὸ μὴ ὄν, ἀκριβῶς ᾤμην συνιέναι. νῦν δὲ ὁρᾷς ἵν’ ἐσμὲν αὐτοῦ πέρι τῆς ἀπορίας.

[243c] Θεαίτητος

ὁρῶ.

Ξένος

τάχα τοίνυν ἴσως οὐχ ἧττον κατὰ τὸ ὂν ταὐτὸν τοῦτο πάθος εἰληφότες ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ περὶ μὲν τοῦτο εὐπορεῖν φαμεν καὶ μανθάνειν ὁπόταν τις αὐτὸ φθέγξηται, περὶ δὲ θάτερον οὔ, πρὸς ἀμφότερα ὁμοίως ἔχοντες.

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως.

Ξένος

καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων δὴ τῶν προειρημένων ἡμῖν ταὐτὸν τοῦτο εἰρήσθω.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

τῶν μὲν τοίνυν πολλῶν πέρι καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο σκεψόμεθ’, [243d] ἂν δόξῃ, περὶ δὲ τοῦ μεγίστου τε καὶ ἀρχηγοῦ πρώτου νῦν σκεπτέον.

Θεαίτητος

τίνος δὴ λέγεις; ἢ δῆλον ὅτι τὸ ὂν φῂς πρῶτον δεῖν διερευνήσασθαι τί ποθ’ οἱ λέγοντες αὐτὸ δηλοῦν ἡγοῦνται;

Ξένος

κατὰ πόδα γε, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὑπέλαβες. λέγω γὰρ δὴ ταύτῃ δεῖν ποιεῖσθαι τὴν μέθοδον ἡμᾶς, οἷον αὐτῶν παρόντων ἀναπυνθανομένους ὧδε: “φέρε, ὁπόσοι θερμὸν καὶ ψυχρὸν ἤ τινε δύο τοιούτω τὰ πάντ’ εἶναί φατε, τί ποτε [243e] ἄρα τοῦτ’ ἐπ’ ἀμφοῖν φθέγγεσθε, λέγοντες ἄμφω καὶ ἑκάτερον εἶναι; τί τὸ εἶναι τοῦτο ὑπολάβωμεν ὑμῶν; πότερον τρίτον παρὰ τὰ δύο ἐκεῖνα, καὶ τρία τὸ πᾶν ἀλλὰ μὴ δύο ἔτι καθ’ ὑμᾶς τιθῶμεν; οὐ γάρ που τοῖν γε δυοῖν καλοῦντες θάτερον ὂν ἀμφότερα ὁμοίως εἶναι λέγετε: σχεδὸν γὰρ ἂν ἀμφοτέρως ἕν, ἀλλ’ οὐ δύο εἴτην.”

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Ξένος

“ἀλλ’ ἆρά γε τὰ ἄμφω βούλεσθε καλεῖν ὄν;”

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως.

[244a] Ξένος

“ἀλλ’, ὦ φίλοι,” φήσομεν, “κἂν οὕτω τὰ δύο λέγοιτ’ ἂν σαφέστατα ἕν.”

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθότατα εἴρηκας.

Ξένος

“ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν ἡμεῖς ἠπορήκαμεν, ὑμεῖς αὐτὰ ἡμῖν ἐμφανίζετε ἱκανῶς, τί ποτε βούλεσθε σημαίνειν ὁπόταν ὂν φθέγγησθε. δῆλον γὰρ ὡς ὑμεῖς μὲν ταῦτα πάλαι γιγνώσκετε, ἡμεῖς δὲ πρὸ τοῦ μὲν ᾠόμεθα, νῦν δ’ ἠπορήκαμεν. διδάσκετε οὖν πρῶτον τοῦτ’ αὐτὸ ἡμᾶς, ἵνα μὴ δοξάζωμεν μανθάνειν μὲν τὰ λεγόμενα παρ’ ὑμῶν, τὸ δὲ [244b] τούτου γίγνηται πᾶν τοὐναντίον.” ταῦτα δὴ λέγοντές τε καὶ ἀξιοῦντες παρά τε τούτων καὶ παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσοι πλεῖον ἑνὸς λέγουσι τὸ πᾶν εἶναι, μῶν, ὦ παῖ, τὶ πλημμελήσομεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἥκιστά γε.

Ξένος

τί δέ; παρὰ τῶν ἓν τὸ πᾶν λεγόντων ἆρ’ οὐ πευστέον εἰς δύναμιν τί ποτε λέγουσι τὸ ὄν;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

τόδε τοίνυν ἀποκρινέσθων. “ἕν πού φατε μόνον εἶναι;”—”φαμὲν γάρ,” φήσουσιν. ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

“τί δέ; ὂν καλεῖτέ τι;”

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[244c] Ξένος

“πότερον ὅπερ ἕν, ἐπὶ τῷ αὐτῷ προσχρώμενοι δυοῖν ὀνόμασιν, ἢ πῶς;”

Θεαίτητος

τίς οὖν αὐτοῖς ἡ μετὰ τοῦτ’, ὦ ξένε, ἀπόκρισις;

Ξένος

δῆλον, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὅτι τῷ ταύτην τὴν ὑπόθεσιν ὑποθεμένῳ πρὸς τὸ νῦν ἐρωτηθὲν καὶ πρὸς ἄλλο δὲ ὁτιοῦν οὐ πάντων ῥᾷστον ἀποκρίνασθαι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

τό τε δύο ὀνόματα ὁμολογεῖν εἶναι μηδὲν θέμενον πλὴν ἓν καταγέλαστόν που.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

καὶ τὸ παράπαν γε ἀποδέχεσθαί του λέγοντος ὡς [244d] ἔστιν ὄνομά τι, λόγον οὐκ ἂν ἔχον.

Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

Ξένος

τιθείς τε τοὔνομα τοῦ πράγματος ἕτερον δύο λέγει πού τινε.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἂν ταὐτόν γε αὐτῷ τιθῇ τοὔνομα, ἢ μηδενὸς ὄνομα ἀναγκασθήσεται λέγειν, εἰ δέ τινος αὐτὸ φήσει, συμβήσεται τὸ ὄνομα ὀνόματος ὄνομα μόνον, ἄλλου δὲ οὐδενὸς ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

καὶ τὸ ἕν γε, ἑνὸς ὄνομα ὂν καὶ τοῦ ὀνόματος αὖ τὸ ἓν ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τὸ ὅλον ἕτερον τοῦ ὄντος ἑνὸς ἢ ταὐτὸν φήσουσι τούτῳ;

[244e] Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὐ φήσουσί τε καὶ φασίν;

Ξένος

εἰ τοίνυν ὅλον ἐστίν, ὥσπερ καὶ Παρμενίδης λέγει,

πάντοθεν εὐκύκλου σφαίρης ἐναλίγκιον ὄγκῳ, μεσσόθεν ἰσοπαλὲς πάντῃ: τὸ γὰρ οὔτε τι μεῖζον οὔτε τι βαιότερον πελέναι χρεόν ἐστι τῇ ἢ τῇ,

παρμενιδες φρ. 8.43τοιοῦτόν γε ὂν τὸ ὂν μέσον τε καὶ ἔσχατα ἔχει, ταῦτα δὲ ἔχον πᾶσα ἀνάγκη μέρη ἔχειν: ἢ πῶς;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

[245a] Ξένος

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε μεμερισμένον πάθος μὲν τοῦ ἑνὸς ἔχειν ἐπὶ τοῖς μέρεσι πᾶσιν οὐδὲν ἀποκωλύει, καὶ ταύτῃ δὴ πᾶν τε ὂν καὶ ὅλον ἓν εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

τί δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

τὸ δὲ πεπονθὸς ταῦτα ἆρ’ οὐκ ἀδύνατον αὐτό γε τὸ ἓν αὐτὸ εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

ἀμερὲς δήπου δεῖ παντελῶς τό γε ἀληθῶς ἓν κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον εἰρῆσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

δεῖ γὰρ οὖν.

[245b] Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε τοιοῦτον ἐκ πολλῶν μερῶν ὂν οὐ συμφωνήσει τῷ [ὅλῳ] λόγῳ.

Θεαίτητος

μανθάνω.

Ξένος

πότερον δὴ πάθος ἔχον τὸ ὂν τοῦ ἑνὸς οὕτως ἕν τε ἔσται καὶ ὅλον, ἢ παντάπασι μὴ λέγωμεν ὅλον εἶναι τὸ ὄν;

Θεαίτητος

χαλεπὴν προβέβληκας αἵρεσιν.

Ξένος

ἀληθέστατα μέντοι λέγεις. πεπονθός τε γὰρ τὸ ὂν ἓν εἶναί πως οὐ ταὐτὸν ὂν τῷ ἑνὶ φανεῖται, καὶ πλέονα δὴ τὰ πάντα ἑνὸς ἔσται.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[245c] Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἐάν γε τὸ ὂν ᾖ μὴ ὅλον διὰ τὸ πεπονθέναι τὸ ὑπ’ ἐκείνου πάθος, ᾖ δὲ αὐτὸ τὸ ὅλον, ἐνδεὲς τὸ ὂν ἑαυτοῦ συμβαίνει.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον δὴ τὸν λόγον ἑαυτοῦ στερόμενον οὐκ ὂν ἔσται τὸ ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

καὶ ἑνός γε αὖ πλείω τὰ πάντα γίγνεται, τοῦ τε ὄντος καὶ τοῦ ὅλου χωρὶς ἰδίαν ἑκατέρου φύσιν εἰληφότος.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

μὴ ὄντος δέ γε τὸ παράπαν τοῦ ὅλου, ταὐτά τε [245d] ταῦτα ὑπάρχει τῷ ὄντι, καὶ πρὸς τῷ μὴ εἶναι μηδ’ ἂν γενέσθαι ποτὲ ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Ξένος

τὸ γενόμενον ἀεὶ γέγονεν ὅλον: ὥστε οὔτε οὐσίαν οὔτε γένεσιν ὡς οὖσαν δεῖ προσαγορεύειν [τὸ ἓν ἢ] τὸ ὅλον ἐν τοῖς οὖσι μὴ τιθέντα.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασιν ἔοικε ταῦθ’ οὕτως ἔχειν.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν οὐδ’ ὁποσονοῦν τι δεῖ τὸ μὴ ὅλον εἶναι: ποσόν τι γὰρ ὄν, ὁπόσον ἂν ᾖ, τοσοῦτον ὅλον ἀναγκαῖον αὐτὸ εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ γε.

Ξένος

καὶ τοίνυν ἄλλα μυρία ἀπεράντους ἀπορίας ἕκαστον [245e] εἰληφὸς φανεῖται τῷ τὸ ὂν εἴτε δύο τινὲ εἴτε ἓν μόνον εἶναι λέγοντι.

Θεαίτητος

δηλοῖ σχεδὸν καὶ τὰ νῦν ὑποφαίνοντα: συνάπτεται γὰρ ἕτερον ἐξ ἄλλου, μείζω καὶ χαλεπωτέραν φέρον περὶ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ἀεὶ ῥηθέντων πλάνην.

Ξένος

τοὺς μὲν τοίνυν διακριβολογουμένους ὄντος τε πέρι καὶ μή, πάντας μὲν οὐ διεληλύθαμεν, ὅμως δὲ ἱκανῶς ἐχέτω: τοὺς δὲ ἄλλως λέγοντας αὖ θεατέον, ἵν’ ἐκ πάντων ἴδωμεν [246a] ὅτι τὸ ὂν τοῦ μὴ ὄντος οὐδὲν εὐπορώτερον εἰπεῖν ὅτι ποτ’ ἔστιν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν πορεύεσθαι χρὴ καὶ ἐπὶ τούτους.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἔοικέ γε ἐν αὐτοῖς οἷον γιγαντομαχία τις εἶναι διὰ τὴν ἀμφισβήτησιν περὶ τῆς οὐσίας πρὸς ἀλλήλους.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

οἱ μὲν εἰς γῆν ἐξ οὐρανοῦ καὶ τοῦ ἀοράτου πάντα ἕλκουσι, ταῖς χερσὶν ἀτεχνῶς πέτρας καὶ δρῦς περιλαμβάνοντες. τῶν γὰρ τοιούτων ἐφαπτόμενοι πάντων διισχυρίζονται τοῦτο εἶναι μόνον ὃ παρέχει προσβολὴν καὶ ἐπαφήν [246b] τινα, ταὐτὸν σῶμα καὶ οὐσίαν ὁριζόμενοι, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων εἴ τίς <τι> φήσει μὴ σῶμα ἔχον εἶναι, καταφρονοῦντες τὸ παράπαν καὶ οὐδὲν ἐθέλοντες ἄλλο ἀκούειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἦ δεινοὺς εἴρηκας ἄνδρας: ἤδη γὰρ καὶ ἐγὼ τούτων συχνοῖς προσέτυχον.

Ξένος

τοιγαροῦν οἱ πρὸς αὐτοὺς ἀμφισβητοῦντες μάλα εὐλαβῶς ἄνωθεν ἐξ ἀοράτου ποθὲν ἀμύνονται, νοητὰ ἄττα καὶ ἀσώματα εἴδη βιαζόμενοι τὴν ἀληθινὴν οὐσίαν εἶναι: τὰ δὲ ἐκείνων σώματα καὶ τὴν λεγομένην ὑπ’ αὐτῶν ἀλήθειαν [246c] κατὰ σμικρὰ διαθραύοντες ἐν τοῖς λόγοις γένεσιν ἀντ’ οὐσίας φερομένην τινὰ προσαγορεύουσιν. ἐν μέσῳ δὲ περὶ ταῦτα ἄπλετος ἀμφοτέρων μάχη τις, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἀεὶ συνέστηκεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος

παρ’ ἀμφοῖν τοίνυν τοῖν γενοῖν κατὰ μέρος λάβωμεν λόγον ὑπὲρ ἧς τίθενται τῆς οὐσίας.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς οὖν δὴ ληψόμεθα;

Ξένος

παρὰ μὲν τῶν ἐν εἴδεσιν αὐτὴν τιθεμένων ῥᾷον, ἡμερώτεροι γάρ: παρὰ δὲ τῶν εἰς σῶμα πάντα ἑλκόντων [246d] βίᾳ χαλεπώτερον, ἴσως δὲ καὶ σχεδὸν ἀδύνατον. ἀλλ’ ὧδέ μοι δεῖν δοκεῖ περὶ αὐτῶν δρᾶν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

μάλιστα μέν, εἴ πῃ δυνατὸν ἦν, ἔργῳ βελτίους αὐτοὺς ποιεῖν: εἰ δὲ τοῦτο μὴ ἐγχωρεῖ, λόγῳ ποιῶμεν, ὑποτιθέμενοι νομιμώτερον αὐτοὺς ἢ νῦν ἐθέλοντας ἂν ἀποκρίνασθαι. τὸ γὰρ ὁμολογηθὲν παρὰ βελτιόνων που κυριώτερον ἢ τὸ παρὰ χειρόνων: ἡμεῖς δὲ οὐ τούτων φροντίζομεν, ἀλλὰ τἀληθὲς ζητοῦμεν.

[246e] Θεαίτητος

ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος

κέλευε δὴ τοὺς βελτίους γεγονότας ἀποκρίνασθαί σοι, καὶ τὸ λεχθὲν παρ’ αὐτῶν ἀφερμήνευε.

Θεαίτητος

ταῦτ’ ἔσται.

Ξένος

λεγόντων δὴ θνητὸν ζῷον εἴ φασιν εἶναί τι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

τοῦτο δὲ οὐ σῶμα ἔμψυχον ὁμολογοῦσιν;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ γε.

Ξένος

τιθέντες τι τῶν ὄντων ψυχήν;

[247a] Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τί δέ; ψυχὴν οὐ τὴν μὲν δικαίαν, τὴν δὲ ἄδικόν φασιν εἶναι, καὶ τὴν μὲν φρόνιμον, τὴν δὲ ἄφρονα;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ οὐ δικαιοσύνης ἕξει καὶ παρουσίᾳ τοιαύτην αὐτῶν ἑκάστην γίγνεσθαι, καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων τὴν ἐναντίαν;

Θεαίτητος

ναί, καὶ ταῦτα σύμφασιν.

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε δυνατόν τῳ παραγίγνεσθαι καὶ ἀπογίγνεσθαι πάντως εἶναί τι φήσουσιν.

Θεαίτητος

φασὶ μὲν οὖν.

[247b] Ξένος

οὔσης οὖν δικαιοσύνης καὶ φρονήσεως καὶ τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων, καὶ δὴ καὶ ψυχῆς ἐν ᾗ ταῦτα ἐγγίγνεται, πότερον ὁρατὸν καὶ ἁπτὸν εἶναί φασί τι αὐτῶν ἢ πάντα ἀόρατα;

Θεαίτητος

σχεδὸν οὐδὲν τούτων γε ὁρατόν.

Ξένος

τί δὲ τῶν τοιούτων; μῶν σῶμά τι λέγουσιν ἴσχειν;

Θεαίτητος

τοῦτο οὐκέτι κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἀποκρίνονται πᾶν, ἀλλὰ τὴν μὲν ψυχὴν αὐτὴν δοκεῖν σφίσι σῶμά τι κεκτῆσθαι, φρόνησιν δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἕκαστον ὧν ἠρώτηκας, αἰσχύνονται [247c] τὸ τολμᾶν ἢ μηδὲν τῶν ὄντων αὐτὰ ὁμολογεῖν ἢ πάντ’ εἶναι σώματα διισχυρίζεσθαι.

Ξένος

σαφῶς γὰρ ἡμῖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, βελτίους γεγόνασιν ἇνδρες: ἐπεὶ τούτων οὐδ’ ἂν ἓν ἐπαισχυνθεῖεν οἵ γε αὐτῶν σπαρτοί τε καὶ αὐτόχθονες, ἀλλὰ διατείνοιντ’ ἂν πᾶν ὃ μὴ δυνατοὶ ταῖς χερσὶ συμπιέζειν εἰσίν, ὡς ἄρα τοῦτο οὐδὲν τὸ παράπαν ἐστίν.

Θεαίτητος

σχεδὸν οἷα διανοοῦνται λέγεις.

Ξένος

πάλιν τοίνυν ἀνερωτῶμεν αὐτούς: εἰ γάρ τι καὶ [247d] σμικρὸν ἐθέλουσι τῶν ὄντων συγχωρεῖν ἀσώματον, ἐξαρκεῖ. τὸ γὰρ ἐπί τε τούτοις ἅμα καὶ ἐπ’ ἐκείνοις ὅσα ἔχει σῶμα συμφυὲς γεγονός, εἰς ὃ βλέποντες ἀμφότερα εἶναι λέγουσι, τοῦτο αὐτοῖς ῥητέον. τάχ’ οὖν ἴσως ἂν ἀποροῖεν: εἰ δή τι τοιοῦτον πεπόνθασι, σκόπει, προτεινομένων ἡμῶν, ἆρ’ ἐθέλοιεν ἂν δέχεσθαι καὶ ὁμολογεῖν τοιόνδ’ εἶναι τὸ ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον δή; λέγε, καὶ τάχα εἰσόμεθα.

Ξένος

λέγω δὴ τὸ καὶ ὁποιανοῦν [τινα] κεκτημένον δύναμιν [247e] εἴτ’ εἰς τὸ ποιεῖν ἕτερον ὁτιοῦν πεφυκὸς εἴτ’ εἰς τὸ παθεῖν καὶ σμικρότατον ὑπὸ τοῦ φαυλοτάτου, κἂν εἰ μόνον εἰς ἅπαξ, πᾶν τοῦτο ὄντως εἶναι: τίθεμαι γὰρ ὅρον [ὁρίζειν] τὰ ὄντα ὡς ἔστιν οὐκ ἄλλο τι πλὴν δύναμις.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλ’ ἐπείπερ αὐτοί γε οὐκ ἔχουσιν ἐν τῷ παρόντι τούτου βέλτιον λέγειν, δέχονται τοῦτο.

Ξένος

καλῶς: ἴσως γὰρ ἂν εἰς ὕστερον ἡμῖν τε καὶ τούτοις [248a] ἕτερον ἂν φανείη. πρὸς μὲν οὖν τούτους τοῦτο ἡμῖν ἐνταῦθα μενέτω συνομολογηθέν.

Θεαίτητος

μένει.

Ξένος

πρὸς δὴ τοὺς ἑτέρους ἴωμεν, τοὺς τῶν εἰδῶν φίλους: σὺ δ’ ἡμῖν καὶ τὰ παρὰ τούτων ἀφερμήνευε.

Θεαίτητος

ταῦτ’ ἔσται.

Ξένος

γένεσιν, τὴν δὲ οὐσίαν χωρίς που διελόμενοι λέγετε; ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ σώματι μὲν ἡμᾶς γενέσει δι’ αἰσθήσεως κοινωνεῖν, διὰ λογισμοῦ δὲ ψυχῇ πρὸς τὴν ὄντως οὐσίαν, ἣν ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως ἔχειν φατέ, γένεσιν δὲ ἄλλοτε ἄλλως.

[248b] Θεαίτητος

φαμὲν γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

τὸ δὲ δὴ κοινωνεῖν, ὦ πάντων ἄριστοι, τί τοῦθ’ ὑμᾶς ἐπ’ ἀμφοῖν λέγειν φῶμεν; ἆρ’ οὐ τὸ νυνδὴ παρ’ ἡμῶν ῥηθέν;

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

πάθημα ἢ ποίημα ἐκ δυνάμεώς τινος ἀπὸ τῶν πρὸς ἄλληλα συνιόντων γιγνόμενον. τάχ’ οὖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, αὐτῶν τὴν πρὸς ταῦτα ἀπόκρισιν σὺ μὲν οὐ κατακούεις, ἐγὼ δὲ ἴσως διὰ συνήθειαν.

Θεαίτητος

τίν’ οὖν δὴ λέγουσι λόγον;

[248c] Ξένος

οὐ συγχωροῦσιν ἡμῖν τὸ νυνδὴ ῥηθὲν πρὸς τοὺς γηγενεῖς οὐσίας πέρι.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

ἱκανὸν ἔθεμεν ὅρον που τῶν ὄντων, ὅταν τῳ παρῇ ἡ τοῦ πάσχειν ἢ δρᾶν καὶ πρὸς τὸ σμικρότατον δύναμις;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

πρὸς δὴ ταῦτα τόδε λέγουσιν, ὅτι γενέσει μὲν μέτεστι τοῦ πάσχειν καὶ ποιεῖν δυνάμεως, πρὸς δὲ οὐσίαν τούτων οὐδετέρου τὴν δύναμιν ἁρμόττειν φασίν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν λέγουσί τι;

Ξένος

πρὸς ὅ γε λεκτέον ἡμῖν ὅτι δεόμεθα παρ’ αὐτῶν [248d] ἔτι πυθέσθαι σαφέστερον εἰ προσομολογοῦσι τὴν μὲν ψυχὴν γιγνώσκειν, τὴν δ’ οὐσίαν γιγνώσκεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

φασὶ μὴν τοῦτό γε.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τὸ γιγνώσκειν ἢ τὸ γιγνώσκεσθαί φατε ποίημα ἢ πάθος ἢ ἀμφότερον; ἢ τὸ μὲν πάθημα, τὸ δὲ θάτερον; ἢ παντάπασιν οὐδέτερον οὐδετέρου τούτων μεταλαμβάνειν;

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον ὡς οὐδέτερον οὐδετέρου: τἀναντία γὰρ ἂν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν λέγοιεν.

Ξένος

μανθάνω: τόδε γε, ὡς τὸ γιγνώσκειν εἴπερ ἔσται [248e] ποιεῖν τι, τὸ γιγνωσκόμενον ἀναγκαῖον αὖ συμβαίνει πάσχειν. τὴν οὐσίαν δὴ κατὰ τὸν λόγον τοῦτον γιγνωσκομένην ὑπὸ τῆς γνώσεως, καθ’ ὅσον γιγνώσκεται, κατὰ τοσοῦτον κινεῖσθαι διὰ τὸ πάσχειν, ὃ δή φαμεν οὐκ ἂν γενέσθαι περὶ τὸ ἠρεμοῦν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

τί δὲ πρὸς Διός; ὡς ἀληθῶς κίνησιν καὶ ζωὴν καὶ ψυχὴν καὶ φρόνησιν ἦ ῥᾳδίως πεισθησόμεθα τῷ παντελῶς [249a] ὄντι μὴ παρεῖναι, μηδὲ ζῆν αὐτὸ μηδὲ φρονεῖν, ἀλλὰ σεμνὸν καὶ ἅγιον, νοῦν οὐκ ἔχον, ἀκίνητον ἑστὸς εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

δεινὸν μεντἄν, ὦ ξένε, λόγον συγχωροῖμεν.

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ νοῦν μὲν ἔχειν, ζωὴν δὲ μὴ φῶμεν;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς;

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν ἀμφότερα ἐνόντ’ αὐτῷ λέγομεν, οὐ μὴν ἐν ψυχῇ γε φήσομεν αὐτὸ ἔχειν αὐτά;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ τίν’ ἂν ἕτερον ἔχοι τρόπον;

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ δῆτα νοῦν μὲν καὶ ζωὴν καὶ ψυχὴν <ἔχειν>, ἀκίνητον μέντοι τὸ παράπαν ἔμψυχον ὂν ἑστάναι;

[249b] Θεαίτητος

πάντα ἔμοιγε ἄλογα ταῦτ’ εἶναι φαίνεται.

Ξένος

καὶ τὸ κινούμενον δὴ καὶ κίνησιν συγχωρητέον ὡς ὄντα.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

συμβαίνει δ’ οὖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἀκινήτων τε ὄντων νοῦν μηδενὶ περὶ μηδενὸς εἶναι μηδαμοῦ.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἐὰν αὖ φερόμενα καὶ κινούμενα πάντ’ εἶναι συγχωρῶμεν, καὶ τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἐκ τῶν ὄντων ἐξαιρήσομεν.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

τὸ κατὰ ταὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως καὶ περὶ τὸ αὐτὸ δοκεῖ [249c] σοι χωρὶς στάσεως γενέσθαι ποτ’ ἄν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος

τί δ’; ἄνευ τούτων νοῦν καθορᾷς ὄντα ἢ γενόμενον ἂν καὶ ὁπουοῦν;

Θεαίτητος

ἥκιστα.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν πρός γε τοῦτον παντὶ λόγῳ μαχετέον, ὃς ἂν ἐπιστήμην ἢ φρόνησιν ἢ νοῦν ἀφανίζων ἰσχυρίζηται περί τινος ὁπῃοῦν.

Θεαίτητος

σφόδρα γε.

Ξένος

τῷ δὴ φιλοσόφῳ καὶ ταῦτα μάλιστα τιμῶντι πᾶσα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀνάγκη διὰ ταῦτα μήτε τῶν ἓν ἢ καὶ τὰ πολλὰ [249d] εἴδη λεγόντων τὸ πᾶν ἑστηκὸς ἀποδέχεσθαι, τῶν τε αὖ πανταχῇ τὸ ὂν κινούντων μηδὲ τὸ παράπαν ἀκούειν, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὴν τῶν παίδων εὐχήν, ὅσα ἀκίνητα καὶ κεκινημένα, τὸ ὄν τε καὶ τὸ πᾶν συναμφότερα λέγειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα.

Ξένος

τί οὖν; ἆρ’ οὐκ ἐπιεικῶς ἤδη φαινόμεθα περιειληφέναι τῷ λόγῳ τὸ ὄν;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

βαβαὶ †μέντ’ ἂν ἄρα,† ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὥς μοι δοκοῦμεν νῦν αὐτοῦ γνώσεσθαι πέρι τὴν ἀπορίαν τῆς σκέψεως.

[249e] Θεαίτητος

πῶς αὖ καὶ τί τοῦτ’ εἴρηκας;

Ξένος

ὦ μακάριε, οὐκ ἐννοεῖς ὅτι νῦν ἐσμεν ἐν ἀγνοίᾳ τῇ πλείστῃ περὶ αὐτοῦ, φαινόμεθα δέ τι λέγειν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς;

Θεαίτητος

ἐμοὶ γοῦν: ὅπῃ δ’ αὖ λελήθαμεν οὕτως ἔχοντες, οὐ πάνυ συνίημι.

Ξένος

σκόπει δὴ σαφέστερον εἰ τὰ νῦν συνομολογοῦντες [250a] δικαίως ἂν ἐπερωτηθεῖμεν ἅπερ αὐτοὶ τότε ἠρωτῶμεν τοὺς λέγοντας εἶναι τὸ πᾶν θερμὸν καὶ ψυχρόν.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖα; ὑπόμνησόν με.

Ξένος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν: καὶ πειράσομαί γε δρᾶν τοῦτο ἐρωτῶν σὲ καθάπερ ἐκείνους τότε, ἵνα ἅμα τι καὶ προί¨ωμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

εἶεν δή, κίνησιν καὶ στάσιν ἆρ’ οὐκ ἐναντιώτατα λέγεις ἀλλήλοις;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν εἶναί γε ὁμοίως φῂς ἀμφότερα αὐτὰ καὶ ἑκάτερον;

[250b] Θεαίτητος

φημὶ γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

ἆρα κινεῖσθαι λέγων ἀμφότερα καὶ ἑκάτερον, ὅταν εἶναι συγχωρῇς;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ ἑστάναι σημαίνεις λέγων αὐτὰ ἀμφότερα εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς;

Ξένος

τρίτον ἄρα τι παρὰ ταῦτα τὸ ὂν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ τιθείς, ὡς ὑπ’ ἐκείνου τήν τε στάσιν καὶ τὴν κίνησιν περιεχομένην, συλλαβὼν καὶ ἀπιδὼν αὐτῶν πρὸς τὴν τῆς οὐσίας κοινωνίαν, οὕτως εἶναι προσεῖπας ἀμφότερα;

[250c] Θεαίτητος

κινδυνεύομεν ὡς ἀληθῶς τρίτον ἀπομαντεύεσθαί τι τὸ ὄν, ὅταν κίνησιν καὶ στάσιν εἶναι λέγωμεν.

Ξένος

οὐκ ἄρα κίνησις καὶ στάσις ἐστὶ συναμφότερον τὸ ὂν ἀλλ’ ἕτερον δή τι τούτων.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Ξένος

κατὰ τὴν αὑτοῦ φύσιν ἄρα τὸ ὂν οὔτε ἕστηκεν οὔτε κινεῖται.

Θεαίτητος

σχεδόν.

Ξένος

ποῖ δὴ χρὴ τὴν διάνοιαν ἔτι τρέπειν τὸν βουλόμενον ἐναργές τι περὶ αὐτοῦ παρ’ ἑαυτῷ βεβαιώσασθαι;

Θεαίτητος

ποῖ γάρ;

Ξένος

οἶμαι μὲν οὐδαμόσε ἔτι ῥᾴδιον. εἰ γάρ τι μὴ [250d] κινεῖται, πῶς οὐχ ἕστηκεν; ἢ τὸ μηδαμῶς ἑστὸς πῶς οὐκ αὖ κινεῖται; τὸ δὲ ὂν ἡμῖν νῦν ἐκτὸς τούτων ἀμφοτέρων ἀναπέφανται. ἦ δυνατὸν οὖν τοῦτο;

Θεαίτητος

πάντων μὲν οὖν ἀδυνατώτατον.

Ξένος

τόδε τοίνυν μνησθῆναι δίκαιον ἐπὶ τούτοις.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

ὅτι τοῦ μὴ ὄντος ἐρωτηθέντες τοὔνομα ἐφ’ ὅτι ποτὲ δεῖ φέρειν, πάσῃ συνεσχόμεθα ἀπορίᾳ. μέμνησαι;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

[250e] Ξένος

μῶν οὖν ἐν ἐλάττονί τινι νῦν ἐσμεν ἀπορίᾳ περὶ τὸ ὄν;

Θεαίτητος

ἐμοὶ μέν, ὦ ξένε, εἰ δυνατὸν εἰπεῖν, ἐν πλείονι φαινόμεθα.

Ξένος

τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν ἐνταῦθα κείσθω διηπορημένον: ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐξ ἴσου τό τε ὂν καὶ τὸ μὴ ὂν ἀπορίας μετειλήφατον, νῦν ἐλπὶς ἤδη καθάπερ ἂν αὐτῶν θάτερον εἴτε ἀμυδρότερον εἴτε σαφέστερον ἀναφαίνηται, καὶ θάτερον οὕτως [251a] ἀναφαίνεσθαι: καὶ ἐὰν αὖ μηδέτερον ἰδεῖν δυνώμεθα, τὸν γοῦν λόγον ὅπῃπερ ἂν οἷοί τε ὦμεν εὐπρεπέστατα διωσόμεθα οὕτως ἀμφοῖν ἅμα.

Θεαίτητος

καλῶς.

Ξένος

λέγωμεν δὴ καθ’ ὅντινά ποτε τρόπον πολλοῖς ὀνόμασι ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἑκάστοτε προσαγορεύομεν.

Θεαίτητος

οἷον δὴ τί; παράδειγμα εἰπέ.

Ξένος

λέγομεν ἄνθρωπον δήπου πόλλ’ ἄττα ἐπονομάζοντες, τά τε χρώματα ἐπιφέροντες αὐτῷ καὶ τὰ σχήματα καὶ μεγέθη καὶ κακίας καὶ ἀρετάς, ἐν οἷς πᾶσι καὶ ἑτέροις μυρίοις οὐ μόνον [251b] ἄνθρωπον αὐτὸν εἶναί φαμεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἕτερα ἄπειρα, καὶ τἆλλα δὴ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον οὕτως ἓν ἕκαστον ὑποθέμενοι πάλιν αὐτὸ πολλὰ καὶ πολλοῖς ὀνόμασι λέγομεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Ξένος

ὅθεν γε οἶμαι τοῖς τε νέοις καὶ τῶν γερόντων τοῖς ὀψιμαθέσι θοίνην παρεσκευάκαμεν: εὐθὺς γὰρ ἀντιλαβέσθαι παντὶ πρόχειρον ὡς ἀδύνατον τά τε πολλὰ ἓν καὶ τὸ ἓν πολλὰ εἶναι, καὶ δήπου χαίρουσιν οὐκ ἐῶντες ἀγαθὸν λέγειν [251c] ἄνθρωπον, ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν ἀγαθὸν ἀγαθόν, τὸν δὲ ἄνθρωπον ἄνθρωπον. ἐντυγχάνεις γάρ, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, πολλάκις τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐσπουδακόσιν, ἐνίοτε πρεσβυτέροις ἀνθρώποις, καὶ ὑπὸ πενίας τῆς περὶ φρόνησιν κτήσεως τὰ τοιαῦτα τεθαυμακόσι, καὶ δή τι καὶ πάσσοφον οἰομένοις τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἀνηυρηκέναι.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ἵνα τοίνυν πρὸς ἅπαντας ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος ᾖ τοὺς [251d] πώποτε περὶ οὐσίας καὶ ὁτιοῦν διαλεχθέντας, ἔστω καὶ πρὸς τούτους καὶ πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους, ὅσοις ἔμπροσθεν διειλέγμεθα, τὰ νῦν ὡς ἐν ἐρωτήσει λεχθησόμενα.

Θεαίτητος

τὰ ποῖα δή;

Ξένος

πότερον μήτε τὴν οὐσίαν κινήσει καὶ στάσει προσάπτωμεν μήτε ἄλλο ἄλλῳ μηδὲν μηδενί, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἄμεικτα ὄντα καὶ ἀδύνατον μεταλαμβάνειν ἀλλήλων οὕτως αὐτὰ ἐν τοῖς παρ’ ἡμῖν λόγοις τιθῶμεν; ἢ πάντα εἰς ταὐτὸν συναγάγωμεν ὡς δυνατὰ ἐπικοινωνεῖν ἀλλήλοις; ἢ τὰ μέν, τὰ δὲ μή; τούτων, [251e] ὦ Θεαίτητε, τί ποτ’ ἂν αὐτοὺς προαιρεῖσθαι φήσομεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἐγὼ μὲν ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν οὐδὲν ἔχω πρὸς ταῦτα ἀποκρίνασθαι.

Ξένος

τί οὖν οὐ καθ’ ἓν ἀποκρινόμενος ἐφ’ ἑκάστου τὰ συμβαίνοντα ἐσκέψω;

Θεαίτητος

καλῶς λέγεις.

Ξένος

καὶ τιθῶμέν γε αὐτοὺς λέγειν, εἰ βούλει, πρῶτον μηδενὶ μηδὲν μηδεμίαν δύναμιν ἔχειν κοινωνίας εἰς μηδέν. οὐκοῦν κίνησίς τε καὶ στάσις οὐδαμῇ μεθέξετον οὐσίας;

[252a] Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

τί δέ; ἔσται πότερον αὐτῶν οὐσίας μὴ προσκοινωνοῦν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐκ ἔσται.

Ξένος

ταχὺ δὴ ταύτῃ γε τῇ συνομολογίᾳ πάντα ἀνάστατα γέγονεν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἅμα τε τῶν τὸ πᾶν κινούντων καὶ τῶν ὡς ἓν ἱστάντων καὶ ὅσοι κατ’ εἴδη τὰ ὄντα κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως ἔχοντα εἶναί φασιν ἀεί: πάντες γὰρ οὗτοι τό γε εἶναι προσάπτουσιν, οἱ μὲν ὄντως κινεῖσθαι λέγοντες, οἱ δὲ ὄντως ἑστηκότ’ εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

[252b] Ξένος

καὶ μὴν καὶ ὅσοι τοτὲ μὲν συντιθέασι τὰ πάντα, τοτὲ δὲ διαιροῦσιν, εἴτε εἰς ἓν καὶ ἐξ ἑνὸς ἄπειρα εἴτε εἰς πέρας ἔχοντα στοιχεῖα διαιρούμενοι καὶ ἐκ τούτων συντιθέντες, ὁμοίως μὲν ἐὰν ἐν μέρει τοῦτο τιθῶσι γιγνόμενον, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ ἐὰν ἀεί, κατὰ πάντα ταῦτα λέγοιεν ἂν οὐδέν, εἴπερ μηδεμία ἔστι σύμμειξις.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

ἔτι τοίνυν ἂν αὐτοὶ πάντων καταγελαστότατα μετίοιεν τὸν λόγον οἱ μηδὲν ἐῶντες κοινωνίᾳ παθήματος ἑτέρου θάτερον προσαγορεύειν.

[252c] Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

τῷ τε “εἶναί” που περὶ πάντα ἀναγκάζονται χρῆσθαι καὶ τῷ “χωρὶς” καὶ τῷ “τῶν ἄλλων” καὶ τῷ “καθ’ αὑτὸ” καὶ μυρίοις ἑτέροις, ὧν ἀκρατεῖς ὄντες εἴργεσθαι καὶ μὴ συνάπτειν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις οὐκ ἄλλων δέονται τῶν ἐξελεγξόντων, ἀλλὰ τὸ λεγόμενον οἴκοθεν τὸν πολέμιον καὶ ἐναντιωσόμενον ἔχοντες, ἐντὸς ὑποφθεγγόμενον ὥσπερ τὸν ἄτοπον Εὐρυκλέα περιφέροντες ἀεὶ πορεύονται.

[252d] Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ λέγεις ὅμοιόν τε καὶ ἀληθές.

Ξένος

τί δ’, ἂν πάντα ἀλλήλοις ἐῶμεν δύναμιν ἔχειν ἐπικοινωνίας;

Θεαίτητος

τοῦτο μὲν οἷός τε κἀγὼ διαλύειν.

Ξένος

πῶς;

Θεαίτητος

ὅτι κίνησίς τε αὐτὴ παντάπασιν ἵσταιτ’ ἂν καὶ στάσις αὖ πάλιν αὐτὴ κινοῖτο, εἴπερ ἐπιγιγνοίσθην ἐπ’ ἀλλήλοιν.

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γέ που ταῖς μεγίσταις ἀνάγκαις ἀδύνατον, κίνησίν τε ἵστασθαι καὶ στάσιν κινεῖσθαι;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

τὸ τρίτον δὴ μόνον λοιπόν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[252e] Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἕν γέ τι τούτων ἀναγκαῖον, ἢ πάντα ἢ μηδὲν ἢ τὰ μὲν ἐθέλειν, τὰ δὲ μὴ συμμείγνυσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν τά γε δύο ἀδύνατον ηὑρέθη.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

πᾶς ἄρα ὁ βουλόμενος ὀρθῶς ἀποκρίνεσθαι τὸ λοιπὸν τῶν τριῶν θήσει.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ὅτε δὴ τὰ μὲν ἐθέλει τοῦτο δρᾶν, τὰ δ’ οὔ, σχεδὸν [253a] οἷον τὰ γράμματα πεπονθότ’ ἂν εἴη. καὶ γὰρ ἐκείνων τὰ μὲν ἀναρμοστεῖ που πρὸς ἄλληλα, τὰ δὲ συναρμόττει.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

τὰ δέ γε φωνήεντα διαφερόντως τῶν ἄλλων οἷον δεσμὸς διὰ πάντων κεχώρηκεν, ὥστε ἄνευ τινὸς αὐτῶν ἀδύνατον ἁρμόττειν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἕτερον ἑτέρῳ.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα γε.

Ξένος

πᾶς οὖν οἶδεν ὁποῖα ὁποίοις δυνατὰ κοινωνεῖν, ἢ τέχνης δεῖ τῷ μέλλοντι δρᾶν ἱκανῶς αὐτό;

Θεαίτητος

τέχνης.

Ξένος

ποίας;

Θεαίτητος

τῆς γραμματικῆς.

[253b] Ξένος

τί δέ; περὶ τοὺς τῶν ὀξέων καὶ βαρέων φθόγγους ἆρ’ οὐχ οὕτως; ὁ μὲν τοὺς συγκεραννυμένους τε καὶ μὴ τέχνην ἔχων γιγνώσκειν μουσικός, ὁ δὲ μὴ συνιεὶς ἄμουσος;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

καὶ κατὰ τῶν ἄλλων δὴ τεχνῶν καὶ ἀτεχνιῶν τοιαῦτα εὑρήσομεν ἕτερα.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

τί δ’; ἐπειδὴ καὶ τὰ γένη πρὸς ἄλληλα κατὰ ταὐτὰ μείξεως ἔχειν ὡμολογήκαμεν, ἆρ’ οὐ μετ’ ἐπιστήμης τινὸς ἀναγκαῖον διὰ τῶν λόγων πορεύεσθαι τὸν ὀρθῶς μέλλοντα δείξειν ποῖα ποίοις συμφωνεῖ τῶν γενῶν καὶ ποῖα ἄλληλα [253c] οὐ δέχεται; καὶ δὴ καὶ διὰ πάντων εἰ συνέχοντ’ ἄττ’ αὔτ’ ἐστιν, ὥστε συμμείγνυσθαι δυνατὰ εἶναι, καὶ πάλιν ἐν ταῖς διαιρέσεσιν, εἰ δι’ ὅλων ἕτερα τῆς διαιρέσεως αἴτια;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἐπιστήμης δεῖ, καὶ σχεδόν γε ἴσως τῆς μεγίστης;

Ξένος

τίν’ οὖν αὖ [νῦν] προσεροῦμεν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ταύτην; ἢ πρὸς Διὸς ἐλάθομεν εἰς τὴν τῶν ἐλευθέρων ἐμπεσόντες ἐπιστήμην, καὶ κινδυνεύομεν ζητοῦντες τὸν σοφιστὴν πρότερον ἀνηυρηκέναι τὸν φιλόσοφον;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς λέγεις;

[253d] Ξένος

τὸ κατὰ γένη διαιρεῖσθαι καὶ μήτε ταὐτὸν εἶδος ἕτερον ἡγήσασθαι μήτε ἕτερον ὂν ταὐτὸν μῶν οὐ τῆς διαλεκτικῆς φήσομεν ἐπιστήμης εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

ναί, φήσομεν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν ὅ γε τοῦτο δυνατὸς δρᾶν μίαν ἰδέαν διὰ πολλῶν, ἑνὸς ἑκάστου κειμένου χωρίς, πάντῃ διατεταμένην ἱκανῶς διαισθάνεται, καὶ πολλὰς ἑτέρας ἀλλήλων ὑπὸ μιᾶς ἔξωθεν περιεχομένας, καὶ μίαν αὖ δι’ ὅλων πολλῶν ἐν ἑνὶ συνημμένην, καὶ πολλὰς χωρὶς πάντῃ διωρισμένας: τοῦτο δ’ [253e] ἔστιν, ᾗ τε κοινωνεῖν ἕκαστα δύναται καὶ ὅπῃ μή, διακρίνειν κατὰ γένος ἐπίστασθαι.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε διαλεκτικὸν οὐκ ἄλλῳ δώσεις, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, πλὴν τῷ καθαρῶς τε καὶ δικαίως φιλοσοφοῦντι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ ἂν ἄλλῳ δοίη τις;

Ξένος

τὸν μὲν δὴ φιλόσοφον ἐν τοιούτῳ τινὶ τόπῳ καὶ νῦν καὶ ἔπειτα ἀνευρήσομεν ἐὰν ζητῶμεν, ἰδεῖν μὲν χαλεπὸν [254a] ἐναργῶς καὶ τοῦτον, ἕτερον μὴν τρόπον ἥ τε τοῦ σοφιστοῦ χαλεπότης ἥ τε τούτου.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

ὁ μὲν ἀποδιδράσκων εἰς τὴν τοῦ μὴ ὄντος σκοτεινότητα, τριβῇ προσαπτόμενος αὐτῆς, διὰ τὸ σκοτεινὸν τοῦ τόπου κατανοῆσαι χαλεπός: ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

Ξένος

ὁ δέ γε φιλόσοφος, τῇ τοῦ ὄντος ἀεὶ διὰ λογισμῶν προσκείμενος ἰδέᾳ, διὰ τὸ λαμπρὸν αὖ τῆς χώρας οὐδαμῶς εὐπετὴς ὀφθῆναι: τὰ γὰρ τῆς τῶν πολλῶν ψυχῆς ὄμματα [254b] καρτερεῖν πρὸς τὸ θεῖον ἀφορῶντα ἀδύνατα.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ ταῦτα εἰκὸς οὐχ ἧττον ἐκείνων οὕτως ἔχειν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν περὶ μὲν τούτου καὶ τάχα ἐπισκεψόμεθα σαφέστερον, ἂν ἔτι βουλομένοις ἡμῖν ᾖ: περὶ δὲ τοῦ σοφιστοῦ που δῆλον ὡς οὐκ ἀνετέον πρὶν ἂν ἱκανῶς αὐτὸν θεασώμεθα.

Θεαίτητος

καλῶς εἶπες.

Ξένος

ὅτ’ οὖν δὴ τὰ μὲν ἡμῖν τῶν γενῶν ὡμολόγηται κοινωνεῖν ἐθέλειν ἀλλήλοις, τὰ δὲ μή, καὶ τὰ μὲν ἐπ’ ὀλίγον, τὰ δ’ ἐπὶ πολλά, τὰ δὲ καὶ διὰ πάντων οὐδὲν κωλύειν τοῖς [254c] πᾶσι κεκοινωνηκέναι, τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο συνεπισπώμεθα τῷ λόγῳ τῇδε σκοποῦντες, μὴ περὶ πάντων τῶν εἰδῶν, ἵνα μὴ ταραττώμεθα ἐν πολλοῖς, ἀλλὰ προελόμενοι τῶν μεγίστων λεγομένων ἄττα, πρῶτον μὲν ποῖα ἕκαστά ἐστιν, ἔπειτα κοινωνίας ἀλλήλων πῶς ἔχει δυνάμεως, ἵνα τό τε ὂν καὶ μὴ ὂν εἰ μὴ πάσῃ σαφηνείᾳ δυνάμεθα λαβεῖν, ἀλλ’ οὖν λόγου γε ἐνδεεῖς μηδὲν γιγνώμεθα περὶ αὐτῶν, καθ’ ὅσον ὁ τρόπος ἐνδέχεται τῆς νῦν σκέψεως, ἐὰν ἄρα ἡμῖν πῃ [254d] παρεικάθῃ τὸ μὴ ὂν λέγουσιν ὡς ἔστιν ὄντως μὴ ὂν ἀθῴοις ἀπαλλάττειν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐκοῦν χρή.

Ξένος

μέγιστα μὴν τῶν γενῶν ἃ νυνδὴ διῇμεν τό τε ὂν αὐτὸ καὶ στάσις καὶ κίνησις.

Θεαίτητος

πολύ γε.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν τώ γε δύο φαμὲν αὐτοῖν ἀμείκτω πρὸς ἀλλήλω.

Θεαίτητος

σφόδρα γε.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γε ὂν μεικτὸν ἀμφοῖν: ἐστὸν γὰρ ἄμφω που.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

τρία δὴ γίγνεται ταῦτα.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν αὐτῶν ἕκαστον τοῖν μὲν δυοῖν ἕτερόν ἐστιν, αὐτὸ δ’ ἑαυτῷ ταὐτόν.

[254e] Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

τί ποτ’ αὖ νῦν οὕτως εἰρήκαμεν τό τε ταὐτὸν καὶ θάτερον; πότερα δύο γένη τινὲ αὐτώ, τῶν μὲν τριῶν ἄλλω, συμμειγνυμένω μὴν ἐκείνοις ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἀεί, καὶ περὶ πέντε ἀλλ’ οὐ περὶ τριῶν ὡς ὄντων αὐτῶν σκεπτέον, ἢ τό τε ταὐτὸν [255a] τοῦτο καὶ θάτερον ὡς ἐκείνων τι προσαγορεύοντες λανθάνομεν ἡμᾶς αὐτούς;

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ οὔ τι μὴν κίνησίς γε καὶ στάσις οὔθ’ ἕτερον οὔτε ταὐτόν ἐστι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

ὅτιπερ ἂν κοινῇ προσείπωμεν κίνησιν καὶ στάσιν, τοῦτο οὐδέτερον αὐτοῖν οἷόν τε εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Ξένος

κίνησίς τε στήσεται καὶ στάσις αὖ κινηθήσεται: περὶ γὰρ ἀμφότερα θάτερον ὁποτερονοῦν γιγνόμενον αὐτοῖν ἀναγκάσει μεταβάλλειν αὖ θάτερον ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον τῆς αὑτοῦ [255b] φύσεως, ἅτε μετασχὸν τοῦ ἐναντίου.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ γε.

Ξένος

μετέχετον μὴν ἄμφω ταὐτοῦ καὶ θατέρου.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

μὴ τοίνυν λέγωμεν κίνησίν γ’ εἶναι ταὐτὸν ἢ θάτερον, μηδ’ αὖ στάσιν.

Θεαίτητος

μὴ γάρ.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ ἆρα τὸ ὂν καὶ τὸ ταὐτὸν ὡς ἕν τι διανοητέον ἡμῖν;

Θεαίτητος

ἴσως.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ εἰ τὸ ὂν καὶ τὸ ταὐτὸν μηδὲν διάφορον σημαίνετον, κίνησιν αὖ πάλιν καὶ στάσιν ἀμφότερα εἶναι λέγοντες [255c] ἀμφότερα οὕτως αὐτὰ ταὐτὸν ὡς ὄντα προσεροῦμεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε ἀδύνατον.

Ξένος

ἀδύνατον ἄρα ταὐτὸν καὶ τὸ ὂν ἓν εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

σχεδόν.

Ξένος

τέταρτον δὴ πρὸς τοῖς τρισὶν εἴδεσιν τὸ ταὐτὸν τιθῶμεν;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

τί δέ; τὸ θάτερον ἆρα ἡμῖν λεκτέον πέμπτον; ἢ τοῦτο καὶ τὸ ὂν ὡς δύ’ ἄττα ὀνόματα ἐφ’ ἑνὶ γένει διανοεῖσθαι δεῖ;

Θεαίτητος

τάχ’ ἄν.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ οἶμαί σε συγχωρεῖν τῶν ὄντων τὰ μὲν αὐτὰ καθ’ αὑτά, τὰ δὲ πρὸς ἄλλα ἀεὶ λέγεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

τί δ’ οὔ;

[255d] Ξένος

τὸ δέ γ’ ἕτερον ἀεὶ πρὸς ἕτερον: ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

οὐκ ἄν, εἴ γε τὸ ὂν καὶ τὸ θάτερον μὴ πάμπολυ διεφερέτην: ἀλλ’ εἴπερ θάτερον ἀμφοῖν μετεῖχε τοῖν εἰδοῖν ὥσπερ τὸ ὄν, ἦν ἄν ποτέ τι καὶ τῶν ἑτέρων ἕτερον οὐ πρὸς ἕτερον: νῦν δὲ ἀτεχνῶς ἡμῖν ὅτιπερ ἂν ἕτερον ᾖ, συμβέβηκεν ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἑτέρου τοῦτο ὅπερ ἐστὶν εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

λέγεις καθάπερ ἔχει.

Ξένος

πέμπτον δὴ τὴν θατέρου φύσιν λεκτέον ἐν τοῖς [255e] εἴδεσιν οὖσαν, ἐν οἷς προαιρούμεθα.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ διὰ πάντων γε αὐτὴν αὐτῶν φήσομεν εἶναι διεληλυθυῖαν: ἓν ἕκαστον γὰρ ἕτερον εἶναι τῶν ἄλλων οὐ διὰ τὴν αὑτοῦ φύσιν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὸ μετέχειν τῆς ἰδέας τῆς θατέρου.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ὧδε δὴ λέγωμεν ἐπὶ τῶν πέντε καθ’ ἓν ἀναλαμβάνοντες.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

πρῶτον μὲν κίνησιν, ὡς ἔστι παντάπασιν ἕτερον στάσεως. ἢ πῶς λέγομεν;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

οὐ στάσις ἄρ’ ἐστίν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐδαμῶς.

[256a] Ξένος

ἔστι δέ γε διὰ τὸ μετέχειν τοῦ ὄντος.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστιν.

Ξένος

αὖθις δὴ πάλιν ἡ κίνησις ἕτερον ταὐτοῦ ἐστιν.

Θεαίτητος

σχεδόν.

Ξένος

οὐ ταὐτὸν ἄρα ἐστίν.

Θεαίτητος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

ἀλλὰ μὴν αὕτη γ’ ἦν ταὐτὸν διὰ τὸ μετέχειν αὖ πάντ’ αὐτοῦ.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα.

Ξένος

τὴν κίνησιν δὴ ταὐτόν τ’ εἶναι καὶ μὴ ταὐτὸν ὁμολογητέον καὶ οὐ δυσχεραντέον. οὐ γὰρ ὅταν εἴπωμεν αὐτὴν ταὐτὸν καὶ μὴ ταὐτόν, ὁμοίως εἰρήκαμεν, ἀλλ’ ὁπόταν μὲν [256b] ταὐτόν, διὰ τὴν μέθεξιν ταὐτοῦ πρὸς ἑαυτὴν οὕτω λέγομεν, ὅταν δὲ μὴ ταὐτόν, διὰ τὴν κοινωνίαν αὖ θατέρου, δι’ ἣν ἀποχωριζομένη ταὐτοῦ γέγονεν οὐκ ἐκεῖνο ἀλλ’ ἕτερον, ὥστε ὀρθῶς αὖ λέγεται πάλιν οὐ ταὐτόν.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν κἂν εἴ πῃ μετελάμβανεν αὐτὴ κίνησις στάσεως, οὐδὲν ἂν ἄτοπον ἦν στάσιμον αὐτὴν προσαγορεύειν;

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθότατά γε, εἴπερ τῶν γενῶν συγχωρησόμεθα τὰ μὲν ἀλλήλοις ἐθέλειν μείγνυσθαι, τὰ δὲ μή.

[256c] Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἐπί γε τὴν τούτου πρότερον ἀπόδειξιν ἢ τῶν νῦν ἀφικόμεθα, ἐλέγχοντες ὡς ἔστι κατὰ φύσιν ταύτῃ.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

λέγωμεν δὴ πάλιν: ἡ κίνησίς ἐστιν ἕτερον τοῦ ἑτέρου, καθάπερ ταὐτοῦ τε ἦν ἄλλο καὶ τῆς στάσεως;

Θεαίτητος

ἀναγκαῖον.

Ξένος

οὐχ ἕτερον ἄρ’ ἐστί πῃ καὶ ἕτερον κατὰ τὸν νυνδὴ λόγον.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος

τί οὖν δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο; ἆρ’ αὖ τῶν μὲν τριῶν ἕτερον αὐτὴν φήσομεν εἶναι, τοῦ δὲ τετάρτου μὴ φῶμεν, [256d] ὁμολογήσαντες αὐτὰ εἶναι πέντε, περὶ ὧν καὶ ἐν οἷς προυθέμεθα σκοπεῖν;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς; ἀδύνατον γὰρ συγχωρεῖν ἐλάττω τὸν ἀριθμὸν τοῦ νυνδὴ φανέντος.

Ξένος

ἀδεῶς ἄρα τὴν κίνησιν ἕτερον εἶναι τοῦ ὄντος διαμαχόμενοι λέγωμεν;

Θεαίτητος

ἀδεέστατα μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν δὴ σαφῶς ἡ κίνησις ὄντως οὐκ ὄν ἐστι καὶ ὄν, ἐπείπερ τοῦ ὄντος μετέχει;

Θεαίτητος

σαφέστατά γε.

Ξένος

ἔστιν ἄρα ἐξ ἀνάγκης τὸ μὴ ὂν ἐπί τε κινήσεως εἶναι καὶ κατὰ πάντα τὰ γένη: κατὰ πάντα γὰρ ἡ θατέρου [256e] φύσις ἕτερον ἀπεργαζομένη τοῦ ὄντος ἕκαστον οὐκ ὂν ποιεῖ, καὶ σύμπαντα δὴ κατὰ ταὐτὰ οὕτως οὐκ ὄντα ὀρθῶς ἐροῦμεν, καὶ πάλιν, ὅτι μετέχει τοῦ ὄντος, εἶναί τε καὶ ὄντα.

Θεαίτητος

κινδυνεύει.

Ξένος

περὶ ἕκαστον ἄρα τῶν εἰδῶν πολὺ μέν ἐστι τὸ ὄν, ἄπειρον δὲ πλήθει τὸ μὴ ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔοικεν.

[257a] Ξένος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ὂν αὐτὸ τῶν ἄλλων ἕτερον εἶναι λεκτέον.

Θεαίτητος

ἀνάγκη.

Ξένος

καὶ τὸ ὂν ἄρ’ ἡμῖν, ὅσαπέρ ἐστι τὰ ἄλλα, κατὰ τοσαῦτα οὐκ ἔστιν: ἐκεῖνα γὰρ οὐκ ὂν ἓν μὲν αὐτό ἐστιν, ἀπέραντα δὲ τὸν ἀριθμὸν τἆλλα οὐκ ἔστιν αὖ.

Θεαίτητος

σχεδὸν οὕτως.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν δὴ καὶ ταῦτα οὐ δυσχεραντέον, ἐπείπερ ἔχει κοινωνίαν ἀλλήλοις ἡ τῶν γενῶν φύσις. εἰ δέ τις ταῦτα μὴ συγχωρεῖ, πείσας ἡμῶν τοὺς ἔμπροσθεν λόγους οὕτω πειθέτω τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα.

Θεαίτητος

δικαιότατα εἴρηκας.

[257b] Ξένος

ἴδωμεν δὴ καὶ τόδε.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

ὁπόταν τὸ μὴ ὂν λέγωμεν, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐκ ἐναντίον τι λέγομεν τοῦ ὄντος ἀλλ’ ἕτερον μόνον.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

οἷον ὅταν εἴπωμέν τι μὴ μέγα, τότε μᾶλλόν τί σοι φαινόμεθα τὸ σμικρὸν ἢ τὸ ἴσον δηλοῦν τῷ ῥήματι;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς;

Ξένος

οὐκ ἄρ’, ἐναντίον ὅταν ἀπόφασις λέγηται σημαίνειν, συγχωρησόμεθα, τοσοῦτον δὲ μόνον, ὅτι τῶν ἄλλων τὶ μηνύει [257c] τὸ μὴ καὶ τὸ οὒ προτιθέμενα τῶν ἐπιόντων ὀνομάτων, μᾶλλον δὲ τῶν πραγμάτων περὶ ἅττ’ ἂν κέηται τὰ ἐπιφθεγγόμενα ὕστερον τῆς ἀποφάσεως ὀνόματα.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

τόδε δὲ διανοηθῶμεν, εἰ καὶ σοὶ συνδοκεῖ.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

ἡ θατέρου μοι φύσις φαίνεται κατακεκερματίσθαι καθάπερ ἐπιστήμη.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

μία μέν ἐστί που καὶ ἐκείνη, τὸ δ’ ἐπί τῳ γιγνόμενον μέρος αὐτῆς ἕκαστον ἀφορισθὲν ἐπωνυμίαν ἴσχει τινὰ [257d] ἑαυτῆς ἰδίαν: διὸ πολλαὶ τέχναι τ’ εἰσὶ λεγόμεναι καὶ ἐπιστῆμαι.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὰ τῆς θατέρου φύσεως μόρια μιᾶς οὔσης ταὐτὸν πέπονθε τοῦτο.

Θεαίτητος

τάχ’ ἄν: ἀλλ’ ὅπῃ δὴ λέγωμεν;

Ξένος

ἔστι τῷ καλῷ τι θατέρου μόριον ἀντιτιθέμενον;

Θεαίτητος

ἔστιν.

Ξένος

τοῦτ’ οὖν ἀνώνυμον ἐροῦμεν ἤ τιν’ ἔχον ἐπωνυμίαν;

Θεαίτητος

ἔχον: ὃ γὰρ μὴ καλὸν ἑκάστοτε φθεγγόμεθα, τοῦτο οὐκ ἄλλου τινὸς ἕτερόν ἐστιν ἢ τῆς τοῦ καλοῦ φύσεως.

Ξένος

ἴθι νυν τόδε μοι λέγε.

[257e] Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

ἄλλο τι τῶν ὄντων τινὸς ἑνὸς γένους ἀφορισθὲν καὶ πρός τι τῶν ὄντων αὖ πάλιν ἀντιτεθὲν οὕτω συμβέβηκεν εἶναι τὸ μὴ καλόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

ὄντος δὴ πρὸς ὂν ἀντίθεσις, ὡς ἔοικ’, εἶναί τις συμβαίνει τὸ μὴ καλόν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος

τί οὖν; κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἆρα μᾶλλον μὲν τὸ καλὸν ἡμῖν ἐστι τῶν ὄντων, ἧττον δὲ τὸ μὴ καλόν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

[258a] Ξένος

ὁμοίως ἄρα τὸ μὴ μέγα καὶ τὸ μέγα αὐτὸ εἶναι λεκτέον;

Θεαίτητος

ὁμοίως.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ μὴ δίκαιον τῷ δικαίῳ κατὰ ταὐτὰ θετέον πρὸς τὸ μηδέν τι μᾶλλον εἶναι θάτερον θατέρου;

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

καὶ τἆλλα δὴ ταύτῃ λέξομεν, ἐπείπερ ἡ θατέρου φύσις ἐφάνη τῶν ὄντων οὖσα, ἐκείνης δὲ οὔσης ἀνάγκη δὴ καὶ τὰ μόρια αὐτῆς μηδενὸς ἧττον ὄντα τιθέναι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡ τῆς θατέρου μορίου φύσεως [258b] καὶ τῆς τοῦ ὄντος πρὸς ἄλληλα ἀντικειμένων ἀντίθεσις οὐδὲν ἧττον, εἰ θέμις εἰπεῖν, αὐτοῦ τοῦ ὄντος οὐσία ἐστίν, οὐκ ἐναντίον ἐκείνῳ σημαίνουσα ἀλλὰ τοσοῦτον μόνον, ἕτερον ἐκείνου.

Θεαίτητος

σαφέστατά γε.

Ξένος

τίν’ οὖν αὐτὴν προσείπωμεν;

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον ὅτι τὸ μὴ ὄν, ὃ διὰ τὸν σοφιστὴν ἐζητοῦμεν, αὐτό ἐστι τοῦτο.

Ξένος

πότερον οὖν, ὥσπερ εἶπες, ἔστιν οὐδενὸς τῶν ἄλλων οὐσίας ἐλλειπόμενον, καὶ δεῖ θαῤῥοῦντα ἤδη λέγειν ὅτι τὸ μὴ ὂν βεβαίως ἐστὶ τὴν αὑτοῦ φύσιν ἔχον, ὥσπερ τὸ μέγα [258c] ἦν μέγα καὶ τὸ καλὸν ἦν καλὸν καὶ τὸ μὴ μέγα <μὴ μέγα> καὶ τὸ μὴ καλὸν <μὴ καλόν>, οὕτω δὲ καὶ τὸ μὴ ὂν κατὰ ταὐτὸν ἦν τε καὶ ἔστι μὴ ὄν, ἐνάριθμον τῶν πολλῶν ὄντων εἶδος ἕν; ἤ τινα ἔτι πρὸς αὐτό, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἀπιστίαν ἔχομεν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδεμίαν.

Ξένος

οἶσθ’ οὖν ὅτι Παρμενίδῃ μακροτέρως τῆς ἀποῤῥήσεως ἠπιστήκαμεν;

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Ξένος

πλεῖον ἢ ‘κεῖνος ἀπεῖπε σκοπεῖν, ἡμεῖς εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν ἔτι ζητήσαντες ἀπεδείξαμεν αὐτῷ.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

[258d] Ξένος

ὅτι ὁ μέν πού φησιν —

οὐ γὰρ μήποτε τοῦτο δαμῇ, εἶναι μὴ ἐόντα, ἀλλὰ σὺ τῆσδ’ ἀφ’ ὁδοῦ διζήσιος εἶργε νόημα.

παρμενιδες 7.1

Θεαίτητος

λέγει γὰρ οὖν οὕτως.

Ξένος

ἡμεῖς δέ γε οὐ μόνον τὰ μὴ ὄντα ὡς ἔστιν ἀπεδείξαμεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ εἶδος ὃ τυγχάνει ὂν τοῦ μὴ ὄντος ἀπεφηνάμεθα: τὴν γὰρ θατέρου φύσιν ἀποδείξαντες οὖσάν [258e] τε καὶ κατακεκερματισμένην ἐπὶ πάντα τὰ ὄντα πρὸς ἄλληλα, τὸ πρὸς τὸ ὂν ἕκαστον μόριον αὐτῆς ἀντιτιθέμενον ἐτολμήσαμεν εἰπεῖν ὡς αὐτὸ τοῦτό ἐστιν ὄντως τὸ μὴ ὄν.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ παντάπασί γε, ὦ ξένε, ἀληθέστατά μοι δοκοῦμεν εἰρηκέναι.

Ξένος

μὴ τοίνυν ἡμᾶς εἴπῃ τις ὅτι τοὐναντίον τοῦ ὄντος τὸ μὴ ὂν ἀποφαινόμενοι τολμῶμεν λέγειν ὡς ἔστιν. ἡμεῖς γὰρ περὶ μὲν ἐναντίου τινὸς αὐτῷ χαίρειν πάλαι λέγομεν, [259a] εἴτ’ ἔστιν εἴτε μή, λόγον ἔχον ἢ καὶ παντάπασιν ἄλογον: ὃ δὲ νῦν εἰρήκαμεν εἶναι τὸ μὴ ὄν, ἢ πεισάτω τις ὡς οὐ καλῶς λέγομεν ἐλέγξας, ἢ μέχριπερ ἂν ἀδυνατῇ, λεκτέον καὶ ἐκείνῳ καθάπερ ἡμεῖς λέγομεν, ὅτι συμμείγνυταί τε ἀλλήλοις τὰ γένη καὶ τό τε ὂν καὶ θάτερον διὰ πάντων καὶ δι’ ἀλλήλων διεληλυθότε τὸ μὲν ἕτερον μετασχὸν τοῦ ὄντος ἔστι μὲν διὰ ταύτην τὴν μέθεξιν, οὐ μὴν ἐκεῖνό γε οὗ μετέσχεν ἀλλ’ ἕτερον, ἕτερον δὲ τοῦ ὄντος ὂν ἔστι σαφέστατα [259b] ἐξ ἀνάγκης εἶναι μὴ ὄν: τὸ δὲ ὂν αὖ θατέρου μετειληφὸς ἕτερον τῶν ἄλλων ἂν εἴη γενῶν, ἕτερον δ’ ἐκείνων ἁπάντων ὂν οὐκ ἔστιν ἕκαστον αὐτῶν οὐδὲ σύμπαντα τὰ ἄλλα πλὴν αὐτό, ὥστε τὸ ὂν ἀναμφισβητήτως αὖ μυρία ἐπὶ μυρίοις οὐκ ἔστι, καὶ τἆλλα δὴ καθ’ ἕκαστον οὕτω καὶ σύμπαντα πολλαχῇ μὲν ἔστι, πολλαχῇ δ’ οὐκ ἔστιν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος

καὶ ταύταις δὴ ταῖς ἐναντιώσεσιν εἴτε ἀπιστεῖ τις, σκεπτέον αὐτῷ καὶ λεκτέον βέλτιόν τι τῶν νῦν εἰρημένων: [259c] εἴτε ὥς τι χαλεπὸν κατανενοηκὼς χαίρει τοτὲ μὲν ἐπὶ θάτερα τοτὲ δ’ ἐπὶ θάτερα τοὺς λόγους ἕλκων, οὐκ ἄξια πολλῆς σπουδῆς ἐσπούδακεν, ὡς οἱ νῦν λόγοι φασί. τοῦτο μὲν γὰρ οὔτε τι κομψὸν οὔτε χαλεπὸν εὑρεῖν, ἐκεῖνο δ’ ἤδη καὶ χαλεπὸν ἅμα καὶ καλόν.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

ὃ καὶ πρόσθεν εἴρηται, τὸ ταῦτα ἐάσαντα ὡς †δυνατὰ† τοῖς λεγομένοις οἷόν τ’ εἶναι καθ’ ἕκαστον ἐλέγχοντα ἐπακολουθεῖν, ὅταν τέ τις ἕτερον ὄν πῃ ταὐτὸν [259d] εἶναι φῇ καὶ ὅταν ταὐτὸν ὂν ἕτερον, ἐκείνῃ καὶ κατ’ ἐκεῖνο ὅ φησι τούτων πεπονθέναι πότερον. τὸ δὲ ταὐτὸν ἕτερον ἀποφαίνειν ἁμῇ γέ πῃ καὶ τὸ θάτερον ταὐτὸν καὶ τὸ μέγα σμικρὸν καὶ τὸ ὅμοιον ἀνόμοιον, καὶ χαίρειν οὕτω τἀναντία ἀεὶ προφέροντα ἐν τοῖς λόγοις, οὔτε τις ἔλεγχος οὗτος ἀληθινὸς ἄρτι τε τῶν ὄντων τινὸς ἐφαπτομένου δῆλος νεογενὴς ὤν.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

καὶ γάρ, ὠγαθέ, τό γε πᾶν ἀπὸ παντὸς ἐπιχειρεῖν [259e] ἀποχωρίζειν ἄλλως τε οὐκ ἐμμελὲς καὶ δὴ καὶ παντάπασιν ἀμούσου τινὸς καὶ ἀφιλοσόφου.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

Ξένος

τελεωτάτη πάντων λόγων ἐστὶν ἀφάνισις τὸ διαλύειν ἕκαστον ἀπὸ πάντων: διὰ γὰρ τὴν ἀλλήλων τῶν εἰδῶν συμπλοκὴν ὁ λόγος γέγονεν ἡμῖν.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

[260a] Ξένος

σκόπει τοίνυν ὡς ἐν καιρῷ νυνδὴ τοῖς τοιούτοις διεμαχόμεθα καὶ προσηναγκάζομεν ἐᾶν ἕτερον ἑτέρῳ μείγνυσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

πρὸς δὴ τί;

Ξένος

πρὸς τὸ τὸν λόγον ἡμῖν τῶν ὄντων ἕν τι γενῶν εἶναι. τούτου γὰρ στερηθέντες, τὸ μὲν μέγιστον, φιλοσοφίας ἂν στερηθεῖμεν: ἔτι δ’ ἐν τῷ παρόντι δεῖ λόγον ἡμᾶς διομολογήσασθαι τί ποτ’ ἔστιν, εἰ δὲ ἀφῃρέθημεν αὐτὸ μηδ’ εἶναι τὸ παράπαν, οὐδὲν ἂν ἔτι που λέγειν οἷοί τ’ ἦμεν. [260b] ἀφῃρέθημεν δ’ ἄν, εἰ συνεχωρήσαμεν μηδεμίαν εἶναι μεῖξιν μηδενὶ πρὸς μηδέν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς τοῦτό γε: λόγον δὲ δι’ ὅτι νῦν διομολογητέον οὐκ ἔμαθον.

Ξένος

ἀλλ’ ἴσως τῇδ’ ἑπόμενος ῥᾷστ’ ἂν μάθοις.

Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν δὴ μὴ ὂν ἡμῖν ἕν τι τῶν ἄλλων γένος ὂν ἀνεφάνη, κατὰ πάντα τὰ ὄντα διεσπαρμένον.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο σκεπτέον εἰ δόξῃ τε καὶ λόγῳ μείγνυται.

Θεαίτητος

τί δή;

[260c] Ξένος

μὴ μειγνυμένου μὲν αὐτοῦ τούτοις ἀναγκαῖον ἀληθῆ πάντ’ εἶναι, μειγνυμένου δὲ δόξα τε ψευδὴς γίγνεται καὶ λόγος: τὸ γὰρ τὰ μὴ ὄντα δοξάζειν ἢ λέγειν, τοῦτ’ ἔστι που τὸ ψεῦδος ἐν διανοίᾳ τε καὶ λόγοις γιγνόμενον.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

ὄντος δέ γε ψεύδους ἔστιν ἀπάτη.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἀπάτης οὔσης εἰδώλων τε καὶ εἰκόνων ἤδη καὶ φαντασίας πάντα ἀνάγκη μεστὰ εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος

τὸν δέ γε σοφιστὴν ἔφαμεν ἐν τούτῳ που τῷ τόπῳ [260d] καταπεφευγέναι μέν, ἔξαρνον δὲ γεγονέναι τὸ παράπαν μηδ’ εἶναι ψεῦδος: τὸ γὰρ μὴ ὂν οὔτε διανοεῖσθαί τινα οὔτε λέγειν: οὐσίας γὰρ οὐδὲν οὐδαμῇ τὸ μὴ ὂν μετέχειν.

Θεαίτητος

ἦν ταῦτα.

Ξένος

νῦν δέ γε τοῦτο μὲν ἐφάνη μετέχον τοῦ ὄντος, ὥστε ταύτῃ μὲν ἴσως οὐκ ἂν μάχοιτο ἔτι: τάχα δ’ ἂν φαίη τῶν εἰδῶν τὰ μὲν μετέχειν τοῦ μὴ ὄντος, τὰ δ’ οὔ, καὶ λόγον δὴ καὶ δόξαν εἶναι τῶν οὐ μετεχόντων, ὥστε τὴν εἰδωλοποιικὴν καὶ φανταστικήν, ἐν ᾗ φαμεν αὐτὸν εἶναι, [260e] διαμάχοιτ’ ἂν πάλιν ὡς παντάπασιν οὐκ ἔστιν, ἐπειδὴ δόξα καὶ λόγος οὐ κοινωνεῖ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος: ψεῦδος γὰρ τὸ παράπαν οὐκ εἶναι ταύτης μὴ συνισταμένης τῆς κοινωνίας. διὰ ταῦτ’ οὖν λόγον πρῶτον καὶ δόξαν καὶ φαντασίαν διερευνητέον ὅτι ποτ’ ἔστιν, ἵνα φανέντων καὶ τὴν κοινωνίαν αὐτῶν τῷ [261a] μὴ ὄντι κατίδωμεν, κατιδόντες δὲ τὸ ψεῦδος ὂν ἀποδείξωμεν, ἀποδείξαντες δὲ τὸν σοφιστὴν εἰς αὐτὸ ἐνδήσωμεν, εἴπερ ἔνοχός ἐστιν, ἢ καὶ ἀπολύσαντες ἐν ἄλλῳ γένει ζητῶμεν.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ δέ γε, ὦ ξένε, ἔοικεν ἀληθὲς εἶναι τὸ περὶ τὸν σοφιστὴν κατ’ ἀρχὰς λεχθέν, ὅτι δυσθήρευτον εἴη τὸ γένος. φαίνεται γὰρ οὖν προβλημάτων γέμειν, ὧν ἐπειδάν τι προβάλῃ, τοῦτο πρότερον ἀναγκαῖον διαμάχεσθαι πρὶν ἐπ’ αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον ἀφικέσθαι. νῦν γὰρ μόγις μὲν τὸ μὴ ὂν ὡς οὐκ ἔστι προβληθὲν διεπεράσαμεν, ἕτερον δὲ [261b] προβέβληται, καὶ δεῖ δὴ ψεῦδος ὡς ἔστι καὶ περὶ λόγον καὶ περὶ δόξαν ἀποδεῖξαι, καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο ἴσως ἕτερον, καὶ ἔτ’ ἄλλο μετ’ ἐκεῖνο: καὶ πέρας, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐδὲν φανήσεταί ποτε.

Ξένος

θαῤῥεῖν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, χρὴ τὸν καὶ σμικρόν τι δυνάμενον εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν ἀεὶ προϊέναι. τί γὰρ ὅ γ’ ἀθυμῶν ἐν τούτοις δράσειεν ἂν ἐν ἄλλοις, ἢ μηδὲν ἐν ἐκείνοις ἀνύτων ἢ καὶ πάλιν εἰς τοὔπισθεν ἀπωσθείς; σχολῇ που, τὸ κατὰ [261c] τὴν παροιμίαν λεγόμενον, ὅ γε τοιοῦτος ἄν ποτε ἕλοι πόλιν. νῦν δ’ ἐπεί, ὠγαθέ, τοῦτο ὃ λέγεις διαπεπέρανται, τό τοι μέγιστον ἡμῖν τεῖχος ᾑρημένον ἂν εἴη, τὰ δ’ ἄλλα ἤδη ῥᾴω καὶ σμικρότερα.

Θεαίτητος

καλῶς εἶπες.

Ξένος

λόγον δὴ πρῶτον καὶ δόξαν, καθάπερ ἐῤῥήθη νυνδή, λάβωμεν, ἵνα ἐναργέστερον ἀπολογισώμεθα πότερον αὐτῶν ἅπτεται τὸ μὴ ὂν ἢ παντάπασιν ἀληθῆ μέν ἐστιν ἀμφότερα ταῦτα, ψεῦδος δὲ οὐδέποτε οὐδέτερον.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

[261d] Ξένος

φέρε δή, καθάπερ περὶ τῶν εἰδῶν καὶ τῶν γραμμάτων ἐλέγομεν, περὶ τῶν ὀνομάτων πάλιν ὡσαύτως ἐπισκεψώμεθα. φαίνεται γάρ πῃ ταύτῃ τὸ νῦν ζητούμενον.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον οὖν δὴ περὶ τῶν ὀνομάτων ὑπακουστέον;

Ξένος

εἴτε πάντα ἀλλήλοις συναρμόττει εἴτε μηδέν, εἴτε τὰ μὲν ἐθέλει, τὰ δὲ μή.

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον τοῦτό γε, ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἐθέλει, τὰ δ’ οὔ.

Ξένος

τὸ τοιόνδε λέγεις ἴσως, ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἐφεξῆς λεγόμενα [261e] καὶ δηλοῦντά τι συναρμόττει, τὰ δὲ τῇ συνεχείᾳ μηδὲν σημαίνοντα ἀναρμοστεῖ.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς τί τοῦτ’ εἶπας;

Ξένος

ὅπερ ᾠήθην ὑπολαβόντα σε προσομολογεῖν. ἔστι γὰρ ἡμῖν που τῶν τῇ φωνῇ περὶ τὴν οὐσίαν δηλωμάτων διττὸν γένος.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

[262a] Ξένος

τὸ μὲν ὀνόματα, τὸ δὲ ῥήματα κληθέν.

Θεαίτητος

εἰπὲ ἑκάτερον.

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν ἐπὶ ταῖς πράξεσιν ὂν δήλωμα ῥῆμά που λέγομεν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γ’ ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς τοῖς ἐκείνας πράττουσι σημεῖον τῆς φωνῆς ἐπιτεθὲν ὄνομα.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν ἐξ ὀνομάτων μὲν μόνων συνεχῶς λεγομένων οὐκ ἔστι ποτὲ λόγος, οὐδ’ αὖ ῥημάτων χωρὶς ὀνομάτων λεχθέντων.

Θεαίτητος

ταῦτ’ οὐκ ἔμαθον.

[262b] Ξένος

δῆλον γὰρ ὡς πρὸς ἕτερόν τι βλέπων ἄρτι συνωμολόγεις: ἐπεὶ τοῦτ’ αὐτὸ ἐβουλόμην εἰπεῖν, ὅτι συνεχῶς ὧδε λεγόμενα ταῦτα οὐκ ἔστι λόγος.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

οἷον “βαδίζει” “τρέχει” “καθεύδει,” καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα πράξεις σημαίνει ῥήματα, κἂν πάντα τις ἐφεξῆς αὔτ’ εἴπῃ, λόγον οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ἀπεργάζεται.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γάρ;

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν καὶ πάλιν ὅταν λέγηται “λέων” “ἔλαφος” “ἵππος,” ὅσα τε ὀνόματα τῶν τὰς πράξεις αὖ πραττόντων [262c] ὠνομάσθη, καὶ κατὰ ταύτην δὴ τὴν συνέχειαν οὐδείς πω συνέστη λόγος: οὐδεμίαν γὰρ οὔτε οὕτως οὔτ’ ἐκείνως πρᾶξιν οὐδ’ ἀπραξίαν οὐδὲ οὐσίαν ὄντος οὐδὲ μὴ ὄντος δηλοῖ τὰ φωνηθέντα, πρὶν ἄν τις τοῖς ὀνόμασι τὰ ῥήματα κεράσῃ. τότε δ’ ἥρμοσέν τε καὶ λόγος ἐγένετο εὐθὺς ἡ πρώτη συμπλοκή, σχεδὸν τῶν λόγων ὁ πρῶτός τε καὶ σμικρότατος.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς ἄρ’ ὧδε λέγεις;

Ξένος

ὅταν εἴπῃ τις: “ἄνθρωπος μανθάνει,” λόγον εἶναι φῂς τοῦτον ἐλάχιστόν τε καὶ πρῶτον;

[262d] Θεαίτητος

ἔγωγε.

Ξένος

δηλοῖ γὰρ ἤδη που τότε περὶ τῶν ὄντων ἢ γιγνομένων ἢ γεγονότων ἢ μελλόντων, καὶ οὐκ ὀνομάζει μόνον ἀλλά τι περαίνει, συμπλέκων τὰ ῥήματα τοῖς ὀνόμασι. διὸ λέγειν τε αὐτὸν ἀλλ’ οὐ μόνον ὀνομάζειν εἴπομεν, καὶ δὴ καὶ τῷ πλέγματι τούτῳ τὸ ὄνομα ἐφθεγξάμεθα λόγον.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

οὕτω δὴ καθάπερ τὰ πράγματα τὰ μὲν ἀλλήλοις ἥρμοττεν, τὰ δ’ οὔ, καὶ περὶ τὰ τῆς φωνῆς αὖ σημεῖα τὰ μὲν [262e] οὐχ ἁρμόττει, τὰ δὲ ἁρμόττοντα αὐτῶν λόγον ἀπηργάσατο.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ἔτι δὴ σμικρὸν τόδε.

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

λόγον ἀναγκαῖον, ὅτανπερ ᾖ, τινὸς εἶναι λόγον, μὴ δὲ τινὸς ἀδύνατον.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν καὶ ποιόν τινα αὐτὸν εἶναι δεῖ;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

προσέχωμεν δὴ τὸν νοῦν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς.

Θεαίτητος

δεῖ γοῦν.

Ξένος

λέξω τοίνυν σοι λόγον συνθεὶς πρᾶγμα πράξει δι’ ὀνόματος καὶ ῥήματος: ὅτου δ’ ἂν ὁ λόγος ᾖ, σύ μοι φράζειν.

[263a] Θεαίτητος

ταῦτ’ ἔσται κατὰ δύναμιν.

Ξένος

“Θεαίτητος κάθηται.” μῶν μὴ μακρὸς ὁ λόγος;

Θεαίτητος

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ μέτριος.

Ξένος

σὸν ἔργον δὴ φράζειν περὶ οὗ τ’ ἐστὶ καὶ ὅτου.

Θεαίτητος

δῆλον ὅτι περὶ ἐμοῦ τε καὶ ἐμός.

Ξένος

τί δὲ ὅδ’ αὖ;

Θεαίτητος

ποῖος;

Ξένος

“Θεαίτητος, ᾧ νῦν ἐγὼ διαλέγομαι, πέτεται.”

Θεαίτητος

καὶ τοῦτον οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς ἄλλως εἴποι πλὴν ἐμόν τε καὶ περὶ ἐμοῦ.

Ξένος

ποιὸν δέ γέ τινά φαμεν ἀναγκαῖον ἕκαστον εἶναι τῶν λόγων.

[263b] Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τούτων δὴ ποῖόν τινα ἑκάτερον φατέον εἶναι;

Θεαίτητος

τὸν μὲν ψευδῆ που, τὸν δὲ ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος

λέγει δὲ αὐτῶν ὁ μὲν ἀληθὴς τὰ ὄντα ὡς ἔστιν περὶ σοῦ.

Θεαίτητος

τί μήν;

Ξένος

ὁ δὲ δὴ ψευδὴς ἕτερα τῶν ὄντων.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὰ μὴ ὄντ’ ἄρα ὡς ὄντα λέγει.

Θεαίτητος

σχεδόν.

Ξένος

ὄντων δέ γε ὄντα ἕτερα περὶ σοῦ. πολλὰ μὲν γὰρ ἔφαμεν ὄντα περὶ ἕκαστον εἶναί που, πολλὰ δὲ οὐκ ὄντα.

Θεαίτητος

κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

[263c] Ξένος

ὃν ὕστερον δὴ λόγον εἴρηκα περὶ σοῦ, πρῶτον μέν, ἐξ ὧν ὡρισάμεθα τί ποτ’ ἔστι λόγος, ἀναγκαιότατον αὐτὸν ἕνα τῶν βραχυτάτων εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

νυνδὴ γοῦν ταύτῃ συνωμολογήσαμεν.

Ξένος

ἔπειτα δέ γε τινός.

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

εἰ δὲ μὴ ἔστιν σός, οὐκ ἄλλου γε οὐδενός.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς γάρ;

Ξένος

μηδενὸς <δέ> γε ὢν οὐδ’ ἂν λόγος εἴη τὸ παράπαν: ἀπεφήναμεν γὰρ ὅτι τῶν ἀδυνάτων ἦν λόγον ὄντα μηδενὸς εἶναι λόγον.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθότατα.

[263d] Ξένος

περὶ δὴ σοῦ λεγόμενα, <λεγόμενα> μέντοι θάτερα ὡς τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ μὴ ὄντα ὡς ὄντα, παντάπασιν [ὡς] ἔοικεν ἡ τοιαύτη σύνθεσις ἔκ τε ῥημάτων γιγνομένη καὶ ὀνομάτων ὄντως τε καὶ ἀληθῶς γίγνεσθαι λόγος ψευδής.

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθέστατα μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

τί δὲ δή; διάνοιά τε καὶ δόξα καὶ φαντασία, μῶν οὐκ ἤδη δῆλον ὅτι ταῦτά γε ψευδῆ τε καὶ ἀληθῆ πάνθ’ ἡμῶν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἐγγίγνεται;

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

Ξένος

ὧδ’ εἴσῃ ῥᾷον, ἂν πρῶτον λάβῃς αὐτὰ τί ποτ’ ἔστιν [263e] καὶ τί διαφέρουσιν ἕκαστα ἀλλήλων.

Θεαίτητος

δίδου μόνον.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν διάνοια μὲν καὶ λόγος ταὐτόν: πλὴν ὁ μὲν ἐντὸς τῆς ψυχῆς πρὸς αὑτὴν διάλογος ἄνευ φωνῆς γιγνόμενος τοῦτ’ αὐτὸ ἡμῖν ἐπωνομάσθη, διάνοια;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

τὸ δέ γ’ ἀπ’ ἐκείνης ῥεῦμα διὰ τοῦ στόματος ἰὸν μετὰ φθόγγου κέκληται λόγος;

Θεαίτητος

ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ἐν λόγοις γε αὖ ἴσμεν ἐνὸν —

Θεαίτητος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος

φάσιν τε καὶ ἀπόφασιν.

Θεαίτητος

ἴσμεν.

[264a] Ξένος

ὅταν οὖν τοῦτο ἐν ψυχῇ κατὰ διάνοιαν ἐγγίγνηται μετὰ σιγῆς, πλὴν δόξης ἔχεις ὅτι προσείπῃς αὐτό;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πῶς;

Ξένος

τί δ’ ὅταν μὴ καθ’ αὑτὸ ἀλλὰ δι’ αἰσθήσεως παρῇ τινι, τὸ τοιοῦτον αὖ πάθος ἆρ’ οἷόν τε ὀρθῶς εἰπεῖν ἕτερόν τι πλὴν φαντασίαν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδέν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν ἐπείπερ λόγος ἀληθὴς ἦν καὶ ψευδής, τούτων δ’ ἐφάνη διάνοια μὲν αὐτῆς πρὸς ἑαυτὴν ψυχῆς διάλογος, [264b] δόξα δὲ διανοίας ἀποτελεύτησις, “φαίνεται” δὲ ὃ λέγομεν σύμμειξις αἰσθήσεως καὶ δόξης, ἀνάγκη δὴ καὶ τούτων τῷ λόγῳ συγγενῶν ὄντων ψευδῆ [τε] αὐτῶν ἔνια καὶ ἐνίοτε εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

κατανοεῖς οὖν ὅτι πρότερον ηὑρέθη ψευδὴς δόξα καὶ λόγος ἢ κατὰ τὴν προσδοκίαν ἣν ἐφοβήθημεν ἄρτι, μὴ παντάπασιν ἀνήνυτον ἔργον ἐπιβαλλοίμεθα ζητοῦντες αὐτό;

Θεαίτητος

κατανοῶ.

Ξένος

μὴ τοίνυν μηδ’ εἰς τὰ λοιπὰ ἀθυμῶμεν. ἐπειδὴ [264c] γὰρ πέφανται ταῦτα, τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ἀναμνησθῶμεν κατ’ εἴδη διαιρέσεων.

Θεαίτητος

ποίων δή;

Ξένος

διειλόμεθα τῆς εἰδωλοποιικῆς εἴδη δύο, τὴν μὲν εἰκαστικήν, τὴν δὲ φανταστικήν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ τὸν σοφιστὴν εἴπομεν ὡς ἀποροῖμεν εἰς ὁποτέραν θήσομεν.

Θεαίτητος

ἦν ταῦτα.

Ξένος

καὶ τοῦθ’ ἡμῶν ἀπορουμένων ἔτι μείζων κατεχύθη σκοτοδινία, φανέντος τοῦ λόγου τοῦ πᾶσιν ἀμφισβητοῦντος ὡς οὔτε εἰκὼν οὔτε εἴδωλον οὔτε φάντασμ’ εἴη τὸ παράπαν [264d] οὐδὲν διὰ τὸ μηδαμῶς μηδέποτε μηδαμοῦ ψεῦδος εἶναι.

Θεαίτητος

λέγεις ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος

νῦν δέ γ’ ἐπειδὴ πέφανται μὲν λόγος, πέφανται δ’ οὖσα δόξα ψευδής, ἐγχωρεῖ δὴ μιμήματα τῶν ὄντων εἶναι καὶ τέχνην ἐκ ταύτης γίγνεσθαι τῆς διαθέσεως ἀπατητικήν.

Θεαίτητος

ἐγχωρεῖ.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν ὅτι γ’ ἦν ὁ σοφιστὴς τούτων πότερον, διωμολογημένον ἡμῖν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἦν.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

πάλιν τοίνυν ἐπιχειρῶμεν, σχίζοντες διχῇ τὸ [264e] προτεθὲν γένος, πορεύεσθαι κατὰ τοὐπὶ δεξιὰ ἀεὶ μέρος τοῦ τμηθέντος, ἐχόμενοι τῆς τοῦ σοφιστοῦ κοινωνίας, ἕως ἂν αὐτοῦ τὰ κοινὰ πάντα περιελόντες, τὴν οἰκείαν λιπόντες [265a] φύσιν ἐπιδείξωμεν μάλιστα μὲν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς, ἔπειτα καὶ τοῖς ἐγγυτάτω γένει τῆς τοιαύτης μεθόδου πεφυκόσιν.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν τότε μὲν ἠρχόμεθα ποιητικὴν καὶ κτητικὴν τέχνην διαιρούμενοι;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

καὶ τῆς κτητικῆς ἐν θηρευτικῇ καὶ ἀγωνίᾳ καὶ ἐμπορικῇ καί τισιν ἐν τοιούτοις εἴδεσιν ἐφαντάζεθ’ ἡμῖν;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

νῦν δέ γ’ ἐπειδὴ μιμητικὴ περιείληφεν αὐτὸν τέχνη, δῆλον ὡς αὐτὴν τὴν ποιητικὴν δίχα διαιρετέον πρώτην. [265b] ἡ γάρ που μίμησις ποίησίς τίς ἐστιν, εἰδώλων μέντοι, φαμέν, ἀλλ’ οὐκ αὐτῶν ἑκάστων: ἦ γάρ;

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

ποιητικῆς δὴ πρῶτον δύ’ ἔστω μέρη.

Θεαίτητος

ποίω;

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν θεῖον, τὸ δ’ ἀνθρώπινον.

Θεαίτητος

οὔπω μεμάθηκα.

Ξένος

ποιητικήν, εἴπερ μεμνήμεθα τὰ κατ’ ἀρχὰς λεχθέντα, πᾶσαν ἔφαμεν εἶναι δύναμιν ἥτις ἂν αἰτία γίγνηται τοῖς μὴ πρότερον οὖσιν ὕστερον γίγνεσθαι.

Θεαίτητος

μεμνήμεθα.

[265c] Ξένος

ζῷα δὴ πάντα θνητά, καὶ δὴ καὶ φυτὰ ὅσα τ’ ἐπὶ γῆς ἐκ σπερμάτων καὶ ῥιζῶν φύεται, καὶ ὅσα ἄψυχα ἐν γῇ συνίσταται σώματα τηκτὰ καὶ ἄτηκτα, μῶν ἄλλου τινὸς ἢ θεοῦ δημιουργοῦντος φήσομεν ὕστερον γίγνεσθαι πρότερον οὐκ ὄντα; ἢ τῷ τῶν πολλῶν δόγματι καὶ ῥήματι χρώμενοι —

Θεαίτητος

ποίῳ τῳ;

Ξένος

τὴν φύσιν αὐτὰ γεννᾶν ἀπό τινος αἰτίας αὐτομάτης καὶ ἄνευ διανοίας φυούσης, ἢ μετὰ λόγου τε καὶ ἐπιστήμης θείας ἀπὸ θεοῦ γιγνομένης;

[265d] Θεαίτητος

ἐγὼ μὲν ἴσως διὰ τὴν ἡλικίαν πολλάκις ἀμφότερα μεταδοξάζω: νῦν μὴν βλέπων εἰς σὲ καὶ ὑπολαμβάνων οἴεσθαί σε κατά γε θεὸν αὐτὰ γίγνεσθαι, ταύτῃ καὶ αὐτὸς νενόμικα.

Ξένος

καλῶς γε, ὦ Θεαίτητε. καὶ εἰ μέν γέ σε ἡγούμεθα τῶν εἰς τὸν ἔπειτ’ <ἂν> χρόνον ἄλλως πως δοξαζόντων εἶναι, νῦν ἂν τῷ λόγῳ μετὰ πειθοῦς ἀναγκαίας ἐπεχειροῦμεν ποιεῖν ὁμολογεῖν: ἐπειδὴ δέ σου καταμανθάνω τὴν φύσιν, ὅτι καὶ [265e] ἄνευ τῶν παρ’ ἡμῶν λόγων αὐτὴ πρόσεισιν ἐφ’ ἅπερ νῦν ἕλκεσθαι φῄς, ἐάσω: χρόνος γὰρ ἐκ περιττοῦ γίγνοιτ’ ἄν. ἀλλὰ θήσω τὰ μὲν φύσει λεγόμενα ποιεῖσθαι θείᾳ τέχνῃ, τὰ δ’ ἐκ τούτων ὑπ’ ἀνθρώπων συνιστάμενα ἀνθρωπίνῃ, καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον δὴ τὸν λόγον δύο ποιητικῆς γένη, τὸ μὲν ἀνθρώπινον εἶναι, τὸ δὲ θεῖον.

Θεαίτητος

ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος

τέμνε δὴ δυοῖν οὔσαιν δίχα ἑκατέραν αὖθις.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς;

[266a] Ξένος

οἷον τότε μὲν κατὰ πλάτος τέμνων τὴν ποιητικὴν πᾶσαν, νῦν δὲ αὖ κατὰ μῆκος.

Θεαίτητος

τετμήσθω.

Ξένος

τέτταρα μὴν αὐτῆς οὕτω τὰ πάντα μέρη γίγνεται, δύο μὲν τὰ πρὸς ἡμῶν, ἀνθρώπεια, δύο δ’ αὖ τὰ πρὸς θεῶν, θεῖα.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

τὰ δέ γ’ ὡς ἑτέρως αὖ διῃρημένα, μέρος μὲν ἓν ἀφ’ ἑκατέρας τῆς μερίδος αὐτοποιητικόν, τὼ δ’ ὑπολοίπω σχεδὸν μάλιστ’ ἂν λεγοίσθην εἰδωλοποιικώ: καὶ κατὰ ταῦτα δὴ πάλιν ἡ ποιητικὴ διχῇ διαιρεῖται.

[266b] Θεαίτητος

λέγε ὅπῃ ἑκατέρα αὖθις.

Ξένος

ἡμεῖς μέν που καὶ τἆλλα ζῷα καὶ ἐξ ὧν τὰ πεφυκότ’ ἐστίν, πῦρ καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ τὰ τούτων ἀδελφά, θεοῦ γεννήματα πάντα ἴσμεν αὐτὰ ἀπειργασμένα ἕκαστα: ἢ πῶς;

Θεαίτητος

οὕτως.

Ξένος

τούτων δέ γε ἑκάστων εἴδωλα ἀλλ’ οὐκ αὐτὰ παρέπεται, δαιμονίᾳ καὶ ταῦτα μηχανῇ γεγονότα.

Θεαίτητος

ποῖα;

Ξένος

τά τε ἐν τοῖς ὕπνοις καὶ ὅσα μεθ’ ἡμέραν φαντάσματα αὐτοφυῆ λέγεται, σκιὰ μὲν ὅταν ἐν τῷ πυρὶ σκότος [266c] ἐγγίγνηται, διπλοῦν δὲ ἡνίκ’ ἂν φῶς οἰκεῖόν τε καὶ ἀλλότριον περὶ τὰ λαμπρὰ καὶ λεῖα εἰς ἓν συνελθὸν τῆς ἔμπροσθεν εἰωθυίας ὄψεως ἐναντίαν αἴσθησιν παρέχον εἶδος ἀπεργάζηται.

Θεαίτητος

δύο γὰρ οὖν ἐστι ταῦτα θείας ἔργα ποιήσεως, αὐτό τε καὶ τὸ παρακολουθοῦν εἴδωλον ἑκάστῳ.

Ξένος

τί δὲ τὴν ἡμετέραν τέχνην; ἆρ’ οὐκ αὐτὴν μὲν οἰκίαν οἰκοδομικῇ φήσομεν ποιεῖν, γραφικῇ δέ τιν’ ἑτέραν, οἷον ὄναρ ἀνθρώπινον ἐγρηγορόσιν ἀπειργασμένην;

[266d] Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τἆλλα οὕτω κατὰ δύο διττὰ ἔργα τῆς ἡμετέρας αὖ ποιητικῆς πράξεως, τὸ μὲν αὐτό, φαμέν, [αὐτουργική], τὸ δὲ εἴδωλον [εἰδωλοποιική].

Θεαίτητος

νῦν μᾶλλον ἔμαθον, καὶ τίθημι δύο διχῇ ποιητικῆς εἴδει: θείαν μὲν καὶ ἀνθρωπίνην κατὰ θάτερον τμῆμα, κατὰ δὲ θάτερον τὸ μὲν αὐτῶν ὄν, τὸ δὲ ὁμοιωμάτων τινῶν γέννημα.

Ξένος

τῆς τοίνυν εἰδωλουργικῆς ἀναμνησθῶμεν ὅτι τὸ μὲν εἰκαστικόν, τὸ δὲ φανταστικὸν ἔμελλεν εἶναι γένος, εἰ τὸ [266e] ψεῦδος ὄντως ὂν ψεῦδος καὶ τῶν ὄντων ἕν τι φανείη πεφυκός.

Θεαίτητος

ἦν γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν ἐφάνη τε καὶ διὰ ταῦτα δὴ καταριθμήσομεν αὐτὼ νῦν ἀναμφισβητήτως εἴδη δύο;

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

[267a] Ξένος

τὸ τοίνυν φανταστικὸν αὖθις διορίζωμεν δίχα.

Θεαίτητος

πῇ;

Ξένος

τὸ μὲν δι’ ὀργάνων γιγνόμενον, τὸ δὲ αὐτοῦ παρέχοντος ἑαυτὸν ὄργανον τοῦ ποιοῦντος τὸ φάντασμα.

Θεαίτητος

πῶς φῄς;

Ξένος

ὅταν οἶμαι τὸ σὸν σχῆμά τις τῷ ἑαυτοῦ χρώμενος σώματι προσόμοιον ἢ φωνὴν φωνῇ φαίνεσθαι ποιῇ, μίμησις τοῦτο τῆς φανταστικῆς μάλιστα κέκληταί που.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

μιμητικὸν δὴ τοῦτο αὐτῆς προσειπόντες ἀπονειμώμεθα: τὸ δ’ ἄλλο πᾶν ἀφῶμεν μαλακισθέντες καὶ παρέντες [267b] ἑτέρῳ συναγαγεῖν τε εἰς ἓν καὶ πρέπουσαν ἐπωνυμίαν ἀποδοῦναί τιν’ αὐτῷ.

Θεαίτητος

νενεμήσθω, τὸ δὲ μεθείσθω.

Ξένος

καὶ μὴν καὶ τοῦτο ἔτι διπλοῦν, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ἄξιον ἡγεῖσθαι: δι’ ἃ δέ, σκόπει.

Θεαίτητος

λέγε.

Ξένος

τῶν μιμουμένων οἱ μὲν εἰδότες ὃ μιμοῦνται τοῦτο πράττουσιν, οἱ δ’ οὐκ εἰδότες. καίτοι τίνα μείζω διαίρεσιν ἀγνωσίας τε καὶ γνώσεως θήσομεν;

Θεαίτητος

οὐδεμίαν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν τό γε ἄρτι λεχθὲν εἰδότων ἦν μίμημα; τὸ γὰρ σὸν σχῆμα καὶ σὲ γιγνώσκων ἄν τις μιμήσαιτο.

[267c] Θεαίτητος

πῶς δ’ οὔ;

Ξένος

τί δὲ δικαιοσύνης τὸ σχῆμα καὶ ὅλης συλλήβδην ἀρετῆς; ἆρ’ οὐκ ἀγνοοῦντες μέν, δοξάζοντες δέ πῃ, σφόδρα ἐπιχειροῦσιν πολλοὶ τὸ δοκοῦν σφίσιν τοῦτο ὡς ἐνὸν αὐτοῖς προθυμεῖσθαι φαίνεσθαι ποιεῖν, ὅτι μάλιστα ἔργοις τε καὶ λόγοις μιμούμενοι;

Θεαίτητος

καὶ πάνυ γε πολλοί.

Ξένος

μῶν οὖν πάντες ἀποτυγχάνουσι τοῦ δοκεῖν εἶναι δίκαιοι μηδαμῶς ὄντες; ἢ τούτου πᾶν τοὐναντίον;

Θεαίτητος

πᾶν.

[267d] Ξένος

μιμητὴν δὴ τοῦτόν γε ἕτερον ἐκείνου λεκτέον οἶμαι, τὸν ἀγνοοῦντα τοῦ γιγνώσκοντος.

Θεαίτητος

ναί.

Ξένος

πόθεν οὖν ὄνομα ἑκατέρῳ τις αὐτῶν λήψεται πρέπον; ἢ δῆλον δὴ χαλεπὸν ὄν, διότι τῆς τῶν γενῶν κατ’ εἴδη διαιρέσεως παλαιά τις, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀργία τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν καὶ ἀσύννους παρῆν, ὥστε μηδ’ ἐπιχειρεῖν μηδένα διαιρεῖσθαι: καθὸ δὴ τῶν ὀνομάτων ἀνάγκη μὴ σφόδρα εὐπορεῖν. ὅμως δέ, κἂν εἰ τολμηρότερον εἰρῆσθαι, διαγνώσεως ἕνεκα τὴν [267e] μὲν μετὰ δόξης μίμησιν δοξομιμητικὴν προσείπωμεν, τὴν δὲ μετ’ ἐπιστήμης ἱστορικήν τινα μίμησιν.

Θεαίτητος

ἔστω.

Ξένος

θατέρῳ τοίνυν χρηστέον: ὁ γὰρ σοφιστὴς οὐκ ἐν τοῖς εἰδόσιν ἦν ἀλλ’ ἐν τοῖς μιμουμένοις δή.

Θεαίτητος

καὶ μάλα.

Ξένος

τὸν δοξομιμητὴν δὴ σκοπώμεθα ὥσπερ σίδηρον, εἴτε ὑγιὴς εἴτε διπλόην ἔτ’ ἔχων τινά ἐστιν ἐν αὑτῷ.

Θεαίτητος

σκοπῶμεν.

Ξένος

ἔχει τοίνυν καὶ μάλα συχνήν. ὁ μὲν γὰρ εὐήθης [268a] αὐτῶν ἐστιν, οἰόμενος εἰδέναι ταῦτα ἃ δοξάζει: τὸ δὲ θατέρου σχῆμα διὰ τὴν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις κυλίνδησιν ἔχει πολλὴν ὑποψίαν καὶ φόβον ὡς ἀγνοεῖ ταῦτα ἃ πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους ὡς εἰδὼς ἐσχημάτισται.

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ἔστιν ἑκατέρου γένος ὧν εἴρηκας.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν τὸν μὲν ἁπλοῦν μιμητήν τινα, τὸν δὲ εἰρωνικὸν μιμητὴν θήσομεν;

Θεαίτητος

εἰκὸς γοῦν.

Ξένος

τούτου δ’ αὖ τὸ γένος ἓν ἢ δύο φῶμεν;

Θεαίτητος

ὅρα σύ.

[268b] Ξένος

σκοπῶ, καί μοι διττὼ καταφαίνεσθόν τινε: τὸν μὲν δημοσίᾳ τε καὶ μακροῖς λόγοις πρὸς πλήθη δυνατὸν εἰρωνεύεσθαι καθορῶ, τὸν δὲ ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ βραχέσι λόγοις ἀναγκάζοντα τὸν προσδιαλεγόμενον ἐναντιολογεῖν αὐτὸν αὑτῷ.

Θεαίτητος

λέγεις ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος

τίνα οὖν ἀποφαινώμεθα τὸν μακρολογώτερον εἶναι; πότερα πολιτικὸν ἢ δημολογικόν;

Θεαίτητος

δημολογικόν.

Ξένος

τί δὲ τὸν ἕτερον ἐροῦμεν; σοφὸν ἢ σοφιστικόν;

Θεαίτητος

τὸ μέν που σοφὸν ἀδύνατον, ἐπείπερ οὐκ εἰδότα [268c] αὐτὸν ἔθεμεν: μιμητὴς δ’ ὢν τοῦ σοφοῦ δῆλον ὅτι παρωνύμιον αὐτοῦ τι λήψεται, καὶ σχεδὸν ἤδη μεμάθηκα ὅτι τοῦτον δεῖ προσειπεῖν ἀληθῶς αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον τὸν παντάπασιν ὄντως σοφιστήν.

Ξένος

οὐκοῦν συνδήσομεν αὐτοῦ, καθάπερ ἔμπροσθεν, τοὔνομα συμπλέξαντες ἀπὸ τελευτῆς ἐπ’ ἀρχήν;

Θεαίτητος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος

τὸ δὴ τῆς ἐναντιοποιολογικῆς εἰρωνικοῦ μέρους τῆς δοξαστικῆς μιμητικόν, τοῦ φανταστικοῦ γένους ἀπὸ τῆς [268d] εἰδωλοποιικῆς οὐ θεῖον ἀλλ’ ἀνθρωπικὸν τῆς ποιήσεως ἀφωρισμένον ἐν λόγοις τὸ θαυματοποιικὸν μόριον, “ταύτης τῆς γενεᾶς τε καὶ αἵματος” ὃς ἂν φῇ τὸν ὄντως σοφιστὴν εἶναι, τἀληθέστατα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐρεῖ.

Θεαίτητος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

STATESMAN

Σωκράτης, Θεόδωρος, Ξένος, Σωκράτης ὁ Νεώτερος.

257a Σωκράτης: ἦ πολλὴν χάριν ὀφείλω σοι τῆς Θεαιτήτου γνωρίσεως, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ἅμα καὶ τῆς τοῦ ξένου.

Θεόδωρος: τάχα δέ [γe}}, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀφειλήσεις ταύτης τριπλασίαν: ἐπειδὰν τόν τε πολιτικὸν ἀπεργάσωνταί σοι καὶ τὸν φιλόσοφον.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: οὕτω τοῦτο, ὦ φίλε Θεόδωρε, φήσομεν ἀκηκοότες εἶναι τοῦ περὶ λογισμοὺς καὶ τὰ γεωμετρικὰ κρατίστου; 257b

Θεόδωρος: πῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἕκαστον θέντος τῆς ἴσης ἀξίας, οἳ τῇ τιμῇ πλέον ἀλλήλων ἀφεστᾶσιν ἢ κατὰ τὴν ἀναλογίαν τὴν τῆς ὑμετέρας τέχνης.

Θεόδωρος: εὖ γε νὴ τὸν ἡμέτερον θεόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸν Ἄμμωνα, καὶ δικαίως, καὶ πάνυ μὲν οὖν μνημονικῶς ἐπέπληξάς μοι τὸ περὶ τοὺς λογισμοὺς ἁμάρτημα. καὶ σὲ μὲν ἀντὶ τούτων εἰς αὖθις μέτειμι: σὺ δ᾽ ἡμῖν, ὦ ξένε, μηδαμῶς ἀποκάμῃς χαριζόμενος, ἀλλ᾽ ἑξῆς, εἴτε τὸν πολιτικὸν ἄνδρα 257c πρότερον εἴτε τὸν φιλόσοφον προαιρῇ, προελόμενος διέξελθε.

Ξένος: ταῦτ᾽, ὦ Θεόδωρε, ποιητέον: ἐπείπερ ἅπαξ γε ἐγκεχειρήκαμεν, [καὶ] οὐκ ἀποστατέον πρὶν ἂν αὐτῶν πρὸς τὸ τέλος ἔλθωμεν. ἀλλὰ γὰρ περὶ Θεαιτήτου τοῦδε τί χρὴ δρᾶν με;

Θεόδωρος: τοῦ πέρι;

Ξένος: διαναπαύσωμεν αὐτὸν μεταλαβόντες αὐτοῦ τὸν συγγυμναστὴν τόνδε Σωκράτη; ἢ πῶς συμβουλεύεις;

Θεόδωρος: καθάπερ εἶπες, μεταλάμβανε: νέω γὰρ ὄντε ῥᾷον οἴσετον πάντα πόνον ἀναπαυομένω. 257d

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν κινδυνεύετον, ὦ ξένε, ἄμφω ποθὲν ἐμοὶ συγγένειαν ἔχειν τινά. τὸν μέν γε οὖν ὑμεῖς κατὰ τὴν τοῦ προσώπου φύσιν ὅμοιον ἐμοὶ φαίνεσθαί φατε, τοῦ δ᾽ ἡμῖν ἡ 258a κλῆσις ὁμώνυμος οὖσα καὶ ἡ πρόσρησις παρέχεταί τινα οἰκειότητα. δεῖ δὴ τούς γε συγγενεῖς ἡμᾶς ἀεὶ προθύμως διὰ λόγων ἀναγνωρίζειν. Θεαιτήτῳ μὲν οὖν αὐτός τε συνέμειξα χθὲς διὰ λόγων καὶ νῦν ἀκήκοα ἀποκρινομένου, Σωκράτους δὲ οὐδέτερα: δεῖ δὲ σκέψασθαι καὶ τοῦτον. ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν εἰς αὖθις, σοὶ δὲ νῦν ἀποκρινέσθω.

Ξένος: ταῦτ᾽ ἔσται. ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀκούεις δὴ Σωκράτους;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: συγχωρεῖς οὖν οἷς λέγει;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν. 258b

Ξένος: οὐ τὰ σὰ κωλύειν φαίνεται, δεῖ δὲ ἴσως ἔτι ἧττον τἀμὰ διακωλύειν. ἀλλὰ δὴ μετὰ τὸν σοφιστὴν ἀναγκαῖον, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, πολιτικὸν [τὸν ἄνδρa}} διαζητεῖν νῷν: καί μοι λέγε πότερον τῶν ἐπιστημόνων τιν᾽ ἡμῖν καὶ τοῦτον θετέον, ἢ πῶς;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὕτως.

Ξένος: τὰς ἐπιστήμας ἄρα διαληπτέον, ὥσπερ ἡνίκα τὸν πρότερον ἐσκοποῦμεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τάχ᾽ ἄν.

Ξένος: οὐ μὲν δὴ κατὰ ταὐτόν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, φαίνεταί μοι τμῆμα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν; 258c

Ξένος: κατ᾽ ἄλλο.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔοικέν γε.

Ξένος: τὴν οὖν πολιτικὴν ἀτραπὸν πῇ τις ἀνευρήσει; δεῖ γὰρ αὐτὴν ἀνευρεῖν, καὶ χωρὶς ἀφελόντας ἀπὸ τῶν ἄλλων ἰδέαν αὐτῇ μίαν ἐπισφραγίσασθαι, καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις ἐκτροπαῖς ἓν ἄλλο εἶδος ἐπισημηναμένους πάσας τὰς ἐπιστήμας ὡς οὔσας δύο εἴδη διανοηθῆναι τὴν ψυχὴν ἡμῶν ποιῆσαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τοῦτ᾽ ἤδη σὸν οἶμαι τὸ ἔργον, ὦ ξένε, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐμὸν γίγνεται. 258d

Ξένος: δεῖ γε μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὐτὸ εἶναι καὶ σόν, ὅταν ἐμφανὲς ἡμῖν γένηται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς εἶπες.

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἀριθμητικὴ μὲν καί τινες ἕτεραι ταύτῃ συγγενεῖς τέχναι ψιλαὶ τῶν πράξεών εἰσι, τὸ δὲ γνῶναι παρέσχοντο μόνον;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔστιν οὕτως.

Ξένος: αἱ δέ γε περὶ τεκτονικὴν αὖ καὶ σύμπασαν χειρουργίαν ὥσπερ ἐν ταῖς πράξεσιν ἐνοῦσαν σύμφυτον τὴν 258e ἐπιστήμην κέκτηνται, καὶ συναποτελοῦσι τὰ γιγνόμενα ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν σώματα πρότερον οὐκ ὄντα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: ταύτῃ τοίνυν συμπάσας ἐπιστήμας διαίρει, τὴν μὲν πρακτικὴν προσειπών, τὴν δὲ μόνον γνωστικήν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔστω σοι ταῦθ᾽ ὡς μιᾶς ἐπιστήμης τῆς ὅλης εἴδη δύο.

Ξένος: πότερον οὖν τὸν πολιτικὸν καὶ βασιλέα καὶ δεσπότην καὶ ἔτ᾽ οἰκονόμον θήσομεν ὡς ἓν πάντα ταῦτα προσαγορεύοντες, ἢ τοσαύτας τέχνας αὐτὰς εἶναι φῶμεν ὅσαπερ ὀνόματα ἐρρήθη; μᾶλλον δέ μοι δεῦρο ἕπου.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῇ; 259a

Ξένος: τῇδε. εἴ τῴ τις τῶν δημοσιευόντων ἰατρῶν ἱκανὸς συμβουλεύειν ἰδιωτεύων αὐτός, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον αὐτῷ προσαγορεύεσθαι τοὔνομα τῆς τέχνης ταὐτὸν ὅπερ ᾧ συμβουλεύει;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τί δ᾽; ὅστις βασιλεύοντι χώρας ἀνδρὶ παραινεῖν δεινὸς ἰδιώτης ὢν αὐτός, ἆρ᾽ οὐ φήσομεν ἔχειν αὐτὸν τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἣν ἔδει τὸν ἄρχοντα αὐτὸν κεκτῆσθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φήσομεν. 259b

Ξένος: ἀλλὰ μὴν ἥ γε ἀληθινοῦ βασιλέως βασιλική;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: ταύτην δὲ ὁ κεκτημένος οὐκ, ἄντε ἄρχων ἄντε ἰδιώτης ὢν τυγχάνῃ, πάντως κατά γε τὴν τέχνην αὐτὴν βασιλικὸς ὀρθῶς προσρηθήσεται;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δίκαιον γοῦν.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν οἰκονόμος γε καὶ δεσπότης ταὐτόν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: τί δέ; μεγάλης σχῆμα οἰκήσεως ἢ σμικρᾶς αὖ πόλεως ὄγκος μῶν τι πρὸς ἀρχὴν διοίσετον;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδέν. 259c

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν, ὃ νυνδὴ διεσκοπούμεθα, φανερὸν ὡς ἐπιστήμη μία περὶ πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ ταῦτα: ταύτην δὲ εἴτε βασιλικὴν εἴτε πολιτικὴν εἴτε οἰκονομικήν τις ὀνομάζει, μηδὲν αὐτῷ διαφερώμεθα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί γάρ;

Ξένος: ἀλλὰ μὴν τόδε γε δῆλον, ὡς βασιλεὺς ἅπας χερσὶ καὶ σύμπαντι τῷ σώματι σμίκρ᾽ ἄττα εἰς τὸ κατέχειν τὴν ἀρχὴν δύναται πρὸς τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς σύνεσιν καὶ ῥώμην.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δῆλον.

Ξένος: τῆς δὴ γνωστικῆς μᾶλλον ἢ τῆς χειροτεχνικῆς καὶ 259d ὅλως πρακτικῆς βούλει τὸν βασιλέα φῶμεν οἰκειότερον εἶναι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: τὴν ἄρα πολιτικὴν καὶ πολιτικὸν καὶ βασιλικὴν καὶ βασιλικὸν εἰς ταὐτὸν ὡς ἓν πάντα ταῦτα συνθήσομεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δῆλον.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν πορευοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἑξῆς, εἰ μετὰ ταῦτα τὴν γνωστικὴν διοριζοίμεθα;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε.

Ξένος: πρόσεχε δὴ τὸν νοῦν ἂν ἄρα ἐν αὐτῇ τινα διαφυὴν κατανοήσωμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φράζε ποίαν. 259e

Ξένος: τοιάνδε. λογιστική πού τις ἡμῖν ἦν τέχνη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τῶν γνωστικῶν γε οἶμαι παντάπασι τεχνῶν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: γνούσῃ δὴ λογιστικῇ τὴν ἐν τοῖς ἀριθμοῖς διαφορὰν μῶν τι πλέον ἔργον δώσομεν ἢ τὰ γνωσθέντα κρῖναι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: καὶ γὰρ ἀρχιτέκτων γε πᾶς οὐκ αὐτὸς ἐργατικὸς ἀλλ᾽ ἐργατῶν ἄρχων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: παρεχόμενός γέ που γνῶσιν ἀλλ᾽ οὐ χειρουργίαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὕτως. 260a

Ξένος: δικαίως δὴ μετέχειν ἂν λέγοιτο τῆς γνωστικῆς ἐπιστήμης.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε.

Ξένος: τούτῳ δέ γε οἶμαι προσήκει κρίναντι μὴ τέλος ἔχειν μηδ᾽ ἀπηλλάχθαι, καθάπερ ὁ λογιστὴς ἀπήλλακτο, προστάττειν δὲ ἑκάστοις τῶν ἐργατῶν τό γε πρόσφορον ἕως ἂν ἀπεργάσωνται τὸ προσταχθέν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν γνωστικαὶ μὲν αἵ τε τοιαῦται σύμπασαι καὶ ὁπόσαι συνέπονται τῇ λογιστικῇ, κρίσει δὲ καὶ ἐπιτάξει 260b διαφέρετον ἀλλήλοιν τούτω τὼ γένη;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεσθον.

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὖν συμπάσης τῆς γνωστικῆς εἰ τὸ μὲν ἐπιτακτικὸν μέρος, τὸ δὲ κριτικὸν διαιρούμενοι προσείποιμεν, ἐμμελῶς ἂν φαῖμεν διῃρῆσθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κατά γε τὴν ἐμὴν δόξαν.

Ξένος: ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῖς γε κοινῇ τι πράττουσιν ἀγαπητὸν ὁμονοεῖν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: τούτου τοίνυν μέχριπερ ἂν αὐτοὶ κοινωνῶμεν, ἐατέον τά γε τῶν ἄλλων δοξάσματα χαίρειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν; 260c

Ξένος: φέρε δή, τούτοιν τοῖν τέχναιν ἡμῖν τὸν βασιλικὸν ἐν ποτέρᾳ θετέον; ἆρ᾽ ἐν τῇ κριτικῇ, καθάπερ τινὰ θεατήν, ἢ μᾶλλον τῆς ἐπιτακτικῆς ὡς ὄντα αὐτὸν τέχνης θήσομεν, δεσπόζοντά γε;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὐ μᾶλλον;

Ξένος: τὴν ἐπιτακτικὴν δὴ τέχνην πάλιν ἂν εἴη θεατέον εἴ πῃ διέστηκεν. καί μοι δοκεῖ τῇδέ πῃ, καθάπερ ἡ τῶν καπήλων τέχνη τῆς τῶν αὐτοπωλῶν διώρισται τέχνης, καὶ 260d τὸ βασιλικὸν γένος ἔοικεν ἀπὸ τοῦ τῶν κηρύκων γένους ἀφωρίσθαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: πωληθέντα που πρότερον ἔργα ἀλλότρια παραδεχόμενοι δεύτερον πωλοῦσι πάλιν οἱ κάπηλοι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ κηρυκικὸν φῦλον ἐπιταχθέντ᾽ ἀλλότρια νοήματα παραδεχόμενον αὐτὸ δεύτερον ἐπιτάττει πάλιν ἑτέροις.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατα.

Ξένος: τί οὖν; εἰς ταὐτὸν μείξομεν βασιλικὴν ἑρμηνευτικῇ, 260e κελευστικῇ, μαντικῇ, κηρυκικῇ, καὶ πολλαῖς ἑτέραις τούτων τέχναις συγγενέσιν, αἳ σύμπασαι τό γ᾽ ἐπιτάττειν ἔχουσιν; ἢ βούλει, καθάπερ ᾐκάζομεν νυνδή, καὶ τοὔνομα παρεικάσωμεν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ σχεδὸν ἀνώνυμον ὂν τυγχάνει τὸ τῶν αὐτεπιτακτῶν γένος, καὶ ταύτῃ ταῦτα διελώμεθα, τὸ μὲν τῶν βασιλέων γένος εἰς τὴν αὐτεπιτακτικὴν θέντες, τοῦ δὲ ἄλλου παντὸς ἀμελήσαντες, ὄνομα ἕτερον αὐτοῖς παραχωρήσαντες θέσθαι τινά; τοῦ γὰρ ἄρχοντος ἕνεκα ἡμῖν ἡ μέθοδος ἦν 261a ἀλλ᾽ οὐχὶ τοῦ ἐναντίου.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ τοῦτο μετρίως ἀφέστηκεν ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνων, ἀλλοτριότητι διορισθὲν πρὸς οἰκειότητα, τοῦτο αὐτὸ πάλιν αὖ διαιρεῖν ἀναγκαῖον, εἴ τινα τομὴν ἔτι ἔχομεν ὑπείκουσαν ἐν τούτῳ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν φαινόμεθα ἔχειν: ἀλλ᾽ ἐπακολουθῶν σύντεμνε.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῇ;

Ξένος: πάντας ὁπόσους ἂν ἄρχοντας διανοηθῶμεν ἐπιτάξει 261b προσχρωμένους ἆρ᾽ οὐχ εὑρήσομεν γενέσεώς τινος ἕνεκα προστάττοντας;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν τά γε γιγνόμενα πάντα δίχα διαλαβεῖν οὐ παντάπασι χαλεπόν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῇ;

Ξένος: τὰ μὲν ἄψυχα αὐτῶν ἐστί που συμπάντων, τὰ δ᾽ ἔμψυχα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τούτοις δέ γε αὐτοῖς τὸ τοῦ γνωστικοῦ μέρος ἐπιτακτικὸν ὄν, εἴπερ βουλόμεθα τέμνειν, τεμοῦμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κατὰ τί;

Ξένος: τὸ μὲν ἐπὶ ταῖς τῶν ἀψύχων γενέσεσιν αὐτοῦ τάττοντες, 261c τὸ δ᾽ ἐπὶ <ταῖς> τῶν ἐμψύχων: καὶ πᾶν οὕτως ἤδη διαιρήσεται δίχα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: παντάπασί γε.

Ξένος: τὸ μὲν τοίνυν αὐτῶν παραλίπωμεν, τὸ δ᾽ ἀναλάβωμεν, ἀναλαβόντες δὲ μερισώμεθα εἰς δύο τὸ σύμπαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγεις δ᾽ αὐτοῖν ἀναληπτέον εἶναι πότερον;

Ξένος: πάντως που τὸ περὶ τὰ ζῷα ἐπιτακτικόν. οὐ γὰρ δὴ τό γε τῆς βασιλικῆς ἐπιστήμης ἐστί ποτε τῶν ἀψύχων ἐπιστατοῦν, οἷον ἀρχιτεκτονικόν, ἀλλὰ γενναιότερον, ἐν τοῖς 261d ζῴοις καὶ περὶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα τὴν δύναμιν ἀεὶ κεκτημένον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: τήν γε μὴν τῶν ζῴων γένεσιν καὶ τροφὴν τὴν μέν τις ἂν ἴδοι μονοτροφίαν οὖσαν, τὴν δὲ κοινὴν τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἀγέλαις θρεμμάτων ἐπιμέλειαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μὴν τόν γε πολιτικὸν εὑρήσομεν ἰδιοτρόφον, ὥσπερ βοηλάτην ἤ τινα ἱπποκόμον, ἀλλ᾽ ἱπποφορβῷ τε καὶ βουφορβῷ μᾶλλον προσεοικότα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεταί γε δὴ ῥηθὲν νῦν. 261e

Ξένος: πότερον οὖν τῆς ζῳοτροφίας τὴν τῶν συμπόλλων κοινὴν τροφὴν ἀγελαιοτροφίαν ἢ κοινοτροφικήν τινα ὀνομάζομεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὁπότερον ἂν ἐν τῷ λόγῳ συμβαίνῃ.

Ξένος: καλῶς γε, ὦ Σώκρατες: κἂν διαφυλάξῃς τὸ μὴ σπουδάζειν ἐπὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν, πλουσιώτερος εἰς τὸ γῆρας ἀναφανήσῃ φρονήσεως. νῦν δὲ τοῦτο μέν, καθάπερ διακελεύῃ, ποιητέον: τὴν δὲ ἀγελαιοτροφικὴν ἆρ᾽ ἐννοεῖς πῇ 262a τις δίδυμον ἀποφήνας τὸ ζητούμενον ἐν διπλασίοισι τὰ νῦν ἐν τοῖς ἡμίσεσιν εἰς τότε ποιήσει ζητεῖσθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: προθυμήσομαι. καί μοι δοκεῖ τῶν μὲν ἀνθρώπων ἑτέρα τις εἶναι, τῶν δ᾽ αὖ θηρίων ἄλλη τροφή.

Ξένος: παντάπασί γε προθυμότατα καὶ ἀνδρειότατα διῄρησαι: μὴ μέντοι τοῦτό γε εἰς αὖθις κατὰ δύναμιν πάσχωμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: μὴ σμικρὸν μόριον ἓν πρὸς μεγάλα καὶ πολλὰ 262b ἀφαιρῶμεν, μηδὲ εἴδους χωρίς: ἀλλὰ τὸ μέρος ἅμα εἶδος ἐχέτω. κάλλιστον μὲν γὰρ ἀπὸ τῶν ἄλλων εὐθὺς διαχωρίζειν τὸ ζητούμενον, ἂν ὀρθῶς ἔχῃ, καθάπερ ὀλίγον σὺ πρότερον οἰηθεὶς ἔχειν τὴν διαίρεσιν ἐπέσπευσας τὸν λόγον, ἰδὼν ἐπ᾽ ἀνθρώπους πορευόμενον: ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ φίλε, λεπτουργεῖν οὐκ ἀσφαλές, διὰ μέσων δὲ ἀσφαλέστερον ἰέναι τέμνοντας, καὶ μᾶλλον ἰδέαις ἄν τις προστυγχάνοι. τοῦτο δὲ διαφέρει τὸ 262c πᾶν πρὸς τὰς ζητήσεις.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις τοῦτο;

Ξένος: πειρατέον ἔτι σαφέστερον φράζειν εὐνοίᾳ τῆς σῆς φύσεως, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἐν τῷ μὲν οὖν παρεστηκότι τὰ νῦν δηλῶσαι μηδὲν ἐνδεῶς ἀδύνατον: ἐπιχειρητέον δέ τι καὶ σμικρῷ πλέον αὐτὸ προαγαγεῖν εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν σαφηνείας ἕνεκα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον οὖν δὴ φράζεις διαιρουμένους ἡμᾶς οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἄρτι δρᾶν;

Ξένος: τοιόνδε, οἷον εἴ τις τἀνθρώπινον ἐπιχειρήσας δίχα 262d διελέσθαι γένος διαιροῖ καθάπερ οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν ἐνθάδε διανέμουσι, τὸ μὲν Ἑλληνικὸν ὡς ἓν ἀπὸ πάντων ἀφαιροῦντες χωρίς, σύμπασι δὲ τοῖς ἄλλοις γένεσιν, ἀπείροις οὖσι καὶ ἀμείκτοις καὶ ἀσυμφώνοις πρὸς ἄλληλα, βάρβαρον μιᾷ κλήσει προσειπόντες αὐτὸ διὰ ταύτην τὴν μίαν κλῆσιν καὶ γένος ἓν αὐτὸ εἶναι προσδοκῶσιν: ἢ τὸν ἀριθμόν τις αὖ νομίζοι κατ᾽ εἴδη δύο διαιρεῖν μυριάδα ἀποτεμνόμενος ἀπὸ πάντων, 262e ὡς ἓν εἶδος ἀποχωρίζων, καὶ τῷ λοιπῷ δὴ παντὶ θέμενος ἓν ὄνομα διὰ τὴν κλῆσιν αὖ καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἀξιοῖ γένος ἐκείνου χωρὶς ἕτερον ἓν γίγνεσθαι. κάλλιον δέ που καὶ μᾶλλον κατ᾽ εἴδη καὶ δίχα διαιροῖτ᾽ ἄν, εἰ τὸν μὲν ἀριθμὸν ἀρτίῳ καὶ περιττῷ τις τέμνοι, τὸ δὲ αὖ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος ἄρρενι καὶ θήλει, Λυδοὺς δὲ ἢ Φρύγας ἤ τινας ἑτέρους πρὸς ἅπαντας τάττων ἀποσχίζοι τότε, ἡνίκα ἀποροῖ γένος ἅμα καὶ μέρος εὑρίσκειν 263a ἑκάτερον τῶν σχισθέντων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα: ἀλλὰ γὰρ τοῦτο αὐτό, ὦ ξένε, πῶς ἄν τις γένος καὶ μέρος ἐναργέστερον γνοίη, ὡς οὐ ταὐτόν ἐστον ἀλλ᾽ ἕτερον ἀλλήλοιν;

Ξένος: ὦ βέλτιστε ἀνδρῶν, οὐ φαῦλον προστάττεις, Σώκρατες. ἡμεῖς μὲν καὶ νῦν μακροτέραν τοῦ δέοντος ἀπὸ τοῦ προτεθέντος λόγου πεπλανήμεθα, σὺ δὲ ἔτι πλέον ἡμᾶς κελεύεις πλανηθῆναι. νῦν μὲν οὖν, ὥσπερ εἰκός, ἐπανίωμεν 263b πάλιν: ταῦτα δὲ εἰς αὖθις κατὰ σχολὴν καθάπερ ἰχνεύοντες μέτιμεν. οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ τοῦτό γε αὖ παντάπασιν φύλαξαι, μή ποτε παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ δόξῃς αὐτὸ ἐναργῶς διωρισμένον ἀκηκοέναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: εἶδός τε καὶ μέρος ἕτερον ἀλλήλων εἶναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: ὡς εἶδος μὲν ὅταν ᾖ του, καὶ μέρος αὐτὸ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι τοῦ πράγματος ὅτουπερ ἂν εἶδος λέγηται: μέρος δὲ εἶδος οὐδεμία ἀνάγκη. ταύτῃ με ἢ ‘κείνῃ μᾶλλον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀεὶ φάθι λέγειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ταῦτ᾽ ἔσται. 263c

Ξένος: φράσον δή μοι τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον;

Ξένος: τὸ τῆς ἀποπλανήσεως ὁπόθεν ἡμᾶς δεῦρ᾽ ἤγαγεν. οἶμαι μὲν γὰρ μάλιστα, ὅθεν ἐρωτηθεὶς σὺ τὴν ἀγελαιοτροφίαν ὅπῃ διαιρετέον εἶπες μάλα προθύμως δύ᾽ εἶναι ζῴων γένη, τὸ μὲν ἀνθρώπινον, ἕτερον δὲ τῶν ἄλλων συμπάντων θηρίων ἕν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος: καὶ ἔμοιγε δὴ τότ᾽ ἐφάνης μέρος ἀφαιρῶν ἡγεῖσθαι καταλιπεῖν τὸ λοιπὸν αὖ πάντων γένος ἕν, ὅτι πᾶσι ταὐτὸν 263d ἐπονομάζειν ἔσχες ὄνομα, θηρία καλέσας.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἦν καὶ ταῦτα οὕτως.

Ξένος: τὸ δέ γε, ὦ πάντων ἀνδρειότατε, τάχ᾽ ἄν, εἴ που φρόνιμόν ἐστί τι ζῷον ἕτερον, οἷον δοκεῖ τὸ τῶν γεράνων, ἤ τι τοιοῦτον ἄλλο, ὃ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἴσως διονομάζει καθάπερ καὶ σύ, γεράνους μὲν ἓν γένος ἀντιτιθὲν τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις καὶ σεμνῦνον αὐτὸ ἑαυτό, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα μετὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων συλλαβὸν εἰς ταὐτὸ οὐδὲν ἄλλο πλὴν ἴσως θηρία προσείποι. 263e πειραθῶμεν οὖν ἡμεῖς ἐξευλαβεῖσθαι πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα τοιαῦτα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: μὴ πᾶν τὸ τῶν ζῴων γένος διαιρούμενοι, ἵνα ἧττον αὐτὰ πάσχωμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν γὰρ δεῖ.

Ξένος: καὶ γὰρ οὖν καὶ τότε ἡμαρτάνετο ταύτῃ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί δή;

Ξένος: τῆς γνωστικῆς ὅσον ἐπιτακτικὸν ἡμῖν μέρος ἦν που τοῦ ζῳοτροφικοῦ γένους, ἀγελαίων μὴν ζῴων. ἦ γάρ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί. 264a

Ξένος: διῄρητο τοίνυν ἤδη καὶ τότε σύμπαν τὸ ζῷον τῷ τιθασῷ καὶ ἀγρίῳ. τὰ μὲν γὰρ ἔχοντα τιθασεύεσθαι φύσιν ἥμερα προσείρηται, τὰ δὲ μὴ ‘θέλοντα ἄγρια.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς.

Ξένος: ἣν δέ γε θηρεύομεν ἐπιστήμην, ἐν τοῖς ἡμέροις ἦν τε καὶ ἔστιν, ἐπὶ τοῖς ἀγελαίοις μὴν ζητητέα θρέμμασιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: μὴ τοίνυν διαιρώμεθα ὥσπερ τότε πρὸς ἅπαντα ἀποβλέψαντες, μηδὲ σπεύσαντες, ἵνα δὴ ταχὺ γενώμεθα 264b πρὸς τῇ πολιτικῇ. πεποίηκε γὰρ ἡμᾶς καὶ νῦν παθεῖν τὸ κατὰ τὴν παροιμίαν πάθος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον;

Ξένος: οὐχ ἡσύχους εὖ διαιροῦντας ἠνυκέναι βραδύτερον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ καλῶς γε, ὦ ξένε, πεποίηκε.

Ξένος: ταῦτ᾽ ἔστω. πάλιν δ᾽ οὖν ἐξ ἀρχῆς τὴν κοινοτροφικὴν πειρώμεθα διαιρεῖν: ἴσως γὰρ καὶ τοῦτο ὃ σὺ προθυμῇ διαπεραινόμενος ὁ λόγος αὐτός σοι κάλλιον μηνύσει. καί μοι φράζε.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον δή;

Ξένος: τόδε, εἴ τινων πολλάκις ἄρα διακήκοας: οὐ γὰρ δὴ 264c προστυχής γε αὐτὸς οἶδ᾽ ὅτι γέγονας ταῖς ἐν τῷ Νείλῳ τιθασείαις τῶν ἰχθύων καὶ τῶν ἐν ταῖς βασιλικαῖς λίμναις. ἐν μὲν γὰρ κρήναις τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως εἴης ᾐσθημένος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν καὶ ταῦτα τεθέαμαι κἀκεῖνα πολλῶν ἀκήκοα.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν χηνοβωτίας γε καὶ γερανοβωτίας, εἰ καὶ μὴ πεπλάνησαι περὶ τὰ Θετταλικὰ πεδία, πέπυσαι γοῦν καὶ πιστεύεις εἶναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν; 264d

Ξένος: τοῦδ᾽ ἕνεκά τοι πάντα ἠρώτησα ταῦτα, διότι τῆς τῶν ἀγελαίων τροφῆς ἔστι μὲν ἔνυδρον, ἔστι δὲ καὶ ξηροβατικόν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔστι γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ σοὶ συνδοκεῖ ταύτῃ δεῖν διχάζειν τὴν κοινοτροφικὴν ἐπιστήμην, ἐφ᾽ ἑκατέρῳ τούτων τὸ μέρος αὐτῆς ἐπινέμοντας ἑκάτερον, τὸ μὲν ἕτερον ὑγροτροφικὸν ὀνομάζοντας, τὸ δ᾽ ἕτερον ξηροτροφικόν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔμοιγε.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν καὶ τὸ βασιλικὸν οὕτως οὐ ζητήσομεν 264e ὁποτέρας ἐστὶ τῆς τέχνης: δῆλον [δὴ] γὰρ παντί.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: πᾶς μὲν δὴ τό γε ξηροτροφικὸν τῆς ἀγελαιοτροφίας διέλοιτ᾽ ἂν φῦλον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: τῷ πτηνῷ τε καὶ πεζῷ διορισάμενος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατα.

Ξένος: τί δέ; τὸ πολιτικὸν ἦ περὶ τὸ πεζὸν ζητητέον; ἢ οὐκ οἴει καὶ τὸν ἀφρονέστατον ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν δοξάζειν οὕτως;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔγωγε.

Ξένος: τὴν δὲ πεζονομικήν, καθάπερ ἄρτι τὸν ἀριθμόν, δεῖ τεμνομένην δίχα ἀποφαίνειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δῆλον. 265a

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν ἐφ᾽ ὅ γε μέρος ὥρμηκεν ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος, ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνο δύο τινὲ καθορᾶν ὁδὼ τεταμένα φαίνεται, τὴν μὲν θάττω, πρὸς μέγα μέρος σμικρὸν διαιρουμένην, τὴν δέ, ὅπερ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν ὅτι δεῖ μεσοτομεῖν ὡς μάλιστα, τοῦτ᾽ ἔχουσαν μᾶλλον, μακροτέραν γε μήν. ἔξεστιν οὖν ὁποτέραν ἂν βουληθῶμεν, ταύτην πορευθῆναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἀμφοτέρας ἀδύνατον;

Ξένος: ἅμα γ᾽, ὦ θαυμαστέ: ἐν μέρει γε μὴν δῆλον ὅτι δυνατόν. 265b

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἐν μέρει τοίνυν ἔγωγε ἀμφοτέρας αἱροῦμαι.

Ξένος: ῥᾴδιον, ἐπειδὴ τὸ λοιπὸν βραχύ: κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς μὴν καὶ μεσοῦσιν ἅμα τῆς πορείας χαλεπὸν ἂν ἦν ἡμῖν τὸ πρόσταγμα. νῦν δ᾽, ἐπειδὴ δοκεῖ ταύτῃ, τὴν μακροτέραν πρότερον ἴωμεν: νεαλέστεροι γὰρ ὄντες ῥᾷον αὐτὴν πορευσόμεθα. τὴν δὲ δὴ διαίρεσιν ὅρα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγε.

Ξένος: τὰ πεζὰ ἡμῖν τῶν ἡμέρων, ὅσαπερ ἀγελαῖα, διῃρημένα ἐστὶ φύσει δίχα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τίνι;

Ξένος: τῷ τῶν μὲν τὴν γένεσιν ἄκερων εἶναι, τῶν δὲ κερασφόρον. 265c

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεται.

Ξένος: τὴν δὴ πεζονομικὴν διελὼν ἀπόδος ἑκατέρῳ τῷ μέρει λόγῳ χρώμενος. ἂν γὰρ ὀνομάζειν αὐτὰ βουληθῇς, ἔσται σοι περιπεπλεγμένον μᾶλλον τοῦ δέοντος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς οὖν χρὴ λέγειν;

Ξένος: ὧδε: τῆς πεζονομικῆς ἐπιστήμης δίχα διαιρεθείσης τὸ μόριον θάτερον ἐπὶ τῷ κερασφόρῳ μέρει τῷ τῆς ἀγέλης ἐπιτετάχθαι, τὸ δὲ ἕτερον ἐπὶ τῷ τῆς ἀκεράτου. 265d

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ταῦτ᾽ ἔστω ταύτῃ λεχθέντα: πάντως γὰρ ἱκανῶς δεδήλωται.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν ὅ γε βασιλεὺς ἡμῖν αὖ καταφανὴς ὅτι κολοβὸν ἀγέλην τινὰ κεράτων νομεύει.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὐ δῆλος;

Ξένος: ταύτην τοίνυν καταθραύσαντες τὸ γιγνόμενον αὐτῷ πειρώμεθα ἀποδοῦναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε.

Ξένος: πότερον οὖν βούλει τῷ σχιστῷ τε καὶ τῷ καλουμένῳ μώνυχι διαιρεῖν αὐτὴν ἢ τῇ κοινογονίᾳ τε καὶ ἰδιογονίᾳ; μανθάνεις γάρ που.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον; 265e

Ξένος: ὅτι τὸ μὲν τῶν ἵππων καὶ ὄνων πέφυκεν ἐξ ἀλλήλων γεννᾶν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τὸ δέ γε λοιπὸν ἔτι τῆς λείας ἀγέλης τῶν ἡμέρων ἀμιγὲς γένει πρὸς ἄλληλα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: τί δ᾽; ὁ πολιτικὸς ἄρ᾽ ἐπιμέλειαν ἔχειν φαίνεται πότερα κοινογενοῦς φύσεως ἤ τινος ἰδιογενοῦς;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δῆλον ὅτι τῆς ἀμείκτου.

Ξένος: ταύτην δὴ δεῖ καθάπερ τὰ ἔμπροσθεν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἡμᾶς δίχα διαστέλλειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δεῖ γὰρ οὖν. 266a

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν τό γε ζῷον, ὅσον ἥμερον καὶ ἀγελαῖον, σχεδὸν πλὴν γενοῖν δυοῖν πᾶν ἤδη κατακεκερμάτισται. τὸ γὰρ τῶν κυνῶν οὐκ ἐπάξιον καταριθμεῖν γένος ὡς ἐν ἀγελαίοις θρέμμασιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐ γὰρ οὖν. ἀλλὰ τίνι δὴ τὼ δύο διαιροῦμεν;

Ξένος: ὧιπερ καὶ δίκαιόν γε Θεαίτητόν τε καὶ σὲ διανέμειν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ γεωμετρίας ἅπτεσθον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τῷ;

Ξένος: τῇ διαμέτρῳ δήπου καὶ πάλιν τῇ τῆς διαμέτρου διαμέτρῳ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς εἶπες; 266b

Ξένος: ἡ φύσις, ἣν τὸ γένος ἡμῶν τῶν ἀνθρώπων κέκτηται, μῶν ἄλλως πως εἰς τὴν πορείαν πέφυκεν ἢ καθάπερ ἡ διάμετρος ἡ δυνάμει δίπους;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄλλως.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν ἥ γε τοῦ λοιποῦ γένους πάλιν ἐστὶ κατὰ δύναμιν αὖ τῆς ἡμετέρας δυνάμεως διάμετρος, εἴπερ δυοῖν γέ ἐστι ποδοῖν δὶς πεφυκυῖα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὐκ ἔστι; καὶ δὴ καὶ σχεδὸν ὃ βούλει δηλοῦν μανθάνω.

Ξένος: πρὸς δὴ τούτοις ἕτερον αὖ τι τῶν πρὸς γέλωτα 266c εὐδοκιμησάντων ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἆρα καθορῶμεν ἡμῖν γεγονὸς ἐν τοῖς διῃρημένοις;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: τἀνθρώπινον ἡμῶν ἅμα γένος συνειληχὸς καὶ συνδεδραμηκὸς γένει τῷ τῶν ὄντων γενναιοτάτῳ καὶ ἅμα εὐχερεστάτῳ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καθορῶ καὶ μάλ᾽ ἀτόπως συμβαῖνον.

Ξένος: τί δ᾽; οὐκ εἰκὸς ὕστατα ἀφικνεῖσθαι τὰ βραδύτατα;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί, τοῦτό γε.

Ξένος: τόδε δὲ οὐκ ἐννοοῦμεν, ὡς ἔτι γελοιότερος ὁ βασιλεὺς φαίνεται μετὰ τῆς ἀγέλης συνδιαθέων καὶ σύνδρομα 266d πεπορευμένος τῷ τῶν ἀνδρῶν αὖ πρὸς τὸν εὐχερῆ βίον ἄριστα γεγυμνασμένῳ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: νῦν γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐκεῖνό ἐστι καταφανὲς μᾶλλον τὸ ῥηθὲν τότ᾽ ἐν τῇ περὶ τὸν σοφιστὴν ζητήσει.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: ὅτι τῇ τοιᾷδε μεθόδῳ τῶν λόγων οὔτε σεμνοτέρου μᾶλλον ἐμέλησεν ἢ μή, τόν τε σμικρότερον οὐδὲν ἠτίμακε πρὸ τοῦ μείζονος, ἀεὶ δὲ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν περαίνει τἀληθέστατον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔοικεν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν μετὰ τοῦτο, ἵνα μή με φθῇς ἐρωτήσας τὴν 266e βραχυτέραν ὁδὸν ἥτις τότε ἦν ἐπὶ τὸν τοῦ βασιλέως ὅρον, αὐτός σοι πρότερον ἔλθω;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: σφόδρα γε.

Ξένος: λέγω δὴ δεῖν τότε εὐθὺς τὸ πεζὸν τῷ δίποδι πρὸς τὸ τετράπουν γένος διανεῖμαι, κατιδόντα δὲ τἀνθρώπινον ἔτι μόνῳ τῷ πτηνῷ συνειληχὸς τὴν δίποδα ἀγέλην πάλιν τῷ ψιλῷ καὶ τῷ πτεροφυεῖ τέμνειν, τμηθείσης δὲ αὐτῆς καὶ τότ᾽ ἤδη τῆς ἀνθρωπονομικῆς δηλωθείσης τέχνης, φέροντα τὸν πολιτικὸν καὶ βασιλικὸν οἷον ἡνίοχον εἰς αὐτὴν ἐνστήσαντα, παραδοῦναι τὰς τῆς πόλεως ἡνίας ὡς οἰκείας καὶ αὐτῷ ταύτης οὔσης τῆς ἐπιστήμης. 267a

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς καὶ καθαπερεὶ χρέος ἀπέδωκάς μοι τὸν λόγον, προσθεὶς τὴν ἐκτροπὴν οἷον τόκον καὶ ἀναπληρώσας αὐτόν.

Ξένος: φέρε δὴ καὶ συνείρωμεν ἐπανελθόντες ἐπὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν μέχρι τῆς τελευτῆς τὸν λόγον τοῦ ὀνόματος τῆς τοῦ πολιτικοῦ τέχνης.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: τῆς γνωστικῆς τοίνυν ἐπιστήμης ἡμῖν ἦν κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς μέρος ἐπιτακτικόν: τούτου δὲ ἀπεικασθὲν τὸ μόριον αὐτεπιτακτικὸν 267b ἐρρήθη. ζῳοτροφικὴ δὲ πάλιν αὐτεπιτακτικῆς οὐ τὸ σμικρότατον τῶν γενῶν ἀπεσχίζετο: καὶ ζῳοτροφικῆς εἶδος ἀγελαιοτροφικόν, ἀγελαιοτροφικοῦ δ᾽ αὖ πεζονομικόν: τοῦ δὲ πεζονομικοῦ μάλιστα ἀπετέμνετο τέχνη τῆς ἀκεράτου φύσεως θρεπτική. ταύτης δ᾽ αὖ τὸ μέρος οὐκ ἔλαττον τριπλοῦν συμπλέκειν ἀναγκαῖον, ἂν εἰς ἕν τις αὐτὸ ὄνομα συναγαγεῖν βουληθῇ, γενέσεως ἀμείκτου νομευτικὴν ἐπιστήμην προσαγορεύων. 267c τὸ δ᾽ ἀπὸ τούτου τμῆμα, ἐπὶ ποίμνῃ δίποδι μέρος ἀνθρωπονομικὸν ἔτι λειφθὲν μόνον, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτό ἐστιν ἤδη τὸ ζητηθέν, ἅμα βασιλικὸν ταὐτὸν κληθὲν καὶ πολιτικόν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: ἆρά γ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀληθῶς ἡμῖν τοῦτο καθάπερ σὺ νῦν εἴρηκας οὕτως ἐστὶ καὶ πεπραγμένον;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ξένος: τὸ παντάπασιν ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαι τὸ προτεθέν; ἢ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ καὶ μάλιστα ἡ ζήτησις ἐλλείπει, τὸ τὸν λόγον 267d εἰρῆσθαι μέν πως, οὐ μὴν παντάπασί γε τελέως ἀπειργάσθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς εἶπες;

Ξένος: ἐγὼ νῷν πειράσομαι τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ὃ διανοοῦμαι νῦν ἔτι μᾶλλον δηλῶσαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγοις ἄν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν τῶν νομευτικῶν ἡμῖν πολλῶν φανεισῶν ἄρτι τεχνῶν μία τις ἦν ἡ πολιτικὴ καὶ μιᾶς τινος ἀγέλης ἐπιμέλεια;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: ταύτην δέ γε διώριζεν ὁ λόγος οὐχ ἵππων εἶναι τροφὸν οὐδ᾽ ἄλλων θηρίων, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνθρώπων κοινοτροφικὴν ἐπιστήμην.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὕτως. 267e

Ξένος: τὸ δὴ τῶν νομέων πάντων διάφορον καὶ τὸ τῶν βασιλέων θεασώμεθα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: εἴ τις τῶν ἄλλων τῳ, τέχνης ἄλλης ὄνομα ἔχων, κοινῇ τῆς ἀγέλης σύντροφος εἶναί φησι καὶ προσποιεῖται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς φῄς;

Ξένος: οἷον οἱ ἔμποροι καὶ γεωργοὶ καὶ σιτουργοὶ πάντες, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις γυμνασταὶ καὶ τὸ τῶν ἰατρῶν γένος, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τοῖς περὶ τὰ ἀνθρώπινα νομεῦσιν, οὓς πολιτικοὺς ἐκαλέσαμεν, 268a παντάπασι τῷ λόγῳ διαμάχοιντ᾽ ἂν οὗτοι σύμπαντες, ὡς σφεῖς τῆς τροφῆς ἐπιμελοῦνται τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης, οὐ μόνον ἀγελαίων ἀνθρώπων ἀλλὰ καὶ τῆς τῶν ἀρχόντων αὐτῶν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς ἂν λέγοιεν;

Ξένος: ἴσως. καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ἐπισκεψόμεθα, τόδε δὲ ἴσμεν, ὅτι βουκόλῳ γε οὐδεὶς ἀμφισβητήσει περὶ τούτων οὐδενός, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸς τῆς ἀγέλης τροφὸς ὁ βουφορβός, αὐτὸς ἰατρός, αὐτὸς οἷον νυμφευτὴς καὶ περὶ τοὺς τῶν γιγνομένων τόκους 268b καὶ λοχείας μόνος ἐπιστήμων τῆς μαιευτικῆς. ἔτι τοίνυν παιδιᾶς καὶ μουσικῆς ἐφ᾽ ὅσον αὐτοῦ τὰ θρέμματα φύσει μετείληφεν, οὐκ ἄλλος κρείττων παραμυθεῖσθαι καὶ κηλῶν πραΰνειν, μετά τε ὀργάνων καὶ ψιλῷ τῷ στόματι τὴν τῆς αὑτοῦ ποίμνης ἄριστα μεταχειριζόμενος μουσικήν. καὶ δὴ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πέρι νομέων ὁ αὐτὸς τρόπος. ἦ γάρ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος: πῶς οὖν ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος ὀρθὸς φανεῖται καὶ ἀκέραιος 268c ὁ περὶ τοῦ βασιλέως, ὅταν αὐτὸν νομέα καὶ τροφὸν ἀγέλης ἀνθρωπίνης θῶμεν μόνον ἐκκρίνοντες μυρίων ἄλλων ἀμφισβητούντων;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς ὀλίγον ἔμπροσθεν ἐφοβήθημεν ὑποπτεύσαντες μὴ λέγοντες μέν τι τυγχάνοιμεν σχῆμα βασιλικόν, οὐ μὴν ἀπειργασμένοι γε εἶμέν πω δι᾽ ἀκριβείας τὸν πολιτικόν, ἕως ἂν τοὺς περικεχυμένους αὐτῷ καὶ τῆς συννομῆς αὐτῷ ἀντιποιουμένους περιελόντες καὶ χωρίσαντες ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνων καθαρὸν μόνον αὐτὸν ἀποφήνωμεν; 268d

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: τοῦτο τοίνυν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἡμῖν ποιητέον, εἰ μὴ μέλλομεν ἐπὶ τῷ τέλει καταισχῦναι τὸν λόγον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδαμῶς τοῦτό γε δραστέον.

Ξένος: πάλιν τοίνυν ἐξ ἄλλης ἀρχῆς δεῖ καθ᾽ ἑτέραν ὁδὸν πορευθῆναί τινα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποίαν δή;

Ξένος: σχεδὸν παιδιὰν ἐγκερασαμένους: συχνῷ γὰρ μέρει δεῖ μεγάλου μύθου προσχρήσασθαι, καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν δή, καθάπερ 268e ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν, μέρος ἀεὶ μέρους ἀφαιρουμένους ἐπ᾽ ἄκρον ἀφικνεῖσθαι τὸ ζητούμενον. οὐκοῦν χρή;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: ἀλλὰ δὴ τῷ μύθῳ μου πάνυ πρόσεχε τὸν νοῦν, καθάπερ οἱ παῖδες: πάντως οὐ πολλὰ ἐκφεύγεις παιδιὰς ἔτη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγοις ἄν.

Ξένος: ἦν τοίνυν καὶ ἔτι ἔσται τῶν πάλαι λεχθέντων πολλά τε ἄλλα καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ περὶ τὴν Ἀτρέως τε καὶ Θυέστου λεχθεῖσαν ἔριν φάσμα. ἀκήκοας γάρ που καὶ ἀπομνημονεύεις ὅ φασι γενέσθαι τότε.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ περὶ τῆς χρυσῆς ἀρνὸς ἴσως σημεῖον φράζεις. 269a

Ξένος: οὐδαμῶς, ἀλλὰ τὸ περὶ τῆς μεταβολῆς δύσεώς τε καὶ ἀνατολῆς ἡλίου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἄστρων, ὡς ἄρα ὅθεν μὲν ἀνατέλλει νῦν εἰς τοῦτον τότε τὸν τόπον ἐδύετο, ἀνέτελλε δ᾽ ἐκ τοῦ ἐναντίου, τότε δὲ δὴ μαρτυρήσας ἄρα ὁ θεὸς Ἀτρεῖ μετέβαλεν αὐτὸ ἐπὶ τὸ νῦν σχῆμα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγεται γὰρ οὖν δὴ καὶ τοῦτο.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν αὖ καὶ τήν γε βασιλείαν ἣν ἦρξε Κρόνος πολλῶν ἀκηκόαμεν. 269b

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πλείστων μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: τί δέ; τὸ τοὺς ἔμπροσθεν φύεσθαι γηγενεῖς καὶ μὴ ἐξ ἀλλήλων γεννᾶσθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ τοῦτο ἓν τῶν πάλαι λεχθέντων.

Ξένος: ταῦτα τοίνυν ἔστι μὲν σύμπαντα ἐκ ταὐτοῦ πάθους, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις ἕτερα μυρία καὶ τούτων ἔτι θαυμαστότερα, διὰ δὲ χρόνου πλῆθος τὰ μὲν αὐτῶν ἀπέσβηκε, τὰ δὲ διεσπαρμένα εἴρηται χωρὶς ἕκαστα ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων. ὃ δ᾽ ἐστὶν πᾶσι 269c τούτοις αἴτιον τὸ πάθος οὐδεὶς εἴρηκεν, νῦν δὲ δὴ λεκτέον: εἰς γὰρ τὴν τοῦ βασιλέως ἀπόδειξιν πρέψει ῥηθέν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κάλλιστ᾽ εἶπες, καὶ λέγε μηδὲν ἐλλείπων.

Ξένος: ἀκούοις ἄν. τὸ γὰρ πᾶν τόδε τοτὲ μὲν αὐτὸς ὁ θεὸς συμποδηγεῖ πορευόμενον καὶ συγκυκλεῖ, τοτὲ δὲ ἀνῆκεν, ὅταν αἱ περίοδοι τοῦ προσήκοντος αὐτῷ μέτρον εἰλήφωσιν ἤδη χρόνου, τὸ δὲ πάλιν αὐτόματον εἰς τἀναντία περιάγεται, 269d ζῷον ὂν καὶ φρόνησιν εἰληχὸς ἐκ τοῦ συναρμόσαντος αὐτὸ κατ᾽ ἀρχάς. τοῦτο δὲ αὐτῷ τὸ ἀνάπαλιν ἰέναι διὰ τόδ᾽ ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἔμφυτον γέγονε.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: διὰ τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ξένος: τὸ κατὰ ταὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως ἔχειν ἀεὶ καὶ ταὐτὸν εἶναι τοῖς πάντων θειοτάτοις προσήκει μόνοις, σώματος δὲ φύσις οὐ ταύτης τῆς τάξεως. ὃν δὲ οὐρανὸν καὶ κόσμον ἐπωνομάκαμεν, πολλῶν μὲν καὶ μακαρίων παρὰ τοῦ γεννήσαντος μετείληφεν, ἀτὰρ οὖν δὴ κεκοινώνηκέ γε 269e καὶ σώματος: ὅθεν αὐτῷ μεταβολῆς ἀμοίρῳ γίγνεσθαι διὰ παντὸς ἀδύνατον, κατὰ δύναμίν γε μὴν ὅτι μάλιστα ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ κατὰ ταὐτὰ μίαν φορὰν κινεῖται: διὸ τὴν ἀνακύκλησιν εἴληχεν, ὅτι σμικροτάτην τῆς αὑτοῦ κινήσεως παράλλαξιν. αὐτὸ δὲ ἑαυτὸ στρέφειν ἀεὶ σχεδὸν οὐδενὶ δυνατὸν πλὴν τῷ τῶν κινουμένων αὖ πάντων ἡγουμένῳ: κινεῖν δὲ τούτῳ τοτὲ μὲν ἄλλως, αὖθις δὲ ἐναντίως οὐ θέμις. ἐκ πάντων δὴ τούτων τὸν κόσμον μήτε αὐτὸν χρὴ φάναι στρέφειν ἑαυτὸν ἀεί, μήτ᾽ αὖ ὅλον ἀεὶ ὑπὸ θεοῦ στρέφεσθαι διττὰς καὶ ἐνανίας 270a περιαγωγάς, μήτ᾽ αὖ δύο τινὲ θεὼ φρονοῦντε ἑαυτοῖς ἐναντία στρέφειν αὐτόν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ ἄρτι ἐρρήθη καὶ μόνον λοιπόν, τοτὲ μὲν ὑπ᾽ ἄλλης συμποδηγεῖσθαι θείας αἰτίας, τὸ ζῆν πάλιν ἐπικτώμενον καὶ λαμβάνοντα ἀθανασίαν ἐπισκευαστὴν παρὰ τοῦ δημιουργοῦ, τοτὲ δ᾽ ὅταν ἀνεθῇ, δι᾽ ἑαυτοῦ αὐτὸν ἰέναι, κατὰ καιρὸν ἀφεθέντα τοιοῦτον, ὥστε ἀνάπαλιν πορεύεσθαι πολλὰς περιόδων μυριάδας διὰ δὴ τὸ μέγιστον ὂν καὶ ἰσορροπώτατον ἐπὶ μικροτάτου βαῖνον ποδὸς ἰέναι. 270b

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεται γοῦν δὴ καὶ μάλα εἰκότως εἰρῆσθαι πάνθ᾽ ὅσα διελήλυθας.

Ξένος: λογισάμενοι δὴ συννοήσωμεν τὸ πάθος ἐκ τῶν νῦν λεχθέντων, ὃ πάντων ἔφαμεν εἶναι τῶν θαυμαστῶν αἴτιον. ἔστι γὰρ οὖν δὴ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτό.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: τὸ τὴν τοῦ παντὸς φορὰν τοτὲ μὲν ἐφ᾽ ἃ νῦν κυκλεῖται φέρεσθαι, τοτὲ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τἀναντία.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δή;

Ξένος: ταύτην τὴν μεταβολὴν ἡγεῖσθαι δεῖ τῶν περὶ τὸν 270c οὐρανὸν γιγνομένων τροπῶν πασῶν εἶναι μεγίστην καὶ τελεωτάτην τροπήν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔοικε γοῦν.

Ξένος: μεγίστας τοίνυν καὶ μεταβολὰς χρὴ νομίζειν γίγνεσθαι τότε τοῖς ἐντὸς ἡμῖν οἰκοῦσιν αὐτοῦ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ τοῦτο εἰκός.

Ξένος: μεταβολὰς δὲ μεγάλας καὶ πολλὰς καὶ παντοίας συμφερομένας ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἴσμεν τὴν τῶν ζῴων φύσιν ὅτι χαλεπῶς ἀνέχεται;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: φθοραὶ τοίνυν ἐξ ἀνάγκης τότε μέγισται συμβαίνουσι τῶν τε ἄλλων ζῴων, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων 270d γένος ὀλίγον τι περιλείπεται: περὶ δὲ τούτους ἄλλα τε παθήματα πολλὰ καὶ θαυμαστὰ καὶ καινὰ συμπίπτει, μέγιστον δὲ τόδε καὶ συνεπόμενον τῇ τοῦ παντὸς ἀνειλίξει τότε, ὅταν ἡ τῆς νῦν καθεστηκυίας ἐναντία γίγνηται τροπή.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: ἣν ἡλικίαν ἕκαστον εἶχε τῶν ζῴων, αὕτη πρῶτον μὲν ἔστη πάντων, καὶ ἐπαύσατο πᾶν ὅσον ἦν θνητὸν ἐπὶ τὸ γεραίτερον ἰδεῖν πορευόμενον, μεταβάλλον δὲ πάλιν ἐπὶ 270e τοὐναντίον οἷον νεώτερον καὶ ἁπαλώτερον ἐφύετο: καὶ τῶν μὲν πρεσβυτέρων αἱ λευκαὶ τρίχες ἐμελαίνοντο, τῶν δ᾽ αὖ γενειώντων αἱ παρειαὶ λεαινόμεναι πάλιν ἐπὶ τὴν παρελθοῦσαν ὥραν ἕκαστον καθίστασαν, τῶν δὲ ἡβώντων τὰ σώματα λεαινόμενα καὶ σμικρότερα καθ᾽ ἡμέραν καὶ νύκτα ἑκάστην γιγνόμενα πάλιν εἰς τὴν τοῦ νεογενοῦς παιδὸς φύσιν ἀπῄει, κατά τε τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ἀφομοιούμενα: τὸ δ᾽ ἐντεῦθεν ἤδη μαραινόμενα κομιδῇ τὸ πάμπαν ἐξηφανίζετο. τῶν δ᾽ αὖ βιαίως τελευτώντων ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ τὸ τοῦ νεκροῦ σῶμα τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα πάσχον παθήματα διὰ 271a τάχους ἄδηλον ἐν ὀλίγαις ἡμέραις διεφθείρετο.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: γένεσις δὲ δὴ τίς τότ᾽ ἦν, ὦ ξένε, ζῴων; καὶ τίνα τρόπον ἐξ ἀλλήλων ἐγεννῶντο;

Ξένος: δῆλον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι τὸ μὲν ἐξ ἀλλήλων οὐκ ἦν ἐν τῇ τότε φύσει γεννώμενον, τὸ δὲ γηγενὲς εἶναί ποτε γένος λεχθὲν τοῦτ᾽ ἦν τὸ κατ᾽ ἐκεῖνον τὸν χρόνον ἐκ γῆς πάλιν ἀναστρεφόμενον, ἀπεμνημονεύετο δὲ ὑπὸ τῶν ἡμετέρων προγόνων τῶν πρώτων, οἳ τελευτώσῃ μὲν τῇ προτέρᾳ 271b περιφορᾷ τὸν ἑξῆς χρόνον ἐγειτόνουν, τῆσδε δὲ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἐφύοντο: τούτων γὰρ οὗτοι κήρυκες ἐγένονθ᾽ ἡμῖν τῶν λόγων, οἳ νῦν ὑπὸ πολλῶν οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἀπιστοῦνται. τὸ γὰρ ἐντεῦθεν οἶμαι χρὴ συννοεῖν. ἑπόμενον γάρ ἐστι τῷ τοὺς πρεσβύτας ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ παιδὸς ἰέναι φύσιν, ἐκ τῶν τετελευτηκότων αὖ, κειμένων δὲ ἐν γῇ, πάλιν ἐκεῖ συνισταμένους καὶ ἀναβιωσκομένους, ἕπεσθαι τῇ τροπῇ συνανακυκλουμένης εἰς τἀναντία τῆς γενέσεως, καὶ γηγενεῖς δὴ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν 271c λόγον ἐξ ἀνάγκης φυομένους, οὕτως ἔχειν τοὔνομα καὶ τὸν λόγον, ὅσους μὴ θεὸς αὐτῶν εἰς ἄλλην μοῖραν ἐκόμισεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν τοῦτό γε ἕπεται τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν. ἀλλὰ δὴ τὸν βίον ὃν ἐπὶ τῆς Κρόνου φῂς εἶναι δυνάμεως, πότερον ἐν ἐκείναις ἦν ταῖς τροπαῖς ἢ ἐν ταῖσδε; τὴν μὲν γὰρ τῶν ἄστρων τε καὶ ἡλίου μεταβολὴν δῆλον ὡς ἐν ἑκατέραις συμπίπτει ταῖς τροπαῖς γίγνεσθαι.

Ξένος: καλῶς τῷ λόγῳ συμπαρηκολούθηκας. ὃ δ᾽ ἤρου 271d περὶ τοῦ πάντα αὐτόματα γίγνεσθαι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἥκιστα τῆς νῦν ἐστι καθεστηκυίας φορᾶς, ἀλλ᾽ ἦν καὶ τοῦτο τῆς ἔμπροσθεν. τότε γὰρ αὐτῆς πρῶτον τῆς κυκλήσεως ἦρχεν ἐπιμελούμενος ὅλης ὁ θεός, ὣς δ᾽ αὖ κατὰ τόπους ταὐτὸν τοῦτο, ὑπὸ θεῶν ἀρχόντων πάντ᾽ ἦν τὰ τοῦ κόσμου μέρη διειλημμένα: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ ζῷα κατὰ γένη καὶ ἀγέλας οἷον νομῆς θεῖοι διειλήφεσαν δαίμονες, αὐτάρκης εἰς πάντα ἕκαστος ἑκάστοις 271e ὢν οἷς αὐτὸς ἔνεμεν, ὥστε οὔτ᾽ ἄγριον ἦν οὐδὲν οὔτε ἀλλήλων ἐδωδαί, πόλεμός τε οὐκ ἐνῆν οὐδὲ στάσις τὸ παράπαν: ἄλλα θ᾽ ὅσα τῆς τοιαύτης ἐστὶ κατακοσμήσεως ἑπόμενα, μυρία ἂν εἴη λέγειν. τὸ δ᾽ οὖν τῶν ἀνθρώπων λεχθὲν αὐτομάτου πέρι βίου διὰ τὸ τοιόνδε εἴρηται. θεὸς ἔνεμεν αὐτοὺς αὐτὸς ἐπιστατῶν, καθάπερ νῦν ἄνθρωποι, ζῷον ὂν ἕτερον θειότερον, ἄλλα γένη φαυλότερα αὑτῶν νομεύουσι: νέμοντος δὲ ἐκείνου πολιτεῖαί τε οὐκ ἦσαν οὐδὲ κτήσεις 272a γυναικῶν καὶ παίδων: ἐκ γῆς γὰρ ἀνεβιώσκοντο πάντες, οὐδὲν μεμνημένοι τῶν πρόσθεν: ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν τοιαῦτα ἀπῆν πάντα, καρποὺς δὲ ἀφθόνους εἶχον ἀπό τε δένδρων καὶ πολλῆς ὕλης ἄλλης, οὐχ ὑπὸ γεωργίας φυομένους, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτομάτης ἀναδιδούσης τῆς γῆς. γυμνοὶ δὲ καὶ ἄστρωτοι θυραυλοῦντες τὰ πολλὰ ἐνέμοντο: τὸ γὰρ τῶν ὡρῶν αὐτοῖς ἄλυπον ἐκέκρατο, μαλακὰς δὲ εὐνὰς εἶχον ἀναφυομένης ἐκ 272b γῆς πόας ἀφθόνου. τὸν δὴ βίον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀκούεις μὲν τὸν τῶν ἐπὶ Κρόνου: τόνδε δ᾽ ὃν λόγος ἐπὶ Διὸς εἶναι, τὸν νυνί, παρὼν αὐτὸς ᾔσθησαι: κρῖναι δ᾽ αὐτοῖν τὸν εὐδαιμονέστερον ἆρ᾽ ἂν δύναιό τε καὶ ἐθελήσειας;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος: βούλει δῆτα ἐγώ σοι τρόπον τινὰ διακρίνω;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: εἰ μὲν τοίνυν οἱ τρόφιμοι τοῦ Κρόνου, παρούσης αὐτοῖς οὕτω πολλῆς σχολῆς καὶ δυνάμεως πρὸς τὸ μὴ μόνον ἀνθρώποις ἀλλὰ καὶ θηρίοις διὰ λόγων δύνασθαι συγγίγνεσθαι, 272c κατεχρῶντο τούτοις σύμπασιν ἐπὶ φιλοσοφίαν, μετά τε θηρίων καὶ μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων ὁμιλοῦντες, καὶ πυνθανόμενοι παρὰ πάσης φύσεως εἴ τινά τις ἰδίαν δύναμιν ἔχουσα ᾔσθετό τι διάφορον τῶν ἄλλων εἰς συναγυρμὸν φρονήσεως, εὔκριτον ὅτι τῶν νῦν οἱ τότε μυρίῳ πρὸς εὐδαιμονίαν διέφερον: εἰ δ᾽ ἐμπιμπλάμενοι σίτων ἅδην καὶ ποτῶν διελέγοντο πρὸς ἀλλήλους καὶ τὰ θηρία [μύθους] οἷα δὴ καὶ τὰ νῦν περὶ αὐτῶν 272d λέγονται, καὶ τοῦτο, ὥς γε κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν δόξαν ἀποφήνασθαι, καὶ μάλ᾽ εὔκριτον. ὅμως δ᾽ οὖν ταῦτα μὲν ἀφῶμεν, ἕως ἂν ἡμῖν μηνυτής τις ἱκανὸς φανῇ, ποτέρως οἱ τότε τὰς ἐπιθυμίας εἶχον περί τε ἐπιστημῶν καὶ τῆς τῶν λόγων χρείας: οὗ δ᾽ ἕνεκα τὸν μῦθον ἠγείραμεν, τοῦτο λεκτέον, ἵνα τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν περαίνωμεν. ἐπειδὴ γὰρ πάντων τούτων χρόνος ἐτελεώθη καὶ μεταβολὴν ἔδει γίγνεσθαι καὶ 272e δὴ καὶ τὸ γήινον ἤδη πᾶν ἀνήλωτο γένος, πάσας ἑκάστης τῆς ψυχῆς τὰς γενέσεις ἀποδεδωκυίας, ὅσα ἦν ἑκάστῃ προσταχθὲν τοσαῦτα εἰς γῆν σπέρματα πεσούσης, τότε δὴ τοῦ παντὸς ὁ μὲν κυβερνήτης, οἷον πηδαλίων οἴακος ἀφέμενος, εἰς τὴν αὑτοῦ περιωπὴν ἀπέστη, τὸν δὲ δὴ κόσμον πάλιν ἀνέστρεφεν εἱμαρμένη τε καὶ σύμφυτος ἐπιθυμία. πάντες οὖν οἱ κατὰ τοὺς τόπους συνάρχοντες τῷ μεγίστῳ δαίμονι θεοί, γνόντες ἤδη τὸ γιγνόμενον, ἀφίεσαν αὖ τὰ μέρη τοῦ 273a κόσμου τῆς αὑτῶν ἐπιμελείας: ὁ δὲ μεταστρεφόμενος καὶ συμβάλλων, ἀρχῆς τε καὶ τελευτῆς ἐναντίαν ὁρμὴν ὁρμηθείς, σεισμὸν πολὺν ἐν ἑαυτῷ ποιῶν ἄλλην αὖ φθορὰν ζῴων παντοίων ἀπηργάσατο. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα προελθόντος ἱκανοῦ χρόνου, θορύβων τε καὶ ταραχῆς ἤδη παυόμενος καὶ τῶν σεισμῶν γαλήνης ἐπιλαβόμενος εἴς τε τὸν εἰωθότα δρόμον τὸν ἑαυτοῦ κατακοσμούμενος ᾔει, ἐπιμέλειαν καὶ κράτος ἔχων 273b αὐτὸς τῶν ἐν αὑτῷ τε καὶ ἑαυτοῦ, τὴν τοῦ δημιουργοῦ καὶ πατρὸς ἀπομνημονεύων διδαχὴν εἰς δύναμιν. κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς μὲν οὖν ἀκριβέστερον ἀπετέλει, τελευτῶν δὲ ἀμβλύτερον: τούτων δὲ αὐτῷ τὸ σωματοειδὲς τῆς συγκράσεως αἴτιον, τὸ τῆς πάλαι ποτὲ φύσεως σύντροφον, ὅτι πολλῆς ἦν μετέχον ἀταξίας πρὶν εἰς τὸν νῦν κόσμον ἀφικέσθαι. παρὰ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ συνθέντος πάντα καλὰ κέκτηται: παρὰ δὲ τῆς ἔμπροσθεν 273c ἕξεως, ὅσα χαλεπὰ καὶ ἄδικα ἐν οὐρανῷ γίγνεται, ταῦτα ἐξ ἐκείνης αὐτός τε ἔχει καὶ τοῖς ζῴοις ἐναπεργάζεται. μετὰ μὲν οὖν τοῦ κυβερνήτου τὰ ζῷα τρέφων ἐν αὑτῷ σμικρὰ μὲν φλαῦρα, μεγάλα δὲ ἐνέτικτεν ἀγαθά: χωριζόμενος δὲ ἐκείνου τὸν ἐγγύτατα χρόνον ἀεὶ τῆς ἀφέσεως κάλλιστα πάντα διάγει, προϊόντος δὲ τοῦ χρόνου καὶ λήθης ἐγγιγνομένης ἐν αὐτῷ μᾶλλον καὶ δυναστεύει τὸ τῆς παλαιᾶς ἀναρμοστίας 273d πάθος, τελευτῶντος δὲ ἐξανθεῖ τοῦ χρόνου καὶ σμικρὰ μὲν τἀγαθά, πολλὴν δὲ τὴν τῶν ἐναντίων κρᾶσιν ἐπεγκεραννύμενος ἐπὶ διαφθορᾶς κίνδυνον αὑτοῦ τε ἀφικνεῖται καὶ τῶν ἐν αὑτῷ. διὸ δὴ καὶ τότ᾽ ἤδη θεὸς ὁ κοσμήσας αὐτόν, καθορῶν ἐν ἀπορίαις ὄντα, κηδόμενος ἵνα μὴ χειμασθεὶς ὑπὸ ταραχῆς διαλυθεὶς εἰς τὸν τῆς ἀνομοιότητος ἄπειρον ὄντα 273e πόντον δύῃ, πάλιν ἔφεδρος αὐτοῦ τῶν πηδαλίων γιγνόμενος, τὰ νοσήσαντα καὶ λυθέντα ἐν τῇ καθ᾽ ἑαυτὸν προτέρᾳ περιόδῳ στρέψας, κοσμεῖ τε καὶ ἐπανορθῶν ἀθάνατον αὐτὸν καὶ ἀγήρων ἀπεργάζεται. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν τέλος ἁπάντων εἴρηται: τὸ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ βασιλέως ἀπόδειξιν ἱκανὸν ἐκ τοῦ πρόσθεν ἁπτομένοις τοῦ λόγου: στρεφθέντος γὰρ αὖ τοῦ κόσμου τὴν ἐπὶ τὴν νῦν γένεσιν ὁδὸν τὸ τῆς ἡλικίας αὖ πάλιν ἵστατο καὶ καινὰ τἀναντία ἀπεδίδου τοῖς τότε. τὰ μὲν γὰρ ὑπὸ σμικρότητος ὀλίγου δέοντα ἠφανίσθαι τῶν ζῴων ηὐξάνετο, τὰ δ᾽ ἐκ γῆς νεογενῆ σώματα πολιὰ φύντα πάλιν ἀποθνῄσκοντα εἰς γῆν κατῄει. καὶ τἆλλά τε πάντα μετέβαλλε, 274a ἀπομιμούμενα καὶ συνακολουθοῦντα τῷ τοῦ παντὸς παθήματι, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ τῆς κυήσεως καὶ γεννήσεως καὶ τροφῆς μίμημα συνείπετο τοῖς πᾶσιν ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης: οὐ γὰρ ἐξῆν ἔτ᾽ ἐν γῇ δι᾽ ἑτέρων συνιστάντων φύεσθαι ζῷον, ἀλλὰ καθάπερ τῷ κόσμῳ προσετέτακτο αὐτοκράτορα εἶναι τῆς αὑτοῦ πορείας, οὕτω δὴ κατὰ ταὐτὰ καὶ τοῖς μέρεσιν αὐτοῖς δι᾽ αὑτῶν, καθ᾽ ὅσον οἷόν τ᾽ ἦν, φύειν τε καὶ γεννᾶν καὶ τρέφειν προσετάττετο ὑπὸ τῆς 274b ὁμοίας ἀγωγῆς. οὗ δὲ ἕνεκα ὁ λόγος ὥρμηκε πᾶς, ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ νῦν ἐσμὲν ἤδη. περὶ μὲν γὰρ τῶν ἄλλων θηρίων πολλὰ ἂν καὶ μακρὰ διεξελθεῖν γίγνοιτο, ἐξ ὧν ἕκαστα καὶ δι᾽ ἃς αἰτίας μεταβέβληκε: περὶ δὲ ἀνθρώπων βραχύτερα καὶ μᾶλλον προσήκοντα. τῆς γὰρ τοῦ κεκτημένου καὶ νέμοντος ἡμᾶς δαίμονος ἀπερημωθέντες ἐπιμελείας, τῶν πολλῶν αὖ θηρίων, ὅσα χαλεπὰ τὰς φύσεις ἦν, ἀπαγριωθέντων, αὐτοὶ δὲ ἀσθενεῖς ἄνθρωποι καὶ ἀφύλακτοι γεγονότες διηρπάζοντο ὑπ᾽ 274c αὐτῶν, καὶ ἔτ᾽ ἀμήχανοι καὶ ἄτεχνοι κατὰ τοὺς πρώτους ἦσαν χρόνους, ἅτε τῆς μὲν αὐτομάτης τροφῆς ἐπιλελοιπυίας, πορίζεσθαι δὲ οὐκ ἐπιστάμενοί πω διὰ τὸ μηδεμίαν αὐτοὺς χρείαν πρότερον ἀναγκάζειν. ἐκ τούτων πάντων ἐν μεγάλαις ἀπορίαις ἦσαν. ὅθεν δὴ τὰ πάλαι λεχθέντα παρὰ θεῶν δῶρα ἡμῖν δεδώρηται μετ᾽ ἀναγκαίας διδαχῆς καὶ παιδεύσεως, πῦρ μὲν παρὰ Προμηθέως, τέχναι δὲ παρ᾽ Ἡφαίστου 274d καὶ τῆς συντέχνου, σπέρματα δὲ αὖ καὶ φυτὰ παρ᾽ ἄλλων: καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα τὸν ἀνθρώπινον βίον συγκατεσκεύακεν ἐκ τούτων γέγονεν, ἐπειδὴ τὸ μὲν ἐκ θεῶν, ὅπερ ἐρρήθη νυνδή, τῆς ἐπιμελείας ἐπέλιπεν ἀνθρώπους, δι᾽ ἑαυτῶν τε ἔδει τήν τε διαγωγὴν καὶ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν αὐτοὺς αὑτῶν ἔχειν καθάπερ ὅλος ὁ κόσμος, ᾧ συμμιμούμενοι καὶ συνεπόμενοι τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον νῦν μὲν οὕτως, τοτὲ δὲ ἐκείνως ζῶμέν 274e τε καὶ φυόμεθα. καὶ τὸ μὲν δὴ τοῦ μύθου τέλος ἐχέτω, χρήσιμον δὲ αὐτὸν ποιησόμεθα πρὸς τὸ κατιδεῖν ὅσον ἡμάρτομεν ἀποφηνάμενοι τὸν βασιλικόν τε καὶ πολιτικὸν ἐν τῷ πρόσθε λόγῳ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς οὖν καὶ πόσον ἁμάρτημα φῂς εἶναι γεγονὸς ἡμῖν;

Ξένος: τῇ μὲν βραχύτερον, τῇ δὲ μάλα γενναῖον καὶ πολλῷ μεῖζον καὶ πλέον ἢ τότε.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: ὅτι μὲν ἐρωτώμενοι τὸν ἐκ τῆς νῦν περιφορᾶς καὶ γενέσεως βασιλέα καὶ πολιτικὸν τὸν ἐκ τῆς ἐναντίας περιόδου 275a ποιμένα τῆς τότε ἀνθρωπίνης ἀγέλης εἴπομεν, καὶ ταῦτα θεὸν ἀντὶ θνητοῦ, ταύτῃ μὲν πάμπολυ παρηνέχθημεν: ὅτι δὲ συμπάσης τῆς πόλεως ἄρχοντα αὐτὸν ἀπεφήναμεν, ὅντινα δὲ τρόπον οὐ διείπομεν, ταύτῃ δὲ αὖ τὸ μὲν λεχθὲν ἀληθές, οὐ μὴν ὅλον γε οὐδὲ σαφὲς ἐρρήθη, διὸ καὶ βραχύτερον ἢ κατ᾽ ἐκεῖνο ἡμαρτήκαμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος: δεῖ τοίνυν τὸν τρόπον, ὡς ἔοικε, διορίσαντας τῆς ἀρχῆς τῆς πόλεως οὕτω τελέως τὸν πολιτικὸν ἡμῖν εἰρῆσθαι προσδοκᾶν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς. 275b

Ξένος: διὰ ταῦτα μὴν καὶ τὸν μῦθον παρεθέμεθα, ἵνα ἐνδείξαιτο περὶ τῆς ἀγελαιοτροφίας μὴ μόνον ὡς πάντες αὐτῆς ἀμφισβητοῦσι τῷ ζητουμένῳ τὰ νῦν, ἀλλὰ κἀκεῖνον αὐτὸν ἐναργέστερον ἴδοιμεν, ὃν προσήκει μόνον κατὰ τὸ παράδειγμα ποιμένων τε καὶ βουκόλων τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης ἐπιμέλειαν ἔχοντα τροφῆς τούτου μόνον ἀξιωθῆναι τοῦ προσρήματος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: οἶμαι δέ γ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοῦτο μὲν ἔτι μεῖζον ἢ 275c κατὰ βασιλέα εἶναι τὸ σχῆμα τὸ τοῦ θείου νομέως, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐνθάδε νῦν ὄντας πολιτικοὺς τοῖς ἀρχομένοις ὁμοίους τε εἶναι μᾶλλον πολὺ τὰς φύσεις καὶ παραπλησιαίτερον παιδείας μετειληφέναι καὶ τροφῆς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάντως που.

Ξένος: ζητητέοι γε μὴν οὐδὲν ἂν εἴησαν οὔθ᾽ ἧττον οὔτε μᾶλλον, εἴθ᾽ οὕτως εἴτ᾽ ἐκείνως πεφύκασιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος: τῇδε δὴ πάλιν ἐπανέλθωμεν. ἣν γὰρ ἔφαμεν αὐτεπιτακτικὴν μὲν εἶναι τέχνην ἐπὶ ζῴοις, οὐ μὴν ἰδίᾳ γε ἀλλὰ 275d κοινῇ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ἔχουσαν, καὶ προσείπομεν δὴ τότε εὐθὺς ἀγελαιοτροφικήνμέμνησαι γάρ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: ταύτης τοίνυν πῃ διημαρτάνομεν. τὸν γὰρ πολιτικὸν οὐδαμοῦ συνελάβομεν οὐδ᾽ ὠνομάσαμεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡμᾶς ἔλαθεν κατὰ τὴν ὀνομασίαν ἐκφυγών.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: τοῦ τὰς ἀγέλας ἑκάστας τρέφειν τοῖς μὲν ἄλλοις που πᾶσι μέτεστι νομεῦσι, τῷ πολιτικῷ δὲ οὐ μετὸν ἐπηνέγκαμεν 275e τοὔνομα, δέον τῶν κοινῶν ἐπενεγκεῖν τι σύμπασιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ λέγεις, εἴπερ ἐτύγχανέ γε ὄν.

Ξένος: πῶς δ᾽ οὐκ ἦν τό γε θεραπεύειν που πᾶσι κοινόν, μηδὲν διορισθείσης τροφῆς μηδέ τινος ἄλλης πραγματείας; ἀλλ᾽ ἤ τινα ἀγελαιοκομικὴν ἢ θεραπευτικὴν ἢ καί τινα ἐπιμελητικὴν αὐτὴν ὀνομάσασιν ὡς κατὰ πάντων ἐξῆν περικαλύπτειν καὶ τὸν πολιτικὸν ἅμα τοῖς ἄλλοις, ἐπειδὴ δεῖν τοῦτ᾽ ἐσήμαινεν ὁ λόγος. 276a

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς. ἀλλ᾽ ἡ μετὰ τοῦτο διαίρεσις αὖ τίνα τρόπον ἐγίγνετ᾽ ἄν;

Ξένος: κατὰ ταὐτὰ καθ᾽ ἅπερ ἔμπροσθεν διῃρούμεθα τὴν ἀγελαιοτροφικὴν πεζοῖς τε καὶ ἀπτῆσι, καὶ ἀμείκτοις τε καὶ ἀκεράτοις, τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἄν που τούτοις διαιρούμενοι καὶ τὴν ἀγελαιοκομικὴν τήν τε νῦν καὶ τὴν ἐπὶ Κρόνου βασιλείαν περιειληφότες ἂν ἦμεν ὁμοίως ἐν τῷ λόγῳ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεται: ζητῶ δὲ αὖ τί τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο.

Ξένος: δῆλον ὅτι λεχθέντος οὕτω τοῦ τῆς ἀγελαιοκομικῆς 276b ὀνόματος οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐγένεθ᾽ ἡμῖν τό τινας ἀμφισβητεῖν ὡς οὐδ᾽ ἐπιμέλεια τὸ παράπαν ἐστίν, ὥσπερ τότε δικαίως ἠμφεσβητήθη μηδεμίαν εἶναι τέχνην ἐν ἡμῖν ἀξίαν τούτου τοῦ θρεπτικοῦ προσρήματος, εἰ δ᾽ οὖν τις εἴη, πολλοῖς πρότερον αὐτῆς καὶ μᾶλλον προσήκειν ἤ τινι τῶν βασιλέων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: ἐπιμέλεια δέ γε ἀνθρωπίνης συμπάσης κοινωνίας οὐδεμία ἂν ἐθελήσειεν ἑτέρα μᾶλλον καὶ προτέρα τῆς βασιλικῆς 276c φάναι καὶ κατὰ πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἀρχῆς εἶναι τέχνη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγεις ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: μετὰ ταῦτα δέ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἆρ᾽ ἐννοοῦμεν ὅτι πρὸς αὐτῷ δὴ τῷ τέλει συχνὸν αὖ διημαρτάνετο;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: τόδε, ὡς ἄρ᾽ εἰ καὶ διενοήθημεν ὅτι μάλιστα τῆς δίποδος ἀγέλης εἶναί τινα θρεπτικὴν τέχνην, οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ἡμᾶς ἔδει βασιλικὴν αὐτὴν εὐθὺς καὶ πολιτικὴν ὡς ἀποτετελεσμένην προσαγορεύειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: πρῶτον μέν, ὃ λέγομεν, τοὔνομα μετασκευωρήσασθαι, 276d πρὸς τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν μᾶλλον προσαγαγόντας ἢ τὴν τροφήν, ἔπειτα ταύτην τέμνειν: οὐ γὰρ σμικρὰς ἂν ἔχοι τμήσεις ἔτι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποίας;

Ξένος: ἧι τε τὸν θεῖον ἄν που διειλόμεθα νομέα χωρὶς καὶ τὸν ἀνθρώπινον ἐπιμελητήν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: αὖθις δέ γε τὴν ἀπονεμηθεῖσαν ἐπιμελητικὴν δίχα τέμνειν ἀναγκαῖον ἦν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τίνι;

Ξένος: τῷ βιαίῳ τε καὶ ἑκουσίῳ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί δή; 276e

Ξένος: καὶ ταύτῃ που τὸ πρότερον ἁμαρτάνοντες εὐηθέστερα τοῦ δέοντος εἰς ταὐτὸν βασιλέα καὶ τύραννον συνέθεμεν, ἀνομοιοτάτους ὄντας αὐτούς τε καὶ τὸν τῆς ἀρχῆς ἑκατέρου τρόπον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος: νῦν δέ γε πάλιν ἐπανορθούμενοι, καθάπερ εἶπον, τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην ἐπιμελητικὴν δίχα διαιρώμεθα, τῷ βιαίῳ τε καὶ ἑκουσίῳ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: καὶ τὴν μέν γέ που τῶν βιαίων τυραννικήν, τὴν δὲ ἑκούσιον καὶ ἑκουσίων διπόδων ἀγελαιοκομικὴν ζῴων προσειπόντες πολιτικήν, τὸν ἔχοντα αὖ τέχνην ταύτην καὶ ἐπιμέλειαν ὄντως ὄντα βασιλέα καὶ πολιτικὸν ἀποφαινώμεθα; 277a

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ κινδυνεύει γε, ὦ ξένε, τελέως ἂν ἡμῖν οὕτως ἔχειν ἡ περὶ τὸν πολιτικὸν ἀπόδειξις.

Ξένος: καλῶς ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἡμῖν ἔχοι. δεῖ δὲ μὴ σοὶ μόνῳ ταῦτα, ἀλλὰ κἀμοὶ μετὰ σοῦ κοινῇ συνδοκεῖν. νῦν δὲ κατά γε τὴν ἐμὴν οὔπω φαίνεται τέλεον ὁ βασιλεὺς ἡμῖν σχῆμα ἔχειν, ἀλλὰ καθάπερ ἀνδριαντοποιοὶ παρὰ καιρὸν ἐνίοτε σπεύδοντες πλείω καὶ μείζω τοῦ δέοντος ἕκαστα τῶν 277b ἔργων ἐπεμβαλλόμενοι βραδύνουσι, καὶ νῦν ἡμεῖς, ἵνα δὴ πρὸς τῷ ταχὺ καὶ μεγαλοπρεπῶς δηλώσαιμεν τὸ τῆς ἔμπροσθεν ἁμάρτημα διεξόδου, τῷ βασιλεῖ νομίσαντες πρέπειν μεγάλα παραδείγματα ποιεῖσθαι, θαυμαστὸν ὄγκον ἀράμενοι τοῦ μύθου, μείζονι τοῦ δέοντος ἠναγκάσθημεν αὐτοῦ μέρει προσχρήσασθαι: διὸ μακροτέραν τὴν ἀπόδειξιν πεποιήκαμεν καὶ πάντως τῷ μύθῳ τέλος οὐκ ἐπέθεμεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀτεχνῶς ὁ 277c λόγος ἡμῖν ὥσπερ ζῷον τὴν ἔξωθεν μὲν περιγραφὴν ἔοικεν ἱκανῶς ἔχειν, τὴν δὲ οἷον τοῖς φαρμάκοις καὶ τῇ συγκράσει τῶν χρωμάτων ἐνάργειαν οὐκ ἀπειληφέναι πω. γραφῆς δὲ καὶ συμπάσης χειρουργίας λέξει καὶ λόγῳ δηλοῦν πᾶν ζῷον μᾶλλον πρέπει τοῖς δυναμένοις ἕπεσθαι: τοῖς δ᾽ ἄλλοις διὰ χειρουργιῶν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τοῦτο μὲν ὀρθῶς: ὅπῃ δὲ ἡμῖν οὔπω φῂς ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαι δήλωσον. 277d

Ξένος: χαλεπόν, ὦ δαιμόνιε, μὴ παραδείγμασι χρώμενον ἱκανῶς ἐνδείκνυσθαί τι τῶν μειζόνων. κινδυνεύει γὰρ ἡμῶν ἕκαστος οἷον ὄναρ εἰδὼς ἅπαντα πάντ᾽ αὖ πάλιν ὥσπερ ὕπαρ ἀγνοεῖν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς τοῦτ᾽ εἶπες;

Ξένος: καὶ μάλ᾽ ἀτόπως ἔοικά γε ἐν τῷ παρόντι κινήσας τὸ περὶ τῆς ἐπιστήμης πάθος ἐν ἡμῖν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί δή;

Ξένος: παραδείγματος, ὦ μακάριε, αὖ μοι καὶ τὸ παράδειγμα αὐτὸ δεδέηκεν. 277e

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; λέγε μηδὲν ἐμοῦ γε ἕνεκα ἀποκνῶν.

Ξένος: λεκτέον ἐπειδὴ καὶ σύ γε ἕτοιμος ἀκολουθεῖν. τοὺς γάρ που παῖδας ἴσμεν, ὅταν ἄρτι γραμμάτων ἔμπειροι γίγνωνται

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: ὅτι τῶν στοιχείων ἕκαστον ἐν ταῖς βραχυτάταις καὶ ῥᾴσταις τῶν συλλαβῶν ἱκανῶς διαισθάνονται, καὶ τἀληθῆ φράζειν περὶ ἐκεῖνα δυνατοὶ γίγνονται. 278a

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος: ταὐτὰ δέ γε ταῦτα ἐν ἄλλαις ἀμφιγνοοῦντες πάλιν δόξῃ τε ψεύδονται καὶ λόγῳ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ὧδε ῥᾷστον καὶ κάλλιστον ἐπάγειν αὐτοὺς ἐπὶ τὰ μήπω γιγνωσκόμενα;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: ἀνάγειν πρῶτον ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνα ἐν οἷς ταὐτὰ ταῦτα ὀρθῶς ἐδόξαζον, ἀναγαγόντας δὲ τιθέναι παρὰ τὰ μήπω 278b γιγνωσκόμενα, καὶ παραβάλλοντας ἐνδεικνύναι τὴν αὐτὴν ὁμοιότητα καὶ φύσιν ἐν ἀμφοτέραις οὖσαν ταῖς συμπλοκαῖς, μέχριπερ ἂν πᾶσι τοῖς ἀγνοουμένοις τὰ δοξαζόμενα ἀληθῶς παρατιθέμενα δειχθῇ, δειχθέντα δέ, παραδείγματα οὕτω γιγνόμενα, ποιήσῃ τῶν στοιχείων ἕκαστον πάντων ἐν πάσαις ταῖς συλλαβαῖς τὸ μὲν ἕτερον ὡς τῶν ἄλλων ἕτερον ὄν, τὸ 278c δὲ ταὐτὸν ὡς ταὐτὸν ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἑαυτῷ προσαγορεύεσθαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν τοῦτο μὲν ἱκανῶς συνειλήφαμεν, ὅτι παραδείγματός γ᾽ ἐστὶ τότε γένεσις, ὁπόταν ὂν ταὐτὸν ἐν ἑτέρῳ διεσπασμένῳ δοξαζόμενον ὀρθῶς καὶ συναχθὲν περὶ ἑκάτερον ὡς συνάμφω μίαν ἀληθῆ δόξαν ἀποτελῇ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεται.

Ξένος: θαυμάζοιμεν ἂν οὖν εἰ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ 278d φύσει περὶ τὰ τῶν πάντων στοιχεῖα πεπονθυῖα τοτὲ μὲν ὑπ᾽ ἀληθείας περὶ ἓν ἕκαστον ἔν τισι συνίσταται, τοτὲ δὲ περὶ ἅπαντα ἐν ἑτέροις αὖ φέρεται, καὶ τὰ μὲν αὐτῶν ἁμῇ γέ πῃ τῶν συγκράσεων ὀρθῶς δοξάζει, μετατιθέμενα δ᾽ εἰς τὰς τῶν πραγμάτων μακρὰς καὶ μὴ ῥᾳδίους συλλαβὰς ταὐτὰ ταῦτα πάλιν ἀγνοεῖ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ θαυμαστόν γε οὐδέν.

Ξένος: πῶς γάρ, ὦ φίλε, δύναιτο ἄν τις ἀρχόμενος ἀπὸ 278e δόξης ψευδοῦς ἐπί τι τῆς ἀληθείας καὶ μικρὸν μέρος ἀφικόμενος κτήσασθαι φρόνησιν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: σχεδὸν οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ταῦτα εἰ ταύτῃ πέφυκεν, οὐδὲν δὴ πλημμελοῖμεν ἂν ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ πρῶτον μὲν ἐπιχειρήσαντες ὅλου παραδείγματος ἰδεῖν τὴν φύσιν ἐν σμικρῷ κατὰ μέρος ἄλλῳ παραδείγματι, μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα μέλλοντες, ἐπὶ τὸ τοῦ βασιλέως μέγιστον ὂν ταὐτὸν εἶδος ἀπ᾽ ἐλαττόνων φέροντές ποθεν, διὰ παραδείγματος ἐπιχειρεῖν αὖ τὴν τῶν κατὰ πόλιν θεραπείαν τέχνῃ γνωρίζειν, ἵνα ὕπαρ ἀντ᾽ ὀνείρατος ἡμῖν γίγνηται;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν ὀρθῶς. 279a

Ξένος: πάλιν δὴ τὸν ἔμπροσθε λόγον ἀναληπτέον, ὡς ἐπειδὴ τῷ βασιλικῷ γένει τῆς περὶ τὰς πόλεις ἐπιμελείας ἀμφισβητοῦσι μυρίοι, δεῖ δὴ πάντας ἀποχωρίζειν τούτους καὶ μόνον ἐκεῖνον λείπειν καὶ πρὸς τοῦτο δὴ παραδείγματος ἔφαμεν δεῖν τινος ἡμῖν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ μάλα.

Ξένος: τί δῆτα παράδειγμά τις ἄν, ἔχον τὴν αὐτὴν πολιτικῇ πραγματείαν, σμικρότατον παραθέμενος ἱκανῶς ἂν εὕροι τὸ 279b ζητούμενον; βούλει πρὸς Διός, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ μή τι πρόχειρον ἕτερον ἔχομεν, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν τήν γε ὑφαντικὴν προελώμεθα; καὶ ταύτην, εἰ δοκεῖ, μὴ πᾶσαν; ἀποχρήσει γὰρ ἴσως ἡ περὶ τὰ ἐκ τῶν ἐρίων ὑφάσματα: τάχα γὰρ ἂν ἡμῖν καὶ τοῦτο τὸ μέρος αὐτῆς μαρτυρήσειε προαιρεθὲν ὃ βουλόμεθα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος: τί δῆτα οὐ, καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθε τέμνοντες μέρη μερῶν ἕκαστον διῃρούμεθα, καὶ νῦν περὶ ὑφαντικὴν 279c ταὐτὸν τοῦτ᾽ ἐδράσαμεν, καὶ κατὰ δύναμιν ὅτι μάλιστα διὰ βραχέων ταχὺ πάντ᾽ ἐπελθόντες πάλιν ἤλθομεν ἐπὶ τὸ νῦν χρήσιμον;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις;

Ξένος: αὐτὴν τὴν διέξοδον ἀπόκρισίν σοι ποιήσομαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κάλλιστ᾽ εἶπες.

Ξένος: ἔστι τοίνυν πάντα ἡμῖν ὁπόσα δημιουργοῦμεν καὶ κτώμεθα, τὰ μὲν ἕνεκα τοῦ ποιεῖν τι, τὰ δὲ τοῦ μὴ πάσχειν ἀμυντήρια: καὶ τῶν ἀμυντηρίων τὰ μὲν ἀλεξιφάρμακα καὶ 279d θεῖα καὶ ἀνθρώπινα, τὰ δὲ προβλήματα: τῶν δὲ προβλημάτων τὰ μὲν πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον ὁπλίσματα, τὰ δὲ φράγματα: καὶ τῶν φραγμάτων τὰ μὲν παραπετάσματα, τὰ δὲ πρὸς χειμῶνας καὶ καύματα ἀλεξητήρια: τῶν δὲ ἀλεξητηρίων τὰ μὲν στεγάσματα, τὰ δὲ σκεπάσματα: καὶ τῶν σκεπασμάτων ὑποπετάσματα μὲν ἄλλα, περικαλύμματα δὲ ἕτερα: περικαλυμμάτων δὲ τὰ μὲν ὁλόσχιστα, σύνθετα δὲ ἕτερα: τῶν δὲ συνθέτων 279e τὰ μὲν τρητά, τὰ δὲ ἄνευ τρήσεως συνδετά: καὶ τῶν ἀτρήτων τὰ μὲν νεύρινα φυτῶν ἐκ γῆς, τὰ δὲ τρίχινα: τῶν δὲ τριχίνων τὰ μὲν ὕδασι καὶ γῇ κολλητά, τὰ δὲ αὐτὰ αὑτοῖς συνδετά. τούτοισι δὴ τοῖς ἐκ τῶν ἑαυτοῖς συνδουμένων ἐργασθεῖσιν ἀμυντηρίοις καὶ σκεπάσμασι τὸ μὲν ὄνομα ἱμάτια ἐκαλέσαμεν: τὴν δὲ τῶν ἱματίων μάλιστα ἐπιμελουμένην 280a τέχνην, ὥσπερ τότε τὴν τῆς πόλεως πολιτικὴν εἴπομεν, οὕτω καὶ νῦν ταύτην προσείπωμεν ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ τοῦ πράγματος ἱματιουργικήν; φῶμεν δὲ καὶ ὑφαντικήν, ὅσον ἐπὶ τῇ τῶν ἱματίων ἐργασίᾳ μέγιστον ἦν μόριον, μηδὲν διαφέρειν πλὴν ὀνόματι ταύτης τῆς ἱματιουργικῆς, καθάπερ κἀκεῖ τότε τὴν βασιλικὴν τῆς πολιτικῆς;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατά γε.

Ξένος: τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο δὴ συλλογισώμεθα ὅτι τὴν ἱματίων 280b ὑφαντικὴν οὕτω ῥηθεῖσάν τις τάχ᾽ ἂν ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαι δόξειεν, μὴ δυνάμενος συννοεῖν ὅτι τῶν μὲν ἐγγὺς συνεργῶν οὔπω διώρισται, πολλῶν δὲ ἑτέρων συγγενῶν ἀπεμερίσθη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποίων, εἰπέ, συγγενῶν;

Ξένος: οὐχ ἕσπου τοῖς λεχθεῖσιν, ὡς φαίνῃ: πάλιν οὖν ἔοικεν ἐπανιτέον ἀρχόμενον ἀπὸ τελευτῆς. εἰ γὰρ συννοεῖς τὴν οἰκειότητα, τὴν μὲν διετέμομεν ἀπ᾽ αὐτῆς νυνδή, τὴν τῶν στρωμάτων σύνθεσιν περιβολῇ χωρίζοντες καὶ ὑποβολῇ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: μανθάνω. 280c

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν τὴν ἐκ τῶν λίνων καὶ σπάρτων καὶ πάντων ὁπόσα φυτῶν ἄρτι νεῦρα κατὰ λόγον εἴπομεν, δημιουργίαν πᾶσαν ἀφείλομεν: τήν τε αὖ πιλητικὴν ἀφωρισάμεθα καὶ τὴν τρήσει καὶ ῥαφῇ χρωμένην σύνθεσιν, ἧς ἡ πλείστη σκυτοτομική.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: καὶ τοίνυν τὴν τῶν ὁλοσχίστων σκεπασμάτων θεραπείαν δερματουργικὴν καὶ τὰς τῶν στεγασμάτων, ὅσαι τε ἐν οἰκοδομικῇ καὶ ὅλῃ τεκτονικῇ καὶ ἐν ἄλλαις τέχναις ῥευμάτων 280d στεκτικαὶ γίγνονται, συμπάσας ἀφείλομεν, ὅσαι τε περὶ τὰς κλοπὰς καὶ τὰς βίᾳ πράξεις διακωλυτικὰ ἔργα παρέχονται τέχναι φραγμάτων, περί τε γένεσιν ἐπιθηματουργίας οὖσαι καὶ τὰς τῶν θυρωμάτων πήξεις, γομφωτικῆς ἀπονεμηθεῖσαι μόρια τέχνης: τήν τε ὁπλοποιικὴν ἀπετεμόμεθα, μεγάλης καὶ παντοίας τῆς προβληματουργικῆς τμῆμα οὖσαν δυνάμεως: 280e καὶ δὴ καὶ τὴν μαγευτικὴν τὴν περὶ τὰ ἀλεξιφάρμακα κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς εὐθὺς διωρισάμεθα σύμπασαν, καὶ λελοίπαμεν, ὡς δόξαιμεν ἄν, αὐτὴν τὴν ζητηθεῖσαν ἀμυντικὴν χειμώνων, ἐρεοῦ προβλήματος ἐργαστικήν, ὄνομα δὲ ὑφαντικὴν λεχθεῖσαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔοικε γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος: ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἔστι πω τέλεον, ὦ παῖ, τοῦτο λελεγμένον. ὁ γὰρ ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆς τῶν ἱματίων ἐργασίας ἁπτόμενος τοὐναντίον 281a ὑφῇ δρᾶν φαίνεται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: τὸ μὲν τῆς ὑφῆς συμπλοκή τίς ἐστί που.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τὸ δέ γε τῶν συνεστώτων καὶ συμπεπιλημένων διαλυτική.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ξένος: τὸ τῆς τοῦ ξαίνοντος τέχνης ἔργον. ἢ τὴν ξαντικὴν τολμήσομεν ὑφαντικὴν καὶ τὸν ξάντην ὡς ὄντα ὑφάντην καλεῖν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν τήν γε αὖ στήμονος ἐργαστικὴν καὶ κρόκης εἴ τις ὑφαντικὴν προσαγορεύει, παράδοξόν τε καὶ ψεῦδος 281b ὄνομα λέγει.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος: τί δέ; κναφευτικὴν σύμπασαν καὶ τὴν ἀκεστικὴν πότερα μηδεμίαν ἐπιμέλειαν μηδέ τινα θεραπείαν ἐσθῆτος θῶμεν, ἢ καὶ ταύτας πάσας ὡς ὑφαντικὰς λέξομεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος: ἀλλὰ μὴν τῆς γε θεραπείας ἀμφισβητήσουσιν αὗται σύμπασαι καὶ τῆς γενέσεως τῆς τῶν ἱματίων τῇ τῆς ὑφαντικῆς δυνάμει, μέγιστον μὲν μέρος ἐκείνῃ διδοῦσαι, μεγάλα δὲ καὶ σφίσιν αὐταῖς ἀπονέμουσαι. 281c

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε.

Ξένος: πρὸς τοίνυν ταύταις ἔτι τὰς τῶν ἐργαλείων δημιουργοὺς τέχνας, δι᾽ ὧν ἀποτελεῖται τὰ τῆς ὑφῆς ἔργα, δοκεῖν χρὴ τό γε συναιτίας εἶναι προσποιήσασθαι παντὸς ὑφάσματος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος: πότερον οὖν ἡμῖν ὁ περὶ τῆς ὑφαντικῆς λόγος, οὗ προειλόμεθα μέρους, ἱκανῶς ἔσται διωρισμένος, ἐὰν ἄρ᾽ αὐτὴν τῶν ἐπιμελειῶν ὁπόσαι περὶ τὴν ἐρεᾶν ἐσθῆτα, εἰς τὴν 281d καλλίστην καὶ μεγίστην πασῶν τιθῶμεν: ἢ λέγοιμεν μὲν ἄν τι ἀληθές, οὐ μὴν σαφές γε οὐδὲ τέλεον, πρὶν ἂν καὶ ταύτας αὐτῆς πάσας περιέλωμεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν μετὰ ταῦτα ποιητέον ὃ λέγομεν, ἵν᾽ ἐφεξῆς ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος ἴῃ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν δύο τέχνας οὔσας περὶ πάντα τὰ δρώμενα θεασώμεθα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τίνας;

Ξένος: τὴν μὲν γενέσεως οὖσαν συναίτιον, τὴν δ᾽ αὐτὴν αἰτίαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς; 281e

Ξένος: ὅσαι μὲν τὸ πρᾶγμα αὐτὸ μὴ δημιουργοῦσι, ταῖς δὲ δημιουργούσαις ὄργανα παρασκευάζουσιν, ὧν μὴ παραγενομένων οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐργασθείη τὸ προστεταγμένον ἑκάστῃ τῶν τεχνῶν, ταύτας μὲν συναιτίους, τὰς δὲ αὐτὸ τὸ πρᾶγμα ἀπεργαζομένας αἰτίας.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔχει γοῦν λόγον.

Ξένος: μετὰ τοῦτο δὴ τὰς μὲν περί τε ἀτράκτους καὶ κερκίδας καὶ ὁπόσα ἄλλα ὄργανα τῆς περὶ τὰ ἀμφιέσματα γενέσεως κοινωνεῖ, πάσας συναιτίους εἴπωμεν, τὰς δὲ αὐτὰ θεραπευούσας καὶ δημιουργούσας αἰτίας;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα. 282a

Ξένος: τῶν αἰτιῶν δὴ πλυντικὴν μὲν καὶ ἀκεστικὴν καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν περὶ ταῦτα θεραπευτικήν, πολλῆς οὔσης τῆς κοσμητικῆς, τοὐνταῦθα αὐτῆς μόριον εἰκὸς μάλιστα περιλαμβάνειν ὀνομάζοντας πᾶν τῇ τέχνῃ τῇ κναφευτικῇ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν ξαντική γε καὶ νηστικὴ καὶ πάντα αὖ τὰ περὶ τὴν ποίησιν αὐτὴν τῆς ἐσθῆτος ἧς λέγομεν μέρη, μία τίς ἐστι τέχνη τῶν ὑπὸ πάντων λεγομένων, ἡ ταλασιουργική.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; 282b

Ξένος: τῆς δὴ ταλασιουργικῆς δύο τμήματά ἐστον, καὶ τούτοιν ἑκάτερον ἅμα δυοῖν πεφύκατον τέχναιν μέρη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: τὸ μὲν ξαντικὸν καὶ τὸ τῆς κερκιστικῆς ἥμισυ καὶ ὅσα τὰ συγκείμενα ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἀφίστησι, πᾶν τοῦτο ὡς ἓν φράζειν τῆς τε ταλασιουργίας αὐτῆς ἐστί που, καὶ μεγάλα τινὲ κατὰ πάντα ἡμῖν ἤστην τέχνα, ἡ συγκριτική τε καὶ διακριτική.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τῆς τοίνυν διακριτικῆς ἥ τε ξαντικὴ καὶ τὰ νυνδὴ 282c ῥηθέντα ἅπαντά ἐστιν: ἡ γὰρ ἐν ἐρίοις τε καὶ στήμοσι διακριτική, κερκίδι μὲν ἄλλον τρόπον γιγνομένη, χερσὶ δὲ ἕτερον, ἔσχεν ὅσα ἀρτίως ὀνόματα ἐρρήθη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: αὖθις δὴ πάλιν συγκριτικῆς μόριον ἅμα καὶ ταλασιουργίας ἐν αὐτῇ γιγνόμενον λάβωμεν: ὅσα δὲ τῆς διακριτικῆς ἦν αὐτόθι, μεθιῶμεν σύμπαντα, δίχα τέμνοντες τὴν ταλασιουργίαν διακριτικῷ τε καὶ συγκριτικῷ τμήματι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: διῃρήσθω.

Ξένος: τὸ συγκριτικὸν τοίνυν αὖ σοι καὶ ταλασιουργικὸν 282d ἅμα μόριον, ὦ Σώκρατες, διαιρετέον, εἴπερ ἱκανῶς μέλλομεν τὴν προρρηθεῖσαν ὑφαντικὴν αἱρήσειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν χρή.

Ξένος: χρὴ μὲν οὖν: καὶ λέγωμέν γε αὐτῆς τὸ μὲν εἶναι στρεπτικόν, τὸ δὲ συμπλεκτικόν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν μανθάνω; δοκεῖς γάρ μοι τὸ περὶ τὴν τοῦ στήμονος ἐργασίαν λέγειν στρεπτικόν.

Ξένος: οὐ μόνον γε, ἀλλὰ καὶ κρόκης: ἢ γένεσιν ἄστροφόν τινα αὐτῆς εὑρήσομεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς. 282e

Ξένος: διόρισαι δὴ καὶ τούτοιν ἑκάτερον: ἴσως γὰρ ὁ διορισμὸς ἔγκαιρος ἄν σοι γένοιτο.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῇ;

Ξένος: τῇδε: τῶν περὶ ξαντικὴν ἔργων μηκυνθέν τε καὶ σχὸν πλάτος λέγομεν εἶναι κάταγμά τι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τούτου δὴ τὸ μὲν ἀτράκτῳ τε στραφὲν καὶ στερεὸν νῆμα γενόμενον στήμονα μὲν φάθι τὸ νῆμα, τὴν δὲ ἀπευθύνουσαν αὐτὸ τέχνην εἶναι στημονονητικήν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: ὅσα δέ γε αὖ τὴν μὲν συστροφὴν χαύνην λαμβάνει, τῇ δὲ τοῦ στήμονος ἐμπλέξει πρὸς τὴν τῆς γνάψεως ὁλκὴν ἐμμέτρως τὴν μαλακότητα ἴσχει, ταῦτ᾽ ἄρα κρόκην μὲν τὰ νηθέντα, τὴν δὲ ἐπιτεταγμένην αὐτοῖς εἶναι τέχνην τὴν 283a κροκονητικὴν φῶμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν τό γε τῆς ὑφαντικῆς μέρος ὃ προυθέμεθα, παντί που δῆλον ἤδη. τὸ γὰρ συγκριτικῆς τῆς ἐν ταλασιουργίᾳ μόριον ὅταν εὐθυπλοκίᾳ κρόκης καὶ στήμονος ἀπεργάζηται πλέγμα, τὸ μὲν πλεχθὲν σύμπαν ἐσθῆτα ἐρεᾶν, τὴν δ᾽ ἐπὶ τούτῳ τέχνην οὖσαν προσαγορεύομεν ὑφαντικήν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα. 283b

Ξένος: εἶεν: τί δή ποτε οὖν οὐκ εὐθὺς ἀπεκρινάμεθα πλεκτικὴν εἶναι κρόκης καὶ στήμονος ὑφαντικήν, ἀλλὰ περιήλθομεν ἐν κύκλῳ πάμπολλα διοριζόμενοι μάτην;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὔκουν ἔμοιγε, ὦ ξένε, μάτην οὐδὲν τῶν ῥηθέντων ἔδοξε ῥηθῆναι.

Ξένος: καὶ θαυμαστόν γε οὐδέν: ἀλλὰ τάχ᾽ ἄν, ὦ μακάριε, δόξειε. πρὸς δὴ τὸ νόσημα τὸ τοιοῦτον, ἂν ἄρα πολλάκις ὕστερον ἐπίῃθαυμαστὸν γὰρ οὐδένλόγον ἄκουσόν τινα 283c προσήκοντα περὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων ῥηθῆναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγε μόνον.

Ξένος: πρῶτον τοίνυν ἴδωμεν πᾶσαν τήν τε ὑπερβολὴν καὶ τὴν ἔλλειψιν, ἵνα κατὰ λόγον ἐπαινῶμεν καὶ ψέγωμεν τὰ μακρότερα τοῦ δέοντος ἑκάστοτε λεγόμενα καὶ τἀναντία περὶ τὰς τοιάσδε διατριβάς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν χρή.

Ξένος: περὶ δὴ τούτων αὐτῶν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν οἶμαι γιγνόμενος ὀρθῶς ἂν γίγνοιτο.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τίνων;

Ξένος: μήκους τε πέρι καὶ βραχύτητος καὶ πάσης ὑπεροχῆς 283d τε καὶ ἐλλείψεως: ἡ γάρ που μετρητικὴ περὶ πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ ταῦτα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: διέλωμεν τοίνυν αὐτὴν δύο μέρη: δεῖ γὰρ δὴ πρὸς ὃ νῦν σπεύδομεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγοις ἂν τὴν διαίρεσιν ὅπῃ.

Ξένος: τῇδε: τὸ μὲν κατὰ τὴν πρὸς ἄλληλα μεγέθους καὶ σμικρότητος κοινωνίαν, τὸ δὲ [τὸ] κατὰ τὴν τῆς γενέσεως ἀναγκαίαν οὐσίαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις;

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὐ κατὰ φύσιν δοκεῖ σοι τὸ μεῖζον μηδενὸς ἑτέρου δεῖν μεῖζον λέγειν ἢ τοῦ ἐλάττονος, καὶ τοὔλαττον αὖ 283e τοῦ μείζονος ἔλαττον, ἄλλου δὲ μηδενός;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔμοιγε.

Ξένος: τί δέ; τὸ τὴν τοῦ μετρίου φύσιν ὑπερβάλλον καὶ ὑπερβαλλόμενον ὑπ᾽ αὐτῆς ἐν λόγοις εἴτε καὶ ἐν ἔργοις ἆρ᾽ οὐκ αὖ λέξομεν ὡς ὄντως γιγνόμενον, ἐν ᾧ καὶ διαφέρουσι μάλιστα ἡμῶν οἵ τε κακοὶ καὶ [οἱ] ἀγαθοί;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεται.

Ξένος: διττὰς ἄρα ταύτας οὐσίας καὶ κρίσεις τοῦ μεγάλου καὶ τοῦ σμικροῦ θετέον, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὡς ἔφαμεν ἄρτι πρὸς ἄλληλα μόνον δεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ νῦν εἴρηται μᾶλλον τὴν μὲν πρὸς ἄλληλα λεκτέον, τὴν δ᾽ αὖ πρὸς τὸ μέτριον: οὗ δὲ ἕνεκα, μαθεῖν ἆρ᾽ ἂν βουλοίμεθα;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν; 284a

Ξένος: εἰ πρὸς μηδὲν ἕτερον τὴν τοῦ μείζονος ἐάσει τις φύσιν ἢ πρὸς τοὔλαττον, οὐκ ἔσται ποτὲ πρὸς τὸ μέτριον: ἦ γάρ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὕτως.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν τὰς τέχνας τε αὐτὰς καὶ τἆργα αὐτῶν σύμπαντα διολοῦμεν τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὴν ζητουμένην νῦν πολιτικὴν καὶ τὴν ῥηθεῖσαν ὑφαντικὴν ἀφανιοῦμεν; ἅπασαι γὰρ αἱ τοιαῦταί που τὸ τοῦ μετρίου πλέον καὶ ἔλαττον οὐχ ὡς οὐκ ὂν ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ὂν χαλεπὸν περὶ τὰς πράξεις 284b παραφυλάττουσι, καὶ τούτῳ δὴ τῷ τρόπῳ τὸ μέτρον σῴζουσαι πάντα ἀγαθὰ καὶ καλὰ ἀπεργάζονται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ἂν τὴν πολιτικὴν ἀφανίσωμεν, ἄπορος ἡμῖν ἡ μετὰ τοῦτο ἔσται ζήτησις τῆς βασιλικῆς ἐπιστήμης;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ μάλα.

Ξένος: πότερον οὖν, καθάπερ ἐν τῷ σοφιστῇ προσηναγκάσαμεν εἶναι τὸ μὴ ὄν, ἐπειδὴ κατὰ τοῦτο διέφυγεν ἡμᾶς ὁ λόγος, οὕτω καὶ νῦν τὸ πλέον αὖ καὶ ἔλαττον μετρητὰ προσαναγκαστέον γίγνεσθαι μὴ πρὸς ἄλληλα μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ 284c πρὸς τὴν τοῦ μετρίου γένεσιν; οὐ γὰρ δὴ δυνατόν γε οὔτε πολιτικὸν οὔτ᾽ ἄλλον τινὰ τῶν περὶ τὰς πράξεις ἐπιστήμονα ἀναμφισβητήτως γεγονέναι τούτου μὴ συνομολογηθέντος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ νῦν ὅτι μάλιστα χρὴ ταὐτὸν ποιεῖν.

Ξένος: πλέον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔτι τοῦτο τὸ ἔργον ἢ ‘κεῖνο καίτοι κἀκείνου γε μεμνήμεθα τὸ μῆκος ὅσον ἦνἀλλ᾽ ὑποτίθεσθαι μὲν τὸ τοιόνδε περὶ αὐτῶν καὶ μάλα δίκαιον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον; 284d

Ξένος: ὥς ποτε δεήσει τοῦ νῦν λεχθέντος πρὸς τὴν περὶ αὐτὸ τἀκριβὲς ἀπόδειξιν. ὅτι δὲ πρὸς τὰ νῦν καλῶς καὶ ἱκανῶς δείκνυται, δοκεῖ μοι βοηθεῖν μεγαλοπρεπῶς ἡμῖν οὗτος ὁ λόγος, ὡς ἄρα ἡγητέον ὁμοίως τὰς τέχνας πάσας εἶναι, μεῖζόν τε ἅμα καὶ ἔλαττον μετρεῖσθαι μὴ πρὸς ἄλληλα μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς τὴν τοῦ μετρίου γένεσιν. τούτου τε γὰρ ὄντος ἐκεῖνα ἔστι, κἀκείνων οὐσῶν ἔστι καὶ τοῦτο, μὴ δὲ ὄντος ποτέρου τούτων οὐδέτερον αὐτῶν ἔσται ποτέ. 284e

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τοῦτο μὲν ὀρθῶς: ἀλλὰ τί δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο;

Ξένος: δῆλον ὅτι διαιροῖμεν ἂν τὴν μετρητικήν, καθάπερ ἐρρήθη, ταύτῃ δίχα τέμνοντες, ἓν μὲν τιθέντες αὐτῆς μόριον συμπάσας τέχνας ὁπόσαι τὸν ἀριθμὸν καὶ μήκη καὶ βάθη καὶ πλάτη καὶ ταχυτῆτας πρὸς τοὐναντίον μετροῦσιν, τὸ δὲ ἕτερον, ὁπόσαι πρὸς τὸ μέτριον καὶ τὸ πρέπον καὶ τὸν καιρὸν καὶ τὸ δέον καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα εἰς τὸ μέσον ἀπῳκίσθη τῶν ἐσχάτων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ μέγα γε ἑκάτερον τμῆμα εἶπες, καὶ πολὺ διαφέρον ἀλλήλοιν.

Ξένος: ὃ γὰρ ἐνίοτε, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἰόμενοι δή τι σοφὸν 285a φράζειν πολλοὶ τῶν κομψῶν λέγουσιν, ὡς ἄρα μετρητικὴ περὶ πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ τὰ γιγνόμενα, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ νῦν λεχθὲν ὂν τυγχάνει. μετρήσεως μὲν γὰρ δή τινα τρόπον πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα ἔντεχνα μετείληφεν: διὰ δὲ τὸ μὴ κατ᾽ εἴδη συνειθίσθαι σκοπεῖν διαιρουμένους ταῦτά τε τοσοῦτον διαφέροντα συμβάλλουσιν εὐθὺς εἰς ταὐτὸν ὅμοια νομίσαντες, καὶ τοὐναντίον αὖ τούτου δρῶσιν ἕτερα οὐ κατὰ μέρη διαιροῦντες, δέον, ὅταν 285b μὲν τὴν τῶν πολλῶν τις πρότερον αἴσθηται κοινωνίαν, μὴ προαφίστασθαι πρὶν ἂν ἐν αὐτῇ τὰς διαφορὰς ἴδῃ πάσας ὁπόσαιπερ ἐν εἴδεσι κεῖνται, τὰς δὲ αὖ παντοδαπὰς ἀνομοιότητας, ὅταν ἐν πλήθεσιν ὀφθῶσιν, μὴ δυνατὸν εἶναι δυσωπούμενον παύεσθαι πρὶν ἂν σύμπαντα τὰ οἰκεῖα ἐντὸς μιᾶς ὁμοιότητος ἕρξας γένους τινὸς οὐσίᾳ περιβάληται. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν ἱκανῶς περί τε τούτων καὶ περὶ τῶν ἐλλείψεων καὶ ὑπερβολῶν εἰρήσθω: φυλάττωμεν δὲ μόνον ὅτι δύο γένη 285c περὶ αὐτὰ ἐξηύρηται τῆς μετρητικῆς, καὶ ἅ φαμεν αὔτ᾽ εἶναι μεμνώμεθα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: μεμνησόμεθα.

Ξένος: μετὰ τοῦτον δὴ τὸν λόγον ἕτερον προσδεξώμεθα περὶ αὐτῶν τε τῶν ζητουμένων καὶ περὶ πάσης τῆς ἐν τοῖς τοιοῖσδε λόγοις διατριβῆς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: εἴ τις ἀνέροιτο ἡμᾶς τὴν περὶ γράμματα συνουσίαν τῶν μανθανόντων, ὁπόταν τις ὁτιοῦν ὄνομα ἐρωτηθῇ τίνων ἐστὶ γραμμάτων, πότερον αὐτῷ τότε φῶμεν γίγνεσθαι τὴν 285d ζήτησιν ἑνὸς ἕνεκα μᾶλλον τοῦ προβληθέντος ἢ τοῦ περὶ πάντα τὰ προβαλλόμενα γραμματικωτέρῳ γίγνεσθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δῆλον ὅτι τοῦ περὶ ἅπαντα.

Ξένος: τί δ᾽ αὖ νῦν ἡμῖν ἡ περὶ τοῦ πολιτικοῦ ζήτησις; ἕνεκα αὐτοῦ τούτου προβέβληται μᾶλλον ἢ τοῦ περὶ πάντα διαλεκτικωτέροις γίγνεσθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ τοῦτο δῆλον ὅτι τοῦ περὶ πάντα.

Ξένος: ἦ που τὸν τῆς ὑφαντικῆς γε λόγον αὐτῆς ταύτης ἕνεκα θηρεύειν οὐδεὶς ἂν ἐθελήσειεν νοῦν ἔχων: ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι τοὺς πλείστους λέληθεν ὅτι τοῖς μὲν τῶν ὄντων ῥᾳδίως 285e καταμαθεῖν αἰσθηταί τινες ὁμοιότητες πεφύκασιν, ἃς οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν δηλοῦν, ὅταν αὐτῶν τις βουληθῇ τῷ λόγον αἰτοῦντι περί του μὴ μετὰ πραγμάτων ἀλλὰ χωρὶς λόγου ῥᾳδίως ἐνδείξασθαι: τοῖς δ᾽ αὖ μεγίστοις οὖσι καὶ τιμιωτάτοις 286a οὐκ ἔστιν εἴδωλον οὐδὲν πρὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους εἰργασμένον ἐναργῶς, οὗ δειχθέντος τὴν τοῦ πυνθανομένου ψυχὴν ὁ βουλόμενος ἀποπληρῶσαι, πρὸς τῶν αἰσθήσεών τινα προσαρμόττων, ἱκανῶς πληρώσει. διὸ δεῖ μελετᾶν λόγον ἑκάστου δυνατὸν εἶναι δοῦναι καὶ δέξασθαι: τὰ γὰρ ἀσώματα, κάλλιστα ὄντα καὶ μέγιστα, λόγῳ μόνον ἄλλῳ δὲ οὐδενὶ σαφῶς δείκνυται, τούτων δὲ ἕνεκα πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα. ῥᾴων 286b δ᾽ ἐν τοῖς ἐλάττοσιν ἡ μελέτη παντὸς πέρι μᾶλλον ἢ περὶ τὰ μείζω.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κάλλιστ᾽ εἶπες.

Ξένος: ὧν τοίνυν χάριν ἅπανθ᾽ ἡμῖν ταῦτ᾽ ἐρρήθη περὶ τούτων, μνησθῶμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τίνων;

Ξένος: ταύτης τε οὐχ ἥκιστα αὐτῆς ἕνεκα τῆς δυσχερείας ἣν περὶ τὴν μακρολογίαν τὴν περὶ τὴν ὑφαντικὴν ἀπεδεξάμεθα δυσχερῶς, καὶ τὴν περὶ τὴν τοῦ παντὸς ἀνείλιξιν καὶ τὴν τοῦ σοφιστοῦ πέρι τῆς τοῦ μὴ ὄντος οὐσίας, ἐννοοῦντες ὡς ἔσχε μῆκος πλέον, καὶ ἐπὶ τούτοις δὴ πᾶσιν ἐπεπλήξαμεν 286c ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς, δείσαντες μὴ περίεργα ἅμα καὶ μακρὰ λέγοιμεν. ἵν᾽ οὖν εἰς αὖθις μηδὲν πάσχωμεν τοιοῦτον, τούτων ἕνεκα πάντων τὰ πρόσθε νῷν εἰρῆσθαι φάθι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ταῦτ᾽ ἔσται. λέγε ἑξῆς μόνον.

Ξένος: λέγω τοίνυν ὅτι χρὴ δὴ μεμνημένους ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ τῶν νῦν εἰρημένων τόν τε ψόγον ἑκάστοτε καὶ ἔπαινον ποιεῖσθαι βραχύτητος ἅμα καὶ μήκους ὧν ἂν ἀεὶ πέρι λέγωμεν, μὴ πρὸς ἄλληλα τὰ μήκη κρίνοντες ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὸ 286d τῆς μετρητικῆς μέρος ὃ τότε ἔφαμεν δεῖν μεμνῆσθαι, πρὸς τὸ πρέπον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: οὐ τοίνυν οὐδὲ πρὸς τοῦτο πάντα. οὔτε γὰρ πρὸς τὴν ἡδονὴν μήκους ἁρμόττοντος οὐδὲν προσδεησόμεθα, πλὴν εἰ πάρεργόν τι: τό τε αὖ πρὸς τὴν τοῦ προβληθέντος ζήτησιν, ὡς ἂν ῥᾷστα καὶ τάχιστα εὕροιμεν, δεύτερον ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πρῶτον ὁ λόγος ἀγαπᾶν παραγγέλλει, πολὺ δὲ μάλιστα καὶ πρῶτον τὴν μέθοδον αὐτὴν τιμᾶν τοῦ κατ᾽ εἴδη δυνατὸν εἶναι διαιρεῖν, 286e καὶ δὴ καὶ λόγον, ἄντε παμμήκης λεχθεὶς τὸν ἀκούσαντα εὑρετικώτερον ἀπεργάζηται, τοῦτον σπουδάζειν καὶ τῷ μήκει μηδὲν ἀγανακτεῖν, ἄντ᾽ αὖ βραχύτερος, ὡσαύτως: ἔτι δ᾽ αὖ πρὸς τούτοις τὸν περὶ τὰς τοιάσδε συνουσίας ψέγοντα λόγων μήκη καὶ τὰς ἐν κύκλῳ περιόδους οὐκ ἀποδεχόμενον, ὅτι χρὴ τὸν τοιοῦτον μὴ [πάνυ] ταχὺ μηδ᾽ εὐθὺς οὕτω μεθιέναι ψέξαντα 287a μόνον ὡς μακρὰ τὰ λεχθέντα, ἀλλὰ καὶ προσαποφαίνειν οἴεσθαι δεῖν ὡς βραχύτερα ἂν γενόμενα τοὺς συνόντας ἀπηργάζετο διαλεκτικωτέρους καὶ τῆς τῶν ὄντων λόγῳ δηλώσεως εὑρετικωτέρους, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων καὶ πρὸς ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα ψόγων καὶ ἐπαίνων μηδὲν φροντίζειν μηδὲ τὸ παράπαν ἀκούειν δοκεῖν τῶν τοιούτων λόγων. καὶ τούτων μὲν ἅλις, εἰ καὶ σοὶ ταύτῃ συνδοκεῖ: πρὸς δὲ δὴ τὸν πολιτικὸν 287b ἴωμεν πάλιν, τῆς προρρηθείσης ὑφαντικῆς αὐτῷ φέροντες τὸ παράδειγμα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς εἶπες, καὶ ποιῶμεν ἃ λέγεις.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ἀπό γε τῶν πολλῶν ὁ βασιλεὺς ὅσαι σύννομοι, μᾶλλον δὲ ἀπὸ πασῶν τῶν περὶ τὰς ἀγέλας διακεχώρισται: λοιπαὶ δέ, φαμέν, αἱ κατὰ πόλιν αὐτὴν τῶν τε συναιτίων καὶ τῶν αἰτίων, ἃς πρώτας ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων διαιρετέον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: οἶσθ᾽ οὖν ὅτι χαλεπὸν αὐτὰς τεμεῖν δίχα; τὸ δ᾽ 287c αἴτιον, ὡς οἶμαι, προϊοῦσιν οὐχ ἧττον ἔσται καταφανές.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν χρὴ δρᾶν οὕτως.

Ξένος: κατὰ μέλη τοίνυν αὐτὰς οἷον ἱερεῖον διαιρώμεθα, ἐπειδὴ δίχα ἀδυνατοῦμεν. δεῖ γὰρ εἰς τὸν ἐγγύτατα ὅτι μάλιστα τέμνειν ἀριθμὸν ἀεί.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς οὖν ποιῶμεν τὰ νῦν;

Ξένος: ὥσπερ ἔμπροσθεν, ὁπόσαι παρείχοντο ὄργανα περὶ τὴν ὑφαντικήν, πάσας δήπου τότε ἐτίθεμεν ὡς συναιτίους.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: καὶ νῦν δὴ ταὐτὸν μὲν τοῦτο, ἔτι δὲ μᾶλλον ἢ τόθ᾽ 287d ἡμῖν ποιητέον. ὅσαι γὰρ σμικρὸν ἢ μέγα τι δημιουργοῦσι κατὰ πόλιν ὄργανον, θετέον ἁπάσας ταύτας ὡς οὔσας συναιτίους. ἄνευ γὰρ τούτων οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο πόλις οὐδὲ πολιτική, τούτων δ᾽ αὖ βασιλικῆς ἔργον τέχνης οὐδέν που θήσομεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐ γάρ.

Ξένος: καὶ μὲν δὴ χαλεπὸν ἐπιχειροῦμεν δρᾶν ἀποχωρίζοντες τοῦτο ἀπὸ τῶν ἄλλων τὸ γένος: ὅτι γὰρ οὖν τῶν ὄντων ἔστιν ὡς ἑνός γέ τινος ὄργανον εἰπόντα δοκεῖν εἰρηκέναι 287e τι πιθανόν. ὅμως δὲ ἕτερον αὖ τῶν ἐν πόλει κτημάτων εἴπωμεν τόδε.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: ὡς οὐκ ἔστι ταύτην τὴν δύναμιν ἔχον. οὐ γὰρ ἐπὶ γενέσεως αἰτίᾳ πήγνυται, καθάπερ ὄργανον, ἀλλ᾽ ἕνεκα τοῦ δημιουργηθέντος σωτηρίας.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: τοῦτο ὃ δὴ ξηροῖς καὶ ὑγροῖς καὶ ἐμπύροις καὶ ἀπύροις παντοδαπὸν εἶδος ἐργασθὲν ἀγγεῖον [ὃ δὴ] μιᾷ κλήσει προσφθεγγόμεθα, καὶ μάλα γε συχνὸν εἶδος καὶ τῇ ζητουμένῃ 288a γε, ὡς οἶμαι, προσῆκον οὐδὲν ἀτεχνῶς ἐπιστήμῃ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος: τούτων δὴ τρίτον ἕτερον εἶδος κτημάτων πάμπολυ κατοπτέον πεζὸν καὶ ἔνυδρον καὶ πολυπλανὲς καὶ ἀπλανὲς καὶ τίμιον καὶ ἄτιμον, ἓν δὲ ὄνομα ἔχον, διότι πᾶν ἕνεκά τινος ἐφέδρας ἐστί, θᾶκος ἀεί τινι γιγνόμενον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: ὄχημα αὐτό που λέγομεν, οὐ πάνυ πολιτικῆς ἔργον, ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον πολὺ τεκτονικῆς καὶ κεραμικῆς καὶ χαλκοτυπικῆς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: μανθάνω. 288b

Ξένος: τί δὲ τέταρτον; ἆρ᾽ ἕτερον εἶναι τούτων λεκτέον, ἐν ᾧ τὰ πλεῖστά ἐστι τῶν πάλαι ῥηθέντων, ἐσθής τε σύμπασα καὶ τῶν ὅπλων τὸ πολὺ καὶ τείχη πάντα θ᾽ ὅσα γήινα περιβλήματα καὶ λίθινα, καὶ μυρία ἕτερα; προβολῆς δὲ ἕνεκα συμπάντων αὐτῶν εἰργασμένων δικαιότατ᾽ ἂν ὅλον προσαγορεύοιτο πρόβλημα, καὶ πολλῷ μᾶλλον τέχνης οἰκοδομικῆς ἔργον καὶ ὑφαντικῆς τὸ πλεῖστον νομίζοιτ᾽ ἂν ὀρθότερον ἢ πολιτικῆς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν. 288c

Ξένος: πέμπτον δὲ ἆρ᾽ ἂν ἐθέλοιμεν τὸ περὶ τὸν κόσμον καὶ γραφικὴν θεῖναι καὶ ὅσα ταύτῃ προσχρώμενα καὶ μουσικῇ μιμήματα τελεῖται, πρὸς τὰς ἡδονὰς μόνον ἡμῶν ἀπειργασμένα, δικαίως δ᾽ ἂν ὀνόματι περιληφθέντα ἑνί;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποίῳ;

Ξένος: παίγνιόν πού τι λέγεται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: τοῦτο τοίνυν τούτοις ἓν ὄνομα ἅπασι πρέψει προσαγορευθέν: οὐ γὰρ σπουδῆς οὐδὲν αὐτῶν χάριν, ἀλλὰ παιδιᾶς ἕνεκα πάντα δρᾶται. 288d

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ τοῦτο σχεδόν τι μανθάνω.

Ξένος: τὸ δὲ πᾶσιν τούτοις σώματα παρέχον, ἐξ ὧν καὶ ἐν οἷς δημιουργοῦσιν ὁπόσαι τῶν τεχνῶν νῦν εἴρηνται, παντοδαπὸν εἶδος πολλῶν ἑτέρων τεχνῶν ἔκγονον ὄν, ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ἕκτον θήσομεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Ξένος: χρυσόν τε καὶ ἄργυρον καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα μεταλλεύεται καὶ ὅσα δρυοτομικὴ καὶ κουρὰ σύμπασα τέμνουσα παρέχει τεκτονικῇ καὶ πλεκτικῇ: καὶ ἔτι φλοιστικὴ φυτῶν 288e τε καὶ ἐμψύχων δέρματα σωμάτων περιαιροῦσα σκυτοτομική, καὶ ὅσαι περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτά εἰσιν τέχναι, καὶ φελλῶν καὶ βύβλων καὶ δεσμῶν ἐργαστικαὶ παρέσχον δημιουργεῖν σύνθετα ἐκ μὴ συντιθεμένων εἴδη γενῶν. ἓν δὲ αὐτὸ προσαγορεύομεν πᾶν τὸ πρωτογενὲς ἀνθρώποις κτῆμα καὶ ἀσύνθετον καὶ βασιλικῆς ἐπιστήμης οὐδαμῶς ἔργον ὄν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς.

Ξένος: τὴν δὴ τῆς τροφῆς κτῆσιν, καὶ ὅσα εἰς τὸ σῶμα συγκαταμειγνύμενα ἑαυτῶν μέρεσι μέρη σώματος εἰς τὸ 289a θεραπεῦσαί τινα δύναμιν εἴληχε, λεκτέον ἕβδομον ὀνομάσαντας αὐτὸ σύμπαν ἡμῶν εἶναι τροφόν, εἰ μή τι κάλλιον ἔχομεν ἄλλο θέσθαι: γεωργικῇ δὲ καὶ θηρευτικῇ καὶ γυμναστικῇ καὶ ἰατρικῇ καὶ μαγειρικῇ πᾶν ὑποτιθέντες ὀρθότερον ἀποδώσομεν ἢ τῇ πολιτικῇ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος: σχεδὸν τοίνυν ὅσα ἔχεται κτήσεως, πλὴν τῶν ἡμέρων ζῴων, ἐν τούτοις ἑπτὰ οἶμαι γένεσιν εἰρῆσθαι. σκόπει δέ: ἦν γὰρ δικαιότατα μὲν ἂν τεθὲν κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς τὸ 289b πρωτογενὲς εἶδος, μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο ὄργανον, ἀγγεῖον, ὄχημα, πρόβλημα, παίγνιον, θρέμμα. <ἃ> παραλείπομεν δέ, εἴ τι μὴ μέγα λέληθεν, εἴς τι τούτων δυνατὸν ἁρμόττειν, οἷον ἡ τοῦ νομίσματος ἰδέα καὶ σφραγίδων καὶ παντὸς χαρακτῆρος. γένος τε γὰρ ἐν αὑτοῖς ταῦτα οὐδὲν ἔχει μέγα σύννομον, ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν εἰς κόσμον, τὰ δὲ εἰς ὄργανα βίᾳ μέν, ὅμως δὲ πάντως ἑλκόμενα συμφωνήσει. τὰ δὲ περὶ ζῴων κτῆσιν τῶν ἡμέρων, πλὴν δούλων, ἡ 289c πρότερον ἀγελαιοτροφικὴ διαμερισθεῖσα πάντ᾽ εἰληφυῖα ἀναφανεῖται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: τὸ δὲ δὴ δούλων καὶ πάντων ὑπηρετῶν λοιπόν, ἐν οἷς που καὶ μαντεύομαι τοὺς περὶ αὐτὸ τὸ πλέγμα ἀμφισβητοῦντας τῷ βασιλεῖ καταφανεῖς γενήσεσθαι, καθάπερ τοῖς ὑφάνταις τότε τοὺς περὶ τὸ νήθειν τε καὶ ξαίνειν καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα εἴπομεν. οἱ δὲ ἄλλοι πάντες, ὡς συναίτιοι λεχθέντες, ἅμα τοῖς ἔργοις τοῖς νυνδὴ ῥηθεῖσιν ἀνήλωνται καὶ ἀπεχωρίσθησαν 289d ἀπὸ βασιλικῆς τε καὶ πολιτικῆς πράξεως.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἐοίκασι γοῦν.

Ξένος: ἴθι δὴ σκεψώμεθα τοὺς λοιποὺς προσελθόντες ἐγγύθεν, ἵνα αὐτοὺς εἰδῶμεν βεβαιότερον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν χρή.

Ξένος: τοὺς μὲν δὴ μεγίστους ὑπηρέτας, ὡς ἐνθένδε ἰδεῖν, τοὐναντίον ἔχοντας εὑρίσκομεν οἷς ὑπωπτεύσαμεν ἐπιτήδευμα καὶ πάθος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τίνας;

Ξένος: τοὺς ὠνητούς τε καὶ τῷ τρόπῳ τούτῳ κτητούς: οὓς 289e ἀναμφισβητήτως δούλους ἔχομεν εἰπεῖν; ἥκιστα βασιλικῆς μεταποιουμένους τέχνης.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: τί δέ; τῶν ἐλευθέρων ὅσοι τοῖς νυνδὴ ῥηθεῖσιν εἰς ὑπηρετικὴν ἑκόντες αὑτοὺς τάττουσι, τά τε γεωργίας καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν ἔργα διακομίζοντες ἐπ᾽ ἀλλήλους καὶ ἀνισοῦντες, οἱ μὲν κατ᾽ ἀγοράς, οἱ δὲ πόλιν ἐκ πόλεως ἀλλάττοντες κατὰ θάλατταν καὶ πεζῇ, νόμισμά τε πρὸς τὰ ἄλλα καὶ αὐτὸ πρὸς αὑτὸ διαμείβοντες, οὓς ἀργυραμοιβούς τε 290a καὶ ἐμπόρους καὶ ναυκλήρους καὶ καπήλους ἐπωνομάκαμεν, μῶν τῆς πολιτικῆς ἀμφισβητήσουσί τι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως τῆς γε τῶν ἐμπορευτικῶν.

Ξένος: ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μὴν οὕς γε ὁρῶμεν μισθωτοὺς καὶ θῆτας πᾶσιν ἑτοιμότατα ὑπηρετοῦντας, μή ποτε βασιλικῆς μεταποιουμένους εὕρωμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γάρ;

Ξένος: τί δὲ ἄρα τοὺς τὰ τοιάδε διακονοῦντας ἡμῖν ἑκάστοτε;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὰ ποῖα εἶπες καὶ τίνας; 290b

Ξένος: ὧν τὸ κηρυκικὸν ἔθνος, ὅσοι τε περὶ γράμματα σοφοὶ γίγνονται πολλάκις ὑπηρετήσαντες, καὶ πόλλ᾽ ἄττα ἕτερα περὶ τὰς ἀρχὰς διαπονεῖσθαί τινες ἕτεροι πάνδεινοι, τί τούτους αὖ λέξομεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὅπερ εἶπες νῦν, ὑπηρέτας, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ αὐτοὺς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἄρχοντας.

Ξένος: ἀλλὰ οὐ μὴν οἶμαί γε ἐνύπνιον ἰδὼν εἶπον ταύτῃ πῃ φανήσεσθαι τοὺς διαφερόντως ἀμφισβητοῦντας τῆς πολιτικῆς. καίτοι σφόδρα γε ἄτοπον ἂν εἶναι δόξειε τὸ ζητεῖν 290c τούτους ἐν ὑπηρετικῇ μοίρᾳ τινί.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: ἔτι δὴ προσμείξωμεν ἐγγύτερον ἐπὶ τοὺς μήπω βεβασανισμένους. εἰσὶ δὲ οἵ τε περὶ μαντικὴν ἔχοντές τινος ἐπιστήμης διακόνου μόριον: ἑρμηνευταὶ γάρ που νομίζονται παρὰ θεῶν ἀνθρώποις.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν καὶ τὸ τῶν ἱερέων αὖ γένος, ὡς τὸ νόμιμόν φησι, παρὰ μὲν ἡμῶν δωρεὰς θεοῖς διὰ θυσιῶν ἐπιστῆμόν 290d ἐστι κατὰ νοῦν ἐκείνοις δωρεῖσθαι, παρὰ δὲ ἐκείνων ἡμῖν εὐχαῖς κτῆσιν ἀγαθῶν αἰτήσασθαι: ταῦτα δὲ διακόνου τέχνης ἐστί που μόρια ἀμφότερα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεται γοῦν.

Ξένος: ἤδη τοίνυν μοι δοκοῦμεν οἷόν γέ τινος ἴχνους ἐφ᾽ ὃ πορευόμεθα προσάπτεσθαι. τὸ γὰρ δὴ τῶν ἱερέων σχῆμα καὶ τὸ τῶν μάντεων εὖ μάλα φρονήματος πληροῦται καὶ δόξαν σεμνὴν λαμβάνει διὰ τὸ μέγεθος τῶν ἐγχειρημάτων, ὥστε περὶ μὲν Αἴγυπτον οὐδ᾽ ἔξεστι βασιλέα χωρὶς ἱερατικῆς 290e ἄρχειν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ τύχῃ πρότερον ἐξ ἄλλου γένους βιασάμενος, ὕστερον ἀναγκαῖον εἰς τοῦτο εἰστελεῖσθαι αὐτὸν τὸ γένος: ἔτι δὲ καὶ τῶν Ἑλλήνων πολλαχοῦ ταῖς μεγίσταις ἀρχαῖς τὰ μέγιστα τῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα θύματα εὕροι τις ἂν προσταττόμενα θύειν. καὶ δὴ καὶ παρ᾽ ὑμῖν οὐχ ἥκιστα δῆλον ὃ λέγω: τῷ γὰρ λαχόντι βασιλεῖ φασιν τῇδε τὰ σεμνότατα καὶ μάλιστα πάτρια τῶν ἀρχαίων θυσιῶν ἀποδεδόσθαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ πάνυ γε. 291a

Ξένος: τούτους τε τοίνυν τοὺς κληρωτοὺς βασιλέας ἅμα καὶ ἱερέας, καὶ ὑπηρέτας αὐτῶν καί τινα ἕτερον πάμπολυν ὄχλον σκεπτέον, ὃς ἄρτι κατάδηλος νῦν ἡμῖν γέγονεν ἀποχωρισθέντων τῶν ἔμπροσθεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τίνας δ᾽ αὐτοὺς καὶ λέγεις;

Ξένος: καὶ μάλα τινὰς ἀτόπους.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί δή;

Ξένος: πάμφυλόν τι γένος αὐτῶν, ὥς γε ἄρτι σκοπουμένῳ φαίνεται. πολλοὶ μὲν γὰρ λέουσι τῶν ἀνδρῶν εἴξασι καὶ Κενταύροις 291b καὶ τοιούτοισιν ἑτέροις, πάμπολλοι δὲ Σατύροις καὶ τοῖς ἀσθενέσι καὶ πολυτρόποις θηρίοις: ταχὺ δὲ μεταλλάττουσι τάς τε ἰδέας καὶ τὴν δύναμιν εἰς ἀλλήλους. καὶ μέντοι μοι νῦν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄρτι δοκῶ κατανενοηκέναι τοὺς ἄνδρας.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγοις ἄν: ἔοικας γὰρ ἄτοπόν τι καθορᾶν.

Ξένος: ναί: τὸ γὰρ ἄτοπον ἐξ ἀγνοίας πᾶσι συμβαίνει. καὶ γὰρ δὴ καὶ νῦν αὐτὸς τοῦτ᾽ ἔπαθον: ἐξαίφνης ἠμφεγνόησα 291c κατιδὼν τὸν περὶ τὰ τῶν πόλεων πράγματα χορόν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον;

Ξένος: τὸν πάντων τῶν σοφιστῶν μέγιστον γόητα καὶ ταύτης τῆς τέχνης ἐμπειρότατον: ὃν ἀπὸ τῶν ὄντως ὄντων πολιτικῶν καὶ βασιλικῶν καίπερ παγχάλεπον ὄντα ἀφαιρεῖν ἀφαιρετέον, εἰ μέλλομεν ἰδεῖν ἐναργῶς τὸ ζητούμενον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε οὐκ ἀνετέον.

Ξένος: οὔκουν δὴ κατά γε τὴν ἐμήν. καί μοι φράζε τόδε.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον; 291d

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὐ μοναρχία τῶν πολιτικῶν ἡμῖν ἀρχῶν ἐστι μία;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: καὶ μετὰ μοναρχίαν εἴποι τις ἂν οἶμαι τὴν ὑπὸ τῶν ὀλίγων δυναστείαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: τρίτον δὲ σχῆμα πολιτείας οὐχ ἡ τοῦ πλήθους ἀρχή, δημοκρατία τοὔνομα κληθεῖσα;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Ξένος: τρεῖς δ᾽ οὖσαι μῶν οὐ πέντε τρόπον τινὰ γίγνονται, δύ᾽ ἐξ ἑαυτῶν ἄλλα πρὸς αὑταῖς ὀνόματα τίκτουσαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖα δή; 291e

Ξένος: πρὸς τὸ βίαιόν που καὶ ἑκούσιον ἀποσκοποῦντες νῦν καὶ πενίαν καὶ πλοῦτον καὶ νόμον καὶ ἀνομίαν ἐν αὐταῖς γιγνόμενα διπλῆν ἑκατέραν τοῖν δυοῖν διαιροῦντες μοναρχίαν μὲν προσαγορεύουσιν ὡς δύο παρεχομένην εἴδη δυοῖν ὀνόμασι, τυραννίδι, τὸ δὲ βασιλικῇ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: τὴν δὲ ὑπ᾽ ὀλίγων γε ἑκάστοτε κρατηθεῖσαν πόλιν ἀριστοκρατίᾳ καὶ ὀλιγαρχίᾳ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Ξένος: δημοκρατίας γε μήν, ἐάντ᾽ οὖν βιαίως ἐάντε ἑκουσίως 292a τῶν τὰς οὐσίας ἐχόντων τὸ πλῆθος ἄρχῃ, καὶ ἐάντε τοὺς νόμους ἀκριβῶς φυλάττον ἐάντε μή, πάντως τοὔνομα οὐδεὶς αὐτῆς εἴωθε μεταλλάττειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ.

Ξένος: τί οὖν; οἰόμεθά τινα τούτων τῶν πολιτειῶν ὀρθὴν εἶναι τούτοις τοῖς ὅροις ὁρισθεῖσαν, ἑνὶ καὶ ὀλίγοις καὶ πολλοῖς, καὶ πλούτῳ καὶ πενίᾳ, καὶ τῷ βιαίῳ καὶ ἑκουσίῳ, καὶ μετὰ γραμμάτων καὶ ἄνευ νόμων συμβαίνουσαν γίγνεσθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί γὰρ δὴ καὶ κωλύει; 292b

Ξένος: σκόπει δὴ σαφέστερον τῇδε ἑπόμενος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῇ;

Ξένος: τῷ ῥηθέντι κατὰ πρώτας πότερον ἐμμενοῦμεν ἢ διαφωνήσομεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τῷ δὴ ποίῳ λέγεις;

Ξένος: τὴν βασιλικὴν ἀρχὴν τῶν ἐπιστημῶν εἶναί τινα ἔφαμεν, οἶμαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: καὶ τούτων γε οὐχ ἁπασῶν, ἀλλὰ κριτικὴν δήπου τινὰ καὶ ἐπιστατικὴν ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων προειλόμεθα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: κἀκ τῆς ἐπιστατικῆς τὴν μὲν ἐπ᾽ ἀψύχοις ἔργοις, 292c τὴν δ᾽ ἐπὶ ζῴοις: καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον δὴ τὸν τρόπον μερίζοντες δεῦρ᾽ ἀεὶ προεληλύθαμεν, ἐπιστήμης οὐκ ἐπιλανθανόμενοι, τὸ δ᾽ ἥτις οὐχ ἱκανῶς πω δυνάμενοι διακριβώσασθαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγεις ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ τοίνυν ἆρ᾽ ἐννοοῦμεν, ὅτι τὸν ὅρον οὐκ ὀλίγους οὐδὲ πολλούς, οὐδὲ τὸ ἑκούσιον οὐδὲ τὸ ἀκούσιον, οὐδὲ πενίαν οὐδὲ πλοῦτον γίγνεσθαι περὶ αὐτῶν χρεών, ἀλλά τινα ἐπιστήμην, εἴπερ ἀκολουθήσομεν τοῖς πρόσθεν; 292d

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν τοῦτό γε ἀδύνατον μὴ ποιεῖν.

Ξένος: ἐξ ἀνάγκης δὴ νῦν τοῦτο οὕτω σκεπτέον, ἐν τίνι ποτὲ τούτων ἐπιστήμη συμβαίνει γίγνεσθαι περὶ ἀνθρώπων ἀρχῆς, σχεδὸν τῆς χαλεπωτάτης καὶ μεγίστης κτήσασθαι. δεῖ γὰρ ἰδεῖν αὐτήν, ἵνα θεασώμεθα τίνας ἀφαιρετέον ἀπὸ τοῦ φρονίμου βασιλέως, οἳ προσποιοῦνται μὲν εἶναι πολιτικοὶ καὶ πείθουσι πολλούς, εἰσὶ δὲ οὐδαμῶς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δεῖ γὰρ δὴ ποιεῖν τοῦτο, ὡς ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν προείρηκεν. 292e

Ξένος: μῶν οὖν δοκεῖ πλῆθός γε ἐν πόλει ταύτην τὴν ἐπιστήμην δυνατὸν εἶναι κτήσασθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ πῶς;

Ξένος: ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα ἐν χιλιάνδρῳ πόλει δυνατὸν ἑκατόν τινας ἢ καὶ πεντήκοντα αὐτὴν ἱκανῶς κτήσασθαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ῥᾴστη μεντἂν οὕτω γ᾽ εἴη πασῶν τῶν τεχνῶν: ἴσμεν γὰρ ὅτι χιλίων ἀνδρῶν ἄκροι πεττευταὶ τοσοῦτοι πρὸς τοὺς ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν οὐκ ἂν γένοιντό ποτε, μή τι δὴ βασιλῆς γε. δεῖ γὰρ δὴ τόν γε τὴν βασιλικὴν ἔχοντα ἐπιστήμην, ἄν τ᾽ ἄρχῃ καὶ ἐὰν μή, κατὰ τὸν ἔμπροσθε 293a λόγον ὅμως βασιλικὸν προσαγορεύεσθαι.

Ξένος: καλῶς ἀπεμνημόνευσας. ἑπόμενον δὲ οἶμαι τούτῳ τὴν μὲν ὀρθὴν ἀρχὴν περὶ ἕνα τινὰ καὶ δύο καὶ παντάπασιν ὀλίγους δεῖ ζητεῖν, ὅταν ὀρθὴ γίγνηται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: τούτους δέ γε, ἐάντε ἑκόντων ἄντ᾽ ἀκόντων ἄρχωσιν, ἐάντε κατὰ γράμματα ἐάντε ἄνευ γραμμάτων, καὶ ἐὰν πλουτοῦντες ἢ πενόμενοι, νομιστέον, ὥσπερ νῦν ἡγούμεθα, κατὰ τέχνην ἡντινοῦν ἀρχὴν ἄρχοντας. τοὺς ἰατροὺς 293b δὲ οὐχ ἥκιστα νενομίκαμεν, ἐάντε ἑκόντας ἐάντε ἄκοντας ἡμᾶς ἰῶνται, τέμνοντες ἢ κάοντες ἤ τινα ἄλλην ἀλγηδόνα προσάπτοντες, καὶ ἐὰν κατὰ γράμματα ἢ χωρὶς γραμμάτων, καὶ ἐὰν πένητες ὄντες ἢ πλούσιοι, πάντως οὐδὲν ἧττον ἰατρούς φαμεν, ἕωσπερ ἂν ἐπιστατοῦντες τέχνῃ, καθαίροντες εἴτε ἄλλως ἰσχναίνοντες εἴτε καὶ αὐξάνοντες, ἂν μόνον ἐπ᾽ ἀγαθῷ τῷ τῶν σωμάτων, βελτίω ποιοῦντες ἐκ χειρόνων, 293c σῴζωσιν οἱ θεραπεύοντες ἕκαστοι τὰ θεραπευόμενα: ταύτῃ θήσομεν, ὡς οἶμαι, καὶ οὐκ ἄλλῃ, τοῦτον ὅρον ὀρθὸν εἶναι μόνον ἰατρικῆς καὶ ἄλλης ἡστινοσοῦν ἀρχῆς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κομιδῇ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: ἀναγκαῖον δὴ καὶ πολιτειῶν, ὡς ἔοικε, ταύτην ὀρθὴν διαφερόντως εἶναι καὶ μόνην πολιτείαν, ἐν ᾗ τις ἂν εὑρίσκοι τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἀληθῶς ἐπιστήμονας καὶ οὐ δοκοῦντας μόνον, ἐάντε κατὰ νόμους ἐάντε ἄνευ νόμων ἄρχωσι, καὶ ἑκόντων ἢ 293d ἀκόντων, καὶ πενόμενοι ἢ πλουτοῦντες, τούτων ὑπολογιστέον οὐδὲν οὐδαμῶς εἶναι κατ᾽ οὐδεμίαν ὀρθότητα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς.

Ξένος: καὶ ἐάντε γε ἀποκτεινύντες τινὰς ἢ καὶ ἐκβάλλοντες καθαίρωσιν ἐπ᾽ ἀγαθῷ τὴν πόλιν, εἴτε καὶ ἀποικίας οἷον σμήνη μελιττῶν ἐκπέμποντές ποι σμικροτέραν ποιῶσιν, ἤ τινας ἐπεισαγόμενοί ποθεν ἄλλους ἔξωθεν πολίτας ποιοῦντες αὐτὴν αὔξωσιν, ἕωσπερ ἂν ἐπιστήμῃ καὶ τῷ δικαίῳ προσχρώμενοι σῴζοντες ἐκ χείρονος βελτίω ποιῶσι κατὰ δύναμιν, 293e ταύτην τότε καὶ κατὰ τοὺς τοιούτους ὅρους ἡμῖν μόνην ὀρθὴν πολιτείαν εἶναι ῥητέον: ὅσας δ᾽ ἄλλας λέγομεν, οὐ γνησίας οὐδ᾽ ὄντως οὔσας λεκτέον, ἀλλὰ μεμιμημένας ταύτην, ἃς μὲν ὡς εὐνόμους λέγομεν, ἐπὶ τὰ καλλίω, τὰς δὲ ἄλλας ἐπὶ τὰ αἰσχίονα [μεμιμῆσθαι].

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὰ μὲν ἄλλα, ὦ ξένε, μετρίως ἔοικεν εἰρῆσθαι: τὸ δὲ καὶ ἄνευ νόμων δεῖν ἄρχειν χαλεπώτερον ἀκούειν ἐρρήθη.

Ξένος: μικρόν γε ἔφθης με ἐρόμενος, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἔμελλον 294a γάρ σε διερωτήσειν ταῦτα πότερον ἀποδέχῃ πάντα, ἤ τι καὶ δυσχεραίνεις τῶν λεχθέντων: νῦν δ᾽ ἤδη φανερὸν ὅτι τοῦτο βουλησόμεθα τὸ περὶ τῆς τῶν ἄνευ νόμων ἀρχόντων ὀρθότητος διελθεῖν ἡμᾶς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος: τρόπον τινὰ μέντοι δῆλον ὅτι τῆς βασιλικῆς ἐστιν ἡ νομοθετική: τὸ δ᾽ ἄριστον οὐ τοὺς νόμους ἐστὶν ἰσχύειν ἀλλ᾽ ἄνδρα τὸν μετὰ φρονήσεως βασιλικόν. οἶσθ᾽ ὅπῃ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῇ δὴ λέγεις;

Ξένος: ὅτι νόμος οὐκ ἄν ποτε δύναιτο τό τε ἄριστον καὶ 294b τὸ δικαιότατον ἀκριβῶς πᾶσιν ἅμα περιλαβὼν τὸ βέλτιστον ἐπιτάττειν: αἱ γὰρ ἀνομοιότητες τῶν τε ἀνθρώπων καὶ τῶν πράξεων καὶ τὸ μηδέποτε μηδὲν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων οὐδὲν ἐῶσιν ἁπλοῦν ἐν οὐδενὶ περὶ ἁπάντων καὶ ἐπὶ πάντα τὸν χρόνον ἀποφαίνεσθαι τέχνην οὐδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν. ταῦτα δὴ συγχωροῦμέν που;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: τὸν δέ γε νόμον ὁρῶμεν σχεδὸν ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο 294c συντείνοντα, ὥσπερ τινὰ ἄνθρωπον αὐθάδη καὶ ἀμαθῆ καὶ μηδένα μηδὲν ἐῶντα ποιεῖν παρὰ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ τάξιν, μηδ᾽ ἐπερωτᾶν μηδένα, μηδ᾽ ἄν τι νέον ἄρα τῳ συμβαίνῃ βέλτιον παρὰ τὸν λόγον ὃν αὐτὸς ἐπέταξεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθῆ: ποιεῖ γὰρ ἀτεχνῶς καθάπερ εἴρηκας νῦν ὁ νόμος ἡμῖν ἑκάστοις.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ἀδύνατον εὖ ἔχειν πρὸς τὰ μηδέποτε ἁπλᾶ τὸ διὰ παντὸς γιγνόμενον ἁπλοῦν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύει.

Ξένος: διὰ τί δή ποτ᾽ οὖν ἀναγκαῖον νομοθετεῖν, ἐπειδήπερ 294d οὐκ ὀρθότατον ὁ νόμος; ἀνευρετέον τούτου τὴν αἰτίαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν καὶ παρ᾽ ὑμῖν εἰσί τινες οἷαι καὶ ἐν ἄλλαις πόλεσιν ἁθρόων ἀνθρώπων ἀσκήσεις, εἴτε πρὸς δρόμον εἴτε πρὸς ἄλλο τι, φιλονικίας ἕνεκα;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ πάνυ γε πολλαί.

Ξένος: φέρε νῦν ἀναλάβωμεν πάλιν μνήμῃ τὰς τῶν τέχνῃ γυμναζόντων ἐπιτάξεις ἐν ταῖς τοιαύταις ἀρχαῖς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον;

Ξένος: ὅτι λεπτουργεῖν οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖν ἡγοῦνται καθ᾽ ἕνα ἕκαστον, τῷ σώματι τὸ προσῆκον ἑκάστῳ προστάττοντες, 294e ἀλλὰ παχύτερον οἴονται δεῖν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ καὶ ἐπὶ πολλοὺς τὴν τοῦ λυσιτελοῦντος τοῖς σώμασι ποιεῖσθαι τάξιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καλῶς.

Ξένος: διὸ δή γε καὶ ἴσους πόνους νῦν διδόντες ἁθρόοις ἅμα μὲν ἐξορμῶσιν, ἅμα δὲ καὶ καταπαύουσι δρόμου καὶ πάλης καὶ πάντων τῶν κατὰ τὰ σώματα πόνων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Ξένος: καὶ τὸν νομοθέτην τοίνυν ἡγώμεθα, τὸν ταῖσιν ἀγέλαις ἐπιστατήσοντα τοῦ δικαίου πέρι καὶ τῶν πρὸς ἀλλήλους 295a συμβολαίων, μή ποθ᾽ ἱκανὸν γενήσεσθαι πᾶσιν ἁθρόοις προστάττοντα ἀκριβῶς ἑνὶ ἑκάστῳ τὸ προσῆκον ἀποδιδόναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ γοῦν εἰκός.

Ξένος: ἀλλὰ τὸ τοῖς πολλοῖς γε οἶμαι καὶ ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ καί πως οὑτωσὶ παχυτέρως ἑκάστοις τὸν νόμον θήσει, καὶ ἐν γράμμασιν ἀποδιδοὺς καὶ ἐν ἀγραμμάτοις, πατρίοις δὲ ἔθεσι νομοθετῶν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: ὀρθῶς μέντοι. πῶς γὰρ ἄν τις ἱκανὸς γένοιτ᾽ ἄν 295b ποτε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὥστε διὰ βίου ἀεὶ παρακαθήμενος ἑκάστῳ δι᾽ ἀκριβείας προστάττειν τὸ προσῆκον; ἐπεὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν δυνατὸς ὤν, ὡς οἶμαι, τῶν τὴν βασιλικὴν ὁστισοῦν ὄντως ἐπιστήμην εἰληφότων σχολῇ ποτ᾽ ἂν ἑαυτῷ θεῖτ᾽ ἐμποδίσματα γράφων τοὺς λεχθέντας τούτους νόμους.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἐκ τῶν νῦν γοῦν, ὦ ξένε, εἰρημένων.

Ξένος: μᾶλλον δέ γε, ὦ βέλτιστε, ἐκ τῶν μελλόντων ῥηθήσεσθαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τίνων δή;

Ξένος: τῶν τοιῶνδε. εἴπωμεν γὰρ δὴ πρός γε ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς 295c ἰατρὸν μέλλοντα ἢ καί τινα γυμναστικὸν ἀποδημεῖν καὶ ἀπέσεσθαι τῶν θεραπευομένων συχνόν, ὡς οἴοιτο, χρόνον, μὴ μνημονεύσειν οἰηθέντα τὰ προσταχθέντα τοὺς γυμναζομένους ἢ τοὺς κάμνοντας, ὑπομνήματα γράφειν ἂν ἐθέλειν αὐτοῖς, ἢ πῶς;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὕτως.

Ξένος: τί δ᾽ εἰ παρὰ δόξαν ἐλάττω χρόνον ἀποδημήσας ἔλθοι πάλιν; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν παρ᾽ ἐκεῖνα τὰ γράμματα τολμήσειεν ἄλλ᾽ ὑποθέσθαι, συμβαινόντων ἄλλων βελτιόνων τοῖς κάμνουσι 295d διὰ πνεύματα ἤ τι καὶ ἄλλο παρὰ τὴν ἐλπίδα τῶν ἐκ Διὸς ἑτέρως πως τῶν εἰωθότων γενόμενα, καρτερῶν δ᾽ ἂν ἡγοῖτο δεῖν μὴ ἐκβαίνειν τἀρχαῖά ποτε νομοθετηθέντα μήτε αὐτὸν προστάττοντα ἄλλα μήτε τὸν κάμνοντα ἕτερα τολμῶντα παρὰ τὰ γραφέντα δρᾶν, ὡς ταῦτα ὄντα ἰατρικὰ καὶ ὑγιεινά, τὰ δὲ ἑτέρως γιγνόμενα νοσώδη τε καὶ οὐκ ἔντεχνα: ἢ πᾶν τὸ τοιοῦτον ἔν γε ἐπιστήμῃ συμβαῖνον καὶ 295e ἀληθεῖ τέχνῃ περὶ ἅπαντα παντάπασι γέλως ἂν ὁ μέγιστος γίγνοιτο τῶν τοιούτων νομοθετημάτων;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: τῷ δὲ τὰ δίκαια δὴ καὶ ἄδικα καὶ καλὰ καὶ αἰσχρὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ καὶ κακὰ γράψαντι καὶ ἄγραφα νομοθετήσαντι ταῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀγέλαις, ὁπόσαι κατὰ πόλιν ἐν ἑκάσταις νομεύονται κατὰ τοὺς τῶν γραψάντων νόμους, ἂν ὁ μετὰ τέχνης γράψας ἤ τις ἕτερος ὅμοιος ἀφίκηται, μὴ ἐξέστω δὴ 296a παρὰ ταῦτα ἕτερα προστάττειν; ἢ καὶ τοῦτο τὸ ἀπόρρημα οὐδὲν ἧττον ἂν ἐκείνου τῇ ἀληθείᾳ γελοῖον φαίνοιτο;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: οἶσθ᾽ οὖν ἐπὶ τῷ τοιούτῳ λόγον τὸν παρὰ τῶν πολλῶν λεγόμενον;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἐννοῶ νῦν γ᾽ οὕτως.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν εὐπρεπής. φασὶ γὰρ δὴ δεῖν, εἴ τις γιγνώσκει παρὰ τοὺς τῶν ἔμπροσθεν βελτίους νόμους, νομοθετεῖν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ πόλιν ἕκαστον πείσαντα, ἄλλως δὲ μή.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; οὐκ ὀρθῶς; 296b

Ξένος: ἴσως. ἂν δ᾽ οὖν μὴ πείθων τις βιάζηται τὸ βέλτιον, ἀπόκριναι, τί τοὔνομα τῆς βίας ἔσται; μὴ μέντοι πω, περὶ δὲ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν πρότερον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Ξένος: ἄν τις ἄρα μὴ πείθων τὸν ἰατρευόμενον, ἔχων δὲ ὀρθῶς τὴν τέχνην, παρὰ τὰ γεγραμμένα τὸ βέλτιον ἀναγκάζῃ δρᾶν παῖδα ἤ τινα ἄνδρα ἢ καὶ γυναῖκα, τί τοὔνομα τῆς βίας ἔσται ταύτης; ἆρ᾽ οὐ πᾶν μᾶλλον ἢ τὸ παρὰ τὴν τέχνην λεγόμενον ἁμάρτημα τὸ νοσῶδες; καὶ πάντα ὀρθῶς 296c εἰπεῖν ἔστι πρότερον τῷ βιασθέντι περὶ τὸ τοιοῦτον πλὴν ὅτι νοσώδη καὶ ἄτεχνα πέπονθεν ὑπὸ τῶν βιασαμένων ἰατρῶν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ξένος: τί δὲ ἡμῖν δὴ τὸ παρὰ τὴν πολιτικὴν τέχνην ἁμάρτημα λεγόμενόν ἐστιν; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τὸ αἰσχρὸν καὶ [τὸ] κακὸν καὶ ἄδικον;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: παντάπασί γε.

Ξένος: τῶν δὴ βιασθέντων παρὰ τὰ γεγραμμένα καὶ πάτρια δρᾶν ἕτερα δικαιότερα καὶ ἀμείνω καὶ καλλίω τῶν ἔμπροσθεν, 296d φέρε, τὸν τῶν τοιούτων αὖ ψόγον περὶ τῆς τοιαύτης βίας, ἆρ᾽, εἰ μέλλει μὴ καταγελαστότατος εἶναι πάντων, πάντ᾽ αὐτῷ μᾶλλον λεκτέον ἑκάστοτε πλὴν ὡς αἰσχρὰ καὶ ἄδικα καὶ κακὰ πεπόνθασιν οἱ βιασθέντες ὑπὸ τῶν βιασαμένων;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ξένος: ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα ἐὰν μὲν πλούσιος ὁ βιασάμενος ᾖ, δίκαια, ἂν δ᾽ ἄρα πένης, ἄδικα τὰ βιασθέντα ἐστίν; ἢ κἂν πείσας κἂν μὴ πείσας τις, πλούσιος ἢ πένης, ἢ κατὰ γράμματα ἢ 296e παρὰ γράμματα, δρᾷ [μὴ σύμφορα ἢ] σύμφορα, τοῦτον δεῖ καὶ περὶ ταῦτα τὸν ὅρον εἶναι τόν γε ἀληθινώτατον ὀρθῆς πόλεως διοικήσεως, ὃν ὁ σοφὸς καὶ ἀγαθὸς ἀνὴρ διοικήσει τὸ τῶν ἀρχομένων; ὥσπερ ὁ κυβερνήτης τὸ τῆς νεὼς καὶ 297a ναυτῶν ἀεὶ συμφέρον παραφυλάττων, οὐ γράμματα τιθεὶς ἀλλὰ τὴν τέχνην νόμον παρεχόμενος, σῴζει τοὺς συνναύτας, οὕτω καὶ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον τοῦτον παρὰ τῶν οὕτως ἄρχειν δυναμένων ὀρθὴ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν πολιτεία, τὴν τῆς τέχνης ῥώμην τῶν νόμων παρεχομένων κρείττω; καὶ πάντα ποιοῦσι τοῖς ἔμφροσιν ἄρχουσιν οὐκ ἔστιν ἁμάρτημα, μέχριπερ ἂν 297b ἓν μέγα φυλάττωσι, τὸ μετὰ νοῦ καὶ τέχνης δικαιότατον ἀεὶ διανέμοντες τοῖς ἐν τῇ πόλει σῴζειν τε αὐτοὺς οἷοί τε ὦσιν καὶ ἀμείνους ἐκ χειρόνων ἀποτελεῖν κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἔστ᾽ ἀντειπεῖν παρά γε ἃ νῦν εἴρηται.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν πρὸς ἐκεῖνα οὐδὲ ἀντιρρητέον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὰ ποῖα εἶπες;

Ξένος: ὡς οὐκ ἄν ποτε πλῆθος οὐδ᾽ ὡντινωνοῦν τὴν τοιαύτην λαβὸν ἐπιστήμην οἷόν τ᾽ ἂν γένοιτο μετὰ νοῦ διοικεῖν 297c πόλιν, ἀλλὰ περὶ σμικρόν τι καὶ ὀλίγον καὶ τὸ ἕν ἐστι ζητητέον τὴν μίαν ἐκείνην πολιτείαν τὴν ὀρθήν, τὰς δ᾽ ἄλλας μιμήματα θετέον, ὥσπερ καὶ ὀλίγον πρότερον ἐρρήθη, τὰς μὲν ἐπὶ τὰ καλλίονα, τὰς δ᾽ ἐπὶ τὰ αἰσχίω μιμουμένας ταύτην.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς τί τοῦτ᾽ εἴρηκας; οὐδὲ γὰρ ἄρτι δῆθεν κατέμαθον τὸ περὶ τῶν μιμημάτων.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν οὐ φαῦλόν γε, ἂν κινήσας τις τοῦτον τὸν λόγον αὐτοῦ καταβάλῃ καὶ μὴ διελθὼν ἐνδείξηται τὸ νῦν 297d γιγνόμενον ἁμάρτημα περὶ αὐτό.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον δή;

Ξένος: τοιόνδε τι δεῖ γε ζητεῖν, οὐ πάνυ σύνηθες οὐδὲ ῥᾴδιον ἰδεῖν: ὅμως μὴν πειρώμεθα λαβεῖν αὐτό. φέρε γάρ: ὀρθῆς ἡμῖν μόνης οὔσης ταύτης τῆς πολιτείας ἣν εἰρήκαμεν, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τὰς ἄλλας δεῖ τοῖς ταύτης συγγράμμασι χρωμένας οὕτω σῴζεσθαι, δρώσας τὸ νῦν ἐπαινούμενον, καίπερ οὐκ ὀρθότατον ὄν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον; 297e

Ξένος: τὸ παρὰ τοὺς νόμους μηδὲν μηδένα τολμᾶν ποιεῖν τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει, τὸν τολμῶντα δὲ θανάτῳ ζημιοῦσθαι καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς ἐσχάτοις. καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὀρθότατα καὶ κάλλιστ᾽ ἔχον ὡς δεύτερον, ἐπειδὰν τὸ πρῶτόν τις μεταθῇ τὸ νυνδὴ ῥηθέν: ᾧ δὲ τρόπῳ γεγονός ἐστι τοῦτο ὃ δὴ δεύτερον ἐφήσαμεν, διαπερανώμεθα. ἦ γάρ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: εἰς δὴ τὰς εἰκόνας ἐπανίωμεν πάλιν, αἷς ἀναγκαῖον ἀπεικάζειν ἀεὶ τοὺς βασιλικοὺς ἄρχοντας.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποίας;

Ξένος: τὸν γενναῖον κυβερνήτην καὶ τὸν ἑτέρων πολλῶν ἀντάξιον ἰατρόν. κατίδωμεν γὰρ δή τι σχῆμα ἐν τούτοις αὐτοῖς πλασάμενοι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖόν τι; 298a

Ξένος: τοιόνδε: οἷον εἰ πάντες περὶ αὐτῶν διανοηθεῖμεν ὅτι δεινότατα ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν πάσχομεν. ὃν μὲν γὰρ ἂν ἐθελήσωσιν ἡμῶν τούτων ἑκάτεροι σῴζειν, ὁμοίως δὴ σῴζουσιν, ὃν δ᾽ ἂν λωβᾶσθαι βουληθῶσιν, λωβῶνται τέμνοντες καὶ κάοντες καὶ προστάττοντες ἀναλώματα φέρειν παρ᾽ ἑαυτοὺς οἷον φόρους, ὧν σμικρὰ μὲν εἰς τὸν κάμνοντα καὶ οὐδὲν ἀναλίσκουσιν, τοῖς δ᾽ ἄλλοις αὐτοί τε καὶ οἱ οἰκέται χρῶνται: καὶ 298b δὴ καὶ τελευτῶντες ἢ παρὰ συγγενῶν ἢ παρά τινων ἐχθρῶν τοῦ κάμνοντος χρήματα μισθὸν λαμβάνοντες ἀποκτεινύασιν. οἵ τ᾽ αὖ κυβερνῆται μυρία ἕτερα τοιαῦτα ἐργάζονται, καταλείποντές τε ἔκ τινος ἐπιβουλῆς ἐν ταῖς ἀναγωγαῖς ἐρήμους, καὶ σφάλματα ποιοῦντες ἐν τοῖς πελάγεσιν ἐκβάλλουσιν εἰς τὴν θάλατταν, καὶ ἕτερα κακουργοῦσιν. εἰ δὴ ταῦτα διανοηθέντες βουλευσαίμεθα περὶ αὐτῶν βουλήν τινα, τούτων 298c τῶν τεχνῶν μηκέτι ἐπιτρέπειν ἄρχειν αὐτοκράτορι μηδετέρᾳ μήτ᾽ οὖν δούλων μήτ᾽ ἐλευθέρων, συλλέξαι δ᾽ ἐκκλησίαν ἡμῶν αὐτῶν, ἢ σύμπαντα τὸν δῆμον ἢ τοὺς πλουσίους μόνον, ἐξεῖναι δὲ καὶ ἰδιωτῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων δημιουργῶν περί τε πλοῦ καὶ περὶ νόσων γνώμην ξυμβαλέσθαι καθ᾽ ὅτι χρὴ τοῖς φαρμάκοις ἡμᾶς καὶ τοῖς ἰατρικοῖς ὀργάνοις πρὸς τοὺς κάμνοντας χρῆσθαι, καὶ δὴ καὶ τοῖς πλοίοις τε αὐτοῖς καὶ 298d τοῖς ναυτικοῖς ὀργάνοις εἰς τὴν τῶν πλοίων χρείαν καὶ περὶ τοὺς κινδύνους τούς τε πρὸς αὐτὸν τὸν πλοῦν ἀνέμων καὶ θαλάττης πέρι καὶ πρὸς τὰς τοῖς λῃσταῖς ἐντεύξεις, καὶ ἐὰν ναυμαχεῖν ἄρα δέῃ που μακροῖς πλοίοις πρὸς ἕτερα τοιαῦτα: τὰ δὲ τῷ πλήθει δόξαντα περὶ τούτων, εἴτε τινῶν ἰατρῶν καὶ κυβερνητῶν εἴτ᾽ ἄλλων ἰδιωτῶν συμβουλευόντων, γράψαντας 298e ἐν κύρβεσί τισι καὶ στήλαις, τὰ δὲ καὶ ἄγραφα πάτρια θεμένους ἔθη, κατὰ ταῦτα ἤδη πάντα τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον ναυτίλλεσθαι καὶ τὰς τῶν καμνόντων θεραπείας ποιεῖσθαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κομιδῇ γε εἴρηκας ἄτοπα.

Ξένος: κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν δέ γε ἄρχοντας καθίστασθαι τοῦ πλήθους, εἴτε ἐκ τῶν πλουσίων εἴτε ἐκ τοῦ δήμου παντός, ὃς ἂν κληρούμενος λαγχάνῃ: τοὺς δὲ καταστάντας ἄρχοντας ἄρχειν κατὰ τὰ γράμματα κυβερνῶντας τὰς ναῦς καὶ τοὺς κάμνοντας ἰωμένους.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ταῦτ᾽ ἔτι χαλεπώτερα.

Ξένος: θεῶ δὴ καὶ τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα ἑπόμενον. ἐπειδὰν γὰρ δὴ τῶν ἀρχόντων ἑκάστοις ὁ ἐνιαυτὸς ἐξέλθῃ, δεήσει δικαστήρια καθίσαντας ἀνδρῶν, ἢ τῶν πλουσίων ἐκ προκρίσεως ἢ 299a σύμπαντος αὖ τοῦ δήμου τοὺς λαχόντας, εἰς τούτους εἰσάγειν τοὺς ἄρξαντας καὶ εὐθύνειν, κατηγορεῖν δὲ τὸν βουλόμενον ὡς οὐ κατὰ τὰ γράμματα τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν ἐκυβέρνησε τὰς ναῦς οὐδὲ κατὰ τὰ παλαιὰ τῶν προγόνων ἔθη: ταὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτα καὶ περὶ τῶν τοὺς κάμνοντας ἰωμένων: ὧν δ᾽ ἂν καταψηφισθῇ τιμᾶν ὅτι χρὴ παθεῖν αὐτῶν τινας ἢ ἀποτίνειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὅ γ᾽ ἐθέλων καὶ ἑκὼν ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις 299b ἄρχειν δικαιότατ᾽ ἂν ὁτιοῦν πάσχοι καὶ ἀποτίνοι.

Ξένος: καὶ τοίνυν ἔτι δεήσει θέσθαι νόμον ἐπὶ πᾶσι τούτοις, ἄν τις κυβερνητικὴν καὶ τὸ ναυτικὸν ἢ τὸ ὑγιεινὸν καὶ ἰατρικῆς ἀλήθειαν περὶ πνεύματά τε καὶ θερμὰ καὶ ψυχρὰ ζητῶν φαίνηται παρὰ τὰ γράμματα καὶ σοφιζόμενος ὁτιοῦν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, πρῶτον μὲν μήτε ἰατρικὸν αὐτὸν μήτε κυβερνητικὸν ὀνομάζειν ἀλλὰ μετεωρολόγον, ἀδολέσχην τινὰ σοφιστήν, εἶθ᾽ ὡς διαφθείροντα ἄλλους νεωτέρους καὶ ἀναπείθοντα 299c ἐπιτίθεσθαι κυβερνητικῇ καὶ ἰατρικῇ μὴ κατὰ νόμους, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτοκράτορας ἄρχειν τῶν πλοίων καὶ τῶν νοσούντων, γραψάμενον εἰσάγειν τὸν βουλόμενον οἷς ἔξεστιν εἰς δή τι δικαστήριον: ἂν δὲ παρὰ τοὺς νόμους καὶ τὰ γεγραμμένα δόξῃ πείθειν εἴτε νέους εἴτε πρεσβύτας, κολάζειν τοῖς ἐσχάτοις. οὐδὲν γὰρ δεῖν τῶν νόμων εἶναι σοφώτερον: οὐδένα γὰρ ἀγνοεῖν τό τε ἰατρικὸν καὶ τὸ ὑγιεινὸν οὐδὲ τὸ κυβερνητικὸν καὶ ναυτικόν: ἐξεῖναι γὰρ τῷ βουλομένῳ μανθάνειν 299d γεγραμμένα καὶ πάτρια ἔθη κείμενα. ταῦτα δὴ περί τε ταύτας τὰς ἐπιστήμας εἰ γίγνοιτο οὕτως ὡς λέγομεν, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ στρατηγικῆς καὶ συμπάσης ἡστινοσοῦν θηρευτικῆς καὶ γραφικῆς ἢ συμπάσης μέρος ὁτιοῦν μιμητικῆς καὶ τεκτονικῆς καὶ συνόλης ὁποιασοῦν σκευουργίας ἢ καὶ γεωργίας καὶ τῆς περὶ τὰ φυτὰ συνόλης τέχνης, ἢ καί τινα ἱπποφορβίαν αὖ κατὰ συγγράμματα θεασαίμεθα γιγνομένην ἢ σύμπασαν ἀγελαιοκομικὴν ἢ μαντικὴν ἢ πᾶν ὅτι μέρος διακονικὴ 299e περιείληφεν, ἢ πεττείαν ἢ σύμπασαν ἀριθμητικὴν ψιλὴν εἴτε ἐπίπεδον εἴτ᾽ ἐν βάθεσιν εἴτ᾽ ἐν τάχεσιν οὖσάν που, περὶ ἅπαντα ταῦτα οὕτω πραττόμενα τί ποτ᾽ ἂν φανείη, κατὰ συγγράμματα γιγνόμενα καὶ μὴ κατὰ τέχνην;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δῆλον ὅτι πᾶσαί τε αἱ τέχναι παντελῶς ἂν ἀπόλοιντο ἡμῖν, καὶ οὐδ᾽ εἰς αὖθις γένοιντ᾽ ἄν ποτε διὰ τὸν ἀποκωλύοντα τοῦτον ζητεῖν νόμον: ὥστε ὁ βίος, ὢν καὶ νῦν χαλεπός, εἰς τὸν χρόνον ἐκεῖνον ἀβίωτος γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τὸ παράπαν. 300a

Ξένος: τί δὲ τόδε; εἰ κατὰ συγγράμματα μὲν ἀναγκάζοιμεν ἕκαστον γίγνεσθαι τῶν εἰρημένων καὶ τοῖς συγγράμμασιν ἡμῶν ἐπιστατεῖν τὸν χειροτονηθέντα ἢ λαχόντα ἐκ τύχης, οὗτος δὲ μηδὲν φροντίζων τῶν γραμμάτων ἢ κέρδους ἕνεκέν τινος ἢ χάριτος ἰδίας παρὰ ταῦτ᾽ ἐπιχειροῖ δρᾶν ἕτερα, μηδὲν γιγνώσκων, ἆρα οὐ τοῦ κακοῦ τοῦ πρόσθεν μεῖζον ἂν ἔτι τοῦτο γίγνοιτο κακόν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατά [γe}}. 300b

Ξένος: παρὰ γὰρ οἶμαι τοὺς νόμους τοὺς ἐκ πείρας πολλῆς κειμένους καί τινων συμβούλων ἕκαστα χαριέντως συμβουλευσάντων καὶ πεισάντων θέσθαι τὸ πλῆθος, ὁ παρὰ ταῦτα τολμῶν δρᾶν, ἁμαρτήματος ἁμάρτημα πολλαπλάσιον ἀπεργαζόμενος, ἀνατρέποι πᾶσαν ἂν πρᾶξιν ἔτι μειζόνως τῶν συγγραμμάτων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὐ μέλλει; 300c

Ξένος: διὰ ταῦτα δὴ τοῖς περὶ ὁτουοῦν νόμους καὶ συγγράμματα τιθεμένοις δεύτερος πλοῦς τὸ παρὰ ταῦτα μήτε ἕνα μήτε πλῆθος μηδὲν μηδέποτε ἐᾶν δρᾶν μηδ᾽ ὁτιοῦν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν μιμήματα μὲν ἂν ἑκάστων ταῦτα εἴη τῆς ἀληθείας, τὰ παρὰ τῶν εἰδότων εἰς δύναμιν εἶναι γεγραμμένα;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν τόν γε εἰδότα ἔφαμεν, τὸν ὄντως πολιτικόν, εἰ μεμνήμεθα, ποιήσειν τῇ τέχνῃ πολλὰ εἰς τὴν αὑτοῦ πρᾶξιν τῶν γραμμάτων οὐδὲν φροντίζοντα, ὁπόταν ἄλλ᾽ αὐτῷ 300d βελτίω δόξῃ παρὰ τὰ γεγραμμένα ὑφ᾽ αὑτοῦ καὶ ἐπεσταλμένα ἀποῦσίν τισιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔφαμεν γάρ.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ἀνὴρ ὁστισοῦν εἷς ἢ πλῆθος ὁτιοῦν, οἷς ἂν νόμοι κείμενοι τυγχάνωσι, παρὰ ταῦτα ὅτι ἂν ἐπιχειρήσωσι ποιεῖν ὡς βέλτιον ἕτερον ὄν, ταὐτὸν δρῶσι κατὰ δύναμιν ὅπερ ὁ ἀληθινὸς ἐκεῖνος;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὖν εἰ μὲν ἀνεπιστήμονες ὄντες τὸ τοιοῦτον δρῷεν, μιμεῖσθαι μὲν ἂν ἐπιχειροῖεν τὸ ἀληθές, μιμοῖντ᾽ ἂν 300e μέντοι παγκάκως: εἰ δ᾽ ἔντεχνοι, τοῦτο οὐκ ἔστιν ἔτι μίμημα ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ ἀληθέστατον ἐκεῖνο;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάντως που.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν ἔμπροσθέ γε ὡμολογημένον ἡμῖν κεῖται μηδὲν πλῆθος μηδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν δυνατὸν εἶναι λαβεῖν τέχνην.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κεῖται γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν ἔστι βασιλική τις τέχνη, τὸ τῶν πλουσίων πλῆθος καὶ ὁ σύμπας δῆμος οὐκ ἄν ποτε λάβοι τὴν πολιτικὴν ταύτην ἐπιστήμην.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ξένος: δεῖ δὴ τὰς τοιαύτας γε ὡς ἔοικε πολιτείας, εἰ μέλλουσι 301a καλῶς τὴν ἀληθινὴν ἐκείνην τὴν τοῦ ἑνὸς μετὰ τέχνης ἄρχοντος πολιτείαν εἰς δύναμιν μιμήσεσθαι, μηδέποτε κειμένων αὐτοῖς τῶν νόμων μηδὲν ποιεῖν παρὰ τὰ γεγραμμένα καὶ πάτρια ἔθη. Νεώτερος Σωκράτης:

κάλλιστ᾽ εἴρηκας.

Ξένος: ὅταν ἄρα οἱ πλούσιοι ταύτην μιμῶνται, τότε ἀριστοκρατίαν καλοῦμεν τὴν τοιαύτην πολιτείαν: ὁπόταν δὲ τῶν νόμων μὴ φροντίζωσιν, ὀλιγαρχίαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύει.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν ὁπόταν αὖθις εἷς ἄρχῃ κατὰ νόμους, μιμούμενος 301b τὸν ἐπιστήμονα, βασιλέα καλοῦμεν, οὐ διορίζοντες ὀνόματι τὸν μετ᾽ ἐπιστήμης ἢ δόξης κατὰ νόμους μοναρχοῦντα.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύομεν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν κἄν τις ἄρα ἐπιστήμων ὄντως ὢν εἷς ἄρχῃ, πάντως τό γε ὄνομα ταὐτὸν βασιλεὺς καὶ οὐδὲν ἕτερον προσρηθήσεται: δι᾽ ἃ δὴ τὰ πέντε ὀνόματα τῶν νῦν λεγομένων πολιτειῶν ἓν μόνον γέγονεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔοικε γοῦν.

Ξένος: τί δ᾽ ὅταν μήτε κατὰ νόμους μήτε κατὰ ἔθη πράττῃ 301c τις εἷς ἄρχων, προσποιῆται δὲ ὥσπερ ὁ ἐπιστήμων ὡς ἄρα παρὰ τὰ γεγραμμένα τό γε βέλτιστον ποιητέον, ᾖ δέ τις ἐπιθυμία καὶ ἄγνοια τούτου τοῦ μιμήματος ἡγουμένη, μῶν οὐ τότε τὸν τοιοῦτον ἕκαστον τύραννον κλητέον;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: οὕτω δὴ τύραννός τε γέγονε, φαμέν, καὶ βασιλεὺς καὶ ὀλιγαρχία καὶ ἀριστοκρατία καὶ δημοκρατία, δυσχερανάντων τῶν ἀνθρώπων τὸν ἕνα ἐκεῖνον μόναρχον, καὶ ἀπιστησάντων μηδένα τῆς τοιαύτης ἀρχῆς ἄξιον ἂν γενέσθαι ποτέ, 301d ὥστε ἐθέλειν καὶ δυνατὸν εἶναι μετ᾽ ἀρετῆς καὶ ἐπιστήμης ἄρχοντα τὰ δίκαια καὶ ὅσια διανέμειν ὀρθῶς πᾶσιν, λωβᾶσθαι δὲ καὶ ἀποκτεινύναι καὶ κακοῦν ὃν ἂν βουληθῇ ἑκάστοτε ἡμῶν: ἐπεὶ γενόμενόν γ᾽ ἂν οἷον λέγομεν ἀγαπᾶσθαί τε ἂν καὶ οἰκεῖν διακυβερνῶντα εὐδαιμόνως ὀρθὴν ἀκριβῶς μόνον πολιτείαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: νῦν δέ γε ὁπότε οὐκ ἔστι γιγνόμενος, ὡς δή 301e φαμεν, ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι βασιλεὺς οἷος ἐν σμήνεσιν ἐμφύεται, τό τε σῶμα εὐθὺς καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν διαφέρων εἷς, δεῖ δὴ συνελθόντας συγγράμματα γράφειν, ὡς ἔοικεν, μεταθέοντας τὰ τῆς ἀληθεστάτης πολιτείας ἴχνη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύει.

Ξένος: θαυμάζομεν δῆτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐν ταῖς τοιαύταις πολιτείαις ὅσα συμβαίνει γίγνεσθαι κακὰ καὶ ὅσα συμβήσεται, τοιαύτης τῆς κρηπῖδος ὑποκειμένης αὐταῖς, τῆς κατὰ γράμματα καὶ ἔθη μὴ μετὰ ἐπιστήμης πραττούσης τὰς 302a πράξεις, <ᾗ> ἑτέρα προσχρωμένη παντὶ κατάδηλος ὡς πάντ᾽ ἂν διολέσειε τὰ ταύτῃ γιγνόμενα; ἢ ἐκεῖνο ἡμῖν θαυμαστέον μᾶλλον, ὡς ἰσχυρόν τι πόλις ἐστὶ φύσει; πάσχουσαι γὰρ δὴ τοιαῦτα αἱ πόλεις νῦν χρόνον ἀπέραντον, ὅμως ἔνιαί τινες αὐτῶν μόνιμοί τέ εἰσι καὶ οὐκ ἀνατρέπονται: πολλαὶ μὴν ἐνίοτε καὶ καθάπερ πλοῖα καταδυόμεναι διόλλυνται καὶ διολώλασι καὶ ἔτι διολοῦνται διὰ τὴν τῶν κυβερνητῶν καὶ ναυτῶν μοχθηρίαν τῶν περὶ τὰ μέγιστα μεγίστην ἄγνοιαν 302b εἰληφότων, οἳ περὶ τὰ πολιτικὰ κατ᾽ οὐδὲν γιγνώσκοντες ἡγοῦνται κατὰ πάντα σαφέστατα πασῶν ἐπιστημῶν ταύτην εἰληφέναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατα.

Ξένος: τίς οὖν δὴ τῶν οὐκ ὀρθῶν πολιτειῶν τούτων ἥκιστα χαλεπὴ συζῆν, πασῶν χαλεπῶν οὐσῶν, καὶ τίς βαρυτάτη; δεῖ τι κατιδεῖν ἡμᾶς, καίπερ πρός γε τὸ νῦν προτεθὲν ἡμῖν πάρεργον λεγόμενον; οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽ εἴς γε τὸ ὅλον ἴσως ἅπανθ᾽ ἕνεκα τοῦ τοιούτου πάντες δρῶμεν χάριν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δεῖ: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; 302c

Ξένος: τὴν αὐτὴν τοίνυν φάθι τριῶν οὐσῶν χαλεπὴν διαφερόντως γίγνεσθαι καὶ ῥᾴστην.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς φῄς;

Ξένος: οὐκ ἄλλως, πλὴν μοναρχίαν φημὶ καὶ ὀλίγων ἀρχὴν καὶ πολλῶν, εἶναι τρεῖς ταύτας ἡμῖν λεγομένας τοῦ νῦν ἐπικεχυμένου λόγου κατ᾽ ἀρχάς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἦσαν γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος: ταύτας τοίνυν δίχα τέμνοντες μίαν ἑκάστην ἓξ ποιῶμεν, τὴν ὀρθὴν χωρὶς ἀποκρίναντες τούτων ἑβδόμην.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς; 302d

Ξένος: ἐκ μὲν τῆς μοναρχίας βασιλικὴν καὶ τυραννικήν, ἐκ δ᾽ αὖ τῶν μὴ πολλῶν τήν τε εὐώνυμον ἔφαμεν [εἶναι] ἀριστοκρατίαν καὶ ὀλιγαρχίαν: ἐκ δ᾽ αὖ τῶν πολλῶν τότε μὲν ἁπλῆν ἐπονομάζοντες ἐτίθεμεν δημοκρατίαν, νῦν δ᾽ αὖ καὶ ταύτην ἡμῖν θετέον ἐστὶ διπλῆν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δή; καὶ τίνι διαιροῦντες ταύτην;

Ξένος: οὐδὲν διαφέροντι τῶν ἄλλων, οὐδ᾽ εἰ τοὔνομα ἤδη 302e διπλοῦν ἐστι ταύτης: ἀλλὰ τό γε κατὰ νόμους ἄρχειν καὶ παρανόμως ἔστι καὶ ταύτῃ καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔστι γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος: τότε μὲν τοίνυν τὴν ὀρθὴν ζητοῦσι τοῦτο τὸ τμῆμα οὐκ ἦν χρήσιμον, ὡς ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἀπεδείξαμεν: ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐξείλομεν ἐκείνην, τὰς δ᾽ ἄλλας ἔθεμεν ἀναγκαίας, ἐν ταύταις δὴ τὸ παράνομον καὶ ἔννομον ἑκάστην διχοτομεῖ τούτων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔοικεν τούτου νῦν ῥηθέντος τοῦ λόγου.

Ξένος: μοναρχία τοίνυν ζευχθεῖσα μὲν ἐν γράμμασιν ἀγαθοῖς, οὓς νόμους λέγομεν, ἀρίστη πασῶν τῶν ἕξ: ἄνομος δὲ χαλεπὴ καὶ βαρυτάτη συνοικῆσαι. 303a

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύει.

Ξένος: τὴν δέ γε τῶν μὴ πολλῶν, ὥσπερ ἑνὸς καὶ πλήθους τὸ ὀλίγον μέσον, οὕτως ἡγησώμεθα μέσην ἐπ᾽ ἀμφότερα: τὴν δ᾽ αὖ τοῦ πλήθους κατὰ πάντα ἀσθενῆ καὶ μηδὲν μήτε ἀγαθὸν μήτε κακὸν μέγα δυναμένην ὡς πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας διὰ τὸ τὰς ἀρχὰς ἐν ταύτῃ διανενεμῆσθαι κατὰ σμικρὰ εἰς πολλούς. διὸ γέγονε πασῶν μὲν νομίμων τῶν πολιτειῶν οὐσῶν τούτων χειρίστη, παρανόμων δὲ οὐσῶν συμπασῶν βελτίστη: 303b καὶ ἀκολάστων μὲν πασῶν οὐσῶν ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ νικᾷ ζῆν, κοσμίων δ᾽ οὐσῶν ἥκιστα ἐν ταύτῃ βιωτέον, ἐν τῇ πρώτῃ δὲ πολὺ πρῶτόν τε καὶ ἄριστον, πλὴν τῆς ἑβδόμης: πασῶν γὰρ ἐκείνην γε ἐκκριτέον, οἷον θεὸν ἐξ ἀνθρώπων, ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων πολιτειῶν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεται ταῦθ᾽ οὕτω συμβαίνειν τε καὶ γίγνεσθαι, καὶ ποιητέον ᾗπερ λέγεις.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν δὴ καὶ τοὺς κοινωνοὺς τούτων τῶν πολιτειῶν 303c πασῶν πλὴν τῆς ἐπιστήμονος ἀφαιρετέον ὡς οὐκ ὄντας πολιτικοὺς ἀλλὰ στασιαστικούς, καὶ εἰδώλων μεγίστων προστάτας ὄντας καὶ αὐτοὺς εἶναι τοιούτους, μεγίστους δὲ ὄντας μιμητὰς καὶ γόητας μεγίστους γίγνεσθαι τῶν σοφιστῶν σοφιστάς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύει τοῦτο εἰς τοὺς πολιτικοὺς λεγομένους περιεστράφθαι τὸ ῥῆμα ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος: εἶεν: τοῦτο μὲν ἀτεχνῶς ἡμῖν ὥσπερ δρᾶμα, καθάπερ ἐρρήθη νυνδὴ Κενταυρικὸν ὁρᾶσθαι καὶ Σατυρικόν τινα 303d θίασον, ὃν δὴ χωριστέον ἀπὸ πολιτικῆς εἴη τέχνης: νῦν δ᾽ οὕτω πάνυ μόγις ἐχωρίσθη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φαίνεται.

Ξένος: τούτου δέ γ᾽ ἕτερον ἔτι χαλεπώτερον λείπεται τῷ συγγενές τε ὁμοῦ τ᾽ εἶναι μᾶλλον τῷ βασιλικῷ γένει καὶ δυσκαταμαθητότερον: καί μοι φαινόμεθα τοῖς τὸν χρυσὸν καθαίρουσι πάθος ὅμοιον πεπονθέναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: Γῆν που καὶ λίθους καὶ πόλλ᾽ ἄττα ἕτερα ἀποκρίνουσι καὶ ἐκεῖνοι πρῶτον οἱ δημιουργοί: μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα 303e λείπεται συμμεμειγμένα τὰ συγγενῆ τοῦ χρυσοῦ τίμια καὶ πυρὶ μόνον ἀφαιρετά, χαλκὸς καὶ ἄργυρος, ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε καὶ ἀδάμας, <ἃ> μετὰ βασάνων ταῖς ἑψήσεσι μόγις ἀφαιρεθέντα τὸν λεγόμενον ἀκήρατον χρυσὸν εἴασεν ἡμᾶς ἰδεῖν αὐτὸν μόνον ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγεται γὰρ οὖν δὴ ταῦτα οὕτω γίγνεσθαι.

Ξένος: κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τοίνυν λόγον ἔοικε καὶ νῦν ἡμῖν τὰ μὲν ἕτερα καὶ ὁπόσα ἀλλότρια καὶ τὰ μὴ φίλα πολιτικῆς ἐπιστήμης ἀποκεχωρίσθαι, λείπεσθαι δὲ τὰ τίμια καὶ συγγενῆ. τούτων δ᾽ ἐστί που στρατηγία καὶ δικαστικὴ καὶ ὅση 304a βασιλικῇ κοινωνοῦσα ῥητορεία πείθουσα τὸ δίκαιον συνδιακυβερνᾷ τὰς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι πράξεις: ἃ δὴ τίνι τρόπῳ ῥᾷστά τις ἀπομερίζων δείξει γυμνὸν καὶ μόνον ἐκεῖνον καθ᾽ αὑτὸν τὸν ζητούμενον ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δῆλον ὅτι τοῦτό πῃ δρᾶν πειρατέον.

Ξένος: πείρας μὲν τοίνυν ἕνεκα φανερὸς ἔσται: διὰ δὲ μουσικῆς αὐτὸν ἐγχειρητέον δηλῶσαι. καί μοι λέγε.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον; 304b

Ξένος: μουσικῆς ἔστι πού τις ἡμῖν μάθησις, καὶ ὅλως τῶν περὶ χειροτεχνίας ἐπιστημῶν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔστιν.

Ξένος: τί δέ; τὸ δ᾽ αὖ τούτων ἡντινοῦν εἴτε δεῖ μανθάνειν ἡμᾶς εἴτε μή, πότερα φήσομεν ἐπιστήμην αὖ καὶ ταύτην εἶναί τινα περὶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα, ἢ πῶς;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὕτως, εἶναι φήσομεν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ἑτέραν ὁμολογήσομεν ἐκείνων εἶναι ταύτην;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: πότερα δὲ αὐτῶν οὐδεμίαν ἄρχειν δεῖν ἄλλην ἄλλης, 304c ἢ ἐκείνας ταύτης, ἢ ταύτην δεῖν ἐπιτροπεύουσαν ἄρχειν συμπασῶν τῶν ἄλλων;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ταύτην ἐκείνων.

Ξένος: <τὴν> εἰ δεῖ μανθάνειν ἢ μὴ τῆς μανθανομένης καὶ διδασκούσης ἄρα σύ γε ἀποφαίνῃ δεῖν ἡμῖν ἄρχειν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: σφόδρα γε.

Ξένος: καὶ τὴν εἰ δεῖ πείθειν ἄρα ἢ μὴ τῆς δυναμένης πείθειν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: εἶεν: τίνι τὸ πειστικὸν οὖν ἀποδώσομεν ἐπιστήμῃ 304d πλήθους τε καὶ ὄχλου διὰ μυθολογίας ἀλλὰ μὴ διὰ διδαχῆς;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φανερὸν οἶμαι καὶ τοῦτο ῥητορικῇ δοτέον ὄν.

Ξένος: τὸ δ᾽ εἴτε διὰ πειθοῦς εἴτε καὶ διά τινος βίας δεῖ πράττειν πρός τινας ὁτιοῦν ἢ καὶ τὸ παράπαν <ἡσυχίαν> ἔχειν, τοῦτ᾽ αὖ ποίᾳ προσθήσομεν ἐπιστήμῃ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τῇ τῆς πειστικῆς ἀρχούσῃ καὶ λεκτικῆς.

Ξένος: εἴη δ᾽ ἂν οὐκ ἄλλη τις, ὡς οἶμαι, πλὴν ἡ τοῦ πολιτικοῦ δύναμις.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κάλλιστ᾽ εἴρηκας.

Ξένος: καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ἔοικε ταχὺ κεχωρίσθαι πολιτικῆς τὸ 304e ῥητορικόν, ὡς ἕτερον εἶδος ὄν, ὑπηρετοῦν μὴν ταύτῃ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τί δὲ περὶ τῆς τοιᾶσδ᾽ αὖ δυνάμεως διανοητέον;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποίας;

Ξένος: τῆς ὡς πολεμητέον ἑκάστοις οἷς ἂν προελώμεθα πολεμεῖν, εἴτε αὐτὴν ἄτεχνον εἴτε ἔντεχνον ἐροῦμεν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ πῶς ἂν ἄτεχνον διανοηθεῖμεν, ἥν γε ἡ στρατηγικὴ καὶ πᾶσα ἡ πολεμικὴ πρᾶξις πράττει;

Ξένος: τὴν δὲ εἴτε πολεμητέον εἴτε διὰ φιλίας ἀπαλλακτέον οἵαν τε καὶ ἐπιστήμονα διαβουλεύσασθαι, ταύτης ἑτέραν ὑπολάβωμεν ἢ τὴν αὐτὴν ταύτῃ;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τοῖς πρόσθεν ἀναγκαῖον ἑπομένοισιν ἑτέραν. 305a

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ἄρχουσαν ταύτης αὐτὴν ἀποφανούμεθα, εἴπερ τοῖς ἔμπροσθέν γε ὑποληψόμεθα ὁμοίως;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: φημί.

Ξένος: τίν᾽ οὖν ποτε καὶ ἐπιχειρήσομεν οὕτω δεινῆς καὶ μεγάλης τέχνης συμπάσης τῆς πολεμικῆς δεσπότιν ἀποφαίνεσθαι πλήν γε δὴ τὴν ὄντως οὖσαν βασιλικήν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδεμίαν ἄλλην.

Ξένος: οὐκ ἄρα πολιτικὴν θήσομεν, ὑπηρετικήν γε οὖσαν, τὴν τῶν στρατηγῶν ἐπιστήμην.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκ εἰκός. 305b

Ξένος: ἴθι δή, καὶ τὴν τῶν δικαστῶν τῶν ὀρθῶς δικαζόντων θεασώμεθα δύναμιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐπὶ πλέον τι δύναται τοῦ περὶ τὰ συμβόλαια πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα κεῖται νόμιμα παρὰ νομοθέτου βασιλέως παραλαβοῦσα, κρίνειν εἰς ἐκεῖνα σκοποῦσα τά τε δίκαια ταχθέντ᾽ εἶναι καὶ ἄδικα, τὴν αὑτῆς ἰδίαν ἀρετὴν παρεχομένη τοῦ μήθ᾽ ὑπό τινων δώρων μήθ᾽ ὑπὸ φόβων μήτε οἴκτων μήθ᾽ 305c ὑπό τινος ἄλλης ἔχθρας μηδὲ φιλίας ἡττηθεῖσα παρὰ τὴν τοῦ νομοθέτου τάξιν ἐθέλειν ἂν τἀλλήλων ἐγκλήματα διαιρεῖν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὔκ, ἀλλὰ σχεδὸν ὅσον εἴρηκας ταύτης ἐστὶ τῆς δυνάμεως ἔργον.

Ξένος: καὶ τὴν τῶν δικαστῶν ἄρα ῥώμην ἀνευρίσκομεν οὐ βασιλικὴν οὖσαν ἀλλὰ νόμων φύλακα καὶ ὑπηρέτιν ἐκείνης.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔοικέν γε.

Ξένος: τόδε δὴ κατανοητέον ἰδόντι συναπάσας τὰς ἐπιστήμας αἳ εἴρηνται, ὅτι πολιτική γε αὐτῶν οὐδεμία ἀνεφάνη. 305d τὴν γὰρ ὄντως οὖσαν βασιλικὴν οὐκ αὐτὴν δεῖ πράττειν ἀλλ᾽ ἄρχειν τῶν δυναμένων πράττειν, γιγνώσκουσαν τὴν ἀρχήν τε καὶ ὁρμὴν τῶν μεγίστων ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἐγκαιρίας τε πέρι καὶ ἀκαιρίας, τὰς δ᾽ ἄλλας τὰ προσταχθέντα δρᾶν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Ξένος: διὰ ταῦτα ἄρα ἃς μὲν ἄρτι διεληλύθαμεν, οὔτ᾽ ἀλλήλων οὔθ᾽ αὑτῶν ἄρχουσαι, περὶ δέ τινα ἰδίαν αὑτῆς οὖσα ἑκάστη πρᾶξιν, κατὰ τὴν ἰδιότητα τῶν πράξεων τοὔνομα δικαίως εἴληφεν ἴδιον. 305e

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: εἴξασι γοῦν.

Ξένος: τὴν δὲ πασῶν τε τούτων ἄρχουσαν καὶ τῶν νόμων καὶ συμπάντων τῶν κατὰ πόλιν ἐπιμελουμένην καὶ πάντα συνυφαίνουσαν ὀρθότατα, τοῦ κοινοῦ τῇ κλήσει περιλαβόντες τὴν δύναμιν αὐτῆς, προσαγορεύοιμεν δικαιότατ᾽ ἄν, ὡς ἔοικε, πολιτικήν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν δὴ καὶ κατὰ τὸ τῆς ὑφαντικῆς παράδειγμα βουλοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἐπεξελθεῖν αὐτὴν νῦν, ὅτε καὶ πάντα τὰ γένη τὰ κατὰ πόλιν δῆλα ἡμῖν γέγονε;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ σφόδρα γε. 306a

Ξένος: τὴν δὴ βασιλικὴν συμπλοκήν, ὡς ἔοικε, λεκτέον ποία τέ ἐστι καὶ τίνι τρόπῳ συμπλέκουσα ποῖον ἡμῖν ὕφασμα ἀποδίδωσιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δῆλον.

Ξένος: ἦ χαλεπὸν ἐνδείξασθαι πρᾶγμα ἀναγκαῖον ἄρα γέγονεν, ὡς φαίνεται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάντως γε μὴν ῥητέον.

Ξένος: τὸ γὰρ ἀρετῆς μέρος ἀρετῆς εἴδει διάφορον εἶναί τινα τρόπον τοῖς περὶ λόγους ἀμφισβητητικοῖς καὶ μάλ᾽ εὐεπίθετον πρὸς τὰς τῶν πολλῶν δόξας.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἔμαθον.

Ξένος: ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε πάλιν. ἀνδρείαν γὰρ οἶμαί σε ἡγεῖσθαι 306b μέρος ἓν ἀρετῆς ἡμῖν εἶναι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ γε.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν σωφροσύνην γε ἀνδρείας μὲν ἕτερον, ἓν δ᾽ οὖν καὶ τοῦτο μόριον ἧς κἀκεῖνο.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: τούτων δὴ πέρι θαυμαστόν τινα λόγον ἀποφαίνεσθαι τολμητέον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον;

Ξένος: ὡς ἐστὸν κατὰ δή τινα τρόπον εὖ μάλα πρὸς ἀλλήλας ἔχθραν καὶ στάσιν ἐναντίαν ἔχοντε ἐν πολλοῖς τῶν ὄντων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς λέγεις;

Ξένος: οὐκ εἰωθότα λόγον οὐδαμῶς: πάντα γὰρ οὖν δὴ 306c ἀλλήλοις τά γε τῆς ἀρετῆς μόρια λέγεταί που φίλια.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί.

Ξένος: σκοπῶμεν δὴ προσσχόντες τὸν νοῦν εὖ μάλα πότερον οὕτως ἁπλοῦν ἐστι τοῦτο, ἢ παντὸς μᾶλλον αὐτῶν ἔχει διαφορὰν τοῖς συγγενέσιν ἔς τι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί, λέγοις ἂν πῇ σκεπτέον.

Ξένος: ἐν τοῖς σύμπασι χρὴ ζητεῖν ὅσα καλὰ μὲν λέγομεν, εἰς δύο δὲ αὐτὰ τίθεμεν ἐναντία ἀλλήλων εἴδη.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον.

Ξένος: ὀξύτητα καὶ τάχος, εἴτε κατὰ σώματα εἴτ᾽ ἐν 306d ψυχαῖς εἴτε κατὰ φωνῆς φοράν, εἴτε αὐτῶν τούτων εἴτε ἐν εἰδώλοις ὄντων, ὁπόσα μουσικὴ μιμουμένη καὶ ἔτι γραφικὴ μιμήματα παρέχεται, τούτων τινὸς ἐπαινέτης εἴτε αὐτὸς πώποτε γέγονας εἴτε ἄλλου παρὼν ἐπαινοῦντος ᾔσθησαι;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν;

Ξένος: ἦ καὶ μνήμην ἔχεις ὅντινα τρόπον αὐτὸ δρῶσιν ἐν ἑκάστοις τούτων;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς.

Ξένος: ἆρ᾽ οὖν δυνατὸς αὐτὸ ἂν γενοίμην, ὥσπερ καὶ διανοοῦμαι, διὰ λόγων ἐνδείξασθαί σοι; 306e

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: ῥᾴδιον ἔοικας ἡγεῖσθαι τὸ τοιοῦτον: σκοπώμεθα δ᾽ οὖν αὐτὸ ἐν τοῖς ὑπεναντίοις γένεσι. τῶν γὰρ δὴ πράξεων ἐν πολλαῖς καὶ πολλάκις ἑκάστοτε τάχος καὶ σφοδρότητα καὶ ὀξύτητα διανοήσεώς τε καὶ σώματος, ἔτι δὲ καὶ φωνῆς, ὅταν ἀγασθῶμεν, λέγομεν αὐτὸ ἐπαινοῦντες μιᾷ χρώμενοι προσρήσει τῇ τῆς ἀνδρείας.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: ὀξὺ καὶ ἀνδρεῖον πρῶτόν πού φαμεν, καὶ ταχὺ καὶ ἀνδρικόν, καὶ σφοδρὸν ὡσαύτως: καὶ πάντως ἐπιφέροντες τοὔνομα ὃ λέγω κοινὸν πάσαις ταῖς φύσεσι ταύταις ἐπαινοῦμεν αὐτάς.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ναί. 307a

Ξένος: τί δέ; τὸ τῆς ἠρεμαίας αὖ γενέσεως εἶδος ἆρ᾽ οὐ πολλάκις ἐπῃνέκαμεν ἐν πολλαῖς τῶν πράξεων;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ σφόδρα γε.

Ξένος: μῶν οὖν οὐ τἀναντία λέγοντες ἢ περὶ ἐκείνων τοῦτο φθεγγόμεθα;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: ὡς ἡσυχαῖά πού φαμεν ἑκάστοτε καὶ σωφρονικά, περί τε διάνοιαν πραττόμενα ἀγασθέντες καὶ κατὰ τὰς πράξεις αὖ βραδέα καὶ μαλακά, καὶ ἔτι περὶ φωνὰς γιγνόμενα λεῖα καὶ βαρέα, καὶ πᾶσαν ῥυθμικὴν κίνησιν καὶ ὅλην 307b μοῦσαν ἐν καιρῷ βραδυτῆτι προσχρωμένην, οὐ τὸ τῆς ἀνδρείας ἀλλὰ τὸ τῆς κοσμιότητος ὄνομα ἐπιφέρομεν αὐτοῖς σύμπασιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατα.

Ξένος: καὶ μὴν ὁπόταν αὖ γε ἀμφότερα γίγνηται ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἄκαιρα, μεταβάλλοντες ἑκάτερα αὐτῶν ψέγομεν ἐπὶ τἀναντία πάλιν ἀπονέμοντες τοῖς ὀνόμασιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: ὀξύτερα μὲν αὐτὰ γιγνόμενα τοῦ καιροῦ καὶ θάττω καὶ σκληρότερα φαινόμενα [καὶ] ὑβριστικὰ καὶ μανικὰ λέγοντες, 307c τὰ δὲ βαρύτερα καὶ βραδύτερα καὶ μαλακώτερα δειλὰ καὶ βλακικά: καὶ σχεδὸν ὡς τὸ πολὺ ταῦτά τε καὶ τὴν σώφρονα φύσιν καὶ τὴν ἀνδρείαν τὴν τῶν ἐναντίων, οἷον πολεμίαν διαλαχούσας στάσιν ἰδέας, οὔτ᾽ ἀλλήλαις μειγνυμένας ἐφευρίσκομεν ἐν ταῖς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πράξεσιν, ἔτι τε τοὺς ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς αὐτὰς ἴσχοντας διαφερομένους ἀλλήλοις ὀψόμεθα ἐὰν μεταδιώκωμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῦ δὴ λέγεις;

Ξένος: ἐν πᾶσί τε δὴ τούτοις οἷς νῦν εἴπομεν, ὡς εἰκός 307d τε ἐν ἑτέροις πολλοῖς. κατὰ γὰρ οἶμαι τὴν αὑτῶν ἑκατέροις συγγένειαν τὰ μὲν ἐπαινοῦντες ὡς οἰκεῖα σφέτερα, τὰ δὲ τῶν διαφόρων ψέγοντες ὡς ἀλλότρια, πολλὴν εἰς ἔχθραν ἀλλήλοις καὶ πολλῶν πέρι καθίστανται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύουσιν.

Ξένος: παιδιὰ τοίνυν αὕτη γέ τις ἡ διαφορὰ τούτων ἐστὶ τῶν εἰδῶν: περὶ δὲ τὰ μέγιστα νόσος συμβαίνει πασῶν ἐχθίστη γίγνεσθαι ταῖς πόλεσιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: περὶ δὴ ποῖα φῄς; 307e

Ξένος: περὶ ὅλην, ὥς γε εἰκός, τὴν τοῦ ζῆν παρασκευήν. οἱ μὲν γὰρ δὴ διαφερόντως ὄντες κόσμιοι τὸν ἥσυχον ἀεὶ βίον ἕτοιμοι ζῆν, αὐτοὶ καθ᾽ αὑτοὺς μόνοι τὰ σφέτερα αὐτῶν πράττοντες, οἴκοι τε αὖ πρὸς ἅπαντας οὕτως ὁμιλοῦντες, καὶ πρὸς τὰς ἔξωθεν πόλεις ὡσαύτως ἕτοιμοι πάντα ὄντες τρόπον τινὰ ἄγειν εἰρήνην: καὶ διὰ τὸν ἔρωτα δὴ τοῦτον ἀκαιρότερον ὄντα ἢ χρή, ὅταν ἃ βούλονται πράττωσιν, ἔλαθον αὐτοί τε ἀπολέμως ἴσχοντες καὶ τοὺς νέους ὡσαύτως διατιθέντες, ὄντες τε ἀεὶ τῶν ἐπιτιθεμένων, ἐξ ὧν οὐκ ἐν πολλοῖς ἔτεσιν αὐτοὶ καὶ παῖδες καὶ σύμπασα ἡ 308a πόλις ἀντ᾽ ἐλευθέρων πολλάκις ἔλαθον αὑτοὺς γενόμενοι δοῦλοι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: χαλεπὸν εἶπες καὶ δεινὸν πάθος.

Ξένος: τί δ᾽ οἱ πρὸς τὴν ἀνδρείαν μᾶλλον ῥέποντες; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐπὶ πόλεμον ἀεί τινα τὰς αὑτῶν συντείνοντες πόλεις διὰ τὴν τοῦ τοιούτου βίου σφοδροτέραν τοῦ δέοντος ἐπιθυμίαν εἰς ἔχθραν πολλοῖς καὶ δυνατοῖς καταστάντες ἢ πάμπαν διώλεσαν ἢ δούλας αὖ καὶ ὑποχειρίους τοῖς ἐχθροῖς ὑπέθεσαν τὰς αὑτῶν πατρίδας; 308b

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἔστι καὶ ταῦτα.

Ξένος: πῶς οὖν μὴ φῶμεν ἐν τούτοις ἀμφότερα ταῦτα τὰ γένη πολλὴν πρὸς ἄλληλα ἀεὶ καὶ τὴν μεγίστην ἴσχειν ἔχθραν καὶ στάσιν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς ὡς οὐ φήσομεν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν ὅπερ ἐπεσκοποῦμεν κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἀνηυρήκαμεν, ὅτι μόρια ἀρετῆς οὐ σμικρὰ ἀλλήλοις διαφέρεσθον φύσει καὶ δὴ καὶ τοὺς ἴσχοντας δρᾶτον τὸ αὐτὸ τοῦτο;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κινδυνεύετον.

Ξένος: τόδε τοίνυν αὖ λάβωμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ ποῖον; 308c

Ξένος: εἴ τίς που τῶν συνθετικῶν ἐπιστημῶν πρᾶγμα ὁτιοῦν τῶν αὑτῆς ἔργων, κἂν εἰ τὸ φαυλότατον, ἑκοῦσα ἐκ μοχθηρῶν καὶ χρηστῶν τινων συνίστησιν, ἢ πᾶσα ἐπιστήμη πανταχοῦ τὰ μὲν μοχθηρὰ εἰς δύναμιν ἀποβάλλει, τὰ δὲ ἐπιτήδεια καὶ [τὰ] χρηστὰ ἔλαβεν, ἐκ τούτων δὲ καὶ ὁμοίων καὶ ἀνομοίων ὄντων, πάντα εἰς ἓν αὐτὰ συνάγουσα, μίαν τινὰ δύναμιν καὶ ἰδέαν δημιουργεῖ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί μήν; 308d

Ξένος: οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ἡ κατὰ φύσιν ἀληθῶς οὖσα ἡμῖν πολιτικὴ μή ποτε ἐκ χρηστῶν καὶ κακῶν ἀνθρώπων ἑκοῦσα εἶναι συστήσηται πόλιν τινά, ἀλλ᾽ εὔδηλον ὅτι παιδιᾷ πρῶτον βασανιεῖ, μετὰ δὲ τὴν βάσανον αὖ τοῖς δυναμένοις παιδεύειν καὶ ὑπηρετεῖν πρὸς τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ παραδώσει, προστάττουσα καὶ ἐπιστατοῦσα αὐτή, καθάπερ ὑφαντικὴ τοῖς τε ξαίνουσι καὶ τοῖς τἆλλα προπαρασκευάζουσιν ὅσα πρὸς τὴν πλέξιν αὐτῆς συμπαρακολουθοῦσα προστάττει καὶ ἐπιστατεῖ, τοιαῦτα 308e ἑκάστοις ἐνδεικνῦσα τὰ ἔργα ἀποτελεῖν οἷα ἂν ἐπιτήδεια ἡγῆται πρὸς τὴν αὑτῆς εἶναι συμπλοκήν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: ταὐτὸν δή μοι τοῦθ᾽ ἡ βασιλικὴ φαίνεται πᾶσι τοῖς κατὰ νόμον παιδευταῖς καὶ τροφεῦσιν, τὴν τῆς ἐπιστατικῆς αὐτὴ δύναμιν ἔχουσα, οὐκ ἐπιτρέψειν ἀσκεῖν ὅτι μή τις πρὸς τὴν αὑτῆς σύγκρασιν ἀπεργαζόμενος ἦθός τι πρέπον ἀποτελεῖ, ταῦτα δὲ μόνα παρακελεύεσθαι παιδεύειν: καὶ τοὺς μὲν μὴ δυναμένους κοινωνεῖν ἤθους ἀνδρείου καὶ σώφρονος ὅσα τε ἄλλα ἐστὶ τείνοντα πρὸς ἀρετήν, ἀλλ᾽ εἰς 309a ἀθεότητα καὶ ὕβριν καὶ ἀδικίαν ὑπὸ κακῆς βίᾳ φύσεως ἀπωθουμένους, θανάτοις τε ἐκβάλλει καὶ φυγαῖς καὶ ταῖς μεγίσταις κολάζουσα ἀτιμίαις.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: λέγεται γοῦν πως οὕτως.

Ξένος: τοὺς δὲ ἐν ἀμαθίᾳ τε αὖ καὶ ταπεινότητι πολλῇ κυλινδουμένους εἰς τὸ δουλικὸν ὑποζεύγνυσι γένος.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος: τοὺς λοιποὺς τοίνυν, ὅσων αἱ φύσεις ἐπὶ τὸ γενναῖον 309b ἱκαναὶ παιδείας τυγχάνουσαι καθίστασθαι καὶ δέξασθαι μετὰ τέχνης σύμμειξιν πρὸς ἀλλήλας, τούτων τὰς μὲν ἐπὶ τὴν ἀνδρείαν μᾶλλον συντεινούσας, οἷον στημονοφυὲς νομίσας᾽ αὐτῶν εἶναι τὸ στερεὸν ἦθος, τὰς δὲ ἐπὶ τὸ κόσμιον πίονί τε καὶ μαλακῷ καὶ κατὰ τὴν εἰκόνα κροκώδει διανήματι προσχρωμένας, ἐναντία δὲ τεινούσας ἀλλήλαις, πειρᾶται τοιόνδε τινὰ τρόπον συνδεῖν καὶ συμπλέκειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ποῖον δή; 309c

Ξένος: πρῶτον μὲν κατὰ τὸ συγγενὲς τὸ ἀειγενὲς ὂν τῆς ψυχῆς αὐτῶν μέρος θείῳ συναρμοσαμένη δεσμῷ, μετὰ δὲ τὸ θεῖον τὸ ζῳογενὲς αὐτῶν αὖθις ἀνθρωπίνοις.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς τοῦτ᾽ εἶπες αὖ;

Ξένος: τὴν τῶν καλῶν καὶ δικαίων πέρι καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ τῶν τούτοις ἐναντίων ὄντως οὖσαν ἀληθῆ δόξαν μετὰ βεβαιώσεως, ὁπόταν ἐν [ταῖς] ψυχαῖς ἐγγίγνηται, θείαν φημὶ ἐν δαιμονίῳ γίγνεσθαι γένει.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πρέπει γοῦν οὕτω. 309d

Ξένος: τὸν δὴ πολιτικὸν καὶ τὸν ἀγαθὸν νομοθέτην ἆρ᾽ ἴσμεν ὅτι προσήκει μόνον δυνατὸν εἶναι τῇ τῆς βασιλικῆς μούσῃ τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἐμποιεῖν τοῖς ὀρθῶς μεταλαβοῦσι παιδείας, οὓς ἐλέγομεν νυνδή;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τὸ γοῦν εἰκός.

Ξένος: ὃς δ᾽ ἂν δρᾶν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀδυνατῇ τὸ τοιοῦτον, μηδέποτε τοῖς νῦν ζητουμένοις ὀνόμασιν αὐτὸν προσαγορεύωμεν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα.

Ξένος: τί οὖν; ἀνδρεία ψυχὴ λαμβανομένη τῆς τοιαύτης 309e ἀληθείας ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ἡμεροῦται καὶ τῶν δικαίων μάλιστα οὕτω κοινωνεῖν ἂν ἐθελήσειεν, μὴ μεταλαβοῦσα δὲ ἀποκλινεῖ μᾶλλον πρὸς θηριώδη τινὰ φύσιν;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ξένος: τί δὲ τὸ τῆς κοσμίας φύσεως; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τούτων μὲν μεταλαβὸν τῶν δοξῶν ὄντως σῶφρον καὶ φρόνιμον, ὥς γε ἐν πολιτείᾳ, γίγνεται, μὴ κοινωνῆσαν δὲ ὧν λέγομεν ἐπονείδιστόν τινα εὐηθείας δικαιότατα λαμβάνει φήμην;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ξένος: οὐκοῦν συμπλοκὴν καὶ δεσμὸν τοῦτον τοῖς μὲν κακοῖς πρὸς σφᾶς αὐτοὺς καὶ τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς πρὸς τοὺς κακοὺς μηδέποτε μόνιμον φῶμεν γίγνεσθαι, μηδέ τινα ἐπιστήμην αὐτῷ σπουδῇ πρὸς τοὺς τοιούτους ἂν χρῆσθαί ποτε;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γάρ; 310a

Ξένος: τοῖς δ᾽ εὐγενέσι γενομένοις τε ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἤθεσι θρεφθεῖσί τε κατὰ φύσιν μόνοις διὰ νόμων ἐμφύεσθαι, καὶ ἐπὶ τούτοις δὴ τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι τέχνῃ φάρμακον, καὶ καθάπερ εἴπομεν τοῦτον θειότερον εἶναι τὸν σύνδεσμον ἀρετῆς μερῶν φύσεως ἀνομοίων καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ ἐναντία φερομένων.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατα.

Ξένος: τοὺς μὴν λοιπούς, ὄντας ἀνθρωπίνους δεσμούς, ὑπάρχοντος τούτου τοῦ θείου σχεδὸν οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν οὔτε ἐννοεῖν οὔτε ἐννοήσαντα ἀποτελεῖν. 310b

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς δή, καὶ τίνας;

Ξένος: τοὺς τῶν ἐπιγαμιῶν καὶ παίδων κοινωνήσεων καὶ τῶν περὶ τὰς ἰδίας ἐκδόσεις καὶ γάμους. οἱ γὰρ πολλοὶ τὰ περὶ ταῦτα οὐκ ὀρθῶς συνδοῦνται πρὸς τὴν τῶν παίδων γέννησιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: τί δή;

Ξένος: τὰ μὲν πλούτου καὶ δυνάμεων ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις διώγματα τί καί τις ἂν ὡς ἄξια λόγου σπουδάζοι μεμφόμενος;

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: οὐδέν.

Ξένος: μᾶλλον δέ γε δίκαιον τῶν περὶ τὰ γένη ποιουμένων 310c ἐπιμέλειαν τούτων πέρι λέγειν, εἴ τι μὴ κατὰ τρόπον πράττουσιν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: εἰκὸς γὰρ οὖν.

Ξένος: πράττουσι μὲν δὴ οὐδ᾽ ἐξ ἑνὸς ὀρθοῦ λόγου, τὴν ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμα διώκοντες ῥᾳστώνην καὶ τῷ τοὺς μὲν προσομοίους αὐτοῖς ἀσπάζεσθαι, τοὺς δ᾽ ἀνομοίους μὴ στέργειν, πλεῖστον τῇ δυσχερείᾳ μέρος ἀπονέμοντες.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: οἱ μέν που κόσμιοι τὸ σφέτερον αὐτῶν ἦθος ζητοῦσι, καὶ κατὰ δύναμιν γαμοῦσί τε παρὰ τούτων καὶ τὰς 310d ἐκδιδομένας παρ᾽ αὑτῶν εἰς τούτους ἐκπέμπουσι πάλιν: ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως τὸ περὶ τὴν ἀνδρείαν γένος δρᾷ, τὴν αὑτοῦ μεταδιῶκον φύσιν, δέον ποιεῖν ἀμφότερα τὰ γένη τούτων τοὐναντίον ἅπαν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς, καὶ διὰ τί;

Ξένος: διότι πέφυκεν ἀνδρεία τε ἐν πολλαῖς γενέσεσιν ἄμεικτος γεννωμένη σώφρονι φύσει κατὰ μὲν ἀρχὰς ἀκμάζειν ῥώμῃ, τελευτῶσα δὲ ἐξανθεῖν παντάπασι μανίαις.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: εἰκός.

Ξένος: ἡ δὲ αἰδοῦς γε αὖ λίαν πλήρης ψυχὴ καὶ ἀκέραστος 310e τόλμης ἀνδρείας, ἐπὶ δὲ γενεὰς πολλὰς οὕτω γεννηθεῖσα, νωθεστέρα φύεσθαι τοῦ καιροῦ καὶ ἀποτελευτῶσα δὴ παντάπασιν ἀναπηροῦσθαι.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: καὶ τοῦτ᾽ εἰκὸς οὕτω συμβαίνειν.

Ξένος: τούτους δὴ τοὺς δεσμοὺς ἔλεγον ὅτι χαλεπὸν οὐδὲν συνδεῖν ὑπάρξαντος τοῦ περὶ τὰ καλὰ κἀγαθὰ μίαν ἔχειν ἀμφότερα τὰ γένη δόξαν. τοῦτο γὰρ ἓν καὶ ὅλον ἐστὶ βασιλικῆς συνυφάνσεως ἔργον, μηδέποτε ἐᾶν ἀφίστασθαι σώφρονα ἀπὸ τῶν ἀνδρείων ἤθη, συγκερκίζοντα δὲ ὁμοδοξίαις καὶ τιμαῖς καὶ ἀτιμίαις καὶ δόξαις καὶ ὁμηρειῶν ἐκδόσεσιν εἰς ἀλλήλους, λεῖον καὶ τὸ λεγόμενον εὐήτριον 311a ὕφασμα συνάγοντα ἐξ αὐτῶν, τὰς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἀρχὰς ἀεὶ κοινῇ τούτοις ἐπιτρέπειν.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς;

Ξένος: οὗ μὲν ἂν ἑνὸς ἄρχοντος χρεία συμβαίνῃ, τὸν ταῦτα ἀμφότερα ἔχοντα αἱρούμενον ἐπιστάτην: οὗ δ᾽ ἂν πλειόνων, τούτων μέρος ἑκατέρων συμμειγνύντα. τὰ μὲν γὰρ σωφρόνων ἀρχόντων ἤθη σφόδρα μὲν εὐλαβῆ καὶ δίκαια καὶ σωτήρια, δριμύτητος δὲ καί τινος ἰταμότητος ὀξείας καὶ πρακτικῆς ἐνδεῖται.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: δοκεῖ γοῦν δὴ καὶ τάδε. 311b

Ξένος: τὰ δ᾽ ἀνδρεῖά γε αὖ πρὸς μὲν τὸ δίκαιον καὶ εὐλαβὲς ἐκείνων ἐπιδεέστερα, τὸ δὲ ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι ἰταμὸν διαφερόντως ἴσχει. πάντα δὲ καλῶς γίγνεσθαι τὰ περὶ τὰς πόλεις ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ τούτοιν μὴ παραγενομένοιν ἀμφοῖν ἀδύνατον.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ξένος: τοῦτο δὴ τέλος ὑφάσματος εὐθυπλοκίᾳ συμπλακὲν γίγνεσθαι φῶμεν πολιτικῆς πράξεως τὸ τῶν ἀνδρείων καὶ σωφρόνων ἀνθρώπων ἦθος, ὁπόταν ὁμονοίᾳ καὶ φιλίᾳ κοινὸν 311c συναγαγοῦσα αὐτῶν τὸν βίον ἡ βασιλικὴ τέχνη, πάντων μεγαλοπρεπέστατον ὑφασμάτων καὶ ἄριστον ἀποτελέσασα [ὥστ᾽ εἶναι κοινόν] τούς τ᾽ ἄλλους ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι πάντας δούλους καὶ ἐλευθέρους ἀμπίσχουσα, συνέχῃ τούτῳ τῷ πλέγματι, καὶ καθ᾽ ὅσον εὐδαίμονι προσήκει γίγνεσθαι πόλει τούτου μηδαμῇ μηδὲν ἐλλείπουσα ἄρχῃ τε καὶ ἐπιστατῇ.

Νεώτερος Σωκράτης: κάλλιστα αὖ τὸν βασιλικὸν ἀπετέλεσας ἄνδρα ἡμῖν, ὦ ξένε, καὶ τὸν πολιτικόν.

PHILEBUS

Σωκράτης, Πρώταρχος, Φίληβος.

11a Σωκράτης: ὅρα δή, Πρώταρχε, τίνα λόγον μέλλεις παρὰ Φιλήβου δέχεσθαι νυνὶ καὶ πρὸς τίνα τὸν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἀμφισβητεῖν, 11b ἐὰν μή σοι κατὰ νοῦν ᾖ λεγόμενος. βούλει συγκεφαλαιωσώμεθα ἑκάτερον;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: Φίληβος μὲν τοίνυν ἀγαθὸν εἶναί φησι τὸ χαίρειν πᾶσι ζῴοις καὶ τὴν ἡδονὴν καὶ τέρψιν, καὶ ὅσα τοῦ γένους ἐστὶ τούτου σύμφωνα: τὸ δὲ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν ἀμφισβήτημά ἐστι μὴ ταῦτα, ἀλλὰ τὸ φρονεῖν καὶ τὸ νοεῖν καὶ μεμνῆσθαι καὶ τὰ τούτων αὖ συγγενῆ, δόξαν τε ὀρθὴν καὶ ἀληθεῖς λογισμούς, τῆς γε ἡδονῆς ἀμείνω καὶ λῴω γίγνεσθαι σύμπασιν ὅσαπερ 11c αὐτῶν δυνατὰ μεταλαβεῖν: δυνατοῖς δὲ μετασχεῖν ὠφελιμώτατον ἁπάντων εἶναι πᾶσι τοῖς οὖσί τε καὶ ἐσομένοις. μῶν οὐχ οὕτω πως λέγομεν, ὦ Φίληβε, ἑκάτεροι;

Φίληβος: πάντων μὲν οὖν μάλιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: δέχῃ δὴ τοῦτον τὸν νῦν διδόμενον, ὦ Πρώταρχε, λόγον;

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη δέχεσθαι: Φίληβος γὰρ ἡμῖν ὁ καλὸς ἀπείρηκεν.

Σωκράτης: δεῖ δὴ περὶ αὐτῶν τρόπῳ παντὶ τἀληθές πῃ περανθῆναι; 11d

Πρώταρχος: δεῖ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή, πρὸς τούτοις διομολογησώμεθα καὶ τόδε.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὡς νῦν ἡμῶν ἑκάτερος ἕξιν ψυχῆς καὶ διάθεσιν ἀποφαίνειν τινὰ ἐπιχειρήσει τὴν δυναμένην ἀνθρώποις πᾶσι τὸν βίον εὐδαίμονα παρέχειν. ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὑμεῖς μὲν τὴν τοῦ χαίρειν, ἡμεῖς δ᾽ αὖ τὴν τοῦ φρονεῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ἂν ἄλλη τις κρείττων τούτων φανῇ; μῶν οὐκ, 11e ἂν μὲν ἡδονῇ μᾶλλον φαίνηται συγγενής, ἡττώμεθα μὲν ἀμφότεροι τοῦ ταῦτα ἔχοντος βεβαίως βίου, κρατεῖ δὲ ὁ τῆς 12a ἡδονῆς τὸν τῆς φρονήσεως;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἂν δέ γε φρονήσει, νικᾷ μὲν φρόνησις τὴν ἡδονήν, ἡ δὲ ἡττᾶται; ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως ὁμολογούμενά φατε, ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ Φιλήβῳ; τί φῄς;

Φίληβος: ἐμοὶ μὲν πάντως νικᾶν ἡδονὴ δοκεῖ καὶ δόξει: σὺ δέ, Πρώταρχε, αὐτὸς γνώσῃ.

Πρώταρχος: παραδούς, ὦ Φίληβε, ἡμῖν τὸν λόγον οὐκ ἂν ἔτι κύριος εἴης τῆς πρὸς Σωκράτη ὁμολογίας ἢ καὶ τοὐναντίον. 12b

Φίληβος: ἀληθῆ λέγεις: ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἀφοσιοῦμαι καὶ μαρτύρομαι νῦν αὐτὴν τὴν θεόν.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ ἡμεῖς σοι τούτων γε αὐτῶν συμμάρτυρες ἂν εἶμεν, ὡς ταῦτα ἔλεγες ἃ λέγεις. ἀλλὰ δὴ τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα ἑξῆς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅμως καὶ μετὰ Φιλήβου ἑκόντος ἢ ὅπως ἂν ἐθέλῃ πειρώμεθα περαίνειν.

Σωκράτης: πειρατέον, ἀπ᾽ αὐτῆς δὴ τῆς θεοῦ, ἣν ὅδε Ἀφροδίτην μὲν λέγεσθαί φησι, τὸ δ᾽ ἀληθέστατον αὐτῆς ὄνομα ἡδονὴν εἶναι.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα. 12c

Σωκράτης: τὸ δ᾽ ἐμὸν δέος, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἀεὶ πρὸς τὰ τῶν θεῶν ὀνόματα οὐκ ἔστι κατ᾽ ἄνθρωπον, ἀλλὰ πέρα τοῦ μεγίστου φόβου. καὶ νῦν τὴν μὲν Ἀφροδίτην, ὅπῃ ἐκείνῃ φίλον, ταύτῃ προσαγορεύω: τὴν δὲ ἡδονὴν οἶδα ὡς ἔστι ποικίλον, καὶ ὅπερ εἶπον, ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνης ἡμᾶς ἀρχομένους ἐνθυμεῖσθαι δεῖ καὶ σκοπεῖν ἥντινα φύσιν ἔχει. ἔστι γάρ, ἀκούειν μὲν οὕτως ἁπλῶς, ἕν τι, μορφὰς δὲ δήπου παντοίας εἴληφε καί τινα τρόπον ἀνομοίους ἀλλήλαις. ἰδὲ γάρ: ἥδεσθαι μέν φαμεν 12d τὸν ἀκολασταίνοντα ἄνθρωπον, ἥδεσθαι δὲ καὶ τὸν σωφρονοῦντα αὐτῷ τῷ σωφρονεῖν: ἥδεσθαι δ᾽ αὖ καὶ τὸν ἀνοηταίνοντα καὶ ἀνοήτων δοξῶν καὶ ἐλπίδων μεστόν, ἥδεσθαι δ᾽ αὖ τὸν φρονοῦντα αὐτῷ τῷ φρονεῖν: καὶ τούτων τῶν ἡδονῶν ἑκατέρας πῶς ἄν τις ὁμοίας ἀλλήλαις εἶναι λέγων οὐκ ἀνόητος φαίνοιτο ἐνδίκως;

Πρώταρχος: εἰσὶ μὲν γὰρ ἀπ᾽ ἐναντίων, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὗται πραγμάτων, οὐ μὴν αὐταί γε ἀλλήλαις ἐναντίαι. πῶς γὰρ 12e ἡδονῇ γε ἡδονὴ {{π|μὴ] οὐχ ὁμοιότατον ἂν εἴη, τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἑαυτῷ, πάντων χρημάτων;

Σωκράτης: καὶ γὰρ χρῶμα, ὦ δαιμόνιε, χρώματι: κατά γε αὐτὸ τοῦτο οὐδὲν διοίσει τὸ χρῶμα εἶναι πᾶν, τό γε μὴν μέλαν τῷ λευκῷ πάντες γιγνώσκομεν ὡς πρὸς τῷ διάφορον εἶναι καὶ ἐναντιώτατον ὂν τυγχάνει. καὶ δὴ καὶ σχῆμα σχήματι κατὰ ταὐτόν: γένει μέν ἐστι πᾶν ἕν, τὰ δὲ μέρη τοῖς μέρεσιν 13a αὐτοῦ τὰ μὲν ἐναντιώτατα ἀλλήλοις, τὰ δὲ διαφορότητ᾽ ἔχοντα μυρίαν που τυγχάνει, καὶ πολλὰ ἕτερα οὕτως ἔχονθ᾽ εὑρήσομεν. ὥστε τούτῳ γε τῷ λόγῳ μὴ πίστευε, τῷ πάντα τὰ ἐναντιώτατα ἓν ποιοῦντι. φοβοῦμαι δὲ μή τινας ἡδονὰς ἡδοναῖς εὑρήσομεν ἐναντίας.

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως: ἀλλὰ τί τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῶν βλάψει τὸν λόγον;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι προσαγορεύεις αὐτὰ ἀνόμοια ὄντα ἑτέρῳ, φήσομεν, ὀνόματι: λέγεις γὰρ ἀγαθὰ πάντ᾽ εἶναι τὰ ἡδέα. τὸ μὲν οὖν μὴ οὐχὶ ἡδέα εἶναι τὰ ἡδέα λόγος οὐδεὶς ἀμφισβητεῖ: 13b κακὰ δ᾽ ὄντα αὐτῶν τὰ πολλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ δέ, ὡς ἡμεῖς φαμέν, ὅμως πάντα σὺ προσαγορεύεις ἀγαθὰ αὐτά, ὁμολογῶν ἀνόμοια εἶναι, τῷ λόγῳ εἴ τίς σε προσαναγκάζοι. τί οὖν δὴ ταὐτὸν ἐν ταῖς κακαῖς ὁμοίως καὶ ἐν ἀγαθαῖς ἐνὸν πάσας ἡδονὰς ἀγαθὸν εἶναι προσαγορεύεις;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες; οἴει γάρ τινα συγχωρήσεσθαι, θέμενον ἡδονὴν εἶναι τἀγαθόν, εἶτα ἀνέξεσθαί σου 13c λέγοντος τὰς μὲν εἶναί τινας ἀγαθὰς ἡδονάς, τὰς δέ τινας ἑτέρας αὐτῶν κακάς;

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὖν ἀνομοίους γε φήσεις αὐτὰς ἀλλήλαις εἶναι καί τινας ἐναντίας.

Πρώταρχος: οὔτι καθ᾽ ὅσον γε ἡδοναί.

Σωκράτης: πάλιν εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν φερόμεθα λόγον, ὦ Πρώταρχε, οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ἡδονὴν ἡδονῆς διάφορον, ἀλλὰ πάσας ὁμοίας εἶναι φήσομεν, καὶ τὰ παραδείγματα ἡμᾶς τὰ νυνδὴ λεχθέντα οὐδὲν τιτρώσκει, πεισόμεθα δὲ καὶ ἐροῦμεν ἅπερ οἱ πάντων 13d φαυλότατοί τε καὶ περὶ λόγους ἅμα νέοι.

Πρώταρχος: τὰ ποῖα δὴ λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι σε μιμούμενος ἐγὼ καὶ ἀμυνόμενος ἐὰν τολμῶ λέγειν ὡς τὸ ἀνομοιότατόν ἐστι τῷ ἀνομοιοτάτῳ πάντων ὁμοιότατον, ἕξω τὰ αὐτὰ σοὶ λέγειν, καὶ φανούμεθά γε νεώτεροι τοῦ δέοντος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν ἐκπεσὼν οἰχήσεται. πάλιν οὖν αὐτὸν ἀνακρουώμεθα, καὶ τάχ᾽ ἂν ἰόντες εἰς τὰς ὁμοίας ἴσως ἄν πως ἀλλήλοις συγχωρήσαιμεν. 13e

Πρώταρχος: λέγε πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ἐμὲ θὲς ὑπὸ σοῦ πάλιν ἐρωτώμενον, ὦ Πρώταρχε.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον δή;

Σωκράτης: φρόνησίς τε καὶ ἐπιστήμη καὶ νοῦς καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα δὴ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἐγὼ θέμενος εἶπον ἀγαθά, διερωτώμενος ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀγαθόν, ἆρ᾽ οὐ ταὐτὸν πείσονται τοῦτο ὅπερ ὁ σὸς λόγος;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: πολλαί τε αἱ συνάπασαι ἐπιστῆμαι δόξουσιν εἶναι καὶ ἀνόμοιοί τινες αὐτῶν ἀλλήλαις: εἰ δὲ καὶ ἐναντίαι πῃ 14a γίγνονταί τινες, ἆρα ἄξιος ἂν εἴην τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι νῦν, εἰ φοβηθεὶς τοῦτο αὐτὸ μηδεμίαν ἀνόμοιον φαίην ἐπιστήμην ἐπιστήμῃ γίγνεσθαι, κἄπειθ᾽ ἡμῖν οὕτως ὁ λόγος ὥσπερ μῦθος ἀπολόμενος οἴχοιτο, αὐτοὶ δὲ σῳζοίμεθα ἐπί τινος ἀλογίας;

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μὴν δεῖ τοῦτο γενέσθαι, πλὴν τοῦ σωθῆναι. τό γε μήν μοι ἴσον τοῦ σοῦ τε καὶ ἐμοῦ λόγου ἀρέσκει: πολλαὶ μὲν ἡδοναὶ καὶ ἀνόμοιοι γιγνέσθων, πολλαὶ δὲ ἐπιστῆμαι καὶ διάφοροι. 14b

Σωκράτης: τὴν τοίνυν διαφορότητα, ὦ Πρώταρχε, [τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ] τοῦ τ᾽ ἐμοῦ καὶ τοῦ σοῦ μὴ ἀποκρυπτόμενοι, κατατιθέντες δὲ εἰς τὸ μέσον, τολμῶμεν, ἄν πῃ ἐλεγχόμενοι μηνύσωσι πότερον ἡδονὴν τἀγαθὸν δεῖ λέγειν ἢ φρόνησιν ἤ τι τρίτον ἄλλο εἶναι. νῦν γὰρ οὐ δήπου πρός γε αὐτὸ τοῦτο φιλονικοῦμεν, ὅπως ἁγὼ τίθεμαι, ταῦτ᾽ ἔσται τὰ νικῶντα, ἢ ταῦθ᾽ ἃ σύ, τῷ δ᾽ ἀληθεστάτῳ δεῖ που συμμαχεῖν ἡμᾶς ἄμφω.

Πρώταρχος: δεῖ γὰρ οὖν. 14c

Σωκράτης: τοῦτον τοίνυν τὸν λόγον ἔτι μᾶλλον δι᾽ ὁμολογίας βεβαιωσώμεθα.

Πρώταρχος: τὸν ποῖον δή;

Σωκράτης: τὸν πᾶσι παρέχοντα ἀνθρώποις πράγματα ἑκοῦσί τε καὶ ἄκουσιν ἐνίοις καὶ ἐνίοτε.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε σαφέστερον.

Σωκράτης: τὸν νυνδὴ παραπεσόντα λέγω, φύσει πως πεφυκότα θαυμαστόν. ἓν γὰρ δὴ τὰ πολλὰ εἶναι καὶ τὸ ἓν πολλὰ θαυμαστὸν λεχθέν, καὶ ῥᾴδιον ἀμφισβητῆσαι τῷ τούτων ὁποτερονοῦν τιθεμένῳ.

Πρώταρχος: ἆρ᾽ οὖν λέγεις ὅταν τις ἐμὲ φῇ Πρώταρχον ἕνα 14d γεγονότα φύσει πολλοὺς εἶναι πάλιν τοὺς ἐμὲ καὶ ἐναντίους ἀλλήλοις, μέγαν καὶ σμικρὸν τιθέμενος καὶ βαρὺν καὶ κοῦφον τὸν αὐτὸν καὶ ἄλλα μυρία;

Σωκράτης: σὺ μέν, ὦ Πρώταρχε, εἴρηκας τὰ δεδημευμένα τῶν θαυμαστῶν περὶ τὸ ἓν καὶ πολλά, συγκεχωρημένα δὲ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ὑπὸ πάντων ἤδη μὴ δεῖν τῶν τοιούτων ἅπτεσθαι, παιδαριώδη καὶ ῥᾴδια καὶ σφόδρα τοῖς λόγοις ἐμπόδια ὑπολαμβανόντων γίγνεσθαι, ἐπεὶ μηδὲ τὰ τοιάδε, ὅταν τις 14e ἑκάστου τὰ μέλη τε καὶ ἅμα μέρη διελὼν τῷ λόγῳ, πάντα ταῦτα τὸ ἓν ἐκεῖνο εἶναι διομολογησάμενος, ἐλέγχῃ καταγελῶν ὅτι τέρατα διηνάγκασται φάναι, τό τε ἓν ὡς πολλά ἐστι καὶ ἄπειρα, καὶ τὰ πολλὰ ὡς ἓν μόνον.

Πρώταρχος: σὺ δὲ δὴ ποῖα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἕτερα λέγεις, ἃ μήπω συγκεχωρημένα δεδήμευται περὶ τὸν αὐτὸν τοῦτον λόγον; 15a

Σωκράτης: ὁπόταν, ὦ παῖ, τὸ ἓν μὴ τῶν γιγνομένων τε καὶ ἀπολλυμένων τις τιθῆται, καθάπερ ἀρτίως ἡμεῖς εἴπομεν. ἐνταυθοῖ μὲν γὰρ καὶ τὸ τοιοῦτον ἕν, ὅπερ εἴπομεν νυνδή, συγκεχώρηται τὸ μὴ δεῖν ἐλέγχειν: ὅταν δέ τις ἕνα ἄνθρωπον ἐπιχειρῇ τίθεσθαι καὶ βοῦν ἕνα καὶ τὸ καλὸν ἓν καὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἕν, περὶ τούτων τῶν ἑνάδων καὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἡ πολλὴ σπουδὴ μετὰ διαιρέσεως ἀμφισβήτησις γίγνεται.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς; 15b

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον μὲν εἴ τινας δεῖ τοιαύτας εἶναι μονάδας ὑπολαμβάνειν ἀληθῶς οὔσας: εἶτα πῶς αὖ ταύτας, μίαν ἑκάστην οὖσαν ἀεὶ τὴν αὐτὴν καὶ μήτε γένεσιν μήτε ὄλεθρον προσδεχομένην, ὅμως εἶναι βεβαιότατα μίαν ταύτην; μετὰ δὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἐν τοῖς γιγνομένοις αὖ καὶ ἀπείροις εἴτε διεσπασμένην καὶ πολλὰ γεγονυῖαν θετέον, εἴθ᾽ ὅλην αὐτὴν αὑτῆς χωρίς, ὃ δὴ πάντων ἀδυνατώτατον φαίνοιτ᾽ ἄν, ταὐτὸν καὶ ἓν ἅμα ἐν ἑνί τε καὶ πολλοῖς γίγνεσθαι. ταῦτ᾽ ἔστι τὰ 15c περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἓν καὶ πολλά, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκεῖνα, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἁπάσης ἀπορίας αἴτια μὴ καλῶς ὁμολογηθέντα καὶ εὐπορίας [ἂν] αὖ καλῶς.

Πρώταρχος: οὐκοῦν χρὴ τοῦθ᾽ ἡμᾶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐν τῷ νῦν πρῶτον διαπονήσασθαι;

Σωκράτης: ὡς γοῦν ἐγὼ φαίην ἄν.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάντας τοίνυν ἡμᾶς ὑπόλαβε συγχωρεῖν σοι τούσδε τὰ τοιαῦτα: Φίληβον δ᾽ ἴσως κράτιστον ἐν τῷ νῦν ἐπερωτῶντα μὴ κινεῖν εὖ κείμενον. 15d

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: πόθεν οὖν τις ταύτης ἄρξηται πολλῆς οὔσης καὶ παντοίας περὶ τὰ ἀμφισβητούμενα μάχης; ἆρ᾽ ἐνθένδε;

Πρώταρχος: πόθεν;

Σωκράτης: φαμέν που ταὐτὸν ἓν καὶ πολλὰ ὑπὸ λόγων γιγνόμενα περιτρέχειν πάντῃ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον τῶν λεγομένων ἀεί, καὶ πάλαι καὶ νῦν. καὶ τοῦτο οὔτε μὴ παύσηταί ποτε οὔτε ἤρξατο νῦν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι τὸ τοιοῦτον, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, τῶν λόγων αὐτῶν ἀθάνατόν τι καὶ ἀγήρων πάθος ἐν ἡμῖν: ὁ δὲ πρῶτον αὐτοῦ γευσάμενος ἑκάστοτε τῶν νέων, ἡσθεὶς ὥς 15e τινα σοφίας ηὑρηκὼς θησαυρόν, ὑφ᾽ ἡδονῆς ἐνθουσιᾷ τε καὶ πάντα κινεῖ λόγον ἅσμενος, τοτὲ μὲν ἐπὶ θάτερα κυκλῶν καὶ συμφύρων εἰς ἕν, τοτὲ δὲ πάλιν ἀνειλίττων καὶ διαμερίζων, εἰς ἀπορίαν αὑτὸν μὲν πρῶτον καὶ μάλιστα καταβάλλων, δεύτερον δ᾽ ἀεὶ τὸν ἐχόμενον, ἄντε νεώτερος ἄντε πρεσβύτερος ἄντε ἧλιξ ὢν τυγχάνῃ, φειδόμενος οὔτε πατρὸς οὔτε μητρὸς 16a οὔτε ἄλλου τῶν ἀκουόντων οὐδενός, ὀλίγου δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων, οὐ μόνον τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ἐπεὶ βαρβάρων γε οὐδενὸς ἂν φείσαιτο, εἴπερ μόνον ἑρμηνέα ποθὲν ἔχοι.

Πρώταρχος: ἆρ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐχ ὁρᾷς ἡμῶν τὸ πλῆθος, ὅτι νέοι πάντες ἐσμέν, καὶ οὐ φοβῇ μή σοι μετὰ Φιλήβου συνεπιθώμεθα, ἐὰν ἡμᾶς λοιδορῇς; ὅμως δὲ μανθάνομεν γὰρ ὃ λέγεις, εἴ τις τρόπος ἔστι καὶ μηχανὴ τὴν μὲν τοιαύτην ταραχὴν ἡμῖν ἔξω τοῦ λόγου εὐμενῶς πως ἀπελθεῖν, ὁδὸν δέ 16b τινα καλλίω ταύτης ἐπὶ τὸν λόγον ἀνευρεῖν, σύ τε προθυμοῦ τοῦτο καὶ ἡμεῖς συνακολουθήσομεν εἰς δύναμιν: οὐ γὰρ σμικρὸς ὁ παρὼν λόγος, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐ γὰρ οὖν, ὦ παῖδες, ὥς φησιν ὑμᾶς προσαγορεύων Φίληβος. οὐ μὴν ἔστι καλλίων ὁδὸς οὐδ᾽ ἂν γένοιτο ἧς ἐγὼ ἐραστὴς μέν εἰμι ἀεί, πολλάκις δέ με ἤδη διαφυγοῦσα ἔρημον καὶ ἄπορον κατέστησεν.

Πρώταρχος: τίς αὕτη; λεγέσθω μόνον. 16c

Σωκράτης: ἣν δηλῶσαι μὲν οὐ πάνυ χαλεπόν, χρῆσθαι δὲ παγχάλεπον: πάντα γὰρ ὅσα τέχνης ἐχόμενα ἀνηυρέθη πώποτε διὰ ταύτης φανερὰ γέγονε. σκόπει δὲ ἣν λέγω.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης: θεῶν μὲν εἰς ἀνθρώπους δόσις, ὥς γε καταφαίνεται ἐμοί, ποθὲν ἐκ θεῶν ἐρρίφη διά τινος Προμηθέως ἅμα φανοτάτῳ τινὶ πυρί: καὶ οἱ μὲν παλαιοί, κρείττονες ἡμῶν καὶ ἐγγυτέρω θεῶν οἰκοῦντες, ταύτην φήμην παρέδοσαν, ὡς ἐξ ἑνὸς μὲν καὶ πολλῶν ὄντων τῶν ἀεὶ λεγομένων εἶναι, πέρας δὲ καὶ ἀπειρίαν ἐν αὑτοῖς σύμφυτον ἐχόντων. δεῖν 16d οὖν ἡμᾶς τούτων οὕτω διακεκοσμημένων ἀεὶ μίαν ἰδέαν περὶ παντὸς ἑκάστοτε θεμένους ζητεῖνεὑρήσειν γὰρ ἐνοῦσαν ἐὰν οὖν μεταλάβωμεν, μετὰ μίαν δύο, εἴ πως εἰσί, σκοπεῖν, εἰ δὲ μή, τρεῖς ἤ τινα ἄλλον ἀριθμόν, καὶ τῶν ἓν ἐκείνων ἕκαστον πάλιν ὡσαύτως, μέχριπερ ἂν τὸ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἓν μὴ ὅτι ἓν καὶ πολλὰ καὶ ἄπειρά ἐστι μόνον ἴδῃ τις, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὁπόσα: τὴν δὲ τοῦ ἀπείρου ἰδέαν πρὸς τὸ πλῆθος μὴ προσφέρειν πρὶν ἄν τις τὸν ἀριθμὸν αὐτοῦ πάντα κατίδῃ τὸν 16e μεταξὺ τοῦ ἀπείρου τε καὶ τοῦ ἑνός, τότε δ᾽ ἤδη τὸ ἓν ἕκαστον τῶν πάντων εἰς τὸ ἄπειρον μεθέντα χαίρειν ἐᾶν. οἱ μὲν οὖν θεοί, ὅπερ εἶπον, οὕτως ἡμῖν παρέδοσαν σκοπεῖν καὶ μανθάνειν καὶ διδάσκειν ἀλλήλους: οἱ δὲ νῦν τῶν ἀνθρώπων 17a σοφοὶ ἓν μέν, ὅπως ἂν τύχωσι, καὶ πολλὰ θᾶττον καὶ βραδύτερον ποιοῦσι τοῦ δέοντος, μετὰ δὲ τὸ ἓν ἄπειρα εὐθύς, τὰ δὲ μέσα αὐτοὺς ἐκφεύγειοἷς διακεχώρισται τό τε διαλεκτικῶς πάλιν καὶ τὸ ἐριστικῶς ἡμᾶς ποιεῖσθαι πρὸς ἀλλήλους τοὺς λόγους.

Πρώταρχος: τὰ μέν πως, ὦ Σώκρατες, δοκῶ σου μανθάνειν, τὰ δὲ ἔτι σαφέστερον δέομαι ἃ λέγεις ἀκοῦσαι.

Σωκράτης: σαφὲς μήν, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἐστὶν ἐν τοῖς γράμμασιν ὃ λέγω, καὶ λάμβαν᾽ αὐτὸ ἐν τούτοις οἷσπερ καὶ 17b πεπαίδευσαι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: φωνὴ μὲν ἡμῖν ἐστί που μία διὰ τοῦ στόματος ἰοῦσα, καὶ ἄπειρος αὖ πλήθει, πάντων τε καὶ ἑκάστου.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: καὶ οὐδὲν ἑτέρῳ γε τούτων ἐσμέν πω σοφοί, οὔτε ὅτι τὸ ἄπειρον αὐτῆς ἴσμεν οὔθ᾽ ὅτι τὸ ἕν: ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι πόσα τ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ ὁποῖα, τοῦτό ἐστι τὸ γραμματικὸν ἕκαστον ποιοῦν ἡμῶν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ τὸ μουσικὸν ὃ τυγχάνει ποιοῦν, τοῦτ᾽ ἔστι ταὐτόν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς; 17c

Σωκράτης: φωνὴ μέν που καὶ τὸ κατ᾽ ἐκείνην τὴν τέχνην ἐστὶ μία ἐν αὐτῇ.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: δύο δὲ θῶμεν βαρὺ καὶ ὀξύ, καὶ τρίτον ὁμότονον. ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὔπω σοφὸς ἂν εἴης τὴν μουσικὴν εἰδὼς ταῦτα μόνα, μὴ δὲ εἰδὼς ὥς γ᾽ ἔπος εἰπεῖν εἰς ταῦτα οὐδενὸς ἄξιος ἔσῃ.

Πρώταρχος: οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽, ὦ φίλε, ἐπειδὰν λάβῃς τὰ διαστήματα ὁπόσα ἐστὶ τὸν ἀριθμὸν τῆς φωνῆς ὀξύτητός τε πέρι καὶ βαρύτητος, 17d καὶ ὁποῖα, καὶ τοὺς ὅρους τῶν διαστημάτων, καὶ τὰ ἐκ τούτων ὅσα συστήματα γέγονενἃ κατιδόντες οἱ πρόσθεν παρέδοσαν ἡμῖν τοῖς ἑπομένοις ἐκείνοις καλεῖν αὐτὰ ἁρμονίας, ἔν τε ταῖς κινήσεσιν αὖ τοῦ σώματος ἕτερα τοιαῦτα ἐνόντα πάθη γιγνόμενα, ἃ δὴ δι᾽ ἀριθμῶν μετρηθέντα δεῖν αὖ φασι ῥυθμοὺς καὶ μέτρα ἐπονομάζειν, καὶ ἅμα ἐννοεῖν ὡς οὕτω δεῖ περὶ παντὸς ἑνὸς καὶ πολλῶν σκοπεῖνὅταν γὰρ αὐτά 17e τε λάβῃς οὕτω, τότε ἐγένου σοφός, ὅταν τε ἄλλο τῶν ἓν ὁτιοῦν ταύτῃ σκοπούμενος ἕλῃς, οὕτως ἔμφρων περὶ τοῦτο γέγονας: τὸ δ᾽ ἄπειρόν σε ἑκάστων καὶ ἐν ἑκάστοις πλῆθος ἄπειρον ἑκάστοτε ποιεῖ τοῦ φρονεῖν καὶ οὐκ ἐλλόγιμον οὐδ᾽ ἐνάριθμον, ἅτ᾽ οὐκ εἰς ἀριθμὸν οὐδένα ἐν οὐδενὶ πώποτε ἀπιδόντα.

Πρώταρχος: κάλλιστα, ὦ Φίληβε, ἔμοιγε τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα εἰρηκέναι φαίνεται Σωκράτης. 18a

Φίληβος: κἀμοὶ ταῦτά γε αὐτά: ἀλλὰ τί δή ποτε πρὸς ἡμᾶς ὁ λόγος οὗτος νῦν εἴρηται καὶ τί ποτε βουλόμενος;

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς μέντοι τοῦθ᾽ ἡμᾶς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἠρώτηκε Φίληβος.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν, καὶ ἀποκρίνου γε αὐτῷ.

Σωκράτης: δράσω ταῦτα διελθὼν σμικρὸν ἔτι περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων. ὥσπερ γὰρ ἓν ὁτιοῦν εἴ τίς ποτε λάβοι, τοῦτον, ὥς φαμεν, οὐκ ἐπ᾽ ἀπείρου φύσιν δεῖ βλέπειν εὐθὺς ἀλλ᾽ ἐπί τινα ἀριθμόν, οὕτω καὶ τὸ ἐναντίον ὅταν τις τὸ ἄπειρον 18b ἀναγκασθῇ πρῶτον λαμβάνειν, μὴ ἐπὶ τὸ ἓν εὐθύς, ἀλλ᾽ [ἐπ᾽] ἀριθμὸν αὖ τινα πλῆθος ἕκαστον ἔχοντά τι κατανοεῖν, τελευτᾶν τε ἐκ πάντων εἰς ἕν. πάλιν δὲ ἐν τοῖς γράμμασι τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον λάβωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ἐπειδὴ φωνὴν ἄπειρον κατενόησεν εἴτε τις θεὸς εἴτε καὶ θεῖος ἄνθρωποςὡς λόγος ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ Θεῦθ τινα τοῦτον γενέσθαι λέγων, ὃς πρῶτος τὰ φωνήεντα ἐν τῷ ἀπείρῳ κατενόησεν οὐχ ἓν ὄντα ἀλλὰ πλείω, καὶ πάλιν 18c ἕτερα φωνῆς μὲν οὔ, φθόγγου δὲ μετέχοντά τινος, ἀριθμὸν δέ τινα καὶ τούτων εἶναι, τρίτον δὲ εἶδος γραμμάτων διεστήσατο τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα ἄφωνα ἡμῖν: τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο διῄρει τά τε ἄφθογγα καὶ ἄφωνα μέχρι ἑνὸς ἑκάστου, καὶ τὰ φωνήεντα καὶ τὰ μέσα κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον, ἕως ἀριθμὸν αὐτῶν λαβὼν ἑνί τε ἑκάστῳ καὶ σύμπασι στοιχεῖον ἐπωνόμασε: καθορῶν δὲ ὡς οὐδεὶς ἡμῶν οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἓν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ ἄνευ πάντων αὐτῶν μάθοι, τοῦτον τὸν δεσμὸν αὖ λογισάμενος ὡς 18d ὄντα ἕνα καὶ πάντα ταῦτα ἕν πως ποιοῦντα μίαν ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς ὡς οὖσαν γραμματικὴν τέχνην ἐπεφθέγξατο προσειπών.

Φίληβος: ταῦτ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον ἐκείνων αὐτά γε πρὸς ἄλληλα, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἔμαθον: τὸ δ᾽ αὐτό μοι τοῦ λόγου νῦν τε καὶ σμικρὸν ἔμπροσθεν ἐλλείπεται.

Σωκράτης: μῶν, ὦ Φίληβε, τὸ τί πρὸς ἔπος αὖ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστίν;

Φίληβος: ναί, τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὃ πάλαι ζητοῦμεν ἐγώ τε καὶ Πρώταρχος.

Σωκράτης: ἦ μὴν ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ γε ἤδη γεγονότες ζητεῖτε, ὡς φῄς, 18e πάλαι.

Φίληβος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὐ περὶ φρονήσεως ἦν καὶ ἡδονῆς ἡμῖν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ὁ λόγος, ὁπότερον αὐτοῖν αἱρετέον;

Φίληβος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἕν γε ἑκάτερον αὐτοῖν εἶναί φαμεν.

Φίληβος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ τοίνυν ἡμᾶς ὁ πρόσθεν λόγος ἀπαιτεῖ, πῶς ἔστιν ἓν καὶ πολλὰ αὐτῶν ἑκάτερον, καὶ πῶς μὴ ἄπειρα 19a εὐθύς, ἀλλά τινά ποτε ἀριθμὸν ἑκάτερον ἔμπροσθεν κέκτηται τοῦ ἄπειρα αὐτῶν ἕκαστα γεγονέναι;

Πρώταρχος: οὐκ εἰς φαῦλόν γε ἐρώτημα, ὦ Φίληβε, οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅντινα τρόπον κύκλῳ πως περιαγαγὼν ἡμᾶς ἐμβέβληκε Σωκράτης. καὶ σκόπει δὴ πότερος ἡμῶν ἀποκρινεῖται τὸ νῦν ἐρωτώμενον. ἴσως δὴ γελοῖον τὸ ἐμὲ τοῦ λόγου διάδοχον παντελῶς ὑποστάντα διὰ τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι τὸ νῦν ἐρωτηθὲν ἀποκρίνασθαι σοὶ πάλιν τοῦτο προστάττειν: γελοιότερον 19b δ᾽ οἶμαι πολὺ τὸ μηδέτερον ἡμῶν δύνασθαι. σκόπει δὴ τί δράσομεν. εἴδη γάρ μοι δοκεῖ νῦν ἐρωτᾶν ἡδονῆς ἡμᾶς Σωκράτης εἴτε ἔστιν εἴτε μή, καὶ ὁπόσα ἐστὶ καὶ ὁποῖα: τῆς τ᾽ αὖ φρονήσεως πέρι κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως.

Σωκράτης: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις, ὦ παῖ Καλλίου: μὴ γὰρ δυνάμενοι τοῦτο κατὰ παντὸς ἑνὸς καὶ ὁμοίου καὶ ταὐτοῦ δρᾶν καὶ τοῦ ἐναντίου, ὡς ὁ παρελθὼν λόγος ἐμήνυσεν, οὐδεὶς εἰς οὐδὲν οὐδενὸς ἂν ἡμῶν οὐδέποτε γένοιτο ἄξιος. 19c

Πρώταρχος: σχεδὸν ἔοικεν οὕτως, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔχειν. ἀλλὰ καλὸν μὲν τὸ σύμπαντα γιγνώσκειν τῷ σώφρονι, δεύτερος δ᾽ εἶναι πλοῦς δοκεῖ μὴ λανθάνειν αὐτὸν αὑτόν. τί δή μοι τοῦτο εἴρηται τὰ νῦν; ἐγώ σοι φράσω. σὺ τήνδε ἡμῖν τὴν συνουσίαν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐπέδωκας πᾶσι καὶ σεαυτὸν πρὸς τὸ διελέσθαι τί τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων κτημάτων ἄριστον. Φιλήβου γὰρ εἰπόντος ἡδονὴν καὶ τέρψιν καὶ χαρὰν καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα τοιαῦτ᾽ ἐστί, σὺ πρὸς αὐτὰ ἀντεῖπες ὡς οὐ ταῦτα 19d ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνά ἐστιν ἃ πολλάκις ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς ἀναμιμνῄσκομεν ἑκόντες, ὀρθῶς δρῶντες, ἵν᾽ ἐν μνήμῃ παρακείμενα ἑκάτερα βασανίζηται. φῂς δ᾽, ὡς ἔοικε, σὺ τὸ προσρηθησόμενον ὀρθῶς ἄμεινον ἡδονῆς γε ἀγαθὸν εἶναι νοῦν, ἐπιστήμην, σύνεσιν, τέχνην καὶ πάντα αὖ τὰ τούτων συγγενῆ, <ἃ> κτᾶσθαι δεῖν ἀλλ᾽ οὐχὶ ἐκεῖνα. τούτων δὴ μετ᾽ ἀμφισβητήσεως ἑκατέρων λεχθέντων ἡμεῖς σοι μετὰ παιδιᾶς ἠπειλήσαμεν 19e ὡς οὐκ ἀφήσομεν οἴκαδέ σε πρὶν ἂν τούτων τῶν λόγων πέρας ἱκανὸν γένηταί τι διορισθέντων, σὺ δὲ συνεχώρησας καὶ ἔδωκας εἰς ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν σαυτόν, ἡμεῖς δὲ δὴ λέγομεν, καθάπερ οἱ παῖδες, ὅτι τῶν ὀρθῶς δοθέντων ἀφαίρεσις οὐκ ἔστι: παῦσαι δὴ τὸν τρόπον ἡμῖν ἀπαντῶν τοῦτον ἐπὶ τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα.

Σωκράτης: τίνα λέγεις; 20a

Πρώταρχος: εἰς ἀπορίαν ἐμβάλλων καὶ ἀνερωτῶν ὧν μὴ δυναίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἱκανὴν ἀπόκρισιν ἐν τῷ παρόντι διδόναι σοι. μὴ γὰρ οἰώμεθα τέλος ἡμῖν εἶναι τῶν νῦν τὴν πάντων ἡμῶν ἀπορίαν, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ δρᾶν τοῦθ᾽ ἡμεῖς ἀδυνατοῦμεν, σοὶ δραστέον: ὑπέσχου γάρ. βουλεύου δὴ πρὸς ταῦτα αὐτὸς πότερον ἡδονῆς εἴδη σοι καὶ ἐπιστήμης διαιρετέον ἢ καὶ ἐατέον, εἴ πῃ καθ᾽ ἕτερόν τινα τρόπον οἷός τ᾽ εἶ καὶ βούλει δηλῶσαί πως ἄλλως τὰ νῦν ἀμφισβητούμενα παρ᾽ ἡμῖν. 20b

Σωκράτης: δεινὸν μὲν τοίνυν ἔτι προσδοκᾶν οὐδὲν δεῖ τὸν ἐμέ, ἐπειδὴ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως εἶπες: τὸ γὰρ εἰ βούλει ῥηθὲν λύει πάντα φόβον ἑκάστων πέρι. πρὸς δὲ αὖ τοῖς μνήμην τινὰ δοκεῖ τίς μοι δεδωκέναι θεῶν ἡμῖν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δὴ καὶ τίνων;

Σωκράτης: λόγων ποτέ τινων πάλαι ἀκούσας ὄναρ ἢ καὶ ἐγρηγορὼς νῦν ἐννοῶ περί τε ἡδονῆς καὶ φρονήσεως, ὡς οὐδέτερον αὐτοῖν ἐστι τἀγαθόν, ἀλλὰ ἄλλο τι τρίτον, ἕτερον μὲν τούτων, ἄμεινον δὲ ἀμφοῖν. καίτοι τοῦτό γε ἂν ἐναργῶς 20c ἡμῖν φανῇ νῦν, ἀπήλλακται μὲν ἡδονὴ τοῦ νικᾶν: τὸ γὰρ ἀγαθὸν οὐκ ἂν ἔτι ταὐτὸν αὐτῇ γίγνοιτο. ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: τῶν δέ γε εἰς τὴν διαίρεσιν εἰδῶν ἡδονῆς οὐδὲν ἔτι προσδεησόμεθα κατ᾽ ἐμὴν δόξαν. προϊὸν δ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον δείξει.

Πρώταρχος: κάλλιστ᾽ εἰπὼν οὕτω καὶ διαπέραινε.

Σωκράτης: μίκρ᾽ ἄττα τοίνυν ἔμπροσθεν ἔτι διομολογησώμεθα.

Πρώταρχος: τὰ ποῖα; 20d

Σωκράτης: τὴν τἀγαθοῦ μοῖραν πότερον ἀνάγκη τέλεον ἢ μὴ τέλεον εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: πάντων δήπου τελεώτατον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἱκανὸν τἀγαθόν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; καὶ πάντων γε εἰς τοῦτο διαφέρειν τῶν ὄντων.

Σωκράτης: τόδε γε μήν, ὡς οἶμαι, περὶ αὐτοῦ ἀναγκαιότατον εἶναι λέγειν, ὡς πᾶν τὸ γιγνῶσκον αὐτὸ θηρεύει καὶ ἐφίεται βουλόμενον ἑλεῖν καὶ περὶ αὑτὸ κτήσασθαι, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων οὐδὲν φροντίζει πλὴν τῶν ἀποτελουμένων ἅμα ἀγαθοῖς.

Πρώταρχος: οὐκ ἔστι τούτοις ἀντειπεῖν. 20e

Σωκράτης: σκοπῶμεν δὴ καὶ κρίνωμεν τόν τε ἡδονῆς καὶ τὸν φρονήσεως βίον ἰδόντες χωρίς.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς εἶπες;

Σωκράτης: μήτε ἐν τῷ τῆς ἡδονῆς ἐνέστω φρόνησις μήτ᾽ ἐν τῷ τῆς φρονήσεως ἡδονή. δεῖ γάρ, εἴπερ πότερον αὐτῶν ἔστ᾽ ἀγαθόν, μηδὲν μηδενὸς ἔτι προσδεῖσθαι: δεόμενον δ᾽ 21a ἂν φανῇ πότερον, οὐκ ἔστι που τοῦτ᾽ ἔτι τὸ ὄντως ἡμῖν ἀγαθόν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐν σοὶ πειρώμεθα βασανίζοντες ταῦτα;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἀποκρίνου δή.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε.

Σωκράτης: δέξαι᾽ ἄν, Πρώταρχε, σὺ ζῆν τὸν βίον ἅπαντα ἡδόμενος ἡδονὰς τὰς μεγίστας;

Πρώταρχος: τί δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἔτι τινὸς ἄν σοι προσδεῖν ἡγοῖο, εἰ τοῦτ᾽ ἔχεις παντελῶς;

Πρώταρχος: οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης: ὅρα δή, τοῦ φρονεῖν καὶ τοῦ νοεῖν καὶ λογίζεσθαι 21b τὰ δέοντα καὶ ὅσα τούτων ἀδελφά, μῶν μὴ δέοι᾽ ἄν τι;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ τί; πάντα γὰρ ἔχοιμ᾽ ἄν που τὸ χαίρειν ἔχων.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὕτω ζῶν ἀεὶ μὲν διὰ βίου ταῖς μεγίσταις ἡδοναῖς χαίροις ἄν;

Πρώταρχος: τί δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: νοῦν δέ γε καὶ μνήμην καὶ ἐπιστήμην καὶ δόξαν μὴ κεκτημένος ἀληθῆ, πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτο αὐτό, εἰ χαίρεις ἢ μὴ χαίρεις, ἀνάγκη δήπου σε ἀγνοεῖν, κενόν γε ὄντα πάσης φρονήσεως;

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη. 21c

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ὡσαύτως μνήμην μὴ κεκτημένον ἀνάγκη δήπου μηδ᾽ ὅτι ποτὲ ἔχαιρες μεμνῆσθαι, τῆς τ᾽ ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμα ἡδονῆς προσπιπτούσης μηδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν μνήμην ὑπομένειν: δόξαν δ᾽ αὖ μὴ κεκτημένον ἀληθῆ μὴ δοξάζειν χαίρειν χαίροντα, λογισμοῦ δὲ στερόμενον μηδ᾽ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον ὡς χαιρήσεις δυνατὸν εἶναι λογίζεσθαι, ζῆν δὲ οὐκ ἀνθρώπου βίον, ἀλλά τινος πλεύμονος ἢ τῶν ὅσα θαλάττια μετ᾽ ὀστρεΐνων ἔμψυχά ἐστι σωμάτων. ἔστι ταῦτα, ἢ παρὰ 21d ταῦτα ἔχομεν ἄλλα διανοηθῆναι;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν αἱρετὸς ἡμῖν βίος ὁ τοιοῦτος;

Πρώταρχος: εἰς ἀφασίαν παντάπασί με, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὗτος ὁ λόγος ἐμβέβληκε τὰ νῦν.

Σωκράτης: μήπω τοίνυν μαλθακιζώμεθα, τὸν δὲ τοῦ νοῦ μεταλαβόντες αὖ βίον ἴδωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: τὸν ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: εἴ τις δέξαιτ᾽ ἂν αὖ ζῆν ἡμῶν φρόνησιν μὲν καὶ νοῦν καὶ ἐπιστήμην καὶ μνήμην πᾶσαν πάντων κεκτημένος, 21e ἡδονῆς δὲ μετέχων μήτε μέγα μήτε σμικρόν, μηδ᾽ αὖ λύπης, ἀλλὰ τὸ παράπαν ἀπαθὴς πάντων τῶν τοιούτων.

Πρώταρχος: οὐδέτερος ὁ βίος, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔμοιγε τούτων αἱρετός, οὐδ᾽ ἄλλῳ μή ποτε, ὡς ἐγᾦμαι, φανῇ. 22a

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ὁ συναμφότερος, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἐξ ἀμφοῖν συμμειχθεὶς κοινὸς γενόμενος;

Πρώταρχος: ἡδονῆς λέγεις καὶ νοῦ καὶ φρονήσεως;

Σωκράτης: οὕτω καὶ τῶν τοιούτων [λέγω] ἔγωγε.

Πρώταρχος: πᾶς δήπου τοῦτόν γε αἱρήσεται πρότερον ἢ ‘κείνων ὁποτερονοῦν, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις [γε] οὐχ ὁ μέν, ὁ δ᾽ οὔ.

Σωκράτης: μανθάνομεν οὖν ὅτι νῦν ἡμῖν ἐστι τὸ συμβαῖνον ἐν τοῖς παροῦσι λόγοις;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὅτι γε τρεῖς μὲν βίοι προυτέθησαν, 22b τοῖν δυοῖν δ᾽ οὐδέτερος ἱκανὸς οὐδὲ αἱρετὸς οὔτε ἀνθρώπων οὔτε ζῴων οὐδενί.

Σωκράτης: μῶν οὖν οὐκ ἤδη τούτων γε πέρι δῆλον ὡς οὐδέτερος αὐτοῖν εἶχε τἀγαθόν; ἦν γὰρ ἂν ἱκανὸς καὶ τέλεος καὶ πᾶσι φυτοῖς καὶ ζῴοις αἱρετός, οἷσπερ δυνατὸν ἦν οὕτως ἀεὶ διὰ βίου ζῆν: εἰ δέ τις ἄλλα ᾑρεῖθ᾽ ἡμῶν, παρὰ φύσιν ἂν τὴν τοῦ ἀληθῶς αἱρετοῦ ἐλάμβανεν ἄκων ἐξ ἀγνοίας ἤ τινος ἀνάγκης οὐκ εὐδαίμονος.

Πρώταρχος: ἔοικε γοῦν ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχειν. 22c

Σωκράτης: ὡς μὲν τοίνυν τήν γε Φιλήβου θεὸν οὐ δεῖ διανοεῖσθαι ταὐτὸν καὶ τἀγαθόν, ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαί μοι δοκεῖ.

Φίληβος: οὐδὲ γὰρ ὁ σὸς νοῦς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔστι τἀγαθόν, ἀλλ᾽ ἕξει που ταὐτὰ ἐγκλήματα.

Σωκράτης: τάχ᾽ ἄν, ὦ Φίληβε, ὅ γ᾽ ἐμός: οὐ μέντοι τόν γε ἀληθινὸν ἅμα καὶ θεῖον οἶμαι νοῦν, ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλως πως ἔχειν. τῶν μὲν οὖν νικητηρίων πρὸς τὸν κοινὸν βίον οὐκ ἀμφισβητῶ πω ὑπὲρ νοῦ, τῶν δὲ δὴ δευτερείων ὁρᾶν καὶ σκοπεῖν χρὴ πέρι 22d τί δράσομεν: τάχα γὰρ ἂν τοῦ κοινοῦ τούτου βίου αἰτιῴμεθ᾽ ἂν ἑκάτερος ὁ μὲν τὸν νοῦν αἴτιον, ὁ δ᾽ ἡδονὴν εἶναι, καὶ οὕτω τὸ μὲν ἀγαθὸν τούτων ἀμφοτέρων οὐδέτερον ἂν εἴη, τάχα δ᾽ ἂν αἴτιόν τις ὑπολάβοι πότερον αὐτῶν εἶναι. τούτου δὴ πέρι καὶ μᾶλλον ἔτι πρὸς Φίληβον διαμαχοίμην ἂν ὡς ἐν τῷ μεικτῷ τούτῳ βίῳ, ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔστι τοῦτο ὃ λαβὼν ὁ βίος οὗτος γέγονεν αἱρετὸς ἅμα καὶ ἀγαθός, οὐχ ἡδονὴ ἀλλὰ νοῦς τούτῳ συγγενέστερον καὶ ὁμοιότερόν ἐστι, καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον 22e τὸν λόγον οὔτ᾽ ἂν τῶν πρωτείων οὐδ᾽ αὖ τῶν δευτερείων ἡδονῇ μετὸν ἀληθῶς ἄν ποτε λέγοιτο: πορρωτέρω δ᾽ ἐστὶ τῶν τριτείων, εἴ τι τῷ ἐμῷ νῷ δεῖ πιστεύειν ἡμᾶς τὰ νῦν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλὰ μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ νῦν μὲν ἡδονή σοι πεπτωκέναι καθαπερεὶ πληγεῖσα ὑπὸ τῶν νυνδὴ λόγων: τῶν γὰρ νικητηρίων πέρι μαχομένη κεῖται. τὸν δὲ 23a νοῦν, ὡς ἔοικε, λεκτέον ὡς ἐμφρόνως οὐκ ἀντεποιεῖτο τῶν νικητηρίων: τὰ γὰρ αὔτ᾽ ἔπαθεν ἄν. τῶν δὲ δὴ δευτερείων στερηθεῖσα ἡδονὴ παντάπασιν ἄν τινα καὶ ἀτιμίαν σχοίη πρὸς τῶν αὑτῆς ἐραστῶν: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐκείνοις ἔτ᾽ ἂν ὁμοίως φαίνοιτο καλή.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; οὐκ ἄμεινον αὐτὴν ἐᾶν ἤδη καὶ μὴ τὴν ἀκριβεστάτην αὐτῇ προσφέροντα βάσανον καὶ ἐξελέγχοντα λυπεῖν;

Πρώταρχος: οὐδὲν λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες. 23b

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ ὅτι τὸ ἀδύνατον εἶπον, λυπεῖν ἡδονήν;

Πρώταρχος: οὐ μόνον γε ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι καὶ ἀγνοεῖς ὡς οὐδείς πώ σε ἡμῶν μεθήσει πρὶν ἂν εἰς τέλος ἐπεξέλθῃς τούτων τῷ λόγῳ.

Σωκράτης: βαβαῖ ἄρα, ὦ Πρώταρχε, συχνοῦ μὲν λόγου τοῦ λοιποῦ, σχεδὸν δὲ οὐδὲ ῥᾳδίου πάνυ τι νῦν. καὶ γὰρ δὴ φαίνεται δεῖν ἄλλης μηχανῆς, ἐπὶ τὰ δευτερεῖα ὑπὲρ νοῦ πορευόμενον οἷον βέλη ἔχειν ἕτερα τῶν ἔμπροσθεν λόγων: ἔστι δὲ ἴσως ἔνια καὶ ταὐτά. οὐκοῦν χρή;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; 23c

Σωκράτης: τὴν δέ γε ἀρχὴν αὐτοῦ διευλαβεῖσθαι πειρώμεθα τιθέμενοι.

Πρώταρχος: ποίαν δὴ λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: πάντα τὰ νῦν ὄντα ἐν τῷ παντὶ διχῇ διαλάβωμεν, μᾶλλον δ᾽, εἰ βούλει, τριχῇ.

Πρώταρχος: καθ᾽ ὅτι, φράζοις ἄν;

Σωκράτης: λάβωμεν ἄττα τῶν νυνδὴ λόγων.

Πρώταρχος: ποῖα;

Σωκράτης: τὸν θεὸν ἐλέγομέν που τὸ μὲν ἄπειρον δεῖξαι τῶν ὄντων, τὸ δὲ πέρας;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τούτω δὴ τῶν εἰδῶν τὰ δύο τιθώμεθα, τὸ δὲ τρίτον 23d ἐξ ἀμφοῖν τούτοιν ἕν τι συμμισγόμενον. εἰμὶ δ᾽, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐγὼ γελοῖός τις ἄνθρωπος κατ᾽ εἴδη διιστὰς καὶ συναριθμούμενος.

Πρώταρχος: τί φῄς, ὠγαθέ;

Σωκράτης: τετάρτου μοι γένους αὖ προσδεῖν φαίνεται.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε τίνος.

Σωκράτης: τῆς συμμείξεως τούτων πρὸς ἄλληλα τὴν αἰτίαν ὅρα, καὶ τίθει μοι πρὸς τρισὶν ἐκείνοις τέταρτον τοῦτο.

Πρώταρχος: μῶν οὖν σοι καὶ πέμπτου προσδεήσει διάκρισίν τινος δυναμένου;

Σωκράτης: τάχ᾽ ἄν: οὐ μὴν οἶμαί γε ἐν τῷ νῦν: ἂν δέ τι δέῃ, 23e συγγνώσῃ πού μοι σὺ μεταδιώκοντι πέμπτον [βίον].

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον μὲν δὴ τῶν τεττάρων τὰ τρία διελόμενοι, τὰ δύο τούτων πειρώμεθα, πολλὰ ἑκάτερον ἐσχισμένον καὶ διεσπασμένον ἰδόντες, εἰς ἓν πάλιν ἑκάτερον συναγαγόντες, νοῆσαι πῇ ποτε ἦν αὐτῶν ἓν καὶ πολλὰ ἑκάτερον.

Πρώταρχος: εἴ μοι σαφέστερον ἔτι περὶ αὐτῶν εἴποις, τάχ᾽ ἂν ἑποίμην. 24a

Σωκράτης: λέγω τοίνυν τὰ δύο ἃ προτίθεμαι ταὔτ᾽ εἶναι ἅπερ νυνδή, τὸ μὲν ἄπειρον, τὸ δὲ πέρας ἔχον: ὅτι δὲ τρόπον τινὰ τὸ ἄπειρον πόλλ᾽ ἐστί, πειράσομαι φράζειν. τὸ δὲ πέρας ἔχον ἡμᾶς περιμενέτω.

Πρώταρχος: μένει.

Σωκράτης: σκέψαι δή. χαλεπὸν μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἀμφισβητήσιμον ὃ κελεύω σε σκοπεῖν, ὅμως δὲ σκόπει. θερμοτέρου καὶ ψυχροτέρου πέρι πρῶτον ὅρα πέρας εἴ ποτέ τι νοήσαις ἄν, ἢ τὸ μᾶλλόν τε καὶ ἧττον ἐν αὐτοῖς οἰκοῦν<τε> τοῖς γένεσιν, 24b ἕωσπερ ἂν ἐνοικῆτον, τέλος οὐκ ἂν ἐπιτρεψαίτην γίγνεσθαι: γενομένης γὰρ τελευτῆς καὶ αὐτὼ τετελευτήκατον.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἀεὶ δέ γε, φαμέν, ἔν τε τῷ θερμοτέρῳ καὶ ψυχροτέρῳ τὸ μᾶλλόν τε καὶ ἧττον ἔνι.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: ἀεὶ τοίνυν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν σημαίνει τούτω μὴ τέλος ἔχειν: ἀτελῆ δ᾽ ὄντε δήπου παντάπασιν ἀπείρω γίγνεσθον.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ σφόδρα γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ εὖ γε, ὦ φίλε Πρώταρχε, ὑπέλαβες καὶ 24c ἀνέμνησας ὅτι καὶ τὸ σφόδρα τοῦτο, ὃ σὺ νῦν ἐφθέγξω, καὶ τό γε ἠρέμα τὴν αὐτὴν δύναμιν ἔχετον τῷ μᾶλλόν τε καὶ ἧττον: ὅπου γὰρ ἂν ἐνῆτον, οὐκ ἐᾶτον εἶναι ποσὸν ἕκαστον, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ σφοδρότερον ἡσυχαιτέρου καὶ τοὐναντίον ἑκάσταις πράξεσιν ἐμποιοῦντε τὸ πλέον καὶ τὸ ἔλαττον ἀπεργάζεσθον, τὸ δὲ ποσὸν ἀφανίζετον. ὃ γὰρ ἐλέχθη νυνδή, μὴ ἀφανίσαντε τὸ ποσόν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐάσαντε αὐτό τε καὶ τὸ μέτριον ἐν τῇ 24d τοῦ μᾶλλον καὶ ἧττον καὶ σφόδρα καὶ ἠρέμα ἕδρᾳ ἐγγενέσθαι, αὐτὰ ἔρρει ταῦτα ἐκ τῆς αὑτῶν χώρας ἐν ᾗ ἐνῆν. οὐ γὰρ ἔτι θερμότερον οὐδὲ ψυχρότερον εἴτην ἂν λαβόντε τὸ ποσόν: προχωρεῖ γὰρ καὶ οὐ μένει τό τε θερμότερον ἀεὶ καὶ τὸ ψυχρότερον ὡσαύτως, τὸ δὲ ποσὸν ἔστη καὶ προϊὸν ἐπαύσατο. κατὰ δὴ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἄπειρον γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τὸ θερμότερον καὶ τοὐναντίον ἅμα.

Πρώταρχος: φαίνεται γοῦν, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἔστι δ᾽, ὅπερ εἶπες, οὐ ῥᾴδια ταῦτα συνέπεσθαι. τὸ δὲ εἰς αὖθίς τε καὶ αὖθις 24e ἴσως λεχθέντα τόν τε ἐρωτῶντα καὶ τὸν ἐρωτώμενον ἱκανῶς ἂν συμφωνοῦντας ἀποφήναιεν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ εὖ μὲν λέγεις καὶ πειρατέον οὕτω ποιεῖν. νῦν μέντοι ἄθρει τῆς τοῦ ἀπείρου φύσεως εἰ τοῦτο δεξόμεθα σημεῖον, ἵνα μὴ πάντ᾽ ἐπεξιόντες μηκύνωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ὁπός᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν φαίνηται μᾶλλόν τε καὶ ἧττον γιγνόμενα καὶ τὸ σφόδρα καὶ ἠρέμα δεχόμενα καὶ τὸ λίαν καὶ ὅσα 25a τοιαῦτα πάντα, εἰς τὸ τοῦ ἀπείρου γένος ὡς εἰς ἓν δεῖ πάντα ταῦτα τιθέναι, κατὰ τὸν ἔμπροσθεν λόγον ὃν ἔφαμεν ὅσα διέσπασται καὶ διέσχισται συναγαγόντας χρῆναι κατὰ δύναμιν μίαν ἐπισημαίνεσθαί τινα φύσιν, εἰ μέμνησαι.

Πρώταρχος: μέμνημαι.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὰ μὴ δεχόμενα ταῦτα, τούτων δὲ τὰ ἐναντία πάντα δεχόμενα, πρῶτον μὲν τὸ ἴσον καὶ ἰσότητα, μετὰ δὲ τὸ ἴσον τὸ διπλάσιον καὶ πᾶν ὅτιπερ ἂν πρὸς ἀριθμὸν ἀριθμὸς 25b ἢ μέτρον ᾖ πρὸς μέτρον, ταῦτα σύμπαντα εἰς τὸ πέρας ἀπολογιζόμενοι καλῶς ἂν δοκοῖμεν δρᾶν τοῦτο. ἢ πῶς σὺ φῄς;

Πρώταρχος: κάλλιστά γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: τὸ δὲ τρίτον τὸ μεικτὸν ἐκ τούτοιν ἀμφοῖν τίνα ἰδέαν φήσομεν ἔχειν;

Πρώταρχος: σὺ καὶ ἐμοὶ φράσεις, ὡς οἶμαι.

Σωκράτης: θεὸς μὲν οὖν, ἄνπερ γε ἐμαῖς εὐχαῖς ἐπήκοος γίγνηταί τις θεῶν.

Πρώταρχος: εὔχου δὴ καὶ σκόπει.

Σωκράτης: σκοπῶ: καί μοι δοκεῖ τις, ὦ Πρώταρχε, αὐτῶν φίλος ἡμῖν νυνδὴ γεγονέναι. 25c

Πρώταρχος: πῶς λέγεις τοῦτο καὶ τίνι τεκμηρίῳ χρῇ;

Σωκράτης: φράσω δῆλον ὅτι: σὺ δέ μοι συνακολούθησον τῷ λόγῳ.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης: θερμότερον ἐφθεγγόμεθα νυνδή πού τι καὶ ψυχρότερον. ἦ γάρ;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πρόσθες δὴ ξηρότερον καὶ ὑγρότερον αὐτοῖς καὶ πλέον καὶ ἔλαττον καὶ θᾶττον καὶ βραδύτερον καὶ μεῖζον καὶ σμικρότερον καὶ ὁπόσα ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν τῆς τὸ μᾶλλόν τε καὶ ἧττον δεχομένης ἐτίθεμεν εἰς ἓν φύσεως. 25d

Πρώταρχος: τῆς τοῦ ἀπείρου λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ναί. συμμείγνυ δέ γε εἰς αὐτὴν τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα τὴν αὖ τοῦ πέρατος γένναν.

Πρώταρχος: ποίαν;

Σωκράτης: ἣν καὶ νυνδή, δέον ἡμᾶς καθάπερ τὴν τοῦ ἀπείρου συνηγάγομεν εἰς ἕν, οὕτω καὶ τὴν τοῦ περατοειδοῦς συναγαγεῖν, οὐ συνηγάγομεν. ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως καὶ νῦν ταὐτὸν δράσει, <εἰ> τούτων ἀμφοτέρων συναγομένων καταφανὴς κἀκείνη γενήσεται.

Πρώταρχος: ποίαν καὶ πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: τὴν τοῦ ἴσου καὶ διπλασίου, καὶ ὁπόση παύει πρὸς 25e ἄλληλα τἀναντία διαφόρως ἔχοντα, σύμμετρα δὲ καὶ σύμφωνα ἐνθεῖσα ἀριθμὸν ἀπεργάζεται.

Πρώταρχος: μανθάνω: φαίνῃ γάρ μοι λέγειν μειγνὺς ταῦτα γενέσεις τινὰς ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστων αὐτῶν συμβαίνειν.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς γὰρ φαίνομαι.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε τοίνυν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα οὐκ ἐν μὲν νόσοις ἡ τούτων ὀρθὴ κοινωνία τὴν ὑγιείας φύσιν ἐγέννησεν; 26a

Πρώταρχος: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἐν δὲ ὀξεῖ καὶ βαρεῖ καὶ ταχεῖ καὶ βραδεῖ, ἀπείροις οὖσιν, ἆρ᾽ οὐ ταὐτὰ [ἐγγιγνόμενα] ταῦτα: ἅμα πέρας τε ἀπηργάσατο καὶ μουσικὴν σύμπασαν τελεώτατα συνεστήσατο;

Πρώταρχος: κάλλιστά γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἔν γε χειμῶσιν καὶ πνίγεσιν ἐγγενομένη τὸ μὲν πολὺ λίαν καὶ ἄπειρον ἀφείλετο, τὸ δὲ ἔμμετρον καὶ ἅμα σύμμετρον ἀπηργάσατο.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν; 26b

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐκ τούτων ὧραί τε καὶ ὅσα καλὰ πάντα ἡμῖν γέγονε, τῶν τε ἀπείρων καὶ τῶν πέρας ἐχόντων συμμειχθέντων;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἄλλα γε δὴ μυρία ἐπιλείπω λέγων, οἷον μεθ᾽ ὑγιείας κάλλος καὶ ἰσχύν, καὶ ἐν ψυχαῖς αὖ πάμπολλα ἕτερα καὶ πάγκαλα. ὕβριν γάρ που καὶ σύμπασαν πάντων πονηρίαν αὕτη κατιδοῦσα ἡ θεός, ὦ καλὲ Φίληβε, πέρας οὔτε ἡδονῶν οὐδὲν οὔτε πλησμονῶν ἐνὸν ἐν αὐτοῖς, νόμον καὶ τάξιν πέρας ἔχοντ᾽ ἔθετο: καὶ σὺ μὲν ἀποκναῖσαι φῂς 26c αὐτήν, ἐγὼ δὲ τοὐναντίον ἀποσῶσαι λέγω. σοὶ δέ, ὦ Πρώταρχε, πῶς φαίνεται;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔμοιγε κατὰ νοῦν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὰ μὲν δὴ τρία ταῦτα εἴρηκα, εἰ συννοεῖς.

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι κατανοεῖν: ἓν μὲν γάρ μοι δοκεῖς τὸ ἄπειρον λέγειν, ἓν δὲ καὶ δεύτερον τὸ πέρας ἐν τοῖς οὖσι: τρίτον δὲ οὐ σφόδρα κατέχω τί βούλει φράζειν.

Σωκράτης: τὸ γὰρ πλῆθός σε, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ἐξέπληξε τῆς τοῦ τρίτου γενέσεως: καίτοι πολλά γε καὶ τὸ ἄπειρον παρέσχετο 26d γένη, ὅμως δ᾽ ἐπισφραγισθέντα τῷ τοῦ μᾶλλον καὶ ἐναντίου γένει ἓν ἐφάνη.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθῆ.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν τό γε πέρας οὔτε πολλὰ εἶχεν, οὔτ᾽ ἐδυσκολαίνομεν ὡς οὐκ ἦν ἓν φύσει.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς. ἀλλὰ τρίτον φάθι με λέγειν, ἓν τοῦτο τιθέντα τὸ τούτων ἔκγονον ἅπαν, γένεσιν εἰς οὐσίαν ἐκ τῶν μετὰ τοῦ πέρατος ἀπειργασμένων μέτρων.

Πρώταρχος: ἔμαθον. 26e

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ δὴ πρὸς τρισὶ τέταρτόν τι τότε ἔφαμεν εἶναι γένος σκεπτέον: κοινὴ δ᾽ ἡ σκέψις. ὅρα γὰρ εἴ σοι δοκεῖ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι πάντα τὰ γιγνόμενα διά τινα αἰτίαν γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: ἔμοιγε: πῶς γὰρ ἂν χωρὶς τούτου γίγνοιτο;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἡ τοῦ ποιοῦντος φύσις οὐδὲν πλὴν ὀνόματι τῆς αἰτίας διαφέρει, τὸ δὲ ποιοῦν καὶ τὸ αἴτιον ὀρθῶς ἂν εἴη λεγόμενον ἕν;

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς. 27a

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν τό γε ποιούμενον αὖ καὶ τὸ γιγνόμενον οὐδὲν πλὴν ὀνόματι, καθάπερ τὸ νυνδή, διαφέρον εὑρήσομεν. ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἡγεῖται μὲν τὸ ποιοῦν ἀεὶ κατὰ φύσιν, τὸ δὲ ποιούμενον ἐπακολουθεῖ γιγνόμενον ἐκείνῳ;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἄλλο ἄρα καὶ οὐ ταὐτὸν αἰτία τ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ τὸ δουλεῦον εἰς γένεσιν αἰτίᾳ.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὰ μὲν γιγνόμενα καὶ ἐξ ὧν γίγνεται πάντα τὰ τρία παρέσχετο ἡμῖν γένη;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα. 27b

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὲ δὴ πάντα ταῦτα δημιουργοῦν λέγομεν τέταρτον, τὴν αἰτίαν, ὡς ἱκανῶς ἕτερον ἐκείνων δεδηλωμένον;

Πρώταρχος: ἕτερον γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς μὴν ἔχει, διωρισμένων τῶν τεττάρων, ἑνὸς ἑκάστου μνήμης ἕνεκα ἐφεξῆς αὐτὰ καταριθμήσασθαι.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν ἄπειρον λέγω, δεύτερον δὲ πέρας, ἔπειτ᾽ ἐκ τούτων τρίτον μεικτὴν καὶ γεγενημένην οὐσίαν: τὴν δὲ τῆς μείξεως αἰτίαν καὶ γενέσεως τετάρτην 27c λέγων ἆρα μὴ πλημμελοίην ἄν τι;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πῶς;

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, τὸ μετὰ τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν τίς ὁ λόγος, καὶ τί ποτε βουληθέντες εἰς ταῦτα ἀφικόμεθα; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τόδε ἦν; δευτερεῖα ἐζητοῦμεν πότερον ἡδονῆς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἢ φρονήσεως. οὐχ οὕτως ἦν;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἴσως νῦν, ἐπειδὴ ταῦτα οὕτω διειλόμεθα, κάλλιον ἂν καὶ τὴν κρίσιν ἐπιτελεσαίμεθα πρώτου πέρι καὶ δευτέρου, περὶ ὧν δὴ τὸ πρῶτον ἠμφεσβητήσαμεν;

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως. 27d

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή: νικῶντα μὲν ἔθεμέν που τὸν μεικτὸν βίον ἡδονῆς τε καὶ φρονήσεως. ἦν οὕτως;

Πρώταρχος: ἦν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τοῦτον μὲν τὸν βίον ὁρῶμέν που τίς τέ ἐστι καὶ ὁποίου γένους;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ μέρος γ᾽ αὐτὸν φήσομεν εἶναι τοῦ τρίτου οἶμαι γένους: οὐ γὰρ [ὁ] δυοῖν τινοῖν ἐστι [μικτὸς ἐκεῖνος] ἀλλὰ συμπάντων τῶν ἀπείρων ὑπὸ τοῦ πέρατος δεδεμένων, ὥστε ὀρθῶς ὁ νικηφόρος οὗτος βίος μέρος ἐκείνου γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα μὲν οὖν. 27e

Σωκράτης: εἶεν: τί δὲ ὁ σός, ὦ Φίληβε, ἡδὺς καὶ ἄμεικτος ὤν; ἐν τίνι γένει τῶν εἰρημένων λεγόμενος ὀρθῶς ἄν ποτε λέγοιτο; ὧδε δ᾽ ἀπόκριναί μοι πρὶν ἀποφήνασθαι.

Φίληβος: λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης: ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη πέρας ἔχετον, ἢ τῶν τὸ μᾶλλόν τε καὶ ἧττον δεχομένων ἐστόν;

Φίληβος: ναί, τῶν τὸ μᾶλλον, ὦ Σώκρατες: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἡδονὴ πᾶν ἀγαθὸν ἦν, εἰ μὴ ἄπειρον ἐτύγχανε πεφυκὸς καὶ πλήθει καὶ τῷ μᾶλλον. 28a

Σωκράτης: οὐδέ γ᾽ ἄν, ὦ Φίληβε, λύπη πᾶν κακόν: ὥστ᾽ ἄλλο τι νῷν σκεπτέον ἢ τὴν τοῦ ἀπείρου φύσιν ὡς παρέχεταί τι μέρος ταῖς ἡδοναῖς ἀγαθοῦ. τούτω δή σοι τῶν ἀπεράντων γε γένους ἔστων: φρόνησιν δὲ καὶ ἐπιστήμην καὶ νοῦν εἰς τί ποτε τῶν προειρημένων, ὦ Πρώταρχέ τε καὶ Φίληβε, νῦν θέντες οὐκ ἂν ἀσεβοῖμεν; οὐ γάρ μοι δοκεῖ σμικρὸς ἡμῖν εἶναι ὁ κίνδυνος κατορθώσασι καὶ μὴ περὶ τὸ νῦν ἐρωτώμενον. 28b

Φίληβος: σεμνύνεις γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸν σεαυτοῦ θεόν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ γὰρ σύ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, τὴν σαυτοῦ: τὸ δ᾽ ἐρωτώμενον ὅμως ἡμῖν λεκτέον.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς τοι λέγει Σωκράτης, ὦ Φίληβε, καὶ αὐτῷ πειστέον.

Φίληβος: οὐκοῦν ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ σύ, Πρώταρχε, προῄρησαι λέγειν;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε: νῦν μέντοι σχεδὸν ἀπορῶ, καὶ δέομαί γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὐτόν σε ἡμῖν γενέσθαι προφήτην, ἵνα μηδὲν ἡμεῖς σοι περὶ τὸν ἀγωνιστὴν ἐξαμαρτάνοντες παρὰ μέλος φθεγξώμεθά τι. 28c

Σωκράτης: πειστέον, ὦ Πρώταρχε: οὐδὲ γὰρ χαλεπὸν οὐδὲν ἐπιτάττεις. ἀλλ᾽ ὄντως σε ἐγώ, καθάπερ εἶπε Φίληβος, σεμνύνων ἐν τῷ παίζειν ἐθορύβησα, νοῦν καὶ ἐπιστήμην ἐρόμενος ὁποίου γένους εἶεν;

Πρώταρχος: παντάπασί γε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ῥᾴδιον: πάντες γὰρ συμφωνοῦσιν οἱ σοφοί, ἑαυτοὺς ὄντως σεμνύνοντες, ὡς νοῦς ἐστι βασιλεὺς ἡμῖν οὐρανοῦ τε καὶ γῆς. καὶ ἴσως εὖ λέγουσι. διὰ μακροτέρων δ᾽, εἰ βούλει, τὴν σκέψιν αὐτοῦ τοῦ γένους ποιησώμεθα. 28d

Πρώταρχος: λέγ᾽ ὅπως βούλει, μηδὲν μῆκος ἡμῖν ὑπολογιζόμενος, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς οὐκ ἀπεχθησόμενος.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς εἶπες. ἀρξώμεθα δέ πως ὧδε ἐπανερωτῶντες.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: πότερον, ὦ Πρώταρχε, τὰ σύμπαντα καὶ τόδε τὸ καλούμενον ὅλον ἐπιτροπεύειν φῶμεν τὴν τοῦ ἀλόγου καὶ εἰκῇ δύναμιν καὶ τὸ ὅπῃ ἔτυχεν, ἢ τἀναντία, καθάπερ οἱ πρόσθεν ἡμῶν ἔλεγον, νοῦν καὶ φρόνησίν τινα θαυμαστὴν συντάττουσαν διακυβερνᾶν; 28e

Πρώταρχος: οὐδὲν τῶν αὐτῶν, ὦ θαυμάσιε Σώκρατες: ὃ μὲν γὰρ σὺ νῦν λέγεις, οὐδὲ ὅσιον εἶναί μοι φαίνεται. τὸ δὲ νοῦν πάντα διακοσμεῖν αὐτὰ φάναι καὶ τῆς ὄψεως τοῦ κόσμου καὶ ἡλίου καὶ σελήνης καὶ ἀστέρων καὶ πάσης τῆς περιφορᾶς ἄξιον, καὶ οὐκ ἄλλως ἔγωγ᾽ ἄν ποτε περὶ αὐτῶν εἴποιμι οὐδ᾽ ἂν δοξάσαιμι.

Σωκράτης: βούλει δῆτά τι καὶ ἡμεῖς τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ὁμολογούμενον 29a συμφήσωμεν ὡς ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ μὴ μόνον οἰώμεθα δεῖν τἀλλότρια ἄνευ κινδύνου λέγειν, ἀλλὰ καὶ συγκινδυνεύωμεν καὶ μετέχωμεν τοῦ ψόγου, ὅταν ἀνὴρ δεινὸς φῇ ταῦτα μὴ οὕτως ἀλλ᾽ ἀτάκτως ἔχειν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἂν βουλοίμην;

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή, τὸν ἐπιόντα περὶ τούτων νῦν ἡμῖν λόγον ἄθρει.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης: τὰ περὶ τὴν τῶν σωμάτων φύσιν ἁπάντων τῶν ζῴων, πῦρ καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ πνεῦμα καθορῶμέν που καὶ γῆν καθάπερ οἱ χειμαζόμενοι, φασίν, ἐνόντα ἐν τῇ συστάσει. 29b

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα: χειμαζόμεθα γὰρ ὄντως ὑπ᾽ ἀπορίας ἐν τοῖς νῦν λόγοις.

Σωκράτης: φέρε δή, περὶ ἑκάστου τῶν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν λαβὲ τὸ τοιόνδε.

Πρώταρχος: ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι μικρόν τε τούτων ἕκαστον παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἔνεστι καὶ φαῦλον καὶ οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς εἰλικρινὲς ὂν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν οὐκ ἀξίαν τῆς φύσεως ἔχον. ἐν ἑνὶ δὲ λαβὼν περὶ πάντων νόει ταὐτόν. οἷον πῦρ ἔστι μέν που παρ᾽ ἡμῖν, ἔστι δ᾽ ἐν τῷ παντί.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν; 29c

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν σμικρὸν μέν τι τὸ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν καὶ ἀσθενὲς καὶ φαῦλον, τὸ δ᾽ ἐν τῷ παντὶ πλήθει τε θαυμαστὸν καὶ κάλλει καὶ πάσῃ δυνάμει τῇ περὶ τὸ πῦρ οὔσῃ.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλ᾽ ἀληθὲς ὃ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; τρέφεται καὶ γίγνεται ἐκ τούτου καὶ αὔξεται τὸ τοῦ παντὸς πῦρ ὑπὸ τοῦ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν πυρός, ἢ τοὐναντίον ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου τό τ᾽ ἐμὸν καὶ τὸ σὸν καὶ τὸ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων ἅπαντ᾽ ἴσχει ταῦτα;

Πρώταρχος: τοῦτο μὲν οὐδ᾽ ἀποκρίσεως ἄξιον ἐρωτᾷς. 29d

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς: ταὐτὰ γὰρ ἐρεῖς οἶμαι περί τε τῆς ἐν τοῖς ζῴοις γῆς τῆς ἐνθάδε καὶ τῆς ἐν τῷ παντί, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων δὴ πάντων ὅσων ἠρώτησα ὀλίγον ἔμπροσθεν. οὕτως ἀποκρινῇ;

Πρώταρχος: τίς γὰρ ἀποκρινόμενος ἄλλως ὑγιαίνων ἄν ποτε φανείη;

Σωκράτης: σχεδὸν οὐδ᾽ ὁστισοῦν: ἀλλὰ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἑξῆς ἕπου. πάντα γὰρ ἡμεῖς ταῦτα τὰ νυνδὴ λεχθέντα ἆρ᾽ οὐκ εἰς ἓν συγκείμενα ἰδόντες ἐπωνομάσαμεν σῶμα;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν; 29e

Σωκράτης: ταὐτὸν δὴ λαβὲ καὶ περὶ τοῦδε ὃν κόσμον λέγομεν: {{π|διὰ] τὸν αὐτὸν γὰρ τρόπον ἂν εἴη που σῶμα, σύνθετον ὂν ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν ἐκ τούτου τοῦ σώματος ὅλως τὸ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν σῶμα ἢ ἐκ τοῦ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν τοῦτο τρέφεταί τε καὶ ὅσα νυνδὴ περὶ αὐτῶν εἴπομεν εἴληφέν τε καὶ ἔχει;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ τοῦθ᾽ ἕτερον, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἄξιον ἐρωτήσεως. 30a

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; τόδε ἆρα ἄξιον; ἢ πῶς ἐρεῖς;

Πρώταρχος: λέγε τὸ ποῖον.

Σωκράτης: τὸ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν σῶμα ἆρ᾽ οὐ ψυχὴν φήσομεν ἔχειν;

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον ὅτι φήσομεν.

Σωκράτης: πόθεν, ὦ φίλε Πρώταρχε, λαβόν, εἴπερ μὴ τό γε τοῦ παντὸς σῶμα ἔμψυχον ὂν ἐτύγχανε, ταὐτά γε ἔχον τούτῳ καὶ ἔτι πάντῃ καλλίονα;

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον ὡς οὐδαμόθεν ἄλλοθεν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐ γάρ που δοκοῦμέν γε, ὦ Πρώταρχε, τὰ τέτταρα ἐκεῖνα, πέρας καὶ ἄπειρον καὶ κοινὸν καὶ τὸ τῆς αἰτίας γένος 30b ἐν ἅπασι τέταρτον ἐνόν, τοῦτο ἐν μὲν τοῖς παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ψυχήν τε παρέχον καὶ σωμασκίαν ἐμποιοῦν καὶ πταίσαντος σώματος ἰατρικὴν καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις ἄλλα συντιθὲν καὶ ἀκούμενον πᾶσαν καὶ παντοίαν σοφίαν ἐπικαλεῖσθαι, τῶν δ᾽ αὐτῶν τούτων ὄντων ἐν ὅλῳ τε οὐρανῷ καὶ κατὰ μεγάλα μέρη, καὶ προσέτι καλῶν καὶ εἰλικρινῶν, ἐν τούτοις δ᾽ οὐκ ἄρα μεμηχανῆσθαι τὴν τῶν καλλίστων καὶ τιμιωτάτων φύσιν. 30c

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ οὐδαμῶς τοῦτό γ᾽ ἂν λόγον ἔχοι.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μὴ τοῦτο, μετ᾽ ἐκείνου τοῦ λόγου ἂν ἑπόμενοι βέλτιον λέγοιμεν ὡς ἔστιν, ἃ πολλάκις εἰρήκαμεν, ἄπειρόν τε ἐν τῷ παντὶ πολύ, καὶ πέρας ἱκανόν, καί τις ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς αἰτία οὐ φαύλη, κοσμοῦσά τε καὶ συντάττουσα ἐνιαυτούς τε καὶ ὥρας καὶ μῆνας, σοφία καὶ νοῦς λεγομένη δικαιότατ᾽ ἄν.

Πρώταρχος: δικαιότατα δῆτα.

Σωκράτης: σοφία μὴν καὶ νοῦς ἄνευ ψυχῆς οὐκ ἄν ποτε γενοίσθην.

Πρώταρχος: οὐ γὰρ οὖν. 30d

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐν μὲν τῇ τοῦ Διὸς ἐρεῖς φύσει βασιλικὴν μὲν ψυχήν, βασιλικὸν δὲ νοῦν ἐγγίγνεσθαι διὰ τὴν τῆς αἰτίας δύναμιν, ἐν δ᾽ ἄλλοις ἄλλα καλά, καθ᾽ ὅτι φίλον ἑκάστοις λέγεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: μάλα γε.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτον δὴ τὸν λόγον ἡμᾶς μή τι μάτην δόξῃς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, εἰρηκέναι, ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι τοῖς μὲν πάλαι ἀποφηναμένοις ὡς ἀεὶ τοῦ παντὸς νοῦς ἄρχει σύμμαχος ἐκείνοις.

Πρώταρχος: ἔστι γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τῇ δέ γε ἐμῇ ζητήσει πεπορικὼς ἀπόκρισιν, ὅτι νοῦς 30e ἐστὶ γένους τῆς τοῦ πάντων αἰτίου λεχθέντος [τῶν τεττάρων, [ὧν] ἦν ἡμῖν ἓν τοῦτο]. ἔχεις γὰρ δήπου νῦν ἡμῶν ἤδη τὴν ἀπόκρισιν.

Πρώταρχος: ἔχω καὶ μάλα ἱκανῶς: καίτοι με ἀποκρινάμενος ἔλαθες.

Σωκράτης: ἀνάπαυλα γάρ, ὦ Πρώταρχε, τῆς σπουδῆς γίγνεται ἐνίοτε ἡ παιδιά.

Πρώταρχος: καλῶς εἶπες. 31a

Σωκράτης: νῦν δήπου, ὦ ἑταῖρε, οὗ μὲν γένους ἐστὶ καὶ τίνα ποτὲ δύναμιν κέκτηται, σχεδὸν ἐπιεικῶς ἡμῖν τὰ νῦν δεδήλωται.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἡδονῆς γε ὡσαύτως πάλαι τὸ γένος ἐφάνη.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: μεμνώμεθα δὴ καὶ ταῦτα περὶ ἀμφοῖν, ὅτι νοῦς μὲν αἰτίας ἦν συγγενὴς καὶ τούτου σχεδὸν τοῦ γένους, ἡδονὴ δὲ ἄπειρός τε αὐτὴ καὶ τοῦ μήτε ἀρχὴν μήτε μέσα μήτε τέλος ἐν αὑτῷ ἀφ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ ἔχοντος μηδὲ ἕξοντός ποτε γένους. 31b

Πρώταρχος: μεμνησόμεθα: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: δεῖ δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, ἐν ᾧ τέ ἐστιν ἑκάτερον αὐτοῖν καὶ διὰ τί πάθος γίγνεσθον ὁπόταν γίγνησθον ἰδεῖν ἡμᾶς. πρῶτον τὴν ἡδονήν: ὥσπερ τὸ γένος αὐτῆς πρότερον ἐβασανίσαμεν, οὕτω καὶ ταῦτα πρότερα. λύπης δὲ αὖ χωρὶς τὴν ἡδονὴν οὐκ ἄν ποτε δυναίμεθα ἱκανῶς βασανίσαι.

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ ταύτῃ χρὴ πορεύεσθαι, ταύτῃ πορευώμεθα.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν σοὶ καθάπερ ἐμοὶ φαίνεται τῆς γενέσεως αὐτῶν πέρι; 31c

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ἐν τῷ κοινῷ μοι γένει ἅμα φαίνεσθον λύπη τε καὶ ἡδονὴ γίγνεσθαι κατὰ φύσιν.

Πρώταρχος: κοινὸν δέ γε, ὦ φίλε Σώκρατες, ὑπομίμνῃσκε ἡμᾶς τί ποτε τῶν προειρημένων βούλει δηλοῦν.

Σωκράτης: ἔσται ταῦτ᾽ εἰς δύναμιν, ὦ θαυμάσιε.

Πρώταρχος: καλῶς εἶπες.

Σωκράτης: κοινὸν τοίνυν ὑπακούωμεν ὃ δὴ τῶν τεττάρων τρίτον ἐλέγομεν.

Πρώταρχος: ὃ μετὰ τὸ ἄπειρον καὶ πέρας ἔλεγες, ἐν ᾧ καὶ ὑγίειαν, οἶμαι δὲ καὶ ἁρμονίαν, ἐτίθεσο; 31d

Σωκράτης: κάλλιστ᾽ εἶπες. τὸν νοῦν δὲ ὅτι μάλιστ᾽ ἤδη πρόσεχε.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης: λέγω τοίνυν τῆς ἁρμονίας μὲν λυομένης ἡμῖν ἐν τοῖς ζῴοις ἅμα λύσιν τῆς φύσεως καὶ γένεσιν ἀλγηδόνων ἐν τῷ τότε γίγνεσθαι χρόνῳ.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ λέγεις εἰκός.

Σωκράτης: πάλιν δὲ ἁρμοττομένης τε καὶ εἰς τὴν αὑτῆς φύσιν ἀπιούσης ἡδονὴν γίγνεσθαι λεκτέον, εἰ δεῖ δι᾽ ὀλίγων περὶ μεγίστων ὅτι τάχιστα ῥηθῆναι. 31e

Πρώταρχος: οἶμαι μέν σε ὀρθῶς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐμφανέστερον δὲ ἔτι ταὐτὰ ταῦτα πειρώμεθα λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὰ δημόσιά που καὶ περιφανῆ ῥᾷστον συννοεῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ποῖα;

Σωκράτης: πείνη μέν που λύσις καὶ λύπη;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ἐδωδὴ δέ, πλήρωσις γιγνομένη πάλιν, ἡδονή;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: δίψος δ᾽ αὖ φθορὰ καὶ λύπη [καὶ λύσις], ἡ δὲ τοῦ 32a ὑγροῦ πάλιν τὸ ξηρανθὲν πληροῦσα δύναμις ἡδονή: διάκρισις δέ γ᾽ αὖ καὶ διάλυσις ἡ παρὰ φύσιν, τοῦ πνίγους πάθη, λύπη, κατὰ φύσιν δὲ πάλιν ἀπόδοσίς τε καὶ ψῦξις ἡδονή.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ῥίγους ἡ μὲν παρὰ φύσιν τοῦ ζῴου τῆς ὑγρότητος πῆξις λύπη: πάλιν δ᾽ εἰς ταὐτὸν ἀπιόντων καὶ διακρινομένων ἡ κατὰ φύσιν ὁδὸς ἡδονή. καὶ ἑνὶ λόγῳ σκόπει εἴ σοι μέτριος ὁ λόγος ὃς ἂν φῇ τὸ ἐκ τῆς ἀπείρου καὶ 32b πέρατος κατὰ φύσιν ἔμψυχον γεγονὸς εἶδος, ὅπερ ἔλεγον ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν, ὅταν μὲν τοῦτο φθείρηται, τὴν μὲν φθορὰν λύπην εἶναι, τὴν δ᾽ εἰς τὴν αὑτῶν οὐσίαν ὁδόν, ταύτην δὲ αὖ πάλιν τὴν ἀναχώρησιν πάντων ἡδονήν. Πρώταρχος:

ἔστω: δοκεῖ γάρ μοι τύπον γέ τινα ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν ἓν εἶδος τιθώμεθα λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς ἐν τούτοις τοῖς πάθεσιν ἑκατέροις;

Πρώταρχος: κείσθω.

Σωκράτης: τίθει τοίνυν αὐτῆς τῆς ψυχῆς κατὰ τὸ τούτων τῶν 32c παθημάτων προσδόκημα τὸ μὲν πρὸ τῶν ἡδέων ἐλπιζόμενον ἡδὺ καὶ θαρραλέον, τὸ δὲ πρὸ τῶν λυπηρῶν φοβερὸν καὶ ἀλγεινόν.

Πρώταρχος: ἔστι γὰρ οὖν τοῦθ᾽ ἡδονῆς καὶ λύπης ἕτερον εἶδος, τὸ χωρὶς τοῦ σώματος αὐτῆς τῆς ψυχῆς διὰ προσδοκίας γιγνόμενον.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς ὑπέλαβες. ἐν γὰρ τούτοις οἶμαι, κατά γε τὴν ἐμὴν δόξαν, εἰλικρινέσιν τε ἑκατέροις γιγνομένοις, ὡς δοκεῖ, καὶ ἀμείκτοις λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς, ἐμφανὲς ἔσεσθαι 32d τὸ περὶ τὴν ἡδονήν, πότερον ὅλον ἐστὶ τὸ γένος ἀσπαστόν, ἢ τοῦτο μὲν ἑτέρῳ τινὶ τῶν προειρημένων δοτέον ἡμῖν γενῶν, ἡδονῇ δὲ καὶ λύπῃ, καθάπερ θερμῷ καὶ ψυχρῷ καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις, τοτὲ μὲν ἀσπαστέον αὐτά, τοτὲ δὲ οὐκ ἀσπαστέον, ὡς ἀγαθὰ μὲν οὐκ ὄντα, ἐνίοτε δὲ καὶ ἔνια δεχόμενα τὴν τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἔστιν ὅτε φύσιν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα λέγεις, ὅτι ταύτῃ πῃ δεῖ διαπορηθῆναι τὸ νῦν μεταδιωκόμενον.

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν τόδε συνίδωμεν: [ὡς] εἴπερ 32e ὄντως ἔστι τὸ λεγόμενον, διαφθειρομένων μὲν αὐτῶν ἀλγηδών, ἀνασῳζομένων δὲ ἡδονή, τῶν μήτε διαφθειρομένων μήτε ἀνασῳζομένων ἐννοήσωμεν πέρι, τίνα ποτὲ ἕξιν δεῖ τότε ἐν ἑκάστοις εἶναι τοῖς ζῴοις, ὅταν οὕτως ἴσχῃ. σφόδρα δὲ προσέχων τὸν νοῦν εἰπέ: ἆρα οὐ πᾶσα ἀνάγκη πᾶν ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ ζῷον μήτε τι λυπεῖσθαι μήτε ἥδεσθαι μήτε μέγα μήτε σμικρόν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἔστι τις τρίτη ἡμῶν ἡ τοιαύτη διάθεσις 33a παρά τε τὴν τοῦ χαίροντος καὶ παρὰ τὴν τοῦ λυπουμένου;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἄγε δὴ τοίνυν, ταύτης προθυμοῦ μεμνῆσθαι. πρὸς γὰρ τὴν τῆς ἡδονῆς κρίσιν οὐ σμικρὸν μεμνῆσθαι ταύτην ἔσθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἢ μή. βραχὺ δέ τι περὶ αὐτῆς, εἰ βούλει, διαπεράνωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε ποῖον.

Σωκράτης: [τῷ] τὸν τοῦ φρονεῖν [ἑλομένῳ] βίον οἶσθ᾽ ὡς τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον οὐδὲν ἀποκωλύει ζῆν. 33b

Πρώταρχος: τὸν τοῦ μὴ χαίρειν μηδὲ λυπεῖσθαι λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ἐρρήθη γάρ που τότε ἐν τῇ παραβολῇ τῶν βίων μηδὲν δεῖν μήτε μέγα μήτε σμικρὸν χαίρειν τῷ τὸν τοῦ νοεῖν καὶ φρονεῖν βίον ἑλομένῳ.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα οὕτως ἐρρήθη.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὕτως ἂν ἐκείνῳ γε ὑπάρχοι: καὶ ἴσως οὐδὲν ἄτοπον εἰ πάντων τῶν βίων ἐστὶ θειότατος.

Πρώταρχος: οὔκουν εἰκός γε οὔτε χαίρειν θεοὺς οὔτε τὸ ἐναντίον.

Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν οὐκ εἰκός: ἄσχημον γοῦν αὐτῶν ἑκάτερον γιγνόμενόν ἐστιν. ἀλλὰ δὴ τοῦτο μὲν ἔτι καὶ εἰς 33c αὖθις ἐπισκεψόμεθα, ἐὰν πρὸς λόγον τι ᾖ, καὶ τῷ νῷ πρὸς τὰ δευτερεῖα, ἐὰν μὴ πρὸς τὰ πρωτεῖα δυνώμεθα προσθεῖναι, προσθήσομεν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν τό γε ἕτερον εἶδος τῶν ἡδονῶν, ὃ τῆς ψυχῆς αὐτῆς ἔφαμεν εἶναι, διὰ μνήμης πᾶν ἐστι γεγονός.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: μνήμην, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔστιν πρότερον ἀναληπτέον, καὶ κινδυνεύει πάλιν ἔτι πρότερον αἴσθησιν μνήμης, εἰ μέλλει τὰ περὶ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν κατὰ τρόπον φανερά πῃ γενήσεσθαι. 33d

Πρώταρχος: πῶς φῄς;

Σωκράτης: θὲς τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα ἡμῶν ἑκάστοτε παθημάτων τὰ μὲν ἐν τῷ σώματι κατασβεννύμενα πρὶν ἐπὶ τὴν ψυχὴν διεξελθεῖν ἀπαθῆ ἐκείνην ἐάσαντα, τὰ δὲ δι᾽ ἀμφοῖν ἰόντα καί τινα ὥσπερ σεισμὸν ἐντιθέντα ἴδιόν τε καὶ κοινὸν ἑκατέρῳ.

Πρώταρχος: κείσθω.

Σωκράτης: τὰ μὲν δὴ μὴ δι᾽ ἀμφοῖν ἰόντα ἐὰν τὴν ψυχὴν ἡμῶν φῶμεν λανθάνειν, τὰ δὲ δι᾽ ἀμφοῖν μὴ λανθάνειν, ἆρ᾽ ὀρθότατα ἐροῦμεν; 33e

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τὸ τοίνυν λεληθέναι μηδαμῶς ὑπολάβῃς ὡς λέγω λήθης ἐνταῦθά που γένεσιν: ἔστι γὰρ λήθη μνήμης ἔξοδος, ἡ δ᾽ ἐν τῷ λεγομένῳ νῦν οὔπω γέγονε. τοῦ δὴ μήτε ὄντος μήτε γεγονότος πω γίγνεσθαι φάναι τινὰ ἀποβολὴν ἄτοπον. ἦ γάρ;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: τὰ τοίνυν ὀνόματα μετάβαλε μόνον.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ἀντὶ μὲν τοῦ λεληθέναι τὴν ψυχήν, ὅταν ἀπαθὴς αὕτη γίγνηται τῶν σεισμῶν τῶν τοῦ σώματος, ἣν νῦν λήθην 34a καλεῖς ἀναισθησίαν ἐπονόμασον.

Πρώταρχος: ἔμαθον.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δ᾽ ἐν ἑνὶ πάθει τὴν ψυχὴν καὶ τὸ σῶμα κοινῇ γιγνόμενον κοινῇ καὶ κινεῖσθαι, ταύτην δ᾽ αὖ τὴν κίνησιν ὀνομάζων αἴσθησιν οὐκ ἀπὸ τρόπου φθέγγοι᾽ ἄν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἤδη μανθάνομεν ὃ βουλόμεθα καλεῖν τὴν αἴσθησιν;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: σωτηρίαν τοίνυν αἰσθήσεως τὴν μνήμην λέγων ὀρθῶς ἄν τις λέγοι κατά γε τὴν ἐμὴν δόξαν. 34b

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: μνήμης δὲ ἀνάμνησιν ἆρ᾽ οὐ διαφέρουσαν λέγομεν;

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τόδε;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὅταν ἃ μετὰ τοῦ σώματος ἔπασχέν ποθ᾽ ἡ ψυχή, ταῦτ᾽ ἄνευ τοῦ σώματος αὐτὴ ἐν ἑαυτῇ ὅτι μάλιστα ἀναλαμβάνῃ, τότε ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαί που λέγομεν. ἦ γάρ;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ ὅταν ἀπολέσασα μνήμην εἴτ᾽ αἰσθήσεως εἴτ᾽ αὖ μαθήματος αὖθις ταύτην ἀναπολήσῃ πάλιν 34c αὐτὴ ἐν ἑαυτῇ, καὶ ταῦτα σύμπαντα ἀναμνήσεις [καὶ μνήμας] που λέγομεν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὗ δὴ χάριν ἅπαντ᾽ εἴρηται ταῦτ᾽, ἔστι τόδε.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ἵνα πῃ τὴν ψυχῆς ἡδονὴν χωρὶς σώματος ὅτι μάλιστα καὶ ἐναργέστατα λάβοιμεν, καὶ ἅμα ἐπιθυμίαν: διὰ γὰρ τούτων πως ταῦτα ἀμφότερα ἔοικεν δηλοῦσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: λέγωμεν τοίνυν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἤδη τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: πολλά γε περὶ γένεσιν ἡδονῆς καὶ πᾶσαν [τὴν] 34d μορφὴν αὐτῆς ἀναγκαῖον, ὡς ἔοικε, λέγοντας σκοπεῖν. καὶ γὰρ νῦν πρότερον ἔτι φαίνεται ληπτέον ἐπιθυμίαν εἶναι τί ποτ᾽ ἔστι καὶ ποῦ γίγνεται.

Πρώταρχος: σκοπῶμεν τοίνυν: οὐδὲν γὰρ ἀπολοῦμεν.

Σωκράτης: ἀπολοῦμεν μὲν οὖν <span style=“color:#000080;” id=“καὶ] ταῦτά γε, ὦ Πρώταρχε: εὑρόντες ὃ νῦν ζητοῦμεν, ἀπολοῦμεν τὴν περὶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἀπορίαν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς ἠμύνω: τὸ δ᾽ ἐφεξῆς τούτοις πειρώμεθα λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν νυνδὴ πείνην τε καὶ δίψος καὶ πολλὰ ἕτερα 34e τοιαῦτα ἔφαμεν εἶναί τινας ἐπιθυμίας;

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: πρὸς τί ποτε ἄρα ταὐτὸν βλέψαντες οὕτω πολὺ διαφέροντα ταῦθ᾽ ἑνὶ προσαγορεύομεν ὀνόματι;

Πρώταρχος: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἴσως εἰπεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως λεκτέον.

Σωκράτης: ἐκεῖθεν δὴ ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν πάλιν ἀναλάβωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: πόθεν δή;

Σωκράτης: διψῇ γέ που λέγομεν ἑκάστοτέ τι;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο δέ γ᾽ ἐστὶ κενοῦται;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸ δίψος ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία;

Πρώταρχος: ναί, πώματός γε. 35a

Σωκράτης: πώματος, ἢ πληρώσεως πώματος;

Πρώταρχος: οἶμαι μὲν πληρώσεως.

Σωκράτης: ὁ κενούμενος ἡμῶν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπιθυμεῖ τῶν ἐναντίων ἢ πάσχει: κενούμενος γὰρ ἐρᾷ πληροῦσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: σαφέστατά γε.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ὁ τὸ πρῶτον κενούμενος ἔστιν ὁπόθεν εἴτ᾽ αἰσθήσει πληρώσεως ἐφάπτοιτ᾽ ἂν εἴτε μνήμῃ, τούτου ὃ μήτ᾽ ἐν τῷ νῦν χρόνῳ πάσχει μήτ᾽ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν πώποτε ἔπαθεν;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πῶς; 35b

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ὅ γε ἐπιθυμῶν τινὸς ἐπιθυμεῖ, φαμέν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα ὅ γε πάσχει, τούτου ἐπιθυμεῖ. διψῇ γάρ, τοῦτο δὲ κένωσις: ὁ δ᾽ ἐπιθυμεῖ πληρώσεως.

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πληρώσεώς γ᾽ ἄρα πῄ τι τῶν τοῦ διψῶντος ἂν ἐφάπτοιτο.

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον.

Σωκράτης: τὸ μὲν δὴ σῶμα ἀδύνατον: κενοῦται γάρ που.

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τὴν ψυχὴν ἄρα τῆς πληρώσεως ἐφάπτεσθαι λοιπόν, 35c τῇ μνήμῃ δῆλον ὅτι: τῷ γὰρ ἂν ἔτ᾽ ἄλλῳ ἐφάψαιτο;

Πρώταρχος: σχεδὸν οὐδενί.

Σωκράτης: μανθάνομεν οὖν ὃ συμβέβηχ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐκ τούτων τῶν λόγων;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: σώματος ἐπιθυμίαν οὔ φησιν ἡμῖν οὗτος ὁ λόγος γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι τοῖς ἐκείνου παθήμασιν ἐναντίαν ἀεὶ παντὸς ζῴου μηνύει τὴν ἐπιχείρησιν.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: ἡ δ᾽ ὁρμή γε ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον ἄγουσα ἢ τὰ παθήματα δηλοῖ που μνήμην οὖσαν τῶν τοῖς παθήμασιν ἐναντίων.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε. 35d

Σωκράτης: τὴν ἄρα ἐπάγουσαν ἐπὶ τὰ ἐπιθυμούμενα ἀποδείξας μνήμην ὁ λόγος ψυχῆς σύμπασαν τήν τε ὁρμὴν καὶ ἐπιθυμίαν καὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν τοῦ ζῴου παντὸς ἀπέφηνεν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα.

Σωκράτης: διψῆν ἄρα ἡμῶν τὸ σῶμα ἢ πεινῆν ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων πάσχειν οὐδαμῇ ὁ λόγος αἱρεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι δὴ καὶ τόδε περὶ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα κατανοήσωμεν. βίου γὰρ εἶδός τί μοι φαίνεται βούλεσθαι δηλοῦν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν ἐν τούτοις αὐτοῖς. 35e

Πρώταρχος: ἐν τίσι καὶ ποίου πέρι βίου φράζεις;

Σωκράτης: ἐν τῷ πληροῦσθαι καὶ κενοῦσθαι καὶ πᾶσιν ὅσα περὶ σωτηρίαν τέ ἐστι τῶν ζῴων καὶ τὴν φθοράν, καὶ εἴ τις τούτων ἐν ἑκατέρῳ γιγνόμενος ἡμῶν ἀλγεῖ, τοτὲ δὲ χαίρει κατὰ τὰς μεταβολάς.

Πρώταρχος: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ὅταν ἐν μέσῳ τούτων γίγνηται;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς ἐν μέσῳ;

Σωκράτης: διὰ μὲν τὸ πάθος ἀλγῇ, μεμνῆται δὲ τῶν ἡδέων <ὧν> γενομένων παύοιτ᾽ ἂν τῆς ἀλγηδόνος, πληρῶται δὲ μήπω: τί 36a τότε; φῶμεν ἢ μὴ φῶμεν αὐτὸν ἐν μέσῳ τῶν παθημάτων εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: φῶμεν μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: πότερον ἀλγοῦνθ᾽ ὅλως ἢ χαίροντα;

Πρώταρχος: μὰ Δί᾽, ἀλλὰ διπλῇ τινὶ λύπῃ λυπούμενον, κατὰ μὲν τὸ σῶμα ἐν τῷ παθήματι, κατὰ δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν προσδοκίας τινὶ πόθῳ.

Σωκράτης: πῶς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, τὸ διπλοῦν τῆς λύπης εἶπες; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἔστι μὲν ὅτε τις ἡμῶν κενούμενος ἐν ἐλπίδι φανερᾷ τοῦ 36b πληρωθήσεσθαι καθέστηκε, τοτὲ δὲ τοὐναντίον ἀνελπίστως ἔχει;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα γε.

Σωκράτης: μῶν οὖν οὐχὶ ἐλπίζων μὲν πληρωθήσεσθαι τῷ μεμνῆσθαι δοκεῖ σοι χαίρειν, ἅμα δὲ κενούμενος ἐν τούτοις [τοῖς χρόνοις] ἀλγεῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: τότε ἄρ᾽ ἄνθρωπος καὶ τἆλλα ζῷα λυπεῖταί τε ἅμα καὶ χαίρει.

Πρώταρχος: κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ὅταν ἀνελπίστως ἔχῃ κενούμενος τεύξεσθαι πληρώσεως; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τότε τὸ διπλοῦν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν περὶ τὰς λύπας πάθος, ὃ σὺ νυνδὴ κατιδὼν ᾠήθης ἁπλῶς εἶναι 36c διπλοῦν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ταύτῃ δὴ τῇ σκέψει τούτων τῶν παθημάτων τόδε χρησώμεθα.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: πότερον ἀληθεῖς ταύτας τὰς λύπας τε καὶ ἡδονὰς ἢ ψευδεῖς εἶναι λέξομεν; ἢ τὰς μέν τινας ἀληθεῖς, τὰς δ᾽ οὔ;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἂν εἶεν ψευδεῖς ἡδοναὶ ἢ λῦπαι;

Σωκράτης: πῶς δέ, ὦ Πρώταρχε, φόβοι ἂν ἀληθεῖς ἢ ψευδεῖς, ἢ προσδοκίαι ἀληθεῖς ἢ μή, ἢ δόξαι ἀληθεῖς ἢ ψευδεῖς; 36d

Πρώταρχος: δόξας μὲν ἔγωγ᾽ ἄν που συγχωροίην, τὰ δ᾽ ἕτερα ταῦτ᾽ οὐκ ἄν.

Σωκράτης: πῶς φῄς; λόγον μέντοι τινὰ κινδυνεύομεν οὐ πάνυ σμικρὸν ἐπεγείρειν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ πρὸς τὰ παρεληλυθότα, ὦ παῖ ‘κείνου τἀνδρός, προσήκοντα, τοῦτο σκεπτέον.

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως τοῦτό γε.

Σωκράτης: χαίρειν τοίνυν δεῖ λέγειν τοῖς ἄλλοις μήκεσιν ἢ καὶ ὁτῳοῦν τῶν παρὰ τὸ προσῆκον λεγομένων.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς. 36e

Σωκράτης: λέγε δή μοι: θαῦμα γάρ μέ γε ἔχει διὰ τέλους ἀεὶ περὶ τὰ αὐτὰ ἃ νυνδὴ προυθέμεθα ἀπορήματα. πῶς δὴ φῄς; ψευδεῖς, αἱ δ᾽ ἀληθεῖς οὐκ εἰσὶν ἡδοναί;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὔτε δὴ ὄναρ οὔθ᾽ ὕπαρ, ὡς φῄς, [ἐστιν] οὔτ᾽ ἐν μανίαις οὔτ᾽ ἐν παραφροσύναις οὐδεὶς ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις ποτὲ δοκεῖ μὲν χαίρειν, χαίρει δὲ οὐδαμῶς, οὐδ᾽ αὖ δοκεῖ μὲν λυπεῖσθαι, λυπεῖται δ᾽ οὔ.

Πρώταρχος: πάνθ᾽ οὕτω ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔχειν πάντες ὑπειλήφαμεν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὀρθῶς; ἢ σκεπτέον εἴτ᾽ ὀρθῶς εἴτε μὴ ταῦτα λέγεται;

Πρώταρχος: σκεπτέον, ὥς γ᾽ ἐγὼ φαίην ἄν. 37a

Σωκράτης: διορισώμεθα δὴ σαφέστερον ἔτι τὸ νυνδὴ λεγόμενον ἡδονῆς τε πέρι καὶ δόξης. ἔστιν γάρ πού τι δοξάζειν ἡμῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἥδεσθαι;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ τὸ δοξαζόμενόν ἐστί τι;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ τό γε ᾧ τὸ ἡδόμενον ἥδεται;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ δοξάζον, ἄντε ὀρθῶς ἄντε μὴ ὀρθῶς δοξάζῃ, τό γε δοξάζειν ὄντως οὐδέποτε ἀπόλλυσιν. 37b

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ἡδόμενον, ἄντε ὀρθῶς ἄντε μὴ ὀρθῶς ἥδηται, τό γε ὄντως ἥδεσθαι δῆλον ὡς οὐδέποτ᾽ ἀπολεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: ναί, καὶ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει.

Σωκράτης: ὅτῳ ποτὲ οὖν δὴ τρόπῳ δόξα ψευδής τε καὶ ἀληθὴς ἡμῖν φιλεῖ γίγνεσθαι, τὸ δὲ τῆς ἡδονῆς μόνον ἀληθές, δοξάζειν δ᾽ ὄντως καὶ χαίρειν ἀμφότερα ὁμοίως εἴληχεν <σκεπτέον>.

Πρώταρχος: σκεπτέον.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ ὅτι δόξῃ μὲν ἐπιγίγνεσθον ψεῦδός τε καὶ 37c ἀληθές, καὶ ἐγένετο οὐ μόνον δόξα διὰ ταῦτα ἀλλὰ καὶ ποιά τις ἑκατέρα, σκεπτέον φῂς τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πρὸς δέ γε τούτοις, εἰ καὶ τὸ παράπαν ἡμῖν τὰ μέν ἐστι ποί᾽ ἄττα, ἡδονὴ δὲ καὶ λύπη μόνον ἅπερ ἐστί, ποιώ τινε δὲ οὐ γίγνεσθον, καὶ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν διομολογητέον.

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν τοῦτό γε χαλεπὸν ἰδεῖν, ὅτι καὶ ποιώ τινε: πάλαι γὰρ εἴπομεν ὅτι μεγάλαι τε καὶ σμικραὶ καὶ σφόδρα ἑκάτεραι γίγνονται, λῦπαί τε καὶ ἡδοναί. 37d

Πρώταρχος: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἂν δέ γε πονηρία τούτων, ὦ Πρώταρχε, προσγίγνηταί τινι, πονηρὰν μὲν φήσομεν οὕτω γίγνεσθαι δόξαν, πονηρὰν δὲ καὶ ἡδονήν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλὰ τί μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽, ἂν ὀρθότης ἢ τοὐναντίον ὀρθότητι τινὶ τούτων προσγίγνηται; μῶν οὐκ ὀρθὴν μὲν δόξαν ἐροῦμεν, ἂν ὀρθότητα ἴσχῃ, ταὐτὸν δὲ ἡδονήν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον. 37e

Σωκράτης: ἂν δέ γε ἁμαρτανόμενον τὸ δοξαζόμενον ᾖ, τὴν δόξαν τότε ἁμαρτάνουσάν γε οὐκ ὀρθὴν ὁμολογητέον οὐδ᾽ ὀρθῶς δοξάζουσαν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽, ἂν αὖ λύπην ἤ τινα ἡδονὴν περὶ τὸ ἐφ᾽ ᾧ λυπεῖται ἢ τοὐναντίον ἁμαρτάνουσαν ἐφορῶμεν, ὀρθὴν ἢ χρηστὴν ἤ τι τῶν καλῶν ὀνομάτων αὐτῇ προσθήσομεν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οἷόν τε, εἴπερ ἁμαρτήσεταί γε ἡδονή.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἔοικέν γε ἡδονὴ πολλάκις οὐ μετὰ δόξης ὀρθῆς ἀλλὰ μετὰ ψεύδους ἡμῖν γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; καὶ τὴν μὲν δόξαν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, 38a ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ καὶ τότε λέγομεν ψευδῆ, τὴν δ᾽ ἡδονὴν αὐτὴν οὐδεὶς ἄν ποτε προσείποι ψευδῆ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ προθύμως ἀμύνεις τῷ τῆς ἡδονῆς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, λόγῳ τὰ νῦν.

Πρώταρχος: οὐδέν γε, ἀλλ᾽ ἅπερ ἀκούω λέγω.

Σωκράτης: διαφέρει δ᾽ ἡμῖν οὐδέν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἡ μετὰ δόξης τε ὀρθῆς καὶ μετ᾽ ἐπιστήμης ἡδονὴ τῆς μετὰ τοῦ ψεύδους καὶ ἀγνοίας πολλάκις ἑκάστοις ἡμῶν ἐγγιγνομένης; 38b

Πρώταρχος: εἰκὸς γοῦν μὴ σμικρὸν διαφέρειν.

Σωκράτης: τῆς δὴ διαφορᾶς αὐτοῖν ἐπὶ θεωρίαν ἔλθωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: ἄγ᾽ ὅπῃ σοι φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τῇδε δὴ ἄγω.

Πρώταρχος: πῇ;

Σωκράτης: δόξα, φαμέν, ἡμῖν ἔστι μὲν ψευδής, ἔστι δὲ καὶ ἀληθής;

Πρώταρχος: ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: ἕπεται μὴν ταύταις, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη πολλάκις, ἀληθεῖ καὶ ψευδεῖ δόξῃ λέγω.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐκ μνήμης τε καὶ αἰσθήσεως δόξα ἡμῖν καὶ τὸ διαδοξάζειν ἐγχειρεῖν γίγνεθ᾽ ἑκάστοτε; 38c

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἡμᾶς ὧδε περὶ ταῦτα ἀναγκαῖον ἡγούμεθ᾽ ἴσχειν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: πολλάκις ἰδόντι τινὶ πόρρωθεν μὴ πάνυ σαφῶς τὰ καθορώμενα συμβαίνειν βούλεσθαι κρίνειν φαίης ἂν ταῦθ᾽ ἅπερ ὁρᾷ;

Πρώταρχος: φαίην ἄν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸς αὑτὸν οὗτος ἀνέροιτ᾽ ἂν ὧδε;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: τί ποτ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἔστι τὸ παρὰ τὴν πέτραν τοῦθ᾽ ἑστάναι 38d φανταζόμενον ὑπό τινι δένδρῳ; ταῦτ᾽ εἰπεῖν ἄν τις πρὸς ἑαυτὸν δοκεῖ σοι, τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα κατιδὼν φαντασθέντα αὑτῷ ποτε;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν μετὰ ταῦτα ὁ τοιοῦτος ὡς ἀποκρινόμενος ἂν πρὸς αὑτὸν εἴποι τοῦτο, ὡς ἔστιν ἄνθρωπος, ἐπιτυχῶς εἰπών;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ παρενεχθείς γ᾽ αὖ τάχ᾽ ἂν ὡς ἔστι τινῶν ποιμένων ἔργον τὸ καθορώμενον ἄγαλμα προσείποι.

Πρώταρχος: μάλα γε. 38e

Σωκράτης: κἂν μέν τίς γ᾽ αὐτῷ παρῇ, τά τε πρὸς αὑτὸν ῥηθέντα ἐντείνας εἰς φωνὴν πρὸς τὸν παρόντα αὐτὰ ταῦτ᾽ ἂν πάλιν φθέγξαιτο, καὶ λόγος δὴ γέγονεν οὕτως ὃ τότε δόξαν ἐκαλοῦμεν;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἂν δ᾽ ἄρα μόνος ᾖ τοῦτο ταὐτὸν πρὸς αὑτὸν διανοούμενος, ἐνίοτε καὶ πλείω χρόνον ἔχων ἐν αὑτῷ πορεύεται.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἆρα σοὶ φαίνεται τὸ περὶ τούτων ὅπερ ἐμοί;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: δοκεῖ μοι τότε ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ βιβλίῳ τινὶ προσεοικέναι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς; 39a

Σωκράτης: ἡ μνήμη ταῖς αἰσθήσεσι συμπίπτουσα εἰς ταὐτὸν κἀκεῖνα ἃ περὶ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὰ παθήματα φαίνονταί μοι σχεδὸν οἷον γράφειν ἡμῶν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς τότε λόγους: καὶ ὅταν μὲν ἀληθῆ γράφῃ [τοῦτο τὸ πάθημa”>[[Φίληβος#καὶ] ταῦτά γε, ὦ Πρώταρχε: εὑρόντες ὃ νῦν ζητοῦμεν, ἀπολοῦμεν τὴν περὶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἀπορίαν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς ἠμύνω: τὸ δ᾽ ἐφεξῆς τούτοις πειρώμεθα λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν νυνδὴ πείνην τε καὶ δίψος καὶ πολλὰ ἕτερα 34e τοιαῦτα ἔφαμεν εἶναί τινας ἐπιθυμίας;

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: πρὸς τί ποτε ἄρα ταὐτὸν βλέψαντες οὕτω πολὺ διαφέροντα ταῦθ᾽ ἑνὶ προσαγορεύομεν ὀνόματι;

Πρώταρχος: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἴσως εἰπεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως λεκτέον.

Σωκράτης: ἐκεῖθεν δὴ ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν πάλιν ἀναλάβωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: πόθεν δή;

Σωκράτης: διψῇ γέ που λέγομεν ἑκάστοτέ τι;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο δέ γ᾽ ἐστὶ κενοῦται;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸ δίψος ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία;

Πρώταρχος: ναί, πώματός γε. 35a

Σωκράτης: πώματος, ἢ πληρώσεως πώματος;

Πρώταρχος: οἶμαι μὲν πληρώσεως.

Σωκράτης: ὁ κενούμενος ἡμῶν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπιθυμεῖ τῶν ἐναντίων ἢ πάσχει: κενούμενος γὰρ ἐρᾷ πληροῦσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: σαφέστατά γε.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ὁ τὸ πρῶτον κενούμενος ἔστιν ὁπόθεν εἴτ᾽ αἰσθήσει πληρώσεως ἐφάπτοιτ᾽ ἂν εἴτε μνήμῃ, τούτου ὃ μήτ᾽ ἐν τῷ νῦν χρόνῳ πάσχει μήτ᾽ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν πώποτε ἔπαθεν;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πῶς; 35b

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ὅ γε ἐπιθυμῶν τινὸς ἐπιθυμεῖ, φαμέν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα ὅ γε πάσχει, τούτου ἐπιθυμεῖ. διψῇ γάρ, τοῦτο δὲ κένωσις: ὁ δ᾽ ἐπιθυμεῖ πληρώσεως.

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πληρώσεώς γ᾽ ἄρα πῄ τι τῶν τοῦ διψῶντος ἂν ἐφάπτοιτο.

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον.

Σωκράτης: τὸ μὲν δὴ σῶμα ἀδύνατον: κενοῦται γάρ που.

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τὴν ψυχὴν ἄρα τῆς πληρώσεως ἐφάπτεσθαι λοιπόν, 35c τῇ μνήμῃ δῆλον ὅτι: τῷ γὰρ ἂν ἔτ᾽ ἄλλῳ ἐφάψαιτο;

Πρώταρχος: σχεδὸν οὐδενί.

Σωκράτης: μανθάνομεν οὖν ὃ συμβέβηχ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐκ τούτων τῶν λόγων;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: σώματος ἐπιθυμίαν οὔ φησιν ἡμῖν οὗτος ὁ λόγος γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι τοῖς ἐκείνου παθήμασιν ἐναντίαν ἀεὶ παντὸς ζῴου μηνύει τὴν ἐπιχείρησιν.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: ἡ δ᾽ ὁρμή γε ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον ἄγουσα ἢ τὰ παθήματα δηλοῖ που μνήμην οὖσαν τῶν τοῖς παθήμασιν ἐναντίων.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε. 35d

Σωκράτης: τὴν ἄρα ἐπάγουσαν ἐπὶ τὰ ἐπιθυμούμενα ἀποδείξας μνήμην ὁ λόγος ψυχῆς σύμπασαν τήν τε ὁρμὴν καὶ ἐπιθυμίαν καὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν τοῦ ζῴου παντὸς ἀπέφηνεν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα.

Σωκράτης: διψῆν ἄρα ἡμῶν τὸ σῶμα ἢ πεινῆν ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων πάσχειν οὐδαμῇ ὁ λόγος αἱρεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι δὴ καὶ τόδε περὶ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα κατανοήσωμεν. βίου γὰρ εἶδός τί μοι φαίνεται βούλεσθαι δηλοῦν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν ἐν τούτοις αὐτοῖς. 35e

Πρώταρχος: ἐν τίσι καὶ ποίου πέρι βίου φράζεις;

Σωκράτης: ἐν τῷ πληροῦσθαι καὶ κενοῦσθαι καὶ πᾶσιν ὅσα περὶ σωτηρίαν τέ ἐστι τῶν ζῴων καὶ τὴν φθοράν, καὶ εἴ τις τούτων ἐν ἑκατέρῳ γιγνόμενος ἡμῶν ἀλγεῖ, τοτὲ δὲ χαίρει κατὰ τὰς μεταβολάς.

Πρώταρχος: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ὅταν ἐν μέσῳ τούτων γίγνηται;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς ἐν μέσῳ;

Σωκράτης: διὰ μὲν τὸ πάθος ἀλγῇ, μεμνῆται δὲ τῶν ἡδέων <ὧν> γενομένων παύοιτ᾽ ἂν τῆς ἀλγηδόνος, πληρῶται δὲ μήπω: τί 36a τότε; φῶμεν ἢ μὴ φῶμεν αὐτὸν ἐν μέσῳ τῶν παθημάτων εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: φῶμεν μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: πότερον ἀλγοῦνθ᾽ ὅλως ἢ χαίροντα;

Πρώταρχος: μὰ Δί᾽, ἀλλὰ διπλῇ τινὶ λύπῃ λυπούμενον, κατὰ μὲν τὸ σῶμα ἐν τῷ παθήματι, κατὰ δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν προσδοκίας τινὶ πόθῳ.

Σωκράτης: πῶς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, τὸ διπλοῦν τῆς λύπης εἶπες; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἔστι μὲν ὅτε τις ἡμῶν κενούμενος ἐν ἐλπίδι φανερᾷ τοῦ 36b πληρωθήσεσθαι καθέστηκε, τοτὲ δὲ τοὐναντίον ἀνελπίστως ἔχει;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα γε.

Σωκράτης: μῶν οὖν οὐχὶ ἐλπίζων μὲν πληρωθήσεσθαι τῷ μεμνῆσθαι δοκεῖ σοι χαίρειν, ἅμα δὲ κενούμενος ἐν τούτοις [τοῖς χρόνοις] ἀλγεῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: τότε ἄρ᾽ ἄνθρωπος καὶ τἆλλα ζῷα λυπεῖταί τε ἅμα καὶ χαίρει.

Πρώταρχος: κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ὅταν ἀνελπίστως ἔχῃ κενούμενος τεύξεσθαι πληρώσεως; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τότε τὸ διπλοῦν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν περὶ τὰς λύπας πάθος, ὃ σὺ νυνδὴ κατιδὼν ᾠήθης ἁπλῶς εἶναι 36c διπλοῦν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ταύτῃ δὴ τῇ σκέψει τούτων τῶν παθημάτων τόδε χρησώμεθα.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: πότερον ἀληθεῖς ταύτας τὰς λύπας τε καὶ ἡδονὰς ἢ ψευδεῖς εἶναι λέξομεν; ἢ τὰς μέν τινας ἀληθεῖς, τὰς δ᾽ οὔ;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἂν εἶεν ψευδεῖς ἡδοναὶ ἢ λῦπαι;

Σωκράτης: πῶς δέ, ὦ Πρώταρχε, φόβοι ἂν ἀληθεῖς ἢ ψευδεῖς, ἢ προσδοκίαι ἀληθεῖς ἢ μή, ἢ δόξαι ἀληθεῖς ἢ ψευδεῖς; 36d

Πρώταρχος: δόξας μὲν ἔγωγ᾽ ἄν που συγχωροίην, τὰ δ᾽ ἕτερα ταῦτ᾽ οὐκ ἄν.

Σωκράτης: πῶς φῄς; λόγον μέντοι τινὰ κινδυνεύομεν οὐ πάνυ σμικρὸν ἐπεγείρειν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ πρὸς τὰ παρεληλυθότα, ὦ παῖ ‘κείνου τἀνδρός, προσήκοντα, τοῦτο σκεπτέον.

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως τοῦτό γε.

Σωκράτης: χαίρειν τοίνυν δεῖ λέγειν τοῖς ἄλλοις μήκεσιν ἢ καὶ ὁτῳοῦν τῶν παρὰ τὸ προσῆκον λεγομένων.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς. 36e

Σωκράτης: λέγε δή μοι: θαῦμα γάρ μέ γε ἔχει διὰ τέλους ἀεὶ περὶ τὰ αὐτὰ ἃ νυνδὴ προυθέμεθα ἀπορήματα. πῶς δὴ φῄς; ψευδεῖς, αἱ δ᾽ ἀληθεῖς οὐκ εἰσὶν ἡδοναί;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὔτε δὴ ὄναρ οὔθ᾽ ὕπαρ, ὡς φῄς, [ἐστιν] οὔτ᾽ ἐν μανίαις οὔτ᾽ ἐν παραφροσύναις οὐδεὶς ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις ποτὲ δοκεῖ μὲν χαίρειν, χαίρει δὲ οὐδαμῶς, οὐδ᾽ αὖ δοκεῖ μὲν λυπεῖσθαι, λυπεῖται δ᾽ οὔ.

Πρώταρχος: πάνθ᾽ οὕτω ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔχειν πάντες ὑπειλήφαμεν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὀρθῶς; ἢ σκεπτέον εἴτ᾽ ὀρθῶς εἴτε μὴ ταῦτα λέγεται;

Πρώταρχος: σκεπτέον, ὥς γ᾽ ἐγὼ φαίην ἄν. 37a

Σωκράτης: διορισώμεθα δὴ σαφέστερον ἔτι τὸ νυνδὴ λεγόμενον ἡδονῆς τε πέρι καὶ δόξης. ἔστιν γάρ πού τι δοξάζειν ἡμῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἥδεσθαι;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ τὸ δοξαζόμενόν ἐστί τι;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ τό γε ᾧ τὸ ἡδόμενον ἥδεται;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ δοξάζον, ἄντε ὀρθῶς ἄντε μὴ ὀρθῶς δοξάζῃ, τό γε δοξάζειν ὄντως οὐδέποτε ἀπόλλυσιν. 37b

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ἡδόμενον, ἄντε ὀρθῶς ἄντε μὴ ὀρθῶς ἥδηται, τό γε ὄντως ἥδεσθαι δῆλον ὡς οὐδέποτ᾽ ἀπολεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: ναί, καὶ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει.

Σωκράτης: ὅτῳ ποτὲ οὖν δὴ τρόπῳ δόξα ψευδής τε καὶ ἀληθὴς ἡμῖν φιλεῖ γίγνεσθαι, τὸ δὲ τῆς ἡδονῆς μόνον ἀληθές, δοξάζειν δ᾽ ὄντως καὶ χαίρειν ἀμφότερα ὁμοίως εἴληχεν <σκεπτέον>.

Πρώταρχος: σκεπτέον.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ ὅτι δόξῃ μὲν ἐπιγίγνεσθον ψεῦδός τε καὶ 37c ἀληθές, καὶ ἐγένετο οὐ μόνον δόξα διὰ ταῦτα ἀλλὰ καὶ ποιά τις ἑκατέρα, σκεπτέον φῂς τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πρὸς δέ γε τούτοις, εἰ καὶ τὸ παράπαν ἡμῖν τὰ μέν ἐστι ποί᾽ ἄττα, ἡδονὴ δὲ καὶ λύπη μόνον ἅπερ ἐστί, ποιώ τινε δὲ οὐ γίγνεσθον, καὶ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν διομολογητέον.

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν τοῦτό γε χαλεπὸν ἰδεῖν, ὅτι καὶ ποιώ τινε: πάλαι γὰρ εἴπομεν ὅτι μεγάλαι τε καὶ σμικραὶ καὶ σφόδρα ἑκάτεραι γίγνονται, λῦπαί τε καὶ ἡδοναί. 37d

Πρώταρχος: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἂν δέ γε πονηρία τούτων, ὦ Πρώταρχε, προσγίγνηταί τινι, πονηρὰν μὲν φήσομεν οὕτω γίγνεσθαι δόξαν, πονηρὰν δὲ καὶ ἡδονήν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλὰ τί μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽, ἂν ὀρθότης ἢ τοὐναντίον ὀρθότητι τινὶ τούτων προσγίγνηται; μῶν οὐκ ὀρθὴν μὲν δόξαν ἐροῦμεν, ἂν ὀρθότητα ἴσχῃ, ταὐτὸν δὲ ἡδονήν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον. 37e

Σωκράτης: ἂν δέ γε ἁμαρτανόμενον τὸ δοξαζόμενον ᾖ, τὴν δόξαν τότε ἁμαρτάνουσάν γε οὐκ ὀρθὴν ὁμολογητέον οὐδ᾽ ὀρθῶς δοξάζουσαν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽, ἂν αὖ λύπην ἤ τινα ἡδονὴν περὶ τὸ ἐφ᾽ ᾧ λυπεῖται ἢ τοὐναντίον ἁμαρτάνουσαν ἐφορῶμεν, ὀρθὴν ἢ χρηστὴν ἤ τι τῶν καλῶν ὀνομάτων αὐτῇ προσθήσομεν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οἷόν τε, εἴπερ ἁμαρτήσεταί γε ἡδονή.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἔοικέν γε ἡδονὴ πολλάκις οὐ μετὰ δόξης ὀρθῆς ἀλλὰ μετὰ ψεύδους ἡμῖν γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; καὶ τὴν μὲν δόξαν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, 38a ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ καὶ τότε λέγομεν ψευδῆ, τὴν δ᾽ ἡδονὴν αὐτὴν οὐδεὶς ἄν ποτε προσείποι ψευδῆ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ προθύμως ἀμύνεις τῷ τῆς ἡδονῆς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, λόγῳ τὰ νῦν.

Πρώταρχος: οὐδέν γε, ἀλλ᾽ ἅπερ ἀκούω λέγω.

Σωκράτης: διαφέρει δ᾽ ἡμῖν οὐδέν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἡ μετὰ δόξης τε ὀρθῆς καὶ μετ᾽ ἐπιστήμης ἡδονὴ τῆς μετὰ τοῦ ψεύδους καὶ ἀγνοίας πολλάκις ἑκάστοις ἡμῶν ἐγγιγνομένης; 38b

Πρώταρχος: εἰκὸς γοῦν μὴ σμικρὸν διαφέρειν.

Σωκράτης: τῆς δὴ διαφορᾶς αὐτοῖν ἐπὶ θεωρίαν ἔλθωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: ἄγ᾽ ὅπῃ σοι φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τῇδε δὴ ἄγω.

Πρώταρχος: πῇ;

Σωκράτης: δόξα, φαμέν, ἡμῖν ἔστι μὲν ψευδής, ἔστι δὲ καὶ ἀληθής;

Πρώταρχος: ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: ἕπεται μὴν ταύταις, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη πολλάκις, ἀληθεῖ καὶ ψευδεῖ δόξῃ λέγω.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐκ μνήμης τε καὶ αἰσθήσεως δόξα ἡμῖν καὶ τὸ διαδοξάζειν ἐγχειρεῖν γίγνεθ᾽ ἑκάστοτε; 38c

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἡμᾶς ὧδε περὶ ταῦτα ἀναγκαῖον ἡγούμεθ᾽ ἴσχειν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: πολλάκις ἰδόντι τινὶ πόρρωθεν μὴ πάνυ σαφῶς τὰ καθορώμενα συμβαίνειν βούλεσθαι κρίνειν φαίης ἂν ταῦθ᾽ ἅπερ ὁρᾷ;

Πρώταρχος: φαίην ἄν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸς αὑτὸν οὗτος ἀνέροιτ᾽ ἂν ὧδε;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: τί ποτ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἔστι τὸ παρὰ τὴν πέτραν τοῦθ᾽ ἑστάναι 38d φανταζόμενον ὑπό τινι δένδρῳ; ταῦτ᾽ εἰπεῖν ἄν τις πρὸς ἑαυτὸν δοκεῖ σοι, τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα κατιδὼν φαντασθέντα αὑτῷ ποτε;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν μετὰ ταῦτα ὁ τοιοῦτος ὡς ἀποκρινόμενος ἂν πρὸς αὑτὸν εἴποι τοῦτο, ὡς ἔστιν ἄνθρωπος, ἐπιτυχῶς εἰπών;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ παρενεχθείς γ᾽ αὖ τάχ᾽ ἂν ὡς ἔστι τινῶν ποιμένων ἔργον τὸ καθορώμενον ἄγαλμα προσείποι.

Πρώταρχος: μάλα γε. 38e

Σωκράτης: κἂν μέν τίς γ᾽ αὐτῷ παρῇ, τά τε πρὸς αὑτὸν ῥηθέντα ἐντείνας εἰς φωνὴν πρὸς τὸν παρόντα αὐτὰ ταῦτ᾽ ἂν πάλιν φθέγξαιτο, καὶ λόγος δὴ γέγονεν οὕτως ὃ τότε δόξαν ἐκαλοῦμεν;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἂν δ᾽ ἄρα μόνος ᾖ τοῦτο ταὐτὸν πρὸς αὑτὸν διανοούμενος, ἐνίοτε καὶ πλείω χρόνον ἔχων ἐν αὑτῷ πορεύεται.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἆρα σοὶ φαίνεται τὸ περὶ τούτων ὅπερ ἐμοί;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: δοκεῖ μοι τότε ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ βιβλίῳ τινὶ προσεοικέναι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς; 39a

Σωκράτης: ἡ μνήμη ταῖς αἰσθήσεσι συμπίπτουσα εἰς ταὐτὸν κἀκεῖνα ἃ περὶ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὰ παθήματα φαίνονταί μοι σχεδὸν οἷον γράφειν ἡμῶν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς τότε λόγους: καὶ ὅταν μὲν ἀληθῆ γράφῃ [τοῦτο τὸ πάθημa|καὶ] ταῦτά γε, ὦ Πρώταρχε: εὑρόντες ὃ νῦν ζητοῦμεν, ἀπολοῦμεν τὴν περὶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἀπορίαν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς ἠμύνω: τὸ δ᾽ ἐφεξῆς τούτοις πειρώμεθα λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν νυνδὴ πείνην τε καὶ δίψος καὶ πολλὰ ἕτερα 34e τοιαῦτα ἔφαμεν εἶναί τινας ἐπιθυμίας;

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: πρὸς τί ποτε ἄρα ταὐτὸν βλέψαντες οὕτω πολὺ διαφέροντα ταῦθ᾽ ἑνὶ προσαγορεύομεν ὀνόματι;

Πρώταρχος: μὰ Δί᾽ οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἴσως εἰπεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως λεκτέον.

Σωκράτης: ἐκεῖθεν δὴ ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν πάλιν ἀναλάβωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: πόθεν δή;

Σωκράτης: διψῇ γέ που λέγομεν ἑκάστοτέ τι;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο δέ γ᾽ ἐστὶ κενοῦται;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸ δίψος ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία;

Πρώταρχος: ναί, πώματός γε. 35a

Σωκράτης: πώματος, ἢ πληρώσεως πώματος;

Πρώταρχος: οἶμαι μὲν πληρώσεως.

Σωκράτης: ὁ κενούμενος ἡμῶν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπιθυμεῖ τῶν ἐναντίων ἢ πάσχει: κενούμενος γὰρ ἐρᾷ πληροῦσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: σαφέστατά γε.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ὁ τὸ πρῶτον κενούμενος ἔστιν ὁπόθεν εἴτ᾽ αἰσθήσει πληρώσεως ἐφάπτοιτ᾽ ἂν εἴτε μνήμῃ, τούτου ὃ μήτ᾽ ἐν τῷ νῦν χρόνῳ πάσχει μήτ᾽ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν πώποτε ἔπαθεν;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πῶς; 35b

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ὅ γε ἐπιθυμῶν τινὸς ἐπιθυμεῖ, φαμέν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ ἄρα ὅ γε πάσχει, τούτου ἐπιθυμεῖ. διψῇ γάρ, τοῦτο δὲ κένωσις: ὁ δ᾽ ἐπιθυμεῖ πληρώσεως.

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πληρώσεώς γ᾽ ἄρα πῄ τι τῶν τοῦ διψῶντος ἂν ἐφάπτοιτο.

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον.

Σωκράτης: τὸ μὲν δὴ σῶμα ἀδύνατον: κενοῦται γάρ που.

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τὴν ψυχὴν ἄρα τῆς πληρώσεως ἐφάπτεσθαι λοιπόν, 35c τῇ μνήμῃ δῆλον ὅτι: τῷ γὰρ ἂν ἔτ᾽ ἄλλῳ ἐφάψαιτο;

Πρώταρχος: σχεδὸν οὐδενί.

Σωκράτης: μανθάνομεν οὖν ὃ συμβέβηχ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐκ τούτων τῶν λόγων;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: σώματος ἐπιθυμίαν οὔ φησιν ἡμῖν οὗτος ὁ λόγος γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι τοῖς ἐκείνου παθήμασιν ἐναντίαν ἀεὶ παντὸς ζῴου μηνύει τὴν ἐπιχείρησιν.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: ἡ δ᾽ ὁρμή γε ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον ἄγουσα ἢ τὰ παθήματα δηλοῖ που μνήμην οὖσαν τῶν τοῖς παθήμασιν ἐναντίων.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε. 35d

Σωκράτης: τὴν ἄρα ἐπάγουσαν ἐπὶ τὰ ἐπιθυμούμενα ἀποδείξας μνήμην ὁ λόγος ψυχῆς σύμπασαν τήν τε ὁρμὴν καὶ ἐπιθυμίαν καὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν τοῦ ζῴου παντὸς ἀπέφηνεν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα.

Σωκράτης: διψῆν ἄρα ἡμῶν τὸ σῶμα ἢ πεινῆν ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων πάσχειν οὐδαμῇ ὁ λόγος αἱρεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι δὴ καὶ τόδε περὶ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα κατανοήσωμεν. βίου γὰρ εἶδός τί μοι φαίνεται βούλεσθαι δηλοῦν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν ἐν τούτοις αὐτοῖς. 35e

Πρώταρχος: ἐν τίσι καὶ ποίου πέρι βίου φράζεις;

Σωκράτης: ἐν τῷ πληροῦσθαι καὶ κενοῦσθαι καὶ πᾶσιν ὅσα περὶ σωτηρίαν τέ ἐστι τῶν ζῴων καὶ τὴν φθοράν, καὶ εἴ τις τούτων ἐν ἑκατέρῳ γιγνόμενος ἡμῶν ἀλγεῖ, τοτὲ δὲ χαίρει κατὰ τὰς μεταβολάς.

Πρώταρχος: ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ὅταν ἐν μέσῳ τούτων γίγνηται;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς ἐν μέσῳ;

Σωκράτης: διὰ μὲν τὸ πάθος ἀλγῇ, μεμνῆται δὲ τῶν ἡδέων <ὧν> γενομένων παύοιτ᾽ ἂν τῆς ἀλγηδόνος, πληρῶται δὲ μήπω: τί 36a τότε; φῶμεν ἢ μὴ φῶμεν αὐτὸν ἐν μέσῳ τῶν παθημάτων εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: φῶμεν μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: πότερον ἀλγοῦνθ᾽ ὅλως ἢ χαίροντα;

Πρώταρχος: μὰ Δί᾽, ἀλλὰ διπλῇ τινὶ λύπῃ λυπούμενον, κατὰ μὲν τὸ σῶμα ἐν τῷ παθήματι, κατὰ δὲ τὴν ψυχὴν προσδοκίας τινὶ πόθῳ.

Σωκράτης: πῶς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, τὸ διπλοῦν τῆς λύπης εἶπες; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἔστι μὲν ὅτε τις ἡμῶν κενούμενος ἐν ἐλπίδι φανερᾷ τοῦ 36b πληρωθήσεσθαι καθέστηκε, τοτὲ δὲ τοὐναντίον ἀνελπίστως ἔχει;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα γε.

Σωκράτης: μῶν οὖν οὐχὶ ἐλπίζων μὲν πληρωθήσεσθαι τῷ μεμνῆσθαι δοκεῖ σοι χαίρειν, ἅμα δὲ κενούμενος ἐν τούτοις [τοῖς χρόνοις] ἀλγεῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: τότε ἄρ᾽ ἄνθρωπος καὶ τἆλλα ζῷα λυπεῖταί τε ἅμα καὶ χαίρει.

Πρώταρχος: κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ὅταν ἀνελπίστως ἔχῃ κενούμενος τεύξεσθαι πληρώσεως; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τότε τὸ διπλοῦν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν περὶ τὰς λύπας πάθος, ὃ σὺ νυνδὴ κατιδὼν ᾠήθης ἁπλῶς εἶναι 36c διπλοῦν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ταύτῃ δὴ τῇ σκέψει τούτων τῶν παθημάτων τόδε χρησώμεθα.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: πότερον ἀληθεῖς ταύτας τὰς λύπας τε καὶ ἡδονὰς ἢ ψευδεῖς εἶναι λέξομεν; ἢ τὰς μέν τινας ἀληθεῖς, τὰς δ᾽ οὔ;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἂν εἶεν ψευδεῖς ἡδοναὶ ἢ λῦπαι;

Σωκράτης: πῶς δέ, ὦ Πρώταρχε, φόβοι ἂν ἀληθεῖς ἢ ψευδεῖς, ἢ προσδοκίαι ἀληθεῖς ἢ μή, ἢ δόξαι ἀληθεῖς ἢ ψευδεῖς; 36d

Πρώταρχος: δόξας μὲν ἔγωγ᾽ ἄν που συγχωροίην, τὰ δ᾽ ἕτερα ταῦτ᾽ οὐκ ἄν.

Σωκράτης: πῶς φῄς; λόγον μέντοι τινὰ κινδυνεύομεν οὐ πάνυ σμικρὸν ἐπεγείρειν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ πρὸς τὰ παρεληλυθότα, ὦ παῖ ‘κείνου τἀνδρός, προσήκοντα, τοῦτο σκεπτέον.

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως τοῦτό γε.

Σωκράτης: χαίρειν τοίνυν δεῖ λέγειν τοῖς ἄλλοις μήκεσιν ἢ καὶ ὁτῳοῦν τῶν παρὰ τὸ προσῆκον λεγομένων.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς. 36e

Σωκράτης: λέγε δή μοι: θαῦμα γάρ μέ γε ἔχει διὰ τέλους ἀεὶ περὶ τὰ αὐτὰ ἃ νυνδὴ προυθέμεθα ἀπορήματα. πῶς δὴ φῄς; ψευδεῖς, αἱ δ᾽ ἀληθεῖς οὐκ εἰσὶν ἡδοναί;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὔτε δὴ ὄναρ οὔθ᾽ ὕπαρ, ὡς φῄς, [ἐστιν] οὔτ᾽ ἐν μανίαις οὔτ᾽ ἐν παραφροσύναις οὐδεὶς ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις ποτὲ δοκεῖ μὲν χαίρειν, χαίρει δὲ οὐδαμῶς, οὐδ᾽ αὖ δοκεῖ μὲν λυπεῖσθαι, λυπεῖται δ᾽ οὔ.

Πρώταρχος: πάνθ᾽ οὕτω ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔχειν πάντες ὑπειλήφαμεν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὀρθῶς; ἢ σκεπτέον εἴτ᾽ ὀρθῶς εἴτε μὴ ταῦτα λέγεται;

Πρώταρχος: σκεπτέον, ὥς γ᾽ ἐγὼ φαίην ἄν. 37a

Σωκράτης: διορισώμεθα δὴ σαφέστερον ἔτι τὸ νυνδὴ λεγόμενον ἡδονῆς τε πέρι καὶ δόξης. ἔστιν γάρ πού τι δοξάζειν ἡμῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἥδεσθαι;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ τὸ δοξαζόμενόν ἐστί τι;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ τό γε ᾧ τὸ ἡδόμενον ἥδεται;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ δοξάζον, ἄντε ὀρθῶς ἄντε μὴ ὀρθῶς δοξάζῃ, τό γε δοξάζειν ὄντως οὐδέποτε ἀπόλλυσιν. 37b

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ ἡδόμενον, ἄντε ὀρθῶς ἄντε μὴ ὀρθῶς ἥδηται, τό γε ὄντως ἥδεσθαι δῆλον ὡς οὐδέποτ᾽ ἀπολεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: ναί, καὶ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει.

Σωκράτης: ὅτῳ ποτὲ οὖν δὴ τρόπῳ δόξα ψευδής τε καὶ ἀληθὴς ἡμῖν φιλεῖ γίγνεσθαι, τὸ δὲ τῆς ἡδονῆς μόνον ἀληθές, δοξάζειν δ᾽ ὄντως καὶ χαίρειν ἀμφότερα ὁμοίως εἴληχεν <σκεπτέον>.

Πρώταρχος: σκεπτέον.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ ὅτι δόξῃ μὲν ἐπιγίγνεσθον ψεῦδός τε καὶ 37c ἀληθές, καὶ ἐγένετο οὐ μόνον δόξα διὰ ταῦτα ἀλλὰ καὶ ποιά τις ἑκατέρα, σκεπτέον φῂς τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: πρὸς δέ γε τούτοις, εἰ καὶ τὸ παράπαν ἡμῖν τὰ μέν ἐστι ποί᾽ ἄττα, ἡδονὴ δὲ καὶ λύπη μόνον ἅπερ ἐστί, ποιώ τινε δὲ οὐ γίγνεσθον, καὶ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν διομολογητέον.

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν τοῦτό γε χαλεπὸν ἰδεῖν, ὅτι καὶ ποιώ τινε: πάλαι γὰρ εἴπομεν ὅτι μεγάλαι τε καὶ σμικραὶ καὶ σφόδρα ἑκάτεραι γίγνονται, λῦπαί τε καὶ ἡδοναί. 37d

Πρώταρχος: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἂν δέ γε πονηρία τούτων, ὦ Πρώταρχε, προσγίγνηταί τινι, πονηρὰν μὲν φήσομεν οὕτω γίγνεσθαι δόξαν, πονηρὰν δὲ καὶ ἡδονήν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλὰ τί μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽, ἂν ὀρθότης ἢ τοὐναντίον ὀρθότητι τινὶ τούτων προσγίγνηται; μῶν οὐκ ὀρθὴν μὲν δόξαν ἐροῦμεν, ἂν ὀρθότητα ἴσχῃ, ταὐτὸν δὲ ἡδονήν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον. 37e

Σωκράτης: ἂν δέ γε ἁμαρτανόμενον τὸ δοξαζόμενον ᾖ, τὴν δόξαν τότε ἁμαρτάνουσάν γε οὐκ ὀρθὴν ὁμολογητέον οὐδ᾽ ὀρθῶς δοξάζουσαν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽, ἂν αὖ λύπην ἤ τινα ἡδονὴν περὶ τὸ ἐφ᾽ ᾧ λυπεῖται ἢ τοὐναντίον ἁμαρτάνουσαν ἐφορῶμεν, ὀρθὴν ἢ χρηστὴν ἤ τι τῶν καλῶν ὀνομάτων αὐτῇ προσθήσομεν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οἷόν τε, εἴπερ ἁμαρτήσεταί γε ἡδονή.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἔοικέν γε ἡδονὴ πολλάκις οὐ μετὰ δόξης ὀρθῆς ἀλλὰ μετὰ ψεύδους ἡμῖν γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; καὶ τὴν μὲν δόξαν γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, 38a ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ καὶ τότε λέγομεν ψευδῆ, τὴν δ᾽ ἡδονὴν αὐτὴν οὐδεὶς ἄν ποτε προσείποι ψευδῆ.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ προθύμως ἀμύνεις τῷ τῆς ἡδονῆς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, λόγῳ τὰ νῦν.

Πρώταρχος: οὐδέν γε, ἀλλ᾽ ἅπερ ἀκούω λέγω.

Σωκράτης: διαφέρει δ᾽ ἡμῖν οὐδέν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἡ μετὰ δόξης τε ὀρθῆς καὶ μετ᾽ ἐπιστήμης ἡδονὴ τῆς μετὰ τοῦ ψεύδους καὶ ἀγνοίας πολλάκις ἑκάστοις ἡμῶν ἐγγιγνομένης; 38b

Πρώταρχος: εἰκὸς γοῦν μὴ σμικρὸν διαφέρειν.

Σωκράτης: τῆς δὴ διαφορᾶς αὐτοῖν ἐπὶ θεωρίαν ἔλθωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: ἄγ᾽ ὅπῃ σοι φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης: τῇδε δὴ ἄγω.

Πρώταρχος: πῇ;

Σωκράτης: δόξα, φαμέν, ἡμῖν ἔστι μὲν ψευδής, ἔστι δὲ καὶ ἀληθής;

Πρώταρχος: ἔστιν.

Σωκράτης: ἕπεται μὴν ταύταις, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη πολλάκις, ἀληθεῖ καὶ ψευδεῖ δόξῃ λέγω.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐκ μνήμης τε καὶ αἰσθήσεως δόξα ἡμῖν καὶ τὸ διαδοξάζειν ἐγχειρεῖν γίγνεθ᾽ ἑκάστοτε; 38c

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἡμᾶς ὧδε περὶ ταῦτα ἀναγκαῖον ἡγούμεθ᾽ ἴσχειν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: πολλάκις ἰδόντι τινὶ πόρρωθεν μὴ πάνυ σαφῶς τὰ καθορώμενα συμβαίνειν βούλεσθαι κρίνειν φαίης ἂν ταῦθ᾽ ἅπερ ὁρᾷ;

Πρώταρχος: φαίην ἄν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸς αὑτὸν οὗτος ἀνέροιτ᾽ ἂν ὧδε;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: τί ποτ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἔστι τὸ παρὰ τὴν πέτραν τοῦθ᾽ ἑστάναι 38d φανταζόμενον ὑπό τινι δένδρῳ; ταῦτ᾽ εἰπεῖν ἄν τις πρὸς ἑαυτὸν δοκεῖ σοι, τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα κατιδὼν φαντασθέντα αὑτῷ ποτε;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν μετὰ ταῦτα ὁ τοιοῦτος ὡς ἀποκρινόμενος ἂν πρὸς αὑτὸν εἴποι τοῦτο, ὡς ἔστιν ἄνθρωπος, ἐπιτυχῶς εἰπών;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ παρενεχθείς γ᾽ αὖ τάχ᾽ ἂν ὡς ἔστι τινῶν ποιμένων ἔργον τὸ καθορώμενον ἄγαλμα προσείποι.

Πρώταρχος: μάλα γε. 38e

Σωκράτης: κἂν μέν τίς γ᾽ αὐτῷ παρῇ, τά τε πρὸς αὑτὸν ῥηθέντα ἐντείνας εἰς φωνὴν πρὸς τὸν παρόντα αὐτὰ ταῦτ᾽ ἂν πάλιν φθέγξαιτο, καὶ λόγος δὴ γέγονεν οὕτως ὃ τότε δόξαν ἐκαλοῦμεν;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἂν δ᾽ ἄρα μόνος ᾖ τοῦτο ταὐτὸν πρὸς αὑτὸν διανοούμενος, ἐνίοτε καὶ πλείω χρόνον ἔχων ἐν αὑτῷ πορεύεται.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἆρα σοὶ φαίνεται τὸ περὶ τούτων ὅπερ ἐμοί;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: δοκεῖ μοι τότε ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ βιβλίῳ τινὶ προσεοικέναι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς; 39a

Σωκράτης: ἡ μνήμη ταῖς αἰσθήσεσι συμπίπτουσα εἰς ταὐτὸν κἀκεῖνα ἃ περὶ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὰ παθήματα φαίνονταί μοι σχεδὸν οἷον γράφειν ἡμῶν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς τότε λόγους: καὶ ὅταν μὲν ἀληθῆ γράφῃ [τοῦτο τὸ πάθημa]], δόξα τε ἀληθὴς καὶ λόγοι ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ συμβαίνουσιν ἀληθεῖς ἐν ἡμῖν γιγνόμενοι: ψευδῆ δ᾽ ὅταν ὁ τοιοῦτος παρ᾽ ἡμῖν γραμματεὺς γράψῃ, τἀναντία τοῖς ἀληθέσιν ἀπέβη. 39b

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν δοκεῖ μοι, καὶ ἀποδέχομαι τὰ ῥηθέντα οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ἀποδέχου δὴ καὶ ἕτερον δημιουργὸν ἡμῶν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ γιγνόμενον.

Πρώταρχος: τίνα;

Σωκράτης: ζωγράφον, ὃς μετὰ τὸν γραμματιστὴν τῶν λεγομένων εἰκόνας ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ τούτων γράφει.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δὴ τοῦτον αὖ καὶ πότε λέγομεν;

Σωκράτης: ὅταν ἀπ᾽ ὄψεως ἤ τινος ἄλλης αἰσθήσεως τὰ τότε δοξαζόμενα καὶ λεγόμενα ἀπαγαγών τις τὰς τῶν δοξασθέντων 39c καὶ λεχθέντων εἰκόνας ἐν αὑτῷ ὁρᾷ πως. ἢ τοῦτο οὐκ ἔστι γιγνόμενον παρ᾽ ἡμῖν;

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν αἱ μὲν τῶν ἀληθῶν δοξῶν καὶ λόγων εἰκόνες ἀληθεῖς, αἱ δὲ τῶν ψευδῶν ψευδεῖς;

Πρώταρχος: παντάπασιν.

Σωκράτης: εἰ δὴ ταῦτ᾽ ὀρθῶς εἰρήκαμεν, ἔτι καὶ τόδε ἐπὶ τούτοις σκεψώμεθα.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: εἰ περὶ μὲν τῶν ὄντων καὶ τῶν γεγονότων ταῦτα ἡμῖν οὕτω πάσχειν ἀναγκαῖον, περὶ δὲ τῶν μελλόντων οὔ;

Πρώταρχος: περὶ ἁπάντων μὲν οὖν τῶν χρόνων ὡσαύτως. 39d

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν αἵ γε διὰ τῆς ψυχῆς αὐτῆς ἡδοναὶ καὶ λῦπαι ἐλέχθησαν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ὡς πρὸ τῶν διὰ τοῦ σώματος ἡδονῶν καὶ λυπῶν προγίγνοιντ᾽ ἄν, ὥσθ᾽ ἡμῖν συμβαίνει τὸ προχαίρειν τε καὶ προλυπεῖσθαι περὶ τὸν μέλλοντα χρόνον εἶναι γιγνόμενον;

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν τὰ γράμματά τε καὶ ζωγραφήματα, ἃ σμικρῷ πρότερον ἐτίθεμεν ἐν ἡμῖν γίγνεσθαι, περὶ μὲν τὸν 39e γεγονότα καὶ τὸν παρόντα χρόνον ἐστίν, περὶ δὲ τὸν μέλλοντα οὐκ ἔστιν;

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: ἆρα σφόδρα λέγεις, ὅτι πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ ταῦτα ἐλπίδες εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον οὖσαι, ἡμεῖς δ᾽ αὖ διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου ἀεὶ γέμομεν ἐλπίδων;

Πρώταρχος: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἄγε δή, πρὸς τοῖς νῦν εἰρημένοις καὶ τόδε ἀπόκριναι.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: δίκαιος ἀνὴρ καὶ εὐσεβὴς καὶ ἀγαθὸς πάντως ἆρ᾽ οὐ θεοφιλής ἐστιν;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; ἄδικός τε καὶ παντάπασι κακὸς ἆρ᾽ οὐ 40a τοὐναντίον ἐκείνῳ;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: πολλῶν μὴν ἐλπίδων, ὡς ἐλέγομεν ἄρτι, πᾶς ἄνθρωπος γέμει;

Πρώταρχος: τί δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: λόγοι μήν εἰσιν ἐν ἑκάστοις ἡμῶν, ἃς ἐλπίδας ὀνομάζομεν;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ φαντάσματα ἐζωγραφημένα: καί τις ὁρᾷ πολλάκις ἑαυτῷ χρυσὸν γιγνόμενον ἄφθονον καὶ ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ πολλὰς ἡδονάς: καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐνεζωγραφημένον αὐτὸν ἐφ᾽ αὑτῷ χαίροντα σφόδρα καθορᾷ. 40b

Πρώταρχος: τί δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τούτων οὖν πότερα φῶμεν τοῖς μὲν ἀγαθοῖς ὡς τὸ πολὺ τὰ γεγραμμένα παρατίθεσθαι ἀληθῆ διὰ τὸ θεοφιλεῖς εἶναι, τοῖς δὲ κακοῖς ὡς αὖ <τὸ> πολὺ τοὐναντίον, ἢ μὴ φῶμεν;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα φατέον.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τοῖς κακοῖς ἡδοναί γε οὐδὲν ἧττον πάρεισιν ἐζωγραφημέναι, ψευδεῖς δὲ αὗταί που.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν; 40c

Σωκράτης: ψευδέσιν ἄρα ἡδοναῖς τὰ πολλὰ οἱ πονηροὶ χαίρουσιν, οἱ δ᾽ ἀγαθοὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀληθέσιν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαιότατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: εἰσὶν δὴ κατὰ τοὺς νῦν λόγους ψευδεῖς ἐν ταῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων ψυχαῖς ἡδοναί, μεμιμημέναι μέντοι τὰς ἀληθεῖς ἐπὶ τὰ γελοιότερα, καὶ λῦπαι δὲ ὡσαύτως.

Πρώταρχος: εἰσίν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἦν δοξάζειν μὲν ὄντως ἀεὶ τῷ τὸ παράπαν δοξάζοντι, μὴ ἐπ᾽ οὖσι δὲ μηδ᾽ ἐπὶ γεγονόσι μηδὲ ἐπ᾽ ἐσομένοις ἐνίοτε.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε. 40d

Σωκράτης: καὶ ταῦτά γε ἦν οἶμαι τὰ ἀπεργαζόμενα δόξαν ψευδῆ τότε καὶ τὸ ψευδῶς δοξάζειν. ἦ γάρ;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; οὐκ ἀνταποδοτέον ταῖς λύπαις τε καὶ ἡδοναῖς τὴν τούτων ἀντίστροφον ἕξιν ἐν ἐκείνοις;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ὡς ἦν μὲν χαίρειν ὄντως ἀεὶ τῷ τὸ παράπαν ὁπωσοῦν καὶ εἰκῇ χαίροντι, μὴ μέντοι ἐπὶ τοῖς οὖσι μηδ᾽ ἐπὶ τοῖς γεγονόσιν ἐνίοτε, πολλάκις δὲ καὶ ἴσως πλειστάκις ἐπὶ τοῖς μηδὲ μέλλουσί ποτε γενήσεσθαι. 40e

Πρώταρχος: καὶ ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἀναγκαῖον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος ἂν εἴη περὶ φόβων τε καὶ θυμῶν καὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων, ὡς ἔστι καὶ ψευδῆ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐνίοτε;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; πονηρὰς δόξας καὶ χρηστὰς ἄλλως ἢ ψευδεῖς γιγνομένας ἔχομεν εἰπεῖν;

Πρώταρχος: οὐκ ἄλλως.

Σωκράτης: οὐδ᾽ ἡδονάς γ᾽ οἶμαι κατανοοῦμεν ὡς ἄλλον τινὰ τρόπον εἰσὶν πονηραὶ πλὴν τῷ ψευδεῖς εἶναι. 41a

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν τοὐναντίον, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἴρηκας. σχεδὸν γὰρ τῷ ψεύδει μὲν οὐ πάνυ πονηρὰς ἄν τις λύπας τε καὶ ἡδονὰς θείη, μεγάλῃ δὲ ἄλλῃ καὶ πολλῇ συμπιπτούσας πονηρίᾳ.

Σωκράτης: τὰς μὲν τοίνυν πονηρὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ διὰ πονηρίαν οὔσας τοιαύτας ὀλίγον ὕστερον ἐροῦμεν, ἂν ἔτι δοκῇ νῷν: τὰς δὲ ψευδεῖς κατ᾽ ἄλλον τρόπον ἐν ἡμῖν πολλὰς καὶ πολλάκις 41b ἐνούσας τε καὶ ἐγγιγνομένας λεκτέον. τούτῳ γὰρ ἴσως χρησόμεθα πρὸς τὰς κρίσεις.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔκ; εἴπερ γε εἰσίν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Πρώταρχε, εἰσὶν κατά γε τὴν ἐμήν. τοῦτο δὲ τὸ δόγμα ἕως ἂν κέηται παρ᾽ ἡμῖν, ἀδύνατον ἀνέλεγκτον δήπου γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: καλῶς.

Σωκράτης: περιιστώμεθα δὴ καθάπερ ἀθληταὶ πρὸς τοῦτον αὖ τὸν λόγον.

Πρώταρχος: ἴωμεν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν εἴπομεν, εἴπερ μεμνήμεθα, ὀλίγον ἐν 41c τοῖς πρόσθεν, ὡς ὅταν αἱ λεγόμεναι ἐπιθυμίαι ἐν ἡμῖν ὦσι, δίχα ἄρα τότε τὸ σῶμα καὶ χωρὶς τῆς ψυχῆς τοῖς παθήμασι διείληπται.

Πρώταρχος: μεμνήμεθα καὶ προερρήθη ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μὲν ἐπιθυμοῦν ἦν ἡ ψυχὴ τῶν τοῦ σώματος ἐναντίων ἕξεων, τὸ δὲ τὴν ἀλγηδόνα ἤ τινα διὰ πάθος ἡδονὴν τὸ σῶμα ἦν τὸ παρεχόμενον;

Πρώταρχος: ἦν γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: συλλογίζου δὴ τὸ γιγνόμενον ἐν τούτοις.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε. 41d

Σωκράτης: γίγνεται τοίνυν, ὁπόταν ᾖ ταῦτα, ἅμα παρακεῖσθαι λύπας τε καὶ ἡδονάς, καὶ τούτων αἰσθήσεις ἅμα παρ᾽ ἀλλήλας ἐναντίων οὐσῶν γίγνεσθαι, ὃ καὶ νυνδὴ ἐφάνη.

Πρώταρχος: φαίνεται γοῦν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τόδε εἴρηται καὶ συνωμολογημένον ἡμῖν ἔμπροσθε κεῖται;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὡς τὸ μᾶλλόν τε καὶ ἧττον ἄμφω τούτω δέχεσθον, λύπη τε καὶ ἡδονή, καὶ ὅτι τῶν ἀπείρων εἴτην.

Πρώταρχος: εἴρηται. τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: τίς οὖν μηχανὴ ταῦτ᾽ ὀρθῶς κρίνεσθαι; 41e

Πρώταρχος: πῇ δὴ καὶ πῶς;

Σωκράτης: εἰ τὸ βούλημα ἡμῖν τῆς κρίσεως τούτων ἐν τοιούτοις τισὶ διαγνῶναι βούλεται ἑκάστοτε τίς τούτων πρὸς ἀλλήλας μείζων καὶ τίς ἐλάττων καὶ τίς μᾶλλον καὶ τίς σφοδροτέρα, λύπη τε πρὸς ἡδονὴν καὶ λύπη πρὸς λύπην καὶ ἡδονὴ πρὸς ἡδονήν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι ταῦτά τε τοιαῦτα καὶ ἡ βούλησις τῆς κρίσεως αὕτη.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἐν μὲν ὄψει τὸ πόρρωθεν καὶ ἐγγύθεν ὁρᾶν 42a τὰ μεγέθη τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἀφανίζει καὶ ψευδῆ ποιεῖ δοξάζειν, ἐν λύπαις δ᾽ ἄρα καὶ ἡδοναῖς οὐκ ἔστι ταὐτὸν τοῦτο γιγνόμενον;

Πρώταρχος: πολὺ μὲν οὖν μᾶλλον, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἐναντίον δὴ τὸ νῦν τῷ σμικρὸν ἔμπροσθε γέγονεν.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: τότε μὲν αἱ δόξαι ψευδεῖς τε καὶ ἀληθεῖς αὗται γιγνόμεναι τὰς λύπας τε καὶ ἡδονὰς ἅμα τοῦ παρ᾽ αὑταῖς παθήματος ἀνεπίμπλασαν. 42b

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: νῦν δέ γε αὐταὶ διὰ τὸ πόρρωθέν τε καὶ ἐγγύθεν ἑκάστοτε μεταβαλλόμεναι θεωρεῖσθαι, καὶ ἅμα τιθέμεναι παρ᾽ ἀλλήλας, αἱ μὲν ἡδοναὶ παρὰ τὸ λυπηρὸν μείζους φαίνονται καὶ σφοδρότεραι, λῦπαι δ᾽ αὖ διὰ τὸ παρ᾽ ἡδονὰς τοὐναντίον ἐκείναις.

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη γίγνεσθαι τὰ τοιαῦτα διὰ ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὅσῳ μείζους τῶν οὐσῶν ἑκάτεραι καὶ ἐλάττους φαίνονται, τοῦτο ἀποτεμόμενος ἑκατέρων τὸ φαινόμενον 42c ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ὄν, οὔτε αὐτὸ ὀρθῶς φαινόμενον ἐρεῖς, οὐδ᾽ αὖ ποτε τὸ ἐπὶ τούτῳ μέρος τῆς ἡδονῆς καὶ λύπης γιγνόμενον ὀρθόν τε καὶ ἀληθὲς τολμήσεις λέγειν.

Πρώταρχος: οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τούτων τοίνυν ἑξῆς ὀψόμεθα ἐὰν τῇδε ἀπαντῶμεν ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας ψευδεῖς ἔτι μᾶλλον ἢ ταύτας φαινομένας τε καὶ οὔσας ἐν τοῖς ζῴοις.

Πρώταρχος: ποίας δὴ καὶ πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: εἴρηταί που πολλάκις ὅτι τῆς φύσεως ἑκάστων διαφθειρομένης μὲν συγκρίσεσι καὶ διακρίσεσι καὶ πληρώσεσι 42d καὶ κενώσεσι καί τισιν αὔξαις καὶ φθίσεσι λῦπαί τε καὶ ἀλγηδόνες καὶ ὀδύναι καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα τοιαῦτ᾽ ὀνόματα ἔχει συμβαίνει γιγνόμενα.

Πρώταρχος: ναί, ταῦτα εἴρηται πολλάκις.

Σωκράτης: εἰς δέ γε τὴν αὑτῶν φύσιν ὅταν καθιστῆται, ταύτην αὖ τὴν κατάστασιν ἡδονὴν ἀπεδεξάμεθα παρ᾽ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽ ὅταν περὶ τὸ σῶμα μηδὲν τούτων γιγνόμενον ἡμῶν ᾖ;

Πρώταρχος: πότε δὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν γένοιτο, ὦ Σώκρατες; 42e

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν πρὸς λόγον ἐστίν, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ὃ σὺ νῦν ἤρου τὸ ἐρώτημα.

Πρώταρχος: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: διότι τὴν ἐμὴν ἐρώτησιν οὐ κωλύεις με διερέσθαι σε πάλιν.

Πρώταρχος: ποίαν;

Σωκράτης: εἰ δ᾽ οὖν μὴ γίγνοιτο, ὦ Πρώταρχε, φήσω, τὸ τοιοῦτον, τί ποτε ἀναγκαῖον ἐξ αὐτοῦ συμβαίνειν ἡμῖν;

Πρώταρχος: μὴ κινουμένου τοῦ σώματος ἐφ᾽ ἑκάτερα φῄς;

Σωκράτης: οὕτως.

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον δὴ τοῦτό γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς οὔτε ἡδονὴ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ ποτὲ οὔτ᾽ ἄν τις λύπη. 43a

Σωκράτης: κάλλιστ᾽ εἶπες. ἀλλὰ γὰρ οἶμαι τόδε λέγεις, ὡς ἀεί τι τούτων ἀναγκαῖον ἡμῖν συμβαίνειν, ὡς οἱ σοφοί φασιν: ἀεὶ γὰρ ἅπαντα ἄνω τε καὶ κάτω ῥεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: λέγουσι γὰρ οὖν, καὶ δοκοῦσί γε οὐ φαύλως λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: πῶς γὰρ ἄν, μὴ φαῦλοί γε ὄντες; ἀλλὰ γὰρ ὑπεκστῆναι τὸν λόγον ἐπιφερόμενον τοῦτον βούλομαι. τῇδ᾽ οὖν διανοοῦμαι φεύγειν, καὶ σύ μοι σύμφευγε.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε ὅπῃ.

Σωκράτης: ταῦτα μὲν τοίνυν οὕτως ἔστω, φῶμεν πρὸς τούτους: 43b σὺ δ᾽ ἀπόκριναι πότερον ἀεὶ πάντα, ὁπόσα πάσχει τι τῶν ἐμψύχων, ταῦτ᾽ αἰσθάνεται τὸ πάσχον, καὶ οὔτ᾽ αὐξανόμενοι λανθάνομεν ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς οὔτε τι τῶν τοιούτων οὐδὲν πάσχοντες, ἢ πᾶν τοὐναντίον.

Πρώταρχος: ἅπαν δήπου τοὐναντίον: ὀλίγου γὰρ τά γε τοιαῦτα λέληθε πάνθ᾽ ἡμᾶς.

Σωκράτης: οὐ τοίνυν καλῶς ἡμῖν εἴρηται τὸ νυνδὴ ῥηθέν, ὡς αἱ μεταβολαὶ κάτω τε καὶ ἄνω γιγνόμεναι λύπας τε καὶ ἡδονὰς ἀπεργάζονται.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν; 43c

Σωκράτης: ὧδ᾽ ἔσται κάλλιον καὶ ἀνεπιληπτότερον τὸ λεγόμενον.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ὡς αἱ μὲν μεγάλαι μεταβολαὶ λύπας τε καὶ ἡδονὰς ποιοῦσιν ἡμῖν, αἱ δ᾽ αὖ μέτριαί τε καὶ σμικραὶ τὸ παράπαν οὐδέτερα τούτων.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότερον οὕτως ἢ ‘κείνως, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ ταῦτα οὕτω, πάλιν ὁ νυνδὴ ῥηθεὶς βίος ἂν ἥκοι.

Πρώταρχος: ποῖος;

Σωκράτης: ὃν ἄλυπόν τε καὶ ἄνευ χαρμονῶν ἔφαμεν εἶναι.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ἐκ δὴ τούτων τιθῶμεν τριττοὺς ἡμῖν βίους, ἕνα 43d μὲν ἡδύν, τὸν δ᾽ αὖ λυπηρόν, τὸν δ᾽ ἕνα μηδέτερα. ἢ πῶς ἂν φαίης σὺ περὶ τούτων;

Πρώταρχος: οὐκ ἄλλως ἔγωγε ἢ ταύτῃ, τρεῖς εἶναι τοὺς βίους.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὐκ ἂν εἴη τὸ μὴ λυπεῖσθαί ποτε ταὐτὸν τῷ χαίρειν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: ὁπόταν οὖν ἀκούσῃς ὡς ἥδιστον πάντων ἐστὶν ἀλύπως διατελεῖν τὸν βίον ἅπαντα, τί τόθ᾽ ὑπολαμβάνεις λέγειν τὸν τοιοῦτον;

Πρώταρχος: ἡδὺ λέγειν φαίνεται ἔμοιγε οὗτος τὸ μὴ λυπεῖσθαι. 43e

Σωκράτης: τριῶν ὄντων οὖν ἡμῖν, ὧντινων βούλει, τίθει, καλλίοσιν ἵνα ὀνόμασι χρώμεθα, τὸ μὲν χρυσόν, τὸ δ᾽ ἄργυρον, τρίτον δὲ τὸ μηδέτερα τούτων.

Πρώταρχος: κεῖται.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὴ μηδέτερα τούτων ἔσθ᾽ ἡμῖν ὅπως θάτερα γένοιτο ἄν, χρυσὸς ἢ ἄργυρος;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πῶς ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὐδ᾽ ἄρα ὁ μέσος βίος ἡδὺς ἢ λυπηρὸς λεγόμενος ὀρθῶς ἄν ποτε οὔτ᾽ εἰ δοξάζοι τις, δοξάζοιτο, οὔτ᾽ εἰ λέγοι, λεχθείη, κατά γε τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν; 44a

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μήν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, λεγόντων γε ταῦτα καὶ δοξαζόντων αἰσθανόμεθα.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν καὶ χαίρειν οἴονται τότε ὅταν μὴ λυπῶνται;

Πρώταρχος: φασὶ γοῦν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οἴονται τότε χαίρειν: οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἔλεγόν που.

Πρώταρχος: κινδυνεύει.

Σωκράτης: ψευδῆ γε μὴν δοξάζουσι περὶ τοῦ χαίρειν, εἴπερ χωρὶς τοῦ μὴ λυπεῖσθαι καὶ τοῦ χαίρειν ἡ φύσις ἑκατέρου.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μὴν χωρίς γε ἦν.

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν αἱρώμεθα παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι, καθάπερ 44b ἄρτι, τρία, ἢ δύο μόνα, λύπην μὲν κακὸν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, τὴν δ᾽ ἀπαλλαγὴν τῶν λυπῶν, αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἀγαθὸν ὄν, ἡδὺ προσαγορεύεσθαι;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δὴ νῦν τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐρωτώμεθα ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν; οὐ γὰρ μανθάνω.

Σωκράτης: ὄντως γὰρ τοὺς πολεμίους Φιλήβου τοῦδε, ὦ Πρώταρχε, οὐ μανθάνεις;

Πρώταρχος: λέγεις δὲ αὐτοὺς τίνας;

Σωκράτης: καὶ μάλα δεινοὺς λεγομένους τὰ περὶ φύσιν, οἳ τὸ παράπαν ἡδονὰς οὔ φασιν εἶναι.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν; 44c

Σωκράτης: λυπῶν ταύτας εἶναι πάσας ἀποφυγάς, ἃς νῦν οἱ περὶ Φίληβον ἡδονὰς ἐπονομάζουσιν.

Πρώταρχος: τούτοις οὖν ἡμᾶς πότερα πείθεσθαι συμβουλεύεις, ἢ πῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ μάντεσι προσχρῆσθαί τισι, μαντευομένοις οὐ τέχνῃ ἀλλά τινι δυσχερείᾳ φύσεως οὐκ ἀγεννοῦς λίαν μεμισηκότων τὴν τῆς ἡδονῆς δύναμιν καὶ νενομικότων οὐδὲν ὑγιές, ὥστε καὶ αὐτὸ τοῦτο αὐτῆς τὸ ἐπαγωγὸν γοήτευμα, 44d οὐχ ἡδονήν, εἶναι. τούτοις μὲν οὖν ταῦτα ἂν προσχρήσαιο, σκεψάμενος ἔτι καὶ τὰ ἄλλα αὐτῶν δυσχεράσματα: μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα αἵ γέ μοι δοκοῦσιν ἡδοναὶ ἀληθεῖς εἶναι πεύσῃ, ἵνα ἐξ ἀμφοῖν τοῖν λόγοιν σκεψάμενοι τὴν δύναμιν αὐτῆς παραθώμεθα πρὸς τὴν κρίσιν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: μεταδιώκωμεν δὴ τούτους, ὥσπερ συμμάχους, κατὰ τὸ τῆς δυσχερείας αὐτῶν ἴχνος. οἶμαι γὰρ τοιόνδε τι λέγειν αὐτούς, ἀρχομένους ποθὲν ἄνωθεν, ὡς εἰ βουληθεῖμεν ὁτουοῦν 44e εἴδους τὴν φύσιν ἰδεῖν, οἷον τὴν τοῦ σκληροῦ, πότερον εἰς τὰ σκληρότατα ἀποβλέποντες οὕτως ἂν μᾶλλον συννοήσαιμεν ἢ πρὸς τὰ πολλοστὰ σκληρότητι; δεῖ δή σε, ὦ Πρώταρχε, καθάπερ ἐμοί, καὶ τούτοις τοῖς δυσχερέσιν ἀποκρίνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν, καὶ λέγω γε αὐτοῖς ὅτι πρὸς τὰ πρῶτα μεγέθει.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ καὶ τὸ τῆς ἡδονῆς γένος ἰδεῖν ἥντινά ποτ᾽ ἔχει φύσιν βουληθεῖμεν, οὐκ εἰς τὰς πολλοστὰς ἡδονὰς 45a ἀποβλεπτέον, ἀλλ᾽ εἰς τὰς ἀκροτάτας καὶ σφοδροτάτας λεγομένας.

Πρώταρχος: πᾶς ἄν σοι ταύτῃ συγχωροίη τὰ νῦν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν, αἱ πρόχειροί γε αἵπερ καὶ μέγισται τῶν ἡδονῶν, ὃ λέγομεν πολλάκις, αἱ περὶ τὸ σῶμά εἰσιν αὗται;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: πότερον οὖν καὶ μείζους εἰσὶ καὶ γίγνονται περὶ τοὺς κάμνοντας ἐν ταῖς νόσοις ἢ περὶ ὑγιαίνοντας; εὐλαβηθῶμεν δὲ μὴ προπετῶς ἀποκρινόμενοι πταίσωμέν πῃ. τάχα γὰρ 45b ἴσως φαῖμεν ἂν περὶ ὑγιαίνοντας.

Πρώταρχος: εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης: τί δ᾽; οὐχ αὗται τῶν ἡδονῶν ὑπερβάλλουσιν, ὧν ἂν καὶ ἐπιθυμίαι μέγισται προγίγνωνται;

Πρώταρχος: τοῦτο μὲν ἀληθές.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οἱ πυρέττοντες καὶ ἐν τοιούτοις νοσήμασιν ἐχόμενοι μᾶλλον διψῶσι καὶ ῥιγοῦσι καὶ πάντα ὁπόσα διὰ τοῦ σώματος εἰώθασι πάσχειν, μᾶλλόν τ᾽ ἐνδείᾳ συγγίγνονται καὶ ἀποπληρουμένων μείζους ἡδονὰς ἴσχουσιν; ἢ τοῦτο οὐ φήσομεν ἀληθὲς εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν νῦν ῥηθὲν φαίνεται. 45c

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ὀρθῶς ἂν φαινοίμεθα λέγοντες ὡς εἴ τις τὰς μεγίστας ἡδονὰς ἰδεῖν βούλοιτο, οὐκ εἰς ὑγίειαν ἀλλ᾽ εἰς νόσον ἰόντας δεῖ σκοπεῖν; ὅρα δὲ μή με ἡγῇ διανοούμενον ἐρωτᾶν σε εἰ πλείω χαίρουσιν οἱ σφόδρα νοσοῦντες τῶν ὑγιαινόντων, ἀλλ᾽ οἴου μέγεθός με ζητεῖν ἡδονῆς, καὶ τὸ σφόδρα περὶ τοῦ τοιούτου ποῦ ποτε γίγνεται ἑκάστοτε. νοῆσαι γὰρ δεῖ φαμεν ἥντινα φύσιν ἔχει καὶ τίνα λέγουσιν οἱ φάσκοντες μηδ᾽ εἶναι τὸ παράπαν αὐτήν. 45d

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλὰ σχεδὸν ἕπομαι τῷ λόγῳ σου.

Σωκράτης: τάχα, ὦ Πρώταρχε, οὐχ ἧττον δείξεις. ἀπόκριναι γάρ: ἐν ὕβρει μείζους ἡδονάςοὐ πλείους λέγω, τῷ σφόδρα δὲ καὶ τῷ μᾶλλον ὑπερεχούσαςὁρᾷς ἢ ἐν τῷ σώφρονι βίῳ; λέγε δὲ προσέχων τὸν νοῦν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ ἔμαθον ὃ λέγεις, καὶ πολὺ τὸ διαφέρον ὁρῶ. τοὺς μὲν γὰρ σώφρονάς που καὶ ὁ παροιμιαζόμενος 45e ἐπίσχει λόγος ἑκάστοτε, ὁ τὸ μηδὲν ἄγαν παρακελευόμενος, ᾧ πείθονται: τὸ δὲ τῶν ἀφρόνων τε καὶ ὑβριστῶν μέχρι μανίας ἡ σφοδρὰ ἡδονὴ κατέχουσα περιβοήτους ἀπεργάζεται.

Σωκράτης: καλῶς: καὶ εἴ γε τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει, δῆλον ὡς ἔν τινι πονηρίᾳ ψυχῆς καὶ τοῦ σώματος, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐν ἀρετῇ μέγισται μὲν ἡδοναί, μέγισται δὲ καὶ λῦπαι γίγνονται.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τούτων τινὰς προελόμενον δεῖ σκοπεῖσθαι τίνα ποτὲ τρόπον ἐχούσας ἐλέγομεν αὐτὰς εἶναι μεγίστας. 46a

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: σκόπει δὴ τὰς τῶν τοιῶνδε νοσημάτων ἡδονάς, τίνα ποτὲ ἔχουσι τρόπον.

Πρώταρχος: ποίων;

Σωκράτης: τὰς τῶν ἀσχημόνων, ἃς οὓς εἴπομεν δυσχερεῖς μισοῦσι παντελῶς.

Πρώταρχος: ποίας;

Σωκράτης: οἷον τὰς τῆς ψώρας ἰάσεις τῷ τρίβειν καὶ ὅσα τοιαῦτα, οὐκ ἄλλης δεόμενα φαρμάξεως: τοῦτο γὰρ δὴ τὸ πάθος ἡμῖν, ὦ πρὸς θεῶν, τί ποτε φῶμεν ἐγγίγνεσθαι; πότερον ἡδονὴν ἢ λύπην;

Πρώταρχος: σύμμεικτον τοῦτό γ᾽ ἄρ᾽, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔοικε γίγνεσθαί τι κακόν. 46b

Σωκράτης: οὐ μὲν δὴ Φιλήβου γε ἕνεκα παρεθέμην τὸν λόγον: ἀλλ᾽ ἄνευ τούτων, ὦ Πρώταρχε, τῶν ἡδονῶν καὶ τῶν ταύταις ἑπομένων, ἂν μὴ κατοφθῶσι, σχεδὸν οὐκ ἄν ποτε δυναίμεθα διακρίνασθαι τὸ νῦν ζητούμενον.

Πρώταρχος: οὐκοῦν ἰτέον ἐπὶ τὰς τούτων συγγενεῖς.

Σωκράτης: τὰς ἐν τῇ μείξει κοινωνούσας λέγεις;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: εἰσὶ τοίνυν μείξεις αἱ μὲν κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ἐν αὐτοῖς 46c τοῖς σώμασιν, αἱ δ᾽ αὐτῆς τῆς ψυχῆς ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ: τὰς δ᾽ αὖ τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ τοῦ σώματος ἀνευρήσομεν λύπας ἡδοναῖς μειχθείσας τοτὲ μὲν ἡδονὰς τὰ συναμφότερα, τοτὲ δὲ λύπας ἐπικαλουμένας.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: ὁπόταν ἐν τῇ καταστάσει τις ἢ τῇ διαφθορᾷ τἀναντία ἅμα πάθη πάσχῃ, ποτὲ ῥιγῶν θέρηται καὶ θερμαινόμενος ἐνίοτε ψύχηται, ζητῶν οἶμαι τὸ μὲν ἔχειν, τοῦ δὲ ἀπαλλάττεσθαι, τὸ δὴ λεγόμενον πικρῷ γλυκὺ μεμειγμένον, μετὰ 46d δυσαπαλλακτίας παρόν, ἀγανάκτησιν καὶ ὕστερον σύντασιν ἀγρίαν ποιεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα ἀληθὲς τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν αἱ τοιαῦται μείξεις αἱ μὲν ἐξ ἴσων εἰσὶ λυπῶν τε καὶ ἡδονῶν, αἱ δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν ἑτέρων πλειόνων;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: λέγε δὴ τὰς μέν, ὅταν πλείους λῦπαι τῶν ἡδονῶν γίγνωνταιτὰς τῆς ψώρας λεγομένας νυνδὴ ταύτας εἶναι καὶ τὰς τῶν γαργαλισμῶνὁπόταν <ἐν τοῖς> ἐντὸς τὸ ζέον ᾖ καὶ τὸ φλεγμαῖνον, τῇ τρίψει δὲ καὶ τῇ κνήσει μὴ ἐφικνῆταί 46e τις, τὸ δ᾽ ἐπιπολῆς μόνον διαχέῃ, τοτὲ φέροντες εἰς πῦρ αὐτὰ καὶ εἰς τοὐναντίον πυρίαις μεταβάλλοντες ἐνίοτε ἀμηχάνους ἡδονάς, τοτὲ δὲ τοὐναντίον τοῖς ἐντὸς πρὸς τὰ τῶν ἔξω, λύπας ἡδοναῖς συγκερασθείσας, εἰς ὁπότερ᾽ ἂν ῥέψῃ, παρέσχοντο τῷ τὰ συγκεκριμένα βίᾳ διαχεῖν ἢ τὰ διακεκριμένα συγχεῖν 47a [καὶ] ὁμοῦ λύπας ἡδοναῖς παρατιθέναι.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁπόταν αὖ πλείων ἡδονὴ κατὰ <τὰ> τοιαῦτα πάντα συμμειχθῇ, τὸ μὲν ὑπομεμειγμένον τῆς λύπης γαργαλίζει τε καὶ ἠρέμα ἀγανακτεῖν ποιεῖ, τὸ δ᾽ αὖ τῆς ἡδονῆς πολὺ πλέον ἐγκεχυμένον συντείνει τε καὶ ἐνίοτε πηδᾶν ποιεῖ, καὶ παντοῖα μὲν χρώματα, παντοῖα δὲ σχήματα, παντοῖα δὲ πνεύματα ἀπεργαζόμενον πᾶσαν ἔκπληξιν καὶ βοὰς μετὰ ἀφροσύνης ἐνεργάζεται; 47b

Πρώταρχος: μάλα γε.

Σωκράτης: καὶ λέγειν τε, ὦ ἑταῖρε, αὐτόν τε περὶ ἑαυτοῦ ποιεῖ καὶ ἄλλον ὡς ταύταις ταῖς ἡδοναῖς τερπόμενος οἷον ἀποθνῄσκει: καὶ ταύτας γε δὴ παντάπασιν ἀεὶ μεταδιώκει τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον ὅσῳ ἂν ἀκολαστότερός τε καὶ ἀφρονέστερος ὢν τυγχάνῃ, καὶ καλεῖ δὴ μεγίστας ταύτας, καὶ τὸν ἐν αὐταῖς ὅτι μάλιστ᾽ ἀεὶ ζῶντα εὐδαιμονέστατον καταριθμεῖται.

Πρώταρχος: πάντα, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὰ συμβαίνοντα πρὸς τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων εἰς δόξαν διεπέρανας. 47c

Σωκράτης: περί γε τῶν ἡδονῶν, ὦ Πρώταρχε, τῶν ἐν τοῖς κοινοῖς παθήμασιν αὐτοῦ τοῦ σώματος τῶν ἐπιπολῆς τε καὶ ἐντὸς κερασθέντων: περὶ δέ γ᾽ ὧν ψυχὴ σώματι τἀναντία συμβάλλεται, λύπην τε ἅμα πρὸς ἡδονὴν καὶ ἡδονὴν πρὸς λύπην, ὥστ᾽ εἰς μίαν ἀμφότερα κρᾶσιν ἰέναι, ταῦτα ἔμπροσθε μὲν διήλθομεν, ὡς, ὁπόταν {{π|αὖ] κενῶται, πληρώσεως ἐπιθυμεῖ, καὶ ἐλπίζων μὲν χαίρει, κενούμενος δὲ ἀλγεῖ, ταῦτα δὲ τότε 47d μὲν οὐκ ἐμαρτυράμεθα, νῦν δὲ λέγομεν ὡς ψυχῆς πρὸς σῶμα διαφερομένης ἐν πᾶσι τούτοις πλήθει ἀμηχάνοις οὖσι μεῖξις μία λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς συμπίπτει γενομένη.

Πρώταρχος: κινδυνεύεις ὀρθότατα λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι τοίνυν ἡμῖν τῶν μείξεων λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς λοιπὴ μία.

Πρώταρχος: ποία, φῄς;

Σωκράτης: ἣν αὐτὴν τὴν ψυχὴν αὑτῇ πολλάκις λαμβάνειν σύγκρασιν ἔφαμεν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς οὖν δὴ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ λέγομεν; 47e

Σωκράτης: ὀργὴν καὶ φόβον καὶ πόθον καὶ θρῆνον καὶ ἔρωτα καὶ ζῆλον καὶ φθόνον καὶ ὅσα τοιαῦτα, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ αὐτῆς τῆς ψυχῆς τίθεσαι ταύτας λύπας τινάς;

Πρώταρχος: ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν αὐτὰς ἡδονῶν μεστὰς εὑρήσομεν ἀμηχάνων; ἢ δεόμεθα ὑπομιμνῄσκεσθαι [τὸ <ἐν> τοῖς θυμοῖς καὶ ταῖς ὀργαῖς,] τὸ

ὅς τ᾽ ἐφέηκε πολύφρονά περ χαλεπῆναι

ὅς τε πολὺ γλυκίων μέλιτος καταλειβομένοιο,

48a καὶ τὰς ἐν τοῖς θρήνοις καὶ πόθοις ἡδονὰς ἐν λύπαις οὔσας ἀναμεμειγμένας;

Πρώταρχος: οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω ταῦτά γε καὶ οὐκ ἄλλως ἂν συμβαίνοι γιγνόμενα.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ τάς γε τραγικὰς θεωρήσεις, ὅταν ἅμα χαίροντες κλάωσι, μέμνησαι;

Πρώταρχος: τί δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: τὴν δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς κωμῳδίαις διάθεσιν ἡμῶν τῆς ψυχῆς, ἆρ᾽ οἶσθ᾽ ὡς ἔστι κἀν τούτοις μεῖξις λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς;

Πρώταρχος: οὐ πάνυ κατανοῶ. 48b

Σωκράτης: παντάπασι γὰρ οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἐν τούτῳ συννοεῖν τὸ τοιοῦτον ἑκάστοτε πάθος.

Πρώταρχος: οὔκουν ὥς γ᾽ ἔοικεν ἐμοί.

Σωκράτης: λάβωμέν γε μὴν αὐτὸ τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον ὅσῳ σκοτεινότερόν ἐστιν, ἵνα καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις ῥᾷον καταμαθεῖν τις οἷός τ᾽ ᾖ μεῖξιν λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς.

Πρώταρχος: λέγοις ἄν.

Σωκράτης: τό τοι νυνδὴ ῥηθὲν ὄνομα φθόνου πότερα λύπην τινὰ ψυχῆς θήσεις, ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν ὁ φθονῶν γε ἐπὶ κακοῖς τοῖς τῶν πέλας ἡδόμενος ἀναφανήσεται. 48c

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: κακὸν μὴν ἄγνοια καὶ ἣν δὴ λέγομεν ἀβελτέραν ἕξιν.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ἐκ δὴ τούτων ἰδὲ τὸ γελοῖον ἥντινα φύσιν ἔχει.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε μόνον.

Σωκράτης: ἔστιν δὴ πονηρία μέν τις τὸ κεφάλαιον, ἕξεώς τινος ἐπίκλην λεγομένη: τῆς δ᾽ αὖ πάσης πονηρίας ἐστὶ τοὐναντίον πάθος ἔχον ἢ τὸ λεγόμενον ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν Δελφοῖς γραμμάτων.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ γνῶθι σαυτὸν λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες; 48d

Σωκράτης: ἔγωγε. τοὐναντίον μὴν ἐκείνῳ δῆλον ὅτι τὸ μηδαμῇ γιγνώσκειν αὑτὸν λεγόμενον ὑπὸ τοῦ γράμματος ἂν εἴη.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: ὦ Πρώταρχε, πειρῶ δὲ αὐτὸ τοῦτο τριχῇ τέμνειν.

Πρώταρχος: πῇ φῄς; οὐ γὰρ μὴ δυνατὸς ὦ.

Σωκράτης: λέγεις δὴ δεῖν ἐμὲ τοῦτο διελέσθαι τὰ νῦν;

Πρώταρχος: λέγω, καὶ δέομαί γε πρὸς τῷ λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τῶν ἀγνοούντων αὑτοὺς κατὰ τρία ἀνάγκη τοῦτο τὸ πάθος πάσχειν ἕκαστον;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς; 48e

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον μὲν κατὰ χρήματα, δοξάζειν εἶναι πλουσιώτερον ἢ κατὰ τὴν αὑτῶν οὐσίαν.

Πρώταρχος: πολλοὶ γοῦν εἰσὶν τὸ τοιοῦτον πάθος ἔχοντες.

Σωκράτης: πλείους δέ γε οἳ μείζους καὶ καλλίους αὑτοὺς δοξάζουσι, καὶ πάντα ὅσα κατὰ τὸ σῶμα εἶναι διαφερόντως τῆς οὔσης αὐτοῖς ἀληθείας.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: πολὺ δὲ πλεῖστοί γε οἶμαι περὶ τὸ τρίτον εἶδος τὸ τῶν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς διημαρτήκασιν, ἀρετῇ δοξάζοντες βελτίους ἑαυτούς, οὐκ ὄντες.

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα μὲν οὖν. 49a

Σωκράτης: τῶν ἀρετῶν δ᾽ ἆρ᾽ οὐ σοφίας πέρι τὸ πλῆθος πάντως ἀντεχόμενον μεστὸν ἐρίδων καὶ δοξοσοφίας ἐστὶ ψευδοῦς;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: κακὸν μὲν δὴ πᾶν ἄν τις τὸ τοιοῦτον εἰπὼν ὀρθῶς ἂν εἴποι πάθος.

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: τοῦτο τοίνυν ἔτι διαιρετέον, ὦ Πρώταρχε, δίχα, εἰ μέλλομεν τὸν παιδικὸν ἰδόντες φθόνον ἄτοπον ἡδονῆς καὶ λύπης ὄψεσθαι μεῖξιν. πῶς οὖν τέμνομεν δίχα, λέγεις; 49b πάντες ὁπόσοι ταύτην τὴν ψευδῆ δόξαν περὶ ἑαυτῶν ἀνοήτως δοξάζουσι, καθάπερ ἁπάντων ἀνθρώπων, καὶ τούτων ἀναγκαιότατον ἕπεσθαι τοῖς μὲν ῥώμην αὐτῶν καὶ δύναμιν, τοῖς δὲ οἶμαι τοὐναντίον.

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: ταύτῃ τοίνυν δίελε, καὶ ὅσοι μὲν αὐτῶν εἰσι μετ᾽ ἀσθενείας τοιοῦτοι καὶ ἀδύνατοι καταγελώμενοι τιμωρεῖσθαι, γελοίους τούτους φάσκων εἶναι τἀληθῆ φθέγξῃ: τοὺς δὲ δυνατοὺς τιμωρεῖσθαι καὶ ἰσχυροὺς φοβεροὺς καὶ ἐχθροὺς 49c προσαγορεύων ὀρθότατον τούτων σαυτῷ λόγον ἀποδώσεις. ἄγνοια γὰρ ἡ μὲν τῶν ἰσχυρῶν ἐχθρά τε καὶ αἰσχρά βλαβερὰ γὰρ καὶ τοῖς πέλας αὐτή τε καὶ ὅσαι εἰκόνες αὐτῆς εἰσινἡ δ᾽ ἀσθενὴς ἡμῖν τὴν τῶν γελοίων εἴληχε τάξιν τε καὶ φύσιν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα λέγεις. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἡ τῶν ἡδονῶν καὶ λυπῶν μεῖξις ἐν τούτοις οὔπω μοι καταφανής.

Σωκράτης: τὴν τοίνυν τοῦ φθόνου λαβὲ δύναμιν πρῶτον.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε μόνον. 49d

Σωκράτης: λύπη τις ἄδικός ἐστί που καὶ ἡδονή;

Πρώταρχος: τοῦτο μὲν ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἐπὶ μὲν τοῖς τῶν ἐχθρῶν κακοῖς οὔτ᾽ ἄδικον οὔτε φθονερόν ἐστι τὸ χαίρειν;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: τὰ δέ γε τῶν φίλων ὁρῶντας ἔστιν ὅτε κακὰ μὴ λυπεῖσθαι, χαίρειν δέ, ἆρα οὐκ ἄδικόν ἐστιν;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὴν ἄγνοιαν εἴπομεν ὅτι κακὸν πᾶσιν;

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς.

Σωκράτης: τὴν οὖν τῶν φίλων δοξοσοφίαν καὶ δοξοκαλίαν καὶ 49e ὅσα νυνδὴ διήλθομεν, ἐν τρισὶν λέγοντες εἴδεσιν γίγνεσθαι, γελοῖα μὲν ὁπόσα ἀσθενῆ, μισητὰ δ᾽ ὁπόσα ἐρρωμένα, <φῶμεν> ἢ μὴ φῶμεν ὅπερ εἶπον ἄρτι, τὴν τῶν φίλων ἕξιν ταύτην ὅταν ἔχῃ τις τὴν ἀβλαβῆ τοῖς ἄλλοις, γελοίαν εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: κακὸν δ᾽ οὐχ ὁμολογοῦμεν αὐτὴν ἄγνοιάν γε οὖσαν εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: χαίρομεν δὲ ἢ λυπούμεθα, ὅταν ἐπ᾽ αὐτῇ γελῶμεν; 50a

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον ὅτι χαίρομεν.

Σωκράτης: ἡδονὴν δὲ ἐπὶ τοῖς τῶν φίλων κακοῖς, οὐ φθόνον ἔφαμεν εἶναι τὸν τοῦτ᾽ ἀπεργαζόμενον;

Πρώταρχος: ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης: γελῶντας ἄρα ἡμᾶς ἐπὶ τοῖς τῶν φίλων γελοίοις φησὶν ὁ λόγος, κεραννύντας ἡδονὴν αὖ φθόνῳ, λύπῃ τὴν ἡδονὴν συγκεραννύναι: τὸν γὰρ φθόνον ὡμολογῆσθαι λύπην ψυχῆς ἡμῖν πάλαι, τὸ δὲ γελᾶν ἡδονήν, ἅμα γίγνεσθαι δὲ τούτω ἐν τούτοις τοῖς χρόνοις.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθῆ. 50b

Σωκράτης: μηνύει δὴ νῦν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν ἐν θρήνοις τε καὶ ἐν τραγῳδίαις <καὶ κωμῳδίαις>, μὴ τοῖς δράμασι μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ τῇ τοῦ βίου συμπάσῃ τραγῳδίᾳ καὶ κωμῳδίᾳ, λύπας ἡδοναῖς ἅμα κεράννυσθαι, καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις δὴ μυρίοις.

Πρώταρχος: ἀδύνατον μὴ ὁμολογεῖν ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ καί τις φιλονικοῖ πάνυ πρὸς τἀναντία.

Σωκράτης: ὀργὴν μὴν καὶ πόθον καὶ θρῆνον καὶ φόβον καὶ 50c ἔρωτα καὶ ζῆλον καὶ φθόνον προυθέμεθα καὶ ὁπόσα τοιαῦτα, ἐν οἷς ἔφαμεν εὑρήσειν μειγνύμενα τὰ νῦν πολλάκις λεγόμενα. ἦ γάρ;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: μανθάνομεν οὖν ὅτι θρήνου πέρι καὶ φθόνου καὶ ὀργῆς πάντα ἐστὶ τὰ νυνδὴ διαπερανθέντα;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὐ μανθάνομεν;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν πολλὰ ἔτι τὰ λοιπά;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: διὰ δὴ τί μάλισθ᾽ ὑπολαμβάνεις με δεῖξαί σοι τὴν ἐν τῇ κωμῳδίᾳ μεῖξιν; ἆρ᾽ οὐ πίστεως χάριν, ὅτι τήν γε ἐν 50d τοῖς φόβοις καὶ ἔρωσι καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ῥᾴδιον κρᾶσιν ἐπιδεῖξαι: λαβόντα δὲ τοῦτο παρὰ σαυτῷ ἀφεῖναί με μηκέτι ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνα ἰόντα δεῖν μηκύνειν τοὺς λόγους, ἀλλ᾽ ἁπλῶς λαβεῖν τοῦτο, ὅτι καὶ σῶμα ἄνευ ψυχῆς καὶ ψυχὴ ἄνευ σώματος καὶ κοινῇ μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἐν τοῖς παθήμασι μεστά ἐστι συγκεκραμένης ἡδονῆς λύπαις; νῦν οὖν λέγε πότερα ἀφίης με ἢ μέσας ποιήσεις νύκτας; εἰπὼν δὲ σμικρὰ οἶμαί σου τεύξεσθαι μεθεῖναί με: τούτων γὰρ ἁπάντων αὔριον 50e ἐθελήσω σοι λόγον δοῦναι, τὰ νῦν δὲ ἐπὶ τὰ λοιπὰ βούλομαι στέλλεσθαι πρὸς τὴν κρίσιν ἣν Φίληβος ἐπιτάττει.

Πρώταρχος: καλῶς εἶπες, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἀλλ᾽ ὅσα λοιπὰ ἡμῖν διέξελθε ὅπῃ σοι φίλον.

Σωκράτης: κατὰ φύσιν τοίνυν μετὰ τὰς μειχθείσας ἡδονὰς ὑπὸ δή τινος ἀνάγκης ἐπὶ τὰς ἀμείκτους πορευοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἐν τῷ μέρει. 51a

Πρώταρχος: κάλλιστ᾽ εἶπες.

Σωκράτης: ἐγὼ δὴ πειράσομαι μεταβαλὼν σημαίνειν ἡμῖν αὐτάς. τοῖς γὰρ φάσκουσι λυπῶν εἶναι παῦλαν πάσας τὰς ἡδονὰς οὐ πάνυ πως πείθομαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ εἶπον, μάρτυσι καταχρῶμαι πρὸς τὸ τινὰς ἡδονὰς εἶναι δοκούσας, οὔσας δ᾽ οὐδαμῶς, καὶ μεγάλας ἑτέρας τινὰς ἅμα καὶ πολλὰς φαντασθείσας, εἶναι δ᾽ αὐτὰς συμπεφυρμένας ὁμοῦ λύπαις τε καὶ ἀναπαύσεσιν ὀδυνῶν τῶν μεγίστων περί τε σώματος καὶ ψυχῆς ἀπορίας. 51b

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθεῖς δ᾽ αὖ τίνας, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὑπολαμβάνων ὀρθῶς τις διανοοῖτ᾽ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: τὰς περί τε τὰ καλὰ λεγόμενα χρώματα καὶ περὶ τὰ σχήματα καὶ τῶν ὀσμῶν τὰς πλείστας καὶ τὰς τῶν φθόγγων καὶ ὅσα τὰς ἐνδείας ἀναισθήτους ἔχοντα καὶ ἀλύπους τὰς πληρώσεις αἰσθητὰς καὶ ἡδείας [καθαρὰς λυπῶν] παραδίδωσιν.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δὴ ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὖ λέγομεν οὕτω;

Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν οὐκ εὐθὺς δῆλά ἐστιν ἃ λέγω, πειρατέον 51c μὴν δηλοῦν. σχημάτων τε γὰρ κάλλος οὐχ ὅπερ ἂν ὑπολάβοιεν οἱ πολλοὶ πειρῶμαι νῦν λέγειν, ἢ ζῴων ἤ τινων ζωγραφημάτων, ἀλλ᾽ εὐθύ τι λέγω, φησὶν ὁ λόγος, καὶ περιφερὲς καὶ ἀπὸ τούτων δὴ τά τε τοῖς τόρνοις γιγνόμενα ἐπίπεδά τε καὶ στερεὰ καὶ τὰ τοῖς κανόσι καὶ γωνίαις, εἴ μου μανθάνεις. ταῦτα γὰρ οὐκ εἶναι πρός τι καλὰ λέγω, καθάπερ ἄλλα, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ καλὰ καθ᾽ αὑτὰ πεφυκέναι καί τινας 51d ἡδονὰς οἰκείας ἔχειν, οὐδὲν ταῖς τῶν κνήσεων προσφερεῖς: καὶ χρώματα δὴ τοῦτον τὸν τύπον ἔχοντα [καλὰ καὶ ἡδονάς] ἀλλ᾽ ἆρα μανθάνομεν, ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: πειρῶμαι μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες: πειράθητι δὲ καὶ σὺ σαφέστερον ἔτι λέγειν.

Σωκράτης: λέγω δὴ ἠχὰς τῶν φθόγγων τὰς λείας καὶ λαμπράς, τὰς ἕν τι καθαρὸν ἱείσας μέλος, οὐ πρὸς ἕτερον καλὰς ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὰς καθ᾽ αὑτὰς εἶναι, καὶ τούτων συμφύτους ἡδονὰς ἑπομένας.

Πρώταρχος: ἔστι γὰρ οὖν καὶ τοῦτο. 51e

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὲ περὶ τὰς ὀσμὰς ἧττον μὲν τούτων θεῖον γένος ἡδονῶν: τὸ δὲ μὴ συμμεμεῖχθαι ἐν αὐταῖς ἀναγκαίους λύπας, καὶ ὅπῃ τοῦτο καὶ ἐν ὅτῳ τυγχάνει γεγονὸς ἡμῖν, τοῦτ᾽ ἐκείνοις τίθημι ἀντίστροφον ἅπαν. ἀλλ᾽, εἰ κατανοεῖς, ταῦτα εἴδη δύο <ὧν> λέγομεν ἡδονῶν.

Πρώταρχος: κατανοῶ.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι δὴ τοίνυν τούτοις προσθῶμεν τὰς περὶ τὰ 52a μαθήματα ἡδονάς, εἰ ἄρα δοκοῦσιν ἡμῖν αὗται πείνας μὲν μὴ ἔχειν τοῦ μανθάνειν μηδὲ διὰ μαθημάτων πείνην ἀλγηδόνας ἐξ ἀρχῆς γιγνομένας.

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω συνδοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; μαθημάτων πληρωθεῖσιν ἐὰν ὕστερον ἀποβολαὶ διὰ τῆς λήθης γίγνωνται, καθορᾷς τινας ἐν αὐταῖς ἀλγηδόνας;

Πρώταρχος: οὔ τι φύσει γε, ἀλλ᾽ ἔν τισι λογισμοῖς τοῦ 52b παθήματος, ὅταν τις στερηθεὶς λυπηθῇ διὰ τὴν χρείαν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μήν, ὦ μακάριε, νῦν γε ἡμεῖς αὐτὰ τὰ τῆς φύσεως μόνον παθήματα χωρὶς τοῦ λογισμοῦ διαπεραίνομεν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθῆ τοίνυν λέγεις ὅτι χωρὶς λύπης ἡμῖν λήθη γίγνεται ἑκάστοτε ἐν τοῖς μαθήμασιν.

Σωκράτης: ταύτας τοίνυν τὰς τῶν μαθημάτων ἡδονὰς ἀμείκτους τε εἶναι λύπαις ῥητέον καὶ οὐδαμῶς τῶν πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀλλὰ τῶν σφόδρα ὀλίγων.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὐ ῥητέον; 52c

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὅτε μετρίως ἤδη διακεκρίμεθα χωρὶς τάς τε καθαρὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ τὰς σχεδὸν ἀκαθάρτους ὀρθῶς ἂν λεχθείσας, προσθῶμεν τῷ λόγῳ ταῖς μὲν σφοδραῖς ἡδοναῖς ἀμετρίαν, ταῖς δὲ μὴ τοὐναντίον ἐμμετρίαν: καὶ <τὰς> τὸ μέγα καὶ τὸ σφοδρὸν αὖ <δεχομένας>, καὶ πολλάκις καὶ ὀλιγάκις γιγνομένας τοιαύτας, τῆς τοῦ ἀπείρου γε ἐκείνου καὶ ἧττον καὶ μᾶλλον διά τε σώματος καὶ ψυχῆς φερομένου 52d [προς]θῶμεν αὐτὰς εἶναι γένους, τὰς δὲ μὴ τῶν ἐμμέτρων.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ἔτι τοίνυν πρὸς τούτοις μετὰ ταῦτα τόδε αὐτῶν διαθεατέον.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: τί ποτε χρὴ φάναι πρὸς ἀλήθειαν εἶναι; τὸ καθαρόν τε καὶ εἰλικρινὲς ἢ τὸ σφόδρα τε καὶ τὸ πολὺ καὶ τὸ μέγα καὶ τὸ ἰταμόν;

Πρώταρχος: τί ποτ᾽ ἄρα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐρωτᾷς βουλόμενος;

Σωκράτης: μηδέν, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἐπιλείπειν ἐλέγχων ἡδονῆς 52e τε καὶ ἐπιστήμης, εἰ τὸ μὲν ἄρ᾽ αὐτῶν ἑκατέρου καθαρόν ἐστι, τὸ δ᾽ οὐ καθαρόν, ἵνα καθαρὸν ἑκάτερον ἰὸν εἰς τὴν κρίσιν ἐμοὶ καὶ σοὶ καὶ συνάπασι τοῖσδε ῥᾴω παρέχῃ τὴν κρίσιν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή, περὶ πάντων, ὅσα καθαρὰ γένη λέγομεν, οὑτωσὶ διανοηθῶμεν: προελόμενοι πρῶτον αὐτῶν ἕν τι σκοπῶμεν. 53a

Πρώταρχος: τί οὖν προελώμεθα;

Σωκράτης: τὸ λευκὸν ἐν τοῖς πρῶτον, εἰ βούλει, θεασώμεθα γένος.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: πῶς οὖν ἂν λευκοῦ καὶ τίς καθαρότης ἡμῖν εἴη; πότερα τὸ μέγιστόν τε καὶ πλεῖστον ἢ τὸ ἀκρατέστατον, ἐν ᾧ χρώματος μηδεμία μοῖρα ἄλλη μηδενὸς ἐνείη;

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον ὅτι τὸ μάλιστ᾽ εἰλικρινὲς ὄν.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς. ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τοῦτο ἀληθέστατον, ὦ Πρώταρχε, 53b καὶ ἅμα δὴ κάλλιστον τῶν λευκῶν πάντων θήσομεν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὸ πλεῖστον οὐδὲ τὸ μέγιστον;

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατά γε.

Σωκράτης: σμικρὸν ἄρα καθαρὸν λευκὸν μεμειγμένου πολλοῦ λευκοῦ λευκότερον ἅμα καὶ κάλλιον καὶ ἀληθέστερον ἐὰν φῶμεν γίγνεσθαι, παντάπασιν ἐροῦμεν ὀρθῶς.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; οὐ δήπου πολλῶν δεησόμεθα παραδειγμάτων τοιούτων ἐπὶ τὸν τῆς ἡδονῆς πέρι λόγον, ἀλλ᾽ ἀρκεῖ νοεῖν ἡμῖν αὐτόθεν ὡς ἄρα καὶ σύμπασα ἡδονὴ σμικρὰ 53c μεγάλης καὶ ὀλίγη πολλῆς, καθαρὰ λύπης, ἡδίων καὶ ἀληθεστέρα καὶ καλλίων γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν.

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα μὲν οὖν, καὶ τό γε παράδειγμα ἱκανόν.

Σωκράτης: τί δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε; ἆρα περὶ ἡδονῆς οὐκ ἀκηκόαμεν ὡς ἀεὶ γένεσίς ἐστιν, οὐσία δὲ οὐκ ἔστι τὸ παράπαν ἡδονῆς; κομψοὶ γὰρ δή τινες αὖ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἐπιχειροῦσι μηνύειν ἡμῖν, οἷς δεῖ χάριν ἔχειν.

Πρώταρχος: τί δή;

Σωκράτης: διαπερανοῦμαί σοι τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ἐπανερωτῶν, ὦ 53d Πρώταρχε φίλε.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε καὶ ἐρώτα μόνον.

Σωκράτης: ἐστὸν δή τινε δύο, τὸ μὲν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτό, τὸ δ᾽ ἀεὶ ἐφιέμενον ἄλλου.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς τούτω καὶ τίνε λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: τὸ μὲν σεμνότατον ἀεὶ πεφυκός, τὸ δ᾽ ἐλλιπὲς ἐκείνου.

Πρώταρχος: λέγ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον.

Σωκράτης: παιδικά που καλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ τεθεωρήκαμεν ἅμα καὶ ἐραστὰς ἀνδρείους αὐτῶν.

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε.

Σωκράτης: τούτοις τοίνυν ἐοικότα δυοῖν οὖσι δύο ἄλλα ζήτει 53e κατὰ πάνθ᾽ ὅσα λέγομεν εἶναι.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ τρίτον ἔτ᾽ ἐρῶ; λέγε σαφέστερον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐδέν τι ποικίλον, ὦ Πρώταρχε: ἀλλ᾽ ὁ λόγος ἐρεσχηλεῖ νῷν, λέγει δ᾽ ὅτι τὸ μὲν ἕνεκά του τῶν ὄντων ἔστ᾽ ἀεί, τὸ δ᾽ οὗ χάριν ἑκάστοτε τὸ τινὸς ἕνεκα γιγνόμενον ἀεὶ γίγνεται.

Πρώταρχος: μόγις ἔμαθον διὰ τὸ πολλάκις λεχθῆναι.

Σωκράτης: τάχα δ᾽ ἴσως, ὦ παῖ, μᾶλλον μαθησόμεθα προελθόντος 54a τοῦ λόγου.

Πρώταρχος: τί γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: δύο δὴ τάδε ἕτερα λάβωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: ποῖα;

Σωκράτης: ἓν μέν τι γένεσιν πάντων, τὴν δὲ οὐσίαν ἕτερον ἕν.

Πρώταρχος: δύο ἀποδέχομαί σου ταῦτα, οὐσίαν καὶ γένεσιν.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθότατα. πότερον οὖν τούτων ἕνεκα ποτέρου, τὴν γένεσιν οὐσίας ἕνεκα φῶμεν ἢ τὴν οὐσίαν εἶναι γενέσεως ἕνεκα;

Πρώταρχος: τοῦτο ὃ προσαγορεύεται οὐσία εἰ γενέσεως ἕνεκα τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὅπερ ἐστί, νῦν πυνθάνῃ;

Σωκράτης: φαίνομαι. 54b

Πρώταρχος: πρὸς θεῶν ἆρ᾽ [ἂν] ἐπανερωτᾷς με τοιόνδε τι; λέγ᾽, ὦ Πρώταρχε, μοί, πότερα πλοίων ναυπηγίαν ἕνεκα φῂς γίγνεσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ πλοῖα ἕνεκα ναυπηγίας, καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα τοιαῦτ᾽ ἐστίν;

Σωκράτης: λέγω τοῦτ᾽ αὐτό, ὦ Πρώταρχε.

Πρώταρχος: τί οὖν οὐκ αὐτὸς ἀπεκρίνω σαυτῷ, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: οὐδὲν ὅτι οὔ: σὺ μέντοι τοῦ λόγου συμμέτεχε.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν. 54c

Σωκράτης: φημὶ δὴ γενέσεως μὲν ἕνεκα φάρμακά τε καὶ πάντα ὄργανα καὶ πᾶσαν ὕλην παρατίθεσθαι πᾶσιν, ἑκάστην δὲ γένεσιν ἄλλην ἄλλης οὐσίας τινὸς ἑκάστης ἕνεκα γίγνεσθαι, σύμπασαν δὲ γένεσιν οὐσίας ἕνεκα γίγνεσθαι συμπάσης.

Πρώταρχος: σαφέστατα μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἡδονή γε, εἴπερ γένεσίς ἐστιν, ἕνεκά τινος οὐσίας ἐξ ἀνάγκης γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: τό γε μὴν οὗ ἕνεκα τὸ ἕνεκά του γιγνόμενον ἀεὶ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, ἐν τῇ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ μοίρᾳ ἐκεῖνό ἐστι: τὸ δὲ τινὸς ἕνεκα γιγνόμενον εἰς ἄλλην, ὦ ἄριστε, μοῖραν θετέον.

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαιότατον. 54d

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἡδονή γε εἴπερ γένεσίς ἐστιν, εἰς ἄλλην ἢ τὴν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ μοῖραν αὐτὴν τιθέντες ὀρθῶς θήσομεν;

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὅπερ ἀρχόμενος εἶπον τούτου τοῦ λόγου, τῷ μηνύσαντι τῆς ἡδονῆς πέρι τὸ γένεσιν μέν, οὐσίαν δὲ μηδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν αὐτῆς εἶναι, χάριν ἔχειν δεῖ: δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι οὗτος τῶν φασκόντων ἡδονὴν ἀγαθὸν εἶναι καταγελᾷ.

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα γε. 54e

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν αὑτὸς οὗτος ἑκάστοτε καὶ τῶν ἐν ταῖς γενέσεσιν ἀποτελουμένων καταγελάσεται.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δὴ καὶ ποίων λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: τῶν ὅσοι ἐξιώμενοι ἢ πείνην ἢ δίψαν ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων, ὅσα γένεσις ἐξιᾶται, χαίρουσι διὰ τὴν γένεσιν ἅτε ἡδονῆς οὔσης αὐτῆς, καί φασι ζῆν οὐκ ἂν δέξασθαι μὴ διψῶντές τε καὶ πεινῶντες καὶ τἆλλα ἅ τις ἂν εἴποι πάντα τὰ ἑπόμενα τοῖς τοιούτοις παθήμασι μὴ πάσχοντες. 55a

Πρώταρχος: ἐοίκασι γοῦν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τῷ γίγνεσθαί γε τοὐναντίον ἅπαντες τὸ φθείρεσθαι φαῖμεν ἄν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον.

Σωκράτης: τὴν δὴ φθορὰν καὶ γένεσιν αἱροῖτ᾽ ἄν τις τοῦθ᾽ αἱρούμενος, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὸν τρίτον ἐκεῖνον βίον, τὸν ἐν ᾧ μήτε χαίρειν μήτε λυπεῖσθαι, φρονεῖν δ᾽ ἦν {{π|δυνατὸν] ὡς οἷόν τε καθαρώτατα.

Πρώταρχος: πολλή τις, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλογία συμβαίνει γίγνεσθαι, ἐάν τις τὴν ἡδονὴν ὡς ἀγαθὸν ἡμῖν τιθῆται.

Σωκράτης: πολλή, ἐπεὶ καὶ τῇδε ἔτι λέγωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: πῇ; 55b

Σωκράτης: πῶς οὐκ ἄλογόν ἐστι μηδὲν ἀγαθὸν εἶναι μηδὲ καλὸν μήτε ἐν σώμασι μήτ᾽ ἐν πολλοῖς ἄλλοις πλὴν ἐν ψυχῇ, καὶ ἐνταῦθα ἡδονὴν μόνον, ἀνδρείαν δὲ ἢ σωφροσύνην ἢ νοῦν ἤ τι τῶν ἄλλων ὅσα ἀγαθὰ εἴληχε ψυχή, μηδὲν τοιοῦτον εἶναι; πρὸς τούτοις δὲ ἔτι τὸν μὴ χαίροντα, ἀλγοῦντα δέ, ἀναγκάζεσθαι φάναι κακὸν εἶναι τότε ὅταν ἀλγῇ, κἂν ᾖ ἄριστος πάντων, καὶ τὸν χαίροντα αὖ, ὅσῳ μᾶλλον χαίρει, 55c τότε ὅταν χαίρῃ, τοσούτῳ διαφέρειν πρὸς ἀρετήν.

Πρώταρχος: πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ ταῦτα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς δυνατὸν ἀλογώτατα.

Σωκράτης: μὴ τοίνυν ἡδονῆς μὲν πάντως ἐξέτασιν πᾶσαν ἐπιχειρῶμεν ποιήσασθαι, νοῦ δὲ καὶ ἐπιστήμης οἷον φειδόμενοι σφόδρα φανῶμεν: γενναίως δέ, εἴ πῄ τι σαθρὸν ἔχει, πᾶν περικρούωμεν, ὡς ὅτι καθαρώτατόν ἐστ᾽ αὐτῶν φύσει, τοῦτο κατιδόντες εἰς τὴν κρίσιν χρώμεθα τὴν κοινὴν τοῖς τε τούτων καὶ τοῖς τῆς ἡδονῆς μέρεσιν ἀληθεστάτοις.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς. 55d

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἡμῖν τὸ μὲν οἶμαι δημιουργικόν ἐστι τῆς περὶ τὰ μαθήματα ἐπιστήμης, τὸ δὲ περὶ παιδείαν καὶ τροφήν. ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ἐν δὴ ταῖς χειροτεχνικαῖς διανοηθῶμεν πρῶτα εἰ τὸ μὲν ἐπιστήμης αὐτῶν μᾶλλον ἐχόμενον, τὸ δ᾽ ἧττον ἔνι, καὶ δεῖ τὰ μὲν ὡς καθαρώτατα νομίζειν, τὰ δ᾽ ὡς ἀκαθαρτότερα.

Πρώταρχος: οὐκοῦν χρή.

Σωκράτης: τὰς τοίνυν ἡγεμονικὰς διαληπτέον ἑκάστων αὐτῶν χωρίς;

Πρώταρχος: ποίας καὶ πῶς; 55e

Σωκράτης: οἷον πασῶν που τεχνῶν ἄν τις ἀριθμητικὴν χωρίζῃ καὶ μετρητικὴν καὶ στατικήν, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν φαῦλον τὸ καταλειπόμενον ἑκάστης ἂν γίγνοιτο.

Πρώταρχος: φαῦλον μὲν δή.

Σωκράτης: τὸ γοῦν μετὰ ταῦτ᾽ εἰκάζειν λείποιτ᾽ ἂν καὶ τὰς αἰσθήσεις καταμελετᾶν ἐμπειρίᾳ καί τινι τριβῇ, ταῖς τῆς στοχαστικῆς προσχρωμένους δυνάμεσιν ἃς πολλοὶ τέχνας 56a ἐπονομάζουσι, μελέτῃ καὶ πόνῳ τὴν ῥώμην ἀπειργασμένας.

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαιότατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν μεστὴ μέν που μουσικὴ πρῶτον, τὸ σύμφωνον ἁρμόττουσα οὐ μέτρῳ ἀλλὰ μελέτης στοχασμῷ, καὶ σύμπασα αὐτῆς αὐλητική, τὸ μέτρον ἑκάστης χορδῆς τῷ στοχάζεσθαι φερομένης θηρεύουσα, ὥστε πολὺ μεμειγμένον ἔχειν τὸ μὴ σαφές, σμικρὸν δὲ τὸ βέβαιον.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα. 56b

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἰατρικήν τε καὶ γεωργίαν καὶ κυβερνητικὴν καὶ στρατηγικὴν ὡσαύτως εὑρήσομεν ἐχούσας.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: τεκτονικὴν δέ γε οἶμαι πλείστοις μέτροις τε καὶ ὀργάνοις χρωμένην τὰ πολλὴν ἀκρίβειαν αὐτῇ πορίζοντα τεχνικωτέραν τῶν πολλῶν ἐπιστημῶν παρέχεται.

Πρώταρχος: πῇ;

Σωκράτης: κατά τε ναυπηγίαν καὶ κατ᾽ οἰκοδομίαν καὶ ἐν πολλοῖς ἄλλοις τῆς ξυλουργικῆς. κανόνι γὰρ οἶμαι καὶ 56c τόρνῳ χρῆται καὶ διαβήτῃ καὶ στάθμῃ καί τινι προσαγωγίῳ κεκομψευμένῳ.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πάνυ γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: θῶμεν τοίνυν διχῇ τὰς λεγομένας τέχνας, τὰς μὲν μουσικῇ συνεπομένας ἐν τοῖς ἔργοις ἐλάττονος ἀκριβείας μετισχούσας, τὰς δὲ τεκτονικῇ πλείονος.

Πρώταρχος: κείσθω.

Σωκράτης: τούτων δὲ ταύτας ἀκριβεστάτας εἶναι τέχνας, ἃς νυνδὴ πρώτας εἴπομεν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀριθμητικὴν φαίνῃ μοι λέγειν καὶ ὅσας μετὰ ταύτης τέχνας ἐφθέγξω νυνδή. 56d

Σωκράτης: πάνυ μὲν οὖν. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἆρ᾽ οὐ διττὰς αὖ καὶ ταύτας λεκτέον; ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: ποίας δὴ λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ἀριθμητικὴν πρῶτον ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἄλλην μέν τινα τὴν τῶν πολλῶν φατέον, ἄλλην δ᾽ αὖ τὴν τῶν φιλοσοφούντων;

Πρώταρχος: πῇ ποτε διορισάμενος οὖν ἄλλην, τὴν δὲ ἄλλην θείη τις ἂν ἀριθμητικήν;

Σωκράτης: οὐ σμικρὸς ὅρος, ὦ Πρώταρχε. οἱ μὲν γάρ που μονάδας ἀνίσους καταριθμοῦνται τῶν περὶ ἀριθμόν, οἷον στρατόπεδα δύο καὶ βοῦς δύο καὶ δύο τὰ σμικρότατα ἢ καὶ 56e τὰ πάντων μέγιστα: οἱ δ᾽ οὐκ ἄν ποτε αὐτοῖς συνακολουθήσειαν, εἰ μὴ μονάδα μονάδος ἑκάστης τῶν μυρίων μηδεμίαν ἄλλην ἄλλης διαφέρουσάν τις θήσει.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα εὖ λέγεις οὐ σμικρὰν διαφορὰν τῶν περὶ ἀριθμὸν τευταζόντων, ὥστε λόγον ἔχειν δύ᾽ αὐτὰς εἶναι.

Σωκράτης: τί δέ; λογιστικὴ καὶ μετρητικὴ <ἡ> κατὰ τεκτονικὴν καὶ κατ᾽ ἐμπορικὴν τῆς κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν γεωμετρίας τε καὶ 57a λογισμῶν καταμελετωμένωνπότερον ὡς μία ἑκατέρα λεκτέον ἢ δύο τιθῶμεν;

Πρώταρχος: τῇ πρόσθεν ἑπόμενος ἔγωγ᾽ ἂν δύο κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν ψῆφον τιθείην ἑκατέραν τούτων.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς. οὗ δ᾽ ἕνεκα ταῦτα προηνεγκάμεθα εἰς τὸ μέσον, ἆρα ἐννοεῖς;

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως, ἀλλὰ σὲ βουλοίμην ἂν ἀποφήνασθαι τὸ νῦν ἐρωτώμενον.

Σωκράτης: δοκεῖ τοίνυν ἔμοιγε οὗτος ὁ λόγος, οὐχ ἧττον ἢ ὅτε λέγειν αὐτὸν ἠρχόμεθα, ταῖς ἡδοναῖς ζητῶν ἀντίστροφον ἐνταῦθα προβεβληκέναι σκοπῶν ἆρά ἐστί τις ἑτέρας 57b ἄλλη καθαρωτέρα ἐπιστήμης ἐπιστήμη, καθάπερ ἡδονῆς ἡδονή.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα σαφὲς τοῦτό γε, ὅτι ταῦθ᾽ ἕνεκα τούτων ἐπικεχείρηκεν.

Σωκράτης: τί οὖν; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐν μὲν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἐπ᾽ ἄλλοις ἄλλην τέχνην οὖσαν ἀνηυρήκειν σαφεστέραν καὶ ἀσαφεστέραν ἄλλην ἄλλης;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἐν τούτοις δὲ ἆρ᾽ οὔ τινα τέχνην ὡς ὁμώνυμον φθεγξάμενος, εἰς δόξαν καταστήσας ὡς μιᾶς, πάλιν ὡς 57c δυοῖν ἐπανερωτᾷ τούτοιν αὐτοῖν τὸ σαφὲς καὶ τὸ καθαρὸν περὶ ταῦτα πότερον ἡ τῶν φιλοσοφούντων ἢ μὴ φιλοσοφούντων ἀκριβέστερον ἔχει;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα δοκεῖ μοι τοῦτο διερωτᾶν.

Σωκράτης: τίν᾽ οὖν, ὦ Πρώταρχε, αὐτῷ δίδομεν ἀπόκρισιν;

Πρώταρχος: ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰς θαυμαστὸν διαφορᾶς μέγεθος εἰς σαφήνειαν προεληλύθαμεν ἐπιστημῶν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ἀποκρινούμεθα ῥᾷον;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν; καὶ εἰρήσθω γε ὅτι πολὺ μὲν αὗται τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν διαφέρουσι, τούτων δ᾽ αὐτῶν αἱ περὶ τὴν 57d τῶν ὄντως φιλοσοφούντων ὁρμὴν ἀμήχανον ἀκριβείᾳ καὶ ἀληθείᾳ περὶ μέτρα τε καὶ ἀριθμοὺς διαφέρουσιν.

Σωκράτης: ἔστω ταῦτα κατὰ σέ, καὶ σοὶ δὴ πιστεύοντες θαρροῦντες ἀποκρινόμεθα τοῖς δεινοῖς περὶ λόγων ὁλκήν

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὡς εἰσὶ δύο ἀριθμητικαὶ καὶ δύο μετρητικαὶ καὶ ταύταις ἄλλαι τοιαῦται συνεπόμεναι συχναί, τὴν διδυμότητα ἔχουσαι ταύτην, ὀνόματος δὲ ἑνὸς κεκοινωμέναι. 57e

Πρώταρχος: διδῶμεν τύχῃ ἀγαθῇ τούτοις οὓς φῂς δεινοὺς εἶναι ταύτην τὴν ἀπόκρισιν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης: ταύτας οὖν λέγομεν ἐπιστήμας ἀκριβεῖς μάλιστ᾽ εἶναι;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ ἡμᾶς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἀναίνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἡ τοῦ διαλέγεσθαι δύναμις, εἴ τινα πρὸ αὐτῆς ἄλλην κρίναιμεν.

Πρώταρχος: τίνα δὲ ταύτην αὖ δεῖ λέγειν; 58a

Σωκράτης: δῆλον ὁτιὴ πᾶς ἂν τήν γε νῦν λεγομένην γνοίη: τὴν γὰρ περὶ τὸ ὂν καὶ τὸ ὄντως καὶ τὸ κατὰ ταὐτὸν ἀεὶ πεφυκὸς πάντως ἔγωγε οἶμαι ἡγεῖσθαι σύμπαντας ὅσοις νοῦ καὶ σμικρὸν προσήρτηται μακρῷ ἀληθεστάτην εἶναι γνῶσιν. σὺ δὲ τί; πῶς τοῦτο, ὦ Πρώταρχε, διακρίνοις ἄν;

Πρώταρχος: ἤκουον μὲν ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἑκάστοτε Γοργίου πολλάκις ὡς ἡ τοῦ πείθειν πολὺ διαφέροι πασῶν τεχνῶν 58b πάντα γὰρ ὑφ᾽ αὑτῇ δοῦλα δι᾽ ἑκόντων ἀλλ᾽ οὐ διὰ βίας ποιοῖτο, καὶ μακρῷ ἀρίστη πασῶν εἴη τῶν τεχνῶννῦν δ᾽ οὔτε σοὶ οὔτε δὴ ἐκείνῳ βουλοίμην ἂν ἐναντία τίθεσθαι.

Σωκράτης: τὰ ὅπλα μοι δοκεῖς βουληθεὶς εἰπεῖν αἰσχυνθεὶς ἀπολιπεῖν.

Πρώταρχος: ἔστω νῦν ταῦτα ταύτῃ ὅπῃ σοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν αἴτιος ἐγὼ τοῦ μὴ καλῶς ὑπολαβεῖν σε;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: οὐκ, ὦ φίλε Πρώταρχε, τοῦτο ἔγωγε ἐζήτουν πω, 58c τίς τέχνη ἢ τίς ἐπιστήμη πασῶν διαφέρει τῷ μεγίστη καὶ ἀρίστη καὶ πλεῖστα ὠφελοῦσα ἡμᾶς, ἀλλὰ τίς ποτε τὸ σαφὲς καὶ τἀκριβὲς καὶ τὸ ἀληθέστατον ἐπισκοπεῖ, κἂν εἰ σμικρὰ καὶ σμικρὰ ὀνινᾶσα, τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ὃ νῦν δὴ ζητοῦμεν. ἀλλ᾽ ὅραοὐδὲ γὰρ ἀπεχθήσῃ Γοργίᾳ, τῇ μὲν ἐκείνου ὑπάρχειν τέχνῃ διδοὺς πρὸς χρείαν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις κρατεῖν, ᾗ δ᾽ εἶπον ἐγὼ νῦν πραγματείᾳ, καθάπερ τοῦ λευκοῦ πέρι τότε ἔλεγον, κἂν εἰ σμικρόν, καθαρὸν δ᾽ εἴη, τοῦ πολλοῦ 58d καὶ μὴ τοιούτου διαφέρειν, τούτῳ γ᾽ αὐτῷ τῷ ἀληθεστάτῳ, καὶ νῦν δὴ σφόδρα διανοηθέντες καὶ ἱκανῶς διαλογισάμενοι, μήτ᾽ εἴς τινας ὠφελίας ἐπιστημῶν βλέψαντες μήτε τινὰς εὐδοκιμίας, ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τις πέφυκε τῆς ψυχῆς ἡμῶν δύναμις ἐρᾶν τε τοῦ ἀληθοῦς καὶ πάντα ἕνεκα τούτου πράττειν, ταύτην εἴπωμεν διεξερευνησάμενοιτὸ καθαρὸν νοῦ τε καὶ φρονήσεως εἰ ταύτην μάλιστα ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων ἐκτῆσθαι φαῖμεν ἂν ἤ τινα ἑτέραν ταύτης κυριωτέραν ἡμῖν ζητητέον. 58e

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλὰ σκοπῶ, καὶ χαλεπὸν οἶμαι συγχωρῆσαί τινα ἄλλην ἐπιστήμην ἢ τέχνην τῆς ἀληθείας ἀντέχεσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ ταύτην.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐννοήσας τὸ τοιόνδε εἴρηκας ὃ λέγεις νῦν, ὡς αἱ πολλαὶ τέχναι, καὶ ὅσοι περὶ ταῦτα πεπόνηνται, 59a πρῶτον μὲν δόξαις χρῶνται καὶ τὰ περὶ δόξαν ζητοῦσι συντεταμένως; εἴ τε καὶ περὶ φύσεως ἡγεῖταί τις ζητεῖν, οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι τὰ περὶ τὸν κόσμον τόνδε, ὅπῃ τε γέγονεν καὶ ὅπῃ πάσχει τι καὶ ὅπῃ ποιεῖ, ταῦτα ζητεῖ διὰ βίου; φαῖμεν ἂν ταῦτα, ἢ πῶς;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν οὐ περὶ τὰ ὄντα ἀεί, περὶ δὲ τὰ γιγνόμενα καὶ γενησόμενα καὶ γεγονότα ἡμῶν ὁ τοιοῦτος ἀνῄρηται τὸν πόνον;

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: τούτων οὖν τι σαφὲς ἂν φαῖμεν τῇ ἀκριβεστάτῃ 59b ἀληθείᾳ γίγνεσθαι, ὧν μήτε ἔσχε μηδὲν πώποτε κατὰ ταὐτὰ μήθ᾽ ἕξει μήτε εἰς τὸ νῦν παρὸν ἔχει;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πῶς;

Σωκράτης: περὶ οὖν τὰ μὴ κεκτημένα βεβαιότητα μηδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν πῶς ἄν ποτε βέβαιον γίγνοιθ᾽ ἡμῖν καὶ ὁτιοῦν;

Πρώταρχος: οἶμαι μὲν οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης: οὐδ᾽ ἄρα νοῦς οὐδέ τις ἐπιστήμη περὶ αὐτά ἐστιν τὸ ἀληθέστατον ἔχουσα.

Πρώταρχος: οὔκουν εἰκός γε.

Σωκράτης: τὸν μὲν δὴ σὲ καὶ ἐμὲ καὶ Γοργίαν καὶ Φίληβον χρὴ συχνὰ χαίρειν ἐᾶν, τόδε δὲ διαμαρτύρασθαι τῷ λόγῳ. 59c

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὡς ἢ περὶ ἐκεῖνα ἔσθ᾽ ἡμῖν τό τε βέβαιον καὶ τὸ καθαρὸν καὶ ἀληθὲς καὶ ὃ δὴ λέγομεν εἰλικρινές, περὶ τὰ ἀεὶ κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ ὡσαύτως ἀμεικτότατα ἔχοντα, ἢ {{π|δεύτερος] ἐκείνων ὅτι μάλιστά ἐστι συγγενές: τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα πάντα δεύτερά τε καὶ ὕστερα λεκτέον.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: τὰ δὴ τῶν ὀνομάτων περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα κάλλιστα ἆρ᾽ οὐ τοῖς καλλίστοις δικαιότατον ἀπονέμειν;

Πρώταρχος: εἰκός γε. 59d

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν νοῦς ἐστι καὶ φρόνησις ἅ γ᾽ ἄν τις τιμήσειε μάλιστα ὀνόματα;

Πρώταρχος: ναί.

Σωκράτης: ταῦτ᾽ ἄρα ἐν ταῖς περὶ τὸ ὂν ὄντως ἐννοίαις ἐστὶν ἀπηκριβωμένα ὀρθῶς κείμενα καλεῖσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἅ γε εἰς τὴν κρίσιν ἐγὼ τότε παρεσχόμην οὐκ ἄλλ᾽ ἐστὶν ἢ ταῦτα τὰ ὀνόματα.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης: εἶεν. τὸ μὲν δὴ φρονήσεώς τε καὶ ἡδονῆς πέρι 59e πρὸς τὴν ἀλλήλων μεῖξιν εἴ τις φαίη καθαπερεὶ δημιουργοῖς ἡμῖν ἐξ ὧν ἢ ἐν οἷς δεῖ δημιουργεῖν τι παρακεῖσθαι, καλῶς ἂν τῷ λόγῳ ἀπεικάζοι.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ μάλα.

Σωκράτης: τὸ δὴ μετὰ ταῦτα ἆρ᾽ οὐ μειγνύναι ἐπιχειρητέον;

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τάδε προειποῦσι καὶ ἀναμνήσασιν ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς ὀρθότερον ἂν ἔχοι;

Πρώταρχος: τὰ ποῖα;

Σωκράτης: ἃ καὶ πρότερον ἐμνήσθημεν: εὖ δ᾽ ἡ παροιμία 60a δοκεῖ ἔχειν, τὸ καὶ δὶς καὶ τρὶς τό γε καλῶς ἔχον ἐπαναπολεῖν τῷ λόγῳ δεῖν.

Πρώταρχος: τί μήν;

Σωκράτης: φέρε δὴ πρὸς Διός: οἶμαι γὰρ οὑτωσί πως τὰ τότε λεχθέντα ῥηθῆναι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς;

Σωκράτης: Φίληβός φησι τὴν ἡδονὴν σκοπὸν ὀρθὸν πᾶσι ζῴοις γεγονέναι καὶ δεῖν πάντας τούτου στοχάζεσθαι, καὶ δὴ καὶ τἀγαθὸν τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ εἶναι σύμπασι, καὶ δύο ὀνόματα, ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἡδύ, ἑνί τινι καὶ φύσει μιᾷ τούτω ὀρθῶς 60b τεθέντ᾽ ἔχειν: Σωκράτης δ᾽ ἓν μὲν οὔ φησι τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι, δύο δὲ καθάπερ τὰ ὀνόματα, καὶ τό τε ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἡδὺ διάφορον ἀλλήλων φύσιν ἔχειν, μᾶλλον δὲ μέτοχον εἶναι τῆς τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ μοίρας τὴν φρόνησιν ἢ τὴν ἡδονήν. οὐ ταῦτ᾽ ἔστιν τε καὶ ἦν τὰ τότε λεγόμενα, ὦ Πρώταρχε;

Πρώταρχος: σφόδρα μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ τόδε καὶ τότε καὶ νῦν ἡμῖν ἂν συνομολογοῖτο;

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: τὴν τἀγαθοῦ διαφέρειν φύσιν τῷδε τῶν ἄλλων. 60c

Πρώταρχος: τίνι;

Σωκράτης: ὧι παρείη τοῦτ᾽ ἀεὶ τῶν ζῴων διὰ τέλους πάντως καὶ πάντῃ, μηδενὸς ἑτέρου ποτὲ ἔτι προσδεῖσθαι, τὸ δὲ ἱκανὸν τελεώτατον ἔχειν. οὐχ οὕτως;

Πρώταρχος: οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τῷ λόγῳ ἐπειράθημεν χωρὶς ἑκάτερον ἑκατέρου θέντες εἰς τὸν βίον ἑκάστων, ἄμεικτον μὲν ἡδονὴν φρονήσει, φρόνησιν δὲ ὡσαύτως ἡδονῆς μηδὲ τὸ σμικρότατον ἔχουσαν;

Πρώταρχος: ἦν ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: μῶν οὖν ἡμῖν αὐτῶν τότε πότερον ἱκανὸν ἔδοξεν 60d εἶναί τῳ;

Πρώταρχος: καὶ πῶς;

Σωκράτης: εἰ δέ γε παρηνέχθημέν τι τότε, νῦν ὁστισοῦν ἐπαναλαβὼν ὀρθότερον εἰπάτω, μνήμην καὶ φρόνησιν καὶ ἐπιστήμην καὶ ἀληθῆ δόξαν τῆς αὐτῆς ἰδέας τιθέμενος καὶ σκοπῶν εἴ τις ἄνευ τούτων δέξαιτ᾽ ἄν οἱ καὶ ὁτιοῦν εἶναι ἢ καὶ γίγνεσθαι, μὴ ὅτι δή γε ἡδονὴν εἴθ᾽ ὡς πλείστην εἴθ᾽ ὡς σφοδροτάτην, ἣν μήτε ἀληθῶς δοξάζοι χαίρειν μήτε τὸ παράπαν γιγνώσκοι τί ποτε πέπονθε πάθος μήτ᾽ αὖ 60e μνήμην τοῦ πάθους μηδ᾽ ὁντινοῦν χρόνον ἔχοι. ταὐτὰ δὲ λεγέτω καὶ περὶ φρονήσεως, εἴ τις ἄνευ πάσης ἡδονῆς καὶ τῆς βραχυτάτης δέξαιτ᾽ ἂν φρόνησιν ἔχειν μᾶλλον ἢ μετά τινων ἡδονῶν ἢ πάσας ἡδονὰς χωρὶς φρονήσεως μᾶλλον ἢ μετὰ φρονήσεως αὖ τινος.

Πρώταρχος: οὐκ ἔστιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν δεῖ ταῦτά γε πολλάκις ἐπερωτᾶν. 61a

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τό γε τέλεον καὶ πᾶσιν αἱρετὸν καὶ τὸ παντάπασιν ἀγαθὸν οὐδέτερον ἂν τούτων εἴη;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: τὸ τοίνυν ἀγαθὸν ἤτοι σαφῶς ἢ καί τινα τύπον αὐτοῦ ληπτέον, ἵν᾽, ὅπερ ἐλέγομεν, δευτερεῖα ὅτῳ δώσομεν ἔχωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν ὁδὸν μέν τινα ἐπὶ τἀγαθὸν εἰλήφαμεν;

Πρώταρχος: τίνα;

Σωκράτης: καθάπερ εἴ τίς τινα ἄνθρωπον ζητῶν τὴν οἴκησιν 61b πρῶτον ὀρθῶς ἵν᾽ οἰκεῖ πύθοιτο αὐτοῦ, μέγα τι δήπου πρὸς τὴν εὕρεσιν ἂν ἔχοι τοῦ ζητουμένου.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ νῦν δή τις λόγος ἐμήνυσεν ἡμῖν, ὥσπερ καὶ κατ᾽ ἀρχάς, μὴ ζητεῖν ἐν τῷ ἀμείκτῳ βίῳ τἀγαθὸν ἀλλ᾽ ἐν τῷ μεικτῷ.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης: ἐλπὶς μὴν πλείων ἐν τῷ μειχθέντι καλῶς τὸ ζητούμενον ἔσεσθαι φανερώτερον ἢ ἐν τῷ μή;

Πρώταρχος: πολύ γε.

Σωκράτης: τοῖς δὴ θεοῖς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, εὐχόμενοι κεραννύωμεν, 61c εἴτε Διόνυσος εἴτε Ἥφαιστος εἴθ᾽ ὅστις θεῶν ταύτην τὴν τιμὴν εἴληχε τῆς συγκράσεως.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καθάπερ ἡμῖν οἰνοχόοις τισὶ παρεστᾶσι κρῆναιμέλιτος μὲν ἂν ἀπεικάζοι τις τὴν τῆς ἡδονῆς, τὴν δὲ τῆς φρονήσεως νηφαντικὴν καὶ ἄοινον αὐστηροῦ καὶ ὑγιεινοῦ τινος ὕδατοςἃς προθυμητέον ὡς κάλλιστα συμμειγνύναι.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ; 61d

Σωκράτης: φέρε δὴ πρότερον: ἆρα πᾶσαν ἡδονὴν πάσῃ φρονήσει μειγνύντες τοῦ καλῶς ἂν μάλιστα ἐπιτύχοιμεν;

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἀσφαλές. ᾗ δὲ ἀκινδυνότερον ἂν μειγνύοιμεν, δόξαν μοι δοκῶ τινα ἀποφήνασθαι ἄν.

Πρώταρχος: λέγε τίνα.

Σωκράτης: ἦν ἡμῖν ἡδονή τε ἀληθῶς, ὡς οἰόμεθα, μᾶλλον ἑτέρας ἄλλη καὶ δὴ καὶ τέχνη τέχνης ἀκριβεστέρα;

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: καὶ ἐπιστήμη δὴ ἐπιστήμης διάφορος, ἡ μὲν ἐπὶ 61e τὰ γιγνόμενα καὶ ἀπολλύμενα ἀποβλέπουσα, ἡ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τὰ μήτε γιγνόμενα μήτε ἀπολλύμενα, κατὰ ταὐτὰ δὲ καὶ ὡσαύτως ὄντα ἀεί. ταύτην εἰς τὸ ἀληθὲς ἐπισκοπούμενοι ἡγησάμεθα ἐκείνης ἀληθεστέραν εἶναι.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν ὀρθῶς.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ τἀληθέστατα τμήματα ἑκατέρας ἴδοιμεν πρῶτον συμμείξαντες, ἆρα ἱκανὰ ταῦτα συγκεκραμένα τὸν ἀγαπητότατον βίον ἀπεργασάμενα παρέχειν ἡμῖν, ἤ τινος ἔτι προσδεόμεθα καὶ τῶν μὴ τοιούτων; 62a

Πρώταρχος: ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ δρᾶν οὕτως.

Σωκράτης: ἔστω δή τις ἡμῖν φρονῶν ἄνθρωπος αὐτῆς περὶ δικαιοσύνης ὅτι ἔστιν, καὶ λόγον ἔχων ἑπόμενον τῷ νοεῖν, καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων πάντων τῶν ὄντων ὡσαύτως διανοούμενος.

Πρώταρχος: ἔστω γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὗτος ἱκανῶς ἐπιστήμης ἕξει, κύκλου μὲν καὶ σφαίρας αὐτῆς τῆς θείας τὸν λόγον ἔχων, τὴν δὲ ἀνθρωπίνην ταύτην σφαῖραν καὶ τοὺς κύκλους τούτους ἀγνοῶν, 62b καὶ χρώμενος ἐν οἰκοδομίᾳ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὁμοίως κανόσι καὶ τοῖς κύκλοις;

Πρώταρχος: γελοίαν διάθεσιν ἡμῶν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐν ταῖς θείαις οὖσαν μόνον ἐπιστήμαις λέγομεν.

Σωκράτης: πῶς φῄς; ἦ τοῦ ψευδοῦς κανόνος ἅμα καὶ τοῦ κύκλου τὴν οὐ βέβαιον οὐδὲ καθαρὰν τέχνην ἐμβλητέον κοινῇ καὶ συγκρατέον;

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον γάρ, εἰ μέλλει τις ἡμῶν καὶ τὴν ὁδὸν ἑκάστοτε ἐξευρήσειν οἴκαδε. 62c

Σωκράτης: ἦ καὶ μουσικήν, ἣν ὀλίγον ἔμπροσθεν ἔφαμεν στοχάσεώς τε καὶ μιμήσεως μεστὴν οὖσαν καθαρότητος ἐνδεῖν;

Πρώταρχος: ἀναγκαῖον φαίνεται ἔμοιγε, εἴπερ γε ἡμῶν ὁ βίος ἔσται καὶ ὁπωσοῦν ποτε βίος.

Σωκράτης: βούλει δῆτα, ὥσπερ θυρωρὸς ὑπ᾽ ὄχλου τις ὠθούμενος καὶ βιαζόμενος, ἡττηθεὶς ἀναπετάσας τὰς θύρας ἀφῶ πάσας τὰς ἐπιστήμας εἰσρεῖν καὶ μείγνυσθαι ὁμοῦ καθαρᾷ τὴν ἐνδεεστέραν; 62d

Πρώταρχος: οὔκουν ἔγωγε οἶδα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὅτι τις ἂν βλάπτοιτο πάσας λαβὼν τὰς ἄλλας ἐπιστήμας, ἔχων τὰς πρώτας.

Σωκράτης: μεθιῶ δὴ τὰς συμπάσας ῥεῖν εἰς τὴν τῆς Ὁμήρου καὶ μάλα ποιητικῆς μισγαγκείας ὑποδοχήν;

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: μεθεῖνται: καὶ πάλιν ἐπὶ τὴν τῶν ἡδονῶν πηγὴν ἰτέον. ὡς γὰρ διενοήθημεν αὐτὰς μειγνύναι, τὰ τῶν ἀληθῶν μόρια πρῶτον, οὐκ ἐξεγένεθ᾽ ἡμῖν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὸ πᾶσαν ἀγαπᾶν ἐπιστήμην εἰς ταὐτὸν μεθεῖμεν ἁθρόας καὶ πρόσθεν 62e τῶν ἡδονῶν.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης: ὥρα δὴ βουλεύεσθαι νῷν καὶ περὶ τῶν ἡδονῶν, πότερα καὶ ταύτας πάσας ἁθρόας ἀφετέον ἢ καὶ τούτων πρώτας μεθετέον ἡμῖν ὅσαι ἀληθεῖς.

Πρώταρχος: πολύ τι διαφέρει πρός γε ἀσφάλειαν πρώτας τὰς ἀληθεῖς ἀφεῖναι.

Σωκράτης: μεθείσθων δή. τί δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ εἰ μέν τινες ἀναγκαῖαι, καθάπερ ἐκεῖ, συμμεικτέον καὶ ταύτας;

Πρώταρχος: τί δ᾽ οὔ; τάς γε ἀναγκαίας δήπουθεν. 63a

Σωκράτης: εἰ δέ γε καί, καθάπερ τὰς τέχνας πάσας ἀβλαβές τε καὶ ὠφέλιμον ἦν ἐπίστασθαι διὰ βίου, καὶ νῦν δὴ ταὐτὰ λέγομεν περὶ τῶν ἡδονῶν, εἴπερ πάσας ἡδονὰς ἥδεσθαι διὰ βίου συμφέρον τε ἡμῖν ἐστι καὶ ἀβλαβὲς ἅπασι, πάσας συγκρατέον.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς οὖν δὴ περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων λέγωμεν; καὶ πῶς ποιῶμεν;

Σωκράτης: οὐχ ἡμᾶς, ὦ Πρώταρχε, διερωτᾶν χρή, τὰς ἡδονὰς δὲ αὐτὰς καὶ τὰς φρονήσεις διαπυνθανομένους τὸ τοιόνδε ἀλλήλων πέρι. 63b

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὦ φίλαι, εἴτε ἡδονὰς ὑμᾶς χρὴ προσαγορεύειν εἴτε ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν ὀνόματι, μῶν οὐκ ἂν δέξαισθε οἰκεῖν μετὰ φρονήσεως πάσης ἢ χωρὶς τοῦ φρονεῖν; οἶμαι μὲν πρὸς ταῦτα τόδ᾽ αὐτὰς ἀναγκαιότατον εἶναι λέγειν.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι καθάπερ ἔμπροσθεν ἐρρήθη, τὸ μόνον καὶ ἔρημον εἰλικρινὲς εἶναί τι γένος οὔτε πάνυ τι δυνατὸν οὔτ᾽ 63c ὠφέλιμον: πάντων γε μὴν ἡγούμεθα γενῶν ἄριστον ἓν ἀνθ᾽ ἑνὸς συνοικεῖν ἡμῖν τὸ τοῦ γιγνώσκειν τἆλλά τε πάντα καὶ {{π|αὖ τὴν] αὐτὴν ἡμῶν τελέως εἰς δύναμιν ἑκάστην.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ καλῶς γε εἰρήκατε τὰ νῦν, φήσομεν.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς. πάλιν τοίνυν μετὰ τοῦτο τὴν φρόνησιν καὶ τὸν νοῦν ἀνερωτητέον: ἆρ᾽ ἡδονῶν τι προσδεῖσθε ἐν τῇ συγκράσει; φαῖμεν ἂν αὖ τὸν νοῦν τε καὶ τὴν φρόνησιν ἀνερωτῶντες. ποίων, φαῖεν ἂν ἴσως, ἡδονῶν;

Πρώταρχος: εἰκός. 63d

Σωκράτης: ὁ δέ γ᾽ ἡμέτερος λόγος μετὰ τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ὅδε. πρὸς ταῖς ἀληθέσιν ἐκείναις ἡδοναῖς, φήσομεν, ἆρ᾽ ἔτι προσδεῖσθ᾽ ὑμῖν τὰς μεγίστας ἡδονὰς συνοίκους εἶναι καὶ τὰς σφοδροτάτας; καὶ πῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἴσως φαῖεν ἄν, αἵ γ᾽ ἐμποδίσματά τε μυρία ἡμῖν ἔχουσι, τὰς ψυχὰς ἐν αἷς οἰκοῦμεν ταράττουσαι διὰ μανίας {{π|ἡδονάς], καὶ γίγνεσθαί 63e τε ἡμᾶς τὴν ἀρχὴν οὐκ ἐῶσι, τά τε γιγνόμενα ἡμῶν τέκνα ὡς τὸ πολύ, δι᾽ ἀμέλειαν λήθην ἐμποιοῦσαι, παντάπασι διαφθείρουσιν; ἀλλ᾽ ἅς τε ἡδονὰς ἀληθεῖς καὶ καθαρὰς {{π|ἃς] εἶπες, σχεδὸν οἰκείας ἡμῖν νόμιζε, καὶ πρὸς ταύταις τὰς μεθ᾽ ὑγιείας καὶ τοῦ σωφρονεῖν, καὶ δὴ καὶ συμπάσης ἀρετῆς ὁπόσαι καθάπερ θεοῦ ὀπαδοὶ γιγνόμεναι αὐτῇ συνακολουθοῦσι πάντῃ, ταύτας μείγνυ: τὰς δ᾽ ἀεὶ μετ᾽ ἀφροσύνης καὶ τῆς ἄλλης κακίας ἑπομένας πολλή που ἀλογία τῷ νῷ μειγνύναι τὸν βουλόμενον ὅτι καλλίστην ἰδόντα καὶ ἀστασιαστοτάτην μεῖξιν 64a καὶ κρᾶσιν, ἐν ταύτῃ μαθεῖν πειρᾶσθαι τί ποτε ἔν τ᾽ ἀνθρώπῳ καὶ τῷ παντὶ πέφυκεν ἀγαθὸν καὶ τίνα ἰδέαν αὐτὴν εἶναί ποτε μαντευτέον. ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐμφρόνως ταῦτα καὶ ἐχόντως ἑαυτὸν τὸν νοῦν φήσομεν ὑπέρ τε αὑτοῦ καὶ μνήμης καὶ δόξης ὀρθῆς ἀποκρίνασθαι τὰ νῦν ῥηθέντα;

Πρώταρχος: παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ τόδε γε ἀναγκαῖον, καὶ οὐκ ἄλλως ἄν ποτε γένοιτο οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἕν. 64b

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὧι μὴ μείξομεν ἀλήθειαν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε τοῦτο ἀληθῶς γίγνοιτο οὐδ᾽ ἂν γενόμενον εἴη.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Σωκράτης: οὐδαμῶς. ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τινος ἔτι προσδεῖ τῇ συγκράσει ταύτῃ, λέγετε σὺ καὶ Φίληβος. ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ καθαπερεὶ κόσμος τις ἀσώματος ἄρξων καλῶς ἐμψύχου σώματος ὁ νῦν λόγος ἀπειργάσθαι φαίνεται.

Πρώταρχος: καὶ ἐμοὶ τοίνυν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτω λέγε δεδόχθαι. 64c

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐπὶ μὲν τοῖς τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ νῦν ἤδη προθύροις [καὶ] τῆς οἰκήσεως ἐφεστάναι [τῆς τοῦ τοιούτου] λέγοντες ἴσως ὀρθῶς ἄν τινα τρόπον φαῖμεν;

Πρώταρχος: ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης: τί δῆτα ἐν τῇ συμμείξει τιμιώτατον ἅμα καὶ μάλιστ᾽ αἴτιον εἶναι δόξειεν ἂν ἡμῖν τοῦ πᾶσιν γεγονέναι προσφιλῆ τὴν τοιαύτην διάθεσιν; τοῦτο γὰρ ἰδόντες μετὰ τοῦτ᾽ ἐπισκεψόμεθα εἴθ᾽ ἡδονῇ εἴτε τῷ νῷ προσφυέστερον καὶ οἰκειότερον ἐν τῷ παντὶ συνέστηκεν. 64d

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθῶς: τοῦτο γὰρ εἰς τὴν κρίσιν ἡμῖν ἐστι συμφορώτατον.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν καὶ συμπάσης γε μείξεως οὐ χαλεπὸν ἰδεῖν τὴν αἰτίαν, δι᾽ ἣν ἢ παντὸς ἀξία γίγνεται ἡτισοῦν ἢ τὸ παράπαν οὐδενός.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: οὐδείς που τοῦτο ἀνθρώπων ἀγνοεῖ.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ ποῖον;

Σωκράτης: ὅτι μέτρου καὶ τῆς συμμέτρου φύσεως μὴ τυχοῦσα ἡτισοῦν καὶ ὁπωσοῦν σύγκρασις πᾶσα ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἀπόλλυσι τά τε κεραννύμενα καὶ πρώτην αὑτήν: οὐδὲ 64e γὰρ κρᾶσις ἀλλά τις ἄκρατος συμπεφορημένη ἀληθῶς ἡ τοιαύτη γίγνεται ἑκάστοτε ὄντως τοῖς κεκτημένοις συμφορά.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: νῦν δὴ καταπέφευγεν ἡμῖν ἡ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ δύναμις εἰς τὴν τοῦ καλοῦ φύσιν: μετριότης γὰρ καὶ συμμετρία κάλλος δήπου καὶ ἀρετὴ πανταχοῦ συμβαίνει γίγνεσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μὴν ἀλήθειάν γε ἔφαμεν αὐτοῖς ἐν τῇ κράσει μεμεῖχθαι.

Πρώταρχος: πάνυ γε. 65a

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν εἰ μὴ μιᾷ δυνάμεθα ἰδέᾳ τὸ ἀγαθὸν θηρεῦσαι, σὺν τρισὶ λαβόντες, κάλλει καὶ συμμετρίᾳ καὶ ἀληθείᾳ, λέγωμεν ὡς τοῦτο οἷον ἓν ὀρθότατ᾽ ἂν αἰτιασαίμεθ᾽ ἂν τῶν ἐν τῇ συμμείξει, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ὡς ἀγαθὸν ὂν τοιαύτην αὐτὴν γεγονέναι.

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης: ἤδη τοίνυν, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ἱκανὸς ἡμῖν γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ὁστισοῦν κριτὴς ἡδονῆς τε πέρι καὶ φρονήσεως, ὁπότερον 65b αὐτοῖν τοῦ ἀρίστου συγγενέστερόν τε καὶ τιμιώτερον ἐν ἀνθρώποις τέ ἐστι καὶ θεοῖς.

Πρώταρχος: δῆλον μέν, ὅμως δ᾽ οὖν τῷ λόγῳ ἐπεξελθεῖν βέλτιον.

Σωκράτης: καθ᾽ ἓν ἕκαστον τοίνυν τῶν τριῶν πρὸς τὴν ἡδονὴν καὶ τὸν νοῦν κρίνωμεν: δεῖ γὰρ ἰδεῖν ποτέρῳ <ὡς> μᾶλλον συγγενὲς ἕκαστον αὐτῶν ἀπονεμοῦμεν.

Πρώταρχος: κάλλους καὶ ἀληθείας καὶ μετριότητος πέρι λέγεις;

Σωκράτης: ναί. πρῶτον δέ γε ἀληθείας λαβοῦ, ὦ Πρώταρχε: 65c καὶ λαβόμενος βλέψας εἰς τρία, νοῦν καὶ ἀλήθειαν καὶ ἡδονήν, πολὺν ἐπισχὼν χρόνον ἀπόκριναι σαυτῷ πότερον ἡδονὴ συγγενέστερον ἢ νοῦς ἀληθείᾳ.

Πρώταρχος: τί δὲ χρόνου δεῖ; πολὺ γὰρ οἶμαι διαφέρετον. ἡδονὴ μὲν γὰρ ἁπάντων ἀλαζονίστατον, ὡς δὲ λόγος, καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἡδοναῖς ταῖς περὶ τἀφροδίσια, αἳ δὴ μέγισται δοκοῦσιν εἶναι, καὶ τὸ ἐπιορκεῖν συγγνώμην εἴληφε παρὰ θεῶν, ὡς 65d καθάπερ παίδων τῶν ἡδονῶν νοῦν οὐδὲ τὸν ὀλίγιστον κεκτημένων: νοῦς δὲ ἤτοι ταὐτὸν καὶ ἀλήθειά ἐστιν ἢ πάντων ὁμοιότατόν τε καὶ ἀληθέστατον.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο τὴν μετριότητα ὡσαύτως σκέψαι, πότερον ἡδονὴ φρονήσεως ἢ φρόνησις ἡδονῆς πλείω κέκτηται;

Πρώταρχος: εὔσκεπτόν γε καὶ ταύτην σκέψιν προβέβληκας: οἶμαι γὰρ ἡδονῆς μὲν καὶ περιχαρείας οὐδὲν τῶν ὄντων πεφυκὸς ἀμετρώτερον εὑρεῖν ἄν τινα, νοῦ δὲ καὶ ἐπιστήμης ἐμμετρώτερον οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἕν ποτε. 65e

Σωκράτης: καλῶς εἴρηκας. ὅμως δ᾽ ἔτι λέγε τὸ τρίτον. νοῦς ἡμῖν κάλλους μετείληφε πλεῖον ἢ τὸ τῆς ἡδονῆς γένος, ὥστε εἶναι καλλίω νοῦν ἡδονῆς, ἢ τοὐναντίον;

Πρώταρχος: ἀλλ᾽ οὖν φρόνησιν μὲν καὶ νοῦν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδεὶς πώποτε οὔθ᾽ ὕπαρ οὔτ᾽ ὄναρ αἰσχρὸν οὔτε εἶδεν οὔτε ἐπενόησεν οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς οὔτε γιγνόμενον οὔτε ὄντα οὔτε ἐσόμενον.

Σωκράτης: ὀρθῶς.

Πρώταρχος: ἡδονὰς δέ γέ που, καὶ ταῦτα σχεδὸν τὰς μεγίστας, ὅταν ἴδωμεν ἡδόμενον ὁντινοῦν, ἢ τὸ γελοῖον ἐπ᾽ αὐταῖς ἢ τὸ 66a πάντων αἴσχιστον ἑπόμενον ὁρῶντες αὐτοί τε αἰσχυνόμεθα καὶ ἀφανίζοντες κρύπτομεν ὅτι μάλιστα, νυκτὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα διδόντες, ὡς φῶς οὐ δέον ὁρᾶν αὐτά.

Σωκράτης: πάντῃ δὴ φήσεις, ὦ Πρώταρχε, ὑπό τε ἀγγέλων πέμπων καὶ παροῦσι φράζων, ὡς ἡδονὴ κτῆμα οὐκ ἔστι πρῶτον οὐδ᾽ αὖ δεύτερον, ἀλλὰ πρῶτον μέν πῃ περὶ μέτρον καὶ τὸ μέτριον καὶ καίριον καὶ πάντα ὁπόσα χρὴ τοιαῦτα νομίζειν, τὴν ἀίδιον ᾑρῆσθαι.

Πρώταρχος: φαίνεται γοῦν ἐκ τῶν νῦν λεγομένων. 66b

Σωκράτης: δεύτερον μὴν περὶ τὸ σύμμετρον καὶ καλὸν καὶ τὸ τέλεον καὶ ἱκανὸν καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα τῆς γενεᾶς αὖ ταύτης ἐστίν.

Πρώταρχος: ἔοικε γοῦν.

Σωκράτης: τὸ τοίνυν τρίτον, ὡς ἡ ἐμὴ μαντεία, νοῦν καὶ φρόνησιν τιθεὶς οὐκ ἂν μέγα τι τῆς ἀληθείας παρεξέλθοις.

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως.

Σωκράτης: ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τέταρτα, ἃ τῆς ψυχῆς αὐτῆς ἔθεμεν, ἐπιστήμας τε καὶ τέχνας καὶ δόξας ὀρθὰς λεχθείσας, ταῦτ᾽ 66c εἶναι τὰ πρὸς τοῖς τρισὶ τέταρτα, εἴπερ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ γέ ἐστι μᾶλλον {{π|ἢ] τῆς ἡδονῆς συγγενῆ;

Πρώταρχος: τάχ᾽ ἄν.

Σωκράτης:

πέμπτας τοίνυν, ἃς ἡδονὰς ἔθεμεν ἀλύπους ὁρισάμενοι, καθαρὰς ἐπονομάσαντες τῆς ψυχῆς αὐτῆς, ἐπιστήμαις, τὰς δὲ αἰσθήσεσιν ἑπομένας;

Πρώταρχος: ἴσως.

Σωκράτης: ἕκτῃ δ᾽ ἐν γενεᾷ, φησὶν Ὀρφεύς, καταπαύσατε κόσμον ἀοιδῆς: ἀτὰρ κινδυνεύει καὶ ὁ ἡμέτερος λόγος ἐν ἕκτῃ καταπεπαυμένος εἶναι κρίσει. τὸ δὴ μετὰ 66d ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν οὐδὲν λοιπὸν πλὴν ὥσπερ κεφαλὴν ἀποδοῦναι τοῖς εἰρημένοις.

Πρώταρχος: οὐκοῦν χρή.

Σωκράτης: ἴθι δή, τὸ τρίτον τῷ σωτῆρι τὸν αὐτὸν διαμαρτυράμενοι λόγον ἐπεξέλθωμεν.

Πρώταρχος: ποῖον δή;

Σωκράτης: Φίληβος τἀγαθὸν ἐτίθετο ἡμῖν ἡδονὴν εἶναι πᾶσαν καὶ παντελῆ.

Πρώταρχος: τὸ τρίτον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς ἔοικας, ἔλεγες ἀρτίως τὸν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐπαναλαβεῖν δεῖν λόγον. 66e

Σωκράτης: ναί, τὸ δέ γε μετὰ τοῦτο ἀκούωμεν. ἐγὼ γὰρ δὴ κατιδὼν ἅπερ νυνδὴ διελήλυθα, καὶ δυσχεράνας τὸν Φιλήβου λόγον οὐ μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλων πολλάκις μυρίων, εἶπον ὡς ἡδονῆς γε νοῦς εἴη μακρῷ βέλτιόν τε καὶ ἄμεινον τῷ τῶν ἀνθρώπων βίῳ.

Πρώταρχος: ἦν ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης: ὑποπτεύων δέ γε καὶ ἄλλα εἶναι πολλὰ εἶπον ὡς εἰ φανείη τι τούτοιν ἀμφοῖν βέλτιον, ὑπὲρ τῶν δευτερείων νῷ πρὸς ἡδονὴν συνδιαμαχοίμην, ἡδονὴ δὲ καὶ δευτερείων στερήσοιτο. 67a

Πρώταρχος: εἶπες γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης: καὶ μετὰ ταῦτά γε πάντων ἱκανώτατα τούτοιν οὐδέτερον ἱκανὸν ἐφάνη.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν παντάπασιν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ καὶ νοῦς ἀπήλλακτο καὶ ἡδονὴ μή τοι τἀγαθόν γε αὐτὸ μηδ᾽ ἕτερον αὐτοῖν εἶναι, στερομένοιν αὐταρκείας καὶ τῆς τοῦ ἱκανοῦ καὶ τελέου δυνάμεως;

Πρώταρχος: ὀρθότατα.

Σωκράτης: φανέντος δέ γε ἄλλου τρίτου κρείττονος τούτοιν ἑκατέρου, μυρίῳ γ᾽ αὖ νοῦς ἡδονῆς οἰκειότερον καὶ προσφυέστερον πέφανται νῦν τῇ τοῦ νικῶντος ἰδέᾳ.

Πρώταρχος: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν πέμπτον κατὰ τὴν κρίσιν, ἣν νῦν ὁ λόγος ἀπεφήνατο, γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἡ τῆς ἡδονῆς δύναμις.

Πρώταρχος: ἔοικεν. 67b

Σωκράτης: πρῶτον δέ γε οὐδ᾽ ἂν οἱ πάντες βόες τε καὶ ἵπποι καὶ τἆλλα σύμπαντα θηρία φῶσι τῷ τὸ χαίρειν διώκειν: οἷς πιστεύοντες, ὥσπερ μάντεις ὄρνισιν, οἱ πολλοὶ κρίνουσι τὰς ἡδονὰς εἰς τὸ ζῆν ἡμῖν εὖ κρατίστας εἶναι, καὶ τοὺς θηρίων ἔρωτας οἴονται κυρίους εἶναι μάρτυρας μᾶλλον ἢ τοὺς τῶν ἐν μούσῃ φιλοσόφῳ μεμαντευμένων ἑκάστοτε λόγων.

Πρώταρχος: ἀληθέστατα, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰρῆσθαί σοι νῦν ἤδη φαμὲν ἅπαντες.

Σωκράτης: οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀφίετέ με;

Πρώταρχος: σμικρὸν ἔτι τὸ λοιπόν, ὦ Σώκρατες: οὐ γὰρ δήπου σύ γε ἀπερεῖς πρότερος ἡμῶν, ὑπομνήσω δέ σε τὰ λειπόμενα.

LAWS

CONTENTS

The Translations

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

Τόμος 1

Τόμος 2

Τόμος 3

Τόμος 4

Τόμος 5

Τόμος 6

Τόμος 7

Τόμος 8

Τόμος 9

Τόμος 10

Τόμος 11

Τόμος 12

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

Τόμος 1

[624α]

Ἀθηναῖος

θεὸς ἤ τις ἀνθρώπων ὑμῖν, ὦ ξένοι, εἴληφε τὴν αἰτίαν τῆς τῶν νόμων διαθέσεως;

Κλεινίας

θεός, ὦ ξένε, θεός, ὥς γε τὸ δικαιότατον εἰπεῖν: παρὰ μὲν ἡμῖν Ζεύς, παρὰ δὲ Λακεδαιμονίοις, ὅθεν ὅδε ἐστίν, οἶμαι φάναι τούτους Ἀπόλλωνα. ἦ γάρ;

Μέγιλλος

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

μῶν οὖν καθ᾽ Ὅμηρον λέγεις ὡς τοῦ Μίνω φοιτῶντος [624β] πρὸς τὴν τοῦ πατρὸς ἑκάστοτε συνουσίαν δι᾽ ἐνάτου ἔτους καὶ κατὰ τὰς παρ᾽ ἐκείνου φήμας ταῖς πόλεσιν ὑμῖν θέντος τοὺς νόμους;

Κλεινίας

λέγεται γὰρ οὕτω παρ᾽ ἡμῖν: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν ἀδελφόν γε αὐτοῦ Ῥαδάμανθυν-ἀκούετε γὰρ τὸ ὄνομα-δικαιότατον [625α] γεγονέναι. τοῦτον οὖν φαῖμεν ἂν ἡμεῖς γε οἱ Κρῆτες, ἐκ τοῦ τότε διανέμειν τὰ περὶ τὰς δίκας, ὀρθῶς τοῦτον τὸν ἔπαινον αὐτὸν εἰληφέναι.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ καλόν γε τὸ κλέος ὑεῖ τε Διὸς μάλα πρέπον. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐν τοιούτοις ἤθεσι τέθραφθε νομικοῖς σύ τε καὶ ὅδε, προσδοκῶ οὐκ ἂν ἀηδῶς περί τε πολιτείας τὰ νῦν καὶ νόμων τὴν διατριβήν, λέγοντάς τε καὶ ἀκούοντας ἅμα κατὰ [625β] τὴν πορείαν, ποιήσασθαι. πάντως δ᾽ ἥ γε ἐκ Κνωσοῦ ὁδὸς εἰς τὸ τοῦ Διὸς ἄντρον καὶ ἱερόν, ὡς ἀκούομεν, ἱκανή, καὶ ἀνάπαυλαι κατὰ τὴν ὁδόν, ὡς εἰκός, πνίγους ὄντος τὰ νῦν, ἐν τοῖς ὑψηλοῖς δένδρεσίν εἰσι σκιαραί, καὶ ταῖς ἡλικίαις πρέπον ἂν ἡμῶν εἴη τὸ διαναπαύεσθαι πυκνὰ ἐν αὐταῖς, λόγοις τε ἀλλήλους παραμυθουμένους τὴν ὁδὸν ἅπασαν οὕτω μετὰ ῥᾳστώνης διαπερᾶναι.

Κλεινίας

καὶ μὴν ἔστιν γε, ὦ ξένε, προϊόντι κυπαρίττων τε [625ξ] ἐν τοῖς ἄλσεσιν ὕψη καὶ κάλλη θαυμάσια, καὶ λειμῶνες ἐν οἷσιν ἀναπαυόμενοι διατρίβοιμεν ἄν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν: ἰδόντες δὲ μᾶλλον φήσομεν. ἀλλ᾽ ἴωμεν ἀγαθῇ τύχῃ.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτ᾽ εἴη. καί μοι λέγε: κατὰ τί τὰ συσσίτιά τε ὑμῖν συντέταχεν ὁ νόμος καὶ τὰ γυμνάσια καὶ τὴν τῶν ὅπλων ἕξιν;

Κλεινίας

οἶμαι μέν, ὦ ξένε, καὶ παντὶ ῥᾴδιον ὑπολαβεῖν εἶναι τά γε ἡμέτερα. τὴν γὰρ τῆς χώρας πάσης Κρήτης φύσιν [625δ] ὁρᾶτε ὡς οὐκ ἔστι, καθάπερ ἡ τῶν Θετταλῶν, πεδιάς, διὸ δὴ καὶ τοῖς μὲν ἵπποις ἐκεῖνοι χρῶνται μᾶλλον, δρόμοισιν δὲ ἡμεῖς: ἥδε γὰρ ἀνώμαλος αὖ καὶ πρὸς τὴν τῶν πεζῇ δρόμων ἄσκησιν μᾶλλον σύμμετρος. ἐλαφρὰ δὴ τὰ ὅπλα ἀναγκαῖον ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ κεκτῆσθαι καὶ μὴ βάρος ἔχοντα θεῖν: τῶν δὴ τόξων καὶ τοξευμάτων ἡ κουφότης ἁρμόττειν δοκεῖ. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον ἡμῖν ἅπαντα ἐξήρτυται, [625ε] καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁ νομοθέτης, ὥς γ᾽ ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, πρὸς τοῦτο βλέπων συνετάττετο: ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ συσσίτια κινδυνεύει συναγαγεῖν, ὁρῶν ὡς πάντες ὁπόταν στρατεύωνται, τόθ᾽ ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ τοῦ πράγματος ἀναγκάζονται φυλακῆς αὑτῶν ἕνεκα συσσιτεῖν τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον. ἄνοιαν δή μοι δοκεῖ καταγνῶναι τῶν πολλῶν ὡς οὐ μανθανόντων ὅτι πόλεμος ἀεὶ πᾶσιν διὰ βίου συνεχής ἐστι πρὸς ἁπάσας τὰς πόλεις: εἰ δὴ πολέμου γε ὄντος φυλακῆς ἕνεκα δεῖ συσσιτεῖν καί τινας ἄρχοντας καὶ [626α] ἀρχομένους διακεκοσμημένους εἶναι φύλακας αὐτῶν, τοῦτο καὶ ἐν εἰρήνῃ δραστέον. ἣν γὰρ καλοῦσιν οἱ πλεῖστοι τῶν ἀνθρώπων εἰρήνην, τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι μόνον ὄνομα, τῷ δ᾽ ἔργῳ πάσαις πρὸς πάσας τὰς πόλεις ἀεὶ πόλεμον ἀκήρυκτον κατὰ φύσιν εἶναι. καὶ σχεδὸν ἀνευρήσεις, οὕτω σκοπῶν, τὸν Κρητῶν νομοθέτην ὡς εἰς τὸν πόλεμον ἅπαντα δημοσίᾳ καὶ ἰδίᾳ τὰ νόμιμα ἡμῖν ἀποβλέπων συνετάξατο, καὶ κατὰ ταῦτα [626β] οὕτω φυλάττειν παρέδωκε τοὺς νόμους, ὡς τῶν ἄλλων οὐδενὸς οὐδὲν ὄφελος ὂν οὔτε κτημάτων οὔτ᾽ ἐπιτηδευμάτων, ἂν μὴ τῷ πολέμῳ ἄρα κρατῇ τις, πάντα δὲ τὰ τῶν νικωμένων ἀγαθὰ τῶν νικώντων γίγνεσθαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς γε, ὦ ξένε, φαίνῃ μοι γεγυμνάσθαι πρὸς τὸ διειδέναι τὰ Κρητῶν νόμιμα. τόδε δέ μοι φράζε ἔτι σαφέστερον: ὃν γὰρ ὅρον ἔθου τῆς εὖ πολιτευομένης πόλεως, [626ξ] δοκεῖς μοι λέγειν οὕτω κεκοσμημένην οἰκεῖν δεῖν, ὥστε πολέμῳ νικᾶν τὰς ἄλλας πόλεις. ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν: οἶμαι δὲ καὶ τῷδε οὕτω συνδοκεῖν.

Μέγιλλος

πῶς γὰρ ἂν ἄλλως ἀποκρίναιτο, ὦ θεῖε, Λακεδαιμονίων γε ὁστισοῦν;

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερ᾽ οὖν δὴ πόλεσι μὲν πρὸς πόλεις ὀρθὸν τοῦτ᾽ ἐστί, κώμῃ δὲ πρὸς κώμην ἕτερον;

Κλεινίας

οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ ταὐτόν;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; πρὸς οἰκίαν οἰκίᾳ τῶν ἐν τῇ κώμῃ, καὶ πρὸς ἄνδρα ἀνδρὶ ἑνὶ πρὸς ἕνα, ταὐτὸν ἔτι;

Κλεινίας

ταὐτόν. [626δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

αὐτῷ δὲ πρὸς αὑτὸν πότερον ὡς πολεμίῳ πρὸς πολέμιον διανοητέον; ἢ πῶς ἔτι λέγομεν;

Κλεινίας

ὦ ξένε Ἀθηναῖε-οὐ γάρ σε Ἀττικὸν ἐθέλοιμ᾽ ἂν προσαγορεύειν: δοκεῖς γάρ μοι τῆς θεοῦ ἐπωνυμίας ἄξιος εἶναι μᾶλλον ἐπονομάζεσθαι: τὸν γὰρ λόγον ἐπ᾽ ἀρχὴν ὀρθῶς ἀναγαγὼν σαφέστερον ἐποίησας, ὥστε ῥᾷον ἀνευρήσεις ὅτι νυνδὴ ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν ὀρθῶς ἐρρήθη τὸ πολεμίους εἶναι πάντας πᾶσιν δημοσίᾳ τε, καὶ ἰδίᾳ ἑκάστους αὐτοὺς σφίσιν αὐτοῖς. [626ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

πῶς εἴρηκας, ὦ θαυμάσιε;

Κλεινίας

κἀνταῦθα, ὦ ξένε, τὸ νικᾶν αὐτὸν αὑτὸν πασῶν νικῶν πρώτη τε καὶ ἀρίστη, τὸ δὲ ἡττᾶσθαι αὐτὸν ὑφ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ πάντων αἴσχιστόν τε ἅμα καὶ κάκιστον. ταῦτα γὰρ ὡς πολέμου ἐν ἑκάστοις ἡμῶν ὄντος πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς σημαίνει.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάλιν τοίνυν τὸν λόγον ἀναστρέψωμεν. ἐπειδὴ γὰρ εἷς ἕκαστος ἡμῶν ὁ μὲν κρείττων αὑτοῦ, ὁ δὲ ἥττων [627α] ἐστί, πότερα φῶμεν οἰκίαν τε καὶ κώμην καὶ πόλιν ἔχειν ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἐν αὑταῖς ἢ μὴ φῶμεν;

Κλεινίας

τὸ κρείττω τε ἑαυτῆς εἶναι λέγεις τινά, τὴν δ᾽ ἥττω;

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί.

Κλεινίας

καὶ τοῦτο ὀρθῶς ἤρου: πάνυ γὰρ ἔστι καὶ σφόδρα τὸ τοιοῦτον, οὐχ ἥκιστα ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν. ἐν ὁπόσαις μὲν γὰρ οἱ ἀμείνονες νικῶσιν τὸ πλῆθος καὶ τοὺς χείρους, ὀρθῶς ἂν αὕτη κρείττων τε ἑαυτῆς λέγοιθ᾽ ἡ πόλις, ἐπαινοῖτό τε ἂν δικαιότατα τῇ τοιαύτῃ νίκῃ: τοὐναντίον δέ, ὅπου τἀναντία. [627β]

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ μὲν τοίνυν εἴ ποτέ ἐστίν που τὸ χεῖρον κρεῖττον τοῦ ἀμείνονος ἐάσωμεν-μακροτέρου γὰρ λόγου-τὸ δὲ ὑπὸ σοῦ λεγόμενον μανθάνω νῦν, ὥς ποτε πολῖται, συγγενεῖς καὶ τῆς αὐτῆς πόλεως γεγονότες, ἄδικοι καὶ πολλοὶ συνελθόντες, δικαίους ἐλάττους ὄντας βιάσονται δουλούμενοι, καὶ ὅταν μὲν κρατήσωσιν, ἥττων ἡ πόλις αὑτῆς ὀρθῶς αὕτη λέγοιτ᾽ ἂν ἅμα καὶ κακή, ὅπου δ᾽ ἂν ἡττῶνται, κρείττων τε καὶ ἀγαθή. [627ξ]

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλα ἄτοπον, ὦ ξένε, τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον: ὅμως δὲ ὁμολογεῖν οὕτως ἀναγκαιότατον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔχε δή. καὶ τόδε πάλιν ἐπισκεψώμεθα: πολλοὶ ἀδελφοί που γένοιντ᾽ ἂν ἑνὸς ἀνδρός τε καὶ μιᾶς ὑεῖς, καὶ δὴ καὶ θαυμαστὸν οὐδὲν τοὺς πλείους μὲν ἀδίκους αὐτῶν γίγνεσθαι, τοὺς δὲ ἐλάττους δικαίους.

Κλεινίας

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ οὐκ ἂν εἴη γε πρέπον ἐμοί τε καὶ ὑμῖν τοῦτο θηρεύειν, ὅτι νικώντων μὲν τῶν πονηρῶν ἥ τε οἰκία καὶ ἡ συγγένεια αὕτη πᾶσα ἥττων αὑτῆς λέγοιτ᾽ ἄν, κρείττων δὲ [627δ] ἡττωμένων: οὐ γὰρ εὐσχημοσύνης τε καὶ ἀσχημοσύνης ῥημάτων ἕνεκα τὰ νῦν σκοπούμεθα πρὸς τὸν τῶν πολλῶν λόγον, ἀλλ᾽ ὀρθότητός τε καὶ ἁμαρτίας πέρι νόμων, ἥτις ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν φύσει.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις.

Μέγιλλος

καλῶς μὲν οὖν, ὥς γε ἐμοὶ συνδοκεῖν, τό γε τοσοῦτον, τὰ νῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴδωμεν δὴ καὶ τόδε: τούτοις τοῖς ἄρτι λεγομένοις ἀδελφοῖς γένοιτ᾽ ἄν πού τις δικαστής;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερος οὖν ἀμείνων, ὅστις τοὺς μὲν ἀπολέσειεν [627ε] αὐτῶν ὅσοι κακοί, τοὺς δὲ βελτίους ἄρχειν αὐτοὺς αὑτῶν προστάξειεν, ἢ ὅδε ὃς ἂν τοὺς μὲν χρηστοὺς ἄρχειν, τοὺς χείρους δ᾽ ἐάσας ζῆν ἄρχεσθαι ἑκόντας ποιήσειεν; τρίτον δέ που δικαστὴν πρὸς ἀρετὴν εἴπωμεν, εἴ τις εἴη τοιοῦτος ὅστις παραλαβὼν συγγένειαν μίαν διαφερομένην, μήτε ἀπολέσειεν [628α] μηδένα, διαλλάξας δὲ εἰς τὸν ἐπίλοιπον χρόνον, νόμους αὐτοῖς θείς, πρὸς ἀλλήλους παραφυλάττειν δύναιτο ὥστε εἶναι φίλους.

Κλεινίας

μακρῷ ἀμείνων γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὁ τοιοῦτος δικαστής τε καὶ νομοθέτης.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν τοὐναντίον γε ἢ πρὸς πόλεμον ἂν βλέπων αὐτοῖς τοὺς νόμους διανομοθετοῖ.

Κλεινίας

τοῦτο μὲν ἀληθές.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ ὁ τὴν πόλιν συναρμόττων; πρὸς πόλεμον αὐτῆς ἂν τὸν ἔξωθεν βλέπων τὸν βίον κοσμοῖ μᾶλλον, [628β] ἢ πρὸς πόλεμον τὸν ἐν αὐτῇ γιγνόμενον ἑκάστοτε, ἣ δὴ καλεῖται στάσις; ὃν μάλιστα μὲν ἅπας ἂν βούλοιτο μήτε γενέσθαι ποτὲ ἐν ἑαυτοῦ πόλει γενόμενόν τε ὡς τάχιστα ἀπαλλάττεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

δῆλον ὅτι πρὸς τοῦτον.

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερα δὲ ἀπολομένων αὖ τῶν ἑτέρων εἰρήνην τῆς στάσεως γενέσθαι, νικησάντων δὲ ποτέρων, δέξαιτ᾽ ἄν τις, μᾶλλον ἢ φιλίας τε καὶ εἰρήνης ὑπὸ διαλλαγῶν γενομένης, οὕτω τοῖς ἔξωθεν πολεμίοις προσέχειν ἀνάγκην εἶναι τὸν [628ξ] νοῦν;

Κλεινίας

οὕτω πᾶς ἂν ἐθέλοι πρότερον ἢ ‘κείνως περὶ τὴν αὑτοῦ γίγνεσθαι πόλιν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν καὶ νομοθέτης ὡσαύτως;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρα οὖν οὐ τοῦ ἀρίστου ἕνεκα πάντα ἂν τὰ νόμιμα τιθείη πᾶς;

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τό γε μὴν ἄριστον οὔτε ὁ πόλεμος οὔτε ἡ στάσις, ἀπευκτὸν δὲ τὸ δεηθῆναι τούτων, εἰρήνη δὲ πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἅμα καὶ φιλοφροσύνη, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ νικᾶν, ὡς ἔοικεν, αὐτὴν [628δ] αὑτὴν πόλιν οὐκ ἦν τῶν ἀρίστων ἀλλὰ τῶν ἀναγκαίων: ὅμοιον ὡς εἰ κάμνον σῶμα ἰατρικῆς καθάρσεως τυχὸν ἡγοῖτό τις ἄριστα πράττειν τότε, τῷ δὲ μηδὲ τὸ παράπαν δεηθέντι σώματι μηδὲ προσέχοι τὸν νοῦν, ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ πρὸς πόλεως εὐδαιμονίαν ἢ καὶ ἰδιώτου διανοούμενος οὕτω τις οὔτ᾽ ἄν ποτε πολιτικὸς γένοιτο ὀρθῶς, πρὸς τὰ ἔξωθεν πολεμικὰ ἀποβλέπων μόνον καὶ πρῶτον, οὔτ᾽ ἂν νομοθέτης ἀκριβής, εἰ μὴ χάριν εἰρήνης τὰ πολέμου νομοθετοῖ μᾶλλον [628ε] ἢ τῶν πολεμικῶν ἕνεκα τὰ τῆς εἰρήνης.

Κλεινίας

φαίνεται μέν πως ὁ λόγος οὗτος, ὦ ξένε, ὀρθῶς εἰρῆσθαι, θαυμάζω γε μὴν εἰ τά τε παρ᾽ ἡμῖν νόμιμα καὶ ἔτι τὰ περὶ Λακεδαίμονα μὴ πᾶσαν τὴν σπουδὴν τούτων ἕνεκα πεποίηται. [629α]

Ἀθηναῖος

τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως: δεῖ δὲ οὐδὲν σκληρῶς ἡμᾶς αὐτοῖς διαμάχεσθαι τὰ νῦν ἀλλ᾽ ἠρέμα ἀνερωτᾶν, ὡς μάλιστα περὶ ταῦτα ἡμῶν τε καὶ ἐκείνων σπουδαζόντων. καί μοι τῷ λόγῳ συνακολουθήσατε. προστησώμεθα γοῦν Τύρταιον, τὸν φύσει μὲν Ἀθηναῖον, τῶνδε δὲ πολίτην γενόμενον, ὃς δὴ μάλιστα ἀνθρώπων περὶ ταῦτα ἐσπούδακεν εἰπὼν ὅτι-”οὔτ᾽ ἂν μνησαίμην οὔτ᾽ ἐν λόγῳ ἄνδρα τιθείμην

“Tyrtaeus 12 Bergk [629β] “οὔτ᾽ εἴ τις πλουσιώτατος ἀνθρώπων εἴη, φησίν, οὔτ᾽ εἰ πολλὰ ἀγαθὰ κεκτημένος, εἰπὼν σχεδὸν ἅπαντα, ὃς μὴ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἄριστος γίγνοιτ᾽ ἀεί.”Tyrtaeus 12 Bergk ταῦτα γὰρ ἀκήκοάς που καὶ σὺ τὰ ποιήματα: ὅδε μὲν γὰρ οἶμαι διακορὴς αὐτῶν ἐστι.

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Κλεινίας

καὶ μὴν καὶ παρ᾽ ἡμᾶς ἐλήλυθε κομισθέντα ἐκ Λακεδαίμονος.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴθι νυν ἀνερώμεθα κοινῇ τουτονὶ τὸν ποιητὴν οὑτωσί πως: “ὦ Τύρταιε, ποιητὰ θειότατε-δοκεῖς γὰρ δὴ [629ξ] σοφὸς ἡμῖν εἶναι καὶ ἀγαθός, ὅτι τοὺς μὲν ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ διαφέροντας διαφερόντως ἐγκεκωμίακας-ἤδη οὖν τυγχάνομεν ἐγώ τε καὶ ὅδε καὶ Κλεινίας ὁ Κνώσιος οὑτοσὶ συμφερόμενοί σοι περὶ τούτου σφόδρα, ὡς δοκοῦμεν: εἰ δὲ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν λέγομεν ἀνδρῶν ἢ μή, βουλόμεθα σαφῶς εἰδέναι. λέγε οὖν ἡμῖν: ἆρα εἴδη δύο πολέμου καθάπερ ἡμεῖς ἡγῇ καὶ σὺ σαφῶς; ἢ πῶς;” πρὸς ταῦτ᾽ οἶμαι κἂν πολὺ φαυλότερος [629δ] εἴποι Τυρταίου τις τἀληθές, ὅτι δύο, τὸ μὲν ὃ καλοῦμεν ἅπαντες στάσιν, ὃς δὴ πάντων πολέμων χαλεπώτατος, ὡς ἔφαμεν ἡμεῖς νυνδή: τὸ δὲ ἄλλο πολέμου θήσομεν οἶμαι γένος ἅπαντες ᾧ πρὸς τοὺς ἐκτός τε καὶ ἀλλοφύλους χρώμεθα διαφερόμενοι, πολὺ πρᾳότερον ἐκείνου.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δή, ποτέρους, καὶ πρὸς πότερον ἐπαινῶν τὸν πόλεμον, οὕτως ὑπερεπῄνεσας, τοὺς δὲ ἔψεξας τῶν ἀνδρῶν; ἔοικας μὲν γὰρ πρὸς τοὺς ἐκτός: εἴρηκας γοῦν ὧδε ἐν τοῖς [629ε] ποιήμασιν, ὡς οὐδαμῶς τοὺς τοιούτους ἀνεχόμενος, οἳ μὴ τολμήσωσιν μὲν “ὁρᾶν φόνον αἱματόεντα,”Tyrtaeus”καὶ δηίων ὀρέγοιντ᾽ ἐγγύθεν ἱστάμενοι.

“Tyrtaeusοὐκοῦν τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα εἴποιμεν ἂν ἡμεῖς ὅτι “σὺ μὲν ἐπαινεῖς, ὡς ἔοικας, ὦ Τύρταιε, μάλιστα τοὺς πρὸς τὸν ὀθνεῖόν τε καὶ ἔξωθεν πόλεμον γιγνομένους ἐπιφανεῖς.” φαίη ταῦτ᾽ ἄν που καὶ ὁμολογοῖ;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν; [630α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἡμεῖς δέ γε ἀγαθῶν ὄντων τούτων ἔτι φαμὲν ἀμείνους εἶναι καὶ πολὺ τοὺς ἐν τῷ μεγίστῳ πολέμῳ γιγνομένους ἀρίστους διαφανῶς: ποιητὴν δὲ καὶ ἡμεῖς μάρτυρ᾽ ἔχομεν, Θέογνιν, πολίτην τῶν ἐν Σικελίᾳ Μεγαρέων, ὅς φησιν-”πιστὸς ἀνὴρ χρυσοῦ τε καὶ ἀργύρου ἀντερύσασθαι

ἄξιος ἐν χαλεπῇ, Κύρνε, διχοστασίῃ.

“Theognis 5.77-8τοῦτον δή φαμεν ἐν πολέμῳ χαλεπωτέρῳ ἀμείνονα ἐκείνου πάμπολυ γίγνεσθαι, σχεδὸν ὅσον ἀμείνων δικαιοσύνη καὶ [630β] σωφροσύνη καὶ φρόνησις εἰς ταὐτὸν ἐλθοῦσαι μετ᾽ ἀνδρείας, αὐτῆς μόνης ἀνδρείας. πιστὸς μὲν γὰρ καὶ ὑγιὴς ἐν στάσεσιν οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο ἄνευ συμπάσης ἀρετῆς: διαβάντες δ᾽ εὖ καὶ μαχόμενοι ἐθέλοντες ἀποθνῄσκειν ἐν ᾧ πολέμῳ φράζει Τύρταιος τῶν μισθοφόρων εἰσὶν πάμπολλοι, ὧν οἱ πλεῖστοι γίγνονται θρασεῖς καὶ ἄδικοι καὶ ὑβρισταὶ καὶ ἀφρονέστατοι σχεδὸν ἁπάντων, ἐκτὸς δή τινων εὖ μάλα ὀλίγων. ποῖ δὴ τελευτᾷ νῦν ἡμῖν οὗτος ὁ λόγος, καὶ τί [630ξ] φανερόν ποτε ποιῆσαι βουληθεὶς λέγει ταῦτα; δῆλον ὅτι τόδε, ὡς παντὸς μᾶλλον καὶ ὁ τῇδε παρὰ Διὸς νομοθέτης, πᾶς τε οὗ καὶ σμικρὸν ὄφελος, οὐκ ἄλλο ἢ πρὸς τὴν μεγίστην ἀρετὴν μάλιστα βλέπων ἀεὶ θήσει τοὺς νόμους: ἔστι δέ, ὥς φησιν Θέογνις, αὕτη πιστότης ἐν τοῖς δεινοῖς, ἥν τις δικαιοσύνην ἂν τελέαν ὀνομάσειεν. ἣν δ᾽ αὖ Τύρταιος ἐπῄνεσεν μάλιστα, καλὴ μὲν καὶ κατὰ καιρὸν κεκοσμημένη τῷ ποιητῇ, τετάρτη μέντοι ὅμως ἀριθμῷ τε καὶ δυνάμει τοῦ [630δ] τιμία εἶναι λέγοιτ᾽ ἂν ὀρθότατα.

Κλεινίας

ὦ ξένε, τὸν νομοθέτην ἡμῶν ἀποβάλλομεν εἰς τοὺς πόρρω νομοθέτας.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐχ ἡμεῖς γε, ὦ ἄριστε, ἀλλ᾽ ἡμᾶς αὐτούς, ὅταν οἰώμεθα πάντα τά τ᾽ ἐν Λακεδαίμονι καὶ τὰ τῇδε πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον μάλιστα βλέποντας Λυκοῦργόν τε καὶ Μίνω τίθεσθαι τὰ νόμιμα.

Κλεινίας

τὸ δὲ πῶς χρῆν ἡμᾶς λέγειν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὥσπερ τό τε ἀληθὲς οἶμαι καὶ τὸ δίκαιον ὑπέρ γε [630ε] θείας διαλεγομένους λέγειν, οὐχ ὡς πρὸς ἀρετῆς τι μόριον, καὶ ταῦτα τὸ φαυλότατον, ἐτίθει βλέπων, ἀλλὰ πρὸς πᾶσαν ἀρετήν, καὶ κατ᾽ εἴδη ζητεῖν αὐτῶν τοὺς νόμους οὐδ᾽ ἅπερ οἱ τῶν νῦν εἴδη προτιθέμενοι ζητοῦσιν. οὗ γὰρ ἂν ἕκαστος ἐν χρείᾳ γίγνηται, τοῦτο ζητεῖ νῦν παραθέμενος, ὁ μὲν τὰ περὶ τῶν κλήρων καὶ ἐπικλήρων, ὁ δὲ τῆς αἰκίας πέρι, ἄλλοι δὲ ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα μυρία τοιαῦτα: ἡμεῖς δέ φαμεν εἶναι τὸ περὶ [631α] νόμους ζήτημα τῶν εὖ ζητούντων ὥσπερ νῦν ἡμεῖς ἠρξάμεθα. καὶ σοῦ τὴν μὲν ἐπιχείρησιν τῆς ἐξηγήσεως περὶ τοὺς νόμους παντάπασιν ἄγαμαι: τὸ γὰρ ἀπ᾽ ἀρετῆς ἄρχεσθαι, λέγοντα ὡς ἐτίθει ταύτης ἕνεκα τοὺς νόμους, ὀρθόν: ὅτι δὲ πάντα εἰς μόριον ἀρετῆς, καὶ ταῦτα τὸ σμικρότατον, ἐπαναφέροντα ἔφησθ᾽ αὐτὸν νομοθετεῖν, οὔτε ὀρθῶς ἔτι μοι κατεφάνης λέγων τόν τε ὕστερον νῦν λόγον τοῦτον πάντα εἴρηκα διὰ ταῦτα. πῇ δὴ οὖν σε ἔτ᾽ ἂν ἐβουλόμην διελόμενον [631β] λέγειν αὐτός τε ἀκούειν; βούλει σοι φράζω;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

“ὦ ξένε,” ἐχρῆν εἰπεῖν, “οἱ Κρητῶν νόμοι οὐκ εἰσὶν μάτην διαφερόντως ἐν πᾶσιν εὐδόκιμοι τοῖς Ἕλλησιν: ἔχουσιν γὰρ ὀρθῶς, τοὺς αὐτοῖς χρωμένους εὐδαίμονας ἀποτελοῦντες. πάντα γὰρ τἀγαθὰ πορίζουσιν. διπλᾶ δὲ ἀγαθά ἐστιν, τὰ μὲν ἀνθρώπινα, τὰ δὲ θεῖα: ἤρτηται δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν θείων θάτερα, καὶ ἐὰν μὲν δέχηταί τις τὰ μείζονα πόλις, [631ξ] κτᾶται καὶ τὰ ἐλάττονα, εἰ δὲ μή, στέρεται ἀμφοῖν. ἔστι δὲ τὰ μὲν ἐλάττονα ὧν ἡγεῖται μὲν ὑγίεια, κάλλος δὲ δεύτερον, τὸ δὲ τρίτον ἰσχὺς εἴς τε δρόμον καὶ εἰς τὰς ἄλλας πάσας κινήσεις τῷ σώματι, τέταρτον δὲ δὴ πλοῦτος οὐ τυφλὸς ἀλλ᾽ ὀξὺ βλέπων, ἄνπερ ἅμ᾽ ἕπηται φρονήσει: ὃ δὴ πρῶτον αὖ τῶν θείων ἡγεμονοῦν ἐστιν ἀγαθῶν, ἡ φρόνησις, δεύτερον δὲ μετὰ νοῦ σώφρων ψυχῆς ἕξις, ἐκ δὲ τούτων μετ᾽ ἀνδρείας κραθέντων τρίτον ἂν εἴη δικαιοσύνη, τέταρτον δὲ [631δ] ἀνδρεία. ταῦτα δὲ πάντα ἐκείνων ἔμπροσθεν τέτακται φύσει, καὶ δὴ καὶ τῷ νομοθέτῃ τακτέον οὕτως. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τὰς ἄλλας προστάξεις τοῖς πολίταις εἰς ταῦτα βλεπούσας αὐτοῖς εἶναι διακελευστέον, τούτων δὲ τὰ μὲν ἀνθρώπινα εἰς τὰ θεῖα, τὰ δὲ θεῖα εἰς τὸν ἡγεμόνα νοῦν σύμπαντα βλέπειν: περί τε γάμους ἀλλήλοις ἐπικοινουμένους, μετά τε ταῦτα ἐν ταῖς τῶν παίδων γεννήσεσιν καὶ τροφαῖς ὅσοι [631ε] τε ἄρρενες καὶ ὅσαι θήλειαι, νέων τε ὄντων καὶ ἐπὶ τὸ πρεσβύτερον ἰόντων μέχρι γήρως, τιμῶντα ὀρθῶς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι δεῖ καὶ ἀτιμάζοντα, ἐν πάσαις ταῖς τούτων ὁμιλίαις τάς τε λύπας αὐτῶν καὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας συμπάντων [632α] τε ἐρώτων τὰς σπουδὰς ἐπεσκεμμένον καὶ παραπεφυλαχότα, ψέγειν τε ὀρθῶς καὶ ἐπαινεῖν δι᾽ αὐτῶν τῶν νόμων: ἐν ὀργαῖς τε αὖ καὶ ἐν φόβοις, ὅσαι τε διὰ δυστυχίαν ταραχαὶ ταῖς ψυχαῖς γίγνονται καὶ ὅσαι ἐν εὐτυχίαις τῶν τοιούτων ἀποφυγαί, ὅσα τε κατὰ νόσους ἢ κατὰ πολέμους ἢ πενίας ἢ τὰ τούτοις ἐναντία γιγνόμενα προσπίπτει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις παθήματα, ἐν πᾶσιν τοῖς τοιούτοις τῆς ἑκάστων διαθέσεως διδακτέον [632β] καὶ ὁριστέον τό τε καλὸν καὶ μή. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα ἀνάγκη τὸν νομοθέτην τὰς κτήσεις τῶν πολιτῶν καὶ τὰ ἀναλώματα φυλάττειν ὅντιν᾽ ἂν γίγνηται τρόπον, καὶ τὰς πρὸς ἀλλήλους πᾶσιν τούτοις κοινωνίας καὶ διαλύσεις ἑκοῦσίν τε καὶ ἄκουσιν καθ᾽ ὁποῖον ἂν ἕκαστον πράττωσιν τῶν τοιούτων πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἐπισκοπεῖν, τό τε δίκαιον καὶ μὴ ἐν οἷς ἔστιν τε καὶ ἐν οἷς ἐλλείπει, καὶ τοῖς μὲν εὐπειθέσιν τῶν νόμων τιμὰς ἀπονέμειν, τοῖς δὲ δυσπειθέσι δίκας τακτὰς [632ξ] ἐπιτιθέναι, μέχριπερ ἂν πρὸς τέλος ἁπάσης πολιτείας ἐπεξελθών, ἴδῃ τῶν τελευτησάντων τίνα δεῖ τρόπον ἑκάστοις γίγνεσθαι τὰς ταφὰς καὶ τιμὰς ἅστινας αὐτοῖς ἀπονέμειν δεῖ: κατιδὼν δὲ ὁ θεὶς τοὺς νόμους ἅπασιν τούτοις φύλακας ἐπιστήσει, τοὺς μὲν διὰ φρονήσεως, τοὺς δὲ δι᾽ ἀληθοῦς δόξης ἰόντας, ὅπως πάντα ταῦτα συνδήσας ὁ νοῦς ἑπόμενα σωφροσύνῃ καὶ δικαιοσύνῃ ἀποφήνῃ, ἀλλὰ μὴ πλούτῳ μηδὲ [632δ] φιλοτιμίᾳ.” οὕτως, ὦ ξένοι, ἔγωγε ἤθελον ἂν ὑμᾶς καὶ ἔτι νῦν βούλομαι διεξελθεῖν πῶς ἐν τοῖς τοῦ Διὸς λεγομένοις νόμοις τοῖς τε τοῦ Πυθίου Ἀπόλλωνος, οὓς Μίνως τε καὶ Λυκοῦργος ἐθέτην, ἔνεστίν τε πάντα ταῦτα, καὶ ὅπῃ τάξιν τινὰ εἰληφότα διάδηλά ἐστιν τῷ περὶ νόμων ἐμπείρῳ τέχνῃ εἴτε καί τισιν ἔθεσιν, τοῖς δὲ ἄλλοις ἡμῖν οὐδαμῶς ἐστι καταφανῆ.

Κλεινίας

πῶς οὖν, ὦ ξένε, λέγειν χρὴ τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐξ ἀρχῆς πάλιν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ χρῆναι διεξελθεῖν, [632ε] καθάπερ ἠρξάμεθα, τὰ τῆς ἀνδρείας πρῶτον ἐπιτηδεύματα, ἔπειτα ἕτερον καὶ αὖθις ἕτερον εἶδος τῆς ἀρετῆς διέξιμεν, ἐὰν βούλησθε: ὅπως δ᾽ ἂν τὸ πρῶτον διεξέλθωμεν, πειρασώμεθα αὐτὸ παράδειγμα θέμενοι καὶ τἆλλ᾽ οὕτω διαμυθολογοῦντες παραμύθια ποιήσασθαι τῆς ὁδοῦ, ὕστερον δὲ ἀρετῆς πάσης ἅ γε νυνδὴ διήλθομεν ἐκεῖσε βλέποντα ἀποφανοῦμεν, ἂν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ. [633α]

Μέγιλλος

καλῶς λέγεις, καὶ πειρῶ πρῶτον κρίνειν τὸν τοῦ Διὸς ἐπαινέτην τόνδε ἡμῖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

πειράσομαι, καὶ σέ τε καὶ ἐμαυτόν: κοινὸς γὰρ ὁ λόγος. λέγετε οὖν: τὰ συσσίτιά φαμεν καὶ τὰ γυμνάσια πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον ἐξηυρῆσθαι τῷ νομοθέτῃ;

Μέγιλλος

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τρίτον ἢ τέταρτον; ἴσως γὰρ ἂν οὕτω χρείη διαριθμήσασθαι καὶ περὶ τῶν τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς εἴτε μερῶν εἴτε ἅττ᾽ αὐτὰ καλεῖν χρεών ἐστι, δηλοῦντα μόνον ἃ λέγει. [633β]

Μέγιλλος

τρίτον τοίνυν, ἔγωγ᾽ εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν καὶ Λακεδαιμονίων ὁστισοῦν, τὴν θήραν ηὗρε.

Ἀθηναῖος

τέταρτον δέ, ἢ πέμπτον εἰ δυναίμεθα, λέγειν πειρώμεθα.

Μέγιλλος

ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ τὸ τέταρτον ἔγωγε πειρῴμην ἂν λέγειν, τὸ περὶ τὰς καρτερήσεις τῶν ἀλγηδόνων πολὺ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν γιγνόμενον, ἔν τε ταῖς πρὸς ἀλλήλους ταῖς χερσὶ μάχαις καὶ ἐν ἁρπαγαῖς τισιν διὰ πολλῶν πληγῶν ἑκάστοτε γιγνομένων: ἔτι δὲ καὶ κρυπτεία τις ὀνομάζεται θαυμαστῶς πολύπονος [633ξ] πρὸς τὰς καρτερήσεις, χειμώνων τε ἀνυποδησίαι καὶ ἀστρωσίαι καὶ ἄνευ θεραπόντων αὐτοῖς ἑαυτῶν διακονήσεις νύκτωρ τε πλανωμένων διὰ πάσης τῆς χώρας καὶ μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν. ἔτι δὲ κἀν ταῖς γυμνοπαιδίαις δειναὶ καρτερήσεις παρ᾽ ἡμῖν γίγνονται τῇ τοῦ πνίγους ῥώμῃ διαμαχομένων, καὶ πάμπολλα ἕτερα, σχεδὸν ὅσα οὐκ ἂν παύσαιτό τις ἑκάστοτε διεξιών.

Ἀθηναῖος

εὖ γε, ὦ Λακεδαιμόνιε ξένε, λέγεις. τὴν ἀνδρείαν δέ, φέρε, τί θῶμεν; πότερον ἁπλῶς οὕτως εἶναι πρὸς φόβους [633δ] καὶ λύπας διαμάχην μόνον, ἢ καὶ πρὸς πόθους τε καὶ ἡδονὰς καί τινας δεινὰς θωπείας κολακικάς, αἳ καὶ τῶν σεμνῶν οἰομένων εἶναι τοὺς θυμοὺς ποιοῦσιν κηρίνους.

Μέγιλλος

οἶμαι μὲν οὕτω: πρὸς ταῦτα σύμπαντα.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ γοῦν μεμνήμεθα τοὺς ἔμπροσθεν λόγους, ἥττω τινὰ ὅδε καὶ πόλιν ἔλεγεν αὐτὴν αὑτῆς καὶ ἄνδρα. ἦ γάρ, ὦ ξένε Κνώσιε;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πάνυ γε. [633ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν οὖν πότερα λέγομεν τὸν τῶν λυπῶν ἥττω κακὸν ἢ καὶ τὸν τῶν ἡδονῶν;

Κλεινίας

μᾶλλον, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, τὸν τῶν ἡδονῶν: καὶ πάντες που μᾶλλον λέγομεν τὸν ὑπὸ τῶν ἡδονῶν κρατούμενον τοῦτον τὸν ἐπονειδίστως ἥττονα ἑαυτοῦ πρότερον ἢ τὸν ὑπὸ τῶν λυπῶν. [634α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁ Διὸς οὖν δὴ καὶ ὁ Πυθικὸς νομοθέτης οὐ δήπου χωλὴν τὴν ἀνδρείαν νενομοθετήκατον, πρὸς τἀριστερὰ μόνον δυναμένην ἀντιβαίνειν, πρὸς τὰ δεξιὰ καὶ κομψὰ καὶ θωπευτικὰ ἀδυνατοῦσαν; ἢ πρὸς ἀμφότερα;

Κλεινίας

πρὸς ἀμφότερα ἔγωγε ἀξιῶ.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγωμεν τοίνυν πάλιν ἐπιτηδεύματα ποῖα ἔσθ᾽ ὑμῖν ἀμφοτέραις ταῖς πόλεσιν, ἃ γεύοντα τῶν ἡδονῶν καὶ οὐ φεύγοντα αὐτάς, καθάπερ τὰς λύπας οὐκ ἔφευγεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἄγοντα εἰς μέσας, ἠνάγκαζε καὶ ἔπειθεν τιμαῖς ὥστε κρατεῖν [634β] αὐτῶν; ποῦ δὴ τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ταὐτὸν περὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς συντεταγμένον ἐν τοῖς νόμοις; λεγέσθω τί τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ὃ καὶ ἀπεργάζεται ὑμῖν ὁμοίως πρός τε ἀλγηδόνας καὶ πρὸς ἡδονὰς τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἀνδρείους, νικῶντάς τε ἃ δεῖ νικᾶν καὶ οὐδαμῶς ἥττους πολεμίων τῶν ἐγγύτατα ἑαυτῶν καὶ χαλεπωτάτων.

Μέγιλλος

οὕτω μὲν τοίνυν, ὦ ξένε, καθάπερ πρὸς τὰς ἀλγηδόνας εἶχον νόμους ἀντιτεταγμένους πολλοὺς εἰπεῖν, οὐκ ἂν [634ξ] ἴσως εὐποροίην κατὰ μεγάλα μέρη καὶ διαφανῆ λέγων περὶ τῶν ἡδονῶν: κατὰ δὲ σμικρὰ ἴσως εὐποροίην ἄν.

Κλεινίας

οὐ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἂν αὐτὸς ἔγωγε ἐν τοῖς κατὰ Κρήτην νόμοις ἔχοιμι ἐμφανὲς ὁμοίως ποιεῖν τὸ τοιοῦτον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ ἄριστοι ξένων, καὶ οὐδέν γε θαυμαστόν. ἀλλ᾽ ἂν ἄρα τις ἡμῶν περὶ τοὺς ἑκάστων οἴκοι νόμους ψέξῃ τι, βουλόμενος ἰδεῖν τό τε ἀληθὲς ἅμα καὶ τὸ βέλτιστον, μὴ χαλεπῶς ἀλλὰ πρᾴως ἀποδεχώμεθα ἀλλήλων.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς, ὦ ξένε Ἀθηναῖε, εἴρηκας, καὶ πειστέον. [634δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ γὰρ ἄν, ὦ Κλεινία, τηλικοῖσδε ἀνδράσιν πρέποι τὸ τοιοῦτον.

Κλεινίας

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ μὲν τοίνυν ὀρθῶς ἢ μή τις ἐπιτιμᾷ τῇ τε Λακωνικῇ καὶ τῇ Κρητικῇ πολιτείᾳ, λόγος ἂν ἕτερος εἴη: τὰ δ᾽ οὖν λεγόμενα πρὸς τῶν πολλῶν ἴσως ἐγὼ μᾶλλον ἔχοιμ᾽ ἂν ὑμῶν ἀμφοτέρων λέγειν. ὑμῖν μὲν γάρ, εἴπερ καὶ μετρίως κατεσκεύασται τὰ τῶν νόμων, εἷς τῶν καλλίστων ἂν εἴη νόμων μὴ ζητεῖν τῶν νέων μηδένα ἐᾶν ποῖα καλῶς [634ε] αὐτῶν ἢ μὴ καλῶς ἔχει, μιᾷ δὲ φωνῇ καὶ ἐξ ἑνὸς στόματος πάντας συμφωνεῖν ὡς πάντα καλῶς κεῖται θέντων θεῶν, καὶ ἐάν τις ἄλλως λέγῃ, μὴ ἀνέχεσθαι τὸ παράπαν ἀκούοντας: γέρων δὲ εἴ τίς τι συννοεῖ τῶν παρ᾽ ὑμῖν, πρὸς ἄρχοντά τε καὶ πρὸς ἡλικιώτην μηδενὸς ἐναντίον νέου ποιεῖσθαι τοὺς τοιούτους λόγους.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατά γε, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις, καὶ καθάπερ μάντις, [635α] ἀπὼν τῆς τότε διανοίας τοῦ τιθέντος αὐτά, νῦν ἐπιεικῶς μοι δοκεῖς ἐστοχάσθαι καὶ σφόδρα ἀληθῆ λέγειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἡμῖν τὰ νῦν ἐρημία μὲν νέων, αὐτοὶ δ᾽ ἕνεκα γήρως ἀφείμεθ᾽ ὑπὸ τοῦ νομοθέτου διαλεγόμενοι περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων μόνοι πρὸς μόνους μηδὲν ἂν πλημμελεῖν;

Κλεινίας

ἔστι ταῦτα οὕτως, εἰς ἃ καὶ μηδέν γε ἀνῇς ἐπιτιμῶν τοῖς νόμοις ἡμῶν: οὐ γὰρ τό γε γνῶναί τι τῶν μὴ καλῶν ἄτιμον, ἀλλὰ ἴασιν ἐξ αὐτοῦ συμβαίνει γίγνεσθαι [635β] τῷ μὴ φθόνῳ τὰ λεγόμενα ἀλλ᾽ εὐνοίᾳ δεχομένῳ.

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς: οὐ μὴν ἐπιτιμῶν γε ἐρῶ τοῖς νόμοις πω, πρὶν βεβαίως εἰς δύναμιν διασκέψασθαι, μᾶλλον δὲ ἀπορῶν. ὑμῖν γὰρ ὁ νομοθέτης μόνοις Ἑλλήνων καὶ βαρβάρων, ὧν ἡμεῖς πυνθανόμεθα, τῶν μεγίστων ἡδονῶν καὶ παιδιῶν ἐπέταξεν ἀπέχεσθαι καὶ μὴ γεύεσθαι, τὸ δὲ τῶν λυπῶν καὶ φόβων, ὅπερ ἄρτι διεληλύθαμεν, ἡγήσατο εἴ τις ἐκ παίδων [635ξ] φευξεῖται διὰ τέλους, ὁπόταν εἰς ἀναγκαίους ἔλθῃ πόνους καὶ φόβους καὶ λύπας, φευξεῖσθαι τοὺς ἐν ἐκείνοις γεγυμνασμένους καὶ δουλεύσειν αὐτοῖς. ταὐτὸν δὴ τοῦτ᾽, οἶμαι, καὶ πρὸς τὰς ἡδονὰς ἔδει διανοεῖσθαι τὸν αὐτὸν νομοθέτην, λέγοντα αὐτὸν πρὸς ἑαυτὸν ὡς ἡμῖν ἐκ νέων εἰ ἄπειροι τῶν μεγίστων ἡδονῶν οἱ πολῖται γενήσονται, καὶ ἀμελέτητοι γιγνόμενοι ἐν ταῖς ἡδοναῖς καρτερεῖν καὶ μηδὲν τῶν αἰσχρῶν ἀναγκάζεσθαι ποιεῖν, ἕνεκα τῆς γλυκυθυμίας τῆς πρὸς τὰς [635δ] ἡδονὰς ταὐτὸν πείσονται τοῖς ἡττωμένοις τῶν φόβων: δουλεύσουσι τρόπον ἕτερον καὶ ἔτ᾽ αἰσχίω τοῖς γε δυναμένοις καρτερεῖν ἐν ταῖς ἡδοναῖς καὶ τοῖς κεκτημένοις τὰ περὶ τὰς ἡδονάς, ἀνθρώποις ἐνίοτε παντάπασι κακοῖς, καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν τῇ μὲν δούλην τῇ δὲ ἐλευθέραν ἕξουσιν, καὶ οὐκ ἄξιοι ἁπλῶς ἀνδρεῖοι καὶ ἐλευθέριοι ἔσονται προσαγορεύεσθαι. σκοπεῖτε οὖν εἴ τι τῶν νῦν λεγομένων ὑμῖν κατὰ τρόπον δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι. [635ε]

Κλεινίας

δοκεῖ μὲν ἡμῖν γέ πως λεγομένου τοῦ λόγου: περὶ δὲ τηλικούτων εὐθὺς πεπιστευκέναι ῥᾳδίως μὴ νέων τε ᾖ μᾶλλον καὶ ἀνοήτων.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ εἰ τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα διεξίοιμεν ὧν προυθέμεθα, ὦ Κλεινία τε καὶ Λακεδαιμόνιε ξένε-μετ᾽ ἀνδρείαν γὰρ δὴ σωφροσύνης πέρι λέγωμεν-τὶ διαφέρον ἐν ταύταις ταῖς πολιτείαις ἢ ταῖς τῶν εἰκῇ πολιτευομένων ἀνευρήσομεν, [636α] ὥσπερ τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον νυνδή;

Μέγιλλος

σχεδὸν οὐ ῥᾴδιον: ἀλλ᾽ ἔοικεν γὰρ τά τε συσσίτια καὶ τὰ γυμνάσια καλῶς ηὑρῆσθαι πρὸς ἀμφοτέρας.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔοικεν δῆτα, ὦ ξένοι, χαλεπὸν εἶναι τὸ περὶ τὰς πολιτείας ἀναμφισβητήτως ὁμοίως ἔργῳ καὶ λόγῳ γίγνεσθαι: κινδυνεύει γάρ, καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς σώμασιν, οὐ δυνατὸν εἶναι προστάξαι τι πρὸς ἓν σῶμα ἓν ἐπιτήδευμα, ἐν ᾧ οὐκ ἂν φανείη ταὐτὸν τοῦτο τὰ μὲν βλάπτον τὰ ἡμῶν σώματα, [636β] τὰ δὲ καὶ ὠφελοῦν. ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ γυμνάσια ταῦτα καὶ τὰ συσσίτια πολλὰ μὲν ἄλλα νῦν ὠφελεῖ τὰς πόλεις, πρὸς δὲ τὰς στάσεις χαλεπά-δηλοῦσιν δὲ Μιλησίων καὶ Βοιωτῶν καὶ Θουρίων παῖδες-καὶ δὴ καὶ παλαιὸν νόμον δοκεῖ τοῦτο τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα καὶ κατὰ φύσιν, τὰς περὶ τὰ ἀφροδίσια ἡδονὰς οὐ μόνον ἀνθρώπων ἀλλὰ καὶ θηρίων, διεφθαρκέναι. καὶ τούτων τὰς ὑμετέρας πόλεις πρώτας ἄν τις αἰτιῷτο καὶ [636ξ] ὅσαι τῶν ἄλλων μάλιστα ἅπτονται τῶν γυμνασίων: καὶ εἴτε παίζοντα εἴτε σπουδάζοντα ἐννοεῖν δεῖ τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἐννοητέον ὅτι τῇ θηλείᾳ καὶ τῇ τῶν ἀρρένων φύσει εἰς κοινωνίαν ἰούσῃ τῆς γεννήσεως ἡ περὶ ταῦτα ἡδονὴ κατὰ φύσιν ἀποδεδόσθαι δοκεῖ, ἀρρένων δὲ πρὸς ἄρρενας ἢ θηλειῶν πρὸς θηλείας παρὰ φύσιν καὶ τῶν πρώτων τὸ τόλμημ᾽ εἶναι δι᾽ ἀκράτειαν ἡδονῆς. πάντες δὲ δὴ Κρητῶν τὸν περὶ Γανυμήδη μῦθον [636δ] κατηγοροῦμεν ὡς λογοποιησάντων τούτων: ἐπειδὴ παρὰ Διὸς αὐτοῖς οἱ νόμοι πεπιστευμένοι ἦσαν γεγονέναι, τοῦτον τὸν μῦθον προστεθηκέναι κατὰ τοῦ Διός, ἵνα ἑπόμενοι δὴ τῷ θεῷ καρπῶνται καὶ ταύτην τὴν ἡδονήν. τὸ μὲν οὖν τοῦ μύθου χαιρέτω, νόμων δὲ πέρι διασκοπουμένων ἀνθρώπων ὀλίγου πᾶσά ἐστιν ἡ σκέψις περί τε τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ τὰς λύπας ἔν τε πόλεσιν καὶ ἐν ἰδίοις ἤθεσιν: δύο γὰρ αὗται πηγαὶ μεθεῖνται φύσει ῥεῖν, ὧν ὁ μὲν ἀρυτόμενος ὅθεν τε [636ε] δεῖ καὶ ὁπότε καὶ ὁπόσον εὐδαιμονεῖ, καὶ πόλις ὁμοίως καὶ ἰδιώτης καὶ ζῷον ἅπαν, ὁ δ᾽ ἀνεπιστημόνως ἅμα καὶ ἐκτὸς τῶν καιρῶν τἀναντία ἂν ἐκείνῳ ζῴη.

Μέγιλλος

λέγεται μὲν ταῦτα, ὦ ξένε, καλῶς πως: οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽ ἀφασία γ᾽ ἡμᾶς λαμβάνει τί ποτε χρὴ λέγειν πρὸς ταῦτα, ὅμως δ᾽ ἔμοιγε ὀρθῶς δοκεῖ τὸ τὰς ἡδονὰς φεύγειν διακελεύεσθαι τόν γε ἐν Λακεδαίμονι νομοθέτην, περὶ δὲ τῶν ἐν Κνωσῷ νόμων ὅδε, ἂν ἐθέλῃ, βοηθήσει. τὰ δ᾽ ἐν [637α] Σπάρτῃ κάλλιστ᾽ ἀνθρώπων δοκεῖ μοι κεῖσθαι τὰ περὶ τὰς ἡδονάς: οὗ γὰρ μάλιστ᾽ ἄνθρωποι καὶ μεγίσταις προσπίπτουσιν ἡδοναῖς καὶ ὕβρεσι καὶ ἀνοίᾳ πάσῃ, τοῦτ᾽ ἐξέβαλεν ὁ νόμος ἡμῶν ἐκ τῆς χώρας συμπάσης, καὶ οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἐπ᾽ ἀγρῶν ἴδοις, οὔτ᾽ ἐν ἄστεσιν ὅσων Σπαρτιάταις μέλει, συμπόσια οὐδ᾽ ὁπόσα τούτοις συνεπόμενα πάσας ἡδονὰς κινεῖ κατὰ δύναμιν, οὐδ᾽ ἔστιν ὅστις ἂν ἀπαντῶν κωμάζοντί τινι [637β] μετὰ μέθης οὐκ ἂν τὴν μεγίστην δίκην εὐθὺς ἐπιθείη, καὶ οὐδ᾽ ἂν Διονύσια πρόφασιν ἔχοντ᾽ αὐτὸν λύσαιτο, ὥσπερ ἐν ἁμάξαις εἶδόν ποτε παρ᾽ ὑμῖν ἐγώ, καὶ ἐν Τάραντι δὲ παρὰ τοῖς ἡμετέροις ἀποίκοις πᾶσαν ἐθεασάμην τὴν πόλιν περὶ τὰ Διονύσια μεθύουσαν: παρ᾽ ἡμῖν δ᾽ οὐκ ἔστ᾽ οὐδὲν τοιοῦτον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ Λακεδαιμόνιε ξένε, ἐπαινετὰ μὲν πάντ᾽ ἐστὶν τὰ τοιαῦτα, ὅπου τινὲς ἔνεισιν καρτερήσεις, ὅπου δὲ ἀνεῖνται, [637ξ] βλακικώτερα: ταχὺ γάρ σου λάβοιτ᾽ ἄν τις τῶν παρ᾽ ἡμῶν ἀμυνόμενος, δεικνὺς τὴν τῶν γυναικῶν παρ᾽ ὑμῖν ἄνεσιν. ἅπασιν δὴ τοῖς τοιούτοις, καὶ ἐν Τάραντι καὶ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν καὶ παρ᾽ ὑμῖν δέ, μία ἀπόκρισις ἀπολύεσθαι δοκεῖ τοῦ μὴ κακῶς ἔχειν ἀλλ᾽ ὀρθῶς: πᾶς γὰρ ἀποκρινόμενος ἐρεῖ θαυμάζοντι ξένῳ, τὴν παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς ἀήθειαν ὁρῶντι, “μὴ θαύμαζε, ὦ ξένε: νόμος ἔσθ᾽ ἡμῖν οὗτος, ἴσως δ᾽ ὑμῖν περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων [637δ] ἕτερος.” ἡμῖν δ᾽ ἐστὶ νῦν, ὦ φίλοι ἄνδρες, οὐ περὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων τῶν ἄλλων ὁ λόγος, ἀλλὰ περὶ τῶν νομοθετῶν αὐτῶν κακίας τε καὶ ἀρετῆς. ἔτι γὰρ οὖν εἴπωμεν πλείω περὶ ἁπάσης μέθης: οὐ γὰρ σμικρόν ἐστιν τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα οὐδὲ φαύλου διαγνῶναι νομοθέτου. λέγω δ᾽ οὐκ οἴνου περὶ πόσεως τὸ παράπαν ἢ μή, μέθης δὲ αὐτῆς πέρι, πότερον ὥσπερ Σκύθαι χρῶνται καὶ Πέρσαι χρηστέον, καὶ ἔτι Καρχηδόνιοι καὶ Κελτοὶ καὶ Ἴβηρες καὶ Θρᾷκες, πολεμικὰ [637ε] σύμπαντα ὄντα ταῦτα γένη, ἢ καθάπερ ὑμεῖς: ὑμεῖς μὲν γάρ, ὅπερ λέγεις, τὸ παράπαν ἀπέχεσθε, Σκύθαι δὲ καὶ Θρᾷκες ἀκράτῳ παντάπασι χρώμενοι, γυναῖκές τε καὶ αὐτοί, καὶ κατὰ τῶν ἱματίων καταχεόμενοι, καλὸν καὶ εὔδαιμον ἐπιτήδευμα ἐπιτηδεύειν νενομίκασι. Πέρσαι δὲ σφόδρα μὲν χρῶνται καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις τρυφαῖς ἃς ὑμεῖς ἀποβάλλετε, ἐν τάξει δὲ μᾶλλον τούτων. [638α]

Μέγιλλος

ὦ λῷστε, διώκομεν δέ γε ἡμεῖς πάντας τούτους, ὅταν ὅπλα εἰς τὰς χεῖρας λάβωμεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ ἄριστε, μὴ λέγε ταῦτα: πολλαὶ γὰρ δὴ φυγαὶ καὶ διώξεις ἀτέκμαρτοι γεγόνασίν τε καὶ ἔσονται, διὸ φανερὸν ὅρον τοῦτον οὐκ ἄν ποτε λέγοιμεν, ἀλλὰ ἀμφισβητήσιμον, περὶ καλῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων καὶ μή, νίκην τε καὶ ἧτταν λέγοντες μάχης. ἐπειδὴ γὰρ αἱ μείζους τὰς ἐλάττους πόλεις [638β] νικῶσιν μαχόμεναι καὶ καταδουλοῦνται, Συρακόσιοι μὲν Λοκρούς, οἳ δὴ δοκοῦσιν εὐνομώτατοι τῶν περὶ ἐκεῖνον τὸν τόπον γεγονέναι, Κείους δὲ Ἀθηναῖοι: μυρία δὲ ἄλλα τοιαῦτ᾽ ἂν εὕροιμεν. ἀλλὰ περὶ αὐτοῦ ἑκάστου ἐπιτηδεύματος πειρώμεθα λέγοντες πείθειν ἡμᾶς αὐτούς, νίκας δὲ καὶ ἥττας ἐκτὸς λόγου τὰ νῦν θῶμεν, λέγωμεν δ᾽ ὡς τὸ μὲν τοιόνδ᾽ ἐστὶν καλόν, τὸ δὲ τοιόνδε οὐ καλόν. πρῶτον δ᾽ ἀκούσατέ τί μου, περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων ὡς δεῖ τό τε χρηστὸν καὶ τὸ μὴ σκοπεῖν. [638ξ]

Μέγιλλος

πῶς οὖν δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

δοκοῦσί μοι πάντες οἱ λόγῳ τι λαβόντες ἐπιτήδευμα, καὶ προθέμενοι ψέγειν αὐτὸ ἢ ἐπαινεῖν εὐθὺς ῥηθέν, οὐδαμῶς δρᾶν κατὰ τρόπον, ἀλλὰ ταὐτὸν ποιεῖν οἷον εἰ δή τις, ἐπαινέσαντός τινος πυροὺς βρῶμα ὡς ἀγαθόν, εὐθὺς ψέγοι, μὴ διαπυθόμενος αὐτοῦ μήτε τὴν ἐργασίαν μήτε τὴν προσφοράν, ὅντινα τρόπον καὶ οἷστισι καὶ μεθ᾽ ὧν καὶ ὅπως ἔχοντα καὶ ὅπως προσφέρειν ἔχουσιν. νῦν δὴ ταὐτόν μοι [638δ] δοκοῦμεν ἡμεῖς ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ποιεῖν: περὶ μέθης γὰρ ἀκούσαντες τοσοῦτον μόνον, εὐθὺς οἱ μὲν ψέγειν αὐτό, οἱ δ᾽ ἐπαινεῖν, καὶ μάλα ἀτόπως. μάρτυσιν γὰρ καὶ ἐπαινέταις χρώμενοι ἐπαινοῦμεν ἑκάτεροι, καὶ οἱ μέν, ὅτι πολλοὺς παρεχόμεθα, ἀξιοῦμέν τι λέγειν κύριον, οἱ δέ, ὅτι τοὺς μὴ χρωμένους αὐτῷ ὁρῶμεν νικῶντας μαχομένους: ἀμφισβητεῖται δ᾽ αὖ καὶ τοῦτο ἡμῖν. εἰ μὲν δὴ καὶ περὶ ἑκάστων [638ε] οὕτω καὶ τῶν ἄλλων νομίμων διέξιμεν, οὐκ ἂν ἔμοιγε κατὰ νοῦν εἴη, τρόπον δὲ ἄλλον, ὃν ἐμοὶ φαίνεται δεῖν, ἐθέλω λέγειν περὶ αὐτοῦ τούτου, τῆς μέθης, πειρώμενος ἂν ἄρα δύνωμαι τὴν περὶ ἁπάντων τῶν τοιούτων ὀρθὴν μέθοδον ἡμῖν δηλοῦν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ μυρία ἐπὶ μυρίοις ἔθνη περὶ αὐτῶν ἀμφισβητοῦντα ὑμῖν πόλεσι δυοῖν τῷ λόγῳ διαμάχοιτ᾽ ἄν.

Μέγιλλος

καὶ μὴν εἴ τινα ἔχομεν ὀρθὴν σκέψιν τῶν τοιούτων, [639α] οὐκ ἀποκνητέον ἀκούειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

σκεψώμεθα δή πῃ τῇδε. φέρε, εἴ τις αἰγῶν τροφήν, καὶ τὸ ζῷον αὐτὸ κτῆμα ὡς ἔστιν καλόν, ἐπαινοῖ, ἄλλος δέ τις ἑωρακὼς αἶγας χωρὶς νεμομένας αἰπόλου ἐν ἐργασίμοις χωρίοις δρώσας κακὰ διαψέγοι, καὶ πᾶν θρέμμα ἄναρχον ἢ μετὰ κακῶν ἀρχόντων ἰδὼν οὕτω μέμφοιτο, τὸν τοῦ τοιούτου ψόγον ἡγούμεθα ὑγιὲς ἄν ποτε ψέξαι καὶ ὁτιοῦν;

Μέγιλλος

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

χρηστὸς δὲ ἄρχων ἔσθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐν πλοίοις πότερον ἐὰν [639β] τὴν ναυτικὴν ἔχῃ ἐπιστήμην μόνον, ἄντ᾽ οὖν ναυτιᾷ ἄντε μή, ἢ πῶς ἂν λέγοιμεν;

Μέγιλλος

οὐδαμῶς, ἄν γε πρὸς τῇ τέχνῃ ἔχῃ καὶ τοῦτο τὸ πάθος ὃ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ ἄρχων στρατοπέδων; ἆρ᾽ ἐὰν τὴν πολεμικὴν ἔχῃ ἐπιστήμην, ἱκανὸς ἄρχειν, κἂν δειλὸς ὢν ἐν τοῖς δεινοῖς ὑπὸ μέθης τοῦ φόβου ναυτιᾷ;

Μέγιλλος

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἂν δὲ αὖ μήτε ἔχῃ τὴν τέχνην δειλός τε ᾖ;

Μέγιλλος

παντάπασίν τινα πονηρὸν λέγεις, καὶ οὐδαμῶς ἀνδρῶν ἄρχοντα ἀλλά τινων σφόδρα γυναικῶν. [639ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ ἐπαινέτην ἢ ψέκτην κοινωνίας ἡστινοσοῦν ᾗ πέφυκέν τε ἄρχων εἶναι μετ᾽ ἐκείνου τε ὠφέλιμός ἐστιν, ὁ δὲ μήτε ἑωρακὼς εἴη ποτ᾽ ὀρθῶς αὐτὴν αὑτῇ κοινωνοῦσαν μετ᾽ ἄρχοντος, ἀεὶ δὲ ἄναρχον ἢ μετὰ κακῶν ἀρχόντων συνοῦσαν; οἰόμεθα δή ποτε τοὺς τοιούτους θεωροὺς τῶν τοιούτων κοινωνιῶν χρηστόν τι ψέξειν ἢ ἐπαινέσεσθαι;

Μέγιλλος

πῶς δ᾽ ἄν, μηδέποτέ γε ἰδόντας μηδὲ συγγενομένους [639δ] ὀρθῶς γενομένῳ μηδενὶ τῶν τοιούτων κοινωνημάτων;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔχε δή: τῶν πολλῶν κοινωνιῶν συμπότας καὶ συμπόσια θεῖμεν ἂν μίαν τινὰ συνουσίαν εἶναι;

Μέγιλλος

καὶ σφόδρα γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταύτην οὖν μῶν ὀρθῶς γιγνομένην ἤδη τις πώποτε ἐθεάσατο; καὶ σφῷν μὲν ἀποκρίνασθαι ῥᾴδιον ὡς οὐδεπώποτε τὸ παράπαν-οὐ γὰρ ἐπιχώριον ὑμῖν τοῦτο οὐδὲ νόμιμον-ἐγὼ δὲ ἐντετύχηκά τε πολλαῖς καὶ πολλαχοῦ, καὶ προσέτι πάσας ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν διηρώτηκα, καὶ σχεδὸν ὅλην [639ε] μὲν οὐδεμίαν ὀρθῶς γιγνομένην ἑώρακα οὐδὲ ἀκήκοα, μόρια δ᾽ εἴ που σμικρὰ καὶ ὀλίγα, τὰ πολλὰ δὲ σύμπανθ᾽ ὡς εἰπεῖν διημαρτημένα.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δὴ ταῦτα, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις; εἰπὲ ἔτι σαφέστερον: ἡμεῖς μὲν γάρ, ὅπερ εἶπες, ἀπειρίᾳ τῶν τοιούτων, οὐδὲ ἐντυγχάνοντες [640α] ἂν ἴσως εὐθύς γε γνοῖμεν τό τε ὀρθὸν καὶ μὴ γιγνόμενον ἐν αὐτοῖς.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰκὸς λέγεις: ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοῦ φράζοντος πειρῶ μανθάνειν. τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἐν πάσαις τε συνόδοις, καὶ κοινωνίαις πράξεων ὡντινωνοῦν, ὡς ὀρθὸν πανταχοῦ ἑκάστοις ἄρχοντα εἶναι, μανθάνεις;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν ἐλέγομεν νυνδὴ μαχομένων ὡς ἀνδρεῖον δεῖ τὸν ἄρχοντ᾽ εἶναι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁ μὴν ἀνδρεῖος τῶν δειλῶν ὑπὸ φόβων ἧττον τεθορύβηται. [640β]

Κλεινίας

καὶ τοῦτο οὕτως.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ δ᾽ ἦν τις μηχανὴ μηδὲν τὸ παράπαν δεδιότα μηδὲ θορυβούμενον ἐπιστῆσαι στρατοπέδῳ στρατηγόν, ἆρ᾽ οὐ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν παντὶ τρόπῳ ἐπράττομεν;

Κλεινίας

σφόδρα μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν δέ γε οὐ στρατοπέδου περὶ λέγομεν ἄρξοντος ἐν ἀνδρῶν ὁμιλίαις ἐχθρῶν ἐχθροῖς μετὰ πολέμου, φίλων δ᾽ ἐν εἰρήνῃ πρὸς φίλους κοινωνησόντων φιλοφροσύνης.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς. [640ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔστιν δέ γε ἡ τοιαύτη συνουσία, εἴπερ ἔσται μετὰ μέθης, οὐκ ἀθόρυβος. ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γάρ; ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι πᾶν τοὐναντίον.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν πρῶτον μὲν καὶ τούτοις ἄρχοντος δεῖ;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν; ὡς οὐδενί γε πράγματι.

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερον οὖν ἀθόρυβον, εἰ δυνατὸν εἴη, τὸν τοιοῦτον ἄρχοντα ἐκπορίζεσθαι δεῖ;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν περί γε συνουσίας, ὡς ἔοικεν, αὐτὸν φρόνιμον εἶναι δεῖ: γίγνεται γὰρ φύλαξ τῆς τε ὑπαρχούσης [640δ] φιλίας αὐτοῖς, καὶ ἔτι πλείονος ἐπιμελητὴς ὅπως ἔσται διὰ τὴν τότε συνουσίαν.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν νήφοντά τε καὶ σοφὸν ἄρχοντα μεθυόντων δεῖ καθιστάναι, καὶ μὴ τοὐναντίον; μεθυόντων γὰρ μεθύων καὶ νέος ἄρχων μὴ σοφός, εἰ μὴ κακὸν ἀπεργάσαιτό τι μέγα, πολλῇ χρῷτ᾽ ἂν ἀγαθῇ τύχῃ.

Κλεινίας

παμπόλλῃ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν γιγνομένων ὡς δυνατὸν ὀρθότατα τούτων ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι τῶν συνουσιῶν μέμφοιτό τις, ἐπικαλῶν [640ε] αὐτῷ τῷ πράγματι, τάχ᾽ ἂν ὀρθῶς ἴσως μέμφοιτο: εἰ δὲ ἁμαρτανόμενον ὡς οἷόν τε μάλιστα ἐπιτήδευμά τις ὁρῶν λοιδορεῖ, πρῶτον μὲν δῆλον ὡς ἀγνοεῖ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ γιγνόμενον οὐκ ὀρθῶς, εἶθ᾽ ὅτι πᾶν τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ φανεῖται πονηρόν, δεσπότου τε καὶ ἄρχοντος νήφοντος χωρὶς πραττόμενον. ἢ οὐ συννοεῖς τοῦθ᾽, ὅτι μεθύων κυβερνήτης καὶ πᾶς παντὸς ἄρχων [641α] ἀνατρέπει πάντα εἴτε πλοῖα εἴτε ἅρματα εἴτε στρατόπεδον, εἴθ᾽ ὅτι ποτ᾽ εἴη τὸ κυβερνώμενον ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ;

Κλεινίας

παντάπασιν τοῦτό γε ἀληθὲς εἴρηκας, ὦ ξένε: τοὐπὶ τῷδε δ᾽ ἡμῖν λέγε, τί ποτε, ἂν γίγνηται τοῦτο ὀρθὸν τὸ περὶ τὰς πόσεις νόμιμον, ἀγαθὸν ἂν δράσειεν ἡμᾶς; οἷον, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, εἰ στράτευμα ὀρθῆς ἡγεμονίας τυγχάνοι, νίκη πολέμου τοῖς ἑπομένοις ἂν γίγνοιτο, οὐ σμικρὸν ἀγαθόν, καὶ [641β] τἆλλ᾽ οὕτω: συμποσίου δὲ ὀρθῶς παιδαγωγηθέντος τί μέγα ἰδιώταις ἢ τῇ πόλει γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; παιδὸς ἑνὸς ἢ καὶ χοροῦ παιδαγωγηθέντος κατὰ τρόπον ἑνός, τί μέγα τῇ πόλει φαῖμεν ἂν γίγνεσθαι; ἢ τοῦτο οὕτως ἐρωτηθέντες εἴποιμεν ἂν ὡς ἑνὸς μὲν βραχύ τι τῇ πόλει γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὄφελος, εἰ δ᾽ ὅλως ἐρωτᾷς παιδείαν τῶν παιδευθέντων τί μέγα τὴν πόλιν ὀνίνησιν, οὐ χαλεπὸν εἰπεῖν ὅτι παιδευθέντες μὲν εὖ γίγνοιντ᾽ ἂν ἄνδρες ἀγαθοί, γενόμενοι [641ξ] δὲ τοιοῦτοι τά τε ἄλλα πράττοιεν καλῶς, ἔτι δὲ κἂν νικῷεν τοὺς πολεμίους μαχόμενοι. παιδεία μὲν οὖν φέρει καὶ νίκην, νίκη δ᾽ ἐνίοτε ἀπαιδευσίαν: πολλοὶ γὰρ ὑβριστότεροι διὰ πολέμων νίκας γενόμενοι μυρίων ἄλλων κακῶν δι᾽ ὕβριν ἐνεπλήσθησαν, καὶ παιδεία μὲν οὐδεπώποτε γέγονεν Καδμεία, νῖκαι δὲ ἀνθρώποις πολλαὶ δὴ τοιαῦται γεγόνασίν τε καὶ ἔσονται.

Κλεινίας

δοκεῖς ἡμῖν, ὦ φίλε, τὴν ἐν τοῖς οἴνοις κοινὴν [641δ] διατριβὴν ὡς εἰς παιδείας μεγάλην μοῖραν τείνουσαν λέγειν, ἂν ὀρθῶς γίγνηται.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί μήν;

Κλεινίας

ἔχοις ἂν οὖν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτ᾽ εἰπεῖν ὡς ἔστιν τὸ νῦν εἰρημένον ἀληθές;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ μὲν ἀληθές, ὦ ξένε, διισχυρίζεσθαι ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν, πολλῶν ἀμφισβητούντων, θεοῦ: εἰ δ᾽ ὅπῃ ἐμοὶ φαίνεται δεῖ λέγειν, οὐδεὶς φθόνος, ἐπείπερ ὡρμήκαμέν γε τοὺς λόγους περὶ νόμων καὶ πολιτείας ποιεῖσθαι τὰ νῦν.

Κλεινίας

τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ δὴ πειρώμεθα, τὸ σοὶ δοκοῦν περὶ τῶν [641ε] νῦν ἀμφισβητουμένων καταμαθεῖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ χρὴ ποιεῖν οὕτως, ὑμᾶς τε ἐπὶ τὸ μαθεῖν καὶ ἐμὲ ἐπὶ τὸ δηλῶσαι πειρώμενον ἁμῶς γέ πως, συντεῖναι, τὸν λόγον. πρῶτον δέ μου ἀκούσατε τὸ τοιόνδε. τὴν πόλιν ἅπαντες ἡμῶν Ἕλληνες ὑπολαμβάνουσιν ὡς φιλόλογός τέ ἐστι καὶ πολύλογος, Λακεδαίμονα δὲ καὶ Κρήτην, τὴν μὲν βραχύλογον, τὴν δὲ πολύνοιαν μᾶλλον ἢ πολυλογίαν ἀσκοῦσαν: [642α] σκοπῶ δὴ μὴ δόξαν ὑμῖν παράσχωμαι περὶ σμικροῦ πολλὰ λέγειν, μέθης πέρι, σμικροῦ πράγματος, παμμήκη λόγον ἀνακαθαιρόμενος. τὸ δὲ ἡ κατὰ φύσιν αὐτοῦ διόρθωσις οὐκ ἂν δύναιτο ἄνευ μουσικῆς ὀρθότητός ποτε σαφὲς οὐδὲ ἱκανὸν ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἀπολαβεῖν, μουσικὴ δὲ ἄνευ παιδείας τῆς πάσης οὐκ ἂν αὖ ποτε δύναιτο: ταῦτα δὲ παμπόλλων ἐστὶν λόγων. ὁρᾶτε οὖν τί ποιῶμεν εἰ ταῦτα μὲν ἐάσαιμεν ἐν τῷ [642β] παρόντι, μετεκβαῖμεν δ᾽ εἰς ἕτερόν τινα νόμων πέρι λόγον.

Μέγιλλος

ὦ ξένε Ἀθηναῖε, οὐκ οἶσθ᾽ ἴσως ὅτι τυγχάνει ἡμῶν ἡ ἑστία τῆς πόλεως οὖσα ὑμῶν πρόξενος. ἴσως μὲν οὖν καὶ πᾶσιν τοῖς παισίν, ἐπειδὰν ἀκούσωσιν ὅτι τινός εἰσιν πόλεως πρόξενοι, ταύτῃ τις εὔνοια ἐκ νέων εὐθὺς ἐνδύεται ἕκαστον ἡμῶν τῶν προξένων τῇ πόλει, ὡς δευτέρᾳ οὔσῃ πατρίδι μετὰ τὴν αὑτοῦ πόλιν: καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐμοὶ νῦν ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἐγγέγονεν. ἀκούων γὰρ τῶν παίδων εὐθύς, [642ξ] εἴ τι μέμφοιντο ἢ καὶ ἐπαινοῖεν Λακεδαιμόνιοι Ἀθηναίους, ὡς “ἡ πόλις ὑμῶν, ὦ Μέγιλλε,” ἔφασαν, “ἡμᾶς οὐ καλῶς ἢ καλῶς ἔρρεξε” -ταῦτα δὴ ἀκούων, καὶ μαχόμενος πρὸς αὐτὰ ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν ἀεὶ πρὸς τοὺς τὴν πόλιν εἰς ψόγον ἄγοντας, πᾶσαν εὔνοιαν ἔσχον, καί μοι νῦν ἥ τε φωνὴ προσφιλὴς ὑμῶν, τό τε ὑπὸ πολλῶν λεγόμενον, ὡς ὅσοι Ἀθηναίων εἰσὶν ἀγαθοὶ διαφερόντως εἰσὶν τοιοῦτοι, δοκεῖ ἀληθέστατα λέγεσθαι: μόνοι γὰρ ἄνευ ἀνάγκης αὐτοφυῶς, θείᾳ μοίρᾳ [642δ] ἀληθῶς καὶ οὔτι πλαστῶς εἰσιν ἀγαθοί. θαρρῶν δὴ ἐμοῦ γε ἕνεκα λέγοις ἂν τοσαῦτα ὁπόσα σοι φίλον.

Κλεινίας

καὶ μήν, ὦ ξένε, καὶ τὸν παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ λόγον ἀκούσας τε καὶ ἀποδεξάμενος, θαρρῶν ὁπόσα βούλει λέγε. τῇδε γὰρ ἴσως ἀκήκοας ὡς Ἐπιμενίδης γέγονεν ἀνὴρ θεῖος, ὃς ἦν ἡμῖν οἰκεῖος, ἐλθὼν δὲ πρὸ τῶν Περσικῶν δέκα ἔτεσιν πρότερον παρ᾽ ὑμᾶς κατὰ τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ μαντείαν, θυσίας τε ἐθύσατό [642ε] τινας ἃς ὁ θεὸς ἀνεῖλεν, καὶ δὴ καὶ φοβουμένων τὸν Περσικὸν Ἀθηναίων στόλον, εἶπεν ὅτι δέκα μὲν ἐτῶν οὐχ ἥξουσιν, ὅταν δὲ ἔλθωσιν, ἀπαλλαγήσονται πράξαντες οὐδὲν ὧν ἤλπιζον, παθόντες τε ἢ δράσαντες πλείω κακά. τότ᾽ οὖν ἐξενώθησαν ὑμῖν οἱ πρόγονοι ἡμῶν, καὶ εὔνοιαν ἐκ τόσου ἔγωγε ὑμῖν καὶ [643α] οἱ ἡμέτεροι ἔχουσιν γονῆς.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ μὲν τοίνυν ὑμέτερα ἀκούειν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἕτοιμ᾽ ἂν εἴη: τὰ δ᾽ ἐμὰ βούλεσθαι μὲν ἕτοιμα, δύνασθαι δὲ οὐ πάνυ ῥᾴδια, ὅμως δὲ πειρατέον. πρῶτον δὴ οὖν πρὸς τὸν λόγον ὁρισώμεθα παιδείαν τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ τίνα δύναμιν ἔχει: διὰ γὰρ ταύτης φαμὲν ἰτέον εἶναι τὸν προκεχειρισμένον ἐν τῷ νῦν λόγον ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν, μέχριπερ ἂν πρὸς τὸν θεὸν ἀφίκηται.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν δρῶμεν ταῦτα, εἴπερ σοί γε ἡδύ. [643β]

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγοντος τοίνυν ἐμοῦ τί ποτε χρὴ φάναι παιδείαν εἶναι, σκέψασθε ἂν ἀρέσκῃ τὸ λεχθέν.

Κλεινίας

λέγοις ἄν.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγω δή, καί φημι τὸν ὁτιοῦν ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα μέλλοντα ἔσεσθαι τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἐκ παίδων εὐθὺς μελετᾶν δεῖν, παίζοντά τε καὶ σπουδάζοντα ἐν τοῖς τοῦ πράγματος ἑκάστοις προσήκουσιν. οἷον τὸν μέλλοντα ἀγαθὸν ἔσεσθαι γεωργὸν ἤ τινα οἰκοδόμον, τὸν μὲν οἰκοδομοῦντά τι τῶν παιδείων [643ξ] οἰκοδομημάτων παίζειν χρή, τὸν δ᾽ αὖ γεωργοῦντα, καὶ ὄργανα ἑκατέρῳ σμικρά, τῶν ἀληθινῶν μιμήματα, παρασκευάζειν τὸν τρέφοντα αὐτῶν ἑκάτερον, καὶ δὴ καὶ τῶν μαθημάτων ὅσα ἀναγκαῖα προμεμαθηκέναι προμανθάνειν, οἷον τέκτονα μετρεῖν ἢ σταθμᾶσθαι καὶ πολεμικὸν ἱππεύειν παίζοντα ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων ἄλλο ποιοῦντα, καὶ πειρᾶσθαι διὰ τῶν παιδιῶν ἐκεῖσε τρέπειν τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ ἐπιθυμίας τῶν παίδων, οἷ ἀφικομένους αὐτοὺς δεῖ τέλος ἔχειν. κεφάλαιον δὴ παιδείας [643δ] λέγομεν τὴν ὀρθὴν τροφήν, ἣ τοῦ παίζοντος τὴν ψυχὴν εἰς ἔρωτα μάλιστα ἄξει τούτου ὃ δεήσει γενόμενον ἄνδρ᾽ αὐτὸν τέλειον εἶναι τῆς τοῦ πράγματος ἀρετῆς: ὁρᾶτε οὖν εἰ μέχρι τούτου γε, ὅπερ εἶπον, ὑμῖν ἀρέσκει τὸ λεχθέν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

μὴ τοίνυν μηδ᾽ ὃ λέγομεν εἶναι παιδείαν ἀόριστον γένηται. νῦν γὰρ ὀνειδίζοντες ἐπαινοῦντές θ᾽ ἑκάστων τὰς τροφάς, λέγομεν ὡς τὸν μὲν πεπαιδευμένον ἡμῶν ὄντα τινά, [643ε] τὸν δὲ ἀπαίδευτον ἐνίοτε εἴς τε καπηλείας καὶ ναυκληρίας καὶ ἄλλων τοιούτων μάλα πεπαιδευμένων σφόδρα ἀνθρώπων: οὐ γὰρ ταῦτα ἡγουμένων, ὡς ἔοικ᾽, εἶναι παιδείαν ὁ νῦν λόγος ἂν εἴη, τὴν δὲ πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἐκ παίδων παιδείαν, ποιοῦσαν ἐπιθυμητήν τε καὶ ἐραστὴν τοῦ πολίτην γενέσθαι τέλεον, ἄρχειν τε καὶ ἄρχεσθαι ἐπιστάμενον μετὰ δίκης. ταύτην [644α] τὴν τροφὴν ἀφορισάμενος ὁ λόγος οὗτος, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, νῦν βούλοιτ᾽ ἂν μόνην παιδείαν προσαγορεύειν, τὴν δὲ εἰς χρήματα τείνουσαν ἤ τινα πρὸς ἰσχύν, ἢ καὶ πρὸς ἄλλην τινὰ σοφίαν ἄνευ νοῦ καὶ δίκης, βάναυσόν τ᾽ εἶναι καὶ ἀνελεύθερον καὶ οὐκ ἀξίαν τὸ παράπαν παιδείαν καλεῖσθαι. ἡμεῖς δὴ μηδὲν ὀνόματι διαφερώμεθ᾽ αὑτοῖς, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ νυνδὴ λόγος ἡμῖν ὁμολογηθεὶς μενέτω, ὡς οἵ γε ὀρθῶς πεπαιδευμένοι σχεδὸν ἀγαθοὶ γίγνονται, καὶ δεῖ δὴ τὴν παιδείαν [644β] μηδαμοῦ ἀτιμάζειν, ὡς πρῶτον τῶν καλλίστων τοῖς ἀρίστοις ἀνδράσιν παραγιγνόμενον: καὶ εἴ ποτε ἐξέρχεται, δυνατὸν δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐπανορθοῦσθαι, τοῦτ᾽ ἀεὶ δραστέον διὰ βίου παντὶ κατὰ δύναμιν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς, καὶ συγχωροῦμεν ἃ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν πάλαι γε συνεχωρήσαμεν ὡς ἀγαθῶν μὲν ὄντων τῶν δυναμένων ἄρχειν αὑτῶν, κακῶν δὲ τῶν μή.

Κλεινίας

λέγεις ὀρθότατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

σαφέστερον ἔτι τοίνυν ἀναλάβωμεν τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ὅτι [644ξ] ποτὲ λέγομεν. καί μοι δι᾽ εἰκόνος ἀποδέξασθε ἐάν πως δυνατὸς ὑμῖν γένωμαι δηλῶσαι τὸ τοιοῦτον.

Κλεινίας

λέγε μόνον.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἕνα μὲν ἡμῶν ἕκαστον αὐτὸν τιθῶμεν;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

δύο δὲ κεκτημένον ἐν αὑτῷ συμβούλω ἐναντίω τε καὶ ἄφρονε, ὣ προσαγορεύομεν ἡδονὴν καὶ λύπην;

Κλεινίας

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Ἀθηναῖος

πρὸς δὲ τούτοιν ἀμφοῖν αὖ δόξας μελλόντων, οἷν κοινὸν μὲν ὄνομα ἐλπίς, ἴδιον δέ, φόβος μὲν ἡ πρὸ λύπης [644δ] ἐλπίς, θάρρος δὲ ἡ πρὸ τοῦ ἐναντίου: ἐπὶ δὲ πᾶσι τούτοις λογισμὸς ὅτι ποτ᾽ αὐτῶν ἄμεινον ἢ χεῖρον, ὃς γενόμενος δόγμα πόλεως κοινὸν νόμος ἐπωνόμασται.

Κλεινίας

μόγις μέν πως ἐφέπομαι, λέγε μὴν τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα ὡς ἑπομένου.

Μέγιλλος

καὶ ἐν ἐμοὶ μὴν ταὐτὸν τοῦτο πάθος ἔνι.

Ἀθηναῖος

περὶ δὴ τούτων διανοηθῶμεν οὑτωσί. θαῦμα μὲν ἕκαστον ἡμῶν ἡγησώμεθα τῶν ζῴων θεῖον, εἴτε ὡς παίγνιον ἐκείνων εἴτε ὡς σπουδῇ τινι συνεστηκός: οὐ γὰρ δὴ τοῦτό [644ε] γε γιγνώσκομεν, τόδε δὲ ἴσμεν, ὅτι ταῦτα τὰ πάθη ἐν ἡμῖν οἷον νεῦρα ἢ σμήρινθοί τινες ἐνοῦσαι σπῶσίν τε ἡμᾶς καὶ ἀλλήλαις ἀνθέλκουσιν ἐναντίαι οὖσαι ἐπ᾽ ἐναντίας πράξεις, οὗ δὴ διωρισμένη ἀρετὴ καὶ κακία κεῖται. μιᾷ γάρ φησιν ὁ λόγος δεῖν τῶν ἕλξεων συνεπόμενον ἀεὶ καὶ μηδαμῇ ἀπολειπόμενον ἐκείνης, ἀνθέλκειν τοῖς ἄλλοις νεύροις ἕκαστον, ταύτην [645α] δ᾽ εἶναι τὴν τοῦ λογισμοῦ ἀγωγὴν χρυσῆν καὶ ἱεράν, τῆς πόλεως κοινὸν νόμον ἐπικαλουμένην, ἄλλας δὲ σκληρὰς καὶ σιδηρᾶς, τὴν δὲ μαλακὴν ἅτε χρυσῆν οὖσαν, τὰς δὲ ἄλλας παντοδαποῖς εἴδεσιν ὁμοίας. δεῖν δὴ τῇ καλλίστῃ ἀγωγῇ τῇ τοῦ νόμου ἀεὶ συλλαμβάνειν: ἅτε γὰρ τοῦ λογισμοῦ καλοῦ μὲν ὄντος, πρᾴου δὲ καὶ οὐ βιαίου, δεῖσθαι ὑπηρετῶν αὐτοῦ τὴν ἀγωγήν, ὅπως ἂν ἐν ἡμῖν τὸ χρυσοῦν γένος νικᾷ τὰ ἄλλα [645β] γένη. καὶ οὕτω δὴ περὶ θαυμάτων ὡς ὄντων ἡμῶν ὁ μῦθος ἀρετῆς σεσωμένος ἂν εἴη, καὶ τὸ κρείττω ἑαυτοῦ καὶ ἥττω εἶναι τρόπον τινὰ φανερὸν ἂν γίγνοιτο μᾶλλον ὃ νοεῖ, καὶ ὅτι πόλιν καὶ ἰδιώτην, τὸν μὲν λόγον ἀληθῆ λαβόντα ἐν ἑαυτῷ περὶ τῶν ἕλξεων τούτων, τούτῳ ἑπόμενον δεῖ ζῆν, πόλιν δὲ ἢ παρὰ θεῶν τινος ἢ παρὰ τούτου τοῦ γνόντος ταῦτα λόγον παραλαβοῦσαν, νόμον θεμένην, αὑτῇ τε ὁμιλεῖν καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσιν. οὕτω καὶ κακία δὴ καὶ ἀρετὴ [645ξ] σαφέστερον ἡμῖν διηρθρωμένον ἂν εἴη: ἐναργεστέρου δ᾽ αὐτοῦ γενομένου καὶ παιδεία καὶ τἆλλα ἐπιτηδεύματα ἴσως ἔσται μᾶλλον καταφανῆ, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ περὶ τῆς ἐν τοῖς οἴνοις διατριβῆς, ὃ δοξασθείη μὲν ἂν εἶναι φαύλου πέρι μῆκος πολὺ λόγων περιττὸν εἰρημένον, φανείη δὲ τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως τοῦ μήκους γ᾽ αὐτῶν οὐκ ἀπάξιον.

Κλεινίας

εὖ λέγεις, καὶ περαίνωμεν ὅτιπερ ἂν τῆς γε νῦν διατριβῆς ἄξιον γίγνηται. [645δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγε δή: προσφέροντες τῷ θαύματι τούτῳ τὴν μέθην, ποῖόν τί ποτε αὐτὸ ἀπεργαζόμεθα;

Κλεινίας

πρὸς τί δὲ σκοπούμενος αὐτὸ ἐπανερωτᾷς;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδέν πω πρὸς ὅτι, τοῦτο δὲ ὅλως κοινωνῆσαν τούτῳ ποῖόν τι συμπίπτει γίγνεσθαι. ἔτι δὲ σαφέστερον ὃ βούλομαι πειράσομαι φράζειν. ἐρωτῶ γὰρ τὸ τοιόνδε: ἆρα σφοδροτέρας τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας καὶ θυμοὺς καὶ ἔρωτας ἡ τῶν οἴνων πόσις ἐπιτείνει;

Κλεινίας

πολύ γε. [645ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ αὖ τὰς αἰσθήσεις καὶ μνήμας καὶ δόξας καὶ φρονήσεις; πότερον ὡσαύτως σφοδροτέρας; ἢ πάμπαν ἀπολείπει ταῦτα αὐτόν, ἂν κατακορής τις τῇ μέθῃ γίγνηται;

Κλεινίας

ναί, πάμπαν ἀπολείπει.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν εἰς ταὐτὸν ἀφικνεῖται τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς ἕξιν τῇ τότε ὅτε νέος ἦν παῖς;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἥκιστα δὴ τότ᾽ ἂν αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ γίγνοιτο ἐγκρατής. [646α]

Κλεινίας

ἥκιστα.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν πονηρότατος, φαμέν, ὁ τοιοῦτος;

Κλεινίας

πολύ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ μόνον ἄρ᾽, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὁ γέρων δὶς παῖς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὁ μεθυσθείς.

Κλεινίας

ἄριστα εἶπες, ὦ ξένε.

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτου δὴ τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις λόγος ἐπιχειρήσει πείθειν ἡμᾶς ὡς χρὴ γεύεσθαι καὶ μὴ φεύγειν παντὶ σθένει κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν;

Κλεινίας

ἔοικ᾽ εἶναι: σὺ γοῦν φῂς καὶ ἕτοιμος ἦσθα νυνδὴ λέγειν. [646β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀληθῆ μέντοι μνημονεύεις: καὶ νῦν γ᾽ εἴμ᾽ ἕτοιμος, ἐπειδήπερ σφώ γε ἐθελήσειν προθύμως ἔφατον ἀκούειν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὐκ ἀκουσόμεθα; κἂν εἰ μηδενὸς ἄλλου χάριν, ἀλλὰ τοῦ θαυμαστοῦ τε καὶ ἀτόπου, εἰ δεῖ ἑκόντα ποτὲ ἄνθρωπον εἰς ἅπασαν φαυλότητα ἑαυτὸν ἐμβάλλειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ψυχῆς λέγεις: ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; σώματος, ὦ ἑταῖρε, εἰς πονηρίαν, λεπτότητά τε καὶ αἶσχος καὶ ἀδυναμίαν, θαυμάζοιμεν ἂν εἴ ποτέ τις [646ξ] ἑκὼν ἐπὶ τὸ τοιοῦτον ἀφικνεῖται;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; τοὺς εἰς τὰ ἰατρεῖα αὐτοὺς βαδίζοντας ἐπὶ φαρμακοποσίᾳ ἀγνοεῖν οἰόμεθα ὅτι μετ᾽ ὀλίγον ὕστερον καὶ ἐπὶ πολλὰς ἡμέρας ἕξουσιν τοιοῦτον τὸ σῶμα, οἷον εἰ διὰ τέλους ἔχειν μέλλοιεν, ζῆν οὐκ ἂν δέξαιντο; ἢ τοὺς ἐπὶ τὰ γυμνάσια καὶ πόνους ἰόντας οὐκ ἴσμεν ὡς ἀσθενεῖς εἰς τὸ παραχρῆμα γίγνονται;

Κλεινίας

πάντα ταῦτα ἴσμεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ ὅτι τῆς μετὰ ταῦτα ὠφελίας ἕνεκα ἑκόντες πορεύονται; [646δ]

Κλεινίας

κάλλιστα.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν χρὴ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδευμάτων πέρι διανοεῖσθαι τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τῆς περὶ τὸν οἶνον ἄρα διατριβῆς ὡσαύτως διανοητέον, εἴπερ ἔνι τοῦτο ἐν τούτοις ὀρθῶς διανοηθῆναι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἂν ἄρα τινὰ ἡμῖν ὠφελίαν ἔχουσα φαίνηται μηδὲν τῆς περὶ τὸ σῶμα ἐλάττω, τῇ γε ἀρχῇ τὴν σωμασκίαν νικᾷ τῷ τὴν μὲν μετ᾽ ἀλγηδόνων εἶναι, τὴν δὲ μή. [646ε]

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς λέγεις, θαυμάζοιμι δ᾽ ἂν εἴ τι δυναίμεθα τοιοῦτον ἐν αὐτῷ καταμαθεῖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ δὴ νῦν, ὡς ἔοιχ᾽, ἡμῖν ἤδη πειρατέον φράζειν. καί μοι λέγε: δύο φόβων εἴδη σχεδὸν ἐναντία δυνάμεθα κατανοῆσαι;

Κλεινίας

ποῖα δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ τοιάδε: φοβούμεθα μέν που τὰ κακά, προσδοκῶντες γενήσεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

φοβούμεθα δέ γε πολλάκις δόξαν, ἡγούμενοι δοξάζεσθαι κακοί, πράττοντες ἢ λέγοντές τι τῶν μὴ καλῶν: ὃν [647α] δὴ καὶ καλοῦμεν τὸν φόβον ἡμεῖς γε, οἶμαι δὲ καὶ πάντες, αἰσχύνην.

Κλεινίας

τί δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτους δὴ δύο ἔλεγον φόβους: ὧν ὁ ἕτερος ἐναντίος μὲν ταῖς ἀλγηδόσιν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις φόβοις, ἐναντίος δ᾽ ἐστὶ ταῖς πλείσταις καὶ μεγίσταις ἡδοναῖς.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ καὶ νομοθέτης, καὶ πᾶς οὗ καὶ σμικρὸν ὄφελος, τοῦτον τὸν φόβον ἐν τιμῇ μεγίστῃ σέβει, καὶ καλῶν αἰδῶ, τὸ τούτῳ θάρρος ἐναντίον ἀναίδειάν τε προσαγορεύει [647β] καὶ μέγιστον κακὸν ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ πᾶσι νενόμικεν;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τά τ᾽ ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ μεγάλα ὁ φόβος ἡμᾶς οὗτος σῴζει, καὶ τὴν ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ νίκην καὶ σωτηρίαν ἓν πρὸς ἓν οὐδὲν οὕτως σφόδρα ἡμῖν ἀπεργάζεται; δύο γὰρ οὖν ἐστὸν τὰ τὴν νίκην ἀπεργαζόμενα, θάρρος μὲν πολεμίων, φίλων δὲ φόβος αἰσχύνης πέρι κακῆς.

Κλεινίας

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄφοβον ἡμῶν ἄρα δεῖ γίγνεσθαι καὶ φοβερὸν [647ξ] ἕκαστον: ὧν δ᾽ ἑκάτερον ἕνεκα, διῃρήμεθα.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν ἄφοβόν γε ἕκαστον βουληθέντες ποιεῖν φόβων πολλῶν τινων, εἰς φόβον ἄγοντες αὐτὸν μετὰ νόμου, τοιοῦτον ἀπεργαζόμεθα.

Κλεινίας

φαινόμεθα.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ ὅταν ἐπιχειρῶμέν τινα φοβερὸν ποιεῖν μετὰ δίκης; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀναισχυντίᾳ συμβάλλοντας αὐτὸν καὶ προσγυμνάζοντας νικᾶν δεῖ ποιεῖν διαμαχόμενον αὑτοῦ ταῖς ἡδοναῖς; ἢ τῇ μὲν δειλίᾳ τῇ ἐν αὑτῷ προσμαχόμενον καὶ [647δ] νικῶντα αὐτὴν δεῖ τέλεον οὕτω γίγνεσθαι πρὸς ἀνδρείαν, ἄπειρος δὲ δήπου καὶ ἀγύμναστος ὢν τῶν τοιούτων ἀγώνων ὁστισοῦν οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἥμισυς ἑαυτοῦ γένοιτο πρὸς ἀρετήν, σώφρων δὲ ἄρα τελέως ἔσται μὴ πολλαῖς ἡδοναῖς καὶ ἐπιθυμίαις προτρεπούσαις ἀναισχυντεῖν καὶ ἀδικεῖν διαμεμαχημένος καὶ νενικηκὼς μετὰ λόγου καὶ ἔργου καὶ τέχνης ἔν τε παιδιαῖς καὶ ἐν σπουδαῖς, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπαθὴς ὢν πάντων τῶν τοιούτων;

Κλεινίας

οὔκουν τόν γ᾽ εἰκότα λόγον ἂν ἔχοι. [647ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; φόβου φάρμακον ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις θεὸς ἔδωκεν ἀνθρώποις, ὥστε ὁπόσῳ πλέον ἂν ἐθέλῃ τις πίνειν αὐτοῦ, τοσούτῳ μᾶλλον αὐτὸν νομίζειν καθ᾽ ἑκάστην πόσιν δυστυχῆ γίγνεσθαι, καὶ φοβεῖσθαι τὰ παρόντα καὶ τὰ μέλλοντα αὑτῷ [648α] πάντα, καὶ τελευτῶντα εἰς πᾶν δέος ἰέναι τὸν ἀνδρειότατον ἀνθρώπων, ἐκκοιμηθέντα δὲ καὶ τοῦ πώματος ἀπαλλαγέντα πάλιν ἑκάστοτε τὸν αὐτὸν γίγνεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

καὶ τί τοιοῦτον φαῖμεν ἄν, ὦ ξένε, ἐν ἀνθρώποις γεγονέναι πῶμα;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδέν: εἰ δ᾽ οὖν ἐγένετό ποθεν, ἔσθ᾽ ὅτι πρὸς ἀνδρείαν ἦν ἂν νομοθέτῃ χρήσιμον; οἷον τὸ τοιόνδε περὶ αὐτοῦ καὶ μάλα εἴχομεν ἂν αὐτῷ διαλέγεσθαι: φέρε, ὦ νομοθέτα, εἴτε Κρησὶν εἴθ᾽ οἱστισινοῦν νομοθετεῖς, πρῶτον [648β] μὲν τῶν πολιτῶν ἆρ᾽ ἂν δέξαιο βάσανον δυνατὸς εἶναι λαμβάνειν ἀνδρείας τε πέρι καὶ δειλίας;

Κλεινίας

φαίη που πᾶς ἂν δῆλον ὅτι.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; μετ᾽ ἀσφαλείας καὶ ἄνευ κινδύνων μεγάλων ἢ μετὰ τῶν ἐναντίων;

Κλεινίας

καὶ τοῦτο μετὰ τῆς ἀσφαλείας συνομολογήσει πᾶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

χρῷο δ᾽ ἂν εἰς τοὺς φόβους τούτους ἄγων καὶ ἐλέγχων ἐν τοῖς παθήμασιν, ὥστε ἀναγκάζειν ἄφοβον γίγνεσθαι, [648ξ] παρακελευόμενος καὶ νουθετῶν καὶ τιμῶν, τὸν δὲ ἀτιμάζων, ὅστις σοι μὴ πείθοιτο εἶναι τοιοῦτος οἷον σὺ τάττοις ἐν πᾶσιν; καὶ γυμνασάμενον μὲν εὖ καὶ ἀνδρείως ἀζήμιον ἀπαλλάττοις ἄν, κακῶς δέ, ζημίαν ἐπιτιθείς; ἢ τὸ παράπαν οὐκ ἂν χρῷο, μηδὲν ἄλλο ἐγκαλῶν τῷ πώματι;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς οὐκ ἂν χρῷτο, ὦ ξένε;

Ἀθηναῖος

γυμνασία γοῦν, ὦ φίλε, παρὰ τὰ νῦν θαυμαστὴ ῥᾳστώνης ἂν εἴη καθ᾽ ἕνα καὶ κατ᾽ ὀλίγους καὶ καθ᾽ ὁπόσους [648δ] τις ἀεὶ βούλοιτο: καὶ εἴτε τις ἄρα μόνος ἐν ἐρημίᾳ, τὸ τῆς αἰσχύνης ἐπίπροσθεν ποιούμενος, πρὶν εὖ σχεῖν ἡγούμενος ὁρᾶσθαι μὴ δεῖν, οὕτω πρὸς τοὺς φόβους γυμνάζοιτο, πῶμα μόνον ἀντὶ μυρίων πραγμάτων παρασκευαζόμενος, ὀρθῶς ἄν τι πράττοι, εἴτε τις ἑαυτῷ πιστεύων φύσει καὶ μελέτῃ καλῶς παρεσκευάσθαι, μηδὲν ὀκνοῖ μετὰ συμποτῶν πλειόνων γυμναζόμενος ἐπιδείκνυσθαι τὴν ἐν τῇ τοῦ πώματος ἀναγκαίᾳ [648ε] διαφορᾷ δύναμιν ὑπερθέων καὶ κρατῶν, ὥστε ὑπ᾽ ἀσχημοσύνης μηδὲ ἓν σφάλλεσθαι μέγα μηδ᾽ ἀλλοιοῦσθαι δι᾽ ἀρετήν, πρὸς δὲ τὴν ἐσχάτην πόσιν ἀπαλλάττοιτο πρὶν ἀφικνεῖσθαι, τὴν πάντων ἧτταν φοβούμενος ἀνθρώπων τοῦ πώματος.

Κλεινίας

ναί: σωφρονοῖ γὰρ <ἄν>, ὦ ξένε, καὶ ὁ τοιοῦτος οὕτω πράττων. [649α]

Ἀθηναῖος

πάλιν δὴ πρὸς τὸν νομοθέτην λέγωμεν τάδε: εἶεν, ὦ νομοθέτα, τοῦ μὲν δὴ φόβου σχεδὸν οὔτε θεὸς ἔδωκεν ἀνθρώποις τοιοῦτον φάρμακον οὔτε αὐτοὶ μεμηχανήμεθα- τοὺς γὰρ γόητας οὐκ ἐν θοίνῃ λέγω-τῆς δὲ ἀφοβίας καὶ τοῦ λίαν θαρρεῖν καὶ ἀκαίρως ἃ μὴ χρή, πότερον ἔστιν πῶμα, ἢ πῶς λέγομεν;

Κλεινίας

ἔστιν, φήσει που, τὸν οἶνον φράζων.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἦ καὶ τοὐναντίον ἔχει τοῦτο τῷ νυνδὴ λεγομένῳ; πιόντα τὸν ἄνθρωπον αὐτὸν αὑτοῦ ποιεῖ πρῶτον ἵλεων εὐθὺς [649β] μᾶλλον ἢ πρότερον, καὶ ὁπόσῳ ἂν πλέον αὐτοῦ γεύηται, τοσούτῳ πλειόνων ἐλπίδων ἀγαθῶν πληροῦσθαι καὶ δυνάμεως εἰς δόξαν; καὶ τελευτῶν δὴ πάσης ὁ τοιοῦτος παρρησίας ὡς σοφὸς ὢν μεστοῦται καὶ ἐλευθερίας, πάσης δὲ ἀφοβίας, ὥστε εἰπεῖν τε ἀόκνως ὁτιοῦν, ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ πρᾶξαι; πᾶς ἡμῖν, οἶμαι, ταῦτ᾽ ἂν συγχωροῖ.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀναμνησθῶμεν δὴ τόδε, ὅτι δύ᾽ ἔφαμεν ἡμῶν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς δεῖν θεραπεύεσθαι, τὸ μὲν ὅπως ὅτι μάλιστα [649ξ] θαρρήσομεν, τὸ δὲ τοὐναντίον ὅτι μάλιστα φοβησόμεθα.

Κλεινίας

ἃ τῆς αἰδοῦς ἔλεγες, ὡς οἰόμεθα.

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς μνημονεύετε. ἐπειδὴ δὲ τήν τε ἀνδρείαν καὶ τὴν ἀφοβίαν ἐν τοῖς φόβοις δεῖ καταμελετᾶσθαι, σκεπτέον ἆρα τὸ ἐναντίον ἐν τοῖς ἐναντίοις θεραπεύεσθαι δέον ἂν εἴη.

Κλεινίας

τό γ᾽ οὖν εἰκός.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἃ παθόντες ἄρα πεφύκαμεν διαφερόντως θαρραλέοι τ᾽ εἶναι καὶ θρασεῖς, ἐν τούτοις δέον ἄν, ὡς ἔοικ᾽, εἴη τὸ μελετᾶν ὡς ἥκιστα εἶναι ἀναισχύντους τε καὶ θρασύτητος [649δ] γέμοντας, φοβεροὺς δὲ εἰς τό τι τολμᾶν ἑκάστοτε λέγειν ἢ πάσχειν ἢ καὶ δρᾶν αἰσχρὸν ὁτιοῦν.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ταῦτά ἐστι πάντα ἐν οἷς ἐσμὲν τοιοῦτοι, θυμός, ἔρως, ὕβρις, ἀμαθία, φιλοκέρδεια, δειλία, καὶ ἔτι τοιάδε, πλοῦτος, κάλλος, ἰσχύς, καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὅσα δι᾽ ἡδονῆς αὖ μεθύσκοντα παράφρονας ποιεῖ; τούτων δὲ εὐτελῆ τε καὶ ἀσινεστέραν πρῶτον μὲν πρὸς τὸ λαμβάνειν πεῖραν, εἶτα εἰς τὸ μελετᾶν, πλὴν τῆς ἐν οἴνῳ βασάνου καὶ παιδιᾶς, τίνα [649ε] ἔχομεν ἡδονὴν εἰπεῖν ἔμμετρον μᾶλλον, ἂν καὶ ὁπωστιοῦν μετ᾽ εὐλαβείας γίγνηται; σκοπῶμεν γὰρ δή: δυσκόλου ψυχῆς καὶ ἀγρίας, ἐξ ἧς ἀδικίαι μυρίαι γίγνονται, πότερον ἰόντα εἰς τὰ συμβόλαια πεῖραν λαμβάνειν, κινδυνεύοντα περὶ [650α] αὐτῶν, σφαλερώτερον, ἢ συγγενόμενον μετὰ τῆς τοῦ Διονύσου θεωρίας; ἢ πρὸς τἀφροδίσια ἡττημένης τινὸς ψυχῆς βάσανον λαμβάνειν, ἐπιτρέποντα αὑτοῦ θυγατέρας τε καὶ ὑεῖς καὶ γυναῖκας, οὕτως, ἐν τοῖς φιλτάτοις κινδυνεύσαντες, ἦθος ψυχῆς θεάσασθαι; καὶ μυρία δὴ λέγων οὐκ ἄν τίς ποτε ἀνύσειεν ὅσῳ διαφέρει τὸ μετὰ παιδιᾶς τὴν ἄλλως ἄνευ μισθοῦ ζημιώδους θεωρεῖν. καὶ δὴ καὶ τοῦτο μὲν αὐτὸ περί [650β] γε τούτων οὔτ᾽ ἂν Κρῆτας οὔτ᾽ ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους οὐδένας οἰόμεθα ἀμφισβητῆσαι, μὴ οὐ πεῖράν τε ἀλλήλων ἐπιεικῆ ταύτην εἶναι, τό τε τῆς εὐτελείας καὶ ἀσφαλείας καὶ τάχους διαφέρειν πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας βασάνους.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθὲς τοῦτό γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτο μὲν ἄρ᾽ ἂν τῶν χρησιμωτάτων ἓν εἴη, τὸ γνῶναι τὰς φύσεις τε καὶ ἕξεις τῶν ψυχῶν, τῇ τέχνῃ ἐκείνῃ ἧς ἐστιν ταῦτα θεραπεύειν: ἔστιν δέ που, φαμέν, ὡς οἶμαι, πολιτικῆς. ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Τόμος 2

[652α] Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο, ὡς ἔοικε, σκεπτέον ἐκεῖνο περὶ αὐτῶν, πότερα τοῦτο μόνον ἀγαθὸν ἔχει, τὸ κατιδεῖν πῶς ἔχομεν τὰς φύσεις, ἢ καί τι μέγεθος ὠφελίας ἄξιον πολλῆς σπουδῆς ἔνεστ᾽ ἐν τῇ κατ᾽ ὀρθὸν χρείᾳ τῆς ἐν οἴνῳ συνουσίας. τί οὖν δὴ λέγομεν; ἔνεσθ᾽, ὡς ὁ λόγος ἔοικεν βούλεσθαι σημαίνειν: ὅπῃ δὲ καὶ ὅπως, ἀκούωμεν προσέχοντες [652β] τὸν νοῦν, μή πῃ παραποδισθῶμεν ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ.

Κλεινίας

λέγ᾽ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀναμνησθῆναι τοίνυν ἔγωγε πάλιν ἐπιθυμῶ τί ποτε [653α] λέγομεν ἡμῖν εἶναι τὴν ὀρθὴν παιδείαν. τούτου γάρ, ὥς γε ἐγὼ τοπάζω τὰ νῦν, ἔστιν ἐν τῷ ἐπιτηδεύματι τούτῳ καλῶς κατορθουμένῳ σωτηρία.

Κλεινίας

μέγα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγω τοίνυν τῶν παίδων παιδικὴν εἶναι πρώτην αἴσθησιν ἡδονὴν καὶ λύπην, καὶ ἐν οἷς ἀρετὴ ψυχῇ καὶ κακία παραγίγνεται πρῶτον, ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι, φρόνησιν δὲ καὶ ἀληθεῖς δόξας βεβαίους εὐτυχὲς ὅτῳ καὶ πρὸς τὸ γῆρας παρεγένετο: τέλεος δ᾽ οὖν ἔστ᾽ ἄνθρωπος ταῦτα καὶ τὰ ἐν [653β] τούτοις πάντα κεκτημένος ἀγαθά. παιδείαν δὴ λέγω τὴν παραγιγνομένην πρῶτον παισὶν ἀρετήν: ἡδονὴ δὴ καὶ φιλία καὶ λύπη καὶ μῖσος ἂν ὀρθῶς ἐν ψυχαῖς ἐγγίγνωνται μήπω δυναμένων λόγῳ λαμβάνειν, λαβόντων δὲ τὸν λόγον, συμφωνήσωσι τῷ λόγῳ ὀρθῶς εἰθίσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν προσηκόντων ἐθῶν, αὕτη ‘σθ᾽ ἡ συμφωνία σύμπασα μὲν ἀρετή, τὸ δὲ περὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας τεθραμμένον αὐτῆς ὀρθῶς ὥστε [653ξ] μισεῖν μὲν ἃ χρὴ μισεῖν εὐθὺς ἐξ ἀρχῆς μέχρι τέλους, στέργειν δὲ ἃ χρὴ στέργειν, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ἀποτεμὼν τῷ λόγῳ καὶ παιδείαν προσαγορεύων, κατά γε τὴν ἐμὴν ὀρθῶς ἂν προσαγορεύοις.

Κλεινίας

καὶ γάρ, ὦ ξένε, ἡμῖν καὶ τὰ πρότερον ὀρθῶς σοι παιδείας πέρι καὶ τὰ νῦν εἰρῆσθαι δοκεῖ.

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς τοίνυν. τούτων γὰρ δὴ τῶν ὀρθῶς τεθραμμένων ἡδονῶν καὶ λυπῶν παιδειῶν οὐσῶν χαλᾶται τοῖς ἀνθρώποις καὶ διαφθείρεται κατὰ πολλὰ ἐν τῷ βίῳ, θεοὶ [653δ] δὲ οἰκτίραντες τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐπίπονον πεφυκὸς γένος, ἀναπαύλας τε αὐτοῖς τῶν πόνων ἐτάξαντο τὰς τῶν ἑορτῶν ἀμοιβὰς τοῖς θεοῖς, καὶ μούσας Ἀπόλλωνά τε μουσηγέτην καὶ Διόνυσον συνεορταστὰς ἔδοσαν, ἵν᾽ ἐπανορθῶνται, τάς τε τροφὰς γενομένας ἐν ταῖς ἑορταῖς μετὰ θεῶν. ὁρᾶν ἃ χρὴ πότερον ἀληθὴς ἡμῖν κατὰ φύσιν ὁ λόγος ὑμνεῖται τὰ νῦν, ἢ πῶς. φησὶν δὲ τὸ νέον ἅπαν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν τοῖς τε σώμασι καὶ ταῖς φωναῖς ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν οὐ δύνασθαι, [653ε] κινεῖσθαι δὲ ἀεὶ ζητεῖν καὶ φθέγγεσθαι, τὰ μὲν ἁλλόμενα καὶ σκιρτῶντα, οἷον ὀρχούμενα μεθ᾽ ἡδονῆς καὶ προσπαίζοντα, τὰ δὲ φθεγγόμενα πάσας φωνάς. τὰ μὲν οὖν ἄλλα ζῷα οὐκ ἔχειν αἴσθησιν τῶν ἐν ταῖς κινήσεσιν τάξεων οὐδὲ ἀταξιῶν, οἷς δὴ ῥυθμὸς ὄνομα καὶ ἁρμονία: ἡμῖν δὲ οὓς [654α] εἴπομεν τοὺς θεοὺς συγχορευτὰς δεδόσθαι, τούτους εἶναι καὶ τοὺς δεδωκότας τὴν ἔνρυθμόν τε καὶ ἐναρμόνιον αἴσθησιν μεθ᾽ ἡδονῆς, ᾗ δὴ κινεῖν τε ἡμᾶς καὶ χορηγεῖν ἡμῶν τούτους, ᾠδαῖς τε καὶ ὀρχήσεσιν ἀλλήλοις συνείροντας, χορούς τε ὠνομακέναι παρὰ τὸ τῆς χαρᾶς ἔμφυτον ὄνομα. πρῶτον δὴ τοῦτο ἀποδεξώμεθα; θῶμεν παιδείαν εἶναι πρώτην διὰ Μουσῶν τε καὶ Ἀπόλλωνος, ἢ πῶς;

Κλεινίας

οὕτως.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ὁ μὲν ἀπαίδευτος ἀχόρευτος ἡμῖν ἔσται, τὸν [654β] δὲ πεπαιδευμένον ἱκανῶς κεχορευκότα θετέον;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

χορεία γε μὴν ὄρχησίς τε καὶ ᾠδὴ τὸ σύνολόν ἐστιν.

Κλεινίας

ἀναγκαῖον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁ καλῶς ἄρα πεπαιδευμένος ᾁδειν τε καὶ ὀρχεῖσθαι δυνατὸς ἂν εἴη καλῶς.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴδωμεν δὴ τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ νῦν αὖ λεγόμενον.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

“καλῶς ᾁδει,” φαμέν, “καὶ καλῶς ὀρχεῖται”: πότερον [654ξ] “εἰ καὶ καλὰ ᾁδει καὶ καλὰ ὀρχεῖται” προσθῶμεν ἢ μή;

Κλεινίας

προσθῶμεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ ἂν τὰ καλά τε ἡγούμενος εἶναι καλὰ καὶ τὰ αἰσχρὰ αἰσχρὰ οὕτως αὐτοῖς χρῆται; βέλτιον ὁ τοιοῦτος πεπαιδευμένος ἡμῖν ἔσται τὴν χορείαν τε καὶ μουσικὴν ἢ ὃς ἂν τῷ μὲν σώματι καὶ τῇ φωνῇ τὸ διανοηθὲν εἶναι καλὸν ἱκανῶς ὑπηρετεῖν δυνηθῇ ἑκάστοτε, χαίρῃ δὲ μὴ τοῖς καλοῖς μηδὲ μισῇ τὰ μὴ καλά; ἢ ‘κεῖνος ὃς ἂν τῇ μὲν φωνῇ καὶ [654δ] τῷ σώματι μὴ πάνυ δυνατὸς ᾖ κατορθοῦν, ἢ διανοεῖσθαι, τῇ δὲ ἡδονῇ καὶ λύπῃ κατορθοῖ, τὰ μὲν ἀσπαζόμενος, ὅσα καλά, τὰ δὲ δυσχεραίνων, ὁπόσα μὴ καλά;

Κλεινίας

πολὺ τὸ διαφέρον, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις τῆς παιδείας.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὲν τὸ καλὸν ᾠδῆς τε καὶ ὀρχήσεως πέρι γιγνώσκομεν τρεῖς ὄντες, ἴσμεν καὶ τὸν πεπαιδευμένον τε καὶ ἀπαίδευτον ὀρθῶς: εἰ δὲ ἀγνοοῦμέν γε τοῦτο, οὐδ᾽ εἴ τις παιδείας ἐστὶν φυλακὴ καὶ ὅπου διαγιγνώσκειν ἄν ποτε [654ε] δυναίμεθα. ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως;

Κλεινίας

οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτ᾽ ἄρα μετὰ τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν αὖ καθάπερ κυσὶν ἰχνευούσαις διερευνητέον, σχῆμά τε καλὸν καὶ μέλος καὶ ᾠδὴν καὶ ὄρχησιν: εἰ δὲ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμᾶς διαφυγόντα οἰχήσεται, μάταιος ὁ μετὰ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν περὶ παιδείας ὀρθῆς εἴθ᾽ Ἑλληνικῆς εἴτε βαρβαρικῆς λόγος ἂν εἴη.

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἶεν: τί δὲ δὴ τὸ καλὸν χρὴ φάναι σχῆμα ἢ μέλος εἶναί ποτε; φέρε, ἀνδρικῆς ψυχῆς ἐν πόνοις ἐχομένης καὶ [655α] δειλῆς ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς τε καὶ ἴσοις ἆρ᾽ ὅμοια τά τε σχήματα καὶ τὰ φθέγματα συμβαίνει γίγνεσθαι;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς, ὅτε γε μηδὲ τὰ χρώματα;

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς γε, ὦ ἑταῖρε. ἀλλ᾽ ἐν γὰρ μουσικῇ καὶ σχήματα μὲν καὶ μέλη ἔνεστιν, περὶ ῥυθμὸν καὶ ἁρμονίαν οὔσης τῆς μουσικῆς, ὥστε εὔρυθμον μὲν καὶ εὐάρμοστον, εὔχρων δὲ μέλος ἢ σχῆμα οὐκ ἔστιν ἀπεικάσαντα, ὥσπερ οἱ χοροδιδάσκαλοι ἀπεικάζουσιν, ὀρθῶς φθέγγεσθαι: τὸ δὲ τοῦ δειλοῦ τε καὶ ἀνδρείου σχῆμα ἢ μέλος ἔστιν τε, καὶ [655β] ὀρθῶς προσαγορεύειν ἔχει τὰ μὲν τῶν ἀνδρείων καλά, τὰ τῶν δειλῶν δὲ αἰσχρά. καὶ ἵνα δὴ μὴ μακρολογία πολλή τις γίγνηται περὶ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἅπαντα, ἁπλῶς ἔστω τὰ μὲν ἀρετῆς ἐχόμενα ψυχῆς ἢ σώματος, εἴτε αὐτῆς εἴτε τινὸς εἰκόνος, σύμπαντα σχήματά τε καὶ μέλη καλά, τὰ δὲ κακίας αὖ, τοὐναντίον ἅπαν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς τε προκαλῇ καὶ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν οὕτως ἔχειν ἀποκεκρίσθω τὰ νῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔτι δὴ τόδε: πότερον ἅπαντες πάσαις χορείαις [655ξ] ὁμοίως χαίρομεν, ἢ πολλοῦ δεῖ;

Κλεινίας

τοῦ παντὸς μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί ποτ᾽ ἂν οὖν λέγομεν τὸ πεπλανηκὸς ἡμᾶς εἶναι; πότερον οὐ ταὐτά ἐστι καλὰ ἡμῖν πᾶσιν, ἢ τὰ μὲν αὐτά, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δοκεῖ ταὐτὰ εἶναι; οὐ γάρ που ἐρεῖ γέ τις ὥς ποτε τὰ τῆς κακίας ἢ ἀρετῆς καλλίονα χορεύματα, οὐδ᾽ ὡς αὐτὸς μὲν χαίρει τοῖς τῆς μοχθηρίας σχήμασιν, οἱ δ᾽ ἄλλοι ἐναντίᾳ ταύτης Μούσῃ τινί: καίτοι λέγουσίν γε οἱ πλεῖστοι μουσικῆς [655δ] ὀρθότητα εἶναι τὴν ἡδονὴν ταῖς ψυχαῖς πορίζουσαν δύναμιν. ἀλλὰ τοῦτο μὲν οὔτε ἀνεκτὸν οὔτε ὅσιον τὸ παράπαν φθέγγεσθαι, τόδε δὲ μᾶλλον εἰκὸς πλανᾶν ἡμᾶς.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐπειδὴ μιμήματα τρόπων ἐστὶ τὰ περὶ τὰς χορείας, ἐν πράξεσί τε παντοδαπαῖς γιγνόμενα καὶ τύχαις, καὶ ἤθεσι καὶ μιμήσεσι διεξιόντων ἑκάστων, οἷς μὲν ἂν πρὸς τρόπου τὰ ῥηθέντα ἢ μελῳδηθέντα ἢ καὶ ὁπωσοῦν χορευθέντα, ἢ [655ε] κατὰ φύσιν ἢ κατὰ ἔθος ἢ κατ᾽ ἀμφότερα, τούτους μὲν καὶ τούτοις χαίρειν τε καὶ ἐπαινεῖν αὐτὰ καὶ προσαγορεύειν καλὰ ἀναγκαῖον, οἷς δ᾽ ἂν παρὰ φύσιν ἢ τρόπον ἤ τινα συνήθειαν, οὔτε χαίρειν δυνατὸν οὔτε ἐπαινεῖν αἰσχρά τε προσαγορεύειν. οἷς δ᾽ ἂν τὰ μὲν τῆς φύσεως ὀρθὰ συμβαίνῃ, τὰ δὲ τῆς συνηθείας ἐναντία, ἢ τὰ μὲν τῆς συνηθείας ὀρθά, τὰ δὲ τῆς φύσεως ἐναντία, οὗτοι δὲ ταῖς ἡδοναῖς [656α] τοὺς ἐπαίνους ἐναντίους προσαγορεύουσιν: ἡδέα γὰρ τούτων ἕκαστα εἶναί φασι, πονηρὰ δέ, καὶ ἐναντίον ἄλλων οὓς οἴονται φρονεῖν αἰσχύνονται μὲν κινεῖσθαι τῷ σώματι τὰ τοιαῦτα, αἰσχύνονται δὲ ᾁδειν ὡς ἀποφαινόμενοι καλὰ μετὰ σπουδῆς, χαίρουσιν δὲ παρ᾽ αὑτοῖς.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

μῶν οὖν τι βλάβην ἔσθ᾽ ἥντινα φέρει τῷ χαίροντι πονηρίας ἢ σχήμασιν ἢ μέλεσιν, ἤ τιν᾽ ὠφελίαν αὖ τοῖς πρὸς τἀναντία τὰς ἡδονὰς ἀποδεχομένοις;

Κλεινίας

εἰκός γε. [656β]

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερον εἰκὸς ἢ καὶ ἀναγκαῖον ταὐτὸν εἶναι ὅπερ ὅταν τις πονηροῖς ἤθεσιν συνὼν κακῶν ἀνθρώπων μὴ μισῇ, χαίρῃ δὲ ἀποδεχόμενος, ψέγῃ δὲ ὡς ἐν παιδιᾶς μοίρᾳ, ὀνειρώττων αὐτοῦ τὴν μοχθηρίαν; τότε ὁμοιοῦσθαι δήπου ἀνάγκη τὸν χαίροντα ὁποτέροις ἂν χαίρῃ, ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ ἐπαινεῖν αἰσχύνηται: καίτοι τοῦ τοιούτου τί μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν ἢ κακὸν φαῖμεν ἂν ἡμῖν ἐκ πάσης ἀνάγκης γίγνεσθαι;

Κλεινίας

δοκῶ μὲν οὐδέν. [656ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅπου δὴ νόμοι καλῶς εἰσι κείμενοι ἢ καὶ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον ἔσονται τὴν περὶ τὰς μούσας παιδείαν τε καὶ παιδιάν, οἰόμεθα ἐξέσεσθαι τοῖς ποιητικοῖς, ὅτιπερ ἂν αὐτὸν τὸν ποιητὴν ἐν τῇ ποιήσει τέρπῃ ῥυθμοῦ ἢ μέλους ἢ ῥήματος ἐχόμενον, τοῦτο διδάσκοντα καὶ τοὺς τῶν εὐνόμων παῖδας καὶ νέους ἐν τοῖς χοροῖς, ὅτι ἂν τύχῃ ἀπεργάζεσθαι πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἢ μοχθηρίαν;

Κλεινίας

οὔτοι δὴ τοῦτό γε λόγον ἔχει: πῶς γὰρ ἄν; [656δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν δέ γε αὐτὸ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἐν πάσαις ταῖς πόλεσιν ἔξεστι δρᾶν, πλὴν κατ᾽ Αἴγυπτον.

Κλεινίας

ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ δὲ δὴ πῶς τὸ τοιοῦτον φῂς νενομοθετῆσθαι;

Ἀθηναῖος

θαῦμα καὶ ἀκοῦσαι. πάλαι γὰρ δή ποτε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐγνώσθη παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς οὗτος ὁ λόγος ὃν τὰ νῦν λέγομεν ἡμεῖς, ὅτι καλὰ μὲν σχήματα, καλὰ δὲ μέλη δεῖ μεταχειρίζεσθαι ταῖς συνηθείαις τοὺς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν νέους: ταξάμενοι δὲ ταῦτα, ἅττα ἐστὶ καὶ ὁποῖ᾽ ἄττα ἀπέφηναν ἐν τοῖς ἱεροῖς, [656ε] καὶ παρὰ ταῦτ᾽ οὐκ ἐξῆν οὔτε ζωγράφοις, οὔτ᾽ ἄλλοις ὅσοι σχήματα καὶ ὁποῖ᾽ ἄττα ἀπεργάζονται, καινοτομεῖν οὐδ᾽ ἐπινοεῖν ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα ἢ τὰ πάτρια, οὐδὲ νῦν ἔξεστιν, οὔτε ἐν τούτοις οὔτε ἐν μουσικῇ συμπάσῃ. σκοπῶν δὲ εὑρήσεις αὐτόθι τὰ μυριοστὸν ἔτος γεγραμμένα ἢ τετυπωμένα-οὐχ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν μυριοστὸν ἀλλ᾽ ὄντως-τῶν νῦν δεδημιουργημένων [657α] οὔτε τι καλλίονα οὔτ᾽ αἰσχίω, τὴν αὐτὴν δὲ τέχνην ἀπειργασμένα.

Κλεινίας

θαυμαστὸν λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

νομοθετικὸν μὲν οὖν καὶ πολιτικὸν ὑπερβαλλόντως. ἀλλ᾽ ἕτερα φαῦλ᾽ ἂν εὕροις αὐτόθι: τοῦτο δ᾽ οὖν τὸ περὶ μουσικὴν ἀληθές τε καὶ ἄξιον ἐννοίας, ὅτι δυνατὸν ἄρ᾽ ἦν περὶ τῶν τοιούτων νομοθετεῖσθαι βεβαίως θαρροῦντα μέλη τὰ τὴν ὀρθότητα φύσει παρεχόμενα. τοῦτο δὲ θεοῦ ἢ θείου τινὸς ἀνδρὸς ἂν εἴη, καθάπερ ἐκεῖ φασιν τὰ τὸν πολὺν τοῦτον [657β] σεσωμένα χρόνον μέλη τῆς Ἴσιδος ποιήματα γεγονέναι. ὥσθ᾽, ὅπερ ἔλεγον, εἰ δύναιτό τις ἑλεῖν αὐτῶν καὶ ὁπωσοῦν τὴν ὀρθότητα, θαρροῦντα χρὴ εἰς νόμον ἄγειν καὶ τάξιν αὐτά: ὡς ἡ τῆς ἡδονῆς καὶ λύπης ζήτησις τοῦ καινῇ ζητεῖν ἀεὶ μουσικῇ χρῆσθαι σχεδὸν οὐ μεγάλην τινὰ δύναμιν ἔχει πρὸς τὸ διαφθεῖραι τὴν καθιερωθεῖσαν χορείαν ἐπικαλοῦσα ἀρχαιότητα. τὴν γοῦν ἐκεῖ οὐδαμῶς ἔοικε δυνατὴ γεγονέναι διαφθεῖραι, πᾶν δὲ τοὐναντίον. [657ξ]

Κλεινίας

φαίνεται οὕτως ἂν ταῦτα ἔχειν ἐκ τῶν ὑπὸ σοῦ τὰ νῦν λεχθέντων.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν θαρροῦντες λέγομεν τὴν τῇ μουσικῇ καὶ τῇ παιδιᾷ μετὰ χορείας χρείαν ὀρθὴν εἶναι τοιῷδέ τινι τρόπῳ; χαίρομεν ὅταν οἰώμεθα εὖ πράττειν, καὶ ὁπόταν χαίρωμεν, οἰόμεθα εὖ πράττειν αὖ; μῶν οὐχ οὕτως;

Κλεινίας

οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν ἔν γε τῷ τοιούτῳ, χαίροντες, ἡσυχίαν οὐ δυνάμεθα ἄγειν.

Κλεινίας

ἔστι ταῦτα. [657δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ἡμῶν οἱ μὲν νέοι αὐτοὶ χορεύειν ἕτοιμοι, τὸ δὲ τῶν πρεσβυτέρων ἡμῶν ἐκείνους αὖ θεωροῦντες διάγειν ἡγούμεθα πρεπόντως, χαίροντες τῇ ἐκείνων παιδιᾷ τε καὶ ἑορτάσει, ἐπειδὴ τὸ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἡμᾶς ἐλαφρὸν ἐκλείπει νῦν, ὃ ποθοῦντες καὶ ἀσπαζόμενοι τίθεμεν οὕτως ἀγῶνας τοῖς δυναμένοις ἡμᾶς ὅτι μάλιστ᾽ εἰς τὴν νεότητα μνήμῃ ἐπεγείρειν;

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

μῶν οὖν οἰόμεθα καὶ κομιδῇ μάτην τὸν νῦν λεγόμενον [657ε] λόγον περὶ τῶν ἑορταζόντων λέγειν τοὺς πολλούς, ὅτι τοῦτον δεῖ σοφώτατον ἡγεῖσθαι καὶ κρίνειν νικᾶν, ὃς ἂν ἡμᾶς εὐφραίνεσθαι καὶ χαίρειν ὅτι μάλιστα ἀπεργάζηται; δεῖ γὰρ δή, ἐπείπερ ἀφείμεθά γε παίζειν ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις, τὸν πλείστους καὶ μάλιστα χαίρειν ποιοῦντα, τοῦτον μάλιστα τιμᾶσθαί τε, καὶ ὅπερ εἶπον νυνδή, τὰ νικητήρια φέρειν. [658α] ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ὀρθῶς λέγεταί τε τοῦτο καὶ πράττοιτ᾽ ἄν, εἰ ταύτῃ γίγνοιτο;

Κλεινίας

τάχ᾽ ἄν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ μακάριε, μὴ ταχὺ τὸ τοιοῦτον κρίνωμεν, ἀλλὰ διαιροῦντες αὐτὸ κατὰ μέρη σκοπώμεθα τοιῷδέ τινι τρόπῳ: τί ἄν, εἴ ποτέ τις οὕτως ἁπλῶς ἀγῶνα θείη ὁντινοῦν, μηδὲν ἀφορίσας μήτε γυμνικὸν μήτε μουσικὸν μήθ᾽ ἱππικόν, ἀλλὰ πάντας συναγαγὼν τοὺς ἐν τῇ πόλει προείποι, θεὶς νικητήρια, τὸν βουλόμενον ἥκειν ἀγωνιούμενον ἡδονῆς πέρι [658β] μόνον, ὃς δ᾽ ἂν τέρψῃ τοὺς θεατὰς μάλιστα, μηδὲν ἐπιταττόμενος ᾧτινι τρόπῳ, νικήσῃ δὲ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ὅτι μάλιστα ἀπεργασάμενος καὶ κριθῇ τῶν ἀγωνισαμένων ἥδιστος γεγονέναι-τί ποτ᾽ ἂν ἡγούμεθα ἐκ ταύτης τῆς προρρήσεως συμβαίνειν;

Κλεινίας

τοῦ πέρι λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰκός που τὸν μέν τινα ἐπιδεικνύναι, καθάπερ Ὅμηρος, ῥαψῳδίαν, ἄλλον δὲ κιθαρῳδίαν, τὸν δέ τινα τραγῳδίαν, τὸν δ᾽ αὖ κωμῳδίαν, οὐ θαυμαστὸν δὲ εἴ τις καὶ [658ξ] θαύματα ἐπιδεικνὺς μάλιστ᾽ ἂν νικᾶν ἡγοῖτο: τούτων δὴ τοιούτων καὶ ἑτέρων ἀγωνιστῶν μυρίων ἐλθόντων ἔχομεν εἰπεῖν τίς ἂν νικῷ δικαίως;

Κλεινίας

ἄτοπον ἤρου: τίς γὰρ ἂν ἀποκρίνοιτό σοι τοῦτο ὡς γνοὺς ἄν ποτε πρὶν ἀκοῦσαί τε, καὶ τῶν ἀθλητῶν ἑκάστων αὐτήκοος αὐτὸς γενέσθαι;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν δή; βούλεσθε ἐγὼ σφῷν τὴν ἄτοπον ἀπόκρισιν ταύτην ἀποκρίνωμαι;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ μὲν τοίνυν τὰ πάνυ σμικρὰ κρίνοι παιδία, κρινοῦσιν τὸν τὰ θαύματα ἐπιδεικνύντα: ἦ γάρ; [658δ]

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐὰν δέ γ᾽ οἱ μείζους παῖδες, τὸν τὰς κωμῳδίας: τραγῳδίαν δὲ αἵ τε πεπαιδευμέναι τῶν γυναικῶν καὶ τὰ νέα μειράκια καὶ σχεδὸν ἴσως τὸ πλῆθος πάντων.

Κλεινίας

ἴσως δῆτα.

Ἀθηναῖος

ῥαψῳδὸν δέ, καλῶς Ἰλιάδα καὶ Ὀδύσσειαν ἤ τι τῶν Ἡσιοδείων διατιθέντα, τάχ᾽ ἂν ἡμεῖς οἱ γέροντες ἥδιστα ἀκούσαντες νικᾶν ἂν φαῖμεν πάμπολυ. τίς οὖν ὀρθῶς ἂν νενικηκὼς εἴη; τοῦτο μετὰ τοῦτο: ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

ναί. [658ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

δῆλον ὡς ἔμοιγε καὶ ὑμῖν ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστιν φάναι τοὺς ὑπὸ τῶν ἡμετέρων ἡλικιωτῶν κριθέντας ὀρθῶς ἂν νικᾶν. τὸ γὰρ ἔθος ἡμῖν τῶν νῦν δὴ πάμπολυ δοκεῖ τῶν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἁπάσαις καὶ πανταχοῦ βέλτιστον γίγνεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

συγχωρῶ δὴ τό γε τοσοῦτον καὶ ἐγὼ τοῖς πολλοῖς, δεῖν τὴν μουσικὴν ἡδονῇ κρίνεσθαι, μὴ μέντοι τῶν γε ἐπιτυχόντων, ἀλλὰ σχεδὸν ἐκείνην εἶναι Μοῦσαν καλλίστην ἥτις τοὺς βελτίστους καὶ ἱκανῶς πεπαιδευμένους τέρπει, μάλιστα [659α] δὲ ἥτις ἕνα τὸν ἀρετῇ τε καὶ παιδείᾳ διαφέροντα: διὰ ταῦτα δὲ ἀρετῆς φαμεν δεῖσθαι τοὺς τούτων κριτάς, ὅτι τῆς τε ἄλλης μετόχους αὐτοὺς εἶναι δεῖ φρονήσεως καὶ δὴ καὶ τῆς ἀνδρείας. οὔτε γὰρ παρὰ θεάτρου δεῖ τόν γε ἀληθῆ κριτὴν κρίνειν μανθάνοντα, καὶ ἐκπληττόμενον ὑπὸ θορύβου τῶν πολλῶν καὶ τῆς αὑτοῦ ἀπαιδευσίας, οὔτ᾽ αὖ γιγνώσκοντα δι᾽ ἀνανδρίαν καὶ δειλίαν ἐκ ταὐτοῦ στόματος οὗπερ τοὺς θεοὺς [659β] ἐπεκαλέσατο μέλλων κρίνειν, ἐκ τούτου ψευδόμενον ἀποφαίνεσθαι ῥᾳθύμως τὴν κρίσιν: οὐ γὰρ μαθητὴς ἀλλὰ διδάσκαλος, ὥς γε τὸ δίκαιον, θεατῶν μᾶλλον ὁ κριτὴς καθίζει, καὶ ἐναντιωσόμενος τοῖς τὴν ἡδονὴν μὴ προσηκόντως μηδὲ ὀρθῶς ἀποδιδοῦσι θεαταῖς. ἐξῆν γὰρ δὴ τῷ παλαιῷ τε καὶ Ἑλληνικῷ νόμῳ, <οὐ> καθάπερ ὁ Σικελικός τε καὶ Ἰταλικὸς νόμος νῦν, τῷ πλήθει τῶν θεατῶν ἐπιτρέπων καὶ τὸν νικῶντα διακρίνων χειροτονίαις, διέφθαρκε μὲν τοὺς ποιητὰς αὐτούς [659ξ] -πρὸς γὰρ τὴν τῶν κριτῶν ἡδονὴν ποιοῦσιν οὖσαν φαύλην, ὥστε αὐτοὶ αὐτοὺς οἱ θεαταὶ παιδεύουσιν-διέφθαρκεν δ᾽ αὐτοῦ τοῦ θεάτρου τὰς ἡδονάς: δέον γὰρ αὐτοὺς ἀεὶ βελτίω τῶν αὑτῶν ἠθῶν ἀκούοντας βελτίω τὴν ἡδονὴν ἴσχειν, νῦν αὐτοῖς δρῶσιν πᾶν τοὐναντίον συμβαίνει. τί ποτ᾽ οὖν ἡμῖν τὰ νῦν αὖ διαπερανθέντα τῷ λόγῳ σημαίνειν βούλεται; σκοπεῖσθ᾽ εἰ τόδε.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

δοκεῖ μοι τρίτον ἢ τέταρτον ὁ λόγος εἰς ταὐτὸν [659δ] περιφερόμενος ἥκειν, ὡς ἄρα παιδεία μέν ἐσθ᾽ ἡ παίδων ὁλκή τε καὶ ἀγωγὴ πρὸς τὸν ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου λόγον ὀρθὸν εἰρημένον, καὶ τοῖς ἐπιεικεστάτοις καὶ πρεσβυτάτοις δι᾽ ἐμπειρίαν συνδεδογμένον ὡς ὄντως ὀρθός ἐστιν: ἵν᾽ οὖν ἡ ψυχὴ τοῦ παιδὸς μὴ ἐναντία χαίρειν καὶ λυπεῖσθαι ἐθίζηται τῷ νόμῳ καὶ τοῖς ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου πεπεισμένοις, ἀλλὰ συνέπηται χαίρουσά τε καὶ λυπουμένη τοῖς αὐτοῖς τούτοις οἷσπερ ὁ [659ε] γέρων, τούτων ἕνεκα, ἃς ᾠδὰς καλοῦμεν, ὄντως μὲν ἐπῳδαὶ ταῖς ψυχαῖς αὗται νῦν γεγονέναι, πρὸς τὴν τοιαύτην ἣν λέγομεν συμφωνίαν ἐσπουδασμέναι, διὰ δὲ τὸ σπουδὴν μὴ δύνασθαι φέρειν τὰς τῶν νέων ψυχάς, παιδιαί τε καὶ ᾠδαὶ καλεῖσθαι καὶ πράττεσθαι, καθάπερ τοῖς κάμνουσίν τε καὶ ἀσθενῶς ἴσχουσιν τὰ σώματα ἐν ἡδέσι τισὶν σιτίοις καὶ [660α] πώμασι τὴν χρηστὴν πειρῶνται τροφὴν προσφέρειν οἷς μέλει τούτων, τὴν δὲ τῶν πονηρῶν ἐν ἀηδέσιν, ἵνα τὴν μὲν ἀσπάζωνται, τὴν δὲ μισεῖν ὀρθῶς ἐθίζωνται. ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ τὸν ποιητικὸν ὁ ὀρθὸς νομοθέτης ἐν τοῖς καλοῖς ῥήμασι καὶ ἐπαινετοῖς πείσει τε, καὶ ἀναγκάσει μὴ πείθων, τὰ τῶν σωφρόνων τε καὶ ἀνδρείων καὶ πάντως ἀγαθῶν ἀνδρῶν ἔν τε ῥυθμοῖς σχήματα καὶ ἐν ἁρμονίαισιν μέλη ποιοῦντα ὀρθῶς ποιεῖν. [660β]

Κλεινίας

νῦν οὖν οὕτω δοκοῦσίν σοι, πρὸς Διός, ὦ ξένε, ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσι ποιεῖν; ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ καθ᾽ ὅσον αἰσθάνομαι, πλὴν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἢ παρὰ Λακεδαιμονίοις, ἃ σὺ νῦν λέγεις οὐκ οἶδα πραττόμενα, καινὰ δὲ ἄττα ἀεὶ γιγνόμενα περί τε τὰς ὀρχήσεις καὶ περὶ τὴν ἄλλην μουσικὴν σύμπασαν, οὐχ ὑπὸ νόμων μεταβαλλόμενα ἀλλ᾽ ὑπό τινων ἀτάκτων ἡδονῶν, πολλοῦ δεουσῶν τῶν αὐτῶν εἶναι καὶ κατὰ ταὐτά, ὡς [660ξ] σὺ κατ᾽ Αἴγυπτον ἀφερμηνεύεις, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδέποτε τῶν αὐτῶν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄριστά γ᾽, ὦ Κλεινία. εἰ δ᾽ ἔδοξά σοι ἃ σὺ λέγεις λέγειν ὡς νῦν γιγνόμενα, οὐκ ἂν θαυμάζοιμι εἰ μὴ σαφῶς λέγων ἃ διανοοῦμαι τοῦτο ἐποίησα καὶ ἔπαθον: ἀλλ᾽ ἃ βούλομαι γίγνεσθαι περὶ μουσικήν, τοιαῦτ᾽ ἄττα εἶπον ἴσως ὥστε σοὶ δόξαι ταῦτα ἐμὲ λέγειν. λοιδορεῖν γὰρ πράγματα ἀνίατα καὶ πόρρω προβεβηκότα ἁμαρτίας οὐδαμῶς ἡδύ, [660δ] ἀναγκαῖον δ᾽ ἐνίοτέ ἐστιν. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ταῦτα συνδοκεῖ καὶ σοί, φέρε, φῂς παρ᾽ ὑμῖν καὶ τοῖσδε μᾶλλον ἢ παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν γίγνεσθαι τὰ τοιαῦτα;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ εἰ καὶ παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις γίγνοιθ᾽ οὕτω; πότερον αὐτὰ καλλιόνως οὕτως εἶναι φαῖμεν ἂν ἢ καθάπερ νῦν γίγνεται γιγνόμενα;

Κλεινίας

πολύ που τὸ διαφέρον, εἰ καθάπερ παρά τε τοῖσδε καὶ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν, καὶ ἔτι καθάπερ εἶπες σὺ νυνδὴ δεῖν εἶναι, γίγνοιτο.

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δή, συνομολογησώμεθα τὰ νῦν. ἄλλο τι παρ᾽ [660ε] ὑμῖν ἐν πάσῃ παιδείᾳ καὶ μουσικῇ τὰ λεγόμενά ἐστι τάδε; τοὺς ποιητὰς ἀναγκάζετε λέγειν ὡς ὁ μὲν ἀγαθὸς ἀνὴρ σώφρων ὢν καὶ δίκαιος εὐδαίμων ἐστὶ καὶ μακάριος, ἐάντε μέγας καὶ ἰσχυρὸς ἐάντε μικρὸς καὶ ἀσθενὴς ᾖ, καὶ ἐὰν πλουτῇ καὶ μή: ἐὰν δὲ ἄρα πλουτῇ μὲν Κινύρα τε καὶ Μίδα μᾶλλον, ᾖ δὲ ἄδικος, ἄθλιός τ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ ἀνιαρῶς ζῇ. καὶ “οὔτ᾽ ἂν μνησαίμην,” φησὶν ὑμῖν ὁ ποιητής, εἴπερ ὀρθῶς λέγει, “οὔτ᾽ ἐν λόγῳ ἄνδρα τιθείμην,” ὃς μὴ πάντα τὰ λεγόμενα καλὰ μετὰ δικαιοσύνης πράττοι καὶ κτῷτο, καὶ δὴ [661α] “καὶ δηΐων” τοιοῦτος ὢν “ὀρέγοιτο ἐγγύθεν ἱστάμενος,” ἄδικος δὲ ὢν μήτε τολμῷ “ὁρῶν φόνον αἱματόεντα” μήτε νικῷ θέων “Θρηίκιον Βορέην,” μήτε ἄλλο αὐτῷ μηδὲν τῶν λεγομένων ἀγαθῶν γίγνοιτό ποτε. τὰ γὰρ ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν λεγόμεν᾽ ἀγαθὰ οὐκ ὀρθῶς λέγεται. λέγεται γὰρ ὡς ἄριστον μὲν ὑγιαίνειν, δεύτερον δὲ κάλλος, τρίτον δὲ πλοῦτος, μυρία δὲ ἄλλα ἀγαθὰ λέγεται: καὶ γὰρ ὀξὺ ὁρᾶν καὶ ἀκούειν καὶ [661β] πάντα ὅσα ἔχεται τῶν αἰσθήσεων εὐαισθήτως ἔχειν, ἔτι δὲ καὶ τὸ ποιεῖν τυραννοῦντα ὅτι ἂν ἐπιθυμῇ, καὶ τὸ δὴ τέλος ἁπάσης μακαριότητος εἶναι τὸ πάντα ταῦτα κεκτημένον ἀθάνατον εἶναι γενόμενον ὅτι τάχιστα. ὑμεῖς δὲ καὶ ἐγώ που τάδε λέγομεν, ὡς ταῦτά ἐστι σύμπαντα δικαίοις μὲν καὶ ὁσίοις ἀνδράσιν ἄριστα κτήματα, ἀδίκοις δὲ κάκιστα σύμπαντα, ἀρξάμενα ἀπὸ τῆς ὑγιείας: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ ὁρᾶν [661ξ] καὶ τὸ ἀκούειν καὶ αἰσθάνεσθαι καὶ τὸ παράπαν ζῆν μέγιστον μὲν κακὸν τὸν σύμπαντα χρόνον ἀθάνατον ὄντα καὶ κεκτημένον πάντα τὰ λεγόμενα ἀγαθὰ πλὴν δικαιοσύνης τε καὶ ἀρετῆς ἁπάσης, ἔλαττον δέ, ἂν ὡς ὀλίγιστον ὁ τοιοῦτος χρόνον ἐπιζώῃ. ταῦτα δὴ λέγειν, οἶμαι, τοὺς παρ᾽ ὑμῖν ποιητάς, ἅπερ ἐγώ, πείσετε καὶ ἀναγκάσετε, καὶ ἔτι τούτοις ἑπομένους ῥυθμούς τε καὶ ἁρμονίας ἀποδιδόντας παιδεύειν οὕτω τοὺς νέους ἡμῶν. ἦ γάρ; ὁρᾶτε. ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ λέγω [661δ] σαφῶς τὰ μὲν κακὰ λεγόμενα ἀγαθὰ τοῖς ἀδίκοις εἶναι, τοῖς δὲ δικαίοις κακά, τὰ δ᾽ ἀγαθὰ τοῖς μὲν ἀγαθοῖς ὄντως ἀγαθά, τοῖς δὲ κακοῖς κακά: ὅπερ οὖν ἠρόμην, ἆρα συμφωνοῦμεν ἐγώ τε καὶ ὑμεῖς, ἢ πῶς;

Κλεινίας

τὰ μὲν ἔμοιγε φαινόμεθά πως, τὰ δ᾽ οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὑγίειάν τε κεκτημένον καὶ πλοῦτον καὶ τυραννίδα διὰ τέλους-καὶ ἔτι προστίθημι ὑμῖν ἰσχὺν διαφέρουσαν [661ε] καὶ ἀνδρείαν μετ᾽ ἀθανασίας, καὶ μηδὲν ἄλλο αὐτῷ τῶν λεγομένων κακῶν εἶναι γιγνόμενον-ἀδικίαν δὲ καὶ ὕβριν ἔχοντα ἐν αὑτῷ μόνον, τὸν οὕτω ζῶντα ἴσως ὑμᾶς οὐ πείθω μὴ οὐκ ἄρα εὐδαίμονα ἀλλ᾽ ἄθλιον γίγνεσθαι σαφῶς;

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἶεν: τί οὖν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτ᾽ εἰπεῖν ἡμᾶς χρεών; ἀνδρεῖος γὰρ δὴ καὶ ἰσχυρὸς καὶ καλὸς καὶ πλούσιος, καὶ [662α] ποιῶν ὅτιπερ ἐπιθυμοῖ τὸν βίον ἅπαντα, οὐχ ὑμῖν δοκεῖ, εἴπερ ἄδικος εἴη καὶ ὑβριστής, ἐξ ἀνάγκης αἰσχρῶς ἂν ζῆν; ἢ τοῦτο μὲν ἴσως ἂν συγχωρήσαιτε, τό γε αἰσχρῶς;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; τὸ καὶ κακῶς;

Κλεινίας

οὐκ ἂν ἔτι τοῦθ᾽ ὁμοίως.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; τὸ καὶ ἀηδῶς καὶ μὴ συμφερόντως αὑτῷ;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς ἂν ταῦτά γ᾽ ἔτι συγχωροῖμεν; [662β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅπως; εἰ θεὸς ἡμῖν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὦ φίλοι, δοίη τις συμφωνίαν, ὡς νῦν γε σχεδὸν ἀπᾴδομεν ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων. ἐμοὶ γὰρ δὴ φαίνεται ταῦτα οὕτως ἀναγκαῖα, ὡς οὐδέ, ὦ φίλε Κλεινία, Κρήτη νῆσος σαφῶς: καὶ νομοθέτης ὢν ταύτῃ πειρῴμην ἂν τούς τε ποιητὰς ἀναγκάζειν φθέγγεσθαι καὶ πάντας τοὺς ἐν τῇ πόλει, ζημίαν τε ὀλίγου μεγίστην ἐπιτιθείην ἄν, εἴ τις ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ φθέγξαιτο ὡς εἰσίν τινες [662ξ] ἄνθρωποί ποτε πονηροὶ μέν, ἡδέως δὲ ζῶντες, ἢ λυσιτελοῦντα μὲν ἄλλα ἐστὶ καὶ κερδαλέα, δικαιότερα δὲ ἄλλα, καὶ πόλλ᾽ ἄττ᾽ ἂν παρὰ τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα ὑπό τε Κρητῶν καὶ Λακεδαιμονίων, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ δήπου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων, διάφορα πείθοιμ᾽ ἂν τοὺς πολίτας μοι φθέγγεσθαι. φέρε γάρ, ὦ πρὸς Διός τε καὶ Ἀπόλλωνος, ὦ ἄριστοι τῶν ἀνδρῶν, εἰ τοὺς νομοθετήσαντας ὑμῖν αὐτοὺς τούτους ἐροίμεθα θεούς: [662δ] “ἆρ᾽ ὁ δικαιότατός ἐστιν βίος ἥδιστος, ἢ δύ᾽ ἐστόν τινε βίω, οἷν ὁ μὲν ἥδιστος ὢν τυγχάνει, δικαιότατος δ᾽ ἕτερος;” εἰ δὴ δύο φαῖεν, ἐροίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἴσως αὐτοὺς πάλιν, εἴπερ ὀρθῶς ἐπανερωτῷμεν: “ποτέρους δὲ εὐδαιμονεστέρους χρὴ λέγειν, τοὺς τὸν δικαιότατον ἢ τοὺς τὸν ἥδιστον διαβιοῦντας βίον;” εἰ μὲν δὴ φαῖεν τοὺς τὸν ἥδιστον, ἄτοπος αὐτῶν ὁ λόγος ἂν γίγνοιτο. βούλομαι δέ μοι μὴ ἐπὶ θεῶν λέγεσθαι τὸ [662ε] τοιοῦτον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ πατέρων καὶ νομοθετῶν μᾶλλον, καί μοι τὰ ἔμπροσθεν ἠρωτημένα πατέρα τε καὶ νομοθέτην ἠρωτήσθω, ὁ δ᾽ εἰπέτω ὡς ὁ ζῶν τὸν ἥδιστον βίον ἐστὶν μακαριώτατος: εἶτα μετὰ ταῦτα ἔγωγ᾽ ἂν φαίην: “ὦ πάτερ, οὐχ ὡς εὐδαιμονέστατά με ἐβούλου ζῆν; ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ διακελευόμενος οὐδὲν ἐπαύου ζῆν με ὡς δικαιότατα.” ταύτῃ μὲν οὖν ὁ τιθέμενος εἴτε νομοθέτης εἴτε καὶ πατὴρ ἄτοπος ἂν οἶμαι καὶ ἄπορος φαίνοιτο τοῦ συμφωνούντως ἑαυτῷ λέγειν: εἰ δ᾽ αὖ τὸν δικαιότατον εὐδαιμονέστατον ἀποφαίνοιτο βίον εἶναι, ζητοῖ που πᾶς ἂν ὁ ἀκούων, οἶμαι, τί ποτ᾽ ἐν αὐτῷ τὸ τῆς ἡδονῆς [663α] κρεῖττον ἀγαθόν τε καὶ καλὸν ὁ νόμος ἐνὸν ἐπαινεῖ. τί γὰρ δὴ δικαίῳ χωριζόμενον ἡδονῆς ἀγαθὸν ἂν γίγνοιτο; φέρε, κλέος τε καὶ ἔπαινος πρὸς ἀνθρώπων τε καὶ θεῶν ἆρ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀγαθὸν μὲν καὶ καλόν, ἀηδὲς δέ, δύσκλεια δὲ τἀναντία; ἥκιστα, ὦ φίλε νομοθέτα, φήσομεν. ἀλλὰ τὸ μήτε τινὰ ἀδικεῖν μήτε ὑπό τινος ἀδικεῖσθαι μῶν ἀηδὲς μέν, ἀγαθὸν δὲ ἢ καλόν, τὰ δ᾽ ἕτερα ἡδέα μέν, αἰσχρὰ δὲ καὶ κακά;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ὁ μὲν μὴ χωρίζων λόγος ἡδύ τε καὶ δίκαιον [663β] καὶ ἀγαθόν τε καὶ καλὸν πιθανός γ᾽, εἰ μηδὲν ἕτερον, πρὸς τό τινα ἐθέλειν ζῆν τὸν ὅσιον καὶ δίκαιον βίον, ὥστε νομοθέτῃ γε αἴσχιστος λόγων καὶ ἐναντιώτατος ὃς ἂν μὴ φῇ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν: οὐδεὶς γὰρ ἂν ἑκὼν ἐθέλοι πείθεσθαι πράττειν τοῦτο ὅτῳ μὴ τὸ χαίρειν τοῦ λυπεῖσθαι πλέον ἕπεται. σκοτοδινιᾶν δὲ τὸ πόρρωθεν ὁρώμενον πᾶσίν τε ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν καὶ δὴ καὶ τοῖς παισὶ παρέχει, νομοθέτης εἰ μὴ δόξαν εἰς τοὐναντίον τούτου καταστήσει, τὸ σκότος [663ξ] ἀφελών, καὶ πείσει ἁμῶς γέ πως ἔθεσι καὶ ἐπαίνοις καὶ λόγοις ὡς ἐσκιαγραφημένα τὰ δίκαιά ἐστι καὶ ἄδικα, τὰ μὲν ἄδικα τῷ τοῦ δικαίου ἐναντίως φαινόμενα, ἐκ μὲν ἀδίκου καὶ κακοῦ ἑαυτοῦ θεωρούμενα ἡδέα, τὰ δὲ δίκαια ἀηδέστατα, ἐκ δὲ δικαίου πάντα τἀναντία παντὶ πρὸς ἀμφότερα.

Κλεινίας

φαίνεται.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὴν δ᾽ ἀλήθειαν τῆς κρίσεως ποτέραν κυριωτέραν εἶναι φῶμεν; πότερα τὴν τῆς χείρονος ψυχῆς ἢ τὴν τῆς βελτίονος; [663δ]

Κλεινίας

ἀναγκαῖόν που τὴν τῆς ἀμείνονος.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀναγκαῖον ἄρα τὸν ἄδικον βίον οὐ μόνον αἰσχίω καὶ μοχθηρότερον, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀηδέστερον τῇ ἀληθείᾳ τοῦ δικαίου τε εἶναι καὶ ὁσίου βίου.

Κλεινίας

κινδυνεύει κατά γε τὸν νῦν λόγον, ὦ φίλοι.

Ἀθηναῖος

νομοθέτης δὲ οὗ τι καὶ σμικρὸν ὄφελος, εἰ καὶ μὴ τοῦτο ἦν οὕτως ἔχον, ὡς καὶ νῦν αὐτὸ ᾕρηχ᾽ ὁ λόγος ἔχειν, εἴπερ τι καὶ ἄλλο ἐτόλμησεν ἂν ἐπ᾽ ἀγαθῷ ψεύδεσθαι πρὸς τοὺς νέους, ἔστιν ὅτι τούτου ψεῦδος λυσιτελέστερον ἂν [663ε] ἐψεύσατό ποτε καὶ δυνάμενον μᾶλλον ποιεῖν μὴ βίᾳ ἀλλ᾽ ἑκόντας πάντας πάντα τὰ δίκαια;

Κλεινίας

καλὸν μὲν ἡ ἀλήθεια, ὦ ξένε, καὶ μόνιμον: ἔοικε μὴν οὐ ῥᾴδιον εἶναι πείθειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἶεν: τὸ μὲν τοῦ Σιδωνίου μυθολόγημα ῥᾴδιον ἐγένετο πείθειν, οὕτως ἀπίθανον ὄν, καὶ ἄλλα μυρία;

Κλεινίας

ποῖα;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ σπαρέντων ποτὲ ὀδόντων ὁπλίτας ἐξ αὐτῶν φῦναι. καίτοι μέγα γ᾽ ἐστὶ νομοθέτῃ παράδειγμα τοῦ [664α] πείσειν ὅτι ἂν ἐπιχειρῇ τις πείθειν τὰς τῶν νέων ψυχάς, ὥστε οὐδὲν ἄλλο αὐτὸν δεῖ σκοποῦντα ἀνευρίσκειν ἢ τί πείσας μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν ἐργάσαιτο ἂν πόλιν, τούτου δὲ πέρι πᾶσαν μηχανὴν εὑρίσκειν ὅντινά ποτε τρόπον ἡ τοιαύτη συνοικία πᾶσα περὶ τούτων ἓν καὶ ταὐτὸν ὅτι μάλιστα φθέγγοιτ᾽ ἀεὶ διὰ βίου παντὸς ἔν τε ᾠδαῖς καὶ μύθοις καὶ λόγοις. εἰ δ᾽ οὖν ἄλλῃ πῃ δοκεῖ ἢ ταύτῃ, πρὸς ταῦτα οὐδεὶς φθόνος ἀμφισβητῆσαι τῷ λόγῳ. [664β]

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽ οὔ μοι φαίνεται πρός γε ταῦτα δύνασθαι ἡμῶν ἀμφισβητῆσαί ποτ᾽ ἂν οὐδέτερος.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο τοίνυν ἐμὸν ἂν εἴη λέγειν. φημὶ γὰρ ἅπαντας δεῖν ἐπᾴδειν τρεῖς ὄντας τοὺς χοροὺς ἔτι νέαις οὔσαις ταῖς ψυχαῖς καὶ ἁπαλαῖς τῶν παίδων, τά τε ἄλλα καλὰ λέγοντας πάντα ὅσα διεληλύθαμέν τε καὶ ἔτι διέλθοιμεν ἄν, τὸ δὲ κεφάλαιον αὐτῶν τοῦτο ἔστω: τὸν αὐτὸν ἥδιστόν τε καὶ ἄριστον ὑπὸ θεῶν βίον λέγεσθαι φάσκοντες, [664ξ] ἀληθέστατα ἐροῦμεν ἅμα, καὶ μᾶλλον πείσομεν οὓς δεῖ πείθειν ἢ ἐὰν ἄλλως πως φθεγγώμεθα λέγοντες.

Κλεινίας

συγχωρητέον ἃ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν ὁ Μουσῶν χορὸς ὁ παιδικὸς ὀρθότατ᾽ ἂν εἰσίοι πρῶτος τὰ τοιαῦτα εἰς τὸ μέσον ᾀσόμενος ἁπάσῃ σπουδῇ καὶ ὅλῃ τῇ πόλει, δεύτερος δὲ ὁ μέχρι τριάκοντα ἐτῶν, τόν τε Παιᾶνα ἐπικαλούμενος μάρτυρα τῶν λεγομένων ἀληθείας πέρι καὶ τοῖς νέοις ἵλεων μετὰ πειθοῦς [664δ] γίγνεσθαι ἐπευχόμενος. δεῖ δὲ δὴ καὶ ἔτι τρίτους τοὺς ὑπὲρ τριάκοντα ἔτη μέχρι τῶν ἑξήκοντα γεγονότας ᾁδειν: τοὺς δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα-οὐ γὰρ ἔτι δυνατοὶ φέρειν ᾠδάς-μυθολόγους περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν ἠθῶν διὰ θείας φήμης καταλελεῖφθαι.

Κλεινίας

λέγεις δέ, ὦ ξένε, τίνας τούτους τοὺς χοροὺς τοὺς τρίτους; οὐ γὰρ πάνυ συνίεμεν σαφῶς ὅτι ποτὲ βούλει φράζειν αὐτῶν πέρι.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν εἰσίν γε οὗτοι σχεδὸν ὧν χάριν οἱ πλεῖστοι τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ἐρρήθησαν λόγων. [664ε]

Κλεινίας

οὔπω μεμαθήκαμεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον πειρῶ φράζειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἴπομεν, εἰ μεμνήμεθα, κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς τῶν λόγων, ὡς ἡ φύσις ἁπάντων τῶν νέων διάπυρος οὖσα ἡσυχίαν οὐχ οἵα τε ἄγειν οὔτε κατὰ τὸ σῶμα οὔτε κατὰ τὴν φωνὴν εἴη, φθέγγοιτο δ᾽ ἀεὶ ἀτάκτως καὶ πηδῷ, τάξεως δ᾽ αἴσθησιν τούτων ἀμφοτέρων, τῶν ἄλλων μὲν ζῴων οὐδὲν ἐφάπτοιτο, ἡ δὲ ἀνθρώπου φύσις ἔχοι μόνη τοῦτο: τῇ δὴ τῆς κινήσεως [665α] τάξει ῥυθμὸς ὄνομα εἴη, τῇ δὲ αὖ τῆς φωνῆς, τοῦ τε ὀξέος ἅμα καὶ βαρέος συγκεραννυμένων, ἁρμονία ὄνομα προσαγορεύοιτο, χορεία δὲ τὸ συναμφότερον κληθείη. θεοὺς δὲ ἔφαμεν ἐλεοῦντας ἡμᾶς συγχορευτάς τε καὶ χορηγοὺς ἡμῖν δεδωκέναι τόν τε Ἀπόλλωνα καὶ μούσας, καὶ δὴ καὶ τρίτον ἔφαμεν, εἰ μεμνήμεθα, Διόνυσον.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὐ μεμνήμεθα;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁ μὲν τοίνυν τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος καὶ τῶν Μουσῶν [665β] χορὸς εἴρηνται, τὸν δὲ τρίτον καὶ τὸν λοιπὸν χορὸν ἀνάγκη τοῦ Διονύσου λέγεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δή; λέγε: μάλα γὰρ ἄτοπος γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὥς γε ἐξαίφνης ἀκούσαντι Διονύσου πρεσβυτῶν χορός, εἰ ἄρα οἱ ὑπὲρ τριάκοντα καὶ πεντήκοντα δὲ γεγονότες ἔτη μέχρι ἑξήκοντα αὐτῷ χορεύσουσιν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀληθέστατα μέντοι λέγεις. λόγου δὴ δεῖ πρὸς ταῦτα οἶμαι, ὅπῃ τοῦτο εὔλογον οὕτω γιγνόμενον ἂν γίγνοιτο.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἡμῖν τά γε ἔμπροσθεν ὁμολογεῖται; [665ξ]

Κλεινίας

τοῦ πέρι;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δεῖν πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα καὶ παῖδα, ἐλεύθερον καὶ δοῦλον, θῆλύν τε καὶ ἄρρενα, καὶ ὅλῃ τῇ πόλει ὅλην τὴν πόλιν αὐτὴν αὑτῇ ἐπᾴδουσαν μὴ παύεσθαί ποτε ταῦτα ἃ διεληλύθαμεν, ἁμῶς γέ πως ἀεὶ μεταβαλλόμενα καὶ πάντως παρεχόμενα ποικιλίαν, ὥστε ἀπληστίαν εἶναί τινα τῶν ὕμνων τοῖς ᾁδουσιν καὶ ἡδονήν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὐχ ὁμολογοῖτ᾽ ἂν δεῖν ταῦτα οὕτω πράττεσθαι; [665δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ποῦ δὴ τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν τὸ ἄριστον τῆς πόλεως, ἡλικίαις τε καὶ ἅμα φρονήσεσιν πιθανώτατον ὂν τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει, ᾆδον τὰ κάλλιστα μέγιστ᾽ ἂν ἐξεργάζοιτο ἀγαθά; ἢ τοῦτο ἀνοήτως οὕτως ἀφήσομεν, ὃ κυριώτατον ἂν εἴη τῶν καλλίστων τε καὶ ὠφελιμωτάτων ᾠδῶν;

Κλεινίας

ἀλλὰ ἀδύνατον τὸ μεθιέναι, ὥς γε τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα.

Ἀθηναῖος

πῶς οὖν πρέπον ἂν εἴη τοῦτο; ὁρᾶτε εἰ τῇδε.

Κλεινίας

πῇ δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

πᾶς που γιγνόμενος πρεσβύτερος ὄκνου πρὸς τὰς [665ε] ᾠδὰς μεστός, καὶ χαίρει τε ἧττον πράττων τοῦτο καὶ ἀνάγκης γιγνομένης αἰσχύνοιτ᾽ ἂν μᾶλλον, ὅσῳ πρεσβύτερος καὶ σωφρονέστερος γίγνεται, τόσῳ μᾶλλον. ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως;

Κλεινίας

οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἐν θεάτρῳ γε καὶ παντοίοις ἀνθρώποις ᾁδειν ἑστὼς ὀρθὸς ἔτι μᾶλλον αἰσχύνοιτ᾽ ἄν: καὶ ταῦτά γ᾽ εἰ καθάπερ οἱ περὶ νίκης χοροὶ ἀγωνιζόμενοι πεφωνασκηκότες ἰσχνοί τε καὶ ἄσιτοι ἀναγκάζοιντο ᾁδειν οἱ τοιοῦτοι, παντάπασίν που ἀηδῶς τε καὶ αἰσχυντηλῶς ᾁδοντες ἀπροθύμως ἂν τοῦτ᾽ ἐργάζοιντο; [666α]

Κλεινίας

ἀναγκαιότατα μέντοι λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

πῶς οὖν αὐτοὺς παραμυθησόμεθα προθύμους εἶναι πρὸς τὰς ᾠδάς; ἆρ᾽ οὐ νομοθετήσομεν πρῶτον μὲν τοὺς παῖδας μέχρι ἐτῶν ὀκτωκαίδεκα τὸ παράπαν οἴνου μὴ γεύεσθαι, διδάσκοντες ὡς οὐ χρὴ πῦρ ἐπὶ πῦρ ὀχετεύειν εἴς τε τὸ σῶμα καὶ τὴν ψυχήν, πρὶν ἐπὶ τοὺς πόνους ἐγχειρεῖν πορεύεσθαι, τὴν ἐμμανῆ εὐλαβουμένους ἕξιν τῶν νέων: μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο οἴνου μὲν δὴ γεύεσθαι τοῦ μετρίου μέχρι [666β] τριάκοντα ἐτῶν, μέθης δὲ καὶ πολυοινίας τὸ παράπαν τὸν νέον ἀπέχεσθαι: τετταράκοντα δὲ ἐπιβαίνοντα ἐτῶν, ἐν τοῖς συσσιτίοις εὐωχηθέντα, καλεῖν τούς τε ἄλλους θεοὺς καὶ δὴ καὶ Διόνυσον παρακαλεῖν εἰς τὴν τῶν πρεσβυτέρων τελετὴν ἅμα καὶ παιδιάν, ἣν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐπίκουρον τῆς τοῦ γήρως αὐστηρότητος ἐδωρήσατο τὸν οἶνον φάρμακον, ὥστε ἀνηβᾶν ἡμᾶς, καὶ δυσθυμίας λήθῃ γίγνεσθαι μαλακώτερον ἐκ [666ξ] σκληροτέρου τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ἦθος, καθάπερ εἰς πῦρ σίδηρον ἐντεθέντα γιγνόμενον, καὶ οὕτως εὐπλαστότερον εἶναι; πρῶτον μὲν δὴ διατεθεὶς οὕτως ἕκαστος ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοι προθυμότερόν γε, ἧττον αἰσχυνόμενος, οὐκ ἐν πολλοῖς ἀλλὰ ἐν μετρίοις, καὶ οὐκ ἐν ἀλλοτρίοις ἀλλ᾽ ἐν οἰκείοις, ᾁδειν τε καὶ ὃ πολλάκις εἰρήκαμεν ἐπᾴδειν;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πολύ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰς μέν γε τὸ προάγειν τοίνυν αὐτοὺς μετέχειν ἡμῖν ᾠδῆς οὗτος ὁ τρόπος οὐκ ἂν παντάπασιν ἀσχήμων [666δ] γίγνοιτο.

Κλεινίας

οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ποίαν δὲ ἥσουσιν οἱ ἄνδρες φωνήν; ἢ μοῦσαν [ἢ] δῆλον ὅτι πρέπουσαν αὑτοῖς δεῖ γέ τινα;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τίς ἂν οὖν πρέποι θείοις ἀνδράσιν; ἆρ᾽ ἂν ἡ τῶν χορῶν;

Κλεινίας

ἡμεῖς γοῦν, ὦ ξένε, καὶ οἵδε οὐκ ἄλλην ἄν τινα δυναίμεθα ᾠδὴν ἢ ἣν ἐν τοῖς χοροῖς ἐμάθομεν συνήθεις ᾁδειν γενόμενοι.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰκότως γε: ὄντως γὰρ οὐκ ἐπήβολοι γεγόνατε τῆς [666ε] καλλίστης ᾠδῆς. στρατοπέδου γὰρ πολιτείαν ἔχετε ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐν ἄστεσι κατῳκηκότων, ἀλλ᾽ οἷον ἁθρόους πώλους ἐν ἀγέλῃ νεμομένους φορβάδας τοὺς νέους κέκτησθε: λαβὼν δ᾽ ὑμῶν οὐδεὶς τὸν αὑτοῦ, παρὰ τῶν συννόμων σπάσας σφόδρα ἀγριαίνοντα καὶ ἀγανακτοῦντα, ἱπποκόμον τε ἐπέστησεν ἰδίᾳ καὶ παιδεύει ψήχων τε καὶ ἡμερῶν, καὶ πάντα προσήκοντα ἀποδιδοὺς τῇ παιδοτροφίᾳ ὅθεν οὐ μόνον ἀγαθὸς [667α] ἂν στρατιώτης εἴη, πόλιν δὲ καὶ ἄστη δυνάμενος διοικεῖν, ὃν δὴ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς εἴπομεν τῶν Τυρταίου πολεμικῶν εἶναι πολεμικώτερον, τέταρτον ἀρετῆς ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πρῶτον τὴν ἀνδρείαν κτῆμα τιμῶντα ἀεὶ καὶ πανταχοῦ, ἰδιώταις τε καὶ συμπάσῃ πόλει.

Κλεινίας

οὐκ οἶδα ἡμῶν, ὦ ξένε, ὅπῃ πάλιν αὖ τοὺς νομοθέτας φαυλίζεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκ, ὠγαθέ, προσέχων τούτῳ τὸν νοῦν δρῶ τοῦτο, εἴπερ: ἀλλ᾽ ὁ λόγος ὅπῃ φέρει, ταύτῃ πορευώμεθα, εἰ βούλεσθε. εἰ γὰρ ἔχομεν μοῦσαν τῆς τῶν χορῶν καλλίω καὶ [667β] τῆς ἐν τοῖς κοινοῖς θεάτροις, πειρώμεθα ἀποδοῦναι τούτοις οὕς φαμεν ἐκείνην μὲν αἰσχύνεσθαι, ζητεῖν δέ, ἥτις καλλίστη, ταύτης κοινωνεῖν.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν πρῶτον μὲν δεῖ τόδε γε ὑπάρχειν ἅπασιν ὅσοις συμπαρέπεταί τις χάρις, ἢ τοῦτο αὐτὸ μόνον αὐτοῦ τὸ σπουδαιότατον εἶναι, ἤ τινα ὀρθότητα, ἢ τὸ τρίτον ὠφελίαν; οἷον δὴ λέγω ἐδωδῇ μὲν καὶ πόσει καὶ συμπάσῃ τροφῇ παρέπεσθαι μὲν τὴν χάριν, ἣν ἡδονὴν ἂν προσείποιμεν: ἣν [667ξ] δὲ ὀρθότητά τε καὶ ὠφελίαν, ὅπερ ὑγιεινὸν τῶν προσφερομένων λέγομεν ἑκάστοτε, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ εἶναι ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ τὸ ὀρθότατον.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν καὶ τῇ μαθήσει παρακολουθεῖν μὲν τό γε τῆς χάριτος, τὴν ἡδονήν, τὴν δὲ ὀρθότητα καὶ τὴν ὠφελίαν καὶ τὸ εὖ καὶ τὸ καλῶς τὴν ἀλήθειαν εἶναι τὴν ἀποτελοῦσαν.

Κλεινίας

ἔστιν οὕτως.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δὲ τῇ τῶν ὁμοίων ἐργασίᾳ ὅσαι τέχναι εἰκαστικαί; [667δ] ἆρ᾽ οὐκ, ἂν τοῦτο ἐξεργάζωνται, τὸ μὲν ἡδονὴν ἐν αὐτοῖς γίγνεσθαι παρεπόμενον, ἐὰν γίγνηται, χάριν αὐτὸ δικαιότατον ἂν εἴη προσαγορεύειν;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὴν δέ γε ὀρθότητά που τῶν τοιούτων ἡ ἰσότης ἄν, ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πᾶν εἰπεῖν, ἐξεργάζοιτο τοῦ τε τοσούτου καὶ τοῦ τοιούτου πρότερον, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ἡδονή.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἡδονῇ κρίνοιτ᾽ ἂν μόνον ἐκεῖνο ὀρθῶς, ὃ μήτε τινὰ ὠφελίαν μήτε ἀλήθειαν μήτε ὁμοιότητα ἀπεργαζόμενον [667ε] παρέχεται, μηδ᾽ αὖ γε βλάβην, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτοῦ τούτου μόνου ἕνεκα γίγνοιτο τοῦ συμπαρεπομένου τοῖς ἄλλοις, τῆς χάριτος, ἣν δὴ κάλλιστά τις ὀνομάσαι ἂν ἡδονήν, ὅταν μηδὲν αὐτῇ τούτων ἐπακολουθῇ;

Κλεινίας

ἀβλαβῆ λέγεις ἡδονὴν μόνον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί, καὶ παιδιάν γε εἶναι τὴν αὐτὴν ταύτην λέγω τότε, ὅταν μήτε τι βλάπτῃ μήτε ὠφελῇ σπουδῆς ἢ λόγου ἄξιον.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ πᾶσαν μίμησιν φαῖμεν ἂν ἐκ τῶν νῦν λεγομένων ἥκιστα ἡδονῇ προσήκειν κρίνεσθαι καὶ δόξῃ μὴ [668α] ἀληθεῖ-καὶ δὴ καὶ πᾶσαν ἰσότητα: οὐ γὰρ εἴ τῳ δοκεῖ ἢ μή τις χαίρει τῳ, τό γε ἴσον ἴσον οὐδὲ τὸ σύμμετρον ἂν εἴη σύμμετρον ὅλως-ἀλλὰ τῷ ἀληθεῖ πάντων μάλιστα, ἥκιστα δὲ ὁτῳοῦν ἄλλῳ;

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν μουσικήν γε πᾶσάν φαμεν εἰκαστικήν τε εἶναι καὶ μιμητικήν;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἥκιστ᾽ ἄρα ὅταν τις μουσικὴν ἡδονῇ φῇ κρίνεσθαι, τοῦτον ἀποδεκτέον τὸν λόγον, καὶ ζητητέον ἥκιστα ταύτην [668β] ὡς σπουδαίαν, εἴ τις ἄρα που καὶ γίγνοιτο, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνην τὴν ἔχουσαν τὴν ὁμοιότητα τῷ τοῦ καλοῦ μιμήματι.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τούτοις δὴ τοῖς τὴν καλλίστην ᾠδήν τε ζητοῦσι καὶ μοῦσαν ζητητέον, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐχ ἥτις ἡδεῖα ἀλλ᾽ ἥτις ὀρθή: μιμήσεως γὰρ ἦν, ὥς φαμεν, ὀρθότης, εἰ τὸ μιμηθὲν ὅσον τε καὶ οἷον ἦν ἀποτελοῖτο.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν τοῦτό γε πᾶς ἂν ὁμολογοῖ περὶ τῆς μουσικῆς, ὅτι πάντα τὰ περὶ αὐτήν ἐστιν ποιήματα μίμησίς τε [668ξ] καὶ ἀπεικασία: καὶ τοῦτό γε μῶν οὐκ ἂν σύμπαντες ὁμολογοῖεν ποιηταί τε καὶ ἀκροαταὶ καὶ ὑποκριταί;

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλα.

Ἀθηναῖος

δεῖ δὴ καθ᾽ ἕκαστόν γε, ὡς ἔοικε, γιγνώσκειν τῶν ποιημάτων ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν τὸν μέλλοντα ἐν αὐτῷ μὴ ἁμαρτήσεσθαι: μὴ γὰρ γιγνώσκων τὴν οὐσίαν, τί ποτε βούλεται καὶ ὅτου ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν εἰκὼν ὄντως, σχολῇ τήν γε ὀρθότητα τῆς βουλήσεως ἢ καὶ ἁμαρτίαν αὐτοῦ διαγνώσεται.

Κλεινίας

σχολῇ: πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [668δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁ δὲ τὸ ὀρθῶς μὴ γιγνώσκων ἆρ᾽ ἄν ποτε τό γε εὖ καὶ τὸ κακῶς δυνατὸς εἴη διαγνῶναι; λέγω δὲ οὐ πάνυ σαφῶς, ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε σαφέστερον ἴσως ἂν λεχθείη.

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰσὶν δήπου κατὰ τὴν ὄψιν ἡμῖν ἀπεικασίαι μυρίαι.

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν εἴ τις καὶ ἐν τούτοις ἀγνοοῖ τῶν μεμιμημένων ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἕκαστον τῶν σωμάτων; ἆρ᾽ ἄν ποτε τό γε ὀρθῶς αὐτῶν εἰργασμένον γνοίη; λέγω δὲ τὸ τοιόνδε, οἷον τοὺς ἀριθμοὺς τοῦ σώματος καὶ ἑκάστων τῶν μερῶν [668ε] τὰς θέσεις εἰ ἔχει, ὅσοι τέ εἰσιν καὶ ὁποῖα παρ᾽ ὁποῖα αὐτῶν κείμενα τὴν προσήκουσαν τάξιν ἀπείληφεν-καὶ ἔτι δὴ χρώματά τε καὶ σχήματα-ἢ πάντα ταῦτα τεταραγμένως εἴργασται: μῶν δοκεῖ ταῦτ᾽ ἄν ποτε διαγνῶναί τις τὸ παράπαν ἀγνοῶν ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ μεμιμημένον ζῷον;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ εἰ γιγνώσκοιμεν ὅτι τὸ γεγραμμένον ἢ τὸ πεπλασμένον ἐστὶν ἄνθρωπος, καὶ τὰ μέρη πάντα τὰ ἑαυτοῦ [669α] καὶ χρώματα ἅμα καὶ σχήματα ἀπείληφεν ὑπὸ τῆς τέχνης; ἆρά γε ἀναγκαῖον ἤδη τῷ ταῦτα γνόντι καὶ ἐκεῖνο ἑτοίμως γιγνώσκειν, εἴτε καλὸν εἴτε ὅπῃ ποτὲ ἐλλιπὲς ἂν εἴη κάλλους;

Κλεινίας

πάντες μεντἂν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν, ὦ ξένε, τὰ καλὰ τῶν ζῴων ἐγιγνώσκομεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὀρθότατα λέγεις. ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ περὶ ἑκάστην εἰκόνα, καὶ ἐν γραφικῇ καὶ ἐν μουσικῇ καὶ πάντῃ, τὸν μέλλοντα ἔμφρονα κριτὴν ἔσεσθαι δεῖ ταῦτα τρία ἔχειν, ὅ τέ ἐστι [669β] πρῶτον γιγνώσκειν, ἔπειτα ὡς ὀρθῶς, ἔπειθ᾽ ὡς εὖ, τὸ τρίτον, εἴργασται τῶν εἰκόνων ἡτισοῦν ῥήμασί τε καὶ μέλεσι καὶ τοῖς ῥυθμοῖς;

Κλεινίας

ἔοικε γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

μὴ τοίνυν ἀπείπωμεν λέγοντες τὸ περὶ τὴν μουσικὴν ᾗ χαλεπόν: ἐπειδὴ γὰρ ὑμνεῖται περὶ αὐτὴν διαφερόντως ἢ τὰς ἄλλας εἰκόνας, εὐλαβείας δὴ δεῖται πλείστης πασῶν εἰκόνων. ἁμαρτών τε γάρ τις μέγιστ᾽ ἂν βλάπτοιτο, [669ξ] ἤθη κακὰ φιλοφρονούμενος, χαλεπώτατόν τε αἰσθέσθαι διὰ τὸ τοὺς ποιητὰς φαυλοτέρους εἶναι ποιητὰς αὐτῶν τῶν Μουσῶν. οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐκεῖναί γε ἐξαμάρτοιέν ποτε τοσοῦτον ὥστε ῥήματα ἀνδρῶν ποιήσασαι τὸ χρῶμα γυναικῶν καὶ μέλος ἀποδοῦναι, καὶ μέλος ἐλευθέρων αὖ καὶ σχήματα συνθεῖσαι ῥυθμοὺς δούλων καὶ ἀνελευθέρων προσαρμόττειν, οὐδ᾽ αὖ ῥυθμοὺς καὶ σχῆμα ἐλευθέριον ὑποθεῖσαι μέλος ἢ λόγον ἐναντίον ἀποδοῦναι τοῖς ῥυθμοῖς, ἔτι δὲ θηρίων φωνὰς [669δ] καὶ ἀνθρώπων καὶ ὀργάνων καὶ πάντας ψόφους εἰς ταὐτὸν οὐκ ἄν ποτε συνθεῖεν, ὡς ἕν τι μιμούμεναι: ποιηταὶ δὲ ἀνθρώπινοι σφόδρα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐμπλέκοντες καὶ συγκυκῶντες ἀλόγως, γέλωτ᾽ ἂν παρασκευάζοιεν τῶν ἀνθρώπων ὅσους φησὶν Ὀρφεὺς λαχεῖν ὥραν τῆς τέρψιος. ταῦτά γε γὰρ ὁρῶσι πάντα κυκώμενα, καὶ ἔτι διασπῶσιν οἱ ποιηταὶ ῥυθμὸν μὲν καὶ σχήματα μέλους χωρίς, λόγους ψιλοὺς εἰς μέτρα [669ε] τιθέντες, μέλος δ᾽ αὖ καὶ ῥυθμὸν ἄνευ ῥημάτων, ψιλῇ κιθαρίσει τε καὶ αὐλήσει προσχρώμενοι, ἐν οἷς δὴ παγχάλεπον ἄνευ λόγου γιγνόμενον ῥυθμόν τε καὶ ἁρμονίαν γιγνώσκειν ὅτι τε βούλεται καὶ ὅτῳ ἔοικε τῶν ἀξιολόγων μιμημάτων: ἀλλὰ ὑπολαβεῖν ἀναγκαῖον ὅτι τὸ τοιοῦτόν γε πολλῆς ἀγροικίας μεστὸν πᾶν, ὁπόσον τάχους τε καὶ ἀπταισίας καὶ φωνῆς θηριώδους σφόδρα φίλον ὥστ᾽ αὐλήσει γε χρῆσθαι καὶ [670α] κιθαρίσει πλὴν ὅσον ὑπὸ ὄρχησίν τε καὶ ᾠδήν, ψιλῷ δ᾽ ἑκατέρῳ πᾶσά τις ἀμουσία καὶ θαυματουργία γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τῆς χρήσεως. ταῦτα μὲν ἔχει ταύτῃ λόγον: ἡμεῖς δέ γε οὐχ ὅτι μὴ δεῖ ταῖς Μούσαις ἡμῶν προσχρῆσθαι τοὺς ἤδη τριακοντούτας καὶ τῶν πεντήκοντα πέραν γεγονότας σκοπούμεθα, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι ποτὲ δεῖ. τόδε μὲν οὖν ἐκ τούτων ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν δοκεῖ μοι σημαίνειν ἤδη, τῆς γε χορικῆς Μούσης ὅτι πεπαιδεῦσθαι [670β] δεῖ βέλτιον τοὺς πεντηκοντούτας ὅσοισπερ ἂν ᾁδειν προσήκῃ. τῶν γὰρ ῥυθμῶν καὶ τῶν ἁρμονιῶν ἀναγκαῖον αὐτοῖς ἐστιν εὐαισθήτως ἔχειν καὶ γιγνώσκειν: ἢ πῶς τις τὴν ὀρθότητα γνώσεται τῶν μελῶν, ᾧ προσῆκεν ἢ μὴ προσῆκεν τοῦ δωριστί, καὶ τοῦ ῥυθμοῦ ὃν ὁ ποιητὴς αὐτῷ προσῆψεν, ὀρθῶς ἢ μή;

Κλεινίας

δῆλον ὡς οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

γελοῖος γὰρ ὅ γε πολὺς ὄχλος ἡγούμενος ἱκανῶς γιγνώσκειν τό τε εὐάρμοστον καὶ εὔρυθμον καὶ μή, ὅσοι προσᾴδειν αὐτῶν καὶ βαίνειν ἐν ῥυθμῷ γεγόνασι διηναγκασμένοι, [670ξ] ὅτι δὲ δρῶσιν ταῦτα ἀγνοοῦντες αὐτῶν ἕκαστα, οὐ συλλογίζονται. τὸ δέ που προσήκοντα μὲν ἔχον πᾶν μέλος ὀρθῶς ἔχει, μὴ προσήκοντα δὲ ἡμαρτημένως.

Κλεινίας

ἀναγκαιότατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν ὁ μηδ᾽ ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔχει γιγνώσκων; ἆρα, ὅπερ εἴπομεν, ὡς ὀρθῶς γε αὐτὸ ἔχει, γνώσεταί ποτε ἐν ὁτῳοῦν;

Κλεινίας

καὶ τίς μηχανή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτ᾽ οὖν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀνευρίσκομεν αὖ τὰ νῦν, ὅτι τοῖς ᾠδοῖς ἡμῖν, οὓς νῦν παρακαλοῦμεν καὶ ἑκόντας τινὰ [670δ] τρόπον ἀναγκάζομεν ᾁδειν, μέχρι γε τοσούτου πεπαιδεῦσθαι σχεδὸν ἀναγκαῖον, μέχρι τοῦ δυνατὸν εἶναι συνακολουθεῖν ἕκαστον ταῖς τε βάσεσιν τῶν ῥυθμῶν καὶ ταῖς χορδαῖς ταῖς τῶν μελῶν, ἵνα καθορῶντες τάς τε ἁρμονίας καὶ τοὺς ῥυθμούς, ἐκλέγεσθαί τε τὰ προσήκοντα οἷοί τ᾽ ὦσιν ἃ τοῖς τηλικούτοις τε καὶ τοιούτοις ᾁδειν πρέπον, καὶ οὕτως ᾁδωσιν, καὶ ᾁδοντες αὐτοί τε ἡδονὰς τὸ παραχρῆμα ἀσινεῖς ἥδωνται καὶ τοῖς νεωτέροις [670ε] ἡγεμόνες ἠθῶν χρηστῶν ἀσπασμοῦ προσήκοντος γίγνωνται: μέχρι δὲ τοσούτου παιδευθέντες ἀκριβεστέραν ἂν παιδείαν τῆς ἐπὶ τὸ πλῆθος φερούσης εἶεν μετακεχειρισμένοι καὶ τῆς περὶ τοὺς ποιητὰς αὐτούς. τὸ γὰρ τρίτον οὐδεμία ἀνάγκη ποιητῇ γιγνώσκειν, εἴτε καλὸν εἴτε μὴ καλὸν τὸ μίμημα, τὸ δὲ ἁρμονίας καὶ ῥυθμοῦ σχεδὸν ἀνάγκη, τοῖς δὲ πάντα τὰ τρία τῆς ἐκλογῆς ἕνεκα τοῦ καλλίστου καὶ δευτέρου, ἢ [671α] μηδέποτε ἱκανὸν ἐπῳδὸν γίγνεσθαι νέοις πρὸς ἀρετήν. καὶ ὅπερ ὁ λόγος ἐν ἀρχαῖς ἐβουλήθη, τὴν τῷ τοῦ Διονύσου χορῷ βοήθειαν ἐπιδεῖξαι καλῶς λεγομένην, εἰς δύναμιν εἴρηκεν: σκοπώμεθα δὴ εἰ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτω γέγονεν. θορυβώδης μέν που ὁ σύλλογος ὁ τοιοῦτος ἐξ ἀνάγκης προϊούσης τῆς πόσεως ἐπὶ μᾶλλον ἀεὶ συμβαίνει γιγνόμενος, ὅπερ ὑπεθέμεθα κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι γίγνεσθαι περὶ τῶν νῦν [671β] λεγομένων.

Κλεινίας

ἀνάγκη.

Ἀθηναῖος

πᾶς δέ γε αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ κουφότερος αἴρεται καὶ γέγηθέν τε καὶ παρρησίας ἐμπίμπλαται καὶ ἀνηκουστίας ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ τῶν πέλας, ἄρχων δ᾽ ἱκανὸς ἀξιοῖ ἑαυτοῦ τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων γεγονέναι.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἔφαμεν, ὅταν γίγνηται ταῦτα, καθάπερ τινὰ σίδηρον τὰς ψυχὰς τῶν πινόντων διαπύρους γιγνομένας μαλθακωτέρας γίγνεσθαι καὶ νεωτέρας, ὥστε εὐαγώγους [671ξ] συμβαίνειν τῷ δυναμένῳ τε καὶ ἐπισταμένῳ παιδεύειν τε καὶ πλάττειν, καθάπερ ὅτ᾽ ἦσαν νέαι; τοῦτον δ᾽ εἶναι τὸν πλάστην τὸν αὐτὸν ὥσπερ τότε, τὸν ἀγαθὸν νομοθέτην, οὗ νόμους εἶναι δεῖ συμποτικούς, δυναμένους τὸν εὔελπιν καὶ θαρραλέον ἐκεῖνον γιγνόμενον καὶ ἀναισχυντότερον τοῦ δέοντος, καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλοντα τάξιν καὶ τὸ κατὰ μέρος σιγῆς καὶ λόγου καὶ πόσεως καὶ μούσης ὑπομένειν, ἐθέλειν ποιεῖν πάντα τούτοις τἀναντία, καὶ εἰσιόντι τῷ μὴ καλῷ θάρρει [671δ] τὸν κάλλιστον διαμαχόμενον φόβον εἰσπέμπειν οἵους τ᾽ εἶναι μετὰ δίκης, ὃν αἰδῶ τε καὶ αἰσχύνην θεῖον φόβον ὠνομάκαμεν;

Κλεινίας

ἔστιν ταῦτα.

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτων δέ γε τῶν νόμων εἶναι νομοφύλακας καὶ συνδημιουργοὺς αὐτοῖς τοὺς ἀθορύβους καὶ νήφοντας τῶν μὴ νηφόντων στρατηγούς, ὧν δὴ χωρὶς μέθῃ διαμάχεσθαι δεινότερον ἢ πολεμίοις εἶναι μὴ μετὰ ἀρχόντων ἀθορύβων, καὶ τὸν αὖ μὴ δυνάμενον ἐθέλειν πείθεσθαι τούτοις καὶ τοῖς [671ε] ἡγεμόσιν τοῖς τοῦ Διονύσου, τοῖς ὑπὲρ ἑξήκοντα ἔτη γεγονόσιν, ἴσην καὶ μείζω τὴν αἰσχύνην φέρειν ἢ τὸν τοῖς τοῦ Ἄρεως ἀπειθοῦντα ἄρχουσιν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν εἴ γε εἴη τοιαύτη μὲν μέθη, τοιαύτη δὲ παιδιά, μῶν οὐκ ὠφεληθέντες ἂν οἱ τοιοῦτοι συμπόται καὶ μᾶλλον φίλοι ἢ πρότερον ἀπαλλάττοιντο ἀλλήλων, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ [672α] ὥσπερ τὰ νῦν ἐχθροί, κατὰ νόμους δὲ πᾶσαν τὴν συνουσίαν συγγενόμενοι καὶ ἀκολουθήσαντες, ὁπότε ἀφηγοῖντο οἱ νήφοντες τοῖς μὴ νήφουσιν;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς, εἴ γε δὴ εἴη τοιαύτη οἵαν νῦν λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

μὴ τοίνυν ἐκεῖνό γ᾽ ἔτι τῆς τοῦ Διονύσου δωρεᾶς ψέγωμεν ἁπλῶς, ὡς ἔστιν κακὴ καὶ εἰς πόλιν οὐκ ἀξία παραδέχεσθαι. καὶ γὰρ ἔτι πλείω τις ἂν ἐπεξέλθοι λέγων: ἐπεὶ καὶ τὸ μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν ὃ δωρεῖται λέγειν μὲν ὄκνος εἰς τοὺς πολλοὺς διὰ τὸ κακῶς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους αὐτὸ ὑπολαβεῖν [672β] καὶ γνῶναι λεχθέν.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

λόγος τις ἅμα καὶ φήμη ὑπορρεῖ πως ὡς ὁ θεὸς οὗτος ὑπὸ τῆς μητρυᾶς Ἥρας διεφορήθη τῆς ψυχῆς τὴν γνώμην, διὸ τάς τε βακχείας καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν μανικὴν ἐμβάλλει χορείαν τιμωρούμενος: ὅθεν καὶ τὸν οἶνον ἐπὶ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ δεδώρηται. ἐγὼ δὲ τὰ μὲν τοιαῦτα τοῖς ἀσφαλὲς ἡγουμένοις εἶναι λέγειν περὶ θεῶν ἀφίημι λέγειν, τὸ δὲ τοσόνδε [672ξ] οἶδα, ὅτι πᾶν ζῷον, ὅσον αὐτῷ προσήκει νοῦν ἔχειν τελεωθέντι, τοῦτον καὶ τοσοῦτον οὐδὲν ἔχον ποτὲ φύεται: ἐν τούτῳ δὴ τῷ χρόνῳ ἐν ᾧ μήπω κέκτηται τὴν οἰκείαν φρόνησιν, πᾶν μαίνεταί τε καὶ βοᾷ ἀτάκτως, καὶ ὅταν ἀκταινώσῃ ἑαυτὸ τάχιστα, ἀτάκτως αὖ πηδᾷ. ἀναμνησθῶμεν δὲ ὅτι μουσικῆς τε καὶ γυμναστικῆς ἔφαμεν ἀρχὰς ταύτας εἶναι.

Κλεινίας

μεμνήμεθα: τί δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὅτι τὴν ῥυθμοῦ τε καὶ ἁρμονίας αἴσθησιν [672δ] τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἡμῖν ἐνδεδωκέναι τὴν ἀρχὴν ταύτην ἔφαμεν, Ἀπόλλωνα δὲ καὶ μούσας καὶ Διόνυσον θεῶν αἰτίους γεγονέναι;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν οἶνόν γε, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὁ τῶν ἄλλων λόγος, ἵνα μανῶμεν, φησὶν ἐπὶ τιμωρίᾳ τῇ τῶν ἀνθρώπων δεδόσθαι: ὁ δὲ νῦν λεγόμενος ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν φάρμακον ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον φησὶν αἰδοῦς μὲν ψυχῆς κτήσεως ἕνεκα δεδόσθαι, σώματος δὲ ὑγιείας τε καὶ ἰσχύος.

Κλεινίας

κάλλιστα, ὦ ξένε, τὸν λόγον ἀπεμνημόνευκας. [672ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ τῆς χορείας ἡμίσεα διαπεπεράνθω: τὰ δ᾽ ἡμίσεα, ὅπως ἂν ἔτι δοκῇ, περανοῦμεν ἢ καὶ ἐάσομεν.

Κλεινίας

ποῖα δὴ λέγεις, καὶ πῶς ἑκάτερα διαιρῶν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅλη μέν που χορεία ὅλη παίδευσις ἦν ἡμῖν, τούτου δ᾽ αὖ τὸ μὲν ῥυθμοί τε καὶ ἁρμονίαι, τὸ κατὰ τὴν φωνήν.

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δέ γε κατὰ τὴν τοῦ σώματος κίνησιν ῥυθμὸν μὲν κοινὸν τῇ τῆς φωνῆς εἶχε κινήσει, σχῆμα δὲ ἴδιον. [673α] ἐκεῖ δὲ μέλος ἡ τῆς φωνῆς κίνησις.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ μὲν τοίνυν τῆς φωνῆς μέχρι τῆς ψυχῆς πρὸς ἀρετὴν παιδείας οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅντινα τρόπον ὠνομάσαμεν μουσικήν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ δέ γε τοῦ σώματος, ἃ παιζόντων ὄρχησιν εἴπομεν, ἐὰν μέχρι τῆς τοῦ σώματος ἀρετῆς ἡ τοιαύτη κίνησις γίγνηται, τὴν ἔντεχνον ἀγωγὴν ἐπὶ τὸ τοιοῦτον αὐτοῦ γυμναστικὴν προσείπωμεν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα. [673β]

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δὲ τῆς μουσικῆς, ὃ νυνδὴ σχεδὸν ἥμισυ διεληλυθέναι τῆς χορείας εἴπομεν καὶ διαπεπεράνθαι, καὶ νῦν οὕτως εἰρήσθω: τὸ δ᾽ ἥμισυ λέγωμεν, ἢ πῶς καὶ πῇ ποιητέον;

Κλεινίας

ὦ ἄριστε, Κρησὶν καὶ Λακεδαιμονίοις διαλεγόμενος, μουσικῆς πέρι διελθόντων ἡμῶν, ἐλλειπόντων δὲ γυμναστικῆς, τί ποτε οἴει σοι πότερον ἡμῶν ἀποκρινεῖσθαι πρὸς ταύτην τὴν ἐρώτησιν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀποκεκρίσθαι ἔγωγ᾽ ἄν σε φαίην σχεδὸν ταῦτ᾽ [673ξ] ἐρόμενον σαφῶς, καὶ μανθάνω ὡς ἐρώτησις οὖσα αὕτη τὰ νῦν ἀπόκρισίς τέ ἐστιν, ὡς εἶπον, καὶ ἔτι πρόσταξις διαπεράνασθαι τὰ περὶ γυμναστικῆς.

Κλεινίας

ἄρισθ᾽ ὑπέλαβές τε καὶ οὕτω δὴ ποίει.

Ἀθηναῖος

ποιητέον: οὐδὲ γὰρ πάνυ χαλεπόν ἐστιν εἰπεῖν ὑμῖν γε ἀμφοτέροις γνώριμα. πολὺ γὰρ ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ τέχνῃ πλέον ἐμπειρίας ἢ ἐν ἐκείνῃ μετέχετε.

Κλεινίας

σχεδὸν ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν αὖ ταύτης ἀρχὴ μὲν τῆς παιδιᾶς τὸ κατὰ [673δ] φύσιν πηδᾶν εἰθίσθαι πᾶν ζῷον, τὸ δὲ ἀνθρώπινον, ὡς ἔφαμεν, αἴσθησιν λαβὸν τοῦ ῥυθμοῦ ἐγέννησέν τε ὄρχησιν καὶ ἔτεκεν, τοῦ δὲ μέλους ὑπομιμνῄσκοντος καὶ ἐγείροντος τὸν ῥυθμόν, κοινωθέντ᾽ ἀλλήλοις χορείαν καὶ παιδιὰν ἐτεκέτην.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τὸ μέν, φαμέν, ἤδη διεληλύθαμεν αὐτοῦ, τὸ δὲ πειρασόμεθα ἐφεξῆς διελθεῖν.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐπὶ τοίνυν τῇ τῆς μέθης χρείᾳ τὸν κολοφῶνα [673ε] πρῶτον ἐπιθῶμεν, εἰ καὶ σφῷν συνδοκεῖ.

Κλεινίας

ποῖον δὴ καὶ τίνα λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ μέν τις πόλις ὡς οὔσης σπουδῆς τῷ ἐπιτηδεύματι τῷ νῦν εἰρημένῳ χρήσεται μετὰ νόμων καὶ τάξεως, ὡς τοῦ σωφρονεῖν ἕνεκα μελέτῃ χρωμένη, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἡδονῶν μὴ ἀφέξεται ὡσαύτως καὶ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, τοῦ κρατεῖν αὐτῶν ἕνεκα μηχανωμένη, τοῦτον μὲν τὸν τρόπον ἅπασι τούτοις χρηστέον: εἰ δ᾽ ὡς παιδιᾷ τε, καὶ ἐξέσται τῷ βουλομένῳ καὶ ὅταν βούληται καὶ μεθ᾽ ὧν ἂν [674α] βούληται πίνειν μετ᾽ ἐπιτηδευμάτων ὡντινωνοῦν ἄλλων, οὐκ ἂν τιθείμην ταύτην τὴν ψῆφον, ὡς δεῖ ποτε μέθῃ χρῆσθαι ταύτην τὴν πόλιν ἢ τοῦτον τὸν ἄνδρα, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι μᾶλλον τῆς Κρητῶν καὶ Λακεδαιμονίων χρείας προσθείμην ἂν τῷ τῶν Καρχηδονίων νόμῳ, μηδέποτε μηδένα ἐπὶ στρατοπέδου γεύεσθαι τούτου τοῦ πώματος, ἀλλ᾽ ὑδροποσίαις συγγίγνεσθαι τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον ἅπαντα, καὶ κατὰ πόλιν μήτε δούλην μήτε δοῦλον γεύεσθαι μηδέποτε, μηδὲ ἄρχοντας τοῦτον τὸν [674β] ἐνιαυτὸν ὃν ἂν ἄρχωσιν, μηδ᾽ αὖ κυβερνήτας μηδὲ δικαστὰς ἐνεργοὺς ὄντας οἴνου γεύεσθαι τὸ παράπαν, μηδ᾽ ὅστις βουλευσόμενος εἰς βουλὴν ἀξίαν τινὰ λόγου συνέρχεται, μηδέ γε μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν μηδένα τὸ παράπαν εἰ μὴ σωμασκίας ἢ νόσων ἕνεκα, μηδ᾽ αὖ νύκτωρ ὅταν ἐπινοῇ τις παῖδας ποιεῖσθαι ἀνὴρ ἢ καὶ γυνή. καὶ ἄλλα δὲ πάμπολλα ἄν τις λέγοι ἐν οἷς τοῖς νοῦν τε καὶ νόμον ἔχουσιν ὀρθὸν οὐ ποτέος [674ξ] οἶνος: ὥστε κατὰ τὸν λόγον τοῦτον οὐδ᾽ ἀμπελώνων ἂν πολλῶν δέοι οὐδ᾽ ᾗτινι πόλει, τακτὰ δὲ τά τ᾽ ἄλλ᾽ ἂν εἴη γεωργήματα καὶ πᾶσα ἡ δίαιτα, καὶ δὴ τά γε περὶ οἶνον σχεδὸν ἁπάντων ἐμμετρότατα καὶ ὀλίγιστα γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν. οὗτος, ὦ ξένοι, ἡμῖν, εἰ συνδοκεῖ, κολοφὼν ἐπὶ τῷ περὶ οἴνου λόγῳ ῥηθέντι εἰρήσθω.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς, καὶ συνδοκεῖ.

Τόμος 3

[676α] Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτα μὲν οὖν δὴ ταύτῃ: πολιτείας δὲ ποτὲ φῶμεν γεγονέναι; μῶν οὐκ ἐνθένδε τις ἂν αὐτὴν ῥᾷστά τε καὶ κάλλιστα κατίδοι;

Κλεινίας

πόθεν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅθενπερ καὶ τὴν τῶν πόλεων ἐπίδοσιν εἰς ἀρετὴν μεταβαίνουσαν ἅμα καὶ κακίαν ἑκάστοτε θεατέον.

Κλεινίας

λέγεις δὲ πόθεν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οἶμαι μὲν ἀπὸ χρόνου μήκους τε καὶ ἀπειρίας καὶ [676β] τῶν μεταβολῶν ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε, ἀφ᾽ οὗ πόλεις τ᾽ εἰσὶν καὶ ἄνθρωποι πολιτευόμενοι, δοκεῖς ἄν ποτε κατανοῆσαι χρόνου πλῆθος ὅσον γέγονεν;

Κλεινίας

οὔκουν ῥᾴδιόν γε οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δέ γε ὡς ἄπλετόν τι καὶ ἀμήχανον ἂν εἴη;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν τοῦτό γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

μῶν οὖν οὐ μυρίαι μὲν ἐπὶ μυρίαις ἡμῖν γεγόνασι πόλεις ἐν τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ, κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν δὲ τοῦ πλήθους [676ξ] λόγον οὐκ ἐλάττους ἐφθαρμέναι; πεπολιτευμέναι δ᾽ αὖ πάσας πολιτείας πολλάκις ἑκασταχοῦ; καὶ τοτὲ μὲν ἐξ ἐλαττόνων μείζους, τοτὲ δ᾽ ἐκ μειζόνων ἐλάττους, καὶ χείρους ἐκ βελτιόνων γεγόνασι καὶ βελτίους ἐκ χειρόνων;

Κλεινίας

ἀναγκαῖον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταύτης δὴ πέρι λάβωμεν, εἰ δυναίμεθα, τῆς μεταβολῆς τὴν αἰτίαν: τάχα γὰρ ἂν ἴσως δείξειεν ἡμῖν τὴν πρώτην τῶν πολιτειῶν γένεσιν καὶ μετάβασιν.

Κλεινίας

εὖ λέγεις, καὶ προθυμεῖσθαι δεῖ, σὲ μὲν ὃ διανοῇ περὶ αὐτῶν ἀποφαινόμενον, ἡμᾶς δὲ συνεπομένους. [677α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὑμῖν οἱ παλαιοὶ λόγοι ἀλήθειαν ἔχειν τινὰ δοκοῦσιν;

Κλεινίας

ποῖοι δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ πολλὰς ἀνθρώπων φθορὰς γεγονέναι κατακλυσμοῖς τε καὶ νόσοις καὶ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς, ἐν οἷς βραχύ τι τῶν ἀνθρώπων λείπεσθαι γένος.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν πιθανὸν τὸ τοιοῦτον πᾶν παντί.

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δή, νοήσωμεν μίαν τῶν πολλῶν ταύτην τὴν τῷ κατακλυσμῷ ποτε γενομένην.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖόν τι περὶ αὐτῆς διανοηθέντες; [677β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς οἱ τότε περιφυγόντες τὴν φθορὰν σχεδὸν ὄρειοί τινες ἂν εἶεν νομῆς, ἐν κορυφαῖς που σμικρὰ ζώπυρα τοῦ τῶν ἀνθρώπων διασεσωμένα γένους.

Κλεινίας

δῆλον.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ δὴ τοὺς τοιούτους γε ἀνάγκη που τῶν ἄλλων ἀπείρους εἶναι τεχνῶν καὶ τῶν ἐν τοῖς ἄστεσι πρὸς ἀλλήλους μηχανῶν εἴς τε πλεονεξίας καὶ φιλονικίας καὶ ὁπός᾽ ἄλλα κακουργήματα πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἐπινοοῦσιν.

Κλεινίας

εἰκὸς γοῦν. [677ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

θῶμεν δὴ τὰς ἐν τοῖς πεδίοις πόλεις καὶ πρὸς θαλάττῃ κατοικούσας ἄρδην ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ διαφθείρεσθαι;

Κλεινίας

θῶμεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ὄργανά τε πάντα ἀπόλλυσθαι, καὶ εἴ τι τέχνης ἦν ἐχόμενον σπουδαίως ηὑρημένον ἢ πολιτικῆς ἢ καὶ σοφίας τινὸς ἑτέρας, πάντα ἔρρειν ταῦτα ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ φήσομεν; πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ὦ ἄριστε, εἴ γε ἔμενεν τάδε οὕτω τὸν πάντα χρόνον ὡς νῦν διακεκόσμηται, καινὸν ἀνηυρίσκετό ποτε καὶ ὁτιοῦν; [677δ]

Κλεινίας

τοῦτο ὅτι μὲν μυριάκις μύρια ἔτη διελάνθανεν ἄρα τοὺς τότε, χίλια δὲ ἀφ᾽ οὗ γέγονεν ἢ δὶς τοσαῦτα ἔτη, τὰ μὲν Δαιδάλῳ καταφανῆ γέγονεν, τὰ δὲ Ὀρφεῖ, τὰ δὲ Παλαμήδει, τὰ δὲ περὶ μουσικὴν Μαρσύᾳ καὶ Ὀλύμπῳ, περὶ λύραν δὲ Ἀμφίονι, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ἄλλοις πάμπολλα, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν χθὲς καὶ πρῴην γεγονότα.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄριστ᾽, ὦ Κλεινία, τὸν φίλον ὅτι παρέλιπες, τὸν ἀτεχνῶς χθὲς γενόμενον.

Κλεινίας

μῶν φράζεις Ἐπιμενίδην; [677ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί, τοῦτον: πολὺ γὰρ ὑμῖν ὑπερεπήδησε τῷ μηχανήματι τοὺς σύμπαντας, ὦ φίλε, ὃ λόγῳ μὲν Ἡσίοδος ἐμαντεύετο πάλαι, τῷ δὲ ἔργῳ ἐκεῖνος ἀπετέλεσεν, ὡς ὑμεῖς φατε.

Κλεινίας

φαμὲν γὰρ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν οὕτω δὴ λέγωμεν ἔχειν τότε, ὅτ᾽ ἐγένετο ἡ φθορά, τὰ περὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους πράγματα, μυρίαν μέν τινα φοβερὰν ἐρημίαν, γῆς δ᾽ ἀφθόνου πλῆθος πάμπολυ, ζῴων δὲ τῶν ἄλλων ἐρρόντων, βουκόλι᾽ ἄττα, καὶ εἴ τί που αἰγῶν περιλειφθὲν ἐτύγχανεν γένος, σπάνια καὶ ταῦτα [678α] νέμουσιν εἶναι ζῆν τότε κατ᾽ ἀρχάς;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

πόλεως δὲ καὶ πολιτείας πέρι καὶ νομοθεσίας, ὧν νῦν ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν παρέστηκεν, ἆρ᾽ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οἰόμεθα καὶ μνήμην εἶναι τὸ παράπαν;

Κλεινίας

οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἐξ ἐκείνων τῶν διακειμένων οὕτω τὰ νῦν γέγονεν ἡμῖν σύμπαντα, πόλεις τε καὶ πολιτεῖαι καὶ τέχναι καὶ νόμοι, καὶ πολλὴ μὲν πονηρία, πολλὴ δὲ καὶ ἀρετή;

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις; [678β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οἰόμεθα, ὦ θαυμάσιε, τοὺς τότε, ἀπείρους ὄντας πολλῶν μὲν καλῶν τῶν κατὰ τὰ ἄστη, πολλῶν δὲ καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων, τελέους πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἢ πρὸς κακίαν γεγονέναι;

Κλεινίας

καλῶς εἶπες, καὶ μανθάνομεν ὃ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν προϊόντος μὲν τοῦ χρόνου, πληθύοντος δ᾽ ἡμῶν τοῦ γένους, εἰς πάντα τὰ νῦν καθεστηκότα προελήλυθεν πάντα;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκ ἐξαίφνης γε, ὡς εἰκός, κατὰ σμικρὸν δὲ ἐν παμπόλλῳ τινὶ χρόνῳ. [678ξ]

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλα πρέπει τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐκ γὰρ τῶν ὑψηλῶν εἰς τὰ πεδία καταβαίνειν, οἶμαι, πᾶσιν φόβος ἔναυλος ἐγεγόνει.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ἅσμενοι μὲν ἑαυτοὺς ἑώρων δι᾽ ὀλιγότητα ἐν τοῖς περὶ ἐκεῖνον τὸν χρόνον, πορεῖα δέ, ὥστ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀλλήλους τότε πορεύεσθαι κατὰ γῆν ἢ κατὰ θάλατταν, σὺν ταῖς τέχναις ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν πάντα σχεδὸν ἀπωλώλει; συμμίσγειν οὖν ἀλλήλοις οὐκ ἦν οἶμαι σφόδρα δυνατόν: σίδηρος γὰρ [678δ] καὶ χαλκὸς καὶ πάντα τὰ μεταλλεῖα συγκεχυμένα ἠφάνιστο, ὥστε ἀπορία πᾶσα ἦν τοῦ ἀνακαθαίρεσθαι τὰ τοιαῦτα, δρυοτομίας τε εἶχον σπάνιν. εἰ γάρ πού τι καὶ περιγεγονὸς ἦν ὄργανον ἐν ὄρεσι, ταῦτα μὲν ταχὺ κατατριβέντα ἠφάνιστο, ἄλλα δὲ οὐκ ἔμελλεν γενήσεσθαι, πρὶν πάλιν ἡ τῶν μεταλλέων ἀφίκοιτο εἰς ἀνθρώπους τέχνη.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

γενεαῖς δὴ πόσαις ὕστερον οἰόμεθα τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως γεγονέναι; [678ε]

Κλεινίας

δῆλον ὅτι παμπόλλαις τισίν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τέχναι, ὅσαιπερ σιδήρου δέονται καὶ χαλκοῦ καὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἁπάντων, τὸν αὐτὸν χρόνον καὶ ἔτι πλείονα ἠφανισμέναι ἂν εἶεν ἐν τῷ τότε;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τοίνυν στάσις ἅμα καὶ πόλεμος ἀπωλώλει κατὰ τὸν τότε χρόνον πολλαχῇ.

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

πρῶτον μὲν ἠγάπων καὶ ἐφιλοφρονοῦντο ἀλλήλους δι᾽ ἐρημίαν, ἔπειτα οὐ περιμάχητος ἦν αὐτοῖς ἡ τροφή. [679α] νομῆς γὰρ οὐκ ἦν σπάνις, εἰ μή τισιν κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἴσως, ᾗ δὴ τὸ πλεῖστον διέζων ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ: γάλακτος γὰρ καὶ κρεῶν οὐδαμῶς ἐνδεεῖς ἦσαν, ἔτι δὲ θηρεύοντες οὐ φαύλην οὐδ᾽ ὀλίγην τροφὴν παρείχοντο. καὶ μὴν ἀμπεχόνης γε καὶ στρωμνῆς καὶ οἰκήσεων καὶ σκευῶν ἐμπύρων τε καὶ ἀπύρων ηὐπόρουν: αἱ πλαστικαὶ γὰρ καὶ ὅσαι πλεκτικαὶ τῶν τεχνῶν οὐδὲ ἓν προσδέονται σιδήρου, ταῦτα δὲ [679β] πάντα τούτω τὼ τέχνα θεὸς ἔδωκε πορίζειν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἵν᾽ ὁπότε εἰς τὴν τοιαύτην ἀπορίαν ἔλθοιεν, ἔχοι βλάστην καὶ ἐπίδοσιν τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος. πένητες μὲν δὴ διὰ τὸ τοιοῦτον σφόδρα οὐκ ἦσαν, οὐδ᾽ ὑπὸ πενίας ἀναγκαζόμενοι διάφοροι ἑαυτοῖς ἐγίγνοντο: πλούσιοι δ᾽ οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐγένοντο ἄχρυσοί τε καὶ ἀνάργυροι ὄντες, ὃ τότε ἐν ἐκείνοις παρῆν. ᾗ δ᾽ ἄν ποτε συνοικίᾳ μήτε πλοῦτος συνοικῇ μήτε πενία, σχεδὸν ἐν ταύτῃ γενναιότατα ἤθη γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν: οὔτε [679ξ] γὰρ ὕβρις οὔτ᾽ ἀδικία, ζῆλοί τε αὖ καὶ φθόνοι οὐκ ἐγγίγνονται. ἀγαθοὶ μὲν δὴ διὰ ταῦτά τε ἦσαν καὶ διὰ τὴν λεγομένην εὐήθειαν: ἃ γὰρ ἤκουον καλὰ καὶ αἰσχρά, εὐήθεις ὄντες ἡγοῦντο ἀληθέστατα λέγεσθαι καὶ ἐπείθοντο. ψεῦδος γὰρ ὑπονοεῖν οὐδεὶς ἠπίστατο διὰ σοφίαν, ὥσπερ τὰ νῦν, ἀλλὰ περὶ θεῶν τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων τὰ λεγόμενα ἀληθῆ νομίζοντες ἔζων κατὰ ταῦτα: διόπερ ἦσαν τοιοῦτοι παντάπασιν οἵους αὐτοὺς ἡμεῖς ἄρτι διεληλύθαμεν. [679δ]

Κλεινίας

ἐμοὶ γοῦν δὴ καὶ τῷδε οὕτως ταῦτα συνδοκεῖ.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν εἴπωμεν ὅτι γενεαὶ διαβιοῦσαι πολλαὶ τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον τῶν πρὸ κατακλυσμοῦ γεγονότων καὶ τῶν νῦν ἀτεχνότεροι μὲν καὶ ἀμαθέστεροι πρός τε τὰς ἄλλας μέλλουσιν εἶναι τέχνας καὶ πρὸς τὰς πολεμικάς, ὅσαι τε πεζαὶ καὶ ὅσαι κατὰ θάλατταν γίγνονται τὰ νῦν, καὶ ὅσαι δὴ κατὰ πόλιν μόνον αὐτοῦ, δίκαι καὶ στάσεις λεγόμεναι, λόγοις [679ε] ἔργοις τε μεμηχανημέναι πάσας μηχανὰς εἰς τὸ κακουργεῖν τε ἀλλήλους καὶ ἀδικεῖν, εὐηθέστεροι δὲ καὶ ἀνδρειότεροι καὶ ἅμα σωφρονέστεροι καὶ σύμπαντα δικαιότεροι; τὸ δὲ τούτων αἴτιον ἤδη διεληλύθαμεν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

λελέχθω δὴ ταῦτα ἡμῖν καὶ τὰ τούτοις συνεπόμενα ἔτι πάντα εἰρήσθω τοῦδ᾽ ἕνεκα, ἵνα νοήσωμεν τοῖς τότε [680α] νόμων τίς ποτ᾽ ἦν χρεία καὶ τίς ἦν νομοθέτης αὐτοῖς.

Κλεινίας

καὶ καλῶς γε εἴρηκας.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐκεῖνοι μὲν οὔτ᾽ ἐδέοντο νομοθετῶν οὔτε πω ἐφίλει κατὰ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους γίγνεσθαι τὸ τοιοῦτον; οὐδὲ γὰρ γράμματα ἔστι πω τοῖς ἐν τούτῳ τῷ μέρει τῆς περιόδου γεγονόσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔθεσι καὶ τοῖς λεγομένοις πατρίοις νόμοις ἑπόμενοι ζῶσιν.

Κλεινίας

εἰκὸς γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

πολιτείας δέ γε ἤδη καὶ τρόπος ἐστίν τις οὗτος.

Κλεινίας

τίς; [680β]

Ἀθηναῖος

δοκοῦσί μοι πάντες τὴν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ πολιτείαν δυναστείαν καλεῖν, ἣ καὶ νῦν ἔτι πολλαχοῦ καὶ ἐν Ἕλλησι καὶ κατὰ βαρβάρους ἐστίν: λέγει δ᾽ αὐτήν που καὶ Ὅμηρος γεγονέναι περὶ τὴν τῶν Κυκλώπων οἴκησιν, εἰπὼν-”τοῖσιν δ᾽ οὔτ᾽ ἀγοραὶ βουληφόροι οὔτε θέμιστες,

ἀλλ᾽ οἵ γ᾽ ὑψηλῶν ὀρέων ναίουσι κάρηνα

ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι, θεμιστεύει δὲ ἕκαστος

“ [680ξ]

“παίδων ἠδ᾽ ἀλόχων, οὐδ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἀλέγουσιν.

“

Hom. Od. 9.112

Κλεινίας

ἔοικέν γε ὁ ποιητὴς ὑμῖν οὗτος γεγονέναι χαρίεις. καὶ γὰρ δὴ καὶ ἄλλα αὐτοῦ διεληλύθαμεν μάλ᾽ ἀστεῖα, οὐ μὴν πολλά γε: οὐ γὰρ σφόδρα χρώμεθα οἱ Κρῆτες τοῖς ξενικοῖς ποιήμασιν.

Μέγιλλος

ἡμεῖς δ᾽ αὖ χρώμεθα μέν, καὶ ἔοικέν γε κρατεῖν τῶν τοιούτων ποιητῶν, οὐ μέντοι Λακωνικόν γε ἀλλά τινα [680δ] μᾶλλον Ἰωνικὸν βίον διεξέρχεται ἑκάστοτε. νῦν μὴν εὖ τῷ σῷ λόγῳ ἔοικε μαρτυρεῖν, τὸ ἀρχαῖον αὐτῶν ἐπὶ τὴν ἀγριότητα διὰ μυθολογίας ἐπανενεγκών.

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί: συμμαρτυρεῖ γάρ, καὶ λάβωμέν γε αὐτὸν μηνυτὴν ὅτι τοιαῦται πολιτεῖαι γίγνονταί ποτε.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

μῶν οὖν οὐκ ἐκ τούτων τῶν κατὰ μίαν οἴκησιν καὶ κατὰ γένος διεσπαρμένων ὑπὸ ἀπορίας τῆς ἐν ταῖς φθοραῖς, [680ε] ἐν αἷς τὸ πρεσβύτατον ἄρχει διὰ τὸ τὴν ἀρχὴν αὐτοῖς ἐκ πατρὸς καὶ μητρὸς γεγονέναι, οἷς ἑπόμενοι καθάπερ ὄρνιθες ἀγέλην μίαν ποιήσουσι, πατρονομούμενοι καὶ βασιλείαν πασῶν δικαιοτάτην βασιλευόμενοι;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

μετὰ δὲ ταῦτά γε εἰς τὸ κοινὸν μείζους ποιοῦντες πόλεις πλείους συνέρχονται, καὶ ἐπὶ γεωργίας τὰς ἐν ταῖς [681α] ὑπωρείαις τρέπονται πρώτας, περιβόλους τε αἱμασιώδεις τινὰς τειχῶν ἐρύματα τῶν θηρίων ἕνεκα ποιοῦνται, μίαν οἰκίαν αὖ κοινὴν καὶ μεγάλην ἀποτελοῦντες.

Κλεινίας

τὸ γοῦν εἰκὸς ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως γίγνεσθαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; τόδε ἆρα οὐκ εἰκός;

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

τῶν οἰκήσεων τούτων μειζόνων αὐξανομένων ἐκ τῶν ἐλαττόνων καὶ πρώτων, ἑκάστην τῶν σμικρῶν παρεῖναι κατὰ γένος ἔχουσαν τόν τε πρεσβύτατον ἄρχοντα καὶ αὑτῆς [681β] ἔθη ἄττα ἴδια διὰ τὸ χωρὶς ἀλλήλων οἰκεῖν, ἕτερα ἀφ᾽ ἑτέρων ὄντων τῶν γεννητόρων τε καὶ θρεψάντων, ἃ εἰθίσθησαν περὶ θεούς τε καὶ ἑαυτούς, κοσμιωτέρων μὲν κοσμιώτερα καὶ ἀνδρικῶν ἀνδρικώτερα, καὶ κατὰ τρόπον οὕτως ἑκάστους τὰς αὑτῶν ἂν αἱρέσεις εἰς τοὺς παῖδας ἀποτυπουμένους καὶ παίδων παῖδας, ὃ λέγομεν, ἥκειν ἔχοντας ἰδίους νόμους εἰς τὴν μείζονα συνοικίαν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ; [681ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν τούς γε αὑτῶν νόμους ἀρέσκειν ἑκάστοις ἀναγκαῖόν που, τοὺς δὲ τῶν ἄλλων ὑστέρους.

Κλεινίας

οὕτως.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀρχῇ δὴ νομοθεσίας οἷον ἐμβάντες ἐλάθομεν, ὡς ἔοικεν.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ γοῦν μετὰ ταῦτα ἀναγκαῖον αἱρεῖσθαι τοὺς συνελθόντας τούτους κοινούς τινας ἑαυτῶν, οἳ δὴ τὰ πάντων ἰδόντες νόμιμα, τά σφισιν ἀρέσκοντα αὐτῶν μάλιστα εἰς τὸ κοινὸν τοῖς ἡγεμόσι καὶ ἀγαγοῦσι τοὺς δήμους οἷον [681δ] βασιλεῦσι φανερὰ δείξαντες ἑλέσθαι τε δόντες, αὐτοὶ μὲν νομοθέται κληθήσονται, τοὺς δὲ ἄρχοντας καταστήσαντες, ἀριστοκρατίαν τινὰ ἐκ τῶν δυναστειῶν ποιήσαντες ἢ καί τινα βασιλείαν, ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ μεταβολῇ τῆς πολιτείας οἰκήσουσιν.

Κλεινίας

ἐφεξῆς γοῦν ἂν οὕτω τε καὶ ταύτῃ γίγνοιτο.

Ἀθηναῖος

τρίτον τοίνυν εἴπωμεν ἔτι πολιτείας σχῆμα γιγνόμενον, ἐν ᾧ δὴ πάντα εἴδη καὶ παθήματα πολιτειῶν καὶ ἅμα πόλεων συμπίπτει γίγνεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δὴ τοῦτο; [681ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὃ μετὰ τὸ δεύτερον καὶ Ὅμηρος ἐπεσημήνατο, λέγων τὸ τρίτον οὕτω γεγονέναι. ““. . . κτίσσε δὲ Δαρδανίην”

“Hom. Il. 20.216 γάρ πού φησιν, ““. . . ἐπεὶ οὔπω Ἴλιος ἱρὴ

ἐν πεδίῳ πεπόλιστο, πόλις μερόπων ἀνθρώπων,

ἀλλ᾽ ἔθ᾽ ὑπωρείας ᾤκουν πολυπιδάκου Ἴδης.”

“Hom. Il. 20.216 [682α] λέγει γὰρ δὴ ταῦτα τὰ ἔπη καὶ ἐκεῖνα, ἃ περὶ τῶν Κυκλώπων εἴρηκεν, κατὰ θεόν πως εἰρημένα καὶ κατὰ φύσιν: θεῖον γὰρ οὖν δὴ καὶ τὸ ποιητικὸν ἐνθεαστικὸν ὂν γένος ὑμνῳδοῦν, πολλῶν τῶν κατ᾽ ἀλήθειαν γιγνομένων σύν τισιν Χάρισιν καὶ Μούσαις ἐφάπτεται ἑκάστοτε.

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλα.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰς δὴ τὸ πρόσθεν προέλθωμεν ἔτι τοῦ νῦν ἐπελθόντος ἡμῖν μύθου: τάχα γὰρ ἂν σημήνειέ τι τῆς ἡμετέρας περὶ βουλήσεως. οὐκοῦν χρή; [682β]

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

κατῳκίσθη δή, φαμέν, ἐκ τῶν ὑψηλῶν εἰς μέγα τε καὶ καλὸν πεδίον Ἴλιον, ἐπὶ λόφον τινὰ οὐχ ὑψηλὸν καὶ ἔχοντα ποταμοὺς πολλοὺς ἄνωθεν ἐκ τῆς Ἴδης ὡρμημένους.

Κλεινίας

φασὶ γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἐν πολλοῖς τισι χρόνοις τοῖς μετὰ τὸν κατακλυσμὸν τοῦτο οἰόμεθα γεγονέναι;

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὐκ ἐν πολλοῖς;

Ἀθηναῖος

δεινὴ γοῦν ἔοικεν αὐτοῖς λήθη τότε παρεῖναι τῆς [682ξ] νῦν λεγομένης φθορᾶς, ὅθ᾽ οὕτως ὑπὸ ποταμοὺς πολλοὺς καὶ ἐκ τῶν ὑψηλῶν ῥέοντας πόλιν ὑπέθεσαν, πιστεύσαντες οὐ σφόδρα ὑψηλοῖς τισιν λόφοις.

Κλεινίας

δῆλον οὖν ὡς παντάπασί τι<να> μακρὸν ἀπεῖχον χρόνον τοῦ τοιούτου πάθους.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ ἄλλαι γε οἶμαι πόλεις τότε κατῴκουν ἤδη πολλαί, πληθυόντων τῶν ἀνθρώπων.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

αἵ γέ που καὶ ἐπεστρατεύσαντο αὐτῇ, καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν δὲ ἴσως, ἀφόβως ἤδη πάντων χρωμένων τῇ θαλάττῃ. [682δ]

Κλεινίας

φαίνεται.

Ἀθηναῖος

δέκα δ᾽ ἔτη που μείναντες Ἀχαιοὶ τὴν Τροίαν ἀνάστατον ἐποίησαν.

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλα.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ, ὄντι δεκέτει, ὃν τὸ Ἴλιον ἐπολιορκεῖτο, τὰ τῶν πολιορκούντων ἑκάστων οἴκοι κακὰ πολλὰ συνέβαινεν γιγνόμενα περὶ τὰς στάσεις τῶν νέων, οἳ καὶ ἀφικομένους τοὺς στρατιώτας εἰς τὰς αὑτῶν πόλεις τε καὶ οἰκίας οὐ καλῶς οὐδ᾽ ἐν δίκῃ ὑπεδέξαντο, [682ε] ἀλλ᾽ ὥστε θανάτους τε καὶ σφαγὰς καὶ φυγὰς γενέσθαι παμπόλλας: οἳ πάλιν ἐκπεσόντες κατῆλθον μεταβαλόντες ὄνομα, Δωριῆς ἀντ᾽ Ἀχαιῶν κληθέντες διὰ τὸ τὸν συλλέξαντα εἶναι τὰς τότε φυγὰς Δωριᾶ. καὶ δὴ ταῦτά γε ἤδη πάνθ᾽ ὑμεῖς, ὦ Λακεδαιμόνιοι, τἀντεῦθεν μυθολογεῖτέ τε καὶ διαπεραίνετε.

Μέγιλλος

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅθεν δὴ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἐξετραπόμεθα περὶ νόμων διαλεγόμενοι, περιπεσόντες μουσικῇ τε καὶ ταῖς μέθαις, νῦν ἐπὶ τὰ αὐτὰ πάλιν ἀφίγμεθα ὥσπερ κατὰ θεόν, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν οἷον λαβὴν ἀποδίδωσιν: ἥκει γὰρ ἐπὶ τὴν εἰς Λακεδαίμονα [683α] κατοίκισιν αὐτήν, ἣν ὑμεῖς ὀρθῶς ἔφατε κατοικεῖσθαι καὶ Κρήτην ὡς ἀδελφοῖς νόμοις. νῦν οὖν δὴ τοσόνδε πλεονεκτοῦμεν τῇ πλάνῃ τοῦ λόγου, διὰ πολιτειῶν τινων καὶ κατοικισμῶν διεξελθόντες: ἐθεασάμεθα πρώτην τε καὶ δευτέραν καὶ τρίτην πόλιν, ἀλλήλων, ὡς οἰόμεθα, ταῖς κατοικίσεσιν ἐχομένας ἐν χρόνου τινὸς μήκεσιν ἀπλέτοις, νῦν δὲ δὴ τετάρτη τις ἡμῖν αὕτη πόλις, εἰ δὲ βούλεσθε, ἔθνος ἥκει κατοικιζόμενόν τέ ποτε καὶ νῦν κατῳκισμένον. [683β] ἐξ ὧν ἁπάντων εἴ τι συνεῖναι δυνάμεθα τί τε καλῶς ἢ μὴ κατῳκίσθη, καὶ ποῖοι νόμοι σῴζουσιν αὐτῶν τὰ σῳζόμενα καὶ ποῖοι φθείρουσι τὰ φθειρόμενα, καὶ ἀντὶ ποίων ποῖα μετατεθέντα εὐδαίμονα πόλιν ἀπεργάζοιτ᾽ ἄν, ὦ Μέγιλλέ τε καὶ Κλεινία, ταῦτα δὴ πάλιν οἷον ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἡμῖν λεκτέον, εἰ μή τι τοῖς εἰρημένοις ἐγκαλοῦμεν λόγοις.

Μέγιλλος

εἰ γοῦν, ὦ ξένε, τις ἡμῖν ὑπόσχοιτο θεὸς ὡς, ἐὰν [683ξ] ἐπιχειρήσωμεν τὸ δεύτερον τῇ τῆς νομοθεσίας σκέψει, τῶν νῦν εἰρημένων λόγων οὐ χείρους οὐδ᾽ ἐλάττους ἀκουσόμεθα, μακρὰν ἂν ἔλθοιμι ἔγωγε, καί μοι βραχεῖ᾽ ἂν δόξειεν ἡ νῦν παροῦσα ἡμέρα γίγνεσθαι. καίτοι σχεδόν γ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ ἐκ θερινῶν εἰς τὰ χειμερινὰ τοῦ θεοῦ τρεπομένου.

Ἀθηναῖος

χρὴ δὴ ταῦτα, ὡς ἔοικεν, σκοπεῖν.

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

γενώμεθα δὴ ταῖς διανοίαις ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ, ὅτε Λακεδαίμων μὲν καὶ Ἄργος καὶ Μεσσήνη καὶ τὰ μετὰ [683δ] τούτων ὑποχείρια τοῖς προγόνοις ὑμῶν, ὦ Μέγιλλε, ἱκανῶς ἐγεγόνει: τὸ δὲ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο ἔδοξεν αὐτοῖς, ὥς γε λέγεται τὸ τοῦ μύθου, τριχῇ τὸ στράτευμα διανείμαντας, τρεῖς πόλεις κατοικίζειν, Ἄργος, Μεσσήνην, Λακεδαίμονα.

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ βασιλεὺς μὲν Ἄργους Τήμενος ἐγίγνετο, Μεσσήνης δὲ Κρεσφόντης, Λακεδαίμονος δὲ Προκλῆς καὶ Εὐρυσθένης.

Μέγιλλος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ πάντες δὴ τούτοις ὤμοσαν οἱ τότε βοηθήσειν, [683ε] ἐάν τις τὴν βασιλείαν αὐτῶν διαφθείρῃ.

Μέγιλλος

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

βασιλεία δὲ καταλύεται, ὦ πρὸς Διός, ἢ καί τις ἀρχὴ πώποτε κατελύθη, μῶν ὑπό τινων ἄλλων ἢ σφῶν αὐτῶν; ἢ νυνδὴ μέν, ὀλίγον ἔμπροσθεν τούτοις περιτυχόντες τοῖς λόγοις, οὕτω ταῦτ᾽ ἐτίθεμεν, νῦν δ᾽ ἐπιλελήσμεθα;

Μέγιλλος

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν νῦν δὴ μᾶλλον βεβαιωσόμεθα τὸ τοιοῦτον: περιτυχόντες γὰρ ἔργοις γενομένοις, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐπὶ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον ἐληλύθαμεν, ὥστε οὐ περὶ κενόν τι ζητήσομεν [684α] τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, ἀλλὰ περὶ γεγονός τε καὶ ἔχον ἀλήθειαν. γέγονεν δὴ τάδε: βασιλεῖαι τρεῖς βασιλευομέναις πόλεσιν τριτταῖς ὤμοσαν ἀλλήλαις ἑκάτεραι, κατὰ νόμους οὓς ἔθεντο τοῦ τε ἄρχειν καὶ ἄρχεσθαι κοινούς, οἱ μὲν μὴ βιαιοτέραν τὴν ἀρχὴν ποιήσεσθαι προϊόντος τοῦ χρόνου καὶ γένους, οἱ δέ, ταῦτα ἐμπεδούντων τῶν ἀρχόντων, μήτε αὐτοὶ τὰς βασιλείας ποτὲ καταλύσειν μήτ᾽ ἐπιτρέψειν ἐπιχειροῦσιν [684β] ἑτέροις, βοηθήσειν δὲ βασιλῆς τε βασιλεῦσιν ἀδικουμένοις καὶ δήμοις, καὶ δῆμοι δήμοις καὶ βασιλεῦσιν ἀδικουμένοις. ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως;

Μέγιλλος

οὕτω μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τό γε μέγιστον ταῖς καταστάσεσιν τῶν πολιτειῶν ὑπῆρχεν ταῖς ἐν ταῖς τρισὶ πόλεσι νομοθετουμέναις, εἴτε οἱ βασιλῆς ἐνομοθέτουν εἴτ᾽ ἄλλοι τινές;

Μέγιλλος

ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ βοηθούς γε εἶναι τὰς δύο ἐπὶ τὴν μίαν ἀεὶ πόλιν, τὴν τοῖς τεθεῖσιν νόμοις ἀπειθοῦσαν.

Μέγιλλος

δῆλον. [684ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν τοῦτό γε οἱ πολλοὶ προστάττουσιν τοῖς νομοθέταις, ὅπως τοιούτους θήσουσιν τοὺς νόμους οὓς ἑκόντες οἱ δῆμοι καὶ τὰ πλήθη δέξονται, καθάπερ ἂν εἴ τις γυμνασταῖς ἢ ἰατροῖς προστάττοι μεθ᾽ ἡδονῆς θεραπεύειν τε καὶ ἰᾶσθαι τὰ θεραπευόμενα σώματα.

Μέγιλλος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δέ γ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀγαπητὸν πολλάκις εἰ καί τις μετὰ λύπης μὴ μεγάλης δύναιτο εὐεκτικά τε καὶ ὑγιῆ σώματα ἀπεργάζεσθαι.

Μέγιλλος

τί μήν; [684δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τόδε γε ἔτι τοῖς τότε ὑπῆρχεν οὐ σμικρὸν εἰς ῥᾳστώνην τῆς θέσεως τῶν νόμων.

Μέγιλλος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκ ἦν τοῖς νομοθέταις ἡ μεγίστη τῶν μέμψεων, ἰσότητα αὐτοῖς τινα κατασκευάζουσιν τῆς οὐσίας, ἥπερ ἐν ἄλλαις νομοθετουμέναις πόλεσι πολλαῖς γίγνεται, ἐάν τις ζητῇ γῆς τε κτῆσιν κινεῖν καὶ χρεῶν διάλυσιν, ὁρῶν ὡς οὐκ ἂν δύναιτο ἄνευ τούτων γενέσθαι ποτὲ τὸ ἴσον ἱκανῶς: ὡς ἐπιχειροῦντι δὴ νομοθέτῃ κινεῖν τῶν τοιούτων τι πᾶς ἀπαντᾷ [684ε] λέγων μὴ κινεῖν τὰ ἀκίνητα, καὶ ἐπαρᾶται γῆς τε ἀναδασμοὺς εἰσηγούμενον καὶ χρεῶν ἀποκοπάς, ὥστ᾽ εἰς ἀπορίαν καθίστασθαι πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα. τοῖς δὲ δὴ Δωριεῦσι καὶ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ὑπῆρχεν καλῶς καὶ ἀνεμεσήτως, γῆν τε ἀναμφισβητήτως διανέμεσθαι, καὶ χρέα μεγάλα καὶ παλαιὰ οὐκ ἦν.

Μέγιλλος

ἀληθῆ.

Ἀθηναῖος

πῇ δή ποτε οὖν, ὦ ἄριστοι, κακῶς οὕτως αὐτοῖς ἐχώρησεν ἡ κατοίκισίς τε καὶ νομοθεσία; [685α]

Μέγιλλος

πῶς δὴ καὶ τί μεμφόμενος αὐτῶν λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅτι τριῶν γενομένων τῶν οἰκήσεων τὰ δύο αὐτῶν μέρη ταχὺ τήν τε πολιτείαν καὶ τοὺς νόμους διέφθειρεν, τὸ δὲ ἓν μόνον ἔμεινεν, τὸ τῆς ὑμετέρας πόλεως.

Μέγιλλος

οὐ πάνυ ῥᾴδιον ἐρωτᾷς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ μὴν δεῖ γε ἡμᾶς τοῦτο ἐν τῷ νῦν σκοποῦντας καὶ ἐξετάζοντας, περὶ νόμων παίζοντας παιδιὰν πρεσβυτικὴν σώφρονα, διελθεῖν τὴν ὁδὸν ἀλύπως, ὡς ἔφαμεν ἡνίκα [685β] ἠρχόμεθα πορεύεσθαι.

Μέγιλλος

τί μήν; καὶ ποιητέον γε ὡς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

τίν᾽ οὖν ἂν σκέψιν καλλίω ποιησαίμεθα περὶ νόμων ἢ τούτων οἳ ταύτας διακεκοσμήκασιν; ἢ πόλεων περὶ τίνων εὐδοκιμωτέρων τε καὶ μειζόνων κατοικίσεων σκοποίμεθ᾽ ἄν;

Μέγιλλος

οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἀντὶ τούτων ἑτέρας λέγειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ὅτι μὲν διενοοῦντό γε οἱ τότε τὴν κατασκευὴν ταύτην οὐ Πελοποννήσῳ μόνον ἔσεσθαι βοηθὸν [685ξ] ἱκανήν, σχεδὸν δῆλον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς Ἕλλησιν πᾶσιν, εἴ τις τῶν βαρβάρων αὐτοὺς ἀδικοῖ, καθάπερ οἱ περὶ τὸ Ἴλιον οἰκοῦντες τότε, πιστεύοντες τῇ τῶν Ἀσσυρίων δυνάμει τῇ περὶ Νῖνον γενομένῃ, θρασυνόμενοι τὸν πόλεμον ἤγειραν τὸν ἐπὶ Τροίαν. ἦν γὰρ ἔτι τὸ τῆς ἀρχῆς ἐκείνης σχῆμα τὸ σῳζόμενον οὐ σμικρόν: καθάπερ νῦν τὸν μέγαν βασιλέα φοβούμεθα ἡμεῖς, καὶ τότε ἐκείνην τὴν συσταθεῖσαν σύνταξιν ἐδέδισαν οἱ τότε. μέγα γὰρ ἔγκλημα πρὸς αὐτοὺς [685δ] ἡ τῆς Τροίας ἅλωσις τὸ δεύτερον ἐγεγόνει: τῆς ἀρχῆς γὰρ τῆς ἐκείνων ἦν μόριον. πρὸς δὴ ταῦτ᾽ ἦν πάντα ἡ τοῦ στρατοπέδου τοῦ τότε διανεμηθεῖσα εἰς τρεῖς πόλεις κατασκευὴ μία ὑπὸ βασιλέων ἀδελφῶν, παίδων Ἡρακλέους, καλῶς, ὡς ἐδόκει, ἀνηυρημένη καὶ κατακεκοσμημένη καὶ διαφερόντως τῆς ἐπὶ τὴν Τροίαν ἀφικομένης. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ τοὺς Ἡρακλείδας τῶν Πελοπιδῶν ἀμείνους ἡγοῦντο ἀρχόντων ἄρχοντας ἔχειν, ἔπειτ᾽ αὖ τὸ στρατόπεδον τοῦτο [685ε] τοῦ ἐπὶ Τροίαν ἀφικομένου διαφέρειν πρὸς ἀρετήν: νενικηκέναι γὰρ τούτους, ἡττᾶσθαι δ᾽ ὑπὸ τούτων ἐκείνους, Ἀχαιοὺς ὄντας ὑπὸ Δωριῶν. ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως οἰόμεθα καί τινι διανοίᾳ ταύτῃ κατασκευάζεσθαι τοὺς τότε;

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τὸ βεβαίως οἴεσθαι ταῦθ᾽ ἕξειν εἰκὸς [686α] αὐτοὺς καὶ χρόνον τιν᾽ ἂν πολὺν μένειν, ἅτε κεκοινωνηκότας μὲν πολλῶν πόνων καὶ κινδύνων ἀλλήλοις, ὑπὸ γένους δὲ ἑνὸς τῶν βασιλέων ἀδελφῶν ὄντων διακεκοσμῆσθαι, πρὸς τούτοις δ᾽ ἔτι καὶ πολλοῖς μάντεσι κεχρημένους εἶναι τοῖς τε ἄλλοις καὶ τῷ Δελφικῷ Ἀπόλλωνι;

Μέγιλλος

πῶς δ᾽ οὐκ εἰκός;

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτα δὴ τὰ μεγάλα οὕτως προσδοκώμενα διέπτατο, ὡς ἔοικε, τότε ταχύ, πλὴν ὅπερ εἴπομεν νυνδὴ σμικροῦ [686β] μέρους τοῦ περὶ τὸν ὑμέτερον τόπον, καὶ τοῦτο δὴ πρὸς τὰ δύο μέρη πολεμοῦν οὐ πώποτε πέπαυται μέχρι τὰ νῦν: ἐπεὶ γενομένη γε ἡ τότε διάνοια καὶ συμφωνήσασα εἰς ἕν, ἀνυπόστατον ἄν τινα δύναμιν ἔσχε κατὰ πόλεμον.

Μέγιλλος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

πῶς οὖν καὶ πῇ διώλετο; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἄξιον ἐπισκοπεῖν τηλικοῦτον καὶ τοιοῦτον σύστημα ἥτις ποτὲ τύχη διέφθειρε;

Μέγιλλος

σχολῇ γὰρ οὖν δή τις ἂν ἄλλο σκοπῶν, ἢ νόμους [686ξ] ἢ πολιτείας ἄλλας θεάσαιτο σῳζούσας καλὰ καὶ μεγάλα πράγματα ἢ καὶ τοὐναντίον διαφθειρούσας τὸ παράπαν, εἰ ἀμελήσειε τούτων.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτο μὲν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, εὐτυχῶς πως ἐμβεβήκαμέν γε εἴς τινα σκέψιν ἱκανήν.

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, ὦ θαυμάσιε, λελήθαμεν ἄνθρωποι πάντες, καὶ τὰ νῦν δὴ ἡμεῖς, οἰόμενοι μὲν ἑκάστοτέ τι καλὸν ὁρᾶν πρᾶγμα γενόμενον καὶ θαυμαστὰ ἂν ἐργασάμενον, εἴ τις ἄρα [686δ] ἠπιστήθη καλῶς αὐτῷ χρῆσθαι κατά τινα τρόπον, τὸ δὲ νῦν γε ἡμεῖς τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως περὶ τοῦτο αὐτὸ οὔτ᾽ ὀρθῶς διανοοίμεθα οὔτε κατὰ φύσιν, καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ τὰ ἄλλα πάντες πάντα, περὶ ὧν ἂν οὕτω διανοηθῶσιν;

Μέγιλλος

λέγεις δὲ δὴ τί, καὶ περὶ τίνος σοι φῶμεν μάλιστ᾽ εἰρῆσθαι τοῦτον τὸν λόγον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὠγαθέ, καὶ αὐτὸς ἐμαυτοῦ νυνδὴ κατεγέλασα. ἀποβλέψας γὰρ πρὸς τοῦτον τὸν στόλον οὗ πέρι διαλεγόμεθα, ἔδοξέ μοι πάγκαλός τε εἶναι καὶ θαυμαστὸν κτῆμα παραπεσεῖν τοῖς Ἕλλησιν, ὅπερ εἶπον, εἴ τις ἄρα αὐτῷ τότε [686ε] καλῶς ἐχρήσατο.

Μέγιλλος

οὐκοῦν εὖ καὶ ἐχόντως νοῦν σύ τε πάντα εἶπες καὶ ἐπῃνέσαμεν ἡμεῖς;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴσως: ἐννοῶ γε μὴν ὡς πᾶς, ὃς ἂν ἴδῃ τι μέγα καὶ δύναμιν ἔχον πολλὴν καὶ ῥώμην, εὐθὺς ἔπαθε τοῦτο, ὡς εἴπερ ἐπίσταιτο ὁ κεκτημένος αὐτῷ χρῆσθαι τοιούτῳ τε ὄντι καὶ τηλικούτῳ, θαυμάστ᾽ ἂν καὶ πολλὰ κατεργασάμενος εὐδαιμονοῖ. [687α]

Μέγιλλος

οὐκοῦν ὀρθὸν καὶ τοῦτο; ἢ πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

σκόπει δὴ ποῖ βλέπων ὁ τὸν ἔπαινον τοῦτον περὶ ἑκάστου τιθέμενος ὀρθῶς λέγει: πρῶτον δὲ περὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ νῦν λεγομένου, πῶς, εἰ κατὰ τρόπον ἠπιστήθησαν τάξαι τὸ στρατόπεδον οἱ τότε διακοσμοῦντες, τοῦ καιροῦ πως ἂν ἔτυχον; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ εἰ συνέστησάν τε ἀσφαλῶς αὐτὸ διέσῳζόν τε εἰς τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον, ὥστε αὐτούς τε ἐλευθέρους εἶναι καὶ ἄλλων ἄρχοντας ὧν βουληθεῖεν, καὶ ὅλως ἐν ἀνθρώποις πᾶσι [687β] καὶ Ἕλλησι καὶ βαρβάροις πράττειν ὅτι ἐπιθυμοῖεν αὐτοί τε καὶ οἱ ἔκγονοι; μῶν οὐ τούτων χάριν ἐπαινοῖεν ἄν;

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ὃς ἂν ἰδὼν πλοῦτον μέγαν ἢ τιμὰς διαφερούσας γένους, ἢ καὶ ὁτιοῦν τῶν τοιούτων, εἴπῃ ταὐτὰ ταῦτα, πρὸς τοῦτο βλέπων εἶπεν, ὡς διὰ τοῦτο αὐτῷ γενησόμενα ὧν ἂν ἐπιθυμῇ πάντα ἢ τὰ πλεῖστα καὶ ὅσα ἀξιώτατα λόγου;

Μέγιλλος

ἔοικε γοῦν. [687ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δή, πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἐστὶ κοινὸν ἐπιθύμημα ἕν τι τὸ νῦν ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου δηλούμενον, ὡς αὐτός φησιν ὁ λόγος;

Μέγιλλος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ κατὰ τὴν τῆς αὑτοῦ ψυχῆς ἐπίταξιν τὰ γιγνόμενα γίγνεσθαι, μάλιστα μὲν ἅπαντα, εἰ δὲ μή, τά γε ἀνθρώπινα.

Μέγιλλος

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἐπείπερ βουλόμεθα πάντες τὸ τοιοῦτον ἀεί, παῖδές τε ὄντες καὶ ἄνδρες πρεσβῦται, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ καὶ εὐχοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἀναγκαίως διὰ τέλους;

Μέγιλλος

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [687δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν τοῖς γε φίλοις που συνευχοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ταῦτα ἅπερ ἐκεῖνοι ἑαυτοῖσιν.

Μέγιλλος

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

φίλος μὲν ὑὸς πατρί, παῖς ὢν ἀνδρί.

Μέγιλλος

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν ὧν γ᾽ ὁ παῖς εὔχεται ἑαυτῷ γίγνεσθαι, πολλὰ ὁ πατὴρ ἀπεύξαιτ᾽ ἂν τοῖς θεοῖς μηδαμῶς κατὰ τὰς τοῦ ὑέος εὐχὰς γίγνεσθαι.

Μέγιλλος

ὅταν ἀνόητος ὢν καὶ ἔτι νέος εὔχηται, λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ ὅταν γε ὁ πατὴρ ὢν γέρων ἢ καὶ σφόδρα νεανίας, [687ε] μηδὲν τῶν καλῶν καὶ τῶν δικαίων γιγνώσκων, εὔχηται μάλα προθύμως ἐν παθήμασιν ἀδελφοῖς ὢν τοῖς γενομένοις Θησεῖ πρὸς τὸν δυστυχῶς τελευτήσαντα Ἱππόλυτον, ὁ δὲ παῖς γιγνώσκῃ, τότε, δοκεῖς, παῖς πατρὶ συνεύξεται;

Μέγιλλος

μανθάνω ὃ λέγεις. λέγειν γάρ μοι δοκεῖς ὡς οὐ τοῦτο εὐκτέον οὐδὲ ἐπεικτέον, ἕπεσθαι πάντα τῇ ἑαυτοῦ βουλήσει, τὴν βούλησιν δὲ πολὺ μᾶλλον τῇ ἑαυτοῦ φρονήσει: τοῦτο δὲ καὶ πόλιν καὶ ἕνα ἡμῶν ἕκαστον καὶ εὔχεσθαι δεῖν καὶ σπεύδειν, ὅπως νοῦν ἕξει. [688α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί, καὶ δὴ καὶ πολιτικόν γε ἄνδρα νομοθέτην ὡς ἀεὶ δεῖ πρὸς τοῦτο βλέποντα τιθέναι τὰς τάξεις τῶν νόμων, αὐτός τε ἐμνήσθην καὶ ὑμᾶς ἐπαναμιμνῄσκω, κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς εἰ μεμνήμεθα τὰ λεχθέντα, ὅτι τὸ μὲν σφῷν ἦν παρακέλευμα ὡς χρεὼν εἴη τὸν ἀγαθὸν νομοθέτην πάντα πολέμου χάριν τὰ νόμιμα τιθέναι, τὸ δὲ ἐμὸν ἔλεγον ὅτι τοῦτο μὲν πρὸς μίαν ἀρετὴν οὐσῶν τεττάρων κελεύοι τίθεσθαι τοὺς νόμους, [688β] δέοι δὲ δὴ πρὸς πᾶσαν μὲν βλέπειν, μάλιστα δὲ καὶ πρὸς πρώτην τὴν τῆς συμπάσης ἡγεμόνα ἀρετῆς, φρόνησις δ᾽ εἴη τοῦτο καὶ νοῦς καὶ δόξα μετ᾽ ἔρωτός τε καὶ ἐπιθυμίας τούτοις ἑπομένης. ἥκει δὴ πάλιν ὁ λόγος εἰς ταὐτόν, καὶ ὁ λέγων ἐγὼ νῦν λέγω πάλιν ἅπερ τότε, εἰ μὲν βούλεσθε, ὡς παίζων, εἰ δ᾽, ὡς σπουδάζων, ὅτι δή φημι εὐχῇ χρῆσθαι σφαλερὸν εἶναι νοῦν μὴ κεκτημένον, ἀλλὰ τἀναντία ταῖς βουλήσεσίν [688ξ] οἱ γίγνεσθαι. σπουδάζοντα δ᾽ εἴ με τιθέναι βούλεσθε, τίθετε: πάνυ γὰρ οὖν προσδοκῶ νῦν ὑμᾶς εὑρήσειν, τῷ λόγῳ ἑπομένους ὃν ὀλίγον ἔμπροσθε προυθέμεθα, τῆς τῶν βασιλέων τε φθορᾶς καὶ ὅλου τοῦ διανοήματος οὐ δειλίαν οὖσαν τὴν αἰτίαν, οὐδ᾽ ὅτι τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον οὐκ ἠπίσταντο ἄρχοντές τε καὶ οὓς προσῆκεν ἄρχεσθαι, τῇ λοιπῇ δὲ πάσῃ κακίᾳ διεφθαρμένα, καὶ μάλιστα τῇ περὶ τὰ μέγιστα τῶν [688δ] ἀνθρωπίνων πραγμάτων ἀμαθίᾳ. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ὡς οὕτω γέγονε περὶ τὰ τότε, καὶ νῦν, εἴ που, γίγνεται, καὶ ἐς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον οὐκ ἄλλως συμβήσεται, ἐὰν βούλησθε, πειράσομαι ἰὼν κατὰ τὸν ἑξῆς λόγον ἀνευρίσκειν τε καὶ ὑμῖν δηλοῦν κατὰ δύναμιν ὡς οὖσιν φίλοις.

Κλεινίας

λόγῳ μὲν τοίνυν σε, ὦ ξένε, ἐπαινεῖν ἐπαχθέστερον, ἔργῳ δὲ σφόδρα ἐπαινεσόμεθα: προθύμως γὰρ τοῖς λεγομένοις ἐπακολουθήσομεν, ἐν οἷς ὅ γε ἐλεύθερος ἐπαινῶν καὶ μὴ μάλιστ᾽ ἐστὶν καταφανής. [688ε]

Μέγιλλος

ἄριστ᾽, ὦ Κλεινία, καὶ ποιῶμεν ἃ λέγεις.

Κλεινίας

ἔσται ταῦτα, ἐὰν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ. λέγε μόνον.

Ἀθηναῖος

φαμὲν δή νυν, καθ᾽ ὁδὸν ἰόντες τὴν λοιπὴν τοῦ λόγου, τὴν μεγίστην ἀμαθίαν τότε ἐκείνην τὴν δύναμιν ἀπολέσαι καὶ νῦν ταὐτὸν τοῦτο πεφυκέναι ποιεῖν, ὥστε τόν γε νομοθέτην, εἰ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχει, πειρατέον ταῖς πόλεσιν φρόνησιν μὲν ὅσην δυνατὸν ἐμποιεῖν, τὴν δ᾽ ἄνοιαν ὅτι μάλιστα ἐξαιρεῖν.

Κλεινίας

δῆλον. [689α]

Ἀθηναῖος

τίς οὖν ἡ μεγίστη δικαίως ἂν λέγοιτο ἀμαθία; σκοπεῖτε εἰ συνδόξει καὶ σφῷν λεγόμενον: ἐγὼ μὲν δὴ τὴν τοιάνδε τίθεμαι.

Κλεινίας

ποίαν;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὴν ὅταν τῴ τι δόξαν καλὸν ἢ ἀγαθὸν εἶναι μὴ φιλῇ τοῦτο ἀλλὰ μισῇ, τὸ δὲ πονηρὸν καὶ ἄδικον δοκοῦν εἶναι φιλῇ τε καὶ ἀσπάζηται. ταύτην τὴν διαφωνίαν λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς πρὸς τὴν κατὰ λόγον δόξαν ἀμαθίαν φημὶ εἶναι τὴν ἐσχάτην, μεγίστην δέ, ὅτι τοῦ πλήθους ἐστὶ τῆς ψυχῆς: [689β] τὸ γὰρ λυπούμενον καὶ ἡδόμενον αὐτῆς ὅπερ δῆμός τε καὶ πλῆθος πόλεώς ἐστιν. ὅταν οὖν ἐπιστήμαις ἢ δόξαις ἢ λόγῳ ἐναντιῶται, τοῖς φύσει ἀρχικοῖς, ἡ ψυχή, τοῦτο ἄνοιαν προσαγορεύω, πόλεώς τε, ὅταν ἄρχουσιν καὶ νόμοις μὴ πείθηται τὸ πλῆθος, ταὐτόν, καὶ δὴ καὶ ἑνὸς ἀνδρός, ὁπόταν καλοὶ ἐν ψυχῇ λόγοι ἐνόντες μηδὲν ποιῶσιν πλέον ἀλλὰ δὴ τούτοις πᾶν τοὐναντίον, ταύτας πάσας ἀμαθίας τὰς πλημμελεστάτας [689ξ] ἔγωγ᾽ ἂν θείην πόλεώς τε καὶ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου τῶν πολιτῶν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὰς τῶν δημιουργῶν, εἰ ἄρα μου καταμανθάνετε, ὦ ξένοι, ὃ λέγω.

Κλεινίας

μανθάνομέν τε, ὦ φίλε, καὶ συγχωροῦμεν ἃ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτο μὲν τοίνυν οὕτω κείσθω δεδογμένον καὶ λεγόμενον, ὡς τοῖς ταῦτ᾽ ἀμαθαίνουσι τῶν πολιτῶν οὐδὲν ἐπιτρεπτέον ἀρχῆς ἐχόμενον καὶ ὡς ἀμαθέσιν ὀνειδιστέον, ἂν καὶ πάνυ λογιστικοί τε ὦσι καὶ πάντα τὰ κομψὰ καὶ ὅσα [689δ] πρὸς τάχος τῆς ψυχῆς πεφυκότα διαπεπονημένοι ἅπαντα, τοὺς δὲ τοὐναντίον ἔχοντας τούτων ὡς σοφούς τε προσρητέον, ἂν καὶ τὸ λεγόμενον μήτε γράμματα μήτε νεῖν ἐπίστωνται, καὶ τὰς ἀρχὰς δοτέον ὡς ἔμφροσιν. πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ὦ φίλοι, ἄνευ συμφωνίας γένοιτ᾽ ἂν φρονήσεως καὶ τὸ σμικρότατον εἶδος; οὐκ ἔστιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡ καλλίστη καὶ μεγίστη τῶν συμφωνιῶν μεγίστη δικαιότατ᾽ ἂν λέγοιτο σοφία, ἧς ὁ μὲν κατὰ λόγον ζῶν μέτοχος, ὁ δὲ ἀπολειπόμενος οἰκοφθόρος καὶ περὶ πόλιν οὐδαμῇ σωτὴρ ἀλλὰ πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἀμαθαίνων εἰς ταῦτα [689ε] ἑκάστοτε φανεῖται. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν, καθάπερ εἴπομεν ἄρτι, λελεγμένα τεθήτω ταύτῃ.

Κλεινίας

κείσθω γὰρ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄρχοντας δὲ δὴ καὶ ἀρχομένους ἀναγκαῖον ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν εἶναί που.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν; [690α]

Ἀθηναῖος

εἶεν: ἀξιώματα δὲ δὴ τοῦ τε ἄρχειν καὶ ἄρχεσθαι ποῖά ἐστι καὶ πόσα, ἔν τε πόλεσιν μεγάλαις καὶ σμικραῖς ἔν τε οἰκίαις ὡσαύτως; ἆρ᾽ οὐχὶ ἓν μὲν τό τε πατρὸς καὶ μητρός; καὶ ὅλως γονέας ἐκγόνων ἄρχειν ἀξίωμα ὀρθὸν πανταχοῦ ἂν εἴη;

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλα.

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτῳ δέ γε ἑπόμενον γενναίους ἀγεννῶν ἄρχειν: καὶ τρίτον ἔτι τούτοις συνέπεται τὸ πρεσβυτέρους μὲν ἄρχειν δεῖν, νεωτέρους δὲ ἄρχεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν; [690β]

Ἀθηναῖος

τέταρτον δ᾽ αὖ δούλους μὲν ἄρχεσθαι, δεσπότας δὲ ἄρχειν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

πέμπτον γε οἶμαι τὸ κρείττονα μὲν ἄρχειν, τὸν ἥττω δὲ ἄρχεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

μάλα γε ἀναγκαῖον ἀρχὴν εἴρηκας.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ πλείστην γε ἐν σύμπασιν τοῖς ζῴοις οὖσαν καὶ κατὰ φύσιν, ὡς ὁ Θηβαῖος ἔφη ποτὲ Πίνδαρος. τὸ δὲ μέγιστον, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀξίωμα ἕκτον ἂν γίγνοιτο, ἕπεσθαι μὲν τὸν ἀνεπιστήμονα κελεῦον, τὸν δὲ φρονοῦντα ἡγεῖσθαί τε καὶ [690ξ] ἄρχειν. καίτοι τοῦτό γε, ὦ Πίνδαρε σοφώτατε, σχεδὸν οὐκ ἂν παρὰ φύσιν ἔγωγε φαίην γίγνεσθαι, κατὰ φύσιν δέ, τὴν τοῦ νόμου ἑκόντων ἀρχὴν ἀλλ᾽ οὐ βίαιον πεφυκυῖαν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

θεοφιλῆ δέ γε καὶ εὐτυχῆ τινα λέγοντες ἑβδόμην ἀρχήν, εἰς κλῆρόν τινα προάγομεν, καὶ λαχόντα μὲν ἄρχειν, δυσκληροῦντα δὲ ἀπιόντα ἄρχεσθαι τὸ δικαιότατον εἶναί φαμεν.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις. [690δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

“ὁρᾷς δή,” φαῖμεν ἄν, “ὦ νομοθέτα,” πρός τινα παίζοντες τῶν ἐπὶ νόμων θέσιν ἰόντων ῥᾳδίως, “ὅσα ἐστὶ πρὸς ἄρχοντας ἀξιώματα, καὶ ὅτι πεφυκότα πρὸς ἄλληλα ἐναντίως; νῦν γὰρ δὴ στάσεων πηγήν τινα ἀνηυρήκαμεν ἡμεῖς, ἣν δεῖ σε θεραπεύειν. πρῶτον δὲ μεθ᾽ ἡμῶν ἀνάσκεψαι πῶς τε καὶ τί παρὰ ταῦτα ἁμαρτόντες οἱ περί τε Ἄργος καὶ Μεσσήνην βασιλῆς αὑτοὺς ἅμα καὶ τὴν τῶν Ἑλλήνων δύναμιν, [690ε] οὖσαν θαυμαστὴν ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ, διέφθειραν. ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀγνοήσαντες τὸν Ἡσίοδον ὀρθότατα λέγοντα ὡς τὸ ἥμισυ τοῦ παντὸς πολλάκις ἐστὶ πλέον; ὁπόταν ᾖ τὸ μὲν ὅλον λαμβάνειν ζημιῶδες, τὸ δ᾽ ἥμισυ μέτριον, τότε τὸ μέτριον τοῦ ἀμέτρου πλέον ἡγήσατο, ἄμεινον ὂν χείρονος.”

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατά γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερον οὖν οἰόμεθα περὶ βασιλέας τοῦτ᾽ ἐγγιγνόμενον ἑκάστοτε διαφθείρειν πρότερον, ἢ ἐν τοῖσιν δήμοις; [691α]

Κλεινίας

τὸ μὲν εἰκὸς καὶ τὸ πολύ, βασιλέων τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι νόσημα ὑπερηφάνως ζώντων διὰ τρυφάς.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν δῆλον ὡς πρῶτον τοῦτο οἱ τότε βασιλῆς ἔσχον, τὸ πλεονεκτεῖν τῶν τεθέντων νόμων, καὶ ὃ λόγῳ τε καὶ ὅρκῳ ἐπῄνεσαν, οὐ συνεφώνησαν αὑτοῖς, ἀλλὰ ἡ διαφωνία, ὡς ἡμεῖς φαμεν, οὖσα ἀμαθία μεγίστη, δοκοῦσα δὲ σοφία, πάντ᾽ ἐκεῖνα διὰ πλημμέλειαν καὶ ἀμουσίαν τὴν πικρὰν διέφθειρεν;

Κλεινίας

ἔοικε γοῦν. [691β]

Ἀθηναῖος

εἶεν: τί δὴ τὸν νομοθέτην ἔδει τότε τιθέντα εὐλαβηθῆναι τούτου περὶ τοῦ πάθους τῆς γενέσεως; ἆρ᾽ ὦ πρὸς θεῶν νῦν μὲν οὐδὲν σοφὸν γνῶναι τοῦτο οὐδ᾽ εἰπεῖν χαλεπόν, εἰ δὲ προϊδεῖν ἦν τότε, σοφώτερος ἂν ἦν ἡμῶν ὁ προϊδών;

Μέγιλλος

τὸ ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰς τὸ γεγονὸς παρ᾽ ὑμῖν, ὦ Μέγιλλε, ἔστιν νῦν γε κατιδόντα γνῶναι, καὶ γνόντα εἰπεῖν ῥᾴδιον, ὃ τότε ἔδει γίγνεσθαι.

Μέγιλλος

σαφέστερον ἔτι λέγε.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ τοίνυν σαφέστατον ἂν εἴη τὸ τοιόνδε.

Μέγιλλος

τὸ ποῖον; [691ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐάν τις μείζονα διδῷ τοῖς ἐλάττοσι [δύναμιν] παρεὶς τὸ μέτριον, πλοίοις τε ἱστία καὶ σώμασιν τροφὴν καὶ ψυχαῖς ἀρχάς, ἀνατρέπεταί που πάντα, καὶ ἐξυβρίζοντα τὰ μὲν εἰς νόσους θεῖ, τὰ δ᾽ εἰς ἔκγονον ὕβρεως ἀδικίαν. τί οὖν δή ποτε λέγομεν; ἆρά γε τὸ τοιόνδε, ὡς οὐκ ἔστ᾽, ὦ φίλοι ἄνδρες, θνητῆς ψυχῆς φύσις ἥτις ποτὲ δυνήσεται τὴν μεγίστην ἐν ἀνθρώποις ἀρχὴν φέρειν νέα καὶ ἀνυπεύθυνος, [691δ] ὥστε μὴ τῆς μεγίστης νόσου ἀνοίας πληρωθεῖσα αὑτῆς τὴν διάνοιαν, μῖσος ἔχειν πρὸς τῶν ἐγγύτατα φίλων, ὃ γενόμενον ταχὺ διέφθειρεν αὐτὴν καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν δύναμιν ἠφάνισεν αὐτῆς; τοῦτ᾽ οὖν εὐλαβηθῆναι γνόντας τὸ μέτριον μεγάλων νομοθετῶν. ὡς οὖν δὴ τότε γενόμενον, νῦν ἔστιν μετριώτατα τοπάσαι: τὸ δ᾽ ἔοικεν εἶναι-

Μέγιλλος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

θεὸς εἶναι κηδόμενος ὑμῶν τις, ὃς τὰ μέλλοντα προορῶν, δίδυμον ὑμῖν φυτεύσας τὴν τῶν βασιλέων γένεσιν [691ε] ἐκ μονογενοῦς, εἰς τὸ μέτριον μᾶλλον συνέστειλε. καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο ἔτι φύσις τις ἀνθρωπίνη μεμειγμένη θείᾳ τινὶ δυνάμει, κατιδοῦσα ὑμῶν τὴν ἀρχὴν φλεγμαίνουσαν ἔτι, μείγνυσιν τὴν [692α] κατὰ γῆρας σώφρονα δύναμιν τῇ κατὰ γένος αὐθάδει ῥώμῃ, τὴν τῶν ὀκτὼ καὶ εἴκοσι γερόντων ἰσόψηφον εἰς τὰ μέγιστα τῇ τῶν βασιλέων ποιήσασα δυνάμει. ὁ δὲ τρίτος σωτὴρ ὑμῖν ἔτι σπαργῶσαν καὶ θυμουμένην τὴν ἀρχὴν ὁρῶν, οἷον ψάλιον ἐνέβαλεν αὐτῇ τὴν τῶν ἐφόρων δύναμιν, ἐγγὺς τῆς κληρωτῆς ἀγαγὼν δυνάμεως: καὶ κατὰ δὴ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἡ βασιλεία παρ᾽ ὑμῖν, ἐξ ὧν ἔδει σύμμεικτος γενομένη καὶ μέτρον ἔχουσα, σωθεῖσα αὐτὴ σωτηρίας τοῖς ἄλλοις γέγονεν [692β] αἰτία. ἐπεὶ ἐπί γε Τημένῳ καὶ Κρεσφόντῃ καὶ τοῖς τότε νομοθέταις, οἵτινες ἄρα ἦσαν νομοθετοῦντες, οὐδ᾽ ἡ Ἀριστοδήμου μερὶς ἐσώθη ποτ᾽ ἄν-οὐ γὰρ ἱκανῶς ἦσαν νομοθεσίας ἔμπειροι: σχεδὸν γὰρ οὐκ ἄν ποτ᾽ ᾠήθησαν ὅρκοις μετριάσαι ψυχὴν νέαν, λαβοῦσαν ἀρχὴν ἐξ ἧς δυνατὸν ἦν τυραννίδα γενέσθαι-νῦν δ᾽ ὁ θεὸς ἔδειξεν οἵαν ἔδει καὶ δεῖ δὴ τὴν μενοῦσαν μάλιστα ἀρχὴν γίγνεσθαι. τὸ δὲ παρ᾽ [692ξ] ἡμῶν γιγνώσκεσθαι ταῦτα, ὅπερ εἶπον ἔμπροσθεν, νῦν μὲν γενόμενον οὐδὲν σοφόν-ἐκ γὰρ παραδείγματος ὁρᾶν γεγονότος οὐδὲν χαλεπόν-εἰ δ᾽ ἦν τις προορῶν τότε ταῦτα καὶ δυνάμενος μετριάσαι τὰς ἀρχὰς καὶ μίαν ἐκ τριῶν ποιῆσαι, τά τε νοηθέντα ἂν καλὰ τότε πάντα ἀπέσωσε καὶ οὐκ ἄν ποτε ὁ Περσικὸς ἐπὶ τὴν Ἑλλάδα οὐδ᾽ ἄλλος οὐδεὶς στόλος ἂν ὥρμησε, καταφρονήσας ὡς ὄντων ἡμῶν βραχέος ἀξίων.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ λέγεις. [692δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

αἰσχρῶς γοῦν ἠμύναντο αὐτούς, ὦ Κλεινία. τὸ δ᾽ αἰσχρὸν λέγω οὐχ ὡς οὐ νικῶντές γε οἱ τότε καὶ κατὰ γῆν καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν καλὰς νενικήκασι μάχας: ἀλλὰ ὅ φημι αἰσχρὸν τότ᾽ εἶναι, τόδε λέγω, τὸ πρῶτον μὲν ἐκείνων τῶν πόλεων τριῶν οὐσῶν μίαν ὑπὲρ τῆς Ἑλλάδος ἀμῦναι, τὼ δὲ δύο κακῶς οὕτως εἶναι διεφθαρμένα, ὥστε ἡ μὲν καὶ Λακεδαίμονα διεκώλυεν ἐπαμύνειν αὐτῇ, πολεμοῦσα αὐτῇ κατὰ κράτος, ἡ δ᾽ αὖ πρωτεύουσα ἐν τοῖς τότε χρόνοις τοῖς [692ε] περὶ τὴν διανομήν, ἡ περὶ τὸ Ἄργος, παρακαλουμένη ἀμύνειν τὸν βάρβαρον οὔθ᾽ ὑπήκουσεν οὔτ᾽ ἤμυνεν. πολλὰ δὲ λέγων ἄν τις τὰ τότε γενόμενα περὶ ἐκεῖνον τὸν πόλεμον, τῆς Ἑλλάδος οὐδαμῶς εὐσχήμονα ἂν κατηγοροῖ: οὐδ᾽ αὖ ἀμύνασθαι τήν γε Ἑλλάδα λέγων ὀρθῶς ἂν λέγοι, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὴ τό τε Ἀθηναίων καὶ τὸ Λακεδαιμονίων κοινῇ διανόημα [693α] ἤμυνεν τὴν ἐπιοῦσαν δουλείαν, σχεδὸν ἂν ἤδη πάντ᾽ ἦν μεμειγμένα τὰ τῶν Ἑλλήνων γένη ἐν ἀλλήλοις, καὶ βάρβαρα ἐν Ἕλλησι καὶ Ἑλληνικὰ ἐν βαρβάροις, καθάπερ ὧν Πέρσαι τυραννοῦσι τὰ νῦν διαπεφορημένα καὶ συμπεφορημένα κακῶς ἐσπαρμένα κατοικεῖται. ταῦτ᾽, ὦ Κλεινία καὶ Μέγιλλε, ἔχομεν ἐπιτιμᾶν τοῖς τε πάλαι πολιτικοῖς λεγομένοις καὶ νομοθέταις καὶ τοῖς νῦν, ἵνα τὰς αἰτίας αὐτῶν ἀναζητοῦντες, [693β] ἀνευρίσκωμεν τί παρὰ ταῦτα ἔδει πράττειν ἄλλο: οἷον δὴ καὶ τὸ παρὸν εἴπομεν, ὡς ἄρα οὐ δεῖ μεγάλας ἀρχὰς οὐδ᾽ αὖ ἀμείκτους νομοθετεῖν, διανοηθέντας τὸ τοιόνδε, ὅτι πόλιν ἐλευθέραν τε εἶναι δεῖ καὶ ἔμφρονα καὶ ἑαυτῇ φίλην, καὶ τὸν νομοθετοῦντα πρὸς ταῦτα βλέποντα δεῖ νομοθετεῖν. μὴ θαυμάσωμεν δὲ εἰ πολλάκις ἤδη προθέμενοι ἄττα, εἰρήκαμεν ὅτι πρὸς ταῦτα δεῖ νομοθετεῖν βλέποντα τὸν νομοθέτην, [693ξ] τὰ δὲ προτεθέντα οὐ ταὐτὰ ἡμῖν φαίνεται ἑκάστοτε: ἀλλὰ ἀναλογίζεσθαι χρή, ὅταν πρὸς τὸ σωφρονεῖν φῶμεν δεῖν βλέπειν, ἢ πρὸς φρόνησιν ἢ φιλίαν, ὡς ἔσθ᾽ οὗτος ὁ σκοπὸς οὐχ ἕτερος ἀλλ᾽ ὁ αὐτός, καὶ ἄλλα δὴ πολλὰ ἡμᾶς τοιαῦτα ἂν γίγνηται ῥήματα μὴ διαταραττέτω.

Κλεινίας

πειρασόμεθα ποιεῖν οὕτως ἐπανιόντες τοὺς λόγους: καὶ νῦν δὴ τὸ περὶ τῆς φιλίας τε καὶ φρονήσεως καὶ ἐλευθερίας, πρὸς ὅτι βουλόμενος ἔμελλες λέγειν δεῖν στοχάζεσθαι [693δ] τὸν νομοθέτην, λέγε.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄκουσον δή νυν. εἰσὶν πολιτειῶν οἷον μητέρες δύο τινές, ἐξ ὧν τὰς ἄλλας γεγονέναι λέγων ἄν τις ὀρθῶς λέγοι, καὶ τὴν μὲν προσαγορεύειν μοναρχίαν ὀρθόν, τὴν δ᾽ αὖ δημοκρατίαν, καὶ τῆς μὲν τὸ Περσῶν γένος ἄκρον ἔχειν, τῆς δὲ ἡμᾶς: αἱ δ᾽ ἄλλαι σχεδὸν ἅπασαι, καθάπερ εἶπον, ἐκ τούτων εἰσὶ διαπεποικιλμέναι. δεῖ δὴ οὖν καὶ ἀναγκαῖον μεταλαβεῖν ἀμφοῖν τούτοιν, εἴπερ ἐλευθερία τ᾽ ἔσται καὶ [693ε] φιλία μετὰ φρονήσεως: ὃ δὴ βούλεται ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος προστάττειν, λέγων ὡς οὐκ ἄν ποτε τούτων πόλις ἄμοιρος γενομένη πολιτευθῆναι δύναιτ᾽ ἂν καλῶς.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἡ μὲν τοίνυν τὸ μοναρχικόν, ἡ δὲ τὸ ἐλεύθερον ἀγαπήσασα μειζόνως ἢ ἔδει μόνον, οὐδετέρα τὰ μέτρια κέκτηται τούτων, αἱ δὲ ὑμέτεραι, ἥ τε Λακωνικὴ καὶ Κρητική, μᾶλλον: Ἀθηναῖοι δὲ καὶ Πέρσαι τὸ μὲν πάλαι οὕτω [694α] πως, τὸ νῦν δὲ ἧττον. τὰ δ᾽ αἴτια διέλθωμεν: ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

πάντως, εἴ γέ που μέλλομεν ὃ προυθέμεθα περαίνειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀκούωμεν δή. Πέρσαι γάρ, ὅτε μὲν τὸ μέτριον μᾶλλον δουλείας τε καὶ ἐλευθερίας ἦγον ἐπὶ Κύρου, πρῶτον μὲν ἐλεύθεροι ἐγένοντο, ἔπειτα δὲ ἄλλων πολλῶν δεσπόται. ἐλευθερίας γὰρ ἄρχοντες μεταδιδόντες ἀρχομένοις καὶ ἐπὶ τὸ ἴσον ἄγοντες, μᾶλλον φίλοι τε ἦσαν στρατιῶται στρατηγοῖς [694β] καὶ προθύμους αὑτοὺς ἐν τοῖς κινδύνοις παρείχοντο: καὶ εἴ τις αὖ φρόνιμος ἦν ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ βουλεύειν δυνατός, οὐ φθονεροῦ τοῦ βασιλέως ὄντος, διδόντος δὲ παρρησίαν καὶ τιμῶντος τοὺς εἴς τι δυναμένους συμβουλεύειν, κοινὴν τὴν τοῦ φρονεῖν εἰς τὸ μέσον παρείχετο δύναμιν, καὶ πάντα δὴ τότε ἐπέδωκεν αὐτοῖς δι᾽ ἐλευθερίαν τε καὶ φιλίαν καὶ νοῦ κοινωνίαν.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικέν γέ πως τὰ λεγόμενα οὕτω γεγονέναι. [694ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

πῇ δὴ οὖν ποτε ἀπώλετο ἐπὶ Καμβύσου καὶ πάλιν ἐπὶ Δαρείου σχεδὸν ἐσώθη; βούλεσθε οἷον μαντείᾳ διανοηθέντες χρώμεθα;

Κλεινίας

φέρει γοῦν ἡμῖν σκέψιν τοῦτο ἐφ᾽ ὅπερ ὡρμήκαμεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

μαντεύομαι δὴ νῦν περί γε Κύρου, τὰ μὲν ἄλλ᾽ αὐτὸν στρατηγόν τε ἀγαθὸν εἶναι καὶ φιλόπολιν, παιδείας δὲ ὀρθῆς οὐχ ἧφθαι τὸ παράπαν, οἰκονομίᾳ τε οὐδὲν τὸν νοῦν προσεσχηκέναι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δὴ τὸ τοιοῦτον φῶμεν; [694δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔοικεν ἐκ νέου στρατεύεσθαι διὰ βίου, ταῖς γυναιξὶν παραδοὺς τοὺς παῖδας τρέφειν. αἱ δὲ ὡς εὐδαίμονας αὐτοὺς ἐκ τῶν παίδων εὐθὺς καὶ μακαρίους ἤδη γεγονότας καὶ ἐπιδεεῖς ὄντας τούτων οὐδενὸς ἔτρεφον: κωλύουσαι δὲ ὡς οὖσιν ἱκανῶς εὐδαίμοσιν μήτε αὐτοῖς ἐναντιοῦσθαι μηδένα εἰς μηδέν, ἐπαινεῖν τε ἀναγκάζουσαι πάντας τὸ λεγόμενον ἢ πραττόμενον ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν, ἔθρεψαν τοιούτους τινάς.

Κλεινίας

καλήν, ὡς ἔοικας, τροφὴν εἴρηκας. [694ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

γυναικείαν μὲν οὖν βασιλίδων γυναικῶν νεωστὶ γεγονυιῶν πλουσίων, καὶ ἐν ἀνδρῶν ἐρημίᾳ, διὰ τὸ μὴ σχολάζειν ὑπὸ πολέμων καὶ πολλῶν κινδύνων, τοὺς παῖδας τρεφουσῶν.

Κλεινίας

ἔχει γὰρ λόγον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁ δὲ πατήρ γε αὐτοῖς αὖ ποίμνια μὲν καὶ πρόβατα καὶ ἀγέλας ἀνδρῶν τε καὶ ἄλλων πολλῶν πολλὰς ἐκτᾶτο, [695α] αὐτοὺς δὲ οἷς ταῦτα παραδώσειν ἔμελλεν ἠγνόει τὴν πατρῴαν οὐ παιδευομένους τέχνην, οὖσαν Περσικήν-ποιμένων ὄντων Περσῶν, τραχείας χώρας ἐκγόνων-σκληρὰν καὶ ἱκανὴν ποιμένας ἀπεργάζεσθαι μάλα ἰσχυροὺς καὶ δυναμένους θυραυλεῖν καὶ ἀγρυπνεῖν καὶ εἰ στρατεύεσθαι δέοι στρατεύεσθαι: διεφθαρμένην δὲ παιδείαν ὑπὸ τῆς λεγομένης εὐδαιμονίας τὴν Μηδικὴν περιεῖδεν ὑπὸ γυναικῶν τε καὶ εὐνούχων παιδευθέντας [695β] αὑτοῦ τοὺς ὑεῖς, ὅθεν ἐγένοντο οἵους ἦν αὐτοὺς εἰκὸς γενέσθαι, τροφῇ ἀνεπιπλήκτῳ τραφέντας. παραλαβόντες δ᾽ οὖν οἱ παῖδες τελευτήσαντος Κύρου τρυφῆς μεστοὶ καὶ ἀνεπιπληξίας, πρῶτον μὲν τὸν ἕτερον ἅτερος ἀπέκτεινε τῷ ἴσῳ ἀγανακτῶν, μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο αὐτὸς μαινόμενος ὑπὸ μέθης τε καὶ ἀπαιδευσίας τὴν ἀρχὴν ἀπώλεσεν ὑπὸ Μήδων τε καὶ τοῦ λεγομένου τότε εὐνούχου, καταφρονήσαντος τῆς Καμβύσου μωρίας. [695ξ]

Κλεινίας

λέγεται δὴ ταῦτά γε, καὶ ἔοικεν σχεδὸν οὕτω πως γεγονέναι.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν καὶ πάλιν εἰς Πέρσας ἐλθεῖν τὴν ἀρχὴν διὰ Δαρείου καὶ τῶν ἑπτὰ λέγεταί που.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

θεωρῶμεν δὴ συνεπόμενοι τῷ λόγῳ. Δαρεῖος γὰρ βασιλέως οὐκ ἦν ὑός, παιδείᾳ τε οὐ διατρυφώσῃ τεθραμμένος, ἐλθὼν δ᾽ εἰς τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ λαβὼν αὐτὴν ἕβδομος, διείλετο ἑπτὰ μέρη τεμόμενος, ὧν καὶ νῦν ἔτι σμικρὰ ὀνείρατα λέλειπται, καὶ νόμους ἠξίου θέμενος οἰκεῖν ἰσότητα [695δ] κοινήν τινα εἰσφέρων, καὶ τὸν τοῦ Κύρου δασμόν, ὃν ὑπέσχετο Πέρσαις, εἰς τὸν νόμον ἐνέδει, φιλίαν πορίζων καὶ κοινωνίαν πᾶσιν Πέρσαις, χρήμασι καὶ δωρεαῖς τὸν Περσῶν δῆμον προσαγόμενος: τοιγαροῦν αὐτῷ τὰ στρατεύματα μετ᾽ εὐνοίας προσεκτήσατο χώρας οὐκ ἐλάττους ὧν κατέλιπε Κῦρος. μετὰ δὲ Δαρεῖον ὁ τῇ βασιλικῇ καὶ τρυφώσῃ πάλιν παιδευθεὶς παιδείᾳ Ξέρξης- “ὦ Δαρεῖε,” εἰπεῖν ἐστιν δικαιότατον ἴσως, “ὃς τὸ Κύρου κακὸν οὐκ [695ε] ἔμαθες, ἐθρέψω δὲ Ξέρξην ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἤθεσιν ἐν οἷσπερ Κῦρος Καμβύσην” -ὁ δέ, ἅτε τῶν αὐτῶν παιδειῶν γενόμενος ἔκγονος, παραπλήσια ἀπετέλεσεν τοῖς Καμβύσου παθήμασιν: καὶ σχεδὸν ἔκ γε τοσούτου βασιλεὺς ἐν Πέρσαις οὐδείς πω μέγας ἐγγέγονεν ἀληθῶς, πλήν γε ὀνόματι. τὸ δ᾽ αἴτιον οὐ τύχης, ὡς ὁ ἐμὸς λόγος, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ κακὸς βίος ὃν οἱ τῶν [696α] διαφερόντως πλουσίων καὶ τυράννων παῖδες τὰ πολλὰ ζῶσιν: οὐ γὰρ μή ποτε γένηται παῖς καὶ ἀνὴρ καὶ γέρων ἐκ ταύτης τῆς τροφῆς διαφέρων πρὸς ἀρετήν. ἃ δή, φαμέν, τῷ νομοθέτῃ σκεπτέον, καὶ ἡμῖν δὲ ἐν τῷ νῦν παρόντι. δίκαιον μήν, ὦ Λακεδαιμόνιοι, τοῦτό γε τῇ πόλει ὑμῶν ἀποδιδόναι, ὅτι πενίᾳ καὶ πλούτῳ καὶ ἰδιωτείᾳ καὶ βασιλείᾳ διαφέρουσαν οὐδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν τιμὴν καὶ τροφὴν νέμετε, ἃς μὴ τὸ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς [696β] ὑμῖν θεῖον παρὰ θεοῦ διεμαντεύσατό τινος. οὐ γὰρ δὴ δεῖ κατὰ πόλιν γε εἶναι τὰς τιμὰς ὑπερεχούσας, ὅτι τίς ἐστιν πλούτῳ διαφέρων, ἐπεὶ οὐδ᾽ ὅτι ταχὺς ἢ καλὸς ἢ ἰσχυρὸς ἄνευ τινὸς ἀρετῆς, οὐδ᾽ ἀρετῆς ἧς ἂν σωφροσύνη ἀπῇ.

Μέγιλλος

πῶς τοῦτο, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀνδρεία που μόριον ἀρετῆς ἕν;

Μέγιλλος

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

δίκασον τοίνυν αὐτὸς τὸν λόγον ἀκούσας εἴ σοι δέξαι᾽ ἂν σύνοικον ἢ γείτονα εἶναί τινα σφόδρα μὲν ἀνδρεῖον, μὴ σώφρονα δὲ ἀλλ᾽ ἀκόλαστον. [696ξ]

Μέγιλλος

εὐφήμει.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; τεχνικὸν μὲν καὶ περὶ ταῦτα σοφόν, ἄδικον δέ;

Μέγιλλος

οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ μὴν τό γε δίκαιον οὐ φύεται χωρὶς τοῦ σωφρονεῖν.

Μέγιλλος

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδὲ μὴν ὅν γε σοφὸν ἡμεῖς νυνδὴ προυθέμεθα, τὸν τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας κεκτημένον συμφώνους τοῖς ὀρθοῖς λόγοις καὶ ἑπομένας.

Μέγιλλος

οὐ γὰρ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔτι δὴ καὶ τόδε ἐπισκεψώμεθα τῶν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν [696δ] τιμήσεων ἕνεκα, ποῖαί τε ὀρθαὶ καὶ μὴ γίγνονται ἑκάστοτε.

Μέγιλλος

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

σωφροσύνη ἄνευ πάσης τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς ἐν ψυχῇ τινι μεμονωμένη τίμιον ἢ ἄτιμον γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν κατὰ δίκην;

Μέγιλλος

οὐκ ἔχω ὅπως εἴπω.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν εἴρηκάς γε μετρίως: εἰπὼν γὰρ δὴ ὧν ἠρόμην ὁποτερονοῦν, παρὰ μέλος ἔμοιγ᾽ ἂν δοκεῖς φθέγξασθαι.

Μέγιλλος

καλῶς τοίνυν γεγονὸς ἂν εἴη.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἶεν: τὸ μὲν δὴ πρόσθημα ὧν τιμαί τε καὶ ἀτιμίαι [696ε] οὐ λόγου, ἀλλά τινος μᾶλλον ἀλόγου σιγῆς, ἄξιον ἂν εἴη.

Μέγιλλος

σωφροσύνην μοι φαίνῃ λέγειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί. τὸ δέ γε τῶν ἄλλων πλεῖστα ἡμᾶς ὠφελοῦν μετὰ τῆς προσθήκης μάλιστ᾽ ἂν τιμώμενον ὀρθότατα τιμῷτο, καὶ τὸ δεύτερον δευτέρως: καὶ οὕτω δὴ κατὰ τὸν ἑξῆς λόγον τὰς ἐφεξῆς τιμὰς λαγχάνον ἕκαστον ὀρθῶς ἂν λαγχάνοι. [697α]

Μέγιλλος

ἔχει ταύτῃ.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; οὐ νομοθέτου καὶ ταῦτα αὖ φήσομεν εἶναι διανέμειν;

Μέγιλλος

καὶ μάλα.

Ἀθηναῖος

βούλει δὴ τὰ μὲν ἅπαντα καὶ ἐφ᾽ ἕκαστον ἔργον καὶ κατὰ σμικρὰ ἐκείνῳ δῶμεν νεῖμαι, τὸ δὲ τριχῇ διελεῖν, ἐπειδὴ νόμων ἐσμὲν καὶ αὐτοί πως ἐπιθυμηταί, πειραθῶμεν, διατεμεῖν χωρὶς τά τε μέγιστα καὶ δεύτερα καὶ τρίτα;

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγομεν τοίνυν ὅτι πόλιν, ὡς ἔοικεν, τὴν μέλλουσαν [697β] σῴζεσθαί τε καὶ εὐδαιμονήσειν εἰς δύναμιν ἀνθρωπίνην δεῖ καὶ ἀναγκαῖον τιμάς τε καὶ ἀτιμίας διανέμειν ὀρθῶς. ἔστιν δὲ ὀρθῶς ἄρα τιμιώτατα μὲν καὶ πρῶτα τὰ περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἀγαθὰ κεῖσθαι, σωφροσύνης ὑπαρχούσης αὐτῇ, δεύτερα δὲ τὰ περὶ τὸ σῶμα καλὰ καὶ ἀγαθά, καὶ τρίτα τὰ περὶ τὴν οὐσίαν καὶ χρήματα λεγόμενα: τούτων δὲ ἂν ἐκτός τις βαίνῃ νομοθέτης ἢ πόλις, εἰς τιμὰς ἢ χρήματα προάγουσα [697ξ] ἤ τι τῶν ὑστέρων εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν τιμαῖς τάττουσα, οὔθ᾽ ὅσιον οὔτε πολιτικὸν ἂν δρῴη πρᾶγμα. εἰρήσθω ταῦτα ἢ πῶς ἡμῖν;

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν εἰρήσθω σαφῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτα μὲν τοίνυν ἡμᾶς ἐπὶ πλέον ἐποίησεν εἰπεῖν ἡ Περσῶν πέρι διάσκεψις τῆς πολιτείας: ἀνευρίσκομεν δὲ ἐπὶ ἔτι χείρους αὐτοὺς γεγονότας, τὴν δὲ αἰτίαν φαμέν, ὅτι τὸ ἐλεύθερον λίαν ἀφελόμενοι τοῦ δήμου, τὸ δεσποτικὸν δ᾽ ἐπαγαγόντες μᾶλλον τοῦ προσήκοντος, τὸ φίλον ἀπώλεσαν [697δ] καὶ τὸ κοινὸν ἐν τῇ πόλει. τούτου δὲ φθαρέντος, οὔθ᾽ ἡ τῶν ἀρχόντων βουλὴ ὑπὲρ ἀρχομένων καὶ τοῦ δήμου βουλεύεται, ἀλλ᾽ ἕνεκα τῆς αὑτῶν ἀρχῆς, ἄν τι καὶ σμικρὸν πλέον ἑκάστοτε ἡγῶνται ἔσεσθαί σφισιν, ἀναστάτους μὲν πόλεις, ἀνάστατα δὲ ἔθνη φίλια πυρὶ καταφθείραντες, ἐχθρῶς τε καὶ ἀνηλεήτως μισοῦντες μισοῦνται: ὅταν τε εἰς χρείαν τοῦ μάχεσθαι περὶ ἑαυτῶν τοὺς δήμους ἀφικνῶνται, οὐδὲν κοινὸν ἐν αὐτοῖς αὖ μετὰ προθυμίας τοῦ ἐθέλειν κινδυνεύειν καὶ [697ε] μάχεσθαι ἀνευρίσκουσιν, ἀλλὰ κεκτημένοι μυριάδας ἀπεράντους λογισμῷ, ἀχρήστους εἰς πόλεμον πάσας κέκτηνται, καὶ καθάπερ ἐνδεεῖς ἀνθρώπων μισθούμενοι, ὑπὸ μισθωτῶν καὶ ὀθνείων ἀνθρώπων ἡγοῦνταί ποτε σωθήσεσθαι. πρὸς δὲ [698α] τούτοις ἀμαθαίνειν ἀναγκάζονται, λέγοντες ἔργοις ὅτι λῆρος πρὸς χρυσόν τε καὶ ἄργυρόν ἐστιν ἑκάστοτε τὰ λεγόμενα τίμια καὶ καλὰ κατὰ πόλιν.

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ μὲν δὴ περί γε Περσῶν, ὡς οὐκ ὀρθῶς τὰ νῦν διοικεῖται διὰ τὴν σφόδρα δουλείαν τε καὶ δεσποτείαν, τέλος ἐχέτω.

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ δὲ περὶ τὴν τῆς Ἀττικῆς αὖ πολιτείας τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ὡσαύτως ἡμᾶς διεξελθεῖν χρεών, ὡς ἡ παντελὴς καὶ [698β] ἀπὸ πασῶν ἀρχῶν ἐλευθερία τῆς μέτρον ἐχούσης ἀρχῆς ὑφ᾽ ἑτέρων οὐ σμικρῷ χείρων: ἡμῖν γὰρ κατ᾽ ἐκεῖνον τὸν χρόνον, ὅτε ἡ Περσῶν ἐπίθεσις τοῖς Ἕλλησιν, ἴσως δὲ σχεδὸν ἅπασιν τοῖς τὴν Εὐρώπην οἰκοῦσιν, ἐγίγνετο, πολιτεία τε ἦν παλαιὰ καὶ ἐκ τιμημάτων ἀρχαί τινες τεττάρων, καὶ δεσπότις ἐνῆν τις αἰδώς, δι᾽ ἣν δουλεύοντες τοῖς τότε νόμοις ζῆν ἠθέλομεν. καὶ πρὸς τούτοις δὴ τὸ μέγεθος τοῦ στόλου κατά τε γῆν καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν γενόμενον, φόβον ἄπορον ἐμβαλόν, δουλείαν [698ξ] ἔτι μείζονα ἐποίησεν ἡμᾶς τοῖς τε ἄρχουσιν καὶ τοῖς νόμοις δουλεῦσαι, καὶ διὰ πάντα ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν συνέπεσε πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς σφόδρα φιλία. σχεδὸν γὰρ δέκα ἔτεσιν πρὸ τῆς ἐν Σαλαμῖνι ναυμαχίας ἀφίκετο Δᾶτις Περσικὸν στόλον ἄγων, πέμψαντος Δαρείου διαρρήδην ἐπί τε Ἀθηναίους καὶ Ἐρετριᾶς, ἐξανδραποδισάμενον ἀγαγεῖν, θάνατον αὐτῷ προειπὼν μὴ πράξαντι ταῦτα. καὶ ὁ Δᾶτις τοὺς μὲν Ἐρετριᾶς ἔν τινι [698δ] βραχεῖ χρόνῳ παντάπασιν κατὰ κράτος τε εἷλεν μυριάσι συχναῖς, καί τινα λόγον εἰς τὴν ἡμετέραν πόλιν ἀφῆκεν φοβερόν, ὡς οὐδεὶς Ἐρετριῶν αὐτὸν ἀποπεφευγὼς εἴη: συνάψαντες γὰρ ἄρα τὰς χεῖρας σαγηνεύσαιεν πᾶσαν τὴν Ἐρετρικὴν οἱ στρατιῶται τοῦ Δάτιδος. ὁ δὴ λόγος, εἴτ᾽ ἀληθὴς εἴτε καὶ ὅπῃ ἀφίκετο, τούς τε ἄλλους Ἕλληνας καὶ δὴ καὶ Ἀθηναίους ἐξέπληττεν, καὶ πρεσβευομένοις αὐτοῖς [698ε] πανταχόσε βοηθεῖν οὐδεὶς ἤθελεν πλήν γε Λακεδαιμονίων: οὗτοι δὲ ὑπό τε τοῦ πρὸς Μεσσήνην ὄντος τότε πολέμου καὶ εἰ δή τι διεκώλυεν ἄλλο αὐτούς-οὐ γὰρ ἴσμεν λεγόμενον- ὕστεροι δ᾽ οὖν ἀφίκοντο τῆς ἐν Μαραθῶνι μάχης γενομένης μιᾷ ἡμέρᾳ. μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο παρασκευαί τε μεγάλαι λεγόμεναι καὶ ἀπειλαὶ ἐφοίτων μυρίαι παρὰ βασιλέως. προϊόντος δὲ τοῦ χρόνου, Δαρεῖος μὲν τεθνάναι ἐλέχθη, νέος δὲ καὶ σφοδρὸς ὁ ὑὸς αὐτοῦ παρειληφέναι τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ οὐδαμῶς [699α] ἀφίστασθαι τῆς ὁρμῆς. οἱ δὲ Ἀθηναῖοι πᾶν τοῦτο ᾤοντο ἐπὶ σφᾶς αὐτοὺς παρασκευάζεσθαι διὰ τὸ Μαραθῶνι γενόμενον, καὶ ἀκούοντες Ἄθων τε διορυττόμενον καὶ Ἑλλήσποντον ζευγνύμενον καὶ τὸ τῶν νεῶν πλῆθος, ἡγήσαντο οὔτε κατὰ γῆν σφίσιν εἶναι σωτηρίαν οὔτε κατὰ θάλατταν: οὔτε γὰρ βοηθήσειν αὑτοῖς οὐδένα-μεμνημένοι ὡς οὐδ᾽ ὅτε τὸ πρότερον ἦλθον καὶ τὰ περὶ Ἐρέτριαν διεπράξαντο, σφίσι γε οὐδεὶς τότε ἐβοήθησεν οὐδ᾽ ἐκινδύνευσεν συμμαχόμενος: ταὐτὸν [699β] δὴ προσεδόκων καὶ τότε γενήσεσθαι τό γε κατὰ γῆν-καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν δ᾽ αὖ πᾶσαν ἀπορίαν ἑώρων σωτηρίας, νεῶν χιλίων καὶ ἔτι πλεόνων ἐπιφερομένων. μίαν δὴ σωτηρίαν συνενόουν, λεπτὴν μὲν καὶ ἄπορον, μόνην δ᾽ οὖν, βλέψαντες πρὸς τὸ πρότερον γενόμενον, ὡς ἐξ ἀπόρων καὶ τότε ἐφαίνετο γενέσθαι τὸ νικῆσαι μαχομένους: ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς ἐλπίδος ὀχούμενοι ταύτης ηὕρισκον καταφυγὴν αὑτοῖς εἰς αὑτοὺς μόνους [699ξ] εἶναι καὶ τοὺς θεούς. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν αὐτοῖς πάντα φιλίαν ἀλλήλων ἐνεποίει, ὁ φόβος ὁ τότε παρὼν ὅ τε ἐκ τῶν νόμων τῶν ἔμπροσθεν γεγονώς, ὃν δουλεύοντες τοῖς πρόσθεν νόμοις ἐκέκτηντο, ἣν αἰδῶ πολλάκις ἐν τοῖς ἄνω λόγοις εἴπομεν, ᾗ καὶ δουλεύειν ἔφαμεν δεῖν τοὺς μέλλοντας ἀγαθοὺς ἔσεσθαι, ἧς ὁ δειλὸς ἐλεύθερος καὶ ἄφοβος: ὃν εἰ τότε μὴ δέος ἔλαβεν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε συνελθὼν ἠμύνατο, οὐδ᾽ ἤμυνεν ἱεροῖς τε καὶ τάφοις καὶ πατρίδι καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις οἰκείοις τε ἅμα καὶ φίλοις, [699δ] ὥσπερ τότ᾽ ἐβοήθησεν, ἀλλὰ κατὰ σμικρὰ ἂν ἐν τῷ τότε ἡμῶν ἕκαστος σκεδασθεὶς ἄλλος ἄλλοσε διεσπάρη.

Μέγιλλος

καὶ μάλα, ὦ ξένε, ὀρθῶς τε εἴρηκας καὶ σαυτῷ τε καὶ τῇ πατρίδι πρεπόντως.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔστι ταῦτα, ὦ Μέγιλλε: πρὸς γὰρ σὲ τὰ ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ γενόμενα, κοινωνὸν τῇ τῶν πατέρων γεγονότα φύσει, δίκαιον λέγειν. ἐπισκόπει μὴν καὶ σὺ καὶ Κλεινίας εἴ τι πρὸς τὴν νομοθεσίαν προσήκοντα λέγομεν: οὐ γὰρ μύθων [699ε] ἕνεκα διεξέρχομαι, οὗ λέγω δ᾽ ἕνεκα. ὁρᾶτε γάρ: ἐπειδή τινα τρόπον ταὐτὸν ἡμῖν συμβεβήκει πάθος ὅπερ Πέρσαις, ἐκείνοις μὲν ἐπὶ πᾶσαν δουλείαν ἄγουσιν τὸν δῆμον, ἡμῖν δ᾽ αὖ τοὐναντίον ἐπὶ πᾶσαν ἐλευθερίαν προτρέπουσι τὰ πλήθη, πῶς δὴ καὶ τί λέγωμεν τοὐντεῦθεν, οἱ προγεγονότες ἡμῖν ἔμπροσθεν λόγοι τρόπον τινὰ καλῶς εἰσιν εἰρημένοι. [700α]

Μέγιλλος

λέγεις εὖ: πειρῶ δ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον ἡμῖν σημῆναι τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔσται ταῦτα. οὐκ ἦν, ὦ φίλοι, ἡμῖν ἐπὶ τῶν παλαιῶν νόμων ὁ δῆμός τινων κύριος, ἀλλὰ τρόπον τινὰ ἑκὼν ἐδούλευε τοῖς νόμοις.

Μέγιλλος

ποίοις δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῖς περὶ τὴν μουσικὴν πρῶτον τὴν τότε, ἵνα ἐξ ἀρχῆς διέλθωμεν τὴν τοῦ ἐλευθέρου λίαν ἐπίδοσιν βίου. διῃρημένη γὰρ δὴ τότε ἦν ἡμῖν ἡ μουσικὴ κατὰ εἴδη τε [700β] ἑαυτῆς ἄττα καὶ σχήματα, καί τι ἦν εἶδος ᾠδῆς εὐχαὶ πρὸς θεούς, ὄνομα δὲ ὕμνοι ἐπεκαλοῦντο: καὶ τούτῳ δὴ τὸ ἐναντίον ἦν ᾠδῆς ἕτερον εἶδος-θρήνους δέ τις ἂν αὐτοὺς μάλιστα ἐκάλεσεν-καὶ παίωνες ἕτερον, καὶ ἄλλο, Διονύσου γένεσις οἶμαι, διθύραμβος λεγόμενος. νόμους τε αὐτὸ τοῦτο τοὔνομα ἐκάλουν, ᾠδὴν ὥς τινα ἑτέραν: ἐπέλεγον δὲ κιθαρῳδικούς. τούτων δὴ διατεταγμένων καὶ ἄλλων τινῶν, οὐκ ἐξῆν ἄλλο [700ξ] εἰς ἄλλο καταχρῆσθαι μέλους εἶδος: τὸ δὲ κῦρος τούτων γνῶναί τε καὶ ἅμα γνόντα δικάσαι, ζημιοῦν τε αὖ τὸν μὴ πειθόμενον, οὐ σῦριγξ ἦν οὐδέ τινες ἄμουσοι βοαὶ πλήθους, καθάπερ τὰ νῦν, οὐδ᾽ αὖ κρότοι ἐπαίνους ἀποδιδόντες, ἀλλὰ τοῖς μὲν γεγονόσι περὶ παίδευσιν δεδογμένον ἀκούειν ἦν αὐτοῖς μετὰ σιγῆς διὰ τέλους, παισὶ δὲ καὶ παιδαγωγοῖς καὶ τῷ πλείστῳ ὄχλῳ ῥάβδου κοσμούσης ἡ νουθέτησις ἐγίγνετο. [700δ] ταῦτ᾽ οὖν οὕτω τεταγμένως ἤθελεν ἄρχεσθαι τῶν πολιτῶν τὸ πλῆθος, καὶ μὴ τολμᾶν κρίνειν διὰ θορύβου: μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα, προϊόντος τοῦ χρόνου, ἄρχοντες μὲν τῆς ἀμούσου παρανομίας ποιηταὶ ἐγίγνοντο φύσει μὲν ποιητικοί, ἀγνώμονες δὲ περὶ τὸ δίκαιον τῆς Μούσης καὶ τὸ νόμιμον, βακχεύοντες καὶ μᾶλλον τοῦ δέοντος κατεχόμενοι ὑφ᾽ ἡδονῆς, κεραννύντες δὲ θρήνους τε ὕμνοις καὶ παίωνας διθυράμβοις, καὶ αὐλῳδίας δὴ ταῖς κιθαρῳδίαις μιμούμενοι, καὶ πάντα εἰς πάντα συνάγοντες, [700ε] μουσικῆς ἄκοντες ὑπ᾽ ἀνοίας καταψευδόμενοι ὡς ὀρθότητα μὲν οὐκ ἔχοι οὐδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν μουσική, ἡδονῇ δὲ τῇ τοῦ χαίροντος, εἴτε βελτίων εἴτε χείρων ἂν εἴη τις, κρίνοιτο ὀρθότατα. τοιαῦτα δὴ ποιοῦντες ποιήματα, λόγους τε ἐπιλέγοντες τοιούτους, τοῖς πολλοῖς ἐνέθεσαν παρανομίαν εἰς τὴν μουσικὴν καὶ τόλμαν ὡς ἱκανοῖς οὖσιν κρίνειν: ὅθεν δὴ τὰ [701α] θέατρα ἐξ ἀφώνων φωνήεντ᾽ ἐγένοντο, ὡς ἐπαΐοντα ἐν μούσαις τό τε καλὸν καὶ μή, καὶ ἀντὶ ἀριστοκρατίας ἐν αὐτῇ θεατροκρατία τις πονηρὰ γέγονεν. εἰ γὰρ δὴ καὶ δημοκρατία ἐν αὐτῇ τις μόνον ἐγένετο ἐλευθέρων ἀνδρῶν, οὐδὲν ἂν πάνυ γε δεινὸν ἦν τὸ γεγονός: νῦν δὲ ἦρξε μὲν ἡμῖν ἐκ μουσικῆς ἡ πάντων εἰς πάντα σοφίας δόξα καὶ παρανομία, συνεφέσπετο δὲ ἐλευθερία. ἄφοβοι γὰρ ἐγίγνοντο ὡς εἰδότες, ἡ δὲ ἄδεια ἀναισχυντίαν ἐνέτεκεν: τὸ γὰρ τὴν τοῦ βελτίονος [701β] δόξαν μὴ φοβεῖσθαι διὰ θράσος, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτό ἐστιν σχεδὸν ἡ πονηρὰ ἀναισχυντία, διὰ δή τινος ἐλευθερίας λίαν ἀποτετολμημένης.

Μέγιλλος

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐφεξῆς δὴ ταύτῃ τῇ ἐλευθερίᾳ ἡ τοῦ μὴ ἐθέλειν τοῖς ἄρχουσι δουλεύειν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, καὶ ἑπομένη ταύτῃ φεύγειν πατρὸς καὶ μητρὸς καὶ πρεσβυτέρων δουλείαν καὶ νουθέτησιν, καὶ ἐγγὺς τοῦ τέλους οὖσιν νόμων ζητεῖν μὴ ὑπηκόοις εἶναι, [701ξ] πρὸς αὐτῷ δὲ ἤδη τῷ τέλει ὅρκων καὶ πίστεων καὶ τὸ παράπαν θεῶν μὴ φροντίζειν, τὴν λεγομένην παλαιὰν Τιτανικὴν φύσιν ἐπιδεικνῦσι καὶ μιμουμένοις, ἐπὶ τὰ αὐτὰ πάλιν ἐκεῖνα ἀφικομένους, χαλεπὸν αἰῶνα διάγοντας μὴ λῆξαί ποτε κακῶν. τίνος δὴ καὶ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν αὖ χάριν ἐλέχθη; δεῖν φαίνεται ἔμοιγε οἷόνπερ ἵππον τὸν λόγον ἑκάστοτε ἀναλαμβάνειν, καὶ μὴ καθάπερ ἀχάλινον κεκτημένον τὸ στόμα, βίᾳ ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου [701δ] φερόμενον, κατὰ τὴν παροιμίαν ἀπό τινος ὄνου πεσεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπανερωτᾶν τὸ νυνδὴ λεχθέν, τὸ τίνος δὴ χάριν ἕνεκα ταῦτα ἐλέχθη;

Μέγιλλος

καλῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτα τοίνυν εἴρηται ἐκείνων ἕνεκα.

Μέγιλλος

τίνων;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐλέξαμεν ὡς τὸν νομοθέτην δεῖ τριῶν στοχαζόμενον νομοθετεῖν, ὅπως ἡ νομοθετουμένη πόλις ἐλευθέρα τε ἔσται καὶ φίλη ἑαυτῇ καὶ νοῦν ἕξει. ταῦτ᾽ ἦν: ἦ γάρ;

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [701ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτων ἕνεκα δὴ πολιτείας τήν τε δεσποτικωτάτην προελόμενοι καὶ τὴν ἐλευθερικωτάτην, ἐπισκοποῦμεν νυνὶ ποτέρα τούτων ὀρθῶς πολιτεύεται: λαβόντες δὲ αὐτῶν ἑκατέρας μετριότητά τινα, τῶν μὲν τοῦ δεσπόζειν, τῶν δὲ τοῦ ἐλευθεριάσαι, κατείδομεν ὅτι τότε διαφερόντως ἐν αὐταῖς ἐγένετο εὐπραγία, ἐπὶ δὲ τὸ ἄκρον ἀγαγόντων ἑκατέρων, τῶν μὲν δουλείας, τῶν δὲ τοὐναντίου, οὐ συνήνεγκεν οὔτε τοῖς οὔτε τοῖς. [702α]

Μέγιλλος

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν αὐτῶν γ᾽ ἕνεκα καὶ τὸ Δωρικὸν ἐθεασάμεθα κατοικιζόμενον στρατόπεδον καὶ τὰς τοῦ Δαρδάνου ὑπωρείας τε καὶ τὴν ἐπὶ θαλάττῃ κατοίκισιν, καὶ τοὺς πρώτους δὴ τοὺς περιλιπεῖς γενομένους τῆς φθορᾶς, ἔτι δὲ τοὺς ἔμπροσθεν τούτων γενομένους ἡμῖν λόγους περί τε μουσικῆς καὶ μέθης καὶ τὰ τούτων ἔτι πρότερα. ταῦτα γὰρ πάντα εἴρηται τοῦ κατιδεῖν ἕνεκα πῶς ποτ᾽ ἂν πόλις ἄριστα οἰκοίη, καὶ ἰδίᾳ [702β] πῶς ἄν τις βέλτιστα τὸν αὑτοῦ βίον διαγάγοι: εἰ δὲ δή τι πεποιήκαμεν προὔργου, τίς ποτ᾽ ἂν ἔλεγχος γίγνοιτο ἡμῖν πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς λεχθείς, ὦ Μέγιλλέ τε καὶ Κλεινία;

Κλεινίας

ἐγώ τινα, ὦ ξένε, μοι δοκῶ κατανοεῖν. ἔοικεν κατὰ τύχην τινὰ ἡμῖν τὰ τῶν λόγων τούτων πάντων ὧν διεξήλθομεν γεγονέναι: σχεδὸν γὰρ εἰς χρείαν αὐτῶν ἔγωγ᾽ ἐλήλυθα τὰ νῦν, καὶ κατά τινα αὖ καιρὸν σύ τε παραγέγονας ἅμα καὶ [702ξ] Μέγιλλος ὅδε. οὐ γὰρ ἀποκρύψομαι σφὼ τὸ νῦν ἐμοὶ συμβαῖνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς οἰωνόν τινα ποιοῦμαι. ἡ γὰρ πλείστη τῆς Κρήτης ἐπιχειρεῖ τινα ἀποικίαν ποιήσασθαι, καὶ προστάττει τοῖς Κνωσίοις ἐπιμεληθῆναι τοῦ πράγματος, ἡ δὲ τῶν Κνωσίων πόλις ἐμοί τε καὶ ἄλλοις ἐννέα: ἅμα δὲ καὶ νόμους τῶν τε αὐτόθι, εἴ τινες ἡμᾶς ἀρέσκουσιν, τίθεσθαι κελεύει, καὶ εἴ τινες ἑτέρωθεν, μηδὲν ὑπολογιζομένους τὸ ξενικὸν αὐτῶν, ἂν βελτίους φαίνωνται. νῦν οὖν ἐμοί τε καὶ [702δ] ὑμῖν ταύτην δῶμεν χάριν: ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων ἐκλέξαντες, τῷ λόγῳ συστησώμεθα πόλιν, οἷον ἐξ ἀρχῆς κατοικίζοντες, καὶ ἅμα μὲν ἡμῖν οὗ ζητοῦμεν ἐπίσκεψις γενήσεται, ἅμα δὲ ἐγὼ τάχ᾽ ἂν χρησαίμην εἰς τὴν μέλλουσαν πόλιν ταύτῃ τῇ συστάσει.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ πόλεμόν γε ἐπαγγέλλεις, ὦ Κλεινία: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μή τι Μεγίλλῳ πρόσαντες, τὰ παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ γε ἡγοῦ σοι πάντα κατὰ νοῦν ὑπάρχειν εἰς δύναμιν.

Κλεινίας

εὖ λέγεις.

Μέγιλλος

καὶ μὴν καὶ τὰ παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ. [702ε]

Κλεινίας

κάλλιστ᾽ εἰρήκατον. ἀτὰρ πειρώμεθα λόγῳ πρῶτον κατοικίζειν τὴν πόλιν.

Τόμος 4

[704α] Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δή, τίνα δεῖ διανοηθῆναί ποτε τὴν πόλιν ἔσεσθαι; λέγω δὲ οὔτι τοὔνομα αὐτῆς ἐρωτῶν ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἔστι τὰ νῦν, οὐδὲ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον ὅτι δεήσει καλεῖν αὐτήν- τοῦτο μὲν γὰρ τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως καὶ ὁ κατοικισμὸς αὐτῆς ἤ τις τόπος, ἢ ποταμοῦ τινος ἢ κρήνης ἢ θεῶν ἐπωνυμία τῶν ἐν τῷ [704β] τόπῳ, προσθείη τὴν αὑτῶν φήμην καινῇ γενομένῃ τῇ πόλει- τόδε δὲ περὶ αὐτῆς ἐστιν ὃ βουλόμενος μᾶλλον ἐπερωτῶ, πότερον ἐπιθαλαττίδιος ἔσται τις ἢ χερσαία.

Κλεινίας

σχεδόν, ὦ ξένε, ἀπέχει θαλάττης γε ἡ πόλις, ἧς πέρι τὰ νυνδὴ λεχθέντα ἡμῖν, εἴς τινας ὀγδοήκοντα σταδίους.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; λιμένες ἆρ᾽ εἰσὶν κατὰ ταῦτα αὐτῆς, ἢ τὸ παράπαν ἀλίμενος;

Κλεινίας

εὐλίμενος μὲν οὖν ταύτῃ γε ὡς δυνατόν ἐστιν μάλιστα, ὦ ξένε. [704ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

παπαί, οἷον λέγεις. τί δὲ περὶ αὐτὴν ἡ χώρα; πότερα πάμφορος ἢ καί τινων ἐπιδεής;

Κλεινίας

σχεδὸν οὐδενὸς ἐπιδεής.

Ἀθηναῖος

γείτων δὲ αὐτῆς πόλις ἆρ᾽ ἔσται τις πλησίον;

Κλεινίας

οὐ πάνυ, διὸ καὶ κατοικίζεται: παλαιὰ γάρ τις ἐξοίκησις ἐν τῷ τόπῳ γενομένη τὴν χώραν ταύτην ἔρημον ἀπείργασται χρόνον ἀμήχανον ὅσον.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δὲ πεδίων τε καὶ ὀρῶν καὶ ὕλης; πῶς μέρος ἑκάστων ἡμῖν εἴληχεν;

Κλεινίας

προσέοικε τῇ τῆς ἄλλης Κρήτης φύσει ὅλῃ. [704δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τραχυτέραν αὐτὴν ἢ πεδιεινοτέραν ἂν λέγοις.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ τοίνυν ἀνίατός γε ἂν εἴη πρὸς ἀρετῆς κτῆσιν. εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἐπιθαλαττία τε ἔμελλεν εἶναι καὶ εὐλίμενος καὶ μὴ πάμφορος ἀλλ᾽ ἐπιδεὴς πολλῶν, μεγάλου τινὸς ἔδει σωτῆρός τε αὐτῇ καὶ νομοθετῶν θείων τινῶν, εἰ μὴ πολλά τε ἔμελλεν ἤθη καὶ ποικίλα καὶ φαῦλα ἕξειν τοιαύτη φύσει γενομένη: νῦν δὲ παραμύθιον ἔχει τὸ τῶν ὀγδοήκοντα σταδίων. ἐγγύτερον μέντοι τοῦ δέοντος κεῖται τῆς θαλάττης, [705α] σχεδὸν ὅσον εὐλιμενωτέραν αὐτὴν φῂς εἶναι, ὅμως δὲ ἀγαπητὸν καὶ τοῦτο. πρόσοικος γὰρ θάλαττα χώρᾳ τὸ μὲν παρ᾽ ἑκάστην ἡμέραν ἡδύ, μάλα γε μὴν ὄντως ἁλμυρὸν καὶ πικρὸν γειτόνημα: ἐμπορίας γὰρ καὶ χρηματισμοῦ διὰ καπηλείας ἐμπιμπλᾶσα αὐτήν, ἤθη παλίμβολα καὶ ἄπιστα ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἐντίκτουσα, αὐτήν τε πρὸς αὑτὴν τὴν πόλιν ἄπιστον καὶ ἄφιλον ποιεῖ καὶ πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους ὡσαύτως. παραμύθιον δὲ δὴ πρὸς ταῦτα καὶ τὸ πάμφορος εἶναι κέκτηται, [705β] τραχεῖα δὲ οὖσα δῆλον ὡς οὐκ ἂν πολύφορός τε εἴη καὶ πάμφορος ἅμα: τοῦτο γὰρ ἔχουσα, πολλὴν ἐξαγωγὴν ἂν παρεχομένη, νομίσματος ἀργυροῦ καὶ χρυσοῦ πάλιν ἀντεμπίμπλαιτ᾽ ἄν, οὗ μεῖζον κακὸν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν πόλει ἀνθ᾽ ἑνὸς ἓν οὐδὲν ἂν γίγνοιτο εἰς γενναίων καὶ δικαίων ἠθῶν κτῆσιν, ὡς ἔφαμεν, εἰ μεμνήμεθα, ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν λόγοις.

Κλεινίας

ἀλλὰ μεμνήμεθα, καὶ συγχωροῦμεν τότε λέγειν ἡμᾶς ὀρθῶς καὶ τὰ νῦν. [705ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δὲ δή; ναυπηγησίμης ὕλης ὁ τόπος ἡμῖν τῆς χώρας πῶς ἔχει;

Κλεινίας

οὐκ ἔστιν οὔτε τις ἐλάτη λόγου ἀξία οὔτ᾽ αὖ πεύκη, κυπάριττός τε οὐ πολλή: πίτυν τ᾽ αὖ καὶ πλάτανον ὀλίγην ἂν εὕροι τις, οἷς δὴ πρὸς τὰ τῶν ἐντὸς τῶν πλοίων μέρη ἀναγκαῖον τοῖς ναυπηγοῖς χρῆσθαι ἑκάστοτε.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ ταῦτα οὐκ ἂν κακῶς ἔχοι τῇ χώρᾳ τῆς φύσεως.

Κλεινίας

τί δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

μιμήσεις πονηρὰς μιμεῖσθαι τοὺς πολεμίους μὴ [705δ] ῥᾳδίως δύνασθαί τινα πόλιν ἀγαθόν.

Κλεινίας

εἰς δὴ τί τῶν εἰρημένων βλέψας εἶπες ὃ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ δαιμόνιε, φύλαττέ με εἰς τὸ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς εἰρημένον ἀποβλέπων, τὸ περὶ τῶν Κρητικῶν νόμων ὡς πρὸς ἕν τι βλέποιεν, καὶ δὴ καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἐλεγέτην αὐτὸ εἶναι σφὼ τὸ πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον, ἐγὼ δὲ ὑπολαβὼν εἶπον ὡς ὅτι μὲν εἰς ἀρετήν ποι βλέποι τὰ τοιαῦτα νόμιμα κείμενα, καλῶς ἔχοι, τὸ δὲ ὅτι πρὸς μέρος ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πρὸς πᾶσαν σχεδόν, οὐ [705ε] πάνυ συνεχώρουν: νῦν οὖν ὑμεῖς μοι τῆς παρούσης νομοθεσίας ἀντιφυλάξατε ἑπόμενοι, ἐὰν ἄρα τι μὴ πρὸς ἀρετὴν τεῖνον ἢ πρὸς ἀρετῆς μόριον νομοθετῶ. τοῦτον γὰρ δὴ τίθεσθαι τὸν νόμον ὀρθῶς ὑποτίθεμαι μόνον, ὃς ἂν δίκην [706α] τοξότου ἑκάστοτε στοχάζηται τούτου ὅτῳ ἂν συνεχῶς τούτων ἀεὶ καλόν τι συνέπηται μόνῳ, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα σύμπαντα παραλείπῃ, ἐάντε τις πλοῦτος ἐάντε ἄρα τι τῶν ἄλλων τῶν τοιούτων ὂν τυγχάνῃ ἄνευ τῶν προειρημένων. τὴν δὲ δὴ μίμησιν ἔλεγον τὴν τῶν πολεμίων τὴν κακὴν τοιάνδε γίγνεσθαι, ὅταν οἰκῇ μέν τις πρὸς θαλάττῃ, λυπῆται δ᾽ ὑπὸ πολεμίων, οἷον-φράσω γὰρ οὔτι μνησικακεῖν βουλόμενος ὑμῖν-Μίνως γὰρ δή ποτε τοὺς οἰκοῦντας τὴν Ἀττικὴν [706β] παρεστήσατο εἰς χαλεπήν τινα φορὰν δασμοῦ, δύναμιν πολλὴν κατὰ θάλατταν κεκτημένος, οἱ δ᾽ οὔτε πω πλοῖα ἐκέκτηντο, καθάπερ νῦν, πολεμικά, οὔτ᾽ αὖ τὴν χώραν πλήρη ναυπηγησίμων ξύλων ὥστ᾽ εὐμαρῶς ναυτικὴν παρασχέσθαι δύναμιν: οὔκουν οἷοί τ᾽ ἐγένοντο διὰ μιμήσεως ναυτικῆς αὐτοὶ ναῦται γενόμενοι εὐθὺς τότε τοὺς πολεμίους ἀμύνασθαι. ἔτι γὰρ ἂν πλεονάκις ἑπτὰ ἀπολέσαι παῖδας αὐτοῖς [706ξ] συνήνεγκεν, πρὶν ἀντὶ πεζῶν ὁπλιτῶν μονίμων ναυτικοὺς γενομένους ἐθισθῆναι, πυκνὰ ἀποπηδῶντας, δρομικῶς εἰς τὰς ναῦς ταχὺ πάλιν ἀποχωρεῖν, καὶ δοκεῖν μηδὲν αἰσχρὸν ποιεῖν μὴ τολμῶντας ἀποθνῄσκειν μένοντας ἐπιφερομένων πολεμίων, ἀλλ᾽ εἰκυίας αὐτοῖς γίγνεσθαι προφάσεις καὶ σφόδρα ἑτοίμας ὅπλα τε ἀπολλῦσιν καὶ φεύγουσι δή τινας οὐκ αἰσχράς, ὥς φασιν, φυγάς. ταῦτα γὰρ ἐκ ναυτικῆς ὁπλιτείας ῥήματα φιλεῖ συμβαίνειν, οὐκ ἄξια ἐπαίνων πολλάκις [706δ] μυρίων, ἀλλὰ τοὐναντίον: ἔθη γὰρ πονηρὰ οὐδέποτε ἐθίζειν δεῖ, καὶ ταῦτα τὸ τῶν πολιτῶν βέλτιστον μέρος. ἦν δέ που τοῦτό γε καὶ παρ᾽ Ὁμήρου λαβεῖν, ὅτι τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα ἦν τὸ τοιοῦτον οὐ καλόν. Ὀδυσσεὺς γὰρ αὐτῷ λοιδορεῖ τὸν Ἀγαμέμνονα, τῶν Ἀχαιῶν τότε ὑπὸ τῶν Τρώων κατεχομένων τῇ μάχῃ, κελεύοντα τὰς ναῦς εἰς τὴν θάλατταν καθέλκειν, ὁ δὲ χαλεπαίνει τε αὐτῷ καὶ λέγει- [706ε] “ὃς κέλεαι πολέμοιο συνεσταότος καὶ ἀυτῆς

νῆας ἐυσέλμους ἅλαδ᾽ ἕλκειν, ὄφρ᾽ ἔτι μᾶλλον

Τρωσὶ μὲν εὐκτὰ γένηται ἐελδομένοισί περ ἔμπης,

ἡμῖν δ᾽ αἰπὺς ὄλεθρος ἐπιρρέπῃ: οὐ γὰρ Ἀχαιοί

σχήσουσιν πολέμου νηῶν ἅλαδ᾽ ἑλκομενάων,

ἀλλ᾽ ἀποπαπτανέουσιν, ἐρωήσουσι δὲ χάρμης:

“ [707α]

“ἔνθα κε σὴ βουλὴ δηλήσεται, οἷ᾽ ἀγορεύεις.

“

Hom. Il. 14.96

ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ἐγίγνωσκε καὶ ἐκεῖνος, ὅτι κακὸν ἐν θαλάττῃ τριήρεις ὁπλίταις παρεστῶσαι μαχομένοις: καὶ λέοντες ἂν ἐλάφους ἐθισθεῖεν φεύγειν τοιούτοις ἔθεσι χρώμενοι. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις αἱ διὰ τὰ ναυτικὰ πόλεων δυνάμεις ἅμα σωτηρίᾳ τιμὰς οὐ τῷ καλλίστῳ τῶν πολεμικῶν ἀποδιδόασιν: διὰ κυβερνητικῆς γὰρ καὶ πεντηκονταρχίας καὶ ἐρετικῆς, καὶ [707β] παντοδαπῶν καὶ οὐ πάνυ σπουδαίων ἀνθρώπων γιγνομένης, τὰς τιμὰς ἑκάστοις οὐκ ἂν δύναιτο ὀρθῶς ἀποδιδόναι τις. καίτοι πῶς ἂν ἔτι πολιτεία γίγνοιτο ὀρθὴ τούτου στερομένη;

Κλεινίας

σχεδὸν ἀδύνατον. ἀλλὰ μήν, ὦ ξένε, τήν γε περὶ Σαλαμῖνα ναυμαχίαν τῶν Ἑλλήνων πρὸς τοὺς βαρβάρους γενομένην ἡμεῖς γε οἱ Κρῆτες τὴν Ἑλλάδα φαμὲν σῶσαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ γὰρ οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν Ἑλλήνων τε καὶ βαρβάρων [707ξ] λέγουσι ταῦτα. ἡμεῖς δέ, ὦ φίλε, ἐγώ τε καὶ ὅδε, Μέγιλλος, φαμὲν τὴν πεζὴν μάχην τὴν ἐν Μαραθῶνι γενομένην καὶ ἐν Πλαταιαῖς, τὴν μὲν ἄρξαι τῆς σωτηρίας τοῖς Ἕλλησι, τὴν δὲ τέλος ἐπιθεῖναι, καὶ τὰς μὲν βελτίους τοὺς Ἕλληνας ποιῆσαι, τὰς δὲ οὐ βελτίους, ἵν᾽ οὕτως λέγωμεν περὶ τῶν τότε συσσωσασῶν ἡμᾶς μαχῶν: πρὸς γὰρ τῇ περὶ Σαλαμῖνα τὴν περὶ τὸ Ἀρτεμίσιόν σοι προσθήσω κατὰ θάλατταν μάχην. [707δ] ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἀποβλέποντες νῦν πρὸς πολιτείας ἀρετήν, καὶ χώρας φύσιν σκοπούμεθα καὶ νόμων τάξιν, οὐ τὸ σῴζεσθαί τε καὶ εἶναι μόνον ἀνθρώποις τιμιώτατον ἡγούμενοι, καθάπερ οἱ πολλοί, τὸ δ᾽ ὡς βελτίστους γίγνεσθαί τε καὶ εἶναι τοσοῦτον χρόνον ὅσον ἂν ὦσιν: εἴρηται δ᾽ ἡμῖν οἶμαι καὶ τοῦτο ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτο τοίνυν σκοπώμεθα μόνον, εἰ κατὰ τὴν αὐτὴν ὁδὸν ἐρχόμεθα βελτίστην οὖσαν πόλεσι κατοικίσεων πέρι καὶ νομοθεσιῶν.

Κλεινίας

καὶ πολύ γε. [707ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγε δὴ τοίνυν τὸ τούτοις ἑξῆς: τίς ὁ κατοικιζόμενος ὑμῖν λεὼς ἔσται; πότερον ἐξ ἁπάσης Κρήτης ὁ ἐθέλων, ὡς ὄχλου τινὸς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἑκάσταις γεγενημένου πλείονος ἢ κατὰ τὴν ἐκ τῆς γῆς τροφήν; οὐ γάρ που τὸν βουλόμενόν γε Ἑλλήνων συνάγετε. καίτοι τινὰς ὑμῖν ἔκ τε Ἄργους ὁρῶ καὶ Αἰγίνης καὶ ἄλλοθεν τῶν Ἑλλήνων εἰς [708α] τὴν χώραν κατῳκισμένους. τὸ δὲ δὴ παρὸν ἡμῖν λέγε πόθεν ἔσεσθαι φῂς στρατόπεδον τῶν πολιτῶν τὰ νῦν;

Κλεινίας

ἔκ τε Κρήτης συμπάσης ἔοικεν γενήσεσθαι, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων δὲ Ἑλλήνων μάλιστά μοι φαίνονται τοὺς ἀπὸ Πελοποννήσου προσδέξασθαι συνοίκους. καὶ γὰρ ὃ νῦν δὴ λέγεις, ἀληθὲς φράζεις, ὡς ἐξ Ἄργους εἰσίν, καὶ τό γε μάλιστ᾽ εὐδοκιμοῦν τὰ νῦν ἐνθάδε γένος, τὸ Γορτυνικόν: ἐκ Γόρτυνος γὰρ τυγχάνει ἀπῳκηκὸς ταύτης τῆς Πελοποννησιακῆς. [708β]

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ τοίνυν εὔκολος ὁμοίως γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὁ κατοικισμὸς ταῖς πόλεσιν, ὅταν μὴ τὸν τῶν ἐσμῶν γίγνηται τρόπον, ἓν γένος ἀπὸ μιᾶς ἰὸν χώρας οἰκίζηται, φίλον παρὰ φίλων, στενοχωρίᾳ τινὶ πολιορκηθὲν γῆς ἤ τισιν ἄλλοις τοιούτοις παθήμασιν ἀναγκασθέν. ἔστιν δ᾽ ὅτε καὶ στάσεσιν βιαζόμενον ἀναγκάζοιτ᾽ ἂν ἑτέρωσε ἀποξενοῦσθαι πόλεώς τι μόριον: ἤδη δέ ποτε καὶ συνάπασα πόλις τινῶν ἔφυγεν, ἄρδην κρείττονι κρατηθεῖσα πολέμῳ. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ [708ξ] τῇ μὲν ῥᾴω κατοικίζεσθαί τε καὶ νομοθετεῖσθαι, τῇ δὲ χαλεπώτερα. τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἕν τι εἶναι γένος ὁμόφωνον καὶ ὁμόνομον ἔχει τινὰ φιλίαν, κοινωνὸν ἱερῶν ὂν καὶ τῶν τοιούτων πάντων, νόμους δ᾽ ἑτέρους καὶ πολιτείας ἄλλας τῶν οἴκοθεν οὐκ εὐπετῶς ἀνέχεται, τὸ δ᾽ ἐνίοτε πονηρίᾳ νόμων ἐστασιακὸς καὶ διὰ συνήθειαν ζητοῦν ἔτι χρῆσθαι τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἤθεσιν δι᾽ ἃ καὶ πρότερον ἐφθάρη, χαλεπὸν τῷ κατοικίζοντι [708δ] καὶ νομοθετοῦντι καὶ δυσπειθὲς γίγνεται: τὸ δ᾽ αὖ παντοδαπὸν ἐς ταὐτὸν συνερρυηκὸς γένος ὑπακοῦσαι μέν τινων νόμων καινῶν τάχα ἂν ἐθελήσειε μᾶλλον, τὸ δὲ συμπνεῦσαι, καὶ καθάπερ ἵππων ζεῦγος καθ᾽ ἕνα εἰς ταὐτόν, τὸ λεγόμενον, συμφυσῆσαι, χρόνου πολλοῦ καὶ παγχάλεπον. ἀλλ᾽ ὄντως ἐστὶν νομοθεσία καὶ πόλεων οἰκισμοὶ πάντων τελεώτατον πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἀνδρῶν.

Κλεινίας

εἰκός: ὅπῃ δ᾽ αὖ βλέπων τοῦτ᾽ εἴρηκας, φράζ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον. [708ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὠγαθέ, ἔοικα περὶ νομοθετῶν ἐπανιὼν καὶ σκοπῶν ἅμα ἐρεῖν τι καὶ φαῦλον: ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν πρὸς καιρόν τινα λέγωμεν, πρᾶγμ᾽ οὐδὲν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἔτι. καίτοι τί ποτε δυσχεραίνω; σχεδὸν γάρ τοι πάντα οὕτως ἔοικ᾽ ἔχειν τὰ ἀνθρώπινα.

Κλεινίας

τοῦ δὴ πέρι λέγεις; [709α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔμελλον λέγειν ὡς οὐδείς ποτε ἀνθρώπων οὐδὲν νομοθετεῖ, τύχαι δὲ καὶ συμφοραὶ παντοῖαι πίπτουσαι παντοίως νομοθετοῦσι τὰ πάντα ἡμῖν. ἢ γὰρ πόλεμός τις βιασάμενος ἀνέτρεψε πολιτείας καὶ μετέβαλε νόμους, ἢ πενίας χαλεπῆς ἀπορία: πολλὰ δὲ καὶ νόσοι ἀναγκάζουσι καινοτομεῖν, λοιμῶν τε ἐμπιπτόντων, καὶ χρόνον ἐπὶ πολὺν ἐνιαυτῶν πολλῶν πολλάκις ἀκαιρίαι. ταῦτα δὴ πάντα προϊδών τις ᾁξειεν ἂν εἰπεῖν ὅπερ ἐγὼ νυνδή, τὸ θνητὸν [709β] μὲν μηδένα νομοθετεῖν μηδέν, τύχας δ᾽ εἶναι σχεδὸν ἅπαντα τὰ ἀνθρώπινα πράγματα: τὸ δ᾽ ἔστιν περί τε ναυτιλίαν καὶ κυβερνητικὴν καὶ ἰατρικὴν καὶ στρατηγικὴν πάντα ταῦτ᾽ εἰπόντα δοκεῖν εὖ λέγειν, ἀλλὰ γὰρ ὁμοίως αὖ καὶ τόδε ἔστιν λέγοντα εὖ λέγειν ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς τούτοις.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς θεὸς μὲν πάντα, καὶ μετὰ θεοῦ τύχη καὶ καιρός, τἀνθρώπινα διακυβερνῶσι σύμπαντα. ἡμερώτερον μὴν τρίτον [709ξ] συγχωρῆσαι τούτοις δεῖν ἕπεσθαι τέχνην: καιρῷ γὰρ χειμῶνος συλλαβέσθαι κυβερνητικὴν ἢ μή, μέγα πλεονέκτημα ἔγωγ᾽ ἂν θείην. ἢ πῶς;

Κλεινίας

οὕτως.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὡσαύτως κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν ἂν ἔχοι λόγον, καὶ δὴ καὶ νομοθεσίᾳ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο δοτέον: τῶν ἄλλων συμπιπτόντων, ὅσα δεῖ χώρᾳ συντυχεῖν, εἰ μέλλοι ποτὲ εὐδαιμόνως οἰκήσειν, τὸν νομοθέτην ἀληθείας ἐχόμενον τῇ τοιαύτῃ παραπεσεῖν ἑκάστοτε πόλει δεῖν.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις. [709δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ὅ γε πρὸς ἕκαστόν τι τῶν εἰρημένων ἔχων τὴν τέχνην κἂν εὔξασθαί που δύναιτο ὀρθῶς, τί παρὸν αὐτῷ διὰ τύχης, τῆς τέχνης ἂν μόνον ἐπιδέοι;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οἵ τε ἄλλοι γε δὴ πάντες οἱ νυνδὴ ῥηθέντες, κελευόμενοι τὴν αὑτῶν εὐχὴν εἰπεῖν, εἴποιεν ἄν. ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ νομοθέτης οἶμαι δράσειεν.

Κλεινίας

ἔγωγ᾽ οἶμαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

“φέρε δή, νομοθέτα,” πρὸς αὐτὸν φῶμεν, “τί σοι [709ε] καὶ πῶς πόλιν ἔχουσαν δῶμεν, ὃ λαβὼν ἕξεις ὥστ᾽ ἐκ τῶν λοιπῶν αὐτὸς τὴν πόλιν ἱκανῶς διοικῆσαι;”

Κλεινίας

τί μετὰ τοῦτ᾽ εἰπεῖν ὀρθῶς ἔστιν ἄρα;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦ νομοθέτου φράζομεν τοῦτο, ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τόδε: “τυραννουμένην μοι δότε τὴν πόλιν,” φήσει: “τύραννος δ᾽ ἔστω νέος καὶ μνήμων καὶ εὐμαθὴς καὶ ἀνδρεῖος καὶ μεγαλοπρεπὴς φύσει: ὃ δὲ καὶ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν δεῖν ἕπεσθαι σύμπασιν τοῖς τῆς ἀρετῆς μέρεσι, καὶ νῦν τῇ [710α] τυραννουμένῃ ψυχῇ τοῦτο συνεπέσθω, ἐὰν μέλλῃ τῶν ἄλλων ὑπαρχόντων ὄφελος εἶναί τι.”

Κλεινίας

σωφροσύνην μοι δοκεῖ φράζειν, ὦ Μέγιλλε, δεῖν εἶναι τὴν συνεπομένην ὁ ξένος. ἦ γάρ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὴν δημώδη γε, ὦ Κλεινία, καὶ οὐχ ἥν τις σεμνύνων ἂν λέγοι, φρόνησιν προσαναγκάζων εἶναι τὸ σωφρονεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ εὐθὺς παισὶν καὶ θηρίοις, τοῖς μὲν ἀκρατῶς ἔχειν πρὸς τὰς ἡδονάς, σύμφυτον ἐπανθεῖ, τοῖς δὲ ἐγκρατῶς: ὃ [710β] καὶ μονούμενον ἔφαμεν τῶν πολλῶν ἀγαθῶν λεγομένων οὐκ ἄξιον εἶναι λόγου. ἔχετε γὰρ ὃ λέγω που.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταύτην τοίνυν ἡμῖν ὁ τύραννος τὴν φύσιν ἐχέτω πρὸς ἐκείναις ταῖς φύσεσιν, εἰ μέλλει πόλις ὡς δυνατόν ἐστι τάχιστα καὶ ἄριστα σχήσειν πολιτείαν ἣν λαβοῦσα εὐδαιμονέστατα διάξει. θάττων γὰρ ταύτης καὶ ἀμείνων πολιτείας διάθεσις οὔτ᾽ ἔστιν οὔτ᾽ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο. [710ξ]

Κλεινίας

πῶς δὴ καὶ τίνι λόγῳ τοῦτο, ὦ ξένε, λέγων ἄν τις ὀρθῶς λέγειν αὑτὸν πείθοι;

Ἀθηναῖος

ῥᾴδιόν που τοῦτό γε νοεῖν ἐστ᾽, ὦ Κλεινία, κατὰ φύσιν ὡς ἔστι τοῦθ᾽ οὕτω.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις; εἰ τύραννος γένοιτο, φῄς, νέος, σώφρων, εὐμαθής, μνήμων, ἀνδρεῖος, μεγαλοπρεπής;

Ἀθηναῖος

εὐτυχής, πρόσθες, μὴ κατ᾽ ἄλλο, ἀλλὰ τὸ γενέσθαι τε ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῦ νομοθέτην ἄξιον ἐπαίνου, καί τινα τύχην εἰς [710δ] ταὐτὸν ἀγαγεῖν αὐτῷ: γενομένου γὰρ τούτου, πάντα σχεδὸν ἀπείργασται τῷ θεῷ, ἅπερ ὅταν βουληθῇ διαφερόντως εὖ πρᾶξαί τινα πόλιν. δεύτερον δέ, ἐάν ποτέ τινες δύο ἄρχοντες γίγνωνται τοιοῦτοι, τρίτον δ᾽ αὖ καὶ κατὰ λόγον ὡσαύτως χαλεπώτερον ὅσῳ πλείους, ὅσῳ δ᾽ ἐναντίον, ἐναντίως.

Κλεινίας

ἐκ τυραννίδος ἀρίστην φῂς γενέσθαι πόλιν ἄν, ὡς φαίνῃ, μετὰ νομοθέτου γε ἄκρου καὶ τυράννου κοσμίου, καὶ ῥᾷστά τε καὶ τάχιστ᾽ ἂν μεταβαλεῖν εἰς τοῦτο ἐκ τοῦ τοιούτου, [710ε] δεύτερον δὲ ἐξ ὀλιγαρχίας-ἢ πῶς λέγεις;-καὶ τὸ τρίτον ἐκ δημοκρατίας.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδαμῶς, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκ τυραννίδος μὲν πρῶτον, δεύτερον δὲ ἐκ βασιλικῆς πολιτείας, τρίτον δὲ ἔκ τινος δημοκρατίας. τὸ δὲ τέταρτον, ὀλιγαρχία, τὴν τοῦ τοιούτου γένεσιν χαλεπώτατα δύναιτ᾽ ἂν προσδέξασθαι: πλεῖστοι γὰρ ἐν αὐτῇ δυνάσται γίγνονται. λέγομεν δὴ ταῦτα γίγνεσθαι τότε, ὅταν ἀληθὴς μὲν νομοθέτης γένηται φύσει, κοινὴ δὲ αὐτῷ τις συμβῇ ῥώμη πρὸς τοὺς ἐν τῇ πόλει μέγιστον δυναμένους: [711α] οὗ δ᾽ ἂν τοῦτο ἀριθμῷ μὲν βραχύτατον, ἰσχυρότατον δέ, καθάπερ ἐν τυραννίδι, γένηται, ταύτῃ καὶ τότε τάχος καὶ ῥᾳστώνη τῆς μεταβολῆς γίγνεσθαι φιλεῖ.

Κλεινίας

πῶς; οὐ γὰρ μανθάνομεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν εἴρηταί γ᾽ ἡμῖν οὐχ ἅπαξ ἀλλ᾽ οἶμαι πολλάκις: ὑμεῖς δὲ τάχα οὐδὲ τεθέασθε τυραννουμένην πόλιν.

Κλεινίας

οὐδέ γε ἐπιθυμητὴς ἔγωγ᾽ εἰμὶ τοῦ θεάματος. [711β]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν τοῦτό γ᾽ ἂν ἴδοις ἐν αὐτῇ τὸ νυνδὴ λεγόμενον.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδὲν δεῖ πόνων οὐδέ τινος παμπόλλου χρόνου τῷ τυράννῳ μεταβαλεῖν βουληθέντι πόλεως ἤθη, πορεύεσθαι δὲ αὐτὸν δεῖ πρῶτον ταύτῃ, ὅπῃπερ ἂν ἐθελήσῃ, ἐάντε πρὸς ἀρετῆς ἐπιτηδεύματα, προτρέπεσθαι τοὺς πολίτας, ἐάντε ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον, αὐτὸν πρῶτον πάντα ὑπογράφοντα τῷ πράττειν, [711ξ] τὰ μὲν ἐπαινοῦντα καὶ τιμῶντα, τὰ δ᾽ αὖ πρὸς ψόγον ἄγοντα, καὶ τὸν μὴ πειθόμενον ἀτιμάζοντα καθ᾽ ἑκάστας τῶν πράξεων.

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς οἰόμεθα ταχὺ συνακολουθήσειν τοὺς ἄλλους πολίτας τῷ τὴν τοιαύτην πειθὼ καὶ ἅμα βίαν εἰληφότι;

Ἀθηναῖος

μηδεὶς ἡμᾶς πειθέτω, ὦ φίλοι, ἄλλῃ θᾶττον καὶ ῥᾷον μεταβάλλειν ἄν ποτε πόλιν τοὺς νόμους ἢ τῇ τῶν δυναστευόντων ἡγεμονίᾳ, μηδὲ νῦν γε ἄλλῃ γίγνεσθαι μηδ᾽ αὖθίς ποτε γενήσεσθαι. καὶ γὰρ οὖν ἡμῖν οὐ τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν [711δ] ἀδύνατον οὐδὲ χαλεπῶς ἂν γενόμενον: ἀλλὰ τόδ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ χαλεπὸν γενέσθαι, καὶ ὀλίγον δὴ τὸ γεγονὸς ἐν τῷ πολλῷ χρόνῳ, ὅταν δὲ συμβῇ, μυρία καὶ πάντ᾽ ἐν πόλει ἀγαθὰ ἀπεργάζεται, ἐν ᾗ ποτ᾽ ἂν ἐγγένηται.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅταν ἔρως θεῖος τῶν σωφρόνων τε καὶ δικαίων ἐπιτηδευμάτων ἐγγένηται μεγάλαις τισὶν δυναστείαις, ἢ κατὰ μοναρχίαν δυναστευούσαις ἢ κατὰ πλούτων ὑπεροχὰς διαφερούσαις [711ε] ἢ γενῶν, ἢ τὴν Νέστορος ἐάν ποτέ τις ἐπανενέγκῃ φύσιν, ὃν τῇ τοῦ λέγειν ῥώμῃ φασὶ πάντων διενεγκόντα ἀνθρώπων πλέον ἔτι τῷ σωφρονεῖν διαφέρειν. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν ἐπὶ μὲν Τροίας, ὥς φασι, γέγονεν, ἐφ᾽ ἡμῶν δὲ οὐδαμῶς, εἰ δ᾽ οὖν γέγονεν ἢ καὶ γενήσεται τοιοῦτος ἢ νῦν ἡμῶν ἔστιν τις, μακαρίως μὲν αὐτὸς ζῇ, μακάριοι δὲ οἱ συνήκοοι τῶν ἐκ τοῦ σωφρονοῦντος στόματος ἰόντων λόγων. ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ συμπάσης δυνάμεως ὁ αὐτὸς πέρι λόγος, ὡς ὅταν εἰς [712α] ταὐτὸν τῷ φρονεῖν τε καὶ σωφρονεῖν ἡ μεγίστη δύναμις ἐν ἀνθρώπῳ συμπέσῃ, τότε πολιτείας τῆς ἀρίστης καὶ νόμων τῶν τοιούτων φύεται γένεσις, ἄλλως δὲ οὐ μή ποτε γένηται. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν καθαπερεὶ μῦθός τις λεχθεὶς κεχρησμῳδήσθω, καὶ ἐπιδεδείχθω τῇ μὲν χαλεπὸν ὂν τὸ πόλιν εὔνομον γίγνεσθαι, τῇ δ᾽, εἴπερ γένοιτο ὃ λέγομεν, πάντων τάχιστόν τε καὶ ῥᾷστον μακρῷ.

Κλεινίας

πῶς; [712β]

Ἀθηναῖος

πειρώμεθα προσαρμόττοντες τῇ πόλει σοι, καθάπερ παῖδες πρεσβῦται, πλάττειν τῷ λόγῳ τοὺς νόμους.

Κλεινίας

ἴωμεν δὴ καὶ μὴ μέλλωμεν ἔτι.

Ἀθηναῖος

θεὸν δὴ πρὸς τὴν τῆς πόλεως κατασκευὴν ἐπικαλώμεθα: ὁ δὲ ἀκούσειέν τε, καὶ ἀκούσας ἵλεως εὐμενής τε ἡμῖν ἔλθοι συνδιακοσμήσων τήν τε πόλιν καὶ τοὺς νόμους.

Κλεινίας

ἔλθοι γὰρ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ τίνα δή ποτε πολιτείαν ἔχομεν ἐν νῷ τῇ [712ξ] πόλει προστάττειν;

Κλεινίας

οἷον δὴ τί λέγεις βουληθείς; φράζ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον. οἷον δημοκρατίαν τινὰ ἢ ὀλιγαρχίαν ἢ ἀριστοκρατίαν ἢ βασιλικήν; οὐ γὰρ δὴ τυραννίδα γέ που λέγοις ἄν, ὥς γ᾽ ἡμεῖς ἂν οἰηθεῖμεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δὴ τοίνυν, πότερος ὑμῶν ἀποκρίνασθαι πρότερος ἂν ἐθέλοι, τὴν οἴκοι πολιτείαν εἰπὼν τίς τούτων ἐστίν;

Μέγιλλος

μῶν οὖν τὸν πρεσβύτερον ἐμὲ δικαιότερον εἰπεῖν πρότερον; [712δ]

Κλεινίας

ἴσως.

Μέγιλλος

καὶ μὴν συννοῶν γε, ὦ ξένε, τὴν ἐν Λακεδαίμονι πολιτείαν οὐκ ἔχω σοι φράζειν οὕτως ἥντινα προσαγορεύειν αὐτὴν δεῖ. καὶ γὰρ τυραννίδι δοκεῖ μοι προσεοικέναι-τὸ γὰρ τῶν ἐφόρων θαυμαστὸν ὡς τυραννικὸν ἐν αὐτῇ γέγονε -καί τις ἐνίοτέ μοι φαίνεται πασῶν τῶν πόλεων δημοκρατουμένη μάλιστ᾽ ἐοικέναι. τὸ δ᾽ αὖ μὴ φάναι ἀριστοκρατίαν [712ε] αὐτὴν εἶναι παντάπασιν ἄτοπον: καὶ μὲν δὴ βασιλεία γε διὰ βίου τ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐν αὐτῇ καὶ ἀρχαιοτάτη πασῶν καὶ πρὸς πάντων ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν λεγομένη. ἐγὼ δὲ οὕτω νῦν ἐξαίφνης ἂν ἐρωτηθείς, ὄντως, ὅπερ εἶπον, οὐκ ἔχω διορισάμενος εἰπεῖν τίς τούτων ἐστὶν τῶν πολιτειῶν.

Κλεινίας

ταὐτόν σοι πάθος, ὦ Μέγιλλε, καταφαίνομαι πεπονθέναι: πάνυ γὰρ ἀπορῶ τὴν ἐν Κνωσῷ πολιτείαν τούτων τινὰ διισχυριζόμενος εἰπεῖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὄντως γάρ, ὦ ἄριστοι, πολιτειῶν μετέχετε: ἃς δὲ ὠνομάκαμεν νῦν, οὐκ εἰσὶν πολιτεῖαι, πόλεων δὲ οἰκήσεις [713α] δεσποζομένων τε καὶ δουλευουσῶν μέρεσιν ἑαυτῶν τισι, τὸ τοῦ δεσπότου δὲ ἑκάστη προσαγορεύεται κράτος. χρῆν δ᾽ εἴπερ του τοιούτου τὴν πόλιν ἔδει ἐπονομάζεσθαι, τὸ τοῦ ἀληθῶς τῶν τὸν νοῦν ἐχόντων δεσπόζοντος θεοῦ ὄνομα λέγεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

τίς δ᾽ ὁ θεός;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν μύθῳ σμικρά γ᾽ ἔτι προσχρηστέον, εἰ μέλλομεν ἐμμελῶς πως δηλῶσαι τὸ νῦν ἐρωτώμενον;

Κλεινίας

οὐκοῦν χρὴ ταύτῃ δρᾶν;

Ἀθηναῖος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. τῶν γὰρ δὴ πόλεων ὧν ἔμπροσθε [713β] τὰς συνοικήσεις διήλθομεν, ἔτι προτέρα τούτων πάμπολυ λέγεταί τις ἀρχή τε καὶ οἴκησις γεγονέναι ἐπὶ Κρόνου μάλ᾽ εὐδαίμων, ἧς μίμημα ἔχουσά ἐστιν ἥτις τῶν νῦν ἄριστα οἰκεῖται.

Κλεινίας

σφόδρ᾽ ἄν, ὡς ἔοικ᾽, εἴη περὶ αὐτῆς δέον ἀκούειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐμοὶ γοῦν φαίνεται: διὸ καὶ παρήγαγον αὐτὴν εἰς τὸ μέσον τοῖς λόγοις.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατά γε δρῶν: καὶ τόν γε ἑξῆς περαίνων ἂν [713ξ] μῦθον, εἴπερ προσήκων ἐστίν, μάλ᾽ ὀρθῶς ἂν ποιοίης.

Ἀθηναῖος

δραστέον ὡς λέγετε. φήμην τοίνυν παραδεδέγμεθα τῆς τῶν τότε μακαρίας ζωῆς ὡς ἄφθονά τε καὶ αὐτόματα πάντ᾽ εἶχεν. ἡ δὲ τούτων αἰτία λέγεται τοιάδε τις. γιγνώσκων ὁ Κρόνος ἄρα, καθάπερ ἡμεῖς διεληλύθαμεν, ὡς ἀνθρωπεία φύσις οὐδεμία ἱκανὴ τὰ ἀνθρώπινα διοικοῦσα αὐτοκράτωρ πάντα, μὴ οὐχ ὕβρεώς τε καὶ ἀδικίας μεστοῦσθαι, ταῦτ᾽ οὖν διανοούμενος ἐφίστη τότε βασιλέας τε καὶ [713δ] ἄρχοντας ταῖς πόλεσιν ἡμῶν, οὐκ ἀνθρώπους ἀλλὰ γένους θειοτέρου τε καὶ ἀμείνονος, δαίμονας, οἷον νῦν ἡμεῖς δρῶμεν τοῖς ποιμνίοις καὶ ὅσων ἥμεροί εἰσιν ἀγέλαι: οὐ βοῦς βοῶν οὐδὲ αἶγας αἰγῶν ἄρχοντας ποιοῦμεν αὐτοῖσί τινας, ἀλλ᾽ ἡμεῖς αὐτῶν δεσπόζομεν, ἄμεινον ἐκείνων γένος. ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ ὁ θεὸς ἄρα καὶ φιλάνθρωπος ὤν, τὸ γένος ἄμεινον ἡμῶν ἐφίστη τὸ τῶν δαιμόνων, ὃ διὰ πολλῆς μὲν αὐτοῖς ῥᾳστώνης, [713ε] πολλῆς δ᾽ ἡμῖν, ἐπιμελούμενον ἡμῶν, εἰρήνην τε καὶ αἰδῶ καὶ εὐνομίαν καὶ ἀφθονίαν δίκης παρεχόμενον, ἀστασίαστα καὶ εὐδαίμονα τὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀπηργάζετο γένη. λέγει δὴ καὶ νῦν οὗτος ὁ λόγος, ἀληθείᾳ χρώμενος, ὡς ὅσων ἂν πόλεων μὴ θεὸς ἀλλά τις ἄρχῃ θνητός, οὐκ ἔστιν κακῶν αὐτοῖς οὐδὲ πόνων ἀνάφυξις: ἀλλὰ μιμεῖσθαι δεῖν ἡμᾶς οἴεται πάσῃ μηχανῇ τὸν ἐπὶ τοῦ Κρόνου λεγόμενον βίον, καὶ ὅσον ἐν ἡμῖν ἀθανασίας ἔνεστι, τούτῳ πειθομένους δημοσίᾳ [714α] καὶ ἰδίᾳ τάς τ᾽ οἰκήσεις καὶ τὰς πόλεις διοικεῖν, τὴν τοῦ νοῦ διανομὴν ἐπονομάζοντας νόμον. εἰ δ᾽ ἄνθρωπος εἷς ἢ ὀλιγαρχία τις, ἢ καὶ δημοκρατία ψυχὴν ἔχουσα ἡδονῶν καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν ὀρεγομένην καὶ πληροῦσθαι τούτων δεομένην, στέγουσαν δὲ οὐδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἀνηνύτῳ καὶ ἀπλήστῳ κακῷ νοσήματι συνεχομένην, ἄρξει δὴ πόλεως ἤ τινος ἰδιώτου καταπατήσας ὁ τοιοῦτος τοὺς νόμους, ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν, οὐκ ἔστι σωτηρίας μηχανή. σκοπεῖν δὴ δεῖ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἡμᾶς, [714β] ὦ Κλεινία, πότερον αὐτῷ πεισόμεθα ἢ πῶς δράσομεν.

Κλεινίας

ἀνάγκη δήπου πείθεσθαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐννοεῖς οὖν ὅτι νόμων εἴδη τινές φασιν εἶναι τοσαῦτα ὅσαπερ πολιτειῶν, πολιτειῶν δὲ ἄρτι διεληλύθαμεν ὅσα λέγουσιν οἱ πολλοί; μὴ δὴ φαύλου πέρι νομίσῃς εἶναι τὴν νῦν ἀμφισβήτησιν, περὶ δὲ τοῦ μεγίστου: τὸ γὰρ δίκαιον καὶ ἄδικον οἷ χρὴ βλέπειν, πάλιν ἡμῖν ἀμφισβητούμενον ἐλήλυθεν. οὔτε γὰρ πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον οὔτε πρὸς ἀρετὴν [714ξ] ὅλην βλέπειν δεῖν φασι τοὺς νόμους, ἀλλ᾽ ἥτις ἂν καθεστηκυῖα ᾖ πολιτεία, ταύτῃ ἰδεῖν τὸ συμφέρον, ὅπως ἄρξει τε ἀεὶ καὶ μὴ καταλυθήσεται, καὶ τὸν φύσει ὅρον τοῦ δικαίου λέγεσθαι κάλλισθ᾽ οὕτω.

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅτι τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος συμφέρον ἐστίν.

Κλεινίας

λέγ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὧδε. τίθεται δήπου, φασίν, τοὺς νόμους ἐν τῇ πόλει ἑκάστοτε τὸ κρατοῦν. ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ λέγεις. [714δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οἴει, φασίν, ποτὲ δῆμον νικήσαντα, ἤ τινα πολιτείαν ἄλλην, ἢ καὶ τύραννον, θήσεσθαι ἑκόντα πρὸς ἄλλο τι πρῶτον νόμους ἢ τὸ συμφέρον ἑαυτῷ τῆς ἀρχῆς τοῦ μένειν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὃς ἂν ταῦτα τὰ τεθέντα παραβαίνῃ, κολάσει ὁ θέμενος ὡς ἀδικοῦντα, δίκαια εἶναι ταῦτ᾽ ἐπονομάζων;

Κλεινίας

ἔοικε γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἀεὶ καὶ οὕτω καὶ ταύτῃ τὸ δίκαιον ἂν ἔχοι.

Κλεινίας

φησὶ γοῦν οὗτος ὁ λόγος.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔστι γὰρ τοῦτο ἓν ἐκείνων τῶν ἀξιωμάτων [714ε] ἀρχῆς πέρι.

Κλεινίας

ποίων δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τῶν ἃ τότε ἐπεσκοποῦμεν, τίνας τίνων ἄρχειν δεῖ. καὶ ἐφάνη δὴ γονέας μὲν ἐκγόνων, νεωτέρων δὲ πρεσβυτέρους, γενναίους δὲ ἀγεννῶν, καὶ σύχν᾽ ἄττα ἦν ἄλλ᾽, εἰ μεμνήμεθα, καὶ ἐμπόδια ἕτερα ἑτέροισι: καὶ δὴ καὶ ἓν ἦν [715α] αὐτῶν τοῦτο, καὶ ἔφαμέν που κατὰ φύσιν τὸν Πίνδαρον ἄγειν δικαιοῦντα τὸ βιαιότατον, ὡς φάναι.

Κλεινίας

ναί, ταῦτ᾽ ἦν ἃ τότε ἐλέχθη.

Ἀθηναῖος

σκόπει δὴ ποτέροις τισὶν ἡ πόλις ἡμῖν ἐστιν παραδοτέα. γέγονεν γὰρ δὴ μυριάκις ἤδη τὸ τοιοῦτον ἔν τισι πόλεσιν.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀρχῶν περιμαχήτων γενομένων, οἱ νικήσαντες τά τε πράγματα κατὰ τὴν πόλιν οὕτως ἐσφετέρισαν σφόδρα, ὥστε ἀρχῆς μηδ᾽ ὁτιοῦν μεταδιδόναι τοῖς ἡττηθεῖσιν, μήτε αὐτοῖς μήτε ἐκγόνοις, παραφυλάττοντες δὲ ἀλλήλους ζῶσιν, [715β] ὅπως μή ποτέ τις εἰς ἀρχὴν ἀφικόμενος ἐπαναστῇ μεμνημένος τῶν ἔμπροσθεν γεγονότων κακῶν. ταύτας δήπου φαμὲν ἡμεῖς νῦν οὔτ᾽ εἶναι πολιτείας, οὔτ᾽ ὀρθοὺς νόμους ὅσοι μὴ συμπάσης τῆς πόλεως ἕνεκα τοῦ κοινοῦ ἐτέθησαν: οἳ δ᾽ ἕνεκά τινων, στασιώτας ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πολίτας τούτους φαμέν, καὶ τὰ τούτων δίκαια ἅ φασιν εἶναι, μάτην εἰρῆσθαι. λέγεται δὲ τοῦδ᾽ ἕνεκα ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν, ὡς ἡμεῖς τῇ σῇ πόλει ἀρχὰς οὔθ᾽ ὅτι πλούσιός ἐστίν τις δώσομεν, οὔθ᾽ ὅτι τῶν [715ξ] τοιούτων ἄλλο οὐδὲν κεκτημένος, ἰσχὺν ἢ μέγεθος ἤ τι γένος: ὃς δ᾽ ἂν τοῖς τεθεῖσι νόμοις εὐπειθέστατός τε ᾖ καὶ νικᾷ ταύτην τὴν νίκην ἐν τῇ πόλει, τούτῳ φαμὲν καὶ τὴν τῶν θεῶν ὑπηρεσίαν δοτέον εἶναι τὴν μεγίστην τῷ πρώτῳ, καὶ δευτέραν τῷ τὰ δεύτερα κρατοῦντι, καὶ κατὰ λόγον οὕτω τοῖς ἐφεξῆς τὰ μετὰ ταῦθ᾽ ἕκαστα ἀποδοτέον εἶναι. τοὺς δ᾽ ἄρχοντας λεγομένους νῦν ὑπηρέτας τοῖς νόμοις ἐκάλεσα [715δ] οὔτι καινοτομίας ὀνομάτων ἕνεκα, ἀλλ᾽ ἡγοῦμαι παντὸς μᾶλλον εἶναι παρὰ τοῦτο σωτηρίαν τε πόλει καὶ τοὐναντίον. ἐν ᾗ μὲν γὰρ ἂν ἀρχόμενος ᾖ καὶ ἄκυρος νόμος, φθορὰν ὁρῶ τῇ τοιαύτῃ ἑτοίμην οὖσαν: ἐν ᾗ δὲ ἂν δεσπότης τῶν ἀρχόντων, οἱ δὲ ἄρχοντες δοῦλοι τοῦ νόμου, σωτηρίαν καὶ πάντα ὅσα θεοὶ πόλεσιν ἔδοσαν ἀγαθὰ γιγνόμενα καθορῶ.

Κλεινίας

ναὶ μὰ Δία, ὦ ξένε: καθ᾽ ἡλικίαν γὰρ ὀξὺ βλέπεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

νέος μὲν γὰρ ὢν πᾶς ἄνθρωπος τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀμβλύτατα [715ε] αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ ὁρᾷ, γέρων δὲ ὀξύτατα.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δὴ τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα; ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ἥκοντας μὲν καὶ παρόντας θῶμεν τοὺς ἐποίκους, τὸν δ᾽ ἑξῆς αὐτοῖς διαπεραντέον ἂν εἴη λόγον;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

“ἄνδρες” τοίνυν φῶμεν πρὸς αὐτούς, “ὁ μὲν δὴ θεός, ὥσπερ καὶ ὁ παλαιὸς λόγος, ἀρχήν τε καὶ τελευτὴν καὶ [716α] μέσα τῶν ὄντων ἁπάντων ἔχων, εὐθείᾳ περαίνει κατὰ φύσιν περιπορευόμενος: τῷ δὲ ἀεὶ συνέπεται δίκη τῶν ἀπολειπομένων τοῦ θείου νόμου τιμωρός, ἧς ὁ μὲν εὐδαιμονήσειν μέλλων ἐχόμενος συνέπεται ταπεινὸς καὶ κεκοσμημένος, ὁ δέ τις ἐξαρθεὶς ὑπὸ μεγαλαυχίας, ἢ χρήμασιν ἐπαιρόμενος ἢ τιμαῖς, ἢ καὶ σώματος εὐμορφίᾳ ἅμα νεότητι καὶ ἀνοίᾳ φλέγεται τὴν ψυχὴν μεθ᾽ ὕβρεως, ὡς οὔτε ἄρχοντος οὔτε τινὸς ἡγεμόνος δεόμενος, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλοις ἱκανὸς ὢν ἡγεῖσθαι, [716β] καταλείπεται ἔρημος θεοῦ, καταλειφθεὶς δὲ καὶ ἔτι ἄλλους τοιούτους προσλαβὼν σκιρτᾷ ταράττων πάντα ἅμα, καὶ πολλοῖς τισιν ἔδοξεν εἶναί τις, μετὰ δὲ χρόνον οὐ πολὺν ὑποσχὼν τιμωρίαν οὐ μεμπτὴν τῇ δίκῃ ἑαυτόν τε καὶ οἶκον καὶ πόλιν ἄρδην ἀνάστατον ἐποίησεν. πρὸς ταῦτ᾽ οὖν οὕτω διατεταγμένα τί χρὴ δρᾶν ἢ διανοεῖσθαι καὶ τί μὴ τὸν ἔμφρονα;”

Κλεινίας

δῆλον δὴ τοῦτό γε: ὡς τῶν συνακολουθησόντων ἐσόμενον τῷ θεῷ δεῖ διανοηθῆναι πάντα ἄνδρα. [716ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

“τίς οὖν δὴ πρᾶξις φίλη καὶ ἀκόλουθος θεῷ; μία, καὶ ἕνα λόγον ἔχουσα ἀρχαῖον, ὅτι τῷ μὲν ὁμοίῳ τὸ ὅμοιον ὄντι μετρίῳ φίλον ἂν εἴη, τὰ δ᾽ ἄμετρα οὔτε ἀλλήλοις οὔτε τοῖς ἐμμέτροις. ὁ δὴ θεὸς ἡμῖν πάντων χρημάτων μέτρον ἂν εἴη μάλιστα, καὶ πολὺ μᾶλλον ἤ πού τις, ὥς φασιν, ἄνθρωπος: τὸν οὖν τῷ τοιούτῳ προσφιλῆ γενησόμενον, εἰς δύναμιν ὅτι μάλιστα καὶ αὐτὸν τοιοῦτον ἀναγκαῖον γίγνεσθαι, [716δ] καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον δὴ τὸν λόγον ὁ μὲν σώφρων ἡμῶν θεῷ φίλος, ὅμοιος γάρ, ὁ δὲ μὴ σώφρων ἀνόμοιός τε καὶ διάφορος καὶ <ὁ> ἄδικος, καὶ τὰ ἄλλ᾽ οὕτως κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον ἔχει. νοήσωμεν δὴ τούτοις ἑπόμενον εἶναι τὸν τοιόνδε λόγον, ἁπάντων κάλλιστον καὶ ἀληθέστατον οἶμαι λόγων, ὡς τῷ μὲν ἀγαθῷ θύειν καὶ προσομιλεῖν ἀεὶ τοῖς θεοῖς εὐχαῖς καὶ ἀναθήμασιν καὶ συμπάσῃ θεραπείᾳ θεῶν κάλλιστον καὶ ἄριστον καὶ ἀνυσιμώτατον πρὸς τὸν εὐδαίμονα [716ε] βίον καὶ δὴ καὶ διαφερόντως πρέπον, τῷ δὲ κακῷ τούτων τἀναντία πέφυκεν. ἀκάθαρτος γὰρ τὴν ψυχὴν ὅ γε κακός, καθαρὸς δὲ ὁ ἐναντίος, παρὰ δὲ μιαροῦ δῶρα οὔτε [717α] ἄνδρ᾽ ἀγαθὸν οὔτε θεὸν ἔστιν ποτὲ τό γε ὀρθὸν δέχεσθαι: μάτην οὖν περὶ θεοὺς ὁ πολύς ἐστι πόνος τοῖς ἀνοσίοις, τοῖσιν δὲ ὁσίοις ἐγκαιρότατος ἅπασιν. σκοπὸς μὲν οὖν ἡμῖν οὗτος οὗ δεῖ στοχάζεσθαι: βέλη δὲ αὐτοῦ καὶ οἷον ἡ τοῖς βέλεσιν ἔφεσις τὰ ποῖ᾽ ἂν λεγόμενα ὀρθότατα φέροιτ᾽ ἄν; πρῶτον μέν, φαμέν, τιμὰς τὰς μετ᾽ Ὀλυμπίους τε καὶ τοὺς τὴν πόλιν ἔχοντας θεοὺς τοῖς χθονίοις ἄν τις θεοῖς ἄρτια καὶ δεύτερα καὶ ἀριστερὰ νέμων ὀρθότατα τοῦ τῆς [717β] εὐσεβείας σκοποῦ τυγχάνοι, τὰ δὲ τούτων ἄνωθεν [τὰ περιττὰ] καὶ ἀντίφωνα, τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ῥηθεῖσιν νυνδή. μετὰ θεοὺς δὲ τούσδε καὶ τοῖς δαίμοσιν ὅ γε ἔμφρων ὀργιάζοιτ᾽ ἄν, ἥρωσιν δὲ μετὰ τούτους. ἐπακολουθοῖ δ᾽ αὐτοῖς ἱδρύματα ἴδια πατρῴων θεῶν κατὰ νόμον ὀργιαζόμενα, γονέων δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα τιμαὶ ζώντων: ὡς θέμις ὀφείλοντα ἀποτίνειν τὰ πρῶτά τε καὶ μέγιστα ὀφειλήματα, χρεῶν πάντων πρεσβύτατα, νομίζειν δέ, ἃ κέκτηται καὶ ἔχει, πάντα εἶναι τῶν [717ξ] γεννησάντων καὶ θρεψαμένων πρὸς τὸ παρέχειν αὐτὰ εἰς ὑπηρεσίαν ἐκείνοις κατὰ δύναμιν πᾶσαν, ἀρχόμενον ἀπὸ τῆς οὐσίας, δεύτερα τὰ τοῦ σώματος, τρίτα τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς, ἀποτίνοντα δανείσματα ἐπιμελείας τε καὶ ὑπερπονούντων ὠδῖνας παλαιὰς ἐπὶ νέοις δανεισθείσας, ἀποδιδόντα δὲ παλαιοῖς ἐν τῷ γήρᾳ σφόδρα κεχρημένοις. παρὰ δὲ πάντα τὸν βίον ἔχειν τε καὶ ἐσχηκέναι χρὴ πρὸς αὑτοῦ γονέας εὐφημίαν [717δ] διαφερόντως, διότι κούφων καὶ πτηνῶν λόγων βαρυτάτη ζημία-πᾶσι γὰρ ἐπίσκοπος τοῖς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐτάχθη Δίκης Νέμεσις ἄγγελος-θυμουμένοις τε οὖν ὑπείκειν δεῖ καὶ ἀποπιμπλᾶσι τὸν θυμόν, ἐάντ᾽ ἐν λόγοις ἐάντ᾽ ἐν ἔργοις δρῶσιν τὸ τοιοῦτον, συγγιγνώσκοντα, ὡς εἰκότως μάλιστα πατὴρ ὑεῖ δοξάζων ἀδικεῖσθαι θυμοῖτ᾽ ἂν διαφερόντως. τελευτησάντων δὲ γονέων ταφὴ μὲν ἡ σωφρονεστάτη καλλίστη, μήτε ὑπεραίροντα τῶν εἰθισμένων ὄγκων μήτ᾽ ἐλλείποντα [717ε] ὧν οἱ προπάτορες τοὺς ἑαυτῶν γεννητὰς ἐτίθεσαν, τάς τε αὖ κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν τῶν ἤδη τέλος ἐχόντων ὡσαύτως ἐπιμελείας τὰς κόσμον φερούσας ἀποδιδόναι: τῷ δὲ μὴ [718α] παραλείπειν μνήμην ἐνδελεχῆ παρεχόμενον, τούτῳ μάλιστ᾽ ἀεὶ πρεσβεύειν, δαπάνης τε τῆς διδομένης ὑπὸ τύχης τὸ μέτριον τοῖς κεκμηκόσιν νέμοντα. ταῦτ᾽ ἂν ποιοῦντες καὶ κατὰ ταῦτα ζῶντες ἑκάστοτε ἕκαστοι τὴν ἀξίαν ἂν παρὰ θεῶν καὶ ὅσοι κρείττονες ἡμῶν κομιζοίμεθα, ἐν ἐλπίσιν ἀγαθαῖς διάγοντες τὸ πλεῖστον τοῦ βίου.” ἃ δὲ πρὸς ἐκγόνους καὶ συγγενεῖς καὶ φίλους καὶ πολίτας, ὅσα τε ξενικὰ πρὸς θεῶν θεραπεύματα καὶ ὁμιλίας συμπάντων τούτων ἀποτελοῦντα [718β] τὸν αὑτοῦ βίον φαιδρυνάμενον κατὰ νόμον κοσμεῖν δεῖ, τῶν νόμων αὐτῶν ἡ διέξοδος, τὰ μὲν πείθουσα, τὰ δὲ μὴ ὑπείκοντα πειθοῖ τῶν ἠθῶν βίᾳ καὶ δίκῃ κολάζουσα, τὴν πόλιν ἡμῖν συμβουληθέντων θεῶν μακαρίαν τε καὶ εὐδαίμονα ἀποτελεῖ: ἃ δὲ χρὴ μὲν αὖ καὶ ἀναγκαῖον εἰπεῖν νομοθέτην ὅστις ἅπερ ἐγὼ διανοεῖται, ἐν δὲ σχήματι νόμου ἀναρμοστεῖ λεγόμενα, τούτων πέρι δοκεῖ μοι δεῖγμα προενεγκόντα [718ξ] αὑτῷ τε καὶ ἐκείνοις οἷς νομοθετήσει, τὰ λοιπὰ πάντα εἰς δύναμιν διεξελθόντα, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἄρχεσθαι τῆς θέσεως τῶν νόμων. ἔστιν δὲ δὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐν τίνι μάλιστα σχήματι κείμενα; οὐ πάνυ ῥᾴδιον ἐν ἑνὶ περιλαβόντα εἰπεῖν αὐτὰ οἷόν τινι τύπῳ, ἀλλ᾽ οὑτωσί τινα τρόπον λάβωμεν, ἄν τι δυνώμεθα περὶ αὐτῶν βεβαιώσασθαι.

Κλεινίας

λέγε τὸ ποῖον.

Ἀθηναῖος

βουλοίμην ἂν αὐτοὺς ὡς εὐπειθεστάτους πρὸς ἀρετὴν εἶναι, καὶ δῆλον ὅτι πειράσεται τοῦτο ὁ νομοθέτης ἐν ἁπάσῃ ποιεῖν τῇ νομοθεσίᾳ. [718δ]

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ τοίνυν δὴ λεχθέντα ἔδοξέν τί μοι προὔργου δρᾶν εἰς τὸ περὶ ὧν ἂν παραινῇ, μὴ παντάπασιν ὠμῆς ψυχῆς λαβόμενα, ἡμερώτερόν τε ἂν ἀκούειν καὶ εὐμενέστερον: ὥστε εἰ καὶ μὴ μέγα τι, σμικρὸν δέ, τὸν ἀκούοντα ὅπερ φησὶν εὐμενέστερον γιγνόμενον εὐμαθέστερον ἀπεργάσεται, πᾶν ἀγαπητόν. οὐ γὰρ πολλή τις εὐπέτεια οὐδὲ ἀφθονία τῶν προθυμουμένων ὡς ἀρίστων ὅτι μάλιστα καὶ ὡς τάχιστα [718ε] γίγνεσθαι, τὸν δὲ Ἡσίοδον οἱ πολλοὶ σοφὸν ἀποφαίνουσι λέγοντα ὡς “ἡ μὲν ἐπὶ τὴν κακότητα ὁδὸς λεία καὶ ἀνιδιτὶ παρέχει πορεύεσθαι, μάλα βραχεῖα οὖσα, τῆς δὲ ἀρετῆς,”Hes. WD 287ff. φησίν,”. . . ἱδρῶτα θεοὶ προπάροιθεν ἔθηκαν

ἀθάνατοι, μακρὸς δὲ καὶ ὄρθιος οἶμος ἐς αὐτήν,

“ [719α]

“καὶ τρηχὺς τὸ πρῶτον: ἐπὴν δ᾽ εἰς ἄκρον ἵκηαι,

ῥηιδίη δὴ ‘πειτα φέρειν, χαλεπή περ ἐοῦσα.

“

Hes. WD 287

Κλεινίας

καὶ καλῶς γ᾽ ἔοικεν λέγοντι.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. ὁ δὲ προάγων λόγος ὅ γέ μοι ἀπείργασται, βούλομαι ὑμῖν εἰς τὸ μέσον αὐτὸ θεῖναι.

Κλεινίας

τίθει δή.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγωμεν δὴ τῷ νομοθέτῃ διαλεγόμενοι τόδε: “εἰπὲ [719β] ἡμῖν, ὦ νομοθέτα: εἴπερ ὅτι χρὴ πράττειν ἡμᾶς καὶ λέγειν εἰδείης, ἆρα οὐ δῆλον ὅτι καὶ ἂν εἴποις;”

Κλεινίας

ἀναγκαῖον.

Ἀθηναῖος

“σμικρῷ μὲν δὴ πρόσθεν ἆρα οὐκ ἠκούσαμέν σου λέγοντος ὡς τὸν νομοθέτην οὐ δεῖ τοῖς ποιηταῖς ἐπιτρέπειν ποιεῖν ὃ ἂν αὐτοῖς ᾖ φίλον; οὐ γὰρ ἂν εἰδεῖεν τί ποτ᾽ ἐναντίον τοῖς νόμοις ἂν λέγοντες βλάπτοιεν τὴν πόλιν.”

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ μέντοι λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὑπὲρ δὴ τῶν ποιητῶν εἰ τάδε λέγοιμεν πρὸς αὐτόν, ἆρ᾽ ἂν τὰ λεχθέντα εἴη μέτρια;

Κλεινίας

ποῖα; [719ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τάδε: “παλαιὸς μῦθος, ὦ νομοθέτα, ὑπό τε αὐτῶν ἡμῶν ἀεὶ λεγόμενός ἐστιν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσιν συνδεδογμένος, ὅτι ποιητής, ὁπόταν ἐν τῷ τρίποδι τῆς Μούσης καθίζηται, τότε οὐκ ἔμφρων ἐστίν, οἷον δὲ κρήνη τις τὸ ἐπιὸν ῥεῖν ἑτοίμως ἐᾷ, καὶ τῆς τέχνης οὔσης μιμήσεως ἀναγκάζεται, ἐναντίως ἀλλήλοις ἀνθρώπους ποιῶν διατιθεμένους, ἐναντία λέγειν αὑτῷ πολλάκις, οἶδεν δὲ οὔτ᾽ εἰ ταῦτα [719δ] οὔτ᾽ εἰ θάτερα ἀληθῆ τῶν λεγομένων. τῷ δὲ νομοθέτῃ τοῦτο οὐκ ἔστι ποιεῖν ἐν τῷ νόμῳ, δύο περὶ ἑνός, ἀλλὰ ἕνα περὶ ἑνὸς ἀεὶ δεῖ λόγον ἀποφαίνεσθαι. σκέψαι δ᾽ ἐξ αὐτῶν τῶν ὑπὸ σοῦ νυνδὴ λεχθέντων. οὔσης γὰρ ταφῆς τῆς μὲν ὑπερβεβλημένης, τῆς δὲ ἐλλειπούσης, τῆς δὲ μετρίας, τὴν μίαν ἑλόμενος σύ, τὴν μέσην, ταύτην προστάττεις καὶ ἐπῄνεσας ἁπλῶς: ἐγὼ δέ, εἰ μὲν γυνή μοι διαφέρουσα εἴη πλούτῳ καὶ θάπτειν αὑτὴν διακελεύοιτο ἐν τῷ ποιήματι, τὸν ὑπερβάλλοντα [719ε] ἂν τάφον ἐπαινοίην, φειδωλὸς δ᾽ αὖ τις καὶ πένης ἀνὴρ τὸν καταδεᾶ, μέτρον δὲ οὐσίας κεκτημένος καὶ μέτριος αὐτὸς ὢν τὸν αὐτὸν ἂν ἐπαινέσαι. σοὶ δὲ οὐχ οὕτω ῥητέον ὡς νῦν εἶπες μέτριον εἰπών, ἀλλὰ τί τὸ μέτριον καὶ ὁπόσον ῥητέον, ἢ τὸν τοιοῦτον λόγον μήπω σοι διανοοῦ γίγνεσθαι νόμον”.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερον οὖν ἡμῖν ὁ τεταγμένος ἐπὶ τοῖς νόμοις μηδὲν τοιοῦτον προαγορεύῃ ἐν ἀρχῇ τῶν νόμων, ἀλλ᾽ εὐθὺς ὃ δεῖ ποιεῖν καὶ μὴ φράζῃ τε, καὶ ἐπαπειλήσας τὴν ζημίαν, ἐπ᾽ [720α] ἄλλον τρέπηται νόμον, παραμυθίας δὲ καὶ πειθοῦς τοῖς νομοθετουμένοις μηδὲ ἓν προσδιδῷ; καθάπερ ἰατρὸς δέ τις, ὁ μὲν οὕτως, ὁ δ᾽ ἐκείνως ἡμᾶς εἴωθεν ἑκάστοτε θεραπεύειν- ἀναμιμνῃσκώμεθα δὲ τὸν τρόπον ἑκάτερον, ἵνα τοῦ νομοθέτου δεώμεθα, καθάπερ ἰατροῦ δέοιντο ἂν παῖδες τὸν πρᾳότατον αὐτὸν θεραπεύειν τρόπον ἑαυτούς. οἷον δὴ τί λέγομεν; εἰσὶν πού τινες ἰατροί, φαμέν, καί τινες ὑπηρέται τῶν ἰατρῶν, ἰατροὺς δὲ καλοῦμεν δήπου καὶ τούτους. [720β]

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐάντε γε ἐλεύθεροι ὦσιν ἐάντε δοῦλοι, κατ᾽ ἐπίταξιν δὲ τῶν δεσποτῶν καὶ θεωρίαν καὶ κατ᾽ ἐμπειρίαν τὴν τέχνην κτῶνται, κατὰ φύσιν δὲ μή, καθάπερ οἱ ἐλεύθεροι αὐτοί τε μεμαθήκασιν οὕτω τούς τε αὑτῶν διδάσκουσι παῖδας. θείης ἂν ταῦτα δύο γένη τῶν καλουμένων ἰατρῶν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ συννοεῖς ὅτι, δούλων καὶ ἐλευθέρων [720ξ] ὄντων τῶν καμνόντων ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι, τοὺς μὲν δούλους σχεδόν τι οἱ δοῦλοι τὰ πολλὰ ἰατρεύουσιν περιτρέχοντες καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἰατρείοις περιμένοντες, καὶ οὔτε τινὰ λόγον ἑκάστου πέρι νοσήματος ἑκάστου τῶν οἰκετῶν οὐδεὶς τῶν τοιούτων ἰατρῶν δίδωσιν οὐδ᾽ ἀποδέχεται, προστάξας δ᾽ αὐτῷ τὰ δόξαντα ἐξ ἐμπειρίας, ὡς ἀκριβῶς εἰδώς, καθάπερ τύραννος αὐθαδῶς, οἴχεται ἀποπηδήσας πρὸς ἄλλον κάμνοντα οἰκέτην, καὶ ῥᾳστώνην οὕτω τῷ δεσπότῃ παρασκευάζει τῶν καμνόντων [720δ] τῆς ἐπιμελείας: ὁ δὲ ἐλεύθερος ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον τὰ τῶν ἐλευθέρων νοσήματα θεραπεύει τε καὶ ἐπισκοπεῖ, καὶ ταῦτα ἐξετάζων ἀπ᾽ ἀρχῆς καὶ κατὰ φύσιν, τῷ κάμνοντι κοινούμενος αὐτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς φίλοις, ἅμα μὲν αὐτὸς μανθάνει τι παρὰ τῶν νοσούντων, ἅμα δὲ καὶ καθ᾽ ὅσον οἷός τέ ἐστιν, διδάσκει τὸν ἀσθενοῦντα αὐτόν, καὶ οὐ πρότερον ἐπέταξεν πρὶν ἄν πῃ συμπείσῃ, τότε δὲ μετὰ πειθοῦς ἡμερούμενον ἀεὶ [720ε] παρασκευάζων τὸν κάμνοντα, εἰς τὴν ὑγίειαν ἄγων, ἀποτελεῖν πειρᾶται; πότερον οὕτως ἢ ἐκείνως ἰατρός τε ἰώμενος ἀμείνων καὶ γυμναστὴς γυμνάζων: διχῇ τὴν μίαν ἀποτελῶν δύναμιν, ἢ μοναχῇ καὶ κατὰ τὸ χεῖρον τοῖν δυοῖν καὶ ἀγριώτερον ἀπεργαζόμενος;

Κλεινίας

πολύ που διαφέρον, ὦ ξένε, τὸ διπλῇ.

Ἀθηναῖος

βούλει δὴ καὶ θεασώμεθα τὸ διπλοῦν τοῦτο καὶ ἁπλοῦν ἐν ταῖς νομοθεσίαις αὐταῖς γιγνόμενον;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὐ βούλομαι;

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δὴ πρὸς θεῶν, τίν᾽ ἄρα πρῶτον νόμον θεῖτ᾽ ἂν ὁ νομοθέτης; ἆρ᾽ οὐ κατὰ φύσιν τὴν περὶ γενέσεως ἀρχὴν [721α] πρώτην πόλεων πέρι κατακοσμήσει ταῖς τάξεσιν;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀρχὴ δ᾽ ἐστὶ τῶν γενέσεων πάσαις πόλεσιν ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ἡ τῶν γάμων σύμμειξις καὶ κοινωνία;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

γαμικοὶ δὴ νόμοι πρῶτοι κινδυνεύουσιν τιθέμενοι καλῶς ἂν τίθεσθαι πρὸς ὀρθότητα πάσῃ πόλει.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγωμεν δὴ πρῶτον τὸν ἁπλοῦν, ἔχοι δ᾽ ἄν πως ἴσως ὧδε- [721β]

γαμεῖν δέ, ἐπειδὰν ἐτῶν ᾖ τις τριάκοντα, μέχρι ἐτῶν πέντε καὶ τριάκοντα, εἰ δὲ μή, ζημιοῦσθαι χρήμασίν τε καὶ ἀτιμίᾳ, χρήμασι μὲν τόσοις καὶ τόσοις, τῇ καὶ τῇ δὲ ἀτιμίᾳ.

ὁ μὲν ἁπλοῦς ἔστω τις τοιοῦτος περὶ γάμων, ὁ δὲ διπλοῦς ὅδε-

γαμεῖν δέ, ἐπειδὰν ἐτῶν ᾖ τις τριάκοντα, μέχρι τῶν πέντε καὶ τριάκοντα, διανοηθέντα ὡς ἔστιν ᾗ τὸ ἀνθρώπινον γένος φύσει τινὶ μετείληφεν ἀθανασίας, οὗ καὶ πέφυκεν ἐπιθυμίαν [721ξ] ἴσχειν πᾶς πᾶσαν: τὸ γὰρ γενέσθαι κλεινὸν καὶ μὴ ἀνώνυμον κεῖσθαι τετελευτηκότα τοῦ τοιούτου ἐστὶν ἐπιθυμία. γένος οὖν ἀνθρώπων ἐστίν τι συμφυὲς τοῦ παντὸς χρόνου, ὃ διὰ τέλους αὐτῷ συνέπεται καὶ συνέψεται, τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ ἀθάνατον ὄν, τῷ παῖδας παίδων καταλειπόμενον, ταὐτὸν καὶ ἓν ὂν ἀεί, γενέσει τῆς ἀθανασίας μετειληφέναι: τούτου δὴ ἀποστερεῖν ἑκόντα ἑαυτὸν οὐδέποτε ὅσιον, ἐκ προνοίας δὲ ἀποστερεῖ ὃς ἂν παίδων καὶ γυναικὸς ἀμελῇ. πειθόμενος [721δ] μὲν οὖν τῷ νόμῳ ἀζήμιος ἀπαλλάττοιτο ἄν, μὴ πειθόμενος δὲ αὖ, μηδὲ γαμῶν ἔτη τριάκοντα γεγονὼς καὶ πέντε, ζημιούσθω μὲν κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν τόσῳ καὶ τόσῳ, ἵνα μὴ δοκῇ τὴν μοναυλίαν οἱ κέρδος καὶ ῥᾳστώνην φέρειν, καὶ μὴ μετεχέτω δὲ τιμῶν ὧν ἂν οἱ νεώτεροι ἐν τῇ πόλει τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους αὑτῶν τιμῶσιν ἑκάστοτε.

τοῦτον δὴ παρ᾽ ἐκεῖνον τὸν νόμον ἀκούσαντα ἔξεστιν περὶ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου διανοηθῆναι, πότερον αὐτοὺς διπλοῦς οὕτω [721ε] δεῖ γίγνεσθαι τῷ μήκει τὸ σμικρότατον, διὰ τὸ πείθειν τε ἅμα καὶ ἀπειλεῖν, ἢ τῷ ἀπειλεῖν μόνον χρωμένους ἁπλοῦς γίγνεσθαι τοῖς μήκεσιν.

Μέγιλλος

πρὸς μὲν τοῦ Λακωνικοῦ τρόπου, ὦ ξένε, τὸ τὰ βραχύτερα ἀεὶ προτιμᾶν: τούτων μὴν τῶν γραμμάτων εἴ τις κριτὴν ἐμὲ κελεύοι γίγνεσθαι πότερα βουλοίμην ἂν ἐν τῇ πόλει μοι γεγραμμένα τεθῆναι, τὰ μακρότερ᾽ ἂν ἑλοίμην, [722α] καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ παντὸς νόμου κατὰ τοῦτο τὸ παράδειγμα, εἰ γίγνοιτο ἑκάτερα, ταὐτὸν τοῦτ᾽ ἂν αἱροίμην. οὐ μὴν ἀλλά που καὶ Κλεινίᾳ τῷδ᾽ ἀρέσκειν δεῖ τὰ νῦν νομοθετούμενα: τούτου γὰρ ἡ πόλις ἡ νῦν τοῖς τοιούτοις νόμοις χρῆσθαι διανοουμένη.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς γ᾽, ὦ Μέγιλλε, εἶπες.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ μὲν οὖν περὶ πολλῶν ἢ ὀλίγων γραμμάτων ποιήσασθαι τὸν λόγον λίαν εὔηθες-τὰ γὰρ οἶμαι βέλτιστα, [722β] ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὰ βραχύτατα οὐδὲ τὰ μήκη τιμητέον-τὰ δ᾽ ἐν τοῖς νυνδὴ νόμοις ῥηθεῖσιν οὐ διπλῷ θάτερα τῶν ἑτέρων διάφορα μόνον εἰς ἀρετὴν τῆς χρείας, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ ἐρρήθη νυνδή, τὸ τῶν διττῶν ἰατρῶν γένος ὀρθότατα παρετέθη. πρὸς τοῦτο δὲ οὐδεὶς ἔοικε διανοηθῆναι πώποτε τῶν νομοθετῶν, ὡς ἐξὸν δυοῖν χρῆσθαι πρὸς τὰς νομοθεσίας, πειθοῖ καὶ βίᾳ, καθ᾽ ὅσον οἷόν τε ἐπὶ τὸν ἄπειρον παιδείας ὄχλον, τῷ ἑτέρῳ χρῶνται [722ξ] μόνον: οὐ γὰρ πειθοῖ κεραννύντες τὴν �μάχην νομοθετοῦσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀκράτῳ μόνον τῇ βίᾳ. ἐγὼ δ᾽, ὦ μακάριοι, καὶ τρίτον ἔτι περὶ τοὺς νόμους ὁρῶ γίγνεσθαι δέον, οὐδαμῇ τὰ νῦν γιγνόμενον.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐξ αὐτῶν ὧν νυν<δὴ> διειλέγμεθα ἡμεῖς κατὰ θεόν τινα γεγονός. σχεδὸν γὰρ ἐξ ὅσου περὶ τῶν νόμων ἤργμεθα λέγειν, ἐξ ἑωθινοῦ μεσημβρία τε γέγονε καὶ ἐν ταύτῃ παγκάλῃ ἀναπαύλῃ τινὶ γεγόναμεν, οὐδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ περὶ νόμων διαλεγόμενοι, [722δ] νόμους δὲ ἄρτι μοι δοκοῦμεν λέγειν ἄρχεσθαι, τὰ δ᾽ ἔμπροσθεν ἦν πάντα ἡμῖν προοίμια νόμων. τί δὲ ταῦτ᾽ εἴρηκα; τόδε εἰπεῖν βουληθείς, ὅτι λόγων πάντων καὶ ὅσων φωνὴ κεκοινώνηκεν προοίμιά τέ ἐστιν καὶ σχεδὸν οἷόν τινες ἀνακινήσεις, ἔχουσαί τινα ἔντεχνον ἐπιχείρησιν χρήσιμον πρὸς τὸ μέλλον περαίνεσθαι. καὶ δή που κιθαρῳδικῆς ᾠδῆς λεγομένων νόμων καὶ πάσης μούσης προοίμια θαυμαστῶς [722ε] ἐσπουδασμένα πρόκειται: τῶν δὲ ὄντως νόμων ὄντων, οὓς δὴ πολιτικοὺς εἶναί φαμεν, οὐδεὶς πώποτε οὔτ᾽ εἶπέ τι προοίμιον οὔτε συνθέτης γενόμενος ἐξήνεγκεν εἰς τὸ φῶς, ὡς οὐκ ὄντος φύσει. ἡμῖν δὲ ἡ νῦν διατριβὴ γεγονυῖα, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, σημαίνει ὡς ὄντος, οἵ τέ γε δὴ διπλοῖ ἔδοξαν νυνδή μοι λεχθέντες νόμοι οὐκ εἶναι ἁπλῶς οὕτω πως διπλοῖ, ἀλλὰ δύο μέν τινε, νόμος τε καὶ προοίμιον τοῦ νόμου: ὃ δὴ τυραννικὸν ἐπίταγμα ἀπεικασθὲν ἐρρήθη τοῖς ἐπιτάγμασιν τοῖς [723α] τῶν ἰατρῶν οὓς εἴπομεν ἀνελευθέρους, τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι νόμος ἄκρατος, τὸ δὲ πρὸ τούτου ῥηθέν, πειστικὸν λεχθὲν ὑπὸ τοῦδε, ὄντως μὲν εἶναι πειστικόν, προοιμίου μὴν τοῦ περὶ λόγους δύναμιν ἔχειν. ἵνα γὰρ εὐμενῶς, καὶ διὰ τὴν εὐμένειαν εὐμαθέστερον, τὴν ἐπίταξιν, ὃ δή ἐστιν ὁ νόμος, δέξηται ᾧ τὸν νόμον ὁ νομοθέτης λέγει, τούτου χάριν εἰρῆσθαί μοι κατεφάνη πᾶς ὁ λόγος οὗτος, ὃν πείθων εἶπεν ὁ λέγων: διὸ δὴ κατά [723β] γε τὸν ἐμὸν λόγον τοῦτ᾽ αὐτό, προοίμιον, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ λόγος ἂν ὀρθῶς προσαγορεύοιτο εἶναι τοῦ νόμου. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν εἰπών, τί τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἄν μοι βουληθείην εἰρῆσθαι; τόδε, ὡς τὸν νομοθέτην πρὸ πάντων τε ἀεὶ τῶν νόμων χρεών ἐστιν μὴ ἀμοίρους αὐτοὺς προοιμίων ποιεῖν καὶ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον, ᾗ διοίσουσιν ἑαυτῶν ὅσον νυνδὴ τὼ λεχθέντε διηνεγκάτην.

Κλεινίας

τό γ᾽ ἐμὸν οὐκ ἂν ἄλλως νομοθετεῖν διακελεύοιτο ἡμῖν τὸν τούτων ἐπιστήμονα. [723ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς μὲν τοίνυν, ὦ Κλεινία, δοκεῖς μοι τό γε τοσοῦτον λέγειν, ὅτι πᾶσίν γε νόμοις ἔστιν προοίμια καὶ ὅτι πάσης ἀρχόμενον νομοθεσίας χρὴ προτιθέναι παντὸς τοῦ λόγου τὸ πεφυκὸς προοίμιον ἑκάστοις-οὐ γὰρ σμικρὸν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτό ἐστιν ῥηθησόμενον, οὐδ᾽ ὀλίγον διαφέρον ἢ σαφῶς ἢ μὴ σαφῶς αὐτὰ μνημονεύεσθαι-τὸ μέντοι μεγάλων πέρι λεγομένων νόμων καὶ σμικρῶν εἰ ὁμοίως προοιμιάζεσθαι προστάττοιμεν, οὐκ ἂν ὀρθῶς λέγοιμεν. οὐδὲ γὰρ ᾁσματος [723δ] οὐδὲ λόγου παντὸς δεῖ τὸ τοιοῦτον δρᾶν-καίτοι πέφυκέν γε εἶναι πᾶσιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ χρηστέον ἅπασιν-αὐτῷ δὲ τῷ τε ῥήτορι καὶ τῷ μελῳδῷ καὶ νομοθέτῃ τὸ τοιοῦτον ἑκάστοτε ἐπιτρεπτέον.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα δοκεῖς μοι λέγειν. ἀλλὰ δὴ μηκέτ᾽, ὦ ξένε, διατριβὴν πλείω τῆς μελλήσεως ποιώμεθα, ἐπὶ δὲ τὸν λόγον ἐπανέλθωμεν καὶ ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνων ἀρχώμεθα, εἴ σοι φίλον, ὧν οὐχ ὡς προοιμιαζόμενος εἶπες τότε. πάλιν οὖν, οἷόν [723ε] φασιν οἱ παίζοντες, ἀμεινόνων ἐξ ἀρχῆς δευτέρων ἐπαναπολήσωμεν, ὡς προοίμιον ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὸν τυχόντα λόγον περαίνοντες, καθάπερ ἄρτι: λάβωμεν δ᾽ αὐτῶν ἀρχὴν ὁμολογοῦντες προοιμιάζεσθαι. καὶ τὰ μὲν περὶ θεῶν τιμῆς προγόνων τε θεραπείας, καὶ τὰ νυνδὴ λεχθέντα ἱκανά: τὰ δ᾽ ἑξῆς πειρώμεθα λέγειν, μέχριπερ ἄν σοι πᾶν τὸ προοίμιον ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαι δοκῇ. μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο ἤδη τοὺς νόμους αὐτοὺς διέξει λέγων. [724α]

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν περὶ θεῶν μὲν καὶ τῶν μετὰ θεοὺς καὶ γονέων ζώντων τε πέρι καὶ τελευτησάντων τότε ἱκανῶς προοιμιασάμεθα, ὡς νῦν λέγομεν: τὸ δὲ ἀπολειπόμενον ἔτι τοῦ τοιούτου φαίνῃ μοι σὺ διακελεύεσθαι τὰ νῦν οἷον πρὸς τὸ φῶς ἐπανάγειν.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ μὴν μετά γε τὰ τοιαῦτα, ὡς χρὴ τὰ περὶ τὰς αὑτῶν ψυχὰς καὶ τὰ σώματα καὶ τὰς οὐσίας σπουδῆς [724β] τε πέρι καὶ ἀνέσεως ἴσχειν, προσῆκόν τ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ κοινότατον ἀναπεμπαζομένους τόν τε λέγοντα καὶ τοὺς ἀκούοντας παιδείας γίγνεσθαι κατὰ δύναμιν ἐπηβόλους: ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ἡμῖν αὐτὰ μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνα ὄντως ἐστὶν ῥητέα τε καὶ ἀκουστέα.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Τόμος 5

[726α] Ἀθηναῖος

ἀκούοι δὴ πᾶς ὅσπερ νυνδὴ τὰ περὶ θεῶν τε ἤκουε καὶ τῶν φίλων προπατόρων: πάντων γὰρ τῶν αὑτοῦ κτημάτων μετὰ θεοὺς ψυχὴ θειότατον, οἰκειότατον ὄν. τὰ δ᾽ αὑτοῦ διττὰ πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ πᾶσιν. τὰ μὲν οὖν κρείττω καὶ ἀμείνω δεσπόζοντα, τὰ δὲ ἥττω καὶ χείρω δοῦλα: τῶν οὖν αὑτοῦ τὰ δεσπόζοντα ἀεὶ προτιμητέον τῶν δουλευόντων. οὕτω δὴ τὴν αὑτοῦ ψυχὴν [727α] μετὰ θεοὺς ὄντας δεσπότας καὶ τοὺς τούτοις ἑπομένους τιμᾶν δεῖν λέγων δευτέραν, ὀρθῶς παρακελεύομαι. τιμᾷ δ᾽ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἡμῶν οὐδεὶς ὀρθῶς, δοκεῖ δέ: θεῖον γὰρ ἀγαθόν που τιμή, τῶν δὲ κακῶν οὐδὲν τίμιον, ὁ δ᾽ ἡγούμενος ἤ τισι λόγοις ἢ δώροις αὐτὴν αὔξειν ἤ τισιν ὑπείξεσιν, μηδὲν βελτίω δὲ ἐκ χείρονος αὐτὴν ἀπεργαζόμενος, τιμᾶν μὲν δοκεῖ, δρᾷ δὲ τοῦτο οὐδαμῶς. αὐτίκα παῖς εὐθὺς γενόμενος ἄνθρωπος πᾶς ἡγεῖται πάντα ἱκανὸς εἶναι γιγνώσκειν, [727β] καὶ τιμᾶν οἴεται ἐπαινῶν τὴν αὑτοῦ ψυχήν, καὶ προθυμούμενος ἐπιτρέπει πράττειν ὅτι ἂν ἐθέλῃ, τὸ δὲ νῦν λεγόμενόν ἐστιν ὡς δρῶν ταῦτα βλάπτει καὶ οὐ τιμᾷ: δεῖ δέ, ὥς φαμεν, μετά γε θεοὺς δευτέραν. οὐδέ γε ὅταν ἄνθρωπος τῶν αὑτοῦ ἑκάστοτε ἁμαρτημάτων μὴ ἑαυτὸν αἴτιον ἡγῆται καὶ τῶν πλείστων κακῶν καὶ μεγίστων, ἀλλὰ ἄλλους, ἑαυτὸν δὲ ἀεὶ ἀναίτιον ἐξαιρῇ, τιμῶν τὴν αὑτοῦ ψυχήν, ὡς δὴ δοκεῖ, ὁ δὲ [727ξ] πολλοῦ δεῖ δρᾶν τοῦτο: βλάπτει γάρ. οὐδ᾽ ὁπόταν ἡδοναῖς παρὰ λόγον τὸν τοῦ νομοθέτου καὶ ἔπαινον χαρίζηται, τότε οὐδαμῶς τιμᾷ, ἀτιμάζει δὲ κακῶν καὶ μεταμελείας ἐμπιμπλὰς αὐτήν. οὐδέ γε ὁπόταν αὖ τἀναντία τοὺς ἐπαινουμένους πόνους καὶ φόβους καὶ ἀλγηδόνας καὶ λύπας μὴ διαπονῇ καρτερῶν ἀλλὰ ὑπείκῃ, τότε οὐ τιμᾷ ὑπείκων: ἄτιμον γὰρ αὐτὴν ἀπεργάζεται δρῶν τὰ τοιαῦτα σύμπαντα. οὐδ᾽ ὁπόταν [727δ] ἡγῆται τὸ ζῆν πάντως ἀγαθὸν εἶναι, τιμᾷ, ἀτιμάζει δ᾽ αὐτὴν καὶ τότε: τὰ γὰρ ἐν Ἅιδου πράγματα πάντα κακὰ ἡγουμένης τῆς ψυχῆς εἶναι, ὑπείκει καὶ οὐκ ἀντιτείνει διδάσκων τε καὶ ἐλέγχων ὡς οὐκ οἶδεν οὐδ᾽ εἰ τἀναντία πέφυκεν μέγιστα εἶναι πάντων ἀγαθῶν ἡμῖν τὰ περὶ τοὺς θεοὺς τοὺς ἐκεῖ. οὐδὲ μὴν πρὸ ἀρετῆς ὁπόταν αὖ προτιμᾷ τις κάλλος, τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν οὐχ ἕτερον ἢ ἡ τῆς ψυχῆς ὄντως καὶ πάντως ἀτιμία. ψυχῆς γὰρ σῶμα ἐντιμότερον οὗτος ὁ λόγος φησὶν εἶναι, [727ε] ψευδόμενος: οὐδὲν γὰρ γηγενὲς Ὀλυμπίων ἐντιμότερον, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ περὶ ψυχῆς ἄλλως δοξάζων ἀγνοεῖ ὡς θαυμαστοῦ τούτου κτήματος ἀμελεῖ. οὐδέ γε ὁπόταν χρήματά τις ἐρᾷ κτᾶσθαι [728α] μὴ καλῶς, ἢ μὴ δυσχερῶς φέρῃ κτώμενος, δώροις ἄρα τιμᾷ τότε τὴν αὑτοῦ ψυχήν-παντὸς μὲν οὖν λείπει-τὸ γὰρ αὐτῆς τίμιον ἅμα καὶ καλὸν ἀποδίδοται σμικροῦ χρυσίου: πᾶς γὰρ ὅ τ᾽ ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ ὑπὸ γῆς χρυσὸς ἀρετῆς οὐκ ἀντάξιος. ὡς δὲ εἰπεῖν συλλήβδην, ὃς ἅπερ ἂν νομοθέτης αἰσχρὰ εἶναι καὶ κακὰ διαριθμούμενος τάττῃ καὶ τοὐναντίον ἀγαθὰ καὶ καλά, τῶν μὲν ἀπέχεσθαι μὴ ἐθέλῃ πάσῃ μηχανῇ, τὰ δὲ ἐπιτηδεύειν σύμπασαν κατὰ δύναμιν, οὐκ οἶδεν ἐν [728β] τούτοις πᾶσιν πᾶς ἄνθρωπος ψυχὴν θειότατον ὂν ἀτιμότατα καὶ κακοσχημονέστατα διατιθείς. τὴν γὰρ λεγομένην δίκην τῆς κακουργίας τὴν μεγίστην οὐδεὶς ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν λογίζεται, ἔστιν δ᾽ ἡ μεγίστη τὸ ὁμοιοῦσθαι τοῖς οὖσιν κακοῖς ἀνδράσιν, ὁμοιούμενον δὲ τοὺς μὲν ἀγαθοὺς φεύγειν ἄνδρας καὶ λόγους καὶ ἀποσχίζεσθαι, τοῖς δὲ προσκολλᾶσθαι διώκοντα κατὰ τὰς συνουσίας: προσπεφυκότα δὲ τοῖς τοιούτοις ἀνάγκη ποιεῖν [728ξ] καὶ πάσχειν ἃ πεφύκασιν ἀλλήλους οἱ τοιοῦτοι ποιεῖν καὶ λέγειν. τοῦτο οὖν δὴ τὸ πάθος δίκη μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν-καλὸν γὰρ τό γε δίκαιον καὶ ἡ δίκη-τιμωρία δέ, ἀδικίας ἀκόλουθος πάθη, ἧς ὅ τε τυχὼν καὶ μὴ τυγχάνων ἄθλιος, ὁ μὲν οὐκ ἰατρευόμενος, ὁ δέ, ἵνα ἕτεροι πολλοὶ σῴζωνται, ἀπολλύμενος. τιμὴ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡμῖν, ὡς τὸ ὅλον εἰπεῖν, τοῖς μὲν ἀμείνοσιν ἕπεσθαι, τὰ δὲ χείρονα, γενέσθαι δὲ βελτίω δυνατά, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ὡς ἄριστα ἀποτελεῖν.

ψυχῆς οὖν ἀνθρώπῳ κτῆμα οὐκ ἔστιν εὐφυέστερον εἰς [728δ] τὸ φυγεῖν μὲν τὸ κακόν, ἰχνεῦσαι δὲ καὶ ἑλεῖν τὸ πάντων ἄριστον, καὶ ἑλόντα αὖ κοινῇ συνοικεῖν τὸν ἐπίλοιπον βίον: διὸ δεύτερον ἐτάχθη τιμῇ, τὸ δὲ τρίτον-πᾶς ἂν τοῦτό γε νοήσειεν-τὴν τοῦ σώματος εἶναι κατὰ φύσιν τιμήν: τὰς δ᾽ αὖ τιμὰς δεῖ σκοπεῖν, καὶ τούτων τίνες ἀληθεῖς καὶ ὅσαι κίβδηλοι, τοῦτο δὲ νομοθέτου. μηνύειν δή μοι φαίνεται τάσδε καὶ τοιάσδε τινὰς αὐτὰς εἶναι, τίμιον εἶναι σῶμα οὐ τὸ καλὸν οὐδὲ ἰσχυρὸν οὐδὲ τάχος ἔχον οὐδὲ μέγα, οὐδέ [728ε] γε τὸ ὑγιεινόν-καίτοι πολλοῖς ἂν τοῦτό γε δοκοῖ-καὶ μὴν οὐδὲ τὰ τούτων γ᾽ ἐναντία, τὰ δ᾽ ἐν τῷ μέσῳ ἁπάσης ταύτης τῆς ἕξεως ἐφαπτόμενα σωφρονέστατα ἅμα τε ἀσφαλέστατα εἶναι μακρῷ: τὰ μὲν γὰρ χαύνους τὰς ψυχὰς καὶ θρασείας ποιεῖ, τὰ δὲ ταπεινάς τε καὶ ἀνελευθέρους. ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως ἡ τῶν χρημάτων καὶ κτημάτων κτῆσις, καὶ τιμήσεως κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν ῥυθμὸν ἔχει: τὰ μὲν ὑπέρογκα γὰρ ἑκάστων [729α] τούτων ἔχθρας καὶ στάσεις ἀπεργάζεται ταῖς πόλεσιν καὶ ἰδίᾳ, τὰ δ᾽ ἐλλείποντα δουλείας ὡς τὸ πολύ. μὴ δή τις φιλοχρημονείτω παίδων γ᾽ ἕνεκα, ἵνα ὅτι πλουσιωτάτους καταλίπῃ: οὔτε γὰρ ἐκείνοις οὔτε αὖ τῇ πόλει ἄμεινον. ἡ γὰρ τῶν νέων ἀκολάκευτος οὐσία, τῶν δ᾽ ἀναγκαίων μὴ ἐνδεής, αὕτη πασῶν μουσικωτάτη τε καὶ ἀρίστη: συμφωνοῦσα γὰρ ἡμῖν καὶ συναρμόττουσα εἰς ἅπαντα ἄλυπον τὸν [729β] βίον ἀπεργάζεται. παισὶν δὲ αἰδῶ χρὴ πολλήν, οὐ χρυσὸν καταλείπειν. οἰόμεθα δὲ ἐπιπλήττοντες τοῖς νέοις ἀναισχυντοῦσιν τοῦτο καταλείψειν: τὸ δ᾽ ἔστιν οὐκ ἐκ τοῦ νῦν παρακελεύματος τοῖς νέοις γιγνόμενον, ὃ παρακελεύονται λέγοντες ὡς δεῖ πάντα αἰσχύνεσθαι τὸν νέον. ὁ δὲ ἔμφρων νομοθέτης τοῖς πρεσβυτέροις ἂν μᾶλλον παρακελεύοιτο αἰσχύνεσθαι τοὺς νέους, καὶ πάντων μάλιστα εὐλαβεῖσθαι μή ποτέ τις αὐτὸν ἴδῃ τῶν νέων ἢ καὶ ἐπακούσῃ δρῶντα ἢ [729ξ] λέγοντά τι τῶν αἰσχρῶν, ὡς ὅπου ἀναισχυντοῦσι γέροντες, ἀνάγκη καὶ νέους ἐνταῦθα εἶναι ἀναιδεστάτους: παιδεία γὰρ νέων διαφέρουσά ἐστιν ἅμα καὶ αὐτῶν οὐ τὸ νουθετεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἅπερ ἂν ἄλλον νουθετῶν εἴποι τις, φαίνεσθαι ταῦτα αὐτὸν δρῶντα διὰ βίου. συγγένειαν δὲ καὶ ὁμογνίων θεῶν κοινωνίαν πᾶσαν ταὐτοῦ φύσιν αἵματος ἔχουσαν τιμῶν τις καὶ σεβόμενος, εὔνους ἂν γενεθλίους θεοὺς εἰς παίδων αὑτοῦ σπορὰν ἴσχοι κατὰ λόγον. καὶ μὴν τό γε φίλων καὶ ἑταίρων [729δ] πρὸς τὰς ἐν βίῳ ὁμιλίας εὐμενεῖς ἄν τις κτῷτο, μείζους μὲν καὶ σεμνοτέρας τὰς ἐκείνων ὑπηρεσίας εἰς αὑτὸν ἡγούμενος ἢ ‘κεῖνοι, ἐλάττους δ᾽ αὖ τὰς αὑτοῦ διανοούμενος εἰς τοὺς φίλους χάριτας αὐτῶν τῶν φίλων τε καὶ ἑταίρων. εἰς μὴν πόλιν καὶ πολίτας μακρῷ ἄριστος ὅστις πρὸ τοῦ Ὀλυμπίασιν καὶ ἁπάντων ἀγώνων πολεμικῶν τε καὶ εἰρηνικῶν νικᾶν δέξαιτ᾽ ἂν δόξῃ ὑπηρεσίας τῶν οἴκοι νόμων, ὡς [729ε] ὑπηρετηκὼς πάντων κάλλιστ᾽ ἀνθρώπων αὐτοῖς ἐν τῷ βίῳ. πρὸς δ᾽ αὖ τοὺς ξένους διανοητέον ὡς ἁγιώτατα συμβόλαια ὄντα: σχεδὸν γὰρ πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ τὰ τῶν ξένων καὶ εἰς τοὺς ξένους ἁμαρτήματα παρὰ τὰ τῶν πολιτῶν εἰς θεὸν ἀνηρτημένα τιμωρὸν μᾶλλον. ἔρημος γὰρ ὢν ὁ ξένος ἑταίρων τε καὶ συγγενῶν ἐλεεινότερος ἀνθρώποις καὶ θεοῖς: ὁ δυνάμενος οὖν τιμωρεῖν μᾶλλον βοηθεῖ προθυμότερον, δύναται [730α] δὲ διαφερόντως ὁ ξένιος ἑκάστων δαίμων καὶ θεὸς τῷ ξενίῳ συνεπόμενοι Διί. πολλῆς οὖν εὐλαβείας, ᾧ καὶ σμικρὸν προμηθείας ἔνι, μηδὲν ἁμάρτημα περὶ ξένους ἁμαρτόντα ἐν τῷ βίῳ πρὸς τὸ τέλος αὐτοῦ πορευθῆναι. ξενικῶν δ᾽ αὖ καὶ ἐπιχωρίων ἁμαρτημάτων τὸ περὶ τοὺς ἱκέτας μέγιστον γίγνεται ἁμάρτημα ἑκάστοις: μεθ᾽ οὗ γὰρ ἱκετεύσας μάρτυρος ὁ ἱκέτης θεοῦ ἔτυχεν ὁμολογιῶν, φύλαξ διαφέρων οὗτος τοῦ παθόντος γίγνεται, ὥστ᾽ οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἀτιμώρητος πάθοι ὁ τυχὼν ὧν ἔπαθε. [730β]

τὰ μὲν οὖν περὶ γονέας τε καὶ ἑαυτὸν καὶ τὰ ἑαυτοῦ, περὶ πόλιν τε καὶ φίλους καὶ συγγένειαν, ξενικά τε καὶ ἐπιχώρια, διεληλύθαμεν σχεδὸν ὁμιλήματα, τὸ δὲ ποῖός τις ὢν αὐτὸς ἂν κάλλιστα διαγάγοι τὸν βίον, ἑπόμενον τούτῳ διεξελθεῖν: ὅσα μὴ νόμος, ἀλλ᾽ ἔπαινος παιδεύων καὶ ψόγος ἑκάστους εὐηνίους μᾶλλον καὶ εὐμενεῖς τοῖς τεθήσεσθαι μέλλουσιν νόμοις ἀπεργάζεται, ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν μετὰ τοῦτο ἡμῖν [730ξ] ῥητέον. ἀλήθεια δὴ πάντων μὲν ἀγαθῶν θεοῖς ἡγεῖται, πάντων δὲ ἀνθρώποις: ἧς ὁ γενήσεσθαι μέλλων μακάριός τε καὶ εὐδαίμων ἐξ ἀρχῆς εὐθὺς μέτοχος εἴη, ἵνα ὡς πλεῖστον χρόνον ἀληθὴς ὢν διαβιοῖ. πιστὸς γάρ: ὁ δὲ ἄπιστος ᾧ φίλον ψεῦδος ἑκούσιον, ὅτῳ δὲ ἀκούσιον, ἄνους. ὧν οὐδέτερον ζηλωτόν. ἄφιλος γὰρ δὴ πᾶς ὅ γε ἄπιστος καὶ ἀμαθής, χρόνου δὲ προϊόντος γνωσθείς, εἰς τὸ χαλεπὸν γῆρας ἐρημίαν αὑτῷ πᾶσαν κατεσκευάσατο ἐπὶ τέλει τοῦ βίου, ὥστε ζώντων [730δ] καὶ μὴ ἑταίρων καὶ παίδων σχεδὸν ὁμοίως ὀρφανὸν αὐτῷ γενέσθαι τὸν βίον. τίμιος μὲν δὴ καὶ ὁ μηδὲν ἀδικῶν, ὁ δὲ μηδ᾽ ἐπιτρέπων τοῖς ἀδικοῦσιν ἀδικεῖν πλέον ἢ διπλασίας τιμῆς ἄξιος ἐκείνου: ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἑνός, ὁ δὲ πολλῶν ἀντάξιος ἑτέρων, μηνύων τὴν τῶν ἄλλων τοῖς ἄρχουσιν ἀδικίαν. ὁ δὲ καὶ συγκολάζων εἰς δύναμιν τοῖς ἄρχουσιν, ὁ μέγας ἀνὴρ ἐν πόλει καὶ τέλειος, οὗτος ἀναγορευέσθω νικηφόρος ἀρετῇ. [730ε] τὸν αὐτὸν δὴ τοῦτον ἔπαινον καὶ περὶ σωφροσύνης χρὴ λέγειν καὶ περὶ φρονήσεως, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα ἀγαθά τις κέκτηται δυνατὰ μὴ μόνον αὐτὸν ἔχειν ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλοις μεταδιδόναι: καὶ τὸν μὲν μεταδιδόντα ὡς ἀκρότατον χρὴ τιμᾶν, τὸν δ᾽ αὖ μὴ δυνάμενον, ἐθέλοντα δέ, ἐᾶν δεύτερον, τὸν δὲ φθονοῦντα καὶ ἑκόντα μηδενὶ κοινωνὸν διὰ φιλίας γιγνόμενον ἀγαθῶν [731α] τινων αὐτὸν μὲν ψέγειν, τὸ δὲ κτῆμα μηδὲν μᾶλλον διὰ τὸν κεκτημένον ἀτιμάζειν, ἀλλὰ κτᾶσθαι κατὰ δύναμιν. φιλονικείτω δὲ ἡμῖν πᾶς πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἀφθόνως. ὁ μὲν γὰρ τοιοῦτος τὰς πόλεις αὔξει, ἁμιλλώμενος μὲν αὐτός, τοὺς ἄλλους δὲ οὐ κολούων διαβολαῖς: ὁ δὲ φθονερός, τῇ τῶν ἄλλων διαβολῇ δεῖν οἰόμενος ὑπερέχειν, αὐτός τε ἧττον συντείνει πρὸς ἀρετὴν τὴν ἀληθῆ, τούς τε ἀνθαμιλλωμένους εἰς ἀθυμίαν καθίστησι τῷ ἀδίκως ψέγεσθαι, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα [731β] ἀγύμναστον τὴν πόλιν ὅλην εἰς ἅμιλλαν ἀρετῆς ποιῶν, σμικροτέραν αὐτὴν πρὸς εὐδοξίαν τὸ ἑαυτοῦ μέρος ἀπεργάζεται. θυμοειδῆ μὲν δὴ χρὴ πάντα ἄνδρα εἶναι, πρᾷον δὲ ὡς ὅτι μάλιστα. τὰ γὰρ τῶν ἄλλων χαλεπὰ καὶ δυσίατα ἢ καὶ τὸ παράπαν ἀνίατα ἀδικήματα οὐκ ἔστιν ἄλλως ἐκφυγεῖν ἢ μαχόμενον καὶ ἀμυνόμενον νικῶντα καὶ τῷ μηδὲν ἀνιέναι κολάζοντα, τοῦτο δὲ ἄνευ θυμοῦ γενναίου ψυχὴ πᾶσα [731ξ] ἀδύνατος δρᾶν. τὰ δ᾽ αὖ τῶν ὅσοι ἀδικοῦσιν μέν, ἰατὰ δέ, γιγνώσκειν χρὴ πρῶτον μὲν ὅτι πᾶς ὁ ἄδικος οὐχ ἑκὼν ἄδικος: τῶν γὰρ μεγίστων κακῶν οὐδεὶς οὐδαμοῦ οὐδὲν ἑκὼν κεκτῇτο ἄν ποτε, πολὺ δὲ ἥκιστα ἐν τοῖς τῶν ἑαυτοῦ τιμιωτάτοις. ψυχὴ δ᾽, ὡς εἴπομεν, ἀληθείᾳ γέ ἐστιν πᾶσιν τιμιώτατον: ἐν οὖν τῷ τιμιωτάτῳ τὸ μέγιστον κακὸν οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν μή ποτε λάβῃ καὶ ζῇ διὰ βίου κεκτημένος αὐτό. ἀλλὰ ἐλεεινὸς μὲν πάντως ὅ γε ἄδικος καὶ ὁ τὰ κακὰ ἔχων, ἐλεεῖν [731δ] δὲ τὸν μὲν ἰάσιμα ἔχοντα ἐγχωρεῖ καὶ ἀνείργοντα τὸν θυμὸν πραΰνειν καὶ μὴ ἀκραχολοῦντα γυναικείως πικραινόμενον διατελεῖν, τῷ δ᾽ ἀκράτως καὶ ἀπαραμυθήτως πλημμελεῖ καὶ κακῷ ἐφιέναι δεῖ τὴν ὀργήν: διὸ δὴ θυμοειδῆ πρέπειν καὶ πρᾷόν φαμεν ἑκάστοτε εἶναι δεῖν τὸν ἀγαθόν.

πάντων δὲ μέγιστον κακῶν ἀνθρώποις τοῖς πολλοῖς ἔμφυτον ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἐστιν, οὗ πᾶς αὑτῷ συγγνώμην ἔχων [731ε] ἀποφυγὴν οὐδεμίαν μηχανᾶται: τοῦτο δ᾽ ἔστιν ὃ λέγουσιν ὡς φίλος αὑτῷ πᾶς ἄνθρωπος φύσει τέ ἐστιν καὶ ὀρθῶς ἔχει τὸ δεῖν εἶναι τοιοῦτον. τὸ δὲ ἀληθείᾳ γε πάντων ἁμαρτημάτων διὰ τὴν σφόδρα ἑαυτοῦ φιλίαν αἴτιον ἑκάστῳ γίγνεται ἑκάστοτε. τυφλοῦται γὰρ περὶ τὸ φιλούμενον ὁ φιλῶν, ὥστε τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἀγαθὰ καὶ τὰ καλὰ κακῶς [732α] κρίνει, τὸ αὑτοῦ πρὸ τοῦ ἀληθοῦς ἀεὶ τιμᾶν δεῖν ἡγούμενος: οὔτε γὰρ ἑαυτὸν οὔτε τὰ ἑαυτοῦ χρὴ τόν γε μέγαν ἄνδρα ἐσόμενον στέργειν, ἀλλὰ τὰ δίκαια, ἐάντε παρ᾽ αὑτῷ ἐάντε παρ᾽ ἄλλῳ μᾶλλον πραττόμενα τυγχάνῃ. ἐκ ταὐτοῦ δὲ ἁμαρτήματος τούτου καὶ τὸ τὴν ἀμαθίαν τὴν παρ᾽ αὑτῷ δοκεῖν σοφίαν εἶναι γέγονε πᾶσιν: ὅθεν οὐκ εἰδότες ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδέν, οἰόμεθα τὰ πάντα εἰδέναι, οὐκ ἐπιτρέποντες δὲ [732β] ἄλλοις ἃ μὴ ἐπιστάμεθα πράττειν, ἀναγκαζόμεθα ἁμαρτάνειν αὐτοὶ πράττοντες. διὸ πάντα ἄνθρωπον χρὴ φεύγειν τὸ σφόδρα φιλεῖν αὑτόν, τὸν δ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ βελτίω διώκειν ἀεί, μηδεμίαν αἰσχύνην ἐπὶ τῷ τοιούτῳ πρόσθεν ποιούμενον.

ἃ δὲ σμικρότερα μὲν τούτων καὶ λεγόμενα πολλάκις ἐστίν, χρήσιμα δὲ τούτων οὐχ ἧττον, χρὴ λέγειν ἑαυτὸν ἀναμιμνῄσκοντα: ὥσπερ γάρ τινος ἀπορρέοντος ἀεὶ δεῖ τοὐναντίον ἐπιρρεῖν, ἀνάμνησις δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐπιρροὴ φρονήσεως ἀπολειπούσης. [732ξ] διὸ δὴ γελώτων τε εἴργεσθαι χρὴ τῶν ἐξαισίων καὶ δακρύων, παραγγέλλειν δὲ παντὶ πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα, καὶ ὅλην περιχάρειαν πᾶσαν ἀποκρυπτόμενον καὶ περιωδυνίαν εὐσχημονεῖν πειρᾶσθαι, κατά τε εὐπραγίας ἱσταμένου τοῦ δαίμονος ἑκάστου, καὶ κατὰ τύχας οἷον πρὸς ὑψηλὰ καὶ ἀνάντη δαιμόνων ἀνθισταμένων τισὶν πράξεσιν, ἐλπίζειν δ᾽ ἀεὶ τοῖς γε ἀγαθοῖσι τὸν θεὸν ἃ δωρεῖται πόνων μὲν ἐπιπιπτόντων [732δ] ἀντὶ μειζόνων ἐλάττους ποιήσειν τῶν τ᾽ αὖ νῦν παρόντων ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιον μεταβολάς, περὶ δὲ τὰ ἀγαθὰ τὰ ἐναντία τούτων ἀεὶ πάντ᾽ αὐτοῖς παραγενήσεσθαι μετ᾽ ἀγαθῆς τύχης. ταύταις δὴ ταῖς ἐλπίσιν ἕκαστον χρὴ ζῆν καὶ ταῖς ὑπομνήσεσι πάντων τῶν τοιούτων, μηδὲν φειδόμενον, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ κατά τε παιδιὰς καὶ σπουδὰς ἀναμιμνῄσκοντα ἕτερόν τε καὶ ἑαυτὸν σαφῶς.

νῦν οὖν δὴ περὶ μὲν ἐπιτηδευμάτων, οἷα χρὴ ἐπιτηδεύειν, [732ε] καὶ περὶ αὐτοῦ ἑκάστου, ποῖόν τινα χρεὼν εἶναι, λέλεκται σχεδὸν ὅσα θεῖά ἐστι, τὰ δὲ ἀνθρώπινα νῦν ἡμῖν οὐκ εἴρηται, δεῖ δέ: ἀνθρώποις γὰρ διαλεγόμεθα ἀλλ᾽ οὐ θεοῖς. ἔστιν δὴ φύσει ἀνθρώπειον μάλιστα ἡδοναὶ καὶ λῦπαι καὶ ἐπιθυμίαι, ἐξ ὧν ἀνάγκη τὸ θνητὸν πᾶν ζῷον ἀτεχνῶς οἷον ἐξηρτῆσθαί τε καὶ ἐκκρεμάμενον εἶναι σπουδαῖς ταῖς μεγίσταις: δεῖ δὴ τὸν κάλλιστον βίον ἐπαινεῖν, μὴ μόνον ὅτι τῷ [733α] σχήματι κρατεῖ πρὸς εὐδοξίαν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὡς, ἄν τις ἐθέλῃ γεύεσθαι καὶ μὴ νέος ὢν φυγὰς ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ γένηται, κρατεῖ καὶ τούτῳ ὃ πάντες ζητοῦμεν, τῷ χαίρειν πλείω, ἐλάττω δὲ λυπεῖσθαι παρὰ τὸν βίον ἅπαντα. ὡς δὲ ἔσται τοῦτο σαφές, ἂν γεύηταί τις ὀρθῶς, ἑτοίμως καὶ σφόδρα φανήσεται. ἡ δὲ ὀρθότης τίς; τοῦτο ἤδη παρὰ τοῦ λόγου χρὴ λαμβάνοντα σκοπεῖν: εἴτε οὕτως ἡμῖν κατὰ φύσιν πέφυκεν εἴτε ἄλλως παρὰ φύσιν, βίον χρὴ παρὰ βίον ἡδίω καὶ λυπηρότερον ὧδε σκοπεῖν. ἡδονὴν βουλόμεθα ἡμῖν εἶναι, [733β] λύπην δὲ οὔθ᾽ αἱρούμεθα οὔτε βουλόμεθα, τὸ δὲ μηδέτερον ἀντὶ μὲν ἡδονῆς οὐ βουλόμεθα, λύπης δὲ ἀλλάττεσθαι βουλόμεθα: λύπην δ᾽ ἐλάττω μετὰ μείζονος ἡδονῆς βουλόμεθα, ἡδονὴν δ᾽ ἐλάττω μετὰ μείζονος λύπης οὐ βουλόμεθα, ἴσα δὲ ἀντὶ ἴσων ἑκάτερα τούτων οὐχ ὡς βουλόμεθα ἔχοιμεν ἂν διασαφεῖν. ταῦτα δὲ πάντα ἐστὶν πλήθει καὶ μεγέθει καὶ σφοδρότησιν ἰσότησίν τε, καὶ ὅσα ἐναντία ἐστὶν πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις πρὸς βούλησιν, διαφέροντά τε καὶ μηδὲν [733ξ] διαφέροντα πρὸς αἵρεσιν ἑκάστων. οὕτω δὴ τούτων ἐξ ἀνάγκης διακεκοσμημένων, ἐν ᾧ μὲν βίῳ ἔνεστι πολλὰ ἑκάτερα καὶ μεγάλα καὶ σφοδρά, ὑπερβάλλει δὲ τὰ τῶν ἡδονῶν, βουλόμεθα, ἐν ᾧ δὲ τὰ ἐναντία, οὐ βουλόμεθα: καὶ αὖ ἐν ᾧ ὀλίγα ἑκάτερα καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ ἠρεμαῖα, ὑπερβάλλει δὲ τὰ λυπηρά, οὐ βουλόμεθα, ἐν ᾧ δὲ τἀναντία, βουλόμεθα. ἐν ᾧ δ᾽ αὖ βίῳ ἰσορροπεῖ, καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν δεῖ διανοεῖσθαι: τὸν ἰσόρροπον βίον ὡς τῶν μὲν ὑπερβαλλόντων [733δ] τῷ φίλῳ ἡμῖν βουλόμεθα, τῶν δ᾽ αὖ τοῖς ἐχθροῖς οὐ βουλόμεθα. πάντας δὴ δεῖ διανοεῖσθαι τοὺς βίους ἡμῶν ὡς ἐν τούτοις ἐνδεδεμένοι πεφύκασιν, καὶ δεῖ διανοεῖσθαι ποίους φύσει βουλόμεθα: εἰ δέ τι παρὰ ταῦτα ἄρα φαμὲν βούλεσθαι, διά τινα ἄγνοιαν καὶ ἀπειρίαν τῶν ὄντων βίων αὐτὰ λέγομεν.

τίνες δὴ καὶ πόσοι εἰσὶ βίοι, ὧν πέρι δεῖ προελόμενον τὸ βούλητόν τε καὶ [ἑκούσιον ἀβούλητόν τε καὶ] ἀκούσιον [733ε] ἰδόντα εἰς νόμον ἑαυτῷ ταξάμενον, τὸ φίλον ἅμα καὶ ἡδὺ καὶ ἄριστόν τε καὶ κάλλιστον ἑλόμενον, ζῆν ὡς οἷόν τ᾽ ἐστὶν ἄνθρωπον μακαριώτατα; λέγωμεν δὴ σώφρονα βίον ἕνα εἶναι καὶ φρόνιμον ἕνα καὶ ἕνα τὸν ἀνδρεῖον, καὶ τὸν ὑγιεινὸν βίον ἕνα ταξώμεθα: καὶ τούτοις οὖσιν τέτταρσιν ἐναντίους ἄλλους τέτταρας, ἄφρονα, δειλόν, ἀκόλαστον, νοσώδη. σώφρονα μὲν οὖν βίον ὁ γιγνώσκων θήσει πρᾷον ἐπὶ πάντα, [734α] καὶ ἠρεμαίας μὲν λύπας, ἠρεμαίας δὲ ἡδονάς, μαλακὰς δὲ ἐπιθυμίας καὶ ἔρωτας οὐκ ἐμμανεῖς παρεχόμενον, ἀκόλαστον δέ, ὀξὺν ἐπὶ πάντα, καὶ σφοδρὰς μὲν λύπας, σφοδρὰς δὲ ἡδονάς, συντόνους δὲ καὶ οἰστρώδεις ἐπιθυμίας τε καὶ ἔρωτας ὡς οἷόν τε ἐμμανεστάτους παρεχόμενον, ὑπερβαλλούσας δὲ ἐν μὲν τῷ σώφρονι βίῳ τὰς ἡδονὰς τῶν ἀχθηδόνων, ἐν δὲ τῷ ἀκολάστῳ τὰς λύπας τῶν ἡδονῶν μεγέθει καὶ πλήθει καὶ πυκνότησιν. ὅθεν ὁ μὲν ἡδίων ἡμῖν τῶν βίων, ὁ δὲ [734β] λυπηρότερος ἐξ ἀνάγκης συμβαίνει κατὰ φύσιν γίγνεσθαι, καὶ τόν γε βουλόμενον ἡδέως ζῆν οὐκέτι παρείκει ἑκόντα γε ἀκολάστως ζῆν, ἀλλ᾽ ἤδη δῆλον ὡς, εἰ τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον ὀρθόν, πᾶς ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἄκων ἐστὶν ἀκόλαστος: ἢ γὰρ δι᾽ ἀμαθίαν ἢ δι᾽ ἀκράτειαν ἢ δι᾽ ἀμφότερα, τοῦ σωφρονεῖν ἐνδεὴς ὢν ζῇ ὁ πᾶς ἀνθρώπινος ὄχλος. ταὐτὰ δὲ περὶ νοσώδους τε καὶ ὑγιεινοῦ βίου διανοητέον, ὡς ἔχουσι μὲν ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας, ὑπερβάλλουσι δὲ ἡδοναὶ μὲν λύπας ἐν ὑγιείᾳ, [734ξ] λῦπαι δὲ ἡδονὰς ἐν νόσοις. ἡμῖν δὲ ἡ βούλησις τῆς αἱρέσεως τῶν βίων οὐχ ἵνα τὸ λυπηρὸν ὑπερβάλλῃ: ὅπου δ᾽ ὑπερβάλλεται, τοῦτον τὸν βίον ἡδίω κεκρίκαμεν. ὁ δὴ σώφρων τοῦ ἀκολάστου καὶ ὁ φρόνιμος τοῦ ἄφρονος, φαῖμεν ἄν, καὶ ὁ τῆς ἀνδρείας τοῦ τῆς δειλίας ἐλάττονα καὶ σμικρότερα καὶ μανότερα ἔχων ἀμφότερα, τῇ τῶν ἡδονῶν ἑκάτερος ἑκάτερον ὑπερβάλλων, τῇ τῆς λύπης ἐκείνων ὑπερβαλλόντων [734δ] αὐτούς, ὁ μὲν ἀνδρεῖος τὸν δειλόν, ὁ δὲ φρόνιμος τὸν ἄφρονα νικῶσιν, ὥστε ἡδίους εἶναι τοὺς βίους τῶν βίων, σώφρονα καὶ ἀνδρεῖον καὶ φρόνιμον καὶ ὑγιεινὸν δειλοῦ καὶ ἄφρονος καὶ ἀκολάστου καὶ νοσώδους, καὶ συλλήβδην τὸν ἀρετῆς ἐχόμενον κατὰ σῶμα ἢ καὶ κατὰ ψυχὴν τοῦ τῆς μοχθηρίας ἐχομένου βίου ἡδίω τε εἶναι καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὑπερέχειν ἐκ περιττοῦ κάλλει καὶ ὀρθότητι καὶ ἀρετῇ καὶ εὐδοξίᾳ, ὥστε [734ε] τὸν ἔχοντα αὐτὸν ζῆν εὐδαιμονέστερον ἀπεργάζεσθαι τοῦ ἐναντίου τῷ παντὶ καὶ ὅλῳ.

καὶ τὸ μὲν προοίμιον τῶν νόμων ἐνταυθοῖ λεχθὲν τῶν λόγων τέλος ἐχέτω, μετὰ δὲ τὸ προοίμιον ἀναγκαῖόν που νόμον ἕπεσθαι, μᾶλλον δὲ τό γε ἀληθὲς νόμους πολιτείας ὑπογράφειν. καθάπερ οὖν δή τινα συνυφὴν ἢ καὶ πλέγμ᾽ ἄλλ᾽ ὁτιοῦν, οὐκ ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν οἷόν τ᾽ ἐστὶν τήν τε ἐφυφὴν καὶ τὸν στήμονα ἀπεργάζεσθαι, διαφέρειν δ᾽ ἀναγκαῖον τὸ τῶν στημόνων πρὸς ἀρετὴν γένος-ἰσχυρόν τε γὰρ καί τινα [735α] βεβαιότητα ἐν τοῖς τρόποις εἰληφός, τὸ δὲ μαλακώτερον καὶ ἐπιεικείᾳ τινὶ δικαίᾳ χρώμενον-ὅθεν δὴ τοὺς τὰς ἀρχὰς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἄρξοντας δεῖ διακρίνεσθαί τινα τρόπον ταύτῃ καὶ τοὺς σμικρᾷ παιδείᾳ βασανισθέντας ἑκάστοτε κατὰ λόγον. ἐστὸν γὰρ δὴ δύο πολιτείας εἴδη, τὸ μὲν ἀρχῶν καταστάσεις ἑκάστοις, τὸ δὲ νόμοι ταῖς ἀρχαῖς ἀποδοθέντες.

τὸ δὲ πρὸ τούτων ἁπάντων δεῖ διανοεῖσθαι τὰ τοιάδε. [735β] πᾶσαν ἀγέλην ποιμὴν καὶ βουκόλος τροφεύς τε ἵππων καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα τοιαῦτα παραλαβών, οὐκ ἄλλως μή ποτε ἐπιχειρήσει θεραπεύειν ἢ πρῶτον μὲν τὸν ἑκάστῃ προσήκοντα καθαρμὸν καθαρεῖ τῇ συνοικήσει, διαλέξας δὲ τά τε ὑγιῆ καὶ τὰ μὴ καὶ τὰ γενναῖα καὶ ἀγεννῆ, τὰ μὲν ἀποπέμψει πρὸς ἄλλας τινὰς ἀγέλας, τὰ δὲ θεραπεύσει, διανοούμενος ὡς μάταιος ἂν ὁ πόνος εἴη καὶ ἀνήνυτος περί τε σῶμα καὶ ψυχάς, ἃς φύσις [735ξ] καὶ πονηρὰ τροφὴ διεφθαρκυῖα προσαπόλλυσιν τὸ τῶν ὑγιῶν καὶ ἀκηράτων ἠθῶν τε καὶ σωμάτων γένος ἐν ἑκάστοις τῶν κτημάτων, ἄν τις τὰ ὑπάρχοντα μὴ διακαθαίρηται. τὰ μὲν δὴ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων ἐλάττων τε σπουδὴ καὶ παραδείγματος ἕνεκα μόνον ἄξια παραθέσθαι τῷ λόγῳ, τὰ δὲ τῶν ἀνθρώπων σπουδῆς τῆς μεγίστης τῷ τε νομοθέτῃ διερευνᾶσθαι καὶ φράζειν τὸ προσῆκον ἑκάστοις καθαρμοῦ τε πέρι καὶ συμπασῶν [735δ] τῶν ἄλλων πράξεων. αὐτίκα γὰρ τὸ περὶ καθαρμοὺς πόλεως ὧδ᾽ ἔχον ἂν εἴη: πολλῶν οὐσῶν τῶν διακαθάρσεων αἱ μὲν ῥᾴους εἰσίν, αἱ δὲ χαλεπώτεραι, καὶ τὰς μὲν τύραννος μὲν ὢν καὶ νομοθέτης ὁ αὐτός, ὅσαι χαλεπαί τ᾽ εἰσὶν καὶ ἄρισται, δύναιτ᾽ ἂν καθῆραι, νομοθέτης δὲ ἄνευ τυραννίδος καθιστὰς πολιτείαν καινὴν καὶ νόμους, εἰ καὶ τὸν πρᾳότατον τῶν καθαρμῶν καθήρειεν, ἀγαπώντως ἂν καὶ τὸ τοιοῦτον δράσειεν. ἔστι δ᾽ ὁ μὲν ἄριστος ἀλγεινός, καθάπερ ὅσα τῶν [735ε] φαρμάκων τοιουτότροπα, ὁ τῇ δίκῃ μετὰ τιμωρίας εἰς τὸ κολάζειν ἄγων, θάνατον ἢ φυγὴν τῇ τιμωρίᾳ τὸ τέλος ἐπιτιθείς: τοὺς γὰρ μέγιστα ἐξημαρτηκότας, ἀνιάτους δὲ ὄντας, μεγίστην δὲ οὖσαν βλάβην πόλεως, ἀπαλλάττειν εἴωθεν. ὁ δὲ πρᾳότερός ἐστι τῶν καθαρμῶν ὁ τοιόσδε ἡμῖν: ὅσοι διὰ τὴν τῆς τροφῆς ἀπορίαν τοῖς ἡγεμόσιν ἐπὶ τὰ τῶν ἐχόντων μὴ ἔχοντες ἑτοίμους αὑτοὺς ἐνδείκνυνται παρεσκευακότες [736α] ἕπεσθαι, τούτοις ὡς νοσήματι πόλεως ἐμπεφυκότι, δι᾽ εὐφημίας ἀπαλλαγήν, ὄνομα ἀποικίαν τιθέμενος, εὐμενῶς ὅτι μάλιστα ἐξεπέμψατο. παντὶ μὲν οὖν νομοθετοῦντι τοῦτο ἁμῶς γέ πως κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς δραστέον, ἡμῖν μὴν ἔτι τούτων ἀκοπώτερα τὰ περὶ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ συμβεβηκότα νῦν: οὔτε γὰρ ἀποικίαν οὔτ᾽ ἐκλογήν τινα καθάρσεως δεῖ μηχανᾶσθαι πρὸς τὸ παρόν, οἷον δέ τινων συρρεόντων ἐκ πολλῶν τὰ μὲν πηγῶν [736β] τὰ δὲ χειμάρρων εἰς μίαν λίμνην, ἀναγκαῖον προσέχοντας τὸν νοῦν φυλάττειν ὅπως ὅτι καθαρώτατον ἔσται τὸ συρρέον ὕδωρ, τὰ μὲν ἐξαντλοῦντας, τὰ δ᾽ ἀποχετεύοντας καὶ παρατρέποντας. πόνος δ᾽, ὡς ἔοικεν, καὶ κίνδυνός ἐστιν ἐν πάσῃ κατασκευῇ πολιτικῇ. τὰ δ᾽ ἐπείπερ λόγῳ γ᾽ ἐστὶν τὰ νῦν ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἔργῳ πραττόμενα, πεπεράνθω τε ἡμῖν ἡ συλλογὴ καὶ κατὰ νοῦν ἡ καθαρότης αὐτῆς ἔστω συμβεβηκυῖα: τοὺς γὰρ κακοὺς [736ξ] τῶν ἐπιχειρούντων εἰς τὴν νῦν πόλιν ὡς πολιτευσομένους συνιέναι πειθοῖ πάσῃ καὶ ἱκανῷ χρόνῳ διαβασανίσαντες, διακωλύσωμεν ἀφικνεῖσθαι, τοὺς δ᾽ ἀγαθοὺς εἰς δύναμιν εὐμενεῖς ἵλεῴ τε προσαγώμεθα.

τόδε δὲ μὴ λανθανέτω γιγνόμενον ἡμᾶς εὐτύχημα, ὅτι καθάπερ εἴπομεν τὴν τῶν Ἡρακλειδῶν ἀποικίαν εὐτυχεῖν, ὡς γῆς καὶ χρεῶν ἀποκοπῆς καὶ νομῆς πέρι δεινὴν καὶ ἐπικίνδυνον ἔριν ἐξέφυγεν, ἣν νομοθετεῖσθαι ἀναγκασθείσῃ [736δ] πόλει τῶν ἀρχαίων οὔτε ἐᾶν οἷόν τε ἀκίνητον οὔτ᾽ αὖ κινεῖν δυνατόν ἐστί τινα τρόπον, εὐχὴ δὲ μόνον ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν λείπεται, καὶ σμικρὰ μετάβασις εὐλαβὴς ἐν πολλῷ χρόνῳ σμικρὸν μεταβιβάζουσιν, ἥδε: τῶν κινούντων ἀεὶ κεκτημένων μὲν αὐτῶν γῆν ἄφθονον ὑπάρχειν, κεκτημένων δὲ καὶ ὀφειλέτας αὑτοῖς πολλοὺς ἐθελόντων τε τούτων πῃ τοῖς ἀπορουμένοις [736ε] δι᾽ ἐπιείκειαν κοινωνεῖν, τὰ μὲν ἀφιέντας, τὰ δὲ νεμομένους, ἁμῇ γέ πῃ τῆς μετριότητος ἐχομένους καὶ πενίαν ἡγουμένους εἶναι μὴ τὸ τὴν οὐσίαν ἐλάττω ποιεῖν ἀλλὰ τὸ τὴν ἀπληστίαν πλείω. σωτηρίας τε γὰρ ἀρχὴ μεγίστη πόλεως αὕτη γίγνεται, καὶ ἐπὶ ταύτης οἷον κρηπῖδος μονίμου ἐποικοδομεῖν δυνατὸν ὅντινα ἂν ὕστερον ἐποικοδομῇ τις κόσμον πολιτικὸν προσήκοντα τῇ τοιαύτῃ καταστάσει: ταύτης δὲ σαθρᾶς οὔσης τῆς [737α] μεταβάσεως, οὐκ εὔπορος ἡ μετὰ ταῦτα πολιτικὴ πρᾶξις οὐδεμιᾷ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν πόλει. ἣν ἡμεῖς μέν, ὥς φαμεν, ἐκφεύγομεν: ὅμως δὲ εἰρῆσθαί γε ὀρθότερον, εἰ καὶ μὴ ἐξεφεύγομεν, ὅπῃ ποτ᾽ ἂν ἐποιούμεθα αὐτῆς τὴν φυγήν. εἰρήσθω δή νυν ὅτι διὰ τοῦ μὴ φιλοχρηματεῖν μετὰ δίκης, ἄλλη δ᾽ οὐκ ἔστιν οὔτ᾽ εὐρεῖα οὔτε στενὴ τῆς τοιαύτης μηχανῆς διαφυγή: καὶ τοῦτο μὲν οἷον ἕρμα πόλεως ἡμῖν κείσθω τὰ νῦν. ἀνεγκλήτους [737β] γὰρ δεῖ τὰς οὐσίας πρὸς ἀλλήλους κατασκευάζεσθαι ἁμῶς γέ πως, ἢ μὴ προϊέναι πρότερον εἰς τοὔμπροσθεν ἑκόντα εἶναι τῆς ἄλλης κατασκευῆς οἷς ᾖ παλαιὰ ἐγκλήματα πρὸς ἀλλήλους, [καὶ] ὅσοις νοῦ καὶ σμικρὸν μετῇ: οἷς δέ, ὡς ἡμῖν νῦν, θεὸς ἔδωκε καινήν τε πόλιν οἰκίζειν καὶ μή τινας ἔχθρας εἶναί πω πρὸς ἀλλήλους, τούτους ἔχθρας αὑτοῖς αἰτίους γενέσθαι διὰ τὴν διανομὴν τῆς γῆς τε καὶ οἰκήσεων οὐκ ἀνθρώπινος ἂν εἴη μετὰ κάκης πάσης ἀμαθία. [737ξ]

τίς οὖν δὴ τρόπος ἂν εἴη τῆς ὀρθῆς διανομῆς; πρῶτον μὲν τὸν αὐτῶν ὄγκον τοῦ ἀριθμοῦ δεῖ τάξασθαι, πόσον εἶναι χρεών: μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο τὴν διανομὴν τῶν πολιτῶν, καθ᾽ ὁπόσα μέρη πλήθει καὶ ὁπηλίκα διαιρετέον αὐτούς, ἀνομολογητέον: ἐπὶ δὲ ταῦτα τήν τε γῆν καὶ τὰς οἰκήσεις ὅτι μάλιστα ἴσας ἐπινεμητέον. ὄγκος δὴ πλήθους ἱκανὸς οὐκ ἄλλως ὀρθῶς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν λεχθεὶς ἢ πρὸς τὴν γῆν καὶ πρὸς τὰς τῶν [737δ] πλησιοχώρων πόλεις: γῆ μὲν ὁπόση πόσους σώφρονας ὄντας ἱκανὴ τρέφειν, πλείονος δὲ οὐδὲν προσδεῖ, πλήθους δέ, ὁπόσοι τοὺς προσχώρους ἀδικοῦντάς τε αὐτοὺς ἀμύνασθαι δυνατοὶ καὶ γείτοσιν ἑαυτῶν ἀδικουμένοις βοηθῆσαι μὴ παντάπασιν ἀπόρως δύναιντ᾽ ἄν. ταῦτα δέ, ἰδόντες τὴν χώραν καὶ τοὺς γείτονας, ὁριούμεθα ἔργῳ καὶ λόγοις: νῦν δὲ σχήματος ἕνεκα καὶ ὑπογραφῆς, ἵνα περαίνηται, πρὸς τὴν νομοθεσίαν ὁ λόγος ἴτω. [737ε]

πεντάκις μὲν χίλιοι ἔστωσαν καὶ τετταράκοντα, ἀριθμοῦ τινος ἕνεκα προσήκοντος, γεωμόροι τε καὶ ἀμυνοῦντες τῇ νομῇ: γῆ δὲ καὶ οἰκήσεις ὡσαύτως τὰ αὐτὰ μέρη διανεμηθήτων, γενόμενα ἀνὴρ καὶ κλῆρος συννομή. δύο μὲν δὴ μέρη τοῦ παντὸς ἀριθμοῦ τὸ πρῶτον νεμηθήτω, μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τρία τὸν αὐτόν: πέφυκε γὰρ καὶ τέτταρα καὶ πέντε καὶ μέχρι τῶν δέκα ἐφεξῆς. δεῖ δὴ περὶ ἀριθμῶν τό γε τοσοῦτον πάντα [738α] ἄνδρα νομοθετοῦντα νενοηκέναι, τίς ἀριθμὸς καὶ ποῖος πάσαις πόλεσιν χρησιμώτατος ἂν εἴη. λέγωμεν δὴ τὸν πλείστας καὶ ἐφεξῆς μάλιστα διανομὰς ἐν αὑτῷ κεκτημένον. ὁ μὲν δὴ πᾶς εἰς πάντα πάσας τομὰς εἴληχεν: ὁ δὲ τῶν τετταράκοντα καὶ πεντακισχιλίων εἴς τε πόλεμον καὶ ὅσα κατ᾽ εἰρήνην πρὸς ἅπαντα τὰ συμβόλαια καὶ κοινωνήματα, εἰσφορῶν τε πέρι καὶ διανομῶν, οὐ πλείους μιᾶς δεουσῶν ἑξήκοντα δύναιτ᾽ ἂν τέμνεσθαι τομῶν, συνεχεῖς δὲ ἀπὸ μιᾶς [738β] μέχρι τῶν δέκα.

ταῦτα μὲν οὖν δὴ καὶ κατὰ σχολὴν δεῖ βεβαίως λαβεῖν, οἷς ἂν ὁ νόμος προστάττῃ λαμβάνειν: ἔχει γὰρ οὖν οὐκ ἄλλως ἢ ταύτῃ, δεῖ δὲ αὐτὰ ῥηθῆναι τῶνδε ἕνεκα κατοικίζοντι πόλιν. οὔτ᾽ ἂν καινὴν ἐξ ἀρχῆς τις ποιῇ οὔτ᾽ ἂν παλαιὰν διεφθαρμένην ἐπισκευάζηται, περὶ θεῶν γε καὶ ἱερῶν, ἅττα τε ἐν τῇ πόλει ἑκάστοις ἱδρῦσθαι δεῖ καὶ ὧντινων ἐπονομάζεσθαι θεῶν ἢ δαιμόνων, οὐδεὶς ἐπιχειρήσει κινεῖν νοῦν ἔχων [738ξ] ὅσα ἐκ Δελφῶν ἢ Δωδώνης ἢ παρ᾽ Ἄμμωνος ἤ τινες ἔπεισαν παλαιοὶ λόγοι ὁπῃδή τινας πείσαντες, φασμάτων γενομένων ἢ ἐπιπνοίας λεχθείσης θεῶν, πείσαντες δὲ θυσίας τελεταῖς συμμείκτους κατεστήσαντο εἴτε αὐτόθεν ἐπιχωρίους εἴτ᾽ οὖν Τυρρηνικὰς εἴτε Κυπρίας εἴτε ἄλλοθεν ὁθενοῦν, καθιέρωσαν δὲ τοῖς τοιούτοις λόγοις φήμας τε καὶ ἀγάλματα καὶ βωμοὺς καὶ ναούς, τεμένη τε τούτων ἑκάστοις ἐτεμένισαν: τούτων [738δ] νομοθέτῃ τὸ σμικρότατον ἁπάντων οὐδὲν κινητέον, τοῖς δὲ μέρεσιν ἑκάστοις θεὸν ἢ δαίμονα ἢ καί τινα ἥρωα ἀποδοτέον, ἐν δὲ τῇ τῆς γῆς διανομῇ πρώτοις ἐξαίρετα τεμένη τε καὶ πάντα τὰ προσήκοντα ἀποδοτέον, ὅπως ἂν σύλλογοι ἑκάστων τῶν μερῶν κατὰ χρόνους γιγνόμενοι τοὺς προσταχθέντας εἴς τε τὰς χρείας ἑκάστας εὐμάρειαν παρασκευάζωσι καὶ φιλοφρονῶνταί τε ἀλλήλους μετὰ θυσιῶν καὶ οἰκειῶνται [738ε] καὶ γνωρίζωσιν, οὗ μεῖζον οὐδὲν πόλει ἀγαθὸν ἢ γνωρίμους αὐτοὺς αὑτοῖς εἶναι. ὅπου γὰρ μὴ φῶς ἀλλήλοις ἐστὶν ἀλλήλων ἐν τοῖς τρόποις ἀλλὰ σκότος, οὔτ᾽ ἂν τιμῆς τῆς ἀξίας οὔτ᾽ ἀρχῶν οὔτε δίκης ποτέ τις ἂν τῆς προσηκούσης ὀρθῶς τυγχάνοι: δεῖ δὴ πάντα ἄνδρα ἓν πρὸς ἓν τοῦτο σπεύδειν ἐν πάσαις πόλεσιν, ὅπως μήτε αὐτὸς κίβδηλός ποτε φανεῖται ὁτῳοῦν, ἁπλοῦς δὲ καὶ ἀληθὴς ἀεί, μήτε ἄλλος τοιοῦτος ὢν αὐτὸν διαπατήσει. [739α]

ἡ δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο φορά, καθάπερ πεττῶν ἀφ᾽ ἱεροῦ, τῆς τῶν νόμων κατασκευῆς, ἀήθης οὖσα, τάχ᾽ ἂν θαυμάσαι τὸν ἀκούοντα τὸ πρῶτον ποιήσειεν: οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽ ἀναλογιζομένῳ καὶ πειρωμένῳ φανεῖται δευτέρως ἂν πόλις οἰκεῖσθαι πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον. τάχα δ᾽ οὐκ ἄν τις προσδέξαιτο αὐτὴν διὰ τὸ μὴ σύνηθες νομοθέτῃ μὴ τυραννοῦντι: τὸ δ᾽ ἔστιν ὀρθότατον εἰπεῖν μὲν τὴν ἀρίστην πολιτείαν καὶ δευτέραν καὶ τρίτην, [739β] δοῦναι δὲ εἰπόντα αἵρεσιν ἑκάστῳ τῷ τῆς συνοικήσεως κυρίῳ. ποιῶμεν δὴ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον καὶ τὰ νῦν ἡμεῖς, εἰπόντες ἀρετῇ πρώτην πολιτείαν καὶ δευτέραν καὶ τρίτην: τὴν δὲ αἵρεσιν Κλεινίᾳ τε ἀποδιδῶμεν τὰ νῦν καὶ εἴ τις ἄλλος ἀεί ποτε ἐθελήσειεν ἐπὶ τὴν τῶν τοιούτων ἐκλογὴν ἐλθὼν κατὰ τὸν ἑαυτοῦ τρόπον ἀπονείμασθαι τὸ φίλον αὑτῷ τῆς αὑτοῦ πατρίδος.

πρώτη μὲν τοίνυν πόλις τέ ἐστιν καὶ πολιτεία καὶ νόμοι [739ξ] ἄριστοι, ὅπου τὸ πάλαι λεγόμενον ἂν γίγνηται κατὰ πᾶσαν τὴν πόλιν ὅτι μάλιστα: λέγεται δὲ ὡς ὄντως ἐστὶ κοινὰ τὰ φίλων. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν εἴτε που νῦν ἔστιν εἴτ᾽ ἔσται ποτέ- κοινὰς μὲν γυναῖκας, κοινοὺς δὲ εἶναι παῖδας, κοινὰ δὲ χρήματα σύμπαντα-καὶ πάσῃ μηχανῇ τὸ λεγόμενον ἴδιον πανταχόθεν ἐκ τοῦ βίου ἅπαν ἐξῄρηται, μεμηχάνηται δ᾽ εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν καὶ τὰ φύσει ἴδια κοινὰ ἁμῇ γέ πῃ γεγονέναι, οἷον ὄμματα καὶ ὦτα καὶ χεῖρας κοινὰ μὲν ὁρᾶν δοκεῖν καὶ [739δ] ἀκούειν καὶ πράττειν, ἐπαινεῖν τ᾽ αὖ καὶ ψέγειν καθ᾽ ἓν ὅτι μάλιστα σύμπαντας ἐπὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς χαίροντας καὶ λυπουμένους, καὶ κατὰ δύναμιν οἵτινες νόμοι μίαν ὅτι μάλιστα πόλιν ἀπεργάζονται, τούτων ὑπερβολῇ πρὸς ἀρετὴν οὐδείς ποτε ὅρον ἄλλον θέμενος ὀρθότερον οὐδὲ βελτίω θήσεται. ἡ μὲν δὴ τοιαύτη πόλις, εἴτε που θεοὶ ἢ παῖδες θεῶν αὐτὴν οἰκοῦσι πλείους ἑνός, οὕτω διαζῶντες εὐφραινόμενοι κατοικοῦσι: [739ε] διὸ δὴ παράδειγμά γε πολιτείας οὐκ ἄλλῃ χρὴ σκοπεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐχομένους ταύτης τὴν ὅτι μάλιστα τοιαύτην ζητεῖν κατὰ δύναμιν. ἣν δὲ νῦν ἡμεῖς ἐπικεχειρήκαμεν, εἴη τε ἂν γενομένη πως ἀθανασίας ἐγγύτατα καὶ ἡ μία δευτέρως: τρίτην δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα, ἐὰν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ, διαπερανούμεθα. νῦν δ᾽ οὖν ταύτην τίνα λέγομεν καὶ πῶς γενομένην ἂν τοιαύτην;

νειμάσθων μὲν δὴ πρῶτον γῆν τε καὶ οἰκίας, καὶ μὴ [740α] κοινῇ γεωργούντων, ἐπειδὴ τὸ τοιοῦτον μεῖζον ἢ κατὰ τὴν νῦν γένεσιν καὶ τροφὴν καὶ παίδευσιν εἴρηται: νεμέσθων δ᾽ οὖν τοιᾷδε διανοίᾳ πως, ὡς ἄρα δεῖ τὸν λαχόντα τὴν λῆξιν ταύτην νομίζειν μὲν κοινὴν αὐτὴν τῆς πόλεως συμπάσης, πατρίδος δὲ οὔσης τῆς χώρας θεραπεύειν αὐτὴν δεῖ μειζόνως ἢ μητέρα παῖδας, τῷ καὶ δέσποιναν θεὸν αὐτὴν οὖσαν θνητῶν ὄντων γεγονέναι, ταὐτὰ δ᾽ ἔχειν διανοήματα καὶ περὶ τοὺς [740β] ἐγχωρίους θεούς τε ἅμα καὶ δαίμονας. ὅπως δ᾽ ἂν ταῦτα εἰς τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον οὕτως ἔχοντα ὑπάρχῃ, τάδε προσδιανοητέον, ὅσαι εἰσὶ τὰ νῦν ἡμῖν ἑστίαι διανεμηθεῖσαι τὸν ἀριθμόν, ταύτας δεῖν ἀεὶ τοσαύτας εἶναι καὶ μήτε τι πλείους γίγνεσθαι μήτε τί ποτε ἐλάττους. ὧδ᾽ οὖν ἂν τὸ τοιοῦτον βεβαίως γίγνοιτο περὶ πᾶσαν πόλιν: ὁ λαχὼν τὸν κλῆρον καταλειπέτω ἀεὶ ταύτης τῆς οἰκήσεως ἕνα μόνον κληρονόμον τῶν ἑαυτοῦ παίδων, ὃν ἂν αὐτῷ μάλιστα ᾖ φίλον, διάδοχον [740ξ] καὶ θεραπευτὴν θεῶν καὶ γένους καὶ πόλεως τῶν τε ζώντων καὶ ὅσους ἂν ἤδη τέλος εἰς τὸν τότε χρόνον ἔχῃ: τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους παῖδας, οἷς ἂν πλείους ἑνὸς γίγνωνται, θηλείας τε ἐκδόσθαι κατὰ νόμον τὸν ἐπιταχθησόμενον, ἄρρενάς τε, οἷς ἂν τῆς γενέσεως ἐλλείπῃ τῶν πολιτῶν, τούτοις ὑεῖς διανέμειν, κατὰ χάριν μὲν μάλιστα, ἐὰν δέ τισιν ἐλλείπωσιν χάριτες, ἢ πλείους ἐπίγονοι γίγνωνται θήλεις ἤ τινες ἄρρενες ἑκάστων, ἢ καὶ τοὐναντίον ὅταν ἐλάττους ὦσιν, παίδων ἀφορίας γενομένης, [740δ] πάντων τούτων ἀρχὴν ἣν ἂν θώμεθα μεγίστην καὶ τιμιωτάτην, αὕτη σκεψαμένη τί χρὴ χρῆσθαι τοῖς περιγενομένοις ἢ τοῖς ἐλλείπουσι, ποριζέτω μηχανὴν ὅτι μάλιστα ὅπως αἱ πεντακισχίλιαι καὶ τετταράκοντα οἰκήσεις ἀεὶ μόνον ἔσονται. μηχαναὶ δ᾽ εἰσὶν πολλαί: καὶ γὰρ ἐπισχέσεις γενέσεως οἷς ἂν εὔρους ᾖ γένεσις, καὶ τοὐναντίον ἐπιμέλειαι καὶ σπουδαὶ πλήθους γεννημάτων εἰσὶν τιμαῖς τε καὶ ἀτιμίαις καὶ νουθετήσεσι πρεσβυτῶν περὶ νέους διὰ λόγων [740ε] νουθετητικῶν ἀπαντῶσαι <αἳ> δύνανται ποιεῖν ὃ λέγομεν. καὶ δὴ καὶ τό γε τέλος, ἂν πᾶσα ἀπορία περὶ τὴν ἀνίσωσιν τῶν πεντακισχιλίων καὶ τετταράκοντα οἴκων γίγνηται, ἐπίχυσις δὲ ὑπερβάλλουσα ἡμῖν πολιτῶν διὰ φιλοφροσύνην τὴν τῶν συνοικούντων ἀλλήλοις συμβαίνῃ καὶ ἀπορῶμεν, τὸ παλαιόν που ὑπάρχει μηχάνημα, ὃ πολλάκις εἴπομεν, ἐκπομπὴ ἀποικιῶν, φίλη γιγνομένη παρὰ φίλων, ὧν ἂν ἐπιτήδειον εἶναι δοκῇ. ἐάν τ᾽ αὖ καὶ τοὐναντίον ἐπέλθῃ ποτὲ κῦμα [741α] κατακλυσμὸν φέρον νόσων, ἢ πολέμων φθορά, ἐλάττους δὲ πολὺ τοῦ τεταγμένου ἀριθμοῦ δι᾽ ὀρφανίας γένωνται, ἑκόντας μὲν οὐ δεῖ πολίτας παρεμβάλλειν νόθῃ παιδείᾳ πεπαιδευμένους, ἀνάγκην δὲ οὐδὲ θεὸς εἶναι λέγεται δυνατὸς βιάζεσθαι.

ταῦτ᾽ οὖν δὴ τὸν νῦν λεγόμενον λόγον ἡμῖν φῶμεν παραινεῖν λέγοντα: ὦ πάντων ἀνδρῶν ἄριστοι, τὴν ὁμοιότητα καὶ ἰσότητα καὶ τὸ ταὐτὸν καὶ ὁμολογούμενον τιμῶντες κατὰ φύσιν μὴ ἀνίετε κατά τε ἀριθμὸν καὶ πᾶσαν δύναμιν [741β] τὴν τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν πραγμάτων: καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν τὸν ἀριθμὸν μὲν πρῶτον διὰ βίου παντὸς φυλάξατε τὸν εἰρημένον, εἶτα τὸ τῆς οὐσίας ὕψος τε καὶ μέγεθος, ὃ τὸ πρῶτον ἐνείμασθε μέτριον ὄν, μὴ ἀτιμάσητε τῷ τε ὠνεῖσθαι καὶ τῷ πωλεῖν πρὸς ἀλλήλους-οὔτε γὰρ ὁ νείμας κλῆρος ὢν θεὸς ὑμῖν σύμμαχος οὔτε ὁ νομοθέτης-νῦν γὰρ δὴ πρῶτον τῷ ἀπειθοῦντι νόμος προστάττει, προειπὼν ἐπὶ τούτοις κληροῦσθαι [741ξ] τὸν ἐθέλοντα ἢ μὴ κληροῦσθαι, ὡς πρῶτον μὲν τῆς γῆς ἱερᾶς οὔσης τῶν πάντων θεῶν, εἶτα ἱερέων τε καὶ ἱερειῶν εὐχὰς ποιησομένων ἐπὶ τοῖς πρώτοις θύμασι καὶ δευτέροις καὶ μέχρι τριῶν, τὸν πριάμενον ἢ ἀποδόμενον ὧν ἔλαχεν οἰκοπέδων ἢ γηπέδων τὰ ἐπὶ τούτοις πρέποντα πάσχειν πάθη: γράψαντες δὲ ἐν τοῖς ἱεροῖς θήσουσι κυπαριττίνας μνήμας εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον καταγεγραμμένας, πρὸς τούτοις δ᾽ ἔτι φυλακτήρια τούτων, ὅπως ἂν γίγνηται, [741δ] καταστήσουσιν ἐν ταύτῃ τῶν ἀρχῶν ἥτις ἂν ὀξύτατον ὁρᾶν δοκῇ, ἵνα αἱ παρὰ ταῦτα ἑκάστοτε παραγωγαὶ γιγνόμεναι μὴ λανθάνωσιν αὐτούς, ἀλλὰ κολάζωσι τὸν ἀπειθοῦντα ἅμα νόμῳ καὶ τῷ θεῷ. ὅσον γὰρ δὴ τὸ νῦν ἐπιταττόμενον ἀγαθὸν ὂν τυγχάνει πάσαις ταῖς πειθομέναις πόλεσι, τὴν ἑπομένην κατασκευὴν προσλαβόν, κατὰ τὴν παλαιὰν παροιμίαν οὐδεὶς εἴσεταί ποτε κακὸς ὤν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔμπειρός τε καὶ ἐπιεικὴς ἔθεσι [741ε] γενόμενος: χρηματισμὸς γὰρ οὔτ᾽ ἔνεστιν σφόδρα ἐν τῇ τοιαύτῃ κατασκευῇ, συνέπεταί τε αὐτῇ μηδὲ δεῖν μηδ᾽ ἐξεῖναι χρηματίζεσθαι τῶν ἀνελευθέρων χρηματισμῶν μηδενὶ μηδένα, καθ᾽ ὅσον ἐπονείδιστος λεγομένη βαναυσία ἦθος ἀποτρέπει ἐλεύθερον, μηδὲ τὸ παράπαν ἀξιοῦν ἐκ τῶν τοιούτων συλλέγειν χρήματα.

πρὸς τούτοις δ᾽ ἔτι νόμος ἕπεται πᾶσι τούτοις, μηδ᾽ [742α] ἐξεῖναι χρυσὸν μηδὲ ἄργυρον κεκτῆσθαι μηδένα μηδενὶ ἰδιώτῃ, νόμισμα δὲ ἕνεκα ἀλλαγῆς τῆς καθ᾽ ἡμέραν, ἣν δημιουργοῖς τε ἀλλάττεσθαι σχεδὸν ἀναγκαῖον, καὶ πᾶσιν ὁπόσων χρεία τῶν τοιούτων μισθοὺς μισθωτοῖς, δούλοις καὶ ἐποίκοις, ἀποτίνειν. ὧν ἕνεκά φαμεν τὸ νόμισμα κτητέον αὐτοῖς μὲν ἔντιμον, τοῖς δὲ ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις ἀδόκιμον: κοινὸν δὲ Ἑλληνικὸν νόμισμα ἕνεκά τε στρατειῶν καὶ ἀποδημιῶν εἰς τοὺς ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους, οἷον πρεσβειῶν ἢ καί [742β] τινος ἀναγκαίας ἄλλης τῇ πόλει κηρυκείας, ἐκπέμπειν τινὰ ἂν δέῃ, τούτων χάριν ἀνάγκη ἑκάστοτε κεκτῆσθαι τῇ πόλει νόμισμα Ἑλληνικόν. ἰδιώτῃ δὲ ἂν ἄρα ποτὲ ἀνάγκη τις γίγνηται ἀποδημεῖν, παρέμενος μὲν τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἀποδημείτω, νόμισμα δὲ ἄν ποθεν ἔχων ξενικὸν οἴκαδε ἀφίκηται περιγενόμενον, τῇ πόλει αὐτὸ καταβαλλέτω πρὸς λόγον ἀπολαμβάνων τὸ ἐπιχώριον: ἰδιούμενος δὲ ἄν τις φαίνηται, δημόσιόν τε γιγνέσθω καὶ ὁ συνειδὼς καὶ μὴ φράζων ἀρᾷ καὶ ὀνείδει μετὰ τοῦ ἀγαγόντος ἔνοχος ἔστω, καὶ ζημίᾳ [742ξ] πρὸς τούτοις μὴ ἐλάττονι τοῦ ξενικοῦ κομισθέντος νομίσματος. γαμοῦντα δὲ καὶ ἐκδιδόντα μήτ᾽ οὖν διδόναι μήτε δέχεσθαι προῖκα τὸ παράπαν μηδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν, μηδὲ νόμισμα παρακατατίθεσθαι ὅτῳ μή τις πιστεύει, μηδὲ δανείζειν ἐπὶ τόκῳ, ὡς ἐξὸν μὴ ἀποδιδόναι τὸ παράπαν τῷ δανεισαμένῳ μήτε τόκον μήτε κεφάλαιον: ταῦτα δ᾽ ὅτι βέλτιστ᾽ ἐστὶν πόλει ἐπιτηδεύματα ἐπιτηδεύειν, ὧδε ἄν τις σκοπῶν ὀρθῶς [742δ] ἂν αὐτὰ διακρίνοι, ἐπαναφέρων εἰς τὴν ἀρχὴν ἀεὶ καὶ τὴν βούλησιν. ἔστιν δὴ τοῦ νοῦν ἔχοντος πολιτικοῦ βούλησις, φαμέν, οὐχ ἥνπερ ἂν οἱ πολλοὶ φαῖεν, δεῖν βούλεσθαι τὸν ἀγαθὸν νομοθέτην ὡς μεγίστην τε εἶναι τὴν πόλιν ᾗ νοῶν εὖ νομοθετοῖ, καὶ ὅτι μάλιστα πλουσίαν, κεκτημένην δ᾽ αὖ χρύσεια καὶ ἀργύρεια, καὶ κατὰ γῆν καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν ἄρχουσαν ὅτι πλείστων: προσθεῖεν δ᾽ ἂν καὶ ὡς ἀρίστην δεῖν βούλεσθαι τὴν πόλιν εἶναι καὶ ὡς εὐδαιμονεστάτην [742ε] τόν γε ὀρθῶς νομοθετοῦντα. τούτων δὲ τὰ μὲν δυνατά ἐστιν γίγνεσθαι, τὰ δ᾽ οὐ δυνατά: τὰ μὲν οὖν δυνατὰ βούλοιτ᾽ ἂν ὁ διακοσμῶν, τὰ δὲ μὴ δυνατὰ οὔτ᾽ ἂν βούλοιτο ματαίας βουλήσεις οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἐπιχειροῖ. σχεδὸν μὲν γὰρ εὐδαίμονας ἅμα καὶ ἀγαθοὺς ἀνάγκη γίγνεσθαι-τοῦτο μὲν οὖν βούλοιτ᾽ ἄν-πλουσίους δ᾽ αὖ σφόδρα καὶ ἀγαθοὺς ἀδύνατον, οὕς γε δὴ πλουσίους οἱ πολλοὶ καταλέγουσι: λέγουσιν δὲ τοὺς κεκτημένους ἐν ὀλίγοις τῶν ἀνθρώπων πλείστου νομίσματος ἄξια κτήματα, ἃ καὶ κακός τις κεκτῇτ᾽ [743α] ἄν. εἰ δ᾽ ἔστιν τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχον, οὐκ ἂν ἔγωγε αὐτοῖς ποτε συγχωροίην τὸν πλούσιον εὐδαίμονα τῇ ἀληθείᾳ γίγνεσθαι μὴ καὶ ἀγαθὸν ὄντα: ἀγαθὸν δὲ ὄντα διαφόρως καὶ πλούσιον εἶναι διαφερόντως ἀδύνατον. “τί δή;” φαίη τις ἂν ἴσως. ὅτι, φαῖμεν ἄν, ἥ τε ἐκ δικαίου καὶ ἀδίκου κτῆσις πλέον ἢ διπλασία ἐστὶν τῆς ἐκ τοῦ δικαίου μόνον, τά τε ἀναλώματα μήτε καλῶς μήτε αἰσχρῶς ἐθέλοντα ἀναλίσκεσθαι τῶν καλῶν καὶ εἰς καλὰ ἐθελόντων δαπανᾶσθαι διπλασίῳ [743β] ἐλάττονα: οὔκουν ποτὲ ἂν τῶν ἐκ διπλασίων μὲν κτημάτων, ἡμίσεων δὲ ἀναλωμάτων ὁ τὰ ἐναντία τούτων πράττων γένοιτ᾽ ἂν πλουσιώτερος. ἔστιν δὲ ὁ μὲν ἀγαθὸς τούτων, ὁ δὲ οὐ κακὸς ὅταν ᾖ φειδωλός, τοτὲ δέ ποτε καὶ πάγκακος, ἀγαθὸς δέ, ὅπερ εἴρηται τὰ νῦν, οὐδέποτε. ὁ μὲν γὰρ δικαίως καὶ ἀδίκως λαμβάνων καὶ μήτε δικαίως μήτε ἀδίκως ἀναλίσκων πλούσιος, ὅταν καὶ φειδωλὸς ᾖ, ὁ δὲ πάγκακος, ὡς τὰ πολλὰ ὢν ἄσωτος, μάλα πένης: ὁ δὲ ἀναλίσκων τε [743ξ] εἰς τὰ καλὰ καὶ κτώμενος ἐκ τῶν δικαίων μόνον οὔτ᾽ ἂν διαφέρων πλούτῳ ῥᾳδίως ἄν ποτε γένοιτο οὐδ᾽ αὖ σφόδρα πένης. ὥστε ὁ λόγος ἡμῖν ὀρθός, ὡς οὐκ εἰσὶν οἱ παμπλούσιοι ἀγαθοί: εἰ δὲ μὴ ἀγαθοί, οὐδὲ εὐδαίμονες.

ἡμῖν δὲ ἡ τῶν νόμων ὑπόθεσις ἐνταῦθα ἔβλεπεν, ὅπως ὡς εὐδαιμονέστατοι ἔσονται καὶ ὅτι μάλιστα ἀλλήλοις φίλοι: εἶεν δὲ οὐκ ἄν ποτε πολῖται φίλοι, ὅπου πολλαὶ μὲν δίκαι [743δ] ἐν ἀλλήλοις εἶεν, πολλαὶ δὲ ἀδικίαι, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπου ὡς ὅτι σμικρόταται καὶ ὀλίγισται. λέγομεν δὴ μήτε χρυσὸν δεῖν μήτε ἄργυρον ἐν τῇ πόλει, μήτε αὖ χρηματισμὸν πολὺν διὰ βαναυσίας καὶ τόκων μηδὲ βοσκημάτων αἰσχρῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅσα γεωργία δίδωσι καὶ φέρει, καὶ τούτων ὁπόσα μὴ χρηματιζόμενον ἀναγκάσειεν ἀμελεῖν ὧν ἕνεκα πέφυκε τὰ χρήματα: ταῦτα δ᾽ ἐστὶ ψυχὴ καὶ σῶμα, ἃ χωρὶς γυμναστικῆς καὶ [743ε] τῆς ἄλλης παιδείας οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο ἄξια λόγου. διὸ δὴ χρημάτων ἐπιμέλειαν οὐχ ἅπαξ εἰρήκαμεν ὡς χρὴ τελευταῖον τιμᾶν: ὄντων γὰρ τριῶν τῶν ἁπάντων περὶ ἃ πᾶς ἄνθρωπος σπουδάζει, τελευταῖον καὶ τρίτον ἐστὶν ἡ τῶν χρημάτων ὀρθῶς σπουδαζομένη σπουδή, σώματος δὲ πέρι μέση, πρώτη δὲ ἡ τῆς ψυχῆς. καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν ἣν διεξερχόμεθα πολιτείαν, εἰ μὲν τὰς τιμὰς οὕτω τάττεται, ὀρθῶς νενομοθέτηται: εἰ δέ τις τῶν προσταττομένων αὐτόθι νόμων [744α] σωφροσύνης ἔμπροσθεν ὑγίειαν ἐν τῇ πόλει φανεῖται ποιῶν τιμίαν, ἢ πλοῦτον ὑγιείας καὶ τοῦ σωφρονεῖν, οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἀναφανεῖται τιθέμενος. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν δὴ πολλάκις ἐπισημαίνεσθαι χρὴ τὸν νομοθέτην-τί τε βούλομαι; καὶ εἴ μοι συμβαίνει τοῦτο ἢ καὶ ἀποτυγχάνω τοῦ σκοποῦ;-καὶ οὕτω τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως ἐκ τῆς νομοθεσίας αὐτός τε ἐκβαίνοι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἀπαλλάττοι, κατ᾽ ἄλλον δὲ τρόπον οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἕνα ποτέ.

ὁ δὴ λαχὼν κεκτήσθω, φαμέν, τὸν κλῆρον ἐπὶ τούτοις [744β] οἷς εἰρήκαμεν. ἦν μὲν δὴ καλὸν καὶ τἆλλα ἴσα πάντ᾽ ἔχοντα ἕνα ἕκαστον ἐλθεῖν εἰς τὴν ἀποικίαν: ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐ δυνατόν, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ μέν τις πλείω κεκτημένος ἀφίξεται χρήματα, ὁ δ᾽ ἐλάττονα, δεῖ δὴ πολλῶν ἕνεκα, τῶν τε κατὰ πόλιν καιρῶν ἰσότητος ἕνεκα, τιμήματα ἄνισα γενέσθαι, ἵνα ἀρχαί τε καὶ εἰσφοραὶ καὶ διανομαί, τὴν τῆς ἀξίας ἑκάστοις τιμὴν μὴ κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν μόνον τήν τε προγόνων καὶ τὴν αὑτοῦ, [744ξ] μηδὲ κατὰ σωμάτων ἰσχῦς καὶ εὐμορφίας, ἀλλὰ καὶ κατὰ πλούτου χρῆσιν καὶ πενίαν, τὰς τιμάς τε καὶ ἀρχὰς ὡς ἰσαίτατα τῷ ἀνίσῳ συμμέτρῳ δὲ ἀπολαμβάνοντες μὴ διαφέρωνται. τούτων χάριν τέτταρα μεγέθει τῆς οὐσίας τιμήματα ποιεῖσθαι χρεών, πρώτους καὶ δευτέρους καὶ τρίτους καὶ τετάρτους, ἤ τισιν ἄλλοις προσαγορευομένους ὀνόμασιν, ὅταν τε μένωσιν ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ τιμήματι καὶ ὅταν πλουσιώτεροι ἐκ πενήτων καὶ ἐκ πλουσίων πένητες γιγνόμενοι [744δ] μεταβαίνωσιν εἰς τὸ προσῆκον ἕκαστοι ἑαυτοῖσιν τίμημα.

τόδε δ᾽ ἐπὶ τούτοις αὖ νόμου σχῆμα ἔγωγε ἂν τιθείην ὡς ἑπόμενον. δεῖ γὰρ ἐν πόλει που, φαμέν, τῇ τοῦ μεγίστου νοσήματος οὐ μεθεξούσῃ, ὃ διάστασιν ἢ στάσιν ὀρθότερον ἂν εἴη κεκλῆσθαι, μήτε πενίαν τὴν χαλεπὴν ἐνεῖναι παρά τισιν τῶν πολιτῶν μήτε αὖ πλοῦτον, ὡς ἀμφοτέρων τικτόντων ταῦτα ἀμφότερα: νῦν οὖν ὅρον δεῖ τούτων ἑκατέρου τὸν νομοθέτην φράζειν. ἔστω δὴ πενίας μὲν ὅρος ἡ τοῦ [744ε] κλήρου τιμή, ὃν δεῖ μένειν καὶ ὃν ἄρχων οὐδεὶς οὐδενί ποτε περιόψεται ἐλάττω γιγνόμενον, τῶν τε ἄλλων κατὰ ταὐτὰ οὐδεὶς ὅστις φιλότιμος ἐπ᾽ ἀρετῇ. μέτρον δὲ αὐτὸν θέμενος ὁ νομοθέτης διπλάσιον ἐάσει τούτου κτᾶσθαι καὶ τριπλάσιον καὶ μέχρι τετραπλασίου: πλείονα δ᾽ ἄν τις κτᾶται τούτων, εὑρὼν ἢ δοθέντων ποθὲν ἢ χρηματισάμενος, ἤ τινι τύχῃ [745α] τοιαύτῃ κτησάμενος ἄλλῃ τὰ περιγιγνόμενα τοῦ μέτρου, τῇ πόλει ἂν αὐτὰ καὶ τοῖς τὴν πόλιν ἔχουσιν θεοῖς ἀπονέμων εὐδόκιμός τε καὶ ἀζήμιος ἂν εἴη: ἐὰν δέ τις ἀπειθῇ τούτῳ τῷ νόμῳ, φανεῖ μὲν ὁ βουλόμενος ἐπὶ τοῖς ἡμίσεσιν, ὁ δὲ ὀφλὼν ἄλλο τοσοῦτον μέρος ἀποτείσει τῆς αὑτοῦ κτήσεως, τὰ δ᾽ ἡμίσεα τῶν θεῶν. ἡ δὲ κτῆσις χωρὶς τοῦ κλήρου πάντων πᾶσα ἐν τῷ φανερῷ γεγράφθω παρὰ φύλαξιν ἄρχουσιν, οἷς ἂν ὁ νόμος προστάξῃ, ὅπως ἂν αἱ δίκαι [745β] περὶ πάντων, ὅσαι εἰς χρήματα, ῥᾴδιαί τε ὦσι καὶ σφόδρα σαφεῖς.

τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο πρῶτον μὲν τὴν πόλιν ἱδρῦσθαι δεῖ τῆς χώρας ὅτι μάλιστα ἐν μέσῳ, καὶ τἆλλα ὅσα πρόσφορα πόλει τῶν ὑπαρχόντων ἔχοντα τόπον ἐκλεξάμενον, ἃ νοῆσαί τε καὶ εἰπεῖν οὐδὲν χαλεπόν: μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα μέρη δώδεκα διελέσθαι, θέμενον Ἑστίας πρῶτον καὶ Διὸς καὶ Ἀθηνᾶς ἱερόν, ἀκρόπολιν ὀνομάζοντα, κύκλον περιβάλλοντα, ἀφ᾽ [745ξ] οὗ τὰ δώδεκα μέρη τέμνειν τήν τε πόλιν αὐτὴν καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν χώραν. ἴσα δὲ δεῖ γίγνεσθαι τὰ δώδεκα μέρη τῷ τὰ μὲν ἀγαθῆς γῆς εἶναι σμικρά, τὰ δὲ χείρονος μείζω. κλήρους δὲ διελεῖν τετταράκοντα καὶ πεντακισχιλίους, τούτων τε αὖ δίχα τεμεῖν ἕκαστον καὶ συγκληρῶσαι δύο τμήματα, τοῦ τε ἐγγὺς καὶ τοῦ πόρρω μετέχοντα ἑκάτερον: τὸ πρὸς τῇ πόλει μέρος τῷ πρὸς τοῖς ἐσχάτοις εἷς κλῆρος, καὶ τὸ [745δ] δεύτερον ἀπὸ πόλεως τῷ ἀπ᾽ ἐσχάτων δευτέρῳ, καὶ τἆλλα οὕτως πάντα. μηχανᾶσθαι δὲ καὶ ἐν τοῖς δίχα τμήμασι τὸ νυνδὴ λεγόμενον φαυλότητός τε καὶ ἀρετῆς χώρας, ἐπανισουμένους τῷ πλήθει τε καὶ ὀλιγότητι τῆς διανομῆς. νείμασθαι δὲ δὴ καὶ τοὺς ἄνδρας δώδεκα μέρη, τὴν τῆς ἄλλης οὐσίας εἰς ἴσα ὅτι μάλιστα τὰ δώδεκα μέρη συνταξάμενον, ἀπογραφῆς πάντων γενομένης: καὶ δὴ καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο δώδεκα θεοῖς δώδεκα κλήρους θέντας, ἐπονομάσαι καὶ καθιερῶσαι [745ε] τὸ λαχὸν μέρος ἑκάστῳ τῷ θεῷ, καὶ φυλὴν αὐτὴν ἐπονομάσαι. τέμνειν δ᾽ αὖ καὶ τὰ δώδεκα τῆς πόλεως τμήματα τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ὅνπερ καὶ τὴν ἄλλην χώραν διένεμον: καὶ δύο νέμεσθαι ἕκαστον οἰκήσεις, τήν τε ἐγγὺς τοῦ μέσου καὶ τὴν τῶν ἐσχάτων. καὶ τὴν μὲν κατοίκισιν οὕτω τέλος ἔχειν.

ἐννοεῖν δὲ ἡμᾶς τὸ τοιόνδε ἐστὶν χρεὼν ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου, ὡς τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα πάντα οὐκ ἄν ποτε εἰς τοιούτους καιροὺς συμπέσοι, ὥστε συμβῆναι κατὰ λόγον οὕτω σύμπαντα [746α] γενόμενα, ἄνδρας τε οἳ μὴ δυσχερανοῦσι τὴν τοιαύτην συνοικίαν, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπομενοῦσιν χρήματά τε ἔχοντες τακτὰ καὶ μέτρια διὰ βίου παντὸς καὶ παίδων γενέσεις ἃς εἰρήκαμεν ἑκάστοις, καὶ χρυσοῦ στερόμενοι καὶ ἑτέρων ὧν δῆλος ὁ νομοθέτης προστάξων ἐστὶν ἐκ τούτων τῶν νῦν εἰρημένων, ἔτι δὲ χώρας τε καὶ ἄστεος, ὡς εἴρηκεν, μεσότητάς τε καὶ ἐν κύκλῳ οἰκήσεις πάντῃ, σχεδὸν οἷον ὀνείρατα λέγων, ἢ πλάττων καθάπερ ἐκ κηροῦ τινα πόλιν καὶ πολίτας. ἔχει [746β] δὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα οὐ κακῶς τινα τρόπον εἰρημένα, χρὴ δ᾽ ἐπαναλαμβάνειν πρὸς αὑτὸν τὰ τοιάδε. πάλιν ἄρα ἡμῖν ὁ νομοθετῶν φράζει τόδε: “ἐν τούτοις τοῖς λόγοις, ὦ φίλοι, μηδ᾽ αὐτὸν δοκεῖτέ με λεληθέναι τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον ὡς ἀληθῆ διεξέρχεταί τινα τρόπον. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐν ἑκάστοις τῶν μελλόντων ἔσεσθαι δικαιότατον οἶμαι τόδε εἶναι, τὸν τὸ παράδειγμα δεικνύντα, οἷον δεῖ τὸ ἐπιχειρούμενον γίγνεσθαι, μηδὲν ἀπολείπειν τῶν καλλίστων τε καὶ ἀληθεστάτων, ᾧ δὲ [746ξ] ἀδύνατόν τι συμβαίνει τούτων γίγνεσθαι, τοῦτο μὲν αὐτὸ ἐκκλίνειν καὶ μὴ πράττειν, ὅτι δὲ τούτου τῶν λοιπῶν ἐγγύτατά ἐστιν καὶ συγγενέστατον ἔφυ τῶν προσηκόντων πράττειν, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ διαμηχανᾶσθαι ὅπως ἂν γίγνηται, τὸν νομοθέτην δ᾽ ἐᾶσαι τέλος ἐπιθεῖναι τῇ βουλήσει, γενομένου δὲ τούτου, τότ᾽ ἤδη κοινῇ μετ᾽ ἐκείνου σκοπεῖν ὅτι τε συμφέρει τῶν εἰρημένων καὶ τί πρόσαντες εἴρηται τῆς νομοθεσίας: τὸ γὰρ ὁμολογούμενον αὐτὸ αὑτῷ δεῖ που πανταχῇ [746δ] ἀπεργάζεσθαι καὶ τὸν τοῦ φαυλοτάτου δημιουργὸν ἄξιον ἐσόμενον λόγου.”

νῦν δὴ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ προθυμητέον ἰδεῖν μετὰ τὴν δόξαν τῆς τῶν δώδεκα μερῶν διανομῆς, τὸ τίνα τρόπον δῆλον δὴ τὰ δώδεκα μέρη, τῶν ἐντὸς αὐτοῦ πλείστας ἔχοντα διανομάς, καὶ τὰ τούτοις συνεπόμενα καὶ ἐκ τούτων γεννώμενα, μέχρι τῶν τετταράκοντά τε καὶ πεντακισχιλίων-ὅθεν φρατρίας καὶ δήμους καὶ κώμας, καὶ πρός γε τὰς πολεμικὰς τάξεις τε [746ε] καὶ ἀγωγάς, καὶ ἔτι νομίσματα καὶ μέτρα ξηρά τε καὶ ὑγρὰ καὶ σταθμά-πάντα ταῦτα ἔμμετρά τε καὶ ἀλλήλοις σύμφωνα δεῖ τόν γε νόμον τάττειν. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις οὐδ᾽ ἐκεῖνα φοβητέα, δείσαντα τὴν δόξασαν ἂν γίγνεσθαι σμικρολογίαν, ἄν τις προστάττῃ πάντα ὁπός᾽ ἂν σκεύη κτῶνται, μηδὲν ἄμετρον αὐτῶν ἐᾶν εἶναι, καὶ κοινῷ λόγῳ νομίσαντα [747α] πρὸς πάντα εἶναι χρησίμους τὰς τῶν ἀριθμῶν διανομὰς καὶ ποικίλσεις, ὅσα τε αὐτοὶ ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ποικίλλονται καὶ ὅσα ἐν μήκεσι καὶ ἐν βάθεσι ποικίλματα, καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐν φθόγγοις καὶ κινήσεσι ταῖς τε κατὰ τὴν εὐθυπορίαν τῆς ἄνω καὶ κάτω φορᾶς καὶ τῆς κύκλῳ περιφορᾶς: πρὸς γὰρ ταῦτα πάντα δεῖ βλέψαντα τόν γε νομοθέτην προστάττειν τοῖς πολίταις πᾶσιν εἰς δύναμιν τούτων μὴ ἀπολείπεσθαι τῆς συντάξεως. [747β] πρός τε γὰρ οἰκονομίαν καὶ πρὸς πολιτείαν καὶ πρὸς τὰς τέχνας πάσας ἓν οὐδὲν οὕτω δύναμιν ἔχει παίδειον μάθημα μεγάλην, ὡς ἡ περὶ τοὺς ἀριθμοὺς διατριβή: τὸ δὲ μέγιστον, ὅτι τὸν νυστάζοντα καὶ ἀμαθῆ φύσει ἐγείρει καὶ εὐμαθῆ καὶ μνήμονα καὶ ἀγχίνουν ἀπεργάζεται, παρὰ τὴν αὑτοῦ φύσιν ἐπιδιδόντα θείᾳ τέχνῃ. ταῦτα δὴ πάντα, ἐὰν μὲν ἄλλοις νόμοις τε καὶ ἐπιτηδεύμασιν ἀφαιρῆταί τις τὴν ἀνελευθερίαν καὶ φιλοχρηματίαν ἐκ τῶν ψυχῶν τῶν μελλόντων αὐτὰ [747ξ] ἱκανῶς τε καὶ ὀνησίμως κτήσεσθαι, καλὰ τὰ παιδεύματα καὶ προσήκοντα γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν: εἰ δὲ μή, τὴν καλουμένην ἄν τις πανουργίαν ἀντὶ σοφίας ἀπεργασάμενος λάθοι, καθάπερ Αἰγυπτίους καὶ Φοίνικας καὶ πολλὰ ἕτερα ἀπειργασμένα γένη νῦν ἔστιν ἰδεῖν ὑπὸ τῆς τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδευμάτων καὶ κτημάτων ἀνελευθερίας, εἴτε τις νομοθέτης αὐτοῖς φαῦλος ἂν γενόμενος ἐξηργάσατο τὰ τοιαῦτα εἴτε χαλεπὴ τύχη [747δ] προσπεσοῦσα εἴτε καὶ φύσις ἄλλη τις τοιαύτη. καὶ γάρ, ὦ Μέγιλλέ τε καὶ Κλεινία, μηδὲ τοῦθ᾽ ἡμᾶς λανθανέτω περὶ τόπων ὡς οὐκ εἰσὶν ἄλλοι τινὲς διαφέροντες ἄλλων τόπων πρὸς τὸ γεννᾶν ἀνθρώπους ἀμείνους καὶ χείρους, οἷς οὐκ ἐναντία νομοθετητέον: οἱ μέν γέ που διὰ πνεύματα παντοῖα καὶ δι᾽ εἱλήσεις ἀλλόκοτοί τέ εἰσιν καὶ ἐναίσιοι αὐτῶν, οἱ δὲ δι᾽ ὕδατα, οἱ δὲ καὶ δι᾽ αὐτὴν τὴν ἐκ τῆς γῆς τροφήν, ἀναδιδοῦσαν [747ε] οὐ μόνον τοῖς σώμασιν ἀμείνω καὶ χείρω, ταῖς δὲ ψυχαῖς οὐχ ἧττον δυναμένην πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐμποιεῖν, τούτων δ᾽ αὖ πάντων μέγιστον διαφέροιεν ἂν τόποι χώρας ἐν οἷς θεία τις ἐπίπνοια καὶ δαιμόνων λήξεις εἶεν, τοὺς ἀεὶ κατοικιζομένους ἵλεῳ δεχόμενοι καὶ τοὐναντίον. οἷς ὅ γε νοῦν ἔχων νομοθέτης, ἐπισκεψάμενος ὡς ἄνθρωπον οἷόν τ᾽ ἐστὶν σκοπεῖν τὰ τοιαῦτα, οὕτω πειρῷτ᾽ ἂν τιθέναι τοὺς νόμους. ὃ δὴ καὶ σοὶ ποιητέον, ὦ Κλεινία: πρῶτον τρεπτέον ἐπὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα μέλλοντί γε κατοικίζειν χώραν.

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ ξένε Ἀθηναῖε, λέγεις τε παγκάλως ἐμοί τε οὕτως ποιητέον.

Τόμος 6

[751α] Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ μὴν μετά γε πάντα τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα σχεδὸν ἂν ἀρχῶν εἶέν σοι καταστάσεις τῇ πόλει.

Κλεινίας

ἔχει γὰρ οὖν οὕτω.

Ἀθηναῖος

δύο εἴδη ταῦτα περὶ πολιτείας κόσμον γιγνόμενα τυγχάνει, πρῶτον μὲν καταστάσεις ἀρχῶν τε καὶ ἀρξόντων, ὅσας τε αὐτὰς εἶναι δεῖ καὶ τρόπον ὅντινα καθισταμένας: ἔπειτα οὕτω δὴ τοὺς νόμους ταῖς ἀρχαῖς ἑκάσταις ἀποδοτέον, [751β] οὕστινάς τε αὖ καὶ ὅσους καὶ οἵους προσῆκον ἂν ἑκάσταις εἴη. σμικρὸν δὲ ἐπισχόντες πρὸ τῆς αἱρέσεως, εἴπωμεν προσήκοντά τινα λόγον περὶ αὐτῆς ῥηθῆναι.

Κλεινίας

τίνα δὴ τοῦτον;

Ἀθηναῖος

τόνδε. παντί που δῆλον τὸ τοιοῦτον, ὅτι μεγάλου τῆς νομοθεσίας ὄντος ἔργου, τοῦ πόλιν εὖ παρεσκευασμένην ἀρχὰς ἀνεπιτηδείους ἐπιστῆσαι τοῖς εὖ κειμένοις νόμοις, οὐ μόνον οὐδὲν πλέον εὖ τεθέντων, οὐδ᾽ ὅτι γέλως ἂν πάμπολυς [751ξ] συμβαίνοι, σχεδὸν δὲ βλάβαι καὶ λῶβαι πολὺ μέγισται ταῖς πόλεσι γίγνοιντ᾽ ἂν ἐξ αὐτῶν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτο τοίνυν νοήσωμέν σοι περὶ τῆς νῦν, ὦ φίλε, πολιτείας τε καὶ πόλεως συμβαῖνον. ὁρᾷς γὰρ ὅτι πρῶτον μὲν δεῖ τοὺς ὀρθῶς ἰόντας ἐπὶ τὰς τῶν ἀρχῶν δυνάμεις βάσανον ἱκανὴν αὐτούς τε καὶ γένος ἑκάστων ἐκ παίδων μέχρι τῆς αἱρέσεως εἶναι δεδωκότας, ἔπειτα αὖ τοὺς μέλλοντας αἱρήσεσθαι τεθράφθαι [τε] ἐν ἤθεσι νόμων εὖ πεπαιδευμένους [751δ] πρὸς τὸ δυσχεραίνοντάς τε καὶ ἀποδεχομένους ὀρθῶς κρίνειν καὶ ἀποκρίνειν δυνατοὺς γίγνεσθαι τοὺς ἀξίους ἑκατέρων: ταῦτα δὲ οἱ νεωστὶ συνεληλυθότες ὄντες τε ἀλλήλων ἀγνῶτες, ἔτι δ᾽ ἀπαίδευτοι, πῶς ἄν ποτε δύναιντο ἀμέμπτως τὰς ἀρχὰς αἱρεῖσθαι;

Κλεινίας

σχεδὸν οὐκ ἄν ποτε.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἀγῶνα προφάσεις φασὶν οὐ πάνυ δέχεσθαι: καὶ δὴ καὶ σοὶ τοῦτο νῦν καὶ ἐμοὶ ποιητέον, ἐπείπερ [751ε] σὺ μὲν δὴ τὴν πόλιν ὑπέστης τῷ Κρητῶν ἔθνει προθύμως κατοικιεῖν δέκατος αὐτός, ὡς φῄς, τὰ νῦν, ἐγὼ δ᾽ αὖ σοὶ [752α] συλλήψεσθαι κατὰ τὴν παροῦσαν ἡμῖν τὰ νῦν μυθολογίαν. οὔκουν δήπου λέγων γε ἂν μῦθον ἀκέφαλον ἑκὼν καταλίποιμι: πλανώμενος γὰρ ἂν ἁπάντῃ τοιοῦτος ὢν ἄμορφος φαίνοιτο.

Κλεινίας

ἄριστ᾽ εἴρηκας, ὦ ξένε.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ μόνον γε, ἀλλὰ καὶ δράσω κατὰ δύναμιν οὕτω.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ποιῶμεν ᾗπερ καὶ λέγομεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔσται ταῦτ᾽, ἂν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ καὶ γήρως ἐπικρατῶμεν τό γε τοσοῦτον. [752β]

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽ εἰκὸς ἐθέλειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰκὸς γὰρ οὖν. ἑπόμενοι δὲ αὐτῷ λάβωμεν καὶ τόδε.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς ἀνδρείως καὶ παρακεκινδυνευμένως ἐν τῷ νῦν ἡ πόλις ἡμῖν ἔσται κατωκισμένη.

Κλεινίας

περὶ τί βλέπων καὶ ποῖ μάλιστα αὐτὸ εἴρηκας τὰ νῦν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς εὐκόλως καὶ ἀφόβως ἀπείροις ἀνδράσι νομοθετοῦμεν, ὅπως δέξονταί ποτε τοὺς νῦν τεθέντας νόμους. δῆλον δὲ τό γε τοσοῦτον, ὦ Κλεινία, παντὶ σχεδὸν καὶ τῷ [752ξ] μὴ πάνυ σοφῷ, τὸ μὴ ῥᾳδίως γε αὐτοὺς μηδένας προσδέξεσθαι κατ᾽ ἀρχάς, εἰ δὲ μείναιμέν πως τοσοῦτον χρόνον ἕως οἱ γευσάμενοι παῖδες τῶν νόμων καὶ συντραφέντες ἱκανῶς συνήθεις τε αὐτοῖς γενόμενοι τῶν ἀρχαιρεσιῶν τῇ πόλει πάσῃ κοινωνήσειαν: γενομένου γε μὴν οὗ λέγομεν, εἴπερ τινὶ τρόπῳ καὶ μηχανῇ γίγνοιτο ὀρθῶς, πολλὴν ἔγωγε ἀσφάλειαν οἶμαι καὶ μετὰ τὸν τότε παρόντα χρόνον ἂν γενέσθαι τοῦ μεῖναι τὴν παιδαγωγηθεῖσαν οὕτω πόλιν. [752δ]

Κλεινίας

ἔχει γοῦν λόγον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴδωμεν τοίνυν πρὸς τοῦτο εἴ πῄ τινα πόρον ἱκανὸν πορίζοιμεν ἂν κατὰ τάδε. φημὶ γάρ, ὦ Κλεινία, Κνωσίους χρῆναι τῶν ἄλλων διαφερόντως Κρητῶν μὴ μόνον ἀφοσιώσασθαι περὶ τῆς χώρας ἣν νῦν κατοικίζετε, συντόνως δ᾽ ἐπιμεληθῆναι τὰς πρώτας ἀρχὰς εἰς δύναμιν ὅπως ἂν ἱστῶσιν ὡς ἀσφαλέστατα καὶ ἄριστα. τὰς μὲν οὖν ἄλλας [752ε] καὶ βραχύτερον ἔργον, νομοφύλακας δ᾽ ἡμῖν πρώτους αἱρεῖσθαι ἀναγκαιότατον ἁπάσῃ σπουδῇ.

Κλεινίας

τίνα οὖν ἐπὶ τούτῳ πόρον καὶ λόγον ἀνευρίσκομεν;

Ἀθηναῖος

τόνδε. φημί, ὦ παῖδες Κρητῶν, χρῆναι Κνωσίους, διὰ τὸ πρεσβεύειν τῶν πολλῶν πόλεων, κοινῇ μετὰ τῶν ἀφικομένων εἰς τὴν συνοίκησιν ταύτην ἐξ αὑτῶν τε καὶ ἐκείνων αἱρεῖσθαι τριάκοντα μὲν καὶ ἑπτὰ τοὺς πάντας, ἐννέα δὲ καὶ δέκα ἐκ τῶν ἐποικησάντων, τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους [753α] ἐξ αὐτῆς Κνωσοῦ: τούτους δ᾽ οἱ Κνώσιοι τῇ πόλει σοι δόντων, καὶ αὐτόν σε πολίτην εἶναι ταύτης τῆς ἀποικίας καὶ ἕνα τῶν ὀκτωκαίδεκα, πείσαντες ἢ τῇ μετρίᾳ δυνάμει βιασάμενοι.

Κλεινίας

τί δῆτα οὐ καὶ σύ τε καὶ ὁ Μέγιλλος, ὦ ξένε, ἐκοινωνησάτην ἡμῖν τῆς πολιτείας;

Ἀθηναῖος

μέγα μέν, ὦ Κλεινία, φρονοῦσιν αἱ Ἀθῆναι, μέγα δὲ καὶ ἡ Σπάρτη, καὶ μακρὰν ἀποικοῦσιν ἑκάτεραι: σοὶ δὲ κατὰ πάντα ἐμμελῶς ἔχει καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις οἰκισταῖς κατὰ [753β] ταὐτά, ὥσπερ τὰ περὶ σοῦ νῦν λεγόμενα. ὡς μὲν οὖν γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ἐπιεικέστατα ἐκ τῶν ὑπαρχόντων ἡμῖν τὰ νῦν, εἰρήσθω, προελθόντος δὲ χρόνου καὶ μεινάσης τῆς πολιτείας, αἵρεσις αὐτῶν ἔστω τοιάδε τις: πάντες μὲν κοινωνούντων τῆς τῶν ἀρχόντων αἱρέσεως ὁπόσοιπερ ἂν ὅπλα ἱππικὰ ἢ πεζικὰ τιθῶνται καὶ πολέμου κεκοινωνήκωσιν ἐν ταῖς σφετέραις αὐτῶν τῆς ἡλικίας δυνάμεσιν: ποιεῖσθαι δὲ τὴν αἵρεσιν ἐν [753ξ] ἱερῷ ὅπερ ἂν ἡ πόλις ἡγῆται τιμιώτατον, φέρειν δ᾽ ἐπὶ τὸν τοῦ θεοῦ βωμὸν ἕκαστον εἰς πινάκιον γράψαντα τοὔνομα πατρόθεν καὶ φυλῆς καὶ δήμου ὁπόθεν ἂν δημοτεύηται, παρεγγράφειν δὲ καὶ τὸ αὑτοῦ κατὰ ταὐτὰ οὕτως ὄνομα. τῷ βουλομένῳ δ᾽ ἐξέστω τῶν πινακίων ὅτιπερ ἂν φαίνηται μὴ κατὰ νοῦν αὑτῷ γεγραμμένον ἀνελόντα εἰς ἀγορὰν θεῖναι μὴ ἔλαττον τριάκοντα ἡμερῶν. τὰ δὲ τῶν πινακίων κριθέντα ἐν πρώτοις μέχρι τριακοσίων δεῖξαι τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἰδεῖν [753δ] πάσῃ τῇ πόλει, τὴν δὲ πόλιν ὡσαύτως ἐκ τούτων φέρειν πάλιν ὃν ἂν ἕκαστος βούληται, τοὺς δὲ τὸ δεύτερον ἐξ αὐτῶν προκριθέντας ἑκατὸν δεῖξαι πάλιν ἅπασιν. τὸ δὲ τρίτον φερέτω μὲν ἐκ τῶν ἑκατὸν ὁ βουληθεὶς ὃν ἂν βούληται, διὰ τομίων πορευόμενος: ἑπτὰ δὲ καὶ τριάκοντα, οἷς ἂν πλεῖσται γένωνται ψῆφοι, κρίναντες ἀποφηνάντων ἄρχοντας.

τίνες οὖν, ὦ Κλεινία καὶ Μέγιλλε, πάντα ἡμῖν ταῦτ᾽ ἐν [753ε] τῇ πόλει καταστήσουσι τῶν ἀρχῶν τε πέρι καὶ δοκιμασιῶν αὐτῶν; ἆρα ἐννοοῦμεν ὡς ταῖς πρῶτον οὕτω καταζευγνυμέναις πόλεσιν ἀνάγκη μὲν εἶναί τινας, οἵτινες δὲ εἶεν ἂν πρὸς πασῶν τῶν ἀρχῶν γεγονότες, οὐκ ἔστιν; δεῖ μὴν ἁμῶς γέ πως, καὶ ταῦτα οὐ φαύλους ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι μάλιστα ἄκρους. ἀρχὴ γὰρ λέγεται μὲν ἥμισυ παντὸς ἐν ταῖς παροιμίαις ἔργου, καὶ τό γε καλῶς ἄρξασθαι πάντες ἐγκωμιάζομεν ἑκάστοτε: τὸ δ᾽ ἔστιν τε, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, πλέον ἢ τὸ [754α] ἥμισυ, καὶ οὐδεὶς αὐτὸ καλῶς γενόμενον ἐγκεκωμίακεν ἱκανῶς.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

μὴ τοίνυν γιγνώσκοντές γε παρῶμεν αὐτὸ ἄρρητον, μηδὲν διασαφήσαντες ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς τίνα ἔσται τρόπον. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν οὐδαμῶς εὐπορῶ πλήν γε ἑνὸς εἰπεῖν πρὸς τὸ παρὸν ἀναγκαίου καὶ συμφέροντος λόγου.

Κλεινίας

τίνος δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

φημὶ ταύτῃ τῇ πόλει, ἣν οἰκίζειν μέλλομεν, οἷον πατέρα καὶ μητέρα οὐκ εἶναι πλὴν τὴν κατοικίζουσαν αὐτὴν [754β] πόλιν, οὐκ ἀγνοῶν ὅτι πολλαὶ τῶν κατοικισθεισῶν διάφοροι ταῖς κατοικισάσαις πολλάκις ἔνιαι γεγόνασίν τε καὶ ἔσονται. νῦν μὴν ἐν τῷ παρόντι, καθάπερ παῖς, εἰ καί ποτε μέλλει διάφορος εἶναι τοῖς γεννήσασιν, ἔν γε τῇ παρούσῃ παιδίας ἀπορίᾳ στέργει τε καὶ στέργεται ὑπὸ τῶν γεννησάντων, καὶ φεύγων ἀεὶ πρὸς τοὺς οἰκείους, ἀναγκαίους μόνους εὑρίσκει συμμάχους: ἃ δὴ νῦν φημὶ Κνωσίοις διὰ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν [754ξ] πρὸς τὴν νέαν πόλιν καὶ τῇ νέᾳ πρὸς Κνωσὸν ὑπάρχειν ἑτοίμως γεγονότα. λέγω δή, καθάπερ εἶπον νυνδή, -δὶς γὰρ τό γε καλὸν ῥηθὲν οὐδὲν βλάπτει-Κνωσίους δεῖν ἐπιμεληθῆναι πάντων τούτων κοινῇ, προσελομένους τῶν εἰς τὴν ἀποικίαν ἀφικομένων, τοὺς πρεσβυτάτους τε καὶ ἀρίστους εἰς δύναμιν ἑλομένους, μὴ ἔλαττον ἑκατὸν ἀνδρῶν: καὶ αὐτῶν Κνωσίων ἔστωσαν ἑκατὸν ἕτεροι. τούτους δὲ ἐλθόντας φημὶ δεῖν εἰς τὴν καινὴν πόλιν συνεπιμεληθῆναι ὅπως αἵ τε ἀρχαὶ [754δ] καταστῶσιν κατὰ νόμους, καταστᾶσαί τε δοκιμασθῶσι: γενομένων δὲ τούτων, τὴν μὲν Κνωσὸν τοὺς Κνωσίους οἰκεῖν, τὴν δὲ νέαν πόλιν αὐτὴν αὑτὴν πειρᾶσθαι σῴζειν τε καὶ εὐτυχεῖν. οἱ δὲ δὴ γενόμενοι τῶν ἑπτὰ καὶ τριάκοντα νῦν τε καὶ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα σύμπαντα χρόνον ἐπὶ τοῖσδε ἡμῖν ᾑρήσθωσαν: πρῶτον μὲν φύλακες ἔστωσαν τῶν νόμων, ἔπειτα τῶν γραμμάτων ὧν ἂν ἕκαστος ἀπογράψῃ τοῖς ἄρχουσι τὸ πλῆθος τῆς αὑτῶν οὐσίας, πλὴν ὁ μὲν μέγιστον τίμημα [754ε] ἔχων τεττάρων μνῶν, ὁ δὲ τὸ δεύτερον τριῶν, ὁ δὲ τρίτος δυοῖν μναῖν, μνᾶς δὲ ὁ τέταρτος. ἐὰν δέ τις ἕτερον φαίνηταί τι παρὰ τὰ γεγραμμένα κεκτημένος, δημόσιον μὲν ἔστω τὸ τοιοῦτον ἅπαν, πρὸς τούτῳ δὲ δίκην ὑπεχέτω τῷ βουλομένῳ μετιέναι μὴ καλὴν μηδ᾽ εὐώνυμον ἀλλ᾽ αἰσχράν, ἐὰν ἁλίσκηται διὰ τὸ κέρδος τῶν νόμων καταφρονῶν. αἰσχροκερδείας οὖν αὐτὸν γραψάμενος ὁ βουληθεὶς ἐπεξίτω τῇ δίκῃ ἐν αὐτοῖς τοῖς νομοφύλαξιν: ἐὰν δ᾽ ὁ φεύγων ὄφλῃ, [755α] τῶν κοινῶν κτημάτων μὴ μετεχέτω, διανομὴ δὲ ὅταν τῇ πόλει γίγνηταί τις, ἄμοιρος ἔστω πλήν γε τοῦ κλήρου, γεγράφθω δὲ ὠφληκώς, ἕως ἂν ζῇ, ὅπου πᾶς ὁ βουλόμενος αὐτὰ ἀναγνώσεται. μὴ πλέον δὲ εἴκοσιν ἐτῶν νομοφύλαξ ἀρχέτω, φερέσθω δ᾽ εἰς τὴν ἀρχὴν μὴ ἔλαττον ἢ πεντήκοντα γεγονὼς ἐτῶν: ἑξηκοντούτης δὲ ἐνεχθεὶς δέκα μόνον ἀρχέτω ἔτη, καὶ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, ὅπως ἄν τις πλέον [755β] ὑπερβὰς ἑβδομήκοντα ζῇ, μηκέτι ἐν τούτοις τοῖς ἄρχουσι τὴν τηλικαύτην ἀρχὴν ὡς ἄρξων διανοηθήτω.

τὰ μὲν οὖν περὶ τῶν νομοφυλάκων ταῦτα εἰρήσθω προστάγματα τρία, προϊόντων δὲ εἰς τοὔμπροσθε τῶν νόμων ἕκαστος προστάξει τούτοις τοῖς ἀνδράσιν ὧντινων αὐτοὺς δεῖ πρὸς τοῖς νῦν εἰρημένοις προσεπιμελεῖσθαι: νῦν δ᾽ ἑξῆς ἄλλων ἀρχῶν αἱρέσεως πέρι λέγοιμεν ἄν. δεῖ γὰρ δὴ τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα στρατηγοὺς αἱρεῖσθαι, καὶ τούτοις εἰς τὸν πόλεμον [755ξ] οἷόν τινας ὑπηρεσίας ἱππάρχους καὶ φυλάρχους καὶ τῶν πεζῶν φυλῶν κοσμητὰς τῶν τάξεων, οἷς πρέπον ἂν εἴη τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ τοὔνομα μάλιστα, οἷον καὶ οἱ πολλοὶ ταξιάρχους αὐτοὺς ἐπονομάζουσι. τούτων δὴ στρατηγοὺς μὲν ἐξ αὐτῆς τῆς πόλεως ταύτης οἱ νομοφύλακες προβαλλέσθων, αἱρείσθων δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν προβληθέντων πάντες οἱ τοῦ πολέμου κοινωνοὶ γενόμενοί τε ἐν ταῖς ἡλικίαις καὶ γιγνόμενοι ἑκάστοτε. ἐὰν δέ τις ἄρα δοκῇ τινι τῶν μὴ προβεβλημένων ἀμείνων [755δ] εἶναι τῶν προβληθέντων τινός, ἐπονομάσας ἀνθ᾽ ὅτου ὅντινα προβάλλεται, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ὀμνὺς ἀντιπροβαλλέσθω τὸν ἕτερον: ὁπότερος δ᾽ ἂν δόξῃ διαχειροτονούμενος, εἰς τὴν αἵρεσιν ἐγκρινέσθω. τρεῖς δέ, οἷς ἂν ἡ πλείστη χειροτονία γίγνηται, τούτους εἶναι στρατηγούς τε καὶ ἐπιμελητὰς τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον, δοκιμασθέντων καθάπερ οἱ νομοφύλακες: ταξιάρχους δὲ αὑτοῖσι προβάλλεσθαι μὲν τοὺς αἱρεθέντας στρατηγοὺς [755ε] δώδεκα, ἑκάστῃ φυλῇ ταξίαρχον, τὴν δ᾽ ἀντιπροβολὴν εἶναι, καθάπερ τῶν στρατηγῶν ἐγίγνετο τὴν αὐτὴν καὶ περὶ τῶν ταξιαρχῶν, καὶ τὴν ἐπιχειροτονίαν καὶ τὴν κρίσιν. τὸν δὲ σύλλογον τοῦτον ἐν τῷ παρόντι, πρὶν πρυτάνεις τε καὶ βουλὴν ᾑρῆσθαι, τοὺς νομοφύλακας συλλέξαντας εἰς χωρίον ὡς ἱερώτατόν τε καὶ ἱκανώτατον καθίσαι, χωρὶς μὲν τοὺς ὁπλίτας, χωρὶς δὲ τοὺς ἱππέας, τρίτον δ᾽ ἐφεξῆς τούτοις πᾶν ὅσον ἐμπολέμιον: χειροτονούντων δὲ στρατηγοὺς μὲν καὶ ἱππάρχους πάντες, ταξιάρχους δὲ οἱ [756α] τὴν ἀσπίδα τιθέμενοι, φυλάρχους δὲ αὖ τούτοις πᾶν τὸ ἱππικὸν αἱρείσθω, ψιλῶν δὲ ἢ τοξοτῶν ἤ τινος ἄλλου τῶν ἐμπολεμίων ἡγεμόνας οἱ στρατηγοὶ ἑαυτοῖς καθιστάντων. ἱππάρχων δὴ κατάστασις ἂν ἡμῖν ἔτι λοιπὴ γίγνοιτο. τούτους οὖν προβαλλέσθων μὲν οἵπερ καὶ τοὺς στρατηγοὺς προυβάλλοντο, τὴν δὲ αἵρεσιν καὶ τὴν ἀντι<προ>βολὴν τούτων τὴν αὐτὴν γίγνεσθαι καθάπερ ἡ τῶν στρατηγῶν ἐγίγνετο, [756β] χειροτονείτω δὲ τὸ ἱππικὸν αὐτοὺς ἐναντίον ὁρώντων τῶν πεζῶν, δύο δὲ οἷς ἂν πλείστη χειροτονία γίγνηται, τούτους ἡγεμόνας εἶναι πάντων τῶν ἱππευόντων. τὰς δὲ ἀμφισβητήσεις τῶν χειροτονιῶν μέχρι δυοῖν εἶναι: τὸ δὲ τρίτον ἐὰν ἀμφισβητῇ τις, διαψηφίζεσθαι τούτους οἷσπερ τῆς χειροτονίας μέτρον ἑκάστοις ἕκαστον ἦν.

βουλὴν δὲ εἶναι μὲν τριάκοντα δωδεκάδας-ἑξήκοντα δὲ καὶ τριακόσιοι γίγνοιντο ἂν πρέποντες ταῖς διανομαῖς-μέρη [756ξ] δὲ διανείμαντας τέτταρα κατὰ ἐνενήκοντα τὸν ἀριθμὸν τούτων, ἐξ ἑκάστου τῶν τιμημάτων φέρειν ἐνενήκοντα βουλευτάς. πρῶτον μὲν ἐκ τῶν μεγίστων τιμημάτων ἅπαντας φέρειν ἐξ ἀνάγκης, ἢ ζημιοῦσθαι τὸν μὴ πειθόμενον τῇ δοξάσῃ ζημίᾳ: ἐπειδὰν δ᾽ ἐνεχθῶσι, τούτους μὲν κατασημήνασθαι, τῇ δὲ ὑστεραίᾳ φέρειν ἐκ τῶν δευτέρων τιμημάτων κατὰ ταὐτὰ καθάπερ τῇ πρόσθεν, τρίτῃ δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν τρίτων τιμημάτων φέρειν μὲν τὸν βουλόμενον, ἐπάναγκες δὲ εἶναι τοῖς τῶν [756δ] τριῶν τιμημάτων, τὸ δὲ τέταρτόν τε καὶ σμικρότατον ἐλεύθερον ἀφεῖσθαι τῆς ζημίας, ὃς ἂν αὐτῶν μὴ βούληται φέρειν. τετάρτῃ δὲ φέρειν μὲν ἐκ τοῦ τετάρτου καὶ σμικροτάτου τιμήματος ἅπαντας, ἀζήμιον δ᾽ εἶναι τὸν ἐκ τοῦ τετάρτου καὶ τρίτου τιμήματος, ἐὰν ἐνεγκεῖν μὴ βούληται: τὸν δ᾽ ἐκ τοῦ δευτέρου καὶ πρώτου μὴ φέροντα ζημιοῦσθαι, τὸν μὲν [756ε] ἐκ τοῦ δευτέρου τριπλασίᾳ τῆς πρώτης ζημίας, τὸν δ᾽ ἐκ τοῦ πρώτου τετραπλασίᾳ. πέμπτῃ δὲ ἡμέρᾳ τὰ κατασημανθέντα ὀνόματα ἐξενεγκεῖν μὲν τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἰδεῖν πᾶσι τοῖς πολίταις, φέρειν δ᾽ ἐκ τούτων αὖ πάντα ἄνδρα ἢ ζημιοῦσθαι τῇ πρώτῃ ζημίᾳ: ὀγδοήκοντα δὲ καὶ ἑκατὸν ἐκλέξαντας ἀφ᾽ ἑκάστων τῶν τιμημάτων, τοὺς ἡμίσεις τούτων ἀποκληρώσαντας δοκιμάσαι, τούτους δ᾽ εἶναι τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν βουλευτάς.

ἡ μὲν αἵρεσις οὕτω γιγνομένη μέσον ἂν ἔχοι μοναρχικῆς καὶ δημοκρατικῆς πολιτείας, ἧς ἀεὶ δεῖ μεσεύειν τὴν πολιτείαν: [757α] δοῦλοι γὰρ ἂν καὶ δεσπόται οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιντο φίλοι, οὐδὲ ἐν ἴσαις τιμαῖς διαγορευόμενοι φαῦλοι καὶ σπουδαῖοι-τοῖς γὰρ ἀνίσοις τὰ ἴσα ἄνισα γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, εἰ μὴ τυγχάνοι τοῦ μέτρου-διὰ γὰρ ἀμφότερα ταῦτα στάσεων αἱ πολιτεῖαι πληροῦνται. παλαιὸς γὰρ λόγος ἀληθὴς ὤν, ὡς ἰσότης φιλότητα ἀπεργάζεται, μάλα μὲν ὀρθῶς εἴρηται καὶ ἐμμελῶς: ἥτις δ᾽ ἐστί ποτε ἰσότης ἡ τοῦτο αὐτὸ δυναμένη, διὰ τὸ μὴ [757β] σφόδρα σαφὴς εἶναι σφόδρα ἡμᾶς διαταράττει. δυοῖν γὰρ ἰσοτήτοιν οὔσαιν, ὁμωνύμοιν μέν, ἔργῳ δὲ εἰς πολλὰ σχεδὸν ἐναντίαιν, τὴν μὲν ἑτέραν εἰς τὰς τιμὰς πᾶσα πόλις ἱκανὴ παραγαγεῖν καὶ πᾶς νομοθέτης, τὴν μέτρῳ ἴσην καὶ σταθμῷ καὶ ἀριθμῷ, κλήρῳ ἀπευθύνων εἰς τὰς διανομὰς αὐτήν: τὴν δὲ ἀληθεστάτην καὶ ἀρίστην ἰσότητα οὐκέτι ῥᾴδιον παντὶ ἰδεῖν. Διὸς γὰρ δὴ κρίσις ἐστί, καὶ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἀεὶ σμικρὰ μὲν ἐπαρκεῖ, πᾶν δὲ ὅσον ἂν ἐπαρκέσῃ πόλεσιν ἢ [757ξ] καὶ ἰδιώταις, πάντ᾽ ἀγαθὰ ἀπεργάζεται: τῷ μὲν γὰρ μείζονι πλείω, τῷ δ᾽ ἐλάττονι σμικρότερα νέμει, μέτρια διδοῦσα πρὸς τὴν αὐτῶν φύσιν ἑκατέρῳ, καὶ δὴ καὶ τιμὰς μείζοσι μὲν πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἀεὶ μείζους, τοῖς δὲ τοὐναντίον ἔχουσιν ἀρετῆς τε καὶ παιδείας τὸ πρέπον ἑκατέροις ἀπονέμει κατὰ λόγον. ἔστιν γὰρ δήπου καὶ τὸ πολιτικὸν ἡμῖν ἀεὶ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ τὸ δίκαιον: οὗ καὶ νῦν ἡμᾶς ὀρεγομένους δεῖ καὶ πρὸς ταύτην τὴν ἰσότητα, ὦ Κλεινία, ἀποβλέποντας, τὴν νῦν [757δ] φυομένην κατοικίζειν πόλιν. ἄλλην τε ἄν ποτέ τις οἰκίζῃ, πρὸς ταὐτὸν τοῦτο σκοπούμενον χρεὼν νομοθετεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πρὸς ὀλίγους τυράννους ἢ πρὸς ἕνα ἢ καὶ κράτος δήμου τι, πρὸς δὲ τὸ δίκαιον ἀεί, τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ νυνδὴ λεχθέν, τὸ κατὰ φύσιν ἴσον ἀνίσοις ἑκάστοτε δοθέν: ἀναγκαῖόν γε μὴν καὶ τούτοις παρωνυμίοισί ποτε προσχρήσασθαι πόλιν ἅπασαν, εἰ μέλλει στάσεων ἑαυτῇ μὴ προσκοινωνήσειν κατά [757ε] τι μέρος-τὸ γὰρ ἐπιεικὲς καὶ σύγγνωμον τοῦ τελέου καὶ ἀκριβοῦς παρὰ δίκην τὴν ὀρθήν ἐστιν παρατεθραυμένον, ὅταν γίγνηται-διὸ τῷ τοῦ κλήρου ἴσῳ ἀνάγκη προσχρήσασθαι δυσκολίας τῶν πολλῶν ἕνεκα, θεὸν καὶ ἀγαθὴν τύχην καὶ τότε ἐν εὐχαῖς ἐπικαλουμένους ἀπορθοῦν αὐτοὺς τὸν κλῆρον πρὸς τὸ δικαιότατον. οὕτω δὴ χρηστέον ἀναγκαίως [758α] μὲν τοῖν ἰσοτήτοιν ἀμφοῖν, ὡς δ᾽ ὅτι μάλιστα ἐπ᾽ ὀλιγίστοις τῇ ἑτέρᾳ, τῇ τῆς τύχης δεομένῃ.

ταῦτα οὕτως διὰ ταῦτα, ὦ φίλοι, ἀναγκαῖον τὴν μέλλουσαν σῴζεσθαι δρᾶν πόλιν: ἐπειδὴ δὲ ναῦς τε ἐν θαλάττῃ πλέουσα φυλακῆς ἡμέρας δεῖται καὶ νυκτὸς ἀεί, πόλις τε ὡσαύτως ἐν κλύδωνι τῶν ἄλλων πόλεων διαγομένη καὶ παντοδαπαῖσιν ἐπιβουλαῖς οἰκεῖ κινδυνεύουσα ἁλίσκεσθαι, δεῖ δὴ δι᾽ ἡμέρας τε εἰς νύκτα καὶ ἐκ νυκτὸς συνάπτειν πρὸς [758β] ἡμέραν ἄρχοντας ἄρχουσιν, φρουροῦντάς τε φρουροῦσιν διαδεχομένους ἀεὶ καὶ παραδιδόντας μηδέποτε λήγειν. πλῆθος δὲ οὐ δυνατὸν ὀξέως οὐδέποτε οὐδὲν τούτων πράττειν, ἀναγκαῖον δὲ τοὺς μὲν πολλοὺς τῶν βουλευτῶν ἐπὶ τὸν πλεῖστον τοῦ χρόνου ἐᾶν ἐπὶ τοῖς αὑτῶν ἰδίοισι μένοντας εὐθημονεῖσθαι τὰ κατὰ τὰς αὑτῶν οἰκήσεις, τὸ δὲ δωδέκατον μέρος αὐτῶν ἐπὶ δώδεκα μῆνας νείμαντας, ἓν ἐφ᾽ ἑνὶ παρέχειν αὐτοὺς [758ξ] φύλακας ἰόντι τέ τινί ποθεν ἄλλοθεν εἴτε καὶ ἐξ αὐτῆς τῆς πόλεως ἑτοίμως ἐπιτυχεῖν, ἄντε ἀγγέλλειν βούληταί τις ἐάντ᾽ αὖ πυνθάνεσθαί τι τῶν ὧν προσήκει πόλει πρὸς πόλεις ἄλλας ἀποκρίνεσθαί τε, καὶ ἐρωτήσασαν ἑτέρας, ἀποδέξασθαι τὰς ἀποκρίσεις, καὶ δὴ καὶ τῶν κατὰ πόλιν ἑκάστοτε νεωτερισμῶν ἕνεκα παντοδαπῶν εἰωθότων ἀεὶ γίγνεσθαι, ὅπως [758δ] ἂν μάλιστα μὲν μὴ γίγνωνται, γενομένων δέ, ὅτι τάχιστα αἰσθομένης τῆς πόλεως ἰαθῇ τὸ γενόμενον: δι᾽ ἃ συλλογῶν τε ἀεὶ δεῖ τοῦτο εἶναι τὸ προκαθήμενον τῆς πόλεως κύριον καὶ διαλύσεων, τῶν τε κατὰ νόμους τῶν τε ἐξαίφνης προσπιπτουσῶν τῇ πόλει. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν πάντα τὸ δωδέκατον ἂν μέρος τῆς βουλῆς εἴη τὸ διακοσμοῦν, τὰ ἕνδεκα ἀναπαυόμενον τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ μέρη: κοινῇ δὲ μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἀρχῶν δεῖ τὰς φυλακὰς ταύτας φυλάττειν κατὰ πόλιν τοῦτο τὸ μόριον τῆς βουλῆς ἀεί.

καὶ τὰ μὲν κατὰ πόλιν οὕτως ἔχοντα μετρίως ἂν εἴη [758ε] διατεταγμένα: τῆς δὲ ἄλλης χώρας πάσης τίς ἐπιμέλεια καὶ τίς τάξις; ἆρα οὐχ ἡνίκα πᾶσα μὲν ἡ πόλις, σύμπασα δὲ ἡ χώρα κατὰ δώδεκα μέρη διανενέμηται, τῆς πόλεως αὐτῆς ὁδῶν καὶ οἰκήσεων καὶ οἰκοδομιῶν καὶ λιμένων καὶ ἀγορᾶς καὶ κρηνῶν, καὶ δὴ καὶ τεμενῶν καὶ ἱερῶν καὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων, ἐπιμελητὰς δεῖ τινας ἀποδεδειγμένους εἶναι;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ; [759α]

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγωμεν δὴ τοῖς μὲν ἱεροῖς νεωκόρους τε καὶ ἱερέας καὶ ἱερείας δεῖν γίγνεσθαι: ὁδῶν δὲ καὶ οἰκοδομιῶν καὶ κόσμου τοῦ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἀνθρώπων τε, ἵνα μὴ ἀδικῶσιν, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων θηρίων, ἐν αὐτῷ τε τῷ τῆς πόλεως περιβόλῳ καὶ προαστείῳ ὅπως ἂν τὰ προσήκοντα πόλεσιν γίγνηται, ἑλέσθαι δεῖ τρία μὲν ἀρχόντων εἴδη, περὶ μὲν τὸ νυνδὴ λεχθὲν ἀστυνόμους ἐπονομάζοντα, τὸ δὲ περὶ ἀγορᾶς κόσμον ἀγορανόμους. ἱερῶν δὲ ἱερέας, οἷς μέν εἰσιν πάτριαι [759β] ἱερωσύναι καὶ αἷς, μὴ κινεῖν: εἰ δέ, οἷον τὸ πρῶτον κατοικιζομένοις εἰκὸς γίγνεσθαι περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἢ μηδενὶ ἤ τισιν ὀλίγοις, οἷς μὴ καθεστήκοι καταστατέον ἱερέας τε καὶ ἱερείας νεωκόρους γίγνεσθαι τοῖς θεοῖς. τούτων δὴ πάντων τὰ μὲν αἱρετὰ χρή, τὰ δὲ κληρωτὰ ἐν ταῖς καταστάσεσι γίγνεσθαι, μειγνύντας πρὸς φιλίαν ἀλλήλοις δῆμον καὶ μὴ δῆμον ἐν ἑκάστῃ χώρᾳ καὶ πόλει, ὅπως ἂν μάλιστα ὁμονοῶν εἴη. τὰ μὲν οὖν τῶν ἱερέων, τῷ θεῷ ἐπιτρέποντα αὐτῷ τὸ κεχαρισμένον [759ξ] γίγνεσθαι, κληροῦν οὕτω τῇ θείᾳ τύχῃ ἀποδιδόντα, δοκιμάζειν δὲ τὸν ἀεὶ λαγχάνοντα πρῶτον μὲν ὁλόκληρον καὶ γνήσιον, ἔπειτα ὡς ὅτι μάλιστα ἐκ καθαρευουσῶν οἰκήσεων, φόνου δὲ ἁγνὸν καὶ πάντων τῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα εἰς τὰ θεῖα ἁμαρτανομένων αὐτὸν καὶ πατέρα καὶ μητέρα κατὰ ταὐτὰ βεβιωκότας. ἐκ Δελφῶν δὲ χρὴ νόμους περὶ τὰ θεῖα πάντα κομισαμένους καὶ καταστήσαντας ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς ἐξηγητάς, [759δ] τούτοις χρῆσθαι. κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν δὲ εἶναι καὶ μὴ μακρότερον τὴν ἱερωσύνην ἑκάστην, ἔτη δὲ μὴ ἔλαττον ἑξήκοντα ἡμῖν εἴη γεγονὼς ὁ μέλλων καθ᾽ ἱεροὺς νόμους περὶ τὰ θεῖα ἱκανῶς ἁγιστεύσειν: ταὐτὰ δὲ καὶ περὶ τῶν ἱερειῶν ἔστω τὰ νόμιμα. τοὺς δὲ ἐξηγητὰς τρὶς φερέτωσαν μὲν αἱ τέτταρες φυλαὶ τέτταρας, ἕκαστον ἐξ αὑτῶν, τρεῖς δέ, οἷς ἂν πλείστη γένηται ψῆφος, δοκιμάσαντας, ἐννέα πέμπειν εἰς Δελφοὺς ἀνελεῖν ἐξ ἑκάστης τριάδος ἕνα: τὴν δὲ δοκιμασίαν αὐτῶν [759ε] καὶ τοῦ χρόνου τὴν ἡλικίαν εἶναι καθάπερ τῶν ἱερέων. οὗτοι δὲ ἔστων ἐξηγηταὶ διὰ βίου: τὸν δέ γε λιπόντα προαιρείσθωσαν αἱ τέτταρες φυλαὶ ὅθεν ἂν ἐκλίπῃ. ταμίας δὲ δὴ τῶν τε ἱερῶν χρημάτων ἑκάστοις τοῖς ἱεροῖς καὶ τεμενῶν καὶ καρπῶν τούτων καὶ μισθώσεων κυρίους αἱρεῖσθαι μὲν [760α] ἐκ τῶν μεγίστων τιμημάτων τρεῖς εἰς τὰ μέγιστα ἱερά, δύο δ᾽ εἰς τὰ σμικρότερα, πρὸς δὲ τὰ ἐμμελέστατα ἕνα: τὴν δὲ αἵρεσιν τούτων καὶ τὴν δοκιμασίαν γίγνεσθαι καθάπερ ἡ τῶν στρατηγῶν ἐγίγνετο. καὶ τὰ μὲν αὖ περὶ τὰ ἱερὰ ταῦτα γιγνέσθω.

ἀφρούρητον δὲ δὴ μηδὲν εἰς δύναμιν ἔστω. πόλεως μὲν οὖν αἱ φρουραὶ πέρι ταύτῃ γιγνέσθωσαν, στρατηγῶν ἐπιμελουμένων καὶ ταξιαρχῶν καὶ ἱππάρχων καὶ φυλάρχων καὶ [760β] πρυτάνεων, καὶ δὴ καὶ ἀστυνόμων καὶ ἀγορανόμων, ὁπόταν αἱρεθέντες ἡμῖν καταστῶσίν τινες ἱκανῶς: τὴν δὲ ἄλλην χώραν φυλάττειν πᾶσαν κατὰ τάδε. δώδεκα μὲν ἡμῖν ἡ χώρα πᾶσα εἰς δύναμιν ἴσα μόρια νενέμηται, φυλὴ δὲ μία τῷ μορίῳ ἑκάστῳ ἐπικληρωθεῖσα κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν παρεχέτω πέντε οἷον ἀγρονόμους τε καὶ φρουράρχους, τούτοις δ᾽ ἔστω καταλέξασθαι τῆς αὑτῶν φυλῆς ἑκάστῳ δώδεκα τῶν πέντε [760ξ] ἐκ τῶν νέων, μὴ ἔλαττον ἢ πέντε καὶ εἴκοσιν ἔτη γεγονότας, μὴ πλεῖον δὲ ἢ τριάκοντα. τούτοις δὲ διακληρωθήτω τὰ μόρια τῆς χώρας κατὰ μῆνα ἕκαστα ἑκάστοις, ὅπως ἂν πάσης τῆς χώρας ἔμπειροί τε καὶ ἐπιστήμονες γίγνωνται πάντες. δύο δ᾽ ἔτη τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ τὴν φρουρὰν γίγνεσθαι φρουροῖς τε καὶ ἄρχουσιν. ὅπως δ᾽ ἂν τὸ πρῶτον λάχωσιν τὰ μέρη, τοὺς τῆς χώρας τόπους, μεταλλάττοντας ἀεὶ τὸν ἑξῆς τόπον [760δ] ἑκάστου μηνὸς ἡγεῖσθαι τοὺς φρουράρχους ἐπὶ δεξιὰ κύκλῳ: τὸ δ᾽ ἐπὶ δεξιὰ γιγνέσθω τὸ πρὸς ἕω. περιελθόντος δὲ τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ, τῷ δευτέρῳ ἔτει, ἵνα ὡς πλεῖστοι τῶν φρουρῶν μὴ μόνον ἔμπειροι τῆς χώρας γίγνωνται κατὰ μίαν ὥραν τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ, πρὸς τῇ χώρᾳ δὲ ἅμα καὶ τῆς ὥρας ἑκάστης περὶ ἕκαστον τὸν τόπον τὸ γιγνόμενον ὡς πλεῖστοι καταμάθωσιν, οἱ τότε ἡγούμενοι πάλιν ἀφηγείσθωσαν εἰς τὸν εὐώνυμον [760ε] ἀεὶ μεταβάλλοντες τόπον, ἕως ἂν τὸ δεύτερον διεξέλθωσιν ἔτος: τῷ τρίτῳ δὲ ἄλλους ἀγρονόμους αἱρεῖσθαι καὶ φρουράρχους τοὺς πέντε τῶν δώδεκα ἐπιμελητάς. ἐν δὲ δὴ ταῖς διατριβαῖς τῷ τόπῳ ἑκάστῳ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν εἶναι τοιάνδε τινά: πρῶτον μὲν ὅπως εὐερκὴς ἡ χώρα πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους ὅτι μάλιστα ἔσται, ταφρεύοντάς τε ὅσα ἂν τούτου δέῃ καὶ ἀποσκάπτοντας καὶ ἐνοικοδομήμασιν εἰς δύναμιν εἴργοντας τοὺς ἐπιχειροῦντας ὁτιοῦν τὴν χώραν καὶ τὰ κτήματα κακουργεῖν, χρωμένους δ᾽ ὑποζυγίοις καὶ τοῖς οἰκέταις τοῖς ἐν [761α] τῷ τόπῳ ἑκάστῳ πρὸς ταῦτα, δι᾽ ἐκείνων ποιοῦντας, ἐκείνοις ἐπιστατοῦντας, τῶν οἰκείων ἔργων αὐτῶν ἀργίας ὅτι μάλιστα ἐκλεγομένους. δύσβατα δὲ δὴ πάντα ποιεῖν μὲν τοῖς ἐχθροῖς, τοῖς δὲ φίλοις ὅτι μάλιστα εὔβατα, ἀνθρώποις τε καὶ ὑποζυγίοις καὶ βοσκήμασιν, ὁδῶν τε ἐπιμελουμένους ὅπως ὡς ἡμερώταται ἕκασται γίγνωνται, καὶ τῶν ἐκ Διὸς ὑδάτων, ἵνα τὴν χώραν μὴ κακουργῇ, μᾶλλον δ᾽ ὠφελῇ ῥέοντα ἐκ [761β] τῶν ὑψηλῶν εἰς τὰς ἐν τοῖς ὄρεσι νάπας ὅσαι κοῖλαι, τὰς ἐκροὰς αὐτῶν εἴργοντας οἰκοδομήμασί τε καὶ ταφρεύμασιν, ὅπως ἂν τὰ παρὰ τοῦ Διὸς ὕδατα καταδεχόμεναι καὶ πίνουσαι, τοῖς ὑποκάτωθεν ἀγροῖς τε καὶ τόποις πᾶσιν νάματα καὶ κρήνας ποιοῦσαι, καὶ τοὺς αὐχμηροτάτους τόπους πολυύδρους τε καὶ εὐύδρους ἀπεργάζωνται: τά τε πηγαῖα ὕδατα, ἐάντε τὶς ποταμὸς ἐάντε καὶ κρήνη ᾖ, κοσμοῦντες φυτεύμασί [761ξ] τε καὶ οἰκοδομήμασιν εὐπρεπέστερα, καὶ συνάγοντες μεταλλείαις νάματα, πάντα ἄφθονα ποιῶσιν, ὑδρείαις τε καθ᾽ ἑκάστας τὰς ὥρας, εἴ τί που ἄλσος ἢ τέμενος περὶ ταῦτα ἀφειμένον ᾖ, τὰ ῥεύματα ἀφιέντες εἰς αὐτὰ τὰ τῶν θεῶν ἱερά, κοσμῶσι. πανταχῇ δὲ ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις γυμνάσια χρὴ κατασκευάζειν τοὺς νέους αὑτοῖς τε καὶ τοῖς γέρουσι γεροντικὰ λουτρὰ θερμὰ παρέχοντας, ὕλην παρατιθέντας αὔην [761δ] καὶ ξηρὰν ἄφθονον, ἐπ᾽ ὀνήσει καμνόντων τε νόσοις καὶ πόνοις τετρυμένα γεωργικοῖς σώματα δεχομένους εὐμενῶς, ἰατροῦ δέξιν μὴ πάνυ σοφοῦ βελτίονα συχνῷ.

ταῦτα μὲν οὖν καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα κόσμος τε καὶ ὠφελία τοῖς τόποις γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν μετὰ παιδιᾶς οὐδαμῇ ἀχαρίτου: σπουδὴ δὲ περὶ ταῦτα ἥδε ἔστω. τοὺς ἑξήκοντα ἑκάστους τὸν αὑτῶν τόπον φυλάττειν, μὴ μόνον πολεμίων ἕνεκα ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν φίλων φασκόντων εἶναι: γειτόνων δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν [761ε] ἢν ἄλλος ἄλλον ἀδικῇ, δοῦλος ἢ ἐλεύθερος, δικάζοντας τῷ ἀδικεῖσθαι φάσκοντι, τὰ μὲν σμικρὰ αὐτοὺς τοὺς πέντε ἄρχοντας, τὰ δὲ μείζονα μετὰ τῶν δώδεκα τοὺς ἑπτακαίδεκα δικάζειν μέχρι τριῶν μνῶν, ὅσα ἂν ἕτερος ἑτέρῳ ἐπικαλῇ. δικαστὴν δὲ καὶ ἄρχοντα ἀνυπεύθυνον οὐδένα δικάζειν καὶ ἄρχειν δεῖ πλὴν τῶν τὸ τέλος ἐπιτιθέντων οἷον βασιλέων: καὶ δὴ καὶ τοὺς ἀγρονόμους τούτους, ἐὰν ὑβρίζωσί τι περὶ τοὺς ὧν ἐπιμελοῦνται, προστάξεις τε προστάττοντες ἀνίσους, [762α] καὶ ἐπιχειροῦντες λαμβάνειν τε καὶ φέρειν τῶν ἐν ταῖς γεωργίαις μὴ πείσαντες, καὶ ἐὰν δέχωνταί τι κολακείας ἕνεκα διδόντων, ἢ καὶ δίκας ἀδίκως διανέμωσι, ταῖς μὲν θωπείαις ὑπείκοντες ὀνείδη φερέσθωσαν ἐν πάσῃ τῇ πόλει, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων ἀδικημάτων ὅτι ἂν ἀδικῶσι τοὺς ἐν τῷ τόπῳ, τῶν μέχρι μνᾶς ἐν τοῖς κωμήταις καὶ γείτοσιν ὑπεχέτωσαν ἑκόντες δίκας, τῶν δὲ μειζόνων ἑκάστοτε ἀδικημάτων ἢ καὶ [762β] τῶν ἐλαττόνων, ἐὰν μὴ ‘θέλωσιν ὑπέχειν, πιστεύοντες τῷ μεθίστασθαι κατὰ μῆνας εἰς ἕτερον ἀεὶ τόπον φεύγοντες ἀποφευξεῖσθαι, τούτων πέρι λαγχάνειν μὲν ἐν ταῖς κοιναῖς δίκαις τὸν ἀδικούμενον, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἕλῃ, τὴν διπλασίαν πραττέσθω τὸν ὑποφεύγοντα καὶ μὴ ἐθελήσαντα ὑποσχεῖν ἑκόντα τιμωρίαν. διαιτάσθων δὲ οἵ τε ἄρχοντες οἵ τ᾽ ἀγρονόμοι τὰ δύο ἔτη τοιόνδε τινὰ τρόπον: πρῶτον μὲν δὴ καθ᾽ ἑκάστους [762ξ] τοὺς τόπους εἶναι συσσίτια, ἐν οἷς κοινῇ τὴν δίαιταν ποιητέον ἅπασιν: ὁ δὲ ἀποσυσσιτήσας κἂν ἡντιναοῦν ἡμέραν, ἢ νύκτα ἀποκοιμηθείς, μὴ τῶν ἀρχόντων ταξάντων ἢ πάσης τινὸς ἀνάγκης ἐπιπεσούσης, ἐὰν ἀποφήνωσιν αὐτὸν οἱ πέντε, καὶ γράψαντες θῶσιν ἐν ἀγορᾷ καταλελυκότα τὴν φρουράν, ὀνείδη τε ἐχέτω τὴν πολιτείαν ὡς προδιδοὺς τὸ ἑαυτοῦ μέρος, κολαζέσθω τε πληγαῖς ὑπὸ τοῦ συντυγχάνοντος καὶ [762δ] ἐθέλοντος κολάζειν ἀτιμωρήτως. τῶν δὲ ἀρχόντων αὐτῶν ἐάν τίς τι δρᾷ τοιοῦτον αὐτός, ἐπιμελεῖσθαι μὲν τοῦ τοιούτου πάντας τοὺς ἑξήκοντα χρεών, ὁ δὲ αἰσθόμενός τε καὶ πυθόμενος μὴ ἐπεξιὼν ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἐνεχέσθω νόμοις καὶ πλείονι τῶν νέων ζημιούσθω: περὶ τὰς τῶν νέων ἀρχὰς ἠτιμάσθω πάσας. τούτων δὲ οἱ νομοφύλακες ἐπίσκοποι ἀκριβεῖς ἔστωσαν, ὅπως ἢ μὴ γίγνηται τὴν ἀρχὴν ἢ γιγνόμενα [762ε] τῆς ἀξίας δίκης τυγχάνῃ. δεῖ δὴ πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα διανοεῖσθαι περὶ ἁπάντων ἀνθρώπων ὡς ὁ μὴ δουλεύσας οὐδ᾽ ἂν δεσπότης γένοιτο ἄξιος ἐπαίνου, καὶ καλλωπίζεσθαι χρὴ τῷ καλῶς δουλεῦσαι μᾶλλον ἢ τῷ καλῶς ἄρξαι, πρῶτον μὲν τοῖς νόμοις, ὡς ταύτην τοῖς θεοῖς οὖσαν δουλείαν, ἔπειτ᾽ ἀεὶ τοῖς πρεσβυτέροις τε καὶ ἐντίμως βεβιωκόσι τοὺς νέους. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τῆς καθ᾽ ἡμέραν διαίτης δεῖ τῆς ταπεινῆς καὶ ἀπόρου γεγευμένον εἶναι τὰ δύο ἔτη ταῦτα τὸν τῶν ἀγρονόμων γεγονότα. ἐπειδὰν γὰρ δὴ καταλεγῶσιν οἱ δώδεκα, συνελθόντες μετὰ τῶν πέντε, βουλευέσθωσαν ὡς [763α] οἷόνπερ οἰκέται οὐχ ἕξουσιν αὑτοῖς ἄλλους οἰκέτας τε καὶ δούλους, οὐδ᾽ ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων γεωργῶν τε καὶ κωμητῶν τοῖς ἐκείνων ἐπὶ τὰ ἴδια χρήσονται ὑπηρετήματα διακόνοις, ἀλλὰ μόνον ὅσα εἰς τὰ δημόσια: τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα αὐτοὶ δι᾽ αὑτῶν διανοηθήτωσαν ὡς βιωσόμενοι διακονοῦντές τε καὶ διακονούμενοι ἑαυτοῖς, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις πᾶσαν τὴν χώραν διεξερευνώμενοι θέρους καὶ χειμῶνος σὺν τοῖς ὅπλοις φυλακῆς τε [763β] καὶ γνωρίσεως ἕνεκα πάντων ἀεὶ τῶν τόπων. κινδυνεύει γὰρ οὐδενὸς ἔλαττον μάθημα εἶναι δι᾽ ἀκριβείας ἐπίστασθαι πάντας τὴν αὑτῶν χώραν: οὗ δὴ χάριν κυνηγέσια καὶ τὴν ἄλλην θήραν οὐχ ἧττον ἐπιτηδεύειν δεῖ τὸν ἡβῶντα ἢ τῆς ἄλλης ἡδονῆς ἅμα καὶ ὠφελίας τῆς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα γιγνομένης πᾶσιν. τούτους οὖν, αὐτούς τε καὶ τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα, εἴτε τις κρυπτοὺς εἴτε ἀγρονόμους εἴθ᾽ ὅτι καλῶν χαίρει, [763ξ] τοῦτο προσαγορεύων, προθύμως πᾶς ἀνὴρ εἰς δύναμιν ἐπιτηδευέτω, ὅσοι μέλλουσι τὴν αὑτῶν πόλιν ἱκανῶς σῴζειν.

τὸ δὲ μετὰ τοῦτο ἀρχόντων αἱρέσεως ἀγορανόμων πέρι καὶ ἀστυνόμων πέρι ἦν ἡμῖν ἑπόμενον. ἕποιντο δ᾽ ἂν ἀγρονόμοις γε ἀστυνόμοι τρεῖς ἑξήκοντα οὖσιν, τριχῇ δώδεκα μέρη τῆς πόλεως διαλαβόντες, μιμούμενοι ἐκείνους τῶν τε ὁδῶν ἐπιμελούμενοι τῶν κατὰ τὸ ἄστυ καὶ τῶν ἐκ τῆς χώρας λεωφόρων εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἀεὶ τεταμένων καὶ τῶν οἰκοδομιῶν, [763δ] ἵνα κατὰ νόμους γίγνωνται πᾶσαι, καὶ δὴ καὶ τῶν ὑδάτων, ὁπός᾽ ἂν αὐτοῖς πέμπωσι καὶ παραδιδῶσιν οἱ φρουροῦντες τεθεραπευμένα, ὅπως εἰς τὰς κρήνας ἱκανὰ καὶ καθαρὰ πορευόμενα, κοσμῇ τε ἅμα καὶ ὠφελῇ τὴν πόλιν. δεῖ δὴ καὶ τούτους δυνατούς τε εἶναι καὶ σχολάζοντας τῶν κοινῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι: διὸ προβαλλέσθω μὲν πᾶς ἀνὴρ ἐκ τῶν μεγίστων τιμημάτων ἀστυνόμον ὃν ἂν βούληται, διαχειροτονηθέντων [763ε] δὲ καὶ ἀφικομένων εἰς ἓξ οἷς ἂν πλεῖσται γίγνωνται, τοὺς τρεῖς ἀποκληρωσάντων οἷς τούτων ἐπιμελές, δοκιμασθέντες δὲ ἀρχόντων κατὰ τοὺς τεθέντας αὐτοῖς νόμους.

ἀγορανόμους δ᾽ ἑξῆς τούτοις αἱρεῖσθαι μὲν ἐκ τῶν δευτέρων καὶ πρώτων τιμημάτων πέντε, τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα αὐτῶν γίγνεσθαι τὴν αἵρεσιν καθάπερ ἡ τῶν ἀστυνόμων: δέκα ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων χειροτονηθέντας τοὺς πέντε ἀποκληρῶσαι, καὶ δοκιμασθέντας αὐτοὺς ἄρχοντας ἀποφῆναι. χειροτονείτω δὲ πᾶς πάντα: [764α] ὁ δὲ μὴ ‘θέλων, ἐὰν εἰσαγγελθῇ πρὸς τοὺς ἄρχοντας, ζημιούσθω πεντήκοντα δραχμαῖς πρὸς τῷ κακὸς εἶναι δοκεῖν. ἴτω δ᾽ εἰς ἐκκλησίαν καὶ τὸν κοινὸν σύλλογον ὁ βουλόμενος, ἐπάναγκες δ᾽ ἔστω τῷ τῶν δευτέρων καὶ πρώτων τιμημάτων, δέκα δραχμαῖς ζημιουμένῳ ἐὰν μὴ παρὼν ἐξετάζηται τοῖς συλλόγοις: τρίτῳ δὲ τιμήματι καὶ τῷ τετάρτῳ μὴ ἐπάναγκες, ἀλλὰ ἀζήμιος ἀφείσθω, ἐὰν μή τι παραγγείλωσιν οἱ ἄρχοντες [764β] πᾶσιν ἔκ τινος ἀνάγκης συνιέναι. τοὺς δὲ δὴ ἀγορανόμους τὸν περὶ τὴν ἀγορὰν κόσμον διαταχθέντα ὑπὸ νόμων φυλάττειν, καὶ ἱερῶν καὶ κρηνῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τῶν κατ᾽ ἀγοράν, ὅπως μηδὲν ἀδικῇ μηδείς, τὸν ἀδικοῦντα δὲ κολάζειν, πληγαῖς μὲν καὶ δεσμοῖς δοῦλον καὶ ξένον, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐπιχώριος ὤν τις περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀκοσμῇ, μέχρι μὲν ἑκατὸν δραχμῶν νομίσματος αὐτοὺς εἶναι κυρίους διαδικάζοντας, μέχρι δὲ διπλασίου [764ξ] τούτου κοινῇ μετὰ ἀστυνόμων ζημιοῦν δικάζοντας τῷ ἀδικοῦντι. τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ καὶ ἀστυνόμοις ἔστω ζημιώματά τε καὶ κολάσεις ἐν τῇ ἑαυτῶν ἀρχῇ, μέχρι μὲν μνᾶς αὐτοὺς ζημιοῦντας, τὴν διπλασίαν δὲ μετὰ ἀγορανόμων.

μουσικῆς δὲ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο καὶ γυμναστικῆς ἄρχοντας καθίστασθαι πρέπον ἂν εἴη, διττοὺς ἑκατέρων, τοὺς μὲν παιδείας αὐτῶν ἕνεκα, τοὺς δὲ ἀγωνιστικῆς. παιδείας μὲν βούλεται λέγειν ὁ νόμος γυμνασίων καὶ διδασκαλείων ἐπιμελητὰς [764δ] κόσμου καὶ παιδεύσεως ἅμα καὶ τῆς περὶ ταῦτα ἐπιμελείας τῶν φοιτήσεών τε πέρι καὶ οἰκήσεων ἀρρένων καὶ θηλειῶν κορῶν, ἀγωνίας δέ, ἔν τε τοῖς γυμνικοῖς καὶ περὶ τὴν μουσικὴν ἀθλοθέτας ἀθληταῖς, διττοὺς αὖ τούτους, περὶ μουσικὴν μὲν ἑτέρους, περὶ ἀγωνίαν δ᾽ ἄλλους. ἀγωνιστικῆς μὲν οὖν ἀνθρώπων τε καὶ ἵππων τοὺς αὐτούς, μουσικῆς δὲ ἑτέρους μὲν τοὺς περὶ μονῳδίαν τε καὶ μιμητικήν, οἷον [764ε] ῥαψῳδῶν καὶ κιθαρῳδῶν καὶ αὐλητῶν καὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων ἀθλοθέτας ἑτέρους πρέπον ἂν εἴη γίγνεσθαι, τῶν δὲ περὶ χορῳδίαν ἄλλους. πρῶτον δὴ περὶ τὴν τῶν χορῶν παιδιὰν παίδων τε καὶ ἀνδρῶν καὶ θηλειῶν κορῶν ἐν ὀρχήσεσι καὶ τῇ τάξει τῇ ἁπάσῃ γιγνομένῃ μουσικῇ τοὺς ἄρχοντας αἱρεῖσθαί που χρεών: ἱκανὸς δὲ εἷς ἄρχων αὐτοῖς, [765α] μὴ ἔλαττον τετταράκοντα γεγονὼς ἐτῶν. ἱκανὸς δὲ καὶ περὶ μονῳδίαν εἷς, μὴ ἔλαττον ἢ τριάκοντα γεγονὼς ἐτῶν, εἰσαγωγεύς τε εἶναι καὶ τοῖς ἁμιλλωμένοις τὴν διάκρισιν ἱκανῶς ἀποδιδούς. τὸν δὴ χορῶν ἄρχοντα καὶ διαθετῆρα αἱρεῖσθαι χρὴ τοιόνδε τινὰ τρόπον. ὅσοι μὲν φιλοφρόνως ἐσχήκασι περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, εἰς τὸν σύλλογον ἴτωσαν, ἐπιζήμιοι ἐὰν μὴ ἴωσιν-τούτου δὲ οἱ νομοφύλακες κριταί-τοῖς δ᾽ ἄλλοις, ἐὰν μὴ βούλωνται, μηδὲν ἐπάναγκες ἔστω. καὶ [765β] τὴν προβολὴν δὴ τὸν αἱρούμενον ἐκ τῶν ἐμπείρων ποιητέον, ἔν τε τῇ δοκιμασίᾳ κατηγόρημα ἓν τοῦτ᾽ ἔστω καὶ ἀπηγόρημα, τῶν μὲν ὡς ἄπειρος ὁ λαχών, τῶν δ᾽ ὡς ἔμπειρος: ὃς δ᾽ ἂν εἷς ἐκ προχειροτονηθέντων δέκα λάχῃ, δοκιμασθείς, τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν τῶν χορῶν ἀρχέτω κατὰ νόμον. κατὰ ταὐτὰ δὲ τούτοις καὶ ταύτῃ ὁ λαχὼν τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν ἐκεῖνον τῶν ἀφικομένων εἰς κρίσιν μονῳδιῶν τε καὶ συναυλιῶν ἀρχέτω, εἰς [765ξ] τοὺς κριτὰς ἀποδιδοὺς ὁ λαχὼν τὴν κρίσιν. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα χρεὼν ἀγωνίας ἀθλοθέτας αἱρεῖσθαι τῆς περὶ τὰ γυμνάσια ἵππων τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων ἐκ τῶν τρίτων τε καὶ ἔτι τῶν δευτέρων τιμημάτων: εἰς δὲ τὴν αἵρεσιν ἔστω μὲν ἐπάναγκες τοῖς τρισὶν [καὶ] πορεύεσθαι τιμήμασι, τὸ σμικρότατον δὲ ἀζήμιον ἀφείσθω. τρεῖς δ᾽ ἔστωσαν οἱ λαχόντες, τῶν προχειροτονηθέντων μὲν εἴκοσι, λαχόντων δὲ ἐκ τῶν εἴκοσι τριῶν, οὓς ἂν καὶ ψῆφος ἡ τῶν δοκιμαζόντων δοκιμάσῃ: ἐὰν [765δ] δέ τις ἀποδοκιμασθῇ καθ᾽ ἡντιναοῦν ἀρχῆς λῆξιν καὶ κρίσιν, ἄλλους ἀνθαιρεῖσθαι κατὰ ταὐτὰ καὶ τὴν δοκιμασίαν ὡσαύτως αὐτῶν πέρι ποιεῖσθαι.

λοιπὸς δὲ ἄρχων περὶ τὰ προειρημένα ἡμῖν ὁ τῆς παιδείας ἐπιμελητὴς πάσης θηλειῶν τε καὶ ἀρρένων. εἷς μὲν δὴ καὶ ὁ τούτων ἄρξων ἔστω κατὰ νόμους, ἐτῶν μὲν γεγονὼς μὴ ἔλαττον ἢ πεντήκοντα, παίδων δὲ γνησίων πατήρ, μάλιστα μὲν ὑέων καὶ θυγατέρων, εἰ δὲ μή, θάτερα: διανοηθήτω [765ε] δὲ αὐτός τε ὁ προκριθεὶς καὶ ὁ προκρίνων ὡς οὖσαν ταύτην τὴν ἀρχὴν τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει ἀκροτάτων ἀρχῶν πολὺ μεγίστην. παντὸς γὰρ δὴ φυτοῦ ἡ πρώτη βλάστη καλῶς ὁρμηθεῖσα, πρὸς ἀρετὴν τῆς αὑτοῦ φύσεως κυριωτάτη τέλος ἐπιθεῖναι τὸ πρόσφορον, τῶν τε ἄλλων φυτῶν καὶ τῶν ζῴων ἡμέρων [766α] καὶ ἀγρίων καὶ ἀνθρώπων: ἄνθρωπος δέ, ὥς φαμεν, ἥμερον, ὅμως μὴν παιδείας μὲν ὀρθῆς τυχὸν καὶ φύσεως εὐτυχοῦς, θειότατον ἡμερώτατόν τε ζῷον γίγνεσθαι φιλεῖ, μὴ ἱκανῶς δὲ ἢ μὴ καλῶς τραφὲν ἀγριώτατον, ὁπόσα φύει γῆ. ὧν ἕνεκα οὐ δεύτερον οὐδὲ πάρεργον δεῖ τὴν παίδων τροφὴν τὸν νομοθέτην ἐᾶν γίγνεσθαι, πρῶτον δὲ ἄρξασθαι χρεὼν τὸν μέλλοντα αὐτῶν ἐπιμελήσεσθαι καλῶς αἱρεθῆναι, τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει ὃς ἂν ἄριστος εἰς πάντα ᾖ, τοῦτον κατὰ δύναμιν ὅτι [766β] μάλιστα αὐτοῖς καθιστάντα προστάττειν ἐπιμελητήν. αἱ πᾶσαι τοίνυν ἀρχαὶ πλὴν βουλῆς καὶ πρυτάνεων εἰς τὸ τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος ἱερὸν ἐλθοῦσαι φερόντων ψῆφον κρύβδην, τῶν νομοφυλάκων ὅντιν᾽ ἂν ἕκαστος ἡγῆται κάλλιστ᾽ ἂν τῶν περὶ παιδείαν ἄρξαι γενομένων: ᾧ δ᾽ ἂν πλεῖσται ψῆφοι συμβῶσιν, δοκιμασθεὶς ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων ἀρχόντων τῶν ἑλομένων, πλὴν νομοφυλάκων, ἀρχέτω ἔτη πέντε, ἕκτῳ δὲ κατὰ [766ξ] ταὐτὰ ἄλλον ἐπὶ ταύτην τὴν ἀρχὴν αἱρεῖσθαι.

ἐὰν δέ τις δημοσίαν ἀρχὴν ἄρχων ἀποθάνῃ πρὶν ἐξήκειν αὐτῷ τὴν ἀρχὴν πλεῖον ἢ τριάκοντα ἐπιδεομένην ἡμερῶν, τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ἐπὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἄλλον καθιστάναι οἷς ἦν τοῦτο προσηκόντως μέλον. καὶ ἐὰν ὀρφανῶν ἐπίτροπος τελευτήσῃ τις, οἱ προσήκοντες καὶ ἐπιδημοῦντες πρὸς πατρὸς καὶ μητρὸς μέχρι ἀνεψιῶν παίδων ἄλλον καθιστάντων [766δ] ἐντὸς δέκα ἡμερῶν, ἢ ζημιούσθων ἕκαστος δραχμῇ τῆς ἡμέρας, μέχριπερ ἂν τοῖς παισὶν καταστήσωσι τὸν ἐπίτροπον.

πᾶσα δὲ δήπου πόλις ἄπολις ἂν γίγνοιτο, ἐν ᾗ δικαστήρια μὴ καθεστῶτα εἴη κατὰ τρόπον: ἄφωνος δ᾽ αὖ δικαστὴς ἡμῖν καὶ μὴ πλείω τῶν ἀντιδίκων ἐν ταῖς ἀνακρίσεσι φθεγγόμενος, καθάπερ ἐν ταῖς διαίταις, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἱκανὸς γένοιτο περὶ τὴν τῶν δικαίων κρίσιν: ὧν ἕνεκα οὔτε πολλοὺς ὄντας ῥᾴδιον εὖ δικάζειν οὔτε ὀλίγους φαύλους. σαφὲς δὲ ἀεὶ τὸ [766ε] ἀμφισβητούμενον χρεὼν γίγνεσθαι παρ᾽ ἑκατέρων, ὁ δὲ χρόνος ἅμα καὶ τὸ βραδὺ τό τε πολλάκις ἀνακρίνειν πρὸς τὸ φανερὰν γίγνεσθαι τὴν ἀμφισβήτησιν σύμφορον. ὧν ἕνεκα πρῶτον μὲν εἰς γείτονας ἰέναι χρὴ τοὺς ἐπικαλοῦντας ἀλλήλοις καὶ τοὺς φίλους τε καὶ συνειδότας ὅτι μάλιστα [767α] τὰς ἀμφισβητουμένας πράξεις, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἄρα μὴ ἐν τούτοις τις ἱκανὴν κρίσιν λαμβάνῃ, πρὸς ἄλλο δικαστήριον ἴτω: τὸ δὲ τρίτον, ἂν τὰ δύο δικαστήρια μὴ δύνηται διαλλάξαι, τέλος ἐπιθέτω τῇ δίκῃ.

τρόπον δή τινα καὶ τῶν δικαστηρίων αἱ καταστάσεις ἀρχόντων εἰσὶν αἱρέσεις: πάντα μὲν γὰρ ἄρχοντα ἀναγκαῖον καὶ δικαστὴν εἶναί τινων, δικαστὴς δὲ οὐκ ἄρχων καί τινα τρόπον ἄρχων οὐ πάνυ φαῦλος γίγνεται τὴν τόθ᾽ ἡμέραν ᾗπερ ἂν κρίνων τὴν δίκην ἀποτελῇ. θέντες δὴ καὶ τοὺς [767β] δικαστὰς ὡς ἄρχοντας, λέγωμεν τίνες ἂν εἶεν πρέποντες καὶ τίνων ἄρα δικασταὶ καὶ πόσοι ἐφ᾽ ἕκαστον. κυριώτατον μὲν τοίνυν ἔστω δικαστήριον ὅπερ ἂν αὐτοὶ ἑαυτοῖς ἀποφήνωσιν ἕκαστοι, κοινῇ τινας ἑλόμενοι: δύο δὴ τῶν λοιπῶν ἔστω κριτήρια, τὸ μὲν ὅταν τίς τινα ἰδιώτην ἰδιώτης, ἐπαιτιώμενος ἀδικεῖν αὐτόν, ἄγων εἰς δίκην βούληται διακριθῆναι, τὸ δ᾽ ὁπόταν τὸ δημόσιον ὑπό τινος τῶν πολιτῶν ἡγῆταί [767ξ] τις ἀδικεῖσθαι καὶ βουληθῇ τῷ κοινῷ βοηθεῖν, λεκτέον ὁποῖοί τ᾽ εἰσὶν καὶ τίνες οἱ κριταί. πρῶτον δὴ δικαστήριον ἡμῖν γιγνέσθω κοινὸν ἅπασι τοῖς τὸ τρίτον ἀμφισβητοῦσιν ἰδιώταις πρὸς ἀλλήλους, γενόμενον τῇδέ πῃ. πάσας δὴ τὰς ἀρχάς, ὁπόσαι τε κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν καὶ ὁπόσαι πλείω χρόνον ἄρχουσιν, ἐπειδὰν μέλλῃ νέος ἐνιαυτὸς μετὰ θερινὰς τροπὰς τῷ ἐπιόντι μηνὶ γίγνεσθαι, ταύτης τῆς ἡμέρας τῇ πρόσθεν πάντας χρὴ τοὺς ἄρχοντας συνελθεῖν εἰς ἓν ἱερὸν καὶ τὸν [767δ] θεὸν ὀμόσαντας οἷον ἀπάρξασθαι πάσης ἀρχῆς ἕνα δικαστήν, ὃς ἂν ἐν ἀρχῇ ἑκάστῃ ἄριστός τε εἶναι δόξῃ καὶ ἄριστ᾽ ἂν καὶ ὁσιώτατα τὰς δίκας τοῖς πολίταις αὐτῷ τὸν ἐπιόντα ἐνιαυτὸν φαίνηται διακρίνειν. τούτων δὲ αἱρεθέντων γίγνεσθαι μὲν δοκιμασίαν ἐν τοῖς ἑλομένοις αὐτοῖς, ἐὰν δὲ ἀποδοκιμασθῇ τις, ἕτερον ἀνθαιρεῖσθαι κατὰ ταὐτά, τοὺς δὲ δοκιμασθέντας δικάζειν μὲν τοῖς τἆλλα δικαστήρια φυγοῦσι, τὴν δὲ ψῆφον φανερὰν φέρειν: ἐπηκόους δ᾽ εἶναι καὶ θεατὰς [767ε] τούτων τῶν δικῶν ἐξ ἀνάγκης μὲν βουλευτὰς καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἄρχοντας τοὺς ἑλομένους αὐτούς, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων τὸν βουλόμενον. ἐὰν δέ τις ἐπαιτιᾶταί τινα ἑκόντα ἀδίκως κρῖναι τὴν δίκην, εἰς τοὺς νομοφύλακας ἰὼν κατηγορείτω: ὁ δὲ ὀφλὼν τὴν τοιαύτην δίκην ὑπεχέτω μὲν τοῦ βλάβους τῷ βλαφθέντι τὸ ἥμισυ τίνειν, ἐὰν δὲ μείζονος ἄξιος εἶναι δόξῃ ζημίας, προστιμᾶν τοὺς κρίναντας τὴν δίκην ὅτι χρὴ πρὸς τούτῳ παθεῖν αὐτὸν ἢ ἀποτίνειν τῷ κοινῷ καὶ τῷ τὴν δίκην δικασαμένῳ. περὶ δὲ τῶν δημοσίων ἐγκλημάτων ἀναγκαῖον [768α] πρῶτον μὲν τῷ πλήθει μεταδιδόναι τῆς κρίσεως-οἱ γὰρ ἀδικούμενοι πάντες εἰσίν, ὁπόταν τις τὴν πόλιν ἀδικῇ, καὶ χαλεπῶς ἂν ἐν δίκῃ φέροιεν ἄμοιροι γιγνόμενοι τῶν τοιούτων διακρίσεων-ἀλλ᾽ ἀρχήν τε εἶναι χρὴ τῆς τοιαύτης δίκης καὶ τελευτὴν εἰς τὸν δῆμον ἀποδιδομένην, τὴν δὲ βάσανον ἐν ταῖς μεγίσταις ἀρχαῖς τρισίν, ἃς ἂν ὅ τε φεύγων καὶ ὁ διώκων συνομολογῆτον: ἐὰν δὲ μὴ δύνησθον κοινωνῆσαι τῆς ὁμολογίας αὐτοί, τὴν βουλὴν ἐπικρίνειν αὐτῶν τὴν αἵρεσιν [768β] ἑκατέρου. δεῖ δὲ δὴ καὶ τῶν ἰδίων δικῶν κοινωνεῖν κατὰ δύναμιν ἅπαντας: ὁ γὰρ ἀκοινώνητος ὢν ἐξουσίας τοῦ συνδικάζειν ἡγεῖται τὸ παράπαν τῆς πόλεως οὐ μέτοχος εἶναι. διὰ ταῦτ᾽ οὖν δὴ καὶ κατὰ φυλὰς ἀναγκαῖον δικαστήριά τε γίγνεσθαι καὶ κλήρῳ δικαστὰς ἐκ τοῦ παραχρῆμα ἀδιαφθόρους ταῖς δεήσεσι δικάζειν, τὸ δὲ τέλος κρίνειν πάντων τῶν τοιούτων ἐκεῖνο τὸ δικαστήριον, ὅ φαμεν εἴς γε ἀνθρωπίνην δύναμιν ὡς οἷόν τε ἀδιαφθορώτατα παρεσκευάσθαι τοῖς μὴ [768ξ] δυναμένοις μήτε ἐν τοῖς γείτοσι μήτε ἐν τοῖς φυλετικοῖς δικαστηρίοις ἀπαλλάττεσθαι.

νῦν δὴ περὶ μὲν δικαστήρια ἡμῖν-ἃ δή φαμεν οὔθ᾽ ὡς ἀρχὰς οὔτε ὡς μὴ ῥᾴδιον εἰπόντα ἀναμφισβητήτως εἰρηκέναι-περὶ μὲν ταῦτα οἷον περιγραφή τις ἔξωθεν περιγεγραμμένη τὰ μὲν εἴρηκεν, τὰ δ᾽ ἀπολείπει σχεδόν: πρὸς γὰρ τέλει νομοθεσίας ἡ δικῶν ἀκριβὴς νόμων θέσις ἅμα καὶ διαίρεσις ὀρθότατα γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν μακρῷ. ταύταις μὲν οὖν [768δ] εἰρήσθω πρὸς τῷ τέλει περιμένειν ἡμᾶς, αἱ δὲ περὶ τὰς ἄλλας ἀρχὰς καταστάσεις σχεδὸν τὴν πλείστην εἰλήφασιν νομοθεσίαν: τὸ δὲ ὅλον καὶ ἀκριβὲς περὶ ἑνός τε καὶ πάντων τῶν κατὰ πόλιν καὶ πολιτικὴν πᾶσαν διοικήσεων οὐκ ἔστιν γενέσθαι σαφές, πρὶν ἂν ἡ διέξοδος ἀπ᾽ ἀρχῆς τά τε δεύτερα καὶ τὰ μέσα καὶ πάντα μέρη τὰ ἑαυτῆς ἀπολαβοῦσα πρὸς τέλος ἀφίκηται. νῦν μὴν ἐν τῷ παρόντι μέχρι τῆς τῶν [768ε] ἀρχόντων αἱρέσεως γενομένης τελευτὴ μὲν τῶν ἔμπροσθεν αὕτη γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἱκανή, νόμων δὲ θέσεως ἀρχὴ καὶ ἀναβολῶν ἅμα καὶ ὄκνων οὐδὲν ἔτι δεομένη.

Κλεινίας

πάντως μοι κατὰ νοῦν, ὦ ξένε, τὰ ἔμπροσθεν εἰρηκώς, τὴν ἀρχὴν νῦν τελευτῇ προσάψας περὶ τῶν τε εἰρημένων καὶ τῶν μελλόντων ῥηθήσεσθαι, ταῦτα ἔτι μᾶλλον ἐκείνων εἴρηκας φιλίως. [769α]

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς τοίνυν ἂν ἡμῖν ἡ πρεσβυτῶν ἔμφρων παιδιὰ μέχρι δεῦρ᾽ εἴη τὰ νῦν διαπεπαισμένη.

Κλεινίας

καλὴν τὴν σπουδὴν ἔοικας δηλοῦν τῶν ἀνδρῶν.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰκός γε: τόδε δ᾽ ἐννοήσωμεν εἰ σοὶ δοκεῖ καθάπερ ἐμοί.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δὴ καὶ περὶ τίνων;

Ἀθηναῖος

οἶσθ᾽ ὅτι καθάπερ ζωγράφων οὐδὲν πέρας ἔχειν ἡ πραγματεία δοκεῖ περὶ ἑκάστων τῶν ζῴων, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τοῦ χραίνειν ἢ ἀποχραίνειν, ἢ ὁτιδήποτε καλοῦσι τὸ τοιοῦτον οἱ [769β] ζωγράφων παῖδες, οὐκ ἄν ποτε δοκεῖ παύσασθαι κοσμοῦσα, ὥστε ἐπίδοσιν μηκέτ᾽ ἔχειν εἰς τὸ καλλίω τε καὶ φανερώτερα γίγνεσθαι τὰ γεγραμμένα.

Κλεινίας

σχεδὸν ἐννοῶ ἀκούων καὶ αὐτὸς ταῦτα ἃ λέγεις, ἐπεὶ ἐντριβής γε οὐδαμῶς γέγονα τῇ τοιαύτῃ τέχνῃ.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ οὐδέν γε ἐβλάβης. χρησώμεθά γε μὴν τῷ νῦν παρατυχόντι περὶ αὐτῆς ἡμῖν λόγῳ τὸ τοιόνδε, ὡς εἴ ποτέ [769ξ] τις ἐπινοήσειε γράψαι τε ὡς κάλλιστον ζῷον καὶ τοῦτ᾽ αὖ μηδέποτε ἐπὶ φαυλότερον ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τὸ βέλτιον ἴσχειν τοῦ ἐπιόντος ἀεὶ χρόνου, συννοεῖς ὅτι θνητὸς ὤν, εἰ μή τινα καταλείψει διάδοχον τοῦ ἐπανορθοῦν τε, ἐάν τι σφάλληται τὸ ζῷον ὑπὸ χρόνων, καὶ τὸ παραλειφθὲν ὑπὸ τῆς ἀσθενείας τῆς ἑαυτοῦ πρὸς τὴν τέχνην οἷός τε εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν ἔσται φαιδρύνων ποιεῖν ἐπιδιδόναι, σμικρόν τινα χρόνον αὐτῷ πόνος παραμενεῖ πάμπολυς;

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ. [769δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τοιοῦτον δοκεῖ σοι τὸ τοῦ νομοθέτου βούλημ᾽ εἶναι; πρῶτον μὲν γράψαι τοὺς νόμους πρὸς τὴν ἀκρίβειαν κατὰ δύναμιν ἱκανῶς: ἔπειτα προϊόντος τοῦ χρόνου καὶ τῶν δοξάντων ἔργῳ πειρώμενον, ἆρ᾽ οἴει τινὰ οὕτως ἄφρονα γεγονέναι νομοθέτην, ὥστ᾽ ἀγνοεῖν ὅτι πάμπολλα ἀνάγκη παραλείπεσθαι τοιαῦτα, ἃ δεῖ τινα συνεπόμενον ἐπανορθοῦν, ἵνα μηδαμῇ χείρων, βελτίων δὲ ἡ πολιτεία [769ε] καὶ ὁ κόσμος ἀεὶ γίγνηται περὶ τὴν ᾠκισμένην αὐτῷ πόλιν;

Κλεινίας

εἰκός-πῶς γὰρ οὔ; -βούλεσθαι πάντα ὁντινοῦν τὸ τοιοῦτον.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν εἴ τίς τινα μηχανὴν ἔχοι πρὸς τοῦτο, ἔργῳ καὶ λόγοις τίνα τρόπον διδάξειεν ἂν ἕτερον εἴτε μείζονα εἴτε ἐλάττω περὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἔχειν ἔννοιαν, ὅπως χρὴ φυλάττειν καὶ ἐπανορθοῦν νόμους, οὐκ ἄν ποτε λέγων ἀπείποι τὸ τοιοῦτον πρὶν ἐπὶ τέλος ἐλθεῖν; [770α]

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἐν τῷ νῦν παρόντι ποιητέον ἐμοὶ καὶ σφῷν τοῦτο;

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐπειδὴ νομοθετεῖν μὲν μέλλομεν, ᾕρηνται δὲ ἡμῖν νομοφύλακες, ἡμεῖς δ᾽ ἐν δυσμαῖς τοῦ βίου, οἱ δ᾽ ὡς πρὸς ἡμᾶς νέοι, ἅμα μέν, ὥς φαμεν, δεῖ νομοθετεῖν ἡμᾶς, ἅμα δὲ πειρᾶσθαι ποιεῖν καὶ τούτους αὐτοὺς νομοθέτας τε καὶ νομοφύλακας εἰς τὸ δυνατόν. [770β]

Κλεινίας

τί μήν; εἴπερ οἷοί τέ γ᾽ ἐσμὲν ἱκανῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ οὖν πειρατέα γε καὶ προθυμητέα.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγωμεν δὴ πρὸς αὐτούς: ὦ φίλοι σωτῆρες νόμων, ἡμεῖς περὶ ἑκάστων ὧν τίθεμεν τοὺς νόμους πάμπολλα παραλείψομεν-ἀνάγκη γάρ-οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽ ὅσα γε μὴ σμικρὰ καὶ τὸ ὅλον εἰς δύναμιν οὐκ ἀνήσομεν ἀπεριήγητον καθάπερ τινὶ περιγραφῇ: τοῦτο δὲ δεήσει συμπληροῦν ὑμᾶς τὸ περιηγηθέν. [770ξ] ὅποι δὲ βλέποντες δράσετε τὸ τοιοῦτον, ἀκούειν χρή. Μέγιλλος μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἐγὼ καὶ Κλεινίας εἰρήκαμέν τε αὐτὰ ἀλλήλοις οὐκ ὀλιγάκις, ὁμολογοῦμέν τε λέγεσθαι καλῶς: ὑμᾶς δὲ ἡμῖν βουλόμεθα συγγνώμονάς τε ἅμα καὶ μαθητὰς γίγνεσθαι, βλέποντας πρὸς ταῦτα εἰς ἅπερ ἡμεῖς συνεχωρήσαμεν ἀλλήλοις τὸν νομοφύλακά τε καὶ νομοθέτην δεῖν βλέπειν. ἦν δὲ ἡ συγχώρησις ἓν ἔχουσα κεφάλαιον, ὅπως [770δ] ποτὲ ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, τὴν ἀνθρώπῳ προσήκουσαν ἀρετὴν τῆς ψυχῆς ἔχων ἔκ τινος ἐπιτηδεύματος ἤ τινος ἤθους ἢ ποιᾶς κτήσεως ἢ ἐπιθυμίας ἢ δόξης ἢ μαθημάτων ποτέ τινων, εἴτε ἄρρην τις τῶν συνοικούντων οὖσα ἡ φύσις εἴτε θήλεια, νέων ἢ γερόντων, ὅπως εἰς ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ὃ λέγομεν τεταμένη σπουδὴ πᾶσα ἔσται διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου, τῶν δ᾽ ἄλλων ὁπόσα ἐμπόδια τούτοις μηδὲν προτιμῶν φανεῖται [770ε] μηδ᾽ ὁστισοῦν, τελευτῶν δὲ καὶ πόλεως, ἐὰν ἀνάστατον ἀνάγκη φαίνηται γίγνεσθαι πρὶν ἐθέλειν δούλειον ὑπομείνασα ζυγὸν ἄρχεσθαι ὑπὸ χειρόνων, ἢ λείπειν φυγῇ τὴν πόλιν: ὡς πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἄρ᾽ ἔσθ᾽ ὑπομενετέον πάσχοντας πρὶν ἀλλάξασθαι πολιτείαν ἣ χείρους ἀνθρώπους πέφυκε ποιεῖν. ταῦτα ἡμεῖς τε ἔμπροσθεν συνωμολογησάμεθα, καὶ νῦν ὑμεῖς ἡμῶν εἰς ταῦτα ἑκάτερα βλέποντες ἐπαινεῖτε καὶ [771α] ψέγετε τοὺς νόμους ὅσοι μὴ ταῦτα δυνατοί, τοὺς δὲ δυνατοὺς ἀσπάζεσθέ τε καὶ φιλοφρόνως δεχόμενοι ζῆτε ἐν αὐτοῖς: τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα ἐπιτηδεύματα καὶ πρὸς ἄλλα τείνοντα τῶν ἀγαθῶν λεγομένων χαίρειν χρὴ προσαγορεύειν.

ἀρχὴ δὲ ἔστω τῶν μετὰ ταῦτα ἡμῖν νόμων ἥδε τις, ἀφ᾽ ἱερῶν ἠργμένη. τὸν ἀριθμὸν γὰρ δὴ δεῖ πρῶτον ἀναλαβεῖν ἡμᾶς τὸν τῶν πεντακισχιλίων καὶ τετταράκοντα, ὅσας εἶχέν [771β] τε καὶ ἔχει τομὰς προσφόρους ὅ τε ὅλος ἅμα καὶ ὁ κατὰ φυλάς, ὃ δὴ τοῦ παντὸς ἔθεμεν δωδεκατημόριον, ἓν καὶ εἴκοσιν εἰκοσάκις ὀρθότατα φύν. ἔχει δὲ διανομὰς δώδεκα μὲν ὁ πᾶς ἀριθμὸς ἡμῖν, δώδεκα δὲ καὶ ὁ τῆς φυλῆς: ἑκάστην δὴ τὴν μοῖραν διανοεῖσθαι χρεὼν ὡς οὖσαν ἱεράν, θεοῦ δῶρον, ἑπομένην τοῖς μησὶν καὶ τῇ τοῦ παντὸς περιόδῳ. διὸ καὶ πᾶσαν πόλιν ἄγει μὲν τὸ σύμφυτον ἱεροῦν αὐτάς, ἄλλοι δὲ ἄλλων ἴσως ὀρθότερον ἐνείμαντό τε καὶ εὐτυχέστερον ἐθείωσαν τὴν [771ξ] διανομήν: ἡμεῖς δὲ οὖν νῦν φαμεν ὀρθότατα προῃρῆσθαι τὸν τῶν πεντακισχιλίων καὶ τετταράκοντα ἀριθμόν, ὃς πάσας τὰς διανομὰς ἔχει μέχρι τῶν δώδεκα ἀπὸ μιᾶς ἀρξάμενος πλὴν ἑνδεκάδος-αὕτη δ᾽ ἔχει σμικρότατον ἴαμα: ἐπὶ θάτερα γὰρ ὑγιὴς γίγνεται δυοῖν ἑστίαιν ἀπονεμηθείσαιν-ὡς δ᾽ ἐστὶν ταῦτα ἀληθῶς ὄντα, κατὰ σχολὴν οὐκ ἂν πολὺς ἐπιδείξειεν μῦθος. πιστεύσαντες δὴ τὰ νῦν τῇ παρούσῃ φήμῃ [771δ] καὶ λόγῳ, νείμωμέν τε ταύτην, καὶ ἑκάστῃ μοίρᾳ θεὸν ἢ θεῶν παῖδα ἐπιφημίσαντες, βωμούς τε καὶ τὰ τούτοις προσήκοντα ἀποδόντες, θυσιῶν πέρι συνόδους ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς ποιώμεθα δύο τοῦ μηνός, δώδεκα μὲν τῇ τῆς φυλῆς διανομῇ, δώδεκα δὲ αὐτῷ τῷ τῆς πόλεως διαμερισμῷ, θεῶν μὲν δὴ πρῶτον χάριτος ἕνεκα καὶ τῶν περὶ θεούς, δεύτερον δὲ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν οἰκειότητός τε πέρι καὶ γνωρίσεως ἀλλήλων, ὡς φαῖμεν ἄν, καὶ [771ε] ὁμιλίας ἕνεκα πάσης. πρὸς γὰρ δὴ τὴν τῶν γάμων κοινωνίαν καὶ σύμμειξιν ἀναγκαίως ἔχει τὴν ἄγνοιαν ἐξαιρεῖν παρ᾽ ὧν τέ τις ἄγεται καὶ ἃ καὶ οἷς ἐκδίδωσι, περὶ παντὸς ποιούμενον ὅτι μάλιστα τὸ μὴ σφάλλεσθαι μηδαμῶς ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν. τῆς οὖν τοιαύτης σπουδῆς ἕνεκα χρὴ καὶ τὰς παιδιὰς ποιεῖσθαι χορεύοντάς τε καὶ χορευούσας [772α] κόρους καὶ κόρας, καὶ ἅμα δὴ θεωροῦντάς τε καὶ θεωρουμένους μετὰ λόγου τε καὶ ἡλικίας τινὸς ἐχούσης εἰκυίας προφάσεις, γυμνοὺς καὶ γυμνὰς μέχριπερ αἰδοῦς σώφρονος ἑκάστων. τούτων δ᾽ ἐπιμελητὰς πάντων καὶ κοσμητὰς τοὺς τῶν χορῶν ἄρχοντας γίγνεσθαι καὶ νομοθέτας μετὰ τῶν νομοφυλάκων, ὅσον ἂν ἡμεῖς ἐκλείπωμεν τάττοντες: ἀναγκαῖον δέ, ὅπερ εἴπομεν, περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα ὅσα σμικρὰ [772β] καὶ πολλὰ νομοθέτην μὲν ἐκλείπειν, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐμπείρους ἀεὶ κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν γιγνομένους αὐτῶν, ἀπὸ τῆς χρείας μανθάνοντας, τάττεσθαι καὶ ἐπανορθουμένους κινεῖν κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτόν, ἕως ἂν ὅρος ἱκανὸς δόξῃ τῶν τοιούτων νομίμων καὶ ἐπιτηδευμάτων γεγονέναι. χρόνος μὲν οὖν μέτριος ἅμα καὶ ἱκανὸς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τῆς ἐμπειρίας δεκαετηρὶς θυσιῶν τε καὶ χορειῶν, ἐπὶ πάντα καὶ ἕκαστα ταχθείς, ζῶντος μὲν τοῦ τάξαντος νομοθέτου [772ξ] κοινῇ, τέλος δὲ σχόντος, αὐτὰς ἑκάστας τὰς ἀρχὰς εἰς τοὺς νομοφύλακας εἰσφερούσας τὸ παραλειπόμενον τῆς αὑτῶν ἀρχῆς ἐπανορθοῦσθαι, μέχριπερ ἂν τέλος ἔχειν ἕκαστον δόξῃ τοῦ καλῶς ἐξειργάσθαι, τότε δὲ ἀκίνητα θεμένους, ἤδη χρῆσθαι μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων νόμων οὓς ἔταξε κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ὁ θεὶς αὐτοῖς νομοθέτης: ὧν πέρι κινεῖν μὲν ἑκόντας μηδέποτε μηδέν, εἰ δέ τις ἀνάγκη δόξειέ ποτε καταλαβεῖν, πάσας μὲν [772δ] τὰς ἀρχὰς χρὴ συμβούλους, πάντα δὲ τὸν δῆμον καὶ πάσας θεῶν μαντείας ἐπελθόντας, ἐὰν συμφωνῶσι πάντες, οὕτω κινεῖν, ἄλλως δὲ μηδέποτε μηδαμῶς, ἀλλὰ τὸν κωλύοντα ἀεὶ κατὰ νόμον κρατεῖν.

ὁπότε τις οὖν καὶ ὁπηνίκα τῶν πέντε καὶ εἴκοσι γεγονότων ἔτη, σκοπῶν καὶ σκοπούμενος ὑπ᾽ ἄλλων, κατὰ νοῦν ἑαυτῷ καὶ πρέποντα εἰς παίδων κοινωνίαν καὶ γένεσιν ἐξηυρηκέναι [772ε] πιστεύει, γαμείτω μὲν πᾶς ἐντὸς τῶν πέντε καὶ τριάκοντα ἐτῶν, τὸ δὲ πρέπον καὶ τὸ ἁρμόττον ὡς χρὴ ζητεῖν, πρῶτον ἐπακουσάτω: δεῖ γάρ, ὥς φησιν Κλεινίας, ἔμπροσθεν τοῦ νόμου προοίμιον οἰκεῖον ἑκάστῳ προτιθέναι.

Κλεινίας

κάλλιστα, ὦ ξένε, διεμνημόνευσας, ἔλαβές τε τοῦ λόγου καιρὸν καὶ μάλ᾽ ἐμοὶ δοκοῦντ᾽ εἶναι σύμμετρον.

Ἀθηναῖος

εὖ λέγεις. ὦ παῖ, τοίνυν φῶμεν ἀγαθῶν πατέρων [773α] φύντι, τοὺς παρὰ τοῖς ἔμφροσιν εὐδόξους γάμους χρὴ γαμεῖν, οἵ σοι παραινοῖεν ἂν μὴ φεύγειν τὸν τῶν πενήτων μηδὲ τὸν τῶν πλουσίων διώκειν διαφερόντως γάμον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν τἆλλα ἰσάζῃ, τὸν ὑποδεέστερον ἀεὶ τιμῶντα εἰς τὴν κοινωνίαν συνιέναι. τῇ τε γὰρ πόλει σύμφορον ἂν εἴη ταύτῃ ταῖς τε συνιούσαις ἑστίαις: τὸ γὰρ ὁμαλὸν καὶ σύμμετρον ἀκράτου μυρίον διαφέρει πρὸς ἀρετήν. κοσμίων τε πατέρων χρὴ [773β] προθυμεῖσθαι γίγνεσθαι κηδεστὴν τὸν αὑτῷ συνειδότα ἰταμώτερον ἅμα καὶ θᾶττον τοῦ δέοντος πρὸς πάσας τὰς πράξεις φερόμενον: τὸν δ᾽ ἐναντίως πεφυκότα ἐπὶ τἀναντία χρὴ κηδεύματα πορεύεσθαι. καὶ κατὰ παντὸς εἷς ἔστω μῦθος γάμου: τὸν γὰρ τῇ πόλει δεῖ συμφέροντα μνηστεύειν γάμον ἕκαστον, οὐ τὸν ἥδιστον αὑτῷ. φέρεται δέ πως πᾶς ἀεὶ κατὰ φύσιν πρὸς τὸν ὁμοιότατον αὑτῷ, ὅθεν ἀνώμαλος ἡ [773ξ] πόλις ὅλη γίγνεται χρήμασίν τε καὶ τρόπων ἤθεσιν: ἐξ ὧν ἃ μὴ βουλόμεθα συμβαίνειν ἡμῖν, καὶ μάλιστα συμβαίνει ταῖς πλείσταις πόλεσι. ταῦτα δὴ διὰ λόγου μὲν νόμῳ προστάττειν, μὴ γαμεῖν πλούσιον πλουσίου, μηδὲ πολλὰ δυνάμενον πράττειν ἄλλου τοιούτου, θάττους δὲ ἤθεσι πρὸς βραδυτέρους καὶ βραδυτέρους πρὸς θάττους ἀναγκάζειν τῇ τῶν γάμων κοινωνίᾳ πορεύεσθαι, πρὸς τῷ γελοῖα εἶναι θυμὸν ἂν ἐγείραι πολλοῖς: οὐ γὰρ ῥᾴδιον ἐννοεῖν ὅτι πόλιν εἶναι [773δ] δεῖ δίκην κρατῆρος κεκραμένην, οὗ μαινόμενος μὲν οἶνος ἐγκεχυμένος ζεῖ, κολαζόμενος δὲ ὑπὸ νήφοντος ἑτέρου θεοῦ καλὴν κοινωνίαν λαβὼν ἀγαθὸν πῶμα καὶ μέτριον ἀπεργάζεται. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν γιγνόμενον ἐν τῇ τῶν παίδων μείξει διορᾶν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν δυνατὸς οὐδείς: τούτων δὴ χάριν ἐᾶν μὲν νόμῳ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀναγκαῖον, ἐπᾴδοντα δὲ πείθειν πειρᾶσθαι τὴν τῶν παίδων ὁμαλότητα αὐτῶν αὑτοῖς τῆς τῶν γάμων [773ε] ἰσότητος ἀπλήστου χρημάτων οὔσης περὶ πλείονος ἕκαστον ποιεῖσθαι, καὶ δι᾽ ὀνείδους ἀποτρέπειν τὸν περὶ τὰ χρήματα ἐν τοῖς γάμοις ἐσπουδακότα, ἀλλὰ μὴ γραπτῷ νόμῳ βιαζόμενον.

περὶ γάμων δὴ ταῦτ᾽ ἔστω παραμύθια λεγόμενα, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ ἔμπροσθε τούτων ῥηθέντα, ὡς χρὴ τῆς ἀειγενοῦς φύσεως ἀντέχεσθαι τῷ παῖδας παίδων καταλείποντα ἀεὶ τῷ [774α] θεῷ ὑπηρέτας ἀνθ᾽ αὑτοῦ παραδιδόναι. πάντα οὖν ταῦτα καὶ ἔτι πλείω τις ἂν εἴποι περὶ γάμων, ὡς χρὴ γαμεῖν, προοιμιαζόμενος ὀρθῶς: ἂν δ᾽ ἄρα τις μὴ πείθηται ἑκών, ἀλλότριον δὲ αὑτὸν καὶ ἀκοινώνητον ἐν τῇ πόλει ἔχῃ καὶ ἄγαμος ὢν γένηται πεντεκαιτριακοντούτης, ζημιούσθω κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν ἕκαστον, ὁ μέγιστον μὲν τίμημα κεκτημένος ἑκατὸν δραχμαῖς, ὁ δὲ τὸ δεύτερον ἑβδομήκοντα, τρίτον δὲ ἑξήκοντα, ὁ δὲ τὸ τέταρτον τριάκοντα. τοῦτο δ᾽ ἔστω τῆς Ἥρας [774β] ἱερόν. ὁ δὲ μὴ ἐκτίνων κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν δεκαπλάσιον ὀφειλέτω: πραττέσθω δὲ ὁ ταμίας τῆς θεοῦ, μὴ ἐκπράξας δὲ αὐτὸς ὀφειλέτω καὶ ἐν ταῖς εὐθύναις τοῦ τοιούτου λόγον ὑπεχέτω πᾶς. εἰς μὲν οὖν χρήματα ὁ μὴ ‘θέλων γαμεῖν ταῦτα ζημιούσθω, τιμῆς δὲ παρὰ τῶν νεωτέρων ἄτιμος πάσης ἔστω, καὶ μηδεὶς ὑπακουέτω μηδὲν αὐτῷ ἑκὼν τῶν νέων: ἐὰν δὲ κολάζειν τινὰ ἐπιχειρῇ, πᾶς τῷ ἀδικουμένῳ βοηθείτω καὶ [774ξ] ἀμυνέτω, μὴ βοηθῶν δὲ ὁ παραγενόμενος δειλός τε ἅμα καὶ κακὸς ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου πολίτης εἶναι λεγέσθω.

περὶ δὲ προικὸς εἴρηται μὲν καὶ πρότερον, εἰρήσθω δὲ πάλιν ὡς ἴσα ἀντὶ ἴσων ἐστὶν τὸ μήτε λαμβάνοντι μήτ᾽ ἐκδιδόντι διὰ χρημάτων ἀπορίαν γηράσκειν τοὺς πένητας: τὰ γὰρ ἀναγκαῖα ὑπάρχοντά ἐστι πᾶσι τῶν ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ πόλει, ὕβρις δὲ ἧττον γυναιξὶ καὶ δουλεία ταπεινὴ καὶ ἀνελεύθερος [774δ] διὰ χρήματα τοῖς γήμασι γίγνοιτο ἄν. καὶ ὁ μὲν πειθόμενος ἓν τῶν καλῶν δρῴη τοῦτ᾽ ἄν: ὁ δὲ μὴ πειθόμενος ἢ διδοὺς ἢ λαμβάνων πλέον ἢ πεντήκοντα ἄξια δραχμῶν ἐσθῆτος χάριν, ὁ δὲ μνᾶς, ὁ δὲ τριῶν ἡμιμναίων, ὁ δὲ δυοῖν μναῖν, ὁ τὸ μέγιστον τίμημα κεκτημένος, ὀφειλέτω μὲν τῷ δημοσίῳ τοσοῦτον ἕτερον, τὸ δὲ δοθὲν ἢ ληφθὲν ἱερὸν ἔστω τῆς Ἥρας τε καὶ τοῦ Διός, πραττόντων δὲ οἱ ταμίαι τούτοιν [774ε] τοῖν θεοῖν, καθάπερ ἐρρήθη τῶν μὴ γαμούντων πέρι τοὺς ταμίας ἐκπράττειν ἑκάστοτε τοὺς τῆς Ἥρας ἢ παρ᾽ αὑτῶν ἑκάστους τὴν ζημίαν ἐκτίνειν.

ἐγγύην δὲ εἶναι κυρίαν πατρὸς μὲν πρῶτον, δευτέραν πάππου, τρίτην δὲ ἀδελφῶν ὁμοπατρίων, ἐὰν δὲ μηδὲ εἷς ᾖ τούτων, τὴν πρὸς μητρὸς μετὰ τοῦτο εἶναι κυρίαν ὡσαύτως: ἐὰν δ᾽ ἄρα τύχη τις ἀήθης συμβαίνῃ, τοὺς ἐγγύτατα γένους ἀεὶ κυρίους εἶναι μετὰ τῶν ἐπιτρόπων.

ὅσα δὲ προτέλεια γάμων ἤ τις ἄλλη περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα [775α] ἱερουργία μελλόντων ἢ γιγνομένων ἢ γεγονότων προσήκουσά ἐστιν τελεῖσθαι, τοὺς ἐξηγητὰς ἐρωτῶντα χρὴ καὶ πειθόμενον ἐκείνοις ἕκαστον ἡγεῖσθαι πάντα ἑαυτῷ μετρίως γίγνεσθαι.

περὶ δὲ τῶν ἑστιάσεων, φίλους μὲν χρὴ καὶ φίλας μὴ πλείους πέντε ἑκατέρων συγκαλεῖν, συγγενῶν δὲ καὶ οἰκείων ὡσαύτως τοσούτους ἄλλους ἑκατέρων: ἀνάλωμα δὲ μὴ γίγνεσθαι πλέον ἢ κατὰ τὴν οὐσίαν μηδενί, τῷ μὲν εἰς χρήματα μεγίστῳ μνᾶν, τῷ δ᾽ ἥμισυ τοῦ τοσούτου, τῷ δ᾽ [775β] ἐφεξῆς οὕτω, καθάπερ ὑποβέβηκεν ἑκάστῳ τὸ τίμημα. καὶ τὸν μὲν πειθόμενον τῷ νόμῳ ἐπαινεῖν χρὴ πάντας, τὸν δὲ ἀπειθοῦντα κολαζόντων οἱ νομοφύλακες ὡς ἀπειρόκαλόν τε ὄντα καὶ ἀπαίδευτον τῶν περὶ τὰς νυμφικὰς μούσας νόμων. πίνειν δὲ εἰς μέθην οὔτε ἄλλοθί που πρέπει, πλὴν ἐν ταῖς τοῦ τὸν οἶνον δόντος θεοῦ ἑορταῖς, οὐδ᾽ ἀσφαλές, οὔτ᾽ οὖν δὴ περὶ γάμους ἐσπουδακότα, ἐν οἷς ἔμφρονα μάλιστα εἶναι πρέπει [775ξ] νύμφην καὶ νυμφίον μεταβολὴν οὐ σμικρὰν βίου μεταλλάττοντας, ἅμα δὲ καὶ τὸ γεννώμενον ὅπως ὅτι μάλιστα ἐξ ἐμφρόνων ἀεὶ γίγνηται: σχεδὸν γὰρ ἄδηλον ὁποία νὺξ ἢ φῶς αὐτὸ γεννήσει μετὰ θεοῦ. καὶ πρὸς τούτοις δεῖ μὴ τῶν σωμάτων διακεχυμένων ὑπὸ μέθης γίγνεσθαι τὴν παιδουργίαν, ἀλλ᾽ εὐπαγὲς ἀπλανὲς ἡσυχαῖόν τε ἐν μοίρᾳ συνίστασθαι τὸ φυόμενον. ὁ δὲ διῳνωμένος αὐτός τε φέρεται πάντῃ καὶ [775δ] φέρει, λυττῶν κατά τε σῶμα καὶ ψυχήν: σπείρειν οὖν παράφορος ἅμα καὶ κακὸς ὁ μεθύων, ὥστ᾽ ἀνώμαλα καὶ ἄπιστα καὶ οὐδὲν εὐθύπορον ἦθος οὐδὲ σῶμα ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων γεννῴη ποτ᾽ ἄν. διὸ μᾶλλον μὲν ὅλον τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν καὶ βίον χρή, μάλιστα δὲ ὁπόσον ἂν γεννᾷ χρόνον, εὐλαβεῖσθαι καὶ μὴ πράττειν μήτε ὅσα νοσώδη ἑκόντα εἶναι μήτε ὅσα ὕβρεως ἢ ἀδικίας ἐχόμενα-εἰς γὰρ τὰς τῶν γεννωμένων ψυχὰς καὶ σώματα ἀναγκαῖον ἐξομοργνύμενον ἐκτυποῦσθαι καὶ τίκτειν [775ε] πάντῃ φαυλότερα-διαφερόντως δὲ ἐκείνην τὴν ἡμέραν καὶ νύκτα ἀπέχεσθαι τῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα: ἀρχὴ γὰρ καὶ θεὸς ἐν ἀνθρώποις ἱδρυμένη σῴζει πάντα, τιμῆς ἐὰν τῆς προσηκούσης αὐτῇ παρ᾽ ἑκάστου τῶν χρωμένων λαγχάνῃ.

νομίσαντα δ᾽ εἶναι χρὴ τὸν γαμοῦντα ταῖν οἰκίαιν ταῖν ἐν [776α] τῷ κλήρῳ τὴν ἑτέραν οἷον νεοττῶν ἐγγέννησιν καὶ τροφήν, χωρισθέντα ἀπὸ πατρὸς καὶ μητρὸς τὸν γάμον ἐκεῖ ποιεῖσθαι καὶ τὴν οἴκησιν καὶ τὴν τροφὴν αὑτοῦ καὶ τῶν τέκνων. ἐν γὰρ ταῖς φιλίαις ἐὰν μὲν πόθος ἐνῇ τις, κολλᾷ καὶ συνδεῖ πάντα ἤθη: κατακορὴς δὲ συνουσία καὶ οὐκ ἴσχουσα τὸν διὰ χρόνου πόθον ἀπορρεῖν ἀλλήλων ποιεῖ ὑπερβολαῖς πλησμονῆς. ὧν δὴ χάριν μητρὶ καὶ πατρὶ καὶ τοῖς τῆς γυναικὸς οἰκείοις παρέντας χρὴ τὰς αὑτῶν οἰκήσεις, οἷον [776β] εἰς ἀποικίαν ἀφικομένους, αὐτοὺς ἐπισκοποῦντάς τε ἅμα καὶ ἐπισκοπουμένους οἰκεῖν, γεννῶντάς τε καὶ ἐκτρέφοντας παῖδας, καθάπερ λαμπάδα τὸν βίον παραδιδόντας ἄλλοις ἐξ ἄλλων, θεραπεύοντας ἀεὶ θεοὺς κατὰ νόμους.

κτήματα δὲ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ποῖα ἄν τις κεκτημένος ἐμμελεστάτην οὐσίαν κεκτῇτο; τὰ μὲν οὖν πολλὰ οὔτε νοῆσαι χαλεπὸν οὔτε κτήσασθαι, τὰ δὲ δὴ τῶν οἰκετῶν χαλεπὰ [776ξ] πάντῃ. τὸ δ᾽ αἴτιον, οὐκ ὀρθῶς πως καί τινα τρόπον ὀρθῶς περὶ αὐτῶν λέγομεν: ἐναντία γὰρ ταῖς χρείαις, καὶ κατὰ τὰς χρείας αὖ, ποιούμεθα περὶ δούλων καὶ τὰ λεγόμενα.

Μέγιλλος

πῶς δ᾽ αὖ τοῦτο λέγομεν; οὐ γάρ πω μανθάνομεν, ὦ ξένε, ὅτι τὰ νῦν φράζεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μάλα γε, ὦ Μέγιλλε, εἰκότως: σχεδὸν γὰρ πάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἡ Λακεδαιμονίων εἱλωτεία πλείστην ἀπορίαν παράσχοιτ᾽ ἂν καὶ ἔριν τοῖς μὲν ὡς εὖ, τοῖς δ᾽ ὡς οὐκ εὖ γεγονυῖά ἐστιν-ἐλάττω δὲ ἥ τε Ἡρακλεωτῶν [776δ] δουλεία τῆς τῶν Μαριανδυνῶν καταδουλώσεως ἔριν ἂν ἔχοι, τὸ Θετταλῶν τ᾽ αὖ πενεστικὸν ἔθνος-εἰς ἃ καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα βλέψαντας ἡμᾶς τί χρὴ ποιεῖν περὶ κτήσεως οἰκετῶν; ὃ δὴ παριὼν τῷ λόγῳ ἔτυχον εἰπών, καὶ σύ με εἰκότως τί ποτε φράζοιμι ἠρώτησας, τόδε ἐστίν. ἴσμεν ὅτι που πάντες εἴποιμεν ἂν ὡς χρὴ δούλους ὡς εὐμενεστάτους ἐκτῆσθαι καὶ ἀρίστους: πολλοὶ γὰρ ἀδελφῶν ἤδη δοῦλοι καὶ ὑέων τισὶν κρείττους πρὸς ἀρετὴν πᾶσαν γενόμενοι, σεσώκασιν δεσπότας [776ε] καὶ κτήματα τάς τε οἰκήσεις αὐτῶν ὅλας. ταῦτα γὰρ ἴσμεν που περὶ δούλων λεγόμενα.

Μέγιλλος

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν καὶ τοὐναντίον, ὡς ὑγιὲς οὐδὲν ψυχῆς δούλης, οὐδὲ πιστεύειν οὐδέποτ᾽ οὐδὲν τῷ γένει δεῖ τὸν νοῦν κεκτημένον; ὁ δὲ σοφώτατος ἡμῖν τῶν ποιητῶν καὶ ἀπεφήνατο, ὑπὲρ τοῦ Διὸς ἀγορεύων, ὡς- [777α] “. . . ἥμισυ γάρ τε νόου

“Hom. Od. 17.322, φησίν, “. . . ἀπαμείρεται εὐρύοπα Ζεύς

ἀνδρῶν, οὓς ἂν δὴ κατὰ δούλιον ἦμαρ ἕλῃσι.

“Hom. Od. 17.322ταῦτα δὴ διαλαβόντες ἕκαστοι τοῖς διανοήμασιν οἱ μὲν πιστεύουσί τε οὐδὲν γένει οἰκετῶν, κατὰ δὲ θηρίων φύσιν κέντροις καὶ μάστιξιν οὐ τρὶς μόνον ἀλλὰ πολλάκις ἀπεργάζονται δούλας τὰς ψυχὰς τῶν οἰκετῶν: οἱ δ᾽ αὖ τἀναντία τούτων δρῶσι πάντα.

Μέγιλλος

τί μήν; [777β]

Κλεινίας

τί οὖν δὴ χρὴ ποιεῖν, τούτων, ὦ ξένε, διαφερομένων οὕτω, περὶ τῆς ἡμετέρας αὖ χώρας ἡμᾶς, τῆς τε κτήσεως ἅμα καὶ κολάσεως τῶν δούλων πέρι;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽, ὦ Κλεινία; δῆλον ὡς ἐπειδὴ δύσκολόν ἐστι τὸ θρέμμα ἄνθρωπος, καὶ πρὸς τὴν ἀναγκαίαν διόρισιν, τὸ δοῦλόν τε ἔργῳ διορίζεσθαι καὶ ἐλεύθερον καὶ δεσπότην, οὐδαμῶς εὔχρηστον ἐθέλειν εἶναί τε καὶ γίγνεσθαι φαίνεται, [777ξ] χαλεπὸν δὴ τὸ κτῆμα: ἔργῳ γὰρ πολλάκις ἐπιδέδεικται περὶ τὰς Μεσσηνίων συχνὰς εἰωθυίας ἀποστάσεις γίγνεσθαι, καὶ περί γε τὰς τῶν ἐκ μιᾶς φωνῆς πολλοὺς οἰκέτας κτωμένων πόλεις, ὅσα κακὰ συμβαίνει, καὶ ἔτι τὰ τῶν λεγομένων περιδίνων τῶν περὶ τὴν Ἰταλίαν γιγνομένων παντοδαπὰ κλωπῶν ἔργα τε καὶ παθήματα. πρὸς ἅ τις ἂν πάντα βλέψας διαπορήσειε τί χρὴ δρᾶν περὶ ἁπάντων τῶν τοιούτων. δύο δὴ λείπεσθον μόνω μηχανά, μήτε πατριώτας ἀλλήλων εἶναι τοὺς [777δ] μέλλοντας ῥᾷον δουλεύσειν, ἀσυμφώνους τε εἰς δύναμιν ὅτι μάλιστα, τρέφειν δ᾽ αὐτοὺς ὀρθῶς, μὴ μόνον ἐκείνων ἕνεκα, πλέον δὲ αὑτῶν προτιμῶντας: ἡ δὲ τροφὴ τῶν τοιούτων μήτε τινὰ ὕβριν ὑβρίζειν εἰς τοὺς οἰκέτας, ἧττον δέ, εἰ δυνατόν, ἀδικεῖν ἢ τοὺς ἐξ ἴσου. διάδηλος γὰρ ὁ φύσει καὶ μὴ πλαστῶς σέβων τὴν δίκην, μισῶν δὲ ὄντως τὸ ἄδικον, ἐν τούτοις τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐν οἷς αὐτῷ ῥᾴδιον ἀδικεῖν: ὁ περὶ τὰ τῶν δούλων οὖν ἤθη καὶ πράξεις γιγνόμενός τις ἀμίαντος [777ε] τοῦ τε ἀνοσίου πέρι καὶ ἀδίκου, σπείρειν εἰς ἀρετῆς ἔκφυσιν ἱκανώτατος ἂν εἴη, ταὐτὸν δ᾽ ἔστ᾽ εἰπεῖν τοῦτο ὀρθῶς ἅμα λέγοντα ἐπί τε δεσπότῃ καὶ τυράννῳ καὶ πᾶσαν δυναστείαν δυναστεύοντι πρὸς ἀσθενέστερον ἑαυτοῦ. κολάζειν γε μὴν ἐν δίκῃ δούλους δεῖ, καὶ μὴ νουθετοῦντας ὡς ἐλευθέρους θρύπτεσθαι ποιεῖν: τὴν δὲ οἰκέτου πρόσρησιν χρὴ σχεδὸν [778α] ἐπίταξιν πᾶσαν γίγνεσθαι, μὴ προσπαίζοντας μηδαμῇ μηδαμῶς οἰκέταις, μήτ᾽ οὖν θηλείαις μήτε ἄρρεσιν, ἃ δὴ πρὸς δούλους φιλοῦσι πολλοὶ σφόδρα ἀνοήτως θρύπτοντες χαλεπώτερον ἀπεργάζεσθαι τὸν βίον ἐκείνοις τε ἄρχεσθαι καὶ ἑαυτοῖς ἄρχειν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ὅτε τις οἰκέταις κατεσκευασμένος εἰς δύναμιν εἴη πλήθει καὶ ἐπιτηδειότητι πρὸς ἑκάστας τὰς τῶν ἔργων παραβοηθείας, τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο οἰκήσεις χρὴ διαγράφειν τῷ λόγῳ;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [778β]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ συμπάσης γε ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἔοικεν τῆς οἰκοδομικῆς πέρι τήν γε δὴ νέαν καὶ ἀοίκητον ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν πόλιν ἐπιμελητέον εἶναι, τίνα τρόπον ἕκαστα ἕξει τούτων περί τε ἱερὰ καὶ τείχη. γάμων δ᾽ ἦν ἔμπροσθεν ταῦτα, ὦ Κλεινία, νῦν δ᾽ ἔπειπερ λόγῳ γίγνεται, καὶ μάλ᾽ ἐγχωρεῖ ταύτῃ γίγνεσθαι τὰ νῦν: ἔργῳ μὴν ὅταν γίγνηται, ταῦτ᾽ ἔμπροσθεν τῶν γάμων, ἐὰν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ, ποιήσαντες, ἐκεῖνα ἤδη τότε ἐπὶ [778ξ] πᾶσιν τοῖς τοιούτοις ἀποτελοῦμεν. νῦν δὲ μόνον ὅσον τινὰ τύπον αὐτῶν δι᾽ ὀλίγων ἐπεξέλθωμεν.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ μὲν τοίνυν ἱερὰ πᾶσαν πέριξ τήν τε ἀγορὰν χρὴ κατασκευάζειν, καὶ τὴν πόλιν ὅλην ἐν κύκλῳ πρὸς τοῖς ὑψηλοῖς τῶν τόπων, εὐερκείας τε καὶ καθαρότητος χάριν: πρὸς δὲ αὐτοῖς οἰκήσεις τε ἀρχόντων καὶ δικαστηρίων, ἐν οἷς τὰς δίκας ὡς ἱερωτάτοις οὖσιν λήψονταί τε καὶ δώσουσι, τὰ μὲν [778δ] ὡς ὁσίων πέρι, τὰ δὲ καὶ τοιούτων θεῶν ἱδρύματα, καὶ ἐν τούτοις δικαστήρια, ἐν οἷς αἵ τε τῶν φόνων πρέπουσαι δίκαι γίγνοιντ᾽ ἂν καὶ ὅσα θανάτων ἄξια ἀδικήματα. περὶ δὲ τειχῶν, ὦ Μέγιλλε, ἔγωγ᾽ ἂν τῇ Σπάρτῃ συμφεροίμην τὸ καθεύδειν ἐᾶν ἐν τῇ γῇ κατακείμενα τὰ τείχη καὶ μὴ ἐπανιστάναι, τῶνδε εἵνεκα. καλῶς μὲν καὶ ὁ ποιητικὸς ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν λόγος ὑμνεῖται, τὸ χαλκᾶ καὶ σιδηρᾶ δεῖν εἶναι τὰ τείχη [778ε] μᾶλλον ἢ γήινα: τὸ δ᾽ ἡμέτερον ἔτι πρὸς τούτοις γέλωτ᾽ ἂν δικαίως πάμπολυν ὄφλοι, τὸ κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν μὲν ἐκπέμπειν εἰς τὴν χώραν τοὺς νέους, τὰ μὲν σκάψοντας, τὰ δὲ ταφρεύσοντας, τὰ δὲ καὶ διά τινων οἰκοδομήσεων εἴρξοντας τοὺς πολεμίους, ὡς δὴ τῶν ὅρων τῆς χώρας οὐκ ἐάσοντας ἐπιβαίνειν, τεῖχος δὲ περιβαλοίμεθα, ὃ πρῶτον μὲν πρὸς ὑγίειαν ταῖς πόλεσιν οὐδαμῶς συμφέρει, πρὸς δέ τινα μαλθακὴν ἕξιν ταῖς ψυχαῖς τῶν ἐνοικούντων εἴωθε ποιεῖν, προκαλούμενον [779α] εἰς αὐτὸ καταφεύγοντας μὴ ἀμύνεσθαι τοὺς πολεμίους, μηδὲ τῷ φρουρεῖν ἀεί τινας ἐν αὐτῇ νύκτωρ καὶ μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν, τούτῳ τῆς σωτηρίας τυγχάνειν, τείχεσι δὲ καὶ πύλαις διανοεῖσθαι φραχθέντας τε καὶ καθεύδοντας σωτηρίας ὄντως ἕξειν μηχανάς, ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ μὴ πονεῖν γεγονότας, ἀγνοοῦντας δ᾽ αὖ τὴν ῥᾳστώνην ὡς ὄντως ἐστὶν ἐκ τῶν πόνων: ἐκ ῥᾳστώνης δέ γε, οἶμαι, τῆς αἰσχρᾶς οἱ πόνοι καὶ ῥᾳθυμίας πεφύκασι γίγνεσθαι πάλιν. ἀλλ᾽ εἰ δὴ τεῖχός γέ τι χρεὼν [779β] ἀνθρώποις εἶναι, τὰς οἰκοδομίας χρὴ τὰς τῶν ἰδίων οἰκήσεων οὕτως ἐξ ἀρχῆς βάλλεσθαι, ὅπως ἂν ᾖ πᾶσα ἡ πόλις ἓν τεῖχος, ὁμαλότητί τε καὶ ὁμοιότησιν εἰς τὰς ὁδοὺς πασῶν τῶν οἰκήσεων ἐχουσῶν εὐέρκειαν, ἰδεῖν τε οὐκ ἀηδὲς μιᾶς οἰκίας σχῆμα ἐχούσης αὐτῆς, εἴς τε τὴν τῆς φυλακῆς ῥᾳστώνην ὅλῳ καὶ παντὶ πρὸς σωτηρίαν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν διάφορος. τούτων δέ, ὡς ἂν μένῃ τὰ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς οἰκοδομηθέντα, μέλειν μὲν μάλιστα τοῖς ἐνοικοῦσι πρέπον ἂν εἴη, [779ξ] τοὺς δὲ ἀστυνόμους ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καὶ προσαναγκάζοντας τὸν ὀλιγωροῦντα ζημιοῦντας, καὶ πάντων δὴ τῶν κατὰ τὸ ἄστυ καθαρότητός τ᾽ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, καὶ ὅπως ἰδιώτης μηδεὶς μηδὲν τῶν τῆς πόλεως μήτε οἰκοδομήμασι μήτε οὖν ὀρύγμασιν ἐπιλήψεται. καὶ δὴ καὶ ὑδάτων τῶν ἐκ Διὸς εὐροίας τούτους ἐπιμελεῖσθαι χρεών, καὶ ὅσα ἐντὸς πόλεως ἢ ὁπόσα ἔξω πρέπον ἂν οἰκεῖν εἴη: ταῦτα δὲ πάντα συνιδόντες ταῖς χρείαις [779δ] οἱ νομοφύλακες ἐπινομοθετούντων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὁπόσα ἂν ὁ νόμος ἐκλείπῃ δι᾽ ἀπορίαν. ὅτε δὲ ταῦτά τε καὶ τὰ περὶ ἀγορὰν οἰκοδομήματα καὶ τὰ περὶ τὰ γυμνάσια καὶ πάντα ὅσα διδασκαλεῖα κατεσκευασμένα περιμένει τοὺς φοιτητὰς καὶ θεατὰς θέατρα, πορευώμεθα ἐπὶ τὰ μετὰ τοὺς γάμους, τῆς νομοθεσίας ἑξῆς ἐχόμενοι.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

γάμοι μὲν τοίνυν ἡμῖν ἔστωσαν γεγονότες, ὦ Κλεινία: δίαιτα δὲ πρὸ παιδογονίας οὐκ ἐλάττων ἐνιαυσίας [779ε] γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, ἣν δὴ τίνα τρόπον χρὴ ζῆν νυμφίον καὶ νύμφην ἐν πόλει διαφερούσῃ τῶν πολλῶν ἐσομένῃ-τὸ δὴ τῶν νῦν εἰρημένων ἐχόμενον-εἰπεῖν οὐ πάντων εὐκολώτατον, ἀλλὰ ὄντων οὐκ ὀλίγων τῶν ἔμπροσθεν τοιούτων, τοῦτο ἔτι ἐκείνων τῶν πολλῶν δυσχερέστερον ἀποδέχεσθαι τῷ πλήθει. τό γε μὴν δοκοῦν ὀρθὸν καὶ ἀληθὲς εἶναι πάντως ῥητέον, ὦ Κλεινία.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [780α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅστις δὴ διανοεῖται πόλεσιν ἀποφαίνεσθαι νόμους, πῇ τὰ δημόσια καὶ κοινὰ αὐτοὺς χρὴ ζῆν πράττοντας, τῶν δὲ ἰδίων ὅσον ἀνάγκη μηδὲ οἴεται δεῖν, ἐξουσίαν δὲ ἑκάστοις εἶναι τὴν ἡμέραν ζῆν ὅπως ἂν ἐθέλῃ, καὶ μὴ πάντα διὰ τάξεως δεῖν γίγνεσθαι, προέμενος δὲ τὰ ἴδια ἀνομοθέτητα, ἡγεῖται τά γε κοινὰ καὶ δημόσια ἐθελήσειν αὐτοὺς ζῆν διὰ νόμων, οὐκ ὀρθῶς διανοεῖται. τίνος δὴ χάριν ταῦτα εἴρηται; τοῦδε, ὅτι φήσομεν δεῖν ἡμῖν τοὺς νυμφίους μηδὲν διαφερόντως [780β] μηδὲ ἧττον ἐν συσσιτίοις τὴν δίαιταν ποιεῖσθαι τοῦ πρὸ τῶν γάμων χρόνου γενομένου. καὶ τοῦτο μὲν δὴ θαυμαστὸν ὄν, ὅτε κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς πρῶτον ἐγένετο ἐν τοῖς παρ᾽ ὑμῖν τόποις, πολέμου τινὸς αὐτό, ὥς γ᾽ εἰκός, νομοθετήσαντος ἤ τινος ἑτέρου τὴν αὐτὴν δύναμιν ἔχοντος πράγματος ἐν ὀλιγανθρωπίαις ὑπὸ πολλῆς ἀπορίας ἐχομένοις, γευσαμένοις δὲ καὶ ἀναγκασθεῖσι χρήσασθαι τοῖς συσσιτίοις ἔδοξεν [780ξ] μέγα διαφέρειν εἰς σωτηρίαν τὸ νόμιμον, καὶ κατέστη δὴ τρόπῳ τινὶ τοιούτῳ τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα ὑμῖν τὸ τῶν συσσιτίων.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικε γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὃ δὴ ἔλεγον, ὅτι θαυμαστὸν ὂν τοῦτό ποτε καὶ φοβερὸν ἐπιτάξαι τισίν, νῦν οὐχ ὁμοίως τῷ προστάττοντι δυσχερὲς ἂν εἴη νομοθετεῖν αὐτό: τὸ δ᾽ ἑξῆς τούτῳ, πεφυκός τε ὀρθῶς ἂν γίγνεσθαι γιγνόμενον, νῦν τε οὐδαμῇ γιγνόμενον, ὀλίγου τε ποιοῦν τὸν νομοθέτην, τὸ τῶν παιζόντων, εἰς πῦρ ξαίνειν καὶ μυρία ἕτερα τοιαῦτα ἀνήνυτα ποιοῦντα δρᾶν, οὐ [780δ] ῥᾴδιον οὔτ᾽ εἰπεῖν οὔτ᾽ εἰπόντα ἀποτελεῖν.

Κλεινίας

τί δὴ τοῦτο, ὦ ξένε, ἐπιχειρῶν λέγειν ἔοικας σφόδρα ἀποκνεῖν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀκούοιτ᾽ ἄν, ἵνα μὴ πολλὴ διατριβὴ γίγνηται περὶ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ μάτην. πᾶν μὲν γάρ, ὅτιπερ ἂν τάξεως καὶ νόμου μετέχον ἐν πόλει γίγνηται, πάντα ἀγαθὰ ἀπεργάζεται, τῶν δὲ ἀτάκτων ἢ τῶν κακῶς ταχθέντων λύει τὰ πολλὰ τῶν εὖ τεταγμένων ἄλλα ἕτερα. οὗ δὴ καὶ νῦν ἐφέστηκεν πέρι τὸ λεγόμενον. ὑμῖν γάρ, ὦ Κλεινία καὶ Μέγιλλε, τὰ μὲν περὶ [780ε] τοὺς ἄνδρας συσσίτια καλῶς ἅμα καί, ὅπερ εἶπον, θαυμαστῶς καθέστηκεν ἐκ θείας τινὸς ἀνάγκης, τὸ δὲ περὶ τὰς γυναῖκας [781α] οὐδαμῶς ὀρθῶς ἀνομοθέτητον μεθεῖται καὶ οὐκ εἰς τὸ φῶς ἦκται τὸ τῆς συσσιτίας αὐτῶν ἐπιτήδευμα, ἀλλ᾽ ὃ καὶ ἄλλως γένος ἡμῶν τῶν ἀνθρώπων λαθραιότερον μᾶλλον καὶ ἐπικλοπώτερον ἔφυ, τὸ θῆλυ, διὰ τὸ ἀσθενές, οὐκ ὀρθῶς τοῦτο εἴξαντος τοῦ νομοθέτου δύστακτον ὂν ἀφείθη. διὰ δὲ τούτου μεθειμένου πολλὰ ὑμῖν παρέρρει, πολὺ ἄμεινον ἂν ἔχοντα, εἰ νόμων ἔτυχεν, ἢ τὰ νῦν: οὐ γὰρ ἥμισυ μόνον ἐστίν, ὡς [781β] δόξειεν ἄν, τὸ περὶ τὰς γυναῖκας ἀκοσμήτως περιορώμενον, ὅσῳ δὲ ἡ θήλεια ἡμῖν φύσις ἐστὶ πρὸς ἀρετὴν χείρων τῆς τῶν ἀρρένων, τοσούτῳ διαφέρει πρὸς τὸ πλέον ἢ διπλάσιον εἶναι. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν ἐπαναλαβεῖν καὶ ἐπανορθώσασθαι καὶ πάντα συντάξασθαι κοινῇ γυναιξί τε καὶ ἀνδράσιν ἐπιτηδεύματα βέλτιον πρὸς πόλεως εὐδαιμονίαν: νῦν δὲ οὕτως ἦκται τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος οὐδαμῶς εἰς τοῦτο εὐτυχῶς, ὥστε οὐδὲ μνησθῆναι περὶ αὐτοῦ ἐν ἄλλοις γ᾽ ἐστὶν τόποις καὶ πόλεσιν [781ξ] νοῦν ἔχοντος, ὅπου μηδὲ συσσίτια ὑπάρχει τὸ παράπαν δεδογμένα κατὰ πόλιν εἶναι. πόθεν δή τίς γε ἔργῳ μὴ καταγελάστως ἐπιχειρήσει γυναῖκας προσβιάζεσθαι τὴν σίτων καὶ ποτῶν ἀνάλωσιν φανερὰν θεωρεῖσθαι; τούτου γὰρ οὐκ ἔστιν ὅτι χαλεπώτερον ἂν ὑπομείνειεν τοῦτο τὸ γένος: εἰθισμένον γὰρ δεδυκὸς καὶ σκοτεινὸν ζῆν, ἀγόμενον δ᾽ εἰς φῶς βίᾳ πᾶσαν ἀντίτασιν ἀντιτεῖνον, πολὺ κρατήσει τοῦ [781δ] νομοθέτου. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν ἄλλοθι μέν, ὅπερ εἶπον, οὐδ᾽ ἂν τὸν λόγον ὑπομείνειε τὸν ὀρθὸν ῥηθέντα ἄνευ πάσης βοῆς, ἐνθάδε δὲ ἴσως ἄν. εἰ δὴ δοκεῖ λόγου γ᾽ ἕνεκα μὴ ἀτυχῆ τὸν περὶ πάσης τῆς πολιτείας γενέσθαι λόγον, ἐθέλω λέγειν ὡς ἀγαθόν ἐστι καὶ πρέπον, εἰ καὶ σφῷν συνδοκεῖ ἀκούειν, εἰ δὲ μή, ἐᾶν.

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ ξένε, θαυμαστῶς τό γε ἀκοῦσαι νῷν πάντως που συνδοκεῖ.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀκούωμεν δή. θαυμάσητε δὲ μηδὲν ἐὰν ὑμῖν ἄνωθέν [781ε] ποθεν ἐπιχειρεῖν δόξω: σχολῆς γὰρ ἀπολαύομεν καὶ οὐδὲν ἡμᾶς ἐστὶ τὸ κατεπεῖγον τὸ μὴ πάντῃ πάντως σκοπεῖν τὰ περὶ τοὺς νόμους.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς εἴρηκας.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάλιν τοίνυν ἐπὶ τὰ πρῶτα ἐπαναχωρήσωμεν λεχθέντα. εὖ γὰρ δὴ τό γε τοσοῦτον χρὴ πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα συννοεῖν, ὡς ἡ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένεσις ἢ τὸ παράπαν ἀρχὴν [782α] οὐδεμίαν εἴληχεν οὐδ᾽ ἕξει ποτέ γε τελευτήν, ἀλλ᾽ ἦν τε ἀεὶ καὶ ἔσται πάντως, ἢ μῆκός τι τῆς ἀρχῆς ἀφ᾽ οὗ γέγονεν ἀμήχανον ἂν χρόνον ὅσον γεγονὸς ἂν εἴη.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; πόλεων συστάσεις καὶ φθοράς, καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα παντοῖα τάξεώς τε καὶ ἀταξίας, καὶ βρώσεως καὶ πωμάτων τε ἅμα καὶ βρωμάτων ἐπιθυμήματα παντοδαπά, πάντως καὶ περὶ πᾶσαν τὴν γῆν ἆρ᾽ οὐκ οἰόμεθα γεγονέναι, καὶ στροφὰς ὡρῶν παντοίας, ἐν αἷς τὰ ζῷα μεταβάλλειν αὑτῶν [782β] παμπληθεῖς μεταβολὰς εἰκός;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; πιστεύομεν ἀμπέλους τε φανῆναί πού ποτε πρότερον οὐκ οὔσας; ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ ἐλάας καὶ τὰ Δήμητρός τε καὶ Κόρης δῶρα; Τριπτόλεμόν τέ τινα τῶν τοιούτων γενέσθαι διάκονον; ἐν ᾧ δὲ μὴ ταῦτα ἦν τῷ χρόνῳ, μῶν οὐκ οἰόμεθα τὰ ζῷα, καθάπερ νῦν, ἐπὶ τὴν ἀλλήλων ἐδωδὴν τρέπεσθαι;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν; [782ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δὲ μὴν θύειν ἀνθρώπους ἀλλήλους ἔτι καὶ νῦν παραμένον ὁρῶμεν πολλοῖς: καὶ τοὐναντίον ἀκούομεν ἐν ἄλλοις, ὅτε οὐδὲ βοὸς ἐτόλμων μὲν γεύεσθαι, θύματά τε οὐκ ἦν τοῖς θεοῖσι ζῷα, πέλανοι δὲ καὶ μέλιτι καρποὶ δεδευμένοι καὶ τοιαῦτα ἄλλα ἁγνὰ θύματα, σαρκῶν δ᾽ ἀπείχοντο ὡς οὐχ ὅσιον ὂν ἐσθίειν οὐδὲ τοὺς τῶν θεῶν βωμοὺς αἵματι μιαίνειν, ἀλλὰ Ὀρφικοί τινες λεγόμενοι βίοι ἐγίγνοντο ἡμῶν τοῖς τότε, ἀψύχων μὲν ἐχόμενοι πάντων, ἐμψύχων δὲ τοὐναντίον [782δ] πάντων ἀπεχόμενοι.

Κλεινίας

καὶ σφόδρα λεγόμενά τ᾽ εἴρηκας καὶ πιστεύεσθαι πιθανά.

Ἀθηναῖος

πρὸς οὖν δὴ τί ταῦτα, εἴποι τις ἄν, ὑμῖν πάντ᾽ ἐρρήθη τὰ νῦν;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς ὑπέλαβες, ὦ ξένε.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τοίνυν, ἐὰν δύνωμαι, τὰ τούτοις ἑξῆς, ὦ Κλεινία, πειράσομαι φράζειν.

Κλεινίας

λέγοις ἄν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁρῶ πάντα τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐκ τριττῆς χρείας καὶ ἐπιθυμίας ἠρτημένα, δι᾽ ὧν ἀρετή τε αὐτοῖς ἀγομένοις ὀρθῶς [782ε] καὶ τοὐναντίον ἀποβαίνει κακῶς ἀχθεῖσιν. ταῦτα δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐδωδὴ μὲν καὶ πόσις εὐθὺς γενομένοις, ἣν πέρι ἅπασαν πᾶν ζῷον ἔμφυτον ἔρωτα ἔχον, μεστὸν οἴστρου τέ ἐστιν καὶ ἀνηκουστίας τοῦ λέγοντος ἄλλο τι δεῖν πράττειν πλὴν τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ ἐπιθυμίας τὰς περὶ ἅπαντα ταῦτα ἀποπληροῦντα, λύπης τῆς ἁπάσης ἀεὶ δεῖν σφᾶς ἀπαλλάττειν: τρίτη [783α] δὲ ἡμῖν καὶ μεγίστη χρεία καὶ ἔρως ὀξύτατος ὕστατος μὲν ὁρμᾶται, διαπυρωτάτους δὲ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους μανίαις ἀπεργάζεται πάντως, ὁ περὶ τὴν τοῦ γένους σπορὰν ὕβρει πλείστῃ καόμενος. ἃ δὴ δεῖ τρία νοσήματα, τρέποντα εἰς τὸ βέλτιστον παρὰ τὸ λεγόμενον ἥδιστον, τρισὶ μὲν τοῖς μεγίστοις πειρᾶσθαι κατέχειν, φόβῳ καὶ νόμῳ καὶ τῷ ἀληθεῖ λόγῳ, προσχρωμένους μέντοι Μούσαις τε καὶ ἀγωνίοισι θεοῖς, [783β] σβεννύντων τὴν αὔξην τε καὶ ἐπιρροήν.

παίδων δὲ δὴ γένεσιν μετὰ τοὺς γάμους θῶμεν, καὶ μετὰ γένεσιν τροφὴν καὶ παιδείαν: καὶ τάχ᾽ ἂν οὕτω προϊόντων τῶν λόγων ὅ τε νόμος ἡμῖν ἕκαστος περαίνοιτο εἰς τοὔμπροσθεν ἐπὶ συσσίτια ἡνίκα ἀφικόμεθα-τὰς τοιαύτας κοινωνίας εἴτε ἄρα γυναικῶν εἴτε ἀνδρῶν δεῖ μόνων γίγνεσθαι, προσμείξαντες αὐτοῖς ἐγγύθεν ἴσως μᾶλλον κατοψόμεθα-τά τε ἐπίπροσθεν αὐτῶν, ἔτι νῦν ὄντα ἀνομοθέτητα, [783ξ] τάξαντες αὐτὰ ἐπίπροσθεν ποιησόμεθα, καὶ ὅπερ ἐρρήθη νυνδή, κατοψόμεθά τε αὐτὰ ἀκριβέστερον, μᾶλλόν τε τοὺς προσήκοντας αὐτοῖς καὶ πρέποντας νόμους ἂν θείημεν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

φυλάξωμεν τοίνυν τῇ μνήμῃ τὰ νυνδὴ λεχθέντα: ἴσως γὰρ χρείαν ποτ᾽ αὐτῶν πάντων ἕξομεν.

Κλεινίας

τὰ ποῖα δὴ διακελεύῃ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἃ τοῖς τρισὶ διωριζόμεθα ῥήμασι: βρῶσιν μὲν ἐλέγομέν που, καὶ δεύτερον πόσιν, καὶ ἀφροδισίων δέ τινα [783δ] διαπτόησιν τρίτον.

Κλεινίας

πάντως, ὦ ξένε, μεμνησόμεθά που <ὧν> τὰ νῦν διακελεύῃ.

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς. ἔλθωμεν δ᾽ ἐπὶ τὰ νυμφικά, διδάξοντές τε αὐτοὺς πῶς χρὴ καὶ τίνα τρόπον τοὺς παῖδας ποιεῖσθαι, καὶ ἐὰν ἄρα μὴ πείθωμεν, ἀπειλήσοντές τισιν νόμοις.

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

νύμφην χρὴ διανοεῖσθαι καὶ νυμφίον ὡς ὅτι καλλίστους καὶ ἀρίστους εἰς δύναμιν ἀποδειξομένους παῖδας τῇ [783ε] πόλει. πάντες δ᾽ ἄνθρωποι κοινωνοὶ πάσης πράξεως, ἡνίκα μὲν ἂν προσέχωσιν αὑτοῖς τε καὶ τῇ πράξει τὸν νοῦν, πάντα καλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ ἀπεργάζονται, μὴ προσέχοντες δὲ ἢ μὴ ἔχοντες νοῦν, τἀναντία. προσεχέτω δὴ καὶ ὁ νυμφίος τῇ τε νύμφῃ καὶ τῇ παιδοποιίᾳ τὸν νοῦν, κατὰ ταὐτὰ δὲ καὶ ἡ νύμφη, τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον διαφερόντως ὃν ἂν μήπω παῖδες [784α] αὐτοῖς ὦσιν γεγονότες. ἐπίσκοποι δ᾽ ἔστωσαν τούτων ἃς εἱλόμεθα γυναῖκες, πλείους εἴτ᾽ ἐλάττους, τοῖς ἄρχουσιν ὁπόσας ἂν δοκῇ προστάττειν τε καὶ ὁπόταν, πρὸς τὸ τῆς Εἰλειθυίας ἱερὸν ἑκάστης ἡμέρας συλλεγόμεναι μέχρι τρίτου μέρους ὥρας, οἷ δὴ συλλεχθεῖσαι διαγγελλόντων ἀλλήλαις εἴ τίς τινα ὁρᾷ πρὸς ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα βλέποντα ἄνδρα ἢ καὶ γυναῖκα τῶν παιδοποιουμένων ἢ πρὸς τὰ τεταγμένα ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν τοῖς [784β] γάμοις θυσιῶν τε καὶ ἱερῶν γενομένων. ἡ δὲ παιδοποιία καὶ φυλακὴ τῶν παιδοποιουμένων δεκέτις ἔστω, μὴ πλείω δὲ χρόνον, ὅταν εὔροια ᾖ τῆς γενέσεως: ἂν δὲ ἄγονοί τινες εἰς τοῦτον γίγνωνται τὸν χρόνον, μετὰ τῶν οἰκείων καὶ ἀρχουσῶν γυναικῶν διαζεύγνυσθαι κοινῇ βουλευομένους εἰς τὰ πρόσφορα ἑκατέροις. ἐὰν δ᾽ ἀμφισβήτησίς τις γίγνηται περὶ τῶν ἑκατέροις πρεπόντων καὶ προσφόρων, δέκα τῶν [784ξ] νομοφυλάκων ἑλομένους, οἷς ἂν ἐπιτρέψωσιν οἱ δὲ τάξωσι, τούτοις ἐμμένειν. εἰσιοῦσαι δ᾽ εἰς τὰς οἰκίας τῶν νέων αἱ γυναῖκες, τὰ μὲν νουθετοῦσαι, τὰ δὲ καὶ ἀπειλοῦσαι, παυόντων αὐτοὺς τῆς ἁμαρτίας καὶ ἀμαθίας: ἐὰν δ᾽ ἀδυνατῶσι, πρὸς τοὺς νομοφύλακας ἰοῦσαι φραζόντων, οἱ δ᾽ εἰργόντων. ἂν δὲ καὶ ἐκεῖνοί πως ἀδυνατήσωσι, πρὸς τὸ δημόσιον ἀποφηνάντων, ἀναγράψαντές τε καὶ ὀμόσαντες ἦ μὴν ἀδυνατεῖν [784δ] τὸν καὶ τὸν βελτίω ποιεῖν. ὁ δὲ ἀναγραφεὶς ἄτιμος ἔστω, μὴ ἑλὼν ἐν δικαστηρίῳ τοὺς ἐγγράψαντας, τῶνδε: μήτε γὰρ εἰς γάμους ἴτω μήτε εἰς τὰς τῶν παίδων ἐπιτελειώσεις, ἂν δὲ ἴῃ, πληγαῖς ὁ βουληθεὶς ἀθῷος αὐτὸν κολαζέτω. τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ καὶ περὶ γυναικὸς ἔστω νόμιμα: τῶν ἐξόδων γὰρ τῶν γυναικείων καὶ τιμῶν καὶ τῶν εἰς τοὺς γάμους καὶ γενέθλια τῶν παίδων φοιτήσεων μὴ μετεχέτω, ἐὰν ἀκοσμοῦσα ὡσαύτως [784ε] ἀναγραφῇ καὶ μὴ ἕλῃ τὴν δίκην. ὅταν δὲ δὴ παῖδας γεννήσωνται κατὰ νόμους, ἐὰν ἀλλοτρίᾳ τις περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα κοινωνῇ γυναικὶ ἢ γυνὴ ἀνδρί, ἐὰν μὲν παιδοποιουμένοις ἔτι, τὰ αὐτὰ ἐπιζήμια αὐτοῖς ἔστω καθάπερ τοῖς ἔτι γεννωμένοις εἴρηται: μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα ὁ μὲν σωφρονῶν καὶ σωφρονοῦσα εἰς τὰ τοιαῦτα ἔστω πάντα εὐδόκιμος, ὁ δὲ τοὐναντίον ἐναντίως τιμάσθω, μᾶλλον δὲ ἀτιμαζέσθω. καὶ μετριαζόντων μὲν [785α] περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα τῶν πλειόνων ἀνομοθέτητα σιγῇ κείσθω, ἀκοσμούντων δὲ νομοθετηθέντα ταύτῃ πραττέσθω κατὰ τοὺς τότε τεθέντας νόμους. βίου μὲν ἀρχὴ τοῦ παντὸς ἑκάστοις ὁ πρῶτος ἐνιαυτός: ὃν γεγράφθαι χρεὼν ἐν ἱεροῖσι πατρῴοις ζωῆς ἀρχή. κόρῳ καὶ κόρῃ παραγεγράφθω δ᾽ ἐν τοίχῳ λελευκωμένῳ ἐν πάσῃ φρατρίᾳ τὸν ἀριθμὸν τῶν ἀρχόντων τῶν ἐπὶ τοῖς ἔτεσιν ἀριθμουμένων: τῆς δὲ φρατρίας ἀεὶ [785β] τοὺς ζῶντας μὲν γεγράφθαι πλησίον, τοὺς δ᾽ ὑπεκχωροῦντας τοῦ βίου ἐξαλείφειν. γάμου δὲ ὅρον εἶναι κόρῃ μὲν ἀπὸ ἑκκαίδεκα ἐτῶν εἰς εἴκοσι, τὸν μακρότατον χρόνον ἀφωρισμένον, κόρῳ δὲ ἀπὸ τριάκοντα μέχρι τῶν πέντε καὶ τριάκοντα: εἰς δὲ ἀρχὰς γυναικὶ μὲν τετταράκοντα, ἀνδρὶ δὲ τριάκοντα ἔτη: πρὸς πόλεμον δὲ ἀνδρὶ μὲν εἴκοσι μέχρι τῶν ἑξήκοντα ἐτῶν: γυναικὶ δέ, ἣν ἂν δοκῇ χρείαν δεῖν χρῆσθαι πρὸς τὰ πολεμικά, ἐπειδὰν παῖδας γεννήσῃ, τὸ δυνατὸν καὶ πρέπον ἑκάσταις προστάττειν μέχρι τῶν πεντήκοντα ἐτῶν.

Τόμος 7

788α] Ἀθηναῖος

γενομένων δὲ παίδων ἀρρένων καὶ θηλειῶν, τροφὴν μέν που καὶ παιδείαν τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα λέγειν ὀρθότατ᾽ ἂν γίγνοιθ᾽ ἡμῖν, ἣν εἶναι μὲν ἄρρητον πάντως ἀδύνατον, λεγομένη δὲ διδαχῇ τινι καὶ νουθετήσει μᾶλλον ἢ νόμοις εἰκυῖ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν φαίνοιτο. ἰδίᾳ γὰρ καὶ κατ᾽ οἰκίας πολλὰ καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ οὐκ ἐμφανῆ πᾶσι γιγνόμενα, ῥᾳδίως ὑπὸ τῆς [788β] ἑκάστων λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς καὶ ἐπιθυμίας ἕτερα παρὰ τὰς τοῦ νομοθέτου συμβουλὰς παραγενόμενα, παντοδαπὰ καὶ οὐχ ὅμοια ἀλλήλοις ἀπεργάζοιτ᾽ ἂν τὰ τῶν πολιτῶν ἤθη. τοῦτο δὲ κακὸν ταῖς πόλεσιν: καὶ γὰρ διὰ σμικρότητα αὐτῶν καὶ πυκνότητα ἐπιζήμια τιθέντα ποιεῖν νόμους ἀπρεπὲς ἅμα καὶ ἄσχημον, διαφθείρει δὲ καὶ τοὺς γραφῇ τεθέντας νόμους, ἐν τοῖς σμικροῖς καὶ πυκνοῖς ἐθισθέντων τῶν ἀνθρώπων παρανομεῖν. [788ξ] ὥστε ἀπορία μὲν περὶ αὐτὰ νομοθετεῖν, σιγᾶν δὲ ἀδύνατον. ἃ δὲ λέγω, δηλῶσαι πειρατέον οἷον δείγματα ἐξενεγκόντα εἰς φῶς: νῦν γὰρ λεγομένοις ἔοικε κατά τι σκότος.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ὅτι μὲν σώματα καὶ ψυχὰς τήν γε ὀρθὴν πάντως δεῖ τροφὴν φαίνεσθαι δυναμένην ὡς κάλλιστα καὶ ἄριστα ἐξεργάζεσθαι, τοῦτο μὲν ὀρθῶς εἴρηταί που.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν; [788δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

σώματα δὲ κάλλιστα, οἴομαι, τό γε ἁπλούστατον, ὡς ὀρθότατα δεῖ νέων ὄντων εὐθὺς φύεσθαι τῶν παίδων.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; τόδε οὐκ ἐννοοῦμεν, ὡς ἡ πρώτη βλάστη παντὸς ζῴου πολὺ μεγίστη καὶ πλείστη φύεται, ὥστε καὶ ἔριν πολλοῖς παρέσχηκεν μὴ γίγνεσθαι τά γ᾽ ἀνθρώπινα μήκη διπλάσια ἀπὸ πέντε ἐτῶν ἐν τοῖς λοιποῖς εἴκοσιν ἔτεσιν αὐξανόμενα;

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; πολλὴ αὔξη ὅταν ἐπιρρέῃ πόνων χωρὶς [789α] πολλῶν καὶ συμμέτρων, οὐκ ἴσμεν ὅτι μυρία κακὰ ἐν τοῖς σώμασιν ἀποτελεῖ;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τότε δεῖται πλείστων πόνων, ὅταν ἡ πλείστη τροφὴ προσγίγνηται τοῖς σώμασι.

Κλεινίας

τί δῆτ᾽, ὦ ξένε; ἦ τοῖς ἄρτι γεγονόσι καὶ νεωτάτοις πόνους πλείστους προστάξομεν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδαμῶς γε, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι καὶ πρότερον τοῖς ἐντὸς τῶν αὑτῶν μητέρων τρεφομένοις.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις, ὦ λῷστε; ἢ τοῖς κυουμένοισι φράζεις; [789β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί. θαυμαστὸν δ᾽ οὐδέν ἐστιν ἀγνοεῖν ὑμᾶς τὴν τῶν τηλικούτων γυμναστικήν, ἣν βουλοίμην ἂν ὑμῖν καίπερ ἄτοπον οὖσαν δηλῶσαι.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔστι τοίνυν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν μᾶλλον τὸ τοιοῦτον κατανοεῖν διὰ τὸ τὰς παιδιὰς αὐτόθι μειζόνως τινὰς παίζειν ἢ δεῖ: τρέφουσι γὰρ δὴ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν οὐ μόνον παῖδες ἀλλὰ καὶ πρεσβύτεροί τινες ὀρνίθων θρέμματα, ἐπὶ τὰς μάχας τὰς πρὸς ἄλληλα. ἀσκοῦντας τὰ τοιαῦτα τῶν θηρίων πολλοῦ [789ξ] δὴ δέουσιν ἡγεῖσθαι τοὺς πόνους αὐτοῖς εἶναι τοὺς πρὸς ἄλληλα μετρίους, ἐν οἷς αὐτὰ ἀνακινοῦσι γυμνάζοντες: πρὸς γὰρ τούτοις λαβόντες ὑπὸ μάλης ἕκαστος, τοὺς μὲν ἐλάττονας εἰς τὰς χεῖρας, μείζους δ᾽ ὑπὸ τὴν ἀγκάλην ἐντός, πορεύονται περιπατοῦντες σταδίους παμπόλλους ἕνεκα τῆς εὐεξίας οὔτι τῆς τῶν αὑτῶν σωμάτων, ἀλλὰ τῆς τούτων τῶν θρεμμάτων, καὶ τό γε τοσοῦτον δηλοῦσι τῷ δυναμένῳ καταμαθεῖν, [789δ] ὅτι τὰ σώματα πάντα ὑπὸ τῶν σεισμῶν τε καὶ κινήσεων κινούμενα ἄκοπα ὀνίναται πάντων, ὅσα τε ὑπὸ ἑαυτῶν, ἢ καὶ ἐν αἰώραις ἢ καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν, ἢ καὶ ἐφ᾽ ἵππων ὀχουμένων καὶ ὑπ᾽ ἄλλων ὁπωσοῦν δὴ φερομένων τῶν σωμάτων, κινεῖται, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα τὰς τῶν σίτων τροφὰς καὶ ποτῶν κατακρατοῦντα, ὑγίειαν καὶ κάλλος καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ῥώμην ἡμῖν δυνατά ἐστι παραδιδόναι. τί οὖν ἂν φαῖμεν ἐχόντων οὕτω τούτων τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἡμᾶς δεῖν ποιεῖν; βούλεσθε [789ε] ἅμα γέλωτι φράζωμεν, τιθέντες νόμους τὴν μὲν κύουσαν περιπατεῖν, τὸ γενόμενον δὲ πλάττειν τε οἷον κήρινον, ἕως ὑγρόν, καὶ μέχρι δυοῖν ἐτοῖν σπαργανᾶν; καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰς τροφοὺς ἀναγκάζωμεν νόμῳ ζημιοῦντες τὰ παιδία ἢ πρὸς ἀγροὺς ἢ πρὸς ἱερὰ ἢ πρὸς οἰκείους ἀεί πῃ φέρειν, μέχριπερ ἂν ἱκανῶς ἵστασθαι δυνατὰ γίγνηται, καὶ τότε, διευλαβουμένας ἔτι νέων ὄντων μή πῃ βίᾳ ἐπερειδομένων στρέφηται τὰ κῶλα, ἐπιπονεῖν φερούσας ἕως ἂν τριετὲς ἀποτελεσθῇ τὸ γενόμενον; εἰς δύναμιν δὲ ἰσχυρὰς αὐτὰς εἶναι χρεὼν [790α] καὶ μὴ μίαν; ἐπὶ δὲ τούτοις ἑκάστοις, ἂν μὴ γίγνηται, ζημίαν τοῖς μὴ ποιοῦσι γράφωμεν; ἢ πολλοῦ γε δεῖ; τὸ γὰρ ἄρτι ῥηθὲν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν πολὺ καὶ ἄφθονον.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ γέλωτα ἂν πολὺν ὀφλεῖν ἡμᾶς πρὸς τῷ μὴ ἐθέλειν ἂν πείθεσθαι γυναικεῖά τε καὶ δούλεια ἤθη τροφῶν.

Κλεινίας

ἀλλὰ τίνος δὴ χάριν ἔφαμεν αὐτὰ δεῖν ῥηθῆναι;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦδε: τὰ τῶν δεσποτῶν τε καὶ ἐλευθέρων ἐν ταῖς [790β] πόλεσιν ἤθη τάχ᾽ ἂν ἀκούσαντα εἰς σύννοιαν ἀφίκοιτ᾽ ἂν τὴν ὀρθήν, ὅτι χωρὶς τῆς ἰδίας διοικήσεως ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ὀρθῆς γιγνομένης μάτην ἂν τὰ κοινά τις οἴοιτο ἕξειν τινὰ βεβαιότητα θέσεως νόμων, καὶ ταῦτα ἐννοῶν, αὐτὸς νόμοις ἂν τοῖς νῦν ῥηθεῖσιν χρῷτο, καὶ χρώμενος, εὖ τήν τε οἰκίαν καὶ πόλιν ἅμα τὴν αὑτοῦ διοικῶν, εὐδαιμονοῖ.

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλ᾽ εἰκότως εἴρηκας.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοιγαροῦν μήπω λήξωμεν τῆς τοιαύτης νομοθεσίας, [790ξ] πρὶν ἂν καὶ τὰ περὶ τὰς ψυχὰς τῶν πάνυ νέων παίδων ἐπιτηδεύματα ἀποδῶμεν κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ὅνπερ ἤργμεθα τῶν περὶ τὰ σώματα μύθων λεχθέντων διαπεραίνειν.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

λάβωμεν τοίνυν τοῦτο οἷον στοιχεῖον ἐπ᾽ ἀμφότερα, σώματός τε καὶ ψυχῆς τῶν πάνυ νέων τὴν τιθήνησιν καὶ κίνησιν γιγνομένην ὅτι μάλιστα διὰ πάσης τε νυκτὸς καὶ ἡμέρας, ὡς ἔστι σύμφορος ἅπασι μέν, οὐχ ἥκιστα δὲ τοῖς ὅτι νεωτάτοισι, καὶ οἰκεῖν, εἰ δυνατὸν ἦν, οἷον ἀεὶ πλέοντας: [790δ] νῦν δ᾽ ὡς ἐγγύτατα τούτου ποιεῖν δεῖ περὶ τὰ νεογενῆ παίδων θρέμματα. τεκμαίρεσθαι δὲ χρὴ καὶ ἀπὸ τῶνδε, ὡς ἐξ ἐμπειρίας αὐτὸ εἰλήφασι καὶ ἐγνώκασιν ὂν χρήσιμον αἵ τε τροφοὶ τῶν σμικρῶν καὶ αἱ περὶ τὰ τῶν Κορυβάντων ἰάματα τελοῦσαι: ἡνίκα γὰρ ἄν που βουληθῶσιν κατακοιμίζειν τὰ δυσυπνοῦντα τῶν παιδίων αἱ μητέρες, οὐχ ἡσυχίαν αὐτοῖς προσφέρουσιν ἀλλὰ τοὐναντίον κίνησιν, ἐν ταῖς ἀγκάλαις [790ε] ἀεὶ σείουσαι, καὶ οὐ σιγὴν ἀλλά τινα μελῳδίαν, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς οἷον καταυλοῦσι τῶν παιδίων, καθάπερ ἡ τῶν ἐκφρόνων βακχειῶν ἰάσεις, ταύτῃ τῇ τῆς κινήσεως ἅμα χορείᾳ καὶ μούσῃ χρώμεναι.

Κλεινίας

τίς οὖν αἰτία τούτων, ὦ ξένε, μάλιστ᾽ ἔσθ᾽ ἡμῖν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ πάνυ χαλεπὴ γιγνώσκειν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

δειμαίνειν ἐστίν που ταῦτ᾽ ἀμφότερα τὰ πάθη, καὶ ἔστι δείματα δι᾽ ἕξιν φαύλην τῆς ψυχῆς τινα. ὅταν οὖν [791α] ἔξωθέν τις προσφέρῃ τοῖς τοιούτοις πάθεσι σεισμόν, ἡ τῶν ἔξωθεν κρατεῖ κίνησις προσφερομένη τὴν ἐντὸς φοβερὰν οὖσαν καὶ μανικὴν κίνησιν, κρατήσασα δέ, γαλήνην ἡσυχίαν τε ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ φαίνεσθαι ἀπεργασαμένη τῆς περὶ τὰ τῆς καρδίας χαλεπῆς γενομένης ἑκάστων πηδήσεως, παντάπασιν ἀγαπητόν τι, τοὺς μὲν ὕπνου λαγχάνειν ποιεῖ, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐγρηγορότας ὀρχουμένους τε καὶ αὐλουμένους μετὰ θεῶν, οἷς ἂν καλλιεροῦντες ἕκαστοι θύωσι, κατηργάσατο ἀντὶ μανικῶν [791β] ἡμῖν διαθέσεων ἕξεις ἔμφρονας ἔχειν. καὶ ταῦτα, ὡς διὰ βραχέων γε οὕτως εἰπεῖν, πιθανὸν λόγον ἔχει τινά.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ δέ γε οὕτως τοιαύτην τινὰ δύναμιν ἔχει ταῦτα, ἐννοεῖν χρὴ τόδε παρ᾽ αὑτοῖς, ὡς ἅπασα ψυχὴ δείμασιν συνοῦσα ἐκ νέων μᾶλλον ἂν διὰ φόβων ἐθίζοιτο γίγνεσθαι: τοῦτο δέ που πᾶς ἂν φαίη δειλίας ἄσκησιν ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἀνδρείας γίγνεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δέ γε ἐναντίον ἀνδρείας ἂν φαῖμεν ἐκ νέων εὐθὺς [791ξ] ἐπιτήδευμα εἶναι, τὸ νικᾶν τὰ προσπίπτονθ᾽ ἡμῖν δείματά τε καὶ φόβους.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἓν δὴ καὶ τοῦτο εἰς ψυχῆς μόριον ἀρετῆς, τὴν τῶν παντελῶς παίδων γυμναστικὴν ἐν ταῖς κινήσεσιν, μέγα ἡμῖν φῶμεν συμβάλλεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν τό γε μὴ δύσκολον ἐν ψυχῇ καὶ τὸ δύσκολον οὐ σμικρὸν μόριον εὐψυχίας καὶ κακοψυχίας ἑκάτερον γιγνόμενον γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [791δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τίνα οὖν ἂν τρόπον εὐθὺς ἐμφύοιθ᾽ ἡμῖν ὁπότερον βουληθεῖμεν τῷ νεογενεῖ, φράζειν δὴ πειρατέον ὅπως τις καὶ καθ᾽ ὅσον εὐπορεῖ τούτων.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγω δὴ τό γε παρ᾽ ἡμῖν δόγμα, ὡς ἡ μὲν τρυφὴ δύσκολα καὶ ἀκράχολα καὶ σφόδρα ἀπὸ σμικρῶν κινούμενα τὰ τῶν νέων ἤθη ἀπεργάζεται, τὸ δὲ τούτων ἐναντίον, ἥ τε σφοδρὰ καὶ ἀγρία δούλωσις, ταπεινοὺς καὶ ἀνελευθέρους καὶ μισανθρώπους ποιοῦσα, ἀνεπιτηδείους συνοίκους ἀποτελεῖ. [791ε]

Κλεινίας

πῶς οὖν δὴ χρὴ τὰ μήπω φωνῆς συνιέντα, μηδὲ παιδείας τῆς ἄλλης δυνατὰ γεύεσθαί πω, τρέφειν τὴν πόλιν ἅπασαν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὧδέ πως: φθέγγεσθαί που μετὰ βοῆς εὐθὺς πᾶν εἴωθεν τὸ γενόμενον, καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος: καὶ δὴ καὶ τῷ κλάειν πρὸς τῇ βοῇ μᾶλλον τῶν ἄλλων συνέχεται.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν αἱ τροφοὶ σκοποῦσαι τίνος ἐπιθυμεῖ, τούτοις [792α] αὐτοῖς ἐν τῇ προσφορᾷ τεκμαίρονται: οὗ μὲν γὰρ ἂν προσφερομένου σιγᾷ, καλῶς οἴονται προσφέρειν, οὗ δ᾽ ἂν κλάῃ καὶ βοᾷ, οὐ καλῶς. τοῖς δὴ παιδίοις τὸ δήλωμα ὧν ἐρᾷ καὶ μισεῖ κλαυμοναὶ καὶ βοαί, σημεῖα οὐδαμῶς εὐτυχῆ: ἔστιν δὲ ὁ χρόνος οὗτος τριῶν οὐκ ἐλάττων ἐτῶν, μόριον οὐ σμικρὸν τοῦ βίου διαγαγεῖν χεῖρον ἢ μὴ χεῖρον.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁ δὴ δύσκολος οὐδαμῶς τε ἵλεως ἆρ᾽ οὐ δοκεῖ σφῷν [792β] θρηνώδης τε εἶναι καὶ ὀδυρμῶν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ πλήρης μᾶλλον ἢ χρεών ἐστιν τὸν ἀγαθόν;

Κλεινίας

ἐμοὶ γοῦν δοκεῖ.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; εἴ τις τὰ τρί᾽ ἔτη πειρῷτο πᾶσαν μηχανὴν προσφέρων ὅπως τὸ τρεφόμενον ἡμῖν ὡς ὀλιγίστῃ προσχρήσεται ἀλγηδόνι καὶ φόβοις καὶ λύπῃ πάσῃ κατὰ δύναμιν, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ οἰόμεθα εὔθυμον μᾶλλόν τε καὶ ἵλεων ἀπεργάζεσθαι τηνικαῦτα τὴν ψυχὴν τοῦ τρεφομένου;

Κλεινίας

δῆλον δή, καὶ μάλιστά γ᾽ ἄν, ὦ ξένε, εἴ τις πολλὰς [792ξ] ἡδονὰς αὐτῷ παρασκευάζοι.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτ᾽ οὐκέτ᾽ ἂν ἐγὼ Κλεινίᾳ συνακολουθήσαιμ᾽ ἄν, ὦ θαυμάσιε. ἔστιν γὰρ οὖν ἡμῖν ἡ τοιαύτη πρᾶξις διαφθορὰ μεγίστη πασῶν: ἐν ἀρχῇ γὰρ γίγνεται ἑκάστοτε τροφῆς. ὁρῶμεν δὲ εἴ τι λέγομεν.

Κλεινίας

λέγε τί φῄς.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ σμικροῦ πέρι νῦν εἶναι νῷν τὸν λόγον. ὅρα δὲ καὶ σύ, συνεπίκρινέ τε ἡμᾶς, ὦ Μέγιλλε. ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἐμὸς δὴ λόγος οὔθ᾽ ἡδονάς φησι δεῖν διώκειν τὸν ὀρθὸν βίον οὔτ᾽ αὖ [792δ] τὸ παράπαν φεύγειν τὰς λύπας, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸ ἀσπάζεσθαι τὸ μέσον, ὃ νυνδὴ προσεῖπον ὡς ἵλεων ὀνομάσας, ἣν δὴ διάθεσιν καὶ θεοῦ κατά τινα μαντείας φήμην εὐστόχως πάντες προσαγορεύομεν. ταύτην τὴν ἕξιν διώκειν φημὶ δεῖν ἡμῶν καὶ τὸν μέλλοντα ἔσεσθαι θεῖον, μήτ᾽ οὖν αὐτὸν προπετῆ πρὸς τὰς ἡδονὰς γιγνόμενον ὅλως, ὡς οὐδ᾽ ἐκτὸς λυπῶν ἐσόμενον, μήτε ἄλλον, γέροντα ἢ νέον, ἐᾶν πάσχειν ταὐτὸν τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν, ἄρρενα ἢ θῆλυν, ἁπάντων δὲ ἥκιστα εἰς δύναμιν [792ε] τὸν ἀρτίως νεογενῆ: κυριώτατον γὰρ οὖν ἐμφύεται πᾶσι τότε τὸ πᾶν ἦθος διὰ ἔθος. ἔτι δ᾽ ἔγωγ᾽, εἰ μὴ μέλλοιμι δόξειν παίζειν, φαίην ἂν δεῖν καὶ τὰς φερούσας ἐν γαστρὶ πασῶν τῶν γυναικῶν μάλιστα θεραπεύειν ἐκεῖνον τὸν ἐνιαυτόν, ὅπως μήτε ἡδοναῖς τισι πολλαῖς ἅμα καὶ μάργοις προσχρήσεται ἡ κύουσα μήτε αὖ λύπαις, τὸ δὲ ἵλεων καὶ εὐμενὲς πρᾷόν τε τιμῶσα διαζήσει τὸν τότε χρόνον. [793α]

Κλεινίας

οὐδὲν δεῖ σε, ὦ ξένε, Μέγιλλον ἀνερωτᾶν πότερος ἡμῶν ὀρθότερον εἴρηκεν: ἐγὼ γὰρ αὐτός σοι συγχωρῶ τὸν λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς ἀκράτου βίον φεύγειν δεῖν πάντας, μέσον δέ τινα τέμνειν ἀεί. καλῶς τοίνυν εἴρηκάς τε καὶ ἀκήκοας ἅμα.

Ἀθηναῖος

μάλα μὲν οὖν ὀρθῶς, ὦ Κλεινία. τόδε τοίνυν ἐπὶ τούτοις τρεῖς ὄντες διανοηθῶμεν.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅτι ταῦτ᾽ ἔστιν πάντα, ὅσα νῦν διεξερχόμεθα, τὰ καλούμενα ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ἄγραφα νόμιμα: καὶ οὓς πατρίους [793β] νόμους ἐπονομάζουσιν, οὐκ ἄλλα ἐστὶν ἢ τὰ τοιαῦτα σύμπαντα. καὶ ἔτι γε ὁ νυνδὴ λόγος ἡμῖν ἐπιχυθείς, ὡς οὔτε νόμους δεῖ προσαγορεύειν αὐτὰ οὔτε ἄρρητα ἐᾶν, εἴρηται καλῶς: δεσμοὶ γὰρ οὗτοι πάσης εἰσὶν πολιτείας, μεταξὺ πάντων ὄντες τῶν ἐν γράμμασιν τεθέντων τε καὶ κειμένων καὶ τῶν ἔτι θησομένων, ἀτεχνῶς οἷον πάτρια καὶ παντάπασιν ἀρχαῖα νόμιμα, ἃ καλῶς μὲν τεθέντα καὶ ἐθισθέντα πάσῃ σωτηρίᾳ περικαλύψαντα ἔχει τοὺς τότε γραφέντας [793ξ] νόμους, ἂν δ᾽ ἐκτὸς τοῦ καλοῦ βαίνῃ πλημμελῶς, οἷον τεκτόνων ἐν οἰκοδομήμασιν ἐρείσματα ἐκ μέσου ὑπορρέοντα, συμπίπτειν εἰς ταὐτὸν ποιεῖ τὰ σύμπαντα, κεῖσθαί τε ἄλλα ὑφ᾽ ἑτέρων, αὐτά τε καὶ τὰ καλῶς ὕστερον ἐποικοδομηθέντα, τῶν ἀρχαίων ὑποπεσόντων. ἃ δὴ διανοουμένους ἡμᾶς, ὦ Κλεινία, σοὶ δεῖ τὴν πόλιν καινὴν οὖσαν πάντῃ συνδεῖν, μήτε μέγα μήτε σμικρὸν παραλιπόντας εἰς δύναμιν ὅσα [793δ] νόμους ἢ ἔθη τις ἢ ἐπιτηδεύματα καλεῖ: πᾶσι γὰρ τοῖς τοιούτοις πόλις συνδεῖται, ἄνευ δὲ ἀλλήλων ἑκάτερα τούτων οὐκ ἔστιν μόνιμα, ὥστε οὐ χρὴ θαυμάζειν ἐὰν ἡμῖν πολλὰ ἅμα καὶ σμικρὰ δοκούντων εἶναι νόμιμα ἢ καὶ ἐθίσματα ἐπιρρέοντα μακροτέρους ποιῇ τοὺς νόμους.

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽ ὀρθῶς σύ γε λέγεις, ἡμεῖς τε οὕτω διανοησόμεθα.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰς μὲν τοίνυν τὴν τοῦ τρί᾽ ἔτη γεγονότος ἡλικίαν, [793ε] κόρου καὶ κόρης, ταῦτα εἴ τις ἀκριβῶς ἀποτελοῖ καὶ μὴ παρέργως τοῖς εἰρημένοις χρῷτο, οὐ σμικρὰ εἰς ὠφελίαν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τοῖς νεωστὶ τρεφομένοις: τριετεῖ δὲ δὴ καὶ τετραετεῖ καὶ πενταετεῖ καὶ ἔτι ἑξετεῖ ἤθει ψυχῆς παιδιῶν δέον ἂν εἴη, τρυφῆς δ᾽ ἤδη παραλυτέον κολάζοντα, μὴ ἀτίμως, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ ἐπὶ τῶν δούλων γ᾽ ἐλέγομεν, τὸ μὴ μεθ᾽ ὕβρεως κολάζοντας ὀργὴν ἐμποιῆσαι δεῖν τοῖς κολασθεῖσιν [794α] μηδ᾽ ἀκολάστους ἐῶντας τρυφήν, ταὐτὸν δραστέον τοῦτό γε καὶ ἐπ᾽ ἐλευθέροισι. παιδιαὶ δ᾽ εἰσὶν τοῖς τηλικούτοις αὐτοφυεῖς τινες, ἃς ἐπειδὰν συνέλθωσιν αὐτοὶ σχεδὸν ἀνευρίσκουσι. συνιέναι δὲ εἰς τὰ κατὰ κώμας ἱερὰ δεῖ πάντα ἤδη τὰ τηλικαῦτα παιδία, ἀπὸ τριετοῦς μέχρι τῶν ἓξ ἐτῶν, κοινῇ τὰ τῶν κωμητῶν εἰς ταὐτὸν ἕκαστα: τὰς δὲ τροφοὺς ἔτι τῶν τηλικούτων κοσμιότητός τε καὶ ἀκολασίας ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, τῶν δὲ τροφῶν αὐτῶν καὶ τῆς ἀγέλης συμπάσης, τῶν δώδεκα [794β] γυναικῶν μίαν ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστῃ τετάχθαι κοσμοῦσαν κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν τῶν προειρημένων ἃς ἂν τάξωσιν οἱ νομοφύλακες. ταύτας δὲ αἱρείσθωσαν μὲν αἱ τῶν γάμων κύριαι τῆς ἐπιμελείας, ἐξ ἑκάστης τῆς φυλῆς μίαν, ἥλικας αὑταῖς: ἡ δὲ καταστᾶσα ἀρχέτω φοιτῶσα εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν ἑκάστης ἡμέρας καὶ κολάζουσα ἀεὶ τὸν ἀδικοῦντα, δοῦλον μὲν καὶ δούλην καὶ ξένον καὶ ξένην αὐτὴ διά τινων τῆς πόλεως οἰκετῶν, πολίτην [794ξ] δὲ ἀμφισβητοῦντα μὲν τῇ κολάσει πρὸς τοὺς ἀστυνόμους ἐπὶ δίκην ἄγουσα, ἀναμφισβήτητον δὲ ὄντα καὶ τὸν πολίτην αὐτὴ κολαζέτω. μετὰ δὲ τὸν ἑξέτη καὶ τὴν ἑξέτιν διακρινέσθω μὲν ἤδη τὸ γένος ἑκατέρων-κόροι μὲν μετὰ κόρων, παρθένοι δὲ ὡσαύτως μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων τὴν διατριβὴν ποιείσθωσαν-πρὸς δὲ τὰ μαθήματα τρέπεσθαι χρεὼν ἑκατέρους, τοὺς μὲν ἄρρενας ἐφ᾽ ἵππων διδασκάλους καὶ τόξων καὶ ἀκοντίων καὶ σφενδονήσεως, ἐὰν δέ πῃ συγχωρῶσιν, μέχρι [794δ] γε μαθήσεως καὶ τὰ θήλεα, καὶ δὴ τά γε μάλιστα πρὸς τὴν τῶν ὅπλων χρείαν. τὸ γὰρ δὴ νῦν καθεστὸς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀγνοεῖται παρὰ τοῖς πᾶσιν ὀλίγου.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς ἄρα τὰ δεξιὰ καὶ τὰ ἀριστερὰ διαφέροντά ἐσθ᾽ ἡμῶν φύσει πρὸς τὰς χρείας εἰς ἑκάστας τῶν πράξεων τὰ περὶ τὰς χεῖρας, ἐπεὶ τά γε περὶ πόδας τε καὶ τὰ κάτω τῶν μελῶν οὐδὲν διαφέροντα εἰς τοὺς πόνους φαίνεται: τὰ δὲ [794ε] κατὰ χεῖρας ἀνοίᾳ τροφῶν καὶ μητέρων οἷον χωλοὶ γεγόναμεν ἕκαστοι. τῆς φύσεως γὰρ ἑκατέρων τῶν μελῶν σχεδὸν ἰσορροπούσης, αὐτοὶ διὰ τὰ ἔθη διάφορα αὐτὰ πεποιήκαμεν οὐκ ὀρθῶς χρώμενοι. ἐν ὅσοις μὲν γὰρ τῶν ἔργων μὴ μέγα διαφέρει, λύρᾳ μὲν ἐν ἀριστερᾷ χρώμενον, πλήκτρῳ δὲ ἐν δεξιᾷ, πρᾶγμα οὐδέν, καὶ ὅσα τοιαῦτα: τούτοις δὲ παραδείγμασι χρώμενον καὶ εἰς ἄλλα μὴ δέον οὕτω χρῆσθαι [795α] σχεδὸν ἄνοια. ἔδειξεν δὲ ταῦτα ὁ τῶν Σκυθῶν νόμος, οὐκ ἐν ἀριστερᾷ μὲν τόξον ἀπάγων, ἐν δεξιᾷ δὲ οἰστὸν προσαγόμενος μόνον, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμοίως ἑκατέροις ἐπ᾽ ἀμφότερα χρώμενος: πάμπολλα δ᾽ ἕτερα τοιαῦτα παραδείγματα ἐν ἡνιοχείαις τέ ἐστι καὶ ἐν ἑτέροις, ἐν οἷσιν μαθεῖν δυνατὸν ὅτι παρὰ φύσιν κατασκευάζουσιν οἱ ἀριστερὰ δεξιῶν ἀσθενέστερα κατασκευάζοντες. ταῦτα δ᾽, ὅπερ εἴπομεν, ἐν μὲν κερατίνοις πλήκτροις [795β] καὶ ἐν ὀργάνοις τοιούτοις οὐδὲν μέγα: σιδηροῖς δ᾽ εἰς τὸν πόλεμον ὅταν δέῃ χρῆσθαι, μέγα διαφέρει, καὶ τόξοις καὶ ἀκοντίοις καὶ ἑκάστοις τούτων, πολὺ δὲ μέγιστον, ὅταν ὅπλοις δέῃ πρὸς ὅπλα χρῆσθαι. διαφέρει δὲ πάμπολυ μαθὼν μὴ μαθόντος καὶ ὁ γυμνασάμενος τοῦ μὴ γεγυμνασμένου. καθάπερ γὰρ ὁ τελέως παγκράτιον ἠσκηκὼς ἢ πυγμὴν ἢ πάλην οὐκ ἀπὸ μὲν τῶν ἀριστερῶν ἀδύνατός ἐστι μάχεσθαι, χωλαίνει δὲ καὶ ἐφέλκεται πλημμελῶν, ὁπόταν αὐτόν τις [795ξ] μεταβιβάζων ἐπὶ θάτερα ἀναγκάζῃ διαπονεῖν, ταὐτὸν δὴ τοῦτ᾽, οἶμαι, καὶ ἐν ὅπλοις καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσι χρὴ προσδοκᾶν ὀρθόν, ὅτι τὸν διττὰ δεῖ κεκτημένον, οἷς ἀμύνοιτό τ᾽ ἂν καὶ ἐπιτιθεῖτο ἄλλοις, μηδὲν ἀργὸν τούτων μηδὲ ἀνεπιστῆμον ἐᾶν εἶναι κατὰ δύναμιν: Γηρυόνου δέ γε εἴ τις φύσιν ἔχων ἢ καὶ τὴν Βριάρεω φύοιτο, ταῖς ἑκατὸν χερσὶν ἑκατὸν δεῖ βέλη ῥίπτειν δυνατὸν εἶναι. τούτων δὴ πάντων [795δ] τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ἀρχούσαις τε καὶ ἄρχουσι δεῖ γίγνεσθαι, ταῖς μὲν ἐν παιδιαῖς τε καὶ τροφαῖς ἐπισκόποις γιγνομέναις, τοῖς δὲ περὶ μαθήματα, ὅπως ἀρτίποδές τε καὶ ἀρτίχειρες πάντες τε καὶ πᾶσαι γιγνόμενοι, μηδὲν τοῖς ἔθεσιν ἀποβλάπτωσι τὰς φύσεις εἰς τὸ δυνατόν.

τὰ δὲ μαθήματά που διττά, ὥς γ᾽ εἰπεῖν, χρήσασθαι συμβαίνοι ἄν, τὰ μὲν ὅσα περὶ τὸ σῶμα γυμναστικῆς, τὰ δ᾽ εὐψυχίας χάριν μουσικῆς. τὰ δὲ γυμναστικῆς αὖ δύο, [795ε] τὸ μὲν ὄρχησις, τὸ δὲ πάλη. τῆς ὀρχήσεως δὲ ἄλλη μὲν Μούσης λέξιν μιμουμένων, τό τε μεγαλοπρεπὲς φυλάττοντας ἅμα καὶ ἐλεύθερον, ἄλλη δέ, εὐεξίας ἐλαφρότητός τε ἕνεκα καὶ κάλλους, τῶν τοῦ σώματος αὐτοῦ μελῶν καὶ μερῶν τὸ προσῆκον καμπῆς τε καὶ ἐκτάσεως, καὶ ἀποδιδομένης ἑκάστοις αὐτοῖς αὑτῶν εὐρύθμου κινήσεως, διασπειρομένης ἅμα καὶ συνακολουθούσης εἰς πᾶσαν τὴν ὄρχησιν ἱκανῶς. καὶ [796α] δὴ τά γε κατὰ πάλην ἃ μὲν Ἀνταῖος ἢ Κερκύων ἐν τέχναις ἑαυτῶν συνεστήσαντο φιλονικίας ἀχρήστου χάριν, ἢ πυγμῆς Ἐπειὸς ἢ Ἄμυκος, οὐδὲν χρήσιμα ἐπὶ πολέμου κοινωνίαν ὄντα, οὐκ ἄξια λόγῳ κοσμεῖν: τὰ δὲ ἀπ᾽ ὀρθῆς πάλης, ἀπ᾽ αὐχένων καὶ χειρῶν καὶ πλευρῶν ἐξειλήσεως, μετὰ φιλονικίας τε καὶ καταστάσεως διαπονούμενα μετ᾽ εὐσχήμονος ῥώμης τε καὶ ὑγιείας ἕνεκα, ταῦτ᾽ εἰς πάντα ὄντα χρήσιμα οὐ παρετέον, ἀλλὰ προστακτέον μαθηταῖς τε ἅμα καὶ τοῖς [796β] διδάξουσιν, ὅταν ἐνταῦθ᾽ ὦμεν τῶν νόμων, τοῖς μὲν πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα εὐμενῶς δωρεῖσθαι, τοῖς δὲ παραλαμβάνειν ἐν χάρισιν. οὐδ᾽ ὅσα ἐν τοῖς χοροῖς ἐστιν αὖ μιμήματα προσήκοντα μιμεῖσθαι παρετέον, κατὰ μὲν τὸν τόπον τόνδε Κουρήτων ἐνόπλια παίγνια, κατὰ δὲ Λακεδαίμονα Διοσκόρων. ἡ δὲ αὖ που παρ᾽ ἡμῖν κόρη καὶ δέσποινα, εὐφρανθεῖσα τῇ τῆς χορείας παιδιᾷ, κεναῖς χερσὶν οὐκ ᾠήθη δεῖν ἀθύρειν, [796ξ] πανοπλίᾳ δὲ παντελεῖ κοσμηθεῖσα, οὕτω τὴν ὄρχησιν διαπεραίνειν: ἃ δὴ πάντως μιμεῖσθαι πρέπον ἂν εἴη κόρους τε ἅμα καὶ κόρας, τὴν τῆς θεοῦ χάριν τιμῶντας, πολέμου τ᾽ ἐν χρείᾳ καὶ ἑορτῶν ἕνεκα. τοῖς δέ που παισὶν εὐθύς τε καὶ ὅσον ἂν χρόνον μήπω εἰς πόλεμον ἴωσιν, πᾶσι θεοῖς προσόδους τε καὶ πομπὰς ποιουμένους μεθ᾽ ὅπλων τε καὶ ἵππων ἀεὶ κοσμεῖσθαι δέον ἂν εἴη, θάττους τε καὶ βραδυτέρας ἐν ὀρχήσεσι καὶ ἐν πορείᾳ τὰς ἱκετείας ποιουμένους πρὸς θεούς [796δ] τε καὶ θεῶν παῖδας. καὶ ἀγῶνας δὴ καὶ προαγῶνας, εἴ τινων, οὐκ ἄλλων ἢ τούτων ἕνεκα προαγωνιστέον: οὗτοι γὰρ καὶ ἐν εἰρήνῃ καὶ κατὰ πόλεμον χρήσιμοι εἴς τε πολιτείαν καὶ ἰδίους οἴκους, οἱ δὲ ἄλλοι πόνοι τε καὶ παιδιαὶ καὶ σπουδαὶ κατὰ σώματα οὐκ ἐλευθέρων, ὦ Μέγιλλέ τε καὶ Κλεινία.

ἣν εἶπον γυμναστικὴν ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις λόγοις ὅτι δέοι διεξελθεῖν, σχεδὸν δὴ διελήλυθα τὰ νῦν, καὶ ἔσθ᾽ αὕτη παντελής: εἰ δέ τινα ταύτης ὑμεῖς ἔχετε βελτίω, θέντες [796ε] εἰς κοινὸν λέγετε.

Κλεινίας

οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ὦ ξένε, παρέντας ταῦτα ἄλλα ἔχειν βελτίω τούτων περὶ γυμναστικῆς ἅμα καὶ ἀγωνίας εἰπεῖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ τοίνυν τούτοις ἑξῆς περὶ τὰ τῶν Μουσῶν τε καὶ Ἀπόλλωνος δῶρα, τότε μέν, ὡς ἅπαντα εἰρηκότες, ᾠόμεθα καταλείπειν μόνα τὰ περὶ γυμναστικῆς: νῦν δ᾽ ἔστιν δῆλα ἅ τ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ ὅτι πρῶτα πᾶσιν ῥητέα. λέγωμεν τοίνυν ἑξῆς αὐτά.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν λεκτέον. [797α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀκούσατε δέ μου, προακηκοότες μὲν καὶ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν: ὅμως δὲ τό γε σφόδρα ἄτοπον καὶ ἄηθες διευλαβεῖσθαι δεῖ λέγοντα καὶ ἀκούοντα, καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν. ἐρῶ μὲν γὰρ ἐγὼ λόγον οὐκ ἄφοβον εἰπεῖν, ὅμως δέ πῃ θαρρήσας οὐκ ἀποστήσομαι.

Κλεινίας

τίνα δὴ τοῦτον, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

φημὶ κατὰ πάσας πόλεις τὸ τῶν παιδιῶν γένος ἠγνοῆσθαι σύμπασιν ὅτι κυριώτατόν ἐστι περὶ θέσεως νόμων, ἢ μονίμους εἶναι τοὺς τεθέντας ἢ μή. ταχθὲν μὲν [797β] γὰρ αὐτὸ καὶ μετασχὸν τοῦ τὰ αὐτὰ κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως ἀεὶ τοὺς αὐτοὺς παίζειν τε καὶ εὐθυμεῖσθαι τοῖς αὐτοῖς παιγνίοις, ἐᾷ καὶ τὰ σπουδῇ κείμενα νόμιμα μένειν ἡσυχῇ, κινούμενα δὲ τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ καινοτομούμενα, μεταβολαῖς τε ἄλλαις ἀεὶ χρώμενα, καὶ μηδέποτε ταὐτὰ φίλα προσαγορευόντων τῶν νέων, μήτ᾽ ἐν σχήμασιν τοῖς τῶν αὑτῶν σωμάτων μήτε ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις σκεύεσιν ὁμολογουμένως αὐτοῖς ἀεὶ κεῖσθαι τό τ᾽ εὔσχημον καὶ ἄσχημον, ἀλλὰ τόν [797ξ] τι νέον ἀεὶ καινοτομοῦντα καὶ εἰσφέροντα τῶν εἰωθότων ἕτερον κατά τε σχήματα καὶ χρώματα καὶ πάντα ὅσα τοιαῦτα, τοῦτον τιμᾶσθαι διαφερόντως, τούτου πόλει λώβην οὐκ εἶναι μείζω φαῖμεν ἂν ὀρθότατα λέγοντες: λανθάνειν γὰρ τῶν νέων τὰ ἤθη μεθιστάντα καὶ ποιεῖν τὸ μὲν ἀρχαῖον παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς ἄτιμον, τὸ δὲ νέον ἔντιμον. τούτου δὲ πάλιν αὖ λέγω τοῦ τε ῥήματος καὶ τοῦ δόγματος οὐκ εἶναι ζημίαν μείζω πάσαις πόλεσιν: ἀκούσατε δὲ ὅσον φημὶ αὔτ᾽ εἶναι κακόν. [797δ]

Κλεινίας

ἦ τὸ ψέγεσθαι τὴν ἀρχαιότητα λέγεις ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν;

Ἀθηναῖος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Κλεινίας

οὐ φαύλους τοίνυν ἡμᾶς ἂν ἀκροατὰς πρὸς αὐτὸν τὸν λόγον ἔχοις ἂν τοῦτον, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς δυνατὸν εὐμενεστάτους.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰκὸς γοῦν.

Κλεινίας

λέγε μόνον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴτε δή, μειζόνως αὐτὸν ἀκούσωμέν τε ἡμῶν αὐτῶν καὶ πρὸς ἀλλήλους οὕτως εἴπωμεν. μεταβολὴν γὰρ δὴ πάντων πλὴν κακῶν πολὺ σφαλερώτατον εὑρήσομεν ἐν ὥραις πάσαις, ἐν πνεύμασιν, ἐν διαίταις σωμάτων, ἐν τρόποις [797ε] ψυχῶν, ἐν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐ τοῖς μέν, τοῖς δ᾽ οὔ, πλήν, ὅτιπερ εἶπον νυνδή, κακοῖς: ὥστε, εἴ τις ἀποβλέψειε πρὸς σώματα, ὡς πᾶσι μὲν σιτίοις, πᾶσι δ᾽ αὖ ποτοῖς καὶ πόνοις συνήθη γιγνόμενα, καὶ τὸ πρῶτον ταραχθέντα ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν, ἔπειτ᾽ ἐξ αὐτῶν τούτων ὑπὸ χρόνου σάρκας φύσαντα οἰκείας [798α] τούτοις, φίλα τε καὶ συνήθη καὶ γνώριμα γενόμενα ἁπάσῃ ταύτῃ τῇ διαίτῃ πρὸς ἡδονὴν καὶ ὑγίειαν ἄριστα διάγει, καὶ ἄν ποτ᾽ ἄρα ἀναγκασθῇ μεταβάλλειν αὖθις ἡντινοῦν τῶν εὐδοκίμων διαιτῶν, τό γε κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς συνταραχθεὶς ὑπὸ νόσων μόγις ποτὲ κατέστη, τὴν συνήθειαν τῇ τροφῇ πάλιν ἀπολαβών, ταὐτὸν δὴ δεῖ νομίζειν τοῦτο γίγνεσθαι καὶ περὶ τὰς τῶν ἀνθρώπων διανοίας τε ἅμα καὶ τὰς τῶν ψυχῶν φύσεις. οἷς γὰρ ἂν ἐντραφῶσιν νόμοις καὶ κατά τινα θείαν [798β] εὐτυχίαν ἀκίνητοι γένωνται μακρῶν καὶ πολλῶν χρόνων, ὡς μηδένα ἔχειν μνείαν μηδὲ ἀκοὴν τοῦ ποτε ἄλλως αὐτὰ σχεῖν ἢ καθάπερ νῦν ἔχει, σέβεται καὶ φοβεῖται πᾶσα ἡ ψυχὴ τό τι κινεῖν τῶν τότε καθεστώτων. μηχανὴν δὴ δεῖ τὸν νομοθέτην ἐννοεῖν ἁμόθεν γέ ποθεν ὅντινα τρόπον τοῦτ᾽ ἔσται τῇ πόλει. τῇδ᾽ οὖν ἔγωγε εὑρίσκω. τὰς παιδιὰς πάντες διανοοῦνται κινουμένας τῶν νέων, ὅπερ ἔμπροσθεν ἐλέγομεν, παιδιὰς ὄντως εἶναι καὶ οὐ τὴν μεγίστην ἐξ αὐτῶν [798ξ] σπουδὴν καὶ βλάβην συμβαίνειν, ὥστε οὐκ ἀποτρέπουσιν ἀλλὰ συνέπονται ὑπείκοντες, καὶ οὐ λογίζονται τόδε, ὅτι τούτους ἀνάγκη τοὺς παῖδας τοὺς ἐν ταῖς παιδιαῖς νεωτερίζοντας ἑτέρους ἄνδρας τῶν ἔμπροσθεν γενέσθαι παίδων, γενομένους δὲ ἄλλους, ἄλλον βίον ζητεῖν, ζητήσαντας δέ, ἑτέρων ἐπιτηδευμάτων καὶ νόμων ἐπιθυμῆσαι, καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο ὡς ἥξοντος τοῦ νυνδὴ λεγομένου μεγίστου κακοῦ πόλεσιν [798δ] οὐδεὶς αὐτῶν φοβεῖται. τὰ μὲν οὖν ἄλλα ἐλάττω μεταβαλλόμενα κακὰ διεξεργάζοιτ᾽ ἄν, ὅσα περὶ σχήματα πάσχει τὸ τοιοῦτον: ὅσα δὲ περὶ τὰ τῶν ἠθῶν ἐπαίνου τε καὶ ψόγου πέρι πυκνὰ μεταπίπτει, πάντων, οἴομαι, μέγιστά τε καὶ πλείστης εὐλαβείας δεόμενα ἂν εἴη.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν λόγοις πιστεύομεν, οἷς ἐλέγομεν ὡς τὰ περὶ τοὺς ῥυθμοὺς καὶ πᾶσαν μουσικήν ἐστιν τρόπων μιμήματα βελτιόνων καὶ χειρόνων ἀνθρώπων; [798ε] ἢ πῶς;

Κλεινίας

οὐδαμῶς ἄλλως πως τό γε παρ᾽ ἡμῖν δόγμα ἔχον ἂν εἴη.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν, φαμέν, ἅπασαν μηχανητέον μηχανὴν ὅπως ἂν ἡμῖν οἱ παῖδες μήτε ἐπιθυμῶσιν ἄλλων μιμημάτων ἅπτεσθαι κατὰ ὀρχήσεις ἢ κατὰ μελῳδίας, μήτε τις αὐτοὺς πείσῃ προσάγων παντοίας ἡδονάς;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις. [799α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔχει τις οὖν ἡμῶν ἐπὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα βελτίω τινα τέχνην τῆς τῶν Αἰγυπτίων;

Κλεινίας

ποίας δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦ καθιερῶσαι πᾶσαν μὲν ὄρχησιν, πάντα δὲ μέλη, τάξαντας πρῶτον μὲν τὰς ἑορτάς, συλλογισαμένους εἰς τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν ἅστινας ἐν οἷς χρόνοις καὶ οἷστισιν ἑκάστοις τῶν θεῶν καὶ παισὶ τούτων καὶ δαίμοσι γίγνεσθαι χρεών, μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο, ἐπὶ τοῖς τῶν θεῶν θύμασιν ἑκάστοις ἣν ᾠδὴν δεῖ ἐφυμνεῖσθαι, καὶ χορείαις ποίαισιν γεραίρειν τὴν τότε [799β] θυσίαν, τάξαι μὲν πρῶτόν τινας, ἃ δ᾽ ἂν ταχθῇ, Μοίραις καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις πᾶσι θεοῖς θύσαντας κοινῇ πάντας τοὺς πολίτας, σπένδοντας καθιεροῦν ἑκάστας τὰς ᾠδὰς ἑκάστοις τῶν θεῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων: ἂν δὲ παρ᾽ αὐτά τίς τῳ θεῶν ἄλλους ὕμνους ἢ χορείας προσάγῃ, τοὺς ἱερέας τε καὶ τὰς ἱερείας μετὰ νομοφυλάκων ἐξείργοντας ὁσίως ἐξείργειν καὶ κατὰ νόμον, τὸν δὲ ἐξειργόμενον, ἂν μὴ ἑκὼν ἐξείργηται, δίκας ἀσεβείας διὰ βίου παντὸς τῷ ἐθελήσαντι παρέχειν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς. [799ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

πρὸς τούτῳ δὴ νῦν γενόμενοι τῷ λόγῳ, πάθωμεν τὸ πρέπον ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς.

Κλεινίας

τοῦ πέρι λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

πᾶς που νέος, μὴ ὅτι πρεσβύτης, ἰδὼν ἂν ἢ καὶ ἀκούσας ὁτιοῦν τῶν ἐκτόπων καὶ μηδαμῇ πως συνήθων, οὐκ ἄν ποτέ που τὸ ἀπορηθὲν περὶ αὐτῶν συγχωρήσειεν ἐπιδραμὼν οὕτως εὐθύς, στὰς δ᾽ ἄν, καθάπερ ἐν τριόδῳ γενόμενος καὶ μὴ σφόδρα κατειδὼς ὁδόν, εἴτε μόνος εἴτε μετ᾽ [799δ] ἄλλων τύχοι πορευόμενος, ἀνέροιτ᾽ ἂν αὑτὸν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους τὸ ἀπορούμενον, καὶ οὐκ ἂν πρότερον ὁρμήσειεν, πρίν πῃ βεβαιώσαιτο τὴν σκέψιν τῆς πορείας ὅπῃ ποτὲ φέρει. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ παρὸν ἡμῖν ὡσαύτως ποιητέον: ἀτόπου γὰρ τὰ νῦν ἐμπεπτωκότος λόγου περὶ νόμων, ἀνάγκη που σκέψιν πᾶσαν ποιήσασθαι, καὶ μὴ ῥᾳδίως οὕτως περὶ τοσούτων τηλικούτους ὄντας φάναι διισχυριζομένους ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμά τι σαφὲς ἂν εἰπεῖν ἔχειν.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις. [799ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τούτῳ μὲν χρόνον δώσομεν, βεβαιώσομεν δὲ τότε αὐτό, ὁπόταν σκεψώμεθα ἱκανῶς: ἵνα δὲ μὴ τὴν ἑπομένην τάξιν τοῖς νόμοις τοῖς νῦν ἡμῖν παροῦσι διαπεράνασθαι κωλυθῶμεν μάτην, ἴωμεν πρὸς τὸ τέλος αὐτῶν. τάχα γὰρ ἴσως, εἰ θεὸς ἐθέλοι, κἂν ἡ διέξοδος αὕτη ὅλη σχοῦσα τέλος ἱκανῶς ἂν μηνύσειε καὶ τὸ νῦν διαπορούμενον.

Κλεινίας

ἄριστ᾽, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις, καὶ ποιῶμεν οὕτως ὡς εἴρηκας.

Ἀθηναῖος

δεδόχθω μὲν δή, φαμέν, τὸ ἄτοπον τοῦτο, νόμους τὰς ᾠδὰς ἡμῖν γεγονέναι, καὶ καθάπερ οἱ παλαιοὶ τότε περὶ κιθαρῳδίαν οὕτω πως, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὠνόμασαν-ὥστε τάχ᾽ [800α] ἂν οὐδ᾽ ἐκεῖνοι παντάπασί γ᾽ ἂν ἀφεστῶτες εἶεν τοῦ νῦν λεγομένου, καθ᾽ ὕπνον δὲ οἷόν πού τις ἢ καὶ ὕπαρ ἐγρηγορὼς ὠνείρωξεν μαντευόμενος αὐτό-τὸ δ᾽ οὖν δόγμα περὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦτ᾽ ἔστω: παρὰ τὰ δημόσια μέλη τε καὶ ἱερὰ καὶ τὴν τῶν νέων σύμπασαν χορείαν μηδεὶς μᾶλλον ἢ παρ᾽ ὁντινοῦν ἄλλον τῶν νόμων φθεγγέσθω μηδ᾽ ἐν ὀρχήσει κινείσθω. καὶ ὁ μὲν τοιοῦτος ἀζήμιος ἀπαλλαττέσθω, τὸν δὲ μὴ πειθόμενον, καθάπερ ἐρρήθη νυνδή, νομοφύλακές τε [800β] καὶ ἱέρειαι καὶ ἱερῆς κολαζόντων. κείσθω δὲ νῦν ἡμῖν ταῦτα τῷ λόγῳ;

Κλεινίας

κείσθω.

Ἀθηναῖος

τίνα δὴ τρόπον αὐτὰ νομοθετῶν τις μὴ παντάπασιν καταγέλαστος γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν; ἴδωμεν δὴ τὸ τοιόνδ᾽ ἔτι περὶ αὐτά. ἀσφαλέστατον καθάπερ ἐκμαγεῖ᾽ ἄττ᾽ αὐτοῖσιν πρῶτον πλάσασθαι τῷ λόγῳ, λέγω δὲ ἓν μὲν τῶν ἐκμαγείων εἶναι τοιόνδε τι: θυσίας γενομένης καὶ ἱερῶν καυθέντων κατὰ νόμον, εἴ τῴ τις, φαμέν, ἰδίᾳ παραστὰς τοῖς βωμοῖς τε καὶ [800ξ] ἱεροῖς, ὑὸς ἢ καὶ ἀδελφός, βλασφημοῖ πᾶσαν βλασφημίαν, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ, ἂν φαῖμεν, ἀθυμίαν καὶ κακὴν ὄτταν καὶ μαντείαν πατρὶ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἂν οἰκείοις φθέγγοιτο ἐντιθείς;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐν τοίνυν τοῖς παρ᾽ ἡμῖν τόποις τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ταῖς πόλεσι γιγνόμενον ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν σχεδὸν ὀλίγου πάσαις: δημοσίᾳ γάρ τινα θυσίαν ὅταν ἀρχή τις θύσῃ, μετὰ ταῦτα χορὸς οὐχ εἷς ἀλλὰ πλῆθος χορῶν ἥκει, καὶ στάντες οὐ [800δ] πόρρω τῶν βωμῶν ἀλλὰ παρ᾽ αὐτοὺς ἐνίοτε, πᾶσαν βλασφημίαν τῶν ἱερῶν καταχέουσιν, ῥήμασί τε καὶ ῥυθμοῖς καὶ γοωδεστάταις ἁρμονίαις συντείνοντες τὰς τῶν ἀκροωμένων ψυχάς, καὶ ὃς ἂν δακρῦσαι μάλιστα τὴν θύσασαν παραχρῆμα ποιήσῃ πόλιν, οὗτος τὰ νικητήρια φέρει. τοῦτον δὴ τὸν νόμον ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀποψηφιζόμεθα; καὶ εἴ ποτ᾽ ἄρα δεῖ τοιούτων οἴκτων γίγνεσθαι τοὺς πολίτας ἐπηκόους, ὁπόταν ἡμέραι μὴ καθαραί τινες ἀλλὰ ἀποφράδες ὦσιν, τόθ᾽ ἥκειν [800ε] δέον ἂν εἴη μᾶλλον χορούς τινας ἔξωθεν μεμισθωμένους ᾠδούς, οἷον οἱ περὶ τοὺς τελευτήσαντας μισθούμενοι Καρικῇ τινι μούσῃ προπέμπουσι τοὺς τελευτήσαντας; τοιοῦτόν που πρέπον ἂν εἴη καὶ περὶ τὰς τοιαύτας ᾠδὰς γιγνόμενον, καὶ δὴ καὶ στολή γέ που ταῖς ἐπικηδείοις ᾠδαῖς οὐ στέφανοι πρέποιεν ἂν οὐδ᾽ ἐπίχρυσοι κόσμοι, πᾶν δὲ τοὐναντίον, ἵν᾽ ὅτι τάχιστα περὶ αὐτῶν λέγων ἀπαλλάττωμαι. τὸ δὲ τοσοῦτον ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς ἐπανερωτῶ πάλιν, τῶν ἐκμαγείων ταῖς ᾠδαῖς εἰ πρῶτον ἓν τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἀρέσκον κείσθω.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

εὐφημία, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ τῆς ᾠδῆς γένος εὔφημον [801α] ἡμῖν πάντῃ πάντως ὑπαρχέτω; ἢ μηδὲν ἐπανερωτῶ, τιθῶ δὲ τοῦτο οὕτως;

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν τίθει: νικᾷ γὰρ πάσαισι ταῖς ψήφοις οὗτος ὁ νόμος.

Ἀθηναῖος

τίς δὴ μετ᾽ εὐφημίαν δεύτερος ἂν εἴη νόμος μουσικῆς; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ εὐχὰς εἶναι τοῖς θεοῖς οἷς θύομεν ἑκάστοτε;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τρίτος δ᾽ οἶμαι νόμος, ὅτι γνόντας δεῖ τοὺς ποιητὰς ὡς εὐχαὶ παρὰ θεῶν αἰτήσεις εἰσίν, δεῖ δὴ τὸν νοῦν αὐτοὺς [801β] σφόδρα προσέχειν μή ποτε λάθωσιν κακὸν ὡς ἀγαθὸν αἰτούμενοι: γελοῖον γὰρ δὴ τὸ πάθος οἶμαι τοῦτ᾽ ἂν γίγνοιτο, εὐχῆς τοιαύτης γενομένης.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἡμεῖς ἔμπροσθεν σμικρὸν τῷ λόγῳ ἐπείσθημεν ὡς οὔτε ἀργυροῦν δεῖ πλοῦτον οὔτε χρυσοῦν ἐν πόλει ἱδρυμένον ἐνοικεῖν;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τίνος οὖν ποτε παράδειγμα εἰρῆσθαι φῶμεν τοῦτον τὸν λόγον; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τοῦδε, ὅτι τὸ τῶν ποιητῶν γένος οὐ πᾶν [801ξ] ἱκανόν ἐστι γιγνώσκειν σφόδρα τά τε ἀγαθὰ καὶ μή; ποιήσας οὖν δήπου τὶς ποιητὴς ῥήμασιν ἢ καὶ κατὰ μέλος τοῦτο ἡμαρτημένον, εὐχὰς οὐκ ὀρθάς, ἡμῖν τοὺς πολίτας περὶ τῶν μεγίστων εὔχεσθαι τἀναντία ποιήσει: καίτοι τούτου, καθάπερ ἐλέγομεν, οὐ πολλὰ ἁμαρτήματα ἀνευρήσομεν μείζω. θῶμεν δὴ καὶ τοῦτον τῶν περὶ μοῦσαν νόμων καὶ τύπων ἕνα;

Κλεινίας

τίνα; σαφέστερον εἰπὲ ἡμῖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸν ποιητὴν παρὰ τὰ τῆς πόλεως νόμιμα καὶ δίκαια [801δ] ἢ καλὰ ἢ ἀγαθὰ μηδὲν ποιεῖν ἄλλο, τὰ δὲ ποιηθέντα μὴ ἐξεῖναι τῶν ἰδιωτῶν μηδενὶ πρότερον δεικνύναι, πρὶν ἂν αὐτοῖς τοῖς περὶ ταῦτα ἀποδεδειγμένοις κριταῖς καὶ τοῖς νομοφύλαξιν δειχθῇ καὶ ἀρέσῃ: σχεδὸν δὲ ἀποδεδειγμένοι εἰσὶν ἡμῖν οὓς εἱλόμεθα νομοθέτας περὶ τὰ μουσικὰ καὶ τὸν τῆς παιδείας ἐπιμελητήν. τί οὖν; ὃ πολλάκις ἐρωτῶ, κείσθω νόμος ἡμῖν καὶ τύπος ἐκμαγεῖόν τε τρίτον τοῦτο; ἢ πῶς δοκεῖ;

Κλεινίας

κείσθω: τί μήν; [801ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

μετά γε μὴν ταῦτα ὕμνοι θεῶν καὶ ἐγκώμια κεκοινωνημένα εὐχαῖς ᾁδοιτ᾽ ἂν ὀρθότατα, καὶ μετὰ θεοὺς ὡσαύτως περὶ δαίμονάς τε καὶ ἥρωας μετ᾽ ἐγκωμίων εὐχαὶ γίγνοιντ᾽ ἂν τούτοις πᾶσιν πρέπουσαι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

μετά γε μὴν ταῦτ᾽ ἤδη νόμος ἄνευ φθόνων εὐθὺς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὅδε: τῶν πολιτῶν ὁπόσοι τέλος ἔχοιεν τοῦ βίου, κατὰ σώματα ἢ κατὰ ψυχὰς ἔργα ἐξειργασμένοι καλὰ καὶ ἐπίπονα καὶ τοῖς νόμοις εὐπειθεῖς γεγονότες, ἐγκωμίων αὐτοὺς τυγχάνειν πρέπον ἂν εἴη.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ; [802α]

Ἀθηναῖος

τούς γε μὴν ἔτι ζῶντας ἐγκωμίοις τε καὶ ὕμνοις τιμᾶν οὐκ ἀσφαλές, πρὶν ἂν ἅπαντά τις τὸν βίον διαδραμὼν τέλος ἐπιστήσηται καλόν: ταῦτα δὲ πάντα ἡμῖν ἔστω κοινὰ ἀνδράσιν τε καὶ γυναιξὶν ἀγαθοῖς καὶ ἀγαθαῖς διαφανῶς γενομένοις. τὰς δὲ ᾠδάς τε καὶ ὀρχήσεις οὑτωσὶ χρὴ καθίστασθαι. πολλὰ ἔστιν παλαιῶν παλαιὰ περὶ μουσικὴν καὶ καλὰ ποιήματα, καὶ δὴ καὶ τοῖς σώμασιν ὀρχήσεις ὡσαύτως, ὧν οὐδεὶς φθόνος ἐκλέξασθαι τῇ καθισταμένῃ [802β] πολιτείᾳ τὸ πρέπον καὶ ἁρμόττον: δοκιμαστὰς δὲ τούτων ἑλομένους τὴν ἐκλογὴν ποιεῖσθαι μὴ νεωτέρους πεντήκοντα ἐτῶν, καὶ ὅτι μὲν ἂν ἱκανὸν εἶναι δόξῃ τῶν παλαιῶν ποιημάτων, ἐγκρίνειν, ὅτι δ᾽ ἂν ἐνδεὲς ἢ τὸ παράπαν ἀνεπιτήδειον, τὸ μὲν ἀποβάλλεσθαι παντάπασιν, τὸ δ᾽ ἐπανερόμενον ἐπιρρυθμίζειν, ποιητικοὺς ἅμα καὶ μουσικοὺς ἄνδρας παραλαβόντας, χρωμένους αὐτῶν ταῖς δυνάμεσιν τῆς ποιήσεως, [802ξ] ταῖς δὲ ἡδοναῖς καὶ ἐπιθυμίαις μὴ ἐπιτρέποντας ἀλλ᾽ ἤ τισιν ὀλίγοις, ἐξηγουμένους δὲ τὰ τοῦ νομοθέτου βουλήματα, ὅτι μάλιστα ὄρχησίν τε καὶ ᾠδὴν καὶ πᾶσαν χορείαν συστήσασθαι κατὰ τὸν αὐτῶν νοῦν. πᾶσα δ᾽ ἄτακτός γε τάξιν λαβοῦσα περὶ μοῦσαν διατριβὴ καὶ μὴ παρατιθεμένης τῆς γλυκείας μούσης ἀμείνων μυρίῳ: τὸ δ᾽ ἡδὺ κοινὸν πάσαις. ἐν ᾗ γὰρ ἂν ἐκ παίδων τις μέχρι τῆς ἑστηκυίας τε καὶ ἔμφρονος ἡλικίας διαβιῷ, σώφρονι μὲν μούσῃ καὶ τεταγμένῃ, [802δ] ἀκούων δὲ τῆς ἐναντίας, μισεῖ καὶ ἀνελεύθερον αὐτὴν προσαγορεύει, τραφεὶς δ᾽ ἐν τῇ κοινῇ καὶ γλυκείᾳ, ψυχρὰν καὶ ἀηδῆ τὴν ταύτῃ ἐναντίαν εἶναί φησιν: ὥστε, ὅπερ ἐρρήθη νυνδή, τό γε τῆς ἡδονῆς ἢ ἀηδίας περὶ ἑκατέρας οὐδὲν πεπλεονέκτηκεν, ἐκ περιττοῦ δὲ ἡ μὲν βελτίους, ἡ δὲ χείρους τοὺς ἐν αὐτῇ τραφέντας ἑκάστοτε παρέχεται.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς εἴρηκας.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔτι δὲ θηλείαις τε πρεπούσας ᾠδὰς ἄρρεσί τε [802ε] χωρίσαι που δέον ἂν εἴη τύπῳ τινὶ διορισάμενον, καὶ ἁρμονίαισιν δὴ καὶ ῥυθμοῖς προσαρμόττειν ἀναγκαῖον: δεινὸν γὰρ ὅλῃ γε ἁρμονίᾳ ἀπᾴδειν ἢ ῥυθμῷ ἀρρυθμεῖν, μηδὲν προσήκοντα τούτων ἑκάστοις ἀποδιδόντα τοῖς μέλεσιν. ἀναγκαῖον δὴ καὶ τούτων τὰ σχήματά γε νομοθετεῖν. ἔστιν δὲ ἀμφοτέροις μὲν ἀμφότερα ἀνάγκῃ κατεχόμενα ἀποδιδόναι, τὰ δὲ τῶν θηλειῶν αὐτῷ τῷ τῆς φύσεως ἑκατέρου διαφέροντι, τούτῳ δεῖ καὶ διασαφεῖν. τὸ δὴ μεγαλοπρεπὲς οὖν καὶ τὸ πρὸς τὴν ἀνδρείαν ῥέπον ἀρρενωπὸν φατέον εἶναι, τὸ δὲ πρὸς τὸ κόσμιον καὶ σῶφρον μᾶλλον ἀποκλῖνον θηλυγενέστερον ὡς ὂν παραδοτέον ἔν τε τῷ νόμῳ καὶ λόγῳ. τάξις μὲν δή [803α] τις αὕτη: τούτων δὲ αὐτῶν διδασκαλία καὶ παράδοσις λεγέσθω τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, τίνα τρόπον χρὴ καὶ οἷστισιν καὶ πότε πράττειν ἕκαστα αὐτῶν. οἷον δή τις ναυπηγὸς τὴν τῆς ναυπηγίας ἀρχὴν καταβαλλόμενος τὰ τροπιδεῖα ὑπογράφεται τῶν πλοίων σχήματα, ταὐτὸν δή μοι κἀγὼ φαίνομαι ἐμαυτῷ δρᾶν, τὰ τῶν βίων πειρώμενος σχήματα διαστήσασθαι κατὰ τρόπους τοὺς τῶν ψυχῶν, ὄντως αὐτῶν τὰ τροπιδεῖα καταβάλλεσθαι, [803β] ποίᾳ μηχανῇ καὶ τίσιν ποτὲ τρόποις συνόντες τὸν βίον ἄριστα διὰ τοῦ πλοῦ τούτου τῆς ζωῆς διακομισθησόμεθα, τοῦτο σκοπεῖν ὀρθῶς. ἔστι δὴ τοίνυν τὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πράγματα μεγάλης μὲν σπουδῆς οὐκ ἄξια, ἀναγκαῖόν γε μὴν σπουδάζειν: τοῦτο δὲ οὐκ εὐτυχές. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐνταῦθά ἐσμεν, εἴ πως διὰ προσήκοντός τινος αὐτὸ πράττοιμεν, ἴσως ἂν ἡμῖν σύμμετρον ἂν εἴη. λέγω δὲ δὴ τί ποτε; ἴσως μεντἄν τίς μοι τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ὑπολαβὼν ὀρθῶς ὑπολάβοι. [803ξ]

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

φημὶ χρῆναι τὸ μὲν σπουδαῖον σπουδάζειν, τὸ δὲ μὴ σπουδαῖον μή, φύσει δὲ εἶναι θεὸν μὲν πάσης μακαρίου σπουδῆς ἄξιον, ἄνθρωπον δέ, ὅπερ εἴπομεν ἔμπροσθεν, θεοῦ τι παίγνιον εἶναι μεμηχανημένον, καὶ ὄντως τοῦτο αὐτοῦ τὸ βέλτιστον γεγονέναι: τούτῳ δὴ δεῖν τῷ τρόπῳ συνεπόμενον καὶ παίζοντα ὅτι καλλίστας παιδιὰς πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα καὶ γυναῖκα οὕτω διαβιῶναι, τοὐναντίον ἢ νῦν διανοηθέντας. [803δ]

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν μέν που τὰς σπουδὰς οἴονται δεῖν ἕνεκα τῶν παιδιῶν γίγνεσθαι: τὰ γὰρ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἡγοῦνται σπουδαῖα ὄντα τῆς εἰρήνης ἕνεκα δεῖν εὖ τίθεσθαι. τὸ δ᾽ ἦν ἐν πολέμῳ μὲν ἄρα οὔτ᾽ οὖν παιδιὰ πεφυκυῖα οὔτ᾽ αὖ παιδεία ποτὲ ἡμῖν ἀξιόλογος, οὔτε οὖσα οὔτ᾽ ἐσομένη, ὃ δή φαμεν ἡμῖν γε εἶναι σπουδαιότατον: δεῖ δὴ τὸν κατ᾽ εἰρήνην βίον ἕκαστον πλεῖστόν τε καὶ ἄριστον διεξελθεῖν. τίς οὖν [803ε] ὀρθότης; παίζοντά ἐστιν διαβιωτέον τινὰς δὴ παιδιάς, θύοντα καὶ ᾁδοντα καὶ ὀρχούμενον, ὥστε τοὺς μὲν θεοὺς ἵλεως αὑτῷ παρασκευάζειν δυνατὸν εἶναι, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐχθροὺς ἀμύνεσθαι καὶ νικᾶν μαχόμενον: ὁποῖα δὲ ᾁδων ἄν τις καὶ ὀρχούμενος ἀμφότερα ταῦτα πράττοι, τὸ μὲν τῶν τύπων εἴρηται καὶ καθάπερ ὁδοὶ τέτμηνται καθ᾽ ἃς ἰτέον, προσδοκῶντα καὶ τὸν ποιητὴν εὖ λέγειν τὸ- [804α] “Τηλέμαχ᾽, ἄλλα μὲν αὐτὸς ἐνὶ φρεσὶ σῇσι νοήσεις,

ἄλλα δὲ καὶ δαίμων ὑποθήσεται: οὐ γὰρ ὀίω

οὔ σε θεῶν ἀέκητι γενέσθαι τε τραφέμεν τε.

“Hom. Od. 3.26ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ τοὺς ἡμετέρους τροφίμους δεῖ διανοουμένους τὰ μὲν εἰρημένα ἀποχρώντως νομίζειν εἰρῆσθαι, τὰ δὲ καὶ τὸν δαίμονά τε καὶ θεὸν αὐτοῖσιν ὑποθήσεσθαι θυσιῶν τε πέρι [804β] καὶ χορειῶν, οἷστισί τε καὶ ὁπότε ἕκαστα ἑκάστοις προσπαίζοντές τε καὶ ἱλεούμενοι κατὰ τὸν τρόπον τῆς φύσεως διαβιώσονται, θαύματα ὄντες τὸ πολύ, σμικρὰ δὲ ἀληθείας ἄττα μετέχοντες.

Μέγιλλος

παντάπασι τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος ἡμῖν, ὦ ξένε, διαφαυλίζεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

μὴ θαυμάσῃς, ὦ Μέγιλλε, ἀλλὰ σύγγνωθί μοι: πρὸς γὰρ τὸν θεὸν ἀπιδὼν καὶ παθὼν εἶπον ὅπερ εἴρηκα νῦν. ἔστω δ᾽ οὖν τὸ γένος ἡμῶν μὴ φαῦλον, εἴ σοι φίλον, σπουδῆς δέ [804ξ] τινος ἄξιον.

τὸ δ᾽ ἑξῆς τούτοις, οἰκοδομίαι μὲν εἴρηνται γυμνασίων ἅμα καὶ διδασκαλείων κοινῶν τριχῇ κατὰ μέσην τὴν πόλιν, ἔξωθεν δὲ ἵππων αὖ τριχῇ περὶ τὸ ἄστυ γυμνάσιά τε καὶ εὐρυχώρια, τοξικῆς τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀκροβολισμῶν ἕνεκα διακεκοσμημένα, μαθήσεώς τε ἅμα καὶ μελέτης τῶν νέων: εἰ δ᾽ ἄρα μὴ τότε ἱκανῶς ἐρρήθησαν, νῦν εἰρήσθω τῷ λόγῳ μετὰ νόμων. ἐν δὲ τούτοις πᾶσιν διδασκάλους ἑκάστων πεπεισμένους [804δ] μισθοῖς οἰκοῦντας ξένους διδάσκειν τε πάντα ὅσα πρὸς τὸν πόλεμόν ἐστιν μαθήματα τοὺς φοιτῶντας ὅσα τε πρὸς μουσικήν, οὐχ ὃν μὲν ἂν ὁ πατὴρ βούληται, φοιτῶντα, ὃν δ᾽ ἂν μή, ἐῶντα τὰς παιδείας, ἀλλὰ τὸ λεγόμενον πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα καὶ παῖδα κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν, ὡς τῆς πόλεως μᾶλλον ἢ τῶν γεννητόρων ὄντας, παιδευτέον ἐξ ἀνάγκης. τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ δὴ καὶ περὶ θηλειῶν ὁ μὲν ἐμὸς νόμος ἂν εἴποι πάντα ὅσαπερ [804ε] καὶ περὶ τῶν ἀρρένων, ἴσα καὶ τὰς θηλείας ἀσκεῖν δεῖν: καὶ οὐδὲν φοβηθεὶς εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν τοῦτον τὸν λόγον οὔτε ἱππικῆς οὔτε γυμναστικῆς, ὡς ἀνδράσι μὲν πρέπον ἂν εἴη, γυναιξὶ δὲ οὐκ ἂν πρέπον. ἀκούων μὲν γὰρ δὴ μύθους παλαιοὺς πέπεισμαι, τὰ δὲ νῦν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οἶδα ὅτι μυριάδες ἀναρίθμητοι γυναικῶν εἰσι τῶν περὶ τὸν Πόντον, ἃς Σαυρομάτιδας [805α] καλοῦσιν, αἷς οὐχ ἵππων μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ τόξων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὅπλων κοινωνία καὶ τοῖς ἀνδράσιν ἴση προστεταγμένη ἴσως ἀσκεῖται. λογισμὸν δὲ πρὸς τούτοις περὶ τούτων τοιόνδε τινὰ ἔχω: φημί, εἴπερ ταῦτα οὕτω συμβαίνειν ἐστὶν δυνατά, πάντων ἀνοητότατα τὰ νῦν ἐν τοῖς παρ᾽ ἡμῖν τόποις γίγνεσθαι τὸ μὴ πάσῃ ῥώμῃ πάντας ὁμοθυμαδὸν ἐπιτηδεύειν ἄνδρας γυναιξὶν ταὐτά. σχεδὸν γὰρ ὀλίγου πᾶσα ἡμίσεια πόλις ἀντὶ διπλασίας οὕτως ἔστιν τε καὶ γίγνεται ἐκ τῶν [805β] αὐτῶν τελῶν καὶ πόνων: καίτοι θαυμαστὸν ἂν ἁμάρτημα νομοθέτῃ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ γίγνοιτο.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικέν γε: ἔστι μέντοι πάμπολλα ἡμῖν, ὦ ξένε, παρὰ τὰς εἰωθυίας πολιτείας τῶν νῦν λεγομένων. ἀλλὰ γὰρ εἰπὼν τὸν μὲν λόγον ἐᾶσαι διεξελθεῖν, εὖ διελθόντος δέ, οὕτω τὸ δοκοῦν αἱρεῖσθαι δεῖν, μάλα εἶπές τε ἐμμελῶς, πεποίηκάς τέ με τὰ νῦν αὐτὸν ἐμαυτῷ ἐπιπλήττειν ὅτι ταῦτα εἴρηκα: [805ξ] λέγε οὖν τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα ὅτι σοι κεχαρισμένον ἐστίν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τόδε ἔμοιγε, ὦ Κλεινία, ὃ καὶ πρόσθεν εἶπον, ὡς, εἰ μὲν ταῦτα ἦν μὴ ἱκανῶς ἔργοις ἐληλεγμένα ὅτι δυνατά ἐστι γίγνεσθαι, τάχα ἦν ἄν τι καὶ ἀντειπεῖν τῷ λόγῳ, νῦν δὲ ἄλλο τί που ζητητέον ἐκείνῳ τῷ τοῦτον τὸν νόμον μηδαμῇ δεχομένῳ, τὸ δ᾽ ἡμέτερον διακέλευμα ἐν τούτοις οὐκ ἀποσβήσεται τὸ μὴ οὐ λέγειν ὡς δεῖ παιδείας τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὅτι [805δ] μάλιστα κοινωνεῖν τὸ θῆλυ γένος ἡμῖν τῷ τῶν ἀρρένων γένει. καὶ γὰρ οὖν οὑτωσί πως δεῖ περὶ αὐτῶν διανοηθῆναι. φέρε, μὴ μετεχουσῶν ἀνδράσι γυναικῶν κοινῇ τῆς ζωῆς πάσης, μῶν οὐκ ἀνάγκη γενέσθαι γέ τινα τάξιν ἑτέραν αὐταῖς;

Κλεινίας

ἀνάγκη μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τίνα οὖν ἔμπροσθεν τῶν νῦν ἀποδεδειγμένων θεῖμεν ἂν τῆς κοινωνίας ταύτης ἣν νῦν αὐταῖς ἡμεῖς προστάττομεν; πότερον ἣν Θρᾷκες ταῖς γυναιξὶν χρῶνται καὶ πολλὰ ἕτερα [805ε] γένη, γεωργεῖν τε καὶ βουκολεῖν καὶ ποιμαίνειν καὶ διακονεῖν μηδὲν διαφερόντως τῶν δούλων; ἢ καθάπερ ἡμεῖς ἅπαντές τε οἱ περὶ τὸν τόπον ἐκεῖνον; νῦν γὰρ δὴ τό γε παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ὧδέ ἐστιν περὶ τούτων γιγνόμενον: εἴς τινα μίαν οἴκησιν συμφορήσαντες, τὸ λεγόμενον, πάντα χρήματα, παρέδομεν ταῖς γυναιξὶν διαταμιεύειν τε καὶ κερκίδων ἄρχειν καὶ πάσης ταλασίας. ἢ τὸ τούτων δὴ διὰ μέσου φῶμεν, ὦ Μέγιλλε, [806α] τὸ Λακωνικόν; κόρας μὲν γυμνασίων μετόχους οὔσας ἅμα καὶ μουσικῆς ζῆν δεῖν, γυναῖκας δὲ ἀργοὺς μὲν ταλασίας, ἀσκητικὸν δέ τινα βίον καὶ οὐδαμῶς φαῦλον οὐδ᾽ εὐτελῆ διαπλέκειν, θεραπείας δὲ καὶ ταμιείας αὖ καὶ παιδοτροφίας εἴς τι μέσον ἀφικνεῖσθαι, τῶν δ᾽ εἰς τὸν πόλεμον μὴ κοινωνούσας, ὥστε οὐδ᾽ εἴ τίς ποτε διαμάχεσθαι περὶ πόλεώς τε καὶ παίδων ἀναγκαία τύχη γίγνοιτο, οὔτ᾽ ἂν τόξων, ὥς τινες [806β] Ἀμαζόνες, οὔτ᾽ ἄλλης κοινωνῆσαί ποτε βολῆς μετὰ τέχνης δυνάμεναι, οὐδὲ ἀσπίδα καὶ δόρυ λαβοῦσαι μιμήσασθαι τὴν θεόν, ὡς πορθουμένης αὐταῖς τῆς πατρίδος γενναίως ἀντιστάσας, φόβον γε, εἰ μηδὲν μεῖζον, πολεμίοισι δύνασθαι παρασχεῖν ἐν τάξει τινὶ κατοφθείσας; Σαυρομάτιδας δὲ οὐδ᾽ ἂν τὸ παράπαν τολμήσειαν μιμήσασθαι τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον διαβιοῦσαι, παρὰ γυναῖκας δὲ αὐτὰς ἄνδρες ἂν αἱ ἐκείνων [806ξ] γυναῖκες φανεῖεν. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ὑμῶν τοὺς νομοθέτας ὁ μὲν βουλόμενος ἐπαινεῖν ἐπαινείτω, τὸ δ᾽ ἐμὸν οὐκ ἄλλως ἂν λεχθείη: τέλεον γὰρ καὶ οὐ διήμισυν δεῖν τὸν νομοθέτην εἶναι, τὸ θῆλυ μὲν ἀφιέντα τρυφᾶν καὶ ἀναλίσκειν διαίταις ἀτάκτως χρώμενον, τοῦ δὲ ἄρρενος ἐπιμεληθέντα, τελέως σχεδὸν εὐδαίμονος ἥμισυ βίου καταλείπειν ἀντὶ διπλασίου τῇ πόλει.

Μέγιλλος

τί δράσομεν, ὦ Κλεινία; τὸν ξένον ἐάσομεν τὴν Σπάρτην ἡμῖν οὕτω καταδραμεῖν; [806δ]

Κλεινίας

ναί: δεδομένης γὰρ αὐτῷ παρρησίας ἐατέον, ἕως ἂν διεξέλθωμεν πάντῃ ἱκανῶς τοὺς νόμους.

Μέγιλλος

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα ἤδη σχεδὸν ἐμὸν πειρᾶσθαι φράζειν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τίς δὴ τρόπος ἀνθρώποις γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τοῦ βίου, οἷσιν τὰ μὲν ἀναγκαῖα εἴη κατεσκευασμένα μέτρια, τὰ δὲ τῶν τεχνῶν ἄλλοις παραδεδομένα, γεωργίαι δὲ ἐκδεδομέναι [806ε] δούλοις ἀπαρχὴν τῶν ἐκ τῆς γῆς ἀποτελοῦσιν ἱκανὴν ἀνθρώποις ζῶσι κοσμίως, συσσίτια δὲ κατεσκευασμένα εἴη χωρὶς μὲν τὰ τῶν ἀνδρῶν, ἐγγὺς δ᾽ ἐχόμενα τὰ τῶν αὐτοῖς οἰκείων, παίδων τε ἅμα θηλειῶν καὶ τῶν μητέρων αὐταῖς, ἄρχουσιν δὲ καὶ ἀρχούσαις εἴη προστεταγμένα λύειν ταῦτα ἑκάστοις τὰ συσσίτια πάντα, καθ᾽ ἑκάστην ἡμέραν θεασαμένους καὶ ἰδόντας τὴν διαγωγὴν τὴν τῶν συσσίτων, μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα [807α] σπείσαντας τόν τε ἄρχοντα καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους οἷς ἂν τυγχάνῃ θεοῖς ἡ τότε νύξ τε καὶ ἡμέρα καθιερωμένη, κατὰ ταῦτα οὕτως οἴκαδε πορεύεσθαι; τοῖς δὴ ταύτῃ κεκοσμημένοις ἆρα οὐδὲν λειπόμενόν ἐστιν ἀναγκαῖόν τε ἔργον καὶ παντάπασι προσῆκον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν τρόπῳ βοσκήματος ἕκαστον πιαινόμενον αὐτῶν δεῖ ζῆν; οὔκουν τό γε δίκαιόν φαμεν οὐδὲ καλόν, οὐδ᾽ οἷόν τε τὸν ζῶντα οὕτως ἀτυχῆσαι τοῦ προσήκοντος, προσήκει [807β] δὲ ἀργῷ καὶ ῥᾳθύμως καταπεπιασμένῳ ζῴῳ σχεδὸν ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου διαρπασθῆναι ζῴου τῶν σφόδρα τετρυχωμένων μετὰ ἀνδρείας τε ἅμα καὶ τῶν πόνων. ταῦτα οὖν δὴ δι᾽ ἀκριβείας μὲν ἱκανῆς, ὡς καὶ νῦν, εἰ ζητοῖμεν ἄν, ἴσως οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο, μέχριπερ ἂν γυναῖκές τε καὶ παῖδες οἰκήσεις τε ἴδιαι καὶ ἰδίως ἅπαντ᾽ ᾖ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἑκάστοις ἡμῶν κατεσκευασμένα: τὰ δὲ μετ᾽ ἐκεῖν᾽ αὖ δεύτερα τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα εἰ [807ξ] γίγνοιτο ἡμῖν, γίγνοιτο ἂν καὶ μάλα μετρίως. ἔργον δὲ δὴ τοῖς οὕτω ζῶσίν φαμεν οὐ τὸ σμικρότατον οὐδὲ τὸ φαυλότατον λείπεσθαι, μέγιστον δὲ πάντων εἶναι προστεταγμένον ὑπὸ δικαίου νόμου: τοῦ γὰρ πᾶσαν τῶν ἄλλων πάντων ἔργων βίου ἀσχολίαν παρασκευάζοντος, τοῦ Πυθιάδος τε καὶ Ὀλυμπιάδος νίκης ὀρεγομένου, διπλασίας τε καὶ ἔτι πολλῷ πλέονος ἀσχολίας ἐστὶν γέμων ὁ περὶ τὴν τοῦ σώματος πάντως καὶ ψυχῆς εἰς ἀρετῆς ἐπιμέλειαν βίος εἰρημένος [807δ] ὀρθότατα. πάρεργον γὰρ οὐδὲν δεῖ τῶν ἄλλων ἔργων διακώλυμα γίγνεσθαι τῶν τῷ σώματι προσηκόντων εἰς ἀπόδοσιν πόνων καὶ τροφῆς, οὐδ᾽ αὖ ψυχῇ μαθημάτων τε καὶ ἐθῶν, πᾶσα δὲ νύξ τε καὶ ἡμέρα σχεδὸν οὐκ ἔστιν ἱκανὴ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ πράττοντι τὸ τέλεόν τε καὶ ἱκανὸν αὐτῶν ἐκλαμβάνειν: οὕτω δὴ τούτων πεφυκότων, τάξιν δεῖ γίγνεσθαι πᾶσιν τοῖς ἐλευθέροις τῆς διατριβῆς περὶ τὸν χρόνον ἅπαντα, σχεδὸν [807ε] ἀρξάμενον ἐξ ἕω μέχρι τῆς ἑτέρας ἀεὶ συνεχῶς ἕω τε καὶ ἡλίου ἀνατολῆς. πολλὰ μὲν οὖν καὶ πυκνὰ καὶ σμικρὰ λέγων ἄν τις νομοθέτης ἀσχήμων φαίνοιτο περὶ τῶν κατ᾽ οἰκίαν διοικήσεων, τά τε ἄλλα καὶ ὅσα νύκτωρ ἀυπνίας πέρι πρέπει τοῖς μέλλουσιν διὰ τέλους φυλάξειν πᾶσαν πόλιν ἀκριβῶς. τὸ γὰρ ὅλην διατελεῖν ἡντινοῦν νύκτα εὕδοντα καὶ ὁντινοῦν τῶν πολιτῶν, καὶ μὴ φανερὸν εἶναι πᾶσι τοῖς οἰκέταις ἐγειρόμενόν [808α] τε καὶ ἐξανιστάμενον ἀεὶ πρῶτον, τοῦτο αἰσχρὸν δεῖ δεδόχθαι πᾶσι καὶ οὐκ ἐλευθέρου, εἴτ᾽ οὖν νόμον εἴτ᾽ ἐπιτήδευμα τὸ τοιοῦτον καλεῖν ἐστιν χρεών: καὶ δὴ καὶ δέσποιναν ἐν οἰκίᾳ ὑπὸ θεραπαινίδων ἐγείρεσθαί τινων καὶ μὴ πρώτην αὐτὴν ἐγείρειν τὰς ἄλλας, αἰσχρὸν λέγειν χρὴ πρὸς αὑτοὺς δοῦλόν τε καὶ δούλην καὶ παῖδα, καὶ εἴ πως ἦν οἷόν τε, ὅλην καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν οἰκίαν. ἐγειρομένους δὲ νύκτωρ δεῖ πάντας [808β] πράττειν τῶν τε πολιτικῶν μέρη πολλὰ καὶ τῶν οἰκονομικῶν, ἄρχοντας μὲν κατὰ πόλιν, δεσποίνας δὲ καὶ δεσπότας ἐν ἰδίαις οἰκίαις. ὕπνος γὰρ δὴ πολὺς οὔτε τοῖς σώμασιν οὔτε ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἡμῶν οὐδ᾽ αὖ ταῖς πράξεσιν ταῖς περὶ ταῦτα πάντα ἁρμόττων ἐστὶν κατὰ φύσιν. καθεύδων γὰρ οὐδεὶς οὐδενὸς ἄξιος, οὐδὲν μᾶλλον τοῦ μὴ ζῶντος: ἀλλ᾽ ὅστις τοῦ ζῆν ἡμῶν καὶ τοῦ φρονεῖν μάλιστά ἐστι κηδεμών, ἐγρήγορε [808ξ] χρόνον ὡς πλεῖστον, τὸ πρὸς ὑγίειαν αὐτοῦ μόνον φυλάττων χρήσιμον, ἔστιν δὲ οὐ πολύ, καλῶς εἰς ἔθος ἰόν. ἐγρηγορότες δὲ ἄρχοντες ἐν πόλεσιν νύκτωρ φοβεροὶ μὲν κακοῖς, πολεμίοις τε ἅμα καὶ πολίταις, ἀγαστοὶ δὲ καὶ τίμιοι τοῖς δικαίοις τε καὶ σώφροσιν, ὠφέλιμοι δὲ αὑτοῖς τε καὶ συμπάσῃ τῇ πόλει.

νὺξ μὲν δὴ διαγομένη τοιαύτη τις πρὸς πᾶσι τοῖς εἰρημένοις ἀνδρείαν ἄν τινα προσπαρέχοιτο ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἑκάστων [808δ] τῶν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν: ἡμέρας δὲ ὄρθρου τε ἐπανιόντων παῖδας μὲν πρὸς διδασκάλους που τρέπεσθαι χρεών, ἄνευ ποιμένος δὲ οὔτε πρόβατα οὔτ᾽ ἄλλο οὐδέν πω βιωτέον, οὐδὲ δὴ παῖδας ἄνευ τινῶν παιδαγωγῶν οὐδὲ δούλους ἄνευ δεσποτῶν. ὁ δὲ παῖς πάντων θηρίων ἐστὶ δυσμεταχειριστότατον: ὅσῳ γὰρ μάλιστα ἔχει πηγὴν τοῦ φρονεῖν μήπω κατηρτυμένην, ἐπίβουλον καὶ δριμὺ καὶ ὑβριστότατον θηρίων γίγνεται. διὸ δὴ [808ε] πολλοῖς αὐτὸ οἷον χαλινοῖς τισιν δεῖ δεσμεύειν, πρῶτον μέν, τροφῶν καὶ μητέρων ὅταν ἀπαλλάττηται, παιδαγωγοῖς παιδίας καὶ νηπιότητος χάριν, ἔτι δ᾽ αὖ τοῖς διδάσκουσιν καὶ ὁτιοῦν καὶ μαθήμασιν ὡς ἐλεύθερον: ὡς δ᾽ αὖ δοῦλον, πᾶς ὁ προστυγχάνων τῶν ἐλευθέρων ἀνδρῶν κολαζέτω τόν τε παῖδα αὐτὸν καὶ τὸν παιδαγωγὸν καὶ διδάσκαλον, ἐὰν ἐξαμαρτάνῃ τίς τι τούτων. ἂν δ᾽ αὖ προστυγχάνων τις μὴ κολάζῃ τῇ δίκῃ, ὀνείδει μὲν ἐνεχέσθω πρῶτον τῷ μεγίστῳ, ὁ δὲ τῶν νομοφυλάκων [809α] ἐπὶ τὴν τῶν παίδων ἀρχὴν ᾑρημένος ἐπισκοπείτω τοῦτον τὸν ἐντυγχάνοντα οἷς λέγομεν καὶ μὴ κολάζοντα δέον κολάζειν, ἢ κολάζοντα μὴ κατὰ τρόπον, βλέπων δὲ ἡμῖν ὀξὺ καὶ διαφερόντως ἐπιμελούμενος τῆς τῶν παίδων τροφῆς κατευθυνέτω τὰς φύσεις αὐτῶν, ἀεὶ τρέπων πρὸς τἀγαθὸν κατὰ νόμους. τοῦτον δὲ αὐτὸν αὖ πῶς ἂν ἡμῖν ὁ νόμος αὐτὸς παιδεύσειεν ἱκανῶς; νῦν μὲν γὰρ δὴ εἴρηκεν οὐδέν πω [809β] σαφὲς οὐδὲ ἱκανόν, ἀλλὰ τὰ μέν, τὰ δ᾽ οὔ: δεῖ δὲ εἰς δύναμιν μηδὲν παραλείπειν αὐτῷ, πάντα δὲ λόγον ἀφερμηνεύειν, ἵνα οὗτος τοῖς ἄλλοις μηνυτής τε ἅμα καὶ τροφεὺς γίγνηται. τὰ μὲν οὖν δὴ χορείας πέρι μελῶν τε καὶ ὀρχήσεως ἐρρήθη, τίνα τύπον ἔχοντα ἐκλεκτέα τέ ἐστιν καὶ ἐπανορθωτέα καὶ καθιερωτέα: τὰ δὲ ἐν γράμμασι μὲν ὄντα, ἄνευ δὲ μέτρων, ποῖα καὶ τίνα μεταχειρίζεσθαι χρή σοι τρόπον, ὦ ἄριστε τῶν [809ξ] παίδων ἐπιμελητά, τοὺς ὑπὸ σοῦ τρεφομένους, οὐκ εἰρήκαμεν. καίτοι τὰ μὲν περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἃ δεῖ μανθάνειν τε αὐτοὺς καὶ μελετᾶν ἔχεις τῷ λόγῳ, τὰ δὲ περὶ τὰ γράμματα πρῶτον, καὶ δεύτερον λύρας πέρι καὶ λογισμῶν, ὧν ἔφαμεν δεῖν ὅσα τε πρὸς πόλεμον καὶ οἰκονομίαν καὶ τὴν κατὰ πόλιν διοίκησιν χρῆναι ἑκάστους λαβεῖν, καὶ πρὸς τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἔτι τὰ χρήσιμα τῶν ἐν ταῖς περιόδοις τῶν θείων, ἄστρων τε πέρι καὶ ἡλίου καὶ σελήνης, ὅσα διοικεῖν ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστιν περὶ [809δ] ταῦτα πάσῃ πόλει-τίνων δὴ πέρι λέγομεν; ἡμερῶν τάξεως εἰς μηνῶν περιόδους καὶ μηνῶν εἰς ἕκαστον τὸν ἐνιαυτόν, ἵνα ὧραι καὶ θυσίαι καὶ ἑορταὶ τὰ προσήκοντ᾽ ἀπολαμβάνουσαι ἑαυταῖς ἕκασται τῷ κατὰ φύσιν ἄγεσθαι, ζῶσαν τὴν πόλιν καὶ ἐγρηγορυῖαν παρεχόμεναι, θεοῖς μὲν τὰς τιμὰς ἀποδιδῶσιν, τοὺς δὲ ἀνθρώπους περὶ αὐτὰ μᾶλλον ἔμφρονας ἀπεργάζωνται-ταῦτα οὔπω σοι πάντα ἱκανῶς, ὦ φίλε, παρὰ [809ε] τοῦ νομοθέτου διείρηται: πρόσεχε δὴ τὸν νοῦν τοῖς μετὰ ταῦτα μέλλουσιν ῥηθήσεσθαι. γραμμάτων εἴπομεν ὡς οὐχ ἱκανῶς ἔχεις πέρι τὸ πρῶτον, ἐπικαλοῦντες τί τῇ λέξει; τόδε, ὡς οὔπω διείρηκέ σοι πότερον εἰς ἀκρίβειαν τοῦ μαθήματος ἰτέον τὸν μέλλοντα πολίτην ἔσεσθαι μέτριον ἢ τὸ παράπαν οὐδὲ προσοιστέον: ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως καὶ περὶ λύραν. προσοιστέον μέντοι νῦν φαμεν. εἰς μὲν γράμματα παιδὶ δεκετεῖ σχεδὸν ἐνιαυτοὶ τρεῖς, λύρας δὲ ἅψασθαι τρία μὲν ἔτη καὶ δέκα [810α] γεγονόσιν ἄρχεσθαι μέτριος ὁ χρόνος, ἐμμεῖναι δὲ ἕτερα τρία. καὶ μήτε πλείω τούτων μήτ᾽ ἐλάττω πατρὶ μηδ᾽ αὐτῷ, φιλομαθοῦντι μηδὲ μισοῦντι, περὶ ταῦτα ἐξέστω μείζω μηδὲ ἐλάττω διατριβὴν ποιεῖσθαι παράνομον: ὁ δὲ μὴ πειθόμενος ἄτιμος τῶν παιδείων ἔστω τιμῶν, ἃς ὀλίγον ὕστερον ῥητέον. μανθάνειν δὲ ἐν τούτοις τοῖς χρόνοις δὴ τί ποτε δεῖ τοὺς νέους καὶ διδάσκειν αὖ τοὺς διδασκάλους, τοῦτο αὐτὸ πρῶτον [810β] μάνθανε. γράμματα μὲν τοίνυν χρὴ τὸ μέχρι τοῦ γράψαι τε καὶ ἀναγνῶναι δυνατὸν εἶναι διαπονεῖν: πρὸς τάχος δὲ ἢ κάλλος ἀπηκριβῶσθαί τισιν, οἷς μὴ φύσις ἐπέσπευσεν ἐν τοῖς τεταγμένοις ἔτεσιν, χαίρειν ἐᾶν. πρὸς δὲ δὴ μαθήματα ἄλυρα ποιητῶν κείμενα ἐν γράμμασι, τοῖς μὲν μετὰ μέτρων, τοῖς δ᾽ ἄνευ ῥυθμῶν τμημάτων, ἃ δὴ συγγράμματα κατὰ λόγον εἰρημένα μόνον, τητώμενα ῥυθμοῦ τε καὶ ἁρμονίας, σφαλερὰ [810ξ] γράμμαθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐστιν παρά τινων τῶν πολλῶν τοιούτων ἀνθρώπων καταλελειμμένα: οἷς, ὦ πάντων βέλτιστοι νομοφύλακες, τί χρήσεσθε; ἢ τί ποθ᾽ ὑμῖν ὁ νομοθέτης χρῆσθαι προστάξας ὀρθῶς ἂν τάξειε; καὶ μάλα ἀπορήσειν αὐτὸν προσδοκῶ.

Κλεινίας

τί ποτε τοῦτο, ὦ ξένε, φαίνῃ πρὸς σαυτὸν ὄντως ἠπορηκὼς λέγειν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὀρθῶς ὑπέλαβες, ὦ Κλεινία. πρὸς δὲ δὴ κοινωνοὺς ὑμᾶς ὄντας περὶ νόμων ἀνάγκη τό τε φαινόμενον εὔπορον καὶ τὸ μὴ φράζειν. [810δ]

Κλεινίας

τί οὖν; τί περὶ τούτων νῦν καὶ ποῖόν τι πεπονθὼς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐρῶ δή: στόμασι γὰρ πολλάκις μυρίοις ἐναντία λέγειν οὐδαμῶς εὔπορον.

Κλεινίας

τί δέ; σμικρὰ καὶ ὀλίγα δοκεῖ σοι τὰ ἔμπροσθεν ἡμῖν εἰρημένα περὶ νόμων κεῖσθαι τοῖς πολλοῖς ὑπεναντία;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μάλα ἀληθὲς τοῦτό γε λέγεις: κελεύεις γὰρ δή με, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνεται, τῆς αὐτῆς ὁδοῦ ἐχθοδοποῦ γεγονυίας πολλοῖς-ἴσως δ᾽ οὐκ ἐλάττοσιν ἑτέροις προσφιλοῦς: εἰ δὲ [810ε] ἐλάττοσιν, οὔκουν χείροσί γε-μεθ᾽ ὧν διακελεύῃ με παρακινδυνεύοντά τε καὶ θαρροῦντα τὴν νῦν ἐκ τῶν παρόντων λόγων τετμημένην ὁδὸν τῆς νομοθεσίας πορεύεσθαι μηδὲν ἀνιέντα.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ τοίνυν ἀνίημι. λέγω μὴν ὅτι ποιηταί τε ἡμῖν εἰσίν τινες ἐπῶν ἑξαμέτρων πάμπολλοι καὶ τριμέτρων καὶ πάντων δὴ τῶν λεγομένων μέτρων, οἱ μὲν ἐπὶ σπουδήν, οἱ δ᾽ ἐπὶ γέλωτα ὡρμηκότες, ἐν οἷς φασι δεῖν οἱ πολλάκις μυρίοι τοὺς ὀρθῶς παιδευομένους τῶν νέων τρέφειν καὶ διακορεῖς ποιεῖν, πολυηκόους τ᾽ ἐν ταῖς ἀναγνώσεσιν ποιοῦντας καὶ [811α] πολυμαθεῖς, ὅλους ποιητὰς ἐκμανθάνοντας: οἱ δὲ ἐκ πάντων κεφάλαια ἐκλέξαντες καί τινας ὅλας ῥήσεις εἰς ταὐτὸν συναγαγόντες, ἐκμανθάνειν φασὶ δεῖν εἰς μνήμην τιθεμένους, εἰ μέλλει τις ἀγαθὸς ἡμῖν καὶ σοφὸς ἐκ πολυπειρίας καὶ πολυμαθίας γενέσθαι. τούτοις δὴ σὺ κελεύεις ἐμὲ τὰ νῦν παρρησιαζόμενον ἀποφαίνεσθαι τί τε καλῶς λέγουσι καὶ τί μή;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δή ποτ᾽ ἂν οὖν περὶ ἁπάντων τούτων ἑνὶ λόγῳ [811β] φράζων εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν ἱκανόν; οἶμαι μὲν τὸ τοιόνδε σχεδόν, ὃ καὶ πᾶς ἄν μοι συγχωρήσειεν, πολλὰ μὲν ἕκαστον τούτων εἰρηκέναι καλῶς, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ τοὐναντίον: εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω τοῦτ᾽ ἔχει, κίνδυνόν φημι εἶναι φέρουσαν τοῖς παισὶν τὴν πολυμαθίαν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς οὖν καὶ τί παραινοίης ἂν τῷ νομοφύλακι;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦ πέρι λέγεις;

Κλεινίας

τοῦ πρὸς τί παράδειγμά ποτε ἀποβλέψας ἂν τὸ μὲν [811ξ] ἐῴη πάντας μανθάνειν τοὺς νέους, τὸ δ᾽ ἀποκωλύοι. λέγε καὶ μηδὲν ἀπόκνει λέγων.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὠγαθὲ Κλεινία, κινδυνεύω κατά γέ τινα τρόπον ηὐτυχηκέναι.

Κλεινίας

τοῦ δὴ πέρι;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦ μὴ παντάπασι παραδείγματος ἀπορεῖν. νῦν γὰρ ἀποβλέψας πρὸς τοὺς λόγους οὓς ἐξ ἕω μέχρι δεῦρο δὴ διεληλύθαμεν ἡμεῖς-ὡς μὲν ἐμοὶ φαινόμεθα, οὐκ ἄνευ τινὸς ἐπιπνοίας θεῶν-ἔδοξαν δ᾽ οὖν μοι παντάπασι ποιήσει τινὶ προσομοίως εἰρῆσθαι. καί μοι ἴσως οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν πάθος [811δ] ἐπῆλθε, λόγους οἰκείους οἷον ἁθρόους ἐπιβλέψαντι μάλα ἡσθῆναι: τῶν γὰρ δὴ πλείστων λόγων οὓς ἐν ποιήμασιν ἢ χύδην οὕτως εἰρημένους μεμάθηκα καὶ ἀκήκοα, πάντων μοι μετριώτατοί γε εἶναι κατεφάνησαν καὶ προσήκοντες τὰ μάλιστα ἀκούειν νέοις. τῷ δὴ νομοφύλακί τε καὶ παιδευτῇ παράδειγμα οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιμι, ὡς οἶμαι, τούτου βέλτιον φράζειν, ἢ ταῦτά τε διδάσκειν παρακελεύεσθαι τοῖσι διδασκάλοις [811ε] τοὺς παῖδας, τά τε τούτων ἐχόμενα καὶ ὅμοια, ἂν ἄρα που περιτυγχάνῃ ποιητῶν τε ποιήματα διεξιὼν καὶ γεγραμμένα καταλογάδην ἢ καὶ ψιλῶς οὕτως ἄνευ τοῦ γεγράφθαι λεγόμενα, ἀδελφά που τούτων τῶν λόγων, μὴ μεθιέναι τρόπῳ μηδενί, γράφεσθαι δέ: καὶ πρῶτον μὲν τοὺς διδασκάλους αὐτοὺς ἀναγκάζειν μανθάνειν καὶ ἐπαινεῖν, οὓς δ᾽ ἂν μὴ ἀρέσκῃ τῶν διδασκάλων, μὴ χρῆσθαι τούτοις συνεργοῖς, οὓς δ᾽ ἂν τῷ ἐπαίνῳ συμψήφους ἔχῃ, τούτοις χρώμενον, τοὺς [812α] νέους αὐτοῖς παραδιδόναι διδάσκειν τε καὶ παιδεύειν. οὗτός μοι μῦθος ἐνταῦθα καὶ οὕτω τελευτάτω, περὶ γραμματιστῶν τε εἰρημένος ἅμα καὶ γραμμάτων.

Κλεινίας

κατὰ μὲν τὴν ὑπόθεσιν, ὦ ξένε, ἔμοιγε οὐ φαινόμεθα ἐκτὸς πορεύεσθαι τῶν ὑποτεθέντων λόγων: εἰ δὲ τὸ ὅλον κατορθοῦμεν ἢ μή, χαλεπὸν ἴσως διισχυρίζεσθαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

τότε γάρ, ὦ Κλεινία, τοῦτό γ᾽ αὐτὸ ἔσται καταφανέστερον, ὡς εἰκός, ὅταν, ὃ πολλάκις εἰρήκαμεν, ἐπὶ τέλος ἀφικώμεθα πάσης τῆς διεξόδου περὶ νόμων. [812β]

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ μετὰ τὸν γραμματιστὴν ὁ κιθαριστὴς ἡμῖν προσρητέος;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῖς κιθαρισταῖς μὲν τοίνυν ἡμᾶς δοκῶ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν λόγων ἀναμνησθέντας τὸ προσῆκον νεῖμαι τῆς τε διδασκαλίας ἅμα καὶ πάσης τῆς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα παιδεύσεως.

Κλεινίας

ποίων δὴ πέρι λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔφαμεν, οἶμαι, τοὺς τοῦ Διονύσου τοὺς ἑξηκοντούτας ᾠδοὺς διαφερόντως εὐαισθήτους δεῖν γεγονέναι περί [812ξ] τε τοὺς ῥυθμοὺς καὶ τὰς τῶν ἁρμονιῶν συστάσεις, ἵνα τὴν τῶν μελῶν μίμησιν τὴν εὖ καὶ τὴν κακῶς μεμιμημένην, ἐν τοῖς παθήμασιν ὅταν ψυχὴ γίγνηται, τά τε τῆς ἀγαθῆς ὁμοιώματα καὶ τὰ τῆς ἐναντίας ἐκλέξασθαι δυνατὸς ὤν τις, τὰ μὲν ἀποβάλλῃ, τὰ δὲ προφέρων εἰς μέσον ὑμνῇ καὶ ἐπᾴδῃ ταῖς τῶν νέων ψυχαῖς, προκαλούμενος ἑκάστους εἰς ἀρετῆς ἕπεσθαι κτῆσιν συνακολουθοῦντας διὰ τῶν μιμήσεων.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις. [812δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτων τοίνυν δεῖ χάριν τοῖς φθόγγοις τῆς λύρας προσχρῆσθαι, σαφηνείας ἕνεκα τῶν χορδῶν, τόν τε κιθαριστὴν καὶ τὸν παιδευόμενον, ἀποδιδόντας πρόσχορδα τὰ φθέγματα τοῖς φθέγμασι: τὴν δ᾽ ἑτεροφωνίαν καὶ ποικιλίαν τῆς λύρας, ἄλλα μὲν μέλη τῶν χορδῶν ἱεισῶν, ἄλλα δὲ τοῦ τὴν μελῳδίαν συνθέντος ποιητοῦ, καὶ δὴ καὶ πυκνότητα μανότητι καὶ τάχος βραδυτῆτι καὶ ὀξύτητα βαρύτητι σύμφωνον [812ε] καὶ ἀντίφωνον παρεχομένους, καὶ τῶν ῥυθμῶν ὡσαύτως παντοδαπὰ ποικίλματα προσαρμόττοντας τοῖσι φθόγγοις τῆς λύρας, πάντα οὖν τὰ τοιαῦτα μὴ προσφέρειν τοῖς μέλλουσιν ἐν τρισὶν ἔτεσιν τὸ τῆς μουσικῆς χρήσιμον ἐκλήψεσθαι διὰ τάχους. τὰ γὰρ ἐναντία ἄλληλα ταράττοντα δυσμάθειαν παρέχει, δεῖ δὲ ὅτι μάλιστα εὐμαθεῖς εἶναι τοὺς νέους: τὰ γὰρ ἀναγκαῖα οὐ σμικρὰ οὐδ᾽ ὀλίγα αὐτοῖς ἐστι προστεταγμένα μαθήματα, δείξει δὲ αὐτὰ προϊὼν ὁ λόγος ἅμα τῷ χρόνῳ. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν οὕτω περὶ τῆς μουσικῆς ἡμῖν ὁ παιδευτὴς ἐπιμελείσθω: τὰ δὲ μελῶν αὐτῶν αὖ καὶ ῥημάτων, οἷα τοὺς χοροδιδασκάλους καὶ ἃ δεῖ διδάσκειν, καὶ [813α] ταῦτα ἡμῖν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν διείρηται πάντα, ἃ δὴ καθιερωθέντα ἔφαμεν δεῖν, ταῖς ἑορταῖς ἕκαστα ἁρμόττοντα, ἡδονὴν εὐτυχῆ ταῖς πόλεσιν παραδιδόντα ὠφελεῖν.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ καὶ ταῦτα διείρηκας.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀληθέστατα τοίνυν. καὶ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν παραλαβὼν ὁ περὶ τὴν μοῦσαν ἄρχων αἱρεθεὶς ἐπιμελείσθω μετὰ τύχης εὐμενοῦς, ἡμεῖς δὲ ὀρχήσεώς τε πέρι καὶ ὅλης τῆς περὶ τὸ σῶμα γυμναστικῆς πρὸς τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν εἰρημένοις ἀποδῶμεν: [813β] καθάπερ μουσικῆς τὸ διδασκαλικὸν ὑπόλοιπον ὂν ἀπέδομεν, ὡσαύτως ποιῶμεν καὶ γυμναστικῆς. τοὺς γὰρ παῖδάς τε καὶ τὰς παῖδας ὀρχεῖσθαι δὴ δεῖ καὶ γυμνάζεσθαι μανθάνειν: ἦ γάρ;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῖς μὲν τοίνυν παισὶν ὀρχησταί, ταῖς δὲ ὀρχηστρίδες ἂν εἶεν πρὸς τὸ διαπονεῖν οὐκ ἀνεπιτηδειότερον.

Κλεινίας

ἔστω δὴ ταύτῃ.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάλιν δὴ τὸν τὰ πλεῖστα ἕξοντα πράγματα καλῶμεν, [813ξ] τὸν τῶν παίδων ἐπιμελητήν, ὃς τῶν τε περὶ μουσικὴν τῶν τε περὶ γυμναστικὴν ἐπιμελούμενος οὐ πολλὴν ἕξει σχολήν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς οὖν δυνατὸς ἔσται πρεσβύτερος ὢν τοσούτων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι;

Ἀθηναῖος

ῥᾳδίως, ὦ φίλε. ὁ νόμος γὰρ αὐτῷ δέδωκεν καὶ δώσει προσλαμβάνειν εἰς ταύτην τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν τῶν πολιτῶν ἀνδρῶν καὶ γυναικῶν οὓς ἂν ἐθέλῃ, γνώσεται δὲ οὓς δεῖ, καὶ βουλήσεται μὴ πλημμελεῖν εἰς ταῦτα, αἰδούμενος [813δ] ἐμφρόνως καὶ γιγνώσκων τῆς ἀρχῆς τὸ μέγεθος, λογισμῷ τε συνὼν ὡς εὖ μὲν τραφέντων καὶ τρεφομένων τῶν νέων πάντα ἡμῖν κατ᾽ ὀρθὸν πλεῖ, μὴ δέ-οὔτ᾽ εἰπεῖν ἄξιον οὔθ᾽ ἡμεῖς λέγομεν ἐπὶ καινῇ πόλει τοὺς σφόδρα φιλομαντευτὰς σεβόμενοι. πολλὰ μὲν οὖν ἡμῖν καὶ περὶ τούτων εἴρηται, τῶν περὶ τὰς ὀρχήσεις καὶ περὶ πᾶσαν τὴν τῶν γυμνασίων κίνησιν: γυμνάσια γὰρ τίθεμεν καὶ τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἅπαντα τοῖς σώμασι διαπονήματα τοξικῆς τε καὶ πάσης [813ε] ῥίψεως καὶ πελταστικῆς καὶ πάσης ὁπλομαχίας καὶ διεξόδων τακτικῶν καὶ ἁπάσης πορείας στρατοπέδων καὶ στρατοπεδεύσεων καὶ ὅσα εἰς ἱππικὴν μαθήματα συντείνει. πάντων γὰρ τούτων διδασκάλους τε εἶναι δεῖ κοινούς, ἀρνυμένους μισθὸν παρὰ τῆς πόλεως, καὶ τούτων μαθητὰς τοὺς ἐν τῇ πόλει παῖδάς τε καὶ ἄνδρας, καὶ κόρας καὶ γυναῖκας πάντων τούτων ἐπιστήμονας, κόρας μὲν οὔσας ἔτι πᾶσαν τὴν ἐν ὅπλοις ὄρχησιν καὶ μάχην μεμελετηκυίας, γυναῖκας δέ, διεξόδων [814α] καὶ τάξεων καὶ θέσεως καὶ ἀναιρέσεως ὅπλων ἡμμένας, εἰ μηδενὸς ἕνεκα, ἀλλ᾽ εἴ ποτε δεήσειε πανδημεὶ πάσῃ τῇ δυνάμει καταλείποντας τὴν πόλιν ἔξω στρατεύεσθαι, τοὺς φυλάξοντας παῖδάς τε καὶ τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν ἱκανοὺς εἶναι τό γε τοσοῦτον, ἢ καὶ τοὐναντίον, ὧν οὐδὲν ἀπώμοτον, ἔξωθεν πολεμίους εἰσπεσόντας ῥώμῃ τινὶ μεγάλῃ καὶ βίᾳ, βαρβάρους εἴτε Ἕλληνας, ἀνάγκην παρασχεῖν περὶ αὐτῆς τῆς πόλεως τὴν διαμάχην γίγνεσθαι, πολλή που κακία [814β] πολιτείας οὕτως αἰσχρῶς τὰς γυναῖκας εἶναι τεθραμμένας, ὡς μηδ᾽ ὥσπερ ὄρνιθας περὶ τέκνων μαχομένας πρὸς ὁτιοῦν τῶν ἰσχυροτάτων θηρίων ἐθέλειν ἀποθνῄσκειν τε καὶ πάντας κινδύνους κινδυνεύειν, ἀλλ᾽ εὐθὺς πρὸς ἱερὰ φερομένας, πάντας βωμούς τε καὶ ναοὺς ἐμπιμπλάναι, καὶ δόξαν τοῦ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένους καταχεῖν ὡς πάντων δειλότατον φύσει θηρίων ἐστίν.

Κλεινίας

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ ξένε, οὐδαμῶς εὔσχημον γίγνοιτ᾽ [814ξ] ἄν, τοῦ κακοῦ χωρίς, τοῦτο ἐν πόλει ὅπου γίγνοιτο.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τιθῶμεν τὸν νόμον τοῦτον, μέχρι γε τοσούτου μὴ ἀμελεῖσθαι τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον γυναιξὶν δεῖν, ἐπιμελεῖσθαι δὲ πάντας τοὺς πολίτας καὶ τὰς πολίτιδας;

Κλεινίας

ἐγὼ γοῦν συγχωρῶ.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάλης τοίνυν τὰ μὲν εἴπομεν, ὃ δ᾽ ἐστὶ μέγιστον, ὡς ἐγὼ φαίην ἄν, οὐκ εἰρήκαμεν, οὐδ᾽ ἔστι ῥᾴδιον ἄνευ τοῦ τῷ σώματι δεικνύντα ἅμα καὶ τῷ λόγῳ φράζειν. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν [814δ] τότε κρινοῦμεν, ὅταν ἔργῳ λόγος ἀκολουθήσας μηνύσῃ τι σαφὲς τῶν τε ἄλλων ὧν εἴρηκεν πέρι, καὶ ὅτι τῇ πολεμικῇ μάχῃ πασῶν κινήσεων ὄντως ἐστὶ συγγενὴς πολὺ μάλισθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἡ τοιαύτη πάλη, καὶ δὴ καὶ ὅτι δεῖ ταύτην ἐκείνης χάριν ἐπιτηδεύειν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκείνην ταύτης ἕνεκα μανθάνειν.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς τοῦτό γε λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν δὴ τῆς μὲν περὶ παλαίστραν δυνάμεως τὸ μέχρι δεῦρ᾽ ἡμῖν εἰρήσθω: περὶ δὲ τῆς ἄλλης κινήσεως παντὸς [814ε] τοῦ σώματος, ἧς τὸ πλεῖστον μέρος ὄρχησίν τινά τις προσαγορεύων ὀρθῶς ἂν φθέγγοιτο, δύο μὲν αὐτῆς εἴδη χρὴ νομίζειν εἶναι, τὴν μὲν τῶν καλλιόνων σωμάτων ἐπὶ τὸ σεμνὸν μιμουμένην, τὴν δὲ τῶν αἰσχιόνων ἐπὶ τὸ φαῦλον, καὶ πάλιν τοῦ φαύλου τε δύο καὶ τοῦ σπουδαίου δύο ἕτερα. τοῦ δὴ σπουδαίου τὴν μὲν κατὰ πόλεμον καὶ ἐν βιαίοις ἐμπλακέντων πόνοις σωμάτων μὲν καλῶν, ψυχῆς δ᾽ ἀνδρικῆς, τὴν δ᾽ ἐν εὐπραγίαις τε οὔσης ψυχῆς σώφρονος ἐν ἡδοναῖς τε ἐμμέτροις: εἰρηνικὴν ἄν τις λέγων κατὰ φύσιν τὴν τοιαύτην [815α] ὄρχησιν λέγοι. τὴν πολεμικὴν δὴ τούτων, ἄλλην οὖσαν τῆς εἰρηνικῆς, πυρρίχην ἄν τις ὀρθῶς προσαγορεύοι, τάς τε εὐλαβείας πασῶν πληγῶν καὶ βολῶν ἐκνεύσεσι καὶ ὑπείξει πάσῃ καὶ ἐκπηδήσεσιν ἐν ὕψει καὶ σὺν ταπεινώσει μιμουμένην, καὶ τὰς ταύταις ἐναντίας, τὰς ἐπὶ τὰ δραστικὰ φερομένας αὖ σχήματα, ἔν τε ταῖς τῶν τόξων βολαῖς καὶ ἀκοντίων καὶ πασῶν πληγῶν μιμήματα ἐπιχειρούσας μιμεῖσθαι: τό τε ὀρθὸν ἐν τούτοις καὶ τὸ εὔτονον, τῶν ἀγαθῶν σωμάτων [815β] καὶ ψυχῶν ὁπόταν γίγνηται μίμημα, εὐθυφερὲς ὡς τὸ πολὺ τῶν τοῦ σώματος μελῶν γιγνόμενον, ὀρθὸν μὲν τὸ τοιοῦτον, τὸ δὲ τούτοις τοὐναντίον οὐκ ὀρθὸν ἀποδεχόμενον. τὴν δὲ εἰρηνικὴν ὄρχησιν τῇδ᾽ αὖ θεωρητέον ἑκάστων, εἴτε ὀρθῶς εἴτε μὴ κατὰ φύσιν τις τῆς καλῆς ὀρχήσεως ἀντιλαμβανόμενος ἐν χορείαις πρεπόντως εὐνόμων ἀνδρῶν διατελεῖ. τὴν τοίνυν ἀμφισβητουμένην ὄρχησιν δεῖ πρῶτον χωρὶς τῆς [815ξ] ἀναμφισβητήτου διατεμεῖν. τίς οὖν αὕτη, καὶ πῇ δεῖ χωρὶς τέμνειν ἑκατέραν; ὅση μὲν βακχεία τ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ τῶν ταύταις ἑπομένων, ἃς Νύμφας τε καὶ Πᾶνας καὶ Σειληνοὺς καὶ Σατύρους ἐπονομάζοντες, ὥς φασιν, μιμοῦνται κατῳνωμένους, περὶ καθαρμούς τε καὶ τελετάς τινας ἀποτελούντων, σύμπαν τοῦτο τῆς ὀρχήσεως τὸ γένος οὔθ᾽ ὡς εἰρηνικὸν οὔθ᾽ ὡς πολεμικὸν οὔθ᾽ ὅτι ποτὲ βούλεται ῥᾴδιον ἀφορίσασθαι: διορίσασθαι μήν μοι ταύτῃ δοκεῖ σχεδὸν ὀρθότατον αὐτὸ εἶναι, [815δ] χωρὶς μὲν πολεμικοῦ, χωρὶς δὲ εἰρηνικοῦ θέντας, εἰπεῖν ὡς οὐκ ἔστι πολιτικὸν τοῦτο τῆς ὀρχήσεως τὸ γένος, ἐνταῦθα δὲ κείμενον ἐάσαντας κεῖσθαι, νῦν ἐπὶ τὸ πολεμικὸν ἅμα καὶ εἰρηνικὸν ὡς ἀναμφισβητήτως ἡμέτερον ὂν ἐπανιέναι. τὸ δὲ τῆς ἀπολέμου μούσης, ἐν ὀρχήσεσιν δὲ τούς τε θεοὺς καὶ τοὺς τῶν θεῶν παῖδας τιμώντων, ἓν μὲν σύμπαν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν γένος ἐν δόξῃ τοῦ πράττειν εὖ γιγνόμενον, τοῦτο δὲ διχῇ [815ε] διαιροῖμεν ἄν, τὸ μὲν ἐκ πόνων τινῶν αὐτοῦ καὶ κινδύνων διαπεφευγότων εἰς ἀγαθά, μείζους ἡδονὰς ἔχον, τὸ δὲ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν ἀγαθῶν σωτηρίας οὔσης καὶ ἐπαύξης, πρᾳοτέρας τὰς ἡδονὰς κεκτημένον ἐκείνων. ἐν δὲ δὴ τοῖς τοιούτοις που πᾶς ἄνθρωπος τὰς κινήσεις τοῦ σώματος μειζόνων μὲν τῶν ἡδονῶν οὐσῶν μείζους, ἐλαττόνων δὲ ἐλάττους κινεῖται, καὶ κοσμιώτερος μὲν ὢν πρός τε ἀνδρείαν μᾶλλον γεγυμνασμένος [816α] ἐλάττους αὖ, δειλὸς δὲ καὶ ἀγύμναστος γεγονὼς πρὸς τὸ σωφρονεῖν μείζους καὶ σφοδροτέρας παρέχεται μεταβολὰς τῆς κινήσεως: ὅλως δὲ φθεγγόμενος, εἴτ᾽ ἐν ᾠδαῖς εἴτ᾽ ἐν λόγοις, ἡσυχίαν οὐ πάνυ δυνατὸς τῷ σώματι παρέχεσθαι πᾶς. διὸ μίμησις τῶν λεγομένων σχήμασι γενομένη τὴν ὀρχηστικὴν ἐξηργάσατο τέχνην σύμπασαν. ὁ μὲν οὖν ἐμμελῶς ἡμῶν, ὁ δὲ πλημμελῶς ἐν τούτοις πᾶσι κινεῖται. [816β] πολλὰ μὲν δὴ τοίνυν ἄλλα ἡμῖν τῶν παλαιῶν ὀνομάτων ὡς εὖ καὶ κατὰ φύσιν κείμενα δεῖ διανοούμενον ἐπαινεῖν, τούτων δὲ ἓν καὶ τὸ περὶ τὰς ὀρχήσεις τὰς τῶν εὖ πραττόντων, ὄντων δὲ μετρίων αὐτῶν πρὸς τὰς ἡδονάς, ὡς ὀρθῶς ἅμα καὶ μουσικῶς ὠνόμασεν ὅστις ποτ᾽ ἦν, καὶ κατὰ λόγον αὐταῖς θέμενος ὄνομα συμπάσαις ἐμμελείας ἐπωνόμασε, καὶ δύο δὴ τῶν ὀρχήσεων τῶν καλῶν εἴδη κατεστήσατο, τὸ μὲν πολεμικὸν πυρρίχην, τὸ δὲ εἰρηνικὸν ἐμμέλειαν, ἑκατέρῳ τὸ [816ξ] πρέπον τε καὶ ἁρμόττον ἐπιθεὶς ὄνομα. ἃ δὴ δεῖ τὸν μὲν νομοθέτην ἐξηγεῖσθαι τύποις, τὸν δὲ νομοφύλακα ζητεῖν τε, καὶ ἀνερευνησάμενον, μετὰ τῆς ἄλλης μουσικῆς τὴν ὄρχησιν συνθέντα καὶ νείμαντα ἐπὶ πάσας ἑορτὰς τῶν θυσιῶν ἑκάστῃ τὸ πρόσφορον, οὕτω καθιερώσαντα αὐτὰ πάντα ἐν τάξει, τοῦ λοιποῦ μὴ κινεῖν μηδὲν μήτε ὀρχήσεως ἐχόμενον μήτε ᾠδῆς, ἐν ταῖς δ᾽ αὐταῖς ἡδοναῖς ὡσαύτως τὴν αὐτὴν πόλιν [816δ] καὶ πολίτας διάγοντας, ὁμοίους εἰς δύναμιν ὄντας, ζῆν εὖ τε καὶ εὐδαιμόνως.

τὰ μὲν οὖν τῶν καλῶν σωμάτων καὶ γενναίων ψυχῶν εἰς τὰς χορείας, οἵας εἴρηται δεῖν αὐτὰς εἶναι, διαπεπέρανται, τὰ δὲ τῶν αἰσχρῶν σωμάτων καὶ διανοημάτων καὶ τῶν ἐπὶ τὰ τοῦ γέλωτος κωμῳδήματα τετραμμένων, κατὰ λέξιν τε καὶ ᾠδὴν καὶ κατὰ ὄρχησιν καὶ κατὰ τὰ τούτων πάντων μιμήματα κεκωμῳδημένα, ἀνάγκη μὲν θεάσασθαι καὶ γνωρίζειν: ἄνευ γὰρ γελοίων τὰ σπουδαῖα καὶ πάντων τῶν [816ε] ἐναντίων τὰ ἐναντία μαθεῖν μὲν οὐ δυνατόν, εἰ μέλλει τις φρόνιμος ἔσεσθαι, ποιεῖν δὲ οὐκ αὖ δυνατὸν ἀμφότερα, εἴ τις αὖ μέλλει καὶ σμικρὸν ἀρετῆς μεθέξειν, ἀλλὰ αὐτῶν ἕνεκα τούτων καὶ μανθάνειν αὐτὰ δεῖ, τοῦ μή ποτε δι᾽ ἄγνοιαν δρᾶν ἢ λέγειν ὅσα γελοῖα, μηδὲν δέον, δούλοις δὲ τὰ τοιαῦτα καὶ ξένοις ἐμμίσθοις προστάττειν μιμεῖσθαι, σπουδὴν δὲ περὶ αὐτὰ εἶναι μηδέποτε μηδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν, μηδέ τινα μανθάνοντα αὐτὰ γίγνεσθαι φανερὸν τῶν ἐλευθέρων, μήτε γυναῖκα μήτε ἄνδρα, καινὸν δὲ ἀεί τι περὶ αὐτὰ φαίνεσθαι τῶν μιμημάτων. ὅσα μὲν οὖν περὶ γέλωτά ἐστιν παίγνια, ἃ δὴ [817α] κωμῳδίαν πάντες λέγομεν, οὕτως τῷ νόμῳ καὶ λόγῳ κείσθω: τῶν δὲ σπουδαίων, ὥς φασι, τῶν περὶ τραγῳδίαν ἡμῖν ποιητῶν, ἐάν ποτέ τινες αὐτῶν ἡμᾶς ἐλθόντες ἐπανερωτήσωσιν οὑτωσί πως: “ὦ ξένοι, πότερον φοιτῶμεν ὑμῖν εἰς τὴν πόλιν τε καὶ χώραν ἢ μή, καὶ τὴν ποίησιν φέρωμέν τε καὶ ἄγωμεν, ἢ πῶς ὑμῖν δέδοκται περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα δρᾶν;” - τί οὖν ἂν πρὸς ταῦτα ὀρθῶς ἀποκριναίμεθα τοῖς θείοις ἀνδράσιν; [817β] ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ δοκεῖ τάδε: “ὦ ἄριστοι,” φάναι, “τῶν ξένων, ἡμεῖς ἐσμὲν τραγῳδίας αὐτοὶ ποιηταὶ κατὰ δύναμιν ὅτι καλλίστης ἅμα καὶ ἀρίστης: πᾶσα οὖν ἡμῖν ἡ πολιτεία συνέστηκε μίμησις τοῦ καλλίστου καὶ ἀρίστου βίου, ὃ δή φαμεν ἡμεῖς γε ὄντως εἶναι τραγῳδίαν τὴν ἀληθεστάτην. ποιηταὶ μὲν οὖν ὑμεῖς, ποιηταὶ δὲ καὶ ἡμεῖς ἐσμὲν τῶν αὐτῶν, ὑμῖν ἀντίτεχνοί τε καὶ ἀνταγωνισταὶ τοῦ καλλίστου δράματος, ὃ δὴ νόμος ἀληθὴς μόνος ἀποτελεῖν πέφυκεν, ὡς [817ξ] ἡ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν ἐστιν ἐλπίς: μὴ δὴ δόξητε ἡμᾶς ῥᾳδίως γε οὕτως ὑμᾶς ποτε παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἐάσειν σκηνάς τε πήξαντας κατ᾽ ἀγορὰν καὶ καλλιφώνους ὑποκριτὰς εἰσαγαγομένους, μεῖζον φθεγγομένους ἡμῶν, ἐπιτρέψειν ὑμῖν δημηγορεῖν πρὸς παῖδάς τε καὶ γυναῖκας καὶ τὸν πάντα ὄχλον, τῶν αὐτῶν λέγοντας ἐπιτηδευμάτων πέρι μὴ τὰ αὐτὰ ἅπερ ἡμεῖς, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς τὸ πολὺ καὶ ἐναντία τὰ πλεῖστα. σχεδὸν γάρ τοι κἂν μαινοίμεθα [817δ] τελέως ἡμεῖς τε καὶ ἅπασα ἡ πόλις, ἡτισοῦν ὑμῖν ἐπιτρέποι δρᾶν τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα, πρὶν κρῖναι τὰς ἀρχὰς εἴτε ῥητὰ καὶ ἐπιτήδεια πεποιήκατε λέγειν εἰς τὸ μέσον εἴτε μή. νῦν οὖν, ὦ παῖδες μαλακῶν Μουσῶν ἔκγονοι, ἐπιδείξαντες τοῖς ἄρχουσι πρῶτον τὰς ὑμετέρας παρὰ τὰς ἡμετέρας ᾠδάς, ἂν μὲν τὰ αὐτά γε ἢ καὶ βελτίω τὰ παρ᾽ ὑμῶν φαίνηται λεγόμενα, δώσομεν ὑμῖν χορόν, εἰ δὲ μή, ὦ φίλοι, οὐκ ἄν ποτε δυναίμεθα.” [817ε]

ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ἔστω περὶ πᾶσαν χορείαν καὶ μάθησιν τούτων πέρι συντεταγμένα νόμοις ἔθη, χωρὶς μὲν τὰ τῶν δούλων, χωρὶς δὲ τὰ τῶν δεσποτῶν, εἰ συνδοκεῖ.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὐ συνδοκεῖ νῦν γε οὕτως;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔτι δὴ τοίνυν τοῖς ἐλευθέροις ἔστιν τρία μαθήματα, λογισμοὶ μὲν καὶ τὰ περὶ ἀριθμοὺς ἓν μάθημα, μετρητικὴ δὲ μήκους καὶ ἐπιπέδου καὶ βάθους ὡς ἓν αὖ δεύτερον, τρίτον δὲ τῆς τῶν ἄστρων περιόδου πρὸς ἄλληλα ὡς πέφυκεν [818α] πορεύεσθαι. ταῦτα δὲ σύμπαντα οὐχ ὡς ἀκριβείας ἐχόμενα δεῖ διαπονεῖν τοὺς πολλοὺς ἀλλά τινας ὀλίγους- οὓς δέ, προϊόντες ἐπὶ τῷ τέλει φράσομεν: οὕτω γὰρ πρέπον ἂν εἴη-τῷ πλήθει δέ, ὅσα αὐτῶν ἀναγκαῖα καί πως ὀρθότατα λέγεται μὴ ἐπίστασθαι μὲν τοῖς πολλοῖς αἰσχρόν, δι᾽ ἀκριβείας δὲ ζητεῖν πάντα οὔτε ῥᾴδιον οὔτε τὸ παράπαν δυνατόν. τὸ δὲ ἀναγκαῖον αὐτῶν οὐχ οἷόν τε ἀποβάλλειν, [818β] ἀλλ᾽ ἔοικεν ὁ τὸν θεὸν πρῶτον παροιμιασάμενος εἰς ταῦτα ἀποβλέψας εἰπεῖν ὡς οὐδὲ θεὸς ἀνάγκῃ μή ποτε φανῇ μαχόμενος, ὅσαι θεῖαί γε, οἶμαι, τῶν γε ἀναγκῶν εἰσίν: ἐπεὶ τῶν γε ἀνθρωπίνων, εἰς ἃς οἱ πολλοὶ βλέποντες λέγουσι τὸ τοιοῦτον, οὗτος πάντων τῶν λόγων εὐηθέστατός ἐστιν μακρῷ.

Κλεινίας

τίνες οὖν, ὦ ξένε, αἱ μὴ τοιαῦται ἀνάγκαι τῶν μαθημάτων, θεῖαι δέ;

Ἀθηναῖος

δοκῶ μέν, ἃς μή τις πράξας μηδὲ αὖ μαθὼν τὸ [818ξ] παράπαν οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο ἀνθρώποις θεὸς οὐδὲ δαίμων οὐδὲ ἥρως οἷος δυνατὸς ἀνθρώπων ἐπιμέλειαν σὺν σπουδῇ ποιεῖσθαι: πολλοῦ δ᾽ ἂν δεήσειεν ἄνθρωπός γε θεῖος γενέσθαι μήτε ἓν μήτε δύο μήτε τρία μήθ᾽ ὅλως ἄρτια καὶ περιττὰ δυνάμενος γιγνώσκειν, μηδὲ ἀριθμεῖν τὸ παράπαν εἰδώς, μηδὲ νύκτα καὶ ἡμέραν διαριθμεῖσθαι δυνατὸς ὤν, σελήνης δὲ καὶ ἡλίου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἄστρων περιφορᾶς [818δ] ἀπείρως ἔχων. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν δὴ πάντα ὡς μὲν οὐκ ἀναγκαῖά ἐστι μαθήματα τῷ μέλλοντι σχεδὸν ὁτιοῦν τῶν καλλίστων μαθημάτων εἴσεσθαι, πολλὴ καὶ μωρία τοῦ διανοήματος: ποῖα δὲ ἕκαστα τούτων καὶ πόσα καὶ πότε μαθητέον, καὶ τί μετὰ τίνος καὶ τί χωρὶς τῶν ἄλλων, καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν τούτων κρᾶσιν, ταῦτά ἐστιν ἃ δεῖ λαβόντα ὀρθῶς πρῶτα, ἐπὶ τἆλλα ἰόντα τούτων ἡγουμένων τῶν μαθημάτων μανθάνειν. οὕτω γὰρ ἀνάγκη φύσει κατείληφεν, ᾗ [818ε] φαμεν οὐδένα θεῶν οὔτε μάχεσθαι τὰ νῦν οὔτε μαχεῖσθαί ποτε.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικέν γε, ὦ ξένε, νῦν οὕτω πως ῥηθέντα ὀρθῶς εἰρῆσθαι καὶ κατὰ φύσιν ἃ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔχει μὲν γὰρ οὕτως, ὦ Κλεινία, χαλεπὸν δὲ αὐτὰ προταξάμενον τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ νομοθετεῖν: ἀλλ᾽ εἰς ἄλλον, εἰ δοκεῖ, χρόνον ἀκριβέστερον ἂν νομοθετησαίμεθα.

Κλεινίας

δοκεῖς ἡμῖν, ὦ ξένε, φοβεῖσθαι τὸ τῆς ἡμετέρας περὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἀπειρίας ἔθος. οὔκουν ὀρθῶς φοβῇ: πειρῶ δὴ λέγειν μηδὲν ἀποκρυπτόμενος ἕνεκα τούτων. [819α]

Ἀθηναῖος

φοβοῦμαι μὲν καὶ ταῦτα ἃ σὺ νῦν λέγεις, μᾶλλον δ᾽ ἔτι δέδοικα τοὺς ἡμμένους μὲν αὐτῶν τούτων τῶν μαθημάτων, κακῶς δ᾽ ἡμμένους. οὐδαμοῦ γὰρ δεινὸν οὐδὲ σφοδρὸν ἀπειρία τῶν πάντων οὐδὲ μέγιστον κακόν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡ πολυπειρία καὶ πολυμαθία μετὰ κακῆς ἀγωγῆς γίγνεται πολὺ τούτων μείζων ζημία.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοσάδε τοίνυν ἑκάστων χρὴ φάναι μανθάνειν δεῖν [819β] τοὺς ἐλευθέρους, ὅσα καὶ πάμπολυς ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ παίδων ὄχλος ἅμα γράμμασι μανθάνει. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ περὶ λογισμοὺς ἀτεχνῶς παισὶν ἐξηυρημένα μαθήματα μετὰ παιδιᾶς τε καὶ ἡδονῆς μανθάνειν, μήλων τέ τινων διανομαὶ καὶ στεφάνων πλείοσιν ἅμα καὶ ἐλάττοσιν ἁρμοττόντων ἀριθμῶν τῶν αὐτῶν, καὶ πυκτῶν καὶ παλαιστῶν ἐφεδρείας τε καὶ συλλήξεως ἐν μέρει καὶ ἐφεξῆς καὶ ὡς πεφύκασι γίγνεσθαι. καὶ δὴ καὶ παίζοντες, φιάλας ἅμα χρυσοῦ καὶ χαλκοῦ καὶ ἀργύρου [819ξ] καὶ τοιούτων τινῶν ἄλλων κεραννύντες, οἱ δὲ καὶ ὅλας πως διαδιδόντες, ὅπερ εἶπον, εἰς παιδιὰν ἐναρμόττοντες τὰς τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἀριθμῶν χρήσεις, ὠφελοῦσι τοὺς μανθάνοντας εἴς τε τὰς τῶν στρατοπέδων τάξεις καὶ ἀγωγὰς καὶ στρατείας καὶ εἰς οἰκονομίας αὖ, καὶ πάντως χρησιμωτέρους αὐτοὺς αὑτοῖς καὶ ἐγρηγορότας μᾶλλον τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἀπεργάζονται: μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα ἐν ταῖς μετρήσεσιν, ὅσα ἔχει [819δ] μήκη καὶ πλάτη καὶ βάθη, περὶ ἅπαντα ταῦτα ἐνοῦσάν τινα φύσει γελοίαν τε καὶ αἰσχρὰν ἄγνοιαν ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις πᾶσιν, ταύτης ἀπαλλάττουσιν.

Κλεινίας

ποίαν δὴ καὶ τίνα λέγεις ταύτην;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ φίλε Κλεινία, παντάπασί γε μὴν καὶ αὐτὸς ἀκούσας ὀψέ ποτε τὸ περὶ ταῦτα ἡμῶν πάθος ἐθαύμασα, καὶ ἔδοξέ μοι τοῦτο οὐκ ἀνθρώπινον ἀλλὰ ὑηνῶν τινων εἶναι μᾶλλον θρεμμάτων, ᾐσχύνθην τε οὐχ ὑπὲρ ἐμαυτοῦ μόνον, [819ε] ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑπὲρ ἁπάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων.

Κλεινίας

τοῦ πέρι; λέγ᾽ ὅτι καὶ φῄς, ὦ ξένε.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγω δή: μᾶλλον δὲ ἐρωτῶν σοι δείξω. καί μοι σμικρὸν ἀπόκριναι: γιγνώσκεις που μῆκος;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; πλάτος;

Κλεινίας

πάντως.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἦ καὶ ταῦτα ὅτι δύ᾽ ἐστόν, καὶ τρίτον τούτων βάθος;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ δοκεῖ σοι ταῦτα εἶναι πάντα μετρητὰ πρὸς ἄλληλα;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

μῆκός τε οἶμαι πρὸς μῆκος, καὶ πλάτος πρὸς [820α] πλάτος, καὶ βάθος ὡσαύτως δυνατὸν εἶναι μετρεῖν φύσει.

Κλεινίας

σφόδρα γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ δ᾽ ἔστι μήτε σφόδρα μήτε ἠρέμα δυνατὰ ἔνια, ἀλλὰ τὰ μέν, τὰ δὲ μή, σὺ δὲ πάντα ἡγῇ, πῶς οἴει πρὸς ταῦτα διακεῖσθαι;

Κλεινίας

δῆλον ὅτι φαύλως.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ αὖ μῆκός τε καὶ πλάτος πρὸς βάθος, ἢ πλάτος τε καὶ μῆκος πρὸς ἄλληλα; [ὥστε πῶς] ἆρ᾽ οὐ διανοούμεθα περὶ ταῦτα οὕτως Ἕλληνες πάντες, ὡς δυνατά ἐστι μετρεῖσθαι πρὸς ἄλληλα ἁμῶς γέ πως; [820β]

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ δ᾽ ἔστιν αὖ μηδαμῶς μηδαμῇ δυνατά, πάντες δ᾽, ὅπερ εἶπον, Ἕλληνες διανοούμεθα ὡς δυνατά, μῶν οὐκ ἄξιον ὑπὲρ πάντων αἰσχυνθέντα εἰπεῖν πρὸς αὐτούς: ὦ βέλτιστοι τῶν Ἑλλήνων, ἓν ἐκείνων τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ὧν ἔφαμεν αἰσχρὸν μὲν γεγονέναι τὸ μὴ ἐπίστασθαι, τὸ δ᾽ ἐπίστασθαι τἀναγκαῖα οὐδὲν πάνυ καλόν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ πρὸς τούτοις γε ἄλλα ἔστιν τούτων συγγενῆ, [820ξ] ἐν οἷς αὖ πολλὰ ἁμαρτήματα ἐκείνων ἀδελφὰ ἡμῖν ἐγγίγνεται τῶν ἁμαρτημάτων.

Κλεινίας

ποῖα δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ τῶν μετρητῶν τε καὶ ἀμέτρων πρὸς ἄλληλα ᾗτινι φύσει γέγονεν. ταῦτα γὰρ δὴ σκοποῦντα διαγιγνώσκειν ἀναγκαῖον ἢ παντάπασιν εἶναι φαῦλον, προβάλλοντά τε ἀλλήλοις ἀεί, διατριβὴν τῆς πεττείας πολὺ χαριεστέραν πρεσβυτῶν διατρίβοντα, φιλονικεῖν ἐν ταῖς τούτων ἀξίαισι σχολαῖς. [820δ]

Κλεινίας

ἴσως: ἔοικεν γοῦν ἥ τε πεττεία καὶ ταῦτα ἀλλήλων τὰ μαθήματα οὐ πάμπολυ κεχωρίσθαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτα τοίνυν ἐγὼ μέν, ὦ Κλεινία, φημὶ τοὺς νέους δεῖν μανθάνειν: καὶ γὰρ οὔτε βλαβερὰ οὔτε χαλεπά ἐστιν, μετὰ δὲ παιδιᾶς ἅμα μανθανόμενα ὠφελήσει μέν, βλάψει δὲ ἡμῖν τὴν πόλιν οὐδέν. εἰ δέ τις ἄλλως λέγει, ἀκουστέον.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ μὴν ἂν οὕτω ταῦτα ἔχοντα φαίνηται, δῆλον ὡς ἐγκρινοῦμεν αὐτά, μὴ ταύτῃ δὲ φαινόμενα ἔχειν ἀποκριθήσεται. [820ε]

Κλεινίας

δῆλον: τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν νῦν, ὦ ξένε, κείσθω ταῦτα ὡς ὄντα τῶν δεόντων μαθημάτων, ἵνα μὴ διάκενα ἡμῖν ᾖ τὰ τῶν νόμων; κείσθω μέντοι καθάπερ ἐνέχυρα λύσιμα ἐκ τῆς ἄλλης πολιτείας, ἐὰν ἢ τοὺς θέντας ἡμᾶς ἢ καὶ τοὺς θεμένους ὑμᾶς μηδαμῶς φιλοφρονῆται.

Κλεινίας

δικαίαν λέγεις τὴν θέσιν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄστρων δὴ τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα ὅρα τὴν μάθησιν τοῖς νέοις, ἂν ἡμᾶς ἀρέσκῃ λεχθεῖσα ἢ καὶ τοὐναντίον.

Κλεινίας

λέγε μόνον.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν θαῦμά γε περὶ αὐτά ἐστιν μέγα καὶ οὐδαμῶς οὐδαμῇ ἀνεκτόν. [821α]

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸν μέγιστον θεὸν καὶ ὅλον τὸν κόσμον φαμὲν οὔτε ζητεῖν δεῖν οὔτε πολυπραγμονεῖν τὰς αἰτίας ἐρευνῶντας-οὐ γὰρ οὐδ᾽ ὅσιον εἶναι-τὸ δὲ ἔοικεν πᾶν τούτου τοὐναντίον γιγνόμενον ὀρθῶς ἂν γίγνεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς εἶπες;

Ἀθηναῖος

παράδοξον μὲν τὸ λεγόμενον, καὶ οὐκ ἂν πρεσβύταις τις οἰηθείη πρέπειν: τὸ δὲ ἐπειδάν τίς τι καλόν τε οἰηθῇ καὶ ἀληθὲς μάθημα εἶναι καὶ πόλει συμφέρον καὶ τῷ θεῷ [821β] παντάπασι φίλον, οὐδενὶ δὴ τρόπῳ δυνατόν ἐστιν ἔτι μὴ φράζειν.

Κλεινίας

εἰκότα λέγεις: ἀλλ᾽ ἄστρων πέρι μάθημα τί τοιοῦτον ἀνευρήσομεν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ ἀγαθοί, καταψευδόμεθα νῦν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν Ἕλληνες πάντες μεγάλων θεῶν, Ἡλίου τε ἅμα καὶ Σελήνης.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δὴ ψεῦδος;

Ἀθηναῖος

φαμὲν αὐτὰ οὐδέποτε τὴν αὐτὴν ὁδὸν ἰέναι, καὶ ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα ἄστρα μετὰ τούτων, ἐπονομάζοντες πλανητὰ αὐτά. [821ξ]

Κλεινίας

νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ ξένε, ἀληθὲς τοῦτο λέγεις: ἐν γὰρ δὴ τῷ βίῳ πολλάκις ἑώρακα καὶ αὐτὸς τόν τε Ἑωσφόρον καὶ τὸν Ἕσπερον καὶ ἄλλους τινὰς οὐδέποτε ἰόντας εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν δρόμον ἀλλὰ πάντῃ πλανωμένους, τὸν δὲ ἥλιόν που καὶ σελήνην δρῶντας ταῦθ᾽ ἃ ἀεὶ πάντες συνεπιστάμεθα.

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτ᾽ ἔστι τοίνυν, ὦ Μέγιλλέ τε καὶ Κλεινία, νῦν ἃ δή φημι δεῖν περὶ θεῶν τῶν κατ᾽ οὐρανὸν τούς γε ἡμετέρους [821δ] πολίτας τε καὶ τοὺς νέους τὸ μέχρι τοσούτου μαθεῖν περὶ ἁπάντων τούτων, μέχρι τοῦ μὴ βλασφημεῖν περὶ αὐτά, εὐφημεῖν δὲ ἀεὶ θύοντάς τε καὶ ἐν εὐχαῖς εὐχομένους εὐσεβῶς.

Κλεινίας

τοῦτο μὲν ὀρθόν, εἴ γε πρῶτον μὲν δυνατόν ἐστιν ὃ λέγεις μαθεῖν: εἶτα, εἰ μὴ λέγομέν τι περὶ αὐτῶν ὀρθῶς νῦν, μαθόντες δὲ λέξομεν, συγχωρῶ κἀγὼ τό γε τοσοῦτον καὶ τοιοῦτον ὂν μαθητέον εἶναι. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ὡς ἔχοντά ἐσθ᾽ οὕτω, πειρῶ σὺ μὲν ἐξηγεῖσθαι πάντως, ἡμεῖς δὲ συνέπεσθαί σοι μανθάνοντες. [821ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι μὲν οὐ ῥᾴδιον ὃ λέγω μαθεῖν, οὐδ᾽ αὖ παντάπασι χαλεπόν, οὐδέ γέ τινος χρόνου παμπόλλου. τεκμήριον δέ: ἐγὼ τούτων οὔτε νέος οὔτε πάλαι ἀκηκοὼς σφῷν ἂν νῦν οὐκ ἐν πολλῷ χρόνῳ δηλῶσαι δυναίμην. καίτοι χαλεπά γε ὄντα οὐκ ἄν ποτε οἷός τ᾽ ἦν δηλοῦν τηλικούτοις οὖσι τηλικοῦτος.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ λέγεις. ἀλλὰ τί καὶ φῂς τοῦτο τὸ μάθημα [822α] ὃ θαυμαστὸν μὲν λέγεις, προσῆκον δ᾽ αὖ μαθεῖν τοῖς νέοις, οὐ γιγνώσκειν δὲ ἡμᾶς; πειρῶ περὶ αὐτοῦ τό γε τοσοῦτον φράζειν ὡς σαφέστατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

πειρατέον. οὐ γάρ ἐστι τοῦτο, ὦ ἄριστοι, τὸ δόγμα ὀρθὸν περὶ σελήνης τε καὶ ἡλίου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἄστρων, ὡς ἄρα πλανᾶταί ποτε, πᾶν δὲ τοὐναντίον ἔχει τούτου-τὴν αὐτὴν γὰρ αὐτῶν ὁδὸν ἕκαστον καὶ οὐ πολλὰς ἀλλὰ μίαν ἀεὶ κύκλῳ διεξέρχεται, φαίνεται δὲ πολλὰς φερόμενον-τὸ δὲ τάχιστον αὐτῶν ὂν βραδύτατον οὐκ ὀρθῶς αὖ δοξάζεται, τὸ δ᾽ ἐναντίον [822β] ἐναντίως. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν εἰ πέφυκεν μὲν οὕτως, ἡμεῖς δὲ μὴ ταύτῃ δόξομεν, εἰ μὲν ἐν Ὀλυμπίᾳ θεόντων ἵππων οὕτως ἢ δολιχοδρόμων ἀνδρῶν διενοούμεθα πέρι, καὶ προσηγορεύομεν τὸν τάχιστον μὲν ὡς βραδύτατον, τὸν δὲ βραδύτατον ὡς τάχιστον, ἐγκώμιά τε ποιοῦντες ᾔδομεν τὸν ἡττώμενον νενικηκότα, οὔτε ὀρθῶς ἂν οὔτ᾽ οἶμαι προσφιλῶς τοῖς δρομεῦσιν ἡμᾶς ἂν τὰ ἐγκώμια προσάπτειν ἀνθρώποις οὖσιν: νῦν δὲ δὴ [822ξ] περὶ θεοὺς τὰ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἐξαμαρτανόντων ἡμῶν, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ οἰόμεθα <ὃ> γελοῖόν τε καὶ οὐκ ὀρθὸν ἐκεῖ γιγνόμενον ἦν ἂν τότε, νῦν ἐνταυθοῖ καὶ ἐν τούτοισι γίγνεσθαι γελοῖον μὲν οὐδαμῶς, οὐ μὴν οὐδὲ θεοφιλές γε, ψευδῆ φήμην ἡμῶν κατὰ θεῶν ὑμνούντων.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα, εἴπερ γε οὕτω ταῦτ᾽ ἐστίν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἂν μὲν δείξωμεν οὕτω ταῦτ᾽ ἔχοντα, μαθητέα μέχρι γε τούτου τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα, μὴ δειχθέντων δὲ ἐατέον; καὶ ταῦτα ἡμῖν οὕτω συγκείσθω; [822δ]

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἤδη τοίνυν χρὴ φάναι τέλος ἔχειν τά γε παιδείας μαθημάτων πέρι νόμιμα: περὶ δὲ θήρας ὡσαύτως διανοηθῆναι χρὴ καὶ περὶ ἁπάντων ὁπόσα τοιαῦτα. κινδυνεύει γὰρ δὴ νομοθέτῃ τὸ προσταττόμενον ἐπὶ μεῖζον εἶναι τοῦ νόμους θέντα ἀπηλλάχθαι, ἕτερον δέ τι πρὸς τοῖς νόμοις εἶναι μεταξύ τι νουθετήσεώς τε πεφυκὸς ἅμα καὶ νόμων, ὃ δὴ [822ε] πολλάκις ἡμῶν ἐμπέπτωκεν τοῖς λόγοις, οἷον περὶ τὴν τῶν σφόδρα νέων παίδων τροφήν: οὐ γὰρ ἄρρητά φαμεν εἶναι, λέγοντές τε αὐτά, ὡς νόμους οἴεσθαι τιθεμένους εἶναι πολλῆς ἀνοίας γέμειν. γεγραμμένων δὴ ταύτῃ τῶν νόμων τε καὶ ὅλης τῆς πολιτείας, οὐ τέλεος ὁ τοῦ διαφέροντος πολίτου πρὸς ἀρετὴν γίγνεται ἔπαινος, ὅταν αὐτόν τις φῇ τὸν ὑπηρετήσαντα τοῖς νόμοις ἄριστα καὶ πειθόμενον μάλιστα, τοῦτον εἶναι τὸν ἀγαθόν: τελεώτερον δὲ ὧδε εἰρημένον, ὡς ἄρα ὃς ἂν τοῖς τοῦ νομοθέτου νομοθετοῦντός τε καὶ ἐπαινοῦντος καὶ ψέγοντος [823α] πειθόμενος γράμμασιν διεξέλθῃ τὸν βίον ἄκρατον. οὗτος ὅ τε λόγος ὀρθότατος εἰς ἔπαινον πολίτου, τόν τε νομοθέτην ὄντως δεῖ μὴ μόνον γράφειν τοὺς νόμους, πρὸς δὲ τοῖς νόμοις, ὅσα καλὰ αὐτῷ δοκεῖ καὶ μὴ καλὰ εἶναι, νόμοις ἐμπεπλεγμένα γράφειν, τὸν δὲ ἄκρον πολίτην μηδὲν ἧττον ταῦτα ἐμπεδοῦν ἢ τὰ ταῖς ζημίαις ὑπὸ νόμων κατειλημμένα. τὸ δὲ δὴ παρὸν ἡμῖν τὰ νῦν <εἰ> οἷον μάρτυρα ἐπαγόμεθα, δηλοῖμεν ἂν [823β] ὃ βουλόμεθα μᾶλλον. θήρα γὰρ πάμπολύ τι πρᾶγμά ἐστι, περιειλημμένον ὀνόματι νῦν σχεδὸν ἑνί. πολλὴ μὲν γὰρ ἡ τῶν ἐνύδρων, πολλὴ δὲ ἡ τῶν πτηνῶν, πάμπολυ δὲ καὶ τὸ περὶ τὰ πεζὰ θηρεύματα, οὐ μόνον θηρίων, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀξίαν ἐννοεῖν θήραν, τήν τε κατὰ πόλεμον, πολλὴ δὲ καὶ ἡ κατὰ φιλίαν θηρεύουσα, ἡ μὲν ἔπαινον, ἡ δὲ ψόγον ἔχει: καὶ κλωπεῖαι καὶ λῃστῶν καὶ στρατοπέδων στρατοπέδοις [823ξ] θῆραι. θήρας δὲ πέρι τιθέντι τῷ νομοθέτῃ τοὺς νόμους οὔτε μὴ δηλοῦν ταῦθ᾽ οἷόν τε, οὔτε ἐπὶ πᾶσιν τάξεις καὶ ζημίας ἐπιτιθέντα ἀπειλητικὰ νόμιμα τιθέναι. τί δὴ δραστέον περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα; τὸν μέν, τὸν νομοθέτην, ἐπαινέσαι καὶ ψέξαι χρεὼν τὰ περὶ θήρας πρὸς τοὺς τῶν νέων πόνους τε καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα, τὸν δ᾽ αὖ νέον ἀκούσαντα πείθεσθαι, καὶ μήθ᾽ ἡδονὴν μήτε πόνον ἐξείργειν αὐτόν, τῶν δὲ περὶ ἕκαστα ἀπειληθέντων μετὰ ζημίας καὶ νομοθετηθέντων, τὰ [823δ] μετ᾽ ἐπαίνου ῥηθέντα μᾶλλον τιμᾶν καὶ προσταχθέντα ἀποτελεῖν.

τούτων δὴ προρρηθέντων, ἑξῆς ἂν γίγνοιτο ἔμμετρος ἔπαινος θήρας καὶ ψόγος, ἥτις μὲν βελτίους ἀποτελεῖ τὰς ψυχὰς τῶν νέων ἐπαινοῦντος, ψέγοντος δὲ ἣ τἀναντία. λέγωμεν τοίνυν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἑξῆς προσαγορεύοντες δι᾽ εὐχῆς τοὺς νέους: ὦ φίλοι, εἴθ᾽ ὑμᾶς μήτε τις ἐπιθυμία μήτ᾽ ἔρως τῆς περὶ θάλατταν θήρας ποτὲ λάβοι μηδὲ ἀγκιστρείας [823ε] μηδ᾽ ὅλως τῆς τῶν ἐνύδρων ζῴων, μήτε ἐγρηγορόσιν μήτε εὕδουσιν κύρτοις ἀργὸν θήραν διαπονουμένοις. μηδ᾽ αὖ ἄγρας ἀνθρώπων κατὰ θάλατταν λῃστείας τε ἵμερος ἐπελθὼν ὑμῖν θηρευτὰς ὠμοὺς καὶ ἀνόμους ἀποτελοῖ: κλωπείας δ᾽ ἐν χώρᾳ καὶ πόλει μηδὲ εἰς τὸν ἔσχατον ἐπέλθοι νοῦν ἅψασθαι. μηδ᾽ αὖ πτηνῶν θήρας αἱμύλος ἔρως οὐ σφόδρα ἐλευθέριος ἐπέλθοι [824α] τινὶ νέων. πεζῶν δὴ μόνον θήρευσίς τε καὶ ἄγρα λοιπὴ τοῖς παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ἀθληταῖς, ὧν ἡ μὲν τῶν εὑδόντων αὖ κατὰ μέρη, νυκτερεία κληθεῖσα, ἀργῶν ἀνδρῶν, οὐκ ἀξία ἐπαίνου, οὐδ᾽ ἧττον διαπαύματα πόνων ἔχουσα, ἄρκυσίν τε καὶ πάγαις ἀλλ᾽ οὐ φιλοπόνου ψυχῆς νίκῃ χειρουμένων τὴν ἄγριον τῶν θηρίων ῥώμην: μόνη δὴ πᾶσιν λοιπὴ καὶ ἀρίστη ἡ τῶν τετραπόδων ἵπποις καὶ κυσὶν καὶ τοῖς ἑαυτῶν θήρα σώμασιν, ὧν ἁπάντων κρατοῦσιν δρόμοις καὶ πληγαῖς καὶ βολαῖς αὐτόχειρες θηρεύοντες, ὅσοις ἀνδρείας τῆς θείας ἐπιμελές.

τούτων δὴ πάντων ἔπαινος μὲν πέρι καὶ ψόγος ὁ διειρημένος ἂν εἴη λόγος, νόμος δὲ ὅδε: τούτους μηδεὶς τοὺς ἱεροὺς ὄντως θηρευτὰς κωλυέτω ὅπου καὶ ὅπῃπερ ἂν ἐθέλωσιν κυνηγετεῖν, νυκτερευτὴν δὲ ἄρκυσιν καὶ πλεκταῖς πιστὸν μηδεὶς μηδέποτε ἐάσῃ μηδαμοῦ θηρεῦσαι: τὸν ὀρνιθευτὴν δὲ ἐν ἀργοῖς μὲν καὶ ὄρεσιν μὴ κωλυέτω, ἐν ἐργασίμοις δὲ καὶ ἱεροῖς ἀγρίοις ἐξειργέτω ὁ προστυγχάνων, ἐνυγροθηρευτὴν δέ, πλὴν ἐν λιμέσιν καὶ ἱεροῖς ποταμοῖς τε καὶ ἕλεσι καὶ λίμναις, ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις δὲ ἐξέστω θηρεύειν, μὴ χρώμενον ὀπῶν ἀναθολώσει μόνον.

νῦν οὖν ἤδη πάντα χρὴ φάναι τέλος ἔχειν τά γε παιδείας πέρι νόμιμα.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς ἂν λέγοις.

Τόμος 8

[828α] Ἀθηναῖος

τούτων μὴν ἐχόμενά ἐστιν τάξασθαι μὲν καὶ νομοθετήσασθαι ἑορτὰς μετὰ τῶν ἐκ Δελφῶν μαντειῶν, αἵτινες θυσίαι καὶ θεοῖς οἷστισιν ἄμεινον καὶ λῷον θυούσῃ τῇ πόλει γίγνοιντ᾽ ἄν: πότε δὲ καὶ πόσαι τὸν ἀριθμόν, σχεδὸν ἴσως ἡμέτερον ἂν νομοθετεῖν ἔνιά γ᾽ αὐτῶν εἴη.

Κλεινίας

τάχ᾽ ἂν τὸν ἀριθμόν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸν ἀριθμὸν δὴ λέγωμεν πρῶτον: ἔστωσαν γὰρ τῶν [828β] μὲν πέντε καὶ ἑξήκοντα καὶ τριακοσίων μηδὲν ἀπολείπουσαι, ὅπως ἂν μία γέ τις ἀρχὴ θύῃ θεῶν ἢ δαιμόνων τινὶ ἀεὶ ὑπὲρ πόλεώς τε καὶ αὐτῶν καὶ κτημάτων. ταῦτα δὲ συνελθόντες ἐξηγηταὶ καὶ ἱερεῖς ἱέρειαί τε καὶ μάντεις μετὰ νομοφυλάκων ταξάντων ἃ παραλείπειν ἀνάγκη τῷ νομοθέτῃ: καὶ δὴ καὶ αὐτοῦ τούτου χρὴ γίγνεσθαι ἐπιγνώμονας τοῦ παραλειπομένου τούτους τοὺς αὐτούς. ὁ μὲν γὰρ δὴ νόμος ἐρεῖ δώδεκα μὲν [828ξ] ἑορτὰς εἶναι τοῖς δώδεκα θεοῖς, ὧν ἂν ἡ φυλὴ ἑκάστη ἐπώνυμος ᾖ, θύοντας τούτων ἑκάστοις ἔμμηνα ἱερά, χορούς τε καὶ ἀγῶνας μουσικούς, τοὺς δὲ γυμνικούς, κατὰ τὸ πρέπον προσνέμοντας τοῖς θεοῖς τε αὐτοῖς ἅμα καὶ ταῖς ὥραις ἑκάσταις, γυναικείας τε ἑορτάς, ὅσαις χωρὶς ἀνδρῶν προσήκει καὶ ὅσαις μή, διανέμοντας. ἔτι δὲ καὶ τὸ τῶν χθονίων καὶ ὅσους αὖ θεοὺς οὐρανίους ἐπονομαστέον καὶ τὸ τῶν τούτοις ἑπομένων οὐ συμμεικτέον ἀλλὰ χωριστέον, ἐν τῷ τοῦ Πλούτωνος [828δ] μηνὶ τῷ δωδεκάτῳ κατὰ τὸν νόμον ἀποδιδόντας, καὶ οὐ δυσχεραντέον πολεμικοῖς ἀνθρώποις τὸν τοιοῦτον θεόν, ἀλλὰ τιμητέον ὡς ὄντα ἀεὶ τῷ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένει ἄριστον: κοινωνία γὰρ ψυχῇ καὶ σώματι διαλύσεως οὐκ ἔστιν ᾗ κρεῖττον, ὡς ἐγὼ φαίην ἂν σπουδῇ λέγων. πρὸς τούτοις δὲ διάνοιαν χρὴ σχεῖν τοὺς διαιρήσοντας ἱκανῶς ταῦτα τοιάνδε, ὡς ἔσθ᾽ ἡμῖν ἡ πόλις οἵαν οὐκ ἄν τις ἑτέραν εὕροι τῶν νῦν περὶ χρόνου σχολῆς καὶ τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἐξουσίας, δεῖ δὲ [829α] αὐτήν, καθάπερ ἕνα ἄνθρωπον, ζῆν εὖ: τοῖς δὲ εὐδαιμόνως ζῶσιν ὑπάρχειν ἀνάγκη πρῶτον τὸ μήθ᾽ ἑαυτοὺς ἀδικεῖν μήτε ὑφ᾽ ἑτέρων αὐτοὺς ἀδικεῖσθαι. τούτοιν δὲ τὸ μὲν οὐ πάνυ χαλεπόν, τοῦ δὲ μὴ ἀδικεῖσθαι κτήσασθαι δύναμιν παγχάλεπον, καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν αὐτὸ τελέως σχεῖν ἄλλως ἢ τελέως γενόμενον ἀγαθόν: ταὐτὸν δὴ τοῦτο ἔστι καὶ πόλει ὑπάρχειν, γενομένῃ μὲν ἀγαθῇ βίος εἰρηνικός, πολεμικὸς δὲ ἔξωθέν τε καὶ ἔνδοθεν, ἂν ᾖ κακή. τούτων δὲ ταύτῃ σχεδὸν ἐχόντων, [829β] οὐκ ἐν πολέμῳ τὸν πόλεμον ἑκάστοις γυμναστέον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν τῷ τῆς εἰρήνης βίῳ. δεῖ τοίνυν πόλιν ἑκάστου μηνὸς νοῦν κεκτημένην στρατεύεσθαι μὴ ἔλαττον μιᾶς ἡμέρας, πλείους δέ, ὡς ἂν καὶ τοῖς ἄρχουσιν συνδοκῇ, μηδὲν χειμῶνας ἢ καύματα διευλαβουμένους, αὐτούς τε ἅμα καὶ γυναῖκας καὶ παῖδας, ὅταν ὡς πανδημίαν ἐξάγειν δόξῃ τοῖς ἄρχουσιν, τοτὲ δὲ καὶ κατὰ μέρη: καί τινας ἀεὶ παιδιὰς μηχανᾶσθαι καλὰς ἅμα θυσίαις, ὅπως ἂν γίγνωνται μάχαι τινὲς ἑορταστικαί, [829ξ] μιμούμεναι τὰς πολεμικὰς ὅτι μάλιστα ἐναργῶς μάχας. νικητήρια δὲ καὶ ἀριστεῖα ἑκάστοισι τούτων δεῖ διανέμειν ἐγκώμιά τε καὶ ψόγους ποιεῖν ἀλλήλοις, ὁποῖός τις ἂν ἕκαστος γίγνηται κατά τε τοὺς ἀγῶνας ἐν παντί τε αὖ τῷ βίῳ, τόν τε ἄριστον δοκοῦντα εἶναι κοσμοῦντας καὶ τὸν μὴ ψέγοντας. ποιητὴς δὲ ἔστω τῶν τοιούτων μὴ ἅπας, ἀλλὰ γεγονὼς πρῶτον μὲν μὴ ἔλαττον πεντήκοντα ἐτῶν, μηδ᾽ αὖ τῶν ὁπόσοι ποίησιν μὲν καὶ μοῦσαν ἱκανῶς κεκτημένοι ἐν αὑτοῖς εἰσιν, καλὸν δὲ [829δ] ἔργον καὶ ἐπιφανὲς μηδὲν δράσαντες πώποτε: ὅσοι δὲ ἀγαθοί τε αὐτοὶ καὶ τίμιοι ἐν τῇ πόλει, ἔργων ὄντες δημιουργοὶ καλῶν, τὰ τῶν τοιούτων ᾀδέσθω ποιήματα, ἐὰν καὶ μὴ μουσικὰ πεφύκῃ. κρίσις δὲ αὐτῶν ἔστω παρά τε τῷ παιδευτῇ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις νομοφύλαξι, τοῦτο ἀποδιδόντων αὐτοῖς γέρας, παρρησίαν ἐν μούσαις εἶναι μόνοις, τοῖς δὲ ἄλλοις μηδεμίαν ἐξουσίαν γίγνεσθαι, μηδέ τινα τολμᾶν ᾁδειν ἀδόκιμον μοῦσαν μὴ κρινάντων τῶν νομοφυλάκων, μηδ᾽ ἂν ἡδίων ᾖ τῶν Θαμύρου [829ε] τε καὶ Ὀρφείων ὕμνων, ἀλλ᾽ ὅσα τε ἱερὰ κριθέντα ποιήματα ἐδόθη τοῖς θεοῖς, καὶ ὅσα ἀγαθῶν ὄντων ἀνδρῶν ψέγοντα ἢ ἐπαινοῦντά τινας ἐκρίθη μετρίως δρᾶν τὸ τοιοῦτον. τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ λέγω στρατείας τε πέρι καὶ τῆς ἐν ποιήσεσι παρρησίας γυναιξί τε καὶ ἀνδράσιν ὁμοίως γίγνεσθαι δεῖν. χρὴ δὲ ἀναφέρειν παραδεικνύντα ἑαυτῷ τὸν νομοθέτην τῷ λόγῳ: φέρε, τίνας ποτὲ τρέφω τὴν πόλιν ὅλην παρασκευάσας; [830α] ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀθλητὰς τῶν μεγίστων ἀγώνων, οἷς ἀνταγωνισταὶ μυρίοι ὑπάρχουσι; καὶ πάνυ γε, φαίη τις ἂν ὀρθῶς λέγων. τί δῆτα; εἰ πύκτας ἢ παγκρατιαστὰς ἐτρέφομεν ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων ἕτερον ἀγωνισμάτων ἀθλοῦντας, ἆρα εἰς αὐτὸν ἂν ἀπηντῶμεν τὸν ἀγῶνα, ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν χρόνῳ οὐδενὶ καθ᾽ ἡμέραν προσμαχόμενοι; ἢ πύκται γε ὄντες παμπόλλας ἂν ἡμέρας ἔμπροσθεν τοῦ ἀγῶνος ἐμανθάνομέν [830β] τε ἂν μάχεσθαι καὶ διεπονούμεθα, μιμούμενοι πάντα ἐκεῖνα ὁπόσοις ἐμέλλομεν εἰς τότε χρήσεσθαι περὶ τῆς νίκης διαμαχόμενοι, καὶ ὡς ἐγγύτατα τοῦ ὁμοίου ἰόντες, ἀντὶ ἱμάντων σφαίρας ἂν περιεδούμεθα, ὅπως αἱ πληγαί τε καὶ αἱ τῶν πληγῶν εὐλάβειαι διεμελετῶντο εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ἱκανῶς, εἴ τέ τις ἡμῖν συγγυμναστῶν συνέβαινεν ἀπορία πλείων, ἆρ᾽ ἂν δείσαντες τὸν τῶν ἀνοήτων γέλωτα οὐκ ἂν ἐτολμῶμεν κρεμαννύντες εἴδωλον ἄψυχον γυμνάζεσθαι πρὸς αὐτό; καὶ [830ξ] ἔτι πάντων τῶν τε ἐμψύχων καὶ τῶν ἀψύχων ἀπορήσαντές ποτε, ἐν ἐρημίᾳ συγγυμναστῶν ἆρά γε οὐκ ἐτολμήσαμεν ἂν αὐτοὶ πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς σκιαμαχεῖν ὄντως; ἢ τί ποτε ἄλλο τὴν τοῦ χειρονομεῖν μελέτην ἄν τις φαίη γεγονέναι;

Κλεινίας

σχεδόν, ὦ ξένε, οὐδὲν ἄλλο γε πλὴν τοῦτο αὐτὸ ὃ σὺ νῦν ἔφθεγξαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; τὸ τῆς πόλεως ἡμῖν μάχιμον ἦ χεῖρόν τι παρασκευασάμενον τῶν τοιούτων ἀγωνιστῶν εἰς τὸν μέγιστον τῶν ἀγώνων ἑκάστοτε τολμήσει παριέναι, διαμαχούμενον περὶ [830δ] ψυχῆς καὶ παίδων καὶ χρημάτων καὶ ὅλης τῆς πόλεως; καὶ ταῦτα δὴ φοβηθεὶς αὐτῶν ὁ νομοθέτης τὰ πρὸς ἀλλήλους γυμνάσια μὴ φαίνηταί τισιν γελοῖα, οὐκ ἄρα νομοθετήσει, στρατεύεσθαι προστάττων μάλιστα μὲν ἑκάστης ἡμέρας τά γε σμικρὰ χωρὶς τῶν ὅπλων, χορούς τε εἰς ταῦτα ἅμα καὶ γυμναστικὴν πᾶσαν συντείνων, τὰς δὲ οἷόν τινας μείζους τε καὶ ἐλάττους γυμνασίας μὴ ἔλαττον ἢ κατὰ μῆνα ἕκαστον ποιεῖσθαι προστάξει, ἁμίλλας τε πρὸς ἀλλήλους ποιουμένους [830ε] κατὰ πᾶσαν τὴν χώραν, ἐπὶ κατάληψιν χωρίων ἁμιλλωμένους καὶ ἐνέδρας, καὶ πᾶσαν μιμουμένους τὴν πολεμικήν, ὄντως σφαιρομαχεῖν τε καὶ βολαῖς ὡς ἐγγύτατα τῶν ἀληθῶν, χρωμένους ὑποκινδύνοις βέλεσιν, ὅπως μὴ παντάπασιν ἄφοβος ἡ πρὸς ἀλλήλους γίγνηται παιδιά, δείματα δὲ παρέχῃ καί τινα τρόπον δηλοῖ τόν τε εὔψυχον καὶ τὸν μή, [831α] καὶ τοῖς μὲν τιμάς, τοῖς δὲ καὶ ἀτιμίας διανέμων ὀρθῶς, τὴν πόλιν ὅλην εἰς τὸν ἀληθινὸν ἀγῶνα διὰ βίου παρασκευάζῃ χρησίμην, καὶ δὴ καί τινος ἀποθανόντος οὕτως, ὡς ἀκουσίου τοῦ φόνου γενομένου, τιθῇ τὸν ἀποκτείναντα κατὰ νόμον καθαρθέντα καθαρὸν εἶναι χεῖρας, ἡγούμενος ἀνθρώπων μὲν τελευτησάντων μὴ πολλῶν, ἑτέρους πάλιν οὐ χείρους φύσεσθαι, φόβου δὲ οἷον τελευτήσαντος, ἐν πᾶσιν τοῖς τοιούτοις βάσανον οὐχ εὑρήσειν τῶν τε ἀμεινόνων καὶ χειρόνων, οὐ [831β] σμικρῷ πόλει μεῖζον κακὸν ἐκείνου;

Κλεινίας

συμφαῖμεν ἂν ἡμεῖς γε, ὦ ξένε, τὰ τοιαῦτα δεῖν καὶ νομοθετεῖν καὶ ἐπιτηδεύειν πόλιν ἅπασαν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν γιγνώσκομεν ἅπαντες τὴν αἰτίαν διότι ποτὲ νῦν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἡ τοιαύτη χορεία καὶ ἀγωνία σχεδὸν οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς ἐστιν, εἰ μὴ πάνυ τι σμικρά; ἢ φῶμεν δι᾽ ἀμαθίαν τῶν πολλῶν καὶ τῶν τιθέντων αὐτοῖς τοὺς νόμους;

Κλεινίας

τάχ᾽ ἄν. [831ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδαμῶς, ὦ μακάριε Κλεινία: δύο δὲ χρὴ φάναι τούτων αἰτίας εἶναι καὶ μάλα ἱκανάς.

Κλεινίας

ποίας;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὴν μὲν ὑπ᾽ ἔρωτος πλούτου πάντα χρόνον ἄσχολον ποιοῦντος τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι πλὴν τῶν ἰδίων κτημάτων, ἐξ ὧν κρεμαμένη πᾶσα ψυχὴ πολίτου παντὸς οὐκ ἄν ποτε δύναιτο τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιμέλειαν ἴσχειν πλὴν τοῦ καθ᾽ ἡμέραν κέρδους: καὶ ὅτι μὲν πρὸς τοῦτο φέρει μάθημα ἢ καὶ ἐπιτήδευμα, ἰδίᾳ πᾶς μανθάνειν τε καὶ ἀσκεῖν ἑτοιμότατός ἐστιν, [831δ] τῶν δὲ ἄλλων καταγελᾷ. τοῦτο μὲν ἓν καὶ ταύτην μίαν αἰτίαν χρὴ φάναι τοῦ μήτε τοῦτο μήτ᾽ ἄλλο μηδὲν καλὸν κἀγαθὸν ἐθέλειν ἐπιτήδευμα πόλιν σπουδάζειν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν τοῦ χρυσοῦ τε καὶ ἀργύρου ἀπληστίαν πᾶσαν μὲν τέχνην καὶ μηχανήν, καλλίω τε καὶ ἀσχημονεστέραν, ἐθέλειν ὑπομένειν πάντα ἄνδρα, εἰ μέλλει πλούσιος ἔσεσθαι, καὶ πρᾶξιν πράττειν ὅσιόν τε καὶ ἀνόσιον καὶ πάντως αἰσχράν, μηδὲν δυσχεραίνοντα, ἐὰν μόνον ἔχῃ δύναμιν καθάπερ θηρίῳ τοῦ [831ε] φαγεῖν παντοδαπὰ καὶ πιεῖν ὡσαύτως καὶ ἀφροδισίων πᾶσαν πάντως παρασχεῖν πλησμονήν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

αὕτη μὲν τοίνυν, ἣν λέγω, μία κείσθω διακωλύουσα αἰτία τοῦ μήτε ἄλλο καλὸν μήτε τὰ πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον ἱκανῶς ἐῶσα ἀσκεῖν τὰς πόλεις, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμπόρους τε καὶ ναυκλήρους καὶ διακόνους πάντως τοὺς φύσει κοσμίους τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀπεργαζομένη, τοὺς δὲ ἀνδρείους λῃστὰς καὶ τοιχωρύχους καὶ [832α] ἱεροσύλους καὶ πολεμικοὺς καὶ τυραννικοὺς ποιοῦσα, καὶ μάλ᾽ ἐνίοτε οὐκ ἀφυεῖς ὄντας, δυστυχοῦντάς γε μήν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

πῶς μὲν οὖν αὐτοὺς οὐ λέγοιμ᾽ ἂν τὸ παράπαν δυστυχεῖς, οἷς γε ἀνάγκη διὰ βίου πεινῶσιν τὴν ψυχὴν ἀεὶ τὴν αὑτῶν διεξελθεῖν;

Κλεινίας

αὕτη μὲν τοίνυν μία: τὴν δὲ δὴ δευτέραν αἰτίαν τίνα λέγεις, ὦ ξένε;

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς ὑπέμνησας.

Κλεινίας

αὕτη μὲν δή, φῂς σύ, μία, ἡ διὰ βίου ἄπληστος [832β] ζήτησις, παρέχουσα ἄσχολον ἕκαστον, ἐμπόδιος γίγνεται τοῦ μὴ καλῶς ἀσκεῖν τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἑκάστους. ἔστω: τὴν δὲ δὴ δευτέραν λέγε.

Ἀθηναῖος

μῶν οὐ λέγειν ἀλλὰ διατρίβειν δοκῶ δι᾽ ἀπορίαν;

Κλεινίας

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ οἷον μισῶν δοκεῖς ἡμῖν κολάζειν τὸ τοιοῦτον ἦθος μᾶλλον τοῦ δέοντος τῷ παραπεπτωκότι λόγῳ.

Ἀθηναῖος

κάλλιστα, ὦ ξένοι, ἐπεπλήξατε: καὶ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἀκούοιτ᾽ ἄν, ὡς ἔοικε.

Κλεινίας

λέγε μόνον.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰς οὐ πολιτείας ἔγωγε αἰτίας εἶναί φημι ἃς [832ξ] πολλάκις εἴρηκα ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν λόγοις, δημοκρατίαν καὶ ὀλιγαρχίαν καὶ τυραννίδα. τούτων γὰρ δὴ πολιτεία μὲν οὐδεμία, στασιωτεῖαι δὲ πᾶσαι λέγοιντ᾽ ἂν ὀρθότατα: ἑκόντων γὰρ ἑκοῦσα οὐδεμία, ἀλλ᾽ ἀκόντων ἑκοῦσα ἄρχει σὺν ἀεί τινι βίᾳ, φοβούμενος δὲ ἄρχων ἀρχόμενον οὔτε καλὸν οὔτε πλούσιον οὔτε ἰσχυρὸν οὔτ᾽ ἀνδρεῖον οὔτε τὸ παράπαν πολεμικὸν ἑκὼν ἐάσει γίγνεσθαί ποτε. ταῦτ᾽ οὖν ἐστι τὰ δύο πάντων μὲν σμικροῦ διαφερόντως αἴτια, τούτων δ᾽ οὖν ὄντως διαφέρει. τὸ δὲ τῆς νῦν πολιτείας, ἣν νομοθετούμενοι [832δ] λέγομεν, ἐκπέφευγεν ἀμφότερα: σχολήν τε γὰρ ἄγει που μεγίστην, ἐλεύθεροί τε ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων εἰσί, φιλοχρήματοι δὲ ἥκιστ᾽ ἄν, οἶμαι, γίγνοιντ᾽ ἂν ἐκ τούτων τῶν νόμων, ὥστ᾽ εἰκότως ἅμα καὶ κατὰ λόγον ἡ τοιαύτη κατάστασις πολιτείας μόνη δέξαιτ᾽ ἂν τῶν νῦν τὴν διαπερανθεῖσαν παιδείαν τε ἅμα καὶ παιδιὰν πολεμικήν, ἀποτελεσθεῖσαν ὀρθῶς τῷ λόγῳ.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ τούτοις ἐφεξῆς ἐστιν μνησθῆναί ποτε [832ε] περὶ ἁπάντων τῶν ἀγώνων τῶν γυμνικῶν, ὡς ὅσα μὲν αὐτῶν πρὸς πόλεμόν ἐστιν ἀγωνίσματα ἐπιτηδευτέον καὶ θετέον ἆθλα νικητήρια, ὅσα δὲ μή, χαίρειν ἐατέον; ἃ δ᾽ ἔστιν, ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἄμεινον ῥηθῆναί τε καὶ νομοθετηθῆναι. καὶ πρῶτον μὲν τὰ περὶ δρόμον καὶ τάχος ὅλως ἆρ᾽ οὐ θετέον;

Κλεινίας

θετέον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔστι γοῦν πάντων πολεμικώτατον ἡ σώματος ὀξύτης πάντως, ἡ μὲν ἀπὸ τῶν ποδῶν, ἡ δὲ καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν [833α] χειρῶν: φυγεῖν μὲν καὶ ἑλεῖν ἡ τῶν ποδῶν, ἡ δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς συμπλοκαῖς μάχη καὶ σύστασις ἰσχύος καὶ ῥώμης δεομένη.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ μὴν χωρίς γε ὅπλων οὐδετέρα τὴν μεγίστην ἔχει χρείαν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

σταδιοδρόμον δὴ πρῶτον ὁ κῆρυξ ἡμῖν, καθάπερ νῦν, ἐν τοῖς ἀγῶσι παρακαλεῖ, ὁ δὲ εἴσεισιν ὅπλα ἔχων: ψιλῷ δὲ ἆθλα οὐ θήσομεν ἀγωνιστῇ. πρῶτος δὲ εἴσεισιν ὁ τὸ στάδιον ἁμιλλησόμενος σὺν τοῖς ὅπλοις, δεύτερος δὲ [833β] ὁ τὸν δίαυλον, καὶ τρίτος ὁ τὸν ἐφίππιον, καὶ δὴ καὶ τέταρτος ὁ τὸν δόλιχον, καὶ πέμπτος δὲ ὃν ἀφήσομεν πρῶτον ὡπλισμένον, ἑξήκοντα μὲν σταδίων μῆκος πρὸς ἱερὸν Ἄρεώς τι καὶ πάλιν, βαρύτερον, ὁπλίτην ἐπονομάζοντες, λειοτέρας ὁδοῦ διαμιλλώμενον, τὸν δὲ ἄλλον, τοξότην πᾶσαν τοξικὴν ἔχοντα στολήν, σταδίων δὲ ἑκατὸν πρὸς Ἀπόλλωνός τε καὶ Ἀρτέμιδος ἱερὸν τὴν δι᾽ ὀρῶν τε καὶ παντοίας χώρας ἁμιλλώμενον: [833ξ] καὶ τιθέντες τὸν ἀγῶνα μενοῦμεν τούτους, ἕως ἂν ἔλθωσι, καὶ τῷ νικῶντι τὰ νικητήρια δώσομεν ἑκάστων.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

τριττὰ δὴ ταῦτα ἀθλήματα διανοηθῶμεν, ἓν μὲν παιδικόν, ἓν δὲ ἀγενείων, ἓν δὲ ἀνδρῶν: καὶ τοῖς μὲν τῶν ἀγενείων τὰ δύο τῶν τριῶν τοῦ μήκους τοῦ δρόμου θήσομεν, τοῖς δὲ παισὶ τὰ τούτων ἡμίσεα, τοξόταις τε καὶ ὁπλίταις ἁμιλλωμένοις, γυναιξὶν δέ, κόραις μὲν ἀνήβοις γυμναῖς [833δ] στάδιον καὶ δίαυλον καὶ ἐφίππιον καὶ δόλιχον, ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ δρόμῳ ἁμιλλωμέναις, ταῖς δὲ τριακαιδεκέτεσι μέχρι γάμου μενούσαις κοινωνίας μὴ μακρότερον εἴκοσι ἐτῶν μηδ᾽ ἔλαττον ὀκτωκαίδεκα: πρεπούσῃ δὲ στολῇ ταύτας ἐσταλμένας καταβατέον ἐπὶ τὴν ἅμιλλαν τούτων τῶν δρόμων. καὶ τὰ μὲν περὶ δρόμους ἀνδράσι τε καὶ γυναιξὶ ταῦτα ἔστω: τὰ δὲ κατ᾽ ἰσχύν, ἀντὶ μὲν πάλης καὶ τῶν τοιούτων, τὰ νῦν ὅσα [833ε] βαρέα, τὴν ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις μάχην, ἕνα τε πρὸς ἕνα διαμαχομένους καὶ δύο πρὸς δύο, καὶ μέχρι δέκα πρὸς δέκα διαμιλλωμένους ἀλλήλοις. ἃ δὲ τὸν μὴ παθόντα ἢ ποιήσαντα δεῖ νικᾶν καὶ εἰς ὁπόσα, καθάπερ νῦν ἐν τῇ πάλῃ διενομοθετήσαντο οἱ περὶ τὴν πάλην αὐτὴν τί τοῦ καλῶς παλαίοντος ἔργον καὶ μὴ καλῶς, ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ τοὺς περὶ ὁπλομαχίαν ἄκρους παρακαλοῦντας, χρὴ τούτους συννομοθετεῖν κελεύειν τίς νικᾶν ἄρα δίκαιος περὶ ταύτας αὖ τὰς μάχας, ὅτι μὴ [834α] παθὼν ἢ δράσας, καὶ τὸν ἡττώμενον ὡσαύτως ἥτις διακρίνει τάξις. ταὐτὰ δὲ καὶ περὶ τῶν θηλειῶν ἔστω νομοθετούμενα τῶν μέχρι γάμου. πελταστικὴν δὲ ὅλην ἀντιστήσαντας δεῖ τῇ τοῦ παγκρατίου μάχῃ, τόξοις καὶ πέλταις καὶ ἀκοντίοις καὶ λίθῳ ἐκ χειρός τε καὶ σφενδόναις ἁμιλλωμένων, διαθεμένους αὖ περὶ τούτων νόμους, τῷ κάλλιστα ἀποδιδόντι τὰ περὶ ταῦτα νόμιμα τὰ γέρα καὶ τὰς νίκας διανέμειν. τὸ δὲ [834β] μετὰ ταῦτα ἵππων δὴ περὶ ἀγῶνος γίγνοιτο ἑξῆς ἂν νομοθετούμενα: ἵππων δὲ ἡμῖν χρεία μὲν οὔτε τις πολλῶν οὔτε πολλή, κατά γε δὴ Κρήτην, ὥστε ἀναγκαῖον καὶ τὰς σπουδὰς ἐλάττους γίγνεσθαι τάς τε ἐν τῇ τροφῇ καὶ τὰς περὶ ἀγωνίαν αὐτῶν. ἅρματος μὲν οὖν καὶ τὸ παράπαν οὔτε τις τροφεὺς ἡμῖν ἐστιν οὔτε τις φιλοτιμία πρὸς ταῦτα οὐδενὶ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν λόγον ἔχουσα, ὥστε τούτου μὲν ἀγωνιστάς, οὐκ ἐπιχώριον, ἔσται τιθέντας νοῦν μήτε ἔχειν μήτε δοκεῖν κεκτῆσθαι: [834ξ] μονίπποις δὲ ἆθλα τιθέντες, πώλοις τε ἀβόλοις καὶ τελείων τε καὶ ἀβόλων τοῖς μέσοις καὶ αὐτοῖς δὴ τοῖς τέλος ἔχουσι, κατὰ φύσιν τῆς χώρας ἂν τὴν ἱππικὴν παιδιὰν ἀποδιδοῖμεν. ἔστω δὴ τούτων τε αὐτῶν κατὰ νόμον ἅμιλλά τε καὶ φιλονικία, φυλάρχοις τε καὶ ἱππάρχοις δεδομένη κοινὴ κρίσις ἁπάντων τῶν τε δρόμων αὐτῶν καὶ τῶν καταβαινόντων μεθ᾽ ὅπλων: ψιλοῖς δὲ ὅπλων οὔτ᾽ ἐν τοῖς γυμνικοῖς οὔτε ἐνταῦθα [834δ] τιθέντες ἀγωνίας ὀρθῶς ἂν νομοθετοῖμεν. τοξότης δὲ ἀφ᾽ ἵππων Κρὴς οὐκ ἄχρηστος, οὐδ᾽ ἀκοντιστής, ὥστε ἔστω καὶ τούτων παιδιᾶς χάριν ἔρις τε καὶ ἀγωνία. θηλείας δὲ περὶ τούτων νόμοις μὲν καὶ ἐπιτάξεσιν οὐκ ἄξια βιάζεσθαι τῆς κοινωνίας: ἐὰν δὲ ἐξ αὐτῶν τῶν ἔμπροσθεν παιδευμάτων εἰς ἔθος ἰόντων ἡ φύσις ἐνδέχηται καὶ μὴ δυσχεραίνῃ παῖδας ἢ παρθένους κοινωνεῖν, ἐᾶν καὶ μὴ ψέγειν.

ἀγωνία δὴ νῦν ἤδη καὶ μάθησις γυμναστικῆς, ὅσα τε [834ε] ἐν ἀγῶσιν καὶ ὅσα καθ᾽ ἡμέραν <ἐν> διδασκάλων ἐκπονούμεθα, πάντως ἤδη πέρας ἔχει. καὶ δὴ καὶ μουσικῆς τὰ μὲν πλεῖστα ὡσαύτως διαπεπέρανται, τὰ δὲ ῥαψῳδῶν καὶ τῶν τούτοις ἑπομένων, καὶ ὅσαι ἐν ἑορταῖς ἅμιλλαι χορῶν ἀναγκαῖαι γίγνεσθαι, ταχθέντων τοῖς θεοῖς τε καὶ τοῖς μετὰ θεῶν μηνῶν καὶ ἡμερῶν καὶ ἐνιαυτῶν, κοσμηθήσονται τότε, εἴτε τριετηρίδες εἴτε αὖ καὶ διὰ πέμπτων ἐτῶν, εἴθ᾽ ὅπῃ καὶ [835α] ὅπως ἔννοιαν διδόντων τῶν θεῶν τάξεως πέρι διανεμηθῶσιν: τότε καὶ τοὺς μουσικῆς ἀγῶνας χρὴ προσδοκᾶν κατὰ μέρος ἀγωνιεῖσθαι ταχθέντας ὑπό τε ἀθλοθετῶν καὶ τοῦ παιδευτοῦ τῶν νέων καὶ τῶν νομοφυλάκων, εἰς κοινὸν περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων συνελθόντων καὶ γενομένων νομοθετῶν αὐτῶν, τοῦ τε πότε καὶ τίνες καὶ μετὰ τίνων τοὺς ἀγῶνας ποιήσονται περὶ ἁπάντων χορῶν καὶ χορείας. οἷα δὲ ἕκαστα αὐτῶν εἶναι δεῖ κατὰ λόγον καὶ κατ᾽ ᾠδὰς καὶ καθ᾽ ἁρμονίας ῥυθμοῖς [835β] κραθείσας καὶ ὀρχήσεσι, πολλάκις εἴρηται τῷ πρώτῳ νομοθέτῃ, καθ᾽ ἃ τοὺς δευτέρους δεῖ μεταδιώκοντας νομοθετεῖν, καὶ τοὺς ἀγῶνας πρεπόντως ἑκάστοις θύμασιν ἐν χρόνοις προσήκουσι νείμαντας, ἑορτὰς ἀποδοῦναι τῇ πόλει ἑορτάζειν. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα οὔτε χαλεπὸν γνῶναι τίνα τρόπον χρὴ τάξεως ἐννόμου λαγχάνειν, οὐδ᾽ αὖ μετατιθέμενα ἔνθα ἢ ἔνθα μέγα τῇ πόλει κέρδος ἢ ζημίαν ἂν φέροι: [835ξ] ἃ δὲ μὴ σμικρὸν διαφέρει, πείθειν τε χαλεπόν, θεοῦ μὲν μάλιστα ἔργον, εἴ πως οἷόν τε ἦν ἐπιτάξεις αὐτὰς παρ᾽ ἐκείνου γίγνεσθαι, νῦν δὲ ἀνθρώπου τολμηροῦ κινδυνεύει δεῖσθαί τινος, ὃς παρρησίαν διαφερόντως τιμῶν ἐρεῖ τὰ δοκοῦντα ἄριστ᾽ εἶναι πόλει καὶ πολίταις, ἐν ψυχαῖς διεφθαρμέναις τὸ πρέπον καὶ ἑπόμενον πάσῃ τῇ πολιτείᾳ τάττων, ἐναντία λέγων ταῖς μεγίσταισιν ἐπιθυμίαις καὶ οὐκ ἔχων βοηθὸν ἄνθρωπον οὐδένα, λόγῳ ἑπόμενος μόνῳ μόνος. [835δ]

Κλεινίας

τίν᾽ αὖ νῦν, ὦ ξένε, λόγον λέγομεν; οὐ γάρ πω μανθάνομεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰκότως γε: ἀλλὰ δὴ πειράσομαι ἐγὼ φράζειν ὑμῖν ἔτι σαφέστερον. ὡς γὰρ εἰς παιδείαν ἦλθον τῷ λόγῳ, εἶδον νέους τε καὶ νέας ὁμιλοῦντας φιλοφρόνως ἀλλήλοις: εἰσῆλθεν δή με, οἷον εἰκός, φοβηθῆναι, συννοήσαντα τί τις χρήσεται τῇ τοιαύτῃ πόλει ἐν ᾗ δὴ νέοι μὲν νέαι τε εὐτρεφεῖς εἰσί, πόνων δὲ σφοδρῶν καὶ ἀνελευθέρων, οἳ [835ε] μάλιστα ὕβριν σβεννύασιν, ἀργοί, θυσίαι δὲ καὶ ἑορταὶ καὶ χοροὶ πᾶσιν μέλουσιν διὰ βίου. τίνα δή ποτε τρόπον ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ πόλει ἀφέξονται τῶν πολλοὺς δὴ πολλὰ ἐπιθυμιῶν εἰς ἔσχατα βαλλουσῶν, ὧν ἂν ὁ λόγος προστάττῃ ἀπέχεσθαι, νόμος ἐπιχειρῶν γίγνεσθαι; καὶ τῶν μὲν πολλῶν οὐ θαυμαστὸν ἐπιθυμιῶν εἰ κρατοῖ τὰ πρόσθεν νόμιμα ταχθέντα-τὸ [836α] γὰρ μὴ πλουτεῖν τε ἐξεῖναι ὑπερβαλλόντως ἀγαθὸν πρὸς τὸ σωφρονεῖν οὐ σμικρόν, καὶ πᾶσα ἡ παιδεία μετρίους πρὸς τὰ τοιαῦτ᾽ εἴληφεν νόμους, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις ἡ τῶν ἀρχόντων ὄψις διηναγκασμένη μὴ ἀποβλέπειν ἄλλοσε, τηρεῖν δ᾽ ἀεί, τοὺς νέους τ᾽ αὐτούς, πρὸς μὲν τὰς ἄλλας ἐπιθυμίας, ὅσα γε ἀνθρώπινα, μέτρον ἔχει-τὰ δὲ δὴ τῶν ἐρώτων παίδων τε ἀρρένων καὶ θηλειῶν καὶ γυναικῶν ἀνδρῶν [836β] καὶ ἀνδρῶν γυναικῶν ὅθεν δὴ μυρία γέγονεν ἀνθρώποις ἰδίᾳ καὶ ὅλαις πόλεσιν, πῶς τις τοῦτο διευλαβοῖτ᾽ ἄν, καὶ τί τεμὼν φάρμακον τούτοις ἑκάστοις τοῦ τοιούτου κινδύνου διαφυγὴν εὑρήσει; πάντως οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ὦ Κλεινία. καὶ γὰρ οὖν πρὸς μὲν ἄλλα οὐκ ὀλίγα ἡ Κρήτη τε ἡμῖν ὅλη καὶ ἡ Λακεδαίμων βοήθειαν ἐπιεικῶς οὐ σμικρὰν συμβάλλονται τιθεῖσι νόμους ἀλλοίους τῶν πολλῶν τρόπων, περὶ δὲ τῶν ἐρώτων-αὐτοὶ γάρ ἐσμεν-ἐναντιοῦνται παντάπασιν. εἰ [836ξ] γάρ τις ἀκολουθῶν τῇ φύσει θήσει τὸν πρὸ τοῦ Λαΐου νόμον, λέγων ὡς ὀρθῶς εἶχεν τὸ τῶν ἀρρένων καὶ νέων μὴ κοινωνεῖν καθάπερ θηλειῶν πρὸς μεῖξιν ἀφροδισίων, μάρτυρα παραγόμενος τὴν τῶν θηρίων φύσιν καὶ δεικνὺς πρὸς τὰ τοιαῦτα οὐχ ἁπτόμενον ἄρρενα ἄρρενος διὰ τὸ μὴ φύσει τοῦτο εἶναι, τάχ᾽ ἂν χρῷτο πιθανῷ λόγῳ, καὶ ταῖς ὑμετέραις πόλεσιν οὐδαμῶς συμφωνοῖ. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις, ὃ διὰ παντός [836δ] φαμεν δεῖν τὸν νομοθέτην τηρεῖν, τοῦτο ἐν τούτοις οὐχ ὁμολογεῖ. ζητοῦμεν γὰρ ἀεὶ δὴ τί τῶν τιθεμένων πρὸς ἀρετὴν φέρει καὶ τί μή: φέρε δή, τοῦτο ἐὰν συγχωρῶμεν καλὸν ἢ μηδαμῶς αἰσχρὸν νομοθετεῖσθαι τὰ νῦν, τί μέρος ἡμῖν συμβάλλοιτ᾽ ἂν πρὸς ἀρετήν; πότερον ἐν τῇ τοῦ πεισθέντος ψυχῇ γιγνόμενον ἐμφύσεται τὸ τῆς ἀνδρείας ἦθος, ἢ ἐν τῇ τοῦ πείσαντος τὸ τῆς σώφρονος ἰδέας γένος; ἢ ταῦτα μὲν οὐδεὶς ἂν πεισθείη ποτέ, μᾶλλον δὲ ἅπαν τούτου τοὐναντίον, τοῦ μὲν ταῖς ἡδοναῖς ὑπείκοντος καὶ [836ε] καρτερεῖν οὐ δυναμένου ψέξει πᾶς τὴν μαλακίαν, τοῦ δ᾽ εἰς μίμησιν τοῦ θήλεος ἰόντος τὴν τῆς εἰκόνος ὁμοιότητα ἆρ᾽ οὐ μέμψεται; τίς οὖν ἀνθρώπων τοῦτο ὂν τοιοῦτον νομοθετήσει; σχεδὸν οὐδείς, ἔχων γε ἐν τῷ νῷ νόμον ἀληθῆ. πῶς οὖν φαμεν ἀληθὲς τοῦτο εἶναι; τὴν τῆς φιλίας τε καὶ [837α] ἐπιθυμίας ἅμα καὶ τῶν λεγομένων ἐρώτων φύσιν ἰδεῖν ἀναγκαῖον, εἰ μέλλει τις ταῦτα ὀρθῶς διανοηθήσεσθαι: δύο γὰρ ὄντα αὐτά, καὶ ἐξ ἀμφοῖν τρίτον ἄλλο εἶδος, ἓν ὄνομα περιλαβὸν πᾶσαν ἀπορίαν καὶ σκότον ἀπεργάζεται.

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

φίλον μέν που καλοῦμεν ὅμοιον ὁμοίῳ κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν καὶ ἴσον ἴσῳ, φίλον δ᾽ αὖ καὶ τὸ δεόμενον τοῦ πεπλουτηκότος, ἐναντίον ὂν τῷ γένει: ὅταν δὲ ἑκάτερον γίγνηται σφοδρόν, ἔρωτα ἐπονομάζομεν. [837β]

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

φιλία τοίνυν ἡ μὲν ἀπὸ ἐναντίων δεινὴ καὶ ἀγρία καὶ τὸ κοινὸν οὐ πολλάκις ἔχουσα ἐν ἡμῖν, ἡ δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν ὁμοίων ἥμερός τε καὶ κοινὴ διὰ βίου: μεικτὴ δὲ ἐκ τούτων γενομένη πρῶτον μὲν καταμαθεῖν οὐ ῥᾳδία, τί ποτε βούλοιτ᾽ ἂν αὑτῷ γενέσθαι τὸν τρίτον ἔρωτά τις ἔχων τοῦτον, ἔπειτα εἰς τοὐναντίον ὑπ᾽ ἀμφοῖν ἑλκόμενος ἀπορεῖ, τοῦ μὲν κελεύοντος τῆς ὥρας ἅπτεσθαι, τοῦ δὲ ἀπαγορεύοντος. ὁ μὲν [837ξ] γὰρ τοῦ σώματος ἐρῶν, καὶ τῆς ὥρας καθάπερ ὀπώρας πεινῶν, ἐμπλησθῆναι παρακελεύεται ἑαυτῷ, τιμὴν οὐδεμίαν ἀπονέμων τῷ τῆς ψυχῆς ἤθει τοῦ ἐρωμένου: ὁ δὲ πάρεργον μὲν τὴν τοῦ σώματος ἐπιθυμίαν ἔχων, ὁρῶν δὲ μᾶλλον ἢ ἐρῶν, τῇ ψυχῇ δὲ ὄντως τῆς ψυχῆς ἐπιτεθυμηκώς, ὕβριν ἥγηται τὴν περὶ τὸ σῶμα τοῦ σώματος πλησμονήν, τὸ σῶφρον δὲ καὶ ἀνδρεῖον καὶ μεγαλοπρεπὲς καὶ τὸ φρόνιμον αἰδούμενος ἅμα καὶ σεβόμενος, ἁγνεύειν ἀεὶ μεθ᾽ ἁγνεύοντος [837δ] τοῦ ἐρωμένου βούλοιτ᾽ ἄν: ὁ δὲ μειχθεὶς ἐξ ἀμφοῖν τρίτος ἔρως οὗτός ἐσθ᾽ ὃν νῦν διεληλύθαμεν ὡς τρίτον. ὄντων δὲ τούτων τοσούτων, πότερον ἅπαντας δεῖ κωλύειν τὸν νόμον, ἀπείργοντα μὴ γίγνεσθαι ἐν ἡμῖν, ἢ δῆλον ὅτι τὸν μὲν ἀρετῆς ὄντα καὶ τὸν νέον ἐπιθυμοῦντα ὡς ἄριστον γίγνεσθαι βουλοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐνεῖναι, τοὺς δὲ δύο, εἰ δυνατὸν εἴη, κωλύοιμεν ἄν; ἢ πῶς λέγομεν, ὦ φίλε Μέγιλλε;

Μέγιλλος

πάντῃ τοι καλῶς, ὦ ξένε, περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων [837ε] εἴρηκας τὰ νῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔοικά γε, ὅπερ καὶ ἐτόπαζον, τυχεῖν τῆς σῆς, ὦ φίλε, συνῳδίας: τὸν δὲ νόμον ὑμῶν, ὅτι νοεῖ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, οὐδέν με ἐξετάζειν δεῖ, δέχεσθαι δὲ τὴν τῷ λόγῳ συγχώρησιν. Κλεινίᾳ δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα καὶ εἰς αὖθις περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων πειράσομαι ἐπᾴδων πείθειν. τὸ δέ μοι δεδομένον ὑπὸ σφῷν ἴτω, καὶ διεξέλθωμεν πάντως τοὺς νόμους.

Μέγιλλος

ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

τέχνην δή τιν᾽ αὖ τούτου τοῦ νόμου τῆς θέσεως [838α] ἐν τῷ νῦν παρόντι τὴν μὲν ῥᾳδίαν ἔχω, τὴν δ᾽ αὖ τινα τρόπον παντάπασιν ὡς οἷόν τε χαλεπωτάτην.

Μέγιλλος

πῶς δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴσμεν που καὶ τὰ νῦν τοὺς πλείστους τῶν ἀνθρώπων, καίπερ παρανόμους ὄντας, ὡς εὖ τε καὶ ἀκριβῶς εἴργονται τῆς τῶν καλῶν συνουσίας οὐκ ἄκοντες, ὡς οἷόν τε δὲ μάλιστα ἑκόντες.

Μέγιλλος

πότε λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅταν ἀδελφὸς ἢ ἀδελφή τῳ γένωνται καλοί. καὶ [838β] περὶ ὑέος ἢ θυγατρὸς ὁ αὐτὸς νόμος ἄγραφος ὢν ὡς οἷόν τε ἱκανώτατα φυλάττει μήτε φανερῶς μήτε λάθρᾳ συγκαθεύδοντα ἤ πως ἄλλως ἀσπαζόμενον ἅπτεσθαι τούτων: ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἐπιθυμία ταύτης τῆς συνουσίας τὸ παράπαν εἰσέρχεται τοὺς πολλούς.

Μέγιλλος

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν σμικρὸν ῥῆμα κατασβέννυσι πάσας τὰς τοιαύτας ἡδονάς;

Μέγιλλος

τὸ ποῖον δὴ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ ταῦτα εἶναι φάναι μηδαμῶς ὅσια, θεομισῆ δὲ [838ξ] καὶ αἰσχρῶν αἴσχιστα. τὸ δ᾽ αἴτιον ἆρ᾽ οὐ τοῦτ᾽ ἐστί, τὸ μηδένα ἄλλως λέγειν αὐτά, ἀλλ᾽ εὐθὺς γενόμενον ἡμῶν ἕκαστον ἀκούειν τε λεγόντων ἀεὶ καὶ πανταχοῦ ταῦτα, ἐν γελοίοις τε ἅμα ἐν πάσῃ τε σπουδῇ τραγικῇ λεγομένῃ πολλάκις, ὅταν ἢ Θυέστας ἤ τινας Οἰδίποδας εἰσάγωσιν, ἢ Μακαρέας τινὰς ἀδελφαῖς μειχθέντας λαθραίως, ὀφθέντας δὲ ἑτοίμως θάνατον αὑτοῖς ἐπιτιθέντας δίκην τῆς ἁμαρτίας;

Μέγιλλος

ὀρθότατα λέγεις τό γε τοσοῦτον, ὅτι τὸ τῆς φήμης [838δ] θαυμαστήν τινα δύναμιν εἴληχεν, ὅταν μηδεὶς μηδαμῶς ἄλλως ἀναπνεῖν ἐπιχειρήσῃ ποτὲ παρὰ τὸν νόμον.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ὀρθὸν τὸ νυνδὴ ῥηθέν, ὅτι νομοθέτῃ, βουλομένῳ τινὰ ἐπιθυμίαν δουλώσασθαι τῶν διαφερόντως τοὺς ἀνθρώπους δουλουμένων, ῥᾴδιον γνῶναί γε ὅντινα τρόπον χειρώσαιτο ἄν: ὅτι καθιερώσας ταύτην τὴν φήμην παρὰ πᾶσι, δούλοις τε καὶ ἐλευθέροις καὶ παισὶ καὶ γυναιξὶ καὶ ὅλῃ τῇ πόλει κατὰ τὰ αὐτά, οὕτω τὸ βεβαιότατον ἀπειργασμένος [838ε] ἔσται περὶ τοῦτον τὸν νόμον.

Μέγιλλος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν: ὅπως δὲ αὖ τὸ τοιοῦτον ἐθέλοντας λέγειν πάντας δυνατὸν ἔσται ποτὲ παρασχεῖν-

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς ὑπέλαβες: αὐτὸ γὰρ τοῦτο ἦν τὸ παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ λεχθέν, ὅτι τέχνην ἐγὼ πρὸς τοῦτον τὸν νόμον ἔχοιμι τοῦ κατὰ φύσιν χρῆσθαι τῇ τῆς παιδογονίας συνουσίᾳ, τοῦ μὲν ἄρρενος ἀπεχομένους, μὴ κτείνοντάς τε ἐκ προνοίας τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος, μηδ᾽ εἰς πέτρας τε καὶ λίθους σπείροντας, [839α] οὗ μήποτε φύσιν τὴν αὑτοῦ ῥιζωθὲν λήψεται γόνιμον, ἀπεχομένους δὲ ἀρούρας θηλείας πάσης ἐν ᾗ μὴ βούλοιο ἄν σοι φύεσθαι τὸ σπαρέν. ὁ δὴ νόμος οὗτος διηνεκὴς μὲν γενόμενος ἅμα καὶ κρατήσας, καθάπερ νῦν περὶ τὰς τῶν γονέων συμμείξεις κρατεῖ, ἐὰν καὶ περὶ τὰς ἄλλας νικήσῃ δικαίως, μυρία ἀγαθὰ ἔχει. κατὰ φύσιν μὲν γὰρ πρῶτον κεῖται, λύττης δὲ ἐρωτικῆς καὶ μανίας καὶ μοιχειῶν πασῶν καὶ πωμάτων καὶ σίτων εἴργεσθαι ποιεῖ τῶν ἀμέτρων [839β] πάντων, γυναιξί τε αὑτῶν οἰκείους εἶναι φίλους: ἄλλα τε πάμπολλα ἀγαθὰ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, εἰ τοῦ νόμου τις τούτου δύναιτο ἐγκρατὴς εἶναι. τάχα δ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν τις παραστὰς ἀνὴρ σφοδρὸς καὶ νέος, πολλοῦ σπέρματος μεστός, ἀκούων τιθεμένου τοῦ νόμου λοιδορήσειεν ἂν ὡς ἀνόητα καὶ ἀδύνατα τιθέντων νόμιμα, καὶ βοῆς πάντα ἐμπλήσειε: πρὸς ἃ δὴ καὶ βλέψας ἐγὼ τοῦτο εἶπον τὸ ῥῆμα, ὥς τινα τέχνην κεκτῄμην, [839ξ] τῇ μὲν ῥᾴστην ἁπασῶν, τῇ δὲ χαλεπωτάτην, πρὸς τὸ τοῦτον τεθέντα ἐμμεῖναι τὸν νόμον. νοῆσαι μὲν γὰρ δὴ ῥᾷστον ὡς δυνατόν τέ ἐστιν καὶ ὅπῃ-φαμὲν γὰρ δὴ καθιερωθὲν τοῦτο ἱκανῶς τὸ νόμιμον πᾶσαν ψυχὴν δουλώσεσθαι καὶ παντάπασιν μετὰ φόβου ποιήσειν πείθεσθαι τοῖς τεθεῖσιν νόμοις-ἀλλὰ γὰρ εἰς τοῦτο προβέβηκε νῦν, ὥστ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἂν τότε γενέσθαι δοκεῖ, καθάπερ τὸ τῶν συσσιτίων ἐπιτήδευμα ἀπιστεῖται μὴ δυνατὸν εἶναι δύνασθαι διὰ βίου πόλιν ὅλην [839δ] ζῆν πράττουσαν τοῦτο, ἐλεγχθὲν δ᾽ ἔργῳ καὶ γενόμενον παρ᾽ ὑμῖν, ὅμως ἔτι τό γε γυναικῶν οὐδὲ ἐν ταῖς ὑμετέραις πόλεσιν δοκεῖ φύσιν ἔχειν γίγνεσθαι. ταύτῃ δ᾽ αὖ, διὰ τὴν τῆς ἀπιστίας ῥώμην, εἴρηκα ἀμφότερα ταῦτα εἶναι παγχάλεπα μεῖναι κατὰ νόμον.

Μέγιλλος

ὀρθῶς γε σὺ λέγων.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς δ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἔστιν ὑπὲρ ἄνθρωπον, οἷόν τε δὲ γενέσθαι, βούλεσθε ὑμῖν πειραθῶ τινα λόγον ἐχόμενον πιθανότητος εἰπεῖν τινος;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ; [839ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερον οὖν τις ἀφροδισίων ῥᾷον ἂν ἀπέχοιτο, καὶ τὸ ταχθὲν ἐθέλοι περὶ αὐτὰ μετρίως ποιεῖν, εὖ τὸ σῶμα ἔχων καὶ μὴ ἰδιωτικῶς, ἢ φαύλως;

Κλεινίας

πολύ που μᾶλλον μὴ ἰδιωτικῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐκ ἴσμεν τὸν Ταραντῖνον Ἴκκον ἀκοῇ [840α] διὰ τὸν Ὀλυμπίασί τε ἀγῶνα καὶ τούς γε ἄλλους; ὧν διὰ φιλονικίαν, καὶ τέχνην καὶ τὸ μετὰ τοῦ σωφρονεῖν ἀνδρεῖον ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ κεκτημένος, ὡς λόγος, οὔτε τινὸς πώποτε γυναικὸς ἥψατο οὐδ᾽ αὖ παιδὸς ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ τῆς ἀσκήσεως ἀκμῇ: καὶ δὴ καὶ Κρίσωνα καὶ Ἀστύλον καὶ Διόπομπον καὶ ἄλλους παμπόλλους ὁ αὐτός που λόγος ἔχει. καίτοι τῶν γ᾽ ἐμῶν καὶ σῶν πολιτῶν, ὦ Κλεινία, πολὺ κάκιον ἦσαν πεπαιδευμένοι [840β] τὰς ψυχάς, τὰ δὲ σώματα πολὺ μᾶλλον σφριγῶντες.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ ταῦτα λέγεις ὅτι σφόδρα ὑπὸ τῶν παλαιῶν ἐστιν εἰρημένα περὶ τούτων τῶν ἀθλητῶν ὡς ὄντως ποτὲ γενόμενα.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; οἱ μὲν ἄρα νίκης ἕνεκα πάλης καὶ δρόμων καὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἐτόλμησαν ἀπέχεσθαι λεγομένου πράγματος ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν εὐδαίμονος, οἱ δὲ ἡμέτεροι παῖδες ἀδυνατήσουσι καρτερεῖν πολὺ καλλίονος ἕνεκα νίκης, ἣν [840ξ] ἡμεῖς καλλίστην ἐκ παίδων πρὸς αὐτοὺς λέγοντες ἐν μύθοις τε καὶ ἐν ῥήμασιν καὶ ἐν μέλεσιν ᾁδοντες, ὡς εἰκός, κηλήσομεν;

Κλεινίας

ποίας;

Ἀθηναῖος

τῆς τῶν ἡδονῶν νίκης ἐγκρατεῖς ὄντας ἂν ζῆν εὐδαιμόνως, ἡττωμένους δὲ τοὐναντίον ἅπαν. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἔτι φόβος ὁ τοῦ μηδαμῇ μηδαμῶς ὅσιον αὐτὸ εἶναι δύναμιν ἡμῖν οὐκ ἄρα ἕξει κρατεῖν ὧν ἄλλοι κεκρατήκασι τούτων ὄντες χείρονες;

Κλεινίας

εἰκὸς γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν ἐνταῦθά ἐσμεν τούτου τοῦ νομίμου [840δ] πέρι, διὰ κάκην δὲ τὴν τῶν πολλῶν εἰς ἀπορίαν ἐπέσομεν, φημὶ τὸ μὲν ἡμέτερον νόμιμον ἀτεχνῶς δεῖν περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων πορεύεσθαι λέγον ὡς οὐ δεῖ χείρους ἡμῖν εἶναι τοὺς πολίτας ὀρνίθων καὶ ἄλλων θηρίων πολλῶν, οἳ κατὰ μεγάλας ἀγέλας γεννηθέντες, μέχρι μὲν παιδογονίας ἠίθεοι καὶ ἀκήρατοι γάμων τε ἁγνοὶ ζῶσιν, ὅταν δ᾽ εἰς τοῦτο ἡλικίας ἔλθωσι, συνδυασθέντες ἄρρην θηλείᾳ κατὰ χάριν καὶ θήλεια ἄρρενι, τὸν λοιπὸν χρόνον ὁσίως καὶ δικαίως ζῶσιν, ἐμμένοντες [840ε] βεβαίως ταῖς πρώταις τῆς φιλίας ὁμολογίαις: δεῖν δὴ θηρίων γε αὐτοὺς ἀμείνους εἶναι. ἐὰν δ᾽ οὖν ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων Ἑλλήνων καὶ βαρβάρων τῶν πλείστων διαφθείρωνται, τὴν λεγομένην ἄτακτον Ἀφροδίτην ἐν αὐτοῖς ὁρῶντές τε καὶ ἀκούοντες μέγιστον δυναμένην, καὶ οὕτω δὴ μὴ δυνατοὶ γίγνωνται κατακρατεῖν, δεύτερον νόμον ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς μηχανᾶσθαι χρὴ τοὺς νομοφύλακας νομοθέτας γενομένους. [841α]

Κλεινίας

τίνα δὴ συμβουλεύεις αὐτοῖς τίθεσθαι νόμον, ἐὰν ὁ νῦν τιθέμενος αὐτοὺς ἐκφύγῃ;

Ἀθηναῖος

δῆλον ὅτι τὸν ἐχόμενον τούτου δεύτερον, ὦ Κλεινία.

Κλεινίας

τίνα λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀγύμναστον ὅτι μάλιστα ποιεῖν τὴν τῶν ἡδονῶν ῥώμην ἦν, τὴν ἐπίχυσιν καὶ τροφὴν αὐτῆς διὰ πόνων ἄλλοσε τρέποντα τοῦ σώματος. εἴη δ᾽ ἂν τοῦτο, εἰ ἀναίδεια μὴ ἐνείη τῇ τῶν ἀφροδισίων χρήσει: σπανίῳ γὰρ αὖ τῷ τοιούτῳ [841β] δι᾽ αἰσχύνην χρώμενοι, ἀσθενεστέραν ἂν αὐτὴν δέσποιναν κτῷντο ὀλιγάκις χρώμενοι. τὸ δὴ λανθάνειν τούτων δρῶντά τι καλὸν παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς ἔστω, νόμιμον ἔθει καὶ ἀγράφῳ νομισθὲν νόμῳ, τὸ δὲ μὴ λανθάνειν αἰσχρόν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὸ μὴ πάντως δρᾶν. οὕτω τοῦτο αἰσχρὸν αὖ καὶ καλὸν δευτέρως ἂν ἡμῖν ἐν νόμῳ γενόμενον κέοιτο, ὀρθότητα ἔχον δευτέραν, καὶ τοὺς τὰς φύσεις διεφθαρμένους, οὓς ἥττους αὑτῶν προσαγορεύομεν, [841ξ] ἓν γένος ὄν, περιλαβόντα τρία γένη βιάζοιτ᾽ ἂν μὴ παρανομεῖν.

Κλεινίας

ποῖα δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τό τε θεοσεβὲς ἅμα καὶ φιλότιμον καὶ τὸ μὴ τῶν σωμάτων ἀλλὰ τῶν τρόπων τῆς ψυχῆς ὄντων καλῶν γεγονὸς ἐν ἐπιθυμίᾳ. ταῦτα δὴ καθάπερ ἴσως ἐν μύθῳ τὰ νῦν λεγόμεν᾽ ἐστὶν εὐχαί, πολύ γε μὴν ἄριστα, εἴπερ γίγνοιτο, ἐν πάσαις πόλεσι γίγνοιτο ἄν. τάχα δ᾽ ἄν, εἰ θεὸς ἐθέλοι, [841δ] κἂν δυοῖν θάτερα βιασαίμεθα περὶ ἐρωτικῶν, ἢ μηδένα τολμᾶν μηδενὸς ἅπτεσθαι τῶν γενναίων ἅμα καὶ ἐλευθέρων πλὴν γαμετῆς ἑαυτοῦ γυναικός, ἄθυτα δὲ παλλακῶν σπέρματα καὶ νόθα μὴ σπείρειν, μηδὲ ἄγονα ἀρρένων παρὰ φύσιν: ἢ τὸ μὲν τῶν ἀρρένων πάμπαν ἀφελοίμεθ᾽ ἄν, τὸ δὲ γυναικῶν, εἴ τις συγγίγνοιτό τινι πλὴν ταῖς μετὰ θεῶν καὶ ἱερῶν γάμων ἐλθούσαις εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν, ὠνηταῖς εἴτε [841ε] ἄλλῳ ὁτῳοῦν τρόπῳ κτηταῖς, μὴ λανθάνων ἄνδρας τε καὶ γυναῖκας πάσας, τάχ᾽ ἂν ἄτιμον αὐτὸν τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐπαίνων νομοθετοῦντες ὀρθῶς ἂν δόξαιμεν νομοθετεῖν, ὡς ὄντως ὄντα ξενικόν. οὗτος δὴ νόμος, εἴτε εἷς εἴτε δύο αὐτοὺς χρὴ προσαγορεύειν, κείσθω περὶ ἀφροδισίων [842α] καὶ ἁπάντων τῶν ἐρωτικῶν, ὅσα πρὸς ἀλλήλους διὰ τὰς τοιαύτας ἐπιθυμίας ὁμιλοῦντες ὀρθῶς τε καὶ οὐκ ὀρθῶς πράττομεν.

Μέγιλλος

καὶ τοίνυν, ὦ ξένε, ἐγὼ μέν σοι σφόδρα δεχοίμην ἂν τοῦτον τὸν νόμον, ὁ δὲ δὴ Κλεινίας αὐτὸς φραζέτω τί ποτε περὶ αὐτῶν διανοεῖται.

Κλεινίας

ἔσται ταῦτα, ὦ Μέγιλλε, ὁπόταν γε δή μοι δόξῃ τις παραπεπτωκέναι καιρός: νῦν μὴν ἐῶμεν τὸν ξένον ἔτι εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν προϊέναι τῶν νόμων.

Μέγιλλος

ὀρθῶς. [842β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ μὴν νῦν γε προϊόντες ἤδη σχεδόν ἐσμεν ἐν τῷ κατεσκευάσθαι μὲν συσσίτια-ὅ φαμεν ἄλλοθι μὲν ἂν χαλεπὸν εἶναι, ἐν Κρήτῃ δὲ οὐδεὶς ἄλλως ἂν ὑπολάβοι δεῖν γίγνεσθαι-τὸ δὲ τίνα τρόπον, πότερον ὡς ἐνθάδε ἢ καθάπερ ἐν Λακεδαίμονι, ἢ παρὰ ταῦτα ἔστιν τι τρίτον εἶδος συσσιτίων ἀμφοῖν τούτοιν ἄμεινον ἂν ἔχον, τοῦτο οὔτ᾽ ἐξευρεῖν μοι χαλεπὸν εἶναι δοκεῖ, μέγα τε ἀγαθὸν εὑρεθὲν οὐδὲν ἀπεργάσεσθαι: καὶ γὰρ νῦν ἐμμελῶς ἔχειν κατεσκευασμένα. [842ξ]

τούτοις δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀκόλουθον ἡ τοῦ βίου κατασκευή, τίν᾽ αὐτοῖς ἂν τρόπον ἕποιτο. βίος δὴ ἄλλαις μὲν πόλεσιν παντοδαπῶς ἂν καὶ πολλαχόθεν εἴη, μάλιστα δὲ ἐκ διπλασίων ἢ τούτοις: ἐκ γῆς γὰρ καὶ ἐκ θαλάττης τοῖς πλείστοις τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐστὶ κατεσκευασμένα τὰ περὶ τὴν τροφήν, τούτοις δὲ μόνον ἐκ γῆς. τῷ μὲν οὖν νομοθέτῃ τοῦτο ῥᾷον: [842δ] οὐ γὰρ μόνον ἡμίσεις αὖ γίγνονται νόμοι μέτριοι, πολὺ δ᾽ ἐλάττους, ἔτι δ᾽ ἐλευθέροις ἀνθρώποις μᾶλλον πρέποντες. ναυκληρικῶν μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἐμπορικῶν καὶ καπηλευτικῶν καὶ πανδοκεύσεων καὶ τελωνικῶν καὶ μεταλλειῶν καὶ δανεισμῶν καὶ ἐπιτόκων τόκων καὶ ἄλλων μυρίων τοιούτων τὰ πολλὰ ἀπήλλακται, χαίρειν αὐτοῖς εἰπών, ὁ περὶ ταύτην τὴν πόλιν νομοθέτης, γεωργοῖς δὲ καὶ νομεῦσι καὶ μελιττουργοῖς καὶ τοῖς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα φυλακτηρίοις τε καὶ ἐπιστάταις ὀργάνων [842ε] νομοθετήσει, τὰ μέγιστα ἤδη νενομοθετηκὼς περὶ γάμους ἅμα καὶ γενέσεις παίδων καὶ τροφάς, ἔτι δὲ καὶ παιδείας ἀρχῶν τε καταστάσεις ἐν τῇ πόλει: νῦν δ᾽ ἐπὶ τοὺς τὴν τροφὴν καὶ ὅσοι περὶ αὐτὴν ταύτην συνδιαπονοῦσιν ἀναγκαῖον νομοθετοῦντά ἐστιν τρέπεσθαι.

πρῶτον δὴ νόμοι ἔστωσαν λεγόμενοι τοὔνομα γεωργικοί. Διὸς ὁρίου μὲν πρῶτος νόμος ὅδε εἰρήσθω: μὴ κινείτω γῆς ὅρια μηδεὶς μήτε οἰκείου πολίτου γείτονος, μήτε ὁμοτέρμονος ἐπ᾽ ἐσχατιᾶς κεκτημένος ἄλλῳ ξένῳ γειτονῶν, νομίσας τὸ [843α] τἀκίνητα κινεῖν ἀληθῶς τοῦτο εἶναι: βουλέσθω δὲ πᾶς πέτρον ἐπιχειρῆσαι κινεῖν τὸν μέγιστον ἄλλον πλὴν ὅρον μᾶλλον ἢ σμικρὸν λίθον ὁρίζοντα φιλίαν τε καὶ ἔχθραν ἔνορκον παρὰ θεῶν. τοῦ μὲν γὰρ ὁμόφυλος Ζεὺς μάρτυς, τοῦ δὲ ξένιος, οἳ μετὰ πολέμων τῶν ἐχθίστων ἐγείρονται. καὶ ὁ μὲν πεισθεὶς τῷ νόμῳ ἀναίσθητος τῶν ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ κακῶν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, καταφρονήσας δὲ διτταῖς δίκαις ἔνοχος ἔστω, μιᾷ μὲν παρὰ θεῶν καὶ πρώτῃ, δευτέρᾳ δὲ ὑπὸ νόμου. [843β] μηδεὶς γὰρ ἑκὼν κινείτω γῆς ὅρια γειτόνων: ὃς δ᾽ ἂν κινήσῃ, μηνυέτω μὲν ὁ βουλόμενος τοῖς γεωργοῖς, οἱ δὲ εἰς τὸ δικαστήριον ἀγόντων. ἢν δέ τις ὄφλῃ τὴν τοιαύτην δίκην, ὡς ἀνάδαστον γῆν λάθρᾳ καὶ βίᾳ ποιοῦντος τοῦ ὄφλοντος, τιμάτω τὸ δικαστήριον ὅτι ἂν δέῃ πάσχειν ἢ ἀποτίνειν τὸν ἡττηθέντα.

τὸ δὲ μετὰ τοῦτο βλάβαι πολλαὶ καὶ σμικραὶ γειτόνων γιγνόμεναι, διὰ τὸ θαμίζειν ἔχθρας ὄγκον μέγαν ἐντίκτουσαι, [843ξ] χαλεπὴν καὶ σφόδρα πικρὰν γειτονίαν ἀπεργάζονται. διὸ χρὴ πάντως εὐλαβεῖσθαι γείτονα γείτονι μηδὲν ποιεῖν διάφορον, τῶν τε ἄλλων πέρι καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐπεργασίας συμπάσης σφόδρ᾽ ἀεὶ διευλαβούμενον: τὸ μὲν γὰρ βλάπτειν οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν ἀλλ᾽ ἀνθρώπου παντός, τὸ δ᾽ ἐπωφελεῖν οὐδαμῇ ἅπαντος. ὃς δ᾽ ἂν ἐπεργάζηται τὰ τοῦ γείτονος ὑπερβαίνων τοὺς ὅρους, τὸ μὲν βλάβος ἀποτινέτω, τῆς δὲ ἀναιδείας ἅμα [843δ] καὶ ἀνελευθερίας ἕνεκα ἰατρευόμενος διπλάσιον τοῦ βλάβους ἄλλο ἐκτεισάτω τῷ βλαφθέντι: τούτων δὲ καὶ ἁπάντων τῶν τοιούτων ἐπιγνώμονές τε καὶ δικασταὶ καὶ τιμηταὶ γιγνέσθων ἀγρονόμοι, τῶν μὲν μειζόνων, καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν εἴρηται, πᾶσα ἡ τοῦ δωδεκατημορίου τάξις, τῶν ἐλαττόνων δὲ οἱ φρούραρχοι τούτων. καὶ ἐάν τις βοσκήματα ἐπινέμῃ, τὰς βλάβας ὁρῶντες κρινόντων καὶ τιμώντων. καὶ ἐὰν ἐσμοὺς ἀλλοτρίους σφετερίζῃ τις τῇ τῶν μελιττῶν ἡδονῇ συνεπόμενος [843ε] καὶ κατακρούων οὕτως οἰκειῶται, τινέτω τὴν βλάβην. καὶ ἐὰν πυρεύων τὴν ὕλην μὴ διευλαβηθῇ τῶν τοῦ γείτονος, τὴν δόξασαν ζημίαν τοῖς ἄρχουσι ζημιούσθω. καὶ ἐὰν φυτεύων μὴ ἀπολείπῃ τὸ μέτρον τῶν τοῦ γείτονος χωρίων, καθάπερ εἴρηται καὶ πολλοῖς νομοθέταις ἱκανῶς, ὧν τοῖς νόμοις χρὴ προσχρῆσθαι καὶ μὴ πάντα ἀξιοῦν, πολλὰ καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ τοῦ ἐπιτυχόντος νομοθέτου γιγνόμενα, τὸν μείζω [844α] πόλεως κοσμητὴν νομοθετεῖν: ἐπεὶ καὶ τῶν ὑδάτων πέρι γεωργοῖσι παλαιοὶ καὶ καλοὶ νόμοι κείμενοι οὐκ ἄξιοι παροχετεύειν λόγοις, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ βουληθεὶς ἐπὶ τὸν αὑτοῦ τόπον ἄγειν ὕδωρ ἀγέτω μὲν ἀρχόμενος ἐκ τῶν κοινῶν ναμάτων, μὴ ὑποτέμνων πηγὰς φανερὰς ἰδιώτου μηδενός, ᾗ δ᾽ ἂν βούληται ἄγειν, πλὴν δι᾽ οἰκίας ἢ ἱερῶν τινων ἢ καὶ μνημάτων, ἀγέτω, μὴ βλάπτων πλὴν αὐτῆς τῆς ὀχεταγωγίας. [844β] ἀυδρία δὲ εἴ τισι τόποις σύμφυτος ἐκ γῆς τὰ ἐκ Διὸς ἰόντα ἀποστέγει νάματα, καὶ ἐλλείπει τῶν ἀναγκαίων πωμάτων, ὀρυττέτω μὲν ἐν τῷ αὑτοῦ χωρίῳ μέχρι τῆς κεραμίδος γῆς, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐν τούτῳ τῷ βάθει μηδαμῶς ὕδατι προστυγχάνῃ, παρὰ τῶν γειτόνων ὑδρευέσθω μέχρι τοῦ ἀναγκαίου πώματος ἑκάστοις τῶν οἰκετῶν: ἐὰν δὲ δι᾽ ἀκριβείας ᾖ καὶ τοῖς γείτοσι, τάξιν τῆς ὑδρείας ταξάμενος παρὰ τοῖς ἀγρονόμοις, ταύτην ἡμέρας ἑκάστης κομιζόμενος, οὕτω κοινωνείτω τοῖς [844ξ] γείτοσιν ὕδατος. ἐὰν δὲ ἐκ Διὸς ὕδατα γιγνόμενα, τὸν ἐπάνω γεωργοῦντα ἢ καὶ ὁμότοιχον οἰκοῦντα τῶν ὑποκάτω βλάπτῃ τις μὴ διδοὺς ἐκροήν, ἢ τοὐναντίον ὁ ἐπάνω μεθιεὶς εἰκῇ τὰ ῥεύματα βλάπτῃ τὸν κάτω, καὶ περὶ ταῦτα μὴ ἐθέλωσιν διὰ ταῦτα κοινωνεῖν ἀλλήλοις, ἐν ἄστει μὲν ἀστυνόμον, ἐν ἀγρῷ δὲ ἀγρονόμον ἐπάγων ὁ βουλόμενος ταξάσθω τί χρὴ ποιεῖν ἑκάτερον: ὁ δὲ μὴ ἐμμένων ἐν τῇ τάξει φθόνου [844δ] θ᾽ ἅμα καὶ δυσκόλου ψυχῆς ὑπεχέτω δίκην, καὶ ὀφλὼν διπλάσιον τὸ βλάβος ἀποτινέτω τῷ βλαφθέντι, μὴ ἐθελήσας τοῖς ἄρχουσιν πείθεσθαι.

ὀπώρας δὲ δὴ χρὴ κοινωνίαν ποιεῖσθαι πάντας τοιάνδε τινά. διττὰς ἡμῖν δωρεὰς ἡ θεὸς ἔχει χάριτος αὕτη, τὴν μὲν παιδιὰν Διονυσιάδα ἀθησαύριστον, τὴν δ᾽ εἰς ἀπόθεσιν γενομένην κατὰ φύσιν. ἔστω δὴ περὶ ὀπώρας ὅδε νόμος ταχθείς: ὃς ἂν ἀγροίκου ὀπώρας γεύσηται, βοτρύων εἴτε [844ε] καὶ σύκων, πρὶν ἐλθεῖν τὴν ὥραν τὴν τοῦ τρυγᾶν ἀρκτούρῳ σύνδρομον, εἴτ᾽ ἐν τοῖς αὑτοῦ χωρίοις εἴτε καὶ ἐν ἄλλων, ἱερὰς μὲν πεντήκοντα ὀφειλέτω τῷ Διονύσῳ δραχμάς, ἐὰν ἐκ τῶν ἑαυτοῦ δρέπῃ, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν γειτόνων, μνᾶν, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐξ ἄλλων, δύο μέρη τῆς μνᾶς. ὃς δ᾽ ἂν τὴν γενναίαν νῦν λεγομένην σταφυλὴν ἢ τὰ γενναῖα σῦκα ἐπονομαζόμενα ὀπωρίζειν βούληται, ἐὰν μὲν ἐκ τῶν οἰκείων λαμβάνῃ, ὅπως ἂν ἐθέλῃ καὶ ὁπόταν βούληται καρπούσθω, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐξ ἄλλων μὴ πείσας, ἑπομένως τῷ νόμῳ, τῷ μὴ κινεῖν ὅτι μὴ κατέθετο, [845α] ἐκείνως ἀεὶ ζημιούσθω: ἐὰν δὲ δὴ δοῦλος μὴ πείσας τὸν δεσπότην τῶν χωρίων ἅπτηταί του τῶν τοιούτων, κατὰ ῥᾶγα βοτρύων καὶ σῦκον συκῆς ἰσαρίθμους πληγὰς τούτοις μαστιγούσθω. μέτοικος δὲ ὠνούμενος τὴν γενναίαν ὀπώραν ὀπωριζέτω, ἐὰν βούληται, ἐὰν δὲ ξένος ἐπιδημήσας ὀπώρας ἐπιθυμῇ φαγεῖν διαπορευόμενος τὰς ὁδούς, τῆς μὲν γενναίας ἁπτέσθω, ἐὰν βούληται, μεθ᾽ ἑνὸς ἀκολούθου χωρὶς τιμῆς, [845β] ξένια δεχόμενος, τῆς δὲ ἀγροίκου λεγομένης καὶ τῶν τοιούτων ὁ νόμος εἰργέτω μὴ κοινωνεῖν ἡμῖν τοὺς ξένους: ἐὰν δέ τις ἀίστωρ ὢν αὐτὸς ἢ δοῦλος ἅψηται, τὸν μὲν δοῦλον πληγαῖς κολάζειν, τὸν δὲ ἐλεύθερον ἀποπέμπειν νουθετήσαντα καὶ διδάξαντα τῆς ἄλλης ὀπώρας ἅπτεσθαι τῆς εἰς ἀπόθεσιν ἀσταφίδος οἴνου τε καὶ ξηρῶν σύκων ἀνεπιτηδείου κεκτῆσθαι. ἀπίων δὲ πέρι καὶ μήλων καὶ ῥοῶν καὶ πάντων [845ξ] τῶν τοιούτων, αἰσχρὸν μὲν μηδὲν ἔστω λάθρᾳ λαμβάνειν, ὁ δὲ ληφθεὶς ἐντὸς τριάκοντα ἐτῶν γεγονὼς τυπτέσθω καὶ ἀμυνέσθω ἄνευ τραυμάτων, δίκην δ᾽ εἶναι ἐλευθέρῳ τῶν τοιούτων πληγῶν μηδεμίαν. ξένῳ δὲ καθάπερ ὀπώρας ἐξέστω καὶ τῶν τοιούτων μέτοχον εἶναι: ἐὰν δὲ πρεσβύτερος ὢν ἅπτηται τούτων, φαγὼν αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀποφέρων μηδέν, καθάπερ ὁ ξένος ταύτῃ κοινωνείτω τῶν τοιούτων ἁπάντων, μὴ πειθόμενος [845δ] δὲ τῷ νόμῳ κινδυνευέτω ἀναγώνιστος γίγνεσθαι περὶ ἀρετῆς, ἐὰν εἰς τότε τὰ τοιαῦτα περὶ αὐτοῦ τοὺς τότε κριτάς τις ἀναμιμνῄσκῃ.

ὕδωρ δὲ πάντων μὲν τὸ περὶ τὰς κηπείας διαφερόντως τρόφιμον, εὐδιάφθαρτον δέ: οὔτε γὰρ γῆν οὔτε ἥλιον οὔτε πνεύματα, τοῖς ὕδασι σύντροφα τῶν ἐκ γῆς ἀναβλαστανόντων, ῥᾴδιον φθείρειν φαρμακεύσεσιν ἢ ἀποτροπαῖς ἢ καὶ κλοπαῖς, περὶ δὲ τὴν ὕδατος φύσιν ἐστὶν τὰ τοιαῦτα σύμπαντα δυνατὰ [845ε] γίγνεσθαι: διὸ δὴ βοηθοῦ δεῖται νόμου. ἔστω τοίνυν ὅδε περὶ αὐτοῦ: ἄν τις διαφθείρῃ ἑκὼν ὕδωρ ἀλλότριον, εἴτε καὶ πηγαῖον εἴτε καὶ συναγυρτόν, φαρμακείαις ἢ σκάμμασιν ἢ κλοπαῖς, ὁ βλαπτόμενος δικαζέσθω πρὸς τοὺς ἀστυνόμους, τὴν ἀξίαν τῆς βλάβης ἀπογραφόμενος: ἂν δέ τις ὄφλῃ φαρμακείαις τισὶν βλάπτων, πρὸς τῷ τιμήματι καθηράτω τὰς πηγὰς ἢ τἀγγεῖον τοῦ ὕδατος, ὅπῃπερ ἂν οἱ τῶν ἐξηγητῶν νόμοι ἀφηγῶνται δεῖν γίγνεσθαι τὴν κάθαρσιν ἑκάστοτε καὶ ἑκάστοις.

περὶ δὲ συγκομιδῆς τῶν ὡραίων ἁπάντων, ἐξέστω τῷ [846α] βουλομένῳ τὸ ἑαυτοῦ διὰ παντὸς τόπου κομίζεσθαι, ὅπῃπερ ἂν ἢ μηδὲν μηδένα ζημιοῖ ἢ τριπλάσιον αὐτὸς κέρδος τῆς τοῦ γείτονος ζημίας κερδαίνῃ, τούτων δὲ ἐπιγνώμονας τοὺς ἄρχοντας γίγνεσθαι, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων ὅσα τις ἂν ἑκὼν ἄκοντα βλάπτῃ βίᾳ ἢ λάθρᾳ, αὐτὸν ἢ τῶν αὐτοῦ τι, διὰ τῶν αὑτοῦ κτημάτων, πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα τοῖς ἄρχουσιν ἐπιδεικνὺς τιμωρείσθω, μέχρι τριῶν μνῶν ὄντος τοῦ βλάβους: ἐὰν δ᾽ ἔγκλημά τῳ μεῖζον ἄλλῳ πρὸς ἄλλον γίγνηται, πρὸς [846β] τὰ κοινὰ δικαστήρια φέρων τὴν δίκην τιμωρείσθω τὸν ἀδικοῦντα. ἐὰν δέ τις τῶν ἀρχόντων δοκῇ μετ᾽ ἀδίκου γνώμης κρίνειν τὰς ζημίας, τῶν διπλασίων ὑπόδικος ἔστω τῷ βλαφθέντι: τὰ δὲ αὖ τῶν ἀρχόντων ἀδικήματα εἰς τὰ κοινὰ δικαστήρια ἐπανάγειν τὸν βουλόμενον ἑκάστων τῶν ἐγκλημάτων. μυρία δὲ ταῦτα ὄντα καὶ σμικρὰ νόμιμα, καθ᾽ ἃ δεῖ τὰς τιμωρίας γίγνεσθαι, λήξεών τε πέρι δικῶν καὶ [846ξ] προσκλήσεων καὶ κλητήρων, εἴτ᾽ ἐπὶ δυοῖν εἴτ᾽ ἐφ᾽ ὁπόσων δεῖ καλεῖσθαι, καὶ πάντα ὁπόσα τοιαῦτά ἐστιν, οὔτ᾽ ἀνομοθέτητα οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι γέροντός τε οὐκ ἄξια νομοθέτου, νομοθετούντων δ᾽ αὐτὰ οἱ νέοι πρὸς τὰ τῶν πρόσθεν νομοθετήματα ἀπομιμούμενοι, σμικρὰ πρὸς μεγάλα, καὶ τῆς ἀναγκαίας αὐτῶν χρείας ἐμπείρως ἴσχοντες, μέχριπερ ἂν πάντα ἱκανῶς δόξῃ κεῖσθαι: τότε δὲ ἀκίνητα ποιησάμενοι, ζώντων τούτοις ἤδη χρώμενοι μέτρον ἔχουσι. [846δ]

τὸ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων δημιουργῶν ποιεῖν χρὴ κατὰ τόδε. πρῶτον μὲν ἐπιχώριος μηδεὶς ἔστω τῶν περὶ τὰ δημιουργικὰ τεχνήματα διαπονούντων, μηδὲ οἰκέτης ἀνδρὸς ἐπιχωρίου. τέχνην γὰρ ἱκανήν, πολλῆς ἀσκήσεως ἅμα καὶ μαθημάτων πολλῶν δεομένην, κέκτηται πολίτης ἀνὴρ τὸν κοινὸν τῆς πόλεως κόσμον σῴζων καὶ κτώμενος, οὐκ ἐν παρέργῳ δεόμενον ἐπιτηδεύειν: δύο δὲ ἐπιτηδεύματα ἢ δύο τέχνας ἀκριβῶς διαπονεῖσθαι σχεδὸν οὐδεμία φύσις ἱκανὴ τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων, [846ε] οὐδ᾽ αὖ τὴν μὲν αὐτὸς ἱκανὸς ἀσκεῖν, τὴν δὲ ἄλλον ἀσκοῦντα ἐπιτροπεύειν. τοῦτ᾽ οὖν ἐν πόλει ὑπάρχον δεῖ πρῶτον γίγνεσθαι: μηδεὶς χαλκεύων ἅμα τεκταινέσθω, μηδ᾽ αὖ τεκταινόμενος χαλκευόντων ἄλλων ἐπιμελείσθω μᾶλλον ἢ τῆς αὑτοῦ τέχνης, πρόφασιν ἔχων ὡς πολλῶν οἰκετῶν ἐπιμελούμενος ἑαυτῷ δημιουργούντων, εἰκότως μᾶλλον ἐπιμελεῖται δι᾽ [847α] ἐκείνων διὰ τὸ τὴν πρόσοδον ἐκεῖθεν αὑτῷ πλείω γίγνεσθαι τῆς αὑτοῦ τέχνης, ἀλλ᾽ εἷς μίαν ἕκαστος τέχνην ἐν πόλει κεκτημένος ἀπὸ ταύτης ἅμα καὶ τὸ ζῆν κτάσθω. τοῦτον δὴ τὸν νόμον ἀστυνόμοι διαπονούμενοι σῳζόντων, καὶ τὸν μὲν ἐπιχώριον, ἐὰν εἴς τινα τέχνην ἀποκλίνῃ μᾶλλον ἢ τὴν τῆς ἀρετῆς ἐπιμέλειαν, κολαζόντων ὀνείδεσί τε καὶ ἀτιμίαις, μέχριπερ ἂν κατευθύνωσιν εἰς τὸν αὑτοῦ δρόμον, ξένων δὲ ἄν τις ἐπιτηδεύῃ δύο τέχνας, δεσμοῖσί τε καὶ χρημάτων [847β] ζημίαις καὶ ἐκβολαῖς ἐκ τῆς πόλεως κολάζοντες, ἀναγκαζόντων ἕνα μόνον ἀλλὰ μὴ πολλοὺς εἶναι. μισθῶν δὲ αὐτοῖς πέρι καὶ τῶν ἀναιρέσεων τῶν ἔργων, καὶ ἐάν τις αὐτοὺς ἕτερος ἢ ‘κεῖνοί τινα ἄλλον ἀδικῶσι, μέχρι δραχμῶν πεντήκοντα ἀστυνόμοι διαδικαζόντων, τὸ δὲ πλέον τούτου τὰ κοινὰ δικαστήρια διακρινόντων κατὰ νόμον.

τέλος δὲ ἐν τῇ πόλει μηδένα μηδὲν τελεῖν μήτε ἐξαγομένων χρημάτων μήτ᾽ εἰσαγομένων: λιβανωτὸν δὲ καὶ ὅσα [847ξ] πρὸς θεοὺς τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐστὶν ξενικὰ θυμιάματα, καὶ πορφύραν καὶ ὅσα βαπτὰ χρώματα, μὴ φερούσης τῆς χώρας, ἢ περί τινα ἄλλην τέχνην δεομένην ξενικῶν τινων εἰσαγωγίμων μηδενὸς ἀναγκαίου χάριν μήτε τις ἀγέτω, μήτε αὖ τῶν ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ ἀναγκαίων ἐμμένειν ἐξαγέτω: τούτων δ᾽ αὖ πάντων ἐπιγνώμονας εἶναι καὶ ἐπιμελητὰς τῶν νομοφυλάκων, πέντε ἀφαιρεθέντων τῶν πρεσβυτέρων, τοὺς ἑξῆς δώδεκα. [847δ]

περὶ δὲ ὅπλων καὶ ὅσα περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἅπαντα ὄργανα, ἐάν τινος ἢ τέχνης εἰσαγωγίμου δέῃ γίγνεσθαι ἢ φυτοῦ ἢ μεταλλευτικοῦ κτήματος ἢ δεσμευτικοῦ ἢ ζῴων τινῶν ἕνεκα τῆς τοιαύτης χρείας, ἵππαρχοι καὶ στρατηγοὶ τούτων ἔστωσαν κύριοι εἰσαγωγῆς τε καὶ ἐξαγωγῆς, διδούσης τε ἅμα καὶ δεχομένης τῆς πόλεως, νόμους δὲ περὶ τούτων νομοφύλακες τοὺς πρέποντάς τε καὶ ἱκανοὺς θήσουσι: καπηλείαν δὲ ἕνεκα χρηματισμῶν μήτε οὖν τούτου μήτε ἄλλου μηδενὸς ἐν τῇ [847ε] χώρᾳ ὅλῃ καὶ πόλει ἡμῖν γίγνεσθαι.

τροφῆς δὲ καὶ διανομῆς τῶν ἐκ τῆς χώρας ἐγγὺς τῆς τοῦ Κρητικοῦ νόμου ἔοικεν ὀρθότης ἄν τις γιγνομένη κατὰ τρόπον γίγνεσθαι. δώδεκα μὲν γὰρ δὴ μέρη τὰ πάντα ἐκ τῆς χώρας γιγνόμενα νέμειν χρεὼν πάντας, ᾗπερ καὶ ἀναλωτέα: τὸ δὲ δωδέκατον μέρος ἕκαστον-οἷον πυρῶν καὶ κριθῶν, οἷσιν δὴ καὶ τὰ ἅπαντα ἀκολουθείτω τὰ ἄλλα ὡραῖα [848α] νεμόμενα, καὶ ὅσα ζῷα σύμπαντα πράσιμα ἐν ἑκάστοις ᾖ- τριχῇ διαιρείσθω κατὰ λόγον, ἓν μὲν μέρος τοῖς ἐλευθέροις, ἓν δὲ τοῖς τούτων οἰκέταις: τὸ δὲ τρίτον δημιουργοῖς τε καὶ πάντως τοῖς ξένοις, οἵ τέ τινες αὖ τῶν μετοικούντων ὦσι συνοικοῦντες τροφῆς ἀναγκαίου δεόμενοι, καὶ ὅσοι χρείᾳ τινὶ πόλεως ἤ τινος ἰδιωτῶν εἰσαφικνοῦνται ἑκάστοτε, πάντων τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἀπονεμηθὲν τρίτον μέρος ὤνιον ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἔστω τοῦτο μόνον, τῶν δὲ δύο μερῶν μηδὲν ἐπάναγκες ἔστω [848β] πωλεῖν. πῶς οὖν δὴ ταῦτα ὀρθότατα νέμοιτ᾽ ἄν; πρῶτον μὲν δῆλον ὅτι τῇ μὲν ἴσα, τῇ δ᾽ οὐκ ἴσα νέμομεν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

χείρω που καὶ βελτίω τούτων ἕκαστα ἀνάγκη φύειν καὶ ἐκτρέφειν τὴν γῆν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τῷ μὲν τοίνυν τοιούτῳ τῶν μερῶν, τριῶν ὄντων, μηδὲν πλέον ἐχέτω μήτε τοῖς δεσπόταις ἢ δούλοις νεμόμενον, μήτε αὖ τὸ τῶν ξένων, ἀλλὰ τὴν τῆς ὁμοιότητος ἰσότητα ἡ νομὴ [848ξ] πᾶσιν ἀποδιδότω τὴν αὐτήν: λαβὼν ἕκαστος τῶν πολιτῶν τὰ δύο μέρη κύριος ἔστω τῆς νομῆς δούλοις τε καὶ ἐλευθέροις, ὁπός᾽ ἂν καὶ ὁποῖα βούληται διανέμειν. τὸ δὲ πλέον τούτων μέτροις τε καὶ ἀριθμῷ τῇδε χρὴ διανέμεσθαι: λαβόντα τὸν ἀριθμὸν πάντων τῶν ζῴων οἷς ἐκ τῆς γῆς δεῖ τὴν τροφὴν γίγνεσθαι, διανέμειν.

τὸ δὲ μετὰ τοῦτο αὐτοῖς οἰκήσεις δεῖ χωρὶς διατεταγμένας εἶναι: τάξις δὲ ἥδε πρέπει τοῖς τοιούτοις. δώδεκα κώμας εἶναι χρή, κατὰ μέσον τὸ δωδεκατημόριον ἕκαστον μίαν, ἐν [848δ] τῇ κώμῃ δὲ ἑκάστῃ πρῶτον μὲν ἱερὰ καὶ ἀγορὰν ἐξῃρῆσθαι θεῶν τε καὶ τῶν ἑπομένων θεοῖς δαιμόνων, εἴτε τινὲς ἔντοποι Μαγνήτων εἴτ᾽ ἄλλων ἱδρύματα παλαιῶν μνήμῃ διασεσωμένων εἰσίν, τούτοις ἀποδιδόντας τὰς τῶν πάλαι τιμὰς ἀνθρώπων, Ἑστίας δὲ καὶ Διὸς Ἀθηνᾶς τε, καὶ ὃς ἂν ἀρχηγὸς ᾖ τῶν ἄλλων τοῦ δωδεκάτου ἑκάστου μέρους, ἱερὰ πανταχοῦ ἱδρύσασθαι. πρῶτον δὲ οἰκοδομίας εἶναι περὶ τὰ [848ε] ἱερὰ ταῦτα, ὅπῃ ἂν ὁ τόπος ὑψηλότατος ᾖ, τοῖς φρουροῖς ὑποδοχὴν ὅτι μάλιστα εὐερκῆ: τὴν δὲ ἄλλην χώραν κατασκευάζειν πᾶσαν δημιουργῶν τριακαίδεκα μέρη διελομένους, καὶ τὸ μὲν ἐν ἄστει κατοικίζειν, διελομένους αὖ καὶ τοῦτο εἰς τὰ δώδεκα μέρη τῆς πόλεως ἁπάσης, ἔξω τε καὶ ἐν κύκλῳ κατανεμηθέντας, ἐν τῇ κώμῃ δὲ ἑκάστῃ τὰ πρόσφορα γεωργοῖς γένη τῶν δημιουργῶν συνοικίζειν. τοὺς δ᾽ ἐπιμελητὰς εἶναι τούτων πάντων τοὺς τῶν ἀγρονόμων ἄρχοντας, ὅσων τε καὶ ὧντινων ὁ τόπος ἕκαστος δεῖται, καὶ ὅπου κατοικοῦντες ἀλυπότατοί τε καὶ ὠφελιμώτατοι ἔσονται τοῖσιν γεωργοῖσι. [849α] τῶν δὲ ἐν ἄστει κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ ἐπιμεληθῆναι καὶ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τὴν τῶν ἀστυνόμων ἀρχήν.

τοῖς δὲ δὴ ἀγορανόμοις τὰ περὶ ἀγοράν που δεῖ ἕκαστα μέλειν: ἡ δ᾽ ἐπιμέλεια, μετὰ τὴν τῶν ἱερῶν ἐπίσκεψιν τῶν κατ᾽ ἀγορὰν μή τις ἀδικῇ τι, τῆς τῶν ἀνθρώπων χρείας τὸ δεύτερον ἂν εἴη, σωφροσύνης τε καὶ ὕβρεως ἐπισκόπους ὄντας κολάζειν τὸν δεόμενον κολάσεως. τῶν δὲ ὠνίων, πρῶτον μὲν τὰ περὶ τοὺς ξένους ταχθέντα πωλεῖν τοῖς ἀστοῖς σκοπεῖν [849β] εἰ γίγνεται κατὰ τὸν νόμον ἕκαστα. νόμος δ᾽ ἑκάστῳ μηνὸς τῇ νέᾳ ὧν δεῖ πραθῆναι τὸ μέρος τοῖς ξένοις ἐξάγειν τοὺς ἐπιτρόπους, ὅσοι τοῖς ἀστοῖς ξένοι ἢ καὶ δοῦλοι ἐπιτροπεύουσι, δωδεκατημόριον πρῶτον τοῦ σίτου, τὸν δὲ ξένον εἰς πάντα τὸν μῆνα ὠνεῖσθαι σῖτον μὲν καὶ ὅσα περὶ σῖτον ἀγορᾷ τῇ πρώτῃ: δεκάτῃ δὲ τοῦ μηνὸς τὴν τῶν ὑγρῶν οἱ μὲν πρᾶσιν, οἱ δὲ ὠνὴν ποιείσθωσαν δι᾽ ὅλου τοῦ μηνὸς ἱκανήν: [849ξ] τρίτῃ δὲ εἰκάδι τῶν ζῴων ἔστω πρᾶσις, ὅσα πρατέα ἑκάστοις ἢ ὠνητέα αὐτοῖς δεομένοις, καὶ ὁπόσων σκευῶν ἢ χρημάτων γεωργοῖς μὲν πρᾶσις, οἷον δερμάτων ἢ καὶ πάσης ἐσθῆτος ἢ πλοκῆς ἢ πιλήσεως ἤ τινων ἄλλων τοιούτων, ξένοις δὲ ἀναγκαῖον ὠνεῖσθαι παρ᾽ ἄλλων κτωμένοις. καπηλείας δὲ τούτων ἢ κριθῶν ἢ πυρῶν εἰς ἄλφιτα νεμηθέντων, ἢ καὶ τὴν ἄλλην σύμπασαν τροφήν, ἀστοῖς μὲν καὶ τούτων δούλοις μήτε τις πωλείτω μήτε ὠνείσθω παρὰ τοιούτου μηδεὶς μηδενός, ἐν [849δ] δὲ ταῖς τῶν ξένων ξένος ἀγοραῖς πωλείτω τοῖς δημιουργοῖς τε καὶ τούτων δούλοις, οἴνου τε μεταβαλλόμενος καὶ σίτου πρᾶσιν, ὃ δὴ καπηλείαν ἐπονομάζουσιν οἱ πλεῖστοι: καὶ ζῴων διαμερισθέντων μάγειροι διατιθέσθων ξένοις τε καὶ δημιουργοῖς καὶ τούτων οἰκέταις. πᾶσαν δὲ ὕλην καύσιμον ὁσημέραι ξένος ὁ βουληθεὶς ὠνείσθω μὲν ἁθρόαν παρὰ τῶν ἐν τοῖς χωρίοις ἐπιτρόπων, πωλείτω δὲ αὐτὸς τοῖς ξένοις, [849ε] καθ᾽ ὅσον ἂν βούληται καὶ ὁπόταν βούληται. τῶν δὲ ἄλλων χρημάτων πάντων καὶ σκευῶν ὁπόσων ἑκάστοισι χρεία, πωλεῖν εἰς τὴν κοινὴν ἀγορὰν φέροντας εἰς τὸν τόπον ἕκαστον, ἐν οἷς ἂν νομοφύλακές τε καὶ ἀγορανόμοι, μετ᾽ ἀστυνόμων τεκμηράμενοι ἕδρας πρεπούσας, ὅρους θῶνται τῶν ὠνίων, ἐν τούτοις ἀλλάττεσθαι νόμισμά τε χρημάτων καὶ χρήματα νομίσματος, μὴ προϊέμενον ἄλλον ἑτέρῳ τὴν ἀλλαγήν: ὁ δὲ προέμενος ὡς πιστεύων, ἐάντε κομίσηται καὶ ἂν μή, στεργέτω ὡς οὐκέτι δίκης οὔσης τῶν τοιούτων [850α] περὶ συναλλάξεων. τὸ δὲ ὠνηθὲν ἢ πραθὲν ὅσῳ πλέον ἂν ᾖ καὶ πλέονος ἢ κατὰ τὸν νόμον, ὃς εἴρηκεν πόσου προσγενομένου καὶ ἀπογενομένου δεῖ μηδέτερα τούτων ποιεῖν, ἀναγραφήτω τότ᾽ ἤδη παρὰ τοῖς νομοφύλαξιν τὸ πλέον, ἐξαλειφέσθω δὲ τὸ ἐναντίον. τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ καὶ περὶ μετοίκων ἔστω τῆς ἀναγραφῆς πέρι τῆς οὐσίας. ἰέναι δὲ τὸν βουλόμενον εἰς τὴν μετοίκησιν ἐπὶ ῥητοῖς, ὡς οἰκήσεως οὔσης τῶν ξένων τῷ [850β] βουλομένῳ καὶ δυναμένῳ κατοικεῖν, τέχνην κεκτημένῳ καὶ ἐπιδημοῦντι μὴ πλέον ἐτῶν εἴκοσιν ἀφ᾽ ἧς ἂν γράψηται, μετοίκιον μηδὲ σμικρὸν τελοῦντι πλὴν τοῦ σωφρονεῖν, μηδὲ ἄλλο αὖ τέλος ἕνεκά τινος ὠνῆς ἢ καὶ πράσεως: ὅταν δ᾽ ἐξήκωσιν οἱ χρόνοι, τὴν αὑτοῦ λαβόντα οὐσίαν ἀπιέναι. ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐν τοῖς ἔτεσι τούτοις αὐτῷ συμβῇ λόγου ἀξίῳ πρὸς εὐεργεσίαν τῆς πόλεως γεγονέναι τινὰ ἱκανήν, καὶ πιστεύῃ πείσειν βουλὴν καὶ ἐκκλησίαν, ἤ τινα ἀναβολὴν τῆς ἐξοικήσεως [850ξ] ἀξιῶν αὑτῷ γίγνεσθαι κυρίως, ἢ καὶ τὸ παράπαν διὰ βίου τινὰ μονήν, ἐπελθὼν καὶ πείσας τὴν πόλιν, ἅπερ ἂν πείσῃ, ταῦτα αὐτῷ τέλεα γιγνέσθω. παισὶ δὲ μετοίκων, δημιουργοῖς οὖσι καὶ γενομένοις ἐτῶν πεντεκαίδεκα, τῆς μὲν μετοικίας ἀρχέτω χρόνος ὁ μετὰ τὸ πέμπτον καὶ δέκατον ἔτος, ἐπὶ τούτοις δὲ εἴκοσιν ἔτη μείνας, ἴτω ὅπῃ αὐτῷ φίλον, μένειν δὲ ἂν βούληται, κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ μενέτω πείσας: ὁ δὲ ἀπιὼν [850δ] ἐξαλειψάμενος ἴτω τὰς ἀπογραφάς, αἵτινες ἂν αὐτῷ παρὰ τοῖς ἄρχουσιν γεγραμμέναι πρότερον ὦσιν.

Τόμος 9

[853α] Ἀθηναῖος

δίκαι δὴ τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα ἀκόλουθοι ταῖς ἔμπροσθεν πράξεσιν ἁπάσαις οὖσαι κατὰ φύσιν γίγνοιντο ἂν τὴν τῆς διακοσμήσεως τῶν νόμων. ὧντινων οὖν δὴ πέρι δεῖ γίγνεσθαι δίκας, τὰ μὲν εἴρηται, τὰ κατὰ γεωργίας τε καὶ ὅσα τούτοις εἵπετο, τὰ δὲ μέγιστα οὔτε εἴρηταί πω, καθ᾽ ἓν ἕκαστόν τε λεγόμενον, ῥηθὲν ἣν δεῖ λαμβάνειν αὐτὸ τιμωρίαν καὶ [853β] τίνων ποτὲ δικαστῶν τυγχάνειν, μετ᾽ ἐκεῖν᾽ αὐτὰ ἑξῆς ταῦτα ῥητέον.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

αἰσχρὸν μὲν δή τινα τρόπον καὶ νομοθετεῖν πάντα ὁπόσα νῦν μέλλομεν τοῦτο δρᾶν, ἐν τοιαύτῃ πόλει ἥν φαμεν οἰκήσεσθαί τε εὖ καὶ τεύξεσθαι πάσης ὀρθότητος πρὸς ἐπιτήδευσιν ἀρετῆς: ἐν δὲ τῇ τοιαύτῃ τὸ καὶ ἀξιοῦν τῆς τῶν ἄλλων μοχθηρίας τῶν μεγίστων ἐμφύεσθαί τινα μεθέξοντα, ὥστε δεῖν νομοθετεῖν προκαταλαμβάνοντα καὶ ἀπειλοῦντα [853ξ] ἐάν τις τοιοῦτος γίγνηται, καὶ τούτων ἀποτροπῆς τε ἕνεκα καὶ γενομένων κολάσεως τιθέναι ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς νόμους, ὡς ἐσομένους, ὅπερ εἶπον, αἰσχρὸν μέν τινα τρόπον. ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐ, καθάπερ οἱ παλαιοὶ νομοθέται θεῶν παισὶν νομοθετούμενοι τοῖς ἥρωσιν, ὡς ὁ νῦν λόγος, αὐτοί τ᾽ ἐκ θεῶν ὄντες ἄλλοις τε ἐκ τοιούτων γεγονόσιν ἐνομοθέτουν, ἀλλ᾽ ἄνθρωποί τε καὶ ἀνθρώπων σπέρμασιν νομοθετοῦμεν τὰ νῦν, ἀνεμέσητον [853δ] δὴ φοβεῖσθαι μή τις ἐγγίγνηται τῶν πολιτῶν ἡμῖν οἷον κερασβόλος, ὃς ἀτεράμων εἰς τοσοῦτον φύσει γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὥστε μὴ τήκεσθαι: καθάπερ ἐκεῖνα τὰ σπέρματα πυρί, νόμοις οὗτοι καίπερ οὕτως ἰσχυροῖς οὖσιν ἄτηκτοι γίγνωνται. ὧν δὴ χάριν οὐκ ἐπίχαριν λέγοιμ᾽ ἂν πρῶτον νόμον ἱερῶν περὶ συλήσεων, ἄν τις τοῦτο δρᾶν τολμᾷ. καὶ πολίτην μὲν τῶν τεθραμμένων ὀρθῶς οὔτ᾽ ἂν βουλοίμεθα οὔτε ἐλπιστὸν πάνυ τι νοσῆσαί ποτε ἂν ταύτην τὴν νόσον, οἰκέται δὲ ἂν τούτων καὶ ξένοι καὶ ξένων δοῦλοι πολλὰ ἂν ἐπιχειρήσειαν τοιαῦτα: ὧν ἕνεκα μὲν μάλιστα, ὅμως δὲ καὶ σύμπασαν τὴν [854α] τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης φύσεως ἀσθένειαν εὐλαβούμενος, ἐρῶ τὸν τῶν ἱεροσύλων πέρι νόμον καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πάντων τῶν τοιούτων ὅσα δυσίατα καὶ ἀνίατα. προοίμια δὲ τούτοισι, κατὰ τὸν ἔμπροσθεν λόγον ὁμολογηθέντα, προρρητέον ἅπασιν ὡς βραχύτατα. λέγοι δή τις ἂν ἐκείνῳ διαλεγόμενος ἅμα καὶ παραμυθούμενος, ὃν ἐπιθυμία κακὴ παρακαλοῦσα μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν τε καὶ ἐπεγείρουσα νύκτωρ ἐπί τι τῶν ἱερῶν ἄγει [854β] συλήσοντα, τάδε: ὦ θαυμάσιε, οὐκ ἀνθρώπινόν σε κακὸν οὐδὲ θεῖον κινεῖ τὸ νῦν ἐπὶ τὴν ἱεροσυλίαν προτρέπον ἰέναι, οἶστρος δέ σέ τις ἐμφυόμενος ἐκ παλαιῶν καὶ ἀκαθάρτων τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἀδικημάτων, περιφερόμενος ἀλιτηριώδης, ὃν εὐλαβεῖσθαι χρεὼν παντὶ σθένει: τίς δ᾽ ἐστὶν εὐλάβεια, μαθέ. ὅταν σοι προσπίπτῃ τι τῶν τοιούτων δογμάτων, ἴθι ἐπὶ τὰς ἀποδιοπομπήσεις, ἴθι ἐπὶ θεῶν ἀποτροπαίων ἱερὰ ἱκέτης, ἴθι ἐπὶ τὰς τῶν λεγομένων ἀνδρῶν ὑμῖν ἀγαθῶν [854ξ] συνουσίας, καὶ τὰ μὲν ἄκουε, τὰ δὲ πειρῶ λέγειν αὐτός, ὡς δεῖ τὰ καλὰ καὶ τὰ δίκαια πάντα ἄνδρα τιμᾶν: τὰς δὲ τῶν κακῶν συνουσίας φεῦγε ἀμεταστρεπτί. καὶ ἐὰν μέν σοι δρῶντι ταῦτα λωφᾷ τι τὸ νόσημα: εἰ δὲ μή, καλλίω θάνατον σκεψάμενος ἀπαλλάττου τοῦ βίου.

ταῦτα ἡμῶν ᾀδόντων προοίμια τοῖς πάντα ταῦτα ἐπινοοῦσιν ὅσα ἀνόσια ἔργα καὶ πολιτοφθόρα, τῷ μὲν πειθομένῳ τὸν νόμον ἐᾶν σιγῇ δεῖ, τῷ δὲ ἀπειθοῦντι μετὰ τὸ προοίμιον [854δ] ᾁδειν μέγα: ὃς δ᾽ ἂν ἱεροσυλῶν ληφθῇ, ἐὰν μὲν ᾖ δοῦλος ἢ ξένος, ἐν τῷ προσώπῳ καὶ ταῖς χερσὶ γραφεὶς τὴν συμφοράν, καὶ μαστιγωθεὶς ὁπόσας ἂν δόξῃ τοῖς δικασταῖς, ἐκτὸς τῶν ὅρων τῆς χώρας γυμνὸς ἐκβληθήτω: τάχα γὰρ ἂν δοὺς ταύτην τὴν δίκην γένοιτ᾽ ἂν βελτίων σωφρονισθείς. οὐ γὰρ ἐπὶ κακῷ δίκη γίγνεται οὐδεμία γενομένη κατὰ νόμον, δυοῖν δὲ θάτερον ἀπεργάζεται σχεδόν: ἢ γὰρ βελτίονα ἢ μοχθηρότερον [854ε] ἧττον ἐξηργάσατο τὸν τὴν δίκην παρασχόντα. πολίτης δὲ ἄν τίς ποτέ τι τοιοῦτον δρῶν ἀναφανῇ, περὶ θεοὺς ἢ περὶ γονέας ἢ περὶ πόλιν ἠδικηκὼς τῶν μεγάλων τινα καὶ ἀπορρήτων ἀδικιῶν, ὡς ἀνίατον ἤδη τοῦτον ὄντα ὁ δικαστὴς διανοείσθω, λογιζόμενος οἵας παιδείας τε καὶ τροφῆς ἐκ παιδὸς τυγχάνων οὐκ ἀπέσχετο τῶν μεγίστων κακῶν. δίκη δὴ τούτῳ θάνατος, ἐλάχιστον τῶν κακῶν, τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους [855α] παράδειγμα ὀνήσει γενόμενος, ἀκλεὴς καὶ ὑπὲρ τοὺς τῆς χώρας ὅρους ἀφανισθείς: παισὶ δὲ καὶ γένει, ἐὰν φύγωσι τὰ πατρῷα ἤθη, κλέος ἔστω καὶ λόγος ἔντιμος λεγόμενος, ὡς εὖ τε καὶ ἀνδρείως εἰς ἀγαθὸν ἐκ κακοῦ διαπεφευγότων. δημόσια δὲ χρήματα οὐδενὸς τῶν τοιούτων τῇ πολιτείᾳ πρέπον ἂν εἴη γίγνεσθαι, ἐν ᾗ δεῖ τοὺς αὐτοὺς ἀεὶ καὶ ἴσους ὄντας διατελεῖν κλήρους. ζημίας δ᾽ ἐκτίσεις, ὅταν ἀδικεῖν ἄξια δοκῇ τις χρημάτων, ἐκτίνειν, ἂν ᾖ τι τῶν τοῦ κλήρου κατεσκευασμένου [855β] περιττεῦον, μέχρι τοσούτου ζημιωθέντα, τὸ δὲ πλέον μή: τὰς δ᾽ εἰς ταῦτα ἀκριβείας ἐκ τῶν ἀπογραφῶν νομοφύλακες σκοποῦντες τὸ σαφὲς ἐξαγγελλόντων ἀεὶ τοῖς δικασταῖς, ὅπως ἂν τῶν κλήρων ἀργὸς μηδεὶς μηδέποτε γίγνηται δι᾽ ἀπορίαν χρημάτων. ζημίας δὲ ἄν τις πλέονος ἄξιος εἶναι δοκῇ, ἐὰν ἄρα μή τινες ἐθέλωσιν αὐτὸν τῶν φίλων ἐγγυᾶσθαί τε καὶ συνεκτίνοντες ἀπελευθεροῦν, δεσμοῖς τε χρονίοις καὶ ἐμφανέσι καί τισιν προπηλακισμοῖς κολάζειν, [855ξ] ἄτιμον δὲ παντάπασιν μηδένα εἶναι μηδέποτε μηδ᾽ ἐφ᾽ ἑνὶ τῶν ἁμαρτημάτων, μηδ᾽ ὑπερορίαν φυγάδα: θάνατον δὲ ἢ δεσμοὺς ἢ πληγάς, ἤ τινας ἀμόρφους ἕδρας ἢ στάσεις ἢ παραστάσεις εἰς ἱερὰ ἐπὶ τὰ τῆς χώρας ἔσχατα, ἢ χρημάτων καθάπερ ἔμπροσθεν εἴπομεν ἐκτίσεις γίγνεσθαι δεῖν τὴν δίκην ταύτην, γιγνέσθω. δικασταὶ δὲ ἔστωσαν θανάτου πέρι νομοφύλακές τε καὶ τὸ τῶν περυσινῶν ἀρχόντων ἀριστίνδην [855δ] ἀπομερισθὲν δικαστήριον: εἰσαγωγὰς δὲ τούτων καὶ προσκλήσεις καὶ ὅσα τοιαῦτα καὶ ὡς δεῖ γίγνεσθαι, τοῖς νεωτέροις νομοθέταις χρὴ μέλειν, τὴν διαψήφισιν δὲ ἡμέτερον ἔργον νομοθετεῖν. ἔστω δὴ φανερὰ μὲν ἡ ψῆφος τιθεμένη, πρὸ τούτου δὲ κατὰ τὸ στόμα τοῦ διώκοντός τε καὶ φεύγοντος ὁ δικαστὴς ἑξῆς ἡμῖν ἐγγύτατα κατὰ πρέσβιν ἱζέσθω, πάντες δ᾽ οἱ πολῖται, ὅσοιπερ ἂν ἄγωσι σχολήν, ἐπήκοοι ἔστωσαν σπουδῇ τῶν τοιούτων δικῶν. λέγειν δὲ ἕνα λόγον, πρῶτον [855ε] μὲν τὸν διώκοντα, τὸν δὲ φεύγοντα δεύτερον: μετὰ δὲ τοὺς λόγους τούτους ἄρχεσθαι μὲν τὸν γεραίτατον ἀνακρίνοντα, ἰόντα εἰς τὴν τῶν λεχθέντων σκέψιν ἱκανήν, μετὰ δὲ τὸν πρεσβύτατον ἑξῆς ἅπαντας χρὴ διεξελθεῖν ὅτι ἂν παρ᾽ ἑκατέρου τις τῶν ἀντιδίκων ῥηθὲν ἢ μὴ ῥηθὲν ἐπιποθῇ τινα τρόπον: ὁ δὲ μηδὲν ποθῶν ἄλλῳ τὴν ἀνάκρισιν παραδιδότω. τῶν δὲ ῥηθέντων ἐπισφραγισαμένους ὅσα ἂν εἶναι καίρια [856α] δοκῇ, γράμμασιν σημεῖα ἐπιβάλλοντας πάντων τῶν δικαστῶν, θεῖναι ἐπὶ τὴν ἑστίαν, καὶ πάλιν αὔριον εἰς ταὐτὸν συνελθόντας, ὡσαύτως τε ἀνακρίνοντας διεξελθεῖν τὴν δίκην καὶ σημεῖα ἐπιβάλλοντας αὖ τοῖς λεχθεῖσιν: καὶ τρὶς δράσαντας τοῦτο, τεκμήριά τε καὶ μάρτυρας ἱκανῶς παραλαβόντας, ψῆφον ἱερὰν ἕκαστον φέροντα καὶ ὑποσχόμενον πρὸς τῆς ἑστίας εἰς δύναμιν τὰ δίκαια καὶ ἀληθῆ κρίνειν, οὕτω τέλος ἐπιθεῖναι τῇ τοιαύτῃ δίκῃ. [856β]

μετὰ δὲ τὰ περὶ θεοὺς τὰ περὶ κατάλυσιν τῆς πολιτείας. ὃς ἂν ἄγων εἰς ἀρχὴν ἀνθρώπων δουλῶται μὲν τοὺς νόμους, ἑταιρίας δὲ τὴν πόλιν ὑπήκοον ποιῇ, καὶ βιαίως δὴ πᾶν τοῦτο πράττων καὶ στάσιν ἐγείρων παρανομῇ, τοῦτον δὴ διανοεῖσθαι δεῖ πάντων πολεμιώτατον ὅλῃ τῇ πόλει: τὸν δὲ κοινωνοῦντα μὲν τῶν τοιούτων μηδενί, τῶν μεγίστων δὲ μετέχοντα ἀρχῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει, λεληθότα τε ταῦτα αὐτόν, ἢ [856ξ] μὴ λεληθότα, δειλίᾳ δ᾽, ὑπὲρ πατρίδος αὑτοῦ μὴ τιμωρούμενον, δεῖ δεύτερον ἡγεῖσθαι τὸν τοιοῦτον πολίτην κάκῃ. πᾶς δὲ ἀνήρ, οὗ καὶ σμικρὸν ὄφελος, ἐνδεικνύτω ταῖς ἀρχαῖς εἰς κρίσιν ἄγων τὸν ἐπιβουλεύοντα βιαίου πολιτείας μεταστάσεως ἅμα καὶ παρανόμου: δικασταὶ δὲ ἔστωσαν τούτοις οἵπερ τοῖς ἱεροσύλοις, καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν κρίσιν ὡσαύτως αὐτοῖς γίγνεσθαι καθάπερ ἐκείνοις, τὴν ψῆφον θάνατον φέρειν τὴν πλήθει νικῶσαν. ἑνὶ δὲ λόγῳ, πατρὸς ὀνείδη καὶ τιμωρίας [856δ] παίδων μηδενὶ συνέπεσθαι, πλὴν ἐάν τινι πατὴρ καὶ πάππος καὶ πάππου πατὴρ ἐφεξῆς ὄφλωσι θανάτου δίκην: τούτους δὲ ἡ πόλις ἔχοντας τὴν αὑτῶν οὐσίαν, πλὴν ὅσον κατεσκευασμένου τοῦ κλήρου παντελῶς, εἰς τὴν αὑτῶν ἀρχαίαν ἐκπεμπέσθω πατρίδα καὶ πόλιν. οἷς δ᾽ ἂν τῶν πολιτῶν ὑεῖς ὄντες τυγχάνωσιν πλείους ἑνός, μὴ ἔλαττον δέκα ἔτη γεγονότες, κληρῶσαι μὲν τούτων δέκα, οὓς ἂν ἀποφήνῃ πατὴρ ἢ πάππος ὁ πρὸς πατρὸς ἢ μητρός, τῶν δὲ λαχόντων τὰ [856ε] ὀνόματα εἰς Δελφοὺς πεμφθέντων: ὃν δ᾽ ἂν ὁ θεὸς ἀνέλῃ, κληρονόμον εἰς τὸν οἶκον καταστῆσαι τὸν τῶν ἐκλιπόντων τύχῃ ἀμείνονι.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

κοινὸς δ᾽ ἔτι τρίτος εἷς ἔστω νόμος περὶ δικαστῶν τε, οὓς δεῖ δικάζειν αὐτοῖς, καὶ ὁ τρόπος τῶν δικῶν, οἷς ἂν προδόσεως αἰτίαν ἐπιφέρων τις εἰς δικαστήριον ἄγῃ: καὶ μονῆς ὡσαύτως ἐκγόνοις καὶ ἐξόδου τῆς πατρίδος εἷς ἔστω [857α] περὶ ταῦτα νόμος οὗτος τρισί, προδότῃ καὶ ἱεροσύλῳ καὶ τῷ τοὺς τῆς πόλεως νόμους βίᾳ ἀπολλύντι. κλέπτῃ δέ, ἐάντε μέγα ἐάντε σμικρὸν κλέπτῃ τις, εἷς αὖ νόμος κείσθω καὶ μία δίκης τιμωρία σύμπασιν: τὸ μὲν γὰρ κλαπὲν δὴ χρεὼν διπλάσιον πρῶτον ἐκτίνειν, ἐὰν ὄφλῃ τις τὴν τοιαύτην δίκην καὶ ἱκανὴν ἔχῃ τὴν ἄλλην οὐσίαν ἀποτίνειν ὑπὲρ τὸν κλῆρον, ἐὰν δὲ μή, δεδέσθαι ἕως ἂν ἐκτείσῃ ἢ πείσῃ τὸν καταδικασάμενον. [857β] ἐὰν δέ τις ὄφλῃ κλοπῆς δημοσίᾳ δίκην, πείσας τὴν πόλιν ἢ τὸ κλέμμα ἐκτείσας διπλοῦν, ἀπαλλαττέσθω τῶν δεσμῶν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δὴ λέγομεν, ὦ ξένε, μηδὲν διαφέρειν τῷ κλέπτοντι μέγα ἢ σμικρὸν ὑφελομένῳ, καὶ ἐξ ἱερῶν ἢ ὁσίων, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα ἐστὶν περὶ κλοπὴν πᾶσαν ἀνομοιότητα ἔχοντα, οἷς δεῖ ποικίλοις οὖσιν ἕπεσθαι τὸν νομοθέτην μηδὲν ὁμοίαις ζημίαις ζημιοῦντα;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄριστ᾽, ὦ Κλεινία: σχεδόν τοί με ὥσπερ φερόμενον [857ξ] ἀντικρούσας ἀνήγειρας, ἐννενοηκότα δὲ καὶ πρότερον ὑπέμνησας ὅτι τὰ περὶ τὴν τῶν νόμων θέσιν οὐδενὶ τρόπῳ πώποτε γέγονεν ὀρθῶς διαπεπονημένα, ὥς γε ἐν τῷ νῦν παραπεπτωκότι λέγειν. πῶς δ᾽ αὖ καὶ τοῦτο λέγομεν; οὐ κακῶς ἀπῃκάσαμεν, ὅτε δούλοις ὡς ἰατρευομένοις ὑπὸ δούλων ἀπῃκάζομεν πάντας τοὺς νῦν νομοθετουμένους. εὖ γὰρ ἐπίστασθαι δεῖ τὸ τοιόνδε, ὡς εἰ καταλάβοι ποτέ τις ἰατρὸς τῶν ταῖς ἐμπειρίαις ἄνευ λόγου τὴν ἰατρικὴν μεταχειριζομένων [857δ] ἐλεύθερον ἐλευθέρῳ νοσοῦντι διαλεγόμενον ἰατρόν, καὶ τοῦ φιλοσοφεῖν ἐγγὺς χρώμενον μὲν τοῖς λόγοις, ἐξ ἀρχῆς τε ἁπτόμενον τοῦ νοσήματος, περὶ φύσεως πάσης ἐπανιόντα τῆς τῶν σωμάτων, ταχὺ καὶ σφόδρα γελάσειεν ἂν καὶ οὐκ ἂν ἄλλους εἴποι λόγους ἢ τοὺς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτ᾽ ἀεὶ προχείρους ὄντας τοῖς πλείστοις λεγομένοις ἰατροῖς: φαίη γὰρ ἂν “ὦ μῶρε, οὐκ ἰατρεύεις τὸν νοσοῦντα ἀλλὰ σχεδὸν παιδεύεις, [857ε] ὡς ἰατρὸν ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὑγιῆ δεόμενον γίγνεσθαι”.

Κλεινίας

οὐκοῦν λέγων τὰ τοιαῦτα ὀρθῶς ἂν λέγοι;

Ἀθηναῖος

τάχ᾽ ἄν, εἰ προσδιανοοῖτό γε ὡς ὅστις περὶ νόμων οὕτω διεξέρχεται, καθάπερ ἡμεῖς τὰ νῦν, παιδεύει τοὺς πολίτας ἀλλ᾽ οὐ νομοθετεῖ. ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν πρὸς τρόπου λέγειν φαίνοιτο;

Κλεινίας

ἴσως.

Ἀθηναῖος

εὐτυχὲς δὲ ἡμῶν τὸ παρὸν γέγονεν.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ μηδεμίαν ἀνάγκην εἶναι νομοθετεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτοὺς [858α] ἐν σκέψει γενομένους περὶ πάσης πολιτείας πειρᾶσθαι κατιδεῖν τό τε ἄριστον καὶ τὸ ἀναγκαιότατον, τίνα τρόπον ἂν γιγνόμενον γίγνοιτο. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸ νῦν ἔξεστιν ἡμῖν, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἰ μὲν βουλόμεθα, τὸ βέλτιστον σκοπεῖν, εἰ δὲ βουλόμεθα, τὸ ἀναγκαιότατον περὶ νόμων: αἱρώμεθα οὖν πότερον δοκεῖ.

Κλεινίας

γελοίαν, ὦ ξένε, προτιθέμεθα τὴν αἵρεσιν, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ κατεχομένοις νομοθέταις ὅμοιοι γιγνοίμεθ᾽ [858β] ἂν ὑπὸ μεγάλης τινὸς ἀνάγκης ἤδη νομοθετεῖν, ὡς οὐκέτ᾽ ἐξὸν εἰς αὔριον: ἡμῖν δ᾽-εἰπεῖν σὺν θεῷ-ἔξεστι, καθάπερ ἢ λιθολόγοις ἢ καί τινος ἑτέρας ἀρχομένοις συστάσεως, παραφορήσασθαι χύδην ἐξ ὧν ἐκλεξόμεθα τὰ πρόσφορα τῇ μελλούσῃ γενήσεσθαι συστάσει, καὶ δὴ καὶ κατὰ σχολὴν ἐκλέξασθαι. τιθῶμεν οὖν ἡμᾶς νῦν εἶναι μὴ τοὺς ἐξ ἀνάγκης οἰκοδομοῦντας, ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἐπὶ σχολῆς ἔτι τὰ μὲν παρατιθεμένους, τὰ δὲ συνιστάντας: ὥστε ὀρθῶς ἔχει τὰ μὲν ἤδη τῶν [858ξ] νόμων λέγειν ὡς τιθέμενα, τὰ δ᾽ ὡς παρατιθέμενα.

Ἀθηναῖος

γένοιτο γοῦν ἄν, ὦ Κλεινία, κατὰ φύσιν μᾶλλον ἡμῖν ἡ σύνοψις τῶν νόμων. ἴδωμεν γὰρ οὖν, ὦ πρὸς θεῶν, τὸ τοιόνδε περὶ νομοθετῶν.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

γράμματα μέν που καὶ ἐν γράμμασιν λόγοι καὶ ἄλλων εἰσὶ πολλῶν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν γεγραμμένοι, γράμματα δὲ καὶ τὰ τοῦ νομοθέτου καὶ λόγοι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερον οὖν τοῖς μὲν τῶν ἄλλων συγγράμμασιν, [858δ] ποιητῶν καὶ ὅσοι ἄνευ μέτρων καὶ μετὰ μέτρων τὴν αὑτῶν εἰς μνήμην συμβουλὴν περὶ βίου κατέθεντο συγγράψαντες, προσέχωμεν τὸν νοῦν, τοῖς δὲ τῶν νομοθετῶν μὴ προσέχωμεν; ἢ πάντων μάλιστα;

Κλεινίας

πολύ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ δῆτα οὐ χρὴ τὸν νομοθέτην μόνον τῶν γραφόντων περὶ καλῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ δικαίων συμβουλεύειν, διδάσκοντα οἷά τέ ἐστι καὶ ὡς ἐπιτηδευτέον αὐτὰ τοῖς μέλλουσιν εὐδαίμοσιν ἔσεσθαι;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς οὔ; [858ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ αἰσχρὸν δὴ μᾶλλον Ὁμήρῳ τε καὶ Τυρταίῳ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ποιηταῖς περὶ βίου τε καὶ ἐπιτηδευμάτων κακῶς θέσθαι γράψαντας, Λυκούργῳ δὲ ἧττον καὶ Σόλωνι καὶ ὅσοι δὴ νομοθέται γενόμενοι γράμματα ἔγραψαν; ἢ τό γε ὀρθόν, πάντων δεῖ γραμμάτων τῶν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι τὰ περὶ τοὺς νόμους γεγραμμένα φαίνεσθαι διαπτυττόμενα μακρῷ κάλλιστά τε καὶ ἄριστα, τὰ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων ἢ κατ᾽ ἐκεῖνα [859α] συνεπόμενα, ἢ διαφωνοῦντα αὐτοῖς εἶναι καταγέλαστα; οὕτω διανοώμεθα περὶ νόμων δεῖν γραφῆς γίγνεσθαι ταῖς πόλεσιν, ἐν πατρός τε καὶ μητρὸς σχήμασι φιλούντων τε καὶ νοῦν ἐχόντων φαίνεσθαι τὰ γεγραμμένα, ἢ κατὰ τύραννον καὶ δεσπότην τάξαντα καὶ ἀπειλήσαντα γράψαντα ἐν τοίχοις ἀπηλλάχθαι; σκοπῶμεν οὖν δὴ καὶ τὰ νῦν ἡμεῖς πότερα ταύτῃ πειρώμεθα λέγειν διανοηθέντες περὶ νόμων, εἴτ᾽ οὖν [859β] δυνάμεθα εἴτε μή, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν τό γε πρόθυμον παρεχόμενοι: καὶ κατὰ ταύτην τὴν ὁδὸν ἰόντες, ἂν ἄρα τι καὶ δέῃ πάσχειν, πάσχωμεν. ἀγαθὸν δ᾽ εἴη τε, καὶ ἂν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ, γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ταύτῃ.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς εἴρηκας, ποιῶμέν τε ὡς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

διασκεπτέον ἄρα πρῶτον, ὥσπερ ἐπεχειρήσαμεν, ἀκριβῶς τὸν περὶ τῶν τε ἱεροσυλούντων καὶ κλοπῆς πάσης πέρι καὶ ἀδικημάτων συμπάντων, καὶ οὐ δυσχεραντέον εἰ [859ξ] μεταξὺ νομοθετοῦντες τὰ μὲν ἔθεμεν, τῶν δ᾽ ἔτι διασκοποῦμεν πέρι: νομοθέται γὰρ γιγνόμεθα ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐσμέν πω, τάχα δὲ ἴσως ἂν γενοίμεθα. εἰ δὴ δοκεῖ περὶ ὧν εἴρηκα ὡς εἴρηκα σκοπεῖσθαι, σκοπώμεθα.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

περὶ δὴ καλῶν καὶ δικαίων συμπάντων πειρώμεθα κατιδεῖν τὸ τοιόνδε, ὅπῃ ποτὲ ὁμολογοῦμεν νῦν καὶ ὅπῃ διαφερόμεθα ἡμεῖς τε ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς, οἳ δὴ φαῖμεν ἂν προθυμεῖσθαί γε, εἰ μηδὲν ἄλλο, διαφέρειν τῶν πλείστων, οἱ πολλοί [859δ] τε αὐτοὶ πρὸς αὑτοὺς αὖ.

Κλεινίας

τὰς ποίας δὲ δὴ διαφορὰς ἡμῶν ἐννοηθεὶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐγὼ πειράσομαι φράζειν. περὶ δικαιοσύνης ὅλως καὶ τῶν δικαίων ἀνθρώπων τε καὶ πραγμάτων καὶ πράξεων πάντες πως συνομολογοῦμεν πάντα εἶναι ταῦτα καλά, ὥστε οὐδ᾽ εἴ τις διισχυρίζοιτο εἶναι τοὺς δικαίους ἀνθρώπους, ἂν καὶ τυγχάνωσιν ὄντες αἰσχροὶ τὰ σώματα, κατ᾽ αὐτό γε τὸ δικαιότατον ἦθος ταύτῃ παγκάλους εἶναι, σχεδὸν οὐδεὶς ἂν [859ε] λέγων οὕτω πλημμελῶς δόξειε λέγειν.

Κλεινίας

οὐκοῦν ὀρθῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴσως: ἴδωμεν δὲ ὡς, εἰ πάντ᾽ ἐστὶν καλὰ ὅσα δικαιοσύνης ἔχεται, τῶν πάντων τοι καὶ τὰ παθήματα ἡμῖν ἐστιν, σχεδὸν τοῖς ποιήμασιν ἴσα.

Κλεινίας

τί οὖν δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

ποίημα μέν, ὅπερ ἂν ᾖ δίκαιον, σχεδὸν ὅσονπερ ἂν τοῦ δικαίου κοινωνῇ, κατὰ τοσοῦτον καὶ τοῦ καλοῦ μετέχον ἐστί.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν καὶ πάθος ὅπερ ἂν δικαίου κοινωνῇ, κατὰ [860α] τοσοῦτον γίγνεσθαι καλὸν ὁμολογούμενον, οὐκ ἂν διαφωνοῦντα παρέχοι τὸν λόγον;

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐὰν δέ γε δίκαιον μὲν ὁμολογῶμεν, αἰσχρὸν δὲ εἶναι πάθος, διαφωνήσει τό τε δίκαιον καὶ τὸ καλόν, λεχθέντων τῶν δικαίων αἰσχίστων εἶναι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς τοῦτο εἴρηκας;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν ἐννοεῖν: οἱ γὰρ ὀλίγῳ πρόσθεν τεθέντες ἡμῖν νόμοι πάντων ἐναντιώτατα παραγγέλλειν δόξειαν ἂν τοῖς νῦν λεγομένοις.

Κλεινίας

ποίοις; [860β]

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸν ἱερόσυλόν που ἐτίθεμεν δικαίως ἂν ἀποθνῄσκειν καὶ τὸν τῶν εὖ κειμένων νόμων πολέμιον, καὶ μέλλοντες δὴ νόμιμα τοιαῦτα τιθέναι πάμπολλα ἐπέσχομεν, ἰδόντες ὡς ταῦτα ἐστὶν μὲν ἄπειρα παθήματα πλήθει καὶ μεγέθεσιν, δικαιότατα δὲ πάντων παθημάτων καὶ συμπάντων αἴσχιστα. μῶν οὐχ οὕτως ἡμῖν τά τε δίκαια καὶ τὰ καλὰ τοτὲ μὲν ὡς ταὐτὰ σύμπαντα, τοτὲ δὲ ὡς ἐναντιώτατα φανεῖται;

Κλεινίας

κινδυνεύει. [860ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῖς μὲν τοίνυν πολλοῖς οὕτω περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀσυμφώνως τὰ καλὰ καὶ τὰ δίκαια διερριμμένα προσαγορεύεται.

Κλεινίας

φαίνεται γοῦν, ὦ ξένε.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ τοίνυν ἡμέτερον, ὦ Κλεινία, πάλιν ἴδωμεν πῶς αὖ περὶ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἔχει τῆς συμφωνίας.

Κλεινίας

ποίας δὴ πρὸς ποίαν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν λόγοις οἶμαι διαρρήδην ἐμὲ εἰρηκέναι πως, εἰ δ᾽ οὖν μὴ πρότερον, ἀλλὰ νῦν ὡς λέγοντα τίθετε-

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον; [860δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς οἱ κακοὶ πάντες εἰς πάντα εἰσὶν ἄκοντες κακοί: τούτου δὲ οὕτως ἔχοντος, ἀνάγκη που τούτῳ συνέπεσθαι τὸν ἑξῆς λόγον.

Κλεινίας

τίνα λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς ὁ μὲν ἄδικός που κακός, ὁ δὲ κακὸς ἄκων τοιοῦτος. ἀκουσίως δὲ ἑκούσιον οὐκ ἔχει πράττεσθαί ποτε λόγον: ἄκων οὖν ἐκείνῳ φαίνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἀδικεῖν ὁ ἀδικῶν τῷ τὴν ἀδικίαν ἀκούσιον τιθεμένῳ, καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν ὁμολογητέον ἐμοί: σύμφημι γὰρ ἄκοντας ἀδικεῖν πάντας-εἰ καί τις φιλονικίας [860ε] ἢ φιλοτιμίας ἕνεκα ἄκοντας μὲν ἀδίκους εἶναί φησιν, ἀδικεῖν μὴν ἑκόντας πολλούς, ὅ γ᾽ ἐμὸς λόγος ἐκεῖνος ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οὗτος-τίνα οὖν αὖ τρόπον ἔγωγε συμφωνοίην ἂν τοῖς ἐμαυτοῦ λόγοις; εἴ με, ὦ Κλεινία καὶ Μέγιλλε, ἐρωτῷτε: “εἰ δὴ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχοντά ἐστιν, ὦ ξένε, τί συμβουλεύεις ἡμῖν περὶ τῆς νομοθεσίας τῇ τῶν Μαγνήτων πόλει; πότερον νομοθετεῖν ἢ μή;” “πῶς γὰρ οὔ;” φήσω. “διοριεῖς οὖν αὐτοῖς ἀκούσιά τε καὶ ἑκούσια ἀδικήματα, καὶ τῶν μὲν ἑκουσίων ἁμαρτημάτων τε καὶ ἀδικημάτων μείζους τὰς ζημίας [861α] θήσομεν, τῶν δ᾽ ἐλάττους; ἢ πάντων ἐξ ἴσης, ὡς οὐκ ὄντων ἀδικημάτων τὸ παράπαν ἑκουσίων;”

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς μέντοι λέγεις, ὦ ξένε: καὶ τούτοις δὴ τί χρησόμεθα τοῖς νῦν λεγομένοις;

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς ἤρου. πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν αὐτοῖς τόδε χρησώμεθα.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀναμνησθῶμεν ὡς ἔμπροσθεν νυνδὴ καλῶς ἐλέγομεν ὅτι περὶ τὰ δίκαια εἴη παμπόλλη τις ἡμῶν ταραχή τε καὶ ἀσυμφωνία. τοῦτο δὲ λαβόντες πάλιν ἐρωτῶμεν ἡμᾶς [861β] αὐτούς: “ἆρ᾽ οὖν περὶ τὴν τούτων ἀπορίαν οὔτ᾽ ἐξευπορήσαντες οὔτε διορισάμενοι τί ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν ταῦτα ἀλλήλων διαφέροντα, ἃ δὴ κατὰ πάσας τὰς πόλεις ὑπὸ νομοθετῶν πάντων τῶν πώποτε γενομένων ὡς δύο εἴδη τῶν ἀδικημάτων ὄντα, τὰ μὲν ἑκούσια, τὰ δὲ ἀκούσια, ταύτῃ καὶ νομοθετεῖται: ὁ δὲ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν νυνδὴ ῥηθεὶς λόγος, ὥσπερ παρὰ θεοῦ λεχθείς, τοσοῦτον μόνον εἰπὼν ἀπαλλάξεται, δοὺς δὲ οὐδένα λόγον ὡς [861ξ] ὀρθῶς εἴρηκεν, κατανομοθετήσει τινὰ τρόπον;” οὐκ ἔστιν, ἀλλὰ ἀνάγκη πως ταῦτα ἔμπροσθεν τοῦ νομοθετεῖν δηλῶσαι δύο τε ὄντα καὶ τὴν διαφορὰν ἄλλην, ἵνα, ὅταν ἑκατέρῳ τις τὴν δίκην ἐπιτιθῇ, πᾶς ἐπακολουθῇ τοῖς λεγομένοις καὶ δυνατὸς ᾖ τό τε πρεπόντως τεθὲν ἁμῇ γέ πῃ κρῖναι καὶ τὸ μή.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς ἡμῖν φαίνῃ λέγειν, ὦ ξένε: δυοῖν γὰρ θάτερον ἡμᾶς χρεών, ἢ μὴ λέγειν ὡς πάντα ἀκούσια τὰ ἀδικήματα, ἢ [861δ] τοῦτο ὡς ὀρθῶς εἴρηται πρῶτον διορίσαντας δηλῶσαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτοιν τοίνυν τοῖν δυοῖν τὸ μὲν οὐκ ἀνεκτὸν ἐμοὶ πάντως που γίγνεσθαι, τό γε δὴ μὴ λέγειν, οὕτως οἰόμενον ἔχειν τἀληθές-οὐ γὰρ ἂν νόμιμον οὐδ᾽ ὅσιον ἂν εἴη-κατὰ τίνα δὲ τρόπον ἐστὸν δύο, εἰ μὴ τῷ τε ἀκουσίῳ καὶ τῷ ἑκουσίῳ διαφέρετον ἑκάτερον; ἀλλὰ ἄλλῳ τινὶ δή ποτε πειρατέον ἁμῶς γέ πως δηλοῦν.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ὦ ξένε, τοῦτό γε οὐχ οἷόν τε ἄλλως πως ἡμᾶς διανοηθῆναι. [861ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτα ἔσται. φέρε δή, βλάβαι μέν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀλλήλων τῶν πολιτῶν ἐν ταῖς κοινωνίαις τε καὶ ὁμιλίαις πολλαὶ γίγνονται, καὶ τό γε ἑκούσιόν τε καὶ ἀκούσιον ἐν αὐταῖς ἄφθονόν ἐστι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

μὴ τοίνυν τις τὰς βλάβας πάσας ἀδικίας τιθείς, οὕτως οἴηται καὶ τὰ ἄδικα ἐν αὐταῖσι ταύτῃ γίγνεσθαι διπλᾶ, τὰ μὲν ἑκούσια δή, τὰ δ᾽ ἀκούσια-βλάβαι γὰρ ἀκούσιοι τῶν πάντων οὔτ᾽ ἀριθμοῖς οὔτε μεγέθεσιν ἐλάττους εἰσὶ τῶν [862α] ἑκουσίων-σκοπεῖσθε δὲ εἴτε τι λέγω λέγων ἃ μέλλω λέγειν, εἴτε καὶ μηδὲν τὸ παράπαν. οὐ γάρ φημι ἔγωγε, ὦ Κλεινία καὶ Μέγιλλε, εἴ τίς τινά τι πημαίνει μὴ βουλόμενος ἀλλ᾽ ἄκων, ἀδικεῖν μέν, ἄκοντα μήν, καὶ ταύτῃ μὲν δὴ νομοθετήσω, τοῦτο ὡς ἀκούσιον ἀδίκημα νομοθετῶν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ ἀδικίαν τὸ παράπαν θήσω τὴν τοιαύτην βλάβην, οὔτε ἂν μείζων οὔτε ἂν ἐλάττων τῳ γίγνηται: πολλάκις δὲ ὠφελίαν οὐκ ὀρθὴν γενομένην τὸν τῆς ὠφελίας αἴτιον ἀδικεῖν φήσομεν, ἐὰν ἥ γ᾽ [862β] ἐμὴ νικᾷ. σχεδὸν γάρ, ὦ φίλοι, οὔτ᾽ εἴ τίς τῳ δίδωσίν τι τῶν ὄντων οὔτ᾽ εἰ τοὐναντίον ἀφαιρεῖται, δίκαιον ἁπλῶς ἢ ἄδικον χρὴ τὸ τοιοῦτον οὕτω λέγειν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν ἤθει καὶ δικαίῳ τρόπῳ χρώμενός τις ὠφελῇ τινά τι καὶ βλάπτῃ, τοῦτό ἐστιν τῷ νομοθέτῃ θεατέον, καὶ πρὸς δύο ταῦτα δὴ βλεπτέον, πρός τε ἀδικίαν καὶ βλάβην, καὶ τὸ μὲν βλαβὲν ὑγιὲς τοῖς νόμοις εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ποιητέον, τό τε ἀπολόμενον σῴζοντα καὶ τὸ [862ξ] πεσὸν ὑπό του πάλιν ἐξορθοῦντα, καὶ τὸ θανατωθὲν ἢ τρωθέν, ὑγιές, τὸ δὲ ἀποίνοις ἐξιλασθὲν τοῖς δρῶσι καὶ πάσχουσιν ἑκάστας τῶν βλάψεων, ἐκ διαφορᾶς εἰς φιλίαν πειρατέον ἀεὶ καθιστάναι τοῖς νόμοις.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς ταῦτά γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰς τοίνυν ἀδίκους αὖ βλάβας καὶ κέρδη δέ, ἐάν τις ἀδικῶν τινα κερδαίνειν ποιῇ, τούτων ὁπόσα μὲν ἰατά, ὡς οὐσῶν ἐν ψυχῇ νόσων, ἰᾶσθαι: τὸ δὲ τῆς ἰάσεως ἡμῖν τῆς ἀδικίας τῇδε ῥέπειν χρὴ φάναι.

Κλεινίας

πῇ; [862δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅπως ὅτι τις ἂν ἀδικήσῃ μέγα ἢ σμικρόν, ὁ νόμος αὐτὸν διδάξει καὶ ἀναγκάσει τὸ παράπαν εἰς αὖθις τὸ τοιοῦτον ἢ μηδέποτε ἑκόντα τολμῆσαι ποιεῖν ἢ διαφερόντως ἧττον πολύ, πρὸς τῇ τῆς βλάβης ἐκτίσει. ταῦτα εἴτε ἔργοις ἢ λόγοις, ἢ μεθ᾽ ἡδονῶν ἢ λυπῶν, ἢ τιμῶν ἢ ἀτιμιῶν, καὶ χρημάτων ζημίας ἢ καὶ δώρων, ἢ καὶ τὸ παράπαν ᾧτινι τρόπῳ ποιήσει τις μισῆσαι μὲν τὴν ἀδικίαν, στέρξαι δὲ ἢ μὴ μισεῖν τὴν τοῦ δικαίου φύσιν, αὐτό ἐστιν τοῦτο ἔργον [862ε] τῶν καλλίστων νόμων. ὃν δ᾽ ἂν ἀνιάτως εἰς ταῦτα ἔχοντα αἴσθηται νομοθέτης, δίκην τούτοισι καὶ νόμον θήσει τίνα; γιγνώσκων που τοῖς τοιούτοις πᾶσιν ὡς οὔτε αὐτοῖς ἔτι ζῆν ἄμεινον, τούς τε ἄλλους ἂν διπλῇ ὠφελοῖεν ἀπαλλαττόμενοι τοῦ βίου, παράδειγμα μὲν τοῦ μὴ ἀδικεῖν τοῖς ἄλλοις γενόμενοι, ποιοῦντες δὲ ἀνδρῶν κακῶν ἔρημον τὴν πόλιν, οὕτω [863α] δὴ τῶν τοιούτων πέρι νομοθέτῃ κολαστὴν τῶν ἁμαρτημάτων θάνατον ἀνάγκη νέμειν, ἄλλως δὲ οὐδαμῶς.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικε μέν πως λέγεσθαι τὰ παρὰ σοῦ καὶ μάλα μετρίως, ἥδιον δ᾽ ἂν ἔτι σαφέστερον ἀκούσαιμεν ταῦτα ῥηθέντα, τὸ τῆς ἀδικίας τε καὶ βλάβης διάφορον καὶ τὸ τῶν ἑκουσίων καὶ ἀκουσίων ὡς ἐν τούτοις διαπεποίκιλται.

Ἀθηναῖος

πειρατέον τοίνυν ὡς κελεύετε δρᾶν, καὶ λέγειν. [863β] δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι τοσόνδε γε περὶ ψυχῆς καὶ λέγετε πρὸς ἀλλήλους καὶ ἀκούετε, ὡς ἓν μὲν ἐν αὐτῇ τῆς φύσεως εἴτε τι πάθος εἴτε τι μέρος ὢν ὁ θυμός, δύσερι καὶ δύσμαχον κτῆμα ἐμπεφυκός, ἀλογίστῳ βίᾳ πολλὰ ἀνατρέπει.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν ἡδονήν γε οὐ ταὐτὸν τῷ θυμῷ προσαγορεύομεν, ἐξ ἐναντίας δὲ αὐτῷ φαμεν ῥώμης δυναστεύουσαν, πειθοῖ μετὰ ἀπάτης βιαίου πράττειν πᾶν ὅτιπερ ἂν αὐτῆς ἡ βούλησις ἐθελήσῃ.

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλα. [863ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

τρίτον μὴν ἄγνοιαν λέγων ἄν τις τῶν ἁμαρτημάτων αἰτίαν οὐκ ἂν ψεύδοιτο: διχῇ μὴν διελόμενος αὐτὸ ὁ νομοθέτης ἂν βελτίων εἴη, τὸ μὲν ἁπλοῦν αὐτοῦ κούφων ἁμαρτημάτων αἴτιον ἡγούμενος, τὸ δὲ διπλοῦν, ὅταν ἀμαθαίνῃ τις μὴ μόνον ἀγνοίᾳ συνεχόμενος ἀλλὰ καὶ δόξῃ σοφίας, ὡς εἰδὼς παντελῶς περὶ ἃ μηδαμῶς οἶδεν, μετὰ μὲν ἰσχύος καὶ ῥώμης ἑπομένης μεγάλων καὶ ἀμούσων ἁμαρτημάτων τιθεὶς [863δ] αἴτια τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἀσθενείας δὲ ἑπομένης, παίδειά τε ἁμαρτήματα καὶ πρεσβυτέρων γιγνόμενα θήσει μὲν ἁμαρτήματα καὶ ὡς ἁμαρτάνουσιν νόμους τάξει, πρᾳοτάτους γε μὴν πάντων καὶ συγγνώμης πλείστης ἐχομένους.

Κλεινίας

εἰκότα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἡδονῆς μὲν τοίνυν καὶ θυμοῦ λέγομεν σχεδὸν ἅπαντες ὡς ὁ μὲν κρείττων ἡμῶν, ὁ δὲ ἥττων ἐστίν: καὶ ἔχει ταύτῃ.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀγνοίας δέ γε ὡς ὁ μὲν ἡμῶν κρείττων, ὁ δὲ ἥττων, οὐκ ἠκούσαμεν πώποτε. [863ε]

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάντα δέ γε προτρέπειν ταῦτά φαμεν εἰς τὴν αὑτοῦ βούλησιν ἐπισπώμενον ἕκαστον εἰς τἀναντία πολλάκις ἅμα.

Κλεινίας

πλειστάκις μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν δή σοι τό τε δίκαιον καὶ τὸ ἄδικον, ὅ γε ἐγὼ λέγω, σαφῶς ἂν διορισαίμην οὐδὲν ποικίλλων. τὴν γὰρ τοῦ θυμοῦ καὶ φόβου καὶ ἡδονῆς καὶ λύπης καὶ φθόνων καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν ἐν ψυχῇ τυραννίδα, ἐάντε τι βλάπτῃ καὶ ἐὰν μή, [864α] πάντως ἀδικίαν προσαγορεύω: τὴν δὲ τοῦ ἀρίστου δόξαν, ὅπῃπερ ἂν ἔσεσθαι τούτων ἡγήσωνται πόλις εἴτε ἰδιῶταί τινες, ἐὰν αὕτη κρατοῦσα ἐν ψυχαῖς διακοσμῇ πάντα ἄνδρα, κἂν σφάλληταί τι, δίκαιον μὲν πᾶν εἶναι φατέον τὸ ταύτῃ πραχθὲν καὶ τὸ τῆς τοιαύτης ἀρχῆς γιγνόμενον ὑπήκοον ἑκάστων, καὶ ἐπὶ τὸν ἅπαντα ἀνθρώπων βίον ἄριστον, δοξάζεσθαι δὲ ὑπὸ πολλῶν ἀκούσιον ἀδικίαν εἶναι τὴν τοιαύτην βλάβην. ἡμῖν δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν τὰ νῦν ὀνομάτων πέρι δύσερις [864β] λόγος, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ τῶν ἁμαρτανομένων τρία εἴδη δεδήλωται γιγνόμενα, ταῦτα εἰς μνήμην πρῶτον ἔτι μᾶλλον ἀναληπτέον. λύπης μὲν οὖν, ἣν θυμὸν καὶ φόβον ἐπονομάζομεν, ἓν εἶδος ἡμῖν ἐστιν.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἡδονῆς δ᾽ αὖ καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν δεύτερον, ἐλπίδων δὲ καὶ δόξης τῆς ἀληθοῦς περὶ τὸ ἄριστον ἔφεσις τρίτον ἕτερον. τούτου δὲ αὐτοῦ τρία διχῇ τμηθέντος πέντε εἴδη γέγονεν, ὡς [864ξ] νῦν φαμεν: οἷς νόμους διαφέροντας ἀλλήλων πέντε εἴδεσιν θετέον ἐν δυοῖν γένεσιν.

Κλεινίας

τίσιν τούτοις;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ μὲν διὰ βιαίων καὶ συμφανῶν πράξεων πραττόμενον ἑκάστοτε, τὸ δὲ μετὰ σκότους καὶ ἀπάτης λαθραίως γιγνόμενον, ἔστιν δ᾽ ὅτε καὶ δι᾽ ἀμφοῖν τούτοιν πραχθέν: ᾧ δὴ καὶ νόμοι τραχύτατοι γίγνοιντο ἄν, εἰ τὸ προσῆκον μέρος ἔχοιεν.

Κλεινίας

εἰκὸς γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴωμεν δὴ τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα ἐκεῖσε ὁπόθεν ἐξέβημεν δεῦρο, περαίνοντες τὴν θέσιν τῶν νόμων. ἦν δὲ ἡμῖν [864δ] κείμενα περί τε τῶν συλώντων, οἶμαι, τοὺς θεοὺς καὶ τὰ περὶ προδοτῶν, ἔτι δὲ τῶν τοὺς νόμους διαφθειρόντων ἐπὶ καταλύσει τῆς παρούσης πολιτείας. τούτων δή τις ἂν ἴσως πράξειέν τι μανείς, ἢ νόσοις ἢ γήρᾳ ὑπερμέτρῳ συνεχόμενος, ἢ παιδίᾳ χρώμενος, οὐδέν πω τῶν τοιούτων διαφέρων: ὧν ἂν γίγνηταί τι φανερὸν τοῖς ἐκλεχθεῖσιν ἑκάστοτε δικασταῖς, ἀναφέροντος τοῦ δράσαντος ἢ τοῦ σκηπτομένου ὑπὲρ τοῦ [864ε] ποιήσαντος, κριθῇ δὲ οὕτω διατεθεὶς παρανομῆσαι, τὴν μὲν βλάβην ἣν ἄν τινα καταβλάψῃ πάντως ἁπλῆν ἀποτινέτω, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων δικαιωμάτων ἀφείσθω, πλὴν ἂν ἄρα τινὰ ἀποκτείνας μὴ καθαρὸς ᾖ τὰς χεῖρας φόνου: οὕτω δ᾽ εἰς ἄλλην χώραν καὶ τόπον ἀπελθὼν οἰκείτω τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν ἐκδημῶν, πρότερον δὲ ἐλθὼν τοῦ χρόνου ὃν ὁ νόμος ὥρισεν, ἢ καὶ πάσης ἐπιβὰς τῆς οἰκείας χώρας, ἐν δημοσίῳ δεσμῷ δεθεὶς ὑπὸ τῶν νομοφυλάκων δύο ἐνιαυτούς, οὕτως ἀπαλλαττέσθω τῶν δεσμῶν. [865α]

φόνου δὴ καθάπερ ἠρξάμεθα, πειρώμεθα διὰ τέλους παντὸς εἴδους πέρι φόνου θεῖναι τοὺς νόμους, καὶ πρῶτον μὲν τὰ βίαια καὶ ἀκούσια λέγωμεν. εἴ τις ἐν ἀγῶνι καὶ ἄθλοις δημοσίοις ἄκων, εἴτε παραχρῆμα εἴτε καὶ ἐν ὑστέροις χρόνοις ἐκ τῶν πληγῶν, ἀπέκτεινέν τινα φίλιον, ἢ κατὰ πόλεμον ὡσαύτως ἢ κατὰ μελέτην τὴν πρὸς πόλεμον, ποιουμένων ἄσκησιν [τῶν ἀρχόντων] ψιλοῖς σώμασιν ἢ μετά τινων ὅπλων [865β] ἀπομιμουμένων τὴν πολεμικὴν πρᾶξιν, καθαρθεὶς κατὰ τὸν ἐκ Δελφῶν κομισθέντα περὶ τούτων νόμον ἔστω καθαρός: ἰατρῶν δὲ πέρι πάντων, ἂν ὁ θεραπευόμενος ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν ἀκόντων τελευτᾷ, καθαρὸς ἔστω κατὰ νόμον. ἐὰν δὲ αὐτόχειρ μέν, ἄκων δὲ ἀποκτείνῃ τις ἕτερος ἕτερον, εἴτε τῷ ἑαυτοῦ σώματι ψιλῷ εἴτε ὀργάνῳ ἢ βέλει ἢ πώματος ἢ σίτου δόσει ἢ πυρὸς ἢ χειμῶνος προσβολῇ ἢ στερήσει πνεύματος, αὐτὸς τῷ [865ξ] ἑαυτοῦ σώματι ἢ δι᾽ ἑτέρων σωμάτων, πάντως ἔστω μὲν ὡς αὐτόχειρ, δίκας δὲ τινέτω τὰς τοιάσδε: ἐὰν μὲν δοῦλον κτείνῃ, νομίζων τὸν ἑαυτοῦ διειργάσθαι τὸν τοῦ τελευτήσαντος δεσπότην ἀβλαβῆ παρεχέτω καὶ ἀζήμιον, ἢ δίκην εἰς τὴν ἀξίαν τοῦ τελευτήσαντος ὑπεχέτω διπλῆν, τῆς δὲ ἀξίας οἱ δικασταὶ διάγνωσιν ποιείσθωσαν, καθαρμοῖς δὲ χρήσασθαι μείζοσίν τε καὶ πλείοσι τῶν περὶ τὰ ἆθλα ἀποκτεινάντων, [865δ] τούτων δ᾽ ἐξηγητὰς εἶναι κυρίους οὓς ἂν ὁ θεὸς ἀνέλῃ: ἐὰν δὲ αὑτοῦ δοῦλον, καθηράμενος ἀπαλλαττέσθω τοῦ φόνου κατὰ νόμον. ἐὰν δέ τις ἐλεύθερον ἄκων ἀποκτείνῃ, τοὺς μὲν καθαρμοὺς τοὺς αὐτοὺς καθαρθήτω τῷ τὸν δοῦλον ἀποκτείναντι, παλαιὸν δέ τινα τῶν ἀρχαίων μύθων λεγόμενον μὴ ἀτιμαζέτω. λέγεται δὲ ὡς ὁ θανατωθεὶς ἄρα βιαίως, ἐν ἐλευθέρῳ φρονήματι βεβιωκώς, θυμοῦταί τε τῷ [865ε] δράσαντι νεοθνὴς ὤν, καὶ φόβου καὶ δείματος ἅμα διὰ τὴν βίαιον πάθην αὐτὸς πεπληρωμένος, ὁρῶν τε τὸν ἑαυτοῦ φονέα ἐν τοῖς ἤθεσι τοῖς τῆς ἑαυτοῦ συνηθείας ἀναστρεφόμενον, δειμαίνει, καὶ ταραττόμενος αὐτὸς ταράττει κατὰ δύναμιν πᾶσαν τὸν δράσαντα, μνήμην σύμμαχον ἔχων, αὐτόν τε καὶ τὰς πράξεις αὐτοῦ. διὸ δὴ χρεών ἐστιν ἄρα ὑπεξελθεῖν τῷ παθόντι τὸν δράσαντα τὰς ὥρας πάσας τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ καὶ ἐρημῶσαι πάντας τοὺς οἰκείους τόπους συμπάσης τῆς πατρίδος: ἐὰν δὲ ξένος ὁ τελευτήσας ᾖ, καὶ τῆς τοῦ ξένου [866α] χώρας εἰργέσθω τοὺς αὐτοὺς χρόνους. τούτῳ δὴ τῷ νόμῳ ἐὰν μὲν ἑκὼν πείθηταί τις, ὁ τοῦ τελευτήσαντος γένει ἐγγύτατα, ἐπίσκοπος ὢν τούτων πάντων γενομένων, ἐχέτω συγγνώμην τε καὶ ἄγων πρὸς αὐτὸν εἰρήνην μέτριος ἂν εἴη πάντως: ἐὰν δέ τις ἀπειθῇ καὶ πρῶτον μὲν ἀκάθαρτος ὢν εἰς τὰ ἱερὰ τολμᾷ πορεύεσθαι καὶ θύειν, ἔτι δὲ τοὺς χρόνους μὴ ἐθέλῃ πληροῦν ἀποξενούμενος τοὺς εἰρημένους, ὁ [866β] τοῦ τελευτήσαντος γένει ἐγγύτατα ἐπεξίτω μὲν φόνου τῷ κτείναντι, διπλᾶ δὲ πάντα ἔστω τὰ τιμωρήματα τῷ ὀφλόντι. ἐὰν δ᾽ ὁ προσήκων ἐγγύτατα μὴ ἐπεξίῃ τῷ παθήματι, τὸ μίασμα ὡς εἰς αὐτὸν περιεληλυθός, τοῦ παθόντος προστρεπομένου τὴν πάθην, ὁ βουλόμενος ἐπεξελθὼν τούτῳ δίκην, πέντε ἔτη ἀποσχέσθαι τῆς αὑτοῦ πατρίδος ἀναγκαζέτω κατὰ νόμον. ἐὰν δὲ ξένος ἄκων ξένον κτείνῃ τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει, [866ξ] ἐπεξίτω μὲν ὁ βουλόμενος ἐπὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς νόμοις, μέτοικος δὲ ὢν ἀπενιαυτησάτω, ξένος δὲ ἂν ᾖ παντάπασιν, πρὸς τῷ καθαρμῷ, ἐάντε ξένον ἐάντε μέτοικον ἐάντε ἀστὸν κτείνῃ, τὸν βίον ἅπαντα τῆς χώρας τῆς τῶν νόμων τῶνδε κυρίας εἰργέσθω: ἐὰν δ᾽ ἔλθῃ παρανόμως, οἱ νομοφύλακες θανάτῳ ζημιούντων αὐτόν, καὶ ἐὰν ἔχῃ οὐσίαν τινά, τῷ τοῦ παθόντος ἐγγύτατα γένει παραδιδόντων. ἐὰν δὲ ἄκων ἔλθῃ, ἂν μὲν [866δ] κατὰ θάλατταν ἐκπίπτῃ πρὸς τὴν χώραν, σκηνησάμενος ἐν θαλάττῃ τέγγων τοὺς πόδας πλοῦν ἐπιφυλαττέτω, κατὰ γῆν δὲ ἂν βίᾳ ὑπό τινων ἀχθῇ, ἡ πρώτη προστυχοῦσα ἀρχὴ τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει λύσασα, εἰς τὴν ὑπερορίαν ἐκπεμπέτω ἄσυλον. ἐὰν δ᾽ ἄρα τις αὐτόχειρ μὲν κτείνῃ ἐλεύθερον, θυμῷ δὲ ᾖ τὸ πεπραγμένον ἐκπραχθέν, διχῇ δεῖ πρῶτον τὸ τοιοῦτον διαλαβεῖν. θυμῷ γὰρ δὴ πέπρακται καὶ τοῖς ὅσοι ἂν ἐξαίφνης [866ε] μὲν καὶ ἀπροβουλεύτως τοῦ ἀποκτεῖναι πληγαῖς ἤ τινι τοιούτῳ διαφθείρωσί τινα παραχρῆμα τῆς ὁρμῆς γενομένης, μεταμέλειά τε εὐθὺς τοῦ πεπραγμένου γίγνηται, θυμῷ δὲ καὶ ὅσοι προπηλακισθέντες λόγοις ἢ καὶ ἀτίμοις ἔργοις, μεταδιώκοντες τὴν τιμωρίαν, ὕστερον ἀποκτείνωσί τινα βουληθέντες κτεῖναι καὶ τὸ πεπραγμένον αὐτοῖς ἀμεταμέλητον γίγνηται. διττοὺς μὲν δὴ τοὺς φόνους, ὡς ἔοικε, θετέον, καὶ σχεδὸν ἀμφοτέρους [867α] θυμῷ γεγονότας, μεταξὺ δέ που τοῦ τε ἑκουσίου καὶ ἀκουσίου δικαιότατ᾽ ἂν λεγομένους. οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽ εἰκών ἐσθ᾽ ἑκάτερος: ὁ μὲν τὸν θυμὸν φυλάττων καὶ οὐκ ἐκ τοῦ παραχρῆμα ἐξαίφνης ἀλλὰ μετὰ ἐπιβουλῆς ὕστερον χρόνῳ τιμωρούμενος ἑκουσίῳ ἔοικεν, ὁ δὲ ἀταμιεύτως ταῖς ὀργαῖς καὶ ἐκ τοῦ παραχρῆμα εὐθὺς χρώμενος ἀπροβουλεύτως ὅμοιος μὲν ἀκουσίῳ, ἔστι δὲ οὐδ᾽ οὗτος αὖ παντάπασιν ἀκούσιος ἀλλ᾽ εἰκὼν ἀκουσίου. [867β] διὸ χαλεποὶ διορίζειν οἱ τῷ θυμῷ πραχθέντες φόνοι, πότερον ἑκουσίους αὐτοὺς ἤ τινας ὡς ἀκουσίους νομοθετητέον, βέλτιστον μὴν καὶ ἀληθέστατον εἰς εἰκόνα μὲν ἄμφω θεῖναι, τεμεῖν δὲ αὐτὼ χωρὶς τῇ ἐπιβουλῇ καὶ ἀπροβουλίᾳ, καὶ τοῖς μὲν μετ᾽ ἐπιβουλῆς τε καὶ ὀργῇ κτείνασιν τὰς τιμωρίας χαλεπωτέρας, τοῖς δὲ ἀπροβουλεύτως τε καὶ ἐξαίφνης πρᾳοτέρας νομοθετεῖν: τὸ γὰρ εἰκὸς μείζονι κακῷ μειζόνως, τὸ [867ξ] δ᾽ ἐλάττονι τιμωρητέον ἐλαττόνως. ποιητέον δὴ καὶ τοῖς ἡμετέροις νόμοις οὕτω.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάλιν ἐπανελθόντες τοίνυν λέγωμεν: ἂν ἄρα τις αὐτόχειρ μὲν κτείνῃ ἐλεύθερον, τὸ δὲ πεπραγμένον ἀπροβουλεύτως ὀργῇ τινι γένηται πραχθέν, τὰ μὲν ἄλλα, καθάπερ ἄνευ θυμοῦ κτείναντι προσῆκέν τῳ πάσχειν, πασχέτω, δύο δ᾽ ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἔτη φευγέτω κολάζων τὸν αὑτοῦ θυμόν. ὁ δὲ [867δ] θυμῷ μέν, μετ᾽ ἐπιβουλῆς δὲ κτείνας τὰ μὲν ἄλλα κατὰ τὸν πρόσθεν αὖ, τρία δὲ ἔτη, καθάπερ ἅτερος ἔφευγεν τὰ δύο, φευγέτω, μεγέθει θυμοῦ πλείω τιμωρηθεὶς χρόνον. καθόδου δὲ πέρι τούτοις ὧδε ἔστω. χαλεπὸν μὲν ἀκριβῶς νομοθετεῖν: ἔστι γὰρ ὅτε τούτοιν ὁ τῷ νόμῳ ταχθεὶς χαλεπώτερος ἡμερώτερος ἄν, ὁ δὲ ἡμερώτερος χαλεπώτερος ἂν εἴη, καὶ τὰ περὶ τὸν φόνον ἀγριωτέρως ἂν πράξειεν, ὁ δὲ ἡμερωτέρως: ὡς [867ε] δὲ τὸ πολὺ κατὰ τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα συμβαίνει γιγνόμενα. τούτων οὖν πάντων ἐπιγνώμονας εἶναι χρὴ νομοφύλακας, ἐπειδὰν δὲ ὁ χρόνος ἔλθῃ τῆς φυγῆς ἑκατέρῳ, πέμπειν αὐτῶν δικαστὰς δώδεκα ἐπὶ τοὺς ὅρους τῆς χώρας, ἐσκεμμένους ἐν τῷ χρόνῳ τούτῳ τὰς τῶν φυγόντων πράξεις ἔτι σαφέστερον, καὶ τῆς αἰδοῦς τε πέρι καὶ καταδοχῆς τούτων δικαστὰς γίγνεσθαι, τοὺς δὲ αὖ τοῖς δικασθεῖσιν ὑπὸ τῶν τοιούτων [868α] ἀρχόντων ἐμμένειν. ἐὰν δ᾽ αὖθίς ποτε κατελθὼν ὁπότερος αὐτοῖν ἡττηθεὶς ὀργῇ πράξῃ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο, φυγὼν μηκέτι κατέλθῃ, κατελθὼν δέ, κατὰ τὴν τοῦ ξένου ἄφιξιν ταύτῃ πασχέτω. δοῦλον δ᾽ ὁ κτείνας ἑαυτοῦ μὲν καθηράσθω, ἐὰν δὲ ἀλλότριον θυμῷ, διπλῇ τὸ βλάβος ἐκτεισάτω τῷ κεκτημένῳ. ὅστις δ᾽ ἂν τῶν ἀποκτεινάντων πάντων μὴ πείθηται τῷ νόμῳ, ἀλλ᾽ ἀκάθαρτος ὢν ἀγοράν τε καὶ ἆθλα καὶ τὰ [868β] ἄλλα ἱερὰ μιαίνῃ, ὁ βουλόμενος, τόν τε ἐπιτρέποντα τῶν προσηκόντων τῷ τελευτήσαντι καὶ τὸν ἀποκτείναντα εἰς δίκην καταστήσας, τὴν διπλασίαν χρημάτων τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πράξεων ἀναγκαζέτω πράττειν τε καὶ ἐκτίνειν, τὸ δὲ ἔκτεισμα αὐτὸς αὑτῷ κομιζέσθω κατὰ τὸν νόμον. ἐὰν δέ τις θυμῷ δοῦλος δεσπότην αὑτοῦ κτείνῃ, τοὺς προσήκοντας τοῦ τελευτήσαντος χρωμένους τῷ κτείναντι χρείαν ἣν ἂν [868ξ] ἐθέλωσι, πλὴν μηδαμῇ μηδαμῶς ζωγροῦντας, καθαροὺς εἶναι: ἐὰν δὲ ἄλλος τις δοῦλος ἐλεύθερον ἀποκτείνῃ θυμῷ, παραδιδόντων οἱ δεσπόται τὸν δοῦλον τοῖς προσήκουσι τοῦ τελευτήσαντος, οἱ δὲ ἐξ ἀνάγκης μὲν θανατωσάντων τὸν δράσαντα, τρόπῳ δὲ ᾧ ἂν ἐθέλωσιν. ἂν δ᾽, ὃ γίγνεται μέν, ὀλιγάκις δέ, διὰ θυμὸν πατὴρ ἢ μήτηρ ὑὸν ἢ θυγατέρα πληγαῖς ἤ τινι τρόπῳ βιαίῳ κτείνῃ, καθάρσεις μὲν τὰς αὐτὰς τοῖς ἄλλοις καθαιρέσθω καὶ ἐνιαυτοὺς τρεῖς ἀπενιαυτεῖν, [868δ] κατελθόντων δὲ τῶν κτεινάντων, ἀπαλλάττεσθαι γυναῖκά τε ἀπ᾽ ἀνδρὸς καὶ τὸν ἄνδρα ἀπὸ γυναικός, καὶ μή ποτ᾽ ἔτι κοινῇ παιδοποιήσασθαι, μηδὲ συνέστιον ὧν ἔκγονον ἢ ἀδελφὸν ἀπεστέρηκε γίγνεσθαί ποτε μηδὲ κοινωνὸν ἱερῶν: ὁ δὲ ἀσεβῶν τε περὶ ταῦτα καὶ ἀπειθῶν ὑπόδικος ἀσεβείας γιγνέσθω τῷ ἐθέλοντι. γυναῖκα δὲ γαμετὴν ἐὰν ἀνὴρ δι᾽ ὀργὴν κτείνῃ [868ε] τινά τις, ἢ γυνὴ ἑαυτῆς ἄνδρα ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ὡσαύτως ἐργάσηται, καθαίρεσθαι μὲν τοὺς αὐτοὺς καθαρμούς, τριετεῖς δὲ ἀπενιαυτήσεις διατελεῖν. κατελθὼν δὲ ὅ τι τοιοῦτον δράσας, τοῖς αὑτοῦ παισὶν ἱερῶν μὴ κοινωνείτω μηδὲ ὁμοτράπεζος γιγνέσθω ποτέ: ἀπειθῶν δὲ ὁ γεννήτωρ ἢ ὁ γεννηθεὶς ἀσεβείας αὖ ὑπόδικος γιγνέσθω τῷ ἐθέλοντι. καὶ ἐὰν ἀδελφὸς ἀδελφὸν ἢ ἀδελφήν, ἢ ἀδελφὴ ἀδελφὸν ἢ ἀδελφὴν θυμῷ κτείνῃ, τὰ μὲν τῶν καθαρμῶν καὶ ἀπενιαυτήσεων ὡσαύτως, καθάπερ εἴρηται τοῖς γονεῦσι καὶ τοῖς ἐκγόνοις, εἰρήσθω δεῖν γίγνεσθαι καὶ τούτοις-ὧν ἀδελφούς τε ἀδελφῶν καὶ γονέας ἐστέρηκε παίδων, τούτοις δὲ συνέστιος αὐτοῖς μηδέποτε γιγνέσθω μηδὲ κοινωνὸς ἱερῶν-ἐὰν δέ τις ἀπειθῇ, [869α] τῷ τῆς περὶ ταῦτα ἀσεβείας εἰρημένῳ νόμῳ ὑπόδικος ὀρθῶς ἂν γίγνοιτο μετὰ δίκης. ἐὰν δ᾽ ἄρα τις εἰς τοσοῦτον ἀκρατὴς θυμοῦ γίγνηται πρὸς τοὺς γεννήσαντας, ὥστε μανίαις ὀργῆς τῶν γεννητόρων τολμῆσαι κτεῖναί τινα, ἐὰν μὲν ὁ τελευτήσας πρὶν τελευτῆσαι τὸν δράσαντα φόνου ἀφιῇ ἑκών, καθάπερ οἱ τὸν ἀκούσιον φόνον ἐξεργασάμενοι καθαρθείς, καὶ τἆλλα ὅσαπερ ἐκεῖνοι πράξας, καθαρὸς ἔστω, ἐὰν δὲ μὴ [869β] ἀφῇ, πολλοῖς ἔνοχος ἔστω νόμοις ὁ δράσας τι τοιοῦτον: καὶ γὰρ αἰκίας δίκαις ταῖς ἐσχάταις ἔνοχος ἂν γίγνοιτο καὶ ἀσεβείας ὡσαύτως καὶ ἱεροσυλίας, τὴν τοῦ γεννητοῦ ψυχὴν συλήσας, ὥστ᾽ εἴπερ οἷόν τ᾽ ἦν τὸ πολλάκις ἀποθνῄσκειν τὸν αὐτόν, καὶ τὸν πατροφόνον ἢ μητροκτόνον, ἐξεργασάμενον θυμῷ τοῦτο, δικαιότατον θανάτων πολλῶν ἦν τυγχάνειν. ᾧ γὰρ μόνῳ οὐδ᾽ ἀμυνομένῳ θάνατον, μέλλοντι ὑπὸ [869ξ] τῶν γονέων τελευτήσεσθαι, παρέξει νόμος οὐδεὶς κτεῖναι τὸν πατέρα ἢ μητέρα, τοὺς εἰς φῶς τὴν ἐκείνου φύσιν ἀγαγόντας, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπομείναντα τὰ πάντα πάσχειν πρίν τι δρᾶν τοιοῦτον νομοθετήσει, πῶς τούτῳ δίκης γε ἄλλως προσῆκον τυγχάνειν ἂν γίγνοιτο ἐν νόμῳ; κείσθω δὴ τῷ πατέρα ἢ μητέρα ἀποκτείναντι θυμῷ θάνατος ἡ ζημία. ἀδελφὸς δὲ ἂν ἀδελφὸν κτείνῃ ἐν στάσεσι μάχης γενομένης ἤ τινι τρόπῳ τοιούτῳ, [869δ] ἀμυνόμενος ἄρχοντα χειρῶν πρότερον, καθάπερ πολέμιον ἀποκτείνας ἔστω καθαρός, καὶ ἐὰν πολίτης πολίτην, ὡσαύτως, ἢ ξένος ξένον. ἐὰν δὲ ἀστὸς ξένον ἢ ξένος ἀστὸν ἀμυνόμενος κτείνῃ, κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἔστω τοῦ καθαρὸς εἶναι. καὶ ἐὰν δοῦλος δοῦλον, ὡσαύτως: ἐὰν δὲ αὖ δοῦλος ἐλεύθερον ἀμυνόμενος ἀποκτείνῃ, καθάπερ ὁ κτείνας πατέρα, τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἔνοχος ἔστω νόμοις. ὃ δὲ περὶ τῆς ἀφέσεως εἴρηται φόνου πατρί, ταὐτὸν τοῦτο ἔστω περὶ ἁπάσης τῶν [869ε] τοιούτων ἀφέσεως, ἐὰν ὁστισοῦν ὁτῳοῦν ἀφιῇ τοῦτο ἑκών, ὡς ἀκουσίου γεγονότος τοῦ φόνου, οἵ τε καθαρμοὶ γιγνέσθωσαν τῷ δράσαντι καὶ ἐνιαυτὸς εἷς ἔστω τῆς ἐκδημίας ἐν νόμῳ. καὶ τὰ μὲν δὴ βίαιά τε καὶ ἀκούσια καὶ κατὰ τὸν θυμὸν γιγνόμενα περὶ φόνους μετρίως εἰρήσθω: τὰ δὲ περὶ τὰ ἑκούσια καὶ κατ᾽ ἀδικίαν πᾶσαν γιγνόμενα τούτων πέρι καὶ ἐπιβουλῆς δι᾽ ἥττας ἡδονῶν τε καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν καὶ φθόνων, ταῦτα μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνα ἡμῖν λεκτέον.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάλιν δὴ πρῶτον περὶ τῶν τοιούτων εἰς δύναμιν [870α] εἴπωμεν ὁπόσα ἂν εἴη. τὸ μὲν δὴ μέγιστον ἐπιθυμία κρατοῦσα ψυχῆς ἐξηγριωμένης ὑπὸ πόθων: τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶν μάλιστα ἐνταῦθα οὗ πλεῖστός τε καὶ ἰσχυρότατος ἵμερος ὢν τυγχάνει τοῖς πολλοῖς, ἡ τῶν χρημάτων τῆς ἀπλήστου καὶ ἀπείρου κτήσεως ἔρωτας μυρίους ἐντίκτουσα δύναμις διὰ φύσιν τε καὶ ἀπαιδευσίαν τὴν κακήν. τῆς δὲ ἀπαιδευσίας ἡ τοῦ κακῶς ἐπαινεῖσθαι πλοῦτον αἰτία φήμη πρὸς τῶν Ἑλλήνων τε καὶ βαρβάρων: πρῶτον γὰρ τῶν ἀγαθῶν αὐτὸ [870β] προκρίνοντες, τρίτον ὄν, τούς τ᾽ ἐπιγιγνομένους λωβῶνται καὶ ἑαυτούς. τὸ γὰρ ἀληθὲς λέγεσθαι περὶ τοῦ πλούτου κατὰ πόλεις πάσας πάντων κάλλιστον καὶ ἄριστον, ὡς ἕνεκα σώματός ἐστι, καὶ σῶμα ψυχῆς ἕνεκα: ἀγαθῶν μὲν οὖν ὄντων ὧν ἕνεκα ὁ πλοῦτος εἶναι πέφυκε, τρίτον ἂν εἴη μετὰ σώματος ἀρετὴν καὶ ψυχῆς. διδάσκαλος οὖν ἂν ὁ λόγος οὗτος γίγνοιτο ὡς οὐ χρὴ πλουτεῖν ζητεῖν τὸν εὐδαίμονα [870ξ] ἐσόμενον, ἀλλὰ δικαίως πλουτεῖν καὶ σωφρόνως: καὶ φόνοι οὕτως οὐκ ἂν γίγνοιντο ἐν πόλεσιν φόνοις δεόμενοι καθαίρεσθαι. νῦν δέ, ὅπερ ἀρχόμενοι τούτων εἴπομεν, ἓν μὲν τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ μέγιστον ὃ ποιεῖ φόνου ἑκουσίου τὰς μεγίστας δίκας. δεύτερον δὲ φιλοτίμου ψυχῆς ἕξις, φθόνους ἐντίκτουσα, χαλεποὺς συνοίκους μάλιστα μὲν αὐτῷ τῷ κεκτημένῳ τὸν φθόνον, δευτέροις δὲ τοῖς ἀρίστοις τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει. τρίτον δὲ οἱ δειλοὶ καὶ ἄδικοι φόβοι πολλοὺς δὴ φόνους [870δ] εἰσὶν ἐξειργασμένοι, ὅταν ᾖ τῳ πραττόμενα ἢ πεπραγμένα ἃ μηδένα βούλονταί σφισιν συνειδέναι γιγνόμενα ἢ γεγονότα: τοὺς οὖν τούτων μηνυτὰς ἀναιροῦσι θανάτοις, ὅταν ἄλλῳ μηδενὶ δύνωνται τρόπῳ. τούτων δὴ πάντων πέρι προοίμια μὲν εἰρημένα ταῦτ᾽ ἔστω, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις, ὃν καὶ πολλοὶ λόγον τῶν ἐν ταῖς τελεταῖς περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐσπουδακότων ἀκούοντες σφόδρα πείθονται, τὸ τῶν τοιούτων τίσιν ἐν Ἅιδου [870ε] γίγνεσθαι, καὶ πάλιν ἀφικομένοις δεῦρο ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι τὴν κατὰ φύσιν δίκην ἐκτεῖσαι, τὴν τοῦ παθόντος ἅπερ αὐτὸς ἔδρασεν, ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου τοιαύτῃ μοίρᾳ τελευτῆσαι τὸν τότε βίον. πειθομένῳ μὲν δὴ καὶ πάντως φοβουμένῳ ἐξ αὐτοῦ τοῦ προοιμίου τὴν τοιαύτην δίκην οὐδὲν δεῖ τὸν ἐπὶ τούτῳ [871α] νόμον ὑμνεῖν, ἀπειθοῦντι δὲ νόμος ὅδε εἰρήσθω τῇ γραφῇ: ὃς ἂν ἐκ προνοίας τε καὶ ἀδίκως ὁντιναοῦν τῶν ἐμφυλίων αὐτόχειρ κτείνῃ, πρῶτον μὲν τῶν νομίμων εἰργέσθω, μήτε ἱερὰ μήτε ἀγορὰν μήτε λιμένας μήτε ἄλλον κοινὸν σύλλογον μηδένα μιαίνων, ἐάντε τις ἀπαγορεύῃ τῷ δράσαντι ταῦτα ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἐὰν μή-ὁ γὰρ νόμος ἀπαγορεύει καὶ ἀπαγορεύων ὑπὲρ πάσης τῆς πόλεως ἀεὶ φαίνεταί τε καὶ φανεῖται [871β] -ὁ δὲ μὴ ἐπεξιὼν δέον, ἢ μὴ προαγορεύων εἴργεσθαι, τῶν ἐντὸς ἀνεψιότητος, πρὸς ἀνδρῶν τε καὶ γυναικῶν προσήκων τῷ τελευτήσαντι, πρῶτον μὲν τὸ μίασμα εἰς αὑτὸν καὶ τὴν τῶν θεῶν ἔχθραν δέχοιτο, ὡς ἡ τοῦ νόμου ἀρὰ τὴν φήμην προτρέπεται, τὸ δὲ δεύτερον ὑπόδικος τῷ ἐθέλοντι τιμωρεῖν ὑπὲρ τοῦ τελευτήσαντος γιγνέσθω. ὁ δὲ ἐθέλων τιμωρεῖν, τῶν τε ἐπὶ τούτοις λουτρῶν φυλακῆς πέρι καὶ ὅσων ἂν ἑτέρων [871ξ] ὁ θεὸς περὶ ταῦτα νόμιμα παραδῷ, πάντα ἀποτελῶν, καὶ τὴν πρόρρησιν προαγορεύων, ἴτω ἀναγκάζων τὸν δράσαντα ὑπέχειν τὴν τῆς δίκης πρᾶξιν κατὰ νόμον. ταῦτα δὲ ὅτι μὲν γίγνεσθαι χρεών ἐστι διά τινων ἐπευχῶν καὶ θυσιῶν θεοῖς τισιν οἷς τῶν τοιούτων μέλει, φόνους μὴ γίγνεσθαι κατὰ πόλεις, ῥᾴδιον ἀποφαίνεσθαι νομοθέτῃ: τίνες δ᾽ εἰσὶν οἱ θεοὶ καὶ τίς ὁ τρόπος τῶν τοιούτων δικῶν τῆς εἰσαγωγῆς ὀρθότατα πρὸς τὸ θεῖον ἂν γιγνόμενος εἴη, νομοφύλακες μετ᾽ [871δ] ἐξηγητῶν καὶ μάντεων καὶ τοῦ θεοῦ νομοθετησάμενοι, τὰς δίκας εἰσαγόντων ταύτας. δικαστὰς δὲ αὐτῶν εἶναι τοὺς αὐτοὺς οὕσπερ τοῖς τὰ ἱερὰ συλῶσιν διαδικάζειν ἐρρήθη κυρίως: ὁ δὲ ὀφλὼν θανάτῳ ζημιούσθω καὶ μὴ ἐν τῇ τοῦ παθόντος χώρᾳ θαπτέσθω, ἀναιδείας ἕνεκα πρὸς τῷ ἀσεβεῖν. φυγὼν δὲ καὶ μὴ ‘θελήσας κρίσιν ὑποσχεῖν φευγέτω ἀειφυγίαν: ἐὰν δέ τις ἐπιβῇ που τῶν τῆς τοῦ φονευθέντος χώρας, ὁ προστυχὼν πρῶτος τῶν οἰκείων τοῦ ἀποθανόντος [871ε] ἢ καὶ τῶν πολιτῶν ἀνατὶ κτεινέτω, ἢ δήσας τοῖς ἄρχουσι τῶν τὴν δίκην κρινάντων κτεῖναι παραδότω. ὁ δὲ ἐπισκηπτόμενος ἅμα καὶ κατεγγυάτω τὸν ᾧ ἂν ἐπισκήπτηται: ὁ δὲ παρεχέτω τοὺς ἐγγυητάς, ἀξιόχρεως οὓς ἂν ἡ τῶν περὶ ταῦτα δικαστῶν ἀρχὴ κρίνῃ, τρεῖς ἐγγυητὰς ἀξιόχρεως παρέξειν ἐγγυωμένους εἰς δίκην: ἐὰν δὲ ἢ μὴ ἐθέλῃ ἢ ἀδυνατῇ τις καθιστάναι, τὴν ἀρχὴν παραλαβοῦσαν δήσασαν φυλάττειν καὶ παρέχειν εἰς τὴν κρίσιν τῆς δίκης. ἐὰν δὲ [872α] αὐτόχειρ μὲν μή, βουλεύσῃ δὲ θάνατόν τις ἄλλος ἑτέρῳ καὶ τῇ βουλήσει τε καὶ ἐπιβουλεύσει ἀποκτείνας αἴτιος ὢν καὶ μὴ καθαρὸς τὴν ψυχὴν τοῦ φόνου ἐν πόλει ἐνοικῇ, γιγνέσθων καὶ τούτῳ κατὰ ταὐτὰ αἱ κρίσεις τούτων πέρι πλὴν τῆς ἐγγύης, τῷ δὲ ὀφλόντι ταφῆς τῆς οἰκείας ἐξέστω τυχεῖν, τὰ δὲ ἄλλα κατὰ ταὐτὰ ὡσαύτως τῷ πρόσθεν ῥηθέντι περὶ αὐτὸν γιγνέσθω. τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ ἔστω ταῦτα ξένοισί τε πρὸς ξένους καὶ ἀστοῖσι καὶ ξένοις πρὸς ἀλλήλους, δούλοις [872β] τε αὖ πρὸς δούλους, τῆς τε αὐτοχειρίας πέρι καὶ ἐπιβουλεύσεως, πλὴν τῆς ἐγγύης: ταύτην δέ, καθάπερ εἴρηται, τοὺς αὐτόχειρας κατεγγυᾶσθαι, τὸν δὲ προαγορεύοντα τὸν φόνον ἅμα κατεγγυᾶν καὶ τούτους. ἐὰν δὲ δοῦλος ἐλεύθερον ἑκών, εἴτε αὐτόχειρ εἴτε βουλεύσας, ἀποκτείνῃ καὶ ὄφλῃ τὴν δίκην, ὁ τῆς πόλεως κοινὸς δήμιος ἄγων πρὸς τὸ μνῆμα τοῦ ἀποθανόντος, ὅθεν ἂν ὁρᾷ τὸν τύμβον, μαστιγώσας ὁπόσας [872ξ] ἂν ὁ ἑλὼν προστάττῃ, ἐάνπερ βιῷ παιόμενος ὁ φονεύς, θανατωσάτω. ἐὰν δέ τις δοῦλον κτείνῃ μηδὲν ἀδικοῦντα, φόβῳ δὲ μὴ μηνυτὴς αἰσχρῶν ἔργων καὶ κακῶν αὐτοῦ γίγνηται, ἤ τινος ἕνεκα ἄλλου τοιούτου, καθάπερ ἂν εἰ πολίτην κτείνας ὑπεῖχε φόνου δίκας, ὡσαύτως καὶ τοῦ τοιούτου δούλου κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ ἀποθανόντος οὕτως ὑπεχέτω.

ἐὰν δὲ δὴ γίγνηται ἐφ᾽ οἷσι καὶ νομοθετεῖν δεινὸν καὶ οὐδαμῶς προσφιλές, μὴ νομοθετεῖν δὲ ἀδύνατον, συγγενῶν [872δ] αὐτόχειρας φόνους ἢ δι᾽ ἐπιβουλεύσεως γενομένους, ἑκουσίους τε καὶ ἀδίκους πάντως, οἳ τὰ μὲν πολλὰ ἐν κακῶς οἰκούσαις καὶ τρεφομέναις γίγνονται πόλεσιν, γένοιτο δ᾽ ἄν πού τι καὶ ἐν ᾗ μή τις ἂν προσδοκήσειεν χώρᾳ, λέγειν μὲν δὴ χρεὼν αὖ πάλιν τὸν ἔμπροσθε σμικρῷ ῥηθέντα λόγον, ἂν ἄρα τις ἀκούων ἡμῶν οἷος ἀποσχέσθαι γένηται μᾶλλον ἑκὼν διὰ τὰ τοιαῦτα φόνων τῶν πάντῃ ἀνοσιωτάτων. ὁ γὰρ δὴ [872ε] μῦθος ἢ λόγος, ἢ ὅτι χρὴ προσαγορεύειν αὐτόν, ἐκ παλαιῶν ἱερέων εἴρηται σαφῶς, ὡς ἡ τῶν συγγενῶν αἱμάτων τιμωρὸς δίκη ἐπίσκοπος νόμῳ χρῆται τῷ νυνδὴ λεχθέντι καὶ ἔταξεν ἄρα δράσαντί τι τοιοῦτον παθεῖν ταὐτὰ ἀναγκαίως ἅπερ ἔδρασεν: εἰ πατέρα ἀπέκτεινέν ποτέ τις, αὐτὸν τοῦτο ὑπὸ τέκνων τολμῆσαι βίᾳ πάσχοντα ἔν τισι χρόνοις, κἂν εἰ μητέρα, γενέσθαι τε αὐτὸν θηλείας μετασχόντα φύσεως ἀναγκαῖον, γενόμενόν τε ὑπὸ τῶν γεννηθέντων λιπεῖν τὸν βίον ἐν χρόνοις ὑστέροις: τοῦ γὰρ κοινοῦ μιανθέντος αἵματος οὐκ εἶναι κάθαρσιν ἄλλην, οὐδὲ ἔκπλυτον ἐθέλειν γίγνεσθαι [873α] τὸ μιανθὲν πρὶν φόνον φόνῳ ὁμοίῳ ὅμοιον ἡ δράσασα ψυχὴ τείσῃ καὶ πάσης τῆς συγγενείας τὸν θυμὸν ἀφιλασαμένη κοιμίσῃ. ταῦτα δὴ παρὰ θεῶν μέν τινα φοβούμενον τὰς τιμωρίας εἴργεσθαι χρὴ τὰς τοιαύτας: εἰ δέ τινας οὕτως ἀθλία συμφορὰ καταλάβοι, ὥστε πατρὸς ἢ μητρὸς ἢ ἀδελφῶν ἢ τέκνων ἐκ προνοίας ἑκουσίως ψυχὴν τολμῆσαι ἀποστερεῖν σώματος, ὁ παρὰ τοῦ θνητοῦ νομοθέτου νόμος ὧδε περὶ τῶν [873β] τοιούτων νομοθετεῖ, Προρρήσεις μὲν τὰς περὶ τῶν νομίμων εἴργεσθαι καὶ ἐγγύας τὰς αὐτὰς εἶναι καθάπερ ἐρρήθη τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν: ἐὰν δέ τις ὄφλῃ φόνου τοιούτου, τούτων κτείνας τινά, οἱ μὲν τῶν δικαστῶν ὑπηρέται καὶ ἄρχοντες ἀποκτείναντες, εἰς τεταγμένην τρίοδον ἔξω τῆς πόλεως ἐκβαλλόντων γυμνόν, αἱ δὲ ἀρχαὶ πᾶσαι ὑπὲρ ὅλης τῆς πόλεως, λίθον ἕκαστος φέρων, ἐπὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν τοῦ νεκροῦ βάλλων ἀφοσιούτω τὴν πόλιν ὅλην, μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο εἰς τὰ τῆς χώρας [873ξ] ὅρια φέροντες ἐκβαλλόντων τῷ νόμῳ ἄταφον.

τὸν δὲ δὴ πάντων οἰκειότατον καὶ λεγόμενον φίλτατον ὃς ἂν ἀποκτείνῃ, τί χρὴ πάσχειν; λέγω δὲ ὃς ἂν ἑαυτὸν κτείνῃ, τὴν τῆς εἱμαρμένης βίᾳ ἀποστερῶν μοῖραν, μήτε πόλεως ταξάσης δίκῃ, μήτε περιωδύνῳ ἀφύκτῳ προσπεσούσῃ τύχῃ ἀναγκασθείς, μηδὲ αἰσχύνης τινὸς ἀπόρου καὶ ἀβίου μεταλαχών, ἀργίᾳ δὲ καὶ ἀνανδρίας δειλίᾳ ἑαυτῷ δίκην ἄδικον [873δ] ἐπιθῇ. τούτῳ δὴ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα θεὸς οἶδεν ἃ χρὴ νόμιμα γίγνεσθαι περὶ καθαρμούς τε καὶ ταφάς, ὧν ἐξηγητάς τε ἅμα καὶ τοὺς περὶ ταῦτα νόμους ἐπανερομένους χρὴ τοὺς ἐγγύτατα γένει ποιεῖν αὐτοῖσιν κατὰ τὰ προσταττόμενα: τάφους δ᾽ εἶναι τοῖς οὕτω φθαρεῖσι πρῶτον μὲν κατὰ μόνας μηδὲ μεθ᾽ ἑνὸς συντάφου, εἶτα ἐν τοῖς τῶν δώδεκα ὁρίοισι μερῶν τῶν ὅσα ἀργὰ καὶ ἀνώνυμα θάπτειν ἀκλεεῖς αὐτούς, μήτε στήλαις μήτε ὀνόμασι δηλοῦντας τοὺς τάφους. [873ε]

ἐὰν δ᾽ ἄρα ὑποζύγιον ἢ ζῷον ἄλλο τι φονεύσῃ τινά, πλὴν τῶν ὅσα ἐν ἀγῶνι τῶν δημοσίᾳ τιθεμένων ἀθλεύοντά τι τοιοῦτον δράσῃ, ἐπεξίτωσαν μὲν οἱ προσήκοντες τοῦ φόνου τῷ κτείναντι, διαδικαζόντων δὲ τῶν ἀγρονόμων οἷσιν ἂν καὶ ὁπόσοις προστάξῃ ὁ προσήκων, τὸ δὲ ὀφλὸν ἔξω τῶν ὅρων τῆς χώρας ἀποκτείναντας διορίσαι. ἐὰν δὲ ἄψυχόν τι ψυχῆς ἄνθρωπον στερήσῃ, πλὴν ὅσα κεραυνὸς ἤ τι παρὰ θεοῦ τοιοῦτον βέλος ἰόν, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων ὅσα τινὸς προσπεσόντος ἢ αὐτὸ ἐμπεσὸν κτείνῃ τινά, δικαστὴν μὲν αὐτῷ [874α] καθιζέτω τῶν γειτόνων τὸν ἐγγύτατα ὁ προσήκων γένει, ἀφοσιούμενος ὑπὲρ αὑτοῦ τε καὶ ὑπὲρ τῆς συγγενείας ὅλης, τὸ δὲ ὀφλὸν ἐξορίζειν, καθάπερ ἐρρήθη τὸ τῶν ζῴων γένος.

ἐὰν δὲ τεθνεὼς μὲν αὖ τις φανῇ, ἄδηλος δὲ ὁ κτείνας ᾖ καὶ μὴ ἀμελῶς ζητοῦσιν ἀνεύρετος γίγνηται, τὰς μὲν προρρήσεις τὰς αὐτὰς γίγνεσθαι καθάπερ τοῖς ἄλλοις, προαγορεύειν δὲ τὸν φόνον τῷ δράσαντι, καὶ ἐπιδικασάμενον ἐν [874β] ἀγορᾷ κηρῦξαι τῷ κτείναντι τὸν καὶ τὸν καὶ ὠφληκότι φόνου μὴ ἐπιβαίνειν ἱερῶν μηδὲ ὅλης χώρας τῆς τοῦ παθόντος, ὡς, ἂν φανῇ καὶ γνωσθῇ, ἀποθανούμενον καὶ ἔξω τῆς τοῦ παθόντος χώρας ἐκβληθησόμενον ἄταφον. οὗτος δὴ νόμος εἷς ἡμῖν ἔστω κύριος περὶ φόνου κείμενος.

καὶ τὰ μὲν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα μέχρι τούτων οὕτως: ὧν δὲ ὁ κτείνας ἐφ᾽ οἷς τε ὀρθῶς ἂν καθαρὸς εἴη, τάδε ἔστω: Νύκτωρ φῶρα εἰς οἰκίαν εἰσιόντα ἐπὶ κλοπῇ χρημάτων ἐὰν [874ξ] ἑλὼν κτείνῃ, καθαρὸς ἔστω: καὶ ἐὰν λωποδύτην ἀμυνόμενος ἀποκτείνῃ, καθαρὸς ἔστω: καὶ ἐὰν ἐλευθέραν γυναῖκα βιάζηταί τις ἢ παῖδα περὶ τὰ ἀφροδίσια, νηποινὶ τεθνάτω ὑπό τε τοῦ ὑβρισθέντος βίᾳ καὶ ὑπὸ πατρὸς ἢ ἀδελφῶν ἢ ὑέων: ἐάν τε ἀνὴρ ἐπιτύχῃ γαμετῇ γυναικὶ βιαζομένῃ, κτείνας τὸν βιαζόμενον ἔστω καθαρὸς ἐν τῷ νόμῳ: καὶ ἐάν τις πατρὶ βοηθῶν θάνατον, μηδὲν ἀνόσιον δρῶντι, κτείνῃ τινά, ἢ μητρὶ ἢ τέκνοις ἢ ἀδελφοῖς ἢ συγγεννήτορι τέκνων, [874δ] πάντως καθαρὸς ἔστω.

τὰ μὲν τοίνυν περὶ τροφήν τε ζώσης ψυχῆς καὶ παιδείαν, ὧν αὐτῇ τυχούσῃ μὲν βιωτόν, ἀτυχησάσῃ δὲ τοὐναντίον, καὶ περὶ θανάτων τῶν βιαίων ἃς δεῖ τιμωρίας γίγνεσθαι, νενομοθετήσθω: τὰ δὲ περὶ τὴν τῶν σωμάτων τροφὴν μὲν καὶ παιδείαν εἴρηται, τὸ δ᾽ ἐχόμενον τούτων, αἱ βίαιοι πράξεις ὑπ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἀκούσιοί τε καὶ ἑκούσιοι γιγνόμεναι διοριστέον εἰς δύναμιν αἵ τέ εἰσιν καὶ ὅσαι, καὶ ὧν ἂν [874ε] τυγχάνουσαι τιμωρήσεων τὸ πρόσφορον ἔχοιεν ἂν ἕκασται, ταῦτα μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὀρθῶς ἂν νομοθετοῖτο.

τραύματα δὴ καὶ πηρώσεις ἐκ τραυμάτων τά γε δεύτερα μετὰ θανάτους καὶ ὁ φαυλότατος ἂν τάξειεν τῶν ἐπὶ νόμον τρεπομένων. τὰ δὴ τραύματα, καθάπερ οἱ φόνοι διῄρηντο, διαιρετέον, τὰ μὲν ἀκούσια, τὰ δὲ θυμῷ, τὰ δὲ φόβῳ, τὰ δὲ ὁπόσα ἐκ προνοίας ἑκούσια συμβαίνει γιγνόμενα: προρρητέον δή τι περὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων τοιόνδε, ὡς ἄρα νόμους ἀνθρώποις ἀναγκαῖον τίθεσθαι καὶ ζῆν κατὰ νόμους [875α] ἢ μηδὲν διαφέρειν τῶν πάντῃ ἀγριωτάτων θηρίων. ἡ δὲ αἰτία τούτων ἥδε, ὅτι φύσις ἀνθρώπων οὐδενὸς ἱκανὴ φύεται ὥστε γνῶναί τε τὰ συμφέροντα ἀνθρώποις εἰς πολιτείαν καὶ γνοῦσα, τὸ βέλτιστον ἀεὶ δύνασθαί τε καὶ ἐθέλειν πράττειν. γνῶναι μὲν γὰρ πρῶτον χαλεπὸν ὅτι πολιτικῇ καὶ ἀληθεῖ τέχνῃ οὐ τὸ ἴδιον ἀλλὰ τὸ κοινὸν ἀνάγκη μέλειν-τὸ μὲν γὰρ κοινὸν συνδεῖ, τὸ δὲ ἴδιον διασπᾷ τὰς πόλεις-καὶ ὅτι συμφέρει τῷ κοινῷ τε καὶ ἰδίῳ, τοῖν ἀμφοῖν, ἢν τὸ κοινὸν [875β] τιθῆται καλῶς μᾶλλον ἢ τὸ ἴδιον: δεύτερον δέ, ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ τὸ γνῶναί τις ὅτι ταῦτα οὕτω πέφυκεν λάβῃ ἱκανῶς ἐν τέχνῃ, μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο ἀνυπεύθυνός τε καὶ αὐτοκράτωρ ἄρξῃ πόλεως, οὐκ ἄν ποτε δύναιτο ἐμμεῖναι τούτῳ τῷ δόγματι καὶ διαβιῶναι τὸ μὲν κοινὸν ἡγούμενον τρέφων ἐν τῇ πόλει, τὸ δὲ ἴδιον ἑπόμενον τῷ κοινῷ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ πλεονεξίαν καὶ ἰδιοπραγίαν ἡ θνητὴ φύσις αὐτὸν ὁρμήσει ἀεί, φεύγουσα μὲν ἀλόγως τὴν λύπην, διώκουσα δὲ τὴν ἡδονήν, τοῦ δὲ [875ξ] δικαιοτέρου τε καὶ ἀμείνονος ἐπίπροσθεν ἄμφω τούτω προστήσεται, καὶ σκότος ἀπεργαζομένη ἐν αὑτῇ πάντων κακῶν ἐμπλήσει πρὸς τὸ τέλος αὑτήν τε καὶ τὴν πόλιν ὅλην. ἐπεὶ ταῦτα εἴ ποτέ τις ἀνθρώπων φύσει ἱκανὸς θείᾳ μοίρᾳ γεννηθεὶς παραλαβεῖν δυνατὸς εἴη, νόμων οὐδὲν ἂν δέοιτο τῶν ἀρξόντων ἑαυτοῦ: ἐπιστήμης γὰρ οὔτε νόμος οὔτε τάξις οὐδεμία κρείττων, οὐδὲ θέμις ἐστὶν νοῦν οὐδενὸς ὑπήκοον οὐδὲ [875δ] δοῦλον ἀλλὰ πάντων ἄρχοντα εἶναι, ἐάνπερ ἀληθινὸς ἐλεύθερός τε ὄντως ᾖ κατὰ φύσιν. νῦν δὲ οὐ γάρ ἐστιν οὐδαμοῦ οὐδαμῶς, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ κατὰ βραχύ: διὸ δὴ τὸ δεύτερον αἱρετέον, τάξιν τε καὶ νόμον, ἃ δὴ τὸ μὲν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ ὁρᾷ καὶ βλέπει, τὸ δ᾽ ἐπὶ πᾶν ἀδυνατεῖ. ταῦτα δὴ τῶνδε εἵνεκα εἴρηται: νῦν ἡμεῖς τάξομεν τί χρὴ τὸν τρώσαντα ἤ τι βλάψαντα ἕτερον ἄλλον παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτίνειν. πρόχειρον δὴ παντὶ περὶ παντὸς ὑπολαβεῖν ὀρθῶς, “τὸν τί τρώσαντα ἢ [875ε] τίνα ἢ πῶς ἢ πότε λέγεις; μυρία γὰρ ἕκαστά ἐστι τούτων καὶ πάμπολυ διαφέροντα ἀλλήλων.” ταῦτ᾽ οὖν δὴ δικαστηρίοις ἐπιτρέπειν κρίνειν πάντα ἢ μηδὲν ἀδύνατον. ἓν μὲν γὰρ κατὰ πάντων ἀναγκαῖον ἐπιτρέπειν κρῖναι, τὸ πότερον ἐγένετο ἢ οὐκ ἐγένετο ἕκαστον τούτων: τὸ δὲ μηδὲν ἐπιτρέπειν [876α] αὖ περὶ τοῦ τί δεῖ ζημιοῦσθαι καὶ πάσχειν τί χρεὼν τὸν ἀδικήσαντα τούτων τι, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸν περὶ πάντων νομοθετῆσαι σμικρῶν καὶ μεγάλων, σχεδὸν ἀδύνατον.

Κλεινίας

τίς οὖν ὁ μετὰ τοῦτον λόγος;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὅδε, ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἐπιτρεπτέον δικαστηρίοις, τὰ δὲ οὐκ ἐπιτρεπτέον, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτῷ νομοθετητέον.

Κλεινίας

ποῖα δὴ νομοθετητέον τε καὶ ποῖα ἀποδοτέον κρίνειν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις;

Ἀθηναῖος

τάδε δὴ μετὰ ταῦτα ὀρθότατ᾽ ἂν εἰπεῖν εἴη, ὡς ἐν [876β] πόλει ἐν ᾗ δικαστήρια φαῦλα καὶ ἄφωνα, κλέπτοντα τὰς αὑτῶν δόξας, κρύβδην τὰς κρίσεις διαδικάζει καί, ὃ τούτου δεινότερον, ὅταν μηδὲ σιγῶντα ἀλλὰ θορύβου μεστὰ καθάπερ θέατρα ἐπαινοῦντά τε βοῇ καὶ ψέγοντα τῶν ῥητόρων ἑκάτερον ἐν μέρει κρίνῃ, χαλεπὸν τότε πάθος ὅλῃ τῇ πόλει γίγνεσθαι φιλεῖ. τοῖς οὖν δὴ τοιούτοις δικαστηρίοις νομοθετεῖν ὑπό τινος ἀνάγκης ληφθέντα οὐκ εὐτυχὲς μέν, ὅμως δὲ ἐξ ἀνάγκης [876ξ] εἰλημμένον ὅτι περὶ σμικρότατα ἐπιτρεπτέον αὐτοῖς τάττειν τὰς ζημίας, τὰ δὲ πλεῖστα αὐτὸν νομοθετεῖν διαρρήδην, ἄν τις ἄρα τοιαύτῃ πολιτείᾳ νομοθετῇ ποτε: ἐν ᾗ δὲ ἂν πόλει δικαστήρια εἰς δύναμιν ὀρθῶς καθεστῶτα ᾖ, τραφέντων τε εὖ τῶν μελλόντων δικάζειν δοκιμασθέντων τε διὰ πάσης ἀκριβείας, ἐνταῦθα ὀρθὸν καὶ ἔχον εὖ καὶ καλῶς τὸ πολλὰ ἐπιτρέπειν κρίνειν τοῖς τοιούτοις δικασταῖς τῶν ὀφλόντων πέρι, τί χρὴ πάσχειν αὐτοὺς ἢ ἀποτίνειν. ἡμῖν δὴ τὰ νῦν ἀνεμέσητον [876δ] τὸ μὴ νομοθετεῖν αὐτοῖς τὰ μέγιστα καὶ πλεῖστα, ἃ καὶ φαυλοτέρως ἂν πεπαιδευμένοι δικασταὶ δύναιντο κατιδεῖν καὶ προσάπτειν ἑκάστῳ τῶν ἁμαρτημάτων τὴν ἀξίαν τοῦ πάθους τε καὶ πράξεως: ἐπειδὴ δὲ οἷς ἡμεῖς νομοθετοῦμεν, οὐχ ἥκιστα ἐμμελεῖς αὐτοὺς οἰόμεθ᾽ ἂν τῶν τοιούτων γίγνεσθαι κριτάς, ἐπιτρεπτέον δὴ τὰ πλεῖστα. οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ πολλάκις εἴπομέν τε καὶ ἐδράσαμεν ἐν τῇ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν [876ε] νομοθετήσει νόμων, τὸ περιγραφήν τε καὶ τοὺς τύπους τῶν τιμωριῶν εἰπόντας, δοῦναι τὰ παραδείγματα τοῖσι δικασταῖς τοῦ μήποτε βαίνειν ἔξω τῆς δίκης, τότε τε ἦν ὀρθότατα ἔχον καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν τοῦτο αὐτὸ ποιητέον, ἐπανελθόντα ἤδη πάλιν ἐπὶ τοὺς νόμους. ἡ δὴ γραφὴ περὶ τραύματος ὧδε ἡμῖν κείσθω: ἐάν τις διανοηθεὶς τῇ βουλήσει κτεῖναί τινα φίλιον, πλὴν ὧν ὁ νόμος ἐφίησιν, τρώσῃ μέν, ἀποκτεῖναι δὲ ἀδυνατήσῃ, τὸν διανοηθέντα τε καὶ τρώσαντα οὕτως οὐκ ἄξιον [877α] ἐλεεῖν, οὐδὲ αἰδούμενον ἄλλως ἢ καθάπερ ἀποκτείναντα ὑπέχειν τὴν δίκην φόνου ἀναγκάζειν: τὴν δὲ οὐ παντάπασι κακὴν τύχην αὐτοῦ σεβόμενον καὶ τὸν δαίμονα, ὃς αὐτὸν καὶ τὸν τρωθέντα ἐλεήσας ἀπότροπος αὐτοῖς ἐγένετο μὴ τῷ μὲν ἀνίατον ἕλκος γενέσθαι, τῷ δὲ ἐπάρατον τύχην καὶ συμφοράν, τούτῳ δὴ χάριν τῷ δαίμονι διδόντα καὶ μὴ ἐναντιούμενον, τὸν μὲν θάνατον ἀφελεῖν τοῦ τρώσαντος, μετάστασιν [877β] δὲ εἰς τὴν γείτονα πόλιν αὐτῷ γίγνεσθαι διὰ βίου, καρπούμενον ἅπασαν τὴν αὑτοῦ κτῆσιν. βλάβος δέ, εἰ κατέβλαψεν τὸν τρωθέντα, ἐκτίνειν τῷ βλαφθέντι, τιμᾶν δὲ τὸ δικαστήριον ὅπερ ἂν τὴν δίκην κρίνῃ, κρίνειν δὲ οἵπερ ἂν τοῦ φόνου ἐδίκασαν εἰ ἐτελεύτησεν ἐκ τῆς πληγῆς τοῦ τραύματος. γονέας δ᾽ ἂν παῖς ἢ δοῦλος δεσπότην ὡσαύτως ἐκ προνοίας τρώσῃ, θάνατον εἶναι τὴν ζημίαν: καὶ ἐὰν ἀδελφὸς ἀδελφὸν ἢ ἀδελφὴν ἢ ἀδελφὴ ἀδελφὸν ἢ ἀδελφὴν ὡσαύτως τρώσῃ, [877ξ] καὶ ὄφλῃ τραύματος ἐκ προνοίας, θάνατον εἶναι τὴν ζημίαν. γυνὴ δὲ ἄνδρα ἑαυτῆς ἐξ ἐπιβουλῆς τοῦ ἀποκτεῖναι τρώσασα, ἢ ἀνὴρ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ γυναῖκα, φευγέτω ἀειφυγίαν: τὴν δὲ κτῆσιν, ἐὰν μὲν ὑεῖς ἢ θυγατέρες αὐτοῖς ὦσιν παῖδες ἔτι, τοὺς ἐπιτρόπους ἐπιτροπεύειν καὶ ὡς ὀρφανῶν τῶν παίδων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι: ἐὰν δὲ ἄνδρες, μὴ ἐπάναγκες ἔστω τρέφεσθαι τὸν φεύγοντα ὑπὸ τῶν ἐκγόνων, τὴν δὲ οὐσίαν αὐτοὺς κεκτῆσθαι. ἄπαις δὲ ὅστις ἂν τοιαύταις συμφοραῖς περιπέσῃ, [877δ] τοὺς συγγενεῖς συνελθόντας μέχρι ἀνεψιῶν παίδων τοῦ πεφευγότος ἀμφοτέρωθεν, πρός τε ἀνδρῶν καὶ πρὸς γυναικῶν, κληρονόμον εἰς τὸν οἶκον τοῦτον τῇ πόλει τετταρακοντακαιπεντακισχιλιοστὸν καταστῆσαι βουλευομένους μετὰ νομοφυλάκων καὶ ἱερέων, διανοηθέντας τρόπῳ καὶ λόγῳ τοιῷδε, ὡς οὐδεὶς οἶκος τῶν τετταράκοντα καὶ πεντακισχιλίων τοῦ ἐνοικοῦντός ἐστιν οὐδὲ σύμπαντος τοῦ γένους οὕτως ὡς τῆς πόλεως δημόσιός τε καὶ ἴδιος: δεῖ δὴ τήν γε πόλιν τοὺς [877ε] αὑτῆς οἴκους ὡς ὁσιωτάτους τε καὶ εὐτυχεστάτους κεκτῆσθαι κατὰ δύναμιν. ὅταν οὖν τις ἅμα δυστυχηθῇ καὶ ἀσεβηθῇ τῶν οἴκων, ὥστε τὸν κεκτημένον ἐν αὐτῷ παῖδας μὲν μὴ καταλιπεῖν, ἠίθεον δὲ ἢ καὶ γεγαμηκότα ἄπαιδα τελευτῆσαι φόνου ὀφλόντα ἑκουσίου ἤ τινος ἁμαρτήματος ἄλλου τῶν περὶ θεοὺς ἢ πολίτας ὧν ἂν θάνατος ἐν τῷ νόμῳ ζημία διαρρήδην ᾖ κειμένη, ἢ καὶ ἐν ἀειφυγίᾳ τις φεύγῃ τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἄπαις, τοῦτον πρῶτον μὲν καθήρασθαι καὶ ἀποδιοπομπήσασθαι τὸν οἶκον χρεὼν ἔστω κατὰ νόμον, ἔπειτα [878α] συνελθόντας, καθάπερ εἴπομεν νυνδή, τοὺς οἰκείους ἅμα νομοφύλαξιν σκέψασθαι γένος ὅτιπερ ἂν ᾖ τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει εὐδοκιμώτατον πρὸς ἀρετὴν καὶ ἅμα εὐτυχές, ἐν ᾧ ἂν παῖδες γεγονότες ὦσιν πλείους: ὅθεν ἕνα τῷ τοῦ τελευτήσαντος πατρὶ καὶ τοῖς ἄνω τοῦ γένους ὑὸν ὡς ἐκείνων εἰσποιοῦντας, φήμης ἕνεκα ἐπονομάζοντας, γεννήτορά τε αὑτοῖς καὶ ἑστιοῦχον καὶ θεραπευτὴν ὁσίων τε καὶ ἱερῶν ἐπ᾽ ἀμείνοσι τύχαις γίγνεσθαι τοῦ πατρός, τούτῳ τῷ τρόπῳ ἐπευξαμένους, αὐτὸν κληρονόμον [878β] καταστῆσαι κατὰ νόμον, τὸν δ᾽ ἐξαμαρτόντα ἀνώνυμον ἐᾶν καὶ ἄπαιδα καὶ ἄμοιρον κεῖσθαι, ὁπόταν αὐτὸν καταλάβωσιν αἱ τοιαῦται συμφοραί.

ἔστιν δὲ οὐ πάντων, ὡς ἔοικε, τῶν ὄντων ὅρος ὅρῳ προσμειγνύς, ἀλλ᾽ οἷς ἔστιν μεθόριον, τοῦτο ἐν μέσῳ ὅρων πρότερον ἑκατέρῳ προσβάλλον γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ἀμφοῖν μεταξύ: καὶ δὴ καὶ τῶν ἀκουσίων τε καὶ ἑκουσίων τὸ θυμῷ γιγνόμενον ἔφαμεν εἶναι τοιοῦτον. τραυμάτων οὖν ἔστω τῶν ὀργῇ [878ξ] γενομένων: ἐὰν ὄφλῃ τις, πρῶτον μὲν τίνειν τοῦ βλάβους τὴν διπλασίαν, ἂν τὸ τραῦμα ἰάσιμον ἀποβῇ, τῶν δὲ ἀνιάτων τὴν τετραπλασίαν: ἐὰν δὲ ἰάσιμον μέν, αἰσχύνην δὲ μεγάλην τινὰ προσβάλλῃ τῷ τρωθέντι καὶ ἐπονείδιστον, τὴν τετραπλασίαν ἐκτίνειν. ὅσα δέ τις τρώσας τινὰ μὴ μόνον βλάπτῃ τὸν παθόντα ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν πόλιν, ποιήσας ἀδύνατον τῇ πατρίδι πρὸς πολεμίους βοηθεῖν, τοῦτον δὲ μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ζημιῶν ἐκτίνειν καὶ τῇ πόλει τὴν βλάβην: πρὸς γὰρ ταῖς [878δ] αὑτοῦ στρατείαις καὶ ὑπὲρ τοῦ ἀδυνατοῦντος στρατευέσθω καὶ τὰς ὑπὲρ ἐκείνου πολεμικὰς ταττέσθω τάξεις, ἢ μὴ δρῶν ταῦτα ὑπόδικος τῷ ἐθέλοντι τῆς ἀστρατείας γιγνέσθω κατὰ νόμον. τὴν δὲ δὴ τῆς βλάβης ἀξίαν, εἴτε διπλῆν εἴτε τριπλῆν εἴτε καὶ τετραπλασίαν, οἱ καταψηφισάμενοι δικασταὶ ταττόντων. ἐὰν δὲ ὁμόγονος ὁμόγονον τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον τούτῳ τρώσῃ, τοὺς γεννήτας καὶ τοὺς συγγενεῖς μέχρι ἀνεψιῶν παίδων πρὸς γυναικῶν καὶ ἀνδρῶν, γυναῖκάς τε [878ε] καὶ ἄνδρας συνελθόντας, κρίναντας παραδιδόναι τιμᾶν τοῖς γεννήσασι κατὰ φύσιν: ἐὰν δὲ ἀμφισβητήσιμος ἡ τίμησις γίγνηται, τοὺς πρὸς ἀνδρῶν εἶναι τιμῶντας κυρίους, ἐὰν δὲ ἀδυνατῶσιν αὐτοί, τοῖς νομοφύλαξιν τελευτῶντας ἐπιτρέπειν. ἐκγόνοις δὲ πρὸς γονέας εἶναι τῶν τοιούτων τραυμάτων δικαστὰς μὲν τοὺς ὑπὲρ ἑξήκοντα ἔτη γεγονότας ἐπάναγκες, οἷς ἂν παῖδες μὴ ποιητοί, ἀληθινοὶ δέ, ὦσιν, ἂν δέ τις ὄφλῃ, τιμᾶν εἰ τεθνάναι χρὴ τὸν τοιοῦτον εἴτε τι μεῖζον ἕτερον τούτου πάσχειν ἢ καὶ μὴ πολλῷ σμικρότερον: καὶ τῶν [879α] συγγενῶν τοῦ δράσαντος μηδένα δικάζειν, μηδ᾽ ἐὰν γεγονὼς ᾖ τὸν χρόνον ὅσον ὁ νόμος εἴρηκεν. δοῦλος δ᾽ ἐάν τις ἐλεύθερον ὀργῇ τρώσῃ, παραδότω τὸν δοῦλον ὁ κεκτημένος τῷ τρωθέντι χρῆσθαι ὅτι ἂν ἐθέλῃ: ἐὰν δὲ μὴ παραδιδῷ, αὐτὸς τὴν βλάβην ἐξιάσθω. ἐὰν δὲ ἐκ συνθήκης αἰτιᾶται τοῦ δούλου καὶ τοῦ τρωθέντος μηχανὴν εἶναί τις τὸ γεγονός, ἀμφισβητησάτω: ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ἕλῃ, τριπλασίαν ἐκτεισάτω τὴν βλάβην, ἑλὼν δέ, ἀνδραποδισμοῦ ὑπόδικον ἐχέτω τὸν τεχνάζοντα [879β] μετὰ τοῦ δούλου. ὃς δ᾽ ἂν ἄκων ἄλλος ἄλλον τρώσῃ, τὸ βλάβος ἁπλοῦν ἀποτινέτω-τύχης γὰρ νομοθέτης οὐδεὶς ἱκανὸς ἄρχειν-δικασταὶ δὲ ὄντων οἵπερ τοῖς ἐκγόνοις πρὸς τοὺς γεννήτορας ἐρρήθησαν, καὶ τιμώντων τὴν ἀξίαν τῆς βλάβης.

βίαια μὲν δὴ πάνθ᾽ ἡμῖν τὰ προειρημένα πάθη, βίαιον δὲ καὶ τὸ τῆς αἰκίας πᾶν γένος. ὧδε οὖν χρὴ περὶ τῶν τοιούτων πάντα ἄνδρα καὶ παῖδα καὶ γυναῖκα ἀεὶ διανοεῖσθαι, τὸ πρεσβύτερον ὡς οὐ σμικρῷ τοῦ νεωτέρου ἐστὶ πρεσβευόμενον [879ξ] ἔν τε θεοῖσι καὶ ἐν ἀνθρώποις τοῖς μέλλουσι σῴζεσθαι καὶ εὐδαιμονεῖν. αἰκίαν οὖν περὶ πρεσβύτερον ἐν πόλει γενομένην ὑπὸ νεωτέρου ἰδεῖν αἰσχρὸν καὶ θεομισές: ἔοικεν δὲ νέῳ παντὶ ὑπὸ γέροντος πληγέντι ῥᾳθύμως ὀργὴν ὑποφέρειν, αὑτῷ τιθεμένῳ τιμὴν ταύτην εἰς γῆρας. ὧδε οὖν ἔστω: πᾶς ἡμῖν αἰδείσθω τὸν ἑαυτοῦ πρεσβύτερον ἔργῳ τε καὶ ἔπει: τὸν δὲ προέχοντα εἴκοσιν ἡλικίας ἔτεσιν, ἄρρενα ἢ θῆλυν, νομίζων ὡς πατέρα ἢ μητέρα διευλαβείσθω, καὶ [879δ] πάσης τῆς δυνατῆς ἡλικίας αὐτὸν φιτῦσαι καὶ τεκεῖν ἀπέχοιτο ἀεὶ θεῶν γενεθλίων χάριν. ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως καὶ ξένου ἀπείργοιτο εἴτε πάλαι ἐνοικοῦντος εἴτε νεήλυδος ἀφιγμένου: μήτε γὰρ ὑπάρχων μήτε ἀμυνόμενος τὸ παράπαν τολμάτω πληγαῖς τὸν τοιοῦτον νουθετεῖν. ξένον δὲ ἂν ἀσελγαίνοντα καὶ θρασυνόμενον ἑαυτὸν τύπτοντα οἴηται δεῖν κολασθῆναι, λαβὼν πρὸς τὴν ἀρχὴν τῶν ἀστυνόμων ἀπαγέτω, τοῦ τύπτειν δὲ εἰργέσθω, ἵνα πόρρω γίγνηται τοῦ τὸν ἐπιχώριον ἂν τολμῆσαί [879ε] ποτε πατάξαι. οἱ δ᾽ ἀστυνόμοι παραλαβόντες τε καὶ ἀνακρίναντες, τὸν ξενικὸν αὖ θεὸν εὐλαβούμενοι, ἐὰν ἄρα ἀδίκως δοκῇ ὁ ξένος τὸν ἐπιχώριον τύπτειν, τῇ μάστιγι τὸν ξένον ὅσας ἂν αὐτὸς πατάξῃ τοσαύτας δόντες, τῆς θρασυξενίας παυόντων: ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ἀδικῇ, ἀπειλήσαντές τε καὶ ὀνειδίσαντες τῷ ἀπαγαγόντι μεθιέντων ἄμφω. ἧλιξ δὲ ἥλικα καὶ τὸν [880α] ἄπαιδα προέχοντα ἡλικίᾳ ἑαυτοῦ ἐὰν τύπτῃ, γέρων τε γέροντα καὶ ἐὰν νέος νέον, ἀμυνέσθω κατὰ φύσιν ἄνευ βέλους ψιλαῖς ταῖς χερσίν: ὁ δὲ ὑπὲρ τετταράκοντα γεγονὼς ἔτη ἐὰν τολμᾷ τῳ μάχεσθαι, εἴτε ἄρχων εἴτε ἀμυνόμενος, ἄγροικος καὶ ἀνελεύθερος ἂν λεγόμενος ἀνδραποδώδης τε, δίκης ἂν ἐπονειδίστου τυγχάνων τὸ πρέπον ἔχοι. καὶ ἐὰν μέν τις τοιούτοις παραμυθίοις εὐπειθὴς γίγνηται, εὐήνιος ἂν εἴη: ὁ δὲ δυσπειθὴς καὶ μηδὲν προοιμίου φροντίζων δέχοιτ᾽ ἂν τὸν τοιόνδε [880β] ἑτοίμως νόμον: ἐάν τις τύπτῃ τὸν πρεσβύτερον εἴκοσιν ἔτεσιν ἢ πλείοσιν ἑαυτοῦ, πρῶτον μὲν ὁ προστυγχάνων, ἐὰν μὴ ἧλιξ μηδὲ νεώτερος ᾖ τῶν μαχομένων, διειργέτω ἢ κακὸς ἔστω κατὰ νόμον: ἐὰν δὲ ἐν τῇ τοῦ πληγέντος ἡλικίᾳ ἢ ἔτι νεώτερος, ἀμυνέτω ὡς ἀδελφῷ ἢ πατρὶ ἢ ἔτι ἀνωτέρω τῷ ἀδικουμένῳ. πρὸς δ᾽ ἔτι δίκην ὑπεχέτω τῆς αἰκίας ὁ τὸν πρεσβύτερον, ὡς εἴρηται, τολμήσας τύπτειν, καὶ ἐὰν ὄφλῃ [880ξ] τὴν δίκην, δεδέσθω μηδὲν ἐνιαυτοῦ σμικρότερον: ἐὰν δὲ οἱ δικασταὶ τιμήσωσιν πλείονος, ἔστω κύριος ὁ τιμηθεὶς αὐτῷ χρόνος. ἐὰν δὲ ξένος ἢ τῶν μετοίκων τις τύπτῃ τὸν πρεσβύτερον εἴκοσιν ἔτεσιν ἢ πλείοσιν ἑαυτοῦ, περὶ μὲν τῶν παραγενομένων τῆς βοηθείας ὁ αὐτὸς νόμος ἐχέτω τὴν αὐτὴν δύναμιν, ὁ δὲ τὴν τοιαύτην δίκην ἡττηθείς, ξένος μὲν ὢν καὶ μὴ σύνοικος, δύο ἔτη δεδεμένος ἐκτινέτω ταύτην αὐτὴν τὴν δίκην, ὁ δὲ μέτοικός τε ὢν καὶ ἀπειθῶν τοῖς νόμοις τρία [880δ] ἔτη δεδέσθω, ἐὰν μὴ τὸ δικαστήριον πλείονος αὐτῷ χρόνου τιμήσῃ τὴν δίκην. ζημιούσθω δὲ καὶ ὁ παραγενόμενος ὁτῳοῦν τούτων καὶ μὴ βοηθήσας κατὰ νόμον, ὁ μὲν μεγίστου τιμήματος ὢν μνᾷ, δευτέρου δὲ ὢν πεντήκοντα δραχμαῖς, τρίτου δὲ τριάκοντα, εἴκοσι δὲ τοῦ τετάρτου: δικαστήριον δὲ γιγνέσθω τοῖς τοιούτοισι στρατηγοὶ καὶ ταξίαρχοι φύλαρχοί τε καὶ ἵππαρχοι.

νόμοι δέ, ὡς ἔοικεν, οἱ μὲν τῶν χρηστῶν ἀνθρώπων ἕνεκα γίγνονται, διδαχῆς χάριν τοῦ τίνα τρόπον ὁμιλοῦντες [880ε] ἀλλήλοις ἂν φιλοφρόνως οἰκοῖεν, οἱ δὲ τῶν τὴν παιδείαν διαφυγόντων, ἀτεράμονι χρωμένων τινὶ φύσει καὶ μηδὲν τεγχθέντων ὥστε μὴ ἐπὶ πᾶσαν ἰέναι κάκην. οὗτοι τοὺς μέλλοντας λόγους ῥηθήσεσθαι πεποιηκότες ἂν εἶεν: οἷς δὴ τοὺς νόμους ἐξ ἀνάγκης ὁ νομοθέτης ἂν νομοθετοῖ, βουλόμενος αὐτῶν μηδέποτε χρείαν γίγνεσθαι. πατρὸς γὰρ ἢ μητρὸς ἢ τούτων ἔτι προγόνων ὅστις τολμήσει ἅψασθαί ποτε βιαζόμενος αἰκίᾳ τινί, μήτε τῶν ἄνω δείσας θεῶν μῆνιν μήτε [881α] τῶν ὑπὸ γῆς τιμωριῶν λεγομένων, ἀλλὰ ὡς εἰδὼς ἃ μηδαμῶς οἶδεν, καταφρονῶν τῶν παλαιῶν καὶ ὑπὸ πάντων εἰρημένων, παρανομεῖ, τούτῳ δεῖ τινος ἀποτροπῆς ἐσχάτης. θάνατος μὲν οὖν οὐκ ἔστιν ἔσχατον, οἱ δὲ ἐν Ἅιδου τούτοισι λεγόμενοι πόνοι ἔτι τε τούτων εἰσὶ μᾶλλον ἐν ἐσχάτοις, καὶ ἀληθέστατα λέγοντες οὐδὲν ἀνύτουσιν ταῖς τοιαύταις ψυχαῖς ἀποτροπῆς-οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐγίγνοντό ποτε μητραλοῖαί τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων γεννητόρων ἀνόσιοι πληγῶν τόλμαι-δεῖ δὴ τὰς ἐνθάδε [881β] κολάσεις περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα τούτοισι τὰς ἐν τῷ ζῆν μηδὲν τῶν ἐν Ἅιδου λείπεσθαι κατὰ δύναμιν. ἔστω δὴ λεγόμενον τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο τῇδε: ὃς ἂν τολμήσῃ πατέρα ἢ μητέρα ἢ τούτων πατέρας ἢ μητέρας τύπτειν μὴ μανίαις ἐχόμενος, πρῶτον μὲν ὁ προστυγχάνων καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν βοηθείτω, καὶ ὁ μὲν μέτοικος ἢ ξένος εἰς προεδρίαν τῶν ἀγώνων καλείσθω βοηθῶν, μὴ βοηθήσας δὲ ἀειφυγίαν ἐκ τῆς χώρας φευγέτω: [881ξ] ὁ δὲ μὴ μέτοικος βοηθῶν μὲν ἔπαινον ἐχέτω, μὴ βοηθῶν δέ, ψόγον: δοῦλος δὲ βοηθήσας μὲν ἐλεύθερος γιγνέσθω, μὴ βοηθήσας δὲ πληγὰς ἑκατὸν τῇ μάστιγι τυπτέσθω, ἐν ἀγορᾷ μὲν ἂν γίγνηται τὸ γενόμενον, ὑπ᾽ ἀγορανόμων, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐκτὸς ἀγορᾶς ἐν ἄστει, τῶν ἀστυνόμων κολάζειν τὸν ἐπιδημοῦντα, ἐὰν δὲ κατ᾽ ἀγροὺς τῆς χώρας που, τοὺς τῶν ἀγρονόμων ἄρχοντας. ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐπιχώριος ὁ παρατυγχάνων ᾖ τις, ἐάντε [881δ] παῖς ἐάντε ἀνὴρ ἐάντ᾽ οὖν γυνή, ἀμυνέτω πᾶς τὸν ἀνόσιον ἐπονομάζων: ὁ δὲ μὴ ἀμύνων ἀρᾷ ἐνεχέσθω Διὸς ὁμογνίου καὶ πατρῴου κατὰ νόμον. ἐὰν δέ τις ὄφλῃ δίκην αἰκίας γονέων, πρῶτον μὲν φευγέτω ἀειφυγίαν ἐξ ἄστεος εἰς τὴν ἄλλην χώραν καὶ πάντων ἱερῶν εἰργέσθω: μὴ δὲ εἰργόμενον κολαζόντων αὐτὸν ἀγρονόμοι πληγαῖς καὶ πάντως ὡς ἂν ἐθέλωσιν, κατελθὼν δὲ θανάτῳ ζημιούσθω. ἐὰν δέ τις τῷ τοιούτῳ, ὅσοι ἐλεύθεροι, συμφάγῃ ἢ συμπίῃ ἤ τινα [881ε] τοιαύτην ἄλλην κοινωνίαν κοινωνήσῃ, ἢ καὶ μόνον ἐντυγχάνων που προσάπτηται ἑκών, μήτε εἰς ἱερὸν ἔλθῃ μηδὲν μήτ᾽ εἰς ἀγορὰν μήτ᾽ εἰς πόλιν ὅλως πρότερον ἢ καθήρηται, νομίζων κεκοινωνηκέναι ἀλιτηριώδους τύχης: ἐὰν δὲ ἀπειθῶν νόμῳ ἱερὰ καὶ πόλιν μιαίνῃ παρανόμως, ὃς ἂν τῶν ἀρχόντων αἰσθόμενος μὴ ἐπάγῃ δίκην τῷ τοιούτῳ, ἐν εὐθύναις ἔστω [882α] τῶν κατηγορημάτων τῶν μεγίστων ἓν τοῦτο αὐτῷ. ἐὰν δὲ αὖ δοῦλος τύπτῃ τὸν ἐλεύθερον, εἴτ᾽ οὖν ξένον εἴτε ἀστόν, βοηθείτω μὲν ὁ προστυγχάνων ἢ κατὰ τὸ τίμημα τὴν εἰρημένην ζημίαν ἀποτινέτω, συνδήσαντες δὲ οἱ προστυγχάνοντες μετὰ τοῦ πληγέντος παραδόντων τῷ ἀδικουμένῳ: ὁ [882β] δὲ παραλαβών, δήσας ἐν πέδαις καὶ μαστιγώσας ὁπόσας ἂν ἐθέλῃ, μηδὲν βλάπτων τὸν δεσπότην, παραδότω ἐκείνῳ κεκτῆσθαι κατὰ νόμον. ὁ δὲ νόμος ἔστω: ὃς ἂν ἐλεύθερον δοῦλος ὢν τύπτῃ μὴ τῶν ἀρχόντων κελευόντων, παραλαβὼν ὁ κεκτημένος παρὰ τοῦ πληγέντος δεδεμένον αὐτὸν μὴ λύσῃ, [882ξ] πρὶν ἂν ὁ δοῦλος πείσῃ τὸν πληγέντα ἄξιος εἶναι τοῦ λελυμένος ζῆν. τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ γυναιξίν τε ἔστω πρὸς ἀλλήλας περὶ πάντων τῶν τοιούτων νόμιμα, καὶ πρὸς ἄνδρας γυναιξὶ καὶ ἀνδράσι πρὸς γυναῖκας.

Τόμος 10

884α] Ἀθηναῖος

μετὰ δὲ τὰς αἰκίας περὶ παντὸς ἓν εἰρήσθω τοιόνδε τι νόμιμον βιαίων πέρι: τῶν ἀλλοτρίων μηδένα μηδὲν φέρειν μηδὲ ἄγειν, μηδ᾽ αὖ χρῆσθαι μηδενὶ τῶν τοῦ πέλας, ἐὰν μὴ πείσῃ τὸν κεκτημένον: ἐκ γὰρ δὴ τοῦ τοιούτου πάντα ἠρτημένα τά τε εἰρημένα κακὰ γέγονε καὶ ἔστι καὶ ἔσται. μέγιστα δὲ δὴ τῶν λοιπῶν αἱ τῶν νέων ἀκολασίαι τε καὶ ὕβρεις, εἰς μέγιστα δέ, ὅταν εἰς ἱερὰ γίγνωνται, καὶ διαφερόντως αὖ μεγάλα, ὅταν εἰς δημόσια καὶ ἅγια ἢ κατὰ μέρη κοινὰ φυλετῶν ἤ τινων ἄλλων τοιούτων κεκοινωνηκότων: [885α] εἰς ἱερὰ δὲ ἴδια καὶ τάφους δεύτερα καὶ δευτέρως, εἰς δὲ γονέας τρίτα, χωρὶς τῶν ἔμπροσθεν εἰρημένων, ὅταν ὑβρίζῃ τις. τέταρτον δὲ γένος ὕβρεως, ὅταν ἀφροντιστῶν τις ἀρχόντων ἄγῃ ἢ φέρῃ ἢ χρῆταί τινι τῶν ἐκείνων μὴ πείσας αὐτούς, πέμπτον δὲ τὸ πολιτικὸν ἂν εἴη ἑκάστου τῶν πολιτῶν ὑβρισθὲν δίκην ἐπικαλούμενον. οἷς δὴ δοτέον εἰς κοινὸν νόμον ἑκάστοις. ἱεροσυλία μὲν γὰρ εἴρηται [885β] συλλήβδην, βίαιός τε καὶ λάθρᾳ ἐὰν γίγνηται, τί χρὴ πάσχειν: ὅσα δὲ λόγῳ καὶ ὅσα ἔργῳ περὶ θεοὺς ὑβρίζει τις λέγων ἢ πράττων, τὸ παραμύθιον ὑποθεμένῳ ῥητέον ἃ δεῖ πάσχειν. ἔστω δὴ τόδε. θεοὺς ἡγούμενος εἶναι κατὰ νόμους οὐδεὶς πώποτε οὔτε ἔργον ἀσεβὲς ἠργάσατο ἑκὼν οὔτε λόγον ἀφῆκεν ἄνομον, ἀλλὰ ἓν δή τι τῶν τριῶν πάσχων, ἢ τοῦτο, ὅπερ εἶπον, οὐχ ἡγούμενος, ἢ τὸ δεύτερον ὄντας οὐ φροντίζειν ἀνθρώπων, ἢ τρίτον εὐπαραμυθήτους εἶναι θυσίαις τε καὶ εὐχαῖς παραγομένους. [885ξ]

Κλεινίας

τί οὖν δὴ δρῷμεν ἂν ἢ καὶ λέγοιμεν πρὸς αὐτούς;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὠγαθέ, ἐπακούσωμεν αὐτῶν πρῶτον ἃ τῷ καταφρονεῖν ἡμῶν προσπαίζοντας αὐτοὺς λέγειν μαντεύομαι.

Κλεινίας

ποῖα δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

ταῦτα τάχ᾽ ἂν ἐρεσχηλοῦντες εἴποιεν: ὦ ξένε Ἀθηναῖε καὶ Λακεδαιμόνιε καὶ Κνώσιε, ἀληθῆ λέγετε. ἡμῶν γὰρ οἱ μὲν τὸ παράπαν θεοὺς οὐδαμῶς νομίζομεν, οἱ δὲ οἵους ὑμεῖς λέγετε. ἀξιοῦμεν δή, καθάπερ ὑμεῖς ἠξιώκατε [885δ] περὶ νόμων, πρὶν ἀπειλεῖν ἡμῖν σκληρῶς, ὑμᾶς πρότερον ἐπιχειρεῖν πείθειν καὶ διδάσκειν ὡς εἰσὶ θεοί, τεκμήρια λέγοντες ἱκανά, καὶ ὅτι βελτίους ἢ παρὰ τὸ δίκαιον ὑπό τινων δώρων παρατρέπεσθαι κηλούμενοι. νῦν μὲν γὰρ ταῦτα ἀκούοντές τε καὶ τοιαῦθ᾽ ἕτερα τῶν λεγομένων ἀρίστων εἶναι ποιητῶν τε καὶ ῥητόρων καὶ μάντεων καὶ ἱερέων καὶ ἄλλων μυριάκις μυρίων, οὐκ ἐπὶ τὸ μὴ δρᾶν τὰ ἄδικα τρεπόμεθα οἱ [885ε] πλεῖστοι, δράσαντες δ᾽ ἐξακεῖσθαι πειρώμεθα. παρὰ δὲ δὴ νομοθετῶν, φασκόντων εἶναι μὴ ἀγρίων ἀλλὰ ἡμέρων, ἀξιοῦμεν πειθοῖ πρῶτον χρῆσθαι πρὸς ἡμᾶς, εἰ μὴ πολλῷ βελτίω τῶν ἄλλων λέγοντας περὶ θεῶν ὡς εἰσίν, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν βελτίω γε πρὸς ἀλήθειαν, καὶ τάχα πειθοίμεθ᾽ ἂν ἴσως ὑμῖν. ἀλλ᾽ ἐπιχειρεῖτε, εἴ τι μέτριον λέγομεν, εἰπεῖν ἃ προκαλούμεθα.

Κλεινίας

οὐκοῦν, ὦ ξένε, δοκεῖ ῥᾴδιον εἶναι ἀληθεύοντας λέγειν ὡς εἰσὶν θεοί; [886α]

Ἀθηναῖος

πῶς;

Κλεινίας

πρῶτον μὲν γῆ καὶ ἥλιος ἄστρα τε καὶ τὰ σύμπαντα, καὶ τὰ τῶν ὡρῶν διακεκοσμημένα καλῶς οὕτως, ἐνιαυτοῖς τε καὶ μησὶν διειλημμένα: καὶ ὅτι πάντες Ἕλληνές τε καὶ βάρβαροι νομίζουσιν εἶναι θεούς.

Ἀθηναῖος

φοβοῦμαί γε, ὦ μακάριε, τοὺς μοχθηρούς-οὐ γὰρ δή ποτε εἴποιμ᾽ ἂν ὥς γε αἰδοῦμαι-μή πως ἡμῶν καταφρονήσωσιν. ὑμεῖς μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ἴστε αὐτῶν πέρι τὴν τῆς διαφορᾶς αἰτίαν, ἀλλ᾽ ἡγεῖσθε ἀκρατείᾳ μόνον ἡδονῶν τε [886β] καὶ ἐπιθυμιῶν ἐπὶ τὸν ἀσεβῆ βίον ὁρμᾶσθαι τὰς ψυχὰς αὐτῶν.

Κλεινίας

τὸ δὲ τί πρὸς τούτοις αἴτιον ἄν, ὦ ξένε, εἴη;

Ἀθηναῖος

σχεδὸν ὃ παντάπασιν ὑμεῖς ἔξω ζῶντες οὐκ ἂν εἰδείητε, ἀλλὰ ὑμᾶς ἂν λανθάνοι.

Κλεινίας

τί δὴ τοῦτο φράζεις τὰ νῦν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀμαθία τις μάλα χαλεπή, δοκοῦσα εἶναι μεγίστη φρόνησις.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰσὶν ἡμῖν ἐν γράμμασιν λόγοι κείμενοι, οἳ παρ᾽ ὑμῖν οὐκ εἰσὶν δι᾽ ἀρετὴν πολιτείας, ὡς ἐγὼ μανθάνω, οἱ μὲν ἔν [886ξ] τισι μέτροις, οἱ δὲ καὶ ἄνευ μέτρων λέγοντες περὶ θεῶν, οἱ μὲν παλαιότατοι ὡς γέγονεν ἡ πρώτη φύσις οὐρανοῦ τῶν τε ἄλλων, προϊόντες δὲ τῆς ἀρχῆς οὐ πολὺ θεογονίαν διεξέρχονται, γενόμενοί τε ὡς πρὸς ἀλλήλους ὡμίλησαν: ἃ τοῖς ἀκούουσιν εἰ μὲν εἰς ἄλλο τι καλῶς ἢ μὴ καλῶς ἔχει, οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἐπιτιμᾶν παλαιοῖς οὖσιν, εἰς μέντοι γονέων τε θεραπείας καὶ τιμὰς οὐκ ἂν ἔγωγέ ποτε ἐπαινῶν εἴποιμι οὔτε ὡς ὠφέλιμα οὔτε ὡς τὸ παράπαν ὄντως εἴρηται. τὰ [886δ] μὲν οὖν δὴ τῶν ἀρχαίων πέρι μεθείσθω καὶ χαιρέτω, καὶ ὅπῃ θεοῖσιν φίλον, λεγέσθω ταύτῃ: τὰ δὲ τῶν νέων ἡμῖν καὶ σοφῶν αἰτιαθήτω ὅπῃ κακῶν αἴτια. τόδε οὖν οἱ τῶν τοιούτων ἐξεργάζονται λόγοι: ἐμοῦ γὰρ καὶ σοῦ, ὅταν τεκμήρια λέγωμεν ὡς εἰσὶν θεοί, ταῦτα αὐτὰ προφέροντες, ἥλιόν τε καὶ σελήνην καὶ ἄστρα καὶ γῆν ὡς θεοὺς καὶ θεῖα ὄντα, ὑπὸ τῶν σοφῶν τούτων ἀναπεπεισμένοι ἂν λέγοιεν ὡς γῆν τε καὶ λίθους ὄντα αὐτὰ καὶ οὐδὲν τῶν ἀνθρωπείων [886ε] πραγμάτων φροντίζειν δυνάμενα, λόγοισι δὲ ταῦτα εὖ πως εἰς τὸ πιθανὸν περιπεπεμμένα.

Κλεινίας

χαλεπόν γε λόγον, ὦ ξένε, εἰρηκὼς τυγχάνεις, εἴ γε εἷς ἦν μόνον: νῦν δὲ ὅτε πάμπολλοι τυγχάνουσιν, ἔτι χαλεπώτερον ἂν εἴη.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν δή; τί λέγομεν; τί χρὴ δρᾶν ἡμᾶς; πότερον ἀπολογησώμεθα οἷον κατηγορήσαντός τινος ἐν ἀσεβέσιν ἀνθρώποις ἡμῶν, φεύγουσι περὶ τῆς νομοθεσίας λέγουσιν [887α] ὡς δεινὰ ἐργαζόμεθα νομοθετοῦντες ὡς ὄντων θεῶν; ἢ χαίρειν ἐάσαντες ἐπὶ τοὺς νόμους τρεπώμεθα πάλιν, μὴ καὶ τὸ προοίμιον ἡμῖν μακρότερον γίγνηται τῶν νόμων; οὐ γάρ τι βραχὺς ὁ λόγος ἐκταθεὶς ἂν γίγνοιτο, εἰ τοῖσιν ἐπιθυμοῦσιν ἀσεβεῖν τὰ μὲν ἀποδείξαιμεν μετρίως τοῖς λόγοις ὧν ἔφραζον δεῖν πέρι λέγειν, τὸν δὲ εἰς φόβον τρέψαιμεν, τὰ δὲ δυσχεραίνειν ποιήσαντες, ὅσα πρέπει μετὰ ταῦτα ἤδη νομοθετοῖμεν. [887β]

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ ξένε, πολλάκις μὲν ὥς γε ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ εἰρήκαμεν, ὡς οὐδὲν ἐν τῷ παρόντι δεῖ προτιμᾶν βραχυλογίαν μᾶλλον ἢ μῆκος-οὐδεὶς γὰρ ἡμᾶς, τὸ λεγόμενον, ἐπείγων διώκει-γελοῖον δὴ καὶ φαῦλον τὸ πρὸ τῶν βελτίστων τὰ βραχύτερα αἱρουμένους φαίνεσθαι. διαφέρει δ᾽ οὐ σμικρὸν ἁμῶς γέ πως πιθανότητά τινα τοὺς λόγους ἡμῶν ἔχειν, ὡς θεοί τ᾽ εἰσὶν καὶ ἀγαθοί, δίκην τιμῶντες διαφερόντως ἀνθρώπων: σχεδὸν γὰρ τοῦτο ἡμῖν ὑπὲρ ἁπάντων [887ξ] τῶν νόμων κάλλιστόν τε καὶ ἄριστον προοίμιον ἂν εἴη. μηδὲν οὖν δυσχεράναντες μηδὲ ἐπειχθέντες, ἥντινά ποτε ἔχομεν δύναμιν εἰς πειθὼ τῶν τοιούτων λόγων, μηδὲν ἀποθέμενοι διεξέλθωμεν εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ἱκανῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

εὐχήν μοι δοκεῖ παρακαλεῖν ὁ λεγόμενος ὑπὸ σοῦ νῦν λόγος, ἐπειδὴ προθύμως συντείνεις: μέλλειν δὲ οὐκέτι ἐγχωρεῖ λέγειν. φέρε δή, πῶς ἄν τις μὴ θυμῷ λέγοι περὶ θεῶν ὡς εἰσίν; ἀνάγκη γὰρ δὴ χαλεπῶς φέρειν καὶ μισεῖν [887δ] ἐκείνους οἳ τούτων ἡμῖν αἴτιοι τῶν λόγων γεγένηνται καὶ γίγνονται νῦν, οὐ πειθόμενοι τοῖς μύθοις οὓς ἐκ νέων παίδων ἔτι ἐν γάλαξι τρεφόμενοι τροφῶν τε ἤκουον καὶ μητέρων, οἷον ἐν ἐπῳδαῖς μετά τε παιδιᾶς καὶ μετὰ σπουδῆς λεγομένων καὶ μετὰ θυσιῶν ἐν εὐχαῖς αὐτοὺς ἀκούοντές τε, καὶ ὄψεις ὁρῶντες ἑπομένας αὐτοῖς ἃς ἥδιστα ὅ γε νέος ὁρᾷ τε καὶ ἀκούει πραττομένας θυόντων, ἐν σπουδῇ τῇ μεγίστῃ τοὺς αὑτῶν γονέας ὑπὲρ αὑτῶν τε καὶ ἐκείνων ἐσπουδακότας, ὡς [887ε] ὅτι μάλιστα οὖσιν θεοῖς εὐχαῖς προσδιαλεγομένους καὶ ἱκετείαις, ἀνατέλλοντός τε ἡλίου καὶ σελήνης καὶ πρὸς δυσμὰς ἰόντων προκυλίσεις ἅμα καὶ προσκυνήσεις ἀκούοντές τε καὶ ὁρῶντες Ἑλλήνων τε καὶ βαρβάρων πάντων ἐν συμφοραῖς παντοίαις ἐχομένων καὶ ἐν εὐπραγίαις, οὐχ ὡς οὐκ ὄντων ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ὅτι μάλιστα ὄντων καὶ οὐδαμῇ ὑποψίαν ἐνδιδόντων ὡς οὐκ εἰσὶν θεοί-τούτων δὴ πάντων ὅσοι καταφρονήσαντες οὐδὲ ἐξ ἑνὸς ἱκανοῦ λόγου, ὡς φαῖεν ἂν ὅσοι καὶ σμικρὸν νοῦ κέκτηνται, νῦν ἀναγκάζουσιν ἡμᾶς λέγειν ἃ λέγομεν, [888α] πῶς τούτους ἄν τις ἐν πρᾳέσι λόγοις δύναιτο νουθετῶν ἅμα διδάσκειν περὶ θεῶν πρῶτον ὡς εἰσίν; τολμητέον δέ: οὐ γὰρ ἅμα γε δεῖ μανῆναι τοὺς μὲν ὑπὸ λαιμαργίας ἡδονῆς ἡμῶν, τοὺς δ᾽ ὑπὸ τοῦ θυμοῦσθαι τοῖς τοιούτοις. ἴτω δὴ πρόρρησις τοιάδε τις ἄθυμος τοῖς οὕτω τὴν διάνοιαν διεφθαρμένοις, καὶ λέγωμεν πρᾴως, σβέσαντες τὸν θυμόν, ὡς ἑνὶ διαλεγόμενοι τῶν τοιούτων: ὦ παῖ, νέος εἶ, προϊὼν δέ σε ὁ χρόνος ποιήσει [888β] πολλὰ ὧν νῦν δοξάζεις μεταβαλόντα ἐπὶ τἀναντία τίθεσθαι: περίμεινον οὖν εἰς τότε κριτὴς περὶ τῶν μεγίστων γίγνεσθαι, μέγιστον δέ, ὃ νῦν οὐδὲν ἡγῇ σύ, τὸ περὶ τοὺς θεοὺς ὀρθῶς διανοηθέντα ζῆν καλῶς ἢ μή. πρῶτον δὲ περὶ αὐτῶν ἕν τι μέγα σοι μηνύων οὐκ ἄν ποτε φανείην ψευδής, τὸ τοιόνδε. οὐ σὺ μόνος οὐδὲ οἱ σοὶ φίλοι πρῶτοι καὶ πρῶτον ταύτην δόξαν περὶ θεῶν ἔσχετε, γίγνονται δὲ ἀεὶ πλείους ἢ ἐλάττους ταύτην τὴν νόσον ἔχοντες: τόδε τοίνυν σοι, παραγεγονὼς [888ξ] αὐτῶν πολλοῖσι, φράζοιμ᾽ ἄν, τὸ μηδένα πώποτε λαβόντα ἐκ νέου ταύτην τὴν δόξαν περὶ θεῶν, ὡς οὐκ εἰσίν, διατελέσαι πρὸς γῆρας μείναντα ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ διανοήσει, τὰ δύο μέντοι πάθη περὶ θεοὺς μεῖναι, πολλοῖσι μὲν οὔ, μεῖναι δὲ οὖν τισιν, τὸ τοὺς θεοὺς εἶναι μέν, φροντίζειν δὲ οὐδὲν τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων, καὶ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, ὡς φροντίζουσι μέν, εὐπαραμύθητοι δ᾽ εἰσὶν θύμασιν καὶ εὐχαῖς. τὸ δὴ σαφὲς ἂν γενόμενόν σοι περὶ αὐτῶν κατὰ δύναμιν δόγμα, ἂν ἐμοὶ πείθῃ, περιμενεῖς, ἀνασκοπῶν εἴτε οὕτως εἴτε ἄλλως ἔχει, [888δ] πυνθανόμενος παρά τε τῶν ἄλλων καὶ δὴ καὶ μάλιστα καὶ παρὰ τοῦ νομοθέτου: ἐν δὲ δὴ τούτῳ τῷ χρόνῳ μὴ τολμήσῃς περὶ θεοὺς μηδὲν ἀσεβῆσαι. πειρατέον γὰρ τῷ τοὺς νόμους σοι τιθέντι νῦν καὶ εἰς αὖθις διδάσκειν περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων ὡς ἔχει.

Κλεινίας

κάλλισθ᾽ ἡμῖν, ὦ ξένε, μέχρι γε τοῦ νῦν εἴρηται.

Ἀθηναῖος

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν, ὦ Μέγιλλέ τε καὶ Κλεινία: λελήθαμεν δ᾽ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς εἰς θαυμαστὸν λόγον ἐμπεπτωκότες.

Κλεινίας

τὸν ποῖον δὴ λέγεις; [888ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸν παρὰ πολλοῖς δοξαζόμενον εἶναι σοφώτατον ἁπάντων λόγων.

Κλεινίας

φράζ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγουσί πού τινες ὡς πάντα ἐστὶ τὰ πράγματα γιγνόμενα καὶ γενόμενα καὶ γενησόμενα τὰ μὲν φύσει, τὰ δὲ τέχνῃ, τὰ δὲ διὰ τύχην.

Κλεινίας

οὐκοῦν καλῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰκός γέ τοί που σοφοὺς ἄνδρας ὀρθῶς λέγειν: [889α] ἑπόμενοί γε μὴν αὐτοῖς σκεψώμεθα τοὺς ἐκεῖθεν τί ποτε καὶ τυγχάνουσι διανοούμενοι.

Κλεινίας

πάντως.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔοικε, φασίν, τὰ μὲν μέγιστα αὐτῶν καὶ κάλλιστα ἀπεργάζεσθαι φύσιν καὶ τύχην, τὰ δὲ σμικρότερα τέχνην, ἣν δὴ παρὰ φύσεως λαμβάνουσαν τὴν τῶν μεγάλων καὶ πρώτων γένεσιν ἔργων, πλάττειν καὶ τεκταίνεσθαι πάντα τὰ σμικρότερα, ἃ δὴ τεχνικὰ πάντες προσαγορεύομεν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις; [889β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὧδ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον ἐρῶ. πῦρ καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ γῆν καὶ ἀέρα φύσει πάντα εἶναι καὶ τύχῃ φασίν, τέχνῃ δὲ οὐδὲν τούτων, καὶ τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα αὖ σώματα, γῆς τε καὶ ἡλίου καὶ σελήνης ἄστρων τε πέρι, διὰ τούτων γεγονέναι παντελῶς ὄντων ἀψύχων: τύχῃ δὲ φερόμενα τῇ τῆς δυνάμεως ἕκαστα ἑκάστων, ᾗ συμπέπτωκεν ἁρμόττοντα οἰκείως πως, θερμὰ ψυχροῖς ἢ ξηρὰ πρὸς ὑγρὰ καὶ μαλακὰ πρὸς σκληρά, καὶ [889ξ] πάντα ὁπόσα τῇ τῶν ἐναντίων κράσει κατὰ τύχην ἐξ ἀνάγκης συνεκεράσθη, ταύτῃ καὶ κατὰ ταῦτα οὕτως γεγεννηκέναι τόν τε οὐρανὸν ὅλον καὶ πάντα ὁπόσα κατ᾽ οὐρανόν, καὶ ζῷα αὖ καὶ φυτὰ σύμπαντα, ὡρῶν πασῶν ἐκ τούτων γενομένων, οὐ δὲ διὰ νοῦν, φασίν, οὐδὲ διά τινα θεὸν οὐδὲ διὰ τέχνην ἀλλά, ὃ λέγομεν, φύσει καὶ τύχῃ. τέχνην δὲ ὕστερον ἐκ τούτων ὑστέραν γενομένην, αὐτὴν θνητὴν ἐκ [889δ] θνητῶν ὕστερα γεγεννηκέναι παιδιάς τινας, ἀληθείας οὐ σφόδρα μετεχούσας, ἀλλὰ εἴδωλ᾽ ἄττα συγγενῆ ἑαυτῶν, οἷ᾽ ἡ γραφικὴ γεννᾷ καὶ μουσικὴ καὶ ὅσαι ταύταις εἰσὶν συνέριθοι τέχναι: αἳ δέ τι καὶ σπουδαῖον ἄρα γεννῶσι τῶν τεχνῶν, εἶναι ταύτας ὁπόσαι τῇ φύσει ἐκοίνωσαν τὴν αὑτῶν δύναμιν, οἷον αὖ ἰατρικὴ καὶ γεωργικὴ καὶ γυμναστική. καὶ δὴ καὶ τὴν πολιτικὴν σμικρόν τι μέρος εἶναί φασιν κοινωνοῦν φύσει, τέχνῃ δὲ τὸ πολύ, οὕτω δὲ καὶ τὴν νομοθεσίαν [889ε] πᾶσαν οὐ φύσει, τέχνῃ δέ, ἧς οὐκ ἀληθεῖς εἶναι τὰς θέσεις.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

θεούς, ὦ μακάριε, εἶναι πρῶτόν φασιν οὗτοι τέχνῃ, οὐ φύσει ἀλλά τισιν νόμοις, καὶ τούτους ἄλλους ἄλλῃ, ὅπῃ ἕκαστοι ἑαυτοῖσι συνωμολόγησαν νομοθετούμενοι: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ καλὰ φύσει μὲν ἄλλα εἶναι, νόμῳ δὲ ἕτερα, τὰ δὲ δὴ δίκαια οὐδ᾽ εἶναι τὸ παράπαν φύσει, ἀλλ᾽ ἀμφισβητοῦντας διατελεῖν ἀλλήλοις καὶ μετατιθεμένους ἀεὶ ταῦτα, ἃ δ᾽ ἂν [890α] μετάθωνται καὶ ὅταν, τότε κύρια ἕκαστα εἶναι, γιγνόμενα τέχνῃ καὶ τοῖς νόμοις ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δή τινι φύσει. ταῦτ᾽ ἐστίν, ὦ φίλοι, ἅπαντα ἀνδρῶν σοφῶν παρὰ νέοις ἀνθρώποις, ἰδιωτῶν τε καὶ ποιητῶν, φασκόντων εἶναι τὸ δικαιότατον ὅτι τις ἂν νικᾷ βιαζόμενος: ὅθεν ἀσέβειαί τε ἀνθρώποις ἐμπίπτουσιν νέοις, ὡς οὐκ ὄντων θεῶν οἵους ὁ νόμος προστάττει διανοεῖσθαι δεῖν, στάσεις τε διὰ ταῦτα ἑλκόντων πρὸς τὸν κατὰ φύσιν ὀρθὸν βίον, ὅς ἐστιν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ κρατοῦντα ζῆν τῶν ἄλλων καὶ μὴ δουλεύοντα ἑτέροισι κατὰ νόμον. [890β]

Κλεινίας

οἷον διελήλυθας, ὦ ξένε, λόγον, καὶ ὅσην λώβην ἀνθρώπων νέων δημοσίᾳ πόλεσίν τε καὶ ἰδίοις οἴκοις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀληθῆ μέντοι λέγεις, ὦ Κλεινία. τί οὖν οἴει χρῆναι δρᾶν τὸν νομοθέτην, οὕτω τούτων πάλαι παρεσκευασμένων; ἢ μόνον ἀπειλεῖν στάντα ἐν τῇ πόλει σύμπασι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ὡς εἰ μὴ φήσουσιν εἶναι θεοὺς καὶ διανοηθήσονται δοξάζοντες τοιούτους οἵους φησὶν ὁ νόμος-καὶ περὶ καλῶν καὶ δικαίων καὶ περὶ ἁπάντων τῶν μεγίστων ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, [890ξ] ὅσα δὲ πρὸς ἀρετὴν τείνει καὶ κακίαν, ὡς δεῖ ταῦτα οὕτω πράττειν διανοουμένους ὅπῃπερ ἂν ὁ νομοθέτης ὑφηγήσηται γράφων-ὃς δ᾽ ἂν μὴ παρέχηται ἑαυτὸν τοῖς νόμοις εὐπειθῆ, τὸν μὲν δεῖν τεθνάναι, τὸν δέ τινα πληγαῖς καὶ δεσμοῖς, τὸν δὲ ἀτιμίαις, ἄλλους δὲ πενίαις κολάζεσθαι καὶ φυγαῖς: πειθὼ δὲ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ἅμα τιθέντα αὐτοῖς τοὺς νόμους, μηδεμίαν ἔχειν τοῖς λόγοις προσάπτοντα εἰς δύναμιν ἡμεροῦν; [890δ]

Κλεινίας

μηδαμῶς, ὦ ξένε, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ τυγχάνει γε οὖσα καὶ σμικρὰ πειθώ τις περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, δεῖ μηδαμῇ κάμνειν τόν γε ἄξιον καὶ σμικροῦ νομοθέτην, ἀλλὰ πᾶσαν, τὸ λεγόμενον, φωνὴν ἱέντα, τῷ παλαιῷ νόμῳ ἐπίκουρον γίγνεσθαι λόγῳ ὡς εἰσὶν θεοὶ καὶ ὅσα νυνδὴ διῆλθες σύ, καὶ δὴ καὶ νόμῳ αὐτῷ βοηθῆσαι καὶ τέχνῃ, ὡς ἐστὸν φύσει ἢ φύσεως οὐχ ἧττον, εἴπερ νοῦ γέ ἐστιν γεννήματα κατὰ λόγον ὀρθόν, ὃν σύ τε λέγειν μοι φαίνῃ καὶ ἐγώ σοι πιστεύω τὰ νῦν. [890ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ προθυμότατε Κλεινία, τί δ᾽; οὐ χαλεπά τέ ἐστι συνακολουθεῖν λόγοις οὕτως εἰς πλήθη λεγόμενα, μήκη τε αὖ κέκτηται διωλύγια;

Κλεινίας

τί δέ, ὦ ξένε; περὶ μέθης μὲν καὶ μουσικῆς οὕτω μακρὰ λέγοντας ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς περιεμείναμεν, περὶ θεῶν δὲ καὶ τῶν τοιούτων οὐχ ὑπομενοῦμεν; καὶ μὴν καὶ νομοθεσίᾳ γέ ἐστίν που τῇ μετὰ φρονήσεως μεγίστη βοήθεια, διότι [891α] τὰ περὶ νόμους προστάγματα ἐν γράμμασι τεθέντα, ὡς δώσοντα εἰς πάντα χρόνον ἔλεγχον, πάντως ἠρεμεῖ, ὥστε οὔτ᾽ εἰ χαλεπὰ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἀκούειν ἐστὶν φοβητέον, ἅ γ᾽ ἔσται καὶ τῷ δυσμαθεῖ πολλάκις ἐπανιόντι σκοπεῖν, οὔτε εἰ μακρά, ὠφέλιμα δέ, διὰ ταῦτα λόγον οὐδαμῇ ἔχει οὐδὲ ὅσιον ἔμοιγε εἶναι φαίνεται τὸ μὴ οὐ βοηθεῖν τούτοις τοῖς λόγοις πάντα ἄνδρα κατὰ δύναμιν.

Μέγιλλος

ἄριστα, ὦ ξένε, δοκεῖ μοι λέγειν Κλεινίας. [891β]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μάλα γε, ὦ Μέγιλλε, ποιητέον τε ὡς λέγει. καὶ γὰρ εἰ μὴ κατεσπαρμένοι ἦσαν οἱ τοιοῦτοι λόγοι ἐν τοῖς πᾶσιν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἀνθρώποις, οὐδὲν ἂν ἔδει τῶν ἐπαμυνούντων λόγων ὡς εἰσὶν θεοί: νῦν δὲ ἀνάγκη. νόμοις οὖν διαφθειρομένοις τοῖς μεγίστοις ὑπὸ κακῶν ἀνθρώπων τίνα καὶ μᾶλλον προσήκει βοηθεῖν ἢ νομοθέτην;

Μέγιλλος

οὐκ ἔστιν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλὰ δὴ λέγε μοι πάλιν, Κλεινία, καὶ σύ-κοινωνὸν [891ξ] γὰρ δεῖ σε εἶναι τῶν λόγων-κινδυνεύει γὰρ ὁ λέγων ταῦτα πῦρ καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ γῆν καὶ ἀέρα πρῶτα ἡγεῖσθαι τῶν πάντων εἶναι, καὶ τὴν φύσιν ὀνομάζειν ταῦτα αὐτά, ψυχὴν δὲ ἐκ τούτων ὕστερον. ἔοικεν δὲ οὐ κινδυνεύειν ἀλλὰ ὄντως σημαίνειν ταῦτα ἡμῖν τῷ λόγῳ.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν πρὸς Διὸς οἷον πηγήν τινα ἀνοήτου δόξης ἀνηυρήκαμεν ἀνθρώπων ὁπόσοι πώποτε τῶν περὶ φύσεως ἐφήψαντο ζητημάτων; σκόπει πάντα λόγον ἐξετάζων: οὐ [891δ] γὰρ δὴ σμικρόν γε τὸ διαφέρον, εἰ φανεῖεν οἱ λόγων ἁπτόμενοι ἀσεβῶν, ἄλλοις τε ἐξάρχοντες, μηδὲ εὖ τοῖς λόγοις ἀλλ᾽ ἐξημαρτημένως χρώμενοι. δοκεῖ τοίνυν μοι ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν.

Κλεινίας

εὖ λέγεις: ἀλλ᾽ ὅπῃ, πειρῶ φράζειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔοικεν τοίνυν ἀηθεστέρων ἁπτέον εἶναι λόγων.

Κλεινίας

οὐκ ὀκνητέον, ὦ ξένε. μανθάνω γὰρ ὡς νομοθεσίας ἐκτὸς οἰήσῃ βαίνειν, ἐὰν τῶν τοιούτων ἁπτώμεθα [891ε] λόγων. εἰ δὲ ἔστι μηδαμῇ ἑτέρως συμφωνῆσαι τοῖς νῦν κατὰ νόμον λεγομένοις θεοῖς ὡς ὀρθῶς ἔχουσιν ἢ ταύτῃ, λεκτέον, ὦ θαυμάσιε, καὶ ταύτῃ.

Ἀθηναῖος

λέγοιμ᾽ ἄν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἤδη σχεδὸν οὐκ εἰωθότα λόγον τινὰ τόνδε. ὃ πρῶτον γενέσεως καὶ φθορᾶς αἴτιον ἁπάντων, τοῦτο οὐ πρῶτον ἀλλὰ ὕστερον ἀπεφήναντο εἶναι γεγονὸς οἱ τὴν τῶν ἀσεβῶν ψυχὴν ἀπεργασάμενοι λόγοι, ὃ δὲ ὕστερον, πρότερον: ὅθεν ἡμαρτήκασι περὶ θεῶν τῆς ὄντως οὐσίας. [892α]

Κλεινίας

οὔπω μανθάνω.

Ἀθηναῖος

ψυχήν, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἠγνοηκέναι κινδυνεύουσι μὲν ὀλίγου σύμπαντες οἷόν τε ὂν τυγχάνει καὶ δύναμιν ἣν ἔχει, τῶν τε ἄλλων αὐτῆς πέρι καὶ δὴ καὶ γενέσεως, ὡς ἐν πρώτοις ἐστί, σωμάτων ἔμπροσθεν πάντων γενομένη, καὶ μεταβολῆς τε αὐτῶν καὶ μετακοσμήσεως ἁπάσης ἄρχει παντὸς μᾶλλον: εἰ δὲ ἔστιν ταῦτα οὕτως, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐξ ἀνάγκης τὰ ψυχῆς συγγενῆ πρότερα ἂν εἴη γεγονότα τῶν σώματι [892β] προσηκόντων, οὔσης γ᾽ αὐτῆς πρεσβυτέρας ἢ σώματος;

Κλεινίας

ἀνάγκη.

Ἀθηναῖος

δόξα δὴ καὶ ἐπιμέλεια καὶ νοῦς καὶ τέχνη καὶ νόμος σκληρῶν καὶ μαλακῶν καὶ βαρέων καὶ κούφων πρότερα ἂν εἴη: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὰ μεγάλα καὶ πρῶτα ἔργα καὶ πράξεις τέχνης ἂν γίγνοιτο, ὄντα ἐν πρώτοις, τὰ δὲ φύσει καὶ φύσις, ἣν οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἐπονομάζουσιν αὐτὸ τοῦτο, ὕστερα καὶ ἀρχόμενα ἂν ἐκ τέχνης εἴη καὶ νοῦ. [892ξ]

Κλεινίας

πῶς οὐκ ὀρθῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

φύσιν βούλονται λέγειν γένεσιν τὴν περὶ τὰ πρῶτα: εἰ δὲ φανήσεται ψυχὴ πρῶτον, οὐ πῦρ οὐδὲ ἀήρ, ψυχὴ δ᾽ ἐν πρώτοις γεγενημένη, σχεδὸν ὀρθότατα λέγοιτ᾽ ἂν εἶναι διαφερόντως φύσει. ταῦτ᾽ ἔσθ᾽ οὕτως ἔχοντα, ἂν ψυχήν τις ἐπιδείξῃ πρεσβυτέραν οὖσαν σώματος, ἄλλως δὲ οὐδαμῶς.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ δὴ τοῦτο στελλώμεθα; [892δ]

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

φυλάττωμεν δὴ παντάπασιν ἀπατηλὸν λόγον, μή πῃ πρεσβύτας ἡμᾶς ὄντας νεοπρεπὴς ὢν παραπείσῃ καὶ διαφυγὼν καταγελάστους ποιήσῃ, καὶ δόξωμεν μείζονα ἐπιβαλλόμενοι καὶ τῶν σμικρῶν ἀποτυχεῖν. σκοπεῖτε οὖν. εἰ καθάπερ ποταμὸν ἡμᾶς ἔδει τρεῖς ὄντας διαβαίνειν ῥέοντα σφόδρα, νεώτατος δ᾽ ἐγὼ τυγχάνων ἡμῶν καὶ πολλῶν ἔμπειρος ῥευμάτων, εἶπον ὅτι πρῶτον ἐμὲ χρῆναι πειραθῆναι [892ε] κατ᾽ ἐμαυτόν, καταλιπόντα ὑμᾶς ἐν ἀσφαλεῖ, σκέψασθαι εἰ διαβατός ἐστι πρεσβυτέροις οὖσι καὶ ὑμῖν, ἢ πῶς ἔχει, καὶ φανέντος μὲν ταύτῃ, καλεῖν ὑμᾶς τότε καὶ συνδιαβιβάζειν ἐμπειρίᾳ, εἰ δὲ ἄβατος ἦν ὡς ὑμῖν, ἐν ἐμοὶ τὸν κίνδυνον γεγονέναι, μετρίως ἂν ἐδόκουν λέγειν, καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν ὁ μέλλων ἐστὶ λόγος σφοδρότερος καὶ σχεδὸν ἴσως ἄβατος ὡς τῇ σφῷν ῥώμῃ: μὴ δὴ σκοτοδινίαν ἴλιγγόν τε ὑμῖν [893α] ἐμποιήσῃ παραφερόμενός τε καὶ ἐρωτῶν ἀήθεις ὄντας ἀποκρίσεων, εἶτ᾽ ἀσχημοσύνην ἀπρέπειάν τε ἐντέκῃ ἀηδῆ, δοκεῖ δή μοι χρῆναι ποιεῖν οὑτωσὶ τὰ νῦν ἐμέ, ἀνερωτᾶν πρῶτον ἐμαυτόν, ἀκουόντων ὑμῶν ἐν ἀσφαλεῖ, καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα ἀποκρίνασθαι πάλιν ἐμέ, καὶ τὸν λόγον ἅπαντα οὕτω διεξελθεῖν, μέχριπερ ἂν ψυχῆς πέρι διαπεράνηται καὶ δείξῃ πρότερον ὂν ψυχὴν σώματος.

Κλεινίας

ἄριστ᾽, ὦ ξένε, δοκεῖς ἡμῖν εἰρηκέναι, ποίει τε ὡς λέγεις. [893β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄγε δή, θεὸν εἴ ποτε παρακλητέον ἡμῖν, νῦν ἔστω τοῦτο οὕτω γενόμενον-ἐπί γε ἀπόδειξιν ὡς εἰσὶν τὴν αὑτῶν σπουδῇ πάσῃ παρακεκλήσθων-ἐχόμενοι δὲ ὥς τινος ἀσφαλοῦς πείσματος ἐπεισβαίνωμεν εἰς τὸν νῦν λόγον. καί μοι ἐλεγχομένῳ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐρωτήσεσιν τοιαῖσδε ἀσφαλέστατα ἀποκρίνεσθαι φαίνεται κατὰ τάδε: ὦ ξένε, ὁπόταν φῇ τις, ἆρα ἕστηκε μὲν πάντα, κινεῖται δὲ οὐδέν; ἢ τούτῳ πᾶν τοὐναντίον; ἢ τὰ μὲν αὐτῶν κινεῖται, τὰ δὲ μένει; [893ξ]

τὰ μὲν κινεῖταί που, φήσω, τὰ δὲ μένει.

μῶν οὖν οὐκ ἐν χώρᾳ τινὶ τά τε ἑστῶτα ἕστηκεν καὶ τὰ κινούμενα κινεῖται;

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

καὶ τὰ μέν γε ἐν μιᾷ ἕδρᾳ που τοῦτο ἂν δρῴη, τὰ δὲ ἐν πλείοσιν.

τὰ τὴν τῶν ἑστώτων ἐν μέσῳ λαμβάνοντα δύναμιν λέγεις, φήσομεν, ἐν ἑνὶ κινεῖσθαι, καθάπερ ἡ τῶν ἑστάναι λεγομένων κύκλων στρέφεται περιφορά;

ναί. μανθάνομεν δέ γε ὡς ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ περιφορᾷ τὸν μέγιστον καὶ τὸν σμικρότατον κύκλον ἅμα περιάγουσα, [893δ] ἡ τοιαύτη κίνησις ἀνὰ λόγον ἑαυτὴν διανέμει σμικροῖς τε καὶ μείζοσιν, ἐλάττων τε οὖσα καὶ πλείων κατὰ λόγον: διὸ δὴ τῶν θαυμαστῶν ἁπάντων πηγὴ γέγονεν, ἅμα μεγάλοις καὶ σμικροῖς κύκλοις βραδυτῆτάς τε καὶ τάχη ὁμολογούμενα πορεύουσα, ἀδύνατον, ὡς ἄν τις ἐλπίσειε, γίγνεσθαι πάθος.

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

τὰ δέ γε κινούμενα ἐν πολλοῖς φαίνῃ μοι λέγειν ὅσα φορᾷ κινεῖται μεταβαίνοντα εἰς ἕτερον ἀεὶ τόπον, καὶ τοτὲ μὲν ἔστιν ὅτε βάσιν ἑνὸς κεκτημένα [893ε] τινὸς κέντρου, τοτὲ δὲ πλείονα τῷ περικυλινδεῖσθαι. προστυγχάνοντα δ᾽ ἑκάστοτε ἑκάστοις, τοῖς ἑστῶσι μὲν διασχίζεται, τοῖς δ᾽ ἄλλοις ἐξ ἐναντίας ἀπαντῶσι καὶ φερομένοις εἰς ἓν γιγνόμενα μέσα τε καὶ μεταξὺ τῶν τοιούτων συγκρίνεται.

λέγω γὰρ οὖν ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχοντα, ὡς σὺ λέγεις.

καὶ μὴν καὶ συγκρινόμενα μὲν αὐξάνεται, διακρινόμενα δὲ φθίνει τότε, ὅταν ἡ καθεστηκυῖα ἑκάστων ἕξις διαμένῃ, [894α] μὴ μενούσης δὲ αὐτῆς, δι᾽ ἀμφότερα ἀπόλλυται. γίγνεται δὴ πάντων γένεσις, ἡνίκ᾽ ἂν τί πάθος ᾖ; δῆλον ὡς ὁπόταν ἀρχὴ λαβοῦσα αὔξην εἰς τὴν δευτέραν ἔλθῃ μετάβασιν καὶ ἀπὸ ταύτης εἰς τὴν πλησίον, καὶ μέχρι τριῶν ἐλθοῦσα αἴσθησιν σχῇ τοῖς αἰσθανομένοις. μεταβάλλον μὲν οὖν οὕτω καὶ μετακινούμενον γίγνεται πᾶν: ἔστιν δὲ ὄντως ὄν, ὁπόταν μένῃ, μεταβαλὸν δὲ εἰς ἄλλην ἕξιν διέφθαρται παντελῶς. ἆρ᾽ οὖν κινήσεις πάσας εἰρήκαμεν ὡς ἐν εἴδεσιν [894β] λαβεῖν μετ᾽ ἀριθμοῦ, πλήν γε, ὦ φίλοι, δυοῖν;

Κλεινίας

ποίαιν δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

σχεδόν, ὠγαθέ, ἐκείναιν ὧν ἕνεκα πᾶσα ἡμῖν ἐστιν ἡ σκέψις τὰ νῦν.

Κλεινίας

λέγε σαφέστερον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ψυχῆς ἦν ἕνεκά που;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔστω τοίνυν ἡ μὲν ἕτερα δυναμένη κινεῖν κίνησις, ἑαυτὴν δὲ ἀδυνατοῦσα, ἀεὶ μία τις, ἡ δὲ αὑτήν τ᾽ ἀεὶ καὶ ἕτερα δυναμένη κατά τε συγκρίσεις ἔν τε διακρίσεσιν αὔξαις τε καὶ τῷ ἐναντίῳ καὶ γενέσεσι καὶ φθοραῖς ἄλλη μία τις [894ξ] αὖ τῶν πασῶν κινήσεων.

Κλεινίας

ἔστω γὰρ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τὴν μὲν ἕτερον ἀεὶ κινοῦσαν καὶ μεταβαλλομένην ὑφ᾽ ἑτέρου θήσομεν ἐνάτην αὖ, τήν τε ἑαυτὴν κινοῦσαν καὶ ἕτερον, ἐναρμόττουσαν πᾶσιν μὲν ποιήμασι, πᾶσιν δὲ παθήμασι, καλουμένην δὲ ὄντως τῶν ὄντων πάντων μεταβολὴν καὶ κίνησιν, ταύτην δὲ δεκάτην σχεδὸν ἐροῦμεν.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τῶν δὴ δέκα μάλιστα ἡμῖν κινήσεων τίν᾽ ἂν προκρίναιμεν [894δ] ὀρθότατα πασῶν ἐρρωμενεστάτην τε εἶναι καὶ πρακτικὴν διαφερόντως;

Κλεινίας

μυρίῳ ἀνάγκη που φάναι διαφέρειν τὴν αὐτὴν αὑτὴν δυναμένην κινεῖν, τὰς δὲ ἄλλας πάσας ὑστέρας.

Ἀθηναῖος

εὖ λέγεις. ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἡμῖν τῶν νῦν οὐκ ὀρθῶς ῥηθέντων μεταθετέον ἓν ἢ καὶ δύο;

Κλεινίας

ποῖα φῄς;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ τῆς δεκάτης ῥηθὲν σχεδὸν οὐκ ὀρθῶς εἴρηται.

Κλεινίας

πῇ;

Ἀθηναῖος

πρῶτον γενέσει τέ ἐστιν καὶ ῥώμῃ κατὰ λόγον: τὸ [894ε] δὲ μετὰ τοῦτο ἔχομεν τούτου δεύτερον, ἄρτι ῥηθὲν ἀτόπως ἔνατον.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὧδε. ὅταν ἕτερον ἄλλο ἡμῖν μεταβάλῃ καὶ τοῦτο ἄλλο ἕτερον ἀεί, τῶν τοιούτων ἆρα ἔσται ποτέ τι πρῶτον μεταβάλλον; καὶ πῶς, ὅταν ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου κινῆται, τοῦτ᾽ ἔσται ποτὲ τῶν ἀλλοιούντων πρῶτον; ἀδύνατον γάρ. ἀλλ᾽ ὅταν ἄρα αὐτὸ αὑτὸ κινῆσαν ἕτερον ἀλλοιώσῃ, τὸ δ᾽ ἕτερον ἄλλο, [895α] καὶ οὕτω δὴ χίλια ἐπὶ μυρίοις γίγνηται τὰ κινηθέντα, μῶν ἀρχή τις αὐτῶν ἔσται τῆς κινήσεως ἁπάσης ἄλλη πλὴν ἡ τῆς αὐτῆς αὑτὴν κινησάσης μεταβολή;

Κλεινίας

κάλλιστα εἶπες, συγχωρητέα τε τούτοις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔτι δὴ καὶ τῇδε εἴπωμεν, καὶ ἀποκρινώμεθα πάλιν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖσιν. εἰ σταίη πως τὰ πάντα ὁμοῦ γενόμενα, καθάπερ οἱ πλεῖστοι τῶν τοιούτων τολμῶσι λέγειν, τίν᾽ ἄρα ἐν αὐτοῖς ἀνάγκη πρώτην κίνησιν γενέσθαι τῶν εἰρημένων; [895β] τὴν αὐτὴν ἑαυτὴν δήπου κινοῦσαν: ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου γὰρ οὐ μήποτε ἔμπροσθεν μεταπέσῃ, μηδεμιᾶς γε ἐν αὐτοῖς οὔσης ἔμπροσθεν μεταπτώσεως. ἀρχὴν ἄρα κινήσεων πασῶν καὶ πρώτην ἔν τε ἑστῶσιν γενομένην καὶ ἐν κινουμένοις οὖσαν τὴν αὑτὴν κινοῦσαν φήσομεν ἀναγκαίως εἶναι πρεσβυτάτην καὶ κρατίστην μεταβολὴν πασῶν, τὴν δὲ ἀλλοιουμένην ὑφ᾽ ἑτέρου, κινοῦσαν δὲ ἕτερα δευτέραν.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις. [895ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁπότε δὴ τοίνυν ἐνταῦθά ἐσμεν τοῦ λόγου, τόδε ἀποκρινώμεθα.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐὰν ἴδωμέν που ταύτην γενομένην ἐν τῷ γηίνῳ ἢ ἐνύδρῳ ἢ πυροειδεῖ, κεχωρισμένῳ ἢ καὶ συμμιγεῖ, τί ποτε φήσομεν ἐν τῷ τοιούτῳ πάθος εἶναι;

Κλεινίας

μῶν ἄρα με ἐρωτᾷς εἰ ζῆν αὐτὸ προσεροῦμεν, ὅταν αὐτὸ αὑτὸ κινῇ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί.

Κλεινίας

Ζῆν: πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; ὁπόταν ψυχὴν ἔν τισιν ὁρῶμεν, μῶν ἄλλο ἢ ταὐτὸν τούτῳ; ζῆν ὁμολογητέον;

Κλεινίας

οὐκ ἄλλο. [895δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔχε δὴ πρὸς Διός: ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοις περὶ ἕκαστον τρία νοεῖν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἓν μὲν τὴν οὐσίαν, ἓν δὲ τῆς οὐσίας τὸν λόγον, ἓν δὲ ὄνομα: καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐρωτήσεις εἶναι περὶ τὸ ὂν ἅπαν δύο.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δύο;

Ἀθηναῖος

τοτὲ μὲν ἡμῶν ἕκαστον τοὔνομα προτεινόμενον αὐτὸ τὸν λόγον ἀπαιτεῖν, τοτὲ δὲ τὸν λόγον αὐτὸν προτεινόμενον ἐρωτᾶν αὖ τοὔνομα. ἆρά γε τὸ τοιόνδε αὖ βουλόμεθα νῦν λέγειν;

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον; [895ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔστιν που δίχα διαιρούμενον ἐν ἄλλοις τε καὶ ἐν ἀριθμῷ: τούτῳ δὴ τῷ κατ᾽ ἀριθμὸν ὄνομα μὲν ἄρτιον, λόγος δέ, ἀριθμὸς διαιρούμενος εἰς ἴσα δύο μέρη.

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ τοιοῦτον φράζω. μῶν οὖν οὐ ταὐτὸν ἑκατέρως προσαγορεύομεν, ἄντε τὸν λόγον ἐρωτώμενοι τοὔνομα ἀποδιδῶμεν, ἄντε τοὔνομα τὸν λόγον, ἄρτιον ὀνόματι, καὶ λόγῳ δίχα διαιρούμενον ἀριθμόν, προσαγορεύοντες ταὐτὸν ὄν;

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὧι δὴ ψυχὴ τοὔνομα, τίς τούτου λόγος; ἔχομεν [896α] ἄλλον πλὴν τὸν νυνδὴ ῥηθέντα, τὴν δυναμένην αὐτὴν αὑτὴν κινεῖν κίνησιν;

Κλεινίας

τὸ ἑαυτὸ κινεῖν φῂς λόγον ἔχειν τὴν αὐτὴν οὐσίαν, ἥνπερ τοὔνομα ὃ δὴ πάντες ψυχὴν προσαγορεύομεν;

Ἀθηναῖος

φημί γε: εἰ δ᾽ ἔστι τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχον, ἆρα ἔτι ποθοῦμεν μὴ ἱκανῶς δεδεῖχθαι ψυχὴν ταὐτὸν ὂν καὶ τὴν πρώτην γένεσιν καὶ κίνησιν τῶν τε ὄντων καὶ γεγονότων καὶ ἐσομένων καὶ πάντων αὖ τῶν ἐναντίων τούτοις, ἐπειδή γε [896β] ἀνεφάνη μεταβολῆς τε καὶ κινήσεως ἁπάσης αἰτία ἅπασιν;

Κλεινίας

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ ἱκανώτατα δέδεικται ψυχὴ τῶν πάντων πρεσβυτάτη, γενομένη γε ἀρχὴ κινήσεως.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχ ἡ δι᾽ ἕτερον ἐν ἄλλῳ γιγνομένη κίνησις, αὐτὸ δὲ ἐν αὑτῷ μηδέποτε παρέχουσα κινεῖσθαι μηδέν, δευτέρα τε, καὶ ὁπόσων ἀριθμῶν βούλοιτο ἄν τις ἀριθμεῖν αὐτὴν πολλοστήν, τοσούτων, σώματος οὖσα ὄντως ἀψύχου μεταβολή;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὀρθῶς ἄρα καὶ κυρίως ἀληθέστατά τε καὶ τελεώτατα [896ξ] εἰρηκότες ἂν εἶμεν ψυχὴν μὲν προτέραν γεγονέναι σώματος ἡμῖν, σῶμα δὲ δεύτερόν τε καὶ ὕστερον, ψυχῆς ἀρχούσης, ἀρχόμενον κατὰ φύσιν.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

μεμνήμεθά γε μὴν ὁμολογήσαντες ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ὡς, εἰ ψυχὴ φανείη πρεσβυτέρα σώματος οὖσα, καὶ τὰ ψυχῆς τῶν τοῦ σώματος ἔσοιτο πρεσβύτερα.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τρόποι δὲ καὶ ἤθη καὶ βουλήσεις καὶ λογισμοὶ καὶ [896δ] δόξαι ἀληθεῖς ἐπιμέλειαί τε καὶ μνῆμαι πρότερα μήκους σωμάτων καὶ πλάτους καὶ βάθους καὶ ῥώμης εἴη γεγονότα ἄν, εἴπερ καὶ ψυχὴ σώματος.

Κλεινίας

ἀνάγκη.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ὁμολογεῖν ἀναγκαῖον τῶν τε ἀγαθῶν αἰτίαν εἶναι ψυχὴν καὶ τῶν κακῶν καὶ καλῶν καὶ αἰσχρῶν δικαίων τε καὶ ἀδίκων καὶ πάντων τῶν ἐναντίων, εἴπερ τῶν πάντων γε αὐτὴν θήσομεν αἰτίαν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ψυχὴν δὴ διοικοῦσαν καὶ ἐνοικοῦσαν ἐν ἅπασιν [896ε] τοῖς πάντῃ κινουμένοις μῶν οὐ καὶ τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀνάγκη διοικεῖν φάναι;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

μίαν ἢ πλείους; πλείους: ἐγὼ ὑπὲρ σφῷν ἀποκρινοῦμαι. δυοῖν μέν γέ που ἔλαττον μηδὲν τιθῶμεν, τῆς τε εὐεργέτιδος καὶ τῆς τἀναντία δυναμένης ἐξεργάζεσθαι.

Κλεινίας

σφόδρα ὀρθῶς εἴρηκας.

Ἀθηναῖος

εἶεν. ἄγει μὲν δὴ ψυχὴ πάντα τὰ κατ᾽ οὐρανὸν καὶ γῆν καὶ θάλατταν ταῖς αὑτῆς κινήσεσιν, αἷς ὀνόματά [897α] ἐστιν βούλεσθαι, σκοπεῖσθαι, ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, βουλεύεσθαι, δοξάζειν ὀρθῶς ἐψευσμένως, χαίρουσαν λυπουμένην, θαρροῦσαν φοβουμένην, μισοῦσαν στέργουσαν, καὶ πάσαις ὅσαι τούτων συγγενεῖς ἢ πρωτουργοὶ κινήσεις τὰς δευτερουργοὺς αὖ παραλαμβάνουσαι κινήσεις σωμάτων ἄγουσι πάντα εἰς αὔξησιν καὶ φθίσιν καὶ διάκρισιν καὶ σύγκρισιν καὶ τούτοις ἑπομένας θερμότητας ψύξεις, βαρύτητας κουφότητας, σκληρὸν καὶ μαλακόν, λευκὸν καὶ μέλαν, αὐστηρὸν [897β] καὶ γλυκύ, καὶ πᾶσιν οἷς ψυχὴ χρωμένη, νοῦν μὲν προσλαβοῦσα ἀεὶ θεὸν ὀρθῶς θεοῖς, ὀρθὰ καὶ εὐδαίμονα παιδαγωγεῖ πάντα, ἀνοίᾳ δὲ συγγενομένη πάντα αὖ τἀναντία τούτοις ἀπεργάζεται. τιθῶμεν ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν, ἢ ἔτι διστάζομεν εἰ ἑτέρως πως ἔχει;

Κλεινίας

οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερον οὖν δὴ ψυχῆς γένος ἐγκρατὲς οὐρανοῦ καὶ γῆς καὶ πάσης τῆς περιόδου γεγονέναι φῶμεν; τὸ φρόνιμον [897ξ] καὶ ἀρετῆς πλῆρες, ἢ τὸ μηδέτερα κεκτημένον; βούλεσθε οὖν πρὸς ταῦτα ὧδε ἀποκρινώμεθα;

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ μέν, ὦ θαυμάσιε, φῶμεν, ἡ σύμπασα οὐρανοῦ ὁδὸς ἅμα καὶ φορὰ καὶ τῶν ἐν αὐτῷ ὄντων ἁπάντων νοῦ κινήσει καὶ περιφορᾷ καὶ λογισμοῖς ὁμοίαν φύσιν ἔχει καὶ συγγενῶς ἔρχεται, δῆλον ὡς τὴν ἀρίστην ψυχὴν φατέον ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τοῦ κόσμου παντὸς καὶ ἄγειν αὐτὸν τὴν τοιαύτην ὁδὸν ἐκείνην.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς. [897δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

εἰ δὲ μανικῶς τε καὶ ἀτάκτως ἔρχεται, τὴν κακήν.

Κλεινίας

καὶ ταῦτα ὀρθῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

τίνα οὖν δὴ νοῦ κίνησις φύσιν ἔχει; τοῦτο ἤδη χαλεπόν, ὦ φίλοι, ἐρώτημα ἀποκρινόμενον εἰπεῖν ἐμφρόνως: διὸ δὴ καὶ ἐμὲ τῆς ἀποκρίσεως ὑμῖν δίκαιον τὰ νῦν προσλαμβάνειν.

Κλεινίας

εὖ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

μὴ τοίνυν ἐξ ἐναντίας οἷον εἰς ἥλιον ἀποβλέποντες, νύκτα ἐν μεσημβρίᾳ ἐπαγόμενοι, ποιησώμεθα τὴν ἀπόκρισιν, ὡς νοῦν ποτε θνητοῖς ὄμμασιν ὀψόμενοί τε καὶ γνωσόμενοι [897ε] ἱκανῶς: πρὸς δὲ εἰκόνα τοῦ ἐρωτωμένου βλέποντας ἀσφαλέστερον ὁρᾶν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἧι προσέοικεν κινήσει νοῦς τῶν δέκα ἐκείνων κινήσεων, τὴν εἰκόνα λάβωμεν: ἣν συναναμνησθεὶς ὑμῖν ἐγὼ κοινῇ τὴν ἀπόκρισιν ποιήσομαι.

Κλεινίας

κάλλιστα ἂν λέγοις.

Ἀθηναῖος

μεμνήμεθα τοίνυν τῶν τότε ἔτι τοῦτό γε, ὅτι τῶν πάντων τὰ μὲν κινεῖσθαι, τὰ δὲ μένειν ἔθεμεν;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τῶν δ᾽ αὖ κινουμένων τὰ μὲν ἐν ἑνὶ τόπῳ κινεῖσθαι, [898α] τὰ δ᾽ ἐν πλείοσιν φερόμενα.

Κλεινίας

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτοιν δὴ τοῖν κινησέοιν τὴν ἐν ἑνὶ φερομένην ἀεὶ περί γέ τι μέσον ἀνάγκη κινεῖσθαι, τῶν ἐντόρνων οὖσαν μίμημά τι κύκλων, εἶναί τε αὐτὴν τῇ τοῦ νοῦ περιόδῳ πάντως ὡς δυνατὸν οἰκειοτάτην τε καὶ ὁμοίαν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ κατὰ ταὐτὰ δήπου καὶ ὡσαύτως καὶ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ καὶ περὶ τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ πρὸς τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ ἕνα λόγον καὶ τάξιν [898β] μίαν ἄμφω κινεῖσθαι λέγοντες, νοῦν τήν τε ἐν ἑνὶ φερομένην κίνησιν, σφαίρας ἐντόρνου ἀπεικασμένα φοραῖς, οὐκ ἄν ποτε φανεῖμεν φαῦλοι δημιουργοὶ λόγῳ καλῶν εἰκόνων.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν αὖ ἥ γε μηδέποτε ὡσαύτως μηδὲ κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ μηδὲ ἐν ταὐτῷ μηδὲ περὶ ταὐτὰ μηδὲ πρὸς ταὐτὰ μηδ᾽ ἐν ἑνὶ φερομένη μηδ᾽ ἐν κόσμῳ μηδ᾽ ἐν τάξει μηδὲ ἔν τινι λόγῳ κίνησις ἀνοίας ἂν ἁπάσης εἴη συγγενής;

Κλεινίας

εἴη γὰρ ἂν ἀληθέστατα. [898ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν δὴ χαλεπὸν οὐδὲν ἔτι διαρρήδην εἰπεῖν ὡς, ἐπειδὴ ψυχὴ μέν ἐστιν ἡ περιάγουσα ἡμῖν πάντα, τὴν δὲ οὐρανοῦ περιφορὰν ἐξ ἀνάγκης περιάγειν φατέον ἐπιμελουμένην καὶ κοσμοῦσαν ἤτοι τὴν ἀρίστην ψυχὴν ἢ τὴν ἐναντίαν.

Κλεινίας

ὦ ξένε, ἀλλὰ ἔκ γε τῶν νῦν εἰρημένων οὐδ᾽ ὅσιον ἄλλως λέγειν ἢ πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν ἔχουσαν ψυχὴν μίαν ἢ πλείους περιάγειν αὐτά.

Ἀθηναῖος

κάλλιστα, ὦ Κλεινία, ὑπήκουσας τοῖς λόγοις: τόδε [898δ] δὲ προσυπάκουσον ἔτι.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

Ἥλιον καὶ σελήνην καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ἄστρα, εἴπερ ψυχὴ περιάγει πάντα, ἆρ᾽ οὐ καὶ ἓν ἕκαστον;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

περὶ ἑνὸς δὴ ποιησώμεθα λόγους, οἳ καὶ ἐπὶ πάντα ἡμῖν ἄστρα ἁρμόττοντες φανοῦνται.

Κλεινίας

τίνος;

Ἀθηναῖος

Ἡλίου πᾶς ἄνθρωπος σῶμα μὲν ὁρᾷ, ψυχὴν δὲ οὐδείς: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἄλλου σώματος οὐδενὸς οὔτε ζῶντος οὔτε ἀποθνῄσκοντος τῶν ζῴων, ἀλλὰ ἐλπὶς πολλὴ τὸ παράπαν [898ε] τὸ γένος ἡμῖν τοῦτο ἀναίσθητον πάσαις ταῖς τοῦ σώματος αἰσθήσεσι περιπεφυκέναι, νοητὸν δ᾽ εἶναι. νῷ μόνῳ δὴ καὶ διανοήματι λάβωμεν αὐτοῦ πέρι τὸ τοιόνδε.

Κλεινίας

ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

Ἥλιον εἴπερ ἄγει ψυχή, τριῶν αὐτὴν ἓν λέγοντες δρᾶν σχεδὸν οὐκ ἀποτευξόμεθα.

Κλεινίας

τίνων;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὡς ἢ ἐνοῦσα ἐντὸς τῷ περιφερεῖ τούτῳ φαινομένῳ σώματι πάντῃ διακομίζει τὸ τοιοῦτον, καθάπερ ἡμᾶς ἡ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν ψυχὴ πάντῃ περιφέρει: ἤ ποθεν ἔξωθεν σῶμα αὑτῇ [899α] πορισαμένη πυρὸς ἤ τινος ἀέρος, ὡς λόγος ἐστί τινων, ὠθεῖ βίᾳ σώματι σῶμα: ἢ τρίτον αὐτὴ ψιλὴ σώματος οὖσα, ἔχουσα δὲ δυνάμεις ἄλλας τινὰς ὑπερβαλλούσας θαύματι, ποδηγεῖ.

Κλεινίας

ναί, τοῦτο μὲν ἀνάγκη, τούτων ἕν γέ τι δρῶσαν ψυχὴν πάντα διάγειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

αὐτοῦ δὴ ἄμεινον ταύτην τὴν ψυχήν, εἴτε ἐν ἅρμασιν ἔχουσα ἡμῖν ἥλιον ἄγει φῶς τοῖς ἅπασιν, εἴτε ἔξωθεν, εἴθ᾽ ὅπως εἴθ᾽ ὅπῃ, θεὸν ἡγεῖσθαι χρεὼν πάντα ἄνδρα. ἢ πῶς; [899β]

Κλεινίας

ναί, τόν γέ που μὴ ἐπὶ τὸ ἔσχατον ἀφιγμένον ἀνοίας.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἄστρων δὴ πέρι πάντων καὶ σελήνης, ἐνιαυτῶν τε καὶ μηνῶν καὶ πασῶν ὡρῶν πέρι, τίνα ἄλλον λόγον ἐροῦμεν ἢ τὸν αὐτὸν τοῦτον, ὡς ἐπειδὴ ψυχὴ μὲν ἢ ψυχαὶ πάντων τούτων αἴτιαι ἐφάνησαν, ἀγαθαὶ δὲ πᾶσαν ἀρετήν, θεοὺς αὐτὰς εἶναι φήσομεν, εἴτε ἐν σώμασιν ἐνοῦσαι, ζῷα ὄντα, κοσμοῦσιν πάντα οὐρανόν, εἴτε ὅπῃ τε καὶ ὅπως; ἔσθ᾽ ὅστις ταῦτα ὁμολογῶν ὑπομενεῖ μὴ θεῶν εἶναι πλήρη πάντα; [899ξ]

Κλεινίας

οὐκ ἔστιν οὕτως, ὦ ξένε, παραφρονῶν οὐδείς.

Ἀθηναῖος

τῷ μὲν τοίνυν μὴ νομίζοντι θεοὺς ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν χρόνῳ, ὦ Μέγιλλέ τε καὶ Κλεινία, εἰπόντες ὅρους ἀπαλλαττώμεθα.

Κλεινίας

τίνας;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἢ διδάσκειν ἡμᾶς ὡς οὐκ ὀρθῶς λέγομεν τιθέμενοι ψυχὴν γένεσιν ἁπάντων εἶναι πρώτην, καὶ τἆλλα ὁπόσα τούτων συνεπόμενα εἴπομεν, ἢ μὴ δυνάμενον βέλτιον λέγειν ἡμῶν, ἡμῖν πείθεσθαι καὶ ζῆν θεοὺς ἡγούμενον εἰς τὸν ἐπίλοιπον [899δ] βίον. ὁρῶμεν οὖν εἴτε ἱκανῶς ἤδη τοῖς οὐχ ἡγουμένοις θεοὺς εἰρήκαμεν ὡς εἰσὶν θεοί, εἴτε ἐπιδεῶς.

Κλεινίας

ἥκιστά γε, ὦ ξένε, πάντων ἐπιδεῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτοις μὲν τοίνυν ἡμῖν τὸ λόγων τέλος ἐχέτω: τὸν δὲ ἡγούμενον μὲν θεοὺς εἶναι, μὴ φροντίζειν δὲ αὐτοὺς τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων πραγμάτων, παραμυθητέον. ὦ ἄριστε δὴ φῶμεν, ὅτι μὲν ἡγῇ θεούς, συγγένειά τις ἴσως σε θεία πρὸς τὸ σύμφυτον ἄγει τιμᾶν καὶ νομίζειν εἶναι: κακῶν δὲ [899ε] ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἀδίκων τύχαι ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, ἀληθείᾳ μὲν οὐκ εὐδαίμονες, δόξαις δὲ εὐδαιμονιζόμεναι σφόδρα ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐμμελῶς, ἄγουσί σε πρὸς ἀσέβειαν, ἔν τε μούσαις οὐκ ὀρθῶς ὑμνούμεναι ἅμα καὶ ἐν παντοίοις λόγοις. ἢ καὶ πρὸς τέλος ἴσως ἀνθρώπους ὁρῶν ἐλθόντας γηραιούς, [900α] παῖδας παίδων καταλιπόντας ἐν τιμαῖς ταῖς μεγίσταις, ταράττῃ τὸ νῦν ἐν ἅπασι τούτοις ἰδών, ἢ δι᾽ ἀκοῆς αἰσθόμενος ἢ καὶ παντάπασιν αὐτὸς αὐτόπτης, προστυχὴς πολλῶν ἀσεβημάτων καὶ δεινῶν γενομένων τισίν, δι᾽ αὐτὰ ταῦτα ἐκ σμικρῶν εἰς τυραννίδας τε καὶ τὰ μέγιστα ἀφικομένους: τότε διὰ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα δῆλος εἶ μέμφεσθαι μὲν θεοὺς ὡς αἰτίους ὄντας τῶν τοιούτων διὰ συγγένειαν οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλων, ἀγόμενος δὲ ὑπό τε ἀλογίας ἅμα καὶ οὐ δυνάμενος δυσχεραίνειν [900β] θεούς, εἰς τοῦτο νῦν τὸ πάθος ἐλήλυθας, ὥστ᾽ εἶναι μὲν δοκεῖν αὐτούς, τῶν δὲ ἀνθρωπίνων καταφρονεῖν καὶ ἀμελεῖν πραγμάτων. ἵνα οὖν μὴ ἐπὶ μεῖζον ἔλθῃ σοι πάθος πρὸς ἀσέβειαν τὸ νῦν παρὸν δόγμα, ἀλλ᾽ ἐάν πως οἷον ἀποδιοπομπήσασθαι λόγοις αὐτὸ προσιὸν γενώμεθα δυνατοί, πειρώμεθα, συνάψαντες τὸν ἑξῆς λόγον ᾧ πρὸς τὸν τὸ παράπαν οὐχ ἡγούμενον θεοὺς ἐξ ἀρχῆς διεπερανάμεθα, [900ξ] τούτῳ τὰ νῦν προσχρήσασθαι. σὺ δ᾽, ὦ Κλεινία τε καὶ Μέγιλλε, ὑπὲρ τοῦ νέου καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἀποκρινόμενοι διαδέχεσθε: ἂν δέ τι δύσκολον ἐμπίπτῃ τοῖς λόγοις, ἐγὼ σφῷν ὥσπερ νυνδὴ δεξάμενος διαβιβῶ τὸν ποταμόν.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς λέγεις: καὶ σύ τε οὕτω ταῦτα δρᾶ, ποιήσομέν τε ἡμεῖς εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ἃ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲν τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως εἴη χαλεπὸν ἐνδείξασθαι τοῦτό γε, ὡς ἐπιμελεῖς σμικρῶν εἰσιν θεοὶ οὐχ ἧττον, μᾶλλον [900δ] δέ, ἢ τῶν μεγέθει διαφερόντων. ἤκουε γάρ που καὶ παρῆν τοῖς νυνδὴ λεγομένοις, ὡς ἀγαθοί γε ὄντες πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν τὴν τῶν πάντων ἐπιμέλειαν οἰκειοτάτην αὑτῶν οὖσαν κέκτηνται.

Κλεινίας

καὶ σφόδρα γε ἐπήκουεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο τοίνυν κοινῇ συνεξεταζόντων τίνα λέγοντες ἀρετὴν αὐτῶν ὁμολογοῦμεν αὐτοὺς ἀγαθοὺς εἶναι. φέρε, τὸ σωφρονεῖν νοῦν τε κεκτῆσθαί φαμεν ἀρετῆς, τὰ δ᾽ ἐναντία κακίας;

Κλεινίας

φαμέν. [900ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; ἀρετῆς μὲν ἀνδρείαν εἶναι, δειλίαν δὲ κακίας;

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τὰ μὲν αἰσχρὰ τούτων, τὰ δὲ καλὰ φήσομεν;

Κλεινίας

ἀνάγκη.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ τῶν μὲν προσήκειν ἡμῖν, εἴπερ, ὁπόσα φλαῦρα, θεοῖς δὲ οὔτε μέγα οὔτε σμικρὸν τῶν τοιούτων μετὸν ἐροῦμεν;

Κλεινίας

καὶ ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως ὁμολογοῖ πᾶς ἄν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; ἀμέλειάν τε καὶ ἀργίαν καὶ τρυφὴν εἰς ἀρετὴν ψυχῆς θήσομεν, ἢ πῶς λέγεις;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ εἰς τοὐναντίον;

Κλεινίας

ναί. [901α]

Ἀθηναῖος

τἀναντία ἄρα τούτοις εἰς τοὐναντίον;

Κλεινίας

τοὐναντίον.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν δή; τρυφῶν καὶ ἀμελὴς ἀργός τε, ὃν ὁ ποιητὴς κηφῆσι κοθούροισι μάλιστα εἴκελον ἔφασκεν εἶναι, γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν [ὁ] τοιοῦτος πᾶς ἡμῖν;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατά γε εἰπών.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τόν γε θεὸν οὐ ῥητέον ἔχειν ἦθος τοιοῦτον, ὅ γέ τοι αὐτὸς μισεῖ, τῷ τέ τι τοιοῦτον φθέγγεσθαι πειρωμένῳ οὐκ ἐπιτρεπτέον.

Κλεινίας

οὐ μὲν δή: πῶς γὰρ ἄν; [901β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ὧι δὴ προσήκει μὲν πράττειν καὶ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι διαφερόντως τινός, ὁ δὲ τούτου γε νοῦς τῶν μὲν μεγάλων ἐπιμελεῖται, τῶν σμικρῶν δὲ ἀμελεῖ, κατὰ τίνα ἐπαινοῦντες τὸν τοιοῦτον λόγον οὐκ ἂν παντάπασι πλημμελοῖμεν; σκοπῶμεν δὲ ὧδε. ἆρ᾽ οὐ κατὰ δύο εἴδη τὸ τοιοῦτον πράττει ὁ πράττων, εἴτε θεὸς εἴτ᾽ ἄνθρωπος;

Κλεινίας

ποίω δὴ λέγομεν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἢ διαφέρον οὐδὲν οἰόμενος εἶναι τῷ ὅλῳ ἀμελουμένων [901ξ] τῶν σμικρῶν, ἢ ῥᾳθυμίᾳ καὶ τρυφῇ, εἰ διαφέρει, ὁ δὲ ἀμελεῖ. ἢ ἔστιν ἄλλως πως γιγνομένη ἀμέλεια; οὐ γάρ που ὅταν γε ἀδύνατον ᾖ τῶν ἁπάντων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, τότε ἀμέλεια ἔσται τῶν σμικρῶν ἢ μεγάλων, μὴ ἐπιμελουμένῳ ὧν ἂν δυνάμει θεὸς ἢ φαῦλός τις ὢν ἐλλιπὴς καὶ μὴ δυνατὸς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι γίγνηται.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν δὴ δύ᾽ ὄντες τρισὶν ἡμῖν οὖσιν ἀποκρινάσθωσαν [901δ] οἱ θεοὺς μὲν ἀμφότεροι ὁμολογοῦντες εἶναι, παραιτητοὺς δὲ ἅτερος, ὁ δὲ ἀμελεῖς τῶν σμικρῶν. πρῶτον μὲν θεοὺς ἀμφότεροί φατε γιγνώσκειν καὶ ὁρᾶν καὶ ἀκούειν πάντα, λαθεῖν δὲ αὐτοὺς οὐδὲν δυνατὸν εἶναι τῶν ὁπόσων εἰσὶν αἱ αἰσθήσεις τε καὶ ἐπιστῆμαι: ταύτῃ λέγετε ἔχειν ταῦτα, ἢ πῶς;

Κλεινίας

οὕτως.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; δύνασθαι πάντα ὁπόσων αὖ δύναμίς ἐστιν θνητοῖς τε καὶ ἀθανάτοις;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὐ συγχωρήσονται καὶ ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν; [901ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν ἀγαθούς γε καὶ ἀρίστους ὡμολογήκαμεν αὐτοὺς εἶναι πέντε ὄντες.

Κλεινίας

σφόδρα γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐ ῥᾳθυμίᾳ μὲν καὶ τρυφῇ ἀδύνατον αὐτοὺς ὁμολογεῖν πράττειν ὁτιοῦν τὸ παράπαν, ὄντας γε οἵους ὁμολογοῦμεν; δειλίας γὰρ ἔκγονος ἔν γε ἡμῖν ἀργία, ῥᾳθυμία δὲ ἀργίας καὶ τρυφῆς.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀργίᾳ μὲν δὴ καὶ ῥᾳθυμίᾳ οὐδεὶς ἀμελεῖ θεῶν: οὐ γὰρ μέτεστιν αὐτῷ που δειλίας.

Κλεινίας

ὀρθότατα λέγεις. [902α]

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν τὸ λοιπόν, εἴπερ ἀμελοῦσι τῶν σμικρῶν καὶ ὀλίγων τῶν περὶ τὸ πᾶν, ἢ γιγνώσκοντες ὡς τὸ παράπαν οὐδενὸς τῶν τοιούτων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι δεῖ, δρῷεν ἂν τοῦτο, ἢ τί τὸ λοιπὸν πλὴν τῷ γιγνώσκειν τοὐναντίον;

Κλεινίας

οὐδέν.

Ἀθηναῖος

πότερον οὖν, ὦ ἄριστε καὶ βέλτιστε, θῶμέν σε λέγοντα ὡς ἀγνοοῦντάς τε καὶ δέον ἐπιμελεῖσθαι δι᾽ ἄγνοιαν ἀμελοῦντας, ἢ γιγνώσκοντας ὅτι δεῖ, καθάπερ οἱ φαυλότατοι τῶν ἀνθρώπων λέγονται ποιεῖν, εἰδότες ἄλλα εἶναι βελτίω [902β] πράττειν ὧν δὴ πράττουσιν, διά τινας ἥττας ἡδονῶν ἢ λυπῶν οὐ ποιεῖν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν δὴ τά γε ἀνθρώπινα πράγματα τῆς τε ἐμψύχου μετέχει φύσεως ἅμα, καὶ θεοσεβέστατον αὐτό ἐστι πάντων ζῴων ἄνθρωπος;

Κλεινίας

ἔοικε γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

θεῶν γε μὴν κτήματά φαμεν εἶναι πάντα ὁπόσα θνητὰ ζῷα, ὧνπερ καὶ τὸν οὐρανὸν ὅλον.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἤδη τοίνυν σμικρὰ ἢ μεγάλα τις φάτω ταῦτα εἶναι [902ξ] τοῖς θεοῖς: οὐδετέρως γὰρ τοῖς κεκτημένοις ἡμᾶς ἀμελεῖν ἂν εἴη προσῆκον, ἐπιμελεστάτοις γε οὖσι καὶ ἀρίστοις. σκοπῶμεν γὰρ δὴ καὶ τόδε ἔτι πρὸς τούτοις.

Κλεινίας

τὸ ποῖον;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ περί τε αἰσθήσεως καὶ δυνάμεως, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐναντίως ἀλλήλοιν πρὸς ῥᾳστώνην καὶ χαλεπότητά ἐστον πεφυκότε;

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὁρᾶν μέν που καὶ ἀκούειν τὰ σμικρὰ χαλεπώτερον ἢ τὰ μεγάλα, φέρειν δὲ αὖ καὶ κρατεῖν καὶ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τῶν σμικρῶν καὶ ὀλίγων παντὶ ῥᾷον ἢ τῶν ἐναντίων. [902δ]

Κλεινίας

καὶ πολύ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἰατρῷ δὲ προστεταγμένον ὅλον τι θεραπεύειν, βουλομένῳ καὶ δυναμένῳ τῶν μὲν μεγάλων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, τῶν μορίων δὲ καὶ σμικρῶν ἀμελοῦντι, ἕξει ποτὲ καλῶς αὐτῷ τὸ πᾶν;

Κλεινίας

οὐδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ μὴν οὐδὲ κυβερνήταις οὐδὲ στρατηγοῖς οὐδ᾽ οἰκονόμοις, οὐδ᾽ αὖ τισὶν πολιτικοῖς οὐδ᾽ ἄλλῳ τῶν τοιούτων οὐδενί, χωρὶς τῶν ὀλίγων καὶ σμικρῶν πολλὰ ἢ μεγάλα: οὐδὲ [902ε] γὰρ ἄνευ σμικρῶν τοὺς μεγάλους φασὶν λιθολόγοι λίθους εὖ κεῖσθαι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

μὴ τοίνυν τόν γε θεὸν ἀξιώσωμέν ποτε θνητῶν δημιουργῶν φαυλότερον, οἳ τὰ προσήκοντα αὑτοῖς ἔργα, ὅσῳπερ ἂν ἀμείνους ὦσιν, τόσῳ ἀκριβέστερα καὶ τελεώτερα μιᾷ τέχνῃ σμικρὰ καὶ μεγάλα ἀπεργάζονται: τὸν δὲ θεὸν ὄντα τε σοφώτατον βουλόμενόν τ᾽ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καὶ δυνάμενον, [903α] ὧν μὲν ῥᾷον ἦν ἐπιμεληθῆναι σμικρῶν ὄντων, μηδαμῇ ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καθάπερ ἀργὸν ἢ δειλόν τινα διὰ πόνους ῥᾳθυμοῦντα, τῶν δὲ μεγάλων.

Κλεινίας

μηδαμῶς δόξαν τοιαύτην περὶ θεῶν, ὦ ξένε, ἀποδεχώμεθα: οὐδαμῇ γὰρ οὔτε ὅσιον οὔτ᾽ ἀληθὲς τὸ διανόημα διανοοίμεθ᾽ ἄν.

Ἀθηναῖος

δοκοῦμεν δέ μοι νῦν ἤδη μάλιστα μετρίως διειλέχθαι τῷ φιλαιτίῳ τῆς ἀμελείας πέρι θεῶν.

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

τῷ γε βιάζεσθαι τοῖς λόγοις ὁμολογεῖν αὐτὸν μὴ [903β] λέγειν ὀρθῶς: ἐπῳδῶν γε μὴν προσδεῖσθαί μοι δοκεῖ μύθων ἔτι τινῶν.

Κλεινίας

ποίων, ὠγαθέ;

Ἀθηναῖος

πείθωμεν τὸν νεανίαν τοῖς λόγοις ὡς τῷ τοῦ παντὸς ἐπιμελουμένῳ πρὸς τὴν σωτηρίαν καὶ ἀρετὴν τοῦ ὅλου πάντ᾽ ἐστὶ συντεταγμένα, ὧν καὶ τὸ μέρος εἰς δύναμιν ἕκαστον τὸ προσῆκον πάσχει καὶ ποιεῖ. τούτοις δ᾽ εἰσὶν ἄρχοντες προστεταγμένοι ἑκάστοις ἐπὶ τὸ σμικρότατον ἀεὶ πάθης καὶ πράξεως, εἰς μερισμὸν τὸν ἔσχατον τέλος ἀπειργασμένοι: [903ξ] ὧν ἓν καὶ τὸ σόν, ὦ σχέτλιε, μόριον εἰς τὸ πᾶν συντείνει βλέπον ἀεί, καίπερ πάνσμικρον ὄν, σὲ δὲ λέληθεν περὶ τοῦτο αὐτὸ ὡς γένεσις ἕνεκα ἐκείνου γίγνεται πᾶσα, ὅπως ᾖ τῷ τοῦ παντὸς βίῳ ὑπάρχουσα εὐδαίμων οὐσία, οὐχ ἕνεκα σοῦ γιγνομένη, σὺ δ᾽ ἕνεκα ἐκείνου. πᾶς γὰρ ἰατρὸς καὶ πᾶς ἔντεχνος δημιουργὸς παντὸς μὲν ἕνεκα πάντα ἐργάζεται, πρὸς τὸ κοινῇ συντεῖνον βέλτιστον μέρος μὴν ἕνεκα ὅλου καὶ οὐχ [903δ] ὅλον μέρους ἕνεκα ἀπεργάζεται: σὺ δὲ ἀγανακτεῖς, ἀγνοῶν ὅπῃ τὸ περὶ σὲ ἄριστον τῷ παντὶ συμβαίνει καὶ σοὶ κατὰ δύναμιν τὴν τῆς κοινῆς γενέσεως. ἐπεὶ δὲ ἀεὶ ψυχὴ συντεταγμένη σώματι τοτὲ μὲν ἄλλῳ, τοτὲ δὲ ἄλλῳ, μεταβάλλει παντοίας μεταβολὰς δι᾽ ἑαυτὴν ἢ δι᾽ ἑτέραν ψυχήν, οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἔργον τῷ πεττευτῇ λείπεται πλὴν μετατιθέναι τὸ μὲν ἄμεινον γιγνόμενον ἦθος εἰς βελτίω τόπον, χεῖρον δὲ εἰς τὸν χείρονα, κατὰ τὸ πρέπον αὐτῶν ἕκαστον, ἵνα τῆς προσηκούσης [903ε] μοίρας λαγχάνῃ.

Κλεινίας

πῇ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἧιπερ ἂν ἔχοι ῥᾳστώνης ἐπιμελείας θεοῖς τῶν πάντων, ταύτῃ μοι δοκῶ φράζειν. εἰ μὲν γὰρ πρὸς τὸ ὅλον ἀεὶ βλέπων πλάττοι τις μετασχηματίζων τὰ πάντα, οἷον ἐκ πυρὸς ὕδωρ ἔμψυχον, καὶ μὴ σύμπολλα ἐξ ἑνὸς ἢ [904α] ἐκ πολλῶν ἕν, πρώτης ἢ δευτέρας ἢ καὶ τρίτης γενέσεως μετειληφότα πλήθεσιν ἄπειρ᾽ ἂν εἴη τῆς μετατιθεμένης κοσμήσεως: νῦν δ᾽ ἔστι θαυμαστὴ ῥᾳστώνη τῷ τοῦ παντὸς ἐπιμελουμένῳ.

Κλεινίας

πῶς αὖ λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ὧδε. ἐπειδὴ κατεῖδεν ἡμῶν ὁ βασιλεὺς ἐμψύχους οὔσας τὰς πράξεις ἁπάσας καὶ πολλὴν μὲν ἀρετὴν ἐν αὐταῖς οὖσαν, πολλὴν δὲ κακίαν, ἀνώλεθρον δὲ ὂν γενόμενον, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ αἰώνιον, ψυχὴν καὶ σῶμα, καθάπερ οἱ κατὰ νόμον ὄντες [904β] θεοί-γένεσις γὰρ οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἦν ζῴων ἀπολομένου τούτοιν θατέρου-καὶ τὸ μὲν ὠφελεῖν ἀεὶ πεφυκός, ὅσον ἀγαθὸν ψυχῆς, διενοήθη, τὸ δὲ κακὸν βλάπτειν: ταῦτα πάντα συνιδών, ἐμηχανήσατο ποῦ κείμενον ἕκαστον τῶν μερῶν νικῶσαν ἀρετήν, ἡττωμένην δὲ κακίαν, ἐν τῷ παντὶ παρέχοι μάλιστ᾽ ἂν καὶ ῥᾷστα καὶ ἄριστα. μεμηχάνηται δὴ πρὸς πᾶν τοῦτο τὸ ποῖόν τι γιγνόμενον ἀεὶ ποίαν ἕδραν δεῖ μεταλαμβάνον οἰκίζεσθαι καὶ τίνας ποτὲ τόπους: τῆς δὲ γενέσεως τοῦ [904ξ] ποίου τινὸς ἀφῆκε ταῖς βουλήσεσιν ἑκάστων ἡμῶν τὰς αἰτίας. ὅπῃ γὰρ ἂν ἐπιθυμῇ καὶ ὁποῖός τις ὢν τὴν ψυχήν, ταύτῃ σχεδὸν ἑκάστοτε καὶ τοιοῦτος γίγνεται ἅπας ἡμῶν ὡς τὸ πολύ.

Κλεινίας

τὸ γοῦν εἰκός.

Ἀθηναῖος

μεταβάλλει μὲν τοίνυν πάνθ᾽ ὅσα μέτοχά ἐστιν ψυχῆς, ἐν ἑαυτοῖς κεκτημένα τὴν τῆς μεταβολῆς αἰτίαν, μεταβάλλοντα δὲ φέρεται κατὰ τὴν τῆς εἱμαρμένης τάξιν καὶ νόμον: σμικρότερα μὲν τῶν ἠθῶν μεταβάλλοντα ἐλάττω κατὰ τὸ τῆς χώρας ἐπίπεδον μεταπορεύεται, πλείω δὲ καὶ ἀδικώτερα [904δ] μεταπεσόντα, εἰς βάθος τά τε κάτω λεγόμενα τῶν τόπων, ὅσα Ἅιδην τε καὶ τὰ τούτων ἐχόμενα τῶν ὀνομάτων ἐπονομάζοντες σφόδρα φοβοῦνται καὶ ὀνειροπολοῦσιν ζῶντες διαλυθέντες τε τῶν σωμάτων. μείζω δὲ δὴ ψυχὴ κακίας ἢ ἀρετῆς ὁπόταν μεταλάβῃ διὰ τὴν αὑτῆς βούλησίν τε καὶ ὁμιλίαν γενομένην ἰσχυράν, ὁπόταν μὲν ἀρετῇ θείᾳ προσμείξασα γίγνηται διαφερόντως τοιαύτη, διαφέροντα καὶ μετέβαλεν [904ε] τόπον ἅγιον ὅλον, μετακομισθεῖσα εἰς ἀμείνω τινὰ τόπον ἕτερον: ὅταν δὲ τἀναντία, ἐπὶ τἀναντία μεθιδρύσασα τὸν αὑτῆς βίον.”αὕτη τοι δίκη ἐστὶ θεῶν οἳ Ὄλυμπον ἔχουσιν,

“Hom. Od. 19.43ὦ παῖ καὶ νεανίσκε ἀμελεῖσθαι δοκῶν ὑπὸ θεῶν, κακίω μὲν γιγνόμενον πρὸς τὰς κακίους ψυχάς, ἀμείνω δὲ πρὸς τὰς ἀμείνους πορευόμενον, ἔν τε ζωῇ καὶ ἐν πᾶσι θανάτοις πάσχειν τε ἃ προσῆκον δρᾶν ἐστι τοῖς προσφερέσι τοὺς προσφερεῖς [905α] καὶ ποιεῖν. ταύτης τῆς δίκης οὔτε σὺ μή ποτε οὔτε εἰ ἄλλος ἀτυχὴς γενόμενος ἐπεύξηται περιγενέσθαι θεῶν: ἣν πασῶν δικῶν διαφερόντως ἔταξάν τε οἱ τάξαντες χρεών τε ἐξευλαβεῖσθαι τὸ παράπαν. οὐ γὰρ ἀμεληθήσῃ ποτὲ ὑπ᾽ αὐτῆς: οὐχ οὕτω σμικρὸς ὢν δύσῃ κατὰ τὸ τῆς γῆς βάθος, οὐδ᾽ ὑψηλὸς γενόμενος εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀναπτήσῃ, τείσεις δὲ αὐτῶν τὴν προσήκουσαν τιμωρίαν εἴτ᾽ ἐνθάδε μένων εἴτε καὶ [905β] ἐν Ἅιδου διαπορευθεὶς εἴτε καὶ τούτων εἰς ἀγριώτερον ἔτι διακομισθεὶς τόπον. ὁ αὐτὸς δὲ λόγος σοι καὶ περὶ ἐκείνων ἂν εἴη, τῶν οὓς σὺ κατιδὼν ἐκ σμικρῶν μεγάλους γεγονότας ἀνοσιουργήσαντας ἤ τι τοιοῦτον πράξαντας ᾠήθης ἐξ ἀθλίων εὐδαίμονας γεγονέναι, κᾆτα ὡς ἐν κατόπτροις αὐτῶν ταῖς πράξεσιν ἡγήσω καθεωρακέναι τὴν πάντων ἀμέλειαν θεῶν, οὐκ εἰδὼς αὐτῶν τὴν συντέλειαν ὅπῃ ποτὲ τῷ παντὶ συμβάλλεται. [905ξ] γιγνώσκειν δὲ αὐτήν, ὦ πάντων ἀνδρειότατε, πῶς οὐ δεῖν δοκεῖς; ἥν τις μὴ γιγνώσκων οὐδ᾽ ἂν τύπον ἴδοι ποτέ, οὐδὲ λόγον συμβάλλεσθαι περὶ βίου δυνατὸς ἂν γένοιτο εἰς εὐδαιμονίαν τε καὶ δυσδαίμονα τύχην. ταῦτα εἰ μέν σε πείθει Κλεινίας ὅδε καὶ σύμπασα ἡμῶν ἥδε ἡ γερουσία, περὶ θεῶν ὡς οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι λέγεις, καλῶς ἄν σοι θεὸς αὐτὸς συλλαμβάνοι: εἰ δ᾽ ἐπιδεὴς ἔτι λόγου τινὸς ἂν εἴης, λεγόντων ἡμῶν [905δ] πρὸς τὸν τρίτον ἐπάκουε, εἰ νοῦν καὶ ὁπωσοῦν ἔχεις. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ θεοί τ᾽ εἰσὶν καὶ ἀνθρώπων ἐπιμελοῦνται, ἔγωγε οὐ παντάπασιν φαύλως ἂν φαίην ἡμῖν ἀποδεδεῖχθαι: τὸ δὲ παραιτητοὺς αὖ θεοὺς εἶναι τοῖσιν ἀδικοῦσι, δεχομένους δῶρα, οὔτε τινὶ συγχωρητέον παντί τ᾽ αὖ κατὰ δύναμιν τρόπῳ ἐλεγκτέον.

Κλεινίας

κάλλιστ᾽ εἶπες, ποιῶμέν τε ὡς λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δὴ πρὸς θεῶν αὐτῶν, τίνα τρόπον παραιτητοὶ [905ε] γίγνοιντ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν, εἰ γίγνοιντο αὖ; καὶ τίνες ἢ ποῖοί τινες ὄντες; ἄρχοντας μὲν ἀναγκαῖόν που γίγνεσθαι τούς γε διοικήσοντας τὸν ἅπαντα ἐντελεχῶς οὐρανόν.

Κλεινίας

οὕτως.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ ἄρα τίσιν προσφερεῖς τῶν ἀρχόντων; ἢ τίνες τούτοις, ὧν δυνατὸν ἡμῖν ἀπεικάζουσι τυγχάνειν μείζοσιν ἐλάττονας; πότερον ἡνίοχοί τινες ἂν εἶεν τοιοῦτοι ζευγῶν ἁμιλλωμένων ἢ πλοίων κυβερνῆται; τάχα δὲ κἂν ἀπεικασθεῖεν στρατοπέδων ἄρχουσί τισιν: εἴη δ᾽ ἂν καὶ νόσων πόλεμον εὐλαβουμένοις ἰατροῖς ἐοικέναι περὶ σώματα, ἢ [906α] γεωργοῖς περὶ φυτῶν γένεσιν εἰωθυίας ὥρας χαλεπὰς διὰ φόβων προσδεχομένοις, ἢ καὶ ποιμνίων ἐπιστάταις. ἐπειδὴ γὰρ συγκεχωρήκαμεν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς εἶναι μὲν τὸν οὐρανὸν πολλῶν μεστὸν ἀγαθῶν, εἶναι δὲ καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων, πλειόνων δὲ τῶν μή, μάχη δή, φαμέν, ἀθάνατός ἐσθ᾽ ἡ τοιαύτη καὶ φυλακῆς θαυμαστῆς δεομένη, σύμμαχοι δὲ ἡμῖν θεοί τε ἅμα καὶ δαίμονες, ἡμεῖς δ᾽ αὖ κτῆμα θεῶν καὶ δαιμόνων: φθείρει δὲ ἡμᾶς ἀδικία καὶ ὕβρις μετὰ ἀφροσύνης, σῴζει δὲ δικαιοσύνη [906β] καὶ σωφροσύνη μετὰ φρονήσεως, ἐν ταῖς τῶν θεῶν ἐμψύχοις οἰκοῦσαι δυνάμεσιν, βραχὺ δέ τι καὶ τῇδε ἄν τις τῶν τοιούτων ἐνοικοῦν ἡμῖν σαφὲς ἴδοι. ψυχαὶ δέ τινες ἐπὶ γῆς οἰκοῦσαι καὶ ἄδικον λῆμμα κεκτημέναι δῆλον ὅτι θηριώδεις, πρὸς τὰς τῶν φυλάκων ψυχὰς ἄρα κυνῶν ἢ τὰς τῶν νομέων ἢ πρὸς τὰς τῶν παντάπασιν ἀκροτάτων δεσποτῶν προσπίπτουσαι, πείθουσιν θωπείαις λόγων καὶ ἐν εὐκταίαις τισὶν ἐπῳδαῖς, [906ξ] ὡς αἱ φῆμαί φασιν αἱ τῶν κακῶν, ἐξεῖναι πλεονεκτοῦσιν σφίσιν ἐν ἀνθρώποις πάσχειν μηδὲν χαλεπόν: φαμὲν δ᾽ εἶναί που τὸ νῦν ὀνομαζόμενον ἁμάρτημα, τὴν πλεονεξίαν, ἐν μὲν σαρκίνοις σώμασι νόσημα καλούμενον, ἐν δὲ ὥραις ἐτῶν καὶ ἐνιαυτοῖς λοιμόν, ἐν δὲ πόλεσι καὶ πολιτείαις τοῦτο αὐτό, ῥήματι μετεσχηματισμένον, ἀδικίαν.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτον δὴ τὸν λόγον ἀναγκαῖον λέγειν τὸν λέγοντα [906δ] ὡς εἰσὶν συγγνώμονες ἀεὶ θεοὶ τοῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀδίκοις καὶ ἀδικοῦσιν, ἂν αὐτοῖς τῶν ἀδικημάτων τις ἀπονέμῃ: καθάπερ κυσὶν λύκοι τῶν ἁρπασμάτων σμικρὰ ἀπονέμοιεν, οἱ δὲ ἡμερούμενοι τοῖς δώροις συγχωροῖεν τὰ ποίμνια διαρπάζειν. ἆρ᾽ οὐχ οὗτος ὁ λόγος ὁ τῶν φασκόντων παραιτητοὺς εἶναι θεούς;

Κλεινίας

οὗτος μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τίσιν οὖν δὴ τῶν προρρηθέντων ἀπεικάζων ὁμοίους φύλακας εἶναι θεοὺς οὐκ ἂν καταγέλαστος γίγνοιτο ἀνθρώπων [906ε] ὁστισοῦν; πότερον κυβερνήταις, λοιβῇ τε οἴνου κνίσῃ τε παρατρεπομένοις αὐτοῖς, ἀνατρέπουσι δὲ ναῦς τε καὶ ναύτας;

Κλεινίας

μηδαμῶς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ οὔτι μὴν ἡνιόχοισί γε ἐν ἁμίλλῃ συντεταγμένοις, πεισθεῖσιν ὑπὸ δωρεᾶς ἑτέροισι τὴν νίκην ζεύγεσι προδοῦναι.

Κλεινίας

δεινὴν γὰρ εἰκόνα λέγοις ἂν λέγων τὸν λόγον τοῦτον.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ μὴν οὐδὲ στρατηγοῖς γε οὐδ᾽ ἰατροῖς οὐδὲ γεωργοῖς, οὐδὲ νομεῦσιν μὴν οὐδέ τισι κυσὶν κεκηλημένοις ὑπὸ λύκων. [907α]

Κλεινίας

εὐφήμει: πῶς γὰρ ἄν;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πάντων φυλάκων εἰσὶ μέγιστοι καὶ περὶ τὰ μέγιστα ἡμῖν οἱ πάντες θεοί;

Κλεινίας

πολύ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοὺς δὴ κάλλιστά τε πράγματα φυλάττοντας, διαφέροντάς τε αὐτοὺς φυλακῇ πρὸς ἀρετήν, κυνῶν χείρους καὶ ἀνθρώπων μέσων εἶναι φήσομεν, οἳ τὸ δίκαιον οὐκ ἄν ποτε προδοῖεν ἕνεκα δώρων παρὰ ἀδίκων ἀνδρῶν ἀνοσίως διδομένων; [907β]

Κλεινίας

οὐδαμῶς: οὔτε ἀνεκτὸς λόγων, τῶν τε περὶ πᾶσαν ἀσέβειαν ὄντων κινδυνεύει πᾶς ὁ ταύτης τῆς δόξης ἀντεχόμενος πάντων ἂν τῶν ἀσεβῶν κεκρίσθαι δικαιότατα κάκιστός τε εἶναι καὶ ἀσεβέστατος.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰ μὲν δὴ προτεθέντα τρία, θεοί τε ὡς εἰσίν, καὶ ὡς ἐπιμελεῖς, καὶ παρὰ τὸ δίκαιον ὡς παντάπασιν ἀπαραίτητοι, φῶμεν ἱκανῶς ἀποδεδεῖχθαί που;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ; καὶ σύμψηφοί γε τούτοις τοῖς λόγοις ἐσμέν.

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν εἴρηνταί γέ πως σφοδρότερον διὰ φιλονικίαν [907ξ] τῶν κακῶν ἀνθρώπων: τούτου γε μὴν ἕνεκα, ὦ φίλε Κλεινία, πεφιλονίκηνται, μή ποτε λόγοις ἡγῶνται κρατοῦντες ἐξουσίαν εἶναι σφίσιν ἃ βούλονται πράττειν οἱ κακοί, ἃ δὴ καὶ ὅσα καὶ οἷα περὶ θεοὺς διανοοῦνται. προθυμία μὲν δὴ διὰ ταῦτα νεωτέρως εἰπεῖν ἡμῖν γέγονεν: εἰ δέ τι καὶ βραχὺ προὔργου πεποιήκαμεν εἰς τὸ πείθειν πῃ τοὺς ἄνδρας ἑαυτοὺς μὲν μισῆσαι, τὰ δ᾽ ἐναντία πως ἤθη στέρξαι, καλῶς ἡμῖν εἰρημένον [907δ] ἂν εἴη τὸ προοίμιον ἀσεβείας πέρι νόμων.

Κλεινίας

ἀλλὰ ἐλπίς: εἰ δὲ μή, τό γε τοῦ λόγου γένος οὐκ αἰτιάσεται τὸν νομοθέτην.

Ἀθηναῖος

μετὰ τὸ προοίμιον τοίνυν λόγος οἷος ἂν τῶν νόμων ἑρμηνεὺς ὀρθῶς γίγνοιτο ἡμῖν, προαγορεύων ἐξίστασθαι πᾶσι τοῖς ἀσεβέσι τρόπων τῶν αὑτῶν εἰς τοὺς εὐσεβεῖς. τοῖς δὲ μὴ πειθομένοις ἀσεβείας ὅδε ἔστω πέρι νόμος: ἐάν τις ἀσεβῇ [907ε] λόγοις εἴτ᾽ ἔργοις, ὁ παρατυγχάνων ἀμυνέτω σημαίνων πρὸς ἄρχοντας, τῶν δὲ ἀρχόντων οἱ πρῶτοι πυθόμενοι πρὸς τὸ περὶ τούτων ἀποδεδειγμένον κρίνειν δικαστήριον εἰσαγαγόντων κατὰ τοὺς νόμους: ἐὰν δέ τις ἀκούσασα ἀρχὴ μὴ δρᾷ ταῦτα, αὐτὴ ἀσεβείας ὑπόδικος γιγνέσθω τῷ ἐθέλοντι τιμωρεῖν ὑπὲρ τῶν νόμων. ἐὰν δέ τις ὄφλῃ, τιμάτω τὸ δικαστήριον ἓν ἑκάστῳ τῶν καθ᾽ ἓν ἀσεβούντων τίμημα. [908α] δεσμὸς μὲν οὖν ὑπαρχέτω πᾶσιν: δεσμωτηρίων δὲ ὄντων ἐν τῇ πόλει τριῶν, ἑνὸς μὲν κοινοῦ τοῖς πλείστοις περὶ ἀγοράν, σωτηρίας ἕνεκα τοῖς πολλοῖς τῶν σωμάτων, ἑνὸς δὲ περὶ τὸν τῶν νύκτωρ συλλεγομένων σύλλογον, σωφρονιστήριον ἐπονομαζόμενον, ἑνὸς δὲ αὖ κατὰ μέσην τὴν χώραν, ὅπῃπερ ἂν ἔρημός τε καὶ ὡς ὅτι μάλιστα ἀγριώτατος ᾖ τόπος, τιμωρίας ἔχων ἐπωνυμίαν φήμην τινά: περὶ ἀσέβειαν δὲ ὄντων αἰτίαις [908β] μὲν τρισίν, αἷσπερ καὶ διήλθομεν, δύο δὲ ἐξ ἑκάστης τῆς τοιαύτης αἰτίας γενομένων, ἓξ ἂν γίγνοιντο ἃ καὶ διακρίσεως ἄξια γένη τῶν περὶ τὰ θεῖα ἐξαμαρτανόντων, οὐκ ἴσης οὐδ᾽ ὁμοίας δίκης δεόμενα. ᾧ γὰρ ἂν μὴ νομίζοντι θεοὺς εἶναι τὸ παράπαν ἦθος φύσει προσγένηται δίκαιον, μισοῦντές τε γίγνονται τοὺς κακούς, καὶ τῷ δυσχεραίνειν τὴν ἀδικίαν οὔτε τὰς τοιαύτας πράξεις προσίενται πράττειν, τούς τε μὴ δικαίους [908ξ] τῶν ἀνθρώπων φεύγουσι καὶ τοὺς δικαίους στέργουσιν: οἷς δ᾽ ἂν πρὸς τῇ δόξῃ τῇ θεῶν ἔρημα εἶναι πάντα ἀκράτειαί τε ἡδονῶν καὶ λυπῶν προσπέσωσι, μνῆμαί τε ἰσχυραὶ καὶ μαθήσεις ὀξεῖαι παρῶσι, τὸ μὲν μὴ νομίζειν θεοὺς ἀμφοῖν ἂν ἐνυπάρχοι κοινὸν πάθος, τῇ δὲ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων λώβῃ τὸ μὲν ἐλάττω, τὸ δὲ πλείω κακὰ ἐργάζοιτ᾽ ἄν. ὁ μὲν γὰρ λόγῳ τε ἂν περὶ θεοὺς παρρησίας εἴη μεστὸς καὶ περὶ θυσίας τε καὶ ὅρκους, καὶ ὡς τῶν ἄλλων καταγελῶν τάχ᾽ ἂν [908δ] ἑτέρους τοιούτους ἀπεργάζοιτο, δίκης μὴ τυγχάνων: ὁ δὲ δὴ δοξάζων μὲν καθάπερ ἅτερος, εὐφυὴς δὲ ἐπικαλούμενος, δόλου δὲ καὶ ἐνέδρας πλήρης, ἐξ ὧν μάντεις τε κατασκευάζονται πολλοὶ καὶ περὶ πᾶσαν τὴν μαγγανείαν κεκινημένοι, γίγνονται δὲ ἐξ αὐτῶν ἔστιν ὅτε καὶ τύραννοι καὶ δημηγόροι καὶ στρατηγοί, καὶ τελεταῖς δὲ ἰδίαις ἐπιβεβουλευκότες, σοφιστῶν τε ἐπικαλουμένων μηχαναί. τούτων δὴ πολλὰ [908ε] μὲν εἴδη γένοιτ᾽ ἄν, τὰ δὲ νόμων ἄξια θέσεως δύο, ὧν τὸ μὲν εἰρωνικὸν οὐχ ἑνὸς οὐδὲ δυοῖν ἄξια θανάτοιν ἁμαρτάνον, τὸ δὲ νουθετήσεως ἅμα καὶ δεσμῶν δεόμενον. ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ τὸ θεοὺς νομίζον ἀμελεῖν δύ᾽ ἕτερα γεννᾷ, καὶ τὸ παραιτητοὺς ἄλλα δύο. τούτων δὴ ταύτῃ διεστηκότων, τοὺς μὲν ὑπ᾽ ἀνοίας ἄνευ κάκης ὀργῆς τε καὶ ἤθους γεγενημένους εἰς τὸ [909α] σωφρονιστήριον ὁ δικαστὴς τιθέμενος νόμῳ τιθέσθω μηδὲν ἔλαττον ἐτῶν πέντε, ἐν τούτῳ δὲ τῷ χρόνῳ μηδεὶς τῶν πολιτῶν αὐτοῖς ἄλλος συγγιγνέσθω πλὴν οἱ τοῦ νυκτερινοῦ συλλόγου κοινωνοῦντες, ἐπὶ νουθετήσει τε καὶ τῇ τῆς ψυχῆς σωτηρίᾳ ὁμιλοῦντες: ὅταν δ᾽ ὁ χρόνος αὐτοῖς ἐξέλθῃ τῶν δεσμῶν, ἐὰν μὲν δοκῇ τις σωφρονεῖν αὐτῶν, οἰκείτω μετὰ τῶν σωφρόνων, ἐὰν δὲ μή, ὀφείλῃ δ᾽ αὖθις τὴν τοιαύτην δίκην, θανάτῳ ζημιούσθω. ὅσοι δ᾽ ἂν θηριώδεις γένωνται [909β] πρὸς τῷ θεοὺς μὴ νομίζειν ἢ ἀμελεῖς ἢ παραιτητοὺς εἶναι, καταφρονοῦντες δὲ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ψυχαγωγῶσι μὲν πολλοὺς τῶν ζώντων, τοὺς δὲ τεθνεῶτας φάσκοντες ψυχαγωγεῖν καὶ θεοὺς ὑπισχνούμενοι πείθειν, ὡς θυσίαις τε καὶ εὐχαῖς καὶ ἐπῳδαῖς γοητεύοντες, ἰδιώτας τε καὶ ὅλας οἰκίας καὶ πόλεις χρημάτων χάριν ἐπιχειρῶσιν κατ᾽ ἄκρας ἐξαιρεῖν, τούτων δὲ ὃς ἂν ὀφλὼν εἶναι δόξῃ, τιμάτω τὸ δικαστήριον αὐτῷ κατὰ [909ξ] νόμον δεδέσθαι μὲν ἐν τῷ τῶν μεσογέων δεσμωτηρίῳ, προσιέναι δὲ αὐτοῖς μηδένα ἐλεύθερον μηδέποτε, τακτὴν δὲ ὑπὸ τῶν νομοφυλάκων αὐτοὺς τροφὴν παρὰ τῶν οἰκετῶν λαμβάνειν. ἀποθανόντα δὲ ἔξω τῶν ὁρίων ἐκβάλλειν ἄταφον: ἐὰν δέ τις ἐλεύθερος συνθάπτῃ, δίκας ἀσεβείας τῷ ἐθέλοντι λαγχάνειν ὑπεχέτω. παῖδας δὲ ἂν μὲν καταλείπῃ τῇ πόλει ἱκανούς, οἱ τῶν ὀρφανῶν ἐπιμελούμενοι καὶ τούτων ὡς ὄντων [909δ] ὀρφανῶν ἐπιμελείσθων μηδὲν χεῖρον τῶν ἄλλων ἀπὸ τῆς ἡμέρας ἧς ἂν ὁ πατὴρ αὐτῶν ὄφλῃ τὴν δίκην.

κοινὸν δ᾽ ἐπὶ τούτοις πᾶσιν νόμον κεῖσθαι χρεών, ὃς ἐλάττω τε εἰς θεοὺς αὐτῶν τοὺς πολλοὺς ἔργῳ καὶ λόγῳ πλημμελεῖν ἂν ποιοῖ, καὶ δὴ καὶ ἀνοήτους ἧττον γίγνεσθαι, διὰ τὸ μὴ ἐξεῖναι θεοπολεῖν παρὰ νόμον. ἔστω γὰρ νόμος ὅδε τοῖς σύμπασιν κείμενος ἁπλῶς: Ἱερὰ μηδὲ εἷς ἐν ἰδίαις οἰκίαις ἐκτήσθω: θύειν δ᾽ ὅταν ἐπὶ νοῦν ἴῃ τινί, πρὸς τὰ δημόσια ἴτω θύσων, καὶ τοῖς ἱερεῦσί τε καὶ ἱερείαις ἐγχειριζέτω [909ε] τὰ θύματα, οἷς ἁγνεῖαι τούτων ἐπιμελεῖς. συνευξάσθω δὲ αὐτός τε καὶ ὃν ἂν ἐθέλῃ μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ συνεύχεσθαι. ταῦτα δὲ γιγνόμενα τῶν τοιῶνδε χάριν ἔστω. ἱερὰ καὶ θεοὺς οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἱδρύεσθαι, μεγάλης δὲ διανοίας τινὸς ὀρθῶς δρᾶν τὸ τοιοῦτον, ἔθος τε γυναιξί τε δὴ διαφερόντως πάσαις καὶ τοῖς ἀσθενοῦσι πάντῃ καὶ κινδυνεύουσι καὶ ἀποροῦσιν, ὅπῃ τις ἂν ἀπορῇ, καὶ τοὐναντίον ὅταν εὐπορίας τινὸς λάβωνται, καθιεροῦν τε τὸ παρὸν ἀεὶ καὶ θυσίας εὔχεσθαι καὶ ἱδρύσεις [910α] ὑπισχνεῖσθαι θεοῖς καὶ δαίμοσιν καὶ παισὶν θεῶν, ἔν τε φάσμασιν ἐγρηγορότας διὰ φόβους καὶ ἐν ὀνείροις, ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως ὄψεις πολλὰς ἀπομνημονεύοντας ἑκάσταισί τε αὐτῶν ἄκη ποιουμένους, βωμοὺς καὶ ἱερὰ πάσας μὲν οἰκίας, πάσας δὲ κώμας ἔν τε καθαροῖς ἱδρυομένους ἐμπιμπλάναι καὶ ὅπῃ τις ἔτυχε τῶν τοιούτων. ὧν ἕνεκα χρὴ πάντων ποιεῖν κατὰ τὸν νῦν λεγόμενον νόμον: πρὸς τούτοις δὲ ἕνεκα τῶν ἀσεβούντων, [910β] ἵνα μὴ καὶ ταῦτα κλέπτοντες ταῖς πράξεσιν, ἱερά τε καὶ βωμοὺς ἐν ἰδίαις οἰκίαις ἱδρυόμενοι, λάθρᾳ τοὺς θεοὺς ἵλεως οἰόμενοι ποιεῖν θυσίαις τε καὶ εὐχαῖς, εἰς ἄπειρον τὴν ἀδικίαν αὐξάνοντες αὑτοῖς τε ἐγκλήματα πρὸς θεῶν ποιῶνται καὶ τοῖς ἐπιτρέπουσιν, οὖσιν αὐτῶν βελτίοσιν, καὶ πᾶσα οὕτως ἡ πόλις ἀπολαύῃ τῶν ἀσεβῶν τρόπον τινὰ δικαίως. τὸν μὲν δὴ νομοθέτην ὁ θεὸς οὐ μέμψεται: κείσθω γὰρ νόμος οὗτος: μὴ κεκτῆσθαι θεῶν ἐν ἰδίαις οἰκίαις ἱερά, τὸν δὲ [910ξ] φανέντα κεκτημένον ἕτερα καὶ ὀργιάζοντα πλὴν τὰ δημόσια, ἐὰν μὲν ἄδικον μηδὲν τῶν μεγάλων καὶ ἀνοσίων εἰργασμένος ἀνὴρ ἢ καὶ γυνὴ κεκτῆταί τις, ὁ μὲν αἰσθανόμενος καὶ εἰσαγγελλέτω τοῖς νομοφύλαξιν, οἱ δὲ προσταττόντων εἰς τὰ δημόσια ἀποφέρειν ἱερὰ τὰ ἴδια, μὴ πείθοντες δὲ ζημιούντων ἕως ἂν ἀπενεχθῇ: ἐὰν δέ τις ἀσεβήσας μὴ παιδίων ἀλλ᾽ ἀνδρῶν ἀσέβημα ἀνοσίων γένηται φανερός, εἴτε ἐν ἰδίοις ἱδρυσάμενος εἴτ᾽ ἐν δημοσίοις θύσας ἱερὰ θεοῖς [910δ] οἱστισινοῦν, ὡς οὐ καθαρὸς ὢν θύων θανάτῳ ζημιούσθω. τὸ δὲ παίδειον ἢ μὴ κρίναντες οἱ νομοφύλακες, εἰς τὸ δικαστήριον οὕτως εἰσαγαγόντες, τὴν τῆς ἀσεβείας δίκην τούτοις ἐπιτελούντων.

Τόμος 11

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δὴ μετὰ ταῦτ’ εἴη συμβολαίων ἂν πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἡμῖν δεόμενα προσηκούσης τάξεως. ἁπλοῦν δέ γέ ἐστίν που τό γε τοιοῦτον· μήτε οὖν τις τῶν ἐμῶν χρημάτων ἅπτοιτο εἰς δύναμιν, μηδ’ αὖ κινήσειεν μηδὲ τὸ βραχύτατον ἐμὲ μηδαμῇ μηδαμῶς πείθων· κατὰ ταὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτα καὶ περὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἐγὼ δρώην, νοῦν ἔχων ἔμφρονα. θησαυρὸν δὴ λέγωμεν πρῶτον τῶν τοιούτων ὅν τις αὑτῷ καὶ τοῖς αὑτοῦ κειμήλιον ἔθετο, μὴ τῶν ἐμῶν ὢν πατέρων· μήθ’ εὑρεῖν ποτε θεοῖς εὐξαίμην μήθ’ εὑρὼν κινήσαιμι, μηδ’ αὖ τοῖς λεγομένοις μάντεσιν ἀνακοινώσαιμι τοῖς ἁμῶς γέ πώς μοι συμβουλεύουσιν ἀνελεῖν τὴν γῇ παρακαταθήκην. οὐ γάρ ποτε τοσοῦτον εἰς χρημάτων ὠφεληθείην ἂν κτῆσιν ἀνελών, ὅσον εἰς ὄγκον πρὸς ἀρετὴν ψυχῆς καὶ τὸ δίκαιον ἐπιδιδοίην μὴ ἀνελόμενος, κτῆμα ἀντὶ κτήματος ἄμεινον ἐν ἀμείνονι κτησάμενος, δίκην ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ πλούτου προτιμήσας ἐν οὐσίᾳ κεκτῆσθαι πρότερον· ἐπὶ πολλοῖς γὰρ δὴ λεγόμενον εὖ τὸ μὴ κινεῖν τὰ ἀκίνητα καὶ περὶ τούτου λέγοιτ’ ἂν ὡς ἑνὸς ἐκείνων ὄντος. πείθεσθαι δὲ χρὴ καὶ τοῖς περὶ ταῦτα λεγομένοις μύθοις, ὡς εἰς παίδων γενεὰν οὐ σύμφορα τὰ τοιαῦτα· ὃς δ’ ἂν παίδων τε ἀκηδὴς γένηται καί, τοῦ θέντος τὸν νόμον ἀμελήσας, ἃ μήτε αὐτὸς κατέθετο μήτε αὖ πατέρων τις πατήρ, μὴ πείσας τὸν θέμενον ἀνέληται, κάλλιστον νόμων διαφθείρων, ἁπλούστατον καὶ οὐδαμῇ ἀγεννοῦς ἀνδρὸς νομοθέτημα, ὃς εἶπεν· ἃ μὴ κατέθου, μὴ ἀνέλῃτούτοιν τοῖν δυοῖν νομοθέταιν καταφρονήσαντα καὶ ἀνελόμενον, οὔτι σμικρόν, ὃ μὴ κατέθετο αὐτός, πλῆθος δ’ ἔστιν ὅτε θησαυροῦ παμμέγεθες, τί χρὴ πάσχειν; ὑπὸ μὲν δὴ θεῶν, ὁ θεὸς οἶδεν· ὁ δὲ κατιδὼν πρῶτος ἀγγελλέτω, ἐὰν μὲν ἐν ἄστει γίγνηται τὸ τοιοῦτον, τοῖς ἀστυνόμοις, ἐὰν δὲ τῆς πόλεως ἐν ἀγορᾷ που, τοῖσιν ἀγορανόμοις, ἐὰν δὲ τῆς ἄλλης χώρας, ἀγρονόμοις τε καὶ τοῖς τούτων ἄρχουσι δηλωσάτω. δηλωθέντων δέ, ἡ πόλις εἰς Δελφοὺς πεμπέτω· ὅτι δ’ ἂν ὁ θεὸς ἀναιρῇ περί τε τῶν χρημάτων καὶ τοῦ κινήσαντος, τοῦτο ἡ πόλις ὑπηρετοῦσα ταῖς μαντείαις δράτω τοῦ θεοῦ. καὶ ἐὰν μὲν ἐλεύθερος ὁ μηνύσας ᾖ, δόξαν ἀρετῆς κεκτήσθω, μὴ μηνύσας δέ, κακίας· δοῦλος δ’ ἐὰν ᾖ, μηνύσας μὲν ἐλεύθερος ὑπὸ τῆς πόλεως ὀρθῶς γίγνοιτ’ ἂν ἀποδιδούσης τῷ δεσπότῃ τὴν τιμήν, μὴ μηνύων δὲ θανάτῳ ζημιούσθω. τούτῳ δ’ ἑπόμενον ἑξῆς ἂν γίγνοιτο τὸ περὶ σμικρὰ καὶ μεγάλα ταὐτὸν τοῦτο νόμιμον συνακολουθεῖν. ἄν τις τῶν αὑτοῦ τι καταλείπῃ που ἑκὼν εἴτ’ ἄκων, ὁ προστυγχάνων ἐάτω κεῖσθαι, νομίζων φυλάττειν ἐνοδίαν δαίμονα τὰ τοιαῦτα ὑπὸ τοῦ νόμου τῇ θεῷ καθιερωμένα. ἂν δὲ παρὰ ταῦτά τις ἀπειθῶν ἀναιρούμενος οἴκαδε φέρῃ, ἂν μὲν σμικρᾶς τιμῆς ἄξιον ὢν δοῦλος, ὑπὸ τοῦ προστυγχάνοντος μὴ ἔλαττον τριακονταέτους πολλὰς πληγὰς μαστιγούσθω· ἐὰν δέ τις ἐλεύθερος, πρὸς τῷ ἀνελεύθερος εἶναι δοκεῖν καὶ ἀκοινώνητος νόμων, δεκαπλάσιον τῆς τιμῆς τοῦ κινηθέντος ἀποτινέτω τῷ καταλιπόντι. ἐὰν δέ τις ἐπαιτιᾶται τῶν αὑτοῦ χρημάτων ἔχειν τινὰ πλέον ἢ καὶ σμικρότερον, ὁ δὲ ὁμολογῇ μὲν ἔχειν, μὴ τὸ ἐκείνου δέ, ἂν μὲν ἀπογεγραμμένον ᾖ παρὰ τοῖς ἄρχουσιν τὸ κτῆμα κατὰ νόμον, τὸν ἔχοντα καλείσθω πρὸς τὴν ἀρχήν, ὁ δὲ καθιστάτω. γενομένου δὲ ἐμφανοῦς, ἐὰν ἐν τοῖς γράμμασιν ἀπογεγραμμένον φαίνηται ποτέρου τῶν ἀμφισβητούντων, ἔχων οὗτος ἀπίτω· ἐὰν δέ τινος ἄλλου τῶν μὴ παρόντων, ὁπότερος ἂν παράσχῃ τὸν ἐγγυητὴν ἀξιόχρεων, ὑπὲρ τοῦ ἀπόντος ὡς παραδώσων ἐκείνῳ κατὰ τὴν ἐκείνου ἀφαίρεσιν ἀφαιρείσθω. ἐὰν δὲ παρὰ τοῖς ἄρχουσι τὸ ἀμφισβητούμενον μὴ ἀπογεγραμμένον ᾖ, κείσθω μὲν μέχρι δίκης παρὰ τρισὶ τῶν ἀρχόντων τοῖς πρεσβυτάτοις, ἐὰν δὲ τὸ μεσεγγυωθὲν θρέμμα ᾖ, τὸν νικηθέντα περὶ αὐτοῦ δίκῃ τὴν τροφὴν ἐκτίνειν τοῖς ἄρχουσιν· τὴν δὲ κρίσιν διαδικάζειν ἐντὸς τριῶν ἡμερῶν τοὺς ἄρχοντας.ἀγέτω τὸν ἑαυτοῦ δοῦλον ὁ βουλόμενος, ἐὰν ἔμφρων ᾖ, χρησόμενος ὅτι ἂν ἐθέλῃ τῶν ὁπόσα ὅσια· ἀγέτω δὲ καὶ ὑπὲρ ἄλλου τῶν οἰκείων ἢ φίλων τὸν ἀφεστῶτα ἐπὶ σωτηρίᾳ. ἐὰν δέ τις ἀφαιρῆταί τινα εἰς ἐλευθερίαν ὡς δοῦλον ἀγόμενον, μεθιέτω μὲν ὁ ἄγων, ὁ δὲ ἀφαιρούμενος ἐγγυητὰς τρεῖς ἀξιόχρεως καταστήσας, οὕτως ἀφαιρείσθω κατὰ ταῦτα, ἄλλως δὲ μή· ἐὰν δὲ παρὰ ταῦτά τις ἀφαιρῆται, τῶν βιαίων ἔνοχος ἔστω, καὶ ἁλοὺς τὴν διπλασίαν τοῦ ἐπιγραφέντος βλάβους τῷ ἀφαιρεθέντι τινέτω. ἀγέτω δὲ καὶ τὸν ἀπελεύθερον, ἐάν τις μὴ θεραπεύῃ τοὺς ἀπελευθερώσαντας ἢ μὴ ἱκανῶς· θεραπεία δὲ φοιτᾶν τρὶς τοῦ μηνὸς τὸν ἀπελευθερωθέντα πρὸς τὴν τοῦ ἀπελευθερώσαντος ἑστίαν, ἐπαγγελλόμενον ὅτι χρὴ δρᾶν τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἅμα δυνατῶν, καὶ περὶ γάμου ποιεῖν ὅτιπερ ἂν συνδοκῇ τῷ γενομένῳ δεσπότῃ. πλουτεῖν δὲ τοῦ ἀπελευθερώσαντος μὴ ἐξεῖναι μᾶλλον· τὸ δὲ πλέον γιγνέσθω τοῦ δεσπότου. μὴ πλείω δὲ εἴκοσιν ἐτῶν μένειν τὸν ἀφεθέντα, ἀλλὰ καθάπερ καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ξένους ἀπιέναι λαβόντα τὴν αὑτοῦ πᾶσαν οὐσίαν, ἐὰν μὴ πείσῃ τούς τε ἄρχοντας καὶ τὸν ἀπελευθερώσαντα. ἐὰν δὲ τῷ ἀπελευθερωθέντι ἢ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῳ ξένων οὐσία πλείων γίγνηται τοῦ τρίτου μεγέθει τιμήματος, ᾗ ἂν τοῦτο ἡμέρᾳ γένηται, τριάκοντα ἡμερῶν ἀπὸ ταύτης τῆς ἡμέρας λαβὼν ἀπίτω τὰ ἑαυτοῦ, καὶ μηδεμία τῆς μονῆς παραίτησις ἔτι τούτῳ παρ’ ἀρχόντων γιγνέσθω· ἐὰν δέ τις ἀπειθῶν τούτοις εἰσαχθεὶς εἰς δικαστήριον ὄφλῃ, θανάτῳ τε ζημιούσθω καὶ τὰ χρήματα αὐτοῦ γιγνέσθω δημόσια. δίκαι δ’ ἔστωσαν τούτων ἐν ταῖς φυλετικαῖσιν δίκαις, ἐὰν μὴ πρότερον ἐν γείτοσιν ἢ ἐν αἱρετοῖσιν δικασταῖς ἀπαλλάττωνται πρὸς ἀλλήλους τῶν ἐγκλημάτων. ἐὰν δὲ ὡς αὑτοῦ ἐφάπτηται ζώου καὶ ὁτουοῦν ἤ τινος ἑτέρου τῶν αὑτοῦ χρημάτων, ἀναγέτω μὲν ὁ ἔχων εἰς πρατῆρα ἢ τὸν δόντα ἀξιόχρεών τε καὶ ἔνδικον ἤ τινι τρόπῳ παραδόντα ἄλλῳ κυρίως, εἰς μὲν πολίτην ἢ καὶ μέτοικον τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει ἡμερῶν τριάκοντα, εἰς δὲ ξενικὴν παράδοσιν πέντε μηνῶν, ἧς μέσος ὁ μὴν ἐν ᾧ τρέπεται θερινὸς ἥλιος εἰς τὰ χειμερινά. ὅσα δὲ διά τινος ὠνῆς ἢ καὶ πράσεως ἀλλάττηταί τις ἕτερος ἄλλῳ, διδόντα ἐν χώρᾳ τῇ τεταγμένῃ ἑκάστοις κατ’ ἀγορὰν καὶ δεχόμενον ἐν τῷ παραχρῆμα τιμήν, οὕτως ἀλλάττεσθαι, ἄλλοθι δὲ μηδαμοῦ, μηδ’ ἐπὶ ἀναβολῇ πρᾶσιν μηδὲ ὠνὴν ποιεῖσθαι μηδενός· ἐὰν δὲ ἄλλως ἢ ἐν ἄλλοις τόποις ὁτιοῦν ἀνθ’ ὁτουοῦν διαμείβηται ἕτερος ἄλλῳ, πιστεύων πρὸς ὃν ἂν ἀλλάττηται, ποιείτω ταῦτα ὡς οὐκ οὐσῶν δικῶν κατὰ νόμον περὶ τῶν μὴ πραθέντων κατὰ τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα. ἐράνων δὲ πέρι, τὸν βουλόμενον ἐρανίζειν φίλον παρὰ φίλοις· ἐὰν δέ τις διαφορὰ γίγνηται περὶ τῆς ἐρανίσεως, οὕτω πράττειν ὡς δικῶν μηδενὶ περὶ τούτων μηδαμῶς ἐσομένων. ὃς δ’ ἂν ἀποδόμενος τιμήν του λάβῃ μὴ ἐλάττω δραχμῶν πεντήκοντα, παραμενέτω κατὰ πόλιν ἐξ ἀνάγκης δέκα ἡμέρας, ὁ δὲ πριάμενος ἴστω τὴν οἰκίαν τὴν τοῦ ἀποδομένου, τῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐγκλημάτων εἰωθότων γίγνεσθαι χάριν καὶ τῶν ἀναγωγῶν τῶν κατὰ νόμους εἵνεκα· ἡ δὲ κατὰ νόμους ἀναγωγὴ καὶ μὴ τῇδε ἔστω. ἐάν τις ἀνδράποδον ἀποδῶται κάμνον φθόῃ ἢ λιθῶν ἢ στραγγουριῶν ἢ τῇ καλουμένῃ ἱερᾷ νόσῳ ἢ καὶ ἑτέρῳ τινὶ ἀδήλῳ τοῖς πολλοῖς νοσήματι μακρῷ καὶ δυσιάτῳ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ἢ κατὰ τὴν διάνοιαν, ἐὰν μὲν ἰατρῷ τις ἢ γυμναστῇ, μὴ ἀναγωγῆς ἔστω τούτῳ πρὸς τὸν τοιοῦτον τυγχάνειν, μηδ’ ἐὰν τἀληθές τις προειπὼν ἀποδῶταί τῳ· ἐὰν δέ τις ἰδιώτῃ τι τῶν τοιούτων ἀποδῶται δημιουργός, ὁ πριάμενος ἐντὸς ἑκμήνου ἀναγέτω, πλὴν τῆς ἱερᾶς, ταύτης δ’ ἐντὸς ἐνιαυτοῦ τὴν ἀναγωγὴν ἐξέστω ποιεῖσθαι τῆς νόσου. διαδικαζέσθω δὲ ἔν τισι τῶν ἰατρῶν, οὓς ἂν κοινῇ προβαλόμενοι ἕλωνται· τὸν δὲ ὀφλόντα τὴν δίκην διπλάσιον ἀποτίνειν τῆς τιμῆς ἧς ἂν ἀποδῶται. ἐὰν δὲ ἰδιώτῃ τις ἰδιώτης, ἀναγωγὴν μὲν εἶναι, καθάπερ καὶ τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐρρήθη, καὶ τὴν διαδικασίαν, ὁ δὲ ὀφλὼν τὴν τιμὴν ἁπλῆν ἀποτινέτω. ἐὰν δὲ ἀνδροφόνον ἀποδῶταί τίς τινι εἰδότι μὲν εἰδώς, μὴ τυγχανέτω ἀναγωγῆς τοῦ τοιούτου τῆς πράσεως, μὴ δὲ εἰδότι τὴν μὲν ἀναγωγὴν εἶναι τότε ὅταν τις αἴσθηται τῶν πριαμένων, ἐν πέντε δὲ τῶν νομοφυλάκων τοῖς νεωτάτοις εἶναι τὴν κρίσιν, εἰδὼς δὲ ἂν κριθῇ, τάς τε οἰκίας τοῦ πριαμένου καθηράτω κατὰ τὸν τῶν ἐξηγητῶν νόμον, τῆς τιμῆς τε ἀποδότω τῷ πριαμένῳ τριπλάσιον.ὁ δὲ ἀλλαττόμενος ἢ νόμισμα ἀντὶ νομίσματος, ἢ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζώων ὁτιοῦν ἢ καὶ μὴ ζώων, ἀκίβδηλον πᾶν διδότω καὶ δεχέσθω τῷ νόμῳ συνεπόμενος· προοίμιον δέ, καθάπερ ἄλλων νόμων, δεξώμεθα καὶ περὶ ὅλης ταύτης τῆς κάκης. κιβδηλείαν δὲ χρὴ πάντα ἄνδρα διανοηθῆναι καὶ ψεῦδος καὶ ἀπάτην ὡς ἕν τι γένος ὄν, τοῦτο ᾧ τὴν φήμην ἐπιφέρειν εἰώθασιν οἱ πολλοί, κακῶς λέγοντες, ὡς ἐν καιρῷ γιγνόμενον ἑκάστοτε τὸ τοιοῦτον πολλάκις ἂν ὀρθῶς ἔχοι, τὸν καιρὸν δὲ καὶ ὅπου καὶ ὁπότε ἀτάκτως καὶ ἀορίστως ἐῶντες, τῇ λέξει ταύτῃ πολλὰ ζημιοῦνταί τε καὶ ζημιοῦσιν ἑτέρους. νομοθέτῃ δὲ οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖ τοῦτο ἀόριστον ἐᾶν, ἀλλὰ ἢ μείζους ἢ ἐλάττους ὅρους ἀεὶ δεῖ διασαφεῖν, καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν ὡρίσθω. Ψεῦδος μηδεὶς μηδὲν μηδ’ ἀπάτην μηδέ τι κίβδηλον, γένος ἐπικαλούμενος θεῶν, μήτε λόγῳ μήτε ἔργῳ πράξειεν, ὁ μὴ θεομισέστατος ἔσεσθαι μέλλων· οὗτος δ’ ἐστὶν ὃς ἂν ὅρκους ὀμνὺς ψευδεῖς μηδὲν φροντίζῃ θεῶν, δεύτερος δὲ ὃς ἂν ἐναντίον τῶν κρειττόνων αὑτοῦ ψεύδηται. κρείττους δὲ οἱ ἀμείνους τῶν χειρόνων, πρεσβῦταί τε ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πᾶν εἰπεῖν τῶν νέων, διὸ καὶ γονῆς κρείττους ἐκγόνων, καὶ ἄνδρες δὴ γυναικῶν καὶ παίδων, ἄρχοντές τε ἀρχομένων· οὓς αἰδεῖσθαι πᾶσιν πάντας πρέπον ἂν εἴη ἐν ἄλλῃ τε ἀρχῇ πάσῃ καὶ ἐν ταῖς πολιτικαῖς δὴ μάλιστα ἀρχαῖς, ὅθεν ὁ νῦν παρὼν ἡμῖν λόγος ἐλήλυθεν. πᾶς γὰρ τῶν κατ’ ἀγορὰν ὁ κιβδηλεύων τι ψεύδεται καὶ ἀπατᾷ καὶ τοὺς θεοὺς παρακαλῶν ἐπόμνυσιν ἐν τοῖς τῶν ἀγορανόμων νόμοισίν τε καὶ φυλακτηρίοις, οὔτε ἀνθρώπους αἰδούμενος οὔτε θεοὺς σεβόμενος. πάντως μὲν δὴ καλὸν ἐπιτήδευμα θεῶν ὀνόματα μὴ χραίνειν ῥᾳδίως, ἔχοντα ὡς ἔχουσιν ἡμῶν ἑκάστοτε τὰ πολλὰ οἱ πλεῖστοι καθαρότητός τε καὶ ἁγνείας τὰ περὶ τοὺς θεούς· εἰ δ’ οὖν μὴ πείθοιτο, ὅδε νόμος· ὁ πωλῶν ὁτιοῦν ἐν ἀγορᾷ μηδέποτε δύο εἴπῃ τιμὰς ὧν ἂν πωλῇ, ἁπλῆν δὲ εἰπών, ἂν μὴ τυγχάνῃ ταύτης, ἀποφέρων ὀρθῶς ἂν ἀποφέροι πάλιν, καὶ ταύτης τῆς ἡμέρας μὴ τιμήσῃ πλέονος μηδὲ ἐλάττονος, ἔπαινος δὲ ὅρκος τε περὶ παντὸς τοῦ πωλουμένου ἀπέστω· ἐὰν δέ τις ἀπειθῇ τούτοις, ὁ παρατυγχάνων τῶν ἀστῶν, μὴ ἔλαττον ἢ τριάκοντα γεγονὼς ἔτη, κολάζων μὲν τὸν ὀμνύντα ἀνατὶ τυπτέτω τις, ἀφροντιστῶν δὲ καὶ ἀπειθῶν ἔνοχος ἔστω ψόγῳ προδοσίας τῶν νόμων. τὸν δὲ δὴ κίβδηλόν τι πωλοῦντα, καὶ μὴ δυνάμενον τοῖς νῦν πείθεσθαι λόγοις, ὁ προστυγχάνων τῶν γιγνωσκόντων, δυνατὸς ὢν ἐξελέγχειν, ἐναντίον ἐλέγξας τῶν ἀρχόντων, ὁ μὲν δοῦλος φερέσθω τὸ κιβδηλευθὲν καὶ ὁ μέτοικος, ὁ δὲ πολίτης μὴ ἐλέγχων μὲν ὡς ἀποστερῶν τοὺς θεοὺς κακὸς ἀγορευέσθω, ἐλέγξας δὲ ἀναθέτω τοῖς τὴν ἀγορὰν ἔχουσιν θεοῖς. ὁ δὲ δὴ φανερὸς γενόμενός τι πωλῶν τοιοῦτον, πρὸς τῷ στερηθῆναι τοῦ κιβδηλευθέντος, ὁπόσης ἂν τιμῆς ἀξιώσῃ τὸ πωλούμενον, κατὰ δραχμὴν ἑκάστην τῇ μάστιγι τυπτέσθω πληγὰς ὑπὸ κήρυκος ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ κηρύξαντος ὧν ἕνεκα μέλλει τύπτεσθαι. τὰ δὲ κιβδηλεύματά τε καὶ κακουργίας τῶν πωλούντων οἵ τε ἀγορανόμοι καὶ οἱ νομοφύλακες, πυθόμενοι τῶν ἐμπείρων περὶ ἕκαστα, ἀναγραψάντων ἅ τε χρὴ ποιεῖν τὸν πωλοῦντα καὶ ἃ μή, καὶ πρόσθε τοῦ ἀγορανομίου θέντων ἐν στήλῃ γράψαντες νόμους εἶναι τοῖς περὶ τὴν τῆς ἀγορᾶς χρείαν μηνυτὰς σαφεῖς. τὰ δὲ περὶ τῶν ἀστυνόμων ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἱκανῶς εἴρηται· ἐὰν δέ τι προσδεῖν δοκῇ, νομοφύλαξιν ἐπανακοινώσαντες καὶ γράψαντες τὸ δοκοῦν ἐκλιπεῖν, εἰς ἀστυνόμιον θέντων ἐν στήλῃ τά τε πρῶτα καὶ τὰ δεύτερα τεθέντα αὐτοῖσιν τῆς ἀρχῆς νόμιμα.κιβδήλοις δ’ ἐπιτηδεύμασιν ἕπεται κατὰ πόδα καπηλείας ἐπιτηδεύματα· ταύτης δὲ πέρι συμπάσης συμβουλὴν πρῶτον δόντες καὶ λόγον, ἐπ’ αὐτῇ νόμον ὕστερον ἐπιθώμεθα. καπηλεία γὰρ κατὰ πόλιν πᾶσα γέγονεν οὐ βλάβης ἕνεκα τό γε κατὰ φύσιν, πᾶν δὲ τοὐναντίον· πῶς γὰρ οὐκ εὐεργέτης πᾶς ὃς ἂν οὐσίαν χρημάτων ὡντινωνοῦν, ἀσύμμετρον οὖσαν καὶ ἀνώμαλον, ὁμαλήν τε καὶ σύμμετρον ἀπεργάζηται; τοῦτο ἡμῖν χρὴ φάναι καὶ τὴν τοῦ νομίσματος ἀπεργάζεσθαι δύναμιν, καὶ τὸν ἔμπορον ἐπὶ τούτῳ τετάχθαι δεῖ λέγειν. καὶ μισθωτὸς καὶ πανδοκεὺς καὶ ἄλλα, τὰ μὲν εὐσχημονέστερα, τὰ δὲ ἀσχημονέστερα γιγνόμενα, τοῦτό γε πάντα δύναται, πᾶσιν ἐπικουρίαν ταῖς χρείαις ἐξευπορεῖν καὶ ὁμαλότητα ταῖς οὐσίαις. τί ποτε δὴ τὸ μὴ καλὸν αὐτὸ μηδ’ εὔσχημον δοκεῖν εἶναι, καὶ τί τὸ διαβεβληκὸς τυγχάνει, ἴδωμεν, ἵνα εἰ μὴ καὶ τὸ ὅλον, ἀλλ’ οὖν μέρη γε ἐξιασώμεθα νόμῳ. πρᾶγμ’ ἔσθ’, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐ φαῦλον, οὐδὲ σμικρᾶς δεόμενον ἀρετῆς.

Κλεινίας
πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος
ὦ φίλε Κλεινία, σμικρὸν γένος ἀνθρώπων καὶ φύσει ὀλίγον καὶ ἄκρᾳ τροφῇ τεθραμμένον, ὅταν εἰς χρείας τε καὶ ἐπιθυμίας τινῶν ἐμπίπτῃ, καρτερεῖν πρὸς τὸ μέτριον δυνατόν ἐστιν, καὶ ὅταν ἐξῇ χρήματα λαβεῖν πολλά, νήφει καὶ πρότερον αἱρεῖται τοῦ πολλοῦ τὸ τοῦ μέτρου ἐχόμενον· τὰ δὲ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πλήθη πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἔχει τούτοις, δεόμενά τε ἀμέτρως δεῖται καὶ ἐξὸν κερδαίνειν τὰ μέτρια, ἀπλήστως αἱρεῖται κερδαίνειν, διὸ πάντα τὰ περὶ τὴν καπηλείαν καὶ ἐμπορίαν καὶ πανδοκείαν γένη διαβέβληταί τε καὶ ἐν αἰσχροῖς γέγονεν ὀνείδεσιν. ἐπεὶ εἴ τις, ὃ μή ποτε γένοιτο οὐδ’ ἔσται, προσαναγκάσειενγελοῖον μὲν εἰπεῖν, ὅμως δὲ εἰρήσεταιπανδοκεῦσαι τοὺς πανταχῇ ἀρίστους ἄνδρας ἐπί τινα χρόνον, ἢ καπηλεύειν ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων πράττειν, ἢ καὶ γυναῖκας ἔκ τινος ἀνάγκης εἱμαρμένης τοῦ τοιούτου μετασχεῖν τρόπου, γνοίημεν ἂν ὡς φίλον καὶ ἀγαπητόν ἐστιν ἕκαστον τούτων, καὶ εἰ κατὰ λόγον ἀδιάφθορον γίγνοιτο, ἐν μητρὸς ἂν καὶ τροφοῦ σχήματι τιμῷτο τὰ τοιαῦτα πάντα· νῦν δὲ ὁπόταν εἰς ἐρήμους τις καπηλείας ἕνεκα τόπους καὶ πανταχόσε μήκη ἔχοντας ὁδῶν ἱδρυσάμενος οἰκήσεις, ἐν ἀπορίᾳ γιγνομένους καταλύσεσιν ἀγαπηταῖς δεχόμενος ἢ ὑπὸ χειμώνων ἀγρίων βίᾳ ἐλαυνομένους, εὐδιεινὴν γαλήνην παρασχὼν ἢ πνίγεσιν ἀναψυχήν, τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα οὐχ ὡς ἑταίρους δεξάμενος φιλικὰ παράσχῃ ξένια ἑπόμενα ταῖς ὑποδοχαῖς, ὡς δ’ ἐχθροὺς αἰχμαλώτους κεχειρωμένους ἀπολυτρώσῃ τῶν μακροτάτων καὶ ἀδίκων καὶ ἀκαθάρτων λύτρων, ταῦτά ἐστιν καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐν σύμπασιν τοῖς τοιούτοις ὀρθῶς ἁμαρτανόμενα τὰς διαβολὰς τῇ τῆς ἀπορίας ἐπικουρήσει παρεσκευακότα. τούτων οὖν χρὴ φάρμακον ἀεὶ τέμνειν τὸν νομοθέτην. ὀρθὸν μὲν δὴ πάλαι τε εἰρημένον ὡς πρὸς δύο μάχεσθαι καὶ ἐναντία χαλεπόν, καθάπερ ἐν ταῖς νόσοις πολλοῖς τε ἄλλοισιν· καὶ δὴ καὶ νῦν ἡ τούτων καὶ περὶ ταῦτα ἐστὶν πρὸς δύο μάχη, πενίαν καὶ πλοῦτον, τὸν μὲν ψυχὴν διεφθαρκότα τρυφῇ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, τὴν δὲ λύπαις προτετραμμένην εἰς ἀναισχυντίαν αὐτήν. τίς οὖν δὴ τῆς νόσου ταύτης ἀρωγὴ γίγνοιτ’ ἂν ἐν νοῦν ἐχούσῃ πόλει; πρῶτον μὲν ὅτι σμικροτάτῳ χρῆσθαι κατὰ δύναμιν τῷ τῶν καπήλων γένει, ἔπειτα τούτοις τῶν ἀνθρώπων προστάττειν ὧν διαφθειρομένων οὐκ ἂν γίγνοιτο μεγάλη λύμη τῇ πόλει, τρίτον δὲ αὐτοῖς τοῖς μετασχοῦσι τούτων τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων εὑρεῖν μηχανὴν ὅπως ἤθη μὴ ἀνέδην ἀναισχυντίας τε καὶ ἀνελευθέρου ψυχῆς μέτοχα συμβήσεται γίγνεσθαι ῥᾳδίως. μετὰ δὴ τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα, περὶ ταῦτα νόμος ἀγαθῇ τύχῃ τοιόσδε ἡμῖν γιγνέσθω· Μαγνήτων, οὓς ὁ θεὸς ἀνορθῶν πάλιν κατοικίζει, γεωμόροι ὅσοι τῶν τετταράκοντα καὶ πεντακισχιλίων ἑστιῶν εἰσιν, μήτε κάπηλος ἑκὼν μηδ’ ἄκων μηδεὶς γιγνέσθω μηδ’ ἔμπορος μήτε διακονίαν μηδ’ ἥντινα κεκτημένος ἰδιώταις τοῖς μὴ ἐξ ἴσου ἑαυτῷ, πλὴν πατρὶ καὶ μητρὶ καὶ τοῖς ἔτι τούτων εἰς τὸ ἄνω γένεσιν καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς αὑτοῦ πρεσβυτέροις, ὅσοι ἐλεύθεροι ἐλευθέρως. τὸ δ’ ἐλευθερικὸν καὶ ἀνελεύθερον ἀκριβῶς μὲν οὐ ῥᾴδιον νομοθετεῖν, κρινέσθω γε μὴν ὑπὸ τῶν τὰ ἀριστεῖα εἰληφότων τῷ ἐκείνων μίσει τε καὶ ἀσπασμῷ. ὃς δ’ ἂν καπηλείας τῆς ἀνελευθέρου τέχνῃ τινὶ μετάσχῃ, γραφέσθω μὲν αὐτὸν γένους αἰσχύνης ὁ βουλόμενος πρὸς τοὺς ἀρετῇ πρώτους κεκριμένους, ἐὰν δὲ δόξῃ ἀναξίῳ ἐπιτηδεύματι καταρρυπαίνειν τὴν αὑτοῦ πατρώαν ἑστίαν, δεθεὶς ἐνιαυτὸν ἀποσχέσθω τοῦ τοιούτου, καὶ ἐὰν αὖθις, ἔτη δύο, καὶ ἐφ’ ἑκάστης ἁλώσεως τοὺς δεσμοὺς μὴ παυέσθω διπλασιάζων τὸν ἔμπροσθεν χρόνον. δεύτερος μὴν νόμος· Μέτοικον εἶναι χρεὼν ἢ ξένον, ὃς ἂν μέλλῃ καπηλεύσειν· τὸ δὲ τρίτον καὶ τρίτος· ὅπως ὡς ἄριστος ἢ καὶ κακὸς ὡς ἥκιστα ὁ τοιοῦτος ἡμῖν ᾖ σύνοικος ἐν τῇ πόλει, τοὺς νομοφύλακας χρὴ νοῆσαι φύλακας εἶναι μὴ μόνον ἐκείνων οὓς φυλάττειν ῥᾴδιον μὴ παρανόμους καὶ κακοὺς γίγνεσθαι, ὅσοι γενέσει καὶ τροφαῖς εὖ πεπαίδευνται, τοὺς δὲ μὴ τοιούτους ἐπιτηδεύματά τε ἐπιτηδεύοντας ἃ ῥοπὴν ἔχει τινὰ ἰσχυρὰν πρὸς τὸ προτρέπειν κακοὺς γίγνεσθαι, φυλακτέον μᾶλλον. ταύτῃ δὴ τὰ περὶ τὴν καπηλείαν πολλὴν οὖσαν καὶ πολλὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα τοιαῦτα κεκτημένην, ὅσαπερ ἂν αὐτῶν λειφθῇ δόξαντα ἐκ πολλῆς ἀνάγκης ἐν τῇ πόλει δεῖν εἶναι, συνελθεῖν αὖ χρεὼν περὶ ταῦτα τοὺς νομοφύλακας μετὰ τῶν ἐμπείρων ἑκάστης καπηλείας, καθάπερ ἔμπροσθεν ἐπετάξαμεν τῆς κιβδηλείας πέρι, συγγενοῦς τούτῳ πράγματος, συνελθόντας δὲ ἰδεῖν λῆμμά τε καὶ ἀνάλωμα τί ποτε τῷ καπήλῳ κέρδος ποιεῖ τὸ μέτριον, γράψαντας δὲ θεῖναι τὸ γιγνόμενον ἀνάλωμα καὶ λῆμμα καὶ φυλάττειν, τὰ μὲν ἀγορανόμους, τὰ δὲ ἀστυνόμους, τὰ δὲ ἀγρονόμους· καὶ σχεδὸν οὕτως ἂν καπηλεία τὰ μὲν ὠφελοῖ ἑκάστους, σμικρότατα δὲ ἂν βλάπτοι τοὺς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι χρωμένους. ὅσα τις ἂν ὁμολογῶν συνθέσθαι μὴ ποιῇ κατὰ τὰς ὁμολογίας, πλὴν ὧν ἂν νόμοι ἀπείργωσιν ἢ ψήφισμα, ἤ τινος ὑπὸ ἀδίκου βιασθεὶς ἀνάγκης ὁμολογήσῃ, καὶ ἐὰν ἀπὸ τύχης ἀπροσδοκήτου τις ἄκων κωλυθῇ, δίκας εἶναι τῶν ἄλλων ἀτελοῦς ὁμολογίας ἐν ταῖς φυλετικαῖσιν δίκαις, ἐὰν ἐν διαιτηταῖς ἢ γείτοσιν ἔμπροσθεν μὴ δύνωνται διαλλάττεσθαι. Ἡφαίστου καὶ Ἀθηνᾶς ἱερὸν τὸ τῶν δημιουργῶν γένος, οἳ τὸν βίον ἡμῖν συγκατεσκευάκασιν τέχναις, Ἄρεως δ’ αὖ καὶ Ἀθηνᾶς οἱ τὰ τῶν δημιουργῶν σώζοντες τέχναισιν ἑτέραις ἀμυντηρίοις ἔργα· δικαίως δὲ καὶ τὸ τούτων γένος ἱερόν ἐστι τούτων τῶν θεῶν. οὗτοι δὴ πάντες χώραν καὶ δῆμον θεραπεύοντες διατελοῦσιν, οἱ μὲν ἄρχοντες τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον ἀγώνων, οἱ δὲ ὀργάνων τε καὶ ἔργων ἀποτελοῦντες γένεσιν ἔμμισθον· οἷς δὴ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα οὐ πρέπον ἂν εἴη ψεύδεσθαι, θεοὺς προγόνους αὑτῶν αἰδουμένους. ἂν δή τις δημιουργῶν εἰς χρόνον εἰρημένον ἔργον μὴ ἀποτελέσῃ διὰ κάκην, μηδὲν τὸν βιοδότην θεὸν ἐπαιδεσθείς, ἡγούμενος ὡς οἰκεῖον συγγνώμονα εἶναι θεόν, οὐδὲν τῷ νῷ βλέπων, πρῶτον μὲν δίκην τῷ θεῷ ὑφέξει, δεύτερον δὲ ἑπόμενος αὐτῷ νόμος κείσθω· τὴν τιμὴν τῶν ἔργων ὀφειλέτω ὧν ἂν τὸν ἐκδόντα ψεύσηται καὶ πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐν τῷ ῥηθέντι χρόνῳ προῖκα ἐξεργαζέσθω. καὶ ἀναιρουμένῳ δ’ ἔργον συμβουλευτὴς νόμος, ἅπερ τῷ πωλοῦντι συνεβούλευεν, μὴ πλέονος τιμᾶν διαπειρώμενον ἀλλ’ ὡς ἁπλούστατα τῆς ἀξίας, ταὐτὸν δὴ προστάττει καὶ τῷ ἀναιρουμένῳγιγνώσκει γὰρ ὅ γε δημιουργὸς τὴν ἀξίαν ἐν ἐλευθέρων οὖν πόλεσιν οὐ δή ποτε χρὴ τέχνῃ, σαφεῖ τε καὶ ἀψευδεῖ φύσει πράγματι, διαπειρᾶσθαι τῶν ἰδιωτῶν τεχνάζοντα αὐτὸν τὸν δημιουργόν, δίκας δὲ εἶναι τούτων τῷ ἀδικουμένῳ πρὸς τὸν ἀδικοῦντα. ἐὰν δέ τις ἐκδοὺς αὖ δημιουργῷ μὴ ἀποδῷ τοὺς μισθοὺς ὀρθῶς κατὰ τὴν ἔννομον ὁμολογίαν γενομένην, Δία δὲ πολιοῦχον καὶ Ἀθηνᾶν κοινωνοὺς πολιτείας ἀτιμάζων, βραχὺ κέρδος ἀγαπῶν, λύῃ μεγάλας κοινωνίας, νόμος ὁ βοηθῶν ἔστω τῷ τῆς πόλεως συνδέσμῳ μετὰ θεῶν· ὃς γὰρ ἂν προαμειψάμενος ἔργον μισθοὺς μὴ ἀποδιδῷ ἐν χρόνοις τοῖς ὁμολογηθεῖσιν, διπλοῦν πραττέσθω· ἐὰν δὲ ἐνιαυτὸς ἐξέλθῃ, τῶν ἄλλων ἀτόκων ὄντων χρημάτων, ὁπόσα δανεισμῷ συμβάλλει τις, οὗτος τῇ δραχμῇ ἑκάστου μηνὸς ἐπωβελίαν κατατιθέτω, δίκας δὲ εἶναι τούτων ἐν τοῖς κατὰ φυλὰς δικαστηρίοις.ὡς δὲ ἐν παρέργῳ περὶ τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον δημιουργῶν ὄντων σωτηρίας, στρατηγῶν τε καὶ ὅσοι περὶ ταῦτα τεχνικοί, δίκαιον εἰπεῖν, ὅτι τὸ παράπαν ἐμνήσθημεν δημιουργῶν· ὃς τούτοις αὖ, καθάπερ ἐκείνοις, οἷον ἑτέροις οὖσιν δημιουργοῖς. ἐάν τις ἄρα καὶ τούτων ἀνελόμενος δημόσιον ἔργον εἴθ’ ἑκὼν εἴτε προσταχθὲν καλῶς ἐξεργάσηται, τὰς τιμάς, οἳ δὴ μισθοὶ πολεμικοῖς ἀνδράσιν εἰσίν, ἀποδιδῷ δικαίως, ὁ νόμος αὐτὸν ἐπαινῶν οὔποτε καμεῖται· ἐὰν δὲ προαμειψάμενος ἔργον τι τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον καλῶν ἔργων μὴ ἀποδιδῷ, μέμψεται. νόμος οὖν οὗτος ἐπαίνῳ περὶ τούτων ἡμῖν μεμειγμένος κείσθω, συμβουλευτικός, οὐ βιαστικός, τῷ πλήθει τῶν πολιτῶν, τιμᾶν τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας, ὅσοι σωτῆρες τῆς πόλεώς εἰσι συμπάσης εἴτε ἀνδρείαις εἴτε πολεμικαῖς μηχαναῖς, δευτέρους· πρώτοις γὰρ τὸ μέγιστον γέρας δεδόσθω τοῖς τὰ τῶν ἀγαθῶν νομοθετῶν γράμματα τιμᾶν διαφερόντως δυνηθεῖσιν.τὰ μὲν δὴ μέγιστα τῶν συμβολαίων, ὅσα πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἄνθρωποι συμβάλλουσιν, πλήν γε ὀρφανικῶν καὶ τῆς τῶν ἐπιτρόπων ἐπιμελείας τῶν ὀρφανῶν, σχεδὸν ἡμῖν διατέτακται· ταῦτα δὲ δὴ μετὰ τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα ἀναγκαῖον ἁμῶς γέ πως τάξασθαι. τούτων δὲ ἀρχαὶ πάντων αἵ τε τῶν τελευτᾶν μελλόντων ἐπιθυμίαι τῆς διαθέσεως αἵ τε τῶν μηδὲν τὸ παράπαν διαθεμένων τύχαι· ἀναγκαῖον δὲ εἶπον, ὦ Κλεινία, βλέψας αὐτῶν πέρι πρός τε τὸ δύσκολον καὶ χαλεπόν. οὐδὲ γὰρ ἄτακτον δυνατόν ἐστ’ αὐτὸ ἐᾶν· πολλὰ γὰρ ἕκαστοι καὶ διάφορα ἀλλήλων καὶ ἐναντία τιθεῖντ’ ἂν τοῖς τε νόμοις καὶ τοῖς τῶν ζώντων ἤθεσιν καὶ τοῖς αὑτῶν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν πρὶν διατίθεσθαι μέλλειν, εἴ τις ἐξουσίαν δώσει ἁπλῶς οὕτως κυρίαν εἶναι διαθήκην ἣν ἄν τις διαθῆται ὁπωσοῦν ἔχων πρὸς τῷ τοῦ βίου τέλει. ἀνοήτως γὰρ δὴ καὶ διατεθρυμμένως τινὰ τρόπον ἔχομεν οἱ πλεῖστοι, ὅταν ἤδη μέλλειν ἡγώμεθα τελευτᾶν.

Κλεινίας
πῶς τοῦτο, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος
χαλεπόν ἐστ’, ὦ Κλεινία, μέλλων ἄνθρωπος τελευτήσειν, καὶ μεστὸν λόγου τοῖς νομοθέταις εὖ μάλα φοβεροῦ καὶ δυσχεροῦς.

Κλεινίας
πῇ;

Ἀθηναῖος
ζητῶν εἶναι κύριος ἁπάντων, εἴωθε μετ’ ὀργῆς λέγειν.

Κλεινίας
ποῖα δή;

Ἀθηναῖος
δεινόν γε, ὦ θεοί, φησίν, εἰ τὰ ἐμὰ ἐμοὶ μηδαμῶς ἐξέσται δοῦναί τε ὅτῳ ἂν ἐθέλω καὶ μή, καὶ τῷ μὲν πλείω, τῷ δ’ ἐλάττονα, τῶν ὁπόσοι περὶ ἐμὲ φαῦλοι καὶ ὅσοι ἀγαθοὶ γεγόνασιν φανερῶς, βασανισθέντες ἱκανῶς ἐν νόσοις, οἱ δ’ ἐν γήρᾳ καὶ ἄλλαις παντοίαισι τύχαις.

Κλεινίας
οὐκοῦν, ὦ ξένε, καλῶς δοκοῦσίν σοι λέγειν;

Ἀθηναῖος
μαλθακοὶ ἔμοιγ’, ὦ Κλεινία, δοκοῦσιν οἱ πάλαι νομοθετοῦντες γεγονέναι καὶ ἐπὶ σμικρὸν τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων πραγμάτων βλέποντές τε καὶ διανοούμενοι νομοθετεῖν.

Κλεινίας
πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος
τὸν λόγον τοῦτον, ὠγαθέ, φοβούμενοι, τὸν νόμον ἐτίθεσαν τὸν ἐξεῖναι τὰ ἑαυτοῦ διατίθεσθαι ἁπλῶς ὅπως ἄν τις ἐθέλῃ τὸ παράπαν, ἐγὼ δὲ καὶ σὺ τοῖς ἐν τῇ σῇ πόλει μέλλουσι τελευτᾶν ἀποκρινούμεθα ἐμμελέστερόν πως. ὦ φίλοι, φήσομεν, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς ἐφήμεροι, χαλεπὸν ὑμῖν ἐστιν γιγνώσκειν τὰ ὑμέτερ’ αὐτῶν χρήματα καὶ πρός γε ὑμᾶς αὐτούς, ὥσπερ καὶ τὸ τῆς Πυθίας γράμμα φράζει, τὰ νῦν. ἔγωγ’ οὖν νομοθέτης ὢν οὔθ’ ὑμᾶς ὑμῶν αὐτῶν εἶναι τίθημι οὔτε τὴν οὐσίαν ταύτην, σύμπαντος δὲ τοῦ γένους ὑμῶν τοῦ τε ἔμπροσθεν καὶ τοῦ ἔπειτα ἐσομένου, καὶ ἔτι μᾶλλον τῆς πόλεως εἶναι τό τε γένος πᾶν καὶ τὴν οὐσίαν· καὶ οὕτω τούτων ἐχόντων, οὐκ, ἐάν τις ὑμᾶς θωπείαις ὑποδραμὼν ἐν νόσοις ἢ γήρᾳ σαλεύοντας παρὰ τὸ βέλτιστον διατίθεσθαι πείθῃ, συγχωρήσομαι ἑκών, ὅτι δὲ τῇ πόλει τε ἄριστον πάσῃ καὶ γένει, πρὸς πᾶν τοῦτο βλέπων νομοθετήσω, τὸ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου κατατιθεὶς ἐν μοίραις ἐλάττοσι δικαίως. ὑμεῖς δὲ ἡμῖν ἵλεώ τε καὶ εὐμενεῖς ὄντες πορεύοισθε ᾗπερ κατὰ φύσιν νῦν πορεύεσθε τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην· ἡμῖν δὲ περὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ὑμετέρων μελήσει, κηδομένοις ὅτι μάλιστα εἰς δύναμιν, οὐ τῶν μέν, τῶν δὲ οὔ. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν παραμύθιά τε καὶ προοίμια τῶν τε ζώντων, ὦ Κλεινία, καὶ τῶν τελευτώντων ἔστω, νόμος δὲ ὅδε· ὃς ἂν διαθήκην γράφῃ τὰ αὑτοῦ διατιθέμενος, παίδων ὢν πατήρ, πρῶτον μὲν τῶν ὑέων κληρονόμον ὃν ἂν ἀξιώσῃ γίγνεσθαι γραφέτω, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων παίδων, ὃν ἂν μὲν ἑτέρῳ ποιεῖσθαι διδῷ δεχομένῳ, γραφέσθω τοῦτο αὐτό· ἐὰν δὲ περιγίγνηταί τις τῶν ὑέων αὐτῷ μὴ ἐπί τινι κλήρῳ πεποιημένος, ὃν κατὰ νόμον ἐλπὶς εἰς ἀποικίαν ἐκπεμφθήσεσθαι, τούτῳ τῶν ἄλλων χρημάτων ἐξέστω τῷ πατρὶ διδόναι ὅσα ἂν ἐθέλῃ, πλὴν τοῦ πατρώου κλήρου καὶ τῆς περὶ τὸν κλῆρον κατασκευῆς πάσης, καὶ ἐὰν πλείους ὦσιν, πρὸς μέρος ὁ πατὴρ ὅπῃ ἂν ἐθέλῃ νεμέτω τὰ περιόντα τοῦ κλήρου. ὅτῳ δ’ ἂν τῶν ὑέων ὑπάρχων οἶκος ᾖ, μὴ νέμειν τούτῳ τῶν χρημάτων, θυγατρί τε ὡσαύτως, ᾗ μὲν ἂν ἐγγεγυημένος ὡς ἀνὴρ ἐσόμενος ᾖ, μὴ νέμειν, ᾗ δ’ ἂν μή, νέμειν· ἐὰν δέ τῳ τῶν ὑέων ἢ καὶ τῶν θυγατέρων φανῇ κλῆρος ἐπιχώριος τῆς διαθήκης γενόμενος ὕστερον, τῷ κληρονόμῳ τοῦ τὴν διαθήκην διαθεμένου καταλειπέτω. ἐὰν δὲ ἄρρενας μὲν μὴ λείπῃ, θηλείας δέ, ὁ διατιθέμενος, ἄνδρα μὲν τῶν θυγατέρων ᾗτινι ἂν ἐθέλῃ, ὑὸν δὲ αὑτῷ καταλειπέτω, γράψας κληρονόμον· ἐὰν δὲ ὑός τῳ τελευτήσῃ παῖς ὤν, πρὶν εἰς ἄνδρας δυνατὸς εἶναι τελεῖν, εἴτε γεννητὸς ὢν εἴτε ποιητός, γραφέτω καὶ περὶ τῆς τοιαύτης τύχης ὁ τὴν διαθήκην γράφων τίνα χρὴ παῖδα αὐτῷ δεύτερον ἐπὶ τύχαις ἀμείνοσιν γίγνεσθαι. ἐὰν δέ τις ἄπαις ὢν τὸ παράπαν διαθήκην γράφῃ, τὸ τῆς ἐπικτήτου δεκατημόριον ἐξελόμενος, ἐὰν ἐθέλῃ τῳ δωρεῖσθαι, δωρείσθω· τὰ δὲ ἄλλα παραδιδοὺς πάντα τῷ ποιηθέντι ἄμεμπτος ἵλεων ὑὸν αὐτὸν ποιείσθω σὺν νόμῳ. ᾧ δ’ ἂν ἐπιτρόπων οἱ παῖδες δέωνται, ἐὰν μὲν διαθέμενος τελευτᾷ καὶ γράψας ἐπιτρόπους τοῖς παισὶν ἑκόντας τε καὶ ὁμολογοῦντας ἐπιτροπεύσειν οὑστινασοῦν καὶ ὁπόσους ἂν ἐθέλῃ, κατὰ ταῦτα τὰ γραφέντα ἡ τῶν ἐπιτρόπων αἵρεσις γιγνέσθω κυρία· ἐὰν δὲ ἢ τὸ παράπαν μὴ διαθέμενος τελευτήσῃ τις ἢ τῆς τῶν ἐπιτρόπων αἱρέσεως ἐλλιπής, ἐπιτρόπους εἶναι τοὺς ἐγγύτατα γένει πρὸς πατρὸς καὶ μητρὸς κυρίους, δύο μὲν πρὸς πατρός, δύο δὲ πρὸς μητρός, ἕνα δ’ ἐκ τῶν τοῦ τελευτήσαντος φίλων, τούτους δ’ οἱ νομοφύλακες καθιστάντων τῷ δεομένῳ τῶν ὀρφανῶν. καὶ πάσης τῆς ἐπιτροπῆς καὶ τῶν ὀρφανῶν πεντεκαίδεκα τῶν νομοφυλάκων οἱ πρεσβύτατοι πάντων ἐπιμελείσθων ἀεὶ κατὰ πρέσβιν καὶ κατὰ τρεῖς διελόμενοι σφᾶς αὐτούς, κατ’ ἐνιαυτὸν τρεῖς καὶ κατ’ ἐνιαυτὸν ἄλλον ἕτεροι τρεῖς, ἕως ἂν αἱ πέντε περίοδοι γίγνωνται κύκλῳ· καὶ τοῦτο ἐκλιπέτω μηδέποτε κατὰ δύναμιν.ὃς δ’ ἂν μηδὲν τὸ παράπαν διαθέμενος ἀποθάνῃ, παῖδας μὲν καταλιπὼν δεομένους ἐπιτροπῆς, τῶν αὐτῶν νόμων τούτων ἡ χρεία τῶν παίδων αὐτοῦ μετεχέτω· θηλείας δὲ ἂν καταλείπῃ τις ἀπροσδοκήτῳ τύχῃ χρησάμενος, συγγνώμην τῷ τιθέντι τὸν νόμον ἐχέτω, ἐὰν τῶν τριῶν αὐτοῦ πρὸς τὰ δύο ἐπισκοπῶν τὴν ἔκδοσιν τῶν θυγατέρων ποιῆται, πρός τε τὴν τοῦ γένους ἀγχιστείαν καὶ τὴν τοῦ κλήρου σωτηρίαν, τὸ δὲ τρίτον, ὅπερ ἂν πατὴρ διασκέψαιτο, ἐξ ἁπάντων τῶν πολιτῶν βλέπων εἰς ἤθη τε καὶ τρόπους τὸν ἐπιτήδειον αὑτῷ μὲν ὑόν, νυμφίον δ’ εἶναι τῇ θυγατρί, τοῦτο δὲ παραλείπῃ διὰ τὴν ἀδύνατον σκέψιν. νόμος τοίνυν εἰς δύναμιν ὅδε περὶ τῶν τοιούτων κείσθω· ἐὰν ὁ μὴ διαθέμενος θυγατέρας λείπῃ, τοῦδε ἀποθανόντος, ἀδελφὸς ὁμοπάτωρ ἢ ἄκληρος ὁμομήτριος ἐχέτω τὴν θυγατέρα καὶ τὸν κλῆρον τοῦ τελευτήσαντος· ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ᾖ ἀδελφός, ἀδελφοῦ δὲ παῖς, ὡσαύτως, ἐὰν ἐν ἡλικίᾳ πρὸς ἀλλήλους ὦσιν· ἐὰν δὲ μηδὲ εἷς τούτων, ἀδελφῆς δὲ παῖς ᾖ, κατὰ ταὐτά· τέταρτος δὲ πατρὸς ἀδελφός, πέμπτος δὲ τούτου παῖς, ἕκτος δὲ ἀδελφῆς πατρὸς ἔκγονος. ὡσαύτως δὲ τὸ γένος ἀεὶ πορευέσθω κατ’ ἀγχιστείαν, ἐάν τις παῖδας θηλείας καταλείπῃ, δι’ ἀδελφῶν τε καὶ ἀδελφιδῶν ἐπανιόν, ἔμπροσθε μὲν τῶν ἀρρένων, ὕστερον δὲ θηλειῶν ἑνὶ γένει. τὴν δὲ τούτων γάμου χρόνου συμμετρίαν τε καὶ ἀμετρίαν ὁ δικαστὴς σκοπῶν κρινέτω, γυμνοὺς μὲν τοὺς ἄρρενας, γυμνὰς δὲ ὀμφαλοῦ μέχρι θεώμενος τὰς θηλείας· ἐὰν δὲ τοῖς οἰκείοις ἀπορία συγγενῶν ᾖ μέχρι μὲν ἀδελφοῦ ὑιδῶν, μέχρι δὲ πάππου παίδων ὡσαύτως, τῶν ἄλλων ὅντιν’ ἂν ἡ παῖς μετ’ ἐπιτρόπων αἱρῆται τῶν πολιτῶν ἑκούσιον ἑκουσία, κληρονόμος γιγνέσθω τοῦ τελευτήσαντος καὶ τῆς θυγατρὸς νυμφίος. ἔτι δὲ πολλὰ πολλῶν καὶ πλείων ἀπορία τῶν τοιούτων γίγνοιτ’ ἂν ἔστιν ὅτ’ ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ πόλει· ἂν οὖν δή τις ἀπορουμένη τῶν αὐτόθεν ὁρᾷ τινα εἰς ἀποικίαν ἀπεσταλμένον, ᾖ δὲ κατὰ νοῦν αὐτῇ κληρονόμον ἐκεῖνον γίγνεσθαι τῶν τοῦ πατρός, ἐὰν μὲν συγγενὴς ᾖ, κατὰ τὴν τάξιν τοῦ νόμου ἐπὶ τὸν κλῆρον πορευέσθω, ἐὰν δὲ ἐκτὸς γένους, τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει ὄντων ἔξω τῆς συγγενείας, κύριος ἔστω κατὰ τὴν τῶν ἐπιτρόπων καὶ τῆς παιδὸς τοῦ τελευτήσαντος αἵρεσιν γῆμαι καὶ τὸν κλῆρον ἐπανελθὼν οἴκαδε λαβεῖν τοῦ μὴ διαθεμένου. ἄπαις δὲ ἀρρένων τε καὶ θηλειῶν τὸ παράπαν ὃς ἂν μὴ διαθέμενος τελευτᾷ, τὰ μὲν ἄλλα περὶ τοῦ τοιούτου κατὰ τὸν ἔμπροσθεν ἐχέτω νόμον, θήλεια δὲ καὶ ἄρρην οἷον σύννομοι ἴτωσαν ἐκ τοῦ γένους εἰς τὸν ἐξηρημωμένον ἑκάστοτε οἶκον, ὧν ὁ κλῆρος γιγνέσθω κυρίως, ἀδελφὴ μὲν πρῶτον, ἀδελφοῦ δὲ θυγάτηρ δευτέρα, τρίτη δὲ ἔκγονος ἀδελφῆς, τετάρτη δὲ πατρὸς ἀδελφή, καὶ πέμπτη πατρὸς ἀδελφοῦ παῖς, ἕκτη δὲ ἀδελφῆς πατρὸς ἂν εἴη παῖς· συνοικίζειν δὲ ταύτας ἐκείνοις κατ’ ἀγχιστείαν καὶ θέμιν, ὡς ἔμπροσθεν ἐνομοθετήσαμεν. μὴ δὴ λανθανέτω τὸ τῶν τοιούτων νόμων ἡμᾶς βάρος, ὡς χαλεπῶς ἔστιν ὅτε προστάττει τῷ τοῦ τελευτήσαντος κατὰ γένος οἰκείῳ γαμεῖν τὴν συγγενῆ, μὴ δοκεῖ δὲ σκοπεῖν ἃ μυρία ἐν ἀνθρώποις ἐμπόδια γίγνεται τοῖς τοιούτοις ἐπιτάγμασιν τοῦ μήτινα ἐθέλειν πείθεσθαι, πρότερον δὲ οὕστινας ὁτιοῦν ἂν βουληθῆναι παθεῖν, ὁπόταν ἢ σωμάτων νοσήματα καὶ πηρώσεις ἢ διανοίας ἔν τισιν τῶν ἐπιταττομένων γαμεῖν ἢ γαμεῖσθαι γίγνηται. τούτων δὴ μηδὲν φροντίζειν τάχ’ ἂν ὁ νομοθέτης δόξειέν τισιν, οὐκ ὀρθῶς δοκοῦν. ἔστω τοίνυν εἰρημένον ὑπέρ τε νομοθέτου καὶ ὑπὲρ νομοθετουμένου σχεδὸν οἷον κοινὸν προοίμιον, συγγνώμην μὲν τῷ νομοθέτῃ τοὺς ἐπιταττομένους δεόμενον ἔχειν, ὅτι τῶν κοινῶν ἐπιμελούμενος οὐκ ἄν ποτε δύναιτο διοικεῖν ἅμα καὶ τὰς ἰδίας ἑκάστῳ γιγνομένας συμφοράς, συγγνώμην δ’ αὖ καὶ τοῖς νομοθετουμένοις, ὡς τὰ τοῦ νομοθετοῦντος εἰκότως ἐνίοτε οὐ δύνανται προστάγματα τελεῖν, ἃ μὴ γιγνώσκων προστάττει.

Κλεινίας
τί δή τις οὖν, ὦ ξένε, δρῶν πρὸς τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐμμετρότατος ἂν εἴη;

Ἀθηναῖος
διαιτητάς, ὦ Κλεινία, τοῖς τοιούτοις νόμοις καὶ νομοθετουμένοις ἀναγκαῖον αἱρεῖσθαι.

Κλεινίας
πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος
ἔστιν ὅτε πλουσίου πατρὸς ἀδελφιδοῦς τὴν τοῦ θείου θυγατέρα ἑκὼν οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοι λαμβάνειν, τρυφῶν καὶ ἐπὶ μείζοσι γάμοις τὴν διάνοιαν ἐπέχων· ἔστιν δ’ ὅτε καὶ συμφορὰν τὴν μεγίστην τοῦ νομοθέτου προστάττοντος, ἀπειθεῖν ἀναγκάζοιτ’ ἂν τῷ νόμῳ, μαινόμενα κηδεύματα ἀναγκάζοντος λαμβάνειν ἢ δεινὰς ἄλλας σωμάτων ἢ ψυχῶν συμφοράς, ἃς ἀβίωτον ζῆν κεκτημένῳ. ὁ δὴ νῦν λόγος ἡμῖν περὶ τούτων ὅδε νόμος κείσθω· ἐάν τινες ἄρα περὶ διαθήκης ἐγκαλῶσι τοῖς κειμένοις νόμοις, περί τε ἄλλων ὡντινωνοῦν καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ γάμων, ἦ μὴν παρόντα καὶ ζῶντα αὐτὸν τὸν νομοθέτην μήποτ’ ἂν ἀναγκάσαι πράττειν οὕτω, μηδὲ γῆμαι μηδὲ γήμασθαι, τοὺς νῦν ἀναγκαζομένους ἑκάτερα δρᾶν, ὁ δέ τις τῶν οἰκείων ἤ τις ἐπίτροπος φῇ, διαιτητὰς φάναι καὶ πατέρας τοὺς πεντεκαίδεκα τῶν νομοφυλάκων καταλιπεῖν τοῖς ὀρφανοῖς καὶ ὀρφαναῖς τὸν νομοθέτην· πρὸς οὓς ἐπανιόντες διαδικαζέσθων οἱ περί τινος τῶν τοιούτων ἀμφισβητοῦντες, κύρια τελοῦντες τὰ τούτων δόγματα. ἂν δέ τῳ μείζων δύναμις ἐπανατίθεσθαι δοκῇ τοῖς νομοφύλαξιν, εἰς τὸ τῶν ἐκκρίτων δικαστῶν δικαστήριον εἰσάγων αὐτοὺς διαδικαζέσθω περὶ τῶν ἀμφισβητουμένων· τῷ δὲ ἡττηθέντι παρὰ τοῦ νομοθέτου ψόγος καὶ ὄνειδος κείσθω, πολλῶν χρημάτων νοῦν κεκτημένῳ ζημία βαρυτέρα.νῦν δὴ τοῖς ὀρφανοῖς παισὶ γένεσις οἷον δευτέρα τις γίγνοιτ’ ἄν. μετὰ μὲν οὖν τὴν πρώτην ἑκάστοις εἴρηνται τροφαὶ καὶ παιδεύσεις· μετὰ δὲ τὴν δευτέραν, ἔρημον πατέρων γενομένην, μηχανᾶσθαι δεῖ τίνα τρόπον ἡ τῆς ὀρφανίας τύχη τοῖς γενομένοις ὀρφανοῖς ὡς ἥκιστα ἔλεον ἕξει τῆς συμφορᾶς. πρῶτον μὲν δή φαμεν νομοθετεῖν αὐτοῖς τοὺς νομοφύλακας ἀντὶ γεννητόρων πατέρας οὐ χείρους, καὶ δὴ καὶ καθ’ ἕκαστον ἐνιαυτὸν ὡς οἰκείων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι προστάττομεν, ἐμμελῆ τούτοις τε αὐτοῖς περὶ τροφῆς ὀρφανῶν προοιμιασάμενοι καὶ τοῖς ἐπιτρόποις. εἴς τινα γὰρ οὖν μοι καιρὸν φαινόμεθα τοὺς ἔμπροσθεν λόγους διεξελθεῖν, ὡς ἄρα αἱ τῶν τελευτησάντων ψυχαὶ δύναμιν ἔχουσίν τινα τελευτήσασαι, ᾗ τῶν κατ’ ἀνθρώπους πραγμάτων ἐπιμελοῦνται· ταῦτα δὲ ἀληθεῖς μέν, μακροὶ δ’ εἰσὶν περιέχοντες λόγοι, πιστεύειν δὲ ταῖς ἄλλαις φήμαις χρεὼν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, οὕτω πολλαῖσιν καὶ σφόδρα παλαιαῖς οὔσαις, πιστεύειν δ’ αὖ καὶ τοῖς νομοθετοῦσιν ταῦθ’ οὕτως ἔχειν, ἄνπερ μὴ παντάπασιν ἄφρονες φαίνωνται. ταύτῃ δὲ εἰ ταῦτ’ ἐστὶν κατὰ φύσιν, πρῶτον μὲν τοὺς ἄνω θεοὺς φοβείσθων, οἳ τῶν ὀρφανῶν τῆς ἐρημίας αἰσθήσεις ἔχουσιν, εἶτα τὰς τῶν κεκμηκότων ψυχάς, αἷς ἐστιν ἐν τῇ φύσει τῶν αὑτῶν ἐκγόνων κήδεσθαι διαφερόντως καὶ τιμῶσίν τε αὐτοὺς εὐμενεῖς εἶναι καὶ ἀτιμάζουσιν δυσμενεῖς, ἔτι δὲ τὰς τῶν ζώντων μέν, ἐν γήρᾳ δὲ ὄντων καὶ ἐν μεγίσταις τιμαῖσὅπουπερ πόλις εὐνομοῦσα εὐδαιμονεῖ, τούτους οἱ παῖδες παίδων φιλοστοργοῦντες ζῶσι μεθ’ ἡδονῆς· καὶ τὰ περὶ ταῦτα ὀξὺ μὲν ἀκούουσιν βλέπουσίν τε ὀξύ, τοῖς τε περὶ αὐτὰ δικαίοις εὐμενεῖς εἰσιν, νεμεσῶσίν τε μάλιστα αὖ τοῖς εἰς ὀρφανὰ καὶ ἔρημα ὑβρίζουσιν, παρακαταθήκην εἶναι μεγίστην ἡγούμενοι καὶ ἱερωτάτηνοἷς ἐπίτροπον καὶ ἄρχοντα πᾶσι δεῖ τὸν νοῦν, ᾧ καὶ βραχὺς ἐνείη, προσέχοντα, καὶ εὐλαβούμενον περὶ τροφήν τε καὶ παιδείαν ὀρφανῶν, ὡς ἔρανον εἰσφέροντα ἑαυτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς αὑτοῦ, κατὰ δύναμιν πάντως πᾶσαν εὐεργετεῖν. ὁ μὲν δὴ πεισθεὶς τῷ πρὸ τοῦ νόμου μύθῳ καὶ μηδὲν εἰς ὀρφανὸν ὑβρίσας οὐκ εἴσεται ἐναργῶς τὴν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ὀργὴν νομοθέτου, ὁ δὲ ἀπειθὴς καί τινα πατρὸς ἢ μητρὸς ἔρημον ἀδικῶν διπλῆν τινέτω πᾶσαν τὴν βλάβην ἢ περὶ τὸν ἀμφιθαλῆ γενόμενος κακός. τὴν δὲ ἄλλην νομοθεσίαν ἐπιτρόποισίν τε περὶ ὀρφανοὺς ἄρχουσίν τε περὶ τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν τῶν ἐπιτρόπων, εἰ μὲν μὴ παράδειγμά τε τροφῆς παίδων ἐλευθέρων ἐκέκτηντο αὐτοὶ τρέφοντες τοὺς αὑτῶν καὶ τῶν οἰκείων χρημάτων ἐπιμελούμενοι, ἔτι δὲ νόμους περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων μετρίως διειρημένους εἶχον, εἶχέν τινα λόγον ἂν ἐπιτροπικούς τινας νόμους, ὡς ὄντας ἰδίᾳ διαφέροντας πολύ, τιθέναι, ποικίλλοντας ἐπιτηδεύμασιν ἰδίοις τὸν τῶν ὀρφανῶν βίον παρὰ τὸν τῶν μή· νῦν δὲ εἰς μὲν τὰ τοιαῦτα σύμπαντα οὐ πολὺ διαφέρον ἡ παρ’ ἡμῖν ὀρφανία κέκτηται τῆς πατρονομικῆς, τιμαῖς δὲ καὶ ἀτιμίαις ἅμα καὶ ἐπιμελείαισιν οὐδαμῶς ἐξισοῦσθαι φιλεῖ. διὸ δὴ περὶ τοῦτο αὐτὸ τὴν ὀρφανῶν πέρι νομοθεσίαν παραμυθούμενός τε καὶ ἀπειλῶν ὁ νόμος ἐσπούδακεν. ἔτι δ’ ἀπειλή τις ἂν τοιάδε εἴη μάλα ἔγκαιρος· ὃς ἂν θῆλυν εἴτε ἄρρενα ἐπιτροπεύῃ, καὶ ὃς ἂν ἐπιτρόπου φύλαξ τῶν νομοφυλάκων καταστὰς ἐπιμελῆται, μὴ χεῖρον ἀγαπάτω τῶν αὑτοῦ τέκνων τὸν τῆς ὀρφανικῆς μετειληφότα τύχης, μηδὲ τῶν οἰκείων τῶν τοῦ τρεφομένου χεῖρον χρημάτων ἐπιμελείσθω, βέλτιον δὲ ἢ τῶν αὑτοῦ κατὰ προθυμίαν. ἕνα δὲ τοῦτον νόμον ἔχων ὀρφανῶν πέρι πᾶς ἐπιτροπευέτω· ἐὰν δὲ ἄλλως τις περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πράττῃ παρὰ τὸν νόμον τόνδε, ὁ μὲν ἄρχων ζημιούτω τὸν ἐπίτροπον, ὁ δὲ ἐπίτροπος τὸν ἄρχοντα εἰς τὸ τῶν ἐκκρίτων δικαστήριον εἰσάγων ζημιούτω τῷ δόξαντι τιμήματι τῷ δικαστηρίῳ διπλῇ. ἐὰν δ’ ἐπίτροπος ἀμελεῖν ἢ κακουργεῖν δοκῇ τοῖς οἰκείοις ἢ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τινὶ πολιτῶν, εἰς ταὐτὸν ἀγέτω δικαστήριον· ὅτι δ’ ἂν ὄφλῃ, τετραπλασίαν μὲν τούτου τίνειν, γιγνέσθω δὲ τὸ μὲν ἥμισυ τοῦ παιδός, τὸ δ’ ἥμισυ τοῦ καταδικασαμένου τὴν δίκην. ἅμα δ’ ἂν ἡβήσῃ τις τῶν ὀρφανῶν, ἐὰν ἡγῆται κακῶς ἐπιτροπευθῆναι, μέχρι πέντε ἐτῶν ἐξηκούσης τῆς ἐπιτροπῆς ἔστω δίκην λαχεῖν ἐπιτροπίας· ἐὰν δέ τις ὄφλῃ τῶν ἐπιτρόπων, τιμᾶν τὸ δικαστήριον ὅτι χρὴ παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτίνειν, ἐὰν δὲ δὴ τῶν ἀρχόντων, ἀμελείᾳ μὲν δόξας κακῶσαι τὸν ὀρφανόν, ὅτι χρὴ τίνειν αὐτὸν τῷ παιδί, τιμάτω τὸ δικαστήριον, ἐὰν δὲ ἀδικίᾳ, πρὸς τῷ τιμήματι, τῆς ἀρχῆς τῶν νομοφυλάκων ἀφιστάσθω, τὸ δὲ κοινὸν τῆς πόλεως ἕτερον νομοφύλακα ἀντὶ τούτου καθιστάτω τῇ χώρᾳ καὶ τῇ πόλει.διαφοραὶ πατέρων τε πρὸς αὑτῶν παῖδας γίγνονται καὶ παίδων πρὸς γεννητὰς μείζους ἢ χρεών, ἐν αἷς οἵ τε πατέρες ἡγοῖντ’ ἂν δεῖν τὸν νομοθέτην νομοθετεῖν ἐξεῖναί σφισιν, ἐὰν βούλωνται, τὸν ὑὸν ὑπὸ κήρυκος ἐναντίον ἁπάντων ἀπειπεῖν ὑὸν κατὰ νόμον μηκέτ’ εἶναι, ὑεῖς τ’ αὖ σφίσι πατέρας ὑπὸ νόσων ἢ γήρως διατιθεμένους αἰσχρῶς ἐξεῖναι παρανοίας γράφεσθαι· ταῦτα δὲ ὄντως ἐν παγκάκων ἤθεσιν ἀνθρώπων γίγνεσθαι φιλεῖ, ἐπεὶ ἡμίσεών γε ὄντων τῶν κακῶν, οἷον μὴ κακοῦ μὲν πατρός, ὑέος δέ, ἢ τοὐναντίον, οὐ γίγνονται συμφοραὶ τηλικαύτης ἔχθρας ἔκγονοι. ἐν μὲν οὖν ἄλλῃ πολιτείᾳ παῖς ἀποκεκηρυγμένος οὐκ ἂν ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἄπολις εἴη, ταύτης δέ, ἧς οἵδε οἱ νόμοι ἔσονται, ἀναγκαίως ἔχει εἰς ἄλλην χώραν ἐξοικίζεσθαι τὸν ἀπάτοραπρὸς γὰρ τοῖς τετταράκοντα καὶ πεντακισχιλίοις οἴκοις οὐκ ἔστιν ἕνα προσγενέσθαιδιὸ δὴ δεῖ τὸν ταῦτα πεισόμενον ἐν δίκῃ μὴ ὑπὸ ἑνὸς πατρός, ὑπὸ δὲ τοῦ γένους ἀπορρηθῆναι παντός. ποιεῖν δὲ χρὴ τῶν τοιούτων πέρι κατὰ νόμον τοιόνδε τινά· ὃν ἂν θυμὸς ἐπίῃ μηδαμῶς εὐτυχής, εἴτ’ οὖν ἐν δίκῃ εἴτε καὶ μή, ὃν ἔτεκέ τε καὶ ἐξεθρέψατο, τοῦτον ἐπιθυμεῖν ἀπαλλάξαι τῆς αὑτοῦ συγγενείας, μὴ φαύλως οὕτως ἐξέστω μηδ’ εὐθὺς τοῦτο δρᾶν, πρῶτον δὲ συλλεξάτω τοὺς αὑτοῦ συγγενεῖς μέχρι ἀνεψιῶν καὶ τοὺς τοῦ ὑέος ὡσαύτως τοὺς πρὸς μητρός, κατηγορείτω δὲ ἐν τούτοις, διδάσκων ὡς ἄξιος ἅπασιν ἐκ τοῦ γένους ἐκκεκηρῦχθαι, δότω δὲ καὶ τῷ ὑεῖ λόγους τοὺς ἴσους ὡς οὐκ ἄξιός ἐστι τούτων οὐδὲν πάσχειν· καὶ ἐὰν μὲν πείθῃ ὁ πατὴρ καὶ συμψήφους λάβῃ πάντων τῶν συγγενῶν ὑπὲρ ἥμισυ, πλὴν πατρὸς διαψηφιζομένου καὶ μητρὸς καὶ τοῦ φεύγοντος, τῶν τε ἄλλων ὁπόσοιπερ ἂν ὦσιν γυναικῶν εἴτε ἀνδρῶν τέλειοι, ταύτῃ μὲν καὶ κατὰ ταῦτα ἐξέστω τῷ πατρὶ τὸν ὑὸν ἀποκηρύττειν, ἄλλως δὲ μηδαμῶς. τὸν δ’ ἀποκηρυχθέντα ἐάν τις τῶν πολιτῶν ὑὸν βούληται θέσθαι, μηδεὶς νόμος ἀπειργέτω ποιεῖσθαιτὰ γὰρ τῶν νέων ἤθη πολλὰς μεταβολὰς ἐν τῷ βίῳ μεταβάλλειν ἑκάστοτε πέφυκεν ἀποκηρυχθέντα δὲ ἄν τις δέκα ἐτῶν μὴ ἐπιθυμήσῃ θετὸν ὑὸν ποιήσασθαι, τοὺς τῶν ἐπιγόνων ἐπιμελητὰς τῶν εἰς τὴν ἀποικίαν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καὶ τούτων, ὅπως ἂν μετάσχωσι τῆς αὐτῆς ἀποικίας ἐμμελῶς. ἐὰν δέ τίς τινα νόσος ἢ γῆρας ἢ καὶ τρόπων χαλεπότης ἢ καὶ σύμπαντα ταῦτα ἔκφρονα ἀπεργάζηται διαφερόντως τῶν πολλῶν, καὶ λανθάνῃ τοὺς ἄλλους πλὴν τῶν συνδιαιτωμένων, οἰκοφθορῇ δὲ ὡς ὢν τῶν αὑτοῦ κύριος, ὁ δὲ ὑὸς ἀπορῇ καὶ ὀκνῇ τὴν τῆς παρανοίας γράφεσθαι δίκην, νόμος αὐτῷ κείσθω πρῶτον μὲν πρὸς τοὺς πρεσβυτάτους τῶν νομοφυλάκων ἐλθόντα διηγήσασθαι τὴν τοῦ πατρὸς συμφοράν, οἱ δὲ κατιδόντες ἱκανῶς συμβουλευόντων ἐάντε δέῃ γράφεσθαι καὶ ἐὰν μὴ τὴν γραφήν, ἐὰν δὲ συμβουλεύσωσιν, γιγνέσθωσαν τῷ γραφομένῳ μάρτυρες ἅμα καὶ σύνδικοι· ὁ δὲ ὀφλὼν τοῦ λοιποῦ χρόνου ἄκυρος ἔστω τῶν αὑτοῦ καὶ τὸ σμικρότατον διατίθεσθαι, καθάπερ παῖς δὲ οἰκείτω τὸν ἐπίλοιπον βίον.ἐὰν δὲ ἀνὴρ καὶ γυνὴ μηδαμῇ συμφέρωνται τρόπων ἀτυχίᾳ χρώμενοι, δέκα μὲν ἄνδρας τῶν νομοφυλάκων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τῶν τοιούτων ἀεὶ χρεὼν τοὺς μέσους, δέκα δὲ τῶν περὶ γάμους γυναικῶν ὡσαύτως· καὶ ἐὰν μὲν δὴ συναλλάττειν δύνωνται, ταῦτ’ ἔστω κύρια, ἐὰν δ’ αἱ ψυχαὶ κυμαίνωσιν μειζόνως αὐτῶν, ζητεῖν κατὰ δύναμιν οἵτινες ἑκατέρῳ συνοίσουσιν. εἰκὸς δὲ εἶναι τοὺς τοιούτους μὴ πρᾳέσιν ἤθεσιν κεχρημένους· βαθύτερα δὴ τούτοις καὶ πρᾳότερα τρόπων ἤθη σύννομα πειρᾶσθαι προσαρμόττειν. καὶ ὅσοι μὲν ἂν ἄπαιδες αὐτῶν ἢ ὀλιγόπαιδες ὄντες διαφέρωνται, καὶ παίδων ἕνεκα τὴν συνοίκησιν ποιεῖσθαι· ὅσοι δ’ ἂν ἱκανῶν ὄντων παίδων, τῆς συγκαταγηράσεως ἕνεκα καὶ ἐπιμελείας ἀλλήλων τὴν διάζευξίν τε καὶ σύζευξιν ποιεῖσθαι χρεών. ἐὰν δὲ τελευτᾷ γυνὴ καταλείπουσα παῖδας θηλείας τε καὶ ἄρρενας, συμβουλευτικὸς ἂν εἴη νόμος ὁ τιθέμενος, οὐκ ἀναγκαστικός, τρέφειν τοὺς ὄντας παῖδας μὴ μητρυὰν ἐπαγόμενον· μὴ δὲ ὄντων, ἐξ ἀνάγκης γαμεῖν, μέχριπερ ἂν ἱκανοὺς γεννήσῃ παῖδας τῷ τε οἴκῳ καὶ τῇ πόλει. ἢν δὲ ὁ ἀνὴρ ἀποθάνῃ παῖδας ἱκανοὺς λιπών, ἡ μήτηρ τῶν παίδων αὐτοῦ μένουσα τρεφέτω· νεωτέρα δ’ ἂν δοκῇ τοῦ δέοντος εἶναι πρὸς τὸ ζῆν αὖ ὑγιαίνουσα ἄνανδρος, οἱ προσήκοντες πρὸς τὰς τῶν γάμων ἐπιμελουμένας γυναῖκας κοινούμενοι, τὸ δοκοῦν αὑτοῖς τε καὶ ἐκείναις περὶ τῶν τοιούτων ποιούντων, ἐὰν δὲ ἐνδεεῖς τέκνων ὦσιν, καὶ παίδων ἕνεκα, παίδων δὲ ἱκανότης ἀκριβὴς ἄρρην καὶ θήλεια ἔστω τῷ νόμῳ. ὅταν δὲ ὁμολογῆται μὲν τὸ γενόμενον εἶναι τῶν ποιουμένων ἔκγονον, δέηται δὲ κρίσεως τίνι τὸ γεννηθὲν ἕπεσθαι χρεών, δούλη μὲν ἐὰν συμμείξῃ δούλῳ ἢ ἐλευθέρῳ ἢ ἀπελευθέρῳ, πάντως τοῦ δεσπότου ἔστω τῆς δούλης τὸ γεννώμενον, ἐὰν δέ τις ἐλευθέρα δούλῳ συγγίγνηται, τοῦ δεσπότου ἔστω τὸ γιγνόμενον τοῦ δούλου· ἐὰν δ’ ἐξ αὑτοῦ δούλης ἢ ἐκ δούλου ἑαυτῆς, καὶ περιφανὲς τοῦτ’ ᾖ, τὸ μὲν τῆς γυναικὸς αἱ γυναῖκες εἰς ἄλλην χώραν ἐκπεμπόντων σὺν τῷ πατρί, τὸ δὲ τοῦ ἀνδρὸς οἱ νομοφύλακες σὺν τῇ γεννησάσῃ.γονέων δὲ ἀμελεῖν οὔτε θεὸς οὔτε ἄνθρωπος νοῦν ἔχων σύμβουλός ποτε γένοιτ’ ἂν οὐδεὶς οὐδενί· φρονῆσαι δὲ χρὴ περὶ θεῶν θεραπείας τοιόνδε προοίμιον ἂν γενόμενον εἰς τὰς τῶν γεννησάντων τιμάς τε καὶ ἀτιμίας ὀρθῶς συντεταγμένον· νόμοι περὶ θεοὺς ἀρχαῖοι κεῖνται πᾶσιν διχῇ. τοὺς μὲν γὰρ τῶν θεῶν ὁρῶντες σαφῶς τιμῶμεν, τῶν δ’ εἰκόνας ἀγάλματα ἱδρυσάμενοι, οὓς ἡμῖν ἀγάλλουσι καίπερ ἀψύχους ὄντας, ἐκείνους ἡγούμεθα τοὺς ἐμψύχους θεοὺς πολλὴν διὰ ταῦτ’ εὔνοιαν καὶ χάριν ἔχειν. πατὴρ οὖν ὅτῳ καὶ μήτηρ ἢ τούτων πατέρες ἢ μητέρες ἐν οἰκίᾳ κεῖνται κειμήλιοι ἀπειρηκότες γήρᾳ, μηδεὶς διανοηθήτω ποτὲ ἄγαλμα αὑτῷ, τοιοῦτον ἐφέστιον ἵδρυμα ἐν οἰκίᾳ ἔχων, μᾶλλον κύριον ἔσεσθαι, ἐὰν δὴ κατὰ τρόπον γε ὀρθῶς αὐτὸ θεραπεύῃ ὁ κεκτημένος.

Κλεινίας
τίνα δὴ τὴν ὀρθότητα εἶναι φράζεις;

Ἀθηναῖος
ἐγὼ ἐρῶ· καὶ γὰρ οὖν ἄξιον, ὦ φίλοι, ἀκούειν τά γε δὴ τοιαῦτα.

Κλεινίας
λέγε μόνον.

Ἀθηναῖος
Οἰδίπους, φαμέν, ἀτιμασθεὶς ἐπηύξατο τοῖς αὑτοῦ τέκνοις ἃ δὴ καὶ πᾶς ὑμνεῖ τέλεα καὶ ἐπήκοα γενέσθαι παρὰ θεῶν, Ἀμύντορά τε Φοίνικι τῷ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπαρᾶσθαι παιδὶ θυμωθέντα καὶ Ἰππολύτῳ Θησέα καὶ ἑτέρους ἄλλοις μυρίους μυρίοις, ὧν γέγονε σαφὲς ἐπηκόους εἶναι γονεῦσι πρὸς τέκνα θεούς· ἀραῖος γὰρ γονεὺς ἐκγόνοις ὡς οὐδεὶς ἕτερος ἄλλοις, δικαιότατα. μὴ δή τις ἀτιμαζομένῳ μὲν διαφερόντως πατρὶ πρὸς παίδων καὶ μητρὶ θεὸν ἐπήκοον ἐν εὐχαῖς ἡγείσθω γίγνεσθαι κατὰ φύσιν, τιμωμένῳ δὲ ἄρα καὶ περιχαρεῖ σφόδρα γενομένῳ, καὶ διὰ τὰ τοιαῦτα εὐχαῖς λιπαρῶς εἰς ἀγαθὰ τοῖς παισὶ παρακαλοῦντος θεούς, οὐκ ἄρα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀκούειν ἐξ ἴσου καὶ νέμειν ἡμῖν αὐτοὺς ἡγησόμεθα; ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἄν ποτε δίκαιοι νομῆς εἶεν ἀγαθῶν, ὃ δή φαμεν ἥκιστα θεοῖς εἶναι πρέπον.

Κλεινίας
πολύ γε.

Ἀθηναῖος
οὐκοῦν διανοηθῶμεν, ὃ σμικρῷ πρότερον εἴπομεν, ὡς οὐδὲν πρὸς θεῶν τιμιώτερον ἄγαλμ’ ἂν κτησαίμεθα πατρὸς καὶ προπάτορος παρειμένων γήρᾳ καὶ μητέρων τὴν αὐτὴν δύναμιν ἐχουσῶν, οὓς ὅταν ἀγάλλῃ τις τιμαῖς, γέγηθεν ὁ θεός· οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἐπήκοος ἦν αὐτῶν. θαυμαστὸν γὰρ δήπου τὸ προγόνων ἵδρυμα ἡμῖν ἐστιν, διαφερόντως τῶν ἀψύχων· τὰ μὲν γὰρ θεραπευόμενα ὑφ’ ἡμῶν, ὅσα ἔμψυχα, συνεύχεται ἑκάστοτε, καὶ ἀτιμαζόμενα τἀναντία, τὰ δ’ οὐδέτερα, ὥστε ἂν ὀρθῶς τις χρῆται πατρὶ καὶ προπάτορι καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις, πάντων πρὸς θεοφιλῆ μοῖραν κυριώτατα ἀγαλμάτων ἂν κεκτῇτο.

Κλεινίας
κάλλιστ’ εἶπες.

Ἀθηναῖος
πᾶς δὴ νοῦν ἔχων φοβεῖται καὶ τιμᾷ γονέων εὐχάς, εἰδὼς πολλοῖς καὶ πολλάκις ἐπιτελεῖς γενομένας· τούτων οὖν οὕτω φύσει διατεταγμένων, τοῖς μὲν ἀγαθοῖς ἕρμαιον πρόγονοι γηραιοί, ζῶντες μέχρι τῶν ἐσχάτων τοῦ βίου, καὶ ἀπιόντες νέοι σφόδρα ποθεινοί, τοῖς δὲ κακοῖς εὖ μάλα φοβεροί. πᾶς δὴ τιμάτω πάσαις τιμαῖς ταῖς ἐννόμοις τοὺς αὑτοῦ γεννήτορας τοῖς νῦν πεισθεὶς λόγοις· εἰ δ’ οὖν τινα κατέχοι φήμη κωφὴ τῶν τοιούτων προοιμίων, νόμος ὅδε ἐπὶ τούτοις ὀρθῶς κείμενος ἂν εἴη· ἐάν τις ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει γονέων ἀμελέστερον ἔχῃ τοῦ δέοντος, καὶ μὴ τῶν ὑέων καὶ πάντων τῶν ἐκγόνων αὑτοῦ καὶ ἑαυτοῦ μειζόνως εἰς ἅπαντα ἐπιτρέπων καὶ ἀποπληρῶν ᾖ τὰς βουλήσεις, ἐξαγγελλέτω μὲν ὁ πάσχων τι τοιοῦτον, εἴτε αὐτὸς εἴτε τινὰ πέμπων, πρὸς τρεῖς μὲν τῶν νομοφυλάκων τοὺς πρεσβυτάτους, τρεῖς δ’ αὖ τῶν περὶ γάμους γυναικῶν ἐπιμελουμένων· οἱ δ’ ἐπιμελείσθωσαν, κολάζοντες τοὺς ἀδικοῦντας νέους μὲν ὄντας ἔτι πληγαῖς καὶ δεσμοῖς, μέχριπερ ἂν ἐτῶν ἄνδρες μὲν τυγχάνωσιν ὄντες τριάκοντα, γυναῖκες δὲ δέκα πλείοσιν ἔτεσιν κολαζέσθωσαν ταῖς αὐταῖς κολάσεσιν. ἐὰν δὲ πορρωτέρω τούτων τῶν ἐτῶν ὄντες τῶν αὐτῶν ἀμελειῶν περὶ γονέας μὴ ἀφιστῶνται, κακῶσι δέ τινάς τινες, εἰς δικαστήριον εἰσαγόντων αὐτοὺς εἰς ἕνα καὶ ἑκατὸν τῶν πολιτῶν, οἵτινες ἂν ὦσι πρεσβύτατοι ἁπάντων· ἂν δέ τις ὄφλῃ, τιμάτω τὸ δικαστήριον ὅτι χρὴ τίνειν ἢ πάσχειν, ἀπόρρητον μηδὲν ποιούμενοι ὅσων δυνατὸς ἄνθρωπος πάσχειν ἢ τίνειν. ἐὰν δέ τις ἀδυνατῇ κακούμενος φράζειν, ὁ πυθόμενος τῶν ἐλευθέρων ἐξαγγελλέτω τοῖς ἄρχουσιν ἢ κακὸς ἔστω καὶ ὑπόδικος τῷ ἐθέλοντι βλάβης. ἐὰν δὲ δοῦλος μηνύσῃ, ἐλεύθερος ἔστω, καὶ ἐὰν μὲν τῶν κακούντων ἢ κακουμένων δοῦλος, ὑπὸ τῆς ἀρχῆς ἀφείσθω, ἐὰν δέ τινος ἄλλου τῶν πολιτῶν, τὸ δημόσιον ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ τιμὴν τῷ κεκτημένῳ καταβαλλέτω· τοῖς ἄρχουσιν δὲ ἐπιμελὲς ἔστω μή τις ἀδικῇ τὸν τοιοῦτον τιμωρούμενος τῆς μηνύσεως ἕνεκα. ὅσα τις ἄλλος ἄλλον πημαίνει φαρμάκοις, τὰ μὲν θανάσιμα αὐτῶν διείρηται, τῶν δ’ ἄλλων πέρι βλάψεων, εἴτε τις ἄρα πώμασιν ἢ καὶ βρώμασιν ἢ ἀλείμμασιν ἑκὼν ἐκ προνοίας πημαίνει, τούτων οὐδέν πω διερρήθη. διτταὶ γὰρ δὴ φαρμακεῖαι κατὰ τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων οὖσαι γένος ἐπίσχουσιν τὴν διάρρησιν. ἣν μὲν γὰρ τὰ νῦν διαρρήδην εἴπομεν, σώμασι σώματα κακουργοῦσά ἐστιν κατὰ φύσιν· ἄλλη δὲ ἣ μαγγανείαις τέ τισιν καὶ ἐπῳδαῖς καὶ καταδέσεσι λεγομέναις πείθει τοὺς μὲν τολμῶντας βλάπτειν αὐτούς, ὡς δύνανται τὸ τοιοῦτον, τοὺς δ’ ὡς παντὸς μᾶλλον ὑπὸ τούτων δυναμένων γοητεύειν βλάπτονται. ταῦτ’ οὖν καὶ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα σύμπαντα οὔτε ῥᾴδιον ὅπως ποτὲ πέφυκεν γιγνώσκειν, οὔτ’ εἴ τις γνοίη, πείθειν εὐπετὲς ἑτέρους· ταῖς δὲ ψυχαῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων δυσωπουμένους πρὸς ἀλλήλους περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα οὐκ ἄξιον ἐπιχειρεῖν πείθειν, ἄν ποτε ἄρα ἴδωσί που κήρινα μιμήματα πεπλασμένα, εἴτ’ ἐπὶ θύραις εἴτ’ ἐπὶ τριόδοις εἴτ’ ἐπὶ μνήμασι γονέων αὐτῶν τινες, ὀλιγωρεῖν πάντων τῶν τοιούτων διακελεύεσθαι μὴ σαφὲς ἔχουσι δόγμα περὶ αὐτῶν. διαλαβόντας δὲ διχῇ τὸν τῆς φαρμακείας πέρι νόμον, ὁποτέρως ἄν τις ἐπιχειρῇ φαρμάττειν, πρῶτον μὲν δεῖσθαι καὶ παραινεῖν καὶ συμβουλεύειν μὴ δεῖν ἐπιχειρεῖν τοιοῦτο δρᾶν μηδὲ καθάπερ παῖδας τοὺς πολλοὺς τῶν ἀνθρώπων δειμαίνοντας φοβεῖν, μηδ’ αὖ τὸν νομοθέτην τε καὶ τὸν δικαστὴν ἀναγκάζειν ἐξιᾶσθαι τῶν ἀνθρώπων τοὺς τοιούτους φόβους, ὡς πρῶτον μὲν τὸν ἐπιχειροῦντα φαρμάττειν οὐκ εἰδότα τί δρᾷ, τά τε κατὰ σώματα, ἐὰν μὴ τυγχάνῃ ἐπιστήμων ὢν ἰατρικῆς, τά τε αὖ περὶ τὰ μαγγανεύματα, ἐὰν μὴ μάντις ἢ τερατοσκόπος ὢν τυγχάνῃ. λεγέσθω δὴ λόγος ὅδε νόμος περὶ φαρμακείας· ὃς ἂν φαρμακεύῃ τινὰ ἐπὶ βλάβῃ μὴ θανασίμῳ μήτε αὐτοῦ μήτε ἀνθρώπων ἐκείνου, βοσκημάτων δὲ ἢ σμηνῶν εἴτ’ ἄλλῃ βλάβῃ εἴτ’ οὖν θανασίμῳ, ἐὰν μὲν ἰατρὸς ὢν τυγχάνῃ καὶ ὄφλῃ δίκην φαρμάκων, θανάτῳ ζημιούσθω, ἐὰν δὲ ἰδιώτης, ὅτι χρὴ παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτεῖσαι, τιμάτω περὶ αὐτοῦ τὸ δικαστήριον. ἐὰν δὲ καταδέσεσιν ἢ ἐπαγωγαῖς ἤ τισιν ἐπῳδαῖς ἢ τῶν τοιούτων φαρμακειῶν ὡντινωνοῦν δόξῃ ὅμοιος εἶναι βλάπτοντι, ἐὰν μὲν μάντις ὢν ἢ τερατοσκόπος, τεθνάτω, ἐὰν δ’ ἄνευ μαντικῆς ὢν τῆς φαρμακείας ὄφλῃ, ταὐτὸν καὶ τούτῳ γιγνέσθω· περὶ γὰρ αὖ καὶ τούτου τιμάτω τὸ δικαστήριον ὅτι ἂν αὐτοῖς δεῖν αὐτὸν δόξῃ πάσχειν ἢ ἀποτίνειν.ὅσα τις ἂν ἕτερος ἄλλον πημήνῃ κλέπτων ἢ βιαζόμενος, ἂν μὲν μείζω, μείζονα τὴν ἔκτισιν τῷ πημανθέντι τινέτω, ἐλάττω δὲ ζημιώσας σμικροτέραν, παρὰ πάντα δὲ τοσαύτην ἡλίκα ἂν ἑκάστοτε ζημιώσῃ τίς τινα, μέχριπερ ἂν ἰάσηται τὸ βλαβέν· δίκην δὲ ἕκαστος πρὸς ἑκάστῳ τῷ κακουργήματι σωφρονιστύος ἕνεκα συνεπομένην προσεκτεισάτω, ὁ μὲν ἀνοίᾳ κακουργήσας ἀλλοτρίᾳ, πειθοῖ διὰ νεότητα ἤ τι τοιοῦτον χρησάμενος, ἐλαφροτέραν, ὁ δὲ διὰ οἰκείαν ἄνοιαν ἢ δι’ ἀκράτειαν ἡδονῶν ἢ λυπῶν, ἐν φόβοις δειλίας ἤ τισιν ἐπιθυμίαις ἢ φθόνοις ἢ θυμοῖς δυσιάτοις γιγνόμενος, βαρυτέραν, οὐχ ἕνεκα τοῦ κακουργῆσαι διδοὺς τὴν δίκηνοὐ γὰρ τὸ γεγονὸς ἀγένητον ἔσται ποτέτοῦ δ’ εἰς τὸν αὖθις ἕνεκα χρόνον ἢ τὸ παράπαν μισῆσαι τὴν ἀδικίαν αὐτόν τε καὶ τοὺς ἰδόντας αὐτὸν δικαιούμενον, ἢ λωφῆσαι μέρη πολλὰ τῆς τοιαύτης συμφορᾶς. ὧν δὴ πάντων ἕνεκα χρὴ καὶ πρὸς πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα βλέποντας τοὺς νόμους τοξότου μὴ κακοῦ στοχάζεσθαι δίκην τοῦ τε μεγέθους τῆς κολάσεως ἑκάστων ἕνεκα καὶ παντελῶς τῆς ἀξίας· ταὐτὸν δ’ ἔργον δρῶντα συνυπηρετεῖν δεῖ τῷ νομοθέτῃ τὸν δικαστήν, ὅταν αὐτῷ τις νόμος ἐπιτρέπῃ τιμᾶν ὅτι χρὴ πάσχειν τὸν κρινόμενον ἢ ἀποτίνειν, τὸν δέ, καθάπερ ζωγράφον, ὑπογράφειν ἔργα ἑπόμενα τῇ γραφῇ. ὃ δὴ καὶ νῦν, ὦ Μέγιλλε καὶ Κλεινία, ποιητέον ἡμῖν ὅτι κάλλιστα καὶ ἄριστα· τῶν κλοπαίων τε καὶ βιαίων πάντων τὰς ζημίας λεγομένας οἵας δεῖ γίγνεσθαι, λεκτέον, ὅπως ἂν ἡμῖν παρείκωσιν θεοὶ καὶ θεῶν παῖδες νομοθετεῖν.μαινόμενος δὲ ἄν τις ᾖ, μὴ φανερὸς ἔστω κατὰ πόλιν· οἱ προσήκοντες δ’ ἑκάστων κατὰ τὰς οἰκίας φυλαττόντων αὐτούς, ὅτῳ ἂν ἐπίστωνται τρόπῳ, ἢ ζημίαν ἐκτινόντων, ὁ μὲν τοῦ μεγίστου τιμήματος ἑκατὸν δραχμάς, ἐάντ’ οὖν δοῦλον ἐάντ’ οὖν καὶ ἐλεύθερον περιορᾷ, δευτέρου δὲ τιμήματος τέτταρα μέρη τῆς μνᾶς τῶν πέντε, τρία δ’ ὁ τρίτος, καὶ δύο ὁ τέταρτος. μαίνονται μὲν οὖν πολλοὶ πολλοὺς τρόπους· οὓς μὲν νῦν εἴπομεν, ὑπὸ νόσων, εἰσὶν δὲ οἳ διὰ θυμοῦ κακὴν φύσιν ἅμα καὶ τροφὴν γενομένην, οἳ δὴ σμικρᾶς ἔχθρας γενομένης, πολλὴν φωνὴν ἱέντες κακῶς ἀλλήλους βλασφημοῦντες λέγουσιν, οὐ πρέπον ἐν εὐνόμων πόλει γίγνεσθαι τοιοῦτον οὐδὲν οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς. εἷς δὴ περὶ κακηγορίας ἔστω νόμος περὶ πάντας ὅδε· Μηδένα κακηγορείτω μηδείς. ὁ δὲ ἀμφισβητῶν ἔν τισι λόγοις ἄλλος ἄλλῳ διδασκέτω καὶ μανθανέτω τόν τε ἀμφισβητοῦντα καὶ τοὺς παρόντας ἀπεχόμενος πάντως τοῦ κακηγορεῖν. ἐκ γὰρ τοῦ κατεύχεσθαί τε ἀλλήλοις ἐπαρωμένους καὶ δι’ αἰσχρῶν ὀνομάτων ἐπιφέρειν γυναικείους ἑαυτοῖς φήμας, πρῶτον μὲν ἐκ λόγων, κούφου πράγματος, ἔργῳ μίση τε καὶ ἔχθραι βαρύταται γίγνονται· πράγματι γὰρ ἀχαρίστῳ, θυμῷ, χαριζόμενος ὁ λέγων, ἐμπιμπλὰς ὀργὴν κακῶν ἑστιαμάτων, ὅσον ὑπὸ παιδείας ἡμερώθη ποτέ, πάλιν ἐξαγριῶν τῆς ψυχῆς τὸ τοιοῦτον, θηριούμενος ἐν δυσκολίᾳ ζῶν γίγνεται, πικρὰν τοῦ θυμοῦ χάριν ἀποδεχόμενος. μετεκβαίνειν δὲ αὖ πως εἰώθασιν πάντες θαμὰ ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις εἰς τό τι γελοῖον περὶ τοῦ ἐναντίου φθέγγεσθαι· ὅ τις ἐθιζόμενος οὐδεὶς πώποτε ὃς οὐ τοῦ σπουδαίου τρόπου ἤτοι τὸ παράπαν διήμαρτεν ἢ μεγαλονοίας ἀπώλεσεν μέρη πολλά. ὧν δὴ χάριν ἐν μὲν ἱερῷ τὸ παράπαν μηδεὶς τοιοῦτον φθέγξηται μηδέποτε μηδὲν μηδ’ ἔν τισι δημοτελέσι θυσίαις, μηδ’ αὖ ἐν ἄθλοις μηδ’ ἐν ἀγορᾷ μηδ’ ἐν δικαστηρίῳ μηδ’ ἐν συλλόγῳ κοινῷ μηδενί· κολαζέτω δὲ ὁ τούτων ἄρχων ἕκαστος ἀνατί, ἢ μηδέποτ’ ἀριστείων πέρι φιλονικήσῃ, νόμων ὡς οὐ κηδόμενος οὐδὲ ποιῶν τὰ προσταχθέντα ὑπὸ τοῦ νομοθέτου. ἐὰν δέ τις ἐν ἄλλοις τόποις λοιδορίας ἄρχων ἢ ἀμυνόμενος ὁστισοῦν μὴ ἀπέχηται τῶν τοιούτων λόγων, ὁ προστυγχάνων πρεσβύτερος ὢν τῷ νόμῳ ἀμυνέτω, πληγαῖς ἐξείργων τοὺς θυμῷ, ἑτέρῳ κακῷ, φιλοφρονουμένους, ἢ ἐνεχέσθω τῇ τεταγμένῃ ζημίᾳ. λέγομεν δὴ τὰ νῦν ὡς λοιδορίαις συμπλεκόμενος ἄνευ τοῦ γελοῖα ζητεῖν λέγειν οὐ δυνατός ἐστιν χρῆσθαι, καὶ τοῦτο λοιδοροῦμεν, ὁπόταν θυμῷ γιγνόμενον ᾖ· τί δὲ δή; τὴν τῶν κωμῳδῶν προθυμίαν τοῦ γελοῖα εἰς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους λέγειν ἦ παραδεχόμεθα, ἐὰν ἄνευ θυμοῦ τὸ τοιοῦτον ἡμῖν τοὺς πολίτας ἐπιχειρῶσιν κωμῳδοῦντες λέγειν; ἢ διαλάβωμεν δίχα τῷ παίζειν καὶ μή, καὶ παίζοντι μὲν ἐξέστω τινὶ περί του λέγειν γελοῖον ἄνευ θυμοῦ, συντεταμένῳ δὲ καὶ μετὰ θυμοῦ, καθάπερ εἴπομεν, μὴ ἐξέστω μηδενί; τοῦτο μὲν οὖν οὐδαμῶς ἀναθετέον, ᾧ [δ’] ἐξέστω καὶ μὴ δέ, τοῦτο νομοθετησώμεθα. ποιητῇ δὴ κωμῳδίας ἤ τινος ἰάμβων ἢ μουσῶν μελῳδίας μὴ ἐξέστω μήτε λόγῳ μήτε εἰκόνι, μήτε θυμῷ μήτε ἄνευ θυμοῦ, μηδαμῶς μηδένα τῶν πολιτῶν κωμῳδεῖν· ἐὰν δέ τις ἀπειθῇ, τοὺς ἀθλοθέτας ἐξείργειν ἐκ τῆς χώρας τὸ παράπαν αὐθημερόν, ἢ ζημιοῦσθαι μναῖς τρισὶν ἱεραῖς τοῦ θεοῦ οὗ ἂν ἀγὼν ᾖ. οἷς δ’ εἴρηται πρότερον ἐξουσίαν εἶναι περί του ποιεῖν, εἰς ἀλλήλους τούτοις ἄνευ θυμοῦ μὲν μετὰ παιδιᾶς ἐξέστω, σπουδῇ δὲ ἅμα καὶ θυμουμένοισιν μὴ ἐξέστω. τούτου δὴ διάγνωσις ἐπιτετράφθω τῷ τῆς παιδεύσεως ὅλης ἐπιμελητῇ τῶν νέων· καὶ ὃ μὲν ἂν οὗτος ἐγκρίνῃ, προφέρειν εἰς τὸ μέσον ἐξέστω τῷ ποιήσαντι, ὃ δ’ ἂν ἀποκρίνῃ, μήτε αὐτὸς ἐπιδεικνύσθω μηδενὶ μήτε ἄλλον δοῦλον μήτε ἐλεύθερόν ποτε φανῇ διδάξας, ἢ κακὸς εἶναι δοξαζέσθω καὶ ἀπειθὴς τοῖς νόμοις.οἰκτρὸς δ’ οὐχ ὁ πεινῶν ἤ τι τοιοῦτον πάσχων, ἀλλ’ ὁ σωφρονῶν ἤ τινα ἀρετὴν ἢ μέρος ἔχων ταύτης, ἄν τινα συμφορὰν πρὸς τούτοις κεκτῆται· διὸ θαυμαστὸν ἂν γένοιτο εἴ τις ὢν τοιοῦτος ἀμεληθείη τὸ παράπαν, ὥστ’ εἰς πτωχείαν τὴν ἐσχάτην ἐλθεῖν, δοῦλος ἢ καὶ ἐλεύθερος, ἐν οἰκουμένῃ καὶ μετρίως πολιτείᾳ τε καὶ πόλει. διὸ τῷ νομοθέτῃ θεῖναι νόμον ἀσφαλὲς τοιούτοις τοιόνδε τινά· Πτωχὸς μηδεὶς ἡμῖν ἐν τῇ πόλει γιγνέσθω, τοιοῦτον δ’ ἄν τις ἐπιχειρῇ δρᾶν, εὐχαῖς βίον ἀνηνύτοις συλλεγόμενος, ἐκ μὲν ἀγορᾶς ἀγορανόμοι ἐξειργόντων αὐτόν, ἐκ δὲ τοῦ ἄστεος ἡ τῶν ἀστυνόμων ἀρχή, ἀγρονόμοι δὲ ἐκ τῆς ἄλλης χώρας εἰς τὴν ὑπερορίαν ἐκπεμπόντων, ὅπως ἡ χώρα τοῦ τοιούτου ζώου καθαρὰ γίγνηται τὸ παράπαν.δοῦλος δ’ ἂν ἢ δούλη βλάψῃ τῶν ἀλλοτρίων καὶ ὁτιοῦν, μὴ συναιτίου τοῦ βλαβέντος αὐτοῦ γενομένου κατ’ ἀπειρίαν ἤ τιν’ ἑτέραν χρείαν μὴ σώφρονα, ὁ τοῦ βλάψαντος δεσπότης ἢ τὴν βλάβην ἐξιάσθω μὴ ἐνδεῶς, ἢ τὸν βλάψαντ’ αὐτὸν παραδότω· ἐὰν δ’ ἐπαιτιώμενος ὁ δεσπότης κοινῇ τοῦ βλάψαντος τέχνῃ καὶ τοῦ βλαβέντος ἐπ’ ἀποστερήσει φῇ τοῦ δούλου γεγονέναι τὴν αἰτίαν, διαδικαζέσθω μὲν κακοτεχνιῶν τῷ φάσκοντι βλαβῆναι, καὶ ἐὰν ἕλῃ, διπλασίαν τῆς ἀξίας τοῦ δούλου κομιζέσθω ἧς ἂν τιμήσῃ τὸ δικαστήριον, ἐὰν δὲ ἡττηθῇ, τήν τε βλάβην ἐξιάσθω καὶ τὸν δοῦλον παραδότω. καὶ ἐὰν ὑποζύγιον ἢ ἵππος ἢ κύων ἤ τι τῶν ἄλλων θρεμμάτων σίνηταί τι τῶν πέλας, κατὰ ταὐτὰ ἐκτίνειν τὴν βλάβην.ἐάν τις ἑκὼν μὴ ‘θέλῃ μαρτυρεῖν, προκαλεῖσθαι τὸν δεόμενον, ὁ δὲ κληθεὶς ἀπαντάτω πρὸς τὴν δίκην, καὶ ἐὰν μὲν εἰδῇ καὶ ἐθέλῃ μαρτυρεῖν, μαρτυρείτω, ἐὰν δὲ εἰδέναι μὴ φῇ, τοὺς τρεῖς θεοὺς Δία καὶ Ἀπόλλωνα καὶ Θέμιν ἀπομόσας ἦ μὴν μὴ εἰδέναι ἀπαλλαττέσθω τῆς δίκης· ὁ δ’ εἰς μαρτυρίαν κληθείς, μὴ ἀπαντῶν δὲ τῷ καλεσαμένῳ, τῆς βλάβης ὑπόδικος ἔστω κατὰ νόμον. ἐὰν δέ τίς τινα δικάζοντα ἀναστήσηται μάρτυρα, μαρτυρήσας μὴ διαψηφιζέσθω περὶ ταύτης τῆς δίκης. γυναικὶ δ’ ἐξέστω ἐλευθέρᾳ μαρτυρεῖν καὶ συνηγορεῖν, ἐὰν ὑπὲρ τετταράκοντα ἔτη ᾖ γεγονυῖα, καὶ δίκην λαγχάνειν, ἐὰν ἄνανδρος ᾖ· ζῶντος δὲ ἀνδρὸς ἐξέστω μαρτυρῆσαι μόνον. δούλῃ δὲ καὶ δούλῳ καὶ παιδὶ φόνου μόνον ἐξέστω μαρτυρεῖν καὶ συνηγορεῖν, ἐὰν ἐγγυητὴν ἀξιόχρεων ἦ μὴν μενεῖν καταστήσῃ μέχρι δίκης, ἐὰν ἐπισκηφθῇ τὰ ψευδῆ μαρτυρῆσαι. ἐπισκήπτεσθαι δὲ τῶν ἀντιδίκων ἑκάτερον ὅλῃ τῇ μαρτυρίᾳ καὶ μέρει, ἐὰν τὰ ψευδῆ φῇ τινα μεμαρτυρηκέναι, πρὶν τὴν δίκην διακεκρίσθαι· τὰς δ’ ἐπισκήψεις τὰς ἀρχὰς φυλάττειν κατασεσημασμένας ὑπ’ ἀμφοῖν, καὶ παρέχειν εἰς τὴν τῶν ψευδομαρτυριῶν διάκρισιν. ἐὰν δέ τις ἁλῷ δὶς ψευδομαρτυρῶν, τοῦτον μηκέτι νόμος ἀναγκαζέτω μηδεὶς μαρτυρεῖν, ἐὰν δὲ τρίς, μηκέτ’ ἐξέστω τούτῳ μαρτυρεῖν· ἐὰν δὲ τολμήσῃ μαρτυρῆσαι τρὶς ἑαλωκώς, ἐνδεικνύτω μὲν πρὸς τὴν ἀρχὴν ὁ βουλόμενος αὐτόν, ἡ δ’ ἀρχὴ δικαστηρίῳ παραδότω, ἐὰν δὲ ὄφλῃ, θανάτῳ ζημιούσθω. ὁπόσων δ’ ἂν μαρτυρίαι ἁλῶσιν δίκῃ, ψευδῆ δοξάντων μαρτυρεῖν καὶ τὴν νίκην τῷ ἑλόντι πεποιηκέναι, ἐὰν τῶν τοιούτων ὑπὲρ ἥμισυ μαρτυριῶν καταδικασθῶσίν τινες, τὴν κατὰ ταύτας ἁλοῦσαν δίκην ἀνάδικον γίγνεσθαι, ἀμφισβήτησιν δ’ εἶναι καὶ διαδικασίαν εἴτε κατὰ ταύτας εἴτε μὴ ἡ δίκη ἐκρίθη, ὁποτέρως δ’ ἂν κριθῇ, ταύτῃ γιγνέσθω τὸ τέλος τῶν ἔμπροσθεν δικῶν.πολλῶν δὲ ὄντων καὶ καλῶν ἐν τῷ τῶν ἀνθρώπων βίῳ, τοῖς πλείστοις αὐτῶν οἷον κῆρες ἐπιπεφύκασιν, αἳ καταμιαίνουσίν τε καὶ καταρρυπαίνουσιν αὐτά· καὶ δὴ καὶ δίκη ἐν ἀνθρώποις πῶς οὐ καλόν, ὃ πάντα ἡμέρωκεν τὰ ἀνθρώπινα; καλοῦ δὲ ὄντος τούτου, πῶς οὐ καὶ τὸ συνδικεῖν ἡμῖν γίγνοιτ’ ἂν καλόν; ταῦτα οὖν τοιαῦτα ὄντα διαβάλλει τις κάκη, καλὸν ὄνομα προστησαμένη τέχνην, ἣ πρῶτον μὲν δή φησιν εἶναί τινα δικῶν μηχανήνεἶναι δ’ αὐτὴ τοῦ τε δικάσασθαι καὶ συνδικεῖν ἄλλῳνικᾶν δυναμένην, ἄντ’ οὖν δίκαια ἄντε μὴ τὰ περὶ τὴν δίκην ἑκάστην ᾖ πεπραγμένα· δωρεὰν δ’ αὐτῆς εἶναι τῆς τέχνης καὶ τῶν λόγων τῶν ἐκ τῆς τέχνης, ἂν ἀντιδωρῆταί τις χρήματα. ταύτην οὖν ἐν τῇ παρ’ ἡμῖν πόλει, εἴτ’ οὖν τέχνη εἴτε ἄτεχνός ἐστίν τις ἐμπειρία καὶ τριβή, μάλιστα μὲν δὴ χρεών ἐστιν μὴ φῦναι· δεομένου δὲ τοῦ νομοθέτου πείθεσθαι καὶ μὴ ἐναντία δίκῃ φθέγγεσθαι, πρὸς ἄλλην δὲ ἀπαλλάττεσθαι χώραν, πειθομένοις μὲν σιγή, ἀπειθοῦσιν δὲ φωνὴ νόμου ἥδε· ἄν τις δοκῇ πειρᾶσθαι τὴν τῶν δικαίων δύναμιν ἐν ταῖς τῶν δικαστῶν ψυχαῖς ἐπὶ τἀναντία τρέπειν καὶ παρὰ καιρὸν πολυδικεῖν τῶν τοιούτων ἢ καὶ συνδικεῖν, γραφέσθω μὲν ὁ βουλόμενος αὐτὸν κακοδικίας ἢ καὶ συνδικίας κακῆς, κρινέσθω δὲ ἐν τῷ τῶν ἐκλεκτῶν δικαστηρίῳ, ὀφλόντος δέ, τιμάτω τὸ δικαστήριον εἴτε φιλοχρηματίᾳ δοκεῖ δρᾶν τὸ τοιοῦτον εἴτε φιλονικίᾳ, καὶ ἐὰν μὲν φιλονικίᾳ, τιμᾶν αὐτῷ τὸ δικαστήριον ὅσου χρὴ χρόνου τὸν τοιοῦτον μηδενὶ λαχεῖν δίκην μηδὲ συνδικῆσαι, ἐὰν δὲ φιλοχρηματίᾳ, τὸν μὲν ξένον ἀπιόντα ἐκ τῆς χώρας μήποτε πάλιν ἐλθεῖν ἢ θανάτῳ ζημιοῦσθαι, τὸν ἀστὸν δὲ τεθνάναι φιλοχρημοσύνης ἕνεκα τῆς ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου παρ’ αὐτῷ τιμωμένης· καὶ ἐάν τις φιλονικίᾳ κριθῇ δὶς τὸ τοιοῦτον δρᾶν, τεθνάτω.

Τόμος 12

[941α] Ἀθηναῖος

ἐὰν ὡς πρεσβευτής τις ἢ κῆρυξ καταψευδόμενος τῆς πόλεως παραπρεσβεύηται πρός τινα πόλιν, ἢ πεμπόμενος μὴ τὰς οὔσας πρεσβείας ἐφ᾽ αἷς πέμπεται ἀπαγγέλλῃ, ἢ πάλιν αὖ παρὰ τῶν πολεμίων ἢ καὶ φίλων μὴ τὰ παρ᾽ ἐκείνων ὀρθῶς ἀποπρεσβεύσας γένηται φανερὸς ἢ κηρυκεύσας, γραφαὶ κατὰ τούτων ἔστων ὡς Ἑρμοῦ καὶ Διὸς ἀγγελίας καὶ ἐπιτάξεις παρὰ νόμον ἀσεβησάντων, τίμημα δὲ ὅτι χρὴ [941β] πάσχειν ἢ ἀποτίνειν, ἐὰν ὄφλῃ.

κλοπὴ μὲν χρημάτων ἀνελεύθερον, ἁρπαγὴ δὲ ἀναίσχυντον: τῶν Διὸς δὲ ὑέων οὐδεὶς οὔτε δόλοις οὔτε βίᾳ χαίρων ἐπιτετήδευκεν τούτοιν οὐδέτερον. μηδεὶς οὖν ὑπὸ ποιητῶν μηδ᾽ ἄλλως ὑπό τινων μυθολόγων πλημμελῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐξαπατώμενος ἀναπειθέσθω, καὶ κλέπτων ἢ βιαζόμενος οἰέσθω μηδὲν αἰσχρὸν ποιεῖν ἀλλ᾽ ἅπερ αὐτοὶ θεοὶ δρῶσιν: οὔτε γὰρ ἀληθὲς οὔτ᾽ εἰκός, ἀλλ᾽ ὅς τι δρᾷ τοιοῦτον παρανόμως, οὔτε θεὸς οὔτε παῖς ἐστίν ποτε θεῶν, [941ξ] ταῦτα δὲ νομοθέτῃ μᾶλλον προσήκει γιγνώσκειν ἢ ποιηταῖς σύμπασιν. ὁ μὲν οὖν πεισθεὶς ἡμῶν τῷ λόγῳ εὐτυχεῖ τε καὶ εἰς χρόνον ἅπαντα εὐτυχοῖ, ὁ δὲ ἀπιστήσας τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα τοιῷδέ τινι μαχέσθω νόμῳ: ἐάν τίς τι κλέπτῃ δημόσιον μέγα ἢ καὶ σμικρόν, τῆς αὐτῆς δίκης δεῖ. μικρόν τι γὰρ ὁ κλέπτων ἔρωτι μὲν ταὐτῷ, δυνάμει δὲ ἐλάττονι [941δ] κέκλοφεν, ὅ τε τὸ μεῖζον κινῶν οὐ καταθέμενος ὅλον ἀδικεῖ: δίκης οὖν οὐδέτερον οὐδετέρου ἐλάττονος ἕνεκα μεγέθους τοῦ κλέμματος ὁ νόμος ἀξιοῖ ζημιοῦν, ἀλλὰ τῷ τὸν μὲν ἴσως ἂν ἰάσιμον ἔτ᾽ εἶναι, τὸν δ᾽ ἀνίατον. ξένον μὲν δὴ τῶν δημοσίων ἢ δοῦλον ἄν τίς τι κλέπτοντα ἐν δικαστηρίῳ ἕλῃ, ὡς ἰασίμῳ ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων ὄντι, τί χρὴ παθεῖν ἢ τίνα ζημίαν [942α] ἀποτίνειν αὐτὸν ἡ κρίσις γιγνέσθω: τὸν δὲ ἀστὸν καὶ τεθραμμένον ὡς ἔσται τεθραμμένος, ἂν πατρίδα συλῶν ἢ βιαζόμενος ἁλίσκηται, ἐάντ᾽ ἐπ᾽ αὐτοφώρῳ ἐάντε μή, σχεδὸν ὡς ἀνίατον ὄντα θανάτῳ ζημιοῦν.

στρατιῶν δὲ ἕνεκα πολλὴ μὲν συμβουλή, πολλοὶ δὲ νόμοι γίγνονται κατὰ τρόπον, μέγιστον δὲ τὸ μηδέποτε ἄναρχον μηδένα εἶναι, μήτ᾽ ἄρρενα μήτε θήλειαν, μηδέ τινος ἔθει ψυχὴν εἰθίσθαι μήτε σπουδάζοντος μήτ᾽ ἐν παιδιαῖς [942β] αὐτὸν ἐφ᾽ αὑτοῦ τι κατὰ μόνας δρᾶν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔν τε πολέμῳ παντὶ καὶ ἐν εἰρήνῃ πάσῃ πρὸς τὸν ἄρχοντα ἀεὶ βλέποντα καὶ συνεπόμενον ζῆν, καὶ τὰ βραχύταθ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου κυβερνώμενον, οἷον ἑστάναι θ᾽ ὅταν ἐπιτάττῃ τις καὶ πορεύεσθαι καὶ γυμνάζεσθαι καὶ λοῦσθαι καὶ σιτεῖσθαι καὶ ἐγείρεσθαι νύκτωρ εἴς τε φυλακὰς καὶ παραγγέλσεις, καὶ ἐν αὐτοῖς τοῖς κινδύνοις μήτε τινὰ διώκειν μήθ᾽ ὑποχωρεῖν ἄλλῳ ἄνευ τῆς [942ξ] τῶν ἀρχόντων δηλώσεως, ἑνί τε λόγῳ τὸ χωρίς τι τῶν ἄλλων πράττειν διδάξαι τὴν ψυχὴν ἔθεσι μήτε γιγνώσκειν μήτ᾽ ἐπίστασθαι τὸ παράπαν, ἀλλ᾽ ἁθρόον ἀεὶ καὶ ἅμα καὶ κοινὸν τὸν βίον ὅτι μάλιστα πᾶσι πάντων γίγνεσθαι-τούτου γὰρ οὔτ᾽ ἔστιν οὔτε ποτὲ μὴ γένηται κρεῖττον οὔτε ἄμεινον οὔτε τεχνικώτερον εἰς σωτηρίαν τὴν κατὰ πόλεμον καὶ νίκην- τοῦτο ἐν εἰρήνῃ μελετητέον εὐθὺς ἐκ τῶν παίδων, ἄρχειν τε ἄλλων ἄρχεσθαί θ᾽ ὑφ᾽ ἑτέρων: τὴν δ᾽ ἀναρχίαν ἐξαιρετέον [942δ] ἐκ παντὸς τοῦ βίου ἁπάντων τῶν ἀνθρώπων τε καὶ τῶν ὑπ᾽ ἀνθρώπους θηρίων. καὶ δὴ καὶ χορείας πάσας εἰς τὰς ἀριστείας τὰς κατὰ πόλεμον βλεπούσας χορεύειν, καὶ ὅλην εὐκολίαν τε καὶ εὐχέρειαν ἐπιτηδεύειν τῶν αὐτῶν εἵνεκα, καρτερήσεις τε αὖ σίτων καὶ ποτῶν καὶ χειμώνων καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων καὶ κοίτης σκληρᾶς, καὶ τὸ μέγιστον, τὴν τῆς κεφαλῆς καὶ ποδῶν δύναμιν μὴ διαφθείρειν τῇ τῶν ἀλλοτρίων σκεπασμάτων περικαλυφῇ, τὴν τῶν οἰκείων ἀπολλύντας [942ε] πίλων τε καὶ ὑποδημάτων γένεσιν καὶ φύσιν: ταῦτα γὰρ ἀκρωτήρια ὄντα σῳζόμενά τε ἔχει μεγίστην δύναμιν παντὸς τοῦ σώματος καὶ τοὐναντίον ἐναντίως, καὶ τὸ μὲν ὑπηρετικώτατον ἅπαντι τῷ σώματι, τὸ δὲ ἀρχικώτατον, ἔχον [943α] τὰς κυρίας ἁπάσας αἰσθήσεις αὐτοῦ φύσει. ἔπαινον μὲν δὴ τοῦτον ἀκούειν τὸν νέον χρῆν δοκεῖν πολεμικοῦ περὶ βίου, νόμους δ᾽ αὖ τούσδε: Στρατεύεσθαι τὸν καταλεγέντα ἢ τὸν ἐν μέρει τινὶ τεταγμένον. ἐὰν δέ τις ἐκλείπῃ τινὶ κάκῃ μὴ στρατηγῶν ἀφέντων, γραφὰς ἀστρατείας εἶναι πρὸς τοὺς πολεμικοὺς ἄρχοντας, ὅταν ἔλθωσιν ἀπὸ στρατοπέδου, δικάζειν δὲ τοὺς στρατεύσαντας ἑκάστους χωρίς, ὁπλίτας τε καὶ ἱππέας καὶ τἆλλα ἐμπολέμια ἕκαστα ὡσαύτως, καὶ [943β] εἰσάγειν ὁπλίτας μὲν εἰς τοὺς ὁπλίτας, ἱππέας δὲ εἰς τοὺς ἱππέας καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους δὲ κατὰ ταὐτὰ εἰς τοὺς αὑτῶν συννόμους: ἐὰν δέ τις ὄφλῃ, ὑπάρχειν μὲν αὐτῷ μήποτε τῆς ὅλης ἀριστείας ἀγωνιστῇ γενέσθαι μηδὲ ἀστρατείας ἄλλον γράψασθαί ποτε μηδὲ κατηγόρῳ τούτων πέρι γενέσθαι, πρὸς τούτοις δ᾽ ἔτι προστιμᾶν αὐτῷ τὸ δικαστήριον ὅτι χρὴ παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτίνειν. μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα, ἐκδικασθεισῶν τῶν τῆς ἀστρατείας δικῶν, πάλιν ἑκάστων ἄρχοντας ποιῆσαι σύλλογον, [943ξ] ἀριστείων δὲ πέρι κρίνεσθαι τὸν βουλόμενον ἐν τοῖς αὑτῶν ἔθνεσιν, μὴ περὶ προτέρου πολέμου μηδὲν παρεχόμενον μήτε τεκμήριον μήτε μαρτύρων πιστώσεις λόγων, αὐτῆς δὲ περὶ τῆς στρατείας τῆς τότε γενομένης αὐτοῖς. στέφανον δὲ τὸ νικητήριον ἑκάστοις εἶναι θαλλοῦ: τοῦτον δὲ εἰς τὰ τῶν πολεμικῶν θεῶν ἱερά, ὧν ἄν τις βούληται, γράψαντα ἀναθεῖναι μαρτύριον εἰς τὴν τῶν ἀριστείων κρίσιν παντὸς τοῦ βίου καὶ τὴν τῶν δευτέρων καὶ τρίτων. ἐὰν δὲ στρατεύσηται [943δ] μέν τις, μὴ ἀπαγαγόντων δὲ τῶν ἀρχόντων οἴκαδε προαπέλθῃ τοῦ χρόνου, λιποταξίου τούτων εἶναι γραφὰς ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς οἷς περὶ τῆς ἀστρατείας, ὀφλοῦσίν τε τιμωρίαι ἐπέστωσαν αἵπερ καὶ πρόσθεν ἐτέθησαν. χρὴ μὲν δὴ πᾶσαν ἐπιφέροντα δίκην ἀνδρὶ πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα φοβεῖσθαι τὸ μήτε ἐπενεγκεῖν ψευδῆ τιμωρίαν, μήτ᾽ οὖν ἑκόντα μήτ᾽ ἄκοντα [943ε] κατὰ δύναμιν-παρθένος γὰρ Αἰδοῦς Δίκη λέγεταί τε καὶ ὄντως εἴρηται, ψεῦδος δὲ αἰδοῖ καὶ δίκῃ νεμεσητὸν κατὰ φύσιν-τῶν τε οὖν ἄλλων εὐλαβεῖσθαι πέρι πλημμελεῖν εἰς δίκην, διαφερόντως δὲ καὶ τῆς τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον ὅπλων ἀποβολῆς, μὴ διαμαρτών τις ἄρα τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἀποβολῶν, ὡς αἰσχρὰς αὐτὰς εἰς ὄνειδος τιθείς, ἀναξίῳ ἀναξίας ἐπάγῃ δίκας. ῥᾴδιον μὲν οὖν οὐδαμῶς διορίσαι τούτων θάτερον, [944α] ὅμως δὲ χρὴ τὸν νόμον ἁμῶς γέ πως ὁρίζειν πειρᾶσθαι κατὰ μέρη. μύθῳ δὴ προσχρώμενοι ἅμ᾽ εἴπωμεν, εἰ κομισθεὶς ἐπὶ σκηνὴν ἄνευ τῶν ὅπλων Πάτροκλος ἔμπνους ἐγένεθ᾽, οἷον δὴ μυρίοις συνέπεσεν, τὰ δὲ πρότερα ἐκεῖνα ὅπλα, ἃ Πηλεῖ φησιν ὁ ποιητὴς παρὰ θεῶν προῖκα ἐν τοῖς γάμοις ἐπιδοθῆναι Θέτιδι, ταῦτα δὲ Ἕκτωρ εἶχεν, ἐξῆν ἂν τῶν τότε ὅσοι κακοὶ ὀνειδίζειν ὅπλων ἀποβολὴν τῷ τοῦ Μενοιτίου. ἔτι δὲ ὁπόσοι κατὰ κρημνῶν ῥιφέντες ἀπώλεσαν [944β] ὅπλα, ἢ κατὰ θάλατταν, ἢ χειμώνων ἐν κόποις ὑποδεξαμένης αὐτοὺς ἐξαίφνης πολλῆς ῥύσεως ὕδατος, ἢ μυρί᾽ ἂν ἔχοι τις τοιαῦτα παραμυθούμενος ἐπᾴδειν, εὐδιάβολον κακὸν καλλύνων: τεμεῖν δὴ χρεὼν κατὰ δύναμιν τὸ μεῖζον καὶ τὸ δυσχερέστερον κακὸν ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐναντίου. σχεδὸν οὖν ἐν τοῖς ὀνείδεσιν ἔχει τινὰ τομὴν ἡ τούτων τῶν ὀνομάτων ἐπιφορά: ῥίψασπις μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ἐν πᾶσιν ὀνομάζοιτ᾽ ἂν [944ξ] δικαίως, ἀποβολεὺς δὲ ὅπλων. οὐχ ὁμοίως γὰρ ὅ τε ἀφαιρεθεὶς μετ᾽ εἰκυίας βίας γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ῥίψασπις ὅ τε ἀφεὶς ἑκών, διαφέρει δὲ ὅλον που καὶ τὸ πᾶν. ὧδ᾽ οὖν δὴ λεγέσθω νόμῳ: ἐὰν καταλαμβανόμενός τις ὑπὸ πολεμίων καὶ ἔχων ὅπλα μὴ ἀναστρέφῃ καὶ ἀμύνηται, ἀφῇ δὲ ἑκὼν ἢ ῥίψῃ, ζωὴν αἰσχρὰν ἀρνύμενος μετὰ κάκης μᾶλλον ἢ μετ᾽ ἀνδρείας καλὸν καὶ εὐδαίμονα θάνατον, τοιαύτης μὲν ὅπλων ἀποβολῆς [944δ] ἔστω δίκη ῥιφθέντων, τῆς δὲ εἰρημένης ἔμπροσθεν ὁ δικάζων μὴ ἀμελείτω σκοπεῖν. τὸν γὰρ κακὸν ἀεὶ δεῖ κολάζειν, ἵν᾽ ἀμείνων ᾖ, οὐ τὸν δυστυχῆ: οὐδὲν γὰρ πλέον. ζημία δὴ τῷ τὴν τοιαύτην ἀμυντηρίων ὅπλων εἰς τοὐναντίον ἀφέντι δύναμιν τίς ἄρα γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν πρόσφορος; οὐ γὰρ δυνατὸν ἀνθρώπῳ δρᾶν τοὐναντίον ὥς ποτε θεόν φασι δρᾶσαι, Καινέα τὸν Θετταλὸν ἐκ γυναικὸς μεταβαλόντα εἰς ἀνδρὸς φύσιν: ἦν γὰρ ἀνδρὶ ῥιψάσπιδι τρόπον τινὰ πρέπουσα πασῶν [944ε] μάλιστα ἡ ‘κείνῃ τῇ γενέσει ἐναντία γένεσις, εἰς γυναῖκα ἐξ ἀνδρὸς μεταβαλοῦσα, τιμωρία τούτῳ γενομένη. νῦν δ᾽ ὅτι τούτων ἐγγύτατα φιλοψυχίας ἕνεκα, ἵνα τὸν ἐπίλοιπον βίον μὴ κινδυνεύῃ, ζῇ δὲ ὡς πλεῖστον χρόνον ὢν κακὸς ὀνείδει συνεχόμενος, ἔστω νόμος ὅδε ἐπὶ τούτοις: Ἀνὴρ ὃς ἂν ὄφλῃ δίκην ὡς αἰσχρῶς ἀποβαλὼν ὅπλα πολεμικά, τούτῳ μήτ᾽ οὖν τις στρατηγὸς μήτ᾽ ἄλλος ποτὲ τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον [945α] ἀρχόντων ὡς ἀνδρὶ στρατιώτῃ χρήσηται μηδ᾽ εἰς τάξιν κατατάξῃ μηδ᾽ ἡντινοῦν: εἰ δὲ μή, κατευθύνειν αὐτοῦ τὸν εὔθυνον, ἂν μὲν ᾖ τοῦ μεγίστου τιμήματος ὁ τάξας τὸν κακόν, χιλίας, ἂν δὲ τοῦ δευτέρου, πέντε μνᾶς, ἂν δὲ τοῦ τρίτου, τρεῖς μνᾶς, ἂν δὲ τοῦ τετάρτου, μνᾶν. ὁ δὲ ὀφλὼν τὴν δίκην πρὸς τῷ ἀφεῖσθαι τῶν ἀνδρείων κινδύνων κατὰ φύσιν τὴν αὑτοῦ προσαποτεισάτω μισθόν, χιλίας μέν, ἂν τοῦ μεγίστου τιμήματος ᾖ, πέντε δέ, τοῦ δευτέρου, τρεῖς δέ, [945β] ἂν τοῦ τρίτου, μνᾶν δὲ ὡσαύτως, καθάπερ οἱ πρόσθεν, τοῦ τετάρτου μέρους.
εὐθύνων δὴ πέρι τίς ἡμῖν λόγος ἂν εἴη πρέπων ἀρχόντων γενομένων τῶν μὲν κατὰ τύχην κλήρου καὶ ἐπ᾽ ἐνιαυτόν, τῶν δ᾽ εἰς πλείονα ἔτη καὶ ἐκ προκρίτων; τῶν δὴ τοιούτων εὐθυντὴς τίς ἱκανός, ἄν τίς τί εἴπῃ σκολιὸν αὐτῶν <ἢ> καμφθεὶς ὑπὸ βάρους μὲν τὴν ἀρχὴν πράξῃ, τῆς δ᾽ αὑτοῦ δυνάμεως ἐνδείᾳ πρὸς τὴν τῆς ἀρχῆς ἀξίαν; ῥᾴδιον μὲν [945ξ] οὐδαμῶς εὑρεῖν τῶν ἀρχόντων ἄρχοντα ὑπερβάλλοντα πρὸς ἀρετήν, ὅμως δὲ πειρατέον εὐθυντάς τινας ἀνευρίσκειν θείους. ἔχει γὰρ οὖν οὕτω. πολλοὶ καιροὶ πολιτείας λύσεώς εἰσιν, καθάπερ νεὼς ἢ ζῴου τινός, οὓς ἐντόνους τε καὶ ὑποζώματα καὶ νεύρων ἐπιτόνους, μίαν οὖσαν φύσιν διεσπαρμένην, πολλαχοῦ πολλοῖς ὀνόμασιν προσαγορεύομεν: εἷς δὲ οὗτος οὐ σμικρότατος καιρὸς τοῦ σῴζεσθαί τε καὶ διαλυθεῖσαν [945δ] οἴχεσθαι πολιτείαν. ἂν μὲν γὰρ οἱ τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἐξευθύνοντες βελτίους ὦσιν ἐκείνων, καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἐν δίκῃ ἀμέμπτῳ τε καὶ ἀμέμπτως, ἡ πᾶσα οὕτω θάλλει τε καὶ εὐδαιμονεῖ χώρα καὶ πόλις: ἐὰν δ᾽ ἄλλως τὰ περὶ τὰς εὐθύνας τῶν ἀρχόντων γίγνηται, τότε λυθείσης τῆς τὰ πάντα πολιτεύματα συνεχούσης εἰς ἓν δίκης, ταύτῃ πᾶσα ἀρχὴ διεσπάσθη χωρὶς ἑτέρα ἀπ᾽ ἄλλης, καὶ οὐκ εἰς τὸ αὐτὸ ἔτι νεύουσαι, [945ε] πολλὰς ἐκ μιᾶς τὴν πόλιν ποιοῦσαι, στάσεων ἐμπλήσασαι ταχὺ διώλεσαν. διὸ δὴ δεῖ πάντως τοὺς εὐθύνους θαυμαστοὺς πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν εἶναι. τεκταινώμεθα δή τινα τρόπον αὐτῶν τοιάνδε γένεσιν. κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν ἕκαστον μετὰ τροπὰς ἡλίου τὰς ἐκ θέρους εἰς χειμῶνα συνιέναι χρεὼν πᾶσαν τὴν πόλιν εἰς Ἡλίου κοινὸν καὶ Ἀπόλλωνος τέμενος, τῷ θεῷ ἀποφανουμένους [946α] ἄνδρας αὑτῶν τρεῖς, ὃν ἂν ἕκαστος αὐτῶν ἡγῆται πάντῃ ἄριστον εἶναι, πλὴν αὑτοῦ, μὴ ἔλαττον πεντήκοντα γεγονότα ἐτῶν. τῶν δὲ προκριθέντων οὓς ἂν πλεῖστοι ἐνέγκωσι, τούτους ἐκλέξαι μέχρι τῶν ἡμίσεων, ἐὰν ἄρτιοι γίγνωνται, περιττοὶ δὲ ἐὰν ὦσιν, ἕνα ἀφελεῖν, ᾧ ἂν ἐλάχισται γένωνται, καταλιπεῖν δὲ τοὺς ἡμίσεις αὐτῶν πλήθει τῶν ψήφων ἀποκρίναντας, ἐὰν δέ τισιν ἴσαι γίγνωνται καὶ τὸν ἥμισυν ἀριθμὸν πλείω ποιῶσιν, ἀφελεῖν τὸ πλέον ἀποκρίναντας [946β] νεότητι, τοὺς δ᾽ ἄλλους ἐγκρίναντας φέρειν αὖθις, μέχριπερ ἂν τρεῖς λειφθῶσιν ἄνισοι: ἐὰν δὲ ἢ πᾶσιν ἢ τοῖν δυοῖν ἴσαι γίγνωνται, τῇ ἀγαθῇ μοίρᾳ καὶ τύχῃ ἐπιτρέψαντας, κλήρῳ διελόντας τὸν νικῶντα καὶ δεύτερον καὶ τρίτον στεφανῶσαι θαλλῷ, καὶ τὰ ἀριστεῖα ἀποδόντας πᾶσιν ἀνειπεῖν ὅτι Μαγνήτων ἡ κατὰ θεὸν πάλιν τυχοῦσα σωτηρίας πόλις, ἀποφήνασα αὑτῆς Ἡλίῳ ἄνδρας τοὺς ἀρίστους τρεῖς, ἀκροθίνιον [946ξ] Ἀπόλλωνι κατὰ τὸν παλαιὸν νόμον ἀνατίθησι κοινὸν καὶ Ἡλίῳ, ὅσονπερ ἂν ἕπωνται χρόνον τῇ κρίσει. τούτους δὲ πρώτῳ μὲν ἐνιαυτῷ δώδεκα εὐθύνους ἀποδεῖξαι, μέχριπερ ἂν ἑκάστῳ πέντε καὶ ἑβδομήκοντα ἔτη συμβῇ γενόμενα, τὸ λοιπὸν δὲ τρεῖς ἀεὶ προσγιγνέσθων κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτόν: οὗτοι δὲ τὰς ἀρχὰς πάσας δώδεκα μέρη διελόμενοι πάσαις βασάνοις χρώμενοι ἐλευθέραις ἐλεγχόντων. οἰκούντων δέ, ὅσον ἂν [946δ] εὐθύνωσιν χρόνον, ἐν τῷ τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνός τε καὶ Ἡλίου τεμένει, ἐν ᾧπερ ἐκρίθησαν: καὶ τὰ μὲν ἰδίᾳ ἕκαστος, τὰ δὲ καὶ κοινῇ μετ᾽ ἀλλήλων κρίναντες τοὺς ἄρξαντας τῇ πόλει, ἀποφηνάντων, εἰς τὴν ἀγορὰν γράμματα καταθέντες, περὶ ἑκάστης ἀρχῆς ὅτι χρὴ παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτίνειν κατὰ τὴν τῶν εὐθύνων γνώμην. ἥτις δ᾽ ἂν τῶν ἀρχῶν μὴ ὁμολογῇ κεκρίσθαι δικαίως, εἰς τοὺς ἐκλεκτοὺς δικαστὰς εἰσαγέτω τοὺς εὐθύνους, καὶ ἐὰν μὲν ἀποφύγῃ τις τὰς εὐθύνας, αὐτῶν τῶν [946ε] εὐθύνων κατηγορείτω, ἐὰν ἐθέλῃ: ἐὰν δὲ ἁλῷ, ἐὰν μὲν ᾖ τῳ θανάτου τετιμημένον ὑπὸ τῶν εὐθύνων, ὥσπερ ἀνάγκη, ἁπλῶς θνῃσκέτω, τῶν δ᾽ ἄλλων τιμημάτων ὧν ἂν δυνατὸν ᾖ διπλῆν τεῖσαι, διπλασίαν τινέτω. τὰς δ᾽ εὐθύνας αὐτῶν τούτων ἀκούειν χρὴ τίνες ἔσονται καὶ τίνα τρόπον. ζῶσι μὲν οὖν τούτοις τοῖς παρὰ πάσης τῆς πόλεως ἀριστείων ἠξιωμένοις [947α] προεδρίαι τ᾽ ἐν ταῖς πανηγύρεσι πάσαις ἔστωσαν, ἔτι δὲ τῶν εἰς τοὺς Ἕλληνας κοινῇ θυσιῶν καὶ θεωριῶν καὶ ὅσων ἂν ἑτέρων κοινωνῶσιν ἱερῶν, ἐκ τούτων τοὺς ἄρχοντας τῆς θεωρίας ἑκάστης ἐκπέμπειν, καὶ τούτους μόνους δάφνης στεφάνῳ τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει κεκοσμημένους εἶναι, καὶ ἱερέας μὲν πάντας τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνός τε καὶ Ἡλίου, ἀρχιέρεων δὲ ἕνα κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν τὸν πρῶτον κριθέντα τῶν γενομένων ἐκείνῳ τῷ [947β] ἐνιαυτῷ τῶν ἱερέων, καὶ τοὔνομα ἀναγράφειν τούτου κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτόν, ὅπως ἂν γίγνηται μέτρον ἀριθμοῦ τοῦ χρόνου, ἕως ἂν ἡ πόλις οἰκῆται. τελευτήσασι δὲ προθέσεις καὶ ἐκφορὰς καὶ θήκας διαφόρους εἶναι τῶν ἄλλων πολιτῶν: λευκὴν μὲν τὴν στολὴν ἔχειν πᾶσαν, θρήνων δὲ καὶ ὀδυρμῶν χωρὶς γίγνεσθαι, κορῶν δὲ χορὸν πεντεκαίδεκα καὶ ἀρρένων ἕτερον περιισταμένους τῇ κλίνῃ ἑκατέρους οἷον ὕμνον πεποιημένον [947ξ] ἔπαινον εἰς τοὺς ἱερέας ἐν μέρει ἑκατέρους ᾁδειν, εὐδαιμονίζοντας ᾠδῇ διὰ πάσης τῆς ἡμέρας: ἕωθεν δ᾽ εἰς τὴν θήκην φέρειν αὐτὴν μὲν τὴν κλίνην ἑκατὸν τῶν νέων τῶν ἐν τοῖς γυμνασίοις, οὓς ἂν οἱ προσήκοντες τοῦ τελευτήσαντος ἐπιόψωνται, πρώτους δὲ προϊέναι τοὺς ἠιθέους τὴν πολεμικὴν σκευὴν ἐνδεδυκότας ἑκάστους, σὺν τοῖς ἵπποισι μὲν ἱππέας, σὺν δὲ ὅπλοις ὁπλίτας, καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ὡσαύτως, παῖδας δὲ περὶ αὐτὴν τὴν κλίνην ἔμπροσθεν τὸ πάτριον μέλος ἐφυμνεῖν, [947δ] καὶ κόρας ἑπομένας ἐξόπισθεν ὅσαι τ᾽ ἂν γυναῖκες τῆς παιδοποιήσεως ἀπηλλαγμέναι τυγχάνωσιν, μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα ἱερέας τε καὶ ἱερείας ὡς καθαρεύοντι τῷ τάφῳ ἕπεσθαι, ἐὰν ἄρα καὶ τῶν ἄλλων εἴργωνται τάφων, ἐὰν καὶ τὸ τῆς Πυθίας οὕτω τε καὶ ταύτῃ σύμψηφον ᾖ. θήκην δὲ ὑπὸ γῆς αὐτοῖς εἰργασμένην εἶναι ψαλίδα προμήκη λίθων ποτίμων καὶ ἀγήρων εἰς δύναμιν, ἔχουσαν κλίνας παρ᾽ ἀλλήλας λιθίνας [947ε] κειμένας, οὗ δὴ τὸν μακάριον γεγονότα θέντες, κύκλῳ χώσαντες, πέριξ δένδρων ἄλσος περιφυτεύσουσι πλὴν κώλου ἑνός, ὅπως ἂν αὔξην ὁ τάφος ἔχῃ ταύτην τὴν εἰς τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον ἐπιδεῆ χώματος τοῖς τιθεμένοις: κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν δὲ ἀγῶνα μουσικῆς αὐτοῖς καὶ γυμνικὸν ἱππικόν τε θήσουσιν. τὰ μὲν δὴ γέρα ταῦτα τοῖς τὰς εὐθύνας διαφυγοῦσιν: ἂν δέ τις τούτων, πιστεύων τῷ κεκρίσθαι, τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην φύσιν ἐπιδείξῃ κακὸς γενόμενος ὕστερον τῆς κρίσεως, γράφεσθαι μὲν τὸν βουλόμενον αὐτὸν ὁ νόμος προσταττέτω, ὁ δ᾽ ἀγὼν [948α] ἐν δικαστηρίῳ γιγνέσθω τοιῷδέ τινι τρόπῳ. πρῶτον μὲν νομοφύλακες ἔστωσαν τούτου τοῦ δικαστηρίου, ἔπειτα αὐτῶν τούτων οἱ ζῶντες, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις τὸ τῶν ἐκλεκτῶν δικαστήριον, γραφέσθω δὲ ὁ γραφόμενος, ὃν ἂν γράφηται, λέγουσαν τὴν γραφὴν ἀνάξιον εἶναι τὸν καὶ τὸν τῶν ἀριστείων καὶ τῆς ἀρχῆς: καὶ ἐὰν μὲν ὁ φεύγων ἁλῷ, στερέσθω τῆς ἀρχῆς καὶ τοῦ τάφου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν δοθεισῶν αὐτῷ τιμῶν, ἐὰν δὲ ὁ διώκων μὴ μεταλάβῃ τὸ πέμπτον μέρος τῶν [948β] ψήφων, τινέτω ὁ μὲν τοῦ μεγίστου τιμήματος δώδεκα μνᾶς, ὀκτὼ δὲ ὁ τοῦ δευτέρου, τρίτου δὲ ἕξ, τετάρτου δὲ δύο.

Ῥαδαμάνθυος δὲ περὶ τὴν λεγομένην κρίσιν τῶν δικῶν ἄξιον ἄγασθαι, διότι κατεῖδεν τοὺς τότε ἀνθρώπους ἡγουμένους ἐναργῶς εἶναι θεούς, εἰκότως, ἅτε κατὰ τὸν τότε χρόνον τῶν πολλῶν ἐκ θεῶν ὄντων, ὧν εἷς ἦν αὐτός, ὥς γε λόγος. ἔοικεν δὴ δικαστῇ μὲν ἀνθρώπων οὐδενὶ διανοούμενος δεῖν ἐπιτρέπειν, θεοῖς δέ, ὅθεν ἁπλαῖ καὶ ταχεῖαι δίκαι ἐκρίνοντ᾽ αὐτῷ: διδοὺς γὰρ περὶ ἑκάστων τῶν ἀμφισβητουμένων [948ξ] ὅρκον τοῖς ἀμφισβητοῦσιν ἀπηλλάττετο ταχὺ καὶ ἀσφαλῶς. νῦν δὲ δὴ ὅτε μέρος τι μέν, φαμέν, ἀνθρώπων τὸ παράπαν οὐχ ἡγοῦνται θεούς, οἱ δὲ οὐ φροντίζειν ἡμῶν αὐτοὺς διανοοῦνται, τῶν δὲ δὴ πλείστων ἐστὶ καὶ κακίστων ἡ δόξα ὡς σμικρὰ δεχόμενοι θύματα καὶ θωπείας πολλὰ συναποστεροῦσι χρήματα καὶ μεγάλων σφᾶς ἐκλύονται κατὰ πολλὰ ζημιῶν, οὐκέτι δὴ τοῖς νῦν ἀνθρώποις ἡ Ῥαδαμάνθυος [948δ] ἂν εἴη τέχνη πρέπουσα ἐν δίκαις. μεταβεβληκυιῶν οὖν τῶν περὶ θεοὺς δοξῶν ἐν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις μεταβάλλειν δεῖ καὶ τοὺς νόμους: ἐν γὰρ λήξεσιν δικῶν τοὺς μετὰ νοῦ τιθεμένους νόμους ἐξαιρεῖν χρὴ τοὺς ὅρκους τῶν ἀντιδικούντων ἑκατέρων, καὶ τὸν λαγχάνοντά τῴ τινα δίκην τὰ μὲν ἐγκλήματα γράφειν, ὅρκον δὲ μὴ ἐπομνύναι, καὶ τὸν φεύγοντα κατὰ ταὐτὰ τὴν ἄρνησιν γράψαντα παραδοῦναι τοῖς ἄρχουσιν ἀνώμοτον. δεινὸν γάρ που, δικῶν γ᾽ ἐν πόλει πολλῶν [948ε] γενομένων, εὖ εἰδέναι σμικροῦ δεῖν τοὺς ἡμίσεις αὐτῶν ἐπιωρκηκότας, ἐν συσσιτίοις τε ἀλλήλοις εὐχερῶς συγγιγνομένους καὶ ἐν ἄλλαις συνουσίαις τε καὶ ἰδιωτικαῖς συγγενήσεσιν ἑκάστων. νόμος δὴ κείσθω δικαστὴν μὲν ὀμνύναι δικάζειν μέλλοντα, καὶ τὸν τὰς ἀρχὰς τῷ κοινῷ καθιστάντα [949α] δι᾽ ὅρκων ἢ διὰ φορᾶς ψήφων ἀφ᾽ ἱερῶν φέροντα δρᾶν ἀεὶ τὸ τοιοῦτον, καὶ κριτὴν αὖ χορῶν καὶ πάσης μουσικῆς καὶ γυμνικῶν τε καὶ ἱππικῶν ἄθλων ἐπιστάτας καὶ βραβέας καὶ ἁπάντων ὁπόσα μὴ φέρει κέρδος κατὰ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην δόξαν τῷ ἐπιορκοῦντι: τῶν δὲ ὁπόσα ἐξαρνηθέντι καὶ ἐξομοσαμένῳ κέρδος μέγα φανερὸν εἶναι δοκεῖ, ταῦτα δὲ διὰ δικῶν ὅρκων χωρὶς κρίνεσθαι σύμπαντας τοὺς ἐπικαλοῦντας ἀλλήλοις. καὶ τὸ παράπαν ἐν δίκῃ τοὺς προέδρους μὴ [949β] ἐπιτρέπειν μήτε ὀμνύντι λέγειν πιθανότητος χάριν μήτε ἐπαρώμενον ἑαυτῷ καὶ γένει μήτε ἱκετείαις χρώμενον ἀσχήμοσιν μήτε οἴκτοις γυναικείοις, ἀλλὰ τὸ δίκαιον μετ᾽ εὐφημίας διδάσκοντα καὶ μανθάνοντα ἀεὶ διατελεῖν, εἰ δὲ μή, καθάπερ ἔξω τοῦ λόγου λέγοντος, τοὺς ἄρχοντας πάλιν ἐπανάγειν εἰς τὸν περὶ τοῦ πράγματος ἀεὶ λόγον. ξένῳ δ᾽ εἶναι πρὸς ξένους, καθάπερ τὰ νῦν, δέχεσθαί τε ὅρκους παρ᾽ [949ξ] ἀλλήλων, ἂν ἐθέλωσι, καὶ διδόναι κυρίως-οὐ γὰρ καταγηράσουσιν οὐδ᾽ ἐννεοττεύοντες ἐν τῇ πόλει ὡς τὸ πολὺ τοιούτους ἄλλους κυρίους τῆς χώρας παρέξονται συντρόφους -δικῶν τε περὶ λήξεως τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον εἶναι πρὸς ἀλλήλους πᾶσι τὴν κρίσιν.

ὅσα τις ἐλεύθερος ἀπειθεῖ τῇ πόλει, μήτ᾽ οὖν πληγῶν ἄξια μηδ᾽ αὖ δεσμῶν μηδὲ θανάτου, περὶ δὲ χορείας τινῶν φοιτήσεων ἢ πομπεύσεων ἢ τοιούτων τινῶν ἄλλων κοινῶν [949δ] κοσμήσεων ἢ λῃτουργιῶν, ὁπόσα περὶ θυσίας εἰρηνικῆς ἢ πολεμικῶν εἰσφορῶν εἵνεκα, πάντων τῶν τοιούτων τὴν πρώτην ἀνάγκην ἰατὴν εἶναι τῆς ζημίας, τοῖς δὲ μὴ πειθομένοις ἐνεχυρασίαν τούτοις οἷς ἂν πόλις ἅμα καὶ νόμος εἰσπράττειν προστάττῃ, τῶν δὲ ἀπειθούντων ταῖς ἐνεχυρασίαις πρᾶσιν τῶν ἐνεχύρων εἶναι, τὸ δὲ νόμισμα γίγνεσθαι τῇ πόλει: ἐὰν δὲ ζημίας δέωνται πλείονος, τὰς ἀρχὰς ἑκάστας τοῖς ἀπειθοῦσι τὰς πρεπούσας ζημίας ἐπιβαλλούσας [949ε] εἰσάγειν εἰς τὸ δικαστήριον, ἕως ἂν ἐθελήσωσι δρᾶν τὸ προσταχθέν.

πόλει δέ, ἥτις ἂν μήτε χρηματίζηται πλὴν τὸν ἐκ γῆς χρηματισμὸν μήτ᾽ ἐμπορεύηται, περὶ ἀποδημίας ἑαυτῶν ἔξω τῆς χώρας καὶ ξένων ὑποδοχῆς ἄλλοθεν ἀνάγκη βεβουλεῦσθαι τί χρὴ δρᾶν: συμβουλεύειν οὖν τὸν νομοθέτην δεῖ τούτων πέρι πρῶτον πείθοντα εἰς δύναμιν. πέφυκεν δὲ ἡ πόλεων ἐπιμειξία πόλεσιν ἤθη κεραννύναι παντοδαπά, [950α] καινοτομίας ἀλλήλοις ἐμποιούντων ξένων ξένοις: ὃ δὴ τοῖς μὲν εὖ πολιτευομένοις διὰ νόμων ὀρθῶν βλάβην ἂν φέροι μεγίστην πασῶν, ταῖς δὲ πλείσταις πόλεσιν, ἅτε οὐδαμῶς εὐνομουμέναις, οὐδὲν διαφέρει φύρεσθαι δεχομένους τε αὐτοῖς ξένους καὶ αὐτοὺς εἰς τὰς ἄλλας ἐπικωμάζοντας πόλεις, ὅταν ἐπιθυμήσῃ τις ἀποδημίας ὁπῃοῦν καὶ ὁπότε, εἴτε νέος εἴτε καὶ πρεσβύτερος ὤν. τὸ δ᾽ αὖ μήτε ἄλλους δέχεσθαι μήτε αὐτοὺς ἄλλοσε ἀποδημεῖν ἅμα μὲν οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖ τό γε [950β] παράπαν, ἔτι δὲ ἄγριον καὶ ἀπηνὲς φαίνοιτ᾽ ἂν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις, ὀνόμασίν τε χαλεποῖς ταῖσιν λεγομέναις ξενηλασίαις χρωμένους καὶ τρόποις αὐθάδεσι καὶ χαλεποῖς, ὡς δοκοῖεν ἄν: χρὴ δὲ οὔποτε περὶ σμικροῦ ποιεῖσθαι τὸ δοκεῖν ἀγαθοὺς εἶναι τοῖς ἄλλοις ἢ μὴ δοκεῖν. οὐ γὰρ ὅσον οὐσίας ἀρετῆς ἀπεσφαλμένοι τυγχάνουσιν οἱ πολλοί, τοσοῦτον καὶ τοῦ κρίνειν τοὺς ἄλλους ὅσοι πονηροὶ καὶ χρηστοί, θεῖον δέ τι καὶ εὔστοχον ἔνεστι καὶ τοῖσιν κακοῖς, ὥστε πάμπολλοι [950ξ] καὶ τῶν σφόδρα κακῶν εὖ τοῖς λόγοις καὶ ταῖς δόξαις διαιροῦνται τοὺς ἀμείνους τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τοὺς χείρονας. διὸ καλὸν ταῖς πολλαῖς πόλεσι τὸ παρακέλευμά ἐστιν, προτιμᾶν τὴν εὐδοξίαν πρὸς τῶν πολλῶν. τὸ μὲν γὰρ ὀρθότατον καὶ μέγιστον, ὄντα ἀγαθὸν ἀληθῶς οὕτω τὸν εὔδοξον βίον θηρεύειν, χωρὶς δὲ μηδαμῶς, τόν γε τέλεον ἄνδρα ἐσόμενον, καὶ δὴ καὶ τῇ κατὰ Κρήτην οἰκιζομένῃ πόλει πρέπον ἂν εἴη δόξαν πρὸς τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων ὅτι [950δ] καλλίστην τε καὶ ἀρίστην παρασκευάζεσθαι πρὸς ἀρετήν: πᾶσα δ᾽ ἐλπὶς αὐτὴν ἐκ τῶν εἰκότων, ἄνπερ κατὰ λόγον γίγνηται, μετ᾽ ὀλίγων ἥλιον ὄψεσθαι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους θεοὺς ἐν ταῖς εὐνόμοις πόλεσι καὶ χώραις. ὧδε οὖν χρὴ ποιεῖν περὶ ἀποδημίας εἰς ἄλλας χώρας καὶ τόπους καὶ περὶ ὑποδοχῆς ξένων. πρῶτον μὲν νεωτέρῳ ἐτῶν τετταράκοντα μὴ ἐξέστω ἀποδημῆσαι μηδαμῇ μηδαμῶς, ἔτι τε ἰδίᾳ μηδενί, δημοσίᾳ δ᾽ ἔστω κήρυξιν ἢ πρεσβείαις ἢ καί τισι θεωροῖς: [950ε] τὰς δὲ κατὰ πόλεμον καὶ στρατείας ἀποδημίας οὐκ ἐν ἐκδημίαις πολιτικαῖς ἄξιον ἀγορεύειν ὡς τούτων οὔσας. Πυθώδε τῷ Ἀπόλλωνι καὶ εἰς Ὀλυμπίαν τῷ Διὶ καὶ εἰς Νεμέαν καὶ εἰς Ἰσθμὸν χρὴ πέμπειν κοινωνοῦντας θυσιῶν τε καὶ ἀγώνων τούτοις τοῖς θεοῖς, πέμπειν δὲ εἰς δύναμιν ὅτι πλείστους ἅμα καὶ καλλίστους τε καὶ ἀρίστους, οἵτινες εὐδόκιμον τὴν πόλιν ἐν ἱεραῖς τε καὶ εἰρηνικαῖς συνουσίαις ποιήσουσι [951α] δοκεῖν, τοῖς περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἀντίστροφον ἀποδιδόντες δόξης παρασκευήν, ἐλθόντες δὲ οἴκαδε διδάξουσι τοὺς νέους ὅτι δεύτερα τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἐστὶ νόμιμα τὰ περὶ τὰς πολιτείας. θεωροὺς δὲ ἄλλους ἐκπέμπειν χρεὼν τοιούσδε τινὰς τοὺς νομοφύλακας παρεμένους: ἄν τινες ἐπιθυμῶσι τῶν πολιτῶν τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων πράγματα θεωρῆσαι κατά τινα πλείω σχολήν, ἀπειργέτω μηδεὶς τούτους νόμος. οὔτε [951β] γὰρ ἄπειρος οὖσα πόλις ἀνθρώπων κακῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν δύναιτ᾽ ἄν ποτε, ἀνομίλητος οὖσα, ἥμερος ἱκανῶς εἶναι καὶ τέλεος, οὐδ᾽ αὖ τοὺς νόμους διαφυλάττειν ἄνευ τοῦ γνώμῃ λαβεῖν αὐτοὺς ἀλλὰ μὴ μόνον ἔθεσιν. εἰσὶ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς πολλοῖς ἄνθρωποι ἀεὶ θεῖοί τινες-οὐ πολλοί-παντὸς ἄξιοι συγγίγνεσθαι, φυόμενοι οὐδὲν μᾶλλον ἐν εὐνομουμέναις πόλεσιν ἢ καὶ μή, ὧν κατ᾽ ἴχνος ἀεὶ χρὴ τὸν ἐν ταῖς εὐνομουμέναις πόλεσιν οἰκοῦντα, ἐξιόντα κατὰ θάλατταν καὶ γῆν, ζητεῖν [951ξ] ὃς ἂν ἀδιάφθαρτος ᾖ, τὰ μὲν βεβαιούμενον τῶν νομίμων, ὅσα καλῶς αὐτοῖς κεῖται, τὰ δ᾽ ἐπανορθούμενον, εἴ τι παραλείπεται. ἄνευ γὰρ ταύτης τῆς θεωρίας καὶ ζητήσεως οὐ μένει ποτὲ τελέως πόλις, οὐδ᾽ ἂν κακῶς αὐτὴν θεωρῶσιν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς οὖν ἂν γίγνοιτ᾽ ἀμφότερα;

Ἀθηναῖος

τῇδε. πρῶτον μὲν ὁ θεωρὸς ὁ τοιοῦτος ἡμῖν γεγονὼς ἔστω πλειόνων ἐτῶν ἢ πεντήκοντα, ἔτι δὲ τῶν εὐδοκίμων τά τε ἄλλα καὶ εἰς τὸν πόλεμον ἔστω γεγενημένος, [951δ] εἰ μέλλει τὸ τῶν νομοφυλάκων δεῖγμα εἰς τὰς ἄλλας μεθήσειν πόλεις: πλέον δὲ ἑξήκοντα γεγονὼς ἐτῶν μηκέτι θεωρείτω. θεωρήσας δὲ ὁπός᾽ ἂν ἔτη βουληθῇ τῶν δέκα καὶ ἀφικόμενος οἴκαδε, εἰς τὸν σύλλογον ἴτω τὸν τῶν περὶ νόμους ἐποπτευόντων: οὗτος δ᾽ ἔστω νέων καὶ πρεσβυτέρων μεμειγμένος, ἑκάστης μὲν ἡμέρας συλλεγόμενος ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἀπ᾽ ὄρθρου μέχριπερ ἂν ἥλιος ἀνάσχῃ, πρῶτον μὲν τῶν ἱερέων τῶν τὰ ἀριστεῖα εἰληφότων, ἔπειτα τῶν νομοφυλάκων [951ε] τοὺς ἀεὶ πρεσβεύοντας δέκα. ἔτι ὁ περὶ τῆς παιδείας πάσης ἐπιμελητὴς ὅ τε νέος οἵ τε ἐκ τῆς ἀρχῆς ταύτης ἀπηλλαγμένοι. ἕκαστος δὲ τούτων μὴ μόνος, ἀλλ᾽ ἴτω μετὰ νέου ἀπὸ τριάκοντα ἐτῶν μέχρι τετταράκοντα, τὸν ἀρέσκοντα αὑτῷ προσλαμβάνων. τὴν δὲ συνουσίαν εἶναι τούτοις καὶ [952α] τοὺς λόγους περὶ νόμων ἀεὶ τῆς τε οἰκείας πόλεως πέρι, καὶ ἐὰν ἄλλοθι πυνθάνωνταί τι περὶ τῶν τοιούτων διαφέρον, καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ μαθημάτων, ὁπός᾽ ἂν ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ σκέψει δοκῇ συμφέρειν μαθοῦσι μὲν εὐαγέστερον γίγνεσθαι, μὴ μαθοῦσι δὲ σκοτωδέστερα τὰ περὶ νόμους αὐτοῖς φαίνεσθαι καὶ ἀσαφῆ. ἃ δ᾽ ἂν τούτων ἐγκρίνωσιν οἱ γεραίτεροι, τοὺς νεωτέρους πάσῃ σπουδῇ μανθάνειν, ἐὰν δέ τις ἀνάξιος δοκῇ τῶν παρακεκλημένων εἶναι, τῷ παρακαλοῦντι μέμφεσθαι τὸν [952β] σύλλογον ὅλον: τοὺς δ᾽ εὐδοκιμοῦντας τούτων τῶν νέων φυλάττειν τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν, ἀποβλέποντας εἰς αὐτοὺς διαφερόντως τε τηροῦντας, καὶ τιμᾶν μὲν κατορθοῦντας, ἀτιμάζειν δὲ μᾶλλον τῶν ἄλλων, ἐὰν ἀποβαίνωσι χείρους τῶν πολλῶν. εἰς δὴ τοῦτον τὸν σύλλογον ὁ θεωρήσας τὰ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις νόμιμα ἀφικόμενος εὐθὺς πορευέσθω, καὶ εἴ τινα φήμην τινῶν περὶ θέσεως νόμων ἢ παιδείας ἢ τροφῆς ηὗρεν τινας ἔχοντας φράζειν, εἴτε καὶ αὐτὸς νενοηκὼς ἄττα ἥκοι, κοινούτω τῷ συλλόγῳ ἅπαντι: [952ξ] καὶ ἐάντε μηδὲν χείρων μηδέ τι βελτίων ἥκειν δόξῃ, χάριν γοῦν τῆς σφόδρα προθυμίας αἰνείσθω, ἐὰν δὲ πολὺ βελτίων, πολύ τ᾽ ἐπαινείσθω μᾶλλον ζῶν, τελευτήσαντά τε τιμαῖς αὐτὸν προσηκούσαις ἡ τῶν συλλεγομένων τιμάτω δύναμις. ἐὰν δὲ διεφθαρμένος ἀφικέσθαι δόξῃ, μηδενὶ συγγιγνέσθω μήτε νέῳ μήτε πρεσβυτέρῳ προσποιούμενος εἶναι σοφός: καὶ ἐὰν μὲν πείθηται τοῖς ἄρχουσιν, ἰδιώτης ζήτω, ἐὰν δὲ [952δ] μή, τεθνάτω, ἐάν γ᾽ ἐν δικαστηρίῳ ἁλῷ πολυπραγμονῶν τι περὶ τὴν παιδείαν καὶ τοὺς νόμους. ἐὰν δὲ ἄξιον ὄντα εἰς δικαστήριον εἰσάγειν ἀρχόντων μηδεὶς εἰσάγῃ, ὄνειδος ἀποκείσθω τοῖς ἄρχουσιν εἰς τὴν τῶν ἀριστείων διαδικασίαν.

ὁ μὲν οὖν ἐκδημῶν οὕτω καὶ τοιοῦτος ὢν ἐκδημείτω, τὸν δ᾽ εἰσεπιδημήσαντα μετὰ τοῦτον χρὴ φιλοφρονεῖσθαι. τέτταρες δ᾽ εἰσὶ ξένοι ὧν δεῖ πέρι λόγον τινὰ ποιεῖσθαι: ὁ μὲν δὴ πρῶτός τε καὶ διὰ τέλους ἀεὶ θερινὸς ὡς τὰ πολλὰ [952ε] διατελῶν ταῖς φοιτήσεσιν, καθάπερ οἱ τῶν ὀρνίθων διαπορευόμενοι-καὶ τούτων οἱ πολλοὶ κατὰ θάλατταν ἀτεχνῶς οἷον πετόμενοι χρηματισμοῦ χάριν ἐμπορευόμενοι ἔτους ὥραν πέτονται πρὸς τὰς ἄλλας πόλεις-ὃν ἀγοραῖς καὶ λιμέσι καὶ δημοσίοις οἰκοδομήμασιν ἔξω τῆς πόλεως πρὸς τῇ πόλει ὑποδέχεσθαι χρὴ τοὺς ἐπὶ τούτοις ἄρχοντας τεταγμένους, [953α] φυλάττοντας μὴ νεωτερίζῃ τίς τι τῶν τοιούτων ξένων, καὶ δίκας αὐτοῖς ὀρθῶς διανέμοντας, ἀναγκαῖα μέν, ὡς ὀλίγιστα δ᾽ ἐπιχρωμένους. ὁ δὲ δεύτερος, ὄμμασιν ὄντως θεωρὸς ὅσα τε μουσῶν ὠσὶν ἔχεται θεωρήματα: τῷ δὴ τοιούτῳ παντὶ χρὴ καταλύσεις πρὸς ἱεροῖς εἶναι φιλοξενίαις ἀνθρώπων παρεσκευασμένας, χρὴ δὲ καὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἱερέας τε καὶ νεωκόρους ἐπιμελεῖσθαι καὶ τημελεῖν, ἕως ἂν τὸν μέτριον ἐπιμείναντες χρόνον, ἰδόντες τε καὶ ἀκούσαντες ὧν χάριν ἀφίκοντο, [953β] ἀβλαβεῖς τοῦ δρᾶσαί τε καὶ παθεῖν ἀπαλλάττωνται. δικαστὰς δ᾽ αὐτοῖς εἶναι τοὺς ἱερέας, ἐὰν ἀδικῇ τις αὐτῶν τινα ἤ τιν᾽ ἄλλον ἀδικῇ τις τούτων ὅσα ἐντὸς δραχμῶν πεντήκοντα, ἐὰν δέ τι μεῖζον ἔγκλημα αὐτοῖς γίγνηται, πρὸς τοῖς ἀγορανόμοις εἶναι δεῖ δίκας τοῖς τοιούτοις. τρίτον δὲ ξένον ὑποδέχεσθαι χρὴ δημοσίᾳ τὸν κατά τι δημόσιον ἐξ ἄλλης χώρας ἀφιγμένον: ὃν στρατηγοῖς τε καὶ ἱππάρχοις καὶ ταξιάρχοις ὑποδεκτέον ἐστὶν μόνοις, τήν τ᾽ ἐπιμέλειαν [953ξ] τῶν τοιούτων μετὰ τῶν πρυτάνεων ποιητέον ἐκείνῳ παρ᾽ ὅτῳ τις ἂν αὐτῶν τὴν κατάλυσιν ξενωθεὶς ποιήσηται μόνῳ. τέταρτος δέ, ἄν ποτέ τις ἀφίκηται, σπάνιος μέν, ἂν δ᾽ οὖν ποτέ τις ἔλθῃ τῶν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν θεωρῶν ἀντίστροφος ἐξ ἄλλης χώρας, πρῶτον μὲν ἔλαττον ἐτῶν μηδὲν πεντήκοντα γεγονὼς ἔστω, πρὸς τούτῳ δὲ ἀξιῶν τι καλὸν ἰδεῖν τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσιν διαφέρον ἐν καλλοναῖς ἢ καὶ δεῖξαί τι κατὰ [953δ] ταὐτὰ ἄλλῃ πόλει. ἴτω μὲν νῦν πᾶς ἀκέλευστος ὁ τοιοῦτος ἐπὶ τὰς τῶν πλουσίων καὶ σοφῶν θύρας, τοιοῦτος ἕτερος αὐτὸς ὤν: ἐπὶ γὰρ τὴν τοῦ τῆς παιδείας ἐπιμελουμένου πάσης οἴκησιν ἴτω πιστεύων ἱκανῶς εἶναι ξένος τῷ τοιούτῳ ξένῳ, ἢ τὴν τῶν νικηφόρων τινὸς ἐπ᾽ ἀρετῇ, συνὼν δὲ τούτων τισὶν τὸ μὲν διδάξας, τὸ δὲ μαθὼν ἀπαλλαττέσθω, φίλος παρὰ φίλων δώροις καὶ τιμαῖς πρεπούσαις τιμηθείς. τούτοις δὴ τοῖς νόμοις ὑποδέχεσθαί τε χρὴ πάντας ξένους [953ε] τε καὶ ξένας ἐξ ἄλλης χώρας καὶ τοὺς αὑτῶν ἐκπέμπειν, τιμῶντας ξένιον Δία, μὴ βρώμασι καὶ θύμασι τὰς ξενηλασίας ποιουμένους, καθάπερ ποιοῦσιν νῦν θρέμματα Νείλου, μηδὲ κηρύγμασιν ἀγρίοις.

ἐγγύην, ἣν ἂν ἐγγυᾶταί τις, διαρρήδην ἐγγυάσθω, τὴν πρᾶξιν πᾶσαν διομολογούμενος ἐν συγγραφῇ καὶ ἐναντίον μαρτύρων μὴ ἔλαττον τριῶν, ὅσα ἐντὸς χιλίων, τὰ δ᾽ ὑπὲρ [954α] χιλίας μὴ ἔλαττον ἢ πέντε. ἐγγυητὴς μὲν δὴ καὶ ὁ προπωλῶν ὁτιοῦν τοῦ μὴ ἐνδίκως πωλοῦντος ἢ καὶ μηδαμῶς ἀξιόχρεω: ὑπόδικος δ᾽ ἔστω καὶ ὁ προπωλῶν καθάπερ ὁ ἀποδόμενος.

φωρᾶν δὲ ἂν ἐθέλῃ τις παρ᾽ ὁτῳοῦν, γυμνὸς ἢ χιτωνίσκον ἔχων ἄζωστος, προομόσας τοὺς νομίμους θεοὺς ἦ μὴν ἐλπίζειν εὑρήσειν, οὕτω φωρᾶν: ὁ δὲ παρεχέτω τὴν οἰκίαν, τά τε σεσημασμένα καὶ τὰ ἀσήμαντα, φωρᾶν. ἐὰν δέ τις [954β] ἐρευνᾶν βουλομένῳ φωρᾶν μὴ διδῷ, δικάζεσθαι μὲν τὸν ἀπειργόμενον, τιμησάμενον τὸ ἐρευνώμενον, ἂν δέ τις ὄφλῃ, τὴν διπλασίαν τοῦ τιμηθέντος βλάβην ἐκτίνειν. ἐὰν δὲ ἀποδημῶν οἰκίας δεσπότης τυγχάνῃ, τὰ μὲν ἀσήμαντα παρεχόντων οἱ ἐνοικοῦντες ἐρευνᾶν, τὰ δὲ σεσημασμένα παρασημηνάσθω καὶ ὃν ἂν ἐθέλῃ φύλακα καταστησάτω πέντε ἡμέρας ὁ φωρῶν: ἐὰν δὲ πλείονα χρόνον ἀπῇ, τοὺς ἀστυνόμους παραλαβὼν οὕτω φωράτω, λύων καὶ τὰ σεσημασμένα, [954ξ] πάλιν δὲ μετὰ τῶν οἰκείων καὶ τῶν ἀστυνόμων κατὰ ταὐτὰ σημηνάσθω.

τῶν ἀμφισβητησίμων χρόνου ὅρος, ὃν ἐάν τις ᾖ κεκτημένος, μηκέτ᾽ ἀμφισβητεῖν ἐξεῖναι. χωρίων μὲν οἰκήσεών τε τῇδε οὐκ ἔστ᾽ ἀμφισβήτησις: τῶν δὲ ἄλλων ὅτι ἄν τις ἐκτημένος ᾖ, ἐὰν μὲν κατὰ ἄστυ καὶ κατ᾽ ἀγορὰν καὶ ἱερὰ χρώμενος φαίνηται καὶ μηδεὶς ἐπιλάβηται, φῇ δὲ ζητεῖν τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον, ὁ δὲ μὴ ἀποκρυπτόμενος φανερὸς ᾖ, ἐὰν [954δ] οὕτω τις ἐνιαυτὸν ὁτιοῦν ἐκτημένος, ὁ δὲ ζητῶν διαγένωνται, μὴ ἐξέστω τοιούτου κτήματος ἐπιλαβέσθαι μηδέν᾽ ἀπελθόντος ἐνιαυτοῦ. ἐὰν δὲ κατ᾽ ἄστυ μὲν μὴ μηδὲ κατ᾽ ἀγορὰν χρῆται, κατ᾽ ἀγροὺς δὲ φανερῶς, μὴ προστυχὴς δὲ ἐν πέντε ἔτεσιν γένηταί τις, τῶν πέντε ἐξελθόντων ἐτῶν, μηκέτι τοῦ λοιποῦ χρόνου ἐξέστω τούτῳ τοῦ τοιούτου ἐπιλαβέσθαι. ἐὰν δὲ κατ᾽ οἰκίας ἐν ἄστει τέ τις χρῆται, τριετῆ τὴν προθεσμίαν [954ε] εἶναι, ἐὰν δὲ κατ᾽ ἀγροὺς ἐν ἀφανεῖ κεκτῆται, δέκα ἐτῶν, ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐν ἀλλοδημίᾳ, τοῦ παντὸς χρόνου, ὅταν ἀνεύρῃ που, μηδεμίαν εἶναι προθεσμίαν τῆς ἐπιλήψεως.

ἐάν τίς τινα δίκῃ παραγενέσθαι κωλύσῃ βίᾳ, εἴτε αὐτὸν εἴτε μάρτυρας, ἐὰν μὲν δοῦλον εἴτε αὑτοῦ εἴτε ἀλλότριον, ἀτελῆ καὶ ἄκυρον γίγνεσθαι τὴν δίκην, ἐὰν δὲ ἐλεύθερον, [955α] πρὸς τῷ ἀτελῆ, δεθῆναι μὲν ἐνιαυτόν, ὑπόδικον δὲ ἀνδραποδισμοῦ τῷ ἐθέλοντι γίγνεσθαι. ἐὰν δὲ ἀνταγωνιστὴν γυμναστικῆς ἢ μουσικῆς ἤ τινος ἀγῶνος ἑτέρου διακωλύῃ τις βίᾳ μὴ παραγίγνεσθαι, φραζέτω μὲν ὁ ἐθέλων τοῖς ἀθλοθέταις, οἱ δ᾽ εἰς τὸν ἀγῶνα ἐλεύθερον ἀφιέντων τὸν ἐθέλοντα ἀγωνίζεσθαι: ἐὰν δὲ ἀδυνατήσωσιν, ἐὰν μὲν ὁ κωλύων ἀγωνίζεσθαι νικήσῃ, τά τε νικητήρια τῷ διακωλυθέντι [955β] διδόναι καὶ νικήσαντα γράφειν ἐν ἱεροῖς οἷς ἂν ἐθέλῃ, τῷ δὲ διακωλύσαντι μὴ ἐξέστω μηδὲν ἀνάθημα μηδ᾽ ἐπιγραφὴν τοῦ τοιούτου ἀγῶνός ποτε γενέσθαι, βλάβης δὲ ὑπόδικος γιγνέσθω, ἐάντε ἡττῆται ἀγωνιζόμενος ἐάντε καὶ νικᾷ.

ἐάν τις κλεμμάδιον ὁτιοῦν ὑποδέχηται γιγνώσκων, τὴν αὐτὴν ὑπεχέτω δίκην τῷ κλέψαντι: φυγάδος δὲ ὑποδοχῆς θάνατος ἔστω ζημία.

τὸν αὐτὸν φίλον τε καὶ ἐχθρὸν νομιζέτω πᾶς τῇ πόλει: [955ξ] ἐὰν δέ τις ἰδίᾳ ποιῆται πρός τινας εἰρήνην ἢ πόλεμον ἄνευ τοῦ κοινοῦ, θάνατος ἔστω καὶ τούτῳ ζημία: ἐὰν δέ τι μέρος τῆς πόλεως εἰρήνην ἢ πόλεμον πρός τινας ἑαυτῷ ποιῆται, τοὺς αἰτίους οἱ στρατηγοὶ ταύτης τῆς πράξεως εἰσαγόντων εἰς δικαστήριον, ὀφλόντι δὲ θάνατος ἔστω δίκη.

τοὺς τῇ πατρίδι διακονοῦντάς τι δώρων χωρὶς χρὴ διακονεῖν, πρόφασιν δ᾽ εἶναι μηδεμίαν μηδὲ λόγον ἐπαινούμενον, ὡς ἐπ᾽ ἀγαθοῖς μὲν δεῖ δέχεσθαι δῶρα, ἐπὶ δὲ φλαύροις [955δ] οὔ: τὸ γὰρ γνῶναι καὶ γνόντα καρτερεῖν οὐκ εὐπετές, ἀκούοντα δὲ ἀσφαλέστατον πείθεσθαι τῷ νόμῳ, μηδὲν ἐπὶ δώροισιν διακονεῖν. ὁ δὲ μὴ πειθόμενος ἁπλῶς τεθνάτω ἁλοὺς τῇ δίκῃ.

χρημάτων εἰσφορᾶς πέρι τῷ κοινῷ, τετιμῆσθαι μὲν ἕκαστον τὴν οὐσίαν ἕνεκα πολλῶν χρεὼν καὶ τὴν ἐπέτειον ἐπικαρπίαν ἐν γράμμασιν ἀποφέρειν ἀγρονόμοις φυλέτας, ὅπως ἂν δυοῖν οὔσαιν ταῖν εἰσφοραῖν, ὁποτέρᾳ τὸ δημόσιον [955ε] ἂν χρῆσθαι βούληται, χρῆται, κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν ἕκαστον βουλευομένων, ἐάντε τοῦ τιμήματος ὅλου μέρει ἐάντε τῆς γενομένης ἐπ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν ἑκάστοτε προσόδου, χωρὶς τῶν εἰς τὰ συσσίτια τελουμένων.

θεοῖσι δὲ ἀναθήματα χρεὼν ἔμμετρα τὸν μέτριον ἄνδρα ἀνατιθέντα δωρεῖσθαι. γῆ μὲν οὖν ἑστία τε οἰκήσεως ἱερὰ πᾶσι πάντων θεῶν: μηδεὶς οὖν δευτέρως ἱερὰ καθιερούτω θεοῖς. χρυσὸς δὲ καὶ ἄργυρος ἐν ἄλλαις πόλεσιν ἰδίᾳ τε [956α] καὶ ἐν ἱεροῖς ἐστιν ἐπίφθονον κτῆμα, ἐλέφας δὲ ἀπολελοιπότος ψυχὴν σώματος οὐκ εὐαγὲς ἀνάθημα, σίδηρος δὲ καὶ χαλκὸς πολέμων ὄργανα: ξύλου δὲ μονόξυλον ὅτι ἂν ἐθέλῃ τις ἀνατιθέτω, καὶ λίθου ὡσαύτως πρὸς τὰ κοινὰ ἱερά, ὑφὴν δὲ μὴ πλέον ἔργον γυναικὸς μιᾶς ἔμμηνον. χρώματα δὲ λευκὰ πρέποντ᾽ ἂν θεοῖς εἴη καὶ ἄλλοθι καὶ ἐν ὑφῇ, βάμματα δὲ μὴ προσφέρειν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ πρὸς τὰ πολέμου [956β] κοσμήματα. θειότατα δὲ δῶρα ὄρνιθές τε καὶ ἀγάλματα ὅσαπερ ἂν ἐν μιᾷ ζωγράφος ἡμέρᾳ εἷς ἀποτελῇ: καὶ τἆλλα ἔστω κατὰ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀναθήματα μεμιμημένα.

ὅτε δὲ μέρη διείρηται τῆς πόλεως συμπάσης, ὅσα τε καὶ ἃ δεῖ γίγνεσθαι, καὶ νόμοι περὶ τῶν συμβολαίων εἰς δύναμιν τῶν μεγίστων πέρι πάντων εἴρηνται, τὸ λοιπὸν δὴ δίκας ἂν εἴη χρεὼν γίγνεσθαι. δικαστηρίων δὲ τὸ μὲν πρῶτον αἱρετοὶ δικασταὶ γίγνοιντ᾽ ἄν, οὓς ἂν ὁ φεύγων τε [956ξ] καὶ ὁ διώκων ἕλωνται κοινῇ, διαιτηταὶ δικαστῶν τοὔνομα μᾶλλον πρέπον ἔχοντες: δεύτεροι δὲ κωμῆταί τε καὶ φυλέται, κατὰ τὸ δωδέκατον μέρος διῃρημένοι, ἐν οἷς, ἂν μὴ διακριθῶσιν ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις, περὶ ζημίας μείζονος ἰόντων ἀγωνιούμενοι, ὁ δὲ φεύγων, ἂν ἡττηθῇ τὸ δεύτερον, τὸ πεμπτημόριον ἀποτινέτω τοῦ τιμήματος τῆς γραφείσης δίκης. ἐὰν δ᾽ ἐγκαλῶν τις τοῖς δικασταῖς τὸ τρίτον ἀγωνίζεσθαι βούληται, [956δ] ἀγέτω μὲν ἐπὶ τοὺς δικαστὰς τοὺς ἐκλεκτοὺς τὴν δίκην, ἐὰν δὲ πάλιν ἡττηθῇ, τὴν ἡμιολίαν τοῦ τιμήματος ἀποτινέτω. ἐὰν δὲ ὁ διώκων ἡττηθεὶς ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις μὴ ἠρεμῇ, εἰς δὲ τοὺς δευτέρους ἴῃ, νικήσας μὲν δὴ τὸ πέμπτον μέρος ἀπολαμβανέτω, νικηθεὶς δὲ ἀποτινέτω ταὐτὸν μέρος τῆς δίκης. ἐὰν δ᾽ εἰς τὸ τρίτον ἔλθωσιν δικαστήριον ἀπειθήσαντες ταῖς ἔμπροσθεν δίκαις, ὁ μὲν φεύγων ἡττηθείς, ὥσπερ εἴρηται, τὴν ἡμιολίαν, ὁ δὲ διώκων τὴν ἡμίσειαν τοῦ τιμήματος [956ε] ἀποτινέτω. κληρώσεις δὲ δικαστηρίων καὶ πληρώσεις, καὶ ὑπηρεσιῶν ἑκάσταις τῶν ἀρχῶν καταστάσεις, καὶ χρόνους ἐν οἷς ἕκαστα γίγνεσθαι χρεών, καὶ διαψηφίσεων πέρι καὶ ἀναβολῶν, καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα τοιαῦτα ἀναγκαῖα περὶ δίκας γίγνεσθαι, προτέρων τε καὶ ὑστέρων λήξεις, ἀποκρίσεών τε ἀνάγκας καὶ παρακαταβάσεων, καὶ ὅσα τούτων ἀδελφὰ σύμπαντα, εἴπομεν μὲν καὶ πρόσθεν, καλὸν δὲ τό γε ὀρθὸν καὶ [957α] δὶς καὶ τρίς. πάντα δ᾽ οὖν ὁπόσα σμικρὰ καὶ ῥᾴδια νόμιμα εὑρίσκειν, πρεσβύτου νομοθέτου παραλιπόντος, τὸν νέον ἀναπληροῦν χρὴ νομοθέτην. τὰ μὲν ἴδια δικαστήρια ταύτῃ πῃ γιγνόμενα μέτρον ἂν ἔχοι: τὰ δὲ δημόσια καὶ κοινὰ καὶ ὅσοις ἀρχὰς δεῖ χρωμένας τὰ προσήκοντα ἑκάστῃ τῶν ἀρχῶν διοικεῖν, ἔστ᾽ ἐν πολλαῖς πόλεσιν οὐκ ἀσχήμονα ἐπιεικῶν ἀνδρῶν οὐκ ὀλίγα νομοθετήματα, ὅθεν νομοφύλακας [957β] χρὴ τὰ πρέποντα τῇ νῦν γεννωμένῃ πολιτείᾳ κατασκευάζειν συλλογισαμένους καὶ ἐπανορθουμένους, ταῖς ἐμπειρίαις διαβασανίζοντας, ἕως ἂν ἱκανῶς αὐτῶν ἕκαστα δόξῃ κεῖσθαι, τότε δὲ τέλος ἐπιθέντας, ἀκίνητα οὕτως ἐπισφραγισαμένους, χρῆσθαι τὸν ἅπαντα βίον. ὅσα δὲ περί τε σιγὴν δικαστῶν καὶ εὐφημίας καὶ τοὐναντίον, καὶ ὅσα παραλλάττει τῶν πολλῶν ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις πόλεσιν δικαίων καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ καλῶν, [957ξ] τὰ μὲν εἴρηται, τὰ δ᾽ ἔτι πρὸς τῷ τέλει ῥηθήσεται. πρὸς ἃ πάντα χρὴ τὸν μέλλοντα δικαστὴν ἴσον ἔσεσθαι κατὰ δίκην βλέπειν τε καὶ κεκτημένον γράμματα αὐτῶν πέρι μανθάνειν: πάντων γὰρ μαθημάτων κυριώτατα τοῦ τὸν μανθάνοντα βελτίω γίγνεσθαι τὰ περὶ τοὺς νόμους κείμενα, εἴπερ ὀρθῶς εἴη τεθέντα, γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, ἢ μάτην τοὔνομα νῷ προσῆκον κεκτῇτ᾽ ἂν ὁ θεῖος ἡμῖν καὶ θαυμαστὸς νόμος. καὶ δὴ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων λόγων ὅσοι τε ἐν ποιήμασιν ἔπαινοι καὶ [957δ] ψόγοι περί τινων λέγονται καὶ ὅσοι καταλογάδην, εἴτ᾽ ἐν γράμμασιν εἴτε καθ᾽ ἡμέραν ἐν ταῖς ἄλλαις πάσαις συνουσίαις διὰ φιλονικίας τε ἀμφισβητοῦνται καὶ διὰ συγχωρήσεων ἔστιν ὅτε καὶ μάλα ματαίων, τούτων πάντων ἂν βάσανος εἴη σαφὴς τὰ τοῦ νομοθέτου γράμματα, ἃ δεῖ κεκτημένον ἐν αὑτῷ, καθάπερ ἀλεξιφάρμακα τῶν ἄλλων λόγων, τὸν ἀγαθὸν δικαστὴν αὑτόν τε ὀρθοῦν καὶ τὴν πόλιν, τοῖς μὲν [957ε] ἀγαθοῖς μονὰς τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἐπαύξησιν παρασκευάζοντα, τοῖς δὲ κακοῖς ἐξ ἀμαθίας καὶ ἀκολασίας καὶ δειλίας καὶ συλλήβδην πάσης ἀδικίας εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν μεταβολήν, ὅσοις ἰάσιμοι δόξαι τῶν κακῶν: οἷσιν δὲ ὄντως ἐπικεκλωσμέναι, [958α] θάνατον ἴαμα ταῖς οὕτω διατεθείσαις ψυχαῖς διανέμοντες, ὃ δικαίως εἴη πολλάκις ἂν εἰρημένον, ἄξιοι ἐπαίνου γίγνοιντ᾽ ἂν τῇ πάσῃ πόλει τοιοῦτοι δικασταὶ καὶ δικαστῶν ἡγεμόνες.

ἐπειδὰν δὲ αἱ κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν δίκαι τέλος ἐκδικασθεῖσαι σχῶσι, ταῖς πράξεσι νόμους αὐτῶν χρεὼν γίγνεσθαι τούσδε: πρῶτον μὲν ἡ δικάζουσα ἀρχὴ τὰ τοῦ ὀφλόντος τῷ νικήσαντι χρήματα πάντα ἀποδιδότω, χωρὶς τῶν ἀναγκαίων κεκτῆσθαι, [958β] μετὰ τὴν διαψήφισιν ἑκάστην εὐθὺς ὑπὸ κήρυκος, ἀκουόντων τῶν δικαστῶν: ἐπειδὰν δὲ ὁ τῶν δικασίμων μηνῶν ἐχόμενος γένηται μήν, ἐάν τις μὴ ἀπαλλάττῃ τὸν νικήσαντα ἑκόντα ἑκών, ἡ δικάσασα ἀρχὴ συνεπομένη τῷ νικῶντι τὰ τοῦ ὀφλόντος παραδιδότω χρήματα. ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ἔχωσιν ὁπόθεν, ἐλλείπῃ δὲ μὴ ἔλαττον δραχμῆς, μὴ πρότερον εἶναι τούτῳ δίκας πρὸς ἄλλον μηδένα, πρὶν ἂν ἐκπληρώσῃ τὸ χρέος [958ξ] ἅπαν τῷ νικήσαντι: ἄλλοις δὲ πρὸς τοῦτον ἔστωσαν δίκαι κυρίως. ἐὰν δέ τις ἀφῃρῆται τὴν ἀρχὴν τὴν καταδικάσασαν καταδικασθείς, εἰσαγόντων μὲν αὐτὸν εἰς τὸ τῶν νομοφυλάκων δικαστήριον οἱ ἀφαιρεθέντες ἀδίκως, ἐὰν δέ τις ὄφλῃ τὴν τοιαύτην δίκην, ὡς ὅλην τὴν πόλιν καὶ νόμους φθείρων θανάτῳ ζημιούσθω.

ἀνδρὶ δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο γεννηθέντι καὶ ἐκτραφέντι, καὶ γεννήσαντι καὶ ἐκθρέψαντι τέκνα, καὶ συμμείξαντι συμβόλαια [958δ] μετρίως, διδόντι τε δίκας εἴ τινα ἠδικήκει καὶ παρ᾽ ἑτέρου ἐκλαβόντι, σὺν τοῖς νόμοις ἐν μοίρᾳ γηράσαντι τελευτὴ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν κατὰ φύσιν. περὶ τελευτήσαντας δή, εἴτε τις ἄρρην εἴτε τις θῆλυς ᾖ, τὰ μὲν περὶ τὰ θεῖα νόμιμα τῶν τε ὑπὸ γῆς θεῶν καὶ τῶν τῇδε, ὅσα προσήκει τελεῖσθαι, τοὺς ἐξηγητὰς γίγνεσθαι κυρίους φράζοντας: θήκας δ᾽ εἶναι τῶν χωρίων ὁπόσα μὲν ἐργάσιμα μηδαμοῦ, μήτε τι μέγα μήτε [958ε] τι σμικρὸν μνῆμα, ἃ δὲ ἡ χώρα πρὸς τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ μόνον φύσιν ἔχει, τὰ τῶν τετελευτηκότων σώματα μάλιστα ἀλυπήτως τοῖς ζῶσι δεχομένη κρύπτειν, ταῦτα ἐκπληροῦν, τοῖς δὲ ἀνθρώποις ὅσα τροφὴν μήτηρ οὖσα ἡ γῆ πρὸς ταῦτα πέφυκεν βούλεσθαι φέρειν, μήτε ζῶν μήτε τις ἀποθανὼν στερείτω τὸν ζῶνθ᾽ ἡμῶν. χῶμα δὲ μὴ χοῦν ὑψηλότερον πέντε ἀνδρῶν ἔργον, ἐν πένθ᾽ ἡμέραις ἀποτελούμενον: λίθινα δὲ ἐπιστήματα μὴ μείζω ποιεῖν ἢ ὅσα δέχεσθαι τῶν τοῦ τετελευτηκότος ἐγκώμια βίου μὴ πλείω τεττάρων ἡρωικῶν [959α] στίχων. τὰς δὲ προθέσεις πρῶτον μὲν μὴ μακρότερον χρόνον ἔνδον γίγνεσθαι τοῦ δηλοῦντος τόν τε ἐκτεθνεῶτα καὶ τὸν ὄντως τεθνηκότα, εἴη δ᾽ ἂν σχεδόν, ὡς τἀνθρώπινα, μέτρον ἔχουσα τριταία πρὸς τὸ μνῆμα ἐκφορά. πείθεσθαι δ᾽ ἐστὶ τῷ νομοθέτῃ χρεὼν τά τε ἄλλα καὶ λέγοντι ψυχὴν σώματος εἶναι τὸ πᾶν διαφέρουσαν, ἐν αὐτῷ τε τῷ βίῳ τὸ παρεχόμενον ἡμῶν ἕκαστον τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι μηδὲν ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τὴν ψυχήν, [959β] τὸ δὲ σῶμα ἰνδαλλόμενον ἡμῶν ἑκάστοις ἕπεσθαι, καὶ τελευτησάντων λέγεσθαι καλῶς εἴδωλα εἶναι τὰ τῶν νεκρῶν σώματα, τὸν δὲ ὄντα ἡμῶν ἕκαστον ὄντως, ἀθάνατον εἶναι ψυχὴν ἐπονομαζόμενον, παρὰ θεοὺς ἄλλους ἀπιέναι δώσοντα λόγον, καθάπερ ὁ νόμος ὁ πάτριος λέγει-τῷ μὲν γὰρ ἀγαθῷ θαρραλέον, τῷ δὲ κακῷ μάλα φοβερόν-βοήθειάν τε αὐτῷ μήτινα μεγάλην εἶναι τετελευτηκότι: ζῶντι γὰρ ἔδει βοηθεῖν πάντας τοὺς προσήκοντας, ὅπως ὅτι δικαιότατος ὢν καὶ [959ξ] ὁσιώτατος ἔζη τε ζῶν καὶ τελευτήσας ἀτιμώρητος ἂν κακῶν ἁμαρτημάτων ἐγίγνετο τὸν μετὰ τὸν ἐνθάδε βίον. ἐκ δὲ τούτων οὕτως ἐχόντων οὐδέποτε οἰκοφθορεῖν χρή, διαφερόντως νομίζοντα τὸν αὑτοῦ τοῦτον εἶναι τὸν τῶν σαρκῶν ὄγκον θαπτόμενον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκεῖνον τὸν ὑὸν ἢ ἀδελφόν, ἢ ὅντινά τις μάλισθ᾽ ἡγεῖται ποθῶν θάπτειν, οἴχεσθαι περαίνοντα καὶ ἐμπιμπλάντα τὴν αὑτοῦ μοῖραν, τὸ δὲ παρὸν δεῖν εὖ ποιεῖν, [959δ] τὰ μέτρια ἀναλίσκοντα ὡς εἰς ἄψυχον χθονίων βωμόν: τὸ δὲ μέτριον νομοθέτης ἂν μαντεύσαιτο οὐκ ἀσχημονέστατα. ἔστω δὴ νόμος οὗτος: τῷ μὲν δὴ τοῦ μεγίστου τιμήματος εἰς τὴν πᾶσαν ταφὴν ἀναλισκόμενα μὴ πλέον πέντε μνῶν, τῷ δὲ τοῦ δευτέρου τρεῖς μναῖ, καὶ δύο τῷ τοῦ τρίτου, μνᾶ δὲ τῷ τοῦ τετάρτου μέτρον ἂν ἔχοι τῶν ἀναλωμάτων. νομοφύλαξι δὲ πολλά τε ἄλλα ἀνάγκη πράττειν καὶ πολλῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, τούτων δ᾽ οὐχ ἥκιστα, ὅπως ἂν παίδων τε καὶ [959ε] ἀνδρῶν καὶ πάσης ἡλικίας ἐπιμελούμενοι ζῶσι, καὶ δὴ καὶ πρὸς τὸ τέλος ἁπάντων νομοφύλαξ εἷς γέ τις ἐπιστατῇ, ὃν ἂν οἱ τοῦ τετελευτηκότος ἐπίσκοπον οἰκεῖοι παραλάβωσιν, ᾧ καλόν τ᾽ ἔστω καλῶς καὶ μετρίως τὰ περὶ τὸν τετελευτηκότα γιγνόμενα καὶ μὴ καλῶς αἰσχρόν. πρόθεσις δὲ καὶ τἆλλα ἔστω μὲν κατὰ τὸν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα νόμον γιγνόμενα, τῷ δὲ πολιτικῷ νομοθετοῦντι παραχωρεῖν χρὴ τὰ τοιάδε: δακρύειν [960α] μὲν τὸν τετελευτηκότα ἐπιτάττειν ἢ μὴ ἄμορφον, θρηνεῖν δὲ καὶ ἔξω τῆς οἰκίας φωνὴν ἐξαγγέλλειν ἀπαγορεύειν, καὶ τὸν νεκρὸν εἰς τὸ φανερὸν προάγειν τῶν ὁδῶν κωλύειν, καὶ ἐν ταῖς ὁδοῖς πορευόμενον φθέγγεσθαι, καὶ πρὸ ἡμέρας ἔξω τῆς πόλεως εἶναι. ταῦτα δὴ κείσθω τε οὕτω περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα νόμιμα, καὶ ὁ μὲν πειθόμενος ἔστω ζημίας ἐκτός, ὁ δὲ ἀπειθῶν ἑνὶ τῶν νομοφυλάκων ὑπὸ πάντων ζημιούσθω [960β] τῇ δοξάσῃ πᾶσι κοινῇ ζημίᾳ. ὅσαι δ᾽ ἄλλαι γίγνονται περὶ τελευτήσαντας ταφαὶ εἴτε καὶ ἄταφοι πράξεις, περὶ πατροφόνων καὶ ἱεροσύλων καὶ τῶν τοιούτων πάντων, εἰρημέναι ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν κεῖνται διὰ νόμων, ὥστε σχεδὸν ἡ νομοθεσία τέλος ἂν ἡμῖν ἔχοι: τῶν πάντων δ᾽ ἑκάστοτε τέλος οὐ τὸ δρᾶσαί τι σχεδὸν οὐδὲ τὸ κτήσασθαι κατοικίσαι τ᾽ ἐστίν, ἀλλὰ τῷ γεννηθέντι σωτηρίαν ἐξευρόντα τελέως ἀεί, τότ᾽ ἤδη νομίζειν πᾶν ὅσον δεῖ πραχθῆναι πεπρᾶχθαι, πρότερον [960ξ] δ᾽ ἀτελὲς εἶναι τὸ ὅλον.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις: πρὸς ὅτι δὲ τὸ νῦν αὖ ῥηθὲν εἴρηται, φράζ᾽ ἔτι σαφέστερον.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ Κλεινία, πολλὰ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν καλῶς ὕμνηται, σχεδὸν δὲ οὐχ ἥκιστα τὰ τῶν Μοιρῶν προσρήματα.

Κλεινίας

ποῖα δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ Λάχεσιν μὲν τὴν πρώτην εἶναι, Κλωθὼ δὲ τὴν δευτέραν, τὴν Ἄτροπον δὴ τρίτην σώτειραν τῶν λεχθέντων, ἀπῃκασμένα τῇ τῶν κλωσθέντων τῷ πυρὶ τὴν ἀμετάστροφον [960δ] ἀπεργαζομένων δύναμιν: ἃ δὴ καὶ πόλει καὶ πολιτείᾳ δεῖ μὴ μόνον ὑγίειαν καὶ σωτηρίαν τοῖς σώμασι παρασκευάζειν, ἀλλὰ καὶ εὐνομίαν ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς, μᾶλλον δὲ σωτηρίαν τῶν νόμων. ἡμῖν δ᾽ ἔτι μοι φαίνεσθαι δοκεῖ τοῦτ᾽ ἐλλεῖπον τοῖς νόμοις εἶναι, πῶς χρὴ τὴν ἀμετάστροφον αὐτοῖς ἐγγίγνεσθαι κατὰ φύσιν δύναμιν.

Κλεινίας

οὐ σμικρὸν λέγεις, εἴπερ ἐστὶ μὴ δυνατὸν εὑρεῖν ὅπῃ γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν παντὶ κτῆμά τι τοιοῦτον. [960ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι μὴν δυνατόν, ὥς γέ μοι τὰ νῦν παντάπασι καταφαίνεται.

Κλεινίας

μὴ τοίνυν ἀφιστώμεθα μηδενὶ τρόπῳ, πρὶν ἂν τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ἐκπορισώμεθα τοῖς εἰρημένοις νόμοις: γελοῖον γὰρ τό γε μάτην πονήσαντα ὁτιοῦν εἰς μηδὲν βέβαιον καταβαλεῖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὀρθῶς παρακελεύῃ, καὶ ἐμὲ τοιοῦτον εὑρήσεις ἄλλον.

Κλεινίας

καλῶς δὴ λέγεις. τίς οὖν δή, φῄς, σωτηρία γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν καὶ τίνα τρόπον πολιτείᾳ τε καὶ τοῖς νόμοις ἡμῖν; [961α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὐκ εἴπομεν ὅτι δεῖ σύλλογον ἡμῖν ἐν τῇ πόλει γίγνεσθαι τοιόνδε τινά; δέκα μὲν τῶν νομοφυλάκων τοὺς πρεσβυτάτους ἀεί, τοὺς δὲ τἀριστεῖα εἰληφότας ἅπαντας δεῖν εἰς ταὐτὸ συλλέγεσθαι τούτοις, ἔτι δὲ τοὺς ἐκδημήσαντας ἐπὶ ζήτησιν εἴ τί που πρὸς τὴν νομοφυλακίαν γίγνοιτο ἓν καίριον ἀκοῦσαι καὶ σωθέντας οἴκαδε, δόξαι, τούτοις αὐτοῖς διαβασανισθέντας, τοῦ συλλόγου ἀξιοκοινωνήτους εἶναι: πρὸς τούτοις δὲ ἕνα ἕκαστον δεῖν προσλαμβάνειν τῶν [961β] νέων, μὴ ἔλαττον ἢ τριάκοντ᾽ ἔτη γεγονότα, πρῶτον δὲ αὐτὸν κρίναντα ἐπάξιον εἶναι φύσει καὶ τροφῇ, τὸν νέον οὕτως εἰς τοὺς ἄλλους εἰσφέρειν, καὶ ἐὰν μὲν δόξῃ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις, προσλαμβάνειν, εἰ δὲ μή, ἀπόρρητον εἶναι τὴν γεγονυῖαν κρίσιν τοῖς τε ἄλλοις δὴ καὶ μάλιστ᾽ αὐτῷ τῷ ἀποκριθέντι: δεῖν δὲ ὄρθριον εἶναι τὸν σύλλογον, ἡνίκ᾽ ἂν τῶν ἄλλων πράξεων ἰδίων τε καὶ κοινῶν καὶ μάλιστ᾽ ᾖ τις σχολὴ παντί. τοιοῦτόν τί που λεχθὲν ἡμῖν ἦν ἐν τοῖς [961ξ] ἔμπροσθεν λόγοις;

Κλεινίας

ἦν γὰρ οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτου δὴ πέρι τοῦ συλλόγου πάλιν ἀναλαβὼν λέγοιμ᾽ ἂν τὸ τοιόνδε. φημί, εἴ τις τοῦτον βάλοιτο οἷον ἄγκυραν πάσης τῆς πόλεως, πάντα ἔχουσαν τὰ πρόσφορα ἑαυτῇ, σῴζειν ἂν σύμπαντα ἃ βουλόμεθα.

Κλεινίας

πῶς δή;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἡμέτερος ἂν καιρὸς γίγνοιτο ὀρθῶς φράζοντας μηδὲν ἀπολείπειν προθυμίας.

Κλεινίας

καὶ μάλα καλῶς εἶπες, ποίει θ᾽ ὥσπερ καὶ διανοῇ. [961δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

χρὴ τοίνυν, ὦ Κλεινία, παντὸς πέρι νοῆσαι σωτῆρα τὸν εἰκότα ἐν ἑκάστοις τῶν ἔργων, ὡς ἐν ζῴῳ ψυχὴ καὶ κεφαλή, τό γε μέγιστον, πεφύκατον.

Κλεινίας

πῶς αὖ φῄς;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἡ τούτοιν ἀρετὴ δήπου παντὶ παρέχει ζῴῳ σωτηρίαν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

ψυχῇ μὲν πρὸς τοῖς ἄλλοις νοῦς ἐγγιγνόμενος, κεφαλῇ δ᾽ αὖ πρὸς τοῖς ἄλλοις ὄψις καὶ ἀκοή: συλλήβδην δὲ νοῦς μετὰ τῶν καλλίστων αἰσθήσεων κραθείς, γενόμενός τε εἰς ἕν, σωτηρία ἑκάστων δικαιότατ᾽ ἂν εἴη καλουμένη.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικε γοῦν. [961ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔοικε γάρ. ἀλλ᾽ ὁ περὶ τί νοῦς μετ᾽ αἰσθήσεων κραθεὶς σωτηρία πλοίων ἔν γε χειμῶσιν καὶ ἐν εὐδίαις γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν; ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἐν νηὶ κυβερνήτης ἅμα καὶ ναῦται τὰς αἰσθήσεις τῷ κυβερνητικῷ νῷ συγκερασάμενοι σῴζουσιν αὑτούς τε καὶ τὰ περὶ τὴν ναῦν;

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδὲν δὴ πολλῶν δεῖ τῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα παραδειγμάτων: ἀλλ᾽ οἷον περὶ στρατοπέδων νοήσωμεν τίνα θέμενοι στρατηγοὶ σκοπὸν καὶ ἰατρικὴ ὑπηρεσία πᾶσα [962α] στοχάζοιτ᾽ ἂν τῆς σωτηρίας ὀρθῶς. ἆρ᾽ οὐχ ἡ μὲν νίκην καὶ κράτος πολεμίων, ἡ δὲ ἰατρῶν τε καὶ ὑπηρετῶν ὑγιείας σώματι παρασκευήν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἰατρὸς δὴ τὸ περὶ σῶμα ἀγνοῶν, ὃ προσείπομεν ὑγίειαν νῦν, ἢ νίκην στρατηγὸς ἢ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσα δὴ διήλθομεν, ἔσθ᾽ ὅπως ἂν νοῦν περί τι τούτων ἂν ἔχων φαίνοιτο;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δὲ δὴ περὶ πόλιν; εἴ τις τὸν σκοπὸν οἷ βλέπειν δεῖ τὸν πολιτικὸν φαίνοιτο ἀγνοῶν, ἆρα ἄρχων μὲν [962β] πρῶτον δικαίως ἂν προσαγορεύοιτο, εἶτα σῴζειν ἂν δυνατὸς εἴη τοῦτο οὗ τὸν σκοπὸν τὸ παράπαν μηδ᾽ εἰδείη;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

δεῖ δὴ καὶ τὰ νῦν, ὡς ἔοικεν, εἴπερ μέλλει τέλος ὁ κατοικισμὸς τῆς χώρας ἡμῖν ἕξειν, εἶναί τι τὸ γιγνῶσκον ἐν αὐτῷ πρῶτον μὲν τοῦτο ὃ λέγομεν, τὸν σκοπόν, ὅστις ποτὲ ὁ πολιτικὸς ὢν ἡμῖν τυγχάνει, ἔπειτα ὅντινα τρόπον δεῖ μετασχεῖν τούτου καὶ τίς αὐτῷ καλῶς ἢ μὴ συμβουλεύει, τῶν νόμων αὐτῶν πρῶτον, ἔπειτα ἀνθρώπων: εἰ δ᾽ ἔσται [962ξ] τοῦ τοιούτου κενή τις πόλις, οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν ἄνους οὖσα καὶ ἀναίσθητος εἰ πράξει τὸ προστυχὸν ἑκάστοτε ἐν ἑκάσταις τῶν πράξεων.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν οὖν ἡμῖν ἐν τίνι ποτὲ τῶν τῆς πόλεως μερῶν ἢ ἐπιτηδευμάτων ἔστιν ἱκανὸν κατεσκευασμένον ὁτιοῦν τοιοῦτον φυλακτήριον; ἔχομεν φράζειν;

Κλεινίας

οὐ δῆτα, ὦ ξένε, σαφῶς γε: εἰ δ᾽ οὖν τοπάζειν δεῖ, δοκεῖ μοι τείνειν ὁ λόγος οὗτος εἰς τὸν σύλλογον ὃν εἶπες νυνδὴ νύκτωρ δεῖν συνιέναι. [962δ]

Ἀθηναῖος

κάλλισθ᾽ ὑπέλαβες, ὦ Κλεινία, καὶ δεῖ δὴ τοῦτον, ὡς ὁ νῦν παρεστηκὼς ἡμῖν λόγος μηνύει, πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν ἔχειν: ἧς ἄρχει τὸ μὴ πλανᾶσθαι πρὸς πολλὰ στοχαζόμενον, ἀλλ᾽ εἰς ἓν βλέποντα πρὸς τοῦτο ἀεὶ τὰ πάντα οἷον βέλη ἀφιέναι.

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

νῦν δὴ μαθησόμεθα ὅτι θαυμαστὸν οὐδὲν πλανᾶσθαι τὰ τῶν πόλεων νόμιμα, ὅτι πρὸς ἄλλο ἄλλη βλέπει τῶν νομοθεσιῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει ἑκάστῃ. καὶ τὰ μὲν πολλὰ οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν τὸ τοῖς μὲν τὸν ὅρον εἶναι τῶν δικαίων [962ε] ὅπως ἄρξουσί τινες ἐν τῇ πόλει, εἴτ᾽ οὖν βελτίους εἴτε χείρους τυγχάνουσιν ὄντες, τοῖς δ᾽, ὅπως πλουτήσουσιν, εἴτ᾽ οὖν δοῦλοί τινων ὄντες εἴτε καὶ μή, τῶν δ᾽ ἡ προθυμία πρὸς τὸν ἐλεύθερον δὴ βίον ὡρμημένη: οἱ δὲ καὶ σύνδυο νομοθετοῦνται, πρὸς ἄμφω βλέποντες, ἐλεύθεροί τε ὅπως ἄλλων τε πόλεων ἔσονται δεσπόται, οἱ δὲ σοφώτατοι, ὡς οἴονται, πρὸς ταῦτά τε καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα σύμπαντα, εἰς ἓν δὲ οὐδὲν διαφερόντως τετιμημένον ἔχοντες φράζειν εἰς ὃ τἆλλ᾽ αὐτοῖς δεῖ βλέπειν. [963α]

Κλεινίας

οὐκοῦν τό γ᾽ ἡμέτερον, ὦ ξένε, ὀρθῶς ἂν εἴη πάλαι τιθέμενον; πρὸς γὰρ ἓν ἔφαμεν δεῖν ἀεὶ πάνθ᾽ ἡμῖν τὰ τῶν νόμων βλέποντ᾽ εἶναι, τοῦτο δ᾽ ἀρετήν που συνεχωροῦμεν πάνυ ὀρθῶς λέγεσθαι.

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί.

Κλεινίας

τὴν δέ γε ἀρετὴν τέτταρα ἔθεμέν που.

Ἀθηναῖος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Κλεινίας

νοῦν δέ γε πάντων τούτων ἡγεμόνα, πρὸς ὃν δὴ τά τε ἄλλα πάντα καὶ τούτων τὰ τρία δεῖ βλέπειν.

Ἀθηναῖος

κάλλιστ᾽ ἐπακολουθεῖς, ὦ Κλεινία. καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ δὴ συνακολούθει. νοῦν γὰρ δὴ κυβερνητικὸν μὲν καὶ ἰατρικὸν [963β] καὶ στρατηγικὸν εἴπομεν εἰς τὸ ἓν ἐκεῖνο οἷ δεῖ βλέπειν, τὸν δὲ πολιτικὸν ἐλέγχοντες ἐνταῦθ᾽ ἐσμὲν νῦν, καὶ καθάπερ ἄνθρωπον ἐπανερωτῶντες εἴποιμεν ἄν: “ὦ θαυμάσιε, σὺ δὲ δὴ ποῖ σκοπεῖς; τί ποτ᾽ ἐκεῖνό ἐστι τὸ ἕν, ὃ δὴ σαφῶς ὁ μὲν ἰατρικὸς νοῦς ἔχει φράζειν, σὺ δ᾽ ὢν δὴ διαφέρων, ὡς φαίης ἄν, πάντων τῶν ἐμφρόνων, οὐχ ἕξεις εἰπεῖν;” ἢ σύ γε, Μέγιλλε καὶ Κλεινία, ἔχετον διαρθροῦντες ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ φράζειν πρὸς ἐμὲ τί ποτέ φατε εἶναι τοῦτο, [963ξ] καθάπερ ὑπὲρ ἄλλων ἐγὼ πρὸς ὑμᾶς συχνῶν διωριζόμην;

Κλεινίας

οὐδαμῶς, ὦ ξένε.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽ ὅτι δεῖ προθυμεῖσθαί τε συνιδεῖν αὐτὸ καὶ ἐν οἷς;

Κλεινίας

οἷον ἐν τίσι λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

οἷον ὅτε τέτταρα ἐφήσαμεν ἀρετῆς εἴδη γεγονέναι, δῆλον ὡς ἓν ἕκαστον ἀνάγκη φάναι, τεττάρων γε ὄντων.

Κλεινίας

τί μήν;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν ἕν γε ἅπαντα ταῦτα προσαγορεύομεν. ἀνδρείαν γάρ φαμεν ἀρετὴν εἶναι, καὶ τὴν φρόνησιν ἀρετήν, [963δ] καὶ τὰ δύο τἆλλα, ὡς ὄντως ὄντα οὐ πολλὰ ἀλλ᾽ ἓν τοῦτο μόνον, ἀρετήν.

Κλεινίας

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἧι μὲν τοίνυν διαφέρετον αὐτοῖν τούτω τὼ δύο καὶ δύ᾽ ὀνόματα ἐλαβέτην καὶ τἆλλα, οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν εἰπεῖν: ᾗ δὲ ἓν ἀμφοῖν ἐπωνομάσαμεν, ἀρετήν, καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις, οὐκ εὐπετὲς ἔτι.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐδὲν χαλεπὸν ὃ λέγω δηλῶσαι. διανειμώμεθα γὰρ ἀλλήλοις τὴν ἐρώτησιν καὶ ἀπόκρισιν.

Κλεινίας

πῶς αὖ φράζεις; [963ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἐρώτησόν με τί ποτε ἓν προσαγορεύοντες ἀρετὴν ἀμφότερα, δύο πάλιν αὐτὰ προσείπομεν, τὸ μὲν ἀνδρείαν, τὸ δὲ φρόνησιν. ἐρῶ γάρ σοι τὴν αἰτίαν, ὅτι τὸ μέν ἐστιν περὶ φόβον, οὗ καὶ τὰ θηρία μετέχει, τῆς ἀνδρείας, καὶ τά γε τῶν παίδων ἤθη τῶν πάνυ νέων: ἄνευ γὰρ λόγου καὶ φύσει γίγνεται ἀνδρεία ψυχή, ἄνευ δὲ αὖ λόγου ψυχὴ φρόνιμός τε καὶ νοῦν ἔχουσα οὔτ᾽ ἐγένετο πώποτε οὔτ᾽ ἔστιν οὐδ᾽ αὖθίς ποτε γενήσεται, ὡς ὄντος ἑτέρου.

Κλεινίας

ἀληθῆ λέγεις. [964α]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἧι μὲν τοίνυν ἐστὸν διαφόρω καὶ δύο, σὺ παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ ἀπείληφας τῷ λόγῳ: ᾗ δὲ ἓν καὶ ταὐτόν, σὺ πάλιν ἀπόδος ἐμοί. διανοοῦ δὲ ὡς ἐρῶν καὶ ὅπῃ τέτταρα ὄντα ἕν ἐστι, καὶ ἐμὲ δὲ ἀξίου, σοῦ δείξαντος ὡς ἕν, πάλιν ὅπῃ τέτταρα. καὶ δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο σκοπῶμεν τὸν εἰδότα ἱκανῶς περὶ ὡντινωνοῦν οἷς ἔστιν μὲν ὄνομα, ἔστιν δὲ αὖ καὶ λόγος, πότερον μόνον ἐπίστασθαι τοὔνομα χρεών, τὸν δὲ λόγον ἀγνοεῖν, ἢ τόν γε ὄντα τι καὶ περὶ τῶν διαφερόντων [964β] μεγέθει τε καὶ κάλλει πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀγνοεῖν αἰσχρόν.

Κλεινίας

ἔοικεν γοῦν.

Ἀθηναῖος

μεῖζον δή τι νομοθέτῃ τε καὶ νομοφύλακι, καὶ ὃς ἀρετῇ πάντων διαφέρειν οἴεται καὶ νικητήρια τούτων αὐτῶν εἴληφεν, ἢ ταῦτα αὐτὰ περὶ ὧν νῦν λέγομεν, ἀνδρεία, σωφροσύνη, δικαιοσύνη, φρόνησις;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

τούτων δὴ πέρι τοὺς ἐξηγητάς, τοὺς διδασκάλους, τοὺς νομοθέτας, τῶν ἄλλων τοὺς φύλακας, τῷ δεομένῳ [964ξ] γνῶναί τε καὶ εἰδέναι, ἢ τῷ δεομένῳ κολάζεσθαί τε καὶ ἐπιπλῆξαι ἁμαρτάνοντι, πότερον οὐ διδάσκοντα ἣν δύναμιν ἔχει κακία τε καὶ ἀρετὴ καὶ πάντως δηλοῦντα, διαφέρειν τῶν ἄλλων, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ποιητήν τινα ἐλθόντα εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἢ παιδευτὴν νέων φάσκοντ᾽ εἶναι βελτίω φαίνεσθαι τοῦ πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν νενικηκότος; εἶτα ἐν τῇ τοιαύτῃ πόλει ὅπου μὴ λόγῳ ἔργῳ τε ἱκανοὶ φύλακες εἶεν, ἀρετῆς πέρι γιγνώσκοντες ἱκανῶς, θαυμαστόν τι ταύτην τὴν πόλιν ἀφύλακτον οὖσαν πάσχειν [964δ] ἃ πολλαὶ πάσχουσι τῶν νῦν πόλεων;

Κλεινίας

οὐδέν γε, ὡς εἰκός.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί οὖν; ὃ λέγομεν νῦν ποιητέον ἡμῖν, ἢ πῶς; τοὺς φύλακας ἀκριβεστέρους τῶν πολλῶν περὶ ἀρετῆς ἔργῳ καὶ λόγῳ κατασκευαστέον; ἢ τίνα τρόπον τῇ τῶν ἐμφρόνων κεφαλῇ τε καὶ αἰσθήσεσιν ὁμοιωθήσεται ἡμῖν ἡ πόλις, ὡς τοιαύτην τινὰ φυλακὴν κεκτημένη ἐν αὑτῇ;

Κλεινίας

πῶς οὖν δὴ καὶ τίνα τρόπον, ὦ ξένε, ἀπεικάζοντες αὐτὸ τοιούτῳ τινὶ λέγομεν; [964ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

δῆλον ὡς αὐτῆς μὲν τῆς πόλεως οὔσης τοῦ κύτους, τῶν δὲ φυλάκων τοὺς μὲν νέους οἷον ἐν ἄκρᾳ κορυφῇ, ἀπειλεγμένους τοὺς εὐφυεστάτους, ὀξύτητας ἐν πάσῃ τῇ ψυχῇ ἔχοντας, περὶ ὅλην κύκλῳ τὴν πόλιν ὁρᾶν, φρουροῦντας δὲ παραδιδόναι μὲν τὰς αἰσθήσεις ταῖς μνήμαις, τοῖς πρεσβυτέροις δὲ ἐξαγγέλους γίγνεσθαι πάντων τῶν κατὰ πόλιν, [965α] τοὺς δὲ νῷ ἀπῃκασμένους τῷ πολλὰ καὶ ἄξια λόγου διαφερόντως φρονεῖν, τοὺς γέροντας, βουλεύεσθαι, καὶ ὑπηρέταις χρωμένους μετὰ συμβουλίας τοῖς νέοις, οὕτω δὴ κοινῇ σῴζειν ἀμφοτέρους ὄντως τὴν πόλιν ὅλην. πότερον οὕτω λέγομεν ἤ πως ἄλλως δεῖν κατασκευάζεσθαι; μῶν ὁμοίους πάντας κεκτημένους καὶ μὴ διηκριβωμένους ἔστιν οὓς τραφέντας τε καὶ πεπαιδευμένους;

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ἀδύνατον. [965β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἰτέον ἄρα ἐπί τινα ἀκριβεστέραν παιδείαν τῆς ἔμπροσθεν.

Κλεινίας

ἴσως.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἧς δὴ νῦν σχεδὸν ἐφηψάμεθα, τυγχάνοι ἂν οὖσα ἧς χρείαν ἔχομεν αὕτη;

Κλεινίας

παντάπασι μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκοῦν ἐλέγομεν τόν γε πρὸς ἕκαστα ἄκρον δημιουργόν τε καὶ φύλακα μὴ μόνον δεῖν πρὸς τὰ πολλὰ βλέπειν δυνατὸν εἶναι, πρὸς δὲ τὸ ἓν ἐπείγεσθαι γνῶναί τε, καὶ γνόντα πρὸς ἐκεῖνο συντάξασθαι πάντα συνορῶντα;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς. [965ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἀκριβεστέρα σκέψις θέα τε ἂν περὶ ὁτουοῦν ὁτῳοῦν γίγνοιτο ἢ τὸ πρὸς μίαν ἰδέαν ἐκ τῶν πολλῶν καὶ ἀνομοίων δυνατὸν εἶναι βλέπειν;

Κλεινίας

ἴσως.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκ ἴσως, ἀλλ᾽ ὄντως, ὦ δαιμόνιε, ταύτης οὐκ ἔστιν σαφεστέρα μέθοδος ἀνθρώπων οὐδενί.

Κλεινίας

σοὶ πιστεύων, ὦ ξένε, συγχωρῶ δή, καὶ ταύτῃ πορευώμεθα λέγοντες.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἀναγκαστέον ἄρ᾽, ὡς ἔοικεν, καὶ τοὺς τῆς θείας πολιτείας ἡμῖν φύλακας ἀκριβῶς ἰδεῖν πρῶτον τί ποτε διὰ [965δ] πάντων τῶν τεττάρων ταὐτὸν τυγχάνει, ὃ δή φαμεν ἔν τε ἀνδρείᾳ καὶ σωφροσύνῃ καὶ δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ ἐν φρονήσει ἓν ὄν, ἀρετὴν ἑνὶ δικαίως ἂν ὀνόματι προσαγορεύεσθαι. τοῦτο, ὦ φίλοι, εἰ μὲν βουλόμεθα, τὰ νῦν οἷόνπερ σφόδρα πιέσαντες μὴ ἀνῶμεν, πρὶν ἂν ἱκανῶς εἴπωμεν τί ποτ᾽ ἔστιν εἰς ὃ βλεπτέον, εἴτε ὡς ἓν εἴτε ὡς ὅλον εἴτε ἀμφότερα εἴτε ὅπως ποτὲ πέφυκεν: ἢ τούτου διαφυγόντος ἡμᾶς, οἰόμεθά ποτε [965ε] ἡμῖν ἱκανῶς ἕξειν τὰ πρὸς ἀρετήν, περὶ ἧς οὔτ᾽ εἰ πολλά ἐστ᾽ οὔτ᾽ εἰ τέτταρα οὔθ᾽ ὡς ἓν δυνατοὶ φράζειν ἐσόμεθα; οὔκουν ἐάν γε ἡμῖν συμβούλοις πειθώμεθα, ἄλλως δέ πως μηχανησόμεθα ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐγγεγονέναι τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν: εἰ δ᾽ ἄρα τὸ παράπαν δοκεῖ ἐᾶν, ὁρᾶν δὴ χρεών.

Κλεινίας

ἥκιστα, νὴ τὸν ξένιον, ὦ ξένε, θεόν, ἐατέον που τὸ τοιοῦτον, ἐπεὶ δοκεῖς ἡμῖν ὀρθότατα λέγειν. ἀλλὰ δὴ πῶς τις τοῦτ᾽ ἂν μηχανῷτο; [966α]

Ἀθηναῖος

μήπω τὸ πῶς ἂν μηχανησαίμεθα λέγωμεν: εἰ δεῖ δὲ ἢ μή, πρῶτον βεβαιωσώμεθα τῇ συνομολογίᾳ πρὸς ἡμᾶς αὐτούς.

Κλεινίας

ἀλλὰ μὴν δεῖ γε, εἴπερ δυνατόν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δὲ δή; περὶ καλοῦ τε καὶ ἀγαθοῦ ταὐτὸν τοῦτο διανοούμεθα; ὡς πόλλ᾽ ἔστιν μόνον ἕκαστον τούτων τοὺς φύλακας ἡμῖν γνωστέον, ἢ καὶ ὅπως ἕν τε καὶ ὅπῃ;

Κλεινίας

σχεδὸν ἔοικ᾽ ἐξ ἀνάγκης δεῖν καὶ ὅπως ἓν διανοεῖσθαι. [966β]

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δ᾽, ἐννοεῖν μέν, τὴν δὲ ἔνδειξιν τῷ λόγῳ ἀδυνατεῖν ἐνδείκνυσθαι;

Κλεινίας

καὶ πῶς; ἀνδραπόδου γάρ τινα σὺ λέγεις ἕξιν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τί δέ; περὶ πάντων τῶν σπουδαίων ἆρ᾽ ἡμῖν αὑτὸς λόγος, ὅτι δεῖ τοὺς ὄντως φύλακας ἐσομένους τῶν νόμων ὄντως εἰδέναι τὰ περὶ τὴν ἀλήθειαν αὐτῶν, καὶ λόγῳ τε ἱκανοὺς ἑρμηνεύειν εἶναι καὶ τοῖς ἔργοις συνακολουθεῖν, κρίνοντας τά τε καλῶς γιγνόμενα καὶ τὰ μὴ κατὰ φύσιν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔ; [966ξ]

Ἀθηναῖος

μῶν οὖν οὐχ ἓν τῶν καλλίστων ἐστὶν τὸ περὶ τοὺς θεούς, ὃ δὴ σπουδῇ διεπερανάμεθα, ὡς εἰσίν τε καὶ ὅσης φαίνονται κύριοι δυνάμεως, εἰδέναι τε εἰς ὅσον δυνατόν ἐστιν ταῦτ᾽ ἄνθρωπον γιγνώσκειν, καὶ τοῖς μὲν πλείστοις τῶν κατὰ πόλιν συγγιγνώσκειν τῇ φήμῃ μόνον τῶν νόμων συνακολουθοῦσιν, τοῖς δὲ φυλακῆς μεθέξουσιν μηδὲ ἐπιτρέπειν, ὃς ἂν μὴ διαπονήσηται τὸ πᾶσαν πίστιν λαβεῖν τῶν οὐσῶν περὶ θεῶν; τὴν δὲ μὴ ἐπιτροπὴν εἶναι τὸ μηδέποτε [966δ] τῶν νομοφυλάκων αἱρεῖσθαι τὸν μὴ θεῖον καὶ διαπεπονηκότα πρὸς αὐτά, μηδ᾽ αὖ τῶν πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἔγκριτον γίγνεσθαι;

Κλεινίας

δίκαιον γοῦν, ὡς λέγεις, τὸν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀργὸν ἢ ἀδύνατον ἀποκρίνεσθαι πόρρω τῶν καλῶν.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἆρα οὖν ἴσμεν ὅτι δύ᾽ ἐστὸν τὼ περὶ θεῶν ἄγοντε εἰς πίστιν, ὅσα διήλθομεν ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν;

Κλεινίας

ποῖα;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἓν μὲν ὃ περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἐλέγομεν, ὡς πρεσβύτατόν [966ε] τε καὶ θειότατόν ἐστιν πάντων ὧν κίνησις γένεσιν παραλαβοῦσα ἀέναον οὐσίαν ἐπόρισεν: ἓν δὲ τὸ περὶ τὴν φοράν, ὡς ἔχει τάξεως, ἄστρων τε καὶ ὅσων ἄλλων ἐγκρατὴς νοῦς ἐστιν τὸ πᾶν διακεκοσμηκώς. ὁ γὰρ ἰδὼν ταῦτα μὴ φαύλως μηδ᾽ ἰδιωτικῶς, οὐδεὶς οὕτως ἄθεος ἀνθρώπων ποτὲ πέφυκεν, ὃς οὐ τοὐναντίον ἔπαθεν ἢ τὸ προσδοκώμενον ὑπὸ [967α] τῶν πολλῶν. οἱ μὲν γὰρ διανοοῦνται τοὺς τὰ τοιαῦτα μεταχειρισαμένους ἀστρονομίᾳ τε καὶ ταῖς μετὰ ταύτης ἀναγκαίαις ἄλλαις τέχναις ἀθέους γίγνεσθαι, καθεωρακότας ὡς οἷόν τε γιγνόμενα ἀνάγκαις πράγματ᾽ ἀλλ᾽ οὐ διανοίαις βουλήσεως ἀγαθῶν πέρι τελουμένων.

Κλεινίας

τὸ δὲ δὴ πῶς ἔχον ἂν εἴη;

Ἀθηναῖος

πᾶν, ὅπερ εἶπον, τοὐναντίον ἔχει νῦν τε καὶ ὅτε ἄψυχα αὐτὰ οἱ διανοούμενοι διενοοῦντο. θαύματα μὲν οὖν [967β] καὶ τότε ὑπεδύετο περὶ αὐτά, καὶ ὑπωπτεύετο τὸ νῦν ὄντως δεδογμένον, ὅσοι τῆς ἀκριβείας αὐτῶν ἥπτοντο, ὅπως μήποτ᾽ ἂν ἄψυχα ὄντα οὕτως εἰς ἀκρίβειαν θαυμαστοῖς λογισμοῖς ἂν ἐχρῆτο, νοῦν μὴ κεκτημένα: καί τινες ἐτόλμων τοῦτό γε αὐτὸ παρακινδυνεύειν καὶ τότε, λέγοντες ὡς νοῦς εἴη ὁ διακεκοσμηκὼς πάνθ᾽ ὅσα κατ᾽ οὐρανόν. οἱ δὲ αὐτοὶ πάλιν ἁμαρτάνοντες ψυχῆς φύσεως ὅτι πρεσβύτερον εἴη σωμάτων, [967ξ] διανοηθέντες δὲ ὡς νεώτερον, ἅπανθ᾽ ὡς εἰπεῖν ἔπος ἀνέτρεψαν πάλιν, ἑαυτοὺς δὲ πολὺ μᾶλλον: τὸ γὰρ δὴ πρὸ τῶν ὀμμάτων, πάντα αὐτοῖς ἐφάνη, τὰ κατ᾽ οὐρανὸν φερόμενα, μεστὰ εἶναι λίθων καὶ γῆς καὶ πολλῶν ἄλλων ἀψύχων σωμάτων διανεμόντων τὰς αἰτίας παντὸς τοῦ κόσμου. ταῦτ᾽ ἦν τὰ τότε ἐξειργασμένα πολλὰς ἀθεότητας καὶ δυσχερείας τῶν τοιούτων ἅπτεσθαι, καὶ δὴ καὶ λοιδορήσεις γε ἐπῆλθον ποιηταῖς, τοὺς φιλοσοφοῦντας κυσὶ ματαίαις ἀπεικάζοντας [967δ] χρωμέναισιν ὑλακαῖς, ἄλλα τε αὖ ἀνόητ᾽ εἰπεῖν: νῦν δέ, ὅπερ εἴρηται, πᾶν τοὐναντίον ἔχει.

Κλεινίας

πῶς;

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκ ἔστιν ποτὲ γενέσθαι βεβαίως θεοσεβῆ θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων οὐδένα, ὃς ἂν μὴ τὰ λεγόμενα ταῦτα νῦν δύο λάβῃ, ψυχή τε ὡς ἔστιν πρεσβύτατον ἁπάντων ὅσα γονῆς μετείληφεν, ἀθάνατόν τε, ἄρχει τε δὴ σωμάτων πάντων, ἐπὶ δὲ τούτοισι δή, τὸ νῦν εἰρημένον πολλάκις, τόν τε εἰρημένον [967ε] ἐν τοῖς ἄστροις νοῦν τῶν ὄντων τά τε πρὸ τούτων ἀναγκαῖα μαθήματα λάβῃ, τά τε κατὰ τὴν μοῦσαν τούτοις τῆς κοινωνίας συνθεασάμενος, χρήσηται πρὸς τὰ τῶν ἠθῶν ἐπιτηδεύματα καὶ νόμιμα συναρμοττόντως, ὅσα τε λόγον ἔχει, τούτων δυνατὸς [968α] ᾖ δοῦναι τὸν λόγον: ὁ δὲ μὴ ταῦθ᾽ οἷός τ᾽ ὢν πρὸς ταῖς δημοσίαις ἀρεταῖς κεκτῆσθαι σχεδὸν ἄρχων μὲν οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο ἱκανὸς ὅλης πόλεως, ὑπηρέτης δ᾽ ἂν ἄλλοις ἄρχουσιν. ὁρᾶν δὴ χρεὼν νῦν, ὦ Κλεινία καὶ Μέγιλλε, ἤδη πρὸς τοῖς εἰρημένοις νόμοις ἅπασιν ὅσους διεληλύθαμεν εἰ καὶ τοῦτον προσοίσομεν, ὡς φυλακὴν ἐσόμενον κατὰ νόμον χάριν σωτηρίας τὸν τῶν ἀρχόντων νυκτερινὸν σύλλογον, [968β] παιδείας ὁπόσης διεληλύθαμεν κοινωνὸν γενόμενον: ἢ πῶς ποιῶμεν;

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ λῷστε, πῶς οὐ προσοίσομεν, ἄν πῃ καὶ κατὰ βραχὺ δυνηθῶμεν;

Ἀθηναῖος

καὶ μὴν πρός γε τὸ τοιοῦτον ἁμιλληθῶμεν πάντες. συλλήπτωρ γὰρ τούτου γε ὑμῖν καὶ ἐγὼ γιγνοίμην ἂν προθύμως-πρὸς δ᾽ ἐμοὶ καὶ ἑτέρους ἴσως εὑρήσω-διὰ τὴν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτ᾽ ἐμπειρίαν τε καὶ σκέψιν γεγονυῖάν μοι καὶ μάλα συχνήν.

Κλεινίας

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ ξένε, παντὸς μὲν μᾶλλον ταύτῃ πορευτέον ᾗπερ καὶ ὁ θεὸς ἡμᾶς σχεδὸν ἄγει: τίς δὲ ὁ τρόπος ἡμῖν [968ξ] γιγνόμενος ὀρθῶς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, τοῦτο δὴ τὰ νῦν λέγωμέν τε καὶ ἐρευνῶμεν.

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐκέτι νόμους, ὦ Μέγιλλε καὶ Κλεινία, περὶ τῶν τοιούτων δυνατόν ἐστιν νομοθετεῖν, πρὶν ἂν κοσμηθῇ-τότε δὲ κυρίους ὧν αὐτοὺς δεῖ γίγνεσθαι νομοθετεῖν-ἀλλὰ ἤδη τὸ τὰ τοιαῦτα κατασκευάζον διδαχὴ μετὰ συνουσίας πολλῆς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν, εἰ γίγνοιτο ὀρθῶς.

Κλεινίας

πῶς; τί τοῦτο εἰρῆσθαι φῶμεν αὖ;

Ἀθηναῖος

πρῶτον μὲν δήπου καταλεκτέος ἂν εἴη κατάλογος [968δ] τῶν ὅσοι ἐπιτήδειοι πρὸς τὴν τῆς φυλακῆς φύσιν ἂν εἶεν ἡλικίαις τε καὶ μαθημάτων δυνάμεσιν καὶ τρόπων ἤθεσιν καὶ ἔθεσιν: μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο, ἃ δεῖ μανθάνειν οὔτε εὑρεῖν ῥᾴδιον οὔτε ηὑρηκότος ἄλλου μαθητὴν γενέσθαι. πρὸς τούτοις δὲ χρόνους, οὕς τε καὶ ἐν οἷς δεῖ παραλαμβάνειν ἕκαστα, μάταιον ταῦτ᾽ ἐν γράμμασιν λέγειν: οὐδὲ γὰρ αὐτοῖς τοῖς μανθάνουσι [968ε] δῆλα γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὅτι πρὸς καιρὸν μανθάνεται, πρὶν ἐντὸς τῆς ψυχῆς ἑκάστῳ που μαθήματος ἐπιστήμην γεγονέναι. οὕτω δὴ πάντα τὰ περὶ ταῦτα ἀπόρρητα μὲν λεχθέντα οὐκ ἂν ὀρθῶς λέγοιτο, ἀπρόρρητα δὲ διὰ τὸ μηδὲν προρρηθέντα δηλοῦν τῶν λεγομένων.

Κλεινίας

τί οὖν δὴ ποιητέον ἐχόντων τούτων οὕτως, ὦ ξένε;

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ λεγόμενον, ὦ φίλοι, ἐν κοινῷ καὶ μέσῳ ἔοικεν ἡμῖν κεῖσθαι, καὶ εἴπερ κινδυνεύειν περὶ τῆς πολιτείας ἐθέλομεν συμπάσης, ἢ τρὶς ἕξ, φασίν, ἢ τρεῖς κύβους βάλλοντες, [969α] ταῦτα ποιητέον, ἐγὼ δ᾽ ὑμῖν συγκινδυνεύσω τῷ φράζειν τε καὶ ἐξηγεῖσθαι τά γε δεδογμένα ἐμοὶ περὶ τῆς παιδείας τε καὶ τροφῆς τῆς νῦν αὖ κεκινημένης τοῖς λόγοις: τὸ μέντοι κινδύνευμα οὐ σμικρὸν οὐδ᾽ ἑτέροις τισὶν προσφερὲς ἂν εἴη. σοὶ δὴ τοῦτό γε, ὦ Κλεινία, μέλειν παρακελεύομαι: σὺ γὰρ τὴν Μαγνήτων πόλιν, ἢ ᾧ ἂν θεὸς ἐπώνυμον αὐτὴν ποιήσῃ, κλέος ἀρῇ μέγιστον κατασκευάσας αὐτὴν ὀρθῶς, ἢ τό γε ἀνδρειότατος [969β] εἶναι δοκεῖν τῶν ὕστερον ἐπιγιγνομένων οὐκ ἐκφεύξῃ ποτέ. ἐάν γε μὴν οὗτος ἡμῖν ὁ θεῖος γένηται σύλλογος, ὦ φίλοι ἑταῖροι, παραδοτέον τούτῳ τὴν πόλιν, ἀμφισβήτησίς τε οὐκ ἔστ᾽ οὐδεμία οὐδενὶ τῶν νῦν παρὰ ταῦθ᾽ ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν νομοθετῶν, ὄντως δὲ ἔσται σχεδὸν ὕπαρ ἀποτετελεσμένον οὗ σμικρῷ πρόσθεν ὀνείρατος ὣς τῷ λόγῳ ἐφηψάμεθα, κεφαλῆς νοῦ τε κοινωνίας εἰκόνα τινά πως συμμείξαντες, ἐὰν ἄρα ἡμῖν οἵ τε ἄνδρες ἀκριβῶς ἐκλεχθῶσι, παιδευθῶσί τε [969ξ] προσηκόντως, παιδευθέντες τε ἐν ἀκροπόλει τῆς χώρας κατοικήσαντες, φύλακες ἀποτελεσθῶσιν οἵους ἡμεῖς οὐκ εἴδομεν ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν βίῳ πρὸς ἀρετὴν σωτηρίας γενομένους.

Μέγιλλος

ὦ φίλε Κλεινία, ἐκ τῶν νῦν ἡμῖν εἰρημένων ἁπάντων ἢ τὴν πόλιν ἐατέον τῆς κατοικίσεως ἢ τὸν ξένον τόνδε οὐκ ἀφετέον, ἀλλὰ δεήσεσιν καὶ μηχαναῖς πάσαις κοινωνὸν ποιητέον ἐπὶ τὴν τῆς πόλεως κατοίκισιν. [969δ]

Κλεινίας

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις, ὦ Μέγιλλε, καὶ ἐγὼ ποιήσω ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως καὶ <σὺ> συλλάμβανε.

Μέγιλλος

συλλήψομαι.

SECOND ALCIBIADES

Σωκράτης

Ἀλκιβιάδης

[138α]

Σωκράτης

ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, ἆρά γε πρὸς τὸν θεὸν προσευξόμενος πορεύῃ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

φαίνῃ γέ τοι ἐσκυθρωπακέναι τε καὶ εἰς γῆν βλέπειν, ὥς τι συννοούμενος.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ τί ἄν τις συννοοῖτο, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

τὴν μεγίστην, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, σύννοιαν, ὥς γ᾽ ἐμοὶ [138β] δοκεῖ. ἐπεὶ φέρε πρὸς Διός, οὐκ οἴει τοὺς θεούς, ἃ τυγχάνομεν εὐχόμενοι καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ, ἐνίοτε τούτων τὰ μὲν διδόναι, τὰ δ᾽ οὔ, καὶ ἔστιν οἷς μὲν αὐτῶν, ἔστι δ᾽ οἷς οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν δοκεῖ σοι πολλῆς προμηθείας γε προσδεῖσθαι, ὅπως μὴ λήσεται αὑτὸν εὐχόμενος μεγάλα κακά, δοκῶν δ᾽ ἀγαθά, οἱ δὲ θεοὶ τύχωσιν ἐν ταύτῃ ὄντες τῇ ἕξει, ἐν ᾗ διδόασιν αὐτοὶ ἅ τις εὐχόμενος τυγχάνει; ὥσπερ τὸν Οἰδίπουν [138ξ] αὐτίκα φασὶν εὔξασθαι χαλκῷ διελέσθαι τὰ πατρῷα τοὺς ὑεῖς: ἐξὸν αὐτῷ τῶν παρόντων αὐτῷ κακῶν ἀποτροπήν τινα εὔξασθαι, ἕτερα πρὸς τοῖς ὑπάρχουσιν κατηρᾶτο: τοιγαροῦν ταῦτά τε ἐξετελέσθη, καὶ ἐκ τούτων ἄλλα πολλὰ καὶ δεινά, ἃ τί δεῖ καθ᾽ ἕκαστα λέγειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ σὺ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, μαινόμενον ἄνθρωπον εἴρηκας: ἐπεὶ τίς ἄν σοι δοκεῖ τολμῆσαι ὑγιαίνων τοιαῦτ᾽ εὔξασθαι;

Σωκράτης

τὸ μαίνεσθαι ἆρά γε ὑπεναντίον σοι δοκεῖ τῷ φρονεῖν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [138δ]

Σωκράτης

ἄφρονες δὲ καὶ φρόνιμοι δοκοῦσιν ἄνθρωποι εἶναι τινές σοι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἶναι μέντοι.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δή, ἐπισκεψώμεθα τίνες ποτ᾽ εἰσὶν οὗτοι. ὅτι μὲν γάρ εἰσί τινες, ὡμολόγηται, ἄφρονές τε καὶ φρόνιμοι, καὶ μαινόμενοι ἕτεροι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὡμολόγηται γάρ.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι δὲ ὑγιαίνοντές εἰσί τινες;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰσίν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀσθενοῦντες ἕτεροι; [139α]

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οὐχ οἱ αὐτοί;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ γάρ.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ἕτεροί τινές εἰσιν, οἳ μηδέτερα τούτων πεπόνθασιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀνάγκη γάρ ἐστιν ἄνθρωπον ὄντα ἢ νοσεῖν ἢ μὴ νοσεῖν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; περὶ φρονήσεως καὶ ἀφροσύνης ἆρά γε τὴν αὐτὴν ἔχεις σὺ γνώμην;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

εἰ δοκεῖ σοι οἷόν τε εἶναι ἢ φρόνιμον ἢ ἄφρονα, ἢ ἔστι τι διὰ μέσου τρίτον πάθος, ὃ ποιεῖ τὸν ἄνθρωπον μήτε [139β] φρόνιμον μήτε ἄφρονα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀνάγκη ἄρ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ ἕτερον τούτων πεπονθέναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν μέμνησαι ὁμολογήσας ὑπεναντίον εἶναι μανίαν φρονήσει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ μηδὲν εἶναι διὰ μέσου τρίτον πάθος, ὃ ποιεῖ τὸν ἄνθρωπον μήτε φρόνιμον μήτε ἄφρονα εἶναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὡμολόγησα γάρ.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν δύο γε ὑπεναντία ἑνὶ πράγματι πῶς ἂν εἴη;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐδαμῶς. [139ξ]

Σωκράτης

ἀφροσύνη ἄρα καὶ μανία κινδυνεύει ταὐτὸν εἶναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

πάντας οὖν ἂν φάντες, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, τοὺς ἄφρονας μαίνεσθαι ὀρθῶς ἂν φαίημεν: αὐτίκα τῶν σῶν ἡλικιωτῶν εἴ τινες τυγχάνουσιν ἄφρονες ὄντες, ὥσπερ εἰσί, καὶ τῶν ἔτι πρεσβυτέρων. ἐπεὶ φέρε πρὸς Διός, οὐκ οἴει τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει ὀλίγους μὲν εἶναι τοὺς φρονίμους, ἄφρονας δὲ δὴ τοὺς πολλούς, οὓς δὴ σὺ μαινομένους καλεῖς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οἴει ἂν οὖν χαίροντας ἡμᾶς εἶναι μετὰ τοσούτων [139δ] μαινομένων πολιτευομένους, καὶ οὐκ ἂν παιομένους καὶ βαλλομένους, καὶ ἅπερ εἰώθασιν οἱ μαινόμενοι διαπράττεσθαι, πάλαι δὴ δίκην δεδωκέναι; ἀλλὰ ὅρα, ὦ μακάριε, μὴ οὐχ οὕτως ταῦτ᾽ ἔχει.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς ἂν οὖν ποτ᾽ ἔχοι, ὦ Σώκρατες; κινδυνεύει γὰρ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχειν ὥσπερ ᾠήθην.

Σωκράτης

οὐδ᾽ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ. ἀλλὰ τῇδέ πῃ ἀθρητέον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῇ ποτε λέγεις;

Σωκράτης

ἐγὼ δή σοί γε ἐρῶ. ὑπολαμβάνομέν γέ τινας εἶναι νοσοῦντας: ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν. [139ε]

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν δοκεῖ σοι ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι τὸν νοσοῦντα ποδαγρᾶν ἢ πυρέττειν ἢ ὀφθαλμιᾶν, ἢ οὐκ ἂν δοκεῖ σοι καὶ μηδὲν τούτων πεπονθὼς ἑτέραν νόσον νοσεῖν; πολλαὶ γὰρ δήπου γέ εἰσι, καὶ οὐχ αὗται μόναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσιν.

Σωκράτης

ὀφθαλμία σοι οὖν δοκεῖ πᾶσα νόσος εἶναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ πᾶσα νόσος ὀφθαλμία;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα ἔμοιγε: ἀπορῶ μέντοι γε πῶς λέγω. [140α]

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν ἔμοιγε προσέχῃς τὸν νοῦν, σύν τε δύο σκεπτομένω τυχὸν εὑρήσομεν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ προσέχω, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰς δύναμιν τὴν ἐμήν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὡμολογήθη ἡμῖν ὀφθαλμία μὲν πᾶσα νόσος εἶναι, νόσος μέντοι οὐκ εἶναι πᾶσα ὀφθαλμία;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὡμολογήθη.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὀρθῶς γέ μοι δοκεῖ ὁμολογηθῆναι. καὶ γὰρ οἱ πυρέττοντες πάντες νοσοῦσιν, οὐ μέντοι οἱ νοσοῦντες πάντες πυρέττουσιν οὐδὲ ποδαγρῶσιν οὐδέ γε ὀφθαλμιῶσιν, [140β] οἶμαι: ἀλλὰ νόσος μὲν πᾶν τὸ τοιοῦτόν ἐστι, διαφέρειν δέ φασιν οὓς δὴ καλοῦμεν ἰατροὺς τὴν ἀπεργασίαν αὐτῶν. οὐ γὰρ πᾶσιν οὔτε ὅμοιαι οὔτε ὁμοίως διαπράττονται, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὴν αὑτῆς δύναμιν ἑκάστη: νόσοι μέντοι πᾶσαί εἰσιν. ὥσπερ δημιουργούς τινας ὑπολαμβάνομεν: ἢ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοὺς σκυτοτόμους καὶ τέκτονας καὶ ἀνδριαντοποιοὺς καὶ ἑτέρους παμπληθεῖς, οὓς τί δεῖ καθ᾽ ἕκαστα λέγειν; ἔχουσι δ᾽ οὖν διειληφότες δημιουργίας μέρη, καὶ [140ξ] πάντες οὗτοί εἰσι δημιουργοί, οὐ μέντοι εἰσὶ τέκτονές γε οὐδὲ σκυτοτόμοι οὐδ᾽ ἀνδριαντοποιοί, οἳ σύμπαντές εἰσι δημιουργοί.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὕτως μὲν τοίνυν καὶ τὴν ἀφροσύνην διειληφότες εἰσί, καὶ τοὺς μὲν πλεῖστον αὐτῆς μέρος ἔχοντας μαινομένους καλοῦμεν, τοὺς δ᾽ ὀλίγον ἔλαττον ἠλιθίους τε καὶ ἐμβροντήτους: οἱ δὲ ἐν εὐφημοτάτοις ὀνόμασι βουλόμενοι κατονομάζειν οἱ μὲν μεγαλοψύχους, οἱ δὲ εὐήθεις, ἕτεροι δὲ [140δ] ἀκάκους καὶ ἀπείρους καὶ ἐνεούς: εὑρήσεις δὲ καὶ ἕτερα πολλὰ ἀναζητῶν ὀνόματα. πάντα δὲ ταῦτα ἀφροσύνη ἐστίν, διαφέρει δέ, ὥσπερ τέχνη τέχνης ἡμῖν κατεφαίνετο καὶ νόσος νόσου: ἢ πῶς σοι δοκεῖ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐμοὶ μὲν οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἀπ᾽ ἐκείνου πάλιν ἐπανέλθωμεν. ἦν γὰρ δήπου καὶ ἐν ἀρχῇ τοῦ λόγου, σκεπτέον εἶναι τοὺς ἄφρονάς τε καὶ φρονίμους, τίνες ποτ᾽ εἰσίν. ὡμολόγητο γὰρ εἶναί τινας: ἦ γὰρ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί, ὡμολόγηται. [140ε]

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τούτους φρονίμους ὑπολαμβάνεις, οἳ ἂν εἰδῶσιν ἅττα δεῖ πράττειν καὶ λέγειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἄφρονας δὲ ποτέρους; ἆρά γε τοὺς μηδέτερα τούτων εἰδότας;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τούτους.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οἵ γε μὴ εἰδότες μηδέτερα τούτων λήσουσιν αὑτοὺς καὶ λέγοντες καὶ πράττοντες ἅττα μὴ δεῖ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

τούτων μέντοι ἔλεγον, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, καὶ τὸν [141α] Οἰδίπουν εἶναι τῶν ἀνθρώπων: εὑρήσεις δ᾽ ἔτι καὶ τῶν νῦν πολλοὺς οὐκ ὀργῇ κεχρημένους, ὥσπερ ἐκεῖνον, οὐδ᾽ οἰομένους κακά σφισιν εὔχεσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀγαθά. ἐκεῖνος μὲν ὥσπερ οὐδ᾽ ηὔχετο, οὐδ᾽ ᾤετο: ἕτεροι δέ τινές εἰσιν οἳ τἀναντία τούτων πεπόνθασιν. ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ οἶμαί σε πρῶτον, εἴ σοι ἐμφανὴς γενόμενος ὁ θεὸς πρὸς ὃν τυγχάνεις πορευόμενος, ἐρωτήσειεν, πρὶν ὁτιοῦν εὔξασθαί σε, εἰ ἐξαρκέσει σοι τύραννον γενέσθαι τῆς Ἀθηναίων πόλεως: εἰ δὲ τοῦτο φαῦλον ἡγήσαιο καὶ μὴ μέγα τι, προσθείη καὶ [141β] πάντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων: εἰ δέ σε ὁρῴη ἔτι ἔλαττον δοκοῦντα ἔχειν, εἰ μὴ καὶ πάσης Εὐρώπης, ὑποσταίη σοι καὶ τοῦτο, καὶ τοῦτο μὴ μόνον ὑποσταίη, ἀλλ᾽ αὐθημερόν σου βουλομένου ὡς πάντας αἰσθήσεσθαι ὅτι Ἀλκιβιάδης ὁ Κλεινίου τύραννός ἐστιν: αὐτὸν οἶμαι ἄν σε ἀπιέναι περιχαρῆ γενόμενον, ὡς τῶν μεγίστων ἀγαθῶν κεκυρηκότα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, κἂν ἄλλον ὁντινοῦν, εἴπερ τοιαῦτα συμβαίη αὐτῷ. [141ξ]

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μέντοι ἀντί γε τῆς σῆς ψυχῆς οὐδ᾽ ἂν τὴν πάντων Ἑλλήνων τε καὶ βαρβάρων χώραν τε καὶ τυραννίδα βουληθείης σοι γενέσθαι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ οἶμαι ἔγωγε. πῶς γὰρ ἄν, μηθέν γέ τι μέλλων αὐτοῖς χρήσεσθαι;

Σωκράτης

τί δ᾽ εἰ μέλλοις κακῶς τε καὶ βλαβερῶς χρῆσθαι; οὐδ᾽ ἂν οὕτως;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς οὖν ὡς οὐκ ἀσφαλὲς οὔτε τὰ διδόμενα εἰκῇ δέχεσθαί τε οὔτε αὐτὸν εὔχεσθαι γενέσθαι, εἴ γέ τις [141δ] βλάπτεσθαι μέλλοι διὰ ταῦτα ἢ τὸ παράπαν τοῦ βίου ἀπαλλαγῆναι. πολλοὺς δ᾽ ἂν ἔχοιμεν εἰπεῖν, ὅσοι τυραννίδος ἐπιθυμήσαντες ἤδη καὶ σπουδάσαντες τοῦτ᾽ αὐτοῖς παραγενέσθαι, ὡς ἀγαθόν τι πράξαντες, διὰ τὴν τυραννίδα ἐπιβουλευθέντες τὸν βίον ἀφῃρέθησαν. οἶμαι δέ σε οὐκ ἀνήκοον εἶναι ἔνιά γε “χθιζά τε καὶ πρωιζὰ”Hom. Il. 2.303 γεγενημένα, ὅτε Ἀρχέλαον τὸν Μακεδόνων τύραννον τὰ παιδικά, ἐρασθέντα τῆς τυραννίδος οὐθὲν ἧττον ἤπερ ἐκεῖνος τῶν παιδικῶν, ἀπέκτεινε τὸν ἐραστὴν ὡς τύραννός τε καὶ εὐδαίμων [141ε] ἀνὴρ ἐσόμενος: κατασχὼν δὲ τρεῖς ἢ τέτταρας ἡμέρας τὴν τυραννίδα πάλιν αὐτὸς ἐπιβουλευθεὶς ὑφ᾽ ἑτέρων τινῶν ἐτελεύτησεν. ὁρᾷς δὴ καὶ τῶν ἡμετέρων πολιτῶν — ταῦτα γὰρ οὐκ ἄλλων ἀκηκόαμεν, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτοὶ παρόντες οἴδαμεν — [142α] ὅσοι στρατηγίας ἐπιθυμήσαντες ἤδη καὶ τυχόντες αὐτῆς οἱ μὲν ἔτι καὶ νῦν φυγάδες τῆσδε τῆς πόλεώς εἰσιν, οἱ δὲ τὸν βίον ἐτελεύτησαν: οἱ δὲ ἄριστα δοκοῦντες αὐτῶν πράττειν διὰ πολλῶν κινδύνων ἐλθόντες καὶ φόβων οὐ μόνον ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ στρατηγίᾳ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπεὶ εἰς τὴν ἑαυτῶν κατῆλθον, ὑπὸ τῶν συκοφαντῶν πολιορκούμενοι πολιορκίαν οὐδὲν ἐλάττω τῆς ὑπὸ τῶν πολεμίων διετέλεσαν, ὥστε ἐνίους αὐτῶν εὔχεσθαι ἀστρατηγήτους εἶναι μᾶλλον ἢ ἐστρατηγηκέναι. [142β] εἰ μὲν οὖν ἦσαν οἱ κίνδυνοί τε καὶ πόνοι φέροντες εἰς ὠφέλειαν, εἶχεν ἄν τινα λόγον: νῦν δὲ καὶ πολὺ τοὐναντίον. εὑρήσεις δὲ καὶ περὶ τέκνων τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον, εὐξαμένους τινὰς ἤδη γενέσθαι καὶ γενομένων εἰς συμφοράς τε καὶ λύπας τὰς μεγίστας καταστάντας. οἱ μὲν γὰρ μοχθηρῶν διὰ τέλους ὄντων τῶν τέκνων ὅλον τὸν βίον λυπούμενοι διήγαγον: τοὺς δὲ χρηστῶν μὲν γενομένων, [142ξ] συμφοραῖς δὲ χρησαμένων ὥστε στερηθῆναι, καὶ τούτους οὐδὲν εἰς ἐλάττονας δυστυχίας καθεστηκότας ἤπερ ἐκείνους καὶ βουλομένους ἂν ἀγένητα μᾶλλον εἶναι ἢ γενέσθαι. ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως τούτων τε καὶ ἑτέρων πολλῶν ὁμοιοτρόπων τούτοις οὕτω σφόδρα καταδήλων ὄντων, σπάνιον εὑρεῖν ὅστις ἂν ἢ διδομένων ἀπόσχοιτο ἢ μέλλων δι᾽ εὐχῆς τεύξεσθαι παύσαιτο ἂν εὐχόμενος: οἱ δὲ πολλοὶ οὔτε ἂν τυραννίδος διδομένης ἀπόσχοιντο ἂν οὔτε στρατηγίας οὐδ᾽ ἑτέρων [142δ] πολλῶν, ἃ παρόντα βλάπτει μᾶλλον ἢ ὠφελεῖ, ἀλλὰ κἂν εὔξαιντο ἂν γενέσθαι, εἴ τῳ μὴ παρόντα τυγχάνει: ὀλίγον δὲ ἐπισχόντες ἐνίοτε παλινῳδοῦσιν, ἀνευχόμενοι ἅττ᾽ ἂν τὸ πρῶτον εὔξωνται. ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ἀπορῶ μὴ ὡς ἀληθῶς μάτην θεοὺς ἄνθρωποι αἰτιῶνται, ἐξ ἐκείνων φάμενοι κακά σφισιν εἶναι: “οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ σφῇσιν”Hom. Od 1.32 εἴτε “ἀτασθαλίαισιν”Hom. Od 1.32 εἴτε ἀφροσύναις χρὴ εἰπεῖν, “ὑπὲρ μόρον”Hom. Od 1.32 [142ε] “ἄλγε᾽ ἔχουσι”. κινδυνεύει γοῦν, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, φρόνιμός τις εἶναι ἐκεῖνος ὁ ποιητής, ὃς δοκεῖ μοι φίλοις ἀνοήτοις τισὶ χρησάμενος, ὁρῶν αὐτοὺς καὶ πράττοντας καὶ εὐχομένους ἅπερ οὐ βέλτιον ἦν, ἐκείνοις δὲ ἐδόκει, κοινῇ ὑπὲρ ἁπάντων αὐτῶν εὐχὴν ποιήσασθαι: λέγει δέ πως ὡδί — [143α]

“Ζεῦ βασιλεῦ, τὰ μὲν ἐσθλά, φησί, καὶ εὐχομένοις

καὶ ἀνεύκτοις

ἄμμι δίδου, τὰ δὲ δειλὰ καὶ εὐχομένοις ἀπαλέξειν

“

Anth. Pal. 10.108

κελεύει. ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν καλῶς δοκεῖ καὶ ἀσφαλῶς λέγειν ὁ ποιητής: σὺ δ᾽ εἴ τι ἐν νῷ ἔχεις πρὸς ταῦτα, μὴ σιώπα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

χαλεπόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐστὶν ἀντιλέγειν πρὸς τὰ καλῶς εἰρημένα: ἐκεῖνο δ᾽ οὖν ἐννοῶ, ὅσων κακῶν αἰτία ἡ ἄγνοια τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, ὁπότε, ὡς ἔοικε, λελήθαμεν ἡμᾶς [143β] αὐτοὺς διὰ ταύτην καὶ πράττοντες καὶ τό γε ἔσχατον εὐχόμενοι ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς τὰ κάκιστα. ὅπερ οὖν οὐδεὶς ἂν οἰηθείη, ἀλλὰ τοῦτό γε πᾶς ἂν οἴοιτο ἱκανὸς εἶναι, αὐτὸς αὑτῷ τὰ βέλτιστα εὔξασθαι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὰ κάκιστα. τοῦτο μὲν γὰρ ὡς ἀληθῶς κατάρᾳ τινὶ ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ εὐχῇ ὅμοιον ἂν εἴη.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως, ὦ βέλτιστε, φαίη ἄν τις ἀνήρ, ὃς ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ σοφώτερος ὢν τυγχάνοι, οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἡμᾶς [143ξ] λέγειν, οὕτως εἰκῇ ψέγοντας ἄγνοιαν, εἴ γε μὴ προσθείημεν τὴν ἔστιν ὧν τε ἄγνοιαν καὶ ἔστιν οἷς καὶ ἔχουσί πως ἀγαθόν, ὥσπερ ἐκείνοις κακόν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς λέγεις; ἔστι γὰρ ὁτιοῦν πρᾶγμα ὅτῳ δὴ ὁπωσοῦν ἔχοντι ἄμεινον ἀγνοεῖν ἢ γιγνώσκειν;

Σωκράτης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ: σοὶ δ᾽ οὔ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δία.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδὲ ἐκεῖνό σου καταγνώσομαι, ἐθέλειν ἄν σε πρὸς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ μητέρα διαπεπρᾶχθαι ἅπερ Ὀρέστην φασὶ καὶ τὸν Ἀλκμέωνα καὶ εἰ δή τινες ἄλλοι ἐκείνοις [143δ] τυγχάνουσι ταὐτὰ διαπεπραγμένοι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εὐφήμει πρὸς Διός, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

οὔτοι τὸν λέγοντα, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, ὡς οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοις σοι ταῦτα πεπρᾶχθαι, εὐφημεῖν δεῖ σε κελεύειν, ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον πολύ, εἴ τις τὰ ἐναντία λέγοι, ἐπειδὴ οὕτω σοι δοκεῖ σφόδρα δεινὸν εἶναι τὸ πρᾶγμα, ὥστ᾽ οὐδὲ ῥητέον εἶναι οὕτως εἰκῇ. δοκεῖς δ᾽ ἂν τὸν Ὀρέστην, εἰ ἐτύγχανε φρόνιμος ὢν καὶ εἰδὼς ὅτι βέλτιστον ἦν αὐτῷ πράττειν, τολμῆσαι ἄν τι τούτων διαπράξασθαι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα. [143ε]

Σωκράτης

οὐδέ γε ἄλλον οἶμαι οὐδένα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ μέντοι.

Σωκράτης

κακὸν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐστὶν ἡ τοῦ βελτίστου ἄγνοια καὶ τὸ ἀγνοεῖν τὸ βέλτιστον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐκείνῳ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἅπασιν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φημί.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι τοίνυν καὶ τόδε ἐπισκεψώμεθα: εἴ σοι αὐτίκα μάλα παρεσταίη, οἰηθέντι βέλτιον εἶναι, Περικλέα τὸν σεαυτοῦ ἐπίτροπόν τε καὶ φίλον, ἐγχειρίδιον λαβόντα, [144α] ἐλθόντα ἐπὶ τὰς θύρας, εἰπεῖν εἰ ἔνδον ἐστί, βουλόμενον ἀποκτεῖναι αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον, ἄλλον δὲ μηδένα: οἱ δὲ φαῖεν ἔνδον εἶναι — καὶ οὐ λέγω ἐθέλειν ἄν σε τούτων τι πράττειν: ἀλλ᾽ εἰ, οἶμαι, δόξει σοι, ὅπερ οὐθὲν κωλύει δήπου τῷ γε ἀγνοοῦντι τὸ βέλτιστον παραστῆναί ποτε δόξαν, ὥστε οἰηθῆναι καὶ τὸ κάκιστόν ποτε βέλτιστον εἶναι: ἢ οὐκ ἂν δοκεῖ σοι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

εἰ οὖν παρελθὼν εἴσω καὶ ἰδὼν αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον [144β] ἀγνοήσαις τε καὶ οἰηθείης ἂν ἄλλον εἶναί τινα, ἆρ᾽ ἔτι ἂν αὐτὸν τολμήσαις ἀποκτεῖναι;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, οὐκ ἄν μοι δοκῶ.

Σωκράτης

οὐ γὰρ δήπου τὸν ἐντυχόντα, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον ὃν ἠβούλου. ἦ γάρ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ εἰ πολλάκις ἐγχειροῖς, αἰεὶ δὲ ἀγνοοῖς τὸν Περικλέα, ὁπότε μέλλοις τοῦτο πράττειν, οὔποτε ἂν ἐπίθοιο αὐτῷ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; τὸν Ὀρέστην δοκεῖς ἄν ποτε τῇ μητρὶ ἐπιθέσθαι, εἴ γε ὡσαύτως ἠγνόησεν; [144ξ]

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐκ οἶμαι ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐ γὰρ δήπου οὐδ᾽ ἐκεῖνος τὴν προστυχοῦσαν γυναῖκα οὐδὲ τὴν ὁτουοῦν μητέρα διενοεῖτο ἀποκτεῖναι, ἀλλὰ τὴν αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀγνοεῖν ἄρα τά γε τοιαῦτα βέλτιον τοῖς οὕτω διακειμένοις καὶ τοιαύτας δόξας ἔχουσιν.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς οὖν ὅτι ἡ ἔστιν ὧν τε ἄγνοια καὶ ἔστιν οἷς καὶ ἔχουσί πως ἀγαθόν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ κακόν, ὥσπερ ἄρτι σοι ἐδόκει;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔοικεν. [144δ]

Σωκράτης

ἔτι τοίνυν εἰ βούλει τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἐπισκοπεῖν, ἄτοπον ἂν ἴσως ἄν σοι δόξειεν εἶναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

τί μάλιστα, ὦ Σώκρατες;

Σωκράτης

ὅτι, ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν, κινδυνεύει τό γε τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιστημῶν κτῆμα, ἐάν τις ἄνευ τοῦ βελτίστου κεκτημένος ᾖ, ὀλιγάκις μὲν ὠφελεῖν, βλάπτειν δὲ τὰ πλείω τὸν ἔχοντα αὐτό. σκόπει δὲ ὧδε. ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἀναγκαῖόν σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι, ὅταν τι μέλλωμεν ἤτοι πράττειν ἢ λέγειν, οἰηθῆναι δεῖν πρῶτον ἡμᾶς εἰδέναι ἢ τῷ ὄντι εἰδέναι τοῦθ᾽ ὃ ἂν προχειροτέρως [144ε] μέλλωμεν ἢ λέγειν ἢ πράττειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οἱ ῥήτορες αὐτίκα ἤτοι εἰδότες συμβουλεύειν ἢ οἰηθέντες εἰδέναι συμβουλεύουσιν ἡμῖν ἑκάστοτε, οἱ μὲν περὶ πολέμου τε καὶ εἰρήνης, οἱ δὲ περὶ τειχῶν οἰκοδομίας ἢ καὶ λιμένων κατασκευῆς: ἑνὶ δὲ λόγῳ, ὅσα δή ποτε ἡ [145α] πόλις πράττει πρὸς ἄλλην πόλιν ἢ αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτήν, ἀπὸ τῆς τῶν ῥητόρων συμβουλῆς πάντα γίγνεται.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ὅρα τοίνυν καὶ τὰ ἐπὶ τούτοις.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἂν δυνηθῶ.

Σωκράτης

καλεῖς γὰρ δήπου φρονίμους τε καὶ ἄφρονας;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τοὺς μὲν πολλοὺς ἄφρονας, τοὺς δ᾽ ὀλίγους φρονίμους;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν πρός τι ἀποβλέπων ἀμφοτέρους;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί. [145β]

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τὸν τοιοῦτον συμβουλεύειν εἰδότα, χωρὶς τοῦ πότερον βέλτιον καὶ ὅτε βέλτιον, φρόνιμον καλεῖς;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

οὐδέ γε οἶμαι ὅστις τὸ πολεμεῖν αὐτὸ οἶδε χωρὶς τοῦ ὁπότε βέλτιον καὶ τοσοῦτον χρόνον ὅσον βέλτιον. ἦ γάρ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οὐδὲ εἴ τίς τινα ἀποκτεινύναι οἶδεν οὐδὲ χρήματα ἀφαιρεῖσθαι καὶ φυγάδα ποιεῖν τῆς πατρίδος, χωρὶς τοῦ ὁπότε βέλτιον καὶ ὅντινα βέλτιον;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ μέντοι. [145ξ]

Σωκράτης

ὅστις ἄρα τι τῶν τοιούτων οἶδεν, ἐὰν μὲν παρέπηται αὐτῷ ἡ τοῦ βελτίστου ἐπιστήμη — αὕτη δ᾽ ἦν ἡ αὐτὴ δήπου ἥπερ καὶ ἡ τοῦ ὠφελίμου: ἦ γάρ; —

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

φρόνιμον δέ γε αὐτὸν φήσομεν καὶ ἀποχρῶντα σύμβουλον καὶ τῇ πόλει καὶ αὐτὸν αὑτῷ: τὸν δὲ μὴ τοιοῦτον τἀναντία τούτων. ἢ πῶς δοκεῖ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐμοὶ μὲν οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

τί δ᾽ εἴ τις ἱππεύειν ἢ τοξεύειν οἶδεν, ἢ αὖ πυκτεύειν ἢ παλαίειν ἤ τι τῆς ἄλλης ἀγωνίας ἢ καὶ ἄλλο τι [145δ] τῶν τοιούτων ὅσα τέχνῃ οἴδαμεν, τί καλεῖς ὃς ἂν εἰδῇ τὸ κατὰ ταύτην τὴν τέχνην βέλτιον γιγνόμενον; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τὸν κατὰ τὴν ἱππικὴν ἱππικόν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τὸν δέ γε οἶμαι κατὰ τὴν πυκτικὴν πυκτικόν, τὸν δὲ κατ᾽ αὐλητικὴν αὐλητικόν, καὶ τἆλλα δήπου ἀνὰ λόγον τούτοις: ἢ ἄλλως πως;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

δοκεῖ οὖν σοι ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι τὸν περὶ τούτων τι ἐπιστήμονα ὄντα ἄρα καὶ ἄνδρα φρόνιμον εἶναι, ἢ πολλοῦ [145ε] φήσομεν ἐνδεῖν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πολλοῦ μέντοι νὴ Δία.

Σωκράτης

ποίαν οὖν οἴει πολιτείαν εἶναι τοξοτῶν τε ἀγαθῶν καὶ αὐλητῶν, ἔτι δὲ καὶ ἀθλητῶν τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνιτῶν, ἀναμεμειγμένων δ᾽ ἐν τούτοις οὓς ἄρτι εἰρήκαμεν τῶν τε αὐτὸ τὸ πολεμεῖν εἰδότων καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ ἀποκτεινύναι, πρὸς δὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν ῥητορικῶν πολιτικὸν φύσημα φυσώντων, ἁπάντων δὲ τούτων ὄντων ἄνευ τῆς τοῦ βελτίστου ἐπιστήμης καὶ τοῦ εἰδότος, ὁπότε βέλτιον ἑνὶ ἑκάστῳ τούτων [146α] χρῆσθαι καὶ πρὸς τίνα;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαύλην τινὰ ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

φαίης γε ἂν οἶμαι ὁπόταν ὁρῴης ἕνα ἕκαστον αὐτῶν φιλοτιμούμενόν τε καὶ νέμοντα τὸ πλεῖστον τῆς πολιτείας” ... τούτῳ μέρος,

ἵν᾽ αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ τυγχάνει κράτιστος ὤν:

“Eur. Antiopeλέγω δὲ τὸ κατ᾽ αὐτὴν τὴν τέχνην βέλτιστον γιγνόμενον: τοῦ δὲ τῇ πόλει τε καὶ αὐτὸν αὑτῷ βελτίστου ὄντος τὰ πολλὰ διημαρτηκότα, ἅτε οἶμαι ἄνευ νοῦ δόξῃ πεπιστευκότα. [146β] οὕτως δὲ τούτων ἐχόντων, ἆρα οὐκ ἂν ὀρθῶς λέγοιμεν φάντες πολλῆς ταραχῆς τε καὶ ἀνομίας μεστὴν εἶναι τὴν τοιαύτην πολιτείαν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ὀρθῶς μέντοι νὴ Δία.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἀναγκαῖον ἡμῖν ἐδόκει οἰηθῆναι δεῖν πρῶτον ἡμᾶς εἰδέναι ἢ τῷ ὄντι εἰδέναι τοῦτο ὃ ἂν προχείρως μέλλωμεν ἢ πράττειν ἢ λέγειν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἐδόκει.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν κἂν μὲν πράττῃ ἅ τις οἶδεν ἢ δοκεῖ εἰδέναι, παρέπηται δὲ τὸ ὠφελίμως, καὶ λυσιτελούντως ἡμᾶς ἕξειν [146ξ] καὶ τῇ πόλει καὶ αὐτὸν αὑτῷ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἐὰν δέ γ᾽ οἶμαι τἀναντία τούτων, οὔτε τῇ πόλει οὔτ᾽ αὐτὸν αὑτῷ;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; καὶ νῦν ἔτι ὡσαύτως σοι δοκεῖ ἢ ἄλλως πως;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

οὔκ, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἔφησθα καλεῖν τοὺς μὲν πολλοὺς ἄφρονας, τοὺς δ᾽ ὀλίγους φρονίμους;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν φαμεν πάλιν τοὺς πολλοὺς διημαρτηκέναι τοῦ βελτίστου, ὡς τὰ πολλά γε οἶμαι ἄνευ νοῦ δόξῃ πεπιστευκότας. [146δ]

Ἀλκιβιάδης

φαμὲν γάρ.

Σωκράτης

Λυσιτελεῖ ἄρα τοῖς πολλοῖς μήτ᾽ εἰδέναι μηδὲν μήτ᾽ οἴεσθαι εἰδέναι, εἴπερ γε μᾶλλον προθυμήσονται πράττειν μὲν ταῦτα ἅττ᾽ ἂν εἰδῶσιν ἢ οἰηθῶσιν εἰδέναι, πράττοντες δὲ βλάπτεσθαι τὰ πλείω μᾶλλον ἢ ὠφελεῖσθαι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀληθέστατα λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς οὖν, ὅτε γ᾽ ἔφην κινδυνεύειν τό γε τῶν ἄλλων [146ε] ἐπιστημῶν κτῆμα, ἐάν τις ἄνευ τῆς τοῦ βελτίστου ἐπιστήμης κεκτημένος ᾖ, ὀλιγάκις μὲν ὠφελεῖν, βλάπτειν δὲ τὰ πλείω τὸν ἔχοντα αὐτό, ἆρ᾽ οὐχὶ τῷ ὄντι ὀρθῶς ἐφαινόμην λέγων;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ εἰ μὴ τότε, ἀλλὰ νῦν μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

δεῖ ἄρα καὶ πόλιν καὶ ψυχὴν τὴν μέλλουσαν ὀρθῶς βιώσεσθαι ταύτης τῆς ἐπιστήμης ἀντέχεσθαι, ἀτεχνῶς ὥσπερ ἀσθενοῦντα ἰατροῦ ἤ τινος κυβερνήτου τὸν ἀσφαλῶς [147α] μέλλοντα πλεῖν. ἄνευ γὰρ ταύτης, ὅσῳπερ ἂν λαμπρότερον ἐπουρίσῃ τὸ τῆς τύχης ἢ περὶ χρημάτων κτῆσιν ἢ σώματος ῥώμην ἢ καὶ ἄλλο τι τῶν τοιούτων, τοσούτῳ μείζω ἁμαρτήματα ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστιν, ὡς ἔοικε, γίγνεσθαι. ὁ δὲ δὴ τὴν καλουμένην πολυμαθίαν τε καὶ πολυτεχνίαν κεκτημένος, ὀρφανὸς δὲ ὢν ταύτης τῆς ἐπιστήμης, ἀγόμενος δὲ ὑπὸ μιᾶς ἑκάστης τῶν ἄλλων, ἆρ᾽ οὐχὶ τῷ ὄντι δικαίως πολλῷ χειμῶνι χρήσεται, ἅτε οἶμαι ἄνευ κυβερνήτου [147β] διατελῶν ἐν πελάγει, χρόνον οὐ μακρὸν βίου θέων; ὥστε συμβαίνειν μοι δοκεῖ καὶ ἐνταῦθα τὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ, ὃ λέγει κατηγορῶν πού τινος, ὡς ἄρα “πολλὰ”Margites μὲν “ἠπίστατο ἔργα, κακῶς δέ”, φησίν, “ἠπίστατο πάντα”.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

καὶ τί δή ποτε συμβαίνει τὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἐμοὶ μὲν γὰρ οὐδ᾽ ὁτιοῦν δοκεῖ πρὸς λόγον εἰρηκέναι.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μάλα γε πρὸς λόγον: ἀλλ᾽ αἰνίττεται, ὦ βέλτιστε, καὶ οὗτος καὶ ἇλλοι δὲ ποιηταὶ σχεδόν τι πάντες. ἔστιν τε γὰρ φύσει ποιητικὴ ἡ σύμπασα αἰνιγματώδης καὶ [147ξ] οὐ τοῦ προστυχόντος ἀνδρὸς γνωρίσαι: ἔτι τε πρὸς τῷ φύσει τοιαύτη εἶναι, ὅταν λάβηται ἀνδρὸς φθονεροῦ τε καὶ μὴ βουλομένου ἡμῖν ἐνδείκνυσθαι ἀλλ᾽ ἀποκρύπτεσθαι ὅτι μάλιστα τὴν αὑτοῦ σοφίαν, ὑπερφυῶς δὴ τὸ χρῆμα ὡς δύσγνωστον φαίνεται, ὅτι ποτὲ νοοῦσιν ἕκαστος αὐτῶν. οὐ γὰρ δήπου Ὅμηρόν γε τὸν θειότατόν τε καὶ σοφώτατον ποιητὴν ἀγνοεῖν δοκεῖς ὡς οὐχ οἷόν τε ἦν ἐπίστασθαι κακῶς — ἐκεῖνος γάρ ἐστιν ὁ λέγων τὸν Μαργίτην πολλὰ [147δ] μὲν ἐπίστασθαι, κακῶς δέ, φησί, πάντα ἠπίστατο — ἀλλ᾽ αἰνίττεται οἶμαι παράγων τὸ κακῶς μὲν ἀντὶ τοῦ κακοῦ, τὸ δὲ ἠπίστατο ἀντὶ τοῦ ἐπίστασθαι: γίγνεται οὖν συντεθὲν ἔξω μὲν τοῦ μέτρου, ἔστι δ᾽ ὅ γε βούλεται, ὡς πολλὰ μὲν ἠπίστατο ἔργα, κακὸν δ᾽ ἦν ἐπίστασθαι αὐτῷ πάντα ταῦτα. δῆλον οὖν ὅτι εἴπερ ἦν αὐτῷ κακὸν τὸ πολλὰ εἰδέναι, φαῦλός τις ὢν ἐτύγχανεν, εἴπερ γε πιστεύειν δεῖ τοῖς προειρημένοις λόγοις. [147ε]

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἦ χαλεπῶς γ᾽ ἂν ἄλλοις τισὶ πιστεύσαιμι λόγοις, εἴπερ μηδὲ τούτοις.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὀρθῶς γέ σοι δοκεῖ.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πάλιν αὖ μοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ φέρε πρὸς Διός — ὁρᾷς γὰρ δήπου τὴν ἀπορίαν ὅση τε καὶ οἵα, ταύτης δὲ καὶ σύ μοι δοκεῖς κεκοινωνηκέναι: μεταβαλλόμενός γέ τοι ἄνω καὶ κάτω οὐδ᾽ ὁτιοῦν παύῃ, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι ἂν μάλιστά σοι δόξῃ, τοῦτο καὶ ἐκδεδυκέναι αὖ [148α] καὶ οὐκέτι ὡσαύτως δοκεῖν — εἰ οὖν σοί γ᾽ ἔτι καὶ νῦν ἐμφανὴς γενόμενος ὁ θεὸς πρὸς ὃν τυγχάνεις πορευόμενος ἐρωτήσειε, πρὶν ὁτιοῦν εὔξασθαί σε, εἰ ἐξαρκέσει σοι ἐκείνων τι γενέσθαι ὧνπερ καὶ ἐν ἀρχῇ ἐλέγετο, εἴτε καὶ αὐτῷ σοι ἐπιτρέψειεν εὔξασθαι, τί ποτ᾽ ἂν οἴει ἢ τῶν παρ᾽ ἐκείνου διδομένων λαμβάνων ἢ αὐτὸς εὐξάμενος γενέσθαι τοῦ καιροῦ τυχεῖν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ μὰ τοὺς θεούς, ἐγὼ μὲν οὐθὲν ἂν ἔχοιμί σοι εἰπεῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕτως: ἀλλὰ μάργον τί μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι, [148β] καὶ ὡς ἀληθῶς πολλῆς φυλακῆς, ὅπως μὴ λήσει τις αὑτὸν εὐχόμενος μὲν κακά, δοκῶν δὲ τἀγαθά, ἔπειτ᾽ ὀλίγον ἐπισχών, ὅπερ καὶ σὺ ἔλεγες, παλινῳδῇ, ἀνευχόμενος ἅττ᾽ ἂν τὸ πρῶτον εὔξηται.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὐχὶ εἰδώς τι πλέον ἡμῶν ὁ ποιητής, οὗ καὶ ἐν ἀρχῇ τοῦ λόγου ἐπεμνήσθην, τὰ δειλὰ καὶ εὐχομένοις ἀπαλέξειν ἐκέλευεν;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

τοῦτον μὲν τοίνυν, ὦ Ἀλκιβιάδη, καὶ Λακεδαιμόνιοι [148ξ] τὸν ποιητὴν ἐζηλωκότες, εἴτε καὶ αὐτοὶ οὕτως ἐπεσκεμμένοι, καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ ἑκάστοτε παραπλησίαν εὐχὴν εὔχονται, τὰ καλὰ ἐπὶ τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς τοὺς θεοὺς διδόναι κελεύοντες αὖ σφίσιν αὐτοῖς: πλείω δ᾽ οὐδεὶς ἂν ἐκείνων εὐξαμένων ἀκούσειεν. τοιγαροῦν εἰς τὸ παρῆκον τοῦ χρόνου οὐδένων ἧττον εὐτυχεῖς εἰσιν ἄνθρωποι: εἰ δ᾽ ἄρα καὶ συμβέβηκεν αὐτοῖς ὥστε μὴ πάντα εὐτυχεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν οὐ διὰ [148δ] τὴν ἐκείνων εὐχήν, ἐπὶ τοῖς θεοῖς δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὥστε οἶμαι καὶ διδόναι ἅττ᾽ ἄν τις εὐχόμενος τυγχάνῃ καὶ τἀναντία τούτων. βούλομαι δέ σοι καὶ ἕτερόν τι διηγήσασθαι, ὅ ποτε ἤκουσα τῶν πρεσβυτέρων τινῶν, ὡς Ἀθηναίοις καὶ Λακεδαιμονίοις διαφορᾶς γενομένης συνέβαινεν ἀεὶ τῇ πόλει ἡμῶν ὥστε καὶ κατὰ γῆν καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν ὁπότε μάχη γένοιτο δυστυχεῖν καὶ μηδέποτε δύνασθαι κρατῆσαι: τοὺς οὖν Ἀθηναίους ἀγανακτοῦντας τῷ πράγματι καὶ ἀπορουμένους τίνι [148ε] χρὴ μηχανῇ τῶν παρόντων κακῶν ἀποτροπὴν εὑρεῖν, βουλευομένοις αὐτοῖς δοκεῖν κράτιστον εἶναι πέμψαντας πρὸς Ἄμμωνα ἐκεῖνον ἐπερωτᾶν: ἔτι δὲ πρὸς τούτοις τάδε, καὶ ἀνθ᾽ ὅτου ποτὲ Λακεδαιμονίοις οἱ θεοὶ μᾶλλον νίκην διδόασιν ἢ σφίσιν αὐτοῖς, οἳ πλείστας, φάναι, μὲν θυσίας καὶ καλλίστας τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἄγομεν, ἀναθήμασί τε κεκοσμήκαμεν τὰ ἱερὰ αὐτῶν ὡς οὐδένες ἄλλοι, πομπάς τε πολυτελεστάτας καὶ σεμνοτάτας ἐδωρούμεθα τοῖς θεοῖς ἀν᾽ ἕκαστον ἔτος, καὶ [149α] ἐτελοῦμεν χρήματα ὅσα οὐδ᾽ ἇλλοι σύμπαντες Ἕλληνες: Λακεδαιμονίοις δέ, φάναι, οὐδεπώποτ᾽ ἐμέλησεν οὐδὲν τούτων, ἀλλ᾽ οὕτως ὀλιγώρως διάκεινται πρὸς τοὺς θεούς, ὥστε καὶ ἀνάπηρα θύουσιν ἑκάστοτε καὶ τἆλλα πάντα οὐκ ὀλίγῳ ἐνδεεστέρως τιμῶσιν ἤπερ ἡμεῖς, χρήματα οὐδὲν ἐλάττω κεκτημένοι τῆς ἡμετέρας πόλεως. ἐπεὶ δὴ εἰρηκέναι ταῦτα καὶ ἐπερωτῆσαι τί χρὴ πράττοντας αὐτοὺς τῶν παρόντων κακῶν ἀπαλλαγὴν εὑρεῖν, ἄλλο μὲν οὐθὲν ἀποκριθῆναι τὸν [149β] προφήτην — τὸν γὰρ θεὸν οὐκ ἐᾶν δῆλον ὅτι — καλέσαντα δὲ αὐτόν, Ἀθηναίοις, φάναι, τάδε λέγει Ἄμμων: φησὶν ἂν βούλεσθαι αὑτῷ τὴν Λακεδαιμονίων εὐφημίαν εἶναι μᾶλλον ἢ τὰ σύμπαντα τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἱερά. τοσαῦτα εἰπεῖν, οὐκέτι περαιτέρω. τήν γ᾽ οὖν εὐφημίαν οὐκ ἄλλην τινά μοι δοκεῖ λέγειν ὁ θεὸς ἢ τὴν εὐχὴν αὐτῶν: ἔστι γὰρ τῷ ὄντι πολὺ [149ξ] διαφέρουσα τῶν ἄλλων. οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἄλλοι Ἕλληνες οἱ μὲν χρυσόκερως βοῦς παραστησάμενοι, ἕτεροι δ᾽ ἀναθήμασι δωρούμενοι τοὺς θεούς, εὔχονται ἅττ᾽ ἂν τύχῃ ταῦτα, ἄντε ἀγαθὰ ἄντε κακά: βλασφημούντων οὖν αὐτῶν ἀκούοντες οἱ θεοὶ οὐκ ἀποδέχονται τὰς πολυτελεῖς ταυτασὶ πομπάς τε καὶ θυσίας. ἀλλὰ δοκεῖ μοι πολλῆς φυλακῆς δεῖσθαι καὶ σκέψεως ὅτι ποτὲ ῥητέον ἐστὶ καὶ μή.

εὑρήσεις δὲ καὶ παρ᾽ Ὁμήρῳ ἕτερα παραπλήσια τούτοις [149δ] εἰρημένα. φησὶν γὰρ τοὺς Τρῶας ἔπαυλιν ποιουμένους”ἔρδειν ἀθανάτοισι τεληέσσας ἑκατόμβας:

“Hom. Il. 8.548τὴν δὲ κνῖσαν ἐκ τοῦ πεδίου τοὺς ἀνέμους φέρειν οὐρανὸν εἴσω”ἡδεῖαν: τῆς δ᾽ οὔ τι θεοὺς μάκαρας δατέεσθαι,

οὐδ᾽ ἐθέλειν: μάλα γάρ σφιν ἀπήχθετο Ἴλιος ἱρὴ

“ [149ε]

“καὶ Πρίαμος καὶ λαὸς ἐυμμελίω Πριάμοιο:

“

Hom. Il. 8.550-2

ὥστε οὐδὲν αὐτοῖς ἦν προύργου θύειν τε καὶ δῶρα τελεῖν μάτην, θεοῖς ἀπηχθημένους. οὐ γὰρ οἶμαι τοιοῦτόν ἐστι τὸ τῶν θεῶν ὥστε ὑπὸ δώρων παράγεσθαι οἷον κακὸν τοκιστήν: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἡμεῖς εὐήθη λόγον λέγομεν, ἀξιοῦντες Λακεδαιμονίων ταύτῃ περιεῖναι. καὶ γὰρ ἂν δεινὸν εἴη εἰ πρὸς τὰ δῶρα καὶ τὰς θυσίας ἀποβλέπουσιν ἡμῶν οἱ θεοὶ ἀλλὰ μὴ πρὸς τὴν ψυχήν, ἄν τις ὅσιος καὶ δίκαιος ὢν [150α] τυγχάνῃ. πολλῷ γε μᾶλλον οἶμαι ἢ πρὸς τὰς πολυτελεῖς ταύτας πομπάς τε καὶ θυσίας, ἃς οὐδὲν κωλύει πολλὰ μὲν εἰς θεούς, πολλὰ δ᾽ εἰς ἀνθρώπους ἡμαρτηκότας καὶ ἰδιώτην καὶ πόλιν ἔχειν ἀν᾽ ἕκαστον ἔτος τελεῖν: οἱ δέ, ἅτε οὐ δωροδόκοι ὄντες, καταφρονοῦσιν ἁπάντων τούτων, ὥς φησιν ὁ θεὸς καὶ θεῶν προφήτης. κινδυνεύει γοῦν καὶ παρὰ θεοῖς καὶ παρ᾽ ἀνθρώποις τοῖς νοῦν ἔχουσι δικαιοσύνη τε [150β] καὶ φρόνησις διαφερόντως τετιμῆσθαι: φρόνιμοι δὲ καὶ δίκαιοι οὐκ ἄλλοι τινές εἰσιν ἢ τῶν εἰδότων ἃ δεῖ πράττειν καὶ λέγειν καὶ πρὸς θεοὺς καὶ πρὸς ἀνθρώπους. βουλοίμην δ᾽ ἂν καὶ σοῦ πυθέσθαι ὅτι ποτ᾽ ἐν νῷ ἔχεις πρὸς ταῦτα.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοὶ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἄλλῃ πῃ δοκεῖ ἢ ᾗπερ σοί τε καὶ τῷ θεῷ: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν εἰκὸς εἴη ἀντίψηφον ἐμὲ τῷ θεῷ γενέσθαι.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν μέμνησαι ἐν πολλῇ ἀπορίᾳ φάσκων εἶναι, [150ξ] ὅπως μὴ λάθῃς σεαυτὸν εὐχόμενος κακά, δοκῶν δὲ ἀγαθά;

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς οὖν ὡς οὐκ ἀσφαλές σοί ἐστιν ἐλθεῖν πρὸς τὸν θεὸν εὐξομένῳ, ἵνα μηδ᾽ ἂν οὕτω τύχῃ, βλασφημοῦντός σου ἀκούων οὐθὲν ἀποδέξηται τῆς θυσίας ταύτης, τυχὸν δὲ καὶ ἕτερόν τι προσαπολαύσῃς. ἐμοὶ μὲν οὖν δοκεῖ βέλτιστον εἶναι ἡσυχίαν ἔχειν: τῇ μὲν γὰρ Λακεδαιμονίων εὐχῇ διὰ τὴν μεγαλοψυχίαν — τοῦτο γὰρ κάλλιστον τῶν ἐν ἀφροσύνῃ γε ὀνομάτων — οὐκ ἂν οἶμαί σε ἐθέλειν χρῆσθαι. [150δ] ἀναγκαῖον οὖν ἐστι περιμένειν ἕως ἄν τις μάθῃ ὡς δεῖ πρὸς θεοὺς καὶ πρὸς ἀνθρώπους διακεῖσθαι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

πότε οὖν παρέσται ὁ χρόνος οὗτος, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ τίς ὁ παιδεύσων; ἥδιστα γὰρ ἄν μοι δοκῶ ἰδεῖν τοῦτον τὸν ἄνθρωπον τίς ἐστιν.

Σωκράτης

οὗτος ᾧ μέλει περὶ σοῦ. ἀλλὰ δοκεῖ μοι, ὥσπερ τῷ Διομήδει φησὶν τὴν Ἀθηνᾶν Ὅμηρος ἀπὸ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν ἀφελεῖν τὴν ἀχλύν,”ὄφρ᾽ εὖ γιγνώσκοι ἠμὲν θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα,

“Hom. Il. 5.127 [150ε] οὕτω καὶ σοὶ δεῖν ἀπὸ τῆς ψυχῆς πρῶτον τὴν ἀχλὺν ἀφελόντα, ἣ νῦν παροῦσα τυγχάνει, τὸ τηνικαῦτ᾽ ἤδη προσφέρειν δι᾽ ὧν μέλλεις γνώσεσθαι ἠμὲν κακὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἐσθλόν. νῦν μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ἄν μοι δοκεῖς δυνηθῆναι.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀφαιρείτω, εἴτε βούλεται τὴν ἀχλὺν εἴτε ἄλλο τι: ὡς ἐγὼ παρεσκεύασμαι μηθὲν ἂν φυγεῖν τῶν ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου προσταττομένων, ὅστις ποτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἅνθρωπος, εἴ γε μέλλοιμι βελτίων γενέσθαι. [151α]

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν κἀκεῖνος θαυμαστὴν ὅσην περὶ σὲ προθυμίαν ἔχει.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

εἰς τότε τοίνυν καὶ τὴν θυσίαν ἀναβάλλεσθαι κράτιστον εἶναί μοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ὀρθῶς γέ σοι δοκεῖ: ἀσφαλέστερον γάρ ἐστιν ἢ παρακινδυνεύειν τοσοῦτον κίνδυνον.

Ἀλκιβιάδης

ἀλλὰ πῶς, ὦ Σώκρατες; καὶ μὴν τουτονὶ τὸν στέφανον, ἐπειδή μοι δοκεῖς καλῶς συμβεβουλευκέναι, σοὶ [151β] περιθήσω: τοῖς θεοῖς δὲ καὶ στεφάνους καὶ τἆλλα πάντα τὰ νομιζόμενα τότε δώσομεν, ὅταν ἐκείνην τὴν ἡμέραν ἐλθοῦσαν ἴδω. ἥξει δ᾽ οὐ διὰ μακροῦ τούτων θελόντων.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ δέχομαι καὶ τοῦτο, καὶ ἄλλο δὲ ἄν τι τῶν παρὰ σοῦ δοθέντων ἡδέως ἴδοιμι δεξάμενον ἐμαυτόν. ὥσπερ δὲ καὶ ὁ Κρέων Εὐριπίδῃ πεποίηται τὸν Τειρεσίαν ἰδὼν ἔχοντα τὰ στέφη καὶ ἀκούσας ἀπὸ τῶν πολεμίων ἀπαρχὰς αὐτὸν εἰληφέναι διὰ τὴν τέχνην,”οἰωνὸν ἐθέμην, φησί, καλλίνικα σὰ στέφη:

ἐν γὰρ κλύδωνι κείμεθ᾽, ὥσπερ οἶσθα σύ:

“Eur. Phoen. 858-9οὕτω δὲ κἀγὼ παρὰ σοῦ τὴν δόξαν ταύτην οἰωνὸν τίθεμαι. [151ξ] δοκῶ δέ μοι οὐκ ἐν ἐλάττονι κλύδωνι τοῦ Κρέοντος εἶναι, καὶ βουλοίμην ἂν καλλίνικος γενέσθαι τῶν σῶν ἐραστῶν.

HIPPARCHUS

Σωκράτης

Ἑταῖρος

[225α]

Σωκράτης

τί γὰρ τὸ φιλοκερδές; τί ποτέ ἐστιν, καὶ τίνες οἱ φιλοκερδεῖς;

Ἑταῖρος

ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκοῦσιν οἳ ἂν κερδαίνειν ἀξιῶσιν ἀπὸ τῶν μηδενὸς ἀξίων.

Σωκράτης

πότερον οὖν σοι δοκοῦσιν γιγνώσκοντες ὅτι οὐδενός ἐστιν ἄξια, ἢ ἀγνοοῦντες; εἰ γὰρ ἀγνοοῦντες, ἀνοήτους λέγεις τοὺς φιλοκερδεῖς.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἀνοήτους λέγω, ἀλλὰ πανούργους καὶ [225β] πονηροὺς καὶ ἥττους τοῦ κέρδους, γιγνώσκοντας ὅτι οὐδενὸς ἄξιά ἐστιν ἀφ᾽ ὧν τολμῶσι κερδαίνειν, ὅμως τολμᾶν φιλοκερδεῖν δι᾽ ἀναισχυντίαν.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν τοιόνδε λέγεις τὸν φιλοκερδῆ, οἷον ἐὰν φυτεύων γεωργὸς ἀνὴρ καὶ γιγνώσκων ὅτι οὐδενὸς ἄξιον τὸ φυτόν, ἀξιοῖ ἀπὸ τούτου ἐκτραφέντος κερδαίνειν; ἆρα τοιοῦτον αὐτὸν λέγεις;

Ἑταῖρος

ἀπὸ παντὸς ὅ γε φιλοκερδής, ὦ Σώκρατες, οἴεται δεῖν κερδαίνειν.

Σωκράτης

μή μοι οὕτως εἰκῇ, ὥσπερ τι ἠδικημένος ὑπό τινος, [225ξ] ἀλλὰ προσέχων ἐμοὶ τὸν νοῦν ἀπόκριναι, ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἐξ ἀρχῆς πάλιν ἠρώτων: οὐχὶ ὁμολογεῖς τὸν φιλοκερδῆ ἐπιστήμονα εἶναι περὶ τῆς ἀξίας τούτου ὅθεν κερδαίνειν ἀξιοῖ;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τίς οὖν ἐπιστήμων περὶ φυτῶν τῆς ἀξίας, ἐν ὁποίᾳ ἄξια φυτευθῆναι καὶ ὥρᾳ καὶ χώρᾳ; ἵνα τι καὶ ἡμεῖς τῶν σοφῶν ῥημάτων ἐμβάλωμεν, ὧν οἱ δεξιοὶ περὶ τὰς δίκας καλλιεποῦνται. [225δ]

Ἑταῖρος

ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι γεωργόν.

Σωκράτης

τὸ οὖν ἀξιοῦν κερδαίνειν ἄλλο τι λέγεις ἢ οἴεσθαι δεῖν κερδαίνειν;

Ἑταῖρος

τοῦτο λέγω.

Σωκράτης

μὴ τοίνυν με ἐπιχείρει ἐξαπατᾶν, ἄνδρα πρεσβύτερον [226α] ἤδη οὕτω νέος ὤν, ἀποκρινόμενος ὥσπερ νυνδὴ ἃ οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸς οἴει, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἀληθῶς εἰπέ: ἆρ᾽ ἔστιν ὅντινα οἴει γεωργικὸν ἄνδρα γιγνόμενον, καὶ γιγνώσκοντα ὅτι οὐδενὸς ἄξιον φυτεύει τὸ φυτόν, οἴεσθαι ἀπὸ τούτου κερδαίνειν;

Ἑταῖρος

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; ἱππικὸν ἄνδρα γιγνώσκοντα ὅτι οὐδενὸς ἄξια σιτία τῷ ἵππῳ παρέχει, ἀγνοεῖν αὐτὸν οἴει ὅτι τὸν ἵππον διαφθείρει;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐκ ἔγωγε. [226β]

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα οἴεταί γε ἀπὸ τούτων κερδαίνειν τῶν σιτίων τῶν μηδενὸς ἀξίων.

Ἑταῖρος

οὐχί.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; κυβερνήτην μηδενὸς ἄξια ἱστία καὶ πηδάλια τῇ νηὶ παρεσκευασμένον ἀγνοεῖν οἴει ὅτι ζημιωθήσεται καὶ κινδυνεύσει καὶ αὐτὸς ἀπολέσθαι καὶ τὴν ναῦν ἀπολέσαι καὶ ἃ ἂν ἄγῃ πάντα;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα οἴεταί γε κερδαίνειν ἀπὸ τῶν σκευῶν τῶν [226ξ] μηδενὸς ἀξίων.

Ἑταῖρος

οὐ γάρ.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ στρατηγὸς γιγνώσκων ὅτι ἡ στρατιὰ αὐτῷ οὐδενὸς ἄξια ὅπλα ἔχει, οἴεται ἀπὸ τούτων κερδαίνειν καὶ ἀξιοῖ κερδαίνειν;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐδαμῶς.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ αὐλητὴς αὐλοὺς οὐδενὸς ἀξίους ἔχων ἢ κιθαριστὴς λύραν ἢ τοξότης τόξον ἢ ἄλλος ὁστισοῦν συλλήβδην τῶν δημιουργῶν ἢ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ἐμφρόνων ἀνδρῶν μηδενὸς ἄξια ὄργανα ἢ ἄλλην παρασκευὴν ἡντιναοῦν ἔχων ἀπὸ τούτων οἴεται κερδαίνειν; [226δ]

Ἑταῖρος

οὔκουν φαίνεταί γε.

Σωκράτης

τίνας οὖν ποτε λέγεις τοὺς φιλοκερδεῖς; οὐ γάρ που τούτους γε οὓς διεληλύθαμεν, ἀλλ᾽ οἵτινες γιγνώσκοντες τὰ οὐδενὸς ἄξια ἀπὸ τούτων οἴονται δεῖν κερδαίνειν: ἀλλ᾽ οὕτω μέν, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ὡς σὺ λέγεις, οὐκ ἔστ᾽ ἀνθρώπων οὐδεὶς φιλοκερδής.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀλλ᾽ ἐγώ, ὦ Σώκρατες, βούλομαι λέγειν τούτους φιλοκερδεῖς εἶναι, οἳ ἑκάστοτε ὑπὸ ἀπληστίας καὶ πάνυ [226ε] σμικρὰ καὶ ὀλίγου ἄξια καὶ οὐδενὸς γλίχονται ὑπερφυῶς καὶ φιλοκερδοῦσιν.

Σωκράτης

οὐ δήπου, ὦ βέλτιστε, γιγνώσκοντες ὅτι οὐδενὸς ἄξιά ἐστιν: τοῦτο μὲν γὰρ ἤδη ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς τῷ λόγῳ ἐξηλέγξαμεν ὅτι ἀδύνατον.

Ἑταῖρος

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰ μὴ γιγνώσκοντες, δῆλον ὅτι ἀγνοοῦντες, οἰόμενοι δὲ τὰ οὐδενὸς ἄξια πολλοῦ ἄξια εἶναι.

Ἑταῖρος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἄλλο τι οὖν οἵ γε φιλοκερδεῖς φιλοῦσι τὸ κέρδος;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

κέρδος δὲ λέγεις ἐναντίον τῇ ζημίᾳ; [227α]

Ἑταῖρος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἔστιν οὖν ὅτῳ ἀγαθόν ἐστι ζημιοῦσθαι;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐδενί.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ κακόν;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

βλάπτονται ὑπὸ τῆς ζημίας ἄρα ἄνθρωποι.

Ἑταῖρος

βλάπτονται.

Σωκράτης

κακὸν ἄρα ἡ ζημία.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἐναντίον δὲ τῇ ζημίᾳ τὸ κέρδος.

Ἑταῖρος

ἐναντίον.

Σωκράτης

ἀγαθὸν ἄρα τὸ κέρδος.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί. [227β]

Σωκράτης

τοὺς οὖν τὸ ἀγαθὸν φιλοῦντας φιλοκερδεῖς καλεῖς.

Ἑταῖρος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

οὐ μανικούς γε, ὦ ἑταῖρε, λέγεις τοὺς φιλοκερδεῖς. ἀλλὰ σὺ αὐτὸς πότερον φιλεῖς ὃ ἂν ἀγαθὸν ᾖ, ἢ οὐ φιλεῖς;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἔστι δέ τι ἀγαθόν, ὃ οὐ φιλεῖς, ἀλλὰ κακόν;

Ἑταῖρος

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ πάντα τὰ ἀγαθὰ ἴσως φιλεῖς.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἐροῦ δὴ καὶ ἐμὲ εἰ οὐ καὶ ἐγώ: ὁμολογήσω γὰρ καὶ [227ξ] ἐγώ σοι φιλεῖν τἀγαθά. ἀλλὰ πρὸς ἐμοὶ καὶ σοὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι ἅπαντες οὐ δοκοῦσί σοι τἀγαθὰ φιλεῖν, τὰ δὲ κακὰ μισεῖν;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔμοιγε φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ κέρδος ἀγαθὸν ὡμολογήσαμεν;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

πάντες αὖ φιλοκερδεῖς φαίνονται τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον: ὃν δὲ τὸ πρότερον ἐλέγομεν, οὐδεὶς ἦν φιλοκερδής. ποτέρῳ οὖν ἄν τις τῷ λόγῳ χρώμενος οὐκ ἂν ἐξαμαρτάνοι;

Ἑταῖρος

εἴ τις, ὦ Σώκρατες οἶμαι ὀρθῶς λαμβάνοι τὸν [227δ] φιλοκερδῆ. ὀρθῶς δ᾽ ἐστὶ τοῦτον ἡγεῖσθαι φιλοκερδῆ, ὃς ἂν σπουδάζῃ ἐπὶ τούτοις καὶ ἀξιοῖ κερδαίνειν ἀπ᾽ αὐτῶν, ἀφ᾽ ὧν οἱ χρηστοὶ οὐ τολμῶσι κερδαίνειν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ὁρᾷς, ὦ γλυκύτατε, τὸ κερδαίνειν ἄρτι ὡμολογήσαμεν εἶναι ὠφελεῖσθαι.

Ἑταῖρος

τί οὖν δὴ τοῦτο;

Σωκράτης

ὅτι καὶ τόδε αὐτῷ προσωμολογήσαμεν, βούλεσθαι τὰ ἀγαθὰ πάντας καὶ ἀεί.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ πάντα τὰ κέρδη βούλονται ἔχειν, εἴπερ ἀγαθά γέ ἐστιν. [227ε]

Ἑταῖρος

οὐκ ἀφ᾽ ὧν γε μέλλουσιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, βλαβήσεσθαι τῶν κερδῶν.

Σωκράτης

βλαβήσεσθαι δὲ λέγεις ζημιώσεσθαι ἢ ἄλλο τι;

Ἑταῖρος

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ ζημιώσεσθαι λέγω.

Σωκράτης

ὑπὸ τοῦ κέρδους οὖν ζημιοῦνται ἢ ὑπὸ τῆς ζημίας ἄνθρωποι;

Ἑταῖρος

ὑπὸ ἀμφοτέρων: καὶ γὰρ ὑπὸ τῆς ζημίας ζημιοῦνται καὶ ὑπὸ τοῦ κέρδους τοῦ πονηροῦ.

Σωκράτης

ἦ δοκεῖ οὖν τί σοι χρηστὸν καὶ ἀγαθὸν πρᾶγμα πονηρὸν εἶναι;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐκ ἔμοιγε. [228α]

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὡμολογήσαμεν ὀλίγον πρότερον τὸ κέρδος τῇ ζημίᾳ κακῷ ὄντι ἐναντίον εἶναι;

Ἑταῖρος

φημί.

Σωκράτης

ἐναντίον δὲ ὂν κακῷ ἀγαθὸν εἶναι;

Ἑταῖρος

ὡμολογήσαμεν γάρ.

Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς οὖν, ἐπιχειρεῖς με ἐξαπατᾶν, ἐπίτηδες ἐναντία λέγων οἷς ἄρτι ὡμολογήσαμεν.

Ἑταῖρος

οὐ μὰ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλὰ τοὐναντίον σύ με ἐξαπατᾷς καὶ οὐκ οἶδα ὅπῃ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἄνω καὶ κάτω στρέφεις. [228β]

Σωκράτης

εὐφήμει: οὐ μεντἂν καλῶς ποιοίην οὐ πειθόμενος ἀνδρὶ ἀγαθῷ καὶ σοφῷ.

Ἑταῖρος

τίνι τούτῳ; καὶ τί μάλιστα;

Σωκράτης

πολίτῃ μὲν ἐμῷ τε καὶ σῷ, Πεισιστράτου δὲ ὑεῖ τοῦ ἐκ Φιλαϊδῶν, Ἱππάρχῳ, ὃς τῶν Πεισιστράτου παίδων ἦν πρεσβύτατος καὶ σοφώτατος, ὃς ἄλλα τε πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ ἔργα σοφίας ἀπεδείξατο, καὶ τὰ Ὁμήρου ἔπη πρῶτος ἐκόμισεν εἰς τὴν γῆν ταυτηνί, καὶ ἠνάγκασε τοὺς ῥαψῳδοὺς Παναθηναίοις ἐξ ὑπολήψεως ἐφεξῆς αὐτὰ διιέναι, ὥσπερ νῦν ἔτι [228ξ] οἵδε ποιοῦσιν, καὶ ἐπ᾽ Ἀνακρέοντα τὸν Τήιον πεντηκόντορον στείλας ἐκόμισεν εἰς τὴν πόλιν, Σιμωνίδην δὲ τὸν Κεῖον ἀεὶ περὶ αὑτὸν εἶχεν, μεγάλοις μισθοῖς καὶ δώροις πείθων: ταῦτα δ᾽ ἐποίει βουλόμενος παιδεύειν τοὺς πολίτας, ἵν᾽ ὡς βελτίστων ὄντων αὐτῶν ἄρχοι, οὐκ οἰόμενος δεῖν οὐδενὶ σοφίας φθονεῖν, ἅτε ὢν καλός τε κἀγαθός. ἐπειδὴ δὲ αὐτῷ οἱ περὶ τὸ ἄστυ τῶν πολιτῶν πεπαιδευμένοι ἦσαν καὶ [228δ] ἐθαύμαζον αὐτὸν ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ, ἐπιβουλεύων αὖ τοὺς ἐν τοῖς ἀγροῖς παιδεῦσαι ἔστησεν αὐτοῖς Ἑρμᾶς κατὰ τὰς ὁδοὺς ἐν μέσῳ τοῦ ἄστεος καὶ τῶν δήμων ἑκάστων, κἄπειτα τῆς σοφίας τῆς αὑτοῦ, ἥν τ᾽ ἔμαθεν καὶ ἣν αὐτὸς ἐξηῦρεν, ἐκλεξάμενος ἃ ἡγεῖτο σοφώτατα εἶναι, ταῦτα αὐτὸς ἐντείνας εἰς ἐλεγεῖον αὑτοῦ ποιήματα καὶ ἐπιδείγματα τῆς σοφίας ἐπέγραψεν, [228ε] ἵνα πρῶτον μὲν τὰ ἐν Δελφοῖς γράμματα τὰ σοφὰ ταῦτα μὴ θαυμάζοιεν οἱ πολῖται αὐτοῦ, τό τε “γνῶθι σαυτόν” καὶ τὸ “μηδὲν ἄγαν” καὶ τἆλλα τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἀλλὰ τὰ Ἱππάρχου ῥήματα μᾶλλον σοφὰ ἡγοῖντο, ἔπειτα παριόντες ἄνω καὶ κάτω καὶ ἀναγιγνώσκοντες καὶ γεῦμα λαμβάνοντες αὐτοῦ τῆς σοφίας φοιτῷεν ἐκ τῶν ἀγρῶν καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ λοιπὰ παιδευθησόμενοι. ἐστὸν δὲ δύο τὠπιγράμματε: ἐν μὲν τοῖς [229α] ἐπ᾽ ἀριστερὰ τοῦ Ἑρμοῦ ἑκάστου ἐπιγέγραπται λέγων ὁ Ἑρμῆς ὅτι ἐν μέσῳ τοῦ ἄστεος καὶ τοῦ δήμου ἕστηκεν, ἐν δὲ τοῖς ἐπὶ δεξιά—”μνῆμα τόδ᾽ Ἱππάρχου: στεῖχε δίκαια φρονῶν

“φησίν. ἔστι δὲ τῶν ποιημάτων καὶ ἄλλα ἐν ἄλλοις Ἑρμαῖς πολλὰ καὶ καλὰ ἐπιγεγραμμένα: ἔστι δὲ δὴ καὶ τοῦτο ἐπὶ τῇ Στειριακῇ ὁδῷ, ἐν ᾧ λέγει — [229β] “μνῆμα τόδ᾽ Ἱππάρχου: μὴ φίλον ἐξαπάτα.

“ἐγὼ οὖν σὲ ἐμοὶ ὄντα φίλον οὐ δήπου τολμῴην ἂν ἐξαπατᾶν καὶ ἐκείνῳ τοιούτῳ ὄντι ἀπιστεῖν, οὗ καὶ ἀποθανόντος τρία ἔτη ἐτυραννεύθησαν Ἀθηναῖοι ὑπὸ τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ αὐτοῦ Ἱππίου, καὶ πάντων ἂν τῶν παλαιῶν ἤκουσας ὅτι ταῦτα μόνον τὰ ἔτη τυραννὶς ἐγένετο ἐν Ἀθήναις, τὸν δ᾽ ἄλλον χρόνον ἐγγύς τι ἔζων Ἀθηναῖοι ὥσπερ ἐπὶ Κρόνου βασιλεύοντος. λέγεται δὲ ὑπὸ τῶν χαριεστέρων ἀνθρώπων καὶ ὁ θάνατος αὐτοῦ [229ξ] γενέσθαι οὐ δι᾽ ἃ οἱ πολλοὶ ᾠήθησαν, διὰ τὴν τῆς ἀδελφῆς ἀτιμίαν τῆς κανηφορίας — ἐπεὶ τοῦτό γε εὔηθες — ἀλλὰ τὸν μὲν Ἁρμόδιον γεγονέναι παιδικὰ τοῦ Ἀριστογείτονος καὶ πεπαιδεῦσθαι ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνου, μέγα δ᾽ ἐφρόνει ἄρα καὶ ὁ Ἀριστογείτων ἐπὶ τῷ παιδεῦσαι ἄνθρωπον, καὶ ἀνταγωνιστὴν ἡγεῖτο εἶναι τὸν Ἵππαρχον. ἐν ἐκείνῳ δὲ τῷ χρόνῳ αὐτὸν τὸν [229δ] Ἁρμόδιον τυγχάνειν ἐρῶντά τινος τῶν νέων τε καὶ καλῶν καὶ γενναίων τῶν τότε — καὶ λέγουσι τοὔνομα αὐτοῦ, ἐγὼ δὲ οὐ μέμνημαι — τὸν οὖν νεανίσκον τοῦτον τέως μὲν θαυμάζειν τόν τε Ἁρμόδιον καὶ τὸν Ἀριστογείτονα ὡς σοφούς, ἔπειτα συγγενόμενον τῷ Ἱππάρχῳ καταφρονῆσαι ἐκείνων, καὶ τοὺς περιαλγήσαντας ταύτῃ τῇ ἀτιμίᾳ οὕτως ἀποκτεῖναι τὸν Ἵππαρχον.

Ἑταῖρος

κινδυνεύεις τοίνυν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἢ οὐ φίλον με ἡγεῖσθαι ἤ, εἰ ἡγῇ φίλον, οὐ πείθεσθαι Ἱππάρχῳ: ἐγὼ γὰρ [229ε] ὅπως οὐ σὺ ἐμὲ ἐξαπατᾷς — οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅντινα μέντοι τρόπον — ἐν τοῖς λόγοις, οὐ δύναμαι πεισθῆναι.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ ὥσπερ πεττεύων ἐθέλω σοι ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἀναθέσθαι ὅτι βούλει τῶν εἰρημένων, ἵνα μὴ οἴῃ ἐξαπατᾶσθαι. πότερον γὰρ τοῦτό σοι ἀναθῶμαι, ὡς οὐχὶ τῶν ἀγαθῶν πάντες ἐπιθυμοῦσιν ἄνθρωποι;

Ἑταῖρος

μή μοί γε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ὡς τὸ ζημιοῦσθαι καὶ ἡ ζημία οὐ κακόν;

Ἑταῖρος

μή μοί γε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ὡς οὐ τῇ ζημίᾳ καὶ τῷ ζημιοῦσθαι τὸ κέρδος καὶ τὸ κερδαίνειν ἐναντίον; [230α]

Ἑταῖρος

μηδὲ τοῦτο.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἐναντίον ὂν τῷ κακῷ οὐκ ἀγαθόν ἐστι τὸ κερδαίνειν;

Ἑταῖρος

οὔτι πᾶν γε: τουτί μοι ἀνάθου.

Σωκράτης

δοκεῖ ἄρα σοι, ὡς ἔοικε, τοῦ κέρδους τὸ μέν τι ἀγαθὸν εἶναι, τὸ δέ τι κακόν.

Ἑταῖρος

ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀνατίθεμαι τοίνυν σοὶ τοῦτο: ἔστω γὰρ δὴ κέρδος τι ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἕτερον κέρδος τι κακόν. κέρδος δέ γε οὐδὲν μᾶλλόν ἐστιν αὐτῶν τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἢ τὸ κακόν: ἦ γάρ;

Ἑταῖρος

πῶς με ἐρωτᾷς;

Σωκράτης

ἐγὼ φράσω. σιτίον ἐστίν τι ἀγαθόν τε καὶ κακόν; [230β]

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν μᾶλλόν τι αὐτῶν ἐστι τὸ ἕτερον τοῦ ἑτέρου σιτίον, ἢ ὁμοίως τοῦτό γε, σιτία, ἐστὸν ἀμφότερα καὶ ταύτῃ γε οὐδὲν διαφέρει τὸ ἕτερον τοῦ ἑτέρου, κατὰ τὸ σιτίον εἶναι, ἀλλὰ ᾗ τὸ μὲν αὐτῶν ἀγαθόν, τὸ δὲ κακόν;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ποτὸν καὶ τἆλλα πάντα, ὅσα τῶν ὄντων ταὐτὰ ὄντα τὰ μὲν πέπονθεν ἀγαθὰ εἶναι, τὰ δὲ κακά, οὐδὲν ἐκείνῃ γε διαφέρει τὸ ἕτερον τοῦ ἑτέρου, ᾗ τὸ [230ξ] αὐτό ἐστιν; ὥσπερ ἄνθρωπος δήπου ὁ μὲν χρηστός ἐστιν, ὁ δὲ πονηρός.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ἄνθρωπός γε οἶμαι οὐδέτερος οὐδετέρου οὔτε μᾶλλον οὔτε ἧττόν ἐστιν, οὔτε ὁ χρηστὸς τοῦ πονηροῦ οὔτε ὁ πονηρὸς τοῦ χρηστοῦ.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οὕτω καὶ περὶ τοῦ κέρδους διανοώμεθα, ὡς κέρδος γε ὁμοίως ἐστὶ καὶ τὸ πονηρὸν καὶ τὸ χρηστόν;

Ἑταῖρος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲν ἄρα μᾶλλον κερδαίνει ὁ τὸ χρηστὸν κέρδος ἔχων ἢ τὸ πονηρόν: οὔκουν μᾶλλόν γε κέρδος φαίνεται [230δ] οὐδέτερον ὄν, ὡς ὁμολογοῦμεν.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐδετέρῳ γὰρ αὐτῶν οὔτε τὸ μᾶλλον οὔτε τὸ ἧττον πρόσεστιν.

Ἑταῖρος

οὐ γὰρ δή.

Σωκράτης

τῷ δὴ τοιούτῳ πράγματι πῶς ἄν τις μᾶλλον ἢ ἧττον ὁτιοῦν ἂν ποιοῖ ἢ πάσχοι, ᾧ μηδέτερον τούτων προσείη;

Ἑταῖρος

ἀδύνατον.

Σωκράτης

ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν κέρδη μὲν ὁμοίως ἐστὶν ἀμφότερα καὶ κερδαλέα, τουτὶ δὴ δεῖ ἡμᾶς ἐπισκέψασθαι, διὰ τί ποτε ἀμφότερα αὐτὰ κέρδος καλεῖς, τί ταὐτὸν ἐν ἀμφοτέροις ὁρῶν; [230ε] ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ ἃ σύ με ἠρώτας τὰ νυνδή, διὰ τί ποτε καὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν σιτίον καὶ τὸ κακὸν σιτίον ὁμοίως ἀμφότερα σιτία καλῶ, εἶπον ἄν σοι διότι ἀμφότερα ξηρὰ τροφὴ σώματός ἐστιν, διὰ τοῦτο ἔγωγε: τοῦτο γὰρ εἶναι σιτίον κἂν σύ που ἡμῖν ὁμολογοῖς. ἦ γάρ;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ περὶ ποτοῦ οὖν ὁ αὐτὸς ἂν τρόπος εἴη τῆς ἀποκρίσεως, ὅτι τῇ τοῦ σώματος ὑγρᾷ τροφῇ, ἐάντε χρηστὴ [231α] ἐάντε πονηρὰ ᾖ, τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομά ἐστι, ποτόν: καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὡσαύτως. πειρῶ οὖν καὶ σὺ ἐμὲ μιμεῖσθαι οὕτως ἀποκρινόμενον. τὸ χρηστὸν κέρδος καὶ τὸ πονηρὸν κέρδος κέρδος φῂς ἀμφότερον εἶναι τί τὸ αὐτὸ ἐν αὐτοῖς ὁρῶν, ὅτι δὴ καὶ τοῦτο κέρδος ἐστίν; εἰ δ᾽ αὖ μὴ αὐτὸς ἔχεις ἀποκρίνασθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμοῦ λέγοντος σκόπει: ἆρα κέρδος λέγεις πᾶν κτῆμα ὃ ἄν τις κτήσηται ἢ μηδὲν ἀναλώσας, ἢ ἔλαττον ἀναλώσας πλέον λάβῃ; [231β]

Ἑταῖρος

ἔμοιγε δοκῶ τοῦτο καλεῖν κέρδος.

Σωκράτης

ἆρα καὶ τὰ τοιάδε λέγεις, ἐάν τις ἑστιαθείς, μηδὲν ἀναλώσας ἀλλ᾽ εὐωχηθείς, νόσον κτήσηται;

Ἑταῖρος

μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

Ὑγίειαν δὲ κτησάμενος ἀπὸ ἑστιάσεως κέρδος ἂν κτήσαιτο ἢ ζημίαν;

Ἑταῖρος

κέρδος.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα τοῦτό γέ ἐστι κέρδος, τὸ ὁτιοῦν κτῆμα κτήσασθαι.

Ἑταῖρος

οὐ μέντοι.

Σωκράτης

πότερον οὔκ, ἐὰν κακόν; ἢ οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἀγαθὸν ὁτιοῦν κτήσηται, οὐ κέρδος κτήσεται;

Ἑταῖρος

φαίνεται, ἐάν γε ἀγαθόν. [231ξ]

Σωκράτης

ἐὰν δὲ κακόν, οὐ ζημίαν κτήσεται;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ὁρᾷς οὖν ὡς πάλιν αὖ περιτρέχεις εἰς τὸ αὐτό; τὸ μὲν κέρδος ἀγαθὸν φαίνεται, ἡ δὲ ζημία κακόν.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀπορῶ ἔγωγε ὅτι εἴπω.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἀδίκως γε σὺ ἀπορῶν. ἔτι γὰρ καὶ τόδε ἀπόκριναι: ἐάν τις ἔλαττον ἀναλώσας πλέον κτήσηται, φῂς κέρδος εἶναι;

Ἑταῖρος

οὔτι κακόν γε λέγω, ἀλλ᾽ ἐὰν χρυσίον ἢ ἀργύριον ἔλαττον ἀναλώσας πλέον λάβῃ. [231δ]

Σωκράτης

καὶ ἐγὼ μέλλω τοῦτο ἐρήσεσθαι. φέρε γάρ, ἐάν τις χρυσίου σταθμὸν ἥμισυν ἀναλώσας διπλάσιον λάβῃ ἀργυρίου, κέρδος ἢ ζημίαν εἴληφεν;

Ἑταῖρος

ζημίαν δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες: ἀντὶ δωδεκαστασίου γὰρ διστάσιον αὐτῷ καθίσταται τὸ χρυσίον.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν πλέον γ᾽ εἴληφεν: ἢ οὐ πλέον ἐστὶ τὸ διπλάσιον τοῦ ἡμίσεος;

Ἑταῖρος

οὔτι τῇ ἀξίᾳ γε ἀργύριον χρυσίου.

Σωκράτης

δεῖ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, τῷ κέρδει τοῦτο προσεῖναι, τὴν ἀξίαν. νῦν γοῦν τὸ μὲν ἀργύριον πλέον ὂν τοῦ χρυσίου οὐ φῂς ἄξιον εἶναι, τὸ δὲ χρυσίον ἔλαττον ὂν ἄξιον φῂς εἶναι. [231ε]

Ἑταῖρος

σφόδρα: ἔχει γὰρ οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

τὸ μὲν ἄξιον ἄρα κερδαλέον ἐστίν, ἐάντε σμικρὸν ᾖ ἐάντε μέγα, τὸ δὲ ἀνάξιον ἀκερδές.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ ἄξιον λέγεις ἄξιον εἶναι ἄλλο τι ἢ κεκτῆσθαι;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί, κεκτῆσθαι.

Σωκράτης

τὸ δὲ ἄξιον αὖ λέγεις κεκτῆσθαι τὸ ἀνωφελὲς ἢ τὸ ὠφέλιμον;

Ἑταῖρος

τὸ ὠφέλιμον δήπου. [232α]

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν τὸ ὠφέλιμον ἀγαθόν ἐστιν;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν, ὦ ἀνδρειότατε πάντων, οὐ τὸ κερδαλέον ἀγαθὸν αὖ πάλιν τρίτον ἢ τέταρτον ἥκει ἡμῖν ὁμολογούμενον;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔοικεν.

Σωκράτης

μνημονεύεις οὖν ὅθεν ἡμῖν οὗτος ὁ λόγος γέγονεν;

Ἑταῖρος

οἶμαί γε.

Σωκράτης

εἰ δὲ μή, ἐγώ σε ὑπομνήσω. ἠμφεσβήτησάς μοι τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς μὴ πάντα τὰ κέρδη βούλεσθαι κερδαίνειν, ἀλλὰ τῶν κερδῶν τἀγαθά, τὰ δὲ πονηρὰ μή.

Ἑταῖρος

ναίχι. [232β]

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν νῦν πάντα τὰ κέρδη ὁ λόγος ἡμᾶς ἠνάγκακε καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ μεγάλα ὁμολογεῖν ἀγαθὰ εἶναι;

Ἑταῖρος

ἠνάγκακε γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, μᾶλλον ἐμέ γε ἢ πέπεικεν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως μετὰ τοῦτο καὶ πείσειεν ἄν: νῦν δ᾽ οὖν, εἴτε πέπεισαι εἴτε ὁπωσδὴ ἔχεις, σύμφῃς γοῦν ἡμῖν πάντα τὰ κέρδη ἀγαθὰ εἶναι, καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ μεγάλα.

Ἑταῖρος

ὁμολογῶ γὰρ οὖν.

Σωκράτης

τοὺς δὲ χρηστοὺς ἀνθρώπους βούλεσθαι τἀγαθὰ ὁμολογεῖς ἅπαντα ἅπαντας: ἢ οὔ;

Ἑταῖρος

ὁμολογῶ. [232ξ]

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ τούς γε πονηροὺς αὐτὸς εἶπες ὅτι καὶ σμικρὰ καὶ μεγάλα κέρδη φιλοῦσιν.

Ἑταῖρος

εἶπον.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον πάντες ἄνθρωποι φιλοκερδεῖς ἂν εἶεν, καὶ οἱ χρηστοὶ καὶ οἱ πονηροί.

Ἑταῖρος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα ὀρθῶς ὀνειδίζει, εἴ τίς τῳ ὀνειδίζει φιλοκερδεῖ εἶναι: τυγχάνει γὰρ καὶ ὁ ταῦτα ὀνειδίζων αὐτὸς τοιοῦτος ὤν.

THE RIVAL LOVERS

Σωκράτης

[132α]

Σωκράτης

εἰς Διονυσίου τοῦ γραμματιστοῦ εἰσῆλθον, καὶ εἶδον αὐτόθι τῶν τε νέων τοὺς ἐπιεικεστάτους δοκοῦντας εἶναι τὴν ἰδέαν καὶ πατέρων εὐδοκίμων, καὶ τούτων ἐραστάς. ἐτυγχανέτην οὖν δύο τῶν μειρακίων ἐρίζοντε, περὶ ὅτου δέ, οὐ σφόδρα κατήκουον. ἐφαινέσθην μέντοι ἢ περὶ Ἀναξαγόρου [132β] ἢ περὶ Οἰνοπίδου ἐρίζειν: κύκλους γοῦν γράφειν ἐφαινέσθην καὶ ἐγκλίσεις τινὰς ἐμιμοῦντο τοῖν χεροῖν ἐπικλίνοντε καὶ μάλ᾽ ἐσπουδακότε. κἀγώ — καθήμην γὰρ παρὰ τὸν ἐραστὴν τοῦ ἑτέρου αὐτοῖν — κινήσας οὖν αὐτὸν τῷ ἀγκῶνι ἠρόμην ὅτι ποτὲ οὕτως ἐσπουδακότε τὼ μειρακίω εἴτην, καὶ εἶπον: ἦ που μέγα τι καὶ καλόν ἐστι περὶ ὃ τοσαύτην σπουδὴν πεποιημένω ἐστόν;

ὁ δ᾽ εἶπε, ποῖον, ἔφη, μέγα καὶ καλόν; ἀδολεσχοῦσι μὲν οὖν οὗτοί γε περὶ τῶν μετεώρων καὶ φλυαροῦσι φιλοσοφοῦντες. [132ξ]

καὶ ἐγὼ θαυμάσας αὐτοῦ τὴν ἀπόκρισιν εἶπον: ὦ νεανία, αἰσχρὸν δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι τὸ φιλοσοφεῖν; ἢ τί οὕτως χαλεπῶς λέγεις;

καὶ ὁ ἕτερος — πλησίον γὰρ καθήμενος ἐτύγχανεν αὐτοῦ, ἀντεραστὴς ὤν — ἀκούσας ἐμοῦ τε ἐρομένου κἀκείνου ἀποκρινομένου, οὐ πρὸς σοῦ γε, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ποιεῖς τὸ καὶ ἀνερέσθαι τοῦτον εἰ αἰσχρὸν ἡγεῖται φιλοσοφίαν εἶναι. ἢ οὐκ οἶσθα τοῦτον ὅτι τραχηλιζόμενος καὶ ἐμπιμπλάμενος καὶ καθεύδων πάντα τὸν βίον διατετέλεκεν; ὥστε σὺ τί αὐτὸν ᾤου ἀποκρινεῖσθαι ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ὅτι αἰσχρόν ἐστι φιλοσοφία; [132δ]

ἦν δὲ οὗτος μὲν τοῖν ἐρασταῖν περὶ μουσικὴν διατετριφώς, ὁ δ᾽ ἕτερος, ὃν ἐλοιδόρει, περὶ γυμναστικήν. καί μοι ἔδοξε χρῆναι τὸν μὲν ἕτερον ἀφιέναι, τὸν ἐρωτώμενον, ὅτι οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸς προσεποιεῖτο περὶ λόγων ἔμπειρος εἶναι ἀλλὰ περὶ ἔργων, τὸν δὲ σοφώτερον προσποιούμενον εἶναι διερωτῆσαι, ἵνα καὶ εἴ τι δυναίμην παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ ὠφεληθείην. εἶπον οὖν ὅτι εἰς κοινὸν μὲν τὸ ἐρώτημα ἠρόμην: εἰ δὲ σὺ οἴει τοῦδε κάλλιον ἂν ἀποκρίνασθαι, σὲ ἐρωτῶ τὸ αὐτὸ ὅπερ καὶ τοῦτον, εἰ δοκεῖ σοι τὸ φιλοσοφεῖν καλὸν εἶναι ἢ οὔ. [133α]

σχεδὸν οὖν ταῦτα λεγόντων ἡμῶν ἐπακούσαντε τὼ μειρακίω ἐσιγησάτην, καὶ αὐτὼ παυσαμένω τῆς ἔριδος ἡμῶν ἀκροαταὶ ἐγενέσθην. καὶ ὅτι μὲν οἱ ἐρασταὶ ἔπαθον οὐκ οἶδα, αὐτὸς δ᾽ οὖν ἐξεπλάγην: ἀεὶ γάρ ποτε ὑπὸ τῶν νέων τε καὶ καλῶν ἐκπλήττομαι. ἐδόκει μέντοι μοι καὶ ὁ ἕτερος οὐχ ἧττον ἐμοῦ ἀγωνιᾶν: οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽ ἀπεκρίνατό γέ μοι καὶ μάλα φιλοτίμως. ὁπότε γάρ τοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, [133β] τὸ φιλοσοφεῖν αἰσχρὸν ἡγησαίμην εἶναι, οὐδ᾽ ἂν ἄνθρωπον νομίσαιμι ἐμαυτὸν εἶναι, οὐδ᾽ ἄλλον τὸν οὕτω διακείμενον, ἐνδεικνύμενος εἰς τὸν ἀντεραστήν, καὶ λέγων μεγάλῃ τῇ φωνῇ, ἵν᾽ αὐτοῦ κατακούοι τὰ παιδικά.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον, καλὸν ἄρα δοκεῖ σοι τὸ φιλοσοφεῖν;

πάνυ μὲν οὖν, ἔφη.

τί οὖν, ἐγὼ ἔφην: ἦ δοκεῖ σοι οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι εἰδέναι πρᾶγμα ὁτιοῦν εἴτε καλὸν εἴτε αἰσχρόν ἐστιν, ὃ μὴ εἰδείη τις τὴν ἀρχὴν ὅτι ἔστιν;

οὐκ ἔφη. [133ξ]

οἶσθ᾽ ἄρα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι ἔστιν τὸ φιλοσοφεῖν;

πάνυ γε, ἔφη.

τί οὖν ἔστιν; ἔφην ἐγώ.

τί δ᾽ ἄλλο γε ἢ κατὰ τὸ Σόλωνος; Σόλων γάρ που εἶπε—”γηράσκω δ᾽ αἰεὶ πολλὰ διδασκόμενος:

“Solon Fr. 18καὶ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ οὕτως ἀεὶ χρῆναι ἕν γέ τι μανθάνειν τὸν μέλλοντα φιλοσοφήσειν, καὶ νεώτερον ὄντα καὶ πρεσβύτερον, ἵν᾽ ὡς πλεῖστα ἐν τῷ βίῳ μάθῃ. καί μοι τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ἔδοξε τὶ εἰπεῖν, ἔπειτά πως ἐννοήσας ἠρόμην αὐτὸν εἰ τὴν φιλοσοφίαν πολυμαθίαν ἡγοῖτο. [133δ]

κἀκεῖνος, πάνυ, ἔφη.

ἡγῇ δὲ δὴ καλὸν εἶναι μόνον τὴν φιλοσοφίαν ἢ καὶ ἀγαθόν; ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ.

καὶ ἀγαθόν, ἔφη, πάνυ.

πότερον οὖν ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ τι τοῦτο ἴδιον ἐνορᾷς, ἢ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις οὕτω σοι δοκεῖ ἔχειν; οἷον φιλογυμναστίαν οὐ μόνον ἡγῇ καλὸν εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀγαθόν; ἢ οὔ;

ὁ δὲ καὶ μάλα εἰρωνικῶς εἶπε δύο: πρὸς μὲν τόνδε μοι εἰρήσθω ὅτι οὐδέτερα: πρὸς μέντοι σέ, ὦ Σώκρατες, [133ε] ὁμολογῶ καὶ καλὸν εἶναι καὶ ἀγαθόν: ἡγοῦμαι γὰρ ὀρθῶς.

ἠρώτησα οὖν ἐγώ, ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ ἐν τοῖς γυμνασίοις τὴν πολυπονίαν φιλογυμναστίαν ἡγῇ εἶναι;

κἀκεῖνος ἔφη, πάνυ γε, ὥσπερ γε καὶ ἐν τῷ φιλοσοφεῖν τὴν πολυμαθίαν φιλοσοφίαν ἡγοῦμαι εἶναι.

κἀγὼ εἶπον, ἡγῇ δὲ δὴ τοὺς φιλογυμναστοῦντας ἄλλου του ἐπιθυμεῖν ἢ τούτου, ὅτι ποιήσει αὐτοὺς εὖ ἔχειν τὸ σῶμα;

τούτου, ἔφη.

ἦ οὖν οἱ πολλοὶ πόνοι τὸ σῶμα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ποιοῦσιν εὖ ἔχειν; [134α]

πῶς γὰρ ἄν, ἔφη, ἀπό γε ὀλίγων πόνων τὸ σῶμά τις εὖ ἔχοι;

καί μοι ἔδοξεν ἤδη ἐνταῦθα κινητέος εἶναι ὁ φιλογυμναστής, ἵνα μοι βοηθήσῃ διὰ τὴν ἐμπειρίαν τῆς γυμναστικῆς: κἄπειτα ἠρόμην αὐτόν, σὺ δὲ δὴ τί σιγᾷς ἡμῖν, ὦ λῷστε, τούτου ταῦτα λέγοντος; ἢ καὶ σοὶ δοκοῦσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι εὖ τὰ σώματα ἔχειν ἀπὸ τῶν πολλῶν πόνων, ἢ ἀπὸ τῶν μετρίων;

ἐγὼ μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, ᾤμην τὸ λεγόμενον δὴ τοῦτο κἂν ὗν γνῶναι ὅτι οἱ μέτριοι πόνοι εὖ ποιοῦσιν ἔχειν τὰ [134β] σώματα, πόθεν δὴ οὐχὶ ἄνδρα γε ἄγρυπνόν τε καὶ ἄσιτον καὶ ἀτριβῆ τὸν τράχηλον ἔχοντα καὶ λεπτὸν ὑπὸ μεριμνῶν; καὶ αὐτοῦ ταῦτα εἰπόντος ἥσθη τὰ μειράκια καὶ ἐπεγέλασεν, ὁ δ᾽ ἕτερος ἠρυθρίασε.

καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον, τί οὖν; σὺ ἤδη συγχωρεῖς μήτε πολλοὺς μήτε ὀλίγους πόνους εὖ ποιεῖν ἔχειν τὰ σώματα τοὺς ἀνθρώπους, ἀλλὰ τοὺς μετρίους; ἢ διαμάχῃ δυοῖν ὄντοιν νῷν περὶ τοῦ λόγου; [134ξ]

κἀκεῖνος, πρὸς μὲν τοῦτον, ἔφη, κἂν πάνυ ἡδέως διαγωνισαίμην, καὶ εὖ οἶδ᾽ ὅτι ἱκανὸς ἂν γενοίμην βοηθῆσαι τῇ ὑποθέσει ἣν ὑπεθέμην, καὶ εἰ ταύτης ἔτι φαυλοτέραν ὑπεθέμην — οὐδὲν γάρ ἐστι — πρὸς μέντοι σὲ οὐδὲν δέομαι παρὰ δόξαν φιλονικεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμολογῶ μὴ τὰ πολλὰ ἀλλὰ τὰ μέτρια γυμνάσια τὴν εὐεξίαν ἐμποιεῖν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις.

τί δὲ τὰ σιτία; τὰ μέτρια ἢ τὰ πολλά; ἔφην ἐγώ.

καὶ τὰ σιτία ὡμολόγει. [134δ]

ἔτι δὲ κἀγὼ προσηνάγκαζον αὐτὸν ὁμολογεῖν καὶ τἆλλα πάντα τὰ περὶ τὸ σῶμα ὠφελιμώτατα εἶναι τὰ μέτρια ἀλλὰ μὴ τὰ πολλὰ μηδὲ τὰ ὀλίγα: καί μοι ὡμολόγει τὰ μέτρια.

τί δ᾽, ἔφην, τὰ περὶ τὴν ψυχήν; τὰ μέτρια ὠφελεῖ ἢ τὰ ἄμετρα τῶν προσφερομένων;

τὰ μέτρια, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν ἓν τῶν προσφερομένων ψυχῇ ἐστι καὶ τὰ μαθήματα;

ὡμολόγει.

καὶ τούτων ἄρα τὰ μέτρια ὠφελεῖ ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὰ πολλά;

συνέφη. [134ε]

τίνα οὖν ἐρόμενοι ἂν δικαίως ἐροίμεθα ὁποῖοι μέτριοι πόνοι καὶ σιτία πρὸς τὸ σῶμά ἐστιν;

ὡμολογοῦμεν μὲν τρεῖς ὄντες, ὅτι ἰατρὸν ἢ παιδοτρίβην.

τίνα δ᾽ ἂν περὶ σπερμάτων σπορᾶς ὁπόσον μέτριον;

καὶ τούτου τὸν γεωργὸν ὡμολογοῦμεν.

τίνα δὲ περὶ μαθημάτων εἰς ψυχὴν φυτεύσεώς τε καὶ σπορᾶς ἐρωτῶντες δικαίως ἂν ἐροίμεθα ὁπόσα καὶ ὁποῖα μέτρια; [135α]

τοὐντεῦθεν ἤδη ἀπορίας μεστοὶ ἦμεν ἅπαντες: κἀγὼ προσπαίζων αὐτοὺς ἠρόμην, βούλεσθε, ἔφην, ἐπειδὴ ἡμεῖς ἐν ἀπορίᾳ ἐσμέν, ἐρώμεθα ταυτὶ τὰ μειράκια; ἢ ἴσως αἰσχυνόμεθα, ὥσπερ ἔφη τοὺς μνηστῆρας Ὅμηρος, μὴ ἀξιούντων εἶναί τινα ἄλλον ὅστις ἐντενεῖ τὸ τόξον;

ἐπειδὴ οὖν μοι ἐδόκουν ἀθυμεῖν πρὸς τὸν λόγον, ἄλλῃ ἐπειρώμην σκοπεῖν, καὶ εἶπον, ποῖα δὲ μάλιστα ἄττα τοπάζομεν εἶναι τῶν μαθημάτων ἃ δεῖ τὸν φιλοσοφοῦντα μανθάνειν, ἐπειδὴ οὐχὶ πάντα οὐδὲ πολλά; [135β]

ὑπολαβὼν οὖν ὁ σοφώτερος εἶπεν ὅτι κάλλιστα ταῦτ᾽ εἴη τῶν μαθημάτων καὶ προσήκοντα ἀφ᾽ ὧν ἂν πλείστην δόξαν ἔχοι τις εἰς φιλοσοφίαν: πλείστην δ᾽ ἂν ἔχοι δόξαν, εἰ δοκοίη τῶν τεχνῶν ἔμπειρος εἶναι πασῶν, εἰ δὲ μή, ὡς πλείστων γε καὶ μάλιστα τῶν ἀξιολόγων, μαθὼν αὐτῶν ταῦτα ἃ προσήκει τοῖς ἐλευθέροις μαθεῖν, ὅσα συνέσεως ἔχεται, μὴ ὅσα χειρουργίας.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν οὕτω λέγεις, ἔφην ἐγώ, ὥσπερ ἐν τῇ τεκτονικῇ; [135ξ] καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖ τέκτονα μὲν ἂν πρίαιο πέντε ἢ ἓξ μνῶν, ἄκρον ἀρχιτέκτονα δὲ οὐδ᾽ ἂν μυρίων δραχμῶν: ὀλίγοι γε μὴν κἂν ἐν πᾶσι τοῖς Ἕλλησι γίγνοιντο. ἆρα μή τι τοιοῦτον λέγεις; καὶ ὃς ἀκούσας μου συνεχώρει καὶ αὐτὸς λέγειν τοιοῦτον.

ἠρόμην δ᾽ αὐτὸν εἰ οὐκ ἀδύνατον εἴη δύο μόνας τέχνας οὕτω μαθεῖν τὸν αὐτόν, μὴ ὅτι πολλὰς καὶ μεγάλας: ὁ δέ, μὴ οὕτως μου, ἔφη, ὑπολάβῃς, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς λέγοντος ὅτι δεῖ ἑκάστην τῶν τεχνῶν τὸν φιλοσοφοῦντα ἐπίστασθαι [135δ] ἀκριβῶς ὥσπερ αὐτὸν τὸν τὴν τέχνην ἔχοντα, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς εἰκὸς ἄνδρα ἐλεύθερόν τε καὶ πεπαιδευμένον, ἐπακολουθῆσαί τε τοῖς λεγομένοις ὑπὸ τοῦ δημιουργοῦ οἷόν τ᾽ εἶναι διαφερόντως τῶν παρόντων, καὶ αὐτὸν ξυμβάλλεσθαι γνώμην, ὥστε δοκεῖν χαριέστατον εἶναι καὶ σοφώτατον τῶν ἀεὶ παρόντων ἐν τοῖς λεγομένοις τε καὶ πραττομένοις περὶ τὰς τέχνας.

κἀγώ, ἔτι γὰρ αὐτοῦ ἠμφεγνόουν τὸν λόγον ὅτι ἐβούλετο, [135ε] ἆρ᾽ ἐννοῶ, ἔφην, οἷον λέγεις τὸν φιλόσοφον ἄνδρα; δοκεῖς γάρ μοι λέγειν οἷοι ἐν τῇ ἀγωνίᾳ εἰσὶν οἱ πένταθλοι πρὸς τοὺς δρομέας ἢ τοὺς παλαιστάς. καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖνοι τούτων μὲν λείπονται κατὰ τὰ τούτων ἆθλα καὶ δεύτεροί εἰσι πρὸς τούτους, τῶν δ᾽ ἄλλων ἀθλητῶν πρῶτοι καὶ νικῶσιν αὐτούς. τάχ᾽ ἂν ἴσως τοιοῦτόν τι λέγοις καὶ τὸ φιλοσοφεῖν ἀπεργάζεσθαι τοὺς ἐπιτηδεύοντας τοῦτο τὸ ἐπιτήδευμα: τῶν μὲν [136α] πρώτων εἰς σύνεσιν περὶ τὰς τέχνας ἐλλείπεσθαι, τὰ δευτερεῖα δ᾽ ἔχοντας τῶν ἄλλων περιεῖναι, καὶ οὕτως γίγνεσθαι περὶ πάντα ὕπακρόν τινα ἄνδρα τὸν πεφιλοσοφηκότα: τοιοῦτόν τινά μοι δοκεῖς ἐνδείκνυσθαι.

καλῶς γέ μοι, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, φαίνῃ ὑπολαμβάνειν τὰ περὶ τοῦ φιλοσόφου, ἀπεικάσας αὐτὸν τῷ πεντάθλῳ. ἔστιν γὰρ ἀτεχνῶς τοιοῦτος οἷος μὴ δουλεύειν μηδενὶ πράγματι, μηδ᾽ εἰς τὴν ἀκρίβειαν μηδὲν διαπεπονηκέναι, ὥστε διὰ τὴν τοῦ ἑνὸς τούτου ἐπιμέλειαν τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων [136β] ἀπολελεῖφθαι, ὥσπερ οἱ δημιουργοί, ἀλλὰ πάντων μετρίως ἐφῆφθαι.

μετὰ ταύτην δὴ τὴν ἀπόκρισιν ἐγὼ προθυμούμενος σαφῶς εἰδέναι ὅτι λέγοι, ἐπυνθανόμην αὐτοῦ τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς πότερον χρησίμους ἢ ἀχρήστους εἶναι ὑπολαμβάνοι.

χρησίμους δήπου, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη.

ἆρ᾽ οὖν, εἴπερ οἱ ἀγαθοὶ χρήσιμοι, οἱ πονηροὶ ἄχρηστοι;

ὡμολόγει.

τί δέ; τοὺς φιλοσόφους ἄνδρας χρησίμους ἡγῇ ἢ οὔ; [136ξ]

ὁ δὲ ὡμολόγει χρησίμους, καὶ πρός γε ἔφη χρησιμωτάτους εἶναι ἡγεῖσθαι.

φέρε δὴ γνῶμεν, εἰ σὺ ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ποῦ καὶ χρήσιμοι ἡμῖν εἰσιν οἱ ὕπακροι οὗτοι; δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι ἑκάστου γε τῶν τὰς τέχνας ἐχόντων φαυλότερός ἐστιν ὁ φιλόσοφος.

ὡμολόγει.

φέρε δὴ σύ, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, εἰ τύχοις ἢ αὐτὸς ἀσθενήσας ἢ τῶν φίλων τις τῶν σῶν περὶ ὧν σὺ σπουδὴν μεγάλην ἔχεις, πότερον ὑγείαν βουλόμενος κτήσασθαι τὸν ὕπακρον ἐκεῖνον τὸν φιλόσοφον εἰσάγοις ἂν εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν ἢ τὸν ἰατρὸν λάβοις; [136δ]

ἀμφοτέρους ἔγωγ᾽ ἄν, ἔφη.

μή μοι, εἶπον ἐγώ, ἀμφοτέρους λέγε, ἀλλ᾽ ὁπότερον μᾶλλόν τε καὶ πρότερον.

οὐδεὶς ἄν, ἔφη, τοῦτό γε ἀμφισβητήσειεν, ὡς οὐχὶ τὸν ἰατρὸν καὶ μᾶλλον καὶ πρότερον.

τί δ᾽; ἐν νηὶ χειμαζομένῃ ποτέρῳ ἂν μᾶλλον ἐπιτρέποις σαυτόν τε καὶ τὰ σεαυτοῦ, τῷ κυβερνήτῃ ἢ τῷ φιλοσόφῳ;

τῷ κυβερνήτῃ ἔγωγε.

οὐκοῦν καὶ τἆλλα πάνθ᾽ οὕτως, ἕως ἄν τις δημιουργὸς ᾖ, οὐ χρήσιμός ἐστιν ὁ φιλόσοφος;

φαίνεται, ἔφη. [136ε]

οὐκοῦν νῦν ἄχρηστός τις ἡμῖν ἐστιν ὁ φιλόσοφος; εἰσὶ γὰρ ἡμῖν ἀεί που δημιουργοί: ὡμολογήσαμεν δὲ τοὺς μὲν ἀγαθοὺς χρησίμους εἶναι, τοὺς δὲ μοχθηροὺς ἀχρήστους.

ἠναγκάζετο ὁμολογεῖν.

τί οὖν μετὰ τοῦτο; ἔρωμαί σε ἢ ἀγροικότερόν ἐστιν ἐρέσθαι —

ἐροῦ ὅτι βούλει.

οὐδὲν δή, ἔφην ἐγώ, ζητῶ ἄλλο ἢ ἀνομολογήσασθαι τὰ [137α] εἰρημένα. ἔχει δέ πως ὡδί. ὡμολογήσαμεν καλὸν εἶναι τὴν φιλοσοφίαν καὶ αὐτοὶ φιλόσοφοι εἶναι, τοὺς δὲ φιλοσόφους ἀγαθούς, τοὺς δὲ ἀγαθοὺς χρησίμους, τοὺς δὲ πονηροὺς ἀχρήστους: αὖθις δ᾽ αὖ τοὺς φιλοσόφους ὡμολογήσαμεν, ἕως ἂν οἱ δημιουργοὶ ὦσιν, ἀχρήστους εἶναι, δημιουργοὺς δὲ ἀεὶ εἶναι. οὐ γὰρ ταῦτα ὡμολόγηται;

πάνυ γε, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

ὡμολογοῦμεν ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, κατά γε τὸν σὸν λόγον, εἴπερ τὸ φιλοσοφεῖν ἐστι περὶ τὰς τέχνας ἐπιστήμονας εἶναι ὃν σὺ λέγεις τὸν τρόπον, πονηροὺς αὐτοὺς εἶναι καὶ [137β] ἀχρήστους, ἕως ἂν ἐν ἀνθρώποις τέχναι ὦσιν. ἀλλὰ μὴ οὐχ οὕτως, ὦ φίλε, ἔχωσι, μηδ᾽ ᾖ τοῦτο φιλοσοφεῖν, περὶ τὰς τέχνας ἐσπουδακέναι, οὐδὲ πολυπραγμονοῦντα κυπτάζοντα ζῆν οὐδὲ πολυμαθοῦντα, ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλο τι, ἐπεὶ ἐγὼ ᾤμην καὶ ὄνειδος εἶναι τοῦτο καὶ βαναύσους καλεῖσθαι τοὺς περὶ τὰς τέχνας ἐσπουδακότας. ὧδε δὲ σαφέστερον εἰσόμεθα εἰ ἄρα ἀληθῆ λέγω, ἐὰν τοῦτο ἀποκρίνῃ: τίνες ἵππους ἐπίστανται [137ξ] κολάζειν ὀρθῶς; πότερον οἵπερ βελτίστους ποιοῦσιν ἢ ἄλλοι;

οἵπερ βελτίστους.

τί δέ; κύνας οὐχ οἳ βελτίστους ἐπίστανται ποιεῖν, οὗτοι καὶ κολάζειν ὀρθῶς ἐπίστανται;

ναί.

ἡ αὐτὴ ἄρα τέχνη βελτίστους τε ποιεῖ καὶ κολάζει ὀρθῶς;

φαίνεταί μοι, ἦ δ᾽ ὅς.

τί δέ; πότερον ἥπερ βελτίστους τε ποιεῖ καὶ κολάζει ὀρθῶς, ἡ αὐτὴ δὲ καὶ γιγνώσκει τοὺς χρηστοὺς καὶ τοὺς μοχθηρούς, ἢ ἑτέρα τις;

ἡ αὐτή, ἔφη.

ἐθελήσεις οὖν καὶ κατ᾽ ἀνθρώπους τοῦτο ὁμολογεῖν, [137δ] ἥπερ βελτίστους ἀνθρώπους ποιεῖ, ταύτην εἶναι καὶ τὴν κολάζουσαν ὀρθῶς καὶ διαγιγνώσκουσαν τοὺς χρηστούς τε καὶ μοχθηρούς;

πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη.

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἥτις ἕνα, καὶ πολλούς, καὶ ἥτις πολλούς, καὶ ἕνα;

ναί.

καὶ καθ᾽ ἵππων δὴ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων οὕτως;

φημί.

τίς οὖν ἐστιν ἡ ἐπιστήμη, ἥτις τοὺς ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἀκολασταίνοντας καὶ παρανομοῦντας ὀρθῶς κολάζει; οὐχ ἡ δικαστική;

ναί.

ἦ ἄλλην οὖν τινα καλεῖς καὶ δικαιοσύνην ἢ ταύτην;

οὐκ, ἀλλὰ ταύτην. [137ε]

οὐκοῦν ᾗπερ κολάζουσιν ὀρθῶς, ταύτῃ καὶ γιγνώσκουσι τοὺς χρηστοὺς καὶ μοχθηρούς;

ταύτῃ.

ὅστις δὲ ἕνα γιγνώσκει, καὶ πολλοὺς γνώσεται;

ναί.

καὶ ὅστις γε πολλοὺς ἀγνοεῖ, καὶ ἕνα;

φημί.

εἰ ἄρα ἵππος ὢν ἀγνοοῖ τοὺς χρηστοὺς καὶ πονηροὺς ἵππους, κἂν ἑαυτὸν ἀγνοοῖ ποῖός τίς ἐστιν;

φημί.

καὶ εἰ βοῦς ὢν ἀγνοοῖ τοὺς πονηροὺς καὶ χρηστοὺς βοῦς, κἂν αὑτὸν ἀγνοοῖ ποῖός τίς ἐστιν;

ναί, ἔφη.

οὕτω δὴ καὶ εἰ κύων;

ὡμολόγει. [138α]

τί δ᾽; ἐπειδὰν ἄνθρωπός τις ὢν ἀγνοῇ τοὺς χρηστοὺς καὶ μοχθηροὺς ἀνθρώπους, ἆρ᾽ οὐχ αὑτὸν ἀγνοεῖ πότερον χρηστός ἐστιν ἢ πονηρός, ἐπειδὴ καὶ αὐτὸς ἄνθρωπός ἐστιν;

συνεχώρει.

τὸ δὲ αὑτὸν ἀγνοεῖν σωφρονεῖν ἐστιν ἢ μὴ σωφρονεῖν;

μὴ σωφρονεῖν.

τὸ ἑαυτὸν ἄρα γιγνώσκειν ἐστὶ σωφρονεῖν;

φημί, ἔφη.

τοῦτ᾽ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε, τὸ ἐν Δελφοῖς γράμμα παρακελεύεται, σωφροσύνην ἀσκεῖν καὶ δικαιοσύνην.

ἔοικεν.

τῇ αὐτῇ δὲ ταύτῃ καὶ κολάζειν ὀρθῶς ἐπιστάμεθα;

ναί. [138β]

οὐκοῦν ᾗ μὲν κολάζειν ὀρθῶς ἐπιστάμεθα, δικαιοσύνη αὕτη ἐστίν, ᾗ δὲ διαγιγνώσκειν καὶ ἑαυτὸν καὶ ἄλλους, σωφροσύνη;

ἔοικεν, ἔφη.

ταὐτὸν ἄρα ἐστὶ καὶ δικαιοσύνη καὶ σωφροσύνη;

φαίνεται.

καὶ μὴν οὕτω γε καὶ αἱ πόλεις εὖ οἰκοῦνται, ὅταν οἱ ἀδικοῦντες δίκην διδῶσιν.

ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ἔφη.

καὶ πολιτικὴ ἄρα αὑτή ἐστιν.

συνεδόκει.

τί δὲ ὅταν εἷς ἀνὴρ ὀρθῶς πόλιν διοικῇ, ὄνομά γε τούτῳ οὐ τύραννός τε καὶ βασιλεύς;

φημί.

οὐκοῦν βασιλικῇ τε καὶ τυραννικῇ τέχνῃ διοικεῖ;

οὕτως.

καὶ αὗται ἄρ᾽ αἱ αὐταὶ τέχναι εἰσὶν ἐκείναις;

φαίνονται. [138ξ]

τί δ᾽ ὅταν εἷς ὢν ἀνὴρ οἰκίαν διοικῇ ὀρθῶς, τί ὄνομα τούτῳ ἐστίν; οὐκ οἰκονόμος τε καὶ δεσπότης;

ναί.

πότερον οὖν καὶ οὗτος δικαιοσύνῃ εὖ ἂν τὴν οἰκίαν διοικοῖ ἢ κἄλλῃ τινὶ τέχνῃ;

δικαιοσύνῃ.

ἔστιν ἄρα ταὐτόν, ὡς ἔοικε, βασιλεύς, τύραννος, πολιτικός, οἰκονόμος, δεσπότης, σώφρων, δίκαιος. καὶ μία τέχνη ἐστὶν βασιλική, τυραννική, πολιτική, δεσποτική, οἰκονομική, δικαιοσύνη, σωφροσύνη.

φαίνεται, ἔφη, οὕτως. [138δ]

πότερον οὖν τῷ φιλοσόφῳ, ὅταν μὲν ἰατρὸς περὶ τῶν καμνόντων τι λέγῃ, αἰσχρὸν μήθ᾽ ἕπεσθαι τοῖς λεγομένοις δύνασθαι μήτε συμβάλλεσθαι μηδὲν περὶ τῶν λεγομένων ἢ πραττομένων, καὶ ὁπόταν ἄλλος τις τῶν δημιουργῶν, ὡσαύτως: ὅταν δὲ δικαστὴς ἢ βασιλεὺς ἢ ἄλλος τις ὧν νυνδὴ διεληλύθαμεν, οὐκ αἰσχρὸν περὶ τούτων μήτε ἕπεσθαι δύνασθαι μήτε συμβάλλεσθαι περὶ αὐτῶν;

πῶς δ᾽ οὐκ αἰσχρόν, ὦ Σώκρατες, περί γε τοσούτων πραγμάτων μηδὲν ἔχειν συμβάλλεσθαι; [138ε]

πότερον οὖν καὶ περὶ ταῦτα λέγωμεν, ἔφην, πένταθλον αὐτὸν δεῖν εἶναι καὶ ὕπακρον, καὶ ταύτης μὲν τὰ δευτερεῖα ἔχοντα πάντων τὸν φιλόσοφον, καὶ ἀχρεῖον εἶναι ἕως ἂν τούτων τις ᾖ, ἢ πρῶτον μὲν τὴν αὑτοῦ οἰκίαν οὐκ ἄλλῳ ἐπιτρεπτέον οὐδὲ τὰ δευτερεῖα ἐν τούτῳ ἑκτέον, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸν κολαστέον δικάζοντα ὀρθῶς, εἰ μέλλει εὖ οἰκεῖσθαι αὐτοῦ ἡ οἰκία;

συνεχώρει δή μοι.

ἔπειτά γε δήπου ἐάντε οἱ φίλοι αὐτῷ διαίτας ἐπιτρέπωσιν, ἐάντε ἡ πόλις τι προστάττῃ διακρίνειν ἢ δικάζειν, [139α] αἰσχρὸν ἐν τούτοις, ὦ ἑταῖρε, δεύτερον φαίνεσθαι ἢ τρίτον καὶ μὴ οὐχ ἡγεῖσθαι;

δοκεῖ μοι.

πολλοῦ ἄρα δεῖ ἡμῖν, ὦ βέλτιστε, τὸ φιλοσοφεῖν πολυμαθία τε εἶναι καὶ ἡ περὶ τὰς τέχνας πραγματεία.

εἰπόντος δ᾽ ἐμοῦ ταῦτα ὁ μὲν σοφὸς αἰσχυνθεὶς τοῖς προειρημένοις ἐσίγησεν, ὁ δὲ ἀμαθὴς ἔφη ἐκείνως εἶναι: καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι ἐπῄνεσαν τὰ εἰρημένα.

THEAGES

Δημόδοκος

Σωκράτης

Θεάγης

[121α]

Δημόδοκος

ὦ Σώκρατες, ἐδεόμην ἄττα σοι ἰδιολογήσασθαι, εἰ σχολή: κἂν εἰ ἀσχολία δὲ μὴ πάνυ τις μεγάλη, ὅμως ἐμοῦ ἕνεκα ποίησαι σχολήν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλως τυγχάνω σχολάζων, καὶ δὴ σοῦ γε ἕνεκα καὶ πάνυ. ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τι βούλει λέγειν, ἔξεστιν.

Δημόδοκος

βούλει οὖν δεῦρο εἰς τὴν τοῦ Διὸς τοῦ ἐλευθερίου στοὰν ἐκποδὼν ἀποχωρήσωμεν;

Σωκράτης

εἰ σοὶ δοκεῖ. [121β]

Δημόδοκος

ἴωμεν δή. ὦ Σώκρατες, πάντα τὰ φυτὰ κινδυνεύει τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ἔχειν, καὶ τὰ ἐκ τῆς γῆς φυόμενα καὶ τὰ ζῷα τά τε ἄλλα καὶ ἅνθρωπος. καὶ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς φυτοῖς ῥᾷστον ἡμῖν τοῦτο γίγνεται, ὅσοι τὴν γῆν γεωργοῦμεν, τὸ παρασκευάσασθαι πάντα τὰ πρὸ τοῦ φυτεύειν καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ φυτεῦσαι: ἐπειδὰν δὲ τὸ φυτευθὲν βιῷ, μετὰ τοῦτο θεραπεία τοῦ φύντος καὶ πολλὴ καὶ χαλεπὴ καὶ δύσκολος [121ξ] γίγνεται. οὕτω δὲ ἔχειν ἔοικε καὶ τὸ περὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων: ἀπὸ τῶν ἐμαυτοῦ ἐγὼ πραγμάτων τεκμαίρομαι καὶ ἐς τἆλλα. καὶ γὰρ ἐμοὶ ἡ τοῦ ὑέος τουτουΐ, εἴτε φυτείαν εἴτε παιδοποιίαν δεῖ αὐτὴν ὀνομάζειν, πάντων ῥᾴστη γέγονεν, ἡ δὲ τροφὴ δύσκολός τε καὶ ἀεὶ ἐν φόβῳ περὶ αὐτοῦ δεδιότι. τὰ μὲν οὖν ἄλλα πολλὰ ἂν εἴη λέγειν, ἡ δὲ νῦν παροῦσα ἐπιθυμία τούτῳ πάνυ με φοβεῖ — ἔστι μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ἀγεννής, σφαλερὰ δέ — ἐπιθυμεῖ γὰρ δὴ οὗτος ἡμῖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὥς [121δ] φησι, σοφὸς γενέσθαι. δοκῶ γάρ μοι, τῶν ἡλικιωτῶν τινες αὐτοῦ καὶ δημοτῶν, εἰς τὸ ἄστυ καταβαίνοντες, λόγους τινὰς ἀπομνημονεύοντες διαταράττουσιν αὐτόν, οὓς ἐζήλωκεν καὶ πάλαι μοι πράγματα παρέχει, ἀξιῶν ἐπιμεληθῆναί με ἑαυτοῦ καὶ χρήματα τελέσαι τινὶ τῶν σοφιστῶν, ὅστις αὐτὸν σοφὸν ποιήσει. ἐμοὶ δὲ τῶν μὲν χρημάτων καὶ ἔλαττον [122α] μέλει, ἡγοῦμαι δὲ τοῦτον οὐκ εἰς μικρὸν κίνδυνον ἰέναι οἷ σπεύδει. τέως μὲν οὖν αὐτὸν κατεῖχον παραμυθούμενος: ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐκέτι οἷός τέ εἰμι, ἡγοῦμαι κράτιστον εἶναι πείθεσθαι αὐτῷ, ἵνα μὴ πολλάκις ἄνευ ἐμοῦ συγγενόμενός τῳ διαφθαρῇ. νῦν οὖν ἥκω ἐπ᾽ αὐτὰ ταῦτα, ἵνα τῳ τούτων τῶν σοφιστῶν δοκούντων εἶναι συστήσω τουτονί. σὺ οὖν ἡμῖν εἰς καλὸν παρεφάνης, ᾧ ἂν ἐγὼ μάλιστα ἐβουλόμην περὶ τῶν τοιούτων μέλλων πράξειν συμβουλεύσασθαι. ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τι ἔχεις συμβουλεύειν ἐξ ὧν ἐμοῦ ἀκήκοας, ἔξεστί τε [122β] καὶ χρή.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὲν δή, ὦ Δημόδοκε, καὶ λέγεταί γε συμβουλὴ ἱερὸν χρῆμα εἶναι. εἴπερ οὖν καὶ ἄλλη ἡτισοῦν ἐστιν ἱερά, καὶ αὕτη ἂν εἴη περὶ ἧς σὺ νῦν συμβουλεύῃ: οὐ γὰρ ἔστι περὶ ὅτου θειοτέρου ἂν ἄνθρωπος βουλεύσαιτο ἢ περὶ παιδείας καὶ αὑτοῦ καὶ τῶν αὑτοῦ οἰκείων. πρῶτον μὲν οὖν ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ συνομολογήσωμεν τί ποτε οἰόμεθα τοῦτο εἶναι περὶ οὗ βουλευόμεθα: μὴ γὰρ πολλάκις ἐγὼ [122ξ] μὲν ἄλλο τι αὐτὸ ὑπολαμβάνω, σὺ δὲ ἄλλο, κἄπειτα πόρρω που τῆς συνουσίας αἰσθώμεθα γελοῖοι ὄντες, ἐγώ τε ὁ συμβουλεύων καὶ σὺ ὁ συμβουλευόμενος, μηδὲν τῶν αὐτῶν ἡγούμενοι.

Δημόδοκος

ἀλλά μοι δοκεῖς ὀρθῶς λέγειν, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ ποιεῖν χρὴ οὕτω.

Σωκράτης

καὶ λέγω γε ὀρθῶς, οὐ μέντοι παντάπασί γε: σμικρὸν γάρ τι μετατίθεμαι. ἐννοῶ γὰρ μὴ καὶ ὁ μειρακίσκος οὗτος οὐ τούτου ἐπιθυμεῖ οὗ ἡμεῖς αὐτὸν οἰόμεθα [122δ] ἐπιθυμεῖν ἀλλ᾽ ἑτέρου, εἶτ᾽ αὖ ἡμεῖς ἔτι ἀτοπώτεροι ὦμεν περὶ ἄλλου του βουλευόμενοι. ὀρθότατον οὖν μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ τούτου ἄρχεσθαι, διαπυνθανομένους ὅτι καὶ ἔστιν οὗ ἐπιθυμεῖ.

Δημόδοκος

κινδυνεύει γοῦν οὕτω βέλτιστον εἶναι ὡς σὺ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

εἰπὲ δή μοι, τί καλὸν ὄνομα τῷ νεανίσκῳ; τί αὐτὸν προσαγορεύωμεν;

Δημόδοκος

Θεάγης ὄνομα τούτῳ, ὦ Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης

καλόν γε, ὦ Δημόδοκε, τῷ ὑεῖ τὸ ὄνομα ἔθου καὶ [122ε] ἱεροπρεπές. εἰπὲ δὴ ἡμῖν, ὦ Θέαγες, ἐπιθυμεῖν φῂς σοφὸς γενέσθαι, καὶ ἀξιοῖς σου τὸν πατέρα τόνδε ἐξευρεῖν ἀνδρός τινος συνουσίαν τοιούτου ὅστις σε σοφὸν ποιήσει;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

σοφοὺς δὲ καλεῖς πότερον τοὺς ἐπιστήμονας, περὶ ὅτου ἂν ἐπιστήμονες ὦσιν, ἢ τοὺς μή;

Θεάγης

τοὺς ἐπιστήμονας ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; οὐκ ἐδιδάξατό σε ὁ πατὴρ καὶ ἐπαίδευσεν ἅπερ ἐνθάδε οἱ ἄλλοι πεπαίδευνται, οἱ τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν πατέρων ὑεῖς, οἷον γράμματά τε καὶ κιθαρίζειν καὶ παλαίειν καὶ τὴν ἄλλην ἀγωνίαν;

Θεάγης

ἐμέ γε. [123α]

Σωκράτης

ἔτι οὖν οἴει τινὸς ἐπιστήμης ἐλλείπειν, ἧς προσήκει ὑπὲρ σοῦ τὸν πατέρα ἐπιμεληθῆναι;

Θεάγης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τίς ἐστιν αὕτη; εἰπὲ καὶ ἡμῖν, ἵνα σοι χαρισώμεθα.

Θεάγης

οἶδεν καὶ οὗτος, ὦ Σώκρατες — ἐπεὶ πολλάκις ἐγὼ αὐτῷ εἴρηκα — ἀλλὰ ταῦτα ἐξεπίτηδες πρὸς σὲ λέγει, ὡς δὴ οὐκ εἰδὼς οὗ ἐγὼ ἐπιθυμῶ: τοιαῦτα γὰρ ἕτερα καὶ πρὸς ἐμὲ μάχεταί τε καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλει με οὐδενὶ συστῆσαι.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν ἔμπροσθέν σοι ἦν πρὸς τοῦτον ῥηθέντα [123β] ὥσπερ ἄνευ μαρτύρων λεγόμενα: νυνὶ δὲ ἐμὲ ποίησαι μάρτυρα, καὶ ἐναντίον ἐμοῦ κάτειπε τίς ἐστιν αὕτη ἡ σοφία ἧς ἐπιθυμεῖς. φέρε γάρ, εἰ ἐπεθύμεις ταύτης ᾗ οἱ ἄνθρωποι τὰ πλοῖα κυβερνῶσιν, καὶ ἐγώ σε ἐτύγχανον ἀνερωτῶν: ‘ὦ Θέαγες, τίνος ἐνδεὴς ὢν σοφίας μέμφῃ τῷ πατρὶ ὅτι οὐκ ἐθέλει σε συνιστάναι παρ᾽ ὧν ἂν σὺ σοφὸς γένοιο;’ τί ἄν μοι ἀπεκρίνω; τίνα αὐτὴν εἶναι; ἆρα οὐ κυβερνητικήν;

Θεάγης

ναί. [123ξ]

Σωκράτης

εἰ δὲ ἐπιθυμῶν ταύτην τὴν σοφίαν εἶναι σοφὸς ᾗ τὰ ἅρματα κυβερνῶσιν εἶτ᾽ ἐμέμφου τῷ πατρί, ἐμοῦ αὖ ἐρωτῶντος τίς ἐστιν αὕτη ἡ σοφία, τίνα ἂν ἀπεκρίνω αὐτὴν εἶναι; ἆρ᾽ οὐχὶ ἡνιοχικήν;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἧς δὲ δὴ νῦν τυγχάνεις ἐπιθυμῶν, πότερον ἀνώνυμός τίς ἐστιν ἢ ἔχει ὄνομα;

Θεάγης

οἶμαι ἔγωγε ἔχειν.

Σωκράτης

πότερον οὖν αὐτὴν μὲν οἶσθα, οὐ μέντοι τό γε ὄνομα, ἢ καὶ τὸ ὄνομα;

Θεάγης

καὶ τὸ ὄνομα ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν ἔστιν; εἰπέ. [123δ]

Θεάγης

τί δὲ ἄλλο, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὐτῇ ὄνομά τις φαίη ἂν εἶναι ἀλλ᾽ ἢ σοφίαν;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡ ἡνιοχεία σοφία ἐστίν; ἢ ἀμαθία δοκεῖ σοι εἶναι;

Θεάγης

οὐκ ἔμοιγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ σοφία;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἧι τί χρώμεθα; οὐχ ᾗ ἵππων ἐπιστάμεθα ζεύγους ἄρχειν;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἡ κυβερνητικὴ σοφία ἐστίν;

Θεάγης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὐχ αὕτη ᾗ πλοίων ἐπιστάμεθα ἄρχειν;

Θεάγης

αὕτη μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἧς δὲ δὴ σὺ ἐπιθυμεῖς ἡ σοφία τίς ἐστιν; ᾗ τίνος [123ε] ἐπιστάμεθα ἄρχειν;

Θεάγης

ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ, ᾗ τῶν ἀνθρώπων.

Σωκράτης

μῶν ᾗ τῶν καμνόντων;

Θεάγης

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἰατρικὴ γὰρ αὕτη ἐστίν: ἦ γάρ;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ᾗ τῶν ᾀδόντων ἐπιστάμεθα ἐν τοῖς χοροῖς ἄρχειν;

Θεάγης

οὔ.

Σωκράτης

μουσικὴ γὰρ αὕτη γε;

Θεάγης

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ᾗ τῶν γυμναζομένων ἐπιστάμεθα ἄρχειν;

Θεάγης

οὔ.

Σωκράτης

γυμναστικὴ γὰρ αὕτη γε;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ᾗ τῶν τί ποιούντων; προθυμοῦ εἰπεῖν ὥσπερ ἐγὼ σοὶ τὰ ἔμπροσθεν. [124α]

Θεάγης

ἧι τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἐν τῇ πόλει εἰσὶν καὶ οἱ κάμνοντες;

Θεάγης

ναί, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τούτων λέγω μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει.

Σωκράτης

ἆρά γε μανθάνω ἣν λέγεις τέχνην; δοκεῖς γάρ μοι λέγειν οὐχ ᾗ τῶν θεριζόντων ἐπιστάμεθα ἄρχειν καὶ τρυγώντων καὶ τῶν φυτευόντων καὶ σπειρόντων καὶ ἁλοώντων: αὕτη μὲν γὰρ γεωργική, ᾗ τούτων ἄρχομεν. ἦ γάρ;

Θεάγης

ναί. [124β]

Σωκράτης

οὐδέ γε οἶμαι ᾗ τῶν πριζόντων καὶ τρυπώντων καὶ ξεόντων καὶ τορνευόντων συμπάντων ἐπιστάμεθα ἄρχειν, οὐ ταύτην λέγεις: αὕτη μὲν γὰρ οὐ τεκτονική;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως ᾗ τούτων τε πάντων καὶ αὐτῶν τῶν γεωργῶν καὶ τῶν τεκτόνων καὶ τῶν δημιουργῶν ἁπάντων καὶ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν καὶ τῶν γυναικῶν καὶ ἀνδρῶν, ταύτην ἴσως λέγεις τὴν σοφίαν.

Θεάγης

ταύτην πάλαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, βούλομαι λέγειν. [124ξ]

Σωκράτης

ἔχεις οὖν εἰπεῖν, Αἴγισθος ὁ Ἀγαμέμνονα ἀποκτείνας ἐν Ἄργει ἆρα τούτων ἦρχεν ὧν σὺ λέγεις, τῶν τε δημιουργῶν καὶ ἰδιωτῶν καὶ ἀνδρῶν καὶ γυναικῶν συμπάντων, ἢ ἄλλων τινῶν;

Θεάγης

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τούτων.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ δή; Πηλεὺς ὁ Αἰακοῦ ἐν Φθίᾳ οὐ τῶν αὐτῶν τούτων ἦρχεν;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

Περίανδρον δὲ τὸν Κυψέλου ἄρχοντα ἐν Κορίνθῳ ἤδη ἀκήκοας γενέσθαι;

Θεάγης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐ τῶν αὐτῶν τούτων ἄρχοντα ἐν τῇ αὑτοῦ πόλει; [124δ]

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ Ἀρχέλαον τὸν Περδίκκου, τὸν νεωστὶ τοῦτον ἄρχοντα ἐν Μακεδονίᾳ; οὐ τῶν αὐτῶν ἡγῇ τούτων ἄρχειν;

Θεάγης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

Ἱππίαν δὲ τὸν Πεισιστράτου ἐν τῇδε τῇ πόλει ἄρξαντα τίνων οἴει ἄρξαι; οὐ τούτων;

Θεάγης

πῶς γὰρ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

εἴποις ἂν οὖν μοι τίνα ἐπωνυμίαν ἔχει Βάκις τε καὶ Σίβυλλα καὶ ὁ ἡμεδαπὸς Ἀμφίλυτος;

Θεάγης

τίνα γὰρ ἄλλην, ὦ Σώκρατες, πλήν γε χρησμῳδοί; [124ε]

Σωκράτης

ὀρθῶς λέγεις. ἀλλὰ καὶ τούσδε μοι οὕτω πειρῶ ἀποκρίνασθαι, τίνα ἐπωνυμίαν ἔχει Ἱππίας καὶ Περίανδρος διὰ τὴν αὐτὴν ἀρχήν;

Θεάγης

οἶμαι μὲν τύραννοι: τί γὰρ ἄλλο;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ὅστις ἐπιθυμεῖ τῶν ἀνθρώπων τῶν ἐν τῇ πόλει συμπάντων ἄρχειν, τῆς αὐτῆς ἀρχῆς τούτοις ἐπιθυμεῖ, τυραννικῆς, καὶ τύραννος εἶναι;

Θεάγης

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ταύτης ἐπιθυμεῖν σὺ φῄς;

Θεάγης

ἔοικέν γε ἐξ ὧν ἐγὼ εἶπον.

Σωκράτης

ὦ μιαρέ, τυραννεῖν ἄρα ἡμῶν ἐπιθυμῶν πάλαι [125α] ἐμέμφου τῷ πατρὶ ὅτι σε οὐκ ἔπεμπεν εἰς διδασκάλου τυραννοδιδασκάλου τινός; καὶ σύ, ὦ Δημόδοκε, οὐκ αἰσχύνῃ πάλαι εἰδὼς οὗ ἐπιθυμεῖ οὗτος, καὶ ἔχων ὅθι πέμψας αὐτὸν δημιουργὸν ἂν ἐποίησας τῆς σοφίας ἧς ἐπιθυμεῖ, ἔπειτα φθονεῖς τε αὐτῷ καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλεις πέμπειν; ἀλλὰ νῦν — ὁρᾷς; — ἐπειδὴ ἐναντίον ἐμοῦ κατείρηκέ σου, κοινῇ βουλευώμεθα ἐγώ τε καὶ σὺ ἐς τίνος ἂν αὐτὸν πέμποιμεν καὶ διὰ τὴν τίνος συνουσίαν σοφὸς ἂν γένοιτο τύραννος; [125β]

Δημόδοκος

ναὶ μὰ Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, βουλευώμεθα δῆτα, ὡς δοκεῖ γέ μοι βουλῆς δεῖν περὶ τούτου οὐ φαύλης.

Σωκράτης

ἔασον, ὠγαθέ. διαπυθώμεθα αὐτοῦ πρῶτον ἱκανῶς.

Δημόδοκος

πυνθάνου δή.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν ἂν εἰ Εὐριπίδῃ τι προσχρησαίμεθα, ὦ Θέαγες; Εὐριπίδης γάρ πού φησιν—”σοφοὶ τύραννοι τῶν σοφῶν συνουσίᾳ:

“Soph. Fr. 14.1εἰ οὖν ἔροιτό τις τὸν Εὐριπίδην: ‘ὦ Εὐριπίδη, τῶν τί [125ξ] σοφῶν συνουσίᾳ φῂς σοφοὺς εἶναι τοὺς τυράννους;’ ὥσπερ ἂν εἰ εἰπόντα—”σοφοὶ γεωργοὶ τῶν σοφῶν συνουσίᾳ,

“ἠρόμεθα ‘τῶν τί σοφῶν;’ τί ἂν ἡμῖν ἀπεκρίνατο; ἆρ᾽ ἂν ἄλλο τι ἢ τῶν τὰ γεωργικά;

Θεάγης

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ εἰ εἶπε—”σοφοὶ μάγειροι τῶν σοφῶν συνουσίᾳ,

“εἰ ἠρόμεθα: ‘τῶν τί σοφῶν;’ τί ἂν ἡμῖν ἀπεκρίνατο; οὐχ ὅτι τῶν μαγείρων;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δ᾽ εἰ—”σοφοὶ παλαισταὶ τῶν σοφῶν συνουσίᾳ

“εἶπεν, εἰ ἠρόμεθα: ‘τῶν τί σοφῶν;’ ἆρα οὐκ ἂν τῶν [125δ] παλαίειν ἔφη;

Θεάγης

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἐπειδὴ δὲ εἶπε—”σοφοὶ τύραννοι τῶν σοφῶν συνουσίᾳ,

“Soph. Frag. 14.1ἡμῶν ἐρωτώντων: ‘τῶν τί σοφῶν λέγεις, ὦ Εὐριπίδη;’ τί ἂν φαίη; ποῖα ἂν εἶναι ταῦτα;

Θεάγης

ἀλλὰ μὰ Δί᾽ οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ βούλει ἐγώ σοι εἴπω;

Θεάγης

εἰ σὺ βούλει.

Σωκράτης

ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶν ἅπερ ἔφη Ἀνακρέων τὴν Καλλικρίτην ἐπίστασθαι: ἢ οὐκ οἶσθα τὸ ᾆσμα;

Θεάγης

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; τοιαύτης τινὸς καὶ σὺ συνουσίας ἐπιθυμεῖς [125ε] ἀνδρὸς ὅστις τυγχάνει ὁμότεχνος ὢν Καλλικρίτῃ τῇ Κυάνης καὶ ‘ἐπίσταται τυραννικά,’ ὥσπερ ἐκείνην ἔφη ὁ ποιητής, ἵνα καὶ σὺ ἡμῖν τύραννος γένῃ καὶ τῇ πόλει;

Θεάγης

πάλαι, ὦ Σώκρατες, σκώπτεις καὶ παίζεις πρός με.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; οὐ ταύτης φῂς τῆς σοφίας ἐπιθυμεῖν ᾗ πάντων ἂν τῶν πολιτῶν ἄρχοις; τοῦτο δὲ ποιῶν ἄλλο τι ἢ τύραννος ἂν εἴης;

Θεάγης

εὐξαίμην μὲν ἂν οἶμαι ἔγωγε τύραννος γενέσθαι, [126α] μάλιστα μὲν πάντων ἀνθρώπων, εἰ δὲ μή, ὡς πλείστων: καὶ σύ γ᾽ ἂν οἶμαι καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πάντες ἄνθρωποι — ἔτι δέ γε ἴσως μᾶλλον θεὸς γενέσθαι — ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τούτου ἔλεγον ἐπιθυμεῖν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ τί δή ἐστί ποτε οὗ ἐπιθυμεῖς; οὐ τῶν πολιτῶν φῂς ἄρχειν ἐπιθυμεῖν;

Θεάγης

οὐ βίᾳ γε οὐδ᾽ ὥσπερ οἱ τύραννοι ἀλλ᾽ ἑκόντων, ὥσπερ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι οἱ ἐν τῇ πόλει ἐλλόγιμοι ἄνδρες.

Σωκράτης

ἆρά γε λέγεις ὥσπερ Θεμιστοκλῆς καὶ Περικλῆς καὶ Κίμων καὶ ὅσοι τὰ πολιτικὰ δεινοὶ γεγόνασιν;

Θεάγης

νὴ Δία τούτους λέγω.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν εἰ τὰ ἱππικὰ ἐτύγχανες ἐπιθυμῶν σοφὸς [126β] γενέσθαι; παρὰ τίνας ἂν ἀφικόμενος ᾠήθης δεινὸς ἔσεσθαι ἱππεύς; ἦ παρ᾽ ἄλλους τινὰς ἢ τοὺς ἱππικούς;

Θεάγης

μὰ Δία οὐκ ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ παρ᾽ αὐτοὺς αὖ τοὺς δεινοὺς ὄντας ταῦτα, καὶ οἷς εἰσίν τε ἵπποι καὶ χρῶνται ἑκάστοτε καὶ οἰκείοις καὶ ἀλλοτρίοις πολλοῖς.

Θεάγης

δῆλον ὅτι.

Σωκράτης

τί δὲ εἰ τὰ ἀκοντιστικὰ σοφὸς ἐβούλου γενέσθαι; οὐ παρὰ τοὺς ἀκοντιστικοὺς ᾤου ἂν ἐλθὼν σοφὸς ἔσεσθαι τούτους, οἷς ἔστιν τε ἀκόντια καὶ πολλοῖς καὶ ἀλλοτρίοις καὶ [126ξ] οἰκείοις ἑκάστοτε χρῶνται ἀκοντίοις;

Θεάγης

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

λέγε δή μοι: ἐπεὶ δὲ δὴ τὰ πολιτικὰ βούλει σοφὸς γενέσθαι, οἴει παρ᾽ ἄλλους τινὰς ἀφικόμενος σοφὸς ἔσεσθαι ἢ τοὺς πολιτικοὺς τούτους, τοὺς αὐτούς τε δεινοὺς ὄντας τὰ πολιτικὰ καὶ χρωμένους ἑκάστοτε τῇ τε αὑτῶν πόλει καὶ ἄλλαις πολλαῖς, καὶ Ἑλληνίσιν προσομιλοῦντας πόλεσιν καὶ βαρβάροις; ἢ δοκεῖς ἄλλοις τισὶν συγγενόμενος σοφὸς ἔσεσθαι ταῦτα ἅπερ οὗτοι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ αὐτοῖς τούτοις; [126δ]

Θεάγης

ἀκήκοα γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὕς σέ φασιν λέγειν τοὺς λόγους, ὅτι τούτων τῶν πολιτικῶν ἀνδρῶν οἱ ὑεῖς οὐδὲν βελτίους εἰσὶν ἢ οἱ τῶν σκυτοτόμων: καί μοι δοκεῖς ἀληθέστατα λέγειν ἐξ ὧν ἐγὼ δύναμαι αἰσθέσθαι. ἀνόητος ἂν οὖν εἴην εἰ οἰοίμην τινὰ τούτων ἐμοὶ μὲν ἂν παραδοῦναι τὴν αὑτοῦ σοφίαν, τὸν δὲ ὑὸν τὸν αὑτοῦ μηδὲν ὠφελῆσαι, εἴ τι οἷός τ᾽ ἦν εἰς ταῦτα ὠφελεῖν ἄλλον ὁντιναοῦν ἀνθρώπων.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν ἄν, ὦ βέλτιστε ἀνδρῶν, χρήσαιο σαυτῷ, εἴ σοι ἐπειδὴ γένοιτο ὑὸς τοιαῦτα πράγματα παρέχοι, καὶ φαίη [126ε] μὲν ἂν ἐπιθυμεῖν ἀγαθὸς γενέσθαι ζωγράφος, καὶ μέμφοιτο σοὶ τῷ πατρὶ ὅτι οὐκ ἐθέλεις ἀναλίσκειν εἰς αὐτὸν τούτων αὐτῶν ἕνεκα ἀργύριον, τοὺς δὲ δημιουργοὺς αὐτοῦ τούτου, τοὺς ζωγράφους, ἀτιμάζοι τε καὶ μὴ βούλοιτο παρ᾽ αὐτῶν μανθάνειν; ἢ τοὺς αὐλητάς, βουλόμενος αὐλητὴς γενέσθαι, ἢ τοὺς κιθαριστάς; ἔχοις ἂν αὐτῷ ὅτι χρῷο καὶ ὅποι πέμποις ἄλλοσε μὴ ἐθέλοντα παρὰ τούτων μανθάνειν;

Θεάγης

μὰ Δία οὐκ ἔγωγε. [127α]

Σωκράτης

νῦν οὖν ταὐτὰ ταῦτα αὐτὸς πρὸς τὸν πατέρα ποιῶν θαυμάζεις, καὶ μέμφῃ εἰ ἀπορεῖ ὅτι σοι χρήσηται καὶ ὅποι πέμποι; ἐπεὶ Ἀθηναίων γε τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν τὰ πολιτικὰ ὅτῳ ἂν βούλῃ συστήσομέν σε, ὅς σοι προῖκα συνέσται: καὶ ἅμα μὲν ἀργύριον οὐκ ἀναλώσεις, ἅμα δὲ πολὺ μᾶλλον εὐδοκιμήσεις παρὰ τοῖς πολλοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἢ ἄλλῳ τῳ συνών.

Θεάγης

τί οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες; οὐ καὶ σὺ τῶν καλῶν κἀγαθῶν εἰ ἀνδρῶν; εἰ γὰρ σύ μοι ἐθέλοις συνεῖναι, ἐξαρκεῖ καὶ οὐδένα ἄλλον ζητῶ. [127β]

Σωκράτης

τί τοῦτο λέγεις, Θέαγες;

Δημόδοκος

ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ μέντοι κακῶς λέγει, καὶ ἅμα μὲν ἐμοὶ χαριῇ: ὡς ἐγὼ οὐκ ἔσθ᾽ ὅτι τούτου μεῖζον ἂν ἕρμαιον ἡγησαίμην, ἢ εἰ οὗτός τε ἀρέσκοιτο τῇ σῇ συνουσίᾳ καὶ σὺ ἐθέλοις τούτῳ συνεῖναι. καὶ μέντοι καὶ αἰσχύνομαι λέγειν ὡς σφόδρα βούλομαι. ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ ἀμφοτέρων ὑμῶν δέομαι, σέ τ᾽ ἐθέλειν τούτῳ συνεῖναι καὶ σὲ μὴ ζητεῖν ἄλλῳ μηδενὶ συγγενέσθαι ἢ Σωκράτει: καί με πολλῶν καὶ φοβερῶν ἀπαλλάξετε [127ξ] φροντίδων. ὡς νῦν πάνυ φοβοῦμαι ὑπὲρ τούτου μή τινι ἄλλῳ ἐντύχῃ οἵῳ τοῦτον διαφθεῖραι.

Θεάγης

μηκέτι νῦν, ὦ πάτερ, ὑπέρ γ᾽ ἐμοῦ φοβοῦ, εἴπερ οἷός τ᾽ εἶ πεῖσαι τοῦτον τὴν ἐμὴν συνουσίαν προσδέξασθαι.

Δημόδοκος

πάνυ καλῶς λέγεις. ὦ Σώκρατες, πρὸς σὲ δ᾽ ἂν ἤδη εἴη ὁ μετὰ τοῦτο λόγος: ἐγὼ γάρ σοι ἕτοιμός εἰμι, ὡς διὰ βραχέων εἰπεῖν, καὶ ἐμὲ καὶ τὰ ἐμὰ ὡς οἷόν τε οἰκειότατα παρέχειν, ὅτου ἂν δέῃ ἔμβραχυ, ἐὰν Θεάγη τουτονὶ [127δ] ἀσπάζῃ τε καὶ εὐεργετῇς ὅτι ἂν οἷός τε ᾖς.

Σωκράτης

ὦ Δημόδοκε, τὸ μὲν ἐσπουδακέναι σε οὐ θαυμάζω, εἴπερ οἴει ὑπ᾽ ἐμοῦ μάλιστ᾽ ἄν σοι τοῦτον ὠφεληθῆναι — οὐ γὰρ οἶδα ὑπὲρ ὅτου ἄν τις νοῦν ἔχων μᾶλλον σπουδάζοι ἢ ὑπὲρ ὑέος αὑτοῦ ὅπως ὡς βέλτιστος ἔσται — ὁπόθεν δὲ ἔδοξέ σοι τοῦτο, ὡς ἐγὼ ἂν μᾶλλον τὸν σὸν ὑὸν οἷός τ᾽ εἴην ὠφελῆσαι πρὸς τὸ πολίτην ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι ἢ σὺ αὐτός, καὶ ὁπόθεν οὗτος ᾠήθη ἐμὲ μᾶλλον ἢ σὲ αὐτὸν ὠφελήσειν, τοῦτο [127ε] πάνυ θαυμάζω. σὺ γὰρ πρῶτον μὲν πρεσβύτερος εἶ ἐμοῦ, ἔπειτα πολλὰς ἤδη ἀρχὰς καὶ τὰς μεγίστας Ἀθηναίοις ἦρξας, καὶ τιμᾷ ὑπὸ Ἀναγυρασίων τε τῶν δημοτῶν πολὺ μάλιστα καὶ ὑπὸ τῆς ἄλλης πόλεως οὐδενὸς ἧττον: ἐμοὶ δὲ τούτων οὐδὲν ἐνορᾷ οὐδέτερος ὑμῶν. ἔπειτα εἰ ἄρα τῆς μὲν τῶν πολιτικῶν ἀνδρῶν συνουσίας Θεάγης ὅδε καταφρονεῖ, ἄλλους δέ τινας ζητεῖ οἳ παιδεύειν ἐπαγγέλλονται οἷοί τε εἶναι νέους ἀνθρώπους, ἔστιν ἐνταῦθα καὶ Πρόδικος ὁ Κεῖος καὶ Γοργίας [128α] ὁ Λεοντῖνος καὶ πῶλος ὁ Ἀκραγαντῖνος καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοί, οἳ οὕτω σοφοί εἰσιν ὥστε εἰς τὰς πόλεις ἰόντες πείθουσι τῶν νέων τοὺς γενναιοτάτους τε καὶ πλουσιωτάτους — οἷς ἔξεστιν τῶν πολιτῶν ᾧ ἂν βούλωνται προῖκα συνεῖναι — τούτους πείθουσιν ἀπολείποντας τὰς ἐκείνων συνουσίας αὐτοῖς συνεῖναι, προσκατατιθέντας ἀργύριον πάνυ πολὺ μισθόν, καὶ χάριν πρὸς τούτοις εἰδέναι. τούτων τινὰς εἰκὸς ἦν προαιρεῖσθαι καὶ τὸν ὑόν σου καὶ αὐτὸν σέ, ἐμὲ δ᾽ οὐκ [128β] εἰκός: οὐδὲν γὰρ τούτων ἐπίσταμαι τῶν μακαρίων τε καὶ καλῶν μαθημάτων — ἐπεὶ ἐβουλόμην ἄν — ἀλλὰ καὶ λέγω δήπου ἀεὶ ὅτι ἐγὼ τυγχάνω ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν οὐδὲν ἐπιστάμενος πλήν γε σμικροῦ τινος μαθήματος, τῶν ἐρωτικῶν. τοῦτο μέντοι τὸ μάθημα παρ᾽ ὁντινοῦν ποιοῦμαι δεινὸς εἶναι καὶ τῶν προγεγονότων ἀνθρώπων καὶ τῶν νῦν.

Θεάγης

ὁρᾷς, ὦ πάτερ; ὁ Σωκράτης οὐ πάνυ μοι δοκεῖ τι ἔτι ἐθέλειν ἐμοὶ συνδιατρίβειν — ἐπεὶ τό γ᾽ ἐμὸν ἕτοιμον, [128ξ] ἐὰν οὗτος ἐθέλῃ — ἀλλὰ ταῦτα παίζων πρὸς ἡμᾶς λέγει. ἐπεὶ ἐγὼ οἶδα τῶν ἐμῶν ἡλικιωτῶν καὶ ὀλίγῳ πρεσβυτέρων οἳ πρὶν μὲν τούτῳ συνεῖναι οὐδενὸς ἄξιοι ἦσαν, ἐπειδὴ δὲ συνεγένοντο τούτῳ, ἐν πάνυ ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ πάντων βελτίους φαίνονται ὧν πρότερον χείρους.

Σωκράτης

οἶσθα οὖν οἷον τοῦτό ἐστιν, ὦ παῖ Δημοδόκου;

Θεάγης

ναὶ μὰ Δία ἔγωγε, ὅτι, ἐὰν σὺ βούλῃ, καὶ ἐγὼ οἷός τ᾽ ἔσομαι τοιοῦτος γενέσθαι οἷοίπερ καὶ ἐκεῖνοι. [128δ]

Σωκράτης

οὔκ, ὠγαθέ, ἀλλά σε λέληθεν οἷον τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν, ἐγὼ δέ σοι φράσω. ἔστι γάρ τι θείᾳ μοίρᾳ παρεπόμενον ἐμοὶ ἐκ παιδὸς ἀρξάμενον δαιμόνιον. ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο φωνή, ἣ ὅταν γένηται ἀεί μοι σημαίνει, ὃ ἂν μέλλω πράττειν, τούτου ἀποτροπήν, προτρέπει δὲ οὐδέποτε: καὶ ἐάν τίς μοι τῶν φίλων ἀνακοινῶται καὶ γένηται ἡ φωνή, ταὐτὸν τοῦτο, ἀποτρέπει καὶ οὐκ ἐᾷ πράττειν. καὶ τούτων ὑμῖν μάρτυρας παρέξομαι. Χαρμίδην γὰρ τουτονὶ γιγνώσκετε τὸν καλὸν [128ε] γενόμενον, τὸν Γλαύκωνος: οὗτός ποτε ἐτύγχανε ἐμοὶ ἀνακοινούμενος μέλλων ἀσκήσειν στάδιον εἰς Νεμέαν, καὶ εὐθὺς αὐτοῦ ἀρχομένου λέγειν ὅτι μέλλοι ἀσκεῖν ἐγένετο ἡ φωνή, καὶ ἐγὼ διεκώλυόν τε αὐτὸν καὶ εἶπον ὅτι ‘λέγοντός σου μεταξὺ γέγονέ μοι ἡ φωνὴ ἡ τοῦ δαιμονίου: ἀλλὰ μὴ ἄσκει.’ ‘ἴσως,’ ἔφη, ‘σημαίνει σοι ὅτι οὐ νικήσω: ἐγὼ δὲ κἂν μὴ μέλλω νικᾶν, γυμνασάμενός γε τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον ὠφεληθήσομαι.’ ταῦτα εἰπὼν ἤσκει: ἄξιον οὖν πυθέσθαι αὐτοῦ [129α] ἃ αὐτῷ συνέβη ἀπὸ ταύτης τῆς ἀσκήσεως. εἰ δὲ βούλεσθε, τὸν Τιμάρχου ἀδελφὸν Κλειτόμαχον ἔρεσθε τί εἶπεν αὐτῷ Τίμαρχος ἡνίκα ἀποθανούμενος ᾔει †εὐθὺ τοῦ δαιμονίου†, ἐκεῖνός τε καὶ Εὔαθλος ὁ σταδιοδρομῶν ὃς Τίμαρχον ὑπεδέξατο φεύγοντα: ἐρεῖ γὰρ ὑμῖν ὅτι εἶπεν αὐτῷ ταυτί.

Θεάγης

τί;

Σωκράτης

‘ὦ Κλειτόμαχε,’ ἔφη, ‘ἐγὼ μέντοι ἔρχομαι ἀποθανούμενος νυνί, διότι Σωκράτει οὐκ ἤθελον πείθεσθαι.’ τί δὴ οὖν ποτε τοῦτο εἶπεν ὁ Τίμαρχος; ἐγὼ φράσω. ὅτε [129β] ἀνίστατο ἐκ τοῦ συμποσίου ὁ Τίμαρχος καὶ Φιλήμων ὁ Φιλημονίδου ἀποκτενοῦντες Νικίαν τὸν Ἡροσκαμάνδρου, ἠπιστάσθην μὲν αὐτὼ μόνω τὴν ἐπιβουλήν, ὁ δὲ Τίμαρχος ἀνιστάμενος πρὸς ἐμὲ εἶπεν, ‘τί λέγεις,’ ἔφη, ‘ὦ Σώκρατες; ὑμεῖς μὲν πίνετε, ἐμὲ δὲ δεῖ ποι ἐξαναστῆναι: ἥξω δὲ ὀλίγον ὕστερον, ἐὰν τύχω.’ καί μοι ἐγένετο ἡ φωνή, καὶ εἶπον πρὸς αὐτόν, ‘μηδαμῶς,’ ἔφην, ‘ἀναστῇς: γέγονε γάρ μοι τὸ εἰωθὸς σημεῖον τὸ δαιμόνιον.’ καὶ ὃς ἐπέσχε. [129ξ] καὶ διαλιπὼν χρόνον αὖθις ὡρμᾶτο ἰέναι, καὶ ἔφη: ‘εἶμι δή, Σώκρατες.’ αὖθις ἐγένετο ἡ φωνή: αὖθις οὖν αὐτὸν ἠνάγκασα ἐπισχεῖν. τὸ τρίτον, βουλόμενός με λαθεῖν, ἀνέστη οὐκέτι εἰπών μοι οὐδὲν ἀλλὰ λαθών, ἐπιτηρήσας ἄλλοσε τὸν νοῦν ἔχοντα: καὶ οὕτως ᾤχετο ἀπιὼν καὶ διεπράξατο ἐξ ὧν ᾔει ἀποθανούμενος. ὅθεν δὴ τοῦτο εἶπεν πρὸς τὸν ἀδελφὸν ὅπερ νῦν ὑμῖν ἐγώ, ὅτι ἴοι ἀποθανούμενος διὰ τὸ ἐμοὶ ἀπιστῆσαι. ἔτι τοίνυν περὶ τῶν ἐν Σικελίᾳ [129δ] πολλῶν ἀκούσεσθον ἃ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον περὶ τῆς διαφθορᾶς τοῦ στρατοπέδου. καὶ τὰ μὲν παρεληλυθότα τῶν εἰδότων ἔστιν ἀκοῦσαι: πεῖραν δ᾽ ἔξεστι νυνὶ λαβεῖν τοῦ σημείου εἰ ἄρα τὶ λέγει. ἐπὶ γὰρ τῇ ἐπὶ στρατείαν ἐξορμῇ Σαννίωνος τοῦ καλοῦ ἐγένετό μοι τὸ σημεῖον, οἴχεται δὲ νῦν μετὰ Θρασύλλου στρατευσόμενος εὐθὺ Ἐφέσου καὶ Ἰωνίας. ἐγὼ οὖν οἴομαι ἐκεῖνον ἢ ἀποθανεῖσθαι ἢ ὁμοῦ τι τούτῳ γ᾽ ἐλᾶν, καὶ περί γε τῆς στρατιᾶς τῆς ἄλλης πάνυ φοβοῦμαι. [129ε]

ταῦτα δὴ πάντα εἴρηκά σοι, ὅτι ἡ δύναμις αὕτη τοῦ δαιμονίου τούτου καὶ εἰς τὰς συνουσίας τῶν μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ συνδιατριβόντων τὸ ἅπαν δύναται. πολλοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἐναντιοῦται, καὶ οὐκ ἔστι τούτοις ὠφεληθῆναι μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ διατρίβουσιν, ὥστε οὐχ οἷόν τέ μοι τούτοις συνδιατρίβειν: πολλοῖς δὲ συνεῖναι μὲν οὐ διακωλύει, ὠφελοῦνται δὲ οὐδὲν συνόντες. οἷς δ᾽ ἂν συλλάβηται τῆς συνουσίας ἡ τοῦ δαιμονίου δύναμις, οὗτοί εἰσιν ὧν καὶ σὺ ᾔσθησαι: ταχὺ γὰρ παραχρῆμα ἐπιδιδόασιν. καὶ τούτων αὖ τῶν ἐπιδιδόντων [130α] οἱ μὲν καὶ βέβαιον ἔχουσι καὶ παραμόνιμον τὴν ὠφελίαν: πολλοὶ δέ, ὅσον ἂν μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ χρόνον ὦσιν, θαυμάσιον ἐπιδιδόασιν, ἐπειδὰν δέ μου ἀπόσχωνται, πάλιν οὐδὲν διαφέρουσιν ὁτουοῦν. τοῦτό ποτε ἔπαθεν Ἀριστείδης ὁ Λυσιμάχου ὑὸς τοῦ Ἀριστείδου. διατρίβων γὰρ μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ πάμπολυ ἐπεδεδώκει ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ: ἔπειτα αὐτῷ στρατεία τις ἐγένετο καὶ ᾤχετο ἐκπλέων, ἥκων δὲ κατελάμβανε μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ διατρίβοντα Θουκυδίδην τὸν Μελησίου ὑὸν τοῦ Θουκυδίδου. [130β] ὁ δὲ Θουκυδίδης τῇ προτεραίᾳ μοι δι᾽ ἀπεχθείας ἐν λόγοις τισὶν ἐγεγόνει: ἰδὼν οὖν με ὁ Ἀριστείδης, ἐπειδὴ ἠσπάσατό τε καὶ τἆλλα διελέχθη, ‘Θουκυδίδην δέ,’ ἔφη, ‘ἀκούω, ὦ Σώκρατες, σεμνύνεσθαι ἄττα πρός σε καὶ χαλεπαίνειν ὡς τὶ ὄντα.’ ‘ἔστι γάρ,’ ἔφην ἐγώ, ‘οὕτως.’ ‘τί δέ, οὐκ οἶδεν,’ ἔφη, ‘πρὶν σοὶ συγγενέσθαι οἷον ἦν τὸ ἀνδράποδον;’ ‘οὐκ ἔοικέν γε,’ ἔφην ἐγώ, ‘νὴ τοὺς θεούς.’ ‘ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ αὐτός γε,’ ἔφη, ‘καταγελάστως [130ξ] ἔχω, ὦ Σώκρατες.’ ‘τί μάλιστα;’ ἔφην ἐγώ. ‘ὅτι,’ ἔφη, ‘πρὶν μὲν ἐκπλεῖν, ὁτῳοῦν ἀνθρώπῳ οἷός τ᾽ ἦ διαλέγεσθαι καὶ μηδενὸς χείρων φαίνεσθαι ἐν τοῖς λόγοις, ὥστε καὶ ἐδίωκον τὰς συνουσίας τῶν χαριεστάτων ἀνθρώπων, νυνὶ δὲ τοὐναντίον φεύγω ἄν τινα καὶ αἰσθάνωμαι πεπαιδευμένον: οὕτως αἰσχύνομαι ἐπὶ τῇ ἐμαυτοῦ φαυλότητι.’ ‘πότερον δέ,’ ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ‘ἐξαίφνης σε προύλιπεν αὕτη ἡ δύναμις ἢ κατὰ σμικρόν;’ ‘κατὰ σμικρόν,’ ἦ δ᾽ ὅς. [130δ] ‘ἡνίκα δέ σοι παρεγένετο,’ ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ‘πότερον μαθόντι παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ τι παρεγένετο ἤ τινι ἄλλῳ τρόπῳ;’ ‘ἐγώ σοι ἐρῶ,’ ἔφη, ‘ὦ Σώκρατες, ἄπιστον μὲν νὴ τοὺς θεούς, ἀληθὲς δέ. ἐγὼ γὰρ ἔμαθον μὲν παρά σου οὐδὲν πώποτε, ὡς αὐτὸς οἶσθα: ἐπεδίδουν δὲ ὁπότε σοι συνείην, κἂν εἰ ἐν τῇ αὐτῇ μόνον οἰκίᾳ εἴην, μὴ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ δὲ οἰκήματι, μᾶλλον δὲ ὁπότε ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ οἰκήματι, καὶ ἔμοιγε ἐδόκουν πολὺ μᾶλλον ὁπότε ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ οἰκήματι ὢν λέγοντός σου βλέποιμι πρὸς [130ε] σέ, μᾶλλον ἢ ὁπότε ἄλλοσε ὁρῴην, πολὺ δὲ μάλιστα καὶ πλεῖστον ἐπεδίδουν ὁπότε παρ᾽ αὐτόν σε καθοίμην ἐχόμενός σου καὶ ἁπτόμενος: νῦν δέ,’ ἦ δ᾽ ὅς, ‘πᾶσα ἐκείνη ἡ ἕξις ἐξερρύηκε.’

ἔστιν οὖν, ὦ Θέαγες, τοιαύτη ἡ ἡμετέρα συνουσία: ἐὰν μὲν τῷ θεῷ φίλον ᾖ, πάνυ πολὺ ἐπιδώσεις καὶ ταχύ, εἰ δὲ μή, οὔ. ὅρα οὖν μή σοι ἀσφαλέστερον ᾖ παρ᾽ ἐκείνων τινὶ παιδεύεσθαι οἳ ἐγκρατεῖς αὐτοί εἰσιν τῆς ὠφελίας ἣν ὠφελοῦσιν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους μᾶλλον ἢ παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ ὅτι ἂν τύχῃ τοῦτο πρᾶξαι. [131α]

Θεάγης

ἐμοὶ μὲν τοίνυν δοκεῖ, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἡμᾶς οὑτωσὶ ποιῆσαι, ἀποπειραθῆναι τοῦ δαιμονίου τούτου συνόντας ἀλλήλοις. καὶ ἐὰν μὲν παρείκῃ ἡμῖν, ταῦτα βέλτιστα: εἰ δὲ μή, τότε ἤδη παραχρῆμα βουλευσόμεθα ὅτι δράσομεν, εἴτε ἄλλῳ συνεσόμεθα, εἴτε καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ θεῖον τὸ σοὶ γιγνόμενον πειρασόμεθα παραμυθεῖσθαι εὐχαῖσί τε καὶ θυσίαις καὶ ἄλλῳ ὅτῳ ἂν οἱ μάντεις ἐξηγῶνται.

Δημόδοκος

μηκέτι πρὸς ταῦτα ἀντείπῃς, ὦ Σώκρατες, τῷ μειρακίῳ: εὖ γὰρ λέγει Θεάγης.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλ᾽ εἰ δοκεῖ χρῆναι οὕτω ποιεῖν, οὕτω ποιῶμεν.

MINOS

Σωκράτης

Ἑταῖρος

[313α]

Σωκράτης

ὁ νόμος ἡμῖν τί ἐστιν;

Ἑταῖρος

ὁποῖον καὶ ἐρωτᾷς τῶν νόμων;

Σωκράτης

τί δ᾽; ἔστιν ὅτι διαφέρει νόμος νόμου κατ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο, κατὰ τὸ νόμος εἶναι; σκόπει γὰρ δὴ ὃ τυγχάνω ἐρωτῶν σε. ἐρωτῶ γάρ, ὥσπερ εἰ ἀνηρόμην τί ἐστιν χρυσός, εἴ με ὡσαύτως ἀνήρου ὁποῖον καὶ λέγω χρυσόν, οἴομαί σε οὐκ ἂν ὀρθῶς ἐρέσθαι. οὐδὲν γάρ που διαφέρει οὔτε χρυσὸς [313β] χρυσοῦ οὔτε λίθος λίθου κατά γε τὸ λίθος εἶναι καὶ κατὰ τὸ χρυσός: οὕτω δὲ οὐδὲ νόμος που νόμου οὐδὲν διαφέρει, ἀλλὰ πάντες εἰσὶν ταὐτόν. νόμος γὰρ ἕκαστος αὐτῶν ἐστιν ὁμοίως, οὐχ ὁ μὲν μᾶλλον, ὁ δ᾽ ἧττον: τοῦτο δὴ αὐτὸ ἐρωτῶ, τὸ πᾶν τί ἐστιν νόμος. εἰ οὖν σοι πρόχειρον, εἰπέ.

Ἑταῖρος

τί οὖν ἄλλο νόμος εἴη ἄν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τὰ νομιζόμενα;

Σωκράτης

ἦ καὶ λόγος σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι τὰ λεγόμενα, ἢ ὄψις τὰ ὁρώμενα, ἢ ἀκοὴ τὰ ἀκουόμενα; ἢ ἄλλο μὲν λόγος, ἄλλο [313ξ] δὲ τὰ λεγόμενα: καὶ ἄλλο μὲν ὄψις, ἄλλο δὲ τὰ ὁρώμενα: καὶ ἄλλο μὲν ἀκοή, ἄλλο δὲ τὰ ἀκουόμενα, καὶ ἄλλο δὴ νόμος, ἄλλο δὲ τὰ νομιζόμενα; οὕτως ἢ πῶς σοι δοκεῖ;

Ἑταῖρος

ἄλλο μοι νῦν ἐφάνη.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα νόμος ἐστὶν τὰ νομιζόμενα.

Ἑταῖρος

οὔ μοι δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

τί δῆτ᾽ ἂν εἴη νόμος; ἐπισκεψώμεθ᾽ αὐτὸ ὧδε. εἴ τις ἡμᾶς τὰ νυνδὴ λεγόμενα ἀνήρετο, ‘ἐπειδὴ ὄψει φατὲ [314α] τὰ ὁρώμενα ὁρᾶσθαι, τίνι ὄντι τῇ ὄψει ὁρᾶται;’ ἀπεκρινάμεθ᾽ ἂν αὐτῷ ὅτι αἰσθήσει ταύτῃ τῇ διὰ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν δηλούσῃ τὰ πράγματα: εἰ δ᾽ αὖ ἤρετο ἡμᾶς, ‘τί δέ; ἐπειδὴ ἀκοῇ τὰ ἀκουόμενα ἀκούεται, τίνι ὄντι τῇ ἀκοῇ;’ ἀπεκρινάμεθ᾽ ἂν αὐτῷ ὅτι αἰσθήσει ταύτῃ τῇ διὰ τῶν ὤτων δηλούσῃ ἡμῖν τὰς φωνάς. οὕτω τοίνυν καὶ εἰ ἀνέροιτο ἡμᾶς, ‘ἐπειδὴ νόμῳ τὰ νομιζόμενα νομίζεται, τίνι ὄντι τῷ νόμῳ νομίζεται; [314β] πότερον αἰσθήσει τινὶ ἢ δηλώσει, ὥσπερ τὰ μανθανόμενα μανθάνεται δηλούσῃ τῇ ἐπιστήμῃ, ἢ εὑρέσει τινί, ὥσπερ τὰ εὑρισκόμενα εὑρίσκεται, οἷον τὰ μὲν ὑγιεινὰ καὶ νοσώδη ἰατρικῇ, ἃ δὲ οἱ θεοὶ διανοοῦνται, ὥς φασιν οἱ μάντεις, μαντικῇ; ἡ γάρ που τέχνη ἡμῖν εὕρεσίς ἐστιν τῶν πραγμάτων: ἦ γάρ;’

Ἑταῖρος

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν ἂν τούτων ὑπολάβοιμεν μάλιστα τὸν νόμον εἶναι;

Ἑταῖρος

τὰ δόγματα ταῦτα καὶ ψηφίσματα, ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ. τί γὰρ ἂν ἄλλο τις φαίη νόμον εἶναι; ὥστε κινδυνεύει, ὃ [314ξ] σὺ ἐρωτᾷς, τὸ ὅλον τοῦτο, νόμος, δόγμα πόλεως εἶναι.

Σωκράτης

δόξαν, ὡς ἔοικε, λέγεις πολιτικὴν τὸν νόμον.

Ἑταῖρος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

καὶ ἴσως καλῶς λέγεις: τάχα δὲ ὧδε ἄμεινον εἰσόμεθα. λέγεις τινὰς σοφούς;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οἱ σοφοί εἰσιν σοφίᾳ σοφοί;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τί δέ; οἱ δίκαιοι δικαιοσύνῃ δίκαιοι;

Ἑταῖρος

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ οἱ νόμιμοι νόμῳ νόμιμοι;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οἱ δὲ [314δ] ἄνομοι ἀνομίᾳ ἄνομοι;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οἱ δὲ νόμιμοι δίκαιοι;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οἱ δὲ ἄνομοι ἄδικοι;

Ἑταῖρος

ἄδικοι.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν κάλλιστον ἡ δικαιοσύνη τε καὶ ὁ νόμος;

Ἑταῖρος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

αἴσχιστον δὲ ἡ ἀδικία τε καὶ ἡ ἀνομία;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

καὶ τὸ μὲν σῴζει τὰς πόλεις καὶ τἆλλα πάντα, τὸ δὲ ἀπόλλυσι καὶ ἀνατρέπει;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ὡς περὶ καλοῦ ἄρα τινὸς ὄντος δεῖ τοῦ νόμου διανοεῖσθαι, καὶ ὡς ἀγαθὸν αὐτὸ ζητεῖν.

Ἑταῖρος

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν δόγμα ἔφαμεν εἶναι πόλεως τὸν νόμον; [314ε]

Ἑταῖρος

ἔφαμεν γάρ.

Σωκράτης

τί οὖν; οὐκ ἔστιν τὰ μὲν χρηστὰ δόγματα, τὰ δὲ πονηρά;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔστιν μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

καὶ μὴν νόμος γε οὐκ ἦν πονηρός.

Ἑταῖρος

οὐ γάρ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα ὀρθῶς ἔχει ἀποκρίνεσθαι οὕτως ἁπλῶς ὅτι νόμος ἐστὶ δόγμα πόλεως.

Ἑταῖρος

οὐκ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ ἄρα ἁρμόττοι ἂν τὸ πονηρὸν δόγμα νόμος εἶναι.

Ἑταῖρος

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μὴν δόξα γέ τις καὶ αὐτῷ μοι καταφαίνεται ὁ νόμος εἶναι: ἐπειδὴ δὲ οὐχ ἡ πονηρὰ δόξα, ἆρα οὐκ ἤδη τοῦτο κατάδηλον, ὡς ἡ χρηστή, εἴπερ δόξα νόμος ἐστί;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

δόξα δὲ χρηστὴ τίς ἐστιν; οὐχ ἡ ἀληθής; [315α]

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἡ ἀληθὴς δόξα τοῦ ὄντος ἐστὶν ἐξεύρεσις;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔστιν γάρ.

Σωκράτης

ὁ νόμος ἄρα βούλεται τοῦ ὄντος εἶναι ἐξεύρεσις.

Ἑταῖρος

πῶς οὖν, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰ ὁ νόμος ἐστὶν τοῦ ὄντος ἐξεύρεσις, οὐκ ἀεὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς νόμοις χρώμεθα περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν, εἰ τὰ ὄντα γε ἡμῖν ἐξηύρηται;

Σωκράτης

βούλεται μὲν οὐδὲν ἧττον ὁ νόμος εἶναι τοῦ ὄντος ἐξεύρεσις: οἱ δ᾽ ἄρα μὴ τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἀεὶ νόμοις χρώμενοι [315β] ἄνθρωποι, ὡς δοκοῦμεν, οὐκ ἀεὶ δύνανται ἐξευρίσκειν ὃ βούλεται ὁ νόμος, τὸ ὄν. ἐπεὶ φέρε ἴδωμεν ἐὰν ἄρα ἡμῖν ἐνθένδε κατάδηλον γένηται εἴτε τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἀεὶ νόμοις χρώμεθα ἢ ἄλλοτε ἄλλοις, καὶ εἰ ἅπαντες τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἢ ἄλλοι ἄλλοις.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀλλὰ τοῦτό γε, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐ χαλεπὸν γνῶναι, ὅτι οὔτε οἱ αὐτοὶ ἀεὶ τοῖς αὐτοῖς νόμοις χρῶνται ἄλλοι τε ἄλλοις. ἐπεὶ αὐτίκα ἡμῖν μὲν οὐ νόμος ἐστὶν ἀνθρώπους θύειν ἀλλ᾽ ἀνόσιον, Καρχηδόνιοι δὲ θύουσιν ὡς ὅσιον ὂν [315ξ] καὶ νόμιμον αὐτοῖς, καὶ ταῦτα ἔνιοι αὐτῶν καὶ τοὺς αὑτῶν ὑεῖς τῷ Κρόνῳ, ὡς ἴσως καὶ σὺ ἀκήκοας. καὶ μὴ ὅτι βάρβαροι ἄνθρωποι ἡμῶν ἄλλοις νόμοις χρῶνται, ἀλλὰ καὶ οἱ ἐν τῇ Λυκαίᾳ οὗτοι καὶ οἱ τοῦ Ἀθάμαντος ἔκγονοι οἵας θυσίας θύουσιν Ἕλληνες ὄντες. ὥσπερ καὶ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς οἶσθά που καὶ αὐτὸς ἀκούων οἵοις νόμοις ἐχρώμεθα πρὸ τοῦ περὶ τοὺς ἀποθανόντας, ἱερεῖά τε προσφάττοντες πρὸ τῆς ἐκφορᾶς τοῦ νεκροῦ καὶ ἐγχυτιστρίας μεταπεμπόμενοι: οἱ [315δ] δ᾽ αὖ ἐκείνων ἔτι πρότεροι αὐτοῦ καὶ ἔθαπτον ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ τοὺς ἀποθανόντας: ἡμεῖς δὲ τούτων οὐδὲν ποιοῦμεν. μυρία δ᾽ ἄν τις ἔχοι τοιαῦτα εἰπεῖν: πολλὴ γὰρ εὐρυχωρία τῆς ἀποδείξεως ὡς οὔτε ἡμεῖς ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς ἀεὶ κατὰ ταὐτὰ νομίζομεν οὔτε ἀλλήλοις οἱ ἄνθρωποι.

Σωκράτης

οὐδέν τοι θαυμαστόν ἐστιν, ὦ βέλτιστε, εἰ σὺ μὲν ὀρθῶς λέγεις, ἐμὲ δὲ τοῦτο λέληθεν. ἀλλ᾽ ἕως ἂν σύ τε κατὰ σαυτὸν λέγῃς ἅ σοι δοκεῖ μακρῷ λόγῳ καὶ πάλιν ἐγώ, [315ε] οὐδὲν μή ποτε συμβῶμεν, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι: ἐὰν δὲ κοινὸν τεθῇ τὸ σκέμμα, τάχ᾽ ἂν ὁμολογήσαιμεν. εἰ μὲν οὖν βούλει, πυνθανόμενός τι παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ κοινῇ μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ σκόπει: εἰ δ᾽ αὖ βούλει, ἀποκρινόμενος.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀλλ᾽ ἐθέλω, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀποκρίνεσθαι ὅτι ἂν βούλῃ.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δὴ σύ, πότερα νομίζεις τὰ δίκαια ἄδικα εἶναι καὶ τὰ ἄδικα δίκαια, ἢ τὰ μὲν δίκαια δίκαια, τὰ δὲ ἄδικα ἄδικα;

Ἑταῖρος

ἐγὼ μὲν τά τε δίκαια δίκαια καὶ τὰ ἄδικα [316α] ἄδικα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ παρὰ πᾶσιν οὕτως ὡς ἐνθάδε νομίζεται;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐν Πέρσαις;

Ἑταῖρος

καὶ ἐν Πέρσαις.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ ἀεὶ δήπου;

Ἑταῖρος

ἀεί.

Σωκράτης

πότερον δὲ τὰ πλεῖον ἕλκοντα βαρύτερα νομίζεται ἐνθάδε, τὰ δὲ ἔλαττον κουφότερα, ἢ τοὐναντίον;

Ἑταῖρος

οὔκ, ἀλλὰ τὰ πλεῖον ἕλκοντα βαρύτερα, τὰ δὲ ἔλαττον κουφότερα.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐν Καρχηδόνι καὶ ἐν Λυκαίᾳ;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τὰ μὲν καλά, ὡς ἔοικε, πανταχοῦ νομίζεται [316β] καλὰ καὶ τὰ αἰσχρὰ αἰσχρά, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὰ αἰσχρὰ καλὰ οὐδὲ τὰ καλὰ αἰσχρά.

Ἑταῖρος

οὕτως.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν, ὡς κατὰ πάντων εἰπεῖν, τὰ ὄντα νομίζεται εἶναι, οὐ τὰ μὴ ὄντα, καὶ παρ᾽ ἡμῖν καὶ παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἅπασιν.

Ἑταῖρος

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ὃς ἂν ἄρα τοῦ ὄντος ἁμαρτάνῃ, τοῦ νομίμου ἁμαρτάνει.

Ἑταῖρος

οὕτω μέν, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὡς σὺ λέγεις, καὶ φαίνεται ταῦτα νόμιμα καὶ ἡμῖν ἀεὶ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις: ἐπειδὰν δ᾽ ἐννοήσω [316ξ] ὅτι οὐδὲν παυόμεθα ἄνω κάτω μετατιθέμενοι τοὺς νόμους, οὐ δύναμαι πεισθῆναι.

Σωκράτης

ἴσως γὰρ οὐκ ἐννοεῖς ταῦτα μεταπεττευόμενα ὅτι ταὐτά ἐστιν. ἀλλ᾽ ὧδε μετ᾽ ἐμοῦ αὐτὰ ἄθρει. ἤδη ποτὲ ἐνέτυχες συγγράμματι περὶ ὑγιείας τῶν καμνόντων;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔγωγε.

Σωκράτης

οἶσθα οὖν τίνος τέχνης τοῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ σύγγραμμα;

Ἑταῖρος

οἶδα, ὅτι ἰατρικῆς.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν ἰατροὺς καλεῖς τοὺς ἐπιστήμονας περὶ τούτων;

Ἑταῖρος

φημί.

Σωκράτης

[316δ] πότερον οὖν οἱ ἐπιστήμονες ταὐτὰ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν νομίζουσιν ἢ ἄλλοι ἄλλα;

Ἑταῖρος

ταὐτὰ ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσι.

Σωκράτης

πότερον οἱ Ἕλληνες μόνοι τοῖς Ἕλλησιν ἢ καὶ οἱ βάρβαροι αὑτοῖς τε καὶ τοῖς Ἕλλησι, περὶ ὧν ἂν εἰδῶσι, ταὐτὰ νομίζουσι;

Ἑταῖρος

ταὐτὰ δήπου πολλὴ ἀνάγκη ἐστὶν τοὺς εἰδότας αὐτοὺς αὑτοῖς συννομίζειν καὶ Ἕλληνας καὶ βαρβάρους.

Σωκράτης

καλῶς γε ἀπεκρίνω. οὐκοῦν καὶ ἀεί;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί, καὶ ἀεί.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ οἱ ἰατροὶ συγγράφουσι περὶ ὑγιείας ἅπερ [316ε] καὶ νομίζουσιν εἶναι;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἰατρικὰ ἄρα καὶ ἰατρικοὶ νόμοι ταῦτα τὰ συγγράμματα ἐστὶν τὰ τῶν ἰατρῶν.

Ἑταῖρος

ἰατρικὰ μέντοι.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν καὶ τὰ γεωργικὰ συγγράμματα γεωργικοὶ νόμοι εἰσίν;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τίνων οὖν ἐστιν τὰ περὶ κήπων ἐργασίας συγγράμματα καὶ νόμιμα;

Ἑταῖρος

κηπουρῶν.

Σωκράτης

κηπουρικοὶ ἄρα νόμοι ἡμῖν εἰσιν οὗτοι.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τῶν ἐπισταμένων κήπων ἄρχειν;

Ἑταῖρος

πῶς δ᾽ οὔ;

Σωκράτης

ἐπίστανται δ᾽ οἱ κηπουροί.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τίνων δὲ τὰ περὶ ὄψου σκευασίας συγγράμματά τε καὶ νόμιμα;

Ἑταῖρος

μαγείρων.

Σωκράτης

μαγειρικοὶ ἄρα οὗτοι νόμοι εἰσί;

Ἑταῖρος

μαγειρικοί.

Σωκράτης

τῶν ἐπισταμένων, ὡς [317α] ἔοικεν, ὄψου σκευασίας ἄρχειν;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ἐπίστανται δέ, ὥς φασιν, οἱ μάγειροι;

Ἑταῖρος

ἐπίστανται γάρ.

Σωκράτης

εἶεν: τίνων δὲ δὴ τὰ περὶ πόλεως διοικήσεως συγγράμματά τε καὶ νόμιμά ἐστιν; ἆρ᾽ οὐ τῶν ἐπισταμένων πόλεων ἄρχειν;

Ἑταῖρος

ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ.

Σωκράτης

ἐπίστανται δὲ ἄλλοι τινὲς ἢ οἱ πολιτικοί τε καὶ οἱ βασιλικοί;

Ἑταῖρος

οὗτοι μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

πολιτικὰ ἄρα ταῦτα συγγράμματά ἐστιν, οὓς οἱ ἄνθρωποι νόμους καλοῦσι, βασιλέων τε καὶ ἀνδρῶν [317β] ἀγαθῶν συγγράμματα.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

ἄλλο τι οὖν οἵ γε ἐπιστάμενοι οὐκ ἄλλοτε ἄλλα συγγράψουσι περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν;

Ἑταῖρος

οὔ.

Σωκράτης

οὐδὲ μεταθήσονταί ποτε περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν ἕτερα καὶ ἕτερα νόμιμα;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐ δῆτα.

Σωκράτης

ἐὰν οὖν ὁρῶμέν τινας ὁπουοῦν τοῦτο ποιοῦντας, πότερα φήσομεν ἐπιστήμονας εἶναι ἢ ἀνεπιστήμονας τοὺς τοῦτο ποιοῦντας;

Ἑταῖρος

ἀνεπιστήμονας.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ὃ μὲν ἂν ὀρθὸν ᾖ, νόμιμον αὐτὸ φήσομεν ἑκάστῳ εἶναι, ἢ τὸ ἰατρικὸν ἢ τὸ μαγειρικὸν ἢ τὸ κηπουρικόν; [317ξ]

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ὃ δ᾽ ἂν μὴ ὀρθὸν ᾖ, οὐκέτι φήσομεν τοῦτο νόμιμον εἶναι;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐκέτι.

Σωκράτης

ἄνομον ἄρα γίγνεται.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀνάγκη.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν καὶ ἐν τοῖς συγγράμμασι τοῖς περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ ἀδίκων καὶ ὅλως περὶ πόλεως διακοσμήσεώς τε καὶ περὶ τοῦ ὡς χρὴ πόλιν διοικεῖν, τὸ μὲν ὀρθὸν νόμος ἐστὶ βασιλικός, τὸ δὲ μὴ ὀρθὸν οὔ, ὃ δοκεῖ νόμος εἶναι τοῖς μὴ εἰδόσιν: ἔστιν γὰρ ἄνομον.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί. [317δ]

Σωκράτης

ὀρθῶς ἄρα ὡμολογήσαμεν νόμον εἶναι τοῦ ὄντος εὕρεσιν.

Ἑταῖρος

φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης

ἔτι δὲ καὶ τόδε ἐν αὐτῷ διαθεώμεθα. τίς ἐπιστήμων διανεῖμαι ἐπὶ γῇ τὰ σπέρματα;

Ἑταῖρος

γεωργός.

Σωκράτης

οὗτος δὲ τὰ ἄξια σπέρματα ἑκάστῃ γῇ διανέμει;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

ὁ γεωργὸς ἄρα νομεὺς ἀγαθὸς τούτων, καὶ οἱ τούτου νόμοι καὶ διανομαὶ ἐπὶ ταῦτα ὀρθαί εἰσιν;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τίς δὲ κρουμάτων ἐπὶ τὰ μέλη ἀγαθὸς νομεύς, καὶ τὰ ἄξια νεῖμαι; καὶ οἱ τίνος νόμοι ὀρθοί εἰσιν;

Ἑταῖρος

οἱ τοῦ [317ε] αὐλητοῦ καὶ τοῦ κιθαριστοῦ.

Σωκράτης

ὁ νομικώτατος ἄρα ἐν τούτοις, οὗτος αὐλητικώτατος.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τίς δὲ τὴν τροφὴν ἐπὶ τὰ τῶν ἀνθρώπων σώματα διανεῖμαι ἄριστος; οὐχ ὅσπερ τὴν ἀξίαν;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

αἱ τούτου ἄρα διανομαὶ καὶ οἱ νόμοι βέλτιστοι, καὶ ὅστις περὶ ταῦτα νομικώτατος, καὶ νομεὺς ἄριστος.

Ἑταῖρος

πάνυ γε.

Σωκράτης

τίς οὗτος; [318α]

Ἑταῖρος

παιδοτρίβης.

Σωκράτης

οὗτος τὴν ἀνθρωπείαν ἀγέλην τοῦ σώματος νέμειν κράτιστος;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

τίς δὲ τὴν τῶν προβάτων ἀγέλην κράτιστος νέμειν; τί ὄνομα αὐτῷ;

Ἑταῖρος

ποιμήν.

Σωκράτης

οἱ τοῦ ποιμένος ἄρα νόμοι ἄριστοι τοῖς προβάτοις.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οἱ δὲ τοῦ βουκόλου τοῖς βουσί.

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οἱ δὲ τοῦ τίνος νόμοι ἄριστοι ταῖς ψυχαῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων; οὐχ οἱ τοῦ βασιλέως; φάθι.

Ἑταῖρος

φημὶ δή. [318β]

Σωκράτης

καλῶς τοίνυν λέγεις. ἔχοις ἂν οὖν εἰπεῖν τίς τῶν παλαιῶν ἀγαθὸς γέγονεν ἐν τοῖς αὐλητικοῖς νόμοις νομοθέτης; ἴσως οὐκ ἐννοεῖς, ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ βούλει σε ὑπομνήσω;

Ἑταῖρος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

ἆρ᾽ οὖν ὁ Μαρσύας λέγεται καὶ τὰ παιδικὰ αὐτοῦ Ὄλυμπος ὁ Φρύξ;

Ἑταῖρος

ἀληθῆ λέγεις.

Σωκράτης

τούτων δὴ καὶ τὰ αὐλήματα θειότατά ἐστι, καὶ μόνα κινεῖ καὶ ἐκφαίνει τοὺς τῶν θεῶν ἐν χρείᾳ ὄντας: καὶ ἔτι καὶ [318ξ] νῦν μόνα λοιπά, ὡς θεῖα ὄντα.

Ἑταῖρος

ἔστι ταῦτα.

Σωκράτης

τίς δὲ λέγεται τῶν παλαιῶν βασιλέων ἀγαθὸς νομοθέτης γεγονέναι, οὗ ἔτι καὶ νῦν τὰ νόμιμα μένει ὡς θεῖα ὄντα;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐκ ἐννοῶ.

Σωκράτης

οὐκ οἶσθα τίνες παλαιοτάτοις νόμοις χρῶνται τῶν Ἑλλήνων;

Ἑταῖρος

ἆρα Λακεδαιμονίους λέγεις καὶ Λυκοῦργον τὸν νομοθέτην;

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ ταῦτά γε οὐδέπω ἴσως ἔτη τριακόσια ἢ ὀλίγῳ τούτων πλείω. ἀλλὰ τούτων τῶν νομίμων τὰ βέλτιστα πόθεν [318δ] ἥκει; οἶσθα;

Ἑταῖρος

φασί γε ἐκ Κρήτης.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν οὗτοι παλαιοτάτοις νόμοις χρῶνται τῶν Ἑλλήνων;

Ἑταῖρος

ναί.

Σωκράτης

οἶσθα οὖν τίνες τούτων ἀγαθοὶ βασιλῆς ἦσαν; Μίνως καὶ Ῥαδάμανθυς, οἱ Διὸς καὶ Εὐρώπης παῖδες, ὧν οἵδε εἰσὶν οἱ νόμοι.

Ἑταῖρος

Ῥαδάμανθύν γέ φασιν, ὦ Σώκρατες, δίκαιον ἄνδρα, τὸν δὲ Μίνων ἄγριόν τινα καὶ χαλεπὸν καὶ ἄδικον.

Σωκράτης

Ἀττικόν, ὦ βέλτιστε, λέγεις μῦθον καὶ τραγικόν. [318ε]

Ἑταῖρος

τί δέ; οὐ ταῦτα λέγεται περὶ Μίνω;

Σωκράτης

οὔκουν ὑπό γε Ὁμήρου καὶ Ἡσιόδου: καίτοι γε πιθανώτεροί εἰσιν ἢ σύμπαντες οἱ τραγῳδοποιοί, ὧν σὺ ἀκούων ταῦτα λέγεις.

Ἑταῖρος

ἀλλὰ τί μὴν οὗτοι περὶ Μίνω λέγουσιν;

Σωκράτης

ἐγὼ δή σοι ἐρῶ, ἵνα μὴ καὶ σὺ ὥσπερ οἱ πολλοὶ ἀσεβῇς. οὐ γὰρ ἔσθ᾽ ὅτι τούτου ἀσεβέστερόν ἐστιν οὐδ᾽ ὅτι χρὴ μᾶλλον εὐλαβεῖσθαι, πλὴν εἰς θεοὺς καὶ λόγῳ καὶ ἔργῳ ἐξαμαρτάνειν, δεύτερον δὲ εἰς τοὺς θείους ἀνθρώπους: ἀλλὰ πάνυ πολλὴν χρὴ προμήθειαν ποιεῖσθαι ἀεί, ὅταν μέλλῃς [319α] ἄνδρα ψέξειν ἢ ἐπαινέσεσθαι, μὴ οὐκ ὀρθῶς εἴπῃς. τούτου καὶ ἕνεκα χρὴ μανθάνειν διαγιγνώσκειν χρηστοὺς καὶ πονηροὺς ἄνδρας. νεμεσᾷ γὰρ ὁ θεός, ὅταν τις ψέγῃ τὸν ἑαυτῷ ὅμοιον ἢ ἐπαινῇ τὸν ἑαυτῷ ἐναντίως ἔχοντα: ἔστι δ᾽ οὗτος ὁ ἀγαθός. μὴ γάρ τι οἴου λίθους μὲν εἶναι ἱεροὺς καὶ ξύλα καὶ ὄρνεα καὶ ὄφεις, ἀνθρώπους δὲ μή: ἀλλὰ πάντων τούτων ἱερώτατόν ἐστιν ἄνθρωπος ὁ ἀγαθός, καὶ μιαρώτατον ὁ πονηρός.

ἤδη οὖν καὶ περὶ Μίνω, ὡς αὐτὸν Ὅμηρός τε καὶ Ἡσίοδος [319β] ἐγκωμιάζουσι, τούτου ἕνεκα φράσω, ἵνα μὴ ἄνθρωπος ὢν ἀνθρώπου εἰς ἥρω Διὸς ὑὸν λόγῳ ἐξαμαρτάνῃς. Ὅμηρος γὰρ περὶ Κρήτης λέγων ὅτι πολλοὶ ἄνθρωποι ἐν αὐτῇ εἰσιν καὶ ἐνενήκοντα πόληες, τῇσι δέ, φησίν—”ἔνι Κνωσὸς μεγάλη πόλις, ἔνθα τε Μίνως

ἐννέωρος βασίλευε Διὸς μεγάλου ὀαριστής.

“Hom. Od. 19.179 [319ξ] ἔστιν οὖν τοῦτο Ὁμήρου ἐγκώμιον εἰς Μίνων διὰ βραχέων εἰρημένον, οἷον οὐδ᾽ εἰς ἕνα τῶν ἡρώων ἐποίησεν Ὅμηρος. ὅτι μὲν γὰρ ὁ Ζεὺς σοφιστής ἐστιν καὶ ἡ τέχνη αὕτη παγκάλη ἐστί, πολλαχοῦ καὶ ἄλλοθι δηλοῖ, ἀτὰρ καὶ ἐνταῦθα. λέγει γὰρ τὸν Μίνων συγγίγνεσθαι ἐνάτῳ ἔτει τῷ Διὶ ἐν λόγοις καὶ φοιτᾶν παιδευθησόμενον ὡς ὑπὸ σοφιστοῦ ὄντος τοῦ Διός. ὅτι οὖν τοῦτο τὸ γέρας οὐκ ἔστιν ὅτῳ ἀπένειμεν Ὅμηρος τῶν ἡρώων, ὑπὸ Διὸς πεπαιδεῦσθαι, ἄλλῳ ἢ Μίνῳ, [319δ] τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν ἔπαινος θαυμαστός. καὶ Ὀδυσσείας ἐν Νεκυίᾳ δικάζοντα χρυσοῦν σκῆπτρον ἔχοντα πεποίηκε τὸν Μίνων, οὐ τὸν Ῥαδάμανθυν: Ῥαδάμανθυν δὲ οὔτ᾽ ἐνταῦθα δικάζοντα πεποίηκεν οὔτε συγγιγνόμενον τῷ Διὶ οὐδαμοῦ. διὰ ταῦτά φημ᾽ ἐγὼ Μίνων ἁπάντων μάλιστα ὑπὸ Ὁμήρου ἐγκεκωμιάσθαι. τὸ γὰρ Διὸς ὄντα παῖδα μόνον ὑπὸ Διὸς πεπαιδεῦσθαι οὐκ ἔχει ὑπερβολὴν ἐπαίνου — τοῦτο γὰρ σημαίνει τὸ ἔπος τὸ—”ἐννέωρος βασίλευε Διὸς μεγάλου ὀαριστής,

“Hom. Od. 11.569 [319ε] συνουσιαστὴν τοῦ Διὸς εἶναι τὸν Μίνων. οἱ γὰρ ὄαροι λόγοι εἰσίν, καὶ ὀαριστὴς συνουσιαστής ἐστιν ἐν λόγοις — ἐφοίτα οὖν δι᾽ ἐνάτου ἔτους εἰς τὸ τοῦ Διὸς ἄντρον ὁ Μίνως, τὰ μὲν μαθησόμενος, τὰ δὲ ἀποδειξόμενος ἃ τῇ προτέρᾳ ἐννεετηρίδι ἐμεμαθήκει παρὰ τοῦ Διός. εἰσὶν δὲ οἳ ὑπολαμβάνουσι τὸν ὀαριστὴν συμπότην καὶ συμπαιστὴν εἶναι τοῦ Διός, ἀλλὰ τῷδε ἄν τις τεκμηρίῳ χρῷτο ὅτι οὐδὲν λέγουσιν οἱ οὕτως [320α] ὑπολαμβάνοντες: πολλῶν γὰρ ὄντων ἀνθρώπων καὶ Ἑλλήνων καὶ βαρβάρων, οὐκ ἔστιν οἵτινες ἀπέχονται συμποσίων καὶ ταύτης τῆς παιδιᾶς, οὗ ἔστιν οἶνος, ἄλλοι ἢ Κρῆτες καὶ Λακεδαιμόνιοι δεύτεροι, μαθόντες παρὰ Κρητῶν. ἐν Κρήτῃ δὲ εἷς οὗτός ἐστι τῶν ἄλλων νόμων οὓς Μίνως ἔθηκε, μὴ συμπίνειν ἀλλήλοις εἰς μέθην. καίτοι δῆλον ὅτι ἃ ἐνόμιζεν καλὰ εἶναι, ταῦτα νόμιμα ἔθηκεν καὶ τοῖς αὑτοῦ πολίταις. [320β] οὐ γάρ που, ὥσπερ γε φαῦλος ἄνθρωπος, ὁ Μίνως ἐνόμιζεν μὲν ἕτερα, ἐποίει δὲ ἄλλα παρ᾽ ἃ ἐνόμιζεν: ἀλλὰ ἦν αὕτη ἡ συνουσία ὥσπερ ἐγὼ λέγω, διὰ λόγων ἐπὶ παιδείᾳ εἰς ἀρετήν. ὅθεν δὴ καὶ τοὺς νόμους τούτους ἔθηκε τοῖς αὑτοῦ πολίταις, δι᾽ οὓς ἥ τε Κρήτη τὸν πάντα χρόνον εὐδαιμονεῖ καὶ Λακεδαίμων, ἀφ᾽ οὗ ἤρξατο τούτοις χρῆσθαι, ἅτε θείοις οὖσιν.

Ῥαδάμανθυς δὲ ἀγαθὸς μὲν ἦν ἀνήρ: ἐπεπαίδευτο γὰρ [320ξ] ὑπὸ τοῦ Μίνω. ἐπεπαίδευτο μέντοι οὐχ ὅλην τὴν βασιλικὴν τέχνην, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπηρεσίαν τῇ βασιλικῇ, ὅσον ἐπιστατεῖν ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις: ὅθεν καὶ δικαστὴς ἀγαθὸς ἐλέχθη εἶναι. νομοφύλακι γὰρ αὐτῷ ἐχρῆτο ὁ Μίνως κατὰ τὸ ἄστυ, τὰ δὲ κατὰ τὴν ἄλλην Κρήτην τῷ Τάλῳ. ὁ γὰρ Τάλως τρὶς περιῄει τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ κατὰ τὰς κώμας, φυλάττων τοὺς νόμους ἐν αὐταῖς, ἐν χαλκοῖς γραμματείοις ἔχων γεγραμμένους τοὺς νόμους, ὅθεν χαλκοῦς ἐκλήθη. εἴρηκε δὲ καὶ Ἡσίοδος ἀδελφὰ [320δ] τούτων εἰς τὸν Μίνων. μνησθεὶς γὰρ αὐτοῦ τοῦ ὀνόματος φησίν—”ὃς βασιλεύτατος γένετο θνητῶν βασιλήων,

καὶ πλείστων ἤνασσε περικτιόνων ἀνθρώπων,

Ζηνὸς ἔχων σκῆπτρον: τῷ καὶ πολέων βασίλευεν.

“Hes. Fr. 144καὶ οὗτος λέγει τὸ τοῦ Διὸς σκῆπτρον οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ τὴν παιδείαν τὴν τοῦ Διός, ᾗ εὔθυνε τὴν Κρήτην.

Ἑταῖρος

διὰ τί οὖν ποτε, ὦ Σώκρατες, αὕτη ἡ φήμη κατεσκέδασται [320ε] τοῦ Μίνω ὡς ἀπαιδεύτου τινὸς καὶ χαλεποῦ ὄντος;

Σωκράτης

δι᾽ ὃ καὶ σύ, ὦ βέλτιστε, ἐὰν σωφρονῇς, εὐλαβήσῃ, καὶ ἄλλος πᾶς ἀνὴρ ὅτῳ μέλει τοῦ εὐδόκιμον εἶναι, μηδέποτε ἀπεχθάνεσθαι ἀνδρὶ ποιητικῷ μηδενί. οἱ γὰρ ποιηταὶ μέγα δύνανται εἰς δόξαν, ἐφ᾽ ὁπότερα ἂν ποιῶσιν εἰς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους, ἢ εὐλογοῦντες ἢ κακηγοροῦντες. ὃ δὴ καὶ ἐξήμαρτεν ὁ Μίνως, πολεμήσας τῇδε τῇ πόλει, ἐν ᾗ ἄλλη τε πολλὴ σοφία ἐστὶ καὶ ποιηταὶ παντοδαποὶ τῆς τε ἄλλης ποιήσεως [321α] καὶ τραγῳδίας. ἡ δὲ τραγῳδία ἐστὶν παλαιὸν ἐνθάδε, οὐχ ὡς οἴονται ἀπὸ Θέσπιδος ἀρξαμένη οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ Φρυνίχου, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ θέλεις ἐννοῆσαι, πάνυ παλαιὸν αὐτὸ εὑρήσεις ὂν τῆσδε τῆς πόλεως εὕρημα. ἔστιν δὲ τῆς ποιήσεως δημοτερπέστατόν τε καὶ ψυχαγωγικώτατον ἡ τραγῳδία: ἐν ᾗ δὴ καὶ ἐντείνοντες ἡμεῖς τὸν Μίνων τιμωρούμεθα ἀνθ᾽ ὧν ἡμᾶς ἠνάγκασε τοὺς δασμοὺς τελεῖν ἐκείνους. τοῦτο οὖν ἐξήμαρτεν ὁ Μίνως, ἀπεχθόμενος ἡμῖν, ὅθεν δή, ὃ σὺ ἐρωτᾷς, κακοδοξότερος [321β] γέγονεν. ἐπεὶ ὅτι γε ἀγαθὸς ἦν καὶ νόμιμος, ὅπερ καὶ ἐν τοῖς πρόσθεν ἐλέγομεν, νομεὺς ἀγαθός, τοῦτο μέγιστον σημεῖον, ὅτι ἀκίνητοι αὐτοῦ οἱ νόμοι εἰσίν, ἅτε τοῦ ὄντος περὶ πόλεως οἰκήσεως ἐξευρόντος εὖ τὴν ἀλήθειαν.

Ἑταῖρος

δοκεῖς μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἰκότα τὸν λόγον εἰρηκέναι.

Σωκράτης

οὐκοῦν εἰ ἐγὼ ἀληθῆ λέγω, δοκοῦσί σοι παλαιοτάτοις Κρῆτες οἱ Μίνω καὶ Ῥαδαμάνθυος πολῖται νόμοις χρῆσθαι;

Ἑταῖρος

φαίνονται.

Σωκράτης

οὗτοι ἄρα τῶν παλαιῶν ἄριστοι νομοθέται γεγόνασιν, [321ξ] νομῆς τε καὶ ποιμένες ἀνδρῶν, ὥσπερ καὶ Ὅμηρος ἔφη ποιμένα λαῶν εἶναι τὸν ἀγαθὸν στρατηγόν.

Ἑταῖρος

πάνυ μὲν οὖν.

Σωκράτης

φέρε δὴ πρὸς Διὸς φιλίου: εἴ τις ἡμᾶς ἔροιτο, ὁ τῷ σώματι ἀγαθὸς νομοθέτης τε καὶ νομεὺς τί ἐστιν ταῦτα ἃ διανέμων ἐπὶ τὸ σῶμα βέλτιον αὐτὸ ποιεῖ, εἴποιμεν ἂν καλῶς τε καὶ διὰ βραχέων ἀποκρινόμενοι, ὅτι τροφήν τε καὶ πόνους, τῇ μὲν αὔξων, τοῖς δὲ γυμνάζων καὶ συνιστὰς τὸ σῶμα αὐτό.

Ἑταῖρος

ὀρθῶς γε. [321δ]

Σωκράτης

εἰ οὖν δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο ἔροιτο ἡμᾶς, ‘τί δὲ δή ποτε ἐκεῖνά ἐστιν, ἃ ὁ ἀγαθὸς νομοθέτης τε καὶ νομεὺς διανέμων ἐπὶ τὴν ψυχὴν βελτίω αὐτὴν ποιεῖ;’ τί ἂν ἀποκρινάμενοι οὐκ ἂν αἰσχυνθεῖμεν καὶ ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν καὶ τῆς ἡλικίας αὑτῶν;

Ἑταῖρος

οὐκέτι τοῦτ᾽ ἔχω εἰπεῖν.

Σωκράτης

ἀλλὰ μέντοι αἰσχρόν γε τῇ ψυχῇ ἡμῶν ἐστιν ἑκατέρου, τὰ μὲν ἐν αὐταῖς φαίνεσθαι μὴ εἰδυίας, ἐν οἷς αὐταῖς ἔνεστι καὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ φλαῦρον, τὰ δὲ τοῦ σώματος καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἐσκέφθαι.

EPINOMIS

Κλεινίας Κρής

Ἀθηναῖος Ξένος

Μέγιλλος Λακεδαιμόνιος

[973α]

Κλεινίας

πρὸς μὲν τὸ τῆς ὁμολογίας ἥκομεν ἅπαντες ὀρθῶς, ὦ ξένε, τρεῖς ὄντες, ἐγὼ καὶ σὺ καὶ Μέγιλλος ὅδε, τὸ τῆς φρονήσεως ἐπισκεψόμενοι τίνι ποτὲ χρὴ λόγῳ διεξελθεῖν, ὃ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην ἕξιν φαμέν, ὅταν διανοηθῇ, κάλλιστ᾽ ἔχειν ποιεῖν πρὸς φρόνησιν ὅσην δυνατὸν ἀνθρώπῳ σχεῖν. τὰ μὲν [973β] γὰρ ἄλλα, ὥς φαμεν, ἅπαντα διεξήλθομεν ὅσα ἦν περὶ νόμων θέσιν: ὃ δὲ μέγιστον εὑρεῖν τε καὶ εἰπεῖν, τί ποτε μαθὼν θνητὸς ἄνθρωπος σοφὸς ἂν εἴη, τοῦτο οὔτε εἴπομεν οὔτε ηὕρομεν, νῦν τε πειρώμεθα τοῦτο μὴ καταλιπεῖν: σχεδὸν γὰρ ἀτελὲς ἂν πράξαιμεν οὗ χάριν ἅπαντες ὡρμήσαμεν, ὡς φανερὰ ποιήσοντες ἐξ ἀρχῆς μέχρι τέλους.

Ἀθηναῖος

ὦ φίλε Κλεινία, καλῶς μὲν λέγεις, ἄτοπον μὴν ἀκούσεσθαί σε λόγον οἶμαι, καί τινα τρόπον οὐκ ἄτοπον αὖ. [973ξ] πολλοὶ γὰρ δὴ προστυχεῖς τῷ βίῳ γιγνόμενοι τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον φέρουσιν, ὡς οὐκ ἔσται μακάριον τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος οὐδ᾽ εὔδαιμον. ἕπου δὴ καὶ σύνιδε ἄν σοι δοκῶ κἀγὼ μετ᾽ αὐτῶν καλῶς τοῦ τοιούτου πέρι λέγειν. οὔ φημι εἶναι δυνατὸν ἀνθρώποις μακαρίοις τε καὶ εὐδαίμοσιν γενέσθαι πλὴν ὀλίγων — μέχριπερ ἂν ζῶμεν τοῦτο διορίζομαι: καλὴ δὲ ἐλπὶς τελευτήσαντι τυχεῖν ἁπάντων ὧν ἕνεκά τις προθυμοῖτ᾽ ἂν ζῶν τε ὡς κάλλιστ᾽ ἂν ζῆν κατὰ δύναμιν καὶ τελευτήσας τελευτῆς [973δ] τοιαύτης τυχεῖν — λέγω δ᾽ οὐδὲν σοφόν, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ ἅπαντες Ἕλληνές τε καὶ βάρβαροι γιγνώσκομέν τινα τρόπον, ὡς ἐξ ἀρχῆς τὸ γενέσθαι χαλεπὸν ἅπαντι ζῴῳ: πρῶτον μὲν τὸ μετασχεῖν τῆς τῶν κυουμένων ἕξεως, ἔπειτ᾽ αὖ τὸ γίγνεσθαι, καὶ ἔτι τὸ τρέφεσθαι καὶ παιδεύεσθαι, διὰ πόνων μυρίων [974α] ταῦτα γίγνεσθαι σύμπαντα, ὥς φαμεν ἅπαντες. καὶ χρόνος βραχὺς ἄν τις εἴη πρὸς λογισμὸν μή τοι τῶν μοχθηρῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ὃ πᾶς ἂν ὑπολάβοι μέτριον. οὗτος δὲ σχεδὸν ἀναπνοὴν δοκεῖ ποιεῖν τινα κατὰ μέσον πῃ βίον τὸν ἀνθρώπινον: ταχύ γε μὴν ἐπιλαβὸν γῆρας ὁντινοῦν ποιήσει᾽ ἂν μήποτ᾽ ἐθελῆσαι πάλιν ἀναβιῶναι, λογισάμενον τὸν βεβιωμένον ἑαυτῷ βίον, ὅστις μὴ τυγχάνει παιδικῆς δόξης μεστὸς ὤν. τούτων δὴ τί ποτέ μοι τεκμήριον; ὅτι πέφυκεν ταύτῃ τὸ νῦν ζητούμενον [974β] τῷ λόγῳ. ζητοῦμεν δὲ δὴ τίνα τρόπον σοφοὶ γενησόμεθα, ὡς οὔσης τινὸς ἑκάστοις ταύτης τῆς δυνάμεως: ἡ δὲ φυγῇ φεύγει τότε ὅταν τις πρός τινα φρόνησιν ἴῃ τῶν λεγομένων τεχνῶν ἢ φρονήσεων ἤ τινων ἄλλων τοιούτων ὡς οἰόμεθα ἐπιστημῶν, ὡς ἀξίας τούτων οὐδεμιᾶς οὔσης ἐπίκλησιν ῥηθῆναι τῆς περὶ ταῦτα σοφίας τἀνθρώπινα, τῆς δὲ ψυχῆς σφόδρα πεποιθυίας καὶ μαντευομένης ὡς οὔσης αὐτῇ κατά [974ξ] τινα φύσιν ταύτης, τίς δέ ἐστιν καὶ πότε καὶ πῶς, οὐ πάνυ δυναμένης ἐξευρίσκειν. ἆρ᾽ οὐ τούτῳ σφόδρα προσέοιχ᾽ ἡμῶν ἡ περὶ σοφίαν ἀπορία καὶ ζήτησις, πλείων τῆς ἐλπίδος ἑκάστῳ γιγνομένη τῶν ὅσοι ἐν ἡμῖν δυνατοὶ γίγνονται φρονίμως αὑτοὺς ἄλλους τε ἐξετάσαι συμφώνως διὰ λόγων πάντων καὶ πάντῃ λεγομένων; ταῦτα οὐχ οὕτως ἢ ταύτῃ συμφήσομεν ἔχειν;

Κλεινίας

συμφήσομεν ἐπ᾽ ἐλπίδι σοι ἴσως ταῦτ᾽, ὦ ξένε, τῇ [974δ] μετὰ σοῦ κατὰ χρόνον ἂν γενομένῃ, δοξάσαι περὶ αὐτῶν εἰς αὖθις τὸ ἀληθέστατον.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὰς ἄλλας τοίνυν ὅσαι ἐπιστῆμαι μέν εἰσιν λεγόμεναι, σοφὸν δὲ οὐκ ἀποτελοῦσιν τὸν λαμβάνοντά τε αὐτὰς καὶ ἔχοντα, πρῶτον διεξιτέον, ὅπως ταύτας ἐκποδὼν θέμενοι, πειρώμεθα ἐκείνας ὧν δεόμεθα παραθέσθαι τε καὶ παραθέμενοι μανθάνειν.

πρῶτον μὲν τοίνυν ὧν πρῶτον δεῖ θνητῷ γένει, ἴδωμεν [974ε] ὡς εἰσὶ μὲν ἀναγκαιόταται σχεδὸν ἀληθῶς τε πρῶται, ὁ δὲ ἐπιστήμων αὐτῶν γιγνόμενος, εἰ καὶ κατ᾽ ἀρχὰς ἔδοξέν τις εἶναί ποτε σοφός, οὔκουν νῦν γε οὔτε σοφὸς εἶναι δοξάζεται [975α] ὀνείδη τε ἴσχει μᾶλλον ἀπὸ τῆς τοιαύτης ἐπιστήμης. ἐροῦμεν δὴ αἵ τ᾽ εἰσὶν καὶ ὅτι πᾶς ἀνὴρ αὐτάς, σχεδὸν ὅσοις ἀγὼν πρόκειται τοῦ δοκεῖν ὡς ἄριστον ἄνδρα συμβῆναι γενόμενον ἄν, φεύγει διὰ τὰς κτήσεις τῆς φρονήσεώς τε καὶ ἐπιτηδεύσεως. ἔστω δὴ πρῶτον μὲν ἡ τῆς ἀλληλοφαγίας τῶν ζῴων ἡμᾶς τῶν μέν, ὡς ὁ μῦθός ἐστιν, τὸ παράπαν ἀποστήσασα, τῶν δὲ εἰς τὴν νόμιμον ἐδωδὴν καταστήσασα. ἵλεῳ δ᾽ ἡμῖν οἱ πρόσθεν εἴησάν τε καὶ εἰσίν — οἵτινες μὲν [975β] γὰρ οὖν† ἐλέγομεν, πρῶτοι χαιρέτωσαν — ἡ δ᾽ οὖν ἀλφίτων τε καὶ ἀλεύρων ποίησις ἅμα καὶ τροφὴ καλὴ μὲν καὶ ἀγαθή, σοφὸν δὲ ἄνδρα τελέως οὐκ ἐθελήσει ποτὲ ἀπεργάσασθαι: τοῦτο γὰρ αὐτό, ἡ τῆς ποιήσεως ἐπίκλησις, τῶν ποιουμένων αὐτῶν δυσχέρειαν ἀπεργάζοιτ᾽ ἄν. σχεδὸν δ᾽ οὐδὲ χώρας συμπάσης γεωργία: οὐ γὰρ τέχνῃ ἀλλὰ φύσει κατὰ θεὸν πάντες φαινόμεθα γῆν μετακεχειρίσθαι. καὶ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἡ τῶν οἰκήσεών γε συνυφὴ καὶ σύμπασα οἰκοδομία καὶ σκευῶν [975ξ] πάντων ἀπεργαστική, χαλκεία τε καὶ ἡ τῶν τεκτονικῶν καὶ πλαστικῶν καὶ πλεκτικῶν καὶ ἔτι συμπάντων ὀργάνων παρασκευή, δήμῳ τὸ πρόσφορον ἔχουσα, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐπ᾽ ἀρετῇ λεγομένη. καὶ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ἡ σύμπασα θηρευτική, πολλή περ καὶ τεχνικὴ γεγονυῖα, τό γε μεγαλοπρεπὲς σὺν τῷ σοφῷ οὐκ ἀποδίδωσιν. οὐ μὴν οὐδὲ μαντική γε οὐδ᾽ ἑρμηνευτικὴ τὸ παράπαν: τὸ λεγόμενον γὰρ οἶδεν μόνον, εἰ δ᾽ ἀληθές, οὐκ ἔμαθεν.

ὅτε δὴ τὴν τῶν ἀναγκαίων ὁρῶμεν κτῆσιν διὰ τέχνης μὲν [975δ] ἀπεργαζομένην, τούτων δὲ οὐδεμίαν οὐδένα σοφὸν ποιοῦσαν, τό γε μετὰ τοῦτο παιδιά τις ἂν λείποιτο, μιμητικὴ μὲν τὸ πλεῖστον ἀλλ᾽ οὐδαμῇ σπουδαία. πολλοῖς μὲν γὰρ ὀργάνοις μιμοῦνται, πολλοῖς δ᾽ αὐτῶν τῶν σωμάτων οὐ πάντως εὐσχήμοσι μιμήμασιν, τά τε κατὰ λόγους καὶ μοῦσαν πᾶσαν, καὶ ὅσων γραφικὴ μήτηρ, πολλῶν καὶ παντοίων ποικιλμάτων ἀποτελουμένων ἐν πολλοῖς ὑγροῖς καὶ ξηροῖς γένεσιν: ὧν σοφὸν οὐδένα εἰς οὐδὲν σπουδῇ τῇ μεγίστῃ δημιουργοῦντα ἡ μιμητικὴ παρέχεται. [975ε]

πάντων δ᾽ ἐξειργασμένων τὸ λοιπὸν βοήθεια γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν μυρία μυρίοις, ἡ μὲν μεγίστη τε καὶ εἰς πλεῖστα πολεμικὴ κληθεῖσα, στρατηγικὴ τέχνη, εὐδοκιμωτάτη πρὸς χρείαν, εὐτυχίας πλείστης δεομένη, μᾶλλον δὲ ἀνδρείᾳ κατὰ φύσιν ἢ [976α] σοφίᾳ δεδομένη. ἣν δὲ καλοῦσι μὲν ἰατρικήν, βοήθεια δέ που καὶ αὕτη σχεδὸν ὅσων ὧραι ψύχει καὶ καύματι ἀκαίρῳ καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις ληίζονται τὴν τῶν ζῴων φύσιν. εὐδόκιμον δὲ οὐδὲν τούτων εἰς σοφίαν τὴν ἀληθεστάτην: ἄμετρα γὰρ δόξαις φορεῖται τοπαζόμενα. βοηθοὺς δέ που καὶ τοὺς κυβερνήτας ἅμα καὶ τοὺς ναύτας ἐροῦμεν, καὶ τούτων ἄνδρα σοφὸν μηδένα τις ἡμᾶς παραμυθούμενος ἐξ ἁπάντων διαγγελλέτω: οὐ γὰρ ἂν εἰδείη τις πνεύματος ὀργὴν [976β] οὐδὲ φιλίαν, ὃ προσφιλὲς ἁπάσῃ κυβερνητικῇ. καὶ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ὁπόσοι βοηθοὶ δίκαις ἐν τῇ τοῦ λέγειν ῥώμῃ φασὶ γίγνεσθαι, μνήμῃ καὶ τριβῇ δόξης ἤθεσιν προσέχοντες τὸν νοῦν, ἀληθείας δὲ τῶν ὄντως δικαίων ἐκτὸς παρεσφαλμένοι.

λοιπὴ δ᾽ ἔτι πρὸς δόξαν σοφίας ἐστίν τις ἄτοπος δύναμις, ἣν φύσιν ἂν οἱ πολλοὶ μᾶλλον ἢ σοφίαν ὀνομάσειαν, τότε ὅταν τινά τις συννοῇ ῥᾳδίως μὲν ὅτιπερ ἂν μανθάνῃ μανθάνοντα, [976ξ] μάλα δὲ πολλὰ καὶ ἀσφαλῶς μνημονεύοντα, ὅταν τε τὸ πρόσφορον ἑκάστῳ διαμνημονεύῃ τις, ὅτι γιγνόμενον ἂν πρέποι, τοῦτο δὲ ταχὺ δρᾷ: ταῦτα γὰρ ἅπαντα οἱ μὲν φύσιν, οἱ δὲ σοφίαν, οἱ δὲ ἀγχίνοιαν θήσουσιν φύσεως, σοφὸν δὲ ὄντως οὐδενὶ τούτων οὐδεὶς τῶν ἐμφρόνων ἐθελήσει ποτὲ καλεῖν.

ἀλλὰ μὴν δεῖ φανῆναί γέ τινα ἐπιστήμην ἣν ἔχων σοφὸς γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὁ σοφὸς ὄντως ὢν καὶ μὴ μόνον δοξαζόμενος. ἴδωμεν δή. χαλεπῷ μὲν γὰρ λόγῳ παντάπασιν [976δ] ἐπιχειροῦμεν, ἑτέραν πάρεξ τῶν εἰρημένων εὑρεῖν, ἣ σοφία μὲν λέγοιτ᾽ ἂν ὄντως τε καὶ εἰκότως, ὁ δὲ λαβὼν οὔτε βάναυσος οὔτ᾽ ἠλίθιος ἔσται, σοφὸς δὲ καὶ ἀγαθὸς δι᾽ αὐτὴν πολίτης τε καὶ ἄρχων καὶ ἀρχόμενος ἐνδίκως ἔσται πόλεως ἅμα καὶ ἐμμελής. κατίδωμεν δὴ ταύτην πρώτην, τίς ποτ᾽ ἐκ τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης φύσεως ἐπιστήμη μία διεξελθοῦσα ἢ μὴ παραγενομένη τῶν νῦν παρουσῶν ἀνοητότατον ἂν καὶ ἀφρονέστατον παράσχοιτο ζῷον τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων. οὐ δὴ [976ε] τοῦτό γε πάνυ χαλεπὸν τὸ κατιδεῖν. μία γὰρ ὡς εἰπεῖν πρὸς μίαν ἡ τὸν ἀριθμὸν δοῦσα παντὶ τῷ θνητῷ γένει τοῦτ᾽ ἂν δράσειεν: θεὸν δ᾽ αὐτὸν μᾶλλον ἤ τινα τύχην ἡγοῦμαι δόντα ἡμῖν σῴζειν ἡμᾶς. ὃν δὲ θεὸν ἡγοῦμαι, φράζειν χρή, καίπερ ἄτοπον ὄντα, καί πως οὐκ ἄτοπον αὖ: πῶς γὰρ τὸ [977α] ἀγαθῶν αἴτιον ἡμῖν συμπάντων οὐ καὶ τοῦ πολὺ μεγίστου, τῆς φρονήσεως, αἴτιον ἡγεῖσθαι δεῖ γεγονέναι; τίνα δὴ καὶ σεμνύνων ποτὲ λέγω θεόν, ὦ Μέγιλλέ τε καὶ Κλεινία; σχεδὸν Οὐρανόν, ὃν καὶ δικαιότατον, ὡς σύμπαντες ἄλλοι δαίμονες ἅμα καὶ θεοί, τιμᾶν τε καὶ εὔχεσθαι διαφερόντως αὐτῷ. τὸ δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων αἴτιον ἀγαθῶν πάντων ἡμῖν αὐτὸν γεγονέναι πάντες ἂν ὁμολογοῖμεν: δοῦναι δὲ ἅμα καὶ ἀριθμὸν ἡμεῖς γε ὄντως αὐτόν φαμεν, ἔτι δὲ καὶ δώσειν, ἐάν [977β] τις θέλῃ συνακολουθεῖν. ἐὰν γὰρ ἴῃ τις ἐπὶ θεωρίαν ὀρθὴν τὴν τοῦδε, εἴτε κόσμον εἴτε ὄλυμπον εἴτε οὐρανὸν ἐν ἡδονῇ τῳ λέγειν, λεγέτω μέν, ἀκολουθείτω δὲ ὅπῃ ποικίλλων αὑτὸν καὶ τὰ ἐν αὑτῷ στρέφων ἄστρα πάσας διεξόδους ὥρας τε καὶ τροφὴν πᾶσιν παρέχεται. καὶ τὴν ἄλλην δὲ οὖν φρόνησιν, ὡς φαῖμεν ἄν, σὺν ἀριθμῷ παντί, καὶ τἆλλ᾽ ἀγαθά: τοῦτο δὲ μέγιστον, ἐάν τις τὴν ἀριθμῶν αὐτοῦ δόσιν δεξάμενος ἐπεξέλθῃ πᾶσαν τὴν περίοδον.

ἔτι δὲ σμικρὸν ἐπανελθόντες πως τοῖς λόγοις ἀναμνησθῶμεν [977ξ] ὅτι καὶ μάλ᾽ ὀρθῶς ἐνοήσαμεν ὡς, εἴπερ ἀριθμὸν ἐκ τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης φύσεως ἐξέλοιμεν, οὐκ ἄν ποτέ τι φρόνιμοι γενοίμεθα. οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἔτι ποτὲ ψυχὴ τούτου τοῦ ζῴου πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν λάβοι σχεδόν, ὅτου λόγος ἀπείη: ζῷον δὲ ὅτι μὴ γιγνώσκοι δύο καὶ τρία μηδὲ περιττὸν μηδὲ ἄρτιον, ἀγνοοῖ δὲ τὸ παράπαν ἀριθμόν, οὐκ ἄν ποτε διδόναι λόγον ἔχοι περὶ ὧν αἰσθήσεις καὶ μνήμας ἔχοι μόνον εἴη κεκτημένον, τὴν [977δ] δὲ ἄλλην ἀρετήν, ἀνδρείαν καὶ σωφροσύνην, οὐδὲν ἀποκωλύει. στερόμενος δὲ ἀληθοῦς λόγου σοφὸς οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο, ὅτῳ δὲ σοφία μὴ προσείη, πάσης ἀρετῆς τὸ μέγιστον μέρος, οὐκ ἂν ἔτι τελέως ἀγαθὸς γενόμενος εὐδαίμων ποτὲ γένοιτο. οὕτως ἀριθμὸν μὲν ἀνάγκη πᾶσα ὑποτίθεσθαι: διότι δὲ τοῦτο ἀνάγκη, λόγος ἔτι πλείων πάντων γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν τῶν εἰρημένων. ἀλλὰ καὶ ὁ νῦν ὀρθῶς ῥηθήσεται, ὅτι καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν λεγόμενα, ἃ νυνδὴ διήλθομεν ἐῶντες εἶναι πάσας τὰς [977ε] τέχνας, οὐδὲ τούτων ἓν οὐδὲν μένει, πάντα δ᾽ ἀπολείπεται τὸ παράπαν, ὅταν ἀριθμητικήν τις ἀνέλῃ.

δόξειε δ᾽ ἂν ἴσως τις βραχέων ἕνεκα ἀριθμοῦ δεῖσθαι τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος, εἰς τὰς τέχνας ἀποβλέψας — καίτοι μέγα μὲν καὶ τοῦτο — εἰ δέ τις ἴδοι τὸ θεῖον τῆς γενέσεως καὶ τὸ θνητόν, ἐν ᾧ καὶ τὸ θεοσεβὲς γνωρισθήσεται καὶ ὁ ἀριθμὸς [978α] ὄντως, οὐκ ἂν ἔτι πᾶς ἄν τις γνοίη σύμπαντα ἀριθμὸν ὅσης ἡμῖν δυνάμεως αἴτιος ἂν εἴη συγγιγνόμενος — ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ κατὰ μουσικὴν πᾶσαν διαριθμουμένων κινήσεώς τε καὶ φθόγγων δῆλον ὅτι δεῖ — καὶ τὸ μέγιστον, ἀγαθῶν ὡς πάντων αἴτιον, ὅτι δὲ κακῶν οὐδενός, εὖ τοῦτο γνωστέον, ὃ καὶ τάχα γένοιτ᾽ ἄν. ἀλλ᾽ ἡ σχεδὸν ἀλόγιστός τε καὶ ἄτακτος ἀσχήμων τε καὶ ἄρρυθμος ἀνάρμοστός τε φορά, καὶ πάνθ᾽ ὁπόσα κακοῦ [978β] κεκοινώνηκέν τινος, ἐπιλέλειπται παντὸς ἀριθμοῦ, καὶ δεῖ τοῦθ᾽ οὕτω διανοεῖσθαι τὸν μέλλοντα εὐδαίμονα τελευτήσειν: καὶ τό γε δὴ δίκαιόν τε καὶ ἀγαθὸν καὶ καλὸν καὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα οὐδείς ποτε μὴ γιγνώσκων, ἀληθοῦς δόξης ἐπιλαβόμενος, διαριθμήσεται πρὸς τὸ ἑαυτόν τε καὶ ἕτερον πεῖσαι τὸ παράπαν.

ἴωμεν δὴ σκεψόμενοι πρὸς τοῦτ᾽ αὐτό, πῶς ἐμάθομεν ἀριθμεῖν. φέρε: τὸ γὰρ ἓν δὴ καὶ δύο γέγονε πόθεν ἡμῖν [978ξ] ὥστ᾽ ἐννοῆσαι, φύσιν ταύτην ἔχουσιν ἐκ τοῦ παντὸς πρὸς τὸ δυνατοὺς ἐννοεῖν εἶναι; πολλοῖς δὲ ἄλλοις αὖ τῶν ζῴων οὐδ᾽ εἰς αὐτὸ τοῦθ᾽ ἡ φύσις παραγέγονεν, ὥστε μαθεῖν δυνατοῖς εἶναι παρὰ τοῦ πατρὸς ἀριθμεῖν, παρὰ δ᾽ ἡμῖν τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ πρῶτον ἐνῴκισεν ὁ θεός, ὥστε ἱκανοῖς εἶναι δεικνύμενον συννοεῖν, ἔπειτ᾽ ἔδειξεν καὶ δείκνυσιν: ὧν τί κάλλιον ἓν ἑνὸς ἄν τις θεάσαιτο πλὴν τὸ τῆς ἡμέρας γένος, εἶτα εἰς τὸ τῆς νυκτὸς ἔλθοι μέρος ἔχων ὄψιν, ὅθεν ἕτερον πᾶν αὐτῷ [978δ] φαίνοιτ᾽ ἄν; καὶ ἑλίττων δὴ ταῦτα αὐτὰ ὅταν μὴ παύηται πολλὰς μὲν νύκτας, πολλὰς δὲ ἡμέρας ἃς οὐρανός, οὐδέποτε παύεται διδάσκων ἀνθρώπους ἕν τε καὶ δύο, πρὶν ἂν καὶ ὁ δυσμαθέστατος ἱκανῶς μάθῃ ἀριθμεῖν: ὡς γὰρ καὶ τρία καὶ τέτταρα καὶ πολλά, ἕκαστος ἡμῶν ἐπινοήσειεν ἂν ὁρῶν ταῦτα. καὶ ἐκ τούτων ἓν ἐποίησεν τὴν σελήνην ὁ θεὸς ἀπεργασάμενος, ἣ τοτὲ μὲν μείζων φαινομένη, τοτὲ δ᾽ ἐλάττων, διεξῆλθεν [978ε] ἄλλην ἀεὶ φαίνουσα ἡμέραν, μέχρι πεντεκαίδεκα ἡμερῶν καὶ νυκτῶν: αὕτη δ᾽ ἔστιν περίοδος, εἰ βούλεταί τις τὸν κύκλον ἕνα ὅλον εἰς ἓν τιθέναι, ὥστε ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν καὶ τὸ δυσμαθέστατον ἂν μαθεῖν ζῷον, οἷς παρέδωκεν φύσιν ὁ θεὸς τοῦ δυνατοῖς εἶναι μανθάνειν. καὶ μέχρι μὲν τούτων τε καὶ ἐν τούτοις σύμπαν τὸ δυνατὸν τῶν ζῴων μάλα ἀριθμητικὸν [979α] γέγονε, τὸ καθ᾽ ἓν αὐτὸ σκοποῦν: τὸ δὲ πρὸς ἄλληλα πάντα ἀριθμὸν ἀεὶ λογίζεσθαι, δοκῶ μὲν μείζονος ἕνεκα, καὶ τούτου δὲ σελήνην, καθάπερ εἴπομεν, αὐξανομένην καὶ φθίνουσαν ἐμποιήσας, μῆνας πρὸς τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν συνεστήσατο, καὶ πάντα ἀριθμὸν πρὸς ἀριθμὸν ἤρξατο συνορᾶν εὐδαίμονι τύχῃ. διὰ δὲ ταῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν καρποί τε καὶ ἐγκύμων ἡ γῆ γέγονεν, ὥστ᾽ εἶναι τροφὴν πᾶσι τοῖς ζῴοις, ἀνέμων τε καὶ ὑετῶν γιγνομένων οὐκ ἐξαισίων οὐδὲ ἀμέτρων: ἀλλ᾽ εἴ τι [979β] παρὰ ταῦτα γίγνεται πρὸς τὸ φλαῦρον, οὐ τὴν θείαν ἀλλὰ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην αἰτιᾶσθαι χρὴ φύσιν, οὐκ ἐν δίκῃ διανέμουσαν τὸν αὑτῶν βίον. ἡμῖν δ᾽ οὖν ζητοῦσιν περὶ νόμων σχεδὸν ἔδοξεν τὰ μὲν ἄλλα ῥᾴδιά τ᾽ εἶναι γνῶναι τὰ βέλτιστα ἀνθρώποις, καὶ πᾶς ἂν ἱκανὸς γίγνεσθαι καὶ συνεῖναι τὰ λεγόμενα καὶ ποιεῖν, εἰ γνοίη τί ποτ᾽ ἔστιν ὃ συμφέρειν εἰκὸς καὶ τί τὸ μὴ συμφέρον: ἔδοξε δὴ καὶ νῦν ἔτι δοκεῖ τὰ [979ξ] μὲν ἄλλα ἐπιτηδεύματα πάντα οὐ σφόδρα χαλεπὰ εἶναι, τὸ δὲ τίνα τρόπον χρὴ γίγνεσθαι χρηστοὺς ἀνθρώπους παγχάλεπον. καὶ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα αὖ πάντα κτᾶσθαι χρηστά, τὸ λεγόμενόν τε, καὶ δυνατὸν καὶ οὐ χαλεπόν, οὐσίαν τε ὅσην δεῖ καὶ μὴ δεῖ, καὶ σῶμα οἷόν τε δεῖ καὶ μή: καὶ ψυχὴν ὅτι μὲν ἀγαθὴν δεῖ, συγχωρεῖ πᾶς παντί, τὸ δ᾽ ὅντινα τρόπον ἀγαθήν, ὅτι μὲν αὖ δικαίαν καὶ σώφρονα καὶ ἀνδρείαν, καὶ ταῦτα, ὅτι δὲ σοφήν, φησὶ μὲν πᾶς δεῖν, ἥντινα δὲ σοφίαν, ὡς ἄρτι [979δ] διεληλύθαμεν, οὐδεὶς οὐδενὶ τὸ παράπαν ἔτι συνομολογεῖ τῶν πολλῶν. νῦν οὖν δὴ παρὰ πάσας τὰς πρόσθεν σοφίας οὐ φαύλην τινὰ ἀνευρίσκομεν εἰς αὐτά γε ταῦτα, τὸ δοκεῖν σοφὸν εἶναι τόν γε μεμαθηκότα ἅπερ καὶ διεληλύθαμεν: εἰ δ᾽ ἔστιν σοφὸς ὁ ταῦτ᾽ ἐπιστήμων καὶ ἀγαθός, τούτου δὴ πέρι λόγον δεῖ λαβεῖν.

Κλεινίας

ὦ ξένε, ὡς εἰκότως εἶπες ὅτι περὶ μεγάλων μεγάλα ἐπιχειρεῖς φράζειν. [979ε]

Ἀθηναῖος

οὐ γὰρ σμικρά, ὦ Κλεινία: τὸ δὲ χαλεπώτερον, ὅτι παντάπασι καὶ πάντως ἀληθῆ.

Κλεινίας

σφόδρα γε, ὦ ξένε: ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως μὴ ἀποκάμῃς λέγων ὃ φῄς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ναί, μηδὲ σφὼ τοίνυν ἀκούοντε.

Κλεινίας

ταῦτ᾽ ἔσται: καὶ ὑπὲρ ἀμφοῖν ἐγώ σοι φράζω. [980α]

Ἀθηναῖος

καλῶς. ἐξ ἀρχῆς δὴ ῥητέον ἀνάγκῃ πρῶτον, ὡς φαίνεται, μάλιστα μὲν ἄν, εἰ δυνάμεθα ἑνὶ λαβεῖν ὀνόματι, τίς ἐστιν ἣν οἰόμεθα σοφίαν εἶναι, τοῦτο δ᾽ εἰ σφόδρα ἀδυνατοῦμεν, τὸ δεύτερον, τίνες εἰσίν ποτε καὶ ὁπόσαι τινές, ἅς τις λαβὼν σοφὸς ἂν εἴη κατὰ τὸν ἡμέτερον μῦθον.

Κλεινίας

λέγοις ἄν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο ἀνεμέσητον τῷ νομοθέτῃ τὸ κάλλιον τῶν πρότερον εἰρημένων περὶ θεῶν καὶ ἄμεινον ἀπεικάζοντι λέγειν, οἷον παιδιᾷ καλῇ χρωμένῳ καὶ τιμῶντι [980β] θεούς, ὕμνοις τε καὶ εὐδαιμονίᾳ γεραίροντι διάγειν τὸν αὑτοῦ βίον.

Κλεινίας

ἦ καλῶς, ὦ ξένε, λέγεις. εἰ γάρ σοι τοῦτο τέλος εἴη τῶν νόμων, θεοὺς προσπαίσαντι καθαρώτερον δὲ διαγαγόντι τὸν βίον τῆς ἅμα τελευτῆς ἀρίστης τε καὶ καλλίστης τυχεῖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

πῶς οὖν, ὦ Κλεινία, λέγομεν; ἦ δοκεῖ τοὺς θεοὺς ὑμνοῦντες σφόδρα τιμῶμεν, εὐχόμενοι τὰ κάλλιστα καὶ ἄριστα περὶ αὐτῶν ἐπιέναι λέγειν ἡμῖν; οὕτως ἢ πῶς λέγεις; [980ξ]

Κλεινίας

θαυμαστῶς μὲν οὖν οὕτως. ἀλλ᾽, ὦ δαιμόνιε, πιστεύσας τοῖς θεοῖς εὔχου τε καὶ λέγε τὸν ἐπιόντα σοι λόγον τῶν καλῶν περὶ τοὺς θεούς τε καὶ τὰς θεάς.

Ἀθηναῖος

ἔσται ταῦτα, ἂν αὐτὸς ὁ θεὸς ἡμῖν ὑφηγῆται. συνεύχου μόνον.

Κλεινίας

λέγοις ἂν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο.

Ἀθηναῖος

θεογονίαν τοίνυν καὶ ζῳογονίαν ἀναγκαῖον, ὡς ἔοικεν, πρῶτόν μοι, κακῶς ἀπεικασάντων τῶν ἔμπροσθεν, βέλτιον ἀπεικάσαι κατὰ τὸν ἔμπροσθεν λόγον, ἀναλαβόντα [980δ] ὃν πρὸς τοὺς ἀσεβεῖς ἐπικεχείρηκα λέγων, φράζων ὡς εἰσὶν θεοὶ ἐπιμελούμενοι πάντων, σμικρῶν καὶ μειζόνων, καὶ σχεδὸν ἀπαραμύθητοι τῶν περὶ τὰ δίκαιά εἰσιν πράγματα — εἰ δὴ μέμνησθέ γε, ὦ Κλεινία: ἐλάβετε μὲν γὰρ δὴ καὶ ὑπομνήματα — καὶ γὰρ ἦν τὰ ῥηθέντα τότε καὶ μάλα ἀληθῆ: τόδε δὲ αὐτῶν ἦν τὸ μέγιστον, ὅτι πρεσβύτερον εἴη ψυχὴ σώματος ἅπασα παντός — ἆρα μέμνησθε; ἢ πάντως που τοῦτό γε; — ὃ γὰρ ἄμεινον καὶ παλαιότερον καὶ θεοειδέστερον, [980ε] πιθανὸν ὅτι τοῦ †νέου καὶ νεωτέρου καὶ ἀτιμοτέρου, πανταχῇ τε ἄρχον ἀρχομένου πρεσβύτερον καὶ ἄγον ἀγομένου πάντῃ. λάβωμεν δὴ τοῦτό γε, ὡς ψυχὴ πρεσβύτερόν ἐστι σώματος. [981α] εἰ δ᾽ ἔχει τοῦτο οὕτως, τό γε πρῶτον ἡμῖν τοῦ πρώτου τῆς γενέσεως πιθανώτερον ἂν εἴη σχεδὸν ὑπηργμένον: καὶ θῶμεν δὴ τὴν ἀρχὴν τῆς ἀρχῆς εὐσχημονέστερον ἔχειν, καὶ τῶν μεγίστων σοφίας περὶ θεῶν γενέσεως ὀρθότατα ἐπιβαίνειν ἡμᾶς.

Κλεινίας

ἔστω ταῦτα εἰς δύναμιν λεγόμενα.

Ἀθηναῖος

φέρε δή, ζῷόν γε ἀληθέστατα λέγεσθαι κατὰ φύσιν φῶμεν τοῦτό γε, ὅταν μία συνελθοῦσα σύστασις ψυχῆς καὶ σώματος ἀποτέκῃ μίαν μορφήν;

Κλεινίας

ὀρθῶς. [981β]

Ἀθηναῖος

ζῷον μὲν δὴ τὸ τοιοῦτον καλεῖται δικαιότατα;

Κλεινίας

ναί.

Ἀθηναῖος

στερεὰ δὲ σώματα λέγεσθαι χρὴ κατὰ τὸν εἰκότα λόγον πέντε, ἐξ ὧν κάλλιστα καὶ ἄριστά τις ἂν πλάττοι, τὸ δὲ ἄλλο γένος ἅπαν ἔχει μορφὴν μίαν: οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἀσώματον ὅτι τ᾽ ἄλλο γίγνοιτ᾽ ἂν καὶ χρῶμα οὐδὲν οὐδαμῶς οὐδέποτ᾽ ἔχον, πλὴν τὸ θειότατον ὄντως ψυχῆς γένος. τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ σχεδὸν ᾧ μόνῳ πλάττειν καὶ δημιουργεῖν προσήκει, [981ξ] σώματι δέ, ὃ λέγομεν, πλάττεσθαι καὶ γίγνεσθαι καὶ ὁρᾶσθαι: τῷ δέ — λέγωμεν πάλιν: οὐ γὰρ ἅπαξ ῥητέον — ἀοράτῳ τε εἶναι καὶ γιγνώσκοντι νοητῷ τε, μνήμης μεταλαβόντι λογισμοῦ τε ἐν περιτταῖς τε καὶ ἀρτίαις ἅμα μεταβολαῖς. πέντε οὖν ὄντων τῶν σωμάτων, πῦρ χρὴ φάναι καὶ ὕδωρ εἶναι καὶ τρίτον ἀέρα, τέταρτον δὲ γῆν, πέμπτον δὲ αἰθέρα, τούτων δ᾽ ἐν ἡγεμονίαις ἕκαστον ζῷον πολὺ καὶ παντοδαπὸν ἀποτελεῖσθαι. μαθεῖν δὲ καθ᾽ ἓν ὧδ᾽ ἔστιν χρεών. γήινον [981δ] μὲν τιθῶμεν τὸ πρῶτον ἡμῖν ἕν, πάντας μὲν ἀνθρώπους, πάντα δὲ ὅσα πολύποδα καὶ ἄποδα, καὶ ὅσα πορεύσιμα καὶ ὅσα μόνιμα, διειλημμένα ῥίζαις: τὸ δὲ ἓν αὐτοῦ τόδε νομίζειν δεῖ, ὡς πάντα μὲν ἐξ ἁπάντων ταῦτ᾽ ἔστιν τῶν γενῶν, τὸ δὲ πολὺ τούτου γῆς ἐστιν καὶ τῆς στερεμνίας φύσεως. ἄλλο δὲ χρὴ ζῴου γένος θεῖναι δεύτερον γιγνόμενον ἅμα καὶ δυνατὸν ὁρᾶσθαι: τὸ γὰρ πλεῖστον πυρὸς ἔχει, ἔχει μὴν γῆς [981ε] τε καὶ ἀέρος, ἔχει δὲ καὶ ἁπάντων τῶν ἄλλων βραχέα μέρη, διὸ δὴ ζῷά τε ἐξ αὐτῶν παντοδαπὰ γίγνεσθαι χρὴ φάναι καὶ ὁρώμενα, νομίσαι δὲ δὴ δεῖ πάλιν τὰ κατ᾽ οὐρανὸν ζῴων γένη, ὃ δὴ πᾶν χρὴ φάναι θεῖον γένος ἄστρων γεγονέναι, σώματος μὲν τυχὸν καλλίστου, ψυχῆς δ᾽ εὐδαιμονεστάτης τε καὶ ἀρίστης. δυοῖν δὲ αὐτοῖς μοιρῶν τὴν ἑτέραν χρὴ δόξῃ μεταδιδόναι σχεδόν: ἢ γὰρ ἀνώλεθρόν τε καὶ ἀθάνατον [982α] ἕκαστον αὐτῶν εἶναι καὶ θεῖον τὸ παράπαν ἐξ ἁπάσης ἀνάγκης, ἤ τινα μακραίωνα βίον ἔχειν ἱκανὸν ἑκάστῳ ζωῆς, ἧς οὐδέν τι πλείονος ἂν προσδεῖσθαί ποτε.

νοήσωμεν οὖν πρῶτον, ὃ λέγομεν, δύο τὰ τοιαῦτα εἶναι ζῷα — πάλιν γὰρ λέγωμεν — ὁρατὰ μὲν ἀμφότερα, τὸ μὲν ἐκ πυρός, ὡς δόξειεν ἄν, ὅλον, τὸ δ᾽ ἐκ γῆς, καὶ τὸ μὲν γήινον ἐν ἀταξίᾳ, τὸ δ᾽ ἐκ πυρὸς ἐν τάξει πάσῃ κινούμενον. τὸ μὲν οὖν ἐν ἀταξίᾳ κινούμενον ἄφρον χρὴ νομίζειν, ὅπερ ὡς τὸ [982β] πολὺ δρᾷ τὸ περὶ ἡμᾶς ζῷον, τὸ δὲ ἐν τάξει τε καὶ οὐρανῷ πόρον ἔχον μέγα τεκμήριον χρὴ ποιεῖσθαι τοῦ φρόνιμον εἶναι: κατὰ ταὐτὰ γὰρ ἂν καὶ ὡσαύτως πορευόμενον ἀεὶ καὶ ποιοῦν καὶ πάσχον τεκμήριον ἱκανὸν τοῦ φρονίμως ζῆν εἴη παρεχόμενον. ἡ ψυχῆς δὲ ἀνάγκη νοῦν κεκτημένης ἁπασῶν ἀναγκῶν πολὺ μεγίστη γίγνοιτ᾽ ἄν — ἄρχουσα γὰρ ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἀρχομένη νομοθετεῖ — τὸ δὲ ἀμετάστροφον, ὅταν ψυχὴ τὸ [982ξ] ἄριστον κατὰ τὸν ἄριστον βουλεύσηται νοῦν, τὸ τέλεον ἐκβαίνει τῷ ὄντι κατὰ νοῦν, καὶ οὐδὲ ἀδάμας ἂν αὐτοῦ κρεῖττον οὐδὲ ἀμεταστροφώτερον ἄν ποτε γένοιτο, ἀλλ᾽ ὄντως τρεῖς Μοῖραι κατέχουσαι φυλάττουσι τέλεον εἶναι τὸ βελτίστῃ βουλῇ βεβουλευμένον ἑκάστοις θεῶν. τοῖς δὲ ἀνθρώποις ἐχρῆν τεκμήριον εἶναι τοῦ νοῦν ἔχειν ἄστρα τε καὶ σύμπασαν ταύτην τὴν διαπορείαν, ὅτι τὰ αὐτὰ ἀεὶ πράττει διὰ τὸ βεβουλευμένα πάλαι πράττειν θαυμαστόν τινα χρόνον [982δ] ὅσον, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ μεταβουλευόμενον ἄνω καὶ κάτω, τοτὲ μὲν ἕτερα, ἄλλοτε δὲ ἄλλα πρᾶττον, πλανᾶσθαί τε καὶ μετακυκλεῖσθαι. τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῶν τοῖς πολλοῖς αὐτὸ τοὐναντίον ἔδοξεν, ὅτι τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως πράττει, ψυχὴν οὐκ ἔχειν: οὕτω τοῖς ἄφροσι συνεφέσπετο τὸ πλῆθος, ὡς τὸ μὲν ἀνθρώπινον ἔμφρον καὶ ζῶν ὡς κινούμενον ὑπολαβεῖν, τὸ δὲ θεῖον ἄφρον ὡς μένον ἐν ταῖς αὐταῖς φοραῖς: ἐξῆν δὲ ἀνθρώπῳ γε ἐπὶ [982ε] τὰ καλλίω καὶ βελτίω καὶ φίλα τιθεμένῳ λαμβάνειν ὡς διὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἔμφρον δεῖ νομίζειν τὸ κατὰ ταὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως καὶ διὰ ταὐτὰ πρᾶττον ἀεί, τοῦτο δ᾽ εἶναι τὴν τῶν ἄστρων φύσιν, ἰδεῖν μὲν καλλίστην, πορείαν δὲ καὶ χορείαν πάντων χορῶν καλλίστην καὶ μεγαλοπρεπεστάτην χορεύοντα πᾶσι τοῖς ζῶσι τὸ δέον ἀποτελεῖν. καὶ μὴν ὅτι γε δικαίως [983α] ἔμψυχα αὐτὰ λέγομεν, πρῶτον τὸ μέγεθος αὐτῶν διανοηθῶμεν. οὐ γάρ, ὡς σμικρὰ φαντάζεται, τηλικαῦτα ὄντως ἐστίν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀμήχανον ἕκαστον αὐτῶν τὸν ὄγκον — πιστεῦσαι δ᾽ ἄξιον: ἀποδείξεσιν γὰρ ἱκαναῖς λαμβάνεται — τὸν γὰρ ἥλιον ὅλον τῆς γῆς ὅλης μείζω διανοηθῆναι δυνατὸν ὀρθῶς, καὶ πάντα δὴ τὰ φερόμενα ἄστρα θαυμαστόν τι μέγεθος ἔχει. λάβωμεν δὴ τίς τρόπος ἂν εἴη τοσοῦτον περιφέρειν ὄγκον τινὰ φύσιν τὸν αὐτὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον, ὅσον καὶ νῦν περιφέρεται. [983β] θεὸν δή φημι τὸν αἴτιον ἔσεσθαι, καὶ οὔποθ᾽ ἑτέρως εἶναι δυνατόν: ἔμψυχον μὲν γὰρ οὔποτε γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ἑτέρᾳ πλὴν διὰ θεόν, ὡς ἡμεῖς ἀπεφηνάμεθα. ὅτε δὲ τοῦτο οἷός τέ ἐστιν θεός, ἅπασα αὐτῷ ῥᾳστώνη γέγονεν τοῦ πρῶτον μὲν ζῷον γεγονέναι πᾶν σῶμα καὶ ὄγκον σύμπαντα, ἔπειτα, ᾗπερ ἂν διανοηθῇ βέλτιστα, ταύτῃ φέρειν. νῦν δὴ περὶ ἁπάντων τούτων ἕνα λόγον λέγοιμεν ἀληθῆ: οὐκ ἔστιν γῆν τε καὶ [983ξ] οὐρανὸν ἅπαντάς τε ἀστέρας ὄγκους τε ἐκ τούτων σύμπαντας, μὴ ψυχῆς πρὸς ἑκάστῳ γενομένης ἢ καὶ ἐν ἑκάστοις, εἶτα εἰς ἀκρίβειαν κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν οὕτω πορεύεσθαι κατὰ μῆνάς τε καὶ ἡμέρας, καὶ σύμπαντα τὰ γιγνόμενα σύμπασιν ἡμῖν ἀγαθὰ γίγνεσθαι.

δεῖ δέ, ὅσῳ φλαυρότερόν ἐστ᾽ ἄνθρωπος, μή τοι ληροῦντά γε, σαφῶς δέ τι λέγοντα φαίνεσθαι. ῥύμας μὲν οὖν εἴ τις αἰτίας τινὰς ἐρεῖ σωμάτων ἢ φύσεις ἤ τι τοιοῦτον, οὐδὲν σαφὲς ἐρεῖ: τὸ δὲ παρ᾽ ἡμῶν εἰρημένον [983δ] σφόδρ᾽ ἀναλαβεῖν χρή, πότερον ἔχει λόγον ὁ λόγος ἢ πάντως ὑστερεῖ, τὸ πρῶτον μὲν τὰ ὄντα εἶναι δύο, τὸ μὲν ψυχήν, τὸ δὲ σῶμα, καὶ πολλὰ ἑκατέρου, πάντα δὲ ἀλλήλων ἄλλα καὶ ἑκάτερα ἑκατέρων, καὶ τρίτον ἄλλο οὐδὲν κοινὸν οὐδενί, διαφέρειν δὲ ψυχὴν σώματος. ἔμφρον μέν που, τὸ δὲ ἄφρον θήσομεν, ἄρχον δέ, τὸ δὲ ἀρχόμενον, καὶ τὸ μὲν αἴτιον ἁπάντων, τὸ δὲ ἀναίτιον πάσης πάθης: ὥστε τά γε δὴ κατ᾽ [983ε] οὐρανὸν ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου του φάναι γεγονέναι, καὶ μὴ ψυχῆς τε καὶ σώματος οὕτως εἶναι γεννήματα, πολλὴ μωρία τε καὶ ἀλογία. εἰ δ᾽ οὖν δεῖ νικᾶν τοὺς περὶ ἁπάντων τῶν τοιούτων λόγους καὶ πιστῶς θεῖα φαίνεσθαι γεγονέναι τὰ τοιαῦτα σύμπαντα, δυοῖν τοι θάτερα θετέον αὐτά: ἢ γὰρ θεοὺς αὐτοὺς ταῦτα ὑμνητέον ὀρθότατα, ἢ θεῶν εἰκόνας ὡς ἀγάλματα [984α] ὑπολαβεῖν γεγονέναι, θεῶν αὐτῶν ἐργασαμένων: οὐ γὰρ ἀνοήτων γε οὐδὲ βραχέος ἀξίων, ἀλλ᾽ ὅπερ εἰρήκαμεν, τούτων ἡμῖν θάτερα θετέα, τὰ δὲ τεθέντα τιμητέον πάντων ἀγαλμάτων διαφερόντως: οὐ γὰρ μήποτε φανῇ καλλίω καὶ κοινότερα συμπάντων ἀνθρώπων ἀγάλματα, οὐδ᾽ ἐν διαφέρουσιν τόποις ἱδρυμένα, καθαριότητι καὶ σεμνότητι καὶ συμπάσῃ [984β] ζωῇ διαφέροντα ἢ ταύτῃ ὡς πάντῃ ταύτῃ γεγένηται. νῦν οὖν δὴ περὶ θεῶν ἐγχειρῶμεν τό γε τοσοῦτον, τὰ δύο κατιδόντες ζῷα ὁρατὰ ἡμῖν, ἅ φαμεν ἀθάνατον, τὸ δὲ γήινον ἅπαν θνητὸν γεγονέναι, τὰ τρία τὰ μέσα τῶν πέντε τὰ μεταξὺ τούτων σαφέστατα κατὰ δόξαν τὴν ἐπιεικῆ γεγονότα πειραθῆναι λέγειν. αἰθέρα μὲν γὰρ μετὰ τὸ πῦρ θῶμεν, ψυχὴν δ᾽ ἐξ αὐτοῦ τιθῶμεν πλάττειν ζῷα δύναμιν ἔχοντα, ὥσπερ [984ξ] τῶν ἄλλων γενῶν, τὸ πολὺ μὲν τῆς αὐτοῦ φύσεως, τὰ δὲ σμικρότερα συνδέσμου χάριν ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων γενῶν: μετὰ δὲ τὸν αἰθέρα ἐξ ἀέρος πλάττειν τὴν ψυχὴν γένος ἕτερον ζῴων, καὶ τὸ τρίτον ἐξ ὕδατος. πάντα δὲ δημιουργήσασαν ταῦτα ψυχὴν ζῴων εἰκὸς ὅλον οὐρανὸν ἐμπλῆσαι, χρησαμένην πᾶσι τοῖς γένεσι κατὰ δύναμιν, πάντων μὲν μετόχων τοῦ ζῆν γεγονότων: δεύτερα δὲ καὶ τρίτα καὶ τέταρτα καὶ πέμπτα, [984δ] ἀπὸ θεῶν τῶν φανερῶν ἀρξάμενα γενέσεως, εἰς ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἀποτελευτᾶν.

θεοὺς μὲν δή, Δία τε καὶ Ἥραν καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους πάντας, ὅπῃ τις ἐθέλει, ταύτῃ κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τιθέσθω νόμον καὶ πάγιον ἐχέτω τοῦτον τὸν λόγον: θεοὺς δὲ δὴ τοὺς ὁρατούς, μεγίστους καὶ τιμιωτάτους καὶ ὀξύτατον ὁρῶντας πάντῃ, τοὺς πρώτους τὴν τῶν ἄστρων φύσιν λεκτέον καὶ ὅσα μετὰ τούτων αἰσθανόμεθα γεγονότα, μετὰ δὲ τούτους καὶ ὑπὸ τούτοις ἑξῆς [984ε] δαίμονας, ἀέριον δὲ γένος, ἔχον ἕδραν τρίτην καὶ μέσην, τῆς ἑρμηνείας αἴτιον, εὐχαῖς τιμᾶν μάλα χρεὼν χάριν τῆς εὐφήμου διαπορείας. τῶν δὲ δύο τούτων ζῴων, τοῦ τ᾽ ἐξ αἰθέρος ἐφεξῆς τε ἀέρος ὄν, διορώμενον ὅλον αὐτῶν ἑκάτερον εἶναι — παρὸν δὴ πλησίον οὐ κατάδηλον ἡμῖν γίγνεσθαι — μετέχοντα δὲ [985α] φρονήσεως θαυμαστῆς, ἅτε γένους ὄντα εὐμαθοῦς τε καὶ μνήμονος, γιγνώσκειν μὲν σύμπασαν τὴν ἡμετέραν αὐτὰ διάνοιαν λέγωμεν, καὶ τόν τε καλὸν ἡμῶν καὶ ἀγαθὸν ἅμα θαυμαστῶς ἀσπάζεσθαι καὶ τὸν σφόδρα κακὸν μισεῖν, ἅτε λύπης μετέχοντα ἤδη — θεὸν μὲν γὰρ δὴ τὸν τέλος ἔχοντα τῆς θείας μοίρας ἔξω τούτων εἶναι, λύπης τε καὶ ἡδονῆς, τοῦ δὲ φρονεῖν καὶ τοῦ γιγνώσκειν κατὰ πάντα μετειληφέναι — [985β] καὶ συμπλήρους δὴ ζῴων οὐρανοῦ γεγονότος, ἑρμηνεύεσθαι πρὸς ἀλλήλους τε καὶ τοὺς ἀκροτάτους θεοὺς πάντας τε καὶ πάντα, διὰ τὸ φέρεσθαι τὰ μέσα τῶν ζῴων ἐπί τε γῆν καὶ ἐπὶ τὸν ὅλον οὐρανὸν ἐλαφρᾷ φερόμενα ῥύμῃ. τὸ δὲ ὕδατος πέμπτον ὂν ἡμίθεον μὲν ἀπεικάσειεν ἄν τις ὀρθῶς ἀπεικάζων ἐξ αὐτοῦ γεγονέναι, καὶ τοῦτ᾽ εἶναι τοτὲ μὲν ὁρώμενον, ἄλλοτε δὲ ἀποκρυφθὲν ἄδηλον γιγνόμενον, θαῦμα κατ᾽ ἀμυδρὰν ὄψιν [985ξ] παρεχόμενον. τούτων δὴ τῶν πέντε ὄντως ὄντων ζῴων, ὅπῃ τινὲς ἐνέτυχον ἡμῶν, ἢ καθ᾽ ὕπνον ἐν ὀνειροπολίᾳ προστυχόντες, ἢ κατὰ φήμας τε καὶ μαντείας λεχθέν τισιν ἐν ἀκοαῖς ὑγιαίνουσιν ἢ καὶ κάμνουσιν, ἢ καὶ τελευτῇ βίου προστυχέσι γενομένοις, ἰδίᾳ τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ δόξας παραγενομένας, ὅθεν ἱερὰ πολλὰ πολλῶν γέγονεν, τὰ δὲ γενήσεται, τούτων πάντων νομοθέτης, ὅστις νοῦν κέκτηται καὶ τὸν βραχύτατον, οὔποτε μὴ τολμήσῃ καινοτομῶν, ἐπὶ θεοσέβειαν ἥτις μὴ σαφὲς ἔχει [985δ] τι τρέψαι πόλιν ἑαυτοῦ: καὶ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ὧν ὁ πάτριος νόμος εἴρηκεν περὶ θυσιῶν ἀποκωλύσει, μηδὲν τὸ παράπαν εἰδώς, ὥσπερ οὐδ᾽ ὂν δυνατὸν εἰδέναι τῇ θνητῇ φύσει τῶν τοιούτων πέρι. τοὺς δὲ ὄντως ἡμῖν φανεροὺς ὄντας θεοὺς ἆρ᾽ οὐχ αὑτὸς λόγος ἔχει κακίστους εἶναι τοὺς μὴ τολμῶντας λέγειν ἡμῖν καὶ φανεροὺς ποιεῖν ἀνοργιάστους τε ὄντας ἑτέρους θεοὺς καὶ τιμὰς μὴ δεχομένους τὰς προσηκούσας αὐτοῖς; νῦν [985ε] δὲ δὴ συμβαίνει γιγνόμενον ἅμα τὸ τοιοῦτον: οἷον γὰρ εἴ ποτέ τις ἡμῶν ἥλιον ἢ σελήνην ἑωρακὼς ἦν γιγνομένους ἐφορῶντάς τε ἡμᾶς πάντας, καὶ μὴ ἔφραζεν ἀδύνατος ὤν πῃ φράζειν, τιμῆς τε ἀμοίρους ὄντας ἅμα καὶ μὴ προθυμοῖτο τό γε αὑτοῦ μέρος, εἰς ἔντιμον χώραν καταφανεῖς ἄγων αὐτούς, ἑορτάς τε αὐτοῖς γίγνεσθαι ποιεῖν καὶ θυσίας, ἀπολαμβανόμενόν τε χρόνον ἑκάστοις μειζόνων καὶ ἐλαττόνων πολλάκις [986α] ἐνιαυτῶν ὥρας διανέμειν, ἆρ᾽ οὐκ ἂν κακὸς ἑαυτῷ τε καὶ ἄλλῳ τῷ γιγνώσκοντι λεγόμενος ἐν δίκῃ συνεδόκει λέγεσθαί ποτ᾽ ἄν;

Κλεινίας

πῶς γὰρ οὔκ, ὦ ξένε; κάκιστος μὲν οὖν.

Ἀθηναῖος

τοῦτο τοίνυν, ὦ Κλεινία φίλε, περὶ ἐμὲ νῦν γιγνόμενον ἴσθι φανερῶς.

Κλεινίας

πῶς λέγεις;

Ἀθηναῖος

ἴστε ὀκτὼ δυνάμεις τῶν περὶ ὅλον οὐρανὸν γεγονυίας ἀδελφὰς ἀλλήλων, ὧν καθεώρακα ἐγώ — καὶ οὐδὲν μέγα διαπέπραγμαι: [986β] ῥᾴδιον γὰρ καὶ ἑτέρῳ — τούτων δ᾽ εἰσὶ τρεῖς αὗται, μία μὲν ἡλίου, μία δὲ σελήνης, μία δὲ τῶν πλανητῶν ἄστρων ὧν ἐμνήσθημεν ὀλίγον ἔμπροσθεν, πέντε δὲ ἕτεραι. ταύτας δὴ πάσας καὶ τούτους τοὺς ἐν ταύταισιν εἴτε αὐτοὺς ἰόντας εἴτε φερομένους ἐν ὀχήμασι πορεύεσθαι ταύτῃ, μηδεὶς ἄλλως ποτὲ νομίσῃ πάντων ἡμῶν ὡς οἱ μὲν θεοί εἰσιν αὐτῶν, οἱ δ᾽ οὔ, μηδ᾽ ὡς οἱ μὲν γνήσιοι, οἱ δὲ τοιοῦτοί τινες οἵους οὐδὲ θέμις εἰπεῖν ἡμῶν οὐδενί, πάντες δὲ δὴ πάντας λέγωμέν τε καὶ [986ξ] φῶμεν ἀδελφούς τ᾽ εἶναι καὶ ἐν ἀδελφαῖς μοίραις, καὶ τιμὰς ἀποδιδῶμεν μὴ τῷ μὲν ἐνιαυτόν, τῷ δὲ μῆνα, τοῖς δὲ μήτε τινὰ μοῖραν τάττωμεν μήτε τινὰ χρόνον ἐν ᾧ διεξέρχεται τὸν αὑτοῦ πόλον, συναποτελῶν κόσμον ὃν ἔταξεν λόγος ὁ πάντων θειότατος ὁρατόν: ὃν ὁ μὲν εὐδαίμων πρῶτον μὲν ἐθαύμασεν, ἔπειτα δὲ ἔρωτα ἔσχεν τοῦ καταμαθεῖν ὁπόσα θνητῇ φύσει δυνατά, ἡγούμενος ἄρισθ᾽ οὕτως εὐτυχέστατά τε [986δ] διάξειν τὸν βίον τελευτήσας τε εἰς τόπους ἥξειν προσήκοντας ἀρετῇ, καὶ μεμυημένος ἀληθῶς τε καὶ ὄντως, μεταλαβὼν φρονήσεως εἷς ὢν μιᾶς, τὸν ἐπίλοιπον χρόνον θεωρὸς τῶν καλλίστων γενόμενος, ὅσα κατ᾽ ὄψιν, διατελεῖ. νῦν δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦθ᾽ ἡμῖν λοιπὸν λέγειν ὅσοι τ᾽ εἰσίν, καὶ τίνες: οὐ γὰρ [986ε] μήποτε φανῶμεν ψευδεῖς. βεβαίως δὴ διισχυρίζομαι τό γε τοσοῦτον. λέγω γὰρ πάλιν ὀκτὼ μὲν εἶναι, τῶν δὲ ὀκτὼ τρεῖς μὲν εἰρῆσθαι, πέντε δ᾽ ἔτι λοιπάς. ἡ τετάρτη δὲ φορὰ καὶ διέξοδος ἅμα καὶ πέμπτη τάχει μὲν ἡλίῳ σχεδὸν ἴση, καὶ οὔτε βραδυτέρα οὔτε θάττων τό γ᾽ ἐπίπαν. δεῖ τούτων τριῶν ὄντων τὸν νοῦν ἱκανὸν ἔχοντα ἡγεῖσθαι. λέγωμεν δὴ ταύτας ἡλίου τ᾽ εἶναι καὶ ἑωσφόρου, καὶ τρίτου — ὡς μὲν ὀνόματι φράζειν οὐκ ἔστιν διὰ τὸ μὴ γιγνώσκεσθαι, τούτου δ᾽ αἴτιος ὁ πρῶτος ταῦτα κατιδὼν βάρβαρος ὤν: παλαιὸς γὰρ δὴ [987α] τρόπος ἔθρεψεν τοὺς πρώτους ταῦτα ἐννοήσαντας διὰ τὸ κάλλος τῆς θερινῆς ὥρας, ἣν Αἴγυπτός τε Συρία θ᾽ ἱκανῶς κέκτηται, φανεροὺς μὲν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἀστέρας ἀεὶ σύμπαντας καθορῶντας, ἅτε νεφῶν καὶ ὑδάτων ἀπόπροσθεν ἀεὶ τοῦ κόσμου κεκτημένους, ὅθεν καὶ πανταχόσε καὶ δεῦρ᾽ ἐξήκει, βεβασανισμένα χρόνῳ μυριετεῖ τε καὶ ἀπείρῳ. διὸ θαρροῦντα χρὴ ταῦτα εἰς νόμους θέσθαι — τὸ γὰρ μὴ τίμια τὰ θεῖα εἶναι, τὰ δὲ τίμια, σαφῶς οὐκ ἐμφρόνων — ὅτι δὲ οὐκ [987β] ὀνόματα ἔσχηκεν, τήν γε αἰτίαν χρὴ λέγεσθαι ταύτην. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐπωνυμίαν εἰλήφασιν θεῶν: ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἑωσφόρος ἕσπερός τε ὢν αὑτὸς ἀφροδίτης εἶναι σχεδὸν ἔχει λόγον καὶ μάλα Συρίῳ νομοθέτῃ πρέπον, ὁ δ᾽ ὁμόδρομος ἡλίῳ τε ἅμα καὶ τούτῳ σχεδὸν Ἑρμοῦ. τρεῖς δ᾽ ἔτι φορὰς λέγωμεν ἐπὶ δεξιὰ πορευομένων μετὰ σελήνης τε καὶ ἡλίου. ἕνα δὲ τὸν ὄγδοον χρὴ λέγειν, ὃν μάλιστά τις ἂν κόσμον προσαγορεύοι, ὃς ἐναντίος ἐκείνοις σύμπασιν πορεύεται, οὐκ ἄγων τοὺς ἄλλους, ὥς γε ἀνθρώποις φαίνοιτ᾽ ἂν ὀλίγα τούτων εἰδόσιν. ὅσα δὲ [987ξ] ἱκανῶς ἴσμεν, ἀνάγκη λέγειν καὶ λέγομεν: ἡ γὰρ ὄντως οὖσα σοφία ταύτῃ πῃ φαίνεται τῷ καὶ σμικρὰ συννοίας ὀρθῆς θείας τε μετειληφότι. λοιποὶ δὴ τρεῖς ἀστέρες, ὧν εἷς μὲν βραδυτῆτι διαφέρων αὐτῶν ἐστι, Κρόνου δ᾽ αὐτόν τινες ἐπωνυμίαν φθέγγονται: τὸν δὲ μετὰ τοῦτον βραδυτῆτι λέγειν χρὴ Διός, Ἄρεως δὲ ὁ μετὰ τοῦτον, πάντων δὲ οὗτος ἐρυθρώτατον ἔχει χρῶμα. χαλεπὸν δὲ οὐδὲν τούτων κατανοῆσαί [987δ] τινα φράζοντός τινος, ἀλλὰ μαθόντα, ὡς λέγομεν, ἡγεῖσθαι δεῖ.

τόδε γε μὴν διανοηθῆναι χρὴ πάντ᾽ ἄνδρα Ἕλληνα, ὡς τόπον ἔχομεν τὸν τῶν Ἑλλήνων πρὸς ἀρετὴν ἐν τοῖς σχεδὸν ἄριστον: τὸ δ᾽ ἐπαινετὸν αὐτοῦ χρὴ λέγειν ὅτι μέσος ἂν εἴη χειμώνων τε καὶ τῆς θερινῆς φύσεως, ἡ δ᾽ ὑστεροῦσα ἡμῖν εἰς τὸ θερινὸν φύσις τοῦ περὶ τὸν ἐκεῖ τόπον, ὅπερ εἴπομεν, ὕστερον αὐτοῖς παραδέδωκεν τὸ τούτων τῶν θεῶν τοῦ κόσμου κατανόημα. λάβωμεν δὲ ὡς ὅτιπερ ἂν Ἕλληνες βαρβάρων [987ε] παραλάβωσι, κάλλιον τοῦτο εἰς τέλος ἀπεργάζονται: καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα ταὐτὸν δεῖ διανοηθῆναι τοῦτο, ὡς χαλεπὸν μὲν πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα ἀναμφισβητήτως ἐξευρίσκειν, [988α] πολλὴ δ᾽ ἐλπὶς ἅμα καὶ καλὴ κάλλιον καὶ δικαιότερον ὄντως τῆς ἐκ τῶν βαρβάρων ἐλθούσης φήμης τε ἅμα καὶ θεραπείας πάντων τούτων τῶν θεῶν ἐπιμελήσεσθαι τοὺς Ἕλληνας, παιδείαις τε καὶ ἐκ Δελφῶν μαντείαις χρωμένους καὶ πάσῃ τῇ κατὰ νόμους θεραπείᾳ. τόδε δὲ μηδείς ποτε φοβηθῇ τῶν Ἑλλήνων, ὡς οὐ χρὴ περὶ τὰ θεῖά ποτε πραγματεύεσθαι θνητοὺς ὄντας, πᾶν δὲ τούτῳ διανοηθῆναι τοὐναντίον, ὡς οὔτε ἄφρον ἐστίν ποτε τὸ θεῖον οὔτε ἀγνοεῖ [988β] που τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην φύσιν, ἀλλ᾽ οἶδεν ὅτι διδάσκοντος αὐτοῦ συνακολουθήσει καὶ μαθήσεται τὰ διδασκόμενα. ὅτι δὲ διδάσκει τοῦτο αὐτὸ ἡμᾶς, μανθάνομεν δὲ ἡμεῖς ἀριθμόν τε καὶ ἀριθμεῖν, οἶδεν δήπου. πάντων γὰρ ἀφρονέστατον ἂν εἴη τοῦτο ἀγνοοῦν: τὸ λεγόμενον γὰρ ἂν ὄντως αὐτὸ αὑτὸ ἀγνοοῖ, χαλεπαῖνον τῷ δυναμένῳ μανθάνειν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ συγχαῖρον ἄνευ φθόνου διὰ θεὸν ἀγαθῷ γενομένῳ. λόγον δὴ καὶ πολὺν καὶ [988ξ] καλὸν ἔχει, τότε μέν, ὅτε περὶ θεῶν ἦν ἀνθρώποις διανοήματα πρῶτα, ὥς τε ἐγένοντο οἷοί τε ἐγίγνοντο καὶ ὁ μὲν καὶ οἵας μετεχειρίζοντο πράξεις, μὴ κατὰ νοῦν τοῖς σώφροσιν λέγεσθαι μηδὲ φίλως, μηδ᾽ ὡς οἱ δεύτεροι, ἐν οἷς πρεσβύτατα μὲν τὰ πυρὸς ἐλέγετο καὶ ὕδατος καὶ τῶν ἄλλων σωμάτων, ὕστερα δὲ τὰ τῆς θαυμαστῆς ψυχῆς, καὶ φορὰ κρείττων καὶ τιμιωτέρα, ἣν σῶμα εἴληχεν φέρειν αὐτό τε ἑαυτὸ θερμότητι καὶ ψύξεσιν καὶ πᾶσιν τοῖς τοιούτοις, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ ψυχὴ σῶμά τε καὶ ἑαυτήν: [988δ] νῦν δ᾽ ὅτε λέγομεν ψυχὴν μέν, ἄνπερ ἐν σώματι γένηται, θαῦμα οὐδὲν κινεῖν τε καὶ περιφέρειν τοῦτο καὶ ἑαυτήν, οὐδ᾽ ἡμῖν ἀπιστεῖ ψυχὴ κατὰ λόγον οὐδένα ὡς βάρος οὐδὲν περιφέρειν δυναμένη. διὸ καὶ νῦν ἡμῶν ἀξιούντων, ψυχῆς οὔσης αἰτίας τοῦ ὅλου, καὶ πάντων μὲν τῶν ἀγαθῶν ὄντων τοιούτων, τῶν δὲ αὖ φλαύρων τοιούτων ἄλλων, τῆς μὲν φορᾶς πάσης [988ε] καὶ κινήσεως ψυχὴν αἰτίαν εἶναι θαῦμα οὐδέν, τὴν δ᾽ ἐπὶ τἀγαθὸν φορὰν καὶ κίνησιν τῆς ἀρίστης ψυχῆς εἶναι, τὴν δ᾽ ἐπὶ τοὐναντίον ἐναντίαν, νενικηκέναι δεῖ καὶ νικᾶν τὰ ἀγαθὰ τὰ μὴ τοιαῦτα.

ταῦτα ἡμῖν εἴρηται πάντα κατὰ τὴν τῶν ἀνοσίων τιμωρὸν δὲ δίκην: περὶ δὲ δὴ τὸ δοκιμαζόμενον οὐχ οἷόν τε ἡμῖν ἀπιστεῖν ὡς οὐ δεῖ τόν γε ἀγαθὸν σοφὸν ἡμᾶς ἡγεῖσθαι, [989α] τὴν δὲ σοφίαν ταύτην, ἣν ζητοῦμεν πάλαι, ἴδωμεν ἄν ποτ᾽ ἄρα ἐπινοήσωμεν ἢ κατὰ παιδείαν ἢ κατὰ τέχνην, ἥντινα τοῦ γιγνώσκειν ἐνδεεῖς ὄντες τῶν δικαίων, ἀγνώμονες ἂν εἶμεν ὄντες τοιοῦτοι. δοκοῦμεν δή μοι, καὶ λεκτέον: ἄνω γὰρ καὶ κάτω ζητῶν ᾗ μοι καταφανὴς γέγονεν, πειράσομαι δήλην ὑμῖν αὐτὴν ἀποτελεῖν. τὸ δὴ μέγιστον ἀρετῆς οὐ καλῶς πραττόμενον ἡμῖν γέγονεν αἴτιον, ὡς ἄρτι σημαίνειν ἐκ τῶν [989β] εἰρημένων μοι σφόδρα δοκεῖ. μεῖζον μὲν γὰρ ἀρετῆς μηδεὶς ἡμᾶς ποτε πείσῃ τῆς εὐσεβείας εἶναι τῷ θνητῷ γένει: τοῦτο δ᾽ ὅτι δι᾽ ἀμαθίαν τὴν μεγίστην ἐν ταῖς ἀρίσταις φύσεσιν οὐ γέγονεν, λεκτέον. ἄρισται δ᾽ εἰσὶν αἱ χαλεπώτατα μὲν ἂν γενόμεναι, μέγιστον δὲ ὄφελος, ἂν γίγνωνται: τά τε γὰρ τῆς βραδείας τε καὶ τῆς ἐναντίας φύσεως μετρίως ἀποδεχομένη ψυχὴ καὶ πρᾴως, εὔκολος ἂν εἴη, τήν τε ἀνδρείαν ἀγαμένη, καὶ πρὸς τὸ σωφρονεῖν εὐπειθής, καὶ τό γε μέγιστον, ἐν [989ξ] ταύταις ταῖς φύσεσιν δυναμένη μανθάνειν καὶ μνήμων οὖσα, εὖ μάλα χαίρειν τούτοις αὐτοῖς δύναιτ᾽ ἂν φιλομαθὴς ὥστ᾽ εἶναι. ταῦτα γὰρ οὔτε ῥᾴδια φύεσθαι, γενόμενά τε, καὶ τροφῆς καὶ παιδείας τυχόντα ἧς δεῖ, τοὺς πλείστους αὐτῶν καὶ χείρους κατέχειν ὀρθότατα δύναιτ᾽ ἂν τῷ φρονεῖν καὶ πράττειν καὶ λέγειν περὶ θεοὺς ἕκαστα ὡς δεῖ τε καὶ ὅτε δεῖ, περὶ θυσίας τε καὶ καθαρμοὺς τῶν περὶ θεούς τε καὶ ἀνθρώπους, οὐ σχήμασι τεχνάζοντας, ἀλλὰ ἀληθείᾳ τιμῶντας [989δ] ἀρετήν, ὃ δὴ καὶ μέγιστόν ἐστι συμπάντων πάσῃ τῇ πόλει. τοῦτο δὴ οὖν τὸ μέρος εἶναί φαμεν φύσει κυριώτατον καὶ δυνατὸν ὡς οἷόν τε κάλλιστα καὶ ἄριστα μαθεῖν, εἰ διδάσκοι τις. ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἂν διδάξειεν, εἰ μὴ θεὸς ὑφηγοῖτο: εἰ τ᾽ οὖν διδάσκοι, κατὰ τρόπον δὲ μὴ δρῷ τὸ τοιοῦτον, κρεῖττον μὴ μανθάνειν. ὅμως δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν νῦν λεγομένων ἀνάγκη μαθεῖν ταῦτα καὶ ἐμὲ λέγειν τὴν τοιαύτην τε καὶ ἀρίστην φύσιν. [989ε] πειρώμεθα δὴ τῷ τε λόγῳ διεξελθεῖν ἅ τ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ οἷα καὶ ὡς δεῖ μανθάνειν, κατὰ δύναμιν τήν τ᾽ ἐμὴν τοῦ λέγοντος [990α] καὶ τὴν τῶν δυναμένων εἰσακοῦσαι, θεοσεβείας ᾧτινι τρόπῳ τις τίνα μαθήσεται. σχεδὸν μὲν οὖν ἐστιν ἄτοπον ἀκούσαντι, τὸ δ᾽ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ λέγομεν ἡμεῖς γε, ὅ τις οὐκ ἄν ποτε δόξειεν δι᾽ ἀπειρίαν τοῦ πράγματος — ἀστρονομίαν — ἀγνοεῖ τε ὅτι σοφώτατον ἀνάγκη τὸν ἀληθῶς ἀστρονόμον εἶναι, μὴ τὸν καθ᾽ Ἡσίοδον ἀστρονομοῦντα καὶ πάντας τοὺς τοιούτους, οἷον δυσμάς τε καὶ ἀνατολὰς ἐπεσκεμμένον, ἀλλὰ τὸν τῶν ὀκτὼ περιόδων τὰς ἑπτὰ περιόδους, διεξιούσης τὸν αὑτῶν κύκλον [990β] ἑκάστης οὕτως ὡς οὐκ ἂν ῥᾳδίως ποτὲ πᾶσα φύσις ἱκανὴ γένοιτο θεωρῆσαι, μὴ θαυμαστῆς μετέχουσα φύσεως. ὃ νῦν εἰρήκαμεν ἐροῦμέν τε, ὥς φαμεν, ὅπῃ δεῖ τε καὶ ὅπως χρεὼν μανθάνειν: πρῶτον δ᾽ ἡμῖν τόδε λεγέσθω.

σελήνη μὲν περίοδον τὴν αὑτῆς τάχιστα διέξεισιν, ἄγουσα μῆνα καὶ πανσέληνον πρώτην: δεύτερον δὲ κατανοεῖν δεῖ τὸν ἥλιον, τροπὰς ἄγοντα διὰ πάσης τῆς αὑτοῦ περιόδου, καὶ τούτῳ τοὺς συνδρόμους. ἵνα δὲ μὴ πολλάκις ταὐτὰ περὶ [990ξ] τῶν αὐτῶν διαλεγώμεθα, τὰς ἄλλας ὅσας ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν διεξήλθομεν ὁδοὺς τούτων οὐ ῥᾴδιον συννοεῖν, ἐπὶ δὲ ταῦτα παρασκευάζοντας φύσεις οἵας δυνατὸν εἶναι, χρεὼν πολλὰ προδιδάσκοντα καὶ ἐθίζοντα ἀεὶ διαπονήσασθαι παῖδα ὄντα καὶ νεανίσκον. διὸ μαθημάτων δέον ἂν εἴη: τὸ δὲ μέγιστόν τε καὶ πρῶτον καὶ ἀριθμῶν αὐτῶν ἀλλ᾽ οὐ σώματα ἐχόντων, ἀλλὰ ὅλης τῆς τοῦ περιττοῦ τε καὶ ἀρτίου γενέσεώς τε καὶ δυνάμεως, ὅσην παρέχεται πρὸς τὴν τῶν ὄντων φύσιν. [990δ] ταῦτα δὲ μαθόντι τούτοις ἐφεξῆς ἐστιν ὃ καλοῦσι μὲν σφόδρα γελοῖον ὄνομα γεωμετρίαν, τῶν οὐκ ὄντων δὲ ὁμοίων ἀλλήλοις φύσει ἀριθμῶν ὁμοίωσις πρὸς τὴν τῶν ἐπιπέδων μοῖραν γεγονυῖά ἐστιν διαφανής: ὃ δὴ θαῦμα οὐκ ἀνθρώπινον ἀλλὰ γεγονὸς θεῖον φανερὸν ἂν γίγνοιτο τῷ δυναμένῳ συννοεῖν. μετὰ δὲ ταύτην τοὺς τρὶς ηὐξημένους καὶ τῇ στερεᾷ φύσει ὁμοίους: τοὺς δὲ ἀνομοίους αὖ γεγονότας ἑτέρᾳ τέχνῃ ὁμοιοῖ, ταύτῃ ἣν δὴ στερεομετρίαν ἐκάλεσαν [990ε] οἱ προστυχεῖς αὐτῇ γεγονότες: ὃ δὲ θεῖόν τ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ θαυμαστὸν τοῖς ἐγκαθορῶσί τε καὶ διανοουμένοις ὡς περὶ τὸ διπλάσιον ἀεὶ στρεφομένης τῆς δυνάμεως καὶ τῆς ἐξ ἐναντίας ταύτῃ καθ᾽ ἑκάστην ἀναλογίαν εἶδος καὶ γένος ἀποτυποῦται [991α] πᾶσα ἡ φύσις. ἡ μὲν δὴ πρώτη τοῦ διπλασίου κατ᾽ ἀριθμὸν ἓν πρὸς δύο κατὰ λόγον φερομένη, διπλάσιον δὲ ἡ κατὰ δύναμιν οὖσα: ἡ δ᾽ εἰς τὸ στερεόν τε καὶ ἁπτὸν πάλιν αὖ διπλάσιον, ἀφ᾽ ἑνὸς εἰς ὀκτὼ διαπορευθεῖσα: ἡ δὲ διπλασίου μὲν εἰς μέσον, ἴσως δὲ τοῦ ἐλάττονος πλέον ἔλαττόν τε τοῦ μείζονος, τὸ δ᾽ ἕτερον τῷ αὐτῷ μέρει τῶν ἄκρων αὐτῶν ὑπερέχον τε καὶ ὑπερεχόμενον — ἐν μέσῳ δὲ τοῦ ἓξ πρὸς τὰ [991β] δώδεκα συνέβη τό τε ἡμιόλιον καὶ ἐπίτριτον — τούτων αὐτῶν ἐν τῷ μέσῳ ἐπ᾽ ἀμφότερα στρεφομένη τοῖς ἀνθρώποις σύμφωνον χρείαν καὶ σύμμετρον ἀπενείματο παιδιᾶς ῥυθμοῦ τε καὶ ἁρμονίας χάριν, εὐδαίμονι χορείᾳ Μουσῶν δεδομένη.

ταῦτα μὲν οὖν δὴ ταύτῃ γιγνέσθω τε καὶ ἐχέτω σύμπαντα: τὸ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τούτοις τέλος, εἰς θείαν γένεσιν ἅμα καὶ τὴν τῶν ὁρατῶν καλλίστην τε καὶ θειοτάτην φύσιν ἰτέον, ὅσην ἀνθρώποις θεὸς ἔδωκεν κατιδεῖν, ἣν οὔποτε ἄνευ τῶν νῦν [991ξ] διειρημένων μὴ κατιδὼν ἐπεύξηταί τις ῥᾳστώνῃ παραλαβεῖν. πρὸς τούτοις δὲ τὸ καθ᾽ ἓν τῷ κατ᾽ εἴδη προσακτέον ἐν ἑκάσταις ταῖς συνουσίαις, ἐρωτῶντά τε καὶ ἐλέγχοντα τὰ μὴ καλῶς ῥηθέντα: πάντως γὰρ καλλίστη καὶ πρώτη βάσανος ἀνθρώποις ὀρθῶς γίγνεται, ὅσαι δὲ οὐκ οὖσαι προσποιοῦνται, ματαιότατος πόνος ἁπάντων. ἔτι δὲ τὴν ἀκρίβειαν τοῦ χρόνου ἡμῖν ληπτέον, ὡς ἀκριβῶς ἀποτελεῖ πάντα τὰ κατ᾽ [991δ] οὐρανὸν γιγνόμενα, ἵν᾽ ὁ πιστεύσας ὡς ὁ λόγος ἀληθὴς γέγονεν ὅτι πρεσβύτερόν τ᾽ ἐστὶν ἅμα καὶ θειότερον ψυχὴ σώματος, ἡγήσαιτ᾽ ἂν παγκάλως τε καὶ ἱκανῶς εἰρῆσθαι τὸ θεῶν εἶναι πάντα πλέα καὶ μηδέποτε λήθῃ μηδὲ ἀμελείᾳ τῶν κρειττόνων ἡμᾶς παρωλιγωρῆσθαι. νοητέον δ᾽ ἐστὶν περὶ πάντα τὰ τοιαῦτα τόδε, ὡς, ἐὰν μέν τις ἕκαστα τούτων ὀρθῶς λαμβάνῃ, μέγ᾽ ὄφελος γίγνεται τῷ παραλαμβάνοντι κατὰ τρόπον, εἰ δὲ μή, θεὸν ἄμεινον ἀεὶ καλεῖν: ὁ δὲ τρόπος ὅδε [991ε] — ἀνάγκη γὰρ τό γε τοσοῦτον φράζειν — πᾶν διάγραμμα ἀριθμοῦ τε σύστημα καὶ ἁρμονίας σύστασιν ἅπασαν τῆς τε τῶν ἄστρων περιφορᾶς τὴν ὁμολογίαν οὖσαν μίαν ἁπάντων ἀναφανῆναι δεῖ τῷ κατὰ τρόπον μανθάνοντι, φανήσεται δέ, ἄν, ὃ λέγομεν, ὀρθῶς τις εἰς ἓν βλέπων μανθάνῃ — δεσμὸς [992α] γὰρ πεφυκὼς πάντων τούτων εἷς ἀναφανήσεται διανοουμένοις — εἰ δ᾽ ἄλλως πως ταῦτα μεταχειριεῖταί τις, τύχην δεῖ καλεῖν, ὥσπερ καὶ λέγομεν. οὐ γὰρ ἄνευ γε τούτων μήποτέ τις ἐν πόλεσιν εὐδαίμων γένηται φύσις, ἀλλ᾽ οὗτος ὁ τρόπος, αὕτη ἡ τροφή, ταῦτα τὰ μαθήματα: εἴτε χαλεπὰ εἴτε ῥᾴδια, ταύτῃ πορευτέον. ἀμελῆσαι δὲ οὐ θεμιτόν ἐστιν θεῶν, καταφανοῦς γενομένης τῆς πάντων αὐτῶν κατὰ τρόπον λεγομένης φήμης [992β] εὐτυχοῦς. τὸν δὲ σύμπαντα ταῦτα οὕτως εἰληφότα, τοῦτον λέγω τὸν ἀληθέστατα σοφώτατον: ὃν καὶ διισχυρίζομαι παίζων καὶ σπουδάζων ἅμα, ὅτε θανάτῳ τις τῶν τοιούτων τὴν αὑτοῦ μοῖραν ἀναπλήσει, σχεδὸν ἐάνπερ ἔτ᾽ ἀποθανὼν ᾖ, μήτε μεθέξειν ἔτι πολλῶν τότε καθάπερ νῦν αἰσθήσεων, μιᾶς τε μοίρας μετειληφότα μόνον καὶ ἐκ πολλῶν ἕνα γεγονότα, εὐδαίμονά τε ἔσεσθαι καὶ σοφώτατον ἅμα καὶ μακάριον, εἴτε τις ἐν ἠπείροις εἴτ᾽ ἐν νήσοις μακάριος ὢν [992ξ] ζῇ, κἀκεῖνον μεθέξειν τῆς τοιαύτης ἀεὶ τύχης, κεἴτε δημοσίᾳ τις ἐπιτηδεύσας ταῦτα εἴτε ἰδίᾳ διαβιῷ, τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως αὐτὸν πράξειν παρὰ θεῶν. ὃ δὲ κατ᾽ ἀρχάς τε ἐλέγομεν, καὶ νῦν αὑτὸς πάρεστι λόγος ἀληθὴς ὄντως, ὡς οὐ δυνατὸν ἀνθρώποις τελέως μακαρίοις τε καὶ εὐδαίμοσι γενέσθαι πλὴν ὀλίγων, ἔστιν ταῦτα ὀρθῶς εἰρημένα: ὁπόσοι γὰρ θεῖοι καὶ σώφρονες ἅμα τῆς ἄλλης τε μετέχοντες ἀρετῆς φύσει, πρὸς [992δ] δὲ τούτοις ὅσα μαθήματος ἔχεται μακαρίου πάντα εἰληφότες — ἃ δ᾽ ἔστιν εἰρήκαμεν — τούτοισιν μόνοις τὰ τοῦ δαιμονίου σύμπαντα ἱκανῶς εἴληχέ τε καὶ ἔχει. τοῖς μὲν οὖν ταῦτα οὕτω διαπονήσασιν ἰδίᾳ λέγομεν καὶ δημοσίᾳ κατὰ νόμον τίθεμεν, εἰς πρεσβύτου τέλος ἀφικομένοις τὰς μεγίστας ἀρχὰς παραδίδοσθαι δεῖν, τοὺς δ᾽ ἄλλους τούτοις συνεπομένους εὐφημεῖν πάντας θεοὺς ἅμα καὶ πάσας, καὶ τὸν νυκτερινὸν σύλλογον ἐπὶ ταύτην τὴν σοφίαν ἱκανῶς γνόντας [992ε] τε καὶ δοκιμάσαντας ἡμᾶς ὀρθότατα πάντας παρακαλεῖν.

AXIOCHUS

)ΣΩΚΡΑΤΗΣ ΠΡΟΣΩΠΑ ΤΟΥ ΔΙΑΛΟΓΟΥ ) ΚΛΕΙΝΙΑΣ ) ΑΞΙΟΧΟΣ

Σωκράτης

Ενώ μετέβαινον εις το Κυνόσαργες και ήμην πλησίον του Ιλισσού, ήκουσα φωνήν ήτις έλεγε : «Σωκράτη, Σωκράτη». Ως δε έστρεψα και εξήταζα πόθεν ήτο η φωνή, βλέπω τον Κλεινίαν τον υιόν του Αξιόχου να τρέχη εις την Καλιρρόην μετά του μουσικού Δάμινος και του Χαρμίδου του υιού του Γλαύκωνος• ήσαν δε οι δύο ούτοι εις αυτόν, ο μεν διδάσκαλος της μουσικής, ο δε εραστής συγχρόνως και ερωμένος. Εθεώρησα καλόν, αφού αφήσω την ευθείαν οδόν, να τους ανταμώσω διά να συντροφεύσωμεν ευκολώτατα. Ο Κλεινίας δε δακρυσμένος μου λέγει:

Κλεινίας Σωκράτη, τώρα είναι η περίστασις να δείξης την πάντοτε φημισμένην σοφίαν σου• ο πατήρ μου δηλαδή από μίαν αιφνηδίαν λιποθυμίαν είναι αδύνατος και πλησιάζει εις τα τέλος της ζωής του και λυπείται διά το τέλος τούτο, αν και πριν εχλεύαζεν όσους εφοβούντο τον θάνατον και περιέπαιζεν. Αφού λοιπόν πλησιάσης εις αυτόν, παρηγόρησέ τον, καθώς συνηθίζεις, διά να υπάγη όπου είναι πεπρωμένον χωρίς στεναγμούς και διά να εκτελεσθή υπ’ εμού πλην των λοιπών και τούτο το ευσεβές προς αυτόν καθήκον.

Σωκράτης Αλλά δεν θα σε δυσαρεστήσω, Κλεινία, διότι δεν με παρακινείς διά τι ποταπόν, αλλά διά τι όσιον. Ας σπεύσωμεν λοιπόν διότι αν το πράγμα έχη ως λέγεις, είναι ανάγκη ταχύτητος.

Κλεινίας Μόνον όταν σε ίδη, Σωκράτη, θα αναλάβη• διότι και πολλάκις συνέβη εις αυτόν εκ μιας συμπτώσεως να αναλάβη.

Σωκράτης Αφού λοιπόν μετέβημεν το ταχύτερον, ακολουθήσαντες την παρά το τείχος οδόν παρά τας Ιτωνίας (διότι κατώκει πλησίον των πυλών παρά την Αμαζονίδα στήλην), ευρίσκομεν πλέον αυτόν κατά μεν το σώμα ρωμαλέον, κατά δε την ψυχήν αδύνατον, χωρίς να έχη κανένα να τον παραμυθήση, πολλάκις δε εγειρόμενον και στενάζοντα με δάκρυα και κρότους χειρών. Όταν δε είδον αυτόν, Αξίοχε, του είπον : Τι είναι αυτά; Πού είναι αι πριν καυχήσεις σου και τα συχνά εγκώμια των αρετών και το μέγα θάρρος σου; Διότι φαίνεσαι ως δειλός αγωνιστής, όστις ενώ φαίνεσαι γενναίος εις τα γυμνάσια, έχεις μείνει οπίσω εις τους αγώνας. Δεν λογαριάζεις περιεσκεμμένως την φύσιν, συ ανήρ τόσης ηλικίας και όστις έχεις ακούσει λόγους, και αν τίποτε άλλο δεν είσαι, είσαι Αθηναίος και γνωρίζεις το κοινόν βέβαια τούτο και από όλους λεγόμενον, ότι ο βίος είναι μία παρεπιδημία και ότι πρέπει, αφού διέλθωμεν τούτον μετριοπαθώς, με ευθυμίαν και μόνον χωρίς να παιανίζωμεν να απέλθωμεν όπου πρέπει; Το να κρατούμεθα όμως από την ζωήν τόσον τρυφερώς και τόσον δυνατά ως νήπια δεν είναι ίδιον σκεπτομένης ηλικίας.

Αξίοχος Αληθή ταύτα είναι, Σωκράτη, και ορθά νομίζω ότι ομιλείς• αλλά δεν γνωρίζω πώς, αφού πλησιάσω εις αυτό το κακόν, οι μεν ισχυροί και περισσοί λόγοι σβύνονται χωρίς να εννοηθώσι και χάνουν την αξίαν των, επικρατεί δε φόβος τις κατά ποικίλον τρόπον κεντών τον νουν, ότι θα υστερηθώ του φωτός τούτου και των καλών, αηδής δε και μη ακούων τίποτε κάπου θα ευρεθώ σηπόμενος και μεταβαλλόμενος εις σκώληκας και ζωύφια.

Σωκράτης Συνδέεις δηλαδή, Αξίοχε, ασκέπτως την αναισθησίαν με την αίσθησιν, και κάπως εναντία προς τον εαυτόν σου και κάμνεις και λέγεις, μη σκεπτόμενος ότι συγχρόνως μεν κλαίεις την αναισθησίαν, συγχρόνως δε λυπείσαι διά σήψεις και στερήσεις των ευχαρίστων ως να επρόκειτο να αποθάνης και μεταβής εις την άλλην ζωήν {1} και όχι ότι θα γίνης τελείως αναίσθητος όπως και προ της γενέσεως. Διότι όπως επί του πολιτεύματος του Δράκοντος ή του Κλεισθένους κανέν κακόν δεν ήτο περί σε, διότι δεν υπήρχες, ούτως ούτε μετά τον θάνατον θα γίνη, διότι συ δεν θα υπάρχης. Πάντα λοιπόν φλύαρον αποδίωξε, τούτο αφού εννοήσης ότι, αφού διαλυθή η σύνθεσις και αφού τοποθετηθή η ψυχή εις τον αρμόζοντα τόπον, το υπόλοιπον σώμα, επειδή είναι γεώδες και άλογον, δεν είναι άνθρωπος. Διότι ημείς μεν είμεθα ψυχή, έν ζώον αθάνατον κεκλεισμένον εις έν θνητόν φρούριον. Το δε σώμα τούτο διά κακόν προσήρμοσεν η φύσις, εις το οποίον τα μεν τερπνά είναι επιπόλαια και παροδικά και με περισσοτέρας λύπας ανακατευμένα, τα δε λυπηρά ακέραια και πολυχρόνια, ένεκα των οποίων αναγκαστικώς, επειδή είναι διεσπαρμένη εις τους πόρους η ψυχή συμπάσχουσα, επιθυμεί τον ουράνιον και συγγενή αυτής αιθέρα και διψά επιθυμούσα την εκεί δίαιταν και συναναστροφήν. Ώστε απαλλαγή από της ζωής είναι μεταβολή κακού εις καλόν.

Αξίοχος Αφού λοιπόν, Σωκράτη, νομίζεις κακόν το ζην, πώς μένεις εν αυτώ και μάλιστα εξετάζεις περί αυτού, ενώ κατά τον νουν διαφέρεις περισσότερον από ημάς τους πολλούς;

Σωκράτης Αξίοχε, δεν πιστοποιείς ακριβή περί εμού πράγματα, νομίζεις δε, καθώς πολλοί Αθηναίοι, επειδή εξετάζω ακριβώς τα πράγματα, ότι είμαι επιστήμων τινός. Εγώ δε θα ηυχόμην να γνωρίζω τα κοινά ταύτα. Τόσον μένω οπίσω. Και ταύτα δε, τα οποία λέγω, είναι απηχήσεις του σοφού Προδίκου, άλλα μεν αγορασμένα αντί δύο δραχμών, άλλα δε αντί τεσσάρων. Διότι δωρεάν ο ανήρ ούτος δεν διδάσκει κανένα, πάντοτε δε συνηθίζει να λέγη το του Επιχάρμου: «η δε χειρ την χείρα νίπτει• δόσε κάτι και θα λάβης κάτι». Και πριν παρά τω Καλλία τω υιώ του Ιππονίκου επιδεικνύμενος τόσα είπεν εναντίον της ζωής, ώστε εγώ τουλάχιστον διέγραψα σχεδόν την ζωήν και από εκείνον τον καιρόν επιθυμεί τον θάνατον η ψυχή μου, Αξίοχε.

Αξίοχος Ποία δε ήσαν τα λεχθέντα ;

Σωκράτης Ημπορώ να σου είπω ταύτα τα οποία θα ενθυμηθώ. Είπε δηλαδή: Και ποία ηλικία δεν έχει λύπας ; Ευθύς άμα το νήπιον γεννηθή, μήπως δεν κλαίει αρχόμενον του ζην από λύπης; Δοκιμάζει όλας τας αλγηδόνας, κλαίων διότι είτε στερείται τινος, είτε διά την ζέστην, είτε διά το ψύχος ή διά τινα πληγήν, μη δυνάμενον να είπη τι αισθάνεται, κλαυθμηρίζον δε με φωνήν δυσαρεσκείας. Όταν έλθη εις ηλικίαν επτά ετών μετά πολλούς πόνους, παραδίδεται εις τους παιδαγωγούς και τους γραμματιστάς και τους παιδοτρίβας, οίτινες το τυραννούσιν• όταν πάλιν αυξηθή, έρχονται οι κριτικοί, οι γεωμέτραι, οι καθηγηταί και πολύ πλήθος αυθεντών. Όταν πάλιν εγγραφή εις τους εφήβους, έρχονται οι έφοροι και χειρότεροι φόβοι, έπειτα Λύκειον και Ακαδημία και γυμνασιαρχία και ράβδοι και απειρία κακών• και όλος ο καιρός του μειρακίου διατελεί υπό σωφρονιστάς και υπό την γνώμην περί των νέων της βουλής του Αρείου Πάγου. Όταν δε από ταύτα απαλλαγή, εισχωρούσι φροντίδες και σκέψεις, ποίαν οδόν του βίου θα χαράξη, και τα μετά ταύτα δεινά παρουσιάζουν τα πρώτα παιδικά και κατόπιν νηπιακά ως απλά φόβητρα: εκστρατείαι δηλαδή και τραύματα και συχνοί αγώνες. Έπειτα χωρίς κανείς να το εννοήση ήλθε το γήρας, εις το οποίον συρρέει όλον το φιλάσθενον της φύσεως και δυσκολοϊάτρευτον. Και αν μη κανείς το ταχύτερον ως χρέος αποδώση το ζην, ωσάν τοκογλύφος η φύσις παρουσιασθείσα, λαμβάνει ως ενέχυρον άλλου μεν την όρασιν, άλλου δε την ακοήν, πολλάκις δε και τα δύο. Και αν κανείς επιμείνη, παραλύει, βλάπτεται, εξαρθρούται. Αλλ’ οι πολλοί ένεκα του γήρατος παρακμάζουσι και κατά τον νουν και κατά την παροιμίαν οι γέροντες γίνονται παλίμπαιδες.

Διά τούτο και οι θεοί γνωρίζοντες τα ανθρώπινα, όσους ανθρώπους αγαπώσι, ταχύτερον τους απαλλάττουσι του ζην. Ο Αγαμήδης λοιπόν και ο Τροφώνιος, οίτινες κατεσκεύασαν τον εν Δελφοίς ναόν του θεού, ευχηθέντες να συμβή εις αυτούς το άριστον, κοιμηθέντες πλέον δεν εξύπνησαν• και οι υιοί της Αργείας ιερείας ομοίως, όταν ηυχήθη η μήτηρ να ανταμείψη η Ήρα την ευσέβειάν των, επειδή καθυστέρησεν η άμαξα και ζευχθέντες αυτοί έφερον αυτήν εις τον ναόν, μετά την ευχήν την οποίαν έλαβον, την νύκτα απέθανον. Απαιτείται μακρός χρόνος να διηγηθώ τα των ποιητών, οι οποίοι με θειότερα στόματα τα του βίου προφητεύουσι• πόσον κλαίουν την ζωήν• έν δε μόνον, το αξιολογώτατον, θα ενθυμηθώ, το οποίον λέγει: «Ούτω οι θεοί προώρισαν εις τους δυστυχείς θνητούς, να ζώσι λυπημένοι». Ο δε Αμφιάραος τι λέγει; «Εκείνος τον οποίον εγκαρδίως ηγάπα και ο Ζευς ο κρατών την αιγίδα και ο Απόλλων, δεν έφθασεν εις το γήρας». Ο δε διδάσκων «να θρηνή ο γεννηθείς, διότι έρχεται εις τόσα κακά», πώς σου φαίνεται; Αλλά σταματώ μήπως παρά την υπόσχεσίν μου μακρύνω τον λόγον ενθυμούμενος και άλλων.

Ποίαν δε κανείς εκλέξας επιστήμην ή τέχνην δεν παραπονείται και δεν αγανακτεί διά την παρούσαν κατάστασιν; Τας χειρωνακτικάς αν ακολουθήσωμεν και βαναύσους, θα ίδωμεν ότι είναι εργασίαι ανδρών κοπιαζόντων από την μίαν νύκτα εις την άλλην και μόλις ποριζομένων τας τροφάς, οι οποίοι κλαίουσιν εαυτούς και οι οποίοι πάσαν αγρυπνίαν των πληρούσιν από στεναγμούς και φροντίδας. Αλλά αν τον ναυτικόν βίον ακολουθήσωμεν, ούτος διέρχεται διά τόσων κινδύνων και, ως είπεν ο Βίας, ο ναυτικός δεν είναι ούτε μεταξύ των αποθαμένων ούτε μεταξύ των ζώντων• διότι ο επίγειος άνθρωπος ως αμφίβιος ρίπτει εαυτόν εις το πέλαγος, αφιερών αυτόν εις την τύχην. Αλλ’ η γεωργία είναι γλυκύ τι. Είναι φανερόν. Αλλά δεν είναι τάχα, καθώς λέγουν, όλη μία πληγή ήτις πάντοτε ευρίσκει πρόφασιν λύπης, διότι κλαίει τις τώρα μεν την ξηρασίαν, τώρα δε τας βροχάς, τώρα δε τας πλημμύρας, τώρα δε ασθένειαν βλάπτουσαν τα σπαρτά, τώρα δε θερμότητα άκαιρον, ή παγωνιάν; Αλλά η πολυτίμητος πολιτική — και παραβλέπω πολλά — από πόσα κακά ακολουθείται; την μεν χαράν έχει ωσάν φλεγμονήν με παλμούς και με σφυγμούς, την δε αποτυχίαν λυπηροτάτην και μυρίων θανάτων χειροτέραν. Διότι τις δύναται να είναι ευδαίμων ζων με τον όχλον, αν ήθελε επευφημισθή και επικροτηθή ως παίγνιον του λαού αποδιωκόμενον, συριττόμενον, ζημιούμενον, θνήσκον, ελεούμενον ; Πού, ω πολιτικέ Αξίοχε, απέθανεν ο Μιλτιάδης; πού δε ο Θεμιστοκλής ; πού δε ο Εφιάλτης; πού δε πριν οι δέκα στρατηγοί; ότε εγώ μεν δεν ήμην της γνώμης να καταδικασθώσιν, οι δε περί τον Θηραμένην και Καλλίξενον την ακόλουθον ημέραν προέδρους εγκαθέτους αφίσαντες κατεδίκασαν εις θάνατον ακρίτως τους άνδρας. Και όμως συ μόνος υπερήσπισες αυτούς και ο Ευρυπτόλεμος, ενώ συνεδρίαζον τριάκοντα χιλιάδες.

Αξίοχος Ούτως εχουσι ταύτα, ω Σώκρατες, και εγώ βέβαια από εκείνον τον καιρόν αρκετά ειργάσθην εις το βήμα και κανέν πράγμα δεν μου εφάνη πλέον ενοχλητικόν των πολιτικών. Και τούτο είναι φανερόν εις όσους ηκολούθησαν το έργον τούτο. Διότι συ μεν ομιλείς ούτω διότι από μακράν παρατηρείς, ημείς δε γνωρίζομεν ακριβέστερον διότι έχομεν πείραν. Διότι ο λαός, ω φίλε Σωκράτη, είναι αχάριστος, ευμετάβλητος, σκληρός, φθονερός, απαίδευτος, διότι είναι μαζευμένος εκ συμμίκτου όχλου και από βιαίους φλυάρους• εκείνος δε όστις αναμιγνύεται με τούτον είναι πολύ αθλιώτερος.

Σωκράτης Όταν λοιπόν, ω Αξίοχε, την ελευθεριωτάτην επιστήμην θεωρείς απευκταιοτάτην των λοιπών, πώς θα εννοήσωμεν τα λοιπά επιτηδεύματα; Δεν πρέπει να τα αποφεύγωμεν ; Ήκουσα δέ ποτε και τον Πρόδικον, όστις έλεγεν ότι ο θάνατος δεν υπάρχει ούτε περί τους ζώντας, ούτε περί τους αποθανόντας.

Αξίοχος Πώς λέγεις, Σωκράτη;

Σωκράτης Ναι, διότι περί τους ζώντας ο θάνατος δεν υπάρχει, οι δε αποθανόντες δεν υπάρχουσιν. Ώστε ούτε περί σε τώρα είναι, διότι δεν έχεις αποθάνει, ούτε και αν ήθελες πάθει τι, θα είναι περί σε, διότι συ δεν θα υπάρχης. Ματαία λοιπόν είναι η λύπη ώστε να λυπήται ο Αξίοχος δια το μήτε ον, μήτε μέλλον να είναι περί τον Αξίοχον, και ομοία είναι η λύπη, ως να ελυπείτο τις περί της Σκύλλας ή του Κενταύρου, πραγμάτων τα οποία μήτε είναι περί σε, μήτε ύστερον μετά τον θάνατον θα είναι. Διότι ο φόβος υπάρχει εις τα όντα, εις δε τα μη όντα πώς είναι δυνατόν να είναι;

Αξίοχος Συ μεν από την συνειθισμένην τώρα φλυαρίαν έχεις είπει ταύτα τα σοφά• αλλ’ η φλυαρολογία αύτη έχει διακοσμηθή διά τα μειράκια• εμέ δε λυπεί η στέρησις των καλών της ζωής, έστω και αν πλέον πειστικούς λόγους τούτων είπης, Σωκράτη. Διότι ο νους αποπλανώμενος από ευφράδεις λόγους δεν ακούει, ούτε τα λεγόμενα ταύτα προσεγγίζουσι την ουσίαν, αλλ’ εις μεν επίδειξιν και λέξεων ωραιότητα συντελούσιν, υστερούσιν όμως της αληθείας, τα παθήματα δε δεν ανέχονται σοφίσματα, αλλ’ αρκούνται εις μόνους τους δυναμένους να φθάσουν μέχρι της ψυχής λόγους.

Σωκράτης Συνδέεις δηλαδή, ω Αξίοχε, ασκέπτως την στέρησιν των καλών με την αίσθησιν των κακών, λησμονών ότι θα έχεις αποθάνει. Διότι λυπεί εκείνον, όστις στερείται των καλών, η αντικατάστασις τούτων διά των κακών, αλλ’ ο μη υπάρχων ούτε την στέρησιν εννοεί• πώς λοιπόν θα επέλθη λύπη εις εκείνον όστις δεν θα λάβη γνώσιν της λύπης; Διότι εξ αρχής, ω Αξίοχε, τρόπον τινά μη μετά των άλλων αισθήσεων λαμβάνων υπ’ όψιν μίαν αίσθησιν, ποτέ δεν ημπορείς να φοβηθής τον θάνατον• τώρα δε αδικείς τον εαυτόν σου φοβούμενος ότι θα στερηθής την ψυχήν. Εις δε την στέρησιν θέτεις και την στέρησιν της ψυχής και φοβείσαι μεν ότι δεν θα αισθάνεσαι, φαντάζεσαι δε ότι θα εννοήσης με αίσθησιν μίαν αίσθησιν ήτις δεν θα υπάρξη. Πλην του ότι είναι πολλοί και ωραίοι λόγοι περί της αθανασίας της ψυχής (διότι η ψυχή δεν είναι βέβαια φύσις θνητή) τόσα μεγάλα κατορθώματα διέπραξεν, ώστε κατεφρόνησε βίας μεγάλων θηρίων, διέπλευσε πελάγη, ωκοδόμησε πόλεις, ίδρυσε πολιτεύματα, ανέβλεψε δε εις τον ουρανόν και είδε τους κύκλους των άστρων και δρόμους ηλίου και σελήνης εκλείψεις και ταχείας επαναφοράς και ισημερίας και διττάς τροπάς χειμώνος και θέρους και ανατολάς και δύσεις πλειάδων και ανέμους και βροχάς και μεγάλα κτυπήματα κεραυνών και την σύνδεσιν των παθημάτων του κόσμου με τον αιώνα. Ταύτα βεβαίως δεν ήθελε κατορθώσει αν δεν ενυπήρχεν όντως θείον πνεύμα εις την ψυχήν, διά του οποίου να έχη των μεγάλων τούτων την οξύνοιαν και την γνώσιν.

Ώστε όχι εις θάνατον αλλ’ εις αθανασίαν θα περιέλθης, ω Αξίοχε, ούτε θα στερηθής των καλών, αλλά θα έχης ειλικρινεστέραν απόλαυσιν, ούτε θα έχης αναμεμιγμένας με θνητόν σώμα τας ηδονάς, αλλ’ αμιγείς όλων των λυπών. Διότι προς τα εκεί θα υπάγης απομονωθείς ταύτης της ειρκτής, εκεί όπου όλα είναι χωρίς πόνους και στεναγμούς και αγήρατα, βίος δε ήσυχος και χωρίς κακά, ευτυχών εις ησυχίαν ασάλευτον και πανταχόθεν θεωρών την φύσιν, φιλοσοφών όχι προς όχλον και προς θέατρον, αλλά προς μίαν γνησίαν αλήθειαν.

Αξίοχος Με τον λόγον με έφερες εις εναντίας σκέψεις• δεν υπάρχει πλέον εις εμέ φόβος θανάτου, αλλά μάλιστα και επιθυμία, ίνα κατά τι και εγώ μιμηθείς τους ρήτορας περιττολογήσω. Συνήλθον από την ασθένειαν και έγινα νέος άνθρωπος.

Σωκράτης Εάν δε θέλης και άλλον λόγον να ακούσης τον οποίον είπεν εις εμέ ο Γωβρύας, σου λέγω ότι είπεν, ότι κατά την διάβασιν του Ξέρξου ο πάππος και ομώνυμος αυτού απεστάλη εις Δήλον όπως επιτηρήση την νήσον εις την οποίαν εγεννήθησαν οι δύο θεοί, και έκ τινων χαλκίνων πινάκων τους οποίους από τους Υπερβορείους έφεραν ο Ώπις και η Εκαέργη, επληροφορήθη ακριβώς ότι μετά την διάλυσιν του σώματος η ψυχή μεταβαίνει εις άδηλον τόπον, εις υπόγειον κατοικίαν εις την οποίαν υπάρχουν τα ανάκτορα του Πλούτωνος όχι κατώτερα από την αυλήν του Διός, διότι η μεν γη κατέχει το μέσον του κόσμου, ο δε πόλος είναι σφαιροειδής, του οποίου το έτερον ημισφαίριον έλαχεν εις τους ουρανίους θεούς, το έτερον δε εις τους υποχθονίους. Ούτοι δε είναι οι μεν αδελφοί, οι δε παίδες αδελφών. Τα προπύλαια της εις τον Πλούτωνα οδού είναι περικλεισμένα με σιδηρά κλείθρα και κλείδας• αφού δε ταύτα ανοίξωσι, δέχεται ο ποταμός Αχέρων, μετά τον οποίον ο Κωκυτός, τους οποίους πρέπει αφού διέλθη τις διά πλοιαρίου, να οδηγηθή εις τον Μίνω και Ραδάμανθυν. Η κατοικία αύτη ονομάζεται πεδιάς της αληθείας.

Εδώ κάθηνται δικασταί οι οποίοι ανακρίνουσιν έκαστον από τους ερχομένους, ποίον βίον έκαστος έζησε και με ποία επιτηδεύματα ησχολήθη. Και να ψευσθή μεν είναι αδύνατον. Όσοι δε λοιπόν κατά το διάστημα της ζωής ηυνοήθησαν υπό καλής τύχης, ούτοι τοποθετούνται εις τον χώρον των ευσεβών, όπου αφθονούσι παντός είδους καρποί και όπου τρέχουσι πηγαί καθαρών υδάτων, υπάρχουσι δε παντός είδους λειμώνες με άνθη ποικίλα και κατοικίαι φιλοσόφων και θέατρα ποιητών και χοροί κύκλιοι και μουσικά ακούσματα και συμπόσια με ωραίας μελωδίας και ευωχίαι δωρεάν και απουσία λύπης και βίος γλυκύς• διότι ούτε ψύχος πολύ, ούτε ζέστη υπάρχει, αλλά συγκερασμένος αήρ διασκορπίζεται, αναμεμιγμένος με απαλάς ακτίνας ηλίου• εδώ εις τους μεμυημένους υπάρχει πρωτοκαθεδρία τις• και τας θρησκευτικάς τελετάς αυτοί εκεί συντελούσι. Πώς λοιπόν συ πρώτος δεν θα έχης μέρος εις τας τιμάς, αφού είσαι εκ του αυτού γένους των θεών ; Όσοι δε διήλθον τον βίον διά κακουργημάτων οδηγούνται εις το σκότος και το χάος των Ερινύων διά του ταρτάρου, όπου είναι ο τόπος των ασεβών και αι μη πληρούμεναι ποτέ υδρίαι των Δαναΐδων και η δίψα του Ταντάλου και τα σπλάγχνα του Τιτυού και η μη δυναμένη να φθάση εις το τέρμα πέτρα του Σισύφου, όπου από θηρία ξηρογλειφόμενοι και από λαμπάδας επιμόνως θερμαινόμενοι και με πάσαν κακήν μεταχείρισιν βασανιζόμενοι με αιωνίους τιμωρίας κατατυραννούνται.

Ταύτα μεν εγώ ήκουσα από τον Γωβρύαν, συ δε, ω Αξίοχε, ημπορείς να κρίνης. Διότι εγώ τούτο μόνον αληθώς γνωρίζω, ότι η ψυχή είναι αθάνανος, μετατεθείσα δε από τούτου του τόπου είναι και άλυπος• ώστε ή κάτω ή άνω πρέπει συ, ω Αξίοχε, να είσαι ευδαίμων, αφού έχεις διέλθει τον βίον σου ευσεβώς.

Αξίοχος Εντρέπομαι, Σωκράτη, να σου είπω τι• τόσον απέχω από τον φόβον του θανάτου, ώστε τώρα και να αγαπώ αυτόν. Τόσον εμέ και ούτος ο λόγος καθώς και ο ουράνιος με έχει πείσει και τώρα περιφρονώ την ζωήν, επειδή θα μεταβώ εις ανωτέραν κατοικίαν. Τώρα δε ησύχως θα σκεφθώ πάλιν τα λεχθέντα• μετά μεσημβρίαν δε θα σε ίδω βέβαια, Σωκράτη, κοντά μου.

Σωκράτης Θα κάμω όπως λέγεις, θα επανέλθω δε εις το Κυνόσαργες όπως περιπατήσω εκεί από όπου εδώ προσεκλήθην.

Α Λ Κ Υ Ω Ν {2} (Ή περί μεταμορφώσεως)

ERYXIAS

ΠΡΟΣΩΠΑ ΤΟΥ ΔΙΑΛΟΓΟΥ ΣΩΚΡΑΤΗΣ ΕΡΥΞΙΑΣ ΕΡΑΣΙΣΤΡΑΤΟΣ ΚΡΙΤΙΑΣ

Σωκράτης Έτυχε να περιπατώμεν εις την στοάν του Διός του ελευθερίου εγώ και ο Ερυξίας ο Στειριεύς• έπειτα ήλθον πλησίον μας ο Κριτίας και ο Ερασίστρατος ο υιός του Φαίακος ανεψιός του Ερασιστράτου. Κατά τύχην δε τότε ήτο νεοφερμένος από την Σικελίαν και από τούτους τους τόπους ο Ερασίστρατος• πλησιάσας δε είπε:

Ερασίστρατος Χαίρε ω Σώκρατες.

Σωκράτης Και συ χαίρε• τι γίνεσαι; Τίποτε νέον από την Σικελίαν έχεις να μας λέγης ;

Ερασίστρατος Και βέβαια• αλλ’ επιθυμείτε πρώτον να καθίσωμεν; Διότι έχω κουρασθή, ελθών χθες πεζός από τα Μέγαρα.

Σωκράτης Κάλλιστα αν φαίνεται καλόν.

Ερασίστρατος Τι λοιπόν από τα εκεί θέλετε πρώτον να ακούσετε; Ποίον από τα δύο, τί κάμνουσιν αυτοί εκείνοι, ή πώς διάκεινται προς την πόλιν μας; Διότι εκείνοι φαίνονται εις εμέ ότι έχουσι πάθει αναφορικώς προς ημάς ό,τι και οι σφήκες. Διότι και ούτοι, εάν κανείς κατ’ ολίγον εξερεθίζων τους παροργίση, γίνονται ακατανίκητοι, έως ότου, αφού επιτεθή τις συν γυναιξί και τέκνοις, τους εκδιώξη. Τοιουτοτρόπως λοιπόν συμβαίνει και με τους Συρακοσίους• αν δεν κάμη κανείς κατόρθωμα και με πολύν μέγαν στόλον δεν φθάση εκεί, δεν είναι δυνατόν η πόλις των εκείνη να γίνη ποτέ υπόδουλος εις ημάς• από δε τα μικρά κινήματα περισσότερον δύνανται να οργίζωνται και τόσον όσον να γίνωνται σκληρότατοι. Έχουσι δε στείλει και τώρα προς ημάς πρέσβεις, καθώς φαίνεται εις εμέ, θέλοντες να εξαπατήσωσι κατά τι την πόλιν.

Σωκράτης Ενώ δε ημείς συνωμιλούσαμεν έτυχε να διέρχωνται οι Συρακόσιοι πρέσβεις. Είπε λοιπόν ο Ερασίστρατος δείξας τον ένα από τους πρέσβεις :

Ερασίστρατος Ούτος εδώ βέβαια, Σωκράτη, είναι πλουσιώτατος από τους Σικελιώτας και Ιταλιώτας. Και πώς να μη είναι πλουσιώτατος εκείνος εις τον οποίον είναι τόσον άφθονος γη, ώστε να υπάρχη ευπορία εις εκείνον όστις θέλει να γεωργή παρά πολλήν ; Και αύτη βέβαια η γη είναι τοιαύτη, οποία δεν υπάρχει άλλη τουλάχιστον εις τους Έλληνας• προσέτι δε κατάλληλος και καθ’ όλα τα άλλα τα συντελούντα προς πλούτον υπάρχουσι δηλαδή ανδράποδα και ίπποι και χρυσός και άργυρος.

Σωκράτης Βλέπων δε εγώ αυτόν παρασκευαζόμενον να φλυαρήση περί της περιουσίας του ανθρώπου, τον ηρώτησα: Τι λοιπόν, ω Ερασίστρατε ; Σαν ποίος ανήρ φαίνεται ότι είναι εις την Σικελίαν ;

Ερασίστρατος Ούτος, από τους Σικελιώτας και Ιταλιώτας, και φαίνεται και είναι ο πονηρότατος πάντων παρά ο πλουσιώτατος, και τόσον ώστε, αν θέλης κανένα από τους Σικελιώτας να ερωτάς ποίον νομίζει να είναι και πονηρότατος και πλουσιώτατος, κανείς δεν θα είπη άλλον από τούτον.

Σωκράτης Επειδή δε ενόμισα ότι αυτός δεν κάμνει λόγον δια μικρά πράγματα, αλλά δι’ εκείνα τα οποία φαίνονται ότι είναι μέγιστα, περί αρετής και περί πλούτου, τον ηρώτησα ποίον από τα δύο δύναται να είπη, ότι πλουσιώτερος άνθρωπος είναι εκείνος εις τον οποίον κατά τύχην υπάρχει αργυρούν τάλαντον, ή εκείνος εις τον οποίον υπάρχει αγρός άξιος δύο ταλάντων ;

Ερασίστρατος Νομίζω μεν εγώ, εκείνος εις τον οποίον υπάρχει αγρός.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν κατά τον ίδιον λόγον και αν κατά τύχην είς τινα υπάρχουσι φορέματα ή στρώματα, ή άλλα περισσοτέρου λόγου άξια ή όσα εις τον ξένον Σικελιώτην, ούτος είναι πλουσιώτερος.

(Συνεφώνησε και εις ταύτα).

Εάν δε κανείς ήθελε σοι δώσει να προτιμήσης μεταξύ τούτων των δύο, ποίον των δύο θα προετίμας;

Ερασίστρατος
Εγώ μεν θα προετίμων το πλείστου λόγου άξιον.

Σωκράτης
Κατά ποίον από τους δύο τρόπους νομίζων ότι θα ήσο πλουσιώτερος;

Ερασίστρατος
Κατά τούτον, προτιμών το πλείστου λόγου άξιον.

Σωκράτης Τώρα μεν τάχα φαίνεται εις ημάς ότι πλουσιώτατος είναι εκείνος όστις έχει πλείστου λόγου άξια;

Ερασίστρατος Ναι.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν, οι υγιαίνοντες είναι πλουσιώτεροι από τους ασθενείς, εάν η υγεία είναι περισσοτέρου λόγου άξιον πράγμα παρά τα χρήματα του ασθενούς. Διότι δεν υπάρχει κανείς όστις ολίγα έχων χρήματα να μη προτιμήση να είναι υγιής, ή έχων τα χρήματα του μεγάλου βασιλέως να ασθενή, δηλαδή προτιμά την υγείαν, διότι νομίζει ότι αύτη είναι περισσοτέρου λόγου αξία ή τα χρήματα. Διότι ποτέ δεν θα προετίμα ταύτην, αν μη ενόμιζε την υγείαν πράγμα προτιμότερον από τα χρήματα.

Ερασίστρατος Όχι βέβαια.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν και αν τίποτε άλλο φαίνεται περισσότερον της υγείας άξιον λόγου, εκείνος όστις έχει το άλλο τούτο είναι πλουσιώτατος.

Ερασίστρατος Ναι.

Σωκράτης Εάν τώρα, αφού μας πλησιάση κανείς, μας ηρώτα, ω Σωκράτη και Ερυξία και Ερασίστρατε, ημπορείτε να μου ειπήτε τι είναι διά τον άνθρωπον πράγμα πλείστου λόγου άξιον ; Είναι τάχα τούτο το οποίον αφού απέκτησεν ο άνθρωπος, περί τούτου άριστα και σκέπτεται, πώς δηλαδή κάλλιστα ήθελε διεξαγάγει και αυτός τας υποθέσεις του και τας υποθέσεις των φίλων ; — Ποίον πράγμα θα ελέγομεν ότι είναι ;

Ερασίστρατος Εγώ μεν νομίζω, Σωκράτη, ότι η ευδαιμονία είναι εις τον άνθρωπον πράγμα πλείστου λόγου άξιον.

Σωκράτης Και δεν σκέπτεσαι κακά. Αλλ’ αρά γε τούτους εκ των ανθρώπων ηθέλομεν νομίσει ευδαιμονεστάτους, οι οποίοι κατ’ εξοχήν ευπραγούσιν;

Ερασίστρατος Εις εμέ τουλάχιστον ούτοι φαίνονται ευδαιμονέστατοι.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν εκείνοι ευπραγούσιν, όσοι και ελάχιστα αμαρτήματα κάμνουν εις τον εαυτόν τους και εις τους άλλους ανθρώπους, τα δε πλείστα κατορθώνουν;

Ερασίστρατος Μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν όσοι γνωρίζουν τα κακά και τα καλά, και όσα πρέπει να πράττουν και όσα δεν πρέπει, ούτοι ορθότατα πράττουν και ελάχιστα αμαρτήματα κάμνουν.

Ερασίστρατος Ναι.

Σωκράτης Τώρα λοιπόν φαίνονται εις ημάς ότι οι άνδρες είναι και σοφώτατοι και ευτυχέστατοι και ευδαιμονέστατοι και πλουσιώτατοι, αν η σοφία φαίνεται το πλείστου λόγου άξιον πράγμα.

Ερασίστρατος Αλλά Σωκράτη, ποία ωφέλεια θα ήτο εις τον άνθρωπον, αν ήτο σοφώτερος μεν του Νέστορος, τα δε αναγκαία προς συντήρησίν του δεν είχε, τροφάς και ποτά και φορέματα και ό,τι άλλο τοιούτον χρησιμεύει ; Κατά τι ωφέλιμος θα ήτο η σοφία• ή πώς ούτος ο πτωχός, όστις δεν έχει τίποτε από τα αναγκαιούντα, ημπορεί να είναι πλουσιώτατος ;

(Εφαίνετο λοιπόν ότι και αυτός έλεγε κάτι σημαντικόν).

Σωκράτης Αλλά ποίον από τα δύο, εκείνος όστις έχει αποκτήσει σοφίαν, και αν στερηθή τούτων των προς τον βίον αναγκαίων, ημπορεί να γίνη πτωχός• ή εκείνος όστις έχει κτήμα του την οικίαν του Πουλυτίωνος και η οικία αύτη είναι γεμάτη από χρυσόν και άργυρον, δεν έχει ανάγκην από τίποτε άλλο ;

Ερασίστρατος Τούτον μεν τίποτε δεν εμποδίζει αμέσως τώρα, αφού κανονίση τα πράγματά του, να έχη αντί αυτών όλα όσα του χρειάζονται προς την δίαιταν, ή και χρήματα αντί των οποίων να ημπορέση να προμηθεύεται ταύτα και αμέσως να τα έχη όλα άφθονα.

Σωκράτης Αν τουλάχιστον ήθελον τύχει άνθρωποι, οίτινες να έχουν ανάγκην να υπάρχη εις αυτούς τοιαύτη οικία μάλλον παρά η σοφία εκείνου• διότι, αν υπήρχον τοιούτοι οι οποίοι να προτιμούν την σοφίαν του ανθρώπου και τα εκ ταύτης προερχόμενα, πολύ περισσότερον ούτος θα είχε να διαθέτη, αν κατά τύχην έχη ανάγκην τινός και θέλη και αυτήν την σοφίαν και τα από ταύτης έργα. Ή της μεν οικίας η χρήσις τυχαίνει να είναι πολλή και αναγκαία και μεγάλως ενδιαφέρει εις τον βίον του ανθρώπου να κατοική εις τοιαύτην οικίαν μάλλον παρά εις μικρόν και ποταπόν οικίδιον, της δε σοφίας η χρήσις είναι λόγου αξία και ολίγον ενδιαφέρει να είναι κανείς ή σοφός ή αμαθής περί των μεγίστων ; ή ταύτην μεν να καταφρονούν οι άνθρωποι και να μη είναι ταύτης αγορασταί, της δε κυπαρίσσου ήτις είναι εις την οικίαν και των Πεντελικών λίθων πολλοί να έχουν ανάγκην και να θέλουν να αγοράσουν ; Αν λοιπόν ήθελε είναι κανείς σοφός κυβερνήτης και ιατρός σοφός κατά την τέχνην ή κατά τινα άλλην των τοιούτου είδους τεχνών και ηδύνατο όσον το δυνατόν καλά να μεταχειρίζεται ταύτην, ούτος δεν θα ήτο ευϋποληπτότερος από κανέν των μεγίστων κτημάτων• εκείνος δε όστις ημπορεί να σκέπτεται καλά και αυτός περί του εαυτού του και περί άλλου, πώς θα ευρίσκετο εις αρίστην κατάστασιν, τάχα δεν θα ηδύνατο να διαθέτη την σοφίαν του, αν ήθελε τούτο να πράττη ;

Σταματήσας δε τον Σωκράτην και πλαγίως παρατηρήσας αυτόν ο Ερυξίας ως να ηδικείτο κάπως, είπεν:

Ερυξίας Αλλά συ, Σωκράτη, αν έπρεπε να λέγης την αλήθειαν, θα έλεγες ότι είσαι πλουσιώτερος του Καλλίου του υιού του Ιππονίκου; Και όμως θα ωμολόγεις ότι δεν είσαι αμαθέστερος τουλάχιστον ως προς ουδέν εκ των μεγίστων ζητημάτων, αλλ’ εμπειρότερος, και εν τούτοις ένεκα τούτου δεν είσαι διόλου πλουσιώτερος.

Σωκράτης Ίσως συ, ω Ερυξία, νομίζεις βεβαίως ότι ούτοι δα οι λόγοι, τους οποίους τώρα ακριβώς λέγομεν, είναι παιγνίδι, επειδή νομίζεις ότι δεν έχει ούτω το πράγμα, αλλ’ ότι είναι όπως οι νεοσσοί εις το παιγνίδι των κύβων, τους οποίους, εάν κανείς ρίπτη καλώς και μετατοπίζη, δύναται τους παίζοντας μαζύ του να αναγκάση να υποχωρούν τόσον, ώστε να μη ηξεύρουν και αυτοί πώς εις ταύτην την περίπτωσιν να παίξουν. Ίσως λοιπόν και διά τους πλουσίους νομίζεις μεν ότι ούτω σχεδόν έχει το πράγμα, ότι οι αυτοί τους οποίους είπομεν είναι λόγοι τινές τοιούτοι ουδόλως περισσότερον αληθείς από ψευδείς, τους οποίους, αν κανείς λέγη, ήθελεν υπερισχύσει εκείνων οίτινες έχουν αντίθετον γνώμην ως προς το ότι οι σοφώτατοι είναι και πλουσιώτατοι καθ’ ημάς, και μάλιστα ήθελεν υπερισχύσει των τοιούτων αυτάς λέγων ψευδή, ενώ εκείνοι λέγουν την αλήθειαν. Και ίσως μεν ουδαμώς το τοιούτον είναι θαυμαστόν, ομοίως όπως, εάν δύο άνθρωποι συνεζήτουν περί στοιχείων αλφαβήτου και ο μεν έλεγεν ότι του ονόματος του Σωκράτους αρχικόν στοιχείον είναι το σίγμα ο δε έτερος ότι αρχικόν είναι το άλφα, θα ήτο αληθεστέρα η γνώμη του λέγοντος το άλφα παρά του λέγοντος το σίγμα ως αρχήν.

Παρατηρήσας δε πέριξ προς τους παρόντας ο Ερυξίας, ενώ συγχρόνως και εγέλα και ηρυθρία ως να μη ήτο παρών κατά τα πρότερον λεχθέντα, είπεν :

Ερυξίας Εγώ μεν, Σωκράτη, ενόμιζον ότι οι λόγοι δεν πρέπει να είναι τοιούτοι, διά των οποίων μήτε να πείση κανένα θα ηδύνατό τις μήτε να ωφεληθή τίποτε από αυτούς• διότι ποίος άνθρωπος με νουν ημπορεί ποτέ να πεισθή ότι οι σοφώτατοι είναι πλουσιότατοι ; Αλλ’ επειδή περί του πλουτείν μάλλον πρέπει να ομιλώμεν, ας εξετάσωμεν πόθεν είναι καλόν το πλουτείν και πόθεν κακόν, και αν το να είναι τις πλούσιος είναι καλόν ή κακόν.

Σωκράτης Έστω• διά δε τα λοιπά ας επιφυλαχθώμεν• καλά δε κάμνεις και συ συμβουλεύων. Αλλά διατί και συ ο ίδιος (διότι συ έφερες τον λόγον) δεν προσεπάθησες να είπης, ποίον εκ των δύο νομίζεις ότι είναι ο πλούτος, καλόν ή κακόν; Επειδή και οι προηγούμενοι λόγοι τουλάχιστον φαίνονται εις εσέ ότι δεν εξήγησαν τούτο.

Ερυξίας Εις εμέ λοιπόν φαίνεται ότι το πλουτείν είναι καλόν.

Σωκράτης
Ενώ δε αυτός επεθύμει να είπη ακόμη κάτι τι, διακόψας αυτόν ο
Κριτίας, τον ηρώτησε :

Κριτίας Συ λοιπόν, Ερυξία, ειπέ μου, νομίζεις ότι καλόν είναι να πλουτή τις ;

Ερυξίας Ναι, μα τον Δία• διότι αν έλεγα το εναντίον, θα ήμην τρελλός• νομίζω δε ότι δεν είναι κανείς όστις να μη ομολογήση τούτο.

Κριτίας Και όμως, και εγώ νομίζω ότι κανείς δεν είναι τον οποίον να μη κάμνω να συμφωνήση με εμέ, ότι είς τινας ανθρώπους το να πλουτώσιν είναι κακόν διότι αν γενικώς τούτο ήτο καλόν, δεν θα εφαίνετο είς τινας κακόν.

Σωκράτης Αλλά είπα και εις τους δύο ότι βέβαια εγώ, αν συνέβαινε να φιλονεικήτε περί του ποίος των δύο σας λέγει αληθέστερα πράγματα, έστω περί ιππασίας περί του πώς δύναται τις άριστα να ιππεύση, αν ήμην ιππικός, θα προσεπάθουν να παύσω την φιλονεικίαν σας• διότι θα εντρεπόμην παρών να μη σας ημπόδιζα, εφ’ όσον ήτο δυνατόν εις εμέ, να φιλονεικήτε• ή, αν και περί άλλου οιουδήποτε διεφέρεσθε, να σας άφινον να χωρισθήτε μάλλον εχθροί ή φίλοι.

Τώρα δε, επειδή συμβαίνει να έχετε διαφοράν περί τοιούτου πράγματος, του οποίου η ανάγκη υφίσταται καθ’ όλον τον βίον, πολύ ενδιαφέρον είναι αν πρέπη να φροντίζωμεν περί τούτου ως περί ωφελίμου, ή να μη φροντίζωμεν• ταύτα δε τα ζητήματα δεν είναι μικρά, αλλ’ εξ εκείνων τα οποία θεωρούνται υπό των Ελλήνων μέγιστα. Οι πατέρες λοιπόν τούτο πρώτον συμβουλεύουσιν εις τους υιούς των, όταν φθάσουν εις μίαν ηλικίαν πλέον να εννοούν, δηλαδή να σκέπτωνται διά τίνων μέσων θα πλουτίσουν, ωσεί, αν μεν πλουτίσης, να έχης αξίαν τινά, αν δε όχι, να μη αξίζης τίποτε. Το πράγμα λοιπόν θεωρείται τόσον σπουδαίον, ώστε σεις, ενώ συμφωνείτε κατά τα άλλα, περί τούτου του τόσον σπουδαίου έχετε διαφοράν, όπως η διαφορά σας περί του πλουτείν είναι όχι αν τούτο είναι μέλαν ή λευκόν, ούτε αν είναι ελαφρόν ή βαρύ, αλλ’ αν είναι καλόν ή κακόν, και τόσην διαφοράν, ώστε και εις έχθραν να φθάσετε διαφερόμενοι περί των κακών και των καλών και μάλιστα ενώ είσθε φίλτατοι και συγγενείς. Εγώ λοιπόν, εφ’ όσον εξαρτάται από εμέ, δεν θα σας αφήσω να διαφέρεσθε, αλλ’ αν μεν εγώ αυτός είμαι ικανός, αφ’ ού σας εξηγήσω πώς έχει το πράγμα, θα σας παύσω την διαφοράν τώρα δε, επειδή εγώ μεν ικανός δεν είμαι, από σας δε ο είς νομίζει ότι είναι ικανός να κάμη τον έτερον να συμφωνήση, είμαι έτοιμος να σας βοηθήσω όσον δύναμαι διά να συμφωνηθή μεταξύ σας πώς τούτο έχει. Συ λοιπόν, ω Κριτία, επιχείρει να μας κάμης να συμφωνήσωμεν όπως υπεσχέθης.

Κριτίας Αλλ’ εγώ, όπως και ήρχισα, ευχαρίστως θα ηρώτων τον Ερυξίαν τούτον αν νομίζη ότι υπάρχουν άνθρωποι άδικοι και δίκαιοι.

Ερυξίας
Μα τον Δία, και βέβαια.

Κριτίας
Λοιπόν το να αδική τις νομίζεις ότι είναι καλόν ή κακόν ;

Ερυξίας
Κακόν εγώ τουλάχιστον το νομίζω.

Κριτίας Νομίζεις λοιπόν ότι, αν άνθρωπος μοιχεύη τας γυναίκας των γειτόνων του επί χρήμασιν, ούτος πράττει αδίκημα, ή δεν πράττει; Και μάλιστα ενώ οι νόμοι και η πόλις εμποδίζουν ;

Ερυξίας Εγώ τουλάχιστον νομίζω ότι κάμνει αδίκημα.

Κριτίας Λοιπόν, αν μεν συμβαίνη να είναι πλούσιος και δύναται να δαπανά χρήματα, ο άδικος και θέλων να δαπανά άνθρωπος πράττει αμάρτημα• αν όμως δεν είναι πλούσιος και δεν έχη να δαπανά ούτε να κάμνη όσα θέλει, δεν κάμνει αμάρτημα. Διά τούτο θα ήτο και ωφέλιμον εις τον άνθρωπον μάλλον να μη είναι πλούσιος, διά να πράττη ολιγώτερα από όσα θέλει, αν θέλη να πράττη κακά. Και η ασθένεια λέγεις ότι είναι καλόν ή κακόν ;

Ερυξίας
Εγώ τουλάχιστον το λέγω κακόν.

Κριτίας
Νομίζεις ότι υπάρχουν άνθρωποι ακόλαστοι;

Ερυξίας
Νομίζω.

Κριτίας Λοιπόν, αν άριστον μέσον εις την υγείαν του ακολάστου ανθρώπου ήθελεν είναι η αποχή από τροφάς και ποτά και από άλλα όσα φαίνονται ευχάριστα, ο ακόλαστος δε άνθρωπος ένεκα της ακολασίας του δεν θα ηδύνατο να απέχη τούτων, δεν θα ήτο προτιμότερον εις τον άνθρωπον τούτον να μη έχη τα μέσα με τα οποία να προμηθεύεται ταύτα μάλλον ή να έχη ταύτα άφθονα; Διότι, αν δεν είχε ταύτα άφθονα, ευκόλως δεν θα περιέπιπτεν εις αμαρτήματα, έστω και αν επεθύμει.

Σωκράτης Εφαίνετο λοιπόν ότι πολύ καλά είχεν ομιλήσει ο Κριτίας και τόσον ώστε ο Ερυξίας, αν δεν εντρέπετο τους παρόντας, δεν θα ημποδίζετο να σηκωθή και τον κτυπήση, διότι εφανερώθη εις αυτόν ότι όχι ορθάς σκέψεις περί του πλουτείν είχε πριν. Όταν δε εγώ ενόησα καλώς ότι ο Ερυξίας ήτο εις την κατάστασιν εκείνην και εφοβήθην μήπως συμβή μεγαλυτέρα αντιλογία και πειράγματα, είπον: Τούτον μεν τον λόγον πρότερον εις το λύκειον λέγων σοφός ανήρ Πρόδικος ο Κείος εφαίνετο εις τους παρόντας ότι φλυαρεί τόσον, ώστε να μη ημπορή κανένα από τους παρόντας να πείση ότι λέγει πράγματα αληθή, και τέλος και έν μειράκιον πολύ νέον και φλύαρον, το οποίον εκάθητο πλησίον, τον περιέπαιζε και τον εχλεύαζε και τον ετάρασσε, διότι ήθελε να του απαντά εις όσα του έλεγε• και όμως τούτο το μειράκιον πολύ περισσότερον ευηρέστει τους ακροατάς του παρά ο Πρόδικος.

Ερασίστρατος Λοιπόν ημπορείς να μας είπης τους λόγους;

Σωκράτης Ευχαρίστως, εφ’ όσον ενθυμούμαι. Ούτω πως, καθώς νομίζω, είχεν ο λόγος:

Ηρώτα δηλαδή αυτόν το μειράκιον εν τίνι περιστάσει νομίζει τον πλούτον κακόν τι και εν τίνι επίσης καλόν• εκείνος δε αποκριθείς είπε : Κρίνω όπως και συ τώρα δα, δηλαδή ότι εις μεν τους καλούς και αγαθούς ανθρώπους και εις εκείνους οι οποίοι ηξεύρουν πού και πώς να μεταχειρίζωνται τα χρήματα, κρίνω ότι είναι καλόν, εις δε τους κακούς και τους μη ηξεύροντας, κακόν. Και διά τα λοιπά πράγματα, είπεν, ο αυτός κανών είναι• δηλαδή οποίοι είναι οι μεταχειριζόμενοι αυτά, τοιαύτα και τα πράγματα είναι. Καλά δε, είπεν εκείνος, νομίζω ότι έχει ποιηθή και ο στίχος του Αρχιλόχου:

Αι πράξεις των να συμφωνούν με τα φρονήματά των.

Τώρα λοιπόν, είπε το μειράκιον, αν κανείς εμέ έκαμνε σοφόν κατά την σοφίαν των καλών ανθρώπων, πρέπει αυτός συγχρόνως και τα άλλα πράγματα καλά εις εμέ να κάμνη, προς μεν αυτά εκείνα ουδόλως ασχολούμενος, αλλά μόνον ασχολούμενος να κάμη εμέ αντί αμαθούς σοφόν• καθώς, αν κανείς εμέ τώρα ήθελε κάμει γραμματικόν, είναι ανάγκη αυτός και τα άλλα πράγματα γραμματικά εις εμέ να κάμνη, και αν μουσικόν, μουσικά• ώστε, όταν κάμη εμέ καλόν, πρέπει συγχρόνως καλά και τα πράγματα να κάμη εις εμέ.

Ο Πρόδικος όμως άλλοτε μεν εις ταύτα συνεφώνει, άλλοτε δε δεν συνεφώνει και το μειράκιον εξηκολούθει: Ποίον των δύο νομίζεις, είπεν• όπως είναι έργον του ανθρώπου να κατασκευάζη μίαν οικίαν, ούτω και έργον τούτου είναι και τα πράγματα να κάμνη καλά, ή πρέπει οποία τινα εξ αρχής γίνωσιν είτε κακά, είτε καλά, τοιαύτα να εξακολουθώσιν αυτά να είναι; Υποπτεύσας δε, νομίζω ο Πρόδικος το σημείον μέχρι του οποίου θα προυχώρει ο λόγος, με πολλήν πανουργίαν (διά να μη φαίνεται ότι ενώπιον όλων των παρόντων εξηλέγχετο από το μειράκιον, διότι αν εξηλέγχετο μόνος εφαίνετο ότι δεν τον έμελεν) είπεν ότι είναι έργον ανθρώπου. Ποίον δε από τα δύο νομίζεις, είπεν, ότι διδάσκεται η αρετή, ή ότι είναι έμφυτος; — Διδάσκεται, είπε, όπως εγώ τουλάχιστον νομίζω. — Λοιπόν, είπε, νομίζεις μωρόν εκείνον όστις νομίζει ότι ευχόμενος εις τους θεούς δύναται δια της ευχής ταύτης να γίνη γραμματικός ή μουσικός, ή να λάβη άλλην τινά επιστήμην, την οποίαν θα ήτο ανάγκη να αποκτήση μαθών ταύτην από άλλον, ή αυτός εξευρών ταύτην;• — Συνεφώνησε και εις ταύτην την ερώτησιν. — Λοιπόν, είπε το μειράκιον, συ, ω Πρόδικε, όταν εύχεσαι εις τους θεούς να ευτυχής και να γίνωσιν εις σε όλα καλά, τότε τίποτε άλλο δεν εύχεσαι ή να γίνης καλός και αγαθός, αν βέβαια εις μεν τους καλούς και αγαθούς ανθρώπους συμβαίνη και τα πράγματα να είναι καλά, εις δε τους κακούς κακά. Αν λοιπόν συμβαίνη η αρετή να διδάσκεται, κανέν άλλο δεν θα ηύχεσο από το να διδαχθής όσα δεν ηξεύρεις.

Είπα λοιπόν εγώ προς τον Πρόδικον ότι νομίζω πως δεν έχει πάθει κακόν τι, αν φαντάζεται ότι δύνανται να γίνωσιν υπό των θεών εις ημάς όσα ευχόμεθα να γίνωσι και ταχέως• αν και σύ ποτε βαδίζων με σπουδήν εις πόλιν και προσευχόμενος ζητής από τους θεούς να σου δώσουν καλά, δεν γνωρίζεις όμως αν εκείνοι ημπορούν να δώσουν εις σε ταύτα τα οποία ζητείς• καθώς αν συχνάζων εις την οικίαν του γραμματιστού, ήθελες παρακαλεί τούτον να σου δώση γραμματικήν επιστήμην, χωρίς να ασχοληθής εις τίποτε άλλο, αλλά να αποκτήσης την γραμματικήν ταύτην επιστήμην και να δυνηθής αμέσως να κάμης το έργον του γραμματιστού.

Ενώ εγώ έλεγον ταύτα, ο Πρόδικος ηναντιούτο προς το μειράκιον δια να υπερασπίση εαυτόν και να επιδείξη ταύτα τα οποία συ τώρα δα επιδεικνύεις, διότι ηγανάκτει αν εφαίνετο ότι ματαίως ηύχετο εις τους θεούς• ακολούθως πλησιάσας ο γυμνασίαρχος παρήγγελλεν εις αυτόν να φύγη από το γυμνάσιον, διότι δεν ωμίλει προς τους νέους αρμόζοντα, και μη λέγων αρμόζοντα, φανερόν ότι έλεγε μοχθηρά.

Ένεκα τούτου λοιπόν σου διηγήθην ταύτα διά να παρατηρήσης ποία η σχέσις των ανθρώπων προς την φιλοσοφίαν. Εάν μεν ο Πρόδικος τουλάχιστον λέγων ταύτα ενομίζετο υπό των ακροατών τόσον τρελλός, ώστε και να εκβληθή από το γυμνάσιον, συ δε τώρα νομίζης ότι τόσον καλά έχεις ομιλήσει, ώστε όχι μόνον τους παρόντας να πείσης, αλλά και τον αντιτείνοντα να κάμης να συμφωνήση με σε, είναι φανερόν ότι συμβαίνει ενταύθα ό,τι και εις τα δικαστήρια. Καθώς δηλαδή εις τα δικαστήρια, αν δύο άνθρωποι την ιδίαν μαρτυρίαν μαρτυρώσι και ο μεν νομίζεται καλός και αγαθός, ο δε μοχθηρός, διά την μαρτυρίαν του μοχθηρού ουδόλως θα επείθοντο οι δικασταί, αλλ’ ίσως έκαμνον και τα εναντία, διά δε την του καλού και αγαθού, και αν ούτος τα αυτά εμαρτύρει, πολύ θα επείθοντο. Ίσως λοιπόν και οι παρόντες έν τοιούτον έχουν πάθει αναφορικώς προς σε και τον Πρόδικον• τούτον μεν ενόμιζον σοφιστήν και αλαζόνα, σε δε πολιτικόν και πολλού λόγου άξιον άνδρα. Συνεπώς φαίνεται ότι δεν βασίζονται επί των λόγων όσον εις την ποιότητα των λεγόντων.

Ερασίστρατος Αλλ’ όμως, Σωκράτη, αν και ομιλής ειρωνικώς, νομίζω ότι ο Κριτίας λέγει κάτι, σημαντικόν.

Σωκράτης Αλλά, μα τον Δία, δεν λέγει το παραμικρόν. — Αλλά διατί, αφού περί τούτων ωμίλησαν πολύ καλά, δεν ετελείωσαν και τον λοιπόν λόγον; Νομίζω δε ότι, επειδή επρόκειτο να συμφωνήσουν εις τούτο, εις το ότι δηλαδή εις τους μεν το πλουτείν είναι καλόν, εις τους δε ότι είναι κακόν, υπολείπεται η σκέψις τι είναι το πλουτείν τούτο. Διότι, αν δεν μάθετε τούτο πρώτον, και εις το αν είναι καλόν ή κακόν δεν θα συμφωνήσετε. Είμαι δε και εγώ έτοιμος εφ’ όσον είμαι ικανός να συνδιασκεφθώ μαζύ σας. Ας μας είπη λοιπόν εκείνος όστις λέγει ότι το πλουτείν είναι καλόν, πώς περί τούτου σκέπτεται.

Ερασίστρατος Αλλ’ εγώ, Σωκράτη, δεν λέγω ότι το πλουτείν είναι κάτι περισσότερον από εκείνο το οποίον λέγουν όλοι οι άνθρωποι ότι είναι• δηλαδή ότι πλουτείν είναι το να έχη τις πολλά χρήματα• νομίζω δε ότι και ούτος ο Κριτίας έχει την γνώμην ότι το πλουτείν ουδέν άλλο είναι ή τούτο.

Σωκράτης Ακόμη λοιπόν μένει οπίσω να σκεφθήτε τι είναι αυτά τα χρήματα, ίνα μη ολίγον ύστερον περί τούτου φανήτε ότι έχετε διαφοράν. Παραδείγματος χάριν οι Καρχηδόνιοι έχουν το εξής νόμισμα• εις μικρόν δέμα είναι κάτι τι δεμένον του οποίου το μέγεθος είναι όσον το νόμισμα του στατήρος• τι δε είναι το δεμένον, κανείς δεν ηξεύρει παρά οι κατασκευάζοντες• έπειτα μεταχειρίζονται τούτο καλά σφραγισμένον ως νόμισμα και όστις έχει πλείστα από ταύτα, ούτος φαίνεται ότι έχει πλείστα χρήματα και ότι είναι πλουσιώτατος• αν δε κανείς από ημάς ήθελεν έχει πλείστα τοιαύτα, θα ήτο ως να είχε πέτρας πολλάς από το όρος και δεν θα ήτο πλουσιώτερος. Εις την Λακεδαίμονα μεταχειρίζονται νόμισμα σιδηρούν, και τούτο διά το ευτελές του σιδήρου• και όστις έχει πολύ του τοιούτου σιδηρού νομίσματος θεωρείται πλούσιος, εις άλλο δε μέρος το νόμισμα τούτο δεν έχει καμμίαν αξίαν. Εις την Αιθιοπίαν μεταχειρίζονται νόμισμα λίθους γεγλυμμένους, τους οποίους ανήρ Λακωνικός δεν ημπορεί να μεταχειρισθή. Εις τους Σκύθας νομάδας, και αν κανείς έχη ως κτήμα του την οικίαν του Πουλυτίωνος, δεν φαίνεται πλουσιώτερος εκείνου όστις παρ’ ημίν θα είχεν ως κτήμα του τον Λυκαβηττόν.

Είναι λοιπόν φανερόν ότι δεν δύνανται έκαστα τούτων να είναι κτήματα, άν τινες των εχόντων διά τούτο δεν φαίνονται ουδόλως ότι είναι πλουσιώτεροι• αλλ’ είναι έκαστα τούτων εις άλλους μεν χρήματα και είναι πλούσιοι όσοι έχουσι ταύτα, εις άλλους δε δεν είναι χρήματα, διά τούτο δε και δεν είναι πλουσιώτεροι, καθώς ούτε δι’ όλους είναι τα αυτά καλά και κακά, αλλ’ άλλα δι’ άλλους. Αν δε εξητάζομεν διατί εις μεν τους Σκύθας αι οικίαι δεν είναι χρήματα, εις ημάς δε είναι, ή εις τους Καρχηδονίους μεν τα δέρματα είναι χρήματα εις ημάς δε δεν είναι ταύτα, ή εις τους Λακεδαιμονίους ο σίδηρος είναι χρήμα εις ημάς δε δεν είναι, θα ευρίσκομεν σημαντικόν τι; Αίφνης, αν κανείς εν Αθήναις από αυτούς τους λίθους τους ευρισκομένους εις την αγοράν και τους οποίους διόλου δεν μεταχειριζόμεθα ήθελεν έχει τόσον βάρος όσον είναι το βάρος χιλίων ταλάντων, θα ενομίζετο πλουσιώτερος;

Ερασίστρατος Εγώ δεν πιστεύω.

Σωκράτης Αλλ’ εάν είχε βάρος εκ πολυτίμων λίθων όσον το βάρος χιλίων ταλάντων, δεν θα ελέγομεν ότι θα ήτο πλουσιώτατος;

Ερασίστρατος Μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης Αρά γε, δια τούτο θα ενομίζομεν ούτω, διότι άλλο μεν είναι χρήσιμον, άλλο δε είναι άχρηστον εις ημάς ;

Ερασίστρατος Ναι.

Σωκράτης Επειδή και οι Σκύθαι ένεκα τούτου τας οικίας δεν θεωρούσι χρήματα, διότι δεν έχουν χρείαν οικίας, ούτε Σκύθης ανήρ θα προετίμα να υπάρχη εις αυτόν ωραιοτάτη οικία μάλλον από μίαν γούναν δερματίνην• διότι η μεν γούνα δι’ αυτόν είναι κάτι χρήσιμον, η δε οικία άχρηστον. Το νόμισμα πάλιν των Καρχηδονίων ημείς δεν θεωρούμεν χρήμα• διότι δεν είναι δυνατόν δι’ αυτού να προμηθευθώμεν τι εξ όσων έχομεν ανάγκην, όπως με το αργύριον• ώστε και το νόμισμα τούτο των Καρχηδονίων εις ημάς θα ήτο άχρηστον.

Ερασίστρατος Βέβαια.

Σωκράτης Όσα μεν λοιπόν είναι εις ημάς χρήσιμα, ταύτα είναι χρήματα, και όσα είναι άχρηστα, ταύτα δεν είναι χρήματα.

Ερυξίας Πώς λοιπόν, Σωκράτη ; Επειδή ημείς κάμνομεν χρήσιν και του διαλέγεσθαι και του βλάπτειν και άλλων πολλών, σημαίνει ότι ταύτα δι’ ημάς είναι χρήματα; Και όμως ταύτα τουλάχιστον φαίνονται να είναι εις ημάς χρήσιμα. Και κατ’ αυτόν τον τρόπον του σκέπτεσθαι δεν ήλθομεν πάλιν εις συμπέρασμα περί του τι επιτέλους είναι τα χρήματα, αλλά περί του ότι κατ’ ανάγκην τα χρήματα πρέπει να είναι χρήσιμα πάντες σχεδόν ωμολογούμεν. Αλλά ποία είναι τα χρήσιμα ; επειδή βέβαια δεν είναι όλα.

Σωκράτης Ας εξακολουθήσωμεν λοιπόν την συζήτησιν και ας ίδωμεν, θα ευρεθή τάχα εκείνο το οποίον ζητούμεν, τι είναι δηλαδή εκείνο το οποίον μεταχειριζόμεθα διά χρημάτων, και διά ποίον σκοπόν έχει ευρεθή η απόκτησις των χρημάτων, καθώς έχουσιν ευρεθή τα φάρμακα διά να μας απαλλάττωσιν από τας νόσους ; Διότι ίσως κατ’ αυτόν τον τρόπον ήθελε γίνει εις ημάς μάλλον φανερόν. Επειδή αναγκαίον μεν φαίνεται να είναι και χρήσιμα όσα είναι χρήματα, από δε τα χρήσιμα υπάρχει έν γένος το οποίον ονομάζομεν χρήματα. Τώρα μας υπολείπεται να σκεφθώμεν διά ποίαν χρείαν χρήσιμα είναι τα χρήματα. Διότι όλα όσα προς εργασίαν μεταχειριζόμεθα, ίσως είναι χρήσιμα, όπως όλα τα ζώα τα έχοντα ψυχήν, από δε τα ζώα έν γένος ονομάζομεν άνθρωπον. Αν δε κανείς μας ηρώτα, τίνος πράγματος αφού απαλλαγώμεν, δεν θα είχομεν ουδόλως χρείαν της ιατρικής ούτε των εργαλείων της, θα ελέγομεν ότι δεν θα είχομεν χρείαν της ιατρικής αν αι νόσοι έφευγον από τα σώματα ή δεν επήρχοντο εις αυτά, ή άπαξ επελθούσαι ήθελον παρέλθει. Υπάρχει λοιπόν, ως φαίνεται, εκ των επιστημών η ιατρική προς τούτο χρήσιμος, προς το να μας απαλλάττη από τας νόσους.

Εάν δε κανείς πάλιν ήθελε μας ερωτήσει, από τι ημείς αφού απαλλαγώμεν, δεν θα είχομεν ανάγκην χρημάτων; αν μας ηρώτα, θα ηδυνάμεθα να είπωμεν από τι; Περί τούτου ας σκεφθώμεν κατά τον εξής τρόπον: Αν ο άνθρωπος ηδύνατο να ζη χωρίς τροφάς και ποτά και ηδύνατο να μη πεινά ούτε να διψά, θα είχεν ανάγκην αυτών, ή ανάγκην αργυρίου ή τινος άλλου όπως ταύτα προμηθεύεται ;

Ερυξίας Νομίζω ότι δεν θα είχεν ανάγκην.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν και διά τα άλλα κατά τον αυτόν τρόπον δυνάμεθα να σκεφθώμεν. Αν δεν είχομεν ανάγκην διά την περιποίησιν του σώματος όσων τώρα στερούμεθα και της θερμότητος και του ψύχους, ενίοτε δε και των άλλων όσων το σώμα έχει ανάγκην, θα ήσαν εις ημάς άχρηστα τα λεγόμενα χρήματα, αν βέβαια κανείς δεν είχεν ανάγκην τούτων, διά τα οποία θέλομεν να υπάρχουν εις ημάς χρήματα όπως επαρκίσωμεν εις τας επιθυμίας και τας ελλείψεις του σώματος. Λοιπόν, αν προς τούτο είναι χρήσιμος η απόκτησις των χρημάτων, δια να ικανοποιήται το σώμα όταν φύγη από το μέσον η επιθυμία και η έλλειψις, δεν θα είχομεν ποσώς ανάγκην χρημάτων και ίσως παντάπασι δεν θα υπήρχον και χρήματα.

Ερυξίας Νομίζω.

Σωκράτης Καθώς φαίνεται λοιπόν τα εις ταύτην την ικανοποίησιν χρήσιμα πράγματα, ταύτα είναι και χρήματα.

(Συνεφώνησε, ότι ταύτα είναι χρήματα).

Αλλά ποίαν γνώμην έχεις και περί των εξής: Ημπορούμεν να είπωμεν ότι είναι δυνατόν το αυτό πράγμα διά την αυτήν εργασίαν να είναι άλλοτε μεν χρήσιμον, άλλοτε δε άχρηστον;

Ερυξίας Εγώ τουλάχιστον δεν δύναμαι να το είπω• αλλ’ εάν κατά τι ηθέλομεν έχει ανάγκην τούτου διά την αυτήν εργασίαν, και χρήσιμον νομίζω να είναι, εάν όμως δεν ηθέλομεν έχει ανάγκην τούτου, δεν το νομίζω χρήσιμον.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν, αν χωρίς πυρ ηδυνάμεθα να κατασκευάσωμεν χαλκούν ανδριάντα, δεν θα είχομεν ανάγκην πυρός διά την εργασίαν ταύτην• αν δε δεν είχομεν ανάγκην τούτου, δεν θα ήτο χρήσιμον εις ημάς. Ο αυτός δε συλλογισμός εφαρμόζεται και διά τα άλλα.

Ερυξίας Βέβαια.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν ως προς όσα άνευ αυτών είναι δυνατόν να γίνεταί τι, κανέν απ’ αυτά δεν φαίνεται χρήσιμον.

Ερυξίας Κανέν.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν, άν ποτε ηθέλομεν δυνηθή χωρίς αργύριον και χρυσίον και τα άλλα τοιαύτα τα οποία μεταχειριζόμεθα διά το σώμα, όπως τας τροφάς και τα ποτά και τα φορέματα και τα στρώματα και τας οικίας, ηθέλομεν, λέγω, δυνηθή να παύωμεν τας στερήσεις του σώματος ώστε ποσώς να μη έχωμεν τούτων ανάγκην, ούτε χρήσιμα προς τούτον τον σκοπόν θα εφαίνοντο εις ημάς το αργύριον και το χρυσίον και τα άλλα τα τοιαύτα, αν ήτο δυνατόν και άνευ τούτων να συντηρώμεθα.

Ερυξίας Δεν θα ήσαν χρήσιμα.

Σωκράτης Άρα ούτε χρήματα θα μας εφαίνοντο ταύτα, αν δεν ήσαν ποσώς χρήσιμα• αλλά ταύτα θα ήσαν χρήματα διά των οποίων θα είμεθα ικανοί να προμηθεύωμεθα τα χρήσιμα.

Ερυξίας Αλλά, Σωκράτη, δεν θα ηδυνάμην ποτέ να πεισθώ εις τούτο, ότι δηλαδή το χρυσίον και το αργύριον και τα άλλα τα τοιαύτα δεν είναι χρήματα. Περί τούτου όμως είμαι πολύ πεπεισμένος, ότι τα εις ημάς άχρηστα δεν είναι χρήματα και ότι τα χρήσιμα είναι χρησιμώτατα χρήματα. Αλλά και τούτο δεν με πείθει ότι χρήσιμα εις τον βίον μας δεν είναι εκείνα διά των οποίων προμηθευόμεθα τα προς συντήρησιν.

Σωκράτης Ας ίδωμεν λοιπόν πώς ημπορούμεν να είπωμεν τα τοιαύτα. Τάχα υπάρχουσιν άνθρωποι οίτινες διδάσκουσι μουσικήν ή γράμματα ή άλλην τινά επιστήμην και οι οποίοι διά της διδασκαλίας τούτων προμηθεύονται τα προς συντήρησιν λαμβάνοντες μισθόν της διδασκαλίας των ;

Ερυξίας Υπάρχουσι βέβαια.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν οι άνθρωποι ούτοι διά της επιστήμης ταύτης ημπορούν να προμηθεύωνται τα προς συντήρησιν ανταλλάσσοντες ταύτην όπως ημείς ανταλλάσσομεν με χρυσίον και αργύριον τα προς συντήρησιν.

Ερυξίας Συμφωνώ.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν, αν με τούτο προμηθεύωνται όσα μεταχειρίζονται εις τον βίον, τούτο είναι χρήσιμον εις τον βίον• ένεκα δε τούτου βέβαια είπομεν ότι το αργύριον είναι χρήσιμον, διότι ημπορούμεν δι’ αυτού να προμηθευώμεθα τα αναγκαιούντα εις το σώμα.

Ερυξίας Συμφωνώ.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν, αν αι επιστήμαι αύται είναι επιστήμαι χρήσιμοι προς τούτον τον σκοπόν, αι επιστήμαι αύται μας φαίνονται χρήματα διά την αυτήν αιτίαν διά την οποίαν ο χρυσός και ο άργυρος, δήλον ότι και οι κατέχοντες ταύτας είναι πλουσιώτεροι. Και λέγω τούτο διότι ολίγον πριν με τόσην δυσαρέσκειαν παρεδεχόμεθα ότι ούτοι είναι πλουσιώτατοι. Από του ήδη δε παραδεδεγμένου ανάγκη ενίοτε οι επιστημονέστεροι να είναι και πλουσιώτεροι. Διότι, αν κανείς ήθελε μας ερωτήσει: τάχα διά κάθε άνθρωπον είναι χρήσιμος ο ίππος ; θα έλεγες ότι διά κάθε άνθρωπον είναι χρήσιμος, ή θα έλεγες ότι εις μεν τους ηξεύροντας πώς πρέπει να μεταχειρίζονται τον ίππον, ο ίππος είναι χρήσιμος, εις δε τους μη ηξεύροντας να τον μεταχειρίζωνται δεν είναι χρήσιμος ;

Ερυξίας Ούτω θα έλεγον.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν κατά τον ίδιον συλλογισμόν ούτε το φάρμακον εις πάντα άνθρωπον είναι χρήσιμον, αλλ’ εις τούτον είναι χρήσιμον όστις ηξεύρει πώς πρέπει να τα μεταχειρίζεται.

Ερυξίας
Συμφωνώ.

Σωκράτης
Λοιπόν και δι’ όλα τα άλλα δεν είναι ο αυτός συλλογισμός;

Ερυξίας
Φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης Το χρυσίον λοιπόν και το αργύριον και τα άλλα όσα φαίνονται χρήματα, εις τούτον μόνον θα ήσαν χρήσιμα, όστις ηξεύρει πώς πρέπει να μεταχειρίζεται ταύτα.

Ερυξίας Συμφωνώ.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν προ της συζητήσεως ενόμιζες ότι ίδιον του καλού και αγαθού είναι να γνωρίζη πού και πώς έκαστα τούτων πρέπει να μεταχειρίζεται;

Ερυξίας Συμφωνώ ότι δεν ενόμιζον.

Σωκράτης Εις μόνους λοιπόν τους καλούς και αγαθούς θα ήσαν και ταύτα χρήσιμα, αν ούτοι βεβαίως γνωρίζουν πώς πρέπει να μεταχειρίζωνται ταύτα• εάν δε εις μόνους τούτους είναι χρήσιμα, εις τούτους μόνον θα εφαίνοντο ότι ταύτα είναι και χρήματα. Ως φαίνεται δε και τον μη γνωρίζοντα από ιππικήν, αλλ’ έχοντα ίππους οι οποίοι κατά τύχην τω είναι άχρηστοι, αν κανείς έκαμνεν ιππικόν, συγχρόνως θα έκαμνε και πλουσιώτερον, αφού βέβαια τα εις αυτόν πριν άχρηστα έκαμνε χρήσιμα. Διότι παραδίδων επιστήμην τινά εις τον άνθρωπον συγχρόνως τον κάμνει και πλούσιον.

Ερυξίας Ούτω τουλάχιστον φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης Νομίζω όμως ότι ημπορώ ενόρκως να βεβαιώσω ότι ο Κριτίας δεν έχει πείσθή από κανένα εκ τούτων των λόγων.

Κριτίας Μα τον Δία. θα ήμην τρελλός αν εις ταύτα επειθόμην. Αλλά διατί δεν συνεπλήρωσες εκείνον τον συλλογισμόν, ότι δηλαδή τα φαινόμενα χρήματα δεν είναι χρήματα, το χρυσίον, το αργύριον και τα άλλα τα τοιαύτα ; Διότι εγώ ακούων τούτους τους λόγους τους οποίους τώρα διηγείσαι, πολύ ευχαριστούμαι.

Σωκράτης Μου φαίνεσαι συ, ω Κριτία, ότι χαίρεις τόσον ακούων εμέ, όσον ακούων τους ραψωδούς οίτινες ψάλλουσι τα ποιήματα του Ομήρου, διότι κανείς από τους λόγους τούτους δεν σου φαίνεται αληθής.

Ας ίδωμεν πώς θα ελέγομεν τα τοιαύτα. Εις τους επιτηδείους να οικοδομώσιν ανθρώπους λέγεις να υπάρχουν χρήσιμά τινα προς κατασκευήν οικίας;

Κριτίας Νομίζω.

Σωκράτης Ποίον λοιπόν των δύο; Χρήσιμον προς την οικοδομήν είναι τούτο το οποίον προς ταύτην θα μετεχειρίζοντο, οι λίθοι και αι πλίνθοι και τα ξύλα και άλλο τι τοιούτον, ή και τα εργαλεία διά των οποίων θα ωκοδόμουν και εκείνα διά των οποίων ταύτα θα επρομηθεύοντο, δηλαδή τα ξύλα και τους λίθους και πάλιν τα εργαλεία των ξύλων και των λίθων;

Κριτίας Εγώ τουλάχιστον νομίζω ότι όλα ταύτα είναι χρήσιμα προς τούτον τον σκοπόν.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν και διά τας άλλας εργασίας όχι μόνον ταύτα τα οποία μεταχειριζόμεθα διά κάθε έργον, αλλά και εκείνα με τα οποία προμηθευόμεθα ταύτα, άνευ των οποίων δεν δύναται να γίνη η εργασία, δεν είναι και ταύτα χρήσιμα ;

Κριτίας Μάλιστα.

Σωκράτης Πάλιν λοιπόν ταύτα με τα οποία γίνεται η εργασία και αν τι άλλο υπάρχη εκτός τούτων και πάλιν άλλο και άλλο, ούτως ώστε να φθάσωμεν εις άπειρόν τι πλήθος, όλα ταύτα δεν πρέπει να φαίνωνται χρήσιμα προς την εργασίαν ;

Κριτίας Και τίποτε δεν εμποδίζει ταύτα να έχωσιν όπως λέγεις.

Σωκράτης Αν υπήρχον λοιπόν εις τον άνθρωπον τροφαί και ποτά και ιμάτια και τα άλλα τα οποία πρέπει ο άνθρωπος εις το σώμα να μεταχειρίζεται, τάχα θα είχεν ανάγκην χρυσίου ή αργυρίου ή άλλου τινός, διά του οποίου να προμηθεύεται ταύτα τα οποία θα υπήρχον εις αυτόν ;

Κριτίας Νομίζω όχι.

Σωκράτης Δεν θα μας εφαίνετο λοιπόν ότι ο άνθρωπος ενίοτε δεν θα είχε κανενός ανάγκην προς την χρείαν του σώματος ;

Κριτίας
Θα εφαίνετο.

Σωκράτης
Είναι δυνατόν κακόν τι πράγμα να χρησιμεύση εις εργασίαν καλού ;

Κριτίας
Δεν πιστεύω.

Σωκράτης Καλά δε πράγματα δεν θα ελέγομεν ότι είναι εκείνα τα οποία πράττει ο άνθρωπος αποβλέπων προς την αρετήν ;

Κριτίας Ναι.

Σωκράτης Τάχα είναι δυνατόν ο άνθρωπος να μάθη τι από ταύτα τα καλά όσα διδάσκονται διά λόγου, αν παντελώς είναι εστερημένος ακοής ή άλλου τινός ;

Κριτίας Μα τον Δία, δεν πιστεύω.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν έν των χρησίμων προς αρετήν φαίνεται ότι είναι η ακοή, αφού διά ταύτης θα διδαχθώμεν την αρετήν.

Κριτίας Φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν, αν βέβαια η ιατρική είναι δυνατή να παύη την νόσον, θα εφαίνετο εις ημάς ενίοτε ότι και η ιατρική είναι από τας χρησίμους διά την αρετήν, αν τις διά της ιατρικής απήλαυε της ακοής.

Κριτίας Και τίποτε βέβαια δεν εμποδίζει να είναι τοιαύτη.

Σωκράτης Και αν πάλιν την ιατρικήν ηθέλομεν αποκτήσει αντί χρημάτων, δεν θα εφαίνετο εις ημάς ότι και τα χρήματα είναι χρήσιμα διά την αρετήν ;

Κριτίας Και βεβαίως.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν κατά τον αυτόν συλλογισμόν θα ήτο χρήσιμα και εκείνα διά των οποίων ηθέλομεν αποκτήσει τα χρήματα.

Κριτίας Όχι όλα.

Σωκράτης Και όμως τούτο ημπορούμεν να το ομολογήσωμεν, ότι είναι αδύνατον να υπάρξη επιστήμη εις όποιον δεν προϋπάρξη αμάθεια και αδύνατον να υπάρξη υγεία εις όποιον δεν προϋπάρξη νόσος και αρετή εις όποιον δεν προϋπάρξη κακία.

Κριτίας Έτσι είναι, καθώς νομίζω.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν δεν είναι ανάγκη εκείνα ων άνευ δεν είναι δυνατόν να γίνεταί τι, ταύτα και να είναι χρήσιμα προς τούτο• διότι ούτω θα εφαίνετο εις ημάς ότι η αμάθεια είναι χρήσιμος προς την επιστήμην και η νόσος προς την υγείαν και η κακία προς την αρετήν.

Πολλήν δυσπιστίαν εδείκνυε προς τούτους τους λόγους• όταν δε ενόησα εγώ ότι διά να τον πείσω θα ήτο ίσον με το λεγόμενον να ψήσω μίαν πέτραν, είπον :

Σωκράτης Αλλ’ ας αφήσωμεν τούτους τους λόγους, διότι δεν ημπορούμεν να συμφωνήσωμεν οποίον των δύο, το ίδιον είναι τα χρήσιμα και τα χρήματα, ή όχι• και ας εξετάσωμεν: ποίον θα ενομίζομεν ευδαιμονέστερον και καλύτερον άνθρωπον, εκείνον όστις έχει ανάγκην πλείστων αναγκαίων προς τον βίον και προς την δίαιταν, ή εκείνον όστις δεν έχει ανάγκην ειμή ελαχίστων και απλουστάτων; Ποία των καταστάσεων του ανθρώπου είναι καλυτέρα, όταν ούτος ασθενή, ή όταν υγιαίνη ;

Κριτίας Αλλά τούτο τουλάχιστον δεν έχει ανάγκην πολλής σκέψεως.

Σωκράτης Διότι ίσως εις κάθε άνθρωπον είναι εύκολον να γνωρίση ότι η κατάστασις του υγιαίνοντος είναι καλυτέρα από την κατάστασιν του ασθενούντος. Λοιπόν εις ποίαν περίστασιν συμβαίνει να έχωμεν ανάγκην περισσοτέρων και μάλλον παντοειδών, όταν ασθενώμεν, ή όταν υγιαίνωμεν ;

Κριτίας Όταν ασθενώμεν.

Σωκράτης Όταν λοιπόν είμεθα εις καλήν κατάστασιν, τότε και πλείστων επιθυμούμεν και ανάγκην έχομεν πραγμάτων ευχαρίστων προς το σώμα.

Κατά τον αυτόν λοιπόν συλλογισμόν συμβαίνει, όπως αυτός ο άνθρωπος τότε φαίνεται ότι έχει κάλλιστα, όταν έχη ανάγκην ελαχίστων τοιούτων, ούτω πάλιν και όταν είναι δύο, ο μεν πολύ επιθυμεί και ανάγκην έχει πολλών, ο δε είναι υπομονετικός και ολίγων έχει ανάγκην. Επί παραδείγματι, οι παίκται, οι μέθυσοι και οι λαίμαργοι δεν επιθυμούσι πολλών, αφού όλα ταύτα είναι επιθυμίαι;

Κριτίας Ναι.

Σωκράτης Αι δε επιθυμίαι τι άλλο είναι ή στερήσεις; Οι άνθρωποι λοιπόν οίτινες επιθυμούσι ταύτα δεν ευρίσκονται εις χειροτέραν θέσιν από εκείνους οι οποίοι ή κανέν ή ελάχιστα επιθυμούσι.

Κριτίας Πολύ μοχθηρούς εγώ τουλάχιστον νομίζω τους τοιούτους και όσω μάλλον επιθυμητούς τοσούτον και μοχθηροτέρους.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν φαίνονται εις ημάς ταύτα όχι χρήσιμα προς τον σκοπόν μας, αφού τούτων δεν έχομεν ανάγκην ;

Κριτίας Συμφωνώ.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν εις όποιον συμβαίνει να είναι πλείστα χρήσιμα προς τούτον τον σκοπόν, ούτος φαίνεται να έχη ανάγκην πλείστων προς τούτον τον σκοπόν, εάν βεβαίως υπάρχη ανάγκη όλων των χρησίμων.

Κριτίας Μου φαίνεται.

Σωκράτης Άρα κατά τον συλλογισμόν τούτον φαίνεται αναγκαίον τουλάχιστον εις όσους έχουν χρήματα πολλά, ούτοι να έχωσιν ανάγκην και πολλών διά την του σώματος θεραπείαν. Διότι τα χρήσιμα προς την θεραπείαν ταύτην του σώματος θα εφαίνοντο χρήματα. Ώστε εξ ανάγκης θα εφαίνοντο εις ημάς οι πλουσιώτατοι πολύ πένητες, αφού έχουν έλλειψιν πλείστων τοιούτων.

HALCYON

ΧΑΙΡΕΦΩΝ ΠΡΟΣΩΠΑ ΤΟΥ ΔΙΑΛΟΓΟΥ )ΣΩΚΡΑΤΗΣ

Χαιρεφών Ποιά φωνή μας ήλθεν, Σωκράτη, μακρυά από τα ακρογιάλια, εις εκείνο το ακρωτήριον ; Πόσον ώμορφη είναι να την ακούη κανείς. Ποίον ζώον τάχα να είναι; Διότι είναι άφωνα, καθώς είναι γνωστόν, όσα ζουν εις το νερό.

Σωκράτης Είναι κάποιο θαλασσινό πουλί, Χαιρεφών, που το ονομάζουν αλκυόνα, πολύθρηνον και πολύδακρυ, διά το οποίον κάποιος παλαιός θρυλείται μύθος μεταξύ των ανθρώπων. Λέγουν, πως κάποτε ήτο γυναίκα, κόρη του Αιόλου του Έλληνος, και ότι εθρηνούσεν από πολλήν αγάπην τον νεαρόν της άνδρα, που απέθανε, τον Κήυκα τον Τραχίνον, τον υιόν του Εωσφόρου του αστέρος, ώμορφο παιδί ωραίου πατέρα. Έπειτα δε πως έγεινε πτερωτή από κάποιαν θείαν θέλησιν και ότι παρόμοια με πουλί πετά επάνω από τα πελάγη, αποζητούσα εκείνον, που και αν σε όλην την γην επλανήθη, δεν ημπόρεσε να τον εύρη.

Χαιρεφών Αυτό, διά το οποίον μου ομιλείς, είναι η αλκυών ; Ποτέ ως τώρα δεν είχα ακούση την φωνήν της• αλλά σαν κάτι ξένον πραγματικά την άκουσα. Αληθινά, πόσον θρηνητικήν αφήνει φωνήν. Τίνος μεγέθους τάχα να είναι, Σωκράτη;

Σωκράτης Όχι μεγάλου. Μεγάλην όμως διά την αγάπην προς τον άνδρα της έλαβεν από τους θεούς τιμήν, διότι κατά την εποχήν, που κλωσίζουν, συμπίπτουν και αι αλκυονίδες ημέραι, που μέσα εις τον χειμώνα είναι παρόμοιαι με καλοκαιρινάς. Τέτοια ημέρα είναι και η σημερινή περισσότερον από κάθε άλλην. Δεν βλέπεις πόσον καθαρός είναι ο ουρανός, ατάραχη δε και γαλήνιος, ωσάν καθρέπτης, όλη η θάλασσα ;

Χαιρεφών Έχεις δίκαιον• φαίνεται αλήθεια, ότι είναι αλκυονίς η σημερινή ημέρα, καθώς και η χθεσινή. Αλλά, μα τους θεούς, πώς πρέπει να πεισθή κανείς δι’ όσα είπομεν εις την αρχήν, Σωκράτη, ότι κάποτε από πουλιά έγειναν γυναίκες ή από γυναίκες πουλιά ; Γιατί αυτά τα πράγματα μου φαίνονται περισσότερον από κάθε τι άλλο αδύνατα.

Σωκράτης Νομίζω, φίλε Χαιρεφών, ότι των δυνατών και αδυνάτων καθόλου δεν είμεθα αλάθητοι κριταί, διότι τα εξετάζομεν με την ανθρωπίνην δύναμιν, η οποία είναι άγνωστος, επισφαλής και αόρατος. Πολλά λοιπόν φαίνονται εις ημάς και από όσα ημπορούν να ευρεθούν δυσεύρετα και από όσα ημπορούν να γείνουν αδύνατα, συχνά ένεκα απειρίας, άλλοτε πάλιν ένεκα του ατελούς μας νου• διότι πραγματικά φαίνεται ότι ατελή έχει νουν ο άνθρωπος και ο γεροντότερος ακόμη, αφού βέβαια πολύ μικρά και σύντομος είναι η ζωή σχετικώς προς την αιωνιότητα. Τι δε, καλέ μου, τάχα τι θα ημπορούσαν να ειπούν εκείνοι αι οποίοι αγνοούν τας δυνάμεις των δαιμόνων και των θεών και εν γένει όλης της φύσεως, ότι είναι δυνατόν ή αδύνατον κάτι τι από τα τοιαύτα; θυμάσαι, Χαιρεφών, προ τριών ημερών, τι μεγάλη που ήτον κακοκαιρία• και θα φοβηθή βέβαια κανείς, αν θυμηθή τας αστραπάς εκείνας και τας βροντάς, και τους δυνατούς ανέμους. Ενόμιζε κανείς ότι όλος ο κόσμος την στιγμήν εκείνην θα χαλούσε.

Ύστερα δε από λίγο μία θαυμαστή καλοκαιρία απλώθηκε, που έμεινεν ως τώρα. Τι τάχα νομίζεις, ότι είναι σπουδαιότερον και περισσότερον κοπιώδες, σε τέτοιαν καλοκαιρίαν αυτήν την ακατανίκητον τρικυμίαν να μεταβάλη κανείς και γαλήνιον να καταστήση ολόκληρον την πλάσιν, ή να μεταπλάση μίαν γυναίκα εις πουλί; Διότι, αφού αυτό είναι εύκολον και εις τα μικρά παιδάκια, που γνωρίζουν να πλάττουν και όταν πάρουν λάσπην ή κερί εύκολα πολλάκις τον ίδιον όγκον μετασχηματίζουν εις διαφόρους μορφάς, εις το θείον, του οποίου η μεγάλη υπεροχή ούτε συγκρίνεται με τας ιδικάς μας δυνάμεις, δεν είναι τάχα πάρα πολύ εύκολον ; Μπορείς να μου πης ολόκληρον τον ουρανόν, πόσον νομίζεις από σε μεγαλύτερον ;

Χαιρεφών Ποίος από τους ανθρώπους, Σωκράτη, θα ηδύνατο να εννοήση ή να ονομάση κάτι απ’ αυτά πράγματα ; Ούτε να τα εξιστορήση καν μπορεί.

Σωκράτης Δεν βλέπομεν αλήθεια και όταν συγκρίνωμεν τους ανθρώπους προς αλλήλους, ότι υπάρχουν κάποιαι μεγάλαι διαφοραί μεταξύ των δυνάμεων και αδυναμιών των. Διότι η ηλικία των ανδρών σχετικώς προς τα πέντε ή δέκα ημερών βρέφη μεγάλην παρουσιάζει διαφοράν δυνάμεως και αδυναμίας εις πάσας σχεδόν τας πράξεις του βίου και εις όσας διά των τόσον πολυμηχάνων τεχνών και διά του σώματος και των νοητικών δυνάμεων φέρουν εις πέρας, γιατί αυτά, καθώς είπον, ούτε από τον νουν των μικρών παιδιών είναι δυνατόν να περάσουν.

Και το μέγεθος της δυνάμεως ενός τελείου ανδρός ανυπολογίστως είναι ανώτερον εν σχέσει προς την δύναμιν εκείνων, διότι μέγα πλήθος παιδιών θα εδέσμευεν αυτός ευκόλως, επειδή εις την αρχήν της ζωής των οι άνθρωποι κατά φυσικόν λόγον απορούν και αμηχανούν περί πάντων. Όταν λοιπόν άνθρωπος από άνθρωπον, καθώς είναι φανερόν, τόσον πολύ διαφέρη, ποίαν πρέπει να νομίσωμεν, ότι θα φανή εις τους αρεσκομένους να εξετάζουν τα τοιαύτα, πώς έχει διαφοράν ολόκληρος ο ουρανός προς τας ιδικάς μας δυνάμεις; Πιθανόν λοιπόν να νομίσουν πολλοί, ότι όσην μεγάλην έχει διαφοράν η φύσις κατά το μέγεθος προς το γένος του Σωκράτους και του Χαιρεφώντος, τόσην επίσης έχει κατά την δύναμιν και την φρόνησιν και την διάνοιαν.

Εις σε λοιπόν και εις εμέ και εις πολλούς ακόμη ομοίους με ημάς πολλά είναι αδύνατα, αν και είναι εύκολα εις άλλους, αφού και να παίξουν τον αυλόν οι μη γνωρίζοντες και να διαβάσουν ή να γράψουν οι αγράμματοι κατά τον πρέποντα τρόπον είναι δυσκολώτερον, εφ’ όσον δεν έχουν διδαχθή από το να κάμουν γυναίκας από πουλιά ή πουλιά από γυναίκας. Η δε φύσις εναποθέτουσα μέσα σε κερί ζώον χωρίς πόδια και πτερά, αφού το κάμη ν’ αποκτήση πόδια και του δώση πτερά, που τα ομορφαίνει με διάφορα χρώματα, φανερώνει την μέλισσαν την σοφήν παραγωγόν του θείου μέλιτος, και από αυγά άφωνα και άψυχα πλάττει πολλά γένη πουλιών και ζώων, χερσαίων και υδροβίων, μεταχειριζομένη προσέτι, καθώς λέγουν μερικοί, τέχνας ιεράς, που μαθαίνει από τον άπειρον αιθέρα.

Τας μεγάλας λοιπόν δυνάμεις, των αθανάτων δεν δυνάμεθα να καθορίσωμεν ασφαλώς ούτε σχετικώς με τας αλκυόνας ούτε με τας αηδόνας, ημείς που είμεθα θνητοί και ευτελείς μικροί και ούτε τα μεγάλα ημπορούμεν να διακρίνωμεν ούτε πάλιν τα μικρά, συνήθως δ’ απορούμεν δι’ ό,τι τριγύρω μας συμβαίνει, την ομορφιά δε του μύθου για το τραγούδι σου, καθώς μας την παρέδωκαν οι πατέρες μας, έτσι και στα παιδιά μου, ω πουλί, μελωδικέ τραγουδιστή των θρήνων, θα παραδώσω, και τον ευσεβή σου έρωτα προς τον άνδρα σου πολλάκις θα υμνήσω εις τας γυναίκας μου, Ξανθίππην και Μυρτώ, ανιστορών ακόμη και τα άλλα και την τιμήν πού σου έδωκαν οι θεοί. Έτσι τάχα θα κάμης και συ, ω Χαιρεφών ;

Χαιρεφών Πρέπει βέβαια, Σωκράτη• και αυτά πού είπες ακόμη περισσότερον προτρέπουν τους άνδρας και τας γυναίκας εις την αγάπην.

Σωκράτης Λοιπόν, αφ’ ού χαιρετήσωμεν την αλκυόνα, ας εγκαταλείψωμεν το Φάληρον και ας υπάγωμεν εις τας Αθήνας.

Χαιρεφών Εμπρός, ας κάμωμεν έτσι.

Η Σειρά των Αρχαίων Ελλήνων Συγγραφέων, των Εκδόσεων Φέξη, υπήρξεν ένας σταθμός στα ελληνικά χρονικά. Για πρώτη φορά προσφερόταν συστηματικά στο ελληνικό αναγνωστικό κοινό, η αρχαία ελληνική σκέψη (ιστορία, φιλοσοφία, ποίηση, δράμα, δικανικός και πολιτικός λόγος) σε δημιουργικές μεταφορές της, από τους άριστους μεταφραστές του τόπου, στην πιο σύγχρονη μορφή που πήρε, εξελισσόμενο, το γλωσσικό της όργανο, Ο Όμηρος, οι Τραγικοί κι ο Αριστοφάνης, ο Ηρόδοτος, ο Θουκυδίδης, ο Πλάτων, ο Ξενοφών, ο Αριστοστέλης, ο Θεόκριτος, ο Θεόφραστος, ο Επίκτητος, ο Πλούταρχος, ο Λουκιανός κλπ. προσφέρονται και σήμερα, στις κλασικές πια μεταφράσεις των Πολυλά, Ραγκαβή, Μωραϊτίδη, Κονδυλάκη, Ποριώτη, Γρυπάρη, Τανάγρα, Πολέμη, Καμπάνη, Καζαντζάκη, Βάρναλη, Αυγέρη, Βουτιερίδη, Ζερβού, Φιλαδελφέως, Τσοκόπουλου, Σιγούρου, Κ. Χρηστομάνου κλπ. σε μια σύγχρονη σειρά εκδόσεων βιβλίου τσέπης, πράγμα που επίσης γίνεται για πρώτη φορά, συστηματικά, στην Ελλάδα.

Ερυξίας, Αξίοχος, Αλκυών Στον πρώτο από τους τρεις αυτούς διαλόγους ερευνάται τι είναι πλούτος και κατά πόσον μπορεί να είναι ωφέλιμος στον άνθρωπο. Στον δεύτερο τον «Αξίοχο», γίνεται επισκόπηση της εσώτερης πίστης που έχει ο άνθρωπος για την ψυχή και η πίστη τούτη προβάλλεται έμμεσα σαν εκμηδένηση του φόβου του θανάτου. Στην «Αλκυόνα», ποιητικά και με κάποιον μυστικισμό, ερμηνεύεται η μεταμορφωτική δύναμης της ύλης της φύσεως.

EPIGRAMS

τὴν ψυχὴν Ἀγάθωνα φιλῶν ἐπὶ χείλεσιν εἶχον·

ἦλθε γὰρ ἡ τλήμων ὡς διαβησομένη.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, V 78)

Τῷ μήλῳ βάλλω σε· σὺ δ΄ εἰ μὲν ἑκοῦσα φιλεῖς με͵

δεξαμένη τῆς σῆς παρθενίης μετάδος͵

εἰ δ΄ ἄρ΄ ὃ μὴ γίγνοιτο νοεῖς͵ τοῦτ΄ αὐτὸ λαβοῦσα

σκέψαι τὴν ὥρην ὡς ὀλιγοχρόνιος.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, V 79)

Μήλο σου στέλνω. αν δέχεσαι κι εσύ ν’ αγαπηθούμε,

κράτα το και την παρθενιά, δικό σου δώρο, δός μου

Μ’ αν ό,τι δεν επιθυμώ στοχάζεσαι και πάλι

πάρ’το, να ιδείς η ομορφιά τι λίγο που βαστάει.

μετάφρ. Γ. Κοτζιούλας

μῆλον ἐγώ. βάλλει με φιλῶν σέ τις· ἀλλ΄ ἐπίνευσον͵

Ξανθίππη· κἀγὼ καὶ σὺ μαραινόμεθα.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, V 80)

Μήλο είμ’ εγώ, που στο πετά κάποιος που σ’ αγαπά.

Ξανθίππη, δέξου, τι κι εσύ κι εγώ θα μαραθούμε.

῾Η σοβαρὸν γελάσασα καθ᾿ ῾Ελλάδος, ἡ τὸν ἐραστῶν

ἑσμὸν ἐνὶ προθύροις Λαῒς ἔχουσα νέων,

τῇ Παφίῃ τὸ κάτοπτρον, ἐπεὶ τοίη μὲν ὁρᾶσθαι

οὐκ ἐθέλω, οἵη δ᾿ ἦν πάρος, οὐ δύναμαι.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙ 1)

Τὸν Νυμφῶν θεράποντα φιλόμβριον ὑγρὸν ἀοιδόν͵

τὸν λιβάσιν κούφαις τερπόμενον βάτραχον

χαλκῶι μορφώσας τις ὁδοιπόρος εὖχος ἔθηκεν,

καύματος ἐχθροτάτην δίψαν ἀκεσσάμενος.

πλαζομένωι γὰρ ἔδειξεν ὕδωρ, εὔκαιρον ἀείσας

κοιλάδος ἐκ δροσερῆς ἀμφιβίωι στόματι.

φωνὴν δ΄ ἡγήτειραν ὁδοιπόρος οὐκ ἀπολείπων

ηὗρε πόσιν γλυκερῶν ὧν ἐπόθει ναμάτων.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙ 43)

δάκρυα μὲν Ἑκάβῃ τε καὶ Ἰλιάδεσσι γυναιξὶ

Μοῖραι ἐπέκλωσαν δὴ τότε γεινομέναις͵

σοὶ δέ͵ Δίων͵ ῥέξαντι καλῶν ἐπινίκιον ἔργων

δαίμονες εὐρείας ἐλπίδας ἐξέχεαν.

κεῖσαι δ΄ εὐρυχόρῳ ἐν πατρίδι τίμιος ἀστοῖς͵

ὦ ἐμὸν ἐκμήνας θυμὸν ἔρωτι Δίων.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 99)

νῦν͵ ὅτε μηδὲν Ἄλεξις ὅσον μόνον εἶφ΄ ὅτι καλός͵

ὦπται καὶ πάντῃ πᾶς τις ἐπιστρέφεται.

θυμέ͵ τί μηνύεις κυσὶν ὀστέον; εἶτ΄ ἀνιήσεις

ὕστερον; οὐχ οὕτω Φαῖδρον ἀπωλέσαμεν;

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 100)

Οἵδε ποτ΄ Αἰγαίοιο βαρύβρομον οἶδμα λιπόντες

Ἐκβατάνων πεδίωι κείμεθ΄ ἐνὶ μεσάτωι.

χαῖρε͵ κλυτή ποτε πατρὶς Ἐρέτρια͵ χαίρετ΄͵ Ἀθῆναι͵

γείτονες Εὐβοίης͵ χαῖρε͵ θάλασσα φίλη.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 256)

Εὐβοίης γένος εἰμὲν Ἐρετρικόν͵ ἄγχι δὲ Σούσων

κείμεθα· φεῦ͵ γαίης ὅσσον ἀφ΄ ἡμετέρης.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 259)

Παιδιά τής Εύβοιας είμαστε, απ’ τήν Ερέτρια• ζούμε

κοντά στά Σούσα, αλίμονο, πόσο μακριά απ’ τή γή μας.

Ναυηγοῦ τάφος εἰμί͵ ὁ δ΄ ἀντίον ἐστὶ γεωργοῦ͵

ὡς ἁλὶ καὶ γαίηι ξυνὸς ὕπεστ΄ Ἀίδης

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 265)

Ναυηγόν με δέδορκας͵ ὃν ἡ κτείνασα θάλασσα

γυμνῶσαι πυμάτου φάρεος ἠιδέσατο.

ἄνθρωπος παλάμηισιν ἀταρβήτοις μ΄ ἀπέδυσεν

τόσσον ἄγος τόσσου κέρδεος ἀράμενος.

κεῖνο καὶ ἐνδύσαιτο καὶ εἰν Ἀίδαο φέροιτο͵

καί μιν ἴδοι Μίνως τοὐμὸν ἔχοντα ῥάκος.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 268)

Πλωτῆρες͵ σώιζοισθε καὶ εἰν ἁλὶ καὶ κατὰ γαῖαν.

ἴστε δὲ ναυηγοῦ σῆμα παρερχόμενοι.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 269)

ἀστέρας εἰσαθρεῖς Ἀστὴρ ἐμός· εἴθε γενοίμην

οὐρανός͵ ὡς πολλοῖς ὄμμασιν εἰς σὲ βλέπω

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 669)

Τ’ άστρα κοιτάς, αστέρι μου• μακάρι νά γινόμουν

ο ουρανός, νά σ’ έβλεπα εγώ μέ χίλια μάτια.

ἀστὴρ πρὶν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνὶ ζῳοῖσιν Ἑῷος͵

νῦν δὲ θανὼν λάμπεις Ἕσπερος ἐν φθιμένοις.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, VΙΙ 670)

Έλαμπες σάν Αυγερινός, κοντά μας όταν είσουν•

καί τώρα μέσα στούς νεκρούς σάν τόν Αποσπερίτη.

ή ΑΝΤΙΠΑΤΡΟΣ Θεσσαλονικεύς

Εἰνοδίην καρύην με παρερχομένοισ΄ ἐφύτευσαν

παισὶ λιθοβλήτου παίγνιον εὐστοχίης.

πάντας δ΄ ἀκρεμόνας τε καὶ εὐθαλέας ὀροδάμνους

κέκλασμαι πυκιναῖς χερμάσι βαλλομένη.

δένδρεσιν εὐκάρποισ΄ οὐδὲν πλέον· ἦ γὰρ ἔγωγε

δυσδαίμων ἐς ἐμὴν ὕβριν ἐκαρποφόρουν.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, ΙΧ 3)

ή ΣΤΑΤΥΛΛΙΟΣ ΦΛΑΚΚΟΣ

χρυσὸν ἀνὴρ εὑρὼν ἔλιπεν βρόχον· αὐτὰρ ὁ χρυσὸν

ὃν λίπεν οὐχ εὑρὼν ἧψεν ὃν εὗρε βρόχον.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, ΙΧ 44)

Αἰὼν πάντα φέρει· δολιχὸς χρόνος οἶδεν ἀμείβειν

οὔνομα καὶ μορφὴν καὶ φύσιν ἠδὲ τύχην.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, ΙΧ 51)

Όλα τα φέρνει αυτή η ζωή! Ξεύρει ο καιρός ν’ αλλάσσει

την ομορφιά και τ’ όνομα, την τύχη και την πλάση.

μετάφρ. Σίμος Μενάρδος (Στέφανος, 1924)

Ἐννέα τὰς Μούσας φασίν τινες. ὡς ὀλιγώρως.

ἢν ἰδέ· καὶ Σαπφὼ Λεσβόθεν͵ ἡ δεκάτη.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, ΙΧ 506)

Λέν μερικοί, επιπόλαια, πώς είν’ εννιά οι Μούσες.

Μά νά κ’ η δέκατη, η Σαπφώ από τή Μυτιλήνη.

Εἰκόνα πέντε βοῶν μικρὰ λίθος εἶχεν ἴασπις͵

ὡς ἤδη πάσας ἔμπνοα βοσκομένας.

καὶ τάχα κἂν ἀπέφευγε τὰ βοίδια· νῦν δὲ κρατεῖται

τῆι χρυσῆι μάνδρηι τὸ βραχὺ βουκόλιον.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, ΙΧ 747)

Σιγάτω λάσιον Δρυάδων λέπας οἵ τ΄ ἀπὸ πέτρας

κρουνοὶ καὶ βληχὴ πουλυμιγὴς τοκάδων͵

αὐτὸς ἐπεὶ σύριγγι μελίζεται εὐκελάδωι Πάν

ὑγρὸν ἱεὶς ζευκτῶν χεῖλος ὑπὲρ καλάμων.

αἱ δὲ πέριξ θαλεροῖσι χορὸν ποσὶν ἐστήσαντο

Ὑδριάδες νύμφαι͵ νύμφαι Ἁμαδρυάδες.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, ΙΧ 823)

Ὑψίκομον παρὰ τάνδε καθίζεο φωνήεσσαν

φρίσσουσαν πυκνοῖς κῶνον ὑπὸ ζεφύροις͵

καί σοι καχλάζουσιν ἐμοῖς παρὰ νάμασι σῦριγξ

θελγομένωι στάξει κῶμα κατὰ βλεφάρων.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, XVI 13)

Κοντά στο πεύκο το δασύ που γλυκοψιθυρίζει

κι ανατριχά απ’ τον Ζέφυρο, ξαπλώσου μαλακά,

και μιά φλογέρα κάπου εδώ στην κρήνη π’ αναβρύζει

θα σου γαλιάσει, ξένε μου, τα βλέφαρα γλυκά.

μετάφρ. Σίμος Μενάρδος (Στέφανος, 1924)

Ἡ Παφίη Κυθέρεια δι΄ οἴδματος ἐς Κνίδον ἦλθεν

βουλομένη κατιδεῖν εἰκόνα τὴν ἰδίην.

πάντηι δ΄ ἀθρήσασα περισκέπτωι ἐνὶ χώρωι

φθέγξατο· ποῦ γυμνὴν εἶδέ με Πραξιτέλης;

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, XVI 160)

Στο κύμ’ ανέβη και έφθασε στην Κνίδο η Αφροδίτη,

το νέο της τ΄άγαλμα να δει σαν πως θα της φανεί

και μ’ ένα βλέμμ’ ανήσυχο μες στην κλειστή της σκήτη,

“ο Πραξιτέλης (είπε) πού, καλέ, μ’ είδε γυμνή;”

μετάφρ. Σίμος Μενάρδος (Στέφανος, 1924)

Οὔτε σε Πραξιτέλης τεχνάσατο͵ οὔθ΄ ὁ σίδαρος·

ἀλλ΄ οὕτως ἔστης͵ ὥς ποτε κρινομένη.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, XVI 161)

Άλσος δ’ ως ικόμεσθα βαθύσκιον,εύρομεν ένδον

πορφυρέοις μήλοισιν εοικότα παίδα Κυθήρης.

ουδ έχεν ιοδόκον φαρέτρην,ου καμπύλα τόξα.

αλλά τά μέν δένδρεσσιν υπ’ ευπετάλοισι κρέμαντο,

αυτός δ’ εν καλύκεσσι ρόδων πεπηδημένος ύπνω

εύδεν μειδιόων.ξουθαί δ’ εφύπερθε μέλισσαι

κηροχύτου μέλιτος λαροίς επί χείλεσι ραίνον.

(Παλατινή Ανθολογία, XVI 210)

THE EPISTLES

CONTENTS

The Translations

The Spurious Works

The Epistles

The Greek Texts

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

The Criticism

The Biographies

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

I

Πλάτων Διονυσίῳ εὖ πράττειν.

Διατρίψας ἐγὼ παρ’ ὑμῖν χρόνον τοσοῦτον καὶ διοικῶν τὴν ὑμετέραν ἀρχὴν πεπιστευμένος πάντων μάλιστα, τὰς ὠφελίας ὑμῶν λαμβανόντων, τὰς διαβολὰς δυσχερεῖς οὔσας ὑπέμενον· ᾔδη γὰρ ὅτι τῶν ὠμοτέρων οὐδὲν ἐμοῦ συνεθέλοντος ὑμῖν δόξει πεπρᾶχθαι· πάντες γὰρ οἱ συμπολιτευόμενοι [309b] μεθ’ ὑμῶν ὑπάρχουσί μοι μάρτυρες, ὧν ἐγὼ πολλοῖς συνηγωνισάμην, ἀπολύσας αὐτοὺς οὐ σμικρᾶς ζημίας. Αὐτοκράτωρ δὲ πολλάκις τὴν ὑμετέραν πόλιν διαφυλάξας, ἀπεπέμφθην ἀτιμότερον ἢ πτωχὸν ὑμῶν ἀποστελλόντων προσήκει καὶ κελευόντων ἐκπλεῦσαι, τοσοῦτον παρ’ ὑμῖν διατρίψαντα χρόνον. Ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν περὶ ἐμαυτοῦ βουλεύσομαι τὸ λοιπὸν τρόπον ἀπανθρωπότερον, σὺ δὲ τοιοῦτος ὢν τύραννος οἰκήσεις μόνος. Τὸ δὲ χρυσίον τὸ λαμπρόν, [309c] ὅπερ ἔδωκας εἰς ἀποστολήν, ἄγει σοι Βακχεῖος ὁ τὴν ἐπιστολὴν φέρων· οὔτε γὰρ ἐφόδιον ἐκεῖνό γ’ ἦν ἱκανὸν οὔτε πρὸς τὸν ἄλλον βίον συμφέρον, ἀδοξίαν δὲ πλείστην τῷ διδόντι σοὶ παρασκευάζον, οὐ πολλῷ δὲ ἐλάττω κἀμοὶ λαμβάνοντι, διόπερ οὐ λαμβάνω. σοὶ δ’ οὐδὲν διαφέρει δῆλον ὅτι καὶ λαβεῖν καὶ δοῦναι τοσοῦτον, ὥστε κομισάμενος ἄλλον τινὰ τῶν ἑταίρων θεράπευσον ὥσπερ ἐμέ· κἀγὼ γὰρ [309d] ἱκανῶς ὑπὸ σοῦ τεθεράπευμαι. Καί μοι τὸ τοῦ Εὐριπίδου κατὰ καιρόν ἐστιν εἰπεῖν, ὅτι σοὶ πραγμάτων ἄλλων ποτὲ συμπεσόντων.

Εὔξῃ τοιοῦτον ἄνδρα σοι παρεστάναι.

Ὑπομνῆσαι δέ σε βούλομαι διότι καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τραγῳδοποιῶν οἱ πλεῖστοι, ὅταν ὑπό τινος ἀποθνῄσκοντα τύραννον εἰσάγωσιν, ἀναβοῶντα ποιοῦσιν·

[310a] Φίλων ἔρημος, ὦ τάλας, ἀπόλλυμαι·

Χρυσίου δὲ σπάνει ἀπολλύμενον οὐδεὶς πεποίηκεν. Κἀκεῖνο δὲ τὸ ποίημα τοῖς νοῦν ἔχουσιν οὐ κακῶς ἔχειν δοκεῖ —

Οὐ χρυσὸς ἀγλαὸς σπανιώτατος ἐν θνατῶν δυσελπίστῳ βίῳ,

οὐδ’ ἀδάμας οὐδ’ ἀργύρου κλῖναι πρὸς ἄνθρωπον

δοκιμαζόμεν’ ἀστράπτει πρὸς ὄψεις·

οὐδὲ γαίας εὐρυπέδου γόνιμοι βρίθοντες αὐτάρκεις γύαι,

ὡς ἀγαθῶν ἀνδρῶν ὁμοφράδμων νόησις.

[310b] ἔρρωσο, καὶ γίγνωσκε τοσοῦτον ἡμῶν διημαρτηκώς, ἵνα πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους βέλτιον προσφέρῃ.

II

Πλάτων Διονυσίῳ εὖ πράττειν.

Ἤκουσα Ἀρχεδήμου ὅτι σὺ ἡγῇ χρῆναι περὶ σοῦ μὴ μόνον ἐμὲ ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ἐμοὺς ἐπιτηδείους τοῦ φλαῦρόν τι ποιεῖν ἢ λέγειν περὶ σέ· Δίωνα δὲ μόνον [310c] ἐξαίρετον ποιῇ. Οὗτος δὲ ὁ λόγος σημαίνει, τὸ Δίωνα ἐξαίρετον εἶναι, ὅτι οὐκ ἄρχω ἐγὼ τῶν ἐμῶν ἐπιτηδείων· εἰ γὰρ ἦρχον ἐγὼ οὕτω τῶν τε ἄλλων καὶ σοῦ καὶ Δίωνος, πλείω ἂν ἦν ἡμῖν τε πᾶσιν ἀγαθὰ τοῖς τε ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν, ὡς ἐγώ φημι. Νῦν δὲ μέγας ἐγώ εἰμι ἐμαυτὸν παρέχων τῷ ἐμῷ λόγῳ ἑπόμενον. Καὶ ταῦτα λέγω ὡς οὐχ ὑγιές τι Κρατιστόλου καὶ Πολυξένου πρὸς σὲ εἰρηκότων, ὧν φασὶ [310d] λέγειν τὸν ἕτερον ὅτι ἀκούοι Ὀλυμπίασι πολλῶν τινων τῶν μετ’ ἐμοῦ σε κακηγορούντων. Ἴσως γὰρ ὀξύτερον ἐμοῦ ἀκούει· ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ἤκουσα. Χρὴ δέ, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὑτωσί σε ποιεῖν τοῦ λοιποῦ, ὅταν τι τοιοῦτον λέγῃ τις περὶ ἡμῶν τινος, γράμματα πέμψαντα ἐμὲ ἐρέσθαι· ἐγὼ γὰρ τἀληθῆ λέγειν οὔτε ὀκνήσω οὔτε αἰσχυνοῦμαι. Ἐμοὶ δὲ δὴ καὶ σοὶ τὰ πρὸς ἀλλήλους οὑτωσὶ τυγχάνει ἔχοντα· οὔτε αὐτοὶ [ἂν] ἀγνῶτές ἐσμεν οὐδενὶ Ἑλλήνων ὡς ἔπος [310e] εἰπεῖν, οὔτε ἡ συνουσία ἡμῶν σιγᾶται. Μὴ λανθανέτω δέ σε ὅτι οὐδ’ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον σιγηθήσεται· τοιοῦτοι οἱ παραδεδεγμένοι εἰσὶν αὐτήν, ἅτε οὐκ ὀλίγην γεγενημένην οὐδ’ ἠρέμα. Τί οὖν δὴ λέγω νυνί; ἐρῶ ἄνωθεν ἀρξάμενος. Πέφυκε συνιέναι εἰς ταὐτὸν φρόνησίς τε καὶ δύναμις μεγάλη, καὶ ταῦτ’ ἄλληλα ἀεὶ διώκει καὶ ζητεῖ καὶ συγγίγνεται· ἔπειτα καὶ οἱ ἄνθρωποι χαίρουσιν περὶ τούτων αὐτοί τε διαλεγόμενοι καὶ ἄλλων ἀκούοντες ἔν τε ἰδίαις συνουσίαις καὶ [311a] ἐν ταῖς ποιήσεσιν. Οἷον καὶ περὶ Ἱέρωνος ὅταν διαλέγωνται ἄνθρωποι καὶ Παυσανίου τοῦ Λακεδαιμονίου, χαίρουσι τὴν Σιμωνίδου συνουσίαν παραφέροντες, ἅ τε ἔπραξεν καὶ εἶπεν πρὸς αὐτούς· καὶ Περίανδρον τὸν Κορίνθιον καὶ Θαλῆν τὸν Μιλήσιον ὑμνεῖν εἰώθασιν ἅμα, καὶ Περικλέα καὶ Ἀναξαγόραν, καὶ Κροῖσον αὖ καὶ Σόλωνα ὡς σοφοὺς καὶ Κῦρον ὡς δυνάστην. Καὶ δὴ ταῦτα μιμούμενοι οἱ ποιηταὶ Κρέοντα μὲν [311b] καὶ Τειρεσίαν συνάγουσιν, Πολύειδον δὲ καὶ Μίνω, Ἀγαμέμνονα δὲ καὶ Νέστορα καὶ Ὀδυσσέα καὶ Παλαμήδη — ὡς δ’ ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, καὶ Προμηθέα Διὶ ταύτῃ πῃ συνῆγον οἱ πρῶτοι ἄνθρωποι - τούτων δὲ τοὺς μὲν εἰς διαφοράν, τοὺς δ’ εἰς φιλίαν ἀλλήλοις ἰόντας, τοὺς δὲ τοτὲ μὲν εἰς φιλίαν, τοτὲ δ’ εἰς διαφοράν, καὶ τὰ μὲν ὁμονοοῦντας, τὰ δὲ διαφερομένους ᾄδουσι. Πάντα δὴ ταῦτα λέγω τόδε βουλόμενος ἐνδείξασθαι, [311c] ὅτι οὐκ, ἐπειδὰν ἡμεῖς τελευτήσωμεν, καὶ οἱ λόγοι οἱ περὶ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν σεσιγήσονται· ὥστ’ ἐπιμελητέον αὐτῶν ἐστιν. Ἀνάγκη γάρ, ὡς ἔοικε, μέλειν ἡμῖν καὶ τοῦ ἔπειτα χρόνου, ἐπειδὴ καὶ τυγχάνουσιν κατά τινα φύσιν οἱ μὲν ἀνδραποδωδέστατοι οὐδὲν φροντίζοντες αὐτοῦ, οἱ δ’ ἐπιεικέστατοι πᾶν ποιοῦντες ὅπως ἂν εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα χρόνον εὖ ἀκούσωσιν. Ὃ δὴ καὶ ἐγὼ τεκμήριον ποιοῦμαι ὅτι ἔστιν τις αἴσθησις τοῖς τεθνεῶσιν τῶν ἐνθάδε· αἱ γὰρ βέλτισται [311d] ψυχαὶ μαντεύονται ταῦτα οὕτως ἔχειν, αἱ δὲ μοχθηρόταται οὔ φασι, κυριώτερα δὲ τὰ τῶν θείων ἀνδρῶν μαντεύματα ἢ τὰ τῶν μή. Οἶμαι δ’ ἔγωγε τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν, περὶ ὧν λέγω, εἰ ἐξείη αὐτοῖς ἐπανορθώσασθαι τὰς αὑτῶν συνουσίας, πάνυ ἂν σπουδάσαι ὥστε βελτίω λέγεσθαι περὶ αὑτῶν ἢ νῦν. Τοῦτο οὖν ἡμῖν ἔτι, σὺν θεῷ εἰπεῖν, ἔξεστιν, εἴ τι ἄρα μὴ καλῶς πέπρακται κατὰ τὴν ἔμπροσθεν συνουσίαν, ἐπανορθώσασθαι καὶ ἔργῳ καὶ λόγῳ· περὶ γὰρ φιλοσοφίαν φημὶ [311e] ἐγὼ τὴν ἀληθινὴν δόξαν ἔσεσθαι καὶ λόγον ἡμῶν μὲν ὄντων ἐπιεικῶν βελτίω, φαύλων δέ, τοὐναντίον. Καίτοι περὶ τούτου ἡμεῖς ἐπιμελούμενοι οὐδὲν ἂν εὐσεβέστερον πράττοιμεν, οὐδ’ ἀμελοῦντες ἀσεβέστερον. Ὡς δὴ δεῖ γίγνεσθαι, καὶ τὸ δίκαιον ᾗ ἔχει, ἐγὼ φράσω. Ἦλθον ἐγὼ εἰς Σικελίαν δόξαν ἔχων πολὺ τῶν ἐν φιλοσοφίᾳ διαφέρειν, βουλόμενος δὲ [312a] ἐλθὼν εἰς Συρακούσας συμμάρτυρα λαβεῖν σέ, ἵνα μοι τιμῷτο φιλοσοφία καὶ παρὰ τῷ πλήθει. Τοῦτο δ’ οὐκ εὐαγές μοι ἀπέβη. Τὸ δ’ αἴτιον οὐ λέγω ὅπερ ἂν πολλοὶ εἴποιεν, ἀλλ’ ὅτι ἐφαίνου οὐ πάνυ ἐμοὶ πιστεύειν σύ, ἀλλ’ ἐμὲ μέν πως ἀποπέμψασθαι ἐθέλειν, ἑτέρους δὲ μεταπέμψασθαι, καὶ ζητεῖν τὸ πρᾶγμα τί τὸ ἐμόν ἐστιν, ἀπιστῶν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ· καὶ οἱ ἐπὶ τούτοις βοῶντες πολλοὶ ἦσαν, λέγοντες ὡς σὺ ἐμοῦ μὲν [312b] καταπεφρόνηκας, ἄλλα δ’ ἐσπούδακας. Ταῦτα δὴ διαβεβόηται. Ὃ δὴ μετὰ ταῦτα δίκαιόν ἐστι ποιεῖν, ἄκουε, ἵνα σοι καὶ ἀποκρίνωμαι ὃ σὺ ἐρωτᾷς, πῶς χρὴ ἔχειν ἐμὲ καὶ σὲ πρὸς ἀλλήλους. Εἰ μὲν ὅλως φιλοσοφίας καταπεφρόνηκας, ἐᾶν χαίρειν, εἰ δὲ παρ’ ἑτέρου ἀκήκοας ἢ αὐτὸς βελτίονα ηὕρηκας τῶν παρ’ ἐμοί, ἐκεῖνα τίμα· εἰ δ’ ἄρα τὰ παρ’ ἡμῶν σοι ἀρέσκει, τιμητέον καὶ ἐμὲ μάλιστα. Νῦν οὖν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐξ ἀρχῆς, σὺ καθηγοῦ, ἕψομαι δὲ ἐγώ· τιμώμενος γὰρ [312c] ὑπὸ σοῦ τιμήσω σέ, μὴ τιμώμενος δὲ ἡσυχίαν ἕξω. Ἔτι δὲ σὺ μὲν ἐμὲ τιμῶν καὶ τούτου καθηγούμενος φιλοσοφίαν δόξεις τιμᾶν, καὶ αὐτὸ τοῦτο, ὅτι διεσκόπεις καὶ ἄλλους, πρὸς πολλῶν εὐδοξίαν σοι οἴσει ὡς φιλοσόφῳ ὄντι. Ἐγὼ δὲ σὲ τιμῶν μὴ τιμῶντα πλοῦτον δόξω θαυμάζειν τε καὶ διώκειν, τοῦτο δ’ ἴσμεν ὅτι παρὰ πᾶσιν ὄνομα οὐ καλὸν ἔχει· ὡς δ’ ἐν κεφαλαίῳ εἰπεῖν, σοῦ μὲν τιμῶντος ἀμφοτέροις κόσμος, [312d] ἐμοῦ δὲ ὄνειδος ἀμφοῖν. Περὶ μὲν οὖν τούτων ταῦτα.

Τὸ δὲ σφαιρίον οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἔχει· δηλώσει δέ σοι Ἀρχέδημος, ἐπειδὰν ἔλθῃ. Καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ τοῦδε, ὃ δὴ τούτου τιμιώτερόν τ’ ἐστὶν καὶ θειότερον, καὶ μάλα σφόδρ’ αὐτῷ δηλωτέον, ὑπὲρ οὗ σὺ πέπομφας ἀπορούμενος. Φῂς γὰρ δὴ κατὰ τὸν ἐκείνου λόγον, οὐχ ἱκανῶς ἀποδεδεῖχθαί σοι περὶ τῆς τοῦ πρώτου φύσεως. Φραστέον δή σοι δι’ αἰνιγμῶν, ἵν’ ἄν τι ἡ δέλτος ἢ πόντου ἢ γῆς ἐν πτυχαῖς πάθῃ, [312e] ὁ ἀναγνοὺς μὴ γνῷ. Ὧδε γὰρ ἔχει. Περὶ τὸν πάντων βασιλέα πάντ’ ἐστὶ καὶ ἐκείνου ἕνεκα πάντα, καὶ ἐκεῖνο αἴτιον ἁπάντων τῶν καλῶν· δεύτερον δὲ πέρι τὰ δεύτερα, καὶ τρίτον πέρι τὰ τρίτα. Ἡ οὖν ἀνθρωπίνη ψυχὴ περὶ αὐτὰ ὀρέγεται μαθεῖν ποῖ’ ἄττα ἐστίν, βλέπουσα εἰς τὰ αὑτῆς συγγενῆ, ὧν [313a] οὐδὲν ἱκανῶς ἔχει. Τοῦ δὴ βασιλέως πέρι καὶ ὧν εἶπον, οὐδέν ἐστιν τοιοῦτον - τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο ἡ ψυχή φησιν - ἀλλὰ ποῖόν τι μήν; τοῦτ’ ἐστίν, ὦ παῖ Διονυσίου καὶ Δωρίδος, τὸ ἐρώτημα ὃ πάντων αἴτιόν ἐστιν κακῶν, μᾶλλον δὲ ἡ περὶ τούτου ὠδὶς ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἐγγιγνομένη, ἣν εἰ μή τις ἐξαιρεθήσεται, τῆς ἀληθείας ὄντως οὐ μή ποτε τύχῃ. Σὺ δὲ τοῦτο πρὸς ἐμὲ ἐν τῷ κήπῳ ὑπὸ ταῖς δάφναις αὐτὸς ἔφησθα ἐννενοηκέναι [313b] καὶ εἶναι σὸν εὕρημα· καὶ ἐγὼ εἶπον ὅτι τοῦτο εἰ φαίνοιτό σοι οὕτως ἔχειν, πολλῶν ἂν εἴης λόγων ἐμὲ ἀπολελυκώς. Οὐ μὴν ἄλλῳ γέ ποτ’ ἔφην ἐντετυχηκέναι τοῦθ’ ηὑρηκότι, ἀλλὰ ἡ πολλή μοι πραγματεία περὶ τοῦτ’ εἴη· σὺ δὲ ἴσως μὲν ἀκούσας του, τάχα δ’ ἂν θείᾳ μοίρᾳ κατὰ τοῦθ’ ὁρμήσας, ἔπειτα αὐτοῦ τὰς ἀποδείξεις ὡς ἔχων βεβαίως οὐ κατέδησας, ἀλλ’ ᾄττει σοι τοτὲ μὲν οὕτως, τοτὲ δὲ ἄλλως [313c] περὶ τὸ φανταζόμενον, τὸ δὲ οὐδέν ἐστιν τοιοῦτον. Καὶ τοῦτο οὐ σοὶ μόνῳ γέγονεν, ἀλλ’ εὖ ἴσθι μηδένα πώποτέ μου τὸ πρῶτον ἀκούσαντα ἔχειν ἄλλως πως ἢ οὕτως κατ’ ἀρχάς, καὶ ὁ μὲν πλείω ἔχων πράγματα, ὁ δὲ ἐλάττω, μόγις ἀπαλλάττονται, σχεδὸν δὲ οὐδεὶς ὀλίγα. Τούτων δὴ γεγονότων καὶ ἐχόντων οὕτω, σχεδὸν κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν δόξαν ηὑρήκαμεν ὃ σὺ ἐπέστειλας, ὅπως δεῖ πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἡμᾶς ἔχειν. Ἐπεὶ γὰρ βασανίζεις αὐτὰ συγγιγνόμενός τε ἄλλοις καὶ παραθεώμενος [313d] παρὰ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων καὶ αὐτὰ καθ’ αὑτά, νῦν σοι ταῦτά τε, εἰ ἀληθὴς ἡ βάσανος, προσφύσεται, καὶ οἰκεῖος τούτοις τε καὶ ἡμῖν ἔσῃ. Πῶς οὖν αὐτά τ’ ἔσται καὶ πάντα ἃ εἰρήκαμεν; τὸν Ἀρχέδημον νῦν τε ὀρθῶς ἐποίησας πέμψας, καὶ τὸ λοιπόν, ἐπειδὰν ἔλθῃ πρὸς σὲ καὶ ἀπαγγείλῃ τὰ παρ’ ἐμοῦ, μετὰ ταῦτα ἴσως ἄλλαι σε ἀπορίαι λήψονται. Πέμψεις οὖν αὖθις, ἂν ὀρθῶς βουλεύῃ, παρ’ ἐμὲ τὸν Ἀρχέδημον, ὁ δ’ ἐμπορευσάμενος ἥξει πάλιν· καὶ τοῦτο ἐὰν δὶς ἢ τρὶς ποιήσῃς καὶ [313e] βασανίσῃς τὰ παρ’ ἐμοῦ πεμφθέντα ἱκανῶς, θαυμάζοιμ’ ἂν εἰ μὴ τὰ νῦν ἀπορούμενα πολύ σοι διοίσει ἢ νῦν. Θαρροῦντες οὖν ποιεῖτε οὕτως· οὐ μὴ γάρ ποτε τῆς ἐμπορίας ταύτης οὔτε σὺ στείλῃς οὔτε Ἀρχέδημος ἐμπορεύσεται καλλίω [314a] καὶ θεοφιλεστέραν. Εὐλαβοῦ μέντοι μή ποτε ἐκπέσῃ ταῦτα εἰς ἀνθρώπους ἀπαιδεύτους· σχεδὸν γάρ, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, οὐκ ἔστιν τούτων πρὸς τοὺς πολλοὺς καταγελαστότερα ἀκούσματα, οὐδ’ αὖ πρὸς τοὺς εὐφυεῖς θαυμαστότερά τε καὶ ἐνθουσιαστικώτερα. Πολλάκις δὲ λεγόμενα καὶ ἀεὶ ἀκουόμενα καὶ πολλὰ ἔτη, μόγις ὥσπερ χρυσὸς ἐκκαθαίρεται μετὰ πολλῆς πραγματείας. Ὃ δὲ θαυμαστὸν αὐτοῦ γέγονεν, ἄκουσον. Εἰσὶν γὰρ ἄνθρωποι ταῦτα ἀκηκοότες καὶ πλείους, δυνατοὶ [314b] μὲν μαθεῖν, δυνατοὶ δὲ μνημονεῦσαι καὶ βασανίσαντες πάντῃ πάντως κρῖναι, γέροντες ἤδη καὶ οὐκ ἐλάττω τριάκοντα ἐτῶν ἀκηκοότες, οἳ νῦν ἄρτι σφίσι φασὶν τὰ μὲν τότε ἀπιστότατα δόξαντα εἶναι νῦν πιστότατα καὶ ἐναργέστατα φαίνεσθαι, ἃ δὲ τότε πιστότατα, νῦν τοὐναντίον. Πρὸς ταῦτ’ οὖν σκοπῶν εὐλαβοῦ μή ποτέ σοι μεταμελήσῃ τῶν νῦν ἀναξίως ἐκπεσόντων. Μεγίστη δὲ φυλακὴ τὸ μὴ γράφειν ἀλλ’ ἐκμανθάνειν· [314c] οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν τὰ γραφέντα μὴ οὐκ ἐκπεσεῖν. Διὰ ταῦτα οὐδὲν πώποτ’ ἐγὼ περὶ τούτων γέγραφα, οὐδ’ ἔστιν σύγγραμμα Πλάτωνος οὐδὲν οὐδ’ ἔσται, τὰ δὲ νῦν λεγόμενα Σωκράτους ἐστὶν καλοῦ καὶ νέου γεγονότος. Ἔρρωσο καὶ πείθου, καὶ τὴν ἐπιστολὴν ταύτην νῦν πρῶτον πολλάκις ἀναγνοὺς κατάκαυσον.

Ταῦτα μὲν ταύτῃ. Περὶ δὲ Πολυξένου ἐθαύμασας ὅτι [314d] πέμψαιμί σοι· ἐγὼ δὲ καὶ περὶ Λυκόφρονος καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν παρὰ σοὶ ὄντων λέγω καὶ πάλαι καὶ νῦν τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, ὅτι πρὸς τὸ διαλεχθῆναι καὶ φύσει καὶ τῇ μεθόδῳ τῶν λόγων πάμπολυ διαφέρεις αὐτῶν, καὶ οὐδεὶς αὐτῶν ἑκὼν ἐξελέγχεται, ὥς τινες ὑπολαμβάνουσιν, ἀλλ’ ἄκοντες. Καὶ δοκεῖς μέντοι πάνυ μετρίως κεχρῆσθαί τε αὐτοῖς καὶ δεδωρῆσθαι. Ταῦτα μὲν περὶ τούτων, πολλὰ ὡς περὶ τοιούτων· [314e] Φιλιστίωνι δέ, εἰ μὲν αὐτὸς χρῇ, σφόδρα χρῶ, εἰ δὲ οἷόν τε, Σπευσίππῳ χρῆσον καὶ ἀπόπεμψον. Δεῖται δὲ σοῦ καὶ Σπεύσιππος· ὑπέσχετο δέ μοι καὶ Φιλιστίων, εἰ σὺ ἀφείης αὐτόν, ἥξειν προθύμως Ἀθήναζε. Τὸν ἐκ τῶν λατομιῶν εὖ ἐποίησας ἀφείς, ἐλαφρὰ δὲ ἡ δέησις καὶ περὶ τῶν οἰκετῶν αὐτοῦ καὶ περὶ Ἡγησίππου τοῦ Ἀρίστωνος· ἐπέστειλας [315a] γάρ μοι, ἄν τις ἀδικῇ ἢ τοῦτον ἢ ἐκείνους καὶ σὺ αἴσθῃ, μὴ ἐπιτρέψειν. Καὶ περὶ Λυσικλείδου τἀληθὲς εἰπεῖν ἄξιον· μόνος γὰρ τῶν ἐκ Σικελίας Ἀθήναζε ἀφικομένων οὐδὲν μετεβάλετο περὶ τῆς σῆς καὶ ἐμῆς συνουσίας, ἀλλ’ ἀεί τι ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ βελτίω λέγων περὶ τῶν γεγονότων διατελεῖ.

III

“Πλάτων Διονυσίῳ χαίρειν”

Ἐπιστείλας ἆρ’ ὀρθῶς ἂν [315b] τυγχάνοιμι τῆς βελτίστης προσρήσεως; Ἢ μᾶλλον κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν συνήθειαν γράφων “Εὖ πράττειν,” ὥσπερ εἴωθα ἐν ταῖς ἐπιστολαῖς τοὺς φίλους προσαγορεύειν; σὺ μὲν γὰρ δὴ καὶ τὸν θεόν, ὡς ἤγγειλαν οἱ τότε θεωροῦντες, προσεῖπες ἐν Δελφοῖς αὐτῷ τούτῳ θωπεύσας τῷ ῥήματι, καὶ γέγραφας, ὡς φασί,

Xαῖρε καὶ ἡδόμενον βίοτον διάσῳζε τυράννου·

[315c] ἐγὼ δὲ οὐδὲ ἀνθρώπῳ κλήσει, μήτι δὴ θεῷ, παρακελευσαίμην ἂν δρᾶν τοῦτο, θεῷ μέν, ὅτι παρὰ φύσιν προστάττοιμ’ ἄν, πόρρω γὰρ ἡδονῆς ἵδρυται καὶ λύπης τὸ θεῖον, ἀνθρώπῳ δέ, ὅτι τὰ πολλὰ βλάβην ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη γεννᾷ, δυσμάθειαν καὶ λήθην καὶ ἀφροσύνην καὶ ὕβριν τίκτουσα ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ. Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν οὕτως εἰρήσθω παρ’ ἐμοῦ περὶ τῆς προσρήσεως· σὺ δ’ ἀναγνοὺς αὐτά, ὅπῃ βούλει δέξασθαι, ταύτῃ δέχου.

Φασὶν δ’ οὐκ ὀλίγοι λέγειν σε πρός τινας τῶν παρὰ σὲ [315d] πρεσβευόντων ὡς ἄρα σοῦ ποτε λέγοντος ἀκούσας ἐγὼ μέλλοντος τάς τε Ἑλληνίδας πόλεις ἐν Σικελίᾳ οἰκίζειν καὶ Συρακουσίους ἐπικουφίσαι, τὴν ἀρχὴν ἀντὶ τυραννίδος εἰς βασιλείαν μεταστήσαντα, ταῦτ’ ἄρα σὲ μὲν τότε διεκώλυσα, ὡς σὺ φῄς, σοῦ σφόδρα προθυμουμένου, νῦν δὲ Δίωνα διδάσκοιμι δρᾶν αὐτὰ ταῦτα, καὶ τοῖς διανοήμασιν τοῖς σοῖς τὴν [315e] σὴν ἀρχὴν ἀφαιρούμεθά σε. Σὺ δ’ εἰ μέν τι διὰ τοὺς λόγους τούτους ὠφελῇ, γιγνώσκεις αὐτός, ἀδικεῖς δ’ οὖν ἐμὲ τἀναντία τῶν γενομένων λέγων. Ἄδην γὰρ ὑπὸ Φιλιστίδου καὶ ἄλλων πολλῶν πρὸς τοὺς μισθοφόρους καὶ εἰς τὸ Συρακουσίων πλῆθος διεβλήθην διὰ τὸ μένειν ἐν ἀκροπόλει, τοὺς δ’ ἔξωθεν, εἴ τι γίγνοιτο ἁμάρτημα, πᾶν εἰς ἐμὲ τρέπειν, σὲ φάσκοντας πάντα ἐμοὶ πείθεσθαι. Σὺ δ’ αὐτὸς οἶσθα σαφέστατα τῶν [316a] πολιτικῶν ἐμὲ σοὶ κοινῇ πραγματευσάμενον ἑκόντα ὀλίγα δὴ κατ’ ἀρχάς, ὅτε τι πλέον ποιεῖν ἂν ᾠήθην, ἄλλα τε βραχέα ἄττα καὶ τὰ περὶ τῶν νόμων προοίμια σπουδάσαντα μετρίως, χωρὶς ὧν σὺ προσέγραψας ἤ τις ἕτερος· ἀκούω γὰρ ὕστερον ὑμῶν τινας αὐτὰ διασκευωρεῖν, δῆλα μὴν ἑκάτερα ἔσται τοῖς τὸ ἐμὸν ἦθος δυναμένοις κρίνειν. Ἀλλ’ οὖν, ὅπερ ἀρτίως εἶπον, οὐ διαβολῆς προσδέομαι πρός τε Συρακουσίους καὶ εἰ δή τινας ἑτέρους πείθεις λέγων αὐτά, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον [316b] ἀπολογίας πρός τε τὴν προτέραν γενομένην διαβολὴν καὶ τὴν νῦν μετ’ ἐκείνην μείζω φυομένην καὶ σφοδροτέραν. Πρὸς δύο δή μοι διττὰς ἀναγκαῖον ποιήσασθαι τὰς ἀπολογίας, πρῶτον μὲν ὡς εἰκότως σοι ἔφυγον κοινωνεῖν περὶ τὰ τῆς πόλεως πράγματα, τὸ δὲ δεύτερον ὡς οὐκ ἐμὴν ταύτην εἴρηκας συμβουλὴν οὐδὲ διακώλυσιν, μέλλοντί σοι κατοικίζειν Ἑλληνίδας [316c] πόλεις ἐμποδὼν ἐμὲ γεγενῆσθαι. Τὴν οὖν ἀρχὴν ὧν εἶπον περὶ προτέρων ἄκουε πρότερον.

Ἦλθον καλούμενος εἰς Συρακούσας ὑπό τε σοῦ καὶ Δίωνος, τοῦ μὲν δεδοκιμασμένου παρ’ ἐμοὶ καὶ ξένου πάλαι γεγονότος, ἐν ἡλικίᾳ δὲ ὄντος μέσῃ τε καὶ καθεστηκυίᾳ, ὧν δὴ παντάπασιν χρεία τοῖς νοῦν καὶ σμικρὸν κεκτημένοις, μέλλουσιν περὶ τοσούτων ὅσα ἦν τότε τὰ σὰ βουλεύεσθαι, σοῦ δὲ ὄντος μὲν σφόδρα νέου, πολλῆς δὲ ἀπειρίας οὔσης περὶ σὲ τούτων [316d] ὧν ἔμπειρον ἔδει γεγονέναι, καὶ σφόδρα ἀγνῶτος ἐμοί. Τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο εἴτ’ ἄνθρωπος εἴτε θεὸς εἴτε τύχη τις μετὰ σοῦ Δίωνα ἐξέβαλεν, καὶ ἐλείφθης μόνος. Ἆρ’ οὖν οἴει μοι τότε πολιτικῶν εἶναι κοινωνίαν πρὸς σέ, τὸν μὲν ἔμφρονα κοινωνὸν ἀπολωλεκότι, τὸν δὲ ἄφρονα ὁρῶντι μετὰ πονηρῶν καὶ πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων καταλελειμμένον, οὐκ ἄρχοντα, οἰόμενον δ’ ἄρχειν, ὑπὸ δὲ τοιούτων ἀνθρώπων ἀρχόμενον; ἐν οἷς τί χρῆν ποιεῖν ἐμέ; μῶν οὐχ ὅπερ ἐποίουν ἀναγκαῖον, ἐκ τῶν λοιπῶν τὰ [316e] μὲν πολιτικὰ χαίρειν ἐᾶν, εὐλαβούμενον τὰς ἐκ τῶν φθόνων διαβολάς, ὑμᾶς δὲ πάντως, καίπερ ἀλλήλων χωρὶς γεγονότας καὶ διαφόρους ὄντας, πειρᾶσθαι φίλους ἀλλήλοις ὅτι μάλιστα ποιεῖν; τούτων δὴ καὶ σὺ μάρτυς, ὅτι τοῦτο αὐτὸ συντείνων οὐκ ἀνῆκα πώποτε· καὶ μόγις μέν, ὅμως δ’, ὡμολογήθη νῷν [317a] πλεῦσαι μὲν οἴκαδε ἐμέ, ἐπειδὴ πόλεμος ὑμᾶς κατεῖχεν, εἰρήνης δ’ αὖ γενομένης ἐλθεῖν ἐμέ τε καὶ Δίωνα εἰς Συρακούσας, σὲ δὲ καλεῖν ἡμᾶς. Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν οὕτως ἐγένετο τῆς ἐμῆς εἰς Συρακούσας ἀποδημίας πέρι τῆς πρώτης καὶ τῆς πάλιν οἴκαδε σωτηρίας· τὸ δὲ δεύτερον εἰρήνης γενομένης ἐκάλεις με οὐ κατὰ τὰς ὁμολογίας, ἀλλὰ μόνον ἥκειν ἐπέστειλας, Δίωνα δ’ εἰς αὖθις ἔφησθα μεταπέμψεσθαι. Διὰ ταῦτα οὐκ ἦλθον, ἀλλὰ καὶ Δίωνι τότ’ ἀπηχθόμην· ᾤετο γὰρ [317b] εἶναι βέλτιον ἐλθεῖν ἐμὲ καὶ ὑπακοῦσαί σοι. Τὸ δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα ὕστερον ἐνιαυτῷ τριήρης ἀφίκετο καὶ ἐπιστολαὶ παρὰ σοῦ, τῶν δ’ ἐν ταῖς ἐπιστολαῖς γραμμάτων ἦρχεν ὡς, ἂν ἀφίκωμαι, τὰ Δίωνός μοι γενήσοιτο πράγματα πάντα κατὰ νοῦν τὸν ἐμόν, μὴ ἀφικομένου δέ, τἀναντία. Αἰσχύνομαι δὴ λέγειν ὅσαι τότε ἐπιστολαὶ παρὰ σοῦ καὶ παρ’ ἄλλων ἦλθον [317c] διὰ σὲ ἐξ Ἰταλίας καὶ Σικελίας, καὶ παρ’ ὅσους τῶν ἐμῶν οἰκείων καὶ τῶν γνωρίμων, καὶ πᾶσαι διακελευόμεναί μοι ἰέναι καὶ δεόμεναι σοὶ πάντως ἐμὲ πείθεσθαι. Ἐδόκει δὴ πᾶσιν, ἀρξαμένοις ἀπὸ Δίωνος, δεῖν ἐμὲ πλεῦσαι καὶ μὴ μαλθακίζεσθαι. Καίτοι τήν θ’ ἡλικίαν αὐτοῖς προυτεινόμην καὶ περὶ σοῦ διισχυριζόμην ὡς οὐχ οἷός τ’ ἔσοιο ἀνταρκέσαι τοῖς διαβάλλουσιν ἡμᾶς καὶ βουλομένοις εἰς ἔχθραν ἐλθεῖν - ἑώρων γὰρ καὶ τότε καὶ νῦν ὁρῶ τὰς μεγάλας οὐσίας καὶ ὑπερόγκους τῶν τε ἰδιωτῶν καὶ τῶν μονάρχων σχεδόν, [317d] ὅσῳπερ ἂν μείζους ὦσιν, τοσούτῳ πλείους καὶ μείζους τοὺς διαβάλλοντας καὶ πρὸς ἡδονὴν μετὰ αἰσχρᾶς βλάβης ὁμιλοῦντας τρεφούσας, οὗ κακὸν οὐδὲν μεῖζον γεννᾷ πλοῦτός τε καὶ ἡ τῆς ἄλλης ἐξουσίας δύναμις - ὅμως δ’ οὖν πάντα ταῦτα χαίρειν ἐάσας ἦλθον, διανοηθεὶς ὡς οὐδένα δεῖ τῶν ἐμῶν φίλων ἐμὲ αἰτιᾶσθαι ὡς διὰ τὴν ἐμὴν ῥᾳθυμίαν τὰ σφέτερα [317e] πάντα ἐξὸν μὴ ἀπολέσθαι διώλετο· ἐλθὼν δέ - οἶσθα γὰρ δὴ σὺ πάντα τἀντεῦθεν ἤδη γενόμενα - ἐγὼ μὲν ἠξίουν δήπου κατὰ τὴν ὁμολογίαν τῶν ἐπιστολῶν πρῶτον μὲν κατάγειν Δίωνα οἰκειωσάμενον, φράζων τὴν οἰκειότητα, ἣν εἰ ἐμοὶ τότε ἐπείθου, τάχ’ ἂν βέλτιον τῶν νῦν γεγονότων ἔσχεν καὶ σοὶ καὶ Συρακούσαις καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν, ὡς ἡ ἐμὴ δόξα μαντεύεται· ἔπειτα τὰ Δίωνος τοὺς οἰκείους ἔχειν [318a] ἠξίουν καὶ μὴ διανείμασθαι τοὺς διανειμαμένους, οὓς οἶσθα σύ· πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ᾤμην δεῖν τὰ κατ’ ἐνιαυτὸν ἕκαστον εἰωθότα αὐτῷ κομίζεσθαι καὶ μᾶλλον ἐγὼ ἔτι καὶ οὐχ ἧττον ἐμοῦ παραγενομένου πέμπεσθαι. Τούτων οὐδενὸς τυγχάνων, ἠξίουν ἀπιέναι. Τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα ἔπειθές με μεῖναι τὸν ἐνιαυτόν, φάσκων τὴν Δίωνος ἀποδόμενος οὐσίαν πᾶσαν τὰ μὲν ἡμίσεα ἀποπέμψειν εἰς Κόρινθον, τὰ δ’ ἄλλα τῷ παιδὶ καταλείψειν [318b] αὐτοῦ. Πολλὰ ἔχων εἰπεῖν ὧν ὑποσχόμενος οὐδὲν ἐποίησας, διὰ τὸ πλῆθος αὐτῶν συντέμνω. Τὰ γὰρ δὴ χρήματα πάντα ἀποδόμενος, οὐ πείσας Δίωνα, φάσκων οὐ πωλήσειν ἄνευ τοῦ πείθειν, τὸν κολοφῶνα, ὦ θαυμάσιε, ταῖς ὑποσχέσεσιν ἁπάσαις νεανικώτατον ἐπέθηκας· μηχανὴν γὰρ οὔτε καλὴν οὔτε κομψὴν οὔτε δικαίαν οὔτε συμφέρουσαν ηὗρες, ἐμὲ ἐκφοβεῖν ὡς ἀγνοοῦντα τὰ τότε γιγνόμενα, ἵνα μηδὲ ἐγὼ ζητοίην [318c] τὰ χρήματα ἀποπέμπεσθαι. Ἡνίκα γὰρ Ἡρακλείδην ἐξέβαλες, οὔτε Συρακοσίοις δοκοῦν δικαίως οὔτ’ ἐμοί, διότι μετὰ Θεοδότου καὶ Εὐρυβίου συνεδεήθην σου μὴ ποιεῖν ταῦτα, ταύτην λαβὼν ὡς ἱκανὴν πρόφασιν, εἶπες ὅτι καὶ πάλαι σοι δῆλος εἴην σοῦ μὲν οὐδὲν φροντίζων, Δίωνος δὲ καὶ τῶν Δίωνος φίλων καὶ οἰκείων, καὶ ἐπειδὴ νῦν Θεοδότης καὶ Ἡρακλείδης ἐν διαβολαῖς εἶεν, οἰκεῖοι Δίωνος ὄντες, πᾶν [318d] μηχανῴμην ὅπως οὗτοι μὴ δώσουσιν δίκην. Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν ταύτῃ περὶ τὰ πολιτικὰ κοινωνίας τῆς ἐμῆς καὶ σῆς· καὶ εἴ τινα ἑτέραν ἀλλοτριότητα ἐνεῖδες ἐν ἐμοὶ πρὸς σέ, εἰκότως οἴει ταύτῃ πάντα ταῦτα γεγονέναι. Καὶ μὴ θαύμαζε· κακὸς γὰρ ἂν ἔχοντί γε νοῦν ἀνδρὶ φαινοίμην ἐνδίκως, πεισθεὶς ὑπὸ τοῦ μεγέθους τῆς σῆς ἀρχῆς τὸν μὲν παλαιὸν φίλον καὶ ξένον κακῶς πράττοντα διὰ σέ, μηδὲν σοῦ χείρω, ἵνα οὕτως εἴπω, [318e] τοῦτον μὲν προδοῦναι, σὲ δὲ τὸν ἀδικοῦντα ἑλέσθαι καὶ πᾶν δρᾶν ὅπῃ σὺ προσέταττες, ἕνεκα χρημάτων δῆλον ὅτι· οὐδὲν γὰρ ἂν ἕτερον ἔφησεν αἴτιόν τις εἶναι τῆς ἐμῆς μεταβολῆς, εἰ μετεβαλόμην. Ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν ταύτῃ γενόμενα τὴν ἐμὴν καὶ σὴν λυκοφιλίαν καὶ ἀκοινωνίαν διὰ σὲ ἀπηργάσατο.

Σχεδὸν δ’ εἰς λόγον ὁ λόγος ἥκει μοι συνεχὴς τῷ νυνδὴ γενόμενος, περὶ οὗ μοι τὸ δεύτερον ἀπολογητέον ἔφην εἶναι. [319a] Σκόπει δὴ καὶ πρόσεχε πάντως, ἄν σοί τι ψεύδεσθαι δόξω καὶ μὴ τἀληθῆ λέγειν. Φημὶ γάρ σε Ἀρχεδήμου παρόντος ἐν τῷ κήπῳ καὶ Ἀριστοκρίτου, σχεδὸν ἡμέραις πρότερον εἴκοσι τῆς ἐμῆς ἐκ Συρακουσῶν οἴκαδ’ ἀποδημίας, ἃ νῦν δὴ λέγεις ἐμοὶ μεμφόμενος, ὡς Ἡρακλείδου τέ μοι καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πάντων μᾶλλον ἢ σοῦ μέλοι. Καί με τούτων ἐναντίον διηρώτησας εἰ μνημονεύω, κατ’ ἀρχὰς ὅτ’ ἦλθον, κελεύων σε [319b] τὰς πόλεις τὰς Ἑλληνίδας κατοικίζειν· ἐγὼ δὲ συνεχώρουν μεμνῆσθαι καὶ ἔτι νῦν μοι δοκεῖν ταῦτ’ εἶναι βέλτιστα. Ῥητέον δέ, ὦ Διονύσιε, καὶ τοὐπὶ τούτῳ τότε λεχθέν. Ἠρόμην γὰρ δή σε πότερον αὐτὸ τοῦτό σοι συμβουλεύσαιμι μόνον ἤ τι καὶ ἄλλο πρὸς τούτῳ· σὺ δὲ καὶ μάλ’ ἀπεκρίνω μεμηνιμένως καὶ ὑβριστικῶς εἰς ἐμέ, ὡς ᾤου - διὸ τὸ τότε σοι ὕβρισμα νῦν ὕπαρ ἀντ’ ὀνείρατος γέγονεν - εἶπες δὲ [319c] καὶ μάλα πλαστῶς γελῶν, εἰ μέμνημαι, ὡς “παιδευθέντα με ἐκέλευες ποιεῖν πάντα ταῦτα ἢ μὴ ποιεῖν.” Ἔφην ἐγὼ κάλλιστα μνημονεῦσαί σε. “Οὐκοῦν παιδευθέντα,” ἔφησθα, “γεωμετρεῖν, ἢ πῶς;” κἀγὼ τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα ὃ ἐπῄει μοι εἰπεῖν οὐκ εἶπον, φοβούμενος μὴ σμικροῦ ῥήματος ἕνεκα τὸν ἔκπλουν ὃν προσεδόκων, μή μοι στενὸς γίγνοιτο ἀντ’ εὐρυχωρίας. Ἀλλ’ οὖν ὧν ἕνεκα πάντ’ εἴρηται ταῦτ’ ἐστί· μή με διάβαλλε λέγων ὡς οὐκ εἴων ἐγώ σε πόλεις Ἑλληνίδας ἐρρούσας [319d] ὑπὸ βαρβάρων οἰκίζειν, οὐδὲ Συρακουσίους ἐπικουφίσαι βασιλείαν ἀντὶ τυραννίδος μεταστήσαντα. Τούτων γὰρ οὔθ’ ἧττον ἐμοὶ πρέποντα ἔχοις ἄν ποτε λέγων μου καταψεύσασθαι, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἔτι σαφεστέρους τούτων εἰς ἔλεγχον λόγους ἐγὼ δοίην ἄν, εἴ τις ἱκανή που φαίνοιτο κρίσις, ὡς ἐγὼ μὲν ἐκέλευον, σὺ δ’ οὐκ ἤθελες πράττειν αὐτά· καὶ μὴν οὐ χαλεπὸν εἰπεῖν ἐναργῶς ὡς ἦν ταῦτα ἄριστα πραχθέντα καὶ σοὶ καὶ [319e] Συρακοσίοις καὶ Σικελιώταις πᾶσιν. Ἀλλ’ ὦ τᾶν, εἰ μὲν μὴ φῂς εἰρηκέναι εἰρηκὼς ταῦτα, ἔχω τὴν δίκην· εἰ δ’ ὁμολογεῖς, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἡγησάμενος εἶναι σοφὸν τὸν Στησίχορον, τὴν παλινῳδίαν αὐτοῦ μιμησάμενος, ἐκ τοῦ ψεύδους εἰς τὸν ἀληθῆ λόγον μεταστήσῃ.

IV

Πλάτων Δίωνι Συρακοσίῳ εὖ πράττειν.

Οἶμαι μὲν φανερὰν εἶναι διὰ παντὸς τοῦ χρόνου τὴν ἐμὴν προθυμίαν περὶ τὰς συμβεβηκυίας πράξεις, καὶ ὅτι πολλὴν εἶχον περὶ αὐτῶν σπουδὴν εἰς τὸ συμπερανθῆναι, οὐκ ἄλλου τινὸς ἕνεκα μᾶλλον ἢ τῆς ἐπὶ τοῖς καλοῖς φιλοτιμίας· [320b] νομίζω γὰρ δίκαιον εἶναι τοὺς ὄντας τῇ ἀληθείᾳ ἐπιεικεῖς καὶ πράττοντας τοιαῦτα τυγχάνειν δόξης τῆς προσηκούσης. Τὰ μὲν οὖν εἰς τὸ παρόν, σὺν θεῷ εἰπεῖν, ἔχει καλῶς, τὰ δὲ περὶ τῶν μελλόντων ὁ μέγιστός ἐστιν ἀγών. Ἀνδρείᾳ μὲν γὰρ καὶ τάχει καὶ ῥώμῃ διενεγκεῖν δόξειεν ἂν καὶ ἑτέρων εἶναί τινων, ἀληθείᾳ δὲ καὶ δικαιοσύνῃ καὶ μεγαλοπρεπείᾳ [320c] καὶ τῇ περὶ πάντα ταῦτα εὐσχημοσύνῃ, συμφαίη τις ἂν τοὺς ἀντιποιουμένους τὰ τοιαῦτα τιμᾶν εἰκότως τῶν ἄλλων διαφέρειν. Νῦν οὖν δῆλον μέν ἐστιν ὃ λέγω, ἀναμιμνῄσκειν δὲ ὅμως δεῖ ἡμᾶς αὐτοὺς ὅτι προσήκει πλέον ἢ παίδων τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων διαφέρειν τοὺς οἶσθα δήπου. Φανεροὺς οὖν δεῖ ἡμᾶς γενέσθαι ὅτι ἐσμὲν τοιοῦτοι οἷοίπερ φαμέν, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐπειδή, σὺν θεῷ εἰπεῖν, ῥᾴδιον ἔσται. Τοῖς [320d] μὲν γὰρ ἄλλοις συμβέβηκεν ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι πλανηθῆναι πολὺν τόπον, εἰ μέλλουσιν γνωσθῆναι· τὸ δὲ νῦν ὑπάρχον περὶ σὲ τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν, ὡς τοὺς ἐξ ἁπάσης τῆς οἰκουμένης, εἰ καὶ νεανικώτερόν ἐστιν εἰπεῖν, εἰς ἕνα τόπον ἀποβλέπειν, καὶ ἐν τούτῳ μάλιστα πρὸς σέ. Ὡς οὖν ὑπὸ πάντων ὁρώμενος παρασκευάζου τόν τε Λυκοῦργον ἐκεῖνον ἀρχαῖον ἀποδείξων καὶ τὸν Κῦρον, καὶ εἴ τις ἄλλος πώποτε ἔδοξεν ἤθει καὶ πολιτείᾳ διενεγκεῖν, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐπειδὴ πολλοὶ καὶ σχεδὸν [320e] ἅπαντες οἱ τῇδε λέγουσιν ὡς πολλή ἐστιν ἐλπὶς ἀναιρεθέντος Διονυσίου διαφθαρῆναι τὰ πράγματα διὰ τὴν σήν τε καὶ Ἡρακλείδου καὶ Θεοδότου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων γνωρίμων φιλοτιμίαν. Μάλιστα μὲν οὖν μηδεὶς εἴη τοιοῦτος· ἐὰν δ’ ἄρα καὶ γίγνηταί τις, σὺ φαίνου ἰατρεύων, καὶ πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον [321a] ἔλθοιτ’ ἄν. Ταῦτα δὲ ἴσως γελοῖόν σοι φαίνεται εἶναι τὸ ἐμὲ λέγειν, διότι καὶ αὐτὸς οὐκ ἀγνοεῖς· ἐγὼ δὲ καὶ ἐν τοῖς θεάτροις ὁρῶ τοὺς ἀγωνιστὰς ὑπὸ τῶν παίδων παροξυνομένους, μήτι δὴ ὑπό γε τῶν φίλων, οὓς ἄν τις οἴηται μετὰ σπουδῆς κατ’ εὔνοιαν παρακελεύεσθαι. Νῦν οὖν αὐτοί τε ἀγωνίζεσθε καὶ ἡμῖν εἴ του δεῖ ἐπιστέλλετε· τὰ δ’ ἐνθάδε παραπλησίως ἔχει καθάπερ καὶ ὑμῶν παρόντων. Ἐπιστέλλετε [321b] δὲ καὶ ὅτι πέπρακται ὑμῖν ἢ πράττοντες τυγχάνετε, ὡς ἡμεῖς πολλὰ ἀκούοντες οὐδὲν ἴσμεν· καὶ νῦν ἐπιστολαὶ παρὰ μὲν Θεοδότου καὶ Ἡρακλείδου ἥκουσιν εἰς Λακεδαίμονα καὶ Αἴγιναν, ἡμεῖς δέ, καθάπερ εἴρηται, πολλὰ ἀκούοντες περὶ τῶν τῇδε οὐδὲν ἴσμεν. Ἐνθυμοῦ δὲ καὶ ὅτι δοκεῖς τισιν ἐνδεεστέρως τοῦ προσήκοντος θεραπευτικὸς εἶναι· μὴ οὖν λανθανέτω σε ὅτι διὰ τοῦ ἀρέσκειν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις καὶ τὸ [321c] πράττειν ἐστίν, ἡ δ’ αὐθάδεια ἐρημίᾳ σύνοικος. Εὐτύχει.

V

Πλάτων Περδίκκᾳ εὖ πράττειν.

Εὐφραίῳ μὲν συνεβούλευσα, καθάπερ ἐπέστελλες, τῶν σῶν ἐπιμελούμενον περὶ ταῦτα διατρίβειν· δίκαιος δ’ εἰμὶ καὶ σοὶ ξενικὴν καὶ ἱερὰν συμβουλὴν λεγομένην συμβουλεύειν [321d] περί τε τῶν ἄλλων ὧν ἂν φράζῃς καὶ ὡς Εὐφραίῳ δεῖ τὰ νῦν χρῆσθαι. Πολλὰ μὲν γὰρ ὁ ἀνὴρ χρήσιμος, μέγιστον δὲ οὗ καὶ σὺ νῦν ἐνδεὴς εἶ διά τε τὴν ἡλικίαν καὶ διὰ τὸ μὴ πολλοὺς αὐτοῦ πέρι συμβούλους εἶναι τοῖς νέοις. Ἔστιν γὰρ δή τις φωνὴ τῶν πολιτειῶν ἑκάστης καθαπερεί τινων ζῴων, ἄλλη μὲν δημοκρατίας, ἄλλη δ’ ὀλιγαρχίας, ἡ δ’ αὖ μοναρχίας· [321e] ταύτας φαῖεν μὲν ἂν ἐπίστασθαι πάμπολλοι, πλεῖστον δ’ ἀπολείπονται τοῦ κατανοεῖν αὐτὰς πλὴν ὀλίγων δή τινων. Ἥτις μὲν ἂν οὖν τῶν πολιτειῶν τὴν αὑτῆς φθέγγηται φωνὴν πρός τε θεοὺς καὶ πρὸς ἀνθρώπους, καὶ τῇ φωνῇ τὰς πράξεις ἑπομένας ἀποδιδῷ, θάλλει τε ἀεὶ καὶ σῴζεται, μιμουμένη δ’ ἄλλην φθείρεται. Πρὸς ταῦτ’ οὖν Εὐφραῖός σοι γίγνοιτ’ οὐχ ἥκιστα ἂν χρήσιμος, καίπερ καὶ πρὸς ἄλλα ὢν ἀνδρεῖος· [322a] τοὺς γὰρ τῆς μοναρχίας λόγους οὐχ ἥκιστ’ αὐτὸν ἐλπίζω συνεξευρήσειν τῶν περὶ τὴν σὴν διατριβὴν ὄντων· εἰς ταῦτ’ οὖν αὐτῷ χρώμενος ὀνήσῃ τε αὐτὸς καὶ ἐκεῖνον πλεῖστα ὠφελήσεις. Ἐὰν δέ τις ἀκούσας ταῦτα εἴπῃ· “Πλάτων, ὡς ἔοικεν, προσποιεῖται μὲν τὰ δημοκρατίᾳ συμφέροντα εἰδέναι, ἐξὸν δ’ ἐν τῷ δήμῳ λέγειν καὶ συμβουλεύειν αὐτῷ τὰ βέλτιστα οὐ πώποτε ἀναστὰς ἐφθέγξατο,” πρὸς ταῦτ’ εἰπεῖν ὅτι Πλάτων ὀψὲ ἐν τῇ πατρίδι γέγονεν καὶ τὸν δῆμον κατέλαβεν [322b] ἤδη πρεσβύτερον καὶ εἰθισμένον ὑπὸ τῶν ἔμπροσθεν πολλὰ καὶ ἀνόμοια τῇ ἐκείνου συμβουλῇ πράττειν· ἐπεὶ πάντων ἂν ἥδιστα καθάπερ πατρὶ συνεβούλευεν αὐτῷ, εἰ μὴ μάτην μὲν κινδυνεύσειν ᾤετο, πλέον δ’ οὐδὲν ποιήσειν. Ταὐτὸν δὴ οἶμαι δρᾶσαι ἂν καὶ τὴν ἐμὴν συμβουλήν. Εἰ γὰρ δόξαιμεν ἀνιάτως ἔχειν, πολλὰ ἂν χαίρειν ἡμῖν εἰπὼν ἐκτὸς [322c] ἂν γίγνοιτο τῆς περὶ ἐμὲ καὶ τὰ ἐμὰ συμβουλῆς. Εὐτύχει.

VI

Πλάτων Ἑρμείᾳ καὶ Ἐράστῳ καὶ Κορίσκῳ εὖ πράττειν.

Ἐμοὶ φαίνεται θεῶν τις ὑμῖν τύχην ἀγαθήν, ἂν εὖ δέξησθε, εὐμενῶς καὶ ἱκανῶς παρασκευάζειν· οἰκεῖτε γὰρ δὴ γείτονές τε ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς καὶ χρείαν ἔχοντες ὥστε ἀλλήλους εἰς τὰ [322d] μέγιστα ὠφελεῖν. Ἑρμείᾳ μὲν γὰρ οὔτε ἵππων πλῆθος οὔτε ἄλλης πολεμικῆς συμμαχίας οὐδ’ αὖ χρυσοῦ προσγενομένου γένοιτ’ ἂν μείζων εἰς τὰ πάντα δύναμις, ἢ φίλων βεβαίων τε καὶ ἦθος ἐχόντων ὑγιές· Ἐράστῳ δὲ καὶ Κορίσκῳ, πρὸς τῇ τῶν εἰδῶν σοφίᾳ τῇ καλῇ ταύτῃ, φήμ’ ἐγώ, καίπερ γέρων ὤν, προσδεῖν σοφίας τῆς περὶ τοὺς πονηροὺς καὶ ἀδίκους [322e] φυλακτικῆς καί τινος ἀμυντικῆς δυνάμεως. Ἄπειροι γάρ εἰσι διὰ τὸ μεθ’ ἡμῶν μετρίων ὄντων καὶ οὐ κακῶν συχνὸν διατετριφέναι τοῦ βίου· διὸ δὴ τούτων προσδεῖν εἶπον, ἵνα μὴ ἀναγκάζωνται τῆς ἀληθινῆς μὲν ἀμελεῖν σοφίας, τῆς δὲ ἀνθρωπίνης τε καὶ ἀναγκαίας ἐπιμελεῖσθαι μειζόνως ἢ δεῖ. Ταύτην δ’ αὖ τὴν δύναμιν Ἑρμείας μοι φαίνεται φύσει τε, ὅσα [323a] μήπω συγγεγονότι, καὶ τέχνῃ δι’ ἐμπειρίας εἰληφέναι. Τί οὖν δὴ λέγω; σοὶ μέν, Ἑρμεία, πεπειραμένος Ἐράστου καὶ Κορίσκου πλέονα ἢ σύ, φημὶ καὶ μηνύω καὶ μαρτυρῶ μὴ ῥᾳδίως εὑρήσειν σε ἀξιοπιστότερα ἤθη τούτων τῶν γειτόνων· ἔχεσθαι δὴ παντὶ συμβουλεύω δικαίῳ τρόπῳ τούτων τῶν ἀνδρῶν, μὴ πάρεργον ἡγουμένῳ. Κορίσκῳ δὲ καὶ Ἐράστῳ πάλιν Ἑρμείου ἀντέχεσθαι σύμβουλός εἰμι καὶ πειρᾶσθαι ταῖς [323b] ἀνθέξεσιν ἀλλήλων εἰς μίαν ἀφικέσθαι φιλίας συμπλοκήν. Ἂν δέ τις ὑμῶν ἄρα ταύτην πῃ λύειν δοκῇ - τὸ γὰρ ἀνθρώπινον οὐ παντάπασιν βέβαιον - δεῦρο παρ’ ἐμὲ καὶ τοὺς ἐμοὺς πέμπετε μομφῆς κατήγορον ἐπιστολήν· οἶμαι γὰρ δίκῃ τε καὶ αἰδοῖ τοὺς παρ’ ἡμῶν ἐντεῦθεν ἐλθόντας λόγους, εἰ μή τι τὸ λυθὲν μέγα τύχοι γενόμενον, ἐπῳδῆς ἡστινοσοῦν μᾶλλον ἂν συμφῦσαι καὶ συνδῆσαι πάλιν εἰς τὴν πρου¨πάρχουσαν [323c] φιλότητά τε καὶ κοινωνίαν, ἣν ἂν μὲν φιλοσοφῶμεν ἅπαντες ἡμεῖς τε καὶ ὑμεῖς, ὅσον ἂν δυνώμεθα καὶ ἑκάστῳ παρείκῃ, κύρια τὰ νῦν κεχρησμῳδημένα ἔσται. Τὸ δὲ ἂν μὴ δρῶμεν ταῦτα οὐκ ἐρῶ· φήμην γὰρ ἀγαθὴν μαντεύομαι, καὶ φημὶ δὴ ταῦθ’ ἡμᾶς πάντ’ ἀγαθὰ ποιήσειν, ἂν θεὸς ἐθέλῃ.

Ταύτην τὴν ἐπιστολὴν πάντας ὑμᾶς τρεῖς ὄντας ἀναγνῶναι χρή, μάλιστα μὲν ἁθρόους, εἰ δὲ μή, κατὰ δύο, κοινῇ κατὰ δύναμιν ὡς οἷόν τ’ ἐστὶν πλειστάκις, καὶ χρῆσθαι συνθήκῃ [323d] καὶ νόμῳ κυρίῳ, ὅ ἐστιν δίκαιον, ἐπομνύντας σπουδῇ τε ἅμα μὴ ἀμούσῳ καὶ τῇ τῆς σπουδῆς ἀδελφῇ παιδιᾷ, καὶ τὸν τῶν πάντων θεὸν ἡγεμόνα τῶν τε ὄντων καὶ τῶν μελλόντων, τοῦ τε ἡγεμόνος καὶ αἰτίου πατέρα κύριον ἐπομνύντας, ὅν, ἂν ὄντως φιλοσοφῶμεν, εἰσόμεθα πάντες σαφῶς εἰς δύναμιν ἀνθρώπων εὐδαιμόνων.

VII

Πλάτων τοῖς Δίωνος οἰκείοις τε καὶ ἑταίροις εὖ πράττειν.

Ἐπεστείλατέ μοι νομίζειν δεῖν τὴν διάνοιαν ὑμῶν εἶναι τὴν αὐτὴν ἣν εἶχεν καὶ δίων, καὶ δὴ καὶ κοινωνεῖν διεκελεύεσθέ [324a] μοι, καθ’ ὅσον οἷός τέ εἰμι ἔργῳ καὶ λόγῳ. Ἐγὼ δέ, εἰ μὲν δόξαν καὶ ἐπιθυμίαν τὴν αὐτὴν ἔχετε ἐκείνῳ, σύμφημι κοινωνήσειν, εἰ δὲ μή, βουλεύσεσθαι πολλάκις. Τίς δ’ ἦν ἡ ἐκείνου διάνοια καὶ ἐπιθυμία, σχεδὸν οὐκ εἰκάζων ἀλλ’ ὡς εἰδὼς σαφῶς εἴποιμ’ ἄν. Ὅτε γὰρ κατ’ ἀρχὰς εἰς Συρακούσας ἐγὼ ἀφικόμην, σχεδὸν ἔτη τετταράκοντα γεγονώς, δίων εἶχε τὴν ἡλικίαν ἣν τὰ νῦν Ἱππαρῖνος γέγονεν, καὶ ἣν ἔσχεν [324b] τότε δόξαν, ταύτην καὶ διετέλεσεν ἔχων, Συρακοσίους οἴεσθαι δεῖν ἐλευθέρους εἶναι, κατὰ νόμους τοὺς ἀρίστους οἰκοῦντας· ὥστε οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν εἴ τις θεῶν καὶ τοῦτον εἰς τὴν αὐτὴν δόξαν περὶ πολιτείας ἐκείνῳ γενέσθαι σύμφρονα ποιήσειεν. Τίς δ’ ἦν ὁ τρόπος τῆς γενέσεως αὐτῆς, οὐκ ἀπάξιον ἀκοῦσαι νέῳ καὶ μὴ νέῳ, πειράσομαι δὲ ἐξ ἀρχῆς αὐτὴν ἐγὼ πρὸς ὑμᾶς διεξελθεῖν· ἔχει γὰρ καιρὸν τὰ νῦν.

Νέος ἐγώ ποτε ὢν πολλοῖς δὴ ταὐτὸν ἔπαθον· ᾠήθην, εἰ θᾶττον ἐμαυτοῦ γενοίμην κύριος, ἐπὶ τὰ κοινὰ τῆς πόλεως [324c] εὐθὺς ἰέναι. Καί μοι τύχαι τινὲς τῶν τῆς πόλεως πραγμάτων τοιαίδε παρέπεσον. Ὑπὸ πολλῶν γὰρ τῆς τότε πολιτείας λοιδορουμένης μεταβολὴ γίγνεται, καὶ τῆς μεταβολῆς εἷς καὶ πεντήκοντά τινες ἄνδρες προύστησαν ἄρχοντες, ἕνδεκα μὲν ἐν ἄστει, δέκα δ’ ἐν Πειραεῖ - περί τε ἀγορὰν ἑκάτεροι τούτων ὅσα τ’ ἐν τοῖς ἄστεσι διοικεῖν ἔδει - τριάκοντα δὲ πάντων [324d] ἄρχοντες κατέστησαν αὐτοκράτορες. Τούτων δή τινες οἰκεῖοί τε ὄντες καὶ γνώριμοι ἐτύγχανον ἐμοί, καὶ δὴ καὶ παρεκάλουν εὐθὺς ὡς ἐπὶ προσήκοντα πράγματά με. Καὶ ἐγὼ θαυμαστὸν οὐδὲν ἔπαθον ὑπὸ νεότητος· ᾠήθην γὰρ αὐτοὺς ἔκ τινος ἀδίκου βίου ἐπὶ δίκαιον τρόπον ἄγοντας διοικήσειν δὴ τὴν πόλιν, ὥστε αὐτοῖς σφόδρα προσεῖχον τὸν νοῦν, τί πράξοιεν. Καὶ ὁρῶν δήπου τοὺς ἄνδρας ἐν χρόνῳ ὀλίγῳ χρυσὸν ἀποδείξαντας τὴν ἔμπροσθεν πολιτείαν - τά τε ἄλλα καὶ φίλον [324e] ἄνδρα ἐμοὶ πρεσβύτερον Σωκράτη, ὃν ἐγὼ σχεδὸν οὐκ ἂν αἰσχυνοίμην εἰπὼν δικαιότατον εἶναι τῶν τότε, ἐπί τινα τῶν πολιτῶν μεθ’ ἑτέρων ἔπεμπον, βίᾳ ἄξοντα ὡς ἀποθανούμενον, [325a] ἵνα δὴ μετέχοι τῶν πραγμάτων αὐτοῖς, εἴτε βούλοιτο εἴτε μή· ὁ δ’ οὐκ ἐπείθετο, πᾶν δὲ παρεκινδύνευσεν παθεῖν πρὶν ἀνοσίων αὐτοῖς ἔργων γενέσθαι κοινωνός - ἃ δὴ πάντα καθορῶν καὶ εἴ τιν’ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα οὐ σμικρά, ἐδυσχέρανά τε καὶ ἐμαυτὸν ἐπανήγαγον ἀπὸ τῶν τότε κακῶν. Χρόνῳ δὲ οὐ πολλῷ μετέπεσε τὰ τῶν τριάκοντά τε καὶ πᾶσα ἡ τότε πολιτεία· πάλιν δὲ βραδύτερον μέν, εἷλκεν δέ με ὅμως ἡ [325b] περὶ τὸ πράττειν τὰ κοινὰ καὶ πολιτικὰ ἐπιθυμία. Ἦν οὖν καὶ ἐν ἐκείνοις ἅτε τεταραγμένοις πολλὰ γιγνόμενα ἅ τις ἂν δυσχεράνειεν, καὶ οὐδέν τι θαυμαστὸν ἦν τιμωρίας ἐχθρῶν γίγνεσθαί τινών τισιν μείζους ἐν μεταβολαῖς· καίτοι πολλῇ γε ἐχρήσαντο οἱ τότε κατελθόντες ἐπιεικείᾳ. Κατὰ δέ τινα τύχην αὖ τὸν ἑταῖρον ἡμῶν Σωκράτη τοῦτον δυναστεύοντές τινες εἰσάγουσιν εἰς δικαστήριον, ἀνοσιωτάτην αἰτίαν ἐπιβαλόντες [325c] καὶ πάντων ἥκιστα Σωκράτει προσήκουσαν· ὡς ἀσεβῆ γὰρ οἱ μὲν εἰσήγαγον, οἱ δὲ κατεψηφίσαντο καὶ ἀπέκτειναν τὸν τότε τῆς ἀνοσίου ἀγωγῆς οὐκ ἐθελήσαντα μετασχεῖν περὶ ἕνα τῶν τότε φευγόντων φίλων, ὅτε φεύγοντες ἐδυστύχουν αὐτοί. Σκοποῦντι δή μοι ταῦτά τε καὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους τοὺς πράττοντας τὰ πολιτικά, καὶ τοὺς νόμους γε καὶ ἔθη, ὅσῳ μᾶλλον διεσκόπουν ἡλικίας τε εἰς τὸ πρόσθε προύβαινον, τοσούτῳ χαλεπώτερον ἐφαίνετο ὀρθῶς εἶναί μοι τὰ πολιτικὰ [325d] διοικεῖν· οὔτε γὰρ ἄνευ φίλων ἀνδρῶν καὶ ἑταίρων πιστῶν οἷόν τ’ εἶναι πράττειν - οὓς οὔθ’ ὑπάρχοντας ἦν εὑρεῖν εὐπετές, οὐ γὰρ ἔτι ἐν τοῖς τῶν πατέρων ἤθεσιν καὶ ἐπιτηδεύμασιν ἡ πόλις ἡμῶν διῳκεῖτο, καινούς τε ἄλλους ἀδύνατον ἦν κτᾶσθαι μετά τινος ῥᾳστώνης - τά τε τῶν νόμων γράμματα καὶ ἔθη διεφθείρετο καὶ ἐπεδίδου θαυμαστὸν ὅσον, ὥστε με, [325e] τὸ πρῶτον πολλῆς μεστὸν ὄντα ὁρμῆς ἐπὶ τὸ πράττειν τὰ κοινά, βλέποντα εἰς ταῦτα καὶ φερόμενα ὁρῶντα πάντῃ πάντως, τελευτῶντα ἰλιγγιᾶν, καὶ τοῦ μὲν σκοπεῖν μὴ ἀποστῆναι μή ποτε ἄμεινον ἂν γίγνοιτο περί τε αὐτὰ ταῦτα καὶ [326a] δὴ καὶ περὶ τὴν πᾶσαν πολιτείαν, τοῦ δὲ πράττειν αὖ περιμένειν ἀεὶ καιρούς, τελευτῶντα δὲ νοῆσαι περὶ πασῶν τῶν νῦν πόλεων ὅτι κακῶς σύμπασαι πολιτεύονται - τὰ γὰρ τῶν νόμων αὐταῖς σχεδὸν ἀνιάτως ἔχοντά ἐστιν ἄνευ παρασκευῆς θαυμαστῆς τινος μετὰ τύχης - λέγειν τε ἠναγκάσθην, ἐπαινῶν τὴν ὀρθὴν φιλοσοφίαν, ὡς ἐκ ταύτης ἔστιν τά τε πολιτικὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν πάντα κατιδεῖν· κακῶν οὖν οὐ [326b] λήξειν τὰ ἀνθρώπινα γένη, πρὶν ἂν ἢ τὸ τῶν φιλοσοφούντων ὀρθῶς γε καὶ ἀληθῶς γένος εἰς ἀρχὰς ἔλθῃ τὰς πολιτικὰς ἢ τὸ τῶν δυναστευόντων ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἔκ τινος μοίρας θείας ὄντως φιλοσοφήσῃ.

Ταύτην δὴ τὴν διάνοιαν ἔχων εἰς Ἰταλίαν τε καὶ Σικελίαν ἦλθον, ὅτε πρῶτον ἀφικόμην. Ἐλθόντα δέ με ὁ ταύτῃ λεγόμενος αὖ βίος εὐδαίμων, Ἰταλιωτικῶν τε καὶ Συρακουσίων τραπεζῶν πλήρης, οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς ἤρεσεν, δίς τε τῆς ἡμέρας ἐμπιμπλάμενον ζῆν καὶ μηδέποτε κοιμώμενον μόνον νύκτωρ, [326c] καὶ ὅσα τούτῳ ἐπιτηδεύματα συνέπεται τῷ βίῳ· ἐκ γὰρ τούτων τῶν ἐθῶν οὔτ’ ἂν φρόνιμος οὐδείς ποτε γενέσθαι τῶν ὑπὸ τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀνθρώπων ἐκ νέου ἐπιτηδεύων δύναιτο - οὐχ οὕτως θαυμαστῇ φύσει κραθήσεται — σώφρων δὲ οὐδ’ ἂν μελλήσαι ποτὲ γενέσθαι, καὶ δὴ καὶ περὶ τῆς ἄλλης ἀρετῆς ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος ἂν εἴη, πόλις τε οὐδεμία ἂν ἠρεμήσαι κατὰ νόμους οὐδ’ οὑστινασοῦν ἀνδρῶν οἰομένων ἀναλίσκειν μὲν δεῖν [326d] πάντα εἰς ὑπερβολάς, ἀργῶν δὲ εἰς ἅπαντα ἡγουμένων αὖ δεῖν γίγνεσθαι πλὴν ἐς εὐωχίας καὶ πότους καὶ ἀφροδισίων σπουδὰς διαπονουμένας· ἀναγκαῖον δὲ εἶναι ταύτας τὰς πόλεις τυραννίδας τε καὶ ὀλιγαρχίας καὶ δημοκρατίας μεταβαλλούσας μηδέποτε λήγειν, δικαίου δὲ καὶ ἰσονόμου πολιτείας τοὺς ἐν αὐταῖς δυναστεύοντας μηδ’ ὄνομα ἀκούοντας ἀνέχεσθαι. Ταῦτα δὴ πρὸς τοῖς πρόσθε διανοούμενος, εἰς Συρακούσας [326e] διεπορεύθην, ἴσως μὲν κατὰ τύχην, ἔοικεν μὴν τότε μηχανωμένῳ τινὶ τῶν κρειττόνων ἀρχὴν βαλέσθαι τῶν νῦν γεγονότων πραγμάτων περὶ Δίωνα καὶ τῶν περὶ Συρακούσας· δέος δὲ μὴ καὶ πλειόνων ἔτι, ἐὰν μὴ νῦν ὑμεῖς ἐμοὶ πείθησθε τὸ δεύτερον συμβουλεύοντι. Πῶς οὖν δὴ λέγω πάντων [327a] ἀρχὴν γεγονέναι τὴν τότε εἰς Σικελίαν ἐμὴν ἄφιξιν; ἐγὼ συγγενόμενος Δίωνι τότε νέῳ κινδυνεύω, τὰ δοκοῦντα ἐμοὶ βέλτιστα ἀνθρώποις εἶναι μηνύων διὰ λόγων καὶ πράττειν αὐτὰ συμβουλεύων, ἀγνοεῖν ὅτι τυραννίδος τινὰ τρόπον κατάλυσιν ἐσομένην μηχανώμενος ἐλάνθανον ἐμαυτόν. Δίων μὲν γὰρ δή, μάλ’ εὐμαθὴς ὢν πρός τε τἆλλα καὶ πρὸς τοὺς τότε ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ λόγους γενομένους, οὕτως ὀξέως ὑπήκουσεν [327b] καὶ σφόδρα, ὡς οὐδεὶς πώποτε ὧν ἐγὼ προσέτυχον νέων, καὶ τὸν ἐπίλοιπον βίον ζῆν ἠθέλησεν διαφερόντως τῶν πολλῶν Ἰταλιωτῶν τε καὶ Σικελιωτῶν, ἀρετὴν περὶ πλείονος ἡδονῆς τῆς τε ἄλλης τρυφῆς ἠγαπηκώς· ὅθεν ἐπαχθέστερον τοῖς περὶ τὰ τυραννικὰ νόμιμα ζῶσιν ἐβίω μέχρι τοῦ θανάτου τοῦ περὶ Διονύσιον γενομένου. Μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο διενοήθη μὴ μόνον ἐν αὑτῷ ποτ’ ἂν γενέσθαι ταύτην τὴν διάνοιαν, ἣν [327c] αὐτὸς ὑπὸ τῶν ὀρθῶν λόγων ἔσχεν, ἐγγιγνομένην δὲ αὐτὴν καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις ὁρῶν κατενόει, πολλοῖς μὲν οὔ, γιγνομένην δ’ οὖν ἔν τισιν, ὧν καὶ Διονύσιον ἡγήσατο ἕνα γενέσθαι τάχ’ ἂν συλλαμβανόντων θεῶν, γενομένου δ’ αὖ τοῦ τοιούτου τόν τε αὐτοῦ βίον καὶ τὸν τῶν ἄλλων Συρακουσίων ἀμήχανον ἂν μακαριότητι συμβῆναι γενόμενον. Πρὸς δὴ τούτοις ᾠήθη δεῖν ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου εἰς Συρακούσας ὅτι τάχιστα ἐλθεῖν ἐμὲ [327d] κοινωνὸν τούτων, μεμνημένος τήν τε αὑτοῦ καὶ ἐμὴν συνουσίαν ὡς εὐπετῶς ἐξηργάσατο εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν ἐλθεῖν αὐτὸν τοῦ καλλίστου τε καὶ ἀρίστου βίου· ὃ δὴ καὶ νῦν εἰ διαπράξαιτο ἐν Διονυσίῳ ὡς ἐπεχείρησε, μεγάλας ἐλπίδας εἶχεν ἄνευ σφαγῶν καὶ θανάτων καὶ τῶν νῦν γεγονότων κακῶν βίον ἂν εὐδαίμονα καὶ ἀληθινὸν ἐν πάσῃ τῇ χώρᾳ κατασκευάσαι. Ταῦτα δίων ὀρθῶς διανοηθεὶς ἔπεισε μεταπέμπεσθαι Διονύσιον ἐμέ, καὶ αὐτὸς ἐδεῖτο πέμπων ἥκειν ὅτι τάχιστα ἐκ [327e] παντὸς τρόπου, πρίν τινας ἄλλους ἐντυχόντας Διονυσίῳ ἐπ’ ἄλλον βίον αὐτὸν τοῦ βελτίστου παρατρέψαι. Λέγων δὲ τάδε ἐδεῖτο, εἰ καὶ μακρότερα εἰπεῖν. Τίνας γὰρ καιρούς, ἔφη, μείζους περιμενοῦμεν τῶν νῦν παραγεγονότων θείᾳ τινὶ τύχῃ; καταλέγων δὲ τήν τε ἀρχὴν τῆς Ἰταλίας καὶ Σικελίας [328a] καὶ τὴν αὑτοῦ δύναμιν ἐν αὐτῇ, καὶ τὴν νεότητα καὶ τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν τὴν Διονυσίου, φιλοσοφίας τε καὶ παιδείας ὡς ἔχοι σφόδρα λέγων, τούς τε αὑτοῦ ἀδελφιδοῦς καὶ τοὺς οἰκείους ὡς εὐπαράκλητοι εἶεν πρὸς τὸν ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ λεγόμενον ἀεὶ λόγον καὶ βίον, ἱκανώτατοί τε Διονύσιον συμπαρακαλεῖν, ὥστε εἴπερ ποτὲ καὶ νῦν ἐλπὶς πᾶσα ἀποτελεσθήσεται τοῦ τοὺς αὐτοὺς φιλοσόφους τε καὶ πόλεων ἄρχοντας μεγάλων [328b] συμβῆναι γενομένους. Τὰ μὲν δὴ παρακελεύματα ἦν ταῦτά τε καὶ τοιαῦτα ἕτερα πάμπολλα, τὴν δ’ ἐμὴν δόξαν τὸ μὲν περὶ τῶν νέων, ὅπῃ ποτὲ γενήσοιτο, εἶχεν φόβος — αἱ γὰρ ἐπιθυμίαι τῶν τοιούτων ταχεῖαι καὶ πολλάκις ἑαυταῖς ἐναντίαι φερόμεναι - τὸ δὲ Δίωνος ἦθος ἠπιστάμην τῆς ψυχῆς πέρι φύσει τε ἐμβριθὲς ὂν ἡλικίας τε ἤδη μετρίως ἔχον. Ὅθεν μοι σκοπουμένῳ καὶ διστάζοντι πότερον εἴη πορευτέον καὶ ὑπακουστέον ἢ πῶς, ὅμως ἔρρεψε δεῖν, εἴ ποτέ τις τὰ διανοηθέντα [328c] περὶ νόμων τε καὶ πολιτείας ἀποτελεῖν ἐγχειρήσοι, καὶ νῦν πειρατέον εἶναι· πείσας γὰρ ἕνα μόνον ἱκανῶς πάντα ἐξειργασμένος ἐσοίμην ἀγαθά. Ταύτῃ μὲν δὴ τῇ διανοίᾳ τε καὶ τόλμῃ ἀπῆρα οἴκοθεν, οὐχ ᾗ τινες ἐδόξαζον, ἀλλ’ αἰσχυνόμενος μὲν ἐμαυτὸν τὸ μέγιστον, μὴ δόξαιμί ποτε ἐμαυτῷ παντάπασι λόγος μόνον ἀτεχνῶς εἶναι τίς, ἔργου δὲ οὐδενὸς ἄν ποτε ἑκὼν ἀνθάψασθαι, κινδυνεύσειν δὲ προδοῦναι πρῶτον [328d] μὲν τὴν Δίωνος ξενίαν τε καὶ ἑταιρίαν ἐν κινδύνοις ὄντως γεγονότος οὐ σμικροῖς. Εἴτ’ οὖν πάθοι τι, εἴτ’ ἐκπεσὼν ὑπὸ Διονυσίου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐχθρῶν ἔλθοι παρ’ ἡμᾶς φεύγων καὶ ἀνέροιτο εἰπών·

“Ὦ Πλάτων, ἥκω σοι φυγὰς οὐχ ὁπλιτῶν δεόμενος οὐδὲ ἱππέων ἐνδεὴς γενόμενος τοῦ ἀμύνασθαι τοὺς ἐχθρούς, ἀλλὰ λόγων καὶ πειθοῦς, ᾗ σὲ μάλιστα ἠπιστάμην ἐγὼ δυνάμενον ἀνθρώπους νέους ἐπὶ τὰ ἀγαθὰ καὶ τὰ δίκαια προτρέποντα εἰς φιλίαν τε καὶ ἑταιρίαν ἀλλήλοις [328e] καθιστάναι ἑκάστοτε· ὧν ἐνδείᾳ κατὰ τὸ σὸν μέρος νῦν ἐγὼ καταλιπὼν Συρακούσας ἐνθάδε πάρειμι. Καὶ τὸ μὲν ἐμὸν ἔλαττον ὄνειδός σοι φέρει· φιλοσοφία δέ, ἣν ἐγκωμιάζεις ἀεὶ καὶ ἀτίμως φῂς ὑπὸ τῶν λοιπῶν ἀνθρώπων φέρεσθαι, πῶς οὐ προδέδοται τὰ νῦν μετ’ ἐμοῦ μέρος ὅσον ἐπὶ σοὶ γέγονεν; [329a] καὶ Μεγαροῖ μὲν εἰ κατοικοῦντες ἐτυγχάνομεν, ἦλθες δήπου ἄν μοι βοηθὸς ἐφ’ ἅ σε παρεκάλουν, ἢ πάντων ἂν φαυλότατον ἡγοῦ σαυτόν· νῦν δ’ ἄρα τὸ μῆκος τῆς πορείας καὶ τὸ μέγεθος δὴ τοῦ πλοῦ καὶ τοῦ πόνου ἐπαιτιώμενος οἴει δόξαν κακίας ἀποφευξεῖσθαί ποτε; πολλοῦ καὶ δεήσει.”

Λεχθέντων δὲ τούτων τίς ἂν ἦν μοι πρὸς ταῦτα εὐσχήμων ἀπόκρισις; οὐκ ἔστιν. Ἀλλ’ ἦλθον μὲν κατὰ λόγον ἐν δίκῃ τε [329b] ὡς οἷόν τε ἀνθρώπῳ μάλιστα, διά τε τὰ τοιαῦτα καταλιπὼν τὰς ἐμαυτοῦ διατριβάς, οὔσας οὐκ ἀσχήμονας, ὑπὸ τυραννίδα δοκοῦσαν οὐ πρέπειν τοῖς ἐμοῖς λόγοις οὐδὲ ἐμοί· ἐλθών τε ἐμαυτὸν ἠλευθέρωσα Διὸς ξενίου καὶ τῆς φιλοσόφου ἀνέγκλητον μοίρας παρέσχον, ἐπονειδίστου γενομένης ἄν, εἴ τι καταμαλθακισθεὶς καὶ ἀποδειλιῶν αἰσχύνης μετέσχον κακῆς. Ἐλθὼν δέ - οὐ γὰρ δεῖ μηκύνειν - ηὗρον στάσεως τὰ περὶ Διονύσιον μεστὰ σύμπαντα καὶ διαβολῶν [329c] πρὸς τὴν τυραννίδα Δίωνος πέρι· ἤμυνον μὲν οὖν καθ’ ὅσον ἠδυνάμην, σμικρὰ δ’ οἷός τ’ ἦ, μηνὶ δὲ σχεδὸν ἴσως τετάρτῳ Δίωνα Διονύσιος αἰτιώμενος ἐπιβουλεύειν τῇ τυραννίδι, σμικρὸν εἰς πλοῖον ἐμβιβάσας, ἐξέβαλεν ἀτίμως. Οἱ δὴ Δίωνος τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο πάντες φίλοι ἐφοβούμεθα μή τινα ἐπαιτιώμενος τιμωροῖτο ὡς συναίτιον τῆς Δίωνος ἐπιβουλῆς· περὶ δ’ ἐμοῦ καὶ διῆλθε λόγος τις ἐν Συρακούσαις, ὡς τεθνεὼς εἴην ὑπὸ Διονυσίου τούτων ὡς πάντων τῶν τότε [329d] γεγονότων αἴτιος. Ὁ δὲ αἰσθανόμενος πάντας ἡμᾶς οὕτω διατεθέντας, φοβούμενος μὴ μεῖζον ἐκ τῶν φόβων γένοιτό τι, φιλοφρόνως πάντας ἀνελάμβανεν, καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν ἐμὲ παρεμυθεῖτό τε καὶ θαρρεῖν διεκελεύετο καὶ ἐδεῖτο πάντως μένειν· ἐγίγνετο γάρ οἱ τὸ μὲν ἐμὲ φυγεῖν ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ καλὸν οὐδέν, τὸ δὲ μένειν - διὸ δὴ καὶ σφόδρα προσεποιεῖτο δεῖσθαι. Τὰς δὲ τῶν τυράννων δεήσεις ἴσμεν ὅτι μεμειγμέναι ἀνάγκαις [329e] εἰσίν - ὃ δὴ μηχανώμενος διεκώλυέν μου τὸν ἔκπλουν, εἰς ἀκρόπολιν ἀγαγὼν καὶ κατοικίσας ὅθεν οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς ἔτι με ναύκληρος μὴ ὅτι κωλύοντος ἐξήγαγε Διονυσίου, ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ εἰ μὴ πέμπων αὐτὸς τὸν κελεύοντα ἐξαγαγεῖν ἐπέστελλεν, οὔτ’ ἂν ἔμπορος οὔτε τῶν ἐν ταῖς τῆς χώρας ἐξόδοις ἀρχόντων οὐδ’ ἂν εἷς περιεῖδέν με μόνον ἐκπορευόμενον, ὃς οὐκ ἂν συλλαβὼν εὐθέως παρὰ Διονύσιον πάλιν ἀπήγαγεν, ἄλλως τε καὶ διηγγελμένον ἤδη ποτὲ τοὐναντίον ἢ [330a] τὸ πρότερον πάλιν, ὡς Πλάτωνα Διονύσιος θαυμαστῶς ὡς ἀσπάζεται. Τὸ δ’ εἶχεν δὴ πῶς; τὸ γὰρ ἀληθὲς δεῖ φράζειν. Ἠσπάζετο μὲν ἀεὶ προι¨όντος τοῦ χρόνου μᾶλλον κατὰ τὴν τοῦ τρόπου τε καὶ ἤθους συνουσίαν, ἑαυτὸν δὲ ἐπαινεῖν μᾶλλον ἢ Δίωνα ἐβούλετό με καὶ φίλον ἡγεῖσθαι διαφερόντως μᾶλλον ἢ ‘κεῖνον, καὶ θαυμαστῶς ἐφιλονίκει πρὸς τὸ τοιοῦτον· ᾗ δ’ ἂν οὕτως ἐγένετο, εἴπερ ἐγίγνετο, κάλλιστα, ὤκνει [330b] ὡς δὴ μανθάνων καὶ ἀκούων τῶν περὶ φιλοσοφίαν λόγων οἰκειοῦσθαι καὶ ἐμοὶ συγγίγνεσθαι, φοβούμενος τοὺς τῶν διαβαλλόντων λόγους, μή πῃ παραποδισθείη καὶ δίων δὴ πάντα εἴη διαπεπραγμένος. Ἐγὼ δὲ πάντα ὑπέμενον, τὴν πρώτην διάνοιαν φυλάττων ᾗπερ ἀφικόμην, εἴ πως εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν ἔλθοι τῆς φιλοσόφου ζωῆς· ὁ δ’ ἐνίκησεν ἀντιτείνων.

Καὶ ὁ πρῶτος δὴ χρόνος τῆς εἰς Σικελίαν ἐμῆς ἐπιδημίας [330c] τε καὶ διατριβῆς διὰ πάντα ταῦτα συνέβη γενόμενος. Μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο ἀπεδήμησά τε καὶ πάλιν ἀφικόμην πάσῃ σπουδῇ μεταπεμπομένου Διονυσίου· ὧν δὲ ἕνεκα καὶ ὅσα ἔπραξα, ὡς εἰκότα τε καὶ δίκαια, ὑμῖν πρῶτον μὲν συμβουλεύσας ἃ χρὴ ποιεῖν ἐκ τῶν νῦν γεγονότων, ὕστερον τὰ περὶ ταῦτα διέξειμι, τῶν ἐπανερωτώντων ἕνεκα τί δὴ βουλόμενος ἦλθον τὸ δεύτερον, ἵνα μὴ τὰ πάρεργα ὡς ἔργα μοι συμβαίνῃ λεγόμενα. Λέγω δὴ τάδε ἐγώ.

Τὸν συμβουλεύοντα ἀνδρὶ κάμνοντι καὶ δίαιταν διαιτωμένῳ [330d] μοχθηρὰν πρὸς ὑγίειαν ἄλλο τι χρὴ πρῶτον μὲν μεταβάλλειν τὸν βίον, καὶ ἐθέλοντι μὲν πείθεσθαι καὶ τἆλλα ἤδη παραινεῖν· μὴ ἐθέλοντι δέ, φεύγοντα ἀπὸ τῆς τοῦ τοιούτου συμβουλῆς ἄνδρα τε ἡγοίμην ἂν καὶ ἰατρικόν, τὸν δὲ ὑπομένοντα τοὐναντίον ἄνανδρόν τε καὶ ἄτεχνον. Ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ πόλει, εἴτε αὐτῆς εἷς εἴη κύριος εἴτε καὶ πλείους, εἰ μὲν κατὰ τρόπον ὀρθῇ πορευομένης ὁδῷ τῆς πολιτείας συμβουλεύοιτό [330e] τι τῶν προσφόρων, νοῦν ἔχοντος τὸ τοῖς τοιούτοις συμβουλεύειν· τοῖς δ’ ἔξω τὸ παράπαν βαίνουσι τῆς ὀρθῆς πολιτείας καὶ μηδαμῇ ἐθέλουσιν αὐτῆς εἰς ἴχνος ἰέναι, προαγορεύουσιν δὲ τῷ συμβούλῳ τὴν μὲν πολιτείαν ἐᾶν καὶ μὴ [331a] κινεῖν, ὡς ἀποθανουμένῳ ἐὰν κινῇ, ταῖς δὲ βουλήσεσιν καὶ ἐπιθυμίαις αὐτῶν ὑπηρετοῦντας συμβουλεύειν κελεύοιεν, τίνα τρόπον γίγνοιτ’ ἂν ῥᾷστά τε καὶ τάχιστα εἰς τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον, τὸν μὲν ὑπομένοντα συμβουλὰς τοιαύτας ἡγοίμην ἂν ἄνανδρον, τὸν δ’ οὐχ ὑπομένοντα ἄνδρα. Ταύτην δὴ τὴν διάνοιαν ἐγὼ κεκτημένος, ὅταν τίς μοι συμβουλεύηται περί τινος τῶν μεγίστων περὶ τὸν αὑτοῦ βίον, οἷον περὶ χρημάτων κτήσεως [331b] ἢ περὶ σώματος ἢ ψυχῆς ἐπιμελείας, ἂν μέν μοι τὸ καθ’ ἡμέραν ἔν τινι τρόπῳ δοκῇ ζῆν ἢ συμβουλεύσαντος ἂν ἐθέλειν πείθεσθαι περὶ ὧν ἀνακοινοῦται, προθύμως συμβουλεύω καὶ οὐκ ἀφοσιωσάμενος μόνον ἐπαυσάμην. Ἐὰν δὲ μὴ συμβουλεύηταί μοι τὸ παράπαν ἢ συμβουλεύοντι δῆλος ᾖ μηδαμῇ πεισόμενος, αὐτόκλητος ἐπὶ τὸν τοιοῦτον οὐκ ἔρχομαι συμβουλεύσων, βιασόμενος δὲ οὐδ’ ἂν ὑὸς ᾖ μου. Δούλῳ δὲ συμβουλεύσαιμ’ ἂν καὶ μὴ ἐθέλοντά γε προσβιαζοίμην· [331c] πατέρα δὲ ἢ μητέρα οὐχ ὅσιον ἡγοῦμαι προσβιάζεσθαι μὴ νόσῳ παραφροσύνης ἐχομένους, ἐὰν δέ τινα καθεστῶτα ζῶσι βίον, ἑαυτοῖς ἀρέσκοντα, ἐμοὶ δὲ μή, μήτε ἀπεχθάνεσθαι μάτην νουθετοῦντα μήτε δὴ κολακεύοντά γε ὑπηρετεῖν αὐτοῖς, πληρώσεις ἐπιθυμιῶν ἐκπορίζοντα ἃς αὐτὸς ἀσπαζόμενος οὐκ ἂν ἐθέλοιμι ζῆν. Ταὐτὸν δὴ καὶ περὶ πόλεως αὑτοῦ διανοούμενον χρὴ ζῆν τὸν ἔμφρονα· λέγειν μέν, εἰ μὴ [331d] καλῶς αὐτῷ φαίνοιτο πολιτεύεσθαι, εἰ μέλλοι μήτε ματαίως ἐρεῖν μήτε ἀποθανεῖσθαι λέγων, βίαν δὲ πατρίδι πολιτείας μεταβολῆς μὴ προσφέρειν, ὅταν ἄνευ φυγῆς καὶ σφαγῆς ἀνδρῶν μὴ δυνατὸν ᾖ γίγνεσθαι τὴν ἀρίστην, ἡσυχίαν δὲ ἄγοντα εὔχεσθαι τὰ ἀγαθὰ αὑτῷ τε καὶ τῇ πόλει.

Κατὰ δὴ τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον ἐγὼ ὑμῖν τ’ ἂν συμβουλεύοιμι, συνεβούλευον δὲ καὶ Διονυσίῳ μετὰ Δίωνος, ζῆν μὲν τὸ καθ’ ἡμέραν πρῶτον, ὅπως ἐγκρατὴς αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ ὅτι μάλιστα [331e] ἔσεσθαι μέλλοι καὶ πιστοὺς φίλους τε καὶ ἑταίρους κτήσεσθαι, ὅπως μὴ πάθοι ἅπερ ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ, ὃς παραλαβὼν Σικελίας πολλὰς καὶ μεγάλας πόλεις ὑπὸ τῶν βαρβάρων ἐκπεπορθημένας, οὐχ οἷός τ’ ἦν κατοικίσας πολιτείας ἐν ἑκάσταις καταστήσασθαι πιστὰς ἑταίρων ἀνδρῶν, οὔτε ἄλλων δή [332a] ποθεν ὀθνείων οὔτε ἀδελφῶν, οὓς ἔθρεψέν τε αὐτὸς νεωτέρους ὄντας, ἔκ τε ἰδιωτῶν ἄρχοντας καὶ ἐκ πενήτων πλουσίους ἐπεποιήκει διαφερόντως. Τούτων κοινωνὸν τῆς ἀρχῆς οὐδένα οἷός τ’ ἦν πειθοῖ καὶ διδαχῇ καὶ εὐεργεσίαις καὶ συγγενείαις ἀπεργασάμενος ποιήσασθαι, Δαρείου δὲ ἑπταπλασίῳ φαυλότερος ἐγένετο, ὃς οὐκ ἀδελφοῖς πιστεύσας οὐδ’ ὑφ’ αὑτοῦ τραφεῖσιν, κοινωνοῖς δὲ μόνον τῆς τοῦ Μήδου τε [332b] καὶ εὐνούχου χειρώσεως, διένειμέ τε μέρη μείζω ἕκαστα Σικελίας πάσης ἑπτά, καὶ πιστοῖς ἐχρήσατο τοῖς κοινωνοῖς καὶ οὐκ ἐπιτιθεμένοις οὔτε αὐτῷ οὔτε ἀλλήλοις, ἔδειξέν τε παράδειγμα οἷον χρὴ τὸν νομοθέτην καὶ βασιλέα τὸν ἀγαθὸν γίγνεσθαι· νόμους γὰρ κατασκευάσας ἔτι καὶ νῦν διασέσωκεν τὴν Περσῶν ἀρχήν. Ἔτι δὲ Ἀθηναῖοι πρὸς τούτοις, οὐκ αὐτοὶ κατοικίσαντες, πολλὰς τῶν Ἑλλήνων πόλεις ὑπὸ βαρβάρων ἐμβεβλημένας ἀλλ’ οἰκουμένας παραλαβόντες, ὅμως [332c] ἑβδομήκοντα ἔτη διεφύλαξαν τὴν ἀρχὴν ἄνδρας φίλους ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἑκάσταις κεκτημένοι. Διονύσιος δὲ εἰς μίαν πόλιν ἁθροίσας πᾶσαν Σικελίαν, ὑπὸ σοφίας πιστεύων οὐδενί, μόγις ἐσώθη· πένης γὰρ ἦν ἀνδρῶν φίλων καὶ πιστῶν, οὗ μεῖζον σημεῖον εἰς ἀρετὴν καὶ κακίαν οὐκ ἔστιν οὐδέν, τοῦ ἔρημον ἢ μὴ τοιούτων ἀνδρῶν εἶναι. Ἃ δὴ καὶ Διονυσίῳ συνεβουλεύομεν ἐγὼ καὶ Δίων, ἐπειδὴ τὰ παρὰ τοῦ πατρὸς [332d] αὐτῷ συνεβεβήκει οὕτως, ἀνομιλήτῳ μὲν παιδείας, ἀνομιλήτῳ δὲ συνουσιῶν τῶν προσηκουσῶν γεγονέναι, πρῶτον . . . ἔπειτα ταύτῃ ὁρμήσαντα φίλους ἄλλους αὑτῷ τῶν οἰκείων ἅμα καὶ ἡλικιωτῶν καὶ συμφώνους πρὸς ἀρετὴν κτήσασθαι, μάλιστα δ’ αὐτὸν αὑτῷ, τούτου γὰρ αὐτὸν θαυμαστῶς ἐνδεᾶ γεγονέναι, λέγοντες οὐκ ἐναργῶς οὕτως - οὐ γὰρ ἦν ἀσφαλές - αἰνιττόμενοι δὲ καὶ διαμαχόμενοι τοῖς λόγοις ὡς οὕτω μὲν πᾶς ἀνὴρ αὑτόν τε καὶ ἐκείνους ὧν ἂν ἡγεμὼν γίγνηται σώσει, [332e] μὴ ταύτῃ δὲ τραπόμενος τἀναντία πάντα ἀποτελεῖ· πορευθεὶς δὲ ὡς λέγομεν, καὶ ἑαυτὸν ἔμφρονά τε καὶ σώφρονα ἀπεργασάμενος, εἰ τὰς ἐξηρημωμένας Σικελίας πόλεις κατοικίσειεν νόμοις τε συνδήσειεν καὶ πολιτείαις, ὥστε αὑτῷ τε οἰκείας καὶ ἀλλήλαις εἶναι πρὸς τὰς τῶν βαρβάρων βοηθείας, οὐ [333a] διπλασίαν τὴν πατρῴαν ἀρχὴν μόνον ποιήσοι, πολλαπλασίαν δὲ ὄντως· ἕτοιμον γὰρ εἶναι τούτων γενομένων πολὺ μᾶλλον δουλώσασθαι Καρχηδονίους τῆς ἐπὶ Γέλωνος αὐτοῖς γενομένης δουλείας, ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὥσπερ νῦν τοὐναντίον ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ φόρον ἐτάξατο φέρειν τοῖς βαρβάροις.

Ταῦτα ἦν τὰ λεγόμενα καὶ παρακελευόμενα ὑφ’ ἡμῶν τῶν ἐπιβουλευόντων Διονυσίῳ, ὡς πολλαχόθεν ἐχώρουν οἱ τοιοῦτοι λόγοι, οἳ δὴ καὶ κρατήσαντες παρὰ Διονυσίῳ ἐξέβαλον μὲν Δίωνα, ἡμᾶς [333b] δ’ εἰς φόβον κατέβαλον· ἵνα δ’ ἐκπεράνωμεν οὐκ ὀλίγα πράγματα τὰ ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ, ἐλθὼν ἐκ Πελοποννήσου καὶ Ἀθηνῶν δίων ἔργῳ τὸν Διονύσιον ἐνουθέτησεν. Ἐπειδὴ δ’ οὖν ἠλευθέρωσέν τε καὶ ἀπέδωκεν αὐτοῖς δὶς τὴν πόλιν, ταὐτὸν πρὸς Δίωνα Συρακόσιοι τότε ἔπαθον ὅπερ καὶ Διονύσιος, ὅτε αὐτὸν ἐπεχείρει παιδεύσας καὶ θρέψας βασιλέα τῆς ἀρχῆς ἄξιον, οὕτω κοινωνεῖν αὐτῷ τοῦ βίου παντός, ὁ δὲ τοῖς [333c] διαβάλλουσιν καὶ λέγουσιν ὡς ἐπιβουλεύων τῇ τυραννίδι δίων πράττοι πάντα ὅσα ἔπραττεν ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ, ἵνα ὁ μὲν παιδείᾳ δὴ τὸν νοῦν κηληθεὶς ἀμελοῖ τῆς ἀρχῆς ἐπιτρέψας ἐκείνῳ, ὁ δὲ σφετερίσαιτο καὶ Διονύσιον ἐκβάλοι ἐκ τῆς ἀρχῆς δόλῳ. Ταῦτα τότε ἐνίκησεν καὶ τὸ δεύτερον ἐν Συρακοσίοις λεγόμενα, καὶ μάλα ἀτόπῳ τε καὶ αἰσχρᾷ νίκῃ τοῖς τῆς νίκης αἰτίοις. Οἷον γὰρ γέγονεν, ἀκοῦσαι χρὴ τοὺς [333d] ἐμὲ παρακαλοῦντας πρὸς τὰ νῦν πράγματα. Ἦλθον Ἀθηναῖος ἀνὴρ ἐγώ, ἑταῖρος Δίωνος, σύμμαχος αὐτῷ, πρὸς τὸν τύραννον, ὅπως ἀντὶ πολέμου φιλίαν ποιήσαιμι· διαμαχόμενος δὲ τοῖς διαβάλλουσιν ἡττήθην. Πείθοντος δὲ Διονυσίου τιμαῖς καὶ χρήμασιν γενέσθαι μετ’ αὐτοῦ ἐμὲ μάρτυρά τε καὶ φίλον πρὸς τὴν εὐπρέπειαν τῆς ἐκβολῆς τῆς Δίωνος αὐτῷ γίγνεσθαι, τούτων δὴ τὸ πᾶν διήμαρτεν. Ὕστερον δὲ δὴ κατιὼν οἴκαδε [333e] Δίων ἀδελφὼ δύο προσλαμβάνει Ἀθήνηθεν, οὐκ ἐκ φιλοσοφίας γεγονότε φίλω, ἀλλ’ ἐκ τῆς περιτρεχούσης ἑταιρίας ταύτης τῆς τῶν πλείστων φίλων, ἣν ἐκ τοῦ ξενίζειν τε καὶ μυεῖν καὶ ἐποπτεύειν πραγματεύονται, καὶ δὴ καὶ τούτω τὼ συγκαταγαγόντε αὐτὸν φίλω ἐκ τούτων τε καὶ ἐκ τῆς πρὸς τὴν κάθοδον ὑπηρεσίας ἐγενέσθην ἑταίρω· ἐλθόντες [334a] δὲ εἰς Σικελίαν, ἐπειδὴ Δίωνα ᾔσθοντο διαβεβλημένον εἰς τοὺς ἐλευθερωθέντας ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ Σικελιώτας ὡς ἐπιβουλεύοντα γενέσθαι τύραννον, οὐ μόνον τὸν ἑταῖρον καὶ ξένον προύδοσαν, ἀλλ’ οἷον τοῦ φόνου αὐτόχειρες ἐγένοντο, ὅπλα ἔχοντες ἐν ταῖς χερσὶν αὐτοὶ τοῖς φονεῦσι παρεστῶτες ἐπίκουροι. Καὶ τὸ μὲν αἰσχρὸν καὶ ἀνόσιον οὔτε παρίεμαι ἔγωγε οὔτε τι λέγω - πολλοῖς γὰρ καὶ ἄλλοις ὑμνεῖν ταῦτα ἐπιμελὲς [334b] καὶ εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα μελήσει χρόνον - τὸ δὲ Ἀθηναίων πέρι λεγόμενον, ὡς αἰσχύνην οὗτοι περιῆψαν τῇ πόλει, ἐξαιροῦμαι· φημὶ γὰρ κἀκεῖνον Ἀθηναῖον εἶναι ὃς οὐ προύδωκεν τὸν αὐτὸν τοῦτον, ἐξὸν χρήματα καὶ ἄλλας τιμὰς πολλὰς λαμβάνειν. Οὐ γὰρ διὰ βαναύσου φιλότητος ἐγεγόνει φίλος, διὰ δὲ ἐλευθέρας παιδείας κοινωνίαν, ᾗ μόνῃ χρὴ πιστεύειν τὸν νοῦν κεκτημένον μᾶλλον ἢ συγγενείᾳ ψυχῶν καὶ σωμάτων· ὥστε οὐκ ἀξίω [334c] ὀνείδους γεγόνατον τῇ πόλει τὼ Δίωνα ἀποκτείναντε, ὡς ἐλλογίμω πώποτε ἄνδρε γενομένω.

Ταῦτα εἴρηται πάντα τῆς συμβουλῆς ἕνεκα τῶν Διωνείων φίλων καὶ συγγενῶν· συμβουλεύω δὲ δή τι πρὸς τούτοις τὴν αὐτὴν συμβουλὴν καὶ λόγον τὸν αὐτὸν λέγων ἤδη τρίτον τρίτοις ὑμῖν. Μὴ δουλοῦσθαι Σικελίαν ὑπ’ ἀνθρώποις δεσπόταις, μηδὲ ἄλλην πόλιν, ὅ γ’ ἐμὸς λόγος, ἀλλ’ ὑπὸ νόμοις· οὔτε γὰρ τοῖς δουλουμένοις οὔτε τοῖς δουλωθεῖσιν ἄμεινον, [334d] αὐτοῖς καὶ παισὶ παίδων τε καὶ ἐκγόνοις, ἀλλ’ ὀλέθριος πάντως ἡ πεῖρα, σμικρὰ δὲ καὶ ἀνελεύθερα ψυχῶν ἤθη τὰ τοιαῦτα ἁρπάζειν κέρδη φιλεῖ, οὐδὲν τῶν εἰς τὸν ἔπειτα καὶ εἰς τὸν παρόντα καιρὸν ἀγαθῶν καὶ δικαίων εἰδότα θείων τε καὶ ἀνθρωπίνων. Ταῦτα πρῶτον μὲν Δίωνα ἐπεχείρησα ἐγὼ πείθειν, δεύτερον δὲ Διονύσιον, τρίτους δὲ ὑμᾶς νῦν. Καὶ ἐμοὶ πείθεσθε Διὸς τρίτου σωτῆρος χάριν, εἶτα εἰς Διονύσιον βλέψαντες καὶ Δίωνα, ὧν ὁ μὲν μὴ πειθόμενος ζῇ τὰ νῦν [334e] οὐ καλῶς, ὁ δὲ πειθόμενος τέθνηκεν καλῶς· τὸ γὰρ τῶν καλλίστων ἐφιέμενον αὑτῷ τε καὶ πόλει πάσχειν ὅτι ἂν πάσχῃ πᾶν ὀρθὸν καὶ καλόν. Οὔτε γὰρ πέφυκεν ἀθάνατος ἡμῶν οὐδείς, οὔτ’ εἴ τῳ συμβαίη, γένοιτο ἂν εὐδαίμων, ὡς δοκεῖ τοῖς πολλοῖς· κακὸν γὰρ καὶ ἀγαθὸν οὐδὲν λόγου ἄξιόν [335a] ἐστιν τοῖς ἀψύχοις, ἀλλ’ ἢ μετὰ σώματος οὔσῃ ψυχῇ τοῦτο συμβήσεται ἑκάστῃ ἢ κεχωρισμένῃ. Πείθεσθαι δὲ ὄντως ἀεὶ χρὴ τοῖς παλαιοῖς τε καὶ ἱεροῖς λόγοις, οἳ δὴ μηνύουσιν ἡμῖν ἀθάνατον ψυχὴν εἶναι δικαστάς τε ἴσχειν καὶ τίνειν τὰς μεγίστας τιμωρίας, ὅταν τις ἀπαλλαχθῇ τοῦ σώματος· διὸ καὶ τὰ μεγάλα ἁμαρτήματα καὶ ἀδικήματα σμικρότερον εἶναι χρὴ νομίζειν κακὸν πάσχειν ἢ δρᾶσαι, ὧν ὁ φιλοχρήματος [335b] πένης τε ἀνὴρ τὴν ψυχὴν οὔτε ἀκούει, ἐάν τε ἀκούσῃ, καταγελῶν, ὡς οἴεται, πανταχόθεν ἀναιδῶς ἁρπάζει πᾶν ὅτιπερ ἂν οἴηται, καθάπερ θηρίον, φαγεῖν ἢ πιεῖν ἢ περὶ τὴν ἀνδραποδώδη καὶ ἀχάριστον, ἀφροδίσιον λεγομένην οὐκ ὀρθῶς, ἡδονὴν ποριεῖν αὑτῷ τοὐμπίμπλασθαι, τυφλὸς ὢν καὶ οὐχ ὁρῶν, οἷς συνέπεται τῶν ἁρπαγμάτων ἀνοσιουργία, κακὸν ἡλίκον ἀεὶ μετ’ ἀδικήματος ἑκάστου, ἣν ἀναγκαῖον τῷ ἀδικήσαντι συνεφέλκειν ἐπί τε γῇ στρεφομένῳ καὶ ὑπὸ γῆς [335c] νοστήσαντι πορείαν ἄτιμόν τε καὶ ἀθλίαν πάντως πανταχῇ. Δίωνα δὴ ἐγὼ λέγων ταῦτά τε καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα ἔπειθον, καὶ τοῖς ἀποκτείνασιν ἐκεῖνον δικαιότατ’ ἂν ὀργιζοίμην ἐγὼ τρόπον τινὰ ὁμοιότατα καὶ Διονυσίῳ· ἀμφότεροι γὰρ ἐμὲ καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἅπαντας τὰ μέγιστα ἔβλαψαν ἀνθρώπους, οἱ μὲν τὸν βουλόμενον δικαιοσύνῃ χρῆσθαι διαφθείραντες, ὁ δὲ οὐδὲν ἐθελήσας χρήσασθαι δικαιοσύνῃ [335d] διὰ πάσης τῆς ἀρχῆς, μεγίστην δύναμιν ἔχων, ἐν ᾗ γενομένη φιλοσοφία τε καὶ δύναμις ὄντως ἐν ταὐτῷ διὰ πάντων ἀνθρώπων Ἑλλήνων τε καὶ βαρβάρων λάμψασ’ ἂν ἱκανῶς δόξαν παρέστησεν πᾶσιν τὴν ἀληθῆ, ὡς οὐκ ἄν ποτε γένοιτο εὐδαίμων οὔτε πόλις οὔτ’ ἀνὴρ οὐδείς, ὃς ἂν μὴ μετὰ φρονήσεως ὑπὸ δικαιοσύνῃ διαγάγῃ τὸν βίον, ἤτοι ἐν αὑτῷ κεκτημένος ἢ ὁσίων ἀνδρῶν ἀρχόντων ἐν ἤθεσιν τραφείς τε καὶ παιδευθεὶς [335e] ἐνδίκως. Ταῦτα μὲν Διονύσιος ἔβλαψεν· τὰ δὲ ἄλλα σμικρὰ ἂν εἴη πρὸς ταῦτά μοι βλάβη. Ὁ δὲ Δίωνα ἀποκτείνας οὐκ οἶδεν ταὐτὸν ἐξειργασμένος τούτῳ. Δίωνα γὰρ ἐγὼ σαφῶς οἶδα, ὡς οἷόν τε περὶ ἀνθρώπων ἄνθρωπον διισχυρίζεσθαι, ὅτι, τὴν ἀρχὴν εἰ κατέσχεν, ὡς οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐπ’ ἄλλο γε [336a] σχῆμα ἀρχῆς ἐτράπετο ἢ ἐπὶ τὸ Συρακούσας μὲν πρῶτον, τὴν πατρίδα τὴν ἑαυτοῦ, ἐπεὶ τὴν δουλείαν αὐτῆς ἀπήλλαξεν φαιδρύνας ἐλευθέρας δ’ ἐν σχήματι κατέστησεν, τὸ μετὰ τοῦτ’ ἂν πάσῃ μηχανῇ ἐκόσμησεν νόμοις τοῖς προσήκουσίν τε καὶ ἀρίστοις τοὺς πολίτας, τό τε ἐφεξῆς τούτοις προυθυμεῖτ’ ἂν πρᾶξαι, πᾶσαν Σικελίαν κατοικίζειν καὶ ἐλευθέραν ἀπὸ τῶν βαρβάρων ποιεῖν, τοὺς μὲν ἐκβάλλων, τοὺς δὲ χειρούμενος ῥᾷον Ἱέρωνος· τούτων δ’ αὖ γενομένων δι’ ἀνδρὸς [336b] δικαίου τε καὶ ἀνδρείου καὶ σώφρονος καὶ φιλοσόφου, τὴν αὐτὴν ἀρετῆς ἂν πέρι γενέσθαι δόξαν τοῖς πολλοῖς, ἥπερ ἄν, εἰ Διονύσιος ἐπείσθη, παρὰ πᾶσιν ἂν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἀνθρώποις ἀπέσωσεν γενομένη. Νῦν δὲ ἤ πού τις δαίμων ἤ τις ἀλιτήριος ἐμπεσὼν ἀνομίᾳ καὶ ἀθεότητι καὶ τὸ μέγιστον τόλμαις ἀμαθίας, ἐξ ἧς πάντα κακὰ πᾶσιν ἐρρίζωται καὶ βλαστάνει καὶ εἰς ὕστερον ἀποτελεῖ καρπὸν τοῖς γεννήσασιν πικρότατον, αὕτη πάντα τὸ δεύτερον ἀνέτρεψέν τε καὶ [336c] ἀπώλεσεν. Νῦν δὲ δὴ εὐφημῶμεν χάριν οἰωνοῦ τὸ τρίτον. Ὅμως δὲ μιμεῖσθαι μὲν συμβουλεύω Δίωνα ὑμῖν τοῖς φίλοις τήν τε τῆς πατρίδος εὔνοιαν καὶ τὴν τῆς τροφῆς σώφρονα δίαιταν, ἐπὶ λῳόνων δὲ ὀρνίθων τὰς ἐκείνου βουλήσεις πειρᾶσθαι ἀποτελεῖν - αἳ δὲ ἦσαν, ἀκηκόατε παρ’ ἐμοῦ σαφῶς - τὸν δὲ μὴ δυνάμενον ὑμῶν Δωριστὶ ζῆν κατὰ τὰ [336d] πάτρια, διώκοντα δὲ τόν τε τῶν Δίωνος σφαγέων καὶ τὸν Σικελικὸν βίον, μήτε παρακαλεῖν μήτε οἴεσθαι πιστὸν ἄν τι καὶ ὑγιὲς πρᾶξαί ποτε, τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους παρακαλεῖν ἐπὶ πάσης Σικελίας κατοικισμόν τε καὶ ἰσονομίαν ἔκ τε αὐτῆς Σικελίας καὶ ἐκ Πελοποννήσου συμπάσης, φοβεῖσθαι δὲ μηδὲ Ἀθήνας· εἰσὶ γὰρ καὶ ἐκεῖ πάντων ἀνθρώπων διαφέροντες πρὸς ἀρετήν, ξενοφόνων τε ἀνδρῶν μισοῦντες τόλμας. Εἰ δ’ οὖν ταῦτα μὲν ὕστερα γένοιτ’ ἄν, κατεπείγουσιν δὲ ὑμᾶς αἱ τῶν [336e] στάσεων πολλαὶ καὶ παντοδαπαὶ φυόμεναι ἑκάστης ἡμέρας διαφοραί, εἰδέναι μέν που χρὴ πάντα τινὰ ἄνδρα, ᾧ καὶ βραχὺ δόξης ὀρθῆς μετέδωκεν θεία τις τύχη, ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν παῦλα κακῶν τοῖς στασιάσασιν, πρὶν ἂν οἱ κρατήσαντες μάχαις καὶ ἐκβολαῖς ἀνθρώπων καὶ σφαγαῖς μνησικακοῦντες [337a] καὶ ἐπὶ τιμωρίας παύσωνται τρεπόμενοι τῶν ἐχθρῶν, ἐγκρατεῖς δὲ ὄντες αὑτῶν, θέμενοι νόμους κοινοὺς μηδὲν μᾶλλον πρὸς ἡδονὴν αὑτοῖς ἢ τοῖς ἡττηθεῖσιν κειμένους, ἀναγκάσωσιν αὐτοὺς χρῆσθαι τοῖς νόμοις διτταῖς οὔσαις ἀνάγκαις, αἰδοῖ καὶ φόβῳ, φόβῳ μὲν διὰ τὸ κρείττους αὐτῶν εἶναι δεικνύντες τὴν βίαν, αἰδοῖ δὲ αὖ διὰ τὸ κρείττους φαίνεσθαι περί τε τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ τοῖς νόμοις μᾶλλον ἐθέλοντές τε καὶ δυνάμενοι δουλεύειν. Ἄλλως δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν ὡς ἄν ποτε κακῶν λήξαι [337b] πόλις ἐν αὑτῇ στασιάσασα, ἀλλὰ στάσεις καὶ ἔχθραι καὶ μίση καὶ ἀπιστίαι ταῖς οὕτω διατεθείσαις πόλεσιν αὐταῖς πρὸς αὑτὰς ἀεὶ γίγνεσθαι φιλεῖ. Τοὺς δὴ κρατήσαντας ἀεὶ χρή, ὅτανπερ ἐπιθυμήσωσιν σωτηρίας, αὐτοὺς ἐν αὑτοῖς ἄνδρας προκρῖναι τῶν Ἑλλήνων οὓς ἂν πυνθάνωνται ἀρίστους ὄντας, πρῶτον μὲν γέροντας, καὶ παῖδας καὶ γυναῖκας κεκτημένους οἴκοι καὶ προγόνους αὑτῶν ὅτι μάλιστα πολλούς τε καὶ ἀγαθοὺς καὶ ὀνομαστοὺς καὶ κτῆσιν κεκτημένους πάντας [337c] ἱκανήν - ἀριθμὸν δὲ εἶναι μυριάνδρῳ πόλει πεντήκοντα ἱκανοὶ τοιοῦτοι - τούτους δὴ δεήσεσιν καὶ τιμαῖς ὅτι μεγίσταις οἴκοθεν μεταπέμψασθαι, μεταπεμψαμένους δὲ ὀμόσαντας δεῖσθαι καὶ κελεύειν θεῖναι νόμους, μήτε νικήσασιν μήτε νικηθεῖσιν νέμειν πλέον, τὸ δὲ ἴσον καὶ κοινὸν πάσῃ τῇ πόλει. Τεθέντων δὲ τῶν νόμων ἐν τούτῳ δὴ τὰ πάντα ἐστίν. Ἂν μὲν γὰρ οἱ νενικηκότες ἥττους αὑτοὺς τῶν νόμων [337d] μᾶλλον τῶν νενικημένων παρέχωνται, πάντ’ ἔσται σωτηρίας τε καὶ εὐδαιμονίας μεστὰ καὶ πάντων κακῶν ἀποφυγή· εἰ δὲ μή, μήτ’ ἐμὲ μήτ’ ἄλλον κοινωνὸν παρακαλεῖν ἐπὶ τὸν μὴ πειθόμενον τοῖς νῦν ἐπεσταλμένοις. Ταῦτα γάρ ἐστιν ἀδελφὰ ὧν τε δίων ὧν τ’ ἐγὼ ἐπεχειρήσαμεν Συρακούσαις εὖ φρονοῦντες συμπρᾶξαι, δεύτερα μήν· πρῶτα δ’ ἦν ἃ τὸ πρῶτον ἐπεχειρήθη μετ’ αὐτοῦ Διονυσίου πραχθῆναι πᾶσιν κοινὰ ἀγαθά, τύχη δέ τις ἀνθρώπων κρείττων διεφόρησεν. [337e] Τὰ δὲ νῦν ὑμεῖς πειρᾶσθε εὐτυχέστερον αὐτὰ ἀγαθῇ πρᾶξαι μοίρᾳ καὶ θείᾳ τινὶ τύχῃ.

Συμβουλὴ μὲν δὴ καὶ ἐπιστολὴ εἰρήσθω καὶ ἡ παρὰ Διονύσιον ἐμὴ προτέρα ἄφιξις· ἡ δὲ δὴ ὑστέρα πορεία τε καὶ πλοῦς ὡς εἰκότως τε ἅμα καὶ ἐμμελῶς γέγονεν, ᾧ μέλει ἀκούειν ἔξεστι τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο. Ὁ μὲν γὰρ δὴ πρῶτος χρόνος [338a] τῆς ἐν Σικελίᾳ διατριβῆς μοι διεπεράνθη, καθάπερ εἶπον, πρὶν συμβουλεύειν τοῖς οἰκείοις καὶ ἑταίροις τοῖς περὶ Δίωνα· τὸ μετ’ ἐκεῖνα δ’ οὖν ἔπεισα ὅπῃ δή ποτ’ ἐδυνάμην Διονύσιον ἀφεῖναί με, εἰρήνης δὲ γενομένης - ἦν γὰρ τότε πόλεμος ἐν Σικελίᾳ - συνωμολογήσαμεν ἀμφότεροι. Διονύσιος μὲν ἔφη μεταπέμψεσθαι Δίωνα καὶ ἐμὲ πάλιν, καταστησάμενος τὰ περὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἀσφαλέστερον ἑαυτῷ, Δίωνα δὲ ἠξίου [338b] διανοεῖσθαι μὴ φυγὴν αὑτῷ γεγονέναι τότε, μετάστασιν δέ· ἐγὼ δ’ ἥξειν ὡμολόγησα ἐπὶ τούτοις τοῖς λόγοις. Γενομένης δὲ εἰρήνης, μετεπέμπετό με, Δίωνα δὲ ἐπισχεῖν ἔτι ἐνιαυτὸν ἐδεῖτο, ἐμὲ δὲ ἥκειν ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου ἠξίου. Δίων μὲν οὖν ἐκέλευέ τέ με πλεῖν καὶ ἐδεῖτο· καὶ γὰρ δὴ λόγος ἐχώρει πολὺς ἐκ Σικελίας ὡς Διονύσιος θαυμαστῶς φιλοσοφίας ἐν ἐπιθυμίᾳ πάλιν εἴη γεγονὼς τὰ νῦν· ὅθεν ὁ δίων συντεταμένως ἐδεῖτο ἡμῶν τῇ μεταπέμψει μὴ ἀπειθεῖν. Ἐγὼ δὲ ᾔδη μέν που [338c] κατὰ τὴν φιλοσοφίαν τοῖς νέοις πολλὰ τοιαῦτα γιγνόμενα, ὅμως δ’ οὖν ἀσφαλέστερόν μοι ἔδοξεν χαίρειν τότε γε πολλὰ καὶ Δίωνα καὶ Διονύσιον ἐᾶν, καὶ ἀπηχθόμην ἀμφοῖν ἀποκρινάμενος ὅτι γέρων τε εἴην καὶ κατὰ τὰς ὁμολογίας οὐδὲν γίγνοιτο τῶν τὰ νῦν πραττομένων. Ἔοικεν δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο Ἀρχύτης τε παρὰ Διονύσιον [πρὶν] ἀφικέσθαι - ἐγὼ γὰρ πρὶν ἀπιέναι ξενίαν καὶ φιλίαν Ἀρχύτῃ καὶ τοῖς ἐν [338d] Τάραντι καὶ Διονυσίῳ ποιήσας ἀπέπλεον — ἄλλοι τέ τινες ἐν Συρακούσαις ἦσαν Δίωνός τε ἄττα διακηκοότες καὶ τούτων τινὲς ἄλλοι, παρακουσμάτων τινῶν ἔμμεστοι τῶν κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν· οἳ δοκοῦσί μοι Διονυσίῳ πειρᾶσθαι διαλέγεσθαι τῶν περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα, ὡς Διονυσίου πάντα διακηκοότος ὅσα διενοούμην ἐγώ. Ὁ δὲ οὔτε ἄλλως ἐστὶν ἀφυὴς πρὸς τὴν τοῦ μανθάνειν δύναμιν φιλότιμός τε θαυμαστῶς· ἤρεσκέν τε οὖν ἴσως αὐτῷ τὰ λεγόμενα ᾐσχύνετό τε φανερὸς γιγνόμενος [338e] οὐδὲν ἀκηκοὼς ὅτ’ ἐπεδήμουν ἐγώ, ὅθεν ἅμα μὲν εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν ᾔει τοῦ διακοῦσαι ἐναργέστερον, ἅμα δ’ ἡ φιλοτιμία κατήπειγεν αὐτόν — δι’ ἃ δὲ οὐκ ἤκουσεν ἐν τῇ πρόσθεν ἐπιδημίᾳ, διεξήλθομεν ἐν τοῖς ἄνω ῥηθεῖσιν νυνδὴ λόγοις - ἐπειδὴ δ’ οὖν οἴκαδέ τ’ ἐσώθην καὶ καλοῦντος τὸ δεύτερον ἀπηρνήθην, καθάπερ εἶπον νυνδή, δοκεῖ μοι Διονύσιος παντάπασιν φιλοτιμηθῆναι μή ποτέ τισιν δόξαιμι καταφρονῶν [339a] αὐτοῦ τῆς φύσεώς τε καὶ ἕξεως ἅμα καὶ τῆς διαίτης ἔμπειρος γεγονώς, οὐκέτ’ ἐθέλειν δυσχεραίνων παρ’ αὐτὸν ἀφικνεῖσθαι. Δίκαιος δὴ λέγειν εἰμὶ τἀληθὲς καὶ ὑπομένειν, εἴ τις ἄρα τὰ γεγονότα ἀκούσας καταφρονήσει τῆς ἐμῆς φιλοσοφίας, τὸν τύραννον δὲ ἡγήσεται νοῦν ἔχειν. Ἔπεμψε μὲν γὰρ δὴ Διονύσιος τρίτον ἐπ’ ἐμὲ τριήρη ῥᾳστώνης ἕνεκα τῆς πορείας, ἔπεμψεν δὲ Ἀρχέδημον, ὃν ἡγεῖτό με τῶν ἐν [339b] Σικελίᾳ περὶ πλείστου ποιεῖσθαι, τῶν Ἀρχύτῃ συγγεγονότων ἕνα, καὶ ἄλλους γνωρίμους τῶν ἐν Σικελίᾳ· οὗτοι δὲ ἡμῖν ἤγγελλον πάντες τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον, ὡς θαυμαστὸν ὅσον Διονύσιος ἐπιδεδωκὼς εἴη πρὸς φιλοσοφίαν. Ἔπεμψεν δὲ ἐπιστολὴν πάνυ μακράν, εἰδὼς ὡς πρὸς Δίωνα διεκείμην καὶ τὴν αὖ Δίωνος προθυμίαν τοῦ ἐμὲ πλεῖν καὶ εἰς Συρακούσας ἐλθεῖν· πρὸς γὰρ δὴ πάντα ταῦτα ἦν παρεσκευασμένη τὴν ἀρχὴν ἔχουσα ἡ ἐπιστολή, τῇδέ πῃ φράζουσα - “Διονύσιος [339c] Πλάτωνι” - τὰ νόμιμα ἐπὶ τούτοις εἰπὼν οὐδὲν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο εἶπεν πρότερον ἢ ὡς “ἂν εἰς Σικελίαν πεισθεὶς ὑφ’ ἡμῶν ἔλθῃς τὰ νῦν, πρῶτον μέν σοι τὰ περὶ Δίωνα ὑπάρξει ταύτῃ γιγνόμενα ὅπῃπερ ἂν αὐτὸς ἐθέλῃς - θελήσεις δὲ οἶδ’ ὅτι τὰ μέτρια, καὶ ἐγὼ συγχωρήσομαι - εἰ δὲ μή, οὐδέν σοι τῶν περὶ Δίωνα ἕξει πραγμάτων οὔτε περὶ τἆλλα οὔτε περὶ αὐτὸν κατὰ νοῦν γιγνόμενα.”

Ταῦθ’ οὕτως εἶπεν, τἆλλα δὲ [339d] μακρὰ ἂν εἴη καὶ ἄνευ καιροῦ λεγόμενα. Ἐπιστολαὶ δὲ ἄλλαι ἐφοίτων παρά τε Ἀρχύτου καὶ τῶν ἐν Τάραντι, τήν τε φιλοσοφίαν ἐγκωμιάζουσαι τὴν Διονυσίου, καὶ ὅτι, ἂν μὴ ἀφίκωμαι νῦν, τὴν πρὸς Διονύσιον αὐτοῖς γενομένην φιλίαν δι’ ἐμοῦ, οὐ σμικρὰν οὖσαν πρὸς τὰ πολιτικά, παντάπασιν διαβαλοίην. Ταύτης δὴ τοιαύτης γενομένης ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ τῆς μεταπέμψεως, τῶν μὲν ἐκ Σικελίας τε καὶ Ἰταλίας ἑλκόντων, τῶν δὲ Ἀθήνηθεν ἀτεχνῶς μετὰ δεήσεως οἷον [339e] ἐξωθούντων με, καὶ πάλιν ὁ λόγος ἧκεν ὁ αὐτός, τὸ μὴ δεῖν προδοῦναι Δίωνα μηδὲ τοὺς ἐν Τάραντι ξένους τε καὶ ἑταίρους, αὐτῷ δέ μοι ὑπῆν ὡς οὐδὲν θαυμαστὸν νέον ἄνθρωπον παρακούοντα ἀξίων λόγου πραγμάτων, εὐμαθῆ, πρὸς ἔρωτα ἐλθεῖν τοῦ βελτίστου βίου· δεῖν οὖν αὐτὸ ἐξελέγξαι σαφῶς ὁποτέρως ποτὲ ἄρα ἔχοι, καὶ τοῦτ’ αὐτὸ μηδαμῇ προδοῦναι μηδ’ ἐμὲ τὸν αἴτιον γενέσθαι τηλικούτου ἀληθῶς ὀνείδους, [340a] εἴπερ ὄντως εἴη τῳ ταῦτα λελεγμένα. Πορεύομαι δὴ τῷ λογισμῷ τούτῳ κατακαλυψάμενος - πολλὰ δεδιὼς μαντευόμενός τε οὐ πάνυ καλῶς, ὡς ἔοικεν - ἐλθὼν δ’ οὖν τὸ τρίτον τῷ σωτῆρι τοῦτό γε οὖν ἔπραξα ὄντως· ἐσώθην γάρ τοι πάλιν εὐτυχῶς, καὶ τούτων γε μετὰ θεὸν Διονυσίῳ χάριν εἰδέναι χρεών, ὅτι πολλῶν βουληθέντων ἀπολέσαι με διεκώλυσεν καὶ ἔδωκέν τι μέρος αἰδοῖ τῶν περὶ ἐμὲ πραγμάτων. [340b] Ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἀφικόμην, ᾤμην τούτου πρῶτον ἔλεγχον δεῖν λαβεῖν, πότερον ὄντως εἴη Διονύσιος ἐξημμένος ὑπὸ φιλοσοφίας ὥσπερ πυρός, ἢ μάτην ὁ πολὺς οὗτος ἔλθοι λόγος Ἀθήναζε. Ἔστιν δή τις τρόπος τοῦ περὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα πεῖραν λαμβάνειν οὐκ ἀγεννὴς ἀλλ’ ὄντως τυράννοις πρέπων, ἄλλως τε καὶ τοῖς τῶν παρακουσμάτων μεστοῖς, ὃ δὴ κἀγὼ Διονύσιον εὐθὺς ἐλθὼν ᾐσθόμην καὶ μάλα πεπονθότα. Δεικνύναι δὴ δεῖ τοῖς τοιούτοις ὅτι ἔστι πᾶν τὸ πρᾶγμα οἷόν τε [340c] καὶ δι’ ὅσων πραγμάτων καὶ ὅσον πόνον ἔχει. Ὁ γὰρ ἀκούσας, ἐὰν μὲν ὄντως ᾖ φιλόσοφος οἰκεῖός τε καὶ ἄξιος τοῦ πράγματος θεῖος ὤν, ὁδόν τε ἡγεῖται θαυμαστὴν ἀκηκοέναι συντατέον τε εἶναι νῦν καὶ οὐ βιωτὸν ἄλλως ποιοῦντι· μετὰ τοῦτο δὴ συντείνας αὐτός τε καὶ τὸν ἡγούμενον τὴν ὁδόν, οὐκ ἀνίησιν πρὶν ἂν ἢ τέλος ἐπιθῇ πᾶσιν, ἢ λάβῃ δύναμιν ὥστε αὐτὸς αὑτὸν χωρὶς τοῦ δείξοντος δυνατὸς εἶναι ποδηγεῖν. [340d] Ταύτῃ καὶ κατὰ ταῦτα διανοηθεὶς ὁ τοιοῦτος ζῇ, πράττων μὲν ἐν αἷστισιν ἂν ᾖ πράξεσιν, παρὰ πάντα δὲ ἀεὶ φιλοσοφίας ἐχόμενος καὶ τροφῆς τῆς καθ’ ἡμέραν ἥτις ἂν αὐτὸν μάλιστα εὐμαθῆ τε καὶ μνήμονα καὶ λογίζεσθαι δυνατὸν ἐν αὑτῷ νήφοντα ἀπεργάζηται· τὴν δὲ ἐναντίαν ταύτῃ μισῶν διατελεῖ. Οἱ δὲ ὄντως μὲν μὴ φιλόσοφοι, δόξαις δ’ ἐπικεχρωσμένοι, καθάπερ οἱ τὰ σώματα ὑπὸ τῶν ἡλίων ἐπικεκαυμένοι, ἰδόντες τε ὅσα μαθήματά ἐστιν καὶ ὁ πόνος [340e] ἡλίκος καὶ δίαιτα ἡ καθ’ ἡμέραν ὡς πρέπουσα ἡ κοσμία τῷ πράγματι, χαλεπὸν ἡγησάμενοι καὶ ἀδύνατον αὑτοῖς, οὔτε δὴ [341a] ἐπιτηδεύειν δυνατοὶ γίγνονται, ἔνιοι δὲ αὐτῶν πείθουσιν αὑτοὺς ὡς ἱκανῶς ἀκηκοότες εἰσὶν τὸ ὅλον, καὶ οὐδὲν ἔτι δέονταί τινων πραγμάτων. Ἡ μὲν δὴ πεῖρα αὕτη γίγνεται ἡ σαφής τε καὶ ἀσφαλεστάτη πρὸς τοὺς τρυφῶντάς τε καὶ ἀδυνάτους διαπονεῖν, ὡς μηδέποτε βαλεῖν ἐν αἰτίᾳ τὸν δεικνύντα ἀλλ’ αὐτὸν αὑτόν, μὴ δυνάμενον πάντα τὰ πρόσφορα ἐπιτηδεύειν τῷ πράγματι. Οὕτω δὴ καὶ Διονυσίῳ τότ’ ἐρρήθη τὰ ῥηθέντα. Πάντα μὲν οὖν οὔτ’ ἐγὼ διεξῆλθον οὔτε [341b] Διονύσιος ἐδεῖτο· πολλὰ γὰρ αὐτὸς καὶ τὰ μέγιστα εἰδέναι τε καὶ ἱκανῶς ἔχειν προσεποιεῖτο διὰ τὰς ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων παρακοάς. Ὕστερον δὲ καὶ ἀκούω γεγραφέναι αὐτὸν περὶ ὧν τότε ἤκουσε, συνθέντα ὡς αὑτοῦ τέχνην, οὐδὲν τῶν αὐτῶν ὧν ἀκούοι· οἶδα δὲ οὐδὲν τούτων. Ἄλλους μέν τινας οἶδα γεγραφότας περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν τούτων, οἵτινες δέ, οὐδ’ αὐτοὶ αὑτούς. Τοσόνδε γε μὴν περὶ πάντων ἔχω φράζειν τῶν γεγραφότων [341c] καὶ γραψόντων, ὅσοι φασὶν εἰδέναι περὶ ὧν ἐγὼ σπουδάζω, εἴτ’ ἐμοῦ ἀκηκοότες εἴτ’ ἄλλων εἴθ’ ὡς εὑρόντες αὐτοί· τούτους οὐκ ἔστιν κατά γε τὴν ἐμὴν δόξαν περὶ τοῦ πράγματος ἐπαί¨ειν οὐδέν. Οὔκουν ἐμόν γε περὶ αὐτῶν ἔστιν σύγγραμμα οὐδὲ μήποτε γένηται· ῥητὸν γὰρ οὐδαμῶς ἐστιν ὡς ἄλλα μαθήματα, ἀλλ’ ἐκ πολλῆς συνουσίας γιγνομένης περὶ τὸ πρᾶγμα αὐτὸ καὶ τοῦ συζῆν ἐξαίφνης, οἷον ἀπὸ πυρὸς [341d] πηδήσαντος ἐξαφθὲν φῶς, ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ γενόμενον αὐτὸ ἑαυτὸ ἤδη τρέφει. Καίτοι τοσόνδε γε οἶδα, ὅτι γραφέντα ἢ λεχθέντα ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ βέλτιστ’ ἂν λεχθείη· καὶ μὴν ὅτι γεγραμμένα κακῶς οὐχ ἥκιστ’ ἂν ἐμὲ λυποῖ. Εἰ δέ μοι ἐφαίνετο γραπτέα θ’ ἱκανῶς εἶναι πρὸς τοὺς πολλοὺς καὶ ῥητά, τί τούτου κάλλιον ἐπέπρακτ’ ἂν ἡμῖν ἐν τῷ βίῳ ἢ τοῖς τε ἀνθρώποισι μέγα ὄφελος γράψαι καὶ τὴν φύσιν εἰς φῶς [341e] πᾶσιν προαγαγεῖν; ἀλλ’ οὔτε ἀνθρώποις ἡγοῦμαι τὴν ἐπιχείρησιν περὶ αὐτῶν λεγομένην ἀγαθόν, εἰ μή τισιν ὀλίγοις ὁπόσοι δυνατοὶ ἀνευρεῖν αὐτοὶ διὰ σμικρᾶς ἐνδείξεως, τῶν τε δὴ ἄλλων τοὺς μὲν καταφρονήσεως οὐκ ὀρθῆς ἐμπλήσειεν ἂν οὐδαμῇ ἐμμελῶς, τοὺς δὲ ὑψηλῆς καὶ χαύνης ἐλπίδος, ὡς [342a] σέμν’ ἄττα μεμαθηκότας. Ἔτι δὲ μακρότερα περὶ αὐτῶν ἐν νῷ μοι γέγονεν εἰπεῖν· τάχα γὰρ ἂν περὶ ὧν λέγω σαφέστερον ἂν εἴη λεχθέντων αὐτῶν. Ἔστι γάρ τις λόγος ἀληθής, ἐναντίος τῷ τολμήσαντι γράφειν τῶν τοιούτων καὶ ὁτιοῦν, πολλάκις μὲν ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ καὶ πρόσθεν ῥηθείς, ἔοικεν δ’ οὖν εἶναι καὶ νῦν λεκτέος.
Ἔστιν τῶν ὄντων ἑκάστῳ, δι’ ὧν τὴν ἐπιστήμην ἀνάγκη παραγίγνεσθαι, τρία, τέταρτον δ’ αὐτή - πέμπτον δ’ αὐτὸ [342b] τιθέναι δεῖ ὃ δὴ γνωστόν τε καὶ ἀληθῶς ἐστιν ὄν - ἓν μὲν ὄνομα, δεύτερον δὲ λόγος, τὸ δὲ τρίτον εἴδωλον, τέταρτον δὲ ἐπιστήμη. Περὶ ἓν οὖν λαβὲ βουλόμενος μαθεῖν τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον, καὶ πάντων οὕτω πέρι νόησον. Κύκλος ἐστίν τι λεγόμενον, ᾧ τοῦτ’ αὐτό ἐστιν ὄνομα ὃ νῦν ἐφθέγμεθα. Λόγος δ’ αὐτοῦ τὸ δεύτερον, ἐξ ὀνομάτων καὶ ῥημάτων συγκείμενος· τὸ γὰρ ἐκ τῶν ἐσχάτων ἐπὶ τὸ μέσον ἴσον ἀπέχον πάντῃ, λόγος ἂν εἴη ἐκείνου ᾧπερ στρογγύλον καὶ περιφερὲς [342c] ὄνομα καὶ κύκλος. Τρίτον δὲ τὸ ζωγραφούμενόν τε καὶ ἐξαλειφόμενον καὶ τορνευόμενον καὶ ἀπολλύμενον· ὧν αὐτὸς ὁ κύκλος, ὃν πέρι πάντ’ ἐστὶν ταῦτα, οὐδὲν πάσχει, τούτων ὡς ἕτερον ὄν. Τέταρτον δὲ ἐπιστήμη καὶ νοῦς ἀληθής τε δόξα περὶ ταῦτ’ ἐστίν· ὡς δὲ ἓν τοῦτο αὖ πᾶν θετέον, οὐκ ἐν φωναῖς οὐδ’ ἐν σωμάτων σχήμασιν ἀλλ’ ἐν ψυχαῖς ἐνόν, ᾧ δῆλον ἕτερόν τε ὂν αὐτοῦ τοῦ κύκλου τῆς φύσεως τῶν [342d] τε ἔμπροσθεν λεχθέντων τριῶν. Τούτων δὲ ἐγγύτατα μὲν συγγενείᾳ καὶ ὁμοιότητι τοῦ πέμπτου νοῦς πεπλησίακεν, τἆλλα δὲ πλέον ἀπέχει. Ταὐτὸν δὴ περί τε εὐθέος ἅμα καὶ περιφεροῦς σχήματος καὶ χρόας, περί τε ἀγαθοῦ καὶ καλοῦ καὶ δικαίου, καὶ περὶ σώματος ἅπαντος σκευαστοῦ τε καὶ κατὰ φύσιν γεγονότος, πυρὸς ὕδατός τε καὶ τῶν τοιούτων πάντων, καὶ ζῴου σύμπαντος πέρι καὶ ἐν ψυχαῖς ἤθους, καὶ περὶ ποιήματα καὶ παθήματα σύμπαντα· οὐ γὰρ ἂν τούτων [342e] μή τις τὰ τέτταρα λάβῃ ἁμῶς γέ πως, οὔποτε τελέως ἐπιστήμης τοῦ πέμπτου μέτοχος ἔσται. Πρὸς γὰρ τούτοις ταῦτα οὐχ ἧττον ἐπιχειρεῖ τὸ ποῖόν τι περὶ ἕκαστον δηλοῦν [343a] ἢ τὸ ὂν ἑκάστου διὰ τὸ τῶν λόγων ἀσθενές· ὧν ἕνεκα νοῦν ἔχων οὐδεὶς τολμήσει ποτὲ εἰς αὐτὸ τιθέναι τὰ νενοημένα ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ, καὶ ταῦτα εἰς ἀμετακίνητον, ὃ δὴ πάσχει τὰ γεγραμμένα τύποις. Τοῦτο δὲ πάλιν αὖ τὸ νῦν λεγόμενον δεῖ μαθεῖν. Κύκλος ἕκαστος τῶν ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι γραφομένων ἢ καὶ τορνευθέντων μεστὸς τοῦ ἐναντίου ἐστὶν τῷ πέμπτῳ - τοῦ γὰρ εὐθέος ἐφάπτεται πάντῃ - αὐτὸς δέ, φαμέν, ὁ κύκλος οὔτε τι σμικρότερον οὔτε μεῖζον τῆς ἐναντίας ἔχει ἐν αὑτῷ φύσεως. Ὄνομά τε αὐτῶν φαμεν οὐδὲν οὐδενὶ [343b] βέβαιον εἶναι, κωλύειν δ’ οὐδὲν τὰ νῦν στρογγύλα καλούμενα εὐθέα κεκλῆσθαι τά τε εὐθέα δὴ στρογγύλα, καὶ οὐδὲν ἧττον βεβαίως ἕξειν τοῖς μεταθεμένοις καὶ ἐναντίως καλοῦσιν. Καὶ μὴν περὶ λόγου γε ὁ αὐτὸς λόγος, εἴπερ ἐξ ὀνομάτων καὶ ῥημάτων σύγκειται, μηδὲν ἱκανῶς βεβαίως εἶναι βέβαιον· μυρίος δὲ λόγος αὖ περὶ ἑκάστου τῶν τεττάρων ὡς ἀσαφές, τὸ δὲ μέγιστον, ὅπερ εἴπομεν ὀλίγον ἔμπροσθεν, ὅτι δυοῖν ὄντοιν, τοῦ τε ὄντος καὶ τοῦ ποιοῦ τινος, οὐ τὸ [343c] ποιόν τι, τὸ δὲ τί, ζητούσης εἰδέναι τῆς ψυχῆς, τὸ μὴ ζητούμενον ἕκαστον τῶν τεττάρων προτεῖνον τῇ ψυχῇ λόγῳ τε καὶ κατ’ ἔργα, αἰσθήσεσιν εὐέλεγκτον τό τε λεγόμενον καὶ δεικνύμενον ἀεὶ παρεχόμενον ἕκαστον, ἀπορίας τε καὶ ἀσαφείας ἐμπίμπλησι πάσης ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν πάντ’ ἄνδρα. Ἐν οἷσι μὲν οὖν μηδ’ εἰθισμένοι τὸ ἀληθὲς ζητεῖν ἐσμεν ὑπὸ πονηρᾶς τροφῆς, ἐξαρκεῖ δὲ τὸ προταθὲν τῶν εἰδώλων, οὐ καταγέλαστοι γιγνόμεθα ὑπ’ ἀλλήλων, οἱ ἐρωτώμενοι ὑπὸ [343d] τῶν ἐρωτώντων, δυναμένων δὲ τὰ τέτταρα διαρρίπτειν τε καὶ ἐλέγχειν· ἐν οἷς δ’ ἂν τὸ πέμπτον ἀποκρίνασθαι καὶ δηλοῦν ἀναγκάζωμεν, ὁ βουλόμενος τῶν δυναμένων ἀνατρέπειν κρατεῖ. Καὶ ποιεῖ τὸν ἐξηγούμενον ἐν λόγοις ἢ γράμμασιν ἢ ἀποκρίσεσιν τοῖς πολλοῖς τῶν ἀκουόντων δοκεῖν μηδὲν γιγνώσκειν ὧν ἂν ἐπιχειρῇ γράφειν ἢ λέγειν, ἀγνοούντων ἐνίοτε ὡς οὐχ ἡ ψυχὴ τοῦ γράψαντος ἢ λέξαντος ἐλέγχεται, ἀλλ’ ἡ τῶν τεττάρων φύσις ἑκάστου, πεφυκυῖα [343e] φαύλως. Ἡ δὲ διὰ πάντων αὐτῶν διαγωγή, ἄνω καὶ κάτω μεταβαίνουσα ἐφ’ ἕκαστον, μόγις ἐπιστήμην ἐνέτεκεν εὖ πεφυκότος εὖ πεφυκότι· κακῶς δὲ ἂν φυῇ, ὡς ἡ τῶν πολλῶν ἕξις τῆς ψυχῆς εἴς τε τὸ μαθεῖν εἴς τε τὰ λεγόμενα ἤθη [344a] πέφυκεν, τὰ δὲ διέφθαρται, οὐδ’ ἂν ὁ Λυγκεὺς ἰδεῖν ποιήσειεν τοὺς τοιούτους. Ἑνὶ δὲ λόγῳ, τὸν μὴ συγγενῆ τοῦ πράγματος οὔτ’ ἂν εὐμάθεια ποιήσειέν ποτε οὔτε μνήμη - τὴν ἀρχὴν γὰρ ἐν ἀλλοτρίαις ἕξεσιν οὐκ ἐγγίγνεται - ὥστε ὁπόσοι τῶν δικαίων τε καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσα καλὰ μὴ προσφυεῖς εἰσιν καὶ συγγενεῖς, ἄλλοι δὲ ἄλλων εὐμαθεῖς ἅμα καὶ μνήμονες, οὐδ’ ὅσοι συγγενεῖς, δυσμαθεῖς δὲ καὶ ἀμνήμονες, οὐδένες τούτων μήποτε μάθωσιν ἀλήθειαν ἀρετῆς εἰς [344b] τὸ δυνατὸν οὐδὲ κακίας. Ἅμα γὰρ αὐτὰ ἀνάγκη μανθάνειν καὶ τὸ ψεῦδος ἅμα καὶ ἀληθὲς τῆς ὅλης οὐσίας, μετὰ τριβῆς πάσης καὶ χρόνου πολλοῦ, ὅπερ ἐν ἀρχαῖς εἶπον· μόγις δὲ τριβόμενα πρὸς ἄλληλα αὐτῶν ἕκαστα, ὀνόματα καὶ λόγοι ὄψεις τε καὶ αἰσθήσεις, ἐν εὐμενέσιν ἐλέγχοις ἐλεγχόμενα καὶ ἄνευ φθόνων ἐρωτήσεσιν καὶ ἀποκρίσεσιν χρωμένων, ἐξέλαμψε φρόνησις περὶ ἕκαστον καὶ νοῦς, συντείνων ὅτι [344c] μάλιστ’ εἰς δύναμιν ἀνθρωπίνην. Διὸ δὴ πᾶς ἀνὴρ σπουδαῖος τῶν ὄντων σπουδαίων πέρι πολλοῦ δεῖ μὴ γράψας ποτὲ ἐν ἀνθρώποις εἰς φθόνον καὶ ἀπορίαν καταβαλεῖ. Ἑνὶ δὴ ἐκ τούτων δεῖ γιγνώσκειν λόγῳ, ὅταν ἴδῃ τίς του συγγράμματα γεγραμμένα εἴτε ἐν νόμοις νομοθέτου εἴτε ἐν ἄλλοις τισὶν ἅττ’ οὖν, ὡς οὐκ ἦν τούτῳ ταῦτα σπουδαιότατα, εἴπερ ἔστ’ αὐτὸς σπουδαῖος, κεῖται δέ που ἐν χώρᾳ τῇ καλλίστῃ τῶν τούτου· εἰ δὲ ὄντως αὐτῷ ταῦτ’ ἐσπουδασμένα ἐν γράμμασιν [344d] ἐτέθη, “ἐξ ἄρα δή τοι ἔπειτα,” θεοὶ μὲν οὔ, βροτοὶ δὲ “φρένας ὤλεσαν αὐτοί.”

Τούτῳ δὴ τῷ μύθῳ τε καὶ πλάνῳ ὁ συνεπισπόμενος εὖ εἴσεται, εἴτ’ οὖν Διονύσιος ἔγραψέν τι τῶν περὶ φύσεως ἄκρων καὶ πρώτων εἴτε τις ἐλάττων εἴτε μείζων, ὡς οὐδὲν ἀκηκοὼς οὐδὲ μεμαθηκὼς ἦν ὑγιὲς ὧν ἔγραψεν κατὰ τὸν ἐμὸν λόγον· ὁμοίως γὰρ ἂν αὐτὰ ἐσέβετο ἐμοί, καὶ οὐκ ἂν αὐτὰ ἐτόλμησεν εἰς ἀναρμοστίαν καὶ ἀπρέπειαν ἐκβάλλειν. Οὔτε γὰρ ὑπομνημάτων χάριν ἔγραψεν -οὐδὲν γὰρ [344e] δεινὸν μή τις αὐτὸ ἐπιλάθηται, ἐὰν ἅπαξ τῇ ψυχῇ περιλάβῃ· πάντων γὰρ ἐν βραχυτάτοις κεῖται - φιλοτιμίας δὲ αἰσχρᾶς, εἴπερ, ἕνεκα, εἴθ’ ὡς αὑτοῦ τιθέμενος εἴθ’ ὡς παιδείας δὴ μέτοχος ὤν, ἧς οὐκ ἄξιος ἦν ἀγαπῶν δόξαν τὴν [345a] τῆς μετοχῆς γενομένης. Εἰ μὲν οὖν ἐκ τῆς μιᾶς συνουσίας Διονυσίῳ τοῦτο γέγονεν, τάχ’ ἂν εἴη, γέγονεν δ’ οὖν ὅπως, “ἴττω Ζεύς,” φησὶν ὁ Θηβαῖος· διεξῆλθον μὲν γὰρ ὡς εἶπόν τε ἐγὼ καὶ ἅπαξ μόνον, ὕστερον δὲ οὐ πώποτε ἔτι. Ἐννοεῖν δὴ δεῖ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, ὅτῳ μέλει τὸ περὶ αὐτὰ γεγονὸς εὑρεῖν ὅπῃ ποτὲ γέγονεν, τίνι πότ’ αἰτίᾳ τὸ δεύτερον καὶ τὸ τρίτον, πλεονάκις τε οὐ διεξῇμεν· πότερον Διονύσιος ἀκούσας μόνον [345b] ἅπαξ, οὕτως εἰδέναι τε οἴεται καὶ ἱκανῶς οἶδεν, εἴτε αὐτὸς εὑρὼν ἢ καὶ μαθὼν ἔμπροσθεν παρ’ ἑτέρων, ἢ φαῦλα εἶναι τὰ λεχθέντα, ἢ τὸ τρίτον οὐ καθ’ αὑτόν, μείζονα δέ, καὶ ὄντως οὐκ ἂν δυνατὸς εἶναι φρονήσεώς τε καὶ ἀρετῆς ζῆν ἐπιμελούμενος. Εἰ μὲν γὰρ φαῦλα, πολλοῖς μάρτυσι μαχεῖται τὰ ἐναντία λέγουσιν, οἳ περὶ τῶν τοιούτων πάμπολυ Διονυσίου κυριώτεροι ἂν εἶεν κριταί· εἰ δὲ ηὑρηκέναι ἢ μεμαθηκέναι, ἄξια δ’ οὖν εἶναι πρὸς παιδείαν ψυχῆς ἐλευθέρας, [345c] πῶς ἄν, μὴ θαυμαστὸς ὢν ἄνθρωπος, τὸν ἡγεμόνα τούτων καὶ κύριον οὕτως εὐχερῶς ἠτίμασέν ποτ’ ἄν; πῶς δ’ ἠτίμασεν, ἐγὼ φράζοιμ’ ἄν.

Οὐ πολὺν χρόνον διαλιπὼν τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο, ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν Δίωνα ἐῶν τὰ ἑαυτοῦ κεκτῆσθαι καὶ καρποῦσθαι χρήματα, τότε οὐκέτ’ εἴα τοὺς ἐπιτρόπους αὐτοῦ πέμπειν εἰς Πελοπόννησον, καθάπερ ἐπιλελησμένος τῆς ἐπιστολῆς παντάπασιν· εἶναι γὰρ αὐτὰ οὐ Δίωνος ἀλλὰ τοῦ ὑέος, ὄντος μὲν ἀδελφιδοῦ [345d] αὐτοῦ κατὰ νόμους ἐπιτροπεύοντος. Τὰ μὲν δὴ πεπραγμένα μέχρι τούτου ταῦτ’ ἦν ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ, τούτων δὲ οὕτω γενομένων, ἑωράκη τε ἐγὼ ἀκριβῶς τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν τὴν Διονυσίου φιλοσοφίας, ἀγανακτεῖν τε ἐξῆν εἴτε βουλοίμην εἴτε μή. Ἦν γὰρ θέρος ἤδη τότε καὶ ἔκπλοι τῶν νεῶν· ἐδόκει δὴ χαλεπαίνειν μὲν οὐ δεῖν ἐμὲ Διονυσίῳ μᾶλλον ἢ ἐμαυτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς βιασαμένοις ἐλθεῖν ἐμὲ τὸ [345e] τρίτον εἰς τὸν πορθμὸν τὸν περὶ τὴν Σκύλλαν,

ὄφρ’ ἔτι τὴν ὀλοὴν ἀναμετρήσαιμι Χάρυβδιν,

λέγειν δὲ πρὸς Διονύσιον ὅτι μοι μένειν ἀδύνατον εἴη Δίωνος οὕτω προπεπηλακισμένου. Ὁ δὲ παρεμυθεῖτό τε καὶ ἐδεῖτο μένειν, οὐκ οἰόμενός οἱ καλῶς ἔχειν ἐμὲ ἄγγελον αὐτὸν τῶν τοιούτων ἐλθεῖν ὅτι τάχος· οὐ πείθων δὲ αὐτός μοι πομπὴν [346a] παρασκευάσειν ἔφη. Ἐγὼ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις πλοίοις ἐμβὰς διενοούμην πλεῖν, τεθυμωμένος, πάσχειν τε οἰόμενος δεῖν, εἰ διακωλυοίμην, ὁτιοῦν, ἐπειδὴ περιφανῶς ἠδίκουν μὲν οὐδέν, ἠδικούμην δέ· ὁ δὲ οὐδέν με τοῦ καταμένειν προσιέμενον ὁρῶν, μηχανὴν τοῦ μεῖναι τὸν τότε ἔκπλουν μηχανᾶται τοιάνδε τινά. Τῇ μετὰ ταῦτα ἐλθὼν ἡμέρᾳ λέγει πρός με πιθανὸν λόγον· “ἐμοὶ καὶ σοὶ Δίων,” ἔφη, “καὶ τὰ Δίωνος [346b] ἐκποδὼν ἀπαλλαχθήτω τοῦ περὶ αὐτὰ πολλάκις διαφέρεσθαι· ποιήσω γὰρ διὰ σέ, ἔφη, Δίωνι τάδε. Ἀξιῶ ἐκεῖνον ἀπολαβόντα τὰ ἑαυτοῦ οἰκεῖν μὲν ἐν Πελοποννήσῳ, μὴ ὡς φυγάδα δέ, ἀλλ’ ὡς αὐτῷ καὶ δεῦρο ἐξὸν ἀποδημεῖν, ὅταν ἐκείνῳ τε καὶ ἐμοὶ καὶ ὑμῖν τοῖς φίλοις κοινῇ συνδοκῇ· ταῦτα δ’ εἶναι μὴ ἐπιβουλεύοντος ἐμοί, τούτων δὲ ἐγγυητὰς γίγνεσθαι σέ τε καὶ τοὺς σοὺς οἰκείους καὶ τοὺς ἐνθάδε Δίωνος, ὑμῖν δὲ τὸ βέβαιον ἐκεῖνος παρεχέτω. Τὰ χρήματα δὲ ἃ ἂν λάβῃ, [346c] κατὰ Πελοπόννησον μὲν καὶ Ἀθήνας κείσθω παρ’ οἷστισιν ἂν ὑμῖν δοκῇ, καρπούσθω δὲ δίων, μὴ κύριος δὲ ἄνευ ὑμῶν γιγνέσθω ἀνελέσθαι. Ἐγὼ γὰρ ἐκείνῳ μὲν οὐ σφόδρα πιστεύω τούτοις χρώμενον ἂν τοῖς χρήμασιν δίκαιον γίγνεσθαι περὶ ἐμέ - οὐ γὰρ ὀλίγα ἔσται - σοὶ δὲ καὶ τοῖς σοῖς μᾶλλον πεπίστευκα. Ὅρα δὴ ταῦτα εἴ σοι ἀρέσκει, καὶ μένε ἐπὶ τούτοις τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν τοῦτον, εἰς δὲ ὥρας ἄπιθι [346d] λαβὼν τὰ χρήματα ταῦτα· καὶ δίων εὖ οἶδ’ ὅτι πολλὴν χάριν ἕξει σοι διαπραξαμένῳ ταῦτα ὑπὲρ ἐκείνου.”

Τοῦτον δὴ ἐγὼ τὸν λόγον ἀκούσας ἐδυσχέραινον μέν, ὅμως δὲ βουλευσάμενος ἔφην εἰς τὴν ὑστεραίαν αὐτῷ περὶ τούτων τὰ δόξαντα ἀπαγγελεῖν. Ταῦτα συνεθέμεθα τότε. Ἐβουλευόμην δὴ τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα κατ’ ἐμαυτὸν γενόμενος, μάλα συγκεχυμένος· πρῶτος δ’ ἦν μοι τῆς βουλῆς ἡγούμενος ὅδε [346e] λόγος. “Φέρε, εἰ διανοεῖται τούτων μηδὲν ποιεῖν Διονύσιος ὧν φησιν, ἀπελθόντος δ’ ἐμοῦ ἐὰν ἐπιστέλλῃ Δίωνι πιθανῶς, αὐτός τε καὶ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς τῶν αὐτοῦ διακελευόμενος, ἃ νῦν πρὸς ἐμὲ λέγει, ὡς αὐτοῦ μὲν ἐθέλοντος, ἐμοῦ δὲ οὐκ ἐθελήσαντος ἃ προυκαλεῖτό με δρᾶν, ἀλλ’ ὀλιγωρήσαντος τῶν ἐκείνου τὸ παράπαν πραγμάτων, πρὸς δὲ καὶ τούτοισιν ἔτι μηδ’ ἐθέλῃ με ἐκπέμπειν, αὐτὸς τῶν ναυκλήρων [347a] μηδενὶ προστάττων, ἐνδείξηται δὲ πᾶσιν ῥᾳδίως ὡς ἀβουλῶν ἐμὲ ἐκπλεῖν, ἆρά τις ἐθελήσει με ἄγειν ναύτην ὁρμώμενον ἐκ τῆς Διονυσίου οἰκίας;” - ᾤκουν γὰρ πρὸς τοῖς ἄλλοισιν κακοῖς ἐν τῷ κήπῳ τῷ περὶ τὴν οἰκίαν, ὅθεν οὐδ’ ἂν ὁ θυρωρὸς ἤθελέν με ἀφεῖναι μὴ πεμφθείσης αὐτῷ τινος ἐντολῆς παρὰ Διονυσίου - “ἂν δὲ περιμείνω τὸν ἐνιαυτόν, ἕξω μὲν Δίωνι ταῦτα ἐπιστέλλειν, ἐν οἷς τ’ αὖτ’ εἰμὶ καὶ ἃ πράττω· καὶ ἐὰν μὲν δὴ ποιῇ τι Διονύσιος ὧν φησιν, οὐ [347b] παντάπασιν ἔσται μοι καταγελάστως πεπραγμένα - τάλαντα γὰρ ἴσως ἐστὶν οὐκ ἔλαττον, ἂν ἐκτιμᾷ τις ὀρθῶς, ἑκατὸν ἡ Δίωνος οὐσία - ἂν δ’ οὖν γίγνηται τὰ νῦν ὑποφαίνοντα οἷα εἰκὸς αὐτὰ γίγνεσθαι, ἀπορῶ μὲν ὅτι χρήσομαι ἐμαυτῷ, ὅμως δὲ ἀναγκαῖον ἴσως ἐνιαυτόν γ’ ἔτι πονῆσαι καὶ ἔργοις ἐλέγξαι πειρᾶσθαι τὰς Διονυσίου μηχανάς.” Ταῦτά μοι δόξαντα, εἰς τὴν ὑστεραίαν εἶπον πρὸς Διονύσιον ὅτι “δέδοκταί [347c] μοι μένειν· ἀξιῶ μήν,” ἔφην, “μὴ κύριον ἡγεῖσθαί σε Δίωνος ἐμέ, πέμπειν δὲ μετ’ ἐμοῦ σὲ παρ’ αὐτὸν γράμματα τὰ νῦν δεδογμένα δηλοῦντα, καὶ ἐρωτᾶν εἴτε ἀρκεῖ ταῦτα αὐτῷ, καὶ εἰ μή, βούλεται δὲ ἄλλ’ ἄττα καὶ ἀξιοῖ, καὶ ταῦτα ἐπιστέλλειν ὅτι τάχιστα, σὲ δὲ νεωτερίζειν μηδέν πω τῶν περὶ ἐκεῖνον.” Ταῦτα ἐρρήθη, ταῦτα συνωμολογήσαμεν, ὡς νῦν εἴρηται σχεδόν. Ἐξέπλευσεν δὴ τὰ πλοῖα μετὰ τοῦτο, καὶ οὐκέτι μοι δυνατὸν ἦν πλεῖν, ὅτε δή μοι καὶ [347d] Διονύσιος ἐμνήσθη λέγων ὅτι τὴν ἡμίσειαν τῆς οὐσίας εἶναι δέοι Δίωνος, τὴν δ’ ἡμίσειαν τοῦ ὑέος· ἔφη δὴ πωλήσειν αὐτήν, πραθείσης δὲ τὰ μὲν ἡμίσεα ἐμοὶ δώσειν ἄγειν, τὰ δ’ ἡμίσεα τῷ παιδὶ καταλείψειν αὐτοῦ· τὸ γὰρ δὴ δικαιότατον οὕτως ἔχειν. Πληγεὶς δ’ ἐγὼ τῷ λεχθέντι πάνυ μὲν ᾤμην γελοῖον εἶναι ἀντιλέγειν ἔτι, ὅμως δ’ εἶπον ὅτι χρείη τὴν παρὰ Δίωνος ἐπιστολὴν περιμένειν ἡμᾶς καὶ ταῦτα πάλιν αὐτὰ ἐπιστέλλειν. Ὁ δὲ ἑξῆς τούτοις πάνυ νεανικῶς [347e] ἐπώλει τὴν οὐσίαν αὐτοῦ πᾶσαν, ὅπῃ τε καὶ ὅπως ἤθελε καὶ οἷστισι, πρὸς ἐμὲ δὲ οὐδὲν ὅλως ἐφθέγγετο περὶ αὐτῶν, καὶ μὴν ὡσαύτως ἐγὼ πρὸς ἐκεῖνον αὖ περὶ τῶν Δίωνος πραγμάτων οὐδὲν ἔτι διελεγόμην· οὐδὲν γὰρ ἔτι πλέον ᾤμην ποιεῖν.

Μέχρι μὲν δὴ τούτων ταύτῃ μοι βεβοηθημένον ἐγεγόνει φιλοσοφίᾳ καὶ φίλοις· τὸ δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα ἐζῶμεν ἐγὼ καὶ [348a] Διονύσιος, ἐγὼ μὲν βλέπων ἔξω, καθάπερ ὄρνις ποθῶν ποθεν ἀναπτέσθαι, ὁ δὲ διαμηχανώμενος τίνα τρόπον ἀνασοβήσοι με μηδὲν ἀποδοὺς τῶν Δίωνος· ὅμως δὲ ἔφαμεν ἑταῖροί γε εἶναι πρὸς πᾶσαν Σικελίαν. Τῶν δὴ μισθοφόρων τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους Διονύσιος ἐπεχείρησεν ὀλιγομισθοτέρους ποιεῖν παρὰ τὰ τοῦ πατρὸς ἔθη, θυμωθέντες δὲ οἱ στρατιῶται συνελέγησαν ἁθρόοι καὶ οὐκ ἔφασαν ἐπιτρέψειν. Ὁ δ’ ἐπεχείρει [348b] βιάζεσθαι κλείσας τὰς τῆς ἀκροπόλεως πύλας, οἱ δ’ ἐφέροντο εὐθὺς πρὸς τὰ τείχη, παιῶνά τινα ἀναβοήσαντες βάρβαρον καὶ πολεμικόν· οὗ δὴ περιδεὴς Διονύσιος γενόμενος ἅπαντα συνεχώρησεν καὶ ἔτι πλείω τοῖς τότε συλλεχθεῖσι τῶν πελταστῶν. Λόγος δή τις ταχὺ διῆλθεν ὡς Ἡρακλείδης αἴτιος εἴη γεγονὼς πάντων τούτων· ὃν ἀκούσας ὁ μὲν Ἡρακλείδης ἐκποδὼν αὑτὸν ἔσχεν ἀφανῆ, Διονύσιος [348c] δὲ ἐζήτει λαβεῖν, ἀπορῶν δέ, Θεοδότην μεταπεμψάμενος εἰς τὸν κῆπον - ἔτυχον δ’ ἐν τῷ κήπῳ καὶ ἐγὼ τότε περιπατῶν - τὰ μὲν οὖν ἄλλα οὔτ’ οἶδα οὔτ’ ἤκουον διαλεγομένων, ἃ δὲ ἐναντίον εἶπεν Θεοδότης ἐμοῦ πρὸς Διονύσιον, οἶδά τε καὶ μέμνημαι. “Πλάτων γάρ,” ἔφη, “Διονύσιον ἐγὼ πείθω τουτονί, ἐὰν ἐγὼ γένωμαι δεῦρο Ἡρακλείδην κομίσαι δυνατὸς ἡμῖν εἰς λόγους περὶ τῶν ἐγκλημάτων αὐτῷ τῶν νῦν γεγονότων, ἂν ἄρα μὴ δόξῃ δεῖν αὐτὸν οἰκεῖν ἐν Σικελίᾳ, τόν τε ὑὸν λαβόντα καὶ τὴν γυναῖκα ἀξιῶ εἰς [348d] Πελοπόννησον ἀποπλεῖν, οἰκεῖν τε βλάπτοντα μηδὲν Διονύσιον ἐκεῖ, καρπούμενον δὲ τὰ ἑαυτοῦ. Μετεπεμψάμην μὲν οὖν καὶ πρότερον αὐτόν, μεταπέμψομαι δὲ καὶ νῦν, ἄντ’ οὖν ἀπὸ τῆς προτέρας μεταπομπῆς ἄντε καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς νῦν ὑπακούσῃ μοι· Διονύσιον δὲ ἀξιῶ καὶ δέομαι, ἄν τις ἐντυγχάνῃ Ἡρακλείδῃ ἐάντ’ ἐν ἀγρῷ ἐάντ’ ἐνθάδε, μηδὲν ἄλλο [348e] αὐτῷ φλαῦρον γίγνεσθαι, μεταστῆναι δ’ ἐκ τῆς χώρας, ἕως ἂν ἄλλο τι Διονυσίῳ δόξῃ. Ταῦτα,” ἔφη, “συγχωρεῖς;” λέγων πρὸς τὸν Διονύσιον. “Συγχωρῶ· μηδ’ ἂν πρὸς τῇ σῇ,” ἔφη, “φανῇ οἰκίᾳ, πείσεσθαι φλαῦρον μηδὲν παρὰ τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα.” Τῇ δὴ μετὰ ταύτην τὴν ἡμέραν δείλης Εὐρύβιος καὶ Θεοδότης προσηλθέτην μοι σπουδῇ τεθορυβημένω θαυμαστῶς, καὶ Θεοδότης λέγει, “Πλάτων,” ἔφη, “παρῆσθα χθὲς οἷς περὶ Ἡρακλείδου Διονύσιος ὡμολόγει πρὸς ἐμὲ καὶ σέ;” “πῶς δὲ οὔκ;” ἔφην. “Νῦν τοίνυν,” ἦ δ’ ὅς, “περιθέουσιν πελτασταὶ λαβεῖν Ἡρακλείδην ζητοῦντες, ὁ δὲ εἶναί πῃ ταύτῃ κινδυνεύει· ἀλλ’ ἡμῖν,” ἔφη, [349a] “συνακολούθησον πρὸς Διονύσιον ἁπάσῃ μηχανῇ.” ᾨχόμεθα οὖν καὶ εἰσήλθομεν παρ’ αὐτόν, καὶ τὼ μὲν ἑστάτην σιγῇ δακρύοντε, ἐγὼ δὲ εἶπον· “οἵδε πεφόβηνται μή τι σὺ παρὰ τὰ χθὲς ὡμολογημένα ποιήσῃς περὶ Ἡρακλείδην νεώτερον· δοκεῖ γάρ μοι ταύτῃ πῃ γεγονέναι φανερὸς ἀποτετραμμένος.” Ὁ δὲ ἀκούσας ἀνεφλέχθη τε καὶ παντοδαπὰ χρώματα ἧκεν, οἷ’ ἂν θυμούμενος ἀφείη· προσπεσὼν δ’ αὐτῷ [349b] ὁ Θεοδότης, λαβόμενος τῆς χειρὸς ἐδάκρυσέν τε καὶ ἱκέτευεν μηδὲν τοιοῦτον ποιεῖν, ὑπολαβὼν δ’ ἐγὼ παραμυθούμενος, “θάρρει, Θεοδότα,” ἔφην· “οὐ γὰρ τολμήσει Διονύσιος παρὰ τὰ χθὲς ὡμολογημένα ἄλλα ποτὲ δρᾶν.” Καὶ ὃς ἐμβλέψας μοι καὶ μάλα τυραννικῶς, “σοί,” ἔφη, “ἐγὼ οὔτε τι σμικρὸν οὔτε μέγα ὡμολόγησα.” “Νὴ τοὺς θεούς,” ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, “σύ γε, ταῦτα ἃ σοῦ νῦν οὗτος δεῖται μὴ ποιεῖν·” καὶ εἰπὼν ταῦτα ἀποστρεφόμενος ᾠχόμην ἔξω. Τὸ μετὰ [349c] ταῦτα ὁ μὲν ἐκυνήγει τὸν Ἡρακλείδην, Θεοδότης δὲ ἀγγέλους πέμπων Ἡρακλείδῃ φεύγειν διεκελεύετο. Ὁ δὲ ἐκπέμψας Τεισίαν καὶ πελταστὰς διώκειν ἐκέλευε· φθάνει δέ, ὡς ἐλέγετο, Ἡρακλείδης εἰς τὴν Καρχηδονίων ἐπικράτειαν ἐκφυγὼν ἡμέρας σμικρῷ τινι μέρει. Τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο ἡ πάλαι ἐπιβουλὴ Διονυσίῳ τοῦ μὴ ἀποδοῦναι τὰ Δίωνος χρήματα ἔδοξεν ἔχθρας λόγον ἔχειν ἂν πρός με πιθανόν, καὶ πρῶτον μὲν ἐκ τῆς ἀκροπόλεως ἐκπέμπει με, εὑρὼν [349d] πρόφασιν ὡς τὰς γυναῖκας ἐν τῷ κήπῳ, ἐν ᾧ κατῴκουν ἐγώ, δέοι θῦσαι θυσίαν τινὰ δεχήμερον· ἔξω δή με παρ’ Ἀρχεδήμῳ προσέταττεν τὸν χρόνον τοῦτον μεῖναι. Ὄντος δ’ ἐμοῦ ἐκεῖ, Θεοδότης μεταπεμψάμενός με πολλὰ περὶ τῶν τότε πραχθέντων ἠγανάκτει καὶ ἐμέμφετο Διονυσίῳ· ὁ δ’ ἀκούσας ὅτι παρὰ Θεοδότην εἴην εἰσεληλυθώς, πρόφασιν [349e] αὖ ταύτην ἄλλην τῆς πρὸς ἐμὲ διαφορᾶς ποιούμενος, ἀδελφὴν τῆς πρόσθεν, πέμψας τινὰ ἠρώτα με εἰ συγγιγνοίμην ὄντως μεταπεμψαμένου με Θεοδότου. Κἀγώ, “παντάπασιν,” ἔφην· ὁ δέ, “ἐκέλευε τοίνυν,” ἔφη, “σοὶ φράζειν ὅτι καλῶς οὐδαμῇ ποιεῖς Δίωνα καὶ τοὺς Δίωνος φίλους ἀεὶ περὶ πλείονος αὐτοῦ ποιούμενος.” Ταῦτ’ ἐρρήθη, καὶ οὐκέτι μετεπέμψατό με εἰς τὴν οἴκησιν πάλιν, ὡς ἤδη σαφῶς Θεοδότου μὲν ὄντος μου καὶ Ἡρακλείδου φίλου, αὐτοῦ δ’ ἐχθροῦ, καὶ οὐκ εὐνοεῖν ᾤετό με, ὅτι Δίωνι τὰ χρήματα ἔρρει παντελῶς. [350a] ᾬκουν δὴ τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο ἔξω τῆς ἀκροπόλεως ἐν τοῖς μισθοφόροις· προσιόντες δέ μοι ἄλλοι τε καὶ οἱ τῶν ὑπηρεσιῶν ὄντες Ἀθήνηθεν, ἐμοὶ πολῖται, ἀπήγγελλον ὅτι διαβεβλημένος εἴην ἐν τοῖς πελτασταῖς καί μοί τινες ἀπειλοῖεν, εἴ που λήψονταί με, διαφθερεῖν. Μηχανῶμαι δή τινα τοιάνδε σωτηρίαν. Πέμπω παρ’ Ἀρχύτην καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους φίλους εἰς Τάραντα, φράζων ἐν οἷς ὢν τυγχάνω· οἱ δὲ πρόφασίν τινα πρεσβείας πορισάμενοι παρὰ τῆς πόλεως πέμπουσιν [350b] τριακόντορόν τε καὶ Λαμίσκον αὑτῶν ἕνα, ὃς ἐλθὼν ἐδεῖτο Διονυσίου περὶ ἐμοῦ, λέγων ὅτι βουλοίμην ἀπιέναι, καὶ μηδαμῶς ἄλλως ποιεῖν. Ὁ δὲ συνωμολόγησεν καὶ ἀπέπεμψεν ἐφόδια δούς, τῶν Δίωνος δὲ χρημάτων οὔτ’ ἐγὼ ἔτι ἀπῄτουν οὔτε τις ἀπέδωκεν.

Ἐλθὼν δὲ εἰς Πελοπόννησον εἰς Ὀλυμπίαν, Δίωνα καταλαβὼν θεωροῦντα, ἤγγελλον τὰ γεγονότα· ὁ δὲ τὸν Δία ἐπιμαρτυράμενος εὐθὺς παρήγγελλεν ἐμοὶ καὶ τοῖς ἐμοῖς [350c] οἰκείοις καὶ φίλοις παρασκευάζεσθαι τιμωρεῖσθαι Διονύσιον, ἡμᾶς μὲν ξεναπατίας χάριν - οὕτω γὰρ ἔλεγέν τε καὶ ἐνόει - αὐτὸν δ’ ἐκβολῆς ἀδίκου καὶ φυγῆς. Ἀκούσας δ’ ἐγὼ τοὺς μὲν φίλους παρακαλεῖν αὐτὸν ἐκέλευον, εἰ βούλοιντο· “ἐμὲ δ’” εἶπον ὅτι “σὺ μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων βίᾳ τινὰ τρόπον σύσσιτον καὶ συνέστιον καὶ κοινωνὸν ἱερῶν Διονυσίῳ ἐποίησας, ὃς ἴσως ἡγεῖτο διαβαλλόντων πολλῶν ἐπιβουλεύειν ἐμὲ μετὰ σοῦ ἑαυτῷ καὶ τῇ τυραννίδι, καὶ ὅμως οὐκ ἀπέκτεινεν, [350d] ᾐδέσθη δέ. Οὔτ’ οὖν ἡλικίαν ἔχω συμπολεμεῖν ἔτι σχεδὸν οὐδενί, κοινός τε ὑμῖν εἰμι, ἄν ποτέ τι πρὸς ἀλλήλους δεηθέντες φιλίας ἀγαθόν τι ποιεῖν βουληθῆτε· κακὰ δὲ ἕως ἂν ἐπιθυμῆτε, ἄλλους παρακαλεῖτε.” Ταῦτα εἶπον μεμισηκὼς τὴν περὶ Σικελίαν πλάνην καὶ ἀτυχίαν· ἀπειθοῦντες δὲ καὶ οὐ πειθόμενοι ταῖς ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ διαλλάξεσιν πάντων τῶν νῦν γεγονότων κακῶν αὐτοὶ αἴτιοι ἐγένοντο αὑτοῖς, ὧν, εἰ Διονύσιος [350e] ἀπέδωκεν τὰ χρήματα Δίωνι ἢ καὶ παντάπασι κατηλλάγη, οὐκ ἄν ποτε ἐγένετο οὐδέν, ὅσα γε δὴ τἀνθρώπινα - Δίωνα γὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ τῷ βούλεσθαι καὶ τῷ δύνασθαι κατεῖχον ἂν ῥᾳδίως - νῦν δὲ ὁρμήσαντες ἐπ’ ἀλλήλους κακῶν πάντα ἐμπεπλήκασιν. [351a] Καίτοι τήν γε αὐτὴν δίων εἶχεν βούλησιν ἥνπερ ἂν ἐγὼ φαίην δεῖν ἐμὲ καὶ ἄλλον, ὅστις μέτριος, περί τε τῆς αὑτοῦ δυνάμεως καὶ φίλων καὶ περὶ πόλεως τῆς αὑτοῦ διανοοῖτ’ ἂν εὐεργετῶν ἐν δυνάμει καὶ τιμαῖσιν γενέσθαι τὰ μέγιστα ἐν ταῖς μεγίσταις. Ἔστιν δὲ οὐκ ἄν τις πλούσιον ἑαυτὸν ποιήσῃ καὶ ἑταίρους καὶ πόλιν, ἐπιβουλεύσας καὶ συνωμότας συναγαγών, πένης ὢν καὶ ἑαυτοῦ μὴ κρατῶν, ὑπὸ δειλίας τῆς πρὸς τὰς ἡδονὰς ἡττημένος, [351b] εἶτα τοὺς τὰς οὐσίας κεκτημένους ἀποκτείνας, ἐχθροὺς καλῶν τούτους, διαφορῇ τὰ τούτων χρήματα καὶ τοῖς συνεργοῖς τε καὶ ἑταίροις παρακελεύηται ὅπως μηδεὶς αὐτῷ ἐγκαλεῖ πένης φάσκων εἶναι· ταὐτὸν δὲ καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἂν οὕτω τις εὐεργετῶν τιμᾶται ὑπ’ αὐτῆς, τοῖς πολλοῖς τὰ τῶν ὀλίγων ὑπὸ ψηφισμάτων διανέμων, ἢ μεγάλης προεστὼς πόλεως καὶ πολλῶν ἀρχούσης ἐλαττόνων, τῇ ἑαυτοῦ πόλει τὰ τῶν σμικροτέρων [351c] χρήματα διανέμῃ μὴ κατὰ δίκην. Οὕτω μὲν γὰρ οὔτε Δίων οὔτε ἄλλος πoτὲ οὐδεὶς ἐπὶ δύναμιν ἑκὼν εἶσιν ἀλιτηριώδη ἑαυτῷ τε καὶ γένει εἰς τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον, ἐπὶ πολιτείαν δὲ καὶ νόμων κατασκευὴν τῶν δικαιοτάτων τε καὶ ἀρίστων, οὔ τι δι’ ὀλιγίστων θανάτων καὶ φόνων γιγνομένην· ἃ δὴ δίων νῦν πράττων, προτιμήσας τὸ πάσχειν ἀνόσια τοῦ δρᾶσαι πρότερον, διευλαβούμενος δὲ μὴ παθεῖν, ὅμως ἔπταισεν ἐπ’ ἄκρον ἐλθὼν τοῦ περιγενέσθαι τῶν [351d] ἐχθρῶν, θαυμαστὸν παθὼν οὐδέν. Ὅσιος γὰρ ἄνθρωπος ἀνοσίων πέρι, σώφρων τε καὶ ἔμφρων, τὸ μὲν ὅλον οὐκ ἄν ποτε διαψευσθείη τῆς ψυχῆς τῶν τοιούτων πέρι, κυβερνήτου δὲ ἀγαθοῦ πάθος ἂν ἴσως οὐ θαυμαστὸν εἰ πάθοι, ὃν χειμὼν μὲν ἐσόμενος οὐκ ἂν πάνυ λάθοι, χειμώνων δὲ ἐξαίσιον καὶ ἀπροσδόκητον μέγεθος λάθοι τ’ ἂν καὶ λαθὸν κατακλύσειεν βίᾳ. Tαὐτὸν δὴ καὶ Δίωνα ἔσφηλεν· κακοὶ μὲν γὰρ ὄντες αὐτὸν σφόδρα οὐκ ἔλαθον οἱ σφήλαντες, ὅσον δὲ ὕψος ἀμαθίας [351e] εἶχον καὶ τῆς ἄλλης μοχθηρίας τε καὶ λαιμαργίας, ἔλαθον, ᾧ δὴ σφαλεὶς κεῖται, Σικελίαν πένθει περιβαλὼν μυρίῳ.

[352a] Tὰ δὴ μετὰ τὰ νῦν ῥηθέντα ἃ συμβουλεύω, σχεδὸν εἴρηταί τέ μοι καὶ εἰρήσθω· ὧν δ’ ἐπανέλαβον ἕνεκα τὴν εἰς Σικελίαν ἄφιξιν τὴν δευτέραν, ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι ἔδοξέ μοι ῥηθῆναι δεῖν διὰ τὴν ἀτοπίαν καὶ ἀλογίαν τῶν γενομένων. Eἰ δ’ ἄρα τινὶ νῦν ῥηθέντα εὐλογώτερα ἐφάνη καὶ προφάσεις πρὸς τὰ γενόμενα ἱκανὰς ἔχειν ἔδοξέν τῳ, μετρίως ἂν ἡμῖν καὶ ἱκανῶς εἴη τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα.

VIII

Πλάτων τοῖς Δίωνος οἰκείοις τε καὶ ἑταίροις εὖ πράττειν.

Ἃ δ’ ἂν διανοηθέντες μάλιστα εὖ πράττοιτε ὄντως, πειράσομαι ταῦθ’ ὑμῖν κατὰ δύναμιν διεξελθεῖν. Ἐλπίζω δὲ οὐχ ὑμῖν μόνοις συμβουλεύσειν τὰ συμφέροντα, μάλιστά γε μὴν [352c] ὑμῖν, καὶ δευτέροις πᾶσιν τοῖς ἐν Συρακούσαις, τρίτοις δὲ ὑμῶν καὶ τοῖς ἐχθροῖς καὶ πολεμίοις, πλὴν εἴ τις αὐτῶν ἀνοσιουργὸς γέγονεν· ταῦτα γὰρ ἀνίατα καὶ οὐκ ἄν ποτέ τις αὐτὰ ἐκνίψειν. Νοήσατε δὲ ἃ λέγω νῦν.

Ἔσθ’ ὑμῖν κατὰ Σικελίαν πᾶσαν λελυμένης τῆς τυραννίδος πᾶσα μάχη περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων, τῶν μὲν βουλομένων ἀναλαβεῖν πάλιν τὴν ἀρχήν, τῶν δὲ τῇ τῆς τυραννίδος ἀποφυγῇ τέλος ἐπιθεῖναι. Συμβουλὴ δὴ περὶ τῶν τοιούτων [352d] ὀρθὴ δοκεῖ ἑκάστοτε τοῖς πολλοῖς εἶναι ταῦτα συμβουλεύειν δεῖν ἃ τοὺς μὲν πολεμίους ὡς πλεῖστα κακὰ ἐξεργάσεται, τοὺς δὲ φίλους ὡς πλεῖστα ἀγαθά· τὸ δὲ οὐδαμῶς ῥᾴδιον πολλὰ κακὰ δρῶντα τοὺς ἄλλους μὴ οὐ καὶ πάσχειν αὐτὸν πολλὰ ἕτερα. Δεῖ δὲ οὐ μακρὰν ἐλθόντας ποι τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐναργῶς ἰδεῖν, ἀλλ’ ὅσα νῦν γέγονεν τῇδε, αὐτοῦ περὶ Σικελίαν, τῶν μὲν ἐπιχειρούντων δρᾶν, τῶν δὲ ἀμύνασθαι [352e] τοὺς δρῶντας· ἃ κἂν ἄλλοις μυθολογοῦντες ἱκανοὶ γίγνοισθ’ ἂν ἑκάστοτε διδάσκαλοι. Τούτων μὲν δὴ σχεδὸν οὐκ ἀπορία· τῶν δὲ ὅσα γένοιτ’ ἂν ἢ πᾶσιν συμφέροντα ἐχθροῖς τε καὶ φίλοις ἢ ὅτι σμικρότατα κακὰ ἀμφοῖν, ταῦτα οὔτε ῥᾴδιον ὁρᾶν οὔτε ἰδόντα ἐπιτελεῖν, εὐχῇ δὲ προσέοικεν ἡ τοιαύτη συμβουλή τε καὶ ἐπιχείρησις τοῦ λόγου. Ἔστω δὴ παντάπασι [353a] μὲν εὐχή τις - ἀπὸ γὰρ θεῶν χρὴ πάντα ἀρχόμενον ἀεὶ λέγειν τε καὶ νοεῖν - ἐπιτελὴς δ’ εἴη σημαίνουσα ἡμῖν τοιόνδε τινὰ λόγον· νῦν ὑμῖν καὶ τοῖς πολεμίοις σχεδόν, ἐξ οὗπερ γέγονεν ὁ πόλεμος, συγγένεια ἄρχει μία διὰ τέλους, ἥν ποτε κατέστησαν οἱ πατέρες ὑμῶν ἐς ἀπορίαν ἐλθόντες τὴν ἅπασαν, τόθ’ ὅτε κίνδυνος ἐγένετο ἔσχατος Σικελίᾳ τῇ τῶν Ἑλλήνων ὑπὸ Καρχηδονίων ἀνάστατον ὅλην ἐκβαρβαρωθεῖσαν γενέσθαι. Τότε γὰρ εἵλοντο Διονύσιον μὲν ὡς νέον [353b] καὶ πολεμικὸν ἐπὶ τὰς τοῦ πολέμου πρεπούσας αὐτῷ πράξεις, σύμβουλον δὲ καὶ πρεσβύτερον Ἱππαρῖνον, ἐπὶ σωτηρίᾳ τῆς Σικελίας αὐτοκράτορας, ὥς φασιν, τυράννους ἐπονομάζοντες. Καὶ εἴτε δὴ θείαν τις ἡγεῖσθαι βούλεται τύχην καὶ θεὸν εἴτε τὴν τῶν ἀρχόντων ἀρετὴν εἴτε καὶ τὸ συναμφότερον μετὰ τῶν τότε πολιτῶν τῆς σωτηρίας αἰτίαν συμβῆναι γενομένην, ἔστω ταύτῃ ὅπῃ τις ὑπολαμβάνει· σωτηρία δ’ οὖν οὕτως συνέβη τοῖς τότε γενομένοις. Τοιούτων οὖν [353c] αὐτῶν γεγονότων, δίκαιόν που τοῖς σώσασιν πάντας χάριν ἔχειν· εἰ δέ τι τὸν μετέπειτα χρόνον ἡ τυραννὶς οὐκ ὀρθῶς τῇ τῆς πόλεως δωρεᾷ κατακέχρηται, τούτων δίκας τὰς μὲν ἔχει, τὰς δὲ τινέτω. Τίνες οὖν δὴ δίκαι ἀναγκαίως ὀρθαὶ γίγνοιντ’ ἂν ἐκ τῶν ὑπαρχόντων αὐτοῖς; εἰ μὲν ῥᾳδίως ὑμεῖς ἀποφυγεῖν οἷοί τ’ ἦτε αὐτοὺς καὶ ἄνευ μεγάλων κινδύνων καὶ πόνων, ἢ ‘κεῖνοι ἑλεῖν εὐπετῶς πάλιν τὴν ἀρχήν, οὐδ’ ἂν συμβουλεύειν οἷόν τ’ ἦν τὰ μέλλοντα ῥηθήσεσθαι· νῦν [353d] δ’ ἐννοεῖν ὑμᾶς ἀμφοτέρους χρεὼν καὶ ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι ποσάκις ἐν ἐλπίδι ἑκάτεροι γεγόνατε τοῦ νῦν οἴεσθαι σχεδὸν ἀεί τινος σμικροῦ ἐπιδεεῖς εἶναι τὸ μὴ πάντα κατὰ νοῦν πράττειν, καὶ δὴ καὶ ὅτι τὸ σμικρὸν τοῦτο μεγάλων καὶ μυρίων κακῶν αἴτιον ἑκάστοτε συμβαίνει γιγνόμενον, καὶ πέρας οὐδέν ποτε τελεῖται, συνάπτει δὲ ἀεὶ παλαιὰ τελευτὴ δοκοῦσα ἀρχῇ φυομένῃ νέᾳ, διολέσθαι δ’ ὑπὸ τοῦ κύκλου [353e] τούτου κινδυνεύσει καὶ τὸ τυραννικὸν ἅπαν καὶ τὸ δημοτικὸν γένος, ἥξει δέ, ἐάνπερ τῶν εἰκότων γίγνηταί τι καὶ ἀπευκτῶν, σχεδὸν εἰς ἐρημίαν τῆς Ἑλληνικῆς φωνῆς Σικελία πᾶσα, Φοινίκων ἢ Ὀπικῶν μεταβαλοῦσα εἴς τινα δυναστείαν καὶ κράτος. Τούτων δὴ χρὴ πάσῃ προθυμίᾳ πάντας τοὺς Ἕλληνας τέμνειν φάρμακον. Εἰ μὲν δή τις ὀρθότερον ἄμεινόν τ’ ἔχει τοῦ ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ ῥηθησομένου, ἐνεγκὼν εἰς τὸ μέσον [354a] ὀρθότατα φιλέλλην ἂν λεχθείη· ὃ δέ μοι φαίνεταί πῃ τὰ νῦν, ἐγὼ πειράσομαι πάσῃ παρρησίᾳ καὶ κοινῷ τινι δικαίῳ λόγῳ χρώμενος δηλοῦν. Λέγω γὰρ δὴ διαιτητοῦ τινα τρόπον διαλεγόμενος ὡς δυοῖν, τυραννεύσαντί τε καὶ τυραννευθέντι, ὡς ἑνὶ ἑκατέρῳ παλαιὰν ἐμὴν συμβουλήν· καὶ νῦν δὲ ὅ γ’ ἐμὸς λόγος ἂν εἴη σύμβουλος τυράννῳ παντὶ φεύγειν μὲν τοὔνομά τε καὶ τοὖργον τοῦτο, εἰς βασιλείαν δέ, εἰ δυνατὸν [354b] εἴη, μεταβαλεῖν. Δυνατὸν δέ, ὡς ἔδειξεν ἔργῳ σοφὸς ἀνὴρ καὶ ἀγαθὸς Λυκοῦργος, ὃς ἰδὼν τὸ τῶν οἰκείων γένος ἐν Ἄργει καὶ Μεσσήνῃ ἐκ βασιλέων εἰς τυράννων δύναμιν ἀφικομένους καὶ διαφθείραντας ἑαυτούς τε καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἑκατέρους ἑκατέραν, δείσας περὶ τῆς αὑτοῦ πόλεως ἅμα καὶ γένους, φάρμακον ἐπήνεγκεν τὴν τῶν γερόντων ἀρχὴν καὶ τὸν τῶν ἐφόρων δεσμὸν τῆς βασιλικῆς ἀρχῆς σωτήριον, ὥστε γενεὰς τοσαύτας ἤδη μετ’ εὐκλείας σῴζεσθαι, νόμος [354c] ἐπειδὴ κύριος ἐγένετο βασιλεὺς τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἄνθρωποι τύραννοι νόμων. Ὃ δὴ καὶ νῦν οὑμὸς λόγος πᾶσιν παρακελεύεται, τοῖς μὲν τυραννίδος ἐφιεμένοις ἀποτρέπεσθαι καὶ φεύγειν φυγῇ ἀπλήστως πεινώντων εὐδαιμόνισμα ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἀνοήτων, εἰς βασιλέως δ’ εἶδος πειρᾶσθαι μεταβάλλειν καὶ δουλεῦσαι νόμοις βασιλικοῖς, τὰς μεγίστας τιμὰς κεκτημένους παρ’ ἑκόντων τε ἀνθρώπων καὶ τῶν νόμων· [354d] τοῖς δὲ δὴ ἐλεύθερα διώκουσιν ἤθη καὶ φεύγουσιν τὸν δούλειον ζυγὸν ὡς ὂν κακόν, εὐλαβεῖσθαι συμβουλεύοιμ’ ἂν μή ποτε ἀπληστίᾳ ἐλευθερίας ἀκαίρου τινὸς εἰς τὸ τῶν προγόνων νόσημα ἐμπέσωσιν, ὃ διὰ τὴν ἄγαν ἀναρχίαν οἱ τότε ἔπαθον, ἀμέτρῳ ἐλευθερίας χρώμενοι ἔρωτι. Οἱ γὰρ πρὸ Διονυσίου καὶ Ἱππαρίνου ἀρξάντων Σικελιῶται τότε ὡς ᾤοντο εὐδαιμόνως ἔζων, τρυφῶντές τε καὶ ἅμα ἀρχόντων ἄρχοντες· οἳ καὶ τοὺς δέκα στρατηγοὺς κατέλευσαν βάλλοντες τοὺς πρὸ [354e] Διονυσίου, κατὰ νόμον οὐδένα κρίναντες, ἵνα δὴ δουλεύοιεν μηδενὶ μήτε σὺν δίκῃ μήτε νόμῳ δεσπότῃ, ἐλεύθεροι δ’ εἶεν πάντῃ πάντως· ὅθεν αἱ τυραννίδες ἐγένοντο αὐτοῖς. Δουλεία γὰρ καὶ ἐλευθερία ὑπερβάλλουσα μὲν ἑκατέρα πάγκακον, ἔμμετρος δὲ οὖσα πανάγαθον· μετρία δὲ ἡ θεῷ δουλεία, ἄμετρος δὲ ἡ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις· θεὸς δὲ ἀνθρώποις σώφροσιν [355a] νόμος, ἄφροσιν δὲ ἡδονή. Τούτων δὴ ταύτῃ πεφυκότων, ἃ συμβουλεύω Συρακοσίοις πᾶσιν φράζειν παρακελεύομαι τοῖς Δίωνος φίλοις ἐκείνου καὶ ἐμὴν κοινὴν συμβουλήν· ἐγὼ δὲ ἑρμηνεύσω ἃν ἐκεῖνος ἔμπνους ὢν καὶ δυνάμενος εἶπεν νῦν πρὸς ὑμᾶς. Τίν’ οὖν δή, τις ἂν εἴποι, λόγον ἀποφαίνεται ἡμῖν περὶ τῶν νῦν παρόντων ἡ Δίωνος συμβουλή; τόνδε.
“Δέξασθε, ὦ Συρακόσιοι, πάντων πρῶτον νόμους οἵτινες [355b] ἂν ὑμῖν φαίνωνται μὴ πρὸς χρηματισμὸν καὶ πλοῦτον τρέψοντες τὰς γνώμας ὑμῶν μετ’ ἐπιθυμίας, ἀλλ’ ὄντων τριῶν, ψυχῆς καὶ σώματος ἔτι δὲ χρημάτων, τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς ἀρετὴν ἐντιμοτάτην ποιοῦντες, δευτέραν δὲ τὴν τοῦ σώματος, ὑπὸ τῇ τῆς ψυχῆς κειμένην, τρίτην δὲ καὶ ὑστάτην τὴν τῶν χρημάτων τιμήν, δουλεύουσαν τῷ σώματί τε καὶ ψυχῇ. Καὶ [355c] ὁ μὲν ταῦτα ἀπεργαζόμενος θεσμὸς νόμος ἂν ὀρθῶς ὑμῖν εἴη κείμενος, ὄντως εὐδαίμονας ἀποτελῶν τοὺς χρωμένους· ὁ δὲ τοὺς πλουσίους εὐδαίμονας ὀνομάζων λόγος αὐτός τε ἄθλιος, γυναικῶν καὶ παίδων ὢν λόγος ἄνους, τοὺς πειθομένους τε ἀπεργάζεται τοιούτους. Ὅτι δ’ ἀληθῆ ταῦτ’ ἐγὼ παρακελεύομαι, ἐὰν γεύσησθε τῶν νῦν λεγομένων περὶ νόμων, ἔργῳ γνώσεσθε· ἣ δὴ βάσανος ἀληθεστάτη δοκεῖ γίγνεσθαι τῶν πάντων πέρι. Δεξάμενοι δὲ τοὺς τοιούτους νόμους, [355d] ἐπειδὴ κατέχει κίνδυνος Σικελίαν, καὶ οὔτε κρατεῖτε ἱκανῶς οὔτ’ αὖ διαφερόντως κρατεῖσθε, δίκαιον ἂν ἴσως καὶ συμφέρον γίγνοιτο ὑμῖν πᾶσιν μέσον τεμεῖν, τοῖς τε φεύγουσιν τῆς ἀρχῆς τὴν χαλεπότητα ὑμῖν καὶ τοῖς τῆς ἀρχῆς πάλιν ἐρῶσιν τυχεῖν, ὧν οἱ πρόγονοι τότε, μέγιστον, ἔσωσαν ἀπὸ βαρβάρων τοὺς Ἕλληνας, ὥστ’ ἐξεῖναι περὶ πολιτείας νῦν ποιεῖσθαι λόγους· ἔρρουσι δὲ τότε οὔτε λόγος οὔτ’ ἐλπὶς ἐλείπετ’ ἂν οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς. Νῦν οὖν τοῖς μὲν ἐλευθερία [355e] γιγνέσθω μετὰ βασιλικῆς ἀρχῆς, τοῖς δὲ ἀρχὴ ὑπεύθυνος βασιλική, δεσποζόντων νόμων τῶν τε ἄλλων πολιτῶν καὶ τῶν βασιλέων αὐτῶν, ἄν τι παράνομον πράττωσιν· ἐπὶ δὲ τούτοις σύμπασιν ἀδόλῳ γνώμῃ καὶ ὑγιεῖ μετὰ θεῶν βασιλέα στήσασθε, πρῶτον μὲν τὸν ἐμὸν ὑὸν χαρίτων ἕνεκα διττῶν, τῆς τε παρ’ ἐμοῦ καὶ τῆς παρὰ τοῦ ἐμοῦ πατρός - ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἀπὸ βαρβάρων ἠλευθέρωσεν ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ τὴν [356a] πόλιν, ἐγὼ δὲ ἀπὸ τυράννων νῦν δίς, ὧν αὐτοὶ μάρτυρες ὑμεῖς γεγόνατε - δεύτερον δὲ δὴ ποιεῖσθε βασιλέα τὸν τῷ μὲν ἐμῷ πατρὶ ταὐτὸν κεκτημένον ὄνομα, ὑὸν δὲ Διονυσίου, χάριν τῆς τε δὴ νῦν βοηθείας καὶ ὁσίου τρόπου· ὃς γενόμενος τυράννου πατρὸς ἑκὼν τὴν πόλιν ἐλευθεροῖ, τιμὴν αὑτῷ καὶ γένει ἀείζωον ἀντὶ τυραννίδος ἐφημέρου καὶ ἀδίκου κτώμενος. Τρίτον δὲ προκαλεῖσθαι χρὴ βασιλέα γίγνεσθαι Συρακουσῶν, ἑκόντα ἑκούσης τῆς πόλεως, τὸν νῦν τοῦ τῶν [356b] πολεμίων ἄρχοντα στρατοπέδου, Διονύσιον τὸν Διονυσίου, ἐὰν ἐθέλῃ ἑκὼν εἰς βασιλέως σχῆμα ἀπαλλάττεσθαι, δεδιὼς μὲν τὰς τύχας, ἐλεῶν δὲ πατρίδα καὶ ἱερῶν ἀθεραπευσίαν καὶ τάφους, μὴ διὰ φιλονικίαν πάντως πάντα ἀπολέσῃ βαρβάροις ἐπίχαρτος γενόμενος. Τρεῖς δ’ ὄντας βασιλέας, εἴτ’ οὖν τὴν Λακωνικὴν δύναμιν αὐτοῖς δόντες εἴτε ἀφελόντες καὶ συνομολογησάμενοι, καταστήσασθε τρόπῳ τινὶ τοιῷδε, [356c] ὃς εἴρηται μὲν καὶ πρότερον ὑμῖν, ὅμως δ’ ἔτι καὶ νῦν ἀκούετε. Ἐὰν ἐθέλῃ τὸ γένος ὑμῖν τὸ Διονυσίου τε καὶ Ἱππαρίνου ἐπὶ σωτηρίᾳ Σικελίας παύσασθαι τῶν νῦν παρόντων κακῶν, τιμὰς αὑτοῖς καὶ γένει λαβόντες εἴς τε τὸν ἔπειτα καὶ τὸν νῦν χρόνον, ἐπὶ τούτοις καλεῖτε, ὥσπερ καὶ πρότερον ἐρρήθη, πρέσβεις οὓς ἂν ἐθελήσωσιν κυρίους ποιησάμενοι τῶν διαλλαγῶν - εἴτε τινὰς αὐτόθεν εἴτε ἔξωθεν εἴτε ἀμφότερα - καὶ ὁπόσους ἂν συγχωρήσωσιν· τούτους [356d] δ’ ἐλθόντας νόμους μὲν πρῶτον θεῖναι καὶ πολιτείαν τοιαύτην, ἐν ᾗ βασιλέας ἁρμόττει γίγνεσθαι κυρίους ἱερῶν τε καὶ ὅσων ἄλλων πρέπει τοῖς γενομένοις ποτὲ εὐεργέταις, πολέμου δὲ καὶ εἰρήνης ἄρχοντας νομοφύλακας ποιήσασθαι ἀριθμὸν τριάκοντα καὶ πέντε μετά τε δήμου καὶ βουλῆς. Δικαστήρια δὲ ἄλλα μὲν ἄλλων, θανάτου δὲ καὶ φυγῆς τούς τε πέντε καὶ τριάκοντα ὑπάρχειν· πρὸς τούτοις τε ἐκλεκτοὺς γίγνεσθαι δικαστὰς ἐκ τῶν νῦν ἀεὶ περυσινῶν ἀρχόντων, [356e] ἕνα ἀφ’ ἑκάστης τῆς ἀρχῆς τὸν ἄριστον δόξαντ’ εἶναι καὶ δικαιότατον· τούτους δὲ τὸν ἐπιόντα ἐνιαυτὸν δικάζειν ὅσα θανάτου καὶ δεσμοῦ καὶ μεταστάσεως τῶν πολιτῶν· βασιλέα δὲ τῶν τοιούτων δικῶν μὴ ἐξεῖναι δικαστὴν γίγνεσθαι, [357a] καθάπερ ἱερέα φόνου καθαρεύοντα καὶ δεσμοῦ καὶ φυγῆς. Ταῦθ’ ὑμῖν ἐγὼ καὶ ζῶν διενοήθην γίγνεσθαι καὶ νῦν διανοοῦμαι, καὶ τότε κρατήσας τῶν ἐχθρῶν μεθ’ ὑμῶν, εἰ μὴ ξενικαὶ ἐρινύες ἐκώλυσαν, κατέστησα ᾗπερ καὶ διενοούμην, καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα Σικελίαν ἂν τὴν ἄλλην, εἴπερ ἔργα ἐπὶ νῷ ἐγίγνετο, κατῴκισα, τοὺς μὲν βαρβάρους ἣν νῦν ἔχουσιν ἀφελόμενος, ὅσοι μὴ ὑπὲρ τῆς κοινῆς ἐλευθερίας [357b] διεπολέμησαν πρὸς τὴν τυραννίδα, τοὺς δ’ ἔμπροσθεν οἰκητὰς τῶν Ἑλληνικῶν τόπων εἰς τὰς ἀρχαίας καὶ πατρῴας οἰκήσεις κατοικίσας· ταὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτα καὶ νῦν πᾶσιν συμβουλεύω κοινῇ διανοηθῆναι καὶ πράττειν τε καὶ παρακαλεῖν ἐπὶ ταύτας τὰς πράξεις πάντας, τὸν μὴ ‘θέλοντα δὲ πολέμιον ἡγεῖσθαι κοινῇ. Ἔστιν δὲ ταῦτα οὐκ ἀδύνατα· ἃ γὰρ ἐν δυοῖν τε ὄντα ψυχαῖν τυγχάνει καὶ λογισαμένοις εὑρεῖν βέλτιστα ἑτοίμως ἔχει, ταῦτα δὲ σχεδὸν ὁ κρίνων ἀδύνατα [357c] οὐκ εὖ φρονεῖ. Λέγω δὲ τὰς δύο τήν τε Ἱππαρίνου τοῦ Διονυσίου ὑέος καὶ τὴν τοῦ ἐμοῦ ὑέος· τούτοιν γὰρ συνομολογησάντοιν τοῖς γε ἄλλοις Συρακουσίοις οἶμαι πᾶσιν ὅσοιπερ τῆς πόλεως κήδονται συνδοκεῖν. Ἀλλὰ θεοῖς τε πᾶσιν τιμὰς μετ’ εὐχῶν δόντες, τοῖς τε ἄλλοις ὅσοις μετὰ θεῶν πρέπει, πείθοντες καὶ προκαλούμενοι φίλους καὶ διαφόρους μαλακῶς τε καὶ πάντως μὴ ἀποστῆτε, πρὶν ἂν τὰ [357d] νῦν ὑφ’ ἡμῶν λεχθέντα, οἷον ὀνείρατα θεῖα ἐπιστάντα ἐγρηγορόσιν, ἐναργῆ τε ἐξεργάσησθε τελεσθέντα καὶ εὐτυχῆ.”

IX

Πλάτων Ἀρχύτᾳ Ταραντίνῳ εὖ πράττειν.

Ἀφίκοντο πρὸς ἡμᾶς οἱ περὶ Ἄρχιππον καὶ Φιλωνίδην, [357e] τήν τε ἐπιστολὴν φέροντες ἣν σὺ αὐτοῖς ἔδωκας, καὶ ἀπαγγέλλοντες τὰ παρὰ σοῦ. Τὰ μὲν οὖν πρὸς τὴν πόλιν οὐ χαλεπῶς διεπράξαντο - καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲ παντελῶς ἦν ἐργώδη - τὰ δὲ παρὰ σοῦ διῆλθον ἡμῖν, λέγοντες ὑποδυσφορεῖν σε ὅτι οὐ δύνασαι τῆς περὶ τὰ κοινὰ ἀσχολίας ἀπολυθῆναι. Ὅτι μὲν οὖν ἥδιστόν ἐστιν ἐν τῷ βίῳ τὸ τὰ αὑτοῦ πράττειν, [358a] ἄλλως τε καὶ εἴ τις ἕλοιτο τοιαῦτα πράττειν οἷα καὶ σύ, σχεδὸν παντὶ δῆλον· ἀλλὰ κἀκεῖνο δεῖ σε ἐνθυμεῖσθαι, ὅτι ἕκαστος ἡμῶν οὐχ αὑτῷ μόνον γέγονεν, ἀλλὰ τῆς γενέσεως ἡμῶν τὸ μέν τι ἡ πατρὶς μερίζεται, τὸ δέ τι οἱ γεννήσαντες, τὸ δὲ οἱ λοιποὶ φίλοι, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ τοῖς καιροῖς δίδοται τοῖς τὸν βίον ἡμῶν καταλαμβάνουσι. Καλούσης δὲ τῆς πατρίδος αὐτῆς πρὸς τὰ κοινά, ἄτοπον ἴσως τὸ μὴ ὑπακούειν· [358b] ἅμα γὰρ συμβαίνει καὶ χώραν καταλιμπάνειν φαύλοις ἀνθρώποις, οἳ οὐκ ἀπὸ τοῦ βελτίστου πρὸς τὰ κοινὰ προσέρχονται. Περὶ τούτων μὲν οὖν ἱκανῶς, Ἐχεκράτους δὲ καὶ νῦν ἐπιμέλειαν ἔχομεν καὶ εἰς τὸν λοιπὸν χρόνον ἕξομεν καὶ διὰ σὲ καὶ διὰ τὸν πατέρα αὐτοῦ Φρυνίωνα καὶ δι’ αὐτὸν τὸν νεανίσκον.

X

Πλάτων Ἀριστοδώρῳ εὖ πράττειν.

Ἀκούω Δίωνος ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα ἑταῖρον εἶναί τέ σε νῦν καὶ γεγονέναι διὰ παντός, τὸ σοφώτατον ἦθος τῶν εἰς φιλοσοφίαν παρεχόμενον· τὸ γὰρ βέβαιον καὶ πιστὸν καὶ ὑγιές, τοῦτο ἐγώ φημι εἶναι τὴν ἀληθινὴν φιλοσοφίαν, τὰς δὲ ἄλλας τε καὶ εἰς ἄλλα τεινούσας σοφίας τε καὶ δεινότητας κομψότητας οἶμαι προσαγορεύων ὀρθῶς ὀνομάζειν. Ἀλλ’ ἔρρωσό τε καὶ μένε ἐν τοῖς ἤθεσιν οἷσπερ καὶ νῦν μένεις.

XI

Πλάτων Λαοδάμαντι εὖ πράττειν.

Ἐπέστειλα μέν σοι καὶ πρότερον ὅτι πολὺ διαφέρει πρὸς ἅπαντα ἃ λέγεις αὐτὸν ἀφικέσθαι σε Ἀθήναζε· ἐπειδὴ δὲ σὺ φῂς ἀδύνατον εἶναι, μετὰ τοῦτο ἦν δεύτερον, εἰ δυνατὸν ἐμὲ ἀφικέσθαι ἢ Σωκράτη, ὥσπερ ἐπέστειλας. Νῦν δὲ [358e] Σωκράτης μέν ἐστιν περὶ ἀσθένειαν τὴν τῆς στραγγουρίας, ἐμὲ δὲ ἀφικόμενον ἐνταῦθα ἄσχημον ἂν εἴη μὴ διαπράξασθαι ἐφ’ ἅπερ σὺ παρακαλεῖς. Ἐγὼ δὲ ταῦτα γενέσθαι ἂν οὐ πολλὴν ἐλπίδα ἔχω - δι’ ἃ δέ, μακρᾶς ἑτέρας δέοιτ’ ἂν ἐπιστολῆς ἥτις πάντα διεξίοι - καὶ ἅμα οὐδὲ τῷ σώματι διὰ τὴν ἡλικίαν ἱκανῶς ἔχω πλανᾶσθαι καὶ κινδυνεύειν κατά τε γῆν καὶ κατὰ θάλατταν οἷα ἀπαντᾷ, καὶ νῦν πάντα κινδύνων ἐν ταῖς πορείαις ἐστὶ μεστά. Συμβουλεῦσαι μέντοι [359a] ἔχω σοί τε καὶ τοῖς οἰκισταῖς, ὃ εἰπόντος μὲν ἐμοῦ, φησὶν Ἡσίοδος, δόξαι ἂν εἶναι φαῦλον, χαλεπὸν δὲ νοῆσαι. Εἰ γὰρ οἷόν τε ὑπὸ νόμων θέσεως καὶ ὧντινων εὖ ποτε πολιτείαν κατασκευασθῆναι ἄνευ τοῦ εἶναί τι κύριον ἐπιμελούμενον ἐν τῇ πόλει τῆς καθ’ ἡμέραν διαίτης, ὅπως ἂν ᾖ σώφρων τε καὶ ἀνδρικὴ δούλων τε καὶ ἐλευθέρων, οὐκ ὀρθῶς διανοοῦνται. Τοῦτο δ’ αὖ, εἰ μέν εἰσιν ἤδη ἄνδρες ἄξιοι [359b] τῆς ἀρχῆς ταύτης, γένοιτ’ ἄν· εἰ δ’ ἐπὶ τὸ παιδεῦσαι δεῖ τινος, οὔτε ὁ παιδεύσων οὔτε οἱ παιδευθησόμενοι, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, εἰσὶν ὑμῖν, ἀλλὰ τὸ λοιπὸν τοῖς θεοῖς εὔχεσθε. Καὶ γὰρ σχεδόν τι καὶ αἱ ἔμπροσθεν πόλεις οὕτω κατεσκευάσθησαν, καὶ ἔπειτα εὖ ᾤκησαν, ὑπὸ συμβάσεων πραγμάτων μεγάλων καὶ κατὰ πόλεμον καὶ κατὰ τὰς ἄλλας πράξεις γενομένων, ὅταν ἐν τοιούτοις καιροῖς ἀνὴρ καλός τε καὶ ἀγαθὸς ἐγγένηται μεγάλην δύναμιν ἔχων· τὸ δ’ ἔμπροσθεν [359c] αὐτὰ προθυμεῖσθαι μὲν χρὴ καὶ ἀνάγκη, διανοεῖσθαι μέντοι αὐτὰ οἷα λέγω, καὶ μὴ ἀνοηταίνειν οἰομένους τι ἑτοίμως διαπράξασθαι. Εὐτύχει.

XII

Πλάτων Ἀρχύτᾳ Ταραντίνῳ εὖ πράττειν.

Τὰ μὲν παρὰ σοῦ ἐλθόνθ’ ὑπομνήματα θαυμαστῶς ὡς [359d] ἅσμενοί τε ἐλάβομεν καὶ τοῦ γράψαντος αὐτὰ ἠγάσθημεν ὡς ἔνι μάλιστα, καὶ ἔδοξεν ἡμῖν εἶναι ὁ ἀνὴρ ἄξιος ἐκείνων τῶν πάλαι προγόνων· λέγονται γὰρ δὴ οἱ ἄνδρες οὗτοι Μύριοι εἶναι - οὗτοι δ’ ἦσαν τῶν ἐπὶ Λαομέδοντος ἐξαναστάντων Τρώων - ἄνδρες ἀγαθοί, ὡς ὁ παραδεδομένος μῦθος δηλοῖ. Τὰ δὲ παρ’ ἐμοὶ ὑπομνήματα, περὶ ὧν ἐπέστειλας, ἱκανῶς μὲν οὔπω ἔχει, ὡς δέ ποτε τυγχάνει ἔχοντα, ἀπέσταλκά [359e] σοι· περὶ δὲ τῆς φυλακῆς ἀμφότεροι συμφωνοῦμεν, ὥστ’ οὐδὲν δεῖ παρακελεύεσθαι.

XIII

Πλάτων Διονυσίῳ τυράννῳ Συρακουσῶν εὖ πράττειν.

Ἀρχή σοι τῆς ἐπιστολῆς ἔστω καὶ ἅμα σύμβολον ὅτι παρ’ ἐμοῦ ἐστιν· τοὺς Λοκρούς ποθ’ ἑστιῶν νεανίσκους, πόρρω κατακείμενος ἀπ’ ἐμοῦ, ἀνέστης παρ’ ἐμὲ καὶ φιλοφρονούμενος εἶπες εὖ τι ῥῆμα ἔχον, ὡς ἔμοιγε ἐδόκεις καὶ [360b] τῷ παρακατακειμένῳ - ἦν δ’ οὗτος τῶν καλῶν τις - ὃς τότε εἶπεν· “ἦ που πολλά, ὦ Διονύσιε, εἰς σοφίαν ὠφελῇ ὑπὸ Πλάτωνος·” σὺ δ’ εἶπες· “καὶ εἰς ἄλλα πολλά, ἐπεὶ καὶ ἀπ’ αὐτῆς τῆς μεταπέμψεως, ὅτι μετεπεμψάμην αὐτόν, δι’ αὐτὸ τοῦτο εὐθὺς ὠφελήθην.”

Τοῦτ’ οὖν διασωστέον, ὅπως ἂν αὐξάνηται ἀεὶ ἡμῶν ἡ ἀπ’ ἀλλήλων ὠφελία. Καὶ ἐγὼ νῦν τοῦτ’ αὐτὸ παρασκευάζων, τῶν τε Πυθαγορείων πέμπω σοι καὶ τῶν διαιρέσεων, καὶ ἄνδρα, ὥσπερ ἐδόκει ἡμῖν τότε, [360c] ᾧ γε σὺ καὶ Ἀρχύτης, εἴπερ ἥκει παρά σε Ἀρχύτης, χρῆσθαι δύναισθ’ ἄν. Ἔστι δὲ ὄνομα μὲν Ἑλίκων, τὸ δὲ γένος ἐκ Κυζίκου, μαθητὴς δὲ Εὐδόξου καὶ περὶ πάντα τὰ ἐκείνου πάνυ χαριέντως ἔχων· ἔτι δὲ καὶ τῶν Ἰσοκράτους μαθητῶν τῳ συγγέγονεν καὶ Πολυξένῳ τῶν Βρύσωνός τινι ἑταίρων. Ὃ δὲ σπάνιον ἐπὶ τούτοις, οὔτε ἄχαρίς ἐστιν ἐντυχεῖν οὔτε κακοήθει ἔοικεν, ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον ἐλαφρὸς καὶ εὐήθης [360d] δόξειεν ἂν εἶναι. Δεδιὼς δὲ λέγω ταῦτα, ὅτι ὑπὲρ ἀνθρώπου δόξαν ἀποφαίνομαι, οὐ φαύλου ζῴου ἀλλ’ εὐμεταβόλου, πλὴν πάνυ ὀλίγων τινῶν καὶ εἰς ὀλίγα· ἐπεὶ καὶ περὶ τούτου φοβούμενος καὶ ἀπιστῶν ἐσκόπουν αὐτός τε ἐντυγχάνων καὶ ἐπυνθανόμην τῶν πολιτῶν αὐτοῦ, καὶ οὐδεὶς οὐδὲν φλαῦρον ἔλεγεν τὸν ἄνδρα. Σκόπει δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς καὶ εὐλαβοῦ. Μάλιστα μὲν οὖν, ἂν καὶ ὁπωστιοῦν σχολάζῃς, [360e] μάνθανε παρ’ αὐτοῦ καὶ τἆλλα φιλοσόφει· εἰ δὲ μή, ἐκδίδαξαί τινα, ἵνα κατὰ σχολὴν μανθάνων βελτίων γίγνῃ καὶ εὐδοξῇς, ὅπως τὸ δι’ ἐμὲ ὠφελεῖσθαί σοι μὴ ἀνιῇ. Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν δὴ ταύτῃ.

[361a] Περὶ δὲ ὧν ἐπέστελλές μοι ἀποπέμπειν σοι, τὸν μὲν Ἀπόλλω ἐποιησάμην τε καὶ ἄγει σοι Λεπτίνης, νέου καὶ ἀγαθοῦ δημιουργοῦ· ὄνομα δ’ ἔστιν αὐτῷ Λεωχάρης. Ἕτερον δὲ παρ’ αὐτῷ ἔργον ἦν πάνυ κομψόν, ὡς ἐδόκει· ἐπριάμην οὖν αὐτὸ βουλόμενός σου τῇ γυναικὶ δοῦναι, ὅτι μου ἐπεμελεῖτο καὶ ὑγιαίνοντος καὶ ἀσθενοῦντος ἀξίως ἐμοῦ τε καὶ σοῦ. Δὸς οὖν αὐτῇ, ἂν μή τι σοὶ ἄλλο δόξῃ. Πέμπω δὲ καὶ οἴνου γλυκέος δώδεκα σταμνία τοῖς παισὶ καὶ μέλιτος δύο. [361b] Ἰσχάδων δὲ ὕστερον ἤλθομεν τῆς ἀποθέσεως, τὰ δὲ μύρτα ἀποτεθέντα κατεσάπη· ἀλλ’ αὖθις βέλτιον ἐπιμελησόμεθα. Περὶ δὲ φυτῶν Λεπτίνης σοι ἐρεῖ.

Ἀργύριον δ’ εἰς ταῦτα ἕνεκά τε τούτων καὶ εἰσφορῶν τινων εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἔλαβον παρὰ Λεπτίνου, λέγων ἅ μοι ἐδόκει εὐσχημονέστατα ἡμῖν εἶναι καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγειν, ὅτι ἡμέτερον εἴη ὃ εἰς τὴν ναῦν ἀναλώσαμεν τὴν Λευκαδίαν, σχεδὸν ἑκκαίδεκα μναῖ· τοῦτ’ οὖν ἔλαβον, καὶ λαβὼν αὐτός [361c] τε ἐχρησάμην καὶ ὑμῖν ταῦτα ἀπέπεμψα. Τὸ δὴ μετὰ τοῦτο περὶ χρημάτων ἄκουε ὥς σοι ἔχει, περί τε τὰ σὰ τὰ Ἀθήνησιν καὶ περὶ τὰ ἐμά. Ἐγὼ τοῖς σοῖς χρήμασιν, ὥσπερ τότε σοι ἔλεγον, χρήσομαι καθάπερ τοῖς τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδείων, χρῶμαι δὲ ὡς ἂν δύνωμαι ὀλιγίστοις, ὅσα ἀναγκαῖα ἢ δίκαια ἢ εὐσχήμονα ἐμοί τε δοκεῖ καὶ παρ’ οὗ ἂν λαμβάνω. Ἐμοὶ δὴ τοιοῦτον νῦν συμβέβηκεν. Εἰσί μοι ἀδελφιδῶν [361d] θυγατέρες τῶν ἀποθανουσῶν τότε ὅτ’ ἐγὼ οὐκ ἐστεφανούμην, σὺ δ’ ἐκέλευες, τέτταρες, ἡ μὲν νῦν ἐπίγαμος, ἡ δὲ ὀκταέτις, ἡ δὲ σμικρὸν πρὸς τρισὶν ἔτεσιν, ἡ δὲ οὔπω ἐνιαυσία. Ταύτας ἐκδοτέον ἐμοί ἐστιν καὶ τοῖς ἐμοῖς ἐπιτηδείοις, αἷς ἂν ἐγὼ ἐπιβιῶ· αἷς δ’ ἂν μή, χαιρόντων. Καὶ ὧν ἂν γένωνται οἱ πατέρες αὐτῶν ἐμοῦ πλουσιώτεροι, οὐκ ἐκδοτέον· τὰ δὲ νῦν αὐτῶν ἐγὼ εὐπορώτατος, καὶ τὰς μητέρας δὲ αὐτῶν ἐγὼ [361e] ἐξέδωκα καὶ μετ’ ἄλλων καὶ μετὰ Δίωνος. Ἡ μὲν οὖν Σπευσίππῳ γαμεῖται, ἀδελφῆς οὖσα αὐτῷ θυγάτηρ. Δεῖ δὴ ταύτῃ οὐδὲν πλέον ἢ τριάκοντα μνῶν· μέτριαι γὰρ αὗται ἡμῖν προῖκες. Ἔτι δὲ ἐὰν ἡ μήτηρ τελευτήσῃ ἡ ἐμή, οὐδὲν αὖ πλείονος ἢ δέκα μνῶν δέοι ἂν εἰς τὴν οἰκοδομίαν τοῦ τάφου. Καὶ περὶ ταῦτα τὰ μὲν ἐμὰ ἀναγκαῖα σχεδόν τι ἐν τῷ νῦν ταῦτά ἐστιν· ἐὰν δέ τι ἄλλο γίγνηται ἴδιον ἢ δημόσιον ἀνάλωμα διὰ τὴν παρὰ σὲ ἄφιξιν, ὥσπερ τότε ἔλεγον δεῖ ποιεῖν, ἐμὲ μὲν διαμάχεσθαι ὅπως ὡς ὀλίγιστον γένηται τὸ [362a] ἀνάλωμα, ὃ δ’ ἂν μὴ δύνωμαι, σὴν εἶναι τὴν δαπάνην.

Τὸ δὴ μετὰ ταῦτα λέγω περὶ τῶν σῶν αὖ χρημάτων τῶν Ἀθήνησιν τῆς ἀναλώσεως, ὅτι πρῶτον μὲν ἐάν τι δέῃ ἐμὲ ἀναλίσκειν εἰς χορηγίαν ἤ τι τοιοῦτον, οὐκ ἔστι σοι ξένος οὐδεὶς ὅστις δώσει, ὡς ᾠόμεθα, ἔπει καὶ ἄν τι σοὶ αὐτῷ διαφέρῃ μέγα, ὥστε ἀναλωθὲν μὲν ἤδη ὀνῆσαι, μὴ ἀναλωθὲν δὲ ἀλλ’ ἐγχρονισθὲν ἕως ἄν τις παρὰ σοῦ ἔλθῃ, βλάψαι, πρὸς τῷ χαλεπῷ τὸ τοιοῦτόν σοί ἐστιν καὶ αἰσχρόν. Ἐγὼ [362b] γὰρ δὴ ταῦτά γε ἐξήτασα, παρ’ Ἀνδρομήδη τὸν Αἰγινήτην πέμψας Ἔραστον, παρ’ οὗ ἐκέλευες τοῦ ὑμετέρου ξένου, εἴ τι δεοίμην, λαμβάνειν, βουλόμενος καὶ ἄλλα μείζονα ἃ ἐπέστελλες πέμπειν. Ὁ δὲ εἶπεν εἰκότα καὶ ἀνθρώπινα, ὅτι καὶ πρότερον ἀναλώσας τῷ πατρί σου μόλις κομίσαιτο, καὶ νῦν σμικρὰ μὲν δοίη ἄν, πλείω δὲ οὔ. Οὕτω δὴ παρὰ Λεπτίνου ἔλαβον· καὶ τοῦτό γε ἄξιον ἐπαινέσαι Λεπτίνην, οὐχ ὅτι ἔδωκεν, ἀλλ’ ὅτι προθύμως, καὶ τὰ ἄλλα περὶ σὲ [362c] καὶ λέγων καὶ πράττων, ὅτι οἷός τ’ ἦν ἐπιτήδειος, φανερὸς ἦν. Χρὴ γὰρ δὴ καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα καὶ τἀναντία τούτων ἐμὲ ἀπαγγέλλειν, ὁποῖός τις ἂν ἕκαστος ἐμοὶ φαίνηται περὶ σέ. Τὸ δ’ οὖν περὶ τῶν χρημάτων ἐγώ σοι παρρησιάσομαι· δίκαιον γάρ, καὶ ἅμα ἐμπείρως ἔχων τῶν παρὰ σοὶ λέγοιμ’ ἄν. Οἱ προσαγγέλλοντες ἑκάστοτέ σοι, ὅτι ἂν οἴωνται ἀνάλωμα εἰσαγγέλλειν, οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν προσαγγέλλειν, ὡς δὴ ἀπεχθησόμενοι· [362d] ἔθιζε οὖν αὐτοὺς καὶ ἀνάγκαζε φράζειν καὶ ταῦτα καὶ τὰ ἄλλα· σὲ γὰρ δεῖ εἰδέναι τε τὰ πάντα κατὰ δύναμιν καὶ κριτὴν εἶναι καὶ μὴ φεύγειν τὸ εἰδέναι. Πάντων γὰρ ἄριστόν σοι ἔσται πρὸς τὴν ἀρχήν· τὰ γὰρ ἀναλώματα ὀρθῶς ἀναλισκόμενα καὶ ὀρθῶς ἀποδιδόμενα πρός τε τἆλλα καὶ πρὸς αὐτὴν τὴν τῶν χρημάτων κτῆσιν καὶ σὺ δὴ φῂς ἀγαθὸν εἶναι καὶ φήσεις. Μὴ οὖν σε διαβαλλόντων πρὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους οἱ κήδεσθαί σου φάσκοντες· τοῦτο γὰρ οὔτε ἀγαθὸν οὔτε καλὸν πρὸς δόξαν σοι, δοκεῖν δυσσύμβολον [362e] εἶναι.

Τὰ μετὰ ταῦτα περὶ Δίωνος λέγοιμ’ ἄν. Τὰ μὲν ἄλλ’ οὔπω ἔχω λέγειν, πρὶν ἂν παρὰ σοῦ ἔλθωσιν αἱ ἐπιστολαί, ὥσπερ ἔφης· περὶ μέντοι ἐκείνων ὧν οὐκ εἴας μεμνῆσθαι πρὸς αὐτόν, οὔτε ἐμνήσθην οὔτε διελέχθην, ἐξεπειρώμην δὲ εἴτε χαλεπῶς εἴτε ῥᾳδίως οἴσει γιγνομένων, καί μοι ἐδόκει οὐκ ἠρέμα ἂν ἄχθεσθαι εἰ γίγνοιτο. Τὰ δὲ ἄλλα περὶ σὲ καὶ λόγῳ καὶ ἔργῳ μέτριός μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι δίων.

[363a] Κρατίνῳ τῷ Τιμοθέου μὲν ἀδελφῷ, ἐμῷ δ’ ἑταίρῳ, θώρακα δωρησώμεθα ὁπλιτικὸν τῶν μαλακῶν τῶν πεζῶν, καὶ ταῖς κέβητος θυγατράσι χιτώνια τρία ἑπταπήχη, μὴ τῶν πολυτελῶν τῶν Ἀμοργίνων, ἀλλὰ τῶν Σικελικῶν τῶν λινῶν. Ἐπιεικῶς δὲ γιγνώσκεις τοὔνομα κέβητος· γεγραμμένος γάρ ἐστιν ἐν τοῖς Σωκρατείοις λόγοις μετὰ Σιμμίου Σωκράτει διαλεγόμενος ἐν τῷ περὶ ψυχῆς λόγῳ, ἀνὴρ πᾶσιν ἡμῖν οἰκεῖός τε καὶ εὔνους.

[363b] Περὶ δὲ δὴ τοῦ συμβόλου τοῦ περὶ τὰς ἐπιστολάς, ὅσας τε ἂν ἐπιστέλλω σπουδῇ καὶ ὅσας ἂν μή, οἶμαι μέν σε μεμνῆσθαι, ὅμως δ’ ἐννόει καὶ πάνυ πρόσεχε τὸν νοῦν· πολλοὶ γὰρ οἱ κελεύοντες γράφειν, οὓς οὐ ῥᾴδιον φανερῶς διωθεῖσθαι. Τῆς μὲν γὰρ σπουδαίας ἐπιστολῆς θεὸς ἄρχει, θεοὶ δὲ τῆς ἧττον.

Οἱ πρέσβεις καὶ ἐδέοντο ἐπιστέλλειν σοι, καὶ εἰκός· πάνυ γὰρ προθύμως σὲ πανταχοῦ καὶ ἐμὲ ἐγκωμιάζουσιν, καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα Φίλαγρος, ὃς τότε τὴν χεῖρα ἠσθένει. Καὶ [363c] Φιλαίδης παρὰ βασιλέως ἥκων τοῦ μεγάλου ἔλεγεν περὶ σοῦ· εἰ δὲ μὴ πάνυ μακρᾶς ἐπιστολῆς ἦν, ἔγραψα ἂν ἃ ἔλεγεν, νῦν δὲ Λεπτίνου πυνθάνου.

Ἂν τὸν θώρακα ἢ ἄλλο τι ὧν ἐπιστέλλω πέμπῃς, ἂν μὲν αὐτός τῳ βούλῃ, εἰ δὲ μή, Τηρίλλῳ δός· ἔστι δὲ τῶν ἀεὶ πλεόντων, ἡμέτερος ἐπιτήδειος καὶ τὰ ἄλλα καὶ περὶ φιλοσοφίαν χαρίεις. Τείσωνος δ’ ἔστιν κηδεστής, ὃς τότε ὅθ’ ἡμεῖς ἀπεπλέομεν ἐπολιανόμει.

Ἔρρωσο καὶ φιλοσόφει καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους προτρέπου τοὺς [363d] νεωτέρους, καὶ τοὺς συσφαιριστὰς ἀσπάζου ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ, καὶ πρόσταττε τοῖς τε ἄλλοις καὶ Ἀριστοκρίτῳ, ἐάν τις παρ’ ἐμοῦ λόγος ἢ ἐπιστολὴ ἴῃ παρὰ σέ, ἐπιμελεῖσθαι ὅπως ὡς τάχιστα σὺ αἴσθῃ, καὶ ὑπομιμνῄσκειν σε ἵνα ἐπιμελῇ τῶν ἐπισταλέντων. Καὶ νῦν Λεπτίνῃ τῆς ἀποδόσεως τοῦ ἀργυρίου μὴ ἀμελήσῃς, ἀλλ’ ὡς τάχιστα ἀπόδος, ἵνα καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι πρὸς τοῦτον ὁρῶντες προθυμότεροι ὦσιν ἡμῖν ὑπηρετεῖν.

[363e] Ἰατροκλῆς, ὁ μετὰ Μυρωνίδου τότε ἐλεύθερος ἀφεθεὶς ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ, πλεῖ νῦν μετὰ τῶν πεμπομένων παρ’ ἐμοῦ· ἔμμισθον οὖν που αὐτὸν κατάστησον ὡς ὄντα σοι εὔνουν, καὶ ἄν τι βούλῃ, αὐτῷ χρῷ. Kαὶ τὴν ἐπιστολὴν ἢ αὐτὴν ἢ ὑπόμνημα αὐτῆς σῷζέ τε, καὶ ὁ αὐτὸς ἴσθι.

The Criticism

PLATO AND PLATONISM by Walter Horatio Pater

CONTENTS

The Translations

EUTHYPHRO

APOLOGY

CRITO

HIPPIAS MAJOR

HIPPIAS MINOR

FIRST ALCIBIADES

CHARMIDES

LACHES

LYSIS

ION

PHAEDO

CRATYLUS

EUTHYDEMUS

PROTAGORAS

GORGIAS

MENO

MENEXENUS

SYMPOSIUM

THE REPUBLIC

PHAEDRUS

PARMENIDES

THEAETETUS

CLITOPHON

TIMAEUS

CRITIAS

SOPHIST

STATESMAN

PHILEBUS

LAWS

The Spurious Works

SECOND ALCIBIADES

HIPPARCHUS

THE RIVAL LOVERS

THEAGES

MINOS

EPINOMIS

SISYPHUS

AXIOCHUS

DEMODOCUS

ERYXIAS

HALCYON

ON JUSTICE

ON VIRTUE

EPIGRAMS

The Epistles

LIST OF EPISTLES

The Greek Texts

PRONOUNCING ANCIENT GREEK

LIST OF GREEK TEXTS

The Criticism

PLATO AND PLATONISM BY WALTER HORATIO PATER

CHAPTER 1: PLATO AND THE DOCTRINE OF MOTION

CHAPTER 2: PLATO AND THE DOCTRINE OF REST

CHAPTER 3: PLATO AND THE DOCTRINE OF NUMBER

CHAPTER 4: PLATO AND SOCRATES

CHAPTER 5: PLATO AND THE SOPHISTS

CHAPTER 6: THE GENIUS OF PLATO

CHAPTER 7: THE DOCTRINE OF PLATO

CHAPTER 7: THE DOCTRINE OF PLATO

CHAPTER 8: LACEDAEMON

CHAPTER 9: THE REPUBLIC

CHAPTER 10: PLATO’S AESTHETICS

INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY AND WRITINGS OF PLATO BY THOMAS TAYLOR

EXTRACT FROM ‘REPRESENTATIVE MEN’ BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

PLATO: LITTLE JOURNEYS TO THE HOMES OF GREAT TEACHERS BY ELBERT HUBBARD

The Biographies

PLATO: LIVES OF THE EMINENT PHILOSOPHERS BY DIOGENES LAËRTIUS

THE LIFE OF PLATO BY HESYCHIUS OF MILETUS

THE LIFE OF PLATO BY OLYMPIODORUS

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

CHAPTER 1: PLATO AND THE DOCTRINE OF MOTION

WITH the world of intellectual production, as with that of organic generation, nature makes no sudden starts. Natura nihil facit per saltum; and in the history of philosophy there are no absolute beginnings. Fix where we may the origin of this or that doctrine or idea, the doctrine of “reminiscence,” for instance, or of “the perpetual flux,” the theory of “induction,” or the philosophic view of things generally, the specialist will still be able to find us some earlier anticipation of that doctrine, that mental tendency. The most elementary act of mental analysis takes time to do; the most rudimentary sort of speculative knowledge, abstractions so simple that we can hardly conceive the human mind without them, must grow, and with difficulty. Philosophy itself, mental and moral, has its preparation, its forethoughts, in the poetry that preceded it. A powerful generalisation thrown into some salient phrase, such as  that of Heraclitus— “Panta rhei,”+ all things fleet away — may startle a particular age by its novelty, but takes possession only because all along its root was somewhere among the natural though but half- developed instincts of the human mind itself.

Plato has seemed to many to have been scarcely less than the creator of philosophy; and it is an immense advance he makes, from the crude or turbid beginnings of scientific enquiry with the Ionians or the Eleatics, to that wide range of perfectly finished philosophical literature. His encyclopaedic view of the whole domain of knowledge is more than a mere step in a progress. Nothing that went before it, for compass and power and charm, had been really comparable to it. Plato’s achievement may well seem an absolutely fresh thing in the morning of the mind’s history. Yet in truth the world Plato had entered into was already almost weary of philosophical debate, bewildered by the oppositions of sects, the claims of rival schools. Language and the processes of thought were already become sophisticated, the very air he breathed sickly with off-cast speculative atoms.

In the Timaeus, dealing with the origin of the universe he figures less as the author of a new theory, than as already an eclectic critic of older ones, himself somewhat perplexed by theory and counter-theory. And as we find there a  sort of storehouse of all physical theories, so in reading the Parmenides we might think that all metaphysical questions whatever had already passed through the mind of Plato. Some of the results of patient earlier thinkers, even then dead and gone, are of the structure of his philosophy. They are everywhere in it, not as the stray carved corner of some older edifice, to be found here or there amid the new, but rather like minute relics of earlier organic life in the very stone he builds with. The central and most intimate principles of his teaching challenge us to go back beyond them, not merely to his own immediate, somewhat enigmatic master — to Socrates, who survives chiefly in his pages — but to various precedent schools of speculative thought, in Greece, in Ionia, in Italy; beyond these into that age of poetry, in which the first efforts of philosophic apprehension had hardly understood themselves; beyond that unconscious philosophy, again, to certain constitutional tendencies, persuasions, forecasts of the intellect itself, such as had given birth, it would seem, to thoughts akin to Plato’s in the older civilisations of India and of Egypt, as they still exercise their authority over ourselves.

The thoughts of Plato, like the language he has to use (we find it so again, in turn, with those predecessors of his, when we pass from him to them) are covered with the traces of previous labour and have had their earlier  proprietors. If at times we become aware in reading him of certain anticipations of modern knowledge, we are also quite obviously among the relics of an older, a poetic or half-visionary world. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that in Plato, in spite of his wonderful savour of literary freshness, there is nothing absolutely new: or rather, as in many other very original products of human genius, the seemingly new is old also, a palimpsest, a tapestry of which the actual threads have served before, or like the animal frame itself, every particle of which has already lived and died many times over. Nothing but the life-giving principle of cohesion is new; the new perspective, the resultant complexion, the expressiveness which familiar thoughts attain by novel juxtaposition. In other words, the form is new. But then, in the creation of philosophical literature, as in all other products of art, form, in the full signification of that word, is everything, and the mere matter is nothing.

There are three different ways in which the criticism of philosophic, of all speculative opinion whatever, may be conducted. The doctrines of Plato’s Republic, for instance, may be regarded as so much truth or falsehood, to be accepted or rejected as such by the student of to-day. That is the dogmatic method of criticism; judging every product of human thought, however alien  or distant from one’s self, by its congruity with the assumptions of Bacon or Spinoza, of Mill or Hegel, according to the mental preference of the particular critic. There is, secondly, the more generous, eclectic or syncretic method, which aims at a selection from contending schools of the various grains of truth dispersed among them. It is the method which has prevailed in periods of large reading but with little inceptive force of their own, like that of the Alexandrian Neo-Platonism in the third century, or the Neo- Platonism of Florence in the fifteenth. Its natural defect is in the tendency to misrepresent the true character of the doctrine it professes to explain, that it may harmonise thus the better with the other elements of a pre-conceived system.

Dogmatic and eclectic criticism alike have in our own century, under the influence of Hegel and his predominant theory of the ever-changing “Time-spirit” or Zeit-geist, given way to a third method of criticism, the historic method, which bids us replace the doctrine, or the system, we are busy with, or such an ancient monument of philosophic thought as The Republic, as far as possible in the group of conditions, intellectual, social, material, amid which it was actually produced, if we would really understand it. That ages have their genius as well as the individual; that in every age there is a peculiar ensemble of conditions which determines  a common character in every product of that age, in business and art, in fashion and speculation, in religion and manners, in men’s very faces; that nothing man has projected from himself is really intelligible except at its own date, and from its proper point of view in the never-resting “secular process”; the solidarity of philosophy, of the intellectual life, with common or general history; that what it behoves the student of philosophic systems to cultivate is the “historic sense”: by force of these convictions many a normal, or at first sight abnormal, phase of speculation has found a reasonable meaning for us. As the strangely twisted pine-tree, which would be a freak of nature on an English lawn, is seen, if we replace it, in thought, amid the contending forces of the Alpine torrent that actually shaped its growth, to have been the creature of necessity, of the logic of certain facts; so, beliefs the most fantastic, the “communism” of Plato, for instance, have their natural propriety when duly correlated with those facts, those conditions round about them, of which they are in truth a part.

In the intellectual as in the organic world the given product, its normal or abnormal characteristics, are determined, as people say, by the “environment.” The business of the young scholar therefore, in reading Plato, is not to take his side in a controversy, to adopt or refute Plato’s opinions, to modify, or make apology for,  what may seem erratic or impossible in him; still less, to furnish himself with arguments on behalf of some theory or conviction of his own. His duty is rather to follow intelligently, but with strict indifference, the mental process there, as he might witness a game of skill; better still, as in reading Hamlet or The Divine Comedy, so in reading The Republic, to watch, for its dramatic interest, the spectacle of a powerful, of a sovereign intellect, translating itself, amid a complex group of conditions which can never in the nature of things occur again, at once pliant and resistant to them, into a great literary monument. To put Plato into his natural place, as a result from antecedent and contemporary movements of Greek speculation, of Greek life generally: such is the proper aim of the historic, that is to say, of the really critical study of him.

At the threshold, then, of The Republic of Plato, the historic spirit impresses upon us the fact that some of its leading thoughts are partly derivative from earlier thinkers, of whom we happen to possess independent information. From that brilliant and busy, yet so unconcerned press of early Greek life, one here another there stands aside to make the initial act of conscious philosophic reflexion. It is done with something of the simplicity, the immediate and visible effectiveness, of the visible world in action all around. Among Plato’s many intellectual  predecessors, on whom in recent years much attention has been bestowed by a host of commentators after the mind of Hegel, three, whose ideas, whose words even, we really find in the very texture of Plato’s work, emerge distinctly in close connexion with The Republic: Pythagoras, the dim, half-legendary founder of the philosophy of number and music; Parmenides, “My father Parmenides,” the centre of the school of Elea; Heraclitus, thirdly, author of the doctrine of “the Perpetual Flux”: three teachers, it must be admitted after all, of whom what knowledge we have is to the utmost degree fragmentary and vague. But then, one way of giving that knowledge greater definiteness is by noting their direct and actual influence in Plato’s writings.

Heraclitus, a writer of philosophy in prose, yet of a philosophy which was half poetic figure, half generalised fact, in style crabbed and obscure, but stimulant, invasive, not to be forgotten — he too might be thought, as a writer of prose, one of the “fathers” of Plato. His influence, however, on Plato, though himself a Heraclitean in early life, was by way of antagonism or reaction; Plato’s stand against any philosophy of motion becoming, as we say, something of a “fixed idea” with him. Heraclitus of Ephesus (what Ephesus must have been just then is denoted by the fact that it was one of the twelve cities of the Ionian League) died about forty years before  Plato was born. Here then at Ephesus, the much frequented centre of the religious life of Ionia, itself so lately emancipated from its tyrants, Heraclitus, of ancient hereditary rank, an aristocrat by birth and temper, amid all the bustle of still undiscredited Greek democracy, had reflected, not to his peace of mind, on the mutable character of political as well as of physical existence; perhaps, early as it was, on the mutability of intellectual systems also, that modes of thought and practice had already been in and out of fashion. Empires certainly had lived and died around; and in Ephesus as elsewhere, the privileged class had gone to the wall. In this era of unrestrained youthfulness, of Greek youthfulness, one of the haughtiest of that class, as being also of nature’s aristocracy, and a man of powerful intellectual gifts, Heraclitus, asserts the native liberty of thought at all events; becomes, we might truly say, sickly with “the pale cast” of his philosophical questioning. Amid the irreflective actors in that rapidly moving show, so entirely immersed in it superficial as it is that they have no feeling of themselves, he becomes self-conscious. He reflects; and his reflexion has the characteristic melancholy of youth when it is forced suddenly to bethink itself, and for a moment feels already old, feels the temperature of the world about it sensibly colder. Its very ingenuousness, its sincerity, will make the utterance of what comes  to mind just then somewhat shrill or overemphatic.

Yet Heraclitus, thus superbly turning aside from the vulgar to think, so early in the impetuous spring-tide of Greek history, does but reflect after all the aspect of what actually surrounds him, when he cries out — his philosophy was no matter of formal treatise or system, but of harsh, protesting cries — Panta chôrei kai ouden menei.+ All things give way: nothing remaineth. There had been enquirers before him of another sort, purely physical enquirers, whose bold, contradictory, seemingly impious guesses how and of what primary elements the world of visible things, the sun, the stars, the brutes, their own souls and bodies, had been composed, were themselves a part of the bold enterprise of that romantic age; a series of intellectual adventures, of a piece with its adventures in unknown lands or upon the sea. The resultant intellectual chaos expressed the very spirit of gifted and sanguine but insubordinate youth (remember, that the word neotês,+ youth, came to mean rashness, insolence!) questioning, deciding, rejecting, on mere rags and tatters of evidence, unbent to discipline, unmethodical, irresponsible. Those opinions too, coming and going, those conjectures as to what under-lay the sensible world, were themselves but fluid elements on the changing surface of existence.

Surface, we say; but was there really anything beneath it? That was what to the majority of his hearers, his readers, Heraclitus, with an eye perhaps on practice, seemed to deny. Perpetual motion, alike in things and in men’s thoughts about them, — the sad, self-conscious, philosophy of Heraclitus, like one, knowing beyond his years, in this barely adolescent world which he is so eager to instruct, makes no pretence to be able to restrain that. Was not the very essence of thought itself also such perpetual motion? a baffling transition from the dead past, alive one moment since, to a present, itself deceased in turn ere we can say, It is here? A keen analyst of the facts of nature and mind, a master presumably of all the knowledge that then there was, a vigorous definer of thoughts, he does but refer the superficial movement of all persons and things around him to deeper and still more masterful currents of universal change, stealthily withdrawing the apparently solid earth itself from beneath one’s feet. The principle of disintegration, the incoherency of fire or flood (for Heraclitus these are but very lively instances of movements, subtler yet more wasteful still) are inherent in the primary elements alike of matter and of the soul. Legei pou Hêrakleitos, says Socrates in the Cratylus, hoti panta chôrei kai ouden menei.+ But the principle of lapse, of waste, was, in fact, in one’s self. “No one has ever passed  twice over the same stream.” Nay, the passenger himself is without identity. Upon the same stream at the same moment we do, and do not, embark: for we are, and are not: eimen te kai ouk eimen.+ And this rapid change, if it did not make all knowledge impossible, made it wholly relative, of a kind, that is to say, valueless in the judgment of Plato. Man, the individual, at this particular vanishing-point of time and place, becomes “the measure of all things.”

To know after what manner (says Socrates, after discussing the question in what proportion names, fleeting names, contribute to our knowledge of things) to know after what manner we must be taught, or discover for ourselves, the things that really are (ta onta)+ is perhaps beyond the measure of your powers and mine. We must even content ourselves with the admission of this, that not from their names, but much rather themselves from themselves, they must be learned and looked for. . . . For consider, Cratylus, a point I oft-times dream on — whether or no we may affirm that what is beautiful and good in itself, and whatever is, respectively, in itself, is something?

Cratylus. To me at least, Socrates, it seems to be something.

Socrates. Let us consider, then, that ‘in-itself’; not whether a face, or anything of that kind, is beautiful, and whether all these things seem to flow like water. But, what is beautiful in itself — may we say? — has not this the qualities that define it, always?

Cratylus. It must be so.

Socrates. Can we then, if it is ever passing out below, predicate about it; first, that it is that; next, that it has this or that quality; or must it not be that, even as we speak, it should straightway become some other thing, and go out under on its way, and be no longer as it is? Now, how could that which is never in the same state be a thing at all? . . .

Socrates. Nor, in truth, could it be an object of knowledge to any one; for, even as he who shall know comes upon it, it would become another thing with other qualities; so that it would be no longer matter of knowledge what sort of a thing it is, or in what condition. Now, no form of knowing, methinks, has knowledge of that which it knows to be no-how.

Cratylus. It is as you say.

Socrates. But if, Cratylus, all things change sides, and nothing stays, it is not fitting to say that there is any knowing at all. . . . And the consequence of this argument would be, that there is neither any one to know, nor anything to be known. If, on the other hand, there be always that which knows, and that which is known; and if the Beautiful is, and the Good is, and each one of those things that really are, is, then, to my thinking, those things in no way resemble that moving stream of which we are now speaking. Whether, then, these matters be thus, or in that other way as the followers of Heraclitus affirm and many besides, I fear may be no easy thing to search out. But certainly it is not like a sensible man, committing one’s self, and one’s own soul, to the rule of names, to serve them, and, with faith in names and those who imposed them, as if one knew something thereby, to maintain (damaging thus the character of that which is, and our own) that there is no sound ring in any one of them, but that all, like earthen pots, let water. Cratylus, 439.+

Yet from certain fragments in which the Logos is already named we may understand that there had been another side to the doctrine of Heraclitus; an attempt on his part, after all, to reduce that world of chaotic mutation to cosmos, to the unity of a reasonable order, by the search for and the notation, if there be such, of an antiphonal rhythm, or logic, which, proceeding uniformly from movement to movement, as in some intricate musical theme, might link together in one those contending, infinitely diverse  impulses. It was an act of recognition, even on the part of a philosophy of the inconsecutive, the incoherent, the insane, of that Wisdom which, “reacheth from end to end, sweetly and strongly ordering all things.” But if the “weeping philosopher,” the first of the pessimists, finds the ground of his melancholy in the sense of universal change, still more must he weep at the dulness of men’s ears to that continuous strain of melody throughout it. In truth, what was sympathetic with the hour and the scene in the Heraclitean doctrine, was the boldly aggressive, the paradoxical and negative tendency there, in natural collusion, as it was, with the destructiveness of undisciplined youth; that sense of rapid dissolution, which, according to one’s temperament and one’s luck in things, might extinguish, or kindle all the more eagerly, an interest in the mere phenomena of existence, of one’s so hasty passage through the world.

The theory of the perpetual flux was indeed an apprehension of which the full scope was only to be realised by a later age, in alliance with a larger knowledge of the natural world, a closer observation of the phenomena of mind, than was possible, even for Heraclitus, at that early day. So, the seeds of almost all scientific ideas might seem to have been dimly enfolded in the mind of antiquity; but fecundated, admitted to their full working prerogative, one by one, in after ages, by good favour of the special  intellectual conditions belonging to a particular generation, which, on a sudden, finds itself preoccupied by a formula, not so much new, as renovated by new application.

It is in this way that the most modern metaphysical, and the most modern empirical philosophies alike have illustrated emphatically, justified, expanded, the divination (so we may make bold to call it under the new light now thrown upon it) of the ancient theorist of Ephesus. The entire modern theory of “development,” in all its various phases, proved or unprovable, — what is it but old Heracliteanism awake once more in a new world, and grown to full proportions?

Panta chôrei, panta rhei+ — It is the burden of Hegel on the one hand, to whom nature, and art, and polity, and philosophy, aye, and religion too, each in its long historic series, are but so many conscious movements in the secular process of the eternal mind; and on the other hand of Darwin and Darwinism, for which “type” itself properly is not but is only always becoming. The bold paradox of Heraclitus is, in effect, repeated on all sides, as the vital persuasion just now of a cautiously reasoned experience, and, in illustration of the very law of change which it asserts, may itself presently be superseded as a commonplace. Think of all that subtly disguised movement, latens processus, Bacon calls it (again as if by a kind of anticipation) which  modern research has detected, measured, hopes to reduce to minuter or ally to still larger currents, in what had seemed most substantial to the naked eye, the inattentive mind. To the “observation and experiment” of the physical enquirer of to-day, the eye and the sun it lives by reveal themselves, after all, as Heraclitus had declared (scarcely serious, he seemed to those around him) as literally in constant extinction and renewal; the sun only going out more gradually than the human eye; the system meanwhile, of which it is the centre, in ceaseless movement nowhither. Our terrestrial planet is in constant increase by meteoric dust, moving to it through endless time out of infinite space. The Alps drift down the rivers into the plains, as still loftier mountains found their level there ages ago. The granite kernel of the earth, it is said, is ever changing in its very substance, its molecular constitution, by the passage through it of electric currents. And the Darwinian theory — that “species,” the identifying forms of animal and vegetable life, immutable though they seem now, as of old in the Garden of Eden, are fashioned by slow development, while perhaps millions of years go by: well! every month is adding to its evidence. Nay, the idea of development (that, too, a thing of growth, developed in the progress of reflexion) is at last invading one by one, as the secret of their explanation, all the products of mind, the very  mind itself, the abstract reason; our certainty, for instance, that two and two make four. Gradually we have come to think, or to feel, that primary certitude. Political constitutions, again, as we now see so clearly, are “not made,” cannot be made, but “grow.” Races, laws, arts, have their origins and end, are themselves ripples only on the great river of organic life; and language is changing on our very lips.

In Plato’s day, the Heraclitean flux, so deep down in nature itself — the flood, the fire — seemed to have laid hold on man, on the social and moral world, dissolving or disintegrating opinion, first principles, faith, establishing amorphism, so to call it, there also. All along indeed the genius, the good gifts of Greece to the world had had much to do with the mobility of its temperament. Only, when Plato came into potent contact with his countrymen (Pericles, Phidias, Socrates being now gone) in politics, in literature and art, in men’s characters, the defect naturally incident to that fine quality had come to have unchecked sway. From the lifeless background of an unprogressive world — Egypt, Syria, frozen Scythia — a world in which the unconscious social aggregate had been everything, the conscious individual, his capacity and rights, almost nothing, the Greek had stepped forth, like the young prince in the fable, to set things going. To the philosophic eye however,  about the time when the history of Thucydides leaves off, they might seem to need a regulator, ere the very wheels wore themselves out.

Mobility! We do not think that a necessarily undesirable condition of life, of mind, of the physical world about us. ’Tis the dead things, we may remind ourselves, that after all are most entirely at rest, and might reasonably hold that motion (vicious, fallacious, infectious motion, as Plato inclines to think) covers all that is best worth being. And as for philosophy — mobility, versatility, the habit of thought that can most adequately follow the subtle movement of things, that, surely, were the secret of wisdom, of the true knowledge of them. It means susceptibility, sympathetic intelligence, capacity, in short. It was the spirit of God that moved, moves still, in every form of real power, everywhere. Yet to Plato motion becomes the token of unreality in things, of falsity in our thoughts about them. It is just this principle of mobility, in itself so welcome to all of us, that, with all his contriving care for the future, he desires to withstand. Everywhere he displays himself as an advocate of the immutable. The Republic is a proposal to establish it indefectibly in a very precisely regulated, a very exclusive community, which shall be a refuge for elect souls from an ill-made world.

That four powerful influences made for the political unity of Greece was pointed out by  Grote: common blood, common language, a common religious centre, the great games in which all alike communicated. He adds that they failed to make the Greeks one people. Panhellenism was realised for the first time, and then but imperfectly, by Alexander the Great. The centrifugal tendency had ever been too much for the centripetal tendency in them, the progressive elements for the element of order. Their boundless impatience, that passion for novelty noted in them by Saint Paul, had been a matter of radical character. Their varied natural gifts did but concentrate themselves now and then to an effective centre, that they might be dissipated again, towards every side, in daring adventure alike of action and of thought. Variety and novelty of experience, further quickened by a consciousness trained to an equally nimble power of movement, individualism, the capacities, the claim, of the individual, forced into their utmost play by a ready sense and dexterous appliance of opportunity, — herein, certainly, lay at least one half of their vocation in history. The material conformation of Greece, a land of islands and peninsulas, with a range of sea-coast immense as compared with its area, and broken up by repellent lines of mountain this way and that, nursing jealously a little township of three or four thousand souls into an independent type of its own, conspired to the same effect. Independence, local and personal, — it was the Greek ideal!

Yet of one side only of that ideal, as we may see, of the still half-Asiatic rather than the full Hellenic ideal, of the Ionian ideal as conceived by the Athenian people in particular, people of the coast who have the roaming thoughts of sailors, ever ready to float away anywhither amid their walls of wood. And for many of its admirers certainly the whole Greek people has been a people of the sea-coast. In Lacedaemon, however, as Plato and others thought, hostile, inaccessible in its mountain hollow where it had no need of any walls at all, there were resources for that discipline and order which constitute the other ingredient in a true Hellenism, the saving Dorian soul in it. Right away thither, to that solemn old mountain village, now mistress of Greece, he looks often, in depicting the Perfect City, the ideal state. Perfection, in every case, as we may conceive, is attainable only through a certain combination of opposites, Attic aleipha with the Doric oxos;+ and in the Athens of Plato’s day, as he saw with acute prevision, those centrifugal forces had come to be ruinously in excess of the centripetal. Its rapid, empiric, constitutional changes, its restless development of political experiment, the subdivisions of party there, the dominance of faction, as we see it, steadily increasing, breeding on itself, in the pages of Thucydides, justify Plato’s long-drawn paradox that it is easier to wrestle against many than against one. The soul,  moreover, the inward polity of the individual, was the theatre of a similar dissolution; and truly stability of character had never been a prominent feature in Greek life. Think of the end of Pausanias failing in his patriotism, of Themistocles, of Miltiades, the saviours of Greece, actually selling the country they had so dearly bought to its old enemies.

It is something in this way that, for Plato, motion and the philosophy of motion identify themselves with the vicious tendency in things and thought. Change is the irresistible law of our being, says the Philosophy of Motion. Change, he protests, through the power of a true philosophy, shall not be the law of our being; and it is curious to note the way in which, consciously or unconsciously, that philosophic purpose shapes his treatment, even in minute detail, of education, of art, of daily life, his very vocabulary, in which such pleasant or innocent words, as “manifold,” “embroidered,” “changeful,” become the synonyms of what is evil. He, first, notes something like a fixed cycle of political change; but conceives it (being change) as, from the very first, backward towards decadence. The ideal city, again, will not be an art-less place: it is by irresistible influence of art, that he means to shape men anew; by a severely monotonous art however, such art as shall speak to youth, all day long, from year to year, almost exclusively, of the loins girded about.

Stimulus, or correction, — one hardly knows which to ask for first, as more salutary for our own slumbersome, yet so self-willed, northern temperaments. Perhaps all genuine fire, even the Heraclitean fire, has a power for both. “Athens,” says Dante,

— Athens, aye and Sparta’s state
That were in policy so great,
And framed the laws of old,
How small a place they hold,
How poor their art of noble living
Shews by thy delicate contriving,
Where what October spun
November sees outrun!
Think in the time thou canst recall,
Laws, coinage, customs, places all,
How thou hast rearranged,
How oft thy members changed!
Couldst thou but see thyself aright,
And turn thy vision to the light,
Thy likeness thou would’st find
In some sick man reclined;
On couch of down though he be pressed,
He seeks and finds not any rest,
But turns and turns again,
To ease him of his pain.
Purgatory: Canto VI: Shadwell’s Translation.

Now what Dante says to Florence, contrasting it with Athens and Sparta as he conceives them, Plato might have said to Athens, in contrast with Sparta, with Lacedaemon, at least as he conceived it.

CHAPTER 2: PLATO AND THE DOCTRINE OF REST

OVER against that world of flux,

Where nothing is, but all things seem,

it is the vocation of Plato to set up a standard of unchangeable reality, which in its highest theoretic development becomes the world of “eternal and immutable ideas,” indefectible outlines of thought, yet also the veritable things of experience: the perfect Justice, for instance, which if even the gods mistake it for perfect Injustice is not moved out of its place; the Beauty which is the same, yesterday, to-day and for ever. In such ideas or ideals, “eternal” as participating in the essential character of the facts they represent to us, we come in contact, as he supposes, with the insoluble, immovable granite beneath and amid the wasting torrent of mere phenomena. And in thus ruling the deliberate aim of his philosophy to be a survey of things sub specie eternitatis, the reception of a kind of absolute and independent knowledge  (independent, that is, of time and position, the accidents and peculiar point of view of the receiver) Plato is consciously under the influence of another great master of the Pre- Socratic thought, Parmenides, the centre of the School of Elea.

About half a century before the birth of Plato, Socrates being then in all the impressibility of early manhood, Parmenides, according to the witness of Plato himself — Parmenides at the age of sixty-five — had visited Athens at the great festival of the Panathenaea, in company with Zeno the Eleatic, a characteristic specimen of Greek cleverness, of the acute understanding, personally very attractive. Though forty years old, the reputation this Zeno now enjoyed seems to have been very much the achievement of his youth, and came of a mastery of the sort of paradox youth always delights in. It may be said that no one has ever really answered him; the difficulties with which he played so nicely being really connected with those “antinomies,” or contradictions, or inconsistencies, of our thoughts, which more than two thousand years afterwards Kant noted as actually inherent in the mind itself — a certain constitutional weakness or limitation there, in dealing by way of cold-blooded reflexion with the direct presentations of its experience. The “Eleatic Palamedes,” Plato calls him, “whose dialectic art causes one and the same thing to appear both like and  unlike, one and many, at rest and in motion.” Ah! you hear already the sort of words that seem sometimes so barren and unprofitable even in Plato.

It is from extant fragments of a work of his, not a poem, but, appropriately, To Syngramma,+ The Prose, of Zeno, that such knowledge as we have of his doctrine, independently of the Parmenides of Plato, is derived. The active principle of that doctrine then lies in the acuteness with which he unfolds the contradictions which make against the very conceivability of the fundamental phenomena of sense, in so far as those phenomena are supposed to be really existent independently of ourselves. The truth of experience, of a sensible experience, he seems to protest: — Why! sensible experience as such is logically inconceivable. He proved it, or thought, or professed to think, he proved it, in the phenomenon which covers all the most vivid, the seemingly irresistible facts, of such experience. Motion was indeed, as the Heracliteans said, everywhere: was the most incisive of all facts in the realm of supposed sensible fact. Think of the prow of the trireme cleaving the water. For a moment Zeno himself might have seemed but a follower of Heraclitus. He goes beyond him. All is motion: he admits. — Yes: only, motion is (I can show it!) a nonsensical term. Follow it, or rather stay by it, and it transforms itself, agreeably enough for the  curious observer, into rest. Motion must be motion in space, of course; from point to point in it, — and again, more closely, from point to point within such interval; and so on, infinitely; ’tis rest there: perpetual motion is perpetual rest: — the hurricane, the falling tower, the deadly arrow from the bow at whose coming you shake there so wretchedly, Zeno’s own rapid word-fence — all alike at rest, to the restful eye of the pure reason! The tortoise, the creature that moves most slowly, cannot be overtaken by Achilles, the swiftest of us all; or at least you can give no rational explanation how it comes to be overtaken. Zeno had an armoury of such enigmas. Can a bushel of corn falling make a noise if a single grain makes none? Again, that motion should cease, we find inconceivable: but can you conceive how it should so much as begin? at what point precisely, in the moving body? Ubiquitous, tyrannous, irresistible, as it may seem, motion, with the whole so dazzling world it covers, is — nothing!

Himself so striking an instance of mobile humour in his exposure of the unreality of all movement, Zeno might be taken so far only for a master, or a slave, of paradox; such paradox indeed as is from the very first inherent in every philosophy which (like that of Plato himself, accepting even Zeno as one of its institutors) opposes the seen to the unseen as  falsehood to truth. It was the beginning of scholasticism; and the philosophic mind will perhaps never be quite in health, quite sane or natural, again. The objective, unconscious, pleasantly sensuous mind of the Greek, becoming a man, as he thinks, and putting away childish thoughts, is come with Zeno one step towards Aristotle, towards Aquinas, or shall we say into the rude scholasticism of the pedantic Middle Age? And we must have our regrets. There is always something lost in growing up.

The wholesome scepticism of Hume or Mill for instance, the scepticism of the modern world, beset now with insane speculative figments, has been an appeal from the preconceptions of the understanding to the authority of the senses. With the Greeks, whose metaphysic business was then still all to do, the sceptical action of the mind lay rather in the direction of an appeal from the affirmations of sense to the authority of newly-awakened reason. Just then all those real and verbal difficulties which haunt perversely the human mind always, all those unprofitable queries which hang about the notions of matter and time and space, their divisibility and the like, seemed to be stirring together, under the utterance of this brilliant, phenomenally clever, perhaps insolent, young man, his master’s favourite. To the work of that grave master, nevertheless — of Parmenides — a very different person certainly from his rattling disciple, Zeno’s  seemingly so fantastic doctrine was sincerely in service. By its destructive criticism, its dissipation of the very conceivability of the central and most incisive of sensible phenomena, it was a real support to Parmenides in his assertion of the nullity of all that is but phenomenal, leaving open and unoccupied space (emptiness, we might say) to that which really is. That which is, so purely, or absolutely, that it is nothing at all to our mixed powers of apprehension: — Parmenides and the Eleatic School were much occupied with the determination of the thoughts, or of the mere phrases and words, that belong to that.

Motion discredited, motion gone, all was gone that belonged to an outward and concrete experience, thus securing exclusive validity to the sort of knowledge, if knowledge it is to be called, which corresponds to the “Pure Being,” that after all is only definable as “Pure Nothing,” that colourless, formless, impalpable existence (ousia achrômatos, aschêmatistos, anaphês)+ to use the words of Plato, for whom Parmenides became a sort of inspired voice. Note at times, in reading him, in the closing pages of the fifth book of The Republic for instance, the strange accumulation of terms derivative from the abstract verb “To be.” As some more modern metaphysicians have done, even Plato seems to pack such terms together almost by rote. Certainly something of paradox may always be felt even in his  exposition of “Being,” or perhaps a kind of paralysis of speech — aphasia.+

Parmenides himself had borrowed the thought from another, though he made it his own. Plato, in The Republic, as a critic of Homer, by way of fitting Homer the better for the use of the schoolboys of the ideal city, is ready to sacrifice much of that graceful polytheism in which the Greeks anticipated the dulia of saints and angels in the catholic church. He does this to the advantage of a very abstract, and as it may seem disinterested, certainly an uninteresting, notion of deity, which is in truth: — well! one of the dry sticks of mere “natural theology,” as it is called. In this he was but following the first, the original, founder of the Eleatic School, Xenophanes, who in a somewhat scornful spirit had urged on men’s attention that, in their prayers and sacrifices to the gods, in all their various thoughts and statements, graceful or hideous, about them, they had only all along with much fallacy been making gods after their own likeness, as horse or dog too, if perchance it cast a glance towards heaven, would after the same manner project thither the likeness of horse or dog: that to think of deity you must think of it as neither here nor there, then nor now; you must away with all limitations of time and space and matter, nay, with the very conditions, the limitation, of thought itself; apparently not  observing that to think of it in this way was in reality not to think of it at all: — That in short Being so pure as this is pure Nothing.

In opposition then to the anthropomorphic religious poetry of Homer, Xenophanes elaborates the notion, or rather the abstract or purely verbal definition, of that which really is (to on)+ as inconclusive of all time, and space, and mode; yet so that all which can be identified concretely with mode and space and time is but antithetic to it, as finite to infinite, seeming to being, contingent to necessary, the temporal, in a word, to the eternal. Once for all, in harshest dualism, the only true yet so barren existence is opposed to the world of phenomena — of colour and form and sound and imagination and love, of empirical knowledge. Objects, real objects, as we know, grow in reality towards us in proportion as we define their various qualities. And yet, from another point of view, definition, qualification, is a negative process: it is as if each added quality took from the object we are defining one or more potential qualities. The more definite things become as objects of sensible or other empirical apprehension, the more, it might be said from the logician’s point of view, have we denied about them. It might seem that their increasing reality as objects of sense was in direct proportion to the increase of their distance from that perfect Being which is everywhere and at all times in every possible mode of being. A  thing visibly white is found as one approaches it to be also smooth to the touch; and this added quality, says the formal logician, does but deprive it of all other possible modes of texture; Omnis determinatio est negatio.+ Vain puerilities! you may exclaim: — with justice. Yet such are the considerations which await the mind that suffers itself to dwell awhile on the abstract formula to which the “rational theology” of Xenophanes leads him. It involved the assertion of an absolute difference between the original and all that is or can be derived from it; that the former annuls, or is exclusive of, the latter, which has in truth no real or legitimate standing-ground as matter of knowledge; that, in opposite yet equally unanswerable senses, at both ends of experience there is — nothing! Of the most concrete object, as of the most abstract, it might be said, that it more properly is not than is.

From Xenophanes, as a critic of the polytheism of the Greek religious poets, that most abstract and arid of formulae, Pure Being, closed in indifferently on every side upon itself, and suspended in the midst of nothing, like a hard transparent crystal ball, as he says; “The Absolute”; “The One”; passed to his fellow-citizen Parmenides, seeking, doubtless in the true spirit of philosophy, for the centre of the universe, of his own experience of it, for some common measure of the experience of all men. To enforce a reasonable unity and order, to impress some larger likeness of reason,  as one knows it in one’s self, upon the chaotic infinitude of the impressions that reach us from every side, is what all philosophy as such proposes. Kosmos;+ order; reasonable, delightful, order; is a word that became very dear, as we know, to the Greek soul, to what was perhaps most essentially Greek in it, to the Dorian element there. Apollo, the Dorian god, was but its visible consecration. It was what, under his blessing, art superinduced upon the rough stone, the yielding clay, the jarring metallic strings, the common speech of every day. Philosophy, in its turn, with enlarging purpose, would project a similar light of intelligence upon the at first sight somewhat unmeaning world we find actually around us: — project it; or rather discover it, as being really pre-existent there, if one were happy enough to get one’s self into the right point of view. To certain fortunate minds the efficacious moment of insight would come, when, with delightful adaptation of means to ends, of the parts to the whole, the entire scene about one, bewildering, unsympathetic, unreasonable, on a superficial view, would put on, for them at least, kosmiotês,+ that so welcome expression of fitness, which it is the business of the fine arts to convey into material things, of the art of discipline to enforce upon the lives of men. The primitive Ionian philosophers had found, or thought they found, such a principle (archê)+ in the force of some omnipresent physical element,  air, water, fire; or in some common law, motion, attraction, repulsion; as Plato would find it in an eternally appointed hierarchy of genus and species; as the science of our day embraces it (perhaps after all only in fancy) in the expansion of a large body of observed facts into some all-comprehensive hypothesis, such as “evolution.”

For Parmenides, at his early day, himself, as some remnants of his work in that direction bear witness, an acute and curious observer of the concrete and sensible phenomena of nature, that principle of reasonable unity seemed attainable only by a virtual negation, by the obliteration, of all such phenomena. When we have learned as exactly as we can all the curious processes at work in our own bodies or souls, in the stars, in or under the earth, their very definiteness, their limitation, will but make them the more antagonistic to that which alone really is, because it is always and everywhere itself, identical exclusively with itself. Phenomena! — by the force of such arguments as Zeno’s, the instructed would make a clean sweep of them, for the establishment, in the resultant void, of the “One,” with which it is impossible (para panta legomena)+ in spite of common language, and of what seems common sense, for the “Many” — the hills and cities of Greece, you and me, Parmenides himself, really to co-exist at all. “Parmenides,” says one, “had stumbled upon  the modern thesis that thought and being are the same.”

Something like this — this impossibly abstract doctrine — is what Plato’s “father in philosophy” had had to proclaim, in the midst of the busy, brilliant, already complicated life of the recently founded colonial town of Elea. It was like the revelation to Israel in the midst of picturesque idolatries, “The Lord thy God is one Lord”;+ only that here it made no claim to touch the affections, or even to warm the imagination. Israel’s Greek cousin was to undergo a harder, a more distant and repressive discipline in those matters, to which a peculiarly austere moral beauty, at once self-reliant and submissive, the aesthetic expression of which has a peculiar, an irresistible charm, would in due time correspond.

It was in difficult hexameter verse, in a poem which from himself or from others had received the title — Peri physeôs+ (De Naturâ Rerum) that Parmenides set forth his ideas. From the writings of Clement of Alexandria, and other later writers large in quotation, diligent modern scholarship has collected fragments of it, which afford sufficient independent evidence of his manner of thought, and supplement conveniently Plato’s, of course highly subjective, presentment in his Parmenides of what had so deeply influenced him.— “Now come!” (this fragment of Parmenides is in Proclus, who happened to quote it in commenting on the Timaeus of Plato) “Come! do you listen, and take home what I shall tell you: what are the two paths of search after right understanding. The one,

hê men hopôs estin te kai hôs ouk esti mê einai?+

“that what is, is; and that what is not, is not”; or, in the Latin of scholasticism, here inaugurated by Parmenides, esse ens: non esse non ens —

peithous esti keleuthos; alêtheiê gar opêdei?+

“this is the path to persuasion, for truth goes along with it. The other — that what is, is not; and by consequence that what is not, is: — I tell you that is the way which goes counter to persuasion:

tên dê toi phrazô panapeithea emmen atarpon? oute gar an gnoiês to ge mê eon ou gar ephikton?+

That which is not, never could you know: there is no way of getting at that; nor could you explain it to another; for Thought and Being are identical.” — Famous utterance, yet of so dubious omen! — To gar auto voein estin te kai einai + — -idem est enim cogitare et esse. “It is one to me,” he proceeds, “at what point I begin; for thither I shall come back over again: tothi gar palin hixomai authis.”+

Yes, truly! again and again, in an empty circle, we may say; and certainly, with those  dry and difficult words in our ears, may think for a moment that philosophic reflexion has already done that delightfully superficial Greek world an ill turn, troubling so early its ingenuous soul; that the European mind, as was said, will never be quite sane again. It has been put on a quest (vain quest it may prove to be) after a kind of knowledge perhaps not properly attainable. Hereafter, in every age, some will be found to start afresh quixotically, through what wastes of words! in search of that true Substance, the One, the Absolute, which to the majority of acute people is after all but zero, and a mere algebraic symbol for nothingness. In themselves, by the way, such search may bring out fine intellectual qualities; and thus, in turn, be of service to those who can profit by the spectacle of an enthusiasm not meant for them; must nevertheless be admitted to have had all along something of disease about it; as indeed to Plato himself the philosophic instinct as such is a form of “mania.”

An infectious mania, it might seem, — that strange passion for nonentity, to which the Greek was so oddly liable, to which the human mind generally might be thought to have been constitutionally predisposed; for the doctrine of “The One” had come to the surface before in old Indian dreams of self-annihilation, which had been revived, in the second century after Christ, in the ecstasies (ecstasies of the pure  spirit, leaving the body behind it) recommended by the Neo-Platonists; and again, in the Middle Age, as a finer shade of Christian experience, in the mystic doctrines of Eckhart and Tauler concerning that union with God which can only be attained by the literal negation of self, by a kind of moral suicide; of which something also may be found, under the cowl of the monk, in the clear, cold, inaccessible, impossible heights of the book of the Imitation. It presents itself once more, now altogether beyond Christian influence, in the hard and ambitious intellectualism of Spinoza; a doctrine of pure repellent substance — substance “in vacuo,” to be lost in which, however, would be the proper consummation of the transitory individual life. Spinoza’s own absolutely colourless existence was a practical comment upon it. Descartes; Malebranche, under the monk’s cowl again; Leibnitz; Berkeley with his theory of the “Vision of all things in God”; do but present variations on the same theme through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. By one and all it is assumed, in the words of Plato, that to be colourless, formless, impalpable is the note of the superior grade of knowledge and existence, evanescing steadily, as one ascends towards that perfect (perhaps not quite attainable) condition of either, which in truth can only be attained by the suppression of all the rule and outline of one’s own actual experience and thought.

Something like that certainly there had been already in the doctrine of Parmenides, to whom Plato was so willing to go to school. And in the nineteenth century, as on the one hand the philosophy of motion, of the “perpetual flux,” receives its share of verification from that theory of development with which in various forms all modern science is prepossessed; so, on the other hand, the philosophy of rest also, of the perpetual lethargy, the Parmenidean assertion of the exclusive reign of “The One,” receives an unlooked-for testimony from the modern physical philosopher, hinting that the phenomena he deals with — matter, organism, consciousness — began in a state of indeterminate, abstract indifference, with a single uneasy start in a sort of eternal sleep, a ripple on the dead, level surface. Increasing indeed for a while in radius and depth, under the force of mechanic law, the world of motion and life is however destined, by force of its own friction, to be restored sooner or later to equilibrium; nay, is already gone back some noticeable degrees (how desirably!) to the primeval indifference, as may be understood by those who can reckon the time it will take for our worn-out planet, surviving all the fret of the humanity it housed for a while, to be drawn into the sun.

But it is of Plato after all we should be thinking; of the comparatively temperate thoughts, the axiomata media, he was able to derive, by a  sort of compromise, from the impossible paradox of his ancient master. What was it, among things inevitably manifest on his pages as we read him, that Plato borrowed and kept from the Eleatic School!

Two essential judgments of his philosophy: The opposition of what is, to what appears; and the parallel opposition of knowledge to opinion; (heteron epistêmês doxa; eph’ heterô ara heteron ti dynamenê hekatera autôn pephyke? ouk enchôrei gnôston kai doxaston tauton einai?)+ and thirdly, to illustrate that opposition, the figurative use, so impressed on thought and speech by Plato that it has come to seem hardly a figure of speech at all but appropriate philosophic language, of the opposition of light to darkness. —

Well, then (Socrates is made to say in the fifth book of The Republic) if what is, is the object of knowledge, would not something other than what is, be the object of opinion?

Yes! something else.

Does opinion then opine what is not; or is it impossible to have even opinion concerning what is not? Consider! does not he who has opinion direct his opinion upon something? or is it impossible, again, to have an opinion, yet an opinion about nothing?

Impossible!

But he who has an opinion has opinion at least about something; hasn’t he? Yet after all what is not, is not a thing; but would most properly be denominated nothing.

Certainly.

Now to what is not, we assigned of necessity ignorance: to what is, knowledge.

Rightly: he said.

Neither what is, then, nor what is not, is the object of opinion.

No!

Opinion therefore would be neither ignorance nor knowledge.

It seems not.

Is it, then, beyond these; going beyond knowledge in clearness, beyond ignorance in obscurity?

Neither the one, nor the other.

But, I asked, opinion seems to you (doesn’t it?) to be a darker thing than knowledge, yet lighter than ignorance.

Very much so; he answered.

Does it lie within those two?

Yes.

Opinion, then, would be midway, between these two conditions?

Undoubtedly so.

Now didn’t we say in what went before that if anything became apparent such that it is, and is not, at the same time, a thing of that kind would lie between that which is in unmixed clearness, and that which wholly is not; and that there would be, in regard to that, neither knowledge nor ignorance; but, again, a condition revealing itself between ignorance and knowledge?

Rightly.

And now, between these two, what we call ‘opinion’ has in fact revealed itself.

Clearly so.

It would remain for us therefore, as it seems, to find that which partakes of both — both of Being and Not-being, and which could rightly be called by neither term distinctly; in order that, if it appear, we may in justice determine it to be the object of opinion; assigning the extremes to the extremes, the intermediate to what comes between them.

Or is it not thus?

Thus it is.

These points then being assumed, let him tell me! let him speak and give his answer — that excellent person, who on the one hand thinks there is no Beauty itself, nor any idea of Beauty itself, ever in the same condition in regard to the same things (aei kata tauta hôsautôs echousan)+ yet, on the other hand, holds  that there are the many beautiful objects: — that lover of sight (ho philotheamôn)+ who can by no means bear it if any one says that the beautiful is one; the just also; and the rest, after the same way. For good Sir! we shall say, pray tell us, is there any one of these many beautiful things which will not appear ugly (under certain conditions) of the many just or pious actions which will not seem unjust or impious?

No! he answered. Rather it must be that they shall seem, in a
manner, both beautiful and ugly; and all the rest you ask of.

Well! The many double things: — Do they seem to be at all less
half than double?

Not at all.

And great, in truth, and little, and light, and heavy — will they at all more truly be called by these names which we may give them, than by the opposite names?

No! he said; but each of them will always hold of both.

Every several instance of ‘The Many,’ then — is it, more truly than it is not, that which one may affirm it to be?

It is like people at supper-parties he said (very Attic supper- parties!) playing on words, and the children’s riddle about the eunuch and his fling round the bat — with what, and on what, the riddle says he hit it; for these things also seem to set both ways, and it is not possible, fixedly, to conceive any one of them either to be, or not to be; neither both, nor the one, nor the other.

Have you anything then you can do with them; or anywhere you can place them with fairer effect than in that position between being and the being not? For presumably they will not appear more obscure than what is not, so as not to be, still more; nor more luminous than what is, so as to be, even more than that. We have found then that the many customary notions of the many, about Beauty and the rest are revolved somewhere between not-being and being unmixedly.

So we have.

And agreed, at least, at the outset, that if anything of this sort presented itself, it must be declared matter not of knowledge, but of opinion; to be apprehended by the intermediate faculty; as it wanders unfixed, there, between. Republic, 478.

Many a train of thought, many a turn of expression, only too familiar, some may think, to the reader of Plato, are summarised in that troublesome yet perhaps attractive passage. The influence then of Parmenides on Plato had made him, incurably (shall we say?) a dualist. Only, practically, Plato’s richly coloured genius will find a compromise between the One which alone really is, is yet so empty a thought for finite minds; and the Many, which most properly is not, yet presses so closely on eye and ear and heart and fancy and will, at every moment. That which really is (to on)+ the One, if he is really to think about it at all, must admit within it a certain variety of members; and, in effect, for Plato the true Being, the Absolute, the One, does become delightfully multiple, as the world of ideas — appreciable, through years of loving study, more and more clearly, one by one, as the perfectly concrete, mutually adjusted, permanent forms of our veritable experience: the Bravery, for instance, that cannot be confused, not merely with Cowardice, but with Wisdom, or Humility. One after another they emerge again from the dead level, the Parmenidean tabula rasa, with nothing less than the reality of persons face to face with us, of a personal identity. It was as if the firm plastic outlines of the delightful old Greek polytheism had found their way back after all into a repellent monotheism. Prefer as he may in theory that  blank white light of the One — its sterile, “formless, colourless, impalpable,” eternal identity with itself — the world, and this chiefly is why the world has not forgotten him, will be for him, as he is by no means colour-blind, by no means a colourless place. He will suffer it to come to him, as his pages convey it in turn to us, with the liveliest variety of hue, as in that conspicuously visual emblem of it, the outline of which (essentially characteristic of himself as it seems) he had really borrowed from the old Eleatic teacher who had tried so hard to close the bodily eye that he might the better apprehend the world unseen. —

And now (he writes in the seventh book of The Republic) take for a figure of human nature, as regards education and the lack thereof, some such condition as this. Think you see people as it were in some abode below-ground, like a cave, having its entrance spread out upwards towards the light, broad, across the whole cavern. Suppose them here from childhood; their legs and necks chained; so that there they stay, and can see only what is in front of them, being unable by reason of the chain to move their heads round about: and the light of a fire upon them, blazing from far above, behind their backs: between the fire and the prisoners away up aloft: and see beside it a low wall built along, as with the showmen, in front of the people lie the screens above which they exhibit their wonders.

I see: he said.

See, then, along this low wall, men, bearing vessels of all sorts wrought in stone and wood; and, naturally, some of the bearers talking, other silent.

It is a strange figure you describe: said he: and strange prisoners. —

They are like ourselves: I answered! Republic, 514.

Metaphysical formulae have always their practical equivalents. The ethical alliance of Heraclitus is with the Sophists, and the Cyrenaics or the Epicureans; that of Parmenides, with Socrates, and the Cynics or the Stoics. The Cynic or Stoic ideal of a static calm is as truly the moral or practical equivalent of the Parmenidean doctrine of the One, as the Cyrenaic monochronos hêdonê+ — the pleasure of the ideal now — is the practical equivalent of the doctrine of motion; and, as sometimes happens, what seems hopelessly perverse as a metaphysic for the understanding is found to be realisable enough as one of many phases of our so flexible human feeling. The abstract philosophy of the One might seem indeed to have been translated into the terms of a human will in the rigid, disinterested, renunciant career of the emperor Marcus Aurelius, its mortal coldness. Let me however conclude with a document of the Eleatic temper, nearer in its origin to the age of Plato: an ancient fragment of Cleanthes the Stoic, which has justly stirred the admiration of Stoical minds; though truly, so hard is it not to lapse from those austere heights, the One, the Absolute, has become in it after all, with much varied colour and detail in his relations to concrete things and persons, our father Zeus.

An illustrious athlete; then a mendicant dealer in water-melons; chief pontiff lastly of the sect of the Stoics; Cleanthes, as we see him in anecdote  at least, is always a loyal, sometimes a very quaintly loyal, follower of the Parmenidean or Stoic doctrine of detachment from all material things. It was at the most critical points perhaps of such detachment, that somewhere about the year three hundred before Christ, he put together the verses of his famous “Hymn.” By its practical indifference, its resignation, its passive submission to the One, the undivided Intelligence, which dia pantôn phoita+ — goes to and fro through all things, the Stoic pontiff is true to the Parmenidean schooling of his flock; yet departs from it also in a measure by a certain expansion of phrase, inevitable, it may be, if one has to speak at all about that chilly abstraction, still more make a hymn to it. He is far from the cold precept of Spinoza, that great re-assertor of the Parmenidean tradition: That whoso loves God truly must not expect to be loved by Him in return. In truth, there are echoes here from many various sources. Ek sou gar genos esmen+: — that is quoted, as you remember, by Saint Paul, so just after all to the pagan world, as its testimony to some deeper Gnôsis than its own. Certainly Cleanthes has conceived his abstract monotheism a little more winningly, somewhat better, than dry, pedantic Xenophanes; perhaps because Socrates and Plato have lived meanwhile. You might even fancy what he says an echo from Israel’s devout response to the announcement: “The Lord thy God is one Lord.” The Greek  certainly is come very near to his unknown cousin at Sion in what follows: —

kydist’, athanatôn, polyônyme, pankrates aiei Zeu, physeos archêge, nomou meta panta kybernôn, chaire· se gar pantessi themis thnêtoisi prosaudan, k.t.l.

Mullach, Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, I. p. 151.

Thou O Zeus art praised above all gods: many are Thy names and
Thine is all power for ever.

The beginning of the world was from Thee: and with law Thou
rulest over all things.

Unto Thee may all flesh speak: for we are Thy offspring.

Therefore will I raise a hymn unto Thee: and will ever sing of
Thy power.

The whole order of the heavens obeyeth Thy word: as it moveth
around the earth:

With little and great lights mixed together: how great art Thou,
King above all for ever!

Nor is anything done upon earth apart from Thee: nor in the
firmament, nor in the seas:

Save that which the wicked do: by their own folly.

But Thine is the skill to set even the crooked straight: what is
without fashion is fashioned and the alien akin before Thee.

Thus hast Thou fitted together all things in one: the good with
the evil:

That Thy word should be one in all things: abiding for ever.

Let folly be dispersed from our souls: that we may repay Thee
the honour, wherewith Thou hast honoured us:

Singing praise of Thy works for ever: as becometh the sons of
men.+

CHAPTER 3: PLATO AND THE DOCTRINE OF NUMBER

His devotion to the austere and abstract philosophy of Parmenides, its passivity or indifference, could not repress the opulent genius of Plato, or transform him into a cynic. Another ancient philosopher, Pythagoras, set the frozen waves in motion again, brought back to Plato’s recognition all that multiplicity in men’s experience to which Heraclitus had borne such emphatic witness; but as rhythm or melody now — in movement truly, but moving as disciplined sound and with the reasonable soul of music in it.

Pythagoras, or the founder of the Pythagorean philosophy, is the third of those earlier masters, who explain the intellectual confirmation of Plato by way of antecedent. What he said, or was believed to have said, is almost everywhere in the very texture of Platonic philosophy, as vera vox, an authority with prescript claim on sympathetic or at least reverent consideration, to be developed generously in the natural growth of Plato’s own thoughts.

Nothing remains of his writings: dark statements only, as occasion served, in later authors. Plato himself attributes those doctrines of his not to Pythagoras but to the Pythagoreans. But if no such name had come down to us we might have understood how, in the search for the philosophic unity of experience, a common measure of things, for a cosmical hypothesis, number and the truths of number would come to fill the place occupied by some omnipresent physical element, air, fire, water, in the philosophies of Ionia; by the abstract and exclusive idea of the unity of Being itself in the system of Parmenides. To realise unity in variety, to discover cosmos — an order that shall satisfy one’s reasonable soul — below and within apparent chaos: is from first to last the continuous purpose of what we call philosophy. Well! Pythagoras seems to have found that unity of principle (archê)+ in the dominion of number everywhere, the proportion, the harmony, the music, into which number as such expands. Truths of number: the essential laws of measure in time and space: — Yes, these are indeed everywhere in our experience: must, as Kant can explain to us, be an element in anything we are able so much as to conceive at all. And music, covering all it does, for Pythagoras, for Plato and Platonism — music, which though it is of course much besides, is certainly a formal development of purely numerical laws: that too surely is something,  independently of ourselves, in the real world without us, like a personal intelligible soul durably resident there for those who bring intelligence of it, of music, with them; to be known on the favourite Platonic principle of like by like (homoion homoiô)+ though the incapable or uninstructed ear, in various degrees of dulness, may fail to apprehend it.

The Golden Verses of Pythagoras parted early into dust (that seems strange, if they were ever really written in a book) and antiquity itself knows little directly about his doctrine. Yet Pythagoras is much more than a mere name, a term, for locating as well as may be a philosophical abstraction. Pythagoras, his person, his memory, attracted from the first a kind of fairy-tale of mystic science. The philosophy of number, of music and proportion, came, and has remained, in a cloud of legendary glory; the gradual accumulation of which Porphyry and Iamblichus, the fantastic masters of Neo-Platonism, or Neo-Pythagoreanism, have embodied in their so-called Lives of him, like some antique fable richly embossed with starry wonders. In this spirit there had been much writing about him: that he was a son of Apollo, nay, Apollo himself — the twilight, attempered, Hyperborean Apollo, like the sun in Lapland: that his person gleamed at times with a supernatural brightness: that he had exposed to those who loved him a golden thigh: how Abaris, the minister of that god,  had come flying to him on a golden arrow: of his almost impossible journeys: how he was seen, had lectured indeed, in different places at the same time. As he walked on the banks of the Nessus the river had whispered his name: he had been, in the secondary sense, various persons in the course of ages; a courtesan once, for some ancient sin in him; and then a hero, Euphorbus, son of Panthus; could remember very distinctly so recent a matter as the Trojan war, and had recognised in a moment his own old armour, hanging on the wall, above one of his old dead bodies, in the temple of Athene at Argos; showing out all along only by hints and flashes the abysses of divine knowledge within him, sometimes by miracle. For if the philosopher really is all that Pythagoras or the Pythagoreans suppose; if the material world is so perfect a musical instrument, and he knows its theory so well, he might surely give practical and sensible proof of that on occasion, by himself improvising music upon it in direct miracle. And so there, in Porphyry and Iamblichus, the appropriate miracles are.

If the mistaken affection of the disciples of dreamy Neo-Platonic Gnôsis at Alexandria, in the third or fourth century of our era, has thus made it impossible to separate later legend from original evidence as to what he was, and said, and how he said it, yet that there was a brilliant, perhaps a showy, personality there, infusing the  most abstract truths with what would tell on the fancy, seems more than probable, and, though he would appear really to have had from the first much of mystery or mysticism about him, the thaumaturge of Samos, “whom even the vulgar might follow as a conjuror,” must have been very unlike the lonely “weeping” philosopher of Ephesus, or the almost disembodied philosopher of Elea. In the very person and doings of this earliest master of the doctrine of harmony, people saw that philosophy is

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo’s lute.

And in turn he abounded in influence on the deeds, the persons, of others, as if he had really carried a magic lute in his hands to charm them.

As his fellow-citizens had all but identified Pythagoras with him, so Apollo remained the peculiar patron of the Pythagoreans; and we may note, in connexion with their influence on Plato, that as Apollo was the chosen ancestral deity, so Pythagoreanism became especially the philosophy, of the severely musical Dorian Greeks. If, as Plato was aware, or fancied, true Spartans knew more of philosophy than they let strangers suppose — turned them all out from time to time and feasted on it in secret, for the strengthening of their souls — it was  precisely the Pythagorean philosophy of music, of austere music, mastering, remoulding, men’s very bodies, they would then have discussed with one another.

A native of Ionia, it is in one of the Dorian cities of Magna Graecia, at Crotona, that Pythagoras finds the fitting scene of his mysterious influence. He founds there something like an ideal republic, or rather a religious brotherhood, under a rule outwardly expressive of that inward idea of order or harmony, so dear to the Dorian soul, and, for it, as for him, ever the peculiar pledge of the presence of philosophic truth. Alêtheian de ametria hêgei syngenê einai, ê emmetria;+ asks one in The Republic; and Emmetria?+ of course, is the answer.

Recalling the student of Plato to penetrate as far as he can into that mysterious community, there, long before, in the imagination of Pythagoras is the first dream of the Perfect City, with all those peculiar ethical sympathies which the Platonic Republic enforces already well defined — the perfect mystic body of the Dorian soul, built, as Plato requires, to the strains of music. As a whole, and in its members severally, it would reproduce and visibly reflect to others that inward order and harmony of which each one was a part. As such, the Pythagorean order (it was itself an “order”) expanded and was long maintained in those cities of Magna Graecia which had been the scene of the practical  no less than of the speculative activity of its founder; and in one of which, Metapontum, so late as the days of Cicero what was believed to be the tomb of Pythagoras was still shown. Order, harmony, the temperance, which, as Plato will explain to us, will convince us by the visible presentment of it in the faultless person of the youthful Charmides, is like a musical harmony, — that was the chief thing Pythagoras exacted from his followers, at least at first, though they were mainly of the noble and wealthy class who could have done what they liked — temperance in a religious intention, with many singular scruples concerning bodily purification, diet, and the like. For if, according to his philosophy, the soul had come from heaven, to use the phrase of Wordsworth reproducing the central Pythagorean doctrine, “from heaven,” as he says, “trailing clouds of glory,” so the arguments of Pythagoras were always more or less explicitly involving one in consideration of the means by which one might get back thither, of which means, surely, abstinence, the repression of one’s carnal elements, must be one; in consideration also, in curious questions, as to the relationship of those carnal elements in us to the pilgrim soul, before and after, for which he was so anxious to secure full use of all the opportunities of further perfecting which might yet await it, in the many revolutions of its existence. In the midst of that aesthetically  so brilliant world of Greater Greece, as if anticipating Plato, he has, like the philosophic kings of the Platonic Republic, already something of the monk, of monastic ascêsis, about him. Its purpose is to fit him for, duly to refine his nature towards, that closer vision of truth to which perchance he may be even now upon his way. The secrecy again, that characteristic silence of which the philosopher of music was, perhaps not inconsistently, a lover, which enveloped the entire action of the Pythagoreans, and had indeed kept Pythagoras himself, as some have thought, from committing his thoughts to writing at all, was congruous with such monkish discipline. Mysticism — the condition of the initiated — is a word derived, as we know, from a Greek verb which may perhaps mean to close the eye that one may better perceive the invisible, but more probably means to close the lips while the soul is brooding over what cannot be uttered. Later Christian admirers said of him, that he had hidden the words of God in his heart.

The dust of his golden verses perhaps, but certainly the gold-dust of his thoughts, lies scattered all along Greek literature from Plato to the latest of the Greek Fathers of the Church. You may find it serviceably worked out in the notes of Zeller’s excellent work on Greek philosophy, and, with more sparing comment, in Mullach’s Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum. No one of those Pre-Socratic philosophers has  been the subject of a more enthusiastic erudition. For his mind’s health however, if in doing so he is not making a disproportionate use of his time, inconsistent certainly with the essential temper of the doctrine he seeks for, and such as a true Pythagorean would instantly condemn, the young scholar might be recommended to go straight to the pages of Aristotle — those discreet, unromantic pages, salutary therefore to listen to, concerning doctrines in themselves so fantastic.* In the Ethics, as you may know, in the Metaphysics, and elsewhere, Aristotle gives many not unsympathetic notices at least of the disciples, which, by way of sober contrast on a matter from the first profusely, perhaps cheaply, embroidered, is like quiet information from Pythagoras himself. Only, remember always in reading Plato — Plato, as a sincere learner in the school of Pythagoras — that the essence, the active principle of the Pythagorean doctrine, resides, not as with the ancient Eleatics, nor as with our modern selves too often, in the “infinite,” those eternities, infinitudes, abysses, Carlyle invokes for us so often — in no cultus of the infinite (to apeiron) but in the finite (to peras).+ It is so indeed, with that exception of the Parmenidean sect, through all Greek philosophy, congruously with the proper vocation of the  people of art, of art as being itself the finite, ever controlling the infinite, the formless. Those famous systoichiai tôn enantiôn,+ or parallel columns of contraries: the One and the Many: Odd and Even, and the like: Good and Evil: are indeed all reducible ultimately to terms of art, as the expressive and the inexpressive. Now observe that Plato’s “theory of ideas” is but an effort to enforce the Pythagorean peras,+ with all the unity-in-variety of concerted music, — eternal definition of the finite, upon to apeiron,+ the infinite, the indefinite, formless, brute matter, of our experience of the world.

For it is of Plato again we should be thinking, and of Pythagoras or the Pythagoreans, only so far as they explain the actual conformation of Plato’s thoughts as we find them, especially in The Republic. Let us see, as much as possible in his own words, what Plato received from that older philosophy, of which the two leading persuasions were; first, the universality, the ultimate truth, of numerical, of musical law; and secondly, the pre-existence, the double eternity, of the soul.

In spirit, then, we are certainly of the Pythagorean company in that most characteristic dialogue, the Meno, in which Plato discusses the nature, the true idea, of Virtue, or rather how one may attain thereto; compelled to this subordinate and accessory question by the intellectual  cowardice of his disciple, though after his manner he flashes irrepressible light on that other primary and really indispensable question by the way. Pythagoras, who had founded his famous brotherhood by way of turning theory into practice, must have had, of course, definite views on that most practical question, how virtue is to be attained by us; and Plato is certainly faithful to him in assigning the causation of virtue partly to discipline, forming habit (askêsis)+ as enforced on the monk, the soldier, the schoolboy, as he is true to his own experience in assigning it partly also to a good natural disposition (physei)+ and he suggests afterwards, as I suppose some of us would be ready to do, that virtue is due also in part (theia moira)+ to the good pleasure of heaven, to un-merited grace. Whatever else, however, may be held about it, it is certain (he admits) that virtue comes in great measure through learning. But is there in very deed such a thing as learning? asks the eristic Meno, who is so youthfully fond of argument for its own sake, and must exercise by display his already well-trained intellectual muscle. Is not that favourite, that characteristic, Greek paradox, that it is impossible to be taught, and therefore useless to seek, what one does not know already, after all the expression of an empirical truth? —

Meno. After what manner Socrates will you seek for that which you do not know at all — what it is? For what sort of thing, among the things you know not, will you propose as your  object of search? Or even if you should have lighted full upon it, how will you know that it is this thing which you knew not?

Socrates. Ah! I understand the kind of thing you mean to say, Meno. Do you see what a contentious argument this is you are bringing down on our heads? — that forsooth it is not possible for a man to seek either for what he knows, or for what he knows not; inasmuch as he would not seek what he knows, at least; because he knows it, and to one in such case there is no need of seeking. Nor would he seek after what he knows not; for he knows not what he shall seek for. Meno, 80.

Well! that is true in a sense, as Socrates admits; not however in any sense which encourages idle acquiescence in what according to common language is our ignorance. There is a sense (it is exemplified in regard to sound and colour, perhaps in some far more important things) in which it is matter of experience that it is impossible to seek for, or be taught, what one does not know already. He who is in total ignorance of musical notes, who has no ear, will certainly be unaware of them when they light on him, or he lights upon them. Where could one begin? we ask, in certain cases where not to know at all means incapacity for receiving knowledge. Yes, certainly; the Pythagoreans are right in saying that what we call learning is in fact reminiscence- -: anamnêsis + famous word! and Socrates proceeds to show in what precise way it is impossible or possible to find out what you don’t know: how that happens. In full use of the dialogue, as itself the instrument most  fit for him of whatever what we call teaching and learning may really be, Plato, dramatic always, brings in one of Meno’s slaves, a boy who speaks Greek nicely, but knows nothing of geometry: introduces him, we may fancy, into a mathematical lecture-room where diagrams are to be seen on the walls, cubes and the like lying on the table — particular objects, the mere sight of which will rouse him when subjected to the dialectical treatment, to universal truths concerning them. The problem required of him is to describe a square of a particular size: to find the line which must be the side of such a square; and he is to find it for himself. Meno, carefully on his guard, is to watch whether the boy is taught by Socrates in any of his answers; whether he answers anything at any point otherwise than by way of reminiscence and really out of his own mind, as the reasonable questions of Socrates fall like water on the seed-ground, or like sunlight on the photographer’s negative.

“See him now!” he cries triumphantly, “How he remembers; in the logical order; as he ought to remember!” The reader, in truth, following closely, scrupulously, this pretty process, cannot help seeing that after all the boy does not discover the essential point of the problem for himself, that he is more than just guided on his way by the questioning of Socrates, that Plato has chosen an instance in itself illusively clear as being concerned with elementary space. It is  once for all, however, that he recognises, under such questioning, the immovable, indefectible certainty of this or that truth of space. So much, the candid reader must concede, is clearly to the advantage of the Pythagorean theory: that even his false guesses have a plausibility, a kinship to, a kind of claim upon, truth, about them: that as he remembers, in logical order (hôs dei)+ so he makes the mistakes also which he ought to make — the right sort of mistakes, such as are natural and ought to occur in order to the awakening mind, a kind of properly innate errors. Nyn autô hôsper onar arti anakekinêtai hai doxai autai.+— “Just now, as in a dream, these opinions have been stirred up within him”; and he will perform, Socrates assures us, similar acts of reminiscence on demand, with other geometrical problems, with any and every problem whatever.

“If then,” observes Socrates in the Phaedo, wistfully pondering, for such consolation as there may be in it, in his last hours, the larger outlook suggested by this hopeful doctrine: —

If, having apprehended it (having apprehended a certain mathe- matical principle, that is) before birth, we were born already possessed of this principle, had we not knowledge, both before and immediately upon our begetting here, not merely about the equal and the greater and the less, but about all other things of the kind? For our theory (of an innate knowledge, that is to say, independent of our experience here) our theory holds not a bit more about two equal lines, than about the absolute Beauty (was he going now to see its very face again, after the dim intermediate life here?) and about what is absolutely just and good, and about all things whatever, upon  which, in all our past questioning and answering, we set this seal — hois episphragizometha touto + — That, which really is. Phaedo, 75.

But to return to the cheerful pages of the Meno — from the prison-cell to the old mathematical lecture-room and that psychological experiment upon the young boy with the square: — Oukoun oudenos didaxantos, all’ erôtêsantos, epistêsetai, analabôn, autos ex hautou, epistêmên;+ “Through no one’s teaching, then, but by a process of mere questioning, will he attain a true science, knowledge in the fullest sense (epistêmê)+ by the recovery of such science out of himself?” — Yes! and that recovery is an act of reminiscence.

These opinions therefore, the boy’s discoverable right notions about side and square and diagonal, were innate in him (enêsan de ge autô autai hai doxai)+ and surely, as Socrates was observing later, right opinions also concerning other things more important, which too, when stirred up by a process of questioning, will be established in him as consciously reasoned knowledge (erôtêsei epegertheisai, epistêmai gignontai).+ That at least is what Plato is quite certain about: not quite so confident, however, regarding another doctrine, fascinating as he finds it, which seemed to afford an explanation of this leading psychological fact of an antecedent knowledge within us — the doctrine namely of metempsychôsis, of the transmigration of souls through various forms of the bodily life,  under a law of moral retribution, somewhat oracularly suggested in the ancient poets, by Hesiod and Pindar, but a matter of formal consciousness with the Pythagoreans, and at last inseparably connected with the authority of Socrates, who in the Phaedo discourses at great length on that so comfortable theory, venturing to draw from it, as we saw just now, a personal hope in the immediate prospect of death. The soul, then, would be immortal (athanatos an hê psychê eiê)+ prospectively as well as in retrospect, and is not unlikely to attain to clearer levels of truth “over the way, there,” as, in the Meno, Socrates drew from it an encouragement to the search for truth, here. Retrospectively, at all events, it seemed plain that “the soul is eternal. It is right therefore to make an effort to find out things one may not know, that is to say, one does not remember, just now.” Those notions were in the boy, they and the like of them, in all boys and men; and he did not come by them in this life, a young slave in Athens. Ancient, half- obliterated inscriptions on the mental walls, the mental tablet, seeds of knowledge to come, shed by some flower of it long ago, it was in an earlier period of time they had been laid up in him, to blossom again now, so kindly, so firmly!

Upon a soul thus provided, puzzled as that seed swells within it under the spring-tide influences of this untried atmosphere, it would be the proper vocation of the philosophic teacher  to supervene with his encouraging questions. And there was another doctrine — a persuasion still more poetical or visionary, it might seem, yet with a strong presumption of literal truth about it, when seen in connexion with that great fact of our consciousness which it so conveniently explains— “reminiscence.” Socrates had heard it, he tells us in the Meno, in the locus classicus on this matter, from the venerable lips of certain religious persons, priests and priestesses,

— who had made it their business to be able to give an account concerning their sacred functions. Pindar too asserts this, and many other of the poets, so many as were divinely inspired. And what they say is as follows. But do you observe, whether they seem to you to speak the truth. For they say that the soul of man is immortal; and that at one time it comes to a pause, which indeed they call dying, and then is born again; but that it is never destroyed. That on this account indeed it is our duty to pass through life as religiously as possible (because there’s ‘another world,’ namely). ‘For those,’ says Pindar, ‘from whom Persephone shall have received a recompense of ancient wrong — she gives back their soul again to the sun above in the ninth year, of whom are begotten kings, illustrious and swift in strength, and men greatest in wisdom; and for remaining time they are called holy heroes among us.’ Inasmuch then as the soul is immortal, and has been born many times, and has seen both things here and things in Hades, and all things, there is nothing that it has not learned; so that it is by no means surprising that it should be able to remember both about virtue and about other matters what it knew at least even aforetime. For inasmuch as the whole of nature is akin to itself (homogeneous) and the soul has learned all things, nothing hinders one, by remembering one thing only, which indeed people call ‘learning’ (though it is something else in fact, you see!) from finding out all other things for himself, if he be brave and fail not through weariness in his search. For in truth to  seek and to learn is wholly Recollection. Therefore one must not be persuaded by that eristic doctrine (namely that if ignorant in ignorance you must remain) for that on the one hand would make us idle and is a pleasant doctrine for the weak among mankind to hear; while this other doctrine makes us industrious and apt to seek. Trusting in which that it is true, I am willing along with you to seek out virtue: — what it is. Meno, 81.

These strange theories then are much with Socrates on his last sad day- -sad to his friends — as justifying more or less, on ancient religious authority, the instinctive confidence, checking sadness in himself, that he will survive — survive the effects of the poison, of the funeral fire; that somewhere, with some others, with Minos perhaps and other “righteous souls” of the national religion, he will be holding discourses, dialogues, quite similar to these, only a little better as must naturally happen with so diligent a scholar, this time to-morrow.

And that wild thought of metempsychôsis was connected with a theory, yet more fantastic, of the visible heaven above us. For Pythagoras, the Pythagoreans, had had their views also, as became the possessors of “a first principle” — of a philosophy therefore which need leave no problem untouched — on purely material things, above all on the structure of the planets, the mechanical contrivances by which their motion was effected (it came to just that!) on the relation of the earth to its atmosphere and the like. The doctrine of the transmigration,  the pilgrimage or mental journeys, of the soul linked itself readily with a fanciful, guess-work astronomy, which provided starry places, wide areas, hostelries, for that wanderer to move or rest in. A matter of very lively and presentable form and colour, as if making the invisible show through, this too pleased the extremely visual fancy of Plato; as we may see, in many places of the Phaedo, the Phaedrus, the Timaeus, and most conspicuously in the tenth book of The Republic, where he relates the vision of Er — what he saw of the other world during a kind of temporary death. Hell, Purgatory, Paradise, are briefly depicted in it; Paradise especially with a quite Dantesque sensibility to coloured light — physical light or spiritual, you can hardly tell which, so perfectly is the inward sense blent with its visible counter-part, reminding one forcibly of the Divine Comedy, of which those closing pages of The Republic suggest an early outline.

That then is the third element in Plato derivative from his Pythagorean masters: an astronomy of infant minds, we might call it, in which the celestial world is the scene, not as yet of those abstract reasonable laws of number and motion and space, upon which, as Plato himself protests in the seventh book of The Republic, it is the business of a veritable science of the stars to exercise our minds, but rather of a machinery, which the mere star-gazer may peep into as best he can, with its levers, its spindles and revolving  wheels, its spheres, he says,— “like those boxes which fit into one another,” and the literal doors “opened in heaven,” through which, at the due point of ascension, the revolving pilgrim soul will glide forth and have a chance of gazing into the wide spaces beyond, “as he stands outside on the back of the sky” — that hollow partly transparent sphere which surrounds and closes in our terrestrial atmosphere. Most difficult to follow in detailed description, perhaps not to be taken quite seriously, one thing at least is clear about the planetary movements as Plato and his Pythagorean teachers conceive them. They produce, naturally enough, sounds, that famous “music of the spheres,” which the undisciplined ear fails to recognise, to delight in, only because it is never silent.

That it really is impossible after all to learn, to be taught what you are entirely ignorant of, was and still is a fact of experience, manifest especially in regard to music. Now that “music of the spheres” in its largest sense, its completest orchestration, the harmonious order of the whole universe (kosmos)+ was what souls had heard of old; found echoes of here; might recover in its entirety, amid the influences of the melodious colour, sounds, manners, the enforced modulating discipline, which would make the whole life of a citizen of the Perfect City an education in music. We are now with Plato, you see! in his reproduction, so fully detailed for us in The  Republic, of the earlier and vaguer Pythagorean brotherhood. Musical imagery, the notions of proportion and the like, have ever since Plato wrote played a large part in the theory of morals; have come to seem almost a natural part of language concerning them. Only, wherever in Plato himself you find such imagery, you may note Pythagorean influence.

The student of The Republic hardly needs to be reminded how all- pervasive in it that imagery is; how emphatic, in all its speculative theory, in all its practical provisions, is the desire for harmony; how the whole business of education (of gymnastic even, the seeming rival of music) is brought under it; how large a part of the claims of duty, of right conduct, for the perfectly initiated, comes with him to be this, that it sounds so well. Plêmmeleia,+ discordancy, — all faultiness resolves itself into that. “Canst play on this flute?” asks Hamlet: — on human nature, with all its stops, of whose capricious tuneableness, or want of tune, he is himself the representative. Well! the perfect state, thinks Plato, can. For him, music is still everywhere in the world, and the whole business of philosophy only as it were the correct editing of it: as it will be the whole business of the state to repress, in the great concert, the jarring self-assertion (pleonexia)+ of those whose voices have large natural power in them. How, in detail, rhythm, the limit (peras)+ is enforced in Plato’s Republic there is no time to  show. Call to mind only that the perfect visible equivalent of such rhythm is in those portrait-statues of the actual youth of Greece — legacy of Greek sculpture more precious by far than its fancied forms of deity — the quoit-player, the diadumenus, the apoxyomenus; and how the most beautiful type of such youth, by the universal admission of the Greeks themselves, had issued from the severe schools of Sparta, that highest civic embodiment of the Dorian temper, like some perfect musical instrument, perfectly responsive to the intention, to the lightest touch, of the finger of law. — Yet with a fresh setting of the old music in each succeeding generation. For in truth we come into the world, each one of us, “not in nakedness,” but by the natural course of organic development clothed far more completely than even Pythagoras supposed in a vesture of the past, nay, fatally shrouded, it might seem, in those laws or tricks of heredity which we mistake for our volitions; in the language which is more than one half of our thoughts; in the moral and mental habits, the customs, the literature, the very houses, which we did not make for ourselves; in the vesture of a past, which is (so science would assure us) not ours, but of the race, the species: that Zeit-geist, or abstract secular process, in which, as we could have had no direct consciousness of it, so we can pretend to no future personal interest. It is humanity itself now — abstract humanity — that  figures as the transmigrating soul, accumulating into its “colossal manhood” the experience of ages; making use of, and casting aside in its march, the souls of countless individuals, as Pythagoras supposed the individual soul to cast aside again and again its outworn body.

So it may be. There was nothing of all that, however, in the mind of the great English poet at the beginning of this century whose famous Ode on The Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Childhood, in which he made metempsychôsis his own, must still express for some minds something more than merely poetic truth. For Pythagoreanism too, like all the graver utterances of primitive Greek philosophy, is an instinct of the human mind itself, and therefore also a constant tradition in its history, which will recur; fortifying this or that soul here or there in a part at least of that old sanguine assurance about itself, which possessed Socrates so immovably, his masters, his disciples. Those who do not already know Wordsworth’s Ode ought soon to read it for themselves. Listen instead to the lines which perhaps suggested Wordsworth’s: The Retreat, by Henry Vaughan, one of the so- called Platonist poets of about two centuries ago, who was able to blend those Pythagorean doctrines with the Christian belief, amid which indeed, from the unsanctioned dreams of Origen onwards, those doctrines have shown themselves not otherwise than at home.

Happy, those days, he declares,

Before I understood this place,
Appointed for my second race;
Or taught my soul to fancy ought
But a white celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two from my first love;
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.
O! how I long to travel back
And tread again that ancient track!
That I might once more reach that plain,
Where first I left my glorious train. —
But Ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk; and staggers in the way.
Some men a forward motion love,
But I backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn
In that state I came return.

Summing up those three philosophies antecedent to Plato, we might say, that if Heraclitus taught the doctrine of progress, and the Eleatics that of rest, so, in such quaint phrase as Vaughan’s, Pythagoreanism is the philosophy of re-action.

CHAPTER 4: PLATO AND SOCRATES

“PLATO,” we say habitually when we talk of our teacher in The Republic, the Phaedrus, cutting a knot; for Plato speaks to us indirectly only, in his Dialogues, by the voice of the Platonic Socrates, a figure most ambiguously compacted of the real Socrates and Plato himself; a purely dramatic invention, it might perhaps have been fancied, or, so to speak, an idolon theatri — Plato’s self, but presented, with the reserve appropriate to his fastidious genius, in a kind of stage disguise. So we might fancy but for certain independent information we possess about Socrates, in Aristotle, and in the Memorabilia of Xenophon.

The Socrates of Xenophon is one of the simplest figures in the world. From the personal memories of that singularly limpid writer the outline of the great teacher detaches itself, as an embodiment of all that was clearest in the now adult Greek understanding, the adult Greek conscience. All that Socrates is seen to be in  those unaffected pages may be explained by the single desire to be useful to ordinary young men, whose business in life would be mainly with practical things; and at first sight, as delineators of their common master, Plato and Xenophon might seem scarcely reconcilable. But then, as Alcibiades alleges of him in the Symposium, Socrates had been ever in all respects a two-sided being; like some rude figure of Silenus, he suggests, by way of an outer case for the image of a god within. By a mind, of the compass Plato himself supposes, two quite different impressions may well have been made on two typically different observers. The speaker, to Xenophon so simple, almost homely, earthy, vernacular, becomes with Plato the mouth-piece of high and difficult and extraordinary thoughts. In the absence, then, of a single written word from Socrates himself, the question is forced upon us: had the true Socrates been really Socrates according to Xenophon, and all besides only a generous loan from the rich treasury of Plato’s quite original and independent genius: or, had the master been indeed something larger and more many-sided than Xenophon could have thoroughly understood, presenting to his simpler disciple only what was of simpler stamp in himself, to the mystic and susceptible Plato all that far-reaching and fervid intellectuality, with which the Platonic Dialogues credit him. It is a problem about which probably no reader of  Plato ever quite satisfies himself: — how much precisely he must deduct from Socrates, as we find him in those Dialogues, by way of defining to himself the Socrates of fact.

In Plato’s own writing about Socrates there is, however, a difference. The Apology, marked as being the single writing from Plato’s hand not in dialogue form, we may naturally take for a sincere version of the actual words of Socrates; closer to them, we may think, than the Greek record of spoken words however important, the speeches in Thucydides, for instance, by the admission of Thucydides himself, was wont to be. And this assumption is supported by internal evidence. In that unadorned language, in those harsh grammatic (or rather quite ungrammatic) constructions we have surely the natural accent of one speaking under strong excitement. We might think, again, that the Phaedo, purporting to record his subsequent discourse, is really no more than such a record, but for a lurking suspicion, which hangs by the fact that Plato, noted as an assistant at the trial, is expressly stated by one of the speakers in the Dialogue to have been absent from the dying scene of Socrates. That speaker however was himself perhaps the veracious reporter of those last words and acts; for there are details in the Phaedo too pedestrian and common-place to be taken for things of mere literary invention: the rubbing of the legs, for instance, now released from the chain; the rather  uneasy determination to be indifferent; the somewhat harsh committal of the crudely lamenting wife and his child “to any one who will take the trouble” — details, as one cannot but observe in passing, which leave those famous hours, even for purely human, or say! pagan dignity and tenderness, wholly incomparable to one sacred scene to which they have sometimes been compared.

We shall be justified then, in the effort to give reality or truth to our mental picture of Socrates, if we follow the lead of his own supposed retrospect of his career in the Apology, as completed, and explained to wholly sympathetic spirits, by the more intimate discourses of the Phaedo.

He pleads to be excused if in making his defence he speaks after his accustomed manner: not merely in home-spun phrase, that is to say, very different from what is usually heard at least in those sophisticated law-courts of Athens, nor merely with certain lapsing into his familiar habit of dialogue, but with a tacit assumption, throughout his arguments, of that logical realism which suggested the first outline of Plato’s doctrine of the “ideas.” Everywhere, with what is like a physical passion for what is, what is true — as one engaged in a sort of religious or priestly concentration of soul on what God really made and meant us to know — he is driving earnestly, yet with method, at those universal conceptions or definitions which serve to establish  firmly the distinction, attained by so much intellectual labour, between what is absolute and abiding, of veritable import therefore to our reason, to the divine reason really resident in each one of us, resident in, yet separable from, these our houses of clay — between that, and what is only phenomenal and transitory, as being essentially implicate with them. He achieved this end, as we learn from Aristotle, this power, literally, of “a criticism of life,” by induction (epagôgê)+ by that careful process of enquiry into the facts of the matter concerned, one by one (facts most often of conscience, of moral action as conditioned by motive, and result, and the varying degrees of inward light upon it) for which the fitting method is informal though not unmethodical question and answer, face to face with average mankind, as in those famous Socratic conversations, which again are the first rough natural growth of Plato’s so artistic written Dialogues. The exclusive preoccupation of Socrates with practical matter therein, his anxious fixing of the sense of such familiar terms as just and good, for instance, was part of that humble bearing of himself by which he was to authenticate a claim to superior wisdom, forced upon him by nothing less than divine authority, while there was something also in it of a natural reaction against the intellectual ambition of his youth. He had gone to school eagerly, as he tells his friends in the  Phaedo, in his last discourse, to a physical philosopher, then of great repute, but to his own great disappointment. —

In my youth he says I had a wonderful desire for the wisdom which people call natural science — peri physeôs historian.+ It seemed to me a proud thing to know the causes of every matter: how it comes to be; ceases to be; why it is. I lost my sight in this enquiry to the degree of un-learning what I had hitherto seemed to myself and others to know clearly enough. But having heard one reading from a book written, as he said, by Anaxagoras, which said that it is Reason that arranges and is the cause of all things, I was delighted with this cause; and thought to myself, if this be so, then it does with each what may be best for it. Thus considering, it was with joy I fancied I had found me a teacher about the cause — Anaxagoras: that he would show me for instance, first, whether the earth was round or flat; and then that it was best for it to be so: and if he made these points clear I was prepared to ask for no other sort of causes. Phaedo, 96.

Well! Socrates proceeds to the great natural philosopher, and is immensely discouraged to find him after all making very little use of Reason in his explanation why natural things are thus and not otherwise; explaining everything, rather, by secondary and mechanical causes. “It was as if,” he concludes, “some one had undertaken to prove that Socrates does everything through Reason; and had gone on to show that it was because my body is constructed in a certain way, of certain bones and muscles, that Socrates is now sitting here in the prison, voluntarily awaiting death.”

The disappointment of Socrates with the  spirit in which Anaxagoras actually handled and applied that so welcome sapiential proposition that Reason panta diakosmei, kai pantôn aitios estin + — arranges and is the cause of all things — is but an example of what often happens when men seek an a posteriori justification of their instinctive prepossessions. Once for all he turns from useless, perhaps impious, enquiries, into the material structure of the stars above him, or the earth beneath his feet, from all physical enquiry into material things, to the direct knowledge of man the cosmical order in man, as it may be found by any one who, in good faith with himself, and with devout attention, looks within. In this precise sense it was that, according to the old saying, Socrates brought philosophy down from heaven to earth. Montaigne, the great humanist, expands it.—”’Twas he who brought again from heaven, where she lost her time, human wisdom, to restore her to man with whom her most just and greatest business lies. He has done human nature a great service,” he adds, “in showing it how much it can do of itself.” And a singular incident gave that piercing study, that relentless exposure, of himself, and of others, for the most part so unwelcome to them, a religious or mystic character. He has a “vocation” thus to proceed, has been literally “called,” as he understands, by the central religious authority of Greece. His seemingly invidious testing of men’s pretensions  to know, is a sacred service to the God of Delphi, which he dares not neglect. And his fidelity herein had in turn the effect of reinforcing for him, and bringing to a focus, all the other rays of religious light cast at random in the world about him, or in himself.

“You know Chaerephon,” he says, “his eagerness about any matter he takes up. Well! once upon a time he went to Delphi, and ventured to ask of the oracle whether any man living was wiser than I; and, amazing as it seems, the Pythia answered that there was no one wiser than I.” Socrates must go in order, then, to every class of persons pre-eminent for knowledge; to every one who seems to know more than he. He found them — the Athenian poets, for instance, the potters who made the vases we admire, undeniably in possession of much delightful knowledge unattained by him. But one and all they were ignorant of the limitations of their knowledge; and at last he concludes that the oracle had but meant to say: “He indeed is the wisest of all men who like Socrates is aware that he is really worth little or nothing in respect of knowledge.” Such consciousness of ignorance was the proper wisdom of man.

That can scarcely be a fiction. His wholesome appeal then, everywhere, from what seems, to what really is, is a service to the Delphic god, the god of sanity. To prove that the oracle had  been right after all, improbable as it seemed, in the signal honour it had put upon him, would be henceforward his proper business. Committing him to a sort of ironical humility towards others, at times seemingly petty and prosaic, certainly very irritating, in regard to himself, in its source and motive, his business in life as he conceived it was nothing less than a divine possession. He becomes therefore literally an enthusiast for knowledge, for the knowledge of man; such knowledge as by a right method of questioning, of self-questioning (the master’s questioning being after all only a kind of mid-wife’s assistance, according to his own homely figure) may be brought to birth in every human soul, concerning itself and its experience; what is real, and stable, in its apprehensions of Piety, Beauty, Justice, and the like, what is of dynamic quality in them, as conveying force into what one does or creates, building character, generating virtue. Auto kath’ hauto zêtein ti pot’ estin aretê+ — to seek out what virtue is, itself, in and by itself — there’s the task. And when we have found that, we shall know already, or easily get to know, everything else about and about it: “how we are to come by virtue,” for instance.

Well! largely by knowing, says naturally the enthusiast for knowledge. There is no good thing which knowledge does not comprehend — Mêden estin agathon ho ouk epistêmê periechei + — a strenuously  ascertained knowledge however, painfully adjusted to other forms of knowledge which may seem inconsistent with it, and impenetrably distinct from any kind of complaisant or only half-attentive conjecture. “One and the same species in every place: whole and sound: one, in regard to, and through, and upon, all particular instances of it: catholic”*: it will be all this — the Virtue, for instance, which we must seek, as a hunter his sustenance, seek and find and never lose again, through a survey of all the many variable and merely relative virtues, which are but relative, that is to say, “to every several act, and to each period of life, in regard to each thing we have to do, in each one of us” — kath’ hekastên tôn praxeôn, kai tôn hêlikiôn pros hekaston ergon, hekastô hêmôn — + “That, about which I don’t know what it is, how should I know what sort of a thing it is” — ho mê oida ti esti, pôs an hopoion ge ti eideiên;+ what its poiotêtes,+ its qualities, are? “Do you suppose that one who does not know Meno, for example, at all, who he is, can know whether he is fair and rich and well-born, or the reverse of all that?” Yes! already for Socrates, we might say, to know what justice or Piety or Beauty really is, will be like the knowledge of a person; only that, as Aristotle carefully notes, his scrupulous habit of search for universal, or catholic, definitions (kath’ holou)+ was after all but  an instrument for the plain knowledge of facts. Strange! out of the practical cautions of Socrates for the securing of clear and correct and sufficient conceptions about one’s actual experience, for the attainment of a sort of thoroughly educated common-sense, came the mystic intellectualism of Plato — Platonism, with all its hazardous flights of soul.

A rich contributor to the philosophic consciousness of Plato, Socrates was perhaps of larger influence still on the religious soul in him. As Plato accepted from the masters of Elea the theoretic principles of all natural religion — the principles of a reasonable monotheism, so from Socrates he derived its indispensable morality. It was Socrates who first of pagans comprised in one clear consciousness the authentic rudiments of such natural religion, and gave them clear utterance. Through him, Parmenides had conveyed to Plato the notion of a “Perfect Being,” to brace and satisfy the abstracting intellect; but it was from Socrates himself Plato had learned those correspondent practical pieties, which tranquillise and re-assure the soul, together with the genial hopes which cheer the great teacher on the day of his death.

Loyal to the ancient beliefs, the ancient usages, of the religion of many gods which he had found all around him, Socrates pierces through it to one unmistakable person, of perfect intelligence, power and goodness, who takes note  of him. In the course of his seventy years he has adjusted that thought of the invisible to the general facts and to many of the subtler complexities of man’s experience in the world of sight. Sitivit anima mea, the Athenian philosopher might say, in Deum, in Deum vivum, as he was known at Sion. He has at least measured devoutly the place, this way and that, which a religion of infallible authority must fill; has already by implication concurred in it; and in fact has his reward at this depressing hour, as the action of the poison mounts slowly to the centre of his material existence. He is more than ready to depart to what before one has really crossed their threshold must necessarily seem the cold and empty spaces of the world no bodily eye can ever look on.

But, he is asked, if the prospect be indeed so cheerful, at all events for the just, why is it forbidden to seize such an advantage as death must be by self-destruction? — Tois anthrôpois, mê hosion einai, autous heatous eupoiein, all’ allon dei menein euergetên.+ His consistent piety straightway suggests the solution of that paradox: we are the property, slaves, of the gods. Now no slave has any sort of right to destroy himself; to take a life that does not really belong to him. Comfort himself and his friends, however, as he may, it does tax all his resources of moral and physical courage to do what is at last required of him: and it was something quite new, unseen  before in Greece, inspiring a new note in literature — this attitude of Socrates in the condemned cell, where, fulfilling his own prediction, multitudes, of a wisdom and piety, after all, so different from his, have ever since assisted so admiringly, this anticipation of the Christian way of dying for an opinion, when, as Plato says simply, he consumed the poison in the prison — to pharmakon epien en tô desmôtêriô.+ It was amid larger consolations, we must admit, that Christian heroes did that kind of thing. But bravery, you need hardly be reminded, was ever one of the specially characteristic virtues of the pagan world — loyalty even unto death. It had been loyalty however hitherto to one’s country, one’s home in the world, one’s visible companions; not to a wholly invisible claimant, in this way, upon one, upon one’s self.

Socrates, with all his singleness of purpose, had been, as Alcibiades suggested, by natural constitution a twofold power, an embodied paradox. The infinitely significant Socrates of Plato, and the quite simple Socrates of Xenophon, may have been indeed the not incompatible oppositions of a nature, from the influence of which, as a matter of fact, there emerged on one hand the Cynic, on the other the Cyrenaic School, embodying respectively those opposed austerities and amenities of character, which, according to the temper of this or that disciple, had seemed to predominate in their common master. And so the courage which declined to act as almost  any one else would have acted in that matter of the legal appeal which might have mitigated the penalty of death, bringing to its appropriate end a life whose main power had been an unrivalled independence, was contrasted in Socrates, paradoxically, with a genuine diffidence about his own convictions which explains some peculiarities in his manner of teaching. The irony, the humour, for which he was famous — the unfailing humour which some have found in his very last words — were not merely spontaneous personal traits, or tricks of manner; but an essential part of the dialectical apparatus, as affording a means of escape from responsibility, convenient for one who has scruples about the fitness of his own thoughts for the reception of another, doubts as to the power of words to convey thoughts, such as he thinks cannot after all be properly conveyed to another, but only awakened, or brought to birth in him, out of himself, — who can tell with what distortions in that secret place? For we judge truth not by the intellect exclusively, and on reasons that can be adequately embodied in propositions; but with the whole complex man. Observant therefore of the capricious results of mere teaching, to the last he protests, dissemblingly, and with that irony which is really one phase of the Socratic humour, that in his peculiar function there have been in very deed neither teacher nor learners.

The voice, the sign from heaven, that “new deity” he was accused of fabricating (his singularly profound sense of a mental phenomenon which is probably not uncommon) held perhaps of the same characteristic habit of mind. It was neither the playful pretence which some have supposed; nor yet an insoluble mystery; but only what happens naturally to a really diffident spirit in great and still more in small matters which at this or that taxing moment seem to usurp the determination of great issues. Such a spirit may find itself beset by an inexplicable reluctance to do what would be most natural in the given circumstances. And for a religious nature, apt to trace the divine assistance everywhere, it was as if, in those perilous moments — well! as if one’s guardian angel held one back. A quite natural experience took the supernatural hue of religion; which, however, as being concerned now and then with some circumstance in itself trifling, might seem to lapse at times into superstition.

And as he was thus essentially twofold in character, so Socrates had to contend against two classes of enemies. “An offence” to the whole tribe of Sophists, he was hated also by those who hated them, by the good old men of Athens, whose conservatism finds its representative in Aristophanes, and who saw in the Socratic challenge of first principles, in that ceaseless testing of the origin and claims of what all  honest people might seem to take for granted, only a further development of the pernicious function of the Sophists themselves, by the most subtly influential of them all. If in the Apology he proves that the fathers of sons had no proper locus standi against him, still, in the actual conduct of his defence, as often in Plato’s Dialogues, there is (the candid reader cannot but admit it) something of sophistry, of the casuist. Claiming to be but a simple argument, the Apology of Socrates moves sometimes circuitously, after the manner of one who really has to make the worse appear the better reason (ton hêttô logon kreittô poiein)+ and must needs use a certain kind of artificial, or ingenious, or ad captandum arguments, such as would best have been learned in the sophistic school. Those young Athenians whom he was thought to have corrupted of set purpose, he had not only admired but really loved and understood; and as a consequence had longed to do them real good, chiefly by giving them that interest in themselves which is the first condition of any real power over others. To make Meno, Polus, Charmides, really interested in himself, to help him to the discovery of that wonderful new world here at home — in this effort, even more than in making them interested in other people and things, lay and still lies (it is no sophistical paradox!) the central business of education. Only, the very thoroughness of the sort of self-knowledge he  promoted had in it something sacramental, so to speak; if it did not do them good, must do them considerable harm; could not leave them just as they were. He had not been able in all cases to expand “the better self,” as people say, in those he influenced. Some of them had really become very insolent questioners of others, as also of a wholly legitimate authority within themselves; and had but passed from bad to worse. That fatal necessity had been involved of coming to years of discretion. His claim to have been no teacher at all, to be irresponsible in regard to those who had in truth been his very willing disciples, was but humorous or ironical; and as a consequence there was after all a sort of historic justice in his death.

The fate of Socrates (says Hegel, in his peculiar manner) is tragic in the essential sense, and not merely in that super- ficial sense of the word according to which every misfortune is called ‘tragic.’ In the latter sense, one might say of Socrates that because he was condemned to death unjustly his fate was tragic. But in truth innocent suffering of that sort is merely pathetic, not tragic; inasmuch as it is not within the sphere of reason. Now suffering — misfortune — comes within the sphere of reason, only if it is brought about by the free- will of the subject, who must be entirely moral and justifiable; as must be also the power against which that subject proceeds. This power must be no merely natural one, nor the mere will of a tyrant; because it is only in such case that the man is himself, so to speak, guilty of his misfortune. In genuine tragedy, then, they must be powers both alike moral and justifiable, which, from this side and from that, come into collision; and such was the fate of Socrates. His fate therefore is not merely personal, and as it were part of the romance of an individual:  it is the general fate, in all its tragedy — the tragedy of Athens, of Greece, which is therein carried out. Two opposed Rights come forth: the one breaks itself to pieces against the other: in this way, both alike suffer loss; while both alike are justified the one towards the other: not as if this were right; that other wrong. On the one side is the religious claim, the unconscious moral habit: the other principle, over against it, is the equally religious claim — the claim of the consciousness, of the reason, creating a world out of itself, the claim to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The latter remains the common principle of philosophy for all time to come. And these are the two principles which come forth over against each other, in the life and in the philosophy of Socrates. Geschichte der Philosophie, vol. ii. p. 102.

“I can easily conceive Socrates in the place of Alexander,” says Montaigne, again, “but Alexander in the place of Socrates I cannot”; and we may take that as typical of the immense credit of Socrates, even with a vast number of people who have not really known much about him. “For the sake of no long period of years,” says Socrates himself, now condemned to death — the few years for which a man of seventy is likely to remain here —

You will have a name, Men of Athens! and liability to reproach from those who desire to malign the city of Athens — that ye put Socrates to death, a wise man. For in very truth they will declare me to have been wise — those who wish to discredit you — even though I be not. Now had you waited a little while this thing would have happened for you in the course of nature. For ye see my estate: that it is now far onward on the road of life, hard by death. Apology, 38.

Plato, though present at the trial, was absent when Socrates “consumed the poison in the  prison.” Prevented by sickness, as Cebes tells us in the Phaedo, Plato would however almost certainly have heard from him, or from some other of that band of disciples who assisted at the last utterances of their master, the sincerest possible account of all that was then said and done. Socrates had used the brief space which elapsed before the officers removed him to the place, “whither he must go, to die” (hoi elthonta me dei tethnanai)+ to discourse with those who still lingered in the court precisely on what are called “The four last things.” Arrived at the prison a further delay awaited him, in consequence (it was so characteristic of the Athenian people!) of a religious scruple. The ship of sacred annual embassy to Apollo at Delos was not yet returned to Athens; and the consequent interval of time might not be profaned by the death of a criminal. Socrates himself certainly occupies it religiously enough by a continuation of his accustomed discourses, touched now with the deepening solemnity of the moment.

The Phaedo of Plato has impressed most readers as a veritable record of those last discourses of Socrates; while in the details of what then happened, the somewhat prosaic account there given of the way in which the work of death was done, we find what there would have been no literary satisfaction in inventing; his indifferent treatment, for instance, of the wife, who had not been very dutiful but was now in violent  distress — treatment in marked contrast, it must be observed again, with the dignified tenderness of a later scene, as recorded in the Gospels.

An inventor, with mere literary effect in view, at this and other points would have invented differently. “The prison,” says Cebes, the chief disciple in the Phaedo, “was not far from the court-house; and there we were used to wait every day till we might be admitted to our master. One morning we were assembled earlier than usual; for on the evening before we heard that the ship was returned from Delos. The porter coming out bade us tarry till he should call us. For, he said, the Eleven are now freeing Socrates from his bonds, announcing to him that he must die to-day.”

They were very young men, we are told, who were with Socrates, and how sweetly, kindly, approvingly, he listened to their so youthfully sanguine discussion on the immortality of the soul. For their sakes rather than his own he is ready to treat further, by way of a posteriori arguments, a belief which in himself is matter of invincible natural prepossession. In the court he had pleaded at the most for suspended judgment on that question:— “If I claimed on any point to be wiser than any one else it would be in this, that having no adequate knowledge of things in Hades so I do not fancy I know.” But, in the privacy of these last hours, he is confident in his utterance on the  subject which is so much in the minds of the youths around him; his arguments like theirs being in fact very much of the nature of the things poets write (poiêmata)+ or almost like those medicinable fictions (pseudê en pharmakou eidei)+ such as are of legitimate use by the expert. That the soul (beautiful Pythagorean thought!) is a harmony; that there are reasons why this particular harmony should not cease, like that of the lyre or the harp, with the destruction of the instrument which produced it; why this sort of flame should not go out with the upsetting of the lamp: — such are the arguments, sometimes little better than verbal ones, which pass this way and that around the death-bed of Socrates, as they still occur to men’s minds. For himself, whichever way they tend, they come and go harmlessly, about an immovable personal conviction, which, as he says, “came to me apart from demonstration, with a sort of natural likelihood and fitness”: (Moi gegonen aneu apodeixeôs, meta eikotos tinos, kai euprepeias).+ The formula of probability could not have been more aptly put. It is one of those convictions which await, it may be, stronger, better, arguments than are forthcoming; but will wait for them with unfailing patience.— “The soul therefore Cebes,” since such provisional arguments must be allowed to pass, “is something sturdy and strong (ischuron ti estin)+ imperishable by accident or wear; and we shall really exist in Hades.” Indulging a little  further the “poetry turned logic” of those youthful assistants, Socrates too, even Socrates, who had always turned away so persistently from what he thought the vanity of the eye, just before the bodily eye finally closes, and his last moment being now at hand, ascends to, or declines upon, the fancy of a quite visible paradise awaiting him. —

It is said that the world, if one gaze down on it from above, is to look on like those leathern balls of twelve pieces, variegated in divers colours, of which the colours here — those our painters use — are as it were samples. There, the whole world is formed of such, and far brighter and purer than they; part sea-purple of a wonderful beauty; a part like gold; a part whiter than alabaster or snow; aye, composed thus of other colours also of like quality, of greater loveliness than ours — colours we have never seen. For even those hollows in it, being filled with air and water, present a certain species of colour gleaming amid the diversity of the others; so that it presents one continuous aspect of varied hues. Thus it is: and conform- ably tree and flower and fruit are put forth and grow. The mountains again and the rocks, after the same manner, have a smoothness and transparency and colours lovelier than here. The tiny precious stones we prize so greatly are but morsels of them — sards and jasper and emerald and the rest. No baser kind of thing is to be found in that world, but finer rather. The cause of which is that the rocks there are pure, not gnawed away and corrupted like ours by rot and brine, through the moistures which drain together here, bringing disease and deformity to rocks and earth as well as to living things. There are many living creatures in the land besides men and women, some abiding inland, and some on the coasts of the air, as we by the sea, others in the islands amidst its waves; for, in a word, what the water of the sea is to us for our uses, that the air is to them. The blending of the seasons there is such that they have no sickness and come to years more numerous far than ours: while  for sight and scent and hearing and the like they stand as far from us, as air from water, in respect of purity, and the aether from air. There are thrones moreover and temples of the gods among them, wherein in very deed the gods abide; voices and oracles and sensible apprehensions of them; and occasions of intercourse with their very selves. The sun, the moon and the stars they see as they really are; and are blessed in all other matters agreeably thereto. Phaedo, 110.

The great assertor of the abstract, the impalpable, the unseen, at any cost, shows there a mastery of visual expression equal to that of his greatest disciple. — Ah, good master! was the eye so contemptible an organ of knowledge after all?

Plato was then about twenty-eight years old; a rich young man, rich also in intellectual gifts; and what he saw and heard from and about Socrates afforded the correction his opulent genius needed, and made him the most serious of writers. In many things he was as unlike as possible to the teacher — rude and rough as some failure of his own old sculptor’s workshop — who might seem in his own person to have broken up the harmonious grace of the Greek type, and carried people one step into a world already in reaction against the easy Attic temper, a world in which it might be necessary to go far below the surface for the beauty of which those homely lips had discoursed so much. Perhaps he acted all the more surely as a corrective force on Plato, henceforward an opponent of the  obviously successful mental habits of the day, with an unworldliness which, a personal trait in Plato himself there acquired, will ever be of the very essence of Platonism.— “Many are called, but few chosen”: Narthêkophoroi men polloi, bakchoi de te pauroi.+ He will have, as readers of The Republic know, a hundred precepts of self-repression for others — the self-repression of every really tuneable member of a chorus; and he begins by almost effacing himself. All that is best and largest in his own matured genius he identifies with his master; and when we speak of Plato generally what we are really thinking of is the Platonic Socrates.

CHAPTER 5: PLATO AND THE SOPHISTS

“SOPHIST,” professional enemy of Socrates: — it became, chiefly through the influence of Plato, inheriting, expanding, the preferences and antipathies of his master, a bad name. Yet it had but indicated, by a quite natural verbal formation, the class of persons through whom, in the most effectual manner, supply met demand, the demand for education, asserted by that marvellously ready Greek people, when the youthful mind in them became suddenly aware of the coming of virile capacity, and they desired to be made by rules of art better speakers, better writers and accountants, than any merely natural, unassisted gifts, however fortunate, could make them. While the peculiar religiousness of Socrates had induced in him the conviction that he was something less than a wise man, a philosopher only, a mere seeker after such wisdom as he might after all never attain, here were the sophistai,+ the experts — wise men, who proposed to make other people as wise as themselves, wise in that sort of wisdom  regarding which we can really test others, and let them test us, not with the merely approximate results of the Socratic method, but with the exactness we may apply to processes understood to be mechanical, or to the proficiency of quite young students (such as in fact the Sophists were dealing with) by those examinations which are so sufficient in their proper place. It had been as delightful as learning a new game, that instruction, in which you could measure your daily progress by brilliant feats of skill. Not only did the parents of those young students pay readily large sums for their instruction in what it was found so useful to know, above all in the art of public speaking, of self-defence, that is to say, in democratic Athens where one’s personal status was become so insecure; but the young students themselves felt grateful for their institution in what told so immediately on their fellows; for help in the comprehension of the difficult sentences of another, or the improvement of one’s own; for the accomplishments which enabled them in that busy competitive world to push their fortunes each one for himself a little further, and quite innocently. Of course they listened.

“Love not the world!” — that, on the other hand, was what Socrates had said, or seemed to say; though in truth he too meant only to teach them how by a more circuitous but surer way to  possess themselves of it. And youth, naturally curious and for the most part generous, willing to undergo much for the mere promise of some good thing it can scarcely even imagine, had been ready to listen to him too; the sons of rich men most often, by no means to the dissatisfaction of Socrates himself, though he never touched their money; young men who had amplest leisure for the task of perfecting their souls, in a condition of religious luxury, as we should perhaps say. As was evident in the court-house at the trial of the great teacher, to the eyes of older citizens who had not come under his personal influence, there had been little to distinguish between Socrates and his professional rivals. Socrates in truth was a Sophist; but more than a Sophist. Both alike handled freely matters that to the fathers had seemed beyond question; encouraged what seemed impious questioning in the sons; had set “the hearts of the sons against the fathers”; and some instances there were in which the teaching of Socrates had been more conspicuously ruinous than theirs. “If you ask people at Athens,” says Socrates in the Meno, “how virtue is to be attained, they will laugh in your face and say they don’t so much as know what virtue is.” And who was responsible for that? Certainly that Dialogue, proposing to discover the essential nature of virtue, by no means re-establishes one’s old prepossessions about it in the vein of  Simonides, or Pindar, or one’s elders. Sophist, and philosopher; Protagoras, and Socrates; so far, their effect was the same: — to the horror of fathers, to put the minds of the sons in motion regarding matters it were surely best to take as settled once and for ever. What then after all was the insuperable difference between Socrates and those rival teachers, with whom he had nevertheless so much in common, bent like him so effectively, so zealously, on that new study of man, of human nature and the moral world, to the exclusion of all useless “meteoric or subterranean enquiries” into things. As attractive as himself to ingenuous youth, uncorrupt surely in its early intentions, why did the Sophists seem to Socrates to be so manifestly an instrument of its corruption?

“The citizen of Athens,” observed that great Athenian statesman of the preceding age, in whom, as a German philosopher might say, the mobile soul of Athens became conscious,— “The citizen of Athens seems to me to present himself in his single person to the greatest possible variety (pleista eidê)+ of thought and action, with the utmost degree of versatility.” As we saw, the example of that mobility, that daring mobility, of character has seemed to many the special contribution of the Greek people to advancing humanity. It was not however of the Greek people in general that Pericles was speaking at the beginning of the Peloponnesian  war, but of Athens in particular; of Athens, that perfect flower of Ionian genius, in direct contrast to, and now in bitter rivalry with, Sparta, the perfect flower of the Dorian genius. All through Greek history, as we also saw, in connexion with Plato’s opposition to the philosophy of motion, there may be traced, in every sphere of the activity of the Greek mind, the influence of those two opposing tendencies: — the centrifugal and the centripetal tendencies, as we may perhaps not too fancifully call them.

There is the centrifugal, the irresponsible, the Ionian or Asiatic, tendency; flying from the centre, working with little forethought straight before it in the development of every thought and fancy; throwing itself forth in endless play of undirected imagination; delighting in colour and brightness, moral or physical; in beautiful material, in changeful form everywhere, in poetry, in music, in architecture and its subordinate crafts, in philosophy itself. In the social and political order it rejoices in the freest action of local and personal influences: its restless versatility drives it towards the assertion of the principles of individualism, of separatism — the separation of state from state, the maintenance of local religions, the development of the individual in that which is most peculiar and individual in him. Shut off land-wards from the primitive sources of those many elements it was to compose anew, shut off from all the rest of the world, to  which it presented but one narrow entrance pierced through that rock of Tempe, so narrow that “in the opinion of the ancients it might be defended by a dozen men against all comers,” it did recompose or fuse those many diverse elements into one absolutely original type. But what variety within! Its very claim was in its grace of movement, its freedom and easy happiness, its lively interests, the variety of its gifts to civilisation; but its weakness is self-evident, and was what had made the political unity of Greece impossible. The Greek spirit! — it might have become a hydra, to use Plato’s own figure, a monster; the hand developing hideously into a hundred hands, or heads.

This inorganic, this centrifugal, tendency, Plato was desirous to cure by maintaining over against it the Dorian influence of a severe simplification everywhere, in society, in culture, in the very physical nature of man. An enemy everywhere, though through acquired principle indeed rather than by instinct, to variegation, to what is cunning, or “myriad-minded” (as we say of Shakespeare, as Plato thinks of Homer) he sets himself in mythology, in literature, in every kind of art, in the art of life, as if with conscious metaphysical opposition to the metaphysic of Heraclitus, to enforce the ideal of a sort of Parmenidean abstractness, and monotony or calm.

This, perhaps exaggerated, ideal of Plato is  however only the exaggeration of that salutary, strictly European tendency, which, finding human mind, the human reason cool and sane, to be the most absolutely real and precious thing in the world, enforces everywhere the impress of its reasonable sanity; its candid reflexions upon things as they really are; its sense of logical proportion. It is that centripetal tendency, again, which links the individual units together, states to states, one period of organic growth to another, under the reign of a strictly composed, self-conscious order, in the universal light of the understanding.

Whether or not this temper, so clearly traceable as a distinct rival influence in the course of Greek development, was indeed the peculiar gift of the Dorian race, certainly that race, as made known to us especially in Lacedaemon, is the best illustration of it, in its love of order, of that severe composition everywhere, of which the Dorian style of architecture is as it were a material symbol, in its constant aspiration after what is dignified and earnest, as exemplified most evidently in the religion of its preference, the religion of Apollo.

Now the key to Plato’s view of the Sophists, Gorgias, Protagoras, Hippias, Prodicus, with their less brilliant followers — chosen educators of the public — is that they do but fan and add fuel to the fire in which Greece, as they wander  like ardent missionaries about it, is flaming itself away. Teaching in their large, fashionable, expensive schools, so triumphantly well, the arts one needed most in so busy an age, they were really developing further and reinforcing the ruinous fluidity of the Greek, and especially of the Athenian people, by turning it very adroitly into a conscious method, a practical philosophy, an art of life itself, in which all those specific arts would be but subsidiary — an all-supplementing ars artium, a master-art, or, in depreciatory Platonic mood one might say, an artifice, or, cynically, a trick. The great sophist was indeed the Athenian public itself, Athens, as the willing victim of its own gifts, its own flamboyancy, well-nigh worn out now by the mutual friction of its own parts, given over completely to hazardous political experiment with the irresponsibility which is ever the great vice of democracy, ever ready to float away anywhither, to misunderstand, or forget, or discredit, its own past. —

Or do you too hold like the many (asks Socrates in the sixth book of The Republic) that a certain number are corrupted by sophists in their youth; and that certain sophists, irresponsible persons, corrupt them to any extent worth noting; and not rather that those who say these things are the greatest sophists; that they train to perfection, and turn out both old and young, men and women, just as they choose them to be? — When, pray? He asked. — When seated together in their thousands at the great assemblies, or in the law-courts, or the theatres, or the camp, or any other common gathering of the public, with much noise the majority praise this and blame  that in what is said and done, both alike in excess, shouting and clapping; and the very rocks too and the place in which they are, echoing around, send back redoubled that clamour of praise and blame. In such case, what heart as they say, what heart, think you, can the young man keep? or what private education he may have had hold out for him that it be not over-flooded by praise or blame like that, and depart away, borne down the stream, whithersoever that may carry it, and that he pronounce not the same thing as they fair or foul; and follow the same ways as they; and become like them? Republic, 492.+

The veritable sophist then, the dynamic sophist, was the Athenian public of the day; those ostensible or professional Sophists being not so much its intellectual directors as the pupils or followers of it. They did but make it, as the French say, abound the more in its own sense, like the keeper (it is Plato’s own image) of some wild beast, which he knows how to command by a well-considered obedience to all its varying humours. If the Sophists are partly the cause they are still more the effect of the social environment. They had discovered, had ascertained with much acuteness, the actual momentum of the society which maintained them, and they meant only, by regulating, to maintain it. Protagoras, the chief of Sophists, had avowedly applied to ethics the physics or metaphysics of Heraclitus. And now it was as if the disintegrating Heraclitean fire had taken hold on actual life, on men’s very thoughts, on the emotions and the will.

That so faulty natural tendency, as Plato holds  it to be, in the world around them, they formulate carefully as its proper conscious theory: a theory how things must, nay, ought, to be. “Just that,” they seem to say— “Just that versatility, that mutable spirit, shall become by adoption the child of knowledge, shall be carefully nurtured, brought to great fortune. We’ll make you, and your thoughts, as fluid, as shifty, as things themselves: will bring you, like some perfectly accomplished implement, to this carrière ouverte, this open quarry, for the furtherance of your personal interests in the world.” And if old- fashioned principle or prejudice be found in the way, who better than they could instruct one, not how to minimise, or violate it — that was not needed, nor perhaps desirable, regarding what was so useful for the control of others — not that; but, to apply the intellectual solvent to it, in regard to one’s self? “It will break up, — this or that ethical deposit in your mind, Ah! very neatly, very prettily, and disappear, when exposed to the action of our perfected method. Of credit with the vulgar as such, in the solitary chamber of the aristocratic mind such presuppositions, prejudices or principles, may be made very soon to know their place.”

Yes! says Plato (for a moment we may anticipate what is at least the spirit of his answer) but there are some presuppositions after all, which it will make us very vulgar to have dismissed from us. “There are moreover,”  those others proceed to say, “teachers of persuasion (peithous didaskaloi)+ who impart skill in popular and forensic oratory; and so by fair means or by unfair we shall gain our ends.” It is with the dêmos,+ with the vulgar, insubordinate, tag-rag of one’s own nature — how to rule that, by obeying it — that these professors of rhetoric begin. They are still notwithstanding the only teachers of morals ingenuous Greece is aware of; and wisdom, as seems likely, “must die with them!” —

Some very small number then (says the Platonic Socrates) is left, of those who in worthy fashion hold converse with philosophy: either, it may be, some soul of in-born worth and well brought up, to which it has happened to be exiled in a foreign land, holding to philosophy by a tie of nature, and through lack of those who will corrupt it; or when it may chance that a great soul comes to birth in an insignificant state, to the politics of which it gives no heed, because it thinks them despicable: perhaps a certain fraction also, of good parts, may come to philosophy from some other craft, through a just contempt of that. The bridle too of our companion Theages has a restraining power. For in the case of Theages also, all the other conditions were in readiness to his falling away from philosophy; but the nursing of his sickly body, excluding him from politics, keeps him back. Our own peculiarity is not worth speaking of — the sign from heaven! for I suppose it has occurred to scarce anyone before. And so, those who have been of this number, and have tasted how sweet and blessed the possession is; and again, having a full view of the folly of the many, and that no one, I might say, effects any sound result in what concerns the state, or is an ally in whose company one might proceed safe and sound to the help of the just, but that, like a man falling among wild beasts, neither willing to share their evil deeds, nor sufficient by himself to resist the whole fierce band, flung away before he shall have done any service  to the city or to his own friends, he would become useless both to himself and to others: taking all this into consideration, keeping silence and doing his own business, as one standing aside under a hedge in some storm of dust and spray beneath a driven wind, seeing those about him replete with lawlessness, he is content if by any means, pure from injustice and unholy deeds, himself shall live through his life here, and in turn make his escape with good hope, in cheerful and kindly mood. (What long sentences Plato writes!) Yet in truth, he said, he would make his escape after not the least of achievements. — Nor yet the greatest, I observed, because he did not light upon the polity fitted for him: for, in that fitting polity, himself will grow to completer stature, and, together with what belongs to him, he will be the saviour also of the commonwealth. Republic, 496.+

Over against the Sophists, and the age which has sophisticated them, of which they are the natural product, Plato, being himself of a genius naturally rich, florid, complex, excitable, but adding to the utmost degree of Ionian sensibility an effectual desire towards the Dorian order and askêsis, asserts everywhere the principle of outline, in political and moral life; in the education which is to fit men for it; in the music which is one half of that education, in the philosophy which is its other half — the “philosophy of the ideas,” of those eternally fixed outlines of our thought, which correspond to, nay, are actually identical with, the eternally fixed outlines of things themselves. What the difference (difference in regard to continuity and clearness) really is between the conditions of mind, in which respectively the sophistic process, and the genuinely philosophical or dialectic process, as  conceived by Plato, leave us, is well illustrated by the peculiar treatment of Justice, its proper definition or idea, in The Republic. Justice (or Righteousness, as we say, more largely) under the light of a comprehensive experience of it, carefully, diligently, adjusted to the nature of man on the one hand, of society on the other, becomes in the fourth book of The Republic, to ta hautou prattein+ — to ta hautou prattein.+ There, then, is the eternal outline of Righteousness or Justice as it really is, equally clear and indefectible at every point; a definition of it which can by no supposition become a definition of anything else; impenetrable, not to be traversed, by any possible definition of Injustice; securing an essential value to its possessor, independently of all falsities of appearance; and leaving justice, as it really is in itself, unaffected even by phenomena so misrepresentative of it as to deceive the very gods, or many good men, as happened pre-eminently in the case of Socrates.

Here then is the reply of the Platonic Socrates to the challenge that he should prove himself master of a more certain philosophy than that of the people, as represented by the old gnomic poet Simonides, “whom it is hard to disbelieve,” (sophos gar kai theios anêr)+ on the one hand; than that of the Sophists on the other, as represented by Thrasymachus. “Show us not only that justice is a better thing than Injustice; but, by doing what (alla ti poiousa)+ to the soul of its possessor, each of them respectively, in and by itself (hautê di’ hautên)+ even if men and gods alike mistake it for its contrary, is still the one a good thing, the other a bad one.”

But note for a few moments the precise treatment of the idea of Justice in the first book of The Republic. Sophistry and common sense are trying their best to apprehend, to cover or occupy, a certain space, as the exact area of Justice. And what happens with each proposed definition in turn is, that it becomes, under conceivable circumstances, a definition of Injustice: not that, in practice, a confusion between the two is therefore likely; but that the intellect remains unsatisfied of the theoretic validity of the distinction.

Now that intellectual situation illustrates the sense in which sophistry is a reproduction of the Heraclitean flux. The old Heraclitean physical theory presents itself as a natural basis for the moral, the social, dissolution, which the sophistical  movement promotes. But what a contrast to it, in the treatment of Justice, of the question, What Justice is? in that introductory book of The Republic. The first book forms in truth an eristic, a destructive or negative, Dialogue (such as we have other examples of) in which the whole business might have concluded, prematurely, with an exposure of the inadequacy, alike of common-sense as represented by Simonides, and of a sophisticated philosophy as represented by Thrasymachus, to define Justice. Note, however, in what way, precisely. That it is Just, for instance, to restore what one owes (to ta opheilomena apodidonai)+ might pass well enough for a general guide to right conduct; and the sophistical judgment that Justice is “The interest of the stronger” is not more untrue than the contrary paradox that “Justice is a plot of the weak against the strong.”

It is, then, in regard to the claims of Justice, not so much on practice, as on the intellect, in its demand for a clear theory of practice, that those definitions fail. They are failures because they fail to distinguish absolutely, ideally, as towards the intellect, what is, from what is not. To Plato, for whom, constitutionally, and ex hypothesi, what can be clearly thought is the precise measure of what really is, if such a thought about Justice — absolutely inclusive and exclusive — is, after all our efforts, not to be ascertained, this can only be, because Justice is not  a real thing, but only an empty or confused name.

Now the Sophist and the popular moralist, in that preliminary attempt to define the nature of Justice — what is right, are both alike trying, first in this formula, then in that, to occupy, by a thought, and by a definition which may convey that thought into the mind of another — to occupy, or cover, a certain area of the phenomena of experience, as the Just. And what happens thereupon is this, that by means of a certain kind of casuistry, by the allegation of certain possible cases of conduct, the whole of that supposed area of the Just is occupied by definitions of Injustice, from this centre or that. Justice therefore- -its area, the space of experience which it covers, dissolves away, literally, as the eye is fixed upon it, like Heraclitean water: it is and is not. And if this, and the like of this, is to the last all that can be known or said of it, Justice will be no current coin, at least to the acute philosophic mind. But has some larger philosophy perhaps something more to say of it? and the power of defining an area, upon which no definition of Injustice, in any conceivable case of act or feeling, can infringe? That is the question upon which the essential argument of The Republic starts — upon a voyage of discovery. It is Plato’s own figure.

There, clearly enough, may be seen what the difference, the difference of aim, between Socrates  and the Sophists really was, amid much that they had in common, as being both alike distinguished from that older world of opinion of which Simonides is the mouthpiece.

The quarrel of Socrates with the Sophists was in part one of those antagonisms which are involved necessarily in the very conditions of an age that has not yet made up its mind; was in part also a mere rivalry of individuals; and it might have remained in memory only as a matter of historical interest. It has been otherwise. That innocent word “Sophist” has survived in common language, to indicate some constantly recurring viciousness, in the treatment of one’s own and of other minds, which is always at variance with such habits of thought as are really worth while. There is an every-day “sophistry,” of course, against which we have all of us to be on our guard — that insincerity of reasoning on behalf of sincere convictions, true or false in themselves as the case may be, to which, if we are unwise enough to argue at all with each other, we must all be tempted at times. Such insincerity however is for the most part apt to expose itself. But there is a more insidious sophistry of which Plato is aware; and against which he contends in the Protagoras, and again still more effectively in the Phaedrus; the closing pages of which discover the essential point of that famous quarrel between the Sophists and Socrates or Plato, in regard to a matter which is  of permanent interest in itself, and as being not directly connected with practical morals is unaffected by the peculiar prejudices of that age. Art, the art of oratory, in particular, and of literary composition, — in this case, how one should write or speak really inflammatory discourses about love, write love- letters, so to speak, that shall really get at the heart they’re meant for — that was a matter on which the Sophists had thought much professionally. And the debate introduced in the Phaedrus regarding the secret of success in proposals of love or friendship turns properly on this: whether it is necessary, or even advantageous, for one who would be a good orator, or writer, a poet, a good artist generally, to know, and consciously to keep himself in contact with, the truth of his subject as he knows or feels it; or only with what other people, perhaps quite indolently, think, or suppose others to think, about it. And here the charge of Socrates against those professional teachers of the art of rhetoric comes to be, that, with much superficial aptitude in the conduct of the matter, they neither reach, nor put others in the way of reaching, that intellectual ground of things (of the consciousness of love for instance, when they are to open their lips, and presumably their souls, about that) in true contact with which alone can there be a real mastery in dealing with them. That you yourself must have an inward, carefully ascertained, measured, instituted hold  over anything you are to convey with any real power to others, is the truth which the Platonic Socrates, in strongly convinced words, always reasonable about it, formulates, in opposition to the Sophists’ impudently avowed theory and practice of the superficial, as such. Well! we all always need to be set on our guard against theories which flatter the natural indolence of our minds.

“We proposed then just now,” says Socrates in the Phaedrus, “to consider the theory of the way in which one would or would not write or speak well.”— “Certainly!”— “Well then, must there not be in those who are to speak meritoriously, an understanding well acquainted with the truth of the things they are to speak about?”— “Nay!” answers Phaedrus, in that age of sophistry, “It is in this way I have heard about it: — that it is not necessary for one who would be a master of rhetoric to learn what really is just, for instance; but rather what seems just to the multitude who are to give judgment: nor again what is good or beautiful; but only what seems so to them. For persuasion comes of the latter; by no means of a hold upon the truth of things.”

Whether or not the Sophists were quite fairly chargeable with that sort of “inward lie,” just this, at all events, was in the judgment of Plato the essence of sophistic vice. With them  art began too precipitately, as mere form without matter; a thing of disconnected empiric rules, caught from the mere surface of other people’s productions, in congruity with a general method which everywhere ruthlessly severed branch and flower from its natural root — art from one’s own vivid sensation or belief. The Lacedaemonian (ho Lakôn)+ Plato’s favourite scholar always, as having that infinite patience which is the note of a sincere, a really impassioned lover of anything, says, in his convinced Lacedaemonian way, that a genuine art of speech (tou legein etumos technê)+ unless one be in contact with truth, there neither is nor can be. We are reminded of that difference between genuine memory, and mere haphazard recollection, noted by Plato in the story he tells so well of the invention of writing in ancient Egypt. — It might be doubted, he thinks, whether genuine memory was encouraged by that invention. The note on the margin by the inattentive reader to “remind himself,” is, as we know, often his final good-bye to what it should remind him of. Now this is true of all art: Logôn ara technên, ho tên alêtheian mê eidôs, doxas te tethêreukôs, geloion tina kai atexnon parexetai.+ — It is but a kind of bastard art of mere words (texnê atexnos)+ that he will have who does not know the truth of things, but has tried to hunt out what other people think about it. “Conception,” observed an intensely personal, deeply stirred, poet and artist of our own generation:  “Conception, fundamental brainwork,- -that is what makes the difference, in all art.”

Against all pretended, mechanically communicable rules of art then, against any rule of literary composition, for instance, unsanctioned by the facts, by a clear apprehension of the facts, of that experience, which to each one of us severally is the beginning, if it be not also the end, of all knowledge, against every merely formal dictate (their name is legion with practising Sophists of all ages) Peri brachylogias, kai eleeinologias, kai deinôseôs,+ concerning freedom or precision, figure, emphasis, proportion of parts and the like, exordium and conclusion: — against all such the Platonic Socrates still protests, “You know what must be known before harmony can be attained, but not yet the laws of harmony itself,” — ta pro tragôdias,+ Sophocles would object in like case, ta pro tragôdias, all’ ou tragika.+ Given the dynamic Sophoclean intention or conviction, and the irresistible law of right utterance, (anankê logographikê)+ how one must write or speak, will make itself felt; will assuredly also renew many an old precept, as to how one shall write or speak, learned at school. To speak pros doxan+ only, as towards mere unreasoned opinion, might do well enough in the law-courts with people, who (as is understood in that case) do not really care very much about justice itself, desire only that a friend should be acquitted, or an enemy convicted, irrespectively of it; but

For the essence of all artistic beauty is expression, which cannot be where there’s really nothing to be expressed; the line, the colour, the word, following obediently, and with minute scruple, the conscious motions of a convinced intelligible soul. To make men interested in themselves, as being the very ground of all reality for them, la vraie vérité, as the French say: — that was the essential function of the Socratic method: to flash light into the house within, its many chambers, its memories and associations, upon its inscribed and pictured walls. Fully occupied there, as with his own essential business in his own home, the young man would become, of course, proportionately less interested, less meanly interested, in what was superficial, in the mere outsides, of other people and their occupations. With the true artist indeed, with almost every expert, all knowledge, of almost every kind, tells, is attracted into, and duly charged with, the force of what  may be his leading apprehension. And as the special function of all speech as a fine art is the control of minds (psychagôgia)+ it is in general with knowledge of the soul of man — with a veritable psychology, with as much as possible as we can get of that — that the writer, the speaker, must be chiefly concerned, if he is to handle minds not by mere empiric routine, tribê monon, kai empeiria alla technê,+ but by the power of veritable fine art. Now such art, such theory, is not “to be caught with the left hand,” as the Greek phrase went; and again, chalepa ta kala.+ We have no time to hear in English Plato’s clever specimens of the way in which people would write about love without success. Let us rather hear himself on that subject, in his own characteristic mood of conviction. —

Try! she said (a certain Sibylline woman namely, from whose lips Socrates in the Symposium is supposed to quote what follows) Try to apply your mind as closely as possible to what I am going to say. For he who has been led thus far in the discipline of love, beholding beautiful objects in the right order, coming now towards the end of the doctrine of love, will on a sudden behold a beauty wonderful in its nature: — that, Socrates! towards which indeed the former exercises were all designed; being first of all ever existent; having neither beginning nor end; neither growing or fading away; and then, not beautiful in one way, unbeautiful in another; beautiful now, but not then; beautiful in this relation, unlovely in that; to some, but not to others. Nor again will that beauty appear to him to be beautiful as a face or hands or anything else that belongs to the body; nor as any kind of reasoning or science; nor as being resident in anything else, as in a living creature or the earth or the sky or any other  thing; but as being itself by itself, ever in a single form with itself; all other beautiful things so participating in it, that while they begin and cease to be, that neither becomes more nor less nor suffers any other change. Whenever, then, anyone, beginning from things here below, through a right practice of love, ascending, begins to discern that other beauty, he will almost have reached the end. For this in truth is the right method of proceeding towards the doctrine of love, or of being conducted therein by another, — beginning from these beautiful objects here below ever to be going up higher, with that other beauty in view; using them as steps of a ladder; mounting from the love of one fair person to the love of two; and from the love of two to the love of all; and from the love of beautiful persons to the love of beautiful employments — kala epitêdeumata+ (that means being a soldier, or a priest, or a scholar) and from the love of beautiful employments to the love of beautiful kinds of knowledge; till he passes from degrees of knowledge to that knowledge which is the knowledge of nothing else save the absolute Beauty itself, and knows it at length as in itself it really is. At this moment of life, dear Socrates! said the Mantinean Sibyl, if at any moment, man truly lives, beholding the absolute beauty — the which, so you have once seen it, will appear beyond the comparison of gold, or raiment, or those beautiful young persons, seeing whom now, like many another, you are so overcome that you are ready, beholding those beautiful persons and associating ever with them, if it were possible, neither to eat nor drink but only to look into their eyes and sit beside them. What then, she asked, suppose we? if it were given to any one to behold the absolute beauty, in its clearness, its pureness, its unmixed essence; not replete with flesh and blood and colours and other manifold vanity of this mortal life; but if he were able to behold that divine beauty (monoeides)+ simply as it is. Do you think, she said, that life would be a poor thing to one whose eyes were fixed on that; seeing that, (hô dei)+ with the organ through which it must be seen, and communing with that? Do you not think rather, she asked, that here alone it will be his, seeing the beautiful with that through which it may be seen (namely with the imaginative reason, ho nous+) to beget no mere phantasms of virtue, as it is no phantom he  apprehends, but the true virtue, as he embraces what is true? And having begotten virtue (virtue is the child that will be born of this mystic intellectual commerce, or connubium, of the imaginative reason with ideal beauty) and reared it, he will become dear to God, and if any man may be immortal he will be. Symposium, 210.+

The essential vice of sophistry, as Plato conceived it, was that for it no real things existed. Real things did exist for Plato, things that were “an end in themselves”; and the Platonic Socrates was right: — Plato has written so well there, because he was no scholar of the Sophists as he understood them, but is writing of what he really knows.

CHAPTER 6: THE GENIUS OF PLATO

ALL true criticism of philosophic doctrine, as of every other product of human mind, must begin with an historic estimate of the conditions, antecedent and contemporary, which helped to make it precisely what it was. But a complete criticism does not end there. In the evolution of abstract doctrine as we find it written in the history of philosophy, if there is always, on one side, the fatal, irresistible, mechanic play of circumstance — the circumstances of a particular age, which may be analysed and explained; there is always also, as if acting from the opposite side, the comparatively inexplicable force of a personality, resistant to, while it is moulded by, them. It might even be said that the trial-task of criticism, in regard to literature and art no less than to philosophy, begins exactly where the estimate of general conditions, of the conditions common to all the products of this or that particular age — of the “environment” — leaves off, and we touch what is unique in the individual genius  which contrived after all, by force of will, to have its own masterful way with that environment. If in reading Plato, for instance, the philosophic student has to re-construct for himself, as far as possible, the general character of an age, he must also, so far as he may, reproduce the portrait of a person. The Sophists, the Sophistical world, around him; his master, Socrates; the Pre-Socratic philosophies; the mechanic influence, that is to say, of past and present: — of course we can know nothing at all of the Platonic doctrine except so far as we see it in well-ascertained contact with all that; but there is also Plato himself in it.

— A personality, we may notice at the outset, of a certain complication. The great masters of philosophy have been for the most part its noticeably single-minded servants. As if in emulation of Aristotle’s simplicity of character, his absorbing intellectualism — impressive certainly, heroic enough, in its way — they have served science, science in vacuo, as if nothing beside, faith, imagination, love, the bodily sense, could detach them from it for an hour. It is not merely that we know little of their lives (there was so little to tell!) but that we know nothing at all of their temperaments; of which, that one leading abstract or scientific force in them was in fact strictly exclusive. Little more than intellectual abstractions themselves, in them  philosophy was wholly faithful to its colours, or its colourlessness; rendering not grey only, as Hegel said of it, but all colours alike, in grey.

With Plato it was otherwise. In him, the passion for truth did but bend, or take the bent of, certain ineradicable predispositions of his nature, in themselves perhaps somewhat opposed to that. It is however in the blending of diverse elements in the mental constitution of Plato that the peculiar Platonic quality resides. Platonism is in one sense an emphatic witness to the unseen, the transcendental, the non- experienced, the beauty, for instance, which is not for the bodily eye. Yet the author of this philosophy of the unseen was, — Who can doubt it who has read but a page of him? this, in fact, is what has led and kept to his pages many who have little or no turn for the sort of questions Plato actually discusses: — The author of this philosophy of the unseen was one, for whom, as was said of a very different French writer, “the visible world really existed.” Austere as he seems, and on well- considered principle really is, his temperance or austerity, aesthetically so winning, is attained only by the chastisement, the control, of a variously interested, a richly sensuous nature. Yes, the visible world, so pre-eminently worth eye-sight at Athens just then, really existed for him: exists still — there’s the point! — is active still everywhere, when he seems to have turned away from it to invisible things.

To the somewhat sad-coloured school of Socrates, and its discipline towards apathy or contempt in such matters, he had brought capacities of bodily sense with the making in them of an Odyssey; or (shall we say?) of a poet after the order of Sappho or Catullus; as indeed also a practical intelligence, a popular management of his own powers, a skill in philosophic yet mundane Greek prose, which might have constituted him the most successful of Sophists. You cannot help seeing that his mind is a storehouse of all the liveliest imageries of men and things. Nothing, if it really arrests eye or ear at all, is too trivial to note. Passing through the crowd of human beings, he notes the sounds alike of their solemn hymns and of their pettiest handicraft. A conventional philosopher might speak of “dumb matter,” for instance; but Plato has lingered too long in braziers’ workshops to lapse into so stupid an epithet. And if the persistent hold of sensible things upon him thus reveals itself in trifles, it is manifest no less in the way in which he can tell a long story, — no one more effectively! and again, in his graphic presentment of whole scenes from actual life, like that with which The Republic opens. His Socrates, like other people, is curious to witness a new religious function: how they will do it. As in modern times, it would be a pleasant occasion also for meeting the acquaintance one likes best — Synesometha pollois  tôn neôn autothi.+ “We shall meet a number of our youth there: we shall have a dialogue: there will be a torchlight procession in honour of the goddess, an equestrian procession: a novel feature! — What? Torches in their hands, passed on as they race? Aye, and an illumination, through the entire night. It will be worth seeing!” — that old midnight hour, as Carlyle says of another vivid scene, “shining yet on us, ruddy-bright through the centuries.” Put alongside of that, and, for life-like charm, side by side with Murillo’s Beggar- boys (you catch them, if you look at his canvas on the sudden, actually moving their mouths, to laugh and speak and munch their crusts, all at once) the scene in the Lysis of the dice-players. There the boys are! in full dress, to take part in a religious ceremony. It is scarcely over; but they are already busy with the knuckle-bones, some just outside the door, others in a corner. Though Plato never tells one without due motive, yet he loves a story for its own sake, can make one of fact or fancy at a moment’s notice, or re-tell other people’s better: how those dear skinny grasshoppers of Attica, for instance, had once been human creatures, who, when the Muses first came on earth, were so absorbed by their music that they forgot even to eat and drink, till they died of it. And then the story of Gyges in The Republic, and the ring that can make its wearer invisible: — it goes as easily, as the ring itself round the finger.

Like all masters of literature, Plato has of course varied excellences; but perhaps none of them has won for him a larger number of friendly readers than this impress of visible reality. For him, truly (as he supposed the highest sort of knowledge must of necessity be) all knowledge was like knowing a person. The Dialogue itself, being, as it is, the special creation of his literary art, becomes in his hands, and by his masterly conduct of it, like a single living person; so comprehensive a sense does he bring to bear upon it of the slowly- developing physiognomy of the thing — its organic structure, its symmetry and expression — combining all the various, disparate subjects of The Republic, for example, into a manageable whole, so entirely that, looking back, one fancies this long dialogue of at least three hundred pages might have occupied, perhaps an afternoon.

And those who take part in it! If Plato did not create the “Socrates” of his Dialogues, he has created other characters hardly less life- like. The young Charmides, the incarnation of natural, as the aged Cephalus of acquired, temperance; his Sophoclean amenity as he sits there pontifically at the altar, in the court of his peaceful house; the large company, of varied character and of every age, which moves in those Dialogues, though still oftenest the young  in all their youthful liveliness: — who that knows them at all can doubt Plato’s hold on persons, that of persons on him? Sometimes, even when they are not formally introduced into his work, characters that had interested, impressed, or touched him, inform and colour it, as if with their personal influence, showing through what purports to be the wholly abstract analysis of some wholly abstract moral situation. Thus, the form of the dying Socrates himself is visible pathetically in the description of the suffering righteous man, actually put into his own mouth in the second book of The Republic; as the winning brilliancy of the lost spirit of Alcibiades infuses those pages of the sixth, which discuss the nature of one by birth and endowments an aristocrat, amid the dangers to which it is exposed in the Athens of that day — the qualities which must make him, if not the saviour, the destroyer, of a society which cannot remain unaffected by his showy presence. Corruptio optimi pessima! Yet even here, when Plato is dealing with the inmost elements of personality, his eye is still on its object, on character as seen in characteristics, through those details, which make character a sensible fact, the changes of colour in the face as of tone in the voice, the gestures, the really physiognomic value, or the mere tricks, of gesture and glance and speech. What is visibly expressive in, or upon, persons; those flashes of temper which check yet give  renewed interest to the course of a conversation; the delicate touches of intercourse, which convey to the very senses all the subtleties of the heart or of the intelligence: — it is always more than worth his while to make note of these.

We see, for instance, the sharp little pygmy bit of a soul that catches sight of any little thing so keenly, and makes a very proper lawyer. We see, as well as hear, the “rhapsodist,” whose sensitive performance of his part is nothing less than an “interpretation” of it, artist and critic at once: the personal vanities of the various speakers in his Dialogues, as though Plato had observed, or overheard them, alone; and the inevitable prominence of youth wherever it is present at all, notwithstanding the real sweetness of manner and modesty of soul he records of it so affectionately. It is this he loves best to linger by; to feel himself in contact with a condition of life, which translates all it is, so immediately, into delightful colour, and movement, and sound. The eighth and ninth books of The Republic are a grave contribution, as you know, to abstract moral and political theory, a generalisation of weighty changes of character in men and states. But his observations on the concrete traits of individuals, young or old, which enliven us on the way; the difference in sameness of sons and fathers, for instance; the influence of servants on their masters; how the minute ambiguities of rank, as a family becomes  impoverished, tell on manners, on temper; all the play of moral colour in the reflex of mere circumstance on what men really are: — the characterisation of all this has with Plato a touch of the peculiar fineness of Thackeray, one might say. Plato enjoys it for its own sake, and would have been an excellent writer of fiction.

There is plenty of humour in him also of course, and something of irony — salt, to keep the exceeding richness and sweetness of his discourse from cloying the palate. The affectations of sophists, or professors, their staginess or their inelegance, the harsh laugh, the swaggering ways, of Thrasymachus, whose determination to make the general company share in a private conversation, is significant of his whole character, he notes with a finely-pointed pencil, with something of the fineness of malice, — malin, as the French say. Once Thrasymachus had been actually seen to blush. It is with a very different sort of fineness Plato notes the blushes of the young; of Hippocrates, for instance, in the Protagoras. The great Sophist was said to be in Athens, at the house of Callicles, and the diligent young scholar is up betimes, eager to hear him. He rouses Socrates before daylight. As they linger in the court, the lad speaks of his own intellectual aspirations; blushes at his confidence. It was just then that the morning sun blushed with his first beam, as if to reveal the lad’s  blushing face. — Kai hos eipen erythriasas, êdê gar hypephaine ti êmeras ôste kataphanê auton genesthai.+ He who noted that so precisely had, surely, the delicacy of the artist, a fastidious eye for the subtleties of colour as soul made visibly expressive. “Poor creature as I am,” says the Platonic Socrates, in the Lysis, concerning another youthful blush, “Poor creature as I am, I have one talent: I can recognise, at first sight, the lover and the beloved.”

So it is with the audible world also. The exquisite monotony of the voice of the great sophist, for example, “once set in motion, goes ringing on like a brazen pot, which if you strike it continues to sound till some one lays his hand upon it.” And if the delicacy of eye and ear, so also the keenness and constancy of his observation, are manifest in those elaborately wrought images for which the careful reader lies in wait: the mutiny of the sailors in the ship — ship of the state, or of one’s own soul: the echoes and beams and shadows of that half-illuminated cavern, the human mind: the caged birds in the Theatetus, which are like the flighty, half-contained notions of an imperfectly educated understanding. Real notions are to be ingrained by persistent thoroughness of the “dialectic” method, as if by conscientious dyers. He makes us stay to watch such dyers busy with their purple stuff, as he had done; adding as it were ethic colour to what he sees with the eye, and  painting while he goes, as if on the margin of his high philosophical discourse, himself scarcely aware; as the monkish scribe set bird or flower, with so much truth of earth, in the blank spaces of his heavenly meditation.

Now Plato is one for whom the visible world thus “really exists” because he is by nature and before all things, from first to last, unalterably a lover. In that, precisely, lies the secret of the susceptible and diligent eye, the so sensitive ear. The central interest of his own youth — of his profoundly impressible youth — as happens always with natures of real capacity, gives law and pattern to all that succeeds it. Ta erôtika,+ as he says, the experience, the discipline, of love, had been that for Plato; and, as love must of necessity deal above all with visible persons, this discipline involved an exquisite culture of the senses. It is “as lovers use,” that he is ever on the watch for those dainty messages, those finer intimations, to eye and ear. If in the later development of his philosophy the highest sort of knowledge comes to seem like the knowledge of a person, the relation of the reason to truth like the commerce of one person with another, the peculiarities of personal relationship thus moulding his conception of the properly invisible world of ideas, this is partly because, for a lover, the entire visible world, its hues and outline, its attractiveness, its power and bloom, must have associated themselves pre-eminently  with the power and bloom of visible living persons. With these, as they made themselves known by word and glance and touch, through the medium of the senses, lay the forces, which, in that inexplicable tyranny of one person over another, shaped the soul.

Just there, then, is the secret of Plato’s intimate concern with, his power over, the sensible world, the apprehensions of the sensuous faculty: he is a lover, a great lover, somewhat after the manner of Dante. For him, as for Dante, in the impassioned glow of his conceptions, the material and the spiritual are blent and fused together. While, in that fire and heat, what is spiritual attains the definite visibility of a crystal, what is material, on the other hand, will lose its earthiness and impurity. It is of the amorous temper, therefore, you must think in connexion with Plato’s youth — of this, amid all the strength of the genius in which it is so large a constituent, — indulging, developing, refining, the sensuous capacities, the powers of eye and ear, of the fancy also which can re-fashion, of the speech which can best respond to and reproduce, their liveliest presentments. That is why when Plato speaks of visible things it is as if you saw them. He who in the Symposium describes so vividly the pathway, the ladder, of love, its joyful ascent towards a more perfect beauty than we have ever yet actually seen, by way of a parallel to the gradual elevation of mind towards perfect  knowledge, knew all that, we may be sure — ta erôtika + — hêttôn tôn kalôn + — subject to the influence of fair persons. A certain penitential colour amid that glow of fancy and expression, hints that the final harmony of his nature had been but gradually beaten out, and invests the temperance, actually so conspicuous in his own nature, with the charms of a patiently elaborated effect of art.

For we must remind ourselves just here, that, quite naturally also, instinctively, and apart from the austere influences which claimed and kept his allegiance later, Plato, with a kind of unimpassioned passion, was a lover in particular of temperance; of temperance too, as it may be seen, as a visible thing — seen in Charmides, say! in that subdued and grey-eyed loveliness, “clad in sober grey”; or in those youthful athletes which, in ancient marble, reproduce him and the like of him with sound, firm outlines, such as temperance secures. Still, that some more luxurious sense of physical beauty had at one time greatly disturbed him, divided him against himself, we may judge from his own words in a famous passage of the Phaedrus concerning the management, the so difficult management, of  those winged steeds of the body, which is the chariot of the soul.

Puzzled, in some degree, Plato seems to remain, not merely in regard to the higher love and the lower, Aphrodite Urania and Aphrodite Pandemus, as he distinguishes them in the Symposium; nor merely with the difficulty of arbitrating between some inward beauty, and that which is outward; with the odd mixture everywhere, save in its still unapprehended but eternal essence, of the beautiful with what is otherwise; but he is yet more harassed by the experience (it is in this shape that the world-old puzzle of the existence of evil comes to him) that even to the truest eyesight, to the best trained faculty of soul, the beautiful would never come to seem strictly concentric with the good. That seems to have taxed his understanding as gravely as it had tried his will, — and he was glad when in the mere natural course of years he was become at all events less ardent a lover. ’Tis he is the authority for what Sophocles had said on the happy decay of the passions as age advanced: it was “like being set free from service to a band of madmen.” His own distinguishing note is tranquil afterthought upon this conflict, with a kind of envy of the almost disembodied old age of Cephalus, who quotes that saying of Sophocles amid his placid sacrificial doings. Connect with this quiet scene, and contrast with the luxuriant power of the Phaedrus and the Symposium, what,  for a certain touch of later mysticism in it, we might call Plato’s evening prayer, in the ninth book of The Republic. —

When any one, being healthfully and temperately disposed towards himself, turns to sleep, having stirred the reasonable part of him with a feast of fair thoughts and high problems, being come to full consciousness, himself with himself; and has, on the other hand, committed the element of desire neither to appetite, nor to surfeiting, to the end that this may slumber well, and, by its pain or pleasure, cause no trouble to that part which is best in him, but may suffer it, alone by itself, in its pure essence, to behold and aspire towards some object, and apprehend what it knows not — some event, of the past, it may be, or something that now is, or will be hereafter; and in like manner has soothed hostile impulse, so that, falling to no angry thoughts against any, he goes not to rest with a troubled spirit, but with those two parts at peace within, and with that third part, wherein reason is engendered, on the move: — you know, I think, that in sleep of this sort he lays special hold on truth, and then least of all is there lawlessness in the visions of his dreams. Republic, 571.

For Plato, being then about twenty-eight years old, had listened to the “Apology” of Socrates; had heard from them all that others had heard or seen of his last hours; himself perhaps actually witnessed those last hours. “Justice itself “ — the “absolute” Justice — had then become almost a visible object, and had greatly solemnised him. The rich young man, rich also in intellectual gifts, who might have become (we see this in the adroit management of his written work) the most brilliant and effective of Sophists; who might have developed dialogues into plays, tragedy, perhaps comedy, as he cared;  whose sensuous or graphic capacity might have made him the poet of an Odyssey, a Sappho, or a Catullus, or, say! just such a poet as, just because he was so attractive, would have been disfranchised in the Perfect City; was become the creature of an immense seriousness, of a fully adult sense, unusual in Greek perhaps even more than in Roman writers, “of the weightiness of the matters concerning which he has to discourse, and of the frailty of man.” He inherits, alien as they might be to certain powerful influences in his own temper, alike the sympathies and the antipathies of that strange, delightful teacher, who had given him (most precious of gifts!) an inexhaustible interest in himself. It is in this way he inherits a preference for those trying severities of thought which are characteristic of the Eleatic school; an antagonism to the successful Sophists of the day, in whom the old sceptical “philosophy of motion” seemed to be renewed as a theory of morals; and henceforth, in short, this master of visible things, this so ardent lover, will be a lover of the invisible, with — Yes! there it is constantly, in the Platonic dialogues, not to be explained away — with a certain asceticism, amid all the varied opulence, of sense, of speech and fancy, natural to Plato’s genius.

The lover, who is become a lover of the invisible, but still a lover, and therefore, literally, a seer, of it, carrying an elaborate cultivation of the bodily senses, of eye and ear, their natural  force and acquired fineness — gifts akin properly to ta erôtika,+ as he says, to the discipline of sensuous love — into the world of intellectual abstractions; seeing and hearing there too, associating for ever all the imagery of things seen with the conditions of what primarily exists only for the mind, filling that “hollow land” with delightful colour and form, as if now at last the mind were veritably dealing with living people there, living people who play upon us through the affinities, the repulsion and attraction, of persons towards one another, all the magnetism, as we call it, of actual human friendship or love: — There, is the formula of Plato’s genius, the essential condition of the specially Platonic temper, of Platonism. And his style, because it really is Plato’s style, conforms to, and in its turn promotes in others, that mental situation. He breaks as it were visible colour into the very texture of his work: his vocabulary, the very stuff he manipulates, has its delightful aesthetic qualities; almost every word, one might say, its figurative value. And yet no one perhaps has with equal power literally sounded the unseen depths of thought, and, with what may be truly called “substantial” word and phrase, given locality there to the mere adumbrations, the dim hints and surmise, of the speculative mind. For him, all gifts of sense and intelligence converge in one supreme faculty of theoretic vision, theôria,+ the imaginative reason.

To trace that thread of physical colour, entwined throughout, and multiplied sometimes into large tapestried figures, is the business, the enjoyment, of the student of the Dialogues, as he reads them. For this or that special literary quality indeed we may go safely by preference to this or that particular Dialogue; to the Gorgias, for instance, for the readiest Attic wit, and a manly practical sense in the handling of philosophy; to the Charmides, for something like the effect of sculpture in modelling a person; to the Timaeus, for certain brilliant chromatic effects. Yet who that reads the Theaetetus, or the Phaedrus, or the seventh book of The Republic, can doubt Plato’s gift in precisely the opposite direction; that gift of sounding by words the depths of thought, a plastic power literally, moulding to term and phrase what might have seemed in its very nature too impalpable and abstruse to lend itself, in any case, to language? He gives names to the invisible acts, processes, creations, of abstract mind, as masterly, as efficiently, as Adam himself to the visible living creations of old. As Plato speaks of them, we might say, those abstractions too become visible living creatures. We read the speculative poetry of Wordsworth, or Tennyson; and we may observe that a great metaphysical force has come into language which is by no means purely technical or scholastic; what a help such language is to the understanding, to a real hold over the things, the thoughts, the  mental processes, those words denote; a vocabulary to which thought freely commits itself, trained, stimulated, raised, thereby, towards a high level of abstract conception, surely to the increase of our general intellectual powers. That, of course, is largely due to Plato’s successor, to Aristotle’s life-long labour of analysis and definition, and to his successors the Schoolmen, with their systematic culture of a precise instrument for the registration, by the analytic intellect, of its own subtlest movements. But then, Aristotle, himself the first of the Schoolmen, had succeeded Plato, and did but formulate, as a terminology “of art,” as technical language, what for Plato is still vernacular, original, personal, the product in him of an instinctive imaginative power — a sort of visual power, but causing others also to see what is matter of original intuition for him.

From first to last our faculty of thinking is limited by our command of speech. Now it is straight from Plato’s lips, as if in natural conversation, that the language came, in which the mind has ever since been discoursing with itself concerning itself, in that inward dialogue, which is the “active principle” of the dialectic method as an instrument for the attainment of truth. For, the essential, or dynamic, dialogue, is ever that dialogue of the mind with itself, which any converse with Socrates or Plato does but promote. The very words of Plato, then,  challenge us straightway to larger and finer apprehension of the processes of our own minds; are themselves a discovery in the sphere of mind. It was he made us freemen of those solitary places, so trying yet so attractive: so remote and high, they seem, yet are naturally so close to us: he peopled them with intelligible forms. Nay more! By his peculiar gift of verbal articulation he divined the mere hollow spaces which a knowledge, then merely potential, and an experience still to come, would one day occupy. And so, those who cannot admit his actual speculative results, precisely his report on the invisible theoretic world, have been to the point sometimes, in their objection, that by sheer effectiveness of abstract language, he gave an illusive air of reality or substance to the mere nonentities of metaphysic hypothesis — of a mind trying to feed itself on its own emptiness.

Just there — in the situation of one, shaped, by combining nature and circumstance, into a seer who has a sort of sensuous love of the unseen — is the paradox of Plato’s genius, and therefore, always, of Platonism, of the Platonic temper. His aptitude for things visible, with the gift of words, empowers him to express, as if for the eyes, what except to the eye of the mind is strictly invisible, what an acquired asceticism induces him to rank above, and sometimes, in terms of harshest dualism, oppose to, the sensible world. Plato is to be interpreted  not merely by his antecedents, by the influence upon him of those who preceded him, but by his successors, by the temper, the intellectual alliances, of those who directly or indirectly have been sympathetic with him. Now it is noticeable that, at first sight somewhat incongruously, a certain number of Manicheans have always been of his company; people who held that matter was evil. Pointing significantly to an unmistakable vein of Manichean, or Puritan sentiment actually there in the Platonic Dialogues, these rude companions or successors of his, carry us back to his great predecessor, to Socrates, whose personal influence had so strongly enforced on Plato the severities, moral and intellectual, alike of Parmenides and of the Pythagoreans. The cold breath of a harshly abstract, a too incorporeal philosophy, had blown, like an east wind, on that last depressing day in the prison-cell of Socrates; and the venerable commonplaces then put forth, in which an overstrained pagan sensuality seems to be reacting, to be taking vengeance, on itself, turned now sick and suicidal, will lose none of their weight with Plato: — That “all who rightly touch philosophy, study nothing else than to die, and to be dead,” — that “the soul reasons best, when, as much as possible, it comes to be alone with itself, bidding good-bye to the body, and, to the utmost of its power, rejecting communion with it, with the very touch of it, aiming at what is.”

It was, in short, as if for the soul to have come into a human body at all, had been the seed of disease in it, the beginning of its own proper death.

As for any adornments or provision for this body, the master had declared that a true philosopher as such would make as little of them as possible. To those young hearers, the words of Socrates may well have seemed to anticipate, not the visible world he had then delineated in glowing colour as if for the bodily eye, but only the chilling influence of the hemlock; and it was because Plato was only half convinced of the Manichean or Puritan element in his master’s doctrine, or rather was in contact with it on one side only of his complex and genial nature, that Platonism became possible, as a temper for which, in strictness, the opposition of matter to spirit has no ultimate or real existence. Not to be “pure” from the body, but to identify it, in its utmost fairness, with the fair soul, by a gymnastic “fused in music,” became, from first to last, the aim of education as he conceived it. That the body is but “a hindrance to the attainment of philosophy, if one takes it along with one as a companion in one’s search” (a notion which Christianity, at least in its later though wholly legitimate developments, will correct) can hardly have been the last thought of Plato himself on quitting it. He opens his door indeed to those austere monitors. They correct the sensuous richness of his genius, but could  not suppress it. The sensuous lover becomes a lover of the invisible, but still a lover, after his earlier pattern, carrying into the world of intellectual vision, of theôria,+ all the associations of the actual world of sight. Some of its invisible realities he can all but see with the bodily eye: the absolute Temperance, in the person of the youthful Charmides; the absolute Righteousness, in the person of the dying Socrates. Yes, truly! all true knowledge will be like the knowledge of a person, of living persons, and truth, for Plato, in spite of his Socratic asceticism, to the last, something to look at. The eyes which had noted physical things, so finely, vividly, continuously, would be still at work; and, Plato thus qualifying the Manichean or Puritan element in Socrates by his own capacity for the world of sense, Platonism has contributed largely, has been an immense encouragement towards, the redemption of matter, of the world of sense, by art, by all right education, by the creeds and worship of the Christian Church — towards the vindication of the dignity of the body.

It was doubtless because Plato was an excellent scholar that he did not begin to teach others till he was more than forty years old — one of the great scholars of the world, with Virgil and Milton: by which is implied that, possessed of the inborn genius, of those natural powers,  which sometimes bring with them a certain defiance of rule, of the intellectual habits of others, he acquires, by way of habit and rule, all that can be taught and learned; and what is thus derived from others by docility and discipline, what is rangé, comes to have in him, and in his work, an equivalent weight with what is unique, impulsive, underivable. Raphael — Raphael, as you see him in the Blenheim Madonna, is a supreme example of such scholarship in the sphere of art. Born of a romantically ancient family, understood to be the descendant of Solon himself, Plato had been in early youth a writer of verse. That he turned to a more vigorous, though pedestrian mode of writing, was perhaps an effect of his corrective intercourse with Socrates, through some of the most important years of his life, — from twenty to twenty- eight.

He belonged to what was just then the discontented class, and might well have taken refuge from active political life in political ideals, or in a kind of self-imposed exile. A traveller, adventurous for that age, he certainly became. After the Lehr-jahre, the Wander-jahre! — all round the Mediterranean coasts as far west as Sicily. Think of what all that must have meant just then, for eyes which could see. If those journeys had begun in angry flight from home, it was for purposes of self-improvement they were continued: the delightful fruit of them is evident in what he writes; and finding him  in friendly intercourse with Dionysius the elder, with Dio, and Dionysius the younger, at the polished court of Syracuse, we may understand that they were a search also for “the philosophic king,” perhaps for the opportune moment of realising “the ideal state.” In that case, his quarrels with those capricious tyrants show that he was disappointed. For the future he sought no more to pass beyond the charmed theoretic circle, “speaking wisdom,” as was said of Pythagoras, only “among the perfect.” He returns finally to Athens; and there, in the quiet precincts of the Acadêmus, which has left a somewhat dubious name to places where people come to be taught or to teach, founds, not a state, nor even a brotherhood, but only the first college, with something of a common life, of communism on that small scale, with Aristotle for one of its scholars, with its chapel, its gardens, its library with the authentic text of his Dialogues upon the shelves: we may just discern the sort of place through the scantiest notices. His reign was after all to be in his writings. Plato himself does nothing in them to retard the effacement which mere time brings to persons and their abodes; and there had been that, moreover, in his own temper, which promotes self-effacement. Yet as he left it, the place remained for centuries, according to his will, to its original use. What he taught through the remaining forty years of his life, the method of that teaching, whether it  was less or more esoteric than the teaching of the extant Dialogues, is but matter of surmise. Writers, who in their day might still have said much we should have liked to hear, give us little but old, quasi-supernatural stories, told as if they had been new ones, about him. The year of his birth fell, according to some, in the very year of the death of Pericles (a significant date!) but is not precisely ascertainable: nor is the year of his death, nor its manner. Scribens est mortuus, says Cicero: — after the manner of a true scholar, “he died pen in hand.”

CHAPTER 7: THE DOCTRINE OF PLATO

I. THE THEORY OF IDEAS

PLATONISM is not a formal theory or body of theories, but a tendency, a group of tendencies — a tendency to think or feel, and to speak, about certain things in a particular way, discernible in Plato’s dialogues as reflecting the peculiarities, the marked peculiarities, of himself and his own mental complexion. Those tendencies combine and find their complete expression in what Plato’s commentators, rather than Plato, have called the “theory of ideas,” itself indeed not so much a doctrine or theory, as a way of regarding and speaking of general terms, such as Useful or Just; of abstract notions, like Equality; of ideals, such as Beauty, or The Perfect City; of all those terms or notions, in short, which represent under general forms the particular presentations of our individual experience; or, to use Plato’s own frequent expression, borrowed  from his old Eleatic teachers, which reduce “the Many to the One.”

What the nature of such representative terms and notions, genus and species, class-word, and abstract idea or ideal, may be; what their relationship to the individual, the unit, the particulars which they include; is, as we know, one of the constant problems of logic. Realism, which supposes the abstraction, Animal for instance, or The Just, to be not a mere name, nomen, as with the nominalists, nor a mere subjective thought as with the conceptualists, but to be res, a thing in itself, independent of the particular instances which come into and pass out of it, as also of the particular mind which entertains it: — that is one of the fixed and formal answers to this question; and Plato is the father of all realists. Realism, as such, in the sense just indicated, is not in itself a very difficult or transcendental theory; but rises, again and again, at least in a particular class of minds, quite naturally, as the answer to a natural question. Taking our own stand as to this matter somewhere between the realist and the conceptualist: — See! we might say, there is a general consciousness, a permanent common sense, independent indeed of each one of us, but with which we are, each one of us, in communication. It is in that, those common or general ideas really reside. And we might add just here (giving his due to the nominalist also) that those abstract or common  notions come to the individual mind through language, through common or general names, Animal, Justice, Equality, into which one’s individual experience, little by little, drop by drop, conveys their full meaning or content; and, by the instrumentality of such terms and notions, thus locating the particular in the general, mediating between general and particular, between our individual experience and the common experience of our kind, we come to understand each other, and to assist each other’s thoughts, as in a common mental atmosphere, “an intellectual world,” as Plato calls it, a true noêtos topos +. So much for the modern view; for what common sense might now suggest as to the nature of logical “universals.”

Plato’s realism however — what is called “The Theory of Ideas” — his way of regarding abstract term and general notion, what Plato has to say about “the Many and the One,” is often very difficult; though of various degrees of difficulty, it must be observed, to various minds. From the simple and easily intelligible sort of realism attributed by Aristotle to Socrates, seeking in “universal definitions,” or ideas, only a serviceable instrument for the distinguishing of what is essential from what is unessential in the actual things about him, Plato passes by successive stages, which we should try to keep distinct as we read him, to what may be rightly called a “transcendental,” what to many minds has  seemed a fantastic and unintelligible habit of thought, regarding those abstractions, which indeed seem to become for him not merely substantial things-in-themselves, but little short of living persons, to be known as persons are made known to each other, by a system of affinities, on the old Eleatic rule, homoion homoiô +, like to like — these persons constituting together that common, eternal, intellectual world, a sort of divine family or hierarchy, with which the mind of the individual, so far as it is reasonable, or really knows, is in communion or correspondence. And here certainly is a theory, a tendency to think or feel, and to speak, about which the difficulties are many.

Yet as happens always with the metaphysical questions, or answers, which from age to age preoccupy acuter minds, those difficulties about the Many and the One actually had their attractiveness for some in the days of Plato. —

Our doctrine (says the Platonic Socrates in the Philebus) is, that one and the same thing (the one common notion, namely, embodied in one general term) which — hypo logôn + — under the influence of our thoughts and words, of thought and language, become one and many, circulates everywhere, in regard to everything of which existence is asserted from time to time. This law neither will cease to be, nor has it just now begun; but something of the kind is, I think, an eternal and ineradicable affection of our reason itself in us. And whenever a young man gets his first taste of this he is delighted as having found the priceless pearl of philosophy; he becomes an enthusiast in his delight; and eagerly sets in motion — kinei + — every definition — logos+ — every conception or mental definition (it looked so fixed and firm till then!) at one time winding things round each other and welding them into one (that is, he drops all particulari- ties out of view, and thinks only of the one common form) and then again unwinding them, and dividing them into parts (he becomes intent now upon the particularities of the particular, till the one common term seems inapplicable) puzzling first, and most of all, himself; and then any one who comes nigh him, older or younger, or of whatever age he may be; sparing neither father nor mother, nor any one else who will listen; scarcely even the dumb creatures, to say nothing of men; for he would hardly spare a barbarian, could he but find an interpreter. Philebus, 15.+

The Platonic doctrine of “the Many and the One” — the problem with which we are brought face to face in this choice specimen of the humour as well as of the metaphysical power of Plato — is not precisely the question with which the speculative young man of our own day is likely to puzzle himself, or exercise the patience of his neighbour in a railway carriage, of his dog, or even of a Chinese; though the questions we are apt to tear to pieces, organism and environment, or protoplasm perhaps, or evolution, or the Zeit-geist and its doings, may, in their turn, come to seem quite as lifeless and unendurable. As the theological heresy of one age sometimes becomes the mere commonplace of the next, so, in matters of philosophic enquiry, it might appear that the all-absorbing novelty of one generation becomes nothing less than the standard of what is uninteresting, as such, to its successor. Still in the discussion even of abstract truths it is not so much  what he thinks as the person who is thinking, that after all really tells. Plato and Platonism we shall never understand unless we are patient with him in what he has to tell us about “the Many and the One.”

Plato’s peculiar view of the matter, then, passes with him into a phase of poetic thought; as indeed all that Plato’s genius touched came in contact with poetry. Of course we are not naturally formed to love, or be interested in, or attracted towards, the abstract as such; to notions, we might think, carefully deprived of all the incident, the colour and variety, which fits things — this or that — to the constitution and natural habit of our minds, fits them for attachment to what we really are. We cannot love or live upon genus and species, accident or substance, but for our minds, as for our bodies, need an orchard or a garden, with fruit and roses. Take a seed from the garden. What interest it has for us all lies in our sense of potential differentiation to come: the leaves, leaf upon leaf, the flowers, a thousand new seeds in turn. It is so with animal seed; and with humanity, individually, or as a whole, its expansion into a detailed, ever-changing, parti-coloured history of particular facts and persons. Abstraction, the introduction of general ideas, seems to close it up again; to reduce flower and fruit, odour and savour, back again into the dry and worthless seed. We might as well be colour-blind at once, and there  is not a proper name left! We may contrast generally the mental world we actually live in, where classification, the reduction of all things to common types, has come so far, and where the particular, to a great extent, is known only as the member of a class, with that other world, on the other side of the generalising movement to which Plato and his master so largely contributed — a world we might describe as being under Homeric conditions, such as we picture to ourselves with regret, for which experience was intuition, and life a continuous surprise, and every object unique, where all knowledge was still of the concrete and the particular, face to face delightfully.

To that gaudy tangle of what gardens, after all, are meant to produce, in the decay of time, as we may think at first sight, the systematic, logical gardener put his meddlesome hand, and straightway all ran to seed; to genus and species and differentia, into formal classes, under general notions, and with — yes! with written labels fluttering on the stalks, instead of blossoms — a botanic or “physic” garden, as they used to say, instead of our flower-garden and orchard. And yet (it must be confessed on the other hand) what we actually see, see and hear, is more interesting than ever; the nineteenth century as compared with the first, with Plato’s days or Homer’s; the faces, the persons behind those masks which yet express so much, the flowers, or whatever it may happen to be they carry or  touch. The concrete, and that even as a visible thing, has gained immeasurably in richness and compass, in fineness, and interest towards us, by the process, of which those acts of generalisation, of reduction to class and generic type, have certainly been a part. And holding still to the concrete, the particular, to the visible or sensuous, if you will, last as first, thinking of that as essentially the one vital and lively thing, really worth our while in a short life, we may recognise sincerely what generalisation and abstraction have done or may do, are defensible as doing, just for that — for the particular gem or flower — what its proper service is to a mind in search, precisely, of a concrete and intuitive knowledge such as that.

Think, for a moment, of the difference, as regards mental attitude, between the naturalist who deals with things through ideas, and the layman (so to call him) in picking up a shell on the sea-shore; what it is that the subsumption of the individual into the species, its subsequent alliance to and co-ordination with other species, really does for the furnishing of the mind of the former. The layman, though we need not suppose him inattentive, or unapt to retain impressions, is in fact still but a child; and the shell, its colours and convolution, no more than a dainty, very easily destructible toy to him. Let him become a schoolboy about it, so to speak. The toy he puts aside; his mind is  drilled perforce, to learn about it; and thereby is exercised, he may think, with everything except just the thing itself, as he cares for it; with other shells, with some general laws of life, and for a while it might seem that, turning away his eyes from the “vanity” of the particular, he has been made to sacrifice the concrete, the real and living product of nature, to a mere dry and abstract product of the mind. But when he comes out of school, and on the sea- shore again finds a fellow to his toy, perhaps a finer specimen of it, he may see what the service of that converse with the general has really been towards the concrete, towards what he sees — in regard to the particular thing he actually sees. By its juxtaposition and co- ordination with what is ever more and more not it, by the contrast of its very imperfection, at this point or that, with its own proper and perfect type, this concrete and particular thing has, in fact, been enriched by the whole colour and expression of the whole circumjacent world, concentrated upon, or as it were at focus in, it. By a kind of short-hand now, and as if in a single moment of vision, all that, which only a long experience, moving patiently from part to part, could exhaust, its manifold alliance with the entire world of nature, is legible upon it, as it lies there in one’s hand.

So it is with the shell, the gem, with a glance of the eye; so it may be with the moral act,  with a condition of the mind, or a feeling. You may draw, by use of this coinage (it is Hobbes’s figure) this coinage of representative words and thoughts, at your pleasure, upon the accumulative capital of the whole experience of humanity. Generalisation, whatever Platonists, or Plato himself at mistaken moments, may have to say about it, is a method, not of obliterating the concrete phenomenon, but of enriching it, with the joint perspective, the significance, the expressiveness, of all other things beside. What broad-cast light he enjoys! — that scholar, confronted with the sea- shell, for instance, or with some enigma of heredity in himself or another, with some condition of a particular soul, in circumstances which may never precisely so occur again; in the contemplation of that single phenomenon, or object, or situation. He not only sees, but understands (thereby only seeing the more) and will, therefore, also remember. The significance of the particular object he will retain, by use of his intellectual apparatus of notion and general law, as, to use Plato’s own figure, fluid matter may be retained in vessels, not indeed of unbaked clay, but of alabaster or bronze. So much by way of apology for general ideas — abstruse, or intangible, or dry and seedy and wooden, as we may sometimes think them.

“Two things,” says Aristotle, “might rightly be attributed to Socrates: inductive reasoning,  and universal definitions.” Now when Aristotle says this of Socrates, he is recording the institution of a method, which might be applied in the way just indicated, to natural objects, to such a substance as carbon, or to such natural processes as heat or motion; but which, by Socrates himself, as by Plato after him, was applied almost exclusively to moral phenomena, to the generalisation of aesthetic, political, ethical ideas, of the laws of operation (for the essence of every true conception, or definition, or idea, is a law of operation) of the feelings and the will. To get a notion, a definition, or idea, of motion, for example, which shall not exclude the subtler forms of it, heat for instance — to get a notion of carbon, which shall include not common charcoal only, but the diamond, a thing superficially so unlike it, and which shall also exclude, perhaps, some other substance, superficially almost indistinguishable from it: such is the business of physical science, in obedience to rules, outlined by Bacon in the first book of the Novum Organum, for securing those acts of “inclusion” and “exclusion,” inclusiones, exclusiones, naturae, debitae, as he says, “which the nature of things requires,” if our thoughts are not to misrepresent them.

It was a parallel process, a process of inclusion, that one’s resultant idea should be adequate, of rejection or exclusion, that this idea should be not redundant, which Socrates applied  to practice; exercising, as we see in the Platonic Dialogues, the two opposed functions of synagôgê and diairesis,+ for the formation of just ideas of Temperance, Wisdom, Bravery, Justice itself — a classification of the phenomena of the entire world of feeling and action. Ideas, if they fulfil their proper purpose, represent to the mind such phenomena, for its convenience, but may easily also misrepresent them. In the transition from the particulars to the general, and again in the transition from the general idea, the mental word, to the spoken or written word, to what we call the definition, a door lies open, both for the adulteration and the diminution of the proper content, of our conception, our definition. The first growth of the Platonic “ideas,” as we see it in Socrates, according to the report of Aristotle, provided against this twofold misrepresentation. Its aim is to secure, in the terms of our discourse with others and with ourselves, precise equivalence to what they denote. It was a “mission” to go about Athens and challenge people to guard the inlets of error, in the passage from facts to their thoughts about them, in the passage from thoughts to words. It was an intellectual gymnastic, to test, more exactly than they were in the habit of doing, the equivalence of words they used so constantly as Just, Brave, Beautiful, to the thoughts they had; of those thoughts to the facts of experience, which it was the business of those  thoughts precisely to represent; to clear the mental air; to arrange the littered work-chamber of the mind.

In many of Plato’s Dialogues we see no more than the ordered reflex of this process, informal as it was in the actual practice of Socrates. Out of the accidents of a conversation, as from the confused currents of life and action, the typical forms of the vices and virtues emerge in definite outline. The first contention of The Republic, for instance, is to establish in regard to the nature of Justice, terms as exactly conterminous with thoughts, thoughts as exactly conterminous with moral facts, as the notion of carbon is for the naturalist, when it has come to include both charcoal and the diamond, on the basis of the essential law of their operation as experience reveals it. Show us, not merely accidental truths about it; but, by the doing of what (Ti poiousa)+ in the very soul of its possessor, itself by itself, Justice is a good, and Injustice a bad thing. That illustrates exactly what is meant by “an idea,” the force of “knowledge through ideas,” in the particular instance of Justice. It will include perhaps, on the one hand, forms of Justice so remote from the Justice of our everyday experience as to seem inversions of it; it will clearly exclude, on the other hand, acts and thoughts, not it, yet, phenomenally, so like it, as to deceive the very gods; and its area will be expanded sufficiently to include, not the individual  only, but the state. And you, the philosophic student, were to do that, not for one virtue only, but for Piety, and Beauty, and the State itself, and Knowledge, and Opinion, and the Good. Nay, you might go on and do the same thing for the physical, when you came to the end of the moral, world, were life long enough, and if you had the humour for it: — for Motion, Number, Colour, Sound. That, then, was the first growth of the Platonic ideas, as derived immediately from Socrates, whose formal contribution to philosophy had been “universal definitions,” developed “inductively,” by the twofold method of “inclusion” and “exclusion.”

Aristotle adds, however, that Socrates had stopped at the point here indicated: he had not gone on, like some others, to make those universal notions or definitions “separable” — separable, that is to say, from the particular and concrete instances, from which he had gathered them. Separable: chôristos + (famous word!) that is precisely what general notions become in what is specially called “the Platonic Theory of Ideas.” The “Ideas” of Plato are, in truth, neither more nor less than those universal definitions, those universal conceptions, as they look, as they could not but look, amid the peculiar lights and shadows, in the singularly constituted atmosphere, under the strange laws of refraction, and in the proper perspective, of Plato’s house of thought. By its peculiarities, subsequent thought — philosophic,  poetic, theological — has been greatly influenced; by the intense subjectivities, the accidents, so to speak, of Plato’s genius, of Plato himself; the ways constitutional with him, the magic or trick of his personality, in regarding the intellectual material he was occupied with — by Plato’s psychology. And it is characteristic of him, again, that those peculiarities of his mental attitude are evidenced informally; by a tendency, as we said, by the mere general tone in which he speaks of Beauty, for instance, “as it really is,” of all that “really is,” under its various forms; a manner of speaking, not explicit, but veiled, in various degrees, under figures, as at the end of the sixth book of The Republic, or under mythological fantasies, like those of the Phaedrus. He seems to have no inclination for the responsibilities of definite theory; for a system such as that of the Neo-Platonists for instance, his own later followers, who, in a kind of prosaic and cold-blooded transcendentalism, developed as definite philosophic dogma, hard enough in more senses than one, what in Plato is to the last rather poetry than metaphysical reasoning — the irrepressible because almost unconscious poetry, which never deserts him, even when treating of what is neither more nor less than a chapter in the rudiments of logic.

The peculiar development of the Socratic realism by Plato can then only be understood  by a consideration of the peculiarities of Plato’s genius; how it reacted upon those abstractions; what they came to seem in its peculiar atmosphere. The Platonic doctrine of “Ideas,” as was said, is not so much a doctrine, as a way of speaking or feeling about certain elements of the mind; and this temper, this peculiar way of feeling, of speaking, which for most of us will have many difficulties, is not uniformly noticeable in Plato’s Dialogues, but is to be found more especially in the Phaedo, the Symposium, and in certain books of The Republic, above all in the Phaedrus. Here is a famous passage from it: —

There (that is to say, at a particular point in a sort of Pythagorean mental pilgrimage through time and space) there, at last, its utmost travail and contest awaits the soul. For the immortal souls, so-called, when they were upon the highest point, passed out and stood (as you might stand upon the outside of a great hollow sphere) upon the back of the sky. And as they stand there, the revolution of the spheres carries them round; and they behold the things that are beyond the sky. That supercelestial place none of our poets on earth has ever yet sung of, nor will ever sing, worthily. And thus it is: for I must make bold to state the truth, at any rate, especially as it is about truth, that I am speaking. For the colourless, and formless, and impalpable Being, being in very truth of (that is, relative to) the soul, is visible by reason alone as one’s guide. Centered about that, the generation, or seed, genos,+ — the people, of true knowledge inhabits this place. As, then, the intelligence of God, which is nourished by pure or unmixed reason and knowledge (akêratô,+ unmixed with sense) so, the intelligence of every other soul also, which is about to receive that which properly belongs to it, beholding, after long interval, that which is, loves  it (that’s the point!) and by the vision of truth is fed; and fares well; until, in cycle, the revolving movement brings it round again to the same place. And in that journey round it looks upon justice itself; it looks upon Temperance, upon Knowledge; not that knowledge to which the process of becoming (the law of change, namely, of birth and death and decay) attaches; nor that which is, as it were, one in one thing, another in another, of those things which now we speak of as being; but the knowledge which is in that which in very deed is (tên en tô ho estin on ontos epistêmên ousan)+ and having beheld, after the same manner, all other things that really are, and feasted upon them, being passed back again to the interior of the sky, the soul returned home. Phaedrus, 247.+

Only, as Plato thinks, that return was, in fact, an exile. There, in that attractive, but perhaps not wholly acceptable, sort of discourse, in some other passages like it, Plato has gone beyond his master Socrates, on two planes or levels, so to speak, of speculative ascent, which we may distinguish from each other, by way of making a little clearer what is in itself certainly so difficult.

For Plato, then, not by way of formal theory, we must remember, but by a turn of thought and speech (while he speaks of them, in fact) the Socratic “universals,” the notions of Justice and the like, are become, first, things in themselves — the real things; and secondly, persons, to be known as persons must be; and to be loved, for the perfections, the visible perfections, we might say — intellectually visible — of  their being. “It looks upon Justice itself; it looks upon Temperance; upon Knowledge.”

Hitherto, in the Socratic disputations, the ideas had been creations, serviceable creations, of men’s thought, of our reason. With Plato, they are the creators of our reason — those treasures of experience, stacked and stored, which, to each one of us, come as by inheritance, or with no proportionate effort on our part, to direct, to enlarge and rationalise, from the first use of language by us, our manner of taking things. For Plato, they are no longer, as with Socrates, the instruments by which we tabulate and classify and record our experience — mere “marks” of the real things of experience, of what is essential in this or that, and common to every particular that goes by a certain common name; but are themselves rather the proper objects of all true knowledge, and a passage from all merely relative experience to the “absolute.” In proportion as they lend themselves to the individual, in his effort to think, they create reason in him; they reproduce the eternal reason for him. For Socrates, as Aristotle understands him, they were still in service to, and valid only in and by, the experience they recorded, with no locus standi beyond. For Plato, for Platonists, they are become — Justice and Beauty, and the perfect State, or again Equality (that which we must bring with us, if we are to apprehend sensible  instances thereof, but which no two equal things here, two coins, ever really attain) nay, Couch, or Tree, every general thought, or name of a thing, whatever — separate (chôristos)+ separable from, as being essentially independent of, the individual mind which conceives them; as also of the particular temporary instances which come under them, come and go, while they remain for ever — those eternal “forms,” of Tree, Equality, Justice, and so forth.

That, then, is the first stage, or plane, of Platonic transcendentalism. Our common ideas, without which, in fact, we none of us could think at all, are not the consequence, not the products, but the cause of our reason in us: we did not make them; but they make us what we are, as reasonable beings. The eternal Being, of Parmenides, one and indivisible, has been diffused, divided, resolved, refracted, differentiated, into the eternal Ideas, a multiple, numerous, stellar world, so to call it — abstract light into stars: Justice, Temperance as it is, Bravery as it is. Permanence, independency, indefectible identity with itself — all those qualities which Parmenides supposed in the one and indivisible reality — belong to every one of those ideas severally.

It was like a recrudescence of polytheism in that abstract world; a return of the many gods of Homer, veiled now as abstract notions, Love,  Fear, Confidence, and the like; and as such, the modern anthropologist, our student of the natural history of man, would rank the Platonic theory as but a form of what he calls “animism.” Animism, that tendency to locate the movements of a soul like our own in every object, almost in every circumstance, which impresses one with a sense of power, is a condition of mind, of which the simplest illustration is primitive man adoring, as a divine being endowed with will, the meteoric stone that came rushing from the sky. That condition “survives” however, in the negro, who thinks the discharging gun a living creature; as it survives also, more subtly, in the culture of Wordsworth and Shelley, for whom clouds and peaks are kindred spirits; in the pantheism of Goethe; and in Schelling, who formulates that pantheism as a philosophic, a Platonic, theory. Such “animistic” instinct was, certainly, a natural element in Plato’s mental constitution, — the instinctive effort to find anima, the conditions of personality, in whatever pre-occupied his mind, a mind, be it remembered, of which the various functions, as we reckon them, imagination, reason, intuition, were still by no means clearly analysed and differentiated from each other, but participated, all alike and all together, in every single act of mind.

And here is the second stage of the Platonic idealism, the second grade of Plato’s departure  from the simpler realism of his master, as noted by Aristotle, towards that “intelligible world,” opposed by him so constantly to the visible world, into which many find it so hard to follow him at all, and in which the “ideas” become veritable persons. To speak, to think, to feel, about abstract ideas as if they were living persons; that, is the second stage of Plato’s speculative ascent. With the lover, who had graduated, was become a master, in the school of love, but had turned now to the love of intellectual and strictly invisible things, it was as if the faculty of physical vision, of the bodily eye, were still at work at the very centre of intellectual abstraction. Abstract ideas themselves became animated, living persons, almost corporeal, as if with hands and eyes. And it is, as a consequence, but partly also as a secondary reinforcing cause, of this mental condition, that the idea of Beauty becomes for Plato the central idea; the permanently typical instance of what an idea means; of its relation to particular things, and to the action of our thoughts upon them. It was to the lover dealing with physical beauty, a thing seen, yet unseen — seen by all, in some sense, and yet, truly, by one and not by another, as if through some capricious, personal self- discovery, by some law of affinity between the seer and what is seen, the knowing and the known — that the nature and function of an idea, as such, would come home most clearly.  And then, while visible beauty is the clearest, the most certain thing, in the world (lovers will always tell you so) real with the reality of something hot or cold in one’s hand, it also comes nearest of all things, so Plato assures us, to its eternal pattern or prototype. For some reason, the eternal idea of beauty had left visible copies of itself, shadows, antitypes, out of all proportion, in their truthfulness and adequacy, to any copy, left here with us, of Justice, for instance, or Equality, or the Perfect State. The typical instance of an abstract idea, yet pre- occupying the mind with all the colour and circumstance of the relationship of person to person, the idea of Beauty, conveyed into the entire theory of ideas, the associations which belong properly to such relationships only. A certain measure of caprice, of capricious preference or repulsion, would thus be naturally incidental to the commerce of men’s minds with what really is, with the world in which things really are, only so far as they are truly known. “Philosophers are lovers of truth and of that which is — impassioned lovers”: Tou ontos te kai alêtheias erastas tous philosophous.+ They are the cornerstone, as readers of The Republic know, of the ideal state — those impassioned lovers, erastas,+ of that which really is, and in comparison wherewith, office, wealth, honour, the love of which has rent Athens, the world, to pieces, will be of no more than secondary importance.

He is in truth, in the power, in the hands, of another, of another will — this lover of the Ideas — attracted, corrected, guided, rewarded, satiated, in a long discipline, that “ascent of the soul into the intelligible world,” of which the ways of earthly love (ta erôtika)+ are a true parallel. His enthusiasm of knowledge is literally an enthusiasm: has about it that character of possession of one person by another, by which those “animistic” old Greeks explained natural madness. That philosophic enthusiasm, that impassioned desire for true knowledge, is a kind of madness (mania)+ the madness to which some have declared great wit, all great gifts, to be always allied — the fourth species of mania, as Plato himself explains in the Phaedrus. To natural madness, to poetry and the other gifts allied to it, to prophecy like that of the Delphic pythoness, he has to add, fourthly, the “enthusiasm of the ideas.”

The whole course of our theory hitherto (he there tells us) relates to that fourth form of madness; wherein, when any one, seeing the beauty that is here below, and having a reminiscence of the true, feels, or finds, his wings (pterôtai)+ fluttering upwards, in his eagerness to soar above, but unable, like a bird looking towards the sky, heedless of things below, he is charged with unsoundness of mind. I have told how this is the most excellent of all forms of enthusiasm (or possession) both to its possessor and to him who participates in it; how it comes of the noblest causes; and that the lover who has a share of this madness is called a lover of the beautiful. For, as has been said, every soul of man, by its very nature, has seen the things that really are, otherwise it would not have come into this form of life (into a human body). But to rise from things here to the recollection of those, is not an easy matter  for every soul; neither for those which then had but a brief view of things there; nor for such as were unlucky in their descent hither, so that, through the influence of certain associations, turning themselves to what is not right, they have forgotten the sacred forms which then they saw. Few souls, in truth, remain, to which the gift of reminiscence adequately pertains. These, when they see some likeness of things there, are lost in amazement, and belong no longer to themselves; only, they understand not the true nature of their affection, because they lack discernment. Now, of Justice, and of Temperance, and of all those other qualities which are precious to souls, there is no clear light in their semblances here below; but, through obscure organs, with difficulty, very few, coming to their figures, behold the generation (genos,+ the people) of that which is figured. At that moment it was possible to behold Beauty in its clearness, when, with the choir of the blessed following on, ourselves with Zeus, some with one, some with another, of the gods, they looked upon a blissful vision and view, and were made partakers in what it is meet and right to call the most blessed of all mysteries; the which we celebrated, sound and whole then, and untouched by the evil things that awaited us in time to come, as being admitted to mystic sights, whole and sound and at unity with themselves, in pure light gazing on them, being ourselves pure, and unimpressed by this we carry about now and call our body, imprisoned like a fish in its shell.

Let memory be indulged thus far; for whose sake, in regret for what was then, I have now spoken somewhat at length. As regards Beauty, as I said, it both shone out, in its true being, among those other eternal forms; and when we came down hither we apprehended it through the clearest of all our bodily senses, gleaming with utmost brightness. For sight comes to us keenest of all our bodily senses, though Wisdom is not seen by it. Marvellous loves, in truth, would that (namely, Wisdom) have afforded, had it presented any manifest image of itself, such as that of Beauty, had it reached our bodily vision — that, and all those other amiable forms. But now Beauty alone has had this fortune; so that it is the clearest, the most certain, of all things; and the most lovable. Phaedrus, 249.+

CHAPTER 7: THE DOCTRINE OF PLATO

II. DIALECTIC

Three different forms of composition have, under the intellectual conditions of different ages, prevailed — three distinct literary methods, in the presentation of philosophic thought; the metrical form earliest, when philosophy was still a matter of intuition, imaginative, sanguine, often turbid or obscure, and became a Poem, Peri Physeôs,+ “Concerning Nature”; according to the manner of Pythagoras, “his golden verses,” of Parmenides or Empedokles, after whom Lucretius in his turn modelled the finest extant illustration of that manner of writing, of thinking.

It was succeeded by precisely the opposite manner, when native intuition had shrunk into dogmatic system, the dry bones of which rattle in one’s ears, with Aristotle, or Aquinas, or Spinoza, as a formal treatise; the perfected philosophic temper being situated midway between those opposites, in the third essential form of the literature of philosophy, namely the essay; that characteristic literary type of our own time, a time so rich and various in special apprehensions of truth, so tentative and dubious in its sense of their ensemble, and issues. Strictly appropriate form of our modern philosophic literature, the essay came into use at what was really the invention of the relative,  or “modern” spirit, in the Renaissance of the sixteenth century.*

The poem, the treatise, the essay: you see already that these three methods of writing are no mere literary accidents, dependent on the personal choice of this or that particular writer, but necessities of literary form, determined directly by matter, as corresponding to three essentially different ways in which the human mind relates itself to truth. If oracular verse, stimulant but enigmatic, is the proper vehicle of enthusiastic intuitions; if the treatise, with its ambitious array of premiss and conclusion, is the natural out-put of scholastic all-sufficiency; so, the form of the essay, as we have it towards the end of the sixteenth century, most significantly in Montaigne, representative essayist because the representative doubter, inventor of the name as, in essence, of the thing — of the essay, in its seemingly modest aim, its really large and adventurous possibilities — is indicative of Montaigne’s peculiar function in regard to his age, as in truth the commencement of our own. It provided him with precisely the literary form necessary to a mind for which truth itself is but a possibility, realisable not as general conclusion, but rather as the elusive effect of a particular personal experience; to a mind which, noting  faithfully those random lights that meet it by the way, must needs content itself with suspension of judgment, at the end of the intellectual journey, to the very last asking: Que scais-je? Who knows? — in the very spirit of that old Socratic contention, that all true philosophy is but a refined sense of one’s ignorance.

And as Aristotle is the inventor of the treatise, so the Platonic Dialogue, in its conception, its peculiar opportunities, is essentially an essay — an essay, now and then passing into the earlier form of philosophic poetry, the prose-poem of Heraclitus. There have been effective writers of dialogue since, Bruno, for instance, Berkeley, Landor, with whom, however, that literary form has had no strictly constitutional propriety to the kind of matter it conveyed, as lending itself (that is to say) structurally to a many-sided but hesitant consciousness of the truth. Thus, with Berkeley, its purpose is but to give a popular turn to certain very dogmatic opinions, about which there is no diffidence, there are no half-lights, in the writer’s own mind. With Plato, on the other hand, with Plato least of all is the dialogue — that peculiar modification of the essay — anything less than essential, necessary, organic: the very form belongs to, is of the organism of, the matter which it embodies. For Plato’s Dialogues, in fact, reflect, they refine  upon while they fulfil, they idealise, the actual method, in which, by preference to anything like formal lecturing (the lecture being, so to speak, a treatise in embryo) Socrates conveyed his doctrine to others. We see him in those Dialogues of Plato, still loitering in the public places, the open houses, the suburban roads, of Athens, as if seeking truth from others; seeking it, doubtless, from himself, but along with, and by the help of, his supposed scholars, for whom, indeed, he can but bring their own native conceptions of truth to the birth; but always faithfully registering just so much light as is given, and, so to speak, never concluding.

The Platonic Dialogue is the literary transformation, in a word, of what was the intimately home-grown method of Socrates, not only of conveying truth to others, but of coming by it for himself. The essence of that method, of “dialectic” in all its forms, as its very name denotes, is dialogue, the habit of seeking truth by means of question and answer, primarily with one’s self. Just there, lies the validity of the method — in a dialogue, an endless dialogue, with one’s self; a dialogue concerning those first principles, or “universal definitions,” or notions, those “ideas,” which, according to Plato, are the proper objects of all real knowledge; concerning the adequacy of one’s hold upon them; the relationship to them of other notions; the plausible conjectures in our own or other minds,  which come short of them; the elimination, by their mere presence in the mind, of positive ignorance or error. Justice, Beauty, Perfect Polity, and the like, in outlines of eternal and absolute certainty: — they were to be apprehended by “dialectic,” literally, by a method (methodos)+ a circuitous journey, presented by the Platonic dialogues in its most accomplished literary form.

For the certainty, the absolute and eternal character, of such ideas involved, with much labour and scruple, repeated acts of qualification and correction; many readjustments to experience; expansion, by larger lights from it; those exclusions and inclusions, debitae naturae (to repeat Bacon’s phrase) demanded, that is to say, by the veritable nature of the facts which those ideas are designed to represent. “Representation” was, in fact, twofold, and comprehended many successive steps under each of its divisions. The thought was to be adjusted, first, to the phenomena, to the facts, daintily, to the end that the said thought might just cover those facts, and no more. To the thought, secondly, to the conception, thus articulated, it was necessary to adjust the term; the term, or “definition,” by which it might be conveyed into the mind of another. The dialogue — the freedom, the variety and elasticity, of dialogue, informal, easy, natural, alone afforded the room necessary for that long and complex process. If one, if Socrates, seemed to become  the teacher of another, it was but by thinking aloud for a few moments over his own lesson, or leaning upon that other as he went along that difficult way which each one must really prosecute for himself, however full such comradeship might be of happy occasions for the awakening of the latent knowledge, with which mind is by nature so richly stored. The Platonic Socrates, in fact, does not propose to teach anything: is but willing, “along with you,” and if you concur, “to consider, to seek out, what the thing may be. Perchance using our eyes in common, rubbing away, we might cause Justice, for instance, to glint forth, as from fire-sticks.”*

“And,” again, “is not the road to Athens made for conversation?” Yes! It might seem that movement, after all, and any habit that promoted movement, promoted the power, the successes, the fortunate parturition, of the mind. A method such as this, a process (processus) a movement of thought, which is the very converse of mathematical or demonstrative reasoning, and incapable therefore of conventional or scholastic form, of “exactness,” in fact; which proceeded to truth, not by the analysis and application of an axiom, but by a gradual suppression of error, of error in the form of partial or exaggerated truths on the subject- matter proposed, found its proper  literary vehicle in a dialogue, the more flexible the better. It was like a journey indeed, that essay towards Justice, for example, or the true Polity; a journey, not along the simple road to Athens, but to a mountain’s top. The proportions, the outline, the relation of the thing to its neighbours, — how do the inexperienced in such journeys mistake them, as they climb! What repeated misconceptions, embodying, one by one, some mere particularity of view, the perspective of this or that point of view, forthwith abandoned, some apprehension of mountain form and structure, just a little short, or, it may be, immeasurably short, of what Plato would call the “synoptic” view of the mountain as a whole. From this or that point, some insignificant peak presented itself as the mountain’s veritable crest: inexperience would have sworn to the truth of a wholly illusive perspective, as the next turn in the journey assured one. It is only upon the final step, with free view at last on every side, uniting together and justifying all those various, successive, partial apprehensions of the difficult way — only on the summit, comes the intuitive comprehension of what the true form of the mountain really is; with a mental, or rather an imaginative hold upon which, for the future, we can find our way securely about it; observing perhaps that, next to that final intuition, the first view, the first impression, had been truest about it.

Such, in its full scope, is the journey or pilgrimage, the method (hodos, kinêsis, methodos)+ of the Socratic, of the perfected Platonic dialectic, towards the truth, the true knowledge, of Bravery or Friendship, for instance; of Space or Motion, again, as suggested in the seventh book of The Republic; of the ideal City, of the immaculate Beauty. You are going about Justice, for example — that great complex elevation on the level surface of life, whose top, it may be, reaches to heaven. You fancy you have grasped its outline. Alla metathômetha.+ You are forced on, perhaps by your companion, a step further, and the view has already changed. “Persevere,” Plato might say, “and a step may be made, upon which, again, the whole world around may change, the entire horizon and its relation to the point you stand on — a change from the half-light of conjecture to the full light of indefectible certitude.” That, of course, can only happen by a summary act of intuition upon the entire perspective, wherein all those partial apprehensions, which one by one may have seemed inconsistent with each other, find their due place, or (to return to the Platonic Dialogue again, to the actual process of dialectic as there exposed) by that final impression of a subject, a theorem, in which the mind attains a hold, as if by a single imaginative act, through all the transitions of a long conversation, upon all the seemingly opposite contentions of all the various speakers at once. We see already why  Platonic dialectic — the ladder, as Plato thinks, by which alone we can ascend into the entirely reasonable world (noêtos topos)+ beginning with the boyish difficulties and crudities of Meno, for instance, is a process which may go on, at least with those gifted by nature and opportunity, as in the Perfect City, — may go on to the close of life, and, as Pythagorean theory suggests, perhaps does not end even then.

The process of dialectic, as represented in the Platonic Dialogues, may seem, therefore, inconsistent with itself, if you isolate this or that particular movement, in what is a very complex process, with many phases of development. It is certainly difficult, and that not merely on a first reading, to grasp the unity of the various statements Plato has made about it. Now it may seem to differ from ordinary reasoning by a certain plausibility only: it is logic, plus persuasion; helping, gently enticing, a child out of his natural errors; carefully explaining difficulties by the way, as one can best do, by question and answer with him; above all, never falling into the mistake of the obscurum per obscurius. At another time it may seem to aim at plausibility of another sort; at mutual complaisance, as Thrasymachus complains. It would be possible, of course, to present an insincere dialogue, in which certain of the disputants shall be mere men of straw. In the Philebus again, dialectic is only the name of the process (described there  as exactly, almost as technically, as Aristotle, or some modern master of applied logic, might describe it) of the resolution of a genus into its species. Or it lapses into “eristic” — into an argument for its own sake; or sinks into logomachy, a mere dispute about words. Or yet again, an immense, a boundless promise is made for it, as in the seventh book of The Republic. It is a life, a systematised, but comprehensive and far-reaching, intellectual life, in which the reason, nay, the whole nature of man, realises all it was designed to be, by the beatific “vision of all time and all existence.”

Now all these varying senses of the word “dialectic” fall within compass, if we remember that for Plato, as for every other really philosophic thinker, method must be one; that it must cover, or be understood to cover, the entire process, all the various processes, of the mind, in pursuit of properly representative ideas, of a reasoned reflex of experience; and that for Plato, this process is essentially a long discourse or reasoning of the mind with itself. It is that dynamic, or essential, dialogue of the mind with itself, which lends, or imputes, its active principle to the written or spoken dialogue, which, in return, lends its name to the method it figures— “dialectic.” Well! in that long and complex dialogue of the mind with itself, many persons, so to speak, will necessarily take part; so many persons as there are possible contrasts or shades  in the apprehension of some complex subject. The advocatus diaboli will be heard from time to time. The dog also, or, as the Greeks said, the wolf, will out with his story against the man; and one of the interlocutors will always be a child, turning round upon us innocently, candidly, with our own admissions, or surprising us, perhaps at the last moment, by what seems his invincible ignorance, when we thought it rooted out of him. There will be a youth, inexperienced in the capacities of language, who will compel us to allow much time to the discussion of words and phrases, though not always unprofitably. And to the last, let us hope, refreshing with his enthusiasm, the weary or disheartened enquirer (who is always also of the company) the rightly sanguine youth, ingenuous and docile, to whom, surely, those friendly living ideas will be willing, longing, to come, after that Platonic law of affinity, so effectual in these matters — homoion homoiô.+

With such a nature above all, bringing with it its felicities of temperament, with the sort of natures (as we may think) which intellectually can but thrive, a method like that, the dialectic method, will also have its felicities, its singular good fortunes. A voyage of discovery, prosecuted almost as if at random, the Socratic or Platonic “dialogue of enquiry,” seems at times to be in charge of a kind of “Providence.” Or again, it will be as when hunters or bird- catchers “beat  the bush,” as we say: Plato elaborates that figure in The Republic. Only, if they be knowing in the process, a fair percentage of birds will be found and taken. All the chances, or graces, of such a method, as actually followed in a whole life of free enquiry, The Republic, for a watchful reader, represents in little. And when, using still another figure, Socrates says: “I do not yet know, myself; but, we must just go where the argument carries us, as a vessel runs before the wind,” he breathes the very soul of the “dialectic method”: — hopê an ho logos, hôsper pneuma, pherê, tautê iteon.+

This dialectic method, this continuous discourse with one’s self, being, for those who prosecute it with thoroughness, co-extensive with life itself — a part of the continuous company we keep with ourselves through life — will have its inequalities; its infelicities; above all, its final insecurity. “We argue rashly and adventurously,” writes Plato, most truly, in the Timaeus — aye, we, the Platonists, as such, sometimes— “by reason that, like ourselves, our discourses (our Platonic discourses, as such) have much participation in the temerity of chance.” Of course, as in any other occasional conversation, with its dependence on the hour and the scene, the persons we are with, the humours of the moment, there will always be much of accident in this essentially informal, this un-methodical,  method; and, therefore, opportunities for misuse, sometimes consciously. The candid reader notes instances of such, even in The Republic, not always on the part of Thrasymachus: — in this “new game of chess,” played, as Plato puts it, not with counters, but with words, and not necessarily for the prize of truth, but, it may be, for the mere enjoyment of move and counter-move, of check-mating.

Since Zeno’s paradoxes, in fact, the very air of Athens was become sophisticated, infected with questionings, often vain enough; and the Platonic method had been, in its measure, determined by (the unfriendly might say, was in truth only a deposit from) that infected air. “Socrates,” as he admits, “is easily refuted. Say rather, dear Agathon, that you cannot refute the truth.” That is reassuring, certainly! For you might think sometimes, uneasily, of the Platonic Socrates, that, as he says of the Sophist, or of himself perhaps en caricature, in the Euthydemus, “Such is his skill in the war of words, that he can refute any proposition whatever, whether true or false”; that, in short, there is a dangerous facility abroad for proving all things whatever, equally well, of which Socrates, and his presumable allotment of truth, has but the general allotment.

The friendly, on the other hand, might rejoin even then, that, as Lessing suggests, the search for truth is a better thing for us than its possession.

Plato, who supposes any knowledge worth the name to be “absolute and eternal”; whose constant contention it is, to separate longo intervallo, by the longest possible interval, science (epistêmê)+ as the possession of irresistible truth, from any and every sort of knowledge which falls short of that; would hardly have accepted the suggestion of Lessing. Yet, in spite of all that, in spite of the demand he makes for certainty and exactness and what is absolute, in all real knowledge, he does think, or inclines his reader to think, that truth, precisely because it resembles some high kind of relationship of persons to persons, depends a good deal on the receiver; and must be, in that degree, elusive, provisional, contingent, a matter of various approximation, and of an “economy,” as is said; that it is partly a subjective attitude of mind: — that philosophic truth consists in the philosophic temper. “Socrates in Plato,” remarks Montaigne acutely, “disputes, rather to the profit of the disputants, than of the dispute. He takes hold of the first subject, like one who has a more profitable end in view than to explain it; namely, to clear the understandings that he takes upon him to instruct and exercise.”

Just there, in fact, is the justification of Plato’s peculiar dialectical method, of its inexactness, its hesitancy, its scruples and reserve, as if he feared to obtrude knowledge on an unworthy receiver. The treatise, as the proper instrument of dogma — the Ethics of Aristotle, the Ethics of Spinoza — begins with a truth, or with a clear conviction of truth, in the axiom or definition, which it does but propose further to explain and apply. — The treatise, as the instrument of a dogmatic philosophy begins with an axiom or definition: the essay or dialogue, on the other hand, as the instrument of dialectic, does not necessarily so much as conclude in one; like that long dialogue with oneself, that dialectic process, which may be co-extensive with life. It does in truth little more than clear the ground, as we say, or the atmosphere, or the mental tablet, that one may have a fair chance of knowing, or seeing, perhaps: it does but put one into a duly receptive attitude towards such possible truth, discovery, or revelation, as may one day occupy the ground, the tablet, — shed itself on the purified air; it does not provide a proposition, nor a system of propositions, but forms a temper.

What Plato presents to his readers is then, again, a paradox, or a reconciliation of opposed tendencies: on one side, the largest possible demand for infallible certainty in knowledge (it was he fixed that ideal of absolute truth, to which, vainly perhaps, the human mind, as such, aspires) yet, on the other side, the utmost possible inexactness, or contingency, in the method by which actually he proposes to attain it. It has been said that the humour of Socrates, of which the  famous Socratic irony — the pretence to have a bad memory, to dislike or distrust long and formal discourse, to have taught nothing, to be but a mid-wife in relation to other people’s thoughts — was an element, is more than a mere personal trait; that it was welcome as affording a means of escape from the full responsibilities of his teaching. It belonged, in truth, to the tentative character of dialectic, of question and answer as the method of discovery, of teaching and learning, to the position, in a word, of the philosophic essayist. That it was thus, might be illustrated abundantly from the Platonic dialogues. The irony, the Socratic humour, so serviceable to a diffident teacher, are, in fact, Plato’s own. Kindyneuei,+ “it may chance to be,” is, we may notice, a favourite catchword of his. The philosopher of Being, or, of the verb, “To be,” is after all afraid of saying, “It is.”

For, again, person dealing with person — with possible caprice, therefore, at least on one side — or intelligence with intelligence, is what Plato supposes in the reception of truth: — that, and not an exact mechanism, a precise machine, operating on, or with, an exactly ponderable matter. He has fears for truth, however carefully considered. To the very last falsehood will lurk, if not about truth itself, about this or that assent to it. The receiver may add the falsities of his own nature to the truth he receives. The proposition which embodies it very  imperfectly, may not look to him, in those dark chambers of his individuality, of himself, into which none but he can ever get, to test the matter, what it looks to me, or to you. We may not even be thinking of, not looking at, the same thing, when we talk of Beauty, and the like; objects which, after all, to the Platonist are matters of theôria,+ of immediate intuition, of immediate vision, or, as Plato sometimes fancied, of an earlier personal experience; and which, as matter of such intuition, are incapable of analysis, and therefore, properly, incommunicable by words. Place, then, must be left to the last in any legitimate dialectic process for possible after-thoughts; for the introduction, so to speak, of yet another interlocutor in the dialogue, which has, in fact, no necessary conclusion, and leaves off only because time is up, or when, as he says, one leaves off seeking through weariness (apokamnôn).+ “What thought can think, another thought can mend.” Another turn in the endless road may change the whole character of the perspective. You cannot, as the Sophist proposed to do (that was part of his foolishness) take and put truth into the soul. If you could, it might be established there, only as an “inward lie,” as a mistake. “Must I take the argument, and literally insert it into your mind?” asks Thrasymachus. “Heaven forbid”: answers Socrates. That is precisely what he fears most, for himself, and for others; and from first to last, demands, as the first condition of comradeship  in that long journey in which he conceives teacher and learner to be but fellow- travellers, pilgrims side by side, sincerity, above all sincerity with one’s self — that, and also freedom in reply. “Answer what you think, megaloprepôs + — liberally.” For it is impossible to make way otherwise, in a method which consists essentially in the development of knowledge by question and answer.

Misuse, again, is of course possible in a method which admits of no objective sanction or standard; the success of which depends on a loyalty to one’s self, in the prosecution of it, of which no one else can be cognisant. And if we can misuse it with ourselves, how much more certainly can the expert abuse it with another. At every turn of the conversation, a door lies open to sophistry. Sophistry, logomachy, eristic: we may learn what these are, sometimes, from Plato’s own practice. That justice is only useful as applied to things useless; that the just man is a kind of thief; and the like; is hardly so much as sophistry. And this too was possible in a method, which, with all its large outlook, has something of the irregularity, the accident, the heats and confusion, of life itself — a method of reasoning which can only in a certain measure be reasoned upon. How different the exactness which Aristotle supposes, and does his best to secure, in scientific procedure! For him, dialectic, Platonic dialectic, is, at best, a part of “eristic” — of the art, or trick, of merely popular and approximate debate, in matters where science is out of the question, and rhetoric has its office, not in providing for the intelligence, but in moulding the sentiments and the will. Conversely to that absoluteness and necessity which Plato himself supposes in all real knowledge, as “the spectacle of all time and all existence,” it might seem that the only sort of truth attainable by his actual method, must be the truth of a particular time and place, for one and not for another. Dialogos peirastikos,+ “a Dialogue of search”: — every one of Plato’s Dialogues is in essence such like that whole, life-long, endless dialogue which dialectic, in its largest scope, does but formulate, and in which truly the last, the infallible word, after all, never gets spoken. Our pilgrimage is meant indeed to end in nothing less than the vision of what we seek. But can we ever be quite sure that we are really come to that? By what sign or test?

Now oppose all this, all these peculiarities of the Platonic method, as we find it, to the exact and formal method of Aristotle, of Aquinas, of Spinoza, or Hegel; and then suppose one trained exclusively on Plato’s dialogues. Is it the eternal certainty, after all, the immutable and absolute character of truth, as Plato conceived it, that he would be likely to apprehend? We have here another of those contrasts of tendency, constitutional  in the genius of Plato, and which may add to our interest in him. Plato is to be explained, as we say, or interpreted, partly through his predecessors, and his contemporaries; but in part also by his followers, by the light his later mental kinsmen throw back on the conscious or unconscious drift of his teaching. Now there are in the history of philosophy two opposite Platonic traditions; two legitimate yet divergent streams of influence from him. Two very different yet equally representative scholars we may see in thought emerging from his school. The “theory of the Ideas,” the high ideal, the uncompromising demand for absolute certainty, in any truth or knowledge worthy of the name; the immediate or intuitive character of the highest acts of knowledge; that all true theory is indeed “vision”: — for the maintenance of that side of the Platonic position we must look onward to Aristotle, and the Schoolmen of all ages, to Spinoza, to Hegel; to those mystic aspirants to “vision” also, the so-called Neo-Platonists of all ages, from Proclus to Schelling. From the abstract, metaphysical systems of those, the ecstasy and illuminism of these, we may mount up to the actual words of Plato in the Symposium, the fifth book of The Republic, the Phaedrus.

But it is in quite different company we must look for the tradition, the development, of Plato’s actual method of learning and teaching. The Academy of Plato, the established seat of his  philosophy, gave name to a school, of which Lucian, in Greek, and in Latin, Cicero, are the proper representatives, — Cicero, the perfect embodiment of what is still sometimes understood to be the “academic spirit,” surveying all sides, arraying evidence, ascertaining, measuring, balancing, tendencies, but ending in suspension of judgment. If Platonism from age to age has meant, for some, ontology, a doctrine of “being,” or the nearest attainable approach to or substitution for that; for others, Platonism has been in fact only another name for scepticism, in a recognisable philosophic tradition. Thus, in the Middle Age, it qualifies in the Sic et Non the confident scholasticism of Abelard. It is like the very trick and impress of the Platonic Socrates himself again, in those endless conversations of Montaigne — that typical sceptic of the age of the Renaissance — conversations with himself, with the living, with the dead through their writings, which his Essays do but reflect. Typical Platonist or sceptic, he is therefore also the typical essayist. And the sceptical philosopher of Bordeaux does but commence the modern world, which, side by side with its metaphysical reassertions, from Descartes to Hegel, side by side also with a constant accumulation of the sort of certainty which is afforded by empirical science, has had assuredly, to check wholesomely the pretensions of one and of the other alike, its doubts.— “Their name is legion,” says a modern writer. Reverent  and irreverent, reasonable and unreasonable, manly and unmanly, morbid and healthy, guilty and honest, wilful, inevitable — they have been called, indifferently, in an age which thirsts for intellectual security, but cannot make up its mind. Q’ue scais-je? it cries, in the words of Montaigne; but in the spirit also of the Platonic Socrates, with whom such dubitation had been nothing less than a religious duty or service.

Sanguine about any form of absolute knowledge, of eternal, or indefectible, or immutable truth, with our modern temperament as it is, we shall hardly become, even under the direction of Plato, and by the reading of the Platonic Dialogues. But if we are little likely to realise in his school, the promise of “ontological” science, of a “doctrine of Being,” or any increase in our consciousness of metaphysical security, are likely, rather, to acquire there that other sort of Platonism, a habit, namely, of tentative thinking and suspended judgment, if we are not likely to enjoy the vision of his “eternal and immutable ideas,” Plato may yet promote in us what we call “ideals” — the aspiration towards a more perfect Justice, a more perfect Beauty, physical and intellectual, a more perfect condition of human affairs, than any one has ever yet seen; that kosmos,+ in which things are only as they are thought by a perfect mind, to which experience is constantly approximating us, but which it does not provide. There they stand, the two  great landmarks of the intellectual or spiritual life as Plato conceived it: the ideal, the world of “ideas,” “the great perhaps,” for which it is his merit so effectively to have opened room in the mental scheme, to be known by us, if at all, through our affinities of nature with it, which, however, in our dealings with ourselves and others we may assume to be objective or real: — and then, over against our imperfect realisation of that ideal, in ourselves, in nature and history, amid the personal caprices (it might almost seem) of its discovery of itself to us, as the appropriate attitude on our part, the dialectical spirit, which to the last will have its diffidence and reserve, its scruples and second thoughts. Such condition of suspended judgment indeed, in its more genial development and under felicitous culture, is but the expectation, the receptivity, of the faithful scholar, determined not to foreclose what is still a question — the “philosophic temper,” in short, for which a survival of query will be still the salt of truth, even in the most absolutely ascertained knowledge.

CHAPTER 8: LACEDAEMON

AMONG the Greeks, philosophy has flourished longest, and is still most abundant, at Crete and Lacedaemon; and there there are more teachers of philosophy than anywhere else in the world. But the Lacedaemonians deny this, and pretend to be unlearned people, lest it should become manifest that it is through philosophy they are supreme in Greece; that they may be thought to owe their supremacy to their fighting and manly spirit, for they think that if the means of their superiority were made known all the Greeks would practise this. But now, by keeping it a secret, they have succeeded in misleading the Laconisers in the various cities of Greece; and in imitation of them these people buffet themselves, and practise gymnastics, and put on boxing-gloves, and wear short cloaks, as if it were by such things that the Lacedaemonians excel all other Greeks. But the Lacedaemonians, when they wish to have intercourse with their philosophers without reserve, and are weary of going to them by stealth, make legal proclamation that those Laconisers should depart, with any other aliens who may be sojourning among them, and thereupon betake themselves to their sophists unobserved by strangers. And you may know that what I say is true, and that the Lacedaemonians are better instructed than all other people in philosophy and the art of discussion in this way. If any one will converse with even the most insignificant of the Lacedaemonians, he may find him indeed in the greater part of what he says seemingly but a poor creature; but then at some chance point in the conversation he will throw in some brief compact saying, worthy of remark, like a clever archer, so that his interlocutor shall seem no better than a child. Of  this fact some both of those now living and of the ancients have been aware, and that to Laconise consists in the study of philosophy far rather than in the pursuit of gymnastic, for they saw that to utter such sayings as those was only possible for a perfectly educated man. Of these was Thales of Miletus, Pittacus of Mytilene, Bias the Prienean, and our own Solon, Cleobulus the Lindian, and Myson of Chen, and the seventh among them was called Chilon, a Lacedaemonian. These were all zealous lovers and disciples of the culture of the Lacedaemonians. And any one may understand that their philosophy was something of this kind, short rememberable sayings uttered by each of them. They met together and offered these in common, as the first fruits of philosophy, to Apollo in his temple at Delphi, and they wrote upon the walls these sayings known and read of all men: Gnôthi sauton and Mêden agan. Protagoras, 343.+

Of course there is something in that of the romance to which the genius of Plato readily inclined him; something also of the Platonic humour or irony, which suggests, for example, to Meno, so anxious to be instructed in the theory of virtue, that the philosophic temper must be departed from Attica, its natural home, to Thessaly — to the rude northern capital whence that ingenuous youth was freshly arrived. Partly romantic, partly humorous, in his Laconism, Plato is however quite serious in locating a certain spirit at Lacedaemon of which his own ideal Republic would have been the completer development; while the picture he draws of it presents many a detail taken straight from Lacedaemon as it really was, as if by an admiring visitor, who had in person paced the streets of the Dorian metropolis it was so difficult for any  alien to enter. What was actually known of that stern place, of the Lacedaemonians at home, at school, had charmed into fancies about it other philosophic theorists; Xenophon for instance, who had little or nothing of romantic tendency about them.

And there was another sort of romancing also, quite opposite to this of Plato, concerning the hard ways among themselves of those Lacedaemonians who were so invincible in the field. “The Lacedaemonians,” says Pausanias, “appear to have admired least of all people poetry and the praise which it bestows.” “At Lacedaemon there is more philosophy than anywhere else in the world,” is what Plato, or the Platonic Socrates, had said. Yet, on the contrary, there were some who alleged that true Lacedaemonians — Lacedaemonian nobles — for their protection against the “effeminacies” of culture, were denied all knowledge of reading and writing. But then we know that written books are properly a mere assistant, sometimes, as Plato himself suggests, a treacherous assistant, to memory; those conservative Lacedaemonians being, so to speak, the people of memory pre-eminently, and very appropriately, for, whether or not they were taught to read and write, they were acknowledged adepts in the Pythagorean philosophy, a philosophy which attributes to memory so preponderating a function in the mental life. “Writing,” says K. O. Müller in his laborious,  yet, in spite of its air of coldness, passably romantic work on The Dorians — an author whose quiet enthusiasm for his subject resulted indeed in a patient scholarship which well befits it: “Writing,” he says, “was not essential in a nation where laws, hymns, and the praises of illustrious men — that is, jurisprudence and history — were taught in their schools of music.” Music, which is or ought to be, as we know, according to those Pythagorean doctrines, itself the essence of all things, was everywhere in the Perfect City of Plato; and among the Lacedaemonians also, who may be thought to have come within measurable distance of that Perfect City, though with no conscious theories about it, music (mousikê)+ in the larger sense of the word, was everywhere, not to alleviate only but actually to promote and inform, to be the very substance of their so strenuous and taxing habit of life. What was this “music,” this service or culture of the Muses, this harmony, partly moral, doubtless, but also throughout a matter of elaborate movement of the voice, of musical instruments, of all beside that could in any way be associated to such things — this music, for the maintenance, the perpetual sense of which those vigorous souls were ready to sacrifice so many opportunities, privileges, enjoyments of a different sort, so much of their ease, of themselves, of one another?

Platonism is a highly conscious reassertion  of one of the two constituent elements in the Hellenic genius, of the spirit of the highlands namely in which the early Dorian forefathers of the Lacedaemonians had secreted their peculiar disposition, in contrast with the mobile, the marine and fluid temper of the littoral Ionian people. The Republic of Plato is an embodiment of that Platonic reassertion or preference, of Platonism, as the principle of a society, ideal enough indeed, yet in various degrees practicable. It is not understood by Plato to be an erection de novo, and therefore only on paper. Its foundations might be laid in certain practicable changes to be enforced in the old schools, in a certain reformed music which must be taught there, and would float thence into the existing homes of Greece, under the shadow of its old temples, the sanction of its old religion, its old memories, the old names of things. Given the central idea, with its essentially renovating power, the well-worn elements of society as it is would rebuild themselves, and a new colour come gradually over all things as the proper expression of a certain new mind in them.

And in fact such embodiments of the specially Hellenic element in Hellenism, compacted in the natural course of political development, there had been, though in a less ideal form, in those many Dorian constitutions to which Aristotle refers. To Lacedaemon, in The Republic itself, admiring allusions abound, covert, yet bold  enough, if we remember the existing rivalry between Athens and her neighbour; and it becomes therefore a help in the study of Plato’s political ideal to approach as near as we may to that earlier actual embodiment of its principles, which is also very interesting in itself. The Platonic City of the Perfect would not have been cut clean away from the old roots of national life: would have had many links with the beautiful and venerable Greek cities of past and present. The ideal, poetic or romantic as it might seem, would but have begun where they had left off, where Lacedaemon, in particular, had left off. Let us then, by way of realising the better the physiognomy of Plato’s theoretic building, suppose some contemporary student of The Republic, a pupil, say! in the Athenian Academy, determined to gaze on the actual face of what has so strong a family likeness to it. Stimulated by his master’s unconcealed Laconism, his approval of contemporary Lacedaemon, he is at the pains to journey thither, and make personal inspection of a place, in Plato’s general commendations of which he may suspect some humour or irony, but which has unmistakably lent many a detail to his ideal Republic, on paper, or in thought.

He would have found it, this youthful Anacharsis, hard to get there, partly through the nature of the country, in part because the people of Lacedaemon (it was a point of system with them, as we heard just now) were suspicious of  foreigners. Romantic dealers in political theory at Athens were safe in saying pretty much what they pleased about its domestic doings. Still, not so far away, made, not in idea and by the movements of an abstract argument, the mere strokes of a philosophic pen, but solidified by constancy of character, fortified anew on emergency by heroic deeds, for itself, for the whole of Greece, though with such persistent hold throughout on an idea, or system of ideas, that it might seem actually to have come ready-made from the mind of some half-divine Lycurgus, or through him from Apollo himself, creator of that music of which it was an example: — there, in the hidden valley of the Eurotas, it was to be found, as a visible centre of actual human life, the place which was alleged to have come, harsh paradox as it might sound to Athenian ears, within measurable distance of civic perfection, of the political and social ideal.

Our youthful academic adventurer then, making his way along those difficult roads, between the ridges of the Eastern Acadian Mountains, and emerging at last into “hollow” Laconia, would have found himself in a country carefully made the most of by the labour of serfs; a land of slavery, far more relentlessly organised according to law than anywhere else in Greece, where, in truth, for the most part slavery was a kind of accident. But whatever rigours these slaves of Laconia were otherwise subjected to, they  enjoyed certainly that kind of well- being which does come of organisation, from the order and regularity of system, living under central military authority, and bound themselves to military service; to furnish (as under later feudal institutions) so many efficient men-at-arms on demand, and maintain themselves in readiness for war as they laboured in those distantly-scattered farms, seldom visited by their true masters from Lacedaemon, whither year by year they sent in kind their heavy tribute of oil, barley and wine. The very genius of conservatism here enthroned, secured, we may be sure, to this old-fashioned country life something of the personal dignity, of the enjoyments also, natural to it; somewhat livelier religious feasts, for example, than their lords allowed themselves. Stray echoes of their boisterous plebeian mirth on such occasions have reached us in Greek literature.

But if the traveller had penetrated a little more closely he would have been told certain startling stories, with at least a basis of truth in them, even as regards the age of Plato. These slaves were Greeks: no rude Scythians, nor crouching, decrepit Asiatics, like ordinary prisoners of war, the sort of slaves you could buy, but genuine Greeks, speaking their native tongue, if with less of muscular tension and energy, yet probably with pleasanter voice and accent than their essentially highland masters. Physically they throve, under something of the same discipline which had made  those masters the masters also of all Greece. They saw them now and then — their younger lords, brought, under strict tutelage, on those long hunting expeditions, one of their so rare enjoyments, prescribed for them, as was believed, by the founder of their polity. But sometimes (here was the report which made one shudder even in broad daylight, in those seemingly reposeful places) sometimes those young nobles of Lacedaemon reached them on a different kind of pursuit: came by night, secretly, though by no means contrarily to the laws of a state crafty as it was determined, to murder them at home, or a certain moiety of them; one here or there perhaps who, with good Achaean blood in his veins, and under a wholesome mode of life, was grown too tall, or too handsome, or too fruitful a father, to feel quite like a slave. Under a sort of slavery that makes him strong and beautiful, where personal beauty was so greatly prized, his masters are in fact jealous of him.

But masters thus hard to others, these Lacedaemonians, as we know, were the reverse of indulgent to themselves. While, as a matter of theory, power and privilege belonged exclusively to the old, to the seniors (hoi gerontes, hê gerousia)+ ruling by a council wherein no question might be discussed, one might only deliver one’s Aye! or No! Lacedaemon was in truth before all things an organised place of discipline, an organised  opportunity also, for youth, for the sort of youth that knew how to command by serving — a constant exhibition of youthful courage, youthful self-respect, yet above all of true youthful docility; youth thus committing itself absolutely, soul and body, to a corporate sentiment in its very sports. There was a third sort of regulation visits the lads of Lacedaemon were driven to pay to those country places, the vales, the uplands, when, to brace youthful stomachs and develope resource, they came at stated intervals as a kind of mendicants or thieves, feet and head uncovered through frost and heat, to steal their sustenance, under penalties if detected— “a survival,” as anthropologists would doubtless prove, pointing out collateral illustrations of the same, from a world of purely animal courage and keenness. Whips and rods used in a kind of monitorial system by themselves had a great part in the education of these young aristocrats, and, as pain surely must do, pain not of bodily disease or wretched accidents, but as it were by dignified rules of art, seem to have refined them, to have made them observant of the minutest direction in those musical exercises, wherein eye and ear and voice and foot all alike combined. There could be nothing paraleipomenon,+ as Plato says, no “oversights,” here. No! every one, at every moment, quite at his best; and, observe especially, with no superfluities; seeing that when we have to do with music of any kind, with matters of art, in stone, in words,  in the actions of life, all superfluities are in very truth “superfluities of naughtiness,” such as annihilate music.

The country through which our young traveller from his laxer school of Athens seeks his way to Lacedaemon, this land of a noble slavery, so peacefully occupied but for those irregular nocturnal terrors, was perhaps the loveliest in Greece, with that peculiarly blent loveliness, in which, as at Florence, the expression of a luxurious lowland is duly checked by the severity of its mountain barriers. It was a type of the Dorian purpose in life — sternness, like sea-water infused into wine, overtaking a matter naturally rich, at the moment when fulness may lose its savour and expression. Amid the corn and oleanders — corn “so tall, close, and luxuriant,” as the modern traveller there still finds — it was visible at last, Lacedaemon, koilê Spartê,+ “hollow Sparta,” under the sheltering walls of Taygetus, the broken and rugged forms of which were attributed to earthquake, but without proper walls of its own. In that natural fastness, or trap, or falcon’s nest, it had no need of them, the falcon of the land, with the hamlets (polichnia)+ a hundred and more, dispersed over it, in jealously enforced seclusion from one another.

From the first he notes “the antiquated appearance” of Lacedaemon, by no means a “growing” place, always rebuilding, remodelling itself, after the newest fashion, with shapeless suburbs  stretching farther and farther on every side of it, grown too large perhaps, as Plato threatens, to be a body, a corporate unity, at all: not that, but still, and to the last, itself only a great village, a solemn, ancient, mountain village. Even here of course there had been movement, some sort of progress, if so it is to be called, linking limb to limb; but long ago. Originally a union, after the manner of early Rome, of perhaps three or four neighbouring villages which had never lost their physiognomy, like Rome it occupied a group of irregular heights, the outermost roots of Taygetus, on the bank of a river or mountain torrent, impetuous enough in winter, a series of wide shallows and deep pools in the blazing summer. It was every day however, all the year round, that Lacedaemonian youth plunged itself in the Eurotas. Hence, from this circumstance of the union there of originally disparate parts, the picturesque and expressive irregularity, had they had time to think it such, of the “city” properly so termed, the one open place or street, High Street, or Corso — Aphetais by name, lined, irregularly again, with various religious and other monuments. It radiated on all sides into a mazy coil, an ambush, of narrow crooked lanes, up and down, in which attack and defence would necessarily be a matter of hand-to-hand fighting. In the outskirts lay the citizens’ houses, roomier far than those of Athens, with spacious, walled courts, almost in the country. Here, in contrast  to the homes of Athens, the legitimate wife had a real dignity, the unmarried woman a singular freedom. There were no door-knockers: you shouted at the outer gate to be let in. Between the high walls lanes passed into country roads, sacred ways to ancient sacro-sanct localities, Therapnae, Amyclae, on this side or that, under the shade of mighty plane-trees.

Plato, as you may remember, gives a hint that, like all other visible things, the very trees — how they grow — exercise an aesthetic influence on character. The diligent legislator therefore would have his preferences, even in this matter of the trees under which the citizens of the Perfect City might sit down to rest. What trees? you wonder. The olive? the laurel, as if wrought in grandiose metal? the cypress? that came to a wonderful height in Dorian Crete: the oak? we think it very expressive of strenuous national character. Well! certainly the plane-tree for one, characteristic tree of Lacedaemon then and now; a very tranquil and tranquillising object, spreading its level or gravely curved masses on the air as regally as the tree of Lebanon itself. A vast grove of such was the distinguishing mark of Lacedaemon in any distant view of it; that, and, as at Athens, a colossal image, older than the days of Phidias — the Demos of Lacedaemon, it would seem, towering visibly above the people it protected. Below those mighty trees, on an island in their national river,  were the “playing- fields,” where Lacedaemonian youth after sacrifice in the Ephebeum delighted others rather than itself (no “shirking” was allowed) with a sort of football, under rigorous self-imposed rules — tearing, biting — a sport, rougher even than our own, et même très dangereux, as our Attic neighbours, the French, say of the English game.

They were orderly enough perforce, the boys, the young men, within the city — seen, but not heard, except under regulations, when they made the best music in the world. Our visitor from Athens when he saw those youthful soldiers, or military students, as Xenophon in his pretty treatise on the polity of Lacedaemon describes, walking with downcast eyes, their hands meekly hidden in their cloaks, might have thought them young monks, had he known of such.

A little mountain town, however ambitious, however successful in its ambition, would hardly be expected to compete with Athens, or Corinth, itself a Dorian state, in art-production, yet had not only its characteristic preferences in this matter, in plastic and literary art, but had also many venerable and beautiful buildings to show. The Athenian visitor, who is standing now in the central space of Lacedaemon, notes here, as being a trait also of the “Perfect City” of academic theory, that precisely because these people find themselves very susceptible to the  influences of form and colour and sound, to external aesthetic influence, but have withal a special purpose, a certain strongly conceived disciplinary or ethic ideal, that therefore a peculiar humour prevails among them, a self-denying humour, in regard to these things. Those ancient Pelopid princes, from whom the hereditary kings of historic Lacedaemon, come back from exile into their old home, claim to be descended, had had their palaces, with a certain Homeric, Asiatic splendour, of wrought metal and the like; considerable relics of which still remained, but as public or sacred property now. At the time when Plato’s scholar stands before them, the houses of these later historic kings — two kings, as you remember, always reigning together, in some not quite clearly evolved differentiation of the temporal and spiritual functions — were plain enough; the royal doors, when beggar or courtier approached them, no daintier than Lycurgus had prescribed for all true Lacedaemonian citizens; rude, strange things to look at, fashioned only, like the ceilings within, with axe and saw, of old mountain oak or pine from those great Taygetan forests, whence came also the abundant iron, which this stern people of iron and steel had super-induced on that earlier dreamy age of silver and gold — steel, however, admirably tempered and wrought in its application to military use, and much sought after throughout Greece.

Layer upon layer, the relics of those earlier  generations, a whole succession of remarkable races, lay beneath the strenuous footsteps of the present occupants, as there was old poetic legend in the depths of their seemingly so practical or prosaic souls. Nor beneath their feet only: the relics of their worship, their sanctuaries, their tombs, their very houses, were part of the scenery of actual life. Our young Platonic visitor from Athens, climbing through those narrow winding lanes, and standing at length on the open platform of the Aphetais, finds himself surrounded by treasures, modest treasures of ancient architecture, dotted irregularly here and there about him, as if with conscious design upon picturesque effect, such irregularities sometimes carrying in them the secret of expression, an accent. Old Alcman for one had been alive to the poetic opportunities of the place; boasts that he belongs to Lacedaemon, “abounding in sacred tripods”; that it was here the Heliconian Muses had revealed themselves to him. If the private abodes even of royalty were rude it was only that the splendour of places dedicated to religion and the state might the more abound. Most splendid of them all, the Stoa Poekile, a cloister or portico with painted walls, to which the spoils of the Persian war had been devoted, ranged its pillars of white marble on one side of the central space: on the other, connecting those high memories with the task of the living, lay the Choros, where, at the Gymnopaedia, the Spartan youth danced in honour of Apollo.

Scattered up and down among the monuments of victory in battle were the heroa, tombs or chapels of the heroes who had purchased it with their blood — Pausanias, Leonidas, brought home from Thermopylae forty years after his death. “A pillar too,” says Pausanias, “is erected here, on which the paternal names are inscribed of those who at Thermopylae sustained the attack of the Medes.” Here in truth all deities put on a martial habit — Aphrodite, the Muses, Eros himself, Athene Chalcioecus, Athene of the Brazen House, an antique temple towering above the rest, built from the spoils of some victory long since forgotten. The name of the artist who made the image of the tutelary goddess was remembered in the annals of early Greek art, Gitiades, a native of Lacedaemon. He had composed a hymn also in her praise. Could we have seen the place he had restored rather than constructed, with its covering of mythological reliefs in brass or bronze, perhaps Homer’s descriptions of a seemingly impossible sort of metallic architecture would have been less taxing to his reader’s imagination. Those who in other places had lost their taste amid the facile splendours of a later day, might here go to school again.

Throughout Greece, in fact, it was the Doric style which came to prevail as the religious or hieratic manner, never to be surpassed for that purpose, as the Gothic style seems likely to do with us. Though it is not exclusively the invention  of Dorian men, yet, says Müller, “the Dorian character created the Doric architecture,” and he notes in it, especially, the severity of the perfectly straight, smartly tapering line of its column; the bold projection of the capital; the alternation of long unornamented plain surfaces with narrower bands of decorated work; the profound shadows; the expression of security, of harmony, infused throughout; the magnificent pediment crowning the whole, like the cornice of mountain wall beyond, around, and above it. Standing there in the Aphetais, amid these venerable works of art, the visitor could not forget the natural architecture about him. As the Dorian genius had differentiated itself from the common Hellenic type in the heart of the mountains of Epirus, so here at last, in its final and most characteristic home, it was still surrounded by them: — ophrya te kai koilainetai.+

We know, some of us, what such mountain neighbourhood means. The wholesome vigour, the clearness and purity they maintain in matters such as air, light, water; how their presence multiplies the contrasts, the element of light and shadow, in things; the untouched perfection of the minuter ornament, flower or crystal, they permit one sparingly; their reproachful aloofness, though so close to us, keeping sensitive minds at least in a sort of moral alliance with their remoter solitudes. “The whole life of the Lacedaemonian community,” says Müller,  “had a secluded, impenetrable, and secret character.” You couldn’t really know it unless you were of it.

A system which conceived the whole of life as matter of attention, patience, a fidelity to detail, like that of good soldiers and musicians, could not but tell also on the merest handicrafts, constituting them in the fullest sense of a craft. If the money of Sparta was, or had recently been, of cumbrous iron, that was because its trade had a sufficient variety of stock to be mainly by barter, and we may suppose the market (into which, like our own academic youth at Oxford, young Spartans were forbidden to go) full enough of business — many a busy workshop in those winding lanes. The lower arts certainly no true Spartan might practise; but even Helots, artisan Helots, would have more than was usual elsewhere of that sharpened intelligence and the disciplined hand in such labour which really dignify those who follow it. In Athens itself certain Lacedaemonian commodities were much in demand, things of military service or for every-day use, turned out with flawless adaptation to their purpose.

The Helots, then, to whom this business exclusively belonged, a race of slaves, distinguishable however from the slaves or serfs who tilled the land, handing on their mastery in those matters in a kind of guild, father to son, through old-established families of flute-  players, wine-mixers, bakers, and the like, thus left their hereditary lords, Les Gens Fleur-de-lisés (to borrow an expression from French feudalism) in unbroken leisure, to perfect themselves for the proper functions of gentlemen — scholê,+ leisure, in the two senses of the word, which in truth involve one another — their whole time free, to be told out in austere schools. Long easeful nights, with more than enough to eat and drink, the “illiberal” pleasures of appetite, as Aristotle and Plato agree in thinking them, are of course the appropriate reward or remedy of those who work painfully with their hands, and seem to have been freely conceded to those Helots, who by concession of the State, from first to last their legal owner, were in domestic service, and sometimes much petted in the house, though by no means freely conceded to the “golden youth” of Lacedaemon — youth of gold, or gilded steel. The traditional Helot, drunk perforce to disgust his young master with the coarseness of vice, is probably a fable; and there are other stories full of a touching spirit of natural service, of submissiveness, of an instinctively loyal admiration for the brilliant qualities of one trained perhaps to despise him, by which the servitor must have become, in his measure, actually a sharer in them. Just here, for once, we see that slavish êthos,+ the servile range of sentiment, which ought to accompany the condition of slavery, if it be indeed, as Aristotle supposes, one of the  natural relationships between man and man, idealised, or aesthetically right, pleasant and proper; the aretê,+ or “best possible condition,” of the young servitor as such, including a sort of bodily worship, and a willingness to share the keen discipline which had developed the so attractive gallantry of his youthful lords.

A great wave, successive waves, of invasion, sufficiently remote to have lost already all historic truth of detail, had left them — these Helots, and the Perioeci, in the country round about — thus to serve among their own kinsmen, though so close to them in lineage, so much on a level with their masters in essential physical qualities that to the last they could never be entirely subdued in spirit. Patient modern research, following the track of a deep-rooted national tradition veiled in the mythological figments which centre in what is called “The Return of the Heraclidae,” reveals those northern immigrants or invaders, at various points on their way, dominant all along it, from a certain deep vale in the heart of the mountains of Epirus southwards, gradually through zone after zone of more temperate lowland, to reach their perfection, highlanders from first to last, in this mountain “hollow” of Lacedaemon. They claim supremacy, not as Dorian invaders, but as kinsmen of the old Achaean princes of the land; yet it was to the fact of conquest, to the necessity of  maintaining a position so strained, like that, as Aristotle expressly pointed out, of a beleaguered encampment in an enemy’s territory, that the singular institutions of Lacedaemon, the half-military, half-monastic spirit, which prevailed in this so gravely beautiful place, had been originally due. But observe! — Its moral and political system, in which that slavery was so significant a factor, its discipline, its aesthetic and other scruples, its peculiar moral êthos,+ having long before our Platonic student comes thither attained its original and proper ends, survived, — there is the point! survived as an end in itself, as a matter of sentiment, of public and perhaps still more of personal pride, though of the finer, the very finest sort, in one word as an ideal. Pericles, as you remember, in his famous vindication of the Athenian system, makes his hearers understand that the ends of the Lacedaemonian people might have been attained with less self-sacrifice than theirs. But still, there it remained, hê diaita Dôrikê+ — the genuine Laconism of the Lacedaemonians themselves, their traditional conception of life, with its earnestness, its precision and strength, its loyalty to its own type, its impassioned completeness; a spectacle, aesthetically, at least, very interesting, like some perfect instrument shaping to what they visibly were, the most beautiful of all people, in Greece, in the world.

Gymnastic, “bodily exercise,” of course, does  not always and necessarily effect the like of that. A certain perfectly preserved old Roman mosaic pavement in the Lateran Museum, presents a terribly fresh picture of the results of another sort of “training,” the monstrous development by a cruel art, by exercise, of this or that muscle, changing boy or man into a merely mechanic instrument with which his breeders might make money by amusing the Roman people. Victor Hugo’s odious dream of L’homme qui rit, must have had something of a prototype among those old Roman gladiators. The Lacedaemonians, says Xenophon on the other hand, homoiôs apo te tôn skelôn kai apo cheirôn kai apo trachêlou gymnazontai.+ Here too, that is to say, they aimed at, they found, proportion, Pythagorean symmetry or music, and bold as they could be in their exercises (it was a Lacedaemonian who, at Olympia, for the first time threw aside the heavy girdle and ran naked to the goal) forbade all that was likely to disfigure the body. Though we must not suppose all ties of nature rent asunder, nor all connexion between parents and children in those genial, retired houses at an end in very early life, it was yet a strictly public education which began with them betimes, and with a very clearly defined programme, conservative of ancient traditional and unwritten rules, an aristocratic education for the few, the liberales— “liberals,” as we may say, in that the proper sense of the word. It made them, in  very deed, the lords, the masters, of those they were meant by-and-by to rule; masters, of their very souls, of their imagination, enforcing on them an ideal, by a sort of spiritual authority, thus backing, or backed by, a very effective organisation of “the power of the sword.” In speaking of Lacedaemon, you see, it comes naturally to speak out of proportion, it might seem, of its youth, and of the education of its youth. But in fact if you enter into the spirit of Lacedaemonian youth, you may conceive Lacedaemonian manhood for yourselves. You divine already what the boy, the youth, so late in obtaining his majority, in becoming a man, came to be in the action of life, and on the battle-field. “In a Doric state,” says Müller, “education was, on the whole, a matter of more importance than government.”

A young Lacedaemonian, then, of the privileged class left his home, his tender nurses in those large, quiet old suburban houses early, for a public school, a schooling all the stricter as years went on, to be followed, even so, by a peculiar kind of barrack-life, the temper of which, a sort of military monasticism (it must be repeated) would beset him to the end. Though in the gymnasia of Lacedaemon no idle by- standers, no — well! Platonic loungers after truth or what not — were permitted, yet we are told, neither there nor in Sparta generally, neither there nor anywhere else, were the boys permitted  to be alone. If a certain love of reserve, of seclusion, characterised the Spartan citizen as such, it was perhaps the cicatrice of that wrench from a soft home into the imperative, inevitable gaze of his fellows, broad, searching, minute, his regret for, his desire to regain, moral and mental even more than physical ease. And his education continued late; he could seldom think of marriage till the age of thirty. Ethically it aimed at the reality, aesthetically at the expression, of reserved power, and from the first set its subject on the thought of his personal dignity, of self-command, in the artistic way of a good musician, a good soldier. It is noted that “the general accent of the Doric dialect has itself the character not of question or entreaty, but of command or dictation.” The place of deference, of obedience, was large in the education of Lacedaemonian youth; and they never complained. It involved however for the most part, as with ourselves, the government of youth by itself; an implicit subordination of the younger to the older, in many degrees. Quite early in life, at school, they found that superiors and inferiors, homoioi and hypomeiones,+ there really were; and their education proceeded with systematic boldness on that fact. Eirên, melleirên, sideunês,+ and the like — words, titles, which indicate an unflinching elaboration of the attitudes of youthful subordination and command with responsibility — remain as a part of what we might  call their “public-school slang.” They ate together “in their divisions” (agelai)+ on much the same fare every day at a sort of messes; not reclined, like Ionians or Asiatics, but like heroes, the princely males, in Homer, sitting upright on their wooden benches; were “inspected” frequently, and by free use of vivâ voce examination “became adepts in presence of mind,” in mental readiness and vigour, in the brief mode of speech Plato commends, which took and has kept its name from them; with no warm baths allowed; a daily plunge in their river required. Yes! The beauty of these most beautiful of all people was a male beauty, far remote from feminine tenderness; had the expression of a certain ascêsis in it; was like un-sweetened wine. In comparison with it, beauty of another type might seem to be wanting in edge or accent.

And they could be silent. Of the positive uses of the negation of speech, like genuine scholars of Pythagoras, the Lacedaemonians were well aware, gaining strength and intensity by repression. Long spaces of enforced silence had doubtless something to do with that expressive brevity of utterance, which could be also, when they cared, so inexpressive of what their intentions really were — something to do with the habit of mind to which such speaking would come naturally. In contrast with the ceaseless prattle of Athens, Lacedaemonian assemblies lasted as short a time as possible, all standing. A  Lacedaemonian ambassador being asked in whose name he was come, replies: “In the name of the State, if I succeed; if I fail, in my own.” What they lost in extension they gained in depth.

Had our traveller been tempted to ask a young Lacedaemonian to return his visit at Athens, permission would have been refused him. He belonged to a community bent above all things on keeping indelibly its own proper colour. Its more strictly mental education centered, in fact, upon a faithful training of the memory, again in the spirit of Pythagoras, in regard to what seemed best worth remembering. Hard and practical as Lacedaemonians might seem, they lived nevertheless very much by imagination; and to train the memory, to preoccupy their minds with the past, as in our own classic or historic culture of youth, was in reality to develope a vigorous imagination. In music (mousikê)+ as they conceived it, there would be no strictly selfish reading, writing or listening; and if there was little a Lacedaemonian lad had to read or write at all, he had much to learn, like a true conservative, by heart: those unwritten laws of which the Council of Elders was the authorised depositary, and on which the whole public procedure of the state depended; the archaic forms of religious worship; the names of their kings, of victors in their games or in battle; the brief record of great events; the oracles they had received; the rhetrai, from  Lycurgus downwards, composed in metrical Lacedaemonian Greek; their history and law, in short, actually set to music, by Terpander and others, as was said. What the Lacedaemonian learned by heart he was for the most part to sing, and we catch a glimpse, an echo, of their boys in school chanting; one of the things in old Greece one would have liked best to see and hear — youthful beauty and strength in perfect service — a manifestation of the true and genuine Hellenism, though it may make one think of the novices at school in some Gothic cloister, of our own old English schools, nay, of the young Lacedaemonian’s cousins at Sion, singing there the law and its praises.

The Platonic student of the ways of the Lacedaemonians observes then, is interested in observing, that their education, which indeed makes no sharp distinction between mental and bodily exercise, results as it had begun in “music” — ends with body, mind, memory above all, at their finest, on great show-days, in the dance. Austere, self-denying Lacedaemon had in fact one of the largest theatres in Greece, in part scooped out boldly on the hill-side, built partly of enormous blocks of stone, the foundations of which may still be seen. We read what Plato says in The Republic of “imitations,” of the imitative arts, imitation reaching of course its largest development on the stage, and are perhaps surprised at the importance he assigns, in every department of  human culture, to a matter of that kind. But here as elsewhere to see was to understand. We should have understood Plato’s drift in his long criticism and defence of imitative art, his careful system of rules concerning it, could we have seen the famous dramatic Lacedaemonian dancing. They danced a theme, a subject. A complex and elaborate art this must necessarily have been, but, as we may gather, as concise, direct, economically expressive, in all its varied sound and motion, as those swift, lightly girt, impromptu Lacedaemonian sayings. With no movement of voice or hand or foot, paraleipomenon,+ unconsidered, as Plato forbids, it was the perfect flower of their correction, of that minute patience and care which ends in a perfect expressiveness; not a note, a glance, a touch, but told obediently in the promotion of a firmly grasped mental conception, as in that perfect poetry or sculpture or painting, in which “the finger of the master is on every part of his work.” We have nothing really like it, and to comprehend it must remember that, though it took place in part at least on the stage of a theatre — was in fact a ballet-dance, it had also the character both of a liturgical service and of a military inspection; and yet, in spite of its severity of rule, was a natural expression of the delight of all who took part in it.

So perfect a spectacle the gods themselves might be thought pleased to witness; were in  consequence presented with it as an important element in the religious worship of the Lacedaemonians, in whose life religion had even a larger part than with the other Greeks, conspicuously religious, deisidaimones,+ involved in religion or superstition, as the Greeks generally were. More closely even than their so scrupulous neighbours they associated the state, its acts and officers, with a religious sanction, religious usages, theories, traditions. While the responsibilities of secular government lay upon the Ephors, those mysteriously dual, at first sight useless, and yet so sanctimoniously observed kings, “of the house of Heracles,” with something of the splendour of the old Achaean or Homeric kings, in life as also in death, the splendid funerals, the passionate archaic laments which then followed them, were in fact of spiritual or priestly rank, the living and active centre of a poetic religious system, binding them “in a beneficent connexion” to the past, and in the present with special closeness to the oracle of Delphi.

Of that catholic or general centre of Greek religion the Lacedaemonians were the hereditary and privileged guardians, as also the peculiar people of Apollo, the god of Delphi; but, observe! of Apollo in a peculiar development of his deity. In the dramatic business of Lacedaemon, centering in these almost liturgical dances, there was little comic acting. The fondness of the slaves for buffoonery and loud  laughter, was to their master, who had no taste for the like, a reassuring note of his superiority. He therefore indulged them in it on occasion, and you might fancy that the religion of a people so strenuous, ever so full of their dignity, must have been a religion of gloom. It was otherwise. The Lacedaemonians, like those monastic persons of whom they so often remind one, as a matter of fact however surprising, were a very cheerful people; and the religion of which they had so much, deeply imbued everywhere with an optimism as of hopeful youth, encouraged that disposition, was above all a religion of sanity. The observant Platonic visitor might have taken note that something of that purgation of religious thought and sentiment, of its expression in literature, recommended in Plato’s Republic, had been already quietly effected here, towards the establishment of a kind of cheerful daylight in men’s tempers.

In furtherance then of such a religion of sanity, of that harmony of functions, which is the Aristotelian definition of health, Apollo, sanest of the national gods, became also the tribal or home god of Lacedaemon. That common Greek worship of Apollo they made especially their own, but (just here is the noticeable point) with a marked preference for the human element in him, for the mental powers of his being over those elemental or physical forces of production, which he also mystically represents, and which resulted  sometimes in an orgiastic, an unintellectual, or even an immoral service. He remains youthful and unmarried. In congruity with this, it is observed that, in a quasi-Roman worship, abstract qualities and relationships, ideals, become subsidiary objects of religious consideration around him, such as sleep, death, fear, fortune, laughter even. Nay, other gods also are, so to speak, Apollinised, adapted to the Apolline presence; Aphrodite armed, Enyalius in fetters, perhaps that he may never depart thence. Amateurs everywhere of the virile element in life, the Lacedaemonians, in truth, impart to all things an intellectual character. Adding a vigorous logic to seemingly animal instincts, for them courage itself becomes, as for the strictly philosophic mind at Athens, with Plato and Aristotle, an intellectual condition, a form of right knowledge.

Such assertion of the consciously human interest in a religion based originally on a preoccupation with the unconscious forces of nature, was exemplified in the great religious festival of Lacedaemon. As a spectator of the Hyacinthia, our Platonic student would have found himself one of a large body of strangers, gathered together from Lacedaemon and its dependent towns and villages, within the ancient precincts of Amyclae, at the season between spring and summer when under the first fierce heat of the year the abundant hyacinths fade from the fields. Blue flowers,  you remember, are the rarest, to many eyes the loveliest; and the Lacedaemonians with their guests were met together to celebrate the death of the hapless lad who had lent his name to them, Hyacinthus, son of Apollo, or son of an ancient mortal king who had reigned in this very place; in either case, greatly beloved of the god, who had slain him by sad accident as they played at quoits together delightfully, to his immense sorrow. That Boreas (the north-wind) had maliciously miscarried the discus, is a circumstance we hardly need to remind us that we have here, of course, only one of many transparent, unmistakable, parables or symbols of the great solar change, so sudden in the south, like the story of Proserpine, Adonis, and the like. But here, more completely perhaps than in any other of those stories, the primary elemental sense had obscured itself behind its really tragic analogue in human life, behind the figure of the dying youth. We know little of the details of the feast; incidentally, that Apollo was vested on the occasion in a purple robe, brought in ceremony from Lacedaemon, woven there, Pausanias tells us, in a certain house called from that circumstance Chiton.+ You may remember how sparing these Lacedaemonians were of such dyed raiment, of any but the natural and virgin colouring of the fleece; that purple or red, however, was the colour of their royal funerals, as indeed Amyclae itself was famous for purple stuffs — Amyclaeae vestes. As  the general order of the feast, we discern clearly a single day of somewhat shrill gaiety, between two days of significant mourning after the manner of All Souls’ Day, directed from mimic grief for a mythic object, to a really sorrowful commemoration by the whole Lacedaemonian people — each separate family for its own deceased members.

It was so again with those other youthful demi-gods, the Dioscuri, themselves also, in old heroic time, resident in this venerable place: Amyclaei fratres, fraternal leaders of the Lacedaemonian people. Their statues at this date were numerous in Laconia, or the docana, primitive symbols of them, those two upright beams of wood, carried to battle before the two kings, until it happened that through their secret enmity a certain battle was lost, after which one king only proceeded to the field, and one part only of that token of fraternity, the other remaining at Sparta. Well! they were two stars, you know, at their original birth in men’s minds, Gemini, virginal fresh stars of dawn, rising and setting alternately — those two half-earthly, half-celestial brothers, one of whom, Polydeuces, was immortal. The other, Castor, the younger, subject to old age and death, had fallen in battle, was found breathing his last. Polydeuces thereupon, at his own prayer, was permitted to die: with undying fraternal affection, had forgone one moiety of his privilege, and lay in the grave for a day in his  brother’s stead, but shone out again on the morrow; the brothers thus ever coming and going, interchangeably, but both alike gifted now with immortal youth.

In their origin, then, very obviously elemental deities, they were thus become almost wholly humanised, fraternised with the Lacedaemonian people, their closest friends of the whole celestial company, visitors, as fond legend told, at their very hearths, found warming themselves in the half-light at their rude fire-sides. Themselves thus visible on occasion, at all times in devout art, they were the starry patrons of all that youth was proud of, delighted in, horsemanship, games, battle; and always with that profound fraternal sentiment. Brothers, comrades, who could not live without each other, they were the most fitting patrons of a place in which friendship, comradeship, like theirs, came to so much. Lovers of youth they remained, those enstarred types of it, arrested thus at that moment of miraculous good fortune as a consecration of the clean, youthful friendship, “passing even the love of woman,” which, by system, and under the sanction of their founder’s name, elaborated into a kind of art, became an elementary part of education. A part of their duty and discipline, it was also their great solace and encouragement. The beloved and the lover, side by side through their long days of eager labour, and above all on the battlefield, became respectively, aitês,+ the  hearer, and eispnêlas,+ the inspirer; the elder inspiring the younger with his own strength and noble taste in things.

What, it has been asked, what was there to occupy persons of the privileged class in Lacedaemon from morning to night, thus cut off as they were from politics and business, and many of the common interests of men’s lives? Our Platonic visitor would have asked rather, Why this strenuous task-work, day after day; why this loyalty to a system, so costly to you individually, though it may be thought to have survived its original purpose; this laborious, endless, education, which does not propose to give you anything very useful or enjoyable in itself? An intelligent young Spartan might have replied: “To the end that I myself may be a perfect work of art, issuing thus into the eyes of all Greece.” He might have observed — we may safely observe for him — that the institutions of his country, whose he was, had a beauty in themselves, as we may observe also of some at least of our own institutions, educational or religious: that they bring out, for instance, the lights and shadows of human character, and relieve the present by maintaining in it an ideal sense of the past. He might have added that he had his friendships to solace him; and to encourage him, the sense of honour.

Honour, friendship, loyalty to the ideal of the  past, himself as a work of art! There was much of course in his answer. Yet still, after all, to understand, to be capable of, such motives, was itself but a result of that exacting discipline of character we are trying to account for; and the question still recurs, To what purpose? Why, with no prospect of Israel’s reward, are you as scrupulous, minute, self- taxing, as he? A tincture of asceticism in the Lacedaemonian rule may remind us again of the monasticism of the Middle Ages. But then, monastic severity was for the purging of a troubled conscience, or for the hope of an immense prize, neither of which conditions is to be supposed here. In fact the surprise of Saint Paul, as a practical man, at the slightness of the reward for which a Greek spent himself, natural as it is about all pagan perfection, is especially applicable about these Lacedaemonians, who indeed had actually invented that so “corruptible” and essentially worthless parsley crown in place of the more tangible prizes of an earlier age. Strange people! Where, precisely, may be the spring of action in you, who are so severe to yourselves; you who, in the words of Plato’s supposed objector that the rulers of the ideal state are not to be envied, have nothing you can really call your own, but are like hired servants in your own houses, — qui manducatis panem doloris?+

Another day-dream, you may say, about those  obscure ancient people, it was ever so difficult really to know, who had hidden their actual life with so much success; but certainly a quite natural dream upon the paradoxical things we are told of them, on good authority. It is because they make us ask that question; puzzle us by a paradoxical idealism in life; are thus distinguished from their neighbours; that, like some of our old English places of education, though we might not care to live always at school there, it is good to visit them on occasion; as some philosophic Athenians, as we have now seen, loved to do, at least in thought.

CHAPTER 9: THE REPUBLIC

“THE Republic,” as we may realise it mentally within the limited proportions of some quite imaginable Greek city, is the protest of Plato, in enduring stone, in law and custom more imperishable still, against the principle of flamboyancy or fluidity in things, and in men’s thoughts about them. Political “ideals” may provide not only types for new states, but also, in humbler function, a due corrective of the errors, thus renewing the life, of old ones. But like other medicines the corrective or critical ideal may come too late, too near the natural end of things. The theoretic attempt made by Plato to arrest the process of disintegration in the life of Athens, of Greece, by forcing it back upon a simpler and more strictly Hellenic type, ended, so far as they were concerned, in theory.

It comes of Plato’s literary skill, his really dramatic handling of a conversation, that one subject rises naturally out of another in the  course of it, that in the lengthy span of The Republic, though they are linked together after all with a true logical coherency, now justice, now the ideal state, now the analysis of the individual soul, or the nature of a true philosopher, or his right education, or the law of political change, may seem to emerge as the proper subject of the whole book. It is thus incidentally, and by way of setting forth the definition of Justice or Rightness, as if in big letters, that the constitution of the typically Right State is introduced into what, according to one of its traditional titles — Peri Dikaiosynês + — might actually have figured as a dialogue on the nature of Justice. But tod’ ên hôs eoike prooimion+ — the discussion of the theory of the abstract and invisible rightness was but to introduce the practical architect, the creator of the right state. Plato then assumes rather than demonstrates that so facile parallel between the individual consciousness and the social aggregate, passes lightly backwards and forwards from the rightness or wrongness, the normal or abnormal conditions, of the one to those of the other, from you and me to the “colossal man,” whose good or bad qualities, being written up there on a larger scale, are easier to read, and if one may say so, “once in bricks and mortar,” though but on paper, is lavish of a world as it should be. A strange world in some ways! Let us look from the small type of the individual to the monumental  inscription on those high walls, as he proposes; while his fancy wandering further and further, over tower and temple, its streets and the people in them, as if forgetful of his original purpose he tells us all he sees in thought of the City of the Perfect.

To the view of Plato, as of all other Greek citizens, the state, in its local habitation here or there, had been in all cases the gift or ordinance of one or another real though half-divine founder, some Solon or Lycurgus, thereafter a proper object of piety, of filial piety, for ever, among those to whom he had bequeathed the blessings of civilised life. Himself actually of Solon’s lineage, Plato certainly is less aware than those who study these matters in the “historic spirit” of the modern world that for the most part, like other more purely physical things, states “are not made, but grow.” Yet his own work as a designer or architect of what shall be new is developed quite naturally out of the question how an already existing state, such as the actual Athens of the day, might secure its pre-eminence, or its very existence. Close always, by the concrete turn of his genius, to the facts of the place and the hour, his first thought is to suggest a remedy for the peculiar evils of the Athenians at that moment; and in his delineation of the ideal state he does but elevate what Athens in particular, a ship so early going to pieces, might well be forced to become for her salvation, were  it still possible, into the eternal type of veritable statecraft, of a city as such, “a city at unity in itself,” defiant of time. He seems to be seeking in the first instance a remedy for the sick, a desperate political remedy; and thereupon, as happens with really philosophic enquirers, the view enlarges on all sides around him.

Those evils of Athens then, which were found in very deed somewhat later to be the infirmity of Greece as a whole, when, though its versatile gifts of intellect might constitute it the teacher of its eventual masters, it was found too incoherent politically to hold its own against Rome: — those evils of Athens, of Greece, came from an exaggerated assertion of the fluxional, flamboyant, centrifugal Ionian element in the Hellenic character. They could be cured only by a counter-assertion of the centripetal Dorian ideal, as actually seen best at Lacedaemon; by the way of simplification, of a rigorous limitation of all things, of art and life, of the souls, aye, and of the very bodies of men, as being the integral factors of all beside. It is in those simpler, corrected outlines of a reformed Athens that Plato finds the “eternal form” of the State, of a city as such, like a well-knit athlete, or one of those perfectly disciplined Spartan dancers. His actual purpose therefore is at once reforming and conservative. The drift of his charge is, in his own words, that no political constitution then existing is suitable to the philosophic, that is to  say, as he conceives it, to the aristocratic or kingly nature. How much that means we shall see by and bye, when he maintains that in the City of the Perfect the kings will be philosophers. It means that those called, like the gifted, lost Alcibiades, to be the saviours of the state, as a matter of fact become instead its destroyers. The proper soil in which alone that precious exotic seed, the kingly or aristocratic seed, will attain its proper qualities, in which alone it will not yield wine inferior to its best, or rather, instead of bearing any wine at all, become a deadly poison, is still to be laid down according to rules of art, the ethic or political art; but once provided must be jealously kept from innovation. Organic unity with one’s self, body and soul, is the well-being, the rightness, or righteousness, or justice of the individual, of the microcosm; but is the ideal also, it supplies the true definition, of the well-being of the macrocosm, of the social organism, the state. On this Plato has to insist, to the disadvantage of what we actually see in Greece, in Athens, with all its intricacies of disunion, faction against faction, as displayed in the later books of Thucydides. Remember! the question Plato is asking throughout The Republic, with a touch perhaps of the narrowness, the fanaticism, or “fixed idea,” of Machiavel himself, is, not how shall the state, the place we must live in, be gay or rich or populous, but strong — strong enough to remain  itself, to resist solvent influences within or from without, such as would deprive it not merely of the accidental notes of prosperity but of its own very being.

Now what hinders this strengthening macrocosmic unity, the oneness of the political organism with itself, is that the unit, the individual, the microcosm, fancies itself, or would fain be, a rival macrocosm, independent, many-sided, all-sufficient. To make him that, as you know, had been the conscious aim of the Athenian system in the education of its youth, as also in its later indirect education of the citizen by the way of political life. It was the ideal of one side of the Greek character in general, of much that was brilliant in it and seductive to others. In this sense, Pericles himself interprets the educational function of the city towards the citizen: — to take him as he is, and develope him to the utmost on all his various sides, with a variety in those parts however, as Plato thinks, by no means likely to promote the unity of the whole, of the state as such, which must move all together if it is to move at all, at least against its foes. With this at first sight quite limited purpose then, paradoxical as it might seem to those whose very ideal lay precisely in such manifold development, to Plato himself perhaps, manifold as his own genius and culture conspicuously were — paradoxical  as it might seem, Plato’s demand is for the limitation, the simplifying, of those constituent parts or units; that the unit should be indeed no more than a part, it might be a very small part, in a community, which needs, if it is still to subsist, the wholeness of an army in motion, of the stars in their courses, of well-concerted music, if you prefer that figure, or, as the modern reader might perhaps object, of a machine. The design of Plato is to bring back the Athenian people, the Greeks, to thoughts of order, to disinterestedness in their functions, to that self-concentration of soul on one’s own part, that loyal concession of their proper parts to others, on which such order depends, to a love of it, a sense of its extreme aesthetic beauty and fitness, according to that indefectible definition of Justice, of what is right, to hen prattein, to ta hautou prattein+, in opposition, as he thinks, to those so fascinating conditions of Injustice, poikilia, pleonexia, polypragmosynê,+ figuring away, as they do sometimes, so brilliantly.

For Plato would have us understand that men are in truth after all naturally much simpler, much more limited in character and capacity, than they seem. Such diversity of parts and function as is presupposed in his definition of Justice has been fixed by nature itself on human life. The individual, as such, humble as his proper function may be, is unique in fitness for, in a consequent “call” to, that function. We  know how much has been done to educate the world, under the supposition that man is a creature of very malleable substance, indifferent in himself, pretty much what influences may make of him. Plato, on the other hand, assures us that no one of us “is like another all in all.” — Prôton men phyetai hekastos ou pany homoios hekastô, alla diapherôn tên physin, allos ep allou ergou praxin +. — But for this, social Justice, according to its eternal form or definition, would in fact be nowhere applicable. Once for all he formulates clearly that important notion of the function, (ergon)+ of a thing, or of a person. It is that which he alone can do, or he better than any one else.

That Plato should exaggerate this definiteness in men’s natural vocations, thus to be read as it were in “plain figures” upon each, is one of the necessities of his position. Effect of nature itself, such inequality between men, this differentiation of one from another, is to be further promoted by all the cunning of the political art. The counter-assertion of the natural indifference of men, their pliability to circumstance, while it is certainly truer to our modern experience, is also in itself more hopeful, more congruous with all the processes of education. But for Plato the natural inequality of men, if it is the natural ground of that versatility, (poikilia),+ of the wrongness or Injustice he must needs correct, will be the natural ground of Justice also, as essentially a unity or harmony enforced on disparate  elements, unity as of an army, or an order of monks, organic, mechanic, liturgical, whichever you please to call it; but a kind of music certainly, if the founder, the master, of the state, for his proper part, can but compose the scattered notes.

Just here then is the original basis of society — gignetai toinyn hôs egômai polis epeidê tunchanei hêmôn hekastos ouk autarkês + — at first in its humblest form; simply because one can dig and another spin; yet already with anticipations of The Republic, of the City of the Perfect, as developed by Plato, as indeed also, beyond it, of some still more distant system “of the services of angels and men in a wonderful order”; for the somewhat visionary towers of Plato’s Republic blend of course with those of the Civitas Dei of Augustine. Only, though its top may one day “reach unto heaven,” it by no means came down thence; but, as Plato conceives, arises out of the earth, out of the humblest natural wants. Grote was right. — There is a very shrewd matter-of-fact utilitarian among the dramatis personae which together make up the complex genius of Plato. Poiêsei hôs egômai tên polin hêmetera chreia+. — Society is produced by our physical necessities, our inequality in regard to them: — an inequality in three broad divisions of unalterable, incommunicable type, of natural species, among men, with corresponding differentiation of political and social functions: three firmly outlined orders  in the state, like three primitive castes, propagating, reinforcing, their peculiarities of condition, as Plato will propose, by exclusive intermarriage, each within itself. As in the class of the artisans (hoi dêmiourgoi)+ some can make swords best, others pitchers, so, on the larger survey, there will be found those who can use those swords, or, again, think, teach, pray, or lead an army, a whole body of swordsmen, best, thus defining within impassable barriers three essential species of citizenship — the productive class, the military order, the governing class thirdly, or spiritual order.

The social system is in fact like the constitution of a human being. There are those who have capacity, a vocation, to conceive thoughts, and rule their brethren by intellectual power. Collectively of course they are the mind or brain, the mental element, in the social organism. There are those secondly, who have by nature executive force, who will naturally wear arms, the sword in the sheath perhaps, but who will also on occasion most certainly draw it. Well, these are like the active passions and the ultimately decisive will in the bosom of man, most conspicuous as anger — anger, it may be, resentment, against known wrong in another or in one’s self, the champion of conscience, flinging away the scabbard, setting the spear against the foe, like a soldier of spirit. They are in a word the conscience, the armed conscience, of the state,  nobly bred, sensitive for others and for themselves, informed by the light of reason in their natural kings. And then, thirdly, protected, controlled, by the thought, the will, above them, like those appetites in you and me, hunger, thirst, desire, which have been the motive, the actual creators, of the material order all around us, there will be the “productive” class, labouring perfectly in the cornfields, in the vineyards, or on the vessels which are to contain corn and wine, at a thousand handicrafts, every one still exquisitely differentiated, according to Plato’s rule of right — eis hen kata physin +; as within the military class also there will be those who command and those who can but obey, and within the true princely class again those who know all things and others who have still much to learn; those also who can learn and teach one sort of knowledge better than another.

Plato however, in the first steps of the evolution of the State, had lighted quite naturally on what turns out to be a mistaken or inadequate ideal of it, in an idyll pretty enough, indeed, from “The Golden Age.” — How sufficient it seems for a moment, that innocent world! is, nevertheless, actually but a false ideal of human society, allowing in fact no place at all for Justice; the very terms of which, precisely because they involve differentiation of life and its functions, are inapplicable to a society, if so it may be called, still essentially inorganic. In  a condition, so rudimentary as to possess no opposed parts at all, of course there will be no place for disturbance of parts, for proportion or disproportion of faculty and function. It is, in truth, to a city which has lost its first innocence (polis êdê tryphôsa)+ that we must look for the consciousness of Justice and Injustice; as some theologians or philosophers have held that it was by the “Fall” man first became a really moral being.

Now in such a city, in the polis êdê tryphôsa,+ there will be an increase of population: — kai hê chôra pou hê tote hikanê smikra ex hikanês estai.+ And in an age which perhaps had the military spirit in excess Plato’s thoughts pass on immediately to wars of aggression: — oukoun tês tôn plêsion chôras hêmin apotmêteon?+ We must take something, if we can, from Megara or from Sparta; which doubtless in its turn would do the same by us. As a measure of relief however that was not necessarily the next step. The needs of an out-pushing population might have suggested to Plato what is perhaps the most brilliant and animating episode in the entire history of Greece, its early colonisation, with all the bright stories, full of the piety, the generosity of a youthful people, that had gathered about it. No, the next step in social development was not necessarily going to war. In either case however, aggressive action against our neighbours, or defence of our distant brethren beyond the seas  at Cyrene or Syracuse against rival adventurers, we shall require a new class of persons, men of the sword, to fight for us if need be. Ah! You hear the notes of the trumpet, and therewith already the stir of an enlarging human life, its passions, its manifold interests. Phylakes or epikouroi,+ watchmen or auxiliaries, our new servants comprehend at first our masters to be, whom a further act of differentiation will distinguish as philosophers and kings from the strictly military order. Plato nevertheless in his search for the true idea of Justice, of rightness in things, may be said now to have seen land. Organic relationship is come into the rude social elements and made of them a body, a society. Rudimentary though it may still be, the definition of Justice, as also of Injustice, is now applicable to its processes. There is a music in the affairs of men, in which one may take one’s due part, which one may spoil.

Criticising mythology Plato speaks of certain fables, to be made by those who are apt at such things, under proper spiritual authority, so to term it, hôs en pharmakou eidei ta pseudê ta en deonti genomena,+ medicinable lies or fictions, with a provisional or economised truth in them, set forth under such terms as simple souls could best receive. Just here, at the end of the third book of The Republic he introduces such a fable: phoinikikon pseudos,+ he calls it, a miner’s story, about copper and silver and gold, such as may really  have been current among the primitive inhabitants of the island from which metal and the art of working it had been introduced into Greece. —

And I shall try first of all to persuade the rulers themselves and our soldiers, and afterwards the rest of the community, as to the matter of the rearing and the education we gave them, that in fact it did but seem to happen with them, they seemed to experience all that, only as in dreams. They were then in very truth nourished and fashioned beneath the earth within, and the armour upon them and their equipment put together; and when they were perfectly wrought out the earth even their mother put them forth. Now, therefore, it is their duty to think concerning the land in which they are as of a mother, or foster-mother, and to protect it if any foe come against it, and to think of their fellow-citizens as being their brothers, born of the earth as they. All ye in the city, therefore, are brothers, we shall say to them proceeding with our story; but God, when he made you, mixed gold in the generation of those among you fit to be our kings, for which cause they are the most precious of all; and silver in those fit to be our guards; and in the husbandmen and all other handicraftsmen iron and brass. Forasmuch then as ye are all of one kindred, for the most part ye would beget offspring like to yourselves; but at times a silver child will come of one golden, and from the silver a child of gold, and so forth, interchangeably. To those who rule, then, first and above all God enjoins that of nothing shall they be so careful guardians, nothing shall they so earnestly regard, as the young children — what metal has been mixed to their hands in the souls of these. And if a child of their own be born with an alloy of iron or brass, they shall by no means have pity upon it, but, allotting unto it the value which befits its nature, they shall thrust it into the class of husbandmen or artisans. And if, again, of these a child be born with gold or silver in him, with due estimate they shall promote such to wardenship or to arms, inasmuch as an oracular saying declares that the city is perished already when it has iron or brass to guard it. Can you suggest a way of getting them to believe this mythus? Republic, 414.

Its application certainly is on the surface: the Lacedaemonian details also — the military turn taken, the disinterestedness of the powerful, their monastic renunciation of what the world prizes most, above all the doctrine of a natural aristocracy with its “privileges and also its duties.” Men are of simpler structure and capacities than you have fancied, Plato would assure us, and more decisively appointed to this rather than to that order of service. Nay, with the boldness proper to an idealist, he does not hesitate to represent them (that is the force of the mythus) as actually made of different stuff; and society, assuming a certain aristocratic humour in the nature of things, has for its business to sanction, safeguard, further promote it, by law.

The state therefore, if it is to be really a living creature, will have, like the individual soul, those sensuous appetites which call the productive powers into action, and its armed conscience, and its far- reaching intellectual light: its industrial class, that is to say, its soldiers, its kings — the last, a kind of military monks, as you might think, on a distant view, their minds full of a kind of heavenly effulgence, yet superintending the labours of a large body of work- people in the town and the fields about it. Of the industrial or productive class, the artists and artisans, Plato speaks only in outline, but is significant in what he says; and enough remains of the actual fruits  of Greek industry to enable us to complete his outline for ourselves, as we may also, by aid of Greek art, together with the words of Homer and Pindar, equip and realise the full character of the true Platonic “war-man” or knight; and again, through some later approximate instances, discern something of those extraordinary, half-divine, philosophic kings.

We must let industry then mean for Plato all it meant, would naturally mean, for a Greek, amid the busy spectacle of Athenian handicrafts. The “rule” of Plato, its precepts of temperance, proportion, economy, though designed primarily for its soldiers, and its kings or archons, for the military and spiritual orders, would probably have been incumbent also in relaxed degree upon those who work with their hands; and we have but to walk through the classical department of the Louvre or the British Museum to be reminded how those qualities of temperance and the like did but enhance, could not chill or impoverish, the artistic genius of Greek workmen. In proportion to what we know of the minor handicrafts of Greece we shall find ourselves able to fill up, as the condition of everyday life in the streets of Plato’s City of the Perfect, a picture of happy protected labour, “skilled” to the utmost degree in all its applications. Those who prosecute it will be allowed, as we may gather, in larger proportion than those who “watch,” in silent thought or sword in hand, such animal  liberties as seem natural and right, and are not really “illiberal,” for those who labour all day with their bodies, though they too will have on them in their service some measure of the compulsion which shapes the action of our kings and soldiers to such effective music. With more or less of asceticism, of a “common life,” among themselves, they will be the peculiar sphere of the virtue of temperance in the State, as being the entirely willing subjects of wholesome rule. They represent, as we saw, in the social organism, the bodily appetites of the individual, its converse with matter, in a perfect correspondence, if all be right there, with the conscience and with the reasonable soul in it. Labouring by system at the production of perfect swords, perfect lamps, perfect poems too, and a perfect coinage, such as we know, to enable them the more readily to exchange their produce (nomisma tês allagês heneka)+ working perhaps in guilds and under rules to insure perfection in each specific craft, refining matter to the last degree, they would constitute the beautiful body of the State, in rightful service, like the copper and iron, the bronze and the steel, they manipulate so finely, to its beautiful soul — to its natural though hereditary aristocracy, its “golden” humanity, its kings, in whom Wisdom, the light, of a comprehensive Synopsis, indefectibly resides, and who, as being not merely its discursive or practical reason, but its faculty of contemplation likewise, will be also its priests, the  medium of its worship, of its intercourse with the gods.

Between them, between that intellectual or spiritual order, those novel philosophic kings, and the productive class of the artists and artisans, moves the military order, as the sensitive armed conscience, the armed will, of the State, its executive power in the fullest sense of that term — a “standing army,” as Plato supposes, recruited from a great hereditary caste born and bred to such functions, and certainly very different from the mere “militia” of actual Greek states, hastily summoned at need to military service from the fields and workshops. Remember that the veritable bravery also, as the philosopher sees it, is a form of that “knowledge,” which in truth includes in itself all other virtues, all good things whatever; that it is a form of “right opinion,” and has a kind of insight in it, a real apprehension of the occasion and its claims on one’s courage, whether it is worth while to fight, and to what point. Platonic knighthood then will have in it something of the philosophy which resides in plenitude in the class above it, by which indeed this armed conscience of the State, the military order, is continuously enlightened, as we know the conscience of each one of us severally needs to be. And though Plato will not expect his fighting-men, like the Christian knight, like Saint Ranieri Gualberto,  to forgive their enemies, yet, moving one degree out of the narrower circle of Greek habits, he does require them, in conformity with a certain Pan-Hellenic, a now fully realised national sense, which fills himself, to love the whole Greek race, to spare the foe, if he be Greek, the last horrors of war, to think of the soil, of the dead, of the arms and armour taken from them, with certain scruples of a natural piety.

As the knights share the dignity of the regal order, are in fact ultimately distinguished from it by degree rather than in kind, so they will be sharers also in its self-denying “rule.” In common with it, they will observe a singular precept which forbids them so much as to come under the same roof with vessels or other objects wrought of gold or silver — they “who are most worthy of it,” precisely because while “many iniquities have come from the world’s coinage, they have gold in them undefiled.” Yet again we are not to suppose in Platonic Greece — how could we indeed anywhere within the range of Greek conceptions? — anything rude, uncomely, or unadorned. No one who reads carefully in this very book of The Republic those pages of criticism which concern art quite as much as poetry, a criticism which drives everywhere at a conscientious nicety of workmanship, will suppose that. If kings and knights never drink from vessels of silver or gold, their earthen cups and platters, we may be sure, would be what we can  still see; and the iron armour on their bodies exquisitely fitted to them, to its purpose, with that peculiar beauty which such fitness secures. See them, then, moving, in perfect “Justice” or “Rightness,” to their Dorian music, their so expressive plain-song, under the guidance of their natural leaders, those who can see and fore-see — of those who know.

That they may be one! — If, like an individual soul, the state has attained its normal differentiation of parts, as with that also its vitality and effectiveness will be proportionate to the unity of those parts in their various single operations. The productive, the executive, the contemplative orders, respectively, like their psychological analogues, the senses, the will, and the intelligence, will be susceptible each of its own proper virtue or excellence, temperance, bravery, spiritual illumination. Only, let each work aright in its own order, and a fourth virtue will supervene upon their united perfections, the virtue or perfection of the organic whole as such. The Justice which Plato has been so long in search of will be manifest at last — that perfect oikeiopragia,+ which will be also perfect co-operation. Oneness, unity, community, an absolute community of interests among fellow-citizens, philadelphia, over against the selfish ambition of those naturally ascendant, like Alcibiades or Crito, in that competition for office, for wealth and honours, which has rent Athens into factions ever breeding  on themselves, the centripetal force versus all centrifugal forces: — on this situation, Plato, in the central books of The Republic, dwells untired, in all its variety of synonym and epithet, the conditions, the hazard and difficulty of its realisation, its analogies in art, in music, in practical life, like three strings of a lyre, or like one colossal person, the painted dêmos+ or civic genius on the walls of a Greek town-house, or, again, like the consummate athlete whose body, with no superfluities, is the precise, the perfectly finished, instrument of his will. Hence, at once cause and effect of such “seamless” unity, his paradoxical new law of property in the City of the Perfect — mandatum novum, a “new commandment,” we might fairly call it — ta tôn philôn koina.+ “And no one said that aught of the things he possessed was his own but they had all things common.” Ah, you see! Put yourself in Plato’s company, and inevitably, from time to time, he will seem to pass with you beyond the utmost horizon actually opened to him.

Upon the aristocratic class therefore, in its two divisions, the army and the church or hierarchy, so to speak, the “rule” of Plato — poverty, obedience, contemplation, will be incumbent in its fullest rigour. “Like hired servants in their own house,” they may not seem very enviable persons, on first thoughts. But remember again that Plato’s charge against things as they are is partly in a theoretic interest — the philosopher,  the philosophic soul, loves unity, but finds it nowhere, neither in the State nor in its individual members: it is partly also practical, and of the hour. Divided Athens, divided Greece, like some big, lax, self-neglectful person would be an easy prey to any well-knit adversary really at unity in himself. It is by way of introducing a constringent principal into a mass of amorphic particles, that Plato proclaims that these friends will have all things in common; and, challenged by the questions of his companions in the dialogue to say how far he will be ready to go in the application of so paradoxical a rule, he braces himself to a surprising degree of consistency. How far then will Plato, a somewhat Machiavelian theorist, as you saw, and with something of “fixed” ideas about practical things, taking desperate means towards a somewhat exclusively conceived ideal of social well-being, be ready to go?

Now we have seen that the genuine citizens of his Perfect City will have much of monasticism, of the character of military monks, about them already, with their poverty, their obedience, their contemplative habit. And there is yet another indispensable condition of the monastic life. The great Pope Hildebrand, by the rule of celibacy, by making “regulars” to that extent of the secular clergy, succeeded, as many have thought, in his design of making them in very deed, soul and body, but parts of the corporate order they  belonged to; and what Plato is going to add to his rule of life, for the archontes,+ who are to be philopolides,+ to love the corporate body they belong to better than themselves, is in its actual effects something very like a law of celibacy. Difficult, paradoxical, as he admits it to be, he is pressed on by his hearers, and by the natural force of his argument, reluctantly to declare that the rule of communism will apply to a man’s ownership of his wife and children.

Observe! Plato proposes this singular modification of married life as an elevation or expansion of the family, but, it may be rightly objected, is, in truth, only colouring with names exclusively appropriate to the family, arrangements which will be a suppression of all those sentiments that naturally pertain to it. The wisdom of Plato would certainly deprive mothers of that privacy of affection, regarding which the wisdom of Solomon beamed forth, by sending all infants soon after birth to be reared in a common nursery, where the facts of their actual parentage would be carefully obliterated. The result, as he supposes, will be a common and universal parentage, sonship, brotherhood; but surely with but a shadowy realisation of the affections, the claims, of these relationships. It will involve a loss of differentiation in life, and be, as such, a movement backward, to a barbarous or merely animal grade of existence.

Ta tôn philôn koina.+ — With this soft phrase, then, Plato would take away all those precious differences that come of our having a little space in things to do what one will or can with. The Platonic state in fact, with its extraordinary common marriages, would be dealing precisely after the manner of those who breed birds or dogs. A strange forbidding experiment, it seems, or should seem, to us, looking back on it in the light of laws now irrevocably fixed on these subjects by the judgment of the Christian church. We must remember however, in fairness, that Plato in this matter of the relation of the sexes especially, found himself in a world very different from ours, regulated and refined, as it already is in some degree, by Christian ideas about women and children. A loose law of marriage, beyond it concubinage in some degree sanctioned by religion, beyond that again morbid vice: such was the condition of the Greek world. What Christian marriage, in harmonious action with man’s true nature, has done to counteract this condition, that Plato tried to do by a somewhat forced legislation, which was altogether out of harmony with the facts of man’s nature. Neither the church nor the world has endorsed his theories about it. Think, in contrast, of the place occupied in Christian art by the mother and her child. What that represents in life Plato wishes to take from us, though, as he would have us think, in our own behalf.

And his views of the community of male and female education, and of the functions of men and women in the State, do but come of the relief of women in large measure from home-duties. Such duties becoming a carefully economised department of the State, the women will have leisure to share the work of men; and will need a corresponding education. The details of their common life in peace and war he certainly makes effective and bright. But if we think of his proposal as a reinstatement of the Amazon we have in effect condemned it. For the Amazon of mythology and art is but a survival from a half-animal world, which Theseus, the embodiment of adult reason, had long since overcome.

Plato himself divides this confessedly so difficult question into two: Is the thing good? and in the second place, Is it possible? Let us admit that at that particular crisis, or even generally, what he proposes is for the best. Thereupon the question which suggested itself in regard to the community of goods recurs with double force: Where may lie the secret of the magnanimity (that is the term to hold by) which will make wealth and office, with all their opportunities for puissant wills, no motive in life at all? Is it possible, and under what conditions — this disinterestedness on the part of those who might do what they will as with their own, this indifference, this surrender, not of one’s goods and  time only, but of one’s last resource, one’s very home, for “the greatest happiness of the greatest number.” — Those are almost the exact words of Plato. How shall those who might be egotists on the scale of an Alcibiades or an Alexander be kept to this strange “new mandate” of altruism? How shall a paradox so bold be brought within the range of possibilities? Well! by the realisation of another paradox, — if we make philosophers our kings or our kings philosophers. It is the last “wave of paradox,” from the advancing crest of which Plato still shrinks back, oddly reluctant, as we may think, to utter his whole mind. But, concede his position, and all beside, in the strange, paradoxical new world he is constructing, its extraordinary reaches of philadelphia, will be found practicable.

Our kings must be philosophers. But not, we must carefully note, because, as people are apt to fancy, philosophers as such necessarily despise or are unable to feel what is fascinating in the world of action, are un-formed or withered on one side, and, as regards the allurements of the world of sense, are but “corpses.” For Plato certainly they are no starvelings. The philosophic, or aristocratic, or kingly, nature, as he conceives it, will be the perfect flower of the whole compass of natural endowments, promoted to the utmost by the artificial influences of society — kalokagathos + — capable therefore in the extreme degree of success in a purely “self-regarding” policy, of an  exploitation, in their own interests, of all that men in general value most, to the surfeiting, if they cared, of their ambition, their vanity, their love of liberty or license.

Nor again must our kings be philosophers mainly because in such case the world will be very wisely, very knowingly, governed. Of course it would be well that wise men should rule. Even a Greek, still “a youth in the youth of the world,” who indeed was not very far gone from an essentially youthful evaluation of things, was still apt to think with Croesus that the richest must of course be the happiest of men, and to have a head-ache when compelled to think, even he would have taken so much for granted. That it would be well that wise men should govern, wise after the Platonic standard, bringing, that is to say, particular details under coherent general rules, able to foresee and influence the future by their knowledge of the past: — there is no paradox in that: it belongs rather, you might complain, to the range of platitudes. But, remember! the hinge of Plato’s whole political argument is, that the ruinous divisions of Athens, of Greece, of the entire social community, is the want of disinterestedness in its rulers; not that they are unfit to rule; rather, that they have often, it may be, a natural call to office — those exceptional high natures — but that they “abound” therein exclusively “in their own sense.” And the precise point of paradox in philosophic kingship,  as Plato takes it, is this, that if we have philosophers for our kings, our archons, we shall be under a sort of rulers who as such have made sacrifice of themselves, and in coming to office at all must have taken upon them “the form of a servant.” —

For thus it is. — If you can find out a life better than being a king, for those who shall be kings, a well-governed city will become possible, and not otherwise. For in that city alone will those be kings who are in very deed rich. But if poor men, hungering after their private good, proceed to public offices, it is not possible; for, the kingly office becoming an object of contention, the sort of battle which results, being at home and internal, destroys them, along with the common- wealth. — Most truly, he replied. — Have you then, I asked, any kind of life which can despise political offices, other than the life of true philosophers? — Certainly not. — Yet still it is necessary that those who come to office should not be lovers of it; otherwise the rival lovers will fight. — That must be so. — Whom then will you compel to proceed to the guardianship of the city save those, who, being wisest of all in regard to the conditions of her highest welfare, are themselves possessed of privileges of another order, and a life better than the politician’s? Republic, 520.

More capable than others of an adroit application of all that power usually means in the way of personal advantage, your “legitimate,” and really elect royalty or aristocracy must be secured from the love of it; you must insure their magnanimity in office by a counter-charm. But where is such a charm, or counter-charm, to be found? Throughout, as usual in so provident a writer as Plato, the answer to that leading  question has had its prelude, even in the first book. —

Therefore it was, for my part, friend Thrasymachus, I was saying just now that no one would be willing of his own motion to rule, and take in hand the ills of other people to set them right, but that he would ask a reward; because he who will do fairly by his art, or prosper by his art, never does what is best for himself, nor ordains that, in ordaining what is proper to his art, but what is best for the subject of his rule. By reason of which indeed, as it seems, there must needs be a reward for those who shall be willing to rule, either money, or honour, or a penalty unless he will rule. — How do you mean this Socrates? said Glaucon: for the two rewards I understand; but the penalty, of which you speak, and have named as in the place of a reward, I do not understand. — Then you do not understand, I said, the reward of the best, for the sake of which the most virtuous rule, when they are willing to rule. Or do you not know that the being fond of honours, fond of money, is said to be, and is, a disgrace? — For my part, Yes! he said. — On this ground then, neither for money are the good willing to rule, nor for honour; for they choose neither, in openly exacting hire as a return for their rule, to be called hirelings, nor, in taking secretly therefrom, thieves. Nor again is it for honour they will rule; for they are not ambitious. Therefore it is, that necessity must be on them, and a penalty, if they are to be willing to rule: whence perhaps it has come, that to proceed with ready will to the office of ruler, and not to await compulsion, is accounted indecent. As for the penalty, — the greatest penalty is to be ruled by one worse than oneself, unless one will rule. And it is through fear of that, the good seem to me to rule, when they rule: and then they proceed to the office of ruler, not as coming to some good thing, nor as to profit therein, but as to something unavoidable, and as having none better than themselves to whom to entrust it, nor even as good. Since it seems likely that if a city of good men came to be, not to rule would be the matter of contention, as nowadays to rule; and here it would become manifest that a ruler in very deed, in the nature of things, considers not what is profitable for himself, but for the subject of his rule. So  that every intelligent person would choose rather to be benefited by another, than by benefiting another to have trouble himself. Republic, 346.

Now if philosophy really is where Plato consistently puts it, and is all he claims for it, then, for those capable of it, who are capable also in the region of practice, it will be precisely “that better thing than being a king for those who must be our kings, our archons.” You see that the various elements of Platonism are interdependent; that they really cohere.

Just at this point then you must call to memory the greatness of the claim Plato makes for philosophy — a promise, you may perhaps think, larger than anything he has actually presented to his readers in the way of a philosophic revelation justifies. He seems, in fact, to promise all, or almost all, that in a later age natures great and high have certainly found in the Christian religion. If philosophy is only star-gazing, or only a condition of doubt, if what the sophist or the philistine says of it is all that can be said, it could hardly compete with the rewards which the vulgar world holds out to its servants. But for Plato, on the other hand, if philosophy is anything at all, it is nothing less than an “escape from the evils of the world,” and homoiôsis tô theô,+ a being made like to God. It provides a satisfaction not for the intelligence only but for the whole nature of man, his imagination and faith, his affections, his capacity  for religious devotion, and for some still unimagined development of the capacities of sense.

How could anything which belongs to the world of mere phenomenal change seem great to him who is “the spectator of all time and all existence”? “For the excellency” of such knowledge as that, we might say, he must “count all things but loss.” By fear of punishment in some roundabout way, he might indeed be compelled to descend into “the cave,” “to take in hand the wrongs of other people to set them right”; but of course the part he will take in your sorry exhibition of passing shadows, and dreamy echoes concerning them, will not be for himself. You may think him, that philosophic archon or king, who in consenting to be your master has really taken upon himself “the form of a servant” — you may think him, in our late age of philosophic disillusion, a wholly chimerical being. Yet history records one instance in which such a figure actually found his way to an imperial throne, and with a certain approach to the result Plato promises. It was precisely because his whole being was filled with philosophic vision, that the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, that fond student of philosophy, of this very philosophy of Plato, served the Roman people so well in peace and war — with so much disinterestedness, because, in fact, so reluctantly. Look onward, and what is strange and inexplicable in his realisation of the Platonic scheme — strange, if we consider how cold and  feeble after all were the rays of light on which he waited so devoutly — becomes clear in the person of Saint Louis, who, again, precisely because his whole being was full of heavenly vision, in self-banishment from it for a while, led and ruled the French people so magnanimously alike in peace and war. The presence, then, the ascendancy amid actual things, of the royal or philosophic nature, as Plato thus conceives it — that, and nothing else, will be the generating force, the seed, of the City of the Perfect, as he conceives it: this place, in which the great things of existence, known or divined, really fill the soul. Only, he for one would not be surprised if no eyes actually see it. Like his master Socrates, as you know, he is something of a humorist; and if he sometimes surprises us with paradox or hazardous theory, will sometimes also give us to understand that he is after all not quite serious. So about this vision of the City of the Perfect, The Republic, Kallipolis,+ Uranopolis, Utopia, Civitas Dei, The Kingdom of Heaven —

Suffer me, he says, to entertain myself as men of listless minds are wont to do when they journey alone. Such persons, I fancy, before they have found out in what way ought of what they desire may come to be, pass that question by lest they grow weary in considering whether the thing be possible or no; and supposing what they wish already achieved, they proceed at once to arrange all the rest, pleasing themselves in the tracing out all they will do, when that shall have come to pass — making a mind already idle idler still. Republic, 144.

CHAPTER 10: PLATO’S AESTHETICS

WHEN we remember Plato as the great lover, what the visible world was to him, what a large place the idea of Beauty, with its almost adequate realisation in that visible world, holds in his most abstract speculations as the clearest instance of the relation of the human mind to reality and truth, we might think that art also, the fine arts, would have been much for him; that the aesthetic element would be a significant one in his theory of morals and education. Ta terpna en Helladi+ (to use Pindar’s phrase) all the delightful things in Hellas: — Plato least of all could have been unaffected by their presence around him. And so it is. Think what perfection of handicraft, what a subtle enjoyment therein, is involved in that specially Platonic rule, to mind one’s business (to ta hautou prattein)+ that he who, like Fra Damiano of Bergamo, has a gift for poikilia,+ intarsia or marqueterie, for example, should confine himself exclusively to that. Before him,  you know, there had been no theorising about the beautiful, its place in life, and the like; and as a matter of fact he is the earliest critic of the fine arts. He anticipates the modern notion that art as such has no end but its own perfection,— “art for art’s sake.” Ar’ oun kai hekastê tôn technôn esti ti sympheron allo ê hoti malista telean einai;+ We have seen again that not in theory only, by the large place he assigns to our experiences regarding visible beauty in the formation of his doctrine of ideas, but that in the practical sphere also, this great fact of experience, the reality of beauty, has its importance with him. The loveliness of virtue as a harmony, the winning aspect of those “images” of the absolute and unseen Temperance, Bravery, Justice, shed around us in the visible world for eyes that can see, the claim of the virtues as a visible representation by human persons and their acts of the eternal qualities of “the eternal,” after all far out-weigh, as he thinks, the claim of their mere utility. And accordingly, in education, all will begin and end “in music,” in the promotion of qualities to which no truer name can be given than symmetry, aesthetic fitness, tone. Philosophy itself indeed, as he conceives it, is but the sympathetic appreciation of a kind of music in the very nature of things.

There have been Platonists without Plato, and a kind of traditional Platonism in the world, independent of, yet true in spirit to, the Platonism  of the Platonic Dialogues. Now such a piece of traditional Platonism we find in the hypothesis of some close connexion between what may be called the aesthetic qualities of the world about us and the formation of moral character, between aesthetics and ethics. Wherever people have been inclined to lay stress on the colouring, for instance, cheerful or otherwise, of the walls of the room where children learn to read, as though that had something to do with the colouring of their minds; on the possible moral effect of the beautiful ancient buildings of some of our own schools and colleges; on the building of character, in any way, through the eye and ear; there the spirit of Plato has been understood to be, and rightly, even by those who have perhaps never read Plato’s Republic, in which however we do find the connexion between moral character and matters of poetry and art strongly asserted. This is to be observed especially in the third and tenth books of The Republic. The main interest of those books lies in the fact, that in them we read what Plato actually said on a subject concerning which people have been so ready to put themselves under his authority.

It is said with immediate reference to metre and its various forms in verse, as an element in the general treatment of style or manner (lexis)+ as opposed to the matter (logoi)+ in the imaginative literature, with which as in time past the  education of the citizens of the Perfect City will begin. It is however at his own express suggestion that we may apply what he says, in the first instance, about metre and verse, to all forms of art whatever, to music (mousikê)+ generally, to all those matters over which the Muses of Greek mythology preside, to all productions in which the form counts equally with, or for more than, the matter. Assuming therefore that we have here, in outline and tendency at least, the mind of Plato in regard to the ethical influence of aesthetic qualities, let us try to distinguish clearly the central lines of that tendency, of Platonism in art, as it is really to be found in Plato.

“You have perceived have you not,” observes the Platonic Socrates, “that acts of imitation, if they begin in early life, and continue, establish themselves in one’s nature and habits, alike as to the body, the tones of one’s voice, the ways of one’s mind.”

Yes, that might seem a matter of common observation; and what is strictly Platonic here and in what follows is but the emphasis of the statement. Let us set it however, for the sake of decisive effect, in immediate connexion with certain other points of Plato’s aesthetic doctrine.

Imitation then, imitation through the eye and ear, is irresistible in its influence over human nature. And secondly, we, the founders, the people, of the Republic, of the city that shall be  perfect, have for our peculiar purpose the simplification of human nature: a purpose somewhat costly, for it follows, thirdly, that the only kind of music, of art and poetry, we shall permit ourselves, our citizens, will be of a very austere character, under a sort of “self-denying ordinance.” We shall be a fervently aesthetic community, if you will; but therewith also very fervent “renunciants,” or ascetics.

In the first place, men’s souls are, according to Plato’s view, the creatures of what men see and hear. What would probably be found in a limited number only of sensitive people, a constant susceptibility to the aspects and other sensible qualities of things and persons, to the element of expression or form in them and their movements, to phenomena as such — this susceptibility Plato supposes in men generally. It is not so much the matter of a work of art, what is conveyed in and by colour and form and sound, that tells upon us educationally — the subject, for instance, developed by the words and scenery of a play — as the form, and its qualities, concision, simplicity, rhythm, or, contrariwise, abundance, variety, discord. Such “aesthetic” qualities, by what we might call in logical phrase, metabasis eis allo genos,+ a derivation into another kind of matter, transform themselves, in the temper of the patient the hearer or spectator, into terms of ethics, into the sphere of the desires and the will, of the moral taste, engendering, nursing  there, strictly moral effects, such conditions of sentiment and the will as Plato requires in his City of the Perfect, or quite the opposite, but hardly in any case indifferent, conditions.

Imitation: — it enters into the very fastnesses of character; and we, our souls, ourselves, are for ever imitating what we see and hear, the forms, the sounds which haunt our memories, our imagination. We imitate not only if we play a part on the stage but when we sit as spectators, while our thoughts follow the acting of another, when we read Homer and put ourselves, lightly, fluently, into the place of those he describes: we imitate unconsciously the line and colour of the walls around us, the trees by the wayside, the animals we pet or make use of, the very dress we wear. Only, Hina mê ek tês mimêseôs tou einai apolausôsin.+ — Let us beware how men attain the very truth of what they imitate.

That then is the first principle of Plato’s aesthetics, his first consideration regarding the art of the City of the Perfect. Men, children, are susceptible beings, in great measure conditioned by the mere look of their “medium.” Like those insects, we might fancy, of which naturalists tell us, taking colour from the plants they lodge on, they will come to match with much servility the aspects of the world about them.

But the people of the Perfect City would not  be there at all except by way of a refuge, an experiment, or tour de force, in moral and social philosophy; and this circumstance determines the second constituent principle of Plato’s aesthetic scheme. We, then, the founders, the citizens, of the Republic have a peculiar purpose. We are here to escape from, to resist, a certain vicious centrifugal tendency in life, in Greek and especially in Athenian life, which does but propagate a like vicious tendency in ourselves. We are to become — like little pieces in a machine! you may complain. — No, like performers rather, individually, it may be, of more or less importance, but each with a necessary and inalienable part, in a perfect musical exercise which is well worth while, or in some sacred liturgy; or like soldiers in an invincible army, invincible because it moves as one man. We are to find, or be put into, and keep, every one his natural place; to cultivate those qualities which will secure mastery over ourselves, the subordination of the parts to the whole, musical proportion. To this end, as we saw, Plato, a remorseless idealist, is ready even to suppress the differences of male and female character, to merge, to lose the family in the social aggregate.

Imitation then, we may resume, imitation through the eye and ear, is irresistible in its influence on human nature. Secondly, the founders of the Republic are by its very purpose bound to the simplification of human nature:  and our practical conclusion follows in logical order. We shall make, and sternly keep, a “self-denying” ordinance in this matter, in the matter of art, of poetry, of taste in all its varieties; a rule, of which Plato’s own words, applied by him in the first instance to rhythm or metre, but like all he says on that subject fairly applicable to the whole range of musical or aesthetic effects, will be the brief summary: Alternations will be few and far between: — how differently from the methods of the poetry, the art, the choruses, we most of us love so much, not necessarily because our senses are inapt or untrained: — Smikrai hai metabolai.+ We shall allow no musical innovations, no Aristophanic cries, no imitations however clever of “the sounds of the flute or the lyre,” no free imitation by the human voice of bestial or mechanical sounds, no such artists as are “like a mirror turning all about.” There were vulgarities of nature, you see, in the youth of ideal Athens even. Time, of course, as such, is itself a kind of artist, trimming pleasantly for us what survives of the rude world of the past. Now Plato’s method would promote or anticipate the work of time in that matter of vulgarities of taste. Yes, when you read his precautionary rules, you become fully aware that even in Athens there were young men who affected what was least fortunate in the habits, the pleasures, the sordid business of the class below them.  But they would not be allowed quite their own way in the streets or elsewhere in a reformed world, to whose chosen imperial youth (Basilikê phylê)+ it would not be permitted even to think of any of those things — oudeni prosechein ton voun.+ To them, what was illiberal, the illiberal crafts, would be (thanks to their well-trained power of intellectual abstraction!) as though it were not. And if art, like law, be, as Plato thinks, “a creation of mind, in accordance with right reason,” we shall not wish our boys to sing like mere birds.

Yet what price would not the musical connoisseur pay to handle the instruments we may see in fancy passing out through the gates of the City of the Perfect, banished, not because there is no one within its walls who knows the use of, or would receive pleasure from, them (a delicate susceptibility in these matters Plato, as was said, presupposes) but precisely because they are so seductive, must be conveyed therefore to some other essentially less favoured neighbourhood, like poison, say! moral poison, for one’s enemies’ water-springs. A whole class of painters, sculptors, skilled workmen of various kinds go into like banishment — they and their very tools; not, observe again carefully, because they are bad artists, but very good ones. — Alla mên, ô Adeimante, hêdys ge kai ho kekramenos.+ Art, as such, as Plato knows, has no purpose but itself, its own perfection. The proper art of the  Perfect City is in fact the art of discipline. Music (mousikê)+ all the various forms of fine art, will be but the instruments of its one over-mastering social or political purpose, irresistibly conforming its so imitative subject units to type: they will be neither more nor less than so many variations, so to speak, of the trumpet-call.

Or suppose again that a poet finds his way to us, “able by his genius, as he chooses, or as his audience chooses, to become all things, or all persons, in turn, and able to transform us too into all things and persons in turn, as we listen or read, with a fluidity, a versatility of humour almost equal to his own, a poet myriad-minded, as we say, almost in Plato’s precise words, as our finest touch of praise, of Shakespeare for instance, or of Homer, of whom he was thinking: — Well! we shall have been set on our guard. We have no room for him. Divine, delightful, being, “if he came to our city with his works, his poems, wishing to make an exhibition of them, we should certainly do him reverence as an object, sacred, wonderful, delightful, but we should not let him stay. We should tell him that there neither is, nor may be, any one like that among us, and so send him on his way to some other city, having anointed his head with myrrh and crowned him with a garland of wool, as something in himself half-divine, and for ourselves should make use of some more austere and less pleasing sort of poet, for his practical  uses.” Tô austêroterô kai aêdesterô poiêtê, ôphelias heneka.+ Not, as I said, that the Republic any more than Lacedaemon will be an artless place. Plato’s aesthetic scheme is actually based on a high degree of sensibility to such influences in the people he is dealing with. —

Right speech, then, and rightness of harmony and form and rhythm minister to goodness of nature; not that good-nature which we so call with a soft name, being really silliness, but the frame of mind which in very truth is rightly and fairly ordered in regard to the moral habit. — Most certainly he said. — Must not these qualities, then, be everywhere pursued by the young men if they are to do each his own business? — Pursued, certainly. — Now painting, I suppose, is full of them (those qualities which are partly ethical, partly aesthetic) and all handicraft such as that; the weaver’s art is full of them, and the inlayer’s art and the building of houses, and the working of all the other apparatus of life; moreover the nature of our own bodies, and of all other living things. For in all these, rightness or wrongness of form is inherent. And wrongness of form, and the lack of rhythm, the lack of harmony, are fraternal to faultiness of mind and charac- ter, and the opposite qualities to the opposite condition — the temperate and good character: — fraternal, aye! and copies of them. — Yes, entirely so: he said. —

Must our poets, then, alone be under control, and compelled to work the image of the good into their poetic works, or not to work among us at all; or must the other craftsmen too be controlled, and restrained from working this faultiness and intemperance and illiberality and formlessness of character whether into the images of living creatures, or the houses they build, or any other product of their craft whatever; or must he who is unable so to do be forbidden to practise his art among us, to the end that our guardians may not, nurtured in images of vice as in a vicious pasture, cropping and culling much every day little by little from many sources, composing together some one great evil in their own souls, go undetected? Must we not rather seek for those craftsmen who have the  power, by way of their own natural virtue, to track out the nature of the beautiful and seemly, to the end that, living as in some wholesome place, the young men may receive good from every side, whencesoever, from fair works of art, either upon sight or upon hearing anything may strike, as it were a breeze bearing health from kindly places, and from childhood straightway bring them unaware to likeness and friendship and harmony with fair reason? — Yes: he answered: in this way they would be by far best educated. — Well then, I said, Glaucon, on these grounds is not education in music of the greatest importance — because, more than anything else, rhythm and harmony make their way down into the inmost part of the soul, and take hold upon it with the utmost force, bringing with them rightness of form, and rendering its form right, if one be correctly trained; if not, the opposite? and again because he who has been trained in that department duly, would have the sharpest sense of oversights (tôn paraleipomenôn)+ and of things not fairly turned out, whether by art or nature (mê kalôs dêmiourgêthentôn ê mê kalôs phyntôn)+ and disliking them, as he should, would commend things beautiful, and, by reason of his delight in these, receiving them into his soul, be nurtured of them, and become kalokagathos,+ while he blamed the base, as he should, and hated it, while still young, before he was able to apprehend a reason, and when reason comes would welcome it, recognising it by its kinship to himself — most of all one thus taught? — Yes: he answered: it seems to me that for reasons such as these their education should be in music. Republic, 400.

Understand, then, the poetry and music, the arts and crafts, of the City of the Perfect — what is left of them there, and remember how the Greeks themselves were used to say that “the half is more than the whole.” Liken its music, if you will, to Gregorian music, and call to mind the kind of architecture, military or monastic again, that must be built to such music, and then the kind of colouring that will fill its  jealously allotted space upon the walls, the sort of carving that will venture to display itself on cornice or capital. The walls, the pillars, the streets — you see them in thought! nay, the very trees and animals, the attire of those who move along the streets, their looks and voices, their style — the hieratic Dorian architecture, to speak precisely, the Dorian manner everywhere, in possession of the whole of life. Compare it, for further vividness of effect, to Gothic building, to the Cistercian Gothic, if you will, when Saint Bernard had purged it of a still barbaric superfluity of ornament. It seems a long way from the Parthenon to Saint Ouen “of the aisles and arches,” or Notre-Dame de Bourges; yet they illustrate almost equally the direction of the Platonic aesthetics. Those churches of the Middle Age have, as we all feel, their loveliness, yet of a stern sort, which fascinates while perhaps it repels us. We may try hard to like as well or better architecture of a more or less different kind, but coming back to them again find that the secret of final success is theirs. The rigid logic of their charm controls our taste, as logic proper binds the intelligence: we would have something of that quality, if we might, for ourselves, in what we do or make; feel, under its influence, very diffident of our own loose, or gaudy, or literally insignificant, decorations. “Stay then,” says the Platonist, too sanguine perhaps,— “Abide,” he says to youth, “in these  places, and the like of them, and mechanically, irresistibly, the soul of them will impregnate yours. With whatever beside is in congruity with them in the order of hearing and sight, they will tell (despite, it may be, of unkindly nature at your first making) upon your very countenance, your walk and gestures, in the course and concatenation of your inmost thoughts.”

And equation being duly made of what is merely personal and temporary in Plato’s view of the arts, it may be salutary to return from time to time to the Platonic aesthetics, to find ourselves under the more exclusive influence of those qualities in the Hellenic genius he has thus emphasised. What he would promote, then, is the art, the literature, of which among other things it may be said that it solicits a certain effort from the reader or spectator, who is promised a great expressiveness on the part of the writer, the artist, if he for his part will bring with him a great attentiveness. And how satisfying, how reassuring, how flattering to himself after all, such work really is — the work which deals with one as a scholar, formed, mature and manly. Bravery — andreia+ or manliness — manliness and temperance, as we know, were the two characteristic virtues of that old pagan world; and in art certainly they seem to be involved in one another. Manliness in art, what can it be, as distinct from that which in opposition to it  must be called the feminine quality there, — what but a full consciousness of what one does, of art itself in the work of art, tenacity of intuition and of consequent purpose, the spirit of construction as opposed to what is literally incoherent or ready to fall to pieces, and, in opposition to what is hysteric or works at random, the maintenance of a standard. Of such art êthos+ rather than pathos+ will be the predominant mood. To use Plato’s own expression there will be here no paraleipomena,+ no “negligences,” no feminine forgetfulness of one’s self, nothing in the work of art unconformed to the leading intention of the artist, who will but increase his power by reserve. An artist of that kind will be apt, of course, to express more than he seems actually to say. He economises. He will not spoil good things by exaggeration. The rough, promiscuous wealth of nature he reduces to grace and order: reduces, it may be, lax verse to staid and temperate prose. With him, the rhythm, the music, the notes, will be felt to follow, or rather literally accompany as ministers, the sense, — akolouthein ton logon.+

We may fairly prefer the broad daylight of Veronese to the contrasted light and shade of Rembrandt even; and a painter will tell you that the former is actually more difficult to attain. Temperance, the temperance of the youthful Charmides, super-induced on a nature originally rich and impassioned, — Plato’s own  native preference for that is only reinforced by the special needs of his time, and the very conditions of the ideal state. The diamond, we are told, if it be a fine one, may gain in value by what is cut away. It was after such fashion that the manly youth of Lacedaemon had been cut and carved. Lenten or monastic colours, brown and black, white and grey, give their utmost value for the eye (so much is obvious) to the scarlet flower, the lighted candle, the cloth of gold. And Platonic aesthetics, remember! as such, are ever in close connexion with Plato’s ethics. It is life itself, action and character, he proposes to colour; to get something of that irrepressible conscience of art, that spirit of control, into the general course of life, above all into its energetic or impassioned acts.

Such Platonic quality you may trace of course not only in work of Doric, or, more largely, of Hellenic lineage, but at all times, as the very conscience of art, its saving salt, even in ages of decadence. You may analyse it, as a condition of literary style, in historic narrative, for instance; and then you have the stringent, shorthand art of Thucydides at his best, his masterly feeling for master-facts, and the half as so much more than the whole. Pindar is in a certain sense his analogue in verse. Think of the amount of attention he must have looked for, in those who were, not to read, but to sing him, or to listen while he was sung, and to understand.  With those fine, sharp-cut gems or chasings of his, so sparely set, how much he leaves for a well-drilled intelligence to supply in the way of connecting thought.

And you may look for the correlative of that in Greek clay, in Greek marble, as you walk through the British Museum. But observe it, above all, at work, checking yet reinforcing his naturally fluent and luxuriant genius, in Plato himself. His prose is a practical illustration of the value of that capacity for correction, of the effort, the intellectual astringency, which he demands of the poet also, the musician, of all true citizens of the ideal Republic, enhancing the sense of power in one’s self, and its effect upon others, by a certain crafty reserve in its exercise, after the manner of a true expert. Chalepa ta kala+ — he is faithful to the old Greek saying. Patience,— “infinite patience,” may or may not be, as was said, of the very essence of genius; but is certainly, quite as much as fire, of the mood of all true lovers. Isôs to legomenon alêthes, hoti chalepa ta kala.+ Heraclitus had preferred the “dry soul,” or the “dry light” in it, as Bacon after him the siccum lumen. And the dry beauty, — let Plato teach us, to love that also, duly.

1891-1892.

INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY AND WRITINGS OF PLATO by Thomas Taylor

CONTENTS

The Translations

EUTHYPHRO

APOLOGY

CRITO

HIPPIAS MAJOR

HIPPIAS MINOR

FIRST ALCIBIADES

CHARMIDES

LACHES

LYSIS

ION

PHAEDO

CRATYLUS

EUTHYDEMUS

PROTAGORAS

GORGIAS

MENO

MENEXENUS

SYMPOSIUM

THE REPUBLIC

PHAEDRUS

PARMENIDES

THEAETETUS

CLITOPHON

TIMAEUS

CRITIAS

SOPHIST

STATESMAN

PHILEBUS

LAWS

The Spurious Works

SECOND ALCIBIADES

HIPPARCHUS

THE RIVAL LOVERS

THEAGES

MINOS

EPINOMIS

SISYPHUS

AXIOCHUS

DEMODOCUS

ERYXIAS

HALCYON

ON JUSTICE

ON VIRTUE

EPIGRAMS

The Epistles

LIST OF EPISTLES

The Greek Texts

PRONOUNCING ANCIENT GREEK

LIST OF GREEK TEXTS

The Criticism

PLATO AND PLATONISM BY WALTER HORATIO PATER

INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY AND WRITINGS OF PLATO BY THOMAS TAYLOR

PLATO

DIALOGUES

EXPLANATIONS OF CERTAIN PLATONIC TERMS

EXTRACT FROM ‘REPRESENTATIVE MEN’ BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

PLATO: LITTLE JOURNEYS TO THE HOMES OF GREAT TEACHERS BY ELBERT HUBBARD

The Biographies

PLATO: LIVES OF THE EMINENT PHILOSOPHERS BY DIOGENES LAËRTIUS

THE LIFE OF PLATO BY HESYCHIUS OF MILETUS

THE LIFE OF PLATO BY OLYMPIODORUS

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

PLATO

“Philosophy,” says Hierocles, “is the purification and perfection of human life. It is the purification, indeed, from material irrationality, and the mortal body; but the perfection, in consequence of being the resumption of our proper felicity, and a reascent to the divine likeness. To effect these two is the province of Virtue and Truth; the former exterminating the immoderation of the passions; and the latter introducing the divine form to those who are naturally adapted to its reception.”

Of philosophy thus defined, which may be compared to a luminous pyramid, terminating in Deity, and having for its basis the rational soul of man and its spontaneous unperverted conceptions, — of this philosophy, August, magnificent, and divine, Plato may be justly called the primary leader and hierophant, through whom, like the mystic light in the inmost recesses of some sacred temple, it first shone forth with occult and venerable splendour. It may indeed be truly said of the whole of this philosophy, that it is the greatest good which man can participate: for if it purifies us from the defilements of the passions and assimilates us to Divinity, it confers on us the proper felicity of our nature. Hence it is easy to collect its pre-eminence to all other philosophies; to show that where they oppose it, they are erroneous; that so far as they contain any thing scientific they are allied to it; and that at best they are but rivulets derived from this vast ocean of truth.

In the mysteries a light of this kind shone forth from the adytum of the temple in which they were exhibited.

To evince that the philosophy of Plato possesses this preeminence; that its dignity and sublimity are unrivaled; that it is the parent of all that ennobles man; and, that it is founded on principles, which neither time can obliterate, nor sophistry subvert, is the principal design of this Introduction.

To effect this design, I shall in the first place present the reader with the outlines of the principal dogmas of Plato’s philosophy. The undertaking is indeed no less novel than arduous, since the author of it has to tread in paths which have been untrodden for upwards of a thousand years, and to bring to light truths which for that extended period have been concealed in Greek. Let not the reader, therefore, be surprised at the solitariness of the paths through which I shall attempt to conduct him, or at the novelty of the objects which will present themselves in the journey: for perhaps he may fortunately recollect that he has traveled the same road before, that the scenes were once familiar to him, and that the country through which he is passing is his native land. At, least, if his sight should be dim, and his memory oblivious, (for the objects which he will meet with can only be seen by the most piercing eyes,) and his absence from them has been lamentably long, let him implore the power of wisdom,

From mortal mists to purify his eyes,
That God and man he may distinctly see.

Let us also, imploring the assistance of the same illuminating power, begin the solitary journey.

Of all the dogmas of Plato, that concerning the first principle of things as far transcends in sublimity the doctrine of other philosophers of a different sect, on this subject, as this supreme cause of all transcends other causes. For, according to Plato, the highest God, whom in the Republic he calls the good, and in the Parmenides the one, is not only above soul and intellect, but is even superior to being itself. Hence, since every thing which can in any respect be known, or of which any thing can be asserted, must be connected with the universality of things, but the first cause is above all things, it is very properly said by Plato to be perfectly ineffable. The first hypothesis therefore of his, Parmenides, in which all things are denied of this immense principle, concludes as follows: “The one therefore is in no respect. So it seems. Hence it is not in such a manner as to be one, for thus it would be being, and participate of essence; but as it appears, the one neither is one, nor is, if it be proper to believe in reasoning of this kind. It appears so. But can any thing either belong to, or be affirmed of that, which is not? How can it? Neither therefore does any name belong to it, nor discourse, nor any science, nor sense, nor opinion. It does not appear that there can. Hence it can neither be named, nor spoken of, nor conceived by opinion, nor be known, nor perceived by any being. So it seems.” And here it must be observed that this conclusion respecting the highest principle of things, that he is perfectly ineffable and inconceivable, is the result of a most scientific series of negations, in which not only all sensible and intellectual beings are denied of him, but even natures the most transcendently allied to him, his first and most divine progeny. For that which so eminently distinguishes the philosophy of Plato from others is this, that every part of it is stamped with the character of science. The vulgar indeed proclaim the Deity to be ineffable; but as they have no scientific knowledge that he is so, this is nothing more than a confused and indistinct perception of the most sublime of all truths, like that of a thing seen between sleeping and waking, like Phaeacia to Ulysses when sailing to his native land,

That lay before him indistinct and vast,
Like a broad shield amid the watr’y waste.

In short, an unscientific perception of the ineffable nature of the Divinity resembles that of a man, who on surveying the heavens, should assert of the altitude of its highest part, that it surpasses that of the loftiest tree, and is therefore immeasurable. But to see this scientifically, is like a survey of this highest part of the heavens by the astronomer; for he by knowing the height of the media between us and it, knows also scientifically that it transcends in altitude not only the loftiest tree; but the summits of air and aether, the moon, and even the sun itself.

Let us therefore investigate what is the ascent to the ineffably, and after what manner it is accomplished, according to Plato, from the last of things, following the profound and most inquisitive Damascius as our leader in this arduous investigation. Let our discourse also be common to other principles, and to things proceeding from them to that which is last, and let us, beginning from that which is perfectly effable and known to sense, ascend too the ineffable, and establish in silence, as in a port, the parturitions of truth concerning it. Let us then assume the following axiom, in which as in a secure vehicle we may safely pass from hence thither. I say, therefore, that the unindigent is naturally prior to the indigent. For that which is in want of another is naturally adapted from necessity to be subservient to that of which it is indigent. But if they are mutually in want of each other, each being indigent of the other in a different respect, neither of them will be the principle. For the unindigent is most adapted to that which is truly the principle. And if it is in want of any thing, according to this it will not be the principle. It is however necessary that the principles should be this very thing, the principle alone. The unindigent therefore pertains to this, nor must it by any means be acknowledged that there is any thing prior to it. This however, would be acknowledged if it had any connection with the indigent.

Let us then consider body, (that is, a triply extended substance,) endued with quality; for this is the first thing effable by us, and is, sensible. Is this then the principle of things? But it is two things, body, and quality which is in body as a subject. Which of these therefore is by nature prior? For both are indigent of their proper parts; and that also which is in a subject is indigent of the subject. Shall we say then that body itself is the principle of the first essence? But this is impossible. For, in the first place, the principle will not receive any thing from that which is posterior to itself. But body, we say is the recipient of quality. Hence quality, and a subsistence in conjunction with it, are not derived from body, since quality is present with body as something different. And, in the second place, body is every way, divisible; its several parts are indigent of each other, and the whole is indigent of all the parts. As it is indigent, therefore, and receives its completion from things which are indigent, it will not be entirely unindigent.

Further still, if it is not one but united, it will require, as Plato says, the connecting one. It is likewise something common and formless, being as it were a certain matter. It requires, therefore, ornament and the possession of form, that it may not be merely body, but a body with a certain particular quality; as for instance, a fiery, or earthly, body, and, in short, body adorned and invested with a particular quality. Hence the things which accede to it, finish and adorn it. Is then that which accedes the principle? But this is impossible. For it does not abide in itself, nor does it subsist alone, but is in a subject of which also it is indigent. If, however, some one should assert that body is not a subject, but one of the elements in each, as for instance, animal in horses and man, thus also each will be indigent of the other, viz. this subject, and that which is in the subject; or rather the common element, animal, and the peculiarities, as the rational and irrational, will be indigent. For elements are always, indigent of each other, and that which is composed from elements is indigent of the elements. In short, this sensible nature, and which is so manifest to us, is neither body, for this does not of itself move the senses, nor quality; for this does not possess an interval commensurate with sense. Hence, that which is the object of sight, is neither body nor color; but colored body, or color corporalized, is that which is motive of the sight. And universally, that which its sensible, which is body with a particular quality, is motive of sense. From hence it is evident that the thing which excites the sense is something incorporeal. For if it was body, it would not yet be the object of sense. Body therefore requires that which is incorporeal, and that which is incorporeal, body. For an incorporeal nature, is not of itself sensible. It is, however, different from body, because these two possess prerogatives different from each other, and neither of these subsists prior to the other; but being elements of one sensible thing, they are present with each other; the one imparting interval to that which is void of interval, but the other introducing to that which is formless, sensible variety invested with form. In the third place, neither are both these together the principles; since they are not unindigent. For they stand in need of their proper elements, and of that which conducts them to the generation of one form. For body cannot effect this, since it is of itself impotent; nor quality, since it is not able to subsist separate from the body in which it is, or together with which it has its being. The composite therefore either produces itself, which is impossible, for it does not converge to itself, but the whole of it is multifariously dispersed, or it is not produced by itself, and there is some other principle prior to it.

Let it then be supposed to be that which is called nature, being a principle of motion and rest, in that which is moved and at rest, essentially and not according to accident. For this is something more simple, and is fabricative of composite forms. If, however, it is in the things fabricated, and does not subsist separate from nor prior to them, but stands in need of them for its being, it will not be unindigent; though its possesses something transcendent with respect to them, viz. the power of fashioning and fabricating them. For it has its being together with them, and has in them an inseparable subsistence; so that, when they are it is, and is not when they are not, and this in consequence of perfectly verging to them, and not being able to sustain that which is appropriate. For the power of increasing, nourishing, and generating similars, and the one prior to these three, viz. nature, is not wholly incorporeal, but is nearly a certain quality of body, from which it alone differs, in that it imparts to the composite to be inwardly moved and at rest. For the quality of that which is sensible imparts that which is apparent in matter, and that which falls on sense. But body imparts interval every way extended; and nature, an inwardly proceeding natural energy, whether according to place only, or according to nourishing, increasing, and generating things similar. Nature, however, is inseparable from a subject, and is indigent, so that it will not be in short the principle, since it is indigent of that which is subordinate. For it will not be wonderful, if being a certain principle, it is indigent of the principle above it; but it would be wonderful if it were indigent of things posterior to itself, and of which it is supposed to be the principle.

By the like arguments we may show that the principle cannot be irrational soul, whether sensitive, or orectic. For if it appears that it has something separate, together with impulsive and Gnostic enemies, yet at the same time it is bound in body, and has something inseparable from it; since it is notable to convert itself to itself, but its enemy is mingled with its subject. For it is evident that its essence is something of this kind; since if it were liberated and in itself free, it would also evince a certain independent enemy, and would not always be converted to body; but sometimes it would be converted to itself; or though it were always converted to body, yet it would judge and explore itself. The energies, therefore, of the multitude of mankind, (though they are conversant with externals,) yet, at the same time they exhibit that which is separate about them. For they consult how they should engage in them, and observe that deliberation is necessary, in order to effect or be passive to apparent good, or to decline something of the contrary. But the impulses of other animals are uniform and spontaneous, are moved together with the sensible organs, and require the senses alone that they may obtain from sensibles the pleasurable, and avoid the painful. If, therefore, the body communicates in pleasure and pain, and is affected in a certain respect by them, it is evident that the psychical energies, (i.e. energies belonging to the soul) are exerted, mingled with bodies, and are not purely psychical, but are also corporeal; for perception is of the animated body, or of the soul corporalized, though in such perception the psychical idiom predominates over the corporeal; just as in bodies, the corporeal idiom has dominion according to interval and subsistence. As the irrational soul, therefore, has its being in something different from itself, so far it is indigent of the subordinate: but a thing of this kind will not be the principle.

Prior them to this essence, we see a certain form separate from a subject, and converted to itself, such as is the rational nature. Our soul, therefore, presides over its proper energies and corrects itself. This, however, would not be the case, unless it was converted to itself; and it would not be converted, to itself unless it had a separate essence. It is not therefore indigent of the subordinate. Shall we then say that it is the most perfect principle? But, it does not at once exert all its energies, but is always indigent of the greater part. The principle, however, wishes to have nothing indigent: but the rational nature is an essence in want of its own energies. Some one, however, may say that it is an eternal essence, and has never-failing essential energies, always concurring with its essence, according to the self-moved and ever vital, and that it is therefore unindigent; but the principle is perfectly unindigent. Soul therefore, and which exerts mutable energies, will not be the most proper principle. Hence it is necessary that there should be something prior to this, which is in every respect immutable, according to nature, life, and knowledge, and according to all powers and enemies, such as we assert an eternal and immutable essence to be, and such as is much honoured intellect, to which Aristotle having ascended, thought he had discovered the first principle. For what can be wanting to that which perfectly comprehends in itself its own plenitudes (oleromata), and of which neither addition nor ablation changes any thing belonging to it? Or is not this also, one and many, whole and parts, containing in itself, things first, middle, and last? The subordinate plenitudes also stand in need of the more excellent, and the more excellent of the subordinate, and the whole of the parts. For the things related are indigent of each other, and what are first of what are last, through the same cause; for it is not of itself that which is first. Besides, the one here is indigent of the many, because it has its subsistence in the many. Or it may be said, that this one is collective of the many, and this not by itself, but in conjunction with them. Hence there is much of the indigent in this principle. For since intellect generates in itself its proper plenitudes from which the whole at once receives its completion, it will be itself indigent of itself, not only that which is generated of that which generates, but also that which generates, of that which is generated, in order to the whole completion of that which wholly generates itself. Further still, intellect understands and is understood, is intellective of and intelligible to itself, and both these. Hence the intellectual is indigent of the intelligible, as of its proper object of desire; and the intelligible is in want of the intellectual, because it wishes to be the intelligible of it. Both also are indigent of either, since the possession is always accompanied with indigence, in the same manner as the world is always present with matter. Hence a certain indigence is naturally coessentiallized with intellect, so that it cannot be the most proper principle. Shall we, therefore, in the next place, direct our attention to the most simple of beings, which Plato calls the one being, [Greek: en on]? For as there is no separation there throughout the Whole, nor any multitude, or order, or duplicity, or conversion to itself, what indigence will there appear to me, in the perfectly united? And especially what indigence will there be of that which is subordinate? Hence the great Parmenides ascended to this most safe principle, as that which is most unindigent. Is it not, however, here necessary to attend to the conception of Plato, that the united is not the one itself, but that which is passive to it? And this being the case, it is evident that it ranks after the one; for it is supposed to be the united and not the one itself. If also being is composed from the elements bound and infinity, as appears from the Philebus of Plato, where he calls it that which is mixt, it will be indigent of its elements. Besides, if the conception of being is different from that of being united, and that which is a whole is both united and being, these will be indigent of each other, and the whole which is called one being is indigent of the two. And though the one in this is better than being, yet this is indigent of being, in order to the subsistence of one being. But if being here supervenes the one, as it were, form in that which is mixt and united, just as the idiom of man in that which is collectively rational-mortal-animal, thus also the one will be indigent of being. If, however, to speak more properly, the one is two-fold; this being the cause of the mixture, and subsisting prior to being, but that conferring rectitude, on being, — if this be the case, neither will the indigent perfectly desert this nature. After all these, it may be said that the one will be perfectly unindigent. For neither is it indigent of that which is posterior to itself for its subsistence, since the truly one is by itself separated from all things; nor is it indigent of that which is inferior or more excellent in itself; for there is nothing in it besides itself; nor is it in want of itself. But it is one, because neither has it any duplicity with respect to itself. For not even the relation of itself to itself must be asserted of the truly one; since it is perfectly simple. This, therefore, is the most unindigent of all things. Hence this is the principle and the cause of all; and this is at once the first of all things. If these qualities, however, are present with it, it will not be the one. Or may we not say that all things subsist in the one according to the one? And that both these subsist in it, and such other things as we predicate of it, as, for instance, the most simple, the most excellent, the most powerful, the preserver of all things, and the good itself? If these things, however, are thus true of the one, it will thus also be indigent of things posterior to itself, according to those very things which we add to it. For the principle is, and is said to be the principle of things proceeding from it, and the cause is the cause of things caused, and the first is the first of things arranged, posterior to it.

— See the Sophista of Plato, where this is asserted.

For a thing cannot be said to be a principle or cause without the subsistence of the things of which it is the principle or cause. Hence, so far as it is a principle or cause, it will be indigent of the subsistence of these. —

Further still, the simple subsists according to a transcendency of other things, the most powerful according to power with relation to the subjects of it; and the good, the desirable, and the preserving, are so called with reference to things benefitted, preserved, and desiring. And if it should be said to be all things according to the preassumption of all things in itself, it will indeed be said to be so according to the one alone, and will at the same time be the one cause of all things prior to all, and will be thus, and no other according to the one. So far, therefore, as it is the one alone, it will be unindigent; but so far as unindigent, it will be the first principle, and stable root of all principles. So far, however, as it is the principle and the first cause of all things, and is pre-established as the object of desire to all things, so far it appears to be in a certain respect indigent of the things to which it is related. It has therefore, if it be lawful so to speak, an ultimate vestige of indigence, just as on the contrary matter has an ultimate echo of the unindigent, or a most obscure and debile impression of the one. And language indeed appears to be here subverted. For so far as it is the one, it is also unindigent, since the principle has appeared to subsist according to the most unindigent and the one. At the same time, however, so far as it is the one, it is also the principle; and so far as it is the one it is unindigent, but so far as the principle, indigent. Hence so far as it is unindigent, it is also indigent, though not according to the same; but with respect to being that which it is, it is undigent; but as producing and comprehending other things in itself, it is indigent. This, however, is the peculiarity of the one; so that it is both unindigent and indigent according to the one. Not indeed than it is each of these, in such a manner as we divide it in speaking of it, but it is one alone; and according to this is both other things, and that which is indigent. For how is it possible, it should not be indigent also so far as it is the one? Just as it is all other things which proceed from it. For the indigent also is, something belonging to all things. Something else, therefore, must be investigated which in no respect has any kind of indigence. But of a thing of this kind it cannot with truth be asserted that it is the principle, nor can it even be said of it that it is most unindigent, though this appears to be the most venerable of all assertions.

——  ——  ——  — -  See the extracts from Damascius in the additional notes to the third volume, which contain an inestimable treasury of the most profound conceptions concerning the ineffable. —

For this signifies transcendency, and an exemption from the indigent. We do not, however, think it proper to call this even the perfectly exempt; but that which is in every respect incapable of being apprehended, and about which we must be perfectly silent, will be the most, just axiom of our conception in the present investigation; nor yet this as uttering any thing, but as rejoicing in not uttering, and by this venerating that immense unknown. This then is the mode of ascent to that which is called the first, or rather to that which is beyond every thing which can be conceived, or become the subject of hypothesis.

There is also another mode, which does not place the unindigent before the indigent, but considers that which is indigent of a more excellent nature, as subsisting secondary to that which is more excellent. Every where then, that which is in capacity is secondary to that which is in energy. For that it may proceed into energy, and that it may not remain in capacity in vain, it requires that which is in energy. For the more excellent never blossoms from the subordinate nature. Let this then be defined by us according to common unperverted conceptions. Matter therefore has prior to itself material form; because all matter is form in capacity, whether it be the first matter which is perfectly formless, or the second which subsists according to body void of quality, or in other words mere triple extension, to which it is likely those directed their attention who first investigated sensibles, and which at first appeared to be the only thing that had a subsistence. For the existence of that which is common in the different elements, persuaded them that there is a certain body void of quality. But since, among bodies of this kind, some possess the governing principle inwardly, and others externally, such as things artificial, it is necessary besides quality to direct our attention to nature, as being something better than qualities, and which is prearranged in the order of cause, as art is, of things artificial. Of things, however, which are inwardly governed, some appear to possess being alone, but others to be nourished and increased, and to generate things similar to themselves. There is therefore another certain cause prior to the above-mentioned nature, viz. a vegetable power itself. But it is evident that all such things as are ingenerated in body as in a subject, are of themselves incorporeal, though they become corporeal by the participation of that in which they subsist, so that they are said to be and are material in consequence of what they suffer from matter. Qualities therefore, and still more natures, and in a still greater degree the vegetable life, preserve the incorporeal in themselves. Since however, sense exhibits another more conspicuous life, pertaining to beings which are moved according to impulse and place, this must be established prior to that, as being a more proper principle, and as the supplier of a certain better form, that of a self-moved animal, and which naturally precedes plants rooted in the earth. The animal however, is not accurately self-moved. For the whole is not such throughout they whole; but a part moves and a part is moved. This therefore is the apparent self-moved. Hence, prior to this it is necessary there should be that which is truly self-moved, and which according to the whole of itself moves ands is moved, that the apparently self-moved may be the image of this. And indeed the soul which moves the body must be considered as a more proper self-moved essence. This, however, is twofold, the one rational, the other irrational. For that there is a rational soul is evident: or has not every one a cosensation of himself, more clear or more obscure, when converted to himself in the attentions to and investigations of himself, and in the vital and Gnostic animadversions of himself? For the essence which is capable of this, and which can collect universals by reasoning, will very justly be rational. The irrational soul also, though it does not appear to investigate these things, and to reason with itself, yet at the same time it moves bodies from place to place, being itself previously moved from itself; for at different times it exerts a different impulse. Does it therefore move itself from one impulse to another? or it is moved by something else, as, for instance, by the whole rational soul in the universe? But it would be absurd to say that the energies of every irrational soul are not the energies of that soul, but of one more divine; since they are infinite, and mingled with much of the base and imperfect. For this would be just the same as to say that the irrational enemies are the energies of the rational soul. I omit to mention the absurdity of supposing that the whole essence is not generative of its proper energies. For if the irrational soul is a certain essence, it will have peculiar energies of its own, not imparted from something else, but proceeding from itself. This irrational soul, therefore, will also move itself at different times to different impulses. But if it moves itself, it will be converted to itself. If, however, this be the case, it will have a separate subsistence, and will not be in a subject. It is therefore rational, if it looks to itself: for in being converted to, it surveys itself. For when extended to things external, it looks to externals, or rather it looks to colored body, but does not see itself, because sight itself is neither body nor that which is colored. Hence it does not revert to itself. Neither therefore is this the case with any other irrational nature. For neither does the phantasy project a type of itself, but of that which is sensible, as for instance of colored body. Nor does irrational appetite desire itself, but aspires after a certain object of desire, such as honor, or pleasure, or riches. It does not therefore move itself.

But if some one, on seeing that brutes exert rational energies, should apprehend that these also participate of the first self-moved, and on this account possess a soul converted to itself, it may perhaps be granted to him that these also are rational natures, except that they are not so essentially, but according to participation, and this most obscure, just as the rational soul may be said to be intellectual according to participation, as always projecting common conceptions without distortion. It must however be observed, that the extreme are that which is capable of being perfectly separated, such as the rational form, and that which is perfectly inseparable, such as corporeal quality, and that in the middle of these nature subsists, which verges to the inseparable, having a small representation of the separable and the irrational soul, which verges to the separable; or it appears in a certain respect to subsist by itself, separate from a subject; so that it becomes doubtful whether it is self-motive, or alter-motive. For it contains an abundant vestige of self-motion, but not that which is true and converted to itself, and on this account perfectly separated from a subject. And the vegetable soul has in a certain respect a middle subsistence. On this account to some of the ancients it appeared to be a certain soul, but to others, nature.

Again, therefore, that we may return to the proposed object of investigation, how can a self-motive nature of this kind, which is mingled with the alter-motive, be the first principle of things? For it neither subsists from itself, nor does it in reality perfect itself; but it requires a certain other nature, both for its subsistence and perfection: and prior to it is that which is truly self-moved. Is therefore that which is properly self-moved the principle, and is it indigent of no form more excellent than itself? Or is not that which moves always naturally prior to that which is moved; and in short does not every form which is pure from its contrary subsist by itself prior to that which is mingled with it? And is not the pure the cause of the commingled? For that which is coessentialized with another has also an energy mingled with that other. So that a self-moved nature will indeed, make itself; but thus subsisting it will be at the same time moving and moved, but will not be made a moving nature only. For neither is it this alone. Every form however is always alone according to its first subsistence; so that there will be that which moves only without being moved. And indeed it would be absurd that there should be that which is moved only such as body, but that prior both to that which is self-moved and that which is moved only, there should not be that which moves only. For it is evident that there must be, since this will be a more excellent nature, and that which is self-moved, so far as it moves itself, is more excellent than so far as it is moved. It is necessary therefore that the essence which moves unmoved, should be first, as that which is moved, not being motive, is the third, in the middle of which is the self-moved, which we say requires that which moves in order to its becoming motive. In short, if it is moved, it will not abide, so far as it is moved; and if it moves, it is necessary it should remain moving so far as it moves. Whence then does it derive the power of abiding? For from itself it derives the power either of being moved only, or of at the same time abiding and being moved wholly according to the same. Whence then does it simply obtain the power of abiding? Certainly from that which simply abides. But, this is an immovable cause. We must therefore admit that the immovable is prior to the self moved. Let us consider then if the immovable is the most proper principle? But how is this possible? For the immovable contains as numerous a multitude immovably; as the self-moved self-moveably. Besides an immovable separation must necessarily subsist prior to a self-moveable separation. The unmoved therefore is at the same time one and many, and is at the same time united and separated, and a nature of this kind is denominated intellect. But it is evident that the united in this is naturally prior to and more honorable than the separated. For separation is always indigent of union; but not, on the contrary, union of separation. Intellect, however, has not the united pure from its opposite. For intellectual form is coessentialized with the separated, through the whole of itself. Hence that which is in a certain respect united requires that which is simply united; and that which subsists with another is indigent of that which subsists by itself; and that which subsists according to participation, of that which subsists according to essence. For intellect being self-subsistent produces itself as united, and at the same time separated. Hence it subsists according to both these. It is produced therefore from that which is simply united and alone united. Prior therefore to that which is formal is the uncircumscribed, and undistributed into forms. And this is that which we call the united, and which the wise men of antiquity denominated being, possessing in one contraction multitude, subsisting prior to the many.

Having therefore arrived thus far, let us here rest for a while, and consider with ourselves, whether being is the investigated principle of all things. For what will there be which does not participate of being? May we not say, that this, if it is the united, will be secondary to the one, and that by participating of the one it becomes the united? But in short; if we conceive the one to be something different from being, if being is prior to the one, it will not participate of the one. It will therefore be many only, and these will be infinitely infinite. But if the one is with being, and being with the one, and they are either coordinate or divided from each other, there will be two principles, and the above-mentioned absurdity will happen. Or they will mutually participate of each other, and there will be two elements. Or they are parts of something else, consisting from both. And, if this be the case, what will that be which leads them to union with each other? For if the one unites being to itself (for this may be said), the one also will energize prior to being, that it may call forth and convert being to itself. The one, therefore, will subsist from itself self-perfect prior to being. Further still, the more simple is always prior to the more composite. If therefore they are similarly simple, there will either be two principles, or one from the two, and this will be a composite. Hence the simple and perfectly incomposite is prior to this, which must be either one, or not one; and if not one, it must either be many, or nothing. But with respect to nothing, if it signifies that which is perfectly void, it will signify something vain. But if it signifies the arcane, this will not even be that which is simple. In short, we cannot conceive any principle more simple than the one. The one therefore is in every respect prior to being. Hence this is the principle of all things, and Plato recurring to this, did not require any other principle in his reasonings. For the arcane in which this our ascent terminates is not the principle of reasoning, nor of knowledge, nor of animals, nor of beings, nor of unities, but simply of all things, being arranged above every conception and suspicion that we can frame. Hence Plato indicates nothing concerning it, but makes his negations of all other things except the one, from the one. For that the one is he denies in the last place, but he does not make a negation of the one. He also, besides this, even denies this negation, but not the one. He denies, too, name and conception, and all knowledge, and what can be said more, whole itself and every being. But let there be the united and the unical, and, if you will, the two principles bound and the infinite. Plato, however, never in any respect makes a negation of the one which is beyond all these. Hence in the Sophista he considers it as the one prior to being, and in the Republic as the good beyond every essence; but at the same time the one alone is left. Whether however is it known and effable, or unknown and ineffable? Or is it in a certain respect these, and in a certain respect not? For by a negation of this it may be said the ineffable is affirmed. And again, by the simplicity of knowledge it will be known or suspected, but by composition perfectly unknown. Hence neither will it be apprehended by negation. And in short, so far as it is admitted to be one, so far it will be coarranged with other things, which are the subject of position. For it is the summit of things, which subsist according to position. At the same time there is much in it of the ineffable and unknown, the uncoordinated, and that which is deprived of position, but these are accompanied with a representation of the Contraries: and the former are more excellent, than the latter. But every where things pure subsist prior to their contraries, and such as are unmingled to the commingled. For either things more excellent subsist in the one essentially, and in a certain respect the contraries of these also will be there at the same time; or they subsist according to participation, and are derived from that which is first a thing of this kind. Prior to the one, therefore, is that which is simply and perfectly ineffable, without position, uncoordinated, and incapable of being apprehended, to which also the ascent of the present discourse hastens through the clearest indications, omitting none of those natures between the first and the last of things.

Such then is the ascent to the highest God, according to the theology of Plato, venerably preserving his ineffable exemption from all things, and his transcendency, which cannot be circumscribed by any gnostic energy, and at the same time, unfolding the paths which lead upwards to him, and enkindling that luminous summit of the soul, by which she is conjoined with the incomprehensible one.

From this truly ineffable principle, exempt from all essence, power, and energy, a multitude of divine natures, according to Plato, immediately proceeds. That this must necessarily be the case, will be admitted by the reader who understands what has been already discussed, and is fully demonstrated by Plato in the Parmenides, as will be evident to the intelligent from the notes on that Dialogue. In addition therefore to what I have staid on this subject, I shall further observe at present that this doctrine, which is founded in the sublimest and most scientific conceptions of the human mind, may be clearly shown to be a legitimate dogma of Plato from what is asserted by him in the sixth book of his Republic. For he there affirms, in the most clear and unequivocal terms, that the good, or the ineffable principle of things is superessential, and shows by the analogy of the sun to the good, that what light and sight are in the visible, that truth and intelligence are in the intelligible world. As light therefore, immediately proceeds from the sun, and wholly subsists according to a solar idiom or property, so truth or the immediate progeny of the good, must subsist according to a superessential idiom. And as the good, according to Plato, is the same with the one, as is evident from the Parmenides, the immediate progeny of the one will be the same as that of the good. But, the immediate offspring of the one cannot be any thing else than unities. And, hence we necessarily infer that according to Plato, the immediate offspring of the ineffable principle of things are superessential unities. They differ however from their immense principle in this, that he is superessential and ineffable, without any addition; but this divine multitude is participated by the several orders of being, which are suspended from and produced by it. Hence, in consequence of being connected with multitude through this participation, they are necessarily subordinate to the one.

No less admirably, therefore, than Platonically does Simplicius, in his Commentary of Epictetus, observe on this subject as follows: “The fountain and principle of all things is the good: for that which all things desire, and to which all things are extended, is the principle and the end of all things. The good also produces from itself all things, first, middle, and last. But it produces such as are first and proximate to itself, similar to itself; one goodness, many goodnesses, one simplicity and unity which transcends all others, many, unities, and one principle many principles. For the one, the principle, the good, and deity, are the same: for deity is the first and the cause of all things. But it is necessary that the first should also be most simple; since whatever is a composite and has multitude is posterior to the one. And multitude and things, which are not good desire the good as being above them: and in short, that which is not itself the principle is from the principle.

But it is also necessary that the principle of all things should possess the highest, and all, power. For the amplitude of power consists in producing all things from itself, and in giving subsistence to similars, prior to things which are dissimilar. Hence the one principle produces many principles, many simplicities, and many goodnesses, proximately from itself. For since all things differ from each other, and are multiplied with their proper differences, each of these multitudes is suspended from its one proper principle. Thus, for instance, all beautiful things, whatever and wherever they may be, whether in souls or in bodies, are suspended from one fountain of beauty. Thus too, whatever possesses symmetry, and whatever is true, and all principles, are in a certain respect, connate with the first principle, so far as they are principles and fountains and goodnesses, with an appropriate subjection and analogy. For what the one principle is to all beings, that each of the other principles is to the multitude comprehended under the idiom of its principle. For it is impossible, since each multitude is characterized by a certain difference, that it should not be extended to its proper principle, which illuminates one and the same form to all the individuals of that multitude. For the one is the leader of every multitude; and every peculiarity or idiom in the many is derived to the many from the one. All partial principles therefore are established in that principle which ranks as a whole, and are comprehended in it, not with interval and multitude, but as parts in the whole, as multitude in the one, and number in the monad. For this first principle is all things prior to all: and many principles are multiplied about the one principle, and in the one goodness, many goodnesses are established. This too, is not a certain principle like each of the rest: for of these, one is the principle of beauty, another of symmetry, another of truth, and another of something else, but it is simply principle. Nor is it simply the principles of beings, but it is the principle of principles. For it is necessary that the idiom of principle, after the same manner as other things, should not begin from multitude, but should be collected into one monad as a summit, and which is the principle of principles.

Such things therefore as are first produced by the first good, in consequence of being connascent with it, do not recede from essential goodness, since they are immovable and unchanged, and are eternally established in the same blessedness. They are likewise not indigent of the good, because they are goodnesses themselves. All other natures however, being produced by the one good, and many goodnesses, since they fall off from essential goodness, and are not immovably established in the hyparxis of divine goodness, on this account they possess the good according to participation.”

From this sublime theory the meaning of that ancient Egyptian dogma, that God is all things, is at once apparent. For the first principle, as Simplicius in the above passage justly observes, is all things prior to all; i.e. he comprehends all things causally, this being the most transcendent mode of comprehension. As all things therefore, considered as subsisting causally in deity, are transcendently more excellent than they are when considered as effects preceding from him, hence that mighty and all-comprehending whole, the first principle, is said to be all things prior to all; priority here denoting exempt transcendency. As the monad and the centre of a circle are images from their simplicity of this greatest of principles, so likewise do they perspicuously shadow forth to us its causal comprehension of all things. For all number may be considered as subsisting occultly in the monad, and the circle in the centre; this occult being the same in each with causal subsistence.

-  By the first principle here, the one is to be understood for that arcane nature which is beyond the one, since all language is subverted about it, can only, as we have already observed, be conceived and venerated in the most profound silence. -

That this conception of causal subsistence is not an hypothesis devised by the latter Platonists, but a genuine dogma of Plato, is evident from what he says in the Philebus: for in that Dialogue he expressly asserts that in Jupiter a royal intellect, and a royal soul subsist according to cause. Pherecydes Syrus, too, in his Hymn to Jupiter, as cited by Kercher (in Oedip. Egyptiac.), has the following lines: [Greek: O theos esti kuklos, tetragonos ede trigonos, Keinos de gramme, kentron, kai panta pro panton.]

i.e. Jove is a circle, triangle and square, centre and line, and all things before all. From which testimonies the antiquity of this sublime doctrine is sufficiently apparent.

And here it is necessary to observe that nearly all philosophers: prior to Jamblichus (as we are informed by Damascius) asserted indeed, that there is one superessential God, but that the other gods had an essential subsistence, and were deified by illuminations from the one. They likewise said that there is a multitude of super-essential unities, who are not self-perfect subsistences, but illuminated unions with deity, imparted to essences by the highest Gods. That this hypothesis, however, is not conformable to the doctrine of Plato is evident from his Parmenides, in which he shows that the one does not subsist in itself. (See vol. iii, p. 133). For as we have observed from Proclus, in the notes on that Dialogue, every thing which is the cause of itself and is self-subsistent, is said to be in itself. Hence as producing power always comprehends, according to cause that which it produces, it is necessary that whatever produces itself should comprehend itself so far as it is a cause, and should be comprehended by itself so far as it is caused; and that it should be at once both cause and the thing caused, that which comprehends, and that which is comprehended. If therefore a subsistence in another signifies, according to Plato, the being produced by another more excellent cause (as we have shown in the note to p. 133, vol. iii), a subsistence in itself must signify that which is self- begotten, and produced by itself. If the one therefore is not self-sub- sistent as even transcending this mode of subsistence, and if it be necessary that there should be something self-subsistent, it follows that this must be the characteristic property of that which immediately proceeds from the ineffable. But that there must be something self- subsistent is evident, since unless this is admitted there will not be a true sufficiency in any thing.

Besides, as Damascius well observes, if that which is subordinate by nature is self-perfect, such as the human soul, much more will this be the case with a divine soul. But if with soul, this also will be true of intellect. And if it be true of intellect, it will also be true of life: if of life, of being likewise; and if of being, of the unities above being. For the self-perfect, the self-sufficient, and that which is established in itself, will much more subsist in superior than in subordinate natures. If therefore, these are in the latter, they will also be in the former. I mean the subsistence of a thing by itself, and essentialized in itself; and such are essence and life, intellect, soul, and body. For body, though it does not subsist from, yet subsists by itself; and through this belongs to the genus of substance, and is contra-distinguished from accident, which cannot exist independent of a subject.

Self-subsistent superessential natures therefore are the immediate progeny of the one, if it be lawful thus to denominate things, which ought rather to be called ineffable unfoldings into light from the ineffable; for progeny implies a producing cause, and the one must be conceived as something even more excellent than this. From this divine self-perfect and self-producing multitude, a series of self-perfect natures, viz. of beings, lives, intellects, and souls proceeds, according to Plato, in the last link of which luminous series he also classes the human soul; proximately suspended from the daemoniacal order: for this order, as he clearly asserts in the Banquet, “stands in the middle rank between the divine and human, fills up the vacant space, and links together all intelligent nature.” And here to the reader, who has not penetrated the depths of Plato’s philosophy, it will doubtless appear paradoxical in the extreme, that any being should be said to produce itself, and yet at the same time proceed from a superior cause. The solution of this difficulty is as follows: — Essential production, or that energy through which any nature produces something else by its very being, is the most perfect mode of production, because vestiges of it are seen in the last of things; thus fire imparts heat, by its very essence, and snow coldness. And in short, this is a producing of that kind, in which the effect is that secondarily which the cause is primarily. As this mode of production therefore, from its being the most perfect of all others, originates from the highest natures, it will consequently first belong to those self-subsistent powers, who immediately proceed from the ineffable, and will from them be derived to all the following orders of beings. But this energy, as being characterized by the essential, will necessarily be different in different producing causes. Hence, from that which subsists, at the summit of self subsistent natures, a series of self subsisting beings will indeed proceed, but then this series will be secondarily that which its cause is primarily, and the energy by which it produces itself will be secondary to that by which it is produced by its cause. Thus, for instance, the rational soul both produces itself (in consequence of being a self-motive nature), and is produced by intellect; but it is produced by intellect immutably, and by itself transitively; for all its energies subsist in time, and are accompanied with motion. So far therefore as soul contains intellect by participation, so far it is produced by intellect, but so far as it is self-motive it is produced by itself. In short, with respect to every thing self-subsistent, the summit of its nature is produced by a superior cause, but the evolution of that summit is its own spontaneous energy; and, through this it becomes self-subsistent, and self-perfect.

That the rational soul, indeed, so far as it is rational, produces itself, may be clearly demonstrated as follows: — That which is able to impart any thing superior and more excellent in any genus of things, can easily impart that which is subordinate and less excellent in the same genus; but well being confessedly ranks higher and is more excellent than mere being. The rational soul imparts well being to itself, when it cultivates and perfects itself, and recalls and withdraws itself from the contagion of the body. It will therefore also impart being to itself. And this with great propriety; for all divine natures, and such things as possess the ability of imparting any thing primarily to others, necessarily begin this energy from themselves. Of this mighty truth the sun himself is an illustrious example; for he illuminates all things with his light, and is himself light, and the fountain and origin of all splendour. Hence, since the souls imparts life and motion to other things, on which account Aristotle calls an animal antokincton, self- moved, it will much more, and by a much greater priority, impart life and motion to itself.

From this magnificent, sublime, and most scientific doctrine of Plato, respecting the arcane principle of things and his immediate progeny, it follows that this ineffable cause is not the immediate maker of the universe, and this, as I have observed in the Introduction to the Timaeus, not through any defect, but on the contrary through transcendency of power. All things indeed are ineffably unfolded from him at once, into light; but divine media are necessary to the fabrication of the world. For if the universe was immediately produced from the ineffable, it would, agreeably to what we have above observed, be ineffable also in a secondary degree. But as this is by no means the case, it principally derives its immediate subsistence from a deity of a fabricative characteristic, whom Plato calls Jupiter, conformably to the theology of Orpheus. The intelligent reader will readily admit that this dogmas is so far from being derogatory to the dignity of the Supreme, that on the contrary it exalts that dignity, and, preserves in a becoming manner the exempt transcendency of the ineffable. If therefore we presume to celebrate him, for as we have already observed, it is more becoming to establish in silence those parturitions of the soul which dare anxiously to explore him, we should celebrate him as the principle of principles, and the fountain of deity, or in the reverential language of the Egyptians, as a darkness thrice unknown. Highly laudable indeed, and worthy the imitation of all posterity, is the veneration which the great ancients paid to this immense principle. This I have already noticed in the Introduction to the Parmenides, and I shall only observe at present in addition, that in consequence of this profound and most pious reverence of the first God, they did not even venture to give a name to the summit of that highest order of divinities which is denominated intelligible. Hence, says Proclus, in his Mss. Scholia on the Cratylus, “Not every genus of the gods has an appellation; for with respect to the first Deity, who is beyond all things, Parmenides teaches us that he is ineffable; and the first genera of the intelligible gods, who are united to the one, and are called occult, have much of the unknown and ineffable. For that which is perfectly effable cannot be conjoined with the perfectly ineffable; but it is necessary that the progression of intelligibles should terminate in this order, in which the first effable subsists, and that which is called by proper names. For there the first intelligible forms, and the intellectual nature of intelligibles, are unfolded into light. But, the natures prior to this being silent and occult, are only known by intelligence. Hence the whole of the telestic science energizing theurgically ascends as far as to this order. Orpheus also says that this is first called by a name by the other gods; for the light proceeding from it is known to and denominated by the intellectual gods.”

-  Psalm xviii:11; xcvii:2. -

With no less magnificence therefore than piety, does Proclus thus speak concerning the ineffable principle of things. “Let us now if ever remove from ourselves multiform knowledge, exterminate all the variety of life, and in perfect quiet approach near to the cause of all things. For this purpose, let not only opinion and phantasy be at rest, nor the passions alone which impede our anagogic impulse to the first be at peace; but let the air, and the universe itself, be still. And let all things extend us with a tranquil power to communion with the ineffable. Let us also standing there, having transcended the intelligible (if we contain any thing of this kind), and with nearly closed eyes adoring as it were the rising sun, since it is not lawful for any being whatever intently to behold him, — let us survey the sun whence the light of the intelligible gods proceeds, emerging, as the poets say, from the bosom of the ocean; and again from this divine tranquillity descending into intellect, and from intellect employing the reasonings of the soul, let us relate to ourselves what the natures are from which in this progression we shall consider the first God as exempt. And let us as it were celebrate him, not as establishing the earth and the heavens, nor as giving subsistence to souls, and the generations of all animals; for he produced these indeed, but among the last of things. But prior to these, let us celebrate him as unfolding into light the whole intelligible and intellectual genus of gods, together with all the supermundane and mundane divinities as, the God of all gods, the Unity of all unities, and beyond the first adyta — as more ineffable than all silence, and more unknown than all essence, — as holy among the holies, and concealed in the intelligible gods.” Such is the piety, such the sublimity, and magnificence of conception, with which the Platonic philosophers speak of that which is in reality in every respect ineffable, when they presume to speak about it, extending the ineffable parturitions of the soul to the ineffable cosensation of the incomprehensible one.

From this sublime veneration of this most awful nature, which, as is noticed in the extracts from Damascius, induced the most ancient theologists, philosophers, and poets, to be entirely silent concerning it, arose the great reverence which the ancients paid to the divinities even of a mundane characteristic, or from whom bodies are suspended, considering them also as partaking of the nature of the ineffable, and as so many links of the truly golden chain of deity. Hence we find in the Odyssey, when Ulysses and Telemachus are removing the arms from the walls of the palace of Ithaca, and Minerva going before them with her golden lamp fills all the place with a divine light, [Greek: . . . . . paroithe de pallas Athene Chryseon lychnon echrusa phars perikalles epoiei.]

Before thee Pallas Athene bore a golden cresset and cast a most lovely
light. Telemachus having observed that certainly some one of the celestial
gods was present,
[Greek:
Emala tis deos endon, of ouranon euryn echousi.]

Verily some God is within, of those that hold the wide heaven. Ulysses says in reply, “Be silent, restrain your intellect (i.e. even cease to energize intellectually), and speak not.” [Greek: Siga, kai kata son noon ischana, med’ ereeine.]

Hold thy peace and keep all this in thine heart and ask not hereof.
— Book 19, Odyssey.

Lastly, from all that has been said, it must, I think, be immediately obvious to every one whose mental eye is not entirely blinded, that there can be no such thing as a trinity in the theology of Plato, in any respect analogous to the Christian Trinity. For the highest God, according to Plato, as we have largely shown from irresistible evidence, is so far from being a part of a consubsistent triad, that he is not to be connumerated with any thing; but is so perfectly exempt from all multitude, that he is even beyond being; and he so ineffably transcends all relation and habitude, that language is in reality subverted about him, and knowledge refunded into ignorance. What that trinity however is in the theology of Plato, which doubtless gave birth to the Christian, will be evident to the intelligent from the notes on the Parmenides, and the extracts, from Damascius. And thus much for the doctrine of Plato concerning the principle of things, and his immediate offspring, the great importance of which will, I doubt not, be a sufficient apology for the length of this discussion.

In the next place, following Proclus and Olympiodorus as our guides, let us consider the mode according to which Plato teaches us mystic conceptions of divine natures: for he appears not to have pursued every where the same mode of doctrine about these; but sometimes according to a divinely inspired energy, and at other times dialectically, he evolves the truth concerning them. And sometimes he symbolically announces their ineffable idioms, but at other times he recurs to them from images, and discovers in them the primary causes of wholes. For in the Phaedrus being evidently inspired, and having exchanged human intelligence for a better possession, divine mania, he unfolds many arcane dogmas concerning the intellectual, liberated, and mundane gods. But in the Sophista dialectically contending about being, and the subsistence of the one above beings, and doubting against philosophers more ancient than himself, he shows how all beings are suspended from their cause and the first being, but that being itself participates of that unity which is exempt from all things, that it is a passive, one, but not the one itself, being subject to and united to the one, but not being that which is primarily one. In a similar manner too, in the Parmenides, he unfolds dialectically the progressions of being from the one, through the first hypothesis of that dialogue, and this, as he there asserts, according to the most perfect division of this method. And again in the Gorgias, he relates the fable concerning the three fabricators, and their demiurgic allotment. But in the Banquet he speaks concerning the union of love; and in the Protagoras, about the distribution of mortal animals from the gods; in a symbolical manner concealing the truth concerning divine natures, and as far as to mere indication unfolding his mind to the most genuine of his readers.

-  It is necessary to observe, that, according to Plato, whatever participates of any thing is said to be passive to that which it participates, and the participations themselves are called by him passions. -

Again, if it be necessary to mention the doctrine delivered through the mathematical disciplines, and the discussion of divine concerns from ethical or physical discourses, of which many may be contemplated in the Timaeus, many in the dialogue called Politicus, and many may be seen scattered in other dialogues; here likewise, to those who are desirous of knowing divine concerns through images, the method will be apparent. Thus, for instance, the Politicus shadows forth the fabrication in the heavens. But the figures of the five elements, delivered in geometrical proportions in the Timaeus, represent in images the idioms of the gods who preside over the parts of the universe. And the divisions of the essence of the soul in that dialogue shadow forth the total orders of the gods. To this we may also add that Plato composes politics, assimilating them to divine natures, and adorning them from the whole world and the powers which it contains. All these, therefore, through the similitude of mortal to divine concerns, exhibit to us in images the progressions, orders, and fabrications of the latter. And such are the modes of theologic doctrine employed by Plato.

“But those,” says Proclus, “who treat of divine concerns in an indicative manner, either speak symbolically and fabulously, or through images. And of those who openly announce their conceptions, some frame their discourses according to science, but others according to inspiration from the gods. And he who desires to signify divine concerns through symbols is Orphic, and, in short, accords with those who write fables respecting the gods. But he who does this through images is Pythagoric. For the mathematical disciplines were invented by the Pythagorean in order to a reminiscence of divine concerns, to which through these as images, they endeavour to ascend. For they refer both numbers and figures to the gods, according to the testimony of their historians. But the enthusiastic character, or he who is divinely inspired, unfolding the truth itself concerning the gods essentially, perspicuously ranks among the highest initiators. For these do not think proper to unfold the divine orders, or their idioms, to their familiars through veils, but announce their powers and their numbers in consequence of being moved by the gods themselves. But the tradition of divine concerns according to science is the illustrious, prerogative of the Platonic philosophy. For Plato alone, as it appears to me of all those who are known to us, has attempted methodically to divide and reduce into order the regular progression of the divine genera, their mutual difference, the common idioms of the total orders, and the distributed idioms in each.”

Again, since Plato employs fables, let us in the first place consider whence the ancients were induced to devise fables, and in the second place, what the difference is between the fables of philosophers and those of poets. In answer to the first question then, it is necessary to know that the ancients employed fables looking to two things, viz. nature, and our soul. They employed them by looking to nature, and the fabrication of things, as follows. Things unapparent are believed from things apparent, and incorporeal natures from bodies. For seeing the orderly arrangement of bodies, we understand that a certain incorporeal power presides over them; as with respect to the celestial bodies, they have a certain presiding motive power. As we therefore see that our body is moved, but is no longer so after death, we conceive that it was a certain incorporeal power which moved it. Hence, perceiving that we believe things incorporeal and unapparent from things apparent and corporeal, fables came to be adopted, that we might come from things apparent to certain unapparent natures; as, for instance, that on hearing the adulteries, bonds, and lacerations of the gods, castrations of heaven, and the like, we may not rest satisfied with the apparent meaning of such like particulars, but may proceed to the unapparent, and investigate the true signification. After this manner, therefore, looking to the nature of things, were fables employed.

But from looking to our souls, they originated as follows: While we are children we live according to the phantasy, but the phantastic part is conversant with figures, and types, and things of this kind. That the phantastic part in us therefore may be preserved, we employ fables in consequence of this part rejoicing in fables. It may also be said that a fable is nothing else than a false discourse shadowing forth the truth: for a fable is the image of truth. But the soul is the image of the natures prior to herself; and hence the soul very properly rejoices in fables, as an image in an image. As we are therefore from our childhood nourished in fables, it is necessary that they should be introduced. And thus much for the first problem, concerning the origin of fables.

In the next place let us consider what the difference is between the fables of philosophers and poets. Each therefore has something in which it abounds more than, and something in which it is deficient from the other. Thus, for instance, the poetic fable abounds in this, that we must not rest satisfied with the apparent meaning, but pass on to the occult truth. For who, endued with intellect, would believe that Jupiter was desirous of having connection with Juno, and on the ground, without waiting to go into the bed-chamber. So that the poetic fable abounds, in consequence of asserting such things as do not suffer us to stop at the apparent, but lead us to explore the occult truth. But it is defective in this, that it deceives those of a juvenile age. Plato therefore neglects fable of this kind, and banishes Homer from his Republic; because youth on hearing such fables, will not be able to distinguish what is allegorical from what is not.

Philosophical fables, on the contrary, do not injure those that go no further than the apparent meaning. Thus, for instance, they assert that there are punishments and rivers under the earth: and if we adhere to the literal meaning of these we shall not be injured. But they are deficient in this, that as their apparent signification does not injure, we often content ourselves with this, and do not explore the latent truth. We may also say that philosophic fables look to the enemies of the soul. For if we were entirely intellect alone, and had no connection with phantasy, we should not require fables, in consequence of always associating with intellectual natures. If again, we were entirely irrational, and lived according to the phantasy, and had no other energy than this, it would be requisite that the whole of our life should be fabulous. Since, however, we possess intellect, opinion, and phantasy, demonstrations are given with a view to intellect; and hence Plato says that if you are willing to energize according to intellect, you will have demonstrations bound with adamantine chains; if according to opinion, you will have the testimony of renowned persons; and if according to the phantasy, you have fables by which it is excited; so that from all these you will derive advantage.

Plato therefore rejects the more tragical mode of mythologizing of the ancient poets, who thought proper to establish an arcane theology respecting the gods, and on this account devised wanderings, castrations, battles and lacerations of the gods, and many other such symbols of the truth about divine natures which this theology conceals; — this mode he rejects, and asserts that it is in every respect most foreign from erudition. But he considers those mythological discourses about the gods as more persuasive and more adapted to truth, which assert that a divine nature is the cause of all good, but of no evil, and that it is void of all mutation, comprehending in itself the fountain of truth, but never becoming the cause of any deception to others. For such types of theology Socrates delivers in the Republic.

All the fables therefore of Plato guarding the truth in concealment, have not even their externally apparent apparatus discordant with our undisciplined and unperverted anticipations of divinity. But they bring with them an image of the mundane composition in which both the apparent beauty is worthy of divinity, and a beauty more divine than this is established in the unapparent lives and powers of its causes.

In the next place, that the reader may see whence and from what dialogues principally the theological dogmas of Plato may be collected, I shall present him with the following translation of what Proclus has admirably written on this subject.

“The truth (says he) concerning the gods pervades, as I may say, through all the Platonic dialogues, and in all of them conceptions of the first philosophy, venerable, clear, and supernatural, are disseminated, in some more obscurely, but in others more conspicuously; — conceptions which excite those that are in any respect able to partake of them, to the immaterial and separate essence of the gods. And as in each part of the universe and in nature itself, the demiurgus of all which the world contains established resemblances of the unknown essence of the gods, that all things might be converted to divinity through their alliance with it, in like manner I am of opinion, that the divine intellect of Plato weaves conceptions about the gods with all its progeny, and leaves nothing deprived of the mention of divinity, that from the whole of its offspring a reminiscence of total natures may be obtained, and imparted to the genuine lovers of divine concerns.

“But if it be requisite to lay before the reader those dialogues out of many which principally unfold to us the mystic discipline about the gods, I shall not err in ranking among this number the Phaedo and Phaedrus, the Banquet and the Philebus, and together with these the Sophista and Politicus, the Cratylus and the Timaeus. For all these are full through the whole of themselves, as I may say, of the divine science of Plato. But I should place in the second rank after these, the fable in the Gorgias, and that in the Protagoras, likewise the assertions about the providence of the gods in the Laws, and such things as are delivered about the Fates, or the mother of the Fates, or the circulations of the universe, in the tenth book of the Republic. Again you may, if you please, place in the third rank those Epistles through which we may be able to arrive at the science about divine natures. For in these, mention is made of the three kings; and many other divine dogmas worthy the Platonic theory are delivered. It is necessary therefore, regarding these, to explore in them each order of the gods.

Thus from the Philebus, we may receive the science respecting the one good, and the two first principles of things (bound and infinity) together with the triad subsisting from these. For you will find all these distinctly delivered to us by Plato in that dialogue. But from the Timaeus you may obtain the theory about intelligibles, a divine narration about the demiurgic monad, and the most full truth about the mundane gods. From the Phaedrus you may learn all the intelligible and intellectual genera, and the liberated orders of the gods, which are proximately established above the celestial circulations. From the Politicus you may obtain the theory of the fabrication in the heavens, of the periods of the universe, and of the intellectual causes of those periods. But from the Sophista you may learn the whole sublunary generation, and the idiom of the gods who are allotted the sublunary region, and preside over its generations and corruptions. And with respect to each of the gods, we may obtain many sacred conceptions from the Banquet, many from the Cratylus, and many from the Phaedo. For in each of these dialogues more or less mention is made of divine names, from which it is easy for those who are exorcised in divine concerns to discover by a reasoning process the idioms of each.

“It is necessary, however, to evince that each of the dogmas accords with Platonic principles and the mystic traditions of theologists. For all the Grecian theology is the progeny of the mystic doctrine of Orpheus; Pythagoras first of all learning from Aglaophemus the origins of the gods, but Plato in the second place receiving an all-perfect science of the divinities from the Pythagoric and Orphic writings. For in the Philebus, referring the theory about the two forms of principles (bound and infinity) to the Pythagoreans, he calls them men dwelling with the gods, and truly blessed. Philolaus, therefore, the Pythagorean, has left for us in writing admirable conceptions about these principles, celebrating their common progression into beings, and their separate fabrication. Again, in the Timaeus, endeavouring to teach us about the sublunary gods and their order, Plato flies to theologists, calls them the sons of the gods, and makes them the fathers of the truth about these divinities. And lastly, he delivers the orders of the sublunary gods proceeding from wholes, according to the progression delivered by theologists of the intellectual kings. Further still, in the Cratylus he follows the traditions of theologists respecting the order of the divine processions. But in the Gorgias he adopts the Homeric dogma, respecting the triadic hypostases of the demiurgi. And, in short, he every where discourses concerning the gods agreeably to the principles of theologists; rejecting indeed the tragical part of mythological fiction, but establishing first hypotheses in common with the authors of fables.

“Perhaps, however, some one may here object to us, that we do not in a proper manner exhibit the every where dispersed theology of Plato, and that we endeavour to heap together different particulars from different dialogues, as if we were studious of collecting many things into one mixture, instead of deriving them all from one and the same fountain. For if this were our intention, we might indeed refer different dogmas to different treatises of Plato, but we shall by no means have a precedaneous doctrine concerning the gods, nor will there be any dialogue which presents us with an all-perfect and entire procession of the divine genera, and their coordination with each other. But we shall be similar to those who endeavor to obtain a whole from parts, through the want of a whole prior to parts, and to weave together the perfect, from things imperfect, when, on the contrary, the imperfect ought to have the first cause of its generation in the perfect. For the Timaeus, for instance, will teach us the theory of the intelligible genera, and the Phaedrus appears to present us with a regular account of the first intellectual orders. But where will be the coordination of intellectuals to intelligibles? And what will be the generation of second from first natures? In short, after what manner the progression of the divine orders takes place from the one principle of all things, and how in the generations of the gods, the orders between the one, and all-perfect number, are filled up, we shall be unable to evince.

-  A whole prior to parts is that which causally contains parts in itself. Such parts too, when they proceed from their occult causal subsistence, and have a distinct being of their own, are nevertheless comprehended, though in a different manner, in their producing whole. -

“Further still, it may be said, where will be the venerableness of your boasted science about divine natures? For it is absurd to call these dogmas, which are collected from many places, Platonic, and which, as you acknowledge, are reduced from foreign names to the philosophy of Plato; nor are you able to evince the whole entire truth about divine natures. Perhaps, indeed, they will say that certain persons, junior to Plato, have delivered in their writings, and left to their disciples, one perfect form of philosophy. You, therefore, are able to produce one entire theory about nature from the Timaeus; but from the Republic, or Laws, the most beautiful dogmas about morals, and which tend to one form of philosophy. Alone, therefore, neglecting the treatise of Plato, which contains all the good of the first philosophy, and which may be called the summit of the whole theory, you will be deprived of the most perfect knowledge of beings, unless you are so much infatuated as to boast on account of fabulous fictions, though an analysis of things of this kind abounds with much of the probable, but not of the demonstrative. Besides, things of this kind are only delivered adventitiously in the Platonic dialogues; as the fable in the Protagoras, which is inserted for the sake of the political science, and the demonstrations respecting it. In like manner the fable in the Republic is inserted for the sake of justice; and in the Gorgias for the sake of temperance. For Plato combines fabulous narrations with investigations of ethical dogmas, not for the sake of the fables, but for the sake of the leading design, that we may not only exercise the intellectual part of the soul, through contending reasons, but that the divine part of the soul may more perfectly receive the knowledge of beings, through its sympathy with more mystic concerns. For from other discourses we resemble those who are compelled to the reception of truth; but from fables we are affected in an ineffable manner, and call forth our unperverted conceptions, venerating the mystic information which they contain.

“Hence, as it appears to me, Timaeus with great propriety thinks it fit that we should produce the divine genera, following the inventors of fables as sons of the gods, and subscribe to their always generating secondary natures from such as are first, though they should speak without demonstration. For this kind of discourse is not demonstrative, but entheastic, or the progeny of divine inspiration; and was invented by the ancients, not through necessity, but for the sake of persuasion, not regarding naked discipline, but sympathy with things themselves. But if you are willing to speculate not only the causes of fables, but of other theological dogmas, you will find that some of them are scattered in the Platonic dialogues for the sake of ethical, and others for the sake of physical considerations. For in the Philebus, Plato discourses concerning bound and infinity, for the sake of pleasure, and a life according to intellect. For I think the latter are species of the former. In the Timaeus the discourse about the intelligible gods is assumed for the sake of the proposed physiology. On which account, it is every where necessary that images should be known from paradigms, but that the paradigms of material things should be immaterial, of sensibles, intelligible, and of physical forms, separate from nature. But in the Phaedrus, Plato celebrates the supercelestial place, the subcelestial profundity, and every genus under this for the sake of amatory mania; the manner in which the reminiscence of souls takes place; and the passage to these from hence. Every where, however, the leading end, as I may say, is either physical or political, while the conceptions about divine natures are introduced either for the sake of invention or perfection. How, therefore, can such a theory as yours be any longer venerable and supernatural, and worthy to be studied beyond every thing, when it is neither able to evince the whole in itself, nor the perfect, nor that which is precedaneous in the writings of Plato, but is destitute of all these, is violent and not spontaneous, and does not possess a genuine, but an adventitious order, as in a drama? And such are the particulars which may be urged against our design.

“To this objection I shall make a just and perspicuous reply. I say then that Plato every where discourses about the gods agreeably to ancient opinions and the nature of things. And sometimes indeed, for the sake of the cause of the things proposed, he reduces them to the principles of the dogmas, and thence, as from an exalted place of survey, contemplates the nature of the thing proposed. But some times he establishes the theological science as the leading end. For in the Phaedrus, his subject respects intelligible beauty, and the participation of beauty pervading thence through all things; and in the Banquet it respects the amatory order.

“But if it be necessary to consider, in one Platonic dialogue, the all-perfect, whole and connected, extending as far as to the complete number of theology, I shall perhaps assert a paradox, and which will alone be apparent to our familiars. We ought however to dare, since we have begun the assertion, and affirm against our opponents, that the Parmenides, and the mystic conceptions of this dialogue, will accomplish all you desire. For in this dialogue, all the divine genera proceed in order from the first cause, and evince their mutual suspension from each other. And those indeed which are highest, connate with the one, and of a primary nature, are allotted a form of subsistence, characterized by unity, occult and simple; but such as are last are multiplied, are distributed into many parts, and excel in number, but are inferior in power to such as are of a higher order; and such as are middle, according to a convenient proportion, are more composite than their causes, but more simple than their proper progeny. And, in short, all the axioms of the theological science appear in perfection in this dialogue; and all the divine orders are exhibited subsisting in connection. So that this is nothing else than the celebrated generation of the gods, and the procession of every kind of being from the ineffable and unknown cause of wholes. The Parmenides therefore, enkindles in the lovers of Plato the whole and perfect light of the theological science. But after this, the aforementioned dialogues distribute parts of the mystic discipline about the gods, and all of them, as I may say, participate of divine wisdom, and excite our spontaneous conceptions respecting a divine nature.

— The principle of all things is celebrated by Platonic philosophy as the cause of wholes, because through transcendency of power he first produces those powers in the universe which rank as wholes, and afterward those which rank as parts through these. Agreeably to this Jupiter, the artificer of the universe, is almost always called [Greek: demiourgos ton olon], the demiurgus of wholes. See the Timaeus, and the Introduction to it. —

And it is necessary to refer all the parts of this mystic discipline to these dialogues, and these again to the one and all perfect theory of the Parmenides. For thus, as it appears to me, we shall suspend the more imperfect from the perfect, and parts from wholes, and shall exhibit reasons assimilated to things of which, according to the Platonic Timaeus, they are interpreters. Such then is our answer to the objection which may be urged against us; and thus we refer the Platonic theory to the Parmenides; just as the Timaeus is acknowledged by all who have the least degree of intelligence to contain the whole science about nature.”

All that is here asserted by Proclus will be immediately admitted by the reader who understands the outlines which we have here given of the theology of Plato, and who is besides this a complete master of the mystic meaning of the Parmenides; which I trust he will find sufficiently unfolded, through the assistance of Proclus, in the introduction and notes to that dialogue.

The next important Platonic dogma in order, is that doctrine concerning ideas, about which the reader will find so much said in the notes on the Parmenides, that but little remains to be added here. That little however is as follows: The divine Pythagoras, and all those who have legitimately received his doctrines, among whom Plato holds the most distinguished rank, asserted that there are many orders of beings, viz. intelligible, intellectual, dianoetic, physical, or in short, vital and corporeal essences. For the progression of things, the subjection which naturally subsists together with such progression, and the power of diversity in coordinate genera give subsistence to all the multitude of corporeal and incorporeal natures. They said, therefore, that there are three orders in the whole extent of beings; viz. the intelligible, the dianoetic, and the sensible; and that in each of these ideas subsist, characterized by the respective essential properties of the natures by which they are contained. And with respect to intelligible ideas, these they placed among divine natures, together with the producing, paradigmatic, and final causes of things in a consequent order. For if these three causes sometimes concur, and are united among themselves, (which Aristotle says is the case), without doubt this will not happen in the lowest works of nature, but in the first and most excellent causes of all things, which on account of their exuberant fecundity have a power generative of all things, and from their converting and rendering similar to themselves the natures which they have generated, are the paradigms, or exemplars of all things. But as these divine causes act for their own sake, and on account of their own goodness, do they not exhibit the final cause? Since therefore intelligible forms are of this kind, and are the leaders of so much good to wholes, they give completion to the divine orders, though they largely subsist about the intelligible order contained in the artificer of the universe. But dianoetic forms or ideas imitate the intellectual, which have a prior subsistence, render the order of soul similar to the intellectual order, and comprehend all things in a secondary degree.

These forms beheld in divine natures possess a fabricative power, but with us they are only gnostic, and no longer demiurgic, through the defluxion of our wings, or degradation of our intellectual powers. For, as Plato says in the Phaedrus, when the winged powers of the soul are perfect and plumed for flight, she dwells on high, and in conjunction with divine natures governs the world. In the Timaeus, he manifestly asserts that the demiurgus implanted these dianoetic forms in souls, in geometric, arithmetic, and harmonic proportions: but in his Republic (in the section of a line in the 6th book) he calls them images of intelligibles; and on this account does not for the most part disdain to denominate them intellectual, as being the exemplars of sensible natures. In the Phaedo he says that these are the causes to us of reminiscence; because disciplines are nothing else than reminiscences of middle dianoetic forms, from which the productive powers of nature being derived and inspired, give birth to all the mundane phenomena.

Plato however did not consider things definable, or in modern language abstract ideas, as the only universals, but prior to these he established those principles productive of science which essentially reside in the soul, as is evident from his Phaedrus and Phaedo. In the 10th book of the Republic too, he venerates those separate forms which subsist in a divine intellect. In the Phaedrus, he asserts that souls elevated to the supercelestial place, behold Justice herself, temperance herself, and science herself; and lastly in the Phaedo he evinces the immortality of the soul from the hypothesis of separate forms.

Syrianus, in his commentary on the 13th book of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, shows in defense of Socrates, Plato, the Parmenideans, and Pythagoreans, that ideas were not introduced by these divine men according to the usual meaning of names, as was the opinion of Chrysippus, Archedemus, and many of the junior Stoics; for ideas are distinguished by many differences from things which are denominated from custom. Nor do they subsist, says he, together with intellect, in the same manner as those slender conceptions which are denominated universals abstracted from sensibles, according to the hypothesis of Longinus: for if that which subsists is unsubstantial, it cannot be consubsistent with intellect.

-  See my translation of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, p. 347. If the reader conjoins what is said concerning ideas in the notes on that work, with the introduction and notes to the Parmenides in this, he will be in possession of nearly all that is to be found in the writings of the ancients on this subject.

It appears from this passage of Syrianus that Longinus was the original inventor of the theory of abstract ideas; and that Mr. Locke was merely the restorer of it. -

Nor are ideas according to these men notions, as Cleanthes afterwards asserted them to be. Nor is idea definite reason, nor material form; for these subsist in composition and division, and verge to matter. But ideas are perfect, simple, immaterial, and impartible natures. And what wonder is there, says Syrianus, if we should separate things which are so much distant from each other? Since neither do we imitate in this particular Plutarch, Atticus, and Democritus, who, because universal reasons perpetually subsist in the essence of the soul, were of opinion that these reasons are ideas: for though they separate them from the universal in sensible natures, yet it is not proper to conjoin in one and the same the reason of soul, and an intellect such as ours, with paradigmatic and immaterial forms, and demiurgic intellections. But as the divine Plato says, it is the province of our soul to collect things into one by a reasoning process, and to possess a reminiscence of those transcendent spectacles, which we once beheld when governing the universe in conjunction with divinity. Boethus, the peripatetic too, with whom it is proper to join Cornutus; thought that ideas are the same with universals in sensible natures. However, whether these universals are prior to particulars, they are not prior in such a manner as to be denudated from the habitude which they possess with respect to them, nor do they subsist as the causes of particulars; both which are the prerogatives of ideas; or whether they are posterior to particulars, as many are accustomed to call them, how can things of posterior origin, which have no essential subsistence, but are nothing more than slender conceptions, sustain the dignity of fabricative ideas?

— -  This was a Greek philosopher, who is often cited by Simplicius in his Commentary on the Predicaments, and must not therefore be confounded with Boetius, the roman senator and philosopher. — -

In what manner then, says Syrianus, do ideas subsist according to the contemplative lovers of truth? We reply, intelligibly and tetradically ([Greek: noeros kai tetradikos]), in animal itself ([Greek: en to antozoo]), or the extremity of the intelligible order; but intellectually and decadically ([Greek: noeros kai dekadikos]), in the intellect of the artificer of the universe; for, according to the Pythagoric Hymn, “Divine number proceeds from the retreats of the undecaying monad, till it arrives at the divine tetrad which produced the mother of all things, the universal recipient, venerable, circularly investing all things with bound, immovable and unwearied, and which is denominated the sacred decad, both by the immortal gods and earth-born men.”

[Greek:
Proeisi gar o Theios arithmos, os phesin o Pythagoreios eis auton
umnos,
Monados ek keuthmonos akeralou esti’an iketai
Tetrada epi zatheen, he de teke metera panton,
Pandechea, presbeiran, oron peri pasi titheiran,
Atropon, akamatou, dekada kleiousi min agnen,
Athanatoi to theoi kai gegeneeis anthropoi.]

And such is the mode of their subsistence according to Orpheus, Pythagoras and Plato. Or if it be requisite to speak in more familiar language, an intellect sufficient to itself, and which is a most perfect cause, presides over the wholes of the universe, and through these governs all its parts; but at the same time that it fabricates all mundane natures, and benefits them by its providential energies, it preserves its own most divine and immaculate purity; and while it illuminates all things, is not mingled with the natures which it illuminates. This intellect, therefore, comprehending in the depths of its essence an ideal world, replete with all various forms, excludes privation of cause and casual subsistence, from its energy. But as it imparts every good and all possible beauty to its fabrications, it converts the universe to itself, and renders it similar to its own omniform nature. Its energy, too, is such as its intellection; but it understands all things, since it is most perfect. Hence there is not any thing which ranks among true beings, that is not comprehended in the essence of intellect; but it always establishes in itself ideas, which are not different from itself and its essence, but give completion to it, and introduce to the whole of things, a cause which is at the same time productive, paradigmatic, and final. For it energizes as intellect, and the ideas which it contains are paradigmatic, as being forms; and they energize from themselves, and according to their own exuberant goodness. And such are the Platonic dogmas concerning ideas, which sophistry and ignorance may indeed oppose, but will never be able to confute.

From this intelligible world, replete with omniform ideas, this sensible world, according to Plato, perpetually flows, depending on its artificer intellect, in the same manner as shadow on its forming substance. For as a deity of an intellectual characteristic is its fabricator, and both the essence and energy of intellect are established in eternity the sensible universe, which is the effect or production of such an energy, must be consubsistent with its cause, or in other words, must be a perpetual emanation from it. This will be evident from considering that every thing which is generated, is either generated by art or by nature, or according to power. It is necessary, therefore, that every thing operating according to nature or art should be prior to the things produced; but that things operating according to power should have their productions coexistent with themselves; just as the sun produces light coexistent with itself; fire, heat; and snow, coldness. If therefore the artificer of the universe produced it by art, he would not cause it simply to be, but to be in some particular manner; for all art produces form. Whence therefore does the world derive its being? If he produced it from nature, since that which makes by nature imparts something of itself to its productions, and the maker of the world is incorporeal, it would be necessary that the world, the offspring of such an energy, should be incorporeal. It remains therefore, that the demiurgus produced the universe by power alone; but every thing generated by power subsists together with the cause containing this power: and hence production of this kind cannot be destroyed unless the producing cause is deprived of power. The divine intellect therefore that produced the sensible universe caused it to be coexistent with himself.

This world thus depending on its divine artificer, who is himself an intelligible world replete with the archetypal ideas of all things, considered according to its corporeal nature, is perpetually flowing, and perpetually advancing to being (en to gignesthai), and compared with its paradigm, has no stability or reality of being. However, considered as animated by a divine soul, and as receiving the illuminations of all the supermundane gods, and being itself the receptacle of divinities from whom bodies are suspended, it is said by Plato in the Timaeus to be a blessed god. The great body of this world too, which subsists in a perpetual dispersion of temporal extension, may be properly called a whole with a total subsistence, on account of the perpetuity of its duration, though this is nothing more than a flowing eternity. And hence Plato calls it a whole of wholes; by the other wholes which are comprehended in its meaning, the celestial spheres, the sphere of fire, the whole of air considered as one great orb; the whole earth, and the whole sea. These spheres, which are called by Platonic writers parts with a total subsistence, are considered by Plato as aggoregately perpetual. For if the body of this world is perpetual, this also must be the case with its larger parts, on account of their exquisite alliance to it, and in order that wholes with a partial subsistence, such as all individuals, may rank in the last gradation of things.

As the world too, considered as one great comprehending whole, is called by Plato a divine animal, so likewise every whole which it contains is a world, possessing in the first place, a self-perfect unity; proceeding from the ineffable, by which it becomes a god; in the second place, a divine intellect; in the third place, a divine soul; and in the last place, a deified body. Hence each of these wholes is the producing cause of all the multitude which it contains, and on this account is said to be a whole prior to parts; because, considered as possessing an eternal form which holds all its parts together, and gives to the whole perpetuity of subsistence, it is not indigent of such parts to the perfection of its being. That these wholes which rank thus high in the universe are animated, must follow by a geometrical necessity. For, as Theophrastus well observes, wholes would possess less authority than parts, and things eternal than such as are corruptible, if deprived of the possession of soul.

And now having with venturous, yet unpresuming wing, ascended to the ineffable principle of things, and standing with every eye closed in the vestibules of the adytum, found that we could announce nothing concerning him, but only indicate our doubts and disappointment, and having thence descended to his occult and most venerable progeny, and passing through the luminous world of ideas, holding fast by the golden chain of deity, terminated our downward flight in the material universe, and its undecaying wholes, let us stop awhile and contemplate the sublimity and magnificence of the scene which this journey presents to our view. Here then we see the vast empire of deity, an empire terminated upwards by a principle so ineffable that all language is subverted about it, and downwards, by the vast body of the world. Immediately subsisting after this immense unknown we in the next place behold a mighty all- comprehending one, which as being next to that which is in every respect incomprehensible, possesses much of the ineffable and unknown. From this principle of principles, in which all things casually subsist absorbed in superessential light and involved in unfathomable depths, we view a beauteous progeny of principles, all largely partaking of the ineffable, all stamped with the occult characters of deity, all possessing an over-flowing fullness of good. From these dazzling summits, these ineffable blossoms, these divine propagations, we next see being, life, intellect, soul, nature and body depending; monads suspended from unities, deified natures proceeding from deities. Each of these monads too, is the leader of a series which extends from itself to the last of things, and which while it proceeds from, at the same time abides in, and returns to its leader. And all these principles and all their progeny are finally centred, and rooted by their summits in the first great all- comprehending one. Thus all beings proceed from, and are comprehended in the first being; all intellects emanate from one first intellect; all souls from one first soul; all natures blossom from one first nature; and all bodies proceed from the vital and luminous body of the world. And lastly, all these great monads are comprehended in the first one, from which both they and all their depending series are unfolded into light. Hence this first one is truly the unity of unities, the monad of monads, the principle of principles, the God of gods, one and all things, and yet one prior to all.

Such, according to Plato, are the flights of the true philosopher, such the August and magnificent scene which presents itself to his view. By ascending these luminous heights, the spontaneous tendencies of the soul to deity alone find the adequate object of their desire; investigation here alone finally reposes, doubt expires in certainty, and knowledge loses itself in the ineffable.

And here perhaps some grave objector, whose little soul is indeed acute, but sees nothing with a vision healthy and sound, will say that all this is very magnificent, but that it is soaring too high for man; that it is merely the effect of spiritual pride; that no truths, either in morality or theology, are of any importance which are not adapted to the level of the meanest capacity; and that all that it is necessary for man to know concerning either God or himself is so plain, that he that runs may read. In answer to such like cant, for it is nothing more, — a cant produced by the most profound ignorance, and frequently attended with the most deplorable envy, I ask, is then the Delphic precept, KNOW THYSELF, a trivial mandate? Can this be accomplished by every man? Or can any one properly know himself without knowing the rank he holds in the scale of being? And can this be effected without knowing what are the natures which he surpasses, and what those are by which he is surpassed? And can he know this without knowing as much of those natures as it is possible for him to know? And will the objector be hardy enough to say that every man is equal to this arduous task? That he who rushes from the forge, or the mines, with a soul distorted, crushed and bruised by base mechanical arts, and madly presumes to teach theology to a deluded audience, is master of this sublime, this most important science? For my own part I know of no truths which are thus obvious, thus accessible to every man, but axioms, those self-evident principles of science which are conspicuous by their own light, which are the spontaneous unperverted conceptions of the soul, and to which he who does not assent deserves, as Aristotle justly remarks, either pity or correction. In short, if this is to be the criterion of all moral and theological knowledge, that it must be immediately obvious to every man, that it is to be apprehended by the most careless inspection, what occasion is there for seminaries of learning? Education is ridiculous, the toil of investigation is idle. Let us at once confine Wisdom in the dungeons of Folly, recall Ignorance from her barbarous wilds, and close the gates of Science with everlasting bars.

Having thus taken a general survey of the great world, and descended from the intelligible to the sensible universe, let us still, adhering to that golden chain which is bound round the summit of Olympus, and from which all things are suspended, descend to the microcosm man. For man comprehends in himself partially everything which the world contains divinely and totally. Hence, according to Pluto, he is endued with an intellect subsisting in energy, and a rational soul proceeding from the same father and vivific goddess as were the causes of the intellect and soul of the universe. He has likewise an ethereal vehicle analogous to the heavens, and a terrestrial body, composed from the four elements, and with which also it is coordinate.

With respect to his rational part, for in this the essence of man consists, we have already shown that it is of a self-motive nature, and that it subsists between intellect, which is immovable both in essence and energy, and nature, which both moves and is moved. In consequence of this middle subsistence, the mundane soul, from which all partial souls are derived, is said by Plato in the Timaeus, to be a medium between that which is indivisible and that which is divisible about bodies, i.e. the mundane soul is a medium between the mundane intellect, and the whole of that corporeal life which the world participates. In like manner, the human soul is a medium between a daemoniacal intellect proximately, established above our essence, which it also elevates and perfects, and that corporeal life which is distributed about our body, and which is the cause of its generation, nutrition and increase. This daemoniacal intellect is called by Plato, in the Phaedrus, theoretic and, the governor of the soul. The highest part therefore of the human soul is the summit of the dianoetic power ([Greek: to akrotaton tes dianoias]), or that power which reasons scientifically; and this summit is our intellect. As, however, our very essence is characterized by reason, this our summit is rational, and though it subsists in energy, yet it has a remitted union with things themselves. Though too it energizes from itself, and contains intelligibles in its essence, yet from its alliance to the discursive nature of soul, and its inclination to that which is divisible, it falls short of the perfection of an intellectual essence and energy profoundly indivisible and united, and the intelligibles which it contains degenerate from the transcendently fulged and self-luminous nature of first intelligibles. Hence, in obtaining a perfectly indivisible knowledge, it requires to be perfected by an intellect whose energy is ever vigilant and unremitted; and it’s intelligibles, that they may become perfect, are indigent of the light which proceeds from separate intelligibles. Aristotle, therefore, very properly compares the intelligibles of our intellect to colors, because these require the splendour of the sun, and denominates an intellect of this kind, intellect in capacity, both on account of its subordination to an essential intellect, and because it is from a separate intellect that it receives the full perfection of its nature. The middle part of the rational soul is called by Plato, dianoia, and is that power which, as we have already said, reasons scientifically, deriving the principles of its reasoning, which are axioms from intellect. And the extremity of the rational soul is opinion, which in his Sophista he defines to be that power which knows the conclusion of dianoia. This power also knows the universal in sensible particulars, as that every man is a biped, but it knows only the oti, or that a thing is, but is ignorant of the dioti, or why it is: knowledge of the latter kind being the province of the dianoetic power.

And such is Plato’s division of the rational part of our nature, which he very justly considers as the true man; the essence of every thing consisting in its most excellent part.

After this follows the irrational nature, the summit of which is the phantasy, or that power which perceives every thing accompanied with figure and interval; and on this account it may be called a figured intelligence ([Greek: morphotike noesis]). This power, as Jamblichus beautifully observes, groups upon, as it were, and fashions all the powers of the soul; exciting in opinion the illuminations from the senses, and fixing in that life which is extended with body, the impressions which descend from intellect. Hence, slays Proclus, it folds itself about the indivisibility of true intellect, conforms itself to all formless species, and becomes perfectly every thing, from which the dianoetic power and our indivisible reason consists. Hence too, it is all things passively which intellect is impassively, and on this account Aristotle calls it passive intellect. Under this subsist anger and desire, the former resembling a raging lion, and the latter a many-headed beast; and the whole is bounded by sense, which is nothing more than a passive perception of things, and on this account is justly said by Plato, to be rather passion than knowledge; since the former of these is characterized by alertness, and the latter by energy.

Further still, in order that the union of the soul with this gross terrestrial body may be effected in a becoming manner, two vehicles, according to Plato, are necessary as media, one of which is ethereal, and the other aerial, and of these, the ethereal vehicle is simple and immaterial, but the aerial, simple and material; and this dense earthly body is composite and material.

The soul thus subsisting as a medium between natures impartible and such as are divided about bodies, it produces and constitutes the latter of these; but establishes in itself the prior causes from which it proceeds. Hence it previously receives, after the manner of an exemplar, the natures to which it is prior as their cause; but it possesses through participation, and as the blossoms of first natures, the causes of its subsistence. Hence it contains in its essence immaterial forms of things material, incorporeal of such as are corporeal, and extended of such as are distinguished by interval. But it contains intelligibles after the manner of an image, and receives partibly their impartible forms, such as are uniform variously, and such as are immovable, according to a self-motive condition. Soul therefore is all things, and is elegantly said by Olympiodorus to be an omniform statue ([Greek: pammorphon agalma]): for it contains such things as are first through participation, but such as are posterior to its nature, after the manner of an exemplar.

As, too, it is always moved; and this always is not eternal, but temporal, for that which is properly eternal, and such is intellect, is perfectly stable, and has no transitive energies, hence it is necessary that its motions should be periodic. For motion is a certain mutation from some things into others. And beings are terminated by multitudes and magnitudes. These therefore being terminated, there can neither be an infinite mutation, according to a right line, nor can that which is always moved proceed according to a finished progression. Hence that which is always moved will proceed from the same to the same; and will thus form a periodic motion. Hence, too, the human, and this also is true of every mundane soul, uses periods and restitutions of its proper life. For, in consequence of being measured by time, it energizes transitively, and possesses a proper motion. But every thing which is moved perpetually and participates of time, revolves periodically and proceeds from the same to the same. And hence the soul, from possessing motion, and energizing according to time, will both possess periods of motion and restitutions to its pristine state.

Again, as the human soul, according to Plato, ranks among the number of those souls that sometimes follow the mundane divinities, in consequence of subsisting immediately after daemons and heroes, the perpetual attendants of the gods, hence it possesses a power of descending infinitely into generation, or the sublunary region, and of ascending from generation to real being. For since it does not reside with divinity through an infinite time, neither will it be conversant with bodies through the whole succeeding time. For that which has no temporal beginning, both according to Plato and Aristotle, cannot have an end; and that which has no end, is necessarily without a beginning. It remains, therefore, that every soul must perform periods, both of ascensions from generation, and of descensions into generation; and that this will never fail, through an infinite time.

From all this it follows that the soul, while an inhabitant of earth, is in a fallen condition, an apostate from deity, an exile from the orb of light. Hence Plato, in the 7th book of his Republic, considering our life with reference to erudition and the want of it, assimilates us to men in a subterranean cavern, who have been there confined from their childhood, and so fettered by chains as to be only able to look before them to the entrance of the cave which expands to the light, but incapable through the chain of turning themselves round. He supposes too, that they have the light of a fire burning far above and behind them; and that between the fire and the fettered men, there is a road above, along which a low wall is built. On this wall are seen men bearing utensils of every kind, and statues in wood and stone of men and other animals. And of these men some are speaking and others silent. With respect to the fettered men in this cave, they see nothing of themselves or another, or of what is carrying along, but the shadows formed by the fire falling on the opposite part of tho cave. He supposes too, that the opposite part of this prison has an echo; and that in consequence of this the fettered men, when they hear any one speak, will imagine that it is nothing else than the passing shadow.

Here, in the first place, as we have observed in the notes on that book, the road above between the fire and the fettered men, indicates that there is a certain ascent in the cave itself from a more abject to a more elevated life. By this ascent, therefore Plato signifies the contemplation of dianoetic objects in the mathematical disciplines. For as the shadows in the cave correspond to the shadows of visible objects, and visible objects are the immediate images of dianoetic forms, or those ideas which the soul essentially participates, it is evident that the objects from which these shadows are formed must correspond to such as are dianoetic. It is requisite, therefore, that the dianoetic power exercising itself in these, should draw forth the principles of these from their latent retreats, and should contemplate them not in images, but as subsisting in herself in impartible involution.

In the next place he says, “that the man who is to be led from the cave will more easily see what the heavens contain, and the heavens themselves, by looking in the night to the light of the stars, and the moon, than by day looking on the sun, and the light of the sun.” By this he signifies the contemplation of intelligibles: for the stars and their light are imitations of intelligibles, so far as all of them partake of the form of the sun, in the same manner as intelligibles are characterized by the nature of the good.

After the contemplation of these, and after the eye is accustomed through these to the light, as it is requisite in the visible region to see the sun himself in the last place, in like manner, according to Plato, the idea of the good must be seen the last in the intelligible region. He, likewise divinely adds, that it is scarcely to be seen; for we can only be conjoined with it through the intelligible, in the vestibule of which it is beheld by the ascending soul.

In short, the cold, according to Plato, can only be restored while on earth to the divine likeness, which she abandoned by her descent, and be able after death to reascend to the intelligible world, by the exercise of the cathartic and theoretic virtues; the former purifying her from the defilements of a mortal nature, and the latter elevating her to the vision of true being: for thus, as Plato says in the Timaeus, “the soul becoming sane and entire, will arrive at the form of her pristine habit.” The cathartic, however, must necessarily precede the theoretic virtues; since it is impossible to survey truth while subject to the perturbation and tumult of the passions. For the rational soul subsisting as a medium between intellect and the irrational nature, can then only without revulsion associate with the intellect prior to herself, when she becomes pure from copassivity with inferior natures. By the cathartic virtues, therefore, we become sane, in consequence of being liberated from the passions as diseases; but we become entire by the reassumption of intellect and science as of our proper parts; and this is effected by contemplative truth. Plato also clearly teaches us that our apostacy from better natures is only to be healed by a flight from hence, when he defines in his Theaetetus philosophy to be a flight from terrestrial evils: for he evinces by this that passions are connascent with mortals alone. He likewise says in the same dialogue, “that neither can evil be abolished, nor yet do they subsist with the gods, but that they necessarily revolve about this terrene abode, and a mortal nature.” For those who are obnoxious to generation and corruption can also be affected in a manner contrary to nature, which is the beginning of evils. But in the same dialogue he subjoins the mode by which our flight from evil is to be accomplished. “It is necessary,” says he “to fly from hence thither: but the flight is a similitude to divinity, as far as is possible to man; and this similitude consists in becoming just and holy in conjunction with intellectual prudence.” For it is necessary that he who wishes to run from evils, should in the first place turn away from a mortal nature; since it is not possible for those who are mingled with it to avoid being filled with its attendant evils. As therefore, through our flight from divinity, and the defluction of those wings which elevate us on high, we fell into this mortal abode, and thus became connected with evils, so by abandoning passivity with a mortal nature, and by the germination of the virtues, as of certain wings, we return to the abode of pure and true good, and to the possession of divine felicity. For the essence of many subsisting as a medium between daemoniacal natures, who always have an intellectual knowledge of divinity, and those beings who are never adapted by nature to understand him, it ascends to the former and descends to the latter, through the possession and desertion of intellect. For it becomes familiar both with the divine and brutal likeness, through the amphibious condition of its nature.

When the soul therefore has recovered her pristine perfection in as great a degree as is possible, while she is an inhabitant of earth by the exercise of the cathartic and theoretic virtues, she returns after death, as he says in the Timaeus, to her kindred star, from which she fell, and enjoys a blessed life. Then, too, as he says in the Phaedrus, being winged, she governs the world in conjunction with the gods. And this indeed is the most beautiful end of her labors. This is what he calls in the Phaedo, a great contest and a mighty hope. This is the most perfect fruit of philosophy to familiarize and lead her back to things truly beautiful, to liberate her from this terrene abode as from a certain subterranean cavern of material life, elevate her to ethereal splendors, and place her in the islands of the blessed.

From this account of the human soul, that most important Platonic dogma necessarily follows, that our soul essentially contains all knowledge, and that whatever knowledge she acquires in the present life, is in reality nothing more than a recovery of what a he once possessed. This recovery is very properly called by Plato reminiscence, not as being attended with actual recollection in the present life, but as being an actual repossession of what the soul had lost through her oblivious union with the body. Alluding to this essential knowledge of the soul, which discipline evocates from its dormant retreats, Plato says in the Sophista, “that we know all things as in a dream, and are again ignorant of them, according to vigilant perception.” Hence too, as Proclus well observes, it is evident that the soul does not collect her knowledge from sensibles, nor from things partial and divisible discover the whole and the one. For it is not proper to think that things which have in no respect a real subsistence, should be the leading causes of knowledge to the soul; and that things which oppose each other and are ambiguous, should precede science which has a sameness of subsistence; nor that things which are variously mutable, should be generative of reasons which are established in unity; nor that things indefinite should be the causes of definite intelligence. It is not fit, therefore, that the truth of things eternal should be received from the many, nor the discrimination of universals from sensibles, nor a judgment respecting what is good from irrational natures; but it is requisite that the soul entering within herself, should investigate herself the true and the good, and the eternal reasons of things.

We have said that discipline awakens the dormant knowledge of the soul; and Plato considered this as particularly effected by the mathematical discipline. Hence, he asserts of theoretic arithmetic that it imparts no small aid to our ascent to real being, and that it liberates us from the wandering and ignorance about a sensible nature. Geometry too is considered by him as most instrumental to the knowledge of the good, when it is not pursued for the sake of practical purposes, but as the means of ascent to an intelligible essence. Astronomy also is useful for the purpose of investigating the fabricator of all things, and contemplating as in most splendid images the ideal world, and its ineffable cause. And lastly music, when properly studied, is subservient to our ascent, viz. when from sensible we betake ourselves to the contemplation of ideal and divine harmony. Unless, however, we thus employ the mathematical discipline, the study of them is justly considered by Plato as imperfect and useless, and of no worth. For as the true end of man according to his philosophy is an assimilation to divinity, in the greatest perfection of which human nature is capable, whatever contributes to this is to be ardently pursued; but whatever has a different tendency, however necessary it may be to the wants and conveniences of the mere animal life, is comparatively little and vile. Hence it necessary to pass rapidly from things visible and audible, to those which are alone seen by the eye of intellect. For the mathematical sciences, when properly studied, move the inherent knowledge of the soul; awaken its intelligence; purify its dianoetic power; call forth its essential forms from their dormant retreats; remove that oblivion and ignorance which are congenial with our birth; and dissolve the bonds arising from our union with an irrational nature. It is therefore beautifully said by Plato in the 7th book of his Republic, “that the soul through these disciplines has an organ purified and enlightened, which is blinded and buried by studies of a different kind, an organ better worth saving than ten thousand eyes, since truth becomes visible through this alone.”

Dialectic, however, or the vertex of the mathematical sciences, as it is called by Plato in his Republic, is that master discipline which particularly leads us up to an intelligible essence. Of this first of sciences, which is essentially different from vulgar logic, and is the same with what Aristotle calls the first philosophy and wisdom, I have largely spoken in the introduction and notes to the Parmenides. Suffice it therefore to observe in this place, that dialectic differs from mathematical science in this, that the latter flows from, and the former is void of hypothesis. That dialectic has a power of knowing universals; that it ascends to good and the supreme cause of all; and, that it considers good as the end of its elevation; but that the mathematical science, which previously fabricates for itself definite principles, from which it evinces things consequent to such principles, does not tend to the principle, but to the conclusion. Hence Plato does not expel mathematical knowledge from the number of the sciences, but asserts it to be the next in rank to that one science which is the summit of all; nor does he accuse it as ignorant of its own principles, but considers it as receiving these from the master science dialectic, and that possessing them without any demonstration, it demonstrates from these its consequent propositions.

Hence Socrates, in the Republic, speaking of the power of dialectic, says that it surrounds all disciplines like a defensive enclosure, and elevates those that use it to the good itself, and the first unities; that it purifies the eye of the soul; establishes itself in true beings, and, the one principle of all things, and ends at last in that which is no longer hypothetical. The power of dialectic, therefore, being thus great, and the ends of this path so mighty, it must by no means be confounded with arguments which are alone conversant with opinion: for the former is the guardian of sciences, and the passage to it is through these, but the latter is perfectly destitute of disciplinative science. To which we may add, that the method of reasoning which is founded in opinion, regards only that which is apparent; but the dialectic method endeavors to arrive at the one itself, always employing for this purpose steps of ascent, and at last beautifully ends in the nature of the good. Very different therefore is it from the merely logical method, which presides over the demonstrative phantasy, is of a secondary nature, and is alone pleased with contentious discussions. For the dialectic of Plato for the most part employs divisions and analyses as primary sciences, and as imitating the progression of beings from the one, and their conversion to it again. It likewise sometimes uses definitions and demonstrations, and prior to these the definitive method, and the divisive prior to this. On the contrary, the merely logical method, which is solely conversant with opinion, is deprived of the incontrovertible reasonings of demonstration.

The following is a specimen of the analytical method of Plato’s dialectic. Of analysis there are three species. For one is an ascent from sensibles to the first intelligibles; a second is an ascent through things demonstrated and subdemonstrated, to undemonstrated and immediate propositions; and a third proceeds from hypothesis to unhypothetical principles. Of the first of these species, Plato has given a most admirable specimen in the speech of Diotima in the Banquet. For there he ascends from the beauty about bodies to the beauty in souls; from this to the beauty in right disciplines; from this again to the beauty in laws; from the beauty in laws to the ample sea of beauty (Greek: to polu pelagos tou kalou); and thus proceeding he at length arrives at the beautiful itself.

The second species of analysis is as follows: It is necessary to make the thing investigated the subject of hypothesis; to survey such things as are prior to it; and to demonstrate these from things posterior, ascending to such as are prior, till we arrive at the first thing and to which we give our assent. But beginning from this, we descend synthetically to the thing investigated. Of this species, the following is an example from the Phaedrus of Plato. It is inquired if the soul is immortal; and this being hypothetically admitted, it is inquired in the next place if it is always moved. This being demonstrated, the next inquiry is if that which is always moved, is self-moved; and this again being demonstrated, it is considered whether that which is self-moved is the principle of motion, and afterwards if the principle is unbegotten. This then being admitted as a thing acknowledged, and likewise that what is begotten is incorruptible, the demonstration of the thing proposed is thus collected. If there is a principle, it is unbegotten and incorruptible. That which is self-moved is the principle of motion. Soul is self-moved. Soul therefore (i.e. the rational soul) is incorruptible, unbegotten, and immortal.

Of the third species of analysis, which proceeds from the hypothetical to that which is unhypothetical, Plato has given a most beautiful specimen in the first hypothesis of his Parmenides. For here, taking for his hypothesis that the one is, he proceeds through an orderly series of negations, which are not privative of their subjects, but generative of things which are as it were, their opposites, till he at length takes away the hypothesis that the one is. For he denies of it all discourse and every appellation. And thus evidently denies of it not only that it is, but even negation. For all things are posterior to the one; viz. things known, knowledge, and the instruments of knowledge. And thus, beginning from the hypothetical, he ends in that which is unhypothetical, and truly ineffable.

Having taken a general survey, both of the great world and the microcosm man, I shall close this account of the principal dogmas of Plato, with the outlines of his doctrine concerning Providence and Fate, as it is a subject of the greatest importance, and the difficulties in which it is involved are happily removed by that prince of philosophers.

In the first place, therefore, Providence, according to common conceptions, is the cause of good to the subjects of its care; and Fate is the cause of a certain connection to generated natures. This being admitted, let us consider what the things are which are connected. Of beings, therefore, some have their essence in eternity, and others in time. But by beings whose essence is in eternity, I mean those whose energy as well as their essence is eternal; and by beings essentially temporal, those whose essence is always in generation, or becoming to be, though this should take place in an infinite time. The media between these two extremes are natures which, in a certain respect, have an essence permanent and better than generation, or a flowing subsistence, but whose energy is measured by time. For it is necessary that every procession from things first to last should be effected through media. The medium, therefore, between these two extremes, must either be that which has an eternal essence, but any energy indigent of time, or, on the contrary, that which has a temporal essence, but an eternal energy. It is impossible, however, for the latter of these to have any subsistence; for if this were admitted, energy would be prior to essence. The medium, therefore, must be that whose essence is eternal, but energy temporal. And the three orders which compose this first middle and last are, the intellectual, psychical (or that pertaining to soul), and corporeal. For from what has been already said by us concerning the gradation of beings, it is evident that the intellectual order is established in eternity, both in essence and energy; that the corporeal order is always in generation, or advancing to being, and this either in an infinite time, or in a part of time; and that the psychical is indeed eternal in essence, but temporal in energy. Where then shall we rank things which being distributed either in places or times, have a certain coordination and sympathy with each other through connection? It is evident that they must be ranked among altermotive and corporeal natures. For of things which subsist beyond the order of bodies, some are better both than place and time; and others, though they energize according to time, appear to be entirely pure from any connection with place.

Hence things which are governed and connected by Fate are entirely altermotive and corporeal. If this then is demonstrated, it is manifest that admitting Fate to be a cause of connection, we must assert that it presides over altermotive and corporeal natures. If, therefore, we look to that which is the proximate cause of bodies, and thorough which also altermotive beings are moved, breathe, and are held together, we shall find that this is nature, the energies of which are to generate, nourish, and increase. If, therefore, this power not only subsists in us, and all other animals and plants, but prior to partial bodies there is, by a much greater necessity, one nature of the world which comprehends and is motive of all bodies; it follows that nature must be the cause of things connected, and that in this we must investigate Fate. Hence, Fate is nature, or that incorporeal power which is the one life of the world, presiding over bodies, moving all things according to time, and connecting the motions of things that, by places and times, are distant from each other. It is likewise the cause of the mutual sympathy of mortal natures, and of their conjunction with such as are eternal. For the nature which is in us, binds and connects all the parts of our body, of which also it is a certain Fate. And as in our body some parts have a principal subsistence, and others are less principal, and the latter are consequent to the former, so in the universe, the generations of the less principal parts are consequent to the motions of the more principal, viz. the sublunary generations to the periods of the celestial bodies; and the circle of the former is the image of the latter.

Hence it is not difficult to see that Providence is deity itself, the fountain of all good. For whence can good be imparted, to all things, but from divinity? So that no other cause of good but deity is, as Plato says, to be assigned. And, in the next place, as this cause is superior to all intelligible and sensible natures, it is consequently superior to Fate. Whatever too is subject to Fate, is also under the dominion of Providence; having its connection indeed from Fate, but deriving the good which it possesses from Providence. But again, not all things that are under the dominion of Providence are indigent of Fate; for intelligibles are exempt from its sway. Fate therefore is profoundly conversant with corporeal natures; since connection introduces time and corporeal motion. Hence Plato, looking to this, says in the Timaeus, that the world is mingled from intellect and necessity, the former ruling over the latter. For by necessity here he means the motive cause of bodies, which in other places he calls Fate. And this with great propriety; since every body is compelled to do whatever it does, and to suffer whatever it suffers; to heat or to be heated, to impart or to receive cold. But the elective power is unknown to a corporeal nature; so that the necessary and the nonelective may be said to be the peculiarities of bodies.

As there are two genera of things, therefore, the intelligible and the sensible, so likewise there are two kingdoms of these; that of Providence, upwards, which reigns over intelligibles and sensibles, and that of Fate downwards, which reigns over sensibles only. Providence likewise differs from Fate in the same manner as deity from that which is divine indeed, but participation, and not primarily. For in other things we see that which has a primary subsistence, and that which subsists according to participation. Thus the light which subsists in the orb of the sun is primary light, and that which is in the air, according to participation; the latter being derived from the former. And life is primarily in the soul, but secondarily in the body. Thus also, according to Plato, Providence is deity, but Fate is something divine, and not a god: for it depends upon Providence, of which it is as it were the image. As Providence too is to intelligibles, so is Fate to sensibles. And, alternately, as Providence is to Fate, so are intelligibles to sensibles. But intelligibles are the first of beings, and from these others derive their subsistence. And hence the order of Fate depends on the dominion of Providence.

In the second place, let us look to the rational nature itself, when correcting the inaccuracy of sensible information, as when it accuses the sight of deception, in seeing the orb of the sun as not larger than a foot in diameter; when it represses the ebullitions of anger, and exclaims with Ulysses,

“Endure my heart;”

or when it restrains the wanton tendencies of desire to corporeal delight. For in all such operations it manifestly subdues the irrational motions, both gnostic and appetitive, and absolves itself from them, as from things foreign to its nature. But it is necessary to investigate the essence of every thing, not from its perversion, but from its energies according to nature. If therefore reason, when it energizes in us as reason, restrains the shadowy impressions of the delights of licentious desire, punishes the precipitate motion of fury, and reproves the senses as full of deception, asserting that

“We nothing accurate, or see, or hear:”

and if it says this, looking to its internal reasons, none of which it knows through the body, or through corporeal cognitions, it is evident that, according to this energy, it removes itself far from the senses, contrary to the decision of which it becomes separated from those sorrows and delights.

After this, let us direct our attention to another and a better motion of our rational soul, when, during the tranquillity of the inferior parts, by a self-convertive energy, it sees its own essence, the powers which it contains, the harmonic reasons from which it consists, and the many lives of which it is the middle boundary, and thus finds itself to be a rational world, the image of the prior natures, from which it proceeds, but the paradigm of such as are posterior to itself. To this energy of the soul, theoretic arithmetic and geometry greatly contribute, for these remove it from the senses, purify the intellect from the irrational forms of life with which it is surrounded, and lead it to the incorporeal perception of ideas. For if these sciences receive the soul replete with images, and knowing nothing subtile and unattended with material garrulity; and if they elucidate reasons possessing an irrefragable necessity of demonstration, and forms full of all certainty and immateriality, and which by no means call to their aid the inaccuracy of sensibles, do they not evidently purify our intellectual life from things which fill us with a privation of intellect, and which impede our perception of true being?

After both these operations of the rational soul, let us now survey her highest intelligence, through which she sees her sister souls in the universe, who are allotted a residence in the heavens, and in the whole of a visible nature, according to the will of the fabricator of the world. But above all souls, she sees intellectual essences and orders. For a deiform intellect resides above every soul, and which also imparts to the soul an intellectual habit. Prior to these, however, she sees those divine monads, from which all intellectual multitudes receive their unions. For above all things united, there must necessarily be unific causes; above things vivified, vivifying causes; above intellectual natures, those that impart intellect; and above all participants, imparticipable natures. From all these elevating modes of intelligence, it must be obvious to such as are not perfectly blind, how the soul, leaving sense and body behind, surveys through the projecting energies of intellect those beings that are entirely exempt from all connection with a corporeal nature.

The rational and intellectual soul therefore, in whatever manner it may be moved according to nature, is beyond body and sense. And hence it must necessarily have an essence separate from both. But from this again, it becomes manifest, that when it energizes according to its nature, it is superior to Fate, and beyond the reach of its attractive power; but that, when falling into sense and things irrational and corporalized, it follows downward natures and lives, with them as with inebriated neighbors, then together with them it becomes subject to the dominion of Fate. For again, it is necessary that there should be an order of beings of such a kind, as to subsist according to essence above Fate, but to be sometimes ranked under it according to habitude. For if there are beings, and such are all intellectual natures which are eternally established above the laws of Fate, and also which, according to the whole of their life, are distributed under the periods of Fate, it is necessary that the medium between these should be that nature which is sometimes above, and sometimes under the dominion of Fate. For the procession of incorporeal natures is much more without a vacuum than that of bodies.

The free will therefore of man, according to Plato, is a rational elective, power, desiderative of true and apparent good, and leading the soul to both, through which it ascends and descends, errs and acts with rectitude. And hence the elective will be the same with that which characterizes our essence. According to this power, we differ from divine and mortal natures: for each of these is void of that two-fold inclination; the one on account of its excellence being alone established in true good; but the other in apparent good, on account of its defect. Intellect too characterizes the one, but sense the other; and the former, as Plotinus says, is our king, but the latter our messenger. We therefore are established in the elective power as a medium; and having the ability of tending both to true and apparent good, when we tend to the former we follow the guidance of intellect, when to the latter, that of sense. The power therefore which is in us is not capable of all things. For the power which is omnipotent is characterized by unity; and on this account is all-powerful, because it is one, and possesses the form of good. But the elective power is two-fold, and on this account is not able to effect all things; because, by it’s inclinations to true and apparent good, it falls short of that nature which is prior to all things. It would however be all-powerful, if it had not an elective impulse, and was will alone. For a life subsisting according to will alone subsists according to good, because the will naturally tends to good, and such a life makes that which is characteristic in us most powerful and deiform. And hence through this the soul, according to Plato, becomes divine, and in another life, in conjunction with deity, governs the world. And thus much of the outlines of the leading dogmas of the philosophy of Plato.

In the beginning of this Introduction, I observed that, in drawing these outlines I should conduct the reader through novel and solitary paths, solitary indeed they must be, since they have been unfrequented from the reign of the emperor Justinian to the present time; and novel they will doubtless appear to readers of every description, and particularly to those who have been nursed as it were in the bosom of matter, the pupils of experiment, the darlings of sense, and the legitimate descendants of the earth-born race that warred on the Olympian gods. To such as these, who have gazed on the dark and deformed face of their nurse, till they are incapable of beholding the light of truth, and who are become so drowsy from drinking immoderately of the cup of oblivion, that their whole life is nothing more than a transmigration from sleep to sleep, and from dream to dream, like men passing from one bed to another, — to such as these, the road through which we have been traveling will appear to be a delusive passage, and the objects which we have surveyed to be nothing more than fantastic visions, seen only by the eye of imagination, and when seen, idle and vain as the dreams of a shadow.

The following arguments, however, may perhaps awaken some few of these who are less lethargic than the rest, from the sleep of sense, and enable them to elevate their mental eye from the dark mire in which they are plunged, and gain a glimpse of this most weighty truth, that there is another world, of which this is nothing more than a most obscure resemblance, and another life, of which this is but the flying mockery. My present discourse therefore is addressed to those who consider experiment as the only solid criterion of truth. In the first place then, these men appear to be ignorant of the invariable laws of demonstration properly so called, and that the necessary requisites of all demonstrative propositions are these: that they exist as causes, are primary, more excellent, peculiar, true, and known than the conclusions. For every demonstration not only consists of principles prior to others, but of such as are eminently first; since if the assumed propositions may be demonstrated by other assumptions, such propositions may indeed appear prior to the conclusions, but are by no means entitled to the appellation of first. Others, on the contrary, which require no demonstration, but are of themselves manifest, are deservedly esteemed the first, the truest, and the best. Such indemonstrable truths were called by the ancients axioms from their majesty and authority, as the assumptions which constitute demonstrative syllogisms derive all their force and efficacy from these.

In the next place, they seem not to be sufficiently aware, that universal is better than partial demonstration. For that demonstration is the more excellent which is derived from the better cause; but a universal is more extended and excellent than a partial cause; since the arduous investigation of the why in any subject is only stopped by the arrival at universals. Thus if we desire to know why the outward angles of a triangle are equal to four right angles, and it is answered, Because the triangle is isosceles; we again ask, but why Because isosceles? And if it be replied, Because it is a triangle; we may again inquire, But why because a triangle? To which we finally answer, because a triangle is a right-lined figure. And here our inquiry rests at that universal idea, which embraces every preceding particular one, and is contained in no other more general and comprehensive than itself. Add too, that the demonstration of particulars is almost the demonstration of infinites; of universals the demonstration of finites; and of infinites there can be no science. That demonstration likewise is the best which furnishes the mind with the most ample knowledge; and this is, alone, the province of universals. We may also add, that he who knows universals knows particulars likewise in capacity; but we can not infer that he who has the best knowledge of particulars, knows any thing of universals. And lastly, that which is universal is the object of intellect and reason; but particulars are coordinated to the perceptions of sense.

But here perhaps the experimentalist will say, admitting all this to be true, yet we no otherwise obtain a perception of these universals than by an induction of particulars, and abstraction from sensibles. To this, I answer that the universal which is the proper object of science, is not by any means the offspring of abstraction; and induction is no otherwise subservient to its existence than an exciting cause. For if scientific conclusions are indubitable, if the truth of demonstration is necessary and eternal, this universal is truly all, and not like that gained by abstraction, limited to a certain number of particulars. Thus, the proposition that the angles of every triangle are equal to two right, if it is indubitably true, that is, if the term every in it really includes all triangles, cannot be the result of any abstraction; for this, however extended it may be, is limited, and falls far short of universal comprehension. Whence is it then that the dianoetic power concludes thus confidently that the Proposition is true of all triangles? For if it be said that the mind, after having abstracted triangle from a certain number of particulars, adds from itself what is wanting to complete the all; in the first place, no man, I believe, will say that any such operation as this took place in his mind when he first learnt this proposition; and in the next place, if this should be granted, it would follow that such proposition is a mere fiction, since it is uncertain whether that which is added to complete the all is truly added; and thus the conclusion will no longer be indubitably necessary.

In short, if the words all and every, with which every page of theoretic mathematics is full, mean what they are conceived by all men to mean, and if the universals which they signify are the proper objects of science, such universals must subsist in the soul prior to the energies of sense. Hence it will follow that induction is no otherwise subservient to science, than as it produces credibility in axioms and petitions; and this by exciting the universal conception of these latent in the soul. The particulars, therefore, of which an induction is made in order to produce science, must be so simple, that they may be immediately apprehended, and that the universal may be predicated of them without hesitation. The particulars of the experimentalists are not of this kind, and therefore never can be sources of science truly so called.

Of this, however, the man of experiment appears to be totally ignorant, and in consequence of this, he is likewise ignorant that parts can only be truly known through wholes, and that this is particularly the case with parts when they belong to a whole, which, as we have already observed, from comprehending in itself the parts which it produces, is called a whole prior to parts. As he, therefore, would by no means merit the appellation of a physician who should attempt to cure any part of the human body, without a previous knowledge of the whole; so neither can he know any thing truly of the vegetable life of plants, who has not a previous knowledge of that vegetable life which subsists in the earth as a whole prior to, because the principle and cause of all partial vegetable life, and who still prior to this has not a knowledge of that greater whole of this kind which subsists in nature herself; nor, as Hippocrates justly observes, can he know any thing truly of the nature of the human body who is ignorant what nature is considered as a great comprehending whole. And if this be true, and it is so most indubitably, with all physiological inquiries, how much more must it be the case with respect to a knowledge of those incorporeal forms to which we ascended in the first part of this Introduction, and which in consequence of proceeding from wholes entirely exempt from body are participated by it, with much greater obscurity and imperfection? Here then is the great difference, and a mighty one it is, between the knowledge gained by the most elaborate experiments, and that acquired by scientific reasoning, founded on the spontaneous, unperverted, and self-luminous conceptions of the soul. The former does not even lead its votary up to that one nature of the earth from which the natures of all the animals and plants on its surface, and of all the minerals and metals in its interior parts, blossom as from a perennial root. The latter conducts its votary through all the several mundane wholes up to that great whole the world itself, and thence leads him through the luminous order of incorporeal wholes to that vast whole of wholes, in which all other wholes are centred and rooted, and which is no other than the principle of all principles, and the fountain of deity itself. No less remarkable likewise, is the difference between the tendencies of the two pursuits, for the one elevates the soul to the most luminous heights, and to that great ineffable which is beyond all altitude; but the other is the cause of a mighty calamity to the soul, since, according to the elegant expression of Plutarch, it extinguishes her principal and brightest eye, the knowledge of divinity. In short, the one leads to all that is grand, sublime and splendid in the universe; the other to all that is little, groveling and dark. The one is the parent of the most pure and ardent piety; the genuine progeny of the other are impiety and atheism. And, in fine, the one confers on its votary the most sincere, permanent, and exalted delight; the other continual disappointment, and unceasing molestation.

-  That this must be the tendency of experiment, when prosecuted as the criterion of truth, is evident from what Bacon, the prince of modern philosophy, says in the 104th Aphorism of his Novum Organum, that “baseless fabric of a vision.” For he there sagely observes that wings are not to be added to the human intellect, but rather lead and weights; that all its leaps and flights may be restrained. That this is not yet done, but that when it is we may entertain better hopes respecting the sciences. “Itaque hominum intellectui non plumae addendae, sed plumbum potius, et pondera; ut cohibeant omnem saltum et volatum. Atque hoc adhuc factum non est; quum vero factum fuerit, melius de scientiis sperare licebit.” A considerable portion of lead must certainly have been added to the intellect of Bacon when he wrote this Aphorism. -

If such then are the consequences, such the tendencies of experimental inquiries, when prosecuted as the criterion of truth, and daily experience unhappily shows that they are, there can be no other remedy for this enormous evil than the intellectual philosophy of Plato. So obviously excellent indeed is the tendency of this philosophy, that its author, for a period of more than two thousand years, has been universally celebrated by the epithet of divine. Such too is its preeminence, that it may be shown, without much difficulty, that the greatest men of antiquity, from the time in which its salutary light first blessed the human race, have been more or less imbued with its sacred principles, have been more or less the votaries of its divine truths. Thus, to mention a few from among a countless multitude. In the catalogue of those endued with sovereign power, it had for its votaries Dion of Siracusian, Julian the Roman, and Chosroes the Persian, emperor; among the leaders of armies, it had Chabrias and Phocion, those brave generals of the Athenians; among mathematicians, those leading stars of science, Eudoxus, Archimedes and Euclid; among biographers, the inimitable Plutarch; among physicians, the admirable Galen; among rhetoricians, those unrivaled orators Demosthenes and Cicero; among critics, that prince of philologists, Longinus; and among poets, the most learned and majestic Virgil. Instances, though not equally illustrious, yet approximating to these in splendour, may doubtless be adduced after the fall of the Roman empire; but then they have been formed on these great ancients as models, and are, consequently, only rivulets from Platonic streams. And instances of excellence in philosophic attainments, similar to those among the Greeks, might have been enumerated among the moderns, if the hand of barbaric despotism had not compelled philosophy to retire into the deepest solitude, by demolishing her schools, and involving the human intellect in Cimmerian darkness. In our own country, however, though no one appears to have wholly devoted himself to the study of this philosophy, and he who does not will never penetrate its depths, yet we have a few bright examples of no common proficiency in its more accessible parts.

-  I never yet knew a man who made experiment the test of truth, and I have known many such, that was not atheistically inclined.

I have ranked Archimedes among the Platonists, because he cultivated the mathematical sciences Platonically, as is evident from the testimony of Plutarch in his Life of Marcellus, p. 307. For he there informs us that Archimedes considered the being busied about mechanics, and in short, every art which is connected with the common purposes of life, as ignoble and illiberal; and that those things alone were objects of his ambition with which the beautiful and the excellent were present, unmingled with the necessary. The great accuracy and elegance in the demonstrations of Euclid and Archimedes, which have not been equaled by any of our greatest modern mathematicians, were derived from a deep conviction of this important truth. On the other hand modern mathematicians, through a profound ignorance of this divine truth, and looking to nothing but the wants and conveniences of the animal life of man, as if the gratification of his senses was his only end, have corrupted pure geometry, by mingling with it algebraical calculations, and through eagerness to reduce it as much as possible to practical purposes, have more anxiously sought after conciseness than accuracy, facility than elegance of geometrical demonstration. -

The instances I allude to are Shaftesbury, Akenside, Harris, Petwin, and Sydenham. So splendid is the specimen of philosophic abilities displayed by these writers, like the fair dawning of same unclouded morning, that we have only deeply to regret that the sun of their genius sat before we were gladdened with its effulgence. Had it shone with its full strength, the writer of this Introduction would not have attempted either to translate the works, or elucidate the doctrines of Plato; but though it rose with vigor, it dispersed not the clouds in which its light was gradually involved, and the eye in vain anxiously waited for it’s meridian beam. In short, the principles of the philosophy of Plato are of all others the most friendly to true piety, pure morality, solid learning, and sound government. For as it is scientific in all its parts, and in these parts comprehends all that can be known by man in theology and ethics, and all that is necessary for him to know in physics, it must consequently contain in itself the source of all that is great and good both to individuals and communities, must necessarily exalt while it benefits, and deify while it exalts.

We have said that this philosophy at first shone forth through Plato with an occult and venerable splendor; and it is owing to the hidden manner in which it is delivered by him, that its depth was not fathomed till many ages after it’s promulgation, and when fathomed, was treated by superficial readers with ridicule and contempt. Plato indeed, is not singular in delivering his philosophy occultly: for this was the custom of all the great ancients; a custom not originating from a wish to become tyrants in knowledge, and keep the multitude in ignorance, but from a profound conviction that the sublimest truths are profaned when clearly unfolded to the vulgar. This indeed must necessarily follow; since, as Socrates in Plato justly observes, “it is not lawful for the pure to be touched by the impure;” and the multitude are neither purified from the defilements of vice, nor the darkness of twofold ignorance. Hence, while they are thus doubly impure, it is as impossible for them to perceive the splendors of truth, as for an eye buried in mire to survey the light of day.

The depth of this philosophy then does not appear to have been perfectly penetrated except by the immediate disciples of Plato, for more than five hundred years after its first propagation. For though Crantor, Atticus, Albinus, Galen and Plutarch, were men of great genius, and made no common proficiency in Philosophic attainments, yet they appear not to have developed the profundity of Plato’s conceptions; they withdrew not the veil which covers his secret meaning, like the curtains which guarded the adytum of temples from the profane eye; and they saw not that all behind the veil is luminous, and that there divine spectacles every where present themselves to the view. This task was reserved for men who were born indeed in a baser age, but, who being allotted a nature similar to their leader, were the true interpreters of his mystic speculations. The most conspicuous of these are the great Plotinus, the most learned Porphyry, the divine Jamblichus, the most acute Syrianus, Proclus the consummation of philosophic excellence, the magnificent Hierocles, the concisely elegant Sallust, and the most inquisitive Damascius. By these men, who were truly links of the golden chain of deity, all that is sublime, all that is mystic in the doctrines of Plato (and they are replete with both these in a transcendent degree), was freed from its obscurity and unfolded into the most pleasing and admirable light. Their labors, however, have been ungratefully received. The beautiful light which they benevolently disclosed has hitherto unnoticed illumined philosophy in her desolate retreats, like a lamp shining on some venerable statue amidst dark and solitary ruins. The prediction of the master has been unhappily fulfilled in these his most excellent disciples. “For an attempt of this kind,” says he, “will only be beneficial to a few, who from small vestiges, previously demonstrated, are themselves able to discover these abstruse particulars. But with respect to the rest of mankind, some it will fill with a contempt by no means elegant, and others with a lofty and arrogant hope, that they shall now learn certain excellent things.” Thus with respect to these admirable men, the last and the most legitimate of the followers of Plato, some from being entirely ignorant of the abstruse dogmas of Plato, and finding these interpreters full of conceptions which are by no means obvious to every one in the writings of that philosopher, have immediately concluded that such conceptions are mere jargon and revery, that they are not truly Platonic, and that they are nothing more than streams, which, though, originally derived from a pure fountain, have become polluted by distance from their source. Others, who pay attention to nothing but the most exquisite purity of language, look down with contempt upon every writer who lived after the fall of the Macedonian empire; as if dignity and weight of sentiment were inseparable from splendid and accurate diction; or as if it were impossible for elegant writers to exist in a degenerate age. So far is this from being the case, that though the style of Plotinus and Jamblichus is by no means to be compared with that of Plato, yet this inferiority is lost in the depth and sublimity of their conceptions, and is as little regarded by the intelligent reader, as motes in a sunbeam by the eye that gladly turns itself to the solar light.

——  ——  ——  — See my Dissertation on the Mysteries.

See the 7th Epistle of Plato.

It would seem that those intemperate critics who have thought proper to revile Plotinus, the leader of the latter Platonists, have paid no attention to the testimony of Longinus concerning this most wonderful man, as preserved by Porphyry in his life of him. For Longinus there says, “that though he does not entirely accede to many of his hypotheses, yet he exceedingly admires and loves the form of his writing, the density of his conceptions, and the philosophic manner in which his questions are disposed.” And in another place he says, “Plotinus, as it seems, has explained the Pythagoric and Platonic principles more clearly than those that were prior to him; for neither are the writings of Numenius, Cronius, Moderatus, and Thrasyllus, to be compared with those of Plotinus on this subject.” After such a testimony as this from such a consummate critic as Longinus, the writings of Plotinus have nothing to fear from the imbecile censure of modern critics. I shall only further observe, that Longinus, in the above testimony, does not give the least hint of his having found any polluted streams, or corruption of the doctrines of Plato, in the works of Plotinus. There is not indeed the least vestige of his entertaining any such opinion in any part of what he has said about this most extraordinary man. This discovery was reserved for the more acute critic of modern times, who, by a happiness of conjecture unknown to the ancients, and the assistance of a good index, can in a few days penetrate the meaning of the profoundest writer of antiquity, and bid defiance even to the decision of Longinus.

Of this most divine man, who is justly said by the emperor Julian to have been posterior indeed in time, but not in genius even to Plato himself, see the life which I have given in the History of the Restoration of the Platonic Theology, in the second vol. of my Proclus on Euclid. ——  —

As to the style of Porphyry, when we consider that he was the disciple of Longinus, whom Eunapius elegantly calls “a certain living library, and walking museum,” it is but reasonable to suppose that he imbibed some portion of his master’s excellence in writing. That he did so is abundantly evident from the testimony of Eunapius, who particularly commends his style for its clearness, purity, and grace. “Hence,” he says, “Porphyry being let down to men like a mercurial chain, through his various erudition, unfolded every thing into perspicuity, and purity.” And in another place he speaks of him as abounding with all the graces of diction, and as the only one that exhibited and proclaimed the praise of his master. With respect to the style of Proclus, it is pure, clear and elegant, like that of Dionysius Halicarnassus; but is much more copious and magnificent; that of Hierocles is venerable and majestic, and nearly equals the style of the greatest ancients; that of Sallust possesses an accuracy and a pregnant brevity, which cannot easily be distinguished from the composition of the Stagirite; and lastly, that of Damascius is clear and accurate, and highly worthy a most investigating mind.

Others again have filled themselves with a vain confidence, from reading of commentaries of these admirable interpreters, and have in a short time considered themselves superior to their masters. This was the case with Ficinus, Picus, Dr. Henry Moore, and other pseudo Platonists, their contemporaries, who, in order to combine Christianity with the doctrines of Plato, rejected some of his most important tenets, and perverted others, and thus corrupted one of these systems, and afforded no real benefit to the other.

But who are the men by whom these latter interpreters of Plato are reviled? When and whence did this defamation originate? Was it when the fierce champions for the trinity fled from Galilee to the groves of Academus, and invoked, but in vain, the assistance of Philosophy? When

The trembling grove confessed its fright,
The wood-nymphs started at the sight;
Ilissus backward urg’d his course,
And rush’d indignant to his source.

Was it because that mitred sophist, Warburton, thought fit to talk of the polluted streams of the Alexandrian school, without knowing any thing of the source whence those streams are derived? Or was it because some heavy German critic, who knew nothing beyond a verb in mi, presumed to grunt at these venerable heroes? Whatever was its source, and whenever it originated, for I have not been able to discover either, this however is certain, that it owes its being to the most profound Ignorance, or the most artful Sophistry, and that its origin is no less contemptible than obscure. For let us but for a moment consider the advantages which these latter Platonists possessed beyond any of their modern revilers. In the first place, they had the felicity of having the Greek for their native language, and must therefore, as they were confessedly, learned men, have understood that language incomparably better than any man since the time in which the ancient Greek was a living tongue. In the next place, they had books to consult, written by the immediate disciples of Plato, which have been lost for upwards of a thousand years, besides many Pythagoric writings from which Plato himself derived most of his more sublime dogmas. Hence we find the works of Parmenides, Empedocles, the Electic Zeno, Speusippus, Xenocrates, and many other illustrious philosophers of the highest antiquity, who were either genuine Platonists or the sources of Platonism, are continually cited by these most excellent interpreters, and in the third place they united the greatest purity of life to the most piercing vigor of intellect. Now when it is considered that the philosophy to the study of which these great men devoted their lives, was professedly delivered by its author in obscurity; that Aristotle himself studied it for twenty years; and that it was no uncommon thing, as Plato informs us in one of his Epistles, to find students unable to comprehend its sublimest tenets even in a longer period than this, — when all these circumstances are considered, what must we think of the arrogance, not to say impudence, of men in the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries, who have dared to calumniate these great masters of wisdom? Of men, with whom the Greek is no native language; who have no such books to consult as those had whom they revile; who have never thought, even in a dream, of making the acquisition of wisdom the great object of their life; and who in short have committed that most baneful error of mistaking philology for philosophy, and words for things? When such as these dare to defame men who may be justly ranked among the greatest and wisest of the ancients, what else can be said than that they are the legitimate descendants of the suitors of Penelope, whom, in the animated language of Ulysses,

Laws or divine or human fail’d to move,
Or shame of men, or dread of gods above:
Heedless alike of infamy or praise,
Or Fame’s eternal voice in future days,

-  Pope’s Odyssey, book xxii, v. 47, &c. -

But it is now time to present the reader with a general view of the works of Plato, and, also to speak of the preambles, digressions, and style of their author, and of the following translation. In accomplishing the first of these, I shall avail myself of the synopsis of Mr. Sydenham, taking the liberty at the same time of correcting it where it appears to be erroneous, and of making additions to it where it appears to be deficient.

The dialogues of Plato are of various kinds; not only with regard to those different matters, which are the subjects of them; but in respect of the manner also in which they are composed or framed, and of the form under which they make their appearance to the reader. It will therefore, as I imagine, be not improper, in pursuance of the admonition given us by Plato himself in his dialogue named Phaedrus and in imitation of the example set us by the ancient Platonists to distinguish the several kinds; by dividing them, first, into the most general; and then, subdividing into the subordinate; till we come to those lower species, that particularly and precisely denote the nature of the several dialogues, and from which they ought to take their respective denominations.

Whoever is unable to divide and distinguish things into their several sorts or species; and, on the other hand, referring every particular to its proper species, to comprehend them all in one general idea; will never understand any writings of which those things are the subject, like a true critic, upon those high principles of art to which the human understanding reaches. We have thought proper, here, to paraphrase this passage, for the sake of giving to every part of so important a sentence its full force, agreeably to the tenor of Plato’s doctrine; and in order to initiate our readers into a way of thinking, that probably many of them are as yet unacquainted with.

The most general division of the writings of Plato, is into those of the Sceptical kind, and those of they Dogmatical. In the former sort, nothing is expressly either proved or asserted, some philosophical question only is considered and examined; and the reader is left to himself to draw such conclusions, and discover such truths as the philosopher means to insinuate. This is done, either in the way of inquiry, or in the way of controversy and dispute. In the way of controversy are carried on all such dialogues, as tend to eradicate false opinions; and that, either indirectly, by involving them in difficulties, and embarrassing the maintainers of them; or directly, by confuting them. In the way of inquiry proceed those whose tendency is to raise in the mind right opinions; and that either by exciting to the pursuit of some part of wisdom, and showing in what manner to investigate it; or by leading the way, and helping the mind forward in the search. And this is effected by a process through opposing arguments.

— It is necessary to observe that Plato in the Parmenides calls all that part of his Dialectic, which proceeds through opposite arguments, an exercise and wandering. —

The dialogues of the other kind, the Dogmatical or Didactic, teach explicitly some point of doctrine; and this they do either by laying it down in the authoritative way, or by proving it in the ways of reason and argument. In the authoritative way the doctrine is delivered, sometimes by the speaker himself magisterially, at other times as derived to him by tradition from wise men. The argumentative or demonstrative method of teaching, used by Plato, proceeds in all the dialectic ways, dividing, defining, demonstrating, and analysing; and the object of it consists in exploring truth alone. According to this division is framed the following scheme, or table:

DIALOGUES

Sceptical Disputative Embarrassing Confuting Inquisitive Exciting Assisting
Dogmatical Demonstrative Analytical Inductional Authoritative Magisterial
Traditional

We have, given us by Diogenes Laertius, another division of the characters, as he calls them, of Plato’s writings, different from that exhibited in the scheme above. This we have thought proper to subjoin, on account of its antiquity and general reception.

Dialogues

Diadectic Speculative Physical Logical Practical Ethical Political
Inquisitive Gymnastic Maieutic Peirastic Agonistic Endeietic Anatreptic

The learned reader will observe the latter half of the dialogues, according to this scheme, to be described by metaphors taken from the gymnastic art: the dialogues, here termed gymnastic, being imagined to bear a similitude to that exercise; the agonistic, to the combat. In the lowest subdivision, indeed, the word maieutic is a metaphor of another kind, fully explained in Plato’s Theaetetus: the maieutic dialogues, however, were supposed to resemble giving the rudiments of the art; as the peirastic were, to represent a skirmish, or trial of proficiency; the endeietic were, it seems, likened to the exhibiting a specimen of skill; and the anatreptic, to presenting the spectacle of a thorough defeat, or sound drubbing. The principal reason why we contented not ourselves with this account of the difference between the dialogues of Plato, was the capital error there committed in the first subdivision, of course extending itself through the latter. This error consists in dividing the Didactic dialogues with regard to their subject-matter; while those of the Inquisitive sort are divided with respect to the manner of their composition. So that the subdivisions fall not, with any propriety, under one and the same general head. Besides, a novice in the works of Plato might hence be led naturally to suppose, that the dogmatical or didactic dialogues are, all of them, written in the same manner; and that the others, those of the inquisitive kind, by us termed sceptical, have no particular subjects at all; or, if they have, that their subjects are different from those of the didactic dialogues, and are consequently unphilosophical. Now every one of the suppositions here mentioned is far from being true.

The philosopher, in thus varying his manner, and diversifying his writings into these several kinds, means not merely to entertain with their variety; not to teach, on different occasions, with more or less plainness and perspicuity; not yet to insinuate different degrees of certainty in the doctrines themselves: but he takes this method, as a consummate master of the art of composition in the dialogue-way of writing, from the different characters of the speakers, as from different elements in the frame of these dramatic dialogues, or different ingredients in their mixture, producing some peculiar genius and turn of temper, as it were, in each.

Socrates indeed is in almost all of them the principal speaker: but when he falls into the company of some arrogant sophist; when the modest wisdom, and clear science of the one, are contrasted with the confident ignorance and blind opinionativeness of the other; dispute and controversy must of course arise: where the false pretender cannot fail of being either puzzled or confuted. To puzzle him only is sufficient, if there be no other persons present; because such a man can never be confuted in his own opinion: but when there is an audience round them, in danger of being misled by sophistry into error, then is the true philosopher to exert his utmost, and the vain sophist to be convicted and exposed.

In some dialogues Plato represents his great master mixing in conversation with young men of the best families in the commonwealth. When these happen to have docile dispositions and fair minds, then is occasion given to the philosopher to call forth the latent seeds of wisdom, and to cultivate the noble plants with true doctrine, in the affable and familiar way of joint inquiry. To this is owing the inquisitive genius of such dialogues: where, by a seeming equality in the conversation, the curiosity or zeal of the mere stranger is excited; that of the disciple is encouraged; and, by proper questions, the mind is aided and forwarded in the search of truth.

-  We require exhortation, that we may be led to true good; dissuasion, that we may be turned from things truly evil; obstetrication, that we may draw forth our unperverted conceptions; and confutation, that we may be purified from two-fold ignorance. -

At other times, the philosophic hero of these dialogues is introduced in a higher character, engaged in discourse with men of more improved understandings and enlightened minds. At such seasons he has an opportunity of teaching in a more explicit manner, and of discovering the reasons of things: for to such an audience truth is due, and all demonstrations possible in the teaching it. Hence, in the dialogues composed of these persons, naturally arises the justly argumentative or demonstrative genius; and this, as we have before observed, according to all the dialectic methods.

-  The Platonists rightly observe, that Socrates, in these cases, makes use of demonstrative and just reasoning, ([Greek: apodeiktikou]); whereas to the novice he is contented with arguments only probable, ([Greek: pithanois]); and against the litigious sophist often employs such as are [Greek: eristikoi]; puzzling and contentious. -

But when the doctrine to be taught admits not of demonstration; of which kind is the doctrine of antiquities, being only traditional, and a matter of belief; and the doctrine of laws, being injunctional, and the matter of obedience; the air of authority is then assumed: in the former cases, the doctrine is traditionally handed down to others from the authority of ancient sages; in the latter, is magisterially pronounced with the authority of a legislator.

-  It is necessary to observe, that in those dialogues in which Socrates is indeed introduced, but sustains an inferior part, he is presented to our view as a learner, and not as a teacher; and this is the case in the Parmenides and Timaeus. For by the former of these philosophers he is instructed in the most abtruse theological dogmas, and by the latter in the whole of physiology. -

Thus much for the manner in which the dialogues of Plato are severally composed, and the cast of genius given them in their composition. The form under which they appear, or the external character that marks them, is of three sorts: either purely dramatic, like the dialogue of tragedy or comedy; or purely narrative, where a former conversation is supposed to be committed to writing, and communicated to some absent friend; or of the mixed kind, like a narration in dramatic poems, where is recited, to some person present, the story of things past.

Having thus divided the dialogues of Plato, in respect of that inward form or composition, which creates their genius; and again, with reference to that outward form, which marks them, like flowers and other vegetables, with a certain character; we are further to make a division of them, with regard to their subject and their design; beginning with their design, or end, because for the sake of this are all the subjects chosen. The end of all the writings of Plato is that, which is the end of all true philosophy or wisdom, the perfection and the happiness of man. Man therefore is the general subject; and the first business of philosophy must be to inquire what is that being called man, who is to be made happy; and what is his nature, in the perfection of which is placed his happiness. As however, in the preceding part of this Introduction, we have endeavored to give the outlines of Plato’s doctrine concerning man, it is unnecessary in this place to say any thing further on that subject.

The dialogues of Plato, therefore, with respect to their subjects, may be divided into the speculative, the practical, and such as are of a mixed nature. The subjects of these last are either general, comprehending both the others; or differential, distinguishing them. The general subject are either fundamental, or final: those of the fundamental kind are philosophy, human nature, the soul of man; of the final kind are love, beauty, good. The differential regard knowledge, as it stands related to practice; in which are considered two questions: one of which is, whether virtue is to he taught; the other is, whether error in the will depends on error in the judgment. The subjects of the speculative dialogues relate either to words, or to things. Of the former sort are etymology, sophistry, rhetoric, poetry; of the latter sort are science, true being, the principles of mind, outward nature. The practical subjects relate either to private conduct, and the government of the mind over the whole man; or to his duty towards others in his several relations; or to the government of a civil state, and the public conduct of a whole people. Under these three heads rank in order the particular subjects practical; virtue in general, sanctity, temperance, fortitude, justice, friendship, patriotism, piety; the ruling mind in a civil government, the frame and order of a state, law in general, and lastly, those rules of government and of public conduct, the civil laws.

Thus, for the sake of giving the reader a scientific, that is a comprehensive, and at the same time a distinct view of Plato’s writings, we have attempted to exhibit to him, their just and natural distinctions; whether he chooses to consider them with regard to their inward form or essence, their outward form or appearance, their matter; or their end: that is, in those more familiar terms, we have used in this Synopsis, their genius, their character, their subject, and their design.

And here it is requisite to observe, that as it is the characteristic of the highest good to be universally beneficial, though some things are benefitted by it more and others less, in consequence of their greater or less aptitude to receive it; in like manner the dialogues of Plato are so largely stamped with the characters of sovereign good, that they are calculated to benefit in a certain degree even those who are incapable of penetrating their profundity. They can tame a savage sophist, like Thrasymachus in the Republic; humble the arrogance even of those who are ignorant of their ignorance; make those to become proficients in political, who will never arrive at theoretic virtue; and, in short, like the illuminations of deity, wherever there is any portion of aptitude in their recipients, they purify, irradiate, and exalt.

After this general view of the dialogues of Plato, let us in the next place consider their preambles, the digressions with which they abound, and the character of the style in which they are written. With respect to the first of these, the preambles, however superfluous they may at first sight appear, they will be found on a closer inspection necessary to the design of the dialogues which they accompany. Thus the prefatory part of the Timaeus unfolds, in images agreeably to the Pythagoric custom, the theory of the world; and the first part of the Parmenides, or the discussion of ideas, is in fact merely a preamble to the second part, or the speculation of the one; to which however it is essentially preparatory. Hence, as Plutarch says, when he speaks of Plato’s dialogue on the Atlantic island: These preambles are superb gates and magnificent courts with which he purposely embellishes his great edifices, that nothing may be wanting to their beauty, and that all may be equally splendid. He acts, as Dacier well observes, like a great prince, who, when he builds a sumptuous palace, adorns (in the language of Pindar) the vestibule with golden pillars. For it is fit that what is first seen should be splendid and magnificent, and should as it were perspicuously announce all that grandeur which afterwards presents itself to the view.

With respect to the frequent digressions in his dialogues, these also, when accurately examined, will be found to be no less subservient to the leading design of the dialogues in which they are introduced; at the same time that they afford a pleasing relaxation to the mind from the labor of severe investigation. Hence Plato, by the most happy and enchanting art, contrives to lead the reader to the temple of Truth through the delightful groves and valleys of the Graces. In short, this circuitous course, when attentively considered, will be found to be the shortest road by which he could conduct the reader to the desired end: for in accomplishing this it is necessary to regard not that road, which is most straight in the nature of things, or abstractedly considered, but that which is most direct in the progressions of human understanding.

With respect to the style of Plato, though it forms in reality the most inconsiderable part of the merit of his writings, style in all philosophical works being the last thing that should be attended to, yet even in this Plato may contend for the palm of excellence with the most renowned masters of diction. Hence we find that his style was the admiration of the finest writers of antiquity. According to Ammianus, Jupiter himself would not speak otherwise, if he were to converse in the Attic tongue. Aristotle considered his style as a medium between poetry and prose. Cicero no less praises him for the excellence of his diction than the profundity of his conceptions; and Longinus calls him with respect to his language, the rival of Homer. Hence he is considered by this prince of critics, as deriving into himself abundant streams from the Homeric fountain, and is compared by him, in his rivalship of Homer, to a new antagonist who enters the lists against one that is already the object of universal admiration.

Notwithstanding this praise, however, Plato has been accused, as Longinus informs us, of being frequently hurried away as by a certain Bacchic fury of words to immoderate and unpleasant metaphors, and an allegoric magnificence of diction. Longinus excuses this by saying that whatever naturally excels in magnitude possesses very little of purity. For that, says he, which is in every respect accurate is in danger of littleness. He adds, “and may not this also be necessary, that those of an abject and moderate genius, because they never encounter danger, nor aspire after the summit of excellence, are for the most part without error and remain in security; but that great things become insecure through their magnitude?” Indeed it appears to me, that whenever this exuberance, this Bacchic fury, occurs in the diction of Plato, it is owing to the magnitude of the inspiring influence of deity with which he is then replete. For that he sometimes wrote from divine inspiration is evident from his own confession in the Phaedrus, a great part of which is not so much like an orderly discourse as a dithyrambic poem. Such a style therefore, as it is the progeny of divine mania, which, as Plato justly observes, is better than all human prudence, spontaneously adapts itself to its producing cause, imitates a supernatural power as far as this can be effected by words, and thus necessarily becomes magnificent, vehement, and exuberant; for such are the characteristics of its source. All judges of composition however, both ancient and modern, are agreed that his style is in general graceful and pure; and that it is sublime without being impetuous and rapid. It is indeed no less harmonious than elevated, no less accurate than magnificent. It combines the force of the greatest orators with the graces of the first of poets; and in short; is a river to which those justly celebrated lines of Denham may be most pertinently applied:

Tho’ deep, yet clear; tho’ gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage, without o’erfowing full.

-  The reader will see, from the notes on Plato’s dialogues, and particularly from the notes on the Parmenides and Timaeus, that the style of that philosopher possesses an accuracy which is not to be found in any modern writer; an accuracy of such a wonderful nature, that the words are exactly commensurate with the sense. Hence the reader who has happily penetrated his profundity finds, with astonishment, that another word could not have been added without being superfluous, nor one word taken away without injuring the sense. The same observation may also be applied to the style of Aristotle. -

Having thus considered the philosophy of Plato, given a general view of his writings, and made some observations on his style, it only now remains to speak of the following arrangement of his dialogues and translation of his works, and then, with a few appropriate observations, to close this Introduction.

As no accurate and scientific arrangement then of these dialogues has been transmitted to us from the ancients, I was under the necessity of adopting an arrangement of my own, which I trust is not unscientific, however inferior it may be to that which was doubtless made, though unfortunately lost, by the latter interpreters of Plato. In my arrangement, therefore, I have imitated the order of the universe in which, as I have already observed, wholes precede parts, and universals particulars. Hence I have placed those dialogues first which rank as wholes, or have the relation of a system, and afterwards those in which these systems are branch out into particulars. Thus, after the First Alcibiades, which may be called, and appears to have been generally considered by the ancients an introduction to the whole of Plato’s philosophy, I have placed the Republic and the Laws, which may be said to comprehend systematically the morals and politics of Plato. After these I have ranked the Timaeus, which contains the whole of his physiology, and together with it the Critias, because of its connection with the Timaeus. The next in order is the Parmenides, which contains a system of his theology. Thus far this arrangement is conformable to the natural progress of the human mind in the acquisition of the sublimest knowledge; the subsequent arrangement principally regards the order of things. After the Parmenides then, the Sophista, Phaedrus, Greater Hippias, and Banquet, follow, which may be considered as so many lesser wholes subordinate to and comprehended in the Parmenides, which, like the universe itself, is a whole of wholes. For in the Sophista being itself is investigated, in the Banquet love itself, and in the Phaedrus beauty itself; all which are intelligible forms, and are consequently contained in the Parmenides, in which the whole extent of the intelligible is unfolded. The Greater Hippias is classed with the Phaedrus, because in the latter the whole series of the beautiful is discussed, and in the former that which subsists in soul. After these follows the Theaetetus, in which science considered as subsisting in soul is investigated; science itself, according to its first subsistence, having been previously celebrated by Socrates in one part of the Phaedrus. The Politicus and Minos, which follow next, may be considered as ramifications from the Laws; and, in short, all the following dialogues either consider more particularly the dogmas which are systematically comprehended in those already enumerated, or naturally flow from them as their original source. As it did not however appear possible to arrange these dialogues which rank as parts in the same accurate order as those which we considered as whole, it was thought better to class them either according to their agreement in one particular circumstance, as the Phaedo, Apology, and Crito, all which relate to the death of Socrates, and as the Meno and Protagoras, which relate to the question whether virtue can be taught; or according to their agreement in character, as the Lesser Hippias and Euthydemus, which are anatreptic, and the Theages, Laches, and Lysis, which are maieutic dialogues. The Cratylus is ranked in the last place, not so much because the subject of it is etymology, as because a great part of it is deeply theological; for by this arrangement, after having ascended to all the divine orders and their ineffable principle in the Parmenides, and thence descended in a regular series to the human soul in the subsequent dialogues, the reader is again led back to deity in this dialogue, and thus imitates the order which all beings observe, that of incessantly returning to the principles whence they flew.

After the dialogues follow the Epistles of Plato, which are in every respect worthy that prince of all true philosophers. They are not only written with great elegance, and occasionally with magnificence of diction, but with all the becoming dignity of a mind conscious of its superior endowments, and all the authority of a master in philosophy. They are likewise replete with many admirable political observations, and contain some of his most abstruse dogmas, which though delivered enigmatically, yet the manner in which they are delivered, elucidates at the same time that it is elucidated by what is said of these dogmas in his more theological dialogues.

-  As I profess to give the reader a translation of the genuine works of Plato only, I have not translated the Axiochus, Demodoeus, Sisyphus, &c. as these are evidently spurious dialogues. -

With respect, to the following translation, it is necessary to observe, in the first place, than the numbers of legitimate dialogues of Plato is fifty-five; for though the Republic forms but one treatise, and the Laws another, yet the former consists of ten, and the latter of twelve books, and each of these books is a dialogue. Hence, as there are thirty-three dialogues, besides the Laws and the Republic, fifty-five will, as we have said, be the amount of the whole. Of these fifty-five, the nine following have been translated by Mr. Sydenham; viz. the First and Second Alcibiades, the Greater and Lesser Hippias, the Banquet (except the speech of Alcibiades), the Philebus, the Meno, the Io, and the Rivals. I have already observed, and with deep regret, that this excellent though unfortunate scholar died before he had made that proficiency in the philosophy of Plato which might have been reasonably expected from so fair a beginning. I personally knew him only in the decline of life, when his mental powers were not only considerably impaired by age, but greatly injured by calamity. His life had been very stormy; his circumstances, for many years preceding his death, were indigent; his patrons were by no means liberal; and his real friends were neither numerous nor affluent. He began the study of Plato, as he himself informed me, when he had considerably passed the meridian of life, and with most unfortunate prejudices against his best disciples, which I attempted to remove during my acquaintance with him, and partly succeeded in the attempt; but infirmity and death prevented its completion. Under such circumstances it was not to be expected that he would fathom the profundity of Plato’s conceptions, and arrive at the summit of philosophic attainments. I saw, however, that his talents and his natural disposition were such as might have ranked him among the best of Plato’s interpreters, if he had not yielded to the pressure of calamity, if he had not nourished such baneful prejudices, and if he had not neglected philosophy in the early part of life. Had this happened, my labors would have been considerably lessened, or perhaps rendered entirely unnecessary, and his name would have been transmitted to posterity with undecaying renown. As this unfortunately did not happen, I have been under the necessity of diligently examining and comparing with the original all those parts of the dialogues which he translated, that are more deeply philosophical, or that contain any thing of the theology of Plato. In these, as might be expected, I found him greatly deficient; I found him sometimes mistaking the meaning through ignorance of Plato’s more sublime tenets, and at other times perverting it, in order to favor some opinions of his own. His translation however of other parts which are not so abstruse is excellent. In these he not only presents the reader faithfully with the matter, but likewise with the genuine manner of Plato. The notes too which accompany the translation of these parts generally exhibit just criticism and extensive learning, an elegant taste, and a genius naturally philosophic. Of these notes I have preserved as much as was consistent with the limits and design of the following work.

-  In the notes on the above-mentioned nine dialogues, those written by Mr. Sydenham are signed S., and those by myself T. -

Of the translation of the Republic by Dr. Spens, it is necessary to observe that a considerable part of it is very faithfully executed; but that in the more abstruse parts it is inaccurate; and that it every where abounds with Scotticisms which offend an English ear, and vulgarisms which are no less disgraceful to the translator than disgusting to the reader. Suffice it therefore to say of this version, that I have adopted it wherever I found it could with propriety be adopted, and given my own translation where it was otherwise.

Of the ten dialogues translated by Dacier, I can say nothing with accuracy, because I have no knowledge whatever of the French language; but if any judgment may be formed of this work, from a translation of it into English, I will be bold to say that it is by no means literal, and that he very frequently mistakes the sense of the original. From this translation therefore I could derive but little assistance; some however I have derived, and that little I willingly acknowledge. In translating the rest of Plato’s works, and this, as the reader may easily see, form by far the greatest part of them, I have had no assistance from any translation except that of Ficinus, the general excellency of which is well known to every student of Plato, arising not only from his possessing a knowledge of Platonism superior to that of any translators that have followed him, but likewise from his having made this translation from a very valuable manuscript in the Medicean library, which is now no longer to be found. I have, however, availed myself of the learned labors of the editors of various dialogues of Plato; such as the edition of the Rivals, Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, and Phaedo, by Forster; of the First and Second Alcibiades and Hipparchus, by Etwall; of the Meno, First Alcibiades, Phaedo and Phaedrus, printed at Vienna, 1784; of the Cratylus and Theaetetus, by Fischer; of the Republic, by Massey; and of the Euthydemus and Gorgias, by Dr. Routh, president of Magdalen College, Oxford. This last editor has enriched his edition of these two dialogues with very valuable and copious philological and critical notes, in which he has displayed no less learning than judgment, no less acuteness than taste. He appears indeed to me to be one of the best and most modest of philologists; and it is to be hoped that he will be imitated in what he has done by succeeding editors of Plato’s text.

If my translation had been made with an eye to the judgment of the many, it would have been necessary to apologize for its literal exactness. Had I been anxious to gratify false taste with respect to composition, I should doubtless have attended less to the precise meaning of the original, have omitted almost all connective Particles, have divided long periods into a number of short ones, and branched out the strong and deep river of Plato’s language into smooth-gliding, shallow, and feeble streams; but as the present work was composed with the hope indeed of benefitting all, but with an eye to the criticism solely of men of elevated souls, I have endeavored not to lose a word of the original; and yet at the same time have attempted to give the translation as much elegance as such verbal accuracy can be supposed capable of admitting. I have also endeavored to preserve the manner as well as the matter of my author, being fully persuaded that no translation deserves applause, in which both these are not as much as possible preserved.

My principal object in this arduous undertaking has been to unfold all the abstruse and sublime dogmas of Plato, as they are found dispersed in his works. Minutely to unravel the art which he employs in the composition of all his dialogues, and to do full justice to his meaning in every particular, must be the task of some one who has more leisure, and who is able to give the works of Plato to the public on a more extensive plan. In accomplishing this great object, I have presented the reader in my notes with nearly the substance in English of all the following manuscript Greek Commentaries and Scholia on Plato; viz. of the Commentaries of Proclus on the Parmenides and First Alcibiades; and of his Scholia on the Cratylus; of the Scholia of Olympiodorus on the Phaedo, Gorgias, and Philebus; and of Hermeas on the Phoedrus. To these are added very copious extracts from the manuscript of Damascius, Peri Archon, and from the published works of Proclus on the Timeus, Republic, and Theology of Plato. Of the four first of these manuscripts, three of which are folio volumes, I have complete copies taken with my own hand; and of the copious extracts from the others, those from Olympiodorus on the Gorgias were taken by me from the copy preserved in the British Museum; those from the same philosopher on the Philebus, and those from Hermeas on the Phaedrus, and Damascius Peri Archon, from the copies in the Bodleian library.

-  Patricius was one of the very few in modern times who have been sensible of the great merit of these writings, as is evident from the extract from the preface to his translation of Proclus’s Theological Elements. (Ferrar. 4to. 1583.) Patricius, prior to this, enumerates the writings of Proclus, and they are included in his wish that all the manuscript Greek commentaries on Plato were made public. -

And here gratitude demands that I should publicly acknowledge the very handsome and liberal manner in which I was received by the University of Oxford, and by the principal librarian and sub-librarians of the Bodleian library, during the time that I made the above mentioned extracts. In the first place I have to acknowledge the very polite attention which was paid to me by Dr. Jackson, dean of Christ-church. In the second place, the liberty of attendance at the Bodleian library, and the accommodation which was there afforded me, by the librarians of that excellent collection, demand from me no small tribute of praise. And, above all, the very liberal manner in which I was received by the fellows of New College, with whom I resided for three weeks, and from whom I experienced even Grecian hospitality, will, I trust, be as difficult a task for time to obliterate from my memory, as it would be for me to express it as it deserves.

-  I was much pleased to find that this very respectable prelate is a great admirer of Aristotle, and that extracts from the Commentaries of Simplicius and Ammonius on the Categories of that philosopher, are read by his orders in the college of which he is the head. -

With respect to the faults which I may have committed in this translation (for I am not vain enough to suppose it is without fault), I might plead as an excuse, that the whole of it has been executed amidst severe endurance from bodily infirmity and indigent circumstances; and that a very considerable part of it was accomplished amidst other ills of no common magnitude, and other labors inimical to such an undertaking. But whatever may be my errors, I will not fly to calamity for an apology. Let it be my excuse that the mistakes I may have committed in lesser particulars, have arisen from my eagerness to seize and promulgate those great truths in the philosophy and theology of Plato, which though they have been concealed for ages in oblivion, have a subsistence coeval with the universe, and will again be restored, and flourish for very extended periods, through all the infinite revolutions of time.

In the next place, it is necessary to speak concerning the qualifications requisite in a legitimate student of the philosophy of Plato, previous to which I shall just notice the absurdity of supposing that a mere knowledge of the Greek tongue, however great that knowledge may be, is alone sufficient to the understanding the sublime doctrines of Plato; for a man might as well think that he can understand Archimedes without a knowledge of the elements of geometry, merely because he can read him in the original. Those who entertain such an idle opinion, would do well to meditate on the profound observation of Heraclitus, “that polymathy does not teach intellect,” ([Greek: Polymathic noon ou didaskei]).

By a legitimate student, then, of the Platonic philosophy, I mean one who, both from nature and education, is properly qualified for such an arduous undertaking; that is one who possesses a naturally good disposition; is sagacious and acute, and is inflamed with an ardent desire for the acquisition of wisdom and truth; who from his childhood has been well instructed in the mathematical disciplines; who, besides this, has spent whole days, and frequently the greater part of the night, in profound meditation; and, like one triumphantly sailing over a raging sea, or skillfully piercing through an army of foes, has successfully encountered an hostile multitude of doubts; — in short, who has never considered wisdom as a thing of trifling estimation and easy access, but as that which cannot be obtained without the most generous and severe endurance, and the intrinsic worth of which surpasses all corporeal good, far more than the ocean the fleeting bubble which floats on its surface. To such as are destitute of these requisites, who make the study of words their sole employment, and the pursuit of wisdom but at best a secondary thing, who expect to be wise by desultory application for an hour or two in a day, after the fatigues of business, after mixing with the base multitude of mankind, laughing with the gay affecting airs of gravity with the serious, tacitly assenting to every man’s opinion, however absurd, and winking at folly however shameful and base — to such as these — and, alas! the world is full of such — the sublimest truths must appear to be nothing more than jargon and reverie, the dreams of a distempered imagination, or the ebullitions of fanatical faith.

But all this is by no means wonderful, if we consider that two-fold ignorance is the disease of the many. For they are not only ignorant with respect to the sublimest knowledge, but they are even ignorant of their ignorance. Hence they never suspect their want of understanding, but immediately reject a doctrine which appears at first sight absurd, because it is too splendid for their bat-like eyes to behold. Or if they even yield their assent to its truth, their very assent is the result of the same most dreadful disease of the soul. For they will fancy, says Plato, that they understand the highest truths, when the very contrary is really the case. I earnestly therefore entreat men of this description, not to meddle with any of the profound speculations of the Platonic philosophy, for it is more dangerous to urge them to such an employment, than to advise them to follow their sordid avocations with unwearied assiduity, and toil for wealth with increasing alacrity and vigor; as they will by this means give free scope to the base habits of their soul, and sooner suffer that punishment which in such as these must always precede mental illumination, and be the inevitable consequence of guilt. It is well said indeed by Lysis, the Pythagorean, that to inculcate liberal speculations and discourses to those whose morals are turbid and confused, is just as absurd as to pour pure and transparent water into a deep well full of mire and clay; for he who does this will only disturb the mud, and cause the pure water to become defiled. The woods of such, as the same author beautifully observes, (that is the irrational or corporeal life), in which these dire passions are nourished, must first be purified with fire and sword, and every kind of instrument (that is, through preparatory disciplines, and the political virtues), and reason must be freed from its slavery to the affections, before any thing useful can be planted in these savage haunts.

Let not such then presume to explore the regions of Platonic philosophy. The land is too pure to admit the sordid and the base. The road which conducts to it is too intricate to be discovered by the unskillful and stupid, and the journey is too long and laborious to be accomplished by the effeminate and the timid, by the slave of passion and the dupe of opinion, by the lover of sense and the despiser of truth. The dangers and difficulties in the undertaking are such as can be sustained by none but the most hardy and accomplished adventurers; and he who begins the journey without the strength of Hercules, or the wisdom and patience of Ulysses, must be destroyed by the wild beasts of the forest, or perish in the storms of the ocean; must suffer transmutation into a beast through the magic power of Circe, or be exiled for life by the detaining charm of Calypso; and in short must descend into Hades, and wander in its darkness, without emerging from thence to the bright regions of the morning, or be ruined by the deadly melody of the Syren’s song. To the most skillful traveler, who pursues the right road with an ardor which no toils can abate, with a vigilance which no weariness can surprise into negligence, and with virtue which no temptations can seduce, it exhibits for many years the appearance of the Ithaca of Ulysses, or the flying Italy of AEneas; for we no sooner gain a glimpse of the pleasing land which is to be the end of our journey, than it is suddenly ravished from our view, and we still find ourselves at a distance from the beloved coast, exposed to the fury of a stormy sea of doubts.

Abandon then, ye groveling souls, the fruitless design! Pursue with avidity the beaten road which leads to popular honors and sordid gain, but relinquish all thoughts of a voyage for which you are totally unprepared. Do you not perceive what a length of sea separates you from the royal coast? A sea,

Huge, horrid, vast, where scarce in safety sails
The best built ship, though Jove inspire the gales.

And may we not very justly ask you, similar to the interrogation of
Calypso,

What ships have you, what sailors to convey,
What oars to cut the long laborious way?

I shall only observe further, that the life of Plato, by Olympiodorus, was prefixed to this translation, in preference to that by Diogenes Laertius, because the former is the production of a most eminent Platonist, and the latter of a mere historian, who indiscriminately gave to the public whatever anecdotes he found in other authors. If the reader combines this short sketch of the life of Plato with what that philosopher says of himself in his 7th Epistle, he will be in possession of the most important particulars about him that can be obtained at present.

EXPLANATIONS OF CERTAIN PLATONIC TERMS

As some apology may be thought necessary for having introduced certain unusual words of Greek origin, I shall only observe, that, as all arts and sciences have certain appropriate terms peculiar to themselves, philosophy, which is the art of arts, and science of sciences, as being the mistress of both, has certainly a prior and a far superior claim to this privilege. I have not, however, introduced, I believe, any of these terms without at the same time sufficiently explaining them; but, lest the contrary should have taken place, the following explanation of all such terms as I have been able to recollect, and also of common words used by Platonists in a peculiar sense, is subjoined for the information of the reader.

Anagogic, [Greek: anagogikos]. Leading on high.

Demiurgus, [Greek: demiourgos]. Jupiter, the artificer of the universe.

Dianoetia. This word is derived from [Greek: dianoia], or that power of the soul which reasons scientifically, deriving the principles of its reasoning from intellect. Plato is so uncommonly accurate in his diction, that this word is very seldom used by him in any other than its primary sense.

The Divine, [Greek: to Theion], is being subsisting in conjunction with the one. For all things, except the one, viz. essence, life, and intellect, are considered by Plato as suspended from and secondary to the gods. For the gods do not subsist in, but prior to, these, which they also produce and connect, but are not characterized by these. In many places, however, Plato calls the participants of the gods by the names of the gods. For not only the Athenian Guest in the Laws, but also Socrates in the Phaedrus, calls a divine soul a god. “For,” says he, “all the horses and charioteers of the gods are good,” &c. And afterwards, still more clearly, he adds, “And this is the life of the gods.” And not only this, but he also denominates those nature gods that are always united to the gods, and which, in conjunction with them, give completion to one series. He also frequently calls daemons gods, though, according to essence, they are secondary to and subsist about the gods. For in the Phaedrus, Timaeus, and other dialogues, he extends the appellation of gods as far as the daemons. And what is still more paradoxical than all this, he does not refuse to call some men gods; as, for instance, the Elean Guest in the Sophista. From all this, therefore, we must infer that with respect to the word god, one thing which is thus denominated is simply deity; another is so according to union; a third, according to participation; a fourth, according to contact; and a fifth, according to similitude. Thus every superessential nature is primarily a god; but every intellectual nature is so according to union. And again, every divine soul is a god according to participation; but divine daemons are gods according to contact with the gods; and the souls of men obtain this appellation through similitude. Each of these, however, except the first, is as we have said, rather divine than a god; for the Athenian Guest in the Laws, calls intellect itself divine. But that which is divine is secondary to the first deity, in the same manner as the united is to the one; that which is intellectual to intellect; and that which is animated to soul. Indeed, things more uniform and simple always precede, and the series of beings ends in the one itself.

Doxastic. This word is derived from doxa, opinion, and signifies that which is apprehended by opinion, or that power which is the extremity of the rational soul. This power knows the universal in particulars, as that every man is a rational animal; but it knows not the dioti, or why a thing is, but only the oti, or that it is.

The Eternal, [Greek: To aionion], that which has a never-ending subsistence, without any connection with time; or, as Plotinus profoundly defines it, infinite life at once total and full.

That which is generated, [Greek: to geneton]. That which has not the whole of its essence or energy subsisting at once without temporal dispersion.

Generation, [Greek: genesis]. An essence composite and multiform, and conjoined with time. This is the proper signification of the word; but it is used symbolically by Plato, and also by theologists more ancient than Plato, for the sake of indication. For as Proclus beautifully observes (in MS. Comment in Parmenidem), “Fables call the ineffable unfolding into light through causes, generation.” “Hence,” he adds in the Orphic writings, the first cause is denominated time; for where there is generation, according to its proper signification, there also there is time.”

A Guest, [Greek: Xenos]. This word, in its more ample signification in the Greek, denotes a stranger, but properly implies one who receives another, or is himself received at an entertainment. In the following dialogues, therefore, wherever one of the speakers is introduced as a Xenos, I have translated this word guest, as being more conformable to the genius of Plato’s dialogues, which may be justly called rich mental banquets, and consequently the speakers in them may be considered as so many guests. Hence in the Timaeus, the persons of that dialogue are expressly spoken of as guests.

Hyparxis, [Greek: uparxis]. The first principle or foundation, as it were, of the essence of a thing. Hence also, it is the summit of essence.

Idiom, [Greek: Idioma]. The characteristic peculiarity of a thing.

The Immortal, [Greek: To athanaton]. According to Plato, there are many orders of immortality, pervading from on high to the last of things; and the ultimate echo, as it were, of immorality is seen in the perpetuity of the mundane wholes, which according to the doctrine of the Elean Guest in the Politicus, they participate from the Father of the universe. For both the being and the life of every body depend on another cause; since body is not itself naturally adapted to connect, or adorn, or preserve itself. But the immortality of partial souls, such as ours, is more manifest and more perfect than this of the perpetual bodies in the universe; as is evident from the many demonstrations which are given of it in the Phaedo, and in the 10th book of the Republic. For the immortality of partial souls has a more principal subsistence, as possessing in itself the cause of eternal permanency. But prior to both these is the immortality of daemons; for these neither verge to mortality, nor are they filled with the nature of things which are generated and corrupted. More venerable, however, than these, and essentially transcending them, is the immortality of divine souls, which are primarily self-motive, and contain the fountains and principles of the life which is attributed about bodies, and through which bodies participate of renewed immortality. And prior to all these is the immortality of the gods: for Diotima in the Banquet does not ascribe an immortality of this kind to demons. Hence such an immortality as this is separate and exempt from wholes. For, together with the immortality of the gods, eternity subsists, which is the fountain of all immortality and life, as well that life which is perpetual, as that which is dissipated into nonentity. In short, therefore, the divine immortal is that which is generative and connective of perpetual life. For it is not immortal, as participating of life, but as supplying divine life, and deifying life itself.

Imparticipable, [Greek: To amethekton]. That which is not consubsistent with an inferior nature. Thus imparticipable intellect is an intellect which is not consubsistent with soul.

Intellectual Projection, [Greek: noera epibole]. As the perception of intellect is immediate, being a darting forth, as it were, directly to its proper objects, this direct intuition is expressed by the term projection.

The Intelligible, [Greek: To noeton]. This word in Plato and Platonic writers has a various signification: for, in the first place, whatever is exempt from sensibles, and has its essence separate from them, is said to be intelligible, and in this sense soul is intelligible. In the second place, intellect, which is prior to soul, is intelligible. In the third place, that which is more ancient than intellect, which replenishes intelligence and is essentially perfective of it, is called intelligible; and this is the intelligible which Timaeus in Plato places in the order of a paradigm, prior to the demiurgic intellect and intellectual energy. But beyond these is the divine intelligible, which is defined according to divine union and hyparxis. For this is intelligible as the object of desire to intellect, as giving perfection to and containing it, and as the completion of being. The highest intelligible, therefore, is that which is the hyparxis of the gods; the second, that which is true being, and the first essence; the third, intellect, and all intellectual life; and the fourth, the order belonging to soul.

Logismos, reasoning. When applied to divinity as by Plato in the Timaeus, signifies a distributive cause of things.

On account of which; with reference to which; through which; according to which, from which; or in which; viz. [Greek: di o, uph’ ou, di ou, kath’ o, ex ou]. By the first of these terms, Plato is accustomed to denominate the final cause; by the second the paradigmatic; by the third, the demiurgic; by the fourth, the instrumental; by the fifth, form; and by the sixth, matter.

Orectic. This word is derived from [Greek: orexis], appetite.

Paradigm, [Greek: paradeigma]. A pattern, or that with reference to which a thing is made.

The perpetual, [Greek: to aidion]. That which subsists forever, but through a connection with time.

A Politician, [Greek: politikos]. This word, as Mr. Sydenham justly observes in his notes in the Rivals, is of a very large and extensive import as used by Plato, and the other ancient writers on politics: for it includes all those statesmen or politicians in aristocracies and democracies, who were, either for life, or for a certain time, invested with the whole or a part of kingly authority, and the power thereto belonging. See the Politicus.

Prudence, [Greek: Phronesis]. This word frequently means in Plato and Platonic writers, the habit of discerning what is good in all moral actions, and frequently signifies intelligence, or intellectual Perception. The following admirable explanation of this word is given by Jamblichus Prudence having a precedaneous subsistence, receives its generation from a pure and perfect intellect. Hence it looks to intellect itself, is perfected by it, and has this as the measure and most beautiful paradigm of all its energies. If also we have any communion with the gods, it is especially effected by this virtue; and through this we are in the highest degree assimilated to them. The knowledge too of such things as are good, profitable, and beautiful, and of the contraries to these, is obtained by this virtue; and the judgment and correction of works proper to be done are by this directed. And in short it is a certain governing leader of men, and of the whole arrangement of their nature; and referring cities and houses, and the particular life, of every one to a divine paradigm, it forms them according to the best similitude; obliterating some things and purifying others. So that prudence renders its possessors similar to divinity. Jamblic. apud. Stob. p. 141.

Psychical, [Greek: psychikos]. Pertaining to soul.

Science. This word is sometimes defined by Plato to be that which assigns the causes of things; sometimes to be that the subjects of which have a perfectly stable essence; and together with this, he conjoins the assignation of cause from reasoning. Sometimes again he defines it to be that the principles of which are not hypotheses; and, according to this definition, he asserts that there is one science which ascends as far as to the principle of things. For this science considers that which is truly the principle as unhypothetic, has for its subject true being, and produces its reasonings from cause. According to the second definition, he calls dianoetic knowledge science; but according to the first alone, he assigns to physiology the appellation of science.

The telestic art. The art pertaining to mystic ceremonies.

Theurgic. This word is derived from [Greek: Theourgia], or that religious operation which deifies him by whom it is performed as much as is possible to man.

Truth, [Greek: aletheia]. Plato, following ancient theologists, considers truth multifariously. Hence, according to his doctrine, the highest truth is characterized by unity, and is the light proceeding from the good, which imparts purity, as he says in the Philebus, and union, as he says in the Republic, to intelligibles. The truth which is next to this in dignity is that which proceeds from intelligibles, and illuminates the intellectual orders, and which an essence unfigured, uncolored, and without contact, first receives, where also the plain of truth is situated, as it is written in the Phaedrus. The third kind of truth is, that which is connascent with souls, and which through intelligence comes into contact with true being. For the psychical light is the third, from the intelligible; intellectual deriving its plenitude from intelligible light, and the psychical from the intellectual. And the last kind of truth is that which is full of error and inaccuracy through sense, and the instability of its object. For a material nature is perpetually flowing, and is not naturally adapted to abide even for a moment.

The following beautiful description of the third kind of truth, or that which subsists in souls, is given by Jamblichus: “Truth, as the name implies, makest a conversion about the gods and their incorporeal energy; but, doxastic imitation, which, as Plato says, is fabricative of images, wanders about that which is deprived of divinity and is dark. And the former indeed receives its perfection in intelligible and divine forms, and real beings which have a perpetual sameness of subsistence; but the latter looks to that which is formless, and non-being, and which has a various subsistence; and, about this it’s visive power is blunted. The former contemplates that which is, but the latter assumes such a form as appears to the many. Hence the former associates with intellect, and increases the intellectual nature which we contain; but the latter, from looking to that which always seems to be, hunts after folly and deceives.” Jamblic. apud Stob. p. 136.

The unical, [Greek: to niaion]. That which is characterized by unity.

Extract from ‘REPRESENTATIVE MEN’ by Ralph Waldo Emerson

CONTENTS

The Translations

EUTHYPHRO

APOLOGY

CRITO

HIPPIAS MAJOR

HIPPIAS MINOR

FIRST ALCIBIADES

CHARMIDES

LACHES

LYSIS

ION

PHAEDO

CRATYLUS

EUTHYDEMUS

PROTAGORAS

GORGIAS

MENO

MENEXENUS

SYMPOSIUM

THE REPUBLIC

PHAEDRUS

PARMENIDES

THEAETETUS

CLITOPHON

TIMAEUS

CRITIAS

SOPHIST

STATESMAN

PHILEBUS

LAWS

The Spurious Works

SECOND ALCIBIADES

HIPPARCHUS

THE RIVAL LOVERS

THEAGES

MINOS

EPINOMIS

SISYPHUS

AXIOCHUS

DEMODOCUS

ERYXIAS

HALCYON

ON JUSTICE

ON VIRTUE

EPIGRAMS

The Epistles

LIST OF EPISTLES

The Greek Texts

PRONOUNCING ANCIENT GREEK

LIST OF GREEK TEXTS

The Criticism

PLATO AND PLATONISM BY WALTER HORATIO PATER

INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY AND WRITINGS OF PLATO BY THOMAS TAYLOR

EXTRACT FROM ‘REPRESENTATIVE MEN’ BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

PLATO; OR, THE PHILOSOPHER.

PLATO: NEW READINGS

PLATO: LITTLE JOURNEYS TO THE HOMES OF GREAT TEACHERS BY ELBERT HUBBARD

The Biographies

PLATO: LIVES OF THE EMINENT PHILOSOPHERS BY DIOGENES LAËRTIUS

THE LIFE OF PLATO BY HESYCHIUS OF MILETUS

THE LIFE OF PLATO BY OLYMPIODORUS

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

PLATO; OR, THE PHILOSOPHER.

Among books, Plato only is entitled to Omar’s fanatical compliment to the Koran, when he said, “Burn the libraries; for, their value is in this book.” These sentences contain the culture of nations; these are the corner-stone of schools; these are the fountain-head of literatures. A discipline it is in logic, arithmetic, taste, symmetry, poetry, language, rhetoric, ontology, morals, or practical wisdom. There was never such range of speculation. Out of Plato come all things that are still written and debated among men of thought. Great havoc makes he among our originalities. We have reached the mountain from which all these drift bowlders were detached. The Bible of the learned for twenty- two hundred years, every brisk young man, who says in succession fine things to each reluctant generation, — Boethius, Rabelais, Erasmus, Bruno, Locke, Rousseau, Alfieri, Coleridge, — is some reader of Plato, translating into the vernacular, wittily, his good things. Even the men of grander proportion suffer some deduction from the misfortune (shall I say?) of coming after this exhausting generalizer. St. Augustine, Copernicus, Newton, Behmen, Swedenborg, Goethe, are likewise his debtors, and must say after him. For it is fair to credit the broadest generalizer with all the particulars deducible from his thesis.

Plato is philosophy, and philosophy, Plato, — at once the glory and the shame of mankind, since neither Saxon nor Roman have availed to add any idea to his categories. No wife, no children had he, and the thinkers of all civilized nations are his posterity, and are tinged with his mind. How many great men Nature is incessantly sending up out of night, to be his men, — Platonists! the Alexandrians, a constellation of genius; the Elizabethans, not less; Sir Thomas More, Henry More, John Hales, John Smith, Lord Bacon, Jeremy Taylor, Ralph Cudworth, Sydenham, Thomas Taylor; Marcilius Ficinus, and Picus Mirandola. Calvinism is in his Phaedo: Christianity is in it. Mahometanism draws all its philosophy, in its hand-book of morals, the Akhlak-y-Jalaly, from him. Mysticism finds in Plato all its texts. This citizen of a town in Greece is no villager nor patriot. An Englishman reads and says, “how English!” a German— “how Teutonic!” an Italian— “how Roman and how Greek!” As they say that Helen of Argos had that universal beauty that everybody felt related to her, so Plato seems, to a reader in New England, an American genius. His broad humanity transcends all sectional lines.

This range of Plato instructs us what to think of the vexed question concerning his reputed works, — what are genuine, what spurious. It is singular that wherever we find a man higher, by a whole head, than any of his contemporaries, it is sure to come into doubt, what are his real works. Thus, Homer, Plato, Raffaelle, Shakspeare. For these men magnetize their contemporaries, so that their companions can do for them what they can never do for themselves; and the great man does thus live in several bodies; and write, or paint, or act, by many hands; and after some time, it is not easy to say what is the authentic work of the master, and what is only of his school.

Plato, too, like every great man, consumed his own times. What is a great man, but one of great affinities, who takes up into himself all arts, sciences, all knowables, as his food? He can spare nothing; he can dispose of everything. What is not good for virtue is good for knowledge. Hence his contemporaries tax him with plagiarism. But the inventor only knows how to borrow; and society is glad to forget the innumerable laborers who ministered to this architect, and reserves all its gratitude for him. When we are praising Plato, it seems we are praising quotations from Solon, and Sophron, and Philolaus. Be it so. Every book is a quotation; and every house is a quotation out of all forests, and mines, and stone quarries; and every man is a quotation from all his ancestors. And this grasping inventor puts all nations under contribution.

Plato absorbed the learning of his times, — Philolaus, Timaeus, Heraclitus, Parmenides, and what else; then his master, Socrates; and finding himself still capable of a larger synthesis, — beyond all example then or since, — he traveled into Italy, to gain what Pythagoras had for him; then into Egypt, and perhaps still further east, to import the other element, which Europe wanted, into the European mind. This breadth entitles him to stand as the representative of philosophy. He says, in the Republic, “Such a genius as philosophers must of necessity have, is wont but seldom, in all its parts, to meet in one man; but its different parts generally spring up in different persons.” Every man, who would do anything well, must come to it from a higher ground. A philosopher must be more than a philosopher. Plato is clothed with the powers of a poet, stands upon the highest place of the poet, and (though I doubt he wanted the decisive gift of lyric expression) mainly is not a poet, because he chose to use the poetic gift to an ulterior purpose.

Great geniuses have the shortest biographies. Their cousins can tell you nothing about them. They lived in their writings, and so their house and street life was trivial and commonplace. If you would know their tastes and complexions, the most admiring of their readers most resembles them. Plato, especially, has no external biography. If he had lover, wife, or children, we hear nothing of them. He ground them all into paint. As a good chimney burns its smoke, so a philosopher converts the value of all his fortunes into his intellectual performances.

He was born 430 A. C., about the time of the death of Pericles; was of patrician connection in his times and city; and is said to have had an early inclination for war; but in his twentieth year, meeting with Socrates, was easily dissuaded from this pursuit, and remained for ten years his scholar, until the death of Socrates. He then went to Megara; accepted the invitations of Dion and of Dionysius, to the court of Sicily; and went thither three times, though very capriciously treated. He traveled into Italy; then into Egypt, where he stayed a long time; some say three, — some say thirteen years. It is said, he went farther, into Babylonia: this is uncertain. Returning to Athens, he gave lessons, in the Academy, to those whom his fame drew thither; and died, as we have received it, in the act of writing, at eighty-one years.

But the biography of Plato is interior. We are to account for the supreme elevation of this man, in the intellectual history of our race, — how it happens that, in proportion to the culture of men, they become his scholars; that, as our Jewish Bible has implanted itself in the table-talk and household life of every man and woman in the European and American nations, so the writings of Plato have pre-occupied every school of learning, every lover of thought, every church, every poet, — making it impossible to think, on certain levels, except through him. He stands between the truth and every man’s mind, and has almost impressed language, and the primary forms of thought, with his name and seal. I am struck, in reading him, with the extreme modernness of his style and spirit. Here is the germ of that Europe we know so well, in its long history of arts and arms; here are all its traits, already discernible in the mind of Plato, — and in none before him. It has spread itself since into a hundred histories, but has added no new element. This perpetual modernness is the measure of merit, in every work of art; since the author of it was not misled by anything shortlived or local, but abode by real and abiding traits. How Plato came thus to be Europe, and philosophy, and almost literature, is the problem for us to solve.

This could not have happened, without a sound, sincere, and catholic man, able to honor, at the same time, the ideal, or laws of the mind, and fate, or the order of nature. The first period of a nation, as of an individual, is the period of unconscious strength. Children cry, scream and stamp with fury, unable to express their desires. As soon as they can speak and tell their want, and the reason of it, they become gentle. In adult life, whilst the perceptions are obtuse, men and women talk vehemently and superlatively, blunder and quarrel; their manners are full of desperation; their speech is full of oaths. As soon as, with culture, things have cleared up a little, and they see them no longer in lumps and masses, but accurately distributed, they desist from that weak vehemence, and explain their meaning in detail. If the tongue had not been framed for articulation, man would still be a beast in the forest. The same weakness and want, on a higher plane, occurs daily in the education of ardent young men and women. “Ah! you don’t understand me; I have never met with any one who comprehends me:” and they sigh and weep, write verses, and walk alone, — fault of power to express their precise meaning. In a month or two, through the favor of their good genius, they meet some one so related as to assist their volcanic estate; and, good communication being once established, they are thenceforward good citizens. It is ever thus. The progress is to accuracy, to skill, to truth, from blind force.

There is a moment, in the history of every nation, when, proceeding out of this brute youth, the perceptive powers reach their ripeness, and have not yet become microscopic: so that man, at that instant, extends across the entire scale; and, with his feet still planted on the immense forces of night, converses, by his eyes and brain, with solar and stellar creation. That is the moment of adult health, the culmination of power.

Such is the history of Europe, in all points; and such in philosophy. Its early records, almost perished, are of the immigrations from Asia, bringing with them the dreams of barbarians; a confusion of crude notions of morals, and of natural philosophy, gradually subsiding, through the partial insight of single teachers.

Before Pericles, came the Seven Wise Masters; and we have the beginnings of geometry, metaphysics, and ethics: then the partialists, — deducing the origin of things from flux or water, or from air, or from fire, or from mind. All mix with these causes mythologic pictures. At last, comes Plato, the distributor, who needs no barbaric paint, or tattoo, or whooping; for he can define. He leaves with Asia the vast and superlative; he is the arrival of accuracy and intelligence. “He shall be as a god to me, who can rightly divide and define.”

This defining is philosophy. Philosophy is the account which the human mind gives to itself of the constitution of the world. Two cardinal facts lie forever at the base: the one, and the two. — 1. Unity, or Identity; and, 2, Variety. We unite all things, by perceiving the law which pervades them; by perceiving the superficial differences, and the profound resemblances. But every mental act, — this very perception of identity or oneness, recognizes the difference of things. Oneness and otherness. It is impossible to speak, or to think, without embracing both.

The mind is urged to ask for one cause of many effects; then for the cause of that; and again the cause, diving still into the profound; self-assured that it shall arrive at an absolute and sufficient one, — a one that shall be all. “In the midst of the sun is the light, in the midst of the light is truth, and in the midst of truth is the imperishable being, “say the Vedas. All philosophy, of east and west, has the same centripetence. Urged by an opposite necessity, the mind returns from the one, to that which is not one, but other or many; from cause to effect; and affirms the necessary existence of variety, the self-existence of both, as each is involved in the other. These strictly-blended elements it is the problem of thought to separate, and to reconcile. Their existence is mutually contradictory and exclusive; and each so fast slides into the other, that we can never say what is one, and what it is not. The Proteus is as nimble in the highest as in the lowest grounds, when we contemplate the one, the true, the good, — as in the surfaces and extremities of matter. In all nations, there are minds which incline to dwell in the conception of the fundamental Unity. The raptures of prayer and ecstasy of devotion lose all being in one Being. This tendency finds its highest expression in the religious writings of the East, and chiefly, in the Indian Scriptures, in the Vedas, the Bhagavat Geeta, and the Vishnu Purana. Those writings contain little else than this idea, and they rise to pure and sublime strains in celebrating it.

The Same, the Same! friend and foe are of one stuff; the ploughman, the plough, and the furrow, are of one stuff; and the stuff is such, and so much, that the variations of forms are unimportant. “You are fit” (says the supreme Krishna to a sage) “to apprehend that you are not distinct from me. That which I am, thou art, and that also is this world, with its gods, and heroes, and mankind. Men contemplate distinctions, because they are stupefied with ignorance.” “The words I and mine constitute ignorance. What is the great end of all, you shall now learn from me. It is soul, — one in all bodies, pervading, uniform, perfect, preeminent over nature, exempt from birth, growth, and decay, omnipresent, made up of true knowledge, independent, unconnected with unrealities, with name, species, and the rest, in time past, present, and to come. The knowledge that this spirit, which is essentially one, is in one’s own, and in all other bodies, is the wisdom of one who knows the unity of things. As one diffusive air, passing through the perforations of a flute, is distinguished as the notes of a scale, so the nature of the Great Spirit is single, though its forms be manifold, arising from the consequences of acts. When the difference of the investing form, as that of god, or the rest, is destroyed, there is no distinction.” “The whole world is but a manifestation of Vishnu, who is identical with all things, and is to be regarded by the wise, as not differing from, but as the same as themselves. I neither am going nor coming; nor is my dwelling in any one place; nor art thou, thou; nor are others, others; nor am I, I.” As if he had said, “All is for the soul, and the soul is Vishnu; and animals and stars are transient painting; and light is whitewash; and durations are deceptive; and form is imprisonment; and heaven itself a decoy.” That which the soul seeks is resolution into being, above form, out of Tartarus, and out of heaven, — liberation from nature.

If speculation tends thus to a terrific unity, in which all things are absorbed, action tends directly backwards to diversity. The first is the course of gravitation of mind; the second is the power of nature. Nature is the manifold. The unity absorbs, and melts or reduces. Nature opens and creates. These two principles reappear and interpenetrate all things, all thought; the one, the many. One is being; the other, intellect; one is necessity; the other, freedom; one, rest; the other, motion; one, power; the other, distribution; one, strength; the other, pleasure; one, consciousness; the other, definition; one, genius; the other, talent, one, earnestness; the other, knowledge; one, possession; the other, trade; one, caste; the other, culture; one king; the other, democracy; and, if we dare carry these generalizations a step higher, and name the last tendency of both, we might say, that the end of the one is escape from organization, — pure science; and the end of the other is the highest instrumentality, or use of means, or executive deity.

Each student adheres, by temperament and by habit, to the first or to the second of these gods of the mind. By religion, he tends to unity; by intellect, or by the senses, to the many. A too rapid unification, and an excessive appliance to parts and particulars, are the twin dangers of speculation.

To this partiality the history of nations corresponded. The country of unity, of immovable institutions, the seat of a philosophy delighting in abstractions, of men faithful in doctrine and in practice to the idea of a deaf, unimplorable, immense fate, is Asia; and it realizes this fate in the social institution of caste. On the other side, the genius of Europe is active and creative; it resists caste by culture; its philosophy was a discipline; it is a land of arts, inventions, trade, freedom. If the East loved infinity, the West delighted in boundaries.

European civility is the triumph of talent, the extension of system, the sharpened understanding, adaptive skill, delight in forms, delight in manifestation, in comprehensible results. Pericles, Athens, Greece, had been working in this element with the joy of genius not yet chilled by any foresight of the detriment of an excess. They saw before them no sinister political economy; no ominous Malthus; no Paris or London; no pitiless subdivision of classes, — the doom of the pinmakers, the doom of the weavers, of dressers, of stockingers, of carders, of spinners, of colliers; no Ireland; no Indian caste, superinduced by the efforts of Europe to throw it off. The understanding was in its health and prime. Art was in its splendid novelty. They cut the Pentelican marble as if it were snow, and their perfect works in architecture and sculpture seemed things of course, not more difficult than the completion of a new ship at the Medford yards, or new mills at Lowell. These things are in course, and may be taken for granted. The Roman legion, Byzantine legislation, English trade, the saloons of Versailles, the cafes of Paris, the steam-mill, steamboat, steam-coach, may all be seen in perspective; the town-meeting, the ballot-box, the newspaper and cheap press.

Meantime, Plato, in Egypt, and in Eastern pilgrimages, imbibed the idea of one Deity, in which all things are absorbed. The unity of Asia, and the detail of Europe; the infinitude of the Asiatic soul, and the defining, result-loving, machine-making, surface-seeking, opera-going Europe, — Plato came to join, and by contact to enhance the energy of each. The excellence of Europe and Asia are in his brain. Metaphysics and natural philosophy expressed the genius of Europe; he substructs the religion of Asia, as the base.

In short, a balanced soul was born, perceptive of the two elements. It is as easy to be great as to be small. The reason why we do not at once believe in admirable souls, is because they are not in our experience. In actual life, they are so rare, as to be incredible; but, primarily, there is not only no presumption against them, but the strongest presumption in favor of their appearance. But whether voices were heard in the sky, or not; whether his mother or his father dreamed that the infant man-child was the son of Apollo; whether a swarm of bees settled on his lips, or not; a man who could see two sides of a thing was born. The wonderful synthesis so familiar in nature; the upper and the under side of the medal of Jove; the union of impossibilities, which reappears in every object; its real and its ideal power, — was now, also, transferred entire to the consciousness of a man.

The balanced soul came. If he loved abstract truth, he saved himself by propounding the most popular of all principles, the absolute good, which rules rulers, and judges the judge. If he made transcendental distinctions, he fortified himself by drawing all his illustrations from sources disdained by orators, and polite conversers; from mares and puppies; from pitchers and soup-ladles; from cooks and criers; the shops of potters, horse-doctors, butchers, and fishmongers. He cannot forgive in himself a partiality, but is resolved that the two poles of thought shall appear in his statement. His arguments and his sentences are self-poised and spherical. The two poles appear; yes, and become two hands, to grasp and appropriate their own.

Every great artist has been such by synthesis. Our strength is transitional, alternating; or, shall I say, a thread of two strands. The seashore, sea seen from shore, shore seen from sea; the taste of two metals in contact; and our enlarged powers at the approach and at the departure of a friend; the experience of poetic creativeness, which is not found in staying at home, nor yet in traveling, but in transitions from one to the other, which must therefore be adroitly managed to present as much transitional surface as possible; this command of two elements must explain the power and charm of Plato. Art expresses the one, or the same by the different. Thought seeks to know unity in unity; poetry to show it by variety; that is, always by an object or symbol. Plato keeps the two vases, one of aether and one of pigment, at his side, and invariably uses both. Things added to things, as statistics, civil history, are inventories. Things used as language are inexhaustibly attractive. Plato turns incessantly the obverse and the reverse of the medal of Jove.

To take an example: — The physical philosophers have sketched each his theory of the world; the theory of atoms, of fire, of flux, of spirit; theories mechanical and chemical in their genius. Plato, a master of mathematics, studious of all natural laws and causes, feels these, as second causes, to be no theories of the world, but bare inventories and lists. To the study of nature he therefore prefixes the dogma,— “Let us declare the cause which led the Supreme Ordainer to produce and compose the universe. He was good; and he who is good has no kind of envy. Exempt from envy, he wished that all things should be as much as possible like himself. Whosoever, taught by wise men, shall admit this as the prime cause of the origin and foundation of the world, will be in the truth.” “All things are for the sake of the good, and it is the cause of everything beautiful.” This dogma animates and impersonates his philosophy. The synthesis which makes the character of his mind appears in all his talents. Where there is great compass of wit, we usually find excellencies that combine easily in the living man, but in description appear incompatible. The mind of Plato is not to be exhibited by a Chinese catalogue, but is to be apprehended by an original mind in the exercise of its original power. In him the freest abandonment is united with the precision of a geometer. His daring imagination gives him the more solid grasp of facts; as the birds of highest flight have the strongest alar bones. His patrician polish, his intrinsic elegance, edged by an irony so subtle that it stings and paralyzes, adorn the soundest health and strength of frame. According to the old sentence, “If Jove should descend to the earth, he would speak in the style of Plato.”

With this palatial air, there is, for the direct aim of several of his works, and running through the tenor of them all, a certain earnestness, which mounts, in the Republic, and in the Phaedo, to piety. He has been charged with feigning sickness at the time of the death of Socrates. But the anecdotes that have come down from the times attest his manly interference before the people in his master’s behalf, since even the savage cry of the assembly to Plato is preserved; and the indignation towards popular government, in many of his pieces, expresses a personal exasperation. He has a probity, a native reverence for justice and honor, and a humanity which makes him tender for the superstitions of the people. Add to this, he believes that poetry, prophecy, and the high insight, arc from a wisdom of which man is not master; that the gods never philosophize; but, by a celestial mania, these miracles are accomplished. Horsed on these winged steeds, he sweeps the dim regions, visits worlds which flesh cannot enter; he saw the souls in pain; he hears the doom of the judge; he beholds the penal metempsychosis; the Fates, with the rock and shears; and hears the intoxicating hum of their spindle.

But his circumspection never forsook him. One would say, he had read the inscription on the gates of Busyrane,— “Be bold;” and on the second gate,— “Be bold, be bold and evermore be bold;” and then again he paused well at the third gate,— “Be not too bold.” His strength is like the momentum of a falling planet; and his discretion, the return of its due and perfect curve, — so excellent is his Greek love of boundary, and his skill in definition. In reading logarithms, one is not more secure, than in following Plato in his flights. Nothing can be colder than his head, when the lightnings of his imagination are playing in the sky. He has finished his thinking, before he brings it to the reader; and he abounds in the surprises of a literary master. He has that opulence which furnishes, at every turn, the precise weapon he needs. As the rich man wears no more garments, drives no more horses, sits in no more chambers, than the poor, — but has that one dress, or equipage, or instrument, which is fit for the hour and the need; so Plato, in his plenty, is never restricted, but has the fit word. There is, indeed, no weapon in all the armory of wit which he did not possess and use, — epic, analysis, mania, intuition, music, satire, and irony, down to the customary and polite. His illustrations are poetry and his jests illustrations. Socrates’ profession of obstetric art is good philosophy; and his finding that word “cookery,” and “adulatory art,” for rhetoric, in the Gorgias, does us a substantial service still. No orator can measure in effect with him who can give good nicknames.

What moderation, and understatement, and checking his thunder in mid volley! He has good-naturedly furnished the courtier and citizen with all that can be said against the schools. “For philosophy is an elegant thing, if any one modestly meddles with it; but, if he is conversant with it more than is becoming, it corrupts the man.” He could well afford to be generous, — he, who from the sunlike centrality and reach of his vision, had a faith without cloud. Such as his perception, was his speech: he plays with the doubt, and makes the most of it: he paints and quibbles; and by and by comes a sentence that moves the sea and land. The admirable earnest comes not only at intervals, in the perfect yes and no of the dialogue, but in bursts of light. “I, therefore, Callicles, am persuaded by these accounts, and consider how I may exhibit my soul before the judge in a healthy condition. Wherefore, disregarding the honors that most men value, and looking to the truth, I shall endeavor in reality to live as virtuously as I can and, when I die, to die so. And I invite all other men, to the utmost of my power; and you, too, I in turn invite to this contest, which, I affirm, surpasses all contests here.”

He is a great average man one who, to the best thinking, adds a proportion and equality in his faculties, so that men see in him their own dreams and glimpses made available, and made to pass for what they are. A great common sense is his warrant and qualification to be the world’s interpreter. He has reason, as all the philosophic and poetic class have: but he has, also, what they have not, — this strong solving sense to reconcile his poetry with the appearances of the world, and build a bridge from the streets of cities to the Atlantis. He omits never this graduation, but slopes his thought, however picturesque the precipice on one side, to an access from the plain. He never writes in ecstasy, or catches us up into poetic rapture.

Plato apprehended the cardinal facts. He could prostrate himself on the earth, and cover his eyes, whilst he adorned that which cannot be numbered, or gauged, or known, or named: that of which everything can be affirmed and denied: that “which is entity and nonentity.” He called it super-essential. He even stood ready, as in the Parmenides, to demonstrate that it was so, — that this Being exceeded the limits of intellect. No man ever more fully acknowledged the Ineffable. Having paid his homage, as for the human race, to the Illimitable, he then stood erect, and for the human race affirmed, “And yet things are knowable!” — that is, the Asia in his mind was first heartily honored, — the ocean of love and power, before form, before will, before knowledge, the Same, the Good, the One; and now, refreshed and empowered by this worship, the instinct of Europe, namely, culture, returns; and he cries, Yet things are knowable! They are knowable, because, being from one, things correspond. There is a scale: and the correspondence of heaven to earth, of matter to mind, of the part to the whole, is our guide. As there is a science of stars, called astronomy; a science of quantities called mathematics; a science of qualities, called chemistry; so there is a science of sciences, — I call it Dialectic, — which is the intellect discriminating the false and the true. It rests on the observation of identity and diversity; for, to judge, is to unite to an object the notion which belongs to it. The sciences, even the best, — mathematics, and astronomy, are like sportsmen, who seize whatever prey offers, even without being able to make any use of them. Dialectic must teach the use of them. “This is of that rank that no intellectual man will enter on any study for its own sake, but only with a view to advance himself in that one sole science which embraces all.”

“The essence or peculiarity of man is to comprehend the whole; or that which in the diversity of sensations, can be comprised under a rational unity.” “The soul which has never perceived the truth, cannot pass into the human form.” I announce to men the intellect. I announce the good of being interpenetrated by the mind that made nature: this benefit, namely, that it can understand nature, which it made and maketh. Nature is good, but intellect is better: as the law-giver is before the law-receiver. I give you joy, O sons of men: that truth is altogether wholesome; that we have hope to search out what might be the very self of everything. The misery of man is to be balked of the sight of essence, and to be stuffed with conjecture: but the supreme good is reality; the supreme beauty is reality; and all virtue and all felicity depend on this science of the real: for courage is nothing else than knowledge: the fairest fortune that can befall man, is to be guided by his daemon to that which is truly his own. This also is the essence of justice, — to attend every one his own; nay, the notion of virtue is not to be arrived at, except through direct contemplation of the divine essence. Courage, then, for “the persuasion that we must search that which we do not know, will render us, beyond comparison, better, braver, and more industrious, than if we thought it impossible to discover what we do not know, and useless to search for it.” He secures a position not to be commanded, by his passion for reality; valuing philosophy only as it is the pleasure of conversing with real being.

Thus, full of the genius of Europe, he said, “Culture.” He saw the institutions of Sparta, and recognized more genially, one would say, than any since, the hope of education. He delighted in every accomplishment, in every graceful and useful and truthful performance; above all, in the splendors of genius and intellectual achievement. “The whole of life, O Socrates,” said Glauco, “is, with the wise the measure of hearing such discourses as these.” What a price he sets on the feats of talent, on the powers of Pericles, of Isocrates, of Parmenides! What price, above price on the talents themselves! He called the several faculties, gods, in his beautiful personation. What value he gives to the art of gymnastics in education; what to geometry; what to music, what to astronomy, whose appeasing and medicinal power he celebrates! In the Timseus, he indicates the highest employment of the eyes. “By us it is asserted, that God invented and bestowed sight on us for this purpose, — that, on surveying the circles of intelligence in the heavens, we might properly employ those of our own minds, which, though disturbed when compared with the others that are uniform, are still allied to their circulations; and that, having thus learned, and being naturally possessed of a correct reasoning faculty, we might, by imitating the uniform revolutions of divinity, set right our own wanderings and blunders.” And in the Republic,— “By each of these disciplines, a certain organ of the soul is both purified and reanimated, which is blinded and buried by studies of another kind; an organ better worth saving than ten thousand eyes, since truth is perceived by this alone.”

He said, Culture; but he first admitted its basis, and gave immeasurably the first place to advantages of nature. His patrician tastes laid stress on the distinctions of birth. In the doctrine of the organic character and disposition is the origin of caste. “Such as were fit to govern, into their composition the informing Deity mingled gold: into the military, silver; iron and brass for husbandmen and artificers.” The East confirms itself, in all ages, in this faith. The Koran is explicit on this point of caste. “Men have their metal, as of gold and silver. Those of you who were the worthy ones in the state of ignorance, will be the worthy ones in the state of faith, as soon as you embrace it.” Plato was not less firm. “Of the five orders of things, only four can be taught in the generality of men.” In the Republic, he insists on the temperaments of the youth, as the first of the first.

A happier example of the stress laid on nature, is in the dialogue with the young Theages, who wishes to receive lessons from Socrates. Socrates declares that, if some have grown wise by associating with him, no thanks are due to him; but, simply, whilst they were with him, they grew wise, not because of him; he pretends not to know the way of it. “It is adverse to many, nor can those be benefited by associating with me, whom the Daemons oppose, so that it is not possible for me to live with these. With many, however, he does not prevent me from conversing, who yet are not at all benefited by associating with me. Such, O Theages, is the association with me; for, if it pleases the God, you will make great and rapid proficiency: you will not, if he does not please. Judge whether it is not safer to be instructed by some one of those who have power over the benefit which they impart to men, than by me, who benefit or not, just as it may happen.” As if he had said, “I have no system. I cannot be answerable for you. You will be what you must. If there is love between us, inconceivably delicious and profitable will our intercourse be; if not, your time is lost, and you will only annoy me. I shall seem to you stupid, and the reputation I have, false. Quite above us, beyond the will of you or me, is this secret affinity or repulsion laid. All my good is magnetic, and I educate, not by lessons, but by going about my business.”

He said, Culture; he said, Nature; and he failed not to add, “There is also the divine.” There is no thought in any mind, but it quickly tends to convert itself into a power, and organizes a huge instrumentality of means. Plato, lover of limits, loved the illimitable, saw the enlargement and nobility which come from truth itself, and good itself, and attempted, as if on the part of the human intellect, once for all, to do it adequate homage, — homage fit for the immense soul to receive, and yet homage becoming the intellect to render. He said, then, “Our faculties run out into infinity, and return to us thence. We can define but a little way; but here is a fact which will not be skipped, and which to shut our eyes upon is suicide. All things are in a scale; and, begin where we will, ascend and ascend. All things are symbolical; and what we call results are beginnings.”

A key to the method and completeness of Plato is his twice bisected line. After he has illustrated the relation between the absolute good and true, and the forms of the intelligible world, he says:— “Let there be a line cut in two, unequal parts. Cut again each of these two parts, — one representing the visible, the other the intelligible world, — and these two new sections, representing the bright part and the dark part of these worlds, you will have, for one of the sections of the visible world, — images, that is, both shadows and reflections; for the other section, the objects of these images,-that is, plants, animals, and the works of art and nature. Then divide the intelligible world in like manner; the one section will be of opinions and hypotheses, and the other section, of truths.” To these four sections, the four operations of the soul correspond, — conjecture, faith, understanding, reason. As every pool reflects the image of the sun, so every thought and thing restores us an image and creature of the supreme Good. The universe is perforated by a million channels for his activity. All things mount and mount.

All his thought has this ascension; in Phaedrus, teaching that “beauty is the most lovely of all things, exciting hilarity, and shedding desire and confidence through the universe, wherever it enters; and it enters, in some degree, into all things; but that there is another, which is as much more beautiful than beauty, as beauty is than chaos; namely, wisdom, which our wonderful organ of sight cannot reach unto, but which, could it be seen, would ravish us with its perfect reality.” He has the same regard to it as the source of excellence in works of art. “When an artificer, in the fabrication of any work, looks to that which always subsists according to the same; and, employing a model of this kind, expresses its idea and power in his work; it must follow, that his production should be beautiful. But when he beholds that which is born and dies, it will be far from beautiful.”

Thus ever: the Banquet is a teaching in the same spirit, familiar now to all the poetry, and to all the sermons of the world, that the love of the sexes is initial; and symbolizes, at a distance, the passion of the soul for that immense lake of beauty it exists to seek. This faith in the Divinity is never out of mind, and constitutes the limitation of all his dogmas. Body cannot teach wisdom; — God only. In the same mind, he constantly affirms that virtue cannot be taught; that it is not a science, but an inspiration; that the greatest goods are produced to us through mania, and are assigned to us by a divine gift.

This leads me to that central figure, which he has established in his Academy, as the organ through which every considered opinion shall be announced, and whose biography he has likewise so labored, that the historic facts are lost in the light of Plato’s mind. Socrates and Plato are the double star, which the most powerful instruments will not entirely separate. Socrates, again, in his traits and genius, is the best example of that synthesis which constitutes Plato’s extraordinary power. Socrates, a man of humble stem, but honest enough; of the commonest history; of a personal homeliness so remarkable, as to be a cause of wit in others, — the rather that his broad good nature and exquisite taste for a joke invited the sally, which was sure to be paid. The players personated him on the stage; the potters copied his ugly face on their stone jugs. He was a cool fellow, adding to his humor a perfect temper, and a knowledge of his man, be he who he might whom he talked with, which laid the companion open to certain defeat in any debate, — and in debate he immoderately delighted. The young men are prodigiously fond of him, and invite him to their feasts, whither he goes for conversation. He can drink, too; has the strongest head in Athens; and, after leaving the whole party under the table, goes away, as if nothing had happened, to begin new dialogues with somebody that is sober. In short, he was what our country-people call an old one.

He affected a good many citizen-like tastes, was monstrously fond of Athens, hated trees, never willingly went beyond the walls, knew the old characters, valued the bores and philistines, thought everything in Athens a little better than anything in any other place. He was plain as a Quaker in habit and speech, affected low phrases, and illustrations from cocks and quails, soup-pans and sycamore-spoons, grooms and farriers, and unnameable offices, — especially if he talked with any superfine person. He had a Franklin-like wisdom. Thus, he showed one who was afraid to go on foot to Olympia, that it was no more than his daily walk within doors, if continuously extended, would easily reach.

Plain old uncle as he was, with his great ears, — an immense talker, — the rumor ran, that, on one or two occasions, in the war with Boeotia, he had shown a determination which had covered the retreat of a troop; and there was some story that, under cover of folly, he had, in the city government, when one day he chanced to hold a seat there, evinced a courage in opposing singly the popular voice, which had well-nigh ruined him. He is very poor; but then he is hardy as a soldier, and can live on a few olives; usually, in the strictest sense, on bread and water, except when entertained by his friends. His necessary expenses were exceedingly small, and no one could live as he did. He wore no undergarment; his upper garment was the same for summer and winter; and he went barefooted; and it is said that, to procure the pleasure, which he loves, of talking at his ease all day with the most elegant and cultivated young men, he will now and then return to his shop, and carve statues, good or bad, for sale. However that be, it is certain that he had grown to delight in nothing else than this conversation; and that, under his hypocritical pretense of knowing nothing, he attacks and brings down all the fine speakers, all the fine philosophers of Athens, whether natives, or strangers from Asia Minor and the islands. Nobody can refuse to talk with him, he is so honest, and really curious to know; a man who was willingly confuted, if he did not speak the truth, and who willingly confuted others, asserting what was false; and not less pleased when confuted than when confuting; for he thought not any evil happened to men, of such a magnitude as false opinion respecting the just and unjust. A pitiless disputant, who knows nothing, but the bounds of whose conquering intelligence no man had ever reached; whose temper was imperturbable; whose dreadful logic was always leisurely and sportive; so careless and ignorant as to disarm the weariest, and draw them, in the pleasantest manner, into horrible doubts and confusion. But he always knew the way out; knew it, yet would not tell it. No escape; he drives them to terrible choices by his dilemmas, and tosses the Hippiases and Gorgiases, with their grand reputations, as a boy tosses his balls. The tyrannous realist!-Meno has discoursed a thousand times, at length, on virtue, before many companies, and very well, as it appeared to him; but, at this moment, he cannot even tell what it is, — this cramp-fish of a Socrates has so bewitched him.

This hard-headed humorist, whose strange conceits, drollery, and bon-hommie, diverted the young patricians, whilst the rumor of his sayings and quibbles gets abroad every day, turns out, in a sequel, to have a probity as invincible as his logic and to be either insane, or, at least, under cover of this play, enthusiastic in his religion. When accused before the judges of subverting the popular creed, he affirms the immortality of the soul, the future reward and punishment; and, refusing to recant, in a caprice of the popular government, was condemned to die, and sent to the prison. Socrates entered the prison, and took away all ignominy from the place, which could not be a prison, whilst he was there. Crito bribed the jailor; but Socrates would not go out by treachery. “Whatever inconvenience ensue, nothing is to be preferred before justice. These things I hear like pipes and drums, whose sound makes me deaf to everything you say.” The fame of this prison, the fame of the discourses there, and the drinking of the hemlock, are one of the most precious passages in the history of the world.

The rare coincidence, in one ugly body, of the droll and the martyr, the keen street and market debater with the sweetest saint known to any history at that time, had forcibly struck the mind of Plato, so capacious of these contrasts; and the figure of Socrates, by a necessity, placed itself in the foreground of the scene, as the fittest dispenser of the intellectual treasurers he had to communicate. It was a rare fortune, that this Aesod of the mob, and this robed scholar, should meet, to make each other immortal in their mutual faculty. The strange synthesis, in the character of Socrates, capped the synthesis in the mind of Plato. Moreover, by this means, he was able, in the direct way, and without envy, to avail himself of the wit and weight of Socrates, to which unquestionably his own debt was great; and these derived again their principal advantage from the perfect art of Plato.

It remains to say, that the defect of Plato in power is only that which results inevitably from his quality. He is intellectual in his aim; and, therefore, in expression, literary. Mounting into heaven, driving into the pit, expounding the laws of the state, the passion of love, the remorse of crime, the hope of the parting soul, — he is literary, and never otherwise. It is almost the sole deduction from the merit of Plato, that his writings have not, — what is, no doubt, incident to this regnancy of intellect in his work, — the vital authority which the screams of prophets and the sermons of unlettered Arabs and Jews possess. There is an interval; and to cohesion, contact is necessary.

I know not what can be said in reply to this criticism, but that we have come to a fact in the nature of things: an oak is not an orange. The qualities of sugar remain with sugar, and those of salt, with salt.

In the second place, he has not a system. The dearest defenders and disciples are at fault. He attempted a theory of the universe, and his theory is not complete or self-evident. One man thinks he means this, and another, that: he has said one thing in one place, and the reverse of it in another place. He is charged with having failed to make the transition from ideas to matter. Here is the world, sound as a nut, perfect, not the smallest piece of chaos left, never a stitch nor an end, not a mark of haste, or botching, or second thought; but the theory of the world is a thing of shreds and patches.

The longest wave is quickly lost in the sea. Plato would willingly have a Platonism, a known and accurate expression for the world, and it should be accurate. It shall be the world passed through the mind of Plato, — nothing less. Every atom shall have the Platonic tinge; every atom, every relation or quality you knew before, you shall know again and find here, but now ordered; not nature, but art. And you shall feel that Alexander indeed overran, with men and horses, some countries of the planet; but countries, and things of which countries are made, elements, planet itself, laws of planet and of men, have passed through this man as bread into his body, and become no longer bread, but body: so all this mammoth morsel has become Plato. He has clapped copyright on the world. This is the ambition of individualism. But the mouthful proves too large. Boa constrictor has good will to eat it, but he is foiled. He falls abroad in the attempt; and biting, gets strangled: the bitten world holds the biter fast by his own teeth. There he perishes: unconquered nature lives on, and forgets him. So it fares with all: so must it fare with Plato. In view of eternal nature, Plato turns out to be philosophical exercitations. He argues on this side, and on that. The acutest German, the lovingest disciple, could never tell what Platonism was; indeed, admirable texts can be quoted on both sides of every great question from him.

These things we are forced to say, if we must consider the effort of Plato, or of any philosopher, to dispose of Nature, — which will not be disposed of. No power of genius has ever yet had the smallest success in explaining existence. The perfect enigma remains. But there is an injustice in assuming this ambition for Plato. Let us not seem to treat with flippancy his venerable name. Men, in proportion to their intellect, have admitted his transcendent claims. The way to know him, is to compare him, not with nature, but with other men. How many ages have gone by, and he remains unapproached! A chief structure of human wit, like Karnac, or the mediaeval cathedrals, or the Etrurian remains, it requires all the breadth of human faculty to know it. I think it is truliest seen, when seen with the most respect. His sense deepens, his merits multiply, with study. When we say, here is a fine collection of fables; or, when we praise the style; or the common sense; or arithmetic; we speak as boys, and much of our impatient criticism of the dialectic, I suspect, is no better. The criticism is like our impatience of miles when we are in a hurry; but it is still best that a mile should have seventeen hundred and sixty yards. The great-eyed Plato proportioned the lights and shades after the genius of our life.

PLATO: NEW READINGS

The publication, in Mr. Bohn’s “Serial Library,” of the excellent translations of Plato, which we esteem one of the chief benefits the cheap press has yielded, gives us an occasion to take hastily a few more notes of the elevation and bearings of this fixed star; or, to add a bulletin, like the journals, of Plato at the latest dates.

Modern science, by the extent of its generalization, has learned to indemnify the student of man for the defects of individuals, by tracing growth and ascent in races; and, by the simple expedient of lighting up the vast background, generates a feeling of complacency and hope. The human being has the saurian and the plant in his rear. His arts and sciences, the easy issue of his brain, look glorious when prospectively beheld from the distant brain of ox, crocodile, and fish. It seems as if nature, in regarding the geologic night behind her, when, in five or six millenniums, she had turned out five or six men, as Homer, Phidias, Menu, and Columbus, was nowise discontented with the result. These samples attested the virtue of the tree. These were a clear amelioration of trilobite and saurus, and a good basis for further proceeding. With this artist time and space are cheap, and she is insensible of what you say of tedious preparation. She waited tranquilly the flowing periods of paleontology, for the hour to be struck when man should arrive. Then periods must pass before the motion of the earth can be suspected; then before the map of the instincts and the cultivable powers can be drawn. But as of races, so the succession of individual men is fatal and beautiful, and Plato has the fortune, in the history of mankind, to mark an epoch.

Plato’s fame does not stand on a syllogism, or on any masterpieces of the Socratic, or on any thesis, as, for example, the immortality of the soul. He is more than an expert, or a school-man, or a geometer, or the prophet of a peculiar message. He represents the privilege of the intellect, the power, namely, of carrying up every fact to successive platforms, and so disclosing, in every fact, a germ of expansion. These expansions are in the essence of thought. The naturalist would never help us to them by any discoveries of the extent of the universe, but is as poor, when cataloguing the resolved nebula of Orion, as when measuring the angles of an acre. But the Republic of Plato, by these expansions, may be said to require, and so to anticipate, the astronomy of Laplace. The expansions are organic. The mind does not create what it perceives, any more than the eye creates the rose. In ascribing to Plato the merit of announcing them, we only say, here was a more complete man, who could apply to nature the whole scale of the senses, the understanding, and the reason. These expansions, or extensions, consist in continuing the spiritual sight where the horizon falls on our natural vision, and, by this second sight, discovering the long lines of law which shoot in every direction. Everywhere he stands on a path which has no end, but runs continuously round the universe. Therefore, every word becomes an exponent of nature. Whatever he looks upon discloses a second sense, and ulterior senses. His perception of the generation of contraries, of death out of life, and life out of death, — that law by which, in nature, decomposition is recomposition, and putrefaction and cholera are only signals of a new creation; his discernment of the little in the large, and the large in the small; studying the state in the citizen, and the citizen in the state; and leaving it doubtful whether he exhibited the Republic as an allegory on the education of the private soul; his beautiful definitions of ideas, of time, of form, of figure, of the line, sometimes hypothetically given, as his defining of virtue, courage, justice, temperance; his love of the apologue, and his apologues themselves; the cave of Trophonius; the ring of Gyges; the charioteer and two horses; the golden, silver, brass, and iron temperaments; Theuth and Thamus; and the visions of Hades and the Fates — fables which have imprinted themselves in the human memory like the signs of the zodiac; his soliform eye and his boniform soul; his doctrine of assimilation; his doctrine of reminiscence; his clear vision of the laws of return, or reaction, which secure instant justice throughout the universe, instanced everywhere, but specially in the doctrine, “what comes from God to us, returns from us to God,” and in Socrates’ belief that the laws below are sisters of the laws above.

More striking examples are his moral conclusions. Plato affirms the coincidence of science and virtue; for vice can never know itself and virtue; but virtue knows both itself and vice. The eye attested that justice was best, as long as it was profitable; Plato affirms that it is profitable throughout; that the profit is intrinsic, though the just conceal his justice from gods and men; that it is better to suffer injustice, than to do it; that the sinner ought to covet punishment; that the lie was more hurtful than homicide; and that ignorance, or the involuntary lie, was more calamitous than involuntary homicide; that the soul is unwillingly deprived of true opinions; and that no man sins willingly; that the order of proceeding of nature was from the mind to the body; and, though a sound body cannot restore an unsound mind, yet a good soul can, by its virtue, render the body the best possible. The intelligent have a right over the ignorant, namely, the right of instructing them. The right punishment of one out of tune, is to make him play in tune; the fine which the good, refusing to govern, ought to pay, is, to be governed by a worse man; that his guards shall not handle gold and silver, but shall be instructed that there is gold and silver in their souls, which will make men willing to give them everything which they need. This second sight explains the stress laid on geometry. He saw that the globe of earth was not more lawful and precise than was the supersensible; that a celestial geometry was in place there, as a logic of lines and angles here below; that the world was throughout mathematical; the proportions are constant of oxygen, azote, and lime; there is just so much water, and slate, and magnesia; not less are the proportions constant of moral elements.

This eldest Goethe, hating varnish and falsehood, delighted in revealing the real at the base of the accidental; in discovering connection, continuity, and representation, everywhere; hating insulation; and appears like the god of wealth among the cabins of vagabonds, opening power and capability in everything he touches. Ethical science was new and vacant, when Plato could write thus:— “Of all whose arguments are left to the men of the present time, no one has ever yet condemned injustice, or praised justice, otherwise than as respects the repute, honors, and emoluments arising therefrom; while, as respects either of them in itself, and subsisting by its own power in the soul of the possessor, and concealed both from gods and men, no one has yet sufficiently investigated, either in poetry or prose writings, — how, namely, that the one is the greatest of all the evils that the soul has within it, and justice the greatest good.”

His definition of ideas, as what is simple, permanent, uniform, and self-existent, forever discriminating them from the notions of the understanding, marks an era in the world. He was born to behold the self-evolving power of spirit, endless generator of new ends; a power which is the key at once to the centrality and the evanescence of things. Plato is so centered, that he can well spare all his dogmas. Thus the fact of knowledge and ideas reveals to him the fact of eternity; and the doctrine of reminiscence he offers as the most probable particular explication. Call that fanciful, — it matters not; the connection between our knowledge and the abyss of being is still real, and the explication must be not less magnificent.

He has indicated every eminent point in speculation. He wrote on the scale of the mind itself, so that all things have symmetry in his tablet. He put in all the past, without weariness, and descended into detail with a courage like that he witnessed in nature. One would say, that his forerunners had mapped out each a farm, or a district, or an island, in intellectual geography, but that Plato first drew the sphere. He domesticates the soul in nature; man is the microcosm. All the circles of the visible heaven represent as many circles in the rational soul. There is no lawless particle, and there is nothing casual in the action of the human mind. The names of things, too, are fatal, following the nature of things. All the gods of the Pantheon are, by their names, significant of a profound sense. The gods are the ideas. Pan is speech, or manifestation; Saturn, the contemplative; Jove, the regal soul; and Mars, passion. Venus is proportion; Calliope, the soul of the world; Aglaia, intellectual illustration.

These thoughts, in sparkles of light, had appeared often to pious and to poetic souls; but this well-bred, all-knowing Greek geometer comes with command, gathers them all up into rank and gradation, the Euclid of holiness, and marries the two parts of nature. Before all men, he saw the intellectual values of the moral sentiment. He describes his own ideal, when he paints in Timaeus a god leading things from disorder into order. He kindled a fire so truly in the center, that we see the sphere illuminated, and can distinguish poles, equator, and lines of latitude, every arc and node; a theory so averaged, so modulated, that you would say, the winds of ages had swept through this rhythmic structure, and not that it was the brief extempore blotting of one short-lived scribe. Hence it has happened that a very well-marked class of souls, namely those who delight in giving a spiritual, that is, an ethico-intellectual expression to every truth by exhibiting an ulterior end which is yet legitimate to it, are said to Platonize. Thus, Michel Angelo is a Platonist, in his sonnets. Shakspeare is a Platonist, when he writes, “Nature is made better by no mean, but nature makes that mean,” or,

“He that can endure
To follow with allegiance a fallen lord,
Does conquer him that did his master conquer,
And earns a place in the story.”

Hamlet is a pure Platonist, and ’tis the magnitude only of Shakspeare’s proper genius that hinders him from being classed as the most eminent of this school. Swedenborg, throughout his prose poem of “Conjugal Love,” is a Platonist.

His subtlety commended him to men of thought. The secret of his popular success is the moral aim, which endeared him to mankind. “Intellect,” he said, “is king of heaven and of earth;” but, in Plato, intellect is always moral. His writings have also the sempiternal youth of poetry. For their arguments, most of them, might have been couched in sonnets; and poetry has never soared higher than in the Timaeus and the Phaedrus. As the poet, too, he is only contemplative. He did not, like Pythagoras, break himself with an institution. All his painting in the Republic must be esteemed mythical, with intent to bring out, sometimes in violent colors, his thought. You cannot institute, without peril of charlatan.

It was a high scheme, his absolute privilege for the best (which, to make emphatic, he expressed by community of women), as the premium which he would set on grandeur. There shall be exempts of two kinds: first, those who by demerit have put themselves below protection, — outlaws; and secondly, those who by eminence of nature and desert are out of the reach of your rewards; let such be free of the city, and above the law. We confide them to themselves; let them do with us as they will. Let none presume to measure the irregularities of Michel Angelo and Socrates by village scales.

In his eighth book of the Republic, he throws a little mathematical dust in our eyes. I am sorry to see him, after such noble superiorities, permitting the lie to governors. Plato plays Providence a little with the baser sort, as people allow themselves with their dogs and cats.

PLATO: LITTLE JOURNEYS TO THE HOMES OF GREAT TEACHERS by Elbert Hubbard

How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer to the question, “How does love suit with age, Sophocles — are you still the man you were?”

“Peace,” he replied; “most gladly have I escaped that, and I feel as if I had escaped from a mad and furious master.”

That saying of his has often come into my mind since, and seems to me still as good as at the time when I heard him. For certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, you have escaped from the control not of one master only, but of many. And of these regrets, as well as of the complaint about relations, Socrates, the cause is to be sought, not in men’s ages, but in their characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but he who is of an opposite disposition will find youth and age equally a burden.

— The Republic

PLATO

A thinking man is one of the most recent productions evolved from Nature’s laboratory. The first man of brains to express himself about the world in an honest, simple and natural way, just as if nothing had been said about it before, was Socrates.

Twenty-four centuries have passed since Socrates was put to death on the charge of speaking disrespectfully of the gods and polluting the minds of the youths of Athens. During ten of these centuries that have passed since then, the race lost the capacity to think, through the successful combination of the priest and the soldier. These men blocked human evolution. The penalty for making slaves is that you become one.

To suppress humanity is to suppress yourself.

The race is one. So the priests and the soldiers who in the Third Century had a modicum of worth themselves, sank and were submerged in the general slough of superstition and ignorance. It was a panic that continued for a thousand years, all through the endeavor of faulty men to make people good by force. At all times, up to within our own decade, frank expression on religious, economic and social topics has been fraught with great peril. Even yet any man who hopes for popularity as a writer, orator, merchant or politician, would do well to conceal studiously his inmost beliefs. On such simple themes as the taxation of real estate, regardless of the business of the owner, and a payment of a like wage for a like service without consideration of sex, the statesman who has the temerity to speak out will be quickly relegated to private life. Successful merchants depending on a local constituency find it expedient to cater to popular superstitions by heading subscription-lists for the support of things in which they do not believe. No avowed independent thinker would be tolerated as chief ruler of any of the so-called civilized countries.

The fact, however, that the penalty for frank expression is limited now to social and commercial ostracism is very hopeful — a few years ago it meant the scaffold.

We have been heirs to a leaden legacy of fear that has well-nigh banished joy and made of life a long nightmare.

In very truth, the race has been insane.

Hallucinations, fallacies, fears, have gnawed at our hearts, and men have fought men with deadly frenzy. The people who interfered, trying to save us, we have killed. Truly did we say, “There is no health in us,” which repetition did not tend to mend the malady.

We are now getting convalescent. We are hobbling out into the sunshine on crutches. We have discharged most of our old advisers, heaved the dulling and deadly bottles out of the windows, and are intent on studying and understanding our own case. Our motto is twenty-four centuries old — it is simply this: KNOW THYSELF.

Socrates was a street preacher, with a beautiful indifference as to whether people liked him or not. To most Athenians he was the town fool. Athens was a little city (only about one hundred fifty thousand), and everybody knew Socrates. The popular plays caricatured him; the topical songs misquoted him; the funny artists on the street-corners who modeled things in clay, while you waited, made figures of him.

Everybody knew Socrates — I guess so!

Plato, the handsome youth of nineteen, wearing a purple robe, which marked him as one of the nobility, paused to listen to this uncouth man who gave everything and wanted nothing.

Ye gods! But it is no wonder they caricatured him — he was a temptation too great to resist.

Plato smiled — he never laughed, being too well-bred for that. Then he sighed, and moved a little nearer in.

“Individuals are nothing. The State is all. To offend the State is to die. The State is an organization and we are members of it. The State is only as rich as its poorest citizen. We are all given a little sample of divinity to study, model and marvel at. To understand the State you must KNOW THYSELF.”

Plato lingered until the little crowd had dispersed, and when the old man with the goggle-eyes and full-moon face went shuffling slowly down the street, he approached and asked him a question.

This man Socrates was no fool — the populace was wrong — he was a man so natural and free from cant that he appeared to the triflers and pretenders like a pretender, and they asked, “Is he sincere?”

What Plato was by birth, breeding and inheritance, Socrates was by nature — a noble man.

Up to this time the ambition of Plato had been for place and power — to make the right impression on the people in order to gain political preferment. He had been educated in the school of the Sophists, and his principal studies were poetry, rhetoric and deportment.

And now straightway he destroyed the manuscript of his poems, for in their writing he had suddenly discovered that he had not written what he inwardly believed was true, but simply that which he thought was proper and nice to say. In other words, his literature had been a form of pretense.

Daily thereafter, where went Socrates there went Plato. Side by side they sat on the curb — Socrates talking, questioning the bystanders, accosting the passers-by; Plato talking little, but listening much.

Socrates was short, stout and miles around. Plato was tall, athletic and broad-shouldered. In fact, the word, “plato,” or “platon,” means broad, and it was given him as a nickname by his comrades. His correct name was Aristocles, but “Plato” suited him better, since it symbols that he was not only broad of shoulder, but likewise in mind. He was not only noble by birth, but noble in appearance.

Emerson calls him the universal man. He absorbed all the science, all the art, all the philosophy of his day. He was handsome, kindly, graceful, gracious, generous, and lived and died a bachelor. He never collided with either poverty or matrimony.

Plato was twenty-eight years old when Socrates died. For eight years they had been together daily. After the death of Socrates, Plato lived for forty-six years, just to keep alive the name and fame of the great philosopher.

Socrates comes to us through Plato. Various other contemporaries mention Socrates and quote him, some to his disadvantage, but it was left for Plato to give us the heart of his philosophy, and limn his character for all time in unforgetable outline.

Plato is called the “Pride of Greece.” His contribution to the wealth of the world consists in the fact that he taught the joys of the intellect — the supreme satisfaction that comes through thinking. This is the pure Platonic philosophy: to find our gratifications in exalted thought and not in bodily indulgence. Plato’s theory that five years should be given in early manhood to abstract thought, abstaining from all practical affairs, so as to acquire a love for learning, has been grafted upon a theological stalk and comes down to our present time. It has, however, now been discarded by the world’s best thinkers as a fallacy. The unit of man’s life is the day, not the month or year, much less a period of five years. Each day we must exercise the mind, just as each day we must exercise the body. We can not store up health and draw upon it at will over long-deferred periods. The account must be kept active. To keep physical energy we must expend physical energy every day. The opinion of Herbert Spencer that thought is a physical function — a vibration set up in a certain area of brain-cells — is an idea never preached by Plato. The brain, being an organ, must be used, not merely in one part for five years to the exclusion of all other parts, but all parts should be used daily. To this end the practical things of life should daily engage our attention, no less than the contemplation of beauty as manifest in music, poetry, art or dialectics. The thought that every day we should look upon a beautiful picture, read a beautiful poem, or listen for a little while to beautiful music, is highly scientific, for this contemplation and appreciation of harmony is a physical exercise as well as a spiritual one, and through it we grow, develop, evolve.

That we could not devote five years of our time to purely esthetic exercises, to the exclusion of practical things, without very great risk, is now well known. And when I refer to practical affairs, I mean the effort which Nature demands we should put forth to get a living. Every man should live like a poor man, regardless of the fact that he may have money. Nature knows nothing of bank-balances. In order to have an appetite for dinner, you must first earn your dinner. If you would sleep at night, you must first pay for sweet sleep by physical labor.

Plato was born on the Island of Ægina, where his father owned an estate. His mother was a direct descendant of Solon, and his father, not to be outdone, traced to Codrus.

The father of Socrates was a stonecutter and his mother a midwife, so very naturally the son had a beautiful contempt for pedigree. Socrates once said to Plato, “Anybody can trace to Codrus — by paying enough to the man who makes the family-tree.” This seems to show that genealogy was a matter of business then as now, and that nothing is new under the sun. Yet with all his contempt for heredity, we find Socrates often expressing pride in the fact that he was a “native son,” whereas Plato, Aspasia, the mother of Themistocles, and various other fairly good people, were Athenian importations.

Socrates belonged to the leisure class and had plenty of time for extended conversazione, so just how much seriousness we should mix in his dialogues is still a problem. Each palate has to season to suit. Also, we can never know how much is Socrates and how much essence of Plato. Socrates wrote nothing, and Plato ascribes all of his wisdom to his master. Whether this was simple prudence or magnanimity is still a question.

The death of Socrates must have been a severe blow to Plato. He at once left Athens. It was his first intention never to return. He traveled through the cities of Greece, Southern Italy and down to Egypt, and everywhere was treated with royal courtesies.

After many solicitations from Dionysius, Tyrant of Syracuse, he went to visit that worthy, who had a case of philosophic and literary scabies. Dionysius prided himself on being a Beneficent Autocrat, with a literary and artistic attachment. He ruled his people, educated them, cared for them, disciplined them.

Some people call this slavery; others term it applied socialism. Dionysius wanted Syracuse to be the philosophic center of the world, and to this end Plato was importuned to make Syracuse his home and dispense his specialty — truth.

This he consented to do.

It was all very much like the arrangement between Mæcenas and Horace, or Voltaire and Frederick the Great. The patron is a man who patronizes — he wants something, and the particular thing that Dionysius wanted was to have Plato hold a colored light upon the performances of His Altruistic, Beneficent, Royal Jackanapes. But Plato was a simple, honest and direct man: he had caught the habit from Socrates.

Charles Ferguson says that the simple life does not consist in living in the woods and wearing overalls and sandals, but in getting the cant out of one’s cosmos and eliminating the hypocrisy from one’s soul.

Plato lived the simple life. When he spoke he stated what he thought. He discussed exploitation, war, taxation, and the Divine Right of Kings. Kings are very unfortunate — they are shut off and shielded from truth on every side. They get their facts at second hand and are lied to all day long. Consequently they become in time incapable of digesting truth. A court, being an artificial fabric, requires constant bracing. Next to capital, nothing is so timid as a king. Heine says that kings have to draw their nightcaps on over their crowns when they go to bed, in order to keep them from being stolen, and that they are subject to insomnia.

Walt Whitman, with nothing to lose — not even a reputation or a hat — was much more kingly walking bareheaded past the White House than Nicholas of Russia or Alfonso of Spain can ever possibly be.

Dionysius thought that he wanted a philosophic court, but all he wanted was to make folks think he had a philosophic court. Plato supplied him the genuine article, and very naturally Plato was soon invited to vacate.

After he had gone, Dionysius, fearful that Plato would give him a bad reputation in Athens — somewhat after the manner and habit of the “escaped nun” — sent a fast-rowing galley after him. Plato was arrested and sold into slavery on his own isle of Ægina.

This all sounds very tragic, but the real fact is it was a sort of comedy of errors — as a king’s doings are when viewed from a safe and convenient distance. De Wolf Hopper’s kings are the real thing. Dionysius claimed that Plato owed him money, and so he got out a body-attachment, and sold the philosopher to the highest bidder.

This was a perfectly legal proceeding, being simply peonage, a thing which exists in some parts of the United States today. I state the fact without prejudice, merely to show how hard custom dies.

Plato was too big a man conveniently either to secrete or kill. Certain people in Athens plagiarized Doctor Johnson who, on hearing that Goldsmith had debts of several thousand pounds, in admiration exclaimed, “Was ever poet so trusted before!” Other good friends ascertained the amount of the claim and paid it, just as Colonel H. H. Rogers graciously cleared up the liabilities of Mark Twain, after the author of “Huckleberry Finn” had landed his business craft on a sandbar.

And so Plato went free, arriving back in Athens, aged forty, a wiser and a better man than when he left.

Nothing absolves a reputation like silence and absence, or what the village editors call “the grim reaper.” To live is always more or less of an offense, especially if you have thoughts and express them. Athens exists, in degree, because she killed Socrates, just as Jerusalem is unforgetable for a similar reason. The South did not realize that Lincoln was her best friend until the assassin’s bullet had found his brain. Many good men in Chicago did not cease to revile their chiefest citizen, until the ears of Altgeld were stopped and his hands stiffened by death. The lips of the dead are eloquent.

Plato’s ten years of absence had given him prestige. He was honored because he had been the near and dear friend of Socrates, a great and good man who was killed through mistake.

Most murders and killings of men, judicial and otherwise, are matters of misunderstandings.

Plato had been driven out of Syracuse for the very reasons that Socrates had been killed at Athens. And now behold, when Dionysius saw how Athens was honoring Plato, he discovered that it was all a mistake of his bookkeeper, so he wrote to Plato to come back and all would be forgiven.

Those who set out to live the Ideal Life have a hard trail to travel. The road to Jericho is a rocky one — especially if we are a little in doubt as to whether it really is the road to Jericho or not. Perhaps if we ever find the man who lives the Ideal Life he will be quite unaware of it, so occupied will he be in his work — so forgetful of self.

Time had taught Plato diplomacy. He now saw that to teach people who did not want to be taught was an error in judgment for which one might forfeit his head.

Socrates was the first Democrat: he stood for the demos — the people. Plato would have done the same, but he saw that the business was extra hazardous, to use the phrase of our insurance friends. He who works for the people will be destroyed by the people. Hemlock is such a rare and precious commodity that few can afford it; the cross is a privilege so costly that few care to pay the price.

The genius is a man who first states truths; and all truths are unpleasant on their first presentation. That which is uncommon is offensive. “Who ever heard anything like that before?” ask the literary and philosophic hill tribes in fierce indignation. Says James Russell Lowell, “I blab unpleasant truths, you see, that none may need to state them after me.”

Plato was a teacher by nature: this was his business, his pastime, and the only thing in life that gave him joy. But he dropped back to the good old ways of making truth esoteric as did the priests of Egypt, instead of exoteric as did Socrates. He founded his college in the grove of his old friend Academus, a mile out of Athens on the road to Eleusis. In honor of Academus the school was called “The Academy.” It was secluded, safe, beautiful for situation. In time Plato bought a tract of land adjoining that of Academus, and this was set apart as the permanent school. All the teaching was done out of doors, master and pupils seated on the marble benches, by the fountain-side, or strolling through the grounds, rich with shrubs and flowers and enlivened by the song of birds. The climate of Athens was about like that of Southern California, where the sun shines three hundred days in the year.

Plato emphasized the value of the spoken word over the written, a thing he could well afford to do, since he was a remarkably good writer. This for the same reason that the only man who can afford to go ragged is the man with a goodly bank-balance. The shibboleth of the modern schools of oratory is, “We grow through expression.” And Plato was the man who first said it. Plato’s teaching was all in the form of the “quiz,” because he believed that truth was not a thing to be acquired from another — it is self-discovery.

Indeed, we can imagine it was very delightful — this walking, strolling, lying on the grass, or seated in semicircles, indulging in endless talk, easy banter, with now and then a formal essay read to start the vibrations.

Here it was that Aristotle came from his wild home in the mountains of Macedonia, to remain for twenty years and to evolve into a rival of the master.

We can well imagine how Aristotle, the mountain-climber and horseman, at times grew heartily tired of the faultily faultless garden with its high wall and graveled walks and delicate shrubbery, and shouted aloud in protest, “The whole world of mountain, valley and plain should be our Academy, not this pent-up Utica that contracts our powers.”

Then followed an argument as to the relative value of talking about things or doing them, or Poetry versus Science.

Poetry, philosophy and religion are very old themes, and they were old even in Plato’s day; but natural science came in with Aristotle. And science is only the classification of the common knowledge of the common people. It was Aristotle who named things, not Adam. He contended that the classification and naming of plants, rocks and animals was quite as important as to classify ideas about human happiness and make guesses at the state of the soul after death.

Of course he got himself beautifully misunderstood, because he was advocating something which had never been advocated before. In this lay his virtue, that he outran human sympathy, even the sympathy of the great Plato.

Yet for a while the unfolding genius of this young barbarian was a great joy to Plato, as the earnest, eager intellect of an ambitious pupil always is to his teacher. Plato was great in speculation; Aristotle was great in observation. Well has it been said that it was Aristotle who discovered the world. And Aristotle in his old age said, “My attempts to classify the objects of Nature all came through Plato’s teaching me first how to classify ideas.” And forty years before this Plato had said, “It was Socrates who taught me this game of the correlation and classification of thoughts.”

The writings of Plato consist of thirty-five dialogues, and one essay which is not cast in the dramatic form— “The Apology.” These dialogues vary in length from twenty pages, of, say, four hundred words each, to three hundred pages. In addition to these books are many quotations from Plato and references to him by contemporary writers. Plato’s work is as impersonal as that of Shakespeare. All human ideas, shades of belief, emotions and desires pass through the colander of his mind. He allows everybody to have his say.

What Plato himself thought can only be inferred, and this each reader does for himself. We construct our man Plato in our own image. A critic’s highest conception of Plato’s philosophy is the highest conception of the critic’s own. We, however, are reasonably safe in assuming that Plato’s own ideas were put into the mouth of Socrates, for the one intent of Plato’s life was to redeem Socrates from the charges that had been made against him. The characters Shakespeare loved are the ones that represent the master, not the hated and handmade rogues.

Plato’s position in life was that of a spectator rather than that of an actor. He stood and saw the procession pass by, and as it passed, commented on it. He charged his pupils no tuition and accepted no fees, claiming that to sell one’s influence or ideas was immoral.

It will be remembered that Byron held a similar position at the beginning of his literary career, and declared i’ faith, he “would not prostitute his genius for hire.” He gave his poems to the world. Later, when his income was pinched, he began to make bargains with Barabbas and became an artist in per centum, collecting close, refusing to rhyme without collateral.

Byron’s humanity is not seriously disputed. Plato also was human. He had a fixed income and so knew the worthlessness of riches. He issued no tariff, but the goodly honorarium left mysteriously on a marble bench by a rich pupil he accepted, and for it gave thanks to the gods. He said many great things, but he never said this: “I would have every man poor that he might know the value of money.”

“The Republic” is the best known and best read of any of Plato’s dialogues. It outlines an ideal form of government where everybody would be healthy, happy and prosperous. It has served as inspiration to Sir Thomas More, Erasmus, Jean Jacques Rousseau, William Morris, Edward Bellamy, Brigham Young, John Humphrey Noyes and Eugene Debs. The sub-division of labor, by setting apart certain persons to do certain things — for instance, to care for the children — has made its appeal to Upton Sinclair, who jumped from his Utopian woodshed into a rubber-plant and bounced off into oblivion.

Plato’s plan was intended to relieve marriage from the danger of becoming a form of slavery. The rulers, teachers and artists especially were to be free, and the State was to assume all responsibilities. The reason is plain: he wanted them to reproduce themselves. But whether genius is an acquirement or a natural endowment he touches on but lightly. Also, he seemingly did not realize “that no hovel is safe from it.”

If all marriage-laws were done away with, Plato thought that the men and women who were mated would still be true to each other, and that the less the police interfered in love-relations, the better.

In one respect at least, Plato was certainly right: he advocated the equality of the sexes, and declared that no woman should be owned by a man nor forced into a mode of life, either by economic exigency or marriage, that was repulsive to her. Also, that her right to bear children or not should be strictly her own affair, and to dictate to a mother as to who should father her children tended to the production of a slavish race.

The eugenics of “The Republic” were tried for thirty years by the Oneida Community with really good results, but one generation of communal marriages was proved to be the limit, a thing Plato now knows from his heights in Elysium, but which he in his bachelor dreams on earth did not realize.

In his division of labor each was to do the thing he was best fitted to do, and which he liked to do. It was assumed that each person had a gift, and that to use this gift all that was necessary was to give him an opportunity. That very modern cry of “equality of opportunity” harks back to Plato.

The monastic impulse was a very old thing, even in the time of Plato. The monastic impulse is simply cutting for sanctuary when the pressure of society gets intense — a getting rid of the world by running away from it. This usually occurs when the novitiate has exhausted his capacity for sin, and so tries saintship in the hope of getting a new thrill.

Plato had been much impressed by the experiments of Pythagoras, who had actually done the thing of which Plato only talked. Plato now picked the weak points in the Pythagorean philosophy and sought, in imagination, to construct a fabric that would stand the test of time.

However, all Utopias, like all monasteries and penitentiaries, are made up of picked people. The Oneida Community was not composed of average individuals, but of people who were selected with great care, and only admitted after severe tests. And great as was Plato, he could not outline an ideal plan of life except for an ideal people.

To remain in the world of work and share the burdens of all — to ask for nothing which other people can not have on like terms — not to consider yourself peculiar, unique and therefore immune and exempt — is now the ideal of the best minds. We have small faith in monasticism or monotheism, but we do have great faith in monism. We believe in the Solidarity of the Race. We must all progress together. Whether Pythagoras, John Humphrey Noyes and Brigham Young were ahead of the world or behind it is really not to the point — the many would not tolerate them. So their idealism was diluted with danger until it became as somber, sober and slaty-gray as the average existence, and fades as well as shrinks in the wash.

A private good is no more possible for a community than it is for an individual. We help ourselves only as we advance the race — we are happy only as we minister to the whole. The race is one, and this is monism.

And here Socrates and Plato seemingly separate, for Socrates in his life wanted nothing, not even joy, and Plato’s desire was for peace and happiness. Yet the ideal of justice in Plato’s philosophy is very exalted.

No writer in that flowering time of beauty and reason which we call “The Age of Pericles” exerted so profound an influence as Plato. All the philosophers that follow him were largely inspired by him. Those who berated him most were, very naturally, the ones he had most benefited. Teach a boy to write, and the probabilities are that his first essay, when he has cut loose from his teacher’s apron-strings and starts a brownie bibliomag, will be in denunciation of the man who taught him to push the pen and wield the Faber.

Xenophon was more indebted, intellectually, to Plato than to any other living man, yet he speaks scathingly of his master. Plutarch, Cicero, Iamblichus, Pliny, Horace and all the other Roman writers read Plato religiously. The Christian Fathers kept his work alive, and passed it on to Dante, Petrarch and the early writers of the Renaissance, so all of their thought is well flavored with essence of Plato. Well does Addison put into the mouth of Cato those well-known words:

It must be so — Plato, thou reasonest well! —
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
‘T is the divinity that stirs within us;
‘T is heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

All of that English group of writers in Addison’s day knew their Plato, exactly as did Cato and the other great Romans of near two thousand years before. From Plato you can prove that there is a life after this for each individual soul, as Francis of Assisi proved, or you can take your Plato, as did Hume, and show that man lives only in his influence, his individual life returning to the mass and becoming a part of all the great pulsing existence that ebbs and flows through plant and tree and flower and flying bird. And today we turn to Plato and find the corroboration of our thought that to live now and here, up to our highest and best, is the acme of wisdom. We prepare to live by living. If there is another world we better be getting ready for it. If heaven is an Ideal Republic it is founded on unselfishness, truth, reciprocity, equanimity and co-operation, and only those will be at home there who have practised these virtues here. Man was made for mutual service. This way lies Elysium.

Plato was a teacher of teachers, and like every other great teacher who has ever lived, his soul goes marching on, for to teach is to influence, and influence never dies. Hail, Plato!

The Biographies

The Ancient walls of Syracuse, Sicily — a home for Plato in later years, when visiting the tyrant ruler Dionysius I and then later when tutoring his son Dionysius II

PLATO: LIVES OF THE EMINENT PHILOSOPHERS by Diogenes Laërtius

Translated by Robert Drew Hicks

Diogenes Laertius was a biographer of Greek philosophers, who flourished in the third century AD. Sadly, nothing is known about his life, although his collection of biographies Lives of the Eminent Philosophers is the principal surviving source for Ancient Greek philosophy.

Laërtius divides the biographies into two divisions, which he names the Ionian and Italian schools. The Ionian biographies begin with Anaximander and conclude with Clitomachus, Theophrastus and Chrysippus; the latter begins with Pythagoras, and ends with Epicurus. The Socratic school, with its various branches, is classed with the Ionic; while the Eleatics and sceptics are treated under the Italic. He also includes his own poetic verse, albeit pedestrian, about the philosophers he discusses.  The whole of Book III is devoted to the life and works of Plato.

A 13th century manuscript containing the biography

BOOK III

PLATO

1. Plato was the son of Ariston and a citizen of Athens. His mother was Perictione (or Potone), who traced back her descent to Solon. For Solon had a brother, Dropides; he was the father of Critias, who was the father of Callaeschrus, who was the father of Critias, one of the Thirty, as well as of Glaucon, who was the father of Charmides and Perictione. Thus Plato, the son of this Perictione and Ariston, was in the sixth generation from Solon. And Solon traced his descent to Neleus and Poseidon. His father too is said to be in the direct line from Codrus, the son of Melanthus, and, according to Thrasylus, Codrus and Melanthus also trace their descent from Poseidon.

2. Speusippus in the work entitled Plato’s Funeral Feast, Clearchus in his Encomium on Plato, and Anaxilaïdes in his second book On Philosophers, tell us that there was a story at Athens that Ariston made violent love to Perictione, then in her bloom, and failed to win her; and that, when he ceased to offer violence, Apollo appeared to him in a dream, whereupon he left her unmolested until her child was born.

Apollodorus in his Chronology fixes the date of Plato’s birth in the 88th Olympiad, on the seventh day of the month Thargelion, the same day on which the Delians say that Apollo himself was born. He died, according to Hermippus, at a wedding feast, in the first year of the 108th Olympiad, in his eightyfirst year. 3. Neanthes, however, makes him die at the age of eighty-four. He is thus seen to be six years the junior of Isocrates. For Isocrates was born in the archonship of Lysimachus, Plato in that of Ameinias, the year of Pericles’ death. He belonged to the deme Collytus, as is stated by Antileon in his second book On Dates. He was born, according to some, in Aegina, in the house of Phidiades, the son of Thales, as Favorinus states in his Miscellaneous History, for his father had been sent along with others to Aegina to settle in the island, but returned to Athens when the Athenians were expelled by the Lacedaemonians, who championed the Aeginetan cause. That Plato acted as choregus at Athens, the cost being defrayed by Dion, is stated by Athenodorus in the eighth book of a work entitled Walks. 4. He had two brothers, Adeimantus and Glaucon, and a sister, Potone, who was the mother of Speusippus.

He was taught letters in the school of Dionysius, who is mentioned by him in the Rivals. And he learnt gymnastics under Ariston, the Argive wrestler. And from him he received the name of Plato on account of his robust figure, in place of his original name which was Aristocles, after his grandfather, as Alexander informs us in his Successions of Philosophers. But others affirm that he got the name Plato from the breadth of his style, or from the breadth of his forehead, as suggested by Neanthes. Others again affirm that he wrestled in the Isthmian Games – this is stated by Dicaearchus in his first book On Lives – 5. and that he applied himself to painting and wrote poems, first dithyrambs, afterwards lyric poems and tragedies. He had, they say, a weak voice; this is confirmed by Timotheus the Athenian in his book On Lives. It is stated that Socrates in a dream saw a cygnet on his knees, which all at once put forth plumage, and flew away after uttering a loud sweet note. And the next day Plato was introduced as a pupil, and thereupon he recognized in him the swan of his dream.

At first he used to study philosophy in the Academy, and afterwards in the garden at Colonus (as Alexander states in his Successions of Philosophers), as a follower of Heraclitus. Afterwards, when he was about to compete for the prize with a tragedy, he listened to Socrates in front of the theatre of Dionysus, and then consigned his poems to the flames, with the words:

Come hither, O fire-god, Plato now has need of thee.

6. From that time onward, having reached his twentieth year (so it is said), he was the pupil of Socrates. When Socrates was gone, he attached himself to Cratylus the Heraclitean, and to Hermogenes who professed the philosophy of Parmenides. Then at the age of twenty-eight, according to Hermodorus, he withdrew to Megara to Euclides, with certain other disciples of Socrates. Next he proceeded to Cyrene on a visit to Theodorus the mathematician, thence to Italy to see the Pythagorean philosophers Philolaus and Eurytus, and thence to Egypt to see those who interpreted the will of the gods; and Euripides is said to have accompanied him thither. There he fell sick and was cured by the priests, who treated him with sea-water, and for this reason he cited the line:

The sea doth wash away all human ills.

7. Furthermore he said that, according to Homer, beyond all men the Egyptians were skilled in healing. Plato also intended to make the acquaintance of the Magians, but was prevented by the wars in Asia. Having returned to Athens, he lived in the Academy, which is a gymnasium outside the walls, in a grove named after a certain hero, Hecademus, as is stated by Eupolis in his play entitled Shirkers:

In the shady walks of the divine Hecademus.

Moreover, there are verses of Timon which refer to Plato:

Amongst all of them Plato was the leader, a big fish, but a sweet-voiced speaker, musical in prose as the cicala who, perched on the trees of Hecademus, pours forth a strain as delicate as a lily.

8. Thus the original name of the place was Hecademy, spelt with e. Now Plato was a friend of Isocrates. And Praxiphanes makes them converse about poets at a country-seat where Plato was entertaining Isocrates. And Aristoxenus asserts that he went on service three times, first to Tanagra, secondly to Corinth, and thirdly at Delium, where also he obtained the prize of valour. He mixed together doctrines of Heraclitus, the Pythagoreans and Socrates. In his doctrine of sensible things he agrees with Heraclitus, in his doctrine of the intelligible with Pythagoras, and in political philosophy with Socrates.

9. Some authorities, amongst them Satyrus, say that he wrote to Dion in Sicily instructing him to purchase three Pythagorean books from Philolaus for 100 minae. For they say he was well off, having received from Dionysius over eighty talents. This is stated by Onetor in an essay upon the theme, “Whether a wise man will make money.” Further, he derived great assistance from Epicharmus the Comic poet, for he transcribed a great deal from him, as Alcimus says in the essays dedicated to Amyntas, of which there are four. In the first of them he writes thus:

“It is evident that Plato often employs the words of Epicharmus. Just consider. Plato asserts that the object of sense is that which never abides in quality or quantity, but is ever in flux and change. 10. The assumption is that the things from which you take away number are no longer equal nor determinate, nor have they quantity or quality. These are the things to which becoming always, and being never, belongs. But the object of thought is something constant from which nothing is subtracted, to which nothing is added. This is the nature of the eternal things, the attribute of which is to be ever alike and the same. And indeed Epicharmus has expressed himself plainly about objects of sense and objects of thought.

a. But gods there always were; never at any time were they wanting, while things in this world are always alike, and are brought about through the same agencies.

b. Yet it is said that Chaos was the first-born of the gods.

a. How so? If indeed there was nothing out of which, or into which, it could come first.

b. What! Then did nothing come first after all?

a. No, by Zeus, nor second either, 11. at least of the things which we are thus talking about now; on the contrary, they existed from all eternity. . . .

a. But suppose some one chooses to add a single pebble to a heap containing either an odd or an even number, whichever you please, or to take away one of those already there; do you think the number of pebbles would remain the same?

b. Not I.

a. Nor yet, if one chooses to add to a cubit-measure another length, or cut off some of what was there already, would the original measure still exist?

b. Of course not.

a. Now consider mankind in this same way. One man grows, and another again shrinks; and they are all undergoing change the whole time. But a thing which naturally changes and never remains in the same state must ever be different from that which has thus changed. And even so you and I were one pair of men yesterday, are another to-day, and again will be another to-morrow, and will never remain ourselves, by this same argument.”

12. Again, Alcimus makes this further statement: “There are some things, say the wise, which the soul perceives through the body, as in seeing and hearing; there are other things which it discerns by itself without the aid of the body. Hence it follows that of existing things some are objects of sense and others objects of thought. Hence Plato said that, if we wish to take in at one glance the principles underlying the universe, we must first distinguish the ideas by themselves, for example, likeness, unity and plurality, magnitude, rest and motion; next we must assume the existence of 13. beauty, goodness, justice and the like, each existing in and for itself; in the third place we must see how many of the ideas are relative to other ideas, as are knowledge, or magnitude, or ownership, remembering that the things within our experience bear the same names as those ideas because they partake of them; I mean that things which partake of justice are just, things which partake of beauty are beautiful. Each one of the ideas is eternal, it is a notion, and moreover is incapable of change. Hence Plato says that they stand in nature like archetypes, and that all things else bear a resemblance to the ideas because they are copies of these archetypes. Now here are the words of Epicharmus about the good and about the ideas:

14. a. Is flute-playing a thing?

b. Most certainly.

a. Is man then flute-playing?

b. By no means.

a. Come, let me see, what is a flute-player? Whom do you take him to be? Is he not a man?

b. Most certainly.

a. Well, don’t you think the same would be the case with the good? Is not the good in itself a thing? And does not he who has learnt that thing and knows it at once become good? For, just as he becomes a flute-player by learning flute-playing, or a dancer when he has learnt dancing, or a plaiter when he has learnt plaiting, in the same way, if he has learnt anything of the sort, whatever you like, he would not be one with the craft but he would be the craftsman.

15. Now Plato in conceiving his theory of Ideas says: Since there is such a thing as memory, there must be ideas present in things, because memory is of something stable and permanent, and nothing is permanent except the ideas. `For how,’ he says, `could animals have survived unless they had apprehended the idea and had been endowed by Nature with intelligence to that end? As it is, they remember similarities and what their food is like, which shows that animals have the innate power of discerning what is similar. And hence they perceive others of their own kind.’ How then does Epicharmus put it?

16. Wisdom is not confined, Eumaeus, to one kind alone, but all living creatures likewise have understanding. For, if you will study intently the hen among poultry, she does not bring forth the chicks alive, but sits clucking on the eggs and wakens life in them. As for this wisdom of hers, the true state of the case is known to Nature alone, for the hen has learnt it from herself.

And again:

It is no wonder then that we talk thus and are pleased with ourselves and think we are fine folk. For a dog appears the fairest of things to a dog, an ox to an ox, an ass to an ass, and verily a pig to a pig.”

17. These and the like instances Alcimus notes through four books, pointing out the assistance derived by Plato from Epicharmus. That Epicharmus himself was fully conscious of his wisdom can also be seen from the lines in which he foretells that he will have an imitator:

And as I think – for when I think anything I know it full well – that my words will some day be remembered; some one will take them and free them from the metre in which they are now set, nay, will give them instead a purple robe, embroidering it with fine phrases; and, being invincible, he will make every one else an easy prey.

18. Plato, it seems, was the first to bring to Athens the mimes of Sophron which had been neglected, and to draw characters in the style of that writer; a copy of the mimes, they say, was actually found under his pillow. He made three voyages to Sicily, the first time to see the island and the craters of Etna: on this occasion Dionysius, the son of Hermocrates, being on the throne, forced him to become intimate with him. But when Plato held forth on tyranny and maintained that the interest of the ruler alone was not the best end, unless he were also pre-eminent in virtue, he offended Dionysius, who in his anger exclaimed, “You talk like an old dotard.” “And you like a tyrant,” rejoined Plato. 19. At this the tyrant grew furious and at first was bent on putting him to death; then, when he had been dissuaded from this by Dion and Aristomenes, he did not indeed go so far but handed him over to Pollis the Lacedaemonian, who had just then arrived on an embassy, with orders to sell him into slavery.

And Pollis took him to Aegina and there offered him for sale. And then Charmandrus, the son of Charmandrides, indicted him on a capital charge according to the law in force among the Aeginetans, to the effect that the first Athenian who set foot upon the island should be put to death without a trial. This law had been passed by the prosecutor himself, according to Favorinus in his Miscellaneous History. But when some one urged, though in jest, that the offender was a philosopher, the court acquitted him. There is another version to the effect that he was brought before the assembly and, being kept under close scrutiny, he maintained an absolute silence and awaited the issue with confidence. The assembly decided not to put him to death but to sell him just as if he were a prisoner of war.

20. Anniceris the Cyrenaic happened to be present and ransomed him for twenty minae – according to others the sum was thirty minae – and dispatched him to Athens to his friends, who immediately remitted the money. But Anniceris declined it, saying that the Athenians were not the only people worthy of the privilege of providing for Plato. Others assert that Dion sent the money and that Anniceris would not take it, but bought for Plato the little garden which is in the Academy. Pollis, however, is stated to have been defeated by Chabrias and afterwards to have been drowned at Helice, his treatment of the philosopher having provoked the wrath of heaven, as Favorinus says in the first book of his Memorabilia. 21. Dionysius, indeed, could not rest. On learning the facts he wrote and enjoined upon Plato not to speak evil of him. And Plato replied that he had not the leisure to keep Dionysius in his mind.

The second time he visited the younger Dionysius, requesting of him lands and settlers for the realization of his republic. Dionysius promised them but did not keep his word. Some say that Plato was also in great danger, being suspected of encouraging Dion and Theodotas in a scheme for liberating the whole island; on this occasion Archytas the Pythagorean wrote to Dionysius, procured his pardon, and got him conveyed safe to Athens. The letter runs as follows:

“Archytas to Dionysius, wishing him good health.

22. “We, being all of us the friends of Plato, have sent to you Lamiscus and Photidas in order to take the philosopher away by the terms of the agreement made with you. You will do well to remember the zeal with which you urged us all to secure Plato’s coming to Sicily, determined as you were to persuade him and to undertake, amongst other things, responsibility for his safety so long as he stayed with you and on his return. Remember this too, that you set great store by his coming, and from that time had more regard for him than for any of those at your court. If he has given you offence, it behoves you to behave with humanity and restore him to us unhurt. By so doing you will satisfy justice and at the same time put us under an obligation.”

23. The third time he came to reconcile Dion and Dionysius, but, failing to do so, returned to his own country without achieving anything. And there he refrained from meddling with politics, although his writings show that he was a statesman. The reason was that the people had already been accustomed to measures and institutions quite different from his own. Pamphila in the twenty-fifth book of her Memorabilia says that the Arcadians and Thebans, when they were founding Megalopolis, invited Plato to be their legislator; but that, when he discovered that they were opposed to equality of possessions, he refused to go. There is a story that he pleaded for Chabrias the general when he was tried for his life, although no one else at Athens would do so, 24. and that, on this occasion, as he was going up to the Acropolis along with Chabrias, Crobylus the informer met him and said, “What, are you come to speak for the defence? Don’t you know that the hemlock of Socrates awaits you?” To this Plato replied, “As I faced dangers when serving in the cause of my country, so I will face them now in the cause of duty for a friend.”

He was the first to introduce argument by means of question and answer, says Favorinus in the eighth book of his Miscellaneous History; he was the first to explain to Leodamas of Thasos the method of solving problems by analysis; and the first who in philosophical discussion employed the terms antipodes, element, dialectic, quality, oblong number, and, among boundaries, the plane superficies; also divine providence.

25. He was also the first philosopher who controverted the speech of Lysias, the son of Cephalus, which he has set out word for word in the Phaedrus, and the first to study the significance of grammar. And, as he was the first to attack the views of almost all his predecessors, the question is raised why he makes no mention of Democritus. Neanthes of Cyzicus says that, on his going to Olympia, the eyes of all the Greeks were turned towards him, and there he met Dion, who was about to make his expedition against Dionysius. In the first book of the Memorabilia of Favorinus there is a statement that Mithradates the Persian set up a statue of Plato in the Academy and inscribed upon it these words: “Mithradates the Persian, the son of Orontobates, dedicated to the Muses a likeness of Plato made by Silanion.”

26. Heraclides declares that in his youth he was so modest and orderly that he was never seen to laugh outright. In spite of this he too was ridiculed by the Comic poets. At any rate Theopompus in his Hedychares says:

There is not anything that is truly one, even the number two is scarcely one, according to Plato.

Moreover, Anaxandrides in his Theseus says:

He was eating olives exactly like Plato.

Then there is Timon who puns on his name thus:

As Plato placed strange platitudes.

27. Alexis again in the Meropis:

You have come in the nick of time. For I am at my wits’ end and walking up and down, like Plato, and yet have discovered no wise plan but only tired my legs.

And in the Ancylion:

You don’t know what you are talking about: run about with Plato, and you’ll know all about soap and onions.

Amphis, too, in the Amphicrates says:

a. And as for the good, whatever that be, that you are likely to get on her account, I know no more about it, master, than I do of the good of Plato.
b. Just attend.

28. And in the Dexidemides:

O Plato, all you know is how to frown with eyebrows lifted high like any snail.

Cratinus, too, in The False Changeling:

a. Clearly you are a man and have a soul.
b. In Plato’s words, I am not sure but suspect that I have.

And Alexis in the Olympiodorus:

a. My mortal body withered up, my immortal part sped into the air.
b. Is not this a lecture of Plato’s?

And in the Parasite:

Or, with Plato, to converse alone.

Anaxilas, again, in the Botrylion, and in Circe and Rich Women, has a gibe at him.

29. Aristippus in his fourth book On the Luxury of the Ancients says that he was attached to a youth named Aster, who joined him in the study of astronomy, as also to Dion who has been mentioned above, and, as some aver, to Phaedrus too. His passionate affection is revealed in the following epigrams which he is said to have written upon them:

Star-gazing Aster, would I were the skies,
To gaze upon thee with a thousand eyes.

And another:

Among the living once the Morning Star,
Thou shin’st, now dead, like Hesper from afar.

30. And he wrote thus upon Dion:

Tears from their birth the lot had been
Of Ilium’s daughters and their queen.
By thee, O Dion, great deeds done
New hopes and larger promise won.
Now here thou liest gloriously,
How deeply loved, how mourned by me.

31. This, they say, was actually inscribed upon his tomb at Syracuse.

Again, it is said that being enamoured of Alexis and Phaedrus, as before mentioned, he composed the following lines:

Now, when Alexis is of no account, I have said no more than this. He is fair to see, and everywhere all eyes are turned upon him. Why, my heart, do you show the dogs a bone? And then will you smart for this hereafter? Was it not thus that we lost Phaedrus?

He is also credited with a mistress, Archeanassa, upon whom he wrote as follows:

I have a mistress, fair Archeanassa of Colophon, on whose very wrinkles sits hot love. O hapless ye who met such beauty on its first voyage, what a flame must have been kindled in you!

32. There is another upon Agathon:

While kissing Agathon, my soul leapt to my lips, as if fain, alas! to pass over to him.

And another:

I throw an apple to you and, if indeed you are willing to love me, then receive it and let me taste your virgin charms. But if you are otherwise minded, which heaven forbid, take this very apple and see how short-lived all beauty is.

And another:

An apple am I, thrown by one who loves you. Nay, Xanthippe, give consent, for you and I are both born to decay.

33. It is also said that the epigram on the Eretrians, who were swept out of the country, was written by him:

We are Eretrians by race, from Euboea, and lie near Susa. How far, alas, from our native land!

And again:

Thus Venus to the Muses spoke:
Damsels, submit to Venus’ yoke,
Or dread my Cupid’s arms.
Those threats, the virgins nine replied,
May weigh with Mars, but we deride
Love’s wrongs, or darts, or charms.

And again:

A certain person found some gold,
Carried it off and, in its stead,
Left a strong halter, neatly rolled.
The owner found his treasure fled,
And, daunted by his fortune’s wreck,
Fitted the halter to his neck.

34. Further, Molon, being his enemy, said, “It is not wonderful that Dionysius should be in Corinth, but rather that Plato should be in Sicily.” And it seems that Xenophon was not on good terms with him. At any rate, they have written similar narratives as if out of rivalry with each other, a Symposium, a Defence of Socrates, and their moral treatises or Memorabilia. Next, the one wrote a Republic, the other a Cyropaedia. And in the Laws Plato declares the story of the education of Cyrus to be a fiction, for that Cyrus did not answer to the description of him. And although both make mention of Socrates, neither of them refers to the other, except that Xenophon mentions Plato in the third book of his Memorabilia. 35. It is said also that Antisthenes, being about to read publicly something that he had composed, invited Plato to be present. And on his inquiring what he was about to read, Antisthenes replied that it was something about the impossibility of contradiction. “How then,” said Plato, “can you write on this subject?” thus showing him that the argument refutes itself. Thereupon he wrote a dialogue against Plato and entitled it Sathon. After this they continued to be estranged from one another. They say that, on hearing Plato read the Lysis, Socrates exclaimed, “By Heracles, what a number of lies this young man is telling about me!” For he has included in the dialogue much that Socrates never said.

36. Plato was also on bad terms with Aristippus. At least in the dialogue Of the Soul he disparages him by saying that he was not present at the death of Socrates, though he was no farther off than Aegina. Again, they say that he showed a certain jealousy of Aeschines, because of his reputation with Dionysius, and that, when he arrived at the court, he was despised by Plato because of his poverty, but supported by Aristippus. And Idomeneus asserts that the arguments used by Crito, when in the prison he urges Socrates to escape, are really due to Aeschines, and that Plato transferred them to Crito because of his enmity to Aeschines.

37. Nowhere in his writings does Plato mention himself by name, except in the dialogue On the Soul and the Apology. Aristotle remarks that the style of the dialogues is half-way between poetry and prose. And according to Favorinus, when Plato read the dialogue On the Soul, Aristotle alone stayed to the end; the rest of the audience got up and went away. Some say that Philippus of Opus copied out the Laws, which were left upon waxen tablets, and it is said that he was the author of the Epinomis. Euphorion and Panaetius relate that the beginning of the Republic was found several times revised and rewritten, and the Republic itself Aristoxenus declares to have been nearly all of it included in the Controversies of Protagoras. 38. There is a story that the Phaedrus was his first dialogue. For the subject has about it something of the freshness of youth. Dicaearchus, however, censures its whole style as vulgar.

A story is told that Plato once saw some one playing at dice and rebuked him. And, upon his protesting that he played for a trifle only, “But the habit,” rejoined Plato, “is not a trifle.” Being asked whether there would be any memoirs of him as of his predecessors, he replied, “A man must first make a name, and he will have no lack of memoirs.” One day, when Xenocrates had come in, Plato asked him to chastise his slave, since he was unable to do it himself because he was in a passion. 39. Further, it is alleged that he said to one of his slaves, “I would have given you a flogging, had I not been in a passion.” Being mounted on horseback, he quickly got down again, declaring that he was afraid he would be infected with horse-pride. He advised those who got drunk to view themselves in a mirror; for they would then abandon the habit which so disfigured them. To drink to excess was nowhere becoming, he used to say, save at the feasts of the god who was the giver of wine. He also disapproved of over-sleeping. At any rate in the Laws he declares that 40. “no one when asleep is good for anything.” He also said that the truth is the pleasantest of sounds. Another version of this saying is that the pleasantest of all things is to speak the truth. Again, of truth he speaks thus in the Laws: “Truth, O stranger, is a fair and durable thing. But it is a thing of which it is hard to persuade men.” His wish always was to leave a memorial of himself behind, either in the hearts of his friends or in his books. He was himself fond of seclusion according to some authorities.

His death, the circumstances of which have already been related, took place in the thirteenth year of the reign of King Philip, as stated by Favorinus in the third book of his Memorabilia, and according to Theopompus honours were paid to him at his death by Philip. But Myronianus in his Parallels says that Philo mentions some proverbs that were in circulation about Plato’s lice, implying that this was the mode of his death. 41. He was buried in the Academy, where he spent the greatest part of his life in philosophical study. And hence the school which he founded was called the Academic school. And all the students there joined in the funeral procession. The terms of his will were as follows:

“These things have been left and devised by Plato: the estate in Iphistiadae, bounded on the north by the road from the temple at Cephisia, on the south by the temple of Heracles in Iphistiadae, on the east by the property of Archestratus of Phrearrhi, on the west by that of Philippus of Chollidae: this it shall be unlawful for anyone to sell or alienate, but it shall be the property of the boy Adeimantus to all intents and purposes: 42. the estate in Eiresidae which I bought of Callimachus, bounded on the north by the property of Eurymedon of Myrrhinus, on the south by the property of Demostratus of Xypete, on the east by that of Eurymedon of Myrrhinus, and on the west by the Cephisus; three minae of silver; a silver vessel weighing 165 drachmas; a cup weighing 45 drachmas; a gold signet-ring and earring together weighing four drachmas and three obols. Euclides the lapidary owes me three minae. I enfranchise Artemis. I leave four household servants, Tychon, Bictas, Apollonides and Dionysius. 43. Household furniture, as set down in the inventory of which Demetrius has the duplicate. I owe no one anything. My executors are Leosthenes, Speusippus, Demetrius, Hegias, Eurymedon, Callimachus and Thrasippus.”

Such were the terms of his will. The following epitaphs were inscribed upon his tomb:

Here lies the god-like man Aristocles, eminent among men for temperance and the justice of his character. And he, if ever anyone, had the fullest meed of praise for wisdom, and was too great for envy.

Next:

44. Earth in her bosom here hides Plato’s body, but his soul hath its immortal station with the blest, Ariston’s son, whom every good man, even if he dwell afar off, honours because he discerned the divine life.

And a third of later date:

a. Eagle, why fly you o’er this tomb? Say, is your gaze fixed upon the starry house of one of the immortals?
b. I am the image of the soul of Plato, which has soared to Olympus, while his earth-born body rests in Attic soil.

45. There is also an epitaph of my own which runs thus:

If Phoebus did not cause Plato to be born in Greece, how came it that he healed the minds of men by letters? As the god’s son Asclepius is a healer of the body, so is Plato of the immortal soul.

And another on the manner of his death:

Phoebus gave to mortals Asclepius and Plato, the one to save their souls, the other to save their bodies. From a wedding banquet he has passed to that city which he had founded for himself and planted in the sky.

Such then are his epitaphs.

46. His disciples were Speusippus of Athens, Xenocrates of Chalcedon, Aristotle of Stagira, Philippus of Opus, Hestiaeus of Perinthus, Dion of Syracuse, Amyclus of Heraclea, Erastus and Coriscus of Scepsus, Timolaus of Cyzicus, Euaeon of Lampsacus, Python and Heraclides of Aenus, Hippothales and Callippus of Athens, Demetrius of Amphipolis, Heraclides of Pontus, and many others, among them two women, Lastheneia of Mantinea and Axiothea of Phlius, who is reported by Dicaearchus to have worn men’s clothes. Some say that Theophrastus too attended his lectures. Chamaeleon adds Hyperides the orator and Lycurgus, 47. and in this Polemo agrees. Sabinus makes Demosthenes his pupil, quoting, in the fourth book of his Materials for Criticism, Mnesistratus of Thasos as his authority. And it is not improbable.

Now, as you are an enthusiastic Platonist, and rightly so, and as you eagerly seek out that philosopher’s doctrines in preference to all others, I have thought it necessary to give some account of the true nature of his discourses, the arrangement of the dialogues, and the method of his inductive procedure, as far as possible in an elementary manner and in main outline, in order that the facts I have collected respecting his life may not suffer by the omission of his doctrines. For, in the words of the proverb, it would be taking owls to Athens, were I to give you of all people the full particulars.

48. They say that Zeno the Eleatic was the first to write dialogues. But, according to Favorinus in his Memorabilia, Aristotle in the first book of his dialogue On Poets asserts that it was Alexamenus of Styra or Teos. In my opinion Plato, who brought this form of writing to perfection, ought to be adjudged the prize for its invention as well as for its embellishment. A dialogue is a discourse consisting of question and answer on some philosophical or political subject, with due regard to the characters of the persons introduced and the choice of diction. Dialectic is the art of discourse by which we either refute or establish some proposition by means of question and answer on the part of the interlocutors.

49. Of the Platonic dialogues there are two most general types, the one adapted for instruction and the other for inquiry. And the former is further divided into two types, the theoretical and the practical. And of these the theoretical is divided into the physical and logical, and the practical into the ethical and political. The dialogue of inquiry also has two main divisions, the one of which aims at training the mind and the other at victory in controversy. Again, the part which aims at training the mind has two subdivisions, the one akin to the midwife’s art, the other merely tentative. And that suited to controversy is also subdivided into one part which raises critical objections, and another which is subversive of the main position.

50. I am not unaware that there are other ways in which certain writers classify the dialogues. For some dialogues they call dramatic, others narrative, and others again a mixture of the two. But the terms they employ in their classification of the dialogues are better suited to the stage than to philosophy. Physics is represented by the Timaeus, logic by the Statesman, Cratylus, Parmenides and Sophist, ethics by the Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Phaedrus and Symposium, as well as by the Menexenus, Clitophon, the Epistles, Philebus, Hipparchus and the Rivals, and lastly politics by the Republic, 51. the Laws, Minos, Epinomis, and the dialogue concerning Atlantis. To the class of mental obstetrics belong the two Alcibiades, Theages, Lysis and Laches, while the Euthyphro, Meno, Io, Charmides and Theaetetus illustrate the tentative method. In the Protagoras is seen the method of critical objections; in the Euthydemus, Gorgias, and the two dialogues entitled Hippias that of subversive argument. So much then for dialogue, its definition and varieties.

Again, as there is great division of opinion between those who affirm and those who deny that Plato was a dogmatist, let me proceed to deal with this further question. To be a dogmatist in philosophy is to lay down positive dogmas, just as to be a legislator is to lay down laws. Further, under dogma two things are included, the thing opined and the opinion itself.

52. Of these the former is a proposition, the latter a conception. Now where he has a firm grasp Plato expounds his own view and refutes the false one, but, if the subject is obscure, he suspends judgement. His own views are expounded by four persons, Socrates, Timaeus, the Athenian Stranger, the Eleatic Stranger. These strangers are not, as some hold, Plato and Parmenides, but imaginary characters without names, for, even when Socrates and Timaeus are the speakers, it is Plato’s doctrines that are laid down. To illustrate the refutation of false opinions, he introduces Thrasymachus, Callicles, Polus, Gorgias, Protagoras, or again Hippias, Euthydemus and the like.

53. In constructing his proofs he makes most use of induction, not always in the same way, but under two forms. For induction is an argument which by means of certain true premisses properly infers a truth resembling them. And there are two kinds of induction, the one proceeding by way of contradiction, the other from agreement. In the kind which proceeds by contradiction the answer given to every question will necessarily be the contrary of the respondent’s position, e.g. “My father is either other than or the same as your father. If then your father is other than my father, by being other than a father he will not be a father. But if he is the same as my father, then by being the same as my father he will be my father.” 54. And again: “If man is not an animal, he will be either a stick or a stone. But he is not a stick or a stone; for he is animate and self-moved. Therefore he is an animal. But if he is an animal, and if a dog or an ox is also an animal, then man by being an animal will be a dog and an ox as well.” This is the kind of induction which proceeds by contradiction and dispute, and Plato used it, not for laying down positive doctrines but for refutation. The other kind of induction by agreement appears in two forms, the one proving the particular conclusion under discussion from a particular, the other proceeding by way of the universal [by means of particular facts]. The former is suited to rhetoric, the latter to dialectic. For instance, under the first form the question is raised, “Did so-and-so commit a murder?” The proof is that he was found at the time with stains of blood on him. 55. This is the rhetorical form of induction, since rhetoric also is concerned with particular facts and not with universals. It does not inquire about justice in the abstract, but about particular cases of justice. The other kind, where the general proposition is first established by means of particular facts, is the induction of dialectic. For instance, the question put is whether the soul is immortal, and whether the living come back from the dead. And this is proved in the dialogue On the Soul by means of a certain general proposition, that opposites proceed from opposites. And the general proposition itself is established by means of certain propositions which are particular, as that sleep comes from waking and vice versa, the greater from the less and vice versa. This is the form which he used to establish his own views.

56. But, just as long ago in tragedy the chorus was the only actor, and afterwards, in order to give the chorus breathing space, Thespis devised a single actor, Aeschylus a second, Sophocles a third, and thus tragedy was completed, so too with philosophy: in early times it discoursed on one subject only, namely physics, then Socrates added the second subject, ethics, and Plato the third, dialectics, and so brought philosophy to perfection. Thrasylus says that he published his dialogues in tetralogies, like those of the tragic poets. Thus they contended with four plays at the Dionysia, the Lenaea, the Panathenaea and the festival of Chytri. Of the four plays the last was a satiric drama; and the four together were called a tetralogy.

57. Now, says Thrasylus, the genuine dialogues are fifty-six in all, if the Republic be divided into ten and the Laws into twelve. Favorinus, however, in the second book of his Miscellaneous History declares that nearly the whole of the Republic is to be found in a work of Protagoras entitled Controversies. This gives nine tetralogies, if the Republic takes the place of one single work and the Laws of another. His first tetralogy has a common plan underlying it, for he wishes to describe what the life of the philosopher will be. To each of the works Thrasylus affixes a double title, the one taken from the name of the interlocutor, the other from the subject. 58. This tetralogy, then, which is the first, begins with the Euthyphro or On Holiness, a tentative dialogue; the Apology of Socrates, an ethical dialogue, comes second; the third is Crito or On what is to be done, ethical; the fourth Phaedo or On the Soul, also ethical. The second tetralogy begins with Cratylus or On Correctness of Names, a logical dialogue, which is followed by Theaetetus or On Knowledge, tentative, the Sophist or On Being, a logical dialogue, the Statesman or On Monarchy, also logical. The third tetralogy includes, first, Parmenides or On Ideas, which is logical, next Philebus or On Pleasure, an ethical dialogue, the Banquet or On the Good, ethical, Phaedrus or On Love, also ethical.

59. The fourth tetralogy starts with Alcibiades or On the Nature of Man, an obstetric dialogue; this is followed by the second Alcibiades or On Prayer, also obstetric; then comes Hipparchus or The Lover of Gain, which is ethical, and The Rivals or On Philosophy, also ethical. The fifth tetralogy includes, first, Theages or On Philosophy, an obstetric dialogue, then Charmides or On Temperance, which is tentative, Laches or On Courage, obstetric, and Lysis or On Friendship, also obstetric. The sixth tetralogy starts with Euthydemus or The Eristic, a refutative dialogue, which is followed by Protagoras or Sophists, critical, Gorgias or On Rhetoric, refutative, and Meno or On Virtue, which is tentative. 60. The seventh tetralogy contains, first, two dialogues entitled Hippias, the former On Beauty, the latter On Falsehood, both refutative; next Ion or On the Iliad, which is tentative, and Menexenus or The Funeral Oration, which is ethical. The eighth tetralogy starts with Clitophon or Introduction, which is ethical, and is followed by the Republic or On Justice, political, Timaeus or On Nature, a physical treatise, and Critias or Story of Atlantis, which is ethical. The ninth tetralogy starts with Minos or On Law, a political dialogue, which is followed by the Laws or On Legislation, also political, Epinomis or Nocturnal Council, or Philosopher, political, 61. and lastly the Epistles, thirteen in number, which are ethical. In these epistles his heading was “Welfare,” as that of Epicurus was “A Good Life,” and that of Cleon “All Joy.” They comprise: one to Aristodemus, two to Archytas, four to Dionysius, one to Hermias, Erastus and Coriscus, one each to Leodamas, Dion and Perdiccas, and two to Dion’s friends. This is the division adopted by Thrasylus and some others.

Some, including Aristophanes the grammarian, arrange the dialogues arbitrarily in trilogies. 62. In the first trilogy they place the Republic, Timaeus and Critias; in the second the Sophist, the Statesman and Cratylus; in the third the Laws, Minos and Epinomis; in the fourth Theaetetus, Euthyphro and the Apology; in the fifth Crito, Phaedo and the Epistles. The rest follow as separate compositions in no regular order. Some critics, as has already been stated, put the Republic first, while others start with the greater Alcibiades, and others again with the Theages; some begin with the Euthyphro, others with the Clitophon; some with the Timaeus, others with the Phaedrus; others again with the Theaetetus, while many begin with the Apology. The following dialogues are acknowledged to be spurious: the Midon or Horse-breeder, the Eryxias or Erasistratus, the Alcyon, the Acephali or Sisyphus, the Axiochus, the Phaeacians, the Demodocus, the Chelidon, the Seventh Day, the Epimenides. Of these the Alcyon is thought to be the work of a certain Leon, according to Favorinus in the fifth book of his Memorabilia.

63. Plato has employed a variety of terms in order to make his system less intelligible to the ignorant. But in a special sense he considers wisdom to be the science of those things which are objects of thought and really existent, the science which, he says, is concerned with God and the soul as separate from the body. And especially by wisdom he means philosophy, which is a yearning for divine wisdom. And in a general sense all experience is also termed by him wisdom, e.g. when he calls a craftsman wise. And he applies the same terms with very different meanings. For instance, the word φαῦλος (slight, plain) is employed by him in the sense of ἁπλοῦς (simple, honest), just as it is applied to Heracles in the Licymnius of Euripides in the following passage:

Plain (φαῦλος), unaccomplished, staunch to do great deeds, unversed in talk, with all his store of wisdom curtailed to action.

64. But sometimes Plato uses this same word (φαῦλος） to mean what is bad, and at other times for what is small or petty. Again, he often uses different terms to express the same thing. For instance, he calls the Idea form (εἶδος), genus (γένος), archetype (παράδειγμα), principle (ἀρχή) and cause (αἴτιον). He also uses contrary expressions for the same thing. Thus he calls the sensible thing both existent and non-existent, existent inasmuch as it comes into being, non-existent because it is continually changing. And he says the Idea is neither in motion nor at rest; that it is uniformly the same and yet both one and many. And it is his habit to do this in many more instances.

65. The right interpretation of his dialogues includes three things: first, the meaning of every statement must be explained; next, its purpose, whether it is made for a primary reason or by way of illustration, and whether to establish his own doctrines or to refute his interlocutor; in the third place it remains to examine its truth.

And since certain critical marks are affixed to his works let us now say a word about these. The cross × is taken to indicate peculiar expressions and figures of speech, and generally any idiom of Platonic usage; the diple (>) calls attention to doctrines and opinions characteristic of Plato; 66. the dotted cross (⨰) denotes select passages and beauties of style; the dotted diple (⋗) editors’ corrections of the text; the dotted obelus (÷) passages suspected without reason; the dotted antisigma (Ꜿ) repetitions and proposals for transpositions; the ceraunium the philosophical school; the asterisk (∗) an agreement of doctrine; the obelus (−) a spurious passage. So much for the critical marks and his writings in general. As Antigonus of Carystus says in his Life of Zeno, when the writings were first edited with critical marks, their possessors charged a certain fee to anyone who wished to consult them.

67. The doctrines he approved are these. He held that the soul is immortal, that by transmigration it puts on many bodies, and that it has a numerical first principle, whereas the first principle of the body is geometrical; and he defined soul as the idea of vital breath diffused in all directions. He held that it is self-moved and tripartite, the rational part of it having its seat in the head, the passionate part about the heart, while the appetitive is placed in the region of the navel and the liver.

68. And from the centre outwards it encloses the body on all sides in a circle, and is compounded of elements, and, being divided at harmonic intervals, it forms two circles which touch one another twice; and the interior circle, being slit six times over, makes seven circles in all. And this interior circle moves by way of the diagonal to the left, and the other by way of the side to the right. Hence also the one is supreme, being a single circle, for the other interior circle was divided; the former is the circle of the Same, the latter that of the Other, whereby he means that the motion of the soul is the motion of the universe together with the revolutions of the planets.

69. And the division from the centre to the circumference which is adjusted in harmony with the soul being thus determined, the soul knows that which is, and adjusts it proportionately because she has the elements proportionately disposed in herself. And when the circle of the Other revolves aright, the result is opinion; but from the regular motion of the circle of the Same comes knowledge. He set forth two universal principles, God and matter, and he calls God mind and cause; he held that matter is devoid of form and unlimited, and that composite things arise out of it; and that it was once in disorderly motion but, inasmuch as God preferred order to disorder, was by him brought together in one place. 70. This substance, he says, is converted into the four elements, fire, water, air, earth, of which the world itself and all that therein is are formed. Earth alone of these elements is not subject to change, the assumed cause being the peculiarity of its constituent triangles. For he thinks that in all the other elements the figures employed are homogeneous, the scalene triangle out of which they are all put together being one and the same, whereas for earth a triangle of peculiar shape is employed; the element of fire is a pyramid, of air an octahedron, of water an icosahedron, of earth a cube. Hence earth is not transmuted into the other three elements, nor these three into earth.

71. But the elements are not separated each into its own region of the universe, because the revolution unites their minute particles, compressing and forcing them together into the centre, at the same time as it separates the larger masses. Hence as they change their shapes, so also do they change the regions which they occupy.

And there is one created universe, seeing that it is perceptible to sense, which has been made by God. And it is animate because that which is animate is better than that which is inanimate. And this piece of workmanship is assumed to come from a cause supremely good. It was made one and not unlimited because the pattern from which he made it was one. And it is spherical because such is the shape of its maker. 72. For that maker contains the other living things, and this universe the shapes of them all. It is smooth and has no organ all round because it has no need of organs. Moreover, the universe remains imperishable because it is not dissolved into the Deity. And the creation as a whole is caused by God, because it is the nature of the good to be beneficent, and the creation of the universe has the highest good for its cause. For the most beautiful of created things is due to the best of intelligible causes; so that, as God is of this nature, and the universe resembles the best in its perfect beauty, it will not be in the likeness of anything created, but only of God.

73. The universe is composed of fire, water, air and earth; of fire in order to be visible; of earth in order to be solid; of water and air in order to be proportional. For the powers represented by solids are connected by two mean proportionals in a way to secure the complete unity of the whole. And the universe was made of all the elements in order to be complete and indestructible.

Time was created as an image of eternity. And while the latter remains for ever at rest, time consists in the motion of the universe. For night and day and month and the like are all parts of time; for which reason, apart from the nature of the universe, time has no existence. But so soon as the universe is fashioned time exists.

74. And the sun and moon and planets were created as means to the creation of time. And God kindled the light of the sun in order that the number of the seasons might be definite and in order that animals might possess number. The moon is in the circle immediately above the earth, and the sun in that which is next beyond that, and in the circles above come the planets. Further, the universe is an animate being, for it is bound fast in animate movement. And in order that the universe which had been created in the likeness of the intelligible living creature might be rendered complete, the nature of all other animals was created. Since then its pattern possesses them, the universe also ought to have them. And thus it contains gods for the most part of a fiery nature; of the rest there are three kinds, winged, aquatic and terrestrial. 75. And of all the gods in heaven the earth is the oldest. And it was fashioned to make night and day. And being at the centre it moves round the centre. And since there are two causes, it must be affirmed, he says, that some things are due to reason and others have a necessary cause, the latter being air, fire, earth and water, which are not exactly elements but rather recipients of form. They are composed of triangles, and are resolved into triangles. The scalene triangle and the isosceles triangle are their constituent elements.

76. The principles, then, and causes assumed are the two above mentioned, of which God and matter are the exemplar. Matter is of necessity formless like the other recipients of form. Of all these there is a necessary cause. For it somehow or other receives the ideas and so generates substances, and it moves because its power is not uniform, and, being in motion, it in turn sets in motion those things which are generated from it. And these were at first in irrational and irregular motion, but after they began to frame the universe, under the conditions possible they were made by God symmetrical and regular. 77. For the two causes existed even before the world was made, as well as becoming in the third place, but they were not distinct, merely traces of them being found, and in disorder. When the world was made, they too acquired order. And out of all the bodies there are the universe was fashioned. He holds God, like the soul, to be incorporeal. For only thus is he exempt from change and decay. As already stated, he assumes the Ideas to be causes and principles whereby the world of natural objects is what it is.

78. On good and evil he would discourse to this effect. He maintained that the end to aim at is assimilation to God, that virtue is in itself sufficient for happiness, but that it needs in addition, as instruments for use, first, bodily advantages like health and strength, sound senses and the like, and, secondly, external advantages such as wealth, good birth and reputation. But the wise man will be no less happy even if he be without these things. Again, he will take part in public affairs, will marry, and will refrain from breaking the laws which have been made. And as far as circumstances allow he will legislate for his own country, unless in the extreme corruption of the people he sees that the state of affairs completely justifies his abstention. 79. He thinks that the gods take note of human life and that there are superhuman beings. He was the first to define the notion of good as that which is bound up with whatever is praiseworthy and rational and useful and proper and becoming. And all these are bound up with that which is consistent and in accord with nature.

He also discoursed on the propriety of names, and indeed he was the first to frame a science for rightly asking and answering questions, having employed it himself to excess. And in the dialogues he conceived righteousness to be the law of God because it is stronger to incite men to do righteous acts, that malefactors may not be punished after death also. 80. Hence to some he appeared too fond of myths. These narratives he intermingles with his works in order to deter men from wickedness, by reminding them how little they know of what awaits them after death. Such, then, are the doctrines he approved.

He used also to divide things, according to Aristotle, in the following manner. Goods are in the mind or in the body, or external. For example, justice, prudence, courage, temperance and such like are in the mind; beauty, a good constitution, health and strength in the body; while friends, the welfare of one’s country and riches are amongst external things.

81. Thus there are three kinds of goods: goods of the mind, goods of the body and external goods. There are three species of friendship: one species is natural, another social, and another hospitable. By natural friendship we mean the affection which parents have for their offspring and kinsmen for each other. And other animals besides man have inherited this form.

By the social form of friendship we mean that which arises from intimacy and has nothing to do with kinship; for instance, that of Pylades for Orestes. The friendship of hospitality is that which is extended to strangers owing to an introduction or letters of recommendation. Thus friendship is either natural or social or hospitable. Some add a fourth species, that of love.

82. There are five forms of civil government: one form is democratic, another aristocratic, a third oligarchic, a fourth monarchic, a fifth that of a tyrant. The democratic form is that in which the people has control and chooses at its own pleasure both magistrates and laws. The aristocratic form is that in which the rulers are neither the rich nor the poor nor the nobles, but the state is under the guidance of the best. Oligarchy is that form in which there is a property-qualification for the holding of office; for the rich are fewer than the poor. Monarchy is either regulated by law or hereditary. At Carthage the kingship is regulated by law, the office being put up for sale. 83. But the monarchy in Lacedaemon and in Macedonia is hereditary, for they select the king from a certain family. A tyranny is that form in which the citizens are ruled either through fraud or force by an individual. Thus civil government is either democratic, aristocratic, oligarchic, or a monarchy or a tyranny.

There are three species of justice. One is concerned with gods, another with men, and the third with the departed. For those who sacrifice according to the laws and take care of the temples are obviously pious towards the gods. Those again who repay loans and restore what they have received upon trust act justly towards men. Lastly, those who take care of tombs are obviously just towards the departed. Thus one species of justice relates to the gods, another to men, while a third species is concerned with the departed.

84. There are three species of knowledge or science, one practical, another productive, and a third theoretical. For architecture and shipbuilding are productive arts, since the work produced by them can be seen. Politics and flute-playing, harp-playing and similar arts are practical. For nothing visible is produced by them; yet they do or perform something. In the one case the artist plays the flute or the harp, in the other the politician takes part in politics. Geometry and harmonics and astronomy are theoretical sciences. For they neither perform nor produce anything. But the geometer considers how lines are related to each other, the student of harmony investigates sounds, the astronomer stars and the universe. Thus some sciences are theoretical, others are practical, and others are productive.

85. There are five species of medicine : the first is pharmacy, the second is surgery, the third deals with diet and regimen, the fourth with diagnosis, the fifth with remedies. Pharmacy cures sickness by drugs, surgery heals by the use of knife and cautery, the species concerned with diet prescribes a regimen for the removal of disease, that concerned with diagnosis proceeds by determining the nature of the ailment, that concerned with remedies by prescribing for the immediate removal of the pain. The species of medicine, then, are pharmacy, surgery, diet and regimen, diagnosis, prescription of remedies.

86. There are two divisions of law, the one written and the other unwritten. Written law is that under which we live in different cities, but that which has arisen out of custom is called unwritten law; for instance, not to appear in the market-place undressed or in women’s attire. There is no statute forbidding this, but nevertheless we abstain from such conduct because it is prohibited by an unwritten law. Thus law is either written or unwritten.

There are five kinds of speech, of which one is that which politicians employ in the assemblies; this is called political speech. 87. The second division is that which the rhetors employ in written compositions, whether composed for display or praise or blame, or for accusation. Hence this division is termed rhetorical. The third division of speech is that of private persons conversing with one another; this is called the mode of speech of ordinary life. Another division of speech is the language of those who converse by means of short questions and answers; this kind is called dialectical. The fifth division is the speech of craftsmen conversing about their own subjects; this is called technical language. Thus speech is either political, or rhetorical, or that of ordinary conversation, or dialectical, or technical.

88. Music has three divisions. One employs the mouth alone, like singing. The second employs both the mouth and the hands, as is the case with the harper singing to his own accompaniment. The third division employs the hands alone; for instance, the music of the harp. Thus music employs either the mouth alone, or the mouth and the hands, or the hands alone.

Nobility has four divisions. First, when the ancestors are gentle and handsome and also just, their descendants are said to be noble. Secondly, when the ancestors have been princes or magistrates, their descendants are said to be noble. The third kind arises when the ancestors have been illustrious; for instance, through having held military command or through success in the national games. For then we call the descendants noble. 89. The last division includes the man who is himself of a generous and high-minded spirit. He too is said to be noble. And this indeed is the highest form of nobility. Thus, of nobility, one kind depends on excellent ancestors, another on princely ancestors, a third on illustrious ancestors, while the fourth is due to the individual’s own beauty and worth.

Beauty has three divisions. The first is the object of praise, as of form fair to see. Another is serviceable; thus an instrument, a house and the like are beautiful for use. Other things again which relate to customs and pursuits and the like are beautiful because beneficial. Of beauty, then, one kind is matter for praise, another is for use, and another for the benefit it procures.

90. The soul has three divisions. One part of it is rational, another appetitive, and a third irascible. Of these the rational part is the cause of purpose, reflection, understanding and the like. The appetitive part of the soul is the cause of desire of eating, sexual indulgence and the like, while the irascible part is the cause of courage, of pleasure and pain, and of anger. Thus one part of the soul is rational, another appetitive, and a third irascible.

Of perfect virtue there are four species: prudence, justice, bravery and temperance. 91. Of these prudence is the cause of right conduct, justice of just dealing in partnerships and commercial transactions. Bravery is the cause which makes a man not give way but stand his ground in alarms and perils. Temperance causes mastery over desires, so that we are never enslaved by any pleasure, but lead an orderly life. Thus virtue includes first prudence, next justice, thirdly bravery, and lastly temperance.

Rule has five divisions, one that which is according to law, another according to nature, another according to custom, a fourth by birth, a fifth by force. 92. Now the magistrates in cities when elected by their fellow-citizens rule according to law. The natural rulers are the males, not only among men, but also among the other animals; for the males everywhere exert wide-reaching rule over the females. Rule according to custom is such authority as attendants exercise over children and teachers over their pupils. Hereditary rule is exemplified by that of the Lacedaemonian kings, for the office of king is confined to a certain family. And the same system is in force for the kingdom of Macedonia; for there too the office of king goes by birth. Others have acquired power by force or fraud, and govern the citizens against their will; this kind of rule is called forcible. Thus rule is either by law, or by nature, or by custom, or by birth, or by force.

93. There are six kinds of rhetoric. For when the speakers urge war or alliance with a neighbouring state, that species of rhetoric is called persuasion. But when they speak against making war or alliance, and urge their hearers to remain at peace, this kind of rhetoric is called dissuasion. A third kind is employed when a speaker asserts that he is wronged by some one whom he makes out to have caused him much mischief; accusation is the name applied to the kind here defined. The fourth kind of rhetoric is termed defence; here the speaker shows that he has done no wrong and that his conduct is in no respect abnormal; defence is the term applied in such a case. 94. A fifth kind of rhetoric is employed when a speaker speaks well of some one and proves him to be worthy and honourable; encomium is the name given to this kind. A sixth kind is that employed when the speaker shows some one to be unworthy; the name given to this is invective. Under rhetoric, then, are included encomium, invective, persuasion, dissuasion, accusation and defence.

Successful speaking has four divisions. The first consists in speaking to the purpose, the next to the requisite length, the third before the proper audience, and the fourth at the proper moment. The things to the purpose are those which are likely to be expedient for speaker and hearer. The requisite length is that which is neither more nor less than enough. 95. To speak to the proper audience means this: in addressing persons older than yourself, the discourse must be made suitable to the audience as being elderly men; whereas in addressing juniors the discourse must be suitable to young men. The proper time of speaking is neither too soon nor too late; otherwise you will miss the mark and not speak with success.

Of conferring benefits there are four divisions. For it takes place either by pecuniary aid or by personal service, by means of knowledge or of speech. Pecuniary aid is given when one assists a man in need, so that he is relieved from all anxiety on the score of money. Personal service is given when men come up to those who are being beaten and rescue them. 96. Those who train or heal, or who teach something valuable, confer benefit by means of knowledge. But when men enter a law-court and one appears as advocate for another and delivers an effective speech on his behalf, he is benefiting him by speech. Thus benefits are conferred by means either of money or of personal service, or of knowledge, or of speech.

There are four ways in which things are completed and brought to an end. The first is by legal enactment, when a decree is passed and this decree is confirmed by law. The second is in the course of nature, as the day, the year and the seasons are completed. The third is by the rules of art, say the builder’s art, for so a house is completed; and so it is with shipbuilding, whereby vessels are completed. 97. Fourthly, matters are brought to an end by chance or accident, when they turn out otherwise than is expected. Thus the completion of things is due either to law, or to nature, or to art, or to chance.

Of power or ability there are four divisions. First, whatever we can do with the mind, namely calculate or anticipate; next, whatever we can effect with the body, for instance, marching, giving, taking and the like. Thirdly, whatever we can do by a multitude of soldiers or a plentiful supply of money; hence a king is said to have great power. The fourth division of power or influence is doing, or being done by, well or ill; thus we can become ill or be educated, be restored to health and the like. Power, then, is either in the mind, or the body, or in armies and resources, or in acting and being acted upon.

98. Philanthropy is of three kinds. One is by way of salutations, as when certain people address every one they meet and, stretching out their hand, give him a hearty greeting; another mode is seen when one is given to assisting every one in distress; another mode of philanthropy is that which makes certain people fond of giving dinners. Thus philanthropy is shown either by a courteous address, or by conferring benefits, or by hospitality and the promotion of social intercourse.

Welfare or happiness includes five parts. One part of it is good counsel, a second soundness of the senses and bodily health, a third success in one’s undertakings, a fourth a reputation with one’s fellow-men, a fifth ample means in money and in whatever else subserves the end of life. 99. Now deliberating well is a result of education and of having experience of many things. Soundness of the senses depends upon the bodily organs: I mean, if one sees with his eyes, hears with his ears, and perceives with his nostrils and his mouth the appropriate objects, then such a condition is soundness of the senses. Success is attained when a man does what he aims at in the right way, as becomes a good man.

A man has a good reputation when he is well spoken of. A man has ample means when he is so equipped for the needs of life that he can afford to benefit his friends and discharge his public services with lavish display. If a man has all these things, he is completely happy. Thus of welfare or happiness one part is good counsel, another soundness of senses and bodily health, a third success, a fourth a good reputation, a fifth ample means.

100. There are three divisions of the arts and crafts. The first division consists of mining and forestry, which are productive arts. The second includes the smith’s and carpenter’s arts which transform material; for the smith makes weapons out of iron, and the carpenter transforms timber into flutes and lyres. The third division is that which uses what is thus made, as horsemanship employs bridles, the art of war employs weapons, and music flutes and the lyre. Thus of art there are three several species, those above-mentioned in the first, second and third place.

101. Good is divided into four kinds. One is the possessor of virtue, whom we affirm to be individually good. Another is virtue itself and justice; these we affirm to be good. A third includes such things as food, suitable exercises and drugs. The fourth kind which we affirm to be good includes the arts of flute-playing, acting and the like. Thus there are four kinds of good: the possession of virtue; virtue itself; thirdly, food and beneficial exercises; lastly, flute-playing, acting, and the poetic art. 102. Whatever is is either evil or good or indifferent. We call that evil which is capable of invariably doing harm; for instance, bad judgement and folly and injustice and the like. The contraries of these things are good. But the things which can sometimes benefit and sometimes harm, such as walking and sitting and eating, or which can neither do any benefit nor harm at all, these are things indifferent, neither good nor evil. Thus all things whatever are either good, or evil, or neither good nor evil.

103. Good order in the state falls under three heads. First, if the laws are good, we say that there is good government. Secondly, if the citizens obey the established laws, we also call this good government. Thirdly, if, without the aid of laws, the people manage their affairs well under the guidance of customs and institutions, we call this again good government. Thus three forms of good government may exist, (1) when the laws are good, (2) when the existing laws are obeyed, (3) when the people live under salutary customs and institutions.

Disorder in a state has three forms. The first arises when the laws affecting citizens and strangers are alike bad, 104. the second when the existing laws are not obeyed, and the third when there is no law at all. Thus the state is badly governed when the laws are bad or not obeyed, or lastly, when there is no law.

Contraries are divided into three species. For instance, we say that goods are contrary to evils, as justice to injustice, wisdom to folly, and the like. Again, evils are contrary to evils, prodigality is contrary to niggardliness, and to be unjustly tortured is the contrary of being justly tortured, and so with similar evils. Again, heavy is the contrary of light, quick of slow, black of white, and these pairs are contraries, while they are neither good nor evil. 105. Thus, of contraries, some are opposed as goods to evils, others as evils to evils, and others, as things which are neither good nor evil, are opposed to one another.

There are three kinds of goods, those which can be exclusively possessed, those which can be shared with others, and those which simply exist. To the first division, namely, those which can be exclusively possessed, belong such things as justice and health. To the next belong all those which, though they cannot be exclusively possessed, can be shared with others. Thus we cannot possess the absolute good, but we can participate in it. The third division includes those goods the existence of which is necessary, though we can neither possess them exclusively nor participate in them. The mere existence of worth and justice is a good; and these things cannot be shared or had in exclusive possession, but must simply exist. Of goods, then, some are possessed exclusively, some shared, and others merely subsist.

106. Counsel is divided under three heads. One is taken from past time, one from the future, and the third from the present. That from past time consists of examples; for instance, what the Lacedaemonians suffered through trusting others. Counsel drawn from the present is to show, for instance, that the walls are weak, the men cowards, and the supplies running short. Counsel from the future is. for instance, to urge that we should not wrong the embassies by suspicions, lest the fair fame of Hellas be stained. Thus counsel is derived from the past, the present and the future.

107. Vocal sound falls into two divisions according as it is animate or inanimate. The voice of living things is animate sound; notes of instruments and noises are inanimate. And of the animate voice part is articulate, part inarticulate, that of men being articulate speech, that of the animals inarticulate. Thus vocal sound is either animate or inanimate.

Whatever exists is either divisible or indivisible. Of divisible things some are divisible into similar and others into dissimilar parts. Those things are indivisible which cannot be divided and are not compounded of elements, for example, the unit, the point and the musical note; whereas those which have constituent parts, for instance, syllables, concords in music, animals, water, gold, are divisible. 108. If they are composed of similar parts, so that the whole does not differ from the part except in bulk, as water, gold and all that is fusible, and the like, then they are termed homogeneous. But whatever is composed of dissimilar parts, as a house and the like, is termed heterogeneous. Thus all things whatever are either divisible or indivisible, and of those which are divisible some are homogeneous, others heterogeneous in their parts.

Of existing things some are absolute and some are called relative. Things said to exist absolutely are those which need nothing else to explain them, as man, horse, and all other animals. 109. For none of these gains by explanation. To those which are called relative belong all which stand in need of some explanation, as that which is greater than something or quicker than something, or more beautiful and the like. For the greater implies a less, and the quicker is quicker than something. Thus existing things are either absolute or relative. And in this way, according to Aristotle, Plato used to divide the primary conceptions also.

There was also another man named Plato, a philosopher of Rhodes, a pupil of Panaetius, as is stated by Seleucus the grammarian in his first book On Philosophy; another a Peripatetic and pupil of Aristotle; and another who was a pupil of Praxiphanes; and lastly, there was Plato, the poet of the Old Comedy.

THE LIFE OF PLATO by Hesychius of Miletus

Hesychius of Miletus was a Greek chronicler and biographer and the son of an advocate, who flourished at Constantinople in the 6th century AD during the reign of Justinian.

THE LIFE OF PLATO

PLATO the philosopher is said to have never undergone even once the marriage-state or sexual intercourse. And they say that his mother became pregnant from a divine vision when Apollo appeared to her; but when she had brought forth Plato, that then her husband cohabited with her, and that being with broad shoulders or face he was called Plato, but some assert that he was so called from being broad in his discourses. Hence Timon, while ridiculing him, says in his Farcical verses —

The broadest man led all, but with sweet voice

He talk’d, the picture of the Tettix kind,

That settling on the trees of Hecademus,

Their pleasant note pour forth —

For the spot, which (is now) Academia, was formerly called Hecademia. He made for himself a mingling of the doctrines of Heracleitus, Pythagoras, and Socrates. For on things, perceptible by the senses, he philosophized according to Heracleitus; on those, perceptible by mind, according to Pythagoras; but on those, relating to politics, according to Socrates. He was likewise much indebted to Epicharmus. For Epicharmus says— “The wise assert that the soul perceives some things through the body; as, for example, by hearing and seeing; but on other things it reflects itself by itself, without making any use of the body: and hence, of the things that exist, some are perceptible by the senses, and some by the mind.” On which account Plato has said that it is requisite for those, who desire to look into the principles of the Universe, to separate, in the first place, ideas, themselves by themselves, such as similitude, and unity, and number, and magnitude, and rest, and motion: secondly, to lay down itself by itself, beauty, and goodness, and justice, and such kind of things: and, thirdly, to look into such of the ideas as have a relation to each other, to wit, science, or magnitude, or arbitrary power, and to consider that what are with us have the same name as those, through their participating in them — I mean, that things are just, such as (participate in) the abstractedly just ; and are beautiful, such as (participate in) the abstractedly beautiful; and that each of the species is eternal, and a notion, and, moreover, not subject to circumstances. Hence he says likewise that ideas exist in nature, as if they were patterns ; and that the rest of things are like to them, as being their resemblances. Epicharmus too thus expresses himself touching the abstractedly good, and ideas —

Seems not the case then to be thus about

The good ? that of itself it is a thing;

And he, who learning knows it, good becomes;

Just as a piper, who has learnt to pipe,

Or to dance has a dancer learnt, or some

Weaver to weave, or what you will of trades

Like these, himself’s the artist, not the art.

Plato accompanied Chabrias, the general, on trial for a capital charge, when not one of the citizens was willing to do so; and when Crobylus the informer met him as he was going up, together with Chabrias, to the Acropolis, and said— “Art thou come to plead on the side of another, not knowing that the hemlock of Socrates awaits thee ? he replied—” When too I served in the army for the sake of fatherland, I endured dangers; and now for the sake of duty on account of a friend I will endure them.” But though he was such a ‘kind of person, he was nevertheless scoffed at by the writers of comedy. At least Theopompus says —

For one is none,

And two, as Plato holds, is scarcely one;

and Anaxandrides too in his “Theseus “ —

When olives he devoured, that Plato loves ;

and Timon likewise, while thus playing on the letters (of his name) —

As Plato plaits, in plaited wonders skill’d.

Alexis in “ Meropis “ —

Thou’rt come in time; since I, in doubtings tost,

Am walking up and down, and, Plato-like,

Find nought that’s wise, but merely tire my feet;

and in “Ancylion “ —

A. Thou speak’st of what thou knowest not one jot.

B. Mind has with Plato been a-running.

A. Know’st thou, What is a pound, and onions what ?

B. Not I.

Amphis in “ Amphicrates “ —

A. What is the good, which you are about to have

Through her, I know still less than does my master

Of the good in Plato.

On questions which he comprehended, Plato exhibits his opinions; and falsehoods he confutes; but on points that are uncertain he holds back. And what he has made up his mind upon, he exhibits by means of four characters, Socrates, Timaeus  the Athenian Guest, and the one from Elea; but amongst those confuted for falsehoods he introduces Thrasymachus, Callicles, Polus, (and) Gorgias. He asserted that the principle of the soul was arithmetical, but of the body, geometrical; and he defined it to be an idea of a breath standing apart on every side, and that it is self-moved  and tripartite.

THE LIFE OF PLATO by Olympiodorus

Olympiodorus the Younger (495-570 BC) was a Neoplatonist philosopher, astrologer and teacher, who lived in the early years of the Byzantine Empire.  He flourished after Justinian’s Decree of 529 A.D. which closed Plato’s Academy and other pagan schools. Olympiodorus was the last pagan to maintain the Platonist tradition in Alexandria. Following his death the School passed into the hands of Christian Aristotelians, and was eventually moved to Constantinople.

Olympiodorus was the disciple of Ammonius Hermiae at the philosophy school in Alexandria, and succeeded him as its leader when Ammonius died circa 520. He was still teaching and writing in 565, because in his commentary on Aristotle’s Meteorology, he mentions a comet that appeared that year. Olympiodorus himself was able to survive the persecution experienced by many of his peers, possibly because the Alexandrian School was less involved in politics and also possibly because it was more scholastic and less religious than the Athenian Academy.

THE LIFE OF PLATO

COME then, let us speak of the family of the philosopher, not for the sake of prolixity, but of benefit rather and instruction to those, who betake themselves to him. For he was not “ a Nobody,” but rather —

To many of mankind he was a care.

For Plato is said to have been a son of his father Ariston, the son of Aristocles, from whom he carried up his family to Solon, the law-giver; and hence he wrote, in imitation of his ancestor, the Laws in twelve books, and a Political Constitution in eleven. He came into the world by his mother Perictione, who was descended from Neleus, the son of Codrus. For they say that Apollo in a vision had an intercourse with his mother Perictione, and, appearing in the night to Ariston, ordered him to have no connexion with Perictione until the time of her bringing forth. And so he acted. And his parents taking him after his birth, and when he was still an infant, placed him on Mount Hymettus, intending to make a sacrifice to the deities there, namely, Pan, and the Nymphs, and Apollo, who presides over shepherds. But while he was lying there, bees came and filled his mouth with honey from the comb, in order that it might be said truly of him —

From his mouth flow’d a voice than honey far

More sweet.

And he calls himself on every side and a fellow-slave with the swans, as if he had proceeded from Apollo; for the bird belongs to Apollo. In early life he first went as a pupil to Dionysius the grammar-master, to learn the common course of instruction, of whom he has made mention in the Rivals, in order that Dionysius might not be without a share of remembrance on the part of Plato. After him he made use of Ariston the Argive, as his master in gymnastics, by whom, as they say, his name was changed into Plato, having been previously called Aristocles, after his grandfather; and he was called Plato, from his having two parts of his body very wide, namely, his breast and forehead, as his likeness proves, put up every where with such a representation. But others assert that it was not for this reason his name was changed, but on account of the breadth, and diffuseness, and openness of the style adopted by him; just as they say that Theophrastus, who was previously called Tyrtamus, had his name changed to  Theophrastus on account of the divine nature of his language. For his music-master he had Dracon, the pupil of Damon, of whom he has made mention in the Republic. These were the three things the boys at Athens were taught, I mean grammar, music, and wrestling, not simply for themselves; but grammar, to embellish the language, natural to them ; music, to tame violent passions ; and wrestling and gymnastics, to strengthen the relaxed state of desire. In these three points Alcibiades appears to have been instructed by him; and hence Socrates says to him, “But to play on the pipe you were not willing,” and what follows. (Plato) went likewise to painters, from whom he derived some benefit in the mixing of colours, of which he has made mention in the Timaeus. Subsequently he received instructions from the writers of tragedy likewise, who were considered  to be the instructors of Greece ; and he went to them for the sake of the moral and solemn style of tragedy, and the heroical nature of their subjects (selected by them); and he made an acquaintance with the dithyrambic poets, for the honour of Dionysus, who was said to be the superintendent of generation ; for to that deity the Dithyramb is sacred, from whom likewise it had its name; for Dionysus is Dithyrambus, as having proceeded from two doors, namely, Semele and the thigh of Jupiter. For the ancients were wont to call things caused by the names of the causing; as they call Dionysus likewise: and hence Proclus says on this subject —

Parents, from what they see (and know),

Upon their children names bestow.

Now that Plato exercised himself in Dithyrambics is evident from the Phaedrus, a dialogue that breathes very much of a dithyrambic style; inasmuch as Plato wrote, as reported, that dialogue the first. He took likewise great delight in Aristophanes, the comic writer, and in Sophron; from whom he benefited in his imitation of the characters in his dialogues. And he is reported to have been so delighted, that, when he was dead, (copies of) Aristophanes and Sophron were found on his couch; and he made himself this epigram upon Aristophanes —

The Graces, when they wish’d to find

A shrine, that should for ever live,

Said, what they sought, alone the mind

Of Aristophanes could give.

And he made fun of Aristophanes in his dialogue (called) the Banquet, as having derived some benefit in the style of comedy. For after making him hymn the god of Love, he introduces him as seized during (the conversation) with hiccups, and unable to finish the hymn. He composed likewise Tragic and Dithyrambic poetry, and some other things; all of which he burnt, after he had made a trial of an intercourse with Socrates, and pronouncing a verse of this kind —

Come here, Hephaestus, Plato needs thy aid.

And a certain Anatolius, a grammarian, on speaking (again) the verse, was in some repute with Hephaestus, who had been appointed governor of the city ; for he said to him —

Come here, Hephaestus, Pharus needs thy aid.

They say, moreover, that when Socrates was about to receive him (as a disciple), he saw, as a vision in a dream, that a swan without wings had settled on his knees ; and, becoming fledged on the instant, flew up to the sky, and sung something so sweet, that he enchanted all who heard it; and this indicated the future fame of the man. But after the death of Socrates, he again made use of Cratylus, one of the sect of Heracleitus, as his teacher; on whom he composed the dialogue of that name, inscribing it “ Cratylus, or On the Correctness of Names.” Afterwards he sailed to Italy; and finding that Archytas had established there a school of Pythagoreans, he again had as a teacher the Pythagorean of the same name; there he has made mention of Archytas.

But since it is requisite for a philosopher to be fond of seeing the works of Nature, he sailed to Sicily likewise, to view the craters of fire that are in Aetna, and not for the sake of a Sicilian table, as thou, noble Aristides, sayest. And, when he was at Syracuse with Dionysius the Great, he endeavoured to change the tyranny there into an aristocracy ; for which purpose he had gone to him (Dionysius); and on the latter inquiring of him — Whom do you think amongst men is happy ? fancying forsooth that the philosopher would, out• of flattery, say that he was, Plato answered that (he thought) Socrates was. (And when) Dionysius asked him again — What do you consider as the business of a statesman ? Plato replied — To make the citizens better. (And when) he asked a third time — What then ? Does it seem to you a little thing to act the judge correctly ? — for Dionysius had a reputation for acting the judge correctly — Plato replied, not lowering his sail a jot — It is indeed a little thing, and of a statesman the farthest portion ; for they, who act the judge correctly, are like the menders of cloth, who weave up again torn garments. (And when) he asked a fourth time — What is it, think you, to be a tyrant ? Is it not a brave thing ? Plato replied — Of all the most cowardly; since he fears even the razor of the barber, lest he should lose his life by it. Whereupon Dionysius, being greatly annoyed, ordered him, while the sun was still above the earth,  to take himself off from Syracuse; and thus was Plato with dishonour driven out of Syracuse.

Of his second journey to Sicily the reason was this. After the death of Dionysius the Great, Dionysius, the son of Dionysius, succeeded to the kingdom, having Dion for his uncle, who had been a familiar acquaintance of Plato during his first journey. Dion therefore writes to him (saying) that— “If you were now present, there would be a hope of changing the tyranny into an aristocracy.” For this purpose then, when he had made a second journey, he was falsely accused by the spear-bearing attendants upon Dionysius, how that he was plotting to make over the government to Dion, and to depose Dionysius; when being overpowered, he was by Dionysius delivered over to Pollis of Aegina, who was then trading with Sicily, to be sold. And he carrying Plato to Aegina, found there Anniceris, the Libyan, who was about to sail to Elis for the purpose of entering the contest with a four-horsed car; and meeting with Pollis, he purchased Plato from him, having bought this glory, superior to all the victory of a four-horsed car; respecting whom Aristides says that no one would have known Anniceris, if he had not purchased Plato.

Of his third journey to Sicily this was the motive. Dion, after being proscribed by Dionysius and deprived of his property, was thrown into prison. He writes therefore to Plato, that Dionysius had promised to release him, if Plato would come to him again; when he readily undertook this third journey to assist his friend. And thus much on the travels of the philosopher to Sicily.

It should be known likewise that he went to Egypt to the men of the priesthood there, and learnt from them the science of a priest. Hence he says in the Gorgias— “No, by the dog,” — which was a god in Egypt. For that, which statues mean amongst the Greek, animals do amongst the Egyptians, through being the symbols of each of the gods to whom they are dedicated. Being desirous, moreover, to meet with the Magi, but unable to reach them in consequence of a war raging at that time in Persia, he departed for Phoenicia; and meeting there with the Magi, he obtained the science of the Magi; and hence he appears in the Timaeus to be skilled in the art of sacrificing, while speaking of the signs of the liver and entrails, and such like matters. But this ought to have been told  previous to the statement of the causes of his journeys to Sicily.

On his return to Athens he established a school in the Academia, by separating a portion of the Gymnasium for a grove sacred to the Muses; and there Timon, the man-hater, associated with Plato alone. Very many persons did he attract to learning, both men and women in male attire, by preparing them to hear him, and showing them that his philosophy was superior to all love of business. For he freed himself from the irony of Socrates, and from passing his time  in the place of public meeting, and at work-shops, and from composing discourses to catch young persons. He freed himself likewise from the Pythagorean oath, about keeping their doors closed, and the— “He said it,” and exhibited himself more like a citizen to all.  After making many his admirers, and benefiting the most of them, when he was about to die, he had a dream, how that having become a swan, he went from tree to tree, and caused the greatest trouble to bird-limers. This Simmias, the Socratic philosopher, expounded (by saying) that he would be not caught by those, who after him wished to interpret him; for the interpreters who wanted to catch the meaning of the ancients were like bird-limers; and not caught he is; since one may take his words, like those of Homer, in a sense physical, moral, ethical, theological, and, (to speak) simply, in a variety of senses. For these two souls are said to be altogether in harmony; and hence  one may take them both in various senses.

After his decease the Athenians buried him in an expensive manner, and they inscribed upon his tomb —

These two, Aesculapius and Plato, did Apollo beget;

One, that he might save the soul; the other, the body.

And thus much respecting the family of the philosopher.

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Walter Savage Landor
Walt Whitman
Wilfred Owen
William Blake
William Cowper
William Wordsworth

Masters of Art

Albrecht Dürer
Amedeo Modigliani
Artemisia Gentileschi
Camille Pissarro
Canaletto
Caravaggio
Caspar David Friedrich
Claude Lorrain
Claude Monet
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Diego Velázquez
Edgar Degas
Édouard Manet
Edvard Munch
Eugène Delacroix
Francisco Goya
Giotto
Giovanni Bellini
Gustave Courbet
Gustav Klimt
J. M. W. Turner
Johannes Vermeer
John Constable
Leonardo da Vinci
Michelangelo
Paul Cézanne
Paul Gauguin
Paul Klee
Peter Paul Rubens
Piero della Francesca
Pierre-Auguste Renoir
Pieter Bruegel the Elder
Sandro Botticelli
Raphael
Rembrandt van Rijn
Thomas Gainsborough
Tintoretto
Titian
Vincent van Gogh
Wassily Kandinsky

Alphabetical List of Titles

A. E. Housman

Achilles Tatius

Adam Smith

Aeschylus

Albrecht Dürer

Alexander Pope

Alexander Pushkin

Alexandre Dumas (English)

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Algernon Blackwood

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Ambrose Bierce

Amedeo Modigliani

Ammianus Marcellinus

Anatole France

Andrew Lang

Andrew Marvell

Ann Radcliffe

Anna Katharine Green

Anthony Hope

Anthony Trollope

Anton Chekhov

Aphra Behn

Apollodorus

Apollonius of Rhodes

Appian

Apuleius

Aristophanes

Aristotle

Arnold Bennett

Arrian

Artemisia Gentileschi

Arthur Machen

Arthur Morrison

Arthur Schopenhauer

Augustine

Aulus Gellius

Baroness Emma Orczy

Beatrix Potter

Beaumont and Fletcher

Bede

Ben Jonson

Benjamin Disraeli

Beowulf

Bram Stoker

Bret Harte

C. S. Lewis

Camille Pissarro

Canaletto

Captain Frederick Marryat

Captain Mayne Reid

Caravaggio

Caspar David Friedrich

Cassius Dio

Cato

Catullus

Charles and Mary Lamb

Charles Darwin

Charles Dickens

Charles Kingsley

Charles Lever

Charles Reade

Charlotte M. Yonge

Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Charlotte Smith

Christina Rossetti

Christopher Marlowe

Cicero

Claude Lorrain

Claude Monet

Clement of Alexandria

Confucius

Cornelius Nepos

D. H Lawrence (poetry)

D.H. Lawrence

Daniel Defoe

Dante Alighieri (English)

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

David Hume

Delphi Poetry Anthology

Demosthenes

Dickensiana Volume I

Diego Velázquez

Diodorus Siculus

Diogenes Laërtius

E. F. Benson

E. M. Delafield

E. M. Forster

E. Nesbit

E. Phillips Oppenheim

E. W. Hornung

Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe (poetry)

Edgar Degas

Edgar Rice Burroughs

Edgar Wallace

Edith Wharton

Edmund Burke

Edmund Spenser

Édouard Manet

Edvard Munch

Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Edward Gibbon

Edward Lear

Edward Thomas

Edwin Arlington Robinson

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Elizabeth Gaskell

Elizabeth von Arnim

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ellen Wood

Émile Zola

Emily Dickinson

Ernest Bramah

Ernest Hemingway

Eugène Delacroix

Euripides

Ezra Pound

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Ford Madox Ford

Frances Burney

Frances Hodgson Burnett

Frances Trollope

Francis Bacon

Francisco Goya

Frank Norris

Frank R. Stockton

Friedrich Nietzsche

Friedrich Schiller (English)

Frontius

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

G. A. Henty

G. K. Chesterton

Galileo Galilei

Geoffrey Chaucer

George Bernard Shaw

George Chapman

George Eliot

George Gissing

George Herbert

George MacDonald

George Meredith

George Orwell

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Gertrude Stein

Gilbert and Sullivan

Giotto

Giovanni Bellini

Grant Allen

Gustav Klimt

Gustave Courbet

Gustave Flaubert (English)

Guy Boothby

Guy de Maupassant

H. G. Wells

H. P. Lovecraft

H. Rider Haggard

Hafez

Hall Caine

Hans Christian Andersen

Harriet Beecher Stowe

Heinrich Heine

Henrik Ibsen

Henry David Thoreau

Henry Fielding

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey

Henry James

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henryk Sienkiewicz

Herman Melville

Herodotus

Hesiod

Hilaire Belloc

Hippocrates

Homer

Honoré de Balzac (English)

Horace

Horace Walpole

Hugh Walpole

Ian Fleming

Immanuel Kant

Isaac Rosenberg

Isocrates

Ivan Turgenev

J. M. Barrie

J. M. W. Turner

J. W. von Goethe (English)

Jack London

James Fenimore Cooper

James Joyce

James Russell Lowell

Jane Austen

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Jerome K. Jerome

Johan Ludvig Runeberg

Johannes Vermeer

John Buchan

John Bunyan

John Clare

John Constable

John Donne

John Dryden

John Galsworthy

John Keats

John Locke

John Milton

John Muir

John Ruskin

John Webster

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

Jonathan Swift

Joseph Addison

Joseph Addison

Joseph Conrad

Josephus

Jules Verne

Julius Caesar

Juvenal

Karl Marx

Kate Chopin

Katherine Mansfield

Kenneth Grahame

L. Frank Baum

L. M. Montgomery

Lafcadio Hearn

Laurence Sterne

Leigh Hunt

Leo Tolstoy

Leonardo da Vinci

Lewis Carroll

Livy

Longus

Lord Byron

Lord Dunsany

Louisa May Alcott

Lucan

Lucian

Lucretius

Ludovico Ariosto

Luís de Camões

Lytton Strachey

M. E. Braddon

M. R. James

Marcel Proust (English)

Marcus Aurelius

Margaret Oliphant

Maria Edgeworth

Marie Corelli

Mark Twain

Martial

Mary Shelley

Mary Wollstonecraft

Matthew Arnold

Matthew Prior

Maxim Gorky

Michael Drayton

Michel de Montaigne

Michelangelo

Miguel de Cervantes

Nathaniel Hawthorne

Niccolò Machiavelli

Nikolai Gogol

Nikolai Nekrasov

Nonnus

O. Henry

Oliver Goldsmith

One Thousand and One Nights

Oscar Wilde

Ouida

Ovid

Paul Cézanne

Paul Gauguin

Paul Klee

Pausanias

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Peter Paul Rubens

Petrarch

Petronius

Piero della Francesca

Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Pieter Bruegel the Elder

Pindar

Plato

Plautus

Pliny the Elder

Pliny the Younger

Plotinus

Plutarch

Polybius

Procopius

Propertius

Ptolemy

Quintus Curtius Rufus

Quintus Smyrnaeus

R. Austin Freeman

R. M. Ballantyne

Radclyffe Hall

Rafael Sabatini

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Raphael

Rembrandt van Rijn

René Descartes

Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Richard Marsh

Robert Browning

Robert Burns

Robert E. Howard

Robert Frost

Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Southey

Robert W. Chambers

Rudyard Kipling

Rumi

Rupert Brooke

Saki

Sallust

Samuel Butler

Samuel Johnson

Samuel Pepys

Samuel Richardson

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Sandro Botticelli

Sappho

Sax Rohmer

Seneca the Younger

Septuagint

Sheridan Le Fanu

Sidonius

Sigmund Freud

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Issac Newton

Sir Philip Sidney

Sir Richard Burton

Sir Thomas Malory

Sir Thomas Wyatt

Sir Walter Raleigh

Sir Walter Scott

Sophocles

Stanley J. Weyman

Statius

Stendhal

Stephen Crane

Strabo

Suetonius

T. S. Eliot

Tacitus

Talbot Mundy

Terence

The Brontës

The Brothers Grimm

Theocritus

Theodore Dreiser

Thomas Babington Macaulay

Thomas Carlyle

Thomas Chatterton

Thomas De Quincey

Thomas Gainsborough

Thomas Gray

Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy (poetry)

Thomas Hood

Thomas Middleton

Thomas Moore

Thucydides

Tibullus

Tintoretto

Titian

Tobias Smollett

Torquato Tasso

Victor Hugo

Vincent van Gogh

Virgil

Virginia Woolf

Voltaire

W. B. Yeats

W. Somerset Maugham

W. W. Jacobs

Walt Whitman

Walter Pater

Walter Savage Landor

Washington Irving

Wassily Kandinsky

Wilfred Owen

Wilkie Collins

William Blake

William Cowper

William Dean Howells

William Harrison Ainsworth

William Hazlitt

William Hope Hodgson

William Makepeace Thackeray

William Morris

William Shakespeare

William Wordsworth

Xenophon

Zane Grey

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Athens — believed to be where Plato died